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It had been a long month. A long month of interdimensional travelling to a realm where physics doesn’t make sense to fuck up an interdimensional serial killer monster, a long month of proving Eddie’s innocence in court without actually bringing up the supernatural aspects of it all, and a hell of a long month waking up in a cold sweat every single night.
The only rational thought coursing through his head is, “what the fuck .”
Steve never thought he’d see the day where he missed walking into work every day, tired and not at all ready to flirt with the girls who come into the store. He never thought he’d miss Robin poking fun at him for said flirting on a daily basis. And he never thought he would ever become friends with a dude that runs a Dungeons and Dragons club at his highschool, who had also been in his senior year for like, three years. But alas, this is the same timeline where he can look at a dead body with their eyes sucked back into their skull and their limbs disoriented, and be able just say, “yeah, that tracks.”
He never thought he’d see the day where he gets a call from Eddie “The Freak” Munson, asking him to help paint his trailer a month after Chrissy’s death. Of course, he accepted the offer, since none of the others were even here to help. Nancy had gone to see Jonathan up in California at some point, and Robin had given a very vague, “no, I’m actually kinda busy getting more bitches than you,” when Steve had asked if she was willing to come help. He was happy for Robin, of course, and maybe still a bit salty about how much he failed at being a ladykiller, but he had another dilemma to deal with:
Steve was a little bit too nervous about how he presented himself in front of Eddie. He worried about his hair, which isn’t that weird on a daily, he worried about whether his cologne was too strong, he worried about how he carried himself, et cetera. Eddie Munson was turning him into a paranoid, insecure teenager and he was not happy about it.
Maybe it was because of how Eddie carried himself in comparison to Steve, with an aura of confidence and a nature of not giving a shit. Maybe it was because Eddie never styled his hair with utmost caution and allowed it to grow however it wanted. Maybe it was because Eddie’s scent, a mix of weed and cologne, embedded itself into Steve’s “list of favourite smells” after he started spending a bit more time with him.
Time passed, and Steve started questioning why he had basically memorised the placement of certain freckles on Eddie’s face. Why he got strangely nervous, but still a bit secretly happy when Eddie walks into Family Video. Why he got so defensive when Dustin joked about the two men acting like divorced dads around him, insinuating that Steve and Eddie would be in a relationship in the first place.
The thought was uncomfortable at first. He would think about it while watching TV and hope to god that his dad, asleep in the armchair next to him, cannot read minds. He would think about it while laying face-down on his bed at night, his arms propping his head up just slightly so he doesn’t suffocate himself- and some nights, he wish he could suffocate himself, thinking about how sometimes he’d catch himself staring at a boy during basketball practice in the ninth grade the same way he’d stare longingly at a girl in math class.
Maybe that was why Steve wanted one of the girls to come along while he helped Eddie paint his trailer. Because maybe then, he could force himself to stare at Nancy Wheeler instead of the boy he was here to see.
He showed up to Eddie’s trailer the day after the call, running his hands through his hair uncomfortably. “Eddie, you in there?” Steve called, only a few seconds after knocking. “It’s me, it’s Steve.”
He heard some shuffling going around in the trailer, before Eddie pulled the door open with so much force that Steve flinched back immediately. “Harrington!” Eddie said enthusiastically. He started the painting job without Steve, as he could tell based off of the paint on his fingertips and the old sheets on the floor nearest to the walls, protecting the carpet in the living room and the open tiles underneath.
Eddie also already got paint on his clothes, which was when Steve finally took a good look at him, because holy shit, his clothes. Eddie wore baggier jeans than usual- which isn’t saying much normally, but these were baggy - cuffed at the ankles. The rips were larger than most of the rips in his casual jeans, one in particular revealing a good chunk of his thigh. On the opposite leg, there were small designs embroidered on the pants, some of which including electric guitars and one being a skull with all different shades of green, blue, and purple.
The man’s theatrics and his plan to Force Steve Harrington Into Homosexuality doesn’t end there, either. His hair, which he normally let do whatever it wanted, was now in a messy bun resting atop his head, a few strands of hair hanging out. His shirt, which had a whole rainbow of paint splatters on it, was cropped above the waist, meaning whenever Eddie lifted either of his arms at any point during this painting session, Steve would be able to see the majority of his torso. The reasonable part of Steve knew that Eddie was only wearing this outfit because he wouldn’t care if it got covered in paint- but the miniature Robin Buckley in his head immediately got her hopes up, screaming, hey, he might be into you!
Steve wanted to say something reasonable, something along the lines of, “hey, how’s the painting going?” or maybe just a, “what’s up, dude?”
Instead, what came out, voice crack included, was:
“Are you… an artist, or something?”
Immediate regret bubbled up inside his chest as Eddie raised an eyebrow and cocked his head with a confused smile. “I mean, like-” Steve elaborated, “you have a bunch of paint splatters on your shirt. It’s uh- it’s cool! Sorry, just… curious”
“Uh, no, actually. This is just an old shirt from when I used to paint for fun, like, years ago. I was never any good at it, though.” Eddie commented.
“Yeah, no, you look- you look good, man. Like- in your… artistry clothes.”
After another horrifying few seconds of silence in which Steve internally beat his own head with a stick, Eddie did a dramatic sidestep and opened his arms wide, motioning for Steve to step inside the trailer.
The first thing Steve noticed was the lack of a gate to the Upside Down on Eddie’s ceiling. In its place was what looked like a large scratch down the middle, as if someone had cut through it with a heated knife and let it fuse itself back together. Furniture was moved away from the walls, but it was clear that he was too lazy to move them out of the room, since they were now just awkwardly piled in the middle. Music was playing much more quietly than Steve would’ve expected from Eddie, but to be fair, he was wanted by the police only a few weeks ago- Steve would’ve laid low for a while after that as well.
Steve almost jumped when he felt a warm touch on both of his shoulders. “Dude, relax. You’re too tense right now,” Eddie told him. He had a sarcastic edge to his endearing tone, and Steve almost melted into the floor. “Yeah! Yeah, sorry, it’s just, like, weird to be standing in the middle of what used to be a crime scene,” he supplied. Eddie pursed his lips, looking up at the closed gate in the ceiling like he expected to telepathically open it with his stare.
“Y’know, I slept in my car for a few weeks even after being proven innocent.” Eddie said. “Stayed over at Robin’s house a few times. Crashed at a friend’s house when my neck got too sore to be sleeping on leather seats.”
At this point, Eddie had rested his head against the wall, leaning on it with his eyes averted. He only looked into Steve’s eyes when he mirrored his position, except Steve couldn’t lean against air, so he settled for a tilt of the head, arms crossed and eyes searching the other man’s expression for any side of sadness.
All Steve found was another freckle in Eddie’s sparkling eye.
“Sorry, dude.” Eddie shook himself out of his little trance. He was still obviously shaken up by the incident with Chrissy, and Steve couldn’t blame him. “We need to start painting. And seriously, stop being so damn tense, I’m not gonna bite.”
And so the painting began. With that came brand new conversations, some about Hellfire, some about the Upside Down, and some about their mutually-shared little brother figure. It also came with Steve noticing the way Eddie rambled while he focused on the task at hand, with the other man only being able to respond with light hymns when focused on the little things. Little things like painting around the outlets, and little things like the way Eddie’s shirt rode up his back when he moved his paint roller higher up.
Painting sessions turned into smoke sessions halfway through the day during their first break. With a joint in hand Eddie was telling Steve all about Hellfire’s current DnD campaign, and Steve felt inclined to listen, watching as his eyes lit up and he did wild and dramatic hand gestures at times, and though the other had no idea what he was talking about, it felt much more endearing than it would’ve with anyone else.
They eventually neglected the open paint cans on the floor of the living room, and the unfinished wall on the left of the room. Instead, they sat in Eddie’s bedroom. Sitting across from each other on his bed, Steve at the edge of it, twirling his joint between his fingers.
Steve could hardly focus on what Eddie was saying. He nodded along, a smile threatening to tug at his lips as he studied the other man’s reddened eyes, his flushed face, his hand that rested on Steve’s thigh as he leaned forward, talking excitedly about whatever he was on about now. His hair was no longer in its original messy bun, and it was messier and frizzier than Steve had ever seen it.
Maybe it was the weed. Maybe it was just because Steve Harrington was stoned out of his mind, because there was no way in a million years he’d ever admit that he sometimes stared longingly at the boys in class when he was in highschool, or that he sometimes imagined kissing another guy when he was with a girl, or that Eddie’s touch sent a spark through his body. But without even thinking, he just blurted out,
“You look so hot in that outfit.”
Eddie stopped rambling immediately, his hand still resting on the other’s thigh. Just when Steve was about to say sorry- apologise for interrupting, apologise for making it uncomfortable, apologize for being a fucking queer in another dude’s house- Eddie grinned at him. A shit-eating grin that made Steve want to bash his head into a wall and slap him across the face simultaneously.
“I never thought I’d live to see the day where Steve Harrington, ” Eddie dragged out his name, “is getting stoned in my bedroom, admitting that he finds me attractive.” He kept his hand firmly on Steve’s thigh, and used the other to put over his heart like he was saying a dramatic line in theatre class. The two kept firm eye contact and simply sat in silence for the next few seconds, challenging one or the other to say something.
Out of pure impulse, Steve took one last drag of his joint, and blew smoke directly in Eddie’s face.
“Oh, come on, man!” Eddie exclaimed, pulling away and using the hand that rested on his thigh to wave away the smoke. Steve chuckled, ignoring the cold feeling on his leg where the other man’s hand rested, which then turned into a full body laugh. It wasn’t even that funny- but he found everything funny at this point, so he let himself fall backwards on Eddie’s bed, his chest shaking with bubbles of laughter
Ten seconds or so passed, and Eddie was now laying down right beside him, used joint sitting in the ashtray on his bedside table. Silence washed over them. Steve could feel Eddie’s gaze on him, and turned on his side to face him. That’s when he noticed how Eddie studied his features, the same way that Steve did to him. His eyes moving down to his lips, and then at his hands, before he spoke,
“You’re not at all like how I knew you in highschool,” Eddie murmured. Steve furrowed his eyebrows, letting out a small hymn. “I hated you back then. Hated your guts, man. I hated popular people, I hated people who strut down the hallway like they own the fuckin place, but you?”
Eddie grinned. “You’re not so bad.”
Steve smiled back at him, feeling his heart flutter in his chest. That soft fluttering changed to fast beating very quickly, as he got the urge to just tell him. Robin would’ve told him to make a move already. Robin would’ve told him not to be scared, because Eddie is clearly not straight, but he couldn’t help it. Because if it were Tommy H lying across from him, he would’ve gone from one of the most loved people in Hawkins to getting beat up on the street every day.
If it were his father in front of him, he wouldn’t have a place to call home anymore. He shouldn’t feel scared of something so trivial though, as a man who’s fought monsters from the Upside down and has watched people die in front of his eyes. So, before he could internally panic any longer, he whispered,
“I think I like boys.”
He brought his eyes to meet Eddie's, studying his face for any sign of disgust, any wrinkle of the nose, any shine missing in his eye. All he found was surprise as Eddie perked up, and another twinkle in his eyes that he’s never seen from someone with such a dark exterior.
“Damn, man. Didn’t expect that from King Stevie, over here.” Eddie murmured as a mischievous grin grew on his face. Steve rolled his eyes and slapped the man’s shoulder with his backhand. “Fuck you, dude, this is serious.” He said, a new found confidence in his tone.
Eddie didn’t bother with the theatrics this time. He didn’t bother dramatically exclaiming, “oh, how you wound me, Harrington!” with a hand over his heart. He only studied Steve’s expression with care, like he was afraid he would turn to dust if he looked away.
He said something in that moment that Steve had to take a second to process.
“Would you like to confirm that thought?”
Maybe it was just the drugs, but Steve didn’t feel like moving away. Their faces were inches from each other, eyes challenging the other to do something, to decline, to move closer, to get the fuck out of here. He didn’t feel like declining, not now, not ever.
Without even answering the question, Steve surged forwards, pressing his lips onto Eddie’s. He panicked when Eddie didn’t kiss back immediately, but as soon as he pressed back with the same amount of force, he felt his body melt. Steve’s free hand found Eddie’s hair, and Eddie’s hands found Steve’s chest. He pushed himself on top of Steve, his shirt balled up in his fists.
Music from Eddie’s vinyl collection was the only other sound they could hear, but it sounded like white noise to Steve as he focused on the other man’s breathing, the small hymns of satisfaction he would let out, the feeling of curling Eddie’s hair around his fingertips. He tasted like weed. Steve now had a list of favourite tastes, and the only things on it were the taste of Eddie’s lips, his tongue, and the joint between Steve’s fingers.
If you told Steve Harrington three years ago that he would be laying in Eddie Munson’s bed, kissing him and holding onto him like he would disappear, he would’ve laughed in your face. But here he was, half full paint cans neglected and a cloud of smoke around them, Steve’s new favourite rock song playing quietly from Eddie’s record player and Eddie’s breath against his neck.
The painting could wait.
~
Robin was reorganising the shelf of horror movies for the third time that day. Steve leaned against the counter, watching her as she rambled about a pretty girl she saw across the street, spinning a pencil around between his fingertips. It was endearing, but also a bit annoying, how much she rambled when talking about girls she liked. Steve was barely listening.
“Hey, Robin?” Steve called. Nobody else was in the store. She turned to face him, balancing five VHS tapes in her hands. Steve raised an eyebrow, now tapping his pencil on the counter before saying, “Is it normal to go from only dating girls to having sex with a man in the span of like, a day?”
Robin almost dropped all five VHS tapes.