Chapter Text
At some point in the night, after Steve inexplicably fell asleep crouched on the kitchen floor, Eddie gently woke him up and ushered him to Steve’s new room, going so far as to tuck him in before climbing into bed next to him. Robin, apparently being immovable from the couch, grumbled to keep the door open in what Steve couldn’t be sure was a taunt about Steve’s feelings for Eddie, or a genuine request since they usually all stayed in the same room.
There’s something almost mythical about waking up in the cabin cuddling into Eddie’s side under the warm flannel sheets. It feels unreal in a way that alternate dimensions and actual slimy Dungeons and Dragons monsters never have.
The sun is shining through the bedroom window, reflecting off specks of dust that dance around the room in slow and graceful movements. It’s different from the way flames dance; slower, more peaceful. They twist and twirl and leap, composing a silent symphony just for Steve.
He takes a moment to relish in the peace, watching the dust traverse the sunrays, soaking in the warmth of Eddie’s arm draped over him and the vibrance of the room in the morning light.
Eddie’s out cold, snoring gently and mumbling in time with his dream, whatever it may be. Steve decides not to disturb him, sliding out of bed as stealthily as possible.
He stops briefly at the bedroom door to take in the sight of wild curly hair and soft pale skin. He wants to take a picture, but he doesn’t know where his polaroid wound up last night, so he settles for painting the image on the inside of his eyelids for later reference.
On the walk from the room -his room- to the bathroom -his bathroom- Steve stops to plant a kiss on a sleeping Robin’s forehead. She’s a surprisingly heavy sleeper on nights when the nightmares don’t come. Eddie could probably blast Metallica on a boombox or even invite Corroded Coffin over for rehearsals and she’d barely stir.
He brushes his teeth when he gets to the bathroom and takes a moment to tame his hair, digging around in a yet to be unpacked box for a hair tie or a headband or something. He eventually finds a scrunchy thoughtfully gifted to him by Holly Wheeler a few months ago when he was babysitting her. She said the blue made him look pretty and he did not cry, thank you very much. He pulls up the front of his hair into a careless but still put together half-up style and looks in the mirror.
There’s a person there, features unwarped and unmarred, and they’re looking back at Steve. Hope is shining in their eyes and Steve smiles with them. He makes faces like a monkey and a pig and it’s not the same as his old mirror, but it’s still entertaining, even without the warped reflection.
The reflection isn’t warped at all. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, Steve recognizes himself in the mirror. There’s no mask glued to his skin, no forced smile or barely concealed sorrow; his hair is a bit messy and his shirt is still crumpled from sleep. He looks like a person, he looks like Steve and in the least conceited way possible, Steve thinks he’s never looked better.
He throws finger guns and a wink at his reflection and immediately regrets the action, grateful that he’s alone at the moment, because that was actually kind of embarrassing. He does it again because who the fuck cares, he’s allowed to be a little dorky in the comfort of his own bathroom. Who’s gonna stop him?
He dances in the mirror, moonwalking and waving his arms around and attempting the running man. He performs a poor pirouette and decides that if he wants to take dance lessons he can if damn well pleases, even if he’ll look a little dumb in the learning process.
The mirror is old and the frame around it is weathered, paint chipping off at the edges and a groove where it looks like something might have hit it but the reflection is clear.
Steve gives himself one final smile before he waves goodbye to his reflection and heads to the kitchen.
Hopper and Joyce were kind enough to stock the cabinets in the kitchen with cookware, but Steve has absolutely no idea what logic they used when organizing; if it’s based off how Hopper had everything organized when he lived there, what Joyce thinks makes the most sense, or if they just stored things wherever there was space and expected Steve to rearrange to his liking later. Needless to say it takes a while for Steve to take stock of his ingredients and supplies.
This meal feels important. This first breakfast in the cabin, first meal Steve cooks in this kitchen. Everything here feels so monumental and Steve wonders if that feeling will ever fade.
He has a few options here. He could make something simple, treat today like it’s just another day and feign normalcy. Casual toast with the grape jelly Joyce got for him and scrambled eggs, maybe. A simple bowl of cereal with a glass of juice? Or he could choose something more complex, something extravagant, really comment on the significance of this meal. Let it have weight, let it be momentous. See if he has the ingredients to make a pie or cinnamon rolls from scratch.
He doesn’t have a damn clue how the oven works, half the labels are rubbed off from use and the main dial is a bit wobbly. The stove, at least, is pretty self explanatory. Steve’s pretty sure Hopper installed all the appliances himself. At least if he totally destroys the kitchen, Hop might be able to help fix it. It surprises Steve that he’s not worried about messing up, that his first thought is about who he can ask for help if he does instead of what the consequences would be.
Steve’s going to make an apple pie. He has all the ingredients, surprisingly; a bag of apples, sugar, flour, cinnamon, salt, and baking powder. He doesn’t have enough butter but there’s a few cans of Crisco that’ll do the trick. And there’s not a stand mixer for the crust, but it’s Claudia Henderson’s recipe and she always makes it by hand so that shouldn’t be a problem.
“Hard work is the key ingredient,” she told him when she was first showing him the recipe, “it’s the effort that shows you care, more than anything else about it, it’s the love. Besides,” she grinned before flicking flour in his face, “the mess is part of the fun.”
He’s going to make a fucking mess of this kitchen.
Normally, Steve would be freaking out about the substitutions and the mess and the, well, most of it, but he’s kinda just excited to see how it turns out, see what he’s capable of in a kitchen that’s new to him. Like a challenge or something. It’s almost exciting as opposed to the expected distressing.
He collects the ingredients and searches the kitchen for the supplies he knows that he needs. He finds some plastic mixing bowls in one of the green-blue upper cabinets, a pie dish that Steve recognizes as one Claudia has given him meals in before under the counter by the fridge (he elects to get emotional about that silent and ridiculously meaningful gift later), and wooden spoons and a meat thermometer Steve can use to check the temperature of the oven in a drawer near the sink.
He starts with washing his hands then does his best to turn on the oven. He can kind of make out the 375 °F label and based on the tick-mark increments he can estimate where 400 is, so he lines up the dial there. He’ll check the temperature before putting the pie in the oven later; hopefully he guessed correctly.
Then he starts on the filling.
He can’t find a peeler, but there’s a small paring knife in the drawer where he found the spoons and thermometer, so he gets to work peeling the apples with that, collecting the peels into a pile to throw away later. He cuts up the apples, adding the cores to his pile of scraps. He can probably just toss them outside while he waits for the pie to bake; let some of the wildlife have a little treat. Maybe he could put up some bird houses or make some squirrel feeders or something later too.
The apples get tossed into a mixing bowl with sugar, flour, and cinnamon, and then set aside while he works on the crust.
He sets up at the peninsula next to the oven and dumps the dry ingredients in another mixing bowl, using his hand to mix it all together so the salt and baking powder are evenly mixed. In goes a cup of Crisco and half a cup of water. Using his hand as a whisk Steve starts to form the dough, it starts with stirring and then breaking up the chunks of lard then squeezing the contents of the bowl to make it all come together. He feels a little like a child playing in mud after the first rain of spring. He has to stop himself before he over works the dough because it’s surprisingly fun.
It takes some digging, but eventually he finds parchment paper to roll the dough out on. He’ll have to ask Claudia where she got her rolling mat at some point, it certainly works better than parchment paper, but this will work for now. He’ll need a rolling pin too, but he’ll make do with the Crisco can.
He sprinkles the surface with flour and rolls out half the dough into not-quite a circle big enough to cover the pie pan.
Taking soft butter from the dish on the counter, Steve coats the pie dish to ensure the crust doesn’t stick. Then he sprinkles flour over the butter, the excess dusting the counter tops. He places the crust in the pan, pushing it in at the inner edge and making sure the crust covers the rim. Then the filling. Then he rolls out the other half of the crust and covers the top, using a fork to press down the edges to prevent oozing and using the paring knife to make a few slits in the center. He checks the oven temperature with the thermometer and it’s probably as close to 400 degrees as he’s going to get.
Not at all surprisingly, Eddie and Robin are still sleeping when he puts the pie in the oven. He’ll wake them up in 30 minutes when the pie is ready if they aren’t up by then. He’s really looking forward to sharing this meal with them and sitting at his very own table with mismatching chairs and wobbly table legs.
He takes the time to clean up some, tossing the food scraps for whatever animals are hanging around and wiping down the surfaces as best he can, and eventually, the others join him in the kitchen, Robin making her way in first, all but levitating off the ground to float towards the pie as he pulls it out of the oven. Eddie trudges in soon after, tying his hair up in a loose ponytail, shirt riding up and sleep pants situated sinfully low on his hips. Steve swallows his pooling saliva and expertly shifts his gaze back to the kitchen before Eddie finishes pulling up his hair.
They eat together, smiling and laughing and existing in an impenetrable bubble of affection.
The pie is delicious.
Robin has to leave around 2:00, she has plans with Nancy to go shopping a few towns over for college things, whatever that entails, so Nancy is coming by to pick her up.
Eddie goes out for a cigarette a little before Robin has to leave, and Robin and Steve stay lounging on the couch inside. As soon as the door shuts behind Eddie, Robin sighs.
“Yes?” Steve prompts.
“I’m really happy for you.” “I’m really happy for me, too.” Steve smiles and knocks their shoulders together.
She clearly has more to say though, bottom lip tucked between her teeth and brows furrowed.
“What’s up, Robbie? You look like you’ve got something on your mind.”
She doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stares at Steve and shifts her gaze from place to place like she’s looking for answers she isn’t quite sure he'll give freely.
“Are you ever gonna tell him?”
Despite the vagueness of the sentence, Steve is very aware of what she’s talking about. Doesn’t mean he wants to deal with that right now. Eddie seemed appalled when everyone assumed they were dating the other day. “Tell who what?” he asks, all innocence and faux oblivion.
“Steve,” she urges.
“Robin,” he mimics.
“Look, Steve, I of all people know what it’s like. I know how terrifying it is to admit those feelings even to yourself and I know how much more terrifying it is to tell others, especially him, but I swear Steve, you have nothing to worry about.”
“Did you see how quickly he tried to yank his hand away from me at the Wheelers’?” Steve scoffs and takes a breath. “That doesn’t exactly bode well for me.”
“I mean yea, but he thought you were straight, Dingus. Like, he probably just didn’t want things to get weird or something. He was probably scared to lose you. I mean, he doesn’t look at anyone else like he looks at you, it’s like he’s chronically yearning for you.”
“Chronically yearning?” Steve repeats, exasperation potent.
“Yes,” Robin groans like she’s in absolute agony, “It’s so hard to watch the two of you, honestly. Like, it’s physically painful. Like, and I say this with all the love in my heart, barf me out, gag me with a spoon, and other popular slang terms that mean it's gross.”
She’s being a bit dramatic, Steve thinks, as he rolls his eyes in response. But, she’s also probably not entirely wrong, on Steve’s side at least. He can feel the way his face contorts into dopey grins and he can feel the heat in his cheeks when Eddie makes him blush. It’s probably about as hard for Robin to watch him around Eddie as it is for Steve to watch her around Vickie.
Steve stays quiet, thinking and contemplating and weighing his options. Eddie wouldn’t hate him, if Steve confessed, even if it wasn’t reciprocated, Eddie probably wouldn’t stop being friends with Steve.
“Just consider it.” Robin reaches up and gives his shoulder a squeeze. Once. Twice. Holds it firm in her grasp. I love you. “I really don’t think you’ll be disappointed.”
Fine, he decides, fuck it.
“If I tell him, you have to tell Vickie before you leave for college,” he decides.
“Fine…” she groans all dramatic and flops backwards, slouching into the couch like , “But only because I love you and because my percent certainty went up to 99% when she showed up at Family Video with a carabiner and playfully hooked ours together when I was helping her find Kamikaze Hearts.”
“What the fuck, Robs, that’s basically 3rd base! How is that not a 100%‽ She basically just begged you to ask her out!”
Robin looks like it’s taking everything in her willpower not to smile so wide her head splits in half, “Yeah, I never thought I’d be grateful for Kieth casually fetishizing lesbianism, but here we are.”
They both burst out laughing simultaneously and do so again when regaling Robin’s love life development to Eddie when he comes back inside.
His hair is notably down upon his return and Steve kinda wants to tuck some loose strands behind his ears. He can feel himself staring at the curls around Eddie’s cheeks and knows this is exactly what Robin was talking about being painful to watch so he rips his gaze away and continues the conversation, talking enthusiastically about Robin’s love life. The conversation shifts to other things at some point, Steve making a concerted effort to avoid talking about his or Eddie’s love lives, Robin, thankfully, taking the hint.
After a while, Nancy arrives to take Robin away, Eddie wishing them success on their quest, and Steve rolling his eyes and telling them to drive safe.
It goes unsaid that Eddie will be staying around, probably even spending the night again.
“So,” Eddie smirks, all devilish and suave, “what do you wanna do now, Big Boy?”
You, Steve barely manages not to say, as shivers run down his spine and he has to shake his head to dislodge it from the gutter it’s found itself in. “I’ve got nothing in particular in mind,” he manages instead.
“In that case,” Eddie grins, pulling a pre-rolled joint out of thin air and waggling his eyebrow. “Shall we christen your new castle?”
Steve rolls his eyes fondly. They smoked yesterday, so it’s not really christening, but Steve is happy to smoke with Eddie any time. He's just sad he didn’t get to watch Eddie roll it this time.
“I’m down.”
Down bad, the Robin that lives in Steve’s brain teases.
“How do you feel about location? It’s your place, so we could smoke here if you wanted, but we can go outside too.”
Eddie’s got the right idea, as long as they don’t make a habit of it, Steve thinks it’d be a nice treat to smoke on the couch, another little fuck you to the Harrington household, one more thing that would make them hate this place. So, Steve smiles, flopping down on the couch and patting the cushion next to him as an answer.
The cushion shifts as Eddie flops down next to him, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder, like Eddie is trying to touch Steve in as many places as possible.
“How’re you doin’?” Eddie asks, passing the joint to Steve after taking a few hits of his own.
Steve inhales, deep and thick with smoke. He hoards the smoke in his lungs while he thinks about the answer, tries to come up with a believable lie and realizes that, for the first time in his memory, he does have to. He breathes out smiling, smoke pushing through the gap between his upper teeth and bottom lip and out the corners of his mouth. “I’m fucking great, man.”
Eddie smiles in return, all bright and beaming and genuine, like Steve’s happiness makes Eddie happy.
“I mean, really,” Steve takes another hit and continues, “I can’t remember ever feeling better. Like, obviously I’m not perfect, and I’ve got some shit I still need to work on, but right here, right now, in this place, in this moment, with you?” Steve sighs and passes Eddie the joint, “Never better.”
“I’m glad.” A light blush dusts Eddie’s cheeks. “I’m so fucking happy for you, Stevie.”
Eddie’s eyes are flooded with mirth and affection and something else that Steve is scared to name as something Eddie feels for Steve, but Steve definitely feels it for Eddie.
Steve loves Eddie.
Fuck.
He knew he loved Eddie, didn’t exactly want to name it or acknowledge it as much more than “feelings,” but it’s love. Has been for a while.
Steve Harrington is probably in Love with Eddie Munson. Capital L.
Not probably, actually. He just is.
And it’s frightening, horrifying, terrifying, other synonyms that mean the same thing.
Love feels like this elusive thing sometimes. Like something he can see but can’t quite hold, always slipping through his fingers despite his desperate attempts to grasp it. Like liquid. He’d gotten close with Nancy, despite the strenuous beginnings of their relationship, he really did love her. She didn’t feel the same. Looking back, he knew it was coming, knew he was far more invested than Nancy was. Does he wish it hadn’t happened the way it did? Wish she’d done it sober and hadn’t spat the word “bullshit” at him like he’d force fed her poison, like his love was poison? Obviously. Did it take him a while to recover? Yes. But there was part of him that knew it was coming, that expected the affection to run out. Expected the well to run dry. It was easy to justify the hurt she caused him. The cheating, calling him an idiot all the time, all the, well, the bullshit.
Anything can be justified if you love the person who’s doing it.
Like his parents, for example, part of Steve is still willing to justify it all. Let his dad get away with it because at some point Steve is pretty sure his parents loved him. He’s not sure when it stopped, when that well started to run dry, but he keeps hoping for it to come back. He knows it won’t, knows that by now the dynamic is well and firmly solidified. But there’s a lot he’s willing to justify simply because, despite himself, he loves his parents. Maybe it’s dumb or childish to love someone who hurts you and gives no indication of stopping, but Steve has gotten very good at loving with no expectation to be loved in return. Steve is bullshit, he’ll take what he can get, even if that means he has to act like a dog begging for scraps. As long as he doesn’t starve, whatever else people want to do is fine.
It’s strange, spending time with people he loves who have yet to do anything that needs justification. Robin’s worst offense since they actually became close has been insulting his taste in music and occasionally in romantic interests, but that’s just what friends do. It’d be hypocritical for him to throw a fit after he dragged Tammy Thompson through the mud after Robin came out. Dustin, too, has never hurt Steve beyond poking fun at his lack of friends his own age. It’s all in good fun and they both know where the line is. They’re both comfortable telling the other when the line is crossed, and both instantly apologetic if it ever does happen.
Then there’s Eddie, perfect Eddie, who’s sitting next to him on an old couch and sharing a joint and idle conversation. Eddie who always knows what to say and how to make Steve smile. Eddie who, despite everything Steve has done and the person Steve used to be, just fucking cares. Steve can’t help but love him. Steve loves him so much that it physically hurts not to say it. Because Eddie deserves to know doesn’t he? Deserves to know that he’s loved even if he doesn’t feel the same about Steve.
Steve’s horrified. He wants nothing more than to tell Eddie about these big terrifying feelings, but he’s scared of what that means. Scared that one day that love will only get him hurt.
But Robin loves him without need for justification. So does Dustin. So, it seems, does Hopper and Joyce and the other kids, even if Mike can be a dick and Max can throw sass like nobody else. Maybe Eddie can, too. Maybe that’s a risk he has to take.
He’s not sure if it’s the weed or the week he’s had or the fact that he told Robin he would, but he feels bolstered and brave and a little reckless.
“Do you remember the first time we smoked together?” Steve asks, holding out the half smoked joint, Eddie’s silver ring sparkling on his finger.
Eddie’s hand gently grazes Steve’s as he takes the offered joint. Eddie hums in acknowledgement, pressing the homemade filter to his lips. He takes a smooth inhale, holding the smoke in his mouth and then slowly pushing it out as he breathes in through his nose. Steve’s pretty sure the trick is called a French inhale but whatever it’s called it’s mesmerizing. Eddie is always mesmerizing. The smoke curls deliciously around his upper lip, snaking into his nose, caressing the pale skin of Eddie’s face. It’s probably considered odd to be jealous of smoke, but Steve finds himself desperately wishing for Eddie to breathe him in.
Steve drops his head back onto the couch cushions and stares intently at the ceiling to hide the blush he can feel forming on his cheeks.
“I came over in the dead of night and told you I was bored. It was storming and I probably should have just stayed home, but I drove over to your place and knocked on the door. And you answered. I didn’t think you would, but you did. You invited me in and we smoked in your bedroom and we listened to the thunder rolling around us. We talked about death. If we were scared of dying or not. What we would have said before all the Upside Down stuff and what our answers are now.”
Eddie stays quiet, listening, smoking. Steve isn’t sure if he’d rather Eddie talk or let him finish. If Eddie says anything before he’s finished, Steve might lose his nerve.
Smoke drifts and swirls in front of his eyes as Eddie blows out his second hit. Steve traces the trail of wispy blue-gray with his eyes and takes a breath, steeling himself for what he’s about to do. The fear is starting to solidify and Steve wants to do this before it does. Wants to say what he needs to say before the fear locks his jaw shut.
“Sometimes there’s things I want to say to you, only to you,” Steve breathes. “You know almost everything about me now… But there’s one thing you don’t know.”
Steve can feel Eddie’s eyes on him, burning a hole through the side of his skull, but he doesn’t turn away from the pitched ceiling and wooden slats. He counts the planks one by one from the edge of the room to the highest point, then counts the support beams that run perpendicular. He’ll have to face him soon, any second now really, but he takes a moment to breathe, postponing the inevitable to calm his uncertainty. Maybe it’s the high or the weightlessness that comes with knowing he never has to go back, but now feels like the right time to say it. If he doesn’t say it now, he’s not sure he ever will.
“Oh?” Eddie asks softly, hesitantly. “Wanna share with the class?”
Steve finally peels his eyes away from the ceiling and turns his body to face Eddie on the couch. Eddie has nice eyelashes. They’re thick and dark and they make him impossible to say no to when paired with the deep brown of his bambi eyes. They’re almost black in the low light of the living room, but Steve knows they shine in the sun, shades of honey and amber mixing together. He has creases under his eyes and at the corners. It’s probably from how he smiles, wide and unapologetic, when he’s happy or excited. His bottom lip is slightly torn up from biting on it when he grins, not quite a full smile, but something more mischievous that he reserves for Dungeons and Dragons.
Once he says it, there’s no going back. Steve wants to commit all of Eddie to memory just in case.
But, there’s a softness in the way Eddie looks at him, even now, that Steve’s pretty sure he’s never experienced before. There’s something so raw and open about Eddie’s expression that makes Steve believe that even if Eddie doesn’t reciprocate his feelings, Steve won’t lose him.
Steve drops his head to stare into his lap for a moment, biting his lip then looking up again.
“It’s entirely possible that I’m in love with you,” Steve finally admits. “And I’m not sure what to do about that.”
Brown eyes become saucers and Eddie’s lips twitch into a smile so big that it looks like his cheeks will still hurt tomorrow. He’s blushing bright red and his breathing is excited and frantic. Eddie pulls a bit of hair in front of his face the way he often does when he’s being bashful, and Steve holds his breath.
“Let me love you back.”
It’s mumbled and shy, and Steve isn’t sure he heard it right. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up if he’s wrong.
“What?”
Eddie drops his hair and tucks his bottom lip between his teeth and nods once, like he’s made an important decision.
Eddie likes to make everyday decisions using the roll of a black and red 20 sided die. What movie to watch, what ice cream flavor to get, if he should wear his Metallica shirt or his other Metallica shirt. But he never leaves the important choices up to chance. Those he makes himself. He thinks long and hard until he knows what to do. Sometimes he asks for Steve’s opinion or talks with the guys in his band. Whatever choice he just made was easy. No dice or consulting needed.
“That’s what you do about it,” Eddie says firmly. “About loving me. If you mean it, like you really mean it, then let me love you back.”
Steve feels like his heart might beat out of his chest. “You love me?”
“You’re impossible not to love, Steve.”
Eddie is always performing, it’s just part of who he is. But there’s something so genuine about the look on his face. No theatrics, no dramatizations, it’s just Eddie, looking at Steve, saying he loves him. And Steve can’t help but believe it.
Suddenly, it’s all easier to accept. Like Eddie meant it when he said he'd be there, like Eddie really would gather up all of Steve’s intestines and carry them for him. Like Eddie would take all of Steve’s gross goopy insides and tie his organs up into a nice package, making a bow out of his intestines and stamping his name on Steve’s heart like signing a tag. Like Eddie might hold Steve so tight that there’s not even a chance he could fall apart again.
All his life, love has felt like liquid. Steve has never been able to cradle it in his hands and keep it from falling through the spaces. But there’s something much more solid about the people in his life now. Or maybe love is still a liquid, but now Steve has a bucket instead of just his hands. Or maybe he managed to freeze the love so it’s easier to hold. Or maybe the Purple Palm Tree Delight is hitting a bit harder than he realized and he’s putting too much stock into lengthy metaphors and analogies.
Maybe love is just love.