Chapter Text
Monday morning broke bright and cool, the first hint of fall brushing the trees with yellow. Steve pulled into the middle school drop-off lane with the windows rolled down and music low on the radio. Dustin was mid-rant about campaign notes, Mike and Lucas were mock-arguing about spell slots, and Will just smiled, clutching his sketchbook.
Steve grinned as they piled out. “Go. Learn things. Don’t start fires.”
“Only if they deserve it!” Dustin yelled back, and Steve shook his head, amused.
Back in his car, the quiet settled in like a favorite hoodie — warm, familiar. He didn’t dread school. Not today. Not anymore.
-
At lunch, the group gathered behind the school, sprawling across the patchy grass like they owned the place. Eddie had declared it “an official Hellfire-sanctioned outdoor meeting,” complete with a crumpled blanket that looked like it had lived in the back of his van since 1982.
Steve sat between Eddie and Robin, who had joined them that day with her usual deadpan sass and a twinkle in her eye. She stole one of his apple slices without asking and muttered, “You're too healthy for someone who drives like a dad,” around a bite.
“Better than living off whatever radioactive sludge Munson calls breakfast,” Steve shot back, nudging Eddie gently with his elbow.
Eddie placed a hand to his chest, mock-offended. “For your information, Pop-Tarts are a sacred food group.”
“They’re a dessert, not a breakfast,” Robin muttered.
“Philistine,” Eddie whispered.
Steve chuckled, watching the way they bantered like they’d known each other for years instead of just a few weeks. It felt easy. Natural. Right.
The conversation spiraled into nonsense after that — Gareth and Jeff argued about whether vampires could enroll in public school (“Not during the day!” “That’s discriminatory!”), and someone tossed a gummy worm directly into Grant’s hair. Steve caught Dustin up on a math quiz, shared a can of Pringles with Mike, and laughed so hard at one of Will’s under-his-breath one-liners that he nearly dropped his soda.
He leaned back on his elbows, sun on his face, wind lifting strands of his hair, Eddie’s knee knocking into his now and then like it was deliberate.
Steve looked around — at Robin’s crooked grin as she teased Jeff, Gareth loudly explaining eldritch taxes for some imaginary character sheet, and Eddie, full-body gesturing mid-story, eyes alight as he talked.
Something inside Steve stilled. Settled.
This was it.
Not king-of-the-hallways Steve.
Not accessory-to-Nancy Steve.
Not rebound, not background noise, not disposable.
He wasn’t just tolerated here. He was wanted.
Steve Harrington, local babysitter. DnD party healer. Granola bar distributor.
Friend. Teammate. Crush, maybe.
He smiled, soft and small, the kind that didn’t need an audience.
And when Eddie leaned closer, like he could feel the shift in Steve’s chest too, Steve didn’t pull away.
They didn’t need to speak it out loud. Not yet.
But whatever this was — it was real.
And it was his.
-
Later that evening, Eddie tugged Steve up onto the roof of his trailer. A ratty blanket was already spread out, two sodas sitting between them, condensation slick on the cans.
They lay side by side, looking up at the stars. It was quiet except for the occasional cricket and the distant hum of the highway.
Steve exhaled slowly. “You know... I used to think life was supposed to feel big all the time. Like, huge parties, cheerleaders, getting noticed.”
Eddie turned his head, watching him.
“But this?” Steve smiled. “You. The kids. Hellfire. It’s better. It’s real.”
Eddie laughed under his breath. “You getting soft on me, Harrington?”
Steve looked at him, eyes soft in the moonlight. “Maybe I’m finally happy.”
Eddie’s grin faded into something quieter, something real. He reached over and laced their fingers together.
They kissed — slow, sure, unhurried.
When they pulled apart, Steve leaned his head on Eddie’s shoulder. The stars above blinked on and off like sleepy eyes, and the world felt distant.
“Thanks,” Steve murmured. “For seeing me. Even when I didn’t know I wanted to be seen.”
“Thanks for letting me,” Eddie whispered back.
They sat like that, still and quiet, until the sky darkened completely.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, Steve wasn’t waiting for the other shoe to drop.
He just breathed.
Just existed.
Just lived.
And it felt like normal.
Finally.