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It starts like most things in Steve’s life start these days: with Eddie having a terrible idea.
They’re reclining on the plush leather sofa in Steve’s palatial living room. Eddie insists that they spend SOME time here, as well as at Wayne’s, because, “it’s a waste of all that space, man! Your shitbag father didn’t buy that couch for us to NOT make out on it!”
“My shitbag father didn’t pick out the furniture, Eds. My frigid mother did.”
“Atta boy, Stevie.”
So here they are now, Eddie sprawled in the corner recliner seat, and Steve stretched out along the length of the couch with his head in Eddie’s lap. It’s peaceful; Steve never knew, until Robin and Eddie, that there could be people he was happy just being quiet with. He’d always felt pressure to fill the silence; to be charming, and funny, and entertaining. But Eddie doesn’t need any of that, especially since they’d gotten their shit together and admitted their feelings a few months back. He’s perfectly content to hang out like this, one hand behind his own head and the other absently combing through Steve’s hair.
It’s nice.
Steve hadn’t really known that nice was missing from his life, before Eddie. And he’s sure Eddie would object to the description; not very metal, after all. But, as it turns out, he’s learning that the compulsion he always felt to perform , to be constantly curating an experience for the people around him, was…not super healthy, actually.
Robin had helped him lower the mask. Eddie had thrown that fucker into a wood chipper.
All of which leads up to this moment, right here: Eddie, hand buried in Steve’s hair, asking, “Hey, what are we doing for your birthday next week?”
Steve’s brow furrows, and he turns his head to look back at Eddie. “I don’t know. Nothing, we don’t have to do anything. I don’t really make a big deal out of birthdays.”
Now it’s Eddie’s turn to frown. “What do you mean, nothing? We’re not gonna do nothing , it’s your 21st birthday.”
Steve feels his shoulders start to curl inward without his permission. “I don’t know, man. After the last couple years we’ve had, doesn’t it seem kind of…silly?”
Eddie brushes the comment away. “Hold on. Wait just a minute. I know I sold weed to Tommy Hagan and his little gang of goons at at least one of your birthday parties.”
“Oh, those,” Steve snorts. “Tommy and Carol were always the brain trust behind those. They loved any excuse to throw a party here.” He turns his face back towards the TV, consciously tries to relax his shoulders. “Honestly, I think they liked my empty house more than they liked me, most of the time.”
Eddie’s grip in his hair tightens momentarily, and then releases. He smooths Steve’s bangs back from his forehead, lowers his free hand to find Steve’s and laces their fingers together.
“Imbeciles,” he sighs. “Philistines.”
“Shitheads,” Steve adds, rolling his eyes. “We all know words, Ed.”
“So, you didn’t even enjoy those parties? At all?”
Steve shrugs, as much as he can with one shoulder butting up to Eddie’s lap. “They were okay. I got drunk, and whatever. But honestly, I spent most of those nights following people around and cleaning up after them, or making sure they didn’t break anything my mom would miss. We had my 17th birthday on the night before, because it was a Saturday. I spent all day on my actual birthday scrubbing Brian Fowler’s Fritos puke out of the den carpet.” He shivers slightly at the memory. “Can’t eat Fritos to this day . And they were my favorite.”
Eddie lets out a long, low whistle. “That is…bleak.”
“Tell me about it.”
There’s a moment of quiet, and then Eddie asks, “What about when you were a kid?”
This gets an actual laugh from Steve– a harsh, disbelieving bark of a sound. “Yeah, okay. ‘Cause Richard and Cynthia Harrington were all about celebrating their weak disappointment of a son .” The last part is laced with venom, obviously something that was said directly to Steve, and that hasn’t stopped stinging since.
“So they just ignored it?”
Another derisive snort of laughter. “No. That would have honestly been better.” He strokes a thumb idly over the knuckles of Eddie’s hand, chews on his own lip. “They usually made a reservation somewhere way too fancy, the kind of place where you have to wear a dinner jacket. Imagine spending your 8th birthday dinner trying to read a menu written in French. And then ending up with snails .”
“No they didn’t,” Eddie gasps, aghast. “They did not order you snails at eight years old.”
“They really, really did.”
“Monsters.”
“I didn’t eat for days afterwards. I kept remembering the texture and feeling sick.”
“God, every time I think I’ve found the bottom of the Dick & Cyndy barrel.”
“I know, right? There’s always another sub-basement.”
Eddie’s hand tightens around his, and moves the hand in his hair to cup the back of Steve’s head.
“So what you’re telling me is that you’ve never had a birthday party that was for you ? No nerdy superhero themes, no dinosaur balloons, nothing ?”
“Nope,” Steve replies, popping the ‘p’ in a way that Eddie just knows he’s picked up from Robin. “The last couple I’ve been too busy to even remember. So, like I said. Not a big deal, don’t make a thing out of it.”
“Oh Steve. Stevie. Babe.” Eddie’s voice has taken on a manic quality that almost always means trouble.
“I am going to make so many things out of it.”
And…yeah. Steve supposes he should have seen that one coming.
Later that night, while Steve is brushing his teeth and getting ready for bed, Eddie sneaks downstairs and calls Wayne at work.
“Eddie? S’everything okay?” His voice is tense; Eddie never calls him at work.
“Everything’s fine, Uncle Wayne. Everything’s great. I just…need a favor.”
Wayne sighs heavily, but the relief is evident in his voice when he says, “What is it now, boy?”
“Does Dale Wilson still work with you?”
“Yeah, on Thursday nights. Why?”
Eddie glances at the calendar. Sunday. Shit.
“Does he still have that petting zoo out on Route 8?”
“Last I checked, yes.”
“...Do you happen to have his phone number?”
“Okay, gang. Listen up. We have a lot of ground to cover, and a limited amount of time to do it.”
Eddie stands before his assembled troops– which is to say, the kids, Nancy, Jonathan, Argyle, Wayne, and Joyce. Hopper and Robin are both at work, but have agreed to pitch in as well. It’s as good a party planning committee as he’s likely to get, so he’s working with it.
“It has come to my attention that Steve Harrington, your beloved paladin, has never had a proper birthday party.”
Nancy’s brow furrows, and her hand shoots up. Classic Wheeler.
“Um, yes he has? I’ve been to two of his birthday parties, when we were dating.”
Eddie shakes his head, his mane of dark curls tossing wildly. “Negative, Wheeler. Those parties were for our classmates, not for Steve. And I’m talking way back here - he never had so much as a superman party hat as a kid. Nary even a happy meal. The man has been deprived of birthday whimsy.”
El raises her hand next. “What is…whimsy?”
Mike turns to answer her. “It’s like silliness. Fancy, pretty, pointless things.”
At the word pointless , Eddie’s eyes narrow. “Whimsy is not pointless , small Wheeler.” The name earns him a scowl from beneath Mike’s stringy bangs, but he continues. “Whimsy is an essential part of a well-balanced life. It is the antidote to the mundane, a draught against the drab. It is the thing that keeps us all young and hopeful!”
He’s now on the receiving end of more than one skeptical look, so he tries again.
“Okay, look. Everyone tell me what you most associate Steve with. One at a time, I’ll call on you. Dustin, you go first.”
Dustin shrugs easily, unperturbed by the question. “Going places. He drives me everywhere. And…movies, I guess. And mortal danger, of course.”
Eddie claps his hands together, twirls to face the rest of the group. “Excellent. Car rides and mortal danger.”
“And movies!” Dustin whines in protest.
“And movies, his job. Of course. Lucas, you’re up next.”
Lucas blinks at Eddie from his place between El and Mike on the couch, clearly caught off guard. “Uh…basketball, I guess? He practices with me a couple times a week when he can. And he always comes to my games.” He looks thoughtful for a second, fingers tapping against his knee. “And mortal danger, too, I guess. He did save me from Billy in 8th grade.”
Max shifts beside him on the couch, but her expression remains stony and neutral.
“Okay,” Eddie agrees amiably. “So helping you with sportsball, supporting you in your endeavors, and absorbing high-level attacks to protect you. A fair and just assessment. Let’s hear from a lady next, I think– Joyce?”
Mrs. Byers (who has forbidden them from calling her such) smiles beatifically from her perch on the armchair in the corner. “Well, he’s such a nice young man. I guess I most associate him with…babysitting? He’s always picking the kids up and taking them places. And he helped keep them all safe on more than one occasion– the tunnels, the stuff at Starcourt. He’s kind of a hero, when you think about it.”
Eddie beams at her, his eyes reduced to happy slits in his face. “Could not have said it better myself, Joyce, thank you so much. Responsible, protective, and brave.”
Mike pipes up from the corner of the couch, “She didn’t say brave–”
“BRAVE, small Wheeler!” Eddie cuts him off. “Anyway, Will. Why don’t you go next?”
Will’s face takes on the nervous quality that it always does when someone starts paying attention to him, but quickly clears. “Actually, I was gonna say brave. But not because of the… other stuff.” None of them have yet agreed on a safe way to refer to everything that happened with the Upside Down. For the most part, they just avoid it.
“To which stuff do you refer, then, Will the Wise?”
Will looks a bit squirmy, but eventually brings himself to meet Eddie’s eyes. “Well…you? I guess?”
Eddie’s brows shoot up at that, and he slaps his palm to his chest as if struck. “Be still my heart, dear William!” It gets the eye-roll he was going for, and then Will continues.
“I mean, he was like…the king of jocks. He dated practically every girl at school. He even likes girls, so he didn’t have to…” his eyes flick up to Eddie, who is trying not to coo . “He could’ve just gone on dating girls, and probably had a pretty normal life. But he fell in love with you, and he told us all about it, and…I think that’s pretty brave.”
And, yeah. Eddie’s gonna need a minute with that one, later. But for now, he blinks the mist from his eyes and claps his hands together. “There you have it! Brave on the battlefield and in the social thunderdome of small-town living. Risking it all for true love! ”
There’s a snort from the opposite end of the couch, where Max is kicked back with her head propped on her arm. “Alright, Romeo. Hurry up before I get sick.”
“Rude. Okay then, Maxine . Why don’t you go next?”
She picks her head up at that, looking less smug now that she’s been called to the floor. “Um…well, mostly I guess I associate him with being a dumbass.” This gets a chorus of oohs and a few offended heys , but she soldiers on. “But he also has saved my ass, and all our asses, more than once. He protected Lucas and me from Billy, and he lets me stay over sometimes when my mom is being…my mom.” Her face is deep pink by now, but she’s never been one to back down. “So I guess…safety. Steve being around means we’re safe.”
Oh, God. Eddie is going to need several moments and possibly a strong drink with that. But Max is nothing if not honest, often to the point of brutality. So he knows she means it.
“Thank you for that, Mad Max,” he offers, a mea culpa for his bitchy use of her full name earlier. “That’s very kind and brave of you to say. Who’s left?”
Jonathan and Argyle have stepped out for a smoke, to no one’s surprise. And he doesn’t think that Nancy or Wayne need convincing; Steve is the reason Nancy met Robin, so he knows he’s got her support. And Wayne likes Steve so much, Eddie sometimes wonders if he’s been demoted to second fiddle…not that he minds. So there’s just one player left to take their turn.
El sits up straight, moving from where she’d been slumped against Max’s shoulder. “I am next,” she announces in her soft, careful way. “I think the thing I most associate with Steve is…that he is kind. He always explains it to me when Mike or Dustin say things I don’t understand. And he never makes me feel bad for not knowing, like people do to him sometimes. I think…that means that he is very kind. Kinder than the rest of us.”
As the room falls silent, Eddie can only beam. He’d expected to meet more resistance, but everyone seems to have shown up ready to go to bat for Steve. Eddie supposes Steve has that effect on people, or at least these people, whether he knows it or not.
He twirls back to the center of the room, making a sweeping gesture to the assembled party with his arms.
“So, we have heard the following merits applied to Steve’s record: Bravery, responsibility, kindness, protection, heroics , gainful employment, sportsball prowess, and dependability.” He glances from person to person, taking in their serious expressions. “Now, I’d ask you to consider what is missing from our perceptions of Steve. What is notably absent from this list, that might be applicable to anyone else’s.
“Selfishness,” Nancy pipes up immediately. “He never puts himself first, in any context.”
Eddie presses his palms together, taps the pair of them against his mouth in thought. “Excellent, Nancy. Thank you for getting us started. Anyone else?”
“Hobbies,” Mike offers in a tone that would be dismissive from anyone else, but feels pretty neutral for his sliding scale of shitty tones. “He doesn’t have a whole lot going on outside of the stuff we all do together.”
“A back-handed compliment, but I’ll allow it,” Eddie agrees. “What else?”
“Ego,” Jonathan adds from where he and Argyle have reappeared in the corner. “For being who he is, he doesn’t really hold onto things. He should probably hate me, but we get along just fine.”
“Facts,” Argyle agrees from where he’s slumped against the wall. “He’s super open-minded, too. No judgments.”
“A little late, but a valuable contribution nonetheless. Thank you to Jargyle for that.” Jonathan rolls his eyes at the nickname, but Argyle just smiles in a pleased way, and the rest of the room giggles softly.
“Now, given the evidence you have all presented here today, I think we can agree that one Steven Harrington is more than deserving of a little whimsy in his life.” There’s a murmur of agreement, albeit reluctant from some corners. He presses on. “In order to introduce said whimsy, and in the interest of righting historical wrongs, we are going to throw Stevie a birthday party that will knock his socks off. A party that will make up for all the years of neglected or downright terrible birthdays, and even for the years he spent cleaning up his classmate’s gastric mistakes.”
He pauses for a beat, glances around at the expectant faces of their friends and family.
“We are going to throw Steve…a Super Soft Birthday Party.”
The following days pass by in a blur of phone calls, walkie blips, and endless trips to everyone’s homes to pick up their respective contributions.
Joyce volunteered to take on the major task of scouring the local party store for appropriate decor. She recruited El and Max to her cause, corralling the giggling girls into her (truly grotesque) Ford Pinto immediately after the conclusion of the planning meeting. When they returned several hours (and, according to Joyce, several party stores in the surrounding counties) later, Eddie clocks a somewhat nervous look on the Byers’ matriarch’s face.
“So, listen,” she starts explaining before she’s even fully out of the car. “The girls had some really strong opinions, and they know Steve better than I do, so–”
She’s saved from explaining further when El grows impatient and pops the latch on the car’s sloping trump with…her mind, Eddie guesses? He’s still a little fuzzy on the details of her whole deal. Telekinesis is definitely part of it, though.
The hatch swings upwards, and an absolute cacophony of colors and textures spills out onto the gravel driveway. Eddie’s first thought, as they are wont to do, comes spilling out of his mouth in a similar fashion.
“Holy mother of pink , Batman.”
El and Max emit identical, shrill giggles, and Joyce wrings her hands nervously. “I tried to tell them that it was–”
But Eddie is already waving her off, a manic grin spreading across his face. He dives forward and digs his hands into the trunk’s contents: feather boas, beaded necklaces, tightly-rolled packages of crepe-paper streamers, fringed banners, and bags upon bags of uninflated balloons. Every color of the damn rainbow is represented, but the star of the show is undoubtedly the pinks. There are items in shades of bubblegum, fuschia, magenta, mauve, flamingo, blush, and salmon, and that’s just the ones he can name off the top of his head. It’s a veritable treasure trove. It’s perfect .
Ever the showman, Eddie executes a tight pivot to face the assembled girls.
“Ladies,” he announced in a serious tone. “You have truly set the bar. This is exactly what I was looking for, and then some. Ten out of ten, everyone gets to level up. You nailed it.”
Joyce doubles over, relieved laughter bubbling out of her. El and Max take to spinning in joyful circles, until Max gets dizzy and they collapse together against the side of the car. Eddie turns his attention back to their erstwhile chaperone.
“Thanks a million for this, Joyce. It must have cost a fortune. What do I owe you?”
Now it’s her turn to wave him off. “I told you I’d pay for it. There’s no price too high for making sure that sweet kid has the best birthday he can, and if this does it?” She shrugs, unbothered. “Then I’m happy to help.”
“Well, Steve is gonna love it. Thank you so, so much.”
She pulls him into a hug, and he squeezes her tighter than he probably needs to. But, what the hell? Good parents are in short supply around here, and Joyce is one of the best.
Mid-morning on Tuesday, he hears the walkie that Dustin had bequeathed to him crackle to life from his dresser.
“Eddie, are you there? It’s Mike and Will. Over.”
Rolling off of his bed with a groan, he slouches over to grab the thing and replies, “I’m here, Small Wheeler and Will the Wise. What’s the word? Over.”
“Can you please stop calling me that? Over!”
“Not on your life, Small Wheeler. Over.”
There’s a long pause that he can guess involves some sort of struggle over possession of the walkie on the other end, and then Will’s voice comes through.
“We found a recipe for the cupcakes, and Mike’s mom is going to take us to the store later to get the ingredients. We need to know how many batches to make. There’s…twenty-four to a batch. Over”
Eddie ponders, counting out the guests on his fingers. “I’d say…three batches? Over.”
“Okay. And what kind of icing? Over.”
“Oh, get a variety. I’m thinking chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, and funfetti if they have it.”
“ Funfetti? ” comes Mike’s voice, but it’s quickly cut off, and then Will has control again.
“You got it, Eddie. Over!”
“Be good, you two. I don’t wanna have to apologize to Karen for her kitchen needing a hose-down. Over.”
There’s no reply, which is as much of a response as he supposes he was likely to get to that warning.
Jonathan drops by Wayne and Eddie’s place on Thursday, after Steve has left for his closing shift at Family Video. Eddie’s lounging on the new-old sofa they’d sourced from a local secondhand store for the porch of their new-old government hush-money house, a cigarette dangling lazily from his lips.
“Johnny Thunder,” he greets as Jonathan crunches up the gravel drive. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“Eddie Munster,” Jonathan replies in his customary monotone. “How’s the party-planning going?”
Eddie shrugs, stubs out the remains of the cigarette in a coffee can by his feet. “So far, so good. We’ve got a signed agreement with Dale for the farm, decorations and dessert are handled, and I have a crack team of the worst teenagers in town devising novel entertainment strategies.” He fishes the pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket and offers one to Jonathan. “How about you, how’s your mission coming along?
Jonathan takes the cigarette, pausing to light it before answering. “Good news on that front, actually. The first few places I called were a bust, but Murray knew a guy who knew a guy who–”
“Johnny, baby,” Eddie laments from his place on the couch. “You’re killing me here. Did you get the thing or not?”
Jonathan’s mouth tips up at the corner. “Yeah, I got it. Me and Argyle are taking the van to pick it up tomorrow.”
Eddie’s up and on his feet faster than Jonathan can track the motion, pumping his fist in triumph. “It’s all coming together, man. Everything’s happening exactly how it’s supposed to. Which, for the record, never happens with my plans.” He’s started pacing now, eyes wide and somewhat manic.
Jonathan props his hip against the porch railing, savoring the back half of the smoke. “Has Steve figured it out yet?”
“No, he has no idea. At least as far as I know. And Robin, she’s been helping keep an eye out for any sign he’s cottoning on, but so far…he doesn’t suspect a thing.”
“Good.” Finally sucking the last drag out of the cigarette, Jonathan leans down to flick it into the coffee can. He favors Eddie with a companionable slap on the shoulder as he pulls back. “He’s gonna love it, Ed.”
Eddie grins, face relaxing as the excitement seeps back to manageable levels. “I really hope so. Otherwise I’m gonna look real fuckin stupid.”
They share a laugh at that, and then Jonathan is turning to head back towards his (awful, terrible, what is with that family’s cars?) Ford Galaxie.
“I’ll call you tomorrow about set-up and all that,” Eddie shouts after his retreating back.
“I’ll wait by the phone!”Jonathan calls in reply, and then he’s backing out of the driveway and pulling away.
The morning of Steve Harrington’s 21st birthday dawns brisk and clear. The cloudless sky promises plenty of sun to warm things up, and Eddie thinks that he couldn’t have asked for better conditions.
The party is set to start at noon, so he and Wayne drive over to Dale’s at 10:30. Jonathan and Argyle are already waiting in front of the barn, Argyle’s eccentric (and almost definitely stolen) pizza van loud and out of place here. They’re talking amicably with Dale, deciding where to place their contribution to the shindig.
“We’ll need somewhere flat, and close enough to run an extension cord to,” Jonathan is explaining as Eddie exits his own van and joins their little huddle.
Dale nods, turns to peer out into the fenced pastures between the barn and the road. “You can put it in this second pasture here. There’s already a cord run out there for the water trough heater in the winter months. And since the animals will all be in the pens around the barn, that one’s free.”
“Sounds like a plan, my man,” Argyle agrees brightly. “Cool if we take the van out there?”
Dale waves them off, and then turns his attention to Eddie and Wayne. “Wayne, good to see ya. And you must be Eddie,” he adds, offering his hand to shake.
“Guilty as charged,” Eddie replies, flashing a wink as he shakes the older man’s hand. It gets a chuckle, like he knew it would. Dale is a friend of Wayne’s, and had never believed the allegations against Eddie. “Thanks again for letting us do this on such short notice.”
“No trouble,” Dale replies amicably, and gestures for the two of them to follow him into the barn. “Party bookings don’t really get going until it gets a bit warmer out, but I think you’ll have a good day for it.”
He leads them down a long central aisle, stopping in front of a stall. It’s hung with a carved wooden sign that reads MILTON.
“Everyone’s had their spring baths," Dale segues with absolutely no warning, gesturing to the open stall door. Inside stands an improbably fuzzy miniature donkey, its tall ears turned attentively forward. “So they’ll be all soft and nice for the kiddies to pet.”
Eddie and Wayne share a glance, biting back grins. Eddie collects himself first, reaches out to stroke MILTON’s velvety ears. “They’re gonna love it. Especially the birthday boy.”
Dale’s answering grin is sly. “Oh that’s right, Wayne told me. It’s your buddy’s 21st, right?”
“Sure is. Most of our friends are sophomores in high school though, so don’t worry. We’re keeping it G rated, drinks-wise.” Saying that should probably cause Eddie some sort of embarrassment, but…hey. It’s not like his life has ever been what one would call normal .
“Hey, doesn’t bother me any. As long as you clean up behind yourselves and don’t freak the animals out, you can do whatever you want.”
“Careful, Dale,” Wayne intones, voice all exaggerated warning. “He’ll take that as a challenge.”
“Alright, alright,” Eddie complains. “Enough about me, let’s get this show on the road.”
He turns back to Dale as they head out of the barn and adds, “Maybe just a toast. I’ll consider it.”
Dale only chuckles and waves them away.
An hour (and two near-falls from a rickety wooden ladder that Dale produced from the bowels of an equipment shed) later, they’re ready.
The kids had started trickling in shortly after Eddie’s arrival, ferried forth by Nancy, Robin and Joyce. They’ve turned the large, flat area below the barn and its sloping hill foundation into party central, complete with a couple of foldable banquet tables and a mish-mash of metal folding chairs. El and Max had spread bubblegum-pink vinyl tablecloths over the tables, weighing them down with bowls of ice, chips, pretzels, and a comically-large assortment of 2-liter bottles of pop.
Mike and Dustin had been immediately assigned to balloon-duty.
“No one is full of more hot air than you two,” Eddie had announced, shoving the plastic-packed assortments of pink and purple and blue latex into their astounded hands. Mike had scowled, and Dustin had spluttered indignantly. However, at a stern look from Nancy, they’d both flopped down into chairs and gotten to work. El had eventually joined them, and then Erica when she and Lucas arrived in their parents’ sleek, sensible sedan.
Joyce and Hopper, for their parts, had helped Eddie gather the inflated balloons before the breeze could take them, using ribbon and tape to fasten them in bunches to table corners, chair backs, fence posts, and more.
“None too close to the animal pens, if you please,” Dale had called amiably from where he was smoking around the corner of the barn. “Freaks the ponies right out.”
“Copy that!” Eddie answered, steering himself away from the aforementioned pens.
From the depths of the faded gold Hawkins PD Blazer, Hopper produced two trunks of party supplies. Eddie recognized them as the combined contributions of Joyce and Dustin’s mother, Claudia; she was especially fond of Steve, and had insisted on picking up some items herself. They situated the trunks on their own table, perpendicular to the others, and flipped the lids open to reveal the treasures inside.
At the far end of the food tables, Nancy and Robin arranged the trays and trays of cupcakes that Will and Mike had prepared. Karen had sent them with enough paper plates to feed an army, and a little mesh dome to cover each tray and keep bugs from getting to them. She really was the ultimate homemaker, Eddie had to admit. Ted Wheeler didn’t know how good he had it.
The two older girls had also produced a gigantic glass drink dispenser from the back of Nancy’s station wagon, filled to the brim with something pink and undoubtedly sugary. Slices of citrus and strawberries floated against the glass, rocking to and fro as they wrestled it up onto the table.
“Signature mocktail,” Robin explained once they’d balanced it and noticed Eddie staring. “We’re calling it Pink Drink. It’s mostly seltzer and pink lemonade.
“How do you make pink lemonade, anyway?” Eddie asked curiously. “I’ve always wondered.”
“Pink lemons, babe,” Robin replied with a wink, and then sauntered away to help Joyce and Hopper with affixing streamers to the fence posts.
While all of this had been going on, Wayne had been in the second pasture with Jonathan and Argyle, supervising the inflation of their contribution to the day: a gigantic bounce-house. It was most of the way up now, the corners and edges carefully staked down per the vendor’s instructions. Wayne circled the thing, using a heavy mallet to give one final push to every stake.
The final piece had been a gigantic banner, spanning the broad side of the barn above the party: HAPPY BIRTHDAY STEVIE!!! The letters were slightly crooked, magenta paint mixing with the purple outlines at the edges. El and Max still have a bit of it under their fingernails, the project having taken most of the prior evening. There appears to be a bit in Hopper’s mustache, too, but…no one has told him, thus far.
When they’re finally finished, Eddie takes a step back to take it all in. The barnyard is an explosion of color and laughter, Lucas chasing Erica in circles around the table while she plays keep-away with his ball cap. Joyce and Hopper are standing close by the edge of the animal pens, chatting amiably with the Sinclairs. Wayne and Jonathan have posted up by the gate to the bounce house pasture, sipping out of pink paper cups, while Argyle has wandered over to crouch down and pet a baby goat. He’s murmuring something to it, his silky hair gently waving as he shakes his head.
At about a quarter past, Eddie sees Steve’s burgundy beamer turn from the main road onto the gravel drive of the farm. He knows he won’t be able to see all that’s going on out back from so far away, but hurries to get everyone ready.
“Alright! It’s showtime, people!” He bellows to the assembled crowd. “Everybody gather in the center here for the King’s arrival!”
There’s a smattering of laughs at that, everyone crowding into the middle of the yard. Eddie slips into the barn, jogging down the concrete length of it and out the front door to greet Steve. He’d asked him to meet him here for “a fun surprise,” joking that maybe they’d find a new date-night tradition. Steve had been skeptical, but. He rarely denies Eddie anything, and this was no exception.
“Heya, Big Boy,” Eddie greets him, sauntering over to the car as Steve steps out of it. The younger man eyes him warily, but leans in for a quick kiss regardless.
“What are you up to, Eds? Did I see a bounce house out back?”
“Shh,” Eddie admonishes. “Take it easy, Comrade Questions. All will be revealed in time.” He takes Steve by the hand, tugging him into the dark, cool barn.
Steve takes in the scene as they make their way down the aisle, stopping briefly to peer into MILTON’s stall. The tiny donkey has turned his backside to the door to give his attention to a pile of hay in the back corner.
“Careful, babe,” Eddie teases. “Don’t let me catch you checking out another man’s ass.”
Steve fixes him with an expression that is somehow both entirely flat and venomously bitchy, turning to continue their path towards the back barn doors.
“You know, usually when a date tells me that their plans involve petting –”
“Aaaaand let me stop you right there,” Eddie interrupts, using their joined hands to stop Steve’s forward progress. “Gotta cover your eyes.”
“Eddie, what–”
“Ah, ah!” Eddie squawks over Steve’s protests. “Do you trust me?”
“Absolutely not , why would I–”
“Okay, that was the wrong question. Just. Shut up and turn around. I promise you’re gonna love it.”
Steve heaves an aggrieved sigh, but does as instructed. Eddie steps up close behind him, reaches both hands around his head to cover his eyes.
“Alright, walk straight ahead.”
“I swear to God, if you run me into the door or something–”
“I won’t. I promise. Just a little further,” Eddie assures him. When they reach the big, sliding barn doors, he halts them. “Okay, stop. Stand right there while I get the doors, and then you can open your eyes.”
“As soon as they’re open, or…?”
“Yes , Steve,” Eddie huffs. “As soon as they’re open.”
“I’m just asking! ”
Eddie turns his attention to where Dustin is already waiting, peering through the bright sliver of an opening between them. Eddie gives him a thumbs up, and they each grab hold of their respective door. Eddie counts them down. “Three…two… one!”
The doors roll back with a rusty squeal, and afternoon sunlight floods into the barn. Steve shades his eyes against it with a hand, slowly blinking them open.
And then he honest-to-god gasps .
There is a massive assembled cry of SURPRISE!!!! followed by chorus of discordant cheers, whoops, and whistles. Steve’s face cycles rapidly through shock, disbelief, delight, and ends somewhere at the intersection of joy and something sharper, something that has tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He presses a hand to his mouth, overwhelmed, and turns watery eyes on Eddie.
“Did you– was this–” he struggles to string the words together, smiling even as the tears finally spill over his lashes. “This is for me?” It’s so small, almost awed.
“‘Course it is,” Eddie shrugs, grins. “Happy birthday, Stevie.”
Steve gives him a shaky smile, wipes sheepishly at his face. And then his gaze starts wheeling around the scene, taking in the riot of colors, the assembled crowd, the–
“Oh my god, there is a bounce house!”
Eddie cackles aloud at that, slings his arm around Steve’s shoulders. “There sure is, champ. There’s also a trunk of very fashionable party accessories, an ice-your-own cupcake station, some sort of track-and-field-style obstacle course invented by your horrible children, and…of course, a petting zoo.”
Steve laughs, bright and jubilant, as they’re surrounded. The kids in question have begun to crash into them, a wriggling mass of enthusiastic affection that closes in on all sides. It’s a crushing group hug, a cacophonous mess of laughter and excited shouts and chants of Steve’s name.
It’s perfect.
At the epicenter of the chaos, Steve’s hand finds Eddie’s. Squeezes.
When the group finally recedes enough for them to move again, Eddie tugs Steve forward a few steps, wheels to face the kids.
“LAST ONE TO THE BOUNCE HOUSE ROLLS WITH DISADVANTAGE NEXT SESSION!” he bellows, and they all start running.
The afternoon passes by in a brilliant, technicolor blur. Mike and Dustin have to be pulled bodily from the bounce house, after an accidental collision results in a bloody nose and breaks into a fight. El is absolutely obsessed with the goats, and can only be dragged from their pen in brief snatches to eat and participate in party games. The rest of the kids are hardly better; even Robin gets a little starry-eyed about the hutch of soft, lop-eared rabbits. Eddie manages to swipe Jonathan’s camera off him for a moment to take a picture of Steve, reclining against a fence with his ass in the dirt, pressing a dark little lamb to his face and grinning like he’s won the lottery.
“You really do have a thing for the black sheep, don’t ya kid?” Wayne teases from where he’s posted up in a lawn chair to supervise the animals on Dale’s behalf.
Eddie wheels around, offended. “Hey! Whose side are you on, old man?”
Wayne and Steve both cackle in response, and Eddie can’t help but join them.
The entire collected party gathers for an activity that Dustin and Lucas will only refer to as “The Gauntlet.” It ends up being an amalgamation of classic party games and races, and by the end of it everyone is sweating and covered in grass stains. Steve, of course, emerges victorious. Typical fucking jock.
As the party winds down, they all turn their attention toward cleaning up. The kids are remarkably helpful, considering. It’s the work of twenty minutes to set the barnyard back to rights and pack tables and chairs away into the trucks and cars they arrived in. Eventually all that’s left is the slowly-deflating bounce house, which Jonathan and Argyle insist they need no help with. So, once everyone has said their goodbyes and started to trickle out of the little parking lot, Eddie grabs Steve by the hand and tugs him towards a winding gravel path that leads up towards another outbuilding.
“Where we going?” Steve ponders, brow scrunching behind a comically large pair of yellow sunglasses. He has a violently magenta feather boa wrapped around his neck, and there’s a streak of silver craft glitter smeared from cheek to temple on one side of his face. He looks ridiculous, but he hasn’t stopped smiling in hours.
“One last surprise for your day, big guy. It’s just up over this hill.” Eddie pulls him in close, wraps an arm around his waist as they fall into step together.
On the far side of the building the hill slopes gently downward, ending at the edge of a clear, glassy pond. Eddie leads Steve to the broad side of the barn, tugs him down to sit with their backs pressed to the sun-warmed wooden boards.
“Well this is nice ,” Steve teases, taking in the idyllic pastoral view. “Very romantic.”
“Only the best for you, Stevie,” Eddie quips back in a saccharine tone. He reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket, digs around a bit. “You ready for your present?”
Steve turns to look at him, brow raised. “My present? You mean all this,” he gestures around at their location, “wasn’t my present?”
“Well I mean, sure,” Eddie concedes. “But this is just a little something to mark the significance of the day.” He draws his hand out, fingers clasped around the neck of a bottle of peach schnapps.
Steve accepts the bottle from him, cracks up as he registers the words on the label. “Aww, just what I always wanted!”
“Something sweet for my sweet,” Eddie manages to get out before he, too, collapses into giggles. “But c’mon,” he adds, nudging at Steve with an elbow, “you can’t have a 21st birthday party without at least a little booze.”
“Mmm, not sure schnapps really counts as booze, but…”
“You have to buy it at a liquor store!” Eddie protests. “It’s definitely booze. Just. Super soft booze. For a super soft birthday party.”
Steve sobers somewhat at that, turns the bottle over in his hands and looks like he’s turning something over in his mind, too. Eventually he shakes it off.
“Shall we?” he asks, twisting the cap off the bottle. He raises it in a toast, takes a long swig.
“Gahhh,” he spits out once he’s choked the syrupy liquid down. “So sweet.” He smacks his lips a few times. “Goes down easy, though.”
Eddie takes the bottle, takes a long draught of his own. Considers the taste.
“You know, that ain’t half bad.”
They sit in the quiet for a few moments, watching the ducks trundle out of the pond and start to settle down for the night. The sun has started to sink below the treeline, the shadows stretching long towards golden twilight.
Eventually, Steve breaks the silence.
“Eddie, today was…perfect. Best birthday ever, seriously.” He reaches for Eddie’s hand, laces their fingers together. “Thank you for doing this for me.”
It’s achingly sincere. Eddie feels the urge to make a joke, laugh it off. But something about the tone of Steve’s voice, the cracked-open vulnerability of the words, makes him veer another way.
“Actually, it was…really fun,” he shrugs. “Truthfully, I never really got to have any of this growing up, either. Wayne didn’t have the money, and I didn’t have the friends, so…wouldn’t have been much point in it.”
He pulls their joined hands into his lap as he talks, clasps his own free hand around them. His eyes stay pointed down at the pond, but his thumb strokes softly across Steve’s knuckles.
“It was…nice to be able to give you something like that. To show you how much everyone loves you and wants to celebrate you.” He does look up at Steve now, makes sure he has his attention for the next part. “They all jumped right on it, you know. I’d have never gotten all this done myself. You know what I’m like.”
Steve snorts a soft laugh, smile soft and fond. “I do, yeah.”
“So then you know that this was a big team effort. All hands on deck. And they were so, so happy to do it.”
Steve’s smile is bigger now, even as he shakes his head in disbelief. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you all.”
Eddie’s eyes light up at that, and he fixes Steve with a grin of his own. “Actually,” he murmurs, “I can help with that.”
From within his (apparently spacious) inner jacket pocket, he produces a folded-up piece of lined notebook paper. It’s still got the frills at the edges where it was ripped from its spiral binding, and is somewhat crumpled from its pocket travels. Eddie pinches it between his thumb and middle fingers, holds it out to Steve like he’s passing a note in class.
“What is it?” Steve asks, voice all innocent curiosity. As he starts to unfold it, Eddie explains.
“When I got everyone together to start planning, we ended up talking about…well, you. About what we associated with you, and what we admired about you. And about midway through, when things started getting really good and sappy, I realized that…you should really be the one hearing them.” He looks a little sheepish again, embarrassed by his own sentimentality. But Steve is…not beaming, but something like it. Something so happy it almost looks desperate. Desperately happy. So, Eddie continues.
“I started writing them down. Got as much as I could, asked a couple questions afterwards to make sure I had them right.”
Steve has the page completely unfolded by now. It’s absolutely covered in Eddie’s scribbling, angular handwriting, veering off in all directions as he tried to fit everything in. There are arrows and annotations, bullet points that are combined with numbered lists, boxes drawn around chunks of text to set them apart. Each section has a name either in it or scrawled next to it, indicating the speaker.
It’s a love letter to Steve from the entire party. From his family .
Steve blinks back tears, wipes at them before they can hit the page and smear the ink. Eddie watches him take it all in, laughing at some things and looking almost pained at others. When he’s finished reading every word, he looks up at Eddie through watery eyes.
“This is, without a doubt, the softest birthday present I’ve ever received.”
Eddie leans in close, tips Steve’s chin up with a finger. He kisses him once, soft and featherlight; tastes peaches.
“Only ‘til next year, baby.”
Steve kisses him back.