Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Do you think Keith would notice if I took one of these candy bars?” Robin asks from where she slouches over the counter, bored, chin propped up by her palm. She stares longingly at the candy bars displayed next to the computer and kicks her foot out against the leg of the stool she’s sitting in.

Steve shrugs, sliding the tape he just finished rewinding back into its jacket. “Probably not. He doesn’t notice anything around here.”

Robin eyes the candy for a few more seconds humming an uncertain note, still obviously mentally hashing it out. She finally gives in, sitting up to snatch one off of the top of the stack. But just as she’s about to tear the wrapper open, she hesitates. Her bottom lip sits clamped between her teeth. She drops her forehead to the countertop. “Ugh, I would feel so guilty not paying for it,” she groans.

Steve rolls his eyes. “So pay for it then,” he tells Robin. “Here, I’ll even ring you up,” he offers with a laugh, turning to the register.

Robin sets the candy bar down and reaches into the pocket of her blazer. She pulls her wallet out and upturns it. Only two pennies fall out, bouncing on the counter and spinning until they slow to a stop. “Shit,” she says. “I don’t have enough.”

“Looks like stealing it is,” Steve tells her decidedly.

Robin turns her big eyes on Steve, batting her lashes and giving him her sweetest smile. “Could you spot me?”

Steve sighs, but he doesn’t even try to tell her no. It’s useless — he already knows he’ll give in. Why not just cut to the chase?

He pats at his pockets until he feels his wallet and fishes it out. He thumbs open the front pocket, fully prepared to fork over the few bucks it costs to pay for Keith’s overpriced candy, but when it splits, it’s empty.

“Shit,” Steve mutters, closing the flap and reopening it, as if that would make the cash suddenly appear. “Yeah, no can do.” It comes to him then. “I used the last of it last night, that’s right,” he tells Robin, shutting the useless wallet and dropping it onto the counter. “Sorry.”

Robin’s eyebrows lift, as do the corners of her mouth, mischievously so. She seems to completely forget the money and the candy bar as her curiosity piques. “Last night?” She asks, wiggling those eyebrows his way.

Steve rolls his eyes at her antics and tries to shut her down. “Not like that,” he tells her. “Me and Eddie just went to the movies — tickets, popcorn, and sodas, though, ten bucks! Can you believe that? Cleaned me right out, man.”

Robin’s nose scrunches up. “Ten dollars for your ticket and popcorn and soda for yourself?” She asks. “That’s highway robbery.”

“No kidding,” Steve agrees. “But no, it wasn’t just mine. I paid for Eddie’s again too.”

Robin’s eyebrows climb even higher. “You paid for Eddie’s… again?”

Steve narrows his eyes at her and crosses his arms over his chest, almost defensively. “Yeah,” he says, shrugging a shoulder like it’s no big deal. Because it is no big deal. So he paid for a friend? So what?

A thoughtful look settles over Robin’s features, and she pauses for a moment, studying Steve. 

But then her look takes on a scrutinizing edge, and it makes Steve squirm.

“What?” He finally asks, unable to take it any longer.

Robin bites her lip, contemplating, then takes a small step towards Steve. She holds her hands out in front of her, a placating gesture, and when she speaks it’s in a slow, delicate voice, as though speaking any other way will spook Seve. “I’m going to say something and you have to promise me that you won’t get mad or upset at me for saying it, okay?”

Steve’s brow furrows. He stands up a little straighter and fixes Robin with a confused look. “Robin, what?”

“Promise me, Steve,” Robin repeats.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, fine, I promise, yeah.” He’s impatient, anxious to hear whatever Robin could possibly have to say that put her in such a serious mood. It briefly crosses his mind that she could be about to say something unsavory about Eddie, like that she thinks he’s taking advantage of Steve’s generosity, or something else equally as ridiculous and untrue. But Steve is quick to shut that line of thinking down. There’s no way Robin would say that about Eddie — right?

Robin waits until she catches Steve’s eye, looking him square in the face. “Steve,” she starts, “I think you took Eddie out on a date.”

There’s a pause, as the words sink in. And then Steve laughs. He pushes his hair from his face and just laughs. “What?” He asks, incredulous.

Robin’s not laughing, though. She just nods. “Yeah, Steve, think about it. You went to the movies together, right? Just the two of you?”

“Yeah,” Steve confirms. He doesn’t see how that means he took Eddie on a date, for christ’s sake. It’s kind of a ridiculous stretch, even for Robin.

“On a Friday night — which, might I remind you, you have made perfectly clear is your favorite night of the week for dates.” She doesn’t give him a chance to respond to that, just barrels on. “And you paid for his ticket? And bought him popcorn and a soda?”

“Yes, but—”

“Did you pick him up too?” Robin interrupts.

Steve scoffs. “Well, yeah, but only ’cause I hate his fucking van and he drives like shit,” he explains. “You know that, Robin. You don’t like it when he drives either.”

Robin presses her lips together. “Steve,” she says, “come on.”

“Come on, what, Robin?” Steve asks, throwing his arms up. “You’re being ridiculous. That wasn’t a… a date. We just saw a movie. As friends .”

Robin sighs. “Okay, new approach,” she mutters, pushing the sleeves of her blazer up. “What did you do with Brenda when you went out with her last Friday?”

Steve makes a face at Robin. “We went to the movies.”

“Okay, and what about Lisa the Friday before? Did you take her out to dinner? Get milkshakes?”

“No,” Steve answers. “We also— went to the movies.”

The corner of Robin’s mouth twitches, but she doesn’t let it break. “And Jenny? No, wait — let me guess — you took her to the movies!”

Steve sighs, popping a hand onto his hip. He can see what Robin is trying to do here. “Yeah, and so what, Robin? I like taking girls to the theater. Big deal!”

“I’m going to take another wild guess here and say that you didn’t make any of these ladies pay for their ticket or their movie snacks, right?” Robin continues.

Steve frowns. “Of course not,” he scoffs. “First date etiquette, man. Everybody knows that.”

Robin waves her hand dismissively. “And you met all of them at the theater? Or did you pick them up in your super sexy rich boy car?” The sarcasm practically drips from her voice.

Steve’s face screws up. “Okay, jesus christ, it’s not a—” 

Robin gives him an unimpressed look that’s stone cold enough to have Steve swallowing his words. Her arms fold over her chest expectantly.

“Okay, it’s not anymore . Not after the way all the little shitheads I cart around everywhere have treated it. No respect!” 

“That’s not my point, Steve,” Robin says. “Did you pick them up?”

“I picked them up,” Steve says, and he doesn’t like the look on Robin’s face. 

Robin stays silent, but she raises an eyebrow and holds out her hands in a way that says there, all the facts, right in front of you — try to deny it now.

And deny Steve will, because it’s ridiculous . He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. “Oh, come on, Robin. That doesn’t— that— it— No , that doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a coincidence, okay? Seeing a movie is a classic date and something fun to do with a friend too,” he defends. “Besides, I’m not— I’m not, y’know,” he spares a quick glance around the empty store and lowers his voice anyways, “ like that . Like you. And— who knows if Eddie is either! I’m pretty sure you’re, like, not supposed to assume that kind of thing.”

“But you also can’t assume that someone isn’t!” Robin counters. “It’s not exactly something we try to advertise, Steve.”

And Robin is right, technically speaking. But Steve still doesn’t see how it matters. He holds up his hands, palms facing out. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Robin. It wasn’t a date!”

Robin finally relents, sighing deeply, and wraps her hands around the handle of the cart of tapes to reshelve. “Alright, alright, it wasn’t a date. If you say so,” she says, but it’s clear she’s not convinced.

Whatever, Steve thinks. Let Robin believe whatever she wants. It’s fine.

Except it is not fine. It’s not fine because Steve can’t stop thinking about it. No matter how much he tries to ignore what Robin said, to push it to the deep dark recesses of his mind, it doesn’t go away. He can’t stop rolling it around his head. Was it a date? Did he just not know it was one? Did Eddie think it was a date? Did he want it to be? Did Steve want it to be?

The fact that the answer to the last one isn’t an immediate no makes something stir in Steve’s gut.

He doesn’t see Eddie for a couple of days, which is probably a good thing. Steve isn’t so sure how he’d react what with Robin’s god damn theory still bouncing around his skull and throwing him so off balance.

But then, on Thursday Eddie comes into the store.

The bell above the door jingles wildly as Eddie throws it open. He saunters up to the counter and drums the palms of his hands against the top before pointing a finger right at Steve. The overhead light glints off of his skull ring. “Harrington,” he declares. “Got any plans tomorrow night?”

Steve opens his mouth, a resounding no on the tip of his tongue, but Eddie interrupts with a loud, flat buzzer noise. “Wrong answer! You’re coming with me.”

Steve raises his eyebrows, folds his arms across his chest and leans a hip against the counter. “And where exactly are we going?”

“We,” Eddie starts, dropping his elbows onto the counter top and swaying forward on them, “are going to the Hawk. There’s a new horror flick I wanna see, and I’m taking you with me.”

“What if I already have plans?”

“Cancel ’em.”

“And what if I just don’t want to go?” Steve challenges.

Eddie narrows his eyes at Steve, but the curve of his mouth grows and twists at the corners. His dimples leave deep dents on either side. “That just isn’t true, now, is it, Harrington?”

He holds Steve’s gaze for as long as it takes before Steve cracks — because Steve always cracks first with Eddie. He’s trying to be better about it, sticking to his guns. It’s a work in progress. 

Steve’s arms fall to his sides in defeat, and he huffs dramatically, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah, fine. Okay,” he says, like it’s such a hassle to agree, but he’s not fooling anyone with his faux exasperation. “What’re we seeing then?”

Eddie grins. “ The Fly ,” he says and he taps his fingertips against the counter, all in a row. It’s a little mesmerizing. “Pick me up at eight?”

Steve’s never heard of The Fly before. It sounds kind of gross, but if Eddie’s that excited to see it, it must be something with promise. He’s about to say sure and give Eddie shit about not making him wait this time, when he catches Robin, over Eddie’s shoulder, waving one of the tapes around. She points it at Steve, then at Eddie, then mouths “date”, enunciating each letter. She punctuates it with a double bounce of her brows.

Something icy slides into Steve’s gut, settling amongst the bubbly warmth Eddie had put there and seeping in. His previous loose-limbed ease snaps away as he straightens up, turning towards the computer as if he suddenly remembers how much work he has to do with it. He pushes his hand through his hair before snapping his fingers and holding a hand out, trying his best to look apologetic. “Shit, man, you know what? I forgot I’m working late tomorrow.”

It isn’t even true.

Robin silently smacks her hand to her forehead and drops out of view.

The smile on Eddie’s face dims. It’s still there, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes anymore, duller, not as genuine. He nods once and lets his head hang for a moment. 

Steve feels something twist in his gut this time. He didn’t mean to upset Eddie — didn’t even know that it would upset him. It isn’t even true. He’s not working at all tomorrow, let alone late. Damn Robin and her stupid , childish pestering. Steve has got to stop letting her shit get to him.

This won’t do. Steve needs to make it right.

“I’ll just… uh, meet you there instead?” He suggests, hoping it doesn’t sound like an afterthought, but like it was his plan all along.

Eddie’s head jerks up, and there it is, the light in his eyes again. His cheeks push up and he nods. “Yeah, cool. Meet you there,” he agrees.

Happy with their plans, Eddie raps his knuckles on the counter twice before flashing his pointer and middle fingers in a salute wave. Then he stuffs his hands into his pockets, gives a nod, and turns on his heel to head out.

Steve waits until Eddie’s van peels out of the parking lot before the breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding releases in a big puff and he lets his shoulder sag. He pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“He didn’t rent anything,” Robin comments, casually, as she sidles back up to Steve behind the counter, making him jump.

“What?” Steve asks, not seeing the relevance. It’s not like that wasn’t a common occurrence. Steve could probably count on one hand the amount of times Eddie had actually ever rented anything when he’d dropped in. 

“Eddie,” Robin says, jerking her chin towards the door. “He came in, but he didn’t rent anything.” She says it slower, clearer, like she’s waiting for the implications to sink in.

That Eddie was there for him . To see Steve and make plans with him and leave without renting anything because that’s not what he came to the video rental store for. 

And sink in, it does.

Steve opens his mouth to reply, but he doesn’t actually have anything to say to that. 

“I wanna hear all about your date when I see you on Saturday,” Robin says in a painfully cheerful tone, patting Steve’s shoulder before bouncing off towards the break room.

“Not a date!” Steve calls after her, a moment too late.

Steve heads to the Hawk the following night with that firmly in mind.

He almost forgets that he told Eddie he was working late today even though he isn’t, but he remembers just before he turns onto Oak Street and instead keeps going. He ends up parking around the corner and sits in his car for fifteen minutes to keep up the ruse.

So stupid. Why did he have to lie?

When he finally deems it late enough, he locks his car behind him, pockets his keys, and hurries towards the theater. 

“Hey man,” Eddie calls when he spots Steve. He’s standing in front of the Hawk, waiting for Steve. His hands are stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket. The vest is, noticeably, missing from his ensemble. He looks nice.

“Hey,” Steve greets, jogging the last few feet until he’s standing in front of Eddie. He jerks his chin towards the ticket booth. “I still need to get my ticket, then we’ll be good to go. Did you already get yours?”

In answer, Eddie pulls a hand from his pocket, two tickets pinched between his fingers. “I got it covered,” he says, pushing one of the tickets forward with his thumb. He holds it out for Steve to take.

Steve blinks at the ticket. “Oh,” he says, feeling warm. “You didn’t have to do that.” He takes the ticket, though, holding it almost reverently.

Eddie shrugs. “It’s not a big deal. You covered last time. I figured it was my turn.”

The dimples pressed into his cheeks look soft under the marquee lighting, and Steve has to resist the urge to reach out and press his thumb into one. Or, like, compliment them. It would be weird. And even more embarrassing.

“Well, thanks, man,” Steve says instead. Then he glances down at his watch. “Should we head inside then?”

“Yeah, come on, I wanna get the good seats for this one,” Eddie replies, bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

They’re early enough that they’ll still have a free range of seating choices even if they stop to get some snacks first, so they hit the concession stand. Steve gets himself a popcorn and a coke, but when he asks Eddie if he’s going to get anything, Eddie tells him no.

“I don’t wanna have to pee halfway through this one. I heard it’s really good.”

When Steve pulls his wallet out to pay, Eddie elbows him out of the way. “Put that thing away, it’s on me,” he tells Steve, reaching for his own money.

Steve tries to argue. “Eddie, no, you’re not even getting anything!”

“It’s fine, seriously,” Eddie replies. “I’ll just steal some of your popcorn if it makes you feel better.”

Steve pulls a few bills out anyways.

Eddie shakes his head and knocks Steve’s hand back. “Come on, man, let someone else be the chivalrous one for a change,” he says. He looks Steve in the eyes. “I want to pay for you.”

Steve’s so distracted by the dramatic flop of his stomach from the combination hit of Eddie’s big brown eyes, so wide and so earnest, and the sincerity of his words that he misses Eddie dropping his own crumpled bills onto the counter and nudging them towards the cashier.

He has no choice but to let it happen after that, accepting the popcorn and coke when they’re handed to him a moment later. Steve thanks Eddie, and tries not to think too hard about what it all means.

Eddie is a menace, as they head towards the theater. He walks far too close to Steve; their hips keep bumping and shoulders keep brushing, all so he can periodically lean into Steve’s space to steal handfuls of popcorn. It should be gross, the way he tries to cram the whole handful into his mouth all at once, but Steve just finds it endearing. Although, he would like to actually eat some of this popcorn.

The next time Eddie tries to take some, Steve sticks his elbow out to block Eddie and shifts the popcorn out of his path. “Dude, leave some for me,” he grouses.

Eddie laughs and tries to maneuver his hand through the tiny space between Steve’s elbow and chest to reach for the bucket. “There’s plenty in there!”

“If you were just going to eat all of my popcorn, why didn’t you get your own?” Steve asks.

Eddie shrugs. “Contraband popcorn tastes better,” he says and grins with all his teeth.

Steve takes a couple of kernels off the top and throws them at Eddie. They hit him square in the forehead. “You’re an idiot,” he says, shaking his head.

Inside the theater, Eddie is delighted to see that the good seats — the ones in the very center of the theater, in the very center of the row — are not yet claimed.

The two of them shuffle down the row until they reach them, and Eddie drops unceremoniously into the little red seat. Steve, on the other hand, is a little more careful lowering himself into his. He doesn’t want to spill anything.

Eddie nearly ends up making that happen anyways, though, as he sits up and starts to peel his leather jacket off. He shakes his right arm out of the sleeve and nearly knocks the coke out of Steve’s hand in the process.

“Hey, watch it,” Steve warns, jerking away.

“Shit, sorry,” Eddie apologizes, yanking the other sleeve off before balling the jacket up and dumping it into the empty seat on his left.

As soon as it’s out of his hands he turns back to Steve, wriggling over in his seat so that he can push into Steve’s space in that way he always does. His thigh ends up pressing almost entirely against Steve’s, foot turned out in a way that digs his knee into Steve’s too. Eddie’s bare arm, still warm from his jacket, feels like a brand against Steve’s skin.

Eddie starts speaking, recounting some sort of story or maybe summarizing what he knows about the movie they’re about to watch, but the words spilling out are nothing more than a background buzz to Steve as his brain zeroes in on all of the places they’re touching. It’s like he can feel every touch individually, delicately attuned to each one. Has it always been like this? Surely that can’t be the case if Steve is only noticing now how distracting it is. He’s sure he would have noticed otherwise. 

Or maybe it’s just god damn Robin getting in his head again.

Steve ignores that thought, and chalks the hyperfocus up to irritation. He talks himself into thinking he’s just bothered by Eddie’s disregard for personal space in this instance, that he doesn’t appreciate Eddie touching him so much and wishes he’d keep his hands to himself. But none of that explains why Steve makes no attempt to put more space between them or tell Eddie to back off — here in the theater, or every other time it happens too.

It doesn’t explain why he finds himself leaning into the touches either.

If this were a date, Steve wouldn’t mind it. Having a girl pressed all up against him is kind of the point. But this is not a girl, and it is not a date. He has to remind himself of this fact: it is not a date. Even if it kind of definitely feels like one , the voice in his head that sounds suspiciously, undeniably like Robin chirps.

Boundaries. Steve needs boundaries. Clear, distinct lines that will clear up this confusion. That will set things straight in his head. He reaches for the arm rest, still in its upright position between them, and lowers it. It forces Eddie back into his own space, cutting off the contact between their legs and their arms.

Eddie flashes him a puzzled look, and Steve holds up his coke as an excuse, making a show of setting it into the cup at the end of the arm rest.

“Sorry,” he tells Eddie, though he’s not very sorry at all. “I was getting tired of holding it.”

The excuse, thankfully, is good enough for Eddie — or he just doesn’t feel like questioning it — and he shrugs it off.

It’s then that the lights finally dim, signaling the start of the movie, and Eddie settles back into his seat, getting comfortable for the film ahead.

Steve breathes a silent sigh of relief at the much needed reprieve, and he turns his attention towards the screen as the opening credits start to roll.

The beginning of the film is fascinating — an eccentric scientist working on a pair of teleportation machines, striving towards the ultimate goal: successful human teleportation. He meets the reputable science journalist, played by Geena Davis, which is just a treat , and the pair of them fall in love while documenting the invention.

Steve’s eyes are drawn to Geena Davis every time she’s on screen, but in an unforeseen twist, he’s equally as enthralled with Jeff Goldblum — his voluminous hair and the strength of his upper body and his big brown eyes. When the two share the screen, Steve finds himself watching Goldblum more than Davis. He tries to tell himself that it’s because Davis’ character reminds him too much of Nancy, and that ship has long since sailed and sunk, but deep down Steve knows that’s not really it. Deep down he knows that he finds Jeff Goldblum attractive, but he doesn’t want to think too hard about that.

Regardless, he’s enjoying the movie, actually, caught up in the plot and the stakes of it all. But then something funny happens onscreen, and beside him, Eddie laughs. It’s a big laugh, a boisterous one that has his shoulders shaking with the force of it and his head tipping back.

Steve glances over, drawn by the sound, and he sort of loses his breath at what he sees. The glow of the screen frames Eddie, lighting him up and playing softly over his features; his hair’s a little wild around the shape of his face, and there’s a smile dancing on his lips, eyes crinkled up at the corners. And there are those damned dimples again, making a home for themselves deep in Eddie’s cheeks.

Steve has to swallow thickly and force himself back towards the screen.

But it’s pretty much a lost cause from then on out. He can’t focus on the movie anymore, too tempted to keep stealing glances at Eddie, watching him watch the film — and what an expressive watcher he is.

He’s only just managed to focus on the picture again, albeit briefly and still without a clue as to what is going on, when the armrest jostles, and something grazes the outside of Steve’s forearm, soft at first before pressing more fully up the length of it. It gives Steve another excuse to look away from the screen, and his eyes drop to see that it’s Eddie. There isn’t a whole lot of space left on the armrest thanks to Steve taking most of it up, so in trying to squeeze into what remains, Eddie’s arm ends up pressing directly against Steve’s, from elbow to wrist.

Steve risks another glance at Eddie, who is still watching the screen, eyes flickering back and forth as the action unfolds. It doesn’t even seem like he’s registered that he’s touching Steve, or if it has, it clearly isn’t a big deal to him. That wouldn’t surprise Steve, though. Eddie’s always been a very tactile kind of guy, never shying away from touch and constantly initiating it himself.

But it sends Steve into an unwitting spiral. The way their arms overlap, the cool touch of the chain link bracelet on Eddie’s wrist against his suddenly overheated skin, the inked bats flapping up his forearm, still visible even in the dark.

The film isn’t even on Steve’s radar at this point. He couldn’t say what’s happening anymore, but he doesn’t even care. Forget Geena Davis, forget Jeff Goldblum, Steve can’t stop thinking about Eddie Munson, right there next to him, hand inches away from his own.

Steve’s pinky twitches out, like it’s got a mind of its own, towards Eddie’s hand. His heart is in his throat, breath caught behind it, as his pinky hovers, trembling. He could touch him. Wants to touch him. To hook his pinky over Eddie’s, curl them together, maybe even link the rest of their fingers too. 

He’s never wanted to hold somebody’s hand so bad before.

But before he can make contact, before the can do something stupid , he draws his pinky back.

Steve tears his eyes from Eddie’s hand and forces himself to look back at the screen. He lets out a shaky exhale and finally breathes, but the dizziness doesn’t go away.

Neither does the urge to hold Eddie’s hand. Steve doesn’t know where it came from, but it’s persistent. He clenches his fingers into a tight fist so he doesn’t do anything stupid. His nails bite into his palm.

He tries to tune back into the movie, but it’s impossible. Not when he can’t stop thinking about Eddie, about holding his hand, about dropping an arm around his shoulders, about hooking their ankles together.

Just like he’d do with any of his dates.

And, fuck . Robin was right, she was so so right .

It totally is a date. In all but name, Steve has been taking Eddie on date after date, and this time is no different. There is no denying it now.

There’s no denying that he wants it to be a date, either.

Fuck .

Steve spares one last glance at Eddie’s hand and thinks, maybe next time he’ll be braver.

“I wanted to hold his hand.”

It’s the first thing Steve says to Robin when he sees her for their shift the next morning. He doesn’t bother with the pleasantries, he’s got no patience for small talk. It’s a miracle he even held onto it this long; the urge to call Robin last night after he got home had been near insurmountable. But this wasn’t an over the phone kind of freak out — Steve needed to talk to Robin face to face.

“What?” Robin asks, face scrunching in confusion as she adjusts her vest that she’d only just slipped over her shoulders. She looks over at Steve, completely lost.

Which is fair. Steve did just blurt it out, absolutely no context or background given. Robin’s barely even settled in for her shift yet, let alone enough to be thrown right into the middle of a conversation.

But, really, Robin should be able to easily clue into what he means. She’s good at doing that with Steve. And besides, there’s only one possible person he could be talking about, and there’s no way she’s forgotten all about the object of her latest shit-giving. 

“I wanted to hold his hand,” Steve repeats.

“Who— oh ,” Robin says, understanding clicking in her eyes.

“You got in my head, Rob,” Steve continues, sinking down to the floor behind the counter. He pulls his knees up to his chest and folds his arms on top of them.

Robin follows him down, mirroring his pose as she sits beside him. She knocks her shoulder into Steve’s and lets it stay there, the touch grounding.

“I did?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, glancing over at her. “I mean, I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said the day before. About how I’ve been, y’know, taking Eddie on… on dates . You were just,” he gives a feeble laugh, “I had your voice in my head, like, the whole night, just shouting it at me. Like, this is a date, this is a date, this is a date .”

His poor attempt at imitating Robin’s voice makes her crack a smile, laughing gingerly. “Does that mean you see it now? That I was right about it this whole time?”

Steve gives her a look that, thankfully, she immediately understands. He’s not kidding around. This is serious. Her face morphs into something briefly apologetic, before a considering expression takes over. “If you were thinking about it so much, does that mean you were… disappointed… that it wasn’t a date?” She asks carefully. “Could it mean that you… wanted it to be a date?”

“I don’t know,” Steve answers immediately. But that’s not true. “I,” he tries again. Pauses. Stares down at his shoes. “I… think so,” he finally says. “ Fuck . Yeah, I think I did.” Steve lets out a slightly hysterical laugh and buries his face into his arms.

Robin’s hand comes up between his shoulder blades, rubbing a slow circle. Steve focuses on the weight of her fingers, the shape of her palm, lets it anchor him.

He exhales harshly and squeezes his eyes shut. When he opens them a moment later, he lifts his head and runs his fingers through his hair.

“I haven’t felt like this about… about a, y’know, a boy before,” Steve finally manages. He looks stricken as he says it, one part panic, one part fear.

Robin is ever the calming presence, though. “There’s nothing wrong with the way you’re feeling, Steve,” she tells him. 

Her hand drops onto his knee, and Steve reaches for it. Their fingers tangle together and he lets them fall into the space between them, to rest against the floor.

Steve nods. “I know. I know, it’s just— scary,” he admits, letting out a shaky breath. “And it’s… it’s confusing too. Really fucking confusing. I don’t… I don’t get how I can— like a boy now when I… when it’s never been like that before. Like, I’m not… I’m not faking it, when I’m with girls. I like girls! And— what I felt for Nancy, and Brenda, and Lisa, and Jenny, and and all the other girls— that was real. I wasn’t… pretending.” He sighs heavily. “It just doesn’t make sense.”

Robin squeezes his hand. “That’s the fun thing about human sexuality, Steve,” she tells him. “It doesn’t have to be just one or the other. You can like anyone you want to like, girl or boy, girl and boy. It’s not— there aren’t, like, sides , you have to choose between. You don’t have to be totally gay or totally straight.”

Steve looks up at her. “It’s— you don’t?”

As he says it, he feels a little silly. Because thinking about it now, it does actually make sense for it to not be so black and white. Things never usually are. It just never occurred to Steve before that there could be more to it. He’d only ever heard of boys that liked girls and girls that liked boys and… the others. The boys that liked boys and girls that liked girls. The queers . He’d never liked the way that his father had said that word, all pinched and contemptuous, like it was something dirty. He’d repeated it a few times himself, and it had always left a bitter taste in his mouth. Made him feel dirty for using it like his father did.

His father’s influence had played a big part in why Steve never really thought too deeply about sexuality, his own especially. And it wasn’t like that was something they taught in schools or that kids went around casually discussing either. Of course he didn’t know the extent of it.

Robin shakes her head. “No, you don’t. Bisexuality is actually a lot more common than people think.”

“Bi— bisexuality,” Steve repeats slowly, rolling the word around in his mouth, letting it sink into his brain. “That’s liking both?”

Robin nods.

Bisexual. Liking girls and boys. Not one or the other, both . It sounds… it sounds… 

“That, um, sounds… like me,” Steve says tentatively.

Robin smiles encouragingly. “Yeah?” She asks. “That’s… that’s really great, Steve,” she says, and it’s so so earnest, so sincere. 

She looks proud of him, and it kicks something loose in his chest, a kind of relief he didn’t even know he was looking for. With it comes an overwhelming wave of appreciation, of love. Robin really is the best friend Steve has. He doesn’t have a clue where he’d be or who he’d be without her.

A high-pitched laugh bubbles out of Steve’s lips that turns into a somewhat despairing groan. He drags his hands down his face before sticking them in his hair. 

“ Jesus , this is so fucking,” he flounders for the right words, pulling his hands back out and waving them nebulously through the air. “ Scary ,” he finally settles on. “Why is it so fucking scary?”

Robin gives him a sympathetic smile. “Being different can be fucking scary,” she replies frankly. She sounds a little sad about it, but mostly indifferent. Like it’s something she’s gotten used to — which sucks. It really fucking sucks. People who are different shouldn’t have to go through life always looking over their shoulders or calculating their every move or in a constant state of fear just because they’re not like everybody else. There are bigger things to worry about than how many tattoos a person has, or which neighborhood they live in, or who they want to kiss.

“How do you… you’re so brave, Robin,” Steve tells her wholeheartedly. “You’re fucking fearless.”

That gets Robin to laugh, a deep belly laugh. “Oh, Steve, you have no idea how deeply untrue that is.”

Steve frowns, shaking his head. “No, stop it, you are. I mean it. I’ve wanted to hold a boy’s hand for a couple of hours and I’m… fucking losing my mind in a,” he gestures wildly at their surroundings, “god damn video store about it. But you’ve been doing this for— for years or your whole life or I don’t know how long. But you’re just. You’re so brave.”

“A video store, a mall bathroom, so what if we like the unconventional settings,” she jokes, and it makes Steve chuckle too. Robin smiles at him softly. “It gets easier, Steve. I know that sounds like a ridiculous cliché, but that doesn’t make it any less true.”

“It helps to have a kickass best friend who you can talk to about anything, and who makes you feel safe and is always there for you and wants to see you succeed,” Robin adds, leaning her head onto Steve’s shoulder. She gives his hand another comforting squeeze.

Steve squeezes back. “Good thing I have one of those then,” he responds, leaning his head back against hers.

The knots in Steve’s stomach feel looser now. Not completely gone, but they’re not as tangled, not as constricting. He’s better equipped now, more informed and less confused. And he knows he has Robin by his side.

All in all, wanting to hold Eddie’s hand does seem marginally less daunting than it had before. It’s still scary — but not because he doesn’t understand it anymore.

The bell to the front door chimes then, and Steve is brought back to reality and the fact that they’re technically on the clock right now and that, incredibly, they do actually sometimes get customers looking to rent a video.

“I got it,” Robin tells him, pushing her back off of the counter. Sitting up, she pauses and looks at Steve. An eyebrow raises. “You gonna be okay?” She asks, searching his face.

Steve nods. “Yeah,” he says, and he means it. “I’ll be okay.”

Robin nods too and starts to stand up. “Take some time if you need it, though, okay?” She jerks her head towards the back of the store where the break room is.

“Thanks, Rob,” Steve tells her, and it’s for more than just the extra break. 

Robin holds out a hand to help him up, and Steve takes it, rising to his feet. 

“Anytime, Steve,” she says, and he knows she gets it.

Steve thinks he takes his newfound sexuality in stride, all things considered. After his initial freak out in Family Video, it does become easier to wrap his head around the fact that he likes boys too.

Funny enough, it does actually help when Robin tries to get him used to flexing this recently realized attraction by holding up random VHS’s and asking Steve to rank how hot the leading male actor is on a scale of one to ten, refusing to let it go until Steve gives an answer. Exposure therapy, she calls it.

The first time Eddie swings by after their movie maybesortofkindofnotreally date and Steve’s ensuing self-discovery, Steve panics a little. The liking boys pill may be getting easier to swallow, but Steve hasn’t even touched the liking Eddie Munson one yet.

It feels like he’s back in god damn middle school , the way his heart starts hammering in his chest when he sees the familiar van pull up out front. The butterflies flap up a storm in his stomach, and he practically dives for the go-back cart so he can hide between the shelves and not have to face Eddie head on. It might be a little (read: a lot) pathetic, but Steve doesn’t know what to say to him, doesn’t know how to face him without accidentally blurting out something stupid like I want to hold your hand or your hair is so pretty and so are your eyes or something equally as sloppy.

Robin indulges him the first time it happens, but when Eddie returns the following day, she stands firm, telling him he can’t ice Eddie out because he’s wigging out over a crush. She ends up shoving Steve towards the front of the counter right as Eddie strolls inside the store.

Steve, astonishingly, does not say anything stupid, even manages to keep up with their usual banter. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t make a fool out of himself in other ways.

Like when Eddie holds out the video he came to return and Steve reaches for it. He ends up overshooting and his hand crashes into the display of neatly stacked candy bars, sending them scattering across the laminate and sailing to the floor. To make matters worse, he nearly trips over the stool behind the counter as he hurries to the other side to clean up after himself.

Eddie laughs and teases Steve about his clumsiness, but he crouches down to help gather the spilled candy. 

Their fingers end up brushing as they reach for the same bar, and Steve blushes so hard he’s surprised Eddie doesn’t comment on it. There’s no way he didn’t notice it, so he must’ve thought Steve was just super embarrassed about knocking over the display.

Behind the safety of the counter again, Steve finishes processing the return, thankfully, without another hiccup.

It’s only when Eddie goes to leave that Steve sticks his foot in his mouth again.

“Later, Harrington,” Eddie says, nodding towards him as he steps away from the counter and starts towards the door. 

Steve opens his mouth to tell Eddie to take care and to have a good one, except what ends up coming out instead is, “Yeah, hey, take a good one.”

Eddie’s face scrunches up and a bemused smile spreads across his mouth. “Yeah, alright, uh, you too,” he replies, snickering to himself as he slips out the door. 

It isn’t until he’s gone that Steve realizes. He groans and sags against the countertop, head in his hands.

Robin laughs at him for a full five minutes.

Eddie doesn’t make an appearance at Family Video on Thursday, but Steve still sees him that evening.

The kids have kept up a steady, weekly Thursday night DnD session, with Eddie continuing on as their reigning DM. The meetings take place at the Wheeler house, the basement being the only nonpublic place large enough for them all and equipped for their rowdiness, and Steve moonlights as Dustin’s ride.

It’s nearing nine o’clock when Steve pulls up in front of the Wheeler’s, and Dustin is already out front waiting for him. Eddie is with him, in the habit of hanging around until the last of the munchkins have been picked up before leaving himself. He’s smoking a cigarette.

Steve honks, and Dustin’s head jerks up. He waves at Steve and starts to gather his things. Eddie lifts his hand in a lazy wave too. Steve returns the gesture.

He rolls down the window and stretches the seatbelt out as he leans towards it. “Let’s go, dude. Your mom wanted you home, like, fifteen minutes ago.” Steve taps his watch for emphasis.

“I know, I know! But we couldn’t stop in the middle of the battle! Lucas rolled a nat one on a wisdom save and took twenty-three damage. Then he failed two death saves and almost lost Rendar, but holy shit, the dice gods blessed him with an eighteen on the third save. And then Mike came in with a crit hit which totally killed the giant lizard boss. It was insane, Steve, insane ! You should’ve seen it!” Dustin shouts, hoisting his bag onto his shoulder and treading across the grass.

Steve shakes his head. “I don’t know what any of that means.”

From his perch in the grass, Eddie snorts. The cherry of his cigarette burns bright as he takes another drag.

About halfway to Steve’s car, Dustin freezes. His face twists up and he half turns back towards the Wheeler house.

“Henderson, come on, man,” Steve calls. “What are you doing?”

“Shit, I think I left my notebook in the basement,” Dustin says.

Before Steve can object, Dustin takes off towards the door, disappearing inside.

Steve throws his hands up and huffs out an unamused laugh. This fuckin’ kid.  

Except he isn’t really that upset about it. Not when it’s just him and Eddie now, and Eddie’s rising to his feet and approaching Steve’s car.

He stops on the passenger side and rests a forearm against the window frame. His ring clad fingers dangle on the inside, and he ducks his head into the frame.

“Hey Harrington,” he drawls.

“Munson,” Steve greets, ignoring the butterflies erupting in his stomach.

“Nice night out, huh?” Eddie asks, tipping his head back. It bares his throat, and his hair fans out behind his shoulders. He looks captivating.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, not taking his eyes off of Eddie. Then, before he can stop himself, “beautiful.”

His cheeks warm as soon as the words are out, and Steve’s glad for the cloak of the night to hide the blush. He hopes that wasn’t too obvious.

Eddie leans back into the window, teeth bared in a grin. “Sure is,” he agrees, eyes flicking over Steve’s face.

Then he brings the cigarette to his mouth again, slow and easy, like he’s asking Steve to follow the motion.

And follow he does. Steve watches the way Eddie’s lips close around the end of the cigarette, the delicate ’o’ they make as he blows the smoke out. His mouth is so pink, so full, and Steve wonders what it would feel like against his own. Eddie’s lips look a little chapped, but Steve thinks they’d still be soft.

“So,” Eddie says a moment later, jarring Steve out of his head and back into the present. Jesus. Eddie drops the cigarette and crushes it beneath his shoe. “Friday,” he continues, “tomorrow. You don’t have a date, do you?”

Steve blinks. “What?” He blurts. Then, “Oh, uh, no, no. Definitely not.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow.

Smooth, Steve. That wasn’t overzealous at all.

"Giving up that easily?" Eddie asks, reaching up to tug at the ends of his hair. "I’m starting to think your dating game might just be permanently damaged," he jokes. "What gives?"

It’s because I’ve been with you the past couple of Fridays , Steve doesn’t say. It’s because I like spending my time with you more , he doesn’t say. It’s because I don’t want to date random girls, I want to date you, he doesn’t say.

Instead, "Just haven’t been feeling it lately, I guess," he says.

Eddie nods, a contemplative look on his face. "Good, good," he says then, under his breath, like he doesn’t mean for Steve to hear it.

"In that case," Eddie declares, louder this time, for Steve’s ears. “ Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 is out tomorrow. Wanna see it with me?”

“Yeah, totally,” Steve says, trying to infuse the words with as much nonchalance as possible. But it might have been too quick a response for that to be fully believable. He’s never even seen the first Texas Chainsaw Massacre , but that’s not going to stop him. The title seems pretty self explanatory anyways.

A slow, easy grin spreads across Eddie’s face. “Cool, I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

It’s then that Dustin hip checks Eddie out of the way, surprising both him and Steve. Neither one of them heard him coming. Or saw him, for that matter.

“What’s tomorrow?” Dustin asks as he yanks open the car door and deposits himself into the seat. He glances between Steve and Eddie curiously.

“ Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 ,” Eddie tells him.

Dustin’s face screws up. He turns to Steve. “ You’re seeing that?”

It’s Steve’s turn to make a face at Dustin. “Uh, yeah.”

“Can I come?” Dustin asks, perking up.

“No,” Eddie answers without missing a beat. It makes something pleasant squirm in Steve’s gut, how immediate it was. Like Eddie doesn’t even want to give Dustin the chance to snake his way into their night. Like he wants it to just be the two of them.

Eddie tilts his head and gives Dustin a what can you do? kind of shrug when the kid starts to pout. “Sorry, shrimp,” he adds, though he doesn’t sound very sorry. “You had your time with me. Now it’s Steve’s turn.” He sends Steve a wink and reaches through the window to knock the hat off of Dustin’s head and ruffle his hair.

Steve bites the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes blood.

Dustin swats Eddie’s hand away and tugs his hat back over his curls. “Fine, whatever,” he grumbles.

Eddie turns back to Steve. "Pick me up at eight?" He asks. "Don’t be late."

"Wouldn’t dream of it," Steve answers.

Eddie smiles at him. He taps his open palm against the bottom of the window and takes a step back from the car. "See you tomorrow, Steve."

Something warm spreads through Steve’s chest. He likes the sound of his name in Eddie’s mouth.

Eddie takes a few more backwards steps, sticking his hand up in a motionless wave, before spinning on his heel and heading towards his van.

Steve lingers, watching Eddie’s retreating form until he sees the van door open and slam shut and the clunky engine starts.

When Steve finally goes to turn back to the wheel, he catches Dustin’s eye. He’s giving him a funny look.

Steve clears his throat, fighting a blush. "Seatbelt," he reminds Dustin gruffly, trying to regain some sense of the authority he’s supposed to have. He waits until Dustin pulls the belt across his lap and secures it before he takes his foot off of the brakes.

They make it to the end of Maple before the holes Dustin is burning into the side of Steve’s head become too much to bear.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Since when do you and Eddie do stuff together?” Dustin questions.

Steve scoffs. “Since we’re friends?” He answers, like it should be obvious.

“So you’re not jealous of him anymore?”

“Jesus, I wasn’t jealous—”

“You so were.”

“I was not jealous !”

“It’s okay to admit you were, Steve,” Dustin says, patting Steve on the arm.

Steve rolls his eyes. He can clock a losing battle when he sees one. “You know, not everything I do has to involve you,” he tells Dustin. “Who’s the jealous one now?”

Dustin laughs. “Me? Jealous of you and Eddie? No way. I just think it’s weird.”

Steve frowns. “Weird? Weird how?” His fingers tighten around the wheel as he prepares for the devastating blow of Dustin’s disapproval. Had he really been that obvious? He didn’t think so, but then again, Dustin is far too observant for his own good. Steve wouldn’t be surprised if he’d picked up on it before Steve had himself. He thought Dustin was cool, but maybe he was wrong. It’d be pretty damn disappointing if he was.

But then a grin breaks out across Dustin’s face, the shit-eating kind, and Steve’s worry is replaced with a different sort of dread. An oh god this fifteen year old is about to verbally annihilate me kind of dread.

“I just thought your only friends were kids,” Dustin snarks, shrugging.

Steve throws a hand up. “Oh, yeah, yeah, laugh it up, chucklehead,” he says, reaching over to smack the bill of Dustin’s hat into his face, interrupting his self-satisfied stream of giggles. “You know you are one of those kids, right? I don’t think that was quite the insult you wanted it to be, man.”

“Yeah, but I’m not the twenty year old hanging out with a bunch of freshmen in this scenario,” Dustin shoots back.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Speaking of you lame freshmen,” he continues, “how was your little dragons and dungeons game tonight?”

Dustin groans. “Dungeons and dragons, Steve, dungeons and dragons! How many times have I told you that?”

The exasperation doesn’t last long, though, and soon enough Dustin launches into a detailed recap of the session. Steve tries to listen, but he can barely follow along, too many technical nerd terms and weird names that sound like diseases and far too much math for something that’s supposed to be fun.

He feels a little bad for not paying attention, but it’s not like his attention is all there to begin with anyways. How can it be when he’s got plans with Eddie tomorrow night?

It’s not an official date, not by any means. But Steve gets ready for it like it is one. He takes a shower, he picks out his best jeans, he pops an extra button on his henley t-shirt (the one he pulls from the back of his closet because it’s a couple years old and maybe a little too small on him now, but hey, tight is good, tight is hot , he looks great in it). He uses an extra jet of Farrah Fawcett spray and spritzes on a little bit of his nice cologne.

He’s not trying too hard, but he’s still putting in a little extra effort. If Eddie notices, he notices. If he doesn’t, well, too bad for him. (But Steve really hopes he notices).

Steve leaves his house at seven forty-five, but the usual fifteen minute drive only takes him just under ten. So maybe he’s a little excited. 

When he rolls up, though, Eddie is already outside (and maybe Steve isn’t the only one who’s excited). He sits on the front steps smoking a cigarette while he waits.

When he sees Steve, he stubs the cigarette out and hops up, tugging on the ends of the red flannel peeking out from beneath his leather jacket as he heads towards the car. Steve doesn’t think he’s seen the flannel before; it’s a good look. Red’s a nice color on Eddie.

“Hi,” Eddie says as he slides into the passenger seat. The smell of cigarettes and pinecones follows him in. Pinecones, huh. That’s new.

“Hey,” Steve replies, tapping his thumb against the wheel. “You look nice,” he blurts, brain-to-mouth filter totally failing him. He clears his throat and immediately tries to retcon. “Didn’t, uh, didn’t know you had jeans without rips,” he jokes pretty weakly. Belatedly, Steve realizes that commenting further on Eddie’s clothes does not really help make the original compliment any less weird.

“Oh,” Eddie says, part amused, part pleased, then laughs. “These ol’ things?” He smacks his palms against his thighs, smoothing them down until he reaches his knees, which are covered in tight black jean, not a rip or shred or tear in sight. Steve’s not disappointed. He’s not. 

“Hah, yeah,” Steve replies, a little manic. He tears his eyes away and fixes them straight forward, busying himself with shifting the gear and pulling out onto the road.

He’s so focused on trying not to think about Eddie touching himself like that that he doesn’t realize that Eddie has changed the subject. By the time Steve tunes back in, he’s already missed half of what Eddie said and he’s totally lost.

“— he’s pretty creepy, but he’s no Leatherface.”

Steve’s face twists. “What the fuck is a Leatherface?” He asks. “Is that something from your game?”

Eddie gapes at him. “Leatherface,” he repeats, miming pulling the string of a chainsaw. When Steve just gives him a blank stare and a helpless shrug of his shoulder, Eddie’s eyebrows climb up his forehead. “Steve,” he says slowly. “Steve, have you not seen Texas Chainsaw Massacre ?”

Steve presses his lips together and shakes his head. “Uh, no.”

“Why are you seeing the second one then?” Eddie asks bluntly.

The car slows as they roll up to a stop sign, and Steve flicks the blinker on, glancing sidelong at Eddie. “’Cause you asked me,” he tells him.

The answer catches Eddie off guard, clearly. “Oh,” he stammers out softly, and goes quiet after that.

Steve peers over and catches the little bit of pink rising to Eddie’s cheeks and the start of a private smile spreading slow across his face as Eddie turns to look out the window and tugs his hair over his mouth to hide it all.

The theater is busy tonight, so parking is a pain to find. They end up having to park around the corner in the lot near Melavald’s. The ticket line is long, when they make it to the Hawk, and they chat idly as they wait.

As they get closer, Steve feels anstier and antsier. It’s… oddly nice, the nerves. They make this feel real. They mean he actually likes his company, that he’s genuinely invested in how the night will go. He realizes that this is what’s been missing from his recent string of hopeless dates. He forgot how thrilling it can be.

When they make it to the front of the line, Eddie flourishes his arm out, gesturing for Steve to go first. It works in Steve’s favor. At the counter, he asks for two tickets to Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 . 

“Next,” the other ticket clerk calls, and Steve feels Eddie start to brush past him to buy his ticket. He catches Eddie round the bicep before he can approach, though.

Eddie shoots him a perplexed look, and Steve accepts the tickets from the clerk helping him. He holds the two tickets up. “Already got ’em,” he tells Eddie with a grin.

“Sneaky,” Eddie comments, accepting the ticket and bumping his shoulder into Steve’s. “Thanks.”

They head for the door and Steve holds it open for Eddie, who playfully paints surprise onto his face and clutches at his chest. “ What a gentleman,” he drawls in a goofy, high-pitched voice.

Steve rolls his eyes at the antics, fighting a blush. He follows Eddie in. 

There’s a line for concessions, too, so they join the queue. A couple of rowdy kids in front of them pretend to sword fight with straws, and a girl in an acid wash denim skirt cuddles up to the boy who has his arm around her shoulders. At the front of the line, an indecisive man hems and haws over what kind of candy to buy.

They’re almost at the front of the line when Eddie excuses himself to hit the bathroom, mumbling something about hoping that line is shorter.

Not long after he disappears, Steve is called to the counter. They’ve been here enough that Steve knows Eddie will want popcorn with extra butter and an orange soda. Instead of getting two separate small bags of popcorn, one for each of them, like they usually do, Steve opts for one of the big buckets. Eddie usually ends up polishing off his whole bag and whatever Steve has left in his, so this way is just easier. Plus, y’know, it’s kind of romantic , or whatever, to share.

Steve points at a box of Milk Duds in the display. “One of those too, please.”

By the time he pays and everything is passed across the counter to him, Eddie still hasn’t returned. So Steve takes his haul and heads towards the bathrooms, leaning against the wall outside of the men’s.

Steve spots Eddie first, when he finally exits. “Munson!” He calls.

Eddie’s head jerks his way, looking surprised to see Steve there. “Shit, was I gone that long?” He asks.

“Nah, line moved pretty quick after you left,” Steve explains. “But don’t worry, I got extra butter like you like,” he adds, lifting the popcorn bucket a little. He holds out the orange soda too.

“Sweet,” Eddie grins, grabbing the soda and taking a long sip. Then he reaches for a handful of the popcorn. “Thought you didn’t like it when I steal from you, Harrington,” he comments, nodding towards the single bucket. 

“I don’t mind it,” Steve says. “This one’s bigger, anyways, so there’s plenty for both of us. I figured we could share it.” He shrugs. “Plus it was cheaper this way.”

Something clicks in Eddie’s eyes as he says that. “Hey, remind me after and I’ll get you back for it.”

Steve waves him off. “It’s cool, dude. Don’t worry about it.”

Eddie looks like he wants to argue, but Steve doesn’t let him. He points at himself. “Chivalrous, remember?”

Eddie laughs softly, and bites his tongue.

Inside the theater, it’s just as packed as the lobby. The good seats, much to Eddie’s dismay, are taken. The only rows left with empty seats are the very first one and the very last one. Eddie turns his nose up at the front row, so they head to the back. It’s what Steve preferred anyways — the last row offers a certain sense of privacy. And if Steve’s actually going to follow through with his plan — and he is going to follow through with his plan — then the privacy will be nice.

They awkwardly shuffle past the filled seats until they make it to the first two unoccupied ones to claim as their own. The armrest is already down between the seats, but when Steve sits, he pushes it back up. No barriers needed this time.

He knows that Eddie notices him move it, but he doesn’t say anything about it. When Eddie settles into his seat, though, he’s just as close as he usually is.

“Oh,” Steve says suddenly, “I almost forgot.” He hands Eddie the popcorn bucket and reaches into his pocket to pull out the box of Milk Duds. He gives it a little shake and holds it out for Eddie. “I got these for you.”

Eddie blinks at the candy. Blinks at Steve. He looks pleasantly surprised. “For me?” He asks, and when Steve nods, he takes them, looking at them like they’re something special. “Shit, thanks man, those are my favorite.”

Steve grins. “I know,” he says.

A look of wonder passes over Eddie’s face as he regards Steve for a moment. Then he shakes his head to himself and tears open the box. Eddie pops a Milk Dud into his mouth, chewing with a happy smile. Then, in one fluid motion, he upturns the whole box over the popcorn bucket, shaking it until the last piece tumbles out.

“What did you just do that for?” Steve squawks, staring at Eddie with wide eyes.

Eddie furrows his brow at Steve. He looks— almost offended. “You’ve never tried this before?” He asks, astounded.

“Uh, no, I have most definitely not,” Steve says. “That’s just— that’s weird , man. How can that taste good?”

Eddie grins, wolfish. “Oh, Steve-o, you are missing out,” he croons, stretching his vowels. He thrusts the popcorn bucket towards Steve. “Don’t knock it til’ you try it. Come on, you know you wanna.” He gives the bucket a shake, mixing the Milk Duds in further.

Steve eyes it for a moment before hesitantly scooping out a handful, making sure to get kernels and candy. 

Eddie gives him a look — well? — and Steve knocks it back. Chews. Considers.

And, oh, okay . That is good. Damn. The perfect mix of sweet and salty.

His enjoyment must show all over his face, because Eddie’s grin grows and turns self-satisfied. “Good, right?”

Steve nods. “Shit, yeah, it is. Anyone ever tell you you’re kind of a genius?” 

Eddie laughs, loud and melodic. It makes something buzz in Steve’s veins, to be the one to draw that sound out of him.

Not long after, the lights dim and the previews start. All throughout, Eddie whispers a running stream of commentary about each trailer, laughing at the ones that look stupid, getting excited over the ones that look cool, telling Steve they should totally go see this and that when it comes out. His breath is warm against Steve’s cheek, mouth so close his lips occasionally brush Steve’s ear. He smells like chocolate, and it sends an involuntary shiver down Steve’s spine.

Eddie doesn’t go too far once the actual movie starts. He’s still pressed close, with the excuse of passing the popcorn bucket back and forth, and Steve pats himself on the back for that call.

He makes the executive decision that he will wait to try and hold Eddie’s hand until the popcorn is gone and the bucket is out of the way. 

The movie starts, and Steve, well, doesn’t exactly pay it much attention. It’s The Fly all over again. Too distracted by Eddie right beside him, this time checking back every few minutes — every few seconds — to see if the popcorn is gone yet. Scratch that about the big bucket being a good decision. It was a stupid one, a dirty rotten one. It’s taking forever to finish, even between the two of them.

It isn’t until about halfway through the film that it finally happens. Eddie leans forward to set the empty bucket near their feet and out of the way, and Steve’s heart leaps into his throat. 

It’s go time.

He fidgets in his seat, looking over at Eddie, at his hand, which, oh so conveniently, lies at his side. It’s just there, waiting, practically begging Steve to make his move. 

He works himself up to it in his head three separate times, chickening out each time before he can even move his own hand.

It’s just a hand! Just a hand to hold! He’s done that before! This isn’t rocket science!

Except it’s not just a hand. It’s Eddie’s hand.

Come on, Harrington.

Steve’s palm is too warm and a little sweaty — totally not ideal for any sort of romantic hand holding. He tries his best to subtly wipe it against his jeans and hopes that Eddie won’t mind a clammy hand. That is, assuming he doesn’t reject Steve’s attempt at hand holding in the first place.

He steals a sidelong glance at Eddie, still watching with rapt attention as Leatherface raises his chainsaw and goes to town, and drops his gaze back down to Eddie’s hand. Steve stares at it for a few more seconds, mentally talking himself up to it. This time he is not going to chicken out.

And then finally, slowly, slowly , he stretches his quivering pinky out. Just like the first time, he lets it linger, not yet committing. 

His heart beats so hard in his chest, so loud in his ears that he’s surprised the other moviegoers in the theater haven’t turned to shush him for it, and he feels a little bit like he might throw up, so nervous his stomach is in knots.

Before he can psych himself out, he lowers his pinky. Closer and closer to Eddie’s until there’s no space left between them, and his fingertip grazes Eddie’s knuckle. The touch is hesitant at first, a barely there brush. 

Eddie feels it though, if the way his hand tenses beneath Steve’s means anything. The rest of his arm and body goes rigid with the exception of his head, which whips Steve’s way.

Steve can feel his eyes boring into the side of his face, but he doesn’t look back yet. He doesn’t want to lose his nerve. He makes himself follow through, straightening his pinky and curling it into the small space between Eddie’s pinky and ring finger.

Eddie’s hand stays motionless, letting Steve finish making his move, but as soon as Steve’s pinky stills, Eddie’s starts to move. His pinky curls back over Steve’s, hooking them together, connecting them properly.

Steve’s heart flops, his stomach somersaults, and he has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep the exhilarated exhale at bay. He works up the courage to finally tear his eyes from their hands and drag them up to Eddie’s face.

Eddie is already looking back, the corner of his mouth pulling up in a lopsided little smile. His hand twists beneath Steve’s then, turning until their palms press together, and he fits the rest of their fingers together, tangling them in a proper grip.

The frantic beating of Steve’s heart stutters hard . 

He’s holding Eddie Munson’s hand. He’s holding Eddie Munson’s hand .

And it’s just… it’s just the best fucking thing. Eddie’s palm is warm, not clammy like Steve’s, but Steve wouldn’t even care if it was. He can feel the worn calluses on his fingers from years of plucking at guitar strings. The band of his ring presses into the side of Steve’s finger.

Eddie settles back into his seat, turning towards the screen again. His shoulder grazes Steve’s again, and it doesn’t move, the pressure steady and continuous. Their hands stay linked, resting against the seat, in the small space between their legs.

Steve tries to focus on the movie, but he feels way too giddy, way too euphoric. The high of holding Eddie’s hand is better than anything he’s ever smoked, and he wants to ride it as long as he can.

He feels something feather light then, against the back of his hand, and at first he thinks it’s Eddie trying to get his attention. But when Steve glances over, Eddie is watching the screen intently. His forefinger, tap tap tapping against Steve’s hand, is just a mindless tick. A sign that he’s just as giddy about this as Steve is. That comforts Steve, makes the buzzing of his nerves dim and the excitement in his veins blaze.

Steve smooths his thumb over the side of Eddie’s hand and gives it a light, reassuring squeeze.

Eddie squeezes back.

They don’t let go for the rest of the movie.

When the credits start to roll and people start to get up to leave, they finally do let go of each other, hands splitting and falling back into their own laps. But they catch each other’s eye, those dopey smiles making their reappearances — or in Steve’s case, growing bigger because it never really left his face in the first place.

They follow the crowd out of the theater and towards the front exit. There’s a certain sort of quiet between them as they leave the Hawk and start down the sidewalk towards where Steve’s car is parked. It’s charged, thick with anticipation, thrumming with electricity and teeming with something unspoken, something desperate to spill out between them.

Their shoulders brush as they walk, sending more sparks down Steve’s arm, and if there weren’t so many people still milling around the street, he might have taken Eddie’s hand again. 

Instead, he settles for stealing sideways glances at Eddie. More often than not, Eddie’s eyes accidentally catch Steve’s as he sneaks his own looks, and they both end up looking away, shy smiles tugging at their lips and matching pink blushes blooming across their cheeks. 

Steve feels like a god damn teenager again, all giddy and excited like this.

But there’s still an undercurrent of nerves. And despite how well the evening is going, Steve’s overthinker of a brain can’t help but turn to the worst. Like, what if Eddie thought Steve had just been scared in the theater, and that’s why he held his hand? Or what if Eddie is just humoring Steve, until he can get him properly alone and let him down easy? Or, worse, what if Eddie laughs at him, what if Steve’s been reading all those little glances and smiles wrong and they’re just Eddie mocking him? Or worse, feeling sorry for him?

Steve shakes those thoughts off — there’s no use working himself up into a tizzy. He wishes that he would have parked the car closer.

Finally, the Beemer comes into view, the last car in the lot. Steve’s heart is in his throat as he pulls his key from his pocket and unlocks the doors, sliding into the driver’s seat. The anticipation inside of him only builds as he watches Eddie round the front of the car and pull open the passenger’s side door, dropping into his seat. 

Steve sticks the key into the ignition, but he doesn’t turn it yet. The car stays still and silent. So does Steve. He doesn’t know how to start this conversation, which is almost kind of funny, because he used to be so good at it. Putting himself out there, making his intentions known, courting someone. He always had an impassioned one-liner or some ridiculously cheesy romantic declaration at the ready.

But he’s got to do something. The silence is becoming unbearable. Steve lets go of the key and moves his hands to the steering wheel, gripping either side of the bottom, readying himself. He twists in his seat, towards Eddie, and opens his mouth to speak, despite the fact that he doesn’t yet know what he’s going to say. He just knows he needs to say something .

Only Eddie beats him to the punch.

“So,” Eddie starts, and Steve closes his mouth. “That was a—”

“A date, right?” Steve interrupts, and his knuckles clench so tightly around the wheel they start to go white.

Eddie’s mouth twitches, and his eyes are cautious as he watches Steve. “Do you think it was?” He asks.

Which. Okay. Avoiding a straightforward answer, throwing it back to Steve to make him spill his guts first, nice. Of course Eddie would do that.

Steve can’t exactly blame him, though.

So Steve buckles down. He looks Eddie right in those pretty brown eyes and says, “Yeah.”

Eddie’s eyebrows fly up in surprise, like he hadn’t expected the confirmation, despite everything. He drops his chin, a silent question in the narrowing of his eyes. Are you sure?

He is sure, he is so sure, so he repeats himself, firmer, stronger. “Yes.”

“So, is that— have we been going on dates… all this time then?”

Steve chuckles, the corner of his mouth pulling up as Robin shouts I told you so in his head. “Yeah, kind of, I think we have.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Did you.. was that— I get the feeling that’s news to you? Like— like it wasn’t on purpose? The whole time I mean.”

Steve scrubs a hand over his face and laughs at himself this time. “Uh, yeah, pretty much. I was, um, not aware that these were dates until the last couple.”

Eddie nods in understanding. “I mean I guess they technically weren’t really dates ,” he says. “Not in, like, the official sense or anything.”

“Maybe not,” Steve agrees. “But I think I wanted them to be. Like, subconsciously.” 

“Oh?” Eddie says.

“Yeah,” Steve says, more confident. “I think I was kind of, like, lost, before. And confused. And, um, in denial.” He offers a crooked smile. “You’re kind of… you’re kind of the first boy I’ve ever, like, really liked.” 

Something like amazement flashes across Eddie’s shining wide eyes. He bites his lip, dimples emerging. “So you like me?” He asks all bashful.

Steve feels himself flush, but he nods. “Yeah,” he exhales. “Like— like a lot, actually.”

“Shit, Steve,” Eddie breathes and laughs, bright and buoyant. He fidgets in his seat, his head ducking demurely.

“Was that not clear with the—” Steve holds his hand up, wiggling his fingers and dropping his gaze pointedly to Eddie’s hand where it rests against his leg.

Eddie’s eyes follow Steve’s, and his own fingers twitch. The corner of his mouth pulls up, and he lifts his hand, moving it until his palm presses into Steve’s and their fingers line up. Steve’s hand is just a little bigger. He doesn’t know why, but that makes something pull in his gut.

Their hands shift, fingers slotting, and Eddie folds them properly together. He lets them lower and settle into the space between them, against the center console. Steve likes the way it looks. Natural, like their hands belong like this.

“I wanted to hold your hand last time. When we saw that bug movie,” Steve confesses. “That was kind of my, like, wake up call?”

Eddie’s lips purse, amusement coloring his features. “Was it? Brundlefly did it for you?” He teases.

Steve snorts. “ You did it for me,” he corrects, and revels in the way his words visibly hit Eddie square in the chest, that same floored, dumbstruck look covering his face.

“Fucking charmer,” he mumbles, but he’s glowing. And then he tells Steve, “I wanted to hold your hand too, you know.”

Steve’s heart skips a beat. “You should have,” he says.

“I didn’t want to push my luck,” Eddie replies, pressing his lips together. “I wasn’t sure where you stood. I didn’t want to, like, upset the balance or whatever.” He pauses for a moment. “Some people can be touchy about that.” 

Steve nods in understanding. “Well you don’t have to worry about that with me,” he says. He gives Eddie’s hand a squeeze. “I fully expect you to hold my hand at whatever horrible movie you take me to next time.”

“Next time?” Eddie asks, biting his lip. His eyes are on Steve, so big and so brown. Steve kind of wants to get lost in them.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. “I was kind of hoping there would be a next time.”

Those doe eyes sparkle back at him, and Eddie nods firmly. “There will definitely be a next time, Steve Harrington,” he says.

Steve lets a dopey smile break out across his face. “Good,” he replies, giving Eddie’s hand a squeeze.

He reaches for the key, turning it in the ignition finally. The car roars to life, and he lets go of Eddie’s hand just long enough to shift the gear into drive before he threads them back together.

“Hang on a second — horrible movie?”

As Steve drives back to Eddie’s place, Eddie makes sure to explain to him just how wrong he is about that one.

There’s not a whole lot Steve can actually say to defend his opinion — not that that even is his opinion. He hadn’t exactly been paying enough attention to either of the last two movies they’d seen to really say whether they were bad or good. He’d been too busy thinking about Eddie .

They’ll just have to watch them again. Maybe wait until they come out on VHS and they can squeeze together on the sofa and hold hands the whole time, and Eddie can point out everything that makes The Fly a masterpiece and Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 a bloody good time without having to worry about anyone complaining about him talking through the whole movie.

Yeah, that sounds like a great idea.

Steve tells Eddie, and he seems to think so too.

When Steve turns into the trailer park a few minutes later and pulls up in front of the Munson trailer, he puts his car in park. Eddie lets go of Steve’s hand, but he doesn’t make any moves to get out of the car.

Steve glances over at him, and his mouth tugs with something shy, something bashful. “I had a nice time,” he says, and god, it sounds so fucking cliché, but it’s so fucking true.

Eddie chuckles softly. Not unkindly. “Me too,” he says.

They lapse into a peaceful moment of quiet, only disrupted by a dog barking somewhere in the distance. When Steve looks over at Eddie again, Eddie is already looking back. The moonlight shines through the window, backlighting Eddie’s face. He looks ethereal. So pretty and so wonderful, and Steve wants to kiss him. He really wants to kiss him .

So he goes for it. He doesn’t give himself any time to overthink it, or to decide it’s a bad idea. He just leans across the center console, hand coming up to clutch at Eddie’s cheek, his jaw, to cradle his face as he catches his mouth in a kiss.

Eddie is still for only just a moment before one hand grasps Steve’s wrist, fingers circling it delicately, holding on, and his other hand bunches into the front of Steve’s shirt. 

He kisses back, and Steve’s heart soars in his chest.

Eddie’s mouth is warm and sweet against Steve’s, and Steve is pleased to find that it is just as soft as he thought it would be. 

When they break apart, they don’t go very far. Steve’s hand slips down the side of Eddie’s neck, his thumb falling against his pulse point. He can feel the faint thump-thump-thump of Eddie’s heart, the way it’s racing just a little bit. It makes him smile wider.

They sort of just look at each other for a beat, for two, for three, and then a little bubble of laughter bursts from Eddie’s lips, like he just can’t help it. It’s small at first, quiet, but it swells up and spills out then, louder, fuller.

Steve’s brow furrows, but it’s contagious, and before he knows it, he’s laughing too. 

“What?” Steve asks, when he manages to get it under control. “Was it that bad?” 

Eddie ducks his head, shaking it. “ No ,” he reassures. “No, your reputation is still very much intact, I promise. I just — fuck, I’m happy ,” he tells Steve. “I’m really fucking happy right now.” Another bright laugh. “And I sort of can’t really believe it.” He tugs on his hair, pulling it over the corner of his smile, and he looks at Steve.

Steve grins. “Tell me about it,” he says. “I feel like I’m dreaming.”

“I didn’t expect you to make the first move,” Eddie admits, curling the lock of hair around the tip of his finger. “I sort of thought either I’d have to or it never would happen.”

Steve scrunches up his nose. “Yeah, well I’ve made all the first moves, Munson,” he laughs.

“I know ,” Eddie says. “You are full of surprises, Steve Harrington.” He sounds a little breathless as he says it, a little awed. 

“That’s a good thing, I hope,” Steve replies. 

Eddie nods. “That’s a great thing.”

And he pulls Steve back in to kiss him again. It’s softer, shorter, but it’s still so wonderful.

The porch light turns on then, probably Uncle Wayne checking to see who could possibly be idling outside of his trailer at almost eleven o’clock at night. 

Eddie sees the light and makes a face. “I should probably head in,” he tells Steve, but he doesn’t move yet. His eyes shine as he looks at Steve, a soft curve to his mouth. “I don’t want to,” he admits.

Steve feels warm. He doesn’t want Eddie to go either. “I’ll see you tomorrow, though, right?”

Eddie nods. “Definitely.”

Then, with a mournful sigh, Eddie pushes the car door open and makes his exit. He closes it gently behind him, and Steve rolls the window down.

Eddie drops his forearm onto the window frame, ducking his head to peer through to Steve. “I’m going to take you out properly next time, okay?” He says, pointing a finger at Steve.

“This wasn’t proper enough for you?” Steve asks, mouth quirking up.

“I mean, you’re gonna know it’s a date next time,” Eddie says pointedly, lips pursing and eyes flashing as he tilts his head.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Steve replies.

“Me too,” Eddie says. He smiles softly at Steve and starts to back up, arm extending all the way until he has to let go of the car. His hand hovers and he wiggles his fingertips at Steve.

“Goodnight, Steve,” he murmurs.

“Goodnight, Eddie,” Steve says.

Eddie lets his hand drop back down to his side, and he continues to walk backwards a few more paces until finally, he pivots and crosses the last few feet to his trailer. 

He hops up the front steps of his trailer. At the door, he pauses, turning back to Steve. He lifts his hand in a wave.

Steve waves back.

Even from inside his car, he can see the smile stretching Eddie’s lips. Then he disappears inside. The porch light shuts off.

And as Steve drives home, he can’t wipe the smile off of his face either.