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Eddie Munson is helping Steve Harrington bake.
Even now, in New Hawkins (the better, non-haunted, non-monster-infested small town that is no longer making headlines), it's a curious happening.
You see, not many people know that outside of fighting monsters and getting concussed, Steve Harrington practically lives in the kitchen. Eddie privately wonders if it’s a new development, but the aged apron he wears reading Listen To Your Mama tells him it's probably not.
Which.
Could Steve be more appealing to Eddie Munson specifically? Also probably not.
They’re stood side by side, peering at the cookbook Steve’s propped up against a metal bowl on the kitchen counter. Outside, the birds are singing their spring song, and the neighbours are out playing catch, judging by their intermittent cheering.
Much to Eddie’s consternation, the sun is also shining, making Steve’s hair look almost golden. Even in sweatpants, a plain tee, and an apron, he looks like Apollo. Haloed by light, skin tanned and freckled. To conclude: Eddie is so very screwed.
“Right. Let’s get this show on the road,” Steve says.
He starts measuring the dry ingredients, and Eddie picks up an egg to cradle, so it looks like he’s doing something, at least.
Once Steve’s onto the wet ingredients, Eddie hands him the egg, and is rewarded with a gentle smile Eddie’s pretty sure could cure most common ailments, and also possibly stop wars.
“That looks like throw-up,” Eddie comments helpfully, because he’s pretty sure he’s got I WANT YOU IN A CARNAL AND HOMOSEXUAL WAY, STEVE HARRINGON written all over his face.
Steve flickers his eyes up to give Eddie a look, before he starts folding the batter together. “Careful, or I’ll make you eat it.”
Dipping his pinkie in the batter proves to be a mistake, as even while occupied with mixing, Steve manages to hip-check him into the stratosphere.
Or, well, not literally, but Eddie does trip over himself like a newborn cow.
“An unusual and unjust punishment, Mr. Harrington,” Eddie accuses, sidling back up to Steve.
“A punishment fit for thieves,” Steve teases, looking at him through his eyelashes.
Eddie can practically hear Robin say, you spend too much time together. He’s starting to sound like you.
Shut up, he tells imaginary-Robin, with no real heat. He can’t be mean to that girl, even when she’s not really here.
After some time, Steve switches to a whisk. He starts off a little too strong, sending some of the mixed batter flying. He chuckles at himself, before resuming his mixing with less enthusiasm.
He doesn’t seem to notice the batter that landed on his cheek.
Eddie reaches out, grabbing Steve's jaw to turn him. He squints, concentrating on swiping the smudge off Steve’s face. Steve sways closer, then. So close, in fact, that his eyes flutter shut, breath shuddering over Eddie's lips before— kissing him.
Steve is kissing him.
Eddie gasps, hand dropping from Steve's face.
Steve wrenches back.
“Um.” Steve's eyes are wide, mouth parted. “Did you—?”
“Did I–?” Eddie asks, bewildered.
“Was that—“ Steve opens and closes his mouth. finally settles on blinking very fast. “I totally just kissed you.”
“Yeah. Yep," Eddie squeaks. “Not, uh, the most conventional way of saying thanks but I'll take it!”
Steve’s face does that thing that makes Eddie’s heart kick wildly in his chest, eyebrows furrowing cutely. “To… Say thanks?”
“You had—“ Eddie pokes Steve's cheek lightly. “You had batter, here. From whisking.”
Instantly, Steve’s face goes pink. “Right,” he says weakly. “Right, and then I— kissed you about it.”
Eddie laughs a little maniacally. “Sure did, man.”
Opening and closing his (beautiful, full) mouth like a fish, Steve makes a weird noise.
To save Steve from himself, Eddie says, “It was, uh, a nice— kiss. Solid. Very… Soft.”
Oh my God, Munson. Shut up.
“Soft,” Steve echoes, blinking at him.
“Soft, warm, uh, wet— whatever. You’re a regular Casanova, Harrington. You wooed the pants right off me,” Eddie says, aiming desperately for casual, and landing instead in the realm of oh God please don’t hate me now.
“Thanks,” Steve says, still bewildered. “Can I try that again?”
Eddie’s brain comes to a screeching halt. Like, the rails made a sharp left and the train kept on chuggin’.
“You— huh?”
Steve hesitates, before stepping closer. So close that Eddie could count his eyelashes, if his brain wasn’t currently a slurry.
Slosh, slosh, he thinks deliriously.
“I can do better,” Steve insists softly. “Please, can I— can I try again?”
Eyes wide, Eddie nods.
This time, Steve cups his cheek at the same time as his lips brush Eddie’s.
Like a bird, Eddie’s heart flutters in his chest, caged by his ribs. Without them, he’s pretty sure his heart would’ve beat right out of him.
Steve’s lips are warm and plush, his thumb drawing a small circle into Eddie’s cheekbone. Inhaling through his nose, Steve kisses him harder. A soft noise escapes Eddie, his hand spasming around Steve's waist. Tugging him closer, he touches his tongue gently to Steve's bottom lip.
Pulling back, Steve murmurs, “You’re so—“ before kissing him again, like he can’t bear not feeling Eddie against him.
The feeling’s mutual, pal, Eddie thinks, and Steve smiles against his mouth like he heard him.
“Is this—“ Eddie pulls away, eyes flickering between Steve's. Steve's blushing, Eddie realises, his lips pink and oh so kissable. “Is this real? I didn’t, uh— faint? Or die? Steve, am I dead?”
A laugh bursts out of Steve, his eyes crinkling. It makes him look boyish, makes him look his age. He’s only twenty, and he’s had to be an adult for so long. Eddie aches for him.
They’re both only twenty, and they’ve survived so much. Years of endurance, of sacrifice, of grief, and they’re here now. They're here, and they're alive. Together.
Maybe this is the after. Maybe this can be the start of their future.
“Not dead,” Steve smiles, soft and every bit as handsome as he was the first time Eddie saw him in Mrs. Click’s class, fiddling with a pencil.
“Cool,” Eddie breathes. “Very cool. Does that mean— I mean, was that just to, uh, show off your kissing prowess? Or—“
“I wanted to,” Steve interjects. He’s still cupping Eddie’s face, thumb drawing a pattern into his skin. Smiling almost sheepishly, he says, “I, um. I’ve got, like, a thing for you, Munson.”
Eddie’s heart grows three sizes. Grinch style.
“A thing?” he croons, unable to keep the delight from his voice.
“Yeah, a thing,” Steve leans in again, pupils dilated.
Gaze settling on Steve’s mouth, Eddie murmurs through a smile, “You got a crush on me, Harrington?”
Right before closing the distance, Steve says, “Something like that.”