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The whole reality of the major change in Eddie’s life doesn’t fully hit him until almost two whole weeks after it happened.
It’s laundry day, Eddie’s turn this week because last Saturday was Wayne’s. Eddie’s barely conscious when he stuffs the load of colors into their washing machine; he set the alarm for 8am just to do that and hasn’t had any coffee, since the plan was to go back to his bedroom and catch a couple more hours of sleep while the clothes are in the wash.
So it’s only when he awakens the second time this morning, consumes a giant mug of caffeine and sugar and starts digging the clothes out of the machine, that he actually looks at the items. It’s mostly Wayne’s stuff; the majority of Eddie’s own clothes, minus some colorful socks and boxers, will be going into the next load.
But there’s also a bright yellow sweatshirt. A striped green polo. Light blue jeans that make Eddie’s cheeks flush as he remembers exactly what landed them in the laundry basket. A somewhat brighter blue T-shirt that Eddie came home in two days ago.
His boyfriend’s clothes. Boyfriend. Boyfriend!!!
Eddie’s grinning like a loon the entire time he’s hanging the items outside to dry in the sun. It’s so stupid, the way he’s practically vibrating out of his skin as he secures a pair of Steve’s clean socks to the line with some clothespins, the way this becomes the moment of Eddie’s fully-blown epiphany that he’s dating Steve Harrington. That it’s all been real: that flustered confession two weeks ago, full of bewilderment on Eddie’s part about how Steve was anxious about him possibly not reciprocating (like Eddie’s blind, or clinically insane, Jesus Christ); that soft first kiss, short and clumsy because Eddie was shaking so hard they had to pause for a minute; that movie night when neither of them paid any attention to the screen, and how his first time getting naked with another boy was nothing like Eddie had imagined (he was pretty sure there shouldn’t be this much giggling happening, and yet that did nothing to ruin the mood).
It’s probably the way Steve’s presence tends to make Eddie’s brain go offline every time. Especially when he’s naked; and oh boy, has this been happening a lot lately. And Eddie’s been known to have a very active imagination, so however silly it is, every time Steve goes back home or Eddie leaves his place after staying overnight, the memory of their time together feels a bit surreal in the light of day.
But no, he hasn’t imagined any of it. There’s tangible proof of it now, right here, in the simple domesticity of washing clothes that Steve’s been leaving at his trailer, trading them for Eddie’s shirts and sweatpants and dear god, even his underwear. And when Eddie finally starts on the load of darks, it’s noticeably smaller than usual. Of course it is. Because a whole bunch of his own clothes are at Steve’s place right now.
The thought induces another wave of giddiness in Eddie, and it’s just his luck that his uncle finally decides to wake up in that precise moment to find him dancing in the kitchen as he’s cracking some eggs for an omelet and humming Bon Jovi, of all things.
“Hmm,” Wayne grunts behind Eddie’s back, making him jump and sheepishly cease his performance. “Make that a double, would ya, son?” He asks, reaching for the coffee, and Eddie hurries to grab more eggs from the fridge.
He’s still smiling. He doesn’t think he can physically stop doing that.
“Don’t think I remember you ever being in such a good mood on laundry day, of all days,” Wayne remarks, taking a seat at the counter. “Did Steve stay over?” He asks with a knowing smile.
“Nah, sleepover with Robin. She was getting all sulky about me apparently hogging her best friend.”
“Well, she’s not wrong. I’d be concerned about you two accidentally fusing into one single organism, if it weren’t so adorable. Ah,” he sighs dreamily, “young love.”
Eddie blushes and rolls his eyes, but his smile only grows. He’s well aware of what’s really beneath his uncle’s teasing jabs.
“Shut up if you don’t want your eggs extra soggy, old man.”
Wayne just cackles and continues sipping his coffee.
***
With nothing better to do while the clothes are drying outside, Eddie drives over to Steve’s place. Screw Wayne and his insinuations, but Eddie hasn’t kissed Steve in over forty hours now, and that’s just unacceptable.
So that’s what he does the moment Steve shuts the door after letting him in. And keeps doing as they stumble upstairs, and then spends at least five more minutes on in Steve’s bedroom. Steve keeps making these little happy noises in his throat, warm pliant body leaning into Eddie’s as they make out on top of his bed; Eddie’s not sure how he managed to survive without all this for so long.
No, not the past forty hours, thank you very much, he’s not that pathetic; he means the entire four years of high school, when he’d just walk past Steve Harrington in the hallways every day and… not kiss him. Unthinkable. Feels like something from another life.
“How’s laundry day going?” Steve asks a little breathlessly, grinning up at him, when the need for air finally makes Eddie unstuck himself from the other boy’s face.
“Boring,” Eddie lies through his teeth, with a matching grin of his own. He rolls onto his back and says, as casually as he can muster, “Way more colors than the Munson household usually goes through. Wonder why.” He gives Steve an amused look, and Steve chuckles, moving to sit up.
“Oh yeah, I ran some of your stuff through the wash earlier, too. It’s all here, if you need it,” he says as he walks over to his dresser and opens the top drawer.
Eddie hops off of the bed and crosses the room in two quick strides to join him. The drawer’s half empty, and it’s all his own stuff, probably smelling like Steve’s fancy fabric softener, all clean and neatly folded, his black Metallica T-shirt and orange Garfield socks on top; and he clearly remembers that this particular drawer used to hold Steve’s sleep T-shirts and workout clothes, which seem to have been relocated elsewhere, which means…
Eddie has to bite on his fist to muffle a completely humiliating squeak that comes out of his throat. It’s his drawer. His own drawer. At his boyfriend’s place. How is this his life right now? It’s almost, almost worth the whole Vecna bullshit, and the bat scars, and the nightmares, because he doesn’t think him and Steve would have ever crossed paths without it all.
There’s arms winding around his waist from behind, and Steve’s chin resting on his shoulder, and a kiss pressed to his scarred cheek, like Steve gets it. What this means to Eddie.
Still, trying his best not to make any assumptions, Eddie asks, “Wanna trade for it? Your stuff’s still drying, but I could bring it over tomorrow, if you want.”
“What for?” He can feel Steve shrugging against his back. “We’re both over at each other’s houses all the time. Might as well keep some stuff to wear. Not that I don’t love borrowing your clothes,” he smiles, nuzzling at the side of Eddie’s neck and raising goosebumps, then chuckles. “But I swear, if I ever have to spend a day at work in your skinny-ass jeans again I think my junk’s gonna fall off.”
Eddie laughs and twists around in his arms, hands sliding down inside Steve’s back pockets, just because he can.
“Hmm. No wonder, that’s way more meat than my jeans ever needed to handle.”
Steve narrows his eyes. “Are you calling my ass fat?”
“No,” Eddie grins. “It’s juicy, there’s a difference.” And his hands squeeze and knead to make a point, ‘cos fuck it blows his mind that he gets to do this, touch Steve this way and make him fall apart.
“Jesus, you’re a menace,” Steve rolls his eyes, like he didn’t just shamelessly moan in Eddie’s face.
“Mhm,” Eddie nuzzles the tip of his nose. “But I’m your menace.”
“Unfortunately,” Steve deadpans, but the way he licks into Eddie’s mouth, the way he lifts him up onto the dresser and presses into him, it all says otherwise.
***
It’s only several hours later, when the first droplets of this evening’s forecast rain start hitting the windowsill outside, that Eddie jolts upright from the cozy cocoon of his boyfriend wrapped around him on his living room couch. That nagging feeling that he’s forgotten something finally takes shape. Has it been mentioned that his brain tends to turn to mush around Steve?
“Oh no.” He turns to Steve, wide-eyed, and giggles sheepishly. “The laundry.”