Work Text:
It’s funny, honestly, how the world almost ended but some things stay the same. And by funny, of course, Steve means not very funny at all. It’s been less than a year since the world almost ended and Hawkins still isn’t back in one piece, but his parents breezed into town and settled back into the house like nothing changed. Steve is a veteran of a war his parents will never know about, but he’s upstairs in his childhood bedroom with an SAT prep book open in front of him like he’s in high school again.
Downstairs, his father is in his armchair reading the newspaper like Hawkins wasn’t nearly wiped clean off the map. His mother is watching 60 Minutes like nationwide news didn’t happen in their backyard. All around the country, people talk about Hawkins, Indiana in the same sentence as Mount St. Helens and goddamn Chernobyl, but Richard and Mary Harrington carry on as if nothing happened save for a little earthquake when they were away on a work trip. Steve has to look in the mirror just to remind himself that any time has passed.
In his reflection, hundred-year-old eyes stare back at him in a twenty-year-old’s face. Time has passed and things have changed—just not in this house.
Sighing, Steve looks back at the book in front of him. He flips a page halfheartedly. He’s worked his way through the math section, but the English section is tripping him up. The text is small and the font is weird, which tends to make his eyes hurt. When he squints, he can almost make out the answers Nancy penciled in years ago before erasing them when she gave him the book last month. He triggered a migraine the last time he tried to work through the English section, but he’s determined to make headway tonight.
From downstairs, he hears the commercial break end. Dan Rather’s voice echoing up the stairs tells him that 60 Minutes is over and CBS has switched back to the nightly news.
Sometimes, the irony is too much to handle. Steve’s parents watch the news every night, but they’re so clueless when it comes to the things closest to them. Steve jumps at sudden noises and flickering lights and dissociates when he hears Kate Bush, but they don’t seem to notice. After all, all they want to talk about is his plans for the future. Yesterday morning, Steve had forgotten to cover the scar on his neck—the one that looks suspiciously like a noose—and his father hadn’t even noticed, too busy giving Steve’s green Family Video vest a dirty look and making comments about Steve smelling like cigarette smoke.
Over dinner, his parents had grilled him on his plans and non-existent ambitions again. His father wanted to know if he would come back to Florida with them and work at the new branch of the firm. For a split second, Steve didn’t know how to respond, and he saw the hope on his mother’s face that maybe this would be the time he said yes. He’d said not right now, like he always does, and her face fell, like it always does. Then his father had asked him if he intends to at least apply for Keith’s role at the store, and Steve had to shovel food in his mouth to keep from shouting I almost died! Several times! I don’t care about being manager of Family Video!
Steve can’t even resent his parents for it, because they weren’t here to see the earthquake-that-wasn’t. They have no context for what the general townspeople of Hawkins experienced, much less Steve and his friends. When Steve looks in the mirror, he sees the survivor of a war no one will ever know about. When his parents look at him, all they see is a twenty-year-old burnout spinning his wheels.
It hurts, but he’s used to it. Long ago, Steve realized that whatever he did wasn’t going to meet his parents’ expectations for him, so he might as well do whatever the hell makes him happy instead.
Hence the SAT book, and the college brochures stuffed in the back of his closet, and the government hush money in his bank account saved up alongside his paychecks from Family Video. If staying in Hawkins means being frozen in time, then he’s getting the hell out of Dodge, and he’s doing it his way.
Running a hand through his hair, Steve drags the book closer to him and grabs his glasses off his bedside table.
Just then, a sharp tapping cuts through the quiet. Steve jolts.
When he whips his head around to the source of the sound, he jumps again, because there’s a goddamn face in his second-story window. The fact that the face belongs to one Eddie Munson doesn’t make the situation any less alarming. Steve scrambles off his bed and over to the window, where Eddie is clinging onto the windowsill with ringed fingers. He taps on the glass again with the knuckles of his left hand.
Steve’s door is still cracked open, but he opens the window anyway. Cool air rushes into the room, along with the general smell of Eddie: cigarette smoke, cheap body spray, and maybe just a little bit of weed. If Steve gets butterflies just from that, he’ll never admit to it.
“What the hell are you doing?” he whispers.
“What do you think? Rescuing the princess from her tower.”
Steve stares.
Eddie grins. “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.”
Steve’s stare moves into glaring territory.
“Okay, seriously, you gotta let me in. My hands are going numb, man. If I fall through this window, someone is going to call the police and I’m for sure gonna get arrested.”
“My parents are home,” Steve hisses.
“Yeah. Duh,” Eddie deadpans. He adjusts his grip on the windowsill. His knuckles are white under his skin from how tight he’s holding on. “Now let me in.”
Steve rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t want Eddie crashing through the awning outside the sitting room any more than Eddie does. He yanks the window open, allowing Eddie through, and darts over to shut the door to the hallway. On his way back, he throws his comforter over the SAT book, just in case.
Eddie pushes the window all the way open and tumbles into the room. It’s shockingly reminiscent of the way he strong-armed into the stolen RV all those months ago: a tangle of gangly limbs and dark curls thrown gracelessly about as he spills onto Steve’s floor. He pops up with a grin and tosses his hair out of his face.
Steve is unimpressed. “Seriously, what are you doing here?”
Eddie stands and plants his hands on his hips. “A little birdie told me the parents are in town. I’m here to cheer you up or jailbreak you, whichever sounds better.”
This is Robin’s fault, of course. During their shift on Monday, Steve complained about his parents, so it stands to reason that Robin would have mentioned it to Eddie the next time they hung out. Hence Eddie’s presence here, in his bedroom, with his parents right downstairs. Steve would kill Robin for telling if seeing Eddie didn’t immediately brighten his mood.
“How did you even get up here?”
“Oh, ye of little faith. I climbed.”
“You climbed.”
“Yeah. Don’t play dumb with me, Romeo. I know you’ve scaled some houses in your time. Wheeler told me you climbed up to her window like a total creep all the time back when you were…you know.”
Steve scowls and crosses his arms over his chest. Since when do Eddie and Nancy talk—and about him?
“That was one time,” he protests.
Eddie sits down on Steve’s bed, right by his pillows. The bed springs squeak. Steve shoots a furtive look at the door.
“Sounded like more to me,” Eddie shrugs. He reaches for Steve and hooks a finger in the hem of his sweater. “C’mon, you’re not even a little happy to see me?”
As much as Steve wants to be annoyed with Eddie’s breaking-and-entering act, he has to admit that it does make him feel better. Just seeing Eddie makes him feel a lot saner than he was feeling ten minutes ago. Eddie reminds him that time has passed—that the last year was real, and not just a figment of Steve’s imagination. Eddie’s presence is evidence of everything that happened over Spring Break and everything that’s happened in the interim.
That, and the smell of cigarette smoke and boy in Steve’s bedroom is definitely helping, too. It puts to mind all of the other things he’d like to be doing with Eddie in his bed—ideally, when his parents aren’t thirty feet away.
“My parents are still awake, you know. My mom might come up to say goodnight.”
Eddie shrugs. “S’okay. I’m great with parents.”
Steve blanches.
“I’m kidding. Jesus, you should see your face. If I hear footsteps I’ll, like, hide under your bed, or something. See if I can find anything good under there while I’m at it.”
Steve glares at Eddie, but Eddie grins back, and Steve’s withering look melts quickly against the sunshine of Eddie’s smile. Finally, Steve gives in. He sits down heavily next to Eddie on the bed, nudging him over to make space.
“Where’d you park?”
“On the street over and came through the woods. I figured if anyone sees my van outside the Hagans’ place, they’ll just think Tommy is buying.”
“But you aren’t dealing right now.”
“Do you think the fine, upstanding residents of Loch Nora know that?”
Steve looks over at Eddie. “That’s pretty smart, actually.”
“Actually? I’m brilliant, Harrington.”
Steve rolls his eyes while Eddie smiles. Eddie readjusts his position on the bed, trying to get comfortable. Steve looks down at his hands.
“All good over there?” Eddie prompts.
“Yeah,” Steve lies.
Things are not all good, but he doesn’t want to bother Eddie with that. The problem is, Steve had gotten too used to having the house to himself, and having his parents home sets him on edge. Robin thinks it’s kind of fucked up that his parents left him alone in the house while they rode out the aftermath of the earthquake in their condo in Palm Beach, but Steve doesn’t mind, honestly. He likes having the house to himself: he likes hosting movie nights and sleepovers for the Party and playing house with Eddie when he spends the night.
He’d gotten too comfortable with it, though. Now that his parents are back, he’s remembering exactly why he was relieved that they were gone. The constant presence of them looming over his shoulder makes his skin crawl.
Every day it gets harder to pretend that Steve is the same kid that his parents once knew. Every day he gets closer to breaking his government NDA and ruining dinner by telling his parents that Barb Holland died in their pool and Steve has three concussions from monsters-slash-Russian soldiers and that “Munson kid” they keep hearing rumors about actually died in Steve’s arms and had to be revived with five minutes of CPR. Sometimes he thinks about accidentally walking around with his scars on display, just to make his parents pay attention and ask what happened to him.
But he doesn’t want to tell Eddie any of that. What kind of asshole would complain about his two living parents and his big, fancy house to the guy with a dead mom and a deadbeat dad who lives in a trailer? Boohoo, tragic Steve Harrington, the sad little rich boy whose parents are around too much.
Steve might be an idiot sometimes, but he’s self-aware, thank you very much. Instead of answering Eddie’s question, he just shrugs and flops down to lay on his back.
Eddie lays back next to Steve. They stare at the ceiling, where the fan spins idly, casting warped shadows across the plaid wallpaper. Beside him, Eddie shuffles closer so their shoulders are pressed together. When Steve turns his head, Eddie is right there, his dark eyes studying Steve’s face.
“Hi,” Eddie whispers.
“Hi,” Steve whispers back.
Eddie smiles. He rolls onto his side and Steve’s eyes slip shut as he waits for the inevitable press of Eddie’s lips to his. Instead, Eddie yelps. Steve’s eyes widen and he slaps a hand over Eddie’s mouth.
His mother’s voice echoes up the stairs. “Steve?”
“All good! Just, uh, tripped,” Steve yells back.
When he removes his hand from Eddie’s mouth, Eddie wriggles around and yanks something out from underneath him.
“Jesus fuck, Steve, do you sleep with bricks in your bed?”
Eddie sits up with the SAT book in his hands. Steve sits up just as fast and yanks it out of Eddie’s hands. He doesn’t know what to do with it now that Eddie has seen it, so he just holds onto it with both hands so Eddie can’t take it back.
Eddie leans over and props his chin on Steve’s shoulder, studying the book in his grip. “Ooh, what do we have here? SAT prep—what, you helping Robin or something?”
Face turning red, Steve shoves the book onto his bedside table. This is exactly why he didn’t want anyone to know about the stupid book, save for Nancy. It’s not like anyone would take him seriously, anyway. He’s not Nancy or Robin, booksmart and college-bound. He’s Steve Harrington, the babysitter; Steve Harrington, the dumb jock. He’s not college material and everybody knows it.
Steve runs his hands through his hair and looks down at his lap. “It’s nothing.”
“Oh. It’s for you, isn’t it.”
It’s not a question. Steve squeezes his eyes shut.
“You’re thinking about college,” Eddie wonders aloud.
“No. I mean, maybe. I mean, I guess. I don’t know. It’s probably stupid.”
“‘s not stupid, Steve. Where are you thinking? Tech? That’s pretty close.”
Steve’s stomach twists unpleasantly. There it is—Eddie hit right on the second reason Steve didn’t want anyone to know about the book. Tech would be an easier pill for Eddie to swallow, considering it’s not very far away, but Eddie also has to know that Robin is looking further than that. He also has to know that Steve goes where Robin does—that is, if his SAT scores are good enough this time around.
“Robin’s looking at Purdue,” Steve says.
He’s testing the waters, so he glances over at Eddie. There’s surprise written all over his face. Eddie tries to hide it, but his eyes are too expressive for his own good.
“That’s… um, pretty far away,” he manages.
Before his face can fall any further, Steve reaches over for Eddie’s hand. He rubs his thumb over the back of it.
“Yeah, it is. But, you know, Robin pointed out that it’d be a lot easier to get an apartment with three people on the lease rather than two.”
Eddie flicks his eyes up from their joined hands to Steve’s face. He tilts his head, and Steve looks back at their hands.
“It’s kinda hard for two guys to get a one-bedroom together, but no one’s gotta know who’s sharing the bedroom if there are two bedrooms and three of us.”
Eddie squeezes Steve’s hand. It feels like he has Steve’s heart in his hands and is squeezing that instead.
“Just to be clear, sweetheart, are you asking me to move in with you?”
Steve meets Eddie’s eyes. His brows are knitted together in a frown, but he doesn’t look angry. He just looks a little confused.
“Well, I wasn’t planning on asking you tonight, but someone decided to spider-monkey their way up the goddamn drain pipe and interrupt me while I was studying, so…”
Eddie snorts. He shoves Steve with his shoulder, rocking him on the mattress.
“Anyway, it’s all hypothetical. I gotta retake the SATs first, then reapply, and who knows if I’ll even get in, much less what I’d study…”
Steve trails off when he feels the heat of Eddie’s stare on the side of his face.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Eddie tilts his head, studying Steve’s face. “Just picturing what you’d be like off at college. You’d have to wear your glasses all the time. They make you look real studious.”
“Yeah, because you know everything about studiousness,” Steve snarks.
Eddie clutches his chest, right over his heart, like he’s been stabbed. He collapses back onto Steve’s bed.
“I’m wounded, Harrington!”
Steve rolls his eyes, but then there’s a tug on the back of his shirt and he’s being pulled down onto the bed. He lets Eddie guide him on top and plants his knees on either side of Eddie’s narrow hips. Eddie’s t-shirt rides up just a little, showing off the patchy trail of hair under his navel and the checkered fabric of his boxers. Steve’s mouth waters, and he fights the urge to bend down and kiss Eddie’s stomach.
Then Eddie’s fingers find the collar of Steve’s polo and Steve allows himself to be dragged down until their faces are only inches apart.
“You know, I think I like the idea of seeing a college boy,” Eddie murmurs.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
The smile on Eddie’s face is small and genuine. Bit by bit, the weight starts to lift off of Steve’s shoulders—the curse of this house, this town. For so long, it was hard to picture his future except being a townie in the very town that tried to kill him. With Eddie by his side, it’s a lot easier to imagine something brighter: a two-bedroom shared with their best friend, movie nights in their own place, trips home to Hawkins to visit Wayne and the kids.
“C’mon, college boy, gimme a kiss,” Eddie teases.
Steve obliges. He presses his lips to Eddie’s in a short, chaste kiss, and Eddie makes a sound of protest before capturing his lips with much more intention. Steve tries to appreciate the feeling of Eddie’s lips on his—warm, slightly chapped—but Eddie has other plans, hitching his leg up onto Steve’s bed to nudge Steve’s hips into the space between his thighs. He’s almost certainly putting his dirty sneakers on Steve’s bedspread, but Steve chooses to ignore it, because Eddie is grabbing his waist with greedy hands and pulling Steve down so their bodies press together.
Steve pulls back and rests his forehead against Eddie’s. “You know, you said you were rescuing me from my tower. This doesn’t really feel like rescuing.”
Below him, Eddie grins bright as the sun. “Oh, is this not good enough for you, princess?”
“Shut up,” Steve groans.
Eddie reaches up and tangles his hand in Steve’s hair before dragging him into another kiss. His tongue finds its way into Steve’s mouth; he tastes like spearmint and smoke.
Against Eddie’s lips, Steve whispers, “We gotta keep it down, remember?”
Eddie bites his lip hard and nods. Steve swipes his tongue over the indentations left by Eddie’s teeth and then licks his way right into his mouth. Eddie’s hand tightens on Steve’s hip, and Steve reaches down to guide his hand underneath his shirt, needing to feel Eddie’s hands on his bare skin. Steve’s breath hitches when he feels Eddie’s palm splay against the sensitive scars there, and he turns his head to rest his forehead on Eddie’s temple, catching his breath.
“You’d fit in on campus with these country club outfits, you know,” Eddie says. He paws at the hem of Steve’s shirt, hitching up just far enough to see the beginning of his scars. “You’re a total prep.”
“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, asshole.”
“I’m serious,” Eddie murmurs.
Pushing against Steve’s shoulders, he rolls them over so Steve is on his back and Eddie looms over him.
“You could be class president lookin’ like this. It’d be our little secret, President Harrington going home to the bad boy.”
“And you’re the bad boy, I guess?”
“Well, they don’t call me The Freak for nothing.”
Steve rolls his eyes. His hands land on Eddie’s thighs, rubbing up and down the rough fabric of his jeans. There’s a tear stretched across his left thigh and Steve worms his fingers into it, just to feel the heat of Eddie’s skin under his fingertips.
“Sure,” Steve says.
Eddie drops down onto Steve. He noses at Steve’s chin, urging Steve to tilt his head back and bare his throat. Eddie kisses the side of Steve’s mouth first before descending on his jaw and neck, where he flicks his tongue over the sensitive skin just under his jaw. His voice is low and warm and deep against Steve’s ear.
“C’mon, admit it. You gotta admit it’s kinda hot, golden boy gettin’ fucked by the freak. If only the townspeople knew what I do to you.”
Steve flushes red. He puts up a protest, but it’s not like he hasn’t entertained that exact fantasy before. It’s why he lets Eddie leave hickies on his throat, even though he knows that’s reckless and ill-advised. He likes the idea of people seeing them and wondering who marked up King Steve like that, with only a handful of people knowing it was Eddie goddamn Munson who took a bite out of him.
“Need I remind you that my parents are downstairs?” Steve whispers.
Eddie is too busy circling his tongue in lazy, messy circles over Steve’s throat to respond. His hands are back on Steve’s waist, pushing his shirt up slowly. His rings are a sharp, cool contrast to the warmth of his hands, and Steve shivers when Eddie lays his hands over the firm surface of his abs.
“Well, then, you just gotta stay quiet,” Eddie whispers back. “You can be quiet for me, can’t you?”
Steve squeezes his eyes shut and nods. His hand clutch at Eddie’s back and slip in the slick fabric of his leather jacket. It’s one of too many layers between them, so Steve paws at it in a desperate attempt to get his hands on more of Eddie.
“Off,” he whines.
Eddie shucks off the jacket in record time. He thinks to shove it under Steve’s bed, which is a nice touch.
“What happened to your parents being downstairs?”
Steve takes in the sight of Eddie towering over him, his thighs on either side of Steve’s hips, caging him in. The light from the lamp glows in Eddie’s hair. He looks like a dark angel, with lips full and sinfully red from sucking on Steve’s neck.
“Screw it. I can be quiet,” Steve says. He grabs a fistful of Eddie’s shirt for good measure.
“That’s the spirit,” Eddie laughs.
Then: “Hey, d’you think you can keep it down when your dick is in my mouth?”
Steve kisses Eddie, if only to get him to shut the hell up.
They manage maybe thirty more seconds of kissing before Steve catches the telltale sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. He jerks up so fast that his forehead smacks square into Eddie’s nose, who rears backwards with a muffled curse.
“Fuck. Shit. Motherfucker,” Eddie hisses. He pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Steve?”
His mother’s voice sounds like she’s just feet away. Steve fumbles to sit up and Eddie scrambles out of his lap. Eddie is still holding his nose, and Steve really hopes it’s not bleeding. They look around the room. The footsteps get closer, and Steve’s eyes land on his closet.
“Just a minute!” he calls out. Then, much quieter: “There. Get in there.”
Eddie allows himself to be shepherded into Steve’s wardrobe. He squeezes his arms tight to his chest to fit in the small space, and Steve feels a little bad as he closes the door in Eddie’s face. Steve runs a hand through his hand and tugs at the hem of his shirt before going to the door.
“Steve?” his mom calls.
She’s right outside.
“Yeah, just a sec.”
Steve glances over at the mirror. His reflection looks back at him, distinctly rumpled and altogether kiss-drunk: red cheeks and messy hair betray the fact that he was under Eddie not thirty seconds ago, plus the wrinkles in his clothes from Eddie’s hands.. He hopes that he can pass it off as a particularly intense post-nap look.
The door swings open.
“What’s up?” Steve asks, casual as he can manage.
His mother stands in the doorway with her hair already up in rollers. “The landscapers just called. Apparently, they’re not available on Friday anymore, so they’ll be coming tomorrow. I’ll be out, but someone needs to let them into the garage. Will you be here to meet them?”
“Uh.” Steve blinks, trying to remember words that aren’t go away and I’m hiding my boyfriend in my closet. “Um, yeah, maybe. I’m working ten to five tomorrow.”
“Great. They’re coming at eight. I’ll tell your father not to worry.”
“Yeah, sure. That’s— yeah. That’s fine.”
His mom nods with the hint of a smile on her face. Then there’s a rustle from the direction of the closet, and Steve’s eyes widen as his mother turns back around. To his surprise, she’s not looking at the closet. She’s looking at—
—the window. The open window. The window with Eddie’s sneaker prints on the sill. Fuck.
Steve opens his mouth to explain, but his mother is already pushing into the room. She looks between Steve and the window.
“It’s a little cold for the fresh air,” she says pointedly.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Steve’s heart slams in his chest. What is he supposed to say? How does he explain the presence of sneaker prints on his windowsill and weird noises coming from his closet? He can’t even look in the direction of the closet, because that just reminds him that Eddie is in there. All five foot ten of his boyfriend is shoved in among his clothes, just feet away from his mom. The boyfriend whose tongue was just in Steve’s mouth. Whose spit is still cooling on Steve’s neck. Whose offer to go down on him is the reason Steve’s sporting a semi right now.
Oh my god, Steve tells his brain, shut up. You’re not helping.
“What have your father and I told you about smoking in the house?”
Steve’s mind goes blank.
His mother marches over to the window. It slides shut with a click. She rounds on Steve with her back to the closet door. “It’s one thing when it’s teen rebellion, Steven, but you’re twenty years old. For god’s sake, it smells like smoke in here.”
That would be Eddie, Steve’s brain supplies helpfully. He fights the urge to kick Eddie’s jacket further under his bed.
Instead, he manages, “You’re right. I’m sorry. It was stupid.”
From behind the slatted closet door, Eddie barks out a laugh. Steve coughs, loudly, and wheezes something about smoke. God, why is he dating Eddie again? Just because he kisses like he traded his soul to the devil for skills with his tongue? Or is it the occasional free weed? It’s certainly not his discretion or his timing.
The diversion works, because all his mother does is purse her lips.
“If you have to smoke, at least do it outside. It’s a filthy habit.”
“Yeah, I know,” Steve says.
She smiles tightly. “That’s better. I’ll tell your father you’ll be up bright and early tomorrow.”
The moment she steps out the door, Steve closes it behind her and sags against it with a relieved sigh. Eddie waits approximately three seconds before tumbling out of the closet doors. His face is red, either from lack of oxygen or from the effort of not laughing—Steve can’t tell which. Steve glares at him, but Eddie waltzes over like nothing happened and grabs Steve by the elbows.
Steve keeps glaring, even as Eddie tries to kiss him.
“I can’t believe you made me go back in the closet,” Eddie pouts.
“Do you think it’s cute, trying to get caught by my mom?” Steve hisses.
Eddie looks at Steve with those big doe eyes. “I’m sorry. You’re just too cute, baby. I can’t not laugh.”
“You’re trouble, you know that?”
Eddie steps closer into Steve’s space and plants his right hand on the door beside Steve’s head. He curls his left hand around Steve’s hip, pulling it towards him so Steve’s back arches away from the door and towards Eddie.
“That’s why you like me. I mean, it could have been so much worse. A minute later and she would’ve caught me on my knees.”
Steve’s eyes flick down to Eddie’s lips. They’re still kiss-bitten and plush from kissing Steve stupid earlier; it’s unfairly attractive. He leans in to kiss Eddie, but Eddie dodges and pecks Steve’s nose. This time, it’s Steve who yelps when Eddie grabs his hand and yanks him away from the door. With one hand still holding Steve’s, Eddie uses the other to shove the window open.
He perches with his butt on the windowsill and tugs Steve towards him. “C’mon, princess. I’m breaking you out for real this time.”
Steve shoots a glance over his shoulder at the door. The light underneath it is dim—a sign that his parents have turned in for the night. He looks back at Eddie, who is grinning up at him with a glint in his eye.
“Where are we going?”
Eddie shrugs. He squeezes Steve’s hand and pushes the window open further.
“Wherever you want.”
Steve thinks about the SAT book on his bedside table, about his parents making their way to bed downstairs, about the emptiness of the house once everyone else is asleep.
He meets Eddie’s eyes and squeezes his hand. “Okay. Take me away.”