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sidekickjoey · 3 days ago

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a silly little notes app fic abt eddie's hair for my @steddiebingo free space | 795 words | T |

"So...Eddie's still not let you get your hands on his hair yet?" Robin asks during the slow hours of their shift at Family Video.

It used to be all Steve would talk about. In the throes of crushing and pining, Steve talked about Eddie Munson near constantly anyways, but the guy's hair was a point he kept coming back to the most. For months, Robin had been made to listen to Steve's lamentations about how badly he wanted to run his fingers through Eddie's hair and teach him how to tame all the tangles and frizz. ("He'd have such gorgeous curls," Steve would sigh a minimum of twice a day; and Robin would tolerate it, because at least it was better than his lamentations about wanting to get in Eddie's pants.)

When Steve and Eddie finally got together, Robin figured that would've been Steve's first order of business. She fully expected to be met with a glossy-curled Eddie within days of their new relationship. But it's been several weeks now, and Robin saw Eddie yesterday and his hair was still as mangy as ever.

"You know, he does his hair like that on purpose," Steve says, setting down the stack of returns he's sorting and turning to face Robin.

"What, like a raccoon that's just crawled out of a dumpster?"

"Yeah, it's the style; it's 'metal.' He puts a lot of effort into it actually."

"So he won't let you mess with it." Robin kind of understands that.

Steve laughs and shakes his head. "No, he has, once. We took a shower together-"

"Gross, do not need that image in my head, thanks."

"- and he let me wash his hair with all these nice curl products-"

"Just lead with that next time."

"- and he let me brush it with a good brush and put fancy conditioner and curl cream in it and everything. He let me do this whole routine, right, didn't complain once even though it kind of took a while." Steve smiles fondly, this dreamy little expression he always gets when he talks about Eddie. "I think we both just enjoyed the process, you know? He liked being pampered and I liked taking care of him. There's really something so romantic and intimate about doing someone's hair, I think."

"That's sweet," Robin says, and she means it, really. She loves seeing her best friend happy and in such an adorable relationship. But she also kind of wants him to get to the point of this story. "So how did his hair turn out?"

"Oh, yeah, it turned out perfectly," Steve says, but he laughs like it was a total disaster. "When it was all done and dry, he had these beautiful shiny, bouncy curls, just like I knew he would. But we take one look at his reflection in the mirror and we're both just bursting out laughing. He says, 'I fucking hate it,' and I say, 'I fucking hate it too.'"

Robin tries to picture Eddie with glossy ringlets. "It didn't look good on him?"

"It looked good, it just didn't look like Eddie," Steve says with a shrug. "It wasn't him. I realized in that moment just how attractive his normal, wild hair really is to me, because it's got��personality, you know? Those supermodel curls just didn't fit—and it was honestly kind of a turn off. We had to mess it up immediately."

"Do I want to know what you did to mess it up?" Robin ventures. Knowing them, 'messing it up' could mean anything from a filthy euphemism to something perfectly innocent.

"We just backcombed the shit out of it."

"Oh, good."

Steve grins, eyes glinting with mischief. "And then of course I pushed him onto the bed and rode his dick into next week-"

"Ugh! God!" Robin shoves Steve's shoulder and he catches himself on the counter, laughing.

The door chimes to announce a customer, and they both quickly straighten and try to look professional, but it's only Eddie in all his grungy, frizzy-haired glory.

Steve's entire face lights up at the sight of him, bounding over to greet him like an excited puppy. Eddie's grinning too, the pure adoration in both of their eyes so sweet it's enough to make anyone sick. It's not long before they're sneaking off to the back room under some flimsy lie of searching for a movie, and Robin thinks it's cute that they still feel the need to make up an excuse for her when she knows they know she knows damn well what they're doing back there. Eddie's going to come back from that back room with hair even messier than before, and while Robin still cannot comprehend how Steve finds that man attractive, she's just happy they're happy.

#stranger things

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sidekickjoey · 3 days ago

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i think you should try again

written for @steddiebingo prompt: scoops | 2k words | T |

It's the first day of summer vacation and Eddie should be overjoyed. Free. The cage that is school has been opened and he should be a bird in flight, stretching his wings and soaring weightless through the world, unladen with places to be or homework to do. But he isn’t—overjoyed or free or flying or any of it. The cage is open but he still feels just as trapped and heavy as ever, dragging himself sullenly around the trailer until even his uncle feels the need to say something about it.

Wayne, never usually one to give unsolicited advice and who generally tends to stay out of Eddie’s business, finally looks over at him and tells him, “You gotta quit mopin’ around, Ed. This sulking ain’t doin’ anyone any good, especially not yourself. I reckon you’d feel better if you got outside, go do somethin’.”

Well, Eddie reckons that’d probably make him feel worse actually, but he gets the part that his uncle’s not saying too, and he doesn’t want his sour mood to bring Wayne down as well. So he gets himself dressed and drags himself sullenly around town instead.

It’s the new Starcourt Mall’s grand opening today and it’s packed to the brim with high school kids enjoying their break and graduated seniors celebrating their freedom. And it does make Eddie feel worse. He takes it out on a particularly loud, whooping jock in the food court, shoulder-checking him hard and receiving an elbow to the ribs and a “Watch it, freak!” in return. Stupid fucking town. Eddie pulls a devil face, and watching the jock and his friends recoil from him lifts his spirits only marginally.

What does lift his spirits is wandering to get ice cream and happening across the one and only freshly graduated senior in this place who isn’t free or celebrating. Steve Harrington stands behind the counter of a Scoops Ahoy Ice Cream Parlor in a totally dorky sailor uniform complete with a hat, a sight that makes Eddie fight a smile for the first time all day.

Eddie approaches the counter with a grin, looking Steve up and down. “You know, I was feeling like shit today, but I think this just cheered me up.”

Steve huffs and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know, I look ridiculous.”

“Nah, it’s kind of cute, actually,” Eddie says, because it is, and because he’s curious how Steve will react.

Steve blinks, expression split between a flattered smile and skeptically raised eyebrow. “Thanks? Um.” He shakes his head as if shaking off Eddie’s comment, putting his customer service smile back on gesturing towards the selection of ice cream. “So, what can I get for you today?”

Eddie shrugs. “What do you recommend to cure a shitty mood?”

“Well, something chocolate usually works,” Steve answers, “but it depends on what's got you down.”

“I didn't graduate,” Eddie says, which should be common knowledge by now. “Again. So I’m not really feeling the summer excitement like everyone else.”

“Ah, right.” Steve nods with a slightly awkward, sympathetic smile. “Definitely chocolate then,” he decides, grabbing a scooper and flipping it in his hand as he slides over to the tubs of ice cream. “How do you feel about Rocky Road?”

Eddie smiles a little. “It's my favorite.”

Steve gets to scooping, quiet for a minute and then he says, “I didn't get into college.”

“Oh.”

“Not a single one. Not even community college. That's why I'm here. So, you know—I get it.”

“Yeah.” Eddie appreciates the attempt at solidarity, he really does, but, “At least you graduated.”

“Yeah…” Steve sheepishly breaks eye contact as he sprays whipped cream onto the ice cream he's scooped. “Are you gonna try again?”

“I’m not sure yet. I have until the end of the month to decide,” Eddie says, and that seems to be the end of the conversation.

Steve hands him a sundae with three scoops but only charges him for one, a kindness Eddie isn't quite sure how to respond to, so he doesn't—just pays and finds a booth to sit and eat at.

He picks somewhere where he can keep Steve in his eyeline, still amused by those sailor shorts and intrigued by the odd little conversation they just had. Steve Harrington is nothing like Eddie expected, nothing like he seemed to be in high school, and the more Eddie watches him, the clearer that becomes.

Steve’s off his game, keeps trying and failing to flirt with girls who come up to the counter. Whatever smooth charm he was once purported to have in those King Steve days of yore is nowhere in sight now and instead he seems to wear an ill-fitting mask of false confidence, blustering to some poor girl about postponing college in favor of getting real life work experience as if it was his own wise choice to scoop ice cream in a sailor outfit, but his eyes betray a look just as trapped and heavy as Eddie’s been feeling lately. Maybe there is solidarity to be found here after all.

The girl leaves with her ice cream and Steve looks up to catch Eddie watching him, a startling, unintentional moment of direct eye contact. Steve gives a tiny smile and a small shrug—in embarrassment maybe, or just simple acknowledgement—but Eddie doesn’t see it long enough to interpret it, already looking away and snapping his attention back to the slowly melting sundae in front of him. He eats his ice cream and doesn’t look over again, allowing Steve the dignity of striking out with the next girl unwitnessed. It’s cruel to visibly revel in another’s failure, and while there are many people Eddie would love to be cruel to today, Steve isn’t one of them.

So Eddie watches everyone else instead. As the natural curative powers of chocolate ice cream and marshmallows work their magic on his bad mood, he alleviates his bitterness further and entertains himself by imagining great, fantastical harm befalling anyone he sees whom he finds irritating. Snickering mean girls are cursed by wizards; obnoxious jocks are eaten by dragons; celebrating seniors are torn apart by hoards of goblins.

“I think you should try again.”

Eddie blinks out of his daydream of a particularly vicious dragon to see Steve pulling up a chair, those stupid shorts riding up his thighs obscenely as he sits. Not that Eddie’s looking—he’s not (he is). He blinks again, pulls his gaze back to Steve’s face. “What?”

“High school, graduating,” Steve says, “I think you should try again.”

“Yeah, I don’t know,” Eddie says with a scoff of a laugh, trying to sound light because he’s really not sure why Steve cares. “Going back for a third senior year is a bit pathetic, isn’t it?”

“Not as pathetic as giving up,” Steve tells him. “And you never struck me as the type.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t realize you took that much notice of me, Harrington.”

“Kinda hard not to when you were stomping on top of cafeteria tables every other day, Munson,” Steve points out, like duh.

“Touché,” Eddie mutters.

“You’ve got grit, man, is what I’m trying to say,” Steve continues. “You know—you’re bold, you’re tough, you don’t back down. You parade on top of lunch tables and rail against the stereotypes put on you, and that doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d let anyone, not even himself, tell him he can’t. So what’s one more senior year? What’s one more try to finally graduate and stick it to everyone who never thought you could? If anyone can do it this time, it’s you.”

He says all this in what Eddie can only assume to be his best ‘team captain’ voice, an expert tone of firm encouragement and optimistic passion that Eddie can vividly imagine Steve (tiny basketball shorts included) having used in locker room speeches to rally the spirits and self-confidence of his teammates before they took to the field—or court, or whatever. The Hawkins High basketball team never won much in Steve’s time, but Eddie bets they had great morale.

“Right, yeah,” he says, attempting to remain guardedly nonchalant even as his chest glows warm with Steve’s unexpected praise. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

Steve nods, smiles. “Of course.” And that could’ve been the end of it, but Steve stays seated, taps his fingers against the table, and surprises Eddie again by saying, “And, hey, um, you run that Dungeons and Dragons club at school, right? Hell-something?”

“Hellfire, yeah,” Eddie confirms, adding Steve Harrington knows what D&D is? to the ever-growing list of things that have bewildered and intrigued him about Steve today. “Why?”

“There’s a couple of kids I kind of babysit, they’re gonna be freshmen next year and they’re really into that nerd stuff—like, total geeks,” Steve says. Easy targets, he means. He shrugs. “So, you know, if you did decide to stick around another year, it’d be nice for them to have someone to look out for ‘em.”

“Ah,” Eddie says. Now this all makes a little more sense. He points his spoon at Steve. “There it is, the ulterior motive.” Steve doesn’t care about him; he hasn’t been trying to talk him into a third senior year for Eddie’s sake, but for the sake of a bunch of nerdy kids he knows. Which, actually, is still kind of sweet.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Put that accusing spoon down, Munson, there’s no ulterior motive. I meant what I said before, too. I want you to try again for you, because you really are tough and I really do think you can do it. But also because there are some kids who might need you. Both of those things can be true.”

Eddie puts his accusing spoon down and uses it to take another bite of his soupy ice cream instead. “I guess.”

“And, who knows, maybe I want it for me too,” Steve adds flippantly, and Eddie can’t tell if he’s being serious or if this is just a cheeky hypothetical to further his point. “You know, I drive those kids around a lot, I’ll probably be picking them up from those Hellfire meetings. Maybe I want to see more of you. Maybe all three of those things can be true.”

Hypothetical or not, Eddie can’t hold back his oddly endeared smile anymore. “Alright,” he concedes, “you’ve made your point.”

Steve grins back. “I’ve gotta get back to work,” he says, finally standing up. He drops a hand onto Eddie’s shoulder as he passes by, a brief, lingering squeeze. “Just think about it.”

Eddie glances at his shoulder as if half expecting the touch to have sunk into his skin and left some sort of imprint. It hadn’t, of course. He scrapes up the last of his sundae and quickly stands before Steve can get too far. “Hey, Steve?”

Steve pauses and turns around.

“I think you should try again too.”

“What, with college and stuff? Yeah, I know, I’ll probably reapply next year.”

“Well, yeah, good, that too,” Eddie says, “but I meant— I saw you strike out with that girl earlier; I think you should try again. You’ve got a lot going for you, really, and I, uh, I think a lot more people would see that if you didn’t put up some weird facade of over-the-top confidence. So- yeah, I think you should try again, but be honest, be yourself, you know, without all that bluster.”

Steve smiles, a slow, bemused sort of smile that borders on a smirk, as his head tilts and his eyes glance Eddie over. “I just did,” he says, and then he’s turning away again. “I’ll see you around, Eddie.”

It takes a couple seconds of buffering time for Eddie to process exactly what Steve meant by that, and by then Steve’s already gone, back to work and busy. “Yeah, you will,” Eddie mutters in delayed, unnecessary response, grinning to himself as he throws away his empty sundae cup and walks out of there in far better spirits than he’d entered with.

He still doesn’t know yet if he’ll be going back to Hawkins High for another try at senior year, but he does know that he’ll definitely be coming back here, to Scoops Ahoy, for another try at Steve Harrington.

#stranger things

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