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It doesn’t hurt, is all Steve can think.
His face should hurt. It should hurt like a bitch.
Even if the hit came out of nowhere, one single moment of unbridled rage, Steve can remember the power behind his dad’s swing. How far he pulled back his arm. The second that seemed to last forever, raised hand coming at his face, where Steve thought, oh shit- he’s actually going to hit me.
Steve’s dad has never hit him before, is the thing.
He supposes making it nineteen years, nearly twenty, without incident is a pretty good track record.
He knows other guys’ dads have smacked them around once or twice growing up. He even used to count himself lucky. He’s suddenly struck by a memory from freshman year, Tommy H with an angry red welt on his forehead. My stupid dad’s class ring, he muttered when he caught Steve staring.
Steve turns the key in his car, engine rumbling to life. He can barely hear it over the ringing in his ears. He has trouble backing up out of the driveway, unable to see out of his right eye. He takes it slow, has to take care to avoid running over the flowerbed at the end of the drive. Turning onto the main road, he swipes a hand over his eye, trying to clear away the red.
Steve distantly realizes his dad’s wedding ring must be what broke the skin near his eyebrow, blood dripping incessantly into his eye.
As he drives, he can’t stop thinking about Jonathan Byers.
They’d shared a joint a little over a month ago, talking about Will, talking about Steve and Eddie, talking about what it meant to be different.
“I’ve known about Will for a while, I… I’ve tried to be there for him,” Jonathan exhaled heavily, not looking at Steve head on, “but our dad did a real number on him. On us, I guess.”
“You guys never talk about him. Your dad,” Steve said quietly.
“He’s an asshole,” Jonathan said, tone dark, “he’d throw us around, call Will names.”
“Asshole,” Steve spit, couldn’t help but remember what he said to Jonathan the first- and last- time they fought.
“Asshole,” Jonathan agreed, and he met Steve’s eyes as he passed him the blunt.
He offered Steve a small smile, like he knew exactly what Steve was thinking. “That’s not you anymore,” his smile seemed to say. Steve was helpless to stop the one spreading across his own face in response.
His mind swims back to reality when he rolls to a stop in front of the Hopper-Byers new-old house.
They bought a sweet fixer-upper just a few minutes from the Harrington house after Eleven saved the world (again). Joyce said she liked the idea of her and Hop and the kids building a new home for themselves, literally.
New to us, old in every other sense, Will had mused to Steve while they helped Jonathan tear up rotting wood planks in the wrap-around porch. They compared how many splinters they each got in their fingers once the sun started to set. El even used her powers to get some of the deeper ones out of their skin- a painless process compared to Joyce and a pair of tweezers.
New-old, new-old, new-old. Steve repeats it to himself as he wanders up the stone walkway in a fog. They’ve painted the ancient front door a pale yellow since he’s been here last. It’s nice, he thinks as he rings the bell. Cheerful. New-old.
He distantly realizes he hasn’t prepared a word of explanation when the door swings open to reveal Eleven’s sunny face.
Anything contented about her quickly disappears as she takes in the state of him.
“Why are you bleeding?”
“Hey El.” Steve tries to smile at her reassuringly but it definitely just comes out as a wince.
“Why are you bleeding ?”
“Is Jonathan home?”
She frowns at him, but opens the door wider in invitation- it makes a comically loud squeak in the silence of the moment and Steve finds himself holding back a hysterical laugh. He pats her shoulder as he passes and she puts her hand over his, keeping it there.
“He’s in his room. I’ll get you a bandaid,” El says quietly.
He gives her a squeeze before moving past her down the hallway. He knocks when he gets to Jonathan’s door, barely cracked open an inch.
“Yeah?” Jonathan calls from inside.
“Hey, uh,” Steve pauses to clear his throat, trying not to sound weird, trying trying trying.
“It’s Steve.”
“Oh hey, get in here,” Jonathan says, louder this time, like he’s excited Steve’s here.
The thought makes his throat close up all over again. It took awhile to get here with Jonathan- polite, civil conversation transforming into genuine connection when they were given enough time to just exist around eachother without the world ending- but Steve’s so fucking glad he has him as a friend. Especially now.
He gently pushes the door open and steps in. Jonathan is kneeling on the ground by his bed, the floor around him covered in dozens of photographs. He must have just had these developed, Steve thinks, as he spots one taken only a few days ago.
The picture is Eddie, falling off of Steve’s back, where he’d jumped on so suddenly Steve hadn’t been able to catch him. Eddie has a wide, crazed smile on his face, even as he’s falling. His curly hair is flying everywhere, and the lights from the arcade behind them catch on the silver of his sword earring.
Steve looks kind of insane in this picture. His arm is swung out, hand desperately grasping at empty air as he tries to clutch Eddie’s leg to his waist. His shirt is twisted in Eddie’s fist. His face is what can only be described as pure panic.
He can’t help but laugh a little the longer he looks at the picture, which finally gets Jonathan to look up.
“Woah, what the hell?” He asks, shuffling his photos out of the way so he can stand and step closer to Steve and his bleeding face.
And Steve just really appreciates how Jon isn’t even high but still sounds like he is- so ridiculously, unbelievably calm. Confused, maybe slightly alarmed, but mostly calm.
“Well, my dad hit me,” Steve says, holding his hands out as if to say what can you do, am I right?
There’s a long pause where Jonathan doesn’t say anything, maybe waiting to see if Steve will elaborate. His eyes flick back and forth from the cut- surely a welt by now- to Steve’s eyes.
When Steve remains mute all he says is, “Shit.” He puts his hands on his hips in a strangely Steve-like manner.
“Yeah,” Steve sighs, stepping over some photos so he can sit on the bed. He feels exhausted all of the sudden, like telling someone what happened sucked out all the adrenaline that had been keeping him moving.
“I’ll grab the first aid kit,” Jonathan says, already moving towards the door.
“El was grabbing me a bandaid,” Steve calls after him, and Jon gives him a thumbs up to show he heard him before he disappears down the hall.
The ringing in his ears starts to come back in the silence of the room so he clears his throat a couple times. Being alone with his thoughts doesn’t sound all that appealing so he takes the time to look at the rest of the photographs scattered on the wood floor. He sees one of El braiding Max’s hair, her face pinched in concentration. Max has her face tilted up towards the sun, the most content she’s looked in all the years Steve has known her.
There’s one of Will and Robin having a stand-off in the movie theater parking lot, exaggerated looks on their faces, when they showed up wearing the exact same striped button up.
Another- Dustin pointing aggressively at Mike, mid-argument in the Wheeler’s basement, Lucas rolling his eyes in the background.
Joyce ginning as she pulls a mystery dish out of the oven in their new home. She’s oblivious to Hopper behind her brandishing a fire extinguisher.
Nancy on Eddie’s shoulders in Steve’s pool, her tiny fist raised in victory as Robin topples off Steve’s shoulders slightly out of frame. Eddie’s looking up at Nancy in awe, his wet hair plastered to his face.
This is my family, Steve thinks to himself with a wry twist to his mouth.
That’s why his dad had hit him- why he’d been angry enough to do so. His dad had been running his mouth about the people Steve associates himself with these days-
“-we’ve heard some rumors about your friend Robin, like the ones everyone’s heard about that Munson kid-”
And Steve had surprised his dad, his mom, himself, and the government agent probably listening from a fucking lightbulb in the ceiling when he interrupted the tirade to say, “don’t talk about them.”
His dad just stared at him, actually stunned by his son’s newfound defiance.
“What did you just say to me?” His dad’s voice was dangerously low, and maybe three years ago Steve would have apologized and dropped it, but a lot has changed since then. Steve has changed.
“I said, don’t talk about them. You don’t have any right to talk about them, you don’t even know them. They’re my family.”
That proclamation went over well.
Worth it, Steve thinks now, tracing the bump on his head with the tips of his fingers.
His parents might have fed him and housed him, but everything he knows about family he learned from the people in these pictures. He feels better just being here, in his friend’s room, surrounded by the evidence of so much love. Surrounded by actual photographic proof that this mishmash fucked up group of people are family.
He can see it in the pictures at his feet- Joyce clinging to Will and Mike as they tower over her in a group hug. The softness in Hop’s face as he watches El blow out candles on a cake. Erica desperately trying not to smile at Eddie’s antics- she has her arms crossed, looking down at where Eddie is kneeling in front of her. He has his hands clasped together as if begging for forgiveness.
There’s so much love here.
Speaking of-
He can’t help but hold his breath as his eyes land on a different picture of him and Eddie, just sitting side by side on the couch in Eddie’s living room, Eddie grinning for the camera while Steve-
Steve is looking at Eddie with his heart in his eyes.
No, really- Steve holds the photo closer to his face. Are his eyes shining? Jesus, he might as well have a sign over his head that says I’m in love with this guy in big flashing lights. Everytime he looks at Eddie the sign probably releases little heart shaped confetti and starts playing Air Supply.
If Eddie saw it he’d laugh so hard he’d fall over.
Steve doesn’t look up when Jonathan comes back in, and finds he can’t tear his eyes away from the photo.
“Am I really that obvious?” He asks, tilting the picture so Jonathan can see it too.
“Only sometimes- Eddie’s way worse,” Jon says, completely unphased, setting a washcloth, bandages, and frozen peas on the bed by Steve’s hip.
“What do you mean?” Steve frowns, using the wet washcloth to wipe away the dried blood around the cut that’s finally stopped bleeding. He spots a single Garfield bandaid mixed in with the other bandages- no doubt El’s contribution.
“Dude, look at these. I was setting these aside for you right when you got here- the timing was actually kinda freaky.” Jonathan leans over to the far end of the pile on the ground, grabbing a stack of photos to hand to Steve.
Steve finishes sticking Garfield over the cut on his head and takes the stack. The very first picture makes his heart stutter in his chest.
It’s the twin photo to the one Steve had been looking at earlier- same spot on Eddie’s couch, same clothes, clearly taken only seconds apart- only this time Steve’s looking away past the camera, and Eddie’s the one-
Eddie’s the one looking at Steve softly, his eyes sparkling. He’s smiling, but it’s small, like it’s a secret just for him. He looks lovesick.
Steve sets the photo aside and looks at the next one, and he definitely isn’t breathing anymore. The next one is taken at the diner, Steve and Eddie side by side. Jonathan was sitting directly opposite Eddie and took the opportunity to focus the camera completely on him- Eddie’s chin in his palm as he watches Steve with such undeniable fondness. Steve is gesturing, focus elsewhere, and he remembers now how he was telling some funny story to the girls and Robin laughed so hard she snorted milkshake out of her nose. The next photo is the aftermath- Steve and Eddie with tears in their eyes, mouths open in laughter, holding onto each other for dear life.
Steve starts flipping through the stack of photos faster now.
Steve and Eddie on the hood of the van, Steve too focused on lighting his cigarette to notice Eddie’s eyes on him.
Steve stirring a pot on the stove, Eddie perched on the counter next to him, just watching.
Steve wearing one of Eddie’s Motörhead shirts with the sleeves cut off, Eddie staring at Steve’s revealed ribs looking gobsmacked.
There’s more- probably a dozen or so. Each photo is a different place, a different day, but every single one has caught Eddie looking at Steve like he hung the goddamn moon.
“Jesus Christ,” Steve manages to say, voice impossibly soft.
“Yeah, man,” Jonathan nods, moving to sit beside Steve on the bed. He picks up the frozen peas, forgotten against Steve’s thigh, and presses it to the angry bump forming on Steve’s head. “Wanna talk about it?”
“Which thing? This- ” Steve holds up the photos and shakes them frantically, “or this, ” he gestures at his forehead before replacing Jonathan’s hand with his own on the frozen peas.
“I don’t know, either? Both?” Jonathan shrugs.
“Honestly, I think I came to you about this, ” Steve shakes the frozen bag, “because I knew you’d just get it and wouldn’t make me talk about it.”
“That’s fair. And the Eddie thing?”
“What’s there to talk about?” Steve asks, feeling like he’s in shock.
“I don’t know, maybe about how he’s obviously as in love with you as you are with him but you’re both too chicken to do something about it? No offense,” Jonathan laughs, hands held up in defense.
“None taken,” Steve grumbles.
“I mean, I sort of got you all the ammo you could possibly need right here,” Jonathan continues, tapping the stack in Steve’s hand. “Just show him these and kiss him on the mouth. Problem solved.”
Steve has his head in his hands now.
“This has been a strange day,” Steve says to his hands.
He feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest. He’s not even upset about the fight with his dad anymore- this is so much more than that. He’s overcome with a weird sense of awareness, like whatever he’s about to do is important. He felt it when Dustin accosted him in the Wheeler’s front yard, and again when Robin came out to him on the floor of a movie theater bathroom.
It feels like something is about to change for the better.
He feels Jonathan get off the bed, and reluctantly lifts his head to see where he’s going.
“I’m calling Eddie, right?” Jonathan asks, nonchalant.
“What? No.”
“Dude,” Jon says, and for a guy of such few words, he sure says a lot with one ‘dude’.
And what can Steve even say to that? Of course he needs to call Eddie. The only person Steve wants around him every second of every day is Eddie. Eddie, larger than life, always invading his space and making his face feel too warm. As soon as the thought crosses his mind, he’s a little peeved Eddie hasn’t somehow materialized out of thin air to the spot right beside him on Jonathan’s bed. Eddie is magic, Steve knows- he could do it if he really put his geeky mind to it.
“I know,” Steve whines, deflating.
Jonathan just disappears down the hallway to make the call.
Steve knows when Eddie arrives entirely by the sound of his footsteps. And that can’t be normal, Steve thinks, to know someone so well you can hear the hesitation, the flailing, the panic in the way they run down a hall towards you without even opening your eyes.
A moment of silence on the other side of the closed bedroom door, and Steve wonders what the hell Jonathan even said to Eddie on the phone-
“Steve?”
“Eddie,” Steve says, and he really doesn’t mean for it to come out as sappy and relieved as it does.
The door swings open, and Steve lowers the frozen peas from his head. Eddie rushes forward so fast Steve can barely process the sight of him. He might be convinced Eddie moves through time and space at supersonic speed.
“Jonathan literally just called you. How the hell did you get here so fast?” Steve asks, fighting a smile and losing.
Eddie looks wild, but he always looks wild. His hair is frizzy and tangled in the chain of his necklace. His shirt might accidentally be inside out or it might be some new metal style Steve will never understand. He looks happy to see Steve, though. Relieved.
He sits beside Steve, so close their knees knock together.
“You’ve seen me drive,” Eddie says, teasing. His eyes dart up to Steve’s forehead.
“That bandaid suits you,” He adds, dead serious.
“Thanks, I think,” Steve huffs. He feels warm all over now that Eddie’s right here, but would rather die than move away.
“So what happened? You okay?” Eddie asks, light and gentle in a way he only ever is in private.
Steve opens his mouth, ready to explain what happened with his dad, his head, how he ended up in Jonathan’s room, but what comes out instead is-
“You love me.”
He doesn’t ask. He says it like a fact.
Monsters are real.
I have a bat covered in nails under my bed.
Robin is the best friend I’ve ever had.
You love me.
Eddie is stunned into silence, looking right back at Steve. The silence stretches, but Steve isn't scared. He’s seen the proof, after all.
“Of course I do,” Eddie says eventually, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. He’s unnaturally still and Steve hates it.
“No,” Steve scrambles to press the stack of photos into Eddie’s hands, “you love me, love me.”
He feels childish phrasing it like that, but he can’t come up with anything better to say with the way his heart is pounding. This is how Eddie makes him feel all the time- giddy and young in a way that makes him feel free.
Eddie is flipping through the pictures now, and he must know the evidence is pretty damning. His eyes are soft and he’s smiling.
He’s smiling.
“That obvious, huh?” Eddie asks, and Steve can’t help his burst of laughter at their identical reactions to the photos. Eddie's smile drops, so Steve quickly puts another photo on top of the stack.
“So am I, as it turns out.”
Eddie blinks down at the photo, the one of Steve gazing at Eddie sans imaginary light up sign. The look in Steve’s eyes is enough, though.
“You love me too,” Eddie says, and it’s reverent. He swipes his thumb over the photo, tracing Steve's pining face.
“Yeah,” Steve says, still at a loss for words.
He reaches towards Eddie slowly, so as not to scare him off. For all of his own erratic movements, Eddie tends to startle like a fucking bunny. When Eddie just watches him, face open, Steve tucks some of his hair behind his ear. He’s always wanted to do that, every time it hangs in Eddie’s face and hides his expression. Steve always needs to see his face.
Eddie stands so suddenly that Steve jumps a little.
“Jesus H. Christ this is insane, Steve- Steve, you love me?” He sounds like he can't quite believe it, and he's pacing now, frantically gesturing towards Steve still seated on the bed.
“Yeah, I do,” Steve says, all dopey.
“And! And! I love you! We’re in love!” He’s shouting a bit now, and Steve bites back a smile thinking of everyone in the house hearing that.
“Steve, STEVE, we have been in love. We’ve been in love for- for months!” He’s waving the photos around like a lunatic and seems to be on a roll. Steve loves him so much he might throw up. He puts a hand over his stomach just in case.
Eddie squints at the date on the back of one of the pictures. “Yep, this was before Christmas, I knew it, oh my god, we could have been married with kids by now,” Eddie wails, throwing an arm over his face in mock despair.
He straightens when he hears how loud Steve is laughing and proceeds to take a running start before tackling Steve to the bed so hard they almost bounce off of it.
“This is no laughing matter, Steven!” His voice is booming now, like when he’s playing his nerd game with the kids.
And Steve just basks in it, because he finally knows what it feels like to be loved so much you’re surrounded by it. To be loved by someone one hundred percent in, someone just as ridiculous and crazy about you as you are them. Someone who won’t make you beg, or guess. You just know, because their love is that loud.
Eddie’s love is loud.
Steve rolls them over so he’s leaning over Eddie on his forearms. Their noses almost touch. Eddie looks like all the air has been punched out of him, staring at Steve’s lips.
“I don’t know about the marriage thing, but we definitely already have kids,” Steve says.
“You’re right,” Eddie says, recovering, a smug grin spreading over his face, “How could I forget Henderson, our child of divorce. Oh, how he loves his mother,” Eddie sings, patting Steve’s head.
“I don’t think we’re divorced anymore.” Steve knocks his hand away, eyes roaming over Eddie’s face.
“We skipped a few steps there, didn’t we?” Eddie laughs, cheeks red.
“I think we did,” Steve agrees as he lowers himself closer, “Let’s start at the beginning. I’m gonna kiss you now.”
“Yeah, yep, god, yes,” Eddie babbles, wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck, bringing him in to seal their lips together.
That’s the funny thing about skipping steps, Steve thinks. You usually kiss someone when you like them, or have a little crush on them. Waiting until you’re in love with that person and then finally kissing them? Yeah, the kiss is gonna be off the charts.
He has a distant thought to be grateful Eddie closed the door behind him when he came in. Eddie’s running his fingers through Steve’s hair, tugging him into the kiss this way and that. Their lips slide, meeting again and again. Steve bites Eddie’s bottom lip and Eddie hums, pleased, before biting Steve right back. It’s perfect and electric and Steve’s lips feel like they’re buzzing. One of Eddie’s hands finds its way onto Steve’s waist, rucking up Steve’s shirt so he can feel his skin.
Steve pulls himself away, kissing Eddie once, twice, and a third time just to hear the way their lips smack before sitting up. Eddie’s hand slides off of Steve as he stands, and then Eddie is making grabby-hands at him, pouting.
“We can’t do this on Jonathan’s bed,” Steve laughs, breathless.
“Why not?” Eddie whines.
Steve’s eyes can’t seem to look away from Eddie’s lips- they’re bright red and swollen from all the kissing.
He physically turns his body away and tries to process a coherent thought. He stares at the wall and counts to five.
“We can’t do this on Jonathan’s bed with Jonathan and possibly other family members in the house,” Steve says firmly, showing immense restraint, thank you very much.
Eddie sighs, but he still looks punch-drunk where he’s sprawled out on the bed. That is, until he sits straight up.
“Are your parents home? Unrelated question,” Eddie smirks, pure mischief.
“I’m starting to get why people thought you were the devil,” Steve says, eyes narrow as he fixes his shirt.
“Oh, low blow!” Eddie squawks, then mimes being stabbed in the gut, falling back on the bed.
Steve just fixes his hair in the mirror above Jonathan’s dresser, trying to make himself look presentable. His eyes catch on on the bright orange bandaid on his forehead, and he’s actually surprised to see the injury at all.
He’d forgotten all about it.
He still hasn’t told Eddie what happened. He doesn’t feel the need to, right this second. He wants to savor this moment with Eddie because it’s a really good fucking moment, okay. He catches Eddie's eyes in the reflection of the mirror and wishes he could take a picture of Eddie to remember this- he looks way too good when he's all disheveled.
He’ll tell Eddie later, when he’s ready. Eddie will probably start pushing the matter in T-minus 2 hours, if Steve had to guess.
Satisfied with his appearance, he moves to the bedroom door and pulls it open. He turns back to Eddie, who’s watching him with furrowed brows.
“Don’t forget our pictures,” Steve says, waving his hand to say come on.
“Where are we going?” Eddie asks, lost.
“Your place. Wayne works on Fridays, right?” Steve grins, backing out the door and into the hallway.
He takes a second to watch the bewildered expression on Eddie’s face morph into shock, and then very quickly into something that makes Steve’s skin feel hot. He starts down the hallway, confident Eddie will follow.
He hears a sudden crash behind him, followed by a thunder of racing footsteps that clearly mean Eddie will beat him to the car.