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“Come on, man, what are you waiting for?” Steve calls, several feet out from the shore where he’s treading water with a perfect, practiced ease. Fucking show off. “An invitation?”
“Ha ha,” Eddie shouts back, deadpan. He makes no movement towards the water, though. Just digs his toes into the sand and wiggles them, watching the tiny grains spill into the spaces between and swallow his feet.
He glances up to stare out at the lake, and his stomach roils uneasily at its vastness. The other end is visible from where he stands, but it still seems so far away. They’re nowhere near the middle either, and even Steve isn’t that far out. It still makes Eddie nervous.
The funny thing is, it isn’t even his recent experiences with Lover’s Lake that’s putting this horrible feeling in his gut. Well, okay, maybe it is a little bit. But mostly, it’s because Eddie already didn’t like the water before that. He’s never been a fan.
Because Eddie Munson does not know how to swim.
No one ever bothered to teach him. His mom had passed before she could, and his dad never saw the value in it, apparently. By the time Eddie made it to Wayne, he was old enough that his uncle probably just assumed he knew. He’d never asked Eddie about it, and Eddie never offered that information up. It’s not like Hawkins is rife with beaches. Eddie’s never been to one of those. Invitations to splash around in the local lakes were few and far between too — and by that Eddie means they never got extended to him.
Not that Eddie would have wanted to say yes if they had anyways. Aside from not being able to swim, the entire concept of open bodies of water freaks him out. Seventy-one percent of the Earth is made up of the stuff and they’ve only explored less than five fucking percent of it. Who knows what the hell else is lurking down there.
No fucking thank you .
But here he is. Standing at the edge of a god damn lake, in nothing but a pair of ill-fitting swim shorts he had to borrow because he doesn’t own any, contemplating voluntarily stepping foot into the water.
All because Steve goddamn Harrington bullied him into it. Well, if bullying can be defined as Steve asking once, Eddie telling him no, Steve asking twice, and Eddie folding like a cheap fucking suit all because of those stupid pouty lips and that dumb pair of big brown puppy dog eyes.
Christ, he’s pathetic.
How Steve found out that he doesn’t know how to swim is beyond Eddie — though he’s sure it had to have come from Wayne considering he’s the only one who does know now, and Eddie is going to have some choice words with him when this is all over, assuming he survives it . Jesus.
Point is, Steve had found out. And he’s insisted on teaching Eddie himself. So here they fucking are.
“I’m, uh, good here, I think,” Eddie calls back feebly, pressing his lips together and nodding resolutely. He tightens his arms around himself. “Yeah, I’m just gonna— I’ll just stay here. Mhm.”
Steve frowns, exaggerated with the way he pushes his whole lower lip out like that — a move Eddie is positive he stole from Dustin. He smacks the flat of his palm against the top of the water twice and leans back into a half-floating position. “ Eddie ,” he whines, drawing his name out. “Come on,” he goads. “Don’t be a pussy.”
Eddie scoffs, but it comes out weak. “I’m— not,” he shoots back, lamely, and even he can hear how unconvincing it sounds. He doesn’t even believe himself when he says it.
Steve fixes him with an unimpressed look. “You so are,” he taunts. “Don’t think you can run from this, I won’t let you.”
Eddie pouts. “What happened to ‘sometimes running is okay, Eddie’,” he quotes Steve directly, narrowing his eyes at him. “That a lie?”
“‘Course it wasn’t. But that doesn’t apply to this,” Steve says, grinning with all of his teeth. “Come on, Eddie,” he continues. Tilts his head. Bats his eyelashes — the little shit. “For me?” He asks.
Oh, god dammit .
Eddie grits his teeth, letting out a noise that’s a mix between a huff and a grunt. “Fuck you, that’s not fair,” he breathes out, shaking his head.
Steve laughs, bright and buoyant, and Eddie hates that it’s encouraging.
He starts slow. Shuffles forward until the water laps at the tips of his toes. The water is still clear, this close to the shore. He can see the sand beneath the ripples, the little pebbles and the weeds sprouting from between them. It’s— it’s not awful.
Eddie takes another step, and another, and another, wading all the way out until the water reaches mid-calf.
“You’re doing great, Ed,” Steve says, offering a smile and a nod. “Keep coming.”
He does. Keeps trekking forward, watching as the water rises further up his leg. It reaches his knee, and Eddie almost laughs at the way the eyeballs tattooed just above his kneecaps look, peeking out from the water.
It’s enough to distract him, momentarily, from the fact that the lake floor is getting further and further away. That the water is turning murkier and murkier at his feet.
Eddie winces as the water inches towards his thighs. “Fuck, that’s cold ,” he hisses, flapping his knees out as if that will stop the water from tickling such sensitive skin. Spoiler: it doesn’t.
A few feet away, Steve snickers into his hand. “You know, if you’d just get all the way in it wouldn’t be so cold,” he points out. “You’ll get used to it a lot faster if you just—” he dunks himself under water the way he thinks Eddie should, then breaks the surface with a splash.
He shouldn’t look as good as he does, with his hair completely plastered to his forehead and dripping into his eyes. It’s long enough, now, to cover them.
Steve shakes his hair out like a dog and pushes it to the side. “Your turn,” he says with a grin. “Here, I’ll help you,” he adds, leaning back and kicking out a foot.
It sends a spray of water towards Eddie, and when Steve drops his heel back down, it thunks into the water with a heavy splash that rains back down over Eddie too.
Eddie yelps, jumping back and hissing like a cat that got too close to the bathtub. He hugs his arms around himself and glares at Steve. “Asshole!” He cries.
Steve, the fucker, just laughs. “Come onnn, Eddie!”
“Don’t rush me,” Eddie snaps.
Slowly but surely, Eddie closes the distance between himself and Steve. The water is high enough to lick at his chest, and when he looks down he absolutely cannot see the bottom. It’s entirely horrifying, but he thinks he’s doing a pretty damn good job at not totally losing his mind here.
That is, until he takes another step forward and his foot connects with nothing . As the bottom of the lake falls away, so does the bottom of Eddie’s stomach . He gives a panicked shout and his eyes go wide.
“Steve!” He squawks out, flailing his arms.
Steve is at his side in seconds, touching his arms to let him know, and Eddie practically throws himself at Steve. His arms loop around Steve’s neck, and his legs wind around his waist, and Eddie can’t even begin to freak out about the fact that he is entirely pressed up against a half-naked Steve right now because he’s just too terrified .
He clings onto Steve, shaking like a god damn leaf in his arms. It’s probably definitely pathetic, but he doesn’t even care. He just doesn’t want to die .
“Eddie, hey, woah, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Steve murmurs in what’s supposed to be a soothing stream, one hand curling around Eddie’s waist while the other settles right between his shoulder blades.
“Nope, nope, no , nope!” Eddie chants, shrill and reedy, shaking his head. “I can’t touch the bottom. I can’t see the bottom. This is— this is not fun ! Who does this for fun ? You’re insane. You’re god damn insane . Jesus h. christ!”
And then something brushes against Eddie’s leg.
His whole body jerks in response. His head rears up, catching Steve in the chin, and his leg kicks out reflexively, connecting with something solid beneath the water — probably whatever touched him. It feels soft and fleshy, and that just freaks Eddie out even more.
“ Shit, fuck, ouch— Eddie —”
“ Something just touched my leg, something just touched my leg, what the fuck just touched my leg. Steve, Steve !”
The hand between Eddie’s shoulder blades disappears, and the one on his waist loosens. The panic in Eddie’s chest squeezes, and he clutches onto Steve even tighter.
“ Don’t let go, don’t let go, I’m gonna die !”
“Eddie! Eddie! Relax! It’s just me!” Steve cries out, slightly pained, but still distinctly him. It cuts through the haze of hysteria. “It was just me! That was my foot! It was an accident!”
It was —
“That was you ?” Eddie repeats, voice still a little screechy. But the racing of his heart has started to slow.
“Yes! Yes, it was me! I’m sorry! I didn’t know your leg was right there,” Steve explains, and he really does sound apologetic.
Eddie lets out a heavy exhale, whole body sagging with it. “ Steve ,” he breathes out, dropping his forehead to Steve’s shoulder and groaning.
“I’m sorry,” Steve says again, and his palm flattens against the small of Eddie’s back again.
Eddie just sighs again, and Steve’s broad hand starts to sweep over his back, up and down, nice and slow. It’s a soothing gesture, a calming one, and it helps. Levels the pounding of Eddie’s heart, evens out his breathing.
“It’s— it’s fine,” Eddie says, muffled by wet skin. “It’s fine.”
He feels Steve’s chuckle reverberate through his neck, vibrate against his cheek. “You’ve got one hell of a kick, man,” Steve says, and oh, oh no . Does that mean he—? “You sure you’ve never considered, like, soccer or something?”
It does . Fuck.
“Shit,” Eddie groans, turning his face more securely into the crook of Steve’s neck. His nose brushes the tendon there, and he kind of never wants to leave the safety it offers. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles.
Part of him wishes there was actually something lurking at the bottom of this lake. Getting eaten by it doesn’t sound half bad right now.
Steve’s chest rumbles with another laugh again, soft, gentle, not aimed at Eddie. “Hey, don’t sweat it, seriously,” he says. “I would’ve done the same thing, so you’re good, man. Besides,” he adds, and Eddie can hear the grin creeping into his voice, “that kick’s gonna help you with your swimming.”
Shit. Right. In the hullabaloo he’d almost forgotten that’s why they’re even out here in the first place.
“We, uh, we still have to do that?” Eddie asks. The chances that Steve calls the whole thing off are slim to none, but he can still hope.
“‘Course we do,” Steve replies, perky as ever. “Letting me teach you without another complaint is how you can make it up to me for kicking the shit out of my shin — and headbutting me, too,” he says, and jesus, it just gets worse, doesn’t it? “You’ve got a solid skull, dude. I wasn’t kidding about the soccer thing, by the way. You’ve totally got the skills for it, and Robin could definitely help you out with—”
“No, no, no soccer. No sports. I’m— this is more than enough for me, thanks very much,” Eddie interrupts. No way is he going to embarrass himself on land too.
Steve snorts, but lets it drop, thankfully. “Okay, okay. Lesson time.” His fingers tap against Eddie’s shoulder, then glide down to repeat the motion against his hip. “You gotta let go now, Eddie.”
“Mm mm, no, I’m good actually,” Eddie replies, not relinquishing his hold on Steve.
Steve’s hands draw over Eddie’s shoulders and down his triceps until they come to a stop against his elbows. He cradles them gently, tries to pry his arms from their ironclad grip.
“Eddie, come on. I got you, I won’t let go, I promise,” Steve coaxes.
Eddie squeezes his eyes shut. Lets the wave of fear roll over him before he tries to shove it down deep. Steve’s got him. He won’t let go. Eddie knows he means that. Steve wouldn’t lie about that. He’s just got to trust him.
Breathing out a ragged exhale, Eddie slowly relaxes his hold. Loosens his grip and allows Steve to tug his arms from around his neck.
“Just— don’t let go, okay?” Eddie asks. He feels small as he says it, feels a little pathetic to be asking.
But Steve doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t call him a baby. He just smiles softly, gently, and nods. “I won’t,” he promises, moving his hands further down Eddie’s arms, trailing across his forearms until his fingers encircle his wrists.
It’s a little scary, the sensation of floating there, completely unmoored. Eddie’s jaw clenches, his nostrils flare, the panic kicks up in his chest.
But Steve’s palms press into Eddie’s, his fingers curl around his and lock together. And — he’s holding Eddie’s hands. Steve Harrington is holding Eddie’s hands.
“I’ve got you,” he says.
Eddie looks into his eyes. He sees nothing but sincerity there. And—
Eddie believes him.
They start with blowing bubbles.
It’s simple. Easy. A nice way of easing into things. Good for teaching Eddie breathing patterns too — whenever his lungs start to feel tight, that’s when he tips his face to the side to take a breath.
Eddie feels a little silly blowing bubbles, feels a little bit like a toddler. But Steve doesn’t treat him like one. He doesn’t use a baby voice as he explains, and he doesn’t try to dumb anything down either. He uses the proper technical terms for everything, and he doesn’t hesitate to answer any questions Eddie has about them. Steve is endlessly patient, too, and ridiculously encouraging. The steady stream of praise that spills from his lips does wonders to Eddie’s nerves. To his confidence, too.
Steve teaches him how to float on his back next, which is mildly terrifying at the start — Eddie fully expects to start sinking as soon as he flips over, and he actually does at first. But Steve stays by his side, slides his palm beneath Eddie’s back and pushes his stomach towards the surface. His other hand moves up to Eddie’s chin and tilts it back until the water brushes against the tips of his ears. Steve explains that if Eddie keeps himself in this position — head back, tummy up — he won’t sink. The water will cradle him; he’ll be able to lie atop it and let himself go boneless without worrying.
It takes a few tries before Eddie is able to do that — to go boneless. But it’s because of his trust in Steve that he can.
Because Steve doesn’t break his promise to not let go of Eddie. His hands don’t leave Eddie’s body, and every time he moves them he tells Eddie exactly what he’s doing and where he’s going to be putting them.
It’s a lot of touching. A lot. And in any other situation Eddie would probably be losing his god damn mind about it. Hell — he probably will later, when this is all over, but right now, that touch is his lifeline.
After back floating, Steve has Eddie turn onto his stomach again and stretch his legs out behind him. This position Eddie very much doesn’t like, because he can’t just ignore the depths of the lake beneath him when he’s staring directly at it like that.
But Steve trails his hand over Eddie’s side, tickling the delicate skin there unintentionally before holding his palm against Eddie’s belly button. It becomes entirely too easy after that to focus on the sensation of Steve’s broad hand (jesus, it’s so big) and his long fingers spreading over the whole of his belly instead of the menacing lake floor.
Steve teaches Eddie the proper techniques for kicking next, explaining the difference between tight, controlled white water kicking, meant for faster movement, and bigger, broader kicks aimed at putting more strength and power behind it. Eddie gets a laugh out of those ones, when his kicks send big splashes of water raining into Steve’s face. Karma, he tells him, and Steve laughs too.
He tells Eddie about dolphin kick, and how with that one requires his legs to stick together and for him to kick from his core. He describes the breaststroke kick — or the one that looks like frog legs. Says that this one has a good power behind it too, but it’s also nice for when you just want to leisurely coast across the water. There’s a lot of glide to it.
Eddie tries each one at Steve’s insistence and finds that he hates dolphin kick — his core is not toned enough for this one, and he tires too easily, which sends him into a brief panic when his legs start to lag and his body begins to sink a little. He does love the froggy kick, though. It’s much easier and not as taxing, and he likes how smoothly he moves through the water when using it, just like Steve said he would.
After the feet comes the arms. Steve tells Eddie that there are technically four different strokes in swimming and that each one has its own kind of specific arm movement. The most important of those four strokes, he explains, is the freestyle stroke. Steve keeps hold of Eddie’s hand with one of his, and with the other, he shows Eddie what it’s supposed to look like. Then he has Eddie copy him, correcting him where he needs to, but otherwise letting him know that he’s doing well. That he’s catching on quick.
Once Steve has gone through all of the basics individually, he has Eddie put them all together. The breathing, the kicking, the stroking. And it’s— it’s not bad. It’s… actually kind of fun, this swimming thing.
Don’t get him wrong — it’s still a bit terrifying, being in the open water, but so long as he doesn’t focus on the depth of the water below him, it’s not so bad. Besides, now he knows how to swim, which means if he ever were to get into trouble in the middle of the water, he can get himself out of it now. Or, at least make a run for it — swim for it?
Eventually, Eddie’s arms and legs start to get tired, and Steve decides to call for a break. He has Eddie swim his way back to the shore — his final test — and he fucking does. Without help from Steve, too.
As he clambers out of the water, he can’t help but feel pretty damn proud of himself. Because he did it . He learned how to fucking swim.
“You did fucking great out there, Ed,” Steve crows happily, clapping a hand to Eddie’s shoulder. He gives it a squeeze and a short shake, and his touch lingers for a few extra seconds before he lets go and swipes his hair from his eyes instead. There’s a face-splitting smile stretching across his cheeks, though, and he looks proud of Eddie too.
It lights a fire in Eddie’s gut, kicks up the flurry of butterflies in his stomach. “Thanks, Steve,” he says. “Guess I had a pretty good teacher or something,” he adds.
Steve laughs. “I guess you did,” he agrees. “Helps that you’re a natural, and great at listening to directions,” he tacks on, bumping his shoulder into Eddie’s before he bounces forward.
He makes his way towards his backpack, where he left it in the sand. and pulls out a couple of towels. Steve tosses one at Eddie, snorting as it smacks him in the face.
Eddie watches as Steve dries off his hair, biceps flexing as his arms lift over his head. When Steve pulls the fabric away his hair sticks up in every single direction, like he stuck his finger into the electrical socket. He bunches up the towel and drapes it around his neck before he starts trying to smooth it down.
Meanwhile, Eddie is just dripping onto the sand, staring. He snaps out of it, before Steve notices, thank god, and copies him, squeezing out his own hair before wiping at the rest of his body until he’s mostly dry.
Steve bends over to rifle through his backpack again, and this time he produces a— another towel? No… a blanket , Eddie realizes, as Steve starts to shake it out. Big and checkered and red. The fabric billows in the breeze and Steve spreads it across the sand, kneeling down onto it and stretching out to smack at the corners until they lie flat. Once he gets it tamed, he turns towards Eddie and grins, patting the center in invitation.
“Come on, sit,” Steve says, dropping onto his ass and crossing his legs before dragging his backpack towards him again. Apparently, there’s more.
Eddie seats himself on the blanket and watches as Steve starts to pull out tupperware containers — a long skinny one holding sandwiches cut into little triangles, another deeper one piled high with watermelon slices, a third circular one filled to the brim with pretzels. It’s — it’s a picnic .
Oh.
“You packed a picnic?” Eddie blurts, unable to stop himself.
Steve pulls out a couple of sodas, tossing one at Eddie, who fumbles to catch it. He smiles, that fucking charming lopsided one that Eddie loves so much. “Yeah, I guess I did,” Steve answers. “I figured we’d get hungry, so I just… packed some food.” He shrugs one shoulder. “Here, I made your favorite,” he adds, nudging the container of sandwiches towards Eddie.
Eddie reaches for it and cracks open the lid and — oh , it is his favorite. Cream cheese and cucumbers. His mom used to make these kinds of sandwiches for him when he was younger, and he’d always loved them. He hadn’t had them in a long time, though. His father used to call them finger food — dainty little things meant for tea parties and other girly shit. Eddie hadn’t agreed, but he’d stopped eating them after that. It had been easier that way.
He’d only mentioned it once to Steve, by accident, a long time ago. But apparently, Steve remembered.
Eddie bites into one of the sandwiches and thinks, Steve never ceases to amaze him.
“So what do you think of swimming?” Steve asks, once they’ve properly dug into their lunch.
Eddie watches as Steve sinks his teeth into the last of the watermelon slices. Sticky sweet juice drips over his chin and runs in rivulets down his wrists. It’s mesmerizing, but not as mesmerizing as it is when Steve drops the rind onto an empty paper plate and chases those drops with his tongue.
It takes a mighty effort for Eddie to remember what the question was here.
He clears his throat and forces himself to look away, dropping his eyes to the container of pretzels by his feet. “It’s— it’s okay,” he says, scooping up a handful and shoving them into his mouth so he doesn’t say anything else — like an offer to help Steve lick up the watermelon juice.
Steve laughs, completely oblivious, and wipes his arm on the blanket. “You know what, I’ll take it. ‘Okay’ is better than ‘this is the worst thing I’ve ever done’, so. That sounds like a win in my book.”
Eddie snorts. “I mean, I don’t know if anything can beat facing down an entire hoard of mutant bats with just a spear made by an eleven year old and a trash can lid for the worst thing I’ve ever done,” Eddie replies, cracking a smile that tugs at the scar on his cheek — the most evident reminder of it all.
That pulls a laugh from Steve, and Eddie is glad that they can joke about these things now. It makes them easier to live with. And it’s nice to have someone who understands.
“Fair enough,” Steve says back.
Eddie can feel his eyes on him, and he rubs absentmindedly at the scar tissue on his jaw.
“Thank you for letting me teach you,” Steve says then, humor replaced with a lighthearted seriousness. “I know how much you didn’t want to, so just— thank you, for trusting me to.”
“Thanks for not letting me drown,” Eddie says, knocking his shoulder into Steve’s.
Steve’s head tilts. His brows furrow for a split second before smoothing out. His eyes, big and brown, find Eddie’s. They go impossibly soft at the corners. So does his mouth, taking on the gentlest of curves. He presses back into Eddie, skin against skin.
“I’d never let you drown,” Steve says, achingly sincere.
Eddie’s heart catches. His fingers twitch against his knee, his body sways. He can’t help himself; in one fluid motion, he stops hesitating, ducks in and presses his lips to Steve’s.
It’s a quick kiss, his lips there and gone in seconds. Doubt creeping in.
He pulls back, with big round eyes. His shoulder isn’t touching Steve’s anymore. He can’t believe he just did that.
But Steve… he makes good on his promise. He doesn’t let Eddie drown.
His palm finds Eddie’s jaw, fitting to the curve of it, and he guides Eddie’s face back to his. Catches Eddie’s mouth in another kiss.
It’s sweet, like the watermelon. Briny, like the lakewater. Wonderful, like Steve .
When they break apart, Eddie can’t help the bubbly laugh that spills out. “Was it— was this your plan all along?” He asks.
Steve makes a face at him. Quirks a brow. “What? Getting you out here, all alone, without a shirt, finding a way to put my hands all over you — which, by the way, you made way too easy, dude —then wooing you with a feast of all your favorites? Nooo, of course not.”
He’s grinning, beaming actually, and Eddie feels like he could walk on water.
“You dick ,” he whines, shoving at Steve’s shoulder. “If that’s what you wanted you totally could have done that without making me have to get in the water.”
Steve catches Eddie’s wrist in his hand and slides his hand up until he can tangle their fingers. “Yeah, I could’ve,” he says. “But now when you think of the water, you’ll think of our first date.”
“Our first date?” Eddie repeats, eyes widening. That’s what this was? Oh .
Steve nods, a little sheepish, like he didn’t mean to catch Eddie off guard with it. “Mhm. The first of… many, I hope?”
And hope he does. There’s so much of it, written into every single feature of his. Laid out so openly across his whole face. It’s— beautiful. He’s beautiful.
Eddie uses their joined hands to tug Steve closer again. Close enough that he can rest his forehead against Steve’s. Close enough to breathe him in. He brings his other palm to Steve’s cheek, sweeps his thumb over the cluster of freckles just beside his nose.
And, well, it’s only fair Eddie returns the favor.
He tips back, just enough to meet Steve’s eyes, squeezes his hand, and he doesn’t let him drown either.
“The first of so many.”