Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Steve's discharged from the hospital on a Thursday afternoon.

It's sunny out, as it always is when spring hits Hawkins. But Steve hasn't noticed, despite his bed being next to a big window overlooking the hospital gardens. He hasn't looked outside once. All he can think about is how painful everything feels. How weird it is to see the sun after being sucked down into all that endless black. He thought he'd die down there. Sometimes he has to remind himself he didn't.

There's been a procession over the last couple of weeks, of people and presents and flowers. Dustin, that little shithead, has been bothering him every day, reading him comics and asking his help in creating a new DND character for the Hellfire Club's upcoming campaign. Robin had surprised him with a huge bouquet, as if he were some swooning girl. Joyce came with a tin of homemade brownies. Even El had wandered in, placing her hand on his arm and looking at him with that strange, steady gaze of hers. She hadn't said much, but it had made him feel a little better.

He doesn't want it to be a big thing, though. Getting out. So it's just Nancy and Robin who meet him at the hospital that morning. They bring him clean clothes: a big sweatshirt and sweatpants that he changes into, grateful for how soft the cotton is against his bruises, that it doesn't press against the bandaging around his stomach and chest. 

His other clothes, the one he was wearing in the Upside Down, are bagged and given to him at reception. He's frightened, his stomach pinching with dread, that Eddie's denim vest won't be there. That maybe it was too ruined, too covered in gross gunk, and that they had thrown it away. Taken it to be incinerated. But it's still there. The denim pressing against the plastic as he's handed the bag.

He's able to exhale when he sees it. Realises just how long he'd been holding his breath. It's a relief that almost floors him, if it wasn't for the strong grip the girls have on him. 

They both help him to Nancy's car, their arms around his waist. Like he's something delicate. Brittle like a shell found at the beach.

In the car he turns to them. "Eddie?" he asks.

Maybe he should have asked about the others first, but that's the first name that bubbles up inside him. The one he's been thinking about all week. The only person out of all of them who hadn't been to see him while he's been in hospital. Not that Steve had cared. It's not like he'd been waiting anxiously for him or anything. He'd spent enough time with that guy in the Upside Down, the two of them huddled together for safety and warmth. Had learned too intimately how Eddie smelled. How the lines around his mouth deepened when he was worried. And how his hands had felt on Steve's face, his thumbs stroking his cheeks. It's not like he needed to see him after all that. The guy was probably sick of him anyway.

Robin's eyes are warm as she says, "He's a little banged up, but he'll be okay. Completely exonerated too. The police are blaming all the deaths on some," she makes air quotes with her fingers, "venereal disease."

"You're a venereal disease," Steve replies automatically. 

"Ha ha," she says. Lightly punches his shoulder.

It doesn't surprise him. A venereal disease sounded like the kind of garbage the cops would spout, but at least it got Eddie off the hook. What had the alternative been? Him being arrested for multiple murders and getting sent to jail for the rest of his life? Maybe even being on death row, and for something he didn't even do? The thought makes him feel ill. 

"Is he still in town?"

"Yes, he's moved into a new trailer with his uncle." 

Steve's chest prickles and he rubs at it. There's been an ache there, an abscess, ever since they got back.

"Good, I'm glad he's safe."

Nancy smiles. "Thanks to you."

Robin grins too. "Steve Harrington, the Patron Saint of Hawkins losers."

"Eddie's not a loser," he says. A little too quickly maybe, harsh at the edges. But he doesn't feel like himself. He feels pale and like he's lost weight. He doesn't feel like Steve Harrington. "He saved me." He knows because he remembers. Vecna. Eddie playing his guitar and breaking Steve out of his trance, just as he was starting to slip under. "He was amazing." 

Nancy runs her hand down his face. So soft. A comforting touch. "I know, honey. And you're going to be fine too."

"Yeah," Robin says, nodding. "You're gonna go home and rest and watch movies and eat so much ice cream you want to vomit."

Steve nods. Tries to smile. Even that hurts.

-

At home, the house is quiet. Steve's mother is there to greet him, but his father isn't. But what else is new. 

He has to stand there for what feels like a short eternity, his mom's arms around his shoulders as she hugs him tight, crying, saying she thought he would die. And he does his best to comfort her. Patting her lightly on the back, focusing on Nancy and Robin's worried faces through the kitchen window as they stand by the car.

He wishes he felt something for his mother in that moment. But he doesn't. He just wants the hug to be over as soon as possible. 

"Will you be okay?" Nancy asks when he steps outside to say goodbye.

He nods. "I'll be fine, don't worry about me."

Robin sighs. "It's our job to worry about you, dummy." 

"I just." He swallows. "I don't want to be a bother."

"You're not a bother, Steve," Nancy says. "You did so much for us down there and," she blinks, like she's about to cry, "we want to look after you."

He nods, feeling unsure. No one's ever looked after him. His parents had handed him off to nannies and teachers before he could even talk and everything from that moment had been painted in the kind of drab, mundane loneliness he'd come to think of as normal life. No one had ever sat him down and taught him what love looked like. What it meant to care about someone.

They both hug him before they go. Nancy's hand drifting to the back of his hair where she gently strokes her fingers through it. Something she used to do when they were dating. The touch tickles, and he steps back quickly, trying to ignore the brief look of hurt that crosses her face.

"Now get out of here," he says lightly, "before I call the cops for trespassing." 

Back inside, he finds his room exactly the same way he'd left it. Like someone had taken a snapshot of the day they went through water gate and glued it there. His tapes and magazines strewn across his desk. His Duran Duran poster next to his mirror. A half-opened tub of hair mousse and a dusky pink sweater near his bed. He'd been planning on wearing that sweater on a date. With some girl called Hayley, or maybe it was Heather. He genuinely can't remember now, and doesn't care either. 

The first thing he does is tug Eddie's vest out of the plastic bag, letting the rest of his clothes drop to the floor.

For a split second he thinks maybe it'll just smell like the other place - the Upside Down - but it doesn't, it smells like Eddie. It smells like Steve and his blood, the smell of his sweat and skin, but under that it smells like Eddie, and he feels himself quiver as he breathes it in. His legs go weak, like jelly, and he thinks he might sink to the floor, but somehow he makes it to his bed. He's exhausted suddenly, even though he's been lying in a hospital bed for over a week. But he doesn't question it, just lets the fatigue close up around him like a fist.

He curls up on his side, not bothering to get under the covers, clutching the denim to his chest.

"Eddie," he whispers, breathing in its smell again. "Eddie."

-

The next day he wakes up with the sun streaming through the open curtains and Eddie's vest gone. 

He tries not to freak out when he can't find it, sitting up in bed so fast he feels woozy. He tells himself it has to be somewhere, it's just under his covers, or it's fallen on the floor, but it's not anywhere, he realises quickly, feeling half-frantic as he circles his room, looking in places it would never be, like under his bed and at the back of his closet.

Downstairs, his mom sits at the table, drinking orange juice and flicking through a fashion magazine.

She looks up and smiles at Steve when she sees him in the doorway. "Good morning, how did you sleep? Would you like breakfast?"

"Where is it?"

He realises how crazy he must look. With a head full of bed hair, stripped down to the sweatpants from the day before, but he doesn't care. 

His mom blinks at him. "Pardon?"

"The vest," he says, rubbing at his chest, feeling the panic rise inside him. "Where is it?"

"That horrible old thing you were sleeping with?"

Steve's heart pounds. "Yeah. Did you throw it away?"

"No, it's in the laundry. It was filthy, Steven, it had to be washed."

He strides through the kitchen, walking past his mom to get to the laundry room, his heart lodged in his throat like an overgrown fruit. What if she had ruined it? What if it got frayed from being in a spin cycle? What if some of the pins had fallen off? What if it had shrunk?

That sick feeling only ebbs when he gets his hands on it, the denim rough under his fingers as he pulls it from a pile of fresh bedding.

He hugs it to his chest, like a kid would with a teddy, doesn't even take a moment to think about how ridiculous he's being. He just doesn't care. Except when he brings it to his nose, to breathe in Eddie's smell, it's not there anymore. It smells like laundry detergent, like fresh spring flowers, but all of Eddie's smell - the cigarette smoke and weed and the smell of his skin - is completely gone. 

"Fuck," he says shakily. Thinks for a moment he might cry. 

"Steve," his mom says when he walks back into the kitchen. "What's gotten into you?"

"Don't touch my stuff," is all he says, still hugging the vest to himself. 

She calls after him but he ignores her. Goes back upstairs and slams his bedroom door closed. 

-

Just like at the hospital, visitors flock to the house over the next few days. 

Nancy comes with soft touches and smiles. Robin with boundless energy, wanting to watch wacky movies and paint his nails. Cuddling up with him and eating candy. Knowing without asking that he just needs a hug. Because no way was Steve ever going to ask for something like that. But she does it anyway. Because it's Robin and she can see inside him.

The kids all come too. Dustin arrives the day after he gets back and barrels into him the moment he opens the door. For once in his life doesn't have some sassy remark or putdown ready. Just hugs Steve and says, "I missed you, man." Steve doing his best not to wince at how tight it feels against his stitches. Instead ruffles Dustin's hair and says, "I missed you too, kiddo. Don't worry about me, I'm fine."

The only person who doesn't visit him is Eddie.

Maybe he doesn't know where I live, Steve thinks to himself, it's not like we were ever friends. And he probably doesn't have his number either, so how could he find out? But he quickly realises that if Eddie didn't have his number, he could easily ask Dustin or Robin for it. Which means the only reason he hasn't visited is because he doesn't want to.

The thought cuts through Steve. Makes him feel so low he thinks he might sink into the floor.

Some days he drifts by his window, when he hears a car drive past. Imagines looking outside and seeing Eddie step out of that beat-up old car he drives, his hair oil-dark in the heat, fingers tapping his pocket looking for a cigarette, and sometimes the image is so vivid he's certain he'll look and Eddie will suddenly be there, staring up at him. But he never is.

Then one afternoon a few days after he gets home the phone rings. His mother answers, but she hangs up almost instantly. 

Steve wanders into the hallway. Calls down, "Who was it?"

"I don't know," she says. "They hung up when I asked."

Steve chews his bottom lip into his mouth, nods, and goes back into his room. 

When Nancy calls an hour later, he tries his hardest not to sound disappointed. 

-

Steve hopes, gradually, that things will go back to normal. 

It's hard, though, when the nightmares follow him from the hospital.

Or, one nightmare does. It's just the one. Recurring over and over until it feels imprinted on the back of his eyelids.

In the nightmare he's still in the Upside Down, and the others have forgotten about him. They've managed to escape and they're celebrating, smiling and embracing, not noticing that they've left Steve behind. He tries to get to them, to call out, but no matter how hard he fights, he can never close the distance, his feet sinking into the mud, vines ensnaring his arms and chest, pulling him down. He knows what's down there too, waiting for him at the bottom of all the muck. Not just Vecna, but every bad thing he's ever done, every person he's hurt, every heart he's broken. Waiting to force its way down his throat, until he knows nothing but the salt-blood-bone taste of eternal torment.

Every night he wakes up crying from it, his cheeks wet, fingers digging into his sheets, or sometimes the bare skin of his thighs, where he's clawed marks into himself. Long welts down his arms and legs, like he's tried to scratch out of his own skin. Mistaking it for that thin, invisible layer between worlds. Like he can't trust himself to know, even now, if he really escaped.

The third night he wakes up in the middle of the night, he gets out of bed and roots around on the floor until he finds it: Eddie's vest. 

Just touching it soothes him instantly. Like bandaging up a wound. It's the only thing that stops his tears and eases the panicked, pinched feeling in his chest. He wishes it still smelled like Eddie, but it's still the only thing that lets him sleep. Tugging it on over his bare skin. Taking him back to the moment when Eddie had pulled him close and said, "Everything's going to be okay, I won't let anything happen to you."

It was the only time down there that he'd felt safe.

-

A week later he finds the energy to see them all again.

He's in his room, eating Twinkies and watching reruns of Miami Vice. Stretched out in a loose tank top and some shorts he only ever wears at home. The bandaging under his shirt pulls tight, and he resists the urge to scratch at it. Instead focuses on Don Johnson. How cool he is, how handsome. No wonder chicks dug him so much. He was suave in a way most guys only pretended to be.

Robin calls him on the house phone, which his mom brings to him with a glass of milk, like he's a little kid and not on the cusp of turning 20.

"Why do you keep calling?" he asks. "You know I'm busy."

Robin sighs into the phone. "Aren't you ever going to leave your room, mister mopey?" 

"I'm not moping," he says, popping a Pringle into his mouth. "I'm healing."

"You're moping. Come out and hang with us. Nancy's invited us all over tonight."

"Hmm, hanging out with a bunch of 15-year-olds... so tempting."

"You're being stubborn, you know they all want to see you." A pause. "Eddie will be there too."

That ache again. The abscess, like a pulled tooth.

"I don't care if he's there," he says, hating how sullen he sounds. 

"Oh... I thought you two were best friends now."

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah right."

"You seemed to be getting pretty cozy downstairs."

Downstairs. She means in the Upside Down. Robin had walked in on the face-touching incident. She hadn't mentioned it to him yet, but he knows she'd seen them. Had seen the achingly soft way Eddie had brushed his hair from his face. And had probably seen the stupid expression Steve had been making, how much he had leaned into the touch.

He tries to keep his voice steady as he says, "I have no clue what you're talking about. He didn't even come visit me when I was in hospital, so how can we be friends?"

"Oh, I didn't know that bothered you so much."

"It doesn't bother me. I'm just pointing it out. The guy's obviously a prick."

"Ah yes, a prick who saved your life."

"He can be both."

"God, you are so frustrating. Come on, it'll be fun! And you can tell Eddie in person how much of a jerk he is."

Steve looks at Eddie's vest, spread out over his legs. "I just don't know if I'm ready," he says quietly.

A pause on the other end. For someone who had no filter, Robin really had been trying to choose her words carefully over the last few weeks. 

"You'll never be ready unless you try." Then, her voice teasing, "Besides, what's the point of having all that beautiful hair if you're not going to show it off?"

Steve exhales dramatically. Flicks an empty tube of Pringles off his bed. "I guess you do have a point."

"I always do. Get to Nancy's at seven."

-

Steve spends two hours that afternoon getting ready.

For the first time since getting back, he has a long bath and washes his hair. Using his expensive shampoo and conditioner, and then taking his time to style and blow-dry it. Spends far too long choosing an outfit. He settles on something simple - a pair of jeans, and a pastel polo shirt that won't press against the bandages, but still clings to his shoulders and chest.

He looks good, he thinks, as he looks in the mirror. The blonde was growing out in his hair, and he'd lost weight, but he looked almost normal.

He touches the bruising on his neck, wishing he could do something about it. It's not as raw as it was at the hospital, but it's still visible. He rummages around looking for a stick of concealer he used in high school to cover up hickeys, but can't find it. Not that he really needs it now anyway. Being cooped up in his room hasn't exactly been conducive to picking up chicks.

It's only when he steps outside his room that the nerves start. Shooting up inside him painfully like pins and needles. 

He goes back and picks up the denim vest from the end of his bed. Touching it helps. Running his fingers along the patches and pins until he feels like he can breathe normally without his chest hitching. 

Ignoring the little voice in his head telling him he's being a baby, he shrugs it on and looks in the mirror. Obviously it doesn't suit him like it does Eddie, but it settles some of the nerves under his skin. Somehow complements his blue jeans, makes him look slightly edgier, an alluring contrast with the light fabric of his shirt and the soft rumple of his hair. He likes it. 

He hopes, somewhere at the back of his head, that Eddie will like it too.

His stomach still jitters with nerves the entire drive there.

When he gets to Nancy's, he stays in the car for a little while, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. From the cars parked outside it’s obvious everyone’s already here, and Steve slumps forward with his head against the wheel, wishing the nerves away, telling himself Steve Harrington didn’t even get nervous. Besides, it was just his friends, what was he so scared about?

Even on the doorstep, he hangs back, thinks about turning around and leaving, before Nancy opens the door, beaming at him. 

She looks pretty as always, in a soft pink sweater over a long skirt. Her eyelids painted light purple. When she presses in for a hug, she smells like vanilla. He expects it to be comforting, but it's the opposite. Like he's trying to fit himself into a mould that doesn't exist anymore. The effortless, easy-going Steve Harrington and his pretty girlfriend, Nancy. 

But they're not dating because Nancy hadn't wanted him, and Steve isn't even sure if that even bothers him anymore. 

"It's so good to see you," she says when she pulls back, running her hands down his arms.

"Yeah, you too."

Her eyes catch on the vest, and she blinks, obviously confused. Steve tenses, preparing for the inevitable questions. But then she shakes her head and smiles again, pulling him inside.

"Everyone's here," she says as they walk down the hallway, "they'll be so happy to see you."

"Oh, yeah, great," he replies, trying to muster up the energy to sound excited. 

They walk into the living room and a crowd of faces turn to look at him. All of them jumping up and coming towards him, the room erupting with the sound of his name, like Steve was some kind of celebrity meeting all his adoring fans for the first time. All of them were there. Dustin and the other dweebs. El. Max. Jonathan. And Steve wishes it felt good, but all he wants to do is run away. Jump back into his car and push his foot to the pedal and not stop until he was home and back in his room. Where he could be alone and didn't have to pretend he was okay or try to be charming and confident and all the things people associated with being Steve Harrington. 

Dustin runs into him, pulling his arms around him in a hug. Though he jumps back when he feels Steve wincing. "Shit, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I keep forgetting."

"It's fine, Henderson, don't sweat it." He knocks a loose fist against Dustin's shoulder, making him grin.

He stands there diligently, taking time to hug all of them and answer their questions. Yes, he's okay. No, he hasn't gone back to work yet but he will soon. Yes, he could still beat all their asses at Tetris, in what world wouldn’t he? As he talks, his eyes sweep all the bright, grinning faces, looking for the one person he was promised would be here.

That’s when catches him: Eddie, standing alone at the back of the room, staring at Steve. 

Steve's heart trips when he sees him. Thinks it stops for a second at the sight of all that messy hair. Those big, brown eyes. 

He looks the same. Fucking asshole, in his ripped jeans and leather jacket. Lighting up the room even when he was dressed all in black.

Eddie lifts his drink in greeting and Steve waves back stupidly, feeling like he’s been hit with a car.

Then suddenly, Mike's voice cuts through the haze. "Hey, isn't that Eddie's vest? Why are you wearing it?"

Steve reels back slightly, feeling his face flush. "I didn't- I mean I don't-"

Eddie saves the day, stepping forward and saying "Shut up, Wheeler," and Mike does, his mouth snapping closed. Eddie looks at Steve again, flicking over him with his eyes. "Ignore him, Harrington. It looks good on you."

"Thanks," he manages, suddenly very conscious of everyone in the room looking at it.

Eddie gives him a little salute. Looks like he’s about to walk over, but then Steve feels a hand on his shoulder - Nancy, who's turning him to face her, asking if he'd like something to drink. And by the time Steve looks over his shoulder again, Eddie's talking to someone else.

-

A little while later, Steve manages to escape from Nancy's coddling gaze and sneak out to the kitchen. 

No one else is in it there and he breathes a sigh of relief. Leaning against the kitchen counter for a moment, dragging his hand across his face. Somehow, over the last few weeks, he'd forgotten how to be around people, and he feels exhausted, wondering when he could make an excuse to leave without hurting Nancy's feelings.

He's bending down to get a soda from the fridge when he hears someone slide into the kitchen behind him. 

He expects it to be Dustin, that kid had been shadowing him all night, and he looks over his shoulder, sighing. "What is it, you little stalker?"

Except it's not Dustin, it's Eddie.

Eddie, who freezes, staring at him with wide eyes like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't. 

Steve's stomach flips and he almost drops the can he's pulling from the fridge. "Shit," he says, straightening up, "sorry, I thought you were Dustin."

Eddie's brow twitches up like he's trying not to laugh. "Does Henderson have a history of stalking you?"

"You have no idea. Those kids don't give me any peace."

Steve takes a moment to look at him. Eddie still looked like a disaster. Huge, messy hair. Ripped jeans. Smudged eye-liner and chipped nail polish. Looking exactly the same as a few weeks ago when he pushed Steve against the wall and pressed a broken bottle to his neck. A little less harangued and a bit more rested, which was good. His Hellfire Club t-shirt replaced with some ripped piece of fabric that looked held together with pins. Through a gap, Steve can see a glimpse of a tattoo on his chest and he swallows. How many tattoos did Eddie even have?

Eddie jerks his head towards the living room. "I saw you sneaking away from the festivities, that's all. Don't blame you, I'm dying for a smoke."

So Dustin and Nancy hadn't been the only ones watching him tonight.

"Well my fix isn't as rock n roll as that. I just wanted another Diet Coke."

"Ah, a Diet Coke habit. That's a heavy addiction, man."

Steve smiles at the dumb joke. "Don't tell my mom, I guess." 

"I won't... I'll just use it to blackmail you instead."

"Could do. I mean, I don't have much I can pay you with, unless you want a year's supply of free movie rentals."

Eddie makes a contemplative noise. "Tempting. Very tempting." He grins at Steve, and it makes him look impish, every bit the cult leader everyone had suspected him of being. It’s a grin that twists Steve’s stomach into ribbons, and he looks away before it becomes obvious. 

"I didn't think this was really your scene,” he says, waving his hand around the kitchen. 

Eddie cocks his head at him. "What do you think my scene is?" 

"Uh, hanging out in a cave somewhere. Listening to goth music."

Hailing Satan, he might have said before as a joke. Somehow that seemed in poor taste now. 

"That does sound pretty cool. But, I wasn't playing DnD tonight, so I thought why not?"

"You're playing that again already?"

"Hell yeah, baby, the Hellfire Club can't run without its DM."

Steve has no idea what that means, but he just nods like it makes sense. 

They stand there looking at each other and the air grows thick with something. Steve can’t put a name to it, but it reminds him of the palpable tension before a game, when he played basketball at school. The zip down his spine, his legs and arms thrumming like a hummingbird. Or that slippery patch of time just before he made out with a girl after a date. When everything inside him went molten and honey-gold.

Eddie's eyes dip, dragging over the vest, and Steve suddenly goes hot all over, like his gaze is dipped in magma. 

He says something but Steve can't hear him over the roar in his ears. He shakes it away, says, "What?"

"I asked how you were."

"I'm doing okay. Been mostly hanging out at home. How about you?"

Eddie comes closer, running his fingers along the Wheelers' countertop. He was always fidgeting, always had to be touching something.

"Got a shiny new trailer with my uncle. This time without all the puke and piss stains."

That makes Steve laugh, loosening him up a little. "Very nice. You're going up in the world, man."

"You can say that again. I seem to have become something of a local celebrity. People didn't want anything to do with me when they thought I was a deranged devil-worshipping child murderer, but now I'm an accused-but-innocent child murderer, it's like I'm a rock star. People are weird, huh?" 

"Yeah," Steve says, his chest pinching. Is that why Eddie hadn't been to see him? Is it because he'd been too busy? 

"Still, it's better than being run out of town with pitchforks. Maybe I should thank good ol' Vecna for that."

He says it lightly. It's just a joke. But it still makes Steve's throat tighten. Makes his skin crawl and his vision blot at the corners. He thinks for a second that the sky outside goes black and red, crackling with distant thunder, and he blinks rapidly, trying to get it out of his eyes. 

It must be noticeable, because the smile drops from Eddie's face and he closes the distance between them, coming to stand in front of him.

"Hey," he says, softer now, his eyes wide. "Are you okay? Want to sit down? Shit, I shouldn't have said that, I'm sorry, I'm an asshole."

"I'm fine," Steve says, though he feels anything but.

"Come on, why don't you-"

"I said I'm fine," he snaps. "I'm not broken. Everyone keeps treating me like I am, but I'm not."

Eddie blinks at him. And Steve thinks he might step back, give him space, shrug it off, but he doesn't. Instead he reaches out and puts his hand on Steve's arm. On the bare skin just above his wrist, curling his fingers around him in a loose grip. Steve sucks in a breath at the feeling of it, but he doesn't try to pull away. Because the small touch instantly grounds him. Makes that terrible tight feeling around his rib cage disappear, like a weight's been lifted. He focuses on the feeling, and Eddie's smell - the smell that his mom had washed out of the vest - and feels better. 

"It's cool, man," Eddie says. So low, like Steve's a spooked horse. "No one thinks you're broken."

Steve shifts. "Tell that to the others. Everyone's acting like I'm about to shatter into a million tiny pieces."

Eddie moves his thumb, stroking it against Steve's skin in a small circle. "You went through a lot. We all did. They just want to make sure you're okay."

"And what about you? You're just feeling peachy?"

Eddie shrugs. "I'm hanging in there. Some days are better than others. But it's a process, right? Isn't that what shrinks always say."

"We can't ever talk to a shrink about what happened to us."

"But we can talk to each other. Hey, why don't you come to mine sometime this week? I can roll a joint for you."

Steve stares at him, incredulous. "Seriously? You're using this as an excuse to sell me pot?"

"No, I'm saying I want to smoke you out. My treat, what do you say?"

"You don't have to do that. I get you're just trying to be nice, but I'm good, I don't need your charity."

"It's not charity, Harrington, I want to do it. It'll help you relax."

That thumb continues stroking along his wrist and Steve can't help but feel himself sink into the little rhythmic touch.

"How would you know how I feel?" he murmurs before he can stop himself. "You haven't even seen me since we got back."

The smile on Eddie's face drops. "What?"

Steve freezes. "Nothing, forget it."

"No," Eddie insists, "tell me."

Steve sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Everyone visited me at hospital. Nancy, Robin, all the kids. Even Jonathan. But you didn't. I just thought- I don't know, I don't know what I thought."

Embarrassed, hating how naked he feels, he pulls away from Eddie. But before he can walk away, putting an end to this weird conversation, Eddie crowds him up against the fridge.

The sudden proximity makes Steve gasp. This close, Eddie's hair brushes against him, tickling his throat. He can see his individual eyelashes. How dark his eyes are.

"What is it with you and pushing me against things," he says, trying to ignore the pulse in his throat, how fast it feels. 

Eddie doesn't laugh. Instead he looks extremely serious as he says, "I did see you. I mean, I was going to. But I chickened out at the last second."

Steve frowns at him. "What? Why?"

"I guess with us having barely averted the end of the world, I didn't know if you'd still want to be friends." 

"Well duh, I mean... you just expected me to be the asshole from high school again?"

"Maybe."

That hurts. Hasn't he done enough to prove who he is after all this time? 

Eddie's eyes drift down to the denim vest again and Steve feels ridiculous suddenly. He should have just brought it back in a bag. Should have given it back to him the moment he arrived. Played it cool. He didn't need to fucking wear it and embarrass himself in front of everyone. Even if he had been wearing it every day at home like a safety blanket.

"Your vest," he says, plucking at it. "You should have it back. I only wore it to give it back to you."

Eddie looks at him again, though his gaze has gone half-lidded, making something inside Steve jolt. "Nah," he says, "you keep it."

"What? I can't, it's yours. It doesn't even suit me."

"No," Eddie says slowly, "trust me. It looks much better on you."

Steve swallows. Gulps down the thick knot in his throat. Their eyes meet, and stay there, electric. 

"Eddie," he starts to say, not even knowing what's about to come out of his mouth, when Dustin suddenly stumbles through the door. 

Steve jumps when he sees him over Eddie's shoulder and Eddie steps back, looking annoyed.

"There you are," Dustin exclaims. "Steve, man, stop hogging our DM."

"Your what?"

"Our Dungeon Master!"

"Do you know how weird that sounds? And I wasn't hogging him."

"Get your butt out here anyway, we have something we want to give you."

Steve looks back at Eddie. "See what I mean? They never leave me alone." 

“We should send them all to boarding school,” Eddie replies gravely. 

“Now that sounds like a plan.”

Out in the living room, everyone's clustered together and they grin at Steve as he walks back in, Eddie on his trail.

"What is it?" he asks warily, stopping in the doorway. "If you're about to drop a bucket of goo on my head, don't even try it."

Max snorts. "It's not goo. It's a present. We made it for you while you were in hospital."

"Okay... hit me before I die of anticipation."

The kids part and Lucas walks forward, holding what looks like a huge trophy made out of cardboard and coloured paper, decorated in tiny gold stars. It's obviously homemade, a little chaotic and barely held together, but it's so sweet and genuine, the thought of all the kids working on it together to give to Steve, that the breath catches in the back of his throat. God, he’d become such a sissy over the past few weeks. 

"We wanted to give you this," Lucas says. "For how amazing you are. And for always looking after us."

"Wow," he says, the back of his eyes prickling hot. He takes the trophy from Lucas. "This is- it's great. Thank you."

"I glued the gold stars on myself," El says, pressing against his side for a hug.

"And you did an amazing job." 

He sniffs and reads the big cardboard letters glued to the front. "Best Babysitter." He laughs. "You're goddamn right after all the shit you've put me through these past few years." 

"We were going to write ‘Best Mom’ but we thought you might hate that," Dustin says.

"Uh, yeah, I would have."

"It's just you make the best fettuccine alfredo I've ever tasted."

Steve rolls his eyes fondly. Because of course. Whenever Dustin's mom was on some weird food kick, he'd come sniffing around like a starved puppy and Steve would feed him whatever they had in the house. Usually some combination of pasta with a sauce he could scrounge up from what was in the fridge and the cupboards, half making it up as he went along. The fettuccine incident had inspired Dustin to come over asking for it on several more occasions over the following two years, usually with a combination of the other kids in tow, which had initially incensed Steve. He might have been their babysitter, but he wasn't a damn chef. Still, he always made it for them. He was a sucker like that.

"It's true," Eddie says, from the edge of the group. "Tales of your fettuccine have become legendary in the Hellfire Club."

"It is damn good." He looks at them curiously. "What else have you been saying about me?"

Dustin grins at him. "Eddie once said you were the prettiest student at Hawkins High. Even prettier than the girls!"

Several things happen at once: Steve feels his mouth drop as Robin chokes on a mouthful of Mountain Dew, sneezing it through her nose, while Mike exclaims, "Ew, yeah, that was gross!" At the same time, Eddie nudges his elbow against Dustin’s side, and hard by the sound Dustin makes, like a dog yelping after it's been clipped with a heel. 

"Pretty," Steve says, faintly. "That's a new one." 

"It was for academic purposes only," Eddie says evasively. 

Steve isn’t sure what that really means but he lets it go. Glances at Robin, who's trying not to die laughing into her drink.

The party relaxes again after that, everyone splitting into groups to chat and catch up. Even Steve starts to enjoy himself. Lets Nancy rest her hand on his arm as they talk, even if it does make him tense. He doesn't have a chance to talk to Eddie again for the rest of the evening, but whenever he looks over at him, Eddie's always staring right back, like there's a string pulling them together.

"Pretty," Robin echoes later, when they're standing outside, a teasing lilt to her voice.

"Don't say a word," Steve warns as he unlocks the car.

"What! I didn't say anything!"

"It was just a joke, you know they're always making fun of me."

"Uh-huh and that totally explains why Eddie's staring at you right now."

"What?" Steve spins around and sure enough, there he is, smoking a cigarette just outside the house, looking at him. 

"Curious," Robin says, "very curious."

But Steve can't hear her over the rush in his ears. 

-

Steve goes to the hospital a few days later to get his wounds checked and his bandages changed. 

In the waiting room, he squeezes Robin's hand so hard she winces. But to her credit, she doesn't pull away.

The tears only come later. When they're back in the car and he can finally breathe again, his hands patting his stomach, where it feels like a huge chunk had been ripped out of him. Where sometimes he still wakes up in the middle of the night and flings the covers off to look down at himself, expecting to see his middle carved in two, his insides spilling out.

"I'm sorry," he says, when it hits him. "I'm really sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me."

Robin stares at him, looking crestfallen. "Oh baby," she says. She pulls his head against her, letting him cry against her t-shirt. 

"It's going to be okay," she murmurs as she strokes his hair back. But in that moment Steve doesn't know if he'll ever be okay again.

-

That afternoon, Nancy calls and asks if he wants to do something.

Steve's recovered from his mini breakdown at that point and feels more embarrassed than anything. Keeps it vague when she asks him how things went at the hospital. He knows Robin won't have told her what happened. Shit like that was just between the two of them, they were best friends. But Nancy always did have a kind of weird intuition when it came to other people.

When she asks him if he wants to meet, he declines as gently as he can. Tries not to feel like shit at how disappointed she sounds.

He wishes he wanted to spend time with her. He does. But he doesn't want the pressure right now. To be Steve Harrington, to be the guy he was before. And he doesn't feel like facing her simpering little looks all night, as if they hadn't broken up for a reason. So he says he can't and feels something close between them when he puts down the phone.

-

Steve has his first day back at Family Video the following day.

He's not exactly ready for it. Thinks he could spend months hiding in his room not doing anything if it was up to him.

But he remembers what Robin said about taking one step at a time. Besides, he doesn't think he can bear being cooped up in the house with his mom any longer with her sad looks across the dinner table and constant knocking on his bedroom door, and Keith was probably going to fire his ass if he didn't show up soon, despite the bad "car accident" Steve had been in. 

Anyway, Robin makes things better. She dramatically embraces him when he gets in, calling them wartime comrades, and spends the morning making fun of people's rentals behind their backs, trying to deduct what she can about their personalities from their choice of movie.

It feels nice. It almost feels like how things used to be.  

He's only been working for a couple of hours when Eddie wanders in.

Steve's at the front desk, sorting through a pile of returns, and he glances up at the sound of the door. 

He inhales at the sight of him. 

Eddie doesn't look that different from the other night at Nancy's - same leather jacket, same ripped jeans, a different acid-green t-shirt with some band name Steve had never heard of splattered across the front - but the sight of him, so close and real and alive, makes him burn.

"Hey," Eddie says, like they'd just bumped into each other on the street. 

"Hey," Steve echoes. "Did you... want something?"

"Uh, yeah, a movie?" Eddie looks around. "You do those right?"

"Oh, right, yeah." Steve drags his hand through his hair, feeling so embarrassed he could die. "Yeah, we do those apparently."

"Cool. I'll, uh, be over here then." Eddie sticks his thumb towards the new releases.

"Nice," Steve says, watching him walk across the store. "Let me know if you need any help."

Robin wanders up behind him, making an exasperated noise. "Give me a break," she says under her breath.

Steve glances at her. "Huh?"

"He's acting like he hasn't been coming in here every day."

"What? No he hasn't."

"Yes, he has. I've been working here, not you."

"But why would he do that?"

"Why do you think?"

Steve thinks about it. Has no clue. "He really likes movies, I guess?"

Robin gives him a hard look. "Has anyone ever told you that you're really smart but also really stupid?"

"No..."

"Well maybe they should." She makes a shooing gesture. "Anyway go talk to him. I'm busy."

"What? Why do I need to talk to him? And what are you busy with anyway?"

Robin waves a video at him. "Important administrative duties. Now go. Building positive relationships with customers is important, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. God."

He finds Eddie at the back of the store, looking at their selection of new horror movies, the usual bandanna hanging out of his back pocket. He has a video in his hands - something with a killer clown on the cover wielding what looked like a machete - but he turns to Steve when he approaches, like he'd been waiting for him. 

Steve sighs at him and puts his hands on his hips. "So, Munson, what's getting you hot and bothered?"

Eddie's brows shoot up. "Excuse me?"

"Robin says you've been in here every day."

"That's... a slight exaggeration."

"Is it because you can't find a movie you want? Well consider me an expert in that field. Do you want action? Music? Want to look at hot babes?"

Eddie gives him a little once over before turning back to the video in his hands. "Thought I was doing that right now."

Steve frowns. "What?"

"Nothing, man, just a joke."

Steve blinks, feeling like he's missed some essential part of the conversation. 

Eddie puts the video back on the shelf. "Usually I'd be in the mood for some hardcore shit, you know, like some fucked-up monster movie."

Steve snorts at "hardcore shit". Of course Eddie liked that kind of stuff. "Uh, I think we got Day of the Dead in, if that's the kind of thing you mean."

"Already seen it, yeah, that was pretty gnarly. Do you like zombie movies?"

Steve's nose crinkles up. "Nah, man. That's not really my thing. I do want to see Aliens this summer though."

Eddie nods at him, looking like he approves. "Alien is legendary."

Steve runs his tongue along the roof of his mouth, thinking. "Have you tried Doctor Zhivago?"

"Doctor Zhivago?"

"Yeah, man, don't knock it. It's an epic wartime romance."

"I didn't think you'd be into stuff like that."

Steve comes closer, crossing his arms. "Why, because I'm such a jock? Maybe stop putting me in a box."

"You do continue to surprise me."

"In a good way?"

Eddie gives him a tiny smile. Just a small life in the corner of his mouth. "In a it-drives-me-crazy way, but sure, good."

Steve doesn't know what that means, but he's too busy taking in the way Eddie smells to work it out.

He smells like he usually does. Not nice exactly. Like smoke and leather and the earthy tint of weed. But Steve leans in, breathing as much as he can. It tingles. Like it's something tangible. Makes him feel like he's floating. Safe, wrapped up, all fuzzy. It feels comforting, somehow. Making all the tension from the last few weeks drain out of him.

But he still notices the way Eddie does that little once-over with his eyes again. It's subtle, a sudden raking from his face to his legs, but it makes Steve's breath hitch. It's the kind of look girls usually gave him. Sometimes older women, even the odd man, which Steve always tried to ignore. Not because it grossed him out or anything, he didn't mind guys being gay. It just made him feel flushed and squirmy when it happened. Not uncomfortable, just strange. But he'd never had that look from someone like Eddie Munson.

"Have you been looking after my vest?" Eddie asks. 

"Actually my mom washed it and it smells like lavender now," he says, trying not to laugh.

Eddie groans, tipping his head back at the ceiling. "Christ, Harrington, really? I have a reputation to uphold, man."

"Oh, sure, says the guy who knows all of The Hobbit by heart."

Eddie looks back at him, brows disappearing into his hair. "Huh? What do you know about The Hobbit? A month ago you'd never even heard of Lord of the Rings."

"I, uh, got the book out the library last week."

And Steve had. Desperate to get out of the house one morning, he'd wandered over to the public library and looked at the books. Before he knew it, he'd found himself in the fantasy & sci-fi section, a bright-green edition of The Hobbit staring him in the face. He'd picked it up without even really thinking about it and had gone home with it under his arm.

He ended up inhaling it in less than a day. Losing himself in the story of Bilbo and his plight to help the Dwarves reclaim their homeland. 

"Seriously?" Eddie asks. "What do you think?"

"It's good. I mean, it's obviously for nerds, but as far as nerd literature goes, it's acceptable."

Eddie smiles, making the dimples pop in his cheeks. "It passes the Steve Harrington coolness test?"

Steve feels himself flush. "Yeah," he says, "it does. I hope you feel honoured."

"I am, I'm very impressed. Before you know it, you'll be reading all the works of H.P. Lovecraft."

"Now let's not go that far."

Eddie's about to say something else, when there's a crash from behind them.

It's Robin, who'd been leaning so far over the side of the desk to snoop on their conversation that she'd knocked over a pile of videos. She grins at them sheepishly when they turn to look at her, waving her arms frantically. 

"Don't mind me! So clumsy. Please continue with your riveting conversation!"

Eddie looks back at him. "Is it always like this here?"

"You have no idea." Steve sighs. "I should go before Robin wrecks the place. Just come over when you're ready and I'll ring you up."

"Wait, I, uh-"

Steve looks at him over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

"So, if you must know, the real reason I came here was to ask if you wanted to watch my band play on Friday night."

He looks so shy when he says it. Like he'd just asked Steve to prom. 

"You have a gig? Where?" 

"Tiny place on the other side of town. If Steve Harrington can dare sully himself by attending." 

He thinks about it. Go watch Eddie's band? It's not the kind of thing he'd usually do, or the kind of crowd he'd hang with. But he thinks about seeing Eddie play guitar again, how his fingers had looked against the strings when he played it in the Upside Down, and his stomach tightens. 

"Maybe," he says evasively. "I might be busy."

"What, listening to Bananarama in your bedroom?"

Steve bits back a laugh. "Bananarama is essential listening, Munson. We haven't all had our heads eroded by heavy metal."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm a juvenile delinquent." That shy look returns. "I also meant what I said the other night, about you coming over. I'm free tomorrow if you want that joint."

Steve swallows. He feels heated suddenly, even under the cold blast of the air conditioning. 

"Okay," he says. "I mean, I will if I'm free."

"Cool," Eddie says. "I'll make sure to roll out the red carpet for you."

Steve flips him off and walks away, feeling Eddie's eyes on him the entire time.

Back at the counter, Robin's pretending to be busy, humming under her breath as she clicks things on the computer.

He doesn't say anything, knowing she won't be able to resist saying something. 

It takes 20 seconds for her to break.

"Soooooo," she says, drawing the word out for as long as she can, "you and Eddie..."

He sighs as he continues sorting through the returned rentals. "Me and Eddie what?"

"You and Eddie... hanging out."

He looks up. Trying to ignore how red his face feels. "Yes, and?"

"Nothing, nothing, don't mind me. It's just. Funny, you know? Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson being bosom buddies."

"I just said I'd hang out with him once. That doesn't constitute being bosom- what, what even is a bosom buddy?"

Robin starts laughing. She waves him off and walks away, her arms full of videos, leaving Steve to stare daggers into the back of her head.

-

Steve drives over to Eddie's trailer the following day. 

He'd been thinking about it all morning. Wondering if Eddie had really been serious in his invitation, or if he was just trying to be nice.

But if there's one thing Steve knew about Eddie, it's that he didn't talk shit. If he said something he meant it, so Steve forces himself out of bed and into the shower. Tries not to spend two hours getting ready again, but does style his hair and deliberates over what he’s going to wear, eventually deciding on a pair of acid-wash denim shorts and a light blue t-shirt.

He also thinks about wearing the vest, but decides against it. He doesn't want to be, like, embarrassing. 

Eddie's outside when he gets to the trailer park. He's lounging in a deck chair in his usual black, a cigarette between his fingers, long legs askew. There are three other boys with him - the Hellfire Club, Steve thinks, from t-shirts a couple of them are wearing, and the four of them are talking excitedly about something. Probably nerd things Steve knew nothing about.

They fall silent when Steve gets out of the car, their mouths dropping open like they'd just seen Elvis resurrected.

Eddie doesn't look surprised, though. He just watches Steve from behind his cigarette, eyes dark.

"Dude," one of them says in an overly loud theatrical whisper, "why is Steve Harrington here?"

Steve waves at them from the door of his car. "Hey, I, um. I'm a big fan. I mean, I have no idea what your names are, but I'm a big fan of Eddie's."

He winces the moment he says it, but Eddie just smiles. The others all stare, open mouths in danger of catching flies. 

Just as the silence becomes painful, Eddie jumps out of the deck chair with a surprising amount of grace. 

"We'll have to cut this short today, fellas. Harrington and I have business." 

"You're actually hanging out?" a guy with curly hair says. "I thought that was just a joke."

"Yeah, well, Harrington's been begging for me to hang out with him.

Steve rolls his eyes, leaning his elbow against the car door. "You wish, Munson."

"See what I mean? He's practically on his knees." 

Steve tries to ignore the image that pops into his head just then. A literal thought of him on his knees in front of Eddie. Like he'd ever do something like that. He feels pink bloom in his cheeks anyway, and he busies himself with closing the car door and locking it, hoping none of them will notice. 

When he looks back, Eddie's watching him. Gives him a wink when the other boys aren’t looking.

At Eddie's bidding, his friends start to filter out. All saying goodbye with an increasingly complex handshake, saying they'll see him at the show on Friday night. Followed up with a frozen, deer-in-the-headlights look at Steve, not knowing what to say, but nodding awkwardly at him as they walk past.

Steve watches them drive away. "Are they really so weirded out that the two of us could be friends?"

Eddie, who's crouched down flicking cigarette butts into an empty beer can, looks up at him. "Are they surprised that the prettiest, most popular guy in Hawkins wants to hang out with me? Yeah, you could say that."

Steve feels himself stiffen. There was that word again. "So you do think I'm pretty? Academic purposes, my ass."

Eddie stands up, making his way to the door of the trailer. "Well looking at you doesn't make me want to puke."

"Thanks I guess."

"You're very welcome. Now get in before other people start coming over asking why rich boy Steve Harrington's spending time with the town freak."

Steve shakes his head, walking in. "You know I'm not actually rich, right? I don't live in a mansion." 

"Just a house in the suburbs is a mansion compared to what folks around here can afford." 

Steve bites his lip. He'd never really thought about that. Growing up, he assumed everyone had what he did. A cookie-cutter house, an absent family, presents at birthdays and at Christmas, and an annual skiing vacation where his dad would disappear with the nanny for hours on end, leaving his family back at the chalet, his mother holding a martini glass so tightly it looked like it was about to break. It's only when he went to high school that he realised that no, not everyone's life was like his. Some people were poorer, but at least they had loving parents. But it looks like Eddie, who was as dirt poor as Hawkins could get, didn't have the suburban upbringing or the family. No wonder Steve had always seen him loping around Hawkins like a long, thin alley cat. It's not like he really had anywhere else to go.

Inside, the trailer was small and shabby, opening onto a living room area with a couch and a coffee table. The room continued, turning into a small kitchen, and beyond that was a dark hallway, probably leading to Eddie’s bedroom. The space was pretty small. Steve found it hard to imagine it containing a live-wire like Eddie, who was always fidgeting and playing with things and half-vibrating out of his skin.  

Eddie gestures to the couch and quickly tidies the coffee table, taking an overflowing ashtray and two cups of cold coffee to the kitchen. 

"Uh, it's usually not this messy," he says over his shoulder. 

Steve sits on the edge of a threadbare couch. "It's cool, man, I don't mind."

"I just don't want you to think I'm a total slob."

Steve doesn't say anything. He has a suspicion that Eddie probably is a slob, but for some reason he doesn't really mind. 

"Let me guess," Eddie says when he walks back. "I bet everything in your room at home is beautiful. Freshly made sheets, all your shirts and jeans perfectly ironed..."

Steve scoffs. "I don't iron my jeans, man, I'm not a freak of nature."

Eddie grins. Rifles through some things at the side of the couch until he finds a beat-up old tin.

"Still want to smoke a joint with me?" he asks. 

"Sure. Though just to warn you, I haven't smoked in a long time."

"Are you trying to say you're a lightweight, Harrington? Don't worry, I'll look after you."

"My hero," Steve replies dryly. 

Eddie sets the box down on the table, flipping the top open to reveal several small bags of weed.

"You'll like this," he says, finding the bag he wants. "It'll make you so mellow. It's called strawberry cheesecake kush."

"Sounds tasty," Steve says as Eddie sits next to him.

He watches Eddie prepare the joint. He's a deft hand at it, using nimble fingers to grind the weed and roll the paper. When it's done he pops it into the corner of his mouth, using a chunky Zippo from his pocket to light it, his face growing orange over the flame. 

When he reaches over to pass it to Steve, their knees nudge together, but Steve doesn't pull away. He’s too busy thinking about the way the tips of their fingers touch, how the end of the joint looks damp with Eddie’s spit. He wonders if it’ll taste like him too. If he’ll be able to lick up the cigarettes and weed he always smells on his clothes. Steve doesn’t know why the thought makes him quiver, but it does.

Sucking on it hits him quickly. The sticky rush of it. He remembers how this felt. How good it was when he used to smoke with Tommy and the guys when they were still at school. He misses those nights. Getting all sleepy and silly as they stayed up watching horror movies, inviting girls over to fool around, back before Nancy and all the other shit came to Hawkins. 

He leans back against the couch, letting himself fall under the weight of it. 

"Like it?" Eddie asks, watching his reaction. 

"Yeah," he says, "it's really nice."

"I knew you would." It's said quietly, but there's something fond in his voice. "Knew you needed something to chill you out."

Steve looks at him. "Have I seemed tense?"

"You could say that. You're like a deer in the headlights every time I see you."

Steve doesn't know what to say to that - doesn't know how to explain how he's been feeling around Eddie or why - so he passes the joint back and looks around the trailer again.

"So it's just you and your uncle?"

"Yeah, that's right. Old man's still a bit spooked as you can imagine, but he's doing okay."

The pot makes Steve bold. Has him asking, "Where are your parents?"

Eddie doesn't answer for a moment. Just focuses on the joint, inhaling, then blowing out a long plume of smoke towards the ceiling.

"I have no idea where my dad is. He split pretty quickly when I was a kid. I guess being a father didn't come naturally to him. Then my mom married this guy she met, who used to come into the diner where she worked. As soon as he moved in he started beating the shit out of me, so I got out of there as soon as I could."

Steve's mouth falls open. Shock cutting through his high. "Oh my god, I'm really sorry, Eddie, I had no idea."

"It's cool, it's ancient history now. It's why I keep my hair long though. Evil fuck used to keep my hair buzzed like we were in the military."

Steve tries to take that all in. He realises suddenly and acutely just how much he doesn't know about Eddie. He doesn't know anything about his childhood, where he grew up. Hadn't even thought about where his parents were or why he lived with his uncle. When he thinks about what Eddie was like before they met again a month ago, it's just a big white blank.

"Anyway," Eddie says, "let's change the subject to nicer things." He passes the joint back to Steve. "Have you and Wheeler got things back on track yet?"

Steve grimaces as he takes it. "No, that's not gonna happen."

"Why not?"

"I don't know, it just doesn't feel right. It used to. But it doesn't anymore."

"That's a shame," Eddie says. Though he doesn't say it like it's a shame. Instead he watches the way Steve pulls on the joint, eyes going between his fingers and his mouth. He looks good in the dark of the trailer, like some long-legged creature of shadow, eyeliner blotted messily under his eyes. Eddie wasn’t good-looking exactly, at least not like the buff, athletic guys girls had always flocked to at school. But there was something about him. Some long, striking, slim look that made him think of an animal that only came out at night.

Steve licks his bottom lip. "Do you have a girlfriend?" he asks.

Something swells in the trailer. That shift in the air, like in the Wheelers' kitchen the other night. Something thick and sweet, like maple syrup. 

"No," Eddie says, slowly, like he's trying to choose his words carefully. "That's not really my thing."

Steve cocks his head, confused. "What do you mean? If you're insecure, you shouldn't be. You're, like, a catch, man."

Eddie quirks a brow at him. "I'm a catch?"

"Yeah, you know, get one of those nerdy chicks who's into DND and stuff."

"And stuff. Your constant dismissal of D&D wounds me, Harrington."

"Fine, I get it, you want to be mysterious. And you don't have to keep calling me Harrington. I have an actual first name."

"You mean your highness?"

"No!"

Eddie grins at how exasperated he sounds. "Steve then. Anyway, there is this cutie I might be into. I'm trying to, I don't know, navigate it."

A cutie. A flare of disappointment goes through Steve. So fierce it makes his stomach lurch, like the feeling of falling out of bed. 

He turns away to hide it, sucking on the joint again. "What's there to navigate?"

Silence for a moment. Then, "It's complicated."

"What's complicated about liking someone? If you have feelings, you should pursue them. You shouldn't let anything stop you." 

Eddie laughs a little, but it doesn't sound like he finds anything particularly funny. "Yeah, okay, I'll keep that in mind."

Steve still feels sick and he leans forward, focusing on the pattern in the carpet. He must make some kind of noise because Eddie shifts closer.

"Hey," Eddie says, in that soft tone he uses when Steve starts freaking out. "You okay? You're not going to vomit are you?" 

He shakes his head. "I'm okay. It's just been ages since I smoked pot."

Eddie takes the joint from him, stubbing it into an ashtray on the table. "Let me get you a glass of water."

Steve continues to focus on the carpet as Eddie goes to the kitchen and runs a glass under the tap. "I don't know what's wrong with me," he says. "I'm such a buzzkill, I'm sorry."

"Don't be silly," Eddie says as he walks back, placing the glass on the table in front of him. "Drink that, you'll feel better."

Steve does as he's told. Taking the glass and taking a small sip. He jumps when he feels Eddie's hand against his back.

"What-"

"Don't talk," Eddie murmurs, "just drink your water."

Steve goes to pull away, but then Eddie starts rubbing his hand in small circles and Steve can't help but melt into it. 

"Feel good?" Eddie asks. 

"Yeah," he sighs.

And it does. It feels amazing. They sit there for a moment, in silence, Steve's eyes dropping closed at the comforting touch. 

"I keep having these nightmares," he says. "Ever since getting back from... you know, that place."

"Nightmares?" Eddie asks. "What kind of nightmares?"

"It's just this same one over and over. Everyone manages to escape, except for me. But none of you notice because you're all too busy celebrating. Nancy, Robin, Dustin, you. And whatever I do, no matter how loud I call out, none of you hear me. Or maybe you don't care, I don't know. But I'm caught down there. And I know I'll never get out."

Eddie's hand stills against his back. "You know that never would have happened."

"I know-"

"No," Eddie says, and he sounds annoyed for some reason, like Steve's said something that's upset him. "You obviously don't. I know I was a shitty fucking coward at the start, running from everything. But I meant what I said down there. That I wasn't going to let anything happen to you."

"You weren't a coward, though. You were incredible.

Eddie doesn't say anything. His hand drops from Steve's back and Steve has to bite back a sound of disappointment. 

"Do you want to finish the joint?" Eddie asks, reaching for it.

Steve swallows, glad he's not facing Eddie when he says, "Sure, but, uh. Can you do that again first?"

Eddie’s hand stills against the ashtray. "Do what? Rub your back?"

"Yeah, but under my shirt this time?"

Eddie doesn't say anything, and Steve thinks maybe that's just weird, maybe he's going too far. He's about to wave it off with a joke, to say he's fine, but then Eddie's hand is back and this time it's sliding up under his shirt. Steve shivers, the feeling of Eddie's hand on his bare skin making the sticky-sweet of his high grow even more. Amplifying it. Spinning Steve out like he's a whirl of cotton candy. It feels so good, the rough pads of Eddie's fingers, their blunt edges, drawing circles into his skin, so different to a girl's hands. So different to how Nancy's felt, with her slim fingers and manicured nails. 

He's about to say so, to say how good it feels, when Eddie runs his nails down his spine.

He doesn't do it hard, but it's enough to make Steve arch, pulling a noise from him at the sparks it sets off.

"Shit," Eddie says behind him. "You really like that, huh?" 

"Yeah," Steve breathes. "Do it again. Please."

"God, yeah, okay. Okay."

So Eddie does. A little harder this time, raking his nails down Steve's back, his skin breaking out into goosebumps.

"Oh my god," Steve says, "yes." 

"Fuck," Eddie breathes. And he sounds wrecked for some reason. Like he's the one with nails getting dragged down his spine. 

Eddie pulls his hand away and Steve's about to let out a disappointed noise, to ask him why he's stopped. He swallows it when Eddie sinks his hand into the back of his hair instead, scratching his nails down his scalp. It feels so incredible, lighting off fireworks behind Steve's eyes, and his leg jerks out, banging against the leg of the coffee table. 

"Hey, easy now," Eddie says. 

"Sorry, it's just, it feels so good."

"Yeah, god, you are so responsive. Are you like this with Wheeler too?"

With Nancy? Steve has no idea what he means. Nancy's never done anything like this to him. With her, it was all soft touches, everything smelling like clean cotton and vanilla. It had nothing of Eddie's smoke and leather. Nothing of the gentle but firm way he was handling him now, his touch just cresting into pain without pushing too far into it, blurring everything between what felt good and what hurt.

"No," he says honestly. "Nancy never touched me like this."

"She should have. You're amazing like this. She has no idea what she's missing."

Eddie scratches his fingers up through his hair, making Steve arch his neck. 

"Yeah, good boy, that's right."

Good boy. The praise lights Steve up. Makes him bite down hard on his bottom lip. He wants to be good. He really, really does.

With one hand still knotted in Steve's hair, Eddie uses the other to pick up the joint from the ashtray. He brings it to his mouth and lights it again. But instead of inhaling, he takes it out and brings it to Steve's mouth. Uses the hand in his hair to arch his neck back even more. Watches, his eyes fixed on Steve's mouth, as Steve sucks on the joint. 

"That's right," he murmurs. "You're being so good."

He takes the joint away and Steve exhales, mouth falling open. Eddie tracks the movement, his eyes so dark they look black.

Suddenly, the moment splits. Eddie blinks, and like cutting through a trance, Steve realises how close they're sitting. How he's almost in Eddie's lap.

He jerks away, but his hair snags in one of Eddie's rings and he hisses, making a noise like a wounded animal. "Shit," he says, wincing. 

"Hey, hold on," Eddie says, putting the joint back down, "let me do it." 

He sits there patiently as Eddie unwinds his finger from his rings. Looking anywhere but at Eddie's face. God, what had he been thinking? First asking Eddie to rub his back, and then making those noises. Slutty noises too, like the kinds of noises girls made in pornos. The thought makes him want to sink into the floor. He feels the urge to run. To not even say goodbye. Just to stand up and leave and never talk to Eddie again. But he doesn't do that. He forces himself to stay sitting and not freak out, his hands trembling where they're resting on his knees. 

"There you go," Eddie says when he's done. "And with none of your lustrous locks torn out."

"Thanks." Steve rubs the back of his neck, feeling overly hot in the shadowy heat of the trailer. "I should go soon," he says. "I have to be back in time for dinner."

Eddie nods, also looking uncharacteristically pink. "Yeah of course. No problem. I'll roll you another joint to take home."

"You really don't have to. You've done enough."

"It's no problem. I want to."

Steve nods. "Um, thanks for everything though. The weed. And uh, for your hands."

That shocks a little laugh out of Eddie. "You're very welcome. You can have my hands any time."

He rolls the fresh joint and Steve walks outside with him, the early evening hitting his face like a cool balm.

Eddie leans in the doorway with his hands in his pockets, watching Steve tip his head back against the wind. 

"What?" Steve asks, when he notices.

"Nothing. Just wondering what you're going to wear to my show Friday night. Please don't come looking like a square."

Steve turns to him with a raised brow. "I'm not going to look like a square. And I haven't decided yet."

"You could wear my vest."

Eddie says it casually enough, but there's something there. A tone. Some kind of inflection that coils behind the words, altering them.

Steve wets his bottom lip with his tongue. "I don't know if I can do that."

"Why? I already told you it looks good on you."

"It's not that. It's just, if I keep wearing it, people might think I, like, belong to you or something." 

It's a stupid thing to say. Something he'd only say when he's this high, and the filter between his head and his mouth has disappeared. He expects Eddie to laugh it off, but something flashes across his face instead. Something like hunger. Pure, unfiltered desire. But then it's gone just as fast, making Steve wonder if it was there at all, or if he's seeing things in dark.

Eddie shrugs. Says, "If you think you can't handle it, fine. Wear your cute little preppy clothes instead."

Steve cocks a hip and points a finger at him, feeling himself rise to the obvious challenge. "Don't test me, Munson, you don't know what this prep is capable of."

Eddie smiles at him again. The kind of smile that feels like his nails, raking up Steve's spine and making him break out in goosebumps. 

"No," he says, "but I'm looking forward to finding out."

-

That night Steve wakes up again. This time not from the nightmare, but from something else. 

He feels good for a change, like maybe he's still a little high. And he's naked under the vest, nothing between him and the denim. 

"Eddie," he says against his pillow. His nipples rub up against the rough fabric, pebbling up hard. 

He hikes a leg up, presses himself to the mattress. Imagines those fingers against his back, in his hair. Imagines Eddie's voice in his ear, calling him a good boy, and shivers, biting down on his bottom lip. He presses his crotch against the mattress again, wants so bad to press a hand down and palm himself, wants to be coated in that fuzzy, floaty feeling only Eddie can give him.

He falls asleep before he can. Dreams about dark eyes and a teasing voice.