i can take you higher
prompt: charm ✨ (@steddiemicrofic)
word count: 548
rating: t
tags: smoking, post S2, mild h/c, touch-starved steve
title from seminal steve harrington identification song: "i'm on fire" by bruce springsteen
Behind Steve’s house is the woods, and behind that is a river, and on the other side of that there’s a quarry.
When he was sixteen years old, they pulled a body out of the lake that sits at the bottom of it. It’s not really a lake, and the body wasn’t really a body after all, but he thinks sometimes that everything in his life hinged on that moment. A boy he didn’t know, and a body that wasn’t a body, and the river behind his house emptying into a lake that wasn’t a lake.
“I just wish there was a way to go back to before,” he’s saying, laying on the shore of the lake that isn’t a lake, passing a joint back and forth with the town drug dealer because– why not. “Like some sort of spell, or– or charm that could zap me back to when everything was normal.”
Eddie Munson. What Eddie Munson says, squinting at him through the dark as he exhales a hazy cloud of smoke, is:
“You’re a weird dude, Harrington. Anyone ever tell you that?”
Steve sighs, sitting up on his elbows to accept the joint. “Yeah. A few times.”
“And you’re high as hell right now, and you’re not making any sense.”
Again, “Yeah.” He inhales, holds it in for a beat, blows smoke up toward the stars. “Sorry.”
He wonders if he’ll ever stop apologizing, and then he wonders why he seems to do it so often. To Nancy, to Dustin, to Jonathan, and now, of all people, to–
Eddie snorts. “Don’t be,” he says. “I’m the one who got you high, remember?”
Steve feels something run through him, but his brain is too foggy to figure it out. He drops back to lay down again, and when he does, his head lands on Eddie’s stomach. Eddie makes a quiet sound, breath sucking in sharp, but then his hand settles on Steve’s head, threading through his hair, and it’s been… days? weeks? since anyone has touched him without their hand curled into a fist.
The air is cool, and Eddie’s hands are warm, and Steve lets his eyes fall shut; if he were less high than he is, he’d probably be embarrassed by the fact that his throat goes a little tight.
“Anyway, I don’t think you need some sort of magic time travel spell,” Eddie says after a long moment, quiet voice cresting through the buzz in Steve’s brain. “Or– if you do, then so do I. But life doesn’t really work that way.”
Steve turns his head to stare up at him, and Eddie’s hand shifts with him, moving around to cradle the back of his skull. He smells good, too, like laundry and cigarettes and an underlying third thing that starts up an itch in the back of Steve’s skull and makes him want to reach out and taste, to see if his tongue can follow it over his skin and into his mouth.
“What do I need, then?” he asks, because the only other thing in his brain is hands and fingers and the warmth of another person’s body under his cheek.
Eddie blinks at him, frowning slightly. “Time?” he suggests. “Maybe you just need time, and someone who will get you high.”
[also on ao3]
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