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It starts like any other day.
Steve wakes alone, in an empty house, his alarm blaring in his ear. It’s Saturday, which means he picks up Robin on his way to Family Video, shaving exactly nine minutes off his time available to get ready. He doesn’t bother with anything fancy, throwing on a polo and his favorite pair of jeans. His worn, white Nikes—officially five years old today—are threatening a hole above his right, big toe, but Steve can’t bear to part with them. They’re perfectly molded to his feet at this point, and by far the most comfortable shoes he owns, which is way more important than an impending hole.
(The Steve of four years ago wouldn’t have agreed. The Steve of four years ago would have rather thrown himself off the closest building than appear anything but perfectly put together. The Steve of four years ago had never run for his life in fucking uncomfortable shoes.)
He doesn’t bother with breakfast. Standing in the quiet kitchen any longer than he has to makes his chest feel tight, and he’s not sure he could stomach food he has to make for himself. Again. Instead he grabs a cold Coke from the fridge, slipping it into his back pocket as he grabs his wallet and keys from the table by the front door. He pauses only a moment to glance at himself in the mirror, running his fingers through his hair. He looks the same. Same dark eyes, same dusting of hair over his jaw and above his lip, same soft moles dotting his face. Same, but supposedly different.
“Morning, dingus.” Robin slides into the passenger seat, throwing her canvas messenger bag over their heads and into the backseat.
“Morning, nerd.” Steve takes a sip of his Coke before putting the beemer into gear, pulling away from the sidewalk maybe a bit faster than necessary.
Robin glances down at the cupholder. “Breakfast of champions?”
“Mhmm.” Steve nods, eyes on the road, and oblivious to her reaching for the red and white can.
Robin takes a long gulp before returning it to the cupholder, leaving Steve sputtering. “Mmm, crispy.”
“Rob.”
“Steve.”
They both stare at each other for a few moments, before Steve deems it imperative his eyes return to the road, neither willing to back down. Finally he simply lets out a disgusted grunt, picking the can back up and taking another sip.
“Tastes like Robin.”
“Deee-licious.” Robin sings, flipping down the mirror above her head and looking over her appearance. “Do I look well to you?”
“Well?” Steve asks.
“My mother seems to think I’m unwell. She says I have bags under my eyes.” Steve chances a glance over at her, where he finds Robin’s mother is not completely wrong, though he’d rather swallow his own tongue than admit it to his best friend.
Robin pulls at her cheeks, making a ghoulish face before her skin snaps back into place. “I thought I was doing a good job of hiding the whole ‘can't sleep more than two hours at a stretch’ thing, but I think she disagrees.”
Steve’s silent, feeling a certain degree of relief that he doesn’t have to play the same game with his parents–a feeling that doesn’t surface often when he considers his home life. He can’t deny that the last few years have been infinitely easier to handle without his parents constantly overseeing his life, accounting for his movements like so many of the others’ families do. Doesn’t make it fun, doesn’t make it an easier pill to swallow that his parents want seemingly nothing to do with him, despite the man he’s become (or tried to become) the last few years, but it’s been beneficial. In some ways. Not so much in others. But Steve’s gotten much better at distinguishing when it’s a two extra strength tylenol migraine, and when it’s a go to the hospital migraine.
“You look fine, Robin. Your mom’s just a hypochondriac.”
“Big word, Stevie. Good for you.” Steve gives her a one-fingered salute without taking his eyes off the road and Robin chuckles before continuing. “Can you be a hypochondriac for someone else?”
Steve shrugs, and they let the topic lie.
The store is still dark when the two of them arrive, waiting for Steve and Robin to bring it to life. Steve says a silent thank you–again–that he’d been promoted to manager three months ago, allowing mornings like this where it’s just the two of them. Keith was fine and all, but it was nice not having to look over his shoulder all day. When the store was empty he and Robin were able to speak freely, about whatever crossed their minds, without worrying that whoever might overhear them was likely to recommend them for the loony bin. It also saved them time spent trying to explain their shorthand, in a way that didn’t make it sound like some weird kind of telepathy. It wasn’t, to be clear (although after meeting Elle it didn’t seem so far out of the realm of possibility), it was just that they knew each other well. Too well sometimes.
“What’s up with you?”
Steve turns from where he’s entering the returns from the drop off box. “What do you mean?”
“You’re so quiet. Usually on Saturdays you’re talking my ear off about whichever of Hawkins’ most eligible bachelorettes you took out the night before until I wanna bludgeon you to death with the demagnetizer.”
Steve shrugs. “Didn’t have a date last night.”
“See, that’s even further proof. A perfectly good Friday passes without Steve Harrington trying to get into a girl’s pants?”
“Maybe I was looking forward to today and didn’t want to exhaust myself trying to make conversation about what I’m still doing in Hawkins and ‘do you think the team will go to state this year?’” Steve pitches his voice up at the end, until he sounds like the last absolutely gorgeous, but disappointingly vapid, girl he’d taken out a week ago.
“Today? What’s today?”
Steve glances over at her, his face guarded. “Really?”
“What really?”
“You don’t know what today is?”
Robin stares at him blankly until, “Saturday?”
Steve shakes his head, turning back to the computer. “Nevermind.”
He hadn’t been surprised at the lack of a card, from whatever exotic location his parents found more enjoyable than Hawkins, Indiana. He hadn’t been surprised at the lack of a blinking red light on the answering machine–indicating they had any idea what day it was–either. In fact, he hadn’t even been surprised at the lack of fanfare this morning; it was hardly Robin’s style, anyway. But this? Her commitment (either faked or genuine) to the insistence that Robin had no idea what today was, took him by surprise. She was his best friend. They’d practically done that vulcanized rubber mind meld, or whatever it was called, and she seriously had no idea?
There’s the sudden overwhelming certainty that this is what he deserves. That after years of being a shit boyfriend, and a shit friend, and a shit son, this is exactly his karmic comeuppance. Is it any less than what Steve has told himself, over and over, he deserves? Every time Dustin spends his afternoon at Family Video, just because he wants to, Steve tells himself he doesn’t deserve his adoration. Every time Nancy asks his advice about the relationship Steve had once shamed her for, he tells himself he doesn’t deserve her friendship. The column listing his faults is far too much longer than the column listing his good deeds to think that he’ll be out from under all that red any time soon. He’s been given too much kindness lately, and it’s made him complacent, made him think that this day wasn’t coming.
But Steve is still an asshole, and assholes get what they deserve.
Robin watches him for a few more minutes, but then shrugs and returns to her task shelving the returns. Sometimes her short attention span is a blessing, and Steve’s glad he doesn’t have to explain himself further. They work in silence the next hour, getting the store ready to open, and when Steve moves to unlock the front doors, turning on the neon sign in the window, Robin starts her usual wander through the racks. It’s her morning to pick first, adding to the list of movies they keep behind the front counter. The goal is to watch everything in the store before she leaves for college in the fall (R-rated movies notwithstanding), and they’re actually making pretty good progress. They’re not all great, and sometimes Steve is happy to be distracted by a customer, but it makes the day go faster.
“Sophie’s Choice?” Robin’s voice pops up from somewhere in the back.
“It’s 10 o’clock on a Saturday, Rob. Have some goddamn humanity.”
There’s quiet for a beat and then, “Citizen Kane?”
“Something in color, please. I beg of you.”
“Picky picky. I thought this was my choice, Harrington.”
“It is. Whatever you want, Bobbin.”
Steve can hear her make a fake gagging sound from the back of the store at her least favorite nickname. He only brings it out when he really wants to annoy her. A dangerous game to play when she’s the one in charge of the mood for his morning but he can’t help it. It still stings a bit that she doesn’t know what today is. There’s quiet for a bit longer, the only sound is her shuffling footsteps over the carpeted floors, but Steve swears he can tell where she is in the store without even looking. He’s getting way too damn comfortable here.
“I’ve got it!”
Robin scurries up to the front counter, and Steve can’t help but grin. “You do, do you?”
“I do. The most perfect title in the entire store. A film so undeniably classic, critics and audiences are in complete agreement.” She hides the box from him as she feeds the tape into the VCR, sticking it behind her back as she rocks gently back and forth on her heels, grinning. “Not even you can deny the brilliance of this one, Stevie.”
“Uh huh, sure.” Steve’s incredulousness is barely feigned, as he watches the film start to roll on the store’s ceiling-mounted TVs.
It only takes a few minutes for those tell-tale blue words and Steve’s already groaning. “No. Absolutely not, Robin.”
“It’s the one with the teddy bears!” She protests. “You love that one! It’s the only one we haven’t watched yet. Then we’ll be done. Promise.”
Steve only shakes his head, returning to the computer in front of him, and Robin practically jumps with glee. He can still hear her cackling as she continues to rack the movies, like she’s won some great battle over him. Maybe she has. Still, Steve dutifully adds the title to the list, underneath his last pick (E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, cute but a little too close to home). Before long the bell above the door is jingling, and Steve lets the wave of steady customers wash over him until it pulls him beneath the surface.
Around lunch time Eddie arrives, three white paper-wrapped lumps under his arm. Eddie had described his job at All Wrapped Up (the new sandwich and wrap place downtown) as “brain-meltingly boring” but after all they’d been through the last year boring had sounded especially appealing. He’s ditched his hair net before walking through the door, but his messy curls are still collected at the back of his head, barely contained by a scrunchie Steve is 85% sure he stole from Max. Eddie drops the sandwiches on the counter before draping himself over it dramatically, letting out a loud sigh. Robin giggles. Steve nudges his elbow out of the way to scan the latest return.
“I’m quitting. If I have to make one more turkey with Swiss, no mayo, I’m going to throw myself into the quarry. Good bye cruel world! He survived monsters and hell gates only to be done in by a sandwich.”
“Rough day, buddy?” Steve deadpans, and Eddie lets out another long groan.
“These people, man. No imagination.”
“They reject your sandwich suggestion again?” Robin pipes up, already reaching for her pastrami.
“Yes.” Eddie lifts his head, eyes anguished. “Fucking fascists. You suggest a little pickled onion and suddenly everyone loses their minds.”
“Eddie. You don’t even like pickled onion.” Robin nods at Steve’s words, gesturing to him with her sandwich in agreement.
“It’s not for me! Just because my palate is underdeveloped doesn’t mean I can’t elevate the palate of others!”
“You’re doing a public service.” Steve intones, reaching out to rub soft circles into his back.
“Exactly! See, you understand me, Stevie.”
Eddie gives him a small smile, and Steve feels that familiar warmth pool in his stomach.
“Anyway.” There’s a slight flush to Eddie’s cheeks that they all pointedly ignore. “I think I’d prefer Vecna to this fucking manager, dudes. The kid is 17 and acts like he knows everything. The shit I know would make the two hairs he’s managed to sprout on his balls turn white.”
Steve laughs and Robin swallows her bite of sandwich. “No mention of you-know-who in the spring.”
“You superstitious, Bobbin?”
Robin glares at Steve. “I’m not superstitious, I’m just cautious. Things have been too good lately, I—for one—am not looking to mess things up.”
“Fine.” Eddie pushes away from the counter, grabbing his own sandwich. “Then I’m going to eat. You coming, Stevie?”
Steve glances over at Robin who nods, her mouth full of another bite of pastrami and yellow mustard. “Go, I got this.”
Steve’s not one to argue about break times so he simply grabs his sandwich, placing a kiss on Robin's head as he and Eddie head toward the back of the store. The “break room” of Family Video is nothing exciting–just a small card table and a couple folding chairs, surrounded by boxes of tapes either on their way to the shelves or out to the dumpster. Robin or Steve occasionally spend a slow shift there, processing the intakes and getting them ready for the floor. It’s surprisingly one of Steve’s favorite ways to spend a shift, other than when no one comes in and he and Robin spend the entire day shooting the shit. At least the back room is quiet, and Steve doesn’t have to pretend like making small talk with the residents of Hawkins, Indiana is high on his list of favorite things. At least in the back room he doesn’t have to pretend he isn’t exhausted all the time.
He and Eddie slide onto two of the available chairs, the metal seats still cold from the morning chill. Eddie does an exaggerated full body shiver, and Steve can’t help the grin that pushes at his cheeks. It had come as no surprise to anybody that Eddie had become a permanent part of the gang. He still spent time with his band, and his friends from Hellfire, but there was something about surviving the apocalypse together that really created strong bonds. Steve had found his flair for the dramatic nearly annoying at the very beginning, but now he found it strangely charming. He could always count on Eddie to bring humor to a situation, or defend Steve when Dustin got a little too high and mighty. His music taste had expanded exponentially, and he still couldn’t look at the Tears for Fears patch on Eddie’s new vest (the original was still hanging in Steve’s closet, “that’s your armor now, Stevie boy”) without his cheeks heating slightly. It had only been a year, and Eddie had made himself an irreplaceable part of Steve’s life, much like Robin had buried herself under his skin.
“Your manager doesn’t care that you leave every day for lunch?”
Steve unwraps his ham and cheese–no tomato, extra pickles–and takes a large bite as he watches Eddie unwrap his own sandwich (turkey and swiss, “but with brown mustard too, none of this ‘no mayo’ crap”). He stops chewing long enough so he can hear the little hum Eddie always lets out with his first bite, smiling softly before resuming. Steve’s not even sure Eddie’s aware that he does it, but it’s by far–by far–the cutest thing about him, and Steve doesn’t say that lightly. They’d spent the last year seemingly dancing around each other, as Steve had come to some realizations about the two of them. It had taken a late night, very long talk with Robin to dissect why the “big boy” line back in the RV had affected him so. Or why he got that warm feeling in his chest when Eddie gave him a smile just for him, or leaned in to him when he was tired or toeing the line between sober and not so sober. No one had made any bathroom-type declarations, but Steve understood what bisexuality was now, and he knew one when he saw one.
Eddie shakes his head, his curls testing the strength of their scrunchie prison. “That asshole wouldn’t notice if I dropped dead behind the counter. He’d probably step over my body and go ‘huh, the ingredients are organized just how I like today, how convenient.’”
There’s another rueful shake of his head and Steve laughs around his full mouth. “He tells me how to stack the cheese slices, Stevie. I’m gonna kill him.”
“I won’t bail you out.”
“Oh come on, man! I’m your friend, your dear old Eds. You won’t support me in a little manager-cide?”
“I won’t need to. Hopper’ll kill you before I ever get there.”
Eddie’s eyes go wide and he nods his head slowly as he chews. “Good point. God, that man is terrifying.”
“I dunno.” Steve sounds thoughtful. “Maybe it was finally getting together with Mrs. Byers, or his time spent in a Russian prison, but he seems much chiller than he used to be.”
Eddie snorts a laugh and then they’re both silent for a bit, eating. Steve tries, as usual, to remind himself that there’s nothing special about Eddie making him his sandwich. That he does it almost every day. That it’s not some fucking declaration of love. (Right? Just because it’s food Steve didn’t have to make for himself, doesn’t mean it’s some grand act of kindness. Eddie has a job and he does it. Just like Steve slips him a free rental every other Friday. Business.) After a while Eddie pipes up again.
“So, any plans tonight?”
Steve swallows, measuring his response. “I don’t know. Any plans tonight?”
Eddie’s eyes widen and he jabs a finger into his own chest. “For me? Uh, Wayne’s working late. So I’ll probably smoke a joint, eat an entire box of Honeycomb, and pass out on the couch. Why?”
“No reason.” Steve takes another bite of his sandwich, his eyes glancing down at the table. “Just wondering.”
0 for 2. Steve’s day just gets better and better. The worst part is he can’t even find it in him to be that mad at Eddie. Not when he looks so oblivious and so cute, a little bit of mustard at the corner of his mouth. Steve gestures at the corner of his own mouth, his eyes on Eddie’s, and after a moment the other man takes the hint, swiping at the condiment collected there. He really just moves it around, not removes it, but Steve just laughs to himself and continues eating. At some point Eddie will pick up a napkin and get it completely, until then Steve can continue to find it adorable in peace.
“Good sandwich today, man.”
“Thank you.” Eddie practically preens. “I am a wizard with deli meat.”
“Clearly.”
When their state allotted 30 minutes is up they both ball up their trash and pitch it toward the bin. Steve steps behind the counter with Robin, and Eddie shuffles out the door with a wave for her, back to the sandwich shop down the street. Steve covers the counter for Robin’s break, and before he knows it they’re nearing the end of their shifts. Robin does the last few re-racks, as Steve finishes up the check-ins. It’s their preferred division of labor, allowing Robin to drift between the aisles like some ephemeral film fairy, and Steve to turn on the charm for any ladies that find themselves searching for cinematic excellence. But Steve’s not particularly feeling it today, and it just makes the last few hours feel endless.
“When does Dustin get back?” Robin calls from the back of the store.
“Tomorrow afternoon.” The curliest of the Party (other than Eddie) had been in Wisconsin the last week, visiting his grandmother for spring break. “He said the drive is like five and half hours, and his mom likes to hit the road at the crack of dawn.”
The bell over the door jingles and Steve turns to watch three familiar figures saunter in.
“Speaking of dipshits, what can I do you for fellas?”
Mike only gives him a glare, immediately heading for the back of the store, while Lucas and Will hover near the counter. Will had been like a whole new person since the Upside Down was sealed for good, in the best possible way. It was like a weight had been taken off his shoulders so he could finally relax, and it was clearly visible in the way he carried himself now. He no longer hid behind the other boys, averting whatever attention he could, and when he smiled it was enough to raise even Mike’s shitty mood most days. (It didn’t hurt that he’d finally ditched the bowl cut too, letting his hair grow out to a length that better framed his face. Steve had even given him some styling tips that had seemed to bring up his confidence as well.)
Lucas had made co-captain this year, much to Max’s chagrin, but she’d been at every game, uncharacteristically enthusiastic, her mood ebbing and flowing with the crowd. Steve had seen a soft love and easy intimacy grow between the two of them the last year, especially once Max had been released from the hospital. Lucas had spent every day with her during the summer, helping her get used to walking with her cane and building the map of her suddenly unfamiliar world. Her sight had returned some, but not completely, and while Max had ditched her dark glasses (“who am I trying to impress, the prom committee?”) she still never left home without her white cane. Lucas had always been the most steadfast of the Party, but Steve had been pleased, nevertheless, to see a level of maturity in him that the rest still lacked.
“Mike wants to watch some movie called Ladyhawke? Gareth says some chick shows her boobs in it.” Lucas shrugs and Steve catches a faint grimace on Will’s face.
(He knows a homosexual when he sees one too, but no one would dare push the littlest Byers before he’s ready.)
“Michelle Pfeiffer.” Steve nods, his eyes falling back to the stack of tapes in front of him. “Gorgeous.”
“Steven!” Robin’s voice is shrill at the back of the store. “Are you corrupting America’s youth?”
“Too late for that Rob.”
“Seriously.” Will mutters.
Mike returns to the counter, “filth” in hand, and slaps it down in front of Steve. Steve dutifully punches in the phone number for the Wheeler’s account (three years since he and Nancy broke up and he still can’t forget it) and scans the barcode.
“$3.50.”
“No free rentals?” Mike questions, leaning forward over the counter to try and catch a glimpse at the screen.
Steve positions his body in front of it. “Not for you.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t like your face.”
Mike glares at him. “That’s not a real reason.”
“Actually,” Steve holds up a finger like he’s a professor lecturing in class. “It's company policy. ‘If an employee encounters a customer with a particularly offensive face he or she may charge them an additional fee and offer no free rentals.’”
Robin joins him behind the counter as Steve wraps up.
“You’re lucky you’re getting away with the regular rate, shitbird.”
“It’s true.” Robin nods, solemnly. “You are a bird full of shit and you get no free rentals.”
Will and Lucas laugh behind him, and Mike digs into his back pocket angrily. “Fuck you guys.”
He plops the money down on the counter and Steve puts it in the till. “So what, you idiots are just gonna lay around at home and enjoy the approximately 5 seconds of bare boobs that you just paid $3.50 for? You know real girls exist, right?”
“Yes.” Mike bites out. “But Elle’s… not exactly speaking to me right now.”
The last part comes out particularly quieter, and Steve blinks at the younger boy as a grin splits his face. He cups a hand around his ear, leaning over the counter and toward Mike’s scowling face.
“I’m sorry, what was that last part? Would you like to share with the class, son?”
“He said ‘Elle’s not speaking to him right now.’” Will pipes up from the back, and Steve swears he can see glee in the other boy’s eyes.
“Really.” Steve leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Now isn’t that a surprise. Isn’t that a surprise, Robin?”
“Oh definitely.” Robin matches his stance, both of them glancing over the younger kids. “Who would guess that when you tell your girlfriend only babies go to amusement parks—despite said girlfriend inviting you on a trip with her and her dad so the two of you can finally get along—she would be upset about that?”
“Not me.” Steve deadpans. “Utterly shocked. Stunned.”
“Stunned.” Robin echoes, nodding.
Lucas and Will are snickering now, both of them trying to hide their obvious laughs from their “leader.” Mike glances back at them, his face dark, before snaking out a hand to snatch the tape off the counter.
“You two done? It’s like amateur stand-up night at The Hideaway in here.”
Steve shrugs. “For now.”
They’re turning to leave when Steve takes a long shot.
“You guys didn’t haven’t any other plans for tonight?”
“No, why?” Will’s hand is already on the door, and the three of them look at him expectantly.
“No reason. Enjoy your exorbitantly priced boobs.”
0 for 5.
At this point Steve’s too proud to outright ask anyone. If this is what he deserves then he should just take it. He can’t help the way his shoulders sag when the kids leave, and even Robin seems to notice. Luckily she takes it as a sign of fatigue, and not Steve’s utter weariness at being the last one chosen, the space filler, again. She pats him on the shoulder gently and nudges him toward the back room. It’s slow, she can handle any customers, he should take a chance to get some quiet and do a little inventory. Steve doesn’t argue. Honestly the idea of pasting a smile on his face while he gets asked about the new releases again for the umpteenth time makes him wanna puke, so the back room it is. He prefers to feel sorry for himself in private anyway.
At four Keith makes his grand appearance, and Steve happily gives over control of Family Video. He and Robin collect their things, giving the manager a half-hearted salute as they head out to the beemer parked in its customary spot in front of the store. Robin slumps into her seat, letting out a loud groan, and Steve smiles understandingly as he turns up the radio. Livin’ on a Prayer floods the car, and while neither of them are in an air guitar mood it does fill the silence, drowning out the need to think or form sentences. Steve taps his finger against the wheel as he drives, and Robin runs her hands over her face again, pushing the skin of her cheeks up, before pulling them down again, over and over. Finally Steve reaches out to pull a hand away, before she can hurt herself. Robin gives him a small, thankful smile.
“What’s Steve Harrington up to on the rest of his Saturday?”
Steve shrugs, doing an excellent job at playing ambivalence while a cold weight settles somewhere below his belly button. “Probably watch TV or something. Maybe take a swim.”
That’s a lie. Steve’s pool hasn’t held water since 1983, and Steve feels no great need to change that.
Robin nods, glancing out the window. “Your parents coming home anytime soon?”
Steve appreciates that she doesn’t look at him when she asks, that Steve doesn’t have to look into her knowing eyes when he answers. “Next week, maybe? Pops said something about wooing a potential new partner in Indianapolis.”
Another lie. His parents haven’t called in weeks.
Robin does him the favor of not making it clear she knows he’s full of shit. “Sounds like party time at the Harrington’s is almost over.”
Steve chuckles half-heartedly. “Yep.”
He pulls up in front of Robin’s house and she leans over them both to the back, rummaging around for her bag. She slips the strap over her head as she turns to Steve with a smile. “Another shift in the books, dingus.”
“You’re a credit to American capitalism, nerd.”
She leans forward with a laugh, pressing a kiss into his cheek, and Steve knows that’s just what they do. That they love each other–in a purely Platonic way. But it’s nice. It almost feels intentional to the day, like it’s what Robin’s been meaning to give him but the pursuit of providing movies to the masses has simply gotten in the way. Steve feels a small smile press at his cheeks, and Robin runs a thumb over his skin like she’s wiping away nonexistent lipstick. He almost expects her to say it, maybe thrown over her shoulder as she exits the car, but she doesn’t. She waves at him as she heads for the house and Steve returns the gesture through the car window, a less genuine smile making his teeth ache. He sits in front of the house for a minute or two after she disappears inside, just watching the front door, before he puts the beemer in gear and slowly pulls away.
The light above the stove is on in the kitchen when Steve gets home, and he’s momentarily panicked that there’s an intruder in the house. (He certainly didn’t leave that light on. Steve had only been turning on the lights for the room he was in for years now, moving through a dark house in pockets of brilliance that dimmed at his retreating back.) Nothing else in the kitchen seems out of place until Steve notices a post-it note stuck to the fridge.
Sweetheart, there’s a lasagna in the fridge. Bake it uncovered at 350 degrees for 30 minutes, or until the cheese bubbles. xo Joyce
It wasn’t the first time Joyce Byers had used her spare key to leave meals in Steve’s refrigerator. She always had an excuse (bought too much, overcooked, “the boys are getting picky”), and it was Steve’s job to nod understandingly and pretend like she wasn’t trying to mother him. (Even though she clearly was, and Steve loved her all the more for it.) He smiled gently as he pulled open the refrigerator door, finding a foil-covered pan resting on the top shelf.
Steve preheats the oven as instructed, leaning against the counter with a Coke in hand as he waits. He glances over at the lasagna, thinking about how Joyce has still managed to–unknowingly–be a better mother than his own today, and how that doesn’t hurt as much as it used to. At some point Steve had started to get used to the idea that maybe his parents just weren’t as interested in him as he thought they were. It had seemed like his mother wanted him, when he was younger. They’d spent afternoons together grocery shopping or running errands, Steve babbling about his day as his mother smiled down at him affectionately, her hand soft around his own. She’d called him her little man, her best boy, and Steve had preened at her praise, puffing his chest up like he was something important. She’d made him feel important. Now Steve wasn’t even sure he’d been anything more than a ploy to keep his father interested.
The oven dings, pulling Steve from his less than self-complementary thoughts, and he slides the lasagna in. While it heats he sets the table (a habit he can’t seem to break), with one fork and one knife, on opposite sides of one plate, with one napkin laying over the top. He’s reaching into the fridge for a fresh Coke when the idea hits him, and Steve’s not sure if it’s Eddie’s flair for the dramatic rubbing off on him, or his deep cynicism rising to the surface, but he just can’t help himself. When it’s ready Steve portions the lasagna onto his plate with a spatula, placing one blue candle into the middle of the pasta, before grabbing the lighter by the fireplace and heading for the dining room. He seats himself at the head of the table (because what else is he with no other Harrington in sight) and lights the candle. The little flame dances above his dinner, and Steve watches it for a moment, before leaning forward to blow it out.
“Happy Birthday, Steve.”
He watches as the smoke curls up to the ceiling, the house as quiet as ever.
–--
Sunday is Steve’s day off. He spends most of his morning in bed, letting himself come back to consciousness slowly. His dreams (what he remembers of them) had been gray, humorless things, where Steve spent most of his time running. From who or towards what he couldn’t say, never reaching something and never stopping to glance behind him. He wakes up more exhausted than when he had fallen asleep, and he stares up at the ceiling willing himself to fall back under so he can try again. It’s a fruitless battle and Steve finally resigns himself to getting up completely, his body still humming with the adrenaline leftovers of his dream. Might as well put it to use. Maybe after a little physical exhaustion, to complement his mental exhaustion, he’ll be able to catch a nap.
Spring in Indiana is really just the last dying breath of winter, and Steve pulls his sweatshirt tighter around him as he steps out the front door, shivering. His neighborhood is still mostly quiet, empty driveways the only clue to who are still amongst the local congregation’s faithfull. Steve had been relieved to see the religious fervor die down in Hawkins after the Upside Down was finally sealed, and Eddie exonerated. He knew Eddie still faced some harassment from a significantly smaller group, but the actual witch hunt had seemed to die with Jason Carver. The church had been repainted white, its banners disposed of, and the town seemed ready to gloss over the time an 18 year old had set them all back roughly 300 years. Steve wouldn’t so easily forget.
He heads west down the street, picking up his pace until he settles into a good rhythm. Steve hasn’t run regularly since his last season on the basketball team but nothing beats it for clearing his mind. Each step falls, one after the other, and Steve focuses on the breath in his chest and the soles of his shoes connecting with the ground over and over again. The morning dew still clings to the blades of grass on every lawn that he passes, the last of the mist burning off around him. Steve winds his way through his neighborhood, up and down familiar streets, until his legs burn and his chest gets tight. When he arrives back in his own front yard he throws himself down onto the lawn unceremoniously, eyes closed as he draws in breath after breath. His muscles scream and his heart races, but Steve doesn’t feel any more tired than he did when he woke up.
The light on the answering machine is blinking red when he walks through the foyer, and for a second Steve actually believes his parents have called to wish him happy birthday. A day late, but who’s really counting? Steve toes off his shoes, pulling his sweatshirt over his head and mopping at his brow. He’s not quite sure why he’s putting off listening to the message, but even he knows that’s what he’s doing. If it’s not them, if they really did forget, then he has to deal with that, and as of right now his life doesn’t contain that particular disappointment. Right now he can still believe that it was a time zone-thing, or a lack of phone service-thing, and not a his parents giving less than a shit about him-thing. He finally decides he’s being a coward and hits the button without looking at it.
“Hey Steve,” it’s Lucas, and Steve tries to ignore the weight settling in his stomach. “We’re meeting at Eddie’s to talk about the next Hellfire campaign. Can you pick me, Erica, and Dustin up? One o’clock. Thanks, man!”
Just another request for the Harrington cab service. Steve thinks about deleting the message and pretending he never got it, just for a moment. The kids are almost driving age anyway, why is he still the one expected to cart them around town? But he won’t do it. He knows he won’t. Because he loves those little assholes, goddamnit it. Even Mike. And as much as he groans, or busts their balls, they still choose him, over and over again. To help them, to protect them, to drive them around town. Steve can’t take that for granted. He won’t. So instead he leaves the machine blinking, heading for the kitchen where his usual breakfast Coke awaits him.
At one o’clock on the dot Steve pulls up in front of the Sinclair house, giving his usual two quick beeps. Lucas and Erica emerge in quick succession, almost like they’ve been sitting by the door waiting for him, and Steve can’t help smiling gently as they head for the backseat. They’re already arguing and Steve’s smile turns to a groan, his head falling against the headrest. Luckily they seem to take the hint, and start to quiet down as he pulls away from the curb. The drive to Dustin’s is a short one, and before long he’s barreling toward the beemer at full speed. Steve locks the door, just as he reaches for it, grinning as Dustin’s stopped short. He pulls on the handle a few times before rapping on the window.
“Steve.” He scowls comically, like Steve’s an absolute child, and Steve laughs as he unlocks the door.
“Sorry man, I could have sworn that it was unlocked.” Dustin shakes his head as he clicks on his seatbelt, but Steve can see the smile pressing at the corners of his mouth. “How was Wisconsin?”
“Hot. And humid. The Dells were cool though.”
Lucas leans forward, grasping the back of Dustin’s seat. “Did you finish It yet?”
“Are you serious?” Dustin whips around in his chair, staring the other boy down as Steve pulls away from the curb. “Have you seen that thing? It’s massive. I barely finished part one between both drives.”
Erica smirks from the opposite side of the car. “Didn’t know you were such a slow reader, Henderson.”
This time it’s the younger Sinclair who gets Dustin’s scowl. “Excuse me for wanting to enjoy my vacation.”
The three of them bicker the rest of the way, and Steve lets it fade into the background like white noise. It’s nice to see them arguing about shit that doesn’t matter, after so many years of them all constantly fighting for their lives. Steve’s not so far removed from high school that he can’t remember what it was like to be their age, or even Erica’s. They have better things to worry about–school, hormones, dating–than the literal end of the world, and Steve’s fine to just let them be kids for a while. (Although he has his limits.)
“Guys. Guys! Enough, okay?” The three of them quiet down as Steve looks around the car. “What about Mike and Will? They biking over?”
Lucas nods and Dustin turns to look at him with a knowing expression on his face. “They still as inseparable as when I left?”
“More.” Lucas rolls his eyes. “Mike and Elle got into a big fight about her trip, so Mike spent the entire week with Will.”
To Will’s utter delight, Steve was sure.
“Those two have been so weird lately.” Dustin muses.
“Weird how?” Steve asks.
“I don’t know. They’re just always sharing looks or whispering to each other.” Lucas nods at Dustin’s words. “Makes me feel like I’m missing something.”
“Yeah.” Lucas agrees.
“Because you’re the official expert on everything.” Steve’s sarcasm is palpable, and Erica lets out a chuckle from her seat behind his.
“Whatever, Steve. Lucas agrees.”
Dustin crosses his arms over his chest, a scowl on his face, but it melts away as Steve reaches out a hand to ruffle his hair. The younger boy slaps at it half-heartedly, readjusting his hat, but by the time he finishes he’s smiling gently. It’s not Steve’s place to speak on something that he doesn’t even really know for sure, particularly without consulting Will first, but he can only hope that the boys will be understanding. After everything they’d all been through Steve hoped it would be a moot point, but it was easier to understand things in theory than it was to see them in your oldest friends. It was the same reason only Robin knew Steve’s own little secret, the two of them a united front in their otherness. Robin had seemed an island only two years ago, but clearly Steve had been wrong.
The drive to the mobile home park is a familiar one, and Steve takes his usual spot on the patch of land between Max and Eddie’s trailers. The two of them are already seated outside, Max on her front steps and Eddie on the railing above her, his legs swinging back and forth gently. The kids stream out of the car, running straight for the two of them. Eddie nearly gets tackled by Dustin, and Lucas helps Max to her feet. When Steve gets closer he lays a hand on Max’s shoulder with a soft, “hey Red,” and pulls her into a hug against his side. She’s gotten better about allowing him to hug her, even seeking them out from time to time, and Steve wasn’t complaining. He’d spent many a night in her hospital room, wondering if he’d ever get to hear her particular brand of snark again, and she was just going to have to deal with the fact that people loved her.
(Her note was still sitting in the drawer of his bedside table, its edges and folds growing more worn every time Steve pulled it out. Unlike the rest of them he never had to wonder if Max loved him. He knew.)
Max gives his side a squeeze. “You get roped into this nerd meeting too?”
“Unfortunately.” He replies, and a smile splits Max’s cheeks. “Is there gonna be pizza at least?”
“If you order it.” Eddie pipes up, and Steve scowls.
“I thought you were hosting this get together, Munson.”
“I am. But you’re clearly my co-host, Harrington.”
“‘Clearly.’” Steve mutters and Max shakes with suppressed laughter.
Will and Mike arrive a few moments later, and the players all arrange themselves around the picnic table, while Max and Steve take a seat on the front stoop a few feet away. Eddie’s starting to arrange materials where everyone can see them when Dustin’s head suddenly pops up.
“Hey, I forgot to ask. What did you guys do yesterday?”
There’s shrugs and they sound off around the table.
“Worked.”
“Watched some fantasy movie about a girl who turns into a hawk.”
“Told Mom and Dad Lucas was looking at boobs.”
There’s a grunt as Erica gets elbowed in the side, and Dustin rolls his eyes.
“I mean after. For Steve’s birthday. What’d you guys do?”
Silence. Steve swears he can hear the breeze blow through the grass, and like one multi-headed beast they all turn to look at him.
“What?” Lucas asks, his face confused.
“It wasn’t Steve’s birthday–” Mike gets cut off.
“Steve’s birthday is…” Max glances up at him, and Steve can’t look at her. He can’t see the sadness in her voice reflected on her face.
There’s silence again and Steve feels like a deer stuck in headlights. Should he say something? Should he play it off and pretend like it wasn’t actually yesterday? Apparently he could count on Dustin to remember, and while that filled his chest with a gentle warmth it was also damn inconvenient. He was gonna let it go, let them all forget, but now he couldn’t. It’s Eddie who speaks up first.
“We forgot your birthday?”
His eyes are anguished, and Steve feels like he could puke. “It’s fine, don’t even worry about it–”
“It’s not fine!” Dustin’s voice is bordering on shrill and Steve flinches. “Steve, you didn’t say anything?”
“I–” Steve swallows, his cheeks warm. “I didn’t want anyone to feel bad. It’s fine, you guys forgot, so what? It’s not like we all don’t have shit going on.”
“Yeah but Steve–” It’s Erica this time, her voice small, and god Steve just wants this moment to end.
“It’s fine, seriously. Don’t worry about it guys. Just go back to your nerd meeting.” He stands, shoving one hand in his pocket and gesturing to Eddie’s trailer with the other. “I’m gonna go order the pizza okay?”
“You don’t have to–” Eddie moves like he’s going to get up from the table and Steve rushes past him.
“It’s fine, I got it.”
It’s not until the door slams behind him that Steve feels like he can take a deep breath. No one follows him, thankfully, and it’s quiet outside for a few moments before talking resumes. Steve sinks into Eddie’s worn couch, his head in his hands, and sighs. It was better when they didn’t know, when they were unaware they’d forgotten. Steve doesn’t want people feeling guilty about him or—godforbid—sorry for him. He’d been an asshole, a bad guy, and he still had so far to go until he redeemed himself. So they forgot his birthday, it wasn’t any less than he deserved. But now they felt guilty, like they owed him something, and Steve couldn’t stand that.
When he’s breathing normally he calls the pizza place. One cheese, two pepperoni, and he puts down his AmEx. Afterwards he sits on the couch, slowly filling his lungs with air before exhaling at the same pace, trying to bring his heart rate down to normal. There was a period of time in Steve’s life when he loved being the center of attention. He loved that his father didn’t even have to be present at Steve’s greatest accomplishments, he heard about them regardless. He loved when girls whispered to their friends as he walked past, their cheeks dusted a soft pink. Steve’s not really sure when that stopped being appealing to him, when he started preferring the background.
(That’s not true. He knows exactly when it was. The day Nancy slapped him. The day Jonathan kicked his ass. When he finally lifted his head and looked around him, finding nothing familiar.)
Steve gets up from the couch after a while, sliding into Eddie’s tiny bathroom and looking at himself in the mirror. Satisfied that he looks normal, that nothing about him invites pity or questions, Steve finally exits the trailer. He jabs his thumb toward the beemer, some half-formed excuse about picking up the pizzas falling from his lips, and before anyone can speak up he’s sliding into the front seat. The drive to the pizza place isn’t quite long enough to satisfy him, but Steve takes all the time he can get. The pies ride shotgun on the way back to Eddie’s, and by the time he returns Steve feels almost completely normal, his “easy going Steve” mask back in place.
The kids are engrossed in their game when he returns, heads popping up as he pulls the pizzas from the passenger seat. Eddie disappears into his trailer for a moment, returning with paper plates, but it’s taken entirely too long, and most of the Party are balancing their slices on their hands as they dig in. He lets out a little huff and drops the plates on the picnic table, where they stay for the entirety of the meal. No one brings up Steve’s birthday again, but he catches almost every single one of them looking at him over their pizza, before their eyes grow guilty and they turn away. Steve only makes it through one slice of pepperoni, his stomach a rolling mess, but manages to sip the rest of his Coke, cold from Eddie’s fridge. (He’s not sure when Eddie started stocking his favorite beverage, but the last time he was here there was nothing but expired milk and old beer.)
“So what is this, exactly?” Steve sidles up to Eddie, one hand in his pocket as the other lifts his drink to his lips.
“Rundown on the new campaign. I don’t tell them everything, obviously, a DM has his secrets.” Eddie grins at Steve conspiratorially and yep, there’s the warmth in his lower abdomen. “But they need to know a thing or two in order to prepare. Mostly it’s a chance for them to ask me questions that I don’t answer.”
“Don’t or won’t?” Steve muses, but Eddie only grins even wider.
There’s a long pause and then, “you should have said something, man.”
Steve glances down at his shoes, wishing a gate would open beneath him and swallow him whole. Another round with the demobats would be preferable to Eddie’s small, sad voice. But it turns out he doesn’t have to say a thing because Eddie sucks in a breath before–
“You did say something. You asked me if there were plans last night.” Eddie slaps his forehead with a resounding smack. “And I said I was gonna get high and pass out on the couch. Jesus, I am the biggest asshole, Stevie.”
“No you’re not.” Steve leans into him, nudging him gently, and Eddie’s body is so warm it’s physically difficult to pull himself away. “You just forgot, it’s fine.”
“It’s not, man. For fuck’s sake you spent all day in the hospital with me on mine, you even brought me a slice of cake. I am the fucking worst–”
“Stop.” Steve cuts him off, when he feels like he might puke. “Just stop, Eddie. Don’t worry about it.”
Eddie looks like he wants to say more but doesn’t, and Steve almost lets out a sigh of relief. He can remember Eddie’s birthday, a random Tuesday in a quiet hospital, his cheeks sore from smiling. Will had come up with a one-day campaign, and the entire Party had squeezed into Eddie’s tiny hospital room. Steve had nicked orange juices and apple juices from the nurse’s fridge and all of them had toasted Eddie like the knights of old. He’d spent all afternoon watching them play, laughing along at Will’s voices, and mocking Mike with Erica every time he made a decision. The nurses had eventually managed to scrounge up some popsicles, and they all felt like kings (and queens). Steve had stayed after the kids all left, shooting the shit with Eddie and talking about the bands Eddie had turned him on to during his many visiting hours. He’d lit the candle on Eddie’s cake and watched him blow it out, the other man’s cheeks turning pink as he closed his eyes to make a wish.
(He’d stayed up into the night wondering what Eddie had wished for.)
After lunch they dive back into it, and Steve takes a seat next to Max on her front stoop. He pats her knee absentmindedly and Max doesn’t even flinch so maybe all this unofficial immersion therapy is helping. She leans into him gently, and Steve wraps an arm around her until Max can rest her head on his shoulder. It’s the most she’s let him touch her in a while, and Steve’s about to ask what changed when Max speaks quietly, and Steve’s stomach drops somewhere around his toes.
“I’m sorry we missed your birthday, Steve.”
“Please don’t apologize, Max. I couldn’t fucking stand that, not after everything you’ve been through the last year.”
“We’re not talking about me, doofus, we’re talking about you. And you’ve been through shit too, Steve.”
“Yeah but not like–” Steve swallows heavily, the last few years flashing through his mind like slides on a projector. “Don’t feel sorry for me, Max.”
“I don’t.” She straightens, head turning his way, and Steve’s a fucking coward because he still can’t meet her eyes, even when she can’t see him clearly. “I’m not pitying you, Steve. You’re my friend, you’re– yeah. And I forgot your birthday. You deserve an apology, so accept my apology, asshole.”
“Watch it with the language, Red.” It’s a knee jerk reaction, just to get the sadness out of her voice, but Max smiles anyway. “You’re forgiven, okay? Just stop. You and Eddie… It’s not that big a deal. So you missed one birthday, you’re hardly– Listen, I know assholes, and you two are far from it.”
Steve’s not sure what he’s trying to say, but Max apparently does. “And you are? I know what I just said but I was kidding, Steve. You’re not an asshole.”
“Yes I am.” He’s surprised that he says it, voice quiet as he stares at the kids gathered around the table. He didn’t mean to say it.
Steve looks down to find Max staring at him, her mouth in a tight line and Steve feels like he has to explain. “I treated Nancy terribly, I was even worse to Jonathan. I got Robin involved with the freaking Russians, and I couldn’t– I couldn’t even keep Billy off you and Lucas. You had to do that by yourself just like you’ve done everything else, huh Max? I’m just–”
He looks back at the kids, his stomach twisting painfully. “I’m just the asshole you guys keep around to give you rides and fight monsters. So you forgot my birthday. Maybe I deserved it.”
“Steve–”
But he’s already getting to his feet, dangerously on the edge of crying and he refuses to humiliate himself further today. He makes some vague excuse about forgetting to do something at the house, assuring them he’ll be back to pick them up in a couple hours, and then he’s in the beemer, his wheels practically spinning on the gravel “road” as he takes off. Steve doesn’t look back, his eyes focused on the road ahead as he drives. When the turn for his neighborhood comes up he skips it, pressing down on the accelerator as he passes. He drives further and further out of town until the burning in his eyes gets too bad and he pulls off the road. The car idles, the sun shining through his windows, and Steve cries until he feels like he can’t breathe. When he’s done he flips a u-turn in the middle of the highway, and heads back toward Hawkins.
–--
There’s no sign of the kids when he returns to Eddie’s, even the bikes are gone, so he makes the safe assumption that the nerd meeting is over. He’s a little miffed that they left when they knew he was coming back, but he’s not disappointed about the empty car. At least now he doesn’t have to explain his little outburst. With his stomach finally settled Steve realizes he’s hungry, so he stops at the (now, only) burger joint on his way home, grabbing fries and a burger to go. He should probably make himself dinner, after the money he spent on the pizza, and with Joyce’s lasagna barely eaten in the fridge, but Steve doesn’t really care. If he’s going to spend another night in that empty house he’s at least going to do it with a burger, fries, and his ever-present Coke.
There’s a note taped to the door, and Steve pulls it off when he gets close enough to unlock it. He drops his keys in the bowl by the door, and heads for the kitchen, placing the takeout bag on the counter. As he pulls a plate down from the cabinet (dishes, he should really do dishes) he finally unfolds the note and takes a look.
Byers’ house, 7:00 o’clock. Don’t be late.
It’s not signed, but Steve recognizes Eddie’s messy handwriting as well as his own these days, and no one else orders him around quite like Eddie. (Dustin orders him around too, but not in a way Steve enjoys. Not that he enjoys Eddie ordering him around just– Never mind.) Steve sticks the note to the counter, glancing over at the clock on the oven as he puts his burger and fries on the plate. Little over an hour to eat before he has to head out again. Steve resolves to shower as well, just to make sure there’s no residual puffiness to his cheeks.
He ends up pulling up to the Byers’ new house a few minutes late, but Eddie can fight him or whatever. While their first house had been smaller and less… aesthetically pleasing, the Byers family now had two additional Hopper members, which had required a larger abode. Plus, with Hopper’s sheriff salary, and their combined government hush money, he and Joyce had been able to afford something a bit nicer, that probably allowed Elle some much needed privacy from her “brothers.” Steve’s house was still the preferred gathering place for Party get togethers, but they’d all attended a Sunday dinner or two here, now that Joyce had the room to entertain like she wanted to. The Byers house was always warmer and more welcoming than Steve’s own, filled with a feeling of it actually being lived in, unlike Steve’s monument to his absent parents.
Steve barely knocks before the door is opening. “Steve, sweetheart, good to see you.”
“Good to see you too, Mrs. Byers.” Joyce pulls him into a tight hug, forcing the words out of him with an exhale.
“Joyce, please. After all this it’s Joyce.” She looks up at him, smiling, and Steve doesn’t understand how a woman with so much fight can be so small. “Did you get my lasagna? I didn’t realize it was your birthday or I would have sent it with a card. I’m sorry sweet–”
“It’s fine, Joyce. Thank you for the lasagna, it was great.” Steve smiles, in a way he hopes feels natural, and takes a step back, like he can physically avoid her apology.
Leave it to Joyce to find a way regardless. She takes hold of his face gently, tipping it down until he meets her eyes. “I’m sorry I missed your birthday, sweetheart. It won’t happen again.”
There’s a lump in Steve’s throat, too big to swallow around, so instead he just nods silently.
“Mom!” The yell is hushed, but Steve’s pretty sure it’s Will.
“I’m taking too long.” Joyce rolls her eyes affectionately, pulling Steve inside and shutting the door behind him. “They’re in the kitchen.”
Joyce gives him a little push, and Steve heads in the right direction. The house is surprisingly dark, and there’s no sign of the rest of the Hopper-Byers clan anywhere. He’s about to worry that something’s wrong when he finally comes into view of the kitchen and the lights flick on with a loud “SURPRISE!” Everyone, and he does mean everyone, is there. Max, Elle, and Erica (the shortest) are near the front, the boys behind them. Nancy, Jonathan, Robin and Eddie make the next row, with Hopper shoved a bit to the side and in the corner of his own kitchen, a big grin on his face. Steve’s jaw drops in surprise, and he’s just about picked it back up when Joyce arrives behind him, placing a warm hand on his back. He glances down at her before back out to the group, his heart racing in his chest.
“What’re you guys–”
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, STEVE!” Their yells are cacophonous, and clearly Erica agrees, clapping her hands over her ears and forcing a laugh out of Steve.
He can feel his cheeks heating with a blush, glancing around at them all. There’s a bit of jostling and then Elle steps forward, a large cake in her hands. There’s a few candles and the words “Happy Birthday Steve” in the very middle, written out in terrible handwriting. Steve can’t help grinning down at it as, to his absolute horror, they all begin to sing. His eyes widen as he takes them all in: the small smile on Max’s face, Dustin’s arm around Lucas as they sway side to side, Eddie’s (actually melodic) voice rising above the rest, and Hopper, with something that looks like pride in his eyes. Steve can feel that familiar burning at the corners of his eyes, and dammit he could have sworn that was all finished this afternoon. As the song finally ends they all stare at him expectantly and Steve meets Elle’s eyes.
“Happy Birthday, Steve. We love you. Make a wish.”
She says it in that way that leaves no room for argument, and so Steve closes his eyes, thinking for a moment, before he leans forward and blows them all out in one go. Cheers go up around the group and then they’re all rushing forward to hug him, quiet apologies for his ears only, and repeating Elle’s words. Love you. Happy Birthday. By the time Hopper gets to him Steve knows he’s crying, and the big (though smaller now) man pulls him into a tight hug. Steve lets his tears wet Hopper’s shirt as Hopper rubs a hand over his back, before cradling Steve’s head against his chest. He can’t remember the last time his father touched him, let alone hugged him like this, and Steve feels a fresh wave of tears overcome him. At some point Hopper finally holds him out at arm’s length and Steve finds that Hopper’s own cheeks are a little wet.
“Happy Birthday, kid. You’re a good man.”
“Oh fuck you, Hop.” Steve swipes at his eyes, laughing wetly, and a few of the others join in.
“Cake.” Joyce announces, shoving a plate into Steve’s hand, and just like that the spell is broken.
Steve manages to get a hold of himself as he and the others dig in. The cake’s his favorite–chocolate with vanilla icing–and when he asks Joyce how she knew she points over at Robin, who smiles sheepishly. Apparently Steve had mentioned it one time, in passing, and Robin’s big brain had filed that away until it was needed later. It was the kind of thing Steve wouldn’t have expected anyone to know or remember, but apparently Robin did. Between bites he asks Elle about her trip (as Mike skulks around the kitchen), laughing as her eyes grow bright and her stories turn fantastical. Steve has no doubt Disneyland is a magical place, but maybe not quite as magical as Elle describes. Hopper nods along like every word is the god’s honest truth, and Steve can’t help thinking, again, that Elle really lucked out in the dad lottery. Although, in a way, they all kind of had.
He asks Nancy and Jonathan about school, coincidentally home for the weekend. Nancy does her best to convince him, again, that Steve could more than handle the rigors of college but Steve waves her off. School was not his thing. It never had been and it never would be, but Steve was good. He had Robin, and Family Video. And when she left he’d find something else, something he could be good at (or at least pretend to be good at). Hopper kept threatening to enroll him in the police academy, if for no other reason than to keep him out of trouble, and Eddie was bound to become manager at All Wrapped Up when the 17 year old shithead graduated in June. Eddie would give him a job, if he needed one. Jonathan shakes his head, sharing a knowing smile with Steve, and it’s the kind of comradery Steve never would have expected a year or two ago, but now cherished.
At some point it all starts to become a little much, the people touching him and expressing gratitude for him, so Steve sets his plate on the counter and slips outside. They’re a large enough group that he seems to make it unseen, so he stands in the backyard with his eyes closed, taking a deep breath or two. He’s just opening his eyes to glance up at the stars when the back door opens, and he turns to find Eddie emerging. The other man slips his hands in his pockets as he approaches Steve, coming to a stop next to him and tipping his own eyes up to the stars. Steve follows suit, both of them staring up silently for what feels like a long time, the warmth of Eddie’s body almost leaching into Steve’s even as they stand not quite touching each other. His heart rate had just started to slow, but in Eddie’s presence it speeds up again, Steve’s palms beginning to sweat where they rest at his sides. He used to be cool, what the hell happened to him?
“Max told us what you said.” Eddie’s voice is soft, and Steve shivers. “That can’t really be what you think of yourself, Steve.”
Steve keeps his eyes facing up, and Eddie does the same. “What if it is, Eds?”
“Then you’re wrong. Absolutely fucking wrong, dude.” Eddie’s answer is immediate, his voice forceful, and Steve almost flinches.
Eddie must see the way Steve’s eyes close briefly, breath caught in his chest, because he reaches for Steve’s hand slowly, giving it a squeeze and waiting until Steve’s eyes meet his before continuing.
“Steve, you’re the glue that holds this all together. Elle might be the brawn, and Dustin might be the brains, but you’re the hero, Steve. We’re all standing here because of you.”
Steve shakes his head, quick and resolute, tears in his eyes. “I’m not a hero, Eddie.”
“Goddamnit, you are stubborn.” Eddie lets out a sigh and reaches for Steve’s face, trapping it between his hands. “Steven Middle Name Harrington, you listen to me. We love you. All of us. Not because you give us rides, or you’re handy in a fight. We love you because you’re brave. Because you admit when you’re wrong and you change. You change for us, Stevie, because you love us too. Admit it. Admit you love us.”
Steve laughs wetly. “I love you guys.”
“Thank you.”
Eddie smiles at him, and that warmth fills his belly again. The two of them stare at each other, Steve’s face still cradled in Eddie’s hands. They’re warm hands, the coolness of Eddie’s rings a stark difference as Steve feels his skin heat. Eddie’s eyes rove over Steve’s face, like he’s cataloging every mole and tear track, until Steve feels utterly exposed in front of him. They’ve been dancing around each other for so long Steve can’t remember the last time he really looked at Eddie like this, for longer than a glance, taking his fill until he’s full. Eddie’s eyes are dark but so warm, his curls framing his face gently, and Steve has the almost uncontrollable urge to brush a curl behind the other man’s ear. Steve had no explanation for it, but now he couldn’t understand how he’d ever looked at Eddie Munson and not realized how fucking beautiful he was. How he shone like a fucking star in the darkness.
Steve swallows. “What’d you wish for, Eds? On your birthday.”
“You looking for suggestions?” Eddie’s voice hides a laugh, and Steve wants to find it.
Steve shrugs. “Maybe I wished for the wrong thing.”
“Not possible, Stevie. If you wished for it, it must be the right thing.”
The wind whispers through the trees, and Steve tries to pluck up every bit of courage in his body, remembering how Eddie called him brave, and trying to be. Maybe their dance is finally done. Steve wants it to be done. So badly.
“I wished for you, Eddie.” It’s barely a breath, caught up by the wind and blown away just as quickly.
But Eddie smiles, and that warmth slides all the way down to Steve’s toes. “Oh. That’s definitely the right thing.”
Eddie leans forward, lifting Steve’s head until their lips are barely touching, until Steve has shivers running down his back, and then he whispers, for only Steve and the stars to hear.
“I wished for you too, Steve.”