Chapter Text
1986
The sun only just started to turn the dark sky a tepid blue as it rose when Eddie looked at Steve one final time. Goodbye’s were difficult but this one was different. It wasn’t goodbye forever, not really. They’d see each other again, and soon.
Steve looked down at him, red rimmed eyes heavy and soft. With a quick glance around to make sure they were truly alone at this end of the bus depot, he reached out his hand and brushed aside a strand of hair from Eddie’s face. “I’m really happy for you.”
Eddie, without care of being seen, dropped his bag on the floor beside him and placed a hand at either side of Steve’s waist, pulling him close. “I know.” He swallowed, emotion thick at the back of his throat. “I’ll call every day. And I’ll write you. So much you’ll be sick of hearing from me.”
Steve laughed, thin and short. “Yeah probably.”
“Besides I’ll be back for Christmas, it's only a couple months away.”
“Nine months.”
“Nine months away. You can have a baby in that time.”
Steve laughed again, barely an exhaled breath this time.
They stood in silence for a minute. Eddie with his hands on Steve’s waist, Steve gently resting a hand on Eddie’s while the other played with a strand of his hair.
“I don’t want to tell you not to go but I might.”
Eddie held Steve a little closer, much closer than he would have had they not been saying goodbye. He wanted to pull Steve all the way through him. Be as close as humanly possible. Closer even. “Steve,” he tilted his head up to breathe the word against his lips, “this isn’t goodbye I swear.”
“I know.”
“We’ll talk all the time.”
“I know.”
“I love you.”
“I know.”
Eddie leaned back with an amused frown. “Don’t Solo me. I’m Han here. You’re Leia.”
Steve's smile held for a moment, drooping as the seconds ticked by. “I just have a bad feeling is all.”
“About what?”
Steve sighed. “I don’t know. Everything. You in L.A. and the city as a whole and us apart and everything. Just everything.”
The announcement system at the bus depot crackled to life. “ The 5:30am Indianapolis to Los Angeles has begun boarding.”
“That’s my cue.”
With another quick glance around, Steve leaned forward and closed the distance between them. Over the months they’d been together they had shared dozens of kisses. Brief. Hurried. Sleepy. Happy. Long. Short.
Though this felt different. Like Steve was trying to convince him of something. As if each time he pressed his lips again it was another word and those words made a sentence and those sentences made a compelling argument that, when Eddie pulled back in a heady dazed he’d understand.
But he pulled back, and Eddie only felt sad to leave but nothing more.
“ All boarding, Indianapolis to Los Angeles. ”
They shared one more kiss. Small. A goodbye.
“I’ll call you as soon as I get to L.A., ok?”
“Yeah.”
With that, they separated, returning each limb to their sides officially unwound from one another. Eddie grabbed his bag off the ground, gave Steve one final wave, and walked off to meet his bus.
1999
—it’s a cool and crisp thirty seven degrees out here on this fine Christmas Eve Eve morning here in the Big Apple with thick clouds forming overhead that make it look like we might be having a White Christmas after all, just like all those classic songs love to sing about. And speaking of singing, the folks down at ABC have already started setting up Times Square for the big ball drop, that’s right the New Year’s prep has started a bit early and that’s because this is it, the big one, the two-zero-zero-zero, Y-Two-K, the new millennium. The hustle and bustle of the holidays have an ever present sense of impending doom this year since the computer people out there aren’t sure if we’re gonna beat it or eat it when the clock strikes midnight knocking us out of the nineteen’s and into the twenty’s. But either way there’s gonna be a great show planned for us with all the biggest since the start of Rockin’ Eve with a day long telecast of the biggest in music, movies, and television rocking us into the new year along with host Regis Philbin. And I’ll tell you what, besides watching the ball drop and sending this millennium packing, I’m most looking forward to seeing my favorite musicians sharing the Eve’s stage. We’re talking the top of tops here, from all walks—I’m talking NSYNC, Christina Aguilera, Neil Diamond, Aerosmith, Barry Manilow, and one that I’m particularly excited for, Corroded Coffin who are coming off the tail end of their American tour and making a surprising but exciting choice to ring in the new year. You know here on WNST we’ll be here all night long broadcasting the live performances before the big countdown. But before we get to all that, let’s circle back on this possibly White Christmas Eve Eve where I hope you’re all tuning in as you head to family and loved ones for the holiday with the—
A hand shot out from under heavy sheets to smack the top of the alarm, missing it entirely and sending a bottle of aspirin and a mostly empty glass of water crashing from the bedside table onto the floor. On the second attempt, the hand found the off button on the top of the alarm and smacked it hard, cutting off the end of the radio DJ’s monologue. A second hand, still adorned with silver rings that had been neglected to be removed the previous night, followed the first hand out from under the sheets and pulled them down.
Eddie Munson peered out from under his sheets, bleary eyed and exhausted. Thin stripes of light cut across the dense carpet of the bedroom from the tall but heavily curtained windows lining the far wall. Noticeably empty, the room held no more than it needed to. A large bed, a long dresser, a chair, a television, two bedside tables. Just enough to be furnished, not enough to have personality.
Blinking out sleep from his eyes, Eddie wandered through his spacious apartment with no sense of urgency despite passing the blinking answering machine twice on his way to and from the kitchen to start on his first coffee of the day. It wasn’t until he’d lazily pulled on clothes, chugged a mug of black coffee over the sink, and made an attempt to inspect his thinly stocked fridge for breakfast, that he turned his attention to the answering machine.
The recorder whirred to life and beeped out his messages.
“ You have, seven , new messages. First message:
Hey Eddie, it’s Rick. I’m sending over the paperwork for the New Years show. Already had legal look it over and all we need is your John Hancock. Should be there by the 22nd. But call me before so I can tell you what you're signing. Talk to you.
End of message. Next Message:
Hi Mr. Munson, it’s Paula Johnson with ABC’s Rockin’ Eve. I’m calling as a reminder that we will be doing a full dress rehearsal on the 26th so we’ll need you to come down to Rockefeller Center by 8 am. We can absolutely send a car to retrieve you if that’s necessary, have your manager contact the producers and we’ll have it arranged. Thanks again. See you soon.”
Eddie pulled out a carton of milk, sniffed it and nearly gagged. He placed it back in the fridge.
“End of message. Next Message:
Hey Eddie, Rick again. Just checking in. I had sent the papers expedited to you so we could get this done by Christmas even though, yes I know, you don’t care about that stuff. Whatever. Call me when you can.”
He opened the bag of shredded cheese and sprinkled some loose into his mouth.
“End of message. Next Message:
Hello Mr. Munson sir, it’s Lenny from the front desk. I’ve got someone here with a package but he says you’ve got to sign off on it. He says he can wait around a couple minutes if you’re home and can come down. Thank you.
End of message. Next message.
Hello again Mr. Munson, it’s Lenny from the front desk. The guy left but he left a number for you to call to get the package. I’ve got it here for you here at the front desk whenever you’re available. Thank you.
End of message. Next message.
Hey Eddie. Rick again. I hope to hell you’re passed out in a drunken stupor and not ignoring my calls. I know those papers got there and you were supposed to call me. Not to put too fine a point on it but this ABC thing is a big deal and we don’t want to piss off these people. So call me when you get this.”
Eddie sighed, putting the bag of shredded cheese back into the fridge. He glanced at the green digital numbers on the microwave. 12:47pm. Not too early for a beer.
“End of message. Next message.
Eddie. It’s Rick. Again. I know you’re home, I called the front desk of your building. Look, I’m traveling up to the city for Christmas Eve and even though it goes against everything I stand for, I’ll stop in to get these paper’s signed. You bastard.
No more messages.”
The answering machine turned itself off with a whining beep. The silence it left rang through the empty kitchen.
Despite the litany of voicemails he’d listened through, Eddie’s main priority was food. Having been gone from his apartment for the better part of a month, he was running dangerously low on just about everything. Not that he was a cook anyway. Feeding himself was always less wandering through supermarkets to collect ingredients, and more of a process of finding a suitable restaurant or deli for a sandwich. Today was no different.
The elevator dinged happily as it passed each floor on the way down from the top, coming to a slow stop every so often as it let on various neighbors from other floors. Eddie crowded himself into the back corner, careful not to make eye contact with any of them in case they may talk to him. They rarely did, with only the truly friendly attempting to crack the general off putting facade Eddie crafted for his outer appearance. Sure it’s New York and sure people are liberal, but a nearly six foot tall tattoo covered ear-nose-and-brow pierced man with dry stare still doesn’t endear himself to many people.
Instead they greeted each other, making general comments and well wishes for the holiday season as they stood without anyone paying much mind to Eddie. Which suited him fine. He was not a particularly discreet celebrity, although he did value the occasional bout of anonymity. And that started with not being the Mr. Roger’s of his building.
The elevator dinged one last time as the doors slid open to the main lobby and the handful of people walked out. Eddie, hoping to head to the corner store and back before the elevator had even a chance to head further than the third floor, pulled his coat tighter around himself as he took several quick long strides towards the revolving door. He was feet away when he heard a raspy voice call out for him.
“Mr. Munson. Excuse me, Mr. Munson, did you get my voicemails?”
Exhaling a sigh under his breath, Eddie turned. The doorman behind the rounded desk waved to him as he made his way upstream through the rush of people.
“Hey Len, yeah I got your voicemails sorry I uh, I was kinda busy yesterday I didn’t get them till this morning.”
Lenny, a small rounded man more than twice his own age with half as much hair, began his usual blustering head shake he used when he was trying to be particularly accommodating. “Completely fine, Mr. Munson, that’s completely fine. I just wanted to give you this.” The doorman handed him a neatly printed note on building letterhead that read:
For E. Munson
Call for package retrieval
212-555-0812
“Thanks for that Len,” Eddie said, folding the paper and stuffing it into his pocket.
“My pleasure, Mr. Munson,” Lenny said, with a pleased nod. He stuck out a hand to get his attention again just as Eddie made to leave. “Oh I heard on the radio that your band’s going to be performing on the new year's show.”
Eddie took a step backward, trying to inch away slowly. “Uh, yeah. We’re gonna be there.”
“Incredible, that’s absolutely incredible. You know my wife loves that special. We watch it every year. I can’t wait to tell her one of the residents is gonna be on it. Teresa’s gonna flip, just flip.”
He took another half side step away. “That’s great, I—”
“You know we’ve always wanted to go, but we can never get tickets, and I can’t stand all day in Times Square with my back the way it is now, but watching it on the TV is just as good. You know, from our place in Canarsie we can see the fireworks off the Rockaways. Beautiful, just beautiful. But it’s the same with the tree at Rockefeller Center. Teresa’s got this busted knee and my back— suffice it to say we ain’t going much touristing about.”
“Yeah, I don’t, um, I don’t either.” Eddie was nearly a full two feet away from the desk now.
“You’ve got plans for Christmas?”
“Um, no,” he cleared his throat, “no not really. Rehearsal probably.”
Lenny shook his head. “Always working this one is, so dedicated. It’s impressive.”
“Thanks.”
“I used to work the holidays, get double pay. And it was tough when the kids were little but we’d get the extra money which was nice, and now with them out it’s different but I’m too old for that now. And this year we’ve got the kids coming in for Christmas. My Julie’s driving up from Charlotte, and Anthony’s bringing the latest girlfriend home from Northwestern. She’s one of those vegetarians.” He made a vague, I don’t know gesture with his arms. “I said, what’s she gonna eat? Teresa spends days prepping the seven fishes for the Vigil, and she’s only gonna eat the antipasto?”
“Oh, I guess so.”
“Antipasto isn’t a meal,” he said, shaking his head with great severity. “But whatever. What you put up with for your loved ones, you know what I mean?”
“That’s, uh yeah that’s right Len. Sorry I’ve got to run.”
“Oh yeah, of course. Sorry, didn’t mean to keep you long. You know me, old doorman. I like to chat.”
“Yeah,” he laughed thinly. “Thanks, again for the note.”
The corner bodega was a quick minute walk from the front door of his building, but in the bitter cold it felt like a half hour. The bell rung above him as he opened the door to the numbingly warm store, blasting him with heat and the smells of brewing coffee and cooking food. The middle aged woman behind the counter lifted her head at the sound of the door, smiling brightly when she recognized him.
“Hi’ya Carol.”
“Eddie,” she beamed, setting aside her newspaper on the counter and lowering her red framed reading glasses so they hung around her neck. “I was just reading about you in The Post.”
“All lies, I’m sure,” Eddie half smiled as he came over to the counter.
The woman picked up the newspaper again, setting her glasses on the bridge of her nose as she squinted at the fine print as she began to read aloud. “—to add insult to injury, this New Year’s already fraught celebration that has been tainted with the looming fear of total technological meltdown, the Rockin’ Eve day-long event has scheduled a list of offensive and perverse performers that will rock us into a new millennium of catastrophic ruin.” She put down the paper with an amused smirk.
“It doesn’t even mention me, how do you know who they are talking about?”
She lifted the paper again. “—with acts such as the debaucherous Christina “X-tina” Aguleria, and maliciously aggressive Corroded Coffin frontman Eddie Munson on the lineup for the night, the only thing rocking this eve will be the fleet of NYPD patrol cars carting away the rowdy fans who are flocking to the Times Square to see these performers live.” She placed the newspaper down again.
Eddie blew air through his lips. “Maliciously aggressive?”
“Apparently so.”
“That’s kinda well written for The Post,” he said, peering over the counter to look at the inflammatory newsprint.
“They must have saved all their big words for the end of the year,” she laughed.
“Why do you even read this stuff?” he frowned. “It can’t be good for your health.”
“We all have our vices,” she said with a smile, folding up the newspaper and setting it aside again. “I read this garbage and you eat the outrageous sandwich I’m about to make you.”
“My fatal flaw,” Eddie smiled back, following her from the other side of the counter as she moved from the front register to the food prep area.
“No, your fatal flaw is that you won’t let me set you up with someone nice,” she said, pulling on plastic gloves. “You’re alone too much. It upsets me.”
“I don’t mean to upset you,” Eddie said. He meant it to come out jokingly but sincerity flattened it out.
She sent him a dry look. “Then let me introduce you to some people.”
“Carol,” he sighed, “we’ve been over this.”
“Yeah yeah,” she said, waving one hand dismissively as the other grabbed a roll from the bakery tray. “You’re gone too much. With the touring and the traveling and the nonsense. I’ve heard it all before. But Eddie, it’s Christmas. No one should be alone on Christmas.”
“I’m not alone,” he said quickly.
She pointed a spatula at him. “Your band doesn’t count. I don’t mean friends, I mean someone who’s going to love you.”
“My friends love me.”
“I'm sure they do, but it’s not your bandmates that you’re going to be kissing under the mistletoe are you?”
Eddie thought about it for a moment. “No, probably not.”
She smiled at him, self-satisfied. “Exactly. Now let me introduce you to someone. I know this nice girl. Dentist, from the Upper East Side. Lovely girl. Only reason she’s single is because her good for nothing ex-husband left her for some paralegal and fled to Paris. She’s wonderful and she’s into guys with your,” she looked him up and down, “style.”
By now Eddie was immune to comments about his appearance. He was a musician after all, it was nearly required for him to have a sense of style that was outside the norm. However he was fairly sure he was currently a much more toned down version of himself. Barely any tattoos visible apart from the ones on his hands and neck. Gone was the long hair for a much more respectable (and more importantly easier to manage on the road) shorter haircut that only just started to curl behind his ears. And his clothes were tame, just a cropped leather jacket over nondescript jeans and a sweater. It was, however, a slightly ratty Megadeth sweater he’d had since the 80’s but there was no way she could see that under his jacket.
“She sounds great,” he said noncommittally. “I’m just not interested in anyone right now.”
Carol frowned as she folded cold cuts onto the roll. “I’d just like to see you settled. Maybe you could write a ballad. Or a love song for your band, you know? Let people see your sensitive side.”
“We have love songs.”
“Without yelling in them?”
Eddie hesitated. “I see your point.”
She sighed. “This new year coming should be a new start for you. New year, new millennium. New life.”
Shifting in place Eddie tried to come up with something to say that he could make sound sincere and not like the defense it was. “I like my life.”
“I know,” she said, her voice coated in understanding. “But I think you could be happier.” She wrapped the sandwich in wax paper, cut it with one hard flourish, and then tossed it in a brown paper bag. “Just promise me that next year you’ll find a nice girl to settle down with.” She held out the bag to him.
Eddie paused his reach for the bag as he tried to think up an answer that wouldn’t be an outright lie. “I promise I’ll try.”
That seemed to be good enough. “Alright.”
“Thanks.” He took it gently, setting a ten on the counter and moved to step away.
“Wait, let me get you your change.”
He shook his head, “Don’t worry about it. Keep it.”
She looked at him warmly. “Merry Christmas Eddie.”
“Sure,” he said, pushing the bodega door open and bracing for the hard cold outside.
The thin manilla envelope that Eddie had somehow missed when leaving his apartment, laid at the entrance with a neatly printed boot print on the top covering the mailing label. He retrieved it with one hand, closing the door behind him with his foot and tossed it on the small side table by the door to be dealt with much later.
In one fluid motion, he tossed the brown paper bag and his jacket, one onto the coffee table and the other on a chair, turning the TV on before even sitting down. The screen buzzed to life as he stood, flipping through channels until he came across something that he could sit through as he ate his first meal of the day.
Grabbing a beer from the fridge, he dropped into the couch, unwrapped the first half of his multi-meat sandwich, and settled in for a long stretch of nothing.
A nothing that lasted the better part of an hour and a half, when after finishing his food and first and second beer and falling into a comfortable half sleep as Family Feud chirped quietly from the TV, there was a knock at the door.
Pushing himself up from the couch Eddie shuffled over to the door, unsurprised to see his friend and bandmate Gareth leaning in the door frame.
“You missed practice,” he said, without accusation or disappointment. Which naturally made Eddie feel worse.
“Yeah,” he said walking back into his apartment. “Sorry about that.”
Gareth closed the door softly behind him, following Eddie back into the living room where he had begun to collect his trash from lunch. “I know you are. Which is why you’re going to make it up to me by coming over tomorrow.”
Eddie tossed his head back with a sigh. “Gare, I–I don’t know. I’m sorry about practice and I’m not going to miss another, I swear, but I don’t think I can do Christmas in Bedford Falls.”
“Ha ha, it’s Paramus but good joke,” he said, crossing his arms. “It’ll be really lowkey. Just both our parents, an uncle or two, maybe an aunt, a couple of cousins, some nieces and nephews.”
“That’s like thirty people,” Eddie said, monotone.
Gareth tilted his head back and forth. “Give or take, yeah. But it's all people you know. Sort of. Well you know the Hawkins people. Not the…not the Jersey people, of course. Not all of them. But you know Judy. So that’s a plus.”
“Yeah I know your girlfriend,” Eddie said, moving around him and tossing his wrappers into the garbage. “But I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”
“You can’t just hole up in your apartment every Christmas. It’s not healthy.”
“I’m a paragon of health,” he said, reaching into the fridge for another beer. “You want?” he asked, offering one to his friend.
Gareth looked down at his watch. “It’s 3:30 in the afternoon.”
“Oh so you don't day drink now?” Eddie said with a joking huff, closing the fridge with his hip and cracking open the tab.
The joke landed flat. Gareth looked at him with concern which only made Eddie feel like one beer might not be enough.
“You missed practice, you’re day drinking, you’re definitely ignoring Rick’s calls because he called me to ask me if you’d been on a bender or were just sitting listening to him record voicemails like a jackass. So, I’m officially worried.”
Eddie exhaled, setting the can down on the kitchen counter with a light clank. “I…I’m not trying to worry you. Or anyone. I was just having a rough, you know, day. Or a couple days. Or whatever— you know this time of year is, is hard for me and I usually try to be busy around this time but I don’t know, it’s just harder this year. I’m not trying to make you “officially worried” ok?” he said, adding air quotes for emphasis, “give me like one more day to be,” he motioned to himself vaguely, “this, and I’ll have my shit together right after Christmas and it’ll be totally fine.”
Gareth stared at him with no indication that he either believed or disbelieved his little speech. After a moment he gave a quick nod. “Ok. Fine. Be this,” he said, also motioning to Eddie. “But the invitation still stands. Ok?”
“Ok.”
He sighed, turning around and heading for the door. “Don’t miss practice again. If I don't kill you, the other two will.”
“Gotcha,” Eddie said, giving him a thumbs up as Gareth closed the door behind him. “Jesus Christ,” he breathed out into his empty apartment.
Gareth was right, of course, but Eddie was not about to tell him that. He knew this was a terrible and unhealthy way to handle holiday depression but he’d been doing it like this for so long he had no other idea of what to do. It wasn’t like he wanted to make his friends worried or upset with him. It would be better if everyone understood that he preferred moping around for a few days out of the year despite however unlikely it was.
Eddie returned to the living room, grabbing his jacket to put it away when the folded note fell out to the floor. Picking it up, Eddie moved to place it next to the manilla envelope that was quickly becoming a small pile of things to be dealt with later, when he decided to just bite the bullet and get it over with. He hung his jacket and then grabbed the phone, punching out the numbers neatly printed on the paper.
The phone rang once, then twice, then thrice, and just before it rang a fourth time and Eddie was about to hang up and try again some other time, a voice answered the other end.
“Goldman Sachs Department of Asset and Wealth Management, this is Rachel speaking, how can I help you?”
“Um, hi, this is—my doorman told me that someone was trying to deliver a package to me or something and, I was busy, but they left this number so I can call and, get, you know the thing,” he made a face at himself for being confusing, “sorry, I didn’t realize I was calling an office, that kind of threw me off.”
“No problem sir, can I get your name?”
“Sure, it’s Eddie Munson.”
She made a noise of understanding. “Ah yes, I have a note saying you may call. The courier didn’t leave the extension. Please hold while I transfer you.”
“Thanks I—”
The line clicked before he could finish. It rang once, twice, and then another voice answered.
“Hello, Mr. Harrington’s office, this is Michelle speaking, how can I help you?”
“Hi, yeah, I—sorry what did you say?”
Silence from the other line. “Excuse me?”
“The office, whose office?”
“Mr…Mr. Harrington’s office. Sorry, who is this?”
He could just barely hear her over the sound of blood rushing past his ears. His heartbeat raced and the beer and sandwich each threatened to make a reappearance. “Harrington. You said Harrington.”
“Yes, who is this?”
“You’ve got to be joking me.”
“Mister I’m going to hang up if you don’t—”
“Sorry, I’m Eddie. Eddie Munson. The other lady transferred me to you because I got a note, no extension, something about a package.”
“Oh,” she said, sounding moderately relieved. “Yes. Um, we had sent a package to you but it required a signature so the courier returned it here to the office. I can have it resent or you can come collect it sometime today or tomorrow in the morning.”
“At the office. Mr. Harrington’s office.”
“Yes,” she said, starting to sound impatient.
“What’s um,” he swallowed though his mouth had gone dry, “what’s Mr. Harrington’s first name? Is it Steve?”
“...yes,” she said, sounding impatient and confused.
He let out a shaky breath. “Awesome,” he mumbled to himself. “I um, can I call you back?”
“Sure,” she said, sounding more than done with dealing with him.
“Great thanks,” he said, hanging up before he could remember to get the extension.
Eddie paced his entire apartment for twenty minutes before he even thought to sit down. And after he did, he only sat for a few seconds before doing the rounds again.
It was a common enough name. No reason to think anything more than necessary. This was probably a strange coincidence that in a few months he’ll look back on and laugh at.
Probably.
Eddie dropped down on the couch again. On the TV the game show had switched to a rerun of Hollywood Squares, with John Davidson musing quietly as he introduced the contestants. To Eddie the TV might as well have been in another room, his mind was completely elsewhere.
It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought about Steve in a long time, he had, it was that he hadn’t said the name Steve Harrington out loud in a while. A long while. Years in fact.
The words still stung at his tongue like he’d accidentally stuck a finger in an electrical socket. He opened his mouth, silently waiting to see if the sounds would just come out on their own or if he had to actually say it. The game show went to commercial. A Coca Cola ad played cheerfully on the screen. He tried again.
“Steve. Harrington.”
He looked around his empty apartment as if waiting to see if anyone had heard him. It was embarrassing, feeling like this. He had performed on stages all around the country, all around the world, but he’d never felt more watched than right now in his empty apartment.
Some hours and many episodes of game show reruns later, when the light buzz of the beer had long since worn off, Eddie pulled on his jacket and headed back outside.
The deep dark of the winter night had settled in over the city. Around him cars drove and honked, people bustled passed carrying bags and gifts and scrambling home. Store doors swung open as last minute gift buyers frantically searched through the remnants of what the holiday rush had left. Decorative lights twinkled against street signs. Bells and music chimed from buskers. And overhead thick heavy clouds promised the approach of snow.
Eddie walked through the city streets with his head down, taking himself on pure muscle memory to his frequent bar haunt. Eddie was tired of beer; he needed a real drink.
The bar was at the bottom of a few steep steps, leading to a solid wooden door and a paint peeling sign that read The Hideaway . Beyond the front door was a small but warmly lit and mostly full bar spread out against the very edges and far corners of the space. Tables and chairs were crammed in together leaving small gaps and trails for patrons to shimmy and squeeze their way through. Above the crowded bar two TVs played a hockey game that only some of the less inebriated customers were mildly paying attention to. The others were all facing a middle aged portly man in a bedazzled Santa hat seated on a stool atop a tiny makeshift stage of stacked palettes and plank of plywood covered in a thin cheap rug, who was poorly but delightedly singing christmas songs to and with the people at the back end of the bar.
With only the thought of downing his first real drink of the day on his mind, Eddie shimmied past a few drunken revelers to the only open stool left at the bar. He ordered himself a whiskey, drained it, and then asked for a second, all the while the group sang a discordant version of Santa Claus is Coming to Town .
For the first time all day, Eddie finally let himself relax.
He sipped his drink. He shrugged off his jacket. He watched bits of the game. He rolled up his sleeves. He tapped his toes along to the next badly sung song. He unclenched his jaw.
“Another?” the bartender asked, holding the bottle up in questioning.
Eddie threw back the last sip of the drink. “Yeah,” he said, placing it back down.
“Not a fan of the holidays?” they asked, pouring two fingers worth of whiskey into the tumbler.
“Not really,” he said, taking back the cup. “Why?”
“Only two types of people drink this much whiskey around this time: drunks and people who’ve got a real reason. And you don’t look like a drunk.”
Eddie laughed softly. “Yeah, well, thanks.”
“Ok everyone,” the bedazzled santa hatted man panted heavily into the microphone, “you guys have been awesome but I’m gonna take a breather. Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas!” nearly the whole bar shouted back at him.
A chorus of individual “Merry Christmas’s” waved through the bar as the singer made his way past the other patrons and deposited himself with a heavy breath and a grin in the seat that had opened up next to Eddie at the bar. He pulled off his bedazzled hat, setting it on the bar surface, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
“Whoo, I’m tired,” he said with a sigh.
Eddie eyed him curiously, fingers circling the rim of his drink. There was something oddly familiar about him that he couldn’t quite place.
“Great show you put on,” the bartender said, leaning their hands on the counter. “Can I get you another beer?”
“Oof, no I’m good. Although I will take a club soda if you don’t mind,” he said with a bright smile.
“Of course.” The bartender picked up a fresh glass, poured his drink, and slid it over to him. “Here you go.”
“Thank you my good man,” he said, picking up the glass and drinking about a third before placing it back on the counter with a thud. He pressed a hand to his chest, easing out a short burp. “Oh, excuse me.”
“You’re excused,” Eddie said leaning over.
He turned, laughing. “Thank you very much.”
Eddie gave him a nod. “You’re welcome.” There was a long pause. Eddie tried to turn his attention back to the hockey game above him, but now that he’d spoken it felt weird to sit in silence. He leaned back over to talk again. “I liked your performance back there, very inspiring.”
“Yeah?” the man beamed, looking back at the miniscule stage. “I’d like to think I’m pretty good.”
“Absolutely. Trust me. You’ve got stage presence.”
He looked thrilled. “Well thank you. You should give it a shot, it’s kind of wonderful once you push past the stage fright.”
Eddie laughed to himself. “Stage fright hasn’t really ever been an issue for me. Besides, I think my dive bar singing days are well behind me. In fact,” he turned a bit more in his stool to face the man a bit better, “back when I was a teenager, I used to play in a bar called The Hideaway in my hometown. It’s actually the reason I first stopped into this place, it was like a random piece of home.”
The man looked up at him with gleeful surprise. “There was a bar called The Hideaway in my home town too.”
Eddie scrunched his brows together, bewildered. “Must be a common name. There’s a lot of that going around,” he added to himself, lifting the glass to drink.
“What town?”
“Hmm?” Eddie hummed around the edge of the glass.
“What town are you from?” the man asked.
“Oh um,” Eddie paused trying to decide if he was up for extended small talk. But there was something so amiable and familiar about him that any guards Eddie may have still had up were let down by the smile on his face. “Hawkins. Indiana.”
“Get outta town!” the man exclaimed, putting a hand on Eddie’s arm. “What a small world. Me too!”
Eddie let out a shocked laugh. “What? Are you joking?”
He held up a hand to the ceiling. “I swear. I can’t believe it. What's your name, maybe I know you. From around town, I mean.”
The bartender walked past, giving the counter a wipe and Eddie a knowing smirk. “You may know his name anyway because he’s famous.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Eddie said, feeling oddly bashful.
“Famous?” the man said, even more intrigued.
The bartender smiled nodding.
The man paused, looking between them both. “You’re not Eddie Munson, are you?”
The bartender shot finger guns at him. “Bingo.”
Eddie, biting at the inside of his cheek, gave a small agreeing shrug. “Ya’ got me.”
“Wow,” the man said, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Um, no offense,” Eddie said, turning on his stool more to face him, “but you didn’t strike me as a fan. I’m surprised you knew my name.”
“Well,” he said with a vague shrug, “someone gets out of Hawkins and makes it, that’s definitely going to be in the town circular.”
Eddie exhaled a laugh through his nose. “Fair enough. Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”
“Bob,” he said, extended a hand out. “Bob Newby.”
They shook hands, and for a moment Eddie felt that peace he’d been looking for. But when he took his hand back it faded.
“I’m kind of surprised meeting someone from Hawkins here,” Eddie said, picking up his glass again. “I didn’t think people get out of Hawkins.”
“You did.”
An expression that Eddie couldn’t control crossed his face before he could stop himself. “Yeah.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean—I mean you’ve been successful, I thought—“
“No, it’s cool, you're fine, you’re right,” Eddie added quickly. “Sometimes I feel like, I don’t know, maybe I never should have left. Or I didn't want to leave? If that makes sense?”
Bob stared at him with a patient smile on his face.
“Like take this bar for example. A million bars in New York, a million. But this is the one a few blocks from my building and it’s the first one I walked into.” Eddie could feel the alcohol working at the back of his neck and shoulders, loosening him to open up more than he’d ever expected to. “What are the odds you know?”
“I completely understand.”
“And there's things, you know, in my life that I missed being gone from home,” Eddie said gesturing with his glass. “Which feels weird to say right? Leaving and going off to bigger and better things made me miss out but there’s stuff, like important stuff that maybe I could have had. There. In Hawkins.” He took a long drink from his glass, finishing the last of his whiskey. “Does that sound crazy?”
Bob smiled at him. “Not at all.”
“I feel like it sounds crazy,” Eddie frowned to himself. “I mean, I could have gone back. I guess. But for what?”
“Do you still have family? Friends there?”
Eddie ran his finger over the edge of the glass. “Not really. My uncle, he pretty much raised me, he died the year I left in some freak accident at the plant. And he was the only,” he sighed, “the only thing I had left in Hawkins so I just…never went back.”
Bob put a hand on his bare arm and for a moment that sense of peace returned, radiating up from his arm through to his chest and out to the rest of his body. And then he pulled his hand back, and it left just as quickly as it came.
“I’m sorry for that,” Bob said with such pure sincerity that Eddie almost felt bad for telling him something that upset him. “It’s hard losing people you love.”
For a moment, Eddie felt like Bob was talking about more than just losing his uncle. Like he knew there was more. But he brushed it off as an impossibility. He was drinking, he was sensitive, and he was seeing things.
They talked far longer than Eddie thought they would, about more than he expected to. They spoke about Hawkins and traveling and music and movies and food and weather and everything.
The hockey game ended on the TV. More Christmas caroling came and went. Eddie switched to beer and finished it. And soon the bartender was wiping the counter again, telling them it was last call.
“Wow,” Bob said with a stretch, “I hadn’t expected to be out so late.”
“Yeah me neither,” Eddie said, surprised to find it well past midnight.
“Well I’m gonna really feel it in the morning if I don’t turn in soon,” Bob said with a sigh, hopping off his stool. “I’m going to head out I think.”
“Me too, I’ll walk with you.” Eddie pulled out his wallet, fingering out a few bills and sliding it over to the bartender. “I’m closing out my tab and covering his drinks too. Keep the change.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Bob said with a small laugh.
He shrugged. “I want to, it’s no big deal.”
For a moment Bob stood still, staring at him with an expression Eddie couldn’t quite place. Something between resolved and pleased.
The night had only gotten colder in the hours that had passed, but not emptier. Couples and groups of people walked down the lit streets as Christmas Eve began in force. Eddie and Bob made their way down the streets and up the wide avenue passing well wishers and Christmas tree vendors trying to sell off the last few wreaths and trees.
“Are you happy, Eddie?” Bob asked after a few quiet moments as they came to a stop at a crosswalk. Thin flakes of snow began to fall catching on the shoulders of Bob’s coat.
Eddie looked down at him, brow furrowed in surprise. “Yeah? I mean I think so.”
“Just think? What about feel? Do you feel happy?”
He thought for a moment. “Yeah I guess.”
Bob frowned, like he’d given the wrong answer. They crossed the street. “I think you need this more than I had originally thought.”
Eddie looked at him confused. They came to a stop at the street corner. “Need what?”
“I can’t tell you anymore than I already have, not yet anyway. But just know that this whole thing is what you make of it.”
“What whole thing? Like life?”
Bob smiled up at him, softly with sympathy. “Everything. You’ll understand later.”
Eddie concluded that the bartender must have slipped some vodka into that club soda because Bob wasn’t making any sense. But Eddie was also too tipsy to decipher what he was saying. “Alright…”
Bob smiled again and gave him a nod. “Alright. I’m this way.” He pointed the opposite way Eddie had to go. “I’ll be seeing you. Good luck.”
“Thanks?”
He placed a hand on Eddie’s arm again, giving it a light squeeze before walking off with a wave and throwing a “Merry Christmas,” over his shoulder.
Confused, Eddie shook it off as he watched Bob walk down the block and out of sight, swallowed by the crowd of tourists gawking at the lights. Snow began to fall in earnest, coating his hair and lashes as he made his way down the last few blocks to his building.
His apartment was a welcome sight. Cold and hot at the same time, Eddie peeled off his clothes as he shuffled through each room, discarding them in a trail until he collapsed face first into bed, head spinning and mushy from too many thoughts crowding his mind all at once. Images of phone numbers and bus stations were the last thing to float through his mind before sleep overcame him.
As soon as Eddie woke up he knew he was hungover. The dull pounding at the back of his head and behind his eyes was the telltale sign that nausea wasn't too far behind. Not an unfamiliar feeling, but certainly not welcome.
He outstretched his hand, blindly feeling around for the alarm that he could just sense was seconds from going off and sending his migraine from bad to worse. But his hand only touched more bed, with rumpled sheets and pillows. Annoyed that he had moved so far in his sleep, Eddie groaned as he squeezed his eyes shut and shuffled up further on this bed.
“You’re kidding me, you’re still in bed.”
Eddie nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of a voice far closer to him than he’d been expecting. Gareth in the past had been one to take his invitations very seriously, and he even had been known to utilize the spare key he’d been given, but this had to be a step too far.
“Gareth, I’m not going,” he mumbled, pulling the covers up over his head.
He was met with heavy silence.
“Wow. How drunk did you get last night?”
“I didn’t think I did but apparently, very.”
The covers were yanked off, letting in a bright splash of daylight from a wide window. In the light Eddie noted two main things: this was not his bedroom and that was not Gareth.
Holding the sheet up and standing above him was Steve Harrington who was looking down at him with a twisted frown. Eddie stared up at him, mouth agape. This was a new level of hungover he’d never reached before and would certainly endeavor to never reach again.
“Come on, get up I got to go and you’re gonna go back to sleep if I leave and you’re not out of bed.”
“Steve,” Eddie breathed out in shock.
“Eddie,” he repeated, slightly mocking.
“Wh—what the fuck?”
Steve rolled his eyes. “Oh my god I so don’t have time for this.” He dropped the blanket with a light toss, sending it to the edge of the bed. With both hands he grabbed at Eddie’s shoulders pulling him upright. “Time to be up.”
Still in shock, Eddie let himself be manhandled. Steve grabbed each arm, placing them at his sides, then pulled him so he was sitting with his legs over the side of the bed, and finally grabbed each hand until he was standing before him. “See. Now you’re up.”
“I—”
“Ok, in this order,” Steve said, counting on his fingers, “Walk the dog then pick up the cake from the bakery. Ok?”
Eddie blinked at him.
“Eddie,” Steve said, exasperated.
“O-ok,” he agreed, voice hoarse like it was the first time he’d spoken in a long while.
The look on Steve’s face went from annoyed to resigned. “Thank you.” His eyes searched his face for something. “Are you alright? If you’re going to throw up I’d really rather you did that not where we sleep.”
“I’m,” Eddie began with no idea of how he was going to finish, “yeah. I mean no, I'm not going to throw up.” Although he wasn’t too convinced.
Steve looked at him skeptically. “...alright.” He lifted a hand and brushed a long strand of hair out from in front of Eddie's face, sending a shiver down his back and also alerting him that his hair was far longer than he remembered. “You’re kind of worrying me, you know.”
A hot spike shot through Eddie’s gut. His skin burned where Steve’s fingers brushed on his cheek. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s ok,” Steve said quietly, all the vexation lost from his voice. His eyes lowered, flicking down to Eddie’s mouth before he leaned in and pressed a soft brief kiss. He pulled back, “Actually, it’s brush your teeth, then walk the dog, then pick up the cake.”
Eddie couldn’t help but let out a breath of a laugh. “Ok.”
Steve kissed him once more and left.