Chapter Text
It’s cold out tonight.
Steve turns up the heating as far as it can go and peers out through the windscreen.
Hop said it’s a bad habit he’s gotten himself into, these night drives. Said it’s unnecessary, that there’s nothing out there, but Steve knows for a fact that Hopper sometimes does the same thing, driving around aimlessly at night, just in case. Patrolling the town when everyone’s asleep, nobody to ask the question of why Steve Harrington drives circles through Hawkins past midnight every night.
It’s cold and the scars on his sides ache and he’s tired, so tired, but he won’t be able to sleep until he’s done another two laps at least, so he keeps driving.
He’s just passed the outskirts of town, having widened his patrolling area a few weeks ago (just in case, just in case, just in case) when he spots a car a little ways up the road. It wasn’t there on his last lap, but that was twenty minutes ago and things can change quick. Steve is well aware of that.
He slows down, leaning forward and squinting out into the dark night, and if Robin were here, she’d smack his arm, tell him to wear your stupid glasses, Steven, that’s literally what they’re there for. She’s right, but there are some things on which Steve needs to take a stand, just on principle, and unfortunately for his eyes, wearing glasses twenty-four seven is one of them.
He’s not wearing them now, so he squints some more, easing up on the gas as he approaches. It’s a van, not a car, he registers as he pulls up behind it. He turns his headlights off and cuts the engine.
It’s nearing one a.m. and Steve sighs, because, shit. This is probably just either someone who’s pulled over to pass out in their van, or it’s someone—multiple someones—getting up to no good.
He can’t drive off now, though. He’s already stopped. Already committed. And, really, it’s for the best, because it’s not safe around here, not this late at night. Not for anyone, so Steve swings his keys around his finger and sighs again. Opens the car door.
As soon as he steps out into the cold night air he’s regretting every choice that’s led him here. It’s cold . As cold as it can get without being literally freezing, he’s pretty sure. A few degrees away from snow, probably, and he crosses his arms tight across his chest as he walks toward the van.
It’s his fault, really. He should’ve worn his warmer jacket. Should’ve driven straight home after his last lap. Should never have gotten into this habit in the first place.
He’s got a spare jacket in his car, actually, but he’s already too far away from his Bimmer to consider turning back now.
“Should’ve, should’ve, should’ve,” he mutters to himself as he comes to a stop a few paces away from the van. Raises his voice slightly when he says, “Hello?”
“Fucking—what, hello? What?” someone says from the other side of the van. “Who—jesus, if I’m about to get murdered, I swear to—”
The voice cuts off as a head pops into view from around the front of the van. The beam of a flashlight blinds Steve suddenly and he shields his eyes with his forearm.
“Whoa,” he says, holding his free hand out in front of him. “Cut the light, man.”
“Wait,” the voice says, and the flashlight doesn’t disappear, which makes Steve frown. “Fucking Harrington? Steve Harrington?”
Steve’s frown deepens. “Yeah, that’s me. Could you, like, spare my vision? Maybe?”
The light flicks off, and Steve can’t see shit for a few long moments. When his eyes re-adjust to the darkness, he focuses on the guy still staring at him.
Hair. Lots of it. Frizz, too, and Steve figures maybe this isn’t the time to start preaching about proper haircare, so he moves on from that aspect. It takes another couple seconds for Steve to be able to identify him, and—okay. No doubting it when the guy opens his mouth again.
“King Steve,” Eddie Munson drawls, slow and condescending. The kind of tone that gets Steve’s shoulders immediately hiking up to his ears. “To what do I owe this delightful late-night visitation? Wait, don’t tell me, don’t tell me. This is my penance for some cosmic grievance I committed in a past life,” he says, strolling around the van fully, coming to a stop a few feet from Steve. The moon’s the only source of light out here, and it’s illuminating Munson in a way that, on anyone else, Steve would find kind of pretty.
There’s nothing pretty about the look Eddie’s giving him, though. Eddie hates him, Steve can see it in the furrow of his brow. The way he’s wrinkling his nose up.
Steve sighs, holding up his hands. “Look, man, I’m not here to argue.”
“Why the fuck are you here at all, man?” Eddie bites, squaring his shoulders. “Did I miss the part where I flagged down your car? Are your damsel-in-distress sensors due for a tune-up?”
“I mean,” Steve says, “no, that’s—”
“Then what are you doing, Harrington? Here to mess with me? Bust one of my three remaining tires up?”
“Oh.” Steve glances down to the van’s tires. “You got a flat?”
“No, I just like pulling over in the freezing cold for no goddamn reason. Yeah, I’ve got a fucking flat.”
“Wow. Hostile. Look,” Steve says, hands on his hips. “Let me give you a lift home. It’s late.”
Eddie stares at him. Then, his eyebrows furrow, gaze narrowing. Then, he starts laughing. It’s not a nice laugh, and Steve rolls his eyes.
“It’s not safe—” he tries, but it’s drowned out by Eddie’s guffawing.
“God, you—” Eddie says, laughter overtaking him again. “You really—”
“Jeez, dude.” Steve sighs. “I’m being nice here.”
That sobers Eddie up. He cuts the laughter and stands up straight. “Sorry, did I hear that correctly? You’re being nice?”
“Here we go.”
“My sincerest apologies,” Eddie says, so sarcastic Steve can practically taste the bitterness. “I had no idea I was in the presence of a nice guy. You’ll have to forgive me, you look exactly like this giant fucking asshole I know.”
“Look—”
“I must’ve missed the memo, Harrington. Did you get cursed by a witch? Did you lose a bet with a deity, now doomed to wander Hawkins at night, bothering unassuming folks who don’t want your help? Oh, no,” Eddie says, clicking his fingers and pointing at Steve. “I see. You’re trying to get in the big guy’s good books, right? Repent for your giant asshole ways before the end of the world?”
“Bit late for that. World already tried to end,” Steve says, gesturing around them. It’s too dark to see anything, really, but they both know how cracked the roads are. How half of the town collapsed during what the country has dubbed The Great Hawkins Earthquake earlier this year. Steve wishes it was that ordinary.
“And here you are,” Eddie says, curling his lip. “Being nice.”
“C’mon, man,” Steve says, glancing out into the darkness.
Thing is, on all of his late night drives over the last few months, there hasn’t been anything. No sightings, no weird sounds, no nothing. As far as they’re all concerned, the Upside Down is—gone, or tightly sealed away, or just. Not connected to them anymore. The gates are closed, Vecna is dead, and it’s over.
But Steve lives his life in the What Ifs.
He always has, ever since he was a kid. He can remember driving his parents crazy by thinking up the worst case scenarios, needing comfort and reassurance that they got tired of giving. He dialed it back as he got older, knowing how his insistence that things will go wrong gets suffocating. And, fuck, of course he knows that, he feels it every day. This weight, smothering, sitting on his shoulders. The constant vigilance. The need to protect himself and everyone around him from unseen threats.
And it got harder to tone it down when the threats became terrifyingly seen.
Robin doesn’t mind it, which is one of many reasons he loves her. The kids put up with his nagging, his obsession with safety, chalking it up to him being the group mom or whatever.
All of them—Nance, Jonathan, even the adults—tolerate it, because they know. They know and they lived it too, so they don’t mind if Steve conducts daily check-ins through the two-way, or if he has to repeat headcounts a couple times when they’re all out, just to make sure everyone is accounted for.
So Steve stands in front of Eddie, thinking about his What Ifs.
What if a gate opens up? What if Eddie gets dragged into an alternate dimension? What if he gets stolen away? What if Steve wakes up tomorrow to the news that Eddie Munson has gone missing? Or—or his body’s been found, so torn up that he’s almost unrecognizable?
Steve presses the tip of his tongue against a canine. Calmly says, “Let me drive you home.”
“I’d rather set myself ablaze, Harrington,” Eddie says, just as placidly. “And that’s not hyperbole.”
“Right.” Steve nods, looking at the van. The tires on this side seem fine, so Steve walks around Munson, giving him a wide berth, and circles to the other side of the van. “Front or rear?”
“None of your business,” Eddie snaps, and Steve hears the crunch of his footsteps on the gravel as he follows behind him. “Hey, did you hear me, asshole? I said—”
“Yeah, yeah, none of my business. Oh, yep, I see.” He crouches by the rear tire, poking it with his index finger. It looks like it’s melting, kind of, the rusted metal of the rim almost touching the ground. “Uh-huh. Super flat. Can you shine the light?”
“Shine the—no, I can’t shine the light for you, Harrington, I fear that’d just encourage you. Prolong this whole interaction,” Eddie says.
“Well,” Steve says, looking up to where Eddie’s standing, arms crossed, watching him. “If I can’t see what I’m doing, how am I supposed to—”
“Help? By fucking off, Harrington, that’s how. I don’t need your goddamn help. I can change a tire, believe it or not.”
Steve tilts his head side to side. “No offense, but I remember you in gym class. Or, like, the lack of you. Tires are heavy.”
Eddie scoffs, spinning on his heel and walking away. Turns back again, stomping closer to Steve this time. “Your observational skills are truly unmatched. Christ, they really just let anyone graduate these days, huh?”
Which is funny, Steve thinks, because he knows for a fact that Munson just failed his third go-around at Senior year.
He wants to mention it now, just to get more of a rise out of Eddie, but that’d probably slow the whole getting Eddie out of here process down further, so he just hums, scratching his cheek.
“Where’s your spare? Is it in the back of the van?”
“Harrington,” Eddie starts, steepling his fingers under his chin. “I mean this so incredibly sincerely. I’m going to need you to leave. I do not want your assistance, nor am I in need of it. How much clearer can I get? Do you need to hear it via slam poem? A sonnet, perhaps?”
And—fine.
Steve plants his hands on his knees, pushing himself up to standing. He waves a hand at the tire, backing up a few paces. “Okay, well. Go ahead. Change the tire.”
Eddie stares at him. He points at Steve’s car, then makes a shooing gesture. Steve raises his eyebrows.
“Your chariot awaits,” he says.
Steve just shrugs a shoulder. “I’m not helping.”
“Christ. Jesus christ,” Eddie mutters, shaking his head. “You’re just going to, what, stand there?”
“Guess so, yeah.”
“Weird fucking peep show.” Eddie presses his palms into his eyes, then throws his arms out wide. “Fine! Fine, sure, just stand around, then. Free goddamn country, I suppose.”
Steve watches as Eddie makes his way to the back of the van and opens the doors. His vision is blocked, so he just listens as Eddie shuffles around.
Then the shuffling stops, and Eddie lets out a quiet, stretched out, “ Fuuuck.”
Steve walks over and hovers behind Eddie until he steps aside silently. Eddie’s shining the flashlight, and it’s perfectly illuminating the giant nail sticking out of the tire lying on the floor of the van.
He sucks air through his teeth. “Hmm. Well, that’s not, like. Super helpful, is it?”
“No,” Eddie replies, and Steve’s pretty sure he can hear the guy’s teeth grinding together. “No, I guess you could say that.”
Steve steps back, gesturing towards the flat tire. “So, that’s the spare? Did you just…forget that you’d already used your only spare?”
“Seems to be the case,” Eddie says slowly. He holds his head low, hair covering his face, and Steve’s about to open his mouth when Eddie throws his head back, yelling, “Fuck!”
Steve startles, looking around into the darkness.
“Fuck! Fucking—” Eddie slams the van doors closed. He starts pacing back and forth. “God fucking damnit, fucking shit.”
Steve blinks, glancing along the treeline. Looks over it a couple times, wondering if Eddie would let him borrow his flashlight. Just to check. Just in case.
“That, uh,” Steve says, focusing back on Eddie. “Does that offer to drive you home look more enticing now?”
It’s the wrong thing to say, apparently, because Eddie turns on his heel, marching straight towards Steve. He shoves a finger into Steve’s face. His face is screwed up, hair flying everywhere, and Steve thinks about offering him a hair tie. He keeps a stash in his car, just in case Robin needs one.
“ You,” he says, and Steve interrupts him, throwing his hands in the air.
“I didn’t—hey, it’s not like I did this! How could this be my fault!”
“I swear to all that is unholy, Harrington,” Eddie bites, and for a moment, Steve’s actually kind of concerned that he’s about to get his shit rung, but then Eddie deflates, stepping back and exhaling slow.
“Just—” he starts, turning his back to Steve. “Just leave, man.”
But Steve can’t. He can’t because monsters exist and he knows that and Eddie doesn’t, and if he just went home, he’d be leaving Munson out here to die.
He runs a hand through his hair, watching Eddie pace. Worries at the inside of his cheek with his molars. “You live in Forest Hills, right?”
“You keeping track of the trailer trash in town? Why the fuck are you asking?”
“Well,” Steve says, shrugging. “It’s only, like, fifteen minutes away from my house. And it’s basically on my way, anyway, so.”
“Stop pushing, Harrington. I’m not getting in your car,” Eddie says, and he just sounds resigned. Tired. He turns to face Steve, arms up, fingers laced behind his head. “How do you know where I live?”
“Someone know lives there too. I’ve seen your creepy-ass van over the way.” He purposely doesn't mention that he sometimes sees Munson smoking on the steps of his trailer while he’s dropping Max home. That he spends those drives back to his house wondering about the guy.
Eddie hums noncommittally, the muscles in his arms shifting as he runs both hands through his hair, and it’s only then that he notices Eddie’s lack of literally any weather appropriate clothing. He’s in a shirt, ripped along the collar, along the sleeves. Cut shorter than it was when Eddie bought it, probably. No jacket, no coat. Jeans tight and riddled with holes, intentional in a way Steve would never be able to pull off.
“Alright." Eddie lowers his arms from his head, waving one dismissively in Steve’s direction. “Disappear into the ether, then.”
Steve frowns. “No.”
“Well! You’re shit outta luck, Harrington! I don’t have a second spare tire, and I’m categorically refusing to step one foot into your car, so there is literally no way for you to white knight me. This is not an argument that you’re going to win.”
Steve isn’t going to let this go, but maybe he’s going about it wrong.
He nods, making a show of wrapping his arms around himself. “Shit. It’s cold, huh?”
“Astute observation,” Eddie mutters, turning back to his van, thumping the side of his fist against the metal for good measure. “Cold, in Hawkins, in the middle of winter. Who would’ve thought?”
“What’s your plan? Gonna sleep in your van?” Steve asks, following Eddie. He’s making his way to the driver’s side, and Steve watches as he fumbles with the handle. He shakes his hand out, like he’s trying to force blood back into his fingers, and then tries again.
“Bingo,” Eddie says, throwing the door open and then flinging himself into the seat.
“I don’t know, man.” Steve steps in close, leaning against the open door. “Pretty sure you’ll freeze.”
“I’ll be fine.” Eddie tugs on the interior door handle, but Steve plants his feet. “Move.”
“I’m just a concerned citizen here, Munson. Doesn’t look good for the town’s image if a guy freezes to death on the street, y’know?”
“Oh, yeah, you’re all about Hawkins’ public perception, huh? Getting a glowing review from the HO-goddamn-A?” Eddie scowls. “Move. If your goal is for me to not die, the way you’re going about it is moronic, even for you.”
“You’re gonna freeze, Munson,” Steve repeats, not moving an inch. Leaning back further on the door, making sure it stays open. Any residual heat in the car will have vanished by now.
Steve feels a twinge of guilt. Making this harder than it needs to be. Who is he to decide what Eddie Munson does with his night? Who is he to make the guy’s car even colder? Jesus. No wonder Munson hates him. But—
His gaze finds the treeline again.
Being irritated at Steve is better than getting eaten by a fucking monster, so.
“Let me drive you home.”
Eddie crosses his arms, glaring out through the windscreen.
“No.”
“I’ll stand here all night,” Steve warns.
Eddie groans, sinking down into his seat. “You’re not going to give in, are you?”
Steve clicks his tongue. “Unlikely.”
“Fine. Fine.” Eddie jolts up, twisting his body to throw himself out of the car. He pushes past Steve, and Steve has a second to think, That’s some nice cologne, before he realizes that he did it. He’s defused the situation, and he’ll get to drop Eddie off, then go home and finally sleep after another long night of patrolling.
Smiling, Steve stands up straight, slamming Eddie’s door shut before he starts strolling back to his car.
“I’ll let you choose the music,” he says. Generous, because he only recently started letting Robin pick their driving soundtracks. But, whatever, it’s not like Eddie Munson will ever be in his car again, so Steve may as well treat him right. “I’ve got a bunch of tapes in the glovebox.”
He’s halfway to the Bimmer when he notices the lack of footsteps behind him. He swivels around, throwing his arms out wide.
“What—hey, hey!” he yells at Eddie’s back. The guy’s walking in the opposite direction, and the only way Steve knows he’s even heard him is Eddie aggressively flipping him off over his shoulder. Doesn’t even glance backwards.
“Hey, no, no,” Steve says, jogging to catch up. The air’s fucking icy, and Steve can see his own breath as he slows down, matching Eddie’s walking speed when he’s close enough. “No, I’m giving you a lift home.”
“Told you, Harrington,” Eddie says, teeth chattering. He crosses his arms, rubbing his hands against his biceps. “Like fuck am I getting in your fancy-ass car.”
“It’s not that fancy.” Steve looks back at the Bimmer longingly. Then he remembers—”Oh, wait here.”
“No,” Eddie replies, steps not faltering, and Steve groans, turning to sprint to the car. He rummages around in the backseat, and— yes, okay, this is good. This is great.
He runs back, and the cold doesn’t seem to be slowing Eddie down any; he’s walking quick, maybe even quicker than before. Like he’s trying to get as much distance between himself and Steve as possible.
Luckily, Steve’s used to frosty early morning runs, so.
“Think fast,” he says, throwing his old letterman jacket over to Eddie, who flinches, fumbling with the heavy material.
“Jesus fuck ,” Eddie complains, then holds out the jacket in front of him. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me. Another repayment of some cosmic debt, huh?” He looks skyward. “Real funny, assholes!”
“Are you blaming the stars?” Steve asks, glancing up.
“There’s exactly no one to blame but you.”
Steve shrugs. “Could blame your tires. Or yourself, for not fixing up your spare. I don’t know, just a thought.”
“An entirely unhelpful thought,” Eddie corrects. He starts walking again, and Steve does too, kind of glad for it because at least they’re moving.
“You gonna put the jacket on?”
Eddie glares over at him, but he does put it on. Angrily, sure, but at least he’s wearing it.
And—yeah. Okay.
Steve’s always had a thing about people wearing his clothes. It doesn’t happen often, even less so now that he doesn’t really date anymore, but he always loved when Nancy would throw on his sweaters. Loved how his shirts fit on her, all oversized. He loves it when Robin wears his clothes, too, but that love sits a little different in his chest. A fondness that curls warm around his heart and feels like family.
This, though.
This sits different again, and Steve looks away because it’s absolutely not the time to examine any of that.
Thing is, Steve knows he likes dudes. It’s not new information. One eye-opening conversation with Robin, five trips to a very specific club in Indy, and eight fumbling, sweaty hookups later, and Steve’s comfortable with the fact that he’s into guys.
This specific guy, though. He can’t examine it. Can’t examine the way his heart stutters as Eddie wraps the letterman jacket around himself, hunching his shoulders up to cover his neck. Nuzzling into it, maybe, if Steve chooses to be delusional about it. He wonders absently if his jacket still smells like him. If Eddie's breathing in his old cologne.
Steve shakes his head, looking forward. More important things to worry about. Namely—
“What’s the plan, Munson? Finding somewhere nicer for us to freeze to death?”
Boots scuffing against the rocky edge of the road with every step, Eddie scoffs. “There’s no for us. I’m walking my ass home. I don’t have the faintest fucking clue what you’re doing.”
Steve squints. “Forest Hills…that’s, like, five miles. At least, right? That’s, what, an hour and a half? Two?”
Eddie stays silent.
“Munson, come on. This is stupid.”
Nothing.
Steve sighs, resigning himself to a five mile walk. In the dark. In the cold. He sighs again.
“I don’t need a chaperone,” Eddie comments. “What do you think you’re doing, protecting my virtue?”
“I mean,” Steve says, “more like, just making sure you get home safe, but. If you want to think about it like that. Sure.”
“You could be home by now. Safe and sound and warm in your mansion.”
Steve has never thought of his home as warm. “Yeah, well. I’m not.”
It’s quiet out here. If Steve hadn’t been driving around at this time of night for the past couple months, he might find it eerie, but now he kind of likes it. It’s lonely, but it’s not the bad kind. There’s some comfort in the silence.
Silence means no trees shifting. No unnatural footsteps. No otherworldly shrieks coming from five-petaled mouths. Silence is good. It’s safe.
On his next step, he slides a little, the gravel looser than he was expecting, and he hisses, the scars on his side pulling tight.
Eddie glances over. He still looks angry, but more tired than anything, Steve thinks.
“So. What was Steve Harrington doing out this late?” Eddie asks, and Steve winces. No way to answer that question and not sound crazy.
“What were you doing out this late?” he counters instead, raising his eyebrows when Eddie’s expression goes stony. He breaks eye contact with Steve, looking down at the ground instead. “You were headed home, right?”
Eddie hums. “Sure was.”
“Dressed like that,” Steve says, and Eddie’s head snaps up, his anger apparently back in full force as he glares at Steve.
“And what the fuck is that supposed to—”
“No jacket,” Steve continues, “so you were somewhere warm. Driving back into Hawkins along Chestnut. Must’ve been on the highway, then, right? Coming from Indianapolis?”
Eddie’s frowning. He opens his mouth, but Steve’s not finished.
“So you’re in Indy, late on a Friday night. In no way dressed for the weather. Were you…” Steve clicks his fingers. “You were clubbing! You were totally clubbing, right?”
Eddie whistles. “Je-sus. When did you turn into a regular Nancy Drew, huh?”
Steve shrugs, grinning. Quietly pleased with himself.
“Well, you’re wrong,” Eddie says, and Steve’s mouth straightens into a line. “I wasn’t clubbing. I was at a bar.”
“Okay,” Steve scoffs, “come on. That’s basically a club, man. You’ve gotta give me that.”
Eddie laughs. It’s just a couple inches away from being nice, maybe. Definitely not mean, not like before.
“I don’t think I have to do anything. You said I was clubbing. I wasn’t.”
“Fine. Fine,” Steve says. He waves a hand. “Not clubbing, then. At a bar. I still got, like, ninety percent right.”
“Mmhmm,” Eddie says, and Steve watches as he bites down on a smile. He doesn’t hide it quick enough. Steve rubs his answering smile away with the back of his hand. “A passing grade. How novel.”
“First time for everything. Also— passing grade? That’s gotta be an A, at least,” Steve says. They pass a Welcome to Hawkins sign on the side of the road. Eddie kicks a rock at the metal pole.
“Stupid,” Eddie mutters under his breath, and Steve silently agrees. Shit, they’ve got a long way to go.
“So. At a bar in Indy.”
“Yep.”
“Were you with friends?”
“Nope.”
“Oh, I see,” Steve says, looking Eddie over. Thinks about the cologne. “You were on a date, weren’t you?”
Eddie’s strides pause, and Steve slows to a stop too. “No. What is this, Harrington? Twenty fucking questions?
“Could be. We’ve got, what, four and a half miles until we hit Forest Hills? That’s a lot of time to kill.”
“No one asked you to—”
“Hey, I could’ve gotten you home in fifteen minutes, man. You’re the stubborn asshole who decided to go on a midnight stroll,” Steve points out, and Eddie stares at him for a beat.
“Yeah,” he says, “and you decided to follow me. Without my say-so, might I add. What does that make you?”
Steve laughs. “A stubborn asshole, too, I guess.”
“An idiot,” Eddie amends, and Steve smiles. Starts walking again.
“Maybe. C’mon, we gotta get you home before the sun’s up, Munson.”
Eddie stops ten minutes later.
They haven’t been talking. Or, Steve’s been talking, but Eddie’s gotten progressively quieter.
It’s weirding Steve out. It’s not like he’s expecting full-on conversations—the guy hates him, so he’s probably not, like, super jazzed about being stuck walking with him—but it’s the complete opposite of what he remembers about Eddie from high school.
The guy talked constantly. Antagonistically, when he aimed his speeches at Steve’s table in the cafeteria, but still talking. Even when he was quiet, he wasn’t. Always taking up space, drawing peoples’ eyes.
Now, though. Since the moment he stepped around the van, shining that torch right at Steve, he’s been—small? Not the guy from high school, and Steve’s not sure if it’s just tonight, or whether this is the type of guy that he is, now.
Shitty night, maybe, and he’s thinking about asking about it. Didn’t go so well before, but Steve’s never been one to let past failures stop him. He could say something offhanded, see how Eddie reacts. Crack a joke. They’d almost been getting along, he’s pretty sure, until he’d brought up Eddie being on a date, so if he just avoids that, then maybe they could get back to—
Eddie stops, and Steve stops too.
They’re only just within the town limits, and Steve surveys their surroundings. The trees, the darkness behind them. The road ahead. Then, he turns to Eddie.
Eddie is patting at his back pockets, then his front ones. Then the back ones again. He groans, throwing his head back and dropping into a squat.
Steve eyes him.
“You good?”
Eddie looks up, dragging his hand through his hair, and Steve grimaces. Can’t imagine that Eddie’s curls aren’t knotted to hell right now.
“Left my cigarettes in the van,” he says, monotone.
“Shit,” Steve says.
“Yeah. Shit.”
Steve pats his own back pocket, pulling out his pack of Marlboros.
“Catch,” he says, throwing them to Eddie.
“Fuck,” Eddie says, lips tugging up at the corners. “Harrington, you beautiful son of a bitch. You angel sent from above.”
Steve smiles, a rush of pleased warmth sliding down his spine. He spreads his hands wide in front of himself. “What can I say—”
“Oh, you motherfucker,” Eddie interrupts, holding the front of the box up to Steve. “Menthols? Menthols?”
Steve shrugs. “They’re refreshing?”
Eddie groans again. He slaps his palms onto his knees, pushing himself up to standing. Probably crushing Steve’s pack to shit in the process, but he finds he doesn’t really care.
“This is all kinds of messed up, Harrington,” Eddie says, but he taps a cigarette out anyway, so Steve still counts it as a win. “Menthols. Jesus.”
Steve hands over his lighter when Eddie motions for it. Eddie lights up, and Steve watches him take a long drag, exhaling out of the side of his mouth. Not even taking the cigarette out.
He swallows, looking away.
“You like this, Harrington?” Eddie asks, and Steve feels terrifyingly caught out, until he continues with, “Feels like I’m chewing on mint leaves.”
“Oh,” Steve says. Eyes glued to the darkness ahead of them. “Yeah. I mean, my friend, Robin, she hates it when I smoke. Says these don’t, uh. Assault her olfactory senses as much as regular ones, so.”
Eddie huffs out a laugh. He hands the lighter and the pack back, and Steve pockets them. “Buckley, right?”
Startled, Steve says, “You guys know each other?” Because Robin’s never mentioned Eddie Munson.
Taking another drag, Eddie lifts a shoulder. “Gotta say, you two don’t exactly…” he lowers the cigarette from his mouth, gesturing with it. “Make sense, you know? Band geek, king of jocks.”
“We’re not together,” Steve says. Fast, too fast.
Eddie stares at him. “Okay.”
“I mean, she’s great. Like, my favourite person. Just—not like that.”
“Sure,” Eddie says slowly.
Don’t add anything else, don’t— “Best friend. Platonic best friend.”
Right. Steve starts walking again. Imagines leaving the exchange that just happened behind. Deep, deep in the dirt, maybe.
Eddie catches up quickly, blowing a plume of smoke out. He matches Steve’s strides. “Uh huh. Platonic best friend, as opposed to…”
Steve opens his mouth. Closes it, then opens it again. “Un-platonic. Un-platonic best friends. Friends who—uh. Which isn’t us, so.”
Eddie raises his eyebrows, nodding slowly. “ Friends who, uh. I see. Eloquently put, King Steve . I didn’t take you for such an esteemed wordsmith.”
“Okay, I—”
“No, really,” Eddie says, laughing. Almost no meanness. “Such creative, elaborate word-pictures you’re painting. Put your monosyllabic paintbrush away, Harrington, leave some expressiveness for the rest of us.”
“Let’s keep moving,” he says, setting a faster pace.
Jesus. It’s too late at night, he’s too tired, and it’s too cold to think properly. The faster he gets Eddie home, the faster he can—shit. Keep walking back to his house, he guesses. Didn’t really think that one through.
It’s fine, it’ll only be another couple miles to Loch Nora. A couple miles, maybe another forty five minutes. An hour. He sighs, rubbing his palm against his forehead. It’s a good thing he’s not on the opening shift tomorrow, he supposes.
“Small mercies,” he mutters, scuffing the toe of his boot against the gravel on his next step forward.
“What was that?” Eddie asks, and Steve casts a glance over at him. He looks warmer, huddled in Steve’s jacket. It makes something spark behind his sternum.
Steve shrugs, moving his hand to rub at his chest. “Nothing. Just—cold. Cold and tired.”
“And whose fault is that, I wonder?”
“The weather, I guess?”
“Or,” Eddie says, kicking another rock to the side, “maybe someone is feeling cold because someone got out of their nice, warm car to hassle someone else into walking a thousand fucking miles in the middle of the night.”
“A thousand miles,” Steve repeats, looking up at the sky. “That’d be, like…North Dakota, maybe? Texas, if you’re going south? I mean, it’d be a long walk, but—”
“Yeah, alright, dumbass,” Eddie says, but he’s smiling again when Steve’s looking over, so Steve doesn’t feel too insulted.
“I’m just saying, maybe someone should’ve made sure they had an unpunctured spare tire so someone else didn’t have to stop what they were doing and escort someone home,” Steve says.
Clouds are rolling in, covering the stars splashed against the blackness, and Steve eyes them. They’ll have to pick up the pace, because he’s pretty sure that, however much this sucks right now, it’ll suck a hell of a lot more if it starts raining.
“And,” Steve adds, because he can’t help himself, “if my car was so nice and warm, maybe we could’ve just, I don’t know, gone home in it?”
Eddie mumbles something under his breath, and Steve bites down on a smile. He’s having fun out here, in the freezing cold, with Eddie Munson. He’s having fun.
It’s been a while since that’s happened, he realizes.
Steve shakes his head. “Anyway. We’re here now, so I guess it doesn’t matter.”
Eddie shoots him a look that Steve catches in his periphery.
“Yeah,” he says after a beat. “Guess not.”
They’re around halfway to the trailer park when the clouds open up.
Steve darts off the side of the road to the nearest tree, watching as Eddie scrambles to follow.
“Shit, shit, shit!” Eddie yells, significantly slower at escaping the rain. “No, no, fuck, come on!”
“Gotta work on your reflexes,” Steve comments as Eddie finally reaches the tree.
“Yeah, thanks. Thank you, yes, every single gym teacher I’ve ever been in close proximity to throughout my life would agree with you on that one, Harrington.” Eddie sighs, and the whoosh of air pushed through his lips is so loud Steve hears it over the rain. He glares out into the rain. Steve follows his gaze.
“So…” he starts, rocking on the balls of his feet. “Pretty bad night, huh?”
Eddie makes a noise somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, and when Steve looks back over to him, he’s shaking his head, smiling a disbelieving little smile.
“The only way this night could get any worse is if Cthulhu himself awoke from his slumber, rose from the deep sea, flew into Hawkins, and swallowed me whole,” Eddie says flatly.
“Well,” Steve says, “I mean, you’d be warm at least? Inside his stomach. Dry, too.”
It makes Eddie laugh, and Steve grins. The something that’s been sparking behind his sternum grows. Burns a little hotter, a little brighter.
“Dry, aside from the organ juices,” Eddie says, snickering when Steve’s face screws up.
“Gross. Yeah, aside from the organ juices, I guess,” Steve concedes. He looks out into the darkness. “Think this’ll let up soon?”
Eddie groans, dropping into a squat. “Should’ve stayed home. Really should’ve stayed home. This is what I get for making the conscious choice to not stay home.”
“Yeah,” Steve says. “Maybe. Could be worse.”
“How?” Eddie asks, glancing up at him. “Because, the way I see it, I’m stuck under a tree with Steve Harrington at two a.m., hiding from the rain.”
Steve thinks about monsters, about chittering in the darkness. About open, dripping, razor teeth-lined mouths. About blood and death and the fact that sure, it might be over, but is it? Will it ever actually be done? Will he spend his life staring out into the woods, just—waiting? Patrolling, stomach twisting in knots, because what if, what if, what if—
“I don’t know,” he says, shaking his head slightly. Repeats, “Could be worse.”
Eddie doesn’t reply. He’s watching the rain, and Steve lets himself watch Eddie. Just for a moment. He looks peaceful. Quiet, but not so small, not like he seemed earlier in the night, and it calms something in Steve.
He sits down, trying not to think about the dirt that’ll be covering his ass, and leans back against the base of the tree.
The rain is loud, and Steve closes his eyes, focusing on the noise. Could sleep like this, maybe, if he didn’t know what might be lurking in the darkness. No crunching leaves, though. No chittering. Nowhere for him to be and nothing for him to do except sit.
After a while, Eddie clears his throat, and Steve startles because, shit, he didn’t expect Eddie to be so close . He’s standing right there, looming over him, and Steve cranes his neck.
“Got another cig to spare?” Eddie asks, shifting on his feet. He’s got his hands shoved deep into the letterman jacket. Steve wonders if his fingers would be cold, if Steve pried them out of the pockets.
He flicks his gaze up. “Thought they were disgusting.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, Harrington, they absolutely are. But I don’t think I’ve breathed in this much fresh air for years, man. I’m worried about the state of my lungs.”
“So, what, you want to swap out the fresh air for nicotine?”
“Exactly,” Eddie replies, nodding. “Can’t have my body getting used to it, you know?”
“I’m not sure that adds up,” Steve says, but he plants his feet on the ground and lifts his hips up anyway, fishing the lighter and pack out of his back pocket.
He puts a cigarette between his lips because he needs both hands to light it—one to flick the spark wheel, and the other to shield the flame from the wind—and it’s only when he’s got it lit that he realizes that he didn’t need to do it for Eddie at all.
He looks up, and. Shit. It’s weird that he did it. He can tell from Eddie’s face.
He’s staring down at Steve. At Steve’s mouth, actually, where the cigarette is dangling from his lips. Eddie’s eyes are wide, brows so high up they’ve disappeared under the frizz of his bangs.
And Steve should apologise. Hand it over. Or, better yet, he should just claim this one as his own and give the pack to Eddie so he can get himself one, like a regular human being.
He should do that. He doesn’t.
Instead, he purses his lips more firmly around the filter, pulling a deep inhale. Holds it until his lungs start objecting. Then he pinches the cigarette between his thumb and index finger, lowering it as he breathes out. Closes his mouth and pushes the last of the smoke through his nose, just to feel the burn in his sinuses.
Eddie’s still staring at him, and Steve raises his hand, offering him the cigarette. Wiggles it a little when Eddie doesn’t immediately take it.
He still doesn’t take it, gaze flickering between Steve’s mouth and the glow of the cherry.
“It’s minty fresh,” Steve says, encouraging, and as soon as he talks, it’s like the spell’s been broken. Eddie jolts into action, taking the cigarette gingerly and then stepping back. A respectable distance, and Steve feels every inch of it.
He hesitates for a beat, filter hovering near his lips, and Steve grimaces because, shit, of course Eddie wouldn’t want something that’s damp with Steve’s spit anywhere near his mouth. Fucking idiot.
He’s about to laugh, maybe. Act like it was a joke. Something, something to dig himself out of this situation, but before he can, Eddie groans, turning on his heel.
“Fuck. Fine, yeah. Yeah, okay,” he mutters, and Steve only just hears it over the rain. “Why not. Why the fuck not, huh?”
When he turns back, he’s puffing on the cigarette, not bothering to take it out between inhales. Sucking the smoke down like he’s angry at it.
Steve looks away, tapping one out for himself.
It stops raining eventually. Eddie had sat down after a while, leaning against the base of the tree, and when the downpour slowly peters out, he sits up straight.
“Finally, ” he says, hopping up to his feet and walking out from under the tree. “My ass was going numb.”
He stretches, arching to the left, then to the right, and, half out of his mind with tiredness, Steve lets his eyes wander.
Eddie is tall. Maybe an inch taller than Steve, and more lean. Lithe, all long, sharp lines hidden under his clothes. Nice hands, Steve notes, as Eddie threads his fingers behind his head, over the mess of his curls. He’s pretty. Big eyes, long lashes. A slight pout to his mouth, when it’s not curled up in a sneer and directed straight at Steve. He’s pretty sure the guy has dimples, which has always been a weakness for Steve, but he’d have to get him in better lighting to double-check.
Steve’s gaze wanders lower. His ass is almost non-existent, Steve’s jacket sitting just at the small of his back.
Steve smiles. Too exhausted to control his wandering brain, let alone his mouth, he huffs out a laugh, saying to exactly no one but himself, “Not much cushioning.”
Eddie turns to face him, arms lowering. “What?”
“Oh,” Steve says. “Nothing.”
Eddie raises his eyebrows. “Nothing. Yeah, except it sounded like you said, and I quote, ‘ Not much cushioning ’ in response to me mentioning the numbness of my ass.”
“Uh, no?” Casual. Super chill. Hands on his knees, he pushes up off the ground. “No, I don’t think so.”
“But you definitely did. Like, categorically, those words came out of your mouth.”
Steve squints, walking out into the night. “No time to waste, Munson,” he says over his shoulder, stepping over shallow puddles on his way back to the side of the road. “Let’s go.”
He hears Eddie jog to catch up with him. When he glances over, Eddie’s already looking back at him, a little tilt to the corner of his mouth.
“Aye aye, Harrington.”
They pass a diner along the main strip. It’s dark, obviously—everything is. Every house they’ve walked past has been dark. Nothing except for the occasional street light along the busier roads. More now that they’re actually in town, not the outskirts.
Eddie eyes it as they pass. “What are the odds there’s some poor worker staying late who could drive us the rest of the way?”
“Given the lights are all off? And it’s, like, three a.m.?” Steve wrinkles his nose up. “I mean, pretty low.”
“Yeah,” Eddie sighs. He glances at Steve. “Could really go for a coffee right about now.”
“Jesus,” Steve says. “It’s three in the morning.”
“What, you’ve never indulged in a caffeinated beverage at the witching hour?”
“Yeah, when I was younger, probably,” Steve allows, thinking back on nights spent getting high with Tommy. Partying with people he shouldn’t have been friends with in the first place.
“But not at your advanced age of, what, twenty-one?”
“Twenty. And no, man, I’m usually asleep right about now,” Steve says. Trying to sleep, anyway, after getting back from his patrol. Tossing and turning in bed until he gives up and heads downstairs, lying on the couch with the lights on until he passes out.
Eddie hums. “So, what were you doing tonight?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like—” Eddie gestures vaguely. “You weren’t sleeping, Harrington, you were out. Special occasion?”
Steve thinks about how many months it’s been, driving late at night. How many days this week he hasn’t been able to suppress the urge to grab his keys, shove the first pair of shoes he can find on his feet, and back out of the garage into the darkness.
“Not really.” Steve’s feet are hurting. It’s cold and they’ve been walking for miles and he’s so fucking tired. “We’re not too far off, now. You can make yourself a coffee in, like, twenty minutes. In the comfort of your own home, no less.”
Eddie looks around. “Shit, you’re right. Thank fuck. ”
Eddie speeds his steps up a little, like he’s got some renewed sense of urgency, and Steve doesn’t know why his stomach sours a little. They’re close to the trailer park now, and, sure, maybe Forest Hills isn’t exactly on his way home, but it’s only maybe a ten minute detour by car, so it’s not like he’s hours away from his house. It’s annoying that he’s gotta keep walking after he drops Eddie off, but it’s not the end of the world.
That’s not the cause of the sourness, but maybe he doesn’t have to figure out what is the cause right now, because he knows he’s not going to like it. That can wait until tomorrow. Or, later today, he guesses.
Instead of thinking about it, he surveys the houses as they pass. They turn onto Oak and Steve points at the house on the corner.
“Tommy H. lived there.”
Eddie glances at it. “I know. Also, lived? Where’s Hagan at nowadays?”
Steve surveys the house he’s been in countless times. Basically lived there as a kid. Before high school, before Tommy deemed Steve’s house the go-to house for parties. To impress their peers, to cement their spot in the social hierarchy. Before their friendship became transactional. Fake, without Steve recognizing it was happening.
“Went to college,” he replies, looking away. Followed Carol out of state. Tommy’s mom had told his mom, who’d told him over the phone from somewhere in Europe.
“Huh,” Eddie says. “Y’know, I kind of figured all of your cronies would stay put, rule over Hawkins until they sired the next generation of assholes, and then fade into obscurity. A ceaseless wave of mediocrity, crashing upon the shores of humanity.”
Steve smiles. “Am I included in that?”
It’s probably the life he’d envisioned for himself, a few years ago. Meet a girl who’s nice enough. Take over the Indiana branch of his father’s business, inherit the Harrington house, have two kids, at least. That was the plan, more or less.
Then he met Nancy and the world cracked open, along with his heart, and it all crumbled in front of him. All his plans, everything he thought he knew about himself. Everything his father had primed him for, and he’s so fucking glad.
“If you asked me, oh, four hours ago?” Eddie tilts his head to the side, a considering little movement. “My answer would be very different.”
It makes Steve flush for some reason, so he focuses back on his own footsteps. The sound of the gravel crunching under his boots.
He clears his throat. “How did you know that was Tommy’s house?”
Eddie shrugs. “Business.” When Steve raises his eyebrows, he adds, “I offer house calls sometimes. Rarely now, but I’ve darkened Hagan’s doorstep once or twice, sure.”
Steve frowns. “You’ve never been to my house.”
Eddie gives him a look. “I beg to differ, Harrington. Who do you think kept your loyal following high and happy at your esteemed gatherings?”
“No, no,” Steve says, waving him off. “I mean, like. Not for parties. For—personal use?”
“Steve,” Eddie starts, and Steve’s almost certain that it’s the first time Eddie’s used his name. The way he says it is exasperated, sure, but it still pings in Steve’s brain. “You never bought from me. How was I to offer my delivered-straight-to-door, repeat-customer-special services to you if you weren’t an actual, y’know, customer ?”
“That can’t be true,” Steve says, frown deepening. Because, no, he definitely bought weed from Eddie in high school. Didn’t he? He used to smoke up with Tommy all the time, so he—
But. Did Tommy always buy the weed? Did Steve just show up? Had Tommy been talking to Eddie that long before Steve ever did?
Has Steve ever talked to Eddie before?
The thought makes his stomach churn.
“Oh,” he says, swallowing. “Right.”
“I’ve never taken offence to it. Why would King Steve deign to mingle with the proletariat, huh? And to buy drugs, to boot. Practically scandalous.” Eddie’s tone is light, but Steve feels it like a knife.
He knows he was an asshole. He knows.
He looks at his feet as he walks. “I, uh…we’ve really never talked, huh?”
“It’s not a big deal,” Eddie says. There’s no bitter undercurrent, to Steve’s surprise. “We ran in different circles. Vastly, vastly different.”
“I wasn’t great. Back then, I mean.”
Eddie’s watching him. “I’m aware.”
“I, uh.” Steve tongues at a molar. “I’m sorry.”
“For what? You never fucked with me, man,” Eddie says. “Never fucked with my friends. Granted, you stood back and let your friends be jackasses, but…” he trails off, and Steve watches as he scuffs his boot in the gravel on his next step forward.
“Kind of worse, though. To just let it happen,” Steve says.
He knows it’s true. Knows it’s why Eddie hates him. Still, even though Steve’s been out of high school for a while. Why he was so angry earlier, when Steve wouldn’t leave him alone.
Jesus.
When he looks over, Eddie’s already looking at him. They’re between streetlights, and his face is too shadowed for Steve to read his expression.
He wants to drag Eddie into the light.
“You’ve changed,” Eddie says eventually. Slowly, like it’s as revelatory for him to say as it is for Steve to hear.
The back of Steve’s neck prickles, face flushing. He feels every inch of it as the colour creeps across his cheeks.
“Yeah,” he replies, “I hope so. Trying to.”
“You have.” Eddie’s tone is sure. No room for argument, and Steve’s palms itch, skin too tight. Heart too loud in his chest.
Eddie looks away first.