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It didn’t happen on purpose. Wasn’t a choice he necessarily made so much as a natural result of being Steve Harrington, the dumbest guy in the room.
“Do you have to be told everything?”
Yeah, maybe he kind of does.
He always knew he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, and he was fine with that. He didn't want to be a nerd, a loser, someone people ignored in the lunch room. Being smart was a social death sentence. Having a nice car, good hair, Levi’s perfectly shrunk to fit and a pretty girl on your arm were the way to go. The easiest path.
Until Nancy Wheeler stole his heart. Until Johnathan Byers knocked his head on straight. Until he opened his god damned eyes and saw his friends for the raging assholes they were.
And then it was monsters and a broken heart and kids that needed looking after and suddenly being the dumbest guy in the room was the worst thing a guy could be. Everyone’s ass was constantly on the line. There was no time for kindergarten-level questions. No time for Steve Harrington to catch up in a room full of geniuses.
So he stopped asking, after a while. Not entirely, just when the groups were big. Especially if Dustin or Nancy had their minds set on something, or if Mike was feeling some kind of way.
His grandma had a saying: “Don’t waste your breath on someone who won’t spare their time.” He didn’t really get it when she was still alive, but he found himself thinking about it when he was feeling particularly bad for himself.
They didn’t want to hear what he said, but maybe he didn’t really want to share with them anymore either.
“Hey, man, budge up.” Group gatherings had become the norm after the last showdown. They used to go their own way, pairing off and convening in small groups in the aftermath of interdimensional horrors, but this time has been different. It had been so human. Something about it made them draw close in ways they hadn’t before.
With Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler out of town for the weekend, it was a no-brainer that they would all convene over the long weekend, people flowing in and out of the door, including Eddie Munson, Steve’s new shadow.
The younger man moved his feet, making room for Eddie to ease himself onto the cushions, resting his cane on the arm of the couch. Steve had been on his own, flipping absently through a magazine as people gathered in the kitchen.
He didn’t want to be “broody,” as Robin put it, but it had started to become suffocating, all that talking. They had been debating the merits of going into town next week, and while the beamer was no doubt going to be one of the vehicles in use, he knew his input wasn’t needed.
He had even been feeling brave when he first got there. Surely, this was a conversation he could participate in. It was just about driving. Steve was good at driving. He drove those snot-nosed kids all around town.
But as soon as he’d opened his mouth, Dustin had said something about “navigational skills” that set his teeth on edge. He’d proven to the little twerp more than once that his directional skills were more than up to par, but he didn’t feel like fighting against that tone today. It wasn’t like it would change his mind.
Nancy gave him one of those tight lipped smiles that meant he wouldn’t find any help in her corner, and Lucas just shrugged, taking another swig from his can of Coke. He rolled his eyes, but took the hint.
“Whatcha got there, Steve-o?” Eddie asked, a slightly shaky arm bringing his hand up to tap on the cover. The muscles were still weak, but he was making good progress. Steve couldn’t help but blush. Sports Illustrated wasn’t exactly high art.
“Nothing much. Just ‘balls in laundry baskets,” he said, calling back to Eddie’s many high school tirades. He expected the other man to laugh and agree, but to his surprise, he didn’t.
“Now, now, now, Stevie. I will have you know that I have recently been educated on the occasional merit of the great sports ball. I wouldn’t be so quick to knock it.” And if that didn’t knock his socks off, nothing would.
And so the night went. Steve talked about sports. Eddie egged him on. And no one asked his opinion on their trip to Indianapolis.
—---
Summer came all at once in Hawkins, just like it did every year. Spring was a short week at the end of May, and then it was all blistering sun and clear skies. Where they used to be spent in the pool or on the shores of Lover’s Lake, the summer of 86’ was spent in cheap lawn chairs sprawled outside the Munson trailer, feet fighting for space in one of three mismatched kiddie pools they dragged outside.
“And so I told her she wasn’t listening to me and she slammed the door in my face. She didn’t even bother to get up! She used her powers! Can you believe that?”
Mike had once again flubbed it with El. They weren’t even dating anymore, but he kept putting his foot in his mouth around her. Alternating between giving her his unconditional support and insinuating what it is he thought she should do with her life. He meant well, but he could be a real idiot sometimes.
Steve bit his tongue, tuning into the conversation happening in the other pool where the girls were pretending the boys didn’t exist.
“Mike is such a mouth breather. He doesn’t get a say in what you do with your time, especially now that you aren’t together.” Max griped, dark glasses hiding milky eyes staring right up at the sun.
“You don’t ever let a man tell you what to do. This is a free country,” Erica chimed in, kicking one of her feet in the direction of the boys.
And all the while Steve didn’t say a word. In his own kiddie pool, Robin and Nancy were getting into a heated argument about something called the Bell Jar, which Steve had next to no knowledge of. It sounded like it was serious, though.
It sounded like something he had no room to speak on.
So he didn’t.
He counted the seconds in his head, even if he knew it was ridiculous. It made him feel like a kid, how much he wanted someone to just look at him, talk to him, see him. Sometimes, before he started middle school and learned that wanting your mom’s attention was for babies, he would hold his breath with his eyes closed in bed, willing his mom to sense that her only son was about to suffocate and come running in to hold him.
One-hundred and ten, one-hundred and eleven, one-hundred and twelve…
Maybe he should try it, just for fun. A little trip down memory lane.
He closed his eyes and tilted his head back.
One, two, three, four…
Still, he couldn’t help but smile at the sounds of his family, of safety, surrounding him. They almost didn’t have this. Years of terror finally come to an end.
Twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five…
His swimmer’s lungs made it almost too easy, the burn for oxygen only just starting to tickle his lungs.
Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty-
“ACK, what the hell?” He turned in his seat, almost toppling the cheap thing over as his feet kicked out and his breath let out in one big rush.
Eddie was standing over him, a wicked grin shamelessly taking over his face. He had a cool beer in each hand, which he had just pressed into the back of Steve’s neck.
He pulled up a hot pink chair of his own. They were going for 50 cents at Melvald's, no doubt on sale because of their atrocious color. The other man handed him one of the beers, fingers oddly bereft of rings. Steve couldn’t help but stare.
“Sorry, I couldn't help it,” he said. “What are the twerps up to now?”
—---
DnD nights were their own special kind of hell. If he had become quiet on a normal day, he might as well have been a statue for all he spoke on those nights.
He’d been roped into (told he would be) holding Hellfire since the school shut it down. Dustin wasn’t giving up the fight, not by a long shot, but the group had insisted that they needed a place to host campaigns in the meantime.
Lucas had ultimately been the deciding factor, pulling out the sad puppy eyes that Steve couldn’t say no to. All he had to do was say something about “safe spaces” and “how cool it would be” for Steve to host so his parents would let Erica come too, and he’d had no choice but to agree.
Even if he often wished they’d come up with an alternative.
He just didn’t fit in with the rest of Hellfire. Eddie’s friends were nice enough, but they looked at him like they were expecting him to revert back to the boy he was three years ago. Any plates he handed out were treated with suspicion, like maybe he’d spit in them.
And the kids. Jesus Christ. If he’d thought they’d had attitudes before, it was nothing compared to how they could get on a Hellfire night. Any perceived interruption was shut down swiftly and without remorse, usually with a pointed jab at Steve’s inability to understand the nuances of the game.
He learned early on to make himself scarce, hosting duties notwithstanding.
But today, Eddie was in excellent form, and Steve couldn’t help but be drawn into the dining room. He’d accepted two months ago that what he felt for Eddie was more than friendship, and while it scared him, it wasn't something he wanted to shy away from either. Eddie was like a balm to his soul.
He stood, unseen, in the doorway. Eddie was hunched over, voice low and alluring, drawing everyone in the room into his narrative.
“The battle ebbs, enemies strewn about, but stone slabs have not moved, leaving you lost in the dark.”
“Shit!” Dustin yells, throwing his hands up and leading back, “What the fuck are we supposed to do now? Without the key, thank you, by the way, Sir Galant, we’re stuck!”
The commotion continues, Gareth coming to his own defence and the rest of the party bickering. Eddie is so clearly pleased with himself, leaning back in his chair with steepled hands, watching the chaos he’d created.
He leans back in, making the faint sound of wind through his teeth. Steve instinctively tries to do the same, but he knows it doesn’t have the same effect. The party slowly picks up on the sound, going deathly silent as they lean their heads in close.
“What is that?” Will whispers to the others.
Eddie continues in a low voice, effortlessly commanding the attention of the room. “The soft sound of a breeze tickles the ear.” The party rolls perception checks. “Will the Wise, a soft flash catches the corner of your eyes, leading your gaze up, up, up. A small pinprick of light, a small sliver of light, winks back at you from the high dome of the cave. What will you do?”
The party starts strategizing, shooting ideas back and forth on how to scale the walls. If they could blast through or teleport.
The laugh he lets out is completely by accident. It was just so obvious. It was a trap. How could they not see it?
He doesn’t even realize what he’s done until nine pairs of eyes snap his way.
“What do you want, Steve? This is important and you’re interrupting.” It’s Mike, because of course it is, but in the end, it doesn’t really matter who said it, because they all seem to agree with the sentiment
He should say nothing. He should swallow his tongue and choke on it, just like he had been for the past six months. He should scoff and walk away and pretend like the brush off didn’t burn.
But it was just so obvious, and they couldn’t see it, and he could. This was his chance to get a stupid one up. To show people that he wasn’t as empty in the head as they seemed to think he was.
“Nothing. It’s just that it’s obviously a tr-” And that’s as far as he gets.
“Steve. You’re interrupting a big moment here. Can you just go?” And that would be Dustin. Because of course it is. He’s one of Steve’s favorite people in the world, his brother, and no one can get under his skin like him.
Steve opens his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out.
Everyone is just looking at him. Waiting for his move. Waiting for him to get a clue and shut his mouth for good.
He turns on his heel and walks away. He doesn’t look back, even as some of the kids call out to him, clamoring over themselves to apologize. Even as he hears a “not cool” from Ricky, of all people.
Not even when he hears the scrape of Eddie’s chair on his mom’s prized hardwood floor, the clack of his cane trailing behind him.
“Stevie, hey, hold on a second.” Steve says nothing. There’s nothing to say, not even to Eddie.
He kept walking, picking up the speed. He knew it was a dick move, that Eddie had no hope of keeping up, especially once he hit the stairs, but he needed the easy out. He couldn’t face this right now, the hot heat of humiliation making his skin itch. He didn’t want Eddie’s pity. Not right now.
He closed his bedroom door behind him, sliding down until his ass hit the floor. He pressed his ear against the wood, listening as Eddie yelled up the stairs.
“Steve? Stevie! Fuck!.” The sound of Eddie’s cane banding against the wall like an outraged gentleman in an old-timey movie usually made him smile, but it wasn’t enough this time. It was just another reminder that he’d fucked something up again.
The sound of distant arguing drifted up under his door. He could feel the timber of Eddie’s voice in his chest, hear the faint clattering of game pieces and notebooks being shoved back into bags.
Steve bit his tongue, hard. He wanted to scream. Wanted to throw something. Wanted to ask why things always had to go this way for him?
Every time he opened his mouth, he ruined something.
“I guess you’re just a little screw up like your father.”
“Hang out with you and Eddie, the freak, Muson? Yeah, I’ll pass.”
“Dustin Henderson. Yeah. Curly hair, great hair, small.”
“Let’s just pretend we’re normal teenagers for the night.”
It’s past time for him to take the god damn hint for good.
The house fell silent, and Steve closed his eyes.
—-
It all happened so quickly.
Hellfire nights were Eddie’s sanctuary. His safe space. The one place in his life where he was in complete control. He set the stage, and everyone else danced.
Getting to host in within the pristine walls of the Harrington house just added to the experience. He got the dual pleasure of getting to defile the space with his ‘satanic rituals’ and, more importantly, got to bask in the presence of one of his favorite people in the world.
Eddie was no longer ashamed to admit to himself or any of his friends that he was down bad for the other boy. How could he not be? He’d always been smoking hot, but now he was also sweet, and badass, and smart, and kind. Kinder than Eddie could have imagined in his own unique, exasperated, self-sacrificial way.
One night a week, every week, he got to bask in two of his three favorite things.
He knew his friends weren’t jazzed about the idea of Steve, and he had been starkly aware of the kids' increasing disregard for their once-revered babysitter, but he didn’t think it would result in this.
“Can you just go?
It was sharp enough to cut into his heart from the other side of the table. So pointed. Direct. For the crime of laughing at the wrong moment.
Steve’s face does that complicated thing Eddie has come to understand means he’s biting his tongue and hiding his emotions. It’s an unfortunately common sight these days, the other man biting his tongue bloody. Eddie couldn’t understand.
Well, he could. He could see it. Hear it. Every day. The way their friends, their fucked up little family, treated Steve like the yappy dog no one really wanted around. Hauling him around like it was their burden in life, talking about him like the sound of his voice grated their ears.
It made him burn. He could never take an injustice lying down, it wasn’t in his nature.
He had been a fool to let himself roll over this one time. He should have known better. He’d always had friends, but this was the first big family he had ever been a part of. The idea of keeping everyone happy, going with the flow, had won out in the end.
He eased his conscience by seeking Steve out, not that he could keep himself away if he tried. Steve was smart in ways Eddie wasn’t. He saw life in a way that the people in their group didn’t, for better or for worse. For all their differences, Eddie knew he could never get tired of the other man’s company.
If the party didn’t want to listen, Eddie was more than happy to take their place.
But it wasn’t enough. One bandaid couldn’t hold the damn back forever.
Steve turns on his heel, not saying a word, and Eddie is left to scramble after him. He’s closing in, so damn close, until he hits those damn stairs. Curse stairs. Stairs are his new mortal enemy. He is going to dedicate the rest of his life to replacing stairs world wide and eradicating them from all homes. Starting with this one.
“Steve? Stevie! Fuck!” The best part of having a cane is that it’s an extension of his being. Banging on the base of the stairs feels like saying fuck with his arm. He stares up, sweating a little from the sudden exertion before tuning back in to the commotion he left behind.
“Eddie, come on. Steve will be fine!” Dustin is saying, acting like he hadn’t just humiliated his best friend in front of everyone.
“Dustin! Not cool.” He hears Lucas say, the sound of a hat landing on the floor.
“It’s not even a big deal. Steve will be fine in, like, ten minutes. We can keep going.” Mike says, trying to keep the ball rolling
“Uh, I don’t know, man. That kind of killed the vibe,” Gareth responds.
There is so much noise and so much bullshit. Nonsense. None of it mattered. None of it was about Steve, not really. Not in the way that mattered, and he was so fucking done.
“Shut up! Just shut up!” Silence descends. This is his stage, and he’s going to make these idiots dance.
“Eddie…” Will. Poor Will was caught in the middle with his tender heart and his loyalty to his friends. He’s not Eddie’s target here, but they’re all going to hear it.
“You all,” he pauses, the space filling with anticipation, “are a party of imbecilic barbarians, if I ever met them.” A few protests rise up, but they are cut off with a sharp wave of his hand. It’s not their turn yet. Eddie is always first in the initiative order here.
“When did our heroes become so heartless? Hm? Did the splendor of victory make us above the simple kindness of the everyday? Hollow glory speakers are all I see at this table.” He smacks the wood of the dining table for emphasis.
“What are you-”
“Steve is our friend, and you’ve all been treating him like shit for weeks, months.” The pause invites them to speak, to defend themselves, but they don’t. Just as he planned.
He lowers his voice. Leaving behind the theatrics and letting the raw anger and hurt do all the hard work for him. “When was the last time someone in this room asked Steve a question?” They all look at each other, at a loss.
“When was the last time someone in this room asked Steve how he was doing?” Nothing.
“When was the last time he even tried to talk to you?” No one will look him in the eye.
“When was the last time he opened his mouth to say something and no one in this room told him to shut up?” The silence in the room is absolute. He almost feels bad for how guilty Dustin looks in this moment, but it means his message hit. The kids share furtive looks, and the guys share annoyingly knowing glances. To be fair, this wasn’t really a conversation for them, but it couldn’t have waited. He just wishes it didn’t show his hand so badly.
“You little gremlins have exactly one chance to apologize, and it won’t be right now. Go home. Think of a good apology, and get Nancy and Robin on board too. Don’t contact Steve until I tell you to.” They stare wide eyed and unmoving.
Eddie stamps his cane hard on the floor. “What are you waiting for? Go.” And they do. They all scramble to grab their stuff, murmuring fervently to each other as they go.
Jeff walks up to him, mostly undisturbed by Eddie’s show, too used to his friend’s antics. “We got them. You take care of things here.” He pats his shoulder, kind enough not to do more than smirk at Eddie’s protective display.
“Thanks, man.” He watches distantly as the party finishes cleaning and heads out the door, mind already back upstairs with Steve.
The stairs are just as daunting as they always are, but this is important. He takes them one at a time, hauling himself up with the banister. The muscles in his legs are starting to shake by the time he gets to the top, but he can’t help the tingle of pride that reaching the top brings him.
Breathing deep, he knocks lightly at the door. He can see Steve’s shadow blocking the light under the door. “Hey, Stevie,” he pauses, waiting for some kind of response he knew he wouldn’t get. “I told the kids to fuck off.” He can’t join Steve on the floor, not if he wants to get up, but he leans his forehead on the door.
“Just, screw them, you know? I love the little shits, but ignore them.” He listens to the breathing on the other side, labored like maybe he’d been holding it again. He wonders if Steve realizes that Eddie has noticed his new habit. “You deserve to be heard, Steve, and whenever you’re ready to talk, I’ll listen.”
He waits, just in case, but he knows he won’t be getting any kind of answer today. He raps on the door in a silent goodbye, and smiles at the two small knocks he gets in reply.
—---
His phone started to ring less than an hour after Eddie left, but Steve ignored it. He was out of words. Where he used to have to bite his tongue, he now felt almost alarmingly free. He was done, and that was it.
So here he was, a week and a half later, still stuck in the house. Without the job at the radio to keep him occupied and with employment in Hawkins all but stalled until repairs finished, it’s not like he had anything pressing to attend to. This is the first time in his life he was ever truly grateful to be a trust fund kid.
But the food was running out. He was officially out of eggs and his Brita has been in need of a new filter for weeks.
Not wanting to run the risk of running into any of his friends, he decided to take the beemer two towns over instead of the Big Buy. Not that anyone would care. Not a single person had knocked on his door. The calls had all stopped by the second day. It had been a week and three days of just him and his thoughts, no words spoken, even to the walls of his home.
Clearly, everyone was excited to be done with Steve. The kids probably told everyone the good news. Even Robin.
And that one stung the worst. Robin was his best friend. His soulmate. She had never been the problem. She could talk and talk and talk and yes, maybe he wasn’t able to get even half of the mileage out of a conversation as she could, but she listened. She reacted and played off him and maybe they hadn’t been as close as he would have liked these past months, but she was always there for him. It wasn’t her fault she had a girlfriend and college on the horizon, but it was looking more and more like she was taking the opportunity to get rid of him, too.
He drove with the windows down, letting the wind be his voice. Springsteen blasted from the speakers, catching on the air.
He thought of Eddie the entire way.
Eddie had been his safe space, the one person who asked for Steve’s opinion. Who asked how he was doing. Who didn’t look at him like they were waiting for him to put his foot in his mouth the second he walked into the room, pity in their eyes for poor, stupid Steve who was bound to say something that would make everyone’s eyes roll.
His steadfast and unconditional kindness was something Steve didn’t know what to do with, but that he craved like air.
But Eddie hadn’t been back either. No call, no knock at the door, no pigeon on his windowsill.
He opened the door without a sound. Put the groceries in the cupboards silently. Let the TV do the talking after dinner. What was the point? No one was there to listen. No one ever would be.
He went to bed to the sound of his own breathing.
The next day was the same. Wake up. Eat. Watch TV. Clean the same spot as the day before. Try not to feel too sorry for himself. Try to convince himself that he was just being dramatic. That he could open his mouth and garbage, bullshit wouldn’t come falling out.
The gentle sounds of the TV lull him to sleep before he knows it.
Knock, knock.
The two gentle raps at the door are so out of place in his still house that he jumps, landing hard on the floor with a groan. It takes him a moment to blink the sleep from his eyes, long enough that whoever is at the door knocks again, just a little louder.
He debates not answering it. What would be the point, really? Whoever is there will be sorely disappointed in the unspeaking boy who answered the door.
But he also can’t help but hope. It’s been a week and four days since someone reached out. Maybe today is the day. Maybe today someone will come and tell them they miss him. That they noticed he was missing and wanted to check on him.
His hand stalls just above the handle, and then he swings it open.
It’s Eddie, a little sweaty and twitchy, just the way Steve remembers him.
“Hi, Stevie.” He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. It’s Eddie. If he can talk to anybody, it’s Eddie. But he can’t. Eddie looks at him, clearly expecting some kind of response. He swallows, tries again, but nothing.
And there’s the pity. The look everyone is always giving him like he’s too dumb to read how sorry they are for him on their faces. He never wanted to see that look on Eddie.
“Sorry to just show up. I didn’t, I was going to wait, y’know. Give you the full two weeks, but I couldn’t wait anymore. I wanted to check on you.” He looks at him plaintively, shoulders hunched to make him smaller than the younger man in front of him. “But you don’t got to say anything. You mind if I come in, though?” And that, Steve can do.
He opens the door fully, letting the older man in.
Eddie barely takes a step in, and he already feels so much better for it. The stale air of this house that isn’t really his feels lighter, shared between two people. He’s glad Eddie doesn’t hesitate to make himself at home, it means at least some things haven’t changed between them.
He watches Eddie lower himself onto his favorite couch cushion, cane leaning against the armrest like always. The other man pats the seat next to him with the air of a father trying to have a heart to heart with their emotionally distant teenager, which makes him huff a laugh. He wouldn’t have thought anything of it if not for the way Eddie lights up at the sound.
The quiet settles on them uncomfortably.
“Hey, uh, feel free to tell me to fuck off. Or call me a freak, or whatever, but could I,” Eddie’s fidgeting, fingers switching in his lap. “Could I hold your hand?”
It’s so far from anything that he could have imagined Eddie saying in this moment that he jolts, which makes Eddie jolt, which makes this whole awkward situation ten times more awkward. Eddie giggles, high pitched and forced, and starts talking.
“No, nevermind. That was stupid, just uh, pretend I didn’t say that-” Steve doesn’t even realize he's reached out and snatched one of those ringed hands on his own until Eddie stops cold, their clumsy intertwined hands hanging in the air. “Right, okay,” Eddie breathes. “This is nice.”
And then Steve is laughing again. It’s just so easy with Eddie. He has him in stitches before the joke ends. Has him talking before he remembers that he should be biting his tongue. He likes him so much, probably even loves him, he just wishes he wasn’t such a burn out loser whose friends don’t even like him. Then maybe, someday, he could actually tell him.
But he is, and he can’t. He’s just lucky enough that Eddie still seems to care.
“Well, as much as holding the fair skin of the lovely maiden Harrington, I actually came here for a reason. I come bearing gifts, of a sort.” He pulls a stack of papers out of his jacket's inner pocket, so thick it's pushing the limits of the old rubber band around it.
“They’re letters. From the party. Apologies.” He holds them out, but Steve doesn’t take them. He shakes his head. This isn’t what he wanted. More pity. Forced apologies.
He tries to pull his hand away, to retreat. He just knows that Eddie had a hand in this, why else would he be the one delivering the letters? The anger that bubbles in his throat burns. He needs to get away. Now.
But Eddie holds fast, pulling him back in when he tries to run. “Hey, hey. Slow down. I know what you’re thinking but I promise that’s not it.” Steve sits, glaring at the man next to him. He doesn’t look half as chagrined as Steve thinks he should be. “Okay, maybe I did, But!” Steve’s up again, successfully extracting himself to pace in front of the TV.
“But! I didn’t ask them to write the letters! I didn’t! I just…gave them some food for thought. And then Nancy came up with this idea. A letter writing party, or three. They wanted to deliver them themselves, say something to you face to face, but I told them to wait. I didn’t want to overwhelm you.”
It doesn’t make him feel better. In fact, it makes him feel worse. If he has anything to offer to the party, it’s his ability to take the hit, any hit, without showing just how bad it hurts. He can’t be this pitiful thing for them to take care of. Won’t survive Eddie treating him like some “get the jock integrated into the nerd group” pet project.
Eddie huffs, throwing his hands up in the air. “Look, would you just read them before you get all defensive and broody? Please?” And Steve’s not broody. He doesn’t brood. And he’s so sure that he doesn’t brood that he’ll prove it by reading those letters like a completely normal non-broody person.
He sits back down, snatching the stack out of his hands with a huff of his own. Eddie could have the decency not to look so smug about it.
He tears open the first envelope, but unfolding it is another thing altogether. He can tell it’s Dustin from the outline of blue ink he can see through the thin, lined notebook paper.
Hey Steve,
Letter writing is becoming more primitive with the digital age on the horizon, as I know I've told you before, but I guess it has its merits. Primarily in the slow organization of my thoughts into clear and concise action items.
Directive one: Acknowledge Guilt
I resent any implication that I have anything approaching an attitude. Mom says I’m a delight, and you know better than to argue with mom. But I also know better than to argue with Max and she says I’m a “butt head” so maybe both things can be true.
The point being, that I am at a developmental stage in which it is natural for me to be feeling self centered, stressed, and lacking forethought. However, I can admit that I haven’t been the best best friend as of late, or the best brother.
He shuffled the papers, moving on to the next one before he could finish Dustin’s.
Heya Steve-O,
This is Robin, you know, your best friend? I know this is supposed to be a letter writing party and I think everyone kind of hoped that having to write would force my brain to slow down but all it’s really doing is making my handwriting worse and you know it’s already not so great.
Anyway, the point is, I’m sorry I haven't been around as much as I should have been. You’re my male sister and it’s my proud job to defend your honor and I haven’t been there to do that. I was going to come over right away but everyone said I should wait and I still don’t have a car and–
The next.
Steve.
I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to say here, but Nancy said she was going to read this before she let me submit it and if I didn’t do it ‘right’ then she would tell mom about the snacks under my bed.
The point is, we don’t get along. I don’t like you, you know that, but you’re still a member of this party, and the party needs to stick together. You dated my sister, you were kind of a douche, and I don’t think we’ll ever be best buds. But you also saved us, like, a lot. And you kept coming back to help us even when you and Nancy weren’t together, and Nancy says she’s over you and you’re over her.
Point is, you’re alright.
So many letters, one from everyone.
You’re coming to girls night next time. No arguing.
Max
Hope you feel better dude,
Lucas S
You still owe me. Ice cream. For. Life.
Scoops Troop Forever.
You still matter to me. So much. I’m sorry I’m not always the best at showing it.
Nancy Wheeler.
Letter from everyone in his life. Their entire little gang, even the people Steve wouldn’t have blamed in the slightest, Jonathan, Will, a very disjointed one written by a very high Argyle.
He reads them all, some more than once, the confusion growing alongside the joy. He pinches his nose, refusing to cry. It’s just nice, is all. Really nice. Nicer than he thinks he probably deserves for something ultimately so small.
The shame of being so dramatic still burns, but it can’t overshadow the relief he feels that he’s not being discarded.
Eddie is looking at him with the softest, fondest eyes. It makes his breath hitch.
“They’re really nice,” he says for a lack of anything better. He clears his throat, trying to get rid of the roughness there.
“You deserve nice,” Eddie says, closing the distance between them. He rubs his arms, gently, ringed fingers catching lightly on the hairs there. Steve had missed it, the easy way Eddie reached out for him. He hadn’t even fully realised how much it happened until it stopped cold turkey. “I’m sorry people haven’t been treating you as nicely as you deserve.”
Steve knows it’s a bad idea, that he’ll crave the closeness when Eddie leaves, but he lets himself be coaxed into a firm hug. “It wasn’t even that big of a deal. I know I’m not exactly a riveting conversation partner. It just sucks to constantly be reminded that you’re the dumbest guy in the room.” He mumbles it into Eddie’s shoulder, grumbling more when Eddie pulls back a little, looking at him with those intense, fathomless eyes.
“You listen to me, Steve Harrington.” He says, voice low and serious the same way it was when they were in the Upside Down. “You are brilliant. I love talking to you, maybe more than anyone else in this stupid, wacky world. No one makes me laugh like you do. No one makes me rethink my biases like you, or think about how I treat others, or introduces me to putting Poptarts in the toaster.
Steve laughs, hiding a sniffle. “It’s literally how they’re supposed to be eaten, Eddie. It’s, like, on the box. In the name, even.” He says, making Eddie laugh right along with him.
“You think I’m reading the box? Who does that? Not me!” And then they’re both laughing, holding each other by the elbows in the middle of the Harrington's living room.
“The point is, Steve, that you make me better. You make me smarter, and if any of those gremlins and little shits and little smarty pants actually took the time to see past their inflated ego, they would be too.” Eddie’s smile is so confident, like what he’s saying is the absolute truth. Steve wishes he wouldn’t look at him like that. It makes it so hard not to kiss him.
“Well, I guess if Eddie Munson says it’s true, it must be.” He’s still not convinced, to all the way, but it’s enough to have these letters in his hand. To hear Eddie say it so plainly. That he’s not an idiot, that he’s happy to listen.
Eddie knocks a knuckle into his chin gently. “Now there’s a good boy,” he says.
It’s supposed to be a joke, of course it is, but Jesus Christ, Steve didn’t know his heart rate could spike so suddenly. It’s almost certainly not good for his health. At least he’s in good company. Steve is surprised he’s still standing with the amount of blood pooling in the other man’s face.
“Sorry, that was. Uh, I mean, nice weather we’re having,” Eddie stammers, fingers twitching at Steve’s elbows and then pulling away, and Steve is moving before he even realizes what he’s doing.
Maybe Eddie is right. Maybe Steve isn’t as stupid and dense as people make him feel, because even he can see that none of this is normal. No one acts like this with their straight guy friends, and if there’s even the smallest chance that Eddie feels the same way as him, Steve isn’t going to hesitate. Words might not be his forte, but he’s always been the first to act.
Their first kiss is clumsy, more of a mashing of lips than anything, but judging by the way Eddie pulls him in close, he doesn’t seem to mind.
They pull apart, both breathing heavily like they just ran a marathon rather than sharing a middle school quality kiss in the middle of the day. “Holy shit!” Eddie says, and if he didn’t look so excited, those perfect dimples on full display, he might have been worried, but all he can feel is joy bubbling up in his throat.
“Yeah, holy shit. Was that, uh, okay?” He hammed it up, just a little, tilting his head so he can look up at Eddie through his eyelashes. No one who regretted a kiss would be looking at him like that.
“Okay? Okay, he asks! That was the best kiss of my life. Can we do it again?” God, he’s so adorable. Steve can’t believe he gets to kiss him.
Instead of answering, he just reels him in, running his hand through his perfect, frizzy curls.
There’s still so much for all of them to work through. Steve will need to talk to everyone at some point. He’ll need more time than he’d like before he really starts talking again, and he may never fully feel like he belongs.
But judging by the way Eddie is holding him, kissing him, he’s pretty sure he won’t have to do it alone.