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Steve Harrington was drunk.
After “The Vecna Incident” had finally keeled over and died–or at least been buried alive, who could say for sure?--things had become much less… strange. Steve and his slowly-expanding group of dear friends had begun to return to that in-between state most people called “normal life”.
For the likes of Nancy and Jonathan, this meant college applications. For the Hawkins (and once-California) kids, this meant hanging out and playing D&D.
For Steve and Robin, and sometimes Eddie, this meant shifts at Family Video, movie and game nights, and, occasionally, when Robin or Eddie talked him into it, getting a little drunk. Or high.
Mmm… Eddie.
Steve Harrington wanted his boyfriend.
This night was one of the few nights Robin had convinced him to drink with her–ever since his early high school days, he’s laid off on the substances. Being regularly under the influence just didn’t have the same appeal anymore. Call him old.
He could hear Robin’s voice from earlier that evening: “Honestly, Steve, I can’t believe you got a boyfriend before I got a girlfriend. You’ve only known you were bi for, like, weeks, and I’ve been a lesbian for years. It isn’t fair, and you owe me your inebriation this evening.”
Steve, still sober, had replied: “I don’t even know what that word means, Robin.”
Anyways, he’d gotten somewhat hammered. (It snuck up on him, okay? Maybe he didn’t have the same tolerance he used to.) It was only 11 p.m., and Steve was walking somewhat aimlessly home, thinking of his boyfriend.
This feeling (wanting Eddie, not being drunk) was new to him, but it was such a strong (and lovely) feeling that Steve just had to stave it. Maybe he would tell Eddie as much, when he got home. He expected the punk would be waiting for him, maybe playing that guitar of his all sexily, like he does. Eddie had been crashing at his house while his uncle was finding them a new place to live, and Steve had come to not only anticipate, but also look forward to his presence, perched at the edge of his bed like a cute little shaggy-haired gargoyle.
However, when Steve stumbled through his door a few blocks later, he found his bed empty. Where was Eddie?
Immediately, a warning siren went off in his head–product of his parental instincts paired with intense trauma-related anxiety. The booze dulled the worst of it, though, long enough for a few fleeting thoughts to pass through.
Where would Eddie be, if not here?
Why wouldn’t Eddie have gone drinking with them, if he weren’t busy?
The answers came to him slowly, sluggishly, in Eddie’s sweet, sweet voice:
“I’ll catch you guys next time, babe, it’s my turn to babysit the boys. D&D night and all. Starting a new campaign.”
And where did these campaigns usually take place?
The basement of one of Eddie’s band geek friends.
Steve began to walk back out his door again before he realized he didn’t know where said geeks lived. Then he remembered that Will, having moved back to Hawkins, had joined Eddie’s club, and that Joyce hadn’t let her kids out of her sight in months.
The Byer’s basement it was.
That was only three blocks from his place. He could make it.
Steve’s vision had begun to tunnel on his way down the Byer’s basement stairs. He skipped a step, and didn’t fall, but the thump it made caused Eddie’s voice, with the commanding tone it often took on when he was playing dungeon master, to fall silent. When Stede emerged into the wide room, everyone was staring at him. Or he assumed. All he could see was Eddie. Tunnel vision, and all.
Eddie smiled. “A bit too much to drink, dear?”
Steve laughed. “Somethin’ like that.” He came to stand beside Eddie’s chair–or, throne, Eddie liked to call it. Steve recognized the sound of Dustin groaning beyond all the cotton in his ears.
“Steve, can you please scram? We’re kind of in the middle of something important here,” Dustin said.
“Yeah, man, I’m on the verge of dying a grisly death!” Lucas replied.
Steve heard about half of this. Suddenly lightheaded, he sat down in the only place he could (and the only place he really wanted to be): Eddie’s lap.
A glance down at Eddie showed that he was staring up at Steve with a look of shock, blending quickly into adoration.
“Ew! Come on, man!” Dustin called.
Will punched his arm. “Shut up, Dustin!”
“Ow! What? I’m not being homophobic, I just don’t want to see both of my dads being all sappy. Especially when we’re IN THE MIDDLE OF SOMETHING.”
Eddie’s eyes snapped away from Steve at that. “Alright, alright, boys. Take five. I’ve gotta take care of our dear drunkard.”
“No way, man! You’re stopping the campaign?” Dustin complained. (God, that kid complained a lot.)
Mike piped up in outrage next. “Yeah, I thought we weren’t allowed to stop the game for any reason? Remember that time I had to pee so bad?”
Will laughed. “He made you roll for a bathroom break.”
Eddie shrugged–Steve felt it in his back. It felt so good to feel Eddie’s warmth against his clammy skin. Eddie’s arm was wrapped around his waist, too, his thumb in his belt loop. “You rolled a two, man. Not my fault.”
Lucas laughed.
“Take five , boys, that’s final.”
“You don’t have to stop,” Steve slurred.
“At least let me get you some water, Stevie.”
“Noooo, don’ make me stand up,” Steve whined, knowing full-well Eddie would cave.
Sure enough, Eddie sighed, then readjusted Steve in his lap so he was sitting across his legs sideways, his knees hooked around the arm of the chair and held there by the weight of Eddie’s surprisingly toned forearm. His other, surprisingly more toned forearm (“All that guitar playing,” Eddie would claim.) was slung between Steve’s back and the other arm of the chair.
Steve loved being manhandled like this. It hadn’t been something he’d even considered enjoying, since so many of his past dates were significantly shorter and slighter than him. But he did enjoy it, God damn it. He was obsessed with it. He’d just never admit it, unless he was drunk.
“Love it when you pick me up like that,” Steve mumbled into Eddie’s neck.
A chorus of disgust rose across the table:
“Oh my God.”
“Ew.”
“Seriously, guys, can we get back to the game? PLEASE?”
Eddie paid them no mind, too busy looking down at Steve and pulling his fingers through Steve’s silky hair. Eddie sighed again.
“Dustin, go get Steve some water. And a blanket.”
“No. Way. Man.”
“Dustin–”
“I’ll do it,” Will piped up.
If anything could increase Dustin’s outrage, it was this. “Will, how can you stand for this… scene ? I mean, we’re in the middle of–”
“Look. The quicker we take care of Steve, the quicker we get to resume the game. Also, they’re really cute, and I can't say no. Also , we owe Steve. A lot. So shut up.” Will laughed, headed up the stairs far smoother than Steve had managed to come down them.
“Good man, William!” Eddie called.
Steve cringed.
“Sorry, babe,” Eddie whispered.
A few moments passed, and Steve was cozily wrapped in a fleece blanket, freshly hydrated, and snuggly pressed to Eddie’s side. Eddie’s left hand was pulled against the back of Steve’s neck, thumb rubbing the soft skin behind his ear, while his right hand gesticulated grandly to emphasize the drama of his campaign. His voice climbed and descended, tone changing periodically in a way Steve found both whimsical and comforting. This close, Eddie’s voice rumbled through his chest and against Steve’s cheekbone, reverberating in his skull.
Eddie smelled like leather, and fruity shampoo, and weed.
Mmm… Steve thought. Weed .
Steve lifted his head. “Eds?”
Eddie stopped mid-sentence, and the rest of the room stayed surprisingly quiet about this interruption. “Yes, love?”
Steve’s mouth felt far away and awkward. “You got any weed?”
This made Eddie laugh, which made Steve smile. Eddie glanced up at the kids, then back down. “No, Stevie. Not right now. Not here. We’re babysitting, remember?”
Steve grumbled, but settled back against Eddie’s shoulder. “They’ve seen worse.”
“Sure, sure,” Ed conceded. “Blame my honor code, but I’m not smoking with these kids here, man. Not like you need any, anyways.”
“Hey!”
“Hey, nothing, Stevie. Go to sleep.” Eddie kissed Steve’s forehead, and, like a spell, Steve did just that.
When Steve woke about an hour later, he was slightly less drunk, but just as disoriented. It took him a moment to realize that Eddie was carrying him, blanket and all, out of the Byer’s house and into his van.
Now, Steve was pretty confident he could walk himself at this point. But why would he do that, when he could pretend a little longer, and be carried how he liked, and be buckled in, and sit “sleeping” in the passenger seat while Eddie held his hand and whisper-sung the lyrics to the Madonna song on the radio (which Steve would tease him about in the morning) as Eddie drove them home?