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Steve doesn’t have a great memory, everyone knows that. Enough hits in the head and you eventually get a bit stupid. Or- stupider than he was before. The memories come and go like flashes, most of the time. And he never remembered much of his childhood anyways. But the memory was loud and clear, this time. The rain was hitting his windows, and he could feel himself tense up. Because the memory was only clearing.
The house was big and empty enough to echo. Steve was only eleven years old, but by then he had already learned to fend by himself. His parents weren't around all that much, Steve understood. They both had jobs to keep him fed and under a roof, no matter how cold the roof felt. Steve was used to it, really. It was fun, even. He had the house all for himself, all the rooms and all the bathrooms. He could sleep in any bed he wanted as long as he made sure to keep it tidy, just in case his parents did come without notice. And he could use any bathtub, too. His favorite was the one from the guest room, because it was a small bathroom and didn't feel as suffocating as the rest.
He could eat anything he wanted, too. But he had to keep a healthy diet because he was a 'growing boy', like his mother told him. And because he didn't want to gain much weight, his mother always complained when she did. So he learnt to cook, and he learnt to start the dishwasher, and the washing machine. He even learnt how to vacuum.
What his parents hadn't taught him, however, was what to do in the case of an apocalypse. Because it sure felt like one. Steve had been napping, even though he shouldn't so he could get proper sleep at night. But he had been playing outside for most of the day, even though it was hard to do it by himself, and he couldn't wait for tomorrow to play with his friends at school. There was not much for him to do at home, even though he had all the toys he wanted. It was boring to have no one to play with. The most fun he had alone was climbing trees and playing in the dirt, even if his parents never allowed him to. They weren't there, they couldn't stop him. It was the only thing in Steve's head, while he sunk his fingers into the soil, that they weren't there to stop him. Every now and then a fleeting thought would come, fear spiking within him because what if his parents did come along? They never did, not without notice, because the Harringtons didn't like surprises. But what if they did? And they found Steve all dirty and messed up. Those thoughts alone were enough for him to go shower, and wash his clothes too. Even if he could feel the sleep and tiredness clawing his way behind his head, he made sure to fold up and save the laundry before finally passing out on the couch.
And, once again. His parents had taught him many, many things. But never what to do in case of an apocalypse. The door to the backyard was open, because Steve liked to let the air in, but a strong gust of wind had snapped it closed, and the noise was startling enough to wake him up. Steve jumped, eyes taking their time to focus properly. It was late, and dark, because he had fallen asleep just before the sun went down, and he had forgotten to turn some lights on. Though suddenly, the entire room was lit up, just for a second, before a loud thunder made both Steve and his house shake. He shrieked, because it had been loud enough to rumble through his entire house, and his heart was beating out of his chest. His arms held tightly on to the nearest pillow, but then there was another strong gust of wind coming in.
It wasn't just wind, Steve figured. It had to be something more sinister, because it had blown the curtains away, hard enough for the heavy, now wet fabric to push at a vase, making it fall from its place in the small reading table. It was one of his mom's favorites, and if he didn't feel bad enough already, the house was lighting up once more, only to be followed by another thunder.
Steve was not stupid. He knew what thunderstorms were. Hell, he had dealt with them many times. But this one felt different. It was louder, stronger. Scarier. He cried out, allowing himself just a moment of helplessness before charging into action. It didn't matter how helpless he was, no one would show up. No one ever did show up.
So Steve stood, on shaking legs and trembling fingers, pillow still hugged close to his chest, and closed the window that had snapped open. The wind pushed and resisted against him, and Steve gathered all the strength an eleven year old could muster and closed it.
He made sure to lock it, before turning on the lights. The vase was torn to pieces by his feet, and he let go of the pillow to pick each one up, even as his body flinched to the next thunder.
The floor was wet, and Steve was barefoot. The water felt cold beneath his toes, but the rest of the house felt colder. If he paid enough attention, he would realize he was shaking, not sure if it was because of the cold or of the fear. If he paid enough attention, he would realize it was because of both. But Steve never paid enough attention, that’s what all the teachers said.
He wondered if his parents would pick up, if he called. He doubted they would. But, still with shaking hands, he tried. He tried five times, before giving up. They never picked up. No one ever did.
At some point, tears began streaming down his face, but he ignored them, because his parents didn't like it when he cried and he didn't want them to hear him sniffle. He hung up the phone before going to grab a mop. Determination was strong in his bones. Except that the kitchen was empty. Big and empty and scary. His determination faltered. And then it was lighting up entirely, light coming in from the windows; and Steve stood by the door for five lightning before he could move. Each passing one scared him more. By the second one, he was imagining something appearing out of nowhere and attacking him. He pictured the exact way it would devour him, the next time the kitchen lit up it would show up and jump at Steve; it would bare its teeth and snarl at him before just eating him up, leaving only his bones for his parents to find, if they ever did come back home. He pictured it leaving a mess of blood and guts mixed in, too. And all Steve could think about, besides this scary creature, was the mess. There was a mess in the living room, and now there would be a mess in the kitchen, and his parents never liked the mess.
So by the fifth lightning, he was snapped out of it, because he had to clean up. He turned on the lights and picked up the mop, thankful the power hadn’t gone out just yet.
Steve dried and cleaned. Like he had learnt to do. He dried and cleaned until there was not a single thing out of place. He even tried gluing the base back together, though it would crumble each time one of his shaking fingers poked it the wrong way. It was so fragile, Steve realized. His house was full of fragile things that would break if he moved too much. He was meant to be still. To be good. He had always been good, had always behaved. He could try gluing it again tomorrow, his parents wouldn't be home yet.
But he didn't have the guts to go upstairs, to his room, because the stairs looked dark and cold. Once more, he stood frozen, facing a darkness he couldn’t bear. He pictured a new monster this time, one made of shadows and whispers of every mistake he ever committed. It would wrap itself around him and Steve would not even scream, would not make a fuss. It would take him with him and keep him in the dark, all alone, for the rest of his life.
If Steve had paid enough attention to his memories, he would realize his mind was filling up for all the real monsters he did encounter. But Steve had never paid enough attention.
There were no blankets on the couch, his mother would say they were tasteless and encouraged a nasty habit (sleeping on it), but the way to his bedroom was far and dark, and the noises were still too loud. He was sure they'd be louder upstairs. The basement wasn't an option, because that was even scarier. He was never allowed to go into the basement anyways.
So he slept on the couch, shaking, because the house was cold and empty and there were no blankets on the couch and he was still afraid his parents would show up. What he pictured this time was his mother shouting. Shouting about the vase, and about sleeping on the couch. Shouting about how Steve was a brat that did not listen, while his father shook his head and gave him that look. His father never spoke up, but the way he looked at him was enough to make his hairs stand.
But whatever was upstairs was scarier. So he slept on the couch. And he knew, deep down, that his parents wouldn’t come in the morning. That he would fix the vase, or buy a new one. And that he would clean the leaves that must have flown to their driveway. Still, by the time he managed to actually fall asleep, all he could hear were his parents’ screams.
Thunderstorms for the Munsons were a whole different thing. Eddie loved them. It wasn't new that Eddie Munson liked it loud and heavy. Even when he was a kid, he had always been so fascinated by thunderstorms. He would sit by the window, watching the lighting and counting the seconds for the thunder. He would feel enamored by the shape of the lights, he could stare out the windows for hours. When Wayne was home, he would take him outside. He would let Eddie get his clothes wet and dirty, and he would laugh at him from the safety of the small roof outside the van. Once Eddie would take all his energy out, Wayne would offer him a cup of something warm, and he would sit next to him on the porch, watching the lightning.
Wayne would explain to him that the more separated the thunder was from the lightning, the further away it was. He would make Eddie count, and then he would calculate just how far it was. Eddie loved it. Whenever a thunder took too long he would giggle, say something about ‘How can it be that far?’, and Wayne would explain that thunderstorms were just a big, big cloud passing by.
The roof to their trailer was made out of metal, the raindrops would sound heavy and thick from inside. Eddie loved it. He would think about the sky giving him his own private concert. He pictured angels with guitars, each strummed chord sending a wave of rain down his roof. It was silly, but Eddie was only a kid with big imagination, and Wayne never called him dumb for it. He would laugh, and nod, and say ‘Sure, kid’ and that was the end of it.
Which is why Eddie didn't understand why Steve was tensing up the way he did. They had been watching a movie, and Eddie had barely noticed it started pouring. He didn't know what the Harrington roof was made out of, but the fancy materials didn't let any noise in. Not that Eddie could notice, at least. But Steve was... he seemed scared. And they weren't watching a horror movie. He'd understand the horror movie and thunder combination having him on edge, but they were watching some silly comedy and really, you could barely hear the thunder from here. It was puzzling to decide whether it was better to speak up or to ignore it, but everyone knew he couldn't ever stay quiet.
"Hey. You okay?". Eddie tried. And he had to be careful, because he knew Steve wasn’t the type to open up. Even after spending so much time together, he barely knew anything about him. It was weird, whatever they had. Ever since Vecna, the party just fell closer than ever. And Eddie was now part of it, too. He guessed that people almost dying would make them closer. What he couldn’t have guessed, though, was the deal with Steve. Because after they cleaned his name, he would expect them to only see each other whenever the kids wanted them to, by asking rides or wanting to have a big hang out.
It was weird, the first time Eddie came by the Harrington residence. Well- not the first time. He knew Steve, he knew the parties. He would always make a shit ton of money whenever he sold at his parties. But he didn't really know Steve, and he didn’t really know his house. Steve had opened the door and behind him was a house that looked out of a magazine. Eddie hadn’t realized before, between the mess and the crowd. But it was almost creepy. There was no life to it, it seemed. The walls lacked pictures and there was not a single thing that looked out of place. Steve was weirded out by his presence, but he got away with it by saying something about the King and his presence.
It all came natural, afterwards. They fell into it easily. They enjoyed their company. Steve would laugh at whatever Eddie would say, and Eddie would laugh at whatever bitchy reply Steve had to offer. Eddie loved it. He found himself coming over at least once a week, and then twice a week, and now it was the fourth time this week he had been over the Harrington residence.
Steve simply nodded at his question, waving a hand at him in signal to drop it. But if there was something Eddie couldn’t drop, it was what he had been asked to do. Damn him, he was a brat. Whatever. There was something wrong with Steve and as his friend who totally did not have a crush on him, he deserved to know what was going on.
Eddie didn't miss the way Steve was hugging his knees to his chest now. And Steve never sat like that, so he fully turned to him now, so Steve wouldn't be able to escape his eyes. He even moved closer, close enough for one of his knees to be poking at Steve's side.
"C'mon, Stevie. Do you want me to pause the movie?". It was like a switch. Magic words. Steve shook his head, finally being vocal and loud like Eddie wanted him.
"No! No. Sorry. Just—" Steve stumbled over his words. "Don't pause it".
And that was even weirder. Eddie wanted to shake him. Why was he so tense? It was making him squirm.
"Steve. C'mon. Something's clearly up".
Then a loud thunder struck, and Steve closed his eyes tight enough to leave him blind. Eddie took a proper look at him, noticed the shake in his fingers, the tint on his cheeks. Was he embarrassed? Scared? It had slowly started to click. Because there was no way he was scared of the movie, and he had only started acting this way when it had started to rain.
"Stevie. Are you— Are you scared? Of the rain?". It was tentative, because Eddie didn't want to strike a nerve. Steve didn't look like it, but Eddie had learnt that he could be quite sensitive. Even if he didn't show it, even if he bitched about it, even if he tried to hide it. They had been spending so much time together, fallen into each other so easily, it was hard not to notice these sorts of things. Steve didn’t like to open up.
And so Steve stilled once more. Because he was embarrassed. He was embarrassed out of his mind. He was okay with rain, usually. Especially when kids and noise and lights filled up the house. But now they were quiet and in the dark and yes, he was terrified. And it was stupid. Far too stupid. Being scared of a storm at his old age? Hell, he had fought monsters. He had ripped a bat's head off, for God's sake! It was so stupid.
Eddie wasn't looking at him like it was stupid. He was looking at him like he was curious, more than anything. Like he was actually concerned, not ready to make fun of him. It wasn’t weird. Because Eddie rarely made fun of him, and he always worried. But it was hard to believe, when no one had worried just as much before. And Steve felt comfortable enough to admit that yes, he was terrified of the storm. So he nodded, but he couldn't look him in the eye quite yet.
"I—“ Steve started, sighed, “I know it's stupid, okay? Steve Harrington, scared of a little thunder. Don't— You can make fun of me all you want". Even if he knew Eddie wouldn't, he still felt defensive.
"No, no. Hey. It's not stupid, Stevie". And Eddie was looking at him with those stupid big eyes. And they looked kind, and worried. And so beautiful, Steve could get lost in them for hours. And he was telling him it wasn’t stupid, exactly like Steve knew he would do. But it was always such a relief, whenever Eddie was… nice.
"It's not stupid. I'm scared of opening my refrigerator at night because I always think a monster's gonna come out and eat me". It was enough to make Steve smile, and the thunder didn't sound so loud anymore. He couldn't help but lean closer, body now turned to him. Because it was easy to open up to him, to get closer, to let Eddie reach for him.
"That is kinda stupid". Steve said, now with a smile that Eddie returned. It wasn’t stupid. They had faced monsters, it was normal to fear them. Steve was scared of his pool and of rainstorms too.
"That's not fair, Harrington. I confide in you my deepest secret and you make fun of me? You wound me, Stevie". His words were accompanied by him stabbing his own heart, making Steve giggle. And now Eddie was smiling brightly, because Steve's giggle was the most beautiful sound he ever got the privilege to hear. And he wanted to hear it forever. So he had to try harder.
Eddie gasped. "And you're laughing about this too! You're a mean dog, Steve Harrington". As he spoke, he sat on his knees, to make himself taller.
"I can't believe that the retired King Steve is back to make fun of a poor soul like me. What are the peasants going to think!". He faked a trumpet sound. And Steve was cackling now. He was ushering him to sit back down, tugging on his shirt to pull him down. But Eddie was relentless.
"It is I, Edward Munson, who announces that Lord Steve Harrington is still, in fact, a little bitch". He was loud, louder than the thunder, and Steve couldn't stop laughing. Until he tugged on his shirt just the right way, making him fall backwards down the couch, letting out another gasp, hand flying to his chest in fake worry.
"And now you're attacking me! I can't believe this! King Steve is trying to murder me!"
Steve was sure there were tears in his eyes from laughing. They might be there because of whatever Eddie was doing, too, because it was getting his attention away from the stupid storm and… Eddie always knew how to do things just right.
"You're so stupid" he mumbled, cheeks sore from smiling. Eddie smiled back. It made Steve's heart jump. He was smiling so earnestly. And he had such a lovely smile. He wanted to treasure it for the rest of his life. Steve has been having these thoughts, lately. The sort of thoughts he would only have about girls- No, not girls. The sort of thoughts he would have about Nancy Wheeler. And now he was having them about Eddie. About having a life with him, at how easy it would be, at how much he would laugh every day. It seemed like a normal path, for them to be together. But Steve was still a pussy, not quite ready to admit it, because the last time he had tried talking about his dreams, Nancy had almost laughed in his face, and he didn’t want Eddie to do the same.
Eventually, they calmed down, both smiling from the rush. But now the thunder wasn't so loud. His heart sure was louder. Eddie sat back up, right up to Steve's face, and grabbed his hand, because they were past the point of being touchy. Steve loved to be touched, Eddie had found out. He always found a way to touch him. He would lean on him, or have an arm around his shoulders. Steve always found himself falling into him, too. Laying his head on his shoulder, on his lap, wherever he could reach. So he wasn't amused when he started counting his knuckles.
"Did you know, the closer you are to lightning depends on how long the thunder takes to sound?". Eddie started counting once the lighting struck. It was seven seconds, and he counted it on each of Steve's knuckles, repeating only three.
"That's about two miles away," he explained. The next one was a mile away, and the next one a mile and a half. Eddie counted each one on Steve's knuckles, mindlessly caressing his hand and his wrist with his other arm. He would announce how far each one was, and it wasn’t so scary when Eddie was speaking to him like that, in that voice he only ever heard him use with him. It was soft, and quiet, because he knew Steve didn’t love loud noises.
Steve truly could get lost in Eddie's eyes, he realized. And he wasn't even looking at him. At some point, he had gone back to watching the movie. But Steve couldn't tear his eyes away from him. He started noticing how his chest moved when he breathed, how he blinked slowly because he was getting tired, or how no matter how focused he was on the film, he still kept counting each lighting on his knuckles. He still kept mumbling under his breath how close the lightning was.
And if Steve focused on the right things, like Eddie's feather light touch on his skin, then thunders weren't so loud anymore, and lightning wasn't so scary when all he was staring at was him. And, Steve had come to realize that he did pay enough attention to the right things. And he had come to realize, too, that storms weren't really so scary with Eddie there. Nothing was really that scary with Eddie by his side.