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“My, my, are my eyes deceiving me? Steve Harrington himself has graced these sinful halls?”
Instead of a sneer Eddie’s been expecting, Harrington’s face lights up with a toothy smile. He lifts his hand to wave at him with much more enthusiasm than expected of the Hawkins ex-royalty. Which - odd, unexpected ( dangerous ?). Before Eddie started his third, and final , Senior Year, they may have talked once but now the guy is everywhere, regularly picking up the fresh batch of freshman lost sheep from Hellfire - he still can’t explain how those two contradicting groups of people know each other but, alas, they do, somehow. Eddie, though, has a strict no-talking-to-jocks policy that expands to jock-graduates, or so he tells himself but then Steve drives up to school after they end a particularly hellish campaign and tells some stupid dad joke, so Eddie has to say something-
The point is, it’s weird. Almost as weird as meeting a Harington in an Indianapolis gay bar itself. His mind keeps hiccuping over that information.
“Munson, hi!”
A little dumb-founded, Eddie waves back weakly, his eyes catching the sight of Robin Buckley at the bar behind them. Ah, so there’s the reason Harrington’s here.
“You’re here as an ally, I presume.”
“Uhm, yeah I guess so?” Steve pouts, confused, before smiling again. “You too, then?”
“Sure, let’s say that.” Sweet, innocent Steve. How adorable is thee…
“Hey, you should sit with us,” Harrington grins as if that’s actually a good idea. Before Eddie manages to think of an excuse, he’s being dragged towards Buckley by the sleeve. “Come on.”
“Munson,” Robin nods at him in greeting, something akin to a mischievous smirk on her face. Why, he doesn’t begin to understand.
“You look good, by the way,” a deep voice whispers into his ear as they set off towards the tables and Eddie has to do everything for his soul not to leave his body. Steve… is being way friendlier than expected. But that’s what it is, he has to remind himself before it gets too dangerous. Just guys being dudes. Steve is living through his redemption-arc era and Eddie is happy to comply.
The ‘us’ in question turns out to be more than just the bizarre Harrington-and-Buckley duo. There’s Nancy Wheeler, Jonathan Byers and some tall guy with the best hair he’s seen, not counting Harrington of course, bless his hair-sprayed soul. They don’t seem all that surprised he’s here at all which - fair enough, but also that he’s here at this table and that he doesn’t know how to explain. Nancy Wheeler, though, ever the enigma keeps shooting him loaded glances. He’s pretty sure she sniffed out his embarrassing crush on, ugh, Steve Harrington and she’s- Jealous maybe? Probably? As if there is a universe where he, Eddie Munson, poses a threat to someone like Nancy fucking Wheeler.
Steve sits himself closest to Eddie, maybe because he’s feeling guilty - as he should be - about throwing him into a table full of basically-strangers or maybe for a different, Harrington reason that Eddie is simply not qualified to understand. The point is, he’s close, Eddie can smell his aftershave and, faintly, cigarettes and it’s the best and worst thing that’s happened to him.
He keeps talking, too, asking Eddie questions about DnD (and isn’t that a head-scratcher in itself) and what conditioner he’s using because he really likes his hair (as if Steve wasn’t the embodiment of every shampoo commercial ever made). The gin-and-tonic Eddie’s been sipping must’ve been stronger than he thought because he swears he hears Steve saying something like ‘ I don’t know, I think you’re really pretty ’ at one point.
Eddie is starting to wonder if Harrington, perhaps, has been replaced with a pod person.
There’s a few more attempts at small talk from Steve but Eddie’s too confused and trying so hard to not be hopeful because a second edition of a pathetic unrequited crush on a straight dude (a ‘Steve Harrington’, his mind supplies helpfully) is going to be too painful. Harrington seems kind of down afterwards, sliding off his chair and towards the bar and that leaves Eddie with an infamous Buckley glare that he hasn’t been aware is a thing that exists at all but boy does he not like it. An aggravating assault to his shin follows soon after.
“Ow, Jesus, what the fuck is your problem?”
“My problem?” Robin is quick to retort, flashing her empty glass in his face. “What’s your problem? I thought you had a crush on him! It’s frankly kind of fucking obvious.”
Okay, whoa, rude.
“I don’t,” Eddie sneers back but falters when she levels him with a blank stare. “Fine, I do. Whatever. Way to kick a man when he’s down.”
“Dingus, he’s been all over you for the last hour. He’s been flirting like crazy and you , for some reason, keep shooting him down, what the hell?”
“But-” But he’s straight. Right? He turns to see Steve at the bar and - oh, there’s some guy with curly hair touching Steve’s arm and Steve’s smiling and blushing and- “What?”
That won’t do.
“Go get your man,” Robin monotones, practically shoving him off his stool to emphasize her point. Eddie scrambles from the floor, ignores the intense looks from the rest of the table and marches towards the bar with a new-found surge of determination and maybe even confidence.
He never thought Steve Harrington’s laugh could be anything but angelic to his ears but the way he chuckles at whatever the stranger said feels like nails on a chalkboard.
“Ste-ve,” Eddie enunciates, probably a tad bit too loudly if the way the people accumulated at the bar turn to glare at him is anything to go by. He flashes them a half-assed apologetic smile before focusing his attention back on Harrington who tenses in his seat. “Hey, hi, there you are.”
Steve looks confused. So does his new asshole (probably) friend. Fine, whatever. This is doable.
“Eddie?” Steve asks at the same time as the douche (implied) questions: “You know this guy?”
Eddie has a sneaking suspicion this is not going as well as he’s hoped. Robin cradling her face in her hands back at their table is not instilling much confidence either. Well, he’s determined to suffer through this.
“Victor, this is…Eddie,” Steve gestures to him with a sigh and Eddie hopes that his grin is as sharp as he would like it to be. In his mind, he’s two pages deep into making Victor an NPC who dies tragically and painfully and alone in his next campaign.
“I was just wondering if you’re coming back to our table,” he tries to feign nonchalance but Eddie hasn’t been nonchalant about a single thing in his life and he fears it’s showing. For better results, he leans his elbow on the bar, arm almost touching Steve’s back. “Actually, would you like something to drink, Steve? On me.”
A flurry of different expressions flit through Harrington’s face before it settles somewhere between ‘tired’ and ‘exhausted’. He pushes himself off the bar.
“Actually, I think I need some fresh air.”
And is that…a code for something? Should Eddie follow? Or does he want to be alone? Eddie’s eyes trail after Steve’s hunched form but there’s nothing indicative of what he should do. Victor, or whatever his name is, is not helpful either, sliding off his barstool with a poignant roll of his eyes.
Asswipe.
He finds Steve leaning up against the wall, trying and failing to light up a cigarette.
“Need a hand?” Eddie asks and winces, torpedoed by an intense Harrington look he can’t quite decipher. Finally, Steve shrugs with a long-suffering sigh and beckons him closer. Eddie’s happy to oblige and fishes out his lighter along with his own pack of smokes. Steve mumbles a barely-coherent ‘thanks’, lips wrapped around the cigarette, and falls silent, staring up ahead blankly.
“I might have…misunderstood,” is what Eddie thinks is a good start. He moves to stand next to Steve, nervous energy rushing through his veins.
“Look, man, I get it if you’re not interested. I mean it sucks, but-” and Steve shrugs again, inhaling sharply. “I don’t get what that was, at the bar. If you’re not-”
“I am! I so am!”
Steve’s unimpressed, that much he can tell. “I don’t understand you, dude.”
“You’re not the first one to say that,” Eddie snorts humorlessly. Steve’s face does something horrid, then, crumpling, eyebrows drawn together and a pout forms on his lips. Oh, he looks miserable, like a kicked puppy. Eddie never wants to see it again.
“Fair warning, it might result in sending my body into shock if I tell you this but. I like you. A lot,” Steve looks mildly skeptical so he trudges on. “Admittedly the idea that you might, uh, like me, too, didn’t occur to me. I thought you were being friendly.”
“I held your hand,” Harrington supplies and oh, yeah, he did, didn’t he? Eddie’s mind blanked out around that part.
“You said you’re an ally,” he shoots back and it’s not a very strong case, in the grand scheme of things, but he’s not one to give up an argument easily.
“Well, yeah, I came to support…my friends,” Steve, blessed Steve, still careful not to out anyone in particular, even now. “I am very supportive. Of them. And me.” He ends his speech by a confused wave of his hand. The cigarette falls on the pavement unceremoniously, not that Steve notices. “So. Ally.”
Eddie nods vehemently. “I support you, too. And me. I support you and me, together.”
And, oh, there’s a shy smile on Harrington’s face now and Eddie wants more, he wants to categorize all types of smiles Steve is willing to give him.
“So.”
“ So .”
“Is there possibly a tiny, miniscule, chance that you forget my untimely misplacement of brain functionality and understanding context clues and give this another chance?”
Steve blinks which - fair, that was a mouthful he probably wasn’t expecting to receive. But then he grins and isn’t that a beautiful sight.
“Sure, why not.”
“Awesome. That’s awesome,” Eddie breathes out. With scraps of previous confidence still intact, he leans closer to Steve, only to be stopped by a warm hand on his chest.
“Take me out to dinner first, Munson.”