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Steve Harrington does not go out with girls on Valentine’s Day.

He made that mistake only once, when he was fifteen and crushing on Sally Green from his fourth period history class. He was young, dumb, and smitten, and in all honesty he completely forgot what day it was when he asked her to go to the movies with him on Saturday.

He left the theater thinking that Sally was a halfway decent kisser with the personality of a wet sock.

Sally left the theater calling him her boyfriend.

Because back then he didn’t know that most girls saw Valentine’s Day as a litmus test to define their relationship. He wasn’t aware that going out on that day actually meant something. He thought it was just another stupid holiday with overpriced candy in the grocery stores.

So, ever since sophomore year when he spent a month dating Sally Green until he could let her down easy, he’s had one rule—and one rule only—when it comes to dating.

Steve Harrington does not go out with girls on Valentine’s Day.

So, what the hell is he doing driving to Indianapolis with flowers in his passenger seat?

Steve walks into the restaurant and runs a hand through his hair, a nervous tick he’s never quite been able to break.

The place is quiet, soft murmurs and music filling the open space with low lighting hanging over each table or booth. The tinted windows block out most of the view of the city streets outside, and the hostess smiles at him easily, a gentle grin that calms his nerves. The restaurant has atmosphere, he begrudgingly admits to himself, and for the first time since the day started he thinks maybe this won’t be so bad.

Then again his whole thing was set up by Robin, of all people, so—jury’s still out.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust her judgment, he does (mostly), it’s just that he really hates blind dates.

And that’s what this is.

It took her three weeks of pestering him morning, noon, and night before Steve finally caved. She wanted to set him up with one of her “friends”—at least, he assumes it’s a friend, she never did actually give Steve a name—for months now, but Steve kept saying no. It wasn’t until recently that he started to change his mind.

Of course, Robin having a date tonight, of all nights, probably didn’t help. She’d been ecstatic when she bounded into work with the good news, and Steve was happy for her. Really, he was, he couldn’t stop smiling as she recounted the events that led up to Robin asking out Nancy freaking Wheeler—it’s a small fucking world, he muses—and Nancy saying yes.

And of course he told her to go, even helped her pick out an outfit before he left Hawkins earlier, because what this means for Robin is a thousand times more important than whatever it means for Steve, and even though he knows that the pros outweigh the cons ten to one, for the last week and a half there’s been a little voice in the back of his head, a demon whispering in his ear that for Steve…

Well, for Steve, this meant he was spending another Valentine’s Day alone.

Completely alone.

So, he said fuck it, and told Robin to set him up. Her response was to hug him so tight he almost cracked a rib, and Steve spent three days trying to find reassurance in her smile, pointedly not thinking about whatever nameless face awaits him at their table.

He clears his throat, shifting the bouquet of flowers from one hand to the other, and steps up to the hostess’s stand.

“Excuse me,” he says with a nervous grin. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she says back easily. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, uh…” He licks his lips. “I have a reservation for two, it should be under Robin.”

The hostess scans her reservation book, tapping the end of her pen against the page before looking up at Steve with a soft smile. “First date?”

He ducks his chin with a small laugh. “That obvious?”

“No,” she says slowly, tilting her head to the side slightly. “But the flowers are a nice touch.”

“Thanks,” he breathes out, his free hand twitching by his side. He can feel the nervous energy coursing through his veins, but he lets it cool into excitement before it can throw him off his game.

He takes a deep breath and follows the hostess to his table.

They bob and weave around a few tables, hitting a straight away leading to the back. He thinks that maybe he’ll get the secluded corner booth—always a good omen for the night in his experience—when the hostess stops a few feet before that, gesturing to the already set table to her left.

Steve comes up short when he sees there’s someone already sitting there.

He takes in the mess of brown curls and the slightly hunched forward shoulders sitting in the chair on one side of the table, his back turned to Steve as the hostess steps into his view. Steve’s quick walk slows to a glacial pace as his brain tries to put the pieces together, like fitting a puzzle when he can’t quite remember what the picture is of.

He stops completely when the man in the chair turns around—

—and almost drops the flowers when he recognizes Eddie Munson.

He’s going to kill Robin.

Only she could get him to drive out to Indianapolis on a perfectly good Saturday afternoon and spend the night on a date. Eddie doesn’t even know the last time he went on a date—Jessica Strout, seventh grade, they went to the movies, and she cried during it—let alone the last time he went on a date with a man.

(Okay, so he figured some stuff out between seventh grade and now. Jessica was his first date, and his last date—with a girl.)

He’s not sure he’s ever really gone out with a guy, not in the traditional sense at least. It’s hard enough just to find someone he likes in Hawkins, but to try and publicly court him for everyone to see? Hard pass. He’s not some basketball jock who constantly walks around town with his arm around some doe eyed girl, begging everyone with eyes to notice what a cute couple they make.

He thinks of Steve Harrington senior year, and almost snorts.

It’s almost comical how different that Steve is to the one he’s gotten to know over the past year. He has the same stupid hair, and the tight-fitting polo shirts, but he’s more relaxed than Eddie remembers from their brief encounters in high school. He laughs, and not just at people getting shoved into lockers, and he’s actually a decent human being when he wants to be.

He must be, otherwise what the fuck would Robin Buckley of all people be doing attached to his hip.

Eddie runs a hand over his face as he steers the van into a parking garage. The traffic wasn’t bad, and the weather is surprisingly nice for February, but he still thinks this might be the worst idea he’s ever had. Well, the worst idea Robin’s ever had.

It’s not like it was his bright idea to find himself a date on Valentine’s Day, of all fucking days.

But when Robin called the trailer last week practically screaming about how she has this “friend” she wants to set him up with, he mostly said yes just to get her to stop yelling. He went through the list of her friends he kept cataloged in his mind. Most of them were girls, but he and Robin already had that conversation on a particularly slow day in Family Video last year, so he’s not exactly worried about being set up with someone… not his type.

Steve was there for that conversation too, Eddie remembers, but the guy didn’t say more than two words. He thinks one of them was, “Cool.”

He shakes the memory from his head as he starts walking the half a block towards the restaurant. He didn’t even know this place existed before Robin told him about it. Not that it looked like his typical kind of scene, but he’s spent more than a few weekends in the city trying to escape Hawkins and every small-minded person in it. He knows where the good bars are, and the clubs where the best bands play, but he hasn’t exactly scoped out the food scene other than dollar slices and slushies available at midnight.

He reaches the front door, and wipes his hands on his dark jeans, his palms already sweaty.

Eddie’s early, but the table is ready for him anyways, and he can’t decide if it’s better or worse that he’s the first one here. He thinks maybe it’s better, because there’s a sixty percent chance he would’ve taken one look at his date and bolted, but also—running sounds pretty good right now.

He sits down at the quiet table for two the hostess led him to, instantly smoothing out his shirt and messing with his hair. Why is he so nervous? He tries to shake the feeling. It’s a first date, Eddie, not a court date. Get a fucking grip.

It’s maybe four minutes that he’s sitting there by himself, but it feels like hours.

When the hostess appears at his table again, he looks up and tries not to look too surprised, but when he doesn’t see anyone standing next to her, his brow furrows.

He turns around in his seat, eyes traveling up the aisle until they land on none other than Steve fucking Harrington, standing like a deer caught in the head lights.

“Sir?”

Steve blinks back into his body, the restaurant coming into focus around him. “What?”

The hostess points to the empty seat across from Eddie. “This is your table.”

Steve blinks again. “Are you sure?”

Eddie rolls his eyes and turns back in his seat, propping elbow on the table and holding his head in his hand.

“Reservation for Robin, right?”

“Yup,” Eddie tells her, sounding less than thrilled.

“Yeah,” Steve mutters, finally getting his legs to start moving again. “Uh, thanks.”

The hostess leaves them with a confused smile and Steve takes his place in the empty chair at the table.

Eddie stares at him, a frown etched into his face. “Buckley’s got a sick sense of humor, you know that?”

“What?” Steve asks, still trying to wrap his head around what’s happening.

“Never mind,” Eddie mumbles, picking up his water glass and taking a long sip.

Steve doesn’t know what to say.

Because yes, on one hand he was fully aware that he’d be walking into this restaurant and sitting down for dinner with a boy—Robin’s been obsessed with the idea of Steve exploring his newly found bisexuality ever since he told her about it—but on the other hand, never in his wildest dreams did he expect that boy to be Eddie freaking Munson.

Steve has never told Robin about his little, tiny, barely there crush on Eddie, but in that moment he realizes that maybe he didn’t have to.

Eddie takes another sip of his water, and Steve knows he should say something. Anything, really. Because even though they’re sort of friends, Eddie looks like he’d rather wander back into the upside down than spend more than five minutes at this table with Steve Harrington, and Steve needs to fix that.

He’s usually good at opening lines. Great, even. Some may call him a flirt.

But there’s something about Eddie that makes his brain spin in circles, that makes the words in his head all turn to television static, that makes him forget who he is and where he is and why, and so all he can do right now is say the first thing that pops into head, which is—

“We probably could have carpooled.”

Eddie snorts into his water, his other hand coming up to catch the droplets sliding down his chin and his nose as he sets the glass back on the table. His face flushes pink and he coughs a little, covering his eyes with his hand as he remembers how to breathe.

The corner of Steve’s mouth curls into a small smile and he relaxes in his seat.

He can do this.

If for no other reason than to make Eddie blush like that again.

“Yeah,” Eddie finally says, knocking his fist into his chest twice and clearing his throat. “Probably. Except Robin didn’t tell me who you were.”

“That makes two of us,” Steve says with a faint laugh.

Eddie sighs. “This is why I hate blind dates.”

Steve’s smile falters for a second, the barest twitch of his mouth as he feels his heart plummet down into his stomach. “Oh.”

“No offense, Harrington,” Eddie says with a wave of his hand, like he doesn’t even acknowledge that Steve is part of this date.

And really—how else is Steve supposed to take that?

He opens his mouth to respond, but Eddie cuts him off.

“Are those supposed to be for me?”

Steve follows Eddie’s sight line to the bouquet still clutched in his hand. “Uh,” Steve hesitates, holding the flowers out towards Eddie. “Yeah, I guess they are.”

“You guess?”

“Well, I usually bring flowers,” Steve explains with half a shrug. “But for this… I wasn’t sure.”

Eddie’s brow furrows slightly, like he’s looking at a puzzle he can’t quite figure out. “Okay,” he says slowly, taking the flowers from Steve and staring at them blankly. “Well—thanks. I think.”

Steve smiles at him and shuffles his chair a little closer to the table.

“Hi boys,” an older waitress says as she walks up to their table, her notebook already in hand. She gives them a faint smile, but her eyes are tired. “Can I get y’all something to drink?”

“I’ll have a Coke, please,” Steve tells her easily.

“Sure thing,” she answers, writing it down before looking at Eddie. “And for you?”

“A beer,” he tells her, leaning his forearms on the table. “Whatever’s on tap.”

Her pen stops moving, and she arches a brow at Eddie. “ID?”

Eddie sighs under his breath, and makes a big, dramatic showing of feeling his pants pocket for an above age ID that isn’t there. “Ah, you know what—I think it’s in my other jacket,” he tells her with the worst fake smile Steve has ever seen.

She hums. “Two Cokes, coming up.”

Eddie rolls his eyes as she walks away. “More of a Pepsi guy, but o-kay, I guess.”

Steve just stares at him, shaking his head slowly with an amused smile on his lips.

Eddie shrugs. “Had to try, right?”

“I don’t know whether to be impressed or offended.”

“Offended?”

“That you need alcohol to get through one single date with me.”

Eddie laughs easily, and Steve grins as his gaze drops to the table. He picks up one of the menus sitting in front of him.

“A date,” Eddie mumbles, mostly to himself as he picks up his own menu. “Right.”

Steve’s hands freeze on the laminated pages for a few seconds, and he feels his heart sinking again. There’s something in the way he said it—like the idea of being on a date with Steve is too ridiculous to even entertain.

Steve shoves the thought out of his mind with a slight shake of his head as he goes back to reading the specials.

Maybe he heard it wrong.

“So,” Eddie starts, picking up a warm roll from the basket between them. “Robin and Nancy, huh?”

“I know,” Steve says, twirling the ice in his soda around with his straw. “I didn’t see it coming either.”

“Is it weird for you?” Eddie asks, biting into the bread. “I mean, it’s gotta be weird for you, right? Your best friend and your ex—talk about small towns.”

“It’s… something,” Steve says honestly. “But, I don’t know, if they can make it work then… I’m happy for them, you know?”

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs, taking a sip of his drink. “They’re good people; they deserve to be happy.”

He can practically feel the way Steve’s eyes roam over his face, his shoulders, his torso, and back up again.

“We all do,” he says simply enough, but before Eddie can ask him to elaborate, their food arrives at the table.

He’s done that a few times tonight, Eddie’s noticed. Steve has stopped and really looked at Eddie, taken him all in, a handful of times since they sat down at this table. It’s not subtle, the way he does it, and Eddie can’t figure out what his game is.

He’s too busy fighting the flush that creeps up his neck every time Steve’s gaze lingers on his lips for a second too long.

Steve Harrington is a flirt; everyone knows that.

The waitress sets a plate down in front of Eddie, and he gives her a halfhearted thank you in response. Honestly, she could’ve set down the completely wrong order in front of him and Eddie still would’ve said thank you, because instead of looking at his food, or the waitress, or literally anything else in the world, his eyes are stuck on Steve fucking Harrington.

The King of Hawkins High.

And for the hundredth time that night, Eddie tries to put the puzzle pieces together. He can’t figure out why Robin would send Steve, of all people, to be his “date” for the night. Is it a joke? Is this because he said he hates going on dates? Did Robin send him a friend just so he wouldn’t spend the night completely alone? So they both wouldn’t be alone?

It’s not adding up.

“This looks great,” Steve says with an easy smile, radiating Harrington charm towards the waitress. “Thanks.”

She gives him a kind smile and squeezes his shoulder as she walks back towards the kitchen.

Eddie doesn’t get it. He’s never really understood it, the thing that makes Steve so special. He doesn’t know what it is exactly that got him his crown, or what made a smart girl like Nancy Wheeler fall fast and hard, or what secret part of him won over Robin band geek Buckley.

Like, sure, he’s handsome, in a traditional sort of way, and he’s kind, in the way that most people aren’t, and he’s fiercely loyal to the people he loves. And yeah, maybe he wears jeans that fit a little too well, and his laugh is something that should be bottled and sold at apothecaries, and he has a smile that makes hearts like Eddie’s roll over and die in his chest.

But that’s—whatever. It’s irrelevant, he thinks; he honestly can’t remember.

What was his point?

“You okay?”

Eddie shakes himself out of his own head. “What?”

“Your burger,” Steve says, nodding to Eddie’s plate. “Is it okay?”

“Oh, uh,” Eddie pauses, then blinks. “Yeah, I think so.”

Steve raises his brows slightly but doesn’t ask again. He goes back to his own meal, some kind of pasta dish, and stabs a few pieces onto his fork.

Eddie picks up his burger and takes a bite. It’s good.

“What did you get?” he asks Steve.

“I don’t even remember,” Steve answers honestly around a mouthful of food. “But it’s good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve says with a nod, then swallows. “Wanna try some?”

“Nah, I’m okay.”

“Oh, come on,” Steve teases, tilting his head to the side. “Try a bite.”

And the thing is—Eddie kind of wants to.

“Alright, fine,” Eddie grumbles, biting back a smile.

Steve pokes a few pieces of his dinner onto his fork, but instead of moving them to Eddie’s plate like a sane person would do—he holds up his fork over the middle of the table.

And Eddie’s brain shuts down.

Steve looks from Eddie, to the fork, then back to Eddie and raises his brows in question.

Eddie faintly hears some sort of buzzing noise in the back of his mind, the death of his nervous system as his entire body locks up.

“What?” Steve asks, tilting his head. “I don’t have cooties, Munson.”

And Eddie, if he had any thoughts going through his head at all, probably should’ve taken the fork out of Steve’s hand and eaten the bite of pasta like a normal person would do, but when his synapses finally start firing again he finds that his arms are pinned to his sides.

He leans forward over the table and eats the pasta right off the end of Steve’s offered fork, his lips closing around the metal as Steve gently pulls it back.

And for one blissful moment the world seems to stop spinning just for them.

Brown eyes meet brown from across the table and everything else fades away.

Until Eddie’s brain switches into overdrive to compensate for going offline and his taste buds finally register the heavenly bite of food still sitting in his mouth.

His eyes roll back in his head, and he actually moans. Like, out loud.

Steve’s mouth tugs up into the barest hint of a smile, his cheeks tinged pink as he brings his fork back to his plate. “Damn,” he breathes out, mostly to himself, but Eddie still hears it.

“Sorry,” Eddie says quickly, ducking his head and shoving his burger in his mouth. What the fuck is wrong with him?

“It’s okay,” Steve says easily, having the nerve to steal one of Eddie’s fries, and the audacity to dip it in his ketchup. Steve pops it in his mouth and licks his lips. “I kinda liked it.”

Eddie chokes on his burger and looks up at Steve, his face turning scarlet.

“The pasta,” Steve says with a knowing grin and a wink. “I kind of like the food.”

Eddie kind of wants to die.

Because Steve Harrington is a flirt; everyone knows that.

But why the hell is Steve flirting with him?

They eat their meals in relative silence, occasionally talking about unimportant things, but mostly just enjoying the soft music filtering through the restaurant. It’s all sappy love songs, fitting for Valentine’s Day, Steve supposes. He’s not complaining.

He even catches Eddie bobbing his head to a chorus or two, then pretending like he’s not enjoying it when he sees Steve staring.

Steve thinks that the date is going somewhat well. He’s laying it on thick, which definitely gets Eddie’s attention, but there’s something he’s missing. Some wall that Steve can’t even begin to climb because he can’t find it. It’s almost…

It’s almost like Eddie’s here, but he’s not really here.

Like this is a game that he’s playing—and losing, badly—and he keeps trying to reset the score every time Steve makes him blush. And while Steve knows that this is definitely a two-player game, he just expected them to be on the same team instead of fighting against each other.

And he doesn’t know why Eddie’s fighting so hard.

“I’m stuffed,” Eddie muses, sitting back in his chair. “I don’t think I could eat another bite.”

“Oh, don’t say that,” Steve teases, picking up the dessert menu from the side of the table. “We haven’t even ordered dessert yet.”

Eddie grumbles. “Fine. But only if they have chocolate cake.”

Steve laughs softly as he flips the page over, scanning the menu to see what they have.

A bus boy comes by to clear the table, and Eddie snatches the last fry off his plate before it goes, dipping it in ketchup and popping it in his mouth as the bus boy stacks the plates.

Steve shakes his head slightly, an amused smile tugging at his lips, when he notices the bit of ketchup smeared across the corner of Eddie’s mouth.

“You got something…” Steve starts, motioning to his own mouth with his hand.

“What?” Eddie asks. “Do I have something on my face?”

“Yeah.”

His tongue darts out to lick at the spot Steve pointed to, but it misses the ketchup by millimeters. “Did I get it?”

“No,” Steve laughs.

Eddie tries again, unsuccessfully, but if Steve has to watch his tongue make one more swipe across his lips he thinks he might actually overheat, so he has to put a stop to this.

“Here,” Steve says, setting down the menu, and leaning over the table. “Let me…”

Eddie doesn’t move as Steve reaches out. He stays completely still while Steve’s thumb brushes the corner of his mouth, the soft pad of skin tracing over Eddie’s bottom lip in the process.

“Got it,” Steve muses, watching Eddie turn pink. He stares down at the ketchup on his thumb as he sits back in his chair, then looks up and meets Eddie’s gaze as he sucks his finger into his mouth and licks the ketchup off his skin.

Eddie turns scarlet.

Check mate.

“Okay—what the fuck?” Eddie asks when he finally finds his voice again.

Steve raises his brows, an almost bored expression crossing his face. “What?”

“What is this, Steve?” he asks, gesturing to the restaurant around them. “Is this a joke?”

“Is what a—”

“Is it a prank?” he keeps going. “Did you lose a bet? Did I lose a bet?”

“Eddie what the hell are you—”

“I just—don’t understand,” he says, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I mean, it’s either that or senseless torture, because why the fuck else would Robin make me drive all the way to Indianapolis on Valentine’s Day to sit through a fake date with Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington?”

The words land like knives to his chest, and Steve can feel his heart deflate between his ribs. His brow unfurrows and his features go soft as he stares at Eddie from across the table.

“Fake date?”

Eddie’s face falls. “I didn’t mean it like—”

“You know,” Steve starts, “you talk a lot of shit, Munson, and usually I just let it roll off my back, but I don’t know what the fuck I ever did to do you to make the idea of going on a date with me so absolutely repulsive.”

“Steve,” Eddie sighs, rubbing at his eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean, Eddie?”

“I mean—” he starts, waving his hand in the air, but cuts himself off and drops his hand down to his lap.

Because Steve is sitting there with his arms folded over his chest, his biceps straining against his shirt sleeves and a scowl on his face, and as much as this mean girl persona kind of terrifies Eddie, he knows it’s just an act.

And he doesn’t want to hurt his friend.

Eddie sighs.

“I mean,” he starts again, “you’re the straightest boy in all of Indiana, Steve, so what the hell are you doing sitting here with me, on Valentine’s Day?”

And that’s when it clicks. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“…Oh.”

“Steve?”

And really, maybe he should’ve given Robin more credit in not sharing his most closely guarded secret with anyone else, but he kind of just assumed that his date would have put the pieces together on his own when Steve showed up with goddamn flowers for him.

But then again this is Eddie, the guy who failed senior year twice, so maybe Steve has to spell it out for him.

“I’m—not straight.”

Eddie blinks. “What did you just say?”

“I said I’m not straight,” Steve repeats. “I’m bisexual.”

Eddie blinks again. “You’re what?”

“Bisexual,” Steve sighs. “It means—”

“I know what it means.”

Steve pinches his lips together and picks up his nearly empty soda, swirling the ice around in the cup as Eddie processes.

“You’re serious?”

“No, I just like coming out for fun.”

Eddie runs a hand through his hair and grabs at the strands. “So—wait a minute.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Here we go.”

“So this…” Eddie starts, motioning between them, still trying to find his words. “This really is a—”

“Yes,” Steve answers, leaning back in his chair and biting at his straw, more than a little annoyed. “Welcome to the date you’ve been on for the last forty-five minutes.”

Eddie stares at him, his face blank as he wraps his head around the idea, and finally, after a long minute, he squares his shoulders and sits up a little straighter in his seat.

“Well, shit, Harrington,” he muses, wiping a hand over his mouth. “I guess I’m gonna have to step up my game.”

Steve tries very hard not to, but he ends up smiling around his straw.

They did, in fact, have chocolate cake.

Eddie takes another bite of their shared piece, laughing around his fork as he eats the cake.

After Steve’s big revelation, Eddie found himself relaxing into the situation more. Before, he was constantly on alert, waiting for the punchline—or the punch—and bracing himself for impact. Now…

Now he watches Steve lick frosting off his lips and he doesn’t fight against the feeling he gets low in his stomach. He leans into it.

They talk as they eat, conversing about everything and nothing and all of it in between. They talk about the kids, who has what for carpool duty this week, and they talk about their friends, guessing at how Robin and Nancy’s date is going and musing on the Star Wars marathon going on at Gareth’s house with the Corroded Coffin boys tonight.

They talk about school, of all things, and they find out their time spent at Hawkins High wasn’t actually all that different when they break it down. They both hated school, hated Click’s class especially, and the only difference is that Steve barely managed to skim above failing grades while Eddie couldn’t quite reach the surface.

They talk and they eat and they laugh, and when the inevitable silence falls over the table when the cake is gone, and two forks sit idly amongst the crumbs, it’s Eddie who breaks it.

“You know—I kind of really hate blind dates.”

“Now, he tells me.”

Eddie laughs, propping his elbows on the table and ducking his chin. “I mean, I usually hate blind dates. They don’t typically… end well, for me.”

Steve leans in a little closer. “Usually?”

“Yeah.”

“And what about tonight?”

Eddie tilts his head to the side. “Tonight is… different.”

Steve looks up at him. “Good different?”

Eddie bites back a smile. “I don’t know yet.”

Steve slowly—ever so slowly—reaches one hand out across the table, giving Eddie more than enough time to pull away before he covers Eddie’s hand with his own. He tugs Eddie’s fingers more towards the space between them, where Eddie lays his hand face up and Steve presses their palms together.

It’s the smallest touch—minuscule, really—but it lights every nerve ending in Eddie’s body on fire.

He stares at their joined hands on the tablecloth between them, and as his heart starts beating faster, the rest of the world starts to fade away. They are not Steve and Eddie, and this is not a public restaurant, and it’s not Valentine’s Day.

They’re just two boys from Indiana, holding hands across the table.

Eddie’s eyes meet Steve’s.

“I think…” Steve starts, licking his lips. “I think it’s a good kind of different.”

“How can you tell?”

“Because I like you, Eddie.”

Eddie hears a ringing sound in his ears. “You what?”

“I like you,” Steve says again, and Eddie can’t tell if it’s easy to say or Steve just makes it look easy, because his palm is just as sweaty as Eddie’s. “I have for a little while now, and I think tonight just… sort of amplified that for me.”

Eddie doesn’t remember how to breathe. He thinks he knew, at one point in his life, but it’s escaping him now.

“I like you a lot, Eddie. Like, more than I ever thought I would.” Steve cringes at his own words, wincing as he hears them out loud. “Shit. That sounded like a lot. I’m sorry, I just—I don’t know… I’m fucking this up.”

Steve runs a nervous hand through his hair, and Eddie tries to hide his smile.

“No, no,” Eddie tells him, sinking his teeth into his lower lip. “Keep going.”

Steve laughs softly, squeezing Eddie’s hand. Eddie squeezes back for moral support.

“All I’m trying to say is…” Steve lets out a slow breath. “I’m having a really nice time tonight.”

Eddie beams at him then, all smiles and a mess of curls falling into his face.

“Me too,” he says back, running his thumb over Steve’s knuckles.

He doesn’t want this moment to end.

Steve pays the check, after Eddie puts up a halfhearted fight about splitting it, but Steve has cash in the booklet and gets it into the waitress’s hands before Eddie can even look at the bill.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Eddie tells him, as he shoves one arm into his leather jacket.

“I wanted to,” Steve tells him, grabbing the other side of Eddie’s jacket and helping him get his arm into it.

His fingers brush against the skin of Eddie’s neck just barely, but it’s enough to send shivers down his spine. He wants to do that again.

Eddie untucks his hair from the collar as Steve shrugs his own jacket on, some gray Members Only monstrosity he’s been wearing since high school.

They make their way up to the front of the restaurant, nodding a quick goodbye to the hostess as they walk out the door. It’s colder outside than Steve remembers it being when he got here, but not so cold that it’s unpleasant.

“So…” Eddie starts. “What do we do now?”

Steve sighs. “Well, we could end this now, get in our respective cars, and drive back to Hawkins alone.”

Eddie tilts his head to the side, a mischievous light dancing in his eyes. “Or?”

Steve grins. “Or, considering you’ve only been on this date for—” he checks his watch, “—fifteen minutes, we could… I don’t know, walk around the city for a little bit?”

“Huh,” Eddie muses, tongue in cheek. “Not where I thought you were going with the whole 'get in our cars alone' bit, but…”

Steve laughs, his smile taking over his whole face. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Munson.”

“But it likes being in the gutter,” he flirts, taking a tentative step forward towards Steve and dropping his voice. “That’s where all the freaks live.”

Steve’s gaze drops to Eddie’s lips for three whole seconds before he looks back at Eddie’s eyes.

“Yeah?”

Eddie steps to the side noncommittally, then drops one of his hands from his pockets. He lines his palm up with Steve’s, then threads their fingers together slowly, carefully, like one wrong move will break this moment.

Steve keeps staring at his mouth.

“Now whose mind is in the gutter,” Eddie teases, taking two steps forward and pulling Steve along with him. “Come on, Harrington, I’ll show you the real Indie.”

Eddie drags him all over the city.

He points out all his favorite spots—restaurants, bars, clubs, you name it—and tells these lavish tales of wild nights in the city with his friends, listening to music and finding underground clubs and discovering the best pizza in all of Indiana is only sold from a street cart between the hours of ten and midnight.

Steve listens attentively, letting Eddie rant and rave about whatever he wants if it means he gets to see that smile again. He asks questions about some places, offers an amused hum to others, and even teases the idea of a second date at Eddie’s favorite live music bar.

“If you’re lucky,” is all Eddie said when Steve asked if he could take him there next time.

They wander the streets for probably over an hour, their hands still clasped firmly together, the soft skin of Steve’s thumb tracing over Eddie’s knuckles while they wait for crosswalk signs and red lights. It’s nice, is the best way Steve can think to describe it, meanwhile Eddie has revisited the backseat of Steve’s car idea one too many times in his head.

He thinks he’s finally found the bravado to bring it up again when Steve stops dead in his tracks.

Eddie feels the tug on his arm and turns around. “What?”

“Do you hear that?”

It takes a few seconds, but Eddie finally picks up the sound Steve is talking about.

“It’s—music,” he says, surprised.

Steve grins at him, squeezing Eddie’s hand before he starts pulling him down an alleyway. “Come on.”

Eddie goes willingly, not knowing this area of the city that well, but curious to see what they’ll find. When they emerge on the other side of the cut through, he’s not disappointed.

It’s a small courtyard with a fountain in the middle, and on one side there’s a musician, sitting in a chair and plucking the strings of his guitar in a soft melody. The music echoes off the buildings and fills the courtyard with sound, tugging on Eddie’s heartstrings to get closer.

There’s an older couple swaying together not far from the musician, the woman’s head laying on the man’s shoulder as they turn in time.

Steve turns to Eddie, a soft smile playing on his face. “Do you want to dance with me?”

Eddie’s mouth goes dry.

Because it’s one thing to hold hands as they run through the city streets—already a pretty big risk that he usually wouldn’t take on any other day, but it’s Steve golden-boy Harrington holding his hand so his self-preservation instincts went out the fucking window—but it’s another to be caught slow dancing with another man in public, where anyone can see them.

And yeah, he doesn’t really care what other people think, but he’s not really trying to possibly get beat up today, and this will definitely increase those odds.

But Steve’s looking at him with magic in his eyes, a hopeless romantic falling hard and fast for the misunderstood boy on his arm, and when the streetlights flicker in his gaze just right Eddie swears he can see his future.

So, what the hell.

“Yeah.”

Steve gently tugs Eddie over to the side, putting the fountain between them and the other three people in this courtyard—smart move, Harrington—and with practiced ease his hands lightly find Eddie’s hips.

Eddie takes a breath as he lifts his own hands up to Steve’s shoulders, letting one of them drift inward until he can feel the warm skin of his neck, Eddie’s fingers just starting to play with Steve’s curls.

Steve pulls them a little closer together and starts swaying them softly in time with the music.

Eddie looks up at Steve, brown eyes meeting brown from six inches away in a courtyard in Indianapolis.

Steve smiles at him. “Hi.”

Eddie smirks. “Hi.”

“So,” Steve starts, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s waist and clasping his hands around his back. “Scale of one to ten, how do you think our first date is going so far?”

“First?”

“Yeah, I’m an optimist.”

Eddie snorts. “I don’t know. Maybe a nine.”

“A nine?” Steve beams. “That’s pretty high.”

“Still not perfect,” Eddie teases, wrinkling his nose.

“Oh yeah?” Steve asks, a small smirk tugging at his mouth. “And why’s that?”

“Because…” Eddie breathes out, his gaze darting to Steve’s lips. “You haven’t kissed me yet.”

Steve bites back a smile. “I didn’t know if you wanted me to.”

And that—Eddie actually laughs at that. “Oh my God,” he says with an eye roll. “Does that line usually land for you?”

Steve leans in a little closer. “Never misses.”

He moves slowly, and Eddie knows he has plenty of time to pull away or fire off another quip about how lame that is, but he’d be lying if he said he could feel any part of his body at this moment, in the breath before Steve Harrington—his Steve—kisses him.

And then he does.

His lips are soft as they brush against Eddie’s, a chaste press of their mouths together, tentative, almost exploratory.

But then Eddie’s whole hand ends up tangled in Steve’s hair, and Steve takes that as his cue to part his lips and kiss Eddie in earnest.

Eddie has no objections.

When they finally pull away a minute or two later, Steve only lets himself pull back far enough to rest his forehead against Eddie’s, their breath melding in the space between them.

“Fuck,” Eddie mutters, pushing their bodies closer together.

Steve laughs against his mouth as he kisses him again, quickly this time, still turning them in time to the music as butterflies take flight in his chest.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Eddie.”

Eddie kisses him in response, sliding his tongue along Steve’s and giggling into his mouth as they dance, just the two of them.

And Steve doesn’t even complain when Eddie starts pulling on his hair.

Because the thing is—Steve Harrington doesn’t go out with girls on Valentine’s Day.

Steve Harrington goes out with his boyfriend on Valentine’s Day.

This year, and every year after.