Archive of Our Own ^beta

When Steve opens the door to his dorm after a long day of classes and basketball practice, he is met with a pile of letters at his feet.

He sees that it’s not just letters, once he recovers from his surprise and takes a closer look at the mess of white, pink, and red. There’s also cherry candies and chocolate hearts and even blooming roses, all of them with his name signed in different handwriting, making a sizable mound at the entrance of his room.

“What,” he says, confused. He tears his eyes away from the pile to seek answers from his roommate, who lays on his messy bed with his head propped up by a pillow, his laptop and wired earbuds resting on his stomach. He only eyes the pile disdainfully before giving Steve an unimpressed look and returning his gaze to his laptop.

“You have a lot of admirers,” Eddie Munson deadpans, typing away on his keyboard.

Steve picks up a box of chocolates, scanning the cheesy note taped to it as he steps over the pile and closes the door behind him. “How did they even get this through the door?”

Eddie gives him a sarcastic smile. “They knocked.”

“You couldn’t just ignore them?”

“I did, after like, the twelfth time,” Eddie says, his irritation clearly growing. “They’ll probably come knocking again soon, and you can answer the door. I’m sure they’ll be much happier to be greeted by 'The Steve Harrington' instead of his freak roommate.” He huffs. “God, it’s like we’re still in high school.”

Steve puts his bag down and sits in his desk chair, grimacing apologetically. He and Eddie didn’t like each other much, and he could admit that was kind of his fault. They had been amiable enough in the beginning of their sophomore year, if a little awkward, considering Steve’s status as a popular guy who just joined the basketball team and Eddie’s status as a weirdo that most of the people Steve is surrounded by avoids. As Eddie had said—it’s like they’re still in high school with these cliquey divides, but they go to a small school in Indianapolis so it can’t really be helped.

But Steve had a tendency of bringing people over—after parties or otherwise—and though it wasn’t a problem at first, it certainly became one after Eddie walked in on Steve in bed with a girl. Steve has since stopped bringing people over for sex, but when he brings them over for any other reason, he’ll likely get a suspicious squint from Eddie. It gets on his nerves sometimes.

Still, it doesn’t mean Steve’s the only bad roommate. Eddie’s music is always too loud, clearly audible even through his earbuds. He turned it down when Steve asked him to that one time, but the next day it was back up to full volume—Steve doesn’t know how the guy isn’t deaf. And plus, he’s pretty sure he saw Eddie do a drug deal once, swapping a ziploc bag full of something and getting a wad of cash in exchange right at their door. In terms of bad roommate behavior, Steve thinks that’s arguably worse. And much more illegal—Steve should get some good roommate points for not reporting him to the RA.

They had their problems with each other, but this time it was definitely on Steve, even though he’s not sure how it even happened. “Sorry, dude. I didn’t think they’d come to our room.”

“Sure you didn’t,” Eddie mumbles, somehow managing to slump down even more. Steve feels his own neck twinge in sympathy.

He considers the box in his hand, then his agitated roommate, and throws the chocolates at him, nailing him in the side of the head. Eddie squawks and rubs the spot he was hit, throwing back an incredulous glare.

“What the fuck?” he exclaims, sitting up and staring down at the impromptu projectile weapon. “What was that for?”

Steve shrugs, gesturing lamely at the box. “It’s, you know. For your troubles.”

Eddie picks up the box and reads the note taped to it, face growing sour. He tosses the chocolate aside and slams his laptop shut, which Steve thinks he really shouldn’t be doing, considering that the device looks one short drop away from totally falling apart.

“Thanks so much,” Eddie crows sarcastically, hopping off his bed and grabbing his ratty backpack to stuff his laptop inside, zipping it up and slinging it over his shoulder. “Your generosity knows no bounds.”

Steve rolls his eyes at his dramatics but doesn’t say anything as Eddie stuffs his feet into his boots and unceremoniously kicks the pile of letters to Steve’s side of the room. Eddie opens the door to leave, but is stopped by a girl on the other side, one hand poised to knock, the other holding a pink envelope and a stuffed bear.

“Um,” the girl says, cowering slightly once she realizes that she is being faced with a pissed off Eddie Munson. “Is Steve here?”

“Oh my god,” Eddie mutters, pushing past her and storming away without another word.

The girl, clearly unsettled by whatever that was, stutters and hands Steve the gifts. He thanks her with a smile and sends her off, closing the door behind her. He sighs and opens the letter, barely glancing at her name, phone number, and the “Happy Valentine's Day” written in cursive. She was pretty, but… Steve hasn’t been interested in dating around recently, and this whole Valentine’s thing is making him feel weary.

He puts the chocolates and candies into his snack drawer—it’s free food, after all—and throws the rest in a spare paper bag, putting it near the door so he remembers to throw it out. He takes his laptop out and sits at his table, resigning himself to answering the door for the remainder of the evening.

Steve mostly forgets about the Valentine’s fiasco, after the first week of girls—and a few boys as well, which Steve admits piqued his interest a bit—asking him what he thought about their letter. He had at first responded with a forced laugh and a “Thank you, yeah, I’m flattered but—” until he discovered that a “I’m sorry, there were so many, I can’t really remember,” worked a lot better.

By the next month, no one was asking him about it anymore, and the whole thing had become nothing more than an inside joke that Robin would tease him about during their long phone calls. There were no more letters at his doorstep, and everything went back to normal.

Until.

Exactly a month later, Steve opens his door and finds a single letter lying innocently on the carpeted floor.

His room is empty this time, no annoyed roommate around to make a snarky remark. Steve picks up the white envelope and examines the black ink that makes up his name, the brash handwriting. It’s not taped or glued closed so he slides out the card easily, eyebrows raising at the silly Valentine’s-themed graphic printed on the red card. He opens it and it reads, “I don’t see why you only get these on Valentine’s Day. You deserve to be appreciated all year round.”

There’s no name or phone number on the card, just a little bat drawn where it should be signed, the tip of its wing slightly smudged. Steve looks at the back of the card, peeks inside the envelope to see if he missed anything, but there’s nothing. He considers it for another short moment, before shrugging to himself and putting the card back into the envelope, tossing it in his desk drawer, not thinking much of it. He’ll tell Robin about it when they call.

Not much later, Eddie comes back to the dorm with his music blasting loud in his earbuds, as it always is. Steve looks up from his phone at the noise, and strangely, when they make eye contact, instead of looking away or nodding (if he’s feeling friendly), Eddie freezes up and stares. His eyes widen ever so slightly, posture stiff.

“...You good?” Steve asks, perplexed. It breaks Eddie out of his sudden trance, and he yanks his earbuds out by the wire and looks away, pale skin tinting pink. It’s the first time Steve has seen his roommate flustered.

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie replies, sounding hesitant. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Steve keeps looking at him curiously, swiveling in his chair, but Eddie seems determined to avoid his gaze.

“Are you going to the party at Ames Hall tonight?” Steve asks, just to fill the awkward silence. Eddie turns around slowly, eyebrows twitching.

“Yes?” Eddie answers.

Steve snorts. “Are you sure?”

Eddie’s face becomes unimpressed, which means they’re back to familiar territory. “Why do you care?”

“No reason,” he replies, shrugging. “I never see you at them. Parties, I mean.”

Eddie huffs and tosses his bag onto the floor, flopping backwards onto his bed. “Just ‘cause you don’t see me doesn’t mean I’m not there.”

Steve rests his elbow on his table and his head on his fist, turning in his chair to follow Eddie’s movement. “You hiding from me, Munson?”

Eddie turns his head to Steve. “Nah,” he says, then smirks. “You’re usually too busy looking at something else to realize I’m there.”

Steve groans, glaring at him. “Will you let that go already?”

“No,” Eddie retorts, clearly amused by Steve’s annoyance. “If it keeps me from having to see you suck vagina again, I am never dropping it.”

“It was one time. I literally—”

“I caught you one time,” Eddie corrects, then grimaces. “I don’t want to know how many times you actually desecrated my room.”

“Our room.” Steve crosses his arms and slouches in his chair petulantly. “I don’t see why it’s that big of a deal.”

Eddie purses his lips and frowns at him. “I—ugh. Just, you have my schedule, so, you know. ‘I pretend I do not see it.’”

Steve gives him a confused look. Eddie responds with his own mildly judgemental one. He takes his phone out of his pocket and faces his back to Steve, ending the conversation. Steve rolls his eyes and turns to his own phone, going to his messages with Robin.

dingus: Dude
dingus: Its been 4 months
dingus: And my roommate still hasn't gotten over the one time I didn’t see him come in bc I was hooking up with a girl

boobin: idk if i was a gay man and i saw my roommate partaking in straight sex id be pretty traumatized too

dingus: Hes not gay tho?

boobin: oh
boobin: didnt u say u caught him pinning another guy to the bathroom wall once
boobin: and they were all out of breath n shit

dingus: Well yeah
dingus: But like in a threatening way
dingus: Like a “you owe me money” way
dingus: It was very heated

boobin: oh
boobin: i see
boobin: mb for assuming

dingus: He just doesn’t like me
dingus: Uhjsksjnkjfjksjdj

boobin: 3 more months til the semester is over and then u never have to see him again

dingus: Thank god
dingus: Idk how much more passive aggression I can take

Steve likes the sticker Robin sends and sighs. He checks the time, deciding that there’s enough to go to the gym and shower before he has to meet up with his basketball friends. He leaves the dorm and forgets about the letter.

But at the party that night, with the booming music and the drinks and all the people boxing Steve in, he doesn’t forget to keep an eye out for Eddie. When he doesn’t see him for the first hour or so, he starts to think maybe the bastard lied to mess with him—but then he spots Eddie tucked into the corner, talking to a short girl with strawberry blonde hair. He’s wearing a thin band shirt with his leather jacket slung over his arm, silver jewelry glinting in the dull light and hair frizzier in the humid air.

Eddie must sense his gaze, because he looks up the moment Steve finds him in the crowd. He grins sneeringly and motions to himself, spilling a bit of his drink as he does so, and mouths See? Told you. Steve scoffs and looks away, feeling strangely embarrassed, and spends the rest of the night pretending he isn’t hyper-aware of Eddie’s presence in the room.

The next morning, Steve meets Chrissy Cunningham.

He’s in his economics lecture, sitting in the front this time because he forgot his glasses in his dorm and can’t read the words on the projector screen from his usual spot near the back. He aimlessly scrolls on his phone and watches the absurd amount of instagram reels Robin had sent him the night before, double tapping on each message as he waits for class to start.

There’s some shuffling happening beside him, which he ignores until the person puts their soft pink backpack down and sits next to him. Steve looks up and is met with an incredible friendly face, a sweet smile and familiar strawberry-blonde hair.

“Hi,” the girl chirps. “Steve Harrington, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve confirms, the corner of his lip quirking up at her bright energy. “Hey.”

“I’m Chrissy,” she introduces herself. “You might’ve seen me at your games before, I’m on the cheer team? I didn’t realize you were in this class.”

Steve’s eyes light up in recognition. “Chrissy Cunningham, right? You used to date Jason.”

She winces mildly, embarrassed. “Yeah, that’s me. Heavy emphasis on ‘used to’.”

“We all thought you were too good for him, by the way,” Steve says, chuckling. “I’m glad you got away.”

“I am too,” she agrees. “I wanted to introduce myself earlier but never got to because of the whole Jason thing. I wish I knew you were in this class!”

“I’m glad you found me,” Steve smiles. “I’m usually in the back.”

“You should sit up here with me from now on,” Chrissy suggests brightly. “Maybe it’ll make Professor Oliver’s droning a little more bearable.”

Steve snickers. “I doubt it. But I’ll still sit with you.”

Chrissy beams at him, and she starts taking out her things for the class. She bites her lip like she still has something to say, so Steve waits, letting her settle first.

Maybe she left a letter, too, Steve thinks. He’d feel bad about throwing that one out.

“You’re roommates with Eddie, right?” Chrissy asks finally. Steve blinks, surprised. He dimly recalls the short girl Eddie was talking to at the party last night.

“Yeah, I am. Do you know him?”

Chrissy nods, smiling. “He’s my best friend.”

Steve’s eyes widen slightly. “Really? You’re friends with him?”

“I know, I know,” Chrissy says, laughter in her tone. “Polar opposites, right?”

“Well, not just that,” Steve refutes. “You’re so nice. And sweet. He is neither of those things.”

“He can be!” Chrissy defends amusedly. “He’s the sweetest person I know.”

“We’re talking about Eddie Munson, right?” Steve asks dubiously. “Long curly hair, ripped jeans, loud ass music? Always grumpy and glaring more than not? That Eddie?”

“That’s the one,” Chrissy laughs. “Is that what he’s like around you?”

“Dude’s got it out for me. Whenever we’re both in the room I can taste his annoyance in the air, man. How’s he like with you?”

Chrissy laughs. “Sweet, like I said. And a massive goofball. He doesn’t take himself very seriously.”

Steve shakes his head, eyes narrowing suspiciously at Chrissy, which only makes her giggle. “I don’t believe you. Not at all.”

“He’s also a massive idiot,” Chrissy continues. “I swear he doesn’t hate you, he just doesn’t know how to handle himself around attractive people.”

Steve splutters. “You’re attractive people!”

Chrissy shrugs helplessly. “I’m not his type.”

“Neither am I?”

Professor Oliver finally begins his lecture, his monotone voice amplified throughout the room and startling Steve out of his incredulity. He gives Chrissy a doubtful look, and she smiles back, mischief in the crinkle of her eyes.

“I am definitely not his type,” Steve mutters as he opens his laptop. It makes Chrissy snort, but she says nothing else, focusing on the lecture. Steve does his best to follow suit, but he remains distracted for the rest of the class.

After the day is over and Steve has returned to his room, he finds himself eyeing Eddie suspiciously. When he’s doing his own thing, his face is neutral, head bobbing to his music as he draws at his desk. When he looks up suddenly and catches Steve staring, his expression immediately falls, glaring and looking away. Steve rolls his eyes and huffs.

Chrissy doesn’t know what she’s talking about.

There’s…another letter.

Steve, ready to take a nap after his soul-numbing accounting class, finds himself once again standing at his doorway and staring down at a paper envelope with confusion.

He had honestly totally forgotten about the previous letter from about a month ago. He didn’t even get to tell Robin like he planned to, it getting buried under all the other stuff he shoves in his drawer. He goes and looks for it now, new letter in hand, rummaging through the crumpled essays and deodorant sticks until he finds the old one. He leaves it on top of his desk for now, and opens the new envelope, eyes widening at the hand drawn marijuana leaf wearing sunglasses on the cardstock paper. He takes it out, and notices there’s something else inside—two joints and a scratched-up lighter, lying innocently side by side.

Steve kind of just stares at it for a second, feeling bewildered. He opens the card with his thumb and reads it—“Happy 4/20. I think about you a lot when I’m high.”

Once again, no name, only signed with a bat. Steve takes out the other card and holds them next to each other, comparing and confirming that the handwriting is the same on both. He looks between the two, trying to decide what to do.

He could just ignore it again. Clearly he has some sort of secret admirer, and it feels like high school, when girls would slip unsigned notes into his locker but inevitably reveal themselves when they ran out of patience or realized he wasn’t actively looking for whoever left the note. But this person, they’ve waited a month—maybe even two, if they left a letter with everyone else’s in February—and they still give no indication as to who they are.

It makes Steve want to know.

He thinks for a bit and springs into action, grabbing a plain sheet of paper and a pen, sitting down at his desk. He scribbles “Who are you?” and immediately crosses it out with a frown, switching to a new piece of paper. He taps the pen on his desk as he contemplates, and finally writes “Why? What do you think about?”

He reads it over and gives it an affirming nod, then folds it in half, doodling his own bat on the corner. It ends up looking more like a blob of jagged lines, but his secret admirer will probably recognize it. If they see it.

Steve gets up and slides the paper under the door, so that the corner with his crudely-drawn bat is just peeking out the other side. He squats and stares at it, feeling foolish yet anticipatory.

“Whatever,” he mumbles to himself. “Nap time.”

Steve tries to nap but can’t fall asleep, becoming alert at every little noise he hears outside. He gives up after a while and opts to do some homework on his bed to keep an eye on the door. And just as the frustration of his assignment begins to overtake his preoccupation with his note, in the corner of his eye, Steve sees the paper slide out and disappear.

He perks up immediately, moving his laptop off his lap and getting up to go chase after whoever took his note. But before he can take more than a step, the doorknob jiggles and turns.

Eddie Munson walks in, reading the note with a confused frown on his face. He looks up and sees Steve standing like a deer in headlights, eyes wide and mortified, cheeks growing red.

“What, uh,” Eddie starts, looking at the paper again. “What is this?”

Steve strides forward and snatches it out of Eddie’s hands. “It’s nothing. It’s—someone keeps leaving letters for me and I’m trying to figure out who it is. That’s all.”

Eddie pauses, shocked. “You. You’re responding to them?”

Steve flushes further. He should’ve factored in his judgy roommate before going ahead with this half-baked plan.

“Look,” Steve says, running a hand through his hair, “Just do me a favor and ignore any letters you see on the floor, okay? Please.”

Eddie’s eyes dart to the paper in Steve’s hand. “Um. Yeah, okay, I guess. I’ll ignore them.”

Steve deflates with a relieved sigh, surprised that Eddie had agreed so easily. “Thanks, man.”

Eddie nods distractedly. “Yeah, uh huh. But like, why are you trying to find this guy anyways? Can’t you just choose from your massive collection of love letters that do have a name attached to it?”

Steve snorts. “I’ll be honest man, I threw them out the day I got them. Didn’t really have anywhere to put all of them.”

“Oh,” Eddie says. “Oh.”

Steve shrugs. “Yeah.” he gives Eddie a teasing smile. “Maybe you could help me find them too, since you’re being nice right now.”

Eddie laughs, a little hysterical. “Don’t push your luck, Harrington.” He steals one last look at the note before moving to his side of the room, busying himself with his bag. Steve slips his note back under the door and goes to his table, picking up the envelope.

“You mind if I smoke?” Steve asks, holding up a joint for Eddie to see.

“Uh, nah,” Eddie responds, eyes lingering on the joint. “Crack a window open, though.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Duh.”

Eddie gives him a scathing look before turning away. Steve sticks the joint in his mouth and lights it with the old lighter his secret admirer so generously provided, then jumps onto his bed and opens the window, sticking his head next to it and breathing in the smoke and cool air. He scrolls on his phone a bit until he feels relaxed enough to simply stare at the sky.

He doesn’t know when he falls asleep, but when he wakes again, the joint is no longer in his fingers, the note is no longer under the door, and Eddie is no longer in the room.

“Happy Mother’s Day,” the next letter reads. “Everything. Your pretty face. The moles all over your skin. Your hair. Your arms. How bratty you are all the time.

“I’d say I hope you think of me too, but I’m sure I won’t like what you’d have to think.”

Steve is baffled at the audacity this person seems to have. He scoffs, and tries to frown hard enough to make his blush go away.

See, when he had decided to write back to these letters, he thought he was establishing a line of communication, setting up a back-and-forth exchange. He was expecting a response in say, one to two business days.

Not another fucking month later.

He grabs a paper and writes “What took you so damn long?”, hunched over his desk with his nose slightly scrunched. He draws the bat in the corner and slips it under the door, glaring at it for a childish second before snatching the new letter from his desk and flinging himself onto his bed to read it again. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and calls Robin, eyes never leaving the red card.

“What,” Robin greets, picking up near instantly.

“Robs,” Steve says as gravely as he can. “They finally responded.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Robin replies. “Does this mean you’ll stop bitching?”

Steve pulls back with an affronted frown. “Excuse you. I don’t bitch.”

Robin snorts. “And I’m not a raging lesbian.”

This makes Steve perk up, a grin overtaking his pout. “How’s it going with your girl?”

“Vickie’s not my girl,” Robin corrects, then moans dramatically. “God, why is she not my girl?”

“Did you tell her that you’re gay yet?” Steve asks, laughing a little.

“Kind of? Not really?” Robin says. “I mean, I told her I thought Florence Pugh was hot, so that’s like, pretty obvious, right?”

“Girl,” Steve admonishes. “You’re the most useless lesbian I know. Just ask her out, she’s definitely into you.”

Robin blows a raspberry into her phone speaker. “I’m the only lesbian you know, dingus. And it’s not that simple. I don’t have the Harrington charm backing me up.”

“Well, you’ve got your Buckley charm,” Steve contends. “Just word vomit until you get the words ‘do you wanna go on a date’ out in a coherent sentence.”

“Fuck you,” Robin mumbles. “I’m never picking up your phone calls ever again.”

“You love me,” Steve simpers. “But anyways. Back to the real issue here.”

“I am flipping you off,” Robin informs him. “But what does the letter say?”

Steve reads it for her, ignoring how he immediately heats at hearing it out loud. Robin fake retches at the same words Steve blushes at, and makes an inquisitive sound at the last sentence.

“That was corny as fuck,” Robin says, chuckling. “Have any theater majors come up to you recently?”

Steve pauses to think about it. “No, I don’t think so.”

“What, too many people vying for King Steve’s attention?” Robin teases.

“Don’t call me that,” Steve complains. “I’ve been talking to more people too, just trying to figure out who it might be, you know?”

“You really have no idea?”

“No,” Steve sighs. “I’ve tried getting to know more people in my classes, at practice, at parties, but no one’s acting suspicious. There’s like, three weeks left of the semester, man, I’m never gonna find them.”

“Does it really matter that much to you?” Robin asks genuinely. “I mean, they could be a total weirdo, you know nothing about them.”

“I know that,” Steve drawls, putting Robin on speaker so he can put the phone down and turn onto his side. “It’s the mystery, you know? It’s exciting. I wanna know for sure if they’re a weirdo.”

“Or if they’re hot,” Robin mentions dryly.

Steve smiles cheekily, even though she can’t see it. “That’s just a bonus if they are.”

“Uh huh. Sure, Detective Harrington.”

Steve rolls his eyes fondly, and looks at the letter again. “So, what do you think of the last line? ‘I’m sure I won’t like what you’d have to think’. What could that mean, Detective Buckley?”

“Maybe they’re not someone you like?” Robin suggests. “Or they’re scared of you. Would make sense, considering the cards.”

“I guess so. But it also implies I know who they are, right? If I would have anything bad to think about them.”

Robin hums. “That means you can cross off anyone you didn’t know when these letters started coming, right?”

Steve squints. “That’s still a lot of people.”

“And everyone you’re close with, probably,” Robin offers. “So it shouldn’t be anyone on the basketball team.”

“I don’t think so,” Steve agrees. “I mean, besides Jason, I’m cool with most of them. And I’m certain none of them are into me that way.”

Robin snorts. “Maybe it’s Jason.”

“Don’t say that,” Steve laments, fake gagging. “Oh god, please don’t say that.”

Robin laughs, audio distorting from how loud she is. “What happened to the mystery, huh, Steve?”

“I refuse to factor him into my calculations,” Steve hisses. “It’s not him. It is not him.”

“Okay, okay,” Robin chuckles. “It’s someone you know, but not well, has cheesy lines, and is definitely not Jason Carver. We also know it’s someone who smokes weed, and knows you got a shitload of Valentine’s letters. Does that narrow it down at all?”

“Barely,” Steve mumbles. “If they don’t respond to my note within two days I am giving up.”

“You probably should’ve given up earlier,” Robin says. “How’s studying for finals going, hm?”

“I’m hanging up now, you hater,” Steve threatens jokingly.

“Love you,” Robin returns, laughing again.

Steve snorts. “Love you too. Talk later, Buck.”

He hangs up with a sigh, chest aching at the absence of Robin that always comes after. With her going all the way to Michigan for college, and him staying in Indiana, missing her has become a familiar emotion. He’s so proud of her for getting into such a good school—but he laments it daily, not being able to cup the two halves of his heart together in his palms. If he could, he’d drive up every weekend to see her, but as it is, it’s been nearly four months since they were last together. His only comfort is that the semester will be ending soon, and they’ll finally be able to reunite back in Hawkins when they go home for the summer.

He shakes the forlorn feeling off as best he can, and puts the new letter in a box under his bed with the rest.

Later, after a busy day, Steve opens his door, sees that his note is no longer on the floor, and gets hit with a vague scent of weed.

“Hi Steve!” Chrissy greets happily, sitting criss-crossed on Eddie’s bed next to the open window. Beside her, Eddie is sprawled out with his head on her lap and a joint between his fingers. Chrissy is braiding a small section of his hair, but when she speaks, Eddie’s head jerks and he gives her a bewildered look.

“Hey Chrissy,” Steve returns, smiling at her though a little unsure. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

Eddie’s head whips to Steve, eyes wide. He looks back at Chrissy, and then Steve again. He tries to sit up, but Chrissy keeps one hand on his braid and uses the other to push his head back down.
“I usually don't. Eddie’s just a bad influence,” she says, giggling and leaning away when Eddie momentarily stops gawking to blow a raspberry at her. She looks back at Steve. “I’m sorry I didn’t text you before I came over. We can leave, if you want.”

Steve shrugs, closing the door behind him. “You can stay, I don’t mind.”

“Wait, what’s going on right now?” Eddie interjects. “You two know each other?”

Chrissy gives him a look. “Of course I know who he is, you never stop—”

Eddie shoves the joint in her mouth, making her sputter. He turns to Steve with a false bright smile. “Ignore her, she’s high.”

“We’re in Economics together,” Steve tells him, amused as he watches Chrissy take the joint out of her mouth, flick Eddie on the nose with her other hand, and give him her best attempt at a threatening glare. “And we hang out after basketball games. I’m honestly surprised you didn’t bring her over sooner.”

“We usually hang out in my dorm,” Chrissy says. “But I told Eddie I wanted to see what his room was like.”

Eddie glares at Chrissy, but it’s nothing like the glares Steve is familiar with. It’s playful. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about all that, you traitor.”

He seems to realize something then, his brows furrowing before his mouth falls open. “You have Steve’s number?”

Chrissy frowns down at him. “I can’t believe you still don’t. He’s your roommate!”

Steve takes in Eddie’s gobsmacked, dramatically betrayed expression and sighs, moving to his side of the room and putting his bag down. “It’s okay, Eddie. I’m not going to force you to give me your number. We’ve made it this far just fine without.”

Eddie flounders for a bit, giving Chrissy a panicked look. She only sighs and smiles apologetically at Steve.

“Do you want to join us, Steve?” Chrissy asks, shoving Eddie unceremoniously off her leg, which makes him grumble and sit up.

“Uh,” Steve says, trying to gauge Eddie’s reaction to that. To his surprise, he only seems sheepish, not angry at the suggestion. “Sure? I don’t want to intrude—”

Chrissy lights up, getting off the bed and patting the spot where she just was. “You boys can sit on the bed, I’ll take Eddie’s chair,” she says as she grabs another joint and a lighter from Eddie’s desk and tosses it at him. “I’ll keep this one since it’s almost done, and you guys can share the new one.”

Eddie’s got that deer-in-headlights look on his face again, which makes Steve hesitate. But then Chrissy plops down in the chair and gives Steve an expectant smile, leaving no room for argument, so he takes his shoes off and sits next to Eddie, trying not to feel awkward. Eddie doesn’t seem to be doing much better, his whole body stiff as he lights the joint and puts it in his mouth. He takes a puff and hands it to Steve, who does his best to get a hold of the little stick without making contact with Eddie’s fingers, and to not react when his lips touch the slightly wet paper.

“What were you guys doing before I interrupted?” Steve asks after he exhales the smoke out the window, trying to diffuse the awkwardness.

Chrissy grins. “Talking about boys.”

Steve half-smiles at her excitement. “What about boys?”

Chrissy looks over at Eddie, who squints back warningly. “Eddie’s got a crush on one.”

“Chris,” Eddie groans, and falls onto his back. “I hate you, you absolute traitor. You fiend.”

Steve blinks twice. “Eddie likes boys?”

Eddie sits back up immediately, a confused frown on his face. “Uh, yeah. I’m like, gay as hell, dude. I thought you knew this already?”

Steve turns to face him with his own confused expression. “How the hell was I supposed to know that?”

Eddie raises both his eyebrows. “Didn’t you catch me making out with a guy in the bathroom once?”

Steve’s mouth opens, then shuts, then opens again. “I thought you were threatening him.”

Eddie snorts, pure disbelief on his face. Chrissy starts laughing, which makes Eddie and Steve crack a smile at each other, and then they’re all laughing uncontrollably, Chrissy’s joint going out and Eddie doing his utmost to keep his from setting the blanket on fire.

“You’re unbelievable,” Eddie says once he catches his breath. “You straight people have absolutely no gaydar.”

“Now hold on,” Steve protests, wiping away a stray tear. “Who said I was straight?”

Eddie looks gobsmacked.

“You’re not?” Eddie croaks, the same moment Chrissy points a victorious finger at him and crows, “I told you!”

“I’m bi,” Steve says, trying hard to not fall into a laughing fit again. He snatches the joint from Eddie before it can slip out of his fingers. “You might’ve caught me with a girl that one time, but that doesn’t mean I only ever brought girls over, y’know?”

Eddie doesn’t respond. He’s looking at Steve with something in his wide, bloodshot eyes, his long lashes clumped together from tears of laughter and his plump lips open in shock. His body has relaxed and is leaning close enough for Steve to feel his warmth. There is not a trace of animosity on his face, only mirth hidden in the pinkness of his cheeks and wonder in the highlight of his pupil.

This is the Eddie Chrissy told me about, Steve thinks. I’m glad I got to meet him.

“Me too,” Chrissy says, and there’s a fond smile on her face as she looks between the two of them. “I’m also bi.”

Eddie finally recovers from his shock and grins, not taking his eyes off Steve. “I should’ve known,” he sighs dramatically. “No straight man would wear shorts that small.”

They talk and they laugh until Steve and Eddie’s joint burns out as well, and then Chrissy suddenly excuses herself because of a group project, or something. On her way out she gives them both a hug and winks at Eddie, who flushes. Once she shuts the door, Steve fears that it’ll immediately become cold and distant between them again. But Eddie turns to him, fingers drumming on his knee, and awkwardly asks, “So. Do you know anything about Dungeons and Dragons?”

So the conversation continues, Eddie telling Steve about his newest campaign, and Steve telling Eddie about the gaggle of nerds he babysits. They jump from topic to topic, their high loosening their tongues, all the words previously left unsaid throughout the school year finally spilling out. Steve can’t shake the surprise at how easy it is to like him, how easily they were getting along compared to just a few hours ago.

“So you don’t hate me anymore, right?” Steve asks jokingly at one point, but he holds his breath as he waits for Eddie’s answer.

Eddie sighs. “I never hated you. I’m just…dumb.”

“I’m glad I found out before the semester ended,” Steve says, sincere. “Can’t believe I was missing out on all this.”

They eventually shift to lay down shoulder to shoulder, perpendicular to the bed with their legs hanging over the edge. Eddie raises his arms to stretch a little, and Steve catches a glimpse of the tattoo on his forearm.

“You know the unsigned letters I’ve been getting?” Steve asks. Eddie stiffens and makes an affirmative noise. “Well, whoever’s been sending them has been drawing bats on them, and they kinda look like your tattoo.”

“That’s interesting,” Eddie notes hesitatingly, before laughing nervously. “What a coincidence.”

Steve grabs Eddie’s arm and pulls it closer to examine the bats. “Who did your tattoos?”

Eddie laughs strangely again. “No one who goes here, I assure you. I got those done when I was sixteen by another highschooler two years older than me.”

Steve scrunches his nose. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

Eddie nods. “Definitely. But I didn’t get an infection, so I was lucky. My uncle was pissed, though.”

He gives Eddie his arm back. “Uncle?”

Steve turns his head to see Eddie smile. “Yeah, Uncle Wayne. He raised me. He used to live in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere, this small town like an hour and a half away, but he moved here to Indianapolis to take care of me after my mom passed and my dad fucked off to prison.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve says quietly. “I’m glad you had your uncle.”

Eddie makes eye contact. “Me too.”

Steve looks back at the ceiling, feeling a little hot. “I also live in the middle of fucking nowhere. Have you heard of Hawkins?”

Eddie shoots up , propping himself up with an arm and looking down at Steve, startled. “Are you for fucking real?”

Steve tilts his head. “Uh, yeah?”

Suddenly, Eddie’s face breaks out into a disbelieving grin, and he runs a hand through his tangled, still half-braided hair. “My uncle’s from Hawkins! I spent half of my childhood going back and forth from there to here.”

Steve laughs wonderingly. “Are you for real? How come I never saw you?”

Eddie shrugs. “It was a long time ago. Plus, my uncle lived in the trailer park, and you don’t seem like you grew up in that kind of environment. No offense.”

“None taken. You’re right,” Steve says, a little sheepish. “I lived on the other side of town.”

Eddie lays back down, and his shoulder feels closer than it was before. “That’s crazy to think about. We could’ve known each other as kids.”

“Do you think we would’ve gotten along then?” Steve asks, trying to imagine what a younger Eddie might’ve looked like.

“Probably,” Eddie answers, contemplative. “I was much better about just going up to people I wanted to be friends with then.”

Steve turns his head with a wide smile, not expecting Eddie to already be looking at him, or for his face to be that close. “You—uh. You want to be friends with me?”

From this close, Steve can see exactly where Eddie starts turning pink from. He tracks the color to his exposed ear and down his neck, not noticing the dopey smile creeping onto his own face.

“Yeah,” Eddie admits. “I do.”

Steve snaps out of his trance. “I never would’ve guessed. Why were you so irritated all the time?”

Eddie groans and hides his face in his hands. “I didn’t mean to be. Not at you, at least.”

“What do you mean?”

Eddie heaves a sigh and peeks an eye out between his fingers. “I was mostly irritated at myself ‘cause I didn’t know how to talk to you. Guess I was a little scared of you, Steve.”

Steve huffs a laugh. “I’m literally so unscary. Between the two of us, you’re definitely the scary one, man.”

“Okay, maybe,” Eddie concedes. “But I was internally panicking when we first met, ‘cause like, you had your muscles and your cool hair, you’re built like a fuckin’ greek god, man, and I look malnourished in comparison. And then I was accidentally rude to you the very first time we talked, and after that I just kept digging myself deeper into the asshole-hole.”

“Greek god, huh,” Steve points out, trying to cover up his own blush with a smirk.

Eddie glares, but the playfulness it holds makes something in Steve’s chest flutter. “Not what you were supposed to focus on.”

Steve laughs. “I mean, I wasn’t the best roommate either. I shouldn’t have brought people over without letting you know.”

“You know that was the first time I saw a girl fully fucking naked? And it was because I walked in on Steve Harrington going down on her? Shit was traumatizing, dude.”

Steve’s mouth opens with realization. “That makes so much more sense. I’m sorry for offending your poor gay eyes.”

Eddie snorts. “Apology accepted. I’m sorry for being stupid.”

“Apology accepted,” Steve repeats easily, nudging Eddie with his arm.

When it gets late enough that both of them are yawning consistently, they call it a night and Steve reluctantly leaves Eddie’s bed to take the three steps to get to his own. When they shut off the lights, Steve strains his ears to find Eddie’s steady breath, and lets it lull him to sleep.

Come Saturday morning, there’s a new letter on the floor. Steve stops himself from jumping out of bed and scrambling for it, sparing a glance over at Eddie’s sleeping form as he quietly picks it up instead, opening it and vibrating with anticipation.

“I was just going to stick to holidays. It’s not very special if you get them every day, is it?”

Steve raises an eyebrow as he reads. He quickly prepares his own note—“I don’t have the patience for that. The semester’s almost over, will I find out who you are before then?”—and slips it under the door. He gets back into bed and opens his phone, telling Robin immediately.

dingus: Good morninggg bbygirl

boobin: wtf
boobin: dont ever call me that again

dingus: Good morning bitch.

boobin: better
boobin: goodmorning slut

dingus: I got another letter

boobin: already ???

dingus: Yeah
dingus: Guess they got the memo
dingus: ALSO
dingus: HUGE NEWS
dingus: my roommate and i are no longer sworn enemies

boobin: !
boobin: what changed?

dingus: I’ll tell u about it when we facetime later
dingus: But turns out he never hated me he just didn’t know how to talk to me

boobin: woww
boobin: wait u said this man deals weed right

dingus: I think so? Not 100% sure
dingus: He smokes it tho

boobin: but he’s not gay

dingus: Oh no turns out he’s like openly gay lol
dingus: Idk how I missed that
dingus: Why do u ask?

boobin: j curious

The last three weeks of the semester flies by in a flurry of finals stress, basketball meets, due dates, and more letters. They start coming every day at random times, but Steve is never able to catch anyone lingering suspiciously outside of their door. Still, whenever he sees the letters on the floor, his heart skips a beat, excitement bubbling. He can’t help but look forward to it. The box under his bed grows fuller, and he starts to write a copy of his own responses down, just so he can remember what he said.

“If I’m being honest, I used to hope not,” was the next note, now also a simple piece of paper rather than a card in an envelope. “But I’m not sure anymore.”

“What changed for you?” Was Steve’s response.

“I realized there’s a chance you could like me back.”

“You like me?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’ve liked you since I met you.”

“So we’ve met? You should tell me who you are, I promise I won’t judge.”

“I’m scared you’ll be disappointed if you find out. I’m scared I’ll scare you away.”

Their letters go back and forth, and no matter how much Steve asks—he’s begging, at this point—the person refuses to share anything. For a brief moment, Steve thinks it might be Chrissy—she fits the description—but for whatever reason, Robin disagrees so vehemently she manages to convince Steve that it’s definitely not her without really giving that many reasons as to why.

But where things stagnate for Steve and his secret valentine, it prospers for Steve and Eddie. Suddenly, it’s like they were never awkwardly tense around each other for months on end, the barrier between them shattered like glass.

Steve, Eddie, and Chrissy hang out when they can and stick together at parties, but Chrissy cares more about getting a good grade than they do and often encourages them to go without her. And it’s so easy to spend time with each other when they live together—Steve studies just enough to pass while Eddie works on his final projects, and when they take breaks they swivel their chairs to face each other and just talk.

There’s also many repeats of that first night, laying on Eddie’s bed, sometimes with weed and other times without. On the night where Steve offers the joint he’d gotten from his secret admirer, feeling bad for using Eddie’s supply, he updates Eddie on the letters and complains about how badly he wants to find out who they are.

“I literally do not care who they are anymore,” Steve had griped. “They like me enough to keep this going for this long, you know? And that’s like, so flattering, but just tell me who you are already! At this point I don’t think I’d even gag that hard if it was Jason Carver.”

Eddie choked on the joint and coughed heavily. When he recovered with Steve patting his back, he said, “It’s definitely not Carver. It—there’s just no way.”

And later, with Steve nicely buzzed and tired from the day, he falls asleep. He doesn’t remember when he drifted off, only that Eddie had been getting quieter and their conversation was slowing to a stop. He half-wakes in the middle of the night with a leg dangling off the small bed and Eddie curled into his side, his weight on Steve’s arm keeping Steve from falling off to the floor. Steve grumbles and scoots closer, picking up his leg and laying it over Eddie’s, seeking his warmth.

When he wakes again in the morning, Steve is trapped with Eddie’s weight entirely on top of him. He looks down and can only see hair, but he feels Eddie’s breath puffing on his neck. Steve is immediately alert, blood rushing to his face quick enough to make him dizzy for a short moment. He flounders, trying not to panic and wake Eddie up, and hesitantly places a hand on his back. Eddie makes a small, contented noise, and nestles even closer.

Eddie eventually comes to, rubbing his eyes and yawning, not yet realizing what he’s lying on top of. Then he freezes, and scrambles to get up, propping himself up with two hands on Steve’s chest and straddling his hips, alarm and mortification on his face.

“Good morning?” Steve tries.

“Shit,” Eddie blurts, and falls off the bed.

They don’t really talk about it, even when it happens again, and again, and again—all by accident. Still, it creates something between them, something tense, yet not like the strain they used to have. But the school year is ending, and there isn’t the time to put a name on it.

By the last week of the semester, the letters stop coming.

Steve is confused, and more hurt than he really should be. He tells himself he’s just annoyed that he never got to figure out the mystery, that he didn’t even get a response to his last note—“I could see myself liking you, too”—but he can’t deny that some part of him hoped it might actually go somewhere. When he’s cleaning his room and packing everything up, he shuts the box of letters and contemplates throwing it away. Instead, he puts it in one of his suitcases, zipping it closed and solidifying its trip back to Hawkins.

On the last day of school, Eddie leaves first.

They had hung out with Chrissy the night before and said their goodbyes to her then, promising to stay in touch and maybe meet sometime over break. Steve had his last meet of the year earlier and shared a friendly group huddle. And now, after going up and down the stairs to load all his boxes into his van, Eddie grabs the last bag and turns to Steve.

“I’m gonna head out now,” he says softly. Steve looks up from packing his own bag, quirks a smile, and strides over to give him a hug.

“Drive safe,” Steve says.

“I live like twenty minutes away,” Eddie murmurs. “I should be telling you to drive safe.”

Steve laughs quietly, then sighs. “I would’ve never said this a month ago, but I’m gonna miss living with you, man.”

“I really should’ve gotten my shit together before housing applications closed, huh?” Eddie jokes into Steve’s shoulder, but it’s a little bittersweet.

Steve pulls back to look Eddie in the eye. “Next year, I’m gonna force you and Chrissy to hang out with me all the time. You can’t get rid of me now.”

Eddie chuckles. “I’m looking forward to it.” He squeezes Steve’s forearm and pulls away reluctantly. “I should go.”

Steve nods. “Alright, yeah. See you around, Eddie.”

Eddie flashes him one last smile, and then he’s gone.

Steve takes a look at his side of the room, now barren and lifeless without all of his posters, trinkets, and organized chaos. He sighs and returns to packing, now looking forward to leaving.

Not long after, though, there’s a knock on his door. Steve looks over, and there’s a small slip of paper on the floor. His heart starts beating harder on cue, and he goes to open the door first, checking to see if he can spot his admirer. But the halls are clogged with students and families ready to go home, so Steve closes the door and picks up the paper, his rising annoyance immediately doused by surprise.

On the paper is simply a phone number and a bat doodle.

Steve scrambles for his phone and puts the number in, hesitating for a split second before hitting the call button. He paces as he listens to the dial tone, but before it can ring a third time, the call hangs up.

Steve frowns, ready to call it again, but stops when he gets a text message.

Unknown Number: hi steve
Unknown Number: ngl i didn’t expect u to call me

Steve gapes at the message.

steve: Hello??
steve: Why would I not call you

🦇: kinda defeats the whole secret thing doesn’t it

steve: So I’d recognize you by voice?

🦇: definitely

steve ❤️: What happened this week?
steve ❤️: Why didn’t you respond?
steve ❤️: And why did you give me your number now?

🦇: woah there
🦇: im sry i didnt respond
🦇: i had a realization is all

steve ❤️: Does it have anything to do with what I said in the last note

🦇: a little
🦇: but i was already having Thoughts

steve ❤️: What kind of thoughts?

🦇: look leaving u my number was kind of a spur of the moment thing
🦇: i was leaving and realized i shouldve given it to u way earlier
🦇: and also that this whole leaving letters thing was kinda stupid
🦇: and i overcomplicated this so much for myself

steve ❤️: Does that mean you’re going to tell me who you are?

Steve waits for a response, but doesn’t get one. He finishes packing, stuffs everything into his car and returns his room keys. When he gets into the driver’s seat and is ready to leave, he checks his phone one last time and sees no new messages from them.

steve ❤️: Hello??

He huffs and turns his phone off, and begins the drive back to Hawkins.

The first thing he does when he gets back to his house is get tackled.

“Welcome home, Steve!” Dustin shouts into his ear as everyone else cheers behind him. Steve stumbles and laughs, pulling the kid into a tight hug.

“Did you get taller, Henderson?” Steve exclaims, ruffling a hand through his curly hair.

Dustin beams up at him. “1.6 inches to be exact!”

Suddenly, Dustin is being torn away, and Robin shoves him unceremoniously to the side, sticking her tongue out at him. “Stop hogging Steve!”

Now it’s Steve’s turn to do the tackling. He pulls Robin into a bear hug and lifts her up, spinning her in circles until she shrieks and demands to be put down, even as she wraps her arms around him just as tightly. When he lets her go, he holds her by the shoulders and just stares for a happy moment, before shaking her in his excitement.

He makes his way through, getting a hug from everyone except Mike, who Steve forces into one. As Joyce fusses over him and asks him question after question, Hopper calls for everyone to help unload Steve’s things. Steve begins to protest, but Joyce shuts him up by pinching his cheeks.

“I hope you don’t mind that we let ourselves in,” she says. “The kids wanted to surprise you, and I wanted to get the food prepared before you got back.”

Steve’s mouth opens, half-smiling with disbelief and fondness. “Course I don’t mind. You made food?”

“Everyone brought something,” Joyce confirms, letting go of his cheeks to hold both of his hands. “Don’t look so surprised, we did the same thing last year!”

Steve can’t help it—he pulls her into another hug. “Thank you so much. You know I appreciate it.”

Joyce hugs him back easily. “We’re doing the same thing for Johnathan and Nancy tomorrow. I know you probably want to get settled in, but—”

“I’ll be there,” Steve assures her. “Just let me know when and where.”

Joyce smiles up at him, giving him an affectionate pat on the cheek. Lucas barges back inside holding a box clearly too heavy for him, so Joyce rushes over to help him carry it. For a moment, Steve lets himself watch his family bumble about, listening to them shouting playfully outside, contentedness sinking into his chest and warming him up. He’s home, he’s happy, and he has his family. The pieces of his heart are finally together again.

But for some reason, he feels like he left a piece back in Indianapolis, caught under the door of his dorm room.

🦇: check ur mailbox

It’s been a week since Steve came back to Hawkins, and he’s just about done unpacking everything. He had returned to his place in their group like he never left, driving the kids around again and spending way too much time with Robin. The only real change is that he’ll often get texts from Chrissy, and though he is happy to see notifications from her, each one reminds him that Eddie never did give Steve his number.

He spends a lot of time thinking about it; too much, probably. But he can’t wrap his head around why Eddie wouldn’t want Steve to contact him when they had been getting along so well, when Steve would consider him someone important even with only three weeks of being friends. Maybe Steve was too ready to love someone at the drop of a letter, and that scared Eddie away the same way Steve had thought he scared his secret admirer away. Until on this late morning—after a week of silence—they text him again.

steve ❤️: Wtf is ur problem

🦇: im sorry
🦇: im sry i ghosted again but i didn't know how to answer ur question and i thought abt it a lot and honeslty theres sm i wanna say and it didn't feel good enough over text
🦇: so check ur mailbox please

steve ❤️: I don’t see how over letter is that different from over text

🦇: its not over letter

Steve goes downstairs, frowning as those last words repeat in his head. He toes on his shoes and opens the door, then lurches to a stop when he suddenly finds himself face to face with Eddie Munson.

His eyes are wide and nervous, and he looks a little sweaty, with a bouquet of crazy daisies in one hand and a red envelope in the other. When he sees Steve, he smiles shakily and tries to stand a little taller.

“Eddie?” Steve exclaims, perplexed.

“Um. Hi, Steve.” Eddie greets anxiously.

Steve stares at the vividly colorful flowers. “What—what are you doing here? How did you find my house?”

“I asked around. Your friend—uh, Robin, I think, she was working at the video store you told me about—she gave me your address,” Eddie explains, eyes darting between Steve’s, looking for something. When he doesn’t find it, he takes a big breath and holds out the envelope in his hand. “This, uh—this is for you.”

Brows furrowed, Steve takes it, and freezes when he sees his name written on it. He looks up, astonished, then back down at the all-too familiar handwriting.

“What?” Steve breathes. “This—What?”

“Open it,” Eddie urges. Steve looks at him again, and Eddie nods towards the letter, chewing on his lip. Steve tears the envelope open with shaky hands, revealing yet another card with a simple red heart and “Happy Valentine’s Day” printed in the middle of it, but with hand drawn bats scattered around the print. He opens the card and reads the very simple message written inside:

“Will you be my Valentine?”

Steve’s eyes stop and get stuck at the signed bat, his mouth parted as his mind races and his heart flutters like letters in the wind. Eddie—he just—Eddie is—

His head snaps up and he takes in Eddie’s sheepish, antsy expression, and he knows.

“You?” Steve blurts.

“Me,” Eddie agrees guiltily. “I’ll explain—”

“This whole time? It was you?”

Eddie’s face falls. “Yeah. It was just me. I’m sorry if you’re disappointed—”

“No,” Steve interrupts. “Not that. I just—I can’t believe I didn’t—How the hell did I not figure it out?”

The tightness in Eddie’s face dissipates slightly. “I don’t know. It’s easy to leave and take notes when I know your schedule, I guess. Honestly, I thought you had me figured out every time you brought it up.”

Steve forces himself to stop gaping, shaking his head like a dog to clear his thoughts. “But we only just started to get to know each other. You’ve been leaving these since—since March.”

“Steve,” Eddie says softly, a fondness creeping into his nervous expression. “I’ve liked you for a lot longer than that.”

And then it really hits Steve. All of those letters, the little notes and texts, they were all Eddie. Every word, every doodle, every compliment. Every “I like you”.

At Steve’s floored expression, Eddie runs his free hand through his hair and continues. “I knew who you were in our freshman year. It was hard not to know you, you know? You were friendly and popular and so handsome, so I always admired you from afar, in class and at parties.”

“We shared a class?” Steve interjects. “How come I didn’t notice you?”

“Art History. You took it for the humanities credits, and weren’t in class half the time,” Eddie answers, with a reminiscent smile. “Anyways—it was just this stupid crush ‘cause I found you hot, right? But then we got roomed together, and I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

Eddie rubs his hand over his face. “Everything I told you before, about wanting to be your friend but fucking it up, it was all true. But—” he huffs a frustrated breath— “Even though we ignored each other most of the time, I kept learning things about you. I’d hear you on the phone with your best friend and know how much you cherish her. You’d tell her about how much you hated your major, but did your best anyway to try and make college not miserable. You’d get facetimes from all of these kids constantly, and you never complained or declined their call, even if you had a mountain of work to get to. There was so much about you, and I really, really wanted to learn it for myself.

“I was gonna give you a letter on Valentine’s Day, to apologize and ask if you wanted to start over, maybe grab lunch with me sometime. I was too scared to say anything about a date, but I thought it was a good first step.”

Steve considers him. “Why didn’t you?”

Eddie frowns, his glare real but not pointed at Steve. “People started knocking on the door. Suddenly, there was a whole pile of fucking gifts and letters for you, and I was just another plebeian vying for your attention.”

Comprehension dawns on Steve. “And that's why you started leaving letters for me after that.”

Eddie nods, but he seems annoyed at himself. “I shouldn’t have done it. I should’ve just told you in person everything I wanted to say in the letter. But I was jealous, and I was scared you would say no because you already said yes to someone else. I left my letters unsigned so I could tell you everything I wanted to without dealing with the consequences, but instead I just made things harder for both of us. I’m—I’m so sorry, Steve.”

Steve takes Eddie in, his downcast eyes and tense frame, braced for rejection. He sees how Eddie’s lashes cast a reaching shadow on his flushed cheeks, how his lips are bitten red and swollen. How the bouquet of daisies that he still holds to his chest clashes horribly with his black tank and red flannel tied around his waist. He looks Cupid-sent.

“Did you mean it?” Steve just has to ask. “What you said in the letters?”

“Every word,” Eddie professes, and the earnestness in his eyes tells Steve it’s the truth.

Steve gently pries the flowers from Eddie’s hand, chest warming at the confused pout Eddie gives. He takes a moment to appreciate the bouquet’s scent, then sets it down on the floor. He straightens and moves closer, resting his arms on Eddie’s shoulders and giving him a big, pleased smile. Eddie’s hands immediately come up to hold his waist, but his face twitches in a myriad of expressions—mostly surprise and confusion, and maybe a little adoration.

“Yes,” Steve answers resolutely. “I would love to be your Valentine.”

Eddie’s face finally settles on a disbelieving, ecstatic grin. “Oh, shit! Really?”

Steve laughs, and he would roll his eyes if he weren’t incapable of pulling them away from Eddie’s beaming smile. Instead, he presses his forehead against Eddie’s, allows an uncontrollable smile to pull at his lips, and kisses him.

Eddie makes a small noise like he can’t believe what’s happening, and melts into Steve, his hands moving up Steve’s back, pulling their torsos flush, and his mouth easily falling open. Eddie’s lips radiate warmth from being bitten and his tongue is smooth against Steve’s, mouths locking together with the same ease their bodies share on the nights they fall asleep together. Eddie whines when Steve pulls away, chasing after him for another chaste kiss.

Steve takes a moment to appreciate Eddie’s blown-out pupils. “Just so you know, I would’ve said yes back then, too.”

Eddie hides his head in Steve’s neck, groaning quietly. “Don’t tell me that. I’m still processing the fact that you said yes now.”

Steve forces Eddie out of his hiding spot by cupping his face in his palms, then peppers kisses across the bridge of his nose and forehead until Eddie laughs. He changes tactics and returns to Eddie’s mouth, kissing him slow and tender, feeling how his hands tighten on Steve’s back.

“How long are you staying?” Steve murmurs along Eddie’s jawline.

Eddie gasps helplessly. “I, uh—I didn’t plan that far ahead.”

“Stay for a while, then,” Steve decides for him, nibbling at his neck. “You wanna come in?”

“God, yes, please—”

Steve detaches his mouth from Eddie’s skin to scoop up the bouquet and lead them inside hurriedly, the bang of the door closing behind them like Cupid’s arrow finally, finally finding its targets.

Eddie 💌: im here

stevie ❤️: U can come in the doors unlocked

Eddie 💌: i can’t
Eddie 💌: ur kids are gonna eat me alive

stevie ❤️: Prob
stevie ❤️: You’ll get used to it

Eddie 💌: ??????
Eddie 💌: what if they hate me
Eddie 💌: will u break up w me if they hate me

stevie ❤️: They won't hate u
stevie ❤️: U play their dungeon game that already puts u higher than me on the cool list

Eddie 💌: u didn’t answer my 2nd question

stevie ❤️: Well
stevie ❤️: If they call a code red on u I have no choice but to reocnsider

Eddie 💌: CODE RED??
Eddie 💌: wtf does that mean
Eddie 💌: steve pls
Eddie 💌: asfjksdhkajs
Eddie 💌: mayb ill just come back after tey leave

Steve pockets his phone with an exasperated yet fond sigh, standing up from the couch and heading to the door.

“Where are you going?” Dustin calls from the dining table, where he and all of the kids are setting up their game, their excitement lighting up Steve’s otherwise drab house.

“I’ll be right back,” Steve assures as he steps out.

“That didn’t answer my question!”

Steve closes the door on him with an eye roll. He immediately spots the van parked on the street and walks over with a smile, seeing Eddie sitting hunched over in the driver’s seat, tapping away on his phone and making Steve’s vibrate constantly in his pocket. Steve knocks on the passenger seat window, and Eddie yelps, dropping his phone on the floor. He realizes it’s Steve and quickly rolls down the window, face reddening but trying its best to look displeased.

“Stop spamming me,” Steve says adoringly, leaning on the door.

Eddie sticks his tongue out. “Stop ignoring me.”

“It hasn't even been a minute,” Steve protests lightheartedly. “Are you gonna sit there and complain, or are you gonna kiss me?”

Eddie grins, undoing his seatbelt to lean over the center console to press a kiss to Steve’s cheek, then lips. Steve sighs into it, getting onto his tippy toes to lean closer, hands braced on the window ledge.

“I missed you,” Steve murmurs against Eddie’s mouth once they part. “Was the drive okay?”

“I missed you too.” Eddie runs a hand through Steve’s hair, just to make him pout. “There was a little traffic, but it’s all good. And now I get to live with you for a week, just like old times.”

Steve brightens, remembering. “Did you see the email earlier?”

Eddie nods happily. “You’re stuck with me for another year, big boy.”

“I can’t believe they approved the change,” Steve hums. “I can’t wait.”

They smile, taking each other in as if they’ve been separated for ages when really Steve had just driven to Eddie’s not even two weeks ago to spend the weekend. But this new thing between them is wanting and insatiable—the moment they gave it a chance to grow, it has hungered for more.

“Are you done?”

Steve startles, turns around, and is greeted by an impassive Max with her hands in her pockets.

“Max? I said I’d be right back, you couldn’t just give me a second? You ever heard of privacy?”

She raises her eyebrows into a sarcastic expression. “I sure have.” She sticks a thumb back at Steve’s house. “They haven’t, though.”

Steve looks over, and sure enough, catches six heads at the window ducking out of view. His hands find their place on his hips, and he gives the kids an unimpressed look when they try to peek again.

“Thank you, Max,” Steve sighs. Max, who had been glaring at Eddie and making him fidget in his chair, cracks a smile and snorts.

“Stop hiding in your creepy van, nerd,” she says to Eddie. “You’re holding up the game.”

Once she’s back inside, Eddie lets out the breath he was holding. “Okay. She’s cool as fuck.”

Steve smiles proudly. “She is, isn’t she?”

“Are they all like that?”

“Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

Eddie looks instantly nervous again. Steve huffs and walks around to the driver’s side, opening the door and pulling Eddie out, forcing another yelp out of him. Unable to help himself, Steve pulls Eddie into his embrace and kisses him again, keeping it sweet and short so that his kids won’t send another—god forbid, Erica Sinclair—to drag them inside. Eddie complains when Steve breaks off the kiss, making him laugh.

“We’ll have all week to do whatever we want,” Steve promises. “Come on, they’ve been wanting to meet you for forever.”

“Alright, alright,” Eddie concedes, stealing one last peck on the lips. “Lead the way, sweetheart.”

And now, with Eddie at his dining table, laughing and shouting with his kids, creating a lively chaos for Steve to envelop himself and stay in for the long run, he feels his heart beat steady in his ribcage—warm, content, and whole.