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Sunday, October 27th, 1985.
Hawkins, Indiana.
The Annual Halloween Fair (the final night.)
4 days until the date.
Eddie sighs loudly as he replaces the black eyeliner after half-heartedly smearing it around his eyes. He’s not sure why he’s even applying it, it’s not like it’ll be visible tonight anyways. With an even bigger sigh, he studies his reflection in the dusty vanity mirror. It’s still Eddie that stares back at him, but this Eddie is missing something. Absent is the spirited flare, the impassioned energy brightening his typically glowing aura. No, this Eddie is unmotivated, sad and miserable, his aura gray and dull. This Eddie is one he likes to refer to as Woe-Is-Me Eddie.
Why is he so upset? It’s the last day of the Halloween Fair, an event that exclusively runs every Saturday and Sunday on October weekends. Yes indeed, after tonight, the fair will be emptied, packed up and erased from existence, taking Eddie’s soul with it. Nevermind the night hadn’t even begun. Nevermind the haunted house, dubbed Creatures of the Night, and the corresponding haunted maze are out there waiting for him to liven its rooms and acres with intrigue and theatrics. When Eddie fixates on a feeling, he feels it wholly and deeply, always cursed to experience the highest of highs and lowest of lows. It’s just the Eddie Munson way, unfortunately, and there’s no skipping around it. Every great performer suffers from it, he reasons. Comedies and tragedies have always served as the dual core of theatre since the dawn of its creation. For every great Greek comedy, there exists an equally great Greek tragedy. They are the acting masks we’ve come to easily identify as the symbol of drama, and drama is Eddie Munson’s middle name.
Such drama unfortunately becomes everyone around Eddie’s problem, too.
“Can you stop sighing like that, dude? You’re depressing me,” Gareth grunts from the corner, bending down in front of a full-length mirror to adjust his wig.
“It’s killing the mood,” Jeff agrees, voice muffled by the mask he’s fixing atop his face.
“Boys,” Eddie huffs, pouting. “How many times have I told you both? I’m graduating next semester, meaning this is my last and final hoorah as a protégée of Creatures of the Night. The star of the fucking show. The best damn performer this sad little town has ever seen since… ever. So excuse me if I want to wallow a bit!”
“You said you were graduating last year, man,” Gareth scoffs, immediately regretting making eye contact with Eddie’s reflection from his own mirror. There’s a maniacal, murderous glint in Eddie’s dark eyes and Gareth quickly fixes his gaze back on himself, clearing his throat.
“Last year was different. Tannen had it out for me, man—” Jeff snickers, but Eddie ignores it, continuing his spiel and raising his voice— “but now that I’ve been placed in Hauser’s English class, I can just feel it in my bones.”
“Feel what in your bones, you weirdo?”
Eddie grits his teeth.
“That ‘86 is my year, baby.” Eddie coos the last word out softly and seductively as he reaches out to lightly stroke Jeff’s chin, eliciting laughter from both boys. That brightens his spirits a little bit. But only a little.
“Hey, where’d you disappear to last night?” Gareth asks, turning around. His look for tonight is complete, not taking nearly as long as yesterday’s. Because for the final night, all scare actors wear masks, regardless of whether or not it's part of their typical costuming. It’s become somewhat of a tradition at Creatures of the Night, going out with a bang and an always-successful attempt to frighten guests out of their minds, giving them their money’s worth. Eddie proudly studies Gareth’s bloodied werewolf mask (he picked it out for him.)
“When?” Eddie's feigning ignorance, and can tell Gareth can tell as the man crosses his arms.
“You know when. During the first hour of your shift in the maze. You were gone forever, and Harold was in here telling us about how he saw you stumble in with your makeup all fucked.” Eddie gawks at that.
“Sounds like Harold needs to mind his own fucking business,” he bites out, an annoyed edge to his voice. Eddie had thought he was alone in the costume trailer when he returned from his little adventure in the woods with Steve. Where had the fucker been hiding?
“Yeah, whatever. Where were you?” Gareth repeats the question.
Eddie sighs. He’s not going to let it go, is he?
“I was… with someone,” Eddie says slowly. He just knows both Gareth and Jeff’s eyebrows are skyrocketing up to their hairlines underneath their masks. They fall silent, and Eddie hastily continues. “It wasn’t anything crazy. Stop acting like virgins.” Nevermind Eddie is one too, and they all know it.
Suddenly, the memory of Steve’s hot mouth pushing violently against Eddie’s overtakes his senses. Visions of the brunette with blown-out, darkened pupils and a hazy but dazzling smile cloud his head. The bratty undertone of Steve’s voice, the fucked-out look on his face after Eddie had lapped up his blood. Eddie very nearly has to bite down a moan as filthy images dance behind his lids.
“What exactly was it like, then?” Gareth interrupts his beautiful, horrible thoughts. Get a fucking grip, Munson.
“Who was it?!” Jeff demands.
Briefly, Eddie panics. He’s not going to say who, obviously. Steve isn’t out. Is he? Eddie recalls the unabashed way the man had not just asked Eddie, but told him he was going to take Eddie out on a date. The ease with which he insisted it had shocked Eddie, but it wasn’t exactly against the grain of who Steve was, was it? King Steve, ever the charmer, notorious lady killer, who went on millions of dates. Steve Harrington, serial monogamist, who couldn’t make it clearer he was looking for love and not some meaningless affair after his failed relationship with Nancy Wheeler, as he went on date after date, searching for the one. And now Eddie’s up to bat, under the spotlight, called to audition because he can’t keep his own damn mouth shut and his dick in his pants and Christ he needs a cigarette.
“We just hooked up, it’s nothing,” Eddie shrugs nonchalantly, as if making out with the former king of Hawkins High was a typical Saturday evening activity for him. God, if only he were so lucky. Eddie eases back in his chair, propping his feet up on the vanity in an attempt to look as laid back as he sounds. Eddie’s a performer, after all. This shit is easy for him. Child’s play. Before either man can respond, he adds, rather sternly— “And I’m not outting the guy, so don’t ask who again.”
Jeff throws his hands up in surrender, and Gareth just shakes his head.
“Okay, okay,” Gareth grumbles.
Satisfied with his display, Eddie reaches over to grab his mask. Slowly, he adjusts it over his head, careful not to mess up his perfectly styled-unstyled mane of black ringlets. Eddie looks at the goalie mask staring back at him. Jason Voorhees, from Friday the Thirteenth. It’s his absolute favorite horror franchise, and Eddie found the mask at a thrift store in Indy. It's just so realistic. It might be one of his most treasured possessions, to be honest. After his guitars, of course. And his record player. And his records and tapes and Walkman. And his D&D set. But after all of that stuff? He fucking loved the thing.
Eddie stands abruptly. He can do this. He’ll do this, give it his all, have a fantastic fucking night and look back at this as one of his happiest memories in Hawkins. Because really, there aren’t many. The people in this town hate his guts, and the feeling is absolutely mutual. But he still had D&D, still had Corroded Coffin, still had the Halloween Fair to look back on and smile. Against his will, a pretty brunette with a dopey smile, waving happily to Eddie, flashes in his mind. He shakes his head violently. It’s just a date. They’ll hang out, watch a movie, banter here and there, but the man will realize Eddie is not as brave as Steve thinks he is. Not good enough. Not the one.
The taste of Steve’s spit, his saliva, his blood fills Eddie's senses. Jesus fucking—
“Meeting!” Tucker calls, swinging the door open.
Eddie, Gareth, and Jeff make their way out of the trailer with the other scare actors. Suddenly, Gareth pulls Eddie aside, whispering hurriedly in his ear.
“For what it’s worth, I hope it’s not nothing. You deserve to have someone, man.”
Eddie smiles to himself, a blush creeping across his face. This time, he doesn't try that hard to fight off daydreams about a certain pretty brunette. He'll entertain them for maybe just a little bit. And when his ears don't pick up a single thing Tucker says, it's no one's fault but Eddie's. But he's too busy staring at the forest beyond the maze, smiling like an idiot.
--
“AHH!” It takes every muscle in Eddie’s body to restrain himself from reacting to the deafening, high-pitched scream that is uttered from Jason Carver’s mouth. Eddie just retreats back in the shadows, watching in silent amusement as the basketball captain clutches his pretty girlfriend’s waist as she tucks her own head in his shoulder, unable to see. Carver collects himself, exhaling sharply and straightening, puffing out his chest. Eddie rolls his eyes. As if the man hadn’t cried for his mother just a second ago. The blonde, picture-perfect pair walk forward unsteadily, disappearing from view. A while passes before his next taunt, but Eddie’s used to it. Hawkins isn’t exactly a large town, and most haunted house goers have already visited Creatures of the Night this season. Plus, it is a Sunday, even if the scare actors are all wearing their favorite masks and are ready for action. Eddie just waits patiently. The audience always comes, eventually.
His ears prick as he detects new voices from the opposite end of the room, and he gears himself up in preparation. Eddie waits with bated breath, anticipating the guests’ movements. After a few seconds, what Eddie detects as three separate people step into his area, wearily pacing about as they make their way through the room. The figures are hard to see behind the mask, and the room is impossibly dark. His eyes can tell, however, that one person is taller than the other two, and also much closer. As soon as the figure moves just one step toward Eddie—
He abruptly jumps out from his hiding place in the shadows, crowding the person’s space immediately. He says nothing, just menacingly raises his machete at… Steve.
“FUCKING CHRIST!” Steve screams, louder than Jason even. And Eddie still finds that the sound, unfortunately, is really fucking hot. Especially when it's coming from real-life and not just in his head. The man’s hands fly to his chest, clutching his heart like an elderly person. Eddie looks wildly to the two people he’s with. Some red-head he doesn’t— wait, Hargrove’s little sister? Eddie recognizes her from Forest Hills. She lives with her mom just across the field from Eddie, he’s certain it’s her. And the figure right behind her, taller, looks just like… Sinclair. Lucas Sinclair, from Hellfire. How the hell does Steve know Sinclair? Are they friends? No, that makes absolutely no sense. But then, Eddie’s friends with Sinclair, and he’s much older than the basketball player. But… Sinclair is a freshman and Steve doesn’t even go to Hawkins High anymore. So what the fuck exactly is happening right now?
Eddie quickly realizes that Steve doesn’t recognize him, and neither does Sinclair. And then he registers that of course, it’s because he’s wearing a mask. Once the brunette gathers himself, huffing loudly, he waves the kids over with an impatient come on, let’s move on gesture. Steve gives Eddie a weird look which, fair, Eddie is still standing in his space, no doubt looking awkward as hell as he stares at the man in front of him. Willing his feeble brain to work, Eddie robotically moves back to the shadows, but not before he throws a look over his shoulder to watch a frowning Steve, a terrified-looking Sinclair and the smirking red-head move on to the next room. Eddie chuckles to himself at the look on her face; she obviously finds it funny that the two men accompanying her had such visceral reactions to the fright while she didn’t. Eddie decides that he likes her, and hopes that if she’s friends with Sinclair, she’ll join Hellfire.
“Eddie?” Well, shit. Guess the chuckle wasn’t all that quiet. Eddie looks up from his spot where he crouches behind a myriad of cardboard boxes that had been painted black. He waggles his fingers at the man who turned back at the sound of Eddie’s laughter.
“Hey, Stevie. Hope I didn’t give you too much of a fright there,” Eddie taunts, smirking under the mask. He really, really hopes he’s not imagining the pink dusting the apples of Steve’s cheeks. Eddie’s suddenly overtaken by the urge to pinch them.
“Well, you did,” Steve retorts, but there’s no real heat in his voice. The man’s eyes are twinkling and Eddie wishes they were standing closer.
“Kinda my job, man.” Eddie holds up the rubber machete. “Want to tell me why you’re hanging out with a couple of kids right now?”
“Oh, they just… uh,” Steve scratches the back of his head. Eddie wishes it was his hand there instead. Jesus Christ, Munson. Cool it. “They wanted to go on a date. But they didn’t have anyone to take them and I figured, since I didn't get to check the house out yesterday...” Steve shrugs.
Just as Eddie’s about to press further about how exactly he knows the kids, the walkie clipped to his belt buzzes.
“Munson! I didn’t bat an eye when you ditched yesterday, but I won’t have that today. I don’t pay you to stand there and twirl your hair,” Tucker’s angry voice patches through. Fuck, Eddie forgot about the surveillance cameras in the house. Steve snickers, overhearing.
“Thought you said he wouldn’t mind,” he says, cocking a brow. “That you 'worked here long enough'.” Eddie huffs as Steve repeats his own words back to him, heat rushing to his face. Thank god for the mask.
“Who, Tucker? Nah, he's all talk.” Hypocrite. “I do have to go though, so uh.”
Steve just shakes his head in amusement just as Mayfield storms back into the room to grab Steve anyway, hauling him away with her.
Eddie shakes himself, returning to his dark corner just in time for the next group of guests.
Tuesday, October 29th, 1985.
Hawkins, Indiana.
Hawk Theater. (see: Hellfire Club on Tuesdays and Fridays*)
*subject to change on the grounds of: the DM’s campaign not being ready, but ABSOLUTELY NOTHING ELSE
2 days until the date.
Banging at the door interrupts Eddie mid-speech, and a raging storm of fury begins to brew inside him. Eddie hates being interrupted, even if the session's technically over and he’s just conversing with some of the party members about the current campaign.
“Who the hell—”
The door is shoved open. A silhouetted figure stands in the doorway with an unmistakable hands-on-hips pose. One hip juts out in a way that strikes Eddie as all too familiar, and then they step into the light. Eddie’s eyes widen with disbelief as he thinks no fucking way is this happening twice. He hardly ever saw Steve, and now the dude is fucking everywhere. But before he can even offer a coherent sentence, let alone a word, Henderson pipes up.
“Steve!”
“Dude,” Steve huffs, annoyed. “Your mom’s going to have my ass, what’s with the hold-up? I saw Wheeler and Sinclair in the parking lot, they're already gone. Come on man, we’re having tacos tonight, remember?”
Eddie is completely lost for a moment, brain whirring at supersonic speeds. Suddenly, it clicks.
You’ve gotta meet him, Eddie. Steve’s a total badass. He has a nail bat! I’ve seen him use it. You guys would get along, I know it.
Eddie had only half listened to the kid’s incessant ramblings. He assumed Henderson had been referring to a different Steve, to be honest, maybe his babysitter or something. Or a cousin. It’s a common name after all, Eddie reasons to himself defensively.
“Oh, hey Eddie!” Steve waves at him. Eddie blinks stupidly, then remembers he's in control of his own limbs, and he jerkily raises his hand to return the gesture. He watches as Dustin scrambles into the hallway behind Steve and disappears out of earshot. The only people left in the room are Eddie, Gareth, and Jeff, and before Steve turns after the kid, he adds, annoyingly smooth— “Looking forward to our date!” The brunette winks, and then he’s gone just as suddenly as he arrived.
Eddie's jaw drops and Gareth spits out his Coke.
“Wait. Harrington is the one you—” Jeff starts, patting a spluttering Gareth’s back.
“Don’t.”
Wednesday, October 30th, 1985.
Hawkins, Indiana.
Corroded Coffin Rehearsal (see: Gareth’s Garage.)
1 day until the date.
“Eddie man, I love you,” Gareth says calmly through gritted teeth. “But if you fuck up this simple ass part one more time, I’m going to lose my shit.”
Eddie is a mess. He can’t get the notes right, keeps missing his cues, stumbles over the melodies, and at one point, played the intro to the wrong fucking song. His curls flail wildly, his boot laces are untied and he bites at his nails often, chipping the black polish. His bandmates didn’t even bother telling Eddie that his Def Leppard tee was inside-out when the deranged-looking man stumbled into practice seven minutes late. See, they would’ve given him shit for it, Eddie knows it. They would’ve fucking come for his ass at the fact that he even arrived late, because Eddie would absolutely never let that slide for anyone else. No, band practice was far too precious to Eddie, and what does that say about your commitment to the band, to the music, to becoming legendary fucking rockstars if you can’t even arrive on time?
The truth is, they all sort of feel bad for him, knowing his first date with Steve, his first proper date ever, is tomorrow. Woe-Is-Me Eddie is making another fateful appearance at Corroded Coffin’s rehearsal tonight, and they've learned to just ride out the wave when it comes to Eddie's moods.
“Eddie,” Jeff starts, gently. “We need to have this down pretty soon if we want to be ready by Tuesday. Maybe we should take five?” Jeff looks around the room and is met with hesitant but unanimous nods of approval. All apart from one, as Eddie snaps out of his head and violently shakes it.
“No, no. I’m fine. I’m sorry. Come on, let’s take it from the top.” The rest of the band turns to one another, sharing meaningful looks. No one says a word.
“I said, come on,” Eddie clips. Reluctantly, they begin, following Eddie’s lead.
He fucks up the first chord.
Gareth winces.
Thursday, October 31st, 1985.
Hawkins, Indiana.
Forest Hills Trailer Park.
five minutes until the date. (maybe. eddie’s not actually sure of the time— he can’t find his watch.)
“Where the FUCK is my watch?” Eddie’s turning over pillows, flying through cabinets, emptying cupboards. There's a crazed glint in his dark eyes.
“Boy, why are you yelling like that?” Wayne calls from the kitchen, bewildered.
“He’s going to be here any second, Wayne! And I can’t find my fu— sorry— my watch,” Eddie grits out.
“Eddie!”
Eddie ignores his uncle’s call, pulling out drawers in the bathroom.
“Eddie!” More loudly. Stern.
“What?” Eddie sasses, stomping into the kitchen to meet the older man face-to-face. Wayne says nothing, just sips from his mug as he makes a pointed glance at Eddie’s right wrist, atop of which rests his…
watch.
Eddie winces.
“Must’ve put it on the wrong wrist after I showered,” Eddie gulps awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. He hastily switches it to his left.
Knock knock.
They’re short, light raps, but they send Eddie flying into the air like a fucking cat. Steve’s knocks are polite as hell. Wayne smiles into his mug, the bastard refusing to wipe the smug look off his face even when Eddie shoots him a scathing glare. No, that shit usually only works on Eddie’s friends when they'd rather appease him than deal with the drama. Wayne Munson is not scared of his nephew. He’s become quite used to Eddie’s performances, having clocked them the day the kid was dumped on his doorstep. His nephew wouldn’t hurt a fly, and it annoys Eddie to no end that Wayne can see right through him.
“Please don’t embarrass me,” Eddie mutters. Wayne scoffs, relaxing his full weight on the barstool.
“I’ll say what I want," he returns gruffly.
Eddie sighs dramatically and is left with no other choice but to throw the door open. The pretty brunette man standing in front of him smiles dopily at the sight of Eddie, and Eddie damn near faints. Steve’s hair is gorgeous and soft and perfectly windswept, like he just got off a Hollywood set. He’s wearing an orange windbreaker this time (does he have a collection or something?) and those tight light-wash blue jeans that are going to be the death of Eddie. That is, until Eddie notices the tiny object cradled in Steve’s open palms.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a mini pumpkin,” he declares proudly.
“Yeah, I can see that, Steve-o. But why?”
“Why what?” Steve cocks his head like a puppy, brows furrowing.
“...Why do you have it?” Eddie’s not sure why Steve looks so confused right now, because Eddie is utterly lost.
“It’s for you," Steve says like it’s obvious.
“For me?”
“For you,” the brunette confirms.
“...Huh?”
“Will you just take the damn pumpkin, Eddie?” Steve grits out.
“Fuck, yeah okay! I mean, thank you? But… why’d you bring me it?” Eddie isn’t budging, indignant at Steve’s anger. To his surprise, Steve's ears go pink. A few seconds pass and Eddie shifts uncomfortably, vaguely aware he might’ve fucked up, although he’s not sure why. Steve looks at the ground.
“Robin said flowers didn’t really seem like your thing,” Steve mumbles.
And then it hits Eddie. How could he have been so thoughtless? This is Steve Harrington he’s going on a date with. The man grew up in a white collar neighborhood, picture-perfect picket fences everywhere, nuclear families by the dozens. Of course he’d have this incredibly traditional approach to dating, thinking it’s absolutely normal and perfectly appropriate to bring flowers on the first date. And maybe it is, because how the fuck would Eddie know? All he can see right now is the hurt man in front of him. The one who cared enough about making a good impression that it drove him to seek out advice from Robin, asking her what he should bring as an offering to the Munsons’ doorstep.
“Well, Buckley was right on the money for that,” Eddie says quickly. “This is way more me than fucking tulips or some shit." Steve looks up.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Come on, let’s put it on the… counter.”
Steve brightens, handing the gourd over to Eddie, who notices a small black blob on it.
“I painted a bat on it,” Steve says happily. Eddie immediately melts. Is it possible to be whipped before the first date even starts?
Steve follows Eddie to the kitchen, watching closely as the metalhead deposits the pumpkin carefully on the hard surface. Eddie turns for Steve's reaction. The brunette seems pleased. Eddie smiles warmly at that, his head feeling fuzzy. Eddie's about to speak, but the sound of aggressive throat-clearing stops him. Eddie shifts awkwardly.
“Steve, this is my Uncle Wayne. Wayne… Steve.” Eddie notices Steve’s demeanor changes promptly, the man straightening his stance and clenching his jaw. His eyes meet Wayne’s head-on, and Eddie gets the weird sense that Steve’s uncomfortable around adults. But the brunette’s words don’t show that.
“Nice to meet you, sir.” The formality makes both Wayne and Eddie chuckle in surprise. Steve blushes, and Eddie once again strongly desires to bite at the red on his cheeks.
“No need for the ‘sir,’ but I ‘preciate that, son. Glad a good kid like you’s the one taking Eddie here on his first date.”
Steve’s head whips back to Eddie, who curses internally.
“First—”
“That don’t matter,” Wayne cuts Steve off. “Point is, I’m glad it’s a boy like you. Most boys Eddie’s age give him shit for even looking in their direction,” Eddie scoffs, indignant. Wayne ignores him. “But I trust you ain’t like that. I’m trusting,” Wayne’s eyes bore into Steve’s meaningfully— “that you’ll be good to him. Treat him right.” He takes another sip of tea out of his mug, anticipating a response.
Steve just stares, then finally answers. “Of— of course,” he stammers. “Of course,” he repeats, firmer. Eddie cannot believe this is happening right now.
“He’s a sensitive kid,” Wayne adds for no reason.
“Alright thank you, Wayne!” Eddie cries, grabbing Steve’s arm and ushering him out the door. “Don’t wait up, please!” Steve jerks against Eddie, turning his head back to Wayne.
“I’ll have him back before twelve,” Steve promises. Wayne just grunts in response, and Eddie yanks at Steve harder.
One minute later they’re situated in Steve’s Beemer, bumping awkwardly into each other when Steve went to open Eddie’s door for him, who did not expect that at all. It reduced them both to stammering messes of oops and thank you and oh sorry!
“I think he likes me,” Steve muses, his eyes meeting Eddie’s as he turns to back out. Eddie rolls his own eyes. “So… first date ever then, huh?”
“Shut up,” Eddie grumbles.
“Guess I really gotta make this count,” Steve says, ignoring him.
“It’s only because I’m gay. There are like, zero gay men in Hawkins.” Steve just hums in response, so Eddie presses further. “So… are you…”
“No.”
“Oh.”
Steve looks at him before shifting his gaze back to the road. “I’m into both, it seems,” he chuckles, and Eddie feels like he’s missing out on some sort of inside joke. There's a story there that he hopes Steve will eventually trust him enough to tell.
“Cool.”
“Yeah, I guess it is. I don't know.”
“You don’t know what, Steve?” Eddie asks kindly.
“I mean, I’m still figuring it out, you know? I do know that I don’t mind if the people I care about know. Honestly, I want them to. I’m definitely lucky in that way. I had someone to talk it through with at first, someone who helped me realize that I did indeed like guys.”
Eddie is almost eighty percent sure Steve is referring to Buckley, because again, he studied her under a fucking petri dish back in band, but he keeps his mouth shut. That’s not his secret to tell, and nor is it Steve’s. So, he listens as Steve continues.
“Our little talk about bravery got me thinking. I want to be brave. Wanted to stop ignoring the fact that I thought you were cute just because you’re a dude. So I did, I asked you out because I wanted to.”
“You think I’m cute?” Eddie’s heart flutters in his chest even though he's teasing. He can’t help it. The nerves may be slightly eased, still ever-present, but this is the confidence boost Eddie’s insatiable ego so desperately needs.
“I feel like that’s a given, Eddie,” Steve retorts. “Otherwise we wouldn’t exactly be here right now.”
“Oh, Stevie. You don’t know what you do to me.” Eddie just hums, smiling like an idiot as he watches dark trees whiz past his window. He turns back to the man next to him. “For the record, you’re not so bad on the eyes, either.”
“Wow, so kind. Thank you,” Steve laughs. And it’s crazy to be addicted to a sound, right? Makes no sense… and yet. Eddie thinks he could get drunk off of hearing Steve’s mirthful laughter. It’s easy and light, but all-encompassing and enveloping at the same time. It surrounds Eddie, his ears, his body, his mind, wraps around him like a warm hug. It's like you can’t help but laugh too when you hear it, more than that, fucking revel in it, because Steve Harrington is just that intoxicating. The man blossoms under attention, he blooms like a spring flower after heavy April rains. He genuinely glows when he’s happy, all yellow and bright and downright angelic. Like he was sent from the heavens above, and Eddie's heart is singing at the mere sight and sound of the man. Eddie hopes he can see Steve like that always.
“I can feel you staring at me,” Steve cuts in, interrupting Eddie’s pathetic internal poetry.
“Can’t help it,” Eddie says truthfully, awed by what he sees. “I meant it. You’re fucking gorgeous, Stevie.” Steve sucks in a sharp breath, no doubt surprised, blushing furiously for the third time tonight. Eddie silently vows not to let it be the last. Eddie’s eyes dart downward toward the sudden movement between them, and he notices that the hand Steve doesn’t have on the wheel twitches. Like Steve’s itching for a touch in response to Eddie’s words, but he's too shy to make the move. Instinctively, Eddie cups it with his own hand, calloused and ringed. Steve’s hand is soft, so soft. And warm.
“Jesus, your hand is freezing!” Steve yelps. But he doesn’t pull his own hand away. In fact, Steve’s thumb runs back and forth over Eddie’s, like if he works at it hard enough, he can start the fire that Eddie so desperately needs. Eddie just grips Steve harder in response, deciding to reposition his hand and forcing Steve to intertwine fingers with him instead. Steve easily lets him. Always so pliant under his grip, Steve Harrington. Eddie can already feel the man’s comforting warmth kiss his entire body, soothing the nerves in his stomach, cradling the cold ache in Eddie’s heart.
“Better keep me warm then, Stevie,” he purrs.
--
As they pull into the lot, Eddie’s nerves make a rather unfortunate return. He studies the bodies within the store from behind the glass. It’s pretty busy, which of course it is, it’s Halloween. Parents and teenagers too old to go trick-or-treating and not interested enough in partying are traipsing about the venue, rummaging for their perfect movie pick.
“You okay?” Steve asks, cutting the ignition and facing Eddie. Eddie just watches the blinking neon lights that read Family Video, only it looks like Fmily Vido since the lights of the a and the e are blown out.
“Yeah, I’m— yeah,” Eddie clears his throat. He feels Steve’s eyes bore into him, he can sense it like a prickling sensation at his neck.
“You sure?” Steve presses, voice full of concern. When Eddie doesn’t respond, he continues. “If you want, I can just go in. Or you can, and I’ll wait in the car? Whatever you want, Eddie.” Why can’t Eddie speak? Why does his stomach feel like it’s eating itself? Why is he so goddamn nervous? This is borderlining on embarrassing, and it takes a lot for Eddie to get embarrassed. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with two guys, two dudes, two men going inside a video store to pick out a movie to watch together, right? On Halloween night?
“I don’t know why I’m being so fucking weird right now,” he laughs shakily. It’s true, he doesn’t. Eddie’s an out man. He deals with the complications that come with that every damn day at school. But nothing can still the irregular beating of his heart, calm the fearful storm brewing in his chest.
“Eddie…” Steve says, gently. “It’s okay. We have plenty of tapes at my house already. We can easily find something to watch.”
Eddie thinks back to Saturday night. Recalls the feeling he got when Steve Harrington called him brave. How Eddie pretended it meant nothing, when in reality it meant everything. When the man refused to be labeled as brave himself, shifting the word on Eddie. When Steve had jokingly called Eddie his hero, his protector. Eddie wants to be that guy, wants so fucking badly to be that guy for Steve. He’d do anything for it. Because Steve finds him worthy of it, because there was clearly something in Eddie that Steve had seen that night, even if Eddie didn't see it in himself. And Eddie is going to do his damnedest to find that part of him and bring it out to the surface. Slowly, Eddie shakes his head.
“No. I want to show you Friday the Thirteenth and I doubt that shit’s at the Harrington residence.” A small smile plays at the corner of Steve’s lips, but Eddie can tell by the look in his eyes that Steve’s not fully convinced by Eddie's bravado.
“Steve, I want to,” Eddie says softly, but firmly. “I promise I’m okay. Or I will be, if you buy me pizza and a fuckton of candy to go along with the movie.” Steve studies Eddie, eyes flitting back and forth, for a little bit longer before acquiescing. He shakes his pretty head of hair in amusement.
“That I can arrange.”
They walk into Family Video and Steve immediately makes a beeline for the counter. Buckley rewinds tapes at the desk as some other employee checks the line of customers out, one at a time. Eddie bounces on his feet, doing a weird little skip as he struggles to catch up with Steve. The man takes long strides.
“How goes it?” Steve asks Buckley sympathetically.
“So far so good, no thanks to you, dingus,” she snorts. Steve rolls his eyes.
“You’ll survive.”
“Hardly.”
“I’m tired of covering for you every time you’ve got a damn date, Harrington!” the employee beside her cuts in.
Steve and Buckley share a look of what vaguely looks to Eddie like mild annoyance via telepathy before they both bite out in perfect sync— “CAN IT, Josh!” The employee, who Eddie now knows to be Josh, just huffs angrily as he moves to check out the next customer. Eddie can’t help but be a little bit awed by the way Steve and his friend communicate. It’s not just in their words, but in their body language, too. They act as if they’ve known each other for years, like they’re long lost siblings or something. Eddie briefly notices that, with her shortened hair and Steve’s longer waves, and the similar coloring of both of their hair, they almost look like sisters. He chuckles softly to himself at the stupid thought.
“Oh Eddie! You know Robin, right?” Steve calls out to him, beckoning Eddie closer.
“Wha—? Oh, yeah. Hey,” Eddie smooth-talks as he saunters over to the counter, doing his best to look relaxed and completely normal about the fact that he had just been wondering if Steve and Robin might actually be twins separated at birth.
“Hey,” she says, brow cocked at the metalhead with mild amusement. Great. Just another person that sees right through his theatrics. Exactly what he needs.
“Do we have Friday the Thirteenth?” Steve asks.
“Uh… you sure about that, babe?” Robin swings her head over to Steve, brows raised impossibly high. “You wouldn’t even let us finish A Nightmare on Elm Street. You practically begged me to turn it off just as it was getting good.” Steve’s eyes widen in embarrassment and he turns to look at Eddie, who just smirks.
“No way are you getting away with that tonight, big boy. We’re watching the entire thing,” he drawls menacingly.
‘Big boy?’ Robin mouths to Steve, who just reddens even more. Bite him, Eddie’s stupid brain thinks.
“He’s going to hate it,” Robin warns Eddie.
“What’d’ya suggest then, Buckley? Something more fun? It’s Halloween! We’ve got to go all out,” Eddie says petulantly.
“There’s definitely fun movies that are fan-fucking-tastic to watch on Halloween. Like… oh, I know! You guys could watch Rocky Horror!”
“Rob. We literally watched that last week,” Steve says with a small shake of his head, as if to say hello?
“And we’ll keep watching it, moron, until you can finally get the lyrics to Time Warp right!”
“You, Steve Harrington, have seen The Rocky Horror Picture Show?” Eddie stares, incredulous. Who is this guy, and what did he do with Hawkins High’s precious King Steve?
“I mean, it’s a classic, isn’t it?” Steve says with a smirk, looking to Robin. They both snicker and Eddie finds the pair's secretive weirdness unbelievably adorable.
“But seriously, Friday the Thirteenth, Robin. Do we have it?” Steve asks, gathering himself.
She huffs, crouching under the counter, and rummages for a bit. Eddie’s confusion is short-lived once she straightens back up, returning to view with the tape in hand.
“You’re in luck, lover boys. Just returned an hour ago,” she says smugly, obviously very proud of herself.
“Oh, hell yeah! Thanks Robin!” Steve exclaims. They go to check out, and Eddie follows Steve like a needy puppy toward the exit.
“Be a good boy, Steve! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do on a first date!” Robin calls after them. Steve waves her off affectionately.
“We’ll see,” Steve whispers, only for Eddie’s ears, steering the metalhead by his elbow back to the Beemer. Eddie gulps.
--
“Yeah, um… I hated that.”
Eddie draws his gaze away from the screen and looks instead at the brunette next to him. They both immediately burst into laughter at Steve’s comment, and Eddie shifts up a little from his relaxed position, having splayed out on the Harringtons’ couch like he fucking owned it. Steve just watches him with amusement, throwing his leftover crust back in the pizza box. Eddie can’t help it; he absolutely has to be nestled comfortably wherever he’s sitting otherwise he’ll feel uneasy. There are certain things you just cannot question in Eddie Munson’s Personal Doctrine™, and laying with his feet up on a well-cushioned sofa is one of them.
Steve could use that, Eddie thinks. Dude had been sitting prim and proper, upright and rigid for the entire movie, much to a confused Eddie. He had visibly flinched many, many times, yelping a ton, too. Matter of fact, looking at the man now, Eddie could tell he almost looked nervous. He wishes Steve had felt more relaxed on his own couch, had eased into it more than just occasionally reaching for Eddie's hand when a particularly bad jump scare graced the screen. Maybe Steve was just being polite?
Eddie gets the weird sense that Steve’s not all that comfortable in his own home, which hurts his heart. He toes Steve’s thigh with a black-socked foot, prodding the man.
“I won’t lie, you definitely look like you could use a smoke,” Eddie says, rummaging through his pockets for his cigarette box and flashing it to Steve like it’s a brand new toy.
“Yeah, let’s do it. Hey, you didn’t happen to bring… uh…”
“I didn’t. I should’ve,” Eddie mourns. “Next time. Come on, up up. Don’t want your house smelling like smoke and pissing off your folks.”
“They won't be back 'til like, two more weeks,” Steve snorts.
Eddie stiffens briefly. How often do Steve’s parents leave him alone like that? How often did they do that when Steve was a kid? Eddie forces himself to stand, bumping Steve’s knees with his own through ripped black jeans. Steve follows, straightening and taking the lead, guiding Eddie to the back door. Steve slides the clear door shut behind them, and Eddie blows into his hands to keep warm, though he’s not unhappy about the sudden chill. It feels kind of nice. A random thought occurs to Eddie as he surveys the patio furniture, pool, and the forest beyond. He leans against a column, black boots crossed underneath him.
“You didn’t get any trick-or-treaters.”
“We usually don’t.”
“Really? I’d expect this neighborhood to be full of little kiddies running amok.” Eddie draws out two sticks and hands one over to Steve, who nods in thanks.
“There are. Can’t you hear them?”
Eddie strains his ears, quiets his breathing. And sure enough, the faint sounds of laughter, gleeful screaming, and parents calling out in exasperation become incredibly obvious.
“So what? They skip your house?”
Steve just shrugs in response, clearly waiting for Eddie to light their cigarettes. Eddie finds his lighter in his vest pocket, beckoning Steve closer. The brunette moves forward, and from the firelight illuminating Steve's face, Eddie can tell complex emotions are at war behind those big brown eyes.
“Why do they skip your house?”
“You’re really nosy, you know that?” But Eddie can see a small smile on Steve's face. Eddie pockets the lighter, noting the fact that this time, Steve didn’t draw away after Eddie lit his cigarette for him.
“I’m a curious person, Stevie. Has no one ever asked you why kids don’t come to the stately Harrington residence on Halloween night before?”
“I don’t really think I’ve ever had anyone over on Halloween before, so no.” Steve lets out a smoky exhale.
“So, why do they skip your house then?” Eddie presses, blowing out a puff. The wind chill stings his teeth, and he sucks at his bottom lip.
“My parents didn't really... do Halloween, I guess. The neighborhood realized it over time.”
Eddie just stares, waiting, blowing out another puff as he does so.
“They were hardly ever home for it, anyway. Too busy with work. They never decorated the house, and the porch lights stayed off, so. It doesn’t exactly look inviting,” Steve shrugs, not meeting Eddie’s eyes as he instead looks out to the forest. Steve’s brows are slightly creased, and Eddie knows there’s about a million thoughts running through his pretty head. “I’ve actually never been trick-or-treating, myself,” he laughs, blowing out a puff and watching the smoke swirl above them, dissipating into the night sky. The laugh sounds wrong; it lacks the mirth that usually graces Eddie’s eager ears. This laugh is hollow, ripe with a years-old bitterness and it sends a shiver down Eddie’s spine rivaling the cold autumn air.
Eddie thinks back to when he was a kid, happily gripping Wayne's hand as his uncle took him to the neighboring subdivision to trick-or-treat. The proud way little Eddie would dump his prized contents on the kitchen counter, puffing his chest out with pride as he surveyed his loot, Wayne at the stove boiling water for hot chocolate. His heart weighs heavy as a stone in his chest, aching deeply for young Steve. Images of a tiny brunette watching out of his window as other kids gleefully skip from house-to-house, costume-clad and faces painted. Watching them walk right past his own, lonely mansion. Eddie could just tell little Steve pretended not to care, would probably roll his little brown eyes in mock scorn as he draws the curtains shut.
Steve clocks Eddie stiffening.
“Shit, sorry. I definitely just killed the mood, didn’t I?” He looks genuinely apologetic, upset at the thought of having made Eddie upset. And that? That will simply not do.
“I’m taking you trick-or-treating,” Eddie says suddenly, a light flickering on in his head.
“What?” Steve removes the cigarette from his lips, hopelessly confused.
“You heard me, Harrington. Let’s go get steal some fucking candy,” and before Steve can splutter out a response, Eddie’s snatching the man’s stick from his mouth, stomping both of theirs out and dragging Steve to the street.
Eddie struts with purpose, his normal, all-black attire adorned with chunky rings and silver chains perfectly blending in. Steve, however, looks like Eddie’s grumbling babysitter.
“Eddie, this is stupid.” The metalhead just shushes him as he surveys the grand mansions they pass by. He’s looking for…
Bingo.
He grabs Steve by his orange windbreaker collar, pointing ahead with his other hand. “See that house right there, Steve-o? With the bucket of candy out front?” Steve nods, annoyed. “We’re nicking the whole thing.”
“Eddie, no.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Stevie, baby, I seem to recall that you promised me a fuckton of candy. Don't you remember?” Eddie brings his hands to his heart, as if to stay that if Steve doesn’t grant him this, he won’t ever recover. Steve squints, looking at the house. Considering. Eddie rolls back and forth on the balls of his heels, waiting with bated breath for the brunette to make a decision.
“…Fine, you weirdo,” Steve huffs.
Eddie wastes no time dragging Steve up the driveway, beckoning the man to mirror Eddie’s stealthy crouch in the shadows of the neatly-trimmed bushes. He makes his way to the doorstep and Steve copies his actions, though his movements are missing Eddie’s dramatic flare, instead marred by subtle awkwardness.
"This is stupid," Steve grumbles. Eddie throws a hand over his mouth, and Steve licks it in retaliation.
"Oh, Stevie, did you think that'd gross me out?" Eddie whispers mischievously. Steve just grunts and pushes Eddie off.
They quietly but quickly approach the candy bowl. Eddie grabs at it immediately, straightening to face the man in front of him. Steve’s gaze moves from the bowl between them to Eddie, his warm brown eyes softening when they’re met with the metalhead’s. The crease between Steve’s eyes disappears and he smiles bashfully. Eddie beams at him.
The porch light flickers on. Heavy footsteps approach the door from inside the house.
“Shit,” Eddie mutters. “Get ready to run faster than you ever have in your entire life, Harrington.”
“I’m a triple varsity athlete, Munson,” Steve sasses back, placing a hand on his hip as he juts it out. Eddie cocks a playful brow, thoroughly humored by the brattiness, hungry eyes trailing to Steve's hip. But before he can do anything, the door swings open. The two men haul ass, sprinting as they hit and grab at one another on their run. A few pieces of candy fly out of the bowl as Eddie tears through the street, whizzing past bewildered parents and wide-eyed kids.
“GET BACK HERE! Fucking lowlife teenagers!” The man screams and screams until he’s blue in the face, spit flying everywhere.
But Steve and Eddie are long gone, pressed up against a dark corner at the side entrance of the Harrington residence.
Their eyes meet as they pant desperately, and immediately they dissolve into a shared fit of maniacal laughter. Eddie’s hardly able to breathe as he wipes tears from his eyes, clutching at a stitch in his side he’s not sure is from running so hard or from laughing until his stomach hurt.
“I always hated that guy. He mows his lawn every damn day at five in the morning. But... I do feel bad for the kids who would’ve gotten the candy, though,” Steve pants. Then, his eyes twinkle with a particular deviance usually only found in Eddie’s. “Maybe we should steal his lawnmower next,” he adds eagerly.
“Who are you, Steve Harrington?” Eddie breathes out, awed by the man in front of him. Their eyes flit between one another's as they gather themselves, neither daring to look anywhere else. Eddie can feel Steve’s hot breath on his face, they’re practically nose-to-nose.
“I’m… me. Just Steve.” The brunette shrugs with a cute smile, brows furrowed at Eddie's question. This time, Eddie wants to be the one who connects their mouths.
He quickly puts the candy bowl on the grass and shoves Steve up against the wall of the house.
Steve’s mouth is hot, so hot. And Eddie’s always so cold. Steve feels like the fire to Eddie’s ice, soothing and real and human. It’s grounding, and Eddie always felt like he was floating, like a carnival’s lost balloon climbing higher and higher, made a slave to cruel winds, ceaselessly tossed back and forth. Vying for attention, hungering for his wide-eyed audience to help. Because Eddie’s fucking starving. And Steve tastes better than candy.
Eddie is merciless, wasting no time as he shoves his inexperienced tongue in Steve’s mouth. He explores all, the cavernous opening his for the taking. Steve lets him, practically melting under the push. Eddie can tell just as much by the way the brunette slumps slightly against the wall.
“I have you,” Eddie whispers, crazed, as he grips Steve as tightly as he can. One ringed hand tangled at the base of Steve’s skull, the other digging bruises in the man’s waist. He pushes the saliva building up in his own mouth into Steve’s with his tongue. The kiss is messy, so messy and impossibly wet, and their teeth clank together one too many times. Eddie's drooling all over Steve, spit leaking from their chins. They tilt their heads in tandem, and Eddie moves his hands about Steve's body like he owns it. The hand gripping Steve's head slides to the man's neck, shoulder, arm, and back up again. The hand at Steve's waist just clutches harder and harder, fingers splaying wider, desperate to feel as much of Steve's skin as he possibly can. After a while of exchanging wet, tongues wrapping around each other, Eddie realizes Steve is fighting him for dominance. Eddie grins devilishly into the kiss, pushing Steve harder against the wall, jutting a knee between the man’s thighs. Eddie worships the surprised hmph sound that Steve makes in response. Steve grips Eddie’s face tightly as he pulls the older man impossibly forward, shoving his tongue down Eddie’s throat further than should be possible. Eddie’s thankful Steve is ringless, unlike him, because otherwise that certainly would’ve left marks on his face.
Finally Steve relents in his assault, no doubt tired, and Eddie takes the opportunity to nip at the man’s plump bottom lip. Steve moans softly into his mouth, and Eddie’s brain short circuits at the vibration it causes. Desperate for more, he bites a little harder, relinquishing to that overwhelming urge to bite. Steve yelps and Eddie immediately registers the unmistakable taste of metal. The brunette draws back in surprise, pawing at his lip and examining the red on his finger.
“Eddie, you made me bleed... again,” he deadpans.
“Uh…” Eddie’s face suddenly feels very cold, and he drunkenly, hungrily watches as blood pools at Steve’s lip. Eddie's right leg is still shoved unapologetically between Steve's thighs. “Sorry.”
Steve just studies Eddie. Slowly, his slightly-parted mouth turns into a devious smirk.
“Lick it up?"
“Fuck, Stevie,” Eddie groans.
“You gonna help me or what?” the brunette sasses.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Are you gonna be a good boy? Or are you gonna keep fighting me?” Eddie growls.
“Can’t help it. You’re hot when you’re mad,” Steve flashes a bloody grin. Eddie's vision blurs at the sight of red swirling around and marring Steve's gleaming white teeth.
Eddie tugs hard at Steve’s hair, forcing the man to expose the full expanse of his neck. He leans forward, breathing against Steve. He mouths at him, lips dancing atop Steve’s neck.
“Are you gonna be a good boy?” Eddie repeats against his skin, softer. “Let me take care of you?”
“Eddie—” Steve whines.
“Answer the question, Stevie. Yes or no.” He wants to make it clear that, really, Steve is the one with the power right now. He may be under Eddie’s grip, squirming helplessly with part of his weight supported by Eddie’s leg, but the younger man is in charge of whatever happens next. It’s his decision to make.
Steve nods shakily.
“Use your words.” Eddie presses his lips fully to Steve’s neck, prompting him. He teases the man with the tip of his tongue.
“Yes,” Steve gasps. “I’ll be good, I’ll be good, Eddie. You can take care of me.”
Eddie smirks, humming as he noses Steve’s neck. He sucks a hard bruise just under his ear, blowing on the hot skin after and worshipping the shudder it elicits from Steve. He pulls back and latches onto Steve’s bottom lip, closing his mouth around Steve as he sucks hard. The brunette moans, and Eddie sucks harder, iron filling his senses and eyes crossing at the taste. It’s wet and it’s sticky and it’s hot, and Eddie finally gathers enough to swallow. The lip repairs quickly, but Eddie laps at the stray beads of blood that well up, desperate to get it all. Steve just watches, mesmerized, eyes dazed and lids heavy. Eddie freely runs his tongue across the full expanse of Steve's teeth, top and bottom, like a fucking tooth brush. Once he’s satisfied that he’s licked up all of Steve’s blood, he presses sweet kisses to his face. The corner of Steve's lips, his cheeks, his chin. Eddie makes a point to peck at the twin moles he loves so dearly, rounding out his attack by pressing affectionate kisses over both of Steve’s eyes. He suddenly yearns to give the pliant brunette something in return, as a reward for being so good, so he does.
“Open.” Steve obeys without question.
Eddie gathers saliva, then spits viciously, thickly into Steve’s mouth.
“Swallow.” Eddie watches in fascination as Steve’s Adam’s apple bobs, the brunette accepting Eddie’s spit.
“What do we say after we get a reward?" Eddie prompts.
“Thank you.” Steve’s voice is barely above a whisper, uneven and hoarse.
“Good boy. Now…” Eddie’s hungry eyes trail down below their waists, snapping back up to meet Steve’s hazy, blown-out pupils. “Shall we go inside… take care of that?” Blood rushes to Steve’s face. Eddie playfully bites the man’s reddened cheek, not hard.
“You have a biting problem,” Steve laughs.
“You love it,” Eddie purrs.
“Yeah, I guess I do,” Steve murmurs softly.
Eddie pulls the man in his arms, stopping briefly to pick up the candy bowl as he leads Steve back inside his own house. It’ll make a good snack for after.
"Now, you need to tell me just how the hell you know Henderson and Sinclair," Eddie teases, tightening his grip on Steve's waist.
"I feel like that's more of a second date sorta story," Steve replies easily, burying his face in Eddie's neck as he watches the older man open the sliding door.
And as Steve and Eddie make their way inside, Eddie thinks to himself that maybe Hawkins isn’t so bad, not if people as bright as the stars and fiery as the sun like Steve Harrington exist in it.