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Steve can hear music blasting from the trailer inside his Beemer. Can feel it vibrating through the floor. It's even shaking his side mirror with its intense force. The words are indistinct, but heavy drums and electric guitars are easily picked out. He silently apologizes to their neighbors before grabbing the six-pack next to him.
Pulling back the flimsy screen door, he knocks. Hopefully, hard enough for any occupants to hear. The screen door is lightweight against his back as he awkwardly looks across the trailer park. Part of him feels out of place here, like he should just go home. But 'home' means possibly running into his parents. Seeing them is few and far between anyway, so it feels more like an excuse to be here.
They haven't been back since the cracks formed.
He's standing there long enough to start to fidget and think he should go home. It's warm. Stuffy despite the setting sun, crickets sing. The tee he threw on is beginning to stick uncomfortably to overly warmed skin.
Just as he turns to pile himself and his beer back into his car, the door creaks open.
Barely muffled guitar chords filter full blast past the door. Wayne stands in the doorway, coat on and keys in hand.
"Hey kid," He says, gaze wandering down to the pack of beer Steve's carrying, "I've got a late shift, don't set anything on fire but have fun."
"Yes, sir," Steve stumbles out. Wayne's keys clink together pleasantly as he swings them lazily around a finger as they switch places.
The screen door closes violently, creating a particular sound only screen doors can create. Hollow metal hitting wood and bouncing at least twice. Steve watches Wayne slide into the seat of his truck before closing the front door.
He tries not to linger in the living room. If he stands there long enough, the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It still makes him uncomfortable.
Down the hall, the source of a fully immersed experience of wailing guitars and vocals, he can see the door cracked to Eddie's room. Dim light spills into the dark hallway, the lights from the living room seem to not reach this part of the trailer well.
As he makes his way down the hall, the music changes to something he'd expect to hear in church. A chorus singing harmoniously, he knocks on the doorframe before pushing the door open wider.
An organ takes over from the chorus as he sees Eddie sitting at the shitty desk he managed to cobble together in shop class last year. It wobbles a bit, but certainly not the worst thing Steve has seen come out of that classroom.
There's… something around his head.
"What the hell is that?" Steve says, sort of frozen at the door to Eddie's room, who finally notices him, looking up. Bright light shines from the top of his head, nearly blinding Steve as he puts up a hand to block the rays.
His eyes are visible underneath the light source, enlarged beneath a layer of warped glass. He looks like some sort of big-eyed bug.
The organ transitions to electric guitar, a tonal shift that could give Steve whiplash if he was paying attention.
Eddie looks away, back to what he is working on, shoulders hunched inward, "I found it in the dumpster behind the hardware store."
Steve comes further into Eddie's room and reluctantly sits on his questionable mattress. The springs squeal under him as he settles in. He sets the beers on the floor and looks at Eddie's back for a while. His hair bounces slightly as he bobs his head to the music blasting from the stereo beside him.
"What are you doing?" Steve asks. He can't see much other than the back of Eddie's head. Eddie spins around in his chair, almost blinding Steve again.
"Oh, sorry," Eddie says as he presses a button on the contraption on his head that shuts the light off. "Crafting the next big bad villain for the brats to tear apart."
He lifts a small object with both hands reverently with a broad smile, "I present Lysander the Great Schism!"
"Lysander?" Steve asks blankly, eyebrows raised, squinting at the small figure.
Eddie deflates slightly, head quickly tilting to the side, "It's a work in progress."
"Can I see?" He's almost surprised at how genuine his question is. The whole scene isn't really for him, but he's curious all the same. It certainly shocks Eddie, whose head snaps to stare him down from behind magnifying glass.
"Am I corrupting you, Harrington?" Eddie teases, hand to his chest as he leans closer, "Drawing you into schemes of devil worship and strategy games?"
Steve rolls his eyes, "As if. I just wanna see it."
Eddie relents with a flourish as he presents the object for Steve to grab. He's gentle with it as it drops into his hand. It's a lot heavier than he thought it would be. Metal of some sort.
It's still hard to see in the dark despite the new proximity. Steve motions at Eddie's head, "Can I borrow those?"
"Sure, but your noggin might be bigger than mine," Eddie says as he relieves the lamp from his head, "And the magnification is difficult to get used to."
His 'noggin' is bigger than Eddie's, but it's easy enough to figure out how to loosen and slip it onto his forehead. Eddie moves closer to flick down a set of magnifying glasses, shortening Steve's vision. He slowly pushes Steve's hand closer to his face.
The figure comes into focus much closer to his face than he expects. Turning on the lamp, he is greeted by a figurine of a man. He's very muscular and an interesting shade of green. As well as wearing very little in the armor department. These things are supposed to wear armor, right?
Steve's seen the little characters the group plays with during their games but never thought much of it. But seeing this one up close makes Steve wonder.
"Did you paint this?" He looks up before remembering the light is still on.
"Yessir," Eddie says proudly, sitting back in his chair before immediately leaning forward again, "Paint 'em all myself."
Steve admires the scale and how much detail Eddie puts into a tiny character like this. The song changes once again as they sit there analyzing the figure. Slower than before, piano and strings before the singer comes in to crone about being tired.
Carefully, Steve hands the figure back to ringed fingers that clink on the metal. As he undoes the headlamp, "Is it done?"
"Oh no no," Eddie shakes his head vehemently, "There's still a few things I've gotta do."
Steve waits expectantly for him to continue, but Eddie looks back up at him after neither says anything.
"You're really interested in all this nerd stuff?" Eddie asks in disbelief.
"I don't know," Steve doesn't mean to sound so defensive, "My hobbies include babysitting a bunch of freshmen and saving the world. Not like I am that interesting."
"King Steve - not that interesting, huh?" Eddie tilts his head back to look at Steve weirdly. Although most of his looks could be categorized as 'weird.' It's something that he has perfected.
Steve doesn't have the time to figure out the statement or the look before Eddie slaps a hand on his shoulder with an ear-splitting smile, "Time for your education in miniature painting to begin, Harrington."
Words pass in one ear and out the other as Steve leans over Eddie's shoulder and explains what he's doing. Past 'priming,' he's lost in words. Base coat, shading, glazing, wet blending, dry brushing, stippling, metallic metals. He tries, he really does, to keep up, but there's just too much going on.
What he does notice is the craft paint bottles strewn across the desk, interspersed with small piles of figurines. Looks like Eddie's been pretty busy. If Steve tilts his head, he can see the deep bags under the guy's eyes.
He gets it. He wishes that he didn't. Wishes that he didn't see rows and rows of teeth when he closes his eyes. Wishes he didn't still feel small knives stabbing into his sides, tearing his flesh away from him. Sleep is a comfort they can't afford.
The cassette has long stopped in the player, but Eddie doesn't seem to notice. Not until he sits back in his chair, "See? Nothing too complicated."
Steve sits tiredly on the bed, leaning down to take a beer from the pack. "I am gonna be honest… I barely caught any of that."
Eddie smiles sympathetically as he crowds into Steve's space to grab a beer. After a few sips, he ejects the cassette from the player and carefully slots it into its case.
"What'd you think?" He waggles the case back and forth.
"It was… interesting," Steve replies.
"This, my friend," Eddie says as he slaps it into Steve's hand, "Is Ozzy Osbourne. Bark at The Moon 1983."
He spreads his hands out as he says the album title that Steve can read on the cassette case, "And it is your required listening before we hang again."
He emphasizes it with an exaggerated point and a swig from his bottle. Eddie had been trying to get him to listen to Osbourne since everything died down, and Steve had somehow managed to push it off. Now it seems like he won't be able to hide from the man who apparently bit the head off a bat on stage any longer. It did sound pretty metal.
Flipping the cassette over in his hands a few times, pretending to analyze it as Eddie looks at him. "I'll give it a listen."
"Excellent," Eddie says excitedly, "You won't regret it, my friend."
Eddie gets this little shine in his eyes when he gets enthusiastic. And he'll smile, his whole face lighting up, which Steve barely saw until recently. Being accused of ritualistic murder and hunted down by a town of hicks with a fucked up sense of justice doesn't promote happy feelings.
Seeing it now, genuine and bright, stirs Steve's stomach lightly. Like boiling sugar, can't mix it too much or risk making crystals and ruining everything. He looks down at his bottle instead.
When they were in school, Steve knew of Eddie.
His friends were good at one thing, gossip. And did they gossip. It was like every other word out of their mouths was about who was fucking who. Occasionally it was about who would be 'supplying' the next party.
Everyone knew that Eddie sold. But he never sold for parties, just solo deals. An honor thing. So his friends would bitch whenever there wasn't anyone to ask, and Eddie wouldn't even think about it. He doesn't anymore, not after what happened, but he and Steve have had a few smokes together.
Plenty of people didn't like him. Plenty more don't now, that's for sure. Steve knew that but never really cared to learn the reason. He was in his own bubble and didn't stick himself into other people's business. As long as he didn't bother him, they had no problem.
That didn't stop him from hearing what people would say about Eddie. He's annoying. Normal comment. He's a freak. Pretty standard. Whispers of him not being into girls. Less common.
Steve has no problem with it if it is true. He can't be entirely sure because high schoolers would call someone queer over the slightest thing. And someone like Eddie was a prime target for scrutiny.
There was no denying that he was an attractive guy. It was obvious; even Steve could see that. He tries to convince himself that it's normal to think about how another guy's hair must feel. Or how he wants to make him smile, to see that gleam in his eye.
He swallows the rest of his beer in a hearty gulp before opening another right after. Eddie raises an eyebrow but says nothing. He does turn back to the desk to pull another cassette out and pop it into the player. Mercifully, he turns the volume down for Steve's eardrums and his neighbors.
"They'll call the police if I play it loud late enough," Eddie whines. His mouth flattens into a line with the complaint. "They're just boring."
Steve laughs lightly, "Or they're trying to sleep?"
"Booor-ing," Eddie drags the syllables out as he leans closer to Steve, rings clinking on the beer bottle. He smiles again. Steve's stomach twists. He is pretty.
They're quiet for a long time after that. Listening to Black Sabbath play softly into the space. Steve almost lays back on Eddie's bed but thinks better of it. Who knows what's on that thing.
Eddie looks around a bit, eyes wandering but not focusing on anything. Alert and thinking but not exactly present. His tongue comes out of the corner of his mouth before he looks at Steve.
"You wanna try?"
Steve, who was going to doze off sitting up, frowns at the question, "Huh?"
Eddie picks up the headlamp and a little metal figure from the pile, "Wanna try?"
Steve looks at Eddie's hands briefly before draining his second beer. His gaze flicks up to meet Eddie's eyes. He seems sort of excited. Showing him something he likes.
He sighs to sound put out but readily grabs the offered items, "Sure."
"You'll want to sit over here," Eddie says as he stands, handkerchief in his pocket swinging as he sits on the ground next to the desk. He pats the seat of the rickety chair, smiling cross-legged at him.
The chair creaks as he sits down, almost concerningly. But it holds.
"I'm sure you know the basics of painting," Eddie says expectantly but then pauses as if second-guessing himself, "What's this?"
Steve plucks the paintbrush from his fingers, "A paintbrush, you asshole."
"Good," Eddie praises, "Good. See, I was a bit worried."
"Fuck off, Munson," Steve rolls his eyes as he looks at the paint before him. And the dirty paint water cup next to it. There's a piece of wax paper next to it, colors splashed across it, a palette of sorts.
"So I just… start?" Steve says as he looks down at Eddie. Now that he's here, it seems a bit daunting. Where does he even begin? There are a lot of colors, which does he use?
"Well, sure," Eddie says, tilting his head lightly, "Only pick like three colors, though. It'll help a bit."
Three. He can do that. That's not too hard, right? He stares hard down at the colors. And continues to stare.
"Want me to pick, Harrington?" Eddie says deadpan.
Steve flushes, leaning back. He feels a bit sheepish, "Maybe."
His face burns as Eddie leans over him to pick up a red, brown, and blue. "No problemo, good sir, let's start simple."
"You'll maybe want to have white and black, but these are your best friends right now," Eddie says, slapping his hand on the desk in front of the paint.
"Ok," Steve says, breathing out. "Now what?"
"Thin it out on this," Eddie's ringed finger taps the wax paper, "And go to town. It'll probably take a few coats."
Steve looks down at the figurine, already covered in a layer of black paint. It's an archer, bow drawn tight, poised to shoot. He can do this. It's not rocket science.
It's hard until Eddie's hand comes into view to flip down the magnifier on the headlamp, clicking the light on. Details come into focus, illuminated well enough to make out. He completely forgot about the contraption on his head.
Eddie stays silent for most of it, sitting patiently on the floor, looking up at him as Steve fumbles around with a small paintbrush. Only interjecting when Steve seems visibly lost.
In the end, the cloak is red, the bow is brown, and the accents a dark blue. It's not terrible. But as Steve sits back, he feels his spine pop in a few places and notices the soreness.
"Oops, shoulda warned you," Eddie says apologetically, "That chair is killer."
"No kidding," Steve groans as he rubs his back with one hand, figurine gripped in the other. He looks down at the wonky piece of metal, "This shit is hard."
Eddie laughs, "It requires practice, my friend."
It felt like hours had passed with Eddie sitting beside his legs, looking up at him curiously as he made questionable painting choices.
The small alarm clock blinked in the corner of his eye, showing 1:00AM.
He pulls the headlamp off, rubbing at his eyes. Waves of exhaustion hit him like a truck, and a yawn rips through that he covers with a hand.
"Seems like it's past your bedtime, Harrington," Eddie teases lightly.
"Yeah, I should probably be heading home," He looks forlorn at the clock. Time to head back to where he belongs. A big, dark, empty house. Standing, he feels his knees pop, causing Eddie to laugh.
He leaves the beer at the foot of Eddie's bed.
"Until next time, my friend," Eddie says at the door, bowing lightly.
Steve manages a tired smile, "See you, man."
He's almost at the Beemer when he turns back, Eddie still in the doorway.
"Try to get some sleep," He says knowingly.
Eddie's casual demeanor slips, sagging against the doorway. He nods instead of giving Steve a comeback.
He stays there until Steve reverses and sets home, giving a weak little wave into the darkness.
Steve gets home and doesn't bother turning on the lights. Heads upstairs to take a half-assed shower and stumble into bed face down.
His dreams are blissfully empty that night. No darkness, no dust that coats his lungs and chokes him from the inside, no teeth.
Empty.
He sees Eddie a week later when the gang appears unannounced at his doorstep. Backpacks slung over their shoulders as he blearily opens the door.
Dustin smiles at him as if he didn't just come crashing into Steve's hangover-induced nap. He's lucky that it's subsiding. And that Steve adores the little shit.
He quickly lets them through the door, not bothering to check that they even close it. Instead, he heads to the kitchen to scrounge around for something they'll eat. Finds nothing. Of course.
He finds them already setting up shop on the unnecessarily large dining table, Eddie at the head of it. He pulls out something large and flat, unfolding it to set up a screen between him and the groups prying eyes. Ringed fingers fiddle with the placement before settling on a position he likes.
They lock eyes briefly before Eddie smiles at him again, and it's all boiling sugar.
"Pizza, and no," Steve says, putting a finger up before Dustin can interject, "No pineapple."
The kid groans but relents because pizza is pizza; the others are thankful, however. He catches Eddie's eyes again, greeted by a sly look. One that Steve reads as a joke at his expense.
And 'The Best Babysitter in Hawkins' award goes to…
He rolls his eyes to escape the room, returning to the kitchen to put the order in.
The living room opens right into the dining room, a cavernous space so open it swallows everything in it. Steve takes up vigil on the large recliner near the boundary of the two rooms, idly paying attention to the raucous game being played a few feet away.
When the pizza finally comes, relieving Steve of the complaints of hunger, Eddie helps him distribute plates to the hungry denizens.
He sits at the table, the other end opposite Eddie as they eat. There are dice, maps, and little figurines all over the table. Some get knocked down in a hurry to eat, light thump sounds against the wood.
Steve's eyes catch on one. Red, brown, blue. His. Right there on the table amongst the other significantly better-painted miniatures.
Quickly, he looks at Eddie, who is busy shoveling a folded slice of pizza into his mouth.
He feels his face heat up lightly, which is frankly ridiculous. Of course, he's gonna use it. That's what they're meant for, can't waste one. But it's his. And it's here. And Eddie wants to use it.
The sugar is being stirred. Dangerously so.
There's no way he's gonna bring it up, and not with the kids right here. Which is once again ridiculous; it's just a stupid figurine. Why is he freaking out over it?
It doesn't last long because Eddie stands beside him as they wash dishes. Shoulders brush as they hand plates off. He's mercifully quiet until he isn't.
"Did you listen to it?" He says, glancing over at Steve as he soaps up a plate.
"Hm?" Steve can only hum, distracted.
"Osborne," Eddie reiterates, "Did you give it a listen?"
He did. God, yeah, he did. It's still in the player upstairs in his room, where he paused it earlier that day. He has nothing else like it, nothing so charged that it makes him want to fight. To swing his bat into the nearest breakable object. To relieve whatever it is he's been feeling recently. Pent up.
"Yeah." He replies intelligently.
Eddie sets down the sponge to fully turn to look at him, eyebrows raised, "And?"
He sounds so excited. Eager to share something with someone who's never experienced it before.
"It's alright," Steve lies, trying to play it cool.
"Just alright?" Eddie asks, wide eyes brokering for the truth.
"Yeah." So eloquent tonight, "I liked it."
"Really?" His eyes brighten again, excitement coming back full force. "Which was your favorite?"
He doesn't have time to answer.
"Let me guess," Eddie says, sponge wholly forgotten in his side of the sink. "Waiting For Darkness."
It was up there to be sure, "Nope."
Eddie frowns, scrutinizing him. Thinking. "Slow Down?"
"Nah," Pretty good still.
"One up the 'B' Side?" Steve stops rinsing off the plate he's holding, and that's all the answer Eddie needs. "And here I thought I had you figured out, Harrington."
God, he's smiling again. Steve can see it. It's like he's making up for all the time he wasn't feeling up to joy, to laughter. Filling the gaps with toothy grins.
"I liked it," Steve repeats, leaning over to take over Eddie's side of the sink. "It was good. Felt good to listen to."
"Well, now you know I have to know what you think of 'Ride The Lighting.' This is just the beginning of your musical education, Stevie."
"Is that another Ozzy Osborne album?" Steve asks as he sets the last of the dishes on the drying rack.
"No, no," Eddie shakes his head and leans back, "Metallica."
Steve just nods. Remembers the Upside Down. Swallows around the lump in his throat. "You uhh… have the guy I painted."
Eddie blinks a little at the change in topic but smiles nonetheless. "You noticed, huh?"
"The paint job is so piss poor I'm surprised none of the kids brought it up," Steve jokes, lightly deflecting.
"Doubt they noticed," Eddie says, tilting his head toward the dining room. "Glad you did."
He pats Steve on the chest twice, smiling before returning to the dining room. And Steve feels himself almost boil over.
Crystalline sugar fills him up, burning hot. He turns back to the sink to hold cold water to his cheeks.
There's no way he didn't bring it on purpose because he knew they were going to Steve's house.
They're back in the game when Steve returns to his chair, still flustered. Eddie glances over at him as he sets out a few more figurines, and Steve recognizes one from last week, the one Eddie was working on.
"Well met, esteemed colleagues," Eddie states in a boisterous voice, "I am the great Lysander!"
He kept the name. And now that Steve is really paying attention, the archer he painted is over by Lysanders figure. As well as another that's holding a sword.
It isn't just some placeholder character. Not just someone for the kids to kill and forget about later; Eddie made him someone important.
Just because Steve painted it.
Face heated, he looks at Eddie enthusiastically acting as this villain in disguise and can't help but feel a little special.
All over a damned metal figurine.
He lets himself smile as the kids ask questions, and Eddie replies easily in character, gaining their trust so quickly.
He lets himself watch as Eddie's eyes light up. He lets himself admire as Eddie's hair catches the light and looks impossibly soft.
And he's ok with that.