Archive of Our Own

“There are people who leave and people who know how to be left.”

—Elena Ferrante, The Story of a New Name

December 23rd, 1991. 7 pm

He’s sitting in his car. Last Christmas is playing tinny on the radio, and he turns the volume down because George Michael always makes him think of hazel eyes and soft lips, and he really doesn’t need to be thinking about him right now. Not when he’s probably already inside, chatting up the others. 

He should have stayed at home. He should have made up an excuse, like he’s done every time Dustin asked him to come and celebrate with them. But Hanukkah fell early this year, so he had the time, and despite everything, he’s missed being with his friends. So, here he is, with a bottle of store-bought wine and a bag with presents on the passenger seat. No going back.

He’s staring at the red and green Christmas lights adorning the facade of the Byers-Hopper house, and while it’s not exactly the white picket fence at the end of the culdesac, it looks more like a family home than those houses ever did to him. He can see Max and Lucas singing to each other in the window, and the sight makes his heart ache for a simpler time. He sighs, turns off the engine, and gets out of his car. The cold air bites at his face and he tugs his scarf up, hiding behind it, as he walks a few feet from the car to the porch. There’s a pine wreath on the door, adorned with red berries and pinecones. In the dim light from the lamp next to the door, he can spot the glue on the pines, but it just adds to its charm, and makes him smile despite the dread in his stomach.

He cradles the bottle of wine closer to his chest as he rings the doorbell with the hand holding the bag. He hears voices on the other side, then the doorknob clicks, and Joyce opens the door with a smile so bright and warm it could make the snow melt. He shyly smiles back with a:

“Hey, Joyce.”

“Eddie! You made it!”

“I said I would come, didn’t I?” he says, feeling a blush spread on his cheeks behind the scarf.

“Is that Eddie?” A voice from the next room, then Dustin comes running out into the hall, and his face lights up as soon as his eyes land on him. He slams into him, and because he’s heavier at twenty than he was at fifteen, Eddie stumbles back a bit at the force.

“Whoa, easy,” he says, smile growing, the warmth finally taking root in his chest. He gives Dustin a half-hug with his free arm.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Dustin says stepping away from him and meeting his gaze.

“Me, too,” Eddie says bashfully. “But can we catch up inside? I’m freezing my ass off out here,” he says, and Dustin lets out a laugh and beckons him inside with a bow and a dramatic wave of his arms.

“Your highness,” he says.

“Thank you, squire,” Eddie says, cheeks hurting from smiling so much, and enters the hall. He hands the bottle and bag to Joyce, who takes them into the kitchen, shrugs off Wayne’s jacket, which he borrowed last winter and forgot to return, and his scarf, and hangs them on the hooks in the hallway. He’s in the middle of taking off his boots when Lucas and Mike run out into the hall and step up to hug him, but Dustin steps in between them like a bodyguard.

“Give the man some space, he just got in,” he says, and Mike rolls his eyes at him while Lucas lets out a snort.

“Oh so you can hug him but we can’t?” Mike asks.

“Yes. Because I’m his favorite,” Dustin says.

“I don’t play favorites,” Eddie says, putting his arms around all three boys and ruffling Mike’s hair with his hand.

“But if I did, Max would win,” he says, as the redhead comes to stand in the doorway. He gives her a wink and she answers by rolling her eyes, a smirk playing on her lips. This prompts an uproar of protests from the boys. He shoves them away playfully. 

Nancy sticks her head in the doorway. 

“Oh, you came,” she says flatly.

“Happy to see you too, Wheeler. How’s Boston?”

“Cold,” she says with a thin smile.

“Ever the conversationalist, Nancy.”

She rolls her eyes, but a small smirk plays on her lips. 

“Stop loitering in the hallway,” she says and dips back out.

“You heard the woman. Go on, get,” Eddie says, shoving the boys in front of him and into the living room.

The walls are decked out with paper snowflakes and Santas and other miscellaneous decorations, and, in the corner, towering like a giant, is a bushy Christmas tree, the tinsel and mismatched baubles making the branches bend. He spots Jonathan on the couch, talking with Hopper, who’s nursing a beer as he speaks. Nancy sits down next to Robin on the other couch, and drops right back into their conversation. And of course, he’s here too, sitting on the other side of Robin with his arms spread on the back, facing away from the doorway. As if sensing Eddie looking at him, he looks over his shoulder and gives him a smile that makes Eddie freeze where he stands, his heart caught up in his throat, ice in his stomach as he feels like he’s falling into a bottomless pit.

“Hey, Eddie,” Steve says, “How you’ve been?”

June, 1986

Indiana summers are always hot and unforgiving, but something about this particular one makes Eddie want to crawl out of his skin. Maybe it’s the healing demobat bites, making his skin itch under his swim shorts, made worse by the chlorine from Steve’s pool. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s at Steve’s pool at all, and not dead in another dimension, that he’s alive to feel the sun shining down on him, warming him. Or maybe, it’s the fact that every time he looks over, Steve is already looking at him over the rim of his sunglasses, and it’s a look that makes him hotter than the sun ever could.

He can practically feel it on his skin, the way his eyes trace him, study him, watch him. He’s not used to it. These days, most people ignore him, maybe spare a glance and cross the street. On a good day. On a bad day, they’re cursing him under their breath in the line at Melvald’s, or chucking paint at him as they drive by in their car. But they never look at him.

But Steve does.

And it’s unnerving, in the same way a gate on his ceiling was unnerving, in the same way jumping into a dark lake and coming up on the other side to a different dimension was unnerving. It fills him with dread and scratches at his ribcage, like a dog begging to be let out.

And he’s afraid that if he lets it out, if he lets Steve in , he’ll get hurt. He’s already hurting. He doesn’t think he can handle Steve Harrington breaking his heart. He just might fall apart.

But like a moth drawn to a flame, in the end, he can’t help himself, because he always has to push, push until he reaches the edge, and then a little further, just to see what’s on the other side. Just to see what happens.

He gets up and goes into the kitchen, mumbling something about getting ice for his lemonade, that’s been sitting half-empty on the small table for the last ten minutes while he’s been watching Steve watching him. Robin hums, not looking up from her book, and the kids are too busy playing in the pool to notice either way.

He pretends he doesn’t hear Steve go in after him.

He opens the freezer, shuffling around for the ice cubes, and when he finally locates the tray, he closes it again and turns around, and bumps right into Steve’s chest.

“Sorry, I was just—” he sputters, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks, gaze averting Steve’s. 

“I just wanted a soda. From the fridge?” Steve says, and Eddie looks at him in confusion, before it gets through, and he steps away.

“Right, sorry,” he says. The frostbite on the ice tray makes his fingertips numb, as he restlessly drums them against it, watching Steve open the fridge and take out a can of Coke. Waiting.

Steve closes the fridge and leans against the kitchen island, one hand spread on the dark marble, the other holding the can, index finger tapping against it. His shoulders are sunkissed and damp, and he’s practically glowing as he stands there, with sunglasses pushed up in his hair, wearing a coy smile on his lips. Eddie can see his eyes trailing him, just like they did by the pool.

Watching. Waiting.

Eddie has still to put the cubes in his glass. Steve hasn’t opened his can.

It’s like a standoff from one of Wayne's westerns, each waiting for the other to make the first move, but Eddie doesn’t think he can do it. He’s always been a coward. If Steve wants it, he can do it. But Eddie won’t. He won’t—

He takes a step closer to Steve, despite himself, like a rusty nail pulled by a magnet, it’s out of his control. His body won’t listen to him, won’t stop despite the red lights blinking in his head.

He steps to the edge.

Steve puts down the can and leans away from the island. His hand ghosts over Eddie’s sore waist for just a moment, before he grabs him, firmly but soft, and pulls him in. Eddie’s eyes flicker between his lips and his eyes, finally landing on the former. Steve leans in and stops just an inch before he meets Eddie’s lips.

Eddie jumps over the edge.

The ice tray lands on the floor, ice cubes clattering around them as he grabs Steve’s face and meets his lips in a kiss. He’s hot, sweat is sticking to his skin, and so is Steve, and it should be too much for him, it should make him burn up, but he finds that he doesn’t mind it at all. He lets himself get swallowed by the flame.

He doesn’t know how long they stay there, most likely a few minutes, but it feels like hours. When they come back to the pool, Robin is still there, still reading her book, and the kids are still playing in the water, but Eddie feels different. Lighter. As if he’s finally put down the weight that he’s been carrying around for the last couple of months. He meets Steve’s gaze, and can’t help the shy smile spreading on his lips, and Steve returns it with a smirk.

Later, when the sun has set, the kids have left, and Robin is snoring in the guest bedroom, he sneaks into Steve’s room. Steve’s sitting in his bed, as if he’s been expecting him, and wordlessly lifts up his covers, inviting Eddie in. He spends all night exploring every inch of Steve’s body with his mouth, and when the sun comes up, he knows it like his own.

Dec 23rd, 1991. 7:30 pm

Steve watches Eddie nursing a glass of red wine in the kitchen with Joyce, animatedly telling her a story, waving his hands as he talks, making the wine almost spill several times. His heart skips a beat in his chest when Eddie looks over and quickly looks away again, seemingly determined to pretend he’s not there. When he’d asked him how he’s been, all he got was a muttered “fine” as an answer, before Eddie fled to the kitchen to catch up with Joyce. Max joins them now, sipping on a Coke he saw her spike with rum from a flask earlier, and lets out a laugh when Eddie makes a gesture.

“Earth to Steve, hello?”

Robin waves a hand in front of him, snapping him out of it. He clears his throat and adjusts the glasses on his nose. He meets Robin’s gaze, putting on an annoyed frown.

“What?”

“Are you going to stare at him all night or are you going to do something about it?”

Steve feels a blush rise in his cheeks as Nancy and Robin both give him an expectant look. He tuts. “He won’t even look at me, Rob. What makes you think he’d want to talk to me?”

She shrugs. “It has been five years.”

“Right. Five years where we haven’t spoken to each other. It’s a miracle he’s even showed up, considering he always cops out on the holidays.”

“He has an uncle, though.”

“Who lives twenty minutes away. He could at least drop by.” Steve crosses his arms and legs, sipping on his glass of wine. “Just because he hates me doesn’t mean he has to make the kids miss him.”

“You mean the twenty-year-olds spiking their sodas in the corner?”

Steve rolls his eyes at her. “Point is, it’s his problem. If he doesn’t want to talk to me, fine. I don’t care. Let him be prissy.”

“Then why are you staring at him?”

He splutters. “I am not—” 

“Oh, but you are,” Robin says, poking him in the arm.

“Try to be a little less obvious about it. It’s unbecoming,” Nancy says, smirking over the rim of her own glass of wine.

Steve sends her a dirty look.

“Funny, coming from you, considering that last Christmas—”

Nancy gives him a glare that tells him to keep his mouth shut.

“What happened last Christmas?” Robin asks innocently, looking between the two of them. She had been at her parents' Christmas Day and had only come over on the 26th for lunch.

“Well, you see Nancy here,” Steve begins.

“Stop talking.”

“—had a little too much of the mulled wine and—”

“Steve, I’m warning you.”

“performed the loveliest rendition of a certain Christmas classic, and then she took off her—”

Nancy leaps forward to put a hand on his mouth and shut him up, but in the process she spills Robins’s wine all over Steve’s lap, prompting both of them to yelp. She leans back, face reddening in embarrassment.

“Shit, sorry.”

“Seriously, Nance? This is my nice pair of pants.”

“Sorry,” she repeats meekly. “Let me get something—”

“No, no it’s fine, I’ll just go change. Jesus, if you didn’t want me to tell her you could have just said so,” Steve says with a smirk.

“I did!”

“Water under the bridge,” he says amiably, “I forgive you.”

Nancy sputters, face now as red as the wine in her glass, and if looks could kill, Steve would have dropped dead then and there. Instead, he just sends her a mockingly sweet smile and goes into Jonathan’s room down the hall to put on a pair of clean pants. Good thing he packed five more.

He’s zipping up the fly on his blue Levi’s when the door opens and Eddie pokes his head in, his face immediately reddening.

“Sorry, I was just—”

“Eddie, don’t be ridiculous, you’ve seen me without pants on before.”

Eddie mutters something under his breath and enters the room carrying his black duffle bag, pointedly avoiding Steve’s gaze as he drops on the floor next to one of the mattresses that Jonathan has set up for them. He’s about to walk out again, but Steve’s not letting him get away that easily. He grabs his wrist, and Eddie halts, his back turned to him, neck reddening underneath his black curls.

“Steve, let go.”

“Why are you avoiding me?” Steve asks.

Eddie lets out a dry laugh. “Are you seriously asking me this?”

“Yes, I am.”

Eddie finally looks up at him, eyes burning with anger. “Take a wild guess, Steven . Could it be because you haven’t spoken to me in five years and when you finally see me you ask me ‘how I’ve been’ instead of, oh, I don’t know, apologizing for calling me a, what was it? ‘Selfish asshole’?”

“Eddie, I didn’t—”

“Oh, but you did. And you broke my fucking heart, too, Steve. So sorry if I haven’t wished you happy holidays.”

“Eds, come on—” Steve puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t—” Eddie flinches away from him and yanks his wrist free, clutching it to his chest.

“Don’t call me ‘Eds’. And don’t touch me, just— Keep to your side of the room and I’ll keep to mine, and maybe we can get through this civilly.”

“Eddie, please, I’m sorry—”

“Your fly is down, by the way.”

And with that, he storms out of the room, leaving Steve standing in the middle, with his fly still down.

He spends the rest of the evening doing as he’s told, keeping to his side of the room, talking to Robin or Nancy, or one of the kids who migrate between them like they’re two poles on opposite ends of the Earth. It’s unspoken, but he can tell they’re disappointed, especially Dustin, who keeps calling out to the other when he’s talking to one of them, constantly on the move between the two camps. And it isn’t for a lack of trying on Steve's side, but there’s only so much he can do with cold shoulders and even colder looks. Despite the fire in the hearth and his knitted sweater, he finds himself shivering the few times he does manage to catch Eddie's fleeting gaze. And it doesn’t help either that Last Christmas keeps blaring through the speakers from a mixtape that keeps getting rewound and put back in.

Oh, George, we’re really in it now , he thinks wistfully, as he pours himself another glass of wine in the kitchen. He can hear him hit the high notes through the open door, sets down the bottle on the table, and takes a big sip from his half-full glass. 

“Drinking alone in the kitchen? That’s depressing, even for you.”

He looks up to see Max in the doorway, Coke can still in hand. He’s pretty sure it’s all alcohol at this point.

“Well, at least I don’t have to spike my soda with cheap rum,” he says, his face hot from the alcohol, his mind buzzing lightly. It’s his fifth glass—no, his sixth. Honestly, who cares at this point? He just doesn’t want to be sober while in the same room as Eddie.

“Nice,” Max says dryly, stepping in and leaning against the counter across from him. “Got any more zingers or are you all out?” she asks, sipping on her can as she eyes him.

“No, that was it,” Steve says.

“That’s what I thought. And for the record, it’s whiskey.”

“Gross, Max.”

“Hey, it’s all Hopper had.”

“You stole from Hopper’s stash?” Steve exclaims incredulously. Max shushes him.

“I didn’t steal…well, I did. But it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, so…besides, they’re all in on it. You think Mike would leave me alone if he knew I had alcohol?”

“They're all— Jesus Christ.” Steve drags a hand down his face with a sigh.

“And it’s not like Joyce doesn’t know. If even you noticed it, she probably has too, and she hasn’t said anything. So...”

Steve gives her a look. Max shrugs.

“Why are you sulking in the kitchen, anyway? I thought you loved all this.”

“I am not sulking—” Steve begins to protest, but even to him, it sounds unconvincing.

“Looks like sulking to me. And it also looks like the beginning of a serious alcohol problem, so it’s probably best if I take that off your hands,” Max says, and leans over to grab the bottle behind Steve. He watches with his mouth slightly open as she puts it to her can and pours, not spilling a drop, as if she’s done it a hundred times. She puts it to her lips and takes a sip, and immediately makes a face.

“Eugh.”

“Wine and whiskey don’t mix?” Steve asks with a smirk.

“Definitely not. But, beggars can’t be choosers.” She shrugs and takes another, slower, sip.

“For the record, you stole that bottle. I didn’t see anything,” Steve says. Max smirks.

“See, I knew you were cool. Should have asked you to buy us something.”

“That’s pushing it.”

Max rolls her eyes. “Oh, please, as if you weren’t drinking at our age”

“Do as I say, not as I do,” Steve says, smiling despite himself.

“Spoilsport. Anyway, stop sulking about your ex-boyfriend and come back out.”

“I told you, I’m not—”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re not sulking and I’m not drinking whiskey from a can, we get it.”

She grabs his hands and pulls him from the counter and out into the living room again.

“Watch this,” she says, eyes glistening mischievously as she goes over to the speakers and exchanges the tape with another that she pulls out from her pocket. She presses play, and a familiar synth intro plays from the stereo. 

“Turn around

Look at what you see”

Steve’s eyes land on Dustin’s face, who looks like he’s seen a demogorgon tear apart his cat, his cheeks getting redder by the second.

Max begins to sing to the chorus, and Lucas joins her immediately, then Will, as if they’ve practiced it.

“Make believe I'm everywhere

Given in the light

Written on the pages”

They half-sing half-laugh their way through the lyrics, and when the final line comes they look at Dustin and sing to him, pretending to swoon.

“Is the answer to a neverending story

Ah”

Steve fears that Dustin’s head just might explode.

“Every year you do this,” Dustin yells over the music, “and every year, it’s just as unfunny as the last.”

“Sorry, what was that?” Max asks, dancing in front of the stereo, spinning Will and Lucas under her arms. “I can’t hear you, Dusty-bun, you have to speak up!”

“Fuck you guys,” Dustin says, annoyed but resigned to his fate. Steve shakes his head. It’s a tradition at this point, and while he expects it, it’s still just as funny every time, because Dustin always reacts like this. It’s stupid, but it’s all in good fun, and besides, the kids survived the apocalypse and fought monsters, they can be stupid if they want to. Once again, his gaze finds its way to Eddie, who’s watching the scene unfold next to Dustin, with an amused smirk, not entirely understanding the joke. He ruffles Dustin’s curls and whispers something in his ear, which makes Dustin’s frown turn into a half-smile.

As if sensing him looking, Eddie looks up and meets his gaze, but instead of looking away immediately like he’s done all night, he keeps it, looking back defiantly. Suddenly, the room melts away, and it’s just the two of them, stuck in a standoff like so many times before. Steve knows he can’t read his thoughts, but he hopes they’re painted on his face, in his look.

I’m sorry.

I miss you.

Stay.

Whatever Eddie is able to interpret, it’s not good enough for him, and he looks away again, hiding behind his glass. Steve feels a cord tie around his heart, and his lungs, choking him, and his head starts to spin. Tears burn behind his eyes, and he rushes out of the room before they spill over. He gets to the bathroom just in time and cries silently leaning against the door. He gives himself a minute to let it all out, because he has to get it out of his system now, before it grows into something he can’t tame. He splashes cold water on his face and smiles at his reflection.

It looks fake. Too tight, too toothy, like a desperate car salesman trying to sell the shitty lemon collecting dust in the lot. He looks like he’s in pain, which isn’t that far from the truth. The cord around his heart tightens.

He has to get over it. He’s had five years to get over it. And he’s been perfectly fine for all of them only sparing Eddie a thought once a year, during the holidays, when his absence felt like a gaping hole in the floor no one wanted to acknowledge.

And now he’s here. And there’s no hole, except for the one in Steve’s stomach, eating away at him until there’s nothing left but guilt and shame.

But he has to smile. For the kids.

He walks out of the bathroom and back to the party. And he doesn’t look at Eddie the rest of the night. At least, he tries not to.

July, 1986

Eddie’s hair is tickling his neck as he’s leaning over him on the bed, his mouth warm and wet against his own, his lips are almost numb from making out for the better part of an hour, and his hands are roaming underneath Eddie’s t-shirt, trailing his skin, careful around the scars.

It’s been a month since they’ve kissed in his kitchen, a month of sneaking around and hooking up in his car like horny teenagers, a month of making out in Eddie’s bed, making love in Eddie’s bed, practically living in Eddie’s bed.

It’s new and bigger than his old one, which got taken away by the government after spring break, together with their whole trailer. They found a new one quickly enough and paid it off with the hush money, and it’s bigger and brighter, and Wayne works twelve-hour shifts, so when Steve gets the chance, he comes over. And sometimes, he doesn’t leave for days. If Wayne has noticed, he doesn’t comment on it, though he has cornered him once in the kitchen, and given him a talking-to. He doesn’t have to worry though, Steve would never break Eddie’s heart.

Because Steve is in love.

He always does this, falls hard and fast, all in, all the time, giving his heart away to the first and the best. He did it with Nancy, and he paid the price. But this feels different. It feels different because Eddie returns his love with vigor, like a starved man finally eating, like he will never get tired of him. And Steve just feels loved . 

Eddie pulls away and looks down at him, his hair like a curtain between them and the world, the afternoon sun shining through the strands, illuminating his face in a soft glow. Steve doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything more beautiful.

“I love you.”

It comes out before he can catch it. But it’s true. He’s known it for a while now, been wanting to say it for a while, too. Even had a whole plan, involving a home-cooked dinner,  a movie, and candles.

“You do?” Eddie asks incredulously, a small confused smirk on his lips.

“Yeah. I do,” Steve says, and then, remembering Nancy, he adds “you don’t have to say it back, I just—”

“I love you, too,” Eddie says, smiling shyly, all dimples and flushed cheeks. Steve could kiss him. And he does, again and again, and turns them around and pins him to the mattress, and shows him exactly how much, just to make a point.

Afterward, they’re lying next to each other, naked under the covers, and Steve swears he can see stars on the ceiling. He takes a minute to catch his breath and ride out the high. When he feels the desire return in his stomach, he turns to Eddie with a smirk.

“Wanna go again?”

Eddie lets out a laugh, and leans in to kiss him.

He takes that as a ‘yes’.

Dec 24th, 1991. 12:10 am

He’s lying on the mattress in Jonathan’s room, watching the shadows dance on the ceiling. Jonathan is sleeping soundlessly in his bed and Steve is snoring lightly on the mattress next to him. It shouldn’t bother him as much as it does, it’s just a snore, and it’s not even that loud, but it just reminds him too much of those other nights, the ones where they used to sleep in the same bed, wake up next to each other. He turns over, trying to close his ears with the pillow but even then, it’s not enough. He can’t handle being this close to him.

So, he takes his pillow and blanket and goes into the living room, and throws them on the couch. He smokes a quick cigarette out on the porch because Joyce told him they try not to smoke so much inside anymore, shivering in the cold winter night and cursing Steve’s name, the smoke from his mouth coming out in shaky plumes.

Eventually, he falls asleep on the couch, wakes up just past six, and sneaks back into the room, to avoid Joyce’s worried gaze.

11 am

“Eddie, can you pass me the maple syrup?”

The chatter around the breakfast table cuts off, like someone turned down the volume too fast on the stereo. The only sound is the radio, playing faintly from the kitchen. 

Eddie won’t look at him, he won’t—

Eddie looks up at him. Steve is looking at him expectantly, with that unrelenting, determined look in his eyes that he always gets when there’s something he wants and he’s unwilling to give up before he gets it. Even if Eddie told him to leave him alone yesterday, Steve clearly doesn’t intend on giving up that easily. 

Eddie catches Dustin staring, his eyes flickering between them like he’s watching a tennis match. Robin’s fork is hovering halfway up to her mouth. Nancy is taking a long sip of her orange juice. Max is trying to burn a hole in Steve’s head with her eyes. El looks up from her Eggos, happily oblivious until the moment she notices the awkward silence, then her mouth forms a frown.

The maple syrup stands between Eddie and Will. Steve could have asked Will to pass it, but he didn’t. He asked Eddie. On purpose. 

Eddie just stares at him, doesn’t even move his hand to reach for the bottle, afraid that if he does, he’s going to throw it at Steve’s head. 

Thank God for Will Byers.

“Here you go, Steve,” Will says, and hands Steve the bottle. 

“Thank you, Will,” Steve says, and finally looks away from Eddie. The chatter resumes slowly, everyone eager to move on. Except for Eddie, who can’t look away from Steve. The irony is certainly not lost on him.

It pisses him off, because it feels like Steve’s won, because now he’s gotten Eddie’s attention, despite him being determined to ignore him since yesterday. Though, admittedly, trying to ignore Steve is like trying to ignore the sun. You can try your best to hide in the shadows, but its light will always find you. He wills his gaze away and tries to finish his scrambled eggs, even though he’s lost his appetite. He stabs his fork through his food in annoyance. Way to start the day , he thinks sardonically, hoping that that would be the extent of their interaction today.

He’d be hoping in vain.

After breakfast, Lucas proposes the genius idea to play capture the flag in the snow. It takes a bit of convincing from him and Max, but eventually, everyone but Hopper and Joyce is on board, the former citing his bad back and the latter being busy with preparing food for thirteen people for the feast this evening.

Eddie, personally, is not too thrilled about getting hit by snowballs, but he has a lot of catching up to do after five years of radio silence, so he agrees begrudgingly. Maybe he’ll get a chance to hit Steve in the face with a snowball. It won’t fix his broken heart, but it will certainly make him feel better.

They split into two teams, distributing the jocks evenly so that Lucas and Steve end up on opposite teams. Eddie joins Lucas, together with Max, Will, El, and Nancy. The rest of them—Dustin, Mike, Jonathan, and Robin—join Steve, and while they’re fewer, they have Steve and Robin, who know how to throw, so it seems fair enough, at least according to Lucas. 

Though once the game starts, it becomes pretty clear that Max and Lucas make a deadly combo, as they don’t hesitate to combine their attacks and dodge snowballs with ease. When Mike begins to whine about how unfair it is, he gets a snowball in his face, courtesy of Will.

It’s fun all around, at least when Eddie isn’t being hit, and when he is, he retaliates with double the force, hitting Jonathan right in the chest with a satisfied smirk.

But still, they need to get the other team’s flag (an old t-shirt in this case) to win. So, in true Nancy fashion, she devises a plan to ensure their victory.

While she and Lucas distract the others, Max, flanked by Eddie, will sneak past their defenses and get the flag, while Will and El stay behind to defend the base. It’s a perfect plan, playing to their strengths, only Nancy had forgotten to account for one tiny (or, not so tiny, really) thing: Steve Harrington.

Just as Max reaches their base, and Eddie takes out Dustin and Mike with two swift throws, clearing the path for her, he gets tackled to the ground by Steve, the sheer force of it knocking the air out of his lungs, the snow creeping its way in under his clothes, effectively soaking him.

“Get off me! That’s cheating!”

“Sorry, Eddie, but all is fair in love and war,” Steve says breathlessly above him. He has Eddie pinned to the ground with his weight, sitting on his stomach while his hands hold down Eddie’s wrists. Eddie looks up at him, at his cheeks, red from the cold, the snowflakes in his hair, rogue strands sticking to his forehead, and his breath catches in his throat, completely unrelated to the attack.

“I said: Get. Off,” he grunts, and takes a handful of snow and shoves it in Steve’s face.

“Hey!”

While Steve’s distracted, Eddie wiggles out from under him and pushes him off. Steve grabs his arm and yanks him back. Eddie feels adrenaline rush through his veins—he’s just about had it with him. 

“Let go of me!”

“No! I promised Mike to keep you away.”

“Oh, did you now?” Eddie says, reeling the anger back a little, but only a little. It’s just a game, after all. Or, it was. It’s not anymore. Not to him. He yanks his arm again, but Steve won’t let go, wearing that stupid smug smile on his face. Eddie wants to wipe it off with a fist. He gets his arm free and begins to run, but Steve catches up to him, and they wrestle in the snow. It gets everywhere, in his hair, under his jacket, even in his shoes, somehow. But Steve still doesn’t let go. 

He pins Eddie down again, exhaling clouds into the cold air between them.

“I hate you,” Eddie says, panting just as heavily.

“I know,” Steve says, a faint smile on his lips. Eddie wants to cry. He wants to cry because he’s soaked in snow, because his lungs burn, and because Steve is looking down at him with that stupid fond look on his face that makes Eddie’s heart claw at his ribcage like a rabid dog.

For a moment that feels like an eternity, he feels himself getting pulled in, like into a whirlpool, sinking deeper and deeper until all light disappears, and all that's left is Steve and his hazel eyes.

The reverie is broken when Max lets out a victorious cry, having made it safely back with the flag, despite him being indisposed.

“Looks like we won,” Eddie says.

“Looks like it, yeah.”

“You can get off me now, Steve,” he says, no malice behind it, just tired. His back aches. God, he’s too old for this shit.

“Right, yeah,” Steve says, gets up, and holds a hand up for Eddie to take. He does, and feels the warmth from Steve’s naked hand through his glove. He lingers for just a moment, then steps away averting his gaze again. 

“I think I’m gonna head back in,” he hears himself say. He’s tired, he’s freezing, and he could really use a mug of mulled wine. Or three.

“Yeah? I think I might too. My back is killing me.”

Eddie sighs, turning his back to him and beginning to walk away. “You can do whatever you want, Steve.”

After a hot shower and a change of clothes, Eddie bundles up with a blanket in the living room with a mug of mulled wine, courtesy of Joyce. He takes a sip, and the spicy alcohol warms his stomach as he watches the others play outside in the snow through the window. It makes his heart ache in that nostalgic way again, longing for a time before monsters and dead cheerleaders hovering on his ceiling, and the nightmares that followed. It helped getting out of Hawkins, away from the triggers, but even after five years, his breath still catches in his throat when the light flickers because of an old lightbulb, and he still wakes up once a week in cold sweat with Chrissy’s name on his lips, fighting the urge to pick up the phone and call someone, anyone, just to not be alone. 

“Ahem.”

Eddie could smell him before he cleared his throat. He could recognize his body wash everywhere—even after five years, he still uses the same one. 

“What do you want, Steve?” Eddie asks, slowly turning to look at him.

“I just—uh—I just want to talk.”

Eddie sighs, leans back against the arm of the couch, and motions for Steve to sit on the opposite end. He sits down, tugging a leg under himself. Eddie gives him a once over—the grey sweatpants, the green sweater, with a snowman on the front, the faint scar around his neck, the twin beauty marks on his left cheek, the ones he used to kiss every morning when they were together, the glasses, still fogged up from the shower. Those are new. They suit him, though they also make him look like a dorky substitute teacher.

“Talk,” Eddie says, taking a sip from his mug, hoping the alcohol will give him the patience to get through this. Though he suspects there’s not enough alcohol in the world to make him drunk enough for this.

“I’m sorry, Eddie,” Steve says, leaning in, his knee bumping against his own.

“You’ve said that already,” Eddie says, pulling the blanket closer to his chest with his free hand.

“And I meant it. I should have gone with you. Or, I don’t know, tried harder to get you back,” Steve says, fiddling with a loose string on the other end of the blanket.

“Well, I didn’t exactly make it easy for you,” Eddie says, averting his gaze.

“No, but still. I should have tried harder,” Steve presses.

“Hm.”

“They miss you, you know? The kids.”

Eddie looks up at him and meets his gaze. It’s soft and warm, like hot chocolate on a cold winter day. 

“Just the kids?” he asks.

Steve shakes his head, a shy smile on his lips. “No. I miss you, too.”

“Hm,” Eddie hums again, not really knowing what to do with himself. He takes another sip of his mug.

“Please, just— Stay. Okay? Just for Christmas. Don’t run away because you hate me,” Steve says, itching closer.

“I don’t—” Eddie sighs, looks down into his mug, “I don’t hate you. But you really hurt me, Steve. And yeah, maybe I overreacted a little, but it was my first heartbreak and it felt like the world was ending—and that’s saying something, considering I’ve actually seen the apocalypse.”

“I know, I know. And I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you, I just—” Steve cuts himself off with a frustrated sigh.

“You just what?” Eddie asks.

“I couldn’t leave them. I couldn’t leave, because if something happened and I wasn’t there I—” Steve chokes, shaking his head.

Eddie sighs. He knew this, of course, he had said the same back in ‘86. But he doesn’t want to rehash the old argument. He knows Steve can’t leave. He doesn’t expect him to. He’s made that mistake once. And yet, he’s sitting in front of him, telling him he should have fought harder, that he misses him, and it’s just—a lot. Too much. 

“I’ve read your book, you know,” Steve says, to fill out the silence that’s grown between them.

“You have?” Eddie asks, surprised. He never expected Steve to pick up a fantasy book, let alone one written by him.

“Yeah. I really liked the knight, what was his name…?”

“Fredrick?”

Steve nods. “Yeah, him.”

“Well, that figures, I based him off of you,” Eddie says, shyly averting his gaze again, taking another sip from his mug.

“You did?”

“He’s a knight with gorgeous hair and a hero complex, Steve,” Eddie says, quirking a brow. 

“Oh. Yeah, okay. Does that mean the rogue guy is based on you?” Steve asks, smirking.

“Rayner?”

“Yeah.”

“...Maybe,” Eddie says, hiding behind his mug again. He’ll need a refill soon.

“So, when they end up saving each other in the end and live together after the war, and never get married…?” Steve asks, smile growing.

“Well, I couldn’t make them get together officially, the publisher would never allow that. I mean, two guys kissing in a fantasy story? There'd be riots in the street,” Eddie says sardonically.

“Right.”

“That part was pure fantasy, though. Real life rarely has a happy ending.” Eddie looks pointedly at Steve, daring him to argue, wishing that he would.

“Yeah…” Steve sighs, averting his gaze for the first time.

“Anyway, what have you been up to?” Eddie asks, giving him an out.

“Working at Family Video.”

“Still?”

“Well, I’ve made manager,” Steve defends.

“Thrilling,” Eddie says dryly.

“Okay, so it’s not the same as being a successful writer—”

“Well, I’ve only published that one book—” Eddie cuts in.

“—but it’s a job. It keeps the roof over my head,” Steve continues over him, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“And are you happy?” Eddie asks.

“What do you mean?” Steve meets his gaze again, brows furrowed in confusion.

“I mean, are you happy?” Eddi asks again.

“I—I don’t—” Steve stutters.

“It’s a simple question, Steve.”

“Well, are you?” Steve asks, voice pitching.

“No,” Eddie says curtly.

“No?”

“I haven’t been happy since summer ‘86. But…being here, I do feel…content,” Eddie admits.

“Then stay. Stay in Hawkins,” Steve presses, and he doesn’t get it, does he?

“That’s not what I meant, Steve,” Eddie begins to explain, “I’m not happy in Hawkins , I’m happy here , in this house, with these people. It doesn’t matter where it is.”

“But—”

Eddie cuts him off, propelled by the wine, words spilling out of him before he can stop them: “Besides, they’re all off to college again after New Year’s, and then who’s left, Steve? What do you do when everyone leaves?”

“I—” Steve tries, but chokes again. Eddie shakes his head.

“They’ve all moved on with their lives. It’s time that you do, too,” he says, putting the empty mug down on the table. There, he said it. And incidentally, rehashed the old fight, even if it’s a lot quieter this time, and a lot less dramatic. What can he say? He’s tired. Tired of explaining it to Steve, again, having him beg him to stay, again, knowing full well that it’s never going to happen. Tired of having the same argument, five years later, of Steve acting exactly like he did back then, as if he hasn’t learned anything from it, hasn’t moved on. And he probably hasn’t. Eddie hasn’t either, not really. But he won’t fold. He knows he’s right, he’s always been right, and if Steve can’t see that, then there’s nothing left to talk about, not then, not now, and not in another five years. Steve can’t move on, forever stuck in the past, and Eddie needs to get away from it. They’re two cars heading in opposite directions. That’s how it was in ‘86, and that’s how it is now.

If Steve wants him so badly, he can turn his car around.

Eddie is done running after him.

He gets up.

“Eddie, wait—” Steve grabs his wrist again. Eddie lets out a heavy sigh.

“I’ve been waiting, Steve. For five years.” He meets his gaze now, doesn’t look away.

“Eddie—”

“Just— Let me go, Steve. Please.”

Steve’s eyes are shining with tears, but he does as he’s told. He lets him go.

Eddie goes into Jonathan’s room, and sits on his mattress on the floor, listening to his Judas Priest tape on his walkman as he watches the snow fall outside, letting the tears run quietly down his cheeks. Later, when Jonathan comes in to change, Eddie dries his cheeks and gives him a small smile. Jonathan returns it with a worried look. Eddie shakes his head in response. When he goes back out, Eddie joins him, putting on a smile. For the others.

He distracts himself by helping Joyce with the dinner. She doesn’t ask about the fight, though she probably heard it from the kitchen. Just puts a hand on his shoulder, warm and firm, and gives him a comforting smile. Eddie almost cries all over again.

August, 1986

“You selfish asshole!” Steve yells as he follows him through the house. Eddie can’t look at him, he won’t—

“That’s rich, coming from you,” he mumbles under his breath, picking up his leather jacket from the couch and putting it on. The rain is pouring outside, and Steve’s pool is a small, angry sea. He grabs Eddie by the shoulder and forces him to turn around and face him. Eddie won’t meet his eyes.

“So, what? You’re just going to leave? Just like that?” he asks.

“You act like I didn’t tell you, I told you—”

“You told me you were thinking about it.” Steve cuts him off.

Eddie meets his gaze, brows furrowed. “Well, I’m done thinking. I’m leaving.”

“Eddie, come on—”

God, how many times does he have to explain it to him?

“No, Steve! I am not staying in this shithole town a minute longer. I’m tired of scrubbing paint off my van, and my trailer, and my clothes—”

“Just give it time, they’ll forget,” Steve says, clearly not believing it himself.

“You and I both know a town like Hawkins doesn’t forget,” Eddie says, “Don’t we, King Steve?” he adds, knowing it would hit where it hurts.

Steve’s face hardens, eyes turning to ice. “Don’t call me that.”

“Or what? What are you going to do, Steve?” He tries to provoke him, to make him do something, anything. He doesn’t care anymore. When Steve doesn’t say anything, Eddie knows he’s won. The victory is bittersweet, but it’s his.

Steve's eyes are full of hurt, brimming with tears.

“That’s what I thought,” Eddie says. He wrangles out of Steve’s grip and leaves, slamming the door on his way out.

He drives all the way home and stomps into his room, not caring that he’s soaked from the rain, not caring for anything anymore. He ignores the phone when it rings, and when it keeps ringing. He’s too busy stuffing as much as he can fit into a duffel bag, clothes, notebooks, mixtapes, all the things he was able to salvage from the old trailer before the government took it away.

When he’s finished, he sits on the couch and smokes his last cigarettes, eyes itching from crying, nose stuffed and running. And he waits.

Wayne comes home around six, and as soon as he sees him sitting on the couch, his face darkens.

“What happened?”

“I’m leaving,” Eddie says.

“When?”

“Now. I just wanted to say goodbye.”

Wayne nods. Doesn’t fight him, doesn’t try to make him stay, he knows he can’t, not when Eddie is like this.

“Okay. But if something happened—”

“Nothing happened, Wayne. I just—I have to get out of here.”

“Okay.” Wayne’s voice is soft, like he’s talking to a cornered animal. Eddie definitely feels feral right now.

“I—I’m sorry,” Eddie softens, but only a little. “I’ll call when I get to the city, okay?”

Wayne nods. “Okay. Just— Take care of yourself. Can you promise me that, kid?”

Eddie nods. Then, feeling the tears burn in his eyes again, he stands up and pulls him in for a tight hug, letting the scent of smoke and sweat fill his nostrils. He’s really going to miss him. But he has to leave. He has to get out of here.

“I promise,” he says into Wayne’s jacket, as the tears escape his eyes and pool on the frayed fabric.

Wayne’s hand is warm on his back, grounding him, an anchor keeping him steady in the angry sea.

“Good.” Wayne pulls away to look at him. Eddie dries his tears with the back of his hand, pretending they’re not there.

“Come home for the holidays at least, okay?” Wayne says.

Eddie nods. “Okay. Yeah, I will. Promise.”

Wayne gives him a rare smile, rugged and worn, but still warm, like his jacket. Despite the tears, Eddie finds himself smiling back.

***

He’s on the phone the rest of the day, dialing Eddie’s number again and again, until his fingers are numb and his eyes are filled with so many tears he can’t even see the dial anymore. Then, finally admitting defeat, he dials the phone one last time. 

“Hello?”

“Hey, Rob, it’s me,” he croaks, leaning his head back against the wall, drying the tears and snot away with the sleeve of his sweater.

“Steve? Is everything alright?”

“No,” Steve’s voice breaks and the tears start running again, “I fucked up Robin. I—Eddie, he—”

“I’ll come right over.”

She hangs up, and twenty minutes later she runs into his house, water dripping from her rain jacket onto the hardwood floor, hair sticking to her face, and eyes wide. She crouches down next to him by the phone, and her hands are cold and damp when she takes his.

“What happened?”

Steve begins to cry again, and pulls her into an awkward hug, not caring if she soaks him. She holds him close, cheek pressed against his as she strokes his hair, whispering ‘it’s okay, it’s going to be okay’. Steve just shakes his head and keeps crying. Eventually, the tears run dry, and he’s able to breathe again. He pulls away and she sits down opposite him, leaning against the wall on the other side of the hall, her wet converse touching his hip.

“What happened?” she asks again, shrugging her jacket off.

Steve dries his face with his sleeve again, doesn't care that it’s already soaked and gross.

“We—” He takes a breath, fighting back the tears again, “We had a fight.”

Robin gives him an amused smile.

“Steve…”

“No, Robin, it was bad. Like, really bad. And he—” He takes a shaky breath again, digging his nails into his palm, the pain grounding him.

“He said he was leaving Hawkins.”

“Like, forever?”

Steve nods, not trusting his voice to not crack.

“Fuck, Steve.”

“Yeah, I know. And I want to go with him, I do, I just—I can’t. What if something happens and I’m not here? What if Vecna comes back or the gates open again, what if—” He stares at the floor as he speaks, all the worst imagined scenarios playing in his head like a horror movie, filling his stomach with dread.

“Steve, look at me.”

Steve looks up at her.

“You can leave. You don’t have to stay. Not for me, or for the kids. It’s over, we won. We’ll be fine.”

“But I—I can’t . I can’t. And he knows that, and he still left.” He takes a deep breath and exhales. He’s beginning to calm down now and the initial heartbreak is slowly being replaced by a wave of cold anger. Eddie knew he couldn’t leave, but he still pushed him. Made him choose. 

Robin puts a hand on his knee.

“Just call him. Talk it out.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing all day?” Steve snaps. Robin frowns. Steve softens, but just a little. “Sorry. But I have been calling him, he’s not answering. Maybe he’s already left.” The thought makes his stomach hurt, a cord ties around his lungs, making it hard to breathe.

“It’s too late now,” he says dejectedly.

“It’s never too late, Steve,” Robin says softly, squeezing his knee softly.

Steve shrugs, then shakes his head and hides his face in his hands.

“Try calling tomorrow. He just needs time to calm down,” she says.

Steve nods. “Okay. Okay, I will do that.” Then, he adds, “Can you stay over? Just for the night.”

Robin gives him a soft smile. “Of course.”

In the morning he calls Eddie again, but it’s Wayne who answers.

“Hello?”

“Wayne? Is Eddie there?”

“No.” His voice is cold when he says it. Eddie must have told him what happened.

“What do you mean ‘no’?” Steve asks, fingers nervously fidgeting with the cord.

“He left,” Wayne says courtly.

“He—”

Wayne cuts him off. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you, and it’s none of my business. But you hurt him and now he’s gone.”

“I—”

“Don’t call this number again.”

Steve does as he’s told. He doesn’t call Eddie again. 

***

Eddie gets a flat in Chicago. It’s not much, just a cupboard, really, but it’s his. He buys a used typewriter with the money he earns from his job at the mechanic’s shop and starts writing. Once a week, he calls Wayne. Once a month, he calls Dustin or Max, sometimes they’re with the others and he gets to hear their voices too. He tries to stay in touch, tries to be a good friend, even from far away. 

When he comes back for Hannukah he spends the week at Wayne’s. Stays in the trailer, mostly, tries not to go out too much, afraid of being seen.

In ‘88, on the 12th, before he leaves town, he drives out to the Byers-Hopper’s new house—he got the address from a holiday card from Joyce. She opens the door with a warm smile and motions for him to come in. They talk in the kitchen over coffee and cigarettes and leftover sufganiyot for hours, and he feels closer to her afterward. She understands his need to get out, she did it herself, after all, back in ‘85. Hawkins can be choking, she says, but it’s home, at least, now it is, that her family is here. Eddie just nods and tries not to cry.

He calls her often, after that.

And every year, he drives by Steve’s house, but it’s been up for sale since ‘87, or at least, that’s when he first saw the sign. He doesn’t ask Dustin for his new address, though he surely knows it, doesn’t ask for his number either. He’s not ready. Not yet.

It’s only when he finishes his book that he feels a bit of closure. Like he’s put all his hurt and heartbreak onto the pages and can finally start letting go. 

And that's why, when Dustin asks him to come over for Christmas for the fifth year in a row, he finally says ‘yes’. 

***

Steve keeps working at Family Video, eventually saves up for a flat downtown, and moves out of his parent’s house in early '87. The others leave for college, and it’s just him and the kids left, and they stop by every Friday to rent movies and chat him up. And it’s fine, he’s fine , happy, even, in the moments where he forgets Eddie, but his thoughts always circle back to him, wondering where he is and what he’s doing, and who he’s doing it with. The anger and sadness mix into one, freeze in his stomach like a block of ice, and stays there. He takes girls out on dates, but his heart is not really in it, so he stops. Comes home to his apartment and watches TV until his eyes burn, then falls asleep on the couch, his new aluminum bat always within reach.

Some nights, he wakes up in cold sweat, convinced he’s still stuck in the Upside Down, still fighting for his life. Those nights, he dials Robin’s number and she always picks up and stays with him on the phone until he’s calmed down. But he feels bad for bothering her, she already has college and her own life to worry about, so he tries not to call every time and just ride it out himself. Beer helps, though it also makes his head hurt the next morning.

Other nights he wakes up from a dream about Eddie, a good dream, soft and warm, and when he realizes he’s not in the bed next to him, he cries. Those nights he doesn’t call anyone at all.

And every December, he joins the others at the Byers-Hopper’s new house for a few days, and laughs and smiles like everything is okay, like he isn’t dying inside.

The kids grow up, and one by one they also go off to college, and no one comes over on Fridays to bother him anymore. He misses them.

He visits Robin in the city, and meets her girlfriend Lydia, but seeing them happy makes bile rise in his throat and he finds himself crying in the bathroom at a college party. He doesn’t visit again, but he still calls her at least once a week. 

And even though the kids are gone and he doesn’t have to protect them anymore, he stays. Because he has nowhere else to go. Not smart enough for college, not brave enough for the city. Just stuck in a dead-end job in a dead-end town, haunted by the monsters hiding in the shadows, sleeping with the lights on and his bat within reach to chase them away.

And then, after five years, Eddie comes back.

Dec 24th, 1991. 5 pm

Steve is sitting on the couch, facing the entrance to the living room, so he sees it when Eddie comes back in, eyes puffy and averting his gaze as always. He watches as he disappears into the kitchen, and it costs him a win in the game of Go Fish he’s playing with Will, Max, and Robin. He sighs, and leans back on the couch, dragging a hand through his hair as Max swiftly mixes the cards.

“So, I assume talking about it didn’t help?” Robin asks.

Steve looks at her with a raised brow. “No.”

“Maybe try tackling him again, that seemed to work out so well last time,” Max says, dealing out the cards for the new round.

“Well it did get them talking,” Robin argues, taking up her hand of cards and shifting them into order.

“Uhm, I know this might be a controversial take, but I don’t think this problem can be solved with violence,” Will says, making Max snort. Steve sighs again and takes his cards, but they all swim together in black and red. He can’t focus, not when Eddie is in the next room, just out of reach.

“I tried, okay? I tried to apologize to him, but he just stormed out like always,” Steve says, idly shifting his cards just to do something with his restless hands.

“Well, try again. All your Queens, Steve,” Robin says. Steev scans his cards and finds none.

“Go Fish. I have! I’ve tried like, two times already. What if I just end up pushing him away more?” He spots a King in his hand, “All your Kings, Max.”

“Well, maybe you didn’t try hard enough the other times,” Max says, handing him her King across the table.

“All your Kings, Will,” Steve asks. 

Will shakes his head with a smile. “Go Fish.”

Steve pulls a card with a thin smile. It’s another King.

“For the record, I think Max is right,” Will says, “all your Jacks, by the way.”

“Of course I am!” Max says, handing him a card.

“You just need to get through to him. Just say how you feel.” Will scans his cards, “All your sevens, Steve.”

Steve looks down at his hand. He only has eights and nines.

“Go Fish.”

Will tuts and pulls a card from the stack in the middle of the table.

“Okay, fine, fine, I’ll try again. All your eights, Robin.”

“Go Fish. All your Kings, Steve,” she smirks. Steve begrudgingly gives her all three of his Kings. Robin puts the book face up in front of her with a satisfied smile.

Steve sighs. “I hate card games.”

Max laughs. “Well, you know what they say, lucky in cards, unlucky in love.”

“Robin has a girlfriend, though,” Steve argues.

Max shakes her head. “Not what I meant, Steve.”

He meets her gaze across the table and she winks at him, then nods towards the kitchen. He rolls his eyes. She’s right, of course. He can’t give up. He needs to try again, and again, no matter how many times it takes. 

The dinner is as loud and lively as it is every year, everyone tipsy on wine or beer (or in the case of the kids, stolen whiskey) and there are several conversations going on across the table. Steve makes himself be in the moment. He laughs at Robin’s jokes, teases Nancy, and nods engagingly at a story Dustin tells about his roommate. He doesn’t look at Eddie, no matter how much he wants to, knowing that he will only be met with a sad look, if any look at all. It’s hard, especially when Eddie laughs. He always loved his laugh; a little too loud more of a cackle, really, the way it fills the room, cut off only when he snorts. It’s not a pretty laugh, but it’s Eddie’s, and it always fills him with warmth, makes him want to laugh along, or say something funny so that he’d laugh again. But he doesn’t.

Afterward, he and Robin help out with the dishes in the kitchen. They’re alone, which is why he has the courage to say:

“What if it’s not enough? What if no matter what I say to him, he still won’t stay?”

Robin sighs as she dries a plate with the dishtowel.

“Have you considered going with him?”

Steve puts down the plate he’s washing into the sink. It washes over him in waves, the guilt, the shame—truth is, he could have left years ago, but he didn’t. Not because he couldn’t, but because he wouldn’t. 

“Robin, you know I can’t—”

“Can’t or won’t?”

Steve gives her a look. “Robin.”

“I’m just saying, you’re allowed to be happy. You don’t have to stay in Hawkins, not for my sake, and definitely not for the others.”

“I know, it’s just—”

“Just what?”

Just what? Just the fact that everyone seems to have moved on with their lives and he’s still stuck in ‘83, fighting for his life, only armed with a nailbat. Just the fact that even after almost a decade, he still can’t let go of the fear that something is still out there, waiting for him to lower his guard down so it can attack. And he knows it’s over, the rational part of him knows it’s been over for years, but the voice in his head that tells him there are monsters lurking in the dark is louder.

He’s spent the last five years waiting for a war that’s never going to come, protecting a home that hasn’t been home for years, afraid of moving on, afraid of what comes after the world ends. Eddie was his future, and he let him go in favor of staying in the past. 

And now, with the promise of a second chance, he’s still afraid. Afraid that he’ll fuck it up and ruin it again. Afraid that there’s nothing left to ruin, to begin with.

Steve takes a deep breath and looks down at the soapy water as he speaks.

“I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

Steve laughs humorlessly. “Of everything? What if I go with him and we just end up falling apart again? What if it’s too late to fix it?”

Robin puts a warm hand on his shoulder. “It’s never too late, Steve.”

He looks up at her with a sad smile, tears burning behind his eyes. The sincerity in her eyes warms him from the inside like mulled wine, and despite everything, he finds himself believing her.

“You really think so?”

She nods. “I know so. Just…try.” Steve smiles, tries to hold back his tears. “Because if I have to go through one more Christmas with you sulking—” she continues, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“I don’t sulk—”

“Of course, you don’t. You just stare off into the air and sigh every time someone says his name.”

Steve nudges her and she laughs, smacking his back with the dishtowel.

“Okay, I’ll try,” he says, picking up the plate again.

“That’s the spirit,” Robin says, giving him a peck on the cheek. Steve gives her a smile. His heart is still heavy, but it feels lighter. He can do this. He has to do this. If he wants Eddie back, he has to leave Hawkins behind and go with him. And it scares him, but he’s faced monsters and survived, he can face the future, too.

When they’re done with the dishes, he goes into the living room and heads straight toward where Eddie is standing next to the speakers with Max. 

“Can I talk to you?” he asks.

Eddie looks up at him with furrowed brows.

“Uhm, now?”

“Yes, now. Please.”

Eddie looks at Max, who just shrugs, taking a sip from her Coke can to hide the smirk on her lips.

Eddie sighs defeatedly. “Fine. But make it quick.”

Steve resists the urge to grab his hand and drag him away, instead just goes out of the living room and down the hall to Jonathan’s room. Eddie’s right behind him, and he closes the door when he comes in.

Steve doesn’t bother turning on the light, just jumps right into it:

“I’m sorry.”

Eddie huffs, leaning against the door with his arms crossed. 

“Is that is? Look, Steve, we’ve already had this conversation—”

Steve shakes his head and cuts him off. He has to say this, has to get this out before he loses steam and chokes again.

“No, I know just—please, hear me out.”

Eddie sighs, rolls his eyes, and motions for him to go on.

“Fine.”

Steve takes a deep breath, running through everything he wants to say. He has to tell him all of it, because he might not get another chance. He has to make Eddie understand .

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn't go with you and I’m sorry I hurt you. But you hurt me too, and I was, well, I still am , to be honest, mad at you. I mean, you just left!” It comes out more hysterical than he intends it to, but it comes out. The truth that’s been eating at him for five years—because he knows he hurt Eddie, but Eddie hurt him too, and he needs him to understand that.

Eddie blinks, baffled, mouth slightly agape.

“I—what do you want me to say? That I’m sorry?” he asks, incredulously, almost laughing. Of course, Eddie wouldn’t think he had anything to apologize for. But he does. And if they’re going to do this, like, actually do this, Steve wants closure too. He thinks he deserves that much, at least.

“That would be nice, yes,” he says, smiling tightly.

Eddie throws his hands up with a dry laugh.

“Unbelievable. You drag me in here to make me apologize to you when I did nothing wrong—”

Steve cuts him off again. “You—you don't actually believe that, do you? You hurt me, Eddie. You left me. No call, no nothing, for five years!” He raises his voice despite meaning to. But he’s mad, has been mad for five years, and despite wanting to fix things, he won’t fold just to please Eddie. He’s done folding. 

“Well, you didn't call me either!” Eddie exclaims. Steve wants to laugh, it’s that ridiculous.

“Because Wayne told me not to!” he snaps, throwing his hands up in exasperation. 

Eddie blinks, brows furrowed in confusion.

“He—he did?”

“Yes! And frankly, I didn’t think you’d ever wanted to speak to me again, anyway.”

For a moment, Eddie just looks at him. Once again, they’re stuck in a standoff, like so many times before, waiting for the other to make a move, refusing to be the first to break. Steve can see the emotions flashing in his eyes, the anger turning to sadness and back to anger again, the way he flexes and unflexes his hand that’s hanging by his side. Steve knows he’s got him, knows he can’t run away, not when the truth is standing right in front of him. He has no other option. He has to shoot.

Eddie sighs. “You’re right. Fuck, I hate it when you’re right. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I left like that, I should have, I don't know, given you more time to process it, waited until you were ready, just—I should have done better by you. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

Steve can’t help the satisfied smile that spreads on his lips.

“Apology accepted,” he says.

Eddie rolls his eyes, but Steve can spot a small smirk on his lips. He pushes away from the door, and takes a step closer to where Steve is standing in the middle of the room.

“Why didn’t you just come with me?” he asks, even though he knows, at least half of it. But Steve still tells him:

“I was scared.”

“Scared of what ?” Eddie presses and Steve realizes that he’s asking because he wants to hear the truth, all of it. So, he tells him:

“At first, it was the monsters coming back. I felt like if I stayed, I could protect everyone. That I had to. I guess I’m like Fredrick in that way.”

Eddie smiles, shaking his head. “Fredrick has got nothing on you.”

Steve lets out a sad laugh. “Probably not. But still. I just—I couldn’t leave. But, as time passed, and it became clear that they wouldn’t be coming back, I don’t know. I got—stuck. You left, and then everyone else did too, and I just—I didn’t know what to do with myself. I didn’t know where to go. So, I stayed.”
Eddie nods, slowly, understanding. 

“Why did you leave?” Steve asks, because even after five years, he still doesn’t understand. Not fully.

Eddie sighs and smiles humorlessly. “It’s what I do, isn’t it? Run away.”

“But why then? Why in August?”

Eddie swallows and averts his gaze as he hugs himself again. “It just—It got too much for me. And I guess I was afraid too, afraid that it would affect you, and I knew the only solution was to leave. And I wanted you to come with me, but I knew you wouldn’t, because you’re the opposite, you stay, you fight. But I just—couldn’t. So, I left.”

Steve wants nothing more than to reach out and pull him into a hug. He doesn’t though, instead, he asks:

“Do you think it’s too late for us?”

Eddie shrugs. “I guess it depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether we want to try again.”

A beat. Steve studies Eddie’s face—he’s closer now, and Steve can see the scar on the left side of his face, a flash of white lightning against his skin. He thinks about the many nights spent in his bed, together, under the covers. He thinks about how he’s never been happier than when he woke up next to him, when that scar was the first thing he saw every morning.

“I do,” he says, and it comes out as easy as breathing. Because he does. Because that’s all he ever wanted.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, eyes glistening in the blue moonlight shining through the window. 

“Yeah,” Steve says, smiling shyly. He puts out his hand for Eddie to take, not expecting him to, but hoping he would. Eddie looks down at it, then up at him, eyes searching his face. Steve knows it’s all there for Eddie to see. He’s never been good at hiding his feelings. Whatever Eddie finds, he deems it good enough, because he says:

“Me, too,” and tentatively takes Steve’s hand. His hand is cold and dry, and Steve’s is warm and clammy from washing dishes. They shouldn’t fit, but they do. Somehow, they fit.

“Can I kiss you?” Steve asks.

Eddie smiles shyly, looking at him through his lashes. “Yes, please do.”

Steve does as he’s told, and for once, he doesn’t mind it.

Dec 25th, 1991. 11 am

Eddie wakes up warm. Still groggy, he turns to see Steve’s face, still asleep, with his arm wrapped around Eddie’s middle. He smiles despite himself. After they made up last night, they didn’t bother returning to the living room and just pushed their mattresses together and spent the night making up for the lost time, admittedly using their hands more than their words.

His chest feels light for the first time in years. It feels like a dream, as if at any moment he could wake up in his bed, alone, but he doesn’t. And there’s still a lot to talk about, and things to figure out, but they’ve taken the first step, and that’s all that matters now. And Eddie just feels so happy .

He kisses the twin beauty marks on Steve’s cheek, because he can, because he missed doing it. Steve flutters his eyes open.

“Hey,” Steve croaks.

“Hey.” Eddie pushes a rogue strand of hair behind Steve’s ear, and Steve leans into the touch.

“I missed this,” he says, eyes half closed.

Eddie sighs, smile growing wider. “Yeah, me too.” He plants a chaste kiss on his lips, but Steve pulls him in closer and deepens the kiss. Eddie melts into it.

They’re interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Are you guys decent in there?” Jonathan asks on the other side.

Steve breaks away with a frown, rolling his eyes. “Yes, Jon!”

Eddie sits up, Steve’s arm dropping to his lap, just as Jonathan opens the door.

“Good morning,” he says with a knowing smirk.

Eddie feels a blush spread on his cheeks. “Sorry, we were just—”

“Making up,” Steve adds helpfully.

Jonathan snorts. “Yeah, I bet.”

He goes over to his nightstand and fishes out a five-dollar bill.

“What do you need money for?” Eddie asks.

Jonathan looks over his shoulder with a smirk. “I lost a bet.”

“You lost a— Wait, did you guys bet on us?” Steve exclaims.

Jonathan smiles apologetically. “It was Max’s idea.”

Steve blinks, then the realization hits him. “Unbelievable,” he says, shaking his head.

Eddie lets out a laugh at Steve’s appalled expression.  

“So who won?” Eddie asks.

“She and Robin,” Jonathan says.

“Of course,” Steve sighs, rolling his eyes. 

“We’re about to open the presents, so if you want to join…?”

“Just give us—uh—two minutes?” Eddie says, smiling sheepishly.

“Alright,” Jonathan says, still amused, and exits the room.

“A bet?” Steve asks, the look on his face only made more ridiculous when accompanied by his messy hair.

Eddie snorts, fishing for his pants in the pile of clothes at the end of the bed. He doesn't care that they made a bet, doesn't care if the whole town knows they've gotten back together, he's just happy to wake up next to Steve again and to be in a house with the people he loves. He feels ten years younger, nerves jittering with excitement, heart racing in his chest, cheeks hurting because he can't stop smiling.

“You gotta admit, it’s pretty funny,” he says, finally finding a pair of sweatpants. He’s not sure if it’s his or Steve’s, and he honestly couldn’t care less. He puts them on—they are, in fact, Steve’s, because they’re a bit loose on him—then grabs Steve’s sweater too, just because he can. It’s the green one he was wearing yesterday, with the snowman in the front. It’s a bit big for him, but it’s warm, and it smells like Steve.

“And what am I supposed to wear?” Steve asks incredulously. Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Oh please, as if you don’t have three more sweaters packed. You are many things, Steve Harrington, but an outfit repeater is not one of them.”

Steve huffs and mumbles something under his breath. Eddie laughs and gives him a peck on the cheek. Steve does indeed easily find another pair of sweatpants and a sweater in his bag.

“Hurry up and get ready, I wanna see Dustin’s face when he opens his present,” Eddie says, as Steve is fussing over his hair in the mirror attached to the closet door.

Eddie grabs his hand and drags him away with an exasperated sigh, smiling at his protests. They’re still holding hands when they enter the living room, and suddenly Eddie feels like he’s stepped onto a stage, all eyes are on him.

“Good morning,” he says, trying not to blush too hard.

“Merry Christmas,” Max says from her spot on the floor next to Lucas, a few folded bills sticking out from the front pocket of her green flannel.

“It sure is,” Eddie says, side-eyeing Steve with a smile. 

“Where did you two go last night?” Dustin asks, smirking.

“We—uh—we were talking,” Steve says.

“Is that what they call it now?” Nancy quips. Steve sends her a death glare.

“Well, I’m just glad you boys made up,” Joyce says, giving Eddie a warm smile, which he returns with a shy smirk.

“Yep,” Eddie says, “now, should we open some presents?” he asks, smiling at the others. And that’s that. Or, it’s not, because Robin and Nancy are still sending them knowing looks, and Dustin sits at their feet by the couch, looking at Steve like he’s Santa himself, while Eddie tries not to laugh at the flustered expression on Steve’s face. The holiday spirit is contagious, and he finds himself laughing more than he had done in years, taking every opportunity to tease the younger members, gleefully watching them open their presents. He tried getting everyone something they would like or could use, and despite them being humble, they each beam at him when they open them, and Dustin goes as far as giving him a rib-crushing hug when he opens his gift, the newest edition of the D&D Cyclopedia. He’s surprised when he gets a few presents too, mainly empty tapes, as well as a very cool drawing from Will depicting Fredrick and Rayner fighting a pack of dog-like monsters. He notices that they look an awful lot like Steve and him, but doesn’t mention it, just sends Will a knowing look, which he returns with a smug smile.

For lunch they heat up the leftovers from yesterday and sit around the table, still in their pajamas, their voices filling the room, the radio faintly playing Merry Xmas Everybody in the background.

Later, Eddie will kiss Steve again, and they will plan their future. They will find a bigger apartment in Chicago, coincidently, though actually not, right across from Robin’s, and they will build their life up again, this time together. Eddie will start writing a middle-grade book series based on some of the campaigns he did for Hellfire, but also on the things he went through himself, because that’s the way he’s able to process it best. Steve will get a job at Blockbuster, and take a few courses at the local college in his free time, but it will take him a few years to figure out what he wants. 

They will eat dinner with Robin and her girlfriend Lydia every week, and during the holidays, Eddie will insist that they decorate for the Jewish ones as well, which, on the years that Hannukah falls on top of Christmas, results in mismatched decorations in blue and white clashing against red and green—but it makes their small apartment feel like a home.

Eddie will ease Wayne into trusting Steve again, and they will come down to spend the holidays with him, and Wayne will forgive Steve, but not after threatening him within an inch of his life if he ever hurts Eddie again.

And every few years, when everyone has time to come together, they will come back to this house and spend a few days of December with their friends, catching up on each other’s lives, and celebrate the fact that they’ve lived through the apocalypse, most of them more than once, and that they will continue living and thriving, despite the nightmares and the flickering lights. 

But right now, in the present, Eddie just watches Steve laugh at something Lucas said, the wine almost spilling out of his glass, his cheeks red and neck exposed as he leans his head back. He can’t help the fond smile that spreads on his own lips, and when Steve catches him watching, he sends him a bright smile back, lifting his glass in a toast. Eddie lifts his in return, and they drink at the same time. 

Eddie has never felt happier.