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“Munson, you’ve got a call!”
Eddie lifted his head and stared at the roadie. He made a gesture towards the stage the band had just walked off. “Uh, kinda busy?”
Roadie, uh Tyler… Taylor… Trevor… T-something shrugged. “Told him that. But you said to always let you know when Henderson calls and he said to tell you it’s a Code Red, Code Red, Code Fucking Red.” T-something scoffed. “Said to say exactly that.”
“Shiiiiiit,” Eddie was already heading to the green room. “Shit, shit, fuck, shit.” He was still swearing when he picked up the phone. “Dustin Henderson, someone better be fucking dying or I swear to god I will shove my foot so far up your-“
“It’s about Steve.”
Eddie felt like there’d been a bucket of ice water thrown over his head, all the sweat from performing to the packed stadium chilled on his skin.
Even now, seven years, five albums, two Grammy nominations and a country-wide stadium tour later, the name made Eddie’s heart race.
Steve Harrington. The one who got away.
Or more accurately, the one who got awkward and told Eddie he wasn’t “like that” but that they could still be friends. Best friends, Steve had said, his sweet eyes pleading.
Eddie gave up on bravery on that day. It got you torn to bits, one way or another; he had the scars and tear-stained notebooks full of song lyrics to prove it.
“Dustin-” Eddie started.
“Steve’s there at your concert.”
Eddie froze, even though he heard the knocking on the green room door telling him it was time to go back for the encore. “Henderson, I have to go.”
He could see the look of frustration on Dustin’s face as if the kid was standing in front of him, newly sixteen again, sweating in the late summer heat and begging Eddie to not leave Hawkins without saying goodbye to everyone.
There were the occasional phone calls back home, to Dustin, Uncle Wayne, Max; the calls to Nancy in Boston or Robin in New York City, Jeff and his family in Chicago, Gareth and Will Byers settled together in Indianapolis; it felt like every single one had the shadow of Eddie’s heartbreak lingering over them.
None of his friends were idiots; they all knew that Corroded Coffin’s big break came from the songs off their first album; the ones that were all about how Steve broke Eddie’s heart so thoroughly that even seven years, five albums, two Grammy nominations and a country-wide stadium tour later, Eddie was still writing about it.
Having your heart ripped out of your chest was a lucrative songwriting technique. Who knew?
Dustin’s been rambling while Eddie strolled down memory lane.
“-saw how unhappy you are-“
“Wow, hold up,” Eddie frowned. “I’m very happy. I’m rich as fuck, playing music to sold out crowds. It’s all I ever wanted.”
Dustin huffed. “We both know that isn’t true.”
In the part of Eddie that he tried to ignore most days, he knew what he was doing wasn’t healthy. He hadn’t been so skinny since coming out of the hospital after two years scraping coupons together to make Wayne’s paycheck feed two men. Eddie ate because he had to or because he was at a restaurant or become someone put a plate of food in front of him, but he didn’t find pleasure in even foods he’d loved before.
He was also lucky, some guys and gals in his orbit fell into drugs and alcohol and never found their way back to the surface. Drinking since he could find a corner store with a lax policy on IDs, alcohol never got a stronger hold on him and while Eddie tried every drug, some of them for a while, none stuck around because all highs faded eventually, and he wanted one that never would.
Eddie spent a lot of time alone; told everyone he preferred it this way. “No one to bitch at me to do laundry or steal the remote,” he’d grin when asked. It had been three years since he’d had anyone stay more than a night with him. Girls, guys, didn’t matter. Speaking of…
Eddie groaned. “Look, Robin and Nance both told me all about Harrington’s triumphant coming out of the closet last year. Bisexual; so he can flirt with everyone instead of just chicks. Hooray for Harrington. So what? He doesn’t want me and that’s that.” Eddie shouted over his shoulder at the insistent knocking. “I’ll be right out! Have the rest of the guys go play something, Jesus H Christ,” he muttered as he took his hand off the mouthpiece of the phone.
“Name the drummer of your band.”
Crossing his free arm over his chest, Eddie said, “I have to go play an encore to a crowd of adoring, drooling fans. Bye, Henderson.”
“WAIT!”
Eddie hissed. “What fucking for? So you can point out that I don’t have a single one of my original bandmates because they all realized that after the second album, the label started taking creative control and the only thing I get to write anymore are the weepy fucking ballads about how Steve Fucking Harrington fucking finished me off after Vecna’s bats didn’t complete the job.”
He heard Dustin’s upset inhale, but Eddie kept going.
“So now I just play with whoever they can find because I don’t even care anymore. All the fancy parties and drugs and canned jokes presenting awards to others since my shit hasn’t been award-worthy since 1989 have completely worn me out and sometimes I wish-“ Eddie cut himself off. “I have to go.”
“One thing, promise me one thing!”
Eddie shrugged, even if Dustin couldn’t see him. “Would you like me to dedicate a song to Harrington? Toss him my guitar pick?”
Dustin’ scowl was audible. “Listen to him. When he…. When he tries, just listen to Steve, okay Eddie? Promis- no, Upside Down favor, I’m calling in my Upside Down favor.”
“That was seven years ago, man.” Eddie had, rather surprisingly, woken up in the hospital to find a large, relieved and vaguely angry group of teenagers surrounding him. Apparently, Nancy had been prepared and stashed first aid kits in both Hawkins and the Upside Down, doing chest compressions until Eddie’s heart started again. He still felt a twinge in the two ribs she’d broken saving his life, every now and again. The scars looked metal as hell, but they still ached in cold weather.
Dustin had been so distraught, thinking Eddie had literally bled to death on his lap, that Eddie had told him that he could have one ‘no questions asked, no price limit, illegal or not’ favor.
And now Dustin was calling it in so Eddie would what? Say hi to Steve Harrington in person? Fake a smile like Steve didn’t have hours of music telling him how much Eddie loved and resented him for that love as the feelings ebbed and flowed? Pretend they were the ‘best friends’ Steve had told him they could still be?
“Fine, state the terms.”
Dustin breathed out heavily, as in relief. “When you finish the last song, ask for the house lights to be turned on. Steve’s front row, been saving all year and he like stood in line overnight for the very moment the tickets went on sale. Just… have them turn on the house lights and find Steve in the crowd. Please?”
Eddie ran a hand down his face. “If this means so goddamn much to you, I will look Steve Harrington in the face.”
“And listen to him, well you may have to have security let him onstage to do that.”
More knocking. “I’m coming, I’m coming!” Eddie yelled. “Fine, look at Steve, listen to Steve, whatever. I’ll call you tomorrow and tell you how very anticlimactic this is gonna be. Okay bye.”
Eddie hung up and ran a hand through his sweaty hair. “Fuck,” he said, opening the door and bolting for the stage.
A huge roar met his entrance and Eddie smiled automatically, but it did feel fake, like it did most every night for the past four years. Eddie slung his guitar over his head and launched into the habitual encore he did nowadays. Which brought him up short. Eddie always ended the shows the same way.
His costume was already under his current outfit of heavy leather jacket, to hide the bulk, and tearaway pants. Eddie performed on autopilot, the crowd didn’t seem to notice, judging by how their cheers never wavered.
Then it was time. Time for Corroded Coffin’s first hit. The song that made them… Eddie famous. Shit.
Eddie’s fingers ran over his guitar frets, playing by memory. He sang the words, loud as ever but he could hear the tremble in them, knowing somewhere in that sea of darkness and noise, Steve Harrington was watching Eddie tell the whole world how gutted his rejection had left Eddie.
Actually, he could watch it too, as Eddie handed off his guitar and grabbed the mic from the stand, pulling the secret cord under his jacket and ripping away his pants to reveal a white dress, ragged hems and torn at the same places the bats had torn into Eddie, he pushed a hand to his stomach, activating the blood pack that slowly stained the garment to a vivid red.
Eddie felt like it was the first time, all of a sudden, and the lyrics came out as raw as they did when he penned then, fresh off Steve’s awkward, manly shoulder pat and strained smile.
Eddie felt gutted, truly, as he thought how he’d been mining the same pain for years. Letting his real friends slowly leave him while pretending to be happy around people he didn’t care about.
The last note found Eddie wailing as if something was being torn from him, like ripping off the bandage so the wound can begin to breathe and heal.
“Turn on the house lights,” Eddie said into the small mic built into his earpiece.
The bright lights drew a gasp from the crowd and made Eddie squint.
When his eyes adjusted, there he was. Steve Harrington. His hair a bit longer, wearing a dark red sweater and dark wash jeans to a goddamn metal concert.
Eddie almost wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t. No idea what expression his face was making, Eddie saw Steve hold something up and miming throwing it.
Shooting a look of ‘do you honestly think I will be able to catch that?’ Eddie watched Steve laugh and oh, oh that was so beautiful and so painful it was like looking at the sun itself.
With a mighty jock throw, whatever had been in Steve’s hands skittered onto the stage in front of Eddie.
It was a bracelet, no many bracelets. Friendship bracelets just like the one Max had made Eddie when she was working on redeveloping her motor skills. It sat on his wrist even now, a small piece of home he’d never been able to put aside.
Each bracelet had a small nametag on it; the maker, Eddie supposed. Nancy, Robin, Dustin, Lucas, Erica, Mike, Will, El, Gareth, Jeff. One was holding them all together and its tag read Steve. It was black and red braided leather with heart beads and a bat charm in the middle.
Eddie raised his eyes and Steve held up his arm. A matching bracelet sat on his wrist. Matching bracelets, like the matching scars from the demobats.
“Brunette guy in red sweater with the bracelet in the front row,” Eddie said into his earpiece, “let him up on the stage. He’s a… friend. I know him.”
The stadium’s cheers seemed to quieten as they noticed Steve being brought up to stand in front of Eddie.
Close up, Eddie could see the slight frown lines on Steve’s forehead and the very beginning of crow’s feet around his eyes.
But that smile, that earthshattering smile, was the exact same.
Steve stopped half a step away from Eddie, letting him decide what to do next.
Like it was even a decision. Regardless of what the bracelets and the heart beads meant, the months of bonding and drinking and calling each other at ungodly hours just to make sure they’d both survived the bats; that was impossible to leave behind, no matter how Eddie had tried. Regardless of the pain and empty one-night stands and the bitter lyrics that Eddie’s life had become.
Eddie threw himself bodily into Steve, trusting Steve wouldn’t let them fall over.
A moment of silence, then a huge roar sounded from the audience. No one there could possibly have known what this hug meant, but they all seemed to know it was important.
“I missed you,” Steve said, voice wet and shaky. “God, Eddie, I’ve missed you so fucking much.”
Eddie pulled back just enough to see Steve’s tears falling down.
Steve didn’t cry. He didn’t cry when he was bleeding out, when he was grieving, even when he first saw Max in the hospital before she woke up.
But here he was, tears streaming down his face and falling onto Eddie’s costume, just because he’d missed Eddie?
Steve pulled Eddie back in, whispering, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was so stupid. So scared.”
“Scared?” Eddie said back.
“Of what I was feeling for you,” Steve said. “Of what it meant to be… to be in love with you.”
Eddie started back. “What?”
Steve kept a hold on Eddie’s arms. “I was so fucking stupid. I should have said yes; I should have… have kissed you that night. I should have, god Eddie, I should have taken the fucking chance. I should have been braver.” He met Eddie’s eyes. “Like you.”
Brave was not a word usually associated with Eddie. Even after trying to distract the bats, he’d felt more stupid than anything. If Nancy hadn’t thought to check his breathing and given him CPR until his heart started again, Eddie would have died in Dustin’s arms. Left behind forever in the Upside Down.
Steve reached out a hand and touched Eddie’s cheek softly, intimately. “I know I broke your heart. I regret that every single fucking day, you have to believe me. I… I tried calling but I never had the courage to leave a message. Whenever you picked up, I just… wanted to hear your voice, but could never speak.”
“Steve?” Eddie couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Maybe, just maybe he thought they could try to rebuild their friendship. Maybe Steve was tired of hearing Eddie screaming out his pain and wanted Eddie to stop. But this? This… confession was not even remotely in his list of Things That Could Happen under The Munson Doctrine.
Steve Harrington sure loved proving Eddie wrong.
“I love you, Eddie Munson,” Steve said, staring intensely at Eddie, like he was trying to carve the words into the air. “I have loved you for so goddamn long and I’m sorry it took me this long to… to accept that. If I could go back, the ONE thing I would change about all of this,” Steve said, “is I would kiss you that night. Please tell me I haven’t completely lost you. Even if you don’t love me anymore, maybe-“
“Impossible,” Eddie said. He cleared his throat. “It’s impossible for me to not love you. Ever. Believe me I tried.”
Steve huffed a small laugh. “I’d apologize but it’s kinda working out in my favor right now so…”
“Asshole,” Eddie said, a smile slowly breaking out on his face. “Hey Steve?”
As if it was that night in March of 1986, Steve just looked at Eddie, waited for his words.
“Want to be in some headlines tomorrow?” Eddie raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, closing his eyes and praying he wasn’t about to have what little was left of him destroyed.
The crowd was deafening when Steve’s lips slid onto Eddie’s, his hands on Eddie’s shoulders, pulling him close.
ROCK STAR EDDIE MUNSON KISSES MALE FAN ONSTAGE
CORRODED COFFIN FRONTMAN GAY?
GAY KISS AT METAL CONCERT CONFUSES FANS
HAS METAL GONE QUEER?
The various headlines from the morning after Eddie and Steve’s reunion were arranged around a frame with a newspaper photograph someone had taken of their first kiss that night in the center.
“I love it!” Eddie laughed, reaching out an arm and hugging Nancy. “Should have guessed you’d save those old papers, Nance.”
She smiled and squeezed him back. “I figured you and Steve were a bit busy to properly appreciate the absolute frenzy you sent the newspapers into that night. I got woken up at 2 fucking a.m., Munson, and it was all your fault. And yours,” she added with a grin at Steve, perched on the arm of the chair Eddie sat in, never far from his partner’s side anymore.
Eddie raised his eyebrows. “I’m pretty sure we can all agree the blame really falls on Henderson, for calling me and telling me to hear Steve out.”
“Hey!” Dustin shouted. “A little respect, please! I am responsible for all the happiness we are celebrating here today!”
Which was true, as the group had descended upon Hawkins, filling every room in Steve and Eddie’s not insubstantially sized house, to celebrate Eddie and Steve’s wedding.
Well as close to a wedding as two queer men in Indiana in 1996 can have, anyway. Which meant Wayne doing the honors with a mail-ordered ordained priesthood, signing so many boring legal documents, and dancing with everyone in their expansive backyard, champagne and wedding cake frosting still lingering on his tongue.
Eddie may not have paid much attention to the headlines the next morning, too busy holing up in his hotel room as he and Steve made up for lost time. But then most of the concert stops were canceled or protested, then his manager and label sent him packing, and angry churchgoers threw his CDs and cassettes into bonfires (joke’s on them though, cause Eddie still got the royalties for those sales and it wasn’t even the first time that year that the Westboro Baptist Assholes were calling him an instrument of Satan). The bridges Eddie had burned when he kissed Steve onstage that night destroyed the entire rock star life he’d built for himself on the pain he’d carried like a monkey on his back for seven years, five albums, two Grammy nominations and a country-wide stadium tour.
He knew what it was to be feared and hated for something you were not; at least now he was feared and hated for what he was. Eddie had called Jeff and Gareth and they’d all started writing music together again, though Eddie fully retired from the stage.
With nothing to hold him to anywhere else, Eddie packed the suitcase he’d been living out of, sold the house in LA he’d barely spent any time in, and returned to Hawkins with Steve, now the guidance counsellor at Hawkins Middle School.
Turns out love manages to keep him high, even when he’s annoyed at Steve for not listening and climbing on the roof to hang Christmas lights and THAT’S WHAT LUCAS AND MIKE ARE FOR, GET YOUR PERKY ASS DOWN HERE BEFORE YOU FALL AND DIE, DUMBASS!
Now, Eddie’s worst vice was once again cigarettes, which he had given up in May of 1986 because ain’t no cold turkey like hospital cold turkey because hospital cold turkey came with a side of Robin Buckley being one of his new best friends who threw out his cigs as fast as he could try to start up his addiction again. Now on his worse days, all he does is go through cigarettes like, as Robin so kindly puts it, “he’s trying to rewrite War and Peace in smoke signals.”
Luckily, she’d still been in New York, working as a junior translator at the United Nations (as Steve proudly told anyone within earshot because he loved few things more than bragging about his best friend who was SAVING THE WORLD WITH WORDS), when Eddie had returned to Hawkins and the comforting smell of coffee and cigarettes that was his uncle’s home.
He and Steve had taken it slow, once the initial frenzy wore off. Both were skittish and scared at times, but the love they built grew stronger every day.
Three years later saw them here, now, a ring on Eddie’s left hand matching Steve’s; their friends and family, some of whom Eddie hadn’t seen or spoken to in years when he moved back, reunited to celebrate their love, and a home crammed with photographs, mementos, memories, and love; Eddie wouldn’t change a damn thing.
He’s not on his own anymore. He never will be again.