Work Text:
Should old acquaintance be forgot
And never brought to mind
Should old acquaintance be forgot
And days of auld lang syne
. . . 1987
"We made it, baby!" Eddie howled, throwing his arms around Steve's torso and nuzzling his face into his neck. He kissed his favorite mole on Steve's cheek. "Here we go… '87!"
Steve smiled harder than he ever thought he could as he mixed together another drink, the lights dim in the Munson's kitchen.
This year, he had fallen in love, against everything inside of him telling him not to. Hook, line, and sinker in love with this boy who held him like he had never been held before. Who treated him like a person. Who's hands were cold and who's scars matched his. Who had been hurt and fought so hard to recover so that he could graduate that Steve was afraid he would bust his stitches. He walked the stage in June, flipped the bird, and ran like hell with his diploma. Steve cheered so loudly he hurt his own ears.
Dick Clark began the countdown on the TV in the living room, Wayne sipped a beer on the couch.
Steve took Eddie's hand and pulled him over, and they stood on the edge of the kitchen and living room. Eddie and Wayne turned to each other, nodded, and began in unison. 5...4...3...2… and the clock struck midnight.
And with zero hesitation, Eddie grabbed Steve's cheeks and pressed their lips together, moving his hands up into his hair. "Happy New Year, baby."
"Happy New Year, Eds."
For auld lang syne, my dear
For auld lang syne
We'll take a cup of kindness yet
For auld lang syne
. . . 1996
Steve was already starting to feel tipsy, leaning on the kitchen island of their little apartment. He still threw pretty great parties, he thought, even though it really was just him, Eddie, Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, and the kids. But hey, that was more than used to come to his parties, so he would still call it a win.
He had just turned 30 on the 25th. The big three zero. And Eddie insisted on a cake bigger than his head even though he knew they wouldn't eat it all, and it was sitting on the counter to be finished during this party by the ravenous children who weren't really children anymore.
Growing up, his birthday was always overshadowed by Christmas. Each year, he got one expensive gift from his parents on the 25th as a birthday and Christmas gift, usually some fancy gold watch or investment, and his father would look him in the eye and say 'you'll understand its value later', and he never really did. He's pretty sure he's distributed all of that stuff among the kids, now, anyway. Probably when they moved here, and he had to downsize from his barebones room in his parents' house that he was never even allowed to decorate. His gold wedding band was the only piece of jewelry he really wore now, anyway.
And so, Eddie and Robin said: no combined gifts, no making Steve feel less than, and we will always celebrate his birthday on his birthday, because why the hell is Christmas two days, anyway?
Still, he worried about taking up space, over celebrating him even on the commercial holiday, but Eddie, and everyone, but especially Eddie insisted on celebrating Christmas on the 24th instead, which made the 25th all about Steve.
He was still getting used to being loved. Really loved. To being allowed to laugh too loud and hang pictures on the walls. He filled out around his stomach, donning a pair of loafers from Eddie's first big Corroded Coffin paycheck, which he couldn't believe was real and actually happening, a cable-knit sweater, and a nice pair of black jeans. But he really wanted to change into his pajamas and cuddle up to Eddie. Steve ran hot, and Eddie ran cold. So, they balanced each other out pretty well, Steve thought.
Steve pushed up his glasses, wire-rimmed and too thick for how little he actually remembered to wear them. Eddie had to force them onto his face every morning, and Robin always carried an extra pair in her purse for when she found him squinting and getting migraines from the lines and dots in his vision. He wore small and discrete hearing aids as well, flesh-toned and curving around the shape of his ear. Too many concussions in your youth can cause anything, really. He kept a cane in the closet for whenever he needed it, which with each passing year, was getting to be more and more.
He chewed on some crackers and ham off the charcuterie board Robin had put together, and listened in to Eddie and the kids playing a D&D one-shot in the living room.
"Roll, roll! C'mon!" Mike protested, his voice still cracking at the top of his range, even though he was now a grown man of 25.
Steve chuckled, walked over to them, and tuned himself in to the ball drop with a minute left on the clock beaming from the television in the corner.
He kneeled down behind Eddie's Dungeon Master screen, their thighs rubbing up against each other, as the countdown began. 5…4…3...2... and this time, Steve grabbed Eddie's cheeks, pulling him in for the kiss and running his hands through his hair.
"Get a room!" Max called out as she pulled away from Lucas, who had just done the same thing.
"Hypocrite!" Steve chuckled, shooing his hand towards her.
And surely ye shall raise your glass
And surely I’ll raise mine
And drink a toast to all that’s past
And days of auld lang syne
. . . 2000
"Do you think we'll make it?" Steve's voice echoes from the bed, glasses on, hearing aids out, book cracked open even though he's been reading the same page over and over because the words are swirling. The ball drop is on like it is every year, but the TV is muted and the lights are dimmed for Steve's migraine.
This New Year is quiet. Just them, Robin and Nancy in their room across the hall.
Steve has been feeling under the weather since his birthday, and a visit to the neurologist showed even further decline. He's been having more seizures with more clusters, crying more, and sleeping all day. For the past week, Eddie has pretended not to be terrified, but they've known that it's been progressive since the beginning. They knew he would keep needing thicker glasses, that he would keep having more migraines, but it's a new millennium, one that Eddie never thought he would see. Especially not in 1986, when he was introduced to the horrors of the Upside Down as a wanted man and mauled by bats that looked like penises. Especially not this deep in love, still married to the love of his life.
In the past decade, Corroded Coffin took off, and he had toured the world and saved up more money than he could've ever dreamed of or even knew what to do with. The band retired after Eddie stepped away from the public eye. They valued their privacy more than anything. Some shit happened, too much shit happened, to Steve and to him, and as Steve's health was precarious, he stepped away to care for him. He bought a house for Uncle Wayne, who lived down the street with many cats, and he visited practically every day.
Steve had a few streaks of gray in his hair now. Crow's feet around his eyes, smile lines around his mouth. He had filled out too with Eddie's bomb cooking over the years. Happy, and finally believing he was safe, all for his health to just… start declining again.
This is what he was afraid of when Jonathan smacked his head on the concrete, when Billy smashed the plate over his head, and when the Russians beat him within an inch of his life. His brain was so swollen once he got to the hospital that nobody could tell who he was. He knew, after that, that he would have to live with it. And that was an undertaking that he throttled with the vigor of anything else, like wielding a nailed bat and being demo dog bait. He knew it would get worse as he got older, but he was kind of sick of smiling through it.
"Baby, what kind of question is that? Of course, we'll make it. You aren't dying. We're just going to adjust, like we always do." Eddie pursed his lips together, watching the countdown. 5…4...3...2... and he placed a peck on Steve's lips.
"I love you, through everything. I made that vow to you, in sickness and in health, yeah? I knew what I was signing up for, okay?" Eddie's eyes softened, clicking off the dim glow of the lamp and wrapping his arm around the shoulders of the man he loved.
"I love you too, Eds. I really do. I think you taught me what love is. After Dustin, of course."
"Oh, shut up!" and he kissed him again, holding each other through the night.
Now give a hand my trusty friend
And take my hand in thine
Let's raise your glass to all that’s been
For days of auld lang syne
. . . 2004
Eddie paces the room, the cold room, the porch door open and the screen billowing chilling winds inside. Fireworks crack in the open night sky. Robin sits on the couch, a cup of tea that went cold 10 minutes ago in her hands.
The absence of his lover is the heaviest thing Eddie has ever felt.
Eddie can still see him, his stupid hair, the corners of his eyes, his crooked smile and his hands always on his hips. Eddie promised him warmth, laughter, and comfort at the altar when they were married, moments like New Year's kisses, watching the ball drop, and tipsy sex. In sickness and in health, and promises that he never got to finish, because death took them without warning. Till death do us part.
Because in the summer of 2003, Steve Harrington passed away peacefully during his sleep. A sudden brain aneurysm. He wasn't in pain, he went softly and gently and was buried up on the hill next to Uncle Wayne.
6 months without him, and Eddie feels that every day has just gotten worse. People have been telling him that things will get better, and of course, its global news that the former front man of Corroded Coffin is grieving his late husband, and every time he goes outside, they're trying to commodify it and get some sort of story out of him. They're trying to profit from his grief. They didn't know Steve, though. And they sure as hell don't know him.
5…4…3…2... goes by, and nothing happens when the clock strikes 12.
He just closes the screen door because now he's freezing, sits down in the middle of the floor, and begins to weep.