Archive of Our Own

    On a cold October night, Steve Harrington is biking to Eddie Munson’s house. He has two Wal-mart bags slung over his shoulder, one filled with his mom’s old clothes and one with a six pack of beer, just like Eddie asked for. The moon isn’t quite full but it’s reaching to close the sliver of black that remains, illuminating the road to the trailer park as Steve pedals in the night. He can hear the swish of the bag on his shoulder and prays it won’t snap as he skids to a halt in Eddie’s driveway, behind his uncle’s pickup truck. He silently mourns the loss of the breeze as he feels the chill disappear, and he slips off his bike to wander up and knock on the door. He shifts the bags on his shoulder and peeks in to make sure everything’s still there- a strappy black dress, a pair of pumps, some various floral things- whatever he could find that she wouldn’t miss.

    The door creaks open, and Steve is met with Eddie’s crooked grin. He’s wearing pajamas, a wildly adorable oversized tee for a band Steve’s never heard of, and red plaid pajama pants that pool at his bare feet. It makes Steve, in his letterman jacket and jeans, feel wildly overdressed somehow.

    “Hey, you made it.”

    Steve matches his smile, easing slightly. “Of course I did.” He jingles the bags, bottles clinking together. “So did the beer.”

    “Fuck yeah.” Eddie ushers him inside and his eyes dart to the other bag. “Clothes?”

    Steve wordlessly hands it over to Eddie, grabbing a beer. “Alright, I’ll bite. Why did you make me dig through my mom’s wardrobe?”
    Eddie’s grin spreads, and he checks the bag before looking back up. He holds out a hand as if to illuminate his point. “Halloween’s in two weeks, babe. We need a kickass couple’s costume and I have the best idea.”

    “Oh, no, I don’t do Halloween anymore,” Steve laughs nervously. “We’re old enough to drink, Ed. I think we should leave dress-up to the kids, yeah?”

    Eddie smirks at the nickname but his face falls. “Oh, come on. Have some fun, dude.”

    Steve rolls his eyes. “For you- and just because it’s you- I’ll listen. What’s your deal?”
    Eddie bites his lip, smiling, and leans over to grab a VHS tape from the TV stand. He holds it up triumphantly, a pair of ruby red lips and bloody lettering.

    “Frank and Rocky?” Eddie suggests, eyebrow quirking.

    “Oh, my god,” Steve blurts, almost laughing. “You… Really?”

    Eddie tosses it back onto the TV stand and spins back, hands clasped as he leans in, beaming. “Duh! Slutty black-haired transsexual and his hot, sweet, dumb as bricks boyfriend? We’re perfect, babe.”

    “Isn’t-” Steve’s brain slows to a halt. “Isn’t… Frank-n-furter in the…” He makes a swapping gesture. “-other direction?”

    Eddie makes a so-so gesture with his hand, shrugging. “Yeah, but what’s it matter? I can still crossdress like a bitch. That’s why I wanted your dear old mother’s wardrobe.” He kisses Steve on the cheek, and Steve rolls his eyes.

    “I think this is just a ploy to get me to shirtless for a whole night,” Steve grumbles lightheartedly. “We’re not trick-or-treating, are we?”

    “Oh, no,” Eddie dismisses. “But chaperoning the hoardes of children you so love to take care of, sure.”

    “Absolutely did not agree to that.”

    “Yeah, but you would do it, wouldn’t you?” Eddie asks, softly jabbing Steve in the ribs with his finger. Steve recoils with a laugh.

    “Yeah. Yeah, I would.”

    “So do you want to?”

    “What, dress up?”

    “Yeah.”

    Steve sighs, long and arduous. Eddie stares at him like a sad puppy, and Steve gazes into those damned brown cow eyes and he can’t fucking say no.

    He grasps Eddie’s face between his hands, sighs again, and kisses him on the forehead. “Fuck. Fine. Only because it’s you.”

    Eddie fucking claps , giggling and jumping up and down, and Steve breaks into a smile. 

    “Alright, alright.” He pats Eddie on the shoulder as he walks past him and falls onto the sofa, watching Eddie dig through the bag.

    “Wouldn’t wearing a dress make you, like, uncomfortable?” Steve asks as Eddie holds up a black slip dress excitedly, pressing it to his body and swishing back and forth.

    “Nah, like…” Eddie hums, folding the dress over his arm as he picks up the heels, grinning. “It’s like, post-femininity, if you catch my drift.”

    Steve pops open his beer with his teeth, watching the cap go scattering across the floor. “I don’t.”

    Eddie rips off his shirt, wearing only a binder, and Steve’s mouth goes dry temporarily. Eddie’s shoulders ripple as he tugs on a black slip dress, then kicks off his pajama pants. His legs are long, lanky, and the dress hits him just below the end of his boxers. Steve gazes at the tone of his arms, slender and ghostly pale. The dress is just small enough on him that it hugs his boxy frame tightly, and Steve stares like he’s in the presence of an angel. Because shit. Eddie’s hair barely brushes his exposed collarbones, and it fucking glows in the living room light. His eyeliner is smudged in a way that makes Steve’s stomach do flips, and he almost spills his beer when Eddie winks at him.

    “Buh?” Is all his brain can conjure.

    Eddie shifts his pose so he has a hand on his hip, foot poked out in front of him. He grins, clicking his tongue with another wink. “Cat got your tongue, Harrington?”

    “It looks… good ,” Steve realizes. “Why do you look so good in a dress?”

    Eddie walks up, barefooted, and plops down on the couch next to Steve. He pats him on the cheek with a pitiful smile. “I’m good at everything, babe. To answer your question, it doesn’t bother me because I’m just a dude, in a dress. If everyone still thought I was a girl, it would definitely bother me, but now I’m just hot and queer.”

    Steve processes this. “So, like, David Bowie?”

    Eddie’s eyes light up and he gasps. “Oh, I’m so flattered , you don’t even know .”

    Steve smiles, and he takes a sip of his beer and lets his hand drift to rest on Eddie’s knee. The dress has ridden up, so he touches bare skin. Eddie’s intoxicatingly warm and he resists the urge to climb over and lay on top of him. Instead, he idly runs his hand up and down Eddie’s thigh, and Eddie picks quietly at the hem of the dress.

    “Your mom’s tiny,” He observes after a while, pulling the dress down over the hem of his boxers.

    “Yeah,” Steve mumbles, lolling his head to selfishly take in every glorious inch of Eddie he can.

    “Hey, eyes up here, Harrington,” Eddie cracks uneasily, reaching out to nudge Steve’s chin up to make eye contact.

    Something curls in Steve’s gut, and he clears his throat.

    “Do the heels fit?” He asks, and Eddie’s eyes glitter.

    He pushes himself off the couch and scrambles over to the bag, digging out the heels. He slips his feet into them. “A little tight, but not bad.”

    He stands, now substantially taller. Steve whistles.

    “Wow,” he whispers, Eddie smiles hesitantly, and Steve feels the sun must’ve risen. He’s lanky, in the way a young dogwood tree is lanky. Real, and rough, and more than a little beautiful if you catch it in the evening light. His legs poke out at odd angles as he shifts in the heels, like some kind of baby dove struggling to stand on their own two feet, and Steve thinks he’s the luckiest man alive. “You look great,” Is what comes out of his mouth, in the end. Too little, for Eddie. Everything’s too little for this man.

    “Mm. Thanks,” Eddie murmurs back, arms crossed, and something in his tone is off, but Steve can’t place it. His hand crosses his torso to grasp his own shoulder, and his other arm wraps around his waist. Posed like the subject of a Renaissance painting. Steve flashes back to that night in the bathroom.

    “Are you okay?” Steve can feel the air grow heavy. “You really do look great.”

    This seems to make Eddie’s smile tighten more as he jolts out of the daze he’s put himself in.

    “Oh. Yeah, I’m- I’m good. Tired.”

    Steve shakes off the feeling that’s settled over the both of them. “Okay. Cool. Are you sure you’re okay with- with wearing a dress? For this?”

    “Yeah! Yeah.” He musters, and Steve believes him.

    “Alright.” Steve stands, and begins to reach out to touch Eddie’s hand, but hesitates for a reason he can’t quite place. He drops his hand awkwardly, and Eddie watches it fall with an inexplicable expression on his face.

    There’s a silence between them as some kind of invisible wall is erected. Steve swallows thickly. 

    “You… What do you think, really? Of how I look?” Eddie asks, after a moment.

    “What-” Steve’s face knits together and he stares at Eddie, clouded with confusion. “You look great, man. I told you. Is that what this is about?”

    “No! I believe you, I just-” Eddie raises a hand to his face and drags it down, exhaling shakily. “It’s nothing. Sorry. It’s nothing. I shouldn’t- nevermind.”

    “Eddie-”
    “It’s nothing , Steve.” Eddie says sharply. “Don’t- I’m just…” He bites his lip, avoiding Steve’s concerned gaze. He lets the sentence die on his tongue and he swallows, hard, then looks back up at Steve with a renewed expression, a forced grin that catches Steve off guard. “Hey, do you want to put on a gold speedo?”

    Why Eddie has a gold speedo, Steve doesn’t ask. He claims it was for “A band thing”, and the implications of that are enough to shut Steve up about the origins of the thing he’s now wearing.

    “Huh,” Steve says, staring at his shirtless body in Eddie’s bathroom mirror. Eddie lounges behind him on the bathroom door, back to his usual cocky self. 

    “Hot,” He calls, and Steve grins uneasily into the mirror. “You look good.”

    “Thanks,” Steve murmurs, glancing down at himself. He runs a hand through his hair, shifting his posture from side to side to check himself out in the mirror. He almost doesn’t feel real, inspecting himself like this. He turns to face Eddie and gestures to himself.

    “I mean, yeah, it fits.”

    Eddie’s gaze rakes him up and down. “Damn, Harrington,” He says, dramatically pressing a hand to his chest. Steve laughs, stance easing slightly before crossing his arms. Eddie’s face flickers with something that Steve can’t discern that’s gone less than in an instant.

    “It’s fucking cold in here,” Steve says, half-assing an attempt to get out of the speedo.

    “I can help with that. Seeing as I’m so hot, and all,” Eddie winks, sauntering over and kissing Steve. He slides his hands around Steve’s waist and Steve shivers at the full-body contact of his stomach brushing against the cheap polyester slip of Eddie’s dress.

    “Tell me I’m handsome, Steve,” Eddie whispers into Steve’s ear, having to lean down in heels. “Tell me.”

    “What’s gotten into you?” Steve asks softly, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s neck comfortingly. “Of course you’re handsome. You’re the fucking hottest guy I’ve ever seen. One of the only hot guys I’ve ever seen.”

    “You sure?” Eddie asks into Steve’s hair, and Steve’s brows knit together just for a moment.

    “Eddie, I- what? Do I really not seem like I-”

    “No, you- I know you do. You do. But.” His hand grips Steve’s waist like he’s afraid he’s going to fly away, and the butterflies in Steve’s stomach almost confirms it.

“But what? How could you possibly- ”

    “Oh, Steve,” Eddie whispers, and Steve’s heart breaks as he hears his voice quiver. “You don’t…”

    “I don’t understand,” Steve says quietly, his stomach curling. “I love you, Eddie.” He pours everything he can into those words, like molten gold or fresh rain in a drought, and he hopes Eddie can smell the petrichor and feel the hot unfiltered sting of his twenty-four carat love. 

    “Do you?” Eddie asks, pulling back, and Steve thinks his ribs are shattering. Eddie’s face is wet, eyes flicking up and down Steve’s face like he’s looking for something damning, like the pastors Steve was terrified of as a kid.

    “What?” His voice cracks as a tear rolls down his face.

    “Do you love me? Or do you love these?” He presses a heart to his chest, tugging on the fabric of his binder. “And these?” He kicks off his heels with something not unlike disgust. “And this?” He pulls on the hem of his dress. “Because I’ve never seen you look at anyone other than women the way you look at me, Steve, and now with the way you look at me in this, I’m starting to wonder how you see me.”

    Steve’s stomach drops . “You think- Oh, Eddie-” He reaches out to grab Eddie’s hand and, though Eddie hesitates, he takes it, holding tight enough that Steve feels like his bones are knitting together.

    Steve brushes away the hair that’s plastered to Eddie’s tear-streaked face. “You… Oh, my God, I’m- I can’t…” His words are a jumbled word salad, incapable of sharing the amount he feels to the man in front of him. “Eddie. I love you . I love your stupid, manly hair, and I love your lanky, manly body, and I love the way that your rings look in- in the light, sometimes, all- all manly, and masculine, and- fuck, there’s no good words for manly, are there?” Eddie laughs, and Steve laughs too, and the glass wall breaks between them as Eddie sniffs, staring up at Steve with deep brown eyes and a watery smile that makes Steve flush.

    “And,” Steve continues shakily, “I think I’ve liked men for a long, long time, longer than I’ve known you, but you- God, you- you made me feel something so strong that it broke everything inside of me, and you- you put me through a blender and I came out weird and a little gay and definitely seeing you as- as who you are. And that’s a guy, Eddie. I don’t- I don’t fucking care about your boobs or whether you look good in a dress or what’s in your crotch or anything like that, because that’s just who you are as a guy. Some guys wear dresses. Look- fucking David Bowie is a guy, and he- he looks great in everything . Or like- Freddie Mercury. Freddie Mercury is so manly, and you- you saw the music video for the- the song, fuck , um, you know the one. It- my parents hated it, and made me turn the TV off, but uh- they were like, in drag, you know, and they had mustaches and hairy legs and shit and they looked great. So, like, what I’m saying,” He winds down with a breath as Eddie bites his lip, smiling. “Is that you’re so, completely, a man. You’re the most man to have ever manned. And I don’t want you to think that the only reason I like you is because you have a little bit fucked anatomy, you know? Because it’s not.”

    “Oh,” Eddie says, softly, squeezing Steve’s hand. “I think… I think that’s one of the nicest things anyone’s said about me.”

    “Good,” Steve says, firmly. “Because you deserve nice things, Eddie. More than anyone. And you deserve to be treated as who you are by everyone . Even the dicks at school, and especially by me.”

    “Oh my god, Harrington, I love you,” Eddie sobs, leaning in and hugging Steve so tightly he thinks his lungs might burst, and from what he couldn’t tell you.

    “I love you, too,” Steve almost laughs into Eddie’s hair, and he finally feels the drop of molten gold in his chest, and smells the rain on concrete, and feels Eddie’s hands on his back, and thinks things might finally be okay.

    “Why are you doing your makeup? We’re not going anywhere.”

    “Oh, for shits and giggles, mon cher .”

    Steve shrugs, sitting on the lid of the toilet and watching Eddie lean over the sink with a palette of eye shadow, VHS case of Rocky Horror propped up for reference.

    “Why is his makeup so…” Steve gestures. “You know.”

    “It’s drag, it’s supposed to be an exaggerated version of the female face.” Eddie gestures with his eyeshadow brush, pushing blue eyeshadow onto his eyelid. “It’s actually a very cool expression of queer solidarity with women and breaking patriarchal bonds-”

    “I understand all of those words individually,” Steve interrupts hesitantly.

    Eddie cackles, making brief eye contact with him in the mirror. “That’s okay, you’re hot, you don’t need to be involved in queer feminist theory.”

    Steve rolls his eyes, still shirtless. He watches Eddie apply makeup. Haphazard, untrained. Pigment brushed on skin, changing the way light hits his face in a way that makes Steve’s heart curl. He remembers watching Nancy put makeup on, or any of his girlfriends. Careful and practiced, gloss here and eyeliner there. Eddie’s makeup is brash like everything else about him, and for some reason Steve’s heart soars at the sight of it. He thinks of that Queen music video, of himself at the beginning of his last year of high school, watching Freddie Mercury strut around with a vacuum cleaner, and feeling such a tug at the pit of his stomach. He thinks of his family, broken and peeling at the edges. Microwave dinners and business trips. 

Maybe someday, he thinks, staring at Eddie, I could have something different. A life in a little house together, with a kid or two, going on vacations every summer. Eddie would be older, a little grey in that stupidly gorgeous hair of his, and he’d… He’d work, somehow. With a band, maybe. A musician. Not the best job, but it’s something. And Steve-

    Steve doesn’t want a job. He doesn’t want to go to college. His dad, he keeps bugging him, but- he wants… He wants to stay home, to take care of a few little kids of his own until they grow up and go off to college and finally leave home, and then one day he can say he did that . He took care of them. He- he took care of them when they skint their knee, he helped them with math homework when they were confused about multiplication tables, he made dinner with a stupid little apron on, he finally figured out how to do taxes, and he-

    Something flashed in his mind, of watching his mom get ready in the morning. Of washing her face, of doing her hair.

    Wires cross. His mind wanders.

    He’s leaning over the sink, pressing lipstick to his mouth. He’s wearing a pink apron, making dinner. He’s laying in bed with hair curlers in, pressing a kiss to Eddie’s mouth before he goes off to work in the morning. He’s dancing with Eddie to a Bowie record in the living room, and Eddie’s leading him. A silly, domestic fantasy, and one that shakes him to his very core.

    “Steve?” Eddie’s gazing at him in the mirror.

    Steve blinks, heart throbbing. “Hm?”

    “You’re gaping at nothing.”

    “Am I?”

    “Yeah. You okay?”

    “I… I don’t know,” He says, hesitant. “Ed?”

    “Mmyep?” Eddie is carefully drawing eyebrows. He pauses, raising them. “Woah, babe. You look like you just saw a ghost. Not that pale, am I?” He quips, but there’s vague concern in his voice.

    “I… Do you want kids?”

    Eddie’s face retracts into his neck as he stammers, nearly dropping the eyebrow pencil. “Wh- Jesus, Steve, what makes you ask that?”

    “Do you?” He presses.

    “I…” Eddie hesitates, staring at the sink. He glances up, making eye contact with Steve. Steve’s eyes are red, he realizes as he stares at himself. “Yeah. Yeah, I do want kids. Hell, I’ve basically adopted all those stupid freshmen in Hellfire already. You too. We’re-” He laughs, tersely. “Two gay dads.”

    “Yeah,” Steve says, and his brow furrows. Dads. It… it sounds wrong, to him, but not for a reason he can place. He… he’s not a dad.

    “Why’d you ask?” Eddie says softly, dropping the eyeliner pencil and turning. His makeup is mostly done, only lipstick unapplied.

    “I…” Steve looks up, and he feels a tear roll down his face.  “I don’t know what I’m feeling, Eddie.”

    “Woah, woah, woah-” Steve blinks, and Eddie is kneeling beside him, holding his hand. “Hey, you’re shaking, what’s wrong? Tell me, tell me, tell me.

    “Eddie, I… I don’t wanna,” He says, barely there. Eddie searches his face desperately. 

    “What? You don’t wanna dress up? That’s totally fine, man-”

    “No, no, that’s… that’s fine, I think,” He crosses his arms self-consciously. “Though I don’t… I don’t really like my body, right now.”

    “Oh, Stevie ,” Eddie whispers, and hugs Steve. The nickname makes something ping in Steve’s chest, and he almost sobs into Eddie’s hair, feeling his rings dig into his back as Eddie pulls him in. He pulls himself off the toilet lid and onto the floor, almost sitting in Eddie’s lap. Eddie barely flinches, holding him close.

    “I don’t wanna feel what I’m feeling,” He manages, mumbling into Eddie’s neck. “I’m… I’m not a dad, Eddie. I’m not, I’m not, I’m not- “

    “Hey, hey, hey, that’s okay if you don’t want kids,” Eddie assures, “We can work something out-”

    “No, I do want kids-” Steve says desperately. “I’m not making sense, I- I know, but-”

    “Why aren’t you a dad, Steve?” Eddie asks softly, running a hand through Steve’s hair. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

    Steve swallows thickly. “I… When I think about us, in the future. I think… I think about having kids. A lot of them. A whole- a whole boatload of Harringtons. Or Munsons. Whichever. I don’t- I don’t really know how that’d work, seeing how we don’t- have a womb-”

    This makes Eddie laugh, almost manically. “Steve-”

    Eddie’s a transsexual. “Oh, shit, I forgot-”

    “It’s okay, pretend I don’t have one. Hate the idea of making the kids myself like that.”

    “Yeah, I- I would, too,” He murmurs, but at this point he doesn’t even know .

    “What were you saying? About… the boatload of Harrington-Munsons.”

    “I- I think about us, and I think about… About the big family, you know. And… I don’t think about two gay dads, Eddie.”

    Eddie pauses. “What do you mean?”

    Steve sobs, miserably. “I… I think of a mom and a dad.”

    Eddie’s voice tightens. “Kids don’t need a mom and a dad-”

    “No, no, I know- I’m not being, like, homophobic-” He chokes on a sob. “Eddie, I think of myself , and I don’t think of a dad.”

    “You…” Something clicks, and Eddie’s breath hitches. “You think of a mom.”

    “I think of a mom,” He whispers, and he presses his face into Eddie’s neck with a soft cry.

    “Oh, Steve ,” Eddie says softly, pressing a kiss to his head and rocking him softly back and forth.

    “I’m not a girl,” He manages. “I- I like being a guy. I like it.”

    “I know, I know,” Eddie murmurs.

    “Then- then why do I want to be a wife? Why do I- why do I see myself that way? Why do I look at- at people wearing makeup and think I want to do that . But not in like, a Bowie way, in a- in a ‘my mom’ way. In a Nancy way. In- in a girl way.”

    “There’s people in between.”

    Steve’s brain whites out. “What?”

    “You… you don’t have to be one or the other.”

    “I… how? There’s… what?”

    Eddie runs a hand through his hair before pulling back. He searches Steve’s face, and sighs quietly. “I… it’s not as well known. There’s… a few names, for it. Androgyne. Hermaphrodite. I only know about it because of the metal scene, there’s a lot of- a lot of punk people who aren’t… either.”

    “You… you can do that?” Steve’s brain is moving at a million miles an hour. Melting together everything he’s ever thought of himself as. Lipstick. Boxers. Dresses. Jawline. “How… How do people call you? Like, people call guys he . Girls she . What…”

    “It depends. They , sometimes. Like you’re multiple people.”

    It strikes Steve as hollow. He makes a soft sound of indecision. “I don’t…”

    “Sometimes you just swap between he and she ,” Eddie offers, pressing his hand to Steve’s cheek. “Let people know when you’re feeling one gender. Or you could be she in some places, and he in others.”

    “I like that,” Steve blurts, because he does. Or she does. “Can… Can I do that?”

    “Duh. You can do whatever. Everything’s fake. Don’t worry about it.”

    “Okay,” Steve says softly. “I think… I think I will. Just to see.”

    “Hey,” Eddie asks softly. “Do you want me to do your makeup?”

    Steve fucking gasps . His brain goes hot with excitement. “Oh. Oh, I would , actually.”

    Eddie smiles. “Alright. C’mon.” He reaches out and Steve grabs his hand, standing up. “Here, go put your shirt on. Or one of your mom’s dresses, if you want.”

    “That’s a big choice,” Steve says faintly.

    “Do you want to be my boyfriend or my girlfriend, right now?”

    Something sparks, low and heavy in Steve’s stomach. He… she stares at herself in the mirror, barefaced and tear-stained. Like Mom. Like Nancy. Like Robin. “I… I think I want to be your girlfriend. For now.”

    Eddie smiles, and the sun rises again. “Okay. I love you.”

    “I love you,” Steve replies softly, and leaves the bathroom to change.

    There’s something religious in the way Steve puts on a floral dress. His mom’s old one. Her mom’s old one.

    The different pronoun strikes Steve like a steel baseball bat to the head, and Steve just wants to curl into a ball and die at the sheer implication . It… It feels good, in the way that jumping into hot water with hypothermia feels good. The way eating cake when starving feels good. So, so overwhelmingly sweet to the point of feeling sickly, and Steve meters Steve’s breath. Avoiding referring to him- to her- to themself as anything other than Steve , the name soft and neutral in their brain. A girl could be named Steve. Or Stevie. Like Stevie Nicks, they think with a soft smile. He thinks. Steve doesn’t like they . It feels too plural, too vague.

    “Fucking pick one, Harrington,” She hisses to herself.

    She picks she .

    The dress is a pale cream, pink and blue flowers speckling it. It hits her just above the knee, the sleeves just a bit too small for her shoulders. The way she barely fits into it makes her stomach curl, but she holds her head up and closes her eyes, spinning around. She feels the fabric billow around her knees and something flutters in her stomach, and she almost laughs.

    “Oh,” She murmurs, and glances down.

    She opens the door to the bathroom with her head held high.

    Eddie fucking squeaks .

    “Oh,” He whispers, and splits into a grin. He rushes forward and tries to pick Steve up, spinning her around for just a moment before he drops her unceremoniously. “Holy shit, you look so happy .”

    “I feel happy,” Steve says, smiling. She holds the sides of the dress out and does a dramatic curtsy, which Eddie laughs at. “Why doesn’t everyone wear these? They’re so comfortable.”

    “No pockets,” Eddie says knowingly.

    “Oh,” Steve realizes, patting her sides. “Oh, right. That sucks.”

    “It’s okay. You look very cute.”

    Steve flushes. It crawls up the back of her neck. “Oh, that- that’s new.”

    “Do you like it?”

    “Mm, I think I do,” She murmurs, and leans in to kiss Eddie, hands pressed against his chest.

    “Good. Because you are cute.” Eddie says, leaning back. “Now. Makeup?”

    Steve has to restrain herself from giggling. “Yeah. Yes. Please.”

    “Sit- still -”

    “It tickles .”

    “Oh, but you’re gonna look so pretty.”    

    This makes Steve bite her lip to stop a smile as Eddie pushes eyeshadow up beneath her brow.

    “Sorry if this ends up looking shitty,” Eddie murmurs, and his tongue is stuck out between his teeth in a way that makes Steve unable to stop staring.

    “No, it’ll be great,” Steve reassures, and she believes it.

    “Aw. Thanks, Harrington.” Eddie smiles, and Steve closes her eyes as she leans into the feeling of the makeup brush on her face.

    “Hey, I have a question. You don’t need an answer, but I’m curious.”

    “Mm.” Steve replies, inviting him to ask.

    “Are you okay with your name? When you’re my girlfriend?”

    “Mm.” Steve hums indecisively, opening her eyes. Eddie is tracing her gaze with his own, and there’s a soft feeling in her stomach as she realizes how much Eddie cares .

    “I think I like Stevie,” She says after a moment.
    Eddie’s eyes light up. “Stevie Nicks.”

    “Yeah.”

    Eddie keeps doing her makeup. “That’s cute. Stevie.”

    “Oh,” Steve says softly. “Yeah.”

    “Yeah?”

    “Yeah,” She affirms, more solid now. “I like that.”

    “I’m glad. You’ve really done well,” Eddie hums. “It took me months to accept myself.”

    “I think my acceptance tolerance has really, um, raised, after…” She gestures. “Everything. I don’t… I don’t think I could be fazed after fighting off demons from hell.”

    “Well, you never know. Jason was a dick about everything even after watching one of his best friends get his bones snapped.”

    “Yeah, well, Jason was just a class-act dick all around.”

    “He really was, wasn’t he?”

    “Yeah.”

    “Alright. Eyes done. Lipstick time. Red?”

    “Mm. Yeah. Hey,” Steve starts as Eddie fumbles in his makeup bag.

    “Mm?”

    “Can I do it? Put it on, I mean.”

    “Yeah, ‘course.” Eddie hands her the lipstick tube. She opens it, hesitantly, standing up from where she was sitting on the bathroom counter and turning to face the mirror.

    “Oh,” She says smally. Her face is done up like her mom’s, and it makes her feel real in a way that she’s never felt before. There’s pale brown swiped across her eyelids, and her eyebrows and eyelashes are darkened in a way that makes her feel proper .

    “I love it,” She says, and feels her throat getting choked up. “Thanks. A lot.”

    Eddie smiles behind her. “Yeah.”

    She uncaps the lipstick, fumbling to screw it open. She hesitantly swipes it across her lips, and takes care to not go outside the soft pink line of her lip. She presses her lips together like she saw her mom do, and something in her heart melts just a little bit when she steps back and sees herself, finally , in a way that she thinks she’s been waiting for years to see.

    “Don’t cry. You’ll smudge the makeup,” Eddie says, almost laughing. He comes up behind her and hugs her, and Steve stares up at the ceiling to avoid letting tears fall. She laughs, and leans back so her head is laying on Eddie’s shoulder.

    “Hey, what’s another thing you want to do? As my girlfriend, I should say.”

    That rebellious streak in Steve flares up again, and that silly domestic fantasy shows its face in the forefront of her mnd. “I want to dance, Ed.”

    Eddie spins her around, grabbing her hands with a half-disbelieving smile. “You want to dance?”

    She nods, and laughs, throwing her head back. “Oh my god, I feel free, Ed. I want to dance. Slow dance, like- like old couples do. But to Bowie. Slow dancing to Bowie.”

    “We can do that,” Eddie says, grinning. His grin fades, ever so slightly. “I only have the Ziggy Stardust album, though.”

    “That’s fine. I don’t care what song.”

    They stand in the living room, and they dance. It’s fumbling and Steve really isn’t very good, but slowly circling that dimly lit living room of a trailer, the barest hint of a stain on the roof underneath the white paint, is the safest Steve has ever felt.

    She’s wearing heels, the ones she brought from home. She’s taller than Eddie, and it doesn’t bother her as much as she feels like she should.

    The record started halfway through. Neither of them bothered to rewind it.

    It Ain’t Easy fades out, and the crackling piano of Lady Stardust begins.

    People stared at the makeup on his face. Laughed at his long, black hair, his animal grace.

    “Is this you?” Steve whispers playfully into Eddie’s ear as they slow dance. Their dresses shift together and Eddie smiles, arm wrapped around Steve’s waist. 

    He was alright, the band was altogether. Yes, he was alright, the song went on forever.

    “Yeah,” Eddie murmurs, pressing a kiss to Steve’s jaw. “Yeah, maybe. Maybe you’re Lady Stardust, though.”

    “Am I?”

    “Yeah. You’re my lady, Stevie.”

    Steve is glad her face is pressed into Eddie’s shoulder, because tears are falling down her cheek and she knows her makeup is running.

    And he was awful nice, really quite paradise, and he sang all night, all night long.

    “You’re awful nice,” Steve parrots, putting on a ridiculous old movie accent.

    Eddie giggles, pulling back as they dance. He kisses Steve, slow and languid. “Well, I think you’re a pretty swell dame yourself, Harrington.” He matches the accent, much better than Steve could ever do. There’s a reason he’s a Dungeon Master , she thinks wryly.

    “Mm. Thanks.”

    They dance for a while longer. They lose track, swaying to Bowie and talking about whatever the fuck comes to mind, until the characteristic guitar sting of Rock ‘n’ Roll Suicide fades in, and they realize they’ve finished the album.

    Time takes a cigarette .

    “Well,” Eddie murmurs.

    Puts it in your mouth.

    “Well,” Steve says, and she stumbles in her heels.

    Pull on your finger, then another finger, then your cigarette.

    “I think this was fun.”

    The wall to wall is calling, it lingers, then you forget .

    “Yeah.”

    “Are you still my girlfriend?”

    Too young to lose it. Too young to choose it.

    “I don’t know,” Steve says, and it’s the truth.

    And the clock waits so patiently on your song.

    “That’s alright. I’m here for whatever.”

    You walk past a cafe, but you don’t eat when you’ve lived too long.

    “That’s good,” Steve says thickly, and hopes Eddie doesn’t notice she’s crying.

    Oh, no, no, no, you’re a rock and roll suicide.

    “You can cry. It’s alright.”

    There’s a silence as Bowie croons in the background and Steve sobs, quietly, into Eddie’s shoulder and her heart blooms. She can’t tell if it’s from sadness, or happiness, or something in between. Either way it tugs at her heartstrings and she thinks they might snap beneath the soft touch of Eddie’s breath, or the feeling of her toes in the high heels, or the fabric brushing her legs.

    You’re so natural, religiously unkind. Oh no, love, you’re not alone. You’re watching yourself, but you’re too unfair. You got your head all tangled up, but if I could only make you care…

    “I like this song,” She says after a while, swallowing hard.

    “Yeah,” Eddie replies, and strokes her hair. They’re just hugging now, the tinny sound of Bowie swelling and filling the room like the sweetest, softest flood Steve’s ever known. It covers her like a blanket, and she-

    No matter what or who you've been, no matter when or where you've seen, all the knives seem to lacerate your brain. I've had my share, I'll help you with the pain.

    “Thank you,” is what she blurts, and Eddie pulls back.

    “Why?” He asks, and it’s so genuine that Steve can’t help but laugh.

    “You… You helped me so- so much . I wouldn’t- I’d have never- look at me,” She says, barely believing herself. 

Just turn on with me and you're not alone. Let's turn on and be, not alone.

    “I just can’t… I can’t believe I’ve ended up with someone as- as wonderful as you are,” She says, after a beat. “You’re perfect- I- I love you.”

    Gimme your hands, 'cause you're wonderful.

    “I love you, too,” Eddie blurts, and then before Steve knows what’s happening, they’re kissing. Lipstick against lipstick, breath against breath.

    Their hands brush, and they take each others’ in their own, fingers lacing together.

    Gimme your hands, 'cause you're wonderful.

    Maybe Steve can live like this, for a while. In quiet moments, graceful and true. Dancing to Bowie in the living room of Eddie Munson’s trailer. 

    Oh, gimme your hands.