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“You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.”
She said it with a smile, and he ignored the words in favor of the fact that he had made her laugh.
Nancy Wheeler; beautiful, amazing, smart Nancy Wheeler.
Not yours to love.
Steve knows that Nancy isn’t his to love; he’s not torn up about it.
Even though sometimes he feels otherwise.
She’s dating Johnathan, and that’s fine. He’s fine with it. Really! He doesn’t care that Nancy isn’t with him anymore.
Bullshit.
And that’s it, isn’t it? It’s not about him or Nancy or Johnathan, it’s about bullshit.
Steve had loved Nancy, but she didn’t want his love. Denied its existence, even, like nothing Steve felt was real, because he’s Steve Harrington, King of Hawkins High, certified lady-killer, The Hair, the guy with the bat.
King of Hawkins High, certified lady-killer, The Hair, the guy with the bat isn’t allowed to be sad, or sensitive, or in love, so Steve can’t be either.
Steve’s love is bullshit.
He ponders bullshit sitting in his big, empty house, permanently alone.
Does anybody love Steve Harrington?
When the earth cracks open, chaos ensues. Steve carries Eddie’s limp body through the dismal permafrost of the Upside Down. He can feel Eddie’s blood seeping through his shirt, soaking it up until it sticks to his torso like the world’s most macabre wet t-shirt contest. Dustin is wailing; he cries so hard he vomits. Steve pushes 110 in an attempt to reach a hospital while Eddie’s touch and go.
It’s horrible.
Eddie’s whisked away to the O.R. and Steve hopes to God that he makes it through. He finds out from the others that Max is in the ICU. She’s braindead.
Steve assumes his babysitter role, comforting the kids as they wait for Eddie to come out of surgery. Eventually they settle into the waiting room chairs, falling asleep on one another’s shoulders as the adrenaline wears off. Steve holds vigil, nervously tapping his foot on the linoleum and staring ahead blankly. He’s broken out of his trance by the arrival of frantic parents, overjoyed to find their children in one piece. Relieved of his duty, Steve mutters half-hearted excuses as he makes his way out the door.
He doesn’t want to tell them the real reason he’s leaving, why the sight of them makes bitterness settle in his bones, tightens his throat.
Steve knows no one’s coming through that door for him.
He takes the long way home, the camper still rattling from its harrowing journey to the hospital. At the end of the cul de sac, his house still stands, because of course it does. He feels the grime on his skin, and decides that now is as good a time as any to take care of it.
The Harrington house doesn’t feel real, especially now. Even in the midst of an apocalyptic event, there’s not a picture frame out of place, not a single ruffled pillow. It’s like it lives in another dimension, entirely unaffected by anything going on around it.
Steve’s personal Upside Down.
The phone rings; the sound is shrill in his ears. It could be a telemarketer; it usually is. But maybe.
Maybe just this once,
it isn’t.
He picks it up and holds it to his ear, anticipating. Breath comes out of his mouth in soft puffs against the receiver.
“Steven?”
Steven; never Steve.
He feels like crying.
“Yeah?”
“Oh, thank goodness you picked up! We saw the news. How’s the house? Any damage?”
Bitter.
“House is fine, mom.”
“Oh, good. We’ll be staying in Florida a little while longer. Don’t forget to water the tulips. They get dry this time of year.”
“Mom-”
The drone of the dial tone feels like a flatline.
Like his heart is flatlining.
Does anybody love Steve Harrington?
He rips the phone out of the wall and smashes the receiver against the tile, stomping on it until it’s nothing but a twisted amalgamation of plastic and circuitry. There’s no loss in the destroyed electronic anyway; no one ever calls.
No one
important.
Besides, he can just buy another one, because if Steve has anything, it’s money. Money for a big house and a shiny BMW and a closet full of Tommy Hilfiger. He can have anything he wants.
Not a family, though.
He slides down the wall, knees pulled up to his chest. His tears make tracks through the dirt on his face as sharp, hiccuping sobs push their way past his lips, pressed into the valley of kneecaps in an attempt to stifle the sounds of his personal agony. His chest heaves, and the pain the accompanies the movement reminds him of his untreated injuries, hidden underneath his dirty, battle-worn clothes.
He is the single speck of grime in the imposing, sterile environment he calls a home.
Proof he doesn’t belong.
Does anybody love Steve Harrington?
Recovery comes slowly for all of them.
Max had regained consciousness, baffling the doctors. Medical miracle, they’d called it.
Steve doesn’t think so. A miracle would’ve been Max never having to be involved in this bullshit at all.
Despite their enthusiasm, the kids are pushed out of the room by a swarm of medical students, there to bear witness to this miracle, studying her like a particularly fascinating specimen. They asked her to be a part of a neurological study in Chicago: she told them she wanted to go home.
And home she went, to a fancy new apartment with freshly dried paint in a shiny new wheelchair, both courtesy of government hush money.
Eddie’s gaping wounds eventually became large swaths of pinkish scars that ached with the weather. They didn’t seem to faze him: he said they were metal. He laughed and said they matched; Steve thinks that makes him metal by association.
He remembers the first time Eddie called him metal, in the Upside Down. He compared him to Ozzy Osborn, leaning forward into his space when he said it.
Steve wonders why that interaction made him sweat, why it made him feel nervous.
Like how Nancy made him feel, way back when.
He’s spending a lot of time with Eddie these days: their shared, bat-related trauma brought them closer, he thinks.
Steve thinks he would spend every day with Eddie anyway. There’s something alluring about him that draws Steve in like a moth to a flame, so close he’ll burn. Steve doesn’t think Eddie is dangerous, it’s not like that. He makes him feel like he’s burning, though. When he looks at him.
But Eddie
is dangerous. Steve knows it when Eddie looks at him with those pretty brown eyes.
Eyes like Nancy’s.
Dangerous.
They’re smoking together one late afternoon, the amber light of a steadily setting sun seeping through the blinds, casting striped shadows across Iron Maiden posters and D&D illustrations. The light shines against them too, illuminating the redness in their eyes and their cheeks.
It makes Eddie look beautiful.
Steve talks about how the scars make him nervous, how he’s not sure how to explain them to others. Eddie throws his head back and laughs,
“They’re badass! I bet the ladies dig it.”
Steve’s eyes zero in on his lips, the line of his throat.
Stop it, Steve. What’s wrong with you?
“Do the guys?”
Eddie chokes on his next hit.
“I’m sorry?”
Shut
up, Steve.
“The guys. Do they dig it?”
“What kind of guys are we talkin’ here, Stevie?”
Stevie.
God.
Steve just stares at him.
Pretty brown eyes.
“Steve?”
He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. He doesn’t realize he’s doing it until he is, until he registers that he’s kissing someone.
Kissing Eddie.
It’s desperate and messy in the way only kissing high can be. He whimpers into Eddie’s mouth.
He doesn’t realize it until it’s over, until he’s muttering an apology and running out of Eddie’s trailer like a bat out of hell, burning everywhere.
Burning with shame, and
something else.
Steve was never very academic, but he did remember one thing from middle school science; black holes. Big, empty spaces filled with nothing that suck in everything in their vicinity and destroy it.
Eddie draws him in like a black hole; Steve is unable to resist.
Eddie is going to destroy him.
Steve drives home; his other black hole.
Empty, devoid of life.
Burning with shame, and
something else.
You’re hard, Steve. Why are you hard?
He thinks about Phoebe Cates. He thinks about boobies.
Definitely not long fingers and tattoos and
pretty brown eyes.
He cries when he cums.
Burning with shame, and
something else.
He cries himself to sleep, lying next to his bat full of nails, all the lights on.
The next time he sees Eddie is when he drops off the kids for D&D. Eddie doesn’t even look at him.
Pretty brown eyes.
Steve knows Eddie hates him. Has to. Who wouldn’t?
You’re
disgusting, Steve, and he knows it.
He feels dirty, dirty like he was when he crawled out of the Upside Down, but he can’t wash it away.
Does anybody love Steve Harrington?
Robin knows something is wrong with Steve.
She stares at the back of his head, watching him monotonously sort tapes at the counter. He’s barely said three words to her today. He doesn’t flirt with the girls who come in just for him: he just looks sad. She knows his parents aren’t home, so it must be something else. It’s 1:00 pm on a Wednesday: their quietest time on their slowest day. They haven’t had a single customer in over an hour. Lost in thought, it takes her a minute to realize that Steve has stopped sorting entirely and is just standing there.
“Steve, are you doing ok?”
He’s silent.
“Steve?”
“Did you ever feel…like there was something wrong with you?” His voice sounds choked, like he’s going to cry.
“Steve…what are you talking about?”
“I think you know, Rob.”
Steve turns around to look at her, and he looks absolutely broken. He’s on the verge of tears.
Oh!
Oh.
Oh no.
She grabs his hand, dragging him back into the break room before running up front and flipping the sign to closed. When she returns, Steve is fidgeting on the couch, staring at his shoes. She sits down beside him.
“Steve, tell me what happened.”
He starts crying: Robin’s never seen Steve cry.
“I just- Eddie.”
“Wha-”
“I kissed him, Robs! We were high as shit and I kissed him and I shouldn’t have but I liked it! I liked it, and I hated that I liked it, so I ran away like a coward! I kissed him and it made me hard and jerked off thinking about his face! He won’t even look at me, Robin! He hates me! He hates me because I’m- I’m disgusting for even thinking of him like that. Who does that, jerks off to their friend?”
“Steve. Why were you…disgusted?”
He frowns, “Because…I kissed him without asking and I liked it, and I jerked off to it. That’s pervert shit.”
“Haven’t you kissed girls without asking before? Haven’t you jerked off to girls before too?”
Steve hesitates, “I’m not- but it’s different. You know it’s different.”
“Why is it different, Steve? Because Eddie’s a guy? Because that makes you different? It makes you a freak like me?”
“Robin, you’re not a freak for liking girls.”
“Then why do you think you’re disgusting for liking men? Will’s gay, do you think he’s disgusting?”
“No! God no! Why would you say that? I would never think Will’s disgusting for liking men. He could do better than Mike, that’s for sure, but he’s not gross for being gay.”
Robin laughs, “Ok, so why’s it different when it’s you?”
“Because I like girls. Boobies, Robin.”
“You can like both, Steve. That’s an option.”
“I know, but- I just-” Steve sighs. His eyes are red from crying, his face wet with tears.
Robin takes his hands in hers, “Steve, look at me.”
He does.
“We are platonic soulmates with a capital “P”. I mean that. There is absolutely nothing in this world that could make me break that bond with you, Steve. You’re my best friend; you’re…the only best friend I’ve ever had. You get me the way no one ever has, and you never tell me to shut up, or that I’m annoying, or some shit like that. There is nothing that could ever make me turn away from you. I love you, Steve, with as much love as platonic with a capital “P” soulmates can have. And I’m going to say it over and over and over again, because I know you need to hear it. I love you, Steve, and you’re not gross, or disgusting, or perverted for feeling the way you do, I promise. And even if you still feel that way, I will do everything in my power to make sure that you never feel that way about yourself again, ok?”
Steve’s fully crying now, his face wrenched with the emotion of it all. He nods jerkily,
“Ok.”
“Ok. Gimme a hug, asshole.”
That gets a laugh out of him.
Does anybody love Steve Harrington?
Somebody loves Steve Harrington.
Robin tells him he has to talk to Eddie. Steve really, really, really doesn’t want to. It’s not that he’s scared, per se.
He is.
Terrified, even.
Steve knows he has to do this. He doesn’t even know how to have this conversation. Robin told him just to tell Eddie how he feels, explain himself. He thought about buying flowers, then decided against it. Too on the nose, he thinks. He pulls up to Eddie’s trailer and kills the ignition, takes a deep breath.
Here goes nothing.
Or everything.
He knocks.
Eddie opens the door a crack. He looks angry.
“Wow, finally decided to turn up, huh?”
Yep, definitely angry.
“Uh, yeah. Sorry. Can we talk?”
“I don’t know, can we? Or are you going to run away again?”
“That’s right! Run away, Stevie boy! Run away! Just like you always do!”
“No. No, I’m not.”
Steve stands in Eddie’s living room, eyes flicking over the assortment of baseball caps lining the walls.
“So? Go ahead.”
Steve wrings his hands. He feels Eddie’s gaze on him.
Pretty brown eyes.
“I’m sorry I kissed you. I shouldn’t’ve done that.”
Eddie laughs bitterly, “That’s it, huh? That’s all?”
Fuck.
“No! No. Uh…so, I- um, well, I kind of… freaked out? Because we were both high and I really should’ve asked you first, and I liked it and I wasn’t really sure what that meant so I freaked out and ran away. Sorry. For that.”
Eddie stares at him.
Pretty brown eyes.
“Eddie… I talked to Robin. About- the thing. And I realized that the reason I like hanging out with you so much is because I have a crush on you…like, a really mushy, proper, crush on you like I’m a high school girl. And I know that you’re mad at me, and that’s totally ok because I was a dick and I understand if you don’t want to see me for a while, but… I’d like to take you out sometime? If that’s ok. I was gonna buy you flowers but I wasn’t sure what you’d like.”
Eddie’s still staring at him.
Pretty brown eyes.
Pretty brown eyes now filled with tears.
Fuck. Shit. Fuck. What did he do?
Eddie shakes his head,
“No. No, Steve. Don’t say that.”
“Eddie-”
“No! No, Steve, you don’t get to kiss me and run away, then come back and say that shit to me! No! Fuck you!”
“Eddie! Just- listen to me!”
“No! You listen to me! Henderson told me that you were a completely different guy! No more King Steve! But I think that maybe he’s full of shit because this- this is the cruelest thing you’ve ever done.”
Not yours to love.
Eddie is so angry he’s shaking.
“Do you know what it’s like? Do you know what it’s like to be surrounded by people who hate you, want you dead? Do you know what it’s like to know that you will never find love in this shitty Podunk town, and even if you leave, you’ll have to live in the shadows? Do you know what it’s like to be in love with someone you know will never give you the time of day, if anything would shove you into a locker and call you a queer? Punch you in the head and call you a fag? I didn’t get high school romance, Steve! I didn’t get a prom date, or a movie date, or an anything date, because I was a freak in more ways than one! So don’t tell me about having a stupid, innocent, little crush like a high school girl, because I had that crush! I had that crush for years! I never got my high school romance because I had a crush on a dickhead named King fucking Steve!”
Does anybody love Steve Harrington?
Somebody did love Steve Harrington, once.
Steve’s love is
bullshit.
No.
King of Hawkins High, certified lady-killer, The Hair, the guy with the bat; they’re bullshit.
Steve Harrington, Stevie, Hawkin’s best goddamn babysitter; they’re the realest thing in the world.
Steve knows lots about who he used to be; captain of the swim team, basketball star, King Steve, colossal dick.
Bully.
He also knows lots about himself now; he’s Robin’s best friend, her platonic soulmate with a capital “P”, the babysitter.
One thing he knows for certain, though, is that he is completely, hopelessly, irrevocably in love with Eddie Munson.
No more bullshit.
“Eddie, I can’t speak for who I was in high school, or what I did. But for what it’s worth, I was a dick, and I regret it. If I ever did something to you, I’m sorry. And I understand if you never forgive me for it; I’m not asking you to. But I can speak for who I am now.”
Eddie looks at him, unsure. Like a feral cat approached with an unfamiliar hand, ready to strike.
“Do you know what I see when I look at you?”
Steve takes a breath. He’s going for it. Mushy high school crush, dialed up to one thousand.
“You are so beautiful.”
The façade begins to crack.
“I’m actually jealous of your hair, seriously. It looks so soft, and I want to run my hands through it, braid it like girls at a sleepover.”
Eddie laughs.
“I love your laugh, and your tattoos, and your lips, and when you laughed that day, I just wanted to kiss you so bad, because I wanted you so bad. I love the fact that you’re a nerd.”
Eddie raises an eyebrow, doubting.
“I’m not joking, it’s actually kind of charming. You have the prettiest eyes, like holy shit. I love them, your pretty brown eyes. I love you.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah, Eds, I do. I’ll take you on a movie date, and we can get seats all the way in the back so we can make out while our overpriced slushies melt. I’ll ask you to prom, and we can wear sweaty polyester suits and play cheesy music you hate and slow dance in my living room, and then we can have an awkward first time at a motel afterwards. I’ll buy you dumb gifts for Valentine’s, and bake a cake for your birthday with a shitty piping job and pretend it’s homemade even if it’s from a box. And I’ll take you on any and every date that you want, because I love you. If you’ll have me.”
Does anybody love Steve Harrington?
“What about those flowers you were talking about?”
Yes.