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When Eddie is three, his parents have their first fight. Well, the first one he really understands is a fight. It’s the first one where he knows it’s better to go to the other room and hide under his covers so their voices don’t sound so sharp.
But he still knows they’re arguing about him.
He knows the he they’re shouting about is him.
“He doesn’t even look like me!” His father yells, and Eddie clutches onto his stuffie harder, so tightly it feels like it might go all the way through his chest.
“Of course he’s yours Jon!” His mother screams back, “every time I look in his eyes your piece of shit ass is all I can see!”
There’s a lot of loud noises after that.
Eddie does not come out from under the covers.
——
When Steve is three, he goes to a big family reunion at his grandparents’ house.
He doesn’t like all these people. He doesn’t recognize most of them, so he hides behind his mother’s skirt as she tries to pry him off of her, off so these strange people can see him and crouch down beside him and give him hugs and pinch his cheeks.
“So handsome !” They say. “You’re going to be breaking hearts in no time!”
They say it happily, but Steve doesn’t like it. He knows what a broken heart feels like. His daycare’s guinea pig, Penelope, died a couple of days ago, and Steve never wants to feel that sad ever again.
He definitely doesn’t want to make anyone else feel that sad.
But people keep coming up to him. Keep patting his head and grabbing his arms and telling him how handsome he is, and his mother won’t let him hide.
——
When Eddie is twelve, he transfers schools. He moves in with Wayne.
Wayne doesn’t have a lot, but Eddie never had much to begin with. He’d arrived at Wayne’s doorstep with nothing more than the social worker and a backpack, so having an entire bedroom to himself seems pretty magical.
What Wayne has in spades is kindness, despite his gruff exterior. He apologizes when he lays out the clothes he bought for Eddie, saying he had to buy them second hand, and there weren't many options in his size.
Eddie assures him that it’s okay. Because Wayne was trying. Even then, he knew Wayne was trying.
But the next day, his first day at his new school, Eddie wears the baggy jeans with frayed hems and the flannel with a button missing on the cuff, and he knows his buzz cut is sloppy and uneven, and all he wants as the stares follow him in the hallways is to hide. He wants to hide in the bathroom until the day is over. Until there’s no one left in the hallways and Wayne is here to pick him up.
He’s not so lucky. The stares follow him. He sits in the back of his classes so he can know, at least, when there are eyes on him. None of them are kind. They see the shorn hair and the second hand clothes and his busted lip and bruised eye that were the final straw for CPS, and they do not speak to him.
He wonders if what his dad left behind is really that fucking scary.
——
When Steve is twelve, he has his first kiss.
Stephanie Peterson kisses him under the bleachers after school, and Steve is so excited because Stephanie is kind and smart and makes him laugh, and she’s so pretty with her curly dark hair and large eyes and their kiss is an awkward press of lips, but he likes Stephanie so much that he thinks it’s the perfect first kiss.
He tells Tommy about it, after. Tells him he’s going to ask her to be his girlfriend tomorrow at lunch.
But Tommy scoffs.
“ Dude ,” he says, “you don’t need to settle for one girl, okay?”
Steve doesn’t understand, has to have Tommy spell it out for him, but Tommy explains that when you look like Steve does, you don’t stick with one girl.
“C’mon man,” he says, nudging Steve with his elbow, “you’re a heartbreaker.”
——
When Eddie is 21 and Steve is 20 they go on their first date. And then several more, after that. And then, one night, naked in bed, they make it official.
Exclusive, Steve says seriously. Because he wants Eddie to know that he’s the only one Steve wants. Because Steve’s falling. Hard and fast like always, but with the way Eddie looks at him, he’s not scared. He just wants Eddie to know that it’s about him, not based on bullshit , not based on appearances .
Eddie’s falling, too. He knows it’s written all over his face. He’s never been good with hiding shit like that. It’s what got him the label of freak in the first place. But with the way Steve looks right back at him, he doesn’t feel the need to hide it.
So it takes a while for it to begin to bother him. That inescapable itch becomes more and more incessant as their relationship blooms, because Steve never says anything about Eddie’s looks. But he’ll come to Eddie’s shows, sit in on his DnD campaigns, even let Eddie read the Lord of the Rings to him.
So Eddie knows. He knows Steve likes him. But the thing is: Eddie’s not an idiot. Not fucking blind either. He knows he’s batting out of his league. Knows if people were open minded enough to accept two dudes together they’d draw the line at Steve Harrington with Eddie Munson. He knows what he looks like. Sure, his hair is better now, but that certainly doesn’t make up for his everything else. Hell, half his body mass is scar tissue, these days, so even if he’d been a centerfold before he’d be fuckin’ Quasimodo now.
But he wasn’t, so he’s like, The Blob, now, or some shit.
He just really hopes Steve maybe doesn’t feel the same.
He just really doesn’t want to be liked despite.
——
His intention hadn’t been to start something.
Although, maybe it had. Maybe Eddie’d been manipulative, testing Steve to see what his reaction would be, just so he didn’t have to ask aloud.
But it was just… if seeing Eddie in his old letterman jacket wasn’t the thing to get his boyfriend to give him a damn compliment, then nothing would.
So he stands at the bottom of Steve’s steps in nothing but his underwear and that old jacket, steeling his resolve. Because if… if Steve doesn’t say anything, Eddie doesn’t know what he’ll do. It’ll be the confirmation of the thing he’s been arguing with himself about for the past four months. The thing that keeps him awake at night. The thing he has to constantly remind himself that’s not who Steve is.
Cause that’s what jocks do, right? They give their girls their letterman jackets in a show of some weird caveman-reminiscent possessiveness, and then the girls wear them and it gets the jock all hot and bothered. And Eddie knows he’s not some pretty girl, but he hopes it’s the same… general idea.
He steps off the stairs. He walks down the hallway, trying, for once, to keep his footsteps quiet.
The TV is on low. He hears Steve rustle around, the sounds of pillows and blankets shifting.
He walks into the room.
Steve doesn’t see him at first. He’s fussing with the zipper on one of the pillows, his brow furrowed as he struggles with it, so Eddie has another second to build up his confidence.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he drawls, feeling like an idiot as Steve’s eyes drift up to him. “Hope your boyfriend won’t mind if I borrow your jacket? It’s just so comfy.” He doesn’t know where that line came from, but he goes with it, accentuating the point by wrapping the too-long sleeves around himself, feeling small in the folds of fabric.
Eddie hadn’t expected Steve to like… cum in his pants. But he’d hoped for an appreciative up-and-down. Maybe even a kiss and maybe (hopefully) a damn whispered under his breath.
But what Steve does instead is worse. It’s all Eddie can do not to melt into a puddle of shame and embarrassment on the Harrington’s fancy cream carpet.
Because Steve- his wonderful, doting boyfriend- laughs. And then, still smiling, he says, “sorry, stranger , but that jacket has exclusive rights- gonna have to take that one back from you.”
And then Steve just looks at him. Expectantly. Like he really wants Eddie to hand the damn jacket over right then and there and leave him standing there in his fucking boxers.
Even if Eddie was less dramatic he would’ve called the moment excruciating. He hands the jacket over as that soft little smile stays plastered on Steve’s face, and then he turns around and walks out of the room so quickly his bad hip pops.
There are tears in his eyes before he even reaches the stairs.
All he wants is to be back in the trailer with Wayne and hide under his covers for the rest of his life.
He muffles his cries with his fist as he races back up the stairs and stumbles into Steve’s room.
It was stupid. So, so fucking stupid. Not knowing would’ve been better. But Eddie always has to push. Always has to toe the line until he goes too far and trips right over it.
He should’ve kept his damn mouth shut.
Eyes still watering, he pulls his sweatshirt back on. He even pulls his hood up over his head so he won’t have to see the puckered skin of his left cheek in the Harrington’s hallway mirror.
He’s still pantsless when there are footsteps outside, and Eddie doesn’t even have time to wipe his face before Steve follows him in, that sweet little smile still on his face as he does.
It falls the moment they make eye contact.
“Eddie, baby, what’s wrong?”
And Steve sounds so concerned , so heartbreakingly sincere that Eddie nearly doesn’t react when Steve steps closer to him, but the moment he reaches out Eddie flinches, taking a step back.
He doesn’t want to look Steve in the eyes. He wants to pull the strings of his sweatshirt until he’s closed off from the world.
“Eddie?”
He’s never handled shame well. It used to eat him up, back when he was in middle school and didn’t know how to project the façade of not giving a shit.
And it’s not like he can pretend he doesn’t care now, not with tears running down his cheeks, still standing there half naked.
But old habits die hard.
“It’s nothing.” He says, even though his voice wobbles. “I’m just gonna go.” He grabs for his pants, still lying crumpled on Steve’s floor, and begins hastily dressing.
“Hey, no, you’re upset, we-”
And Eddie nearly falls when Steve reaches for him again, stumbling and hoping on his bad leg because the mere thought of Steve’s hands on him makes him nauseous.
“I said it’s fine, Harrington.” He spits it out with as much dignity as he can muster, his pants still half on, the surname by which Eddie’s never called him, not even in the upside down, not even when they were strangers, falls like lead from his lips.
Steve’s face contorts. “You don’t get to be pissed at me and then not tell me why.”
Finally, Eddie pulls his damn pants on.
He wants to crawl under a rock and die. It has to be the most humiliating moment of his life. He’d take an awkward boner in front of his old English class, at this point, over explaining to his boyfriend that not finding him attractive was sort of a deal breaker.
Steve’s still standing in the doorway, his arms now crossed over his chest.
Eddie doesn’t meet his eyes.
“I know-” he clears his throat, hating the warble, but he closes his hands into fists at his sides and steels himself. “I know I don’t look like- like fucking, Nancy Wheeler, Steve, okay? I know it took me three tries to graduate but I’m not actually an idiot.” He wipes at his face with the back of his sleeve, refusing to still have tears on his face as he continues, “you’re out of my league, I get it. But I still hoped you’d like- think I’m hot.”
He wants to vomit. Sort of feels like he already has. And just to diffuse the hotbed of honestly Eddie just dumped all over the carpet, he adds, “stupid.”
He still hasn’t looked into Steve’s eyes. He’s still staring resolutely at the floor when he sees Steve’s socked feet inch closer.
“Eddie.”
He doesn’t think he’s ever heard Steve’s voice sound like that. It warbles like Eddie’s had, voice high and thick and even now Eddie has the urge to comfort him.
Mismatched socks creep closer. Steve’s hands drop to his sides.
“I don’t want you to look like Nancy. I’ve never wanted you to look like Nancy.”
He can tell Steve wants to touch him: he keeps on trying to crack his fingers with his thumbs.
“Eddie, sunshine, what ever made you think any differently?”
Eddie curls his arms over his stomach. He doesn’t want to talk about this.
His damn hip hurts.
“I wasn’t exactly a looker before the bats, dude. And it’s not like you dish out the fucking flattery on what I look like.”
He can do this. Act blasé until he can get home and bawl his damn eyes out. “And then-” he gestures vaguely to the letterman jacket Steve had discarded on the floor. “It’s not like you were particularly drooling over me.”
Eddie stares at the ground as the silence stretches. He thinks Steve’s far away enough from the door, now, that it wouldn’t be too weird to step past him. He’s still judging the distance when Steve speaks again.
“Eddie, please, can I touch you?”
He looks up. Steve’s eyes are red. There are tear tracks glistening on his cheeks and his face is already getting puffy. He looks at Eddie with so much sadness that the urge to make it better washes over him again.
Eddie nods.
Steve grabs his hands at once, clutching them tightly in the space between them. His grip is actually a little painful, so tight Eddie can see his knuckles going white.
Steve sniffs.
“I just never wanted you to think I was with you for anything less than who you are.” Steve’s voice is croaky, his eyes still watering, but Eddie keeps his gaze. “Eddie, you’ve got no idea what you do to me.” There’s a ghost of a smile, then, so faint Eddie thinks he might be imagining it, “everything you do is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. You’re so-” he clicks his tongue, sighing wetly. “You’re everything. I never thought guys could be beautiful before I met you. But you are. Handsome and pretty and beautiful and so fucking hot it actually prevents me from functioning, sometimes.” Steve’s grip relaxes a hair, his knuckles now not so white.
“Earlier, I thought,” Steve goes on, worrying his lip, “I thought that was part of the bit. I was coming up here ‘cause I thought you’d be you again and we’d like…” he shrugs. “‘M sorry I don’t say it more. I just, I thought I was obvious, how mouthwateringly attractive I find you.”
Beautiful, handsome, pretty, mouthwateringly attractive -
“I’ve always been judged on my looks. With my parents and with Nancy and…” he trails off and squeezes Eddie’s hands. “I just never wanted that to be us. All that bullshit.”
Steve sniffs, shaking his head. “But it’s not bullshit. And I’m so sorry, Eddie.” He drops Eddie’s hands in favor of cupping his face.
“I’d be happy if I never had to stop looking at you, or touching you. Because that’s already all I want to do, all the time.”
Eddie swallows. He doesn’t know how to believe this. But Steve’s still looking at him, that warm, earnest gaze, and Eddie knows Steve would never lie to him.
He exhales, and Steve’s thumbs trace over his cheekbones. “I’m never going to shut up about it, now, okay?”
Slowly, Eddie nods. “Okay,” he agrees.
His tears have stopped. He glances at the jacket still lying on the floor.
“Sorry for-” he gestures vaguely at the room around them- “freaking out.”
Steve hushes him. He kisses his forehead, then his nose, then both cheeks. “Nothing to apologize for. I’m doing the groveling now, okay?”
Eddie’s mouth twitches into a faint smile. “Okay,” he repeats.
Steve grovels. All that night and the proceeding ones, too. He starts whispering Eddie’s praises when he’s brushing his teeth. Tells him how hot he looks when he’s on stage and when he’s been sick for three days. Says how lucky he is when Eddie spends two hours getting ready and when he’s just rolled out of bed, when he’s naked and when he’s fully clothed. Steve voices every thought he has on how beautiful handsome pretty his boyfriend is.
He does it until Eddie finally feels it in the looks Steve gives him, in the brush of his hands and the press of his lips, until, late one night, Steve asks, “can I tell you something cheesy?”
Eddie, already smiling, nods.
Steve’s face flushes in the orange light of his bedside table. He reaches out to brush a thumb over Eddie’s cheek. “Your eyes are the first thing I noticed about you,” he breathes, “I can't imagine ever being lonely again, as long as you’re looking at me.”
Smiling, Eddie burrows under the covers, crawling into Steve’s lap. His grin is so big it hurts, and he presses his face into the soft give of Steve’s stomach. “I love you,” he says, into the warmth.
Steve curls into him. “I love you, too.”