Chapter Text
The thing was, back when Steve was still friends with Tommy there had been a clear hierarchy within their group. Steve would give Tommy the cash, and Tommy would run the errand— whether that was to get them beers, rubbers, or some weed. But especially weed.
Because Tommy didn’t care so much that the only dealer in Hawkin’s was a total freak, who lived in the shitty trailer park on the outskirts of town.
Steve, on the other hand, had assumed that his reputation would take an instant nose dive if he was ever seen hanging around here trying to score a few joints. But now his reputation was already in the garbage anyway, ever since he’d gotten with Nancy. Since he’d dropped his friends for her, and then promptly got dumped.
So yeah, at this point it didn’t seem like there was much to lose. And he really, really wanted to get high.
That was how he’d found himself standing there, hesitating awkwardly on the front step to the trailer Eddie lived in with his uncle, trying to summon up the nerve to knock. Had he ever even properly spoken to Eddie before…? He knew that him and Tommy had talked shit about the guy together, usually right in the middle of the cafeteria and loud enough for everyone to overhear.
Which meant he really deserved to get the door slammed in his face here— if it weren't for the fact that pretty much everyone talked shit about Eddie, and it wasn’t like Steve’s money was worth any less than the next guys. So with a steadying breath, he finally raised his knuckles and let them rap three times against the metal door.
Crickets chirped, sounding their call from the nearby woods. Nothing much else happened.
He knew Eddie was home. Knew it because the lights were on, and some annoyingly chaotic rock music could clearly be heard from inside, barely muffled by the thin walls. Frowning, Steve tried knocking again, harder this time.
For a moment, it seemed as if he’d been noticed— a suspicious lowering of the music’s volume for a split second giving Eddie away, before it raised back up again.
“Asshole,” Steve muttered under his breath, he raised his voice in an attempt to shout over the music. “Hey, I’m here to buy some weed!”
Instantly, the music turned off. There was a crashing sound from inside the trailer as someone clearly stumbled their way to the front door. It pulled open quick, the wind from the force tugging at Steve’s perfect hair.
Eddie was standing there, looming over Steve from the step up into the trailer, one arm propped up at the elbow to hold the door open. “What the hell, man? Why don’t you just announce it to the whole damn neighborhood!”
As if there was anyone left in Hawkins at this point that wasn’t aware of the fact that Eddie sold weed.
“I knocked, you didn’t answer,” Steve said, annoyed.
“Whatever, just— get in here,” the hand of Eddie's that wasn’t draped casually against the door shot forward to grasp the front of Steve’s shirt, hauling him into the trailer. “You stand out like a sore thumb out there.”
Steve glanced down at himself to stare at the hand fisted into his shirt, only for Eddie to suddenly release him as if he’d been burned. The door slammed behind them, and Steve took a moment to smooth the front of his striped polo. “I just wanna buy some weed.”
“Well, well, well— do mine eyes deceive me?” Eddie drawled, turning to lean against the grimy kitchen counters behind him. It was crowded in the trailer, and Steve was feeling a little claustrophobic already. “Tell me, is the King of Hawkins really gracing me with his presence right now? Should I bow?” He asked, quirking his lip and letting his arms swing wide as he dipped his chest— his chin still lifted, mischievous eyes never leaving Steve’s.
Steve tried not to focus on the little twinge of pain he felt at the old title resurfacing. Eddie knew just as well as everyone else how that crown no longer belonged to him. Or maybe he’d actually missed it. Maybe he was such a burnout he didn’t even realize how things had shifted in the fragile, Hawkins High ecosystem.
“Are you selling or not?” Steve asked, the bitterness seeping into his tone now.
“See now, that really depends,” Eddie went on, straightening back up again.
“On what?”
“On whether you brought the moolah,” Eddie said, smiling as he rubbed the tips of two fingers and a thumb together. Rather than bother answering, Steve reached into the pocket of his windbreaker and pulled out the few rolled up twenty dollar bills he’d brought with him. Eddie's eyes dipped to the money before flicking back up to Steve’s face.
“Follow me.”
Steve reluctantly trailed on Eddie’s heels as he led them into the back of the trailer. He stopped at a closed door and pushed it open before disappearing into the room behind it. Steve hesitated for a moment, wondering if he was really about to do this… but if he’d ever needed to get high and forget his problems for a night, the time was seriously now.
So with a low sigh he stepped into Eddie’s room.
The first thing that hit him was the stale, musty smell that kind of reminded him of that one bathroom in school where everyone went to smoke because the alarm was busted. Wincing, he pushed through and tried to redirect his attention to the posters covering every inch of free wall space.
He didn’t recognize any of them, frowning at the lack of half naked girls in swimsuits (Tommy’s preference) popular actors and dream cars most kids his age had up on the walls. Instead he found skulls and fire and a robotic tiger thing that actually looked kind of neat.
“Neat,” he said, the comment making Eddie's head pop up to see what Steve was referring to, breaking his search for the weed. Steve pushed his finger against the poster, earning a raised brow from Eddie.
“Judas Priest,” he said.
“What? Is that like a religious thing?” Most people thought Eddie was a Satan worshiper, he wasn’t sure how he’d feel if the guy suddenly said he was into Jesus or something.
“I'm going to assume that was a joke,” Eddie said, turning back to rummaging through the record stand in front of him. "No wonder girls like you, you're so funny."
Well, that didn’t really answer his question, now did it?
Not that he particularly wanted to talk to Eddie, anyway. So with a low, ‘whatever,’ he turned back to taking in the very weird details of Eddie’s room. Clearly, the guy hadn’t been expecting company. In fact, this place was kind of gross; main features being a clutter of things tossed into corners, piles of clothing and records that Steve had to step over and navigate through.
There was a pair of handcuffs hanging on the wall that left him feeling slightly concerned, until his focus was stolen by the guitar suspended right above a sizable mirror. It was kind of cool, badass even, if it weren’t belonging to one Eddie Munson— Satan worshiping freak of Hawkins High.
The Satan worshiping thing wasn’t confirmed.
“You sure you want the weed? You seem spaced out enough already,” Eddie had suddenly come up behind Steve, startling him.
“I’m sure,” Steve answered, tearing his gaze away from the guitar and refocusing on Eddie. He had a small metal lunchbox in his hands and a look of skepticism on his face. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Hmm,” Steve hummed, one hand curled over his chin as he stared down the baggie filled with stale looking buds that Eddie had pulled out of his box.
“I’m giving you a pretty good deal here,” Eddie was saying. “Fourty for half an ounce is like— royalty prices,” he smiled, the grin slightly unconvincing.
Steve was fully aware of how much Eddie usually charged for weed, because he was the one giving Tommy the money to buy it. And so he knew he was being overcharged. “How do I know you’re selling me good stuff? That it’s not like… mixed with oregano.” He’d heard that was a thing from Tommy.
Eddie’s gaze narrowed slightly, before he glanced down at the bag, and back up at Steve. “These are nugs, Steve— how would I have…” trailing off, he shook his head. “You know what, never mind, I can promise you that there is nothing but the good ol’ devil's lettuce in this bag.”
“Maybe I should try it first, you know. Just to be sure,” Steve said, leaning back a little in the chair Eddie had pulled out for him to sit in while they made their deal. There was no way he was getting screwed on this one.
“You’re seriously questioning my product?”
“Just trying not to get ripped off here,” Steve insisted, his arms locking over his chest. “If everything's all good then what are you worried about?”
“Do I look worried, oh king of the perfect people?” Eddie raised a brow, posturing as he dropped the baggie back into the metal box, before leaning over to open the side table near his bed and began digging around in the drawer.
He didn’t. He didn’t look worried at all.
“You got one of these at home, Richie Rich?” Eddie asked, pulling back again to settle cross legged on his mattress. He had a small, metal cylinder in his hand, and he was unscrewing the top of it.
“Yeah, of course,” Steve lied. Usually Tommy just brought the joints to him already rolled, but he wasn’t about to tell this guy he had absolutely no idea what the hell he was doing. Besides, he could probably figure it out just by watching.
“Bet you got everything in that ridiculously massive house of yours,” Eddie went on to mutter, picking out some weed and pressing it between the little metal teeth in what Steve had just about figured out was a grinder.
“You got something you wanna say about it?” Steve asked, fed up with the comments. He might have wanted weed from this guy, but that didn’t mean he had to sit here and take the insults.
Eddie’s eyes flicked up from where they were focused on the task at hand, intense for that moment as they met with Steve’s own angry stare. “Nah,” he finally said after the moment stretched just a little too long. “Didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Sure you didn't…” Steve mumbled, averting his eyes. This was awkward. He should have just bought the stuff and left, he could have found the guy later to complain if it turned out to be no good.
Steve ended up staring at the guitar again, the realization that he’d never actually heard Eddie play striking him. It wasn’t like he hung around the guy or anything, but it still felt weird— something that played such an obvious importance in this guy’s life, and as far as Steve knew it, barely even anyone at school had heard him or his band.
Was he even any good…?
“Earth to Steve,” Eddie’s voice broke in, earning his attention back again. “I'm not kidding, you’re seriously in danger of blasting off before we even smoke this stuff.” He was smiling, the weed ground down and poured out into a paper while Steve had been distracted, staring at that stupid guitar for who knew how long. Eddie was sticking out his tongue to wet the edge of the paper now— and Steve quickly dropped his chin to avoid staring like some kind of idiot.
“I’m fine, just kind of distracted,” Steve said, hoping that was enough to get Eddie off his case.
“Hate to break it to you, but this stuff is not gonna help with that,” he warned. Finished with the rolling, he handed over a lighter with the joint.
“Thanks,” Steve said, raising the joint to his lips and placing it between them, flicking twice at the lighter before it caught.
“The customer always smokes first,” Eddie said, watching as Steve took a pull and filled his lungs. “What am I, if not chivalrous?”
Steve couldn’t help but laugh, coughing out a burst of smoke, eyes watering as he tried to hold back from losing anymore of the hit. He passed it back to Eddie, shaking his head. “Is that what you think you are?” He asked, voice croaking a little as released the remaining smoke in his lungs.
Eddie simply shrugged before taking his own hit, lips wrapping around the same spot where Steve’s had been moments earlier. What the hell. He had no idea why he was focusing on something like that. It took him a little too long to realize Eddie was trying to hand the joint back to him.
He finally took it and pushed all thought away as he watched Eddie sigh and lean back onto his bed, flopping loose limbed into the dirty sheets.
Seriously, his bed was kind of disgusting.
“So, what's the verdict?”
Steve grinned a little, taking another hit. “It’s good, guess I can trust you.”
“Damn straight you can!” Eddie huffed from the bed, kicking his long legs up onto the mattress and sliding back until he was propped up against the headboard. “Can’t believe you even questioned it for a minute.”
Steve laughed around his third hit, blowing smoke into the room and obscuring Eddie’s grinning face for a moment. “I barely even know you man. Besides, I’ve never done this before.” The admission had slipped out before he realized how embarrassing it sounded, and with a flush he passed the joint back to Eddie hoping he wouldn’t pick up on it.
“You've been high before, though,” Eddie observed, watching Steve again with that intense stare.
“Tommy usually bought the stuff,” Steve said, shrugging.
“Oh yeah, I know him,” Eddie said pointedly. “A real dickhead.”
“He really is.” Steve had always known Tommy was a dick, he'd gone too far so many times, and Steve had always just let it slide…
“So are you,” Eddie went on, his tone lingering on mock casual.
Steve paused, blinking a little, a flush hitting his cheeks again as he watched Eddie take a hit. “I— I guess I was, uh, I was pretty bad.”
“You were a fucking asshole,” Eddie insisted, eyes dropping to the cloud of smoke he’d just exhaled. “But what do they say? It’s all… water, under the bridge.” He lifted his hand, palm flat in the air as he dragged it under the smoke, eyes fixed as the tendrils danced around his fingers.
For some reason, it didn’t seem like it was all quite water under the bridge. But Steve wasn't the type to deal with anything he didn’t have to, so all he said was ‘yeah.’ Eddie monopolized the joint a bit longer than necessary, as if it were some sort of penance he was inflicting on Steve, before finally sitting up enough to pass it back.
“Just get on the bed man, it’s a pain in the ass passing like this,” he said as he fell back into his mattress.
Steve hesitated for a moment, his weed fogged brain hanging on that offer, recognizing it as strange. But he couldn’t quite put together why. It would be a lot easier for them to share… in an attempt to avoid over thinking about things, Steve pushed out of the chair and headed for the other side of the bed— ignoring that it was kind of small, and that they’d probably have to shove up next to each other for the two of them to even fit.
“Here,” he said as soon as he'd settled in, letting his hand hover over Eddie with the joint in his grasp, shivering a little at how their fingers brushed as the offering was accepted. They lay there, side by side, staring up at the dark patterns made from water damage in the ceiling, letting the high set in.
Steve wasn’t sure how long it’d been since they last spoke, passing the joint back and forth in a comfortable sort of silence, but he startled when Eddie suddenly spoke up again. “You know, I really hated you.”
“Really?” Steve asked, unable to keep the hurt out of his tone. Which was ridiculous. Because Steve thought Eddie was a freak, and why the hell would he care what the guy thought of him?
“You acted like you were so above us all, really settled into that King role— like you
thrived
with it— looking down on all us lowly peons.”
Steve snerked out a cloud of smoke and rolled over to drop a lazy gaze to the side of Eddie’s face. He looked tense, a deep frown set into his lips as he continued to stare up at the ceiling. “You’re ridiculous,” Steve said, not entirely blind to the way Eddie stiffened even more at the accusation. “Who talks like that, man?”
“So what, am I wrong? You didn't get off on it?” Eddie turned to meet Steve’s stare, something heated in his eyes.
“You’re not wrong,” Steve said slowly, feeling a little embarrassed by the admission. He used to be such an ass… wasn’t sure if he’d entirely kicked the habit yet, if he were being completely honest with himself. “I did like it. People actually wanted to be around me.”
Steve tried not to choke on those words. He tried not to think about how his parents were never home, and how being surrounded by a bunch of people who patted his back and fed his ego always helped to soothe the intense feeling of loneliness he got when he returned to his empty house.
Eddie’s eyes seemed to soften for a moment, and a small smile hit his lips. “Don’t worry Steve, people still want to be around you. I wouldn’t have wasted so many years being so very intensely jealous of you if there wasn’t anything to you besides that popular jock bullshit.”
Steve blinked for a second, trying to process that. “You were jealous of me?”
“Yeah, sure,” he said casually.
“Why?” Steve went on to ask, totally confused. He seriously didn’t think Eddie was the kind of guy who wanted to be good at basketball, or to get the kind of girls Steve got. If he were ever honest in the way he spoke about things, then he didn’t value any of that shit. So what the hell did he have to be jealous of Steve over?
With a scoff, Eddie turned back to stare up at the ceiling, suddenly animated, his hands moving with a flourish as he spoke. “Steve Harrington fails his classes! Oh what a fucking shame, we simply cannot have that— so he gets makeup tests and tutors and so many second chances, while all he wants to do is drink and get laid at some vapid as fuck high school party. Hell, even Hawkin’s own princess, Nancy Wheeler, decides to take pity on him and help him raise up his grades because goddamn… we can't have our King dropping out, now can we?”
Steve stared back at him, mouth hanging open as if he were about to protest, but he said nothing.
“Do you know how people look at me, when I fail a class?” Eddie asked, letting his head twist so he was looking at Steve again, his cheek pressed into the pillow behind him. “Like they expected it. Like I was never worth anything anyway.”
“But you hate school…” Steve murmured.
“Yeah, no shit— who the hell wouldn’t? I mean besides Nancy Wheeler…” Eddie said, with a roll of his eyes. “Point is, everyone fucking shits the bed in concern when rich boy Steve Harrington fails a class. But Eddie Munson? Well he’s just a burnout, isn’t he?”
“I mean, I could help you study,” Steve tried, decidedly not thinking about how the last time he helped someone (Nancy) study it was mostly just a ploy to try and get in their pants.
Eddie gave him the most baffled, wide eyed stare, before busting out in laughter. The suddenness of it was contagious and Steve couldn't help but join in, both of them clutching at their stomachs in pain as the outburst lingered just a little too long thanks to the weed.
“You are so absolutely fucked, Steve…” Eddie finally managed to gasp out. “I’m pretty sure if you helped me study my grades would actually get worse.”
“Look, it was just an offer, okay!” Steve shouted, still laughing, wiping at the corner of his eyes where tears had begun to spring. “You don’t gotta be a dick about it.”
“Sorry, but I think I’ll just throw myself to the wolves… it’s too late for me, Harrington,” Eddie was grinning as he spoke, eyes trained on the side of Steve’s face and looking particularly fond for a guy who apparently hated him enough to hold onto that feeling for years without ever even talking to him. “Anyway, I have the band and we’re gonna be famous as fuck— bust out of this piece of shit town and never look back.”
“Yeah?” Steve asked, glancing back to the guitar hanging on Eddie’s wall. “Are you any good?” He finally asked the question that had been swirling in his head since he’d first stepped into Eddie’s room.
“Am I any good?” Eddie repeated, sounding scandalized. “Sit your ass down and prepare to be fucking amazed!” He crowed, suddenly launching up to his feet, narrowly missing striking his head on the ceiling fan overhead, before strolling off the edge of the bed with an air of drama that made Steve wonder if he’d ever taken any of Mrs Creevy’s lame acting classes.
“I’m already laying down,” Steve reminded him, laughing a little as Eddie shot him a look.
“Well then sit up, King.”
Steve obliged, tucking his legs under himself as he watched Eddie liberate the guitar from his wall, reaching down to plug it into an amp and flicking a few switches, a low humm filling the room.
He rested the butt of the guitar against his thigh, leg raised up so that a sneaker was pressed into the end of the mattress— the fingers of one hand delicate but firm on the neck of the guitar, the other dropping to the center and plucking a string as if testing.
“What’s your poison?” Eddie asked, making Steve blink up at him.
“Huh?”
“What do you
like,
Steve?” Eddie went on, intense now that he had the guitar in his hands. Steve couldn’t quite get a handle on the guy and the way he seemed to flick through moods like cards in a deck. “Music,” he clarified.
“Oh,” Steve said, finally getting it when it was spelled out for him. “Uh, Journey, I guess?”
With a groan, Eddie let his head fall back, exposing his throat— the bob of his adams apple drawing Steve’s attention. “Of course you do…”
“What’s wrong with Journey?”
“Nothing, my simple, simple friend,” Eddie enthused, voice a low drawl as he shifted and settled his fingers on the strings. He closed his eyes for a moment, lingering, and then he began to play.
It took Steve a second to recognize the song, without the rest of the instruments to accompany it. With just the guitar as his guide. But it wasn’t long before Steve realized that Eddie was playing Faithfully, taking some liberties to fill out the melody where it was suffering the loss of the piano.
And Steve was mesmerized, because Eddie was good . He’d gotten so into it that it almost felt like he’d forgotten Steve was even there. Fingers flying over strings and eyes screwed shut as he rocked with the music, his hair wild as it got into his face and was flicked back with the snap of his neck.
It was loud enough that Steve felt like the vibrations were living in his chest, thrumming along with his heartbeat. He’d never even realized music could be like this, alive and intense, imperfect in a way that only seemed to make it better. Before he was ready, it was over— and he was left feeling like he’d just gotten off a ride at the Hawkin’s fourth of July fair, one he kind of wanted to get back on and go again.
“Well?” Eddie asked, breathing just a little harder, a flush on his skin from the effort of playing as he looked down at Steve. “Did this humble bard please your royal high ness?” He was grinning as if he’d just said something really hilarious, but to be honest Steve wasn’t entirely sure what the fuck any of that was supposed to mean.
“Err,” Steve hesitated, watching as Eddie’ grin dropped and he sighed. “I mean, it was great? You’re great.”
“Steve, you have no idea how much that means coming from you; number one Journey fan boy.”
Steve couldn’t help but notice that Eddie sounded slightly sarcastic as he said it. He watched with a frown as the guy turned away and unhooked his guitar from the amp, setting it back in its spot on the wall and blowing it a kiss, before flopping back into the bed beside him, the weight of his impact making Steve sway.
“I mean, I like other stuff, too.”
“Yeah?” Eddie asked, looking over at him. Steve had managed to finish their joint while Eddie had been showing off on the guitar for him, and was reaching over to stub it out in the ashtray on the side table next to Eddie’s bed. “What else does Holy Steve Harrington grace his ears with?”
“Now I'm holy…?”
He muttered, shaking his head. “I dunno, man. Duran Duran, Eddie Money, Corey Hart—”
Eddie made a pained sound, slapping his hand to his chest, fingers curled in a claw as he winced. “You admit this to people, and you’re
still
popular?”
“Shut up,” Steve laughed, knocking into him with a knee. “Anyway, I’m not popular anymore.”
“How the mighty have fallen, now you’re getting wasted in Eddie Munson’s piece of shit trailer. If those stuck up pricks could only see you now.”
“Kind of seems like you’re enjoying it,” Steve said, raising a brow.
“Your presence is like a gift— really, how could I not?”
“You know, if you didn’t talk like such a dork maybe you’d be more popular,” Steve countered, trying to picture what Eddie might have been like if he’d been invited to any of the big Hawkin’s parties, back when he still got invited to them.
“Trust me, the last thing I want is to be accepted into the fold by our peers,” he shuddered, as if the thought alone were horrible. “I’m perfectly happy to be counted among the losers and freaks, thank you very much.”
“At least you know where you belong,” Steve sighed, untucking his legs and letting himself fall back into the mattress beside Eddie. “I like, babysit people now— my best friends are middle schoolers. And I think it goes without saying, but there’s only so much you can get out of a discussion with a bunch of nerdy thirteen year old's.”
“Hey, don’t get all mopey on me,” Eddie said, turning to face him. Their knees knocked again and Steve figured Eddie would pull them back like the first time, but instead he let them rest there. “I mean, I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Steve said, nerves suddenly kicking up in his stomach.
“So, is there something you wanna tell me?” Eddie asked, inching a little closer. Close enough that Steve could feel Eddie’s breath against the skin of his cheek as he spoke again. “Something you can't tell a thirteen year old nerd?”
Steve swallowed hard, trying not to overthink the situation. And, especially not to think about things like how Eddie actually looked kind of nice up close. How his hair was curly, almost like the way Nancy had started to do hers. How his fingers were slender and long, or how they were probably covered in calluses from practicing guitar day in and out.
“Well?” Eddie asked, and suddenly it became clear that he’d used the time that Steve was distracted by to shift even closer, their faces mere inches away. And Steve was panicking, frozen as he watched Eddie’s dark, intense eyes flick down to his lips.
What exactly was going on here...?