Chapter Text
Eddie stares at his reflection in the mirror, spots a hole at the side of his T-shirt, groans and pulls it off over his head, throwing it in a corner with such a force as if the shirt has personally offended him. This is the third time he's changed shirts in ten minutes. It’s so fucking stupid; he's never cared about that sort of thing before. He didn't have much stuff, and he got used to wearing his shirts until they were threadbare; but it never bothered him, it felt like part of his whole metal, anarchical look. Why buy new stuff, when the old is still perfectly usable? Fuck consumer culture, giving money to companies who keep trying to convince you you absolutely need new things all the time.
And yet now he thinks about today, about picking up the guy who’ll probably be wearing a polo shirt with a pristinely pressed collar, and having holes in his own shirt suddenly makes him feel even more inadequate than he did all week.
Subconsciously, Eddie knows it’s not about the shirt. It’s a little too late to be thinking first impressions when someone’s seen you at your worst, with holes not just in your clothes but in your actual body. Covered in blood, your own as well as multiple otherworldly creatures’, and several days old grime, and some disgusting contents of your stomach that couldn’t handle the agonizing pain. Probably smelling like a fucking landfill site, too.
So yeah, really, it’s not about the state of his shirts. He’s just so out of his depth he’s spiraling. That’s why everything feels wrong, even his own clothes.
He never should have agreed to this. But what was he supposed to do, when Steve Harrington batted his pretty long lashes at him and suggested Eddie took him out?
***
It really was Eddie’s own fault. After listening to both his friends for several minutes - Robin gushing about how she and Vickie finally kissed, Steve about some girl he went out with, who was nice but they haven’t really clicked, apparently - when they asked him how his own weekend went, the devil on his shoulder prompted him to blurt out, “Actually, I was on a date too.” Was it jealously? Trying to belong? A stupid hope for some reaction from Steve? Who the fuck knows.
After guiltily coming up with some bullshit to answer Robin’s excited questions - yeah it was fine, yeah they did kiss, no they didn’t know the guy (at least he didn’t have to lie about that part and invent a girl; it was still a bit surreal, having friends he could be open with in that way) - a customer came in, and Robin, having lost a silent game of rock-paper-scissors with Steve, headed over to help him look for a movie. Eddie was left alone with Steve, who’d just been silently looking at him until that moment, an unreadable expression on his face.
“So, like… You didn’t really say, what did you guys do? Where did you go for your date?” Steve asked, leaning forward on his elbows against the counter, something like genuine curiosity in his voice.
“Uhm.” Eddie blinked, eyes darting around the store for something, anything, like an idea. With all of his dungeon master improv storytelling experience, his mind was suddenly blank.
Steve, thankfully, interpreted his silence in his own way.
“Shit. Sorry, dude, like, I didn’t mean to pry. I guess I’m just…” He rubbed the back of his neck, shrugging sheepishly. “I don’t know, just wondering. If it’s any different. From going on a date with a girl, I mean.”
Good question, Steve. Wish I knew, because I’ve never actually been on a date, and it’s kind of pathetic, which, in hindsight, is probably why I lied to you guys.
Thankfully, Steve’s last sentence gave him another bullshit excuse idea. He quickly compensated his inner turmoil with a huge grin.
“Well, I wouldn’t know the difference, Stevie. Never romanced a lady myself,” he said, pressing a head to his chest.
Steve laughed, a little awkwardly.
“Right. Good point. Sorry.”
Despite still grinning on the outside, Eddie felt terrible. As if it weren’t enough, the guilt of lying to his friends, now he was making fun of Steve for asking a genuine question. Something he should be fucking grateful for. He was very aware of the fact that few straight guys in this world would be such close friends with a dude they knew was gay, much less try and engage in an earnest conversation about the queer part of his life.
But what else was he supposed to say? Admit that his dating life was actually a fucking joke? So of course he hid behind the familiar shield of humor and teasing.
“You’re the one with some background for comparison, though.” Eddie tilts his head, tongue peeking through the teeth in his playful grin. “Maybe you should get a guy to ask you out. For research, you know. Write a paper about it someday. A comparative study of dating dudes vs. chicks, by Steven Harrington, PhD.”
Steve laughed at that, his cheeks suddenly tinted a pretty pink. And then, he looked up and all but stopped Eddie’s heart with his response.
“Huh. Yeah, maybe I should.”
Eddie must have been silently gaping at him for way too long, his brain struggling to process the words, because Steve hurried to add with a teasing smile, “For research, of course.”
“Of course,” Eddie replied dumbly.
“Lucky for me,” Steve continued, dropping his gaze down to the store keys he was fiddling with, “I actually know a certain someone who dates guys. Unless, I mean, he’s committed to seeing the mystery man from this weekend.”
Right. Super committed to dating an imaginary dude. Eddie dropped his head, trying hard not to laugh at the absurdity of it all. When he finally looked up, Steve was still looking at him expectantly, getting visibly nervous by the minute, like he was worried he crossed a line in their friendship, or something.
“Just to clarify, Steve,” Eddie spoke, trying his best to sound casual. “You’re suggesting that I should take you out.”
Steve looked down for a moment, biting his lip, then back up to Eddie.
“Yup. You should.”
“On a… date.”
“Uh-huh.”
“For research.”
“Uh.” Steve looked taken aback for a moment, but then, he chuckled. “Right, for research. It’s not like they make movies about that sort of thing. How else am I supposed to write my paper?” He grinned.
Eddie regarded him for another moment. It was a terrible idea. It was bad enough he was having more and more trouble keeping a proper distance from Steve, never letting his occasional flirting falter outside the somewhat acceptable appearance of friendly teasing. His brain screamed at him to shut this whole insane plan down, but his heart was screaming louder.
Actually getting to experience a date? With Steve, of all the guys? Even if it wasn’t the real deal? Yeah, there’s no way he could turn that down.
“You’re a really weird dude, Steve Harrington.” Eddie shook his head, a resigned sigh escaping his lips. “Pick you up next Saturday? Around, say, three o’clock?”
“A daytime date?” Steve raised his eyebrows, and Eddie panicked for a moment. Had he fucked up already? Did people only do dates in the evenings?
But Steve smiled and added, “Cool. I’m excited for whatever you’ve got planned.”
“Get ready to get your mind blown, Harrington!” Eddie called out, backing towards the door in a way he hoped didn’t look like running away.
***
Forwarding again to Saturday morning: Eddie’s got absolutely nothing planned. Certainly not something that would get Steve’s - a guy who’s likely been on dozens, if not hundreds of dates - mind blown.
Not like he didn’t try. He’s had several days to think about it, desperately wracking his brain for ideas.
He watched a bunch of romantic movies, which he’d carefully checked out from a store in the next town over, where nobody knew him. He even remembered the silly article, 10 perfect date ideas to suggest to your boyfriend , which he’d skimmed through in one of Nancy's glossy girl magazines, out of boredom, while she was checking his homework - determined, in her slightly terrifying Nancy Wheeler way, to get him to graduate. (Yet another friendship he didn’t know what he did to deserve. And so he did graduate, in the end. Did the work, got all the passing grades. Mostly because he kind of hated the disappointment on Nancy’s face whenever he tried to slack off.)
All that was kind of useless, anyway. All the material he could fall back on was about a guy dating a girl. And the whole point of this affair, Eddie kept reminding himself, was that Steve wanted to know what it’s like when two guys were on a date.
Eddie flops down on his bed, groaning, asking himself the question for a thousandth time: what do two guys actually do for a date? Before the obvious making out and possibly fooling around (which, he chastises himself for even thinking about; not something on the table for this pretend date).
He didn't think this would be a thing for him to seriously consider, or he would have found out. He’s had plenty of opportunities. On his trips to a specific bar in Indy, after his virginal thirst was somewhat sated, he got to just talking to guys over drinks. He's met couples who were steady, some older guys apparently living together, practically married in every sense of the word but legal. And yet Eddie never thought to ask them what their dates were like at the beginning, if they even did date or if their occasional hookups just gradually developed into something more. Was that a thing that actually happened?
Seemed doubtful, from his experience.
Eddie had his fair share of hooking up. He learned to spot guys that might be interested, even here, in Hawkins, where there wasn't a predefined location to meet them, where things weren't as simple as keeping an eye out for a hanky in someone's back pocket. He's mastered other, more subtle tricks. Like slowly licking his lips and seeing if the guy he's talking to drops his gaze down to his mouth. Casually leaning into his space and seeing if he’ll lean away, which straight guys tended to do immediately, or remain in place.
But very quickly he also realized that guys he'd make out with in a dark alley or a bathroom stall, with occasional dry humping or a handjob, weren't interested in more than that. Wouldn't even meet his eyes next time they saw each other at a grocery store or something, pretending not to know him. It was frustrating, for a while, but then he accepted it for what it is. Dating for him, a gay boy from a small town, probably wasn't an option.
And now he’s getting ready for a date. A date where he's supposed to look like he knows what he's doing, when in reality he's absolutely fucking clueless. With a guy he’s kind of, almost, in love with. And to top it all off, it's not even real. He's just satisfying his friend’s weird curiosity.
Eddie glances at his watch. Four hours to go, four hours he has to come up with something, otherwise the only thing left to do would be to drive over to Steve’s, confess to being a complete fraud, and call the whole thing off.
He stands up. Miraculously, the fourth T-shirt he pulls on has no holes in it. It’s a little tight - he hasn’t worn it since he was maybe seventeen, - but it looks good, subtly accentuating his slightly visible biceps and pecs when he pulls his shoulders back. He’s been working out, something his younger, PE-loathing self would never had agreed to, but after weeks of being bed-ridden, the doctor-mandated physical therapy slowly giving him back a full range of movement felt like a blessing. And seeing the faint definition of muscle on his torso slightly eased off the frustration he felt whenever he laid his eyes upon the jagged scars on his stomach. So when his PT sessions were no longer deemed necessary, he scraped together some cash for a set of weights and kept going.
So yeah, even if whatever he comes up with (if he ever does) ends up being super lame, at least he’s gonna look good. Not like Steve’s going to care, of course, but it makes him feel a bit more confident.
Eddie grabs his pack of Camels and heads outside, hoping the combination of fresh air and nicotine might kickstart his brain. As he walks outside the trailer park and towards the forest, he thinks maybe he should just wing it. Take Steve to the movies; so what if that’s what guys do with girls. Maybe it’s Eddie who’s overthinking things, and a date between two guys would normally be just as ordinary. Minus the making out in the back row (once again, not on the table anyway).
Scientifically speaking, disproving a theory is just as valid as proving one, right?
Exhaling a puff of smoke, Eddie looks up, squinting at the sun shining through the tree branches. The leaves still glisten a little from the early morning’s rain. Approaching a low hanging branch, Eddie puts the cigarette between his teeth and jumps, reaching it with relative ease. He swings back and forth for momentum, then hooks a leg over the branch and pulls himself up.
It’s insanely satisfying, being able to do something like this again. He shudders to remember the first few weeks after the hospital, when he could barely lift his arms to wash his own hair without pain shooting through his entire body.
Eddie relaxes back against the trunk and sits there for a few minutes, finishing his cigarette. Then, shoving the extinguished butt back into the pack (because he’s not a complete swine to litter in his own backyard, thank you very much), just as he’s about to jump back down and head home, an idea strikes him.
An actually cool idea. Or, at least, what feels like a cool idea. He’s also never heard of any guys he knew taking a girl on a date like that; and, to be fair, he’s not sure a girl would appreciate it. So it is kind of perfect.
Back down on the ground, Eddie glances at the watch and rushes back to his trailer. He’s got just a little over three hours, but that should be more than enough to get everything ready.