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Queen wouldn’t be Eddie’s first choice, but it’s too small a thing to get on Steve’s ass for. There are better ways to do that. Better things to do it for. And besides, Freddie Mercury’s voice fills the air and there’s something calming about the power of that. It fills the space between them, collapses it, as they lie beside each other on Steve’s bed.
Spring ended, the world didn’t. Summer happened, and so did Steve and Eddie. Now it’s autumn, a Friday evening, and time suspends for a moment. For them. They’ve made it long enough that the air has had time to grow cold again, the trees orange and red and barren. Eddie can see them like shadows, dark limbs against deep blue night sky. Gnarled. He thinks about horribly twisted things and how they twine together, make something out of their tangles. He thinks about when he laces his fingers with Steve’s, how his rings poke out, the smallest of freckles on one of the knuckles of Steve’s left hand. Something stills in him when he looks at Steve, something goes quiet. It’s hard to tell over all the other things that scream at him, that little fire that Steve lights in his soul. But there’s a quieting, too, something settling in and growing comfortable in his chest. Eddie loves him very much. That, he knows. Steve smiles when he kisses him. He knows that, too.
Sometimes it’s easy to set aside the tangle of things he feels for Steve and the things he feels for the rest of the world, dire how they’re opposed. It’s in moments like these, when music croons at them and says things about love that Eddie can relate to for the first time in his life.
I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things
We can do the tango just for two
Eddie listens and hums along. Breathes in, breathes out, lets the feeling of the night wash over him. They’ve made it this far but he remembers a time when he wasn’t so sure they would. He remembers it and yet sets it aside. He doesn’t want to dwell. There are other things to remember, other memories to make. It gets its own place at the back of his mind, not to be forgotten.
He can feel the dip in the bed where Steve is beside him. He has to close his eyes to hear the music because there’s tension in the air knowing that he could turn his head and see him. There’d be that good tightness in his chest, his heart too large and too small. Eddie knows his presence instinctively, the gravity of him. He makes Eddie’s entire world lean a little to one side. More than a little. He lets himself rest and falls into it, finding himself in Steve’s arms, in his bed. It feels so, so good to finally rest.
He opens his eyes and meets Steve’s, all heavy and droopy, staring back at him. His lashes dusting tiny shadows over the tops of his cheeks.
Ooh, love, ooh, loverboy
What're you doin' tonight—
“Hey, boy.”
Steve actually giggles, he’s such a dream. Something equal parts warm and protective curls inside Eddie when he does that. When he looks happy.
“Hi.”
“You tryin’ to give me a heart attack?” Eddie says, breathless.
“What, by smiling?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
Steve shoves him. Eddie’s grinning when he takes Steve’s hand, when he brings it to his lips, when he kisses the top of Steve’s wrist.
“Ed—”
He launches himself forward and presses kisses all the way up Steve’s arm. Steve’s laugh rings out. He’s gotten so much better at taking up space in his own house and it makes Eddie’s heart sing. When he gets to Steve’s shoulder, he kisses along his collar and up his neck. Steve’s arm wraps around his waist.
“You ever watch Addams Family, Stevie?”
“Da-da-da-da.” He pats Eddie’s ass twice. Eddie dissolves into snickers against his neck. “I’m the Morticia to your Gomez?”
“Exactly.”
“I’m okay with that.”
Eddie hums quietly and so does Steve on his next breath. The wordless exchange makes Eddie soft. He stays where he is, curled up next to him, legs tangled together. The song continues playing as Steve tugs him a bit closer and presses a kiss to the top of his head.
Dining at the Ritz we'll meet at nine precisely
(One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine o'clock)
I will pay the bill, you taste the wine
While Eddie sits there, thinking about Steve and warmth and light and all things good, Steve starts fiddling with the hem of Eddie’s shirt.
Fiddling is one of those little Steve things. Sometimes he fiddles when he’s worried, but then he usually bounces his leg too. Sometimes he fiddles because he needs touch. He’ll adjust Eddie’s collar, tuck some hair behind Eddie’s ear. He doesn’t know he’s doing it, or at least Eddie doesn’t think he does. But every time he turns to Steve and wraps his arms around his waist, he lets out this desperate little hum. And he doesn’t let go.
This isn’t like that. Because other times, Steve fiddles because he wants to talk. There’s something he wants to say without having to speak it. He doesn’t want eyes on him or he doesn’t think they’ll want to hear it. This is why Eddie pays attention. For better or worse, it’s part of how Steve communicates. Because wanting him means wanting all of him, because Eddie wants to hear absolutely everything he has to say.
Eddie didn’t speak for much of his first holiday season with Wayne. A small silver tree went up in the living room, covered in rainbow lights. A porcelain Santa figurine smiled at them from above the TV. Eddie said nothing. And he didn’t smile back at that red, grinning face. Wayne didn’t ask if something was wrong because he knew it was. He didn’t ask what was wrong because despite how little he knew Eddie, he loved him. He’d loved him since the day he came home. He didn’t have to ask because he knew.
When Eddie began living with Wayne, he hadn’t just lost his mother, but their life together. He lost a part of himself with her. Wayne came home from work late one day with what looked like half a tree stump in his hands. He disappeared into a storage closet and came back with a set of woodworking tools. Out of breath, he looked down at Eddie.
“Couldn’t find a menorah at the K-Mart, kid. How many candles is it supposed to have?”
“Nine,” Eddie said. “For Hanukkah.”
“Think you could draw me one?”
“Sure.”
Eddie wanted to tell him that it didn’t really matter, that it wouldn’t feel the same without her. But Wayne would hear the lie in that. And he would make it matter again. Wayne taught him to listen and now he does the same.
So Steve fiddles and Eddie notices. The little swell of pride at that makes his chest all warm and liquid and gives him the courage to put his hand over Steve’s and brush his thumb across the top of it until it goes still.
“Something wrong, babe?”
“No, just—” Steve sighs, putting his thoughts in order. “Do you ever think about going out?”
Steve Harrington is precious. He is many things to Eddie and often he is smaller than he seems. He gets this look in his eye, or this soft lilt to his voice that means he’s safe enough to have hope. Eddie treasures it. He’d take a picture of it if he could and he’d keep it in his wallet forever but he knows that no camera could capture it because the beauty of it is in what it does to Eddie, not anything you can see by looking at them.
“Like on a date?”
“Yeah, on a date.”
Eddie is quiet. Steve’s hope is so vulnerable, he couldn’t possibly say no to it. But he can see where this is going and he knows he’ll have to.
“Why?”
“Dining at the Ritz we’ll meet at nine, one-two-three-four, precisely.” He can hear Steve’s voice rumbling through the ear pressed to his chest. Eddie chuckles and turns so he’s lying on his back. Steve’s arm, still under his head, comes to rest over his shoulder. “I would take you to the Ritz.”
“That’s awful sweet, Stevie.” He smiles up at the ceiling. “Don’t think they’d accept me as I am, though.”
“I think you’d clean up nice.”
“Really?”
He hums and Eddie can hear his breathing, slow and even. He’s tired.
“Put your hair up, get you in a suit. It’d work. You have nice lines.”
“I have nice lines? ” he asks because what the fuck even are those and how the hell does he have them?
Steve can probably hear the grin in his voice because he groans, and then stutters.
“Yeah, it— you— Uh. Your body. Looks good.” Eddie hears a light smack and then a whispered C’mon, Harrington. All woes forgotten, Eddie smiles and has to hold back his laughter so he can speak.
“Well, if you’re just taking me out to get in my pants—” I think maybe we can skip a few steps, is what he was going to say, but then Steve slaps his arm and Eddie cackles.
“No! ” Steve pauses. “Well. Depends on how tailored those pants are.”
“You’re breaking my heart.” And true, Eddie’s heart hurts, but not in a bad way. Not in a bad way at all.
They return to quiet, but a comfortable and calm kind. Steve’s arm is still around him and he crosses a leg over one of Steve’s. There’s something special to Eddie about them being side by side. He loves when Steve’s on top of him he loves being on top of Steve. But this, he thinks, is so good that it might stay—Steve by his side, him by Steve’s. He thinks about Steve in the kitchen cooking, about Steve looking at the kids from afar, about Steve with a hand on his side wherever they are, he thinks about putting an arm around his waist and knocking their hips together. He thinks about being next to him through anything. That’s the kind of shit you fall in love over.
“We haven’t really gone out. We should,” Steve says after a moment of silence.
“We go to drive-in movies all the time.” He’s trying to keep the peace, hoping to whoever’s out there that Steve doesn’t push this because then he’ll have to tell him no and then he’ll have to break his heart and how could he do that to something so precious? Of all the things he wants to give Steve, not this, please.
“I mean out out, like to a restaurant.” It actually does break something in Eddie’s to hear how hopeful he sounds. “Feels weird not to. I’d like to make you feel, uh, cared for. We could go somewhere nice, but not too nice. Hop and Joyce always go to Enzo’s but they have like a sommelier and everything, maybe that’s too much. There’s this diner on Cherry, between Family Video and the movie theater—”
“We can’t, Steve.”
“Wh—” Eddie feels the shoulder beneath him grow tight. “Oh. Right.”
Silence, apart from the music which feels so, so distant.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, it… It’s fine. I wasn’t attached to the idea.”
Just the music again, and their breathing.
Steve’s just doing his best. He’s always doing his best. He seems, sometimes, like he’s just hanging on by a thread because maybe he is a little bit. But even then, he tries as hard as he can to be the best he knows how to be. He’ll try to convince you otherwise, acting like he could have done more, apologizing for not being kinder. His best is always enough for Eddie. Sometimes it’s almost too much but even that feels just right. Too much of Steve is the perfect amount of Steve for him.
Eddie reminds himself of this while he wills his breaths out of tension and into ease. Steve’s just doing his best, the best he knows how to be. Eddie’s always been okay that their thing is private. They keep it between them and their friends and that’s how he likes it. Steve can stay over at the trailer and Wayne knows what it means and so does Max next door but none of their other neighbors would get it. But maybe it isn’t the same for Steve. The family Steve keeps behind closed doors is a hollow thing.
“Steve?”
“Yeah?”
Eddie breathes in, breathes out.
“We could still go to the diner. We could go with Robin and Nancy, pretend it’s a double date. It would be, just like… not…”
“No.”
“Oh.” Eddie tries to say something else but he can’t.
Steve keeps talking, “That’s not—”
“It’s okay.” His mouth is dry and he’s swallowing something down and keeping it together—
“I want to hold your hand.”
Oh.
“Oh.”
“I want to be able to lean over and kiss you and I want to tell you I love you over dinner and I want to have to cover my mouth so I can smile while chewing.” And all the stupid little romantic things. Steve Harrington, your heart is gorgeous. “I want to play footsie under the table,” Steve pulls up his leg so his ankle knocks against Eddie’s, “and split a dessert. And then we stumble out to the car and it’s dark and cold and I hold the door for you and watch you drift off while I drive you home. And then I kiss you goodnight and tell you I love you again even though you’re half asleep. And then I hand you over to your uncle and make sure you’re okay before I go. And when I get back to my place, I call Robin and tell her all about it because it was the best night of my life.”
The record scratches as the arm lifts. It whirrs back into place and clicks down. There’s silence, finally. Not a single car drives by, the wind doesn’t even dare disturb the moment.
“You have this all planned out, huh?” Eddie’s still swallowing down that something.
“No, I— Like I said, I’m not attached to the idea.”
Sometimes Steve is stupid.
“Someday.” Eddie sighs. Sometimes he thinks he loves this boy too much. Sometimes Eddie is stupid, too. He takes Steve’s hand and holds it against his lips. “I’ll take you to the Ritz, Stevie, I promise.”
Steve hums and, well, he does that little thing he does. He has lots of little things. Eddie prides himself on knowing all of them. His voice would shake if he spoke so the only sounds he makes are little noises. Eddie knows his eyes must be closed—they always are—as he squeezes Eddie’s hand in his and shudders just a little bit. Steve’s skin is thinner than you would think. He gets cold easily. Eddie hums back, soft and steady.
A few moments later, he bites one of Steve’s fingers.
“ Eddie! ” He gasps, scandalized.
First Eddie chuckles, then laughs, and then so does Steve. He tears his hand away and locks his arm around Eddie’s neck like he’s going to give him a noogie. Instead, he smothers the top of Eddie’s head in kisses.
“WH— Steve! ” He kicks his legs and squeals and all Steve does is open his mouth and laugh, that deep belly laugh that echoes through Eddie’s chest. It leaves him reeling, something close to delirious.
“Not done with you yet.” He wraps his arms around Eddie and squashes his cheek with a firm, wet kiss.
“Ew! You fucking— I’ll kiss you for real, you bozo.”
“Bet.”
He’s pushed his way out of Steve’s grasp in a second, and then he’s hovering over him, one knee between Steve’s legs and the other by his hip. One hand slides up to hold Steve’s jaw, thumb on his cheek. And then they’re kissing. Eddie lingers. He takes a breath and kisses him again.
Eddie doesn’t need the Ritz to feel cared for, he needs this—Steve’s arms draping around his neck. Steve tugging him closer. Light panting in the brief moment between kisses. This is it for him. This could be everything. Maybe it already is.
—
One week later, it’s early evening when Steve gets back from work. He kicks his shoes off, leaving them haphazard by the door. He’ll have to rush even with the extra hour he bargained from Robin. She might have made gagging noises when he explained to her why she’d have to close the store alone tonight but she’d helped him all the same. A few loose pages of scattered notes are pinned to the fridge with a magnet. Steve washes his hands, puts on an apron, and gets to work.
It's just starting to get dark outside when Eddie says goodnight to Wayne and climbs into his van. When he gets home later tonight—if he does—he’ll have to tip-toe around in his socks. He’ll strain to hear Wayne snoring through the thin walls of the trailer. And he’ll be grateful for that, that his aging uncle doesn’t have to work the night shift anymore. He’ll be grateful that their new-to-them trailer has two bedrooms so Wayne doesn’t have to sleep on a rollaway in the living room anymore. Eddie hasn’t done much with the a-little-something-to-keep-you-quiet-sorry-you-almost-died money and he’s okay with that. Wayne isn’t getting any younger and he wants to make sure he’s comfortable. A little extra money means a little extra comfort in their lives. It means Eddie can pay for gas to drive the kids around when Steve’s working. It means he can buy nice coffee for Wayne so he can stop drinking burnt sludge. It’s breathing room. And Eddie breathes deeply.
He rolls the window down. It smells like pine and earth and his is the only car on the road. It’s quiet. Just a few years ago there were monsters in these woods. There were children who’d escaped from labs and their own homes and the children who chased them. Eddie hadn’t been with them, then, but he had been here. The big, bad thing in the woods had gotten him in the end, hadn’t it? In woods so very much like these.
He shoves a cassette into place and lets the music play softly. Orange light from streetlamps glints over his rings as he drives beneath them. He smiles to himself as he turns onto Cornwallis and heads towards the big house at the end of the quiet street.
He used to think of the house as imposing, but it’s the size that’s deceptive. Inside, it’s just sort of empty and that makes it a lot less scary. It makes him feel things for Steve, too, alone there and drowning in it. But not as much these days. Steve smiles a lot more.
Eddie knocks and chuckles to himself when he hears a loud crash and something that sounds vaguely like come in, it’s open! He’s toeing off his shoes and setting them next to a familiar pair of Nikes when Steve slides into the entryway in his socks, eyes wide, hair a little mussed up like he’s been running his hands through it. He’s wearing an apron. It’s pink. With scalloped trim.
“You’re early.”
Eddie just sort of looks at him. His foot is still raised, with his shoe half hanging off of it. He’s holding his leather jacket in one hand.
“Is that… bad?”
“No, no—” A timer rings in the kitchen. “Shit! ” Steve darts back out of the room and Eddie wanders in after him.
Mouth falling open, heart in his throat, he freezes in the doorway.
Steve’s got a dish towel in one hand and an oven mitt in the other, carefully pulling something out of the oven. There’s a metal bowl in the middle of the floor for some reason. The timer’s still going off. But past it all, Eddie can see the dining room where the table is set for two. Knives and forks placed neatly on napkins beside the plates. Two candles, a vase of flowers. A bowl filled with rolls of bread.
The fucking candles, like the ones for his mother’s Shabbat dinners. Their dinners. It takes him back because candles on the table and food in the oven means family and quiet things. Candles on the table means things are warm and love is open, that there’s someone there to tell him things are okay even when they’re not, someone to kiss him on the cheek and make everything better. That’s true now, too, isn’t it? Eddie’s always been loved. He’s lucky that way. But this, but Steve… he’s never been luckier.
“Ed, could you get a pot-holder? They’re in that drawer over there.”
Eddie nods and grabs two. Steve pulls some kind of casserole out of the oven and sets it down with a sigh of relief. Eddie’s on the verge of tears. Steve stands in front of him, blinking, with pinched lips. He wrings his hands, then puts them on his hips.
“So, uh…” He looks away. “It’s dinner, it’s— uh. It’s a date.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” Eddie breathes.
“I hope that’s okay. I thought a surprise might be nice but it feels stupid now. You look a little scared. Eddie?”
“No, I’m—” He sways a bit, catches himself. Steve looks at him, all tentative and hopeful, with that little pull in his brow.
Eddie breaks. He grins, steadies himself on the counter. He lets out a shaky laugh. He’s so fucking in love, it’s stupid.
“You like it??” Steve blinks and leans toward him, a little shocked, a little surprised, a lot pretty.
“Steve, I—” He doesn’t really know what to say, except to smile. That says enough, he thinks. “Fucking of course.”
Steve’s face brightens, though he still looks nervous.
“I know it’s kind of for me because I was the one who wanted to go out, but—” His hands are clasped in the front of the apron, now, worrying at the fabric.
“I love it.”
“You do?”
Eddie is quiet and Steve is like the sun before him. Sunshine, starshine, moonlight, whatever, he’s glowing and glittering and all happy and grinning and Eddie is gone.
“You did all this for me?”
“Yeah. Well,” he stumbles. His voice dips, going soft. “For us.”
Eddie lets out some sort of sound, something between a laugh and a whimper. Steve looks at him so fondly, wide smile and big, dopey eyes. A little misty at the corners, maybe. Or maybe Eddie isn’t seeing right. His eyes are a little misty, too. Eddie steps closer, puts his hands on either side of Steve’s face, pulls him down gently, and kisses him.
“Food’s getting cold, babe,” Steve murmurs as Eddie’s arms wrap around his waist and pull him closer. Babe is one of those things that Steve picked up from Eddie and it warms his heart and melts his brain in equal measure.
“Mmhmm,” Eddie hums and kisses him a little deeper. He slides a hand into the back pocket of Steve’s jeans. With the other, he undoes the apron’s bow and tugs it out from between them, chucking it behind him somewhere. Steve laughs into the kiss and it makes Eddie’s head spin. Soft and slow melting into each other, they kiss in the kitchen of a big, empty house. It’s warm here and warmer still between them.
Eddie holds on for just one extra moment. And then another. And another. He hopes Steve doesn’t notice the way he’s holding onto him like a lifeline, one hand fisted in the back of his shirt.
The kiss says a lot of things about them. It speaks to that smoldering something they’ve been stoking. Eddie thinks Steve is warm, golden, hot. He’s sunshine in the summer and a constellation of stars in the night sky—burning and burning. He’s a little fire, to be fed and tended to. Eddie thinks of himself like dry kindling, thinks he burns easy. One spark and he’s gone, consumed, up in flames. Steve kisses him and it burns, lights a fire inside him.
“Eds,” Steve pulls away. It takes a moment for Eddie to remember to open his eyes. When he does, Steve looks so pleased with himself that he almost regrets it.
“Huh?”
“Let’s have this date, yeah?”
“Uh-uh.” He shakes his head. He only gives it a moment before continuing. “You haven’t asked me out yet. Harrington.”
He blushes. And sighs. But his face is bright pink so it sounds more fond than long-suffering.
“Eddie, will yo—”
“I am a lady, sweetheart, I will be addressed properly.”
“Okay,” Steve grins. He’s fooling no one. “Fine. Mr. Munson—”
“Oh please, Mr. Munson is my father-uncle.”
Steve drops his head onto Eddie’s shoulder and groans. Eddie cackles, just a little bit.
“Edward Munson.” He pauses for effect. Eddie snickers but keeps his mouth shut. “Will you go on a date with me, please because the food is getting cold.”
Eddie puts a hand on the back of Steve’s neck and holds him there.
“Yes, Stephen, my love, I will go on a date with you.”
Steve pops up and glares at him, their faces so close it’s impossible to do anything but look him in the eye.
“I hate you.” No, he doesn’t.
“I love you too.”
Steve smiles, there he is. His smiles, when he looks at Eddie, are dripping with fondness. All droopy and dopey and cut through with sweetness. It makes Eddie fluttery inside and he used to hate that, back before any of this. But now things are different because he knows that Steve feels it, too.
There’s another moment of them looking at each other before Steve ducks away to grab the apron off the floor and put it away. Eddie is left there to stand in the kitchen and look at the dining table just over there in the other room. He thinks, again, of how much this reminds him of Shabbat and his mother and Friday evenings. Because his mother used to cook. She used to make dinner for the two of them and so did Steve and it isn’t the same thing, but isn’t it? It’s cooking because there are people to cook for, it’s food that says we’re still here, we made it. They ate those dinners alone, but they were never lonely because they were together and they were with family, however large or small that was to them in the moment. Sometimes Eddie’s mother would tell him about his grandparents and her aunts and uncles and then they were there, too. Eddie might never have known that side of his family but he sat at the table with them by her voice and her stories in those evenings.
It is the same, in a sense, with Steve. They’re alone but they aren’t lonely. Their family may not be here with them now, but they can remember that family and celebrate them by being together, however large or small that might be.
“You, uh—” Eddie’s voice cracks. “You want me to light the candles?”
It’s Friday night. The sun has already set. But it’s the emotion of it for him tonight. It’s him and Steve and the dinner he made and the table he set. It’s family, with Steve.
“Oh shit, I meant to do that.”
“Let me.”
Steve nods and Eddie slips out of the room. He finds the matches on the table and lights one. He’s always loved how matches ignite. They sizzle and burst into flames and then burn slowly and steadily down to your fingertips. There’s that moment where you have to wait for it. And then you handle the dangerous thing carefully. You hold it the wrong way and it’ll burn too fast. Move too much and it’ll go out. You have to be wary of it and wary for it. He lights each candle and then sets the match on the bobeche to burn out. He remembers his mother brushing the light towards her. He always thought it looked like she glowed when she did that. Must have been a trick of the light. He lifts his arms and it feels, oddly enough, like he’s at the head of the table playing D&D and taking a bow. He sweeps his arms three times and then closes his eyes.
He remembers her voice. The blessing she would say. Melodic. Sometimes when he’s telling stories, he can almost hear her at the edges of his words. He can hear, now, the corners of those sounds, the swooping vowels between them. They flowed like wine and dripping candle wax, those broad words, the way they shine.
He opens his eyes and the candles are still burning. The match has gone out.
“Hm.” Arms wrap around him from behind and Steve slots into place. “You like the smell of candle smoke or something?” he asks.
Eddie thinks for a moment.
“Sure. It’s something my mother used to do. She’d make dinner, light the candles.” He hears another hum and feels a kiss on the side of his neck. “I love you, Steve.”
He feels a little generous with his words tonight, a little syrupy and soft around the edges, gooey in the middle.
“’M love you too,” Steve murmurs against his skin. It’s the best thing he’s ever heard, every time he hears it.
“Let’s eat.” He pats Steve’s cheek and that earns him a soft giggle.
Steve insists he sit at the head of the table—Guest of honor, Eds— and his place is set right beside Eddie’s. It isn’t symmetrical; it makes the table lopsided. But it works for them and Eddie loves it this way. Their knees knock together. Steve’s hand finds his, first just their pinkies locked together and then their palms meet and their fingers lace together and they don’t let go. Steve has to eat with his left hand, which he accomplishes gracefully. Steve says that’s how they eat in Europe, with the fork in your left hand and the knife in your right. He does a little twirly thing, spins it around his fingers, and then stabs a piece of casserole with a clink.
Eddie tries not to giggle but fails. He watches Steve fondly and thinks he looks beautiful in the candlelight. He says so and Steve blushes. The warmth on his face adds to it. Eddie may be biased but the color of Steve’s blush is gorgeous—a warm, almost coral red. Soft for each other, small smiles settle on their faces. They catch each other’s eyes with playful sideways glances. It makes Eddie grin so hard that he can’t keep his mouth shut while chewing. Which Steve notices. Which makes Steve smile in turn, which makes Steve smile so wide he can’t even keep his eyes open. Steve’s elbow is on the table, his hand over his mouth, his eyes shut. He’s snickering and breathing fast against his hand. Eddie’s face hurts.
Steve’s hand squeezes his and Eddie scoots his chair closer.
“Hey, babe.” He brushes his thumb across the top of Steve’s hand.
Steve’s eyes open, soft, and he’s clearly smiling behind his hand. But he’s crying, too, the sides of his eyes wet and his eyelashes clumped together. Eddie taps on the hand Steve has clamped over his mouth with one of his knuckles.
“Hey baby, can I see your face?” Steve’s hand falls away and his eyes dart down. His smile opens and he chuckles breathily. He slots his hand into place on Steve’s cheek and turns Steve to face him.
“Hi,” Steve says. And with his voice quiet and breaking, “This is everything I wanted.”
“I’m glad.” Steve beams at him. “Really, Steve, I’m so happy.” He leans in and kisses Steve’s other cheek. Steve’s still smiling when he pulls away and wow. He really does look good in any light, huh? Eddie wonders if it’s that light from within, that spark of something special in Steve, something warm and easy. Eddie used to think that was a part of him Steve gained by fighting, that he swung his bat and his heart grew three sizes. But now he thinks it’s been there all along. There are so few photos of Steve as a kid and in their time together, Eddie has seen all of them. His smile is open in his kindergarten school photo and by 5th grade it doesn’t even reach his eyes.
He's found himself again and Eddie is so unbelievably happy for him. And then he remembers the part he had in that and it makes him want to scream with a smile on his face, makes him want to climb to the nearest rooftop and throw his arms up, crane his head back and face the sky and grin and laugh and yell. It makes him want to make a home with Steve, to take him out of here, find a place for them together. A small house, maybe, one of the places off of Mirkwood. He wants to use his hush money for small things. Maybe little life together might count.
Eddie tugs his placemat closer and it’s a little cramped and things are sideways but he gets to lean his shoulder against Steve’s and press their legs together.
“I wanted you to know, Eddie.” He starts slowly. “I don’t need the Ritz. I just need this.”
“I like that.”
“And I’m not…” Steve’s small smile, the happy little thing, spreads over his face. “I’m not settling. This isn’t just enough. This is just right for me. This is perfect, Eds.”
Eddie nods. “It was all you, sweetheart.”
“I think you’re perfect too.” There’s that secret hush to his voice, like it’s easier to say if he says it small. It’s precious and playful, that whisper.
“Right back atcha, big boy,” he says while trying to choke back that something. It’s tears.
Steve sniffles a bit and in a soft voice, tells Eddie about his week. He talks about the things Robin’s been telling him at work. He talks about how Dustin’s been doing in school, even though Eddie’s already heard. He wants to listen anyway. He melts a little to hear Steve’s voice as he talks about the people he loves. He talks about how Max is doing, back in school. He tells Eddie about a conversation he had with Claudia when he dropped Dustin off from Hellfire last week. She gave him cookies and Dustin told him the next day that she’d baked them especially for him. He doesn’t realize it, but the stories he’s telling Eddie are all about all the ways their family loves him.
Robin talks to him constantly at work and Eddie hears that she’s comfortable enough to ramble around him without being self-conscious. He knows about how Dustin’s doing in school because Dustin is proud to tell him. A photocopy of his report card is on Steve’s fridge. So are Lucas’ and Max’s and Jane’s but Mike keeps forgetting to make copies of his for some reason. Claudia bakes for him because she sees Steve as a second son and she’s grateful for everything he does for Dustin. Steve says he wants to work on his resume and he’s thinking of asking Nancy for help. Eddie knows that she would say yes because in time, she has come to love him as the friend he was meant to be.
“How was your week?” Steve asks out of the blue and Eddie is reminded that he is here because Steve loves him.
Eddie is smiling, bright and clear and the air in the room feels light. It’s easy to breathe. He starts telling Steve about something Wayne said to him on Monday but he gets lost in a tangent and when he remembers what he was originally saying, he finds that Steve is smiling.
They finish eating but Steve’s hand is still in his and they’re still talking softly, leaning against each other. They get quieter as the night gets later, as the candles burn lower. The light flickers and dusts shadows across Steve’s cheeks. Eddie’s gaze on him is a silent sweet nothing. Eddie finds himself trailing after Steve as he’s led upstairs. He finds himself in Steve’s room and soon after, in Steve’s bed. And Eddie finds that he’s glad he said goodnight to Wayne already because he doesn’t go home that night. Or, well, he doesn’t have to. He’s already home.
—
It isn’t long before Eddie arranges a real Shabbat dinner. He tells Steve about it on Thursday because he’s been putting it off all week. He explains about the date and what it meant to him and what he’d like to do in return. And, well, Steve should be there, yeah? He isn’t Jewish but, you know, neither is Wayne and he’ll be there of course. It isn’t about where you come from, Eddie says, it’s about what you share. Steve cries. And that’s a good thing.
He's there on Friday night. He’s there the next week. And the one after that. Within a month, Dustin asks why they’re never free on Fridays. (He makes a joke about date night and has no idea how close he almost is to the original Shabbat sha-date. He calls it that and Steve says you’re a sha-dork and Eddie cackles.) Dustin’s there that week and at the following Hellfire meeting, he asks Eddie if he can bring his mom for the next one. Eddie says that Steve will already be there—haha, Munson, laugh it up. Claudia brings tater tots. Soon after, there’s a knock on the door and it's Max asking what the fuck these “secret meetings” are about. Max thinks the tater tots are divine.
It isn’t long before it’s a standing tradition, come as you see fit.
Wayne says that he’s proud of Eddie. And yeah, he already knew that. It feels good all the same.
—
It’s many, many years later. Eddie took that pride, that love, and that family and he ran with it. He took it all around the country, actually, seven times. And twice across the world. And now they’re older, wiser, they love each other more than ever. It’s then that Eddie takes Steve to New York and to a little place called the Ritz.
They sit as close as they possibly can. Their knees knock together, they hold hands on top of the table. It’s Eddie who leans close, tells him he has a secret to say, and surprises him with a kiss on the cheek. There’s a flush over Steve’s wrinkles and the freckles that have spread with time. Eddie tells him he’s never looked more beautiful than he does tonight, and he means every word of it. Steve rests his ankle against Eddie’s, covers his mouth so can smile while chewing. They split a dessert and as they stumble out to their rental car, Steve complains that he's too old to eat that much and Eddie pokes him in the stomach, says he loves him old. Steve holds the door and drives them back to the hotel. Eddie watches him because he doesn’t want to miss a second. He drifts off once they get to their room because he’s tired and old and he has a bedtime now, whether he likes it or not. He puts a hand on his left shoulder where he has his Wayne tattoo and imagines what he would tell him if he could. I’ve loved him forever. You were right.
“You okay?” Steve asks.
“Mmhm. Love you.”
“You too. I’m gonna call Robin real quick, okay?”
“Don’t go.”
“I won’t. Goodnight.”
“’Nite, baby.”
It’s three hours earlier for Robin in California but she and her wife are just getting to bed.
“How’s Chris?” Steve whispers, quiet but bright. “I just had the best night of my life.” He tells her all about it and Eddie listens to that warm melody, falling asleep to the sound of his voice.