Chapter Text
Eddie Munson has never been picky about his roommates.
He can’t afford to. Not in New York City, where the cost of rent is too high to get choosy about who you live with. Eddie prides himself on his ability to get along with just about everyone, and his past record of roommates proves it.
There was Gareth, an aspiring drummer who practiced day in and day out, despite Eddie’s insistence that he hold off during the night. Then Fred, the former class president who woke up at the crack of dawn to make breakfast and head out to his corporate job. There was Jason, an asshole of a guy, who barely even spoke to Eddie unless he had to.
Sure, they’ve not been the best of friends, but they were pretty upfront with who they were. Eddie knew everything about them that he needed to know. He never came home surprised.
With Steve Harrington, his new roommate as of last spring, he has no idea what to expect.
The man is a mystery. He has two jobs. One as an amateur photographer at the Daily Bugle, and one that Eddie doesn’t know, one he disappears at odd times of the day to work at. Eddie has ideas, sure, but none of them involve legal activities, so he’s never been eager to ask.
Apart from his mysterious job, he has a mysterious home life. He never lets Eddie in his room, going as far to buy a lock and hide the key. Which is a little offensive, because even Jason didn’t do that, but as said before, Eddie gets along with everyone. So he doesn’t bring up the fact that his landlord is going to give him hell for the lock. He just grins and bears it.
He gets along with Steve, he really does. On the off chance he’s home, Steve will let Eddie pick a movie, and they'll eat takeout until they can’t breathe, arguing over the characters, or the plot, or the fucking cinematography.
Steve hates the news. He turns it off any time it’s on, even if Eddie is very obviously watching it. At first, Eddie thought maybe it had something to do with politics, but he’s pretty sure Steve hates local news too. Also podcasts. So Eddie buys earphones and doesn’t think much more about it.
Steve is fucking strong. Eddie actually doesn’t know what to do with this information, other than to tuck it in the furthest parts of his brain, underneath the neon arrow blinking the word Gay Gay Gay over and over. Steve doesn’t even look strong. He’s lean and limber, and he looks like he would do yoga, or something like running. But Eddie never expected him to have actual working muscles under his dorky grandpa sweaters.
He doesn’t think he would’ve known, except for the fact that their neighbor’s — Mrs. Byers — bookcase fell down, not properly anchored to the wall. She had asked the two men over to help her son lift it, the vintage furniture made of solid oak. To Eddie — and the Byers’ — surprise, Steve waltzed right in and lifted the bookcase by himself. And then he anchored the damn thing to the wall.
Eddie has never had to hide a boner so fast.
And so yeah, his roommate is mysterious and strong and probably works for the mafia or something, but he’s pretty cool otherwise. Maybe the best roommate Eddie has had so far.
-
Steve hates living with people.
One would think he might enjoy it, having spent his entire life living alone with no one but his parents, who never stayed home for longer than a weekend. He used to be excited about the prospect of moving in with someone, of sharing takeout menus and a mailbox.
This, of course, was before he got bitten by a radioactive spider, forcing him to lead a double life.
He can’t afford to live alone, but by God does he want to, because living with a roommate runs the risk of them finding out Steve’s biggest secret. New York’s biggest secret, if he’s being honest. And Steve has been doing this since his junior year of high school. He’s good at it.
Eddie Munson makes it extremely difficult.
Steve has never met anyone so friendly, so insistent on getting to know him. It was almost annoying at first; Eddie always asking him to watch a movie or play a video game together. Steve had wanted to lock himself in his room with all of his computers and gadgets, wanted to yell leave me alone and never look at the guy again.
Somehow, Eddie wormed his way into Steve’s heart. Just through sheer willpower alone, which isn’t easy.
Steve has been on this train for awhile now. He has no idea when the Spidey gig ends, but until it does, he has to be careful with who he lets into his life. How he lets them in.
He keeps Eddie at arm’s length. Gives him the movie nights and the takeout and keeps the web shooters and the hostage takeovers. Gives him the grocery runs and keeps the police scanner buried underneath his bed in a box.
Give and take. That’s all it is.
Steve might have this roommate thing down pat.
-
A loud crash wakes Eddie up.
“Shit. Fuck. Shit,” Steve’s voice pierces the silent room.
Eddie leans up on his elbows. Squints into the dark room. “Steve?”
“Shit,” Steve bumps into something. “Sorry, Eddie. I thought I came into my room.”
Eddie blinks. His head is still heavy with sleep. “Did you come in through the window or is this just a really weird dream?”
“It’s a dream,” Steve says quickly. “Go back to sleep.”
The hallway light leaks into Eddie’s room, and he can just barely make out Steve’s form, slipping out of his room.
It wasn’t a dream.
In the morning, Eddie shuffles out of his room in nothing but his sweatpants, ready for his weekend to start with a bagel. Steve is already at the counter, sprinkling everything bagel seasoning onto his avocado toast. He looks as normal as he does every morning, his brown hair awry, his gold-rimmed glasses slipping down his nose and—
Wait. Is that a bruise?
Eddie gasps before he can stop himself. “You have a black eye.”
“Huh?” Steve looks up. He also has a split lip. Eddie can see now, a small cut split open and scabbed over, slicing down his lower lip and chin. “Oh, this?” He gestures to his face way too casually for Eddie’s liking. “I ran into a pole.”
“No you didn’t,” Eddie narrows his eyes. “I know what it looks like to lose a fight, Steve.”
“I didn’t lose,” Steve says, and then he freezes, having caught himself.
Eddie snaps his fingers and jabs his pointer between Steve’s eyes. “Aha! You were in a fight.”
Steve blinks. It looks painful to do so, but he doesn’t wince. He only shrugs. “Okay. So I got into a fight. Does it matter?”
It’s a valid question. Especially when it comes to casual roommates. Eddie has no business sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. And yet, he wants to know what happened. He wants to know if Steve is okay.
But they’re only roommates. “I guess not,” he finally says.
Steve smiles. This time he does wince. “I took the liberty of putting your bagel in the toaster.”
And they’re back to normal. “Thanks, man.”
(Steve hates the comedown.
After the fight, after the adrenaline kick, after the perps have been webbed up for incoming police — Steve has been doing their job for a while now, let’s face it — after the excitement and the sarcastic quips and the racing of his heart…
Once it’s all over, Steve is left drained of energy. Left to swing home and use the bodega first aid kit he bought a while back to keep his wounds at bay until his skin regenerates. Thank God for that, because he can’t imagine what he’d do if his skin healed at the normal rate. Probably die.
Yeah, definitely die.
He stumbles out of Eddie’s room, feeling incredibly vulnerable, because he’s only wearing his sweats over his suit, having decided to bundle up extra for tonight’s patrol.
It would’ve been nice to savor the sight of a sleepy Eddie, but Steve had been too preoccupied with making sure Eddie couldn’t see him to really stop and get a good look.
Whatever. He’ll be bisexual later.
He rubs at his face with alcohol wipes, ignoring the sharp sting. He’s not good at this part. The healing. The taking care of himself.
Maybe it stems from the fact that he got his powers as a teenage boy and never actually had time to stop and learn how to take care of himself. Maybe it stems from the fact that his parents were never around to teach him. Maybe it stems from the fact that Steve has been known to be pretty hard on himself, and he doesn’t think he’s good at this — at the gentle humanity of it all.
He shuts off the bathroom light.
In the morning, he pretends he doesn’t see Eddie’s frown as he studies the wounds across his face. He’s good at that — at the pretending.)
-
Here’s the thing: sometimes, Eddie feels like he’s being watched.
It started a few weeks ago; this prickly feeling along the back of his neck, like someone has just brushed their fingers along his spine. It’s eerie, and it happens during the night, usually when he’s walking home from his late shift at the bar.
It’s happening right now. Eddie takes his earphones out of his ears just to be aware of his surroundings. The streets of Brooklyn aren’t exactly safe, but he’s usually not this on edge.
His shift had been shit. He accidentally broke a bottle of expensive ass tequila, and his boss made sure to let him know it would be coming out of his paycheck.
So, when a man rounds the corner of the alley, drawing a knife on Eddie and demanding he hand over his wallet, Eddie finds himself thinking yeah, this might as well happen.
He pulls his wallet out of his pocket and is just about to hand it over, ID and everything, because he’s not gonna fight, when something swings down from the roof, kicking the mugger directly in the jaw.
Critical hit, Eddie thinks to himself, unhelpfully. He stands there and watches New York’s resident hero lecture the dude on the ethics of mugging.
Of course Eddie knows who Spider-Man is. Except in his mind, he’s always thought of the hero as someone like Banksy. Someone who is untouchable, a bit of a mystery to the entire city, yet still just some random dude. He can’t say he ever thought he’d be this close to the guy. Or maybe girl? He’s not sure and honestly it doesn’t matter, because whoever they are, they’re walking up to Eddie. “You okay, man?”
He’s deepening his voice on purpose. Eddie can tell. It’s probably part of the whole secret identity thing. Eddie doesn’t really care. He’s pretty sure he sees a different masked stranger every day on the subway alone, so forgive him if he’s not incredibly wowed by this guy’s presence just because he is a bit campy with the way he goes about it. “Yeah,” he answers. “Thanks for, uh, saving my wallet.”
The spandex is tight. Eddie can see the hero’s body very clearly. His tapered waist and strong thighs. The suit is doing wonders for him, and Eddie momentarily weighs the option of asking Spider-Man if he’s gay. Then, he mentally chides himself for thinking he has a chance with Spider-Man.
This night is really not going the way Eddie expected it to.
“You shouldn’t walk home alone,” Spider-Man says. The eye lenses on his suit narrow, like he’s actually upset with Eddie. “Do you have a friend who could pick you up?”
Eddie has like, two friends in the entire city. Chrissy, who works across town in the mayor’s office, of all places. She and Eddie don’t even cross paths unless they purposefully make plans to. So she’s out of the picture. The only other person he can think of is Steve, and that’s a hard no. For all Eddie knows, Steve could be the one out here mugging. “No,” he answers. “I’m okay, though. I’m a big boy.”
Spider-Man crosses his arms over his chest. “Someone might worry about you.”
Eddie raises his brows. “No one worries about me. I take this route all the time.”
“Take this,” Spider-Man holds out what looks like a little earpiece.
“What is this?”
“A doohickey,” he says, like it’s obvious. “You stick it in your ear and press a button, and it’ll call me. If something like this happens again.”
Eddie stares at the small, hand painted spider design on the earpiece. It’s a bit elaborate for the whole performative vigilante thing this guy has going on, but he appreciates the consistency in theme. “Um. Okay.”
“Okay,” Spider-Man breathes out a sigh, like he is actually concerned about Eddie’s wellbeing.
Maybe he is. “Do I know you?”
“What?” Spider-Man straightens up. Eddie hears a glimpse of his real voice for a moment, and it’s almost familiar, but then it’s back to that phony deep voice again. “Absolutely not,” and his eye lenses are thinning like he’s angry.
“Okay,” Eddie raises his hands in surrender. “Just asking.”
Spider-Man stares at Eddie.
Eddie stares at Spider-Man. “So… Can I go home now?”
“Oh, right,” Spider-Man clears his throat, “Of course!” He steps out of Eddie’s way and lifts his hand in a wave “Have a nice night.”
“You too, Spidey,” Eddie mumbles. He passes the hero, giving him one last scrutinizing look for good measure.
-
Steve doesn’t know when following Eddie home from his late shifts at the bar became an integral part of his night patrol, but here he fucking is, standing in an alleyway, waiting for the cops to come take away the guy he probably could’ve gone a little bit easier on, if he’s being honest with himself.
But it’s Eddie. Was Eddie.
Steve’s roommate is probably home by now, getting ready for bed. Taking a shower, running his fingers through those shaggy curls, getting out the kinks and the tangles of the day.
Steve huffs.
He’s not sure when his acquaintanceship with Eddie became something closer to a crush, but here he is, following the man home like he can’t take care of himself. Sharing actual Spidey equipment with him like he’s in on the secret.
Steve swings away to finish his night patrol, lets the autumn wind soothe the burning heat in his face.
More secrets to keep. Alter-ego, bisexuality, crush on roommate — the list is stupid and long. Steve has always been a bit of a disaster. He can never tackle one thing at a time. He’s gotta be an overachiever, gotta have multiple issues to deal with at once.
He fights a few more perps, helps someone get home after their car stalls, and gets home with only a few easy-to-hide scrapes.
He cleans them up in the darkness of his room. Alone with his thoughts.
-
Steve takes baths often.
This can be annoying because they share a bathroom, their small apartment only having room for one. So, if Eddie needs to use the restroom, he has to wait for Steve to finish up his bath. Which, if he’s completely honest, never takes more than thirty minutes, tops. But after a thirty-two ounce coke from the bodega down the street, it feels like hours.
Another thing that’s a result of Steve’s baths: the bathroom is always stocked full of good-smelling salts and scrubs. He’s actually pretty sure he’s going to buy Steve a Lush gift card for Christmas this year, considering the amount of little bath bombs he hoards beneath the sink.
Eddie is turning a spider shaped one around in his hand, reminiscing his weird ass night last night, when Steve passes by the doorway.
“That’s a special Blueberry scent for Halloween,” he says, unprompted. “Boo-berry.”
Eddie looks up. Steve is leaning on the door jam, arms crossed casually. He’s wearing a brown Sherpa jacket over his usual cuffed jeans. The sleeves are so long they reach past his knuckles, making him look soft and cozy as he explains Lush bath bombs to Eddie like they’re a foreign concept. “You’ve had this thing since last Halloween?”
Steve looks sheepish. A pretty shade of pink blooms across his neck. “I like putting them in my drawers to make everything smell good,” he says, as if that explains everything. “I probably have too many. You can totally use a few up if you want to. I should’ve told you that before.”
Eddie glances back at the spider. He wonders if it turns the bath water black. If that’s appealing to customers like Steve. He puts it back in its place. “I’m not a bath guy.”
“I have shower fizzers, too,” Steve says.
The words come out before Eddie can think to stop them: “You’re fucking adorable.”
Somehow, the red in Steve’s neck creeps all the way up to his cheeks. “Thanks,” he squeaks. He pushes himself off the wall and escapes, leaving Eddie with his thoughts and about thirty bath bombs.