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For once, Steve isn't doing anything for New Years. Back in the day, he'd have been up until the early hours, surrounded by champagne and loud music and unruly crowds of drunken teenagers. Now he's home alone, a series of guilty pleasure movies on the TV and a cup of coffee at his side to see him through the last couple of hours to midnight, when he will promptly fall into bed. He would have done something, he supposed, if there were people around, but the Wheelers are visiting family, the Byers are doing a small thing at home with Hopper and El, and Robin has a date with Vickie. His last hope, Dustin, announced a few days ago that he was tagging along to some house party Lucas and Max had been invited to. He hadn't seemed especially enthused at the idea, but it beat being alone. Like Steve is.
He's halfway through Raiders of the Lost Ark when the phone rings. Sighing, he stops the VHS and slouches over to the phone.
“This is the Harringtons,” he answers automatically, the way he always does at home. Most of the time it's someone calling for his parents, not that they're ever here.
“Steve!” a voice replies, somehow familiar yet unrecognisable. “Steve, Steve, hey, I need your help.” It's Dustin, but not the Dustin he knows. He's known so many versions of the boy: cocky, insecure, proud, scared, elated, devastated… but never like this. He's wired, yet his voice sounds like it's moving through toffee. He's slurring his words slightly. Oh shit, is he injured? Steve clenches the phone.
“Dustin? What's going on?” Suddenly he remembers the party. “Are you drunk?”
“Maybe.”
Steve runs a hand down his face. “Jesus, Henderson, what do you mean maybe? How much have you had?”
“I don't know!” Dustin almost wails. “I wasn't planning on drinking, but I think someone put something in the punch and now I don't want to be here but I can't find Max and Lucas and I'm meant to be staying with them, and if I go home then mum's gonna find out that I-”
“Slow down, it's okay,” Steve says as soothingly as he can, considering how alert he's become in the past 30 seconds. His coffee has nothing on the adrenaline rush this is giving him. “I'll come get you. Where are you?”
Dustin mumbles out a street name on the other side of town. Steve is grappling for his shoes, just out of reach, when he says he'll be there in 20 minutes or less.
Although he hasn’t been given a specific house number, it isn’t too hard for Steve to find the one Dustin is in. The rest of the street is quiet, but one house is lit up like a carnival float, and the music they’re blaring could be heard several doors down. Just knowing that this was what he used to inflict on his neighbours is enough to make Steve cringe. His delight at finding the place soon sours; it's a big house, and from what he can see through the windows, it's packed. Dustin could be anywhere. Steve is just about to storm in there when he spots brown curls and a baseball cap on the front step. There's another figure too, taller and older, with longer curls almost black in the dim porch light. He'd recognise Eddie Munson's locks anywhere.
“Dustin!” Steve calls as he steps out of the car.
Both boys look up at the sound. Dustin's cheeks are flushed and he looks a little like he's about to burst into tears. “Steve, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to…”
“Hey, no, it's okay,” he assures him, kneeling in front of him and gently checking him over. His pulse is running a mile a minute, and he seems a little queasy, but he's not too far gone. Steve sighs in relief, and allows himself a sliver of bitterness. “Looks like everything is under control anyway.” He throws a shady glance at the other boy, who is still sitting close and clutching a half-drained glass of water. “Didn't know you'd called Munson as well.”
“I didn't,” Dustin protests. “Eddie was just-”
“Here on business,” the metalhead finally pipes up, giving Steve a covert wink. Of course he was dealing. Steve wouldn't be surprised if that was how this whole mess started, someone too off their head to consider the impact of their actions.
Steve’s lips set in a hard line. “Right, well…” he grimaces like it hurts, what he's about to say, “thanks for keeping an eye on Dustin until I arrived, but I've got it from here. You can get back to work.”
To his surprise, Dustin turns and clings to Eddie, looking very much like a nervous toddler. “Please don't go, Eddie,” he whispers.
The older boys exchange a worried glance. Steve is convinced Eddie is about to be a dick about it, tell Dustin off for being clingy and weird, and make him feel bad for winding up in this situation that isn't his fault, leaving Steve to pick up the pieces. Eddie… well, Eddie isn't used to being relied upon, to being wanted. He's waiting for Steve to put his foot down and send him on his way before his reputation crumbles before his eyes, but in that moment he realises he doesn't want him to. Screw his reputation, his little protégé needs him, and maybe it's not so bad getting to play the concerned father figure for one night.
“Fine, I guess I'll tag along. That is, if Saint Harrington doesn't mind?” It's a prompt, a test.
“Come on then,” Steve says at last with a nod. Each of them slides a hand under Dustin's arms, and together they walk their shaky-legged friend down to the Beamer. They're halfway there when Steve pauses. “One of us should find Sinclair and tell him-”
“Already done,” Eddie says without stopping, relishing in Steve’s obvious surprise at his competence. He helps Dustin into the backseat and follows him, buckling him in and taking the middle seat to keep him close. Steve falters. He'd never have expected the guy to even stick around, let alone be this attentive. All this time, he'd assumed Dustin just idolised Eddie for being some cool, rebellious smartass and that the relationship was a little one-sided, but it’s different. They’re actually friends. Eddie cares. Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson cares. The thought makes something flutter in his chest, tickling at the underside of his lungs.
He settles into the driver’s seat before turning and looking over his shoulder. “I swear to god, Henderson, if you vomit on my upholstery I'm taking you straight home to your mum.” He says it gently; he's not actually threatening him, he's just finding a lighthearted way to ask if Dustin is okay.
“Aww,” Eddie coos sarcastically, “we wouldn't want to ruin this beautiful motor, would we?” One hand casually on the back of Steve’s seat to prop himself up, he leans forward and gives a cheeky smirk.
Steve looks down at him, painfully aware that this is the first time they've been in an enclosed space together. Eddie smells like old leather and cigarette smoke. He swallows. “Says the guy who drives a van as old as the kid.”
Eddie's smirk widens. “I don't know who you're insulting more, me or Henderson.”
“It's you,” Dustin mumbles, face pressed against the cool glass of the window. “Can we go?”
Steve puts the Beamer in gear and, rolling his eyes at Eddie in the rear view, sets off for home.
—
Dustin has pretty much crashed by the time they pull up outside Steve’s house. He's still awake, but his head is on Eddie's shoulder and his eyes are glassy and vacant. When Eddie tries to get out of the car, he has to catch the boy to stop him from slumping over.
“Shit,” he mutters. “Harrington?”
Steve looks back at Eddie, awkwardly peering over the top of the car as he keeps one arm inside to hold Dustin up. “Yeah, okay, I've got him.” He tosses a set of keys over the roof and opens the other door to lift his friend out. Eddie gets the message rather quickly and wastes no time in scrambling up the front steps to unlock the door. Inside, the hall light is still on, and in the living room beyond is the reddish glow of a dying fire. Eddie can't help but look around for signs of life, for the party that Steve ditched to come to his friend's aid, for the family waiting for him to return for midnight cocktails, but the silence is deafening. What is this guy's deal, he wonders to himself. Suddenly, he realises that the guy in question is halfway up the stairs, still carrying Dustin, and he bounds after them. It doesn't escape his notice the way Steve’s muscles twitch under his jacket as he navigates the boy up the narrow space. They veer off to one side and Eddie follows, clicking the light on to reveal a bedroom. For the most part it looks like a typical guest room, with all the lack of charm and personality a rich suburban house could offer, but the wall opposite the bed is covered with movie posters and diagrams of stuff too technical for him to fully grasp, and he realises this isn't the first time Dustin has stayed over. Not the first time King Steve has let this little nerd crash at his place. As much as he doesn't want to believe it, it dawns on him that maybe all the things Dustin has said about him are true, that he's actually a good guy. The way he's gently lowering the boy into bed seems to back this up.
“Hey.” He doesn't realise that Steve has moved close, a little closer than he expected, and he almost jumps at the low voice. “Can you keep an eye on him for a sec while I grab some stuff?”
Eddie nods, his entire body tensing as though it's been electrocuted when Steve places a hand on his shoulder in thanks as he passes.
“The stars are pretty tonight,” Dustin says to nobody in particular from where he's propped upright on the bed.
Eddie sits down beside him. “Dude, you're inside. That's a ceiling light.”
“Oh.” Despite still clearly being drunk, he looks slightly less at death's door now at least: his cheeks are returning to a normal colour, there's no sweat on his brow, and though his eyes are still unfocused they're not vibrating.
“Hey, Eddie?”
“Yeah, I'm still here.” Dustin reaches out and, for some reason, pats his thigh. The kid's thought processes are a mystery most of the time, so throwing alcohol into the mix means he has absolutely no idea where the conversation is about to go. He prays it's not going to be weird.
“‘m glad you're here.”
“Of course, man, I've got you.” Eddie flicks Dustin's cap out of the way to ruffle his hair.
“Now you and Steve can finally hang out. I think you'll really like him, actually,” Dustin smiles up at him, a big toothy grin he reserves for when he's really happy about something.
Eddie freezes, his hand still on Dustin's head. Is the kid psychic? He's smart enough that he could be. Can he read Eddie's thoughts just through this physical contact? Does he somehow know that despite how Steve always seemed to go against everything Eddie stands for, he can't help the crush he has on him? They barely even know each other, their only connection is the boy beside him, but he's always thought Steve was good-looking and now knowing that he does in fact genuinely spend his time with a bunch of teenagers instead of partying and being the jackass he suspected him to be is… surprisingly endearing. But he's only been around the guy half an hour, there's still time for him to prove why Eddie was right to doubt him, to validate the jealousy he feels every time Dustin sings his praises.
As if summoned by his thoughts, Steve slips quietly back into the room. He's carrying a tray with a large glass of water, a plate of toast and some aspirin, and there's a small waste basket tucked under his arm. Everything he does is so gentle, from the way he sits in the very spot Eddie has just vacated to the way he lifts the glass to Dustin's lips to the way he tilts him forward to help rearrange the pillows. Eddie is pretty sure Dustin could manage the drink by himself, but he seems happy to let Steve help. Meanwhile, he just stands there, fidgeting with his rings. Part of him feels a little helpless - normally he wouldn't hesitate to go barging through someone else's house looking for stuff he thought might help, but damn it he wants to make a good impression, and Steve so clearly has it under control. Another part of him is very aware that he's only here by chance, that Dustin only wants him around because he happened to be there at the time, but it was Steve he phoned for help. There's that spark of jealousy again. And there's a third part of him, a very small part that he barely even knew existed, which is so overcome with longing for this soft domesticity that it roots him to the floor, urging him to just take in the moment while it's available to him, before he fucks it up.
He's brought back to the present by Dustin, speaking the clearest he has all night. Instantly he's on high alert and ready to help. “Thank you.” He's looking at his toast, turning the slice round rhythmically in his fingers, but Eddie gets the sense that it's Steve he's talking to. “Thought I had a few more years before I got in this mess,” he says with a wry chuckle, “but I didn't know what it would be like not having a dad to go to for help.” Finally, he looks up, a shy blush colouring his expression. “I'm glad I've got you.”
Steve makes a small noise. “Yeah, of course,” he replies, his voice high and tight. Eddie can practically hear the lump in his throat; it mirrors the one he's developing, and he wordlessly excuses himself to leave them to their moment.
—
Steve frantically wipes a stray tear from the corner of his eye as he steps from the bedroom. He'd always tried to be a good influence on the kids, to be rational and supportive, and he was aware that Dustin looked up to him more than the others, but to learn that he'd become more of a father figure than just ‘the babysitter’ hit him deep in his core. His own lack of a stable father figure was a point of contention, so it filled Steve with a spiteful sort of pride to realise that he'd become the man his father never was and who he never believed he could be, in spite of it all.
To his surprise, Eddie is leaning expectantly against the balcony rail. He'd be the picture of unaffectedness if not for the way he's running his thumb over his rings, spinning them around as he clenches and unclenches his fist. He raises an eyebrow when Steve approaches, but it doesn't feel mocking. It's almost a question: is everything okay? With Dustin? With you?
“You are allowed to sit down, you know,” Steve clears his throat and gestures to the living room.
“Didn't want to get freak all over your fancy furniture.”
Steve laughs, a little reluctantly. “It's my parents’ furniture and I don't give a shit what they think. Do your worst.”
Eddie gives him a mischievous grin that twists something within his stomach, before launching himself lengthways onto one of the sofas. Now Steve laughs properly, desperately trying to rein it in so he doesn't disturb Dustin. He sinks down onto the other sofa, watching with amusement as the other boy wriggles around, spreading as much of himself across the seat as he can. Together they settle into a comfortable silence, broken only by the tipsy murmurings from the room next door.
“Hey,” Steve says after a while, “sorry if I was a dick earlier. I actually am glad you were there for Dustin until I showed up. He really looks up to you, you know.”
“You can talk. Kid worships you, dude, like, you have no idea. It's kind of annoying, to be honest. Not that I care what that little shrimp thinks.”
Steve lets out a disbelieving scoff, but the spark in his chest tells him he shouldn't be surprised. The only shocking thing is that Eddie is admitting this, outright telling him he's a little jealous.
“Rich parents, popular, chicks love him, not a douche? No way man, no way,” Eddie continues like he's not aware he might as well be stabbing him in the heart.
“If it's any consolation,” Steve mutters, “the chicks don't show much interest any more and my parents never did in the first place.”
He can tell Eddie wants to comment on his romantic status, but instead his brow furrows. “That's why the whole father figure shit got to you, huh?”
Steve sighs, running a hand across the back of his neck. This was not a conversation he expected to be having tonight, and even if he had predicted it this is the last person he'd have thought to be having it with. But maybe that's a good thing; he doesn't care what Eddie Munson thinks of him… does he? He sighs again. “I just… My dad's still around, he just couldn't care less about me unless I'm being absolutely perfect every second of my life, and it sucks. I tried so hard to live up to his expectations for years, but there are more important things. Like that little shrimp.” They both exchange a smile and a glance at the bedroom. “You probably know his dad isn't in the picture, so I try to, you know, keep an eye on him. It's kind of nice to hear that I'm not royally screwing it up.”
“Yeah, I get it,” Eddie admits. “I live with my uncle, so that's as good as it gets for me too.”
Steve's eyes widen slightly. “Shit, I'm so sorry. Is your dad…?”
It takes him a second to process the unfinished question. “Oh, god no, not that I've heard at least. Nah, he's just locked up, so obviously he's a pillar of fatherly wisdom.” He expects Steve to remark on this bombshell, to give him the ‘like father, like son’ he's heard from almost everybody who has ever known him and Al, but instead he's met with a look of understanding, compassion and… something else. He swallows. “It's gone kind of quiet in there. I'd better go check on our shrimp boy.” He doesn't know quite why he says ‘our’, and he jumps up and heads for the bedroom before his racing brain has time to confront the thought.
Dustin, eyelids heavy and breathing slow, has snuggled himself down into the duvet. Beside him on the nightstand, the plate of toast is nothing but crumbs and the glass has barely two mouthfuls left.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Eddie springs into action, launching himself forward and helping Dustin onto his side. There are plenty of pillows on the bed, so he props one at the boy's back and another in front, which Dustin lazily wraps his arms around.
“Thanks, Eddie,” he smiles into the fabric. “You'd make such a good dad.”
Eddie's heart skips a beat. He's never considered having kids, never thought he was good enough for that. Tonight was just supposed to be pretend, he wasn’t supposed to have feelings about it.
“I thought I was your dad?” a voice says from the doorway. Eddie turns, and his skipping heart almost stops completely. Steve is leaning casually against the doorframe, and he's taken his jacket off to reveal a tight, short-sleeved polo shirt. His arms are folded in mock petulance, making his biceps bulge.
Dustin gives another wide smile. “You can both be my dads!”
“Fine, we'll take it in turns,” Steve relents.
“No, no, you can do it together,” the boy insists. “Please? You'll love Eddie once you get to know him.” Now Eddie's certain he's completely malfunctioning. Why did the kid have to bring that word into things? He's still kneeling by the bed, and finds himself gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles are almost white.
“That sounds a lot like favouritism, Henderson, and after I made you toast,” Steve says with forced outrage, but he can't help the smirk on his face.
Dustin sits back up, pointing emphatically between the two. “To be fair, I did also tell him he'd like you. Not in a dad husband way, but however you guys want to take it I guess.”
Both of them react at once.
“Hold on, who said anything about husbands?”
“So help me, Henderson, I will smother you with this pillow.”
The grin they receive in return is cheeky and knowing, far too knowing for Eddie's liking, and he can't help but wonder if maybe Dustin has sobered up more than he thought. What he's saying is absolutely mad, obviously, but the way he's saying it is worryingly lucid and with how smart he is, it wouldn't at all surprise Eddie if he's sowing seeds of an idea the same way he does when he's trying to get the party on his side in DnD. But that would mean he really does know about Eddie's feelings, and that would be ridiculous, because he's only just being hit by them himself. It's only in this small conversation that he's actually had any sort of physical reaction, and there's no way Dustin would have picked up on that. Dustin, who notices every little detail about everything ever. Shit.
Steve watches Eddie turn an interesting shade of pink and wonders what thought he's had to elicit such a response. It can't possibly be the same one he's having, because he can't imagine the metalhead ever having the same sappy dreams as him. He's thinking about his life plan, his goal of settling down with someone and having five or six kids of his own. Before tonight, he's been unable to shake the image of himself as the babysitter to a bunch of uncontrollable teens, but with the way his world has been turned on its head in the past hour or so he suddenly realises he's not as far from his dream as he thought. Dustin, Will, Mike, Lucas, Max, Eleven… that's six kids right there (not that Eleven needs much looking after, but then there's always the newcomer Erica instead). Sure, they're not his kids, but he's as close with them as if they were. The Upside Down and Russian or military bases aren't quite as nice as summer road trips, but they're a far more unique bonding experience. With his parents never around, his house has become a base for any of the kids needing a retreat. The only thing missing is the person to share it all with. Eddie is an utterly insane contender: he's brash, he's weird, he plays a game Steve has never understood and listens to music he's never heard of. They have nothing in common. No. They have Dustin in common. He gave up what would have been a very lucrative night's dealing to be here for the kid. Dustin is so convinced that Steve will like Eddie if he gives him a chance, and did they not just have a very sincere heart-to-heart about their family situations? Is that not something else in common? Besides, Eddie has been making Steve laugh to himself all night in that quiet, unintentional way, and he supposes that with those curls and deep brown eyes and equally deep smile lines and that mischievous grin he gives when he's about to do something stupid and goofy and… Shit.
They linger until Dustin starts to drift to sleep, both of them pressed into the space around the doorway. When his eyes finally flutter shut and stay that way, Steve places a hand between Eddie's shoulder blades to steer him out of the room and towards the stairs, pulling the door shut behind him. Halfway down the stairs, he pauses with a frown. Eddie has his hand on the front door.
“You're not just going to walk home are you?”
Eddie turns, shrugging. “Of course not. I'm going to walk back to the party to get my van, and then drive home.”
Steve's hand is reaching out before he can stop himself. “Wait!” They both look down at his fingers, dimpling the soft leather of Eddie’s sleeve. He swallows thickly. “It's all the way across town. Why don't I just drive you back in the morning?”
Eddie gives him another of those mischievous grins, but it's a little different this time. Smaller, a little lopsided, more heartfelt. “Are you asking me to stay, Harrington?”
He huffs a breath that tickles across Eddie's face. “Dustin wants you here, doesn't he?” Is it his imagination, or does that disarming smile of Eddie's fall ever so slightly? “And I'm not parenting our child by myself. I'm- I want you to stay. Can I get you a drink?”
“Just a soda. We've had enough alcohol-based issues for one night.”
“You're kidding.”
Eddie finally moves away from the door, patting the space between Steve's shoulder and chest as he ventures further into the house. “Of course I'm kidding, Stevie boy. I'm not starting the new year sober.”
Eddie sinks down onto the sofa with a contented sigh. God, the Harringtons have way nicer furniture than the lumpy old sofa in his trailer. If he hadn't spent the evening having such genuine interactions, he'd take this as more proof that Steve was just some rich snob. Knowing what he now does, the truth hits him like a truck: Steve is out of depth in his own life. Maybe that's why he spends so much time with the kids, because they give him an opportunity to escape from the suffocating reality of home. That’s something Eddie can relate to.
He’s expecting Steve to walk back in with a couple of beers, which he does, but he also has a bottle of champagne and two flutes in his other hand. “Figured if you’re going to see in the new year with me, we might as well do it properly,” he admits.
Eddie nods to the TV, which is still frozen where Steve left it hours ago. “Let’s just hope I’m a better companion for the festivities than Mr Jones.”
“Doctor Jones.”
He laughs, and takes the beer he’s offered. “Oh, I’m sorry, how rude of me.”
Steve stalls, takes a slow sip of his beer, then glances at the other boy out of the corner of his eye. “And you are, for the record.”
“I am what?”
“A better companion. Indy’s cool and all, but it’s nice to have an actual person here, y’know? And someone who gets what it’s like dealing with the kids and family shit and all that.”
“Thanks,” Eddie gives him a soft smile. “And for the record, I could think of a lot worse people to be unintentionally co-parenting with. You’re alright, Harrington.”
Steve leans in, an amused smile of his own playing across his lips. When he speaks, his voice is lower than it was before, both quieter and deeper. The sound of it twists knots in Eddie’s stomach. “You’re just saying that because you’re my husband now.”
“Ha ha,” Eddie says, sarcasm practically dripping from his words. “Dustin specifically said ‘not in a dad husband way’, unless I’m mistaken.”
“‘But however you guys want to take it,’ wasn’t it?”
Eddie finally turns his head fully. He hadn’t realised how close together they were sitting, but his vision is almost completely filled by Steve’s eyes, pupils blown wide in the dim light. There’s a question behind his gaze, one that he recognises. He’d wordlessly posed the same one earlier that night. That is, if Saint Harrington doesn’t mind? It’s really just a way to say: this is your chance to back out now, or are we doing this? Steve is asking the same thing, but its meaning has shifted entirely. This is no longer just tolerating each other.
He leans in a little closer, revelling in the way the usually collected Steve’s throat bobs nervously. “Well, normally I’d tell you to buy me a drink first, but…” he gestures to the bottles on the coffee table with a smirk.
“Goddamnit, Munson,” Steve mutters, shaking his head as he finally closes the gap between them. Eddie gasps and hesitates ever so slightly, so he pauses, a hint of a curse on his tongue. Every doubt is banished from thought when the other boy chases his lips, wrapping a hand around the back of his head to hold him close and mess up his carefully styled hair. He’s far too elated to care, tangling his own hand into those beautiful dark curls with a slight tug. Now Eddie gasps properly, a sharp intake that rattles his chest and turns up the corners of his mouth, and he leans back as the tip of Steve’s tongue flicks against his. Steve follows him down, cushioning the back of his head when it hits the arm of the sofa, and his free hand comes to rest beside Eddie’s hips to hold him up, fingers playing with the silver chain that hangs from his jeans. Challenging, Eddie nips at Steve’s lower lip, and in return Steve yanks the chain which earns him a guttural groan and a bony set of hips bucking against his own. He kisses Eddie more firmly, trying to devour the noise that just came from him. Suddenly, a deep boom echoes through the night. Steve tenses, his affections halting, but it’s just fireworks. Midnight. A kaleidoscope of colours light up the window with another blast.
“Happy New Year, Steve,” Eddie murmurs against his lips. He pulls back. The boy beneath him is panting, cheeks flushed and bottom lip dragged between his teeth.
Steve sits back, helping Eddie to sit up, and he keeps his hand on Eddie’s arm and places the other high on his thigh. “Happy New Year, Eddie. Come on.” Sliding his hand down until their fingers link, he drags them both to their feet and clicks off the TV before he picks up the champagne, waving it temptingly as they head for the stairs.
—
Steve wakes to an empty bed. For a moment, his heart sinks. He should have known last night was too good to be true. Eddie’s never seemed like the sort of guy to settle down, especially not when it involves Steve and pretend custody of a teenager. But then he’s hit by the smell of something warm and comforting, so he pulls on a pair of sweatpants and socks and tramps down stairs (not before poking his head into Dustin’s room, confirming that the boy is alive and fast asleep). He follows the scent to the kitchen, where Eddie is standing over the stove. The mid-morning sun is streaming through the window above the sink, the air is tinged with the bitter bite of fresh coffee, the Squawk is playing softly in the background, and Steve has arrived quietly enough that he’s able to take in the comfort of the scene playing out before him without interruption. When he’s finished drinking it in, he slips forward, fabric-clad feet silent on the tile. Eddie must sense he’s no longer alone, as he starts to turn, but Steve captures him with arms around his waist, hugging him from behind and pressing a kiss to his jawline.
“Morning,” he greets sleepily. “What’s all this?”
Eddie turns his head and kisses him back. “It’s nothing special, just scrambled eggs and toast. You don’t mind, do you?”
He reluctantly lets go to pour himself a coffee. “Not at all, it’s… sweet.”
“Ugh,” Eddie shudders, but he’s smiling. “Don’t get all mushy on me Harrington, I was just hungry and you were still sleeping off last night.”
“Oh, so you’re not being considerate? This is just for you?” He eyes the pan. “That’s a lot of eggs for one man, Munson.”
Eddie swats his hand away with the wooden spoon. “Excuse you, our son will be very hungover, and I am nothing if not an attentive father.” This time, he means it when he says ‘our’. He almost holds his nerve against the puppy eyes being thrown his way, but finally he relents and scoops a generous helping onto the fresh toast.
Footsteps overhead alert them to the arrival of the third member of their unconventional little family. A bleary-eyed Dustin traipses in, his hair sticking up at every angle. His face lights up when he’s met with not one but two of his friends.
“Eddie! You stayed!” he beams.
“Didn’t trust Harrington to look after you on his own,” he shrugs, handing the boy a plate. He sticks his tongue out at Steve when Dustin bends down to scoop up a mouthful, and Steve gives him the finger.
“It’s a good job there are plenty of spare rooms.”
Steve chokes on his coffee.
Eddie nearly drops his spoon.
“What?” Dustin tilts his head in confusion.
“Nothing!” they both reply hastily.
The room lapses into the contented state of breakfast-time, the crunch of toast and the clattering of forks against ceramic the only other sounds than the radio. Steve and Eddie exchange secretive glances whenever they think Dustin can’t see. It gets harder by the minute for them not to come clean or just burst out laughing at the sly expressions each is receiving.
“Um,” Dustin clears his throat, “did I call you two husbands last night?”
Steve bites back another laugh. “Technically, genius, you called us both dad, but said we didn’t have to be husbands.”
His face pales. “Shit. Sorry if I made things weird.”
Eddie frowns. “Weird?”
“You know, because you two…” He glances between them, eyes a little too discerning, but when he seemingly doesn’t see what he’s looking for the colour rushes back to his cheeks and he turns his attention back to his eggs. “Never mind.”
Eddie turns to Steve with a raised eyebrow. Steve bites the inside of his cheek, a grin tugging its way across his face. An unspoken deal is made.
Steve stands up to put his empty plate in the sink. “Weird… like this?” He places a kiss on Eddie’s cheek.
Dustin’s jaw drops.
“Or like this?” Eddie smirks, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist and dipping him into the most exaggerated, rom-com worthy kiss.
Dustin splutters. “I knew it! I told you you’d like each other!”
“I don’t think you can take credit for this, Henderson,” Steve points out.
Dustin gives a triumphant grin. “I think I can, actually. Maybe I should get drunk more often.”
“Uh, no. Absolutely not. In fact, I’m not driving you home until you promise we never have to deal with this again.”
“Or at least not until you’re an adult,” Eddie weighs in, an unexpected voice of reason.
It’s bad enough having one of them on his back; Dustin is starting to regret introducing them to one another. They’d have been insufferable even before confessing their feelings. He has to admit though, he’s a little smug that he figured it out. He eyes Steve cockily. “I don’t have to be home for a few hours. It can wait.”
Eddie drapes an arm around Steve’s shoulders. “I could stick around too. We interrupted your very sad, lonely movie night. Why don’t we make it up to you with an Indiana Jones double feature?”
Dustin giggles. “That’s what you were doing?”
Eddie ruffles his hair as the three of them drift through to the living room. “Hey, kid, show your father some respect.”
Steve groans as he settles on the couch, Eddie draped against him on one side and Dustin with a bag of crisps he magicked from the kitchen cabinet on the other. It’s not quite the life he’d pictured, but it’s good enough for him. It’s a new year, and he’s starting it off just right.