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Steve had always thought that if something was wrong with him, he’d feel it and know immediately. Like that time he’d broken his humerus after an accident during basketball, sharp and undeniable. Or the sting of blood in his mouth after getting punched, coppery and obvious. Wrongness, to Steve, had always been loud. This was quiet.
It sat in his chest like a held breath, like the moment just before you realized you were in trouble. It had been following him around Family Video and lingering in the car on the drive home. It made his stomach twist when Eddie Munson leaned too close across the counter at the video store, grinning at Steve like he’d hung the stars, like the world hadn’t spent most of its time trying to crush him.
Steve noticed things now. Eddie’s hands, always moving, always scarred and nicked and so very expressive. The way his voice dropped when he talked about music, conspiratorial, reverent. The way he laughed with his whole body, head tipped back, no shame in it at all. Steve noticed how he wanted Eddie to look at him. Not like people usually looked at Steve Harrington, either. Not the quick assessment, the memory of who he used to be. He wanted Eddie’s attention to linger, to mean something. That was the part that scared him.
Because Steve Harrington liked girls. He always had. He’d had girlfriends. He’d had sex. He’d been good at it, or at least people had told him that he was, and Steve had learned early on that approval was a kind of currency. He knew the rules, the role, how to be the guy people expected. So when the thought crossed his mind that he might want Eddie Munson in a way that had nothing to do with friendship, his first instinct was far from curiosity. It was deep-rooted panic.
He wouldn’t tell anyone, he decided. He tried to drown it out with noise, actions, anything. He flirted harder with girls who came into the store. He made jokes. He dated someone for two weeks and broke it off for reasons he couldn’t explain without sounding like an asshole. He lifted weights until his arms burned, until his body reminded him of what it was supposed to be good for. None of it worked or even came close.
The thought followed him home to his empty house, echoed down the too-clean halls where no one had ever really lived, not in any way that mattered. His parents were gone again, some business trip or other, some conference in a city Steve had never been to and never would. They left notes on the counter reminding him to lock the doors, to eat something green, to not embarrass them. When Steve was younger, they’d taught him independence the way some people taught discipline: by withholding anything that looked like comfort. If he cried, he was ignored. If he struggled, he was told to figure it out. When he got hurt, the concern was never for the pain, only for whether it made him look weak.
His father had once told him, voice flat and sharp as glass, that a man didn’t need anyone. His mother had smiled tightly beside him, approval disguised as silence. Steve had learned. God, he had learned. Which was why, sitting on his bed one night, staring at the ceiling fan as it chopped the air into useless pieces, the idea that he might be broken in a way he couldn’t punch or flirt or lift his way out of made his chest ache.
Robin noticed the shift in his attitude quickly. It was during a slow afternoon at Family Video, the kind where dust hung in the air and the radio played the same three songs on repeat. Steve was restocking tapes he’d already restocked twice, moving them around just to look busy. Robin leaned against the counter, arms crossed, eyes narrowed and blinking slowly. “You’ve reorganized horror by director,” she said eventually. “Again.”
Steve shrugged, not looking at her. “Come on, Robs. It makes more sense that way.”
“It did the first time,” Robin said, she closed her eyes and sighed, “You’ve been weird.”
Steve snorted and shook his head. “I’m always weird, that’s kinda our thing.”
“Different weird,” she said. “Broody weird. You’re doing the thing where you pretend everything’s fine but your vibes are screaming.” She waved her hands around to emphasise the point. He winced despite himself. “Can you not say vibes?”
“No,” Robin said cheerfully. “So. Wanna tell me why you look like you’re about to confess to a crime?” The words almost came out then. They crowded his throat, jostling for space. He swallowed them back down immediately. “It’s nothing,” he said. Robin hummed, unconvinced, “Well, I know a few people that would help with a body if you need it.” He snorted and resumed with the tapes. She didn’t push and Steve knew she wouldn’t. That was another thing Steve appreciated about her. She knew when to wait.
It was Eddie who tipped him over the edge. Eddie came into the store that evening like he always did, all noise and presence and denim. He leaned over the counter, too close, grinning at Robin before turning that grin on Steve. “Harrington,” he said, voice warm. “You look like hell, man.”
Steve laughed, too loud. “You would know.” He looked slightly down and scratched the back of his neck to hide the pinkness he feared had spread across his cheeks.
“True and fair, my liege,” Eddie said easily. “But this is something new, I mean, usually you’re more, I don’t know- shiny.” Something twisted in Steve’s chest at the way Eddie said it, his head felt light. “Shiny? Eds- this is why Max calls you a raccoon,” Steve grinned and crossed his arms, joking despite the emptiness in his chest. He could’ve sworn there was a slight blush on Eddies face. He scoffed quietly to himself, it was just the low lighting. Robin watched the exchange with laser focus. Steve could feel her stare, could feel himself unraveling under it.
After Eddie left, waving, telling them to save him the new “metal” releases, Steve retreated to the back room and stayed there slightly longer than necessary. He stared at a stack of returned tapes and felt his hands starting to shake. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Robin followed him a few minutes after. She closed the door behind her, leaning against it like she was bracing for impact. “Okay,” she said quietly but firmly. “What’s going on.”
Steve opened his mouth. Closed it. Ran a hand through his hair, tugging hard enough to sting. “I think there’s something wrong with me,” he said finally, looking up at her, bracing for the dismissal. But instead, Robin’s expression shifted immediately, all humour suddenly gone. “Hey. No. Start over. What do you mean wrong.”
Steve laughed weakly. “See, that’s the problem. I don’t even know how to say it without sounding stupid.”
“Try me,” she said and cocked an eyebrow. He hesitated, years of conditioned training screaming at him to shut up, to swallow it, to handle it alone, like the man of the house should. But Robin was there, she was kind and open and by far the closest thing he had to family, and she had come out to him with shaking hands and a brave smile, trusting him with something fragile. He owed her honesty. “I think— I might have a crush,” he said with a gasp of air.
Robin blinked, confused. “Okay?” Steve talked about someone new every week, it wasn’t that unusual. There’s a reason she had made the “You Suck” board way back when. What could be so—
“On Eddie,” Steve said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.
Oh. Oh.
Silence fell heavy between them. Robin stared at him for a long moment, then slowly smiled. Not teasing or smug. Just soft and full of fondness. “Ah,” she said. Steve’s heart dropped into his stomach, was it obvious? “You’re not… surprised?” He strained out.
Robin shrugged, easily. “Not really. I mean, he’s kind of a disaster, but he’s charming, sorta. And you’ve always had questionable taste.” Steve huffed despite himself, then sobered. “But that’s the thing. I don’t make sense. I like girls. I’ve always liked girls. I’m not—” He swallowed hard. “I’m not gay.”
Robin nodded. “Okay.” Steve frowned. “That’s.. it?”
“That’s it,” she said. “You don’t have to be gay to have a crush on a guy., Stevie.” He stared at her, something sharp and hopeful piercing through the fog that he’d been living behind for years. “But that’s how it works. Isn’t it?”
“Nope,” Robin said, popping the p. “Welcome to the wide and wonderful world of sexuality, Steve Harrington. It’s messy and confusing and not nearly as neat as everyone pretends.” He sank down onto a crate, suddenly exhausted. “My parents would kill me.” Robin’s face softened further. “Tell me about that.” The words spilled out then, ugly and tangled before Steve could stop them.
Steve stared at the floor as he talked. “My dad would lose his mind,” he said, voice thin and shaky. “Like— not even in a yelling way. Which would almost be better, honestly. He’d just get this- this look.” Steve pressed his lips together. “Like you’d tracked mud into the house, or— shamed the entire family by throwing a party.” Robin’s jaw tightened slightly, but she didn’t say anything. “He already thinks I screw everything up,” Steve continued, laughing, words coming faster now, like once they’d started they couldn’t stop. “School, basketball, college, the whole job thing—” he gestured vaguely toward the store outside the door. “And that stuff is normal screw-up territory, even if he did blame me for the Starcourt thing. But this?” He laughed again, but there was no humour in it. “This would be like… proof. That I’m defective, just wrong.”
Robin’s expression sharpened, she had heard enough. “Steve—”
“And my mom would just sit there,” he rushed on. “She wouldn’t say anything. She’d do that smile she does when she agrees with him but doesn’t want to get her hands dirty. And then they’d start talking about fixing it. They’d send me somewhere— or, even worse, I- I just…” The word hung in the air with all the weight in the world. Robin pushed off the door slowly and took a step. “Fixing,” she repeated, carefully. Steve shrugged, but it was tight and miserable. “You know what I mean.”
“I do,” Robin said quietly. “I just hate it.”
Steve rubbed his hands together. “I mean I don’t even know if it’s real,” he said. “Maybe my brain’s just… short-circuiting or something. Trauma response, Dustin told me about them. Like after all the Upside Down crap my wiring got scrambled and now I’m—”
“Okay,” Robin cut in finally. “Pause.” Steve blinked at her and she crouched in front of him so he had to meet her eyes. “First of all,” she said, counting on her fingers, “liking Eddie Munson is definitely not a medical emergency.” Steve snorted weakly. “Second of all, your parents are not the Supreme Court of Reality. Just because they think something’s broken doesn’t mean it is.” Steve just sat there, unsure. “You know what I think?” she said.
He smiled, here it comes. “That you’re about to say something extremely annoying but probably insightful?” Robin smiled back and snapped her fingers. “Correct, Steve-o.” She pointed at his chest. “I think you spent your whole life being told there’s exactly one way to be a guy. And you got really, really good at playing that part.” Steve’s mouth twisted and the smile left his face. “Yeah. Well. Gold star for me.”
“But,” Robin continued, ignoring that and continuing, “now something doesn’t fit inside that box anymore. And instead of going ‘huh, maybe the box is dumb,’ you’re going ‘guess I’ve finally taken one too many hits,’ Which I’m not saying you haven’t, I mean you didn’t even go to the hospital after the Russians, I’m still annoyed at that by the-”
Steve audibly laughed and raised his hands in surrender, “Okay, okay! I’ll remember that for next time.”
Robin huffed, “You- Next time-” She shook her head. “Anyway, thinking this is kind of unfair to yourself, don’t you think?” He stared past her at the stacks of VHS tapes that hadn’t quite made it to the shelves. “I just don’t get it,” he admitted. “Like… I’ve had girlfriends. Real ones. I liked them. I wasn’t faking all of that. I mean, Nancy—.”
“I believe you,” Robin said immediately, stopping him short.
“So how can I suddenly—”
“You’re not suddenly anything,” she said, firmer than Steve had ever heard her. Robin rocked back onto her heels, thinking. “Okay, so,” she began, waving her hands in that familiar rambling way, “imagine sexuality is like music.”
Steve blinked. “Music.”
“Stay with me, Harrington.”
“I’m trying!” Robin continued, undeterred. “Some people only like one genre. They’re like ‘country music forever, everything else is garbage.’ Very committed. Very specific.”
Steve nodded quickly, understanding. “Like the people that only watch stuff from the romance section? Those people are exhausting.”
“Exactly,” Robin said, softly. “But other people like… multiple genres. Maybe mostly one, but sometimes something else hits the right note.”
Steve tilted his head slightly and grins. “And you’re saying Eddie is… what, heavy metal?” Robin grinned, the fond look not leaving her face. “Oh he is aggressively heavy metal, extremely.” Despite everything, Steve chuckled. The tension in the room loosened just a little. Robin shrugged. “My point is, liking girls before doesn’t cancel out liking a guy now.”
“But what does that make me? Half gay?” he asked quietly. Robin’s face softened again and lifted her hand to hold his. “Steve,” she said gently, “you don’t have to solve the entire mystery of your identity tonight.” He exhaled slowly. “Because right now,” she continued, “all we actually know is: you might have a crush on a weird dungeon-master metalhead who thinks we don’t know that he steals our store candy.”
“He pays for it,” Steve muttered automatically. “Sometimes. You’re really not… weirded out?”
Robin gave him a look. “Dude.”
“Right. Sorry.” She nudged his knee with her sneaker. “I told you I liked girls while we were drugged in a bathroom after fighting Soviet spies,” she said. “Your response was basically ‘cool, you’re still my best friend.’” Steve shrugged. “Seemed obvious.”
“Exactly,” Robin said. “So why wouldn’t the same rule apply to you?”
Steve didn’t have an answer. He rubbed the back of his neck. “What if Eddie figures it out?” he asked after a moment. Robin’s eyebrows lifted. “Do you think he will?”
“I don’t know,” Steve groaned. “I feel like I’m acting insane around him.” Robin thought about that. “…you do stare at his hands a lot.” Steve buried his face in his palms. “Oh my god.”
“It’s very romantic,” she added helpfully.
“Robin.”
“Kidding! Mostly.”
He looked up again, still flushed but calmer. “So what do I do?” Robin tilted her head back, considering. “Well,” she said, “option one: panic forever.” He stated at her, face deadpan. “Tempting.” She tutted and took her hand back, standing back up. “Option two: do absolutely nothing and just… see what happens.”
Steve raised an eyebrow. “That’s your brilliant strategy?” Robin pointed at him. “Hey, slow and emotionally responsible is my brand now., can’t you tell?” Steve huffed a laugh and sighed. “Thanks, Robs,” he said quietly. She waved it off. “Please. I live for dramatic Harrington identity crises.”
He smiled faintly. After a moment, Robin added casually, “Also, for the record?” Steve looked up. “Eddie definitely has a crush on you.” Steve choked.
“I’m sorry—what?” Robin grinned, absolutely delighted. “Oh yeah. It’s painfully obvious, even more than you. You know, you’re probably bisexual.” The word landed between them, strange and unfamiliar. “Bi… what?” Steve said, tilting his head in a way that reminded Robin of a dog.
“Bisexual,” Robin repeated. “It means you can be attracted to more than one gender. It’s not a halfway thing. It’s just… a thing some people are.” Steve rolled the word around in his head. Bisexual. “And this is a fully real thing?”
“It’s real, fully,” Robin said. “And it’s valid. Even if you never act on it. Even if you only ever like one guy. Even if you decide labels aren’t your thing. This can be you.” Steve’s eyes burned slightly. Robin stood, offering him a hand. He took it. “You’re not broken,— wrong,” she said firmly. “You’re just learning something new about yourself. And I’ve got you. Okay Dingus?” Steve nodded, gripping her hand like a lifeline.
Steve tells himself he isn’t going to do it, even though he’s confident Eddie would never mock him, there was still a reason Robin hadn’t told anyone but him. He tells himself this all the way through the drive to Eddie’s trailer, knuckles white on the steering wheel, radio turned off because every song felt off. He tells himself this when he parks crookedly outside the lot, when he sits there for a full minute too long, heart hammering like it’s trying to break out of his ribs. He’s just here to hang out. That’s it. Toooootally normal. He’s done this before.
It felt like he was walking toward something instead of away from it as he exits his car. Robin had told him, very calmly earlier that day that he didn’t have to say anything until he was ready. That coming out, even just to one person, wasn’t a deadline he owed anyone. And then Eddie had looked at him across the counter at Family Video a few hours after, eyes soft in a way Steve hadn’t seen before, and asked, “You good, Stevie?” And Steve just knew.
Eddie’s trailer glows faintly from the inside, light leaking through thin curtains. Music hums low through the walls. Steve knocks before he can chicken out. The music cuts off almost immediately. Footsteps the quickly the door swings open. Eddie Munson fills the doorway, hair loose around his shoulders, ripped t-shirt hanging off one collarbone. He grins when he sees Steve. “Harrington,” he says. “This is a surprise.”
Steve swallows. “Yeah. Uh. Hope that’s okay.”
“Always,” Eddie says, stepping aside. “C’mon in.” The trailer smells like smoke and metal and something vaguely sweet. It’s cluttered in a way that feels lived-in, domesticated instead of neglect. Steve’s chest tightens at the familiarity of it now, the comfort. He hates that this place feels safer than his own house. Eddie kicks the door shut behind him. “Beer?”
“Sure,” Steve says automatically. Eddie grabs two from the fridge, and hands it over. Their fingers brush when Steve takes it, just barely. It’s nothing. It’s everything. Steve feels it all the way up his arm. They sit at the small table, knees too close. Eddie launches into a story about Gareth screwing up rehearsal, animated and loud, hands flying. Steve laughs, nods, pretends his pulse isn’t in his throat. Minutes pass. The words Steve practiced in his head start to rot, losing shape, quickly.
Steve sees when Eddie notices, the way Eddie’s grin falters. The way his voice softens. “You sure you’re good?” Eddie asks again. “You’re quiet. Steve Harrigton is quiet, shall I mark the date?” Steve exhales through his nose and laughs lightly. His beer is untouched, sweating against his palm.
“Can I tell you something?” he asks, too quickly. Eddie stills completely, taking a second to register the words. The silence stretches a few moments longer. Eddie nods once. “Yeah. Of course.” Steve opens his mouth and nothing comes out. His father’s voice rises up uninvited and cold. Don’t embarrass yourself. His mother’s tight smile, eyes glossed over. The years of learning how to be palatable, impressive and the perfect son. Eddie watches him with an intensity that makes Steve feel exposed, seen in a way that terrifies him.
“I’m bad at this,” Steve says finally, voice rough. “Talking about this stuff.”
“That’s okay,” Eddie says. “Take your time.” Steve laughs weakly. “You say that like you don’t know me.”
“I know you better than you think,” Eddie says quietly. Steve sets the beer down before his hand starts shaking too much. He stares at the table, at a burn mark shaped vaguely like a star. “I’ve been… confused,” he says. “About some things.” Eddie doesn’t interrupt. “I thought something was wrong with me,” Steve continues. “Because it didn’t make sense. And I hate things that don’t make sense, which is pretty funny for someone who almost flunked school completely.”
Eddie leans back slightly, giving him space without pulling away. “Steve.” Steve looks up. Eddie’s gaze is steady, searching. “You’re scaring me a little,” Eddie admits but adds quickly, “But— not in a bad way.”
Steve’s throat tightens. “I don’t want to mess this up.” He closes his eyes for half a second, bracing himself. “I like girls,” he says. “I always have. And that part of me is real. But there’s also—” He stops, breath hitching. “There’s also you.”
The air shifts. Eddie goes very still, like a startled animal. His knee presses closer without him seeming to notice. “Me,” Eddie repeats and Steve nods. His heart is pounding so hard he feels dizzy. “I didn’t mean to. It just… happened. And I didn’t know what to do with it. I didn’t know if I was allowed to, to feel it.” Eddie’s jaw tightens. He looks away for a moment, scrubbing a hand over his mouth. When he looks back, his eyes are dark, unreadable.
“Steve,” he says carefully. “Are you saying—”
“I think I like you,” Steve blurts. “I think. I mean, I know. I just—” He laughs, breathless. “I’ve never said that about a guy before.” The silence that follows is deafening. Steve’s chest caves in. This is it. This is where Eddie laughs, or pulls away, or tells him it’s fine but— Eddie stands abruptly, pacing the length of the trailer once, twice. His hands tremble. “You have no idea,” Eddie says, voice strained, “how dangerous it is to say something like that to me.”
Steve’s stomach drops. “Eddie, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“No,” Eddie cuts in, spinning to face him. “No, don’t. I don’t mean dangerous like bad.” He steps closer. Too close. Steve can feel the heat of him.
“I’ve been flirting with you for months, because I like you, Stevie,” Eddie says hoarsely. The words hit Steve like a punch. “What,” he breathes. Eddie laughs, sharp and disbelieving. “Yeah. That’s about right. Jesus, Harrington, you flirt with me like it’s a sport and then look surprised when I catch feelings.”
“I didn’t—” Steve stops. Rethinks. “Okay, maybe I did. But I didn’t know why.” Eddie studies him, something vulnerable cracking through the bravado. “You’re serious.” Steve nods. “Scared outta my mind man, but yeah, serious.” Eddie swallows. “You’re not messing with me?”
“No,” Steve says immediately. “I would never.” The space between them hums, electric and fragile. Eddie reaches out, hesitates, then lets his knuckles brush Steve’s wrist. “You okay if I touch you?” Steve’s breath stutters. “Yeah.” Eddie’s hand closes gently, grounding. Steve feels it everywhere.
“I need you to understand something,” Eddie says softly. “I can handle rejection. I can’t handle being an experiment for you.” Steve meets his gaze, steady despite the fear. “You’re not.” Eddie searches his face for a long moment, then exhales shakily. “Okay.” They don’t kiss. The tension coils tighter instead, unbearable and exquisite. Eddie leans his forehead against Steve’s, careful, still cautious. “You’re allowed to want this,” he murmurs. “You’re allowed to want me.”
Steve’s eyes burn. “I want you.”
The words feel like a truth finally spoken aloud. Eddie smiles, small and awed. “Yeah,” he says. “I know.”