Work Text:
BARBIE
OPPENHEIMER
Eddie wants to die.
Eddie closes his eyes and hopes to die, there on the concrete pavement in the middle of Hawkins, he hopes some sick supernatural gate opens up below him and hordes of monsters swallow him and send him directly down to Hell.
He keeps his eyes closed and waits, but no gate opens, his prayers remain unheard, and now he will die of embarrassment and the last thing he’ll hear before his premature departure is the cackling sound of Robin Buckley’s laugh. Literally adding insult to injury!
Fuck.
He just wanted to hang out with his friends, and maybe (definitely) try to take advantage of their employee discount to get into the Barbie movie, not humiliate himself.
“Oh my God! Eddie, are you okay?”
And of course, Steve Harrington has to be nice about it, because clearly, Eddie’s predicament wasn’t enough as it is.
“Peachy,” answers Eddie from his spot on the ground. He feels the pressure of a headache forming on his forehead where he hit the metal, and he knows it will at least bruise.
He refuses to open his eyes. For good measure, he dramatically throws an arm over his face.
“Are you going to get up?”
“No,” groans Eddie. A few feet away, he can hear Robin laughing so hard she starts coughing. Suits her well.
“Come on, Eds.” Steve is using his Stern Babysitter’s voice at him, and God if it’s not at least a bit humiliating. His cheeks flush with heat, and he knows he’s turning crimson.
Not without effort, Eddie lets his arm fall again to his side and slowly opens his eyes to an ethereal vision, and his breath catches in his throat. Thank God Eddie is already laying down.
Steve is looming over him, closer than Eddie expected him to, and the sunlight is illuminating him from behind, contouring his form. Chestnut-colored silky locks are kissed by the sun's embrace, creating a halo that frames his face. His eyes are a pool of liquid gold, and Eddie can see the faint shade of green speckles in the honey color. He looks like an angel descended from heaven to collect Eddie’s soul.
Despite the tone he just used at him, Steve is smiling at him, all mirth and mischief. He holds out his hand for Eddie to take.
He takes Steve’s hand and lets himself be pulled up into a sitting position, and he looks around. Most people don’t spare him a look, and they keep walking around them or doing whatever the hell they were doing before Eddie decided to completely obliterate his dignity by getting distracted by Steve’s ass as the younger boy was standing on the telescopic ladder, instead of paying attention to where he was putting his fucking feet, and consequently banging his head on the pole of a streetlight and falling to the ground.
And all of this, with one single witness: fucking Robin Buckley, which was currently filming him with her phone, her hands shaking with laughter and cough.
“Smile at the camera dude, you’re on Instagram.”
“Please tell me at least it’s a close friend story,” groans Eddie.
Robin laughs louder, smacking her hand down on her tight.
“It is so not!”
“Jesus H Christ, I hate you,” he whines. “I hate you so much. I hope you get shadow banned.”
“Are you okay?” asks Steve, again.
“Forehead hurts,” Eddie says. Not as much as my pride, he thinks. “But I’ll be fine.” Unfortunately.
“I think there is some ice in the freezer. I’ll go get it.” Steve starts to turn but aborts the movement to look again at Eddie. “You stay there, am I clear? Sit down, don’t try to get up, and try not to hit your head again.”
“I’ll try my best,” Eddie responds dryly. Steve chuckles, shaking his head.
Then he turns around and walks toward the theatre door, and Eddie is grateful he’s still on the ground, because he catches another glance of Steve Harrington’s perky ass in those tight pair of jeans that looks like they have been painted on him, and Eddie swears he could hear angelic choirs at the sight.
He’s not even remotely close to being some sort of religious believer but for that ass? He can go on his knees anytime, really, both figuratively, religiously, and sexually. Eddie doesn’t mind any of the options at this point, not if he can get his hands on the other boy sooner or later.
Everyone at some point had a crush on Steve Harrington, so sue Eddie if that was the only mainstream thing he did in his life. Eddie isn’t exactly a stranger to the idea of liking men – or even fucking them – and he got eyes, and Steve got that sinful ass, okay?
You literally had to be a lesbian not to have a crush on Steve – which kind of explain Robin Buckley.
Speaking of Buckley, Eddie glares at her.
She finally caught her breath again, and she’s now standing near the ladder with a smug expression. Eddie knows Robin can read through him at the moment. She knows what Eddie was thinking about. He knows she knows that he knows.
The thing is, while Robin is undoubtedly the most academically gifted among their trio, unfortunately, they share one functional synapsis when it comes to real-life struggles, and they share it like the eye or the teeth of the Graeae. Which means that they work like one singular hive mind. So much for codependency.
Which, again, kind of explains Robin Buckley. And how she knows that he knows that she knows that he knows.
Damned queer hive mind.
He flips her off. She responds by sticking her tongue out.
“I swear, you two are children,” says Steve, closing the theatre’s door behind him. In his hands, he’s holding a plastic food bag full of ice, which he presses on Eddie’s head. Eddie winces but takes the ice pack from Steve’s hands and keeps it pressed against his head. “How the fuck did you not see the pole?”
Eddie feels all of his blood rushing to his face again, and his heartbeat is pounding in his ears like a relentless drum. He doesn’t trust his voice to come out correctly, overwhelmed and flustered, so he just shrugs with fake nonchalance. Glares again at Robin when she looks like she’s about to burst into laughter again.
Slowly, Steve helps Eddie to his feet and drags him inside the building. He makes the other boy sit on a chair near the counter but doesn’t leave yet, just stands close to him. Real close to him.
“I’ll go finish the marquee with Robs,” he stays. “Feel free to hang out here in the meantime.”
“Thanks, Harrington.”
Steve fidgets with his hands, seeming nervous. “If you want, I’ll sneak you into one of the premieres we have today.” Steve winks at him. “What is gonna be, Barbie or Oppenheimer?”
Eddie gasps theatrically. “Do you not know me? Of course it’s gonna be Barbie. Who do you think I am? Some warmonger dudebro?”
Steve’s frown is the cutest thing Eddie ever laid his eyes on.
“I don’t think Oppenheimer is only for warmongers dudebros, Eds.”
“I know Stevie,” Eddie says. “But I’ve been dying for months to watch the Barbie movie. I am so ready for it. It’s either going to singlehandedly fix my depression or give me my thirteenth reason. Either way, all my problems will be solved.”
Steve elbows him in the shoulder.
“Rude, Steve! I’m injured, remember?” Eddie gapes at him.
“Injured, he says,” tuts Steve. “A drama queen is what you are.”
“This is so rich coming from you, Steve. You are the most dramatic bitch out there.”
Steve smiles widely, “I learned from the best, baby.”
And-
What?
Did Steve fucking Harrington just call Eddie ‘baby’?
Eddie smiles back, hoping he doesn’t look like his brain is short-circuiting – which it is, it is so much.
“Yeah, whatever,” he croaks out. Steve giggles, taking a couple steps backward, before finally turning over and walking out. Through the glass door, Eddie sees him talking briefly with Robin, which resumes her position at the bottom of the ladder, keeping it steady as Steve climbs the steps, until all Eddie can see is the lower half of his body as Steve wriggles his ass to find equilibrium.
Eddie is going to die.
He tries not to stare again as the two finish their work. Thinks about sad kittens and Grampa's underwear to stop his blood from flowing to his dick. It has already done too much damage for today, and he can’t afford to lose more brain cells. He’s already low on them enough as he is, with Robin hoarding all of their collective ones.
After a few minutes, the two finally get inside and start refilling the snack station and preparing the last things before the theatre opens for the clients.
Right before they flip the CLOSE sign to OPEN, Steve hauls Eddie to his feet and steers him to the employer’s break room.
“I can’t let you stay at the counter with the clients. I’ll come to get you right before the film starts, so I can sneak you in.” He winks at him and closes the door.
Not even a minute later, Eddie hears the noise of the clients entering the building and clump together at the front.
He sits down on one of the few armchairs in the room. He leans back, still pressing the ice on his forehead. It has melted a bit due to his body heat, and it’s not freezing cold anymore, just cool, and the half-melted ice is floating in the water. The consistency is nice over Eddie’s hurt forehead. He sinks into the armchair a bit more comfortably, and resorts to wait, refusing to check the Instagram notification that popped on his phone. He’s not going to re-live his disgrace from Robin’s digital point of view.
The wait for Steve to call him back outside seems endless, but Eddie manages to relax despite the noise outside.
He can be fine, he thinks. Well, Robin is probably to make fun of him until the end of the time, but he’ll manage, somehow. But he’s going to leave this room as a changed man. He’s not going to get distracted by Steve or Steve’s ass – like they are two separate beings, equally distracting but for different reasons – anymore. He won’t. He won’t.
He’s going to be a decent friend from now on. A decent man, even. He’s going to behave accordingly to feminism, not according to his dick. He can be respectful.
Eddie must have lost track of time because suddenly it’s silence, and then there’s a knock on the door. The boy jumps up in surprise, his heart beating a mile per hour. A second after the door opens and Steve leans inside.
“It’s clear, let’s go,” he said, motioning to Eddie to sit up and walk. He obliges, and Steve puts his hands on his shoulder to gently push him across the hall.
They pass in front of the counter, where Robin is perched on the stool scrolling through her socials. She shoots a glare at Steve, as he takes a bucket – the bigger size – and fills it with popcorn.
“Come on,” Steve's fingers close around Eddie’s wrist, and he squeezes a bit before loosening the grip. Eddie expects Steve to let go, but the fact is that he doesn’t. If else, Steve's thick fingers move smoothly down his hands, and their fingers intertwine. Eddie feels his heart skip a beat, the contact with Steve’s skin sending a jolt of warmth through him. He's used to Steve's friendly touches and gestures, but this moment feels different, more intimate.
“The movie isn’t waiting for us,” he says, walking to the cinema room, his hand still in Eddie’s.
The two boys slip silently into the room, where the trailer and the ads have already started. Steve guides Eddie to a seat – a decently good one, even if it is a bit further in the back – and makes him sit down.
Eddie is about to thank Steve and focus on the screen when Steve himself sinks into the empty seat next to his and puts the popcorn basket on the armrest between them. Eddie blink once. Twice. Tries to find the second neuron to obtain a functional synapsis to understand what is going on, fails miserably.
“What are you doing?” he whisper-shouts at Steve.
“I thought I could join you,” the other boy says with a smile. “Robin is handling the rest outside.”
Eddie chuckles lowly. “How did you convince her to do actual work?”
“Oh, I didn’t,” Steve shakes his head. “That was payback for laughing at you earlier. She deserves to pay for her sins, owes you that much.”
Steve is illuminated by the soft glow of the cinema screen as he sinks his fingers in the bucket, and delicately brings a handful of popcorn to his mouth. He licks his lips from the salt and starts chewing.
Eddie can’t tear his eyes away from the bobbing up and down of his Adam’s apple, from the way he tilts his head slightly to the side, engrossed in the film.
So much for trying to be respectful. Eddie is sitting stiff as a board, his fingernails driven into the meat of his own thighs, his palms sweating and he feels like he’s about to choke on air.
His eyes dart around the room, but everything is… normal. Nothing gives him the impression that he’s somewhat dreaming about sitting near Steve in a cinema room and the other boy contentedly eats popcorn – well, it’s not like they've never done it before, either at the cinema or at Steve’s place, but Robin was always there acting as a buffer between Steve and the crush Eddie has on Steve, and Steve never went out of his way to buy him the largest popcorn bucket and hold his fucking hands to his seat.
The film has already started, but Eddie can’t even focus on it, he’s feeling too many emotions and he’s not liking even a single one of them. He keeps stealing glances at the other boy, trying to gauge his reaction, searching for any sign of- well, he doesn’t even know what.
He just knows that Steve seems relaxed as he looks at the screen with the cutest smile ever, and all of that feels like a date. A fucking freaking date.
Why does it feel like a date?
Wait, is this a date?
Because if it is, the only possible explanation is that Eddie really died banging his head on the streetlight and went to Heaven.
“Steve?” he calls before his brain has the time to catch up with whatever idiocy is about to leave his mouth, and the idiocy being- “Is this a date?”
Well. Now he’s really gone and said it.
Congratulation, Edward Munson, you win the first prize for: not having a single functional brain cell, and your prize is eternal humiliation and the loss of one of your best friends/crush.
Eddie is ready to get up and bolt the fuck out of there, but Steve one-ups him.
“I don’t know,” Steve shrugs, and- is he blushing? Eddie can’t tell for sure, because everything looks so pink in the light of the Barbie movie. “But I wouldn’t mind if it was. I, emm… I’d like it very much if it was. A date, I mean. If you also want.”
And Eddie just- gapes at him. Because how the fuck is he supposed to answer that? How is he supposed to function properly, in a world where The King Steve Harrington is, what? Asking him out? Him? The certified Freak of Hawkins? While watching the Barbie movie?
No way.
Now Eddie is sure he died and went to Heaven.
“I think I banged my head too hard,” mutters Eddie. “I must be dead. Can’t believe you want to go on a date with me. This has to be a dream. Or maybe I have a concussion and I’m imagining this.”
Steve’s eyes shine in the light of the screen, and he giggles. Maybe a bit too loud, if the hushing sound the people seated near them make is a good indicator.
“It’s no dream, Eds. And hopefully is no concussion either.”
Steve reaches forward and locks his pinky with Eddie’s. it’s a gesture so endearing it makes Eddie’s teeth ache. He wants more. If he’s dreaming, he doesn’t want to wake up. If he’s not-
If he’s not dreaming, he doesn’t want to fall asleep and wants to keep staring at Steve and his cute smile until he either dies or turns blind with old age. If this is his new reality, he doesn’t want anything else.
“I’ve been trying to find the right moment to do this for weeks,” confesses Steve, almost shyly. “I’m sorry for your head, but I’m glad you decided to pass by the theatre, today.”
“Yeah,” says Eddie, grinning, “Me too.”
And suddenly Steve is leaning toward him, and he’s so close. Eddie feels like a deer blinded by the headlights, unable to move away. Steve stops a mere inch from Eddie’s face and a mischievous smile – one that means trouble – grows wider on his lips.
“However,” he says, purrs, “you should stop staring at my ass. I mean, I’m flattered, but for the sake of your brain, you should really pay more attention and watch your steps.”