Archive of Our Own

— 1986.

Eddie spends the majority of the party on the couch.

It’s not that he isn’t having a good time, so much as it’s been a while since he’s had the chance to. Already not much of a party animal in the typical sense, the past month since saving the world—which still has a surreal ring to it when he says it out loud—hasn’t been particularly geared towards celebrations, for the most part. Split between Hopper’s cabin and his uncle’s trailer (not his, not anymore), it’s been a hot minute since he’s seen more than three people at a time—and frankly, he’s out of practice.

So he sits on the couch, a beer in one hand and the back cushions under the other, and he observes. To everyone’s credit, for a gang of people who nearly died not too long ago—and especially the Byers, who’ve apparently done so about four times over—they sure know how to throw a good birthday party. Joyce made a cake, Jonathan picked his most celebratory records, and the rest of them are dancing like there’s no tomorrow, and it’s nice. He’s enjoying himself, from his little corner of the room. Observing.

Steve’s got his party hat on, and he’s walking over to the couch.

“Is all of this not metal enough for you?” Steve asks with a smirk, and drops down next to him.

Eddie laughs. “You’re misunderstanding the use of the term. Anything that Joyce Byers does is by default metal.”

“Glad my birthday party’s made the cut, Munson.”

He looks tired, but he looks happy. Eddie doesn’t know much about the day-to-day of everybody’s lives these days, hasn’t had the energy nor the particular capacity to keep up as well as he’d like to. His injuries are still healing, and his lungs are still aching from whatever weird spores he’d inhaled down there, and the still-hanging murder accusations around his name haven’t really done wonders for his mental stamina. But he’s been getting better, and he knows enough to know that Steve’s been doing alright, too. They’ve almost become friends, and Steve’s been one of his more frequent visitors, and he’s alive and okay. That’s enough, for now.

But sometimes Eddie wonders, dares to think a little deeper, and something twists inside him every single time.

“Incredible outfit, by the way,” he adds, scanning a hand up and down Steve’s torso. “Very birthday boy, in my opinion.”

“You like it?” Steve grins. He’s got his birthday t-shirt on, his face printed in the middle and the whole party’s signatures and birthday wishes hand-written all over it—a gift from Henderson, of course. His party hat’s on slightly crooked, and he looks a little bit drunk, and he’s smiling now with bits of chocolate cake in the corners of his mouth. “I think it’s one of my best looks, personally.”

“I love it,” Eddie says. “I think the crumbs on your face really complete the whole thing.”

Steve sets down his plate and mutters, “Shit,” before reaching up to try and brush it off.

Eddie’s faster, and his hand’s already halfway to him. “Lemme do it,” he says, before he even realizes he’s moved. “I got you.”

And then his thumb brushes Steve’s face, and they make eye contact, and Eddie’s back in the Upside Down again.

There’s no reason he should still be thinking about this. The near-death and running for his life parts, sure, because those are traumatizing and scary and make sense to still be hung up on a month later. But the thing that’s lingered the most—the common thread weaving through all his other flashbacks, no matter which ones are plaguing him—is the memory of Steve shirtless, wearing his jacket, and listening to Eddie talk to him about Nancy Wheeler.

It’s a conflicting feeling, and it’s stupid that it’s still in the back of his mind, but he’s back in it now. The two of them walking along the forest, Eddie telling him to get her back, pointing to the two women in front of them and watching Steve stare off into the distance. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time—had just given the natural response, as if there was no other option to even consider—but it’s always in hindsight that he realizes that he’s run away yet another time.

Because, at least for Eddie, there was another option, and it had only hit him after he’d already said the words.

It’s why he’d paused that day, right before the battle where all he could bring himself to say was make him pay. What started with careful glances in the school hallways had turned into a broken beer bottle to the neck, had turned into brushed fingers and shoulders pressed against chests. Eddie had watched him that week in the Upside Down, had gotten to know him a little better—and then, despite his better judgment, had fallen for him.

But Steve is still Steve, and Eddie is still “The Freak”, so he’d put it away and gave him some sensible advice instead. Had stuck by it, because it was the only thing that made any sense. He’d played off every slip-up of attraction with a smirk, kept a healthy distance between what he’d said and what he’d wanted to say. And it worked, and now they’re maybe even friends, and that’s good enough.

Now, Steve just shifts in his seat, and Eddie’s back to his senses.

“I’m gonna be honest with you,” Steve starts, staring off into the crowd, his smile turned hollow, “I’m having trouble feeling like it’s my birthday. I don’t—it’s just…weird.”

Eddie moves so he’s sitting sideways to face him. “No. But you look so festive.”

“You’d think, right?” Steve grimaces a little, his hand jumping to the spot where he’d been bitten. “Thought you’d know by now that I’m a master at putting on a face.”

“A pretty face, maybe, but I don’t know about the rest.”

Steve ignores that comment and leans his head back into the headrest. “I just don’t feel like this is supposed to be happening, y’know. Like—every single person in this room almost died not even two months ago. It’s a miracle that Max was even able to come at all. And, sure, we stopped Vecna and all that, but half this town is completely wrecked and we’re—what? Eating cake and celebrating my birthday?”

Eddie takes this in, stares at Steve for a while with his head resting in his hand. “And that’s a bad thing, because…?”

Another small pause. Steve exhales, like he’s choosing his words carefully. “It just feels stupid,” he answers, quieter than before. “Like, I feel like there are more important things to worry about than whether or not I just turned twenty.”

They sit there for a while, oscillating between staring at each other and staring out into the crowd some more, and then Eddie clears his throat. “Steve Harrington, that is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.”

“What?”

“And I’m a Dungeon Master.”

“That means absolutely nothing to me.”

They haven’t talked about feelings yet, not really. After everything was over, and they’d both been discharged from the hospital, Steve had shown up at the cabin’s doorstep with some food and a shitty movie. He knows how lonely it can be to be stuck in a house all by yourself, is what he’d told him, and then he’d just continued showing up for the next month or so. But the memories were still too fresh, and neither of them felt particularly like remembering them yet, so they’d stuck to distractions instead. Surface-level stuff, some jokes here and there, a rom-com or a drama to cry over when they’d needed an excuse to be sad.

But Eddie looks back into the crowd now, observing but with a new purpose. He sees the Hellfire boys, sitting in the corner mashing cake into Mike Wheeler’s mouth to piss him off—a venture which is so far successful—and he sees El, a force of nature he wished he could have met sooner than last month, sitting by Max and laughing over something he can’t hear. There’s Jonathan with Argyle, looking suspiciously out of it while leaning against the wall, and there’s Nancy over with Robin by the door, feeding her a piece of chocolate cake with a playful smile.

And everyone in this room, for one reason or another, has full reason to celebrate today.

“You’re thinking about this way too hard,” Eddie continues now, turning back to look at Steve, “is what I’ve determined from my expert analysis. The whole point of tonight is that nobody has to worry.”

Steve makes a face, not fully believing him. Eddie leans a little closer.

“We’re celebrating you because we like you,” he says. “Some would even say that they love you. Because we’re glad that you made it out alive with the rest of us, and now the threat is over, and we can. I mean, if things had gone differently, you might not have turned twenty.”

“I guess, but—”

“Nope.” Eddie shushes Steve with a pointer finger over his mouth. “No buts tonight. Unless you decide to take someone home tonight. Then maybe you can have some butts.”

And then Steve laughs out loud, shaking with it, and his laugh is warm like sunshine.

“Alright, Munson,” Steve says, voice still shaky with laughter. “Put that way, I’ll take it. Still feels weird, though.”

Eddie shrugs. “That’s fine—let it feel weird. This whole thing is objectively very weird, and I’ve only done it one time.” He smiles almost involuntarily, like it’s second nature. “But let yourself enjoy it as well, because we care about you and we want you to.”

Steve is still looking at him, and he’s still softly shaking from laughter, but Eddie could almost swear that something’s different. That there’s a new sort of look in Steve’s eyes, that he’s looking at him with something deeper behind his gaze. That maybe Steve’s smile’s directed at him instead of just adjacent to, or that maybe the slight shift in his torso is him debating whether to reach out and touch him.

It’s probably nothing, though, because nothing happens, and the moment passes as quickly as it came.

“Boys,” a voice cuts through the silence, and Eddie looks up to see Nancy with her hands on her hips. “You’re not being very festive, as far as I can tell.”

“We’re being plenty festive,” Eddie replies. “I’m giving our birthday boy the highest of praises in a celebratory fashion.”

“That sounds so wrong coming from you.”

“Do you have the mind of a twelve-year-old boy?”

Nancy makes a face at him, and Eddie just chuckles. She looks gorgeous as always, with her half half-pinned back and her new patterned blue dress, and he knows she’s not someone to be messed with. He’d always wondered about her to an extent, in his own way from the sidelines of Hawkins High, but their monster hunting stint had formally cemented her status as a badass in his mind. Once he’d watched her saw off the barrel of a shotgun, he knew he’d never win an argument against her.

She studies Steve. “Is everything okay?”

Steve just looks at her and smiles. “I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”

“Bat bite?”

“Among other things.”

“I’m wearing him down with all my compliments,” Eddie teases.

Nancy smiles back at him, extends a hand out to Steve. “C’mon, birthday boy, get up. Maybe some more cake will help.”

“Will it, though?” Steve asks.

She just shrugs. “It can’t hurt.”

The moment that Steve takes her hand and follows her out, Eddie’s mind starts to race.

It was probably nothing, but maybe it wasn’t. He and Steve haven’t talked about feelings, but his visits have been getting longer and more frequent recently, and Eddie’s started to notice things. The types of movies that Steve brings sometimes, the way they’ve been sitting closer and closer together on the couch each time. The look in Steve’s eyes that Eddie sometimes manages to catch, gone so fast that he’s not even sure if it was real. Even now, what was that smile, that shift—that look? Steve didn’t look at Nancy like that—Eddie doesn’t think he’s seen Steve look at anyone like that yet. And he’d kept looking at him, too, long enough to be sure he hadn’t just imagined it this time.

Eddie sits for another little while, caught in his own thoughts. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but it’s been getting harder to stop wishing with each visit, and Steve had a look in his eye. Eddie doesn’t remember standing up, but he’s walking to the kitchen now with his hands fidgeting in his pockets, and he thinks. Maybe they can’t talk about most things yet, but they might be able to talk about this. Because as far as Eddie’s concerned, there’s a decent amount of evidence—and considering that he hasn’t heard any updates on the Nancy situation since March, then he may actually stand a chance.

And then his heart drops the moment he walks into the kitchen, because Steve is there with Nancy and they’re pressed against the counter and they’re kissing—

—and there’s nothing to talk about. There never was.

He’s about to turn around, pretend he’d never even been there, when Steve notices him and jumps. “Shit, Eddie—hey.”

“Hi—I just—fuck,” Eddie stammers, nearly tripping over his own feet. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, no,” Steve replies, his hands caught awkwardly between Nancy’s waist and his own pockets. “Don’t worry. It’s nothing.”

Nancy just gives him an awkward smile. “If anything, we’re probably in your way.”

Eddie shakes his head. “No, I—uh, I’m not here for drinks or anything,” are the words that pour out of his mouth, and he can barely even hear himself speak through the blood roaring in his ears, and then suddenly he’s saying, “I just came to say that I’m leaving.”

Steve’s face shifts, and he moves away from Nancy slightly. “Wait, already?”

“It’s only eight,” Nancy adds, confused.

“Yeah—I know, I just—” Eddie doesn’t know where the words come from, but they’re out before he has any say in the matter. “I forgot that I promised my uncle I’d help with something, and then by the time I’m done it’ll be too late to come back, so I just—”

“Yeah, no,” Steve nods, hunching over slightly. “Makes sense, man. Go do your…whatever it is.”

It feels wrong to leave, and Eddie knows that he really has no right to, but it feels worse to stay. “I’m sorry, man. Thanks for having me, though, I—”

“You’re leaving already?” comes another voice, and then he turns around to find Joyce Byers.

“Sadly, yes,” Eddie says, and he can feel his voice sound more unhinged with every second, “I forgot—um, something with my uncle—”

And then he doesn’t remember how he leaves, doesn’t remember what multitude of sloppy excuses he gives the rest of his friends, because he blinks and comes back to his senses in the driver’s seat of Hopper’s car.

He has no reason to be this upset—no right to be—and he knows that very well. It’s extra salt in his wounds, a new type of headache as he drives, one he’s in no position to be sulking about. But whatever the fuck just happened, it hurts, and that’s all he can actually process right now. How stupid, he thinks, that he could’ve even considered there to be another option for the two of them. They escaped death together, and they’re friends now, but that means jack shit in the grand scheme of things, and this was ultimately his own idea.

It was his idea. That makes it hurt a little less.

But only a little.

Because subconsciously, somewhere deep down, he didn’t actually think the motherfucker would go and do it. Had hoped that all those small glances, those smiles—those moments of almost touching that sent a wave of electricity through Eddie’s fingertips, that little smile before they parted ways on the Vecna trail—meant something. Anything. That Steve would hear Eddie’s advice, and realize that it’s wrong, and that he’d go in a different direction instead.

Stupid.

The road turns into forest, and the trees engulf him, and he wonders what Steve and Nancy are doing right now. They’re probably still in that kitchen, staring at each other with those fucking eyes, wrapped up in each other like they’re meant to be. Or maybe they’re the ones on the couch now, and she’s reassuring Steve about his insecurities better than he ever could, and he’s giving her that smile that means that he’s happy. That this was the right decision after all, that there was no other one to begin with, because Nancy’s it for him.

Eddie parks, rests his head on the steering wheel, sits there and breathes. He’s happy for them. Honestly. If this is how things were meant to be, if he’d somehow successfully read the room for the first time in his life, then all he can really do is be happy for his friend. That’s what friends are for, anyway, and there’s nothing less valuable about friendship than there is about romance—and ultimately, what matters most is that Steve is happy. And if Steve’s happy, then Eddie’s happy. That’s just how it is.

Within a week, he’s disguised on a bus to somewhere that’s not here, and he’s gone.

— 1988.

Hawkins has a funny feeling to it, and two years away does nothing to ease it as Eddie drives past the border.

He’s heard stories of what he’s missed, a mixture of sad and inspiring tales in the wake of the Big Fight, but it’s a different thing to actually see it. Last time he was here, half the town had fallen apart, rubble and panic and news stories with his face plastered all over them. He’d lived here for at least seven years before that, had only known that version of Hawkins for a couple of months, but it sends a shiver down his spine to see it as it was before the chaos. Put together, a little cheerful if dull, as if nothing had ever happened.

Even so, he keeps his sunglasses on and his hair tucked under his hood.

It’s different in Chicago. Nobody knows who he is, and nobody recognizes him as the great cult killer Eddie Munson from Nowhere, Indiana, and he likes it that way. He’d arrived in May of 1986, after a couple of weeks of anxious town-hopping, in the most neutral sweater he owned and with around $20 in his pocket, and he’s been there ever since. Comfortable, by himself, in his little apartment on the outskirts of the city.

He’s kept in touch with the others, of course, but there’s only so much that time and distance can be mitigated before a person stops knowing things. The boys came to visit him once, after one of his first (mildly) profitable shows in 1987, and he’s had a few gruff conversations with Hopper over the phone to make sure he’s okay—to make sure that both of them are. But the gaps are still there. The kids are about to become seniors, and he’s a musician under some stage name he’d picked at random from a book, and things are good in his hometown. Eddie may not know the specifics, but he knows enough to know that everybody’s happy, and that’s enough.

He never told them that he was coming back.

“A gift, a cake, and some milk,” he mutters to himself for the fourth time that hour, parked outside the bakery with his eyes squeezed shut. In and out. That’s all it’ll take. And then it’ll be over, and he’ll go back to his uncle’s place, and nobody will even know he was here.

The bakery looks better than it did before everything fell apart, and he takes in the newly re-painted interior. Memories of coming here with Wayne start coming back in waves: his head a little mess of short curls, his uncle still in his work clothes. They’d come here together sometimes, when one or both of them needed a pick-me-up to get through the day, and ordered whatever on the menu had enough sugar to wash away their moods. It usually involved chocolate.

“One chocolate cake, please,” Eddie orders, smiling faintly at the memory. “One of the little ones.”

“That’s all?” the lady at the register says.

“Yeah, that’s all,” he replies, fishing out his wallet. “It’s just for two people.”

And then he hands over some bills, and gives her a polite nod, and then proceeds to slam face-first into the person behind him when he turns around.

“Jesus fu—” he mutters, stumbling backwards a little. “Sorry. Didn’t see you there.”

“No—shit, that’s my bad,” the person responds, hands up guiltily. “I zoned out there for a second, didn’t realize I was so close—”

When Eddie looks up at the guy’s face, he almost trips again.

He hasn’t thought much about Steve Harrington since he left, but he also hasn’t not thought about him, either. The first few weeks were the roughest, the wound fresh and raw and completely unfounded, and he’d spent nights upon nights awake to wonder whether he could have done things differently. The answer was always yes. He still kept wondering.

But life moves on, and so did Steve, and therefore so did Eddie in the end. He took a few odd jobs and bought a guitar in Chicago, channeled his feelings into some mediocre songs, and dealt with it the best way he knew how. And from what he’d heard from the others in passing, Steve was doing alright, and he figured he didn’t need to know more.

Because sure—maybe things could have been different, in another timeline or another universe. But there was no point in dwelling on possibilities, wondering about the what-ifs of an impossible situation, so he didn’t.

There’s a moment where Eddie thinks he could get away, where maybe he wouldn’t be recognized, but he knows it’s over when Steve’s eyes widen slightly with realization. He says nothing, understanding the very real consequences of publicly identifying him in this town, but Eddie knows that it’s too late. He motions to the door with his head, clearly enough for Steve to catch but subtly enough that nobody else would, and then takes his cake and walks out the door.

A few minutes later, with his back against the outside wall and a cigarette in his mouth, Eddie hears the bell above the door ring one more time.

“Sorry—I, um,” Steve says, slowly closing the door behind him, still staring bewildered at Eddie. “Am I just an idiot, or—”

“You’re not,” Eddie replies, removing his sunglasses. “It’s me, Steve.”

Steve lets his face relax now, all wariness dropping to reveal a grin. “Holy shit, it’s you.”

Eddie can’t help but grin back. “In the flesh, back from the dead, whatever you wanna call it.”

“What are you doing here?”

“My uncle’s birthday,” Eddie replies, taking another drag of his cigarette. “He came to Chicago last year, so this time I’m coming to him.”

Steve looks down. “That what the cake’s for?” he asks, pointing to the bag hanging from Eddie’s other hand.

Eddie nods. “Chocolate was always his favourite, so.”

And then another memory comes back like heartburn, another time and place, another chocolate cake between the two of them. An impossible situation, through and through. He clears his throat, takes another drag.

For his part, Steve just examines him, almost like he’s waiting for something. “So,” he says, “you’re still in Chicago?”

“For now,” Eddie replies. “I don’t know how much longer, though. Might try New York next.”

“Any reason?”

“Just for fun. ‘Cause why not, right?”

Steve keeps looking at him, keeps smiling like he’s been anticipating something. “Lemme guess—Chicago’s not cutting it for your music?”

Eddie laughs. “Oh, Chicago isn’t the problem—that’s all me, baby.” He tosses the cigarette onto the ground, squashes it with his foot. It’s nowhere near finished yet, but it’s doing nothing to help his nerves. “I can’t write a good song to save my life.”

He isn’t looking at Steve anymore—can’t bring himself to, not with that stupid smile—but he can see him shift his weight from the corner of his eye. “Don’t sell yourself so short, man,” Steve says, a little quieter now. “I like your songs.”

Something rings inside Eddie’s mind. “You’ve heard my music?”

“Of course I have,” Steve replies. “You think Henderson was gonna drive to Chicago to see you and not bring back some records for everyone?”

“Right.” Right. “Glad I have my little minions to do my publicity for me.” Eddie grins, jaw slightly clenched. “Saves me some marketing costs.”

“You still have to market yourself? I thought you were already world-famous.”

“Believe me—I’m shocked, too.”

It’s partially his songs, but also the lingering fear of being recognized. He could theoretically make the effort to get more attention, maybe by writing commercially or splurging on advertising more often, but the fear overpowers his ambition every time. The idea of being recognized by the wrong person, of getting swept back into the shitshow that was March of 1986. Doing it all alone, stuck in his tiny apartment in Chicago.

Steve moves closer, and leans against the bakery wall next to him.

“I swear, though, they’re really good,” and Steve’s looking at him now with pride, as if he truly believes what he’s saying. “Your songs. I’m surprised you don’t agree.”

Eddie shrugs, sticks his hands in his pockets. “It’s just nothing that I’m proud of. I guess my songs are fine, and they’re giving me an okay living for where I’m at, but—I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right. Those aren’t the songs I should be writing.”

There’s a pause before Steve says, “I think you’re thinking about this way too hard.”

The heartburn gets stronger, those familiar words echoing in his head.

Eddie looks Steve up and down now, and realizes he looks different. A little older. Which makes sense, considering how the passage of time tends to work, but there’s more there, too. A maturity that can only be brought on by something else—a bit of weariness in his smile, something in his eyes that makes Eddie feel like Steve’s looking right through him.

“How’s Hawkins been treating you?” Eddie asks, changing the subject. “You still at Family Video?”

Steve laughs a little, like he’d forgotten he lived here. “I’m in Indy now, actually,” he replies. “Got an apartment there with Robin a while ago—I’m just back in town for a dumb family thing. That’s why I was, um—” He points awkwardly towards the shop window. “I was putting in a custom order for next weekend.”

Eddie’s mind gets stuck on the first part. “Shit, you’re in the city now?”

“The big one,” Steve replies, timidly proud of himself, and Eddie feels something flutter in his chest before he can stop it. “It’s no Chicago, but—yeah. I got into a writing program somewhat nearby, so Robin and I took the jump.”

“Writing?” Eddie asks. He shouldn’t have tossed the cigarette. “I didn’t know you wrote.”

Steve shrugs. “I didn’t really. Not before all the Starcourt stuff. I wasn’t very good at it for a long time, so I never really wrote outside of school and college apps, but all the shit with the Russians kinda fucked me up.” He rubs the side of his neck, twists his mouth a little. “Robin told me to try journaling to help with the stress, and I actually ended up getting pretty decent after a while.”

“Huh,” Eddie says, raising his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t have expected that, but I like it. Congrats.”

“Thanks. It’s been helping to, uh—clear some of the shit going on up here.” Steve taps his head a couple of times. “Figure out my feelings a little better. I really owe it to Robin, though.”

“And you guys live together?”

“Yeah, but—” and then Steve laughs, remembering something, “I guess Nancy’s also there. She’s like our illegal third roommate at this point, but she technically lives about half an hour away doing her own thing.”

And then Eddie asks, “How’s that going, then?” because he’s an adult, and then clarifies, “How’ve you and Nancy been?” because he can handle it.

And then Steve’s face shifts somewhat, relaxes a little, like he’s more comfortable at the thought of her, and starts to say, “She’s good—Nance and I have been good. I mean, it’s been a bit hectic—”

And then Eddie realizes that he’s not an adult—couldn’t possibly be one, based on this feeling—because he can’t handle it. The sound of her name on Steve’s lips, so content and so natural, reopens that old wound like it’s nothing, like it was just hidden under some flimsy band-aid while it continued to bleed. And he can’t hear what Steve’s saying anymore, hasn’t been listening for the last however many seconds it’s been since his brain cut out, because suddenly he’s saying:

“Actually, I have to go, but there’s something I wanted to ask you—”

—and he barely even knows what he’s asking Steve, barely even registers the words coming out of his mouth in the same way he’d done all those times before, but the conversation goes on.

“—was thinking about getting it for Little Wheeler’s birthday, ‘cause it just screams little shithead—”

It’s ridiculous, and he knows it. Selfish, unfair, the natural consequences of his own goddamn actions. He really thought he was past this, too, a little more grown up. The truth is, he misses everybody in this stupid town, and he wants to see them, and he wants so badly to hear about everybody’s lives again, to be involved. He used to be, back in those last months of 1986, and it stings. He misses Robin’s rambling, and he misses hearing about Nancy’s adventures in journalism, and he misses playing D&D with the kids, and he misses Steve’s—

He misses Steve’s everything.

“—think he’d like it?”

He knows he’s running away again, putting on that same act that had kept him going throughout his entire adolescence, that all-too-familiar feeling of hiding his weak points behind a theatrical exterior. It’s second nature, at this point, and it comes out like a flood he didn’t even know he had to control. He hears himself speak and it hurts—every word hurts to say, because he doesn’t actually mean it—and he wants more than anything to stop, take it back, go back to the start and try again.

But they’re good, and Nancy is good, and they’re living together in Indy. They probably picked out their bedsheets together, coordinating the entire room to match both their tastes, and they probably have perfectly aligned sleep schedules where they always make love every night and wake up wrapped in each other’s arms. They probably picked out a record player together when they moved in, probably dance around the living room to their favourite songs when the moonlight shines just right through their windows. And they probably live great with Robin, because she’s normal and stable and can handle seeing her friends be happy together, and that’s just how it is.

Because Steve never changed his mind, and Eddie never tried to change it for him, and now it’s too late to start trying, because they’re good.

So he runs.

Steve doesn’t say anything about it, because there’s nothing to say, and the conversation finishes quietly. “You could, but I don’t know for sure,” is Steve’s answer to his question, followed by an, “I know Mike doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s changed since everything. Grown up a lot. Maybe go a little easier on him.” As if Eddie should know that by now.

And then Steve says goodbye with a smile, and Eddie’s back on the road to his uncle’s trailer, and life moves on.

— 1996.

The invitation came in the mail on a Wednesday, two weeks after Eddie had last spoken to Max Mayfield on the phone. She’d told him about the wedding, all the plans surrounding it, and he’d given her a solid maybe like it was a favour.

He’s sitting on his couch now, tongue out and knee deep in papers sprawled around the apartment, and the thought of the event keeps coming back to him as he writes. A pulsing thought, almost guilty, preventing him from getting words on the page besides “RSVP: Please respond awesomely by the thirteenth of May”, handwritten by Lucas Sinclair himself. As cute as it was on the invitation, those aren’t particularly great song lyrics, so Eddie tries to push the thought out of his mind and write.

He throws his pen on the floor and falls backwards into the couch.

Joyce and Hopper, in the aftermath of all the chaos, opted out of a wedding ceremony when they’d tied the knot back in 1989. It had been too long of a ride, too many loose ends to clean up in the years after Vecna, and they’d decided that they were a little too old for the extra strain that wedding planning would add to their lives. Life went on, things stayed peaceful for them, and that was that.

But when Max had called everyone one-by-one a year ago, with an excitement in her voice that she’d allegedly lost long before Eddie had ever met her, and told them that she’d gotten engaged, something had shifted. She wanted the fun of the ceremony without the entire share of the attention, and Hopper had decided that he’d wanted one last big bash before it was too late, and so it was decided: a joint wedding, July of 1996, the whole Party reunited from their separate little corners of the country back in Indiana. Of course they’d invited him.

He’d responded to the invitation the same way he’d responded to her on the phone: with a maybe.

Lying on his back with the crook of his elbow draped over his eyes, Eddie thinks. It’s been on his mind ever since he’d gone to the post office: a maybe is a maybe, but it also isn’t necessarily a yes, and the idea of giving any sort of concrete answer sends his head spinning. It’s been a long time, and he’s different now, and so are all of them. It’s the natural way of life—people change, and life moves on, and that’s how it is.

Maybe. Maybe he will show up in the end, or maybe he won’t. Maybe he’s changed too much, or maybe the rest of the world changed without him. Maybe he’s at the point where he no longer has a place with the rest of them. Etcetera, etcetera.

He thinks, and he thinks, and then the phone rings from the kitchen.

Eddie jumps to his feet, somewhat startled by the noise, and runs over to answer. “Hello?”

“You’re coming to the wedding.”

He moves the phone away from his ear in shock, stares at it blankly for a moment, puts it back. “Joyce?”

It shouldn’t be, because he just moved to Los Angeles last month and hasn’t given anybody his new phone number yet, but it is. “Nice to hear your voice, sweetie,” she replies.

“How did you get this number?”

She scoffs a laugh. “I dug my son out of Vecna’s hands twice and invaded a secret Russian prison with Murray Bauman as my only accomplice. You think I can’t get a phone number?”

Eddie can’t help but smile, covering his face with his hand. “Fair enough. My bad.”

There’s silence over the line for a while, and Eddie can’t bring himself to say anything else, but he also doesn’t want to hang up, either. He pulls a chair out from under the table and sits down, absentmindedly fidgeting with the telephone cord in the space between them. She must also be waiting for something, to see if he has anything else to say, but he doesn’t.

Finally, she sighs gently, and repeats her initial statement. “Eddie, honey, you’re coming to the wedding.”

Eddie sighs back. “Joyce, darling, I never said I wasn’t.”

“California’s made you sassy.”

“Nah, that’s just the old age.”

There’s a pause, both of them waiting for the other to surrender, and then Eddie takes the fall this time. “I RSVP’d with maybe. That means I might come.”

“Eddie,” Joyce replies, as matter-of-factly as if she was scolding her own son, “I’ve known you for almost ten years, and I know by now that a maybe from you means no.”

“My schedule’s just not very consistent—”

“I think two months’ notice is enough time to prepare—”

“I may not have enough money to fly out again—”

“Something’s on your mind, kid. Talk to me.”

It’s been eight years since he last returned to Hawkins, six of those since he’s even stepped inside the state of Indiana. After a few stints in different places—New York City, a few cities on the East Coast, even four or five months in Montreal during a particularly chaotic part of 1992—he’s found himself in the art scene of Los Angeles, once again in some tiny apartment that he wears like a second skin.

Part of his nomadic lifestyle is to avoid too much recognition—even if it’s been ten years, even if he hasn’t heard the word “murderer” attached to his name since the late Eighties, it’s not something that just disappears that easily—but at this point, it’s mostly just restlessness. He’s had a bit more success with his music, gone on a couple of small national tours and made a decent living for himself, and it’s been nice. But he’s never been able to stop the way that his eyes dart around at every street corner, uneasy and a little on-edge, like there’s something missing every time he thinks about settling.

He’s twenty-nine now, has been for the better part of a year, and he hasn’t written a song he’s proud of since he was still in Corroded Coffin. He’s lived in a million different places, looking for some way to tap into the creative well he doesn’t even remember closing off, and they’ve all ended up as nothing more than another place to pay rent. But it’s been okay, in the end, and he’s been happy. He’s released a few albums, made some friends, seen some interesting places, had a few relationships—and he’s twenty-nine now, and he’s happy.

He’s twenty-nine now, nearly thirty, but he hears Joyce Byers call him kid and he caves.

“I don’t know, Joyce,” he says, still fiddling with the cord. “It’s been so long.”

“I know,” she says back. “It’s been a long time for us, too. Not just with you, but with everyone.”

“Not many people stayed in Hawkins, I’m guessing?”

“Not even Hop and I stayed in Hawkins.”

Eddie laughs, and it’s a real one, easier than he’s laughed in a while. “Yeah, fair enough.”

Joyce pauses again, and then he can almost hear her smiling through the phone. “I’m going to use my motherly instinct for a second, if you don’t mind, and guess that time isn’t your main worry right now.”

He drops his head down, squeezes his eyes shut. “I don’t know,” he says, and it’s true. “Maybe.”

“It’s okay if you don’t know,” she replies, “but you should still come to the wedding.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t think anybody wants me there.”

She laughs, not unkindly, and continues. “I think you’re forgetting the invitation in your name that you mailed back the other week.”

He can’t explain it, not very well, but it’s different. Getting an invitation versus being wanted are two separate things, and here they don’t align. “It’s just—” and he can feel something unlock as he speaks, “it’s been so long, and I’m not the person I was when I left, and I—I don’t know if anybody actually wants to see me anymore. Not me.”

“Well, if it helps, you can be sure that Hop and I want to see you,” she replies. “Whichever version of you comes back, because we love you. We miss you. Hop misses you.”

Eddie thinks back to those weeks back in 1986, the aftermath of the Big Fight that had simultaneously lasted forever and no time at all. The way Hopper had taken him in without question, helped to hide him from the public while also letting him see his uncle in secret. How Eddie had run away almost overnight, the way a child would, with no thanks other than a hug and a few rushed words. How he’d never come back, nothing except a few short phone calls here and there, and then suddenly he’d blinked and so many years had passed that it felt too late to start now.

It’s not that he hasn’t kept in touch, nor that nobody wants to see him. He knows Joyce is right about that part, that most of them would be happy if he came, because they’ve told him so multiple times. Dustin and Lucas and Mike make the drive to his shows sometimes, Will and Max occasionally in tow, dancing and screaming all his lyrics as if they’re still eighteen and not almost twenty-five. And then after every show they go get lunch, or dinner, or grab a few beers, and they try to convince him to come visit while he makes some joke about why he can’t. He’s heard from Jonathan a bit, gotten high with Argyle once after running into him in the middle of New York, even talked to Robin and the rest of the Indy crew a small handful of times over the phone.

But it’s different, because most of it isn’t real. He’d run away, back when he was young and dumb and impulsive, and nobody has ever said anything to him about it. They talk about their jobs, and whatever stupid stories the boys brought back from college, and he’ll get some praise for whatever new album he’s recently put out. Occasionally somebody will bring up their love lives, which Eddie will quickly steer into other conversation topics as soon as he can, and then that’s that. The phone call ends, or the boys drive back to their respective home bases, and the words left unsaid linger in the back of his mind like a headache. That he’s a coward, that he’d run away, that they’re all disappointed and they miss him, and that he’s only worth the effort because they remember who he used to be, once upon a time.

So, no. He can’t go back. He made his bed a long time ago, and now it’s his responsibility to lie in it.

All he says to her, though, is: “I miss you guys, too.”

If he could see her, she would be looking at him with those kind eyes, would probably put a hand on his arm and rub it like a mother does. Even here, it comes through in her voice when she speaks, and it hits him extra hard when she asks:

“Is there maybe somebody that you don’t want to see?”

He blinks. “What do you mean?”

“You keep mentioning time,” she says, “and you’ve never come back, even if most of us have asked you to at one point or another.”

“I’m sorry, I just—” he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’ve been busy.”

“No, no—that’s not what I mean,” she clarifies. “It just got me thinking—”

And he knows what she’s going to ask, feels it in the pit of his stomach, but he doesn’t stop her.

“—is there somebody who you’re still waiting to be asked by?”

Eddie grips the telephone cord a little tighter, his face getting hot and prickly against his will. He looks around his kitchen, looks down at the dining table to his right. A few placemats, a small bowl of fruit. A few mugs, abandoned halfway towards making a coffee after getting distracted. A poetry book by critically acclaimed author Steve Harrington sitting on the edge, the spine white and cracked from years gone by.

“No,” he replies, and it sounds like a lie.

He knows she doesn’t believe him, but she doesn’t push this matter. All she does is wait, and Eddie knows the ball’s in his court now.

He sighs.

“If I do come,” he says, “and that’s a big if, I have one request.”

“What’s that?”

“I don’t want to be the only single person in the goddamn room.”

Joyce laughs like he hasn’t heard her laugh in years, and he can’t help but grin at the sound of it. He’s missed this. He’s only just starting to realize how much.

“That’s quite the request,” she says after she’s done.

He sinks a little further into the table, resting his forehead in his palm. “I’ll deal with the rest, but that’s a type of embarrassment I will never come back from.”

“Where did that even come from?” she asks, still laughing a little.

“I don’t know—I feel like all of you have coupled up by now,” he whines. “I mean, it’s a double fucking wedding, to start, so that’s already going to be reminding me of my lack of romantic suitors the entire time—and I say this with the utmost love,” he clarifies, and Joyce laughs again.

“I can see that,” she says.

Eddie moves his hand down to his jaw, leans even further into it. “And then you’ve got Mike and Will, and Dustin will definitely bring Suzie, and then you’ve got Nancy—”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Joyce interrupts, “and let you know that you don’t have to worry about being the only one.”

He chuckles. “Okay, good. My availability just increased exponentially.”

There’s a rustling on the other side of the phone, as if she’s rummaging through a purse. “I’m gonna double check for you right now, but I can tell you right away that El and Steve will be coming alone.”

Something catches in his throat. “Wait, sorry—”

“Okay, I’ve got the list now. There are a couple more people—”

“Sorry, Joyce,” Eddie interrupts before he can stop himself, “back up for a second. Steve’s coming alone?”

Joyce pauses, but this time it’s from pure confusion, and Eddie suddenly feels like he’s walking on a very thin tightrope. “He didn’t check off the box for a plus-one…” she says slowly. He can hear her flip a couple of pages, looking for Steve’s name in her list. “Yeah, I found him. It’s just him.”

Eddie’s entire body feels like he’s sinking, and it takes him a moment to speak again. “I’m sorry, I’m just confused,” he says, and he hopes his voice is steadier than he feels at the moment. “Is that a mistake? Isn’t he technically going with Nancy?”

“Why would he be?”

“Because—I don’t—” His mouth is getting dry; his eyes start to sting. “They’re together, aren’t they?”

And then Joyce goes silent for a very long time.

Eddie knows that he isn’t right about many things, may not even be right about most things, but he’s becoming increasingly aware with age that he’s wrong about many more things than he’d ever thought. He’s become better at accepting it, after thirty years of living, better at understanding where he went wrong and how to fix it. Better at understanding that some mistakes can’t be fixed, that they’re simply a lesson for next time so you don’t make it again, and that that’s okay.

But even so, there are times when he just can’t understand it. Some times where he feels like a child again, or a stupid teenager who doesn’t know any better than to react in the face of being wrong, and he shuts down. It overtakes him completely, wiping all rational thought from his mind, pulling him down into something that just feels like inescapable sadness and shame, like he’s gotten this far and learned nothing along the way.

“Honey,” Joyce finally says, very quietly, “Steve and Nancy haven’t been together since 1987.”

And he doesn’t know what it is this time—whether it’s the shock, or the soul-crushing embarrassment, or even a hint of unearned relief somewhere in the mix—but the moment that her words are out, Eddie can’t do anything except cry.

* * *

He goes to the wedding, in the end.

It’s small, as far as weddings go, but they’ve managed to make it feel huge. The two wedding parties had worked together to find a venue, some local inn in Indianapolis with a beautiful interior and the best disability accommodations for Max, and it turned out to be the Goldilocks size for their party. All of their near-death companions had been invited—the entire Party, their former babysitters, and all their families alike—and despite being a group of under thirty people, they’d filled up the ceremony with the liveliness of two hundred. Lucas and Max read their vows, Joyce and Hopper renewed theirs, and the entire room boomed in celebration when both couples kissed, almost electric with joy.

Now, having passed through everything from cocktail hour to the bouquet toss, Eddie’s back in his usual spot of observing the dance floor. If he’d thought that the group had been lively in 1986, a birthday party to celebrate beating the odds of the apocalypse, it’s nothing compared to what he’s seeing now. With ten years of peace under their belts, and a band of children all grown up well past legal drinking age, he can’t remember the last time he’s seen any group of people this happy. A few of the boys are dancing in a circle, El and Max in the middle as the centerpieces, and the rest of them are eating cake on the sidelines with grins the length of their faces. They’d hired a photographer, but Jonathan’s still walking around with his camera because he likes to, and Hopper changed into more comfortable pants about twenty minutes ago so that he could dance with more vigor.

And Eddie’s having a good time. Underneath it all, he always knew he would. The moment he’d arrived, he’d nearly been tackled by everyone rushing to give him a hug, and then he’d been swept away right back into the chaos as naturally as if he’d never left. They’d included him in the group photos, brought him onstage during the toasts, talked to him eagerly during dinner, equal parts intrigued about his life and excited to finally tell him about their own.

But all he can think about right now is that he’s sitting next to Steve, eating his second slice of chocolate cake, and they haven’t talked about his absence once.

As far as time and distance are concerned, Eddie’s pleasantly surprised to find that their dynamic has been considerably not awkward. They haven’t seen each other in eight years, their brief and sporadic phone calls never making it past some comfortably surface-level conversation, but Eddie can’t help feeling like he’s been transported right back to those weeks at the cabin. They still laugh at each other’s jokes just as easily as before, and Steve still lets Eddie lean a little too far into his personal space, and Eddie still knows all the right ways to make him smile. He’s found that Steve’s smile comes a little easier these days, less and less worn down by the trauma and danger of their youths. He looks good, and he’s just as kind as ever, and it’s nice. Eddie’s enjoying himself.

But Steve hasn’t been with Nancy since 1987. Eddie knows he should’ve known this by now, that he should’ve at least asked, but he didn’t. It messes with everything he’s catalogued about Steve over the years, throws him off his usual expectations, and he’s stuck. Unsure of which direction they’re going in now.

What’s really left unsaid between them, versus what he’s prepared to talk about.

“You’d think these dickheads would’ve learned how to dance by now,” Steve says, his mouth full of cake, and points vaguely towards the boys. “They’re just flailing their arms around everywhere.”

“Is that not just what dancing is, in the end?” Eddie teases with a smirk, taking a sip of his cocktail.

“Not after bullying me for years for how I dance.”

Eddie crosses one leg, rests an arm on the back of the chair. “Steve, sweetheart, I’ve seen how you dance.”

Steve makes a face. “Yeah, in high school, maybe.”

“And if you haven’t taken dance classes since,” Eddie replies, “I unfortunately don’t think you have any right to judge on this matter.”

He grins at his own joke, and then Steve laughs, leans his head back as he does it. “Alright, whatever,” he says. “I guess I’ll abandon my dreams of going pro.”

Eddie pouts. “Damn it, I was looking forward to that.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Steve jokes, inhaling another mouthful of cake. “I’ll stick to my day job, thanks.”

“Can’t win ‘em all,” Eddie says.

“I still have the best hair, though.”

“Oh, that one isn’t even a contest.”

Steve’s smile comes easier, but Eddie’s starting to notice that it doesn’t look quite right anymore. Almost strained, even if just a little, like he’s hiding something. Eddie looks away, can’t bring himself to look any further into it without doing something he might regret, and he continues his original business of scanning the room until his eyes find Nancy.

She looks gorgeous, as Nancy Wheeler always does, and she’s sitting with Robin at one of the farther tables to the right. It’s been a long time since he’s seen either of them—since Steve’s twentieth birthday, he’d realized earlier today with a pang of guilt—and he watches them now, observing, cataloguing what he might’ve missed. Nancy says something, and Robin laughs, and then he shifts his eyes to the table and finds that they’re holding hands. That they’re basically pressed up against each other, almost one person made from two, and he wonders.

He remembers what Joyce had said about 1987, and something clicks.

“Hey, uh—” he starts, turning back to Steve. “What’s going on with Nancy and Robin over there?”

Steve just hums in surprise, still chewing. “Whaddaya mean?”

“Nothing, I just—sorry, it’s been a while,” Eddie replies. “They just seem closer than I remember. Are they dating?”

There’s a little while where Steve’s just staring at him, as if trying to figure out whether he’s joking or not, and then he laughs softly. “Oh my god, did we forget to tell you?”

Eddie blinks. “I don’t—”

“They kinda stayed off the radar for a while, and then over the years it became a little hard to remember who we updated and who we didn’t,” Steve continues, a smile still lingering on his face. “But yeah, they’re dating. Have been since Nance and I broke up, way back when. They probably would’ve gotten married within a year if it were legal, in my opinion, but they keep insisting that they would’ve waited at least three.”

Since Nance and I broke up, way back when.

“Well, that’s fun,” Eddie says, and he wants to kick himself. “Good for them.”

Steve nods, looking proud. “I think it made the breakup easier, to be honest. I mean, me and Nance gave it a good shot, but I think we just grew apart too much over the years.” His eyes shift slightly as he speaks. “Our hearts weren’t in the right place anymore, at least not to date each other. I don’t know if they ever were, looking back on it now. And then she fell in love with Robin.”

Grew apart too much over the years.

“Anyways, they actually live in Chicago now,” Steve continues, “funnily enough. They got an apartment together a few years ago, but they’ve basically been living together since the beginning because of how often Nance stayed over in our first apartment. And now Robin’s a Linguistics professor at U of C and Nancy’s a journalist.” His eyes widen. “Man, time flies.”

It hits Eddie like a flood, embarrassingly obvious since the start. All those passing mentions he’s heard over the years of Nancy and Robin, almost like they were attached at the hip. Nancy sort-of-illegally living in their Indy apartment in 1988, but not for Steve. Steve coming to the wedding, but not with Nancy.

“Jesus,” he breathes, leaning back in his chair. “I knew I was out of the loop, but I didn’t know I was that out of the loop.”

“You gotta admit,” Steve says, “it’s a little funny.”

“It’s tragic,” Eddie corrects him with a pout, “I’ve lost all touch with the real world.”

And then, because he’s extremely smart, he decides to add: “I mean, I actually thought you and Nancy were still together until Joyce called me, if you can believe that.”

It’s subtle, but he can see Steve tense slightly next to him. “Hold on,” he says. “Until—until Joyce called you?”

Eddie blinks. “Yeah, she—”

“When was this?”

“I—about two months ago.” Eddie’s voice gets quiet. “To convince me to—um. To come to the wedding.”

Steve’s fidgeting with his thumbs, dead silence hanging heavy between them, and he’s not looking at him. Eddie holds his breath, waits.

Something shifts in Steve’s voice, and he doesn’t sound like he thinks it’s funny anymore.

“Can you repeat that for me, please?”

There’s a slight crack when he says it, a bit of instability, and Eddie is hit once again with the realization that he’s fucked up somewhere—possibly everywhere—but this, here at this table, is one mistake he can’t get out of now. Not anymore.

So he repeats it. “I—shit. I fully thought that you and Nancy were still together until about two months ago.”

“You what?” And then Dustin is there.

“Two months ago?” Lucas chimes in. “Did you just come out of a fucking time machine?”

“Okay—guys,” Eddie attempts weakly, beet red in the face, but he knows his attempt will be futile. “I know I’m an idiot, you don’t need to—”

“No, I think we fully do,” Dustin interrupts, equal parts shocked and entertained, and crosses his arms. “You’ve somehow discovered a new level of obliviousness. Are you aware that it is nineteen ninety-six?”

“Yes, Dustin, I am aware.”

“Two months ago,” Steve repeats to himself, a soft whisper. “Two m—”

“How the fuck did you miss that?” Dustin asks. He’s speaking loudly, mostly from laughter, but a few people are starting to turn their heads at the noise. “How did we miss that?”

“I just assumed he already knew,” Lucas says.

“Never even asked,” Dustin mutters, contemplative. “You’d think.”

Mike walks over, another piece of cake on his plate. “Are we making fun of Eddie?” he asks, mid-chew. “Can I join?”

“Hey—”

Dustin points to Eddie, looks straight at Mike. “This son of a bitch only just found out that Steve isn’t still dating your sister.”

Mike nearly spits out his cake. “Wait, what?”

He’s directing his signature Mike Wheeler Face of Judgment at him, and Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose. “Guilty as charged.”

“Hold on, back up—” Mike sets his plate down on the table, puts his hands on his hips. “You’ve known for years that I’m gay, but you didn’t know about Steve and Nancy?”

Now it’s Will’s turn to look at them from across the room. “The fuck?”

“You knew about Mike and Will?” Steve asks, turning to look at him for the first time since the initial statement. His voice cracks a little more this time.

Eddie drops his face into his hands. “Yeah.”

“Eddie’s the one who told me to ask Will out,” Mike explains to Steve. Turns back to Eddie. “I think you were the first person who told me to get my shit together.”

“Excuse me,” Dustin interjects, “what about us—”

“Please, that’s not the same and you know—”

“That was so long ago,” Will says, now part of their group. “Wasn’t that, like, six years ago?”

“Seven, I think—”

The bottom of Steve’s chair scrapes against the floor suddenly, a piercing sound that shuts everybody up, and he’s on his feet now with his eyes glued to the floor.

“This is—” He stammers a bit. Shuts his eyes. Drags a hand down his face. “I can’t be here. I have to go.”

And then he goes.

The music is still playing, and then they all watch the door open and shut, and then Steve is gone. Nobody says anything else. Eddie notices that half the room is staring now, all of them looking equally as shocked as he feels, and they all just look between each other and shrug in confusion. Eddie looks away entirely, just stares at the palms of his hands, and he thinks.

Steve said he had to go, and now he’s gone. And based on how that conversation went, Eddie’s most likely the cause, and there’s nothing he can do about it because it’s been ten years. He’d run away, and he’d stayed away. Time passed. He can’t take that back anymore, and he made his peace with that a long time ago.

But Steve looked surprised. Sounded upset, as if he hadn’t expected the conversation to go this way, and Eddie can’t stop thinking about it. It makes him think that this one’s new, that this is some fresh mistake that can still be rectified—but also that maybe, ten years down the line, this might be the last one that he gets to make. That if he doesn’t at least fix this mistake, doesn’t at least remove the final straw that broke the camel’s back, that this really will be it.

That Eddie will lose him, completely and forever, if he lets him walk away right now.

So he runs.

The inn isn’t objectively very big, but it’s big enough that a person would have plenty of places to hide. Eddie runs through the main area, through all the different rooms that Steve might have gone into, but he’s shit out of luck. Nowhere upstairs, nowhere downstairs, not even in any of the empty bedrooms that he so sneakily checked. He can’t find him anywhere, and now he’s out of breath, bent over with his hands on his knees and wheezing like an old man.

It occurs to him then, sweating through his favourite goddamn suit, that Steve may not even be here anymore. That by I have to go, he’d meant that he planned on leaving the wedding entirely, and that Eddie won’t be able to find him anymore. It sends a shiver down his spine, a new wave of panic, and he runs to the front door prepared to chase a burgundy BMW all the way back to Hawkins.

He runs to the front door and finds Steve, sitting alone on the front steps, quietly curled up over his knees.

Eddie takes a moment to catch his breath, leaning a hand against the door frame with relief, before sitting down next to him. He can see Steve turn his head slightly, can see a glint of his eyes looking at him, but he says nothing. Just buries his face back in his arms, breathes a deep, shaky sigh, and sniffles.

He’s crying.

“Well,” Eddie starts, resting his chin between his knees. “Clearly I’ve made a mistake somewhere.”

Steve just lets out a weak laugh, but still says nothing.

Eddie watches him for a bit, bites his lower lip, continues. “That was a bad joke, but I do want to—” He inhales sharply, the words getting caught in his mouth again. “If you’re okay with it, then I want to know what I did so that I can say sorry—”

“You really didn’t know that Nancy and I broke up?” Steve interjects, lifting his head to look at him.

Eddie looks back at him, and the embarrassment starts to erode him from the inside out. Steve’s eyes are blazing, and he doesn’t look scary, but he looks angry. Hurt. His face is streaked with tears, and his lower lip is quivering slightly, and he’s angry. Eddie’s never seen it before, not like this, and now it’s not just adjacent to him. That anger is directed at him.

He sighs. “I didn’t.”

Steve covers his face with his hands. “Jesus fucking Christ, dude.”

They sit there in silence for another little while, watching the bushes around them rustle faintly in the summer breeze, before Steve finally speaks again. “So that’s it, then.”

“What?”

“Is that how little you wanted anything to do with me this whole time?” Steve bites, but his voice is still quiet, muffled under his hands. “Ten fucking years, and you avoided me so much that you still thought I was dating Nancy?”

Eddie flinches. “What—that’s not it at all.”

“Really.”

“Yeah—” He turns jerkily to face Steve more directly. “I didn’t—”

“Then why the fuck haven’t you talked to me in almost a decade?” Steve lifts his head again, but he’s just staring at his hands now. “What other reason is there?”

His voice is rough, almost pleading, and Eddie doesn’t know what to say.

Steve looks at him again, looks back at his hands, shuts his eyes. “I mean, I thought we were becoming friends back then, at least. We saved the world, and then we started hanging out when you were hiding, and you came to my twentieth birthday party, and then—what? Then you just disappeared and I never heard from you again?”

At least.

Steve runs a hand through his hair. “And then this whole time I figured that you were just busy, right? Moved to Chicago or wherever else, hiding from the accusations, working on your music—I got it. I understood, and I waited. But I thought you were avoiding everyone, that you barely had time for all of us, and now you’re telling me you knew about Mike?”

Eddie gulps. “I mean, he comes to vis—”

“I know, I know,” Steve says, waving an irritated hand, “the Hellfire guys come to your shows sometimes, and they bring back your merch, and they grab a beer with you, and it’s all fun and great and fine. But even then, I thought I would’ve at least come up at some point, you know? I see them all often enough, they know about my life.”

A few more frustrated tears fall down his face. “God—I thought you would’ve wanted to know about my life.”

Eddie feels his own eyes start to sting. He puts a hand over his mouth, tenses it on his face. “I’m sorry,” he says, almost a whisper.

Steve scoffs. “Yeah. I mean, do you know anything about me?” His voice is still angry, but it’s more of a genuine question this time. “Were you even listening whenever you gave me the chance to tell you anything? About my job, about Nancy and Robin, about—do you even know that I’m a writer?”

“I do,” Eddie says immediately. “I know that.”

“Oh, good.”

“I’ve read—”

“Did you know that I’m a teacher, too?”

Eddie stops, deflates a little. “No.”

Steve nods, staring out into the greenery around them. “Yeah.”

They sit in more silence, Eddie feeling his head spin a little, and then Steve exhales sharply and keeps going.

“I think I told you that I got my writing degree back in ‘91,” he continues, “but while I was at school I picked up tutoring to pay for it. I mean, I had other jobs here and there, too, but I—I liked it. Helping those kids.” He wipes his cheek, rests his chin in his palm. His voice isn’t as intense, but he still sounds angry.

“I always felt like such an idiot back in high school—even afterwards, sometimes—because I had all these questions about everything that nobody wanted to answer. I mean, I avoided writing my whole life ‘cause all anyone ever wanted to tell me was that I was bad at it. And then suddenly I was the one being asked the questions, with some kid putting their trust in me to be the smart one between us, and I loved it.” Steve exhales shakily. “I could do something to help, to make sure that they always felt like they were smart, too. To give them that safe space to grow that I never really got.”

More than anything, Eddie wants to move in and touch him right now. A hand on his back, maybe to move so they’re sitting with their knees pressed together, some—any—way to comfort him. But he holds back. “You never told me that.”

Steve smiles. It’s not a happy one. “You never asked.”

Another moment of silence passes. Steve looks at him.

Eddie nods. “Keep going. Please. About anything you want.”

Steve sighs, his mouth morphed into a thin line. “I don’t know, I—I kept writing after that, finished my degree and everything, but I switched to teaching as my full-time gig instead. It felt more right career-wise, and that way I got to keep up a hobby on the side.”

“Smart choice.”

“Thanks.” Steve lowers a leg further down the steps, sits up a bit straighter. “I’ve still been sending stuff out to get published on the side, though—have been ever since I was still in school. It was mostly small-scale at the beginning, like magazines and contests and whatnot so that I could learn how the whole process worked, but then I figured I’d try putting out my own stuff. Like, I have this one collection from '92—”

Eddie can’t help himself. “Love Songs From the Eighties.”

In a split second, Steve’s eyes snap to his face, and there’s something almost hopeful behind the residual upset. “You know it?”

“Shit, dude, I’ve read it,” Eddie says, smiling a little. “Actually, no, scratch that—my copy’s been annotated front to back.”

He can’t read the expression on Steve’s face anymore, some five million different emotions passing through it at the same time. He isn’t crying anymore, but his eyes are still a little swollen.

“You never said anything,” Steve says, a little quieter.

Eddie gives a guilty shrug. “You never asked.”

He immediately regrets the joke, worried that he’s overstepped whatever line they’ve been carefully walking this whole time, but Steve just laughs softly. “I guess so,” he mutters. “Touché.”

“I’m serious, though,” Eddie continues, a flutter in his chest, “I’ve read it, like, probably fifty times by now at least. Notes in the margins, ripped up sticky notes—the whole shebang.”

“Glad you liked it,” Steve replies, and there’s something else in his voice now, too. “It’s—um. A personal one.”

“I could tell,” Eddie says. “I mean, the way each poem flowed one into the other, the imagery you used in each one, was incredible. I’m jealous, honestly—I don’t know. Half the time I was just studying your technique and trying to figure out how you do it so well, but then I also kept getting sucked so deep into the emotions of each poem. Like I could feel everything you were feeling, not just read it.” He debates his next point for a second, then gives in. “I mean, sometimes I even felt like I could’ve been the person you were writing for, instead of just the person reading it.”

At that, Steve’s head jerks a little, like he’s just realized something strange. “Wait, hold on—stop.”

“And then—”

“Shush. Stop talking.”

Eddie frowns. “I will never compliment you again, at this rate.”

“No, no—it’s not that,” Steve says, almost lost in thought. “I just—it’s—did you think that collection was written for Nancy?”

It’s a normal question, but something about the way he says it makes Eddie flush red. “I—well—”

“‘Cause if you thought we were still together this whole time, and I put out that book in ‘92, then—” He grins. “Oh my god.”

Steve’s face is pure amusement now, but Eddie can’t meet his eyes anymore. “It’s not that unusual of a—”

“You thought I wrote those about Nancy?!”

“I almost feel like this extreme of a reaction is offensive to Nancy.”

“That’s so—” Steve stutters, “I can’t—” and Eddie prepares for the worst, prepares for another apology he needs to make.

But then Steve’s laughing, laughing so hard he can barely breathe, and Eddie doesn’t know if he’s ever heard him laugh like this before. Maybe Steve hasn’t ever laughed like this before, not that he would necessarily be privy to that information, but he feels it more than he hears it. Because it transports him back to another time like it’s nothing—back to 1986, those days in the Upside Down and those weeks afterwards, bruised and battered but still finding time to laugh wherever they could. Just barely twenty years old, having lived through the end of the world, and still coming out alive on the other side. Somehow, somewhere.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve says, holding his sternum as he laughs, “sorry—that’s just so fucking funny.”

And then Eddie takes in Steve’s laugh at near-thirty, puts them side-by-side, and thinks back to his words of friends, at least from not even one hour ago. How funny Steve finds this whole thing, how angry he’d been when Eddie hadn’t been around. And maybe it means something, or maybe it doesn’t, but he suddenly realizes that it doesn’t matter in the slightest.

Because he thinks back on the last ten years, particularly these last eight since their run-in at the bakery, and he realizes that Steve’s always been there. Despite what he told himself, or whatever he did to try and mitigate it—everywhere he looked, everything that he thought about rang of Steve Harrington, every single day. And he was everywhere. The songs he couldn’t write. The different places he’d lived over the years, desperately hoping at every street corner that he’d get a second chance of fate to make things right. The book in his kitchen, read and reread until it was falling apart, Eddie praying to every god he didn’t believe in that at least one of those poems was about him. The rest of Steve’s books, sprawled all across the apartment, each one read at least five times.

He’s thought a lot about making mistakes, about fixing them, about the ones that are too big to come back from after everything’s said and done. But the part he hadn’t ever thought about—the part that was too scary to consider, too big of a risk for him to understand until now—was that you never know which mistakes those are until you take the steps to try. He’s been running from all of his mistakes, assuming that each one is the unfixable kind—

—and now it’s ten years later, he’s trying not to cry on the front steps of a wedding venue, and he’s realizing that there might have been a path to the other side this whole time.

Time passes, and life moves on, but you have to make sure you move with it.

So he finally does.

“I left because I loved you too much,” Eddie admits once Steve stops laughing, once the conversation returns to normal. He can feel a tear form in the corner of his eye, but he quickly brushes it away. It’s not his turn to cry—not yet. This part’s for Steve.

Steve, however, just stares for a second before scoffing. “Okay.”

Eddie fidgets with his rings. “No, I promise,” he says, keeping his voice as even as he can, “I’m telling the truth. I don’t think I fully realized it at the time—nah, fuck, not even close. But I did.”

He takes a breath and looks over at Steve, who’s still just staring at him, expression unreadable. Steve doesn’t tell him to stop, though, so he continues.

“I already liked you during all the Upside Down shit that was happening, but most of it happened after everything was over.” He looks up at the stars, avoiding Steve’s eyes to keep himself steady. “Those times you came over to visit me at the cabin, playing dumb card games and watching whatever cassettes you or Hopper had lying around—all that stuff. I think it finally hit me at your birthday party. How much I loved you. I barely understood at the time, but I couldn’t handle it.”

“Why would that have been such a bad thing?” Steve asks.

“Because I didn’t think it was an option,” Eddie replies. He sinks back into his knees again, feeling exposed and raw and twenty years old again. “I’d just spent a week in the Upside Down telling you to get back with Nancy, and I was still getting used to the idea that you considered me a friend, and—and then you…” He motions with his hands, grasping at the memory. “You looked at me some sort of way at the party—or touched me, or something, I can barely remember anymore—and I think I just lost it, in a way. I think I did want to go talk to you about it, which is when I walked into the kitchen—”

“And then you walked in on me and Nance.” Steve’s voice sounds hollow. Distant.

Eddie just nods.

He doesn’t look over—can’t bring himself to do it—but he can tell that Steve’s still staring at him with that unreadable expression. He’s still as a rock, his mouth slightly open, and he’s staring without a word.

“Keep going,” Steve eventually says, very quiet.

Eddie wraps his hands around his ankles. “It feels so stupid now—it was stupid, even then—but I just. I don’t know, I couldn’t handle it, not even the mention of your name half the time. I never let anyone talk about you when they visited, and I guess they just assumed I already knew everything. But it would just bring back all those feelings every time, and I felt like such an intruder on your relationship for having them, and I couldn’t even tell whether you were capable of feeling the same way about me. It was—ugh.”

He wipes another finicky tear from his eyes. “Let me know if you want me to stop. I don’t know if you want to hear all this.”

Steve says nothing.

Another light, warm breeze brushes Eddie’s face. He’s still not looking at Steve. “Like I said, I couldn’t even hear your name without having a crisis, and then I ran into you in ‘88 that one time, and I think I just completely lost my mind. I don’t even remember what we talked about, but I know I basically blacked out at one point and was a total asshole, ‘cause I just couldn’t handle hearing about your relationship. Well—” He pauses, the memory coming back with a new layer of unease over it. “What I thought was your relationship, I guess.”

“But you didn’t even know,” Steve says, halfway to a question. “You asked, but you didn’t—”

“I know,” Eddie mumbles. “I know. It was stupid, and it’s not an excuse, but I think—”

Suddenly the final puzzle piece snaps into place inside his head, and everything makes sense. “I don’t think I wanted to know either way.” It hurts to say, burns in his mouth, but it’s the truth. “If you were still with Nancy, then it would’ve just been painful in the normal way, but…if you weren’t?”

And Eddie can’t stop the way that his nose prickles, the way his face gets warm when he thinks about this, and he scrunches his eyes to keep himself level. “If you weren’t, that would have meant that I might’ve made a huge mistake in running away, and I didn’t want to face the consequences of that. I thought it would be easier to give you new reasons to hate me instead of dealing with the one that I couldn’t control.”

He finally looks at Steve again. “And then I got older, and regretted it so much, but then you never asked me to come back, and by then it was so late that I felt like I couldn’t go back and fix it, so I just—fuck,” he swears, sloppily wiping his eyes again. “It’s not an excuse, and it’s so fucking stupid, and I should’ve never done it. I wouldn’t—I won’t do it now. Not anymore. Even if you have another girlfriend, or you don’t feel the same way, or anything like that. I’m so sorry.”

When he finishes talking, the two of them just sit there for a while, once again in silence. Steve’s eyes are still locked on his face, almost like he’s desperately looking for something, and Eddie’s about to backtrack and apologize for what he’d just shared when—

“Hey,” he says, reaching out instinctively to Steve, “what—”

—but Steve’s broken down into full, sobbing tears now, loud ones that rattle his entire upper body as he cries into his hands again. Eddie freezes, his hand caught halfway between himself and Steve’s arm, and then Steve speaks.

“I thought about you,” he cries, his voice thick and rough. “Every. Single. Day. Since you left.”

And he doesn’t continue talking, not immediately, because every time he tries his voice gets caught in another fit of tears. But Eddie watches him, a little stunned, and slowly notices that these don’t feel like angry tears anymore. Upset, sure, but not angry. Just sad, and somewhat cathartic, which he figures makes sense after ten years of buildup and an unexpected love confession.

So Eddie takes the plunge and moves closer to him. He wraps an arm around Steve’s shoulders, pulls him in a little closer, and lets him cry as he needs to. Hopes that this is the right decision, that Steve won’t pull away.

He doesn’t. He leans even further into him, rests his head on Eddie’s shoulder, and he cries.

“Go as long as you need to,” Eddie says quietly, resting his cheek in Steve’s hair. “It’s okay.”

They sit together without speaking, the warm breeze coming in and out and the stars twinkling above them. But after a few minutes like that, curled up together on the front steps of the inn, Steve’s crying starts to sound more like laughing. “You’re so stoic, dude. What’s with that?”

Eddie blinks. “Huh?”

“Don’t let me just embarrass myself out here,” Steve continues, still softly crying, gently laying a hand on top of Eddie’s. “You can also cry, if you want to.”

“Are you forgetting that I’m the one apologizing to you?” Eddie asks, looking down at him. “I’m not supposed to be the one crying.”

“Nah, screw that. I said my piece, but this is a two-way street.” Steve squeezes his hand. “You’re allowed to be upset, too.”

“I don’t know what—”

“I had a full-blown crisis after you left my party,” Steve interjects, chuckling a little at the memory. He fidgets absentmindedly with one of Eddie’s rings. “I didn’t really understand anything then, either, so it probably is a good thing you didn’t say anything at the time. But I remember going home after that—or maybe I stayed with Nance, I don’t know—and I didn’t sleep a wink, because I was just thinking about you the entire time. Trying to figure out why I was so upset that you’d gone home so early.”

Now it’s Eddie’s turn to not say anything. He sits still, absorbing this information, trying to make sense of it with the timeline in his head.

Steve continues, still smiling faintly. “Nance and I dated for about a year, but—I already told you about her and Robin, but I never told you the rest of it.” He pauses. “I realized a long time after that night that I’d been waiting for you to take back your advice. About me and her. And then you walked in on us and said nothing, and then you moved away and still said nothing, so I just kept waiting.”

“Oh.”

He feels stupid for saying it, like he should be saying something more intelligent, but no other words come. Steve just breathes another laugh.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Oh. I didn’t actually know that until ‘87, though, so you would’ve already been gone a long time. At first I thought I just missed you as a friend, but then Nance and I broke up, and she and Robin got so excited for me to see you again, and then when I ran into you at the bakery I just kept thinking, I’m gonna fix this. This is it.”

“But it wasn’t.” Eddie’s voice cracks slightly when he says it.

“No, it wasn’t.” Steve sniffles, wipes his nose. “You just seemed so disappointed to see me, and you kept cutting me off when I tried to tell you anything, so I kinda just assumed I’d been rejected. I did date a little in between, tried to move past it, but it never felt right. It always just came back to you.”

“Fuck,” Eddie gasps, pinching his eyes when they start to sting again. “That wasn’t it at all. Not at all. God—I’m so sorry.”

Steve sits back up to look at him, but he doesn’t move farther back again. There are tears still drying on Steve’s face, but their legs are still pressed together where they’re sitting, and Steve’s still looking at him with the kindest eyes that Eddie’s ever seen on someone who’s crying. And he’s smiling, like he’s happy, despite everything.

“Stop saying sorry,” Steve says, almost amused. “You’ve said it enough. I told you, this is a two-way street, so I also need some room to say sorry. All of this happened—what? Eight years ago? I’ve had just as much time as you to call you and tell you to come back. To tell you all of this.”

Eddie feels a lump form in his throat.

“Why didn’t you?” he lets himself ask. The question burns in his chest.

Steve just keeps looking at him for a moment.

“Same reason as you,” Steve admits. “I loved you too much.”

And then, as Eddie’s face starts to betray him, the tears pooling in his eyes, Steve decides to finish off with: “All the poems in Love Songs are for you. Every single one.”

And just like that, all of Eddie’s defenses are shot at the same time, and he breaks down.

It’s Steve’s turn to hold him now, and Eddie falls into him like he was always meant to be there. His entire timeline is shattered, everything about the last ten years of his life completely wrong, and he’s never been more viscerally relieved in his entire life. Maybe he should’ve done this earlier—definitely should have, definitely would have now—but he figures that if you can’t go back in time, then better late than never.

“God,” he chokes out, smiling through his tears, “we’re both so fucking stupid.”

Steve laughs, strokes his hair. “We got here eventually. That counts for something.”

Eddie doesn’t move from Steve’s shoulder, doesn’t ever want to move from here again, but he tenses at the question he knows he has to ask. “What happens now?”

Steve sighs gently. “I’m not gonna lie,” he says, and Eddie squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m still pretty mad at you. I don’t think that’s gonna go away overnight, not for either of us. And I don’t know when it’s gonna happen, either.”

“I know,” Eddie says softly.

“So, I guess—yeah. It’ll take some time to get close to normal. Maybe a lot of time.” Steve holds him a little tighter. “I don’t think we really know each other anymore, either, so that’ll probably be another thing. Y’know—ten years, and all.”

Another small round of tears burn in Eddie’s eyes. “If you don’t want to do this, or if it’s too late now or something, I’ll understand. That’s okay.”

He can feel Steve freeze underneath him. “Wait, what?”

Eddie furrows his eyebrows and sits back up. “I mean, you’re right—I was away a long time, and we don’t really know each other anymore. I don’t want you to feel—”

“No, wait—that’s not what I meant,” Steve says. “I want to know you. I want you to know me. We’re not who we were when we were twenty, and that’s a good thing, because clearly we were idiots at twenty.” He’s looking at him again with those kind eyes, full of warmth and time and promise. “It’ll take time, but it’s time I want to take. We’re gonna start again, completely fresh, and it’s gonna be so good this time. Please—stay with me.”

“But—” and Eddie doesn’t know why he’s pushing this, why he’s faltering, but he’s losing control of his words again. “You said you were still angry with me, and that it’s not going away anytime soon, so I just want to make sure—”

Steve interrupts him with a laugh, and then grabs him gently by both sides of his face. Wipes away a few of Eddie’s leftover tears with his thumb. Moves his own face a little closer, so that he’s looking right into his eyes.

“Eds. I said I’m mad at you,” he says, a little bit of laughter left in his voice. “I never said I didn’t still love you.”

And if Eddie ever had any control when it came to Steve Harrington, he loses every last drop of it the moment that he says the word love. In a flash, his own hands are pulling Steve closer to him, and then he’s kissing him like he’ll never get another chance to again. It’s all he can do, at this moment, after ten years of uncertainty and pain—and he finds that Steve’s right, in some way. That it’s hard for him to comprehend that this is real, that he’s afraid to stop or let go in case this is all some cruel dream, one where he’ll jolt awake and find himself still pining on the floor of his California apartment.

But he leans further into the kiss, lets the feeling of it settle in through his entire body, and he reminds himself that it isn’t a dream. Not this time. This is real, and he’s really here, and he’s drunk off of Steve Harrington, because he loves him. They have a long way to go, and a lot of shit to unravel, but he doesn’t care in the slightest—because Steve’s lips are soft, and they’re warm, and they’re kissing him back like he’s the only thing that matters in the world. Because Eddie’s light-headed with happiness, and Steve’s holding him like he’d rather do anything except let go, and it’s good.

It’s good, and they’re good, and they can fix this. They have time.

They break apart after who knows how long, still holding onto each other’s faces like they’re precious. Steve laughs again, and he looks like he’s about to restart crying, but there’s nothing in his face except pure, unadulterated joy.

And Eddie takes it in, knowing that it’s not just adjacent to him, but because of him.

“Nice kiss,” Steve teases, thumbing Eddie’s cheek. “The way we got here could use some work, though.”

“Not our best, I’ll admit,” Eddie smiles. “But we’re gonna do it right this time.”

There’s still an hour or two left of the reception, and the two of them walk back in to an understandably, albeit hilariously, confused crowd. It’s a short fury of rapid-fire questions, diffused through some long overdue explanations and another round of picking on Eddie, and then things go back to normal. They dance, and they sing, and they keep on kissing like teenagers to make up for lost time, because this is the light at the end of the tunnel. It’s them—it always has been, and always will be.

They hold hands for the rest of the night, and they won’t let go for years to come, and life goes on.