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To be honest, Steve doesn’t actually know how he ever managed to get girls. He knew to be sweet, make fun at his own expense, ask questions and keep track of answers— which had worked throughout high school, but that patented Harrington charm had worn out spectacularly fast over the summer.
But the only reason he’d been considered a charmer was because compared to him, other boys’ attempts at flirting were juvenile. Despite being together, Tommy and Carol’s brand of attraction fell into the primary-school-pigtail-pulling category, and as it turned out, a majority of the high school boys used that very same brand.
Steve doesn’t really know how to be playfully mean when it comes to girls. He can tease Dustin to hell and back but he’s his kid brother, not some bombshell blonde chick. (And maybe Steve’s realizing that he’s not into blonde at all but dark, curly hair and wide brown eyes.) Maybe the most surprising thing is that girls want that, want Steve to be mean to them. But deep down, Steve is a good boy, raised to walk his dates to their doors and shake their father’s hand nice and firm. So he’s still getting the hang of pigtail-pulling, truthfully.
The only person who’s kept that brand of playful meanness these days is, unsurprisingly, Munson. Steve’s heard stories, okay? All those girls alone in the woods with a very attractive man who knew how to twist ordinary words into flirtation. And last week when he’d gone by Munson’s to give him his vest back (an abject failure) he’d seen condoms on the dresser. So clearly Munson gets girls.
Steve stares up at the backside of upstairs’ wooden floorboards, blood rushing to his head as he hangs backwards over the edge of the Wheeler’s sofa. Thinking about Munson – he should probably start using his actual name, on account of almost dying together – getting laid makes him feel sick and squirmy. It’s almost hard to imagine, given how strange he is on paper.
But that’s the charm, really. That easy confidence, his casual quips that toe the edge between patronizing and genuine. Girls want that. (Steve wants that.)
Muns— Eddie bangs his fist against the wooden beam above the stairs, rings thunking. Steve tips his head back further, catching his dark eyes from his corner. “Gunning for another concussion?” says Eddie casually. “Or a brain bleed? Heard that those are real easy to get once your head’s been knocked around as often as yours has.”
Steve frowns, pushing himself back up. Eddie always says shit that sounds mildly threatening but somehow sweet at the same time. It makes him think he might care about Steve, but he’s probably just not in the mood to drive Steve down to the hospital for an impromptu MRI. Actually, he might just not be in the mood for Steve in general.
Eddie is leaning against the stairs when Steve looks. He makes his eyes wide and round, his long lashes framing them, and pops a bubble with his gum (courtesy of Robin, who’s been begging both of them to quit smoking). “Wow, you actually listened to me! Who’s a good boy?” he teases, snapping his teeth around his gum once more.
Steve scoffs. This is the thing with Eddie. He’ll fuck around with Steve, teasing him juuust over the edge of acceptable, but around the girls he’s all manufactured politeness. He’d helped Nancy out of the car last night and she’d blushed primrose pink down her collar. He’s awful.
Is it bad if Steve kind of enjoys the banter? He’s not sure if it speaks to his newfound preferences or his jealousy over how well Eddie gets along with the girls, but he’s happy that there’s something special between them, even if it entails Eddie’s worrying homicidal tendencies.
Eddie is still looking at him, arms crossed. He’s wearing an Iron Maiden shirt that looks about a thousand years old and his signature smarmy grin. His dark hair is braided over his shoulder, kept together by a small hot pink scrunchie. Somehow, that’s what makes Steve’s heart hurt.
“Are you starting?” he asks.
Eddie uncrosses his arms and rolls his shoulders back. “Guess so.”
“I’ll get out of your hair, then.” Steve stands and woah, maybe Eddie was right. He feels about two seconds short of keeling over.
“Or you could stay,” says Eddie. He’s unaffected, chipping his dark purple nail polish off with practiced ease.
“…I’ll just stick around upstairs.”
“Come down if you wanna see the kids in action,” Eddie teases, finally looking back up. He smiles, soft and genuine. “Thanks for driving them, by the way.”
“Oh,” says Steve. He’s made his way to the staircase now, carefully trying to both keep his balance and remain empty-faced in the wake of Eddie’s sudden cloying charm. “It’s no problem.”
Eddie shrugs. His eyes glance around the room and Steve takes a moment to drink in the sight of his pale freckles and softly red cheeks. “Sure,” he agrees.
Steve tries for a grin and wrestles past him, brushing his shoulder as he ascends the stairs. Eddie used to smell of cigarettes and cheap perfume, but now the tobacco scent has all but disappeared. He bites his lip and opens the basement door, settling in by the kitchen. Mrs. Wheeler gives him a panicked nod, furiously smearing on rouge as Holly tugs at her fuchsia dress. “Hi Steve,” she rushes.
“Hi Mrs. Wheeler,” Steve says. She’s going out tonight with Ted (Steve isn’t really sure what prompted that decision because as far as he knows Mrs. Wheeler was ready to pounce on Billy Hargrove. It’s a wonder they haven’t divorced, but Steve can say the same of his own parents). Holly is essentially being babysat by Nancy, and Steve too, now that he’s planning to stay.
He wonders how Billy even got Mrs. Wheeler under his weird spell. He certainly wasn’t nice to the girls he used to hook up with, but maybe that was the allure. Again— that strange, enchanting brand of meanness seems to be the key.
Mrs. Wheeler presses a sticky kiss to Holly’s cheek and books it outside, nearly knocking into Jonathan as he enters. “Whoops!” she quips, and then she’s gone.
Steve meets Jonathan’s eyes and looks away. He really didn’t want to have to deal with this tonight, and it’s only his halfhearted promise to Eddie that keeps him in his seat. Jonathan looks equally uncomfortable, hesitating between hurrying up or slowly walking up the stairs to Nancy’s room, as if Steve doesn’t know they’re fucking. He keeps his eyes averted until Jonathan’s footfalls peter out.
“STEVE!” Dustin bellows from the depths of the basement.
Steve grunts and glances at Holly, who gives him a look full of irritation. Deciding that she can take care of herself, he heads downstairs.
Dustin’s been excited about this meeting for weeks, working himself up into a tizzy about schematics. It’s because Will and El have finally moved back, and this is their first Hellfire meeting. Will is awkwardly picking at a loose thread on his Hellfire shirt (it’s a jersey, technically. Steve and Eddie have already argued about this, but Steve is resolute) while El is carefully paying attention to Max as she explains something to her. Eddie glances up, mouth pursed, and Steve bites down hard on his lip, ripping off a healing scab. Oh, well.
“Harrington,” he drawls, “decided to join us? Couldn’t stomach Wheeler and Jonathan’s sex noises?”
“Dude,” says Mike, aghast. “That’s my sister!”
Steve just rolls his eyes. Had they not known each other well enough by now, he might’ve thought that Eddie was gunning for Nancy. As it stands, Steve is pretty sure he’s stuck on Chrissy.
She was pretty, kind of princess Cinderella-esque. Sweet, too. That’s the kind of girl Eddie likes.
Eddie gestures towards the sofa and Steve sits. He’s so tired he can’t keep his eyes open, thinking of all the times he’s fallen asleep, open-mouthed and drooling, on this sofa. His eyes flutter shut and he vaguely sees colors splashing across the insides of his eyelids, purples and oranges against the dark blankness.
“Hey,” says someone.
Steve startles awake, only for Eddie to gently shush him. “Falling asleep, huh? How many hours did you get last night?” He scoffs at Steve’s stupefied expression, drawing a small star on his face with his finger and avoiding his eyes. Steve tries not to freeze up at the touch. “Whatever. Go to sleep, but I’ll wake you up if you start snoring. I’ve got a campaign to run, Harrington.”
“Steve.”
“Steve,” Eddie mimics, a little cruel. “Go to sleep.”
He does.
—
Robin gapes at him, her hand hovering over the keyboard. “What?”
“I’m serious!”
She shakes her head and punches something in, whirls around to face him once she’s done. “I don’t understand.”
Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m just saying, I think I know a couple girls that fit his type.”
“Girls?” says Robin, chewing on the inside of her cheek. She looks up at Steve like she’s expecting him to admit that this is some cosmic joke, which Steve doesn’t completely understand because what’s so funny about Eddie going on dates?
“What? Didn’t he use to go on a ton of dates?”
“A ton of dates— where did you get that idea?”
“Uh, there’s condoms on his dresser?” Steve gestures, nearly forgetting that he’s supposed to be scanning in a new shipment of tapes. He almost drops the one in his hand, feeling its plastic cover crinkle under his palm.
Robin laughs. See, when Robin laughs Steve usually gets his buzzing under his sternum, full of fondness, but right now he’s considering braining her and dragging her body to rot in the storage closet.
“Steve,” she breathes, giggling, “you think Eddie Munson fucks?”
“Uh, yeah?”
That sends her into another round of cackles, causing a couple teenage girls to give her nasty looks. Steve resists the urge to return one of his own and sighs. “I really don’t get what’s so funny.”
“You are!” Robin says. “You’re trying to set him up on a date with, like, Sarah Johnston or Heidi Summers. That’s hilarious.”
“I thought he might like those types of girls, though?”
Robin blinks. “Why?”
“He liked Chrissy, right? Isn’t his type preppy girls with good hair? Maybe a little puppy-ish?”
“Huh,” she says, running her tongue over the front of her teeth, “that’s pretty accurate, actually.”
“See? I’m not gonna do it without permission but,” Steve takes a deep breath, “he deserves to settle in with some nice girl, after everything.”
“Uh huh. And this has nothing to do with your crush the size of Texas on him?”
“Robin.”
“I’m just saying!” She turns to him and waves a tape around, boring holes into his face with her critical eyes. “This is reading as you making your life worse by hooking him up with some girl because you think it’s best to push him away or something.” She shoves the tape into his arms. “Have you considered if he even likes girls?”
“Why would I—”
“You like boys, Steve. I’m pretty sure anything else would be less surprising than that.”
Which, fair point. Steve hasn’t really thought about Eddie liking boys because that feels invasive, and it’s giving Steve too much credit. He’s not that charming (not at all these days), so even if Eddie likes boys it’s a lost cause. “I’ll ask him about Heidi Summers,” he decides. Robin groans.
—
The next time he sees Eddie is at the next Hellfire meeting. Ted’s out with his buddies and Mrs. Wheeler is reading an airport bookstore erotica on the couch upstairs, which means Nancy and Jonathan are relegated to keeping it painfully PG. Eddie knocks his shoulder into Steve’s as he enters the kitchen, swiping a red velvet cupcake from the tray Steve had brought, and winks. “Mrs. Wheeler has no shame, huh?” he whispers.
Steve snorts and licks the cream cheese frosting off his own cupcake. “Please. She was gonna hook up with Billy Hargrove last summer.”
“No!” Eddie gasps, humor dancing across his face. He sets the cupcake in front of him and leans forward on his elbows, getting close. “Billy Hargrove? Max’s brother?”
“Step-brother,” Steve corrects, because Max is really anal about the distinction and he wants to support her. “But yeah, Nance said he used to come over all the time.”
Eddie fakes a shiver, grinning. “Can you imagine if she’d ended up with him? Max would be related to Mike.”
Steve cackles, “That’s terrible!”
“I know!” says Eddie, making big eyes. He takes a bite of his cupcake and hums.
Steve shakes his head. It’s really nice to be able to talk to Eddie like this, and it’s sort of getting to him. Eddie is making it easy to believe that he actually enjoys Steve’s company right now, which is not doing great things for his heart. “You’re not starting yet?”
“Nah,” says Eddie through another bite of red velvet, “Will and Jane aren’t here yet, and they’re sort of my favorites.”
“Dustin?”
Eddie rolls his eyes. “Love the kid to death, but he’s been on my case about getting a girl.”
Steve suppresses a wince. That might be his fault, having brought up the idea last time he drove Dustin to the arcade. “You don’t want to?”
For some reason, Eddie looks a little guilty as he says, “Nah. Dunno anyone who can handle all this,” and gestures to his body.
“If you’re interested I know a couple girls. Uh, Heidi Summers is dating around, so.” Steve looks away, chewing on a bite of cupcake that’s starting to taste like ash. He’s sweating in his polo, and he keeps his arms down so Eddie won’t see the stains against the gray fabric. Jesus, this is somehow more nerve-wracking than actually going on a date.
“Summers? How’d you come up with her?” Eddie sounds almost amused.
“Uh. Well. I thought you might like preppy girls, you know. She has good hair.”
“Hmm,” says Eddie. When Steve looks at him, he’s licking frosting off the cupcake wrapper. He raises an eyebrow at Steve, pink tongue curling over the waxy paper. “I’ll think about it. In the meantime, where’d you get these cupcakes? They’re so motherfucking good, dude.”
“Ah,” says Steve, bashful, “I made them.”
Eddie freezes. “…With the box mix?”
“No, I made them. From scratch.”
“Look at you!” Eddie croons, blessedly putting the wrapper down. “A regular housewife. Any girl would be lucky to have you, my sweet Stevie.”
He blushes. “Or boy,” he says quickly.
Eddie stares at him for a second too long before his smile softens like the melted butter Steve used for his recipe. “Or boy,” he repeats, and Steve relaxes.
A comfortable quiet settles over them. He glances up at Eddie through his lashes, admiring the sweet quality on his face when he’s not wreaking havoc. He’s got good cheekbones, and even as he chews through another cupcake (Steve will bring over another tray someday, just for Eddie and Wayne) his dimples show. He’s, like, a perfect human. When he smiles it always looks a little bit teasing, crooked, and Steve loves the swoop in his stomach when Eddie verbally tugs him around, running circles around him with his teases of “King Steve”.
“Just let me know about Heidi,” he says, and Eddie nods.
He stays upstairs for the rest of the night, eventually rummaging through his bag to finish his college apps. It’s only to one college, Hawkins’ Community, but it’ll be better than nothing. Maybe if he gets his stuff in by the end of summer he’ll be able to start next spring.
Eddie’s voice floats up from under the floorboards, deep and heady in a way that fills Steve’s stomach with cement, and he has to erase Eddie’s name off of his paper more times than he’s comfortable with. Nancy and Jonathan are giggling in the living room, but somehow Steve’s not even upset by it. Maybe he really is growing up.
The kids come up around ten, which is cutting it close to curfew but whatever. Lucas snatches up the last two cupcakes and gives them to Max and Erica; such a sweet boy. Steve approves of him for Max, though she can stand to be a little more welcoming off his affections.
How hypocritical. For all the girls that flock to his work and bat their mascara-covered lashes at him, waiting for him to ask them to dinner, Steve hasn’t entertained any of them since spring break ended. He feels all sorts of pathetic about it, waiting for Eddie Munson, straight boy extraordinaire, to do the same thing to him that the girls want from Steve. Ugh.
Eddie is outside when Steve leaves to drive Dustin home. He raises a hand and Steve copies him. It’s weird. Dustin complains about Eddie the whole way back but Steve can only think of his wide eyes and pink tongue and all his sharp barbs that had managed to seem both offensive and funny.
When Steve gets home he nabs a piece of gum and chews on it as he runs through his high school transcript, wondering if Eddie tastes the same as his gum does.
—
“Heidi Summers?” is the first thing Steve asks when he sees Eddie next. They’re at his house for once, to use his pool.
Eddie, halfway to peeling his shirt off his body, pauses to glare at him. Steve shrugs and leans back into his chair, tipping his head up and smelling chlorine and summer air.
Eddie walks over to him, slinging his shirt somewhere on the patio, and crosses his arms. It’s a mirror of two weeks ago when Steve had been halfway to another concussion on the Wheeler’s sofa and Eddie had come down to harp on him. “Why are you and Henderson so obsessed with me getting a girl?” he grunts.
Steve pushes himself back up and shrugs. “I just think it’d be nice. If it was something you wanted.”
“Sure,” says Eddie dully. “How come you don’t have a pretty little thing hanging off your arm, then?”
“Don’t want that,” he says, grateful that he can blame his blush on the heat.
Eddie whistles, bright and clear. He looks almost translucent under the sun, his skin marble white and stretched thin over his flat stomach. His hip bones poke out above the band of his red swimsuit bottoms, indecent. A dark smattering of hair disappears below his navel; Steve stops that train of thought before it shows too plainly on his face.
“Never thought I’d see the day King Steve doesn’t wanna flip some poor girl’s skirt up.”
Steve glares at him and says, “For your information, I was raised right. I’d never do that unless she wanted me to.”
“What a gentleman,” Eddie teases. “What, you want some girl’s hand up your skirt instead?” He cackles, turning away before Steve can correct him. Fucking asshole.
Robin appears a second later, handing him a bottle of Coke (thankfully not New Coke – capital N because of its infamous taste – because he knows the kids would throw a fit). “Wipeout,” she says, and Steve knows she’s not talking about swimming.
“Ugh.” He rolls over. “Please leave me to die.”
Robin just pats his back and snaps her sunglasses on.
Steve watches the kids play a game of Marco Polo with Eddie, who either has a keen sense of hearing or is cheating, both of which seem possible. It’s nice to see them having fun, especially Max and El. They’ve never been completely welcomed into the Party given that Mike insists on maintaining the purity of the original quartet, so he’s glad they’re getting along with the boys.
“Marco!” Eddie yells.
“POLO!” Dustin shrieks, clambering up the steps.
Eddie turns to Steve and winks and yup, definitely cheating. Steve muffles a laugh into his Coke and ends up hiccuping one out anyway.
“Robin,” he starts, “why do girls like it when guys are mean to them?”
“Asking the wrong person, buddy,” she says. “But probably because they’re giving them attention. And it’s special because if that guy is sweet to everyone else and mean to just you, then it means he’s specifically after you.”
“Huh.”
“What,” drawls Robin, “having trouble with the ladies? Practicing being an asshole for Eddie?” She tips her sunglasses down and smirks. “You really don’t have to try for that, don’t worry.”
Steve throws her in the pool.
Max is on her with vicious glee, dunking a gurgling Robin into the pool as her screams for help dissolve into laughter. Eddie paddles over and tries to dunk Max, yelling something about being a valiant knight saving Lady Buckley. Eventually Robin escapes Max’s clutches and rounds on Eddie, shoving him under the water and plastering his dark hair to his face.
Steve is halfway through his Coke when Eddie ambles out of the water, dripping everywhere. He forgoes his towel to stand in front of Steve, looking caught somewhere between sea monster and hot surfer. Steve blinks up at him and yelps when Eddie darts down, placing his hands on the armrests on either side of his chair. He’s dripping water into his lap now, breathing a little heavy. Holy hell.
“No pool for Stevie?” he asks.
“N-nope. No pool.”
Eddie hums. It’s really distracting because the sound seems to travel up from his chest and back down again, vibrating down his lanky arms and through his toes. Steve stares at the spider tattoo on Eddie’s shoulder. “Is the chlorine bad for your tattoo?”
“Oh,” says Eddie, “yeah. Worth it.”
Steve giggles. He feels like a girl, getting pinned to his seat by a shirtless guy. He can even pretend Eddie is hitting on him if he tries hard enough.
“Heidi Summers,” he starts, “uh. Why not?”
Eddie snorts. “Jeez, you’re fucking obsessive. Like me that much, baby?”
Yes. “Screw off,” Steve jibes. “C’mon, tell me why.”
“Just not my thing.” Eddie shrugs.
“What about her makes her not your thing?”
Eddie grimaces, nose wrinkling, and says, “Hate to break it to you, Steve, but it’s not her.”
“Then what is it?” Steve says, starting to allow frustration to leak into his voice.
“She’s a girl.” Eddie raises an eyebrow and elaborates slowly, “And I’m not into girls.”
“Oh,” says Steve.
“Oh,” Eddie echoes, starting to grin. “Look, Steve, it’s sweet of you to try but I’m really not all that into anyone at the moment.”
“Oh,” says Steve again, this time for a different reason.
Eddie’s eyes go wide and he reaches forward to pat Steve’s chest, leaving a wet handprint over his shirt. “I mean. I am interested in someone, but there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“Sorry, then,” he says.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, man.” It’s sort of funny that Eddie’s called him pretty and “man” in the same sentence, but Steve nods and Eddie backs off. “I’m gonna go grab a beer. That ok?”
“It’s your shit, dude,” Steve mumbles, dazed. Eddie disappears into the house and he groans, dragging a hand down his face.
—
Steve is a little drunk. He’s not driving today, courtesy of Robin and her shiny new permit, and when he’d walked into the Wheeler’s to find Jonathan and Nancy making out on the couch, he’d gone straight for the fridge for a beer. Now he’s tipsy and sitting at the bottom of the first floor stairs, chewing on his lip and working his way through a third beer.
So maybe he’s more than a little drunk.
It’s not his fault. His parents had called, their usual once-in-a-blue-moon attempt at genuine care falling flat as soon as they heard his voice. He’d gotten chewed out for who knows what, and then he’d driven to the post office and dropped off his college application. Which was really fucking scary, so when he got home he cried for an hour.
He runs a hand through his hair, grimacing. Honestly, he’s having such a bad day that nothing would make it worse, bar another hole to hell opening up. And Steve needs Robin, because he’s seriously considering confessing to Eddie right about now.
He’s going to be rejected. He knows it, but he’s suddenly determined. It might be better to get it all over with.
He stares at the flower-patterned walls, the cushy armchair that Ted usually falls asleep on, and digs his toes into the beige carpet. Tries to keep himself calm.
Behind him the sound of Eddie’s laughter echoes through the house, bouncing across the foyer where Steve mopes. He cranes around the bannister and sees him, wonderful and glowing under the kitchen’s warm orange light. His hair looks almost cherry red under it.
Something inside Steve aches. Robin had told him once that she thought he loved too much and it spilled into other people without him noticing. He’d loved Robin even before they’d been bound together in that tiny room underground, loved Dustin when the boy had only seen him as a convenient protector, someone to rely on in the face of interdimensional monsters. And now Eddie, who he’d never intended to like at all, but suddenly Steve is left caring about him so deeply it hurts.
Eddie tucks his hair behind his ear and grins. Steve’s heart convulses, and he tips back the rest of his third beer to ease the tightening of it.
He finds himself outside ten minutes later, trying to flick his lighter on to light his cigarette. He’s so out of it that he doesn’t hear the door open, but then Eddie is standing in front of him, picking the cigarette from between his teeth and tossing it somewhere over his shoulder. “Hey—”
“No smoking,” says Eddie, which is rich coming from a guy who sells weed. Steve glares at him.
“Y’don’t get to decide what I do,” he slurs.
“No,” says Eddie with a long sigh, “I don’t. You’re drunk.”
“Maybe a little.”
“You’re stupid as hell,” he mutters, “running around, tryna’ get me with some stupid cheerleader girl. It’s like you haven’t got eyes, Harrington.”
“I’ve got eyes,” Steve huffs, poking Eddie in the chest with his finger.
“No, you don’t.” Eddie shakes his head, dark curls swinging from side to side. “I’m starting to think I’ve got to spell it out for you.”
“Spell what out, man?”
“That I like you, asshole!” It’s loud enough that the birds perched in the trees overhead caw and flap off their branches, heading skyward. “So stop with the matchmaking bullshit!”
“I like you too, shithead!” Steve yells, waving his hands around like a lunatic. He shoves Eddie a little, trying to get some breathing room, but Eddie grabs his wrist and tugs him closer.
“Yeah? Yeah? What are you gonna do about it, then?”
Steve jerks forward and presses a kiss to his cheek, smearing his chapstick over pale skin. “There!”
Eddie’s eyes are big, sort of like when a cat takes a lot of catnip. It’s cute, but Steve still shoves him away when he tries to duck in for a real kiss. “You’re horrible at flirting,” he grumbles. “You think being mean to me is gonna work?”
Eddie has the decency to blush. “It did work, didn’t it?”
“That’s not the point, Munson! I’m not kissing you until you make it up to me,” he huffs, turning around and striding towards the house.
Eddie is at his heels, pressing his hands together in prayer, begging, “Stevie, I’m sorry, I like you so much, I’m sorry.”
Steve whirls around and kisses him, firm on the mouth. He tastes like toothpaste, which is probably from his gum, and it makes Steve feel funny and warm. “Now shut up,” he hisses, and Eddie laughs his pretty laugh.
“I’ll never shut up now,” he teases.
Steve turns around, shoves him into the side of the house, and proves that sentence wholly incorrect.