Archive of Our Own

Eddie doesn't remember much after he died.

There had only been pain - so much fucking pain - before the darkness rolled in.

And then, as suddenly as he had gone, he was back.

There were arms around him and wails in his ears and tight, clipped voices surrounding his senses. He was pretty sure he’d let out some very embarrassing noises, but he was bleeding out, so. He thinks they were warranted.

They came in flashes - memories or visions or something else Eddie couldn’t name. 

There was a piercing sound pulsing in his system like a siren. There were faces he didn’t recognize above him, light shining in his eyes, and a scream tearing free from his throat. There was a hand clutching his, a voice tethering him, anchoring him to the dock.

Stay with us, Munson. Stay with me.

But Eddie couldn’t stay - he had to let go. He wasn’t strong enough, he never was. He was a coward, through and through, and maybe once he finally came to terms with that, his life would be a lot easier.

Though, what did that matter, anyway?

He was already dead.

—

Eddie is almost a hundred percent sure he’s in some twisted kind of afterlife when he wakes for the first time.

There’s something glaring down at him - the sun, he’s sure - because when he opens his eyes, there are black and white spots dancing in his periphery.

He can’t really move, and if he’s being a hundred percent honest, he can’t really breathe, either. Panic sets in suddenly before he realizes he doesn’t need the oxygen. This is Heaven or Hell - though Eddie has already been to Hell - and last he checked, you didn’t need air in either of those places. 

After his eyes eventually adjust, blurred shapes taking their true form, he lets himself slowly absorb his surroundings.

The walls of this room -because after an internal debate that lasts a lot longer than it should have, he decides this is, in fact, a room and not some place up high in the clouds - are entirely too sterile to be seen as comforting. The white paint is hideous to look at. It’s probably brighter than the fucking sun up close, though Eddie doesn’t have any real experience in that matter so he doesn’t think he should be quoted.

There’s a faint beep beep beep that drills into Eddie’s mind, filling the empty space so thoroughly that all Eddie wants to do is crawl out of his own head and float around for a while. Now, that sounds like Heaven.

The longer he sets into his body, the more he can feel. The heavy - but irrevocably there - weight of his chest moving up and down, pulling at something that rubs up against Eddie’s skin uncomfortably. Fabric chafes his knees, his shins, but he can’t shift or seem to shake the thing off, so he only lays in almost silence as his throat clenches against the intolerable feeling. There is something puncturing the skin inside what he thinks is his elbow, and when he gains enough wits to glance down, he fixates on the thin tube that is undoubtedly sticking out of him, something fluid slowly pumping into his system.

There is no way for him to move his head as he slowly concludes, letting out a small huff in annoyance, so he only continues to rove his eyes around his room and the horribly painted walls.

There’s a window to his left which explains the light beaming down directly into his face. There’s an abstract painting to his right, colors swirled together horribly, and the longer Eddie looks at it, the more convinced he is that they’ve hung the canvas upside down.

And then, as if his eyes were a moth to the goddamn flame, his gaze lands on a boy that looks suspiciously like Steve Harrington.

He’s bowed slightly, forearms resting on the stiff mattress that Eddie only now recognizes as his bed. His palms lay flat against the cushion, though his fingers rest only centimeters away from where Eddie’s own hand lays. The boy’s eyebrows are furrowed, endearingly, and his hair flops dangerously close to his brown eyes, his hooked nose. His shoulders are bare and pale, a spattering of beauty marks taking residence there, and slowly they straighten, leaning back into his plastic chair, stretching slightly as he groans and peeks over at Eddie for a second before dropping.

And then the boy is sitting back up suddenly, peering into Eddie like he's grown a second head. Eddie wouldn’t have doubted if he had - side effects to demon bat bites, and all that.

“Holy shit,” the boy mutters, and then he’s shaking his head, looking Eddie up and down. Or, side to side. Whatever floats your boat. “ Holy fucking shit. Eddie?”

“I think that’s my name,” Eddie breathes, only because he’s sure his voice won’t go up any higher than that without breaking. He may have died, but he doesn’t want to give the angels here the wrong impression of himself. He still has some pride left. 

“You’re awake,” the boy says, more to himself than anything. His hands hover around Eddie’s arms for a second before dropping to his knees, clenching at the material there instead. “You’re awake.”

But Eddie doesn’t focus on the words or what they mean. He only lets his eyes linger on the boy, sliding down what Eddie can now see is his bare chest. His collar bones poke out slightly, though they curve softly nonetheless. He’s got a patch of hair in the center, but Eddie doesn’t mind it. What does bother him, though, is the layers of gauze wrapped around his middle.

“You’re hurt,” he rasps and the boy only continues to watch him. Eddie feels like a painting, pretentiously studied in an art museum that has no real meaning or mindblowing origin other than the fact that the artist was probably high on acid when they decided to whip out their brushes. Every now and again, though, there comes a visitor who only enjoys the art for what it is - flaws and quirks, but undoubtedly beautiful in spite of their imperfections. This boy feels like that visitor. Eddie is not sober enough to fully understand how he feels about that yet.

The boy scrutinizes him and Eddie really is starting to worry if he has grown another head when the boy lets out a loud and barking laugh, eyeing him in disbelief. Eddie doesn’t really get what’s so funny.

“ I’m hurt?” the boy asks, and Eddie wants to point out that, yes, you’re hurt, why the hell would you do something reckless enough to even end up like this? And then the boy is pointing to Eddie’s own chest, tilting his head, gesturing over to Eddie’s general area. “Jesus, if you could have seen yourself, man.”

Eddie lets his eyes move away from the boy, though he’s momentarily afraid he might suddenly disappear. His mind goes blank at the sight of his own body.

Most, if not all, of him is covered in bandages the way the boy was. And if Eddie narrows his eyes, just a little but, he can see pink and puckered skin creeping out from behind the dressings, stark, red blood slowly seeping through gauze. If Eddie was one hundred percent himself, he might have gagged at the sight.

Instead, he only lifts up his hand, the one resting beside the boy’s, to run his rough fingertips over the material of the bandages, as if in awe that something so simple could piece his body together so easily.

After a moment, he meets the boy’s eyes again, and he’s struck by how similar they are to Steve’s. Slowly, so as not to startle what could quite possibly be Steve Harrington himself, he reaches out and touches the bandages on the boy’s own abdomen, careful not to press too hard, careful to keep his fingers away from the skin on the boy’s chest.

“We match,” he murmurs, a curtain of his hair brushing against his cheek as he tries for a smile.

Then, before the boy is given a chance to respond, the blinding pain is back and Eddie is falling onto his mattress.

And he swears as the tide pulls him under again, his hand is caught by someone elses and is cradled like a piece of glass.

—

The next time Eddie comes to, his head is pounding.

His throat cracks as he groans and his arm is pulled back by something as he tries to reach up and hold his head, willing the pulse thundering in his temples to slow down.

“Woah there, boy,” he hears, the voice gruff and warm and a little bit like home. There’s a warm and calloused hand encompassing his wrist, rubbing at the fragile skin there, soothingly. “You’re alright, Eddie. You’re alright. I’m right here.”

The rapid pounding of Eddie’s heart slowly dwindles to a stuttering thrum beneath his chest, in his mind, quieting those pesky little voices that threaten and threaten. Whatever the hell had been added to his system was working wonders.

He let his eyes fall open, grateful this time that no light was shining into them, stinging at the corners. His vision was a lot less blurry, though he did need a second to process what the hell he was seeing.

A man - the man, the one who raised Eddie, cared for Eddie, loved Eddie - sat beside his bed, opposite to where that boy had been seated. His graying hair was silver, reflecting off the tiny amount of light that did encapsulate the room. His body was hunched, bones aching and wary, but so strong. Eddie remembers when he was seven years old, cradling small and bloody fingers to his chest - the product of his fathers anger and a smashed bottle, the glass coming too close, slicing into his palm. He remembers how Wayne had been the one to save him - holding him like he was a newborn again - taking him away from that place. Away from that man. His uncle had always been strong. Eddie didn’t understand how he was related to him.

He also didn’t know what kind of sick joke this afterlife was playing on him, but whatever it was, it wasn’t funny.

The man’s eyes bore into his - so blue, so familiar. Eddie felt his throat constrict at the sight of the tears that gathered in the corners of them. 

“Uncle Wayne?” he rasps, his hand twitching towards him, hesitating, afraid that this would all be taken away from him, all over again. And then the man smiles shakily, chuckling wetly.

“Finally remember me, huh, kid?” he whispers, though he has to reach up to wipe his eyes, turning his face away. “Almost gave me a heart attack, Eddie.”

“That’s no good,” Eddie mutters, stretching his neck, hissing when something in his abdomen pulls. “‘M sorry.”

“You don’t got nothin’ to be sorry for, you hear?” his uncle states, and when his hand drops down to Eddie’s, he begins to wonder that maybe this isn’t as mental as he previously believed. His uncle laughs, quietly, so as not to disturb the little bubble that has grown around them. “Though, maybe you can warn me the next time ya’ go and get falsely accused of multiple murders.”

Eddie lets out a sound that’s more of a hacking cough than anything.

“Next time,” he repeats, leaning back and sinking into the pillows beneath his head. “I’ll remember that. Don’cha worry.”

His uncle only grips his hand tighter, fingers soothing the skin on his whitened knuckles, devoid of their usual rings. The touch sends a shock through him and he feels tears prick in his eyes.

“Uncle Wayne?”

“Yeah?”

“This is all real, right?” he asks, and his voice breaks off. There’s an emotion there that he doesn’t let most people witness. He hasn’t felt so helpless, so shattered, since he was a kid, muffling the sounds of his parents arguing with the palms of his hands, pressing so hard his fingernails broke through skin. 

His uncle shook his head. “What’s real, Eddie?”

“This. Me,” he says, biting at the corner of his lip to keep from sobbing. “I’m not … I’m not dead?”

His uncle is silent for a long time, and when he finally does speak up, his voice is as broken as Eddie's. He’d never heard - he’d never seen - his uncle so emotional. He’d always been tough, bristly around the edges, a fortress surrounding his war beaten soul. Though when it came to Eddie, those walls he built dropped, and he welcomed him without another word. Eddie didn’t think he was worth so much care, but there wasn’t much room for him to protest.

“No. You’re not, Eddie. You’re still here,” Wayne murmurs, and he feels both hands now, gripping his fingers. “You’ve always been a fighter, you know that?”

Eddie doesn’t tell his uncle that he hadn’t fought to stay. He doesn’t tell him that he had been willing to let go. To let the weight settle and take him, to see nothing but darkness for the rest of his life, regardless of where he’d end up. Because that’s what he deserved. Darkness. Nothing.

Eddie doesn’t tell that uncle that he did die, and some part of him - the part that he must be referencing, the part that fights - is gone. And it may never come back.

He only lets tears roll down his cheeks, and when his uncle reaches up to brush them away, more follow.

“I’m here?” Eddie whispers, because how can he be here and lost at the same time?

“Yeah, Eddie,” his uncle responds, stroking his hair, moving it away from his face. “You’re here. You’re right here.”

—

Eddie was cleared from the hospital about a week later.

People visited - Mike and Nancy, Robin and her endearing rambles, Dustin and his teary eyes and wobbled apologies that Eddie shut down immediately. Erica came by a few times -  promptly punching him in the shoulder before telling him that she was glad he wasn’t dead - letting him know that Lucas sent his greetings, though was unable to visit him like the rest of their ragtag team.

Visiting Max, she’d said, and at Eddie’s worried glance, she’d clarified that Max hadn’t gotten too badly injured. Only a splintered ankle and - what they hoped was - temporary blindness in one eye was all Red had left to tell the tale of her run in with Vecna. Her room wasn’t far from Eddie’s and he wished that he was stable enough to go over on his own and see the kid himself.

And then Steve visited. Always with the kids or Robin, always standing farther away from the group as they crowded his bed, scolding them when they got too close, but Eddie didn’t mind. He was grateful for the company, though Eddie didn’t really understand it. He assumed they’d come to visit Max and had stopped by just because he was on the way. It made more sense than the idea of them coming voluntarily to see him.

Munson, Steve would greet, nodding, lips twitching up all the same. Eddie was always reminded of the boy from before, the hand that might have held his, before his attention was somehow dragged away to Dustin yelling about a new campaign or Nancy offering him some Judas Priest cassette tapes they’d found and an old Walkman to go with it.

Eddie didn’t get to go visit Max on his own like he’d planned.

He was discharged, the IV tube pulled out of his arm, pain medication handed to him in a little bag with amount and dosage on the side, and the instructions to change the bandages wrapped around his torso every morning and every night until the wounds scabbed over, along with the suggestion to let them air dry every few days. Uncle Wayne nodded along to the nurses words as Eddie was aided into a wheelchair, dropping down onto it, catching the way a second medical attendant glanced over at him distastefully before exiting the room. Eddie didn’t even get the chance to thank her.

His uncle and his friends - because that’s what they all were now, to Eddie anyway - told him about what had happened after his death. 

Someone had miraculously found his pulse under the tons of blood and torn skin - fluttering slowly, but undeniably there. And then Steve Harrington - Dustin always got excited when he told this part - gathered Eddie up into his arms like some goddamn war hero, and carried Eddie out of the Upside Down. They had called an ambulance and Eddie had been taken away, whisked off to the hospital. And Steve had gone with him, holding Eddie through it all. Eddie eventually needed to have surgery - he had lost a lot more blood than was recommended and his wounds were too deep to heal on their own. They had given him stitches, though with how much of him was left, they weren’t pretty.

Steve had gotten his own injuries checked out, which explained the bandages that had peeked out under his shirt when he stretched, reminding Eddie again of that boy. Steve, however, had been let off free from the hospital's care earlier than Eddie.

Partly because of the time he needed to heal, partly because Eddie had technically still been a wanted man when the hospital had taken him in.

His uncle had told him how he had been handcuffed to the bed the first few days. His eyes were angry as he recounted the tale - Eddie, bruised and broken, passed out in what could have possibly been a coma, strung up against the headboard like the body of Christ. 

But then Victor Creel was accused of murdering Chrissy Cunningham. And Fred Benson. And Patrick McKinney.

Victor had no clear relation to the victims, and despite the fact that he was an old and frail man, there had been some speculation. The murders being identical to the one’s from years ago, broken bones and eyes stolen from heads. And then, when the police went in for an interrogation, the man was gone. It was miraculous and messy, but somehow he had broken out. On the night the world had almost ended, he’d entered his old home. And that was that.

After a call to the Sheriff's Station, an investigation was pursued in the old Murder Mansion. With the eye witness of multiple officers and Creel standing over Max’s unconscious body, Lucas crawling his way over toward them, screaming unintelligibly, beaten up and bloody, it was as if it all fell into place.

One night, after visiting hours, a lady with a stern face and dark hair pulled back into a low bun on her head had sat herself down and told Eddie that he would be questioned the next day. She explained to him what they would ask, how he would respond, and how, behind the scenes, they would clear his name. And Eddie, despite everything, believed her. And he followed her directions.

He told the officers that Chrissy had come to him to buy drugs, looking for something stronger, and he’d gone into his room to fetch them for her. When he’d come back, though, Chrissy was already gone. Dead. And Eddie had run because he knew how it all sounded and who would believe him if he told them otherwise? 

It wasn’t the truth, but it wasn’t exactly a lie either. 

Victor was taken back to his cell, Max and Lucas to the hospital, and Eddie was a free man. Almost.

There were no more handcuffs, no more charges, but he had been advised to stay indoors. House arrest, Chief Powell had told him. He had technically been a fugitive for a second there, running from the law, though they understood why. And more than half of the town had been on the hunt for him, pitchforks and fire raised and ready to kill the monster. It was safer to stay home for a while, just in case.

And that’s what Eddie does.

Uncle Wayne drives them both home in his car - Eddie’s van was probably God knows where, stuck in a ditch or hotwired halfway to Indianapolis. He’s gentle, apologizing everytime they hit a bump. Eddie doesn’t mind, though.

He only rolls his window down, watching as the sun sets behind them through the rearview mirror.

—

Eddie doesn’t make it to his bed that night.

They had gotten their trailer back, the Gate closed, not even a crack disrupting the aluminum ceiling. The carpet had been scrubbed clean, any signs that Chrissy Cunningham had been here - gone. Her last, painful moments washed away like a stain of coffee on a t-shirt. 

Their home, back to normal, though nothing about Eddie was normal. Not then and especially not now.

Wayne helps him out of the car, holding his elbow, letting Eddie lean on him like he always does, supporting him through it all. Once they’re finally in, Eddie goes off on his own, the sounds of Wayne closing the door muffling slightly as he stumbles over to the couch and drops against it, groaning when his stitches pull, leaning sideways until his shoulder is pressing into the cushion, his eyes already heavy.

He hears Wayne chuckle at the sight of him, his footsteps reaching him slowly as he bends down to pick up Eddie’s legs one by one, placing them on the springs, allowing him to lay comfortably on the sofa. Then, his uncle moves over to where Eddie’s head is and he sits down beside it, grabbing a pillow on the way. He places it on his lap and lifts Eddie’s head, gently, resting it on the cushion. 

Eddie presses his cheek into the warmth of it, sinking into the familiarity of his uncle. He wants to tell the man that he’s thankful for his care, his love. He wants to tell him that he doesn’t think he’s ever earned the right to this. 

But then his uncle's hand is ruffling at his hair, soothing Eddie’s bones, and the television is streaming Singin’ in the Rain and Eddie falls asleep to the lilting voice of Debbie Reynolds promising that

all she’ll do the whole night through is dream of you.

—

Eddie has nightmares.

And, alright, yeah, he sort of figured the first time he saw Chrissy Cunningham suspended up on his ceiling, her jaw unhinged, her eyes ripped back into her head, he wasn't going to walk away from this experience unscathed.

And then he got stuck in the Upside Down. And then he died.

You didn’t walk away from any of that without your mind roaring even faster and louder than it already had been.

For the most part, when Eddie was awake, the memories didn’t bombard him all at once the way they did when he was unconscious. Sometimes, Eddie would drift off, remembering the way Dustin screamed at him to stay, Patrick’s body mangled above him, bats tearing into him from all sides, ripping him apart, taking parts of himself that he’d never get back, over and over and over -

And then Wayne was there, placing a hand on his shoulder, and he was back, if only for a little while longer.

No one could protect Eddie in his dreams.

Monsters massacring him. Vines pulling at his legs, dragging him down to the depths of Lover’s Lake, deeper and deeper until he couldn’t breathe and he was drowning under the weight of the water. His friends, his family - Wayne, Dustin, Lucas, Mike, Nancy, Robin, Steve fucking Harrington - hanging on his ceiling, bones breaking, snapping, shattering, as he stood, helpless, rooted on the spot, feet glued to the floor, a coward, a goddamn coward because he couldn’t save single goddamn one of them.

He tried begging in his dreams, hoping, praying, that it would be him instead. The mutilation of his body would be nothing compared to the way Eddie feels as he sits up in bed at night, pressing a palm to his mouth to muffle the sounds of his sobs, hoping to whatever higher power there was that the walls weren’t so thin that Wayne could hear him.

One night, though, as Eddie presses a hand to his throat, pushing down on the lump forming there, his chest feels way more unbearable than usual, which says a lot. And when he looks down, he can see why - he’s started to bleed through his bandages.

He curses as he pushes himself up, swaying unsteadily, placing a palm against his wall, hoping that’s enough to lead him into the bathroom without knocking into something.

Eddie’s eyes stay trained on the floor as he enters the hallway and he pointedly ignores the ceiling.

He flicks the switch on, narrowing his eyes as they adjust from the darkness. He winces, bending down to retrieve the first aid kit and rolls of gauze that they’ve stocked up on since the hospital.

He lays the supplies out, ready for him when he is, and then begins to unpeel the layers off of himself - the ones left, that is. He grits his teeth as he does it, his skin pulling uncomfortably, rough material sticking to him, tacky with blood, until, finally, they’re all off, and Eddie leans forward, gripping at the edge of the sink, staring at himself in the mirror.

His hair is damp with sweat, beading on his neck and forehead. Dark circles line the spaces under his eyes. His body is broken, shredded, disfigured and horrid. Eddie hates it, and as much as he hates the pain, he has to get through it. The longer he waits, the longer he has to look at that thing in the reflection.

The first press of the alcohol against his abdomen leaves him biting the inside of his cheek so hard he’s sure he’ll have an open wound there, too. The second reduces him to tears, but he continues, clenching his eyes, heaving.

He doesn’t even realize Wayne has woken up until there is a hand on his shoulder. A slow, comforting drawl mutters, “Eddie, what the hell happened?”

Eddie reaches up to press the heel of one hand into his eye, the other stretching out the cotton dipped in alcohol toward his uncle.

“Can you help me?” he asks, and Wayne lets out a small sigh, but he doesn’t leave. He never leaves.

Wayne cleans the wounds and Eddie lets more tears fall. It’s heartbreaking and a little pathetic but that’s all Eddie’s life has ever been. He’s never truly known what it was like to feel deserving of the happiness granted to you.

As Wayne unwinds new, sterile bandages on Eddie’s chest, he tilts forward and leans his forehead on Wayne’s shoulder, granting him easier access to his back as he ties a knot against his side and tucks it into the layers. Wayne’s hand comes back up to Eddie’s head, cradling it close to him, just like when he was a kid.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he whispers and Wayne only shakes his head.

“You been gettin’ nightmares again,” he says and Eddie only slumps in on himself further. Wayne holds him tighter. “Whatever happened to ya’, Eddie. Whatever ya’ goin’ through now. You can tell me. You can tell me anythin’.”

Except Eddie couldn’t. It was dangerous if Wayne found out about what really messed him up this bad. He wouldn’t put him in that situation. Not after all he’s done for Eddie. Not after what Eddie has already put him through.

“I know,” he says, hands coming up to grip at the back of Wayne’s shirt. “But not this. I don’t think I can.”

They stay that way for what feels like hours, Eddie sinking into Wayne as he rocks them both, swaying as dusk turns to dawn.

—

Max Mayfield comes home five days after Eddie.

Eddie sees when her mother’s car pulls up in front of their house, watches when Lucas Sinclair jumps from the backseat and practically sprints to the other side, opening the passenger door, helping her out. He doesn’t see what Max’s reaction is but it must be sarcastic if hers and Lucas’s laughs and her mother’s stern words are anything to go by. Eddie smiles at the sight of them all, making their way to the front door, Max limping slightly, holding onto Lucas’s elbow.

Wayne enters the kitchen, passing Eddie as he leans against their table, scarfing down some cereal, staring out the window. He follows his eyes and lets out a small, relieved breath.

“Seems like a good kid,” he mutters, then pats Eddie on the back, careful of his stitches, and continues with his routine, getting ready to go out into town. “Glad she’s alright.”

Eddie can only nod along as the door to the trailer across from theirs closes, a muffled thump reaching Eddie’s ears. “Yeah. Me too.”

—

Eddie sees Max two days later.

Wayne has left for work already, his temporary leave of absence has concluded, and Eddie is left home alone, just like old times. Except now Eddie has slowly healing scars and the sight of a mad man. 

He’s halfway through cooking himself something - boxed macaroni and cheese, his specialty - when he notices that their trashcan is overflowing slightly. He frowns at the sight and bends down, twisting his lips at the numb feeling of pain, pulling the bag out from the bin, tying the strings into a knot at the top, ripping a new one free from the roll and replacing it. Then, he’s gripping the bag, hiking it up into his palm, hesitating for a moment before he exits his trailer, out into the open.

It isn’t his first time out. Sometimes he leaves to help Wayne with the groceries, taking them from the trunk of the car into the house. Sometimes he sits with Wayne on the steps while he smokes and looks at the sky, wishing there were more stars. Most of the time, though, it’s to take out the trash.

It’s getting a little late, the sun is setting, most of the park's inhabitants are either out for the night or preparing dinner, like Eddie. There are no stragglers roaming around and Eddie considers that a clear as he marches straight to the industrial can, lifting the lid and dumping the bag, wrinkling his nose at the smell.

When he turns, though, his eyes land on a quiet girl with bright red hair, headphones poised above her ears as she nods her head along to some silent beat. She’s laying flat on her back, right on the grass only a few feet away from Eddie. 

After a long moment, Max’s eyes catch his and she sits up, pulling her headphones down, clicking off the Walkman tucked into her hoodie. Eddie clears his throat.

“Um. Hi?” he says, though it comes out as more of a question. Eddie glances around though there is still no one else in sight. He looks back at Max, narrowing his eyes. “Are you alright?”

Max’s lip twitches up and she raises her eyebrows. “Define alright. ”

And Eddie, despite his immense confusion, laughs, even though it strains his stitches. In spite of that, in fact. “Touché, Red.”

Max seems to bristle slightly at the nickname but she shrugs all the same. Silence overtakes them again and after a long, drawn out moment, Eddie is on the brink of turning heel and returning to his trailer. But then Max is calling out to him, awkwardly patting the space beside her. “You can sit. If you want.”

Eddie hesitates a second, roaming around the park again, the line of trees. When he, once again, decides that yes, he’s in the clear, he takes a few short steps towards Max and sits beside her, pulling his legs up to his chest.

Max doesn’t make any move to turn her music back up, nor does she make any sort of move to say something. So, Eddie bites.

“What were you listening to?” he asks, cringing slightly at how lame the question probably was. Max doesn’t seem to mind, though. She pulls out her Walkman and ejects the cassette, showing it to Eddie. He nods slowly, raising an eyebrow. “Kate Bush.”

“It’s not any of that metal stuff you like, but. I think she’s cool. She did save my life, technically.”

Eddie scoffs. “I don’t only like metal.”

Max gives him a once over, and for the first time, Eddie can see the way one of her eyes is now a slightly lighter shade of blue than the other. It seems less focused, and yet it’s still intimidating as she sets her gaze on the Iron Maiden shirt he has on. She gives him a look.

“Really?”

“Yes,” Eddie protests, though he’s unsure why he’s trying to defend his (impeccable) music taste to a fourteen year old girl. He gestures over to the tape as he hands it back to her. “Like. Kate Bush. She is cool.”

Max tilts her head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eddie shrugs, smiling a little. “ Hounds of Love is my favorite.”

Max’s eyes widen. “Really?”

“Come on, man. Are you kidding? It’s a good song.”

“Well, yeah, I know, but - ”

She’s cut off by the sound of a whistle lilting, water boiling, slowly ringing around them. Eddie curses at the sound and sits up, planting his feet. Before he can take another step, though, he glances back at Max, watching as she fiddles with the cord of her headphones, glancing over at Eddie before snapping her two-toned eyes away. Eddie chuckles and tilts his head.

“Hey,” he starts and Max’s eyes meet him again. He throws her a gentle grin. “Are you hungry?”

—

Whatever the hell Eddie had been expecting that morning, Steve Harrington, sitting on the steps of his porch holding his mail, was not it.

Steve’s head snaps toward Eddie the second the door creaks open. His brown eyes meet Eddie’s and the boy grins, even though Eddie stands there with a priceless expression on his face that is probably a lot more unwelcoming than Eddie means for it to be.

Steve stands, graceful as ever, ascends those last few steps, and hands the stacks of envelopes toward him. Eddie’s eyes flick to Steve’s hand, then back up to his face, then down again as he reaches for the mail and takes it gratefully, muttering a small thanks.

Steve places his hands in the pockets of his jeans and rises carefully on the balls of his feet before dropping back down. “Don’t worry about it.”

Eddie stares at the man in front of him, unashamed. Can you blame him? He’s half asleep, severely fatigued, and its Steve fucking Harrington. Eddie thinks that’s a good enough reason on its own.

“I'm sorry if this is, like, super impolite,” Eddie finds himself blurting out, “but what the hell are you doing here, Steve?”

Steve winces and has the decency to look sheepish as he finally glances away and clears his throat, rubbing the palm of his hand against the back of his neck.

“Right, um,” Steve starts, then he pulls off the jumble of fabric that rests on one of his shoulders. Eddie hadn’t seen it at first. He was a little too busy with Steve to notice anything else. Steve stretches it out to him, the vest waving gently in the morning air. “I came to give this back to you.”

Eddie’s fingers slide over the worn denim, distressed edges rough against the calluses on his skin. He brings the vest close to his sternum and clears his throat.

“Thank you,” he mutters. Steve nods but continues on.

“I washed it,” he says. “There’s no more blood on it and it smells nice? I hope you don’t mind.”

“Steve,” Eddie says, and he feels his throat close up at the sudden overwhelming feeling settling him his chest. He’s not entirely sure what it is. He knows he doesn’t deserve it. At Steve's questioning look, Eddie finishes off with a quiet, “I don’t mind.”

“Good,” Steve nods. “That’s good.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, and a quiet sort of tension comes over them. Not uncomfortable, but there was a fine line. Eddie crosses his arms over his chest as he tries to ease whatever the hell settled between them.

“How have you been?” he asks and he resists the urge to turn around and slam the door in Steve’s face, and then after that, turn around and slam his own face into the door. It’s a simple question, but what right did Eddie have to ask it? Steve wasn’t a close friend - he wasn’t even sure if Steve categorized him as a friend at all. To him, Eddie was probably just the kid who was stupid enough to go and get himself killed and Steve was the one who had to deal with that burden, putting his own life at risk to save Eddie’s sorry ass and -

“I’m good,” Steve says and he smiles at Eddie as if he’s surprised. It isn’t a bad look. Eddie isn’t sure if Steve Harrington is capable of having a bad look. “You?”

“I’m fine,” Eddie responds, though his chest is still tight and his guitar glares at him in his periphery. Eddie leans against the doorframe and hopes Steve doesn’t notice that his legs were about two seconds away from giving out. “You know, as fine as you can be.”

Steve nods, humming in acknowledgement, in understanding. “Yeah, that’s - that’s putting it lightly, huh?”

Eddie chuckles, reaching up to push away the strand of his hair that curls in a different direction than all the rest. Steve’s eyes move with the gesture but he doesn’t comment on it. 

“Very lightly,” Eddie says and Steve’s lips twitch up.

“You know, Dustin isn’t doing so great, man.”

Eddie tenses. “Is he alright?”

“Physically, yeah,” Steve waves his concern away. “He’s just moody. He hasn’t seen you in weeks, Munson. No one has.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry about that,” Eddie only sighs. He waves around the trailer, hoping it’s enough of an explanation. When Steve narrows his eyes, Eddie clarifies. “House arrest, you know? I’m not completely off the hook.”

“Right,” Steve says, wincing. “That’s nothing to be sorry for. We just - the kids are worried. They miss their - um - Dragon Master. ”

Eddie groans into his hands. “ Dungeon Master, Steve. Dungeon. ”

“Hey,” Steve exclaims, holding up his hands. “I was close!”

Eddie, honest to God, snorts and Steve laughs along.

The trees rustle, the air hums. It’s not tense anymore - far from it - and Eddie finds himself sinking into it like the pillow beneath his head, the grass underneath his hands.

Their amusement is interrupted at the call of, “Eddie.”

Eddie turns and watches as his uncle comes out of the bathroom, dressed and ready for the day, face twisted in confusion.

“Who the hell are you - oh ,” his uncle pauses then nods in greeting at the sight of the boy across from them. “Steve.”

Steve raises a hand. “Mr. Munson. You alright?”

Wayne chuckles. “I will be once I’ve had some coffee. Why don’t ya’ come in? I’ll put the kettle on.”

“I wish I could,” Steve winces, glancing down at his watch. “But I’ve got work in about twenty minutes. Thank you for the offer, Mr. Munson.”

“It’s never a problem, Steve,” his uncle says, nodding, patting Eddie on the back as he passes him and continues back into the kitchen. “You have a good day at work, son.”

Steve thanks him, then eyes Eddie. He hesitates, glancing over toward his Beemer parked a few feet away. “I have to go.”

“Right,” Eddie says. “You have work.”

Steve smirks. “Observant, are we, Munson?”

“Shut up, man,” Eddie says, but he laughs. “Go to work, Harrington. Say hi to Buckley for me.”

“I will,” Steve says, walking backwards down the steps. He stumbles over the last one, cursing as he catches himself. Eddie has to press his lips together to keep from laughing. Steve only continues to his car and says, “I’ll see you soon, Eddie.”

It sounds soft. It sounds like a promise.

“Yeah,” Eddie grins. “I’ll see you soon.”

Steve sends him one more smile, hair glinting in the slowly rising sun. He throws Eddie a two fingered salute and drops himself into the drivers side seat, the engine humming to life before the car is pulling away, tires crunching on gravel. Eddie watches as Steve drives off, the Beemer disappearing behind an RV. Then, he’s closing the door, eyes landing on his uncle, his face solemn behind the mug he holds to his lips save the minute twitch of his eyebrow. Eddie ignores the look.

“Since when have you been acquainted with Steve?” he asks his uncle and Wayne shrugs.

“He was by your side at the hospital almost as much as I was, kid,” Wayne says, dropping his mug on the counter to turn and grab Eddie his own, filling it up with the fermented liquid. “He was always there. We got to talkin’.”

Eddie lets the words sink in as he moves toward his uncle. “Really?”

Wayne nods, handing Eddie his mug. He chuckles lightly. “I don’t think that boy said a single thing about you that wasn’t good.”

And how is Eddie supposed to respond to that?

—

There’s a knock at his door later that night.

He’s a little more than surprised to see Max Mayfield standing across from him, arms crossed, devoid of her usual backtrack and Walkman wrapped around her ears.

He hadn’t seen her since their makeshift dinner, sitting across from each other, quietly consuming their own plates of mac and cheese. Eddie didn’t mind. He enjoyed the company though it may have been awkward. Max seemed to enjoy the food, even politely asking for seconds, before finishing that up, too.

That was two days ago, and Eddie would be lying if he said he didn’t hope to see the girl again. There was something about the stillness to her, the sarcastic jabs, the quiet contemplation when it was needed. It was nice, the mutual understanding that passed between them as Max thanked him for the food and promised to see him around.

Eddie just hadn’t thought it would be so soon.

Max nods at him in greeting and Eddie only steps back, granting her enough space to enter. She didn’t even need to ask.

“Alright?” he asks and Max just tilts her head at him, watching as he locks the door. Eddie rolls his eyes. “Your day, I mean. Not your whole life.”

Max shrugs. “It was fine.”

Eddie hums and gestures to the couch. “You can sit. If you want.”

Max’s mouth twitches up at the callback and takes up on Eddie’s promise, choosing to curl right and dead center on the couch. Eddie narrows his eyes, perches on the arm rest. Max glances at him. 

“You got a staring problem?”

Eddie laughs. “Just wondering why you’re choosing to spend your Friday night here .”

He doesn’t need to explain himself. He knows Max understands what he means.

The girl only shrugs, tugging on one of her braids.

“My mom’s drinking.”

“Oh,” Eddie breathes, and that’s it. Eddie doesn’t offer an apology or any consolation. He of all people knows what that’s like. And considering Max is a lot more similar to him than he once believed, he knew she wouldn’t appreciate the pity. “No plans with the kids, then?”

Max looks at him weird and Eddie winces.

“That made me sound a lot older than I am.”

That grants him a smile and Eddie mirrors the expression. Max is careful to keep her shoes off of the couch, but she pulls her knees up on the cushions all the same.

“No plans,” she states. “They’re all busy.”

Eddie nods, standing. “You want something to drink? Not alcohol, though. You’re a minor.”

Max wrinkles her nose. “I don’t even like alcohol.”

Eddie chuffs. “Does anyone?”

He reaches the fridge and pulls open the latch, cool air hitting him, raising the hairs on his arms. Eddie pulls out two cans of Coke and shows them to Max. She hesitates, but nods nonetheless, taking the offering.

They’re halfway through their comforting silence when Max speaks up again. “Your house is quiet.”

Eddie swallows his gulp of soda, tongue sticky with the taste. “Not usually. Just haven’t been busy recently.”

“You used to play guitar,” Max offers and Eddie looks at her. “I would hear you practice from my room. It was kinda cool.”

“Kinda?” Eddie asks, always fishing for compliments. Max rolls her eyes.

“Don’t push it, dude.”

Eddie chuckles, running his finger across the rim of his can. His shoulders drop at the memories of the Upside Down, the most metal concert ever, the bats closing in on him, tearing him apart, scars cracking through him the way bones did. 

Eddie thinks that’s too much backstory for tonight, and he doesn’t want to scare the kid off - though God only knows what she’s seen and been through. He clears his throat and says, “I haven’t gotten around to it. I’m still technically an invalid.”

Max nods. “Yeah, me too.”

Stillness washes over them again, splashing against their shins, a calming tide, only disrupted when Max speaks up once more.

“Can I ask you another question?”

“Shoot.”

She brings her can up to her lips, hiding what seems to be amusement, and mutters, “Are you going to make dinner again?”

Eddie only laughs.

—

It becomes a habit.

Eddie isn’t entirely too sure how, but it does.

It’s random at first - unwarranted visits, quiet nights together on the grass as Kate Bush plays in the background, dinners filled with awkward small talk and less awkward debates on which character from The Breakfast Club is better.

And then it becomes a routine.

Max will come over, Walkman in hand, sometimes carrying a magazine or a novel. Eddie lets her in without another word, continuing with his cleaning of the trailer, ignoring her offers to help. 

Sometimes, they’ll watch movies. Eddie has stacks of VHS tapes on the side table beside the television and Max will sort through them, picking an old western Wayne enjoys. They'll curl up on the sofa and laugh about how stupid the storyline is, talking over the characters as they argue about what will happen at the end, complaining about how boring the conclusion was. Sometimes, Max will bring her own tapes and Eddie will groan about watching The Outsiders , but he’ll watch it anyway, and when Johnny pleads that Ponyboy stays gold , Eddie will quickly wipe his tears away, throwing a pillow at Max as she laughs at him.

They never watch horror movies. Neither complains.

Max shows Eddie some more of the cassettes she enjoys - Madonna, Blondie, Queen, Fleetwood Mac. Eddie begrudgingly listens - and he begrudgingly enjoys. Eddie in turn introduces Max to metal music - Black Sabbath, Iron Maiden, Judas Priest - and Max nods along to the loud beat, narrowing her eyes and admitting she has no idea what they’re saying, but I like it . Eddie laughs so hard he almost cries. He finds a lot more of his tapes being replaced by Max’s, and vice versa. Neither comment on it.

One day, as he’s cleaning up his room - he has a lot of free time on his hands these days and it’s the least he can do for his uncle - he pulls his old, worn copies of Lord of the Rings off from his shelves and places them in the living room so he can wipe down the dusty wood. Later, as Max sprawls on the couch, she notices the stack of paperbacks on the coffee table and takes one off the pile. She reads through the synopsis, then opens the cover, eyes scanning rapidly through the first few pages. By the time Eddie notices, she’s got a pretty good chunk of the story down.

When it's time for her to leave, she glances over at Eddie, then back down at the book. Eddie cuts her off before she can even ask. 

“You can borrow it,” he says, and she does.

A few days later, after Eddie watches her consume the novel, she comes knocking at his door, demanding for the second one. Then, later that week, she comes for the third.

Eddie only smiles everytime and hands the books to her.

“You’ve corrupted me, dude,” Max says after her long rant to him in the middle of the night on how incredible the world building is and how badass Aragorn is and how Samwise is the real hero of the story. 

Eddie only grins and asks if she wants to read The Hobbit next.

—

Eddie’s house arrest ends almost a month after it begins.

Eddie is a little more than panicked when a cop car pulls up to his trailer, tires crunching on the dirt as they park. He’s almost convinced they’re about to arrest him, but when Officer Callahan assures that Eddie is fine, he lets some of the fight drain out of him. Instead, he listens as Callahan fills him in, though the sheriff’s eyes are shifty, looking at Eddie superstitiously. Eddie almost wants to laugh. The officer informs him his sentence has officially ended, though he should minimize his trips out of the trailer park. For now.

“Oh,” Callahan says, placing a hand against the wood door that Eddie had slowly been inching toward closing. The officer winces. “There’s one more thing.”

Eddie narrows his eyes and bites down a groan. “What - ”

The sight of a tow truck easing toward them cuts him off, and when his eyes land on his van hooked on behind it, he blanches. Callahan tuts.

“Yeah,” he says, eyes catching on exactly what Eddie had been staring at. “We found it near the quarry. It’s - well - it’s not as bad as it could be.”

Eddie sighs, but the man is right.

There’s even bigger dents than Eddie remembers there being. There’s a long scratch from the back door to the bumper. And across the whole body, smeared in stark red paint, is the word: Murderer.

Eddie swallows and hums. He doesn’t think to thank Callahan. He’s pretty sure the officer is grateful for his silence.

An hour later, soapy water drips down his forearm as he tries to scrub off the word. The remnants soaks into the rag he grips with white knuckles as he washes the sliding steel door. Back and forth, back and forth. The word ingrains itself into Eddie’s head so deeply it doesn’t sound real anymore.

Murderer.

But Eddie wasn’t a murderer. He was innocent.

Back. And forth.

He saw Chrissy die. He saw her die and he did nothing to cause it.

Backandforth.

He did nothing to help.

Backandforth.

The paint peels beneath his hands, chipping, cracking off right before his eyes, just like Chrissy had on his ceiling, mouth open in a silent and terrifying scream as Eddie watched, motionless, as the world was torn out from under him.

Backandforthandbackandbackandforthagainand -

He jumps so hard when the sound of the Beemer pulls up his hand smacks against the door handle. He cradles it to his chest, ignoring the way the paint seeps into his life line, drips onto the grass below him. He only watches as Steve makes his way out of the car. His bright grin drops as the sight of the van. He speeds over to Eddie, eyes narrowing at what’s left of the vehicle.

It’s a little comical how angry Steve looks considering Eddie has already cleaned off the first letter so all that’s left of the threat is urderer. Steve apparently doesn’t find it as funny.

“Who did this?” he asks, voice tight, turning his eyes to Eddie’s. Eddie only shrugs and moves his soaked hands away from Steve’s white shoes.

“They found it near the quarry,” he repeats Callahan's earlier words, bending down to dunk the rag in the bucket of water Eddie has procured from the small storage compartment under the kitchen sink. “It’s not as bad as it could be, Steve.”

“This,” Steve exclaims, gesturing to urderer , “is already pretty bad, man. You’re innocent.”

Eddie sighs, blowing away a piece of hair that has fallen on his face. “I know. But there’s tons of people in this town, Harrington. At least one of them isn’t gonna believe the - the story. ”

“Eddie,” Steve starts and Eddie rolls his eyes, exasperatedly.

“Steve,” he mocks, mouth twitching up, albeit self-deprecating. “Two months ago, over half of Hawkins was ready to sentence me to the gallows. I can deal with this, even if it isn’t true. I’ve dealt with taunts.” Though, not like this, he doesn’t add, and he doesn’t need to.

“If that’s supposed to make me feel better, it’s not really working,” Steve says and Eddie only sighs, gesturing over to the stairs leading to his trailer.

“Sit,” he says, moving back over to the van. “Let me finish this and then you can tell me what you’re doing here. Again.”

A hand catches his wrist before he can reach up to scrub at the graffiti. It’s warm and all encompassing and Eddie freezes at the feeling, staring down at it for a second before he meets Steve’s gaze again. 

“Let me help,” Steve says. Eddie shakes his head immediately, protesting.

“No,” he says. “I’m not asking you to do that.”

“I know,” Steve says, and when Eddie’s grip slackens in confusion, he takes the rag from his hand, rolls up his sleeves, and gets to work. Eddie stares at him - he does it a lot more than he probably should - and after a moment, Steve chances a glare at him over his shoulder shifting in its effort to scrub away at the paint. “Do I need to ask you to help, Munson?”

Eddie chuffs but reaches down to plunge his hand in the bucket and takes up a second rag, standing beside Steve and bumping his shoulder. Thank you , it means. He sees Steve smile to himself, but neither says anything after that.

And that was okay.

—

Eddie has worked at Thatcher Tire since he was seventeen. 

He’d always been fascinated with mechanics, the need to play with the metal beneath his fingers, to twist and turn and gauge. It settled his nerves, and Wayne used to tell him he was always quietest when he changed the oil of his van. 

Which is why Eddie doesn’t hesitate when Mr. Thatcher calls to ask for him back. Part time, of course.

He starts on Wednesday morning. It’s daunting - he’s spent so much time in his trailer without any sort of responsibility. It was nice at first, but you can only go so long in utopia without feeling like you’re going a little bit insane.

He runs into Max on his way out of the trailer, walking toward his van. She hasn’t gone to school since her run-in with Vecna. The doctors had advised her against it given that she still had a slight limp and couldn’t see properly in her left eye. Max didn’t seem too worried about it, though, and she’d said as much to Eddie when they hung out - which was practically all the time now. He hadn’t thought about what she would do when he was gone and he found the thought so unbearable, he invited her to tag along. And she had agreed.

Most days, she’d bring a book - she would reread The Fellowship of the Ring for what was probably the third or fourth time. Sometimes, she’d sit back and offer Eddie a conversion, which he would take gratefully. They had stationed Eddie toward the back now, no longer working with customers. He understood - it didn’t bode well to have a man accused for murder at your front desk. Eddie didn’t mind. He enjoyed the mechanical aspect of it all a lot more than the social aspect.

It surprises him to no end - this kid is full of them, he swears - when Max walks up to him and asks him what he’s doing and why it’s needed and does he need help?

He almost drops the old headlight in his hand, but he accepts the aid nonetheless, showing her where the new bulb goes and how she can screw it in to get it just right. Later, after they’ve changed each and every light on the car, Max starts up the engine, and Eddie cheers when the slowly darkening garage flares brightly, red lights flickering around them.

Eddie reaches out, as if to ruffle the kids hair, but he holds back to pat her shoulder awkwardly instead. 

“Next time, I’ll show you how to change a car's oil, yeah?”

Max grins.

—

Contrary to popular belief, Eddie actually does graduate.

It shocked him to his very core, but at the sight of his diploma, Eddie couldn’t help but feel a crashing sense of relief, knocking the air out of his lungs. 

Eddie hadn’t returned to school since that last day before Spring Break, before his old world ended and his new one began. The hospital had cleared the rest of his days off for the continuation of the school year, and considering the fact that he’d almost been charged for first degree murder, it made sense for him not to return to a place filled with people who have always hated him. 

Though, it did sting a bit to sort through the package that held the certificate, knowing there was no way to make the end of his years there count like he’d always dreamed. Another part of him was glad it was all over and that he could forget about that God awful place just like he tried to forget about everything else. After almost three years, some things just become redundant.

Wayne had hugged him and muttered that he would always be proud of him and Eddie absolutely did not break down later that night.

When Max saw the diploma, she congratulated him. She patted him on the back and said that graduations were overrated anyway. Eddie was grateful for the sarcasm.

He placed the diploma deep in his room.

It wasn’t until Steve brought it up a few weeks later that Eddie brought it out again.

Steve only shook his head at the sight of it, watching as Eddie wiped some remaining dust off of the leather covering and handed it over to him.

“I still can’t believe they mailed it to you,” Steve says, fingers running over Eddie’s name, brows furrowing. Eddie only chuckles and takes another hit of the joint they’ve been passing between themselves. 

“I can’t believe they even let me graduate, man,” he says, tilting his head back against the side of his mattress as the cool night air enters through his window, chilling him to the bone. He tries not to shiver. “I’m not too hung up on the specifics of it all.”

“Dustin always told me you were gonna flip off Higgins on stage,” Steve admits, handing the diploma back, gently, knowing how important it really is to Eddie. He takes the joint from Eddie’s dangling fingers and his eyes water slightly as he puffs out the smoke. “I would have loved to see that.”

“That man should not be working at a school,” Eddie states, placing the diploma in his lap, resting his hand there, afraid it will jump up and run away from him. 

Steve laughs, coughing. There’s this relaxed air around him, and while it circles around Eddie, too, it seems different when it comes to Steve. He’s fuller, lively. They've only done this a couple times - random days in the week where Steve visits and they share a joint or a bottle of something. Sometimes, they sit on Eddie’s porch. Sometimes, they stay in his room. Steve always offers to go out, but Eddie declines, and Steve doesn’t push. In fact, he seems keen on staying at Eddie’s place, even though it is much smaller than what he is probably used to.

Eddie knows Steve’s been high before, though it feels like the first time all over again. Steve is giggly, lax, and so stupidly funny he leaves Eddie gasping, pressing against the bandages wrapped tightly around his bruising ribs. It’s nice, whatever it is. Steve is nice, though that is putting it all so simply.

They finish off the joint before Eddie realizes it and Steve stubs it out on a random piece of paper he finds. He sighs, dropping back against the mattress, shifting his legs against the floor they’re sitting on. He turns his head, hair ruffling against the sheets, and Eddie follows. Steve grins.

“Hi,” he mutters and Eddie laughs at how achingly endearing it is.

“Hello there, lightweight,” he says, knocking his leg against Steve’s. “Are you still with us, Harrington?”

Steve snorts but nods all the same, eyes landing on the curl resting on Eddie’s shoulder, the one that faces a different direction, annoying him to no end. Steve clears his throat.

“Can I ask you a question?” Steve whispers, conspiratorially leaning his head toward Eddie, Eddie follows.

“Shoot,” he whispers, and Steve makes a face at the way Eddie copies him, though it's dulled suddenly.

“What would you do if you hadn’t been caught up in all of this?” he says, gesturing around at everything. “Like, the Upside Down and the monsters and V-man. What would you be doing? Right now.”

Eddie lets out a long breath, tamping down his amusement.

“Well, I sure as hell wouldn’t be smoking weed at one in the morning, in my room, with Steve fucking Harrington,” he sighs. It’s a cheap cop out, but Steve snorts all the same, bumping his arm against Eddie’s. 

“Yeah, alright,” he chuckles, but Eddie hurries to continue, drawing those red rimmed, brown eyes toward his own.

“I’m a little glad, though,” he says, suddenly feeling warm - embarrassingly so. He hopes Steve’s too high to notice the heat creeping up his face, ears tingling. “That it all led up to this. This isn’t the worst way to spend the night - or morning, I guess. However you want to put it.”

Steve practically melts in front of him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eddie confirms. They just look at each other for a while longer, taking the other in. And then Eddie is clearing his throat, startling Steve slightly. “Can I ask you a question now?”

Steve smirks and nods, enthusiastically. Jesus, this boy. Eddie bites his lip, glancing away.

“Is it true you beat up a Russian officer, or was Dustin only saying that to get me to like you?”

Steve cackles.

—

Max Mayfield loves blueberry pancakes.

Eddie laughs to himself as he watches Max - two-toned eyes narrowed as she continuously blinks sleep away - reach for a third flapjack, dousing it in syrup.

“They’re not gonna run away from you, Red,” he says, and Max only shrugs, crunching on a stray blueberry.

She glances around the emptied diner, humming to herself as she swallows down another bite of the pancakes. “How have I never been here before?”

“This is the kinda stuff they don’t give you in California, man,” he jokes and Max rolls her eyes.

Truth be told, Eddie has also never been to this particular diner, and he’s lived in Hawkins for the majority of his life. This is the first time they’ve come here together. Eddie had woken up earlier that morning, way earlier than Wayne, and had sat out on his front steps, listening along to some cassette Max had given him. And then, not even an hour later, the latter girl was stumbling out of her house, wrapped up in a flannel because even if they were nearing summer, the mornings still lingered with the remnants of the chilled night. She’d come over without a word and sat beside him, listening to Stevie Nicks sing along with her tambourine. Eddie had offered that they go out for breakfast and Max had agreed.

It must have been the best decision they’ve ever made. The pancakes were well worth getting up so early, even if neither had planned for it to happen.

Now, Max sits across from him and fiddles with the shaker of salt. She glances up at him.

“Is this awkward for you?” she asks and Eddie hums in confusion, waiting for her to continue. “Being out in the open. After, like, not being out in the open for so long.”

Eddie leans his head on his palm and pointedly ignores the death stare a few patrons over are sending his way.

“A little bit,” he says, taking a sip of his orange juice because he refuses to drink apple juice. “I’m sort of used to people not liking me in social situations. But, I don’t know. I’m just eating.”

“Exactly,” Max exclaims and Eddie startles. “You’re just eating. And those people,” she says, glaring over at the visitors Eddie was trying to ignore, “are being assholes - ”

“Language, Miss Mayfield.”

“Even though you’re doing nothing wrong,” Max finishes, sitting back with a huff and crossing her arms. Eddie is beyond touched by Max’s outburst, if a little shocked. She’s never seemed so defensive over him. Eddie grins, waving around his ringed hands.

“That’s the beauty of it all, Max,” he says. “You go out and function like a normal human being - force yourself into their conformity - and watch them lose their minds. There’s nothing people hate more than freaks being themselves around them. It drives them nuts.”

Max smirks. “Does that make me a freak, too?”

Eddie blanches. “Shit, I didn’t mean it like - ”

“No,” Max says, smiling genuinely over her cup of juice. “I like it. This shit hole is filled with too many boring people who act like that’s acceptable. I don’t want to be one of them.”

Eddie laughs, raising his own cup in triumph. “Wise words, Red. I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Max chuckles, clinking her glass with his, and then they're both reduced to quiet laughs, stifling them into their hands. After a second, Max turns serious, and Eddie follows, though both of their mouths still curl up from the remnants of their amusement.

“If we’re going to be freaks in public,” the girl starts, pulling up her hair to attack another pancake, “can we do it here? Because this place has the best food I’ve ever had, I swear.”

“Oh, absolutely. ”

—

Steve’s smile greets Eddie before his words as he enters Family Video.

The boy leans back against the counter, vintage green vest clashing beautifully with that goddamn polo and Eddie is absolutely not staring.

“Eddie,” Steve says, opening his mouth to continue, but is cut off at the sound of a loud and excited holy shit.

And then Eddie is being bombarded with a hoard limbs and curls. He stumbles slightly at the weight, but sighs into the embrace as he pats Robin on the back.

“Buckley,” he says, and his voice comes out fond. He pulls away, jostling her arm. “Long time no see.”

“No shit it’s been a long time, man,” she exclaims, throwing her hands up and pacing around Eddie. Steve meets his eyes from above her head and he snorts. “Not a word we hear from you until Steve shows up out of the blue and says that you two have been meeting up, secretly - ”

Steve winces. “Robin - ”

“No, but really, man,” Robin starts anew, stuttering as she changes the topic as quickly as she ended the last. “How was house arrest? Sorry, is that a horrible question? I haven’t seen you in at least a month - ”

Eddie clears his throat, smiling sympathetically. “Robin.”

“Oh, you have to come to the going away party for Nancy and Jonathan at Steve’s house, unless you’re busy, if so then that’s okay but we would all really like for you to be there and -”

“Robin,” Eddie and Steve yell in sync, watching as the girl covers her mouth and mumbles into her palms. Christ, Eddie missed her.

“She’s right though,” Steve says, crossing his arm, fiddling with his name tag. He grimaces. “I was gonna tell you when I saw you later this week but someone beat me to it.” He glances at Robin and she drops her hands.

“I’m sorry,” she groans and Eddie pats her shoulder.

Steve chuckles, meeting Eddie’s gaze. “Next Saturday. Anytime after five.”

Eddie doesn’t even hesitate.

“I’ll be there,” he says and Steve’s beaming is enough to convince him that things will be fine, even if only for a little bit. He clears his throat before he can get too comfortable. “Actually, I didn’t just come to visit you guys - ”

Robin gasps, betrayed, a true theater kid. “I’m hurt, Eddie.”

Steve chuffs. “What’s up, man?”

“Do you guys have A New Hope in stock?” Max had been craving to watch the movie ever since Eddie had compared her to Leia, joking about how he was more Leia than she was . “ And maybe the rest of the trilogy?”

Robin is leading him away without a moment to lose, holding his arm as she reaches the sci-fi section, exclaiming something about a friend of hers who loves those movies and how many recommendations she has, off again on those endearing tangents, moving a million miles per second.

Eddie glances back over his shoulder toward Steve and he shakes his head. Steve bares his throat as he laughs before he follows the two into the shelves and shelves of stories waiting to be told.

—

Eddie almost bails the second he exits his van and walks up the path to Steve Harrington’s house.

Max’s hand stops him, gripping his elbow, keeping him in place as she turns her face toward him.

“Hey,” she tries and Eddie meets her eyes, sighing. “I radioed the gang last night. No one who we don’t know is going to be here. It’ll just be us .”

The way she says us - Eddie understands it immediately. He looks at the two shades of blue that stare back at him, he feels his scars pulling at his waist. Us. People like Max and Eddie, like Steve and Dustin and Nancy and Robin. The ones who have been to hell and back. The ones Eddie trusts and cares for with all of his heart. The ones who only tolerate him, for good reason. Us. Eddie doesn’t think he’s deserving of the word, but he can’t leave now. Not when Max is looking at him like she means everything she says, holding onto him because she doesn’t want him to go.

So, Eddie only takes a deep breath and nods, leading Red to the front door of the Harrington residence, knocking loudly before he can lose the nerve.

Lucas opens the door and practically glows at the sight of Max.

It’s all a blur after that.

He gets lost in the crowd, taken into this flurry of arms and laughs and jokes. Dustin hugs him so tight he’s sure he’s pulled a stitch. Mike pats him on the back and introduces him to his girlfriend, who compliments his hair sweetly, telling him she likes his tattoos. She blushes when he calls her buzz cut metal. Lucas leads Eddie to meet the infamous Will the Wise, and they get hung up, talking about D&D, the kid’s eyes light up and Eddie swears it makes the house that much brighter. Nancy eventually pulls him away and he finds himself caught in a conversation with her and Robin, Jonathan Byers and a friend of his that looks entirely too high to function. 

It’s fun. It’s safe.

Eddie thinks he must have done something good in his past life to even breathe the same air as these people, and he’s so unbelievably grateful.

Eventually as the night winds down, he sits back against the wall, holding a red plastic cup that is definitely filled with soda, watching the rest of The Party huddle around and jostle one another. Max joins him, crossing her arms.

“You alright?” she asks, and when he turns to her, he can’t see the walls that she has up anymore. They’ve tumbled somewhere along the way, and Eddie finds that his own fortress has been knocked down as well. And he doesn’t mind.

He glances back over to the group rocking with raucous laughter at something Dustin has said, and there is Steve, in the midst of it all, rolling his eyes and ruffling the kid’s hair. Eddie hadn’t gotten a moment alone with him yet, but that's alright. He was here - they both were.

And when Steve’s eyes meet his, he smiles. Eddie’s never felt so fond.

He smiles back. Of course he does.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

—

Max fits into Thatcher Tire like she’s been there as long as Eddie has.

It’s nice to have help - an apprentice, you could say, though Max always rolls her eyes when Eddie calls her that.

She grabs onto the ropes and doesn’t even try to let go. She’s a natural at it, and more times than not, Eddie sees her hands stained with grease for hours after their shifts. Eddie jokes that she’s gonna take his job if she keeps it up and she looks him dead in the eyes and says that that’s the whole point. Eddie doesn’t know whether to be intimidated or amused, so he only throws his dirty rag at her face and laughs when she does.

One day, a car is dropped off near the front of the shop and before Eddie can pull it in, Max is turning on the engine and parking better than Eddie ever could. When he asks about it she only shrugs.

“I don’t know how to drive ,” she clarifies. “Not, like, in any legal sense, anyway.”

Eddie chuckles. It sticks with him long after they’ve finished changing the battery on that car and many others that come in later that day. Once they're finally home, Eddie turns his van off after he parks. He faces Max before she can go.

“How about this,” he starts and Max narrows her eyes. “We’re both free tomorrow. We’ll get breakfast and then go to the empty lot at the school to practice the basics.”

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Max smile so hard.

—

Days pass, and along with it, the summer.

People don’t ever stop looking - Eddie knows it’ll take a while for him to go out into town without people meeting his eyes every other second -  but the staring does end. He’s pretty sure that’s mostly due to Max who only stares back with her two toned eyes, boring holes into them until they finally look away.

They take a few weeks to practice in the Hawkins High parking lot, Eddie guiding Max on what gear to use when and where, how to parallel park, how to reverse out of the aforementioned parking spot.

Max picked it up easily throughout the weeks, though she needed more time to handle the vehicle since her sense of sight was reduced to one eye. Eddie always helped but Max handled it eventually, using her right eye to check both sides, though it did require her to move her head from side to side before she could cross any streets.

Eddie almost cried when Max drove them to and from Thatcher Tire all in one day. Max had parked the car, just the way he’d told her to, right outside of his trailer, and turned the keys to his van, the engine shutting off.

Eddie had felt the need to hug her in that moment, to tell her he was proud. Instead, he had said that he finally had a designated driver, and Max rolled her eyes, but she had taken the offer of a high five with a grin.

Wayne joined them a few times on their offers of dinner even though he had work after. They got along well, Max and Wayne, poking fun at Eddie whenever they saw fit, his uncle cackling when Max retold some embarrassing story she had from earlier that day at work while Eddie sighed in betrayal but laughed along all the same.

Some days, most days, Eddie and Steve hung out. It was hard to balance out who he could see on what days, but after work, after Max went home, Steve usually picked him up from the trailer park, and they’d go on drives to wherever they saw fit, Eddie laughing as Steve tried way too hard to imitate Freddy Mercury’s voice. 

They went on walks, usually out to town when Eddie needed to go and run some errands for Wayne and Steve tagged along because they had been slowly melded by the hip, as Robin liked to say whenever Eddie came to pick Steve up at the end of his shift.

Eddie always dragged Steve to the Music Store, though he couldn’t help but notice how awed Steve seemed by it all, listening intently when Eddie went on a rant as he trailed his fingers through the stacks and stacks of records and cassettes, giving all sorts of backstory and excitedly mentioning the newest albums that are set to come out later on in the year. Eddie never entered the section of the store that sold guitars and Steve never questioned it. 

Eddie always apologizes, after they’ve left empty handed, about the long talks and Steve only smiles at him, flicking a curl of hair away from his face. And Eddie never understands why.

They get high, which isn’t new, but their spots change. Sometimes it’s in the parking lot of Family Video. Sometimes it’s on the empty swing set of the town park while the sun is going down. Sometimes it’s on the roof of the Harrington residence.

Steve climbs the lattice leading to the perch they’d found, always stumbling on the same crack in the wall, smiling down at Eddie with disarrayed hair and curving lips, reaching down a hand to pull him up.

Eddie jokes and calls him Spider-man. 

He tries not to notice the way Steve’s cheeks heat up everytime.

—

Eddie knew this was going to happen sooner or later.

He was only grateful that he was alone when it did.

He wasn’t doing anything suspicious, though everything about him was suspicious these days. He had only just exited the grocery store, carrying plastic bags in his arms, the straps pulling at his wrists, dragging him down, causing his beaten Chuck Taylor’s to scuff against the pavement. He had been putting his groceries away in his van. There was no real offense other than his existence, and really, Eddie couldn’t blame Carver for being offended.

He was putting the last of the bags in when he heard his name.

“Hey, Munson!”

And then it was like he was back at school, those days before where he ducked and cowered. The days before he’d learned to use his quick tongue and how to plant his feet. The days before he’d died.

Things are different now. There was no point in trying to hide.

He sighs as he slides the van door shut, turning to lean against it, watching as the group wearing matching letterman jackets stalked toward him.

“Evening, boys,” he greets, trying to keep his eyes focused on Jason’s and not the weapon in his hand. He notices the slowly emptying parking lot, the dark sky as the sun lays to rest. He clears his throat. “How can - ”

They don’t let him finish.

Andy - Eddie can’t really tell through his blurred vision - is snatching him up by the collar of his shirt, pulling him forward, enough to stumble, though Eddie rights himself immediately. And then there’s a crack at his jaw and Eddie is falling.

His hands scrape roughly against the cement and he winces, pushing himself up, ignoring the way the smart against his cheek pulses, thrumming numbly. He breathes out through his nose, turning back to face Carver, eyeing the way his lackeys circle him. He stretches out placating hands.

“Carver,” he says. “ Jason. Listen to me.”

“You killed her,” he spits, holding up a metal bat, brandishing it toward Eddie, though he doesn’t move to strike. “You killed them . Fred. Patrick. You killed Chrissy. ”

Eddie clenches his eyes past the images of a girl - a beautiful, kind girl who was nicer to him in the one day they spent together than more than half of this town combined in over ten years - mangled on his ceiling. Another jock takes his sudden vulnerability as an invitation, yanking a fistful of his hair back to bash at his lip. Eddie can taste blood as he heaves, but he never looks at anyone else. Only Jason.

“I didn’t kill anyone,” he tries, moving to step closer, but Jason only holds the bat higher. “I didn’t kill Chrissy, man.”

“That’s a lie!” Jason screams, but Eddie doesn’t flinch. He only keeps going.

“She was losing her mind, Jason,” he continues. “She wanted something to keep it all quiet, just for a little bit.”

“So, she came to you for drugs ?” 

Eddie nods. And then Jason is lunging, dropping the bat, taking Eddie by the waist and tackling him to the floor.

Jason’s fists meet him before his words as he hits and hits. And Eddie only takes it. He tries not to cry out with every punch, every spurt of blood, but it all hurts so much.

And when Jason reels back, his knuckles bruised, Eddie is kicking a leg up and shifting them around, slamming Jason roughly in his place. He hears the jocks move forward to help, but Jason only has a split second to refuse before Eddie stops pulling his punches.

It’s continuous, and in a matter of seconds, Eddie is almost convinced that Jason has passed out. But then Carver is yelling for him to stop, so Eddie does.

He stares down at his cramping hands, his knuckles dotted with purple and blue, and he looks to Jason. This boy who tormented him relentlessly in school, who Eddie had hoped deep down, in that sick piece that made up a fraction of his whole, for something to happen to him. And here it was. Eddie only has to keep going.

Instead, he pushes himself up unsteadily onto his feet, and backs off, wiping the blood that has started to trickle down his nose. Jason rises on his forearms, staring at Eddie in awed disgust. None of his friends move toward him, so neither does Eddie.

He meets Carver’s eyes and tries to push down the onslaught of tears, but they’re there, and how can anyone blame them?

“I should have tried to get her to talk to someone,” he says, though it sounds more like a sob. “I shouldn’t have taken her back to my house. I promise you, Carver, if I could have taken her place in all of this, I would have. Without question.”

Jason watches him and watches him. Eddie wipes away a tear that trails its way down his cheek and his hand comes back red. He inhales sharply through his nose.

“I’m not asking for you to forget about her,” he whispers, shaking his head slowly, desperately. “But I’m begging you to forget about me. And I promise you, I won’t ever try to cross your path again. Just let this all be put to rest with her.”

Eddie doesn’t wait for a response. He only turns away from the team and trips over to his van.

And he swears, as he glances back dutifully toward the group, he sees Jason nod.

—

Eddie freezes the moment he enters his trailer.

Max and Steve rise to greet him, then skid to a halt at the sight of him, beaten and bloody, holding plastic bags filled with celery sticks and boxes of cereal.

Eddie blinks at them. “What the hell are you - ”

“Your uncle let me in earlier, before he left,” Max clarifies, gesturing around to the trailer. “He said you were out getting groceries, and then I got worried - ”

“You were worried about me, Max?” Eddie says, and maybe it was all the blows to his head, but he swears Max looks borderline tearful as she takes him in. She hardens her eyes before he can get a good look.

“For obvious reasons,” she exclaims, coming over to take the bags from his hands. Eddie sways without the added weight to keep him tethered, and Steve is on him in a second, catching him, holding him up against his chest until Eddie can stand with his own feet, though he doesn’t move his grip away from his arm.

He lifts a hand toward Eddie’s face, hovers it there for a moment, and then clenches it. It drops down beside him. The man swallows thickly, his eyes twitching.

“What happened?” he asks and Eddie tries to wave the question away, but he can’t really feel his hand. 

“I ran into some - uh - old friends,” he shrugs, wincing at the ache in his jaw.

Steve watches him for a moment, gauging him, before he’s leading Eddie toward the hallway, into the bathroom, Max following quickly behind.

“Max,” Steve calls out, fishing in his pocket for something until he comes up with keys and hands them to the girl with stern instructions. “There’s a first aid kit in my car, behind the passenger seat.”

Max nods and scurries out, footsteps thumping before the front door is creaking open and shutting, muffled slightly by the ringing in Eddie’s ears.

“What - ” he starts, shaking his head up at Steve as he eases Eddie down to sit on the toilet seat. “How are you here?”

“I drove.”

“I saw your car, obviously you drove.”

Steve chuckles, flicking away that curl of Eddie’s hair before his hands drop down to his biceps.

“Do you have rubbing alcohol?”

“Under the sink,” Eddie says, and Steve moves down into a crouch, pulling open the cabinet doors, searching intently.

“Max called me,” Steve says, pulling out the newly opened bottle of antiseptic that Wayne used to clean up Eddie’s wounds last time, though Eddie had stopped bleeding entirely from his stitches. He really was healing - at least, physically. Steve pulls out a new roll of gauze, too, then rejoins Eddie nudging his knees open with his own so he can step in between them. “She was really worried. We both were.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie apologizes, and Steve shakes his head immediately as he opens the cap of the bottle and pours some alcohol onto the strip of gauze.

“This isn’t your fault,” he assures and Eddie only shrugs. Steve gestures for Edie to tilt his chin up. He lays the gauze above the wound, waiting to press down, and Eddie can see that his hand is shaking. “It’s those assholes who - ”

“Steve,” Eddie starts, tilting his head, trying to look into those eyes beneath the fringe of his bangs. “It’s alright.”

“No, Eddie, it isn’t - ”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten the shit kicked out of me, Steve,” Eddie whispers, though he had meant for it to come out a lot lighter than it sounded.

“Eddie,” Steve starts, and he sounds so sad and - no. Eddie isn’t worth Steve Harrington getting sad over. He can’t be.

“Steve,” Eddie repeats, gripping onto Steve’s wrist. “Please.”

Steve watches him, and he opens his mouth to protest, but then he sighs and holds up the soaked gauze again, against Eddie’s temple.

“This is gonna hurt. I’m sorry.”

“I know. It’s okay.”

Max brings the first aid kit, muttering about how hard it was to find in the dark. She offers Steve the supplies he needs, handing them to him when he asks, wiping away the scrapes on Eddie’s hands while Steve cradles them in his own, even though he knows Eddie doesn’t need the extra assistance. Eddie doesn’t mind. They each offer him small conversations, different distractions to keep his mind away from the blood they clean and the bruises they nurture. Eddie only tries to swallow down the emotion that threatens to creep up on him for the second time in less than two hours.

They all laugh when Max brandishes a box of My Little Pony bandaids, though Max places the Applejack decorated one to the wound on his forehead when he asks, chuckling to herself.

Steve smiles at the two of them and moves away the curtain of hair that covers the bandage.

His hand lingers against Eddie’s skin for just a moment, and then it's gone along with the pain, taking it away with just a touch.

Eddie really doesn’t know how to feel, but how can he complain?

—

Steve leaves later that night with a million promises that yes, Eddie will call you tomorrow, Steve.

Max seems as hesitant as Steve, but before she can go, Eddie offers that they watch a movie.

Max sits closer to him on the couch than she usually does.

She lets Eddie rest his pounding head against her shoulder, and when Johnny Cade lies in his hospital bed, neither says a word when they see the other crying.

—

Eddie has almost forgotten the attack when Steve mentions it again.

“What did you mean when you said that?” he asks carefully, turning his head to Eddie’s, his hair ruffling around him as it shifts against the back window of his Beemer. “When you said you were used to getting the shit kicked out of you?”

Eddie only shrugs, staring up at the tops of the pine trees, the darkening sky making way for stars. His back is cool with the feeling of glass pressing into his shoulder blades beneath his shirt. He shifts his legs where they hang off the tail of Steve’s car, hoping the weight of both of them isn’t enough to cause damage to the trunk.

“I mean exactly what I said, Stevie,” he answers. The endearment isn’t new, but it takes some getting used to. He knows Steve likes it, though, if the slight twitch to his lip is enough of a tell.

“I know,” Steve continues, throwing his hands up, dropping them back down with a sigh. “I just…”

He trails off, but Eddie understands.

“My dad was an asshole,” he says, and he doesn’t really need to explain if Steve’s sympathy means anything, but he does. “He drank a lot, you know. My mom got sick when I was young - really sick. She passed before I could even really get to know her. He didn’t handle it well. He got into trouble, dragged me along. He wasn’t as bad as he could have been, but. It was enough.”

His hand absentmindedly trails over the scar on his other palm and Steve’s eyes follow the movement.

“What happened?” he asks, and Eddie lets those brown eyes meet his own. “After all of that.”

“Wayne visited one day. Saw my hand bleeding and the broken bottle on the floor and my bruised eye. He didn’t even bother asking,” Edde says, and he feels awed at the story, even years after it’s happened. “He just took one look at me, and I was his. He took me away from that - that man. And I never went back.”

Steve grins, nudging his elbow against Eddie’s. “I love your uncle.”

Eddie snorts but nods so hard he feels his neck crack. “Me too.”

“Were there any other times?” Steve whispers after a pause and Eddie almost wants to laugh.

“I wasn’t exactly loved in school, Steve,” Eddie scoffs. “Didn’t Tommy Hagan ever tell you about that time he almost - ”

He stops immediately at the sight of Steve’s eyes widening. His amusement drops.

“Oh,” he breathes, and he can’t help but be a little shocked. “Holy shit, he didn’t.”

“What the hell did he do to you?” Steve practically seethes. Eddie sits up and pulls his knees up to his chest.

“This was years ago, Steve. I’m not one to hold grudges.”

“He was always an asshole to you,” Steve mutters, running trembling hands through his hair. “And I never did anything to stop it.”

“Steve,” Eddie holds out a hand and places it against Steve’s knee, meeting him head on. “That was a long time ago. We were both completely different people then. We weren’t friends.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“I know,” Eddie says. “But I don’t care about that now. I’ve obviously forgiven you - ”

“Way too easily,” Steve mutters. Eddie squeezes his thigh, forcing him to meet his gaze again.

“You were an asshole, Steve,” Eddie continues. “ Were. Not anymore. Now is all that really matters to me. I promise.”

Steve breathes heavily for a second, eyes dropping down to the loose grip Eddie now has on his leg. Eddie can practically see the gears turning in his head. It’s beautiful.

“I’m not in love with Nancy,” he says, and Eddie blanches.

“Excuse me,” he stutters and Steve laughs lightly.

“I’m not in love with her. Not anymore,” he clarifies, focus set entirely on Eddie as his hair flops dangerously toward his brow bone. “I think that old me - the one that was in love with her - matured. I only thought I did because I thought I was supposed to. But, I know now. And I’m glad I can finally move on from everything, you know?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nods, smiling at this wonderful, beautiful boy in front of him. “Yeah, I know - or, no I don’t. I’ve never been in love. And I wasn’t, like, in need of a huge redemption arc, like you were - ”

“Redemption arc?” Steve shakes his head, suddenly confused.

“Yeah, you know, like in Return of the Jedi , with Vader, and how he stepped in and went against all his beliefs for the people he loved and - why are you laughing? I’m being so serious right now, Harrington.”

Steve tilts his head back, up into the night sky, and cackles. Eddie follows close behind, running his palm up and over his face, groaning. He sighs as he meets Steve’s eyes, but he freezes at the look he gives him.

Steve shakes his head slowly as his eyes rove over Eddie’s face.

“I’ve never known anyone like you, Eddie Munson,” he says, and Eddie has never heard Steve’s voice so soft. Eddie tries for a small smile, but it’s a little awkward.

“Is that a bad thing?” he whispers.

Steve meets him in this space between, and Eddie never wants to look away. He doesn’t ever want to move, especially now.

Especially as Steve reaches out gently and wraps one of Eddie’s curls - the one that waves in a different direction - around his finger, holding it there for a moment, running the strand between his index and thumb, before letting go.

“No,” he utters, newly chilling air puffing out, steaming around them. “No, it’s not a bad thing.”

Eddie nods. 

“Good,” he says and Steve mirrors it, smirking.

“Good,” he repeats, then he’s pulling Eddie down to lay side by side, staring up at the sky. “Tell me about the stars.”

And Eddie does.

—

After their waitress laughs at one of Eddie’s stupid jokes for the third time in a row, Max snaps.

“Dude,” she says, her teeth clicking together in the urgency of it.

Eddie narrows his eyes and swallows down his mouthful of blueberry pancake.

“Yes?”

“She’s obviously flirting with you,” she says, glancing over the kitchen counter, where the waitress tries to subtly stare back at Eddie. He feels heat creep up his neck.

The girl must be a year younger than him. New to town, he thinks. No other girl would flirt with him if they knew who he was. If they knew he wouldn’t want to flirt back.

“She’s not,” he tries for a laugh, but it sounds too high, too panicked. Max scoffs.

“You’re not that funny, Eddie - ”

“Ouch, Red - ”

“She keeps staring at you like you’re this revolutionary comedian,” Max stage whispers, gesturing her arms up in the air. “She likes you.”

Eddie snorts, but he doesn't answer until he looks back up at Max and sees her signature look. 

“What?” he laughs and Max snatches his plate of pancakes out from his grip. “Hey - ”

“Go talk to her.”

Eddie blanches, gazing over at the girl, turning his head away when she waves at him.

“I don’t want to.”

Max shakes her head, confused. Eddie knows she isn’t doing this to be mean. Eddie knows she’s doing this because she thinks he’ll benefit from this. But he can’t - he can’t .

“Why?” she asks. Eddie shrugs.

“She isn’t my type.”

Max snorts. “What is your type, then?”

And Eddie just looks at her. He tilts his head. He tries for a smile, but it’s all too self deprecating. Max’s amusement drops, just like that.

And there it is. The thing that kept Eddie up at night as he curled into a ball and tried not to make too much noise as he sobbed. The thing that led to Tommy Hagan beating him to the ground behind the bleachers. The thing that he used to hate himself for, until Wayne took him in one night and held him and told him it was okay, it’s alright, Eddie.  

And for a second, Eddie is sixteen again, fearing for other people’s thoughts of him. Because Max hasn’t said anything and Eddie is starting to panic.

But then, beautifully, Max starts to grin.

“Oh,” she says at first and Eddie laughs, running his hands over his face.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, oh,” Max shrugs. “You know, like, oh, that makes sense. ”

“I can’t tell if that’s backhanded.”

“It isn’t,” Max reassures, and then she’s reaching over and squeezing Eddie’s hand. Her two toned eyes meet Eddie’s and she’s telling the truth. He can tell. And it just about breaks him right there, because what did he ever do to deserve Max’s kind of care? “I swear, it isn’t.”

“Okay,” Eddie whispers, clearing his throat, gripping the girl’s fingers in his. They tether him, keeping him here, and he laughs a little wetly as he tries to blink away the tears threatening to fall. “That’s good, man.”

“Good,” Max nods. She pushes Eddie’s plate of pancakes back over to him and Eddie almost cries for an entirely different reason.

“Thank you,” he cheers, cutting up another slice and stuffing it in his mouth. 

“Finish your food, weirdo,” Max says, but she laughs as she does, and Eddie thinks that it means something entirely different.

—

It was so easy to fall in love with Steve Harrington.

At least, that’s what Eddie thinks.

And when Steve enters Eddie’s home, carrying Iron Maiden’s new album, smiling at Eddie like he’s beyond happy to see him, it doesn’t help his case in the slightest.

Steve practically bounds around the walls of the trailer as he brandishes the record to Eddie. Eddie glances between the vinyl and Steve.

“What’s that?” he asks, even though he knows what it is. 

Steve starts. “It’s - ”

“Where did you get it?”

Steve’s eyes drop as he rubs a hand across his neck, chuckling lightly.

“The music store we always go to,” he shrugs. “I remember you telling me how excited you were for the release, so, you know, I just thought I’d get it for you.”

“This is for me ?”

“Well, yeah,” Steve laughs, and then he’s stepping forward, taking Eddie’s hand in his, and placing the record into Eddie’s palm.

Steve had been putting it lightly. Eddie had been talking his ear off about the new album for months. He knew he wouldn’t be able to afford it right away, but here Steve was, spending his own hard earned money so that Eddie could have something he loved. 

Eddie shakes his head. “I can’t take this, Steve.”

“Why not?”

“It must have been expensive and that’s too much money to spend on me - ”

“Eddie,” Steve says, stretching out his hands to grip Eddie’s shoulders, squeezing them, urging Eddie to look up at him. “I got this for you because I wanted to. Because you’re my friend. And, I don’t know, I know how much music means to you and I knew - ”

Eddie practically throws himself at Steve, wrapping his arms around the other man, pulling him so close Eddie can comfortably fit his nose in the crook of Steve’s neck as he hugs him. Eddie didn’t know another person could feel so much like solace, but here he was.

“Thank you,” he whispers, and slowly, he feels Steve’s own arms come to encircle the small of his back, keeping Eddie there, his cheek pressing into the side of Eddie’s head. “Thank you. Thank you.”

Steve’s breath fans across the nape of Eddie’s neck and he resists the urge to shiver.

“Always, Eds,” Steve murmurs, and Eddie (regretfully) pulls away, keeping his grip on Steve steady as he meets his eyes. That look, the one Steve wore that night on the back of his Beemer, is back full force. His eyes roam around Eddie’s face. 

Eddie can’t really see anything around them, it’s all a blur, but then the record in his hand slips a little, and Eddie moves back to playfully push at Steve’s chest. And Steve lets him go, even though Eddie begged for him to keep holding on - even though he had been the one to pull away.

Eddie clears his throat and moves toward the hallway leading to his room. When he turns back, Steve is staring after him. He tries not to fixate on the look in his eyes as he nods back to his door, holding up the record.

“Are we gonna listen to this baby, or what, Stevie?”

Steve follows without another word.

—

“You an’ Steve been hangin’ out a lot recently,” his uncle starts as he dries the dish Eddie hands to him.

Eddie shrugs. “He’s one of my best friends, Wayne.”

Wayne hums, placing the plate on the rack to dry before Eddie hands him a mug.

“An’ tha’s all you boys are?” Wayne tries. Eddie groans. His uncle holds up his hands in surrender. “‘M just askin’, Eddie.”

“I know,” Eddie sighs, his fingers pruning beneath the stream of water that spurts from the sink. “I know.”

“So?”

“We’re just friends,” he says. “That’s all.”

His uncle nods. “Alright.”

Eddie blinks at him. “But?”

“But what, kid?”

“There’s something else you want to say.”

“I won’t say it if ya’ don’t want me to.”

Eddie leans forward onto the lip of the sink, soap foaming around his fingers. 

Wayne dries his hand on the rag that hangs on the hook above him.

“He seems like a good friend, Eddie,” his uncle says, patting him on the back, and Eddie laughs.

—

Eddie is midway through a conversation with Max when Steve’s Beemer pulls up.

They cover their eyes as the headlight shine down, blinking away the spots in their vision when they shut off.

Steve steps out of his car in a hurry, and it takes a call from Eddie for him to turn around and face them where they’re stationed on the grass, their old spot.

Steve takes Eddie in for a moment, and then his eyes land on Max. The boy stutters for a second before he says, “You’re busy.”

It’s not exactly a question. Eddie still feels the need to answer.

“Not really,” he shrugs, glancing over at Max, who is watching the exchange with a weird gleam in her eyes. “We’re just talking. Do you wanna join?”

“No,” Steve answers immediately, before he’s shaking his head and clearing his throat. He looks desperate - he looks nervous. Disappointed. “No. No, it’s alright.”

“Steve - ”

“I’ll see you guys soon, yeah?” he says, and then. he’s turning on his heel immediately, entering his car, turning it up, and pulling out of the park before Eddie can even think to say anything else.

Eddie watches as the last of Steve’s bumper disappears. Then, he turns to Max.

“What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know, he’s weird,” she shrugs, picking at a blade of grass beneath her hand. “But, maybe it’s got to do with the fact that he’s completely and totally in love with you.”

Eddie reels his head back. He blinks.

“What?”

“What?” she says, tilting her head, as if she’s the one who has any right to be confused. “Do you not see it?”

“He is not - ” Eddie stops for a second, not even allowing himself to think the words, let alone say them. “He is not completely and totally in love with me. ”

“Head over heels, Munson. Just like the song.”

“Max,” Eddie groans into his hands.

“Eddie,” she mocks, eyes boring into him. “ How do you not see it?”

“There’s nothing to see.”

Max watches him for a moment. “You know I’m okay with it.”

“I know you’re okay with me - ”

“No. I’m okay with you and Steve.”

“Max - ”

“Listen, Eddie,” Max says, placing a hand against his shoulder. He meets her eyes. He listens. “I’ve known him for a while. And I have never seen him so himself with anyone. Not like when he’s with you.”

Eddie breathes out, low and slow. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Max chuckles, rolling her eyes. “It’s sweet. But you can’t tell him I said that.”

Eddie takes the girl's hand in his and locks his pinky with hers. “I promise.”

Max knocks her arm with his and lays back.

“It works, you know,” she says, yawning, pulling on one of her braids. “You and Steve. I can see it.”

Eddie wishes he had her foresight.

—

It’s the middle of the night and someone is banging on the front door.

Eddie springs up from bed and stumbles out, into the hallway, to the entrance of his trailer. Wayne is still out at work, which means it’s late .

Eddie breathes for a moment, willing his hands to stop shaking, taking inventory of the bat Wayne always keeps beside the door ( just in case ) before he swings it open, plants his feet.

And he’s met with a tearful Max Mayfield.

The tension in Eddie’s body drops at once.

“Max,” he whispers, and Max's chin trembles. “What-”

The girl is on him in moments, crashing into him, sobbing into his chest as she wraps her arms around his middle. Eddie doesn’t hesitate to hold her back.

“Max,” he tries, but the girl only cries harder. “Max. Hey , what’s wrong, kid?”

“Eddie,” she sobs, pressing her face into his shirt, unwilling to let go. Eddie slowly places a hand on top of her head, and when she doesn’t move, doesn’t protest, he ruffles her hair, soothingly, the way his uncle always does for him. He shuts the door behind her, shushing her when she flinches at the loud thump .

“Max,” he says, holding her close. “I’m right here, Max. It’s alright.”

The girl sniffles, pulling away, though she keeps her hands clenched in the fabric around him. She doesn’t meet Eddie’s eyes.

“Hey,” he says, rubbing her arms. “Do you want to sit down?”

Max glances around and hums, nodding. 

He leads her to the couch, easing her down, patting her shoulder. He waits a second, and then he’s moving. Max snatches out a hand to grip his wrist and he meets her terrified eyes.

“Where are you going?” 

“I’m just gonna get you some water,” he says, patting her hand. He points to the kitchen. “I’ll be right there. Okay?”

She loosens her hold, dropping her hand to her lap.

“Okay.”

Eddie reaches the cabinets, grabs a glass, takes the pitcher of water from the fridge and fills the cup. He can see Max watching his every move in his periphery. He brings the cup to her the moment he’s finished, as fast as he can.

He sits beside her, giving her space, though she seems to want to be close to Eddie. He lets her press her arm into his as she gulps down the water then places the glass down onto the coffee table.

“Max,” Eddie starts after a second. “What happened?”

She takes a shaky breath in, toying with her fingers, her hair loosened from the ponytail she fastened it in.

“I had a bad dream,” she says, and Eddie sighs. She wipes away a shallow tear that trails down her cheek and continues. “A really bad dream.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Eddie questions. Max’s eyes roam around the living room. She wraps her arms around herself, rocking gently, before nodding. Eddie nods with her. “Okay. Just - whenever you’re ready.”

Moments pass, then minutes, and then Max says, “On the Fourth of July, Billy died.”

Eddie only hums to tell her that he knows. He remembers Billy Hargrove. He was an asshole, but Eddie had never wished for him to die. He knew how much the death affected Max, and it broke his heart to see how torn up she was - how guilty, even though it wasn’t her fault. It never was.

“I’m sure you already know how it happened,” she shrugs, her oversized sweatshirt bunching up around her shoulders. “It wasn’t - uh - it wasn’t pretty.”

Max drops her hands to her knees, clenching at the skin there to keep them from trembling, and Eddie wants nothing more than to reach out and take this kid in his arms and protect her with everything that he has.

“I stopped dreaming about him after everything with Vecna,” she says, flinching slightly at the name, and the scars on Eddie’s stomach pulse in resentment. “I thought - I know I finally made my peace with his death, you know?”

“So, you dreamt of his death again?”

Max’s face crumples. “Not his death.”

Eddie shakes his head. Those two toned eyes meet his, broken and dull and overflowing with emotion and oh.

“Oh,” he says and Max chuckles wetly. It comes out more of a sob than anything.

“It wasn’t Billy this time, Eddie. It was you ,” she snaps, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. “It was you, and I watched. And I didn’t do anything. I just watched you - I watched you -”

Eddie takes Max in his arms before she can finish, pulling her to him, letting her cry into his neck, soothing her hair down with his palm.

“I was so scared, Eddie,” she wails. “I was so scared. I thought it was real. It felt so real. ”

“Max,” Eddie whispers. “ Max . It’s alright.”

“You died, Eddie,” she cries. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry .”

“No, no, don’t apologize,” Eddie shushes, rubbing a hand across the girl's back. “It’s not your fault.”

“Eddie.”

“I’m right here, Max,” he assures, hugging Max so close it hurt. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.”

“You almost weren’t.”

“I know,” he says, pulling away, keeping a hold of her arms. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Now who’s apologizing?” Max says and Eddie laughs quietly, reaching out to wipe away a tear that lingered on her nose. Max’s eyes refill. “I didn’t want to wake you up. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I am,” Eddie reassures. “I'm okay, Max. I'm okay.”

Max nods, her brows furrowing. “Billy was an asshole.”

Eddie’s eyes widen. Max continues.

“You’re nothing like him,” she says, holding the front of his shirt. She shakes her head. “And that’s a good thing. I don’t want you to think you’re a replacement.”

“I don’t think that,” Eddie says. 

“He was a bad brother,” she says, her chin trembling. “And you - ”

You aren’t.

Max doesn’t need to say it for Eddie to understand.

“I know,” he says, rubbing Max’s arms in comfort, even though he can feel his own throat close up. “It’s okay, Max. I know.”

“I just,” she tries, sniffling, going on. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Eddie feels his own eyes fill up with how genuine it all sounds - how much he feels. Because he gets it.

“I don’t want anything to happen to you, either,” he says, and Max meets his eyes. She pulls him close again and wraps her arms around his shoulders while his go around her back.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we watch a movie?”

—

Wayne finds them when he gets home.

Max, laying on the couch, head pillowed on her arm while Eddie sits on the floor beside her, his hand holding hers, albeit at an awkward angle, grip strong all the same. They’re both fast asleep, even over the sound of the television static.

Wayne wraps a blanket around both of them before he moves to take Eddie’s bedroom.

—

Here’s the thing: Eddie notices.

Ever since Max tried convincing him that Steve was as gone for Eddie as he was for Steve. Ever since his uncle patted him on the back and assured him that Steve was a good friend , the words holding more meaning than Eddie could possibly begin to fathom.

He noticed .

Everytime they hung out, it was like Eddie was dreaming.

Steve’s eyes held more meaning than usual - or maybe they had always been that way, and Eddie was too oblivious to recognize it. 

He sat closer to him, touched him more, listened so intently when Eddie rambled that he left his cheeks warming and his breaths quickened from something other than his venting. 

Steve practically encompassed him some days, and when Eddie got cold, he’d offer a sweatshirt from his closet or his car. Eddie couldn’t help but notice the way he kept some in the back seat for that exact purpose.

Steve reached out. He touched Eddie’s rings. He slung arms around his shoulders, his waist. Steve let his hands trail into Eddie’s hair when he was bored, his finger curling around that certain strand he was always fixated by. 

Some nights, up on the roof, on the trunk of the Beemer, on the damp grass, Eddie would turn his head toward the boy, not even startling when he saw that Steve was already looking back. 

His eyes - those eyes - trailed across his face, as gentle as a caress, lips turning up as he smiled, gaze dropping down, down, down until Eddie thought - hoped - that maybe -

Because then the moment - if it even was one - was gone, and Steve was turning away, and Eddie was left with even more maybe’s .

—

November came like a storm, crashing into Eddie suddenly, without warning. And similarly enough, so did Steve Harrington.

The air becomes colder, feelings becomes much harder to ignore, and Eddie can’t stop laughing at Steve as they walked, side by side, out of the movie theater.

“I’m telling you, man! That’s what he sounded like!”

“You sound like Yoda!”

“Exactly!”

Eddie practically doubles over, wheezing.

The movie - The Color of Money - hadn’t actually been that bad. It was entertaining, and Eddie didn’t mind staring at Tom Cruise for the majority of it, blushing whenever he sported that grin of his. What had bothered him - and, eventually, what had bothered Steve - was the man who kept leaning over to talk to them, over the sound of Paul Newman, over the background music. Over everything. Talking and talking and talking in that voice.

The one that Steve is imitating right now.

“And then , he said that thing about your hair,” Steve bursts out, throwing his hands up frustratingly. He gestures over to Eddie, stuttering slightly, before landing on, “ Nothing is wrong with your hair. I don’t know why he kept saying things to you.”

“He’s just jealous, man,” Eddie says, shrugging, though he tries to take Steve’s compliment lightly. If the racing in his heart and thumping of his pulse is any indication, it didn’t work.

“He’s an asshole is what he is,” Steve mutters. Eddie chuckles, tutting.

“We’re irritable tonight, aren’t we?” 

Steve shakes his head, sighing, crossing his arms, kicking out his shoe to scuff against the cement.

“He was being rude to you,” Steve whispers. Eddie slows as he turns to look at Steve. 

“Most people are, Stevie.”

“Yeah, well, they shouldn’t be,” Steve scoffs, finally snapping his gaze to Eddie’s. He stares so deep into Eddie that he feels stuck, a painting admired for the art rather than its meaning. Eddie shrugs again, and then he’s the one who is looking away. It’s all he can do.

They’ve parked far from the movie theater, blocks away. Steve had reasoned that it would be easier to leave considering the parking lot closer to the auditorium was always packed to the brim with vans filled with screaming children and teenagers on their first dates. Now, though, as their conversation quietens, as they walk side by side on the empty streets, below the store awnings, below the streetlights, Eddie almost regrets it.

He forgot his jacket. Steve had pulled up beside his trailer earlier that day to pick him up, and in Eddie's haste to pull on his favorite shirt, tame his hair to a mild looking mane rather than a normal one, and say goodbye to his uncle, his favored overcoat had been left behind.

Eddie’s been shivering since the moment they left the theater. He’s wrapped his arms around his middle now, trying not to wince at how his scars ache. 

They’re halfway to Steve's car when he notices.

“You’re cold,” Steve says, and then he’s pulling off his own jacket without another word. Eddie shakes his head, quickening his step.

“Steve, no, it’s fine, I’m not - ”

“Eddie,” Steve starts, saying Eddie’s name in that way he does. Eddie stops, looking up at Steve through the fringe of his bangs. Steve stretches his arm out to give the jacket to Eddie. When he tries pushing it away, Steve takes his elbow. He gives him a look. “Come on, man.”

Eddie sighs. He glances between Steve’s eyes and the fabric, before begrudgingly taking it, muttering, “Only for you, Steve Harrington.”

He doesn’t miss the way Steve smiles, cheeks reddened from what Eddie thinks is the cold. He pulls his arms through the sleeves to avoid diving too deep. 

It surrounds Eddie fully, looser on his frame than Steve’s, but Eddie likes it that way. The inside is still warm and Eddie can feel the goosebumps that rose on his arms settle as he sinks into the jacket, breathing, air fogging in front of him. It still smells like Steve. Eddie absolutely does not think about it.

“Better?” Steve asks, placing his hands in the pockets of his jeans, his arms now bare. Eddie clears his throat.

“Thank you,” he says, nodding. 

Steve grins. “It looks good on you.”

Eddie chuffs, looking down, clenching his hands in the material of the sleeves that flow past his knuckles so that only his fingers stick out.

It’s quiet for a while, just puffs of air and muffled steps, arms brushing and small glances. 

Steve speaks up when they’re only yards away from his Beemer.

“They don’t get it,” he says. Eddie tilts his head. Steve clarifies. “They don’t get you , Eddie.”

“What’s there to get, Steve?” he asks, turning. Steve sighs.

“You don’t know,” he breathes, disbelievingly, though it’s more of a statement than a question. “You really don’t know.”

“Steve - ”

Steve takes a step toward him, then another, closer, closer. 

“How do you not know, Eddie?” Steve utters, his arms coming up into the lack of space between them as his eyes roam, trying to find the right words. His fingers brush against Eddie’s forearms. 

“Steve,” he says. Eddie doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the beauty of saying Steve Harrington’s name.

“You’re just,” Steve tries, looking entirely too overwhelmed. Eddie wants to reach out, he wants to run away. Steve’s jaw sets and his eyes land directly on Eddie’s. And Eddie can’t move. “You’re so fucking remarkable, Eddie Munson.”

Eddie’s next breath comes out of him like he’s been hit, a steaming puff of air that hits Steve’s jaw as he tilts his head up to look at him, the one inch Steve has over him showing full force as the boy travels closer than ever before.

“I’m not - ” Eddie tries to protest, but Steve doesn’t seem to be having it.

“You are,” he says, his lips turning up at the corners, smiling at Eddie like he’s deserving of it. “You are. You so are, Eds.”

Eddie thinks of the scars that mar his chest, his arms, his jaw. He thinks of the way his hands shake and his body trembles. He thinks of the way he hasn’t been able to pick up a guitar in months and the way he still wakes up screaming and the way he’s done nothing that has ever made him anything but a burden.

Eddie holds out his arms, loosely. He’s not sure if they're to ward Steve off or push himself away. All Eddie knows is that he can’t be this close to Steve, despite everything in him telling him to hold him tight and never let go. Don’t prove him wrong.

“Steve,” he whispers, and that’s all he can say.

Steve takes the last step, reaching up to warp around his hands around Eddie’s wrists, cradling them close, like glass, like water.

Eddie swallows and Steve’s eyes roam down, watching the movement. 

“Steve, you don’t want - ”

“What don't I want, Eddie?” Steve asks. Closer and closer and closer and what has Eddie done to deserve this intimacy?

Eddie gives Steve a look. Steve shakes his head.

“It’s getting late,” he whispers. 

Steve’s eyes never leave his, he never lets go. 

Eddie never wants to let Steve Harrington go.

Eddie can feel Steve’s shoes bump into his. His hands get caught in the inches ( feetyardsmiles ) between them, and Eddie doesn’t think twice before placing them on Steve’s chest, against the tight fit of his shirt, above his abdomen. Their eyes never leave the others, not even when Steve’s own hands slide up to curl around Eddie’s own, still balanced on his torso.

“I don’t want you to regret this,” Eddie whispers.

“I could never regret this,” Steve promises, tilting his head down, his nose brushing against Eddie’s. 

Eddie clenches his fingers in the front of Steve’s shirt. One of Steve’s own hands comes up to touch Eddie’s jaw.

“Tell me to stop, and I will,” Steve says, his hair falling forward onto his forehead. Eddie doesn’t hesitate to brush it away. 

Eddie isn’t a lot of things, but he is, without a doubt, selfish. And sometimes - in moments like these - he thinks that’s okay.

“Don’t stop,” he whispers, gaze trained on Steve’s lips and nose and eyes - God, those eyes . “Steve.”

“Eddie,” Steve utters. And then - beautifully, blissfully, heart achingly - the distance between them is gone.

It’s featherlight, fleeting, a caress of lips on lips. It’s not a kiss - not in the slightest - but it leaves Eddie weak in the knees, and if he wasn’t pulled up against Steve, he probably would have fallen - though, he’s already done that in a sense, too, hasn't he?

Steve pulls away slightly, his knuckles coming up to run down Eddie’s cheek, pushing back to Eddie’s ear, into Eddie’s curls. Their eyes meet, and there it is.

There it is.

They surge toward each other at the same time, crashing like a November storm.

Eddie’s never truly been kissed before. Not like this. Not with passion and hope and desperation and -

Steve’s hands trail all over him - his hair, his collar, his shoulders. They land on his waist, pulling him so close, so fast, that he stumbles.

Eddie catches himself on Steve, wrapping his arms around the boy's neck. He laughs against Steve’s lips when he apologizes, but Steve is smiling too, and Eddie’s never tasted something so good .

Steve holds him as if he’s as afraid of losing Eddie as Eddie is of losing him. He doesn’t understand it - he doesn’t understand anything - but who is he to deny this?

This - Steve breathing in Eddie, gripping at his back, wanting.

This - Eddie practically whimpering against Steve, hands gliding from his nape to his jaw to his beautiful hair.

This - them , pulling each other to their hearts, so close they didn’t know where one began and the other ended.

This.

This.

This.

—

The drive back isn’t awkward, but it is quiet.

Eddie doesn’t know how long they stood under those streetlights, swaying with the wind, lips warm and newly kissed, murmuring to each other, grinning so wide it hurt.

Eddie doesn’t know who offered to leave first - because it really was getting colder and, though they were alone, they were out in the open, where anyone could see - but the next thing he knew, Steve was biting his lip to keep from smiling as they cruised down the streets. He kept Eddie’s hand entwined with his as he drove, fingers laced perfectly, thumb rubbing against the sensitive skin there. Sometimes he fiddled with Eddie’s rings, and sometimes he’d lift Eddie’s knuckles up to his lips, kissing them just as gently as he did to Eddie only minutes - moments - before.

Eddie swooned everytime.

They get to Eddie’s trailer a lot faster than he would have liked, but before Eddie can hesitate, Steve is exiting the car, waiting for Eddie to follow. Steve walks him to the door, laughing when Eddie rolls his eyes and calls him a gentleman.

Eddie’s keys sit heavily in his pocket as they trail up the stairs. He turns to Steve the moment he gets to the door, unable to help but notice how close he is. Eddie never wants Steve to be farther away from him than this.

“So,” Eddie begins, crossing his arms, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Steve tilts his head, his hand coming up to clutch at Eddie’s sleeve.

“So,” he repeats, whispering. His cheeks darken slightly from what Eddie now knows is probably not the cold. He smiles. “I meant what I said. You look really good in this jacket.”

Eddie’s own face heats as his lips curl up. He drops his head in his hands, trying to hide. He can hear Steve’s laugh. There has never been a more all consuming sound.

“You’re so much,” Eddie groans. He feels hands around his wrists, pulling them down. Steve’s teeth worry at the corner of his lip. Eddie eyes the movement.

“Is that a bad thing?”

Eddie chuckles. Deja fucking vu.

“No,” he whispers, his hair falling forward, brushing against his cheek. “No, it’s not a bad thing.”

Steve hums, eyes soft and roaming, just like his hands, all around Eddie. Steve tugs slightly on one of Eddie’s lapels and Eddie startles slightly at the reminder of the jacket.

“Here,” Eddie says, pulling at the fabric. “You probably want this back.”

“No,” Steve hurries, stopping Eddie in his tracks as he readjusts the sleeves. “Keep it. Just in case you ever get cold again.”

Eddie doesn’t even hesitate to pull Steve in again, lifting slightly on his feet, cradling the other boy's face in his hands, kissing him with all that he has.

This is a dream - this isn’t real. Eddie is keeping this for as long as he can, and maybe if he says goodbye tonight, it won’t hurt so much in the morning.

Steve’s arms wrap around him after a moment's pause, pushing forward until he’s crowding Eddie against the door, his shoulder blades meeting the wood with a small thump . 

They breathe heavily as they part, foreheads resting together. It’s careful and divine and the closest thing to tender as Eddie has ever felt. 

“I have work this weekend,” Steve says, and Eddie’s eyes open to meet his as he leans back to look at him, his thumbs still running over the shells of his ears. Steve looks resentful, but there’s that spark that’s always there. “I won’t be able to see you.”

“That’s okay,” Eddie murmurs, fingers carding through Steve’s hair, slipping through the strands softly. Steve pushes forward to kiss at the corner of Eddie’s mouth, smiling when it curves up.

“Call me after,” he says, and he doesn’t need to ask. “You know when my shifts end. Whenever you’re free. Just call me.”

Eddie breathes. He watches the spark, glowing behind Steve’s eyes. Eddie would protect it with his life. He doesn’t want to be the one to quell it.

“Okay,” he whispers. “I’ll call you.”

—

Eddie doesn’t call Steve.

The morning after their kiss - and the many that came after - is filled with regret.

Eddie curls up into his mattress, hands placed over his ears as he tries to stop the thoughts swirling in his head. 

Steve had kissed Eddie. That was a fact. That was a reality.

And Eddie had kissed him back. Also a fact. Also a reality.

Also a mistake.

Steve was - God , he was so much to Eddie.

Not in a bad way, just like he said. Never in a bad way.

Steve was the soft sweatshirts that he let Eddie borrow and watery eyes after hitting a joint. He was wavy hair and the sound of music. He was stories about stars and street lights shining down like spotlights. He was an angel who cradled Eddie like stained glass, as if he was worthy of such divinity - of such care.

Eddie couldn’t ruin that - ruin him .

Eddie didn’t know what a life without constant panic was. He was crafted with that voice in his head telling him what he was and wasn’t. Ever since the beginning. It was fed heartily by his fathers biting tone and swinging arms. It feasted on the kids at school who taunted him, and though Eddie had learned to hit back and hit quick, those words and thoughts and voices nagged at him. They tore him apart, just like the bats. Eddie had spent too many nights begging for his mind to silence - he found it ironic that the part of him that was dead wasn’t the part of him that he wished away.

Eddie didn’t call Steve, not because he didn’t want to - because he did, he wanted more than anything to hear his voice, to make him laugh, to fall in love. But that was the problem. He couldn’t let Steve feel what he felt - not for someone like him.

Eddie dreaded getting out of bed that afternoon, but he managed, dragging himself out, ignoring his uncle’s worries - there was no reason for anyone to worry about him - and changing into a fresh pair of clothes.

He only realized he was still wearing Steve’s jacket until he was halfway to Thatcher Tire.

Max picks up on it immediately, despite Eddie’s efforts to keep it contained.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong.”

Max sighs. “ Eddie .”

She knows him too well. He doesn’t deserve her.

Eddie tightens his hands on the steering wheel of his van. He thought the drive would calm his nerves. He was wrong.

“Steve … he - um,” Eddie starts, shoulders slumping as they slow before a red light. He leans forward to rest his forehead on his arms. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You like him, right?” Max asks. Eddie chuckles. Is that even a question?

“I like him,” he says.

“Then that’s it, isn’t it?” Max shrugs, patting his knee, nodding over to where the light has turned green. “Just talk to him, Eddie. It’s that easy.”

God, Eddie wishes it was that easy.

—

Exactly two nights after the kiss, Eddie sees Steve again.

The sight of Steve’s Beemer is enough to frighten him into leaving. The sight of Steve, sitting on the steps that lead to his front door, just like that first morning where everything started, is enough to make him stay.

He makes quick work of parking his van - messily, might he add - and exiting the vehicle, clutching his keys so tightly the metal digs into his palm. 

Steve rises to meet him, crossing his arms over his chest. Eddie is absolutely staring, even though he knows he can’t.

“Hi,” he says, once he’s close enough, tilting his head up to look at Steve, standing a step above him.

“Hi,” Steve murmurs, in that soft way of his - the way Eddie is slowly starting to realize is always directed at him . He clears his throat and tries not to let the voices drown Steve out.

“You’re out late,” he mentions. Steve only shrugs as he leans against the railing.

“I don’t have work tomorrow,” he says. His eyes move quickly from Eddie to the spot behind his shoulder. “Max isn’t here?”

“She’s out with Lucas,” Eddie says, chuckling at the thought of the two kids, blushing in the back seat of the van as he drives them off to the arcade. “They’re on a date.”

Steve hums, laughing along.

Eddie’s eyes drop down to the toes of his Chuck Taylor’s, the slight tremble of his arms. 

He gestures over to the trailer.

“Do you want to come in?” he asks. Steve nods, slowly.

He steps aside and allows Eddie enough room to pass, unlock the front door, and open it for him.

“Who’s the gentleman now, hm?” Steve mutters, and Eddie’s lips twitch up as he follows the boy inside.

And then he’s alone with Steve for the first time since they’ve kissed.

Steve seems to notice it too, because his face turns a slight, beautiful shade of pink as he glances around the interior. 

“Your uncle …?”

“He’s working,” Eddie says, though Steve already knows this. The air around them is tight and tense and he has no idea how else to fill the silence, so he wanders around the trailer, busying his hands and body and tries not to let on how he can feel Steve’s eyes on him.

“Right,” Steve nods, pressing his lips together. Eddie hums in acknowledgment, making his third lap around the kitchen when Steve speaks up and says, “Did I mess up?”

Eddie freezes, snapping his eyes to Steve’s across the distance Eddie has made. He shakes his head, confused.

“What are you talking about, Steve?”

Steve narrows his gaze.

“Okay, please tell me I didn’t imagine the other night,” he says, his arms dropping to his elbows as he tilts his head. “I didn’t imagine that kiss, right?”

“No,” Eddie murmurs, “No, you didn’t imagine it.”

“Okay,” Steve nods, his hands dropping to his sides as he turns them up in question. “Why didn’t you call me, Eddie?”

Eddie glanced away. “I…I just - ”

“Did you not want me to kiss you?” Steve says, and Eddie takes a step forward, immediately, startling the boy.

“No!” he exclaims, then at Steve’s desolate look, he clenched his eyes shut. “I mean, yes . I did. I wanted you to kiss me - I wanted to kiss you .”

“So, then,” Steve starts, holding out a hand to take Eddie’s, rubbing his thumb against his life line. “Why haven’t we talked about it?”

“Steve,” Eddie whispers, pulling his hand away. Steve’s fingers slip away from his just like Eddie slips away and they can’t - he can't -

He can’t do this to Steve.

“I can’t do this to you,” he says. Steve’s head reels back as his face turns to one of confusion. Eddie moves back over toward the kitchen. Steve follows him.

“Eddie, what the hell are you talking about?”

“You don’t get it,” Eddie groans, pushing his face into his hands, repeating the words Steve told him that night. Steve doesn’t come closer and Eddie doesn’t know whether to be thankful or not. 

“What don’t I get? Jesus, Eddie, please , just - ”

“I’m not you, Steve,” Eddie snaps, facing the boy, dropping his arms. “I’m not - I’m not good .”

And there it finally is - the truth.

“Eddie - ”

“You’re Steve Harrington, man,” Eddie says, gesturing over to Steve and every wonderful thing that he is. “You’re nice and you’re funny and sometimes you mess up, but it’s always okay, because you’re willing to learn from the mistakes you make.”

“Eddie.”

“And I’m just,” Eddie sighs, picking at the scar that lingers on his jaw, hoping that if he rubs it long enough, it’ll disappear. “I’m so fucked up, Steve. I mean - look at me - ”

“I am,” Steve whispers, but Eddie shakes his head, even though his heart is beating so fast he’s pretty sure Steve can hear it. 

“You’re not listening,” he says, pulling at a strand of hair - the one that curls in a different direction - before he continues. “There’s so much wrong . With me. And I can’t - I won’t let you care about me when all it’ll do is hurt you. You’re so much, Steve. And I'm not even half as deserving of you, no matter how much I want to be.”

“Eddie.”

Eddie heaves, chewing at the corner of his lip so hard he bleeds. He lets his eyes meet Steve’s once more, watching as the boy shakes his head and runs his own trembling fingers through his hair. 

Steve lets out a breathy laugh.

“Eddie, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I held your hand at the hospital.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to be confused as blanches, blinking rapidly.

“That was months ago, Steve.”

“I know,” the boy smiles, taking a small step forward. “That’s the point.”

Eddie swallows. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t,” Eddie says, but he does. He does .

“You’re not messed up, Eddie,” Steve whispers, coming closer, closer, closer. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Steve.”

“I meant what I said that night. You are remarkable,” Steve whispers, his hand coming close to Eddie’s own, and this time, Eddie doesn’t pull away - he doesn’t want to pull away. “You make me so happy I feel like I could run a million miles around the moon everytime we hang out.”

Eddie’s lips twitch up without his own volition. 

“I don’t think that’s possible, Stevie.”

“I didn’t think you liking me back was possible,” he jokes, then brings their loosely entwined hands up between them. “But. Here we are. And I like you, Eddie Munson.”

Eddie’s eyes flutter shut. “Steve - ”

“No,” Steve exclaims, reaching out to hold Eddie’s shoulders, taking another step. “Don’t do that. Don’t try to tell me that you don’t deserve me or that I deserve more because you’re wrong, Eddie.

“You’re wrong about not being worthy of me or whatever bullshit that beautiful - but, honestly, very scary - head of yours has tried convincing you,” Steve whispers. His hands slowly slide from Eddie’s collarbones to the line of his throat, holding him there, eyes kept on his. “You’re worthy of every good thing this horrible world has to offer, and if I can, I’ll spend as much time as I need and more to make myself something good enough to offer you .”

“You already are good, Steve.”

“So are you,” Steve assures, his fingers gliding over the line of his jaw, calloused palms cupping his cheeks, thumb brushing against his scar gently. Eddie lets out a breath as Steve tilts forward and places his forehead against his own. “I want you, Eddie Munson.”

Eddie’s hands come up to wrap around Steve’s wrists, fingertips tracing over his beating pulse, pounding beneath his touch.

“There’s not much of me left,” he says. 

Steve’s lips brush against his as he utters, “Then I’ll take every part you’ll let me have, Eddie. And I’ll never stop caring for you until you understand how deserving you are of it.”

And then, Steve is kissing him, and it’s the same as the nights before, but it’s all so different in the best way. 

Eddie’s arms wrap around Steve’s back, splaying between his shoulder blades as Steve cradles his face, holding him, knowing him so fully, so entirely.

Steve never lets Eddie go, never pulls back unless it’s for a gulp of air, though he seems keen on stealing the breath right out of Eddie’s own lungs with every caress and slide and hold of their lips together.

“You mean it,” Eddie says in between each kiss, pulling back for a second to take hold of Steve’s face in his own hands, meeting his eyes. “You mean all of it?”

“I’ve never meant anything more, man,” Steve says, nuzzling his nose into Eddie’s, pulling him in, kissing him softly this time, chastely. It weakens Eddie’s knees all the same. “I mean it, Eddie. All of it.”

If Eddie had been missing oxygen before, he sure as hell didn't have any now.

“I like you, Steve Harrington,” he says, cheeks straining as he smiles so wide he has to bite his lip, kiss swollen and sensitive, to stop his face from breaking. “I really, really fucking like you.”

Steve grins. “Really?”

Eddie chuckles, nodding down to where their legs are tangled and their arms are wrapped around each other.

“If you couldn’t already tell,” he laughs, shrugging. Steve kisses his nose, his cheek, his jaw, right above that scar that is numb to the voices - numb because Eddie is so happy, he probably could race Steve on the moon, if he really wanted to.

Steve tuts, smiling against Eddie’s mouth.

“It’s good to have the reassurance.”

The taste of Steve’s lips is enough to silence Eddie’s laughter, though it makes the kiss all the more sweet.

—

Before Eddie can drift off along with Steve, the phone is ringing.

They made their way over to the couch eventually, curling up together, playing some movie Eddie doesn’t even remember the name of because they weren’t even trying to watch it. Shifting from talking to kissing to more talking to even more kissing. It had gotten late, and since Steve didn’t work the next morning, Eddie didn’t see the harm in offering him to stay. It was getting quite late and Steve was already dead on his feet from the shift he had only just finished before he decided to confront Eddie at his trailer.

Romantic , Eddie joked, and Steve had kissed him to shut him up. Eddie didn’t mind.

Now, though, the shrill ringing startles Eddie into snapping his eyes open, sighing as he buries his head in Steve’s shirt, laying still for a moment, before the phone is off again, practically shaking him awake.

Eddie groans against Steve’s chest, planting his hands on either side of the boy as he glares over at the receiver, his hair tangled from where Steve has run his hands through it.

Steve shifts beneath him, brows furrowing as he hums in his sleep. Eddie sighs at the sight of him before he kisses the crease there and stands. He stumbles over to the phone and picks it up.

“Hello - ”

“Eddie Munson, you little shit.”

Max is off on a rant about seeing Steve’s Beemer outside and their talk and how I fucking told you he was head over heels!

Eddie laughs so hard he wakes Steve.

It’s alright, though. After a few (thousand) more kisses, Steve seems more than content to stay awake.

—

Steve Harrington is entirely too charming for his own good.

Eddie knows this, of course, because it has been over twenty minutes since he’s gotten off the phone with the boy and he still cannot wipe his smile off his goddamn face.

Steve had that charm - the one that had Eddie swooning even before he knew what he was doing and why he was doing it. 

It was disarming. His voice over the line, whispering in Eddie’s ear as if he were there with him, kissing him on the cheek the way he always did before he left. His rumbling laugh late at night when they both couldn’t sleep, yearning for each other in the comfort of their arms. I wish you were here, they'd whisper, just because they could .

Steve - all of Steve - was so much to Eddie, even over the phone. 

He’s halfway through aiding in the efforts to cook dinner when they notice.

His uncle narrows his eyes at Eddie, grinning like a fool down at the potato he was peeling.

“You’re all smiley today, kid,” he mentions and Eddie hums, shrugging. Max snorts beside him as she mashes the newly boiled pot of potatoes.

“It’s because his boyfriend just asked him out on another date ,” she mocks. Eddie glares at her.

“He’s not my - my boyfriend ,” he protests.

Max tilts her head, gives him a look. Eddie huffs. Wayne chuckles.

“Why don’t you ever invite the boy over, Ed?”

Eddie shrugs, chewing at the corner of his lip.

“I didn’t know you would want me to.”

“Are you saying you care about what we think?” Max scoffs, grinning playfully. Eddie reaches over and ruffles her hair, laughing when she bats his hand away.

“Absolutely not,” he says, but they all know he’s lying.

Wayne looks at him in that way he does. Eddie loves that look. He’s learning that maybe it’s okay to want that look. The safety. The care. Yeah. He thinks it’s okay.

“Ya’ should invite him over,” his uncle says. Eddie doesn’t have to ask what he means, but his uncle clarifies anyway. “To dinner.”

Eddie glances between him and Max. “Really?”

His uncle nods. Even Max, with all of her bites and jokes, smiles and says, “Yeah.”

“He’s yer - uh - partner ,” his uncle emphasizes, wincing. “It’ll be good to meet him like that.”

“You both already know Steve, though.”

“Yeah, but now we get to threaten him,” Max says, a new gleam in her beautiful two toned eyes.

Eddie groans into his arms, but he laughs along with his uncle. He feels like flying.

—

Eddie almost physically swoons when he opens the door to Steve Harrington, clad in blue jeans and a heather gray sweatshirt, carrying a copy of 101 Dalmatians .

Eddie has to lean against the doorframe to keep himself upright.

He gives Steve a look. Steve grins.

“You said bring something that I liked.”

Eddie tuts, crossing his arms. “Good luck trying to live this one down from Max.”

Steve’s cheeks widen for just a split second and then Eddie is being tackled, arms fitting around his stomach, ribs, back. He laughs into Steve’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around the boy's neck as he’s lifted in excitement. He’s spun around a few times until Steve places him down gently, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “I missed you.”

“Dude, you saw me yesterday,” Eddie says, pushing away a few flyaway strands of Steve’s hair. 

Steve leans his forehead against his. “I know.”

Eddie shakes his head, sighing, tilting forward to press his lips (finally) to Steve’s when Max’s voice calls, “Oh, please don’t.”

Eddie turns his head toward her, raising his eyebrows. She holds up a pack of microwaveable popcorn and places a hand on her hip. She points over to Steve, narrowing her eyes.

“You’re lucky I even said yes to this,” she warns. Steve raises his hands in surrender and mouths an apology. When Max turns back around, though, he pulls Eddie’s face in quickly, smiling into the peck. 

Ninja , Eddie thinks, dazed.

They migrate over to the sofa after Eddie puts in the tape, Steve dims the lights, and they sit as the beginning credits roll. They murmur quietly to each other, fingers folding together in the space between them, pulling apart when Max walks over holding a bowl of popcorn and seats herself directly in between them.

Eddie glares at her. “ Max .”

“Wayne told me to supervise,” she says, smirking, munching on a handful of popcorn, settling in between the two boys. “I’m supervising.”

Eddie doesn’t think he imagines the way Steve’s face heats up, but he smiles over at Eddie all the same, chuckling at his fond irritation for the young girl.

The movie passes smoothly. Eddie hums along with Roger as Cruella is introduced. They all coo when the puppies are born. They finish the bowl within record time.

Eventually, as more puppies are introduced, as more havoc wreaks, Eddie feels a soft pressure on his shoulder, settling down heavily. He glances down, chuckling when he meets Max’s red strands, the hair tickling against his jaw. He gazes over at Steve who is in a similar predicament, the girl’s legs tossed over his.

Steve winces. “This is our life now.”

Eddie chuckles, pressing his cheek to the top of Max’s head, taking Steve’s hand and intertwining their fingers, stretching out alongside Max.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “It’s not too bad.”

—

The gym is blinding as Eddie pulls up in his van.

He can see the streamers through the small windows, the lights flashing through doors, the sound of music blasting above the sound of Max’s voice.

“The Sinclair’s promised to drop me off after,” she says, pulling at a stray curl, wiping her palms down on the front of her navy blue dress. 

Eddie nods, parking beside a bike rack. 

“If anything happens, though - ”

“I’ll call you,” she nods, rolling her eyes. There’s no heat behind the gesture, none Eddie can see. He smiles.

“Exactly,” he says. Max bites at her lip, tapping her foot against the bottom of the car, the bangles on her wrists dangling. She pulls at her hair again. Eddie reaches forward before she can rip out a chunk, cradling her wrist.

“Hey,” he chastises, fingers slipping down to squeeze her hand in his. “You look great .”

Max lets out a breath. “Yeah?”

“Hell yeah, man,” Eddie says and Max laughs, nervously. Max grips onto his hand tightly, inhaling deeply, before she exhales and turns to open her door. Before she can step out though, she hesitates.

“Can you help me?” she asks, one heel poised and ready to drop down to the gravel beneath them. Her previously injured leg. 

Eddie gets off without another word, rounding the van, bowing in extravagance and offering a hand to Max. “Your majesty.”

“Shut up,” she groans, but she grins anyway. She pulls herself down successfully, gripping onto Eddie’s elbows, righting herself even though she didn’t even stumble. Eddie lets go, patting the kid on the arm, but before he can turn back to his side of the vehicle, Max is calling out, “Eddie?”

He tilts his head. “Yeah, what’s - ”

Max wraps her arms around his shoulders, pulling himself up against him, burying her face into his neck. She has to stretch to do so, not entirely too comfortable for a hug, so Eddie leans down and wraps his own arms around her back.

Max’s chin hooks around the back of his shoulder.

She squeezes him tighter.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “Thank you for everything.”

Eddie pulls back slightly and gently pushes away the stray curl that lingers on her forehead.

“Anytime, Red,” he says and they both know he means it more than anything.

Max huffs at the nickname, ruffling Eddie’s own hair. Eddie watches as she makes her way over to Lucas. He’s standing as straight as an arrow, and it might be too dark out tonight to tell, but Eddie swears the kid is blushing. Young love, and all that.

Lucas waves at him and Eddie throws him a two fingered salute. Max wraps an arm around Lucas’s and pulls the kid inside.

She smiles at him before entering the gym and Eddie thinks she’ll be alright.

—

Eddie has never felt this way before.

This way - because there was no one word, one description, that encapsulated what Steve did to Eddie.

Steve made him feel warm. Fulfilled. Fucking ethereal.

And this moment, laying toward each other on Steve’s bed, pressing soft kisses everywhere they could reach, touching each other anywhere they saw fit, was nothing Eddie had ever experienced.

Steve’s hand slides from the side of his neck down to his waist. His jaw shifts beneath Eddie’s palm, pulse thundering rapidly. Eddie can feel his own heart pounding. He gasps when Steve’s fingers find the jut of his hip bone, right above the waistband of his sweatpants, smoothing the skin.

Steve pulls back, pressing his forehead against Eddie’s. The heat of his skin burns against Eddie. He thinks of the scars that rest just above where Steve’s hand is splayed. He tenses.

“Is this okay?” Steve whispers, lips finding the junction between Eddie’s neck and shoulder. Eddie shudders.

“Yes,” he murmurs. Steve hums, kissing him again and again until Eddie is on his back and Steve’s hand is halfway up his stomach and Eddie can feel the scars, the tears, the gashes. “Steve. Steve .”

Steve pulls away, hair ruffled from where Eddie has run his hands through it. His face is red and soft, eyes intense, bright with stars as he stares at Eddie. But Eddie doesn’t get it.

“What’s wrong?” he says and Eddie wants nothing more than to kiss this boy senseless. He only clenches his hands in the soft material of Steve’s own shirt.

Eddie swallows past the thrumming - the desire. “Your hand.”

Steve pulls his palm away immediately, hovering just above Eddie, brows furrowed in concern.

“I'm sorry - shit. Did you not want me to touch you there?”

“I did,” Eddie sighs, glancing away, teeth pulling at the skin on his lip. “I did.”

Steve tilts his head. “I don’t understand.”

Eddie stutters, trying to find the right words.

“The scars ,” he says. And it's not a lie, but it’s not the whole truth either.

Steve’s fingers trail the air between them, so close - so close.

“Do they hurt?”

Eddie shakes his head, his hair ruffling against the pillow he lays on. “No.”

“Eddie, what - ”

“They’re not,” he starts, quietly groaning in all kinds of frustration, continuing after he gets a grip. “They’re not pretty , Steve.”

Steve’s hands still. His body freezes. Eddie watches Steve as Steve watches Eddie. He waits for the goodbye, the no, thank you . It never comes.

“Eddie,” Steve whispers. “What are you talking about?”

Eddie’s hands tremble along with every other bone in his body. 

“They’re not desirable, man,” he shrugs, hands falling limply down on the sheets beside him. 

“Eddie - ”

“I don’t - I don’t want them to be, like, a turn off, or something, you know?” he continues, deaf to Steve’s protests. 

“Eddie.”

“‘Cause they are. I can’t even stand the sight of them, Steve, so how can - ”

“Eddie.”

Eddie huffs, opening his clenched eyes, He didn’t even know when he’d closed them.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. Steve’s hand comes up, slowly, to cup his face. His thumb brushes against the old wound on his jaw, skin puckered and pink and healed. Steve tilts his head and brushes his nose against the line of it. Eddie lets out a pleased hum despite himself.

“You thought that I wouldn’t want to do this because of your scars?” Steve asks, pulling back slightly to meet Eddie’s eyes, softly, incredulously. “You thought I wouldn’t want you?”

“I didn’t want you to be disappointed.” It might be pathetic. But it was true.

“Eddie,” Steve utters, kissing him softly, and Eddie feels worthy. Steve’s hand drops to encircle Eddie’s, bringing it up to his neck. Eddie’s fingers find the silver line that wraps around the skin there. He’s spent so much time kissing that scar, watching it, loving it. Steve’s eyes flutter shut as Eddie nuzzles against it, featherlight touches of his lips caressing the mark.

“What would you say to me if I told you that I didn’t think you’d want to kiss me because of this thing?” he says, tilting his head to the side, gesturing to the scar. Eddie scoffs, brushing away a stray strand of Steve’s hair.

“I’d say that’s - ” he begins angrily, then meets Steve’s look. “Oh.”

“Oh,” Steve mirrors. Lips touch, hands roam. “I want this - you. Scars and all.”

Eddie shakes his head, fingers running down Steve’s neck.

“I don’t know how to love my body with the scars,” he says. Steve presses in close. He never lets go.

“Me either,” Steve breathes. “Maybe we can learn together.”

Eddie can’t help it - he smiles. And Steve does too. And they’re back, pulling each other so close their legs tangle and their hearts merge. Eddie never wants to stop learning this with Steve.

Steve’s hand returns to his waist. He fiddles with the hem of Eddie’s shirt.

“Can I see you?” he asks. Eddie nods.

Steve undresses him with a gentleness Eddie has never known. Kisses placed on his bicep, his belly, the inside of his knee. Eddie does his best to reciprocate, pulling off Steve’s own long sleeve, hands trailing down to the front of Steve’s pajamas. He pulls those away too. Steve kisses across his collarbones and Eddie moans.

Steve leans back, taking Eddie in with searching eyes, wandering - worshiping. There’s that look that Eddie yearns for. And he knows that he already has it, cradled in his palms. Steve’s hand smoothes down Eddie’s side. He kisses Eddie with a passion that burns through trees.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, one arm holding himself up, the other wrapping Eddie up into him. They both whimper at the feeling of their skin warm against each other. Their scars line up. Eddie has never felt so whole.

Steve starts at his jaw, working his way down the wound there, nosing along his neck, leaving Eddie bruised and panting. He reaches Eddie’s chest, the muscles in his back flexing as he creeps down, down, down. Eddie arches with each kiss placed against his scars, his hands finding Steve’s hair, gripping onto him, drawing a sound he’s never heard from the boy. Steve nudges his cheek against Eddie’s left thigh, resting against it. Eddie caresses the side of Steve’s face. Steve’s eyes reach up through his eyelashes. Eddie nods. And that's all Steve needs.

Eddie has never felt this way before.

Legs trembling, pleasure rocketing up his frame, fracturing through him. He can feel the hairline cracks spreading, the heat building. He can only gasp and pull and breathe. Steve takes him in like he’s meant for this, and before Eddie can tip, he pulls him away. He pulls Steve to him, kissing him soundly, hand trailing down to the space between his thighs. Steve keens against him, forehead dropping to Eddie’s sternum.

Eddie turns his head, pressing into the spot just behind Steve’s ear, lips brushing against the shell.

“Make love to me, Steve Harrington.”

It should be cheesy and stupid. But then Steve meets his eyes. There’s a supernova in his gaze, bursting as he groans and surges into Eddie.

The first press has Eddie wincing. The second has him up in the stars, wrapped around Steve like he’ll be lost if he lets go. Steve’s fingers dig into his waist and Eddie thinks he feels the same.

Eddie can feel himself open up, letting Steve in - into the spaces between his ribs that felt so barren before, growing through the bones like flowers. He can feel every inch of himself pressed against Steve and he never wants to be farther apart than this.

Steve bottoms out. Eddie flies.

They don’t move at first, they don’t even breathe.

Steve starts slow. Quiet puffs of air punch out of both as the thrusts grow longer, slower, harder, deeper. Eddie’s arms wrap around Steve’s shoulders as he tosses his head back. Steve buries his face into Eddie’s neck, his damp hair brushing against Eddie’s jaw.

“Steve,” Eddie whispers, and then Steve is there. Right there. Right where Eddie’s always needed him. His mouth falls open. “Oh, sweetheart. ”

“I’m right here,” Steve pants, kissing down the bridge of Eddie’s nose. “I’m right here, Eds. I’ve got you.”

“Stevie,” Eddie whimpers. “ Baby. ”

Steve presses his forehead against Eddie’s.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, his voice tight. His hand reaches around to grip Eddie’s, pressing it into the mattress, intertwined. Their eyes meet. Eddie brushes away the strands of hair he loves so much. Steve moves in deeper. Neither look away. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Eddie Munson.”

Eddie can feel it coming. Constellations settle on his skin where Steve touches him. Steve’s breaths and lips and pleas and Steve, Steve, Steve. Eddie has never loved so much. It consumes him - he consumes him. 

“Never stop,” Eddie says, one hand pulling Steve in by his nape, holding him close. “Never leave.”

“Never,” Steve says, shaking his head, closer and closer. 

Closer and closer and closer. 

Eddie arches. “Steve. Steve. ”

“Eddie,” Steve says, burning through him. “ Eddie. ”

And Eddie shatters.

—

Eddie wakes to the sound of birds, soft sheets, and Steve Harrington wrapped around his back.

Arms settled around his waist, splayed against his stomach, one hand loosely entwined with his. Safe. Warm. Loving.

Eddie stretches against the chest pressed up against him and a soft, sleepy groan sounds behind him, alerting Eddie that Steve is close to waking. Eddie tries to twist in Steve’s grasp, finding the slack in his grip and using it to his advantage, turning in the man’s arms.

Steve is as gorgeous in his sleep as he is when he’s awake. Hair tousled, strands pointing this way and that, flushed chest rising softly with every breath, the air puffing against Eddie’s cheek. His nose scrunches and his brow furrows and Eddie finds himself leaning in without thinking, smoothing out the creases with his lips. They trail down his jaw, his neck, his shoulder. Steve hums against him, his arms tightening. When Eddie finally comes back up to press a kiss to Steve’s mouth, Steve kisses back - though, barely, considering how hard they’re both smiling.

“Good morning,” Eddie murmurs. Steve lets out a content sound and flips them over so he’s laying atop Eddie, burying his face into his sternum. Eddie is reminded of the night before. He has to push down the groan that threatens to break free. His hand comes up to settle in Steve’s hair. Steve breathes.

“Morning,” he sighs, hands trailing up and down Eddie’s thighs. His fingers pause on a bruise, stark against the pale pallor of his skin. His lips twitch, smug. Eddie rolls his eyes, tilting his head. Steve kisses his jaw. “Did you have a nice night?”

“Oh, yeah,” he nods in fake enthusiasm, biting his lip to keep from grinning. “I met up with this guy. He has pretty great hair. It was real nice.”

“Only pretty great ?”

Eddie shrugs, nudging Steve’s nose with his own. “I’ve seen better.”

Steve gasps in betrayal and Eddie laughs, muffling it into the skin of his shoulder.

“This guy,” Steve starts as Eddie’s laughs quieten, fingers brushing the inside of Eddie’s knee, up to his hip, then back down again. “Was he any good?”

“At what?” Eddie asks in mock innocence. Then, he’s reduced to gasps at Steve’s touch. “He was. So good, baby.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks. Eddie hums, exhaling sharply, pleasure sparking through him. Steve meets his eyes, kisses his chin. “‘Cause I think he’d like to try it all again.”

Eddie smiles. “I wouldn’t be opposed.”

Steve pulls Eddie in, lips turned up as they kiss and kiss and kiss once more, just for good measure.

—

Eddie and Wayne haven’t had a night like this since he was discharged from the hospital.

Wayne had the night off and Eddie took the opportunity to stay in with him, squeezed together on the couch, watching another rerun of Singin’ in the Rain. There are no stitches this time, no pain to numb. The nightmares still come and sometimes Eddie still falls into his uncle’s arms like he used to when he was a kid, but neither ever minded. 

His uncle's hand ruffles gently at Eddie’s hair.

“Things goin’ alright with you, kid?” he asks.

Eddie thinks of late night dinners with the people he loves more than anything. He thinks about the kids inviting him over to watch some of their campaigns, laughing along whenever Dustin or Lucas or Mike did, just because he could. He thinks of talks on the dewy grass with Max. He thinks of nights spent under Steve’s touch, mornings under his gaze, days and dawns and dusks in his arms. He thinks of his uncle, never relenting, always caring.

Eddie nods, soaring. “Never been better.”

—

“I put you as my emergency contact,” she says and Eddie almost chokes.

He takes a gulp of water out from his glass, staring over his blueberry pancakes, watching Max chew thoughtfully on her own. She catches his gaze and narrows her eyes.

“You got a staring problem?”

“You put me as your emergency contact?” he asks, his voice a lot softer than he means for it to be. Max drops her fork down onto her plate, wincing when it clatter against the porcelain.

“I had to refill my school paperwork since I’m working at Thatcher after class now,” she says, smiling to herself. Max is one hell of a mechanic. Eddie has never been more proud of anyone than in the moment Mr.Thatcher came up to Max and offered her the position, handing her a name badge. “I just put you down cause - you know, we’re always around each other. And I trust you. I thought you’d be okay with it.”

“I’m okay with it,” Eddie says, nodding, matching Max’s small smile. 

“Okay,” Max whispers, taking up her fork again. “That’s good.”

“But as sweet as that all is,” Eddie sighs, tilting his head, “please don’t get into any trouble that requires the need for an emergency contact.”

“No promises,” Max grins and Eddie shakes his head, though the expression is mirrored on his own face. Max nods down to Eddie’s plate. “Finish your pancakes before I steal them, weirdo.”

“Will do, Miss Mayfield,” Eddie says, seriously, saluting. He laughs when Max rolls her eyes, just like she always does.

Max kicks his leg under the table. I love you.

Eddie kicks back. I love you, too.

—

Eddie wasn’t expecting Steve to say it first.

And, alright, sure, he knew their relationship was definitely on the cusp of something more than like.

The late nights, the multitude of kisses, the conversations that lasted hours. The way Steve had skipped his shift to come look after Eddie when he was sick. The way Eddie drove Steve and the kids out of Hawkins in his van, taking them out to camp by the lake, smiling into Steve’s mouth as he crushed his lips to his in gratitude.

It was more than Eddie had ever felt for anyone.

Eddie had known he was falling. He just hadn’t expected Steve to catch him.

“I love you.”

The words - those words - come tumbling free, out into the open, before Eddie can blink.

Eddie’s hands still where they pluck at his guitar - he’s only picked it up recently, though it's usually been acoustic rather than electric. He still needs some time to reach out for that one, but it’s alright. He can be patient. Steve sits behind him, knees bracketing him in, his chest granting Eddie the space he needed to lean back, sinking into the boy’s warmth. His face was pressed into the junction between Eddie’s neck, arms wrapped around his middle. His chest rumbled with the words, pressing into Eddie’s spine.

Once the truth is free, he can feel Steve tensing behind him. He doesn’t let go of Eddie, he never does. Eddie can only turn his head slightly, his nose nudging against Steve’s hair.

“What did you say?” he asks. Steve’s voice is muffled in Eddie’s shoulder and he only looks up when Eddie reaches out to tilt his chin. 

“I wasn’t supposed to say it like this,” Steve winces, pressing his cheek into Eddie’s palm. “Not here.”

Eddie shakes his head. “What does that - ”

“Look,” Steve says, pulling the guitar from Eddie’s grasp, placing it gently on the floor beside their legs. He stands and lifts Eddie with him, pulling him out of his room and into the trailer’s kitchen. “I’ll show you.”

Steve reaches the counter, right beside the small window above the sink, soft, morning light spilling into the room, lighting up Steve in the best way. Eddie is reminded of the night Steve told him he wanted him for the first time, after their kiss. He starts to understand. Steve spins toward Eddie and takes his hands. Eddie tilts his head, squeezing the boy's fingers.

“Steve,” he starts.

“I had this all planned out, you know?” he murmurs, shaking his head, staring down at his feet. “How I was going to tell you. I had it all planned out.”

Eddie took a breath. “You… planned out how you were going to tell me you loved me?”

“ Love ,” Steve corrects and holy shit. Eddie is so gone. “And, yes. Sorry if that’s weird but I wanted it to be right and - ”

Eddie pulls Steve in by his hips, stretching up to kiss him fully, fingers pressing into the bare skin of Steve’s back insistently. Steve’s hands come up into his hair, curling his fingers into his scalp. Eddie smiles, resting his forehead against Steve.

“Show me,” he whispers. “Show me what you were going to do.”

Steve trails his hands down to Eddie’s as he grabs at his wrists and brings them up and around his neck. He lets his arms drop to Eddie’s hips, pulling him closer.

“Well,” he says, lips twitching up. “I was going to hold you - like this. And it would have been at night, but I’m not picky.”

Eddie laughs. Steve smiles.

“I love your laugh,” he whispers in the space between them. He pushes forward, pressing his lips to Eddie’s temple. “And your eyes. And your hair - please don’t ever cut your hair.”

“Noted,” Eddie says, hands coming to grip at Steve’s nape. “What else?”

“Well, we’d probably be dancing,” he says, tilting side to side until they’re both swaying. “Like this.”

Eddie hums, sinking into him. Steve nuzzles into the top of Eddie’s hair before pulling back, looking into his eyes.

“And I’d look at you - like this,” he whispers, hands splaying on the small of Eddie’s back. “And then you’d say, ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’”

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Eddie mirrors, voice soft and hopeful. Steve smiles.

“Because I love you,” he says, falling into Eddie just as hard as Eddie has fallen into him. “I love you, Eddie.”

Eddie swallows down the lump in his throat, but tears spring in his eyes. Not because he’s sad - never. He reaches up and cups Steve’s face in his hands. He meets Steve’s gaze as he tries to pour as much emotion as he’s feeling into him.

“I love you,” Eddie whispers, pressing his grin into Steve’s. It’s wobbly and a little wet, but it’s perfect. It’s all perfect. “I love you so much. I’m so in love with you, Steve Harrington.”

Steve’s hands tighten at his waist as he beams, and then Eddie is lifted, spun around in excitement, both boys laughing triumph. 

And if they never leave the trailer that day, falling back onto the cushions of Eddie’s bed again and again, so far gone with each other they can’t even begin to think why going back out into the world is a good idea - well. 

That’s their business.

—

Soft kisses pressed against his shoulder wake him, not for the first time.

Eddie can only smile and bury himself in Steve’s chest, throwing an arm out around the man’s waist. When Steve’s lips reach the shell of his ear, Eddie gasps.

“Steve.”

“Morning,” he whispers. Eddie laughs, breathlessly.

“We have work,” he says, regretfully. Steve sighs, burrowing into Eddie farther. 

“Can't we just stay here?” he asks, pouting, gesturing around the walls of Eddie’s room. Eddie runs his hand back and forth along Steve’s spine.

“I wish, baby,” he murmurs. Steve groans, then lifts his head toward Eddie.

“Just one more,” he whispers, kissing Eddie. That one leads to two , then three , then -

Loud bangs sound on Eddie’s door. They both flinch, relaxing at the sound of Max’s voice.

“Come on, you two,” she yells, kicking the door one last time for good measure. “Stop kissing and come out. We’re gonna be late, Eddie.”

Max seemingly leaves if the sound of small, padded footsteps is any indication. 

Eddie looks over sympathetically at Steve. The boy kisses his cheek. “I’ll drive you guys.”

Ten minutes - and a million kisses - later, Steve and Eddie exit the room, newly dressed, taking the mugs Wayne offers them, each taking a piece of toast, buttered on both sides. Max ushers them out, going on and on about how she intends to keep this job, thank you very much. Wayne reminds them that he’ll be home for dinner later and Eddie smiles at him, tells him to cook lasagna. Wayne grins.

The ride to Thatcher is quiet save for the sound of Kate Bush pounding through the speakers. Hounds of Love lilts around them and Eddie nods along to the beat, humming with Max. Steve’s hand rests gently on his thigh, his Ray Bans perched on his nose. He glances over at Eddie whenever he can. Eddie laughs when Max warns him to keep his eyes on the road. 

Before Steve can even put the car in park, Max is bounding out, calling for Eddie as she goes around to Steve’s trunk and pulls out her bag.

Eddie shakes his head fondly at the girl and goes to step out. Steve’s hand catches his wrist before he can. A soft call of Wait tumbling free.

Eddie turns toward him, watching as he pushes his glasses up onto his head. Steve glances around for a split second before he leans in and kisses Eddie soundly. Again and again and again. Soft, always so soft.

Steve pulls back and twirls that curl, the one he's so obsessed with, around his finger, pushing it back from Eddie’s face.

“Hey,” he says, smiling. “I love you.”

Eddie presses his lips to the corner of the boy’s mouth.

“I love you, too.”

Steve nuzzles his nose into Eddie’s, groaning when Max yells, “Let’s go.”

Eddie lets go of Steve, regretfully. He closes the passenger door and walks a few steps backward. Steve watches him through the rolled down window.

“I’ll see you later?” Eddie asks.

“Always,” Steve smiles. Eddie throws the boy one last wink before turning, falling into step beside Max.

She glances at Eddie, eyes narrowed, though he can see her small smile.

“He’s definitely your boyfriend,” she says.

Eddie laughs, wrapping an arm around the girl's shoulders, pulling her close.

As they walk toward Thatcher to the sound of Steve and his Beemer pulling away, Eddie thinks of a promised dinner, a little sister, an always.

Yeah. Eddie thinks he can get used to this.