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Drinking alone in the woods is not how Eddie imagined he’d be spending his seventeenth birthday, but, alas, that is exactly what he’s doing.
It’s all Tommy Hagan’s fault.
Sure, Hagan hadn’t been there when a bunch of his lackeys decided to use Eddie as their punching bag to relieve some of the frustration they felt after losing yet another championship, he probably didn’t even know about it yet, but Hagan was the one that presented Eddie as a viable target for his gang, he was the one who started with the bullying and the verbal humiliations, so Eddie is gonna blame that asshole for whatever bullshit his brainless jock friends pull on him. Sue him.
On the bright side, Eddie managed to lose them before they beat him up too much. On the downside, they did manage to beat him up and now Eddie can’t go home. Not if he wants to avoid Wayne’s questions, so Eddie has resigned himself to his fate and headed to Skull Rock with only a bottle of cheap brandy to keep him company until nine, when he knows Wayne is going to be at work.
“Happy fucking birthday to me,” Eddie groans before he chugs down a generous amount of brandy, the amber liquid burning his throat like acid.
Holy shit, that’s so disgusting. He drinks more anyways.
Eddie is getting so fucking tired of Hawkins. People treat him and his uncle like trash just because they live in a trailer park, he’s bullied in school because he doesn’t fit in like everyone else; Eddie is too loud for them, too rebellious, too weird. There is no place for him here because Eddie dares to be himself in a place where you must fit into a previously manicured ideal of a good citizen if you want to be accepted by everyone else.
Fuck them all to hell and back; Eddie doesn’t need them. He’s gonna be out of this hellhole of a town as soon as he can, and he’ll be dead before he ever comes back.
Eddie’s so lost in thought that it takes him a minute to realize there’s someone approaching, the sound of dry leaves crunching under heavy steps is way too close once Eddie finally notices it.
“Shit!” He curses. He fumbles a little as he tries to close the bottle and put it back into the paper bag, frantically looking for a place he can hide it.
Eddie really doesn’t need some nosy hiker or, even worse, a cop finding him there with a bottle of liquor he bought with a fake ID. His day’s already shitty enough as it is, thank you very much.
His worries turn out to be for nothing. Because it’s not a nosy hiker, nor a cop that stumbles out of the woods and into the clearing, just as Eddie is done hiding the liquor behind the rock formation and getting back to his sitting spot; it’s Steve Harrington.
Honestly, Eddie doesn’t know what’s worse. Getting caught drinking by a cop would have been bad, but running into Steve fucking Harrington in the middle of the woods is not exactly a good thing either. Harrington might not be a violent prick like Hagan and the others, but he’s still vain and full of himself like every other jock Eddie’s met. He’s definitely not the person Eddie would choose to run into less than an hour after Hagan’s lackeys kicked his ass.
And, besides, what the fuck is Harrington even doing there? No one’s seen the guy since the basketball game last weekend, when their High School team was completely destroyed and humiliated. It’s been four days since then, with no words from Harrington whatsoever, and now the guy just shows up when Eddie is trying to lick his wounds in peace? Out of nowhere? And completely alone? That’s just not right.
“The hell you’re doing here, Harrington?” Eddie spits, all defensive and ready to get the fuck out of there the minute Harrington tries to do something against him.
To Eddie’s pure and utter astonishment, though, Harrington flinches, as if he’s just noticed there’s someone else in the clearing with him. His eyes finally lock with Eddie’s, frenzied and, Eddie swears to God, afraid for a moment. And that’s when Eddie sees it.
Harrington’s face is covered in bruises. They aren’t fresh; the bruises on his jaw and the corner of his mouth are starting to fade to green, but his right eye is still a deep purple. And it’s not just the bruises; Harrington also looks like shit. He’s pale, his yellow sweater making his skin look sickly and clammy, and his perfect hair is an unkept mess.
Eddie’s never seen the guy look so not him before. Does that even make sense?
“Munson?”
The word is so quiet Eddie wouldn’t even be able to hear it if they weren’t so deep in the woods, a far cry from Harrington’s usual cocky attitude. His eyes, however, are now alert, searching.
Harrington takes a tentative step forward, brow creased in confusion. “Why do you look like shit?”
“You’re one to talk,” Eddie scoffs. “Have you seen your face?”
There’s that flinching again, this time so obvious Harrington’s body does recoil as if hit by something.
That’s so, so weird. Especially because it makes Eddie feel like an asshole somehow, even if the idea is absurd. Eddie Munson should not feel bad for pressing Steve Harrington’s buttons, even if he isn’t doing it on purpose.
The situation gets even weirder when Harrington doesn’t say anything back. He just keeps looking at Eddie for a long time, with that assessing look as if he’s considering his options.
The silence in the clearing is deafening, broken only by the rustling sounds of leaves moving with the wind, and the tension is heavy as they stare at each other almost without blinking, like two fighters studying their opponents.
Then, something shifts. All the tension bleeds out of Harrington, his shoulders slumping a bit and a small breath leaving his lips as he crosses the clearing straight to where Eddie is.
Eddie takes a step back, watches him warily as he makes his way closer, but Harrington gives Eddie no mind; he just plops down on the ground, opposite Eddie, and rests against the rock with a tired sigh.
And that’s it.
Harrington doesn’t try to do anything, nor say anything. He just sits there, eyes closed and head resting on the rock behind him as if this is something he does every day.
To say Eddie is confused would be an understatement.
“What are you doing?” he asks, after a good minute or two of Harrington just sitting there in silence.
The guy opens one eye to look at Eddie when he answers, “I’m resting, duh.”
“In the middle of the woods?”
“Yes.”
That makes zero sense. It makes Eddie wonder if there was something else in that cheap brandy he was drinking earlier besides the alcohol.
“If my presence is bothering you, you can leave, Munson.” Harrington’s eyes are closed again when he says that, but the dismissive tone still manages to annoy Eddie to no end.
The audacity!
Cursing under his breath, Eddie takes his brandy from its hiding spot and stomps back to his place, glaring at Harrington as he does so. He was actually considering getting the hell out of there, but now that Harrington told him to scram? Eddie’s not leaving any time soon.
Minutes pass like that. Harrington dozes off for a while there without a care in the world, Eddie drinks his liquor quietly and contemplates all the life choices he’s made that led him right where he is now, spending his fucking birthday deep in the woods with Steve Harrington of all people. How the hell is that even his life Eddie has no fucking idea.
But it’s nice, in a way. Calming. If Eddie just closes his eyes and pretends Harrington is not there, it’s actually a pretty good day to be outside. It’s not too hot, nor is it too cold. The wind is just cool enough to keep the temperature enjoyable; the chirping birds sing softly in their perches, the liquor he’s drunk is working its magic and making Eddie’s body loose and relaxed.
In all honestly, Eddie could probably doze off himself too.
“Can I have some of that?”
The question is so sudden that Eddie almost drops the bottle as he snaps his eyes open. Harrington is watching him through half-lidded eyes, but he has a small, amused smile on his face. For how long has that jerk been awake and watching Eddie like a creep?
“What the hell, man, don’t scare people like that!”
“Whatever.” He lifts his head from its resting place, finally facing Eddie fully as he points at the now half-empty bottle of liquor. “Can I have some of that or not?”
“What, and taint your royal mouth with my freaky germs? I didn’t know you were into that kind of stuff, King Steve.”
Harrington snorts. “Everybody knows the alcohol in that is more than enough to kill whatever germs you have, Munson. I think I’ll risk it.”
Usually, he’d just tell Harrington to fuck off and get his own liquor, but this is definitely not a very usual day for them, is it? And considering the fact that Eddie’s already drunk half of that battery acid the guy at the liquor store called brandy, it’s not really surprising that he’s feeling way more agreeable to Harrington’s presence than normal.
“Fine! If you want it so much,” Eddie says, lifting the bottle and waving it in the air as if he was trying to lure a dog with a treat. “Be my guest.”
In a moment, Harrington is out of his side of the place and flopping down next to Eddie. He makes a move to get the bottle from Eddie, but the older boy pulls it out of his reach.
“Nopes, just a sec,” he tuts, using his free hand to keep Harrington in place. “I’ll share my drink with you, but only if you tell me what happened to your face.”
It’s safe to say Harrington isn’t impressed in the least with the deal offered to him.
“What happened to your face?” he shoots back, and Eddie grins.
“Your friends happened, that’s what.”
“Wha—Tommy beat you?”
Eddie rolls his eyes, impatiently. “No, not Hagan. The other assholes who’re always following you two around like puppies. Johnson, Davis, those guys.”
“Fuck them, they’re not my friends,” Harrington says, making a face. “They just hang around me so they can use my popularity to their advantage. I don’t even invite them to my parties.”
Now that Harrington is mentioning it, Eddie can’t really remember seeing those two at the last party the guy threw. Eddie hadn’t been invited either but, well, someone needed to provide the drugs, right? It had been a good business opportunity as any other.
“Fine, not your friends, then,” Eddie concedes. “Doesn’t change the fact they beat me up anyways. But what about you? What happened to your face? Is that why you’ve been skipping class this week? Doesn’t want your fangirls seeing your pretty face all fucked up?”
The answer must be enough for Harrington, because once Eddie is done, he nods, thoughtfully, then says, “Oh, this? This is a gift from my dear old dad. Let’s say he was a little upset with my performance on last weekend’s game.”
It’s the way Harrington says those words that makes Eddie believe him; calm, resigned, almost solemn. He’s not trying to make fun of Eddie, he’s not making shit up, he’s just stating a fact, as horrible as the picture his words paint is.
The nonchalance leaves Eddie with the taste of bile in his tongue.
“What the fuck!?” he mutters, horrified.
Harrington takes his shock as an opportunity to finally snatch the bottle out of Eddie’s hands, and takes a generous chug, as if everything was just well and fine, as if he didn’t just drop a bomb and turned into dust everything Eddie had ever thought he knew about the guy.
And Eddie… Eddie can only stare, with his mouth open, and catalogue every single one of Harrington’s injuries he can see.
“Close your mouth, Munson, you’ll catch flies like that.”
“Are you insane?” Eddie finds himself basically screeching, eyes so comically wide Harrington laughs at how stupid he looks. “You can’t just say something like that and act like it’s nothing! What the hell is your problem?”
Harrington takes another drink, wrinkling his nose at the bad taste. “Where do I start?” he asks ironically. “Oh, I know. It all started when I was seven and spilled paint all over some very important documents in my father’s study. He broke my arm for the first time that day.”
“What?”
“Then,” the younger boy keeps going. “When I was nine, I got third place in a swimming competition. My dad broke two of my ribs that time. I missed a whole month of classes.”
“Shut up, shut up. SHUT UP!”
Harrington does. He stops talking altogether, with that bored look in his eyes as if they were there discussing the weather or some other boring shit.
Eddie has no idea what his face looks like, but it must be something bad because Harrington lets out a small sigh and offers him the liquor without saying a word.
Eddie doesn’t even try to hide how weirded out he feels right then, just accepts the peace offering with his shaking hands.
“Why are you even telling me this?” he mutters a moment later, as he massages his temples.
That doesn’t make any sense. He and Harrington are not friends. They should not be talking about that kind of thing. They shouldn’t be talking at all. Why did Eddie even think this would be a good idea?
“I don’t know, man, I think I’m just tired,” Harrington says quietly; eyes fixed somewhere on the trees in front of them. “And it’s not as if you care about any of this, right? You don’t like me; you’re not gonna treat me any different just because I’m telling you my dad is an abusive asshole. This doesn’t change the fact that I’m also an asshole to you, does it?”
When Harrington finally looks at him again, he gives Eddie one of his best cocky smiles. His eyes, however, are empty. “And, besides, who’s gonna believe you if you try spreading this shit around?”
No one, that’s who. No one’s ever gonna believe Eddie; not if Harrington says he’s lying, and the prick knows it.
“This is so fucked up,” Eddie finally says after a long, long pause.
Beside him, Harrington hums. “Don’t think too hard about this, Munson,” he says, shrugging. “Everyone has some shit happening in their lives, I know you have too.”
Yeah, but not everyone is being abused by the very person who’s expected to protect them with their life. Eddie, town freak and pariah, has never faced something like that, even when he was still living with his parents.
He doesn’t say any of that, though. Judging by Harrington’s careless attitude, nothing Eddie could say regarding the matter would be unwelcome.
“Fair enough,” he nods, handing the now almost empty bottle back to Harrington. “But if you’re expecting me to make some kind of confession here too, I have some bad news for you, Your Highness.”
“By all means, keep your secrets. I’m sure they are world-changing, but I think I’ll survive without knowing.”
Eddie lets out a chuckle before he can hold it back. Who knew Steve Harrington had a sense of humor?
“Prick.”
“Thank you.”
They share the rest of the brandy in silence, watching the forest around them change as the day gradually gives way to the night. Harrington doesn’t try to start another conversation, and neither does Eddie.
An hour or so later, Harrington lays down on the ground, using his arms as a makeshift pillow, and ends up dozing off again, his face finally softening and relaxing once he’s asleep. Eddie isn’t so lucky; Harrington’s words gave him a lot to think about, and now he can’t get his mind off them.
He watches the guy sleep for a while, wondering how many other things he’s misjudged about him. How many things he knew about Harrington were just shallow constructions the guy came up with to hide his true self. Eddie always thought Harrington had the perfect life; he had money, he lived in a fancy house, all the girls wanted him, all the boys envied him. Harrington had an easy life, far, far different from Eddie’s. At least that’s what Eddie’s always believed in, that’s what always made sense.
‘Not that it changes anything,’ Eddie thinks to himself. Because it really doesn’t. Abusive father or not, Harrington is still a conceited asshole, even though Eddie now can see there’s more to him than the shell of a jock he always shows to the world.
It pains Eddie to admit it, but it seems like Steve Harrington is actually a real person, with real problems, and not just an airheaded jock Eddie’s spent the last year hating on principle.
Not that he’s ever gonna admit this to Harrington’s face. Eddie would rather die, honestly.
“Fuck this,” he mumbles, as he rests his head against the rock and closes his eyes.
Eddie still has a few hours to kill until he can go home, and he’s not gonna waste them thinking about Steve Harrington and the hidden layers Eddie didn’t even know he possessed. He can do that another time, when it’s not Eddie’s fucking birthday, when he’s alone in his room and without lots of brandy drowning his brain and thoughts.
Or maybe never. Never would be good to.
Without a second thought, Eddie lets the alcohol work its magic again and drifts into sleep.