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The first thing Eddie noticed when he entered Steve’s house was the silence.
This wasn’t any ordinary silence. It wasn’t the kind that settled over Family Video after closing, when Eddie overstayed, broken by the hum of fluorescent lights and Robin counting the register under her breath while Steve sweeped. Nor was it the comfortable quiet that sometimes filled Steve’s living room when everyone had finally gone home, leaving him and Steve behind to clean up empty pizza boxes, abandoned soda cans, and the soft crackle of whatever movie nobody had actually been watching.
This silence was wrong, the weight of it pressing against the hallway walls as Eddie stepped farther into the Harrington house, the spare key Steve had given him still caught between his fingers.
“Steve?”
No answer.
Eddie shut the front door carefully behind him. Steve’s car was in the driveway, and every light downstairs seemed to be on, but the house felt empty in a way that made the hairs rise along Eddie’s arms. He dropped his keys onto the table beside the door and listened.
At first, there was nothing.
Then he heard it.
A sharp, strangled inhale from upstairs.
Eddie was moving before he had time to think.
He took the stairs two at a time, one hand catching the railing when his sock nearly slipped against the polished wood. He called Steve’s name again, louder now, but there was still no response, only another uneven breath and the faint scrape of something shifting across the floor.
The sound was coming from Steve’s bedroom.
The door stood open by several inches. Eddie pushed it wider and found the room lit only by the lamp beside the bed, casting everything in a dim amber glow. Steve was on the floor between the bed and the wall, his back pressed against the nightstand and his knees drawn toward his chest. One hand was twisted into the front of his T-shirt while the other clawed uselessly at the carpet, fingers flexing as though he were trying to find something solid enough to hold.
His breaths came too quickly, each one catching before it could fill his lungs. His eyes were open but unfocused, fixed on something Eddie couldn’t see.
“Steve.”
Steve flinched so violently that his shoulder struck the nightstand. The lamp rattled above him.
Eddie stopped immediately.
Every part of him wanted to cross the room, grab Steve by the shoulders, pull him close and hold on until the trembling stopped. But Steve didn’t look like someone who could stand being touched. He looked trapped inside his own skin, every nerve telling him to run while his body had forgotten how.
Eddie lowered himself slowly to his knees several feet away.
“Hey,” he said, keeping his voice gentle. “It’s me. It’s Eddie.”
Steve’s gaze darted toward him and then away again. His chest rose and fell too rapidly, the muscles in his neck pulled tight with the effort of dragging air into his lungs.
“I can’t—” Steve gasped.
“I know.”
“I can’t breathe.”
“You are breathing.” Eddie kept his voice low and steady even as fear tightened around his own ribs. “It feels like you can’t, but you are. I can hear you.”
Steve shook his head frantically. “No, no, something’s wrong. Something’s—”
“You’re having a panic attack.”
The words seemed to reach him, but they didn’t settle. Steve squeezed his eyes shut, one hand moving to the scars hidden beneath his shirt as if he expected to find the wounds torn open again.
“It’s happening,” he whispered.
Eddie’s stomach dropped.
“What’s happening?”
Steve’s eyes opened, and Eddie saw it then: not the bedroom, not the soft lamplight or the familiar wallpaper, but red lightning and black vines, spores drifting through poisoned air. Steve was somewhere else entirely, somewhere Eddie knew too well.
“He’s here.”
Eddie swallowed.
“No,” he said firmly. “He isn’t.”
“I can feel it.”
“I know you can. But he isn’t here, Steve. Vecna’s gone.”
Steve’s breathing hitched at the name. His nails dug into his chest through his shirt.
Eddie edged a little closer, careful not to move too quickly.
“You’re in your bedroom,” he continued. “You’re at home. It’s Tuesday night. Robin called me because you didn’t show up to take her to dinner, and because she’s apparently decided I’m your official keeper now.”
The attempt at humour did nothing. Steve stared beyond him, eyes wide and glassy.
Eddie forced himself not to panic in response. He had seen Steve injured, feverish, concussed, bleeding so heavily that Eddie had pressed both hands against his side and still felt warmth spill between his fingers. He had seen Steve furious, exhausted, and hollowed out by grief.
He had never seen him this afraid.
Eddie took another careful breath and tried to remember what Wayne had taught him years ago, after Eddie had awakened from a nightmare convinced that the trailer was burning around him.
Ground him. Give his mind something else to hold.
“Steve, can you hear me?”
A tiny nod. Barely there, but Eddie caught it.
“Good. That’s good.” He shifted until he was sitting cross-legged on the carpet. “We’re going to try something. You don’t have to do it perfectly. There’s no winning or losing. You just have to stay with me.”
Steve’s fingers continued to shake against his shirt.
Eddie held out one hand, palm facing upward, but left the space between them.
“Five things you can see,” he said. “Look around the room and tell me five things you can see.”
Steve shook his head.
“That’s okay. Take your time.”
“I can’t.”
“You can. They don’t have to be interesting. They don’t even have to make sense to me. Just five things.”
Steve’s gaze moved wildly around the room before falling back to Eddie.
“Red.”
Eddie followed his line of sight to the bandana tied around Eddie’s wrist.
“Yeah. My bandana. That’s one.”
Steve swallowed, his breath still quick but no longer quite as shallow. He looked toward the bed.
“Blanket.”
“The blue blanket?”
Another small nod.
“Good. That’s two.”
Eddie watched Steve’s eyes travel to the nightstand.
“The lamp.”
“Three.”
“Your…” Steve’s voice broke. He squeezed his eyes shut briefly and then opened them again. “Your rings.”
Eddie looked down at his hand, spreading his fingers slightly so the dull silver caught the lamplight.
“Four. One more.”
Steve stared at him.
Eddie waited.
“Your eyes,” Steve whispered.
Something inside Eddie’s chest pulled tight.
“My eyes,” he repeated softly. “That’s five. You did it.”
Steve’s breathing was still too fast, but he was looking at Eddie now rather than through him. His grip on his shirt loosened by a fraction.
“Four things you can feel,” Eddie said.
Steve glanced down at himself.
“The carpet.”
“Under your hand?”
Steve nodded, pressing his palm against it as if noticing the rough fibres for the first time. “It’s scratchy.”
“Good. What else?”
“My shirt.”
“What does it feel like?”
“Wet.”
Eddie realised there was sweat darkening the fabric around Steve’s collar.
“That’s two.”
Steve shifted his shoulder against the wooden nightstand. “This.”
“The nightstand?”
“It’s hard.”
“Three.”
Steve hesitated.
Eddie moved his open hand slightly closer.
“You don’t have to touch me,” he said. “But you can, if you want.”
Steve stared at Eddie’s palm.
For several seconds, Eddie thought he would refuse. Then Steve released his shirt and reached across the space between them. His fingertips landed against Eddie’s hand first, cold and trembling. Eddie remained perfectly still, letting Steve decide what came next.
Steve slowly slid his palm against Eddie’s.
Eddie curled his fingers around it, gentle enough that Steve could pull away at any moment.
“Your hand,” Steve said.
“What about it?”
“Warm.”
Eddie’s throat tightened.
“That’s four.”
Steve’s grip suddenly became fierce, his fingers locking around Eddie’s as if the room had tilted beneath them. Eddie squeezed back, anchoring without restraining.
“Three things you can hear,” he said.
Steve looked uncertain again, but his gaze stayed fixed on Eddie.
“The clock.”
Eddie listened. There was a faint ticking from the small clock on Steve’s dresser, nearly swallowed by the sound of their breathing.
“Yeah.”
“A car.”
Headlights passed briefly across the bedroom wall as a vehicle drove along the street outside.
“That’s two.”
Steve’s brow furrowed.
Eddie waited, rubbing his thumb slowly over Steve’s knuckles.
“You,” Steve said at last.
“My voice?”
“Your breathing.”
Eddie almost laughed, but the sound would have come out too fragile.
“My breathing,” he agreed. “That’s three.”
He deliberately inhaled slowly through his nose and released the breath through his mouth. Steve watched him.
“Can you try to follow me?”
Steve’s first attempt was shaky, his breath catching halfway in. Eddie didn’t correct him. He simply breathed again, slow and exaggerated enough to be followed.
The second time, Steve managed a deeper inhale.
“There you go,” Eddie murmured. “No rush.”
They repeated it twice more. Steve’s shoulders remained tense, but his breaths began to spread farther apart.
“Two things you can smell,” Eddie said.
Steve closed his eyes, and Eddie immediately tightened his hold.
“Keep them open for me.”
Steve obeyed, blinking rapidly.
“Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologise.”
Steve leaned forward slightly, his face turning toward where their hands were joined. “Smoke.”
Eddie grimaced. “I only had one cigarette.”
“You always say that.”
The words were faint, but they sounded more like Steve. Eddie’s chest loosened for the first time since entering the room.
“Unprovoked slander during a medical emergency,” he said. “I’ll remember this betrayal.”
Steve’s mouth twitched but didn’t quite become a smile.
“What else?”
Steve inhaled carefully. His gaze drifted over Eddie’s face and down toward the collar of his jacket.
“Your shampoo.”
Eddie raised his eyebrows. “You can smell my shampoo from there?”
“You use too much.”
“There he is,” Eddie whispered.
Steve’s expression crumpled.
Eddie regretted the words immediately. Steve’s fingers convulsed around his hand, and his breath stumbled again.
“Hey, no, stay with me. You’re okay.”
“I’m not.”
“You don’t have to be okay yet.”
Steve shook his head, tears gathering in his eyes.
“I thought it was over.”
The confession was so quiet that Eddie nearly missed it.
“I know.”
“I thought once he was gone, it would stop.”
Eddie shifted closer until their knees nearly touched.
“The nightmares, maybe. The headaches. I thought I’d stop hearing the clock every time the house got quiet.” Steve looked down at their joined hands. “Sometimes I’m fine, and then something happens and I’m right back there. It feels real. It feels like he’s still inside my head.”
“He isn’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’m in there now,” Eddie said.
Steve looked up sharply.
Eddie’s heart pounded, but he didn’t look away.
“I’m in your head,” he continued, softer. “Robin is in there. Dustin and Lucas and Max and Nancy and all the other little gremlins who’ve decided your house belongs to them. Every terrible song you sing in the car is in there. Every argument we’ve had about movies. Every time I’ve annoyed you on purpose and every time you pretended you weren’t laughing. He doesn’t get to have the whole place just because he left some damage behind.”
A tear slipped down Steve’s cheek.
Eddie wanted to wipe it away, but he kept both of their hands still between them.
“You don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Steve said.
“There’s nothing wrong with you.”
“I’m sitting on the floor because I heard the pool filter turn on and thought it was—” Steve stopped, his jaw tightening. “Jesus Christ.”
“You heard a sound that reminded your body of something terrifying. Your body reacted before your brain could tell it you were safe.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“No,” Eddie admitted. “But maybe it’ll help you stop blaming yourself.”
Steve’s face twisted. He turned away, and more tears followed the first.
Eddie moved slowly, raising his free hand but stopping before he touched Steve’s cheek.
“Can I?”
Steve nodded.
Eddie brushed the tears away with his thumb. Steve leaned into the touch with a small, broken exhale, and Eddie had to remind himself that this moment wasn’t about the feeling that bloomed painfully behind his ribs whenever Steve looked at him like that.
“One thing left,” Eddie said.
Steve’s gaze lowered to Eddie’s mouth and then quickly lifted again.
“One thing you can taste.”
Steve froze.
Eddie waited for him to answer. He expected coffee, toothpaste, the lingering salt of his own tears, anything ordinary enough to complete the exercise and pull him firmly back into the present.
Instead, Steve looked at him for a long moment.
His breathing was slower now, though each inhale still trembled faintly. His pupils were wide, his hair falling untidily across his forehead. Eddie could feel the rapid beat of Steve’s pulse where his thumb rested near the inside of Steve’s wrist.
“Steve?”
Steve leaned forward and kissed him.
For one stunned second, Eddie did nothing.
Steve’s mouth pressed against his softly, uncertainly, as if he had acted on instinct and only realised what he’d done after it was too late to retreat. His lips were slightly damp with tears. He tasted faintly of mint and the coffee he must have drunk hours ago, now bitter at the edges.
Eddie’s entire mind went blank.
Then Steve began to pull away.
Eddie followed.
He cupped the side of Steve’s face and kissed him again, careful despite the desperate leap of his heart. He kept it gentle, giving Steve room to stop, but Steve made a small sound and grabbed the front of Eddie’s jacket, pulling him closer.
The kiss deepened for only a moment. There was nothing polished about it. Their noses bumped, and Steve’s breath caught against Eddie’s mouth, but it felt real in a way nothing had for months. Warm, imperfect, alive.
When they separated, they remained close enough that their foreheads nearly touched.
Eddie’s thumb rested against Steve’s cheek.
“Well,” he breathed. “That is one way to answer the question.”
Steve stared at him.
Then horror spread across his face.
“Oh my God.”
Eddie’s stomach dropped. “Steve—”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.”
“I don’t know why I did that.”
Eddie pulled back just enough to see him clearly, although he kept hold of Steve’s hand.
“You don’t have to explain.”
“I just kissed you.”
“I was there. I remember.”
“Eddie.”
“And then, in a shocking turn of events, I kissed you back.”
Steve’s eyes searched his face as if looking for mockery and finding none.
“You did.”
“I did.”
The silence between them changed. It was no longer heavy with danger, but it was fragile, stretched thin around words neither of them had been brave enough to say.
Steve looked down.
“You were asking what I could taste.”
“I gathered that.”
“And I kissed you.”
“You keep repeating it like I might have suffered a head injury during the last thirty seconds.”
Steve gave a breathless, disbelieving laugh. It cracked in the middle, but it was a laugh.
Eddie smiled despite the ache in his chest.
“There’s that sound.”
Steve’s smile faded into something more vulnerable.
“I thought about it before.”
Eddie stopped breathing.
Steve’s grip loosened on his jacket, though he didn’t let go entirely.
“Not like this,” he added quickly. “I didn’t plan on having a panic attack and then using you as part of a grounding exercise.”
“Would’ve been an incredibly specific plan.”
“I’ve thought about kissing you,” Steve said, more firmly this time. “Before tonight.”
Eddie stared.
He had imagined Steve saying those words so many times that hearing them now felt unreal. In Eddie’s fantasies, he always had something clever prepared. Something charming and theatrical, delivered with the confidence of a man who hadn’t spent the last year hiding how completely Steve Harrington had rearranged his insides.
Instead, he said, “Seriously?”
Steve’s eyebrows lifted. “That’s your response?”
“I’m having an out-of-body experience. Give me a minute.”
“Eddie.”
“Steve, I have been flirting with you for months.”
“I thought that was just how you talked.”
“I don’t ask everyone whether they believe in love at first sight while leaning over the counter at Family Video.”
“You asked Keith that.”
“That was psychological warfare.”
A genuine smile pulled at Steve’s mouth.
Eddie’s chest warmed at the sight of it, but he didn’t let himself become distracted. Steve had calmed down, but the panic had left him pale and exhausted. His hands still shook slightly, and the damp collar of his shirt clung to his skin.
“We don’t have to figure this out tonight,” Eddie said.
Steve’s smile slipped.
“No, that’s not what I meant.” Eddie squeezed his hand. “I’m not taking it back. I don’t want to take it back. I just don’t want you to think you owe me a conversation because I helped you through something.”
“I don’t.”
“And you don’t owe me another kiss.”
“What if I want to give you one?”
Eddie’s heart attempted to escape through his throat.
“Then I would humbly accept your generous donation.”
Steve rolled his eyes, but there was relief in his expression.
Eddie studied him. “How do you feel?”
“Embarrassed.”
“Emotionally, perhaps. Physically?”
Steve considered the question, taking stock of himself.
“Tired.”
“That’s normal.”
“My chest hurts.”
“From breathing too fast.”
“And I feel cold.”
Eddie glanced toward the bed. “Think you can stand?”
Steve started to nod, but when he attempted to move, his face tightened. Eddie rose carefully and offered both hands. Steve accepted them, allowing Eddie to pull him upright, but his legs wobbled almost immediately.
Eddie caught him around the waist.
Steve grabbed his shoulders, breathing sharply.
“I’ve got you,” Eddie said.
For a moment, neither moved.
Steve’s forehead rested against Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie could feel every shaky breath against his neck, but the rhythm remained steady.
“You really do,” Steve whispered.
Eddie closed his eyes.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended. “I really do.”
He helped Steve sit on the edge of the bed and then moved to grab the blue blanket Steve had identified earlier. He wrapped it around Steve’s shoulders, tucking it close before crouching in front of him.
“Water?”
Steve nodded.
Eddie fetched the glass from the nightstand and sniffed it suspiciously before handing it over.
“It’s water,” Steve said.
“You never know. Could be fancy rich-people vodka.”
“It’s been there since last night.”
“Even worse.”
Steve drank anyway, his hands cupped around the glass. Eddie stayed crouched between his knees, close enough to catch it if Steve’s grip failed.
After several sips, Steve handed it back.
“Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I do.”
“No, you don’t.”
“You came over.”
“Robin threatened me.”
“She did not.”
“She said, and I quote, ‘Go check on him before I drag you there by your hair.’”
Steve looked amused. “That sounds like her.”
“She has a terrifying amount of upper-body confidence.”
Eddie set the glass down and stood, but Steve caught his wrist before he could move away.
“Stay.”
The single word stripped every joke from Eddie’s mind.
“Okay.”
Eddie sat beside him, leaving a small space between them. Steve stared down at the blanket gathered in his lap.
“This has happened before,” he admitted.
Eddie turned toward him. “The panic attacks?”
Steve nodded.
“How many times?”
“I don’t know. A few.”
“Does Robin know?”
“No.”
“Nancy?”
“No.”
“Anyone?”
Steve shook his head.
Eddie let out a slow breath, not wanting his anger to sound like it was directed at Steve.
“You’ve been dealing with this alone?”
“I thought I could handle it.”
“You were handling it.”
Steve looked at him.
“Badly, maybe,” Eddie continued, “but you were surviving it. Doing it alone doesn’t mean you were stronger, though. It just means you were alone.”
Steve’s jaw tightened.
“I’m supposed to be the one who handles things.”
“According to who?”
“Everyone.”
“Bullshit.”
“The kids call me whenever something goes wrong. Robin calls me when her parents are fighting. Dustin calls when his car won’t start even though I’ve told him twenty times that I am not a mechanic. My mom calls when she needs somebody to check the house because my parents are out of town and she and she thinks something's wrong from three states away. Everybody expects me to know what to do.”
“And who do you call?”
Steve fell silent.
Eddie nudged his knee.
“You can call me.”
“I don’t want to be another thing you have to deal with.”
“You aren’t a thing I deal with.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.” Eddie turned fully toward him. “And I’m telling you that you’re wrong.”
Steve pulled the blanket tighter around himself.
Eddie hesitated before continuing.
“You think I don’t know what it’s like to be afraid of your own head? After the bats, I couldn’t sleep without the lights on for months. I’d wake up and swear I could feel them biting me again. Sometimes the trailer creaks and I’m convinced the ceiling is about to split open.”
Steve looked at him, surprised.
“You never told me.”
“Yeah, well. Apparently we’re both idiots who think trauma becomes less real if we keep our mouths shut.”
“I don’t think you’re an idiot.”
“That’s because you’re blinded by my beauty.”
Steve huffed quietly.
Eddie reached over and took Steve’s hand again.
“Next time, you call me.”
“What if it’s three in the morning?”
“I’m probably awake.”
“What if you’re not?”
“Then you wake me up.”
“What if—”
“Steve.” Eddie raised their joined hands and pressed his knuckles lightly against Steve’s chest. “Call me.”
Steve stared at him before nodding.
“Okay.”
“And we tell Robin.”
Steve groaned.
“We tell Robin,” Eddie repeated.
“She’ll panic.”
“She does that. Well just make sure to be there for the few minutes she does.”
“She’ll tell Dustin.”
“We will explicitly forbid her from telling Dustin.”
“That’s never worked before.”
“Then we threaten to tell Nancy about the poems Robin keeps hidden beneath her mattress.”
Steve’s head snapped toward him. “There are poems?”
“I have said too much.”
A laugh escaped Steve, fuller this time. Eddie watched some of the tension leave his shoulders.
The room had grown quiet again, but now the silence felt soft.
Steve’s thumb traced absent circles over the back of Eddie’s hand.
“So,” he said.
“So.”
“About the kiss.”
Eddie’s pulse quickened. “I thought we agreed you didn’t owe me a conversation tonight.”
“I know. I want one.”
Eddie tried to read his expression. “Okay.”
Steve took a breath.
“I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Neither do I.”
“You’ve dated guys before.”
“I’ve made out with guys before. Dating implies those guys saw me more than anything but a hookup.”
Steve glanced down at their hands. “I’ve never done either.”
“We can go slow.”
“And if I panic again?”
“Then we stop and breathe.”
“What if I screw this up?”
“Then we screw it up together.”
Steve looked at him.
Eddie felt exposed beneath that gaze, every defence stripped away.
“I’m not going anywhere because you have panic attacks,” Eddie said. “I’m not going to think you’re weak, and I’m not going to start treating you like you’ll break. I might become extremely annoying about whether you’ve eaten or slept, but I was probably going to do that anyway.”
“You already do.”
“Then nothing changes.”
“Something changes.”
Eddie’s gaze dropped briefly to Steve’s lips.
“Hopefully.”
Steve’s smile was small but real.
He leaned closer, slow enough that Eddie could have moved away. Eddie didn’t. Steve’s hand rose to the side of his neck, fingers brushing through the hair at his nape.
“This okay?” Steve asked.
“Very.”
Steve kissed him again.
This time there was no panic behind it, no desperate search for something tangible enough to pull him back into his body. It was deliberate. Gentle. Steve’s lips moved slowly against Eddie’s, and Eddie let himself respond without fear that the moment might disappear.
When they parted, Steve stayed close.
“One thing I can taste,” he murmured.
Eddie smiled against his mouth. “You are never going to use that technique normally again, are you?”
“Probably not.”
“You’ve ruined grounding exercises for both of us.”
Steve kissed the corner of his smile.
“I’m okay with that.”
Eddie wrapped an arm around Steve’s shoulders, and Steve leaned against him, letting the blanket fall across both of their laps.
Outside, another car passed along the street. The clock continued ticking on the dresser. The house settled around them with ordinary creaks and groans, each sound belonging exactly where it should.
Steve listened to all of it.
Then he listened to Eddie breathe beside him.
And when Eddie felt Steve begin to match the rhythm, slow and even, he held him a little closer.