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hitlikehammers · 18 days ago

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POV: when you overhear your boyfriend’s bandmates who ⛔️do not like you⛔️ talking to him—about YOU

“Be real though, Ed. Harrington? You can’t actually be serious, here.” Steve doesn’t like to eavesdrop, like, on principle. Which is to say he totally does it. He just doesn’t wholly approve of it, or think it’s a very good habit to have, while still doing it. “You got me,” Eddie sighs, longer and deeper than can be taken wholly seriously. “I’m running my longest successful con to date.”

rating: t ♥️ tags: post-s4, established relationship, corroded coffin, as in: the gang’s all here and being VERY JUDGEMENTAL of eddie’s taste in men, and maybe steve had to pick eddie up from practice today so he overhears it WHOLLY WITHOUT INTENDING TO OKAY?, no one ever REALLY want to hear what the people they love really think of them when said people don’t know who all’s actually listening, true love, declarations of feelings, it’s actually really fucking hard to stand up to your friends, happy ending♥️

for @steddielovemonth day ten: "We are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love." —Dr. Seuss

also! Unnamed Freak is Doug for the purpose of this fic because the book can fuck itself I say so 🖤

“Be real though, Ed,” the voice that filters through, and holds Steve’s hand from pushing the car door shut loud enough to notice, is fairly reasonable, like trying to talk down a suggestion absurd enough to send someone to the ER—which means, of the subjects at hand? It’s gotta be Jeff.

“You can’t actually be serious, here.”

Steve doesn’t like to eavesdrop, like, on principle.

Which is to say he totally does it.

He just doesn’t wholly approve of it, or think it’s a very good habit to have, while still doing it.

“You got me,” Eddie deadpans, but it’s like, venom-laced. It stings just to hear and Steve’s struck with how much his life’s changed since Spring Break, and more still since…well.

Since Eddie.

Because Steve is well aware the man can cut glass with how sharp his tongue can get, they did go to high school together whether they ran in the same circles or not.

It’s just strikes Steve in the moment that not once since Vecna, has Eddie turns that tongue on him.

Now, other uses of his tongue—

“I’m running my longest successful con to date. Yep, totally pulled it over on all you bitches,” and where it could be playful, every single word is sharpened to stab, to pierce, to drag the wound out so it bleeds, like a shiv to remind someone where they fucked up, in perpetuity.

“Please applaud.”

And oh, even Steve flinches at that tone, and he’s not even the target. Hell, he’s still in the driveway—he doesn’t make a rule of crashing band practice, no matter whose parents’ garage they’re using; Eddie’s van is just regularly in the shop for one thing or another, so he’s gotta come get his man. But he doesn’t, like, push his way in. Sometimes doesn’t even get out of the driver’s seat. He knows Eddie would more than welcome him; has the handful of times he’s ventured to step in to apologize for interrupting but remind him they have to pick up the shitheads. But one: Eddie is alone in his welcome, and like, the polar opposite of the other three guys, who range from staring daggers at Steve to sneering so scrunched up to the nose that it’d give Carol Perkins at her snittiest a run for her money.

And Steve wouldn’t have made it this far if he didn’t know how to recognise where he’s not wanted, and learn how to make the calculated decision of whether to walk or push his way in. And much as he loves Eddie? Steve actually wants his friends to eventually come around from probably, like, muttering ancestral curses under their breaths at him or something.

Plus, from what Steve understands? Jam sessions are personal. Sacred. Eddie had blushes and stammered the first time he let Steve listen in on works in progress; and Steve had rewarded him for the gift of it liberally and with genuine gusto. It’s earned him repeat performances on the regular, but Steve gets it’s a private thing in general. And these guys don’t know him, don’t presently care to—don’t trust him.

He figures it’s like…masturbating in front of someone. The art thing, the depth of making music and stuff. Showing your soul a little bit, losing control for the betterment of the final product.

Now, he and Eddie definitely have masturbated together, it’s actually fantastic foreplay, or even just a deliciously sloppy go on its own. But that’s neither here nor there. And also totally fucking different.

Steve really doesn’t want Eddie masturbating in front of anyone other than him, ever again. Steve’s sure as shit not looking to on his end; definitely not with the other members of Corroded fucking Coffin.

The metaphor might have gotten away from him. But you get the picture.

“No, man,” and that’s, that’s Gareth’s voice, Steve’s almost sure. Sharper. Concerned but also caustic on the undertow. “It’s just,” he snorts, the disbelieving sort: “this can’t be real.”

Okay, yeah. Tone plus actual words add up.

“Yeah, just,” Doug laughs a little nervous, like of all of them, Eddie’s verbal attack had the most weight in tempering his response of the three of them; “blink twice if you’re being held against your will.”

They all chuckle, but it’s toned down the whole way around—even Steve can clock that. These guys are boisterous when left to their devices, Steve’s taken note of that. Mostly watching from the sidelines—almost exclusively when they don’t know he’s there to watch.

Again: does not condone eavesdropping.

Does not try at all to refrain from doing it.

“I mean, you don’t expect us to believe you’re actually fucking him,” and oh, yeah, okay: Steve was pretty sure he was the topic conversation here, and despite some of the setbacks of recent years, he’s not insecure when it comes to relationships especially.

He’s definitely the only one fucking Eddie. And Eddie’s the only one fucking him.

And while he doesn’t really hold it against these guys for being wary of him—he wasn’t really a perpetrator of their high school woes, but he definitely didn’t do anything to make them less…woeful—so he’s mostly bummed about it for Eddie’s sake, and on principle, but like, seriously.

Doubting Steve successfully scoring Eddie Munson? Like, Eddie’s a catch, Steve of ll people is well aware, but. Steve’s also been long past fishing the shallow end of the pond, y’know?

Give him some credit.

“Right,” Steve narrows back in on what’s happening in the garage that he’s definitely feeling less guilty bout, seeing as he’s definitely a subject of the debate unfolding, but Eddie sounds…angry. Pissed off in that way he gets when he’s fed the fuck up.

“I’m out,” Steve hears scraping of equipment, the guitar case flipped open; “can’t actually make it next week,” he adds like a footnote.

It’s clear within a second he’s the only one who takes it with that same…energy.

“But we have to practice before the open mic—” Jeff, ever the voice of reason, sounds baffled; on his way to ticked off but not quite there yet.

Eddie, however—as is his wont in this type of mood—could not give two shits where the people around him land on the anger-o-meter; he’s exceeded them, even if only in his own head, and they are all therefore irrelevant to his very responsible decision to put distance between himself and doing something stupid he can’t take back.

It’s not the nicest way to deal but, honestly? Steve’s mostly just proud of Eddie for sticking with a coping mechanism that, while not without consequences, generally works better than most.

“I’ll see you guys in two, then. Probably.” And the case clicks shut, definitive, and Steve’s proud of that too; that Eddie’s not digging a hole when the guys re trying to bait him, intentionally or not, over Steve.

Steve doesn’t need Eddie to complicate his band, his friendships, over what the two of them have. One, it’s not their fucking business. And two?

Steve doesn’t thing he’s being self-important in saying he and Eddie…are bigger, and more, than even the very beat high school band.

Not that Steve would ever ask Eddie to choose or some bullshit like that. And he really does believe Eddie’s going places, if that’s what he decides he wants. But…there’s that.

Then there is them.

Different, like, stratospheres.

“What the fuck came up that you can’t make it next week? When we’re staring down our first actual shot at Battle of the Bands this year,” and yeah, of course, if anyone’s gonna try to drag the whole thing out, it’s Gareth. Kid’s got a fucking temper.

“Something more important.”

Which yeah, that’s what was going through Steve’s mind, basically, but—

“The hell could be more—“

“I have plans,” Eddie hisses, viper-quick and fucking deadly, shuts them all right up for it, but then he spins a 180–preens so big Steve swears he can hear his shoulders go back and his chest puff out:

“It’s my anniversary.”

So…yeah. Just because it was where Steve’s head had just been at doesn’t mean his whole chest goes all gooey to hear it said out loud.

And in front of Eddie’s band, who…they aren’t hiding from, but they have discussed keeping kinda mum around. For the same kinds of reasons Steve’s been privy to just in the past couple minutes.

But then Eddie’s voice follows the feeling in Steve’s chest like they’re tethered there, and honestly, more times than not?

Steve thinks they just might actually be, and he’s not proven wrong with the way Eddie halfway coos:

“Our anniversary.”

“Your what?”

Jeff, again, is that middle ground: actually confused, laced with being angry that Eddie’s ducking out.

“Six months,” Eddie answers, soft-like, a little dreamy but in this way that’s rooted somehow still, and in being struck all over again by a level of shock Steve understands, sometimes feels in reverse, but still doesn’t understand being felt so deep as it sounds, now, when it’s applied to…him.

It’s wild y’know?

“I’m like,” Steve hears Eddie’s curls brush against something as he shakes his head—Steve’s money’s on him crouched by his case, or having it already slung over his shoulder:

“Never thought I’d get something to celebrate like that in the first place, but get to keep it, that long without fucking it up?”

Steve, again, wants to give up the pretense and walk the fuck in there and kiss the shit out of his boyfriend because one, same, but two?

Dumbass.

Steve goddamn adores him.

“You mean, with Harrington?” Gareth’s spitting and Steve just shakes his head, a little sad—he doesn’t know what’s crawled up that kid’s ass about him, man; he’s not so much younger that Steve never saw him or didn’t know of him but godDamn: the circles he ran in at the time weren’t the ones doing shit yet when they were in the same elementary school, Steve was barely popular in middle school, and come high school the worst anyone he knew did to the frosh was bang them into a locker—not great, but.

Not worth this shit. And the worst part is if he doesn’t know what’s crawled he did to really piss Gareth off this bad? He can’t even try to Harrington-charm his way back into the guy’s tolerable category. Like, even his best fucking not-pot brownie recipe didn’t sway the fucker.

“Yes,” Eddie is answering, the answer emphatic, like he’s brimming with feeling over it, but then clipped too, like demonstrating that he was brimming and is now being forced to clip it all backis very much the intent: “of course I mean with Steve, who the fuck else?”

It’s not lost on Steve how Eddie says his name. Ever. All the name.

But right now, how he’s making a point to say it in that warm, kinda…beloved way, when anyone else uses his last name in a way that’s anything-but.

“You cannot be—” Gareth scoffs, Steve can imagine him throwing up his hands, that sort of deal, but then Eddie comes in, and it’s a tone Steve’s only ever hear when he’s about to run a campaign into the ground where the characters may never recover, and if somehow manage it, they’ll wish they hadn’t:

“Oh, I am deadly serious.”

Because it’s not Steve’s character, but in defense of Steve’s relationship, that tone trickles something molten through his veins and prickles up his spine and…he’s gone have to stick that one in his back pocket to explore at a later date, for sure.

“Six months?”

Jeff—and Steve kinda likes Jeff, and not for the reason his bandmates would like, that he kicks around Hawkins after graduation, too, but more because Steve knows why; that’s to make more money for a college outside Indiana, and Steve thinks that’s fucking cool—but it’s here where Jeff dips fully away from being angry to being stupefied. Steve lets himself smirk at nothing because fuck yes: him and Eddie.

Six whole goddamn months.

“I was actually gonna ask you guys to come over soon, introduce him properly and stuff,” Eddie says, the disappointment in his voice again; Steve’s niggling desire to go and hug him from behind, maybe kiss under his ear a little, back in full force.

“He picks you up from practice, we see him,” Doug pipes back up, likewise confused, but Steve just takes the useful confirmation that no one did catch on that he pulled up ages ago, now.

“We know who Steve Harrington is—” Gareth snaps, protests in the way that betrays his eye-rolling, his thin-wearing patience.

“No!”

And that comes out of Eddie fierce enough to echo down at least half the block they’re on—seems like Eddie’s patience was worn out a while ago.

“You don’t!”

And everyone is silent in that way Steve knows all too well: when shit’a gone down but now you’re waiting in the edge for the worse thing to hit.

Then it does:

“And it’s a good thing I didn’t bring it up because you dipshits aren’t ready,” Eddie snaps, says dipshitso different from how he does with the Party, theirParty, their kids; he says it here with something real fucking close to disgust.

“Asking hostage questions, fuck off,” he huffs, and Steve hears Eddie’s footsteps, can’t tell if he’s gonna leave it at that, come find Steve and know he’s been standing there but that’ll be fine, it’s not like Steve wasn’t going to let him know as soon as they left—but then:

“Look,” and Eddie sounds the way Steve sounds when he’s pinching the bridge of his nose to fight a growing migraine, the sting of tears for all sorts of pain behind his eyes, and that hurts to hear from his boyfriend, like, a lot.

It fucking hurts.

“I am not just fucking him,” Eddie growls through the bridge-pinching pain; “I mean, fuck yes, I am, but,” and Steve hears the way he swallows all the way down the drive:

“I’m in this for the long haul,” Eddie tells his bandmates like throwing down a gauntlet; “and if you can’t respect me enough, and my choices, that stings,” Steve knows Eddie shrugs then: “but I’ll live.”

Steve’s about a millisecond from saying fuck it, opening the door just to slam it to announce his approach, and then going to physically grab his boyfriend, drag him to the car, and park in the abandoned lot down from the Wheelers’ neighborhood to kiss him senseless because that’s the closest place he can think of and he doesn’t think he’ll make it to either of their homes before he can’t fucking handle himself.

“But if you are gonna disrespect the man I love, no. Absolutely not.”

Eddies voice is a deadly sort of whisper. Steve would cower at it, the way it washes through a person, if he hadn’t just…said.

That.

“You love him?”

And for what Steve thinks is the first time since he climbed out of the car and committed to listening where he wasn’t invited, Gareth sounds…muted. Genuinely asking a question.

Steve, for his own part, kinda expected that he’d be more breathless, heart racing and shit, to hear the answer but in reality?

“Of course I love him.”

Steve already knew that in his cells, in his bones.

In his steady, not all-that-fast but particularly-especially-happily beating heart.

“Have you guys, like, said it and stuff?”

And of course Steve already knows that answer, both the literal one and the one that matters more, but he does perk up a bit, curious to hear what—if anything of note—Eddie chooses to give away here.

“He has,” Eddie says, and now…now maybe Steve should stop listening because this part, the way Eddie says that as flat fact—Steve doesn’t knowthis part beyond speculation. But…

“I wanted to, like,” and eddies voice can’t hide the way he’s gotta have that soft smile, the one he used to hide behind his hair before Steve started pulling it back to see in full, so now he only brings his hair out just to tease, to okay.

“I don’t think I’ve wanted much in my whole life, but he’s,” and Steve thinks he hears how Eddie chews his bottom lip for a second, in the subtlest click of how it slips free before Eddie takes a deep breath and—

“He doesn’t know what he’s worth,” Eddie starts, a little mournful almost, even, and Steve is unexpectedly glued to the spot in his fucking Nikes.

“He doesn’t understand that I’d sell the sun and the moon just to keep him,” Eddie’s saying, and with passion. With whole-ass honesty. And here, maybe, is where Steve gets to have some of the heart:fluttery feeling after all:

“He comes out the gate with the whole you don’t have to say it back and I just,” Eddie sighs, sniffs a little before heaving another breath deep enough to stretch his shirt, which Steve’s not imagining or anything, at all;

“I couldn’t say it, not right then, and risk him everthinking it was something I’d done to like, match. Like that I didn’t mean it with everything I’ve got, when I mean it with everything I’ve got and then also everything else. Like, anywhere. Ever.”

Steve realized he’d stopped breathing at some point when the little dots start floating in front of his eyes and he sucks in a shaking breath because: he’s known Eddie loves him. Unshakeably.

But, but all this—

“I couldn’t say it and have him ever wondered if I wouldn’t rip my heart out of my chest just to keep his safe.”

And of-fucking-course Steve’s pulse is running fucking riot about how much he’s in love right now, make no goddamn mistake. Jesus, he—

“Fuck.”

And Steve has never heard Gareth Emerson pushed just this side of speechless but: that’s the best way Steve can describe the kind of breathless wonder he says it with, like watching a rare bird take flight.

“You mean it.”

And Steve can pick out Eddie’s huffs and categorize them, on demand at this point: he doesn’t need to see the eye-roll to know Eddie’s deemed the expression of pure shock to be so beneath him in this specific context that he’s deemed it unworthy of any more attention.

His heart’s not jumping that loud to have missed it. So.

Steve just kinda grins toward the blacktop under his shoes.

“Why didn’t you,” Doug starts, still—usually, really, in Steve’s limited experience at least—the peacekeeper, the one who’s most invested at the human level when he’s not getting swept up in whatever the rest of the gang has deemed the cool thing to laugh at or make fun of at any given moment.

The huff Eddie gives this time is his incredulous one, which allows for just the slightest bit more consideration:

“The fuck do you think?”

The slightest��bit, being the operative point.

“I’d hoped you’d take it better but,” Eddie adds, and there’s less drama in it than Steve might have expected. He’s being serious with them, and he sounds…disappointed.

Steve kinda want to make some kind of noise, give away his position, and just…hug Eddie tight from behind, if nothing else. Be there. Solid against him, wrapped up around him. Never wavering. Always at his back as much as at his side.

But Eddie’s not done:

“I’m not even asking you to like him, just be decent,” and it sounds like it hurts him to say as much, and Steve knows why; he genuinely despises when anyone thinks Lea with a the very beat thing about Steve. Steve believes this to be n unreasonable standard, and has expressed as much to Eddie who nods and smiles and kisses Steve’s forehead and does absolutely nothing to change his stance, but deep down?

Steve fucking feels so…loved for it.

“And like I said,” Steve can hear the judgement in Eddie’s tone clear as day; “you’re not ready, and I’m not putting him in that kind of situation.”

Steve sucks on the inside of his cheek, lest his grin at the way Eddie is not just defending him, but…protecting him, not his honor but his heart…

No ones ever even tried that before. Steve may not need it, or maybe he just learned he couldn’t survive needing it.

Getting it now…now it’s just…

Wow.

“And I’m in this for keeps, like, this is a forever type thing, so long as he wants it,” Eddie saying, explaining the color of a sky to a small child like what these words are that fundamental, that unalterably true. “So—”

“We’ve known each other forever, man,” Gareth eventually mutters, sounds indignant, but mostly gutted.

Steve knows before it happens that it’s not gonna make a difference.

“And we can still know each other. Just not everything, anymore,” and Eddie does sound a little sad but he’s…he’s a monolith, unshakable. “I don’t trust you with the parts that revolve around him, yet,” and Steve feels more than hears the ways his friends deflate, maybe shrink for being deemed so…insufficient. In the eyes of their ostensible leader, no less.

“Eddie, we didn’t,” Jeff starts, slow, and he doesn’t sound remorseful but—Eddie has all those coping mechanisms for a reason, right?

Because he’s quick to feeling, good and bad, and sometimes neither is fit to the moment.

Steve can’t help but be kinda glad Eddie doesn’t bother with those mechanisms just now, though, if it means he gets to hear this part:

“I know you didn’t, that’s the fucking problem,” Eddie groans, Steve can see the way he lens, bends at the knees and throws his body around a little in sheer, undiluted exasperation. “

“Because I could tell you he’s changed since school, and that’d be true, but that’s not even it,” and there’s more of the frustrated stomping round, Steve can hear it, but he’s…he’s ready distracted by that thing in his chest that has to has to be tied up in Eddie’s, too, that thing tugging on him to pay the fuck attention.

And who is he to ignore it?

“he was never who we thought he was in school in the first place. He is,” Eddie licks his lips, just to snack them loud:

“He is kind and funny, and goofy, and such a fuckin’ nerd, and he’s smart in these incredible ways where he’s sees what everyone else misses, and he’s protective as fuck and he’s got a heart of gold,” and Eddie’s voice only gets more heartfelt in its own right that longer he goes and Steve just, he’s, it’s—

“And I would tear my skin off just so it doesn’t get so much as a scuff on it,” Eddie ends with the most scathing delivery imaginable: he fucking meansthis shit. And Steve is going o live and die next to this man, scuffed heart still kept safe to the fucking end, he will swear that shit to anyone who needs to hear it.

He is going to have a whole fucking life with Eddie Munson, and love him for every single breath of it.

“And I don’t trust you guys yet not to tempt me to tear off my skin,” Eddie says finally after enough silence to catch his breath, and temper his tone just enough to sound tired; a little dejected. “I don’t trust you with him, and until that changes, we’re still friends,” Eddie sniffs, breathes out long; “you just won’t get to know about that part of me.”

He says it so simple, like he’s not half-cutting off some of the longest, closest friendships he’s ever had, and for Steve.

Steve doesn’t know if it makes him a person, or a really selfish one or whatever, if he doesn’t feel any urge to talk Eddie down, to make him walk it back just a little.

He doesn’t think he cares, though, either way.

“Seems like a really big part of you,” Doug says, deflated entirely.

“It is,” Eddie answers, unapologetic in a way that swells and sparkles in Steve’s ribs. “He is.”

“You’d walk from the band?” Of course Gareth asks, but it’s the first time he sounds small in his words. Like he maybe knows the answer, and isn’t so okay with how he got around to it even before Eddie wishes all doubt:

“In half a fuckin’ heartbeat.” Boom. Done. No hesitation whatsoever.

Less than half-a-fuckin’-heartbeat.

“That’s not what I’m saying I’m doing right now, but,” Eddie laughs a little, and that probably cuts deeper than anything for the boys, Steve suspects, especially when Eddie makes it unquestionable:

“It’s not even a question.”

And…maybe that drives a knife deeper for the band, but for Steve?

Steve kinda wants to…giggle, or some shit. He hadn’t realized just how much he wanted someone who answered a question like that, exactly like that, who talked about Steve exactly like that, without anything to gain, just because they…believed it.

“Jesus,” Gareth mutters, sounds kinda blindsided, kinda thrown and then some.

“If we,” Jeff clears his throat after a long period of quiet; “if we do better, could we meet him someday?” And the way he says it, earnest and shit:, like he wants to at least think about, at least maybe try:

“Like, really meet him?”

Like Eddie means enough that he’ll try, and that sings sweet in Steve’s veins because goddamn straight, his Eddie deserves that from the people hecares about. No matter who or what Steve is, Eddiedeserves that much, and so much more.

But he sounds like even just this is something amazing, Steve can hear the smile in his voice:

“Yeah, man,” he answers Jeff, claps him audibly on the shoulder; “I look forward to it.”

And shit, y’know what?

So does Steve.

“See you in two weeks,” and Eddies footsteps follow, guitar slung over his back for the way his weight falls with each one, but then:

“Eddie!”

That’s Doug; the footsteps stop close to the edge of the garage door as another set rushes to catch up, where he’ll see Steve if he walks much farther, where Steve’s got his hand on the door handle of the car, slowly inching it open to push shut and look wholly-unsuspicious now that Eddie might be followed out to his ride:

“Get him flowers. For your anniversary,” Doug says, tone low like a secret; “I know, like, it might seem like guys wouldn’t want flowers, but,” and Steve actually has to strain to hear the next part:

“My mom gets my dad flowers on his birthday every year, and he lights up like the Fourth of July.”

Steve remembers the first time he ever got flowers. His favorites, even if he thinks he only knew it subconsciously because they were handed to him with the stammering explanation of I don’t even know if you like flowers, or like these ones, but you look at them when we’re out, like, just walking or something and your eyes linger, and these ones just remind me of you and—

Apparently, Steve loves hyacinths. And sunflowers make Eddie think of him.

Because of course Steve’s first gift of flowers came from Eddie.

“Thanks man,” Eddie sounds the lightest, most genuine Steve’s heard him since he pulled up and got out of the car; “they’re already ordered.”

And Doug chuckles, and Steve?

Steve bites down his smile to less exploding-star levels—if he’d just pulled up he doesn’t have a reason, save that Eddie is enough of a reason in Steve’s eyes, his mind, the way his chest expands just thinking on him—as he pulls the car door closed again, loud enough to be noticed.

For Eddie to walk out of the garage fast as anything and meet Steve with a smile of his own that justifies the fuck out of where Steve’s had started, anyway.

All star-bright and everything.

♥️🎸♥️

✨also on ao3✨

btw this is either titled ‘halcyon shoegazing’ or ‘heart in your shoes’ so if you have an opinion you should maybe tell me or something, my brain’s tired and is resisting decisions rn

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

divider credit here and here and here

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #post s4 #established relationship #corroded coffin #as in: the boys are here #and they DO NOT APPROVE OF STEVE #and think it’s absolutely essential to confront eddie about what the hell he thinks he’s doing with HARRINGTON of all people #and yeah okay: maybe steve OVERHEARS IT ALL #it’s 100% accidental though #eddie’s van is just in the shop! he needs a ride from band practice!#fluff #romance #anniversary #eddie munson: COME DEFEND YOUR MAN #true love #declarations #love confessions #steve harrington gets to feel all warm and gooey about his boyfriend okay? he deserves that #stranger things #steddielovemonth #prompt: we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love #hitlikehammers v words #hitlikehammers writes

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steviewashere · 1 year ago

Text

Kiss and Tell

(Can be found on ao3)

Steddie WC: 2,279 Tags: Post Season 4, Steve Harrington Has Auditory Processing Disorder, Eddie Munson Loves to Talk, Minor Angst, Mostly Fluff, Queer Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington Has a Bisexual Awakening, But He Already Knows (Sort of), First Kiss, Lots of Kissing

Based on this post that I made. Happy reading! <3

-------- Steve has a staring problem. He knows this. He's been told this. And it's not something he can help or fix or find an alternative for. This is just what he knows.

It's something he's tried to maintain since he was a little boy. And, on that same note, is something he picked up while being a boy in a room with two adults who were fast talkers and big negotiators and all-in on the nature of their careers. But his parents certainly hate that he has a staring problem. Which, that's not unusual, most people hate that he does. Because he doesn't look them in the eyes for more than thirty seconds at a time. And even if he does, he doesn't hear a single thing they said, politely asking they start over, and feeling hurt when they just scoff as loud as possible and walk away from the conversation all together.

The audio just doesn't process. Never has. Probably never will.

He listens to music, but doesn't understand any meaning. He talks over the phone, but must have all other sound blocked out and the curtains shut and his eyes closed to imagine what the words look like leaving the other person's mouth. He argues, but loses track of the original point of the argument—when he laughs instead of apologizes.

And it would be fine—if—he wasn't close to losing his life every year. Where he has to listen to everybody and the important tiny details and the plans and the reasons for what they're doing. Which leads him to danger. Which gives him a bruised face. Which makes the listening even harder, once the concussion leaves and he's just got the leftover damage of his quirkiness.

It would be fine—if—he wasn't made to feel so stupid for what he must do. The jabs and the constant reminders and the...yeah, his sob story.

But there was Tommy Hagan and Carol Perkins, who he could keep up with. Because they'd talk about the same things over and over, until he could practically relay all the information, pulled straight from the deep crevices of his brain, and it ends up that they had forgotten, rather than him.

And there was Nancy Wheeler, who was polite enough to repeat things. Who had flash cards and a soft, focusing voice. It was easy to write off looking at her lips. "Eyes up here, Steve," she'd say. "Sorry," he'd respond sheepishly, "getting lost." And he'd chuckle and she'd giggle and then they'd kiss a little and he wouldn't be reminded that he's just a little weird. That, maybe, he just isn't normal.

Robin Buckley makes things easy-ish. She talks fast. And a lot. And she never looks him in the eyes, unless she's asking for a very serious favor, or he has something on his face, or she just feels the need (she claims it's that she hasn't looked in a while, but he shrugs her off every time). (If he can get away with staring at her lips, then she can get away with never looking him in the eyes.) He's mentioned, though, that he has a hard time following her sometimes. That he needs the words repeated a few times. Explained the lip thing, with a tense voice and a quake in his chest and his fingers tapping at the sides of his thighs. And, for a brief moment, he had felt like a creep. Like one of those weirdos that preys on the idea of women kissing. And he wanted to open up Family Video's register, shove his head inside, and sort himself out into the container of fives. But she shrugged, said "Okay," and went back on some ramble, to which he was immediately drawn to her mouth. And saw her repeat the name, Vickie, at least twenty times. He grinned and then when the store was empty, he leaned across the counter and teasingly said, "You have a big fat crush on Vickie, don't you?" To say that he was proud of her sputtering is an understatement.

Now, Dustin and the others were harder to get through. Because they moved at their own pace. And they don't really stop to add him to the conversation. He gets it, to an extent. He knows that he's not really all that intrigued in what they enjoy. (Even if he really leans into the conversation when they mention Sherlock Holmes or Dracula or Star Wars or, even, Star Trek. And he pretends to not be interested in their science fair projects. Or the one time he caught them huddled around a Sports Illustrated, in which he fought the urge to chat their ears off about both baseball and basketball statistics.) But there's a point in the conversations where he's made to feel a little dumb; even if he was staring where they were speaking, but they always grow frustrated, a huff of air released, when they notice he's not "paying attention" (translation: looking them in the eyes. "Because, Steve, it's just talking etiquette!" Dustin had shouted once).

He loves all of them anyway. Even if he misses words. And he loses track of what they were saying. He just wishes they were a little bit more forgivable about it at the end of the day.

Then, Eddie Munson is walking along side him in an alternate universe. He's peeled the vest off his back and chucked it at Steve. And they're talking. Jealous of one another, but talking. But, Eddie's voice goes soft and quiet, his eyes pointing towards Nancy's back.

Steve is looking at Nancy, words fading into the background. And it's not a moment of realization. Or a moment of longing. Yearning, what say you. No—it's one of his moments in which he's "listening," but not processing. So he looks back. And for a mere second, Eddie's eyes are big where Steve stares. Big and wet and curious. Big and wet and persuasive. Big and wet and not at all his lips and Steve is still not listening.

But his lips. Well, Steve's seen lips. These are pretty. They're pink. Chapped and bitten and plush appearing. Mesmerizing. Stretching over Eddie's sharp teeth, exposing dimples and smile lines, making his recent stubble more noticeable than it's ever been before. But his lips are pretty.

Like girls lips, Steve muses. Not really taking in what that means. Because Eddie's saying something about true love. And—shit—okay. Steve can get behind an act of true love. He can get behind sharing denim and coating Eddie's clothes in blood and staring down his lips and—god, his eyes, Steve can't help but notice once more.

Eddie's like a vulnerable cow. With pretty lips, he has to point out. Or a baby deer. With such pretty lips. And he's talking and Steve's finally listening. But it's not just processing. No, Steve's intrigued, interested even. He tilts his head like a curious puppy. Leaning in. Eddie's breath ghosts the tip of his nose. And, sure, it's a little rank. But weirdly sweet. Warm where Steve is otherwise cold. Warm in places Steve's never considered to feel warm in, but he's willing to give in, to wrap up in whatever Eddie has to say. If it all means more of him.

So, it makes sense that after all that they go through, Steve finds himself in Eddie's orbit. As a friend. As a trauma bond. As everything Eddie needs him to be.

He sits on the Munson's couch. On the cushion that dips a little too low. The lights orange and dim and casting beautiful streaks of almost candle light on Eddie's soft, beautiful features. Highlighting where his nose is the most bulbous. His pronounced Cupid's bow. The outer edges of his irises, golden and honey against the off-white of his scleras.

Eddie talks like Robin does. Excited. A lot. Fast. But his voice is soft, focused on the information—like Nancy's. It's teasing, like Dustin's. Soft, though. So gentle. Murmured. Which makes sense, if Steve were to stop and think about it for just a moment. With how late it is. With the little amount of weed they smoked. And it all just fits, with how slow and careful Eddie's lips move. As if testing the words. As if searching for what he means.

But, god, Steve is following along. Of course he is. Hanging onto each one of Eddie's words.

"So, the cashier at the record store got all apprehensive about selling me this tape. Which, I guess makes sense because it's a special edition. Comes with a photo card or whatever, but like—Come on, y'know? If he wanted it so bad, he should'a bought it the moment it dropped. Not my fault he slacks on not just his job, but also his opportunities," Eddie rambles. And, that's right, he's complaining about the music store encounter he had today. Trying to buy some album for some band. Steve got lost part of the way through, so he's not sure who exactly Eddie was getting a tape for. The style of music. But he has most of the information. He just—

Has to squint harder.

So, Steve leans in. As casual as he possibly can. And narrows his eyes at Eddie's lips. The word pretty comes to mind again. Because of course it does. And he can't pull his eyes away, no matter how hard he tries. For some reason, the tips of his fingers tingle a little. Wanting to reach out. Trace his lower lip, right where it sticks out, just above the divot of his chin. Would it be soft, he asks himself. Does he wear chapstick? Steve sighs softly. I wish I could...taste it. His eyes widen, just the tiniest bit. But he ignores that in favor of whatever Eddie is saying. If only he could make it out. He leans impossibly closer.

And there it is again. The soft puffs of warm air. On the tip of his nose. His own lips. Tickling his stubble. Eddie's breath smells like weed and strawberry Tab; a little bit of Kraft macaroni and cheese. Maybe the smallest trace of pepper—

"Uh, Steve?" Eddie nervously calls out. But gets no response. Steve is only a couple inches away from his face. Eyes hooded. Glassy. Zeroed in on Eddie's lips. He's not talking. Doesn't even give a hum. Just...keeps staring.

Eddie sucks in a breath. Eyes darting over Steve's face. He doesn't talk again, hoping maybe Steve will stop. But, nope. In fact, the only thing Eddie gets as acknowledgement for the fact he's stopped talking, is that Steve pouts. Upset. As if his lips no longer moving is some great catastrophe to Steve, some tragedy, some misfortune.

And, Eddie, the awful wreck that he is, can only assume that this means one thing.

Steve wants a kiss. And is, maybe, too chicken shit to close the gap.

So, with no other option. And definitely not wanting to get away from the heated, stirring, calm mask of Steve's face—Eddie presses his mouth against Steve's. Hesitantly smushing their lips together. Dragging his lower lip against Steve's soft scowling one.

And he pulls away. Because Steve isn't doing anything in response.

No, in fact, Steve is extremely expressive now.

Wide eyes. Mouth opened into a silent "Oh." His cheeks are flushed. And as quick as it came upon him, whatever realization that was, fades. Like a cartoon character, Steve's face melts into one of pure infatuation. Mouth lilting. His posture slouching. Eyes going soft against the extreme red of his face.

"Do that again," Steve whispers.

Eddie obliges. And he obliges. And he keeps obliging until they're under a cool top sheet, skin slick with sweat and eyes piercing one another's mouths.

That's when, in the silent air of Eddie's tiny bedroom, Steve admits the greatest thing in the world. "I don't really process when people are talking unless I'm looking at their mouth. I have to read their lips. I didn't—I wasn't trying to kiss you at first, but—" And the motherfucker giggles. "If that's all it took..." Then he's kissing Eddie again. Like it's the last thing he'll ever get to do. And Eddie thinks, If I die from running out of breath doing this, then I've done everything in my life correctly.

So, sure, Steve has a huge staring problem. And he doesn't really listen. And it's something he'll never fix, even if there's a way to.

But he finds that his technique—the thing he's crafted since he was a little boy—no longer works. At least, not on Eddie. Because suddenly, looking at his gorgeous pink lips makes Steve only able to think about one thing: Kissing. And he can't follow along unless he fulfills that want.

Eddie could be in the middle of a deep, all inclusive description of his recent trap in the campaign he's crafting. He could be singing. He could be complaining about some movie he rented. But that doesn't matter. Because he stops talking the moment Steve leans in and kisses him. Kisses like he needs it to live.

And though he rolls his eyes. Huffs a breath. Smirks and barrels on. There's that giddiness, that love pooling in Eddie' heart. Just knowing the effect he has on Steve. And the way he's affected, too, when Steve just whispers, "Sorry, I got lost again. Start over?"

He obliges. And he keeps obliging. And his lips are usually swollen by the time he's finally done rambling.

Steve stares. Eddie talks. And it's the combination of a lifetime.

--------

❤️

#stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #fluff #first kiss #Steve Harrington has a bisexual awakening #Steve Harrington Has Auditory Processing Disorder

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pavl-art · 7 months ago

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Uh accidentally forgot the backseat part😭 but here it is

River is just staring while Gerald is questioning his life choices (and wishing he got to the cinobon (I’m bad at spelling sorry!’

Got this funny image in my head of little tim waiting in the backseat of emmas car at the mall and looks over to see gerald also waiting in the backseat of lindas car munching on a box of raisins or some shit.

#they give a little wave to each other #maybe gerald even offers him a box #someone with more talent than me please draw this lol #or if this already exists someone please direct me to said art!#black friday #black friday starkid #hatchetfield #hatchetverse #tim houston #gerald monroe #linda monroe #tom houston #emma perkins #starkid #starkid productions #Prev tags #river monroe #he’s also here/j

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andvys · 2 years ago

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I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss | part 4

Warnings: angst, mentions of cheating, mentions of drugs, allusions to homophobia

Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!cheerleader!reader , Steve Harrington x Nancy Wheeler

Summary: Steve finds himself yearning for your attention.

Word count: 7k+

A/N: @nemesis729 I had to put in one of your ideas/suggestions! thank you for the inspiration <3

series masterlist

Let go. Just let go. Let her go. He has been repeating those words in his head since, well, since he left you. He can’t understand what it is that just pulls him back to you all the time. Whether it’s all in his head or not. He keeps coming back to you and it irritates him because why does this keep happening?

He left you because he didn’t love you, he left you because he fell in love with her but why isn’t it enough? Why isn’t his love for the other girl enough for him to finally push you out of his mind and out of his life? You seemingly had no problem doing it with him. You pushed him out of your life already so why can’t he do the same?

The conversation with Billy only left him feeling more irritated.

Shouldn’t he feel peace, knowing that you aren’t hurting anymore? Shouldn’t he be content with his life now that he finally got what he wanted?

He doesn’t feel at peace and he doesn’t feel content and it causes anger to rise up in him because why?

Why, why, why…

Maybe it’s a good thing that he couldn’t find you anywhere after the conversation with Billy. He looked for you but you were nowhere to be found. He wanted to talk to you about the essay, despite you telling him that you’d call after school. He most certainly would have talked about something else, something that would make things even worse between the two of you.

The tiny voice in his head that kept telling him to let go, eventually got to him. He gave up on trying to find you and he went to find his girlfriend instead. He took her out for a late lunch at Benny’s Burgers and then brought her to the book shop she loves so much before he ‘begrudgingly’ canceled their movie night– Nancy didn’t seem to mind it that much, saying that she would rather work on her project anyways. After he had dropped her off at her house, he went home, walked into his empty house and waited for your phone call.

But you never called.

“Is it just me or does Steve seem different?”

Heather looks at you through the mirror, annoyance flashing in her eyes in an instant at the mention of your ex boyfriend. She lowers the dress that she was holding against her body and sighs.

“Different how?” She asks as she hangs it back on the rack before she reaches for the purple one, the one you claimed as your favorite.

You shrug, “I don’t know, it’s just, he seems less– nevermind.”

Chrissy raises her eyebrows at you, “no, no.. keep going.”

You blush a little, regretting bringing him up. You look around the bustling store, Heather isn’t the only one looking for a dress for the winter formal next week, a few girls from school are around as well. In fact, Carol Perkins is here too, currently holding up a baby blue dress, just the sight of her makes you want to throw up.

You never liked her or her boyfriend. Steve had always been friends with Tommy. Carol only came along when she started dating the unfriendly jock. When you had only been friends with Steve, you never hung out with them, you didn’t like them and you didn’t get along with them, not even when you started dating Steve and you were forced to tag along. You always hated the way Steve behaved when he was with them, he always turned into someone else, he let them influence him into doing things that he normally wouldn’t do. They always laughed behind his back, they used him for money and for popularity. You tried showing him that they weren’t real friends but he didn’t believe you or maybe he just didn’t care about what you thought of them.

She must’ve changed his mind after only one month of dating, he dropped his friends. She got through to him after only one fucking month.

“He wants to work on the stupid essay with me– he never did that before, he always convinced me to write them for him, even when I wasn’t part of them and now he wants to write it himself and he started reading Pride and Prejudice, willingly!”

“That’s because he’s already crawling back to you,” Heather mumbles, “they always do that.”

Chrissy nods.

“Not that I’d ever take him back but I don’t think that’s the case.”

“Then what is the case, y/n?”

You shrug and look down, “I let go of things so I’m not holding onto him or what we used to have if you think that. I don’t want him anymore, not after what he did. It’s just, I’m starting to realize that he truly never loved me. He never changed for me. It’s not that I asked much of him, I just wanted him to drop his toxic friends and for him to start doing better in school so we could go to college together, I just wanted what’s best for him but he never cared about what I wanted. Yet, he cares about what she wants. He dropped his friends for her right away, he started doing better in school for her. That’s what you do when you love someone, you do better for them,” you pause, looking down, you play with the hem of your cheer skirt, “you are willing to change for the right person… So, I guess she is the right one for him. I never was.”

Heather and Chrissy share a look, one of pity. Both girls know that you have let go of your first love but the pain and the heartbreak is still fresh. Steve had always been there, all your life, he had been by your side. He was your friend and then he was more than that, you were hopelessly in love, blinded by it to see how bad he was treating you or how he never even deserved to have a chance with you.

Neither of them can imagine the pain you are still going through– he was the one for you.

“I don’t think that she is the right one for him, I think that he’s a blind fool, that’s what he is,” Chrissy says.

Heather raises her brows, “he’s a real fucking clown, that’s what he is. He dropped the hottest girl there is because he set his eyes on some shiny new toy that’s no one touched before and now he is already crawling back. Not even two months in and he’s already back in your bedroom.”

You scrunch your face up at her words, raising your head, “don’t say it like that, makes it sound like we hooked up.”

“You wouldn’t, right?” Chrissy asks as she stares at you with big eyes, “h-hook up with him or, I don’t know.. kiss him?”

You instantly shake your head, “no! It’s bad enough that I have to do this stupid assignment with him. I don’t ever want him near me again, King Steve is dead to me– besides, he has her now so..”

“Yeah and he cheated on you with her,” Heather says with disgust in her eyes, “he’ll do it again– or, she will do it.”

“Oh and she will.”

At the sound of her voice, you all share a look of annoyance. Heather rolls her eyes, she throws the dress over her forearm, putting her other hand on her hip as she looks at the redhead.

You and Chrissy turn your heads to look at Carol, who as always, is chewing her gum and twirling her hair as her eyes flicker back and forth between the three of you.

“I’m sorry but who invited you into this conversation?” You ask, giving her a false smile.

“Oh, I just thought that you’d be interested in hearing about what I had to say but hey–”

“Tell us,” Chrissy says.

Carol tilts her head, laughing a little.

The cashier behind the counter raises her head, finally tearing her eyes away from the magazine she’s been staring at for the past forty minutes, she looks between you all, mumbling something under her breath that you can’t make out, the Christmas music is too loud.

“Nancy has a new friend– Jonathan Byers.”

“And?” Heather shrugs.

“Well, they seem to be getting really cozy with each other. She is canceling date nights just to hang out with him and Steve is an idiot, I mean he always was so he is kinda blind to the whole thing but when Tommy made a comment about it, he blew up on us, he left us stranded on some parking lot–”

“We don’t wanna hear your sob story about why King Steve stopped being your friend, Carol.”

She looks down at you where you are sitting on the couch, eyes flashing with irritation but the grin remains on her lips.

“Well, all I’m gonna say is, their relationship isn’t going to last. Weirdly enough, she started being a little distant ever since he deflowered her. Wouldn’t it be funny if that’s all she wanted him for?” She giggles, giving you a pitiful look, “for sex? I mean, getting to have your first time with King Steve must be really special, right?”

Irritation sparks inside of you but you don’t show it. A smile tugs at your lips and you shrug, “not really, Carol. There is nothing special about a man, ever.”

Your friends chuckle at your words.

Carol lets a small laugh leave her lips, though it’s more sarcastic.

“So, who knows, maybe she stole him from you to hop on his dick, maybe she has a thing for wanting things that she can’t have– although, she did get what she wanted,” she snorts, “but Nancy’s eyes are on the little freak and his eyes, well,” she pauses, smirking at you as she eyes you up and down, “they are elsewhere too,” she chuckles.

Carol walks past you and Chrissy, staring at the dress in Heather’s hands, she touches the silk material with her fingertips before she brushes past her.

“If I were you, I’d get him back, y/n.”

You want to scoff and roll your eyes but that’s exactly what she wants from you. You tilt your head and raise your brows at her.

She glances back at you over her shoulder, “I mean, losing your boyfriend to some loser is pathetic, especially for someone like you, y/n. I mean, the queen of Hawkins High losing to some little nerd?” She laughs.

You lean back against the couch and cross your arms over your chest. You couldn’t care less about your stupid title.

Heather squints her eyes at Carol and steps closer to her, “you know what’s pathetic?” She asks, not giving her the chance to respond, “drooling over some guy who isn’t your boyfriend and walking around trying to stir shit up.”

“Yeah, she moved on if you haven’t noticed,” Chrissy mumbles from beside you.

Carol turns around, she looks at you before she eyes your friend, “with who? You?” She laughs.

An exasperated sigh leaves your lips. The smugness on her face, the everlasting smirk and the amusement in her eyes is so irritating to you.

You fail to notice the blush on Chrissy’s cheeks or the embarrassment in her eyes. Carol smirks, she notices the look on her face and so does Heather who narrows her eyes, glaring at Carol and eying Chrissy slowly.

“I know what you are, Chrissy–”

“Don’t you have better things to do?” Heather interrupts her, “go and find yourself a dress, it’ll take you some time,” she says, eyeing the redhead up and down.

Chrissy squirms in her seat, she begins to twist the ring on her finger. You frown when you notice it, knowing that it’s a nervous habit of hers. Carol’s words confuse you a little but you don’t think too much into them. She leaves after giving all of you her judgmental looks.

Heather turns back to you both the moment Carol is out of eyesight. Rolling her eyes, she shakes her head, “I swear to god, she is everywhere– are you okay?” She asks you.

You nod, “yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” You ask, plastering a smile on your face.

Both of them look at you skeptically but instead of questioning you, they quickly change the topic, knowing that you desperately need the distraction.

“You know what you should do? You should pick out the hottest dress,” Heather smirks as she looks through all the dresses, “show up at the snowball and make him see what he lost.”

A smile tugs at your lips.

“Yeah and make him regret everything,” Chrissy smiles, nudging your shoulder.

You giggle, shaking your head, “I don’t even have a date.”

Heather laughs, waving you off, “I know a few guys who would be happy to take you to the dance.”

“Yeah, me too..” Chrissy mumbles.

You shake your head at them and get up, walking towards Heather, you reach for the dress in her hands, “how about we make you two look hot. I don’t feel like going anyways, so…”

Heather sighs, her shoulders slump, “come on, we’ve been talking about this since the summer.”

“Yeah. We talked about our matching dresses,” Chrissy says as she gets up as well, “we can still find a pretty one for you, y/n.”

“And a date.”

You truthfully don’t care about the dance anymore, you only wanted to go there because of Steve, the thought of him picking out a tie that matches your dress and him inviting you for a slow dance seemed so perfect and romantic for you back then, now it’s just something that no longer matters to you. You don’t feel like going to the dance with someone who couldn’t care less about you and the thought of sitting at a lone table while your friends have the time of their lives makes you want to slam your head against the wall.

Shaking your head, “no, there’s no one I’d wanna go with.”

“Are you sure about that?” Heather mumbles as she squints her eyes at you.

Furrowing your brows, you chuckle, “uh yeah, I am sure.”

Chrissy eyes Heather with a curious expression, “what do you know?”

“Nothing,” you snort, “she knows nothing, Chris.”

Heather smirks.

“Is this about Billy Hargrove ‘cause if so, ew?” Chrissy mumbles, clearly not liking the idea of you going out with Billy.

“Not Billy,” she smirks and turns around, “although he did tell me something very interesting,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows at you.

Sighing, you turn away from your friends and chuckle, “you didn’t hear anything, Heather.”

“Oh yeah?” She asks, “and what about the stoner you’ve been hanging out with?”

Chrissy gasps, “what stoner!”

“There is no stoner!”

Steve’s back aches when he wakes up, a groan falls from his lips, he opens his eyes, feeling a little disoriented when he looks around the living room. He fell asleep on the loveseat his mom always relaxes in when she reads one of her favorite novels. Rubbing his eyes, he frowns a little. Your book is lying on his chest, he must have fallen asleep while reading it– while he was waiting for your phone call.

The phone call that never came.

He waited and waited but you never called. Time wouldn’t pass, no matter what he did, it just didn’t pass while he waited for you to call him. Eventually, he reached for the book in his backpack and continued reading it, though his eyes kept straying away to the telephone.

His thoughts kept going back to you just like they do now.

What did you do last night?

Where were you last night?

Who were you with last night?

Why didn’t you call?

Using a bookmark, he puts it in between the pages that he has to reread again. He closes it and puts it down. He feels a little irritated. What is this radio silence? You promised to call, you broke it, the promise. You were never one to break promises.

He canceled his date with Nancy just for you, so you could both work on the essay, together.

Frowning in annoyance, he walks towards the telephone, grabbing the receiver, he dials your number, still remembering it. But just like he suspected, you don’t pick up the phone. He calls you once, twice and a third time until he finally gives up.

Why won’t you pick up?

Sighing, he slams the receiver back into place. He runs his fingers through his messy hair and shakes his head as he makes his way into the kitchen to brew some coffee. His mind is occupied by you. Not her. You are not the girl he should be thinking about. He should be thinking about her, he should be planning a date or think about the right Christmas present he should get her, instead he thinks about you. It’s always you.

The morning goes by and so does the afternoon. He takes a shower, he cleans his room, he reads, he starts writing the essay, he even cooks and still no call from you.

By the time the evening rolls around, he is fuming. What is more important than an essay? You were never one to abandon school work, it was always your first priority. What changed?

He grabs his textbook, his coat and his car keys before he makes his way out of the house. Only as he steps out into the cold, does he notice the blanket of white enveloping the streets of Hawkins. Snowflakes are falling from the sky, the silence is almost eerie.

The snow always reminds him of you, the way he kissed you for the first time after removing the snowflake from your lashes.

He sighs, shaking the thought of the way your lips felt when they touched his for the very first time. He makes his way towards his car, removing the snow off the windshield before he gets inside. Throwing his textbook on the passenger seat, he rubs his hand together to warm them up a little before he starts his car.

It’s only a five minute drive to your house, yet, tonight it feels longer than that. He doesn’t know why.

He parks his car behind yours, which is luckily the only one in your driveway. But the house is dark, no lights are on. He doubts that you are home, he still gets out of his car. Locking it, he puts the keys in his pocket. The snow crunches beneath his shoes. The cold air stings his cheeks a little.

He rings your doorbell twice, the way he always used to do.

You don’t open.

He knocks and rings the doorbell again.

Still you don’t open.

Where are you?

It’s on Monday when he finally sees you again. You are standing by your car, holding your backpack against your hip, rummaging through it. Your hair keeps falling in front of your face, you are muttering something under your breath.

Steve approaches you with a frown.

You don’t notice him coming, only as he stops in front of you, accidentally kicking some snow towards you.

“Where have you been all weekend?!” He asks, throwing his hands up.

Raising your brows, you stop rummaging through your bag and lift your head to look at him. The stressed expression on his face makes you want to laugh. He has dark circles under his eyes, his hair is a little messy but that might be because of the wind.

“I’m sorry?” You chuckle.

His hazel eyes flash with confusion, he shakes his head a little, “where have you been?”

“How’s that any of your business?” You mumble as you zip your backpack shut and pull the strap over your shoulder, brushing past him, he instantly follows you.

“I– we were supposed to work together, remember?” He exclaims, staring at you in disbelief, “I waited for you all night on Friday, I showed up on Saturday night and you weren’t there!”

You notice the curious eyes on you– not his but the ones of the students when you walk into the school with him hot on your heels.

“I was busy.”

“With what?” Steve asks, furrowing his brows, “I know school is your first priority, since when do you put anything else before it?”

You shrug, looking over your shoulder to glance at him, “since I changed my priorities.”

“And what are those?”

“Those are none of your business, Steve.”

He follows you to your locker.

“We lost three days, y/n! We could have made some progress!”

You squint your eyes and turn to look at him, he looks stressed.

“Do you think I wanna work with you?” You mumble, “I got better things to do.”

Steve shuts his mouth. Sighing, he leans against the locker next to yours and takes a moment to look at you. You abandoned your cheer uniform yet again. Your hair is open, you are wearing a sweater that looks way too big on you and a plaid skirt. He can smell your perfume, it’s not the same one anymore.

“Like what? Hanging out with stoners?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“We got five days to work on this stupid essay, I can write it in one day!” You exclaim, not bothering to answer his question that he so desperately wants.

You don’t look at him directly and you don’t tell him what he wants to hear, yet again.

“I don’t wanna work on it on the last day!”

Rolling your eyes, you shut your locker and put your hand on your hip, facing him again.

“You know what, fine,” you sigh. You narrow your eyes at the redhead who walks past you, already wearing a smug look on her face when she looks between you and Steve.

“Where do you wanna meet up today?” You ask with a bored expression on your face.

Steve blinks. For a moment, he stays quiet and he looks at you, he looks into your eyes, desperately trying to read them. What happened to you? You don’t seem like yourself, you seem different. He steps closer to you, your perfume isn’t the only thing he smells, there is a hint of smoke and weed lingering. He swallows, concern rushes through him. Your eyes are a little red rimmed, from crying or from smoking weed, he can’t tell.

A part of him tells him to ask if you are okay, the other part tells him that it’s not his job to ask you this question, not anymore.

“Hello?” You mumble, waving your hand in front of his face, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Uh, we could meet up at the coffee shop downtown?” He suggests.

You nod, “yeah, sure. I’ll meet you there after school.”

You don’t give him the chance to respond, you turn around and walk away before he can even utter a word. Steve frowns as he watches you leave. He might never get used to this, to the cold shoulder you are giving him. It’s been a long time since he had seen a side of you that he used to know, now you just seem like a stranger. You changed, it’s obvious you did. Every smallest thing about you is new to him.

You used to be on time. Whenever he would pick you up for date nights or for school, you would already sit on your porch steps waiting for him with an excited smile on your face. He was the one who showed up late, now it’s you.

It’s 5:25 pm when you finally walk into the coffee shop. I’ll meet you after school, you said. School ended two hours ago, he went straight to the coffee shop, he even chose your favorite spot and waited for you as he continually looked down at his watch.

You look around and he has to restrain himself from rolling his eyes, he is annoyed. When your eyes find him, you take a moment to look at him, he sees the way you look at him, even from afar. You look irritated and annoyed, just like he does, still, you make your way over to him. Pride and Prejudice is lying open on the table, you see the page number; 301. Surprise is what you feel when you stare at the number, you raise your brows. Did he actually read that much?

“Hi,” you mumble.

Taking your coat off and scarf off, you throw it on the bench before sliding into the little booth.

“Yeah, hi,” he mutters angrily, “I waited for you for two hours!”

Leaning back, you raise your head to look at him. His hazel eyes are filled with anger and annoyance, it’s almost amusing to you.

“Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why’?” He exclaims.

His brows knit together and his cheeks grow red.

“We didn’t make any plans–”

“You said we’d meet after school, y/n.”

“Yeah but I didn’t say when,” you smile, “I’m here now so relax, Steven.”

“Where were you?”

Where were you, Steve? You had asked him this question so many times, yet you never got an answer so why should you give him one?

“I was busy doing stuff.”

He opens his mouth to speak but decides against it, he clenches his jaw and turns away from you to look out the window. He deserves it, he knows he does. It had taken him some time to realize some things but ever since Nancy and a couple of kids had stepped into his life, he began to see things a little clearer. He began to realize that he mistreated you, though he is still in denial because the guilt is just too heavy.

He stood you up. He showed up late. He was awful to you. Now you are doing the same thing to him and he knows he had it coming. Deep down, he knows it. But he feels the ugly burning in his chest, the one he only ever felt when he saw Billy flirting with you or any other guy.

Where were you? Were you with Billy? With the Stoner?

“Did you actually read it?”

He turns back to you, you look at him in curiosity.

“Yeah.”

“Seriously?” You ask, “301 pages?”

He nods, “yes.”

You are genuinely impressed. For someone who always hated reading, he is quick. What did she do to him that you couldn’t?

Giving him a lopsided smile, you raise your brows, “impressive. Do you like it?”

“Yeah, I mean, there’s some good quotes in there. I just don’t like the slow burn.”

“Really?” You ask, leaning your elbows on the table, you move closer, “I love the slow burn– what quotes do you like the most?”

He blinks as he stares at you, this is the first time you talk to him ‘normally’.

“Uh, I’ve written some down,” he mumbles, squinting his eyes as though he tries to remember, “I think it’s uh – ‘they walked on, without knowing in what direction. There was too much to be thought, and felt– a-and… uh–”

“And said, for attention to any other objects.” You mumble, finishing the quote for him. You refuse to look into his eyes but your heart is bleeding in your chest.

“Y-Yeah.”

“What’s your favorite?”

“We do not suffer by accident.”

He sucks in a sharp breath. He can see the way you stare at your hands, awkwardly, avoiding his eyes. The silence between the two of you is loud and awkward.

“It’s a good one.”

“Yeah..”

Steve feels the urge to reach out and take your hands in his, he doesn’t know why. When you look up at him and your eyes lock with his, his heart stops beating for a moment. He can’t read you, not anymore. He knows that you have built up high walls around you, not letting him see you anymore. It bothers him because he wants to see you so badly, he wants to know what you are thinking about, what you are feeling. If you still have feelings for him..

“Y/n–”

“I started working on it already!” You interrupt him, “do you wanna read what I have so far?”

He sighs, shoulder slumping and his expression sinking for a moment. “Y-Yeah, I wanna read it.”

“Okay,” you whisper as you slide the notebook towards him, “I uh, I’m gonna get myself something to drink.”

“Yeah sure.”

You push yourself up and smooth down your skirt before you take the first step away from the table. Your emotions are in overdrive, you still feel so much anger for him but deep down, beneath all the layers of anger and pain is the yearning, the longing in your heart that you still feel for him despite the way he treated you.

You preferred the radio silence between you two in those weeks you have pretended that he stopped existing. It was much easier to deal with all of this when you stayed away from him but now you can’t. The thought of spending time with him, every day for the rest of this week makes you want to cry.

Having to look at him and feel yourself still wanting him, makes you hate yourself. It fuels the anger and worsens the ache in your heart. It makes you want to run away. At one point you even think it’s worth dropping the essay and risking failing the class just because you don’t want to be around him but you would only make things worse for yourself. Steve Harrington isn’t worth the bad grade.

You make it through the evening, dodging questions that aren’t related to the essay. You continue giving him the cold shoulder, only speaking up when needed. You want this to get over with quickly.

The next day goes by similarly, Steve asks questions and you stay silent. He tries to find out more about who you spend time with. He asks about Billy and mentions the Stoner, Billy told him about but he gets nothing from you, absolutely nothing.

Why should you tell him anything?

Why should you tell him who you spend time with? Why should you tell him where you have been all weekend? You don’t owe him anything. He is not a part of your life anymore, yet he keeps acting like he is, he keeps prying and throwing questions at you that he knows he will get no answers to.

You don’t care how annoyed or frustrated he gets with you, he has no reason to even ask those questions.

On Wednesday, Steve finds himself in your bedroom again. He is sitting on your carpet, staring at all the chaos in front of him. You kept criticizing his texts, crumbling up all the papers and throwing them on the ground. It’s been hours and hours of writing and rewriting, you barely made any progress.

Now you are rewriting his part.

The dark denim jacket is still in your room. Maybe it’s just yours. At least he hopes it is.

“Why don’t you like Mr. Darcy?” You break the silence.

“He’s arrogant.”

You snort, “you should meet yourself.”

A little offended, Steve scrunches his face up, “what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you are arrogant and you’re a dick,” you murmur under your breath, thinking that he won’t hear.

But he did hear, he doesn’t speak up, though. He wants to hear what else you will say about him. After weeks of no reactions, no arguments, no anger directed at him, he is left wondering what you think of him. The past few days you have been calm but the energy surrounding you tonight is tense.

“You are wealthy and arrogant like Mr. Darcy and you can be condescending sometimes. That’s something I never liked about you, the way you treated people who are less popular and liked than you are. You can be mean.”

“Mean?” He asks.

You push yourself up on your knees and look down at him, “yeah, you were mean to me.”

He looks up at you, a strand of hair falls in front of his eyes, his lips are set in a frown. He doesn’t look angry or pissed, he looks curious.

“When?”

You promised yourself that you wouldn’t do this, that you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of showing him that he got to you, that his actions hurt you. Another part of you doesn’t care, it’s all in the past, you don’t have to show him what you feel now, right?

“All the time, Steve.”

His face falls a little, his lips part, he looks like he wants to say something but he can’t form any words, right now. He stares into your eyes, the tugging feeling in his chest returns. The urge to apologize the way he wanted to do two days ago comes back.

You look at each other for a while. The only sound being the howling wind outside. The music stopped playing a while ago. You watch the way his eyes soften, the way they flash with sadness and regret, it makes your heart hurt.

Your hand itches to reach out to him, to run your fingers through his hair and smooth it out, to touch his cheek and feel him again. He looks at you differently now. He talks to you differently now and it hurts.

He is much more gentle and kind. It hurts to know that it’s her whom he changed for.

He grew up with you, he was your friend first, he was your lover first, he was your boyfriend first but you were never good enough for him. You see the way he is with her, even when everyone, including him, thinks that you don’t look at him anymore, you do. You secretly watch him. He touches her gently, he kisses her softly, he stares at her and smiles when she isn’t looking, he kisses her hand and carries her books, he wraps his arms around her waist and he gives her his jacket when she is cold. He loves her, he genuinely loves her.

You wonder if he knows how horrible she is, how cruel her words can be – but then again, his words were just as cruel when he spit them in your face before he shattered your heart into a million pieces.

Now he looks at you with those eyes that you longed for when he was still yours. Soft eyes. Now, you can’t stand them. You don’t want him to look at you like that.

You force yourself to look away from him. You stand up and pick up all the papers on your bed, throwing some of them in the trash.

Steve watches you, not taking his eyes off of you yet.

“But also, you’re kind of a clown, so you’re very far from being like Mr. Darcy.”

Steve tilts his head up to look at you with a frown on his face, a laugh tumbles from his lips, “a clown?”

“Yeah,” you smirk when you notice the offended look on his face, “they call you King Steve but you’re really just a clown who entertains all the girls.”

“Uh–”

“Really, I know college isn’t on your list of things to do in life but maybe a circus would do for you.”

“Look who’s being mean now,” he murmurs as he stands up.

“I’m not being mean, I’m just being honest,” you say, “you’re a clown just like all the other douchebags on the basketball team. Honestly, I don’t know how it just occurred to me that you all look ridiculous running after one ball – but then again, you also do that with everything else in life, you all see one desirable woman and you are all running after her like a hungry pack of wolves.”

Steve looks a little caught off guard, though he doesn’t look mad, not even in the slightest. If you had said these things to him two months ago, he would have gotten off on you.

“Yet you still go for clowns like me?”

You laugh, “oh you admit to being a clown?”

He rolls his eyes at you.

“No, I don’t go for clowns like you anymore, Steve. I think I learned my lesson. I’d never do that again.”

Instantly, his eyes flicker to the denim jacket on your chair. So it certainly isn’t Billy’s.

“So.. you didn’t sleep with Billy?”

A look of disgust that you can’t fight off this time crosses your face and you shake your head, “what ever made you think that I want to fuck Billy Hargrove?” You ask. “In what world would I touch that man?”

“Well, he told me.”

You snort and shake your head in disbelief.

“Billy says a lot of things that aren’t true.” Except for the one time he did tell you the truth.

He won’t argue with that, he knows you’re right. Still, a part of him believed him.

You walk towards him and bend down to pick up the crumpled paper balls on the ground. You also throw them in the trash.

“Who’s the stoner you’ve been seeing?” He blurts out as his eyes stick to the jacket again, “is that his jacket?”

A part of you wants to laugh in amusement, the other part of you is pissed at him for sounding so jealous. If you wouldn’t have figured it out by the tone in his voice, then you would have known by the look on his face.

You know Steve like the back of your hand. Right now, he is jealous. Why? You have no idea. He never loved you, he never actually wanted you. He wanted to own you and that’s what he still does in his head. That’s why he keeps asking you all these questions, that’s why he lets Billy’s words get to him. That’s why he hates the thought of you being someone else’s.

You walk towards him with a smirk on your face, “none of your business, Harrington.”

To know that it troubles him so much to the point that his cheeks glow red makes you feel satisfied.

“Just tell me, please.”

You snort, “no way.”

He steps closer to you and looks down at you with pleading eyes. What the hell?

“Why should I tell you?”

“Because I wanna know,” he mumbles. He pokes at your waist, making you flinch. He knows that you are ticklish. He does it again but this time, you grab his finger.

“Stop that!”

He uses his other hand, poking the other side of your waist, hard enough for you to giggle.

“S-Steve, stop!” You snap at him, trying to keep a straight face but when he does it again, you flinch and try to step back but he pulls his finger out of your grip and wraps his arm around your waist to keep you from escaping.

“I’ll stop when you tell me,” he says. His eyes light up when you giggle again. You squirm in his arms, trying to push him away.

You don’t know how it happens but for a minute, you get so lost in the moment. For a minute, you forget about everything that had happened, you forget about the heartbreak and the pain that he had put you through, you forget about how he had cheated on you, how he had lied to you, you forget about the things he spit in your face, you forget about how he never loved you. For a minute, you forget it all.

What starts off with him poking your waist, ends with him tickling your sides and making you giggle and laugh as you step closer and closer to your bed. Steve is chuckling as he holds your squirming body against his. You try to fight him off but he is much stronger than you, you poke his sides but you don’t get much of a reaction out of him, if anything, it makes him hold you even tighter.

Tears from laughter well up in your eyes, your stomach begins to hurt from it all. As you near the edge of your bed, you stumble backwards when the back of your knees hit the mattress. Instinctively, you hold onto him and pull him down with you. When your back hits the soft cushions and he lands on top of you and you feel his chest pressed against yours for the first time in a while, you know that this should have been the moment for you to snap out of it and push him away but you are still in the bliss of the moment. Right now, you are in the past where things are still good.

You are still giggling and he is still chuckling. His nose bumps against yours and it only makes you laugh harder as you look into each other’s eyes. He lets go of your waist but he stays on top of you. His heart is racing, you can feel it.

Yours is racing too – and then, it flutters when his hand reaches out to cup your cheek. His fingertips graze your skin and his eyes roam your face. His other hand, pushes your hair away from your eyes, tucking it behind your ear. Steve is so lost in the moment, he admires you, your pretty eyes, your beautiful face, the feeling of your body against his, the racing of your heart. He finds himself moving closer to you. It only feels right to do it.

There is this feeling between the two of you. Neither of you can describe it but it only makes you yearn for more. It fills you with false hope knowing that it will crush you again, a moment later.

While his smile lingers, yours falls quickly when you snap out of it and realize what is happening, right now. Your breath hitches in your throat, your heart stops beating and you freeze when you feel his lips brushing against yours.

Everything comes crumbling down, all the walls that you had built around you, all the strength you had found within yourself to push him out of your life, all the peace you have made with living a life without him.

It all fell down and one minute is all it took.

next part

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