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If Eddie’s being honest, he’s not entirely sure when he started making excuses.
Maybe, it was at the start?
The first time he kissed Steve—both of them a little high, him suggesting shotgunning and then his mouth on Steve’s and Steve not pushing him away. Steve grabbing his shoulder, letting them kiss and kiss until Eddie’s hands were slipping inside the former jock’s jeans.
He told himself it was a fluke—it was the weed, both of them a little hard up and making a stupid decision.
But maybe, it was actually the second time?
When they were both sober and hanging out in his trailer—he’d glanced over during the movie, staring a little too long at Steve’s mouth. When Steve had caught him, he’d tried to backpedal, but Steve had tilted his head in thought and then closed the space to kiss him.
After Steve had left, Eddie had stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror—kiss swollen lips and muscles still loose from orgasm, and he’d muttered about how it was just a weird mistake; that straight Steve Harrington was just taking trauma bonding a step too far.
Or maybe it wasn’t either of those? Maybe, it was weeks later; the first time he stood to the side and watched Steve get a date with a girl?
When he smiled tightly beside Robin and watched the best friends high-five like he hadn’t been kissing Steve the night before—hadn’t snuck out of his friend’s bed that morning having blown the former jock and fallen asleep, shoulders not-quite touching in Steve’s bed.
When he’d said ‘nice one, Harrington’ like he actually meant it, like he didn’t want to shout ‘what about me?’ like he had any kind of say or sway in who else Steve decided to fuck.
Because, at the end of the day, Eddie had wanted this, hadn’t he? Dreamed about being someone’s hook up in high school—even fantasied about being a hot jock’s dirty little secret like it was a sexy situation when it’s… fuck, it’s really not.
And, don’t get him wrong. If this is the only way he can get Steve? If hiding it from everyone, ducking into Steve’s house hidden by shadows, and watching him flirt with girls during the day is the price to pay? Fuck it, he’ll do it. He doesn’t care.
(Only that’s a lie. Because he does care and it hurts. It hurts so fucking bad. But fuck if he still isn’t on board.)
And the thing… the fucking thing is that Steve doesn’t really act like he’s a regret or a mistake. He doesn’t flinch away from him during the day, or grimace when he shows up to hook up. Steve still smiles, still laughs and even tugs him into a kiss first.
Which might be the part that hurts the most. He’s heard the stories. Half a year after the Upside Down and Eddie knows all about Steve’s slutty hookup era. How any girl was an option if they batted their eyelashes hard enough.
Now, Steve wants a connection, he wants an everlasting love—but in the meantime, he’s fine to dick around with Eddie when nobody’s watching. He’s fine to go on dates with girls, and fucking bitch about them as if he isn’t about to shift down the couch and straddle Eddie’s waist.
It’s… it’s fucked is what it is—but it’s also better than Eddie could have ever expected to get in Hawkins Indiana. He’s getting his rocks off with the hottest boy in town. He is literally living his former-self’s queer little dream.
But his former self was also a fucking moron who’d only thought Steve was pretty—had never seen him be heroic, and sweet, and kind, and badass. His former self had only been in lust with Steve Harrington not in love with him.
So, you know.
Excuses.
Lies.
Whatever you want to call them—they’re the things Eddie tells himself every time he doubles back to Steve’s after everyone else has left after movie nights.
The little lies he pumps himself up with when Steve is due to come over and he knows where they’ll end up.
The way he rests on his side in bed, looking at the boy sleeping beside him and thinks: he’s not breaking your heart, he doesn’t even know. He’s just a horny guy, and so are you. It doesn’t matter that you can smell perfume from another failed date on his shirt.
Eddie tells himself it’s fine so often that sometimes, he can even believe it.
Sometimes, when he’s on his throne at Hellfire and Steve is there, when he laughs along and shakes his head, smiling at Eddie fondly—it feels like he’s won.
When Steve kisses him later that night and mentions how: ‘it’s not that bad, your stupid nerd game. At least, not when you’re doing it’—Eddie’s heart trips over and thumps and he feels higher than he could ever get off weed.
But, two months don’t make a relationship—don’t make a future.
Not when you’re Eddie Munson, not when you’re playing a complicated game of checks and balances in your own head to keep your heart safe and your feelings contained.
Not when you’re a gay boy hooking up with the prettiest guy in Hawkins who is well and truly out of your league and looking for a long-term girlfriend to turn into a wife.
Not when the boy of your dreams straddles your waist and for the first time doesn’t look interested in handjobs and blowjobs and instead says, “Hey, Eds. Would you… I mean, would you let me fuck you?”
And your heart leaps, your hard on gets harder, and your stupid, horny, besotted ass stupidly admits, breathless and too truthful: “I’d let you do anything to me, Stevie.”
And, like a fucking symbol being struck in a silent room, Steve’s startled: “What?” feels just as loud.
It’s also horrifying. As if he’s just been thrown in the spotlight, unprepared and naked—reality sinking in as he stands in front of the judge, the jury, and knows the verdict is already plastered across his fucking face.
Because, he can feel his eyes have widened, the flush of arousal has drained for terrified pale.
“I-I,” he stutters out, trying desperately to backpedal but there’s no gas.
There’s fucking nothing but white noise.
“You…” Steve whispers.
And he kicks into panicked gear.
“No!” He blurts, voice too high-pitched. “I-I didn’t. Not… not what you’re thinking at all. N-Nope, no. I uh, I’m just a… uh…” but Steve isn’t convinced, he’s staring with shocked realisation and Jesus H. Christ. Eddie keeps babbling. “You…you know me, Steve, fucking… fucking idiot and I don’t think before I speak and I’m a moron. And… and…”
And he’s fighting a losing fucking battle, he can see it written across Steve’s face. So, he shuts his eyes, wishes he could run the fuck away, but he’s still pinned beneath Steve and he knows from experience that any attempt to buck him off or roll them will be an embarrassment and a failure.
“Fuck, Steve,” he whispers, heart high in his throat and making him sound choked. Or maybe that’s just the heartbreak coming. He covers his face with his hands. “Don’t… don’t make a deal of it. Please?”
“Don’t make a deal?” Steve asks, and now his voice sounds a little high-pitched. “Dude, that was… you just…” He pulls in a sharp breath. “Are you in love with me, Eddie?”
Eddie flinches. He kind of tries to sink further into the mattress, but there’s only so far he can go. And it aches, so much worse than it ever had, because a few minutes ago, Steve had been planning to fuck him, now he’s going to dump him and Eddie can’t even salvage his heart the way he’d planned.
He’s completely up shit creek and he has no paddle.
“Eddie—”
“I know, okay?” he snaps, finally answering if only to stop Steve talking. He’s feeling wounded and raw, but he doesn’t have to hear Steve talk about it. He doesn’t lower his hands, can’t bear to. “I know how this works.”
“Works? What? Eddie—?”
“This,” he spits. “The… the fucking little queer secret. Or fuck, I don’t know. The easy lay. Whatever you call it, the… the thing.”
He scrubs his face, feeling hollowed out; bone-deep tired like he hasn’t felt since he just barely scrapped through the Upside Down. Because the excuses, the lies, they’re all gone, and all he’s got left is the truth.
“It’s the thing that doesn’t last,” Eddie forces out. “Because you’ve got the girls, and your picket fucking fence all lined up. So, don’t… don’t make a deal of it. Just, fucking, I don’t know, roll me over and fuck me and I’ll get out of here until next time.” Then, he grimaces. “If, you know, there is a next time.”
Because, well, he can’t assume anymore, can he? Gone and fucked it up nice and hard, hadn’t he?
“Holy shit, Eddie,” Steve whispers.
And he sounds… shocked, is the thing, really truly as if he’s just had his socks blown off or been hit around the head—and it’s just enough to make Eddie separate his fingers and peek up at the other boy.
Steve looks like he sounds; completely gobsmacked, as if he’d well and truly had zero idea about any of this—as if Eddie could have said he was an alien and Steve might have looked less startled.
And that’s well, that’s Hawkins fucking Indiana for you, isn’t it? Steve could get off with a guy and not even think that the other boy might be gay, might be falling in love because boys didn’t do that, did they? No. Not unless it was for girls.
And Eddie abruptly has to grit his teeth, has to swallow hard because no he will not fucking cry. He will not make an even bigger fool of himself.
He drags his gaze from Steve, looks down at the King’s horribly bland bedding—bedding that Eddie secretly loves wrapping himself up in, because they’re soft and they smell like Steve and they remind him that he’s here—that he hooked up with Steve Harrington.
But, well, sayonara to that. And really, he shouldn’t even be here anymore.
“Let me up, Steve,” he says quietly. “I’ll go home.”
But, rather than scurry off him like he’s just realised their positions, Steve doesn’t move.
“Holy shit, Eddie,” Steve says again, but it has a bit less of that baffled quality.
It’s sounding a bit more normal, a bit more grounded, and that is terrifying in a whole new way. He actually tries to push off the bed, to wiggle away like he doesn’t know that Steve is so much stronger than him, but Steve grabs his shoulder, holding him in place and he freezes.
“No, man. No, shit. We gotta talk about this.”
“No, we don’t,” Eddie hisses, hunching his shoulders defensively.
“But, Eddie, you—”
“Don’t,” he snaps, finally meeting Steve’s wide-eyed gaze.
And he looks so confused and worried and like a fucking puppy-dog that Eddie’s anger melts too damn fast. Because, none of this is Steve’s fault. This is all on him.
And it’s why, even though it hurts, Eddie lifts one hand and very gently pokes under Steve’s collarbone with one finger. A light-hearted, every day friendly gesture. He offers a small, tight smile as well.
“Don’t go there, Harrington. I’m not a silly little girl with dreams of wont-ever-be’s.”
He sighs a little and splays his hand on Steve’s chest—and this one is a bit less platonic, because he’s gripped these shoulders and thrust up against Steve in positions like this. But for a second, he holds it there, even thinks about shoving him back and off—getting out and running, but in the end, he just drops his hand back to the bed.
“I’m just the Freak you’re fucking for fun,” he continues. “I got the memo a long time ago.” He winces. “Even if, uh, some parts of me didn’t.”
That’s it. That’s the closest he’s ever going to outwardly acknowledge his all-consuming love for Steve Harrington. That’s well and truly enough. Steve can accept it and they can move on—break up, whatever.
He’ll get over it, somehow.
(He’s got more excuses, more lies. He’ll be the fucking King of them, if he has to be.)
“Eddie,” Steve whispers.
And Eddie can’t—he can’t really quantify that voice, that word. Is a little afraid to look up and see, but when Steve moves, he expects the former jock to be climbing off him, not to bend down, not to brush a kiss to his mouth.
He jerks, shoulders going up to his ears and head turning away. Steve’s lips briefly brush his cheek. Eddie’s heart is beating a horribly fast rhythm, bile rising up in his throat and threatening to burn and choke him.
“Eddie—?”
“Don’t be cruel, Steve,” he forces out. “Jesus H. Christ. Fucking… God, fuck me if you still want the orgasms but don’t… don’t be that fucking cold, man.”
Steve doesn’t say anything for a long beat.
When he shifts again, Eddie’s heart falls because Steve is climbing off him, Steve is leaving—only, the next thing he knows, Steve is lying down beside him. He gently slings an arm around his waist and before Eddie thinks enough to fight it, he’s tugged into Steve—his face pressed against a warm chest and Steve is cradling him like he’s small and precious.
His hands twitch, because he’s not sure what to do, but then Steve’s other arm is behind his head, fingers tangling in his hair, stroking oh-so softly.
“It’s okay, Eddie. It’s okay,” Steve whispers.
And oh, okay, he’s kind of trembling, isn’t he? Fuck.
“I’m not trying to be cruel, man,” Steve continues. “I’m… fuck, I’m sorry I have been. I didn’t know… I… thought we were just like, friends with benefits or something? Thought that was all you wanted too.”
“M’okay with that,” Eddie mumbles quickly, still staying with his face mushed against Steve’s chest because it’s warm, and smells like him, and Eddie has had legit dreams about burying his face here for hours.
“No,” Steve says quietly, “you’re really not, Eds.”
“Can be,” Eddie insists, finally getting his hands to move, to slide them up and around Steve—physically and emotionally clinging to whatever he can. “Gimmie… gimmie a fucking day, Harrington. Get back to what we were. You won’t even… won’t even know.”
“But I do know, Eds.”
And Eddie’s kind of fucked there—because, what other selling point has he got? Not like Steve is really lacking in options, and the main point in Eddie’s favour, his ease and friends with benefits has been overlaid with complicated and messy emotions.
But as he’s mentally flailing to find a reason for Steve to keep him around, Steve is taking a better hold of his head and easing him up—making him lose the comforting little spot on Steve’s chest so he can meet his friend’s gaze. Steve is already looking down at him. He’s beautiful and kind and sweet and Eddie wants to hide—because he’s so utterly in love with this boy, and Steve is looking at him like he’s trying to peel back the layers and see inside.
“Steve—”
“You’re one of my best friends,” Steve interrupts, quiet and thoughtful. “You get me, like, really well, and I always love hanging out with you.”
“I love hanging out with you too, Steve—”
Steve’s hand had left his hair when he started talking, and now fingers are gently pressed to Eddie’s lips. Steve smiles faintly.
“And you talk so fucking much, man, but I never get bored. And like, fuck, I get so lost sometimes but you always notice and repeat it. Make sure I can keep up.”
“‘Cours’m’gonna,” he mumbles against those calloused fingers.
Steve’s grin widens. “Right. So, like, you’re gonna have to stop me from getting lost again, okay, Eds?”
Eddie frowns, feeling like he is the one who is missing something. “Uh…huh?”
Steve’s fingers finally leave his lips, but it’s arguably worse because he gets a warm, strong palm cupping his cheek.
“Well, I kinda missed a huge thing, right? That I shouldn’t be out looking for a girl who doesn’t get me, when I have a guy who already does.”
Eddie sucks in a loud, sharp breath. He stares at Steve, realising he is now the one in complete astonished shock, but Steve just smiles at him, strokes a thumb along his cheek in a way that’s giving him tingles.
“No,” he whispers.
“Yes,” Steve answers.
Eddie shakes his head. “No… you… this…” and then, because it’s too much and the hope is going to kill him. “Steve?”
It’s a plaintive plea—a desperate need for reassurance, and Steve tugs him up, captures his lips in a soft kiss. A thoroughly comforting, sex-free, affectionate kiss.
It’s a relationship kiss.
A boyfriend kiss.
Eddie breaks it first if only to bury his face back in Steve’s muscled, hairy, perfect chest.
“Eddie?”
And none of this makes sense, none of this is right or even in the realm of a possibility he thought he’d get but…
“You can’t flirt with any more girls if you’re gonna date me,” Eddie mumbles.
And he isn’t… he doesn’t really expect it, but Steve immediately says, “I won’t flirt with anyone but you while we’re dating. Even Robin.”
Eddie laughs, because that’s so silly. He’s never once been threatened by Robin and the way Steve sometimes calls her babe… and yet, a part of him that he didn’t even know was there feels soothed to hear that.
So, he doesn’t say it’s okay, that Robin is different (maybe he will later, when he feels a little less stupefied and raw) but instead, he just nods.
He also chews his bottom lip, debating it before saying, “And… and you’ve gotta take me out. Like… like on a date.”
“Just one?” Steve says, but it’s soft and teasing. He runs a light, comforting hand down Eddie’s back. “You’re underestimating me, Eds. Besides, I gotta like catch up, right? Owe you at least a dozen.”
Eddie grins so hard his face hurts, but it’s okay, because it’s still hidden by Steve’s chest.
“Damn fucking right you do.”
Steve huffs a laugh, but his hand never stops stroking.
“Right,” he says. “So, guess I better start with making you breakfast tomorrow morning.”
Eddie stills, his breath catching as something horribly warm burns his chest, making his eyes sting.
“Making me breakfast?” He swallows. “Tell me I’m staying over, huh?”
“Only if you want to,” Steve quickly interjects.
He nearly laughs. “You fucking kidding, Steve? I ask you for all that other stuff and you think I don’t want to stay over rather than sneak out?”
There is a brief pause before, “I’m sorry I made you sneak out, Eds. I didn’t… I’m just really sorry.”
And it could sting, and maybe it does a little, beneath all the bubbling happiness, but… in the end… Steve hadn’t made him, he’d just never stopped him. Not when Eddie thought it was the thing he had to do.
So.
“I never told you I wanted to stay,” he mumbles. “But, I uh, I do. So, yeah, we can have breakfast.” And then, because it’s him. “Better be pancakes. And bacon.”
Steve doesn’t even miss a beat, twirls a finger in his hair, tugs gently and says, “Whatever you want, babe.”
And this time, when Eddie hunches his shoulders, it’s not from shame or embarrassment, but from shy, delighted glee. Because it’s him, he’s Steve’s babe, and there’s no excuses, no lies, just pure, amazing, perfect truth.