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“Look, I'll give it my best shot and all, but I really don't think this is gonna go the way you want it to.”
“It'll be fine,” Steve laughs, not looking up. He's knelt at Eddie's feet, finishing lacing up his second skate. “If you're not having fun, we'll just leave.”
Eddie lets out an exasperated sigh, wiggling his foot and feeling the foreign tightness of the skate.
“I don't wanna be the fun sponge who makes you leave,” he whines.
“You're not a fun sponge. ” Steve tugs on the laces one final time before looking up at Eddie with a smile. “Just give it a shot and I’ll be happy.”
And god, if Eddie wouldn’t do just about anything to make Steve happy. It’s embarrassing, really. Or rather, it’s definitely about to be embarrassing.
He’s off to a good start just by not falling over when Steve helps him stand up on the skates, but that’s probably due to how tightly he’s clinging to Steve’s forearms. Jeez, he hasn’t even taken a step—isn’t even on the ice yet—and this already feels impossible.
“Nice, nice. Just get your balance, get used to standing on them.” Steve coaches, perfectly balanced on his own skates. Eddie tries not to groan, having already come to terms with the fact that he’s going to get absolutely schooled today.
“This is so dumb, this is so stupid– I’m gonna fall flat on my ass the second we get out there.”
“Probably,” Steve shrugs, gently trying to pull his arms out of Eddie’s ironclad grip to make him balance on his own, “but that’s kinda part of learning.”
Eddie wobbles standing there on his own, but eventually stills his legs. He looks up at Steve and sees those stupid brown eyes, his smug-ass grin, windblown hair, cheeks flushed from the cold, and decides he already hates ice skating.
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“You’re sure this is like, safe?” Eddie asks as Steve leads him to the boundary where the snow-covered ground meets the thick plane of ice.
“What, skating? I mean, you’re bound to get a few bumps and bruises just like any sport.”
“What? No, I mean this,” Eddie nods his head jerkily down at the expanse of thick, shining ice sprawled out before them. “Skating on what’s usually a swimming hole and fishing spot.”
“Oh yeah, totally.” Steve, with his back to the ice, takes one step out. “Used to come out here every year when I was a kid.”
“Uh-huh,” Eddie’s eyes are pointed down at where the toes of his skates are just behind the boundary of where the ground meets the ice.
“It’s already been frozen what, three weeks now? Ice is definitely five or six inches thick, so we’re totally good.” Steve now has both feet on the ice but doesn’t look any less steady than he did on solid ground.
He’s just waiting for Eddie to take that first step out. Patient, his arms still pressed out strong under Eddie’s grip.
Eddie has no idea why he agreed to this. That’s not true. It was Steve Harrington’s stupid hopeful eyes when he asked if Eddie had ever skated before. His growing grin when Eddie said he hadn’t. Eddie’s never had a problem saying no, but sometimes Steve has the incomprehensible ability to make it disappear from his vocabulary completely. He doesn’t like to dwell on it.
He supposes this is some sort of payback for making Steve sit through a four-hour campaign session.
It was supposed to be a fun thing they were doing to pull the other out of their comfort zone. Eddie and Steve’s friendship thrives on their differences, the way the edges of intricate puzzle pieces fit together despite not looking like matches at first glance. They’re constantly trading playful jabs about the other’s music taste, style, idiosyncrasies, and mannerisms. It’s fun. It’s fresh. It’s them.
But this. This is a whole other level of humiliation, Eddie decides.
The freezing wind is cutting through his many layers of clothing. The chill bites at his exposed nose and cheeks like a vengeful demobat from a not-so-forgotten time. He huffs out a disgruntled breath and gets one foot out on the ice.
“Why couldn’t we just drive to the rink in Bloomingto– woah, shit!” Eddie wobbles and slips forward as he finally puts both feet on the ice. He doesn’t get a chance to fall because Steve’s gloved hands are quickly sliding forward to firmly grab his elbows, stabilizing him.
Eddie can, through his own gloves and the thickness of Steve’s jacket, feel the meat of Steve’s flexed biceps under his grip.
“You’re the one who said you didn’t want a bunch of strangers watching you eat shit. Plus, with no walls out here to grab onto, you have to hold onto me.” Steve flashes a devilish smile.
And what the fuck?
What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
It's a goddamn miracle his cheeks are already red because the heat that rises to them is roasting.
All he can do is let out a stifled, high-pitched laugh. Any hope of forming a witty comeback died when Steve Harrington fucking smiled as punctuation.
He brushes it off as Steve's stupid reflex to lay on the charm with whoever he's with. It's always been bad mix with Eddie's exponentially growing crush on the guy, but he's held his own so far.
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For ten whole minutes, Eddie totters like a newborn deer, clutching Steve's arms in a vice grip while the latter holds him up and skates backward like it's nothing. Steve pulls him gently by his elbows, graceful and steady.
“Fun, right?”
“Sure, if you're a masochist.” Eddie's voice is just as confident as his disjointed and frantic strides.
Steve smiles. “I've been given falser accusations.”
God.
He keeps pulling Eddie slowly across the barren expanse of the frozen lake, making small turns and pulling the pair in wide circles.
“So, um. You're sure there's like, no chance of the ice cracking underneath us and swallowing us up into a frigid death?” Eddie can't take his eyes off where their skates dance across the ice as it scrolls by under his feet; it’s all he can do to not risk melting under Steve’s patient gaze. Steve's elegant and even strides are comically contrasted by Eddie's jerky, unconfident ones.
“We're fine,” Steve soothes. It's that fucking voice he uses when calming people down. He uses it on Max when she gets angry, on Robin when she's spiraling. He's used it on Eddie in times of dire need, post-smoke-sesh nights invaded with nightmares and paranoia. “I'd know a dangerous spot if I saw it, I'll keep us away from them.”
I'd keep you safe, is the unspoken mantra wafting off of Steve most of the time. It always settles over Eddie like a warm blanket.
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Eddie doesn't wipe out, surprisingly. He does, however, get a little tired of squeezing Steve's arms to death and letting out little shrieks every time his balance wavers. And his feet and ankles hurt like a motherfucker .
Steve takes him back to the edge of the lake. He supports him by the elbow all the way back to the bench despite not having to.
Eddie sits down with a worn-out huff. Steve doesn't seem disappointed at all, he just sits down next to Eddie.
“You were pretty good for someone who's never stepped foot on ice before.”
“For once, Harrington, your dishonesty is appreciated.”
“No, I'm being serious!”
Eddie laughs. Wishes flattery didn’t work on him.
Steve buzzes with some unnamable contentment as he pulls out the carrying bags for their skates. Eddie’s wearing an older pair of Steve’s, because of course the boy has multiple pairs. Eddie leans down to begin untying the torture devices strapped to his feet, but he pauses when he notices Steve starting to do the same.
“Hey, no no no,” He tuts, making a sloppy stop motion with his free hand. “I’m all tapped out, but that doesn’t mean you need to stop on my account.”
Steve’s fingers pause over his laces and he looks up at Eddie in confusion.
“Oh, come on,” Eddie musters back his teasing smugness. “You barely even got started. Go show off like I know you want to.”
Steve seems flustered for a second, but it could just be Eddie’s imagination adding the extra redness to his cheeks.
“Okay,” he stands back up, “but I’m no Scott Hamilton.”
Eddie has no idea who that is, but pretty soon he’s watching Steve Harrington glide over the frozen lake with the fluidity and precision of a pen over paper, and nothing else really matters.
Steve skates like he learned how to do it before walking. He flits around effortlessly in large laps, framed by the white expanse of the ice, the snow, the trees on the horizon. He keeps casting not-so-subtle glances back to the bench, as though covertly trying to make sure Eddie’s eyes are on him. As if they could be anywhere else.
After a while stuck in the hypnosis of watching Adonis on ice, Steve comes to a quick, controlled stop back at the edge of the lake. Ice sprays up in a wild cloud.
Eddie’s hit with the realization that this is something Steve really loves. A place Steve really loves. And he really wanted Eddie to be out here with him, even if just for a few torturous moments. Even if all Eddie did was flounder and give up.
Feet aching, face numb from the cold, staring up at Steve Harrington bathed in a halo of white, Eddie decides he rather likes ice skating.