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In the post-Upside Down world of trauma bonding and friendship that forms between Eddie and the ragtag group of Vecna battlers, Eddie finds himself in an unlikely close friendship with Steve Harrington.
Unlikely because, despite everything that had happened, Eddie had still believed they were far too different and Steve was far too conforming to ever want to be seen with the likes of him.
But Steve doesn’t care what Hawkins and the general world thinks. He slides into Eddie’s life as seamlessly as if he’s always had a place there—with him.
And that’s just… it’s too good to be true. Steve is too good to be true.
A funny, sweet, handsome, heroic jock who has done a personality one-eighty for the better wants to hang out with him?
It’s unheard of, but it’s happening and Eddie…he finds he really doesn’t want to ruin it. Doesn’t want to be too much and send this really great guy hurtling away from him.
And just because Eddie believes in being your true self, in saying fuck the masses, he’s also wise enough to know when to hover under the radar.
When to… conform. To be safe. To get to have nice things.
To not lose the company of people—a specific person—that’s he’s really come to… to like.
So, Eddie plays the part, says all the right words, nudges and waggles his eyebrows in all the right places.
Eddie honest to God works hard at it for over a month and he actually thinks he’s doing a pretty decent job of it. Right up until Steve says one sentence that blows his convictions out of the fucking water.
He announces it during an afternoon hanging around the trailer—during a conversation they’ve just had about the group of girls who had walked into Family Video yesterday afternoon.
“Dude,” he says, like it’s easy and nothing, “you don’t have to pretend to be into chicks just because I am.”
Time slows down. The world stops. Eddie’s heart migrates to his fucking shoes.
"W-What?" Eddie stutters out, feeling the harsh zing of panic bolt down his spine, making his hands clammy and his body tense with the urge to run.
"Yeah, dude. It's cool."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Eddie insists, but his voice is high-pitched and not doing him any favours.
Steve shoots him the most disbelieving look he thinks he's ever seen.
"Eddie. I've spoken to like, dozens of guys about chicks. You don't act like any of them. You've got like, all the wrong cues, man."
Eddie doesn't realise he's hyperventilating not until Steve is crossing the space and gently touching him, telling him to match his breathing the way he does after a nightmare—and just like after a nightmare, he grips Steve's arms and tries to stay grounded.
But this is a different type of terror—the same terror that had him complimenting girls and trying so fucking hard to fit into a place beside Steve. A place where he notices boobs, lip-gloss-coated mouths and short skirts. A place where he doesn’t notice chest-hair, muscled arms or thighs, and the sweetest boyish smile flashed his way.
And while he is not getting that sweet, boyish smile flashed his way, he is getting Steve’s warm strong arms holding him close. Holding and caring for him—calming his panic as if the implication of queer hasn’t just been thrown between them.
“Jesus Christ,” Eddie whispers, when he finally has enough air in his lungs.
"You okay, man?"
"No," Eddie snaps, faintly trembling and with no fucking filter at all. "You fucking... you outed me and told me I'm fucking obvious to people in this homophobic bastard town, the fuck man?"
Steve has the grace to look sheepish, to run his big strong hand over the back of his neck. He looks so apologetic and cute.
And fuck, but he just admitted it, didn’t he? Outright agreed with Steve’s assessment like a fucking idiot, but—
“Sorry, man,” Steve mumbles. “I just like… I wanted to say it’s cool. It’s not a big deal.”
“It’s not a big deal I like dick?” Eddie demands, heart still pounding with lingering panic.
“I mean, yeah?” Steve says, looking adorably confused. “We’re friends, man. And you just,” he frowns, “you always look so… not-you whenever you try and talk about girls.”
Eddie still feels jittery, still feels like the rug is going to be yanked painfully from beneath his feet—but he’s also confused by what the fuck Steve means.
“What is ‘not me’? What the fuck is that?”
“It’s just like.” Steve looks into the distance like he’s trying to put it into words. “You just… talk, but it doesn’t have your, like, energy?” He glances back and grins. He then lightly and playfully punches his arm. “D&D gets you more excited, dude.”
Eddie flushes with embarrassment, he can’t help it. Because yeah, shit. It does get him more excited than any girl ever could. And as if reading that truth on his face, Steve just grins wider.
“So, like, stop embarrassing yourself man,” Steve teases but he also squeezes Eddie’s arms. “Just, be more you, yeah? Be comfortable, and like, don’t do it when I know you don’t want to.”
Eddie glances away at that, fidgeting with his shirt.
And it’s… fuck it’s a lot. He’d never really, never seriously imagined Steve’s reaction if he found out he was gay. Mostly, he’d been hellbent on keeping the jock from working it out. Because he hadn’t wanted to picture the hate, the flinching or the disgust. He equally hadn’t wanted to picture acceptance and get his hopes up.
But Steve is… Steve is here. Still close, still smiling, still liking him.
It’s both happiness and hell on his ever-deepening crush on the other boy.
“Still shouldn’t have fucking dropped that on me,” Eddie grumbles. “Hell man, I thought I was going to have a heart-attack.”
He glances back at him, but unlike the deepening apology he expects to see on Steve’s face, the former-jock is frowning.
“Steve?”
“You said that earlier. That I outed you.”
“Yeah?” Eddie replies. “Because you kind of did, Steve. Just out of nowhere told me I was a neon spotlight of gay.”
“Yeah, but…” Steve trails off, frown deepening. “You already told me you were gay?”
Eddie stiffens. “I absolutely did not.”
“But you did!” Steve insists. He finally lets Eddie go if only to poke him in the chest. “At the hospital, man. You told me.”
Eddie blinks rapidly, trying frantically to cast his mind back to that hazy, horrible time—because, frankly, he tries his absolute best to forget most of it. The pain, the nausea, the sea of doctors and the blurry image of Wayne’s face as he clutched his hand and cried over him like he was worth all the tears.
(He does think, sometimes, about the good parts. Waking up that time to Steve’s hand clasped in his own, the former king half-asleep on his bed, head resting by his thigh.
The way Steve and Robin, Nancy and Jonathan and all the kids had piled into his room whenever they could, keeping him company, sneaking him books along with a Walkman and some metal cassettes.
That was the start of what he’d learned would be a dozen friendships.)
But as he casts his mind back, struggles to think about the darker moments, he can vaguely recall Steve looking at him with surprise, Eddie’s hands clasping Steve’s. He’d said something, but he doesn’t know what.
Fuck.
Shit.
Had he really confessed to Steve months ago while high as a fucking kite and recovering from blood loss and bat bites?
“I don’t remember,” he mumbles.
“Oh,” Steve breathes, looking as surprised as he probably does. “Shit. Well, um, yeah? You like, told me? A couple of days after you woke up? You had taken my hand and were playing with my fingers? And then you stopped and said something like ‘oh shit, I am way too stupid to be doing this.’ You let my hand go and when I asked, you told me it was because you were gay and you shouldn’t hold a boy’s hand without telling him that.” Steve shrugs. “I said it was cool and thanks for telling me. Then you said something about how it sucked you couldn’t hold my hand anymore.” Steve smiles. “I told you that you were an idiot and held your hand.” He tilts his head. “Didn’t you think it was weird I kept holding your hand after that?”
Yes, Eddie had thought it was strange, but he had determinedly said fucking nothing for fear that Steve would stop. He’d also written it off as Steve still being touchy after his near-death. He’d seen Steve and Robin all over each other, and the way Steve had kept squeezing Dustin’s shoulder and all the other kinds of touches everyone else had gained.
He’d assumed that Steve was just doing the same thing with him, only, in a better and far luckier way for his queer heart to enjoy. And when he’d left the hospital and it had stopped, well… that was when Eddie had implemented his plan to ‘talk about girls’.
Now though, Jesus Christ, now it has a whole new meaning that makes his heart ache differently and his eyes prick with tears.
Because Steve Harrington had heard he was gay, taken it in stride, and when he’d been sad that he couldn’t hold the boy’s hand, Steve had offered it anyway.
“Shit,” Eddie whispers, feeling his heart squeeze and a lump form in his throat. He also rubs his stinging eyes.
And Eddie doesn’t know what expression is on his face, but the last thing he expects is for Steve’s hand to leave his arm and take the one he hasn’t fully lowered.
And there it is. Steve Harrington, holding his hand. Squeezing it gently and smiling like he isn’t doing something that should be solely reserved for girls—not emotional queer metalhead boys.
But just like the hospital, Eddie says nothing. He just sits and stares at his pale, ring-adorned hand linked with tanned, freckled and strong Steve Harrington’s.
“Eddie,” Steve says into the quiet that has fallen.
“Hmm?” He hums, still not quite ready to break the moment.
“Was all this?” He makes an encompassing gesture with his free hand that Eddie sees from the corner of his eye. “This girl stuff. Was this so I wouldn’t find out?” Eddie glances up and, oh no. His big brown eyes look wide, sad and hurt and that is unfair. “Were you afraid to tell me?”
And Eddie does not know the nice way to say it. To say: yes, I was afraid. Afraid you’d hate me, pull away from me, work out I like you so fucking much. Because you are painfully straight and horrible sweet and I’m so horrendously gone on you.
But instead of those answers, Eddie finds his gaze dragging back to the warm palm pressed against his own.
He hasn’t held a boy’s hand before, not really. The hospital doesn't count. And Indy doesn’t cater to sweet moments like that. Hawkins sure as hell doesn’t either. And fuck but he really, really doesn’t deserve it. Or Steve Harrington.
“Eddie?” Steve asks, sounding concerned.
Eddie doesn’t look up, he turns their linked hands over, staring at Steve’s knuckles, wondering not for the first time how they’d feel brushing over his cheek. Or how Steve’s fingers would look linked between his own, or how they’d taste between his lips.
“Eddie?” He says again, worry mounting.
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” Eddie whispers, saying the words before he really thinks this whole thing through.
He shifts his thumb, brushing it ever so gently over the back of Steve’s hand.
“We already covered this at the hospital, man,” Steve says, gently squeezing.
Eddie’s lips twitch, a there and gone again bitter smile.
“Nah,” he says, pretending to be calm when he feels the complete opposite. “I shouldn’t be holding a boy’s hand. Not when he doesn’t know I’m…” his breath catches. He holds onto the sweet, perfect, too-good moment. "Into him.”
The silence is deafening. He also feels Steve’s hand go slack against his and Eddie’s lips twitch again, but he forces himself to let Steve go and stand up.
He doesn’t look at the jock on his couch.
“Let yourself out, okay?” Eddie mumbles.
He then walks past him and to his room, pushing open the door and going straight to his bed. He falls down on it, landing on his stomach, bouncing with the motion and shutting his eyes.
Why the fuck did you do that?
He lays there, berating himself and the stupidity that came with confessing to his straight, gorgeous friend.
Had to ruin a good thing didn’t you? Couldn’t just hold his hand, accept that he knows you’re gay and doesn’t care. No, had to go the extra fucking mile and—
His thoughts stop at the sound of feet scuffing the floor at the door of his room. He tenses and opens his eyes, staring at one of the posters on his wall.
“Is that why you didn’t tell me?” Steve asks quietly.
And. Well. Shit.
“Yeah,” he admits. “And, you know, general fear of homophobia.”
“Right.”
He waits, but instead of leaving, Eddie hears Steve pad closer before the bed dips. He can’t help looking over his shoulder. Steve is sitting with his back to him, looking at the opposite wall.
But fuck, he’s right there, almost in touching distance.
Holy shit. Has he not completely ruined everything? Is Steve actually okay with this?
He nervously licks his dry lips and dares to cautiously turn over onto his back, making it easier to look at the other boy—for his leg to brush Steve’s back and Steve doesn’t even flinch. He turns and looks at him, pretty face furrowed with thought.
Eddie offers a small, uncertain smile, and just like that, the confused furrow smooths out for determination. Steve is suddenly swinging around to sit cross-legged on his bed.
He’s also leaning forward and before Eddie can react, Steve’s hands are clasping his own. Eddie’s heart trips in his chest and his eyes go wide. He stares at his hand clasped by Steve’s.
“Um, Steve?”
“Yeah?”
“I did, um, say I was into you, right? Like full blown queer crush and everything?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh…” Eddie whispers. “Oh, okay.”
And yet, somehow, Steve is still on his bed holding his hands. That doesn’t… doesn’t really make sense, like, at all.
“Right,” Eddie mumbles. “So, hey, um, gonna, like, explain? Because, I, uh, am really trying to work it out. ‘Cause, you know, hope is a real fucking bitch.”
His hand spasms in Steve’s, he can’t help it, and Steve strokes the back of it and fuck.
“Right, Steve,” his voice is getting too high-pitched, too nervous. “Um, kind of need you to tell me you’re straight right now, or I’m going to overanalyse the fuck out of this, and I really don’t need the heartache, okay man?”
Steve is back to frowning, to staring at his hands around Eddie’s.
“I don’t know,” he admits, softly. Finally looking up and meeting Eddie’s gaze. “But, I could find out, with you, if you wanted?”
Eddie’s eyes go as wide as fucking saucers and he abruptly scrambles up. Steve flinches but doesn’t let go, and Eddie doesn’t stop until he’s kneeling right in front of Steve doing his best not to lean all the way in like he desperately wants.
“Find out?” he breathes, like it isn’t something straight out of his more wistful fantasies. “You want to find out with me?”
Steve cringes, his shoulders hunching. “If you don’t want—”
“Like fuck I don’t.”
He’s all but vibrating out of his skin, palm no doubt clammy in Steve’s but holy fucking shit. Straight boy Steve Harrington is willing to give dudes a shot? To give them a shot with him? Christ, that has to mean there’s a bit of queer in him, right? That he’s even considering it?
And a bit of curiosity might turn into something more, couldn’t it?
Steve bites his bottom lip and Eddie has to hold himself back from swaying forward and taking over—nibbling that perfect little pout that’s haunted far too many of his dreams.
“Steve,” he breathes, like everything hangs on this moment. “Steve, come on man. Please. Do you mean…?”
He trails off, just watching the other boy, and Steve’s gaze flicks to him, darting over his face and Eddie knows Steve has always been better with actions than words, but it doesn’t mean he’s at all ready—able to believe it, when Steve leans forward and presses that perfect mouth against his.
Eddie sucks in a breath before he’s shutting his eyes and pressing back. He breaks one hand away, tentatively touching Steve's cheek and then, when there’s no resistance, cupping it. Eddie kisses him gently and sweetly, trying not to rush when all he wants to do is tackle Steve to the bed and kiss every part of him.
When they break apart, Eddie doesn’t open his eyes, he stays there, feeling Steve’s breathes, smelling his cologne and savouring the moment, just in case it never comes again.
“Huh,” Steve exhales.
Eddie peeks open one eye carefully, but Steve’s expression is thoughtful—an expression that changes to a gentle smile when their gazes meet. Steve squeezes his hand and Eddie’s breath catches, his heart swelling.
“Do you wanna find out more at the movies?” Steve asks.
Eddie is startled into a laugh, and when he grins, God, it fucking hurts his cheeks with the size of it.
“You asking me on a date, Harrington?”
Steve shrugs, careless and easy.
“Guess I am.” And then, with an insufferably smug and ridiculously hot smirk, he adds. “You going to say yes, Munson?”
Eddie feels the distinct and pathetically un-metal urge to squeal, to drop back on the bed and flail around like a fucking idiot with pure and unabashed excitement—but he has some restraint, some God damn cool points left.
So, he dares to place a hand on Steve’s chest, fingers curling in his shirt and feeling a hint of all that delicious chest-hair through the material.
“I think I can pencil in a cute boy like you,” Eddie answers. He winks. “It’s your lucky day, sweetheart.”
And even though Eddie feels like he is the lucky one, when Steve squeezes his hand. When Steve smiles at him, honest and relaxed and says, “Yeah, looks like I am lucky.”
Well, Eddie can only thank everything in existence for really good drugs, his lack of filter and a pretty boy jock who never once hesitated to hold his hand or call him on his inability to ever like girls.