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Predictably, and like anyone who’s been through numerous interdimensional monster attacks, Steve has trouble sleeping. But it’s more than trouble- some nights it’s an uphill climb with broken legs. During the day, under the cover of sunlight and friends, he can push away horrific memories, the ones that feel like waking nightmares. The fear of losing everyone he loves at any moment, the hours of realization that his life could end on a whim, or a stroke of bad luck could end the world. In the nights however, in an empty house and a bed that’s too big for him, these thoughts swarm like bees.
It’s not every night, but any night. He wakes up in a cold sweat and swears he sees a demodog at the foot of his bed, opening its wretched maw and rearing back to strike in the dark. Any night he dreams of Dustin, dead and mangled because he wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t smart enough to save him. He feels the tail of a demobat around his neck like a noose, determined to choke the life out of his body. Tonight he tears away from his sheets, twisted and soaked in sweat because he just knows the wounds on his stomach have reopened and he’s bleeding out.
He can feel it on his hands, dripping warmly down his sides and into the mattress. It hurts like it’s happening now, he can hear their shrieks and his sticky blood curdling. They’re eating him. He’s going to die because he’s bleeding and choking and he can’t fucking breathe, and he’s going to do it all alone, in the dark.
Tonight he’s weeping, illuminated by his bedside lamp because he didn’t bother to turn it off before closing his eyes. His hands scrabble over his skin, rubbing at the scars on his stomach and praying to god they don’t reopen at his touch.
He can’t deal with this. He can’t live like this.
He sees himself wrenching out of bed, rather than doing it consciously. It’s like his body is somewhere down a long tunnel, far away from his mind. This other Steve pulls on the first thing he can find in the closet to pull over his trembling torso, hardly standing but enough to stagger through his bedroom door, down the stairs, and stick his shoes onto his feet. He grabs his keys from the table next to the door and falls out into the night. It’s summer and it’s not cold, but the night air touches his wet face, forces itself down his lungs and it’s dark, so dark and he wants to scream at the thought that something is out there, waiting for him.
He’s in his car before a voice can tell him that he shouldn’t be driving, that he can’t see and he can barely get a grip on his keys-
Steve blinks, and he’s somewhere else. Not in another nightmare, not waking up in his bed again like he’s caught in a loop. He’s still in his car and the headlights are on, but instead of illuminating his driveway, they shine light on the front porch of Eddie’s trailer.
Steve feels his consciousness slam back into his body in terror, shuddering with the shock of finding himself all the way across town with no memory of how he got here. He doesn’t remember driving, not one second of it, and it makes him feel ill.
He shuts off the car and steps out, knees wobbly. He doesn’t want to think about how he got here, doesn’t want to think about anything at all, except that the lights are on in the trailer, dimmed by old flowery curtains. Eddie’s inside and he must be awake. Steve needs him to be.
He finds himself at the door, knocking without choosing to do so, unaware of any steps he’s taken. This is terrifying.
He tries to listen for the muffled sounds of footsteps on carpet from within, but his ears are ringing. He raises his hand to knock again, consciously this time, but the door opens, beating him to it.
The sight of Eddie Munson, beautiful and surprised, brings Steve a second of clarity that releases the tension between his ribs. Eddie is the first thing he’s been able to focus on all night, and it’s such a wonderful thing he could cry about it.
The first thing Steve notices is that his long curls are tied up in a messy bun, secured with the kind of big scrunchies girls use. Steve can see his whole face, his ears, his long neck and strong shoulders. Eddie holds the door frame with his left hand, free of rings. He’s in sweats and a t-shirt that’s much, much too small for him. Steve would swoon if his heart would stop palpitating.
“Steve, hey,” he looks up into Eddie’s eyes again, filled with worry. “Steve. You okay? What’s wrong?”
“Fine. I’m fine,” Steve lies automatically. He doesn’t mean to, but they’re the easiest words to say and his mind is fractured.
Eddie looks him up and down, unconvinced. He steps aside, offering the safety of his home to Steve.
He doesn’t take it, not at once. He’s too slow on the uptake, and after a couple moments, Eddie slowly reaches for a hand that’s buried in the front pocket of Steve’s hoodie. He gently grabs his wrist like one would approach a wounded animal. “Come inside, okay?”
Steve lets himself be led into the trailer. It’s warm inside, full of soft carpet and gentle light. Eddie closes the door behind them before standing in front of Steve again, eyes searching his face. He raises a hand to Steve’s cheek, one of his long fingers cradling the spot beneath Steve’s right ear. A slow sensation that starts at the spot and spreads along his neck eases the tension in his body a little.
“Can you talk to me, Steve?” Eddie’s thumb swipes gently along his cheekbone, and Steve lets himself lean into it.
“I’m sorry,” Steve croaks.
Eddie shakes his head, stepping closer and keeping his hand where it is. Steve feels himself defrost. “Nothing to be sorry about, man. Did something happen?”
Steve sees the same worry in Eddie’s eyes that he himself feels every time something goes wrong, when something strange happens. The fear that the temporary peace has fallen. Steve wants to kiss that fear off of his face, to soothe his brow and reassure him. But he’s crumbling.
He shakes his head, holding Eddie’s hand to keep it where it rests. “Nothing happened,” He wishes he could say all the things that need to be said without actually saying it. “I can’t sleep. Ever.”
Eddie nods, thankfully understanding. He pulls Steve into a hug, so close but somehow not close enough, and Steve says, “I don’t remember driving here,” The admission makes him shake again, and Eddie rubs his back in deep, soothing circles. They stay like that for who knows how long until Steve says, mouth dry, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be here.”
He can’t bring himself to let go, though. He doesn’t want to get back in the car and drive, go back to that empty house of horrors and his own mind.
Eddie pulls back and Steve must try to follow, because he keeps his hands on his waist. There’s an indescribable kindness in his dark eyes. “I don’t want you to be anywhere else,” He smiles easily, and there’s no pity in his expression. “Tell you what, I was just about to go do some laundry. Wanna come with?”
This must be why Steve’s fallen in love with him, one of the hundred thousand reasons why; he can read Steve when his words fall short. He doesn’t pry because he can see on Steve’s face that he doesn’t want to talk about it. Eddie has nightmares too and he gets it.
For the first time Steve looks away from his face and at the clock on the stove. It reads 1:08. “Laundry at one in the morning?”
Eddie shrugs, still looking at Steve like he’s someone important. “Dryers are free after eleven.”
Steve’s got work in the morning. He’s drained and exhausted, but he knows that if he curls up it’ll all start back up again. He needs Eddie’s company, his presence and understanding, and nothing beyond right now matters.
He nods. “Let's go.”
Eddie beams sweetly at him. “Cool. Let’s load up the van and we’ll get going.”
Steve’s glad that Eddie doesn’t coddle him, that he gives him something to do. He hands Steve a garbage bag stuffed with laundry and asks him to put it in the back of the van while he gets the rest. The process brings feeling back into Steve’s body, the weight of the bags and the gravel underneath his shoes grounding him. Four more bags and a bottle of detergent later and they climb into the front seat.
The van is a mess as usual; take out containers and soda cans crunch under Steve’s feet. There’s an overflowing ashtray behind the gear shift, and the whole van smells like weed. It’s familiar, it’s normal, and he loves it. He watches Eddie roll the window down, lit spliff in his mouth ( cause I never go to the laundromat sober, Stevie, ) and expertly shifts the gears all at once.
Before they peel out of the driveway, Steve glances down at Eddie’s bare feet on the floor.
“Did you…bring shoes?” He asks warily.
“Nah, I drive better barefoot.”
“We’re not driving, we’re going to the laundromat. You go there barefoot?”
The headlights cast light on a few locks of hair that have fallen from Eddie’s bun. “Yeah, what about it?”
Steve feels an incredulous smile try to stretch across his tight face. “Dude, go put some shoes on. For me, please.”
Eddie turns to look at him, face covered in mischief and disbelief. Maybe on another night he’d try to fight Steve on it, but he just parks the van again, shakes his head and wrenches open the door. “There he is,” He says fondly. “Whatever you wish, my king.”
Steve simmers in fondness while Eddie runs back into the house to grab a pair of sneakers, holding them up with a face that says, happy now?
They drive off into the endless night, music Steve can’t focus on playing softly on the stereo, and Eddie drums his fingers lightly on the steering wheel between puffs of his spliff. He doesn’t offer it to Steve, knowing he’d ask if he wanted it.
Steve’s been in love with Eddie for quite some time now, and he thinks Eddie could be in love with him, too. They’ve learned to move with each other, around each other, over the massive amount of time they’ve spent together over the last few months. They joke like old friends, flirt like shy lovers. They fit in each other's spaces perfectly, and Steve can’t recall the day he realized his time would be wasted without Eddie Munson. He doesn’t know when he started needing him, either.
They haven’t spoken about it, not explicitly. Steve still hasn’t taken the leap to kiss him when he wants to, to run his hands over his body outside of drunken tussles and moments of weakness like this. He hasn’t found a way to tell Eddie how he feels about him without falling short, or maybe he’s just a coward. He sees the way Eddie looks at him, touches him like no one else. He calls Steve at work to talk about nothing and makes him mixtapes, rolls him joints and never asks for a penny in return. He thinks Eddie must love him too, because he tells Steve about his nightmares and private terrors.
The ride is quiet save for the music and the rhythmic creaks of the clutch, but not uncomfortably so. Steve hasn’t blacked out again and he’s becoming more aware of his body, the passing street signs in the dark. He can’t remember the last time he wore his old swim hoodie. It feels like it belongs to someone else, another Steve, but it’s well worn and he sinks into it. He’s in the same old gym shorts he went to bed in, and his bare legs make him feel exposed, open.
They pull up to the mat, one of the few buildings in Hawkins that still looks old, untouched by new paint and the fervor of a town that’s trying to reinvent itself after countless deaths. The lights from within bathe the empty parking lot in white light, glaring at him. There’s a dingy sign in the window that reads 24 HOURS and the cracked curb is littered with cigarette butts.
Steve still feels slow; Eddie is opening the back doors before he’s even climbed out of the van, and he almost stumbles out. He’s glad Eddie doesn’t see him. He pulls his hood over his head to block out the darkness and everything he can’t see in the distance.
“I’ve never been to a laundromat before,” Steve admits as they bring the bags inside.
Eddie smirks over his shoulder. “You don’t say,” But there’s no malice in his voice, only playful teasing that gives Steve butterflies.
The days they’ve spent learning each other have shown him the small but stark differences in how they grew up, the things Steve never thought to consider a privilege, like at-home washer and dryer units. “Welcome to my other humble abode,” Eddie says with a hint of his usual flourish.
“It’s an honor,” Steve says, and he’s not really kidding.
Eddie grabs a couple of the creaky metal carts and chooses the washers that he deems acceptable. Steve feels a little out of place. He sits at one of the tables that line the dark window and watches Eddie go through the motions of getting quarters from a dispenser on the wall and loads up the clothes. Every time he adds a quarter into a machine he taps the slot with his finger until he hears the clink of the coin fall into place. There’s pop music playing quietly over the crackly speakers and the sound of the ac whirring. If some of the lights hadn’t burned out on the ceiling, the florescents would be too bright, but Steve can see every corner and it calms him.
Eddie measures small amounts of detergent into the machines and Steve observes him, too tired to pretend that he isn’t. He should look so silly in a shirt that tiny, faded blue with an even more diminished illustration of Superman on the front. It hikes up his stomach to reveal a dark happy trail and the waistband of his boxers peeking out over his sweats. He looks so at home and Steve can’t get over how pretty he is with his hair out of his face. It brings his features into relief; his jawline and eyebrows, and the sight of small silver hoops in his earlobes sends a thrill up Steve’s neck.
Not for the first time, but each time more powerful than before, Steve is overwhelmed with a desire to wrap Eddie up from behind, bury his face in his neck and breathe him in, kiss the space behind his ears and make him shiver. He wants to grab his bare hips and pull him close. He’d probably let him, but the probability of that alone makes Steve’s chest constrict with nerves, and he doesn’t know what he’s so afraid of.
Eddie catches his eye as he closes the door on the last machine and winks at him like he knows what he’s thinking. Maybe he does and Steve could have everything he wants, if only he’d take the jump.
Eddie finally sits across from him and settles in. “And now we wait. Thrilling, I know.”
Steve can’t take his eyes off of him and he’d be damned if he wanted to. He’s still too far away, his heat and comfort out of Steve’s space, and he wants to reach out like a child and beg for him to come closer. “I don’t need to be thrilled right now.”
It must show on his face, because Eddie gives him the sweetest look and whispers, so softly that Steve can convince himself it wasn’t there, “Oh, baby,” and then a little louder, “Come sit by me.”
Steve doesn’t need to be told twice, he doesn’t let himself think about it because he needs it. Eddie reaches his arm over the top of the booth and opens his right side for Steve that he gratefully falls into, damn near curling up like a cat against the corners of his body. Eddie rests his arm over Steve’s shoulder and he loves him for it. A soft hand draws circles into Steve’s hoodie and he relaxes, eyeing the blue shirt.
He fingers the hem of it, knuckles drawing lightly along Eddie’s stomach, and he feels Eddie suck in a breath against him. “So what’s with the threads?”
Eddie chuckles, a deep thrum. “What can I say, it’s laundry day.”
“This looks like a kid’s shirt.”
“That’s cause it is. I’ve had this shirt since middle school. If you see me wearing this, you know I’ve been putting off laundry.”
Steve shifts so he’s leaning, partially on his back and on his side, against Eddie’s front. He rests the back of his head on his shoulder, and Eddie’s hand moves forward to splay on his chest. “I heard crop tops are in right now, anyway,”
Eddie laughs again, music to Steve. “You know me, always keeping up with the trends.”
After a few minutes of comfortable silence and listening to the rumbling of clothes being washed, Eddie digs a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his sweats, putting one in his mouth and grabbing an ashtray that sits at the middle of the table. Steve inhales the smell of tobacco when Eddie exhales. He holds it up to Steve's mouth and he takes a grateful drag, relishing in the head rush that Eddie’s hand cradling his chin and the nicotine brings him. He’d fallen deeper into the habit of smoking at the same rate he fell for Eddie, and he hasn’t really looked back.
It always surprises Steve how receptive Eddie is to his moods, how he won’t pester even when it’s in his nature to talk himself silly. Tonight Eddie is quiet for him, but Steve wants him to break it.
“You wash clothes for your uncle too?”
“Mhm, have for a long time now,” Eddie says close to his ear. “He piles it all up for me before he goes to work and I fold it for him before he gets back. Says he, ‘Works too much to bother with machines that don’t work half the time and try to rob me when they do. A dollar fifty for a wash these days, goddamn.’” He mimics his uncle's twang, pulling a laugh out of Steve. He’s melting into Eddie’s embrace and he never wants to resurface.
They finish off the cigarette together, Steve never lifting a finger. He wants more of Eddie’s deep tones and small anecdotes of love. “He seems like a good guy.”
“Best uncle out there.”
“Tell me more about it?”
Eddie rubs his thumb along Steve’s collarbone over his hoodie. Steve lets his eyes droop, focusing on Eddie’s motions and praying that it’s enough to keep the memories away.
“Well,” Eddie sighs deeply, “You know he’s not actually my uncle, not biologically anyway. I was a foster kid for years; I don’t remember my parents. I don’t actually remember much until he took me home, just a shit circle of foster homes with too many kids to take care of.”
Steve feels his heart swell. No, he didn’t know that.
“And ya know, foster kids, man. We’re all a little fucked up at least, and I gave him hell for nothing. Broke shit and yelled at him cause I didn’t know what was wrong. I was a headache, man. Told him I wanted to die and broke down over nothing, and I was so scared he was gonna take me back. And he yelled back too, sometimes. I tried to run away and kept circling back to the house, and he was always there. He never took me back, didn’t get rid of me like I thought he wanted to.” Eddie’s voice cracks a little and he clears his throat.
Steve touches the hand that’s on his chest, running his fingers along Eddie’s bare knuckles. “How old were you?”
“Eleven, about the age where kids stop getting adopted. He wasn’t looking for a kid, god knows he couldn’t afford one. He found me outside the plant one night, this close to slashing the tires on the security guard’s car, and when he yanked me back I was positive he was gonna call the cops on me,” Steve turns his head and looks up as Eddie’s dark eyes get lost in the memory. “He started going on, asking what kind of kid wants to go to juvie and what the hell I was doing there. I would’ve run for it if he hadn’t had a grip on my arm. And then he stopped for a minute, looked at me and I could see something in his eyes. Pity, maybe. Then he threw me into his car and asked me where I lived so he could take me home.
“That I remember like it was yesterday. He grumbled the whole time. ‘Punk-ass kids gettin’ into trouble cause they got nowhere to go, shit.’ I told him I lived in a foster home, and when we got to the house he gave me this look I’ll never forget, like he was angry, pissed. But not at me, for once. It was for me. I don’t really know how it all went down after that, but a few weeks later, I was his and he was taking me home.”
Steve lets the story sink in, hating himself for not knowing all this sooner. Eddie continues, “And man, I’m still giving him hell. He went through shit after the murders; he was lucky to keep his job with his last name. He doesn’t love that I deal, but he gets that I’ve got no other way of making money out here. I started selling harder shit after I turned eighteen so he wouldn’t be responsible if I got caught,” Steve scoots back when he feels Eddie pull him closer, and Eddie rests their heads together. “He still gave me everything he could. Taught me how to drive stick and fix pipes, bought me my first guitar. We don’t have much, never will, but I’d do anything for him. Including washing his nasty work clothes.” He says the last thing with a lighter tone, shaking himself out of his reverie.
“Why do you call him Uncle?”
Eddie shrugs. “Just felt right at the time. Dad and Uncle, it’s all the same when you’ve only ever had one.”
The timers on the wash beep loudly, one after the other, and Steve is saved from trying to find something to say when Eddie pats his chest and moves to stand from the booth. He feels ice cold without the other man to lean on. He watches Eddie unload the wet clothes into the carts, separate the ones he’ll hang to dry at home, and pile them all into one of the huge dryers on the opposite wall. He thinks about how Eddie deserves the whole world and more, and that Steve would give it to him if he could. Maybe that’s why he’s scared of the jump, afraid that he’ll never be enough. Sure, his parents have money, but after his failures he knows he won’t get a penny of it when he moves out. He doesn’t have the shared life experience, the companionship of struggle.
But the way Eddie looks at him when he walks back makes Steve want to forget all that, to hang onto him like the clingy son of a bitch he is and share another cigarette.
Eddie raises his eyebrows when he approaches Steve again. “You’re in my spot, Harrington.”
Steve can’t suppress the feeling that rises in his chest as he moves so Eddie can crawl back against the window. He opens his arms to welcome him, but Steve wants to look him in the eyes for as long as he can. He lets Eddie drape his arm over his shoulders and swings his legs over Eddie’s lap.
“Thanks for telling me,” Steve says lamely.
Eddie bumps his chin with his finger, grinning. “Thanks for askin’,”
“Sorry I didn’t do it sooner.”
He shrugs, putting a hand on Steve’s bare thigh and he feels the hairs on his skin stand up. “It’s not something I wanna talk about a lot. I’m not ashamed, but a lot of people wouldn’t get it.” Steve’s afraid that Eddie thinks he’s one of those people. He doesn’t truly understand, doesn’t know what it feels like, but he wants to be there for Eddie, listen to it all.
There’s not another soul in sight, and it feels like there’s no one else in the whole world but them. Their closeness smooths out the wrinkles in Steve’s frayed nerves. He doesn’t know when Eddie moved into his chest, made himself a home next to his heart, but he knows he never wants him to leave.
Eddie’s brows furrow, and the hand that’s around his shoulder moves to fiddle with the lining of Steve’s hood. His fingers are so close that Steve could turn his head and kiss them. He wants to. “You wanna talk about tonight?” Eddie asks kindly. “You don’t gotta give me the details if you don’t want, but I need to make sure you’re okay, Stevie.”
Something tightens in Steve, and Eddie must feel it too. He doesn’t want to admit that he might need him too much, that he doesn’t want to be alone anymore. If he hits the dam it might burst and he’s sick of falling apart.
But Eddie’s here, now, holding him together in the emptiness of a 24 hour laundromat, and maybe it’ll be okay this time.
“I-” Steve starts, his mouth dry and he wilts away from Eddie’s eyes, “It’s just so fucking scary, seeing the things I see at night. I felt it all this time,” He feels himself closing up, his arms tight around his middle and trying not to let the darkness in the corners of his eyes overtake him. “I felt the- the wounds and the choking and it felt so real, like it’s happening all over again.” He struggles to get the rest out, and Eddie holds him tighter. He buries his face in Eddie’s neck and breathes him in, forcing the words out.
“Something happened to me. One second I was in my car, freaking out, and the next I was in your driveway. I don’t remember driving, or even deciding to go to you, and it scared the shit out of me. I don’t know…” He scrunches his face up, glad to stay hidden. “I don’t know how much longer I can deal with this.”
Eddie continues to rub his back while Steve forces himself to breathe as slow as he can. He lowers Steve’s hood and runs his fingers through his hair, and Steve wants to lose himself completely in his embrace. “It’s okay, angel,” he murmurs, “You’re okay, I got you.”
And with Eddie’s voice in his ear, his firm but tender touches, Steve can let himself believe it, even if it’s just for a minute, a second. They remain like this for a while, until Steve’s heartbeat evens out and then longer. He doesn’t think he’ll ever sleep again, but this feels like rest, in a way.
Eddie doesn’t offer any answers or solutions because there are none. Steve exists second by second on nights like this, and it’s all he can do to wait until the sun comes up.
In the quiet, Steve has moved to rest his head on Eddie’s shoulder, face tilted up to look into the depths of his brown eyes. It takes him a while to register that Eddie’s looking right back at him, mere inches away. Eddie drags his fingers along Steve’s jaw, cups his cheek and Steve can feel his breath against his skin, proof that they’re alive. Softly, like he’s afraid of breaking him, Eddie presses his lips to Steve’s temple first, then on his cheek under his eye, the corner of his mouth. Steve exhales, his skin burning and buzzing, but not with panic. He closes his eyes and soars, weightless, when Eddie tilts his chin up and kisses his lips. It feels like dripping honey and warm water, tastes like smoke and affection.
Eddie’s lips are soft, pillowy, and electric. Steve kisses him back gratefully, reveling in the humming under his skin. Eddie pulls away for a fraction of a second before gently placing two, three, five more kisses. He doesn’t go any deeper, doesn’t push it any further, but it’s like each kiss says, I got you, I’m not going anywhere.
And Steve believes it. Lost in the moment, he stops worrying about what he’ll have to say when they part, where this leaves them, what this makes them. Eddie dotes on his mouth, sucks on his bottom lip without urgency and Steve tastes the tip of his tongue. They kiss almost lazily, cuddled up in the hard booth and Steve slides his hand up his chest to the back of his neck, counting the little hairs on his nape. Eddie lines his hand up Steve’s thigh teasing the hem of his shorts, and his whole body tingles with what must be new nerves.
Eddie breaks the kiss and presses their foreheads together. One of his locks of hair that’s fallen loose tickles Steve’s ear and he shivers. “I’m sorry,” Eddie breathes, “Maybe I shouldn’t have done that when you’re feeling…” Vulnerable? Sensitive? Weak? “Not great,” He finishes.
Steve shakes his head, waves of relief washing over him. “I feel pretty great right now.”
Eddie smiles against his lips, pecking them again. “Good,” His voice is so low when they’re this close. “As long as there’s something I can do for you.”
Steve doesn’t know how to tell him that he’s given him everything, halted the storm when he thought it would rage on forever. That he’s always given him peace of mind and a place to run to in the darkness. “You have no fucking idea,” Is the best he can manage for now.
He wonders what he can give Eddie in return, though. Thoughts of how differently they grew up, how different they are from each other are knocking on the door of Steve’s mind. How Eddie’s seen and lived through things he can’t imagine, even after all they’ve been through together.
But the knocking subsides as Eddie looks at him like he hung the moon, like he’s never seen anything better. He touches his thumb to Steve’s bottom lip and Steve gives it a kiss and says, “Thank you,” praying that Eddie will understand.
“Any goddamn time,” Eddie whispers, and they share small kisses and sugary words until the timer on the dryer goes off. They part reluctantly at a snail's pace, like they can’t be bothered to do anything else.
Eddie grabs his hand and gives it a squeeze. “Help me fold these clothes and we’ll get outta here; you’re with me tonight.”
Steve nods, unwilling to stop himself from grinning. He doesn’t have to go home tonight, doesn’t have to be alone, and maybe he’ll finally get some rest. He can’t think of anywhere else in the world he’d rather be.