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1.
Steve hadn’t always imagined having kids. It had been sprung on him by Dustin and the rest of the brats. He’d become their babysitter, quasi-older brother, protector and he’d… realised he really liked it. He’d realised he wanted a brood all his own; preferably without monsters, hell dimensions and the terror of being too slow, too dumb and losing one or all of them.
His Winnebago and six kids’ fantasy had been a mistake to admit, especially in the moment he’d chosen and to the girl he’d presented it to. That idea wasn’t ever going to be one that Nancy wanted, he knew that now. He’d kind of known it then, but he hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself.
No, if there was anyone else in their ragtag group who wanted that kind of future it was, surprisingly enough, Eddie Munson.
Unfortunately, Eddie was just as much of a kid—as much of a walking disaster as the rest of them. A truth only further proven when Steve re-enters the backyard from the kitchen, re-joining their makeshift pool party only to see Eddie on his hands and knees, a sheepish look on his face.
Nothing is broken, which is what Steve immediately worries about, but when he looks closer, he sees Eddie wincing as he stands up. His ripped jeans have ripped further and his knees and the palms of his hands are scrapped to the point of bleeding.
“Dude,” Steve says, incredulously, “what the hell did you do?”
“He tripped over nothing,” Robin chimes in before Eddie can answer.
The metalhead turns and scowls at her, but she just grins around the straw in her lemonade. The kids laugh and Eddie is forced to chuckle. His hand goes up, probably to run through the back of his hair. Steve darts out and grabs his wrist. Eddie blinks at him, his eyes wide.
“You’ll get blood in your hair, man. Come on, we’ll clean you up.”
“Awh, you don’t need to look after me, sweetheart. I’m a grown man, you know.”
“With you, I sometimes doubt it,” Steve counters.
Eddie pouts over the ensuing laughter from everyone, but he comes easily enough when Steve tugs him back into the house and towards the bathroom’s fully stocked medical kit. If there’s one thing he’s learned from their numerous encounters with the Upside Down, it’s to be prepared for any and all injuries. He’s glad that all this one should need is bandaids.
“I’m really fine,” Eddie protests. “I’ve had a lot worse, Steve. Seriously, a lot worse recently.”
Steve winces, feeling the phantom pain of his own bat bites. They’re nothing on the ones Eddie had to recover from, and Steve knows Eddie has a lot less energy than he used to; that even simple things sometimes hurt too much to do for more than a few minutes. It’s why his band is on semi-permanent hiatus until he’s well enough to be on stage again.
“Doesn’t matter,” Steve answers. “We’re fixing it.”
“Awh, Stevie.” Steve flicks his gaze over to the other, seeing the metalhead batting his eyelashes obnoxiously. “Going to kiss my boo-boo better too?”
Steve rolls his eyes and doesn’t dignify the comment with a response. He shoves Eddie into the bathroom and points at the toilet seat. Eddie salutes dramatically but puts down the lid and drops onto it. Steve pulls out the medicine box and starts rummaging around inside. He grabs the peroxide, some cotton swabs and some bandaids.
When he has everything, he crouches down in front of Eddie with the items in his lap. Eddie sits up straighter from where he’d slumped. Steve glances up to find Eddie staring at him strangely.
Steve frowns back. “What?”
“Nothing,” Eddie says quickly.
He extends his feet, making the scrapes on his knees easier to access. It should feel normal, but something about the rigidness to Eddie’s spine puts Steve equally on edge. He does his best to ignore it and gets to work.
He places one hand above Eddie’s knee, feeling the muscle of his thigh tense. Steve darts a glance at the metalhead, but Eddie’s looking at the ceiling. Steve turns back to the first knee and starts wiping the dirt and grit from the cuts. Eddie only winces occasionally, but Steve follows each one with an apology.
When the worst of the blood and dirt is gone from them both, he puts two bandaids on the first knee and one on the other. He reaches for Eddie’s hands next, intending to clean them, but the metalhead yanks them back and out of reach.
“Hey!” he protests. “We need those cleaned too!”
“And I can handle them just fine, Nurse Steve.”
Eddie plucks the cotton directly from his hand before he can react and starts wiping them over. Steve is left blinking in surprise, but after a moment, he slowly stands. Eddie doesn’t look at him other than a brief glance at what he’s holding in order to change between items. He only puts one bandaid on his hand, the rest having stopped bleeding enough to really warrant it.
When he’s done, Eddie stands and dumps the used items in the bin, he then slaps Steve on the shoulder with his mostly good hand. He doesn’t quite meet his gaze and the earlier tension seems to flood the room again. It’s something Steve can’t place and doesn’t know how to combat.
“Thanks for the tender, motherhenning care, Harrington.”
“Uh,” Steve murmurs, still perplexed by what’s happening. “No problem?”
Eddie flashes a grin and brushes past him, leaving the bathroom and heading back in the direction of the backyard and the ongoing party. It gives Steve a few minutes of quiet to contemplate the changes in Eddie’s behaviour, but he still doesn’t understand the problem.
Why was it such a big deal if he looked after him? And why was it okay for him to touch Eddie’s knees but not his hands?
2.
Steve does not like late night visits. They normally spell something disastrous, dangerous and often life-threatening. So, when his doorbell rings at an alarming rate when he’s just about to go to bed, he feels his blood pressure and tension spike. He grabs the nearest conceivable weapon and goes to the door mentally praying it’s not the Upside Down again—not some fresh new trauma to keep him up at night.
He opens the door tentatively, but upon recognising the slumped figure, he yanks it open further.
“Eddie?” he demands, his grip on the weapon tightening at the state of him.
Eddie’s hair is usually a mess, but right now there’s leaves in it and his clothes are half-covered in mud. He’s got a rip in his jacket, showcasing a nasty gash on his forearm—near to but not damaging his tattooed bats. He also has a red mark on his face that is probably the start of a bruise.
“Hey Steve,” Eddie mumbles.
“Jesus,” Steve whispers.
He gently grabs Eddie’s upper arm on the non-injured side and coaxes him inside. As he does, he looks around, seeing if he can spot anyone or anything, but the coast seems clear. Once the door is shut, he focuses back on the other boy. His shoulders are hunched and he’s not quite meeting Steve’s gaze.
“What happened?” he demands, only to frown. “Wait, no. First; how hurt are you?”
Eddie holds out his arms to either side. He smiles, wincing a little as it flexes the muscles in his cheek.
“What you see is what you get, Stevie.” Steve glares and after a few seconds, Eddie drops the act. He shrugs and gestures at his arm. “Just this. And well, face, but they were drunk as fuck so, not a lot connected.”
“Why the fuck did they hit you?”
Eddie makes a face and points at himself.
“I’m ‘The Freak’, remember, Steve? And people think I’m a murderer. So drunken assholes sometimes create ‘hunting parties’ and if I’m in the wrong place at the wrong time, this is what we get.”
“That is fucked,” Steve whispers, appalled.
Eddie shrugs, looking away and shifting on his feet, making Steve think of a nervous animal.
“Well, I got away, right? Good at running after everything.” He scratches his neck. “And they won’t expect me here, and I don’t want to show up at the trailer and worry Wayne and-”
“Eddie,” Steve interjects, taking a step closer and gently touching the guy’s arm. “You don’t have to ask. Of course you can stay here.”
Eddie sighs, slumping forward with the force of his relief.
“Thanks,” he near whispers.
“Yeah, of course, man,” He gently squeezes Eddie’s arm before letting go. “Come on, let’s fix that cut and get you a change of clothes.” He half-smiles. “But you might have to wear a shirt that actually has colour on it.”
Unlike the dramatic nose-wrinkling he might have expected, Eddie offers him a lopsided smile.
“Donning the King’s finery? Parading Steve Harrington’s royal clothing?” He puts a hand to his chest. “You’ll turn this pauper into a prince in no time, sweetheart.”
Steve isn’t sure how to reply. Normally, when Eddie makes a joke about his old nickname, he shrugs it off or rolls his eyes, but when Eddie comments about their houses, their money differences, he always feels uncomfortable and doesn’t know what to do.
So, he just mutters, “Whatever.” He then turns and makes a gesture over his shoulder for Eddie to follow. “Come on.”
Eddie is quick to fall into step with him as he heads upstairs, bypassing the previous bathroom they’d used to clean up Eddie’s knees and hands a few weeks ago. He enters his bedroom and senses Eddie stop at the threshold. He looks over to find the metalhead looking around with an intensity that makes Steve feel like he’s cataloguing and memorising it.
He feels a little uncomfortable, even embarrassed. He’s been in Eddie’s room a few times since the Upside Down and it’s so full of personality with posters, collectables, books and just stuff everywhere.
He knows his room is bland and boring by comparison. But he supposes that’s fitting; when placed beside Eddie he is bland and boring. Eddie’s the one who stands out; whether it’s for better or worse. If Eddie Munson enters a room, everyone knows about it.
Steve tries not to let it get to him, going to his drawers and grabbing a baggy old swim meet shirt he usually sleeps in and some sweatpants. When he comes back to Eddie the metalhead is staring at them with perplexity. Steve stills.
“What?”
“Those don’t look like clothes you wear outside of bed.”
Steve looks down at them before back at Eddie.
“Uh, yeah. I thought you were going to stay over?”
“Oh,” Eddie breathes, seeming surprised.
Steve’s frown deepens. “Did you want to go back to your place? I mean, I can get you something else if you want-”
“No,” Eddie quickly says. “No, it’d be great to stay, I just… didn’t think you meant for more than like an hour while those assholes cooled off.”
“Dude, you can stay until this time tomorrow for all I care.” He scowls. “And if you tell me who those assholes are, I’ll make them leave you alone.”
Eddie finally smiles, he also grabs some of his mud matted hair and tugs it in front of his face, not seeming to care about the state of it. Despite the attempt, Steve swears he can still see a hint of pink on the guy’s cheeks.
“Awwh, Stevie. You going to be my big bad protector?”
Steve knows he could grumble about the tease, but instead, he tilts up his chin and determinedly states, “Damn right.”
Eddie turns his face away completely, making it impossible for Steve to tell what he’s feeling. He also lets go of his hair but only to fiddle with one of his rings.
“Thanks, Steve,” he finally mumbles, “but they’ll leave me alone eventually. You don’t need to interfere. They’ll just end up bothering you.”
“I’d rather them bother me than you.”
Eddie glances back at him, frowning. “I can take care of myself.”
“Yeah, but you don’t have to,” Steve insists. “That’s why you’re here, right? So, someone can help. Same thing goes even when you aren’t bleeding and needing a hiding space. We’re friends, man, it means if they mess with you, they mess with me.”
“Oh,” he breathes again.
He then shuffles on the spot like he’s not sure what to do with himself. It hurts a little that despite the months that have passed since the Upside Down, Eddie still feels that way around him. Sure, they haven’t hung out that much outside of group settings, but they always speak after he picks the kids up from D&D. They’ll laugh and joke, maybe even share a cigarette.
Eddie also visits Family Video without hiring anything. He’s even invited him and Robin to the trailer for movies and joints (the latter of which, Robin never partakes in). So, they do hang out, but maybe he’s been the only one who’s realised that means something more?
Or maybe, he’s the one who hasn’t specified that it means more to him, rather than Eddie just being an appendage attached to Dustin or someone he knows solely through trauma.
Stepping up to Eddie, he gently places his hand on the metalhead’s shoulder. Eddie’s gaze is skittish as it darts up to him. Steve just smiles.
“Sorry man,” he says, keeping his tone light. “Thought someone warned you that you’re stuck with all of us now. Also, you’re kind of an awesome guy, so why the hell wouldn’t I be willing to get out my nailbat for you?”
Eddie laughs a little, his cheeks back to embarrassed pink. “What? Only ‘kind of awesome’ Harrington? I am beyond awesome, you know.”
Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. You’re the most metal guy around. Now, come on, we need to clean your arm and then you can shower.”
“Trying to get me naked now, big boy?” Eddie teases.
“Yeah, sure,” he replies sarcastically, tugging the metalhead towards his bathroom.
Eddie follows without further comment. Steve dumps the clothes near the sink and goes for the second and just as extensive medical kit in the house. Eddie doesn’t take a seat on the toilet this time, just rolls up what remains of the sleeve of his jacket so the cut is on display. It’s not super deep, but Steve still holds Eddie’s arm and carefully cleans it out with the peroxide.
This time, at least, Eddie isn’t as tense.
“You probably didn’t need to do that,” Eddie says halfway through. “I’ve got to shower after this anyway.”
Steve just shrugs. “I’ll do it again after, I’d rather be safe about it.”
“If you say so, Nurse Steve.”
Steve rolls his eyes at the repeated descriptor but doesn’t otherwise comment on it.
“Want a covering for the shower?”
“Nah.”
“It’ll sting.”
“Yup. But it would be a waste to do it and I pull it off after.”
“Okay. I’ll get you a towel.”
Dumping the used supplies, Steve leaves for the linen closet, grabbing Eddie what he needs before returning. Eddie’s taken off his jacket while he was gone but not his singlet. It keeps his scars hidden, and Steve understands better than the others how uncomfortable it is to let anyone see the mangled skin.
Placing them beside the sink, he asks, “Need anything else, man?”
“No,” Eddie says, shaking his head and only managing to hide his face more. “Thanks, Steve. For, you know, everything.”
“Yeah, Eds. Always.”
Eddie looks through his dirty curls at him. He smiles, boyish and sweet before raising a hand and making a ‘shoo’ gesture with his fingers.
“Go on, big boy, leave us freaks to shower in peace.”
“You’re not a freak,” Steve immediately counters.
Eddie laughs. “Oh, I am sweetheart, but I wear it with pride.”
Before Steve can comment, Eddie’s gently shoving him toward the door, and rather than keep the guy from a no doubt much-wanted shower, Steve goes without argument. The door shuts behind him and Steve gives it one single long glance, but when he hears the shower running, he shakes it off and goes to the spare room, wanting to make sure everything is okay for Eddie to stay the night there.
3.
The third time is almost a mirror image of the second. Steve’s at home alone, it’s late at night and the doorbell starts ringing frantically.
Steve isn’t expecting Eddie, but after last time he knows enough about the assholes in town to be ready for it.
He’d actually made a point to hang around Eddie a lot more in public, both during the day and at night. He’d never shied from the guy’s company before, but after that night, he’d wanted to make sure everyone knew they were friends. Steve wanted to make sure it would carry back to the kind of narrow-minded bastards that might try to jump Eddie.
Although he knows his parents don’t give much of a shit about him anymore, his face and name still have weight in Hawkins—if people think messing with Eddie means messing with him and the Harrington wealth, then Steve is going to use that to make them back off.
Eddie notices what he’s doing, but apart from some eyerolls and teasing, he mostly stays silent. He does smile in a way that Steve can read the gratitude in it—but just like with the bat bites and the looks they sometimes share over them, Steve doesn’t bring it up.
However, he’s a lot more inclined to talk about it when he opens the door and finds Eddie with blood trickling down his neck from a split lip. He’s also holding his side and leaning heavily against the wall.
“Jesus Christ, dude,” Steve exclaims.
Eddie tries to tip his lips in a smile but it looks like the very motion hurts.
“Hey,” Eddie says quietly.
There’s no teasing, no wry amusement and Steve immediately steps closer and gently helps to lever the other boy off the wall and into the house. He kicks the door shut behind them and goes directly for the closest bathroom.
Eddie is breathing a little heavily and Steve tries not to think about cracked ribs or internal bleeding. He hopes that whatever reason Eddie’s holding his side is more to do with the still-sensitive bat bites than because he’s badly injured.
He gets Eddie into the bathroom and sits him down on the toilet seat. Eddie stares at his scuffed shoes and Steve hates that this feels almost routine.
“What the hell happened, Eddie?”
“Oh, you know,” he mumbles, still not looking at him. “Went out for a good time, found a bad one.”
Steve’s hands clench into fists. Eddie doesn’t just look sore and bloodied like last time, he actually looks flat—fucking defeated. Steve hates seeing Eddie look like the wind’s been taken out of his sails.
“I thought those fucking assholes weren’t giving you shit anymore?” Steve demands, ready and willing to track them down and use his own fists on the bastards who got Eddie.
But, unlike last time, Eddie seems to hunch a little more into himself.
“Yeah,” Eddie murmurs, so quietly Steve can barely hear him. “This one was kind of my fault, Steve.”
“How the hell was it your fault?” Steve demands.
Eddie doesn’t reply, staying stubbornly silent. Steve wants to keep pushing, but he’s learnt with the kids that sometimes just giving them time and silence is what they need. So, as much as he wants to demand answers, he turns away and starts getting out the medical kit.
His movements are harsher and louder than normal, but Eddie stays quiet and with his gaze trained on the floor.
When he’s got everything he needs, he crouches down in front of Eddie, ready to do what he’d done last time.
Eddie’s fingers had been picking at his jeans, but they stop abruptly.
Steve glances up and manages to catch Eddie’s gaze for a moment—his eyes are wide and skittish, even afraid. Steve is confused, even a little hurt that Eddie feels that way around him, but before he can ask, the metalhead suddenly blurts—“I hit on the wrong guy.”
Steve’s mind goes blank, surprise rendering him completely devoid of thought other than an ironic— ‘another bloodied bathroom confession, Jesus’—but then his brain kicks back into gear.
“I’ll still punch him in the face for you,” Steve says.
Eddie laughs, loud and brittle into the silence. He slumps and his hands come up to cover his face. He even shakes faintly and Steve immediately drops the supplies, his hands hovering before he gently squeezes Eddie’s lower legs, near his shins.
“It’s okay, man,” Steve says gently. “You’re okay.”
“Fucking Christ,” Eddie whispers. “Robin said you’d be okay—you’d be safe. But I… fuck, I didn’t really know.”
Steve squeezes his shins again and promises, “Yeah, Eds. Promise. You’re safe with me.”
Eddie’s next exhale is heavy, only it makes him wince and clutch at his side. Steve immediately straightens.
“Come on, man. We need to get your shirt off and see how bad that is.”
Eddie’s gaze darts to him, wary for a moment—and yeah, maybe it could be awkward with what Eddie’s just confessed, but it doesn’t change what needs to be done. So, Steve waits and eventually, Eddie nods.
It takes the two of them to get it off him, and Steve winces every time Eddie hisses or flinches. But, after a minute of work, they get it removed and Steve tosses the band shirt in the basin. The blood from Eddie’s split lip has gone down his chin and neck, reaching his collarbone. There's also a noticeable bruise near his ribs. Steve is familiar enough with being punched to know it’s fist shaped.
Then, of course, there’s the countless scars from the Upside Down.
“Christ, man.”
“Only hit me twice,” Eddie mutters. “Could have been worse.” He gently pokes his side and grimaces. “Don’t think it broke anything.”
Steve reaches out and gently touches the spot, his fingers brushing Eddie’s. The metalhead flinches and yanks his hand back. Steve glances up but Eddie’s teeth are biting down on his lower lip and he’s looking at the wall.
“Did I hurt you?” he asks gently.
“No, um,” Eddie mumbles. “But I think I’m fine there, man.”
Steve looks at the spot sceptically, but Eddie’s shoulders are back to being hunched—and Steve gets it. He’s never seen Eddie without a shirt on, the guy always dresses in layers, and since the Upside Down, he can totally understand not wanting someone to see your scars.
So, they can build up to that.
“All right,” he agrees.
He stands up, wetting a towel with warm water and coming back to Eddie. He can feel the metalhead’s gaze on him and he hesitates, their gazes meeting—but Eddie just tilts his head in open invitation.
Steve leans forward, one hand on Eddie’s shoulder, the other gently wiping away the drying blood on his neck and collarbone. Eddie lets out a heavy, shuddering breath and Steve flicks his attention to Eddie’s face.
The metalhead is biting his bottom lip again, his eyes averted and a very faint pink on his cheeks.
A day ago, it wouldn’t have mattered. He wouldn’t have thought anything about it—but a day, an hour ago, he didn’t know that Eddie hit on guys.
The wet towel suddenly feels heavy in his hand and every hair on his body stands on end as every interaction with Eddie re-writes in his head. As every bit of tension Eddie’s displayed around him, every lock of hair tugged in front of his face, every wandering gaze, suddenly makes a whole lot of fucking sense.
Oh, he thinks. Shit.
He’s also been frozen too long, so of course Eddie looks at him—their gazes meet and Eddie abruptly goes rigid. Fear is apparent for a split-second before Steve is pressing his hand down on Eddie’s shoulder stopping him before he can flee. But, that’s as far as he gets, because he doesn’t know what to actually do or say.
They’re both frozen, locked in the moment and the abrupt understanding of why Eddie acts the way he does around him.
“I can go,” Eddie whispers.
But Steve shakes his head, immediate and without second-guessing. He then presses his lips together, giving himself a few beats to reorient before, “No, man. You came here because it’s safe. We’re cleaning you up and then you’re staying the night.”
Eddie is back to picking at his jeans, his gaze nowhere near Steve.
“You sure, Steve?”
And the thing is, where it counts, he is.
“Yeah, Eds. Told you weeks ago you’re stuck with me.”
Eddie smiles, small and sweet before ducking his head, hair falling in front of his face—and, yeah, wow. Steve can’t believe how fucking oblivious he’s been. But, after a moment, Eddie turns his head, looking through his hair.
“Well, don’t just stand there looking pretty, sweetheart. Either give me the towel or finish the job yourself.”
There’s a whole lot of wariness in Eddie’s eyes and as much as the words sound like him, Steve knows the other boy is testing him—seeing if things can still be the same even with this new thing apparent but unacknowledged between them.
So, Steve holds Eddie’s gaze, gives himself a few more seconds to be certain before—“I’ve already fixed you up how many times? Just stop bitching and let me be your overworked nurse.”
He’s rewarded immediately by a bright grin and the lightening of Eddie’s eyes.
“Oh, Stevie, with bedside manner like that, how can I resist your tender charms?”
And it could be awkward, it really, truly could—but it’s still just Eddie. The same guy who’s been acting like this with him for months, the guy he survived the Upside Down with, and who got punched just for being who he is.
He’s also, right now, a guy who needs someone to look after him.
So, Steve pushes down his realisation and focuses on taking care of his friend and making sure he’ll be okay.
Everything else will be a problem for later.
4.
They don’t talk about it.
After tending to Eddie’s neck and chest, Eddie had gone direct to the spare room and hadn’t come out until morning.
They’d then both acted like normal, pointedly ignoring the elephant in the room. Because Eddie liked guys. Eddie had a crush on him.
When he’d dropped the guy at his uncle’s trailer, Eddie had fiddled with his seatbelt for a brief moment before blurting, “Thanks, Steve.”
He’d leapt out of the car seconds later and hurried inside, and while Steve could have said he was just talking about fixing him up and letting him stay the night… Steve had known it was also for the other thing; for accepting the other thing too.
Steve had still felt a little unsure about what to do and how to act in the aftermath, but in the weeks that followed, it became obvious that ‘the same as always’ was the right answer.
Because Eddie still called him ‘sweetheart’, ‘big boy’ and any other nickname he felt like. He also teased him and got into his personal space, and as long as he didn’t tense or get uncomfortable, Eddie didn’t either.
It was just… back to normal.
In fact, if it wasn’t for the occasional blushes, long glances and hair in front of Eddie’s face, Steve could have almost forgotten that Eddie liked him.
But, it’s when they’re at his house again, just the two of them for a movie night, that the elephant still in the corner decides to make itself known again.
It’s not a big thing, not like the other times. Eddie had been folding a piece of paper, trying to make some kind of paper plane as Steve makes the popcorn.
“Ow, fuck,” Eddie curses.
Steve glances over and sees Eddie wincing as he looks at his index finger and the large paper cut that is already welling with blood.
“Shit, dude,” Steve curses.
He looks around, alights on the paper tissue and grabs a sheet. He quickly closes the distance, folding it and grabbing Eddie’s hand. They end up toe-to-toe as he wraps it around the metalhead’s finger to collect the blood. He doesn’t notice what he’s done at first, not until he glances up, ready to chastise Eddie only to stop at how close their faces are, at how wide Eddie’s eyes are, and the harsh bob of his Adam’s apple.
Because, he’s practically cradling Eddie’s hand, holding it as they stand near enough that, with a small motion, they could become a lot more intimate.
“I-I think I can handle it,” Eddie says, his voice high-pitched and a little strangled.
He then yanks back his hand, stumbling a few steps backward and pulling his injured hand tight to his chest, the paper towel still wrapped around it.
“Uh,” Steve pauses, clears his throat. “I’ll get a band aid, man.”
Eddie nods jerkily, not looking at him and Steve vacates the kitchen quickly, feeling his face heat over what just happened. He rubs a frustrated hand through his hair as he reaches the bathroom. He rummages through the first aid kit, finding what he’s looking for but lingering for a little longer in the hall, giving Eddie some time alone.
When he comes back, Eddie’s paper plane is in a scrunched-up ball on the floor near the bin, as if he’s thrown and missed. He’s picking at the paper towel and scowling at his injured finger. Steve clears his throat to announce himself, but Eddie doesn’t look up.
“I, uh, got a band aid,” Steve says.
“Thanks,” Eddie mutters, sounding glum.
He hesitates noticeably before holding out his hand. Steve steps closer and passes it over. It’s only when Eddie takes it that the metalhead dares to look up. The same wariness from weeks ago is present in his expression, but after a long moment, he must see something positive because Eddie finally smiles, small but fond.
“You know, paper cuts aren’t super threatening, Stevie. No need to go full nurse on me all the time.”
Steve has a couple of different responses, but isn’t sure which one to say after everything, but when Eddie starts trying to pull apart the bandaid one-handed, brow puckered in noticeable frustration, Steve goes, “Oh, give it here.”
He closes the distance and Eddie tenses, but Steve ignores it to hold out his hand. Eddie gives him a searching look before passing it over. Their fingers briefly brush before Eddie yanks his back. Steve focuses on opening it and tossing the paper on the counter. He then looks determinedly at Eddie.
“You good if I put this on?”
Eddie chews his bottom lip for a beat, before pulling off the paper towel and extending his hand out between them. Steve places the cotton pad over the cut and gently wraps first one side and then the other, making sure it’s not too tight but covers the cut.
When he’s done, Eddie doesn’t immediately pull his hand away and Steve’s gaze flicks up. He finds Eddie already looking at him; there’s something a little sad in his gaze.
“Thanks, Steve.”
“Yeah,” he says, “any time.”
Eddie smiles tightly and pulls back his hand. He moves away then, picking up the band aid’s wrapping and taking it and his paper towel to the bin, throwing them and the former paper plane into the trash. His back is only to Steve for a few moments, but when he twirls around, it’s like the previous Eddie is gone. He grins, wide and bright.
“So,” he says, “back to getting the popcorn, ready, sweetheart? I’ll go set up that movie and make sure not to get any more little boo-boos.”
He starts to leave the kitchen, but Steve reaches out and catches him on the way past.
“Eds, wait. I mean… I just-”
“Heyyy,” Eddie interjects, his gaze somewhere on the roof. “So, you know how we’re totally ignoring that thing that you worked out? Yeah, let’s keep doing that.”
He tries to pull out of Steve’s grip, but he holds firm.
“Dude, seriously. We can’t just-”
“Oh, we totally can,” he insists. He also finally looks at Steve, and he’s gaze is deadly serious. “Because, between you and me, Harrington, I’d rather stay the hell out of your house then ever have that conversation. I’d rather get another hunting party on my back then do that really awkward, painful talk you’re thinking of having with me.” He tilts his head, his gaze still unwavering. “Sooo, instead of that, how about I ask this: how we hang out, the shit I call you and when I hug you. That still okay?”
“Eddie-”
“Is that,” he says firmly, “still okay?”
Steve presses his lips together, but after a moment he nods.
“Yeah,” he says. “That’s all still okay.”
Eddie grins, bright and closer to his usual cheer.
“Well, then, sweetheart. We’re good.” He slaps him lightly on the arm. “So, you go make popcorn, I’ll go set up a movie, and we’ll forget I cut my finger and you played pretty Nurse Harrington for me.”
Steve still doesn’t like it, but he also doesn’t want to make the situation worse or more awkward for Eddie. So, he sighs, but lets him go.
“Yeah, all right,” he agrees. “Just don’t make a shit choice.”
“Oh, just for that, Stevie, I’m going to pick your least favourite.”
“Asshole!” Steve shouts as Eddie ducks out of the kitchen.
He’s rewarded by Eddie’s cackle echoing through the house. The sound makes Steve smile, but even as he starts re-making the popcorn, he can’t fully forget the look on Eddie’s face when they’d stood toe-to-toe and he’d cradled the metalhead’s hand in his own.
5.
They both try not to get into that situation again, Eddie most of all.
But Steve does notice when it almost happens a few times; when they get too close and Eddie stills before pulling away. Or when Eddie’s breath hitches during a hug before he veers out of Steve’s space and finds someone else to sit with or hang off.
No one else seems aware of it, but Steve is.
He sees it and every time it happens something inside of him just aches.
Because it just... it fucking sucks, and Eddie still won’t God damn talk about it. Anytime he even tries to broach it, Eddie gets tense and re-routes the conversation. He also looks at him with eyes so wide and pleading that Steve gives up every damn time.
But even though it continues to linger around them like a giant queer elephant—sometimes it’s like nothing’s changed. Like it’s not there at all.
Because, they still hangout together. They still laugh and joke. Eddie teasingly calls him ‘pretty boy’ and ‘sweetheart’ with a wide grin and his usual cackle. They go to the movies, just the two of them, when it’s a film Robin isn’t into and they just want some time away from the kids; they throw popcorn, bitch about the unbelievability of the plot and which character they hate the most.
They have fun.
Eddie also continues to try and get him to play D&D or listen to some new metal band, and in return, he tries to get Eddie to watch a game or do something more his speed.
It’s how Eddie ends up in his backyard one afternoon, looking dubious but grudgingly catching the basketball he tosses at him. He stares at the rubber ball with a wrinkled nose.
“I’m still not liking this, sweetheart.”
“Tough shit. I tried your nerdy bobbit movie.”
“Hobbit, Steve, hobbit.” He glares. “Also, you’re a dick and saying that wrong deliberately.”
Steve flashes a grin and Eddie puts the basketball against his hip in order to flip him off.
“Come on, man,” Steve wheedles. “It’s just throwing a ball at a hoop. It’s not that hard.”
“Oh, yeah, sure, King Steve. Not like I ditched every fucking gym class I could because I was shit at it.”
Steve rolls his eyes. “Not like you ditched every fucking gym class to sell weed.”
Eddie flips him off a second time, but a grin is curling at his lips. So, Steve tries again.
“Come on, man. I’ll even take it easy on you.”
“Oh, you are so starting with a handicap. Negative one hundred.”
“A hundred?” Steve demands. “Dude, that’s not fair.”
“Uh, it’s very fair, King Steve. Who was the one winning basketball games? Running around the court and making everyone swoon in your li—” Eddie’s breath hitches in the middle and he coughs. He avoids Steve’s gaze as he finishes, “Stupid shorts.”
Steve clears his own throat, feeling his cheeks heat because… had Eddie noticed that about him? Had he skipped gym for… that reason too?
But before he can try and puzzle that out, Eddie is walking towards the centre of the makeshift court and looking at the hoop. He looks as unmotivated as Steve can imagine him being in gym class, but he lifts his arms and hurls the ball.
Steve grimaces at the utterly terrible technique. He isn’t surprised when it hits the backboard and bounces off. Eddie turns to him, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.
“Okay, man, that was… a good first go.”
Eddie scoffs, but he goes to where the ball stopped rolling and picks it up. He throws it at Steve who quickly dives to the side and catches it.
“Go on, Harrington,” Eddie says. “Be the jock you were born to be.”
Steve huffs, but he still lines up the shot, coming at it from an angle but still confident. It sinks through the hoop with barely a touch to the sides.
“Show off,” Eddie grumbles.
Steve laughs at the petulant tone. He flashes his friend a smile and steps up to him. He slaps Eddie’s shoulder only to squeeze and gently shake him.
“Come on, man. I’ll give you some pointers. You’ll sink one, promise.”
“You get that this is an athletics check and that I have disadvantage?”
“Those words probably mean something,” Steve says, going to pick up the ball. “But all I’m hearing is you need some practice.”
He goes back up to Eddie and pushes the ball into his chest. Eddie grudgingly takes it from him. He’s back to looking at the ball as if it’s insulted the entire Munson clan. Stepping up behind Eddie, he gently squeezes his shoulders before starting to explain, “Okay. So, this is what you need to do—”
“Give up?”
“Shut up, dickhead.”
Eddie finally huffs a laugh and some of the tension in his shoulders begins to ease. “You’re a cruel taskmaster, sweetheart.”
“Thought that was you? You’re the scary dungeon master. I’m just the babysitter.”
“You’re the bat-biting badass.”
“And you gave the most metal concert in history,” Steve counters. “So, you can throw a stupid ball in a fucking hoop.”
“Well, at least we can both agree it’s stupid,” Eddie says, turning to look over his shoulder and smiling.
Steve swallows at how close they are, their noses almost brushing. His gaze even begins to flick down—but Eddie is quick to look back at the hoop.
“Okay,” he says, heaving a loud sigh. “Show me how to do this.”
Steve takes a moment to reorient. He shakes off the moment and focuses on the basketball and the hoop and showing Eddie how to throw in a way that will actually do what he wants. Eddie listens, even lets Steve gently rearrange his stance and how he should move his arms.
It’s… slow going.
Eddie listens, doing everything right until the last moment, but somehow it just never sticks. After five goes, Eddie just outright hurls the ball in pure frustration which… makes it kind of inevitable that the thing would ricochet and hit him in the face.
“Fuck!” Eddie shouts, covering his nose and mouth.
Steve immediately rushes over to him.
“Shit, dude.”
“Motherfucker,” Eddie curses.
Steve doesn’t think. He gets in front of Eddie and grabs his hand, tugging it out of the way. He winces at the noticeable blood on Eddie’s bottom lip. Grabbing the metalhead’s chin, Steve pulls him close to survey the damage. His thumb catches on the bow of Eddie’s lip, gently pulling it down and Eddie gives a soft little gasp.
Steve freezes. His gaze, which had been locked on Eddie’s mouth, goes up to his eyes. They are the widest he’s ever seen—but they’re also looking at him the way Steve hasn’t seen since… possibly ever.
It isn’t the way girls with crushes look at him, it’s not even how Nancy looked at him.
Eddie looks at him like he’s everything he’s ever wanted and Steve feels the look in his bones. His own breathing picks up and his gaze flicks back down to Eddie’s bloodied mouth and the way his hand looks cradling his friend’s face.
And Eddie suddenly moves, not away, but he tips forward and Steve’s gaze jerks up and he tenses just a little—just enough for Eddie to abruptly realise what he’s doing. Eddie is out of his hold and halfway across the yard before he can blink.
“Eddie!” He calls. “Eds!”
But, his friend isn’t listening, Eddie is through the gate and gone in moments, leaving Steve standing alone, his heart in his throat and a speck of blood still on his thumb from where he’d pressed it against Eddie’s bottom lip.
+1.
Steve doesn’t give Eddie long before he’s chasing after him.
Okay, it takes at least ten minutes for him to stop staring at his thumb and the backyard in stupefied shock—not because Eddie was going to kiss him. No, he was more thrown by the fact he’d kind of wanted to kiss him back.
That’s… really not something he’d ever expected he’d want.
But his own very strong confusion aside, one of his best friends has just fled the house and is probably freaking out.
It’s why Steve wipes his thumb on his shorts, goes in the house for his keys and drives his beemer over to the trailer park. It’s more of a hope then an actual belief that Eddie will be there, but to his surprise, his friend’s van is haphazardly parked outside.
Steve gives himself a few seconds to pull in a deep breath and try to compose himself before he’s climbing out of his car, locking it and going up to the trailer door.
He knocks loudly, and isn’t surprised when there isn’t an answer. So, he does it again.
“Come on, dude,” he calls. “I know you don’t want to, but we’ve gotta talk.”
There’s no response, so, he plays on a hunch and tries the handle. It’s not locked, so he pushes it open and pokes his head inside. Eddie is sitting on the couch, his head cradled in his hands. He’s as rigid as a board.
Steve quickly steps inside and shuts the door behind him.
“Eddie,” he begins, gentling his voice. “Eds—”
“Jesus H. Christ, Steve,” Eddie whispers, his voice low and raw. “Don’t you realise I’m a fucking mistake to be around?”
“You’re not a mistake,” he protests, stepping closer.
Eddie laughs darkly. “Fucking hell, man. I was going to kiss you. You got that, right? Fuck.”
He curls his fingers into his hair, pulling in a way that has to hurt. Steve winces in sympathy for the strands. He also reaches the couch and takes a seat on the arm.
“Look, Eds—”
“I know, okay?” Eddie interrupts. “I fucking know. It’s why I didn’t, why I, fuck. Why I avoided this whole fucking thing. Just. You know it. I know it. We pretend it’s not fucking there and maybe it will go away or, shit, I don’t know, I’ll get it under control but then you… God damn it. Why do you have to keep touching me like that, Steve?”
He groans lowly and hunches even further over himself. Steve immediately drops down on the cushion, one hand on Eddie’s back, wanting to soothe him somehow, but Eddie just shudders under his touch.
“God, Steve,” Eddie whispers. “I promise I’m not ever trying to fuck up. I keep trying to get out of your way but you keep reeling me back in and—shit, it’s not your fault. You don’t even get it, but it’s just… I mean, you’re so fucking you and it’s hot or adorable or sweet or caring and—”
Steve can’t take it anymore. He grabs Eddie’s hand, gently pulling it from his hair. It seems to be startling enough that Eddie lifts and turns his head; wide, pained eyes and a puffy, still bloody lip. His cheeks are splotchy red with emotion, his hair’s a mess and Steve… he does it on instinct.
He closes the remaining space and presses his mouth to Eddie’s.
Eddie makes a sound of pure shock; he also jerks back. His eyes are still wide, but confusion has replaced the pain. There’s a long moment where nothing happens, the trailer completely silent before:
“You kissed me,” Eddie whispers, sounding stunned.
“Yeah.”
“Holy shit, why?”
Steve frowns. “I wanted to?”
“No way,” Eddie breathes. “Seriously, no fucking way.” He shakes his head, but his free hand comes up, fingers brushing his lip. “Steve… you didn’t… you couldn’t…”
Steve’s frown deepens. “Why can’t I? I mean, yeah, okay, it’s different. Whatever. Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to do it.”
Eddie swallows so hard that Steve can track the movement of his adam’s apple.
“You wanted to kiss me?” Eddie asks, still looking incredulous.
“Yeah,” he agrees. He also shuffles a little bit closer, letting their knees knock, squeezing the hand he's still holding. “Would have probably kissed you back at my house too.”
Eddie looks like the very idea is incomprehensible.
So, rather than try to convince him verbally, Steve leans forward again. This time, he does it slowly, letting Eddie decide if he wants to move away. But Eddie stays still, his breathing picks up, but he does nothing to stop him.
Steve kisses Eddie again, and this time, Eddie tentatively kisses him back.
Steve can’t remember the last time he kissed someone like this; chaste and sweet, but warming him from head to toe and making a flurry of excitement erupt in his chest and stomach. This, is the kind of kiss he’d been searching for ever since things ended with Nancy.
And it’s why he brings up his hand, cupping Eddie’s cheek and pressing that little bit closer—only, his teeth catch on Eddie’s still sore lip. Eddie winces and pulls away. Steve tastes a brief tang of copper and his eyes open. He looks back at Eddie’s lip which has started to bleed again.
“Man, we need to get ice for that.”
He starts to shift, preparing to get up but Eddie’s hand fists in his polo. Steve stills, already half-raised from the couch.
“Fuck it,” Eddie breathes.
“Eddie!”
“Are you kidding me?” He demands. “No way. I have Steve Harrington on my God damn couch and kissing me. If you get up, this is all going to disintegrate.”
Steve rolls his eyes. “Christ, Eddie. What are you talking about?”
“I’m saying that I’m not tempting fate.”
Eddie tugs him back down and Steve follows along with another eye roll. But even when he’s seated, it doesn’t seem to be enough. Eddie doesn’t let go of his shirt or hand and there’s lingering confusion and concern in his eyes.
It’s why Steve slowly links their fingers, making Eddie glance down to stare at where their hands rest between them. Steve also softens his voice, “I’m not about to disappear, man.”
“Right,” Eddie whispers. “A pretty straight boy I’ve liked for months decides to kiss me. Sure, it’s totally believable that this is reality.”
“It’s not that impossible, man.” Eddie scoffs so Steve gently squeezes the other boy’s hand. “What will it take to prove it to you?”
And while Steve knows it’s a pretty open-ended question and that Eddie could ask for something he isn’t ready for—(because, realising he wants to kiss a guy and doing it all within a half hour is a pretty big fucking turn of events and being out or open sends a jolt of apprehension down his spine)—but instead of anything like that, Eddie lets go of his shirt and lifts his hand.
He pauses with it in the air before slowly bringing it forward. He touches Steve’s cheek first, his eyes focused intensely. He then slides his fingers through Steve’s hair, beginning to smile as delight crests his eyes. It’s followed by brushing one finger over his bottom lip before dropping down over his chin.
Steve thinks that’s it, but Eddie’s fingers then splay over the moles on his neck. His hand stays there and Eddie lets out a heavy breath.
“Fuck.” His gaze meets Steve, still looking a little shell-shocked but joyful underneath that. “You really kissed me because you wanted to?”
“Yeah, Eds.”
Eddie laughs, loud and giddy into the silence.
“Well, holy shit, sweetheart. Who knew there was a little bit of queer in you after all?”
Eddie then leans forward, eyes so bright and smile so wide; it splits his lip further and makes Steve really want to do something about it but—he also doesn’t want to move or look away from Eddie. The metalhead’s fingers have crept down to curl into the collar of his shirt while the other stays linked with his own.
And staring at the boy in front of him, Steve is hit with the realisation that he might be looking after this guy for the rest of his life; cleaning up his accidental injuries and listening to a constant stream of nerd-related things. Maybe looking after a brood of kids, all their own.
But unlike what he might have expected, the idea only makes him feel a swell of happiness and when he grins, Steve hopes Eddie’s able to see exactly what he’s thinking, and believe that he means every part of it.