#hi lex happy birthday i hope you like this bit of incoherent softness i hope you like the sleepy feeling in the back of a car at night

[flowercrowngods]

✨🤍 some steddie softness for @thefreakandthehair's birthday, i hope it's the very best so far! 🤍✨(please please your day comes first, read this whenever you have time and space to breathe 🤍)

Eddie is not a religious man — far from it, actually. But there are a few things that make him believe in higher powers. In angels. In destiny and luck and a love so strong it could conquer everything. 

This very moment is one of them. 

Stevie, soft and sleepy beside him in the back of the car as Nancy is driving, the dim light of the passing street lamps painting his face in hues of gold like the light itself favours Steve Harrington, caressing his features with the softest of shadows. 

He’s beautiful. Ethereal. Perfectly angelic with his eyes closed, his whole body turned towards Eddie in the warmth of the car.

It takes Eddie’s breath away, his heart taking up space where before there were his lungs and ribcage, growing in size until he feels like he is about to burst. And even then he keeps looking, staring at that pretty face that looks so at peace with the whole world right now. Eddie has never seen Steve like this, but now he understands why people start wars. Why people defy gods and death itself to be with their one true love. Why Orpheus looked back. 

He understands. Because Steve, his Stevie, warm and safe and perfectly fine in the backseat of a car? That is everything. He doesn’t even need to kiss or touch so long as he just gets to look. And be. Oh, to be at the same time that Steve is. 

That might just be life’s greatest gift to him. 

A tiny sigh falls from Steve’s lips and Eddie really, really might be about to burst. 

“Hey, angel,” he whispers, because moments like this aren’t made for anything but hushed words, their truths too heavy, too sincere for the world to hear and keep on spinning. He doesn’t need the world to spin as long as there is Steve. 

“Hi,” Steve whispers back, his eyes still closed but the smile lighting up, luring Eddie in like he is but a moth drawn to the flame. 

Eddie leans in and rests his forehead against Steve’s, his hand coming up to cradle a light-kissed cheek. Steve leans into it, following Eddie’s hand like maybe they are twin stars pulling each other closer until there will be an explosion of light and creation. Steve nuzzles against his palm and leans further into Eddie’s body until they share the same breath — but still it’s not enough. 

Eddie wants to say so many things now that their hands are entangled, their soft exhales mixing. But after a while he notices that Steve is humming before gently singing along to the song coming quietly from the speakers. 

“Take it easy with me, please. Touch me gently like a summer evening breeze. Take your time, make it slow. Andante, Andante. Just let the feeling grow.”

Eddie knows the song, recognises it instantly, and his breath gets stuck in his throat once more. Because he has a secret. He loves it. He has imagined for the longest time that one day, someone would make it his song. Sing it for him, to him. 

He’s never told anyone because he has a reputation to uphold and more than enough metal music to listen to, but of course Steve wouldn’t care about his secrets being secret, and just oh so casually make his deepest, most private of dreams come true. 

He’s an angel, that one. A hero. Myths and fairy tales should be woven around that heart of his, folklore speaking of his name until history itself wouldn’t dare to forget. No one can convince Eddie otherwise. Not in that moment, not with Steve singing so quietly, so gently, so adoringly. 

I think I love you. I think I can’t ever stop, not when I’ve seen you like this. Not when you’ve just shown me what life can be about, what it should be about. Gods, I love you and love you and love you. 

That’s what he wants to say. 

But all that comes out is a marvelled, “Shit, Stevie.”

It has the desired effect of a huffed breath, an even wider smile, and Steve cuddling further into Eddie’s side, eyes still closed. Eddie brushes a kiss to Steve’s forehead and feels like maybe his love can make it into the fairy tale, too. 

It will. Oh, it will, when Steve finally lifts his head from Eddie’s shoulder and looks at him through hooded eyes, all soft and sleepy and safe. A moment passes like this and Eddie can’t breathe, maybe he can never breathe again — but it only lasts until Steve slowly, so very slowly begins to lean in to claim Eddie’s lips with a kiss so gentle it could bring him back from the dead. 

Eddie kisses Steve back just as slowly, because in moments like this there is no rush, no hurry. There’s only them, there’s only this. Only a kiss until there is another. 

And with Steve, there is always another. 

Nancy smiles as she is taking the long way to Steve’s house, rounding Loch Nora twice because she knows how comfy Steve gets in cars at night when he doesn’t have to drive and there is soft music playing. 

Eddie kisses her goodbye on the forehead, fully aware of what she’s done. He doesn't tell her about the sun and the myths and all the wars he would start for Steve.

Nights like this are not meant for telling anyone about them. They can hardly be believed as it is. They can only be lived, hand in loving hand.