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Everytime something goes wrong in Steve Harrington's life, he seems to chase something else to balance it out.
He finds out pretty early on that he can't live without the balance in his life. When his parents call for the first time, telling him they'll be gone a few more weeks, he orders the largest, most topping filled pizza he can and eats it whole, pretending like he doesn't regret his decision when he has no one to help him come to when he's hunched over the toilet later.
When they stay gone, this time for months at a time, he gains a reputation. He throws ragers, legendary parties. He does keg stands and drinks and smokes and takes girls to bed, and he does it all because he can , he wants to. He's okay, he's fine, really. What's the point of a big empty house, Tommy tells him when he finds Steve staring quietly at his father's empty office for too long, if not to house it with people?
That's when the idea forms, of course, for his future aspirations. Six kids, he thinks. He'd like six. Three boys, three girls, maybe. Keep it all balanced. Buy an RV, drive around the coast, make sandwiches and tell stories and chase his kids around on beaches until he can catch them, throw them in the air and catch them again. He'd press them against his chest as he showed them how to take a wave, knee deep in the ocean, back turned and strong, plant your feet and brace. He'll laugh with them when they fall, formless hair and featureless faces soaked and overjoyed at their failure, because it's fun and they can try again.
He thinks those faces take shape, finally, when he meets Nancy Wheeler for the first time and becomes smitten. Now that formless hair is brown, darker than his but still beautiful. Those random limbs are more bird-like, distinct and prim, and those eyes are blue. The eyes are blue and maybe a brown here and there, and there's love and happiness, and he kisses Nancy Wheeler on her thin lips with all the sweetness he has in his heart, knowing that one day it'll be real. He has her, through it all, and it's enough.
It's enough until it isn't. It's enough until he's on the ground being pummeled by a man, a boy, a guy much better than him. It's enough until he comes upon a maddening scene, soul I'm his hands and heart in his throat, because oh God what is that fuck jump, run, run run-
It's enough until it isn't. Until he's swinging a bat with nails blindly at a face he can't see, can't decipher. It's enough until he's blinded by tears, by hurt and loss, blinded by betrayal and love hurt because it's not real, it was never real, it's all bullshit
And it hurts. It keeps hurting and it's not enough, thinks it will never be enough, he will never be enough for anyone, or too much for everyone, until. Until he finds a balance, again. Without his precious, precarious balance, he's not sure how else to stay afloat in a world where you exist in the same way monsters, super heroes and demons do.
Because maybe he sucks at being a boyfriend, a person, a good guy, a King, but he finds that he's a damn good babysitter.
So he finds a purpose to right him, again. He's lost a love, someone he thought would be it for him, but he's gained something new. Maybe a new kind of love he didn't know about, but one he welcomes with cautious arms and a damaged heart. See, he's got a kid now, which he laughs at when he thinks about it. Training, he could joke, for his future (the one he becomes less sure about everyday. Not because of want, but because of how . Not that he had anyone to joke to, but still.)
And then it gets put off balance by a code, a promise of more, because ‘he likes more,’ he likes when it's unbalanced except he doesn't, he's soon reminded. He pushed too far, tipped the scales and now he's trapped. He's trapped and in pain and so close to tears and panicking, and then he’s laughing and he can’t see or hear coherently, he’s fighting through a buzz of fog, and he comes to on a bathroom floor, head in a toilet, spilling his guts for the world to see.
Except the world doesn’t see. The world is now Robin, and she looks at his spilled guts, spills her own, and she tips the scales back into balance. Now he’s laughing because he wants to, because he’s relieved, because he thinks he finally has someone who can get it, who can get him and it's…it's something worth fighting for.
So for a while he’s balanced, he’s right, he still feels lost and alone but he can always look to the right and see his little birdie, ready with a quip and a smile and a long-winded rant about women with him, and he thinks he could be okay with a balance that's mostly one sided. He’s been through worse, he thinks, and he’s come out alive. Changing his world view a few times over the past four years doesn’t always have to be in crisis, he hopes, so he doesn’t mind feeling off balance internally and proclaiming all is as it should be.
Until he’s got a bottle to his throat, his mind is racing a mile a minute, and he’s trying not to panic, trying not to lose himself in a flashback of cold steel, sharp needles in his neck, and pain unlike anything he had felt before.
From there it's ‘don’tcha big boy,’ its Ozzy Osbourne and curly dark hair and soft, warm eyes he thinks he could fall into without being pierced, unlike Nancy’s, and he thinks his scale would be balanced again.
A battle, a hospital trip, hours of physical therapy and a few tear-filled confessions later, Steve finally feels the balance.
He feels okay, for the first time in a long time. He has someone he loves, who loves him in the way he needs, and he’s happy. He’s allowing himself to be happy, and he realizes he doesn’t want more, for once. He doesn’t want more, he wants exactly what he has now.
He wants to forever wake up to hair in his mouth and warm, real, smooth skin pressed into his. He wants the grumble of 'too early Harrington, fuck off' in his shoulder as his boyfriend reaches behind him to help shampoo his hair, thinking it's hilarious every time when he shapes it into a mowhawk, as if he had pulled one over on Steve, laughing triumphantly with his victory even when Steve retaliated by pulling his head under the water with him and kissing him while he desperately tries to breathe through the drowning. ‘Trying to kill me, Steve?’ He always asks, and Steve only smiles as he closes his eyes, resting their foreheads together to try and keep out the spray. I want to drown you in love, he wants to tell him. I want you to never come up for air with me, because I can give you what you need, and if you come up for air, I don’t think I’ll ever be the same, he wants to say. But he doesn’t, because Eddie knows, and they take turns freezing and grumbling as they each wait for the other to get done with their turn under the hot water.
He wants to forever see the surprise on Eddie's face when he still, after years of dating, a year of living together, finds Steve cooking breakfast for him. He wants to forever watch his boyfriend put syrup on eggs, an annoying habit he picked up from Will, who picked it up from Mike. He wants to forever make a faux-disgusted sound and get into an age-old argument of why they're both wrong for different reasons and end it with sticky syrupy kisses. He wants to forever watch his boyfriend feign being full so he can throw his un-syruped waffles out to the squirrels and birds and get excited when they come out to eat them.
He wants to forever cuddle Eddie on the couch and whisper to him all the reasons they cannot go and kidnap a possum off the road and keep it as a pet, no matter what they name it, and forever hear Eddie's petulant whining about how he'd be such a good possum dad. He'll promise maybe they can get a dog though, maybe a cat. He'll shove Eddie half heartedly when Eddie will growl that they don't need a cat if Eddie already has all this pussy for Steve, cheeks glowing red and kissing him to shut him up.
He wants all of this and nothing more or less, forever, for the rest of his life. So he comes up with a plan.
Here's how it should go:
He starts the morning of February 13th at 8:00 AM, leaving Eddie toasty in bed to get dressed, lock up and drive down to Eddie's favorite bakery. He picks up a pre-ordered case of pastries and two coffee orders to go (one black, one with every pump of syrup and sugar added imaginable, both used. One guess as to whose is who's.)
He carefully puts them in the passenger seat and walks two streets down to the florist that does custom bouquets, and picks up a dozen black roses. They're different, kind of odd, and he finds it funny in their meaning (death, absorption of light, but freeing and calming in its presence.) They reminded him of Eddie, and he ordered them to be ready ahead of time for today's pickup.
He'll take it and bring it all home, set the bouquet on the night stand and set the coffees and pastries on his empty side of the bed, scattered with a few of the black petals that he'd have to sacrifice a rose for. He'd straddle his boyfriend and kiss him awake so gently, so sweetly, so softly, like he deserved. He'd press kisses all over his face and watch avidly as he opened his eyes for the first time that day, how a smile would curl at his lips and he'd make that little hum sound he makes when he's content. Steve thinks it's like watching a sunrise, effortlessly beautiful, breathtaking and special, symbolic of another day lived, no matter how many times he sees it.
He'll rub his legs and back as he eats, or just talk and flirt and steal kisses in between bites if Eddie isn't feeling up to it.
He'll pick out Eddie's clothes for him and sing to him in the shower, pulling every ridiculously cheesy move he knows to make his boyfriend smile, and then they'll head out for the day. They'll sight-see the city through new eyes, bring up old memories and laugh until they ache. They'll spend the day doing everything and anything Eddie wants. Steve resolves to buy him anything that day he so much as looks at.
They'll pick out new clothes for each other at a thrift store to wear for their dinner date that night, quiet and comfortable and romantic in a place that's not fancy, not casual, but something that accepts you as you are. They'll look like something out of a sitcom sitting together, dressed in the most garish thing they could find for each other, and laugh at every look they receive.
And he'll take Eddie to a spot by the fountain in the park, hand him a quarter and tell him to make a wish in it. Eddie will quirk an eyebrow and make a comment, but close his eyes and oblige. The second the coin leaves his hand, he'll turn to see Steve on one knee behind him. It'll be dark, with no one out but the street lamps, the fountain and the stars. He'll say how he's always felt unbalanced in life, how through every crisis and uncertainty, he had Eddie. And if he didn't have Eddie then, he wants him now, forever, until their souls are forcibly separated and rejoined again outside their bodies. He wants everything with Eddie, nothing more or less than what they have, forever. If Eddie will have him, of course.
And Eddie will look every part the blushing, tear-welling love interest in shows, hands in his hair, covering his mouth and face as he sits in shock, as he cries and stumbles to catch Steve in his arms and shout yes, mumble yes and repeat it every day, for the rest of their lives. They'll go home and have amazing, adoring sex, making love and filth until the sun rises, and then it's Valentine's day, and he'll press a sleepy kiss to Eddie's hair after he passes out from his last (of many, Steve determines) orgasm of the night, and they can sleep in since Eddie has off anyways and Steve called off ahead of time. And they'll plan an unofficial wedding, Dustin and Robin will fight to be his best man, before Eddie will take Dustin to his side and he'll have Hopper wed them, they'll wear matching suits or a dress or whatever they feel like, and-
None of this happens. Maybe in another universe, where they find each other in different circumstances, where they don't have to flee a town they never belonged to but filled with memories and people they love. A universe where they can be out and proud, kiss on the sidewalk and never wake up screaming and shaking and sobbing.
Maybe in another universe, Steve Harrington's perfect plans won't be completely and utterly destroyed on February 13th, when he wakes up with a migraine.
It's not the usual skull splitting pain, either. Somehow it feels worse, like not only is someone jabbing a hot iron rod to the side of his head, but someone else is kicking it in a blinding rhythm at the same time. So Steve wakes up crying, whimpering into his pillow and mentally hitting the wall in frustration and pain.
He wonders why nothing seems to go right for him. He had a whole day planned, he has orders to pick up, he has a reservation to make, and he can’t do anything but sit with his hands pressed into his eyes and curse it all. If he had a few concussions less, maybe dodged a few more punches, fought harder with Billy…
“Steve?” He hears next to him. Ah, Eddie must be awake early, earlier than he should be, because Steve can’t keep it together. Fantastic, good going, Steve. He curls in on himself further and lets out another pathetic sound, too weak to do much of anything else.
He hears Eddie let out a little sound in return, accompanied with an ‘oh baby’, and feels hands pressing against his own, trying to relieve the pressure he feels throbbing in his skull. “Let me see you, sweetie.” Eddie says, his volume kept low, now that he realizes what's going on. Steve reluctantly lets go of himself, but keeps his eyes closed, as Eddie swoops in and plants a gentle kiss in the space between his eyebrows and above his nose. “There we go, my pretty boy.” He murmurs. “What do you need, baby?”
Oh, Steve melts at that. He lets go of the tension he didn’t know he was holding in him and collapses, even his head on his pillow feeling like too much pressure. Eddie was here, he was going to help take care of him, and he was here.
Sadly, Steve can’t seem to get enough of a grip of himself to answer, only able to let out a huff of air and reach his hand up to do the sign of no. They’re both glad, in times like these, that they bothered learning some basics of ASL to communicate when they otherwise can’t verbally. Eddie nods and takes his answer for what it is, an ‘I don’t know and it hurts to think right now, I just want you and I want it to stop.’ He leaves the bed and Steve makes another noise, fingers barely twitching to try and grab onto him, but Eddie curls his fingers back and promises he’ll only be gone for a second.
A few years ago, Steve would have started to spiral with a sentence like that and an absent Eddie. He’d think, ‘ Maybe I’m finally too much. Maybe it's happening again, maybe he’s realizing he didn’t sign up for all the extra, and maybe he’ll hear me cry and think that it's not so manly, Steven, you’re not enough of a man for-’
But now he doesn’t. Now he just clutches the bed sheets in a loose grip and waits for Eddie to come back, shutting down any thoughts that try to let him doubt his boyfriend. He waits and waits, hears the very quiet sound of glass clinking and the water going, and he tries not to flinch when the door opens and light spills in to their dark bedroom, not even noticing when Eddie had closed their blackout curtains against the morning sun, but missing the dark for just a second when its disturbed. Eddie closes the door quickly, however, and walks over with a glass of water with a straw inside and a clenched hand.
“Here,” he says, putting the medicine up to Steve’s lips in a familiar routine and quickly putting the straw in next for Steve to help swallow. Steve takes tentative sips, only a few, before the movement becomes too much and he lets himself collapse again, tapping his fingers against the other side of the bed in a sign for Eddie to come lay back down with him. Eddie chuckles quietly and comes over, lays down with as little movement as he can make, and scoots over to Steve to take him into his arms. Steve buries himself into Eddie the second he feels the man’s arms around him, face in his neck and chest pressed against chest, not a word but careful breathing and rhythmic vibrations coming so blessedly from somewhere other than his own head.
He doesn’t know how long he lays there with Eddie, honestly. It could’ve been 30 minutes, 50, it could’ve been two hours, but they just lay there in silence, in the dark, and despite all of the pain, he thinks it's as close as he can get in these moments to a perfect world. Eddie’s heart beating strongly in his chest, his fingers in Steve’s hair, just combing through, scratching, reassuring him that he is there, he’s present for Steve, and he thinks he falls in love just a little more.
“M’sorry” he manages to get out a little later. He can practically feel the displeasure radiating off of his boyfriend at the words, but he steamrolls ahead before Eddie can say anything, talking lowly and slower so he doesn’t get the pain back up to a 9 instead of its current 7. “Had this…the whole day pl’nned. Jus’ you n me.” he mumbles out, exhausted. “B-breakfast and coffee n sh-shopping an-” he cuts himself off with a sniffle, the sadness in his perfectly laid plans hitting him again with how little he’ll be able to do for Eddie now, for their special day, to make the day special for more than one reason. He whimpers again in Eddie’s arms, trying not to cry because crying only makes him more dehydrated and irritates the metal spike in Steve’s head worse.
Eddie listens, as he always does, and he kisses all along Steve’s scalp as he speaks, making a noise to show he’s paying attention. “We can always do it another time, Stevie.” He reassures, cutting off Steve’s protest before it can begin. “No, listen to me, Steve.” Eddie backs up a little, removes Steve’s head from his neck so he can hold it lightly in his hands and look Steve directly in his bleary brown eyes, smiling at the person he sees in front of him. “I don’t care what could’ve happened today. I don’t care what we would’ve done, or where we would’ve gone, or who he could’ve visited. I don’t care about anything other than you, baby. That's all I care about, okay? You’re all I care about.” He smiles, wiping tears that leak from Steve’s eyes with his thumb. “Whatever you wanted to do today? We can do it tomorrow. Or this weekend. Or next weekend, or next month, or whenever we fucking want. Because we have all the time in this world, Steve. I’m here with you for as long as you’ll have me, whether it's for now, or for…forever.” Eddie visibly hesitates, and then shakes his head. “I don’t know what our future will have in store for us, Steve, but with you? I know I’d do anything. I’m down for anything, I’m here for everything that happens to you, to us, and that's a promise. For as long as you’ll have me, Stevie-baby.”
“You’re my melody, my baby, my savior, Steve Harrington. And we can always do whatever it is you want to do tomorrow.” He finishes, pressing the most gentle of kisses on Steve’s forehead, his eyelids, his nose, his cheeks, and finally, his lips. It's slow, and sweet, like they have all the time in the world, and Steve laughs so wet when they break away.
“The drawer.” Steve says, eyes closed against Eddie’s face. “Bring me the bright blue patterned socks in my drawer, please.” He feels Eddie’s confusion as he carefully escapes the bed, so careful still to not jostle him too much, and hears their top drawer open and close. Eddie brings the pair of socks back to Steve, sliding back next to him at Steve’s slow tapping of the bed again.
“Y’know, I have to stand up to put these on you, Stevie.” Eddie says around a quiet laugh. Steve smiles and opens his eyes only a little bit as he takes the socks from Eddie. “I know.” He says just as quietly in return.
Because this is it, he realizes. His good day, his perfect plans, are once again out of balance. But instead of losing himself, or freaking out or questioning everything around him, Eddie’s right there.
Eddie is right there as he lies in such pain, Eddie is right there to bring him water and medicine, to draw the curtains closed and hold Steve steady for a long time, for however long he needs, because he wants to. He knows now, this time, how to make the scales tip back. How to make them even again.
It may not be a beautiful day out on the town, it may not be full of romance and stars and roses and laughter, but it's a day of love. It's a day of care and quiet laughs and warmth. It's a day of being held so close, the rest of the world fades away. It's a day of strength, of testing limits and bursting through them every time. It's not the day he planned, but it's still a perfect day, he thinks.
So he hands the socks back to Eddie after feeling the small object inside and keeps his eyes open a little more as he gestures for Eddie to take them apart. His boyfriend darts his eyes down to the bundle in his hands, looking back up at Steve’s eyes rapidly as if to say ‘you want me to take these? You want me to- okay’ and takes them out of their self-imposed storage.
He sees the moment it registers, and it's no less beautiful than he thought it would be. He see’s Eddie turn the silver ring in his hand, red gems barely glinting up at him from the lack of light in the room, but so beautiful still. He see’s Eddie’s breath stutter, sees his eyes go wide, sees the hand he brings up to his mouth in his shock, see’s his mind freeze at the reveal of what he’s holding.
His eyes again dart from his hands to Steve, like he can’t believe it. Like Steve might interrupt and say ‘Oh sorry, that was meant for someone else. Just put my socks on me, please?’ But Steve just nods and reaches his hand out for Eddie’s eyes drooping just a little more as the pain persists.
“I’m sorry,” he starts, not being shushed by Eddie this time, the other man still in shock. “I’m sorry I couldn’t romance you properly for it, for this, but…” he takes a deep breath in, as slow as possible so as not to jostle his body too much, and manages a small smile. “Edward Wayne Munson,” he begins, delighting as Eddie’s wide eyes get just a bit wider at the full name, his full attention now on Steve. “I-I had this big speech, and it would’ve been great, but as you can see, I’m not so coherent right now.” He breathes out a laugh, and see’s Eddie’s chest start to rise and fall more rapidly in barely contained sobs. “But, I know you’re it for me. You’re my future. You’re just enough for me, and-and you forever…will be.” Steve reaches a hand out, letting it rest against Eddie’s cheek, as Eddie brings his own hand up to keep Steve’s. “Will you marry me?” he finally breathes, met immediately with kisses against his hand, up his arm, tears and lips mixing with his own as his boyfriend , his fiance , cries out different yes’s against him, desperate and still soft kisses and touches pressing against him. Their foreheads touch, Steve slips the ring on his finger, and they go back to laying down together in the dark. This time, though, with a new air of energy between them.
So maybe tomorrow, when it all passes and the dust of his migraine’s settle, he’ll sweep his fiance in his arms and spin him around, laughing into his mouth as they kiss and celebrate and love each other in their own way. But for now, they hold each other so tight, dark spaces filled with kisses and promises and I love you’s so soft, Steve knows it’ll break any of his falls.
Because his scales are balanced again, he feels okay, and he knows with Eddie, now more than ever, he’ll never be out of balance for long again.