Archive of Our Own

The phone, a very useful device, that was a fact of which Steve was absolutely aware of. What he is not aware of is why the one in the apartment he shares with Robin has decided to start ringing in the middle of the night.

Steve turns his head toward the clock, squinting at it. 2:07 a.m. Middle of Friday night, or Saturday morning if you were to ask Robin, Steve's sleepy mind supplies. This is, somehow, an ongoing argument between them. Either way, it was a deeply inappropriate hour for a social call. Or any kind of call, really.

He considers ignoring it like a sane person would, but then a small jolt of panic goes through him, reminding him that he has not, in fact, been entirely sane since circa November 1983. With a sigh, he kicks the blanket off and stumbles toward the phone.

“Hello?” His voice comes out rough. He clears his throat and tries again. “Who’s calling?”

“Harrington, my brother in arms. I- um- I need a favour.”

Steve blinks a few times, and even looks at the receiver like it was it speaking at its own free will. At least it’s not about the Upside Down. Probably

“Munson?” It came out more as a question, even though he’s already pretty sure.

“Yes, lo and behold. Listen, I really wouldn’t do this if my ass wasn’t on fire… but how far are you from the police station on 63rd in Chicago?”

This was not at all what Steve anticipated. Not that he’d had any clue what this was about at any point, but definitely not this.

“Not far,” is what he manages to settle on. “What the hell did you do?” came out next.

“Well I find myself in legal trouble, you might say.” 

“No shit” Steve tries to project all the vexation into his voice “Like for selling? Because I’m not-”

Eddie cuts him off “No, a different kind of misdemeanor, actually."

The line goes silent for a while, and Steve is about to open his mouth again and emphasise the “no way” point, but then Eddie spoke again his voice had now a weird edge, and was quieter.

“I think it’s called indecent exposure.”

This wasn’t exactly better than being busted for selling drugs, it sure was more unexpected, but what the hell right?

“Are you telling me you got caught with your ass out with some lady? Because, like-again-no way.”

In the background a low voice says something he can't make out but it causes Eddie to shift against the phone  “Yes, um, that’s kind of the deal. He was no lady,” Eddie says finally.

Steve hears more movement on the other side “Wrap it up, fag! This isn’t a social call!” The officer’s voice boomed now clear in the background.

“Oh.”

Oh.

“Alright, shit, I’ll be there.”

Shit.

***

The streets were emptier than during the day, but somehow the people who were out at this ungodly hour put on a spectacular display of terrible driving. And disregard for traffic laws.

Seriously. Who even gave those dicks a license?

When a gray car cuts him off at a crossing, Steve thinks even Max might be a better driver, despite very vividly remembering almost shitting himself that one time.

The scenery in front of him seems to be changing quicker than it should, but just like Sammy Hagar on the radio - he can’t drive 55. Not if what he’s suspecting is happening. And it’s very probable. He tries not to think about that.

Two more dickheads later the precinct finally grows larger at the end of 63rd Street, coincidentally a fast song kicks on the radio-something Eddie might even call music, Steve thinks. He pulls into the empty parking lot and shuts the engine off. A heavy silence falls when the song cuts off abruptly but he’s already out of the door.

Inside he is immediately hit with the sharp white light from the fluorescent lamps above. He squints for a second while his vision adjusts and tries to find any surface he can rest his eyes on. The brick wall is a shiny grey colour which brings to mind the hallways of Hawkings high. And just like in school there is a huge desk with a public authority figure behind it.

Who turns out to be a tool, too.

Steve spends a frustrating amount of time explaining the purpose of his visit, then navigating his way through a mountain of bureaucratic nonsense. Also much like he had to in high school, only without basketball. 

Finally-after what feels like a million years-the cop sighs heavily just like Higgins, reads through the forms one more time, and gets up.

A moment later, Steve hears footsteps approaching from where the policeman disappeared.

The door creaks open, and none other than Eddie Munson comes out.

He’s not wearing a shirt, the evidence of their spring break from hell-as Max likes to call it-on full display. A chill runs along Steve’s spine. Eddie’s in only jeans and scuffed boots, his jacket nowhere in sight, like the cops decided he was some dangerous criminal they couldn’t risk letting get dressed. There’s a smear of dried blood under his nose and a bruise blooming dark along his ribs, already turning an ugly shade of purple. Steve’s seen him worse, sure-but that doesn’t make this any better. Something hot and sharp settles behind Steve’s ribs. He doesn’t look at the officers. He doesn’t trust himself to.

Eddie’s shoulders are hunched and stiff, his eyes darting all around this joint. When he spots Steve, his mouth curves into something that’s trying very hard to be a grin.

“You should see the other guy,” Eddie says instead of hello. Steve might have smirked if the policeman wasn’t already doing just that. And also because he doesn’t believe it.

"I might" says Steve quiet enough that only he can probably hear. He shrugs off his jacket and tosses it at him. “For your decency, dude.” He’s not sure Eddie remembers the callback, but still.

Eddie fumbles with the jacket for a second before pulling it on. When he looks up, there’s something startled in his expression, gone almost as soon as Steve notices it.

Eddie signs more crap before they’re finally waved through. He pushes the door open, and Steve stays close as they step outside, the cold night air hitting them all at once and his eyes have to adjust once again to the dark this time.

The Bimmer is parked nearby. Steve unlocks it and is about to get in, but Eddie just stands there with an unsure look on his face.

“What?” Steve says, harsher than he meant. He’s still keyed up from the station.

Eddie’s head snaps up. He opens his mouth, closes it again, his lips pressing into a tight line that twitches almost noticeably. “I’m just trying to figure out how much you wanna deck me right now.” His shoulders spasm-probably meant to be a casual shrug.

Steve sighs. “If I wanted you decked, I’d leave it to the animals in there.” He gestures at the building. Eddie gives him a weird look, so Steve adds, “Don’t worry. I’m not good at it anyway.”

He gets one more look but Eddie moves to get in without a word. Or at least to Steve other because he mutters “since when?” under his breath.

The doors shut, sealing off the outside buzz.

Steve doesn’t start the engine right away. He settles into his seat, then turns his head toward Eddie.

“I’m sorry, that wasn’t cool.” He quirks an eyebrow. “You alright?”

Eddie lets out a long breath through his nose. “Yeah. I’m groovy.” He pauses, staring at the dashboard. Then, quieter, “Listen, Steve-tha-I mean… you have my eternal fucking gratitude, dude.”

“I better,” Steve says. “I was having a really great dream, you know.” He tries to make it light, ignoring the rage still simmering underneath.

He loosens his hands on the steering wheel, giving Eddie space to talk or not.

I wouldn’t have called, but-” He breaks off, shifting in his seat. “My cellmates were not what I'd call progressive.” The dried blood under his nose and the bruise Steve saw earlier are testimony to that.

He shoots Steve a quick glance, like he’s checking something.

Steve puts a lot of effort into looking like he is, in fact, progressive. And cool. With everything.

“It’s cool. It’s all cool.” He emphasizes the all just slightly, hopes he’s getting the point across.

He wishes he’d had more practice with this. It had been easier under Russian sedation. He reaches for the key, then stops. “What about this other guy?”

“Th-the other guy?” Eddie blinks. “He doesn’t need bailing if that’s what you’re getting at"

"He managed this part just fine.” Steve hears him mutter

Just like that, Steve forgets he was supposed to be calming down. “I hate those-” he shakes his head, trying to find a comparison, “giant piles of fucking junk.” He exhales again, trying to smooth out the sharp feeling in his chest.

Eddie sighs beside him “Is this spot the difference game?”

Steve snorts before he can stop himself. "How did you just make this into a dick joke?” he asks incredulous. Eddie pulls a silly expression and a full-on laughter ecapes him, forcing him to bend forward over the steering wheel. The absurdity of the situation he’s found himself in is too much.

“Actually it was more of a ball joke” He hears, then Eddie starts laughing to. High and a little hysterical.

The laughter burns itself out eventually, fading into a few leftover huffs of breath and the quiet hum of the car.

“So,” Steve says finally, straightening in his seat and scrubbing a hand over his face. “Where to?”

“My evil lair isn’t that far. I’ll guide you,” Eddie says with a grin. He runs a hand through his hair, fingers catching on a knot, and tugs hard to free it. His face twists. “Motherfucker!”

Steve jolts. “What?”

Eddie mutters a curse under his breath, patting down the pockets of his jeans. It doesn't appear he finds what he’s looking for but he does find his cigarettes.

“I don’t have my jacket,” he says, lighting one. “And my keys were in my jacket. And my roommate is out of town.” He waves the cigarette around, exasperated. “Fuck the police!" He shoots Steve a look "Not Hopper though. He’s fine.” That last one is slightly muffled by the cigarette between his lips.

Steve decides not to comment on the smoking in his car. He nods once and turns the key in the ignition, then backs out of the parking spot, executing the U-turn with just enough flair to be obnoxious.

“My place it is.”

Eddie exhales smoke, sinking back into the seat. “Thanks-again,” he mumbles.

“Don’t mention it.”

The silence that follows feels heavy. They weren't close firends or antything, but they had a thing going back then. Maybe they could have it again. Steve shifts in his seat, fingers drumming  against the steering wheel, and decides-maybe unwisely-to speak.

“Did you know he was taken to the gulag?”

“What the fuck?!” Eddie drops his cigarette out of the window he has thoughtfully opened.

Steve winces. Yeah. Probably should’ve gone with weather. “Yeah. Last year. I found out like a month ago-from Dustin.”

Eddie just stares at him, expression deeply disturbed, so Steve keeps going, because he’s already committed now.

“He was there for a long time, I hear. They took him the year before all the Vecna shit went down. When the secret Russian lab under the mall exploded.”

Steve can practically feel his grip on cool conversational topics slipping through his fingers at an alarming rate-if he ever had one to begin with. Eddie eventually blinks himself out of the shock Steve has very thoughtfully dropped him into.

“Thanks, Harrington,” Eddie says slowly. “I feel much better now about my two hours with the unprogressive representatives of the masses.”

There’s a pause.

“But, like-actually. What the fuck, dude?”

Steve doesn’t actually know what the fuck, and he definitely doesn’t want to dwell on it, so he shrugs.

This is clearly not a satisfying answer, because Eddie keeps staring at him. Then he says, “Are you, like… constitutionally unflappable or something?”

“What?” Steve asks. He’s pretty sure that’s not an insult, but he’s not one hundred percent.

“You just told me there was a communist raid conspiracy-or some other insane shit-and that Jim fucking Hopper, chief of Hawkins police, was kidnapped into a gulag,” Eddie says. “And all you have to say about it is a shrug?”

“Well,” Steve says, after a moment, “if it makes you feel any better, I keep a bat in the trunk at all times. You know. Just in case.”

There are also other things Eddie doesn’t need to know about.

Eddie considers this. Then: “Ah, yes. A melee weapon. The ultimate defense against the Red Army.”

The conversation thankfully fizzles out after that.

The quiet of the late-night drive settles in around them, heavy but not uncomfortable this time. The streets are calmer this way-long stretches of empty road slipping past the windshield. 'Heat of the moment' hums from the radio, probably not music by Eddie’s standards, but he doesn’t complain.

After a while, Steve notices Eddie’s shoulders have dropped. The tight line of him has eased. He’s even bobbing his head slightly to the rhythm while smoking another ciagrette blowing smoke lazily to the street.

Steve considers teasing him about it.

He doesn’t.

***

When they get back to the apartment, Steve flicks on the hallway light and steps aside to let Eddie in. The small space comes into view all at once-familiar and cluttered. The coat rack by the door is overflowing, as always, and Steve instinctively tries to shove things aside to make room for Eddie’s-or technically his-jacket. It doesn’t work. He gives up halfway through, muttering under his breath.

The door to one of the bedrooms creaks open.

A very sleepy Robin appears, hair sticking out at crazy angles. She rubs at her eyes, squinting at them like she’s not sure what she's looking at.

“Eddie?” she says. Then she squints harder. “Steve, I think I’m hallucinating Eddie Munson in our apartment in the middle of the night. What’s going on?”

The door to one of the bedrooms creaks open.

A very sleepy Robin appears, hair sticking out at wild angles. She rubs at her eyes, squinting at them like she’s not entirely sure what she’s seeing.

“Eddie?” she says. Then she squints harder. “Steve, I think I’m hallucinating Eddie Munson in our apartment in the middle of the night. What’s going on?”

“Oh, Lady Buckley,” Eddie says solemnly, pressing a hand to his chest. “You have my sincerest apologies. My ill judgment brought trouble upon me, and Steven here was forced to rescue me.”

The words are grand, but he delivers them in a low voice, which makes it even more ridiculous.

“He means we’re all dying to go back to sleep,” Steve says, already moving past them toward the hall closet, “and we’ll explain everything tomorrow.” He pats Robin lightly on the back as he passes, tugging open the door where they keep the spare blankets and pillows. “You’ll be fine on the couch, right? It's nwe, doesn’t even sag yet.”

“Courtesy of Mother Harrington,” Robin adds, leaning against the doorframe and eyeing Steve. Then she looks back at Eddie. “I’d say I’m grateful, but I’m pretty sure she bought it for herself, hated the color, and dumped it on us.”

Steve snorts but he feels his jaw tighten. That tracks.

“I see,” Eddie says, dropping onto the couch and bouncing once experimentally. “The color is objectively appalling, but I can feel the Harrington fortune in it.”

Steve tosses a clean shirt into Eddie’s lap and nudges the pile of blankets toward him with his foot. He gives Eddie a quick once-over while he’s at it, running through a mental checklist. When his eyes catch on the faint smear of blood still under Eddie’s nose, he pauses.

“Bathroom’s on the left, there should ba a spare toothbrush” Steve says. “Uh-do you need anything else?”

“That’ll be all, thank you,” Eddie replies, waving a hand with mock formality. “You may now retire for the evening.”

Steve rols his eyes and flaps a hand at both of them. “Goodnight.”

“It’s good morning,” Robin argues, already shuffling back toward her room.

Steve makes a noncommittal noise-he’s learned better than to fight that battle-and turns toward his own bedroom. He closes the door, then hesitates just long enough to glance back at Eddie on the couch before it clicks shut.

***

The next morning, Steve is dragged out of sleep at a far more appropriate hour by voices coming from the living room.

He lies there for a second, staring at the ceiling, weighing his options. Staying in bed is tempting. So tempting. Unfortunately, he’s about ninety percent sure he knows exactly what’s happening out there, and even though it’s hilarious in an ironic sort of way he should probably step in.

With a groan, he drags a hand down his face and hauls himself upright.

“So tell me,” Eddie’s voice carries down the hall, dramatic and nosy, “what’s the story behind the Miss Piggy shirt?”

“It’s just-a gift. From. Steve.” Robin’s voice is sharp around the edges, the way it gets when she’s being deliberately patient. “And I want to know what the hell happened last night, which is way more interesting than a muppet.”

“But I can sense the lore,” Eddie insists. “And you are depriving me of it. I told you I got myself arrested!”

“But you won’t tell me for what!”

Steve steps out of his room just in time to see Eddie Munson standing in the middle of their living room wearing what seems to be Robin’s striped suit pants and the infamous Miss Piggy T-shirt.

He stops.

The pants fit Eddie, quite well actually, because Robin likes that weird wide fit and the shirt hangs loose on his frame, Miss Piggy’s glittery face stretched indignantly across his chest. He looks way better than last night, Steve concludes.

“Jesus Christ,” He says, planting his hands on his hips mostly so he doesn’t throw them up in the air. “Would you two please calm down? You’re acting worse than Dustin when he gets together with the gremlins.”

Robin turns on him immediately. “Steve, tell him to stop deflecting.”

Eddie swivels toward him also. “Steven,” he says solemnly, “tell her to stop interrogating me I already went through this yesterday”

Robin groans and is clearly about to argue back when the phone rings.

They all freeze.

Steve sighs, rubs at his temple, and reaches for it. “Hello?”

“Hello, Steve,” Dustin says cheerfully on the other end.

Steve closes his eyes. “Fuck. I summoned Dustin.”

“What?” Dustin says.

“Nothing. What do you want?”

“My mom invited her boyfriend over for the weekend,” Dustin says, like this explains everything.

“So what?" Steve's not following why that requierd a call

Dustin sighs. “I do not want to hear or see them banging. Therefore, I am coming.”

Of course it does.

“Stop saying banging,” Steve says, pinching the bridge of his nose. He glances over just in time to see Robin backing Eddie toward the kitchen, relentless. “What about the rest of the weirdos?"

“Mike’s going to El’s, which means they’re banging. Lucas says he’s helping Max paint, which is code for banging. So it’s just me.”

Steve stares at the wall for a second. “I just told you to stop saying that!”

“I’m about to get into the bus,” Dustin adds. “I’ll be at the station at 4 o’clock”

The line goes dead before Steve can argue. The nerve of that child. The worst part is he knows he will be picking Dustin up from the station.

He lowers the receiver slowly and turns back to the room.

Robin has Eddie cornered against the counter now, one hand braced beside him. Eddie looks like he’s considering making a break for it through the window.

“Enough,” Steve says, stepping between them. “I’m going to Jerry's to bring us something for breakfast."

Robin opens her mouth to protest.

“Munson,” Steve adds, fixing Eddie with a look, “You coming?”

Eddie blinks, then grins. “Lead the way.”

“I see you’re rocking the Robin look,” Steve says, closing the door behind them and falling into step beside him. “I could lend you something of mine if you want.”

Eddie stops short and fixes him with a deeply unimpressed look. “Yeah, and what? Look like you?” He scrunches his nose, eyes flicking over Steve’s outfit. “No offense.”

“No offense, my ass,” Steve says, pushing the door to the outside open and holding it with his shoulder. “Or, you know what-think what you will. Girls dig the preppy vibe. I’ve been told it gives off golden retriever energy. Whatever that means.”

Eddie snorts, stepping past him. “That’s the thing, Harrington.” He gestures down at himself, fingers flicking the hem of the Miss Piggy shirt. “I wear Miss Piggy because she’s a goddamn icon.” Then he jabs an accusing finger into Steve’s chest. “You wear that striped polo because you’re hoping some girl you don’t even know will take one look at you and think, Wow. He resembles a very approachable dog.”

Steve doesn’t know how to argue with that right now, because he’s having this feeling he used to get around Nancy-like there’s something important here he hasn’t considered before and maybe should have. Later, though. For now he scoffs and shakes his head. “You like Miss Piggy?”

Eddie looks nothing short of appalled. “Are you seriously questioning my allegiance to the fantastic, sensational, peerless icon that is Miss Piggy?! Blasphemy, Harrington. Absolute blasphemy.” He makes a show of peeling off an invisible glove with his teeth and flinging it to the floor between them. “I will not stand for this slander.”

Steve just shakes his head, snorting. “Alright, alright. Jesus. I didn’t realize you could get so emotional baout the muppets.”

“There are very few things in this world that rile me up like the Muppets do,” Eddie says gravely, fishing the same pack of cigarettes from yesterday out of his back pocket.

“Uh-huh,” Steve says. “And what would those be?”

“Metal, for one-obviously. The eternal debate over the best D&D race-it’s dragonborns, don’t argue with me-and how god fucking awfull Regan is” Eddie says around the cigaret.

“For your business, I’m sure,” Steve mutters, but he thinks his father supports the guy and that's all he really needs to know.

When they step out of jeffs carrying the food eddie is once again, riled up about politics, hands flying, bags swinging dangerously as he rants about Reagan's war on drugs, satan and DnD.

Steve watches the bags wobble. Watches Eddie pace himself into another spiral.

“Eddie, man,” he says finally. “While I appreciate the personal performance you’re giving me here-and I really do-I gotta ask.”

Eddie glances over.

“Aren’t you tired of it?”

“Of displaying my performative talents?”

“I’m serious, man. You can tell me things like, you know… how are you feeling after yesterday, or do you need something. I know you all think I’m dense, but I’ve been known to be helpful and understanding.” Steve lifts a finger. “On occasion.”

Eddie slows down, face falling a little. Steve immediately worries he shouldn’t have said that.

Then Eddie exhales. “I’m really tripping balls over here about what to tell Robin. How’s that?”

Steve feels bad for him—his heart does that stupid worried thing—and the worst part is he knows Robin would be supportive, but she hasn’t told him yet, and it’s not Steve’s place to do it for her.

“I could probably convince her to drop it, or we can think of something to tell her” Is what he can offer

“You mean lie to her? Can you even do that? Don’t you guys share a brain or something?”

“There are things I haven’t told her,” Steve tries to sound offended, but adds. “Yet,” And smiles.

“But I wouldn’t tell her anything without your okay. Or anyone else, for that matter.” He hesitates, then adds carefully, “But also, if you wanted to… you could tell her. Robin’s safe.”

Eddie makes a noncommittal sound, nods, and quiets down for the rest of their walk back to the apartment.

“For the record, I don’t think you’re dense, dude,” he says, right before they walk in.

Robin seems to have cooled off by the time they get back. Steve distracts her with a rumor he overheard about their neighbor they both hate. It works. Robin latches onto it immediately. Eddie jumps in with stories about his awful roommate and how he hates noise—which is unfortunate because Eddie likes to play his guitar very loud. Steve can vouch for that. He’s heard.

“That really sucks,” Robin says. “Like, genuinely. He’s cramping your jam, which is tragic, because you’re actually really good.” Steve loves Robin very much for her ability to sound so offended on someone else’s behalf.

Eddie rests his elbows on the counter and quirks his head to the side. “Tell me more, flattery works with me.”

“That solo with the demobats? Nancy was convinced you were about to wake Vecna from his evil trance.” Robin says excited.

“I too was sorry he missed it” Eddie nods with a sad smile “I picked the song just for him”

Robin snorts. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you rock.”

She nudges Steve with her elbow. “He does too.”

Eddie turns slowly. “Oh, do you, Steven?”

"It was cool.” Steve says, shruggingI. It really was.

Eddie lights up. “Aha. You’ve said it. You think Metallica’s cool. You’re never hearing the end of this.”

Robin rolls her eyes and gives Steve a look that says my condolences.

Right.

“If you insist on not telling what that was yesterday, then at least do tell what you’ve been up to for this past year,” Robin says, chewing her sandwich thoughtfully, crumbs catching at the corner of her mouth.

That’s actually a very good question.

“Not much.” Eddie shrugs, reaching for the sugar and puts way to much of it into his cup. “My adventuring days seem to be over.”

Steve hopes his are too, so he makes an approving noise around a mouthful of ham and tomato sandwich, lifting his hand vaguely in agreement while he chews.

Robin looks over at him with a raised eyebrow. “I’m studying film music, and we both work at a radio station.”

“Robin speaks and I do the sound effects,” Steve says once he swallows, nudging her knee under the table with his own before taking another bite.

Eddie looks amused, leaning back slightly in his chair, balancing it dangerously on two legs. “Maybe you’ll play my shit one day.”

“Are you in a band?” Robin nearly chokes on her bite in excitement, straightening in her seat, sandwich still in hand.

“I was.” Eddie shakes his head, reaching for his coffee and blowing on it before taking a careful sip. “We had a falling out though.”

“Like with Ms. Barney?” Robin asks pointedly, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin.

“You remember that?” Eddie perks up, chair legs thumping back down onto the floor as he leans forward, elbows on the table.

Steve has no idea what they’re talking about, so he looks over at Robin for clarification while taking another bite.

“School band,” Robin supplies between bites. “Eddie tried to convince her we should play ‘Another Brick in the Wall’ for the seniors.”

“Of course you did.” It’s Steve’s turn to look amused, reaching for his glass and taking a long sip to hide his grin.

“I thought it appropriate to warn them,” Eddie defends, the corner of his mouth quirking as he steals one of Steve’s cucumbers without asking.

“She didn't like it?” Steve asumes

“M-mm,” Robin hums, already halfway through the second half of her sandwich.

“It was fun,” Eddie adds, smiling slightly, almost absentmindedly, eyes dropping to the table for a moment before flicking back up again.

Eddie tells them that he's now working at a music store so they exchange boss related stories and catch up in general.

***

Steve and Eddie are doing the dishes when Robin steps into the kitchen “So,” she says, leaning against the counter. “When is your child friend arriving again?”

“He’ll be at the bus station at four,” Steve says. “We’ll finish up here with Munson and go get him.”

Robin gives a thumbs-up.”I'm off to the library then. Meet you for dinner” She waves goodbye and disappears from the room.

“So Dustin is going to bless you with his presence.” Eddie says sounding weirdly serious

“Yes,” Steve sighs. “Apparently his mom invited her boyfriend over, and Mike and El are-” He makes a face. “He used the word bang way too many times.”

Eddie snorts affectionately. He grabs a dish towel. “I’ll help finish up so no one can accuse me of being a bad guest. Then I’ll get out of your hair. George should be back soon to let me in and complain about it.”

“What? No way,” Steve says. “You’re not staying for Dustin?”

Eddie shakes his head “I’ve got a satanic worship thing later, and I still don’t have a virgin. Duty calls.”

Steve huffs a laugh. “We both know you’re not into that shit” and elbows eddie lightly.

Eddie stares at him for a beat. “Virgins you mean?”

Steve rolls his eyes at that. “Why won’t you stay?”

Eddie shrugs, eyes on the sink. “It’s just that we haven’t talked in a while and I’m weary of unleashing biblical rage.”

That’s weird. “What do you mean, why?” Steve says. “He loves you. Like, thinks the rainbow shines out of your ass.”

“I think that’s the sun, big guy” Eddie winks, then exhales. “When I hit the road I didn't really farewell properly, and then suddenly it’s been a year and now it feels like a whole thing.” he waves his hand around.

Oh. Steve didn’t know that. Dustin might’ve mentioned it, but it was probably buried somewhere between seventeen layers of D&D lore, and Steve has been practicing tuning that out.

“Well,” Steve says, bumping their shoulders together, “then you’re definitely in for some biblical rage. Dustin wont let me hear the end of it if I let you bolt.”

Eddie thinks about that. Or so Steve suspects because he gives his undivided attention to a cup that wasn’t even that dirty.

“Well, shit,” Finally he says, a big smile stretching across his face. “I miss him. So what the hell. Let the righteous fury rain down. Hellish rebuke be damned.” He flings his arms in the air spraying water around.

Steve’s not entirely sure what that means, but it feels like a yes. He pats Eddie’s shoulder and heads for his shoes.

***

The bus station is-Jesus Christ.

There are a million people rushing in different directions, bodies colliding, voices mixing together in an indistinguishable buzz. Someone barrels past Steve with a duffel bag and doesn’t even slow down. Overhead, a guy on the speakers is announcing something that might’ve been useful, if he didn’t sound like he had a frog lodged in his throat.

Steve squints up at the timetable, thinks he’s figured out the arrival time for Dustin’s bus-and then some moron slams into his shoulder. 

“Oh, fuck this,” he huffs.

When he looks back, Eddie is in the process of trying to twist his own finger off.

“You alright, dude?”

“I need a smoke,” Eddie says immediately. Then, like an afterthought, “Also, I think I saw Henderson’s headwear in this swarm, but I lost it. Don’t these people have jobs? Or, like. Lives?”

“Tell me about it,” Steve mutters, hands on his hips.

And then-

“Harrington, Steve Harrington is being summoned in front of the convenience store. Harrington, Steve Harrington. Now.”

The announcement dissolves into static. Frog guy returns.

Steve and Eddie stare at each other.

“This little genius shit,” Steve says.

“That he is,” Eddie replies. “C’mon, Harrington, Steve Harrington.”

They shove and elbow their way toward the store, but when they get there, Dustin’s nowhere to be seen. Steve calls his name a few times. But it's useless.

Eddie’s twisting one of his rings now.

“You good?” Steve asks again.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, already backing toward the store. “I’m just-gonna grab some smokes.”

And then he’s gone.

Steve scans the crowd, alone now, eyes snagging on every curly head, every backpack that could maybe be Dustin-shaped.

A few minutes later, he spots frantic waving from behind a tree.

“Henderson!” Steve jogs over, high-fives him hard. “You hijacked the speakers?”

Dustin's tone is only slightly condescending when he explains the know how of intercepting frequencies with his fancy nerd machine-obviously keep up Steve, come on. Steve half-listens, glancing toward the store every few seconds.

They talk a bit. Steve makes the rookie mistake of asking about the other pirates, so Dustin is once again recounting the various combinations in which the fine people of Hawkings are banging each other insisting on using that exact word-when a familiar voice cuts in.

“You might say they are having a big bang over there huh?” Eddie’s standing behind them, eyes a little too wide, grin sharp and mischievous.

Dustin turns around abruptly at that “Eddie?!” He shrieks

“The one and only,” Eddie says, opening his arms.

Before Steve can do anything Dustin tackles Eddie to the grass with a feral yell. “You stupid dick!” he shouts, punching his shoulder.

Eddie freezes for half a second, hands flying up defensively-

“I missed you” Dustin adds, muffled against his chest.

Eddie melts.

Steve lets it happen for a beat. Then another. Then checks his watch.

“Okay,” he claps. “Heartwarming reunion over. Parking is not free.”

“What, Steve,” Dustin says, brushing grass off his knees. “You jealous again?”

“No,” Steve says. “In fact, I’ve had enough Munson time for the foreseeable future. He’s all yours.” Steve flaps his hand at both of them.

“I wasn’t talking about-wait.” Dustin squints between them. “You’ve been hanging out? Without me? Are you two now friends or something”

“Yes, butthead,” Steve says, flicking Dustin’s cap. “Since yesterday.”

“Keep up, dude,” Eddie adds.

On their way to the car, Dustin launches- this time for Eddie- into an explanation of his little speaker-frequency hijack, delivering it with enough condescension to summon the entire Hawkins school board, Higgins included.

Amazingly, Eddie doesn’t comment on it.

He actually asks follow-up questions.

“And how fares the rest of my noble flock?” he inquires solemnly.

Steve catches that just in time. “Oh no. If I have to hear that story one more time, I swear to God.”

He’s serious. Mostly. He’s still not entirely sure what’s going on with Henderson and this obsessive need to recount everyone’s romantic affiliations- including, apparently, his mother’s- with increasingly graphic detail every time.

“When did you become such a prude, Steve?” Dustin says, climbing into the back seat.

“I’m serious. New topic. I can feel a migraine forming.”

“Wait, seriously?” Dustin’s tone shifts immediately, sharp with concern.

Steve glances at him in the rearview mirror. “If you don’t change the track, I am.” He makes sure to soften it just enough so Dustin knows he’s not.

It works. Dustin pivots without complaint, now enthusiastically outlining the quest to acquire certain parts for his Wills, Lukes and Mike’s latest science fair project.The worrying part is that the chemicals involved sound suspiciously like something that would absolutely require a permit.

Steve and Eddie exchange a look and team up in an effort to extract a promise that they won’t get into trouble.

It’s probably pointless. Steve realises when they succeed and Eddie looks like he’s thinking the same.

***

Robin is already waving frantically at them from a seat at the diner. They slide in, order food, and immediately settle into a conversation.

Eddie’s gaze drifts mid‑sentence and lands on the jukebox a few tables over.

“What incompetence!” he declares, throwing a hand up after examining it. “They don’t even have Juke Box Hero on here.”

“The lack of it is the hero,” Steve says, deadpan.

“Wow,” Dustin says, rolling his eyes. “Steve Harrington is engaging in wordplay. I’m sure that’ll really slay with the ladies.”

“I’m just trying to speak your language here,” Steve defends, immediately regretting saying anything.

“Steve is branching out,” Robin says, snickering. “He’s run out of girls in short skirts.”

“Sir Steven,” Eddie says solemnly, half‑rising from the booth with a grin. “The rumors are true? You’ve been courting the fair maidens of the Nerd Realm?”

“Oh, fuck all of you,” Steve says, flipping them off with both hands because honestly, what else is there.

When the food arrives, Robin and Eddie are already in a heated argument about a movie Steve hasn’t seen and refuses to feel bad about. That leaves him with Dustin, which is how he ends up getting relationship advice from a sixteen‑year‑old.

“No, see, that’s the thing,” Steve says, shifting in his seat. “I like the girl. I take her out. And then there’s just… nothing.”

“Well, where do you take them?” Dustin asks.

“Wha—? What does that have to do with anything?” Steve drags a hand through his hair. “We go on walks or something.”

“Well, see, that’s your problem. You gotta take them somewhere cool.”

“Where?” Steve says, already annoyed. “The arcade?”

“If you like the arcade, then yes.”

“Of course I like the arcade,” Steve says. “But have I taught you nothing? Girls. Don’t. Like. The. Arcade.”

“Not true. Max loves the arcade,” Dustin says matter‑of‑factly. “Which is my point exactly. Maybe Robin’s right. Maybe you should date girls you actually like instead of just—” he gestures vaguely, “—their short skirts.”

“I’m always right,” Robin says, even though she clearly has no idea what they’re talking about.

“Like you have anything to show for it,” Steve shoots back, but she’s not listening.

Dustin is opening his mouth to offer more “golden thoughts” when a sharp clicking sound cuts through the noise.

“Buckley,” Eddie says, snapping his fingers. “Am I getting feedback here or what?”

Robin doesn’t answer.

She’s staring past Eddie’s shoulder.

Steve follows her gaze and immediately gets it. He leans in and murmurs, “Are you just gonna gawk at her, or…?”

Robin blinks, straightens, and pastes on her fake‑confident face. “Excuse me,” she says briskly, already sliding out of the booth.

Steve shifts to let her pass, watching her go, and gives her a thumbs up when she glances back.

When he returns his gaze to Eddie, Eddie’s raising an eyebrow at him.

“It’s her friend from college,” Steve offers with a shrug, sending his gaze after Robin again to see whether she manages to actually approach the girl this time. His chest fills with pride.

“So what are we watching tonight?” Dustin asks, pulling him out of his thoughts.

When they get back to the apartment, Robin immediately grabs Steve by the sleeve and hauls him into a corner, talking in a whispery panic, while Dustin and Eddie lose all interest in anything once they spot the movie shelf. They’re already browsing through tapes that may or may not have been “borrowed” from Family Video.

“Steve. Dingus. Are you listening to me?” Robin whisper‑yells, hovering way too close. “She invited me. To her show.”

“Yes, I’m listening,” Steve says. “It’s great. We’re going.”

“Oh my god, oh my god—this is huge. No, not huge. Gargantuan. I can’t believe she’s actually into me.”

“I don’t know how you doubted it after I told you she totally was,” Steve says, spreading his hands in mock outrage. Then, softer, “I’m really happy for you.”

He pulls her into a quick hug.

“Hey, lovebirds!” Dustin yells from the couch. “We’re watching Star Wars!’”

“First of all, ew,” Robin says on cue.

“Do you have to make me feel like a venereal disease?” Steve complains, even though he doesn’t really mind.

Robin just looks at him, pointed. “And second—good choice. I’ll make popcorn.”
At first glance, it might not be obvious why Robin would be so eager to watch a sci‑fi movie, but she and Steve have… opinions about Leia.

He and Eddie settle onto the couch. Robin plops into an armchair, stealing the popcorn.

Dustin puts the tape in, the backstory crawl starts, and Steve immediately tunes it out. He’s never read it. It’s too long and moves too fast. He leans toward Eddie and murmurs, close to his ear, “So, Munson. Who’s your type here? Is it Han Solo?”

Eddie leans in too, voice low. “The reformed douchebag with a heart of gold? What do you think?”

When the movie finally settles in, they stay pressed together on the too‑small couch—neither of them has a chance of moving away.

It’s nice like this. The TV light washes over Eddie’s face beside him, the sound clear and bassy thanks to the audio system Steve dragged from his parents’ house when he and Robin moved out—his parents were never there to use it anyway. Robin is probably ogling Leia, Dustin is offering a running commentary of intergalactic trivia no one asked for, and Eddie is probably ogling Han Solo—though Steve suspects he’s actually following the plot, unlike Robin. As for Steve, he just finds the two bickering robot dudes very funny.

The Death Star gets blown up and everyone is very happy when Eddie excuses himself for a smoke break with a yawn.

Steve tosses clean sheets at Dustin, who also looks half‑asleep, and drifts toward the balcony after Eddie. Calling it a balcony is generous—it’s really just a window that opens onto the fire escape. He cracks it open and steps out. The night air is chilly, damp with the aftertaste of a drizzle.

Eddie’s leaning against the brick wall, cigarette glowing between his fingers, eyes fixed on the street below. Cars pass lazily under the warm spill of the streetlamps.

“I hope the host doesn’t mind,” Eddie says, glancing over.

Steve opens his mouth to ask what he means, then wrinkles his nose when the smell hits him. “I don’t mind,” he says, shaking his head. “But if you don’t share, I’m ratting you out to Robin.”

Eddie grins and puts his hands up in surrender before passing the joint over.

Steve takes a hit, hands it back. They stand there a while, listening to rain tick softly against metal.

“So,” Steve says eventually. “Did you ever get arrested?” Last night flashes through his mind. “For weed, I mean.”

“Only like—” Eddie exhales smoke, squinting. “Five or six times.”

Steve huffs a laugh. “Figures.”

“Never prison, though.” Eddie taps ash off the end. “I never carried enough to earn more than a night or two in a cell. Wayne would kill me.”

Steve remembers something. “Does this have to do with your father?” Somewhere below, a car honks. “You said something while we were… uh—” He tries to remember the word, but there’s a fluffy cloud over his brain.

“Grand Theft Auto?” Eddie supplies.

Steve nods, inhaling.

“Yes. Yes it does.”

Steve doesn’t think he’ll get anything more, but then Eddie drums his fingers against the railing, one ring clinking softly. “I promised myself I wouldn’t end up like him.”

“You’re like Batman,” Steve says suddenly.

Eddie blinks. “What?”

“I mean—you’ll go to jail, but not prison,” Steve explains, oddly proud. “Batman beats the crap out of people, but he won’t kill them.”

Eddie stares for a second, then breaks into a wide grin. “Fuck me. I am Batman.” He waves a ringed finger in front of Steve’s face. “Dustin’s Robin, then.”

“Dustin can’t be Robin,” Steve protests. “Robin’s Robin!”

“No, no.” Eddie waves a hand. “Robin’s Alfred.”

“Robin is not Alfred,” Steve argues, even though the weed is making it hard to track. “She’s a girl, and she isn’t old. I could be Alfred.”

“No way,” Eddie says. “You’re Superman. And Nancy’s Lois Lane.”

This is getting complicated.

"What about Wayne, why isn't he Alfred?" Eddie asks

“I’m too stoned for this,” Steve says aloud, stealing the joint back anyway. “But Nancy’s definetly not Lois Lane. That ship sailed.” He starts to make a sailing mothion with his hand but stops halfway feeling silly.

Eddie just nods, quiet. Steve realizes there was a time he’d imagined that version of things, too. He’d made peace with it a while ago. Silence settles again. They pass the joint back and forth.

“My father’s a dick too, you know?” Steve suddenly says.

Eddie shakes his head. “Who thought we had so much in common.” It might be a jab, but it feels sincere. And honestly-who would’ve guessed.

The light from the street cuts across Eddie’s face, softening his features, making his hair look even messier than usual. Steve notices-maybe for the first time-that Eddie’s eyes are darker than he expected. Or maybe they’re just blown wide. It must be the weed.

Eddie clears his throat suddenly. “I’ll get out of your hair now.” He stubs the joint out on the wall beside him.

The sudden sound startles Steve slightly. “No way,” he says. “It’s too late. We’ll share my bed.”

Eddie pauses, looks at him. For a second, there’s something there-something Steve can’t name-and then it’s gone.

Eddie nods.

They slip back into the dark apartment, the sound of light snoring telling them the others are already asleep.

Steve lends Eddie a pair of pajamas, which Eddie immediately complains about. At length. Because they’re plaid.

When he finally comes back from the bathroom, with an uhappy expression Steve is already in bed, covers pulled up, watching him with one eye half‑open. Eddie doesn’t get in right away. He hovers, clearly looking for something.

“You coming?” Steve asks eventually.

Eddie looks at him for a beat. “Yeah, just-” He starts, then changes his mind and climbs in, his weight making the mattress dip slightly.

“Good night,” Steve says, flicking off the light as sleep crashes into him all at once. Courtesy of Eddie’s supply.

“Night,” Eddie answers after a moment.

***

When Steve gets back from the bathroom the next morning-already changed into his jogging clothes-Eddie is awake and sitting at the table with the others, yawning over a cup of coffee.

“Anyone up for a run?” Steve asks, stretching. The question is mostly rhetorical. Dustin can’t run because of his missing-bones thing, Robin went once after Steve convinced her it was a great way to meet girls, but made it very clear after that she would not be doing that again, and that would leave Eddie but-

“You just want to see me in thongs, don’t you, Harrington?” Eddie says, pointing at Steve’s shorts with a spoon. “Seriously, what are those?”

“Right?!” Robin obviously jumps that train immediately “That’s what I’ve been saying”

“I really wish I could my friend” Dustin says with a very judgemental look on his face “But sadly. I can’t”

“Yea right” Steve runs a hand through his hair

“But even if I could” Dustin continues insistently “I’d rather die” He earns a fist bump from Robin and Finger guns from Eddie for that

"You can just say no" Steve says turning to go.

“Beware the hordes of lusting dames, Harrington!” Eddie calls after him.

Steve gives him the finger and heads out, their laughter following him down the hall.

Stupid idiots, he thinks-feeling way more fondness than is probably called for after they were just ragging on him like that. He needs to invite Sinclair to come. He'll be happy to run with him

He takes the path along the lake, because he likes the way the trees crowd the left side of the trail. Their branches arch overhead in uneven patches, leaves still damp from last night’s drizzle. The air smells like wet earth. His sneakers hit the pavement in a steady rhythm, breath evening out as his body settles into the familiar burn.

He likes his morning runs. They give him time to think.

First and foremost: Robin.

He needs to calm her down before her date tonight so she doesn’t spiral into catastrophic overanalysis. He really wants this to work for her. As great as she is at explaining his feelings to him, she’s absolutely terrible at expressing her own- to potential dates- he means, She has no problem whatsoever telling him exactly what she feels at all times.

Luckily-just like she said-she knows what she wants and he knows how to get it. 

He’s good with reading people; he knows this. He prides himself with it. 

Just not himself, he notes, but this is a long black road. Route 66 perhaps. And he doesn’t plan on running that long. He huffs out a breath, turning a corner where the lake opens up briefly between the trees. Sunlight hits the water in fractured silver streaks.

Speaking of reading people-something is up with Dustin 

He’s always loud and obnoxious and can’t get a hint or the life of him but this is something more.

What specifically? No clue. Steve’s good at reading people, not interpreting what he read. He’ll have to ask him.

It shouldn’t be about his mom’s new boyfriend. They went over that one extensively — and speaking of Mrs. Henderson, he should buy her cookies. Or something. To thank her for the pie she sent last time Dustin showed up here with Byers in tow.

He smiles at the memory.

He really does love that the kids just… come here. Stay in touch. Even if he pretends to get all bitchy about it.

That’s what Robin says, anyway.

Now Eddie-that’s different.

Eddie hasn’t stayed in touch. For reasons Steve thinks he understands, but can’t say he truly gets.

No worries, though. Steve’s always been more of a practitioner than a theorist. And now that it turns out Munson is actually a pretty fun hang outside of life-and-death circumstances, Steve fully intends to keep him.

Maybe he’ll want to come to the bar tonight. If Robin agrees.

It might be his scene - from what Steve gathered during the several-hour Cassie Information Flood Robin subjected him to over the past few weeks

His feet, apparently operating independently of higher brain function, bring him to his favorite bakery.

The bell over the door jingles softly as he steps inside. Warm air hits him immediately — sugar and yeast and fresh bread. The windows are fogged slightly from the ovens in the back.

It’s his lucky day. The curly-haired cashier is there.

He’s considered asking her out. Robin says he’s got a type.

 He’s not sure if she has a boyfriend, so he’s been testing the waters. Light flirting. Casual charm in the works.

Today he’s too sweaty and stinky for that. 

He buys the cookies without attempting charisma. Adds something with dragon fruit because it reminds him of Dungeons & Dragons and maybe the guys will think that’s funny.

By the time he’s jogging back, the sky has brightened properly. The damp pavement is starting to steam faintly in the sunlight.

He’s almost home when he spots Eddie-notably in another one of Robins shirts- and Dustin strolling toward him.

“Hey, guys!” he pants, slowing to a walk. “Wh-where are you going?”

Dustin lights up immediately. “There’s an MTG tournament!” he announces at full volume. “And it’s, like, ridiculously close to your place. I can’t even believe it.”

“The what now? I thought you played the dragon game.” Steve squints at them.

“Harrington, you poor prisoner of sportsmanship,” Eddie says, cigarette balanced between his lips. “Magic: The Gathering is only the finest card-based battle system Homo sapiens has ever conceived.” He gestures wildly, nearly knocking ash onto his own boot.

“Right,” Steve says slowly. “I bought you dragon muffins.”

He pulls the slightly squashed paper bag out from under his arm.

Dustin stares at him gravely. “Are you trying to impair my cognitive performance with a pre-tournament sugar spike?”

He absolutely was not.

“Alright, jeez. I’ll eat them if you won’t.”

“Excuse you,” Eddie says sharply, snatching the bag from Steve’s hands. “Do not attempt depriving me of dragon-themed baked goods ever again.” He points accusingly at Dustin.

Dustin presses a hand to his chest. “I would never, Eddie.”

The sincerity is unnecessary. But entertaining.

Steve shakes his head, smiling despite himself. He watches them head off — Dustin already talking a mile a minute, Eddie leaning down to hear him over traffic, cigarette smoke trailing behind.

He knows he’s just in time when he doesn’t hear Robin. The silence is suspicious. Her keys are still in the door.

“Robin?” he calls as he steps inside.

A long, miserable grunt comes from the living room. When he rounds the corner, Robin is sprawled dramatically across the couch, staring at the ceiling.

 “Can I join your pity party?” He asks

“I don’t know Steve, can you?” She looks at him out of the side of her eye. Steve rolls his eyes. 

“Besides, why would you need to join my pity party?” she continues, waving a limp hand in his direction. “There’s nothing pitiful about you.”

“There is,” Steve insists, dropping onto the floor beside the couch with a thud. “I stopped at the bakery on my way back. The cute girl was there.”

Robin slowly turns her head toward him. “I’m still not seeing the problem.”

“I was running,” he says pointedly, “I was all sweaty.”

Robin sniffs the air theatrically. “You still are. Ew.” She scrunches her nose. “Also, don’t lie to make me feel better. You always say girls dig it when you’re sweaty.”

She swats his shoulder, then immediately recoils and examines her hand like she’s touched something biohazardous. “Ew,” she repeats.

“You’re, uh-deflecting,” Steve says, only half sure that’s the right word. “What’s going on?”

Robin lets out a loud, theatrical sigh and drops her arm from her face. “I’m thinking maybe Cassie didn’t mean it like that. And I’m just being stupid.”

“Oh, come on, Rob.” It’s Steve’s turn to sigh. “Remind me what she said exactly?” He does not need reminding “She said she has a gig,” Robin begins, sitting up now, energy returning in anxious bursts. “And that she’d love it if I came to see her and the band perform.” She presses her palms over her eyes. “And that after we should grab a drink.”

Steve hums. “And what does that sound like to you?”

Robin drops her hands and glares at him. “I don’t know, Steve!” She throws her arms up. “Maybe that they need a bigger audience, and she likes drinks? I don’t know! That’s the whole problem. I think I know, but then I don’t know." She sprads on the couch even more  "Maybe she’s just nice and not gay at all.”

“Robin,” he says patiently, reaching up to gently shake her knee, “Do I need to remind you that you met her at ‘Feminist Poetry Throughout the Centuries’?”

She hesitates.

“If she’s not gay,” he continues, “I’m Vecna.”

“You smell like Vecna,” Robin says automatically - but there’s a smile breaking through now.

“Oh fuck off” Steve retorts with no intent behind it whatsoever 

Robin’s smile fades just a little as she slumps back again. “I’m sorry I’m ruining your fun guys weekend with my gay drama.”

“You’re not ruining anything,” he says firmly. “If anything, they’re ruining my sad Robin weekend.”

She throws a pillow at his face.

“Actually,” Robin says, suddenly sitting up again and tying her hair into a messy ponytail, “I’ve been meaning to ask you - how exactly did this turn into a fun guys weekend?”

“Fuck if I know,” Steve says honestly, throwing up a hand.

“I get Dustin,” she continues, gesturing vaguely. “He barges in, causes havoc, refuses to leave. But Eddie?”

“He got himself into some shit” Steve drags a hand down his face. “And called me to come pick him up but how we got here” He gestures in a vague direction meaning the sheets Dustin slept on on the arm chair, the cup Eddie drank coffee from and several other items spread across their apartment that make it known they have guests.

She squints at him "Does the trip to jail perhap-"

"Im not telling you anything" Steve raises boath arms

"-Perhaps have to do with the thing we talked about at the work party" She finishes undeterred

Steve shurgs like he can't remeber.

Robin narrows her eyes at him, but mercyfully lets it go. “Also, I know you two smoked weed yesterday.”

She crosses her arms.

“It stank.”

Steve winces, feeling oddly caught. He offers her a sheepish smile.

She just rolls her eyes.

“Wait one more thing” She remembers “Do you want to invite Eddie to tag along with us to the bar?”

“So I don’t end up alone when you ditch me for Cassie?” He asks, giving her his best judgy look.

“Go take a shower already!“ She says sharp pointing towards the bathroom

“Is the crisis averted?” Steve asks, searching her face for any lingering self-pity.

“For now.” She flops back down dramatically. “I still don’t know what to wear.”

“Alright,” Steve says, pushing himself up from the floor. “I’ll shower and then we’ll figure it out.” 

Before he goes there is one more important thing he has to do. He smiles to himself feeling smug.

He puts the tape in. Presses play.

And makes a run for it followed by robins call “Do not stupid cupid me you ass!”

They are still arguing about whether a full three-piece suit, complete with a hanky, is too much. It really is - when Eddie and Dustin come back, already arguing loudly in the kitchen.

They try to ignore them, but Henderson is screaming bloody murder, so Robin orders Steve to investigate.

Contrary to what the noise suggested, no one is being murdered. Yet.

Eddie looks like he’s three seconds from losing his shit - talking to Henderson does that to a person, Steve supposes. 

 Nevertheless this calls for an intervention.

He plants his hands on his hips and clears his throat.
Nothing.

“Heeey, guys!” he tries.

Still nothing. The shitheads are too busy yelling about something that was incomprehensible from the other room and, frankly, isn’t any clearer now.

He sighs and resorts to slapping Henderson across the back of the head.

“OW!” Dustin finally spins toward him. “What the hell?!”

“What do you mean ‘what the hell’? You’re the one causing a ruckus.”

“Exactly, Henderson,” Eddie immediately cuts in, pointing at him. “Stop causing a ruckus.”

Steve glares at him until Eddie raises both hands in surrender, muttering something under his breath and shutting up.

“What happened? You were so friendly,” Steve demands.

“We were,” Dustin says, crossing his arms. “But Eddie decided to cheat.”

“Henderson!” Eddie’s wild look snaps back instantly. He jabs a  finger at him. “How many times do I need to tell you? He. Had. Trample.”

Dustin opens his mouth, clearly ready to launch into another fit, but Steve cuts in fast.

“No! Never mind, I don’t wanna know.”

He physically steps between them and points toward the couch.
“Sit.”

He can’t believe this. He’s going to have to distract them with video games. Like children.

When they agree that - vest stays, jacket goes, thank you very much - Robin decides to escape to a coffee shop to study before the bar tonight, correctly suspecting there is absolutely no chance of peace with the morons here.

Which, unfortunately, leaves him alone, in charge.

To Steve’s utter delight, it turns out Eddie absolutely blows at video games. Like, unbelievably bad. Even at Super Mario Bros.

“Ah, yes, you rich douchebag,” Eddie pouts dramatically and throws away the controller “Mock the poor peasant for not immediately mastering your extravagant pastimes.”

“Come on man!” Steve’s laughing hard now “It’s fucking Mario!”

“The red dick won’t stop running into those suckers” He groans gesturing at the screen where a bright GAME OVER screen flashes after Eddie managed to die to the first enemy. Again.

“This is because you need to press the buttons and evade the enemies,” Dustin says, sounding like he’s explaining to a toddler that soap is not food.

“It’s stressing me the fuck out!” Eddie yells. “I need a smoke.” He gets up, dusts off his shoulders with theatrical flair, and stalks toward the window.

Which leaves Steve and Dustin free to play Contra.

A bit on the nose, considering their history with extradimensional monsters, but it’s their favorite.

The loading screen appears, and Dustin turns to him. “Sooo, are you planning on sharing with the class where the hell Eddie came from?”

Steve shrugs. “You know, a puff of smoke.”

Dustin does not look convinced—though, to Eddie’s credit, he considers it for a second. “I’ll get to the bottom of this later,” he mutters, narrowing his eyes. “Is he going to stick around?”
It’s not said in the typical Henderson tone. Softer. Maybe even hopeful.

“Yes, if I can help it,” Steve says, meaning it more than he expected—at least until last night.

Dustin nods. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.” He gets up and approaches the couch. “You know I’m going to this camp-internship thing?”

“The long-ass one?” Steve says, catching up to what Dustin is trying to say. “Don't worry man I wont forget you or anything" He pats his shoulder "Impossible concidering I'm sure you'll call so much I’ll want to change my number because my phone bills will be a mile long.” He widens his arms for emphasis, a little too emotional about it. “So what’s the big deal?”

Dustin blinks. “You won’t though? Right?”

The game finally loads. “Nah, I won’t.”

When Eddie comes back, he is very adamant he is not touching the controller again - though he is more than happy to provide extremely loud, extremely unhelpful advice and commentary that he is very clearly pulling straight out of his ass.

It’s very entertaining. 

However, five o’clock still rolls around, and he has to drive his alien-killing partner’s ass back to the bus station.

On the way, Eddie says, “So listen, Henderson, what do you say we gather the party and embark on an adventure?”

“What?!” Dustin yells from the back so loudly Steve almost loses control of the Beemer. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Steve glances over and sees Eddie grinning wide and bright - and maybe a little mischievous.

“Well, Sir Dustin the Brave, it depends whether you are thinking that-” He lowers his voice so dramatically Steve feels it in his stomach. “Hellfire lives!”

“HELLFIRE LIVES!” Dustin shrieks, nearly causing Steve to swerve again.

Dustin is all fistbumped, ellbowed, hair ruffled and waved goodbye so they have to let him go. Steve and Eddie are alone walking back toward the car through the parking lot.

“Do you want a ride to your evil layer so you can change before we go?” Steve turns to Eddie spinning his keys around his finger.

“At last!” Eddie throws his hands up dramatically. Then pauses. “Wait, what?” He drops them. “Go where?”

“To see Robin’s friend perform at the bar,” Right, he forgot to actually ask him about that.

“Don’t worry about me, Harrington. You are relieved of babysitting duty.” Eddie waves a hand dismissively. “Besides, I have shit to do.”

“The ritual sacrifice?” Steve calls bullshit, clearly hitting the jackpot when Eddie just shrugs. “I’ve heard there’s going to be a guitar,” he adds, bargaining.

“I’m serious, dude. I don’t want to impose on your thing with Robin. I’m fine,” Eddie says, speeding up so now he’s slightly in front, shoulders a little hunched despite the casual tone.

“You’re not imposing,” Steve protests immediately. “I’m inviting you.”

“Nah, man. I’ve been hanging off you the whole weekend, and enough is enough. I need to get back to my shit.”

“What shit?” Steve asks, before he can stop himself. “You don’t seem to have any shit going on.”It comes out harsher than he meant it to.
But he promised Dustin he wouldn’t let Eddie disappear again, and this feels exactly like what's going to happen.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eddie retorts quickly. “I have other friends, you know.” He gestures vaguely. “And, like, a job.”

“Yeah, right,” Steve snorts, and grabs Eddiess sleeve, turning him around  “So why did you call me instead of them?”

Eddie goes still. Really still. His big eyes widen just a little, and there’s something sad flickering behind them.

“I get why you went away. I really do,” Steve tries again, softer now. “But-” He steps a little closer. “That’s not how this works. We’re friends. And I’m not letting you just vanish again.”

He holds his gaze, making sure Eddie understands he means it.

Eddie looks startled, like he hadn’t expected to be cornered like that, but he doesn’t bolt. 

Steve takes that as a win and opens the car door for him.

“You were saying something about a guitar?” Eddie asks once they’re both inside.

***

Eddie’s apartment is nothing like what Steve thought it would be.

It’s painfully normal. White walls, tidy surfaces, everything a little too neat - sterile, even. Nothing personal in the hallway at all, which is the complete opposite of the chaos he and Robin have going on, although he blames that entirely on her.

The George guy, however, might be the reason.

He refuses to shake Steve’s hand, muttering something about germs and how they interrupted his vacuuming, and immediately goes back to it the second he’s done making sure both Steve and Eddie put their shoes neatly on the rack.

Eddie just grabs Steve by the sleeve and drags him to his room.

And- woah.

The room is exactly what Steve imagined. Maybe even more.

It looks like all the personality banned from the rest of the apartment fled in here to hide from the roommate. The floor is flooded with sheets with things written all over them, magazines - mostly music, but also a few fantasy ones - and DnD stuff is scattered across every available surface. The walls are completely buried under layers of posters, so many that Steve can’t even tell what color the paint underneath is supposed to be.

If Eddie is embarrassed by the mess, he doesn’t show it. He goes straight to greet his guitar like she’s one of the friends Eddie said he had.

Steve has to snort.

“Sorry about the mess,” Eddie says over his shoulder. “I keep it as a George repellent.”

Steve nods once and looks around again. He recognises Dio from Eddie’s battle vest and wonders what actually happened to the thing. He had fully intended to give it back once he got all the blood out, but Eddie was in the hospital, so high on painkillers most of the time that he could barely hold a proper conversation, and Steve figured there was no point handing it over then. 

Then Eddie got better, and Steve again fully intended to give the vest back, but his parents, for once, decided to come home and he couldn’t find it. He assumed his mother had thrown it out. He even tried to ask, but it turned into a huge mess and was one of the last straws that finally convinced him to get the hell out and follow Robin to Chicago.

He remembers, vaguely, that the vest had actually shown up somewhere in the middle of the move - buried in a box or tossed over a chair - but at this moment he can’t, for the life of him, remember where exactly.

Some of what he’s thinking must show up on his face because Eddie is suddenly standing in front of him, clicking his fingers with a worried expression.

“Are you also allergic to my groove?” he asks when Steve blinks back to reality.

Steve smiles immediately. “I’m not like you, dude. I don’t get anaphylactic shock every time I encounter something that’s not my-” he waves a hand, “-style.”

Eddie nods a couple of times. “Good. Because this is going to take a while, thus presenting me with the perfect opportunity to make good on my promise.”

“Which one?”

“That I’m not going to let you live down your declaration of admiration for my craft,” Eddie pretends to play air guitar, eyes gleaming mischievously.

“I did not declare anything,” Steve groans.

Eddie, of course, does not care at all and dives into a pile of stuff to look for a cassette.

“This is the one I played!” he emerges, waving it proudly and puts it in.

From what Steve remembers, the song had something to do with puppets. Sadly, any affiliation to the muppets ets that might come to mind at the sound of the title is misleading.

Eddie turns back around, scouring his closet, clothes flying over his shoulder to join the growing pile on the floor. Steve thanks the Lord George is here and that Eddie apparently has enough house training not to blast the song at full volume. That doesn’t, however, deprive him of the manifesto Eddie claims he’ll one day recite to his roommate when he finally moves out.

It’s actually quite good. Steve thinks it could be a song.

“My dear friend! You’re a genius,” Eddie lights up when Steve tells him.

“I knew it!” Steve pumps his fist and leans back in his chair. “Can we get that on record for my father?”

Eddie looks at him for a moment, studying him. And Steve gets the uncomfortable feeling Eddie did not take the joke exactly how it was intended — that maybe he peeked somewhere underneath it.

Suddenly Eddie jumps up.

“Oh, what has become of the world,” he sighs dramatically, stepping onto the edge of his chair like he’s mounting a stage — and also to retrieve a sock.

“The children now love luxury; they have bad manners, contempt for authority,” he continues, wobbling his way from the chair onto the dresser, one hand braced against the wall for balance, the other lifting a shirt to his nose.

From the look on his face, it’s not clean.

“They show disrespect for elders and love chatter in place of exercise.” He paces along the length of the dresser, narrowly avoiding a stack of cassettes with his heel, but finding something wearable at the end of it.

He plants one foot on the bed, then the other, gaining height with every sentence like he’s ascending to a pulpit — also picking up another piece of clothing along the way. Pants, presumably.

“Children are now tyrants, not the servants of their households! They no longer rise when elders enter the room!” He points accusingly at Steve, nearly losing his balance and catching himself on a lamp.

“They contradict their parents, chatter before company, gobble up dainties at the table, cross their legs, and tyrannize their teachers!”

Unsatisfied with the elevation, he grabs the top of the wardrobe and hauls himself up with surprising agility — only to immediately hunch because the ceiling is too low. After a brief struggle with physics, he settles into a precarious squat on top of it, hair brushing the plaster, still fully committed to the bit.

From his new, deeply impractical throne, he throws his arms wide — as much as the ceiling allows.

Steve looks up at him, baffled. “Is this Higgins?”

“No, it’s the ancient Greek cunts actually,” Eddie says, still squatting on the wardrobe like a disgruntled gargoyle before hopping down with a heavy thud. “But Higgins probably agrees. And your father. And my father, for that matter — although that’s a very different thing.”

He looks at Steve then, suddenly serious.

“What I mean is, you’ve gotta live your life, man. And not worry too much. If it means aything I think you’re doing great."

Steve hums. It actually means a lot. Eddie’s probably right, too - and Steve decided a long time ago he wouldn’t care what his father thinks. It’s just easier said than done.

He doesn’t get to sit with that for long.

Eddie slides up to him-

“Is that what you’re wearing?”

“Yes. Why?” And suddenly, inexplicably, Steve feels uncertain. Usually the only thing he ever second-guesses about his appearance is his hair.

“Nothing,” Eddie says, but it’s clear he has opinions.

Steve exhales and glances at one of the posters - the dude on it looks like a lady, but maybe it’s just the hair.

“Alright,” he says finally, raising his hands. “You can style me. If you want.”

Eddie blinks.

“Steven,” he says slowly, a grin already creeping in, “I don’t think you understand what you’re offering.”

“I do, actually. You’ve been bitching about how I don’t know what I like, so I’m thinking…” He rubs the back of his neck. “I could, you know. See.” Also his father definitely wouldn't aprove, and his feeling rebelious.

“Curious about the enemy’s rotten grounds, are we, Harrington?” Eddie leans in way too close, invading his space with a wolfish smile.

Steve immediately develops a deep fascination with a poster that says Twisted Sister. The sister on it sure has to be a little twisted. Ah. The duality of men.

“I’m going to change my mind,” he mutters.

He doesn’t, though.

Which is how he ends up being subjected to nearly an hour of wardrobe changes ranging from slightly out of his lane to “Get that net away from me, do I look like a fish to you?!”

They eventually reach a consensus - which, in practice, means Steve is very far outside his comfort zone and Eddie looks extremely pleased with himself.

Steve studies his reflection.

The loose black shirt laces instead of buttons, the neckline so deep he can almost see the scars on his stomach. The pants are technically jeans, but black, ripped, and absolutely nothing like his usual ones. His neck is heavy with silver chains, his fingers stacked with rings that definitely look better on Eddie, and there’s a handmade leather bracelet on his wrist that he secretly thinks is pretty cool.

While he’s assessing himself in the giant, gothic-looking mirror, he catches Eddie staring at him from the bed. He’s wearing what he usually wears but more. 

Eddie looks away the second their eyes meet.

Steve raises an eyebrow at his reflection.
“Do I look metal?” he asks.

Eddie clears his throat, slapping his hands on his knees before jumping to his feet a little too fast.

“As fuck,” he says.

Steve catches a flash of something almost panicked in his expression before it disappears.

“Let’s go get Robin and hope she doesn’t die from laughter when she sees me,” Steve says, resigned, giving himself one last once-over in the mirror.

***

It’s a close call. Both Robin dying of laughter and him dying from the sheer heat of the roast she deploys his way. He keeps tugging at the neckline like it might magically turn back into a polo if he annoys it enough. Eddie is also smirking but, to his credit, he defends that the outfit looks very metal and that Steve should just roll with it. So they roll to the bar. By bus, of course, because there is no way Steve is spending the night looking like this and not having a beer or five.

He regrets that decision almost immediately, feeling like all eyes are on him-old and young people alike. It’s hot in the bus. Weirdly hot, considering the sun outside is already setting and it wasn’t even that warm before. The chains feel heavier with every stop, clinking softly every time the bus jerks forward, and he adjusts them once or twice so they sit right instead of choking him.

They are almost there when he feels a warm hand reaching for one of them. He raises his eyes and sees Eddie’s face. Up close.

“Uh,” Eddie starts “The cross is supposed to be upside down,” He explains, gently fixing the chain before stepping back again.

Steve just nods, suddenly far too aware of the old lady across the aisle giving him a very obvious stink eye. Eddie notices too and, to Steve’s absolute horror, sticks his tongue out at her. It does the job. She promptly turns back to stare out the window.

“Don’t let the masses get to you,” Eddie says quietly, hand landing on Steve’s shoulder for a second. “You look stunning, man.”

“And actually, you’ll fit right in,” Robin adds as the bus comes to a stop, and Steve thinks he catches her giving Eddie some kind of look out of the corner of his eye.

When they reach the bar, he quickly finds that to be true. He isn’t even close to the most outlandish person there-some guy is wearing a skirt and a fishnet shirt that looks exactly like the one Eddie tried to put him in earlier.

They walk in. The place has a cool vibe that reminds him of Eddie’s room: bigger, louder, but just as swamped in posters and dim light. There’s a strong smell of beer in the air and something smoky underneath it, like old wood and spilled drinks soaked into the floorboards. A small crowd is already gathering in front of the stage set up on the far side, even though they’re early, which probably is a good sign.

It turns out Robin’s friend reserved them a seat just under the stage, and Steve genuinely does not understand how Robin could be misinterpreting this. He leans closer and pats her shoulder in what he hopes is a reassuring manner, murmuring that this is very obviously not just a “bigger audience” situation.

They sit down and Eddie announces he’s going to buy them beers. He appears again a while later with his arms full, scanning the room as he walks back, gaze snagging here and there. The men here are probably right up his alley.

Steve thinks back to his orange polo that is not see through at all. 

Eddie sets the beers down on the sticky wooden table and plops onto the chair next to Robin. “So what’s the deal with your friend?” he asks, glancing at her. “Hoping for a backstage pass?”

Robin looks about as nervous as Steve feels. She meets Eddie’s eyes head-on anyway and says, “Actually, I was hoping for more.”

Eddie’s face does something funny at that. A flicker-surprise, maybe, and then something else. He leans back slightly, looking her up and down with open approval. “Ah, I see,” he says, casually. “Lady Buckley, I must inform you then…” He pauses, and Steve notices that Eddie has been looking vaguely nervous since he returned with the drinks. “I very much fucked the bartender.”

Robin’s eyes go wide. “Like now?” she blurts, then immediately shakes her head. “I mean-this is so great.”

Eddie grins right back at her, wide and bright, and for a brief second he flicks that same happy gaze toward Steve.

Steve stays quiet, not wanting to interrupt whatever moment they’re having, even as something tight settles in his chest. He’s the odd one out for once.

They talk for a while, and something in the air shifts. It gets lighter. Easier. Eddie finally presents Robin with the uncensored story of Friday night’s adventure and Robin looks so relieved to be free to talk both their ears off about Cassie that Steve almost forgets how stupid he feels.

The band finally appears, instruments slung over their shoulders, the crowd not so small now cheering louder. Robin immediately jumps up, clapping and looking up at Cassie, who unmistakably blows a kiss her way.

They start playing a loud song - not really Steve’s usual taste - but it has a pleasant rhythm all the same.

Eddie whistles as Robin sits back down. “Dammit  Robin, you rock, and I salute you,” he says, executing an overly dramatic salute.

“Oh, don’t be so shy,” she shoots back, smiling. “It’s not like you’re doing bad yourself. I saw your bartender.”

"what’s the story anyway?” Robin asks, but Steve is actually very curious too.

“Eh.” Eddie shrugs, glancing back toward the bar, though it’s not entirely clear to Steve which of the three bartenders he means. Robin has to have some special power. “You know how it goes. I wanted more, he wanted out.” He grins, like it’s a joke and not anything else. “Not a big loss though. Terrible in the sack.”

And Steve very deliberately does not think about Eddie with another guy.
At all.
Not even a little.

“Oh,” Robin says, turning toward the stage where two guys are finishing setting up the equipment.

“However,” Eddie adds quickly, “he never reserved any seats for me.” There’s a faint bitterness tucked under the words before he shakes it off. “So do not worry, milady, your dame seems like a keeper.” He bumps his shoulder into hers with a smile.

"I'm sorry" Robin says but Eddie doesn' look like he wants to talk about it. She turns to Steve and points at him. “Actually, oddly enough, Steve is the only one not getting any.”

Which is saying something, considering what he’s wearing.

True, Steve thinks, looking up at the stage.

The guitarist catches his eye. She has her back to them, long curly hair swaying as she nods along to the rhythm. She looks metal. 

“Maybe I’ll romance the hot guitarist,” he says a little louder so they can hear him.

Both Robin and Eddie follow his gaze.

“I’m sorry to bear the news,” Robin calls over the music, “but Cassie told me about her. She has a husband.”

The guitarist turns around and Steve feels a strange flicker of disappointment when her eyes are bright blue. Not big. Not brown at all.

“That sucks,” he says anyway.

“Actually,” Robin continues, leaning toward Eddie now, “Cassie also said they might be moving soon. Which means the band could be looking for a replacement.” She grins. “Maybe I could get you the hot guitarist job.”

Eddie’s eyes widen. “You’re shitting me.”

Robin just shakes her head, smug.

“Sign me up!”

The band shifts into a more popular tune, something the crowd immediately recognizes. People closer to the stage start singing along, loud and off-key, and Steve has absolutely no idea what the song is.

“I’m going for more beer,” he announces.

Robin is too focused on her girl to pay any attention to that but Eddie stands up to follow him.

“Listen,” Eddie says, leaning closer so Steve can hear him over the music. At the bar it’s quieter, but still loud in that crowded, humming way of a place full of people and a live band. “If we end up ordering from Marty—” he tilts his head toward the bartender in the purple button up, “-don’t worry too much if he says something, uh… weird. He tends to be a dick.”

Steve glances at him. “Weird how?”

Eddie looks down at his hands and twists one of his rings, once, twice, before straightening his shoulders. When he speaks, it’s quiet enough that Steve almost misses it.

“Like we’re together.”

Oh.

“That’s alright” Steve says quickly because sure enough Marty is the one coming up to them. He’s smiling in a way that immediately reminds Steve of his mother when they have guests over

“Well well, If it isn’t Editto” He sets a towel down and crosses his arms over his chest, gaze dragging from Eddie to Steve and back again.

“I must say, you look fantastic” He fixes his eyes on Eddie “And I see you’ve decided to go back to that hairstyle” 

Steve blinks, and suddenly remembers running into Eddie a few months ago and almost not recognizing him. The usual shaggy mess had been flattened down with what was probably half a jar of gel, curls stiff and unnatural, like instant ramen glued to his head. Steve hadn’t thought much of it at the time - he’d been late for his shift, and Eddie hadn’t exactly looked eager to catch up either. 

The longer Marty keeps smiling, the more Steve is reminded of exactly the kind of person he hates.

The kind who never says anything outright.
Who act perfectly pleasant at first when things don’t go their way - or when you don’t behave how they think you should - and instead slip in backhanded compliments and little comments that make you feel like shit while sounding technically polite. So if you call them out, you’re the asshole.

Yeah.

The comparison to his mother is feeling more and more accurate by the second.

“For you, the piña colada? I don’t suppose your taste has changed,” Marty says, and it makes Eddie unfreeze from where he’s been standing.

Eddie places both hands on the counter and leans over it, studying the beers there.“Actually, I am feeling rather adventurous this fine evening,” he says lightly. “I’ll get the Guinness.”

Marty says nothing to that but raises his eyebrows 

“And for the gentleman?” he asks, eyeing Steve with a disapproving expression - this one is actually closer to his father. What a blast.

“A piña colada, please,” Steve says smoothly, and can’t help imagining what his old man would look like if he saw this. There’s no need to strain himself, though, because Marty is doing a fantastic job of it already. He turns around to gather the ingredients.

Steve feels a wave of determination rise in his chest. Eddie looks weirdly drained beside him, shoulders slightly hunched, rings stilled on the counter.

He slides a little closer and leans in.

“What was this thing about not caring what other people think?”

Eddie drops his face into his hands and groans loudly, elbows on the bar.
“Not. A. Word.”

Steve chuckles under his breath. “Don’t worry, man, I’ll switch with you.”

Eddie shakes his head, face still hidden in his palms. “It’s fine.”

“Oh, come on. I took a sip from your glass earlier,” Steve says, grimacing at the memory. “And it was cranberry juice with a dash of beer.”

That finally makes Eddie lift his head.
“I like my beverages to contradict my music taste. Sue me.”

Steve snorts, about to make a joke about diabetes and medical bills but it dies in his throat the moment he notices Marty returning - shaker in hand, mixing with theatrical enthusiasm.

“Will you introduce me to your friend there?” Marty asks obnoxiously, flipping the shaker around.

Eddie glances at Steve quickly before speaking, voice tighter than before. “Mary-Steve. Steve-Marty”

And because Marty is, apparently, committed to being a real piece of shit, he doesn’t stop there.

“I take it this one knows what he’s getting into?” he says mildly, but his tone is all edge.

Eddie immediately goes tense beside him, shoulders locking up, shooting Steve a look that is almost desperate as he starts to protest-

Steve suddenly feels like he’s had enough.

Before he can overthink it, he slings an arm around Eddie’s shoulders, easy and firm, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He smiles as politely as he can.

“I do, actually,” he says calmly.

He turns his head just slightly to look at Eddie, who is clearly shocked for half a second - eyes wide, mouth parted - but the showman in him recovers fast. His hand comes up to rest over Steve’s where it hangs off his shoulder, fingers curling there as he grins wide at Marty.

The ex dick boyfriend looks a little startled as he finishes the drinks. 

“Enjoy,” he just says, setting them on the counter, noticeably quieter.

Steve doesn’t answer. He simply slaps a bill on the bar, grabs the drinks, and walks away without a word.

The volume of the music swells again as soon as they return to Robin, giving Steve the perfect excuse to gather his thoughts in silence. 

Beside him, Eddie takes a long sip of his piña colada, staring very intently at the stage.

The silence is relative, of course - As in they’re not talking, but Steve finds it increasingly difficult to formulate coherent anything. The band, which had started pleasant enough, is now performing a song with drums so loud he can feel them behind his eyes. The hot guitarist - Steve is trying very hard not to add the hot part every time he thinks of her but the name has stuck- seems to have lost control of the sound too, what was a cool riff turning into something closer to a rhythmic drill hammer.

Even Cassie - and that is something Steve really dreads admitting to himself - sounds harsher now, her raspy bluesy voice now grating his ears.

At least Robin doesn’t seem to mind. Quite the opposite, actually.

It would be nice if she could be a little less expressive.

God. He’s awful for thinking that, isn’t he?

A light tap lands on his shoulder.

“Wanna come grab a smoke with me?”

And he really, really does.

The moment they step outside and the brisk night air hits his face, the pressure behind his eyes eases almost instantly, the tight, suffocating feeling in his stomach loosening with it.
The street is strangely empty for a place that loud. A couple lingers far to the left, whispering to each other under a flickering streetlamp, but after a moment they wander off, leaving the space outside the bar quiet in that peculiar late-night way.
Now it’s just them, the muffled bass bleeding through the brick wall behind them and the glow of the neon sign over the entrance. The light spills down in a washed-out purple, catching in Eddie’s hair and carving soft shadows along his cheekbones.
It makes him look unreal.
Painted, almost.

What was it that Robin called that Van Gogh painting? Impressionism? Expressionism?

“Are you okay?” Eddie asks, patting down the pockets of his leather jacket - not the one Steve recognises. He figures the old one is probably lost somewhere to the streets of Chicago, so this must be a replacement. Eddie eventually finds the pack. “You were, uh-” he waves the cigarette in a vague circle, “twitchy.”

Steve fishes the lighter from his back pocket, where he remembers feeling it earlier, and flicks it open, gesturing for Eddie to come closer.

“I’m fine,” he says. “I get like this sometimes.”

Or much worse.

Eddie steps closer, the unlit cigarette still tucked between his lips. Without thinking, Steve lifts his hand to shield the flame from the wind and leans in close. So close he doesn’t know where to look..

Eddie the experienced smoker that he is chokes on the first drag. 

Steve reaches to pat his back, but Eddie bats his hand away. “Et tu, Brute, contra me,” he wheezes out in between coughs.

Steve is very pleasantly surprised he gets this one.

“Don’t act so betrayed. You should know they’re the enemy,” Steve says with a satisfied smirk, which grows larger when Eddie pauses his coughing fit just long enough to shoot him an impressed(?) look. It’s hard to tell, because his face is still twisted.

“The others I was expecting,” he starts once he gets it under control, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. “But this one-” he looks at the cigarette reproachfully, “-this one I considered a friend.”

“Actually while we’re on the topic, how do you find the enemy’s grounds?” Eddie asks, offering Steve a cigarette too.

Steve accepts, even though he doesn’t really smoke these days.
“I’ll admit, I like the music. Until like half an hour ago anyway.” He takes a drag. Eddie’s expression turns worried again, so Steve adds quickly, “I’m fine, man. Seriously. It was just-” 

“A long fucking weekend.” Eddie finishes and gives Steve a knowing look

“And as for the look…” Steve glances at him. “I’m not convinced.” He pauses. “Looks great on you, though”

Eddie looks down at himself. “Tell that to Marty,” he mutters.

At the mention, Steve immediately feels his jaw tighten.

“Why’d you do that?” Eddie asks quietly. “The chivalrous rescue, I mean.”

Steve honestly has no idea. “I told you. I hate people like that.”

Eddie nods slowly, and looks somewhere over Steve's shoulder. “Sorry about the hot guitarist, by the way.”

Or maybe Steve does have an idea, because he’s not sorry about the hot guitarist at all. Especially not while he’s looking into those big brown eyes.

He takes another drag of the cigarette, buying himself a second to think - to finally take a step down Route 66. He really hopes it’s not too late. And that he’s getting it right.

He’ll just have to see.

“That’s alright,” he says, smiling gently. “There’s actually another one I like.”

Not his best line, but it’ll do.

He’d like more time to think this through, maybe talk it over with Robin. But he’s already here, and finally - after so, so long - he knows exactly what he wants. And if there’s one thing left from his jock days, it’s that when he sees what he wants, he goes for it.

The line, amateur as it is, makes a visible impact. Eddie’s cheeks flush.

“Uh- you mean-”

“I like your eyes much better than hers.” Steve says soft, and sure aldough he feels very nervous.

Eddie is now staring at him like a deer caught in headlights.

Steve realises then that this is probably as unexpected for Eddie as it is for him. He has no idea how it works with other men, but it can’t be that different, he decides.

“Also,” he contiues carefully, “she doesn’t make me think about stuff. Or - more importantly - I’m pretty sure she doesn’t have a way with bratty teenagers.”

“I don’t think you know what you’re saying here, Steve,” Eddie chokes out finally. The cigarette hangs forgotten in his hand. He glances around, almost panicked.

“I do, actually.” Steve steps even closer. “But tell me I’m reading this wrong, and we never have to talk about it again. I go back inside and that’s that.”

Eddie searches Steve’s face for a long moment before shaking his head just a little.
“You’re not,” he admits quietly.

Steve moves to close the gap between them, but before he can, Eddie speaks again.

“Do you mean it?” His voice cracks slightly. “You’re not joking, right?”

“No.”

And then Steve kisses him.

Gently at first - careful, like he’s testing something fragile. Eddie goes completely still for half a second, breath catching against Steve’s mouth, like the closeness alone startled him more than the kiss itself. His lips are warm, slightly chapped, and he smells faintly of smoke and something sweet from the drink earlier.

Steve tilts his head instinctively. He can feel the warmth of Eddie’s cigarette close to his ear, one hand hovering awkwardly before settling against Eddie’s sleeve instead of his face.

The kiss is soft, brief, but it sends a warm, steady feeling spreading from his stomach up into his chest, lightening everything at once. Route 66 feels quieter by the second.

“Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The voice cuts across the street, loud and sharp. A very large bald man stares daggers at them from the other side of the street.

Eddie's hand drops from Steve’s jacket. The cigarette slips from between his fingers and hits the pavement, ember scattering. He goes rigid for a second.

Steve takes a step in front of Him.

“Nothing is going on,” Eddie says from behind him “You’re the one making it weird dude”

Even Steve knows talking back to stupid drunk guys is a very bad idea, but a part of him kind of wants to fistbump him.

Miraculously it looks like it might blow over after all. The bald guy is approached by his friend, who gestures for him to go to another bar - but the bald one mutters something back, and suddenly they’re both heading straight for them.

Steve meets them halfway.
“Leave us alone” he says, there’s a warning in his voice as he looks the bald one straight in the eye.

He doesn’t miss the way the other guy’s hand curls into a fist.

Steve doesn’t like to fight.

He swings first, his fist connecting with the guy’s nose. The man staggers backward, swearing, and nearly trips over his friend, who shoves him aside and looks ready to throw a punch of his own.

Steve squares his shoulders, locking eyes with him -

And then a police siren cuts through the air.

Steve immediately turns toward Eddie, who is already moving toward him, with a sharp look in his eye.

Immediately Steve grabs Eddie by the sleeve, and runs, dragging him along as they dart past the side of the bar and into a narrow alley, footsteps echoing loud between the brick walls, the muffled thump of the band fading out as soon as they turn the corner. The ground is uneven, slick in places. They cut through another passage between buildings, past a back door propped open and a stack of crates, then out onto a dim side street lit by a single buzzing lamp. For a second, headlights sweep over them before they disappear again into shadow.

Left. Then another left.

Past fences, dumpsters, and quiet storefronts, the city shrinking into silence the further they get from the noise. The buzz fades, replaced by their breathing and the slap of their shoes against pavement. 

Only when Eddie finally calls for him to stop does Steve finally slow, realising he’s dragged them straight toward the park.

“I need to stop fucking smoking if this keeps happening,” Eddie pants, bent in half, hands on his knees.

Steve can’t help but smile, the adrenaline from before burnt out by their run. He looks at Eddie. His shirt rides up, revealing the lower half of his back, skin damp and shining slightly with sweat from the impromptu jog.

“Sorry” He feels a jolt of guilt at that “I didn’t think…”

“I’m alive and not in jail- so it’s fine,” Eddie says, finally straightening, pushing his hair back from his face. “So, what now?” He asks, looking straight at Steve.

Steve glances down the path ahead, lined with dark trees and empty benches.

“We take a walk and hope it blows over before we get back there?” He shrugs.

Eddie huffs a quiet laugh and starts walking, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, so Steve takes it as agreement and falls into step beside him.

Their shoulders almost brush.

“Also we hope Buckley doesn’t strangle us for leaving so abruptly,” Eddie says after a moment of silence, kicking a loose pebble off the path.

Steve smirks “I don’t think she’ll notice, at least not until the gig is over. I don’t know if I should be telling you this but she has a thing for those things with the you know on the back” He gestures at the laces on his borrowed shirt.

“Gorset?” Eddie says, but he’s clearly thinking about something else. His eyes flick down to the laces, then away again. “You know you didn’t have to wear this ensemble if you didn’t want to.”

“I know,” Steve says, already grinning, tugging lightly at one of the chains at his neck. “But you said my butt looked nice, and we’ve already established that I’m a people pleaser.”

Eddie scoffs. “I’m pleased alright.”

He looks at Steve then quickly back at the road ahead, his fingers hook into the rings on his hand, twisting one absentmindedly.

“Is this a good time to ask where the hell did the thing back there come from?” he asks cautiously. “Not that I’m not thrilled,” he adds quickly, glancing at Steve from the corner of his eye.

Steve exhales through his nose, watching their shadows stretch and shrink under the lamplight.

“I don’t know. It just... dawned on me,” Steve says.

Eddie makes a face, turning his head properly now.

“It just dawned on you? Fifteen minutes ago? That you like dick?” Eddie asks flatly.

“Oh don’t say it like this would you!” Steve shakes his head, a nervous laugh slipping out as he scrubs a hand over the back of his neck.

They pass under a tree, branches rattling softly in the night air.

“How do you want me to say it then?” Eddie asks, raising an eyebrow.

Steve bumps his shoulder lightly into Eddie’s as they walk.

“That it just dawned on me. fifteen minutes ago. That I like you,” Steve finishes smiling.

He wants to kiss Eddie again very much, but he seems to be going through it and Steve knows better than to push his luck with a guy he just asked out. They have time after all.

“And what? You’re Alright?”

“Well... my hand hurts a little, but other than that...” Steve flexes his fingers absentmindedly, then lets his arm fall back to his side. He looks up at the dark outline of the trees for a second. “There wasn’t really any room for contemplating anything like this in the good’ol days I suppose” He says after a moment 

Eddie snorts “In between all the girlfriends you mean?”

“You know how I was," Steve says, scratching the back of his neck, gaze drifting up to the trees above them. He doesnt like how he was. “I have to admit though. I did always have an appreciation for the tiny basketball shorts” He smiles. It was supposed to be a joke but as soon as it leaves his mouth it becomes more of a realisation.

“And Larry Bird” Now that he thinks about it there are quite a few things he’s had a great appreciation for. But like he said he was too busy being a dick to notice.

Eddie gives him a look

“How about you?” Steve asks, nudging a fallen twig off the path with the tip of his shoe.

“I too always appreciated male sportswear,” Eddie says. “But unlike you at sixteen I had a lot of time to dwell on it.”

“Oh my god!” Steve's smile grows even wider. “Was your first guy a jock?” Steve asks incredulous.

“Yea, no I like my teeth. Thank you very much” Eddie glances at him.

“When I finally accepted the ladies would have to do withiut me, I went to Indie. Found another first-timer. We went for it.” Eddie goes quiet for a beat “He then promptly freaked out. Didn’t go back for another year” He finishes capping his hands together.

The gravel crunching under their shoes suddenly sounds louder in the silence.

“I’m not going to freak out if that’s what you’re worried about,” Steve says, stopping.

Eddie takes two more steps before realising, then turns back to face him simultaneously lighting a cigarette.

“You don’t know that,” Eddie says

“Oh, I do,” Steve retorts, stepping closer and plucking it straight from Eddie’s lips to take a drag.

“Hey, get your own,” Eddie says weakly.

Steve just smirks and drops onto the nearest bench, stretching his arms along the backrest. The metal is a little cold from the evening air.

“You said you were quitting,” he says, exhaling.

“I meant if I keep finding myself chased by the righteous soldiers of purity,” Eddie mutters, plopping down beside him and slouching immediately. “Besides, I thought you quit, Mr. Sporty,” he adds, snatching the cigarette back.

“I intend to be more careful next time,” Steve says easily. “So no need to worry about my lungs.”

He lets one arm slide down from the back of the bench until it rests across Eddie’s shoulder like it got there by accident. A natural progression of the sitting situation they found themselves in.

Steve catches the spark in Eddie’s eyes a second before he blows smoke straight into his face.

“Not cool, man,” Steve coughs, waving it away. “That’s no way to treat your date.”

“Is that what it is?” Eddie grins, turning toward him, knee knocking lightly against Steve’s. “I thought we were just seeking refuge.”

“Can’t it be both?” Steve glances at him.

The park is quiet now - just the distant hum of traffic, the soft rustle of trees overhead, and the faint glow of streetlamps cutting through the cool spring air. Eddie looks noticeably calmer in the dim light.

“Dates usually come with food,” Eddie says, offering the cigarette back.

“I’ve got you,” Steve replies, already reaching into his jacket pocket - the only thing he’s wearing that’s actually his, since all of Eddie’s jackets were too tight across the shoulders. Not to brag.

“A bopper?!” Eddie eyes him, delighted.

“What? You don’t like them?” Steve asks, handing the cigarette back so he can open the pack.

He takes a polite bite, then swaps the candy for the cig again without even thinking about it.

“It’s a date then,” Eddie smirks- and immediately shoves the whole thing into his mouth.

His eyes flicker as he chews, cheeks puffed, looking absolutely ridiculous.

“Oh my god, you’re the worst,” Steve groans, failing completely to hide his grin.

Eddie struggles with the rip for a second before swallowing, and Steve’s eyes betray him, tracking the slow bob of his throat in the lamplight before he can stop himself.

“You’re in luck then,” Eddie says, licking sugar off his finger. “My worst date was, coincidentally, with Marty, actually.” He takes the cigarette back, gesturing with it as he talks. “He took me to this party with other pretentious gay douchebags and pretty much ignored me the whole night, but I really wanted to make it work-”

He trails off, gaze drifting somewhere past the trees.

“Anyway,” he finishes, quieter, “you do not want to have sex on a waterbed.”

“It happened this year, then?” Steve asks, turning slightly toward him.

“No, back in ’85, but it was like an on and off thing,” Eddie explains, waving the cigarette vaguely through the air.

“Ah.” Steve nods “My worst date- aside from you, obviously.” He bumps Eddies shoulder lightly with his own.

“Obviously.”

“-was with this very loud girl. Sandy, was it?”

“Sandy Green?” Eddie says instantly. “Jesus Christ, she was so fucking pretentious about this birthmark on her left boob that she claimed looked like a heart. Even I got to see it.”

Steve huffs out a laugh. “Yeah. I know. I got to see it too.”

“Up close.”

He pauses, holding his hand up for dramatic effect.

“Right before the chief showed up.”

Eddie wheezes. 

“It’s not funny.” Steve shakes his head “He took me home and ratted me out to my parents.”

“My father was not happy at all.” Steve doesn’t find this part particularly funny.

But Eddie apparently does. A loud, hysterical laugh bursts out of him, folding him in half as he grabs at Steve’s arm. The sound echoes through the empty park, sharp and contagious.

And alright - maybe it is a little funny now.

Steve snorts, then laughs too, leaning forward with him, their shoulders knocking together as the laughter carries.

Eddie wipes at his eyes, still grinning, then pushes himself to his feet first stretching his back. He turns to Steve who is just watching him

“C’mon up, big guy,” he says with a cheerful smile. “You need to walk your date back home before Mother Superior has a heart attack.”

Steve takes it.

Eddie pulls him up, and once Steve is on his feet, he doesn’t let go. He just adjusts his grip slightly, thumb brushing once over the cold metal of Eddie’s rings.

Neither of them acknowledge it as they start walking.

For all the shit Robin has been giving him, he’s still got it.

The walk back is uneventful in the best possible way. They trade stories easily as they follow the winding path - Steve tells Eddie more about his and Robin’s boss with the ridiculous mustache and gives Eddie his best impression of him. Eddie counters with an even better one of George that nearly makes Steve trip over a tree root from laughing.

They talk about the guys back in Hawkins, about how Mike has found himself in a situation between Will and El, and agree that Max is terrifying as hell and Lucas better not lose her.

It goes on like that until the trees begin to thin and the edge of the park comes into view.

Eddie glances down at their hands, then past Steve toward the lit street beyond the trees, where distant voices and passing headlights are coming from.

He looks back at Steve. “This is me,” he says.

Steve gets it immediately.

What a nightmare.

He exhales softly through his nose but refuses to let the date end like that. Instead of letting go, he lifts their joined hands between them, a quiet invitation, and steps a little closer.

“A kiss goodnight is in order then,” he says, smiling softly when Eddie leans in.

The second kiss is different - longer, surer.

Eddie’s hand curls into his shirt, hesitant for only a second before holding on, and Steve notices the small differences he didn’t have time to before- the faint scrape of stubble, the warmth of his breath, the way Eddie leans in like he’s both nervous and all in at the same time.

Steve adjusts strategically, one hand sliding up to steady him, and realises with quiet surprise that none of the differences bother him at all.

Quite the opposite Steve is very into that. Into Eddie.

For a moment, the world narrows to warmth, breath, and the slow, deliberate press of Eddie’s lips moving against his, everything else - the street, the noise, the looming return to reality - fading into something distant and unimportant.

***

They find Robin exactly where they left her- only now she’s joined by a certain short-haired blonde in a corset. They’re chatting cheerfully, sipping their drinks, completely unaware of their surroundings.

“I told you she won't care,” Steve whispers to Eddie when they spot them.

They step closer, and Robin only notices them because Eddie makes devil horns behind her head, which makes Cassie laugh.

Robin turns around with a wide smile and immediately bats Eddie’s hand away. Then she scrunches her eyebrows and looks between them.

“Where have you been, guys? I haven’t seen you in like half an hour!”

It’s been a lot more than half an hour. Steve is absolutely sure of that.

“Sorry, Rob,” he says. “We got ourselves into a situation.”

She squints at them. “What situation again?”

“It was the heat of the moment,” Eddie grins.

“Oh God, I hate that song,” Cassie joins in, rolling her eyes.

Eddie turns to her at once and executes a deep bow. “Where are our manners?” he exclaims, extending his hand like he’s about to kiss hers. “Eddie Munson. Asia is my sworn enemy too,” he tells her when she takes it.

“And you must be Steve,” she says, turning to him.

“He’s not Asia’s sworn enemy, I’m sure,” Eddie adds, straightening.

“Hello, Cassie, nice to meet you,” Steve says politely, then points a finger at Eddie. “I know for a fact you enjoyed Heat of the Moment.”

Eddie goes beautifully pink.

They sit down next to the girls, their ankles brushing under the table, and Steve rests his elbow casually on the back of Eddie’s chair.

 Cassie starts telling them more about the band and the songs. She speaks in this oddly academic way - like a college professor, but the cool kind everyone actually likes.

She and Eddie hit it off immediately, talking about Ozzy Osbourne, who she says influenced the band a lot and whom she also met once. At that point, Steve is pretty sure Eddie is ready to propose.

“Dingus,” Robin whispers to him, nudging his side, “let’s go get more drinks.”

Steve nods, reluctantly dragging his attention away from Eddie’s animated expression.

When they get to the bar and Marty is nowhere in sight, Steve relaxes and leans against the counter to listen to Robin.

“She’s so smart and also intelligent, and, you know, funny,” she lists, counting on her fingers.

“And also hot and wears corsets?” Steve gives her a knowing look.

Robin doesn’t even protest. “I know!” she squeals, then leans in to whisper theatrically, “And - she’s bisexual.”

Huh.

“That’s just like me,” Steve says aloud, even though he originally planned for it to stay a thought. He really wants to tell Robin.

She nods automatically at first, then freezes and slowly turns her whole body toward him once she processes what he said.

“What?”

“The situation I told you about,” he smiles a little at the memory, “was me kissing Eddie.”

“What?” Robin repeats.

“And then getting chased out by a drunk guy,” he adds, which slightly oversimplifies things, but they’ll have time to unpack it later.

Robin’s expression shifts, turning more serious. “Steve, are you sure about this?”

“Yes, I’m sure!” He runs a hand through his hair. “Why does everybody keep asking that?”

“Because you were, like, king straight an hour ago,” she says, studying him closely.

“It’s been more than an hour, you know,” Steve mutters, taking two of the drinks from the bartender. “But I am. Really,” he adds.

She softens immediately. “Very happy for you then, dingus,” she says, squeezing his arm before grabbing the rest of the glasses as they head back.

“We’ll talk about this later?” Steve asks quietly as they walk.

“I would talk about it now,” Robin says, glancing toward the table where Eddie and Cassie are deep in conversation, “but your…” She looks at him carefully. “Boyfriend?”

Steve shrugs. They haven’t gotten to that part yet.

“Is hitting on my… girl,” she finishes.

They sit back down, and this time Steve discovers Cassie is also into old cars. Best girlfriend ever, he thinks, automatically glancing at Robin to exchange a look - just in time to catch her and Eddie exchanging looks of their own.

Then Eddie casually lets his hand rest on Steve’s thigh under the table.

At which Steve immediately loses his train of thought about Mustangs for a good moment before he can continue talking.

***

When they return to the apartment, even Steve is inclined to agree it’s already Monday morning - which is not very responsible considering he and Robin have work and Robin has classes later. But it’s a great excuse for Eddie not to go back to his place. So Steve’s not complaining.

They change quickly, half-tripping over discarded clothes, and fall onto the bed drained.

Eddie ends up curled slightly toward him, head resting on Steve’s shoulder, one arm loosely draped across his stomach. Steve’s hand finds his arm without thinking, tracing slow, lazy circles over the fabric of his shirt.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Steve murmurs into the quiet.

“Hm.” Eddie sounds already halfway gone, voice thick with sleep.

“Where did you get my number from?”

A pause.

“Dustin gave it to me when you moved,” Eddie mumbles. “Still had it in my pants.” A sleepy huff of a laugh. “It was almost unreadable.”

“Would be a shame” Steve says softly, though his eyelids are already losing the fight.

***

Did he say he wasn’t complaining?

Steve vaguely remembers that being his last thought.

Well, he’s changed his mind.

Because he really, really doesn’t want to get up for work now.

Eddie is still asleep beside him, breathing slow and steady, one leg thrown over Steve. His hair is a mess, his expression peaceful.

Carefully, he leans in and presses a light kiss to his temple.

“I need to go to work,” he murmurs.

Eddie makes a long, incomprehensible noise and buries his face deeper into the pillow.

“But,” Steve adds, smiling to himself as he shifts, “how about that second date later?”

Another noise. Slightly louder. Possibly a groan of approval.

Steve lets out a quiet laugh and reluctantly slides out of bed, hissing a little when his feet hit the cold floor.

Behind him, there’s suddenly a loud whoosh of movement.

“Fuck me!" comes Eddie’s sleepy, panicked voice. "I also have work!”

He practically launches himself out of bed from the other side, hopping on one foot while dragging on his pants.

Steve, finally, finds a polo in his closet and pulls it over his head while watching Eddie shove past him toward the shelves, hair looking like a bird's nest.

“Why are all the wearable clothes in Robin’s room?” Eddie mutters, digging through a pile before yanking out something acceptable.

Steve pulls on his socks, leaning against the dresser as he watches Eddie dive halfway under the bed on the hunt for this shoe.

A moment later, Eddie’s head pops up.

“A second date you were saying?”

“Yeah,” Steve says easily, grabbing his belt. “There’s this place I like.”

Eddie crawls out fully this time, something clutched in his hands.

“I think I know what I’m going to wear,” he says slowly.

Steve blinks.

The battle vest.

“How did that get here?!” Eddie asks, turning it over in disbelief.

Steve frowns slightly. “I wanted to give it back to you,” he admits, stepping closer. “But I thought I lost it.”

“Apparently not,” Eddie says quietly, voice softer now, fingers brushing over the fabric some emotion is visible on his face.

Steve gently takes the vest from him and helps him slip it on, smoothing the collar without thinking. It feels… good. Replacing the memory of blood and hospital lights with this - Eddie alive, warm, standing in his room.

Eddie turns around, presenting himself with exaggerated flair.

“It accentuates your ass,” Steve says immediately.

Eddie spins back with a scandalized expression. “You’re just saying that to get into my pants.”

“No!” Steve protests, already opening the door with a grin. “This is what I do when I’m trying to stay out of someone’s pants.”

“Stop flirting, Steve!” Robin’s voice rings from the kitchen. “You’re going to make us late!”

“My apologies,” Eddie calls, grabbing the spare toothbrush and squeezing in beside Steve at the sink. “But Steve here is trying to woo me.”

“Of course he is,” Robin mutters.

“I’ll have you know,” Eddie says around toothpaste foam, nudging Steve’s shoulder with his own, “I don’t put out until the third date.”

Steve pauses in the doorway, glancing back with a smile.

“We’ll see about that.”

***

They drop Eddie off at the record store a little later, the morning sun bright and the city already fully awake.

Steve leans out the car window as Eddie walks toward the door.

“Wear something nice!” he calls. “I’ll pick you up at six!”

Eddie doesn’t turn around. He just lifts a hand and flashes the live long and prosper sign over his shoulder.

Which would be sweet.

If Steve didn’t distinctly remember Dustin once telling him it could also mean “fuck you.”

Steve snorts, shaking his head, a wide smile stuck on his face as he watches Eddie disappear inside.

“You’re so gone for him you dog!” Robin shakes her head in the passenger seat.

He is.

Why did he say six? He should have said four. Or like, now.

“Drive!”

They pull into the road and Steve hears a click. He knows what this is before it starts.

Stupid Cupid you're a real mean guy

I'd like to clip your wings so you can't fly

I'm in love and it's a crying shame

And I know that you're the one to blame

Hey hey, set me free

Stupid Cupid stop picking on me…