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It was pitch black when Steve woke up, head pounding and heart feeling like it was about to burst out of his chest. His hands were claws in the sheets, tearing at them to get rid of the suffocating feeling that lingered from the vines the still haunted his nightmares. It took a few long, repetitive breaths for his hands to relax. For his mind to realise that there was air in his lungs and that his heart was still pumping blood.
He got out of bed, fumbling with the switch of his bathroom light and avoided meeting his own gaze in the mirror. Tried to avoid his tattered body as well, but it was like a car crash. Every time he saw his scars he couldn't look away. The cool water hit his skin and as the drops trailed down his neck, down his arms, the nightmare began to fade. He could finally stop picturing Robin's eyes lose focus or Nancy's breaths become shallower. The raised line across his throat throbbed uncomfortably and he turned his back on his reflection.
After a moments contemplation he pulled on a pair of sweats and a hoodie he hadn't worn since senior year of high school. He aimed for the car, hoping that the hum of the engine would be enough to dispel any lingering thoughts. There was no use trying to go back to sleep now. He was experienced enough to know that sleep wouldn't be peaceful for the rest of the night, even if he tried. The house was too big, too quiet. There was too much space to fill with memories he desperately tried to forget. It would be another version of the same horror.
It never got easier, you only got used to it.
The first time, a baseball bat filled with nails and three years ago, Steve would wake his parents every other night screaming, begging for help that never came. He would scream himself hoarse until he was coughing up blood, staining his hands before it furiously would be washed away in the sink. There was nothing to do but try and escape it. Keep himself occupied. Ignore whatever was lurking in his mind. Ignore the vivid images of Barb, forever lost in his pool. Ignore the moster hunting them down in the Byers house. Ignore everything. He lost fifteen pounds and any hopes of graduating with honours.
The second time it was easier, mostly because no one would wake up when the hallways echoed. His parents had taken to traveling, keeping as much distance between themselves and their son as possible. His bat was kept in the trunk, because last time things had gone back to normal and gotten ten times more fucked up the second time around. Everything was bullshit. If there was one thing he'd learned that fall, that was it. He was bullshit, love was bullshit, they were bullshit. He tried repeating the words to himself, quietly so that no one would hear. He wanted to see if it would stop hurting after a while. He doesn't think he ever came up with an answer.
The third time around was worse. Because this time it was real. Sure, monsters had undoubtedly been proven to exist, he could accept that. But that felt different than to wake up crying because of the feeling of a needle going into his neck. That violation had messed him up more than any flesh eating monster ever could. The first few weeks after it happened him and Robin would be crawled up in his bed, frantically gripping each others hands for some sense of normalcy. Holding Robin as she threw up time and time again after waking up from a nightmare helped him stabilise his own horrors haunting him. After summer was over, and Robin had to go back to school, it was back to waking up alone and screaming himself hoarse again.
This time was... different. It had been close, way too close for comfort, and it left him with more scars and a week long recovery at a secret government facility. Hawkins had nearly been swallowed whole and all of his friends along with it. It... It had been very close. But in turn it had made their merry band of misfits grow into a sort of makeshift family. It was rare that any of them were alone this time around. The kids had almost-nightly sleepovers, made everyone sign off on their walkies after they got home and they all had weekly movie nights where they forced the older people in the group to drive them to each others houses.
(Most often than not it ended up being in Steves house because he had the best sound system and the biggest TV. As much as Steve complained when they took over the living room the relief he felt when saw them all laughing and enjoying themselves beat every head ache and bratty comment.)
Steve blinked, feeling slightly uneasy when he realised he'd made the drive to Forest Hill trailer park on auto-pilot. He straightened his back and carefully drove the rest of the way to the destination he'd subconsciously been heading toward. The Munson residence was one of few trailers with lights pooling out from behind drawn curtains (Max's was pitch black save for the porch light. Steve always checked when he was there.).
A lonely figure sat on the front steps and as Steve came to a stop, killing the engine with a twist of his keys, he was greeted with an all-knowing smile.
When he stepped out the car, it felt unreasonable to think that this night would've ended any different. Even though it hadn't been planned out Steve felt more relaxed now than he had been all week. The bitter scent of smoke, worn down leather and soft brown curls. It felt welcoming in a way his home never had. "Didn't think I'd see you out here, Munson," he said, unable to stop the grin spreading across his face.
Eddie, as always, was not too far behind with his own witty reply. "Shit, Harrington! Is this my lucky night?"
"Is that what I am to you? Just another notch in that studded belt of yours?" It was said without much fanfare, a bit that had been worn out several months ago.
(The first time it had made Eddie spit his drink out onto the family sized pizza the party had shared and Max had almost thrown it back in Eddie's face. The second to twenty fourth it was met with an eye roll and a wink. Now it was only met with a fond smile. Tonight was no different.)
Steve sat down next to Eddie, shoulder bumping into his as he reached out and grabbed the cigarette. It was a practiced routine. A slow, heart-wrenching melody quietly trickled out from the open front door.
Showing up at Eddie's trailer had only happened a handful of times. The first time it had been in poorly hidden embarrassment, knowing that every other person he could've turned to was either fourteen or busy with a relationship. Steve hated the fact that he couldn't handle his issues alone. But Eddie hadn't looked at him with worry or pity, only thrown him a beer and behaved like this was a normal occurrence. After a while Steve realised that maybe Eddie needed it as much as he did.
"Tough night?"
With a hum of agreement Eddie took back his cigarette, took a long drag and let it slowly trail toward the sky. "I felt them on me," he said, voice void of emotions. "Every inch of flesh pulled from my body. I couldn't- I couldn't wake up, no matter how much I screamed." His hand scratched the back of his head, as if trying to force the images in his head to make sense. "It felt as if I still had blood in my mouth when I woke up. Felt kinda pointless to try and sleep by then."
Steve didn't reply. Knew that what Eddie needed more was someone that would actually listen.
His head found a home against Eddie's shoulder, let himself rest there for a while. Allowed himself a moment to breathe easy for a change.
Eddie was familiar. It wasn't entirely clear when that had happened. If it was them bickering in matching hospital beds, trading Dustin Henderson war stories in the Upside Down or the quiet nights in Steve's backyard while the rest of their party slept in the living room. There, in those moments, Eddie had become someone he felt comfortable to confide in. He'd become someone other than 'the guy they were trying to save'.
They were an odd pairing, catching the puzzled eyes of several of their friends, but Eddie's enigmatic energy somehow made it all seem like a natural progression. Dustin was the only one still grumbling about Steve stealing Eddie from him. How Steve was the only one at fault was never disclosed.
(Okay, maybe it was because of that one time Eddie had cancelled Hellfire because of Steve. Sue him.)
And as much as Robin liked to tease Steve about his crush on Eddie he knew that she felt relieved that he had someone to turn to when she wasn't able to be there. After Vecna had been turned to dust she'd finally asked Vickie to hang out outside of band and after a few awkward diner dates she'd breathlessly told Steve that her lips were now very much kissed. Ever since then her time had been split between constantly harassing Steve at work, forcing him to watch all the weird movies she wanted at his place ('you have the better TV, dingus') and being with Vickie.
So, yeah, they weren't spending as much time together as they once had. Steve was okay with it. But even though Robin was busy with her girlfriend, or with finals, or with band she still knew. Even then it had only taken a few carefully observed moments for her to come to the same conclusion as he had.
Steve Harrington was head over heels for Eddie Munson.
There never really was a crisis. Maybe people would have been surprised to hear that, seeing as Steve was as thick as a brick sometimes. He spent a few sleepless nights driving through Hawkins, smoke billowing out of the window and into the night, sitting with the feelings instead of repressing them. That was for other things. Other, darker things, compacted like trash in the back of his head. Freaking out over his sexuality seemed like such a small thing when he was busy helping saving the world.
Besides, how could he condemn and shun the way he felt when the person next to him felt like home.
Now they slowly made their way toward Eddie's bedroom, following the tune that had been playing as they sat out on the porch. The smoke clung to Steve's sweater and he pulled it over his head without much preamble. Unlike when he saw his bare chest in front of the mirror earlier, the look Eddie sent his way felt much less invasive. The weight of the night had started to push down on him and he couldn't help but yawn. He crawled into bed and settled into his spot, furthest away from the door, but right under the window. It had been an internal struggle to decide which danger to protect Eddie from.
("Pick a side, Princess."
"Call me that again and I'll burn your tape collection."
"Stevie, you wouldn't.")
Eddie always looked softer buried underneath his covers, hair wildly spread out across his pillow, moonlight faintly caressing his face. He had always been handsome, beautiful even, but there was something about the way he looked as he was about to fall asleep. It made Steve want to act on the stupid things that always was hiding there, right under the surface. Brush Eddie's hair out of his face, trail his fingers across the tattoos scattered across pale skin, count every freckle spread across the bridge of Eddie's nose. Mold his lips against the other and find out what Eddie tasted like. The thoughts always burned hot within him and threatened to take over. But Steve had always been good at compartmentalising. At pushing down every intrusive thought that gave him some semblance of individuality.
The thing is, Steve was pretty sure said burning thoughts weren't unwelcome. Not if the way Eddie's eyes always seemed to follow him around was any indication. The way his hands always lingered a bit longer than they had to, making sure that Steve was there, was present. Eddie had always been larger than life, but something in him seemed to soften whenever it was just the two of them together.
Their hands were resting next to each other and in a moment of foolish bravery Steve reached out and linked their pinkies together. There was chipped nail polish coating Eddie's. Steve found him so painfully cool.
A small smile played on Eddie's lips, eyes firmly fixed on their linked fingers, as if he couldn't really believe what he was seeing.
With only inches between them, Steve finally felt safe. Sleep tugged at the corner of his eyes, pulling him down. But before he let it take him he leaned forward and gently pressed his lips against Eddie's. There was still smoke on his breath, stubble prickled against his own skin and music filled his ears. As he pulled back he was, once again, struck with how beautiful Eddie Munson was.
Steve raised his eyebrows, asking is this okay?, taking a chance on his own happiness for once. Eddie seemed to relax at the motion, tension releasing from his shoulders. He buried himself deeper into the bed and nodded quietly. Steve couldn't help but radiantly smile back.
The few final notes of the song trailed off, leaving them in silence. Steve hid in the crook of Eddie's neck, letting the soft curls tickle his cheek and his eyes closed on their own accord.
"I like this song."
Eddie hummed quietly. "There's still hope for you, Steve Harrington."