Work Text:
Eddie taps his index finger against the 1989 wall calendar taped against the inside of Dustin’s bedroom door.
‟Huh,” he says. ‟Didn’t know you were so eager to get the fuck out of Hawkins.”
Dustin looks up from where he’s digging through his backpack in search of his dice bag.
‟I’m not,” he says, watching Eddie lift the March page to sneak a peek at April. ‟That’s my countdown to remind me how many days I have to convince Steve to go with me.”
‟Ah,” Eddie murmurs. ‟Right. And how’s that working out for you?”
Dustin purses his lips. ‟Fine,” he says.
Eddie smirks like he knows exactly how fine it’s going. ‟You haven’t even brought it up, have you?”
‟I’m working on it! It’s a delicate process, okay?”
Eddie snorts. ‟I still don’t get why you can’t just ask him,” he says, dropping the pages back into place and pointing at the day’s date – March 17 – and then at the tiny 157 that Dustin has jotted down beside the date. ‟You’re kinda running out of time.”
Dustin ignores that last part. ‟I can’t ask him yet,” he says, ‟because that would be desperate.”
Eddie blinks. ‟And tricking him into moving in with you so that it will be easier to seduce him isn’t?”
‟Excuse you,” Dustin tells him, ‟my intentions are totally pure of heart.”
Eddie slants him a look. ‟Dude. I’ve seen you stare at his ass when he’s not looking.”
‟Uh, crude.”
‟Like a lion looking at a gazelle,” Eddie adds, as if he thinks he needs to drive the point home.
‟Whatever,” Dustin says. ‟Look, I’m T-minus 157 days. That’s plenty of time to talk Steve into going with me.”
‟Just fucking ask him,” Eddie says. ‟He’ll say yes for sure. He’s weirdly possessive when it comes to you, though god knows why.”
‟It’s because I’m awesome,” Dustin informs him as he unearths his dice bag. ‟Found it!”
‟Finally,” Eddie says and yanks the bedroom door open. ‟C’mon, let’s go. Do you get how hypocritical it is of me to chew out Sinclair and Mayfield for never showing up on time if I’m the one who’s late?”
Dustin frowns. ‟You know I can’t play without my lucky dice,” he says.
‟Well, maybe you can roll for Charisma before you talk to Harrington,” Eddie tells him as he heads for the front door, and the only reason Dustin hurries to catch up is so that he can slug him in the shoulder.
//
As it turns out, Dustin doesn’t have to bring it up to Steve after all, because Eddie does it first, the fucking snitch.
‟I, uh, talked to Munson last night,” Steve says, and Dustin pauses with his hand on the buckle of his seatbelt.
‟What?” he says, because the way Steve throws it out there, trying to sound casual, has alarm bells ringing in the back of his mind.
They’re stopped in Dustin’s driveway, Steve having given Dustin a ride home after school, and now that Dustin thinks about it, it had been a strangely quiet drive. Usually, Steve’s playing music or humming along to something under his breath or bickering with Dustin, but Dustin’s been kind of stressed out by that one exam coming up in a few days, so he’s spent the ride home too deep in thought to notice the lack of any of it.
He does notice now, though – realizes that Steve’s looking oddly bashful as he shoots Dustin a glance, color creeping up his neck like he’s embarrassed about bringing it up.
‟Oh,” Dustin says as realization dawns. ‟He told you, didn’t he?”
‟In his defense,” Steve says, ‟he was kinda high,” as if that’s an excuse. ‟Like, pretty much totally out of it. He called and asked for a ride home from a party, but I don’t think he even recognized me when I got there.” He clears his throat. “Is it true? I mean, do you really—”
‟Yes,” Dustin blurts out. ‟It’s— I’ve been working on bringing it up.”
Steve starts to smile at that, and Dustin’s heart seems to skip several beats because he suddenly realizes that what he thought was embarrassment isn’t that at all – Steve actually looks pleasantly surprised by the thought of the two of them being roommates – and Dustin doesn’t know whether to praise Eddie or kill him, because fuck, that had been a risky gamble.
‟So, uh, you wanna?” he says, and Steve laughs.
‟Yeah,” he says, ‟I wanna.”
‟Awesome,” Dustin breathes. ‟Uh, I mean, cool! Cool.”
Steve gives him an indulgent look, and Dustin tries his best not to appear too eager.
‟But we don’t have to rush,” he says, because it’s useless to start looking at apartments when they don’t even know which school he’ll end up in, and besides, packing takes what? A week? It’s not like they have to arrange to haul furniture with them across half the country.
‟Slow is good,” Steve agrees. ‟There’s no hurry.”
‟Yeah,” Dustin says, attempting to smother the excitement building in his chest; sure, he’s been fantasizing about living with Steve for months now, but Steve’s had far less time to grow used to the idea, so probably best to not scare him off just yet.
Steve doesn’t seem to notice Dustin’s internal struggle because he casually reaches out to touch Dustin’s shoulder. ‟You wanna come by my place tomorrow?” he asks.
Dustin tries to play it cool. ‟Sure,” he says, reluctantly pulling away from Steve’s hand in an attempt not to appear too eager even though he’d much rather lean into the touch instead. ‟I’ll come over after DnD.”
‟Great,” Steve says as Dustin starts to fumble with the seatbelt buckle. ‟It’s a date.”
Dustin tries very hard not to take Steve’s words literally. ‟Yup,” he drawls, immediately wincing at how stupid he just sounded, and then he scrambles out of the car so that he won’t make any more of an ass out of himself. ‟Um, bye!”
Steve’s smile grows into a grin as Dustin makes sure to carefully close the door behind him.
//
‟You made Chicken Alfredo,” Dustin says as soon as he steps through Steve’s front door.
Steve laughs from where he’s standing in the doorway to the kitchen.
‟Good nose,” he says, and Dustin trails after him, the delicious aroma growing stronger the closer he gets.
‟It’s my favorite.”
‟I know,” Steve says. He steps up to the stove and removes the pot with the pasta from the burner. ‟Can you get some plates out?”
Dustin does as asked, eager to show how good of a roommate he can be, especially if Steve’s going to be doing the cooking.
‟I figured we’d eat in the living room,” Steve tells him as he drains the pasta water into the sink and dumps the pasta into the sauce, mixing it all together. ‟NBC is showing Return of the Jedi.”
Dustin closes the cabinet door, plates in hand. ‟That’s my favorite too!”
Steve shoots him an almost sly look. ‟I know.”
Dustin grins and places the plates on the counter next to the stove, trying not to salivate as he watches Steve portion the pasta out, followed by the chicken, and topping it off with a sprinkle of Parmesan.
He hands Dustin one of the plates once he’s done. ‟C’mon,” he says. ‟Let’s eat.”
Dustin lingers, waiting for Steve to grab two cans of Coke out of the fridge, before following him into the living room, where the coffee table has been set with forks and knives and two glasses. The table’s not that wide, so they end up sitting shoulder to shoulder on the couch, knees touching as they watch the end credits of Family Ties transition into a commercial break.
Dustin takes a bite of his food and finds that it tastes just as delicious as it looks. ‟This is really good,” he tells Steve, who throws him a grin and knocks his knee against Dustin’s.
‟Thanks,” he says, obviously pleased by the compliment, and Dustin digs in for real as the NBC Sunday Night at the Movies intro starts to play.
It doesn’t take him long to clean his plate and he ends up going back for seconds at Steve’s insistence, wolfing his second portion down as Steve remains where he is even after finishing his own plate; still sitting shoulder to shoulder with Dustin, like he doesn’t care to move, and Dustin definitely isn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
It’s nice, he thinks, to get to spend time with Steve one on one like this. He hopes they’ll be able to do it more often once they start living together under the same roof. He can almost imagine it; the two of them sitting on a tiny, ratty couch in a two-bedroom apartment somewhere, watching a bad movie, and maybe Dustin’s trying to study at the same time, and maybe Steve’s commenting on everything that’s happening onscreen, flicking popcorn in Dustin’s direction when it seems like he’s not listening, trying to get his attention, and maybe, if Dustin was braver, he’d—
Uh, anyway – it’s a nice thought, is all.
The movie’s over far sooner than Dustin would have liked, and he stares at the end credits rather despondently as Steve raises his arms over his head and stretches beside him.
‟I’ll give you a ride home,” Steve tells him. ‟You’ve got school tomorrow, right?”
Dustin blinks down at the mess on the coffee table – the plates, and the empty cans of Coke, and the two half-eaten bowls of popcorn that Steve had fetched about halfway through Luke’s return to Dagobah – and decides to put his best foot forward.
‟I’m helping you clean up first,” he announces, and Steve looks pleased with the offer. It’s a nice look on him, Dustin decides. Steve should wear it more often.
He ends up standing shoulder to shoulder with Steve in front of the sink, watching Steve dip his hands into the soap suds, the arms of his sweater pushed up to his elbows. Steve washes and Dustin dries, and it’s nice. Domestic.
Dustin wouldn’t mind getting used to this.
//
‟—with Claire go?” Robin’s saying as Dustin steps through the doors of Family Video the next afternoon.
‟I, uh, canceled,” Steve replies.
‟Really?” Robin sounds nonplussed. ‟I thought you really liked her. You chased her for like two weeks before she even agreed to go out with you.”
‟Yeah,” Steve says, his attention turning to Dustin as he approaches the counter. ‟Something else came up.”
‟Unbelievable,” Robin sighs. She glances at Dustin. ‟Can you believe this dingus? First date in three weeks, and he cancels it.”
Dustin shrugs, trying very hard not to appear too pleased by the news. Steve’s free to date anyone he wants, of course, but Dustin would very much like the opportunity to shoot his shot before Steve actually ends up in a committed relationship with someone else.
‟Whatever,” Robin says, ‟it’s time for my break,” and then, to Steve, she adds, ‟I’ll be back in ten.”
‟I’ll try not to burn the place down,” Steve throws back at her as she leaves, and then he turns his attention back to Dustin. ‟So you doing anything tonight?”
Dustin sighs. ‟I have an exam tomorrow,” he admits, a bit disappointed at missing out on the opportunity to hang out with Steve two nights in a row.
‟That’s cool,” Steve says, and then, to Dustin’s surprise, he adds, ‟I can help you study, if you want.”
‟Really?” Dustin can’t think of a single time Steve’s offered to help him cram for an exam in all the years they’ve known each other. ‟I mean, yeah. That’d be—‟ Awesome. Great. I’d love it. ‟Uh, sure.”
Steve nods. ‟Do you have— What do you call them? Flashcards?”
Dustin does have flashcards, and Steve totally rocks them.
//
Dustin aces his exam, which ends up accounting for forty percent of his total grade. Steve gives him a hug when he hears the good news, and then he slings his arm around Dustin’s shoulder and declares that they should celebrate.
He takes Dustin to see Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure, and pays for everything – tickets and snacks – and normally Dustin would live off that high for the rest of the week, but as it turns out he doesn’t have to because for some reason Steve keeps making time for him.
It’s not like they weren’t hanging out regularly before, but now Steve’s giving Dustin rides to school in the morning and picking him up in the afternoon. Sometimes Steve’s gotten his hands on a hot new rental and they end up watching it at his house and sometimes, when Dustin has a paper to write or a test to study for, they head over to Dustin’s place and Steve will entertain himself by feeding bananas to Yurtle or reading something from Dustin’s ever-growing collection of comic books as Dustin slaves away at his desk.
Steve still avoids the Party’s DnD sessions like the plague, but he’ll drive Dustin there before taking off on his own to do god knows what, and Dustin will find himself missing him in the midst of battle as the Party tries to save a small village from a lurking lich. The others give him shit about it, of course, because he’s— He hasn’t been avoiding them per se, but yes, he might have spent the past week prioritizing Steve over anyone else, but that’s understandable, right?
The thing is, if Dustin thought he was head over heels before, it’s nothing compared to how he feels now; Steve won’t stop touching him, and it’s nothing special – just a clasp on the shoulder here, a touch to the wrist there – but it still makes Dustin burn. He tries to play it cool – laughs and shrugs Steve off him before he does something impulsive, like grab Steve by the collar of his stupid, soft sweater and loudly declare his never-ending love for him – but Steve just keeps doing it, and maybe it’s a bit out of nowhere, but Dustin better get used to it because they’re gonna be roommates and probably spend the next few years all up in each other’s business.
It’s fine. He’ll manage.
//
‟Do you want to bunk with me or do you want the guest room?” Steve asks, and Dustin pauses halfway up the stairs.
‟Um,” he says, and Steve just keeps looking at him from where he’s standing at the top of the staircase, like he’s expecting a coherent answer.
‟Guest room,” Dustin croaks, silently cursing himself for missing this opportunity, but he knows it’s for the best – he’s shared a bed with Will and Lucas and even Mike that one time, but he’s never been in love with any of them, and they’re definitely not half as pretty as Steve is.
Dustin’s sure to embarrass himself if he ends up in the same bed as Steve, and if there’s one thing he does not want to do, it’s scare Steve off by the way of humping him in his sleep now that they’re doing so well.
‟That’s fine,” Steve tells him, and he’s smiling, and Dustin keeps picturing that smile all of the forty-five minutes it takes him to fall asleep lying in the bed in the guest room, knowing that Steve’s two doors down the hall and Dustin had turned down the opportunity to join him.
//
There’s a letter waiting for Dustin on the desk in his room when he gets home from school on the 29th. He’s just dropping off his backpack before heading over to Steve’s house for another movie night, but the sight of the envelope gives him pause.
He knows his mom would probably prefer it if he didn’t open it until she’s back home to see it, but she’s been pulling night shifts all week and Dustin’s far too impatient to wait.
He rips the flap of the envelope open and quickly scans the content of the letter inside.
Fuck.
//
‟I got in!” Dustin announces as soon as he steps inside Steve’s house, pausing just inside the door to toe his shoes off before barging into the living room where, sure enough, he finds Steve stretched out on the couch, half-heartedly watching an episode of MacGyver.
Steve looks confused for all of a second before he catches sight of the letter in Dustin’s hand, and then he perks up. ‟Yeah? Which one?”
Dustin spent most of the first half of his senior year venting to just about anyone who would listen about the application process for universities and colleges and for whatever scholarships he’s eligible for, and Steve in particular had received more of an earful than others, mostly because he, for some reason, hadn’t told Dustin to fuck off as all the rest had. It comes in handy now, because Dustin doesn’t have to explain the significance of what he’s holding in his hands.
He simply brandishes the letter instead, and then loudly clears his throat. ‟Dear Mr. Henderson,” he reads. ‟Congratulations! It is an honor to offer you admission to the California Institute of Technology and the Class of 1994.”
‟Seriously?” Steve pushes himself off the couch and walks over to him to peer down at the letter, like he needs to check for himself that it’s actually true. ‟That’s awesome!”
‟California, here we come!” Dustin declares, and Steve laughs.
‟Yeah?” he says, like he’s surprised that Dustin still wants him to come with him.
‟Uh, yeah,” Dustin says. ‟Like I’m leaving you here. C’mon, Steve.”
The don’t be an idiot is implied, and Steve must hear it loud and clear because he rolls his eyes.
‟Yeah, yeah,” he says. ‟I guess congratulations are in order, huh?”
And then, before Dustin can even register what’s happening, Steve’s kissing him.
It’s not a very good kiss. That’s mostly Dustin’s fault, probably; he finds himself just standing there paralyzed, lips parted in surprise as Steve presses his mouth to Dustin’s, and then a noise of surprise escapes Dustin and Steve sighs in response and pulls away, but not so far that Dustin can’t still feel his breath against his lips when Steve speaks.
‟Sorry,” he’s saying. ‟Was that too fast? I know we’re taking it slow.”
‟What,” Dustin says.
‟I won’t do it again if you don’t want me to,” Steve says as he starts to pull back, ‟not until you’re ready.”
And Dustin thinks that that won’t do at all. ‟No!” He desperately grabs for Steve’s arm. ‟Do it again! Definitely do it again!”
Steve blinks. ‟Dustin—”
‟I’m ready,” Dustin insists. ‟Whatever we’re doing, I’m so ready!”
‟We agreed not to rush it,” Steve says, like this is a conversation they’re supposed to have had before, and Dustin experiences a split second of total confusion as to what Steve’s talking about before it hits him.
‟Oh my god,” he slowly says. ‟Steve. Are we dating?”
‟Um,” Steve says, ‟I mean, yeah?”
‟We’re dating,” Dustin repeats.
‟Dustin—”
‟You’ve been taking me on dates.”
Steve’s cheeks pink up just a bit. ‟I—”
‟And that one time you asked if I wanted to sleep in your bed,” Dustin says, voice faint as he starts to comprehend exactly what it is he’s been missing out on, ‟it’s because you wanted to touch my dick.”
Steve makes a face. ‟I wouldn’t go that far,” he says, but Dustin is pretty sure he’s lying.
‟I thought we were just roommates,” he says.
Steve blinks at that, visible confusion on his face. ‟But we don’t live together.”
‟No,” Dustin agrees. ‟We do not.”
He looks at Steve, and Steve looks back, and then the corners of Steve’s mouth twitch, almost like he’s trying not to laugh.
Dustin sighs. ‟Eddie didn’t tell you about my plan to get you to move in with me,” he surmises. ‟He skipped that part, didn’t he?”
‟Uh huh,” Steve says.
‟He told you that I’m in love with you instead, didn’t he?”
‟There was something about, uh, lions and zebras, I think?” Steve confirms.
‟Oh my god,” Dustin says. ‟I’m an idiot.”
‟Nah.” Steve sounds almost indulgent as he reaches out to brush a curl off Dustin’s temple, tucking it behind his ear instead. ‟They don’t let idiots into Caltech.”
‟I’m gonna be the most stupid person on campus,” Dustin opines, leaning into the touch of Steve’s fingers as they skim down the side of his neck.
‟Not to interrupt your pity party,” Steve says, ‟but just so I’m clear, you’re okay with all of this?”
Dustin blinks. ‟Take off your pants,” he says, ‟and I’ll show you exactly how okay I am with it.”
‟Yeah, I’m not taking off my pants,” Steve says.
‟That’s fine,” Dustin decides, ‟I’ll just do it myself later.”
And then he grabs Steve by the collar of his stupid, soft sweater, just like all those times he’s fantasized about, and pulls him into a kiss that’s much better than the first one.