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Steve isn’t sure if any of them realizes how much of a front he’s putting up. How strange it is, seeing them all in his living room, and as he forces himself to stay absolutely still where he’s sprawled out on the couch, he doesn’t know if he’s doing it out of excitement or nerves. It’s kind of stupid, being nervous of people you know and have saved the world with sitting in your living room.
Eddie’s pretending too. He can tell. He’s much better at acting natural, maybe because his nervous energy translates much easier into something restless which can almost be mistaken for curiosity. Because why would Eddie Munson care about what movies Steve’s parents have lined up along the TV mostly for show, or about why one of the pictures on the fridge has someone cut out of it at the far left?
“An uncle, you say?” He’s leaning closer to the fridge. Steve can see him from where he’s laying, despite the low lighting.
“So terrible even the Harringtons refuse to be associated with him,” he replies and Nancy laughs to his right where she is sitting curled up on the spot she always picks whenever she comes over. Her presence makes him even more nervous, for some reason. Maybe because her presence never brought Jonathan with it before tonight. Jonathan’s not speaking much, but Steve’s found he’s much more comfortable with silence than all of them and that it doesn’t need to mean anything.
Robin sticks her beer bottle in Eddie’s face in her excitement. “Oh! Apparently another uncle, the lawyer one, was requested to represent him in court and declined.”
Steve groans. “Rob, you gonna spill all my family secrets?”
“Sorry, you’re right. That’s third hangout information.”
Eddie’s smile softens. “I just find it so interesting that your parents would choose to display such an obvious crack in the facade, that’s all.”
Steve’s not offended, but he averts his eyes anyway. Maybe as an excuse to finally bring his own beer to his lips. “Beats me.”
Jonathan fiddles with the cassettes, which Steve knew he would find, and picks one without asking permission. He and Eddie have found some sort of middle ground where they’ve decided not to bash on each other’s taste, because sometimes they do align. Steve’s not found it in him to stop complaining - mostly because he enjoys the way Eddie bristles - but he settles on letting his eyelids fall shut as the low notes of something softer than expected fills the room. When he feels someone sit next to him he knows it’s Robin before she slaps at his arm.
“Scoot over.”
“I’m literally pressed into the corner.”
“Don’t take up so much space then. Curl up. Eddie won’t fit.”
“I can sit down here,” Eddie’s voice says and Steve’s proud of the way he doesn’t jump as he grabs his ankle, and when he opens his eyes again Eddie’s settling down at the end of the couch and places Steve’s feet on top of his thighs. He’s not looking at him, but instead leans forward to grab his own beer and take a swig.
Steve holds his bottle out. “Can someone put this on the table?”
“Lazy ass,” Eddie says, but he grabs it anyway and places it next to his.
“So entitled, right?” Robin says, poking at his ribs. “I mean, he’s the host, yet we’re taking care of him?”
Nancy laughs again, though not unkindly. If Steve turns his face toward Jonathan, maybe he will find him ginning.
Eddie leans back again, but lets his hands rest on Steve’s calves, and Steve tries to breathe normally because with everyone so close to him now they’re bound to notice if he passes out or something. Robin scoots impossibly closer when Jonathan tries to settle next to Nancy, which prompts Nancy to scoot closer to Robin to give him space, and suddenly everyone’s so close, because the Harringtons don’t host in the living room much, but tend to keep to the dining room, and so the couch is just enough for three, maybe four people, and only if one of them isn’t sprawled out the way Steve is.
He makes a move to sit up, but Jonathan, of all people, stops him.
“It’s okay,” he says softly. “We fit.”
The song changes to something more upbeat, something that has Eddie singing along just under his breath, and Steve enjoys the way they all start to relax. Robin leans closer to him, something he’s used to, but the way Nancy follows suit so that her shoulders are still pressed against Robin’s is new. They rest their feet on the coffee table the way Steve’s parents always tell him off for. No one speaks for a while, though he’s sure Robin will break the pattern very soon, and he finally chances a look in Eddie’s direction again, only to find him already looking at him.
Eddie looks away, something suspiciously close to a blush climbing up his neck, and Steve is so mesmerized he almost forgets to be subtle, almost forgets the room is filled with people who love him and know him and therefore can see right through him. He clears his throat and Eddie hands him his beer without prompting, maybe to have something to do with his hands, and Steve knows he has to sit up a bit not to choke when he drinks, only Eddie’s holding onto his ankles now, as if keeping him in place. In fact, he’s been touching him the entire time he’s been sitting down, only he’s kept his hands so still Steve got used to the weight of them.
He cranes his neck and drinks, and as expected he chokes on the swallow, just barely, and starts coughing, just a little. Certainly not anything that requires Eddie to slap him on the back over, as he does when Steve rolls to his side to breathe better, and when he blindly gives his bottle to Robin and calms down, Eddie’s hand is still on his back.
“Jesus,” he says with a laugh. “Imagine if that was how I went out.”
Robin snorts. “I do expect you to die a stupid death, but hopefully not until you’re, like, sixty.”
“Sixty’s not even old, Robin.”
“We’re lucky we even made it this far,” Eddie says with a laugh, and Steve is so aware of him, so aware of how close they actually are. It can’t be comfortable, the way Eddie’s leaning over, so Steve rolls back over onto his back, only it makes Eddie lose his balance or something, because he falls forward and lands onto his chest. It probably doesn’t hurt - Eddie mostly manages to catch himself - but he makes a sound Steve can’t interpret and he reaches for his face and he’s not even sure why.
“You okay?” he asks, fingertips on Eddie’s cheekbones, and Eddie smiles, something timid and embarrassed. “Sorry, that was my fault.”
“Don’t sweat it, Harrington.” He pats him on the chest just once before attempting to sit up again, and maybe it’s the public display of worry that gets shot down so brutally that has Steve sitting up as well, suddenly wishing he would’ve stuck to his stupid front.
“Hey,” Eddie says, placing his hand on his chest again. “Sit. You don’t need to get up.”
“I kinda need to, uh-” Steve scoots back so that he’s leaning against the couch. “Sit up, at least.”
Eddie grabs his ankle again. “Keep your legs on me. It’s okay, I promise.”
“Eddie, really, I’m fine-” But he won’t let go when Steve tries to pull himself free.
“Steve.” He drags his name out, almost sings it. It flusters him, for some reason, and so he deflates, leans back and lets Eddie pull his feet onto his lap again. He’s highly aware that the others are watching, and he doesn’t chance a glance in their direction.
“Have it your way,” he says, and Eddie huffs out something like a laugh.
“My bad for wanting you to be comfortable in your own house.” He swipes his finger over Steve’s sole then, just once, but it’s enough to make him jerk away, which he knows is the beginning of the end for him.
“Don’t,” he says when Eddie starts grinning.
“And what do we have here?” His tone is actually terrifying. “The Steve Harrington? Ticklish?”
“You caught me off guard you bastard- oh, no, no, don’t do that.” But Eddie’s gripped his ankle once more, so when he runs his finger under his foot again Steve isn’t able to pull away. “Fuck off.”
“Wait until you try his ribs,” he hears Robin say beside him, but he’s too busy fighting for his life to grant her a pissed off response. He does however groan when Nancy tells them all of that spot on his lower back, because what the fuck, Nance?
The house is weirdly still despite his predicament. It’s like laughter finally belongs in there, between those four walls, even if it’s desperate and ticklish. Maybe that’s the point of it all, that laughter is being forced into that living room without Steve’s consent. But Steve was the one to invite it in to begin with, and maybe that counts for something.
He drops his front, his very poorly kept up front, and starts kicking at Eddie and his stupidly gorgeous face. “God, please stop.”
Eddie evades him, though not easily if Steve can say so himself. Not that it matters. “Begging already?”
He’s aware that he’s doing that thing he always hated as a child. The thing where you’re laughing so hard you can’t breathe, the laughter coming out in hiccups as you’re tickled to death by an older cousin you barely know. But Steve doesn’t feel panicked now. Steve doesn’t think he might die pinned beneath Eddie, though he’s squirming and begging anyway, because that is simply what one does when tickled. Steve feels oddly safe, even with their little audience. Even though it tickles so much and he really can’t take it.
“Watch out,” someone calls out - it sounds suspiciously like Jonathan - and Eddie manages to grab his flying hand just in time.
He drops his foot and moves closer, still holding onto his wrist. “Should we try your ribs then?” he says as he leans over him. “Since you clearly can’t handle your feet, I mean?”
“God, I hate you. Stop.” He slaps his other hand away and Eddie makes a big show out of pretending it hurt.
“Oh, you’re gonna get it now, Steve.”
“Wait, no, don’t-”
“Ow, Steve, careful with your flailing limbs, Jesus.”
“Sorry, Robin- help!”
“So dramatic.”
“Always has been.”
“He’s turning an interesting shade of pink. Is that normal?”
“Yeah, maybe let him breathe a little, Eddie. Even though torturing him is fun.”
And so Eddie backs off and Steve places his hands over his ribs belatedly, trying to rub the sensation off. “You all suck.”
They let out a collective laugh and Steve says through gasps of air, “All of this just to tickle me?”
Eddie’s laughing too. “Maybe.”
But something about his tone makes Steve not believe him. Maybe they would talk about it one day, though for now he’s too busy trying to avoid everyone’s eye only to find merely love and fondness there, once he does dare look. He’s not sure why he suddenly believes things would be different, because none of them have given him any reason to doubt.
The house settles around them once he calms down, the song changing into something slower again. Steve keeps his feet on Eddie’s lap, despite it all.