Archive of Our Own ^beta

Steve Harrington had never been one to defy expectations. 

Well, at least he’d never been one to defy expectations except for the very first one, which had been thrust upon his shoulders before he was even born. And any other expectations people had of him after a hole to an alternate dimension opened in his small town. 

But, hey, could you really blame him for that?

Let’s start at the beginning. 

Somewhere in Loch Nora, in the back of a drawer that hasn’t been opened in years, there was a picture taken the day of his birth: Mary Harrington, her usually perfectly coiffed hair sticking to her temples, a light sheen of sweat visible on her forehead, a bright light shining in her eyes, laying in a hospital bed, cautiously holding a little bundle of blankets. Her son. The heir to the Harrington business. 

Her perfect little boy. 

Still innocent, still ignorant of the life awaiting him. A blank canvas for her to paint. A fresh piece of clay for her to shape.

At first, everything was great. Even as an infant, Steve grew and gained weight at exactly the projected rate. He spoke his first words exactly when he was supposed to. He was curious, interested in the mechanisms of this unfamiliar world. Just like it was expected of him.

Then he started school, and Richard Harrington’s dreams of his perfect wunderkind died. 

Some might say that the way children are scored and tested in schools is unjust, that it promotes one single measure of intelligence and aptitude, that it prioritizes regurgitation of information above retention and learning.

Richard Harrington was not one of those people.

Five weeks and three days after Steve Harrington started first grade, he brought back his first test. Years later, he doesn’t remember the grade he got. He only remembers his father’s look of disappointment, and the never-ending stream of tutors afterwards.

Richard Harrington abandoned any plans of his son one day replacing him at the company he inherited from his father, and his father before him. If Steve could not excel at academics—if Steve could not excel at being a first-grader—it was clear that he could never rise to the demands of the family business. 

What a shame. Their sole heir, useless.

By the next week, Steve had been enrolled in swim practice, in basketball classes, in guitar lessons. Desperate to find something he was good at—some way Steve could bring them value—, the Harringtons nudged and pressed and shoved their son into any field, praying he would be a prodigy in one of them. Anything to deflect the shame they felt.

Maybe their prayers were answered. Maybe some guardian angel took pity on the poor boy and jogged his skill development along. Maybe it was destined to be all along. 

In any way, Steve Harrington was a natural at all things physical. He excelled at the sports his parents made him pick up, becoming the basketball team captain when he was only a sophomore in high school. He broke several school and county records—and even a state record—with his amazing swim times.

As time passed, the sting of his parents’ pulling away faded. 

Steve Harrington forgot that it had ever been different. Forgot what his mother’s eyes looked like when she was proud, forgot the nod of approval he had received from his father so much, back when he’d been a child.

Still, Steve tried his best to do what his parents expected of him: he became the school’s most successful jock, he befriended Tommy Hagan and Carol Perkins when his father suggested he shouldn’t be seen with any of the ‘lesser’ students, he started dating Nancy Wheeler when his mother suggested he should date a nice girl, someone without much of a reputation, so as not to risk a scandal.

Steve worked hard for what was his, for his reputation, for his girlfriend, for his swim medals and his basketball trophies. 

He had no idea, when he heard about the disappearance of some middle-schooler, how much his life was about to change. 

Will Byers’ butterfly wing flapped, and Steve Harrington’s life erupted into a hurricane.

— 

First Barbara Holland went missing, last seen at his house. 

Then his girlfriend got suspiciously close to Jonathan Byers, and they got in a fight about it. Steve got a concussion—the first of many. Maybe it actually knocked some sense into him. Maybe it knocked loose his last remaining screw. Who could even tell at this point? When there’s monsters crawling out of the ceiling, when Goody-Two-Shoes Nancy Wheeler points a gun at his face? When the fabrics of nightmares and reality merge and you find yourself in the midst of it?

So how surprising can it really be that, after coming face to grotesque–flower–shaped–face with an eldritch horror, Steve Harrington reevaluates the choices that led him there? 

How surprising can it be that he discovers that too many of those choices had not been his own? That his parents had subtly imposed their will on him, that he’d done whatever they wanted—had become someone he didn’t want to be—just so that they would maybe be proud of him. 

Which, of course, they never were.

The realization hit like a punch to the gut. He felt like he was going to throw up.

His life needed to change. He needed to change it, now.

No more strings. 

— 

Harringtons were meant for more. 

Harringtons were destined for high-earning careers, for beautiful wives, for white picket fences and perfectly mowed lawns. 

Harringtons were not meant to spend their summers at the local mall, earning minimum wage, slinging ice cream, dressed in a garish sailor costume.

So that’s where Steve started. And breathing became just a little easier after he handed in his application.

If handing in his job application was like a breath of fresh air, Robin Buckley was a typhoon sweeping through his life, uprooting everything in her path. The Steve he’d been before the Upside Down would have fortified his walls, would have retreated to his basement and kept his captainship and reputation under a tight grasp.

The Steve he was now—the Steve he wants to be—opened his windows instead.

He opens up all his windows and props open his front door, invites Robin’s presence to reshape every part of his life. Uses his nail bat to smash whichever parts were left of the life that had been built for him, the person he had been made to become. 

Takes the rubble and rebuilds himself from the ground up.

Steve loves Robin, like he had once loved Nancy. When she turns him down, he loves her differently. Loves her like a piece of himself, like an essential component, a fundamental piece of the structure that makes up his heart.

To hell with what Harringtons were destined for. To hell with the Russian bunker. If he got Robin out of this endeavor—this endeavor that his parents never encouraged, that they barely tolerated—it is impossible that this was a mistake. 

Forged in the fires of Starcourt Mall, their bond emerged unbreakable. 

—

Steve and Robin quickly became inseparable. Whatever distance and residual contempt there was left between them before the Upside Down vanished as soon as they got out of the bunker.

Like, right now. They had just spent their days working a shift at Family Video, only to return to the Harrington’s big empty house and fill it with the sound of chatter and the smell of microwave popcorn and nail polish. 

(Technically, the smell of microwave popcorn only filled the kitchen. Steve did his best to keep it confined there after Robin had confided in him how the smell sometimes was just too much for her after an already long day.)

While Steve set up the movie they had ‘borrowed’ before closing up for the day, Robin made herself comfortable on the couch, surrounded by a variety of nail polish bottles, ready to settle down and relax into the repetitive motion of painting her nails.

What had started as a spontaneous way to destress after work, many weeks ago, had now turned into a common occurrence, Robin’s nail polish bottles, clothes, toiletries, and whatnot establishing a permanent presence in the Harrington’s guest bedroom. 

What are his parents going to do about it—be home enough to notice? Fat chance.

So there they were, their routine played out like a well-rehearsed scene.

Except. 

Except it wasn’t. Something was ever so slightly different. As much as Steve tried to pay attention to the movie playing, he could not get his mind to settle on what was happening. 

Blame the way he looked at his reflection in the mirror, at his broad shoulders and muscle-swollen arms, for just a second too long this morning. 

Blame the way he had not felt at home in his body, the way his skin felt like it didn’t fit. 

Blame the bitterness that suddenly sprung up in his chest at how his parents had pushed him to play all these sports his entire life. 

Blame the magazines on display at the store that day, prominently featuring those singers, with lightning bolts painted on their faces or thick black circles surrounding their eyes. 

Blame the little voice in the back of his head that wouldn’t stop whispering, what if.

What if he could do that? What if he could look like that? What would it feel like to wear makeup? To wear it out, in public? To wear it, visibly for millions of people to see?

His eyes wandered to Robin next to him. Her tongue poked out of her mouth as her face scrunched in concentration, applying a layer of light, pastel pink polish on her left ring finger.

What would it be like to have his nails painted? To have his nails painted this soft shade of pink, of all possible shades? What would it be like to look soft, to feel soft? 

What would it be like to be allowed to want that?

Noticing how Steve had not taken his eyes from her hands in several minutes—enough for Robin to finish her left hand and move on to her right one—she looked at him in turn.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Hm?”

“You’ve been distracted. Are you okay? Are you getting a migraine?” Robin asked, concerned.

“No, nothing like that. My head is fine. I think–I don’t know. I don’t know.” Steve said, his voice becoming more and more quiet, ending in barely a whisper.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He swallowed, feeling his heart beat faster in his chest. “I do. I just– I don’t know how.”

“Okay. I can work with that. Is it something to do with the Upside Down? Work? The kids?” Robin tries while Steve shakes his head at her suggestions. This wasn’t the first time Steve couldn’t articulate what bothered him, and he was ever so grateful for Robin’s gift of understanding, for her patience.

“Is it something right now?”

“Yeah.” Steve said hoarsely.

“Is it the movie?” He shakes his head. “Is it…,” Robin trailed off, looking across the room for ideas, “Is it me painting my nails?”

After hesitating for a second, Steve nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak. If it had been anyone else, anyone other than Robin, anyone who wasn’t basically a part of him, he would not even have been able to do that. 

“Does it bother you? Do you want me to stop?”

Steve shook his head immediately.

“Would you… want me to paint your nails?”

And there it was. The want Steve wasn’t brave enough to vocalize. The question he wasn’t prepared to answer. Even now, everything in his body pushed to just say no. To pull up his defenses again. To default back to how it had always been, to what he knows is safe.

But. 

But what good can you get out of life if you aren’t brave from time to time? If you can’t face the mortifying ordeal of being known, just a little?

“Would that be okay?” Steve finally asked. He swallows, trying to get rid of his dry mouth. He could feel his heartbeat reverberating through his body.

God, why did it have to be so hard? What was it about your most vulnerable thoughts that made them so painful to admit?

But Robin was right there with him. He was okay. It would be okay.

She smiled at him.

“Yes, of course. I’d be more than happy to paint your nails, all you had to do was let me know. I promise, I’ll even use a manly color. Like… brown. Wait, do I have brown nail polish? Let me check.”

But before she could turn around to peruse her collection of nail polish, Steve cleared his throat. A blush, almost the same as the soon-to-be color of his nails, painted his cheeks.

“I like the pink. Then we can match.” 

Robin flapped her hands in excitement before she stilled them and reached out to take Steve’s hands in hers.

“Pink it is then.”

—

Later, after the coats of polish had dried, after the movie had finished, and after they had both retired for the night, Steve stood in his bathroom again, looking at his reflection in the mirror just as he had earlier that day.

And maybe it was the residual euphoria from voicing something he wanted and not being rebuked, but being accepted. Maybe it was the warm feeling in his chest, the (capital–P Platonic) love he felt for Robin, the gratitude he felt to his core, to whatever god there may be, for making his and Robin’s paths cross. 

But right then, right there, whatever the reason, with his nails painted this delicate shade of pink and a faint flush still spread across his cheeks, his shoulders seemed a little less broad, his form seemed a little more soft, and his skin felt a little more right.

His body felt a little more like a home.

—

A few weeks later, when he had unexpectedly not been scheduled to work that day, Steve decided to make a day of it, drive to Indianapolis and explore. While walking around, his eyes fell on a music store.

Why not, he thought. Maybe he could get a record for Robin’s upcoming birthday. 

He entered the store and was greeted by the chime of a bell and music softly playing from a radio. One side of the store was dedicated to vinyl records of various genres, another had cassette tapes. On the back wall, there was an elaborate display of guitars. 

It took Steve a second to tear his eyes away, suddenly filled with happy memories of playing the guitar as a child, back before his parents had decided that if he wasn’t a natural at it, he should stop. 

He remembered the sadness that filled him the day he looked down at his fingers to discover that he no longer had the calluses from all the hours he’d put into learning how to play.

Ignoring the twinge in his stomach, the urge to stand in awe before the wall of guitars, Steve ventured to the wall on the right where the cassette tapes were spread out.

While browsing through the tapes on display, keeping an eye out for artists that he knew Robin liked or any other interesting new releases, Steve couldn’t help but periodically look to his left—to the wall of guitars in the back that kept captivating his attention. Each time, he would pull his gaze away in order to focus on the task at hand. 

Eventually, he made his selections and took them to the register. The guy working there—Dave, his name tag read—took the tapes and started ringing them up. He looked to be around Steve’s age, with long, unruly hair, wearing a leather jacket under his work vest. Becoming suddenly aware of how warm the store was, Steve wondered how Dave managed to wear all those layers.

“Can I help you with anything else?” Dave asked. 

“No, that’s it, thank you,” Steve replied, casting one last glance at the guitars. Maybe, at some point, he could come back?

“Are you sure? You’ve been eyeing that back wall since you came in here. Do you play?” He smiled. Steve immediately reciprocated the smile. There was something about Dave that drew Steve's attention. 

“I used to, when I was young. I haven’t in years, though.” Steve sighed.

“Well, no time like the present. Come on, at least take a look at them. You seem like you really want to.”

Steve hesitated. Might as well. Plus this way, you’ll have someone to help you get started. He nodded.

Setting the tapes aside, Dave led Steve to the back wall. Taking in the rest of his outfit, Steve made out ripped jeans with a piece of fabric sticking out of one of his back pockets. 

“So, did one in particular catch your eye?”

Steve quickly looked up at the wall and let his eyes drift over the display. They stopped at a black and white guitar that resembled the one he used for practice when he was younger. He gestured toward it.

“Oh, that’s a fine one. Let me tell you– What’s your name?”

He cleared his throat. “Steve.”

“Okay, Steve, here’s what we’re gonna do: how about you’re gonna try this beauty out right now, and then I’m gonna give you a discount on her.”

Excitement building in his stomach, Steve reached out for the guitar when it was held out to him. He put the strap across his shoulder, feeling jittery at the prospect of playing the guitar again, now, in public, in front of Dave, this weirdly magnetic person he just met, after not having played it in years.

He strummed it experimentally, playing the one note he remembered. Then, from muscle memory, even after all those years, he played a second. It wasn’t a song, it was barely a melody. But he liked the rhythmic movements of his hands, the distantly familiar feeling of the strings against his finger tips.

Oh, how he had missed this. 

Smiling, he stopped, letting the last note vibrate through the room. “You convinced me. I’ll take her.”

Going back to the register, his new guitar in tow, Steve was glad he had brought the money he had saved from the months of working his job.

Dave rang up the guitar, and added a booklet of sheet music. “This one has a variety of current and older songs, just a good place to get started. It also has sketches to teach you how to play different notes and explains how to read sheet music. I figured that might be helpful.” 

He hesitated, and after a second added, scribbling something on a piece of paper, “Also, here’s my number. Don’t feel pressured to, but if you ever want to practice … give me a call. Or just in general.” He wedged the paper inside the book.

With a giddy feeling in his stomach and an excited smile on his face, Steve reached out and grabbed the items, being extra careful with his new guitar and making sure the scrap of paper remained securely tucked in the booklet. 

—

Turns out, playing the guitar isn’t quite like riding a bike: if you neglect it for a while, you can forget it. 

Then again, if Steve had been as proficient in playing the guitar as he had been in riding bikes, maybe his parents wouldn’t have made him give it up.

But Steve wasn’t one to back away from a challenge. He poured over the booklet for hours, determined to call Dave only when he had something to show for it, only when he wouldn’t fully embarrass himself. Some part of him wanted to impress Dave.

So, every spare minute, every spare second, Steve would spend in his room, practicing the different notes, slowly playing different melodies with them—some taken from the book, some made up by himself—, reforming the calluses on his fingertips. 

If Robin had noticed the rough spots, while holding Steve’s hand in her own to paint his nails, or the way his coat of polish chipped a lot faster now than before, she hadn’t mentioned anything. Just like Steve hadn't mentioned anything when, the week after Robin had painted his nails for the first time, after finishing up her own coat and letting it dry, she got started on his nails with a quiet smile.

—

About a month after the horde of children he had all but adopted had started high school, a new name started popping up.

Eddie.

Steve vaguely remembered him, some stoner who had failed senior year twice over now. Eddie, The Freak, people called him. Harsh, but it’s not like he hadn’t done anything to deserve that reputation, what with his hopping on tables and yelling at his fellow students on a regular basis.

And okay, maybe Steve didn’t love that the name was mentioned so often. 

Maybe it was his brotherly instincts kicking in, worrying about Munson corrupting the children—they’re not children anymore, not really, they hadn’t been for a while, if he was being honest—he cared so much for. The children he had been protecting for years. His children, like the siblings he’d never had. 

Maybe it was the adoration in Dustin’s voice, the adoration that made a sliver of doubt appear, asking What if Dustin won’t need you anymore? What if they’re getting bored of you?

What if they’re going to leave, like his parents had left him, like Nancy had left him? 

Like everyone left him, eventually.

Maybe he was protective. Maybe he was jealous. Maybe he was insecure.

Whatever the reason, Eddie Munson was in his children’s lives—and, by affiliation, his life—and it didn’t look like he was going away any time soon.

— 

Steve wouldn’t get to meet Eddie Munson until several months after his name first popped up.

Picking the children up from Hellfire club after school one day, as usual, Steve had kept waiting. And waiting. And waiting. Which was not usual.

He knew that his horde of children was prone to losing track of time. But he also knew that they lived in Hawkins, where monsters were real and children disappeared from forests and backyard pools. 

And maybe he was being overprotective, but considering everything that had happened, he had very good reasons to be. 

So, when picking at his nail polish wasn’t enough to keep the pool of anxiety in his stomach at bay anymore, Steve sighed, locked his car, and went to check on them. 

They’re fine. He knew they were. But he needed to check.

Since classes had ended hours ago, the building was deserted and eerily quiet, except for the loud chatter of several excited teenagers, easily audible as soon as you entered. Steve quickly followed the sound to its source, and stopped in his tracks.

Seeing Eddie Munson interact with his children was so much worse than Steve had worried.

Not because they were in any danger. Not because Eddie was a bad influence. 

But because he was so good with them, in a way Steve never could be. Yes, Steve was willing to lay down his life without a second of hesitation for any of his brood. Yes, Steve was willing to drive them around, to sneak them into movie theaters, to get them ice cream; anything, to give them a semblance of a normal childhood.

But, no matter how much he tried—which is much more than he was ever willing to admit—, there are certain things that Steve could never get. Blame the concussions, blame the academic intelligence his father found so lacking, blame the way that no matter how much you loved someone, sometimes you just couldn’t force your interests to align. 

Steve had tried and tried, bought the Lord of the Rings books and gave up after trying to read the first chapter every day for a month. He got an instruction manual for Dungeons and Dragons, pouring over it, hoping some of the terms and rules would stick, so that he could join in these discussions, so that he could contribute, so that he could spend time with them doing something they loved, without being a burden on them, to no success.

Eddie had none of those problems. He loved Lord of the Rings. He breathed D&D. He wasn’t just able to keep up with his children when it came to those topics, he was like their leader.

Figuratively, but also literally, Steve thought, taking in the scene in front of him: Eddie was sitting on a big throne at the head of their table, grinning behind some upright standing book. Dustin, Mike, and Lucas, as well as some other members of the club, were feverishly chattering. 

Steve couldn’t quite make out any coherent sentences—repeated blows to the head over the span of several years will do that to you—, but there were snippets. “Attack!” “–a trap!” “The Thessalhydra can’t–”

“Silence! You need to make a decision now!” Eddie stood up and raised his hands theatrically. 

Before he could continue what was sure to be a turbulent monologue, Dustin looked at Steve and excitedly yelled his name. 

Immediately, everyone fell silent. Lucas glanced at his watch sheepishly. Mike glared at him. The other members of the club glanced his way, shifting with suspicion or nervousness. Eddie’s head twisted in his direction, shooting him a glare that made Steve glad Eddie didn’t have El’s superpowers.

“And what ,” he snarled, “does Steve Harrington think he is doing here? Is he perhaps here to save his poor little baby freshmen from the dangers of witchcraft? Of satanism?”

“Uhh… no?” Steve asked. He considered for a moment. “Should I be?”

Eddie’s eyebrows crinkled for a split second before the scowl returned and he opened his mouth but nothing came out.

“We’ll be out in a moment.” Dustin chimed in. “We were about to finish and then—bam!—there was an ambush and, and then the Thessalhydra spewed acid on Mike’s character and we had to revive him but then there was a trap–”

“There wasn’t! I’m telling you it’s not a trap!” Lucas yelled.

“No, it definitely is! Are you blind? I’m telling you!” Dustin replied.

“Guys! This is stupid. There’s no way Eddie made it as easy as either of those. There needs to be more to it!” Mike groaned.

Steve interrupted them, knowing that if he didn’t this would turn into a whole other discussion. “Hey! Call it off! No fighting! I just wanted to make sure nothing happened.”

The boys immediately nodded. “We’re fine,” Dustin said. “We just ran late.” He glanced at Eddie. “Can we… Are we done for today?”

“Oh what, because Steve Harrington dictates our schedules?” Eddie was annoyed.

“Well, no, but we were running late and I need to be home before curfew,” Dustin said.

“Yeah, if I’m not home soon, my mom will freak out and then I can’t go to California in two weeks,” Mike agreed. “I really need to go, I’ve missed Will so much. And El, of course, El, my girlfriend. I missed her. Too.” 

No one spoke for a moment. Everyone looked at Mike.

“Okay well, whatever, then. Class dismissed, amen, and all that,” Eddie threw his hands in the air and waved them off, then started gathering his notes, mumbling under his breath. Steve noticed the rings on his fingers, and took the time to take in the rest of Eddie while the kids were gathering their own things.

There were the large, chunky rings, and the wild hair that still managed to look soft. The jean vest over the leather jacket over the black and white shirt that everyone else in the room was also wearing. The imprints of dimples on his cheeks, even when he wasn’t smiling.

He thought of Dave, and music. Wasn’t Eddie in a band too? Somewhere in Steve’s brain there was a vague, hazy memory of that.

“Steve? Are you coming?” Dustin nudged his arm.

“Hm?”

“We’re done. Are you just gonna keep staring at Eddie or are you gonna drive us home?”

Steve tore his eyes away, feeling his cheeks heat up, and cleared his throat. 

“Jesus, Henderson, watch the attitude.”

He gave a wave at the other members of the club who hadn’t spoken the entire time. Considering the way he acted a few years back, who could blame them? He had probably been a real dick to them. 

“Um, yeah. See you guys around, maybe.”

He turned to leave the room and was immediately treated to one of Dustin's capital-L Looks. 

“What?” Steve asked.

“Nothing. Just— what do you think of Eddie? Isn’t he great? His campaigns are always so detailed, and I don’t care what other people say, he’s so cool! And he plays the guitar, and sometimes he wears nail polish, just like you!”

His heart started beating faster. “You noticed that?”

“Yes? Of course I noticed that? It’s cool. I like it. Anyway, you should really talk to Eddie. Make him like you. You would like him, too, if you gave him a chance.”

“Um, yeah, sorry to disappoint you bud, but I don’t think so.”

“Well, the way you were just staring at him says otherwise.”

Steve spluttered. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m just saying. I’ve seen that look. I know what it means. Let’s go home.”

“Hen-der-son. What do you mean?”

“Har-ring-ton. It’s better if you figure it out yourself. Come on, let’s go, Lucas and Mike are already outside.” Dustin turned around before Steve could reply, leaving him no choice but to drop the topic and catch up. 

—

Even if he didn’t bring it up with Dustin, his mind couldn’t stop repeating his words.

The way you were staring at him says otherwise.

I’ve seen that look. I know what it means.

You would like him, too.

What did Dustin mean by that? Why can’t he stop thinking about this? Why couldn’t he stop looking at Eddie, lost in thoughts of guitars and unruly hair? Why did he blush, why did his heart flutter and his stomach jump?

He should ask Robin. She knows him as well as he knows himself, probably even better. She could just… tell him the answer. Right?

Right.

But.

Would he want to know it?

—

A few days later, it was time for their routine movie night. 

To an outside observer, everything was as usual: the way they sat on the couch, the bowl of popcorn on the table, some movie they ‘borrowed’ from Family Video playing.

The smell of nail polish in the air.

But inside, Steve was conflicted. He wasn’t sure if Robin could tell (who are we kidding, of course she could, he just didn’t want to acknowledge that). Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad if Robin could tell something was bothering him.

If she brought it up, he didn’t have to gather the bravery to do it himself. To bring up the question that hadn’t left his mind in days.

What did it all mean?

Sighing, Steve got up to refill their drinks in the kitchen. Might as well do something useful to distract himself, before he completely lost his mind.

When he returned, Robin was sheepishly holding a piece of paper in her hand, looking at him with something he couldn’t quite place in her eyes.

His breath hitched. It seems the decision was taken out of his control. Should he feel dread, or relief?

The thing is, earlier that day, Steve had almost forgotten to get everything set up. He had spent all afternoon practicing the guitar, getting lost in the now familiar melodies, hastily putting everything away once Robin arrived. The note must have fallen out of the booklet.

Over the course of the past weeks, he had improved quite a bit. Every time he played, he felt more confident. So much so, in fact, that he started eyeing the slip of paper with Dave’s number on it. 

Call me if you want to practice

or, like, for anything else ;) -Dave

XXX XXX-XXXX

Soon he would feel ready to call him, to hopefully impress him with his newfound skills. 

Why did he want that so badly, anyway?

And why, deep down, when he thought of unruly hair and letter jackets, wasn’t it Dave’s face that came to mind, but someone else’s?

“Steve, I don’t want to pry. If you tell me to drop it, I will. But… something’s been on your mind. For a while now. Is it… do you want to talk about it?”

Yes. He so desperately wanted to talk about it. 

He set down the glasses with their drinks, and sat back down next to Robin on the couch, keeping his gaze strictly glued to the bowl of popcorn in front of him.

“I do. I just– Where do I even start?” A hollow laugh. “Have you ever felt like, like nothing makes sense? And maybe it does. Maybe deep down, your brain knows what’s going on. But it won’t tell you?”

Robin nodded encouragingly. “I think so.”

“It’s like, there’s this person.” Steve swallows. “This… guy. Dave.” He motioned to the note. “I got a guitar. He helped me pick it out. He’s so cool. He was wearing this leather jacket, and his hair is so wild and curly, and longer than mine. He told me to call him. ‘To practice, or just in general’.”

Steve looked at Robin. “And I want to. I told myself, I’d call him, I’ll just practice by myself first. To maybe not embarrass myself. To maybe even impress him. If I learn fast enough, if I’m good enough.”

He looked back down. Picked at his nail polish. It was already chipped, anyway. Now that he had started talking, the words just poured out of him.

“Because that’s a thing I want to do. Impress him. I want him to think I’m cool, or something But that’s not even– On Wednesday, when I picked up the kids from their club? They were late. I checked on them, and– Do you remember Eddie Munson? The guy who jumped on tables during lunch?”

Robin nodded, letting Steve fully get his thoughts off his chest before weighing in,

“Well he’s their leader, or whatever you call it. And, damn it, he looked exactly like Dave. Wild hair, leather jacket. But those eyes… And I just kept staring at him. And Dustin noticed. Told me he ‘knows what that look means’. That he’d ‘seen it before’.” Steve emphasized those last parts with air quotes.

“And at this point, it’s been so long, I don’t even know if I should call Dave. And I’m just going in circles and I– I just don’t know.” He quieted down, a little out of breath after this tirade.

“Okay. This can be very confusing. I’ve been there.” Robin turned to Steve and took his hands in hers, rubbing the backs of them in slow, soothing circles. 

“From what you’re telling me, it sounds like maybe,” she squeezed his hands, “like maybe this isn’t really about guitars at all. Like maybe the reason you want to impress Dave so much, and the reason why you keep thinking about him, is that maybe Dave, Eddie… maybe they are your Tammy Thompson.”

Steve’s heart started beating faster. The thoughts in his head were going everywhere, a thousand miles an hour, but none of them were connecting and making sense. “But, I’m not gay. I can’t be gay, I definitely like girls. Besides, I would’ve known by now if I was gay, right?”

“Well, you don’t have to be gay. It doesn’t have to be either/or. You can like both.” 

“You can? Is that allowed?”

Robin nodded. “Well, it’s not like it’s really ‘allowed’ to be gay either, but yes. You can’t control who you like, why should liking both be any different?”

She surged forward and hugged him. Steve melted into the hug, his mind finally clearing up.

“Obviously I can’t tell you what you are.” Robin continued, “Only you can do that. But I think you should think about this. And don’t forget, dingus, no matter what, I love you. You’re my best friend.”

If you ever asked either of them, they would both deny being the first to start crying. 

(It was Steve.)

—

To an outsider, everything might have looked as usual. A movie playing, a faint smell of popcorn coming from the kitchen, Robin painting Steve’s nails.

But someone who could see beyond that could tell you what really had happened: the truth lies in the remnants of happy tears in their eyes, the love in their hearts, and the building euphoria of finally having it all make sense. 

In short, their night was anything but routine. It was the start of something. Something delicate, something new. 

Something hopeful.

—

And then everything went to shit again.

—

Barely a week later, Chrissy Cunningham approached Eddie Munson, super senior and local drug dealer, for something, anything, to alleviate her headaches, her nightmares, her disturbing visions. 

She accompanied him to his trailer, in search of something stronger than he had on him at the time.

She died—horribly, gruesomely—on Eddie Munson’s ceiling.

—

He ran.

—

That next day started out like any other; Steve worked the Saturday morning shift at Family Video with Robin where they lamented their doomed love lives—Robin’s hopeless crush on her bandmate Vickie, Steve’s newly discovered attraction to guys. 

(Which is something that he’s still processing, but now that he’s realized it, there is no unrealizing it. It was like some mental block had been removed, and found behind it was an ever-growing cascade of ‘oh, so that’s what that was’. 

Dave. Learning the guitar to impress him.

Whatever codependent friendship he used to have with Tommy.

Hell, whatever tension there had been between him and Billy. At school, on the basketball court, in the locker room showers. Up until the racist prick tried to kill Lucas and smashed Steve’s head in with a decorative dinner plate, at least.)

They were interrupted by the door slamming open.

“Steve! We need your help finding Eddie!” Dustin yelled across the store, Max rushing in behind him.

Before Steve could answer, Dustin had already launched himself across the counter and started typing into the computer.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing? That’s confidential information!” Steve protested, trying to push him away.

“This is important. Something happened—something bad—and there’s no way Eddie could’ve done that, and we need to help him. But we can’t do that, if we don’t know where he is. I need you to trust me, and I need your help.”

Steve sighed. These types of situations always ended up finding him. There wasn’t anything he could do to stop it. 

Might as well go along with it.

—

Eddie Munson, they figured, was hiding in a drug dealer’s abandoned house. 

They split up to search the house—unsuccessfully.

The group ended up in the adjoining boat house. It was small, not a lot of places to hide. 

Steve wanted to go home. It was clear that Eddie wasn’t here. They needed to stop wasting time, they needed to find Eddie, they needed to help Eddie. 

Out of frustration he picked up an oar, ramming it into the center of the covered paddleboat, intending to remove that potential hiding spot from the list of possibilities.

He didn’t expect to be pushed into a wall a split second later, something undeniably sharp pressed into his throat.

Somewhere behind the adrenaline flowing through his body and the amplified beating of his own heart he could hear Dustin, and Robin, and Max trying to talk Eddie down from his panic.

Except, focusing on that proved quite difficult, when all he could focus on was the strong arm—Eddie’s arm—pushing against his chest, how both of them were heaving breaths, how big Eddie’s eyes were, now that he had the chance to see them up close.

How soft his lips looked, even as they were currently pulled in a sneer. Kissable, even.

And.

Oh.

Maybe Robin was definitely, absolutely right about Eddie Munson being his Tammy Thompson.

However. There were other, more pressing issues. Such as whatever was being pushed against his throat.

This was not the time.

“I promise we’re here to help. I swear on my mom,” he vaguely picked up Dustin’s voice.

“Yeah. I swear, on Dustin’s mom!” Steve added, pressing his head further back, feeling the sharp item press harder against his skin.

“We’re here to help. I saw you, I know you didn’t do it.” Max chimed in.

“And based on what I heard, I think we know something about what did,” Robin added.

Steve kept staring into Eddie’s eyes, trying to convey that they were genuine, that this wasn’t a trick. 

“Look, man, we’re here to help. Please—” Steve choked out. Something flickered on Eddie’s face, some frantic, panicked edge disappeared and the look in his eyes softened. The sharp pressure against Steve’s throat eased, then stopped. 

He swallowed, resisting the temptation to reach up and rub his throat, fearing sudden movements could set Eddie off again.

“Please let us help.” 

Eddie took a step back, turning to face the group as a whole.

“You won’t believe me.” He rasped.

“Try us.” Steve replied.

—

The next days passed in a haze. 

Getting Eddie up to speed with the past three years.

Vecna. Portals and magnetic fields and people levitating as their bones snap.

Almost losing Max.

The lake—

Steve volunteered to dive down. Of course he did. He was the most qualified to swim, and even if he hadn’t been, he would not let someone else put themself in danger. 

So he took off his shirt, and jumped. He found the portal. Then—

The vines, pulling and pulling, down and down.

The bats, choking and dragging and biting. 

This was it , he thought. This is how I die.

At least it is me. Not them.

And then he didn’t. Because Robin, Nancy, Eddie, they came after him. 

They pulled the bats off his stomach. They fought them off together. 

Fueled by adrenaline and pain and feral instincts, Steve bit into one of the bats the way it and its brethren had bitten into him.

Serves it right, he thought as he spit out the blood.

—

Exploring the Upside Down was surreal. 

Taking care not to step on any of the vines, they made their way to the trailer park. To their way out of here. Out of Hell.

Steve felt numb, yet every step sparked pain in his side. 

Everything was familiar and foreign.

He was in his hometown. He was on another planet.

He was faced with a twisted mirror of the town he had grown up in, where the air sucked the life out of you and every misstep can get you killed.

How ironic, Steve thought and scoffed.

“You want to share with the class?” Eddie’s voice pulled him out of his head.

“Sorry?” Steve asked. He and Eddie had been walking in silence, with Nancy and Robin forging their path some distance ahead of them.

“I just don’t really see anything funny in this situation. Other than the absurdity of me, here with King Steve, of all people. I mean, really? This is what you’ve been doing the past three years? Fighting monsters and ghosts and shit?” Eddie gestured vaguely to their environment.

“Pretty much.” Steve agreed and shared his observation about how, in a way, the Hawkins isn’t that different from its Upside Down version.

“You think that? King Steve? The poster boy for how we all should act? Everyone loves you. The sheep at school. Nancy, Robin, they dove right in after you. Didn’t waste a second. Dustin worships you, dude.” 

A pained noise escaped Steve’s throat. Of course that’s what Eddie thought of him. If only Eddie knew. 

“I don’t want to be that person anymore. I’m trying, okay? I know I’m not perfect, I’m not brave. I’m trying.” He turned his face away from Eddie and tried to get his emotions in check. No use freaking out about this, of all things, right then. 

Of course Eddie hated him. He had every right to.

“Hey, Harrington. Steve.” Eddie’s voice had lost some of its cynical edge. “What you did today— What you’ve done these past few days, years, is nothing if not brave. I mean, going all Ozzy? With the bat? That was metal.” Eddie smiled at that part, and looked to Steve beside him. “Diving headfirst into danger? That’s brave as fuck.”

Steve stared back. “Ozzy?”

“Ozzy Osbourne? Bit the head off a bat live on stage?” Steve shook his head. That name didn’t mean anything to him.

“Nevermind. You get the point. I guess in a way some things actually make more sense now. Like Dustin not being able to shut up about how brave and perfect you are. Made me jealous, if I’m being honest.”

“Made you jealous? Do you know how much he talks about you? He looks up to you so much, and you’re so good with them, it made me jealous.”

Eddie chuckled. They fell in a companionable silence again.

 “How do you deal with this?” Eddie asked quietly, a few minutes later. “You’ve been doing this for, what, three years now? How have you not gone insane? Part of me still hopes I’ll wake up tomorrow, and Chrissy will be alive, and all of this will just have been some… crazy, stupid, nightmarish dream.”

“I—” Steve started and paused. How did he deal with this? He just had to. Not–dealing with this had never been an option. 

“I have the group. The kids, Robin. We help each other. We try to… You’re right. This is fucked up. None of us should have to deal with this. But we’re in it together. You’re part of the group now. We’re there for each other.”

He reached out to pat Eddie’s shoulder, his hand hovering for maybe a second longer than necessary.

“What’s up with that, anyway?” Eddie asked.

“With what?” Steve asked.

“The nail polish. Would’ve remembered you wearing that back at school.”

“Oh,” Steve looked down at his hands. The light yellow nail polish Robin had applied just last week peeked out beneath streaks of dirt and dried blood. His heart raced just a little faster as he swallowed around the lump in his throat. Damn his nerves. “Robin put it on. I liked it.”

Eddie grinned. “It suits you, Stevie.”

Steve smiled. His chest felt warm, despite the frigid cold of the Upside Down. 

Quick, say something back!

‘I like your rings.’ ‘I like your hair.’ ‘I like your eyes.’

‘You’re so hot.’

‘Thanks, wanna kiss about it?’

Not that! Get a grip, Steve!

“Hey, guys, keep up!” Nancy shouted at them in the distance. 

Both their heads turned forwards, away from each other, to see Nancy waving at them impatiently from the edge of the forest. Behind her, Steve could vaguely make out the white rectangular shapes of trailers.

“Home, sweet home,” Eddie muttered.

—

The portal on the ceiling.

Dustin poking through it with a broom, the kids waiting on the other side.

Bed sheets tied together, functioning as a climbing rope.

Everyone getting through, except—

Nancy’s vision. Henry Creel, Vecna, Hawkins Lab.

Everyone got through. They were back in Hawkins. 

Steve breathed in.

—

They stole an RV. 

Steve should not have been that entranced with it, but how could he not: Eddie’s long, thin fingers, adorned with those big, chunky rings, digging through the wires, expertly cutting them and starting the engine, as though he’d done it a million times before; his big smile and wide open eyes when it worked; the way he leaned closer to Steve, their faces mere inches apart; calling Steve “big boy” with a smirk on his face.

Steve was vaguely aware of Robin pushing him into the driver’s seat, yelling at him to “Drive! Drive! Drive!”, but all he could think about was Eddie and big boy and that smile and those eyes and and those lips and he couldn’t even form the words to tell her that he should not be trusted to operate a motorized vehicle right now, but they all depended on him so he just drove drove drove.

––

They hatched a plan.

Steve hated the plan. Too many things could go wrong, too many people put themselves in danger, none of those people were him.

Max would distract Vecna by letting him almost kill her.

Eddie would distract the bats by playing the guitar.

Steve would join Nancy and Robin in attacking Vecna when he was vulnerable.

So they got their supplies, they made their weapons.

Lucas and Erika were making makeshift spears, Eddie was making a shield out of a trash can lid.

Nancy was off to get a second walkman for Max, just in case something went wrong with the first one.

Steve and Robin were sitting to the side, preparing Molotov cocktails. 

Steve had his trusty nail bat laying next to him, but still. It’s never bad to be overprepared.

“So,” Robin started. “What was that between you and Eddie earlier?”

Steve looked at her. “What? We were just talking about how crazy this is, and how we aren’t what the other expected, and he complimented my nail polish.” He said defensively, thinking of their conversation in the Upside Down that was interrupted by Nancy.

“What?” Robin shrieked, then loudly whispered, “When did that happen?”

“Is that not what you were asking about?”

“No? I meant in the RV, when you looked at him like you were about to make out with him on the spot when he hotwired the car? And when he called you ‘big boy’ and you nearly drove us into a ditch?”

“Oh. That… may have been exactly what it looked like, then. Please tell me I wasn’t so obvious?”

“Don’t worry, the kids weren’t paying attention. But, Steve, be careful, okay? I don’t— I can’t see you get hurt.”

––

It was time. 

The older teens and Dustin had climbed through the portal in the Munson trailer. 

Nancy, Robin, and Steve had just started walking toward the Creel house, when Eddie called after Steve.

Steve shot a glance at Robin and turned around. “Go,” she mouthed.

He turned and approached Eddie. “Yeah?” He asked.

“Make him pay.” Eddie said, looking Steve in the eyes. 

Steve nodded, holding Eddie’s gaze. He could see the apprehension in Eddie’s eyes, and fear of what was to come. But there was also a glint of something else—the desperate determination of a man with nothing left to lose. 

Steve’s stomach felt queasy at the possible implications, at what Eddie might do.

“Hey. Eddie. Don’t be a hero. Just stay alive, okay? Do your thing, and get out, do you understand?”

Eddie’s eyes widened a little.

“I need you to be alive after this, do you understand?” Steve emphasized.

He held Eddie’s gaze until the latter nodded sharply.

Steve put his hand on Eddie’s shoulder. He wished he could do more.

“See you on the other side,” he said. Eddie nodded.

Steve turned around, and left.

The uneasy feeling in his stomach—the heaviness in his heart—did not go away.

––

If he had thought trying to avoid stepping on vines in the forest was bad, that was nothing in comparison to the dense branches that covered seemingly every inch of the Creel house’s twisted counterpart.

Taking great care not to touch any of the tendrils, Steve, Nancy, and Robin made their way up the stairs to the attic.

Robin gasped in pain as she tripped, rolling her ankle, grabbing onto the railing for support.

Her hand closed around one of the many coiling branches.

Then—

The fight happened in a blur. 

The vines around his throat, being pushed against a wall once again, gasping for air.

Robin throwing a Molotov cocktail, distracting just enough that Steve could rip away from the branches holding him in place.

Hacking at the vines with his bat. Robin with her ax.

Nancy’s gun, her shooting Vecna in the face.

The thump of Vecna’s hacked off head hitting the ground.

Silence.

Labored breathing. Sighs of relief.

But they weren’t done yet.

“Robin,” Nancy said, breaking the silence. “Give me the lighter, and a bottle.”

Robin handed them over, and she and Steve watched as Nancy poured the contents of the bottle—high percentage alcohol—on what was left of Vecna. She flicked the lighter.

Vecna’s remains went up in flames.

—

They made their way back in silence.

Steve helped support Robin’s weight, her arm thrown over his shoulder.

His blood ran cold at the sight that greeted them once they reached the edge of the forest.

In the distance, he could vaguely make out the swarm of bats, lying motionless on the ground.

Two figures in the center of them.

Dustin, kneeling on the ground, hands frantically hovering over a motionless Eddie.

Robin hopped sideways, leaning against Nancy instead of Steve now. “Go!” she told him, but he had already started running.

—

No no no no no no no

Please please please please

Don’t let us be too late

Steve ran, and as he ran, all he could do was watch.

The closer he got, the more he could make out.

Dustin sobbing, pressing his jacket into Eddie’s side.

Eddie groaning weakly.

He’s alive

… alive alive alive alive alive …

Steve came to an abrupt stop at Eddie’s other side, and fell to his knees.

“Fucking hell. Shit. Fuck!” Eddie groaned.

“Eddie? What did you do?” His voice was choked.

“Steve?” Eddie whispered and turned his head. “Stevie” He repeated and smiled.

His eyes were dazed.

“Steve, help him. Please. He’s bleeding.” Dustin pleaded. Steve nodded, but all his attention was on Eddie.

“Eddie, what did you do? I told you not to be a hero.” In any other situation he would’ve been embarrassed by how his voice broke.

“The bats got into the trailer. Wanted to protect him. Like you. For you.” Eddie coughed out.

Steve took a deep breath. “Dustin, get a sheet. As many as possible.”

Dustin took off, hobbling.

Steve lifted the jacket off Eddie’s stomach.

What he saw was— well, it was mostly blood. This was not ideal.

He wiped at it, as gentle as he could with his trembling hands. More blood appeared.

Okay. This isn’t great, Steve thinks. But it wasn’t that much worse than his own wounds. 

“Hurts,” Eddie said between gritted teeth.

“Hey. You’re gonna be okay? Okay? Just— just look at me, can you do that? Stay awake for me.” Steve just needed to keep talking, to keep Eddie awake, hopefully distract him from the pain.

He couldn’t lose anyone. He couldn’t lose him.

“Yep, yeah, I can do that. God damn, this hurts like a bitch.”

Eddie nodded, eyes glazed over for a second, before they focussed back on Steve.

“Don’t cry, Stevie.” Eddie reached out with his hand. Steve grabbed it, enclosing Eddie’s hand between both of his. He hadn’t noticed the tears.

“Don’t die, Eddie.” He replied, wet voice.

“‘M not gonna. Am I?”

Steve hesitated. Stared at the bites. He shook his head. “They’re— They're deeper. There’s more bleeding. But I think it’s slowing down already.”

Eddie exhaled.

Then Dustin came back, carrying a heap of bunched up sheets. He kicked away some of the dead, curled up bats, and kneeled with them next to Steve. Steve squeezed Eddie’s hand once more, then let go.

He reached for one of the sheets, and he and Dustin managed to tie it tightly around Eddie’s abdomen, applying constant pressure.

Maybe it was his imagination, making him see what he was desperately looking for, but Steve could have sworn that Eddie’s face, pale skin beneath a sheen of sweat, already looked a little less pale.

—

When Nancy and Robin got to them just a minute later, Nancy immediately knelt down to inspect the makeshift bandage.

Robin hubbled over to him and put her hand on Steve’s shoulder. He leaned into the familiar, grounding touch.

“We need to get out of here.” Nancy said, levelheaded. She looked to Steve. “Can you support him?”

Steve nodded. 

“Hey, Eddie,” he said to get his attention. “Look at me. This is gonna hurt. But we’re getting you out of here.”

Eddie’s eyes closed. He exhaled, then nodded sharply. “Jesus H. Christ. Let’s do this.”

Steve put an arm—as gently as possible—under his shoulder, to lift him up. 

Eddie sat upright, hissing at the pain. Steve’s own side ached, as though in sympathy.

Steve gingerly helped Eddie stand up—throwing Eddie’s left arm over his shoulder and keeping his right arm around Eddie’s side to support his weight—and with the rest of the group they made the short way back to the trailer.

—

They made it. They had done it.

Battered and bruised, scared and injured, but by the skin of their teeth, they had done it.

They got back to Hawkins—regular, non-hellish Hawkins, with blue skies and breathable air—and promptly collapsed on the floor.

Steve helped Eddie sit down on the mattress beneath the portal. 

“Do you have a first aid kit?” he asked.

“There’s some Tylenol in the bathroom,” Eddie replied.

“We need to take Eddie to a hospital,” Nancy said.

“Are you crazy? They’re gonna arrest him on sight” Dustin protested.

“He’s right,” Steve said. His voice was hoarse. “Nance, get Robin and Dustin to the hospital. I’ll take care of Eddie.” 

She opened her mouth to reply, but Steve continued. “Drop us off at my house. I have a full first aid kit. They’re never going to look for Eddie there. It’s the best option right now.”

No one argued with that.

––

In the car, Dustin radioed Lucas. “We’re fine. Max… she is fine. Jason got here, and broke the walkman, but we knocked him out. Thank God we had the second one. We’re fine. We’re fine.”

There was a collective sigh of relief.

“Listen, meet us at the hospital. We’re all a little injured, but it will be okay.” Dustin said. 

—

When they got to his house, Nancy parked inside the garage, so Steve and Eddie could get out of the car without being seen by nosy neighbors. 

Nancy took off, with a promise to be back as soon as possible.

Steve had Eddie sit down on the couch. Eddie groaned as he leaned back.

“I’ll be back in just a second. I’ll take care of this, and then you can sleep. Just wait a little longer.” Eddie nodded.

Leaning over the sink in the kitchen, Steve let the water wash away the dirt and blood caking his shaking hands, its warmth a welcome sensation after the freezing cold of the Upside Down. As the water cleared, leaving his hands clean, his chipped yellow nail polish unmarred once again, he took a deep breath. Come on, Steve. You got this.

Steve returned a minute later with his first aid kit and some towels. He had learned fairly quickly after his first encounter with the Upside Down that it was better to be safe than to be sorry, and took no qualms spending his parents’ money on a topnotch first aid kit.

He set down the large box on the couch. He fetched a bowl of warm water.

“Brace yourself,” he warned, and untied the makeshift bandage. It stuck to his skin with dried blood, pulling as Steve tried to tear it away. Eddie inhaled sharply.

Steve gently wiped at the area with a wet towel, in an effort to soak some of the dried blood. It worked, and very slowly, he was able to remove the sheet, bit by bit.

Eddie’s stomach was once again covered with the red sheen of fresh blood, the wound reopened from the skin being pried at.

“Okay,” Steve whispered, more to himself than to Eddie. “Just breathe.” 

They would be fine. Just down freak out.

“Can I— Can you— You need to lift up your shirt.”

This was not the moment to panic. This was the moment for systematic, procedural, clearheaded action.

Give Eddie a pain killer. As much as is safe to take at once.

Wipe away the blood, gently. Rinse the towel. Repeat.

The bleeding is slowing down. Finally.

Disinfect the wounds.

‘This is gonna hurt.’

Stitch up the worst of the bites.

‘I’m so sorry.’

More disinfectant. Wrap gauze around it, tightly.

‘All done.’

Eddie exhaled. 

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Steve asked, realizing he’d been so focussed on the holes in Eddie’s stomach, bleeding and bleeding, that he hadn’t stopped to consider any other areas. 

“My arm,” Eddie said. Steve helped him take off his shirt completely.

At least that one wasn’t as deep. He disinfected and bandaged it. 

When he was done, it hit him. They were alive. Everyone made it.

They would need to heal. Physically, mentally.

But they would live.

The realization made him lightheaded. 

Food. I should get food.

Steve stood up, intending to go to the kitchen and get them something to eat. As soon as he stood upright, his vision blurred and he had to sit back down, a painful twinge in his side.

Oh, right. The thing he’d been ignoring for days.

Eddie looked at him, apprehensive. “Steve, are you… your bites! How did we forget? Why didn’t you say anything?” 

Steve waved him off. “I’m fine. I just— I should probably take care of this.”

“Let me help.” Eddie pushed himself closer to Steve. 

“No. You need to rest, I can do this.” Steve waved him off.

“Steve,” Eddie said. “You just carried me out of Hell. You patched me up. Let me help you.”

Steve exhaled. He nodded.

—

Taking off his own makeshift bandage took longer. There was less blood, but it had been drying for longer. 

Eddie, it turned out, was surprisingly good at carrying out stitches, despite his shaking hands. They looked neater than the ones Steve had made to close his wounds.

When they were done, their mirrored wounds stitched up and with identical white bandages wrapped around their abdomens, it was like a switch was flicked.

The adrenaline and panic and urgency that had kept their exhaustion at bay for the past days had worn off all at once, and they didn’t even make it to a bed before they fell asleep, curled into each other, on the couch.

—

“—lo?” Robin’s voice rang through the house. “Are you guys okay? You haven’t been answering the radio, we’re worried. Please be alive.”

Steve opened his eyes. He was groggy and tired, but he also felt warm and safe. 

He looked around. He was laying on the couch, a warm blanket next to him, partially draped over him.

No, that wasn’t a blanket. It was a person.

Eddie groaned. “F’ve m’re minutes.”

When he opened his eyes, they widened, and he bolted away from Steve as though burned by the contact, choosing to sit on the couch with more distance between them.

Distracting himself from the twinge of hurt that followed Eddie’s bolting, Steve looked to the doorway, where Robin had stopped, bag of groceries in one hand, radio in the other.

“They’re alive. All good.” She said into the radio, then sighed.

“Copy,” replied Nancy.

Robin put down the bag and the radio and stormed over, lightly punching Steve’s shoulder.

“You didn’t answer the radio, dingus. We thought something happened.” Then she pulled him into a tight hug. “I’m glad you’re okay.” She said into his neck, squeezing him. 

His arms also tightened around her. “We’re okay.”

“I should go.” Eddie said suddenly.

Steve let go of Robin and turned to Eddie.

“What? No. Why?”

“I’ll be fine. You patched me up. I don’t want to intrude.” Eddie looked away.

Steve’s mind started racing. Had he done something wrong? Had he made Eddie uncomfortable in some way? 

He thought of the way they’d woken up, curled up together, and the way Eddie had moved away from him as soon as he’d noticed.

Did Eddie… know ? Know how Steve felt about him? Was he uncomfortable?


Steve shook his head. “You’re not intruding. You can’t leave, it’s still not safe. Just— stay here, until we figure this out. Please. We’ll both need help while we heal. We can help each other. You’re part of the group now, remember?”

Eddie frowned. He stayed quiet for a few moments, then nodded reluctantly. “Just for today.”

Steve’s shoulders relaxed.

Then, his stomach grumbled.

Robin piped up. “You need to eat. Lucky for you, I’ve brought food.”

—

At the end of the day, Eddie did not leave. Nor at the end of the next day. Or the one after that.

With him still being wanted for ritualistic murder, it had been decided that he would stay in Loch Nora with Steve for the foreseeable future. Hopper—reinstated as chief of police upon his miraculous return from the dead—had enough on his plate trying to explain his revival, and it turned out that dropping murder charges involved a lot more paperwork than anyone had expected.

Not to mention the federal government and their NDAs.

Needless to say, Steve would be spending a lot of time with Eddie—this time, without the threat of impending death hanging over them. 

—

They fell into a routine.

Check and clean each other’s stitches. Rewrap each other’s bandages.

Make food, eat, wash up.

Have the party over. Have Eddie’s uncle over.

(They were fine, they were alive.)

(Hopper was alive?) (Listen, it’s one thing to hear about it, but a whole other thing to have the man himself stand in your living room.)

Go to sleep, wake up in the middle of the night screaming (entangled, in the same bed) (don’t mention it), go back to sleep (holding each other) (do not mention it).

After the incessant action, fueled by adrenaline, the sheer domesticity of it made Steve’s head spin. Now that it was over—now that they were safe they were safe they were safe—it had hit them just how much of a toll had been taken on their bodies. On their minds.

It was over.

They were safe.

—

Slowly, they recovered. 

Day by day, standing, walking, reaching up, became easier and easier. 

Their wounds scabbed over, they removed their stitches.

Little by little, the pain faded.

Just as slowly, something between them shifted. 

Awkward silences turned comfortable. Smiles eased.

Touches lingered.

They didn’t mention it.

—

“I’m picking the movie tonight.” 

Steve rolled his eyes, amused. “Go ahead. You are aware that the only movies you get to choose from are the ones I already own?”

“The tragedy of free will. It’s been an illusion all along!” Eddie grabbed at his heart and let himself fall backwards onto the couch, only wincing slightly on impact.

Steve put the bowl of popcorn down on the table, and turned to get the nail polish. The pale yellow he’d applied before… well, Before, had long chipped away, and being focussed on his and Eddie’s recoveries, he had just never gotten around to redoing his nails.

No time like the present.

He grabbed a light pink bottle, the same soft shade as the first time Robin had painted his nails, settled on the couch, and got started. He finished his left hand quickly—over time, he’d gotten much better at painting his own nails—and went to move on to the right.

“So, um,” Eddie said. “The nail polish. It’s a regular occurrence?”

“Oh. Yeah. Robin and I got in the habit. I like doing it.” He smiled, extending his fingers to assess his work, watching carefully for any excess paint that got on his skin.

“Huh. It’s just… I never thought you of all people would do that. Big Athlete King Steve and all.”

Steve’s shoulders tensed at that. Even after everything, that’s still what Eddie thought of him? Could no one see that he was trying to step out of his old self’s shadow? That he was doing his best? Could Eddie not see it?

“No, wait. That came out bad. I just– You’ve changed. Well, I mean– Obviously.” He gestured toward Steve. “You’re a hero, not a bully. That’s what I meant. You’re not him anymore. You’re… Steve. Stevie.” Eddie smiled at him. Steve relaxed.

“Oh. Thanks, man.” A warmth fluttered in his chest. Stupid feelings. This was not the moment to show up. Not that there was a convenient moment, but still. Better to get over it—get over him—before any damage was done. Steve sighed.

“So, is there any polish left for lil’ old me?” Eddie asked, wiggling his ringed fingers.

“Sure, take your pick.” Steve nodded toward the basket containing the polishes Robin had left behind, and the new ones he had added himself. He finished up his right hand, admiring the way the soft pink color complemented his skin tone, the way it shimmered and reflected the lights as his fingers moved. Reveling in the comfort, the solace, it brought him.

With everything that had happened over the course of the last few weeks, his attention had been captured outward: making sure everyone survived, protecting them, supporting Eddie in his recovery—physically, mentally—while recovering himself, all the while not revealing his feelings toward him. His mind had constantly been occupied elsewhere, and there had simply been no opportunity for it to settle.

He’d missed this, he thought. The touch of gentleness, softening his sharp edges. He felt more like himself again.

Steve smiled.

When he looked up, Eddie had a bottle of black polish in his hands.

“I was thinking, you could do mine?” Eddie stuck the bottle out toward Steve, who took it. 

Holding Eddie’s hand in his, he started. Steve could feel his heart beating in his chest.

It was one thing to wrap Eddie’s wounds, to comfort him after a nightmare. It was a whole other thing to be holding his hands, to sit in such proximity, their knees touching. There was a sense of intention behind this, a vulnerability that went beyond necessity.

Eddie could’ve painted his own nails. But he had asked Steve to do it.

“It looks nice.” Eddie cleared his throat. “The shade of pink on your nails.” His eyes darted to the side. 

“You don’t have to placate me. I know this is probably the most laughable color I could’ve chosen.”

“I’m serious, Steve.”

He didn’t answer, continuing to drag the applicator across Eddie’s nails. 

“Steve. Stevie. Look at me.” Steve’s hands paused, and he looked up. He was met with Eddie’s warm, brown eyes, gazing at him, into him. He could almost feel his stare reaching the depth of his soul.

“I am being completely honest when I say this. It suits you. It looks nice. You look nice.” 

If Steve hadn’t already been looking, he would have missed the faint blush appearing in Eddie’s cheeks. He looked to the side.

Eddie shook his head. “Anyway, I–”

Before he could stop himself, Steve blurted, “I feel nice. I mean, it makes me feel nice. Comfortable.” 

He smiled and looked back down, adjusting his grip on Eddie’s hand and continuing to apply the black polish. Eddie didn’t say anything, so Steve took a deep breath and continued.

“There’s all these singers. With their long hair and make-up and stuff. And I’m not–” He swallowed. “I’m not brave enough to do that. Not here, in Hawkins. Not like, I mean, like you. But doing this, painting my nails, it’s– It’s freeing. It makes me feel better in my body. Like it’s my own, not anyone else’s.”

“Dude.” Steve raised his head at Eddie’s awed, slightly breathless tone. There was a soft sparkle in Eddie’s eyes. Steve didn’t think he could look away, even if he wanted to. “That’s fucking metal. It is . You are.”

Eddie grabbed Steve’s left hand and put their painted nails side by side. “It’s brave. Being yourself, when you’re–” Eddie inhaled sharply. Let go of Steve’s hands. “When the world is telling you to be someone else.”

Steve’s eyes burned, and he blinked repeatedly, trying to keep them from tearing up. He swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Well,” he said, trying to lighten the conversation. “I just wish the polish wouldn’t chip so quickly. As soon as I play one song, boom, it’s chipped.” He chuckled, but on the inside he was still reeling.

“You play? What do you play?” Eddie perked up.

“The guitar.” 

“You! Play the guitar! And you didn’t tell me?” Eddie put on a devastated face, theatrically grabbing at his heart once again, but there was a playful gleam in his eyes. “Tell me more.”

—

The movie they’d been watching had long been forgotten, turning into the vague background track of them bonding about their shared love for playing the guitar. 

At some point, after his nail polish had completely dried, Steve even brought down his guitar, playing it in front of Eddie. Something he hadn’t even done in front of Robin. He’d been scared—scared to mess up, scared by the intimacy of the situation, of being the center of attention to a rapt audience of one. But, as nerve wracking as it had been, it had also felt right, his heart beating hard in his chest, reminding him with every thunk thunk thunkthat he was here and he was alive.

Later, they’d moved to Steve’s room, their routine well rehearsed. After many nights of waking up screaming, reliving the past horrors, they’d given up the pretense of going to sleep in different beds, knowing they’d eventually end up in the same one anyway. And it’s not like anyone would ever know.

They’d been lying in bed for a while, cozied beneath the blanket, each staunchly on their own side of the bed. Steve turned his head to glance at Eddie, who himself was laying on his side, facing away from him. In the dark, broken up by the soft glow of the moonlight coming through the window, he could make out the rhythmic rise and fall of Eddie’s chest.

Sleep was not coming as easily to Steve. 

On the contrary, Steve’s thoughts were racing. In the quiet of the night, the conversations of the evening kept replaying in his mind. The joy of opening up without being ridiculed. Their laughter loudly reverberating throughout the house, which had been all too silent for the majority of Steve’s life. 

The sheer intimacy he hadn’t had in a long time. Holding Eddie’s hand while painting his nails, him being the first person Steve played the guitar in front of since childhood, the look in Eddie’s eyes, the twinkle he hadn’t been able to look away from—

Oh.

Oh.

He’d stopped denying his crush on Eddie a while ago, but the weight of his feelings hit him all at once. Getting to know him—seeing him at what would most likely be the worst moments of his life, saving him from the Upside Down, spending countless moments around him in the aftermath—this wasn’t a crush anymore. Somewhere along the way, it had evolved. Steve knew this feeling. He was in love . Steve. Steve was in love, with Eddie. He was in love, with Eddie Munson, a man. 

There was a feeling of weightlessness in his stomach. Something between butterflies and nausea, between falling into a bottomless pit and floating on Cloud Nine. The realization took his breath away. 

He was in love with Eddie Munson. Who was a man. And that was okay. Not just okay, he felt elated, finally having made sense of the whirlwind of emotions.

He smiled. He had expected to be more bothered by it, but apparently not. The existence of monsters and hellish alternate dimensions really put things like this into perspective. 

Steve couldn’t wait to break the news to Robin. He should radio her the next day, have her come over.

He shifted in bed and turned his head to look at Eddie again. He hadn’t moved, still breathing in a steady pattern.

“Hey, Eds.” Steve’s voice was barely even a whisper, not daring to risk being loud enough to wake him up. “Thank you, for being here. I don’t know if I’ve said that. I’ve hated this house for a long time. But I’m glad you’re here. That I’m here, with you. I don’t think I’ll ever have the guts to tell you this when you’re awake, but— I’m in love with you, I realized.” 

He exhaled. Smiled. 

“It feels good to have said it. I wish I could tell you when you can hear it. I wish I was more brave. More… metal. But this is fine. I’d rather have you in my life as a friend than not at all. But still— I wanted to have said it.”

Steve took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He didn’t have any nightmares that night.

—

On the other side of the bed, Eddie laid, wide awake, having heard every word, frozen in place, his heart racing, trying desperately to get his breathing under control again.

Was that— ? It couldn’t have been. Surely not. Surely, Steve hadn’t said what he had heard. Eddie must have misheard. Because there was no way—no way in hell, in this dimension, in any other dimension—that this had just happened. What the fuck. What the actual flying freaking fuck.

Is this what his overactive imagination had come to? A wishful thought, a strong, lifelike auditory hallucination. The guy he’d been fixated on for years—that stupid, awful crush that he’d tried so hard to suppress, to no success—professing his love to him. While they were lying in the same bed. After he had saved Eddie’s life, carrying him out of Hell. 

Maybe he had finally fallen asleep without noticing after all. Maybe it had all been a dream. 

But deep down he knew it had to be real, because he wouldn’t have been able to come up with this himself, not in his wildest dreams.

And—as ludicrous as it sounds—somehow, it made sense . The glances Steve had been throwing his way, the way he’d tense up when they woke up tangled in each other's arms. It hadn’t been dislike, it hadn’t been animosity. No, Steve had been nervous. Steve Harrington, nervous, because of him. Eddie. 

Because he liked Eddie. Because he was in love with Eddie.

People like Eddie didn’t get what they wanted. People like Eddie didn’t have their crushes confess their love to them in the middle of the night. People like Eddie were lucky if no one—not their crush, not anyone else—ever found out they felt this way.

People like Eddie didn’t get a happy ending.

But what if they did? What if this could happen?

Or, what if this whole thing blew up in his face?

Eddie didn’t fall asleep for a long time.

—

The next morning, Steve woke up to sunlight hitting his face.

He sat up, inhaling deeply, and slowly released the breath as he stretched his arms above him, feeling only a slight twinge across his ribs and stomach.

On the other side of the bed, Eddie was still in deep sleep, hair, arms, and legs splayed across the pillows and mattress. Laying there, relaxed, his brows unfurrowed, his chest rising and falling slowly, he looked… peaceful. A small smile on Eddie’s lips, Steve could make out the dimples on his cheeks.

Steve smiled too, feeling a now very familiar wave of fondness wash over him. What a dork. 

Just then, his stomach grumbled. Taking care not to jostle the mattress too much when standing up—he didn’t want to disturb Eddie, not when he looked so at ease—, Steve made his way to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

—

Eddie wakes up to the smell of bacon and to the feeling of having forgotten a dream, aware of its nagging presence in the back of his head, yet unable to grasp its content.

Taking a deep breath, his mouth watered at the prospect of the array of food sure to be waiting for him.

He could get used to this, he thought. Waking up in a nice, warm bed, to breakfast cooked by Steve—who, it turns out, is an excellent cook.

Wait. Steve.

That’s what it was. The dream.

No. Not a dream. A memory.

Steve had told Eddie he was in love with him. When he thought Eddie had been asleep. 

That hadn’t been a dream—although it truly felt like one, come true. It was real. 

Oh. That had actually happened.

And now—what? What was he supposed to do?

Act like nothing had happened? Like his world hadn’t turned on its axis for the second time, albeit this time for an infinitely better reason?

Go downstairs and confess his love right back to Steve?

No, this was his chance. He wanted to be smart about it. Play it cool. He could be normal about this. He would be normal about this. Handle it elegantly, gracefully.

Ideas were swirling in his head. Romantic gestures, candlelit dinners, bouquets of flowers.

He could pull that off. Surely. How hard can it be? Maybe he could call Robin, get her to help him bring everything he needed over, since he was still in hiding—what was taking Hopper so long, anyway? Surely this situation should have been figured out already? 

It would take a day, two at most, to get everything set up. He just needed to be normal in the meantime.

Oh, he’d be so incredibly normal about it.

—

Making his way down to the kitchen, Eddie could hear Steve singing to himself. 

When he reached the doorway, he paused. Steve was cooking, singing, with his back toward him, seemingly unaware that Eddie had come downstairs.

Seeing Steve like this… it was cute, endearing. A warm feeling bloomed in Eddie’s chest. Yes, he could definitely get used to waking up to this.

He smiled.

Just then, Steve turned around, two glasses of orange juice in hand. When his gaze met Eddie’s, Steve jumped in surprise, spilling the juice on his shirt.

“Eddie! I didn’t see you there.” He said as he put the glasses back on the counter. Then, he took off his sodden shirt and used it to pat his chest dry.

“Clumsy me,” Steve chuckled.

Sorry about that , Eddie might have replied. Didn’t mean to scare you.

Or, oh god, let me get you a towel.

Or even, that’s not where the juice is supposed to go, Steve.

He might have given any of these replies, if only his brain had been functioning enough to form a full, coherent sentence.

Instead, he was stuck trying to process what he was seeing. Which was Steve Harrington’s bare chest.

And, sure, he’d seen his chest before. Many times, in fact. On Lover’s Lake, right before Steve jumped in the water. In the Upside Down, after Steve had been bitten by the bats. After everything, every time they cleaned and checked each other's stitches.

However, importantly, he’d always been a little too preoccupied by the circumstances in those moments to really… take in the sight, as it were.

But now—now, that he wasn’t thinking of monsters or blood or infections—his eyes roamed over the expanse of skin, the defined muscles, the hair trailing down, down toward the reddish pink, crescent-shaped scars on his stomach and side.

And. Oh. How had he not taken the time to appreciate this earlier, mortal peril be damned?

Eddie was suddenly very aware of the dryness in his mouth, the beating of his heart.

Not only did Steve turn out to actually be a nice, funny, caring guy, no, he also had to look like that, so good that Eddie could not focus on anything else. It was unfair, really.

“Hey, Eds? Eddie! Are you okay?”

Eddie blinked. He hadn’t even noticed that Steve had been talking to him, eyebrows scrunched, a worrisome look in his brown eyes. Orange tinted shirt discarded on the floor.

“You’re just staring into space, and I’m getting worried. Shit, is it Vecna? Are you having a vision? Shit, fuck, I thought it was over.”

Snap out of it! A voice in the back of his head yelled at him. Be normal! Be normal about this! Tell him you’re okay!

Steve came closer, put his hands on Eddie’s shoulders.

“Eds?”

Eddie looked up, his gaze wandering back up Steve’s chest to meet Steve’s eyes.

His stomach fluttered. 

Oh, he was so in love with this man. This wonderful man, who was in love with him, too. 

Who had told him so, last night.

Say something!

“I heard you.” Eddie blurted out, his voice slightly choked.

Not that!

“Oh thank God,” Steve released in one breath. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

Steve’s grip on his shoulders tightened. They were both quiet for a moment.

“That wasn’t funny, you know. If you heard me, why didn’t you say anything?”

Eddie swallowed. Threw his plans of a romantic, candlelight-dinner confession out the window. He could not mess this up, have Steve be upset with him, not now. In for a penny, seize the moment, and all that.

“I meant last night. I heard what you said to me, last night.”

—

“I heard what you said to me, last night.”

Steve’s heart stood still. He froze.

Oh. Oh, no.

Eddie had heard him. He had been awake. He knew.

He knew how Steve felt about him. No wonder he’d been staring at him like that, all panicked and stiff. He’d been uncomfortable. And what had Steve been doing, taking off his shirt? He’d made it all worse.

God, he had ruined everything. They could’ve stayed friends, and it would’ve been enough, but no, he had to go and spill his guts and Eddie had heard him and now he knew and—

And he’d probably never want to speak to Steve again.

Steve let go of Eddie’s shoulders like they burned him—shit, if he’s uncomfortable, stop touching him already—and took a shaky step backwards, and another.

“Eddie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—” He cut himself off, voice precariously close to breaking. Steve took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. 

Eddie hadn’t moved from the doorway, was still staring at Steve, eyes wide, a stunned expression on his face. Steve looked away, unable to bear the vulnerability of the moment.

“I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable. Shit, I promise I didn’t mean to. I—”

“No. God, no, Stevie, that’s not what I meant. Please, you have no reason to be sorry.”

“But I made you upset.” Steve protested.

“You didn’t! I’m not! Steve. Stevie.” Eddie took a step toward him, took his hand in his.

“Stevie, look at me.” Steve did, meeting Eddie’s gaze.

“I’m not upset. I’m not uncomfortable. Hearing you say that, it was— I was, am, the happiest I’ve been in a long time. Because, I’m in love with you, too. Have been, for ages.”

And then Eddie smiled that beautiful smile, and Steve’s heart skipped a beat.

“Oh,” Steve smiled. 

Eddie liked him. Was in love with him! He hadn’t made him uncomfortable, hadn’t ruined their friendship. 

On the contrary, this could be the beginning of something else. Something more.

Eddie took another step, closing the distance between the two of them, their faces now mere inches apart. He squeezed Steve’s hand.

“So, big boy, now that we’ve cleared this up, are you going to keep looking at me with those big eyes of yours or are we going to—”

Before he could finish the sentence, as though that was the last push he needed, Steve closed the gap between them and pressed his lips against Eddie’s gently.

And, oh. 

This wasn’t his first kiss, not by far, but there was just something about kissing another man—kissing Eddie in particular—that made him feel like it was, all the nervousness and awe of doing something for the first time …it was new and exciting and he felt electric, acutely aware of his heart beating in his chest.

Without consciously meaning to, he let out a pleased hum and deepened the kiss, to which Eddie responded enthusiastically, wrapping his arms around Steve, pulling him even closer.

Steve reached up his hand to tangle it in Eddie’s hair, which was somehow even softer than it looked, just as soft as his lips, using his other hand to caress Eddie’s lower back, brushing over his bare skin where his shirt had ridden up.

He let himself get lost in the sensations; his lips against Eddie’s, exploring each other for the first time, Eddie grinning into the kiss. Eddie’s hands on his bare shoulders and back, his own hands on Eddie’s lower back, against his waist, tangled in his oh-so soft hair. The buzzing in his veins, the warm weightlessness in his chest, the confidence bubbling up, like he was on top of the world at that moment, and like nothing could ever bring him back down.

It felt… right. Like no matter what choices he had made throughout his life, they would have eventually led him right to this moment, right to being held in Eddie’s arms.

—

Later, after they’d broken apart, slightly out of breath, bright-eyed, and grinning, after they’d put out the minor fire resulting from the bacon that had been too-long ignored in its pan, after Steve had gotten himself a clean shirt, and after Eddie had pinched himself repeatedly to make sure it had actually happened—

After all of that, they were sitting at the kitchen table, chairs moved as close to each other as possible, their arms brushing as they were eating the now-cold breakfast that Steve had been making earlier.

Steve couldn’t help but watch Eddie as he scarfed down cold scrambled eggs and whatever bits of bacon they’d managed to salvage, still not quite able to believe that his feelings were reciprocated, that he’d gotten the guy.

“So,” Eddie said, once he was done chewing, looking down at his emptied plate. “Is this— This wasn’t just a one time thing, right?”

Steve opened his mouth to reply, but before he could get a word out, Eddie continued.

“Not that I want you to feel forced to continue this if you don’t want to—no pressure, of course—but, um. Cards on the table, I really like you, and I have really liked you, and I’d kick my ass if I fucked this up being scared so, here goes nothing—” Eddie looked up, took a breath, squared his shoulders.

“Stevie, do you want to date me? Check one, yes, no, maybe.”

“Yes, Eds, I would very much like to date you.” Steve answered, smiling. What a dork.

“Neat,” Eddie grinned.

“Neat? That’s your adjective of choice? Really, I ought—” Steve grumbled, 

“Yes, neat,” Eddie shushed him. “Wouldn’t you agree that getting to this whenever we want,” he leaned closer, “is pretty neat?”

Then he kissed him.

Steve grinned and reciprocated the kiss eagerly. Eddie’s lips tasted sweet, like the maple syrup he’d insisted on pouring over the charred bacon. 

He brought his hands up to cup Eddie’s face, caressing his cheeks, just as he felt one of Eddie’s hands in his hair.

Steve leaned into the touch, humming in appreciation. 

“Hey gu—” 

Steve pulled back, whipping his head in the direction of the voice, still in a daze. If his brain had been functioning more, he might have worried about someone having seen them, someone knowing, in a way they couldn’t explain away. He might have remembered that oh god, this was still Hawkins, even if they’d been so sheltered from everything over the past few weeks. 

However, his brain was still preoccupied by thoughts of Eddie, his lips, his hair, his hands, leaving Steve just staring blankly at whoever had interrupted them, his own lips still tingling from the kiss.

“Um. I didn’t mean to interrupt, I just wanted to see if you wanted to hang out, please carry on! I mean, not carry on, not while I’m here, it’s not like I want to watch—but also not that I have anything against seeing it! I mean, I didn’t see anything, nope, nothing out of the ordinary.” 

Robin looked between him and Eddie, worried look in her eyes. Steve glanced over at Eddie, who was frozen in his seat, biting his lip. Oh , he realized. He doesn’t know about Robin. He thinks we just got caught.

“Hey, Eds,” Steve took his hand. “It’s fine. She knows, about me. She won’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t,” Robin agreed. “Would be kind of hypocritical of me, really.”

Eddie’s eyes widened a bit and he squeezed Steve’s hand. “Okay. Okay.” Took a deep breath. “Jesus Christ, Buckley. How ‘bout a warning next time?”

“In my defense, this hasn’t been an issue until just now.” She walked over to Steve, hit him softly on the chest.

“And since when has this been going on?”

“An hour ago?” He smiled, sheepish.

“Oh, Steve, I’m so happy for you.” Robin pulled him into a hug. “Look at you, living my gay dream.”

She let go and turned to Eddie. “Don’t hurt him, understood?”

Eddie nodded. “I will do my absolute best not to, I swear.” He smiled at Steve, almost shy.

“Good.” Robin dropped her stern expression. “Now, come here.” And she went to hug Eddie too.

Steve watched the two of them, his best friend in the whole world and the man he’d fallen in love with, and couldn’t help but smile, a warm, comfortable feeling settling in his chest.

He was happy.

—

“So, Robin,” Eddie starts, after they’d relocated to the living room, sprawled on the new couch—the one Steve had gotten to replace the old, bloodstained one. “Any babes you got your eyes on?”

She groaned. “Here? In Hawkins? Take a guess.”

“You never know. I mean, who would’ve thought that this would happen?” Steve raised his hand, which was holding Eddie’s.

Eddie laughed. “Imagine telling me, even a few months ago, that I’d end up bagging Steve Harrington. I’d have thought you’ve gone mad.”

“Like you weren’t mad before?” She joked.

“Hey!”

“I wonder what it would be like somewhere else. Somewhere we wouldn’t have to hide, somewhere I wouldn’t be the town pariah for asking out the wrong girl.” Robin mused. 

“That was always my goal. Graduate, then get the fuck out of here. Out west, to San Fran. Or Chicago, maybe.” Eddie said.

“That sounds nice.” Steve closed his eyes, pictured it. A big city, bigger than this small town. A small apartment, honest work. Walking down the street holding Eddie’s hand, a smile on their faces. Robin, happy, out with a girl. 

“Why don’t we do it?” Robin asked. Steve chuckled at the suggestion. If only …

“No, I’m serious,” Robin said. “Steve, you already graduated. I’m about to graduate. Once we get everything settled with the government, Eddie will too. The Upside Down is gone. What’s keeping us from leaving?”

Steve opened his mouth to reply, but wasn’t sure what to say. It’s not like his parents were around much, or that he’d miss them when he left. He hadn’t spoken to Tommy and Carol in ages. 

If anything, he’d stay for the kids. But, he thought about it, they didn’t need him anymore, really. He’d die for them, had taken as many punches as had been necessary to protect them. But the danger was gone. Quite frankly, they weren’t kids anymore, they were teenagers, who’d be adults before they knew it. 

And they were all so smart, there’s no way they’d stay there, in Hawkins. They’d go to the best universities, learn about physics and engineering and such. They would do all the things his father wished Steve would have done.

He could always come back to visit them. But he wasn’t tied to this town, not anymore. Not if he had any say in the matter.

Before he’d formed an answer, Eddie chuckled. “Don’t have to twist my arm.”

They smiled, looked toward Steve.

“We’d still need to plan it,” Robin spoke, her brain going into the strategic mode Steve was oh-so familiar with. “Look for jobs, get an apartment. Two, three bedrooms. Save up. Get Eddie’s charges dropped, of course. But—it’s doable. By the end of the year, maybe even.”

“What do you say, Stevie? We can get a place, that’s ours—the three of us. And it won’t be empty, and quiet, and sad. We’ll fill it with our favorite things, things that make us happy, and we won’t be alone anymore.” 

Eddie took his hand. Met his eyes. 

“Say yes, Stevie. Get out of here.​​ This house, this town.”

And, how could he refuse?

—

Months passed.

The charges against Eddie were dropped. He got his diploma.

Robin did, too.

They worked, all summer, all fall. Saved up.

Secured jobs in Chicago, got an apartment.

All they had left to do was packing up, going through what they had accumulated during the first two decades of their lives, deciding what to bring with them on the next step in their journey.

So that’s where Steve got started, going through the rooms of the big, empty house he wouldn’t have to call home for much longer.

Oh, how he couldn’t wait to leave it all behind.

—

Somewhere in Loch Nora, in the back of a drawer he hadn’t opened in years, Steve Harrington finds a picture. 

One of its edges is slightly creased, but otherwise it’s in pristine condition. It depicts his mother, much younger than she was now, happier than he could remember her ever being. She was lying in a hospital bed, holding something in her arms. A baby. Steve.

He crumples the picture without a second thought, and throws it away.

He doesn’t need a reminder of the past. 

His future is waiting, yet unwritten.