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“Yeah, that’s not happening.”
It’s goddamn annoying, how hot Steve looks when he’s shooting the kids’ ideas down. Hands on his hips, pink lips downturned, brow slightly furrowed. It really shouldn’t do it for Eddie, but it does.
Fucking ridiculous.
“It’s not that big of a deal.” Mike rolls his eyes.
“Uh, it’s a very big deal,” Steve says in his most duh tone of voice possible. God, the condescension is just making it worse. Eddie shifts in his seat at Steve’s dining room table.
Truly the worst time to lose his focus, but Eddie can’t be blamed, really. Not when the kids are the ones riling Steve up and he hasn’t even tried to stir shit once . Steve should be proud of his level of restraint.
Not like he can tell Steve without him finding out exactly what Eddie’s resisting, though. That would be a fucking awkward conversation with his sort-of-roommate, one he’d like to avoid. Ha ha, yeah, I normally side with the brats just to see you get all exasperated. Anyone ever tell you you’re pretty as a picture when you frown? Criminal, really. Definitely not in love with you, though, if that’s what you’re thinking, so no reason to kick me out or anything.
Yeah, that would go over real well.
“Lucas has done it,” Dustin argues.
“And he’ll tell you what a bad idea it was. Right, Sinclair?”
“Uh,” Lucas says, eyes flicking between Steve and two of his best friends. Knowing him, he’s probably trying to figure out who he can afford to disappoint with his answer. “I mean, the hangover definitely sucked.”
Steve gestures to him, makes a face at Dustin and Mike like See? I was right. You shitheads need to listen to me more often. It’s impressive, the way he can communicate all that with just a raised eyebrow and set of pressed lips.
“But the actual drinking part was fun,” Lucas finishes. Figures he’d try to placate both sides. Eddie can’t blame him—he wouldn’t want to piss off Dustin or Steve, either.
Mike makes the same expression back at a long-suffering Steve, and oh, this is going to be delightful. Eddie doesn’t even want to get involved, content to see the way Steve will sass the teen into submission. Maybe, if Eddie is extremely lucky, Steve will even let a bitchy remark or two slip.
“None of that matters anyway,” Dustin says. “We wouldn’t get drunk, just have a beer or two. For the campaign.”
Eddie frowns. The little brats can’t do his campaign sober? Maybe he’s lost his touch.
As if sensing Eddie’s train of thought, Dustin continues, “To get into character.”
It’s a creative argument, Eddie will give him that. He looks up at Steve, standing just behind and to the right of him, and shrugs. Maybe he will get involved, actually. “One beer couldn’t hurt.”
The flat look Steve turns on him is immediate, and shit, okay, Eddie definitely shouldn’t have said anything if he doesn’t want to sleep on the couch tonight.
“You wanna be the one to tell Claudia?”
Oh, fuck that. “Yeah, no beers,” Eddie tells them.
The kids all groan, except Erica, who cuts in with, “Now that you’ve failed at convincing your dads to let you drink, can we start? Or are there any other dumb questions you nerds have?”
Lucas and Mike’s animated protests and the mocking face Dustin throws Erica’s way is all much less interesting than Steve muttering a strangled, “Jesus.”
Steve shakes his head and walks toward the front door. He’s going the wrong way if he’s planning on driving to the store. Won’t get very far without his keys.
“They’re in the—” Eddie starts.
“The kitchen, right,” Steve says, turning on his heel and heading in the opposite direction, towards the kitchen. He re-emerges mere seconds later, keyring swinging around his forefinger, and leans down as he passes by.
After weeks of consoling each other post-nightmares, sharing a bed, and puttering around Steve’s house, it feels natural to reach up and answer Steve's quiet request for a kiss.
“I’ll be back by six,” Steve tells him as he walks away.
“Don’t forget my hot dogs,” Eddie calls after him.
Steve pokes his head back around the corner of the doorway with a delicious frown. “You know, I can make you actual food to heat up when I’m not here.”
“No, thanks. I prefer the preservatives. Gives it a certain flavor that I like in my meat,” he delivers with a wink.
“You’re disgusting,” Steve says, but he’s smiling.
“And you’re distracting.” It’s impossible to not return his grin. “Now, be gone, wretch, so we can start.”
Steve hums, far too amused and pretty about it than he has any right to be. “Yeah, I’ll miss you, too.”
And what the hell is Eddie supposed to say to that? He tries not to let his smile turn too fond and waves Steve out the door.
He has approximately fifteen seconds of peace after the front door closes.
When he looks up from the finishing touches of getting ready for their campaign to find the kids staring at him, slack-jawed and uncharacteristically silent, his bemused, “What?” is all it takes for all hell to break loose.
“What the hell was that?” Mike asks, face twisted in a rather ugly expression.
“You owe me five dollars,” Erica taunts Lucas, who immediately fires back with, “No way! They haven’t confirmed anything yet.”
Dustin cuts through their overlapping chatter and demands, “Why didn’t either of you tell us you were dating?”
He looks so hurt and indignant in the way only Dustin can, and maybe it’s not too late to run out after Steve and make their case for the beers again if it means the kid’ll stop frowning and looking at Eddie like that. It takes a minute for his words to sink in.
Eddie blinks. “What.”
“What do you mean, what? You kissed!”
“No, we didn’t,” Eddie scoffs.
Except, yes, they did. Realization crashes over him, the force of it stunning him into silence.
Steve kissed him. On the lips. Like it was nothing, like it was something they did every day.
And Eddie hadn’t even blinked or shoved him away or registered it at all, just returned the kiss and went right back to bossing Steve around, as if the whole fucking thing was the most natural thing in the world.
Fuck.
Can’t really talk himself out of this one, can he? He clears his throat, ignoring their high-pitched arguments and the dread pooling in his stomach. “Alright, whatever. Maybe we did. What’s the big deal?”
“What’s the big—Eddie, Steve kissed you. Like, fully. Right on the mouth.”
God, can’t they come up with anything else to say? He’s well aware his lips touched Steve’s warm, plush lips, thanks, now shut the hell up about it. “Yeah, I think you might’ve mentioned that before.” He rolls his eyes. “Doesn’t mean we’re dating.”
“Wait, you’re not?” Erica frowns. She glares at her brother, who’s crowing in victory.
“Not that it’s any of your business—”
“So, what? It’s just…physical between you two?” Dustin asks.
Lucas’s smile immediately drops. “Ew, dude. Don’t phrase it like that.”
“Well, how else would you like me to phrase it, Lucas? Boning? Banging? Having sex —”
A chorus of “Ew, Dustin!” and other similar declarations of disgust erupt from everyone gathered around the table.
“You said to phrase it differently!”
“Yeah, but I meant don’t say it at all!”
“Then you should’ve said that!”
“You should’ve known not to talk about Steve and Eddie having sex, you weirdo!”
“Oh my God,” Mike mutters, interrupting Lucas and Dustin’s bickering, and squeezes his eyes shut in the most put-upon manner that Eddie has ever seen on anyone under the age of seventy. He looks a little green around the edges. Eddie can relate.
Not when it comes to the idea of him and Steve fucking—that’s something he thinks about at least twice a day, if he’s honest—in the shower—whenever Steve’s not home—but the idea of the kids even abstractly thinking about it, wondering about him and Steve at all, is a nauseating prospect.
“Jesus Christ, just stop talking,” Eddie commands. “We’re not—doing any of that.”
“But you practically live here,” Dustin counters.
“That doesn’t—”
“And you share a bed.”
God, the kid makes it sound so tawdry. Eddie narrows his eyes. “What’s your point?”
“My point —”
“Wait, so it’s true?” Mike interjects. “You and Steve sleep in the same bed?”
“I told you that they did,” Dustin says, visibly annoyed, before Eddie can even open his mouth. He’s not sure if Dustin means he just revealed that now, or if he told them all before, like the kids gather round to share the latest intel on him and Steve and try to figure out if they’re together or not. Fuck, but they probably do.
“Yeah, but we didn’t think you were telling the truth,” says Lucas. It was the wrong thing to say, if Dustin’s offended squawk is anything to go by.
“Why would I lie about that?”
“Really, Dustin?”
“Yes, really, Mike. You all thought I was lying about Suzie, too, but guess what?”
“Oh, here we go,” Mike mutters to Lucas, who rolls his eyes in commiseration.
“I wasn’t! And how many times has she saved your asses?”
“You really need to let that go, dude,” Lucas says.
“Twice! Two times.” Dustin holds up two fingers, just in case they still somehow don’t get it.
Mike slaps them down. “We know what twice means—”
Dustin shoves his hands away, causing Mike to push at him again, and Lucas reaches between the two to stop it from escalating.
“Then why is it so hard for you all to just trust that I’m usually right about this shit?”
“Wow, I’m surprised you fit through the door with your head as big as it is—”
“I’m surprised you haven’t shut up yet,” Erica retorts. It’s funny, the way she always steps in when people are giving Dustin too much shit. It’s a subtle redirect, defending him without outright defending him, and Eddie wouldn’t clock it if he didn’t notice her doing the same for her brother and Steve every now and then. “Who cares if Dustin was right or not—”
“I was,” Dustin reminds them.
“Who cares about that,” Erica repeats, fixing Dustin with a meaningful look, “when Eddie just admitted he and Steve share a bed.” She rests her chin on her palm and directs that look at Eddie. “Tell me more about how you’re not dating.”
She never fails to surprise him, or amuse him, with her spunkiness. Still, this is the one time it’s not appreciated. As much. “We’re not dating,” Eddie deadpans.
“But you’re sleeping together,” she presses.
“Platonically,” Eddie corrects through gritted teeth. Jesus, they’re going to finish what Jason Carver and his cronies started. “We’re platonically sleeping together, and it’s only sleeping, so get your minds out of the gutter.”
“My mind didn’t go there,” Erica says. “Can’t say the same for yours, apparently.”
“Ooooh.” Mike covers his mouth like it’s the sickest burn he’s ever heard.
Eddie gives her a sarcastic, tight-lipped smile that ends in an eyeroll.
She’s just saying it to get under his skin, he knows that. It’s not like she can actually read his thoughts—Eleven is the one with the mind powers and shit. Still, he can’t help but feel like she can see him. Like she knows exactly how often his thoughts turn to Steve, how he assumed it was just an appreciation for his stupid Adonis-like features and lickable abs, and then somewhere along the line it became about how kind and funny and mean and good-hearted the asshole is, too.
“Aw, he’s blushing,” Dustin taunts.
“I’m not,” he says, and flicks one of the dice at Dustin’s head.
He flings it right back, and it goes skittering across the floor. “Methinks the DM doth protest too much.”
“Methinks you need to shut the hell up.”
“Eddie has a cruuush,” Lucas croons, hands over his heart and eyelashes fluttering exaggeratedly.
He threw that die way too quickly. Good thing he has another one. “Real mature, Sinclair,” he says as Lucas dodges the projectile flicked his way.
Fuck Steve for leaving him to corral these assholes after kissing him, and fuck Steve for kissing him in the first place. And fuck himself, Eddie guesses, for wishing Steve would do it again.
“Yeah, but you didn’t deny it,” Mike unhelpfully points out.
“My denial was implied.”
“I don’t think that’s how it works.”
“Oh, and you’re the expert in denial, are you, Wheeler?”
Mike sputters, a faint blush slowly spreading across his cheeks, and, oddly enough, his glance flickers in Lucas’s direction.
“Oh, my God, just admit there’s something going on between you and Steve,” Lucas says, coming to Mike’s rescue.
They really need to ease the fuck up. They’re well-intentioned, sure, but Eddie doesn’t need the reminder of his hopeless pining or Steve’s unbreakable heterosexuality. “There’s nothing to admit. We’re friends. Friends can sleep in the same bed without it being weird.” At their unimpressed, raised eyebrows, he continues, “What? Like you’ve never shared a bed with your friend?”
“No,” Dustin and Lucas say at the same time Mike says, “Yeah, but that’s different.”
“Um, that’s a bald-faced lie,” Erica says, eyeing Lucas.
“When we were kids, sure,” Dustin concedes on Lucas’ behalf. “But not recently.”
“In that case, uh, I change my answer to No.” Mike crosses his arms. “That’s just a you and Steve thing.”
Erica makes a skeptical noise in the back of her throat. “Then explain to me why I found you cuddling my brother in his bed last weekend.”
Eddie turns to the teens in question, jaw dropped in a sick sort of glee and amusement. Steve’s going to lose his shit when he finds out he missed all this.
“Erica!” Lucas erupts, flinging a handful of chips at her. “Stay out of my room!”
“We weren’t cuddling,” Mike hisses, flushing deeper.
“Mom told me to wake you up, first of all,” she says, throwing the chips right back. “And what else would you call what you two were doing? Hugging while sleeping?”
Their reactions definitely aren’t helping their case, but it’s not like Eddie can point that out without seeming like the fattest hypocrite in the world. Best to let them live in delusion for a little while longer.
“Stop—” Eddie leans over and snatches the bowl from an affronted Lucas, who was getting ready to lob another handful at his sister, “—fucking throwing food. What, were you raised in a barn? Nobody cares if you were cuddling. Friends do that, you don’t have to make it such a big deal.”
Eddie knows he gets in people’s personal space, that he has a problem keeping his hands to himself sometimes, so it’s not like he’s lying when he says that it can be a platonic activity. He’s certainly done it with his friends before. What they don’t need to know is that it’s different from the way he does it with Steve. With him, it’s all tangled limbs and heads on chests and hands stroking reassuringly down backs, and while it makes Eddie’s heart beat faster and faster until he’s sure it’s going to rabbit out of his chest, it seems to just be a friend thing to Steve. Steve never seems as affected as him, just warm and kind and earnest. It makes Eddie sick to his stomach sometimes. He feels like a creep with a crush, taking advantage of any morsel of affection Steve sends his way, when his intentions are purely platonic and Eddie is the one misreading everything.
Maybe Eddie should go back to the guest room, or to the trailer, but the worst part is, he’s not sure he’d be able to sleep without Steve beside him anymore. Like he’s some kind of security blanket for Eddie, and how pathetic is that? Grown-ass man can’t get through the night without hearing Steve’s steady breathing, knowing he’s alive and alright and warm next to him. Jesus Christ.
“Do friends kiss, too?” Mike asks, defiant despite sinking down into his seat as far as he can.
“You asking for permission?” Erica quips.
“I’m talking about Steve and Eddie,” Mike shoots back.
“Sometimes.” Eddie shrugs, like he’s not completely devastated by the idea. The truth is, Steve’s a tactile guy, and maybe this was just an extension of that, just Steve being affectionate, kind, clueless Steve. He probably hasn’t even thought twice about it. Eddie tries not to wince. “A platonic peck on the lips never hurt anyone.”
“That’s bullshit—” Mike starts.
“Look, what happened between me and Steve didn’t mean anything, alright? We’re not dating or secretly pining for each other, or whatever the fuck you kids are trying to invent is going on between us. We’re just friends.” The words alone feel like a knife twisting in his gut. He forces a smile. “And that’s all we’re ever gonna be. So if the interrogation is over, the campaign won’t wait for you forever. Shall we?”
Except none of the kids are looking at him. They’re all looking past him, at the doorway, and he cranes his neck to look but fuck, shit, fuck if they’re looking at what Eddie can only assume they’re looking at—
His stomach drops.
There, in the doorway, stands Steve, eyes round and down-turned but his jaw set, and there’s no way he didn’t just overhear Eddie.
“I forgot my wallet,” he says weakly.
“Oh,” Eddie croaks. “Um, I think it’s upstairs?”
Steve nods, casts a wary glance at the kids, giving them an awkward wave, then all but bolts out of the room.
Fucking fuck.
Eddie just barely resists the urge to groan and hold his head in his hands, stopped only by the looks the kids are giving him.
“Dude,” Dustin whispers.
“Go after him,” Lucas says, matching Dustin’s hushed tone.
Eddie flips them off for meddling, then goes upstairs to do just that.
“Five minutes!” Mike calls after him.
The sound of the other kids telling him to shut up is the sweetest symphony. Saves him from having to do it himself.
Eddie trudges up the stairs, feet growing heavier with each step. What is he even supposed to say? I know you didn’t mean to kiss me, and the kids are fully aware we’re just friends, don’t worry—but could you maybe pretend I wasn’t way too eager to kiss you back? That’d be great, man, thanks.
God, he’s so screwed.
He pushes their bedroom door open, slowly, and peers inside. Steve is opening every drawer of the nightstand by his side of the bed, pushing the items around frantically. He usually leaves it there, or on his dresser, or he’s forgotten it in an old pair of jeans.
“Any luck?”
Steve’s head snaps up, but he only makes eye contact with Eddie for a split second before he’s back to rummaging around. “Not yet.”
“Have you checked—”
“The dresser, yeah, it’s not there.” Steve straightens, hands on his hips, and huffs as he looks around the room.
It’s a lot messier than when Eddie first moved in, though Steve prefers to call it homier.
Some of his clothes are strewn across the floor, and Steve has picked up the bad habit, both of them usually too tired and high by the time they crawl into bed to really be bothered. The rings not on Eddie’s fingers are at home on top of the nightstand by his side, his notebooks on the other side, and his acoustic guitar is propped up in the corner of the room.
Every surface is littered with crumpled notes that they’ve left each other and little trinkets and odd objects Eddie has given Steve or brought over from his house. The framed picture of the car is long gone, replaced by a poster Eddie had pushed Steve to buy. He insisted Steve needed more of himself in the room, and Eddie really couldn’t be mad at Steve’s choice of David Bowie. Even if it’s hanging up against that god-awful blue plaid wallpaper.
His favorite, though, are all the pictures. Every member of the Party is captured, either by Steve or with Steve by somebody else, and it never fails to make Eddie smile when he sees them. Steve deserves it, these little reminders that he has people who love him.
There’s a polaroid of Steve with Lucas in a headlock, both sweaty and smiling after playing a pick-up game of basketball, and it’s a start, at least. An inkling of an idea. He leans against the desk to watch Steve search.
“So Lucas and Mike apparently enjoy a good cuddle. With each other.”
Steve slows his movements, intrigued, but still doesn’t look up at the latest gossip morsel Eddie is offering him. What the fuck. If that’s how it is, then Eddie’s not pointing out the jeans Steve wore yesterday peeking out from under the bed, or the bulge in the back pocket where his wallet must be. Not until Steve properly looks at him.
“Do they?” Steve’s tone is suspiciously even, trying not to seem too interested, but he’s almost stopped moving entirely so his curiosity is clearly winning out. Still, he doesn’t glance up.
“Yeah, you should’ve seen it.” Eddie smiles. Tries not to grind his teeth. “They denied it, of course, a bit too emphatically, but Erica totally put them on blast. Got them all blushing and stuttering. It was almost sweet.”
Steve smiles to himself. “Of course she did.”
It must be because of the kiss, this cold shoulder treatment. It was an accident, a misstep on Steve’s part, and he doesn’t know how to tell him. Probably because Eddie showed his hand by returning it, and now Steve knows about his feelings and finds it creepy that Eddie has taken advantage of his hospitality and warm bed and affection and wants him gone. He’s just too good of a person to say all that.
But he will. Or he’ll say something. Admit, at least, to the weird fucking energy he has right now so they can move past it and be friends again. And if Eddie has to leave in order for that to happen…Then, yeah, whatever. So be it. It’ll rip his heart out, but he’ll do it.
Especially if it means Steve will stop frowning so hard and clenching his jaw the way he does when he’s angry with himself. He probably blames himself, somehow, for Eddie kissing him back and exposing his stupid fucking feelings. There’s no logic to it, but Steve never really needs any in order to think of himself as the bad guy.
He just needs some space, some time to himself, probably, and Eddie can use a few days away from him anyway. To prove that he’ll be alright, that he’s not that obsessed with Steve and will recover from the rejection soon enough. Eventually.
Probably.
“So, I was thinking—” Eddie pauses. Waits for the sarcastic That’s dangerous, but it never comes. Steve must really be spiraling, then. “I haven’t seen Wayne in a little while, so I was gonna go back there for a bit. To the trailer. Uh, home, I mean.”
Steve’s back is to him from where he’s crouched, searching on the floor, and it makes it all the more obvious when his shoulders tense up. “How long is a bit?”
“I don’t know, just the weekend, probably?” His shoulders don’t relax. Must need more time, then. “Or longer.” Opposite effect: they hike up further, shit. “Or not, I’m not sure. What, uh, what do you think?”
“Not sure it matters what I think.” The lightness in Steve’s tone is painfully forced. “Seems like you already know what you want.”
It stings more than Eddie expected.
This isn’t him, is the problem. He’s not the type to tiptoe around a situation or pretend like something’s not happening when it so clearly is. Steve is the one who’s good at all the social niceties and rules, not him. So fuck it, right? Not like it can get much worse.
“We’re talking about what you want.”
“We are?”
Eddie sighs. “Just tell me how long you want me gone, man.”
Steve stops. Stands, turns around, and finally— finally —meets Eddie’s gaze.
His brain fizzes, almost delirious from having Steve’s attention back on him. It feels like that first hit after a tolerance break, heady and intoxicating, prickling at the base of his neck and sliding down his spine. Relief washes over him so strongly, he can’t help but sway forward. He grips the desk’s edge to ground himself.
“What makes you think I want you gone?”
Eddie swallows a strangled noise of frustration. They don’t need to play games. “C’mon, man,” he says, like it’s obvious.
“C’mon what?”
“You’ve been weird since you got home, dude. All fidgety and awkward, and this is the first time you’ve looked at me for more than two seconds the entire time we’ve been talking.”
Steve flushes, and he glances away, at the floor, at anywhere else but Eddie, before seeming to remember what Eddie just said and looking back at him. “I didn’t realize,” he confesses quietly.
“Yeah, well. I did.” Might as well just expose everything at this point. Stop pretending like he isn’t constantly aware of Steve’s every movement. He already knows, clearly, so what’s the harm? “Is it because of the kiss?”
The way Steve’s eyes widen as pink dusts across his cheeks and crawls down his throat is hypnotizing, begging to be traced by Eddie’s tongue.
It’s also an answer though.
“Look, it’s fine, alright? I get it. You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Eddie says gently, aiming for reassuring. “So what do you need? You wanna pretend it never happened? Wanna hit me?”
Steve’s face morphs into a concerned frown. “Wha—hit you? No. What the fuck, why would I want to hit you?”
Eddie shrugs. “I don’t know. Just an idea.”
It’s always the response, isn’t it? When Eddie makes a move on the wrong guy in the wrong place, they start swinging.
“No,” Steve says slowly. “No, Eds, I don’t want to hit you.”
“Okay, then. Do you want me to leave for a bit?”
“Do you want to leave?”
“It doesn’t matter what I want.”
Steve looks like Eddie just personally insulted him. “It matters to me.”
Well, fuck. Steve’s eyes are blazing, and it makes something tug in Eddie’s belly. “Then, no. I don’t want to.”
“Okay.” Steve still looks lost. “Okay. Fuck.” He rubs his forehead, then runs that hand through his hair. “So don’t leave, or try to get me to hit you, or whatever, just. It’ll be fine. I’ll get over it, and then we can go back to normal and pretend this never happened. Right?”
“Right.” Eddie swallows against the disappointment clawing at his throat. “Yeah, that—good plan, I think.”
Steve smiles weakly, then sighs, exhausted, and drops onto the bed. “Do you, uh, do you still want to sleep in here? Tonight? Like, are you gonna be…okay with that?”
Okay? Fuck, it’s always okay with him. More than okay, really. But it’s not about that. He’s not the one who has to share a bed with a guy who’s pathetically in love with him. “I thought we already established it’s about what you want.”
Steve narrows his eyes. “I thought we already established that makes no fucking sense.”
Eddie shrugs, looks down to pick at the frayed threads of his jeans. Anything is better than Steve’s stupidly handsome face. “If you’re okay with it, then I’m okay with it.”
“Kind of a cop-out,” Steve says. “But okay, yeah. I mean, I…want you to. If that’s what you want.”
God, does he want. And now he’s the one who can’t look Steve in the eye, because the full force of just how much he wants will be etched into every line on his face. “Great. So we’ll just—”
“I’m sorry,” Steve blurts out, tripping over his words like he can’t get them out fast enough. All Eddie can do is gape at him.
Of course he thinks this is his fault. Whoever has made Steve feel like he always has to play this role, like he hasn’t done enough to prove he’s a good guy, deserves to be strangled. He’s always the one who makes things right, even when he didn’t do anything wrong.
“Don’t, man.” Eddie shakes his head. Steps closer. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
Steve’s laugh is hollow, disbelieving. “I’m the reason things are so awkward right now.”
“You’re not, though, that’s my point. The feelings were already there before you—kissed me.” Eddie valiantly doesn’t blush like some Victorian maiden when he says it out loud, remembers that it actually happened. “That just brought them to light, I guess.”
“Yeah, so if I hadn’t kissed you in the first place—”
Jesus, this is excruciating. “It wouldn’t change anything, dude, honestly. Kiss or no kiss, it would’ve come out eventually. You can only keep that shit hidden for so long.” He looks down at the floor as he says it, can’t bear to look at Steve’s face and find any trace of sympathy there. It’s bad enough Steve doesn’t feel the same way, Eddie doesn’t need him to feel guilty about it, too. “You just sped up the timeline a little bit, but that’s fine. It means we can handle this now instead of, like, months down the road when it’s a lot…messier.”
When he does look up, it’s not sympathy or guilt that he finds on Steve’s face. It’s sadness, and it’s, oddly enough, embarrassment. But there’s a spark of determination, too, as Steve opens his mouth.
“I know this is really awkward and uncomfortable for you, but please, can you just—” Steve blows out a breath. “Can you let me say what I’m trying to say? And then that’s it, and we don’t have to talk about it ever again. I promise.”
It’s those fucking eyes. Steve pulls them out and Eddie’s like putty in his hands, willing to do anything he wants. He can’t say no.
Instead, he walks over and sits next to Steve on the bed, leaving a respectable distance between them, and gestures for him to continue.
He does after a deep breath. Tilts his body so he’s facing Eddie. “I wasn’t thinking. Earlier, when I—kissed you.”
God, the blush extends to the tips of his ears, too. And Eddie’s smokes are all the way downstairs in his jacket. The universe really has it out for him today.
“And you’re right, I shouldn’t apologize for that. I mean, I’m sorry for the way I kissed you, but I’m not sorry I kissed you. I wanted to do that. I have for a while now, obviously.”
Obviously? It’s hard to hear anything over the blood pounding in his ears, but Eddie’s pretty sure he heard him right. The fuck does he mean, obviously ? Who has that been obvious to? Certainly not Eddie! Fuck, and now he’s getting hysterical.
“Steve—”
“No.” A hand clamps over his mouth. It’d be so easy to slip his tongue out, swipe it across Steve’s palm. Steve would pout and wipe the saliva off his hand and call Eddie the grossest person on earth, but he also might laugh a little bit. Eddie sits still, lets the thought pass. “Let me just—let me get this out, and then you can yell at me or spit on me or whatever the fuck you wanna do, okay?”
Eddie nods, slow, dizzy from the way Steve’s eyes are boring into his, from the words spilling from his lips.
“Okay.” Steve removes his hand, hesitant, like he’s just waiting for the opportunity to put it back. Eddie kinda wishes he would. “Living with you has really been fucking with my head, man.” He huffs out a laugh. Pained. Longing. “It’s like having one of my best friends in my back pocket all the time, but worse because I’m not constantly wondering what Robin is doing or wanting to kiss her like I do with you. And I guess I’ve been thinking about kissing you for so long, I just—did it. I didn’t even realize I did until after I left, and I thought you might hate me—”
“I could never hate you.”
Steve looks at him, and it’s like all the tension has unspooled from his body, leaving him to sag in relief. “That’s good to know.” He smiles, small, teasing. “You’re supposed to be quiet, though.”
Eddie mimes zipping his lips, earning a brighter smile in response.
“But you kissed me back, man. And I thought maybe you wanted me to do it. Like, I don’t know, maybe you’ve been thinking about it all this time, too.”
He was, he had been. God, he is, right now, sitting here, captivated, watching the way Steve’s mouth forms the words he’s stringing together to say, in a roundabout way, that he feels the same way Eddie does. Eddie bites the inside of his cheek to stop his smile.
“But then you were telling the kids that it didn’t mean anything and we were just friends, and I was so—”
“That was to shut them up.” Because he has to know, he has to . “I know, I know, I’ll shut up so you can finish, but, fuck, Steve, what I said downstairs is not at all how I feel about you.”
“You really can’t not talk,” Steve agrees, a smile slowly spreading across his lips, “but I’ll allow it.” Then, voice so gentle and hopeful it just might break Eddie clean in two, he says, “How do you feel about me?”
He’s pretty sure Steve feels the same way, has practically said so, but he still has to swallow against the nervous lump in his throat. He reaches for Steve’s hands for something to do. Traces the lines of his palm. “What do you want me to say, man?” he asks softly. “You wanna hear how I think about you all the time?” Steve’s breath audibly catches, and he pushes into Eddie’s touch, seeks out some of his own with gentle nudges to Eddie’s fingers, weaving them together. “How I live with you—hell, sleep in the same fucking bed as you—and I still can’t get enough of you?” The pads of Steve’s fingers on his hand are featherlight as he starts twisting Eddie’s rings, almost reverent. “You wanna know how gone I am for you?” Eddie looks up and tucks a bit of Steve’s hair behind his ear with his free hand. Lets it linger there. “I’m fucking stupid with it, sweetheart.”
Steve’s eyes are shining with emotion, round and warm and crinkling at the corners. “You mean it?”
Eddie has never meant anything more in his life. He stills Steve’s hand, grips it like it’s a lifeline and he’s drowning. “God, yeah, of course I mean it. I thought you knew, when I kissed you back—”
“No, no, how could I know? You were threatening to leave me—”
“I thought you didn’t want me around—”
“You stupid fuck,” Steve cuts him off with a smile. He disentangles their hands to grab the front of Eddie’s shirt, two fistfuls of the cotton fabric. Says, adamantly, “I always want you around.”
Eddie’s hands slide around Steve’s waist, pulling him closer. “Well, good.” They’re wearing matching grins. “Now kiss me for real, this time, man.”
Steve doesn’t waste a second. He hauls him in and crushes their mouths together, letting Eddie swallow his giggle.
This kiss is infinitely better than their first. It’s more than just a brush of lips, for one, and Eddie is fully aware and cognizant that it’s even happening, for another. But what makes the blood in his veins sing and his heart pound against his ribcage like it’s trying to leap out and into Steve’s arms is Steve himself. It’s the fact that Steve wants this, wants him , and they’re moving against each other like they never want to do anything ever again other than kiss like this.
The noise Steve lets out when Eddie slips his hand underneath his stupid polo, his palm pressed to the bare skin of Steve’s lower back, is addicting, and God, he needs to make that noise again , needs to never stop making that noise.
Steve’s hands loosen on Eddie’s shirt, one skating up his neck, gripping his jaw, fingers tangling themselves in the hair behind his ear, the other wrapping around his shoulders, dragging their chests together. It’s still not close enough. Their position is all weird, but Eddie tugs at Steve’s hips, gets him halfway into his lap—
“Gross.”
Eddie would recognize that disdain anywhere. He and Steve break apart, frowning, and he glares at his own personal cockblock. “Wheeler,” he grits out. “You ever hear of knocking?”
“You ever hear of closing the door?” Mike asks with a grimace.
Steve starts to pull back, but Eddie tightens his grip, keeps him in place. No way is he ruining this for him. “What do you want.”
It’s not posed as a question because it doesn’t matter what the answer is. He needs to leave.
“You said five minutes.”
“You said five minutes,” Eddie corrects.
“Whatever. We were supposed to start at six. Can’t you stick your tongue down Steve’s throat another time?”
“Actually, now works great for me.” Steve turns to Eddie, arm still wrapped around him, has to tilt his head away so their noses don’t brush. “Does now work for you?”
“Now’s perfect.”
Steve turns back to Mike. “Looks like now is gonna be the best time for him to stick his tongue down my throat. Sorry.”
Except he doesn’t look sorry at all, and seeing Steve give one of the kids shit so he can keep kissing Eddie is infinitely worse than when he’s a bitch to them for any other reason. Eddie desperately wants to kiss him.
And there’s no reason he can’t now, right? He doesn’t have to resist anymore. So he leans in, presses his lips to the two moles on Steve’s cheek, and it’s a lot more sweet and soppy than he intended. But who gives a rat’s ass when that same cheek flushes pink and Steve looks at him, surprised, but no less fond and adoring. Eddie would embarrass himself in front of any of the brats if it gets Steve looking at him like that.
Steve grins, pushes Eddie’s face away from him. “Fucking sap,” but it sounds more like a term of endearment than an insult.
Eddie grabs his hand before he can pull away, deliberately maintaining eye contact as he kisses Steve’s palm, once, twice, and moves to press a kiss to the inside of his wrist. If Steve wants sappy, he’ll show him sappy. His blush darkens to a delicious shade, and his mouth falls open, just the tiniest bit, just enough to see the tip of his tongue. Just enough to drive Eddie crazy.
“Eugh, can’t you at least wait until I leave the room?”
Mike’s mouth is twisted in utter disgust, and it only makes Eddie want to poke at him more. He smacks another kiss to Steve’s palm, loud and obnoxious, and says, “Depends. Are you leaving now ?”
“Are you ?”
Before Eddie can respond, Dustin’s voice travels up the stairs at an unbearable level. “Mike, what’s taking so long?”
“I’m coming,” Mike shouts back down. “I’m trying to get Eddie.”
“Eddie’s not coming?”
Eddie really can’t be held responsible for any murders that might take place tonight. Not when he has children screaming right in his face who could just walk upstairs and have their conversation at a normal volume. Eddie’s not the only one, if the wince on Steve’s face is any indication, and he suddenly remembers the way Steve can be sensitive to loud noises sometimes, the migraines that flare up every now and then.
“Not yet —” Mike’s yell is cut short by Eddie throwing a pillow at his head. “Hey!” The gangly teen turns to him and frowns. “Ow.”
“Stop fucking shouting. You’re indoors.”
Mike crosses his arms. Little shit. “You know, you’re starting to sound more and more like Steve.”
“Thank you,” Eddie says.
“Why do I feel an insult coming?” Steve asks no one in particular.
“It’s not a compliment. You keep harping on and on about rules. You used to be fun.”
“Aaaand there it is,” Steve sighs. “Screw you, Wheeler, I’m plenty fun.”
“Name one time,” Mike challenges, his hands moving to his hips. It’s so Steve, and it delights Eddie to no end that Mike would be horrified if he were to point it out.
“How about that time I didn’t murder you for interrupting me and my boyfriend? That was pretty fun.”
Eddie doesn’t even bother processing whatever comeback Mike has to that, brain too preoccupied with the way boyfriend buzzes louder and louder until it’s all he can hear. “Boyfriend?”
Steve looks at him like he’s fucking crazy. Which, like, fair, but still. Cut him some slack. It’s not every day the most gorgeous boy in Hawkins lays claim to him so easily. “You just had your tongue in my mouth after admitting you’re obsessed with me. And we share a bed. It’d be a little weird if we weren’t dating, don’t you think?” He’s all confidence and condescension until he continues, an underlying note of nervousness evident, “I mean, right? Unless you—”
“No, yes, shut up, I’m your boyfriend. We’re dating. Whatever. No take backs.”
He’s babbling, and anyone else would’ve decided that that was it, that seals the deal: Eddie is distinctly not boyfriend material. Anyone but Steve, apparently, who just smiles like Christmas came early. “Cool.”
“Cool,” Eddie parrots back, teasing, grin just as fucking wide and ridiculous.
“As sweet as this,” Mike interrupts, lips pursed like he’s eaten something sour, completely contradicting his words, “the campaign? You coming, or should I tell Dustin you need some extra persuasion?”
“Alright, Al Capone, chill out, I’m coming.” Eddie rolls his eyes at Steve like, Can you believe the nerve of this kid? Steve can, apparently, because he smiles and shakes his head and slips off of Eddie’s lap. Before he can get too far away, Eddie snags him by the wrist and pulls him in to kiss his forehead. “Okay, now I’m coming.”
Steve’s practically beaming with it, and Eddie knows he’s not much better. “I’ll meet you downstairs. Still gotta find my wallet.”
Eddie stands to follow an impatient Mike out the door and says, as casually as he can manage, “Might wanna check your jeans from yesterday.” Steve tilts his head, confused, and Eddie points to his pants on the floor. “Under the bed.”
He doesn’t stick around, can feel the agitation rolling off of Mike in waves, and only gets a glimpse of Steve’s ass as he leans over to pick up his discarded jeans. What a pity. It’s a nice ass.
Eddie rips his gaze away and flings an arm over Mike’s shoulder as they descend the stairs. “So,” he says, drawing the syllable out unnecessarily. “Sinclair, huh?”
“No,” Mike bites out forcefully. “Shut up. We’re not having this conversation.”
Such a sensitive lad. It amuses Eddie to no end. “Hey, no judgment here.”
Mike rolls his eyes. “Obviously.”
“The hell do you mean, Obviously ?” Eddie asks with a laugh.
“Nothing, just,” Mike huffs. “Steve? Really? I thought you had standards.”
“Oh, standards, huh?” Eddie hooks the arm around Mike’s shoulder to drag him into a headlock and noogie his head mercilessly. “How’s that for standards, you little shit?”
“Son of a bitch, it took you long enough,” Dustin calls out over Mike’s laughing protests.
“Get off, you maniac!”
“Not until you admit defeat!” Eddie pauses, peers down at the kid. “Do you yield?”
Mike frowns. “Never.”
“Well,” Eddie shrugs, “You had your chance. You all saw it.” And he’s back to rubbing his knuckles on Mike’s scalp.
The other kids hide their laughter behind their hands, watching Eddie grapple with Mike in the doorway to the dining room.
“Jesus, alright! I yield or whatever, just—stop.”
That’s all he needed to hear. Eddie releases him and steps back, hands up. Mike tangles his fingers through his hair, trying to tame it back to his previous hairstyle, as they approach the table.
“Damn, dude,” Lucas whistles. “The hell did you say to him?”
“Nothing that wasn’t true,” Mike grumbles.
“Hey,” Eddie says with a soft kick to the back of Mike’s thigh, receiving a yelp in response. “Watch it, punk.”
“Seems like the talk went well,” Erica observes as they return to their seats, Mike rubbing the spot on his leg and Eddie still helplessly grinning.
Mike winces. “You don’t even want to know. I’m gonna be scarred for life.”
OK, rude.
“I hope he made you grovel first,” Erica tells him.
OK, doubly rude. Sort of. Eddie can’t help but find himself agreeing, though. Still, he has to put on a show of being offended. “Why, Lady Applejack—”
“Tell us after,” Dustin says. “We’ve been waiting forever.”
“Oh, my apologies, your highness,” Eddie says with a hand over his heart. “How callous of me.”
“What’d you do this time?”
He turns his head as Steve enters the room, a small smile on his lips and wallet in his hand. Eddie must look like a lovesick fool right now, heart-eyes and all, but he can’t help it. Doesn’t want to, anyway. The kids will be giving him shit for it regardless.
“Nothing, dearest, it’s all lies. They’re out to sully my good name,” Eddie says.
Steve hums. “Yeah, that’s believable.”
Before Eddie can theatrically declare how Steve’s words have wounded him, sliced him to ribbons, really, Mike cuts in, longsuffering, “Tell your boyfriend that noogies are a coward’s weapon of choice.”
“Woah, boyfriend ?” Lucas repeats.
“Hey, babe, Mike said you can give him a noogie any time,” Steve says very seriously, hand on Eddie’s shoulder.
Eddie will have a freak out over babe later. For now, he’ll just relish in the way it makes his insides light up. He almost misses Erica responding to her brother with a condescending, “How have you not picked up on that?”
“That’s not what I said!” Mike protests.
“Thanks, babe,” Eddie says, patting Steve’s hand and savoring the way Steve’s eyes crinkle and soften at the returned pet name. “Tell Mike he just has to say the word.”
“Is it possible they’ve gotten more annoying?” Lucas says in an undertone to Mike, who snorts at the comment.
“Dude, you should’ve seen them upstairs. So disgusting,” Mike tells him.
“Watch who you’re calling disgusting, noogie-boy,” Steve says. it's not the best comeback, but Eddie feels it’s part of his sworn responsibilities as Official Boyfriend to back up Steve’s point by flinging chips at Mike and Lucas’s faces.
“Steve,” Dustin starts.
“Hey, don’t fucking throw food in the house,” Mike scolds him, smug grin firmly in place.
“Yeah, were you raised in a barn?” Lucas asks, sporting an equally obnoxious smirk. They really deserve each other, in Eddie’s opinion. Both unpleasant when they think they’re right.
Eddie fakes a laugh at them, mocking, while Dustin continues his attempts to get Steve’s attention. “Steve. Hey Steve?” Steve finally looks at him. “Hi. Can you leave now? You’re distracting our DM and holding up the campaign.”
“Woah, Henderson, watch the tone,” Eddie warns him, mostly lightheartedly, and ignores Mike and Lucas’s prolonged Ooohs. He slings an arm around Steve’s waist, pulls him in closer. “Some of us want him here.”
He’s rewarded with a half-grin and affectionate tug on one of his curls.
“Maybe if everyone was paying attention,” Erica says pointedly. Then, when that’s not enough, “Lucas.”
“Me?”
“Uh, don’t act so surprised. You were egging them on.”
“It’s fine,” Steve says, “not like it’s my house or anything. Please, eat my food, use my table for your little game. Do you need anything while I’m out? Snacks? Bit of gratitude, maybe?”
“Thank you, Steve, for letting us have the campaign here. We really appreciate it,” Dustin says, tone flat as though reciting from a very old, very boring book. And not the kind he would enjoy, the fucking nerd. Eddie adores him.
Eddie shoves down the urge to laugh, and asks instead, “There, now was that so hard?”
Dustin groans into his hands. A most delicious sound, his weary admittal of defeat. Eddie shares a smug look with Steve.
“Twizzlers are good,” Mike says. “If you’re taking requests.”
“I’m not,” is the terse response.
Mike lets out an insulted noise as Erica looks up at Steve and says, “I’ll take a Push Pop. Or some Famous Amos.”
“Yeah, nice try,” Steve says, but Eddie knows that means he’ll be coming back with both. There’s not much that Erica could ask for that Steve wouldn’t immediately bend over backwards to get for her—all while grumbling and complaining and pretending like it’s some kind of burden. He is absolutely, without a doubt, going to be the kind of father who’s wrapped around his daughter’s finger, if the way he interacts with Erica is any indication. And Max. Hell, even El. Not that Eddie has been doing a lot of thinking about what kind of father Steve would be. That would be way too soon. And, unfortunately, completely true. Eddie is so fucked. “Alright, have fun,” Steve tells the group, and squeezes Eddie’s shoulder as he moves to leave.
Eddie grabs his wrist. Not so fast. “What, no goodbye kiss this time?” he teases.
Steve rolls his eyes, feigning annoyance, but leans down with a smile anyway. The kiss is warm and soft and over far too soon. Eddie barely has time to appreciate the way Steve’s plush lips slide against his, or the scratch of the slight stubble on Steve’s chin, or the low, pleased hum Steve lets out as soon as their mouths connect, before Steve is pulling away.
His eyes are glassy and his smile verging on dopey when he teases Eddie back, “Happy?”
“Mm,” Eddie hums, and he hopes he’s conveying every ounce of happiness that’s sparking in his veins and setting his goddamn chest on fire when he says, “extremely.”
The outcries and sounds of gagging from the kids is worth the shy smile he gets in return.
“Yeah,” Steve whispers, just for him, eyes roving over Eddie’s face rapidly, like he’s trying to memorize every line and curve and dip and divot of it. “Me, too.”
The smile widens, and Eddie doesn’t hesitate for a second before he’s tilting his chin up to taste it. The campaign can wait another minute or two.