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runraerun · 14 days ago

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ao3 • 6.1k • @steddie-spooktober day 30 prompt: “Where did you find that costume?” • beta: @netflixandchilis 🧡🖤

Summary:

“This is not a sex costume.” Steve rolls his eyes, “I swear, I could show up dressed as a clown and you guys would accuse me of—”

Steve doesn’t have time to brace himself before Eddie reaches forward and yanks. The sound of tearing velcro is deafening, and so is the silence that follows afterward.

His entire cop costume is suddenly off of his body and somehow, inexplicably, in the hands of Eddie Munson.

Or, unbeknownst to Steve, he shows up to Eddie’s Halloween party dressed as a stripper.

*Knock knock knock*

Steve steps back from Eddie’s front door, then rocks back on the heels of his boots that he hasn’t fully broken in yet. He knows that technically, he could just stroll into the trailer—he’s done it before after all, but sue him; he’s feeling playful tonight. And if there’s one night a year you’re allowed to embarrass yourself a little in the name of shits and giggles, it’s Halloween, right?

Steve had drawn the short straw between the four of them and was saddled with babysitting duty earlier tonight. As usual, Steve thinks with an amused sort of bitterness. Always the goddamn babysitter…

He’d just finished dropping the kids all off at Henderson’s house for a sleepover, but this was after they had forced him to trail after the lot of them for what felt like an eternity while they filled their pillow cases up with sugary garbage. Steve’s fucking exhausted.

When no one answers the door, Steve steps forward again, delivering three sharp knocks in quick succession.

“Hawkins PD, open up,” he bellows, giving what he considers is a fairly decent Hopper impression.

Steve’s skin prickles against a sudden cool breeze. He hooks his thumbs into his belt and waits on the creaky front porch, trying not to squirm against the wedgie that this outfit seems determined to give him.

Cheap ass costume…

The front door swings open, and Steve is suddenly bathed in the warm, welcoming light of the trailer’s interior. Robin, who has a football helmet on, along with some kind of orange jumpsuit with tubes wrapped around her torso, looks him up and down.

Before she can even say a single word though, Steve cuts her off, playing at arrogance.

“Got a couple of noise complaints, ma’am. Are your folks home? I’m gonna need—”

Robin holds her hands up with barely contained glee, “Wait wait, hold on! Just stay right there.”

The door slams shut in his face, leaving Steve in the darkness of the porch again. Through the door, Steve hears Robin yell for Eddie, but can’t make out much of the muffled voices after that.

Left on the porch with nothing but his thoughts Steve can’t help but wonder if Robin even recognized him. The fake stache wasn’t that convincing… was it?

“Man, c’mon…” Steve sighs, stepping forward and knocking again, this time with more force. He’s very quickly regretting his decision to ham it up as opposed to just walking in, kicking off the uncomfortable boots he’d been wearing all evening, and plopping down on Eddie’s lumpy, yet deceptively comfy sofa.

“C’mon, open up, Hawkins Police.” Steve calls again, trying to keep his exhaustion out of his voice.

In a blink, the door swings open again. Steve makes the extra effort to push his shoulders back and puff out his chest. This time, instead of Robin being the one haloed in the dingy light illuminating the trailer, it’s Eddie. A very confused, shockingly pale, cape-wearing Eddie.

Steve tilts his head back and peers down through his dark aviators at his friend, trying to maintain a stern, authoritative demeanor. His lip itches from underneath the stupid fake facial hair he’s got taped to his face. He can’t wait to rip the damn thing off.

Eddie grips the edge of the doorway, apparently stunned into silence.

“Sir, did you or anyone in this household place a call to 911 this evening?” Steve barks, trying his best to lean into his power-tripping asshole persona he’s decided to adopt.

“What the–” Eddie starts, but doesn’t seem to have any words to follow. His wide, dark eyes roam over the uniform and his twitching smile says enough.

Steve’s putting on a good show, it seems.

“Because it’s a criminal offense to prank call an emergency hotline, sir.” Steve leans forward, hoping for intimidation, “I could have you arrested.”

Steve suddenly becomes aware of Nancy and Robin both snickering in the background, watching the interaction with seemingly great interest. Eddie, for the most part, appears frozen at the door. It’s an odd bunch of reactions if Steve is being honest—he’s just dicking around, after all. Was he really being that out of pocket?

“Shteve, where in the fresh hell…?” A bewildered looking Eddie begins, his words slightly slurred, almost as if he has a lisp. Then Steve spots them; the sharp toothed plastic tray of vampire teeth that Eddie’s got stuffed into his mouth, making his lips pucker out just a bit. He looks ridiculous. If anyone should be laughing, it should be Steve. But instead of waiting for everyone to get their shit together, Steve forges on. He makes a show of sniffing the air. He slowly pulls the aviators down his nose to shoot Eddie a look. “Is that marijuana I smell, son? You kids smoking the devil’s lettuce in there?”

Robin sounds like she’s choking on something, Nancy’s all but retreated back into the trailer, unable to contain herself. Was it really that funny? Steve knows he can get the girls laughing on occasion, but he’s not like, a comedian or anything. And this cop bit he’s doing wasn’t even all that funny, even he can admit that. It’s just dorky fun. But Eddie’s shoulders are shaking and he’s giggling hard enough that he’s gone all quiet. Steve briefly wonders if he has something on his face…? Besides the stache, of course.

A particularly cool breeze hits his side, and he can physically feel himself break character as he brings his shoulders up to his ears in an attempt to brace against it. This cheap fucking costume does absolutely dick all to keep the cold out.

“Alright alright, jokes over, just let me in already.” But when Steve takes a step to pass through the door, Eddie quickly holds a hand to Steve’s chest, stopping him in his tracks. With his other free hand, he noisily pulls the vampire teeth from his mouth, a string of spit connecting the two until Eddie wipes his mouth with the back of a hand.

“Slow your roll, Sargent Cinnamon,” Eddie exclaims, barely able to contain his laughter to get the words out, “Jesus Christ, Steve, you’re gonna get the actual cops called on us.”

Sargent Cinnamon?

Steve takes off his aviators, perplexed. “What? Why?”

“Just—just turn around for me for a minute.” Eddie says. His hand falls from Steve’s chest as Steve begrudgingly takes a step back.

“Yeah, give us a spin, Steve.” Robin calls from the kitchenette, and Eddie gives a noisy laugh through his nose in what looks like a failed attempt to withhold a full on fucking belly laugh from escaping.

“Why?” Steve makes a face as he asks again, defenses up.

“We just have to confirm something.” Eddie says, playing coy.

Now that Steve’s really looking at him, he can see Eddie’s clearly dressed as a vampire. He’s all in black, though most of him is covered up by the long, heavy looking cape that’s tied around his shoulders and draping down his back. The collar of it looks stiff, its points reach damn near up to his cheekbones. His eyes are rimmed with dark makeup, making them pop even more than they usually do. Most striking of all though, is the white makeup that’s smeared all over his face, down his neck, and even over his mouth. It makes for a shock when he speaks or laughs, the deep red of the inside of his mouth contrasting sharply with the undead paleness of the rest of his face.

He looks… good. Spooky, but good. Especially now that those chunky fake fangs are out. Maybe Steve should have dressed as something spooky too…

“C’mon, just let me in. I don’t wanna spin.” Steve frowns. He does not pout. His lip may or may not jut out the tiniest of amounts. But Steve Harrington does not pout.

Eddie’s brows pinch together in mock sympathy, “oh, I’m so sorry Officer, but in that case, we’re gonna need you to come back with a warrant.”

Steve sighs. He’s cold, annoyed, and he’s pretty sure there’s two big watery blisters on the backs of his heels that’ll need patching up before the night is out. “Dude–”

Eddie holds out a finger, silencing Steve, “ah ah ah. You don’t get to show up here dressed like that and not put on a show.”

Steve’s brain stutters to a halt. “...I’m just dressed as a cop. What’s the big deal? Why’re you guys acting so weird?”

“Less yapping, more spinning, Deputy.” Eddie smiles wide, tilting his head. Despite being a total shithead at the moment, that smile never seems to fail at making Eddie look strangely endearing. It’s like a trap—one Steve always seems to be tumbling into as of late.

He gives a noisy groan of frustration to show exactly how ridiculous he thinks this whole thing is, before he complies and slowly turns around on the spot. Steve puts out his arms in defeat, suppressing yet another urge to dig at the wedgie now firmly up his ass. “There. Happy? Any more questions or demands?”

“Yeah, just the one,” Eddie says, seeming no less entertained than if Steve had just burped the whole alphabet backwards while simultaneously juggling a set of kitchen knives. “Where did you find that costume?”

Steve feels his neck go red, then his ears. He stuffs his hands under his armpits to try and warm them up, then shrugs defensively, not fully knowing why he is so embarrassed, only that he is. “Just a regular costume store.”

“What store exactly?” Robin calls from behind Eddie while she nurses a beer, “was there, oh, I don’t know, lingerie in the window of this costume store?”

And with that, there’s simply no helping it; Steve’s face goes scarlet. “No! It was just that pop-up Halloween store—the one next to Family Video. Robin, you went there too, what’s the big deal?”

“Did you happen to have crossed a beaded doorway in order to get to this costume by any chance?” Eddie asks in mock curiosity, barely withholding more of his obnoxiously loud laughter.

Steve opens his mouth to deny the downright weird accusation but… thinking back on it, he may have hit some beads at a certain point while he was in that shop.

Oh God…

“There’s that lightbulb,” Eddie gives a smarmy type of smile, “knew it would turn on eventually.”

Steve casts a glare between Eddie and Robin. They’re just poking fun at him, surely. If he’s being honest, he’s sort of sick of them ganging up on him lately. It’s like, all of the sudden, Eddie and Robin had just decided to become besties. They were always whispering and sharing these weird, heated looks between the two of them, ones Steve could never interpret. Like they suddenly had a whole slew of inside jokes that they refused to let Steve in on. It was infuriating!

If he didn’t know for a fact that there was no possibility of a romance between the two of them he would think they were hooking up. But no, apparently they’ve just bonded over their shared love of torturing ex-jocks. It’s like fucking Revenge of the Nerds out here.

“This is not a sex costume.” he growls, bunching his shoulders up just a little in an attempt to keep the breeze away from his neck.

“Steve,” Eddie’s voice goes soft, as if he’s opting to break the news to Steve gently, “you’re dressed as a stripper, man.”

“No, I’m not!” Steve shouts before he thinks better of it. He reels it in, but only a little, “It’s just… I’m just a cop. Okay, maybe it’s a sexy cop, but it’s just a stupid joke costume! It’s not my fault the outfit looks good on me, alright? That doesn’t make it a stripper outfit.”

Eddie nods empathetically, “right right, sure.”

“It’s true!”

“Totally, yeah.”

“I’m being serious!”

“Oh, I know you are.”

“It’s just a little tight is all.”

“I’ll say.”

Steve huffs, “I swear, I could show up dressed as a goddamn clown and you guys would accuse me of–”

Steve doesn’t have time to brace himself before Eddie reaches forward and yanks. The sound of tearing velcro is deafening, and so is the silence that follows directly afterward.

The entire front of his cop costume is off of his body and somehow, inexplicably, in the hands of Eddie Munson. And without the support of the front piece, Steve feels the entire back half of his costume follow suit, slipping down and off of his shoulders. Humiliatingly, the only reason it doesn’t hit the ground altogether is because the fabric is so securely lodged in between Steve’s ass cheeks.

Either way, he’s standing there, on the Munson’s front porch, in front of Eddie, in nothing more than his bright red boxers that he put on this morning, his uncomfortable fucking boots, his fake stache, and the octagonal police cap he’s got resting atop his head.

Eddie takes a deep breath, not even bothering to try and hide the way he’s basking in Steve’s utter humiliation. “Well well well. Looks like Christmas came early this year, huh?”

Robin at least has done him the good favor of collapsing somewhere in the living room, shrieking in laughter.

“Wh–Why would you do that!?” Steve clumsily grabs for the cap atop his head before holding it to his crotch in a flimsy attempt to preserve at least some of his dignity.

“Honestly? Because I don’t have a lot of impulse control,” Eddie admits truthfully, “but mostly I did it to prove to you that you did, in fact, show up to my party dressed as a stripper.”

Steve’s had enough. He grumbles out every single curse word he knows and shoulders his way into the trailer, yanking the remainder of the costume off of his body and out of his ass as he goes. If Steve was cold before, he’s freezing now. His nipples could cut fucking glass.

“Don’t tell me you took the kids out trick or treating in this.” Eddie says, motioning towards him with the bundle of thin fabric that had been, up until a few seconds ago, Steve’s costume.

Steve snatches the dark blue remains of his outfit, suddenly furious. He’s sure his face matches the red of his boxers at this point. Boxers that are now on display for all to see, apparently!

He reaches up to angrily tear off the mustache from his upper lip, and has to bite back an honest to god scream as it tears away, taking some of his actual lip hair with it. It was like a fucking wax strip!

“You did.” Eddie gasps, all but clutching his damn pearls, utterly scandalized. “You really went around and gave the good folks of Hawkin’s a free fucking show tonight, huh? Jesus Christ, Harrington, you probably sent some poor fucker out there into cardiac arrest!”

“No, I–” Steve sputters, “well, yes, I wore the cop costume while I took the kids around a couple of neighborhoods, but there wasn’t any kind of show.”

“Were the mothers especially kind to you, Stevie?” Robin asks from her position on the sofa beside Nancy, one sandy brown brow arched. “Did they give you extra candy?”

“One, I didn’t go trick-or-treating, so I didn’t get any candy at all,” Steve says, suddenly reluctant about taking his boots off, wary of losing any more of his clothing. As he speaks, he shuffles behind the countertop in the kitchen area instead, hiding at least his lower half from further attention. Everyone had already seen his hairy chest plenty of times, but still. It was the indignity of it all! “And two, I didn’t know it was a stripper costume. And three, screw all of you.”

Thank Christ the kids seemed oblivious to that sort of thing still. Steve’s as relieved at preserving their innocence as he is grateful they didn’t bear witness to his great blunder.

“Didn’t it feel weird when you had to velcro the sides shut..?” Nancy asks, sheer amusement playing across her features.

“Well, in hindsight… yes.” Steve has to stop speaking because all three of his so-called friends dissolve in further fits of laughter. He has to shout to be heard over their cackling, “but I just thought it was because the costume was cheap!”

“Oh, Steve.” Nancy shakes her head, still giggling. She sounded a little drunk.

“Sweet, naive Dingus.” Robin adds, as if she were finishing her girlfriend's thoughts.

So now Nancy and Robin were ganging up on him too. And after Steve gave Robin his blessing to date his ex-girlfriend! Traitors, all of ‘em, Steve thinks haughtily as he crosses his arms and glares.

“C’mon big boy, you can borrow something of mine.” Eddie says, finally deciding to take pity on Steve. “Unless, of course, you want me to help velcro your ass back into that little number..?”

That’s the absolute last thing he wants. So, with an angry grumble, Steve accepts Eddie’s offer for clothes and follows him down the narrow hallway, into his bedroom. Steve all but collapses on the end of Eddie’s unmade bed, snatching a pillow and holding it to his lap as he watches Eddie dig around his dresser drawers.

Steve notices that Eddie’s oddly quiet now that they’re alone.

Steve was sort of used to Eddie’s constant prattling on when they were together—so much so, that the lack of it seems unnatural in its own sort of way. It’s damn near unsettling to be near Eddie and not have him chewing his ear off.

Eddie pulls some soft, gray clothing from his drawers, attempts to discreetly give it the cautionary sniff test, then turns to offer them up to Steve. “Here, these, uh, they should fit you. Elastic waistband.”

“Thanks.” Steve mumbles, still a little pissed at Eddie for the whole tearing him out of his clothes thing. To be fair, Steve would have probably returned the favor if the roles had been reversed and would have laughed just as hard. Maybe harder.

He shoves the shirt on, then discards the pillow in order to stand and attempt to rid himself of the godforsaken boots from hell... Steve is unnervingly aware that the red of his underwear stands out like a fucking fire engine.

Eddie turns his painted face away, suddenly very interested in the various posters on his wall.

“Oh, sure, now you’re shy.” Steve snorts, but when he steps on the backs of his heels in an effort to toe off his boots, he sucks in a sharp breath and wobbles back onto the bed, cursing. The sharp stinging pain from the blisters is enough to cut his breath. “Shit, shit, shit–”

“What is it? What happened?” Eddie’s full attention is back on Steve, and Steve’s insides squirm a little at the intensity of it. He kind of loves that about Eddie; how he can be flighty and erratic one minute, but wholly and completely laser focused on something the next.

And Steve is man enough to admit that he sort of likes it when that undivided attention lands on him. Admittedly, he likes it when anyone pays attention to him, but… it’s different with Eddie. Even Steve’s not entirely sure why. It just makes him feel… seen, maybe. Special. Understood?

Steve doesn’t fucking know. He gives his head a shake.

“It’s just these stupid boots. I’ve only worn them a few times and they always give me blisters. I shouldn’t have worn them tonight but I just thought they went good with the outfit...” Steve explains, as if it’s a confession. The price of vanity, he thinks bitterly. Steve lifts one of his feet until it’s propped up his opposite knee and begins working the boot off, flinching as he goes, “they’re just stinging a little, it’s fine.”

“I’ll get some band-aids.” Eddie mutters as he darts out of the room, nearly tripping over something in his haste. Steve can hear him digging through the cupboard in the bathroom through the paper-thin walls of the trailer. Eddie sounds like a goddamn tornado. But hey, what’s new? Dude is tornado incarnate.

By the time Eddie’s back, armed with a battered box of band-aids and a tube of Neosporin, Steve’s already managed to work off a boot and peel away one of his socks. He’s poking the painful, fluid-filled blister with a grimace.

“Here.” Eddie awkwardly passes both of the items to Steve. He practically shoves them into his hands. Steve accepts them all with a quick thanks and gets to work. He half expects Eddie to go and just leave Steve to it, but he doesn’t. Instead, Eddie just stands there, hovering in the middle of his bedroom, staring like a weirdo.

Which sounds harsh even in Steve’s own mind, but there really was no mistaking it; Eddie most definitely is a full-blown, bonafide, one-of-a-kind weirdo. But as time’s gone on, and the further Steve’s gotten away from high school, the more he’s realized that his favorite people in the whole world—the ones he’d lay down his life for any day of the fucking week—are all freaks and weirdos. And maybe that made him a weirdo freak right alongside them. And hey, if all the best people were weird, shouldn’t he be proud to be counted among them?

Steve finds he doesn’t entirely hate the concept.

“You must think I’m a moron, huh?” Steve mutters as he smears some of the antiseptic cream over the blister, then a band-aid overtop, flinching the whole way through.

“For getting a blister? Or for accidentally cosplaying as a sex worker?” Eddie asks, grinning. Knows he’s being a cheeky little shit.

Steve just scoffs and rolls his eyes, “it could’ve happened to anyone, y’know. The costume thing, I mean.”

He settles his bare foot on the ground and starts on his next boot.

“Maybe. But it’s funny because it happened to you.” Eddie aims a set of finger guns at him. Steve, despite himself, chuckles a little under his breath. It was sort of funny.

“I don’t, though, by the way.” The couple of words tumble out of Eddie’s mouth. Steve knows by now that when he isn’t following Eddie, all he usually needs to do is wait a few seconds. Eddie never seems to mind taking the time to further explain himself to Steve, unlike most other people. So, Steve just spares him a glance and waits. “Think you’re a moron, I mean. You’re just… more of a do first, think later kinda guy. It doesn’t make you dumb. Maybe a little foolhardy, is all.”

“Foolhardy?” Steve’s hands stop what they’re doing as he looks up at Eddie. Steve’s pretty sure he knows what it means, but who the hell throws around digs like that?

Well, come to think of it, Eddie Munson would. Between writing his own songs and making up those D&D campaigns, Eddie’s inner voice probably speaks to him in sonnets and soliloquies.

“It’s a good thing—well, it is when I say it…” Eddie rushes to explain, but seems to abandon a few trains of thoughts before shaking his head, “whatever, nevermind, forget I said anything.”

“I know what foolhardy means I just–” Steve doesn’t have any fight in him though, too focused on how fucking painful this blister is compared to the last. The sharp sting was enough to make his eyes embarrassingly prickle. “Fuuuuuck…” he groans as he pulls.

“Stop, stop, just–” Eddie kneels, taking a knee, before he grabs Steve’s boot.

“No no, Eddie, don’t–!” Steve shrieks, suddenly terrified of Eddie’s jumpy, erratic movements he’s known for. His foot can’t fucking take it…

“Calm down, I’ll pull it off slow. I’ll even give you a countdown. You just–just relax, alright?” Eddie says, looking downright ridiculous in his costume. And yet, despite how crazy he looks, Munson seems sincere. He liked to poke fun at Steve, sure, but Eddie wouldn’t hurt him. Steve knows that. And when Eddie’s fingers curl around the back of his calf, the touch is gentle. Steve’s skin heats underneath Eddie’s hold. It’s enough to make his head go a little fuzzy.

Trying to follow Eddie’s instruction, Steve hesitantly leans back on the heels of his hands, allowing his leg to go slack in Eddie’s grip. “Relax. Right. Okay.”

“Alright. My safe word’s Ronald Reagan, but you can borrow it for tonight if you want me to stop, cool?” Eddie looks up at him through his lashes. The liner around his eyes was really something else… And his hair looked especially poofy tonight. Like Steve’s hands could get lost in there. Were those plastic spiders in his hair? God, Steve hoped they were plastic spiders…

A beat passes before Steve’s brain catches up with him. “Why the hell is Ronald Reagan your safe word?”

“Because nothing kills my boner faster than thinking about that dickwad. Duh.” Eddie explains, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. And maybe it was, but Steve wasn’t exactly experienced with things like safe words and… well, the things that normally go along with safe words.

He feels himself shift anxiously at the idea. He wondered if Eddie was just making a joke or if he actually…

“Ready?” Eddie interrupts and utterly derails that particular train of thought. He’s cradling Steve’s booted foot, one hand low on Steve’s calf, the other gripping the bottom of the boot. Real comforting like.

Steve takes a quick breath before giving a sharp nod. “Ready.”

“3, 2, 1, deep breaths everyone!” Eddie says, and true to his word, he pulls off slowly, trying to angle the boot away from Steve’s heel as best he can. Steve clenches his teeth through the whole thing, determined not to utter the president's name. “Aaaaand we’re done!” Eddie says triumphantly.

Steve sighs, and lets himself fall onto the bed in relief. He’s built up a bit of a tolerance for pain over the past few years (purely out of necessity), but he still fucking hates it. Even if it’s something small like this. Call him a pussy for it, whatever. Steve doesn’t care.

When he feels Eddie begin peeling off his sock though, Steve bolts upright, returning to his seated position. “Y-you don’t gotta do that part–”

Eddie shrugs nonchalantly and continues peeling away the sock. “It’s okay, I wanna help.”

“My feet probably fucking reek, dude. I’ve been wearing those all day.” Steve wrinkles his nose. The idea that Eddie could possibly be repulsed by him in some way just doesn’t sit right with Steve. “You don’t–... I-I can do this part.”

“I told you, I don’t care.” Eddie says as he peels away Steve’s sweaty, ripe sock before sticking it into the no doubt equally sweaty, ripe boot.

Eddie's now kneeling in front of a pantless and sockless Steve—to say he felt exposed would be an understatement. He watches as Eddie takes the tube of Neosporin in hand and squeezes out a glob onto his finger and lines it up with Steve’s heel.

“Unless,” Eddie halts, as if an idea had just occurred to him, “unless you don’t want me to.”

The two of them just stare at one another for a few seconds, as if they’re both just realizing that they don’t really know the limits of their friendship yet. Both of them seem to be asking the other for permission to cross some kind of a line that they don’t know even exists or not. It should be awkward, but somehow it isn’t. It’s a little uncomfortable, sure, but… exciting, in a weird way.

Steve swallows, “no, I want you to. I mean, if you want to, of course. I—”

I like it when you touch me.

The thought hits Steve with such a sudden and sharp clarity that for a second he’s not sure if he’s said it out loud or not.

But if Eddie somehow heard it, he doesn’t let on.

Instead, the sides of his mouth twitch into a tentative grin, but then Eddie ducks his head before Steve can watch it blossom fully into a smile, though he can tell by the way his cheeks rise near his eyes that it indeed does.

Eddie smears the antiseptic cream on Steve’s blister with guitar string scarred fingers, with more care than most people bother using when they reach for Steve. Then he wipes his hands on his own bed sheets before unpeeling a bandaid from its wrapping and laying it overtop of everything. He smooths a finger overtop of it, once, then twice for good measure. Why Eddie runs his finger over the band-aid a third time, Steve hasn’t got a clue.

There’s something about the way Eddie so can flip the switch from being a loud, boisterous, all out terror of a human being, to this sincere, gentle… almost sweet person. It’s hard for Steve to wrap his head around. Especially since Eddie doesn’t show the second side nearly as often as the first–and only to a lucky handful of people. Steve’s one of those happy few.

It’s like a secret Eddie.

Steve briefly wonders if there’s a secret Steve, but if there is, not even he knows about him. Steve has a feeling he’s more of a ‘what you see is what you get’ kinda guy. Hopefully, that doesn’t mean he’s shallow.

And just when Steve thinks Eddie’s done with him, the guy spins around and rummages in his top drawer for a few seconds before turning back with a rolled up set of fresh socks for Steve. Without a word, he kneels and begins putting them on Steve’s foot for him.

Which…

Honestly, Steve doesn’t know how to feel about it. Good, obviously. That much, at least, is crystal fucking clear. But there’s more. Like the fluttery sort of warmth that comes specifically when someone brings you a bowl of hot soup when you’re sick, or cares enough to hold your hair back for you while you puke your guts out after drinking too much. It’s that same sort of feeling. Only more.

“Thanks, man.” Steve says, utterly relieved his voice comes out sounding steadier than he’s feeling. Because… Well, because no one takes care of Steve, except Steve. It’s been that way since he was old enough to tie his own shoes. He’s always on his own. Self-sufficient. Steve takes a sort of pride in it.

But here’s Eddie, on his knees, tending to him, even though Steve can do it perfectly fine on his own. He’s still doing it for Steve, and for the hell of him, Steve can’t wrap his head around why. And all of it over some stupid blisters. It makes Steve’s chest ache, fixing to burst.

“No problem, Officer. Just doing my civic duty.” Eddie’s tone is soft when he flicks his eyes up briefly, paired with a grin. He finishes putting the fresh set of socks on Steve’s feet, careful to avoid the blisters. The socks are pilled, and scratchy, as if neither Wayne nor Eddie bothers with fabric softener, but they’re comfortable enough and blissfully warm.

“Well the city of Hawkins thanks you too, Mr. Munson.” Steve replies with a two fingers salute, attempting to match Eddie’s energy, but the words sound so deeply stupid when they’re strung together like that, that it has them both chuckling.

“Christ, you’re cute.” Eddie mutters, dragging a knuckle under his eye to clear away the stray tear that had formed from all of the laughing he’s done tonight. Then Steve watches as that easy smile that he had just been so admiring quickly fall away as Eddie seems to realize what he’d just said.

Eddie thinks he’s cute?

The question of what kind of cute he was referring to bombards Steve's brain. Cute could mean a hell of a lot of things—from puppies with big wet eyes to Michelle Pfeiffer in a skin tight leotard. Or maybe Eddie didn’t mean to say cute at all. Yeah, maybe it just slipped out. Hell, maybe Eddie’s just high. He does get a little extra tactile and emotional when he’s high. And Eddie definitely smells like weed, but—well, Eddie always smells like weed.

“Here’s your–” Eddie suddenly stands, cape fluttering behind him, and tosses the sweatpants from earlier back at Steve who catches it with ease, despite the newly unmoored feeling he’s got in his gut. Steve suspects Eddie’s blushing by the way he’s holding himself, but because of all the makeup, Steve can’t be sure. Eddie anxiously twists his rings around his fingers muttering a quiet, “sorry, man.”

It’s said so timidly that Steve almost misses the tacked-on apology entirely. Now, timid isn’t usually something that Steve would associate with Eddie Munson but, well, there it is. And despite their playful back and forth with one another, Steve can tell this is wholly different. He doesn’t—can’t leave Eddie standing there with egg on his face.

“Don’t be sorry. It’s not—it’s whatever, dude.” Steve says, forever baffled at how the English language, the only language he even knows and is apparently fluent in, still manages to sound like knotted garbage when it comes out of his mouth. He shoves his legs through the sweatpants, yanking them up to his waist.

Eddie seems to get it though, thankfully. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Steve says, quick, casual-like.

Eddie chews on his lip. “I didn’t make it weird?”

At this, Steve barks out a laugh. Because, yeah but… well, if Eddie started going around apologizing every time he did something weird the guy would never stop apologizing.

And Steve likes Eddie’s flavor of weird anyway.

“Hey, I’m the one who showed up to your house dressed as a stripper, didn’t I? If anyone’s made it weird tonight, it’s me.” Steve runs a hand through his hair, briefly concerned about how the stupid hat probably left an embarrassing indent where it was sitting.

Eddie’s wide smile is back, the one that lines his face and makes his eyes do that starlight thing. “That’s true.” He chuckles.

“I like your costume though.” Steve grins, feeling that fluttery feeling in his chest when he gets Eddie smiling like that. “Vampire, right?”

If possible, Eddie’s eyes widen further, giving him a manic look. He hastily pats his various pockets before finding his fake fangs and shoving them into his mouth. They look terrible, but admittedly, they sort of complete the overall look.

“That’s Count Dracula to you, foolish mortal.” Eddie says with a truly terrible Transylvanian accent as he dramatically swishes his cape over one of his arms, then positions it underneath his kohl-rimmed eyes.

Steve pretends to cower, but he’s always been kind of a shitty actor so he just ends up snorting and shaking his head. “Terrifying. If you hadn’t torn it off me earlier, I’m sure I would have shivered right out of my uniform.”

And again, it’s enough for Eddie to break character and bark out a laugh around his plastic fangs. He recovers quickly though, a smile still pulling at the sides of his mouth.

“C’mon, the girlsh have probably put the movie on without ush.” Eddie says with a very distinct lisp. It’s sort of adorable.

It’s profoundly less adorable after Steve hears how Eddie needs to suck back the spit trapped between his teeth and the tray so he doesn't drool all over himself.

Thankfully, Eddie doesn’t end up wearing the fake fangs for the whole movie, especially not after Nancy demands their removal after two or three noisy, spit-retrieving sucks. There’s some petty back and forth that lasts a couple of seconds, but it’s settled quickly and amicably, as most of their squabbles are.

Steve and Eddie spend the majority of the horror flick pressed up against one another, from shoulder to knee. Steve’s not entirely sure what the hell is happening between them, but whatever it is… it’s nice.

And when there’s a particularly scary bit that makes Steve nearly jump out of his skin, Eddie teases him and slaps a patronizing hand to his knee just to further torment him, but it’s the damnedest thing. Even after the joke’s over, and their collective focus is back (in theory) on the movie, Eddie just… doesn’t take his hand back. Neither one of them seems keen on addressing it either, afraid to spook whatever it is away.

They stay that way for the rest of the movie. He doesn’t risk putting his hand over top of Eddie’s—he can’t. Not yet, at least. But Steve will think about little else besides the feeling of Eddie’s warm hand curled around the top of his knee, searing into him like a brand, for many nights to come.

It’s hands down the most embarrassing Halloween Steve’s ever had—but it’s also kinda the best, thanks to Eddie.

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