#pre-season 2

[ckducky]

Post-Thanksgiving Pre-season 2 nap

[steviewashere]

Return to Sender

Slaps you in the face with this chapter of my new fic, Return to Sender. Which I will update every Saturday, or at least attempt to. Different first meetings, strangers to friends to lovers to strangers (and then endgame). Hope you enjoy, I'll add tags when necessary.

Characters: Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove (A Warning in Itself), Eddie Munson (E.M.)

Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

General Audiences (May Change, but Will Not be Explicit)

Tags: Pre-Season 2, Rewriting Canon, Though Keeping to Main Canon Events (i.e. Steve getting roped into finding Dart, Billy smashing in Steve's face, The junkyard, etc.)

Expanded from This Post!

Next Part is Out! ------>

Enjoy <3

------- Steve picks up a little piece of paper that somebody shoved inside the grates of his locker door. It's folded, crumpled, creased and stained. He glances around. If the messenger just left this, they must still be around, right? At the bathrooms, nobody stands. Or at the narrow opening that floods into the main hall of Hawkins High. Or even peeking from under the stairwell. He runs his thumb over the paper. It's soft, most likely worn down from being held onto for so long. From being in somebody's pocket. Pressed up against the radiating warmth from their naked thigh. Possibly held between their fingers, twirling and folding in the gaps.

Does he open it? He's curious, he should. But what if it's another one of Tommy's pranks, which have increased tenfold since they stopped being friends. What if it's Carol giving him a fill-in on gossip he no longer wants a slice of? Or...What if it's Nancy apologizing? He shakes his head at that. What does she shave to apologize for, he questions himself. If anybody should say sorry, it would be me.

Basketball practice is in ten minutes. He's got his sweatbands on. Retied his sneakers. Changed into shorts and a particularly revealing muscle tank. Slathered on deodorant, lip balm, and baby powder to prevent chafing on his thighs. He's ready to go. Gotta go, he hastily thinks.

But...

The note. Somebody left it just for him.

Oh, but what if it's to tease him? To poke fun at the fact that he lost his girlfriend to somebody the whole school deems as his rival. To laugh at the new cut near his hairline, pink and puckered, laughing at his inability to fight back (parents teach their kids the damndest things). From that insufferable guy, Billy, that's barreled in through town from California and shoved him on the spikes of his King Steve crown. From that band girl with choppy strawberry blonde hair that's always too observant. From somebody else...somebody who wants to see him bend over, gasp for air that's too sharp and fleeting, and cry with nothing else to do.

He blearily thinks, Fuck it. He thinks, Men don't cry. Though the voice is his father's and they're almost the same in intonation, does it matter who's ridiculing him? He thinks, I just want to go home and rest.

It unfolds without him willing. The paper still soft, not yet agitating his palms. Gently torn around the edges. Blue pen glowing up at him. He takes a breath and reads.

"You seem haunted. But you're lovely. I hope you find peace soon, Steve. -E.M."

Steve's watch beeps at him. Time to shoot some hoops. And all the while he will think, Who the hell is E.M.?

---- He's at the three point line practicing his free throws. Back wet with sweat. Hair drooping over the sweatband around his forehead, the prickly ends threatening to stab his eyelids. The ball is in his grip just under the tip of his nose. He gives it another couple dribbles for luck. Poises to shoot.

Just as his arms flex, he goes tumbling down to the ground. A thump across the waxed gymnasium floor. His head misses, thankfully, but the rest of him is in a gigantic sore heap. Limbs splayed out around him. The basketball bouncing off somewhere to his right. And the impact scared him into shutting his eyes. Opening them, blearily and blinking fast, he realizes he's now nose to calf with that asshole, Billy Hargrove.

The guy—broad, tall, muscular with an ugly shaggy mullet and a permanent sneer to his lips—has been consistently knocking Steve down. Whether it be on the court, as it is right now. Out on the track in gym class. In the hallways, slamming Steve's left shoulder into the closed locker doors, enough he swears it dislocated at least a couple times. Even once in the parking lot; leaving a ding on the trunk of Steve's BMW. It's one of the nicer things he owns and it made him see red the way the metal was dented in. He'd tried to fight back against Billy, but that ended up with him and a blood nose. He's retired all efforts in making this guy leave him alone. Too pussy to be the first to throw a fist. Too smarmy to confront a teacher.

Steve groans and tries to sit up, but is promptly shoved back down by the bottom of one of Billy's sneakers. He hears from above, "Fucking stay out of my way, Harrington." And then his presence is gone. Footsteps, heavy and quick, making their way away from Steve's supine, sweaty, adrenaline leaking body.

He successfully sits up with the next groan and gasp from his lips. Rubs a firm hand on the small of his back. And decides, Fuck this. Rising from the ground is no ambitious feat. And choosing to barrel past his coach, give him the finger, slam the locker room door behind him, take a quick hot shower, and reclothe himself in a usual school outfit—none of that is ambitious either. It's freeing, in a way.

Sure, he loves basketball. Loves gym class. Loves working out in general. He's been on a basketball team every year since he was seven years old. Watches games from the middle cushion of his parent's three-seater sofa. Skims through Sports Illustrated every chance he gets. Has assisted with little league teams and the junior varsity tryouts annually since freshman year—always there to encourage and uplift nervous players, because he had been one once, so he gets it.

But, also, the amount of running up and down the basketball court. The amount of watching from his peripherals. Dodging and very nearly hiding away from other players. It all just reminds him of...Of that stupid flower-faced motherfucker that tumbled through the Byers' place. All the trouble for wanting to apologize. Now he's more scarred than a pink eraser some distracted kid uses in math class—puncture wounds in his brain where the images of blood, snarling saliva, and twirling some weaponized bat are permanently flashing. All the time. In his waking existence and in his sleep.

Playing on the sports teams also comes with expectations. Not from his peers. Or friends. Not even the coaches. But, rather, his parents. And damn it, if being bullied off the court is a way to try and get them off his back, then he'd fucking take being roped by his ankles and shook like a can of pop for his lunch money. He thinks, Fuck what they think. Fuck what the coach thinks. And fuck Billy Hargrove.

When he's finally out of the locker room and back at his everyday locker, he notices another little white paper making a minor appearance. It's a fresh piece. From the way it's bright in the light and sharp around the edges in his hands. Even the blue pen marks are smeared slightly, as if the person—E.M.—was in a rush to get away. To not be caught.

It reads now:

"I'll charge that dickwad more for his weed. It's fucking stupid that he thinks he rules the school now. Hargrove gave one of my friends a swirly last week. Tried to dump my lunch earlier today. Don't worry, Steve, I'll drain him for more than he's worth. -E.M."

His hand falls away, note still gripped, and slams against his thigh. Runs a hand down his damp face. And becomes dizzy with the implication of the last line; or at least, his interpretation.

Now, Steve's smoked before. Came home one time from the quarry smelling like it and knew what it was like to be caught by a ring on the face when he'd walked through his front doors. But...that had been weed that Tommy's cousin brought around during the summer they were in town. Steve isn't aware of anybody in Hawkins who would be dealing. And, if he's honest, marijuana isn't a top choice for unwinding. He prefers a beer or a cigarette, something that won't leave a trail of evidence behind.

So, now he's aware that somebody—a stranger—is watching him from a distance. Somebody who goes to school with him. Somebody who deals drugs, maybe even does them. And...their initials are E.M.

He almost wants to shout out for the person to make themself known. But the mystery behind it all is intriguing, to say the least. Like they're playing hard to get. And, Steve doesn't usually go after people that make anything—friendship or romantic relationships—hard on him, but the lack of info, the observance, the knowing somebody has their eyes on and out for him...

Well, that makes something stir in his gut.

And he doesn't know what that says about him. To be swooning, slightly, for somebody without a face. Somebody who could be a stalker if he thinks about it. They're protective, though. And that's not something Steve usually gains from somebody else.

It's frustrating, though, not knowing who this person is. Maybe if he can ask around, maybe get Billy to slip up about his smoking habits.

He wants to put a face to this mystery person.

Wants to...see if they're just as attractive as their instincts.

--------

Next Part is Out! ------>

[alibonbonn]

Once again, I'm in trouble with my only friend She is papering the windowpanes She is putting on a smile Living in a glasshouse

[ato-dato]

A working woman

[writingdinosaur]

I don’t think we talk enough about how the head demons used to be Crowley’s friend group up in Heaven. I really desperately want to know more about “Lucifer and the guys.” I want to know about him piggybacking around with Furfur and how he and Beelzebub used to tell scary stories to cherubs.

I want to know what happened after The Fall. Did they drift apart slowly? Did it start before that? Did it happen all at once? Did he tell them he never wanted this? When did the people he once thought to be his friends start dragging him down to Hell for punishment? When did Lucifer begin to terrify him? When did Beelzebub? Were Hastur and Ligur a part of that group? When did they decide he wasn’t worth trusting? When did he start to dread the next time they would meet? Did the loneliness set in gradually or did he realize with a start that he was all alone?

The more I think about the differences between the Crowley that we know and the Angel we met in the season 2 opener, the more tragic it becomes. They used to be his friends.

[pnfc]

actually crying at carl's friendlist. is that his mom

[bigfootsboytoy]

Steve ends up heartbroken, lonely and depressed after season 2. Nancy called him bullshit, even after he ditched all his old friends for her. Billy Hargrove took his spot at the top of the food chain. He can have it, Steve doesn't really want it anymore. But Steve does want to find some sort of connection. Someone to have in his life who isn't an 11 year old kid he barely knows. He tries to go on a date one night, take a nice-seeming girl to a party. He wants to find connection, to kill the loneliness that's been building for months, but just as he's feeling kind of good about things, his date ditches him.

So. He decides to drink his feelings. He gets majorly fucked up, and ends up laying on the ground in the backyard, contemplating how much life seems to hate him.

Only to literally get tripped over by Eddie Munson, who was at this party selling pot and is very confused as to why Steve Harrington is alone on the ground with a bottle of vodka clenched in one hand.

Eddie ends up chatting a little with Steve, nothing substantial, but enough to know that Steve is very very drunk, and also very very sad.

He asks if Steve wants to go back to the party, and Steve staunchly refuses. He doesn't want to be around a bunch of annoyingly happy people.

He asks if Steve needs a ride home, and Steve just kind of shrugs. His parents just left for another trip, so home is kind of depressing right now too. But he doesn't exactly have any other friends he can stay with so. Home it'll have to be.

Only Eddie can *tell* he doesn't really want to go home, though he has no idea why Steve wouldn't want to return to his veritable mansion after a shitty night. The reason doesn't matter much. He offers to let Steve crash at his place. Steve can take the couch, or hell he can stay in Eddie's room if he doesn't mind sharing, that way he wouldn't risk being woken up when Wayne comes home that morning.

And well, Steve agrees. Can't think of any reason not too. Munson has been nice so far, he's got a good easy-going energy that Steve likes. Why not stay the night.

By the time they get to Eddie's, Steve is *slightly* more sober. Not much, but he's slurring his words a little less, and he can walk with only a little help.

Eddie grabs them each a little plate of leftovers, because he has no idea if Steve's eaten at all. It's quiet while they eat, Eddie doesn't push Steve to talk, and Steve isn't sure what to say. Eventually Eddie sets the plates aside and give Steve an easy grin.

"So, do you want the couch, or are you crashing with me?"

Steve thinks about it for a while. He hasn't shared a bed with a guy-friend since he was a kid, and he's heard rumors about Eddie, whispers in the hall about the way he looks at other guys. But...Steve can't really bring himself to care. He's tired, and he really doesn't want to be alone.

"I don't mind sharing."

Eddie sets them both up in his room, letting Steve choose which side of the bed he wants, and they both settle in. There's a respectable distance between the two of them, and Eddie says a quick goodnight to Steve, figures they won't talk and just go right to bed.

Except Steve isn't sober, and he really isn't in a good headspace, so he can't stop himself from blurting things out into the quiet of the dark room.

"Are you really gay?"

Eddie stiffens next to him, he can feel it, he can hear the way that the other boys breath cuts off and he seems to stop breathing all-together.

"It's okay if you are, I'm not going to be an asshole about it, I'm trying not to be that guy anymore. I guess I was just curious."

It's quiet for another beat before Eddie seems to loosen just a little. He starts breathing again at least.

"Yeah I uh- I am. Gay. And if that's weird the couch is still open, I can-"

"It's not weird."

"Okay."

Steve let's himself mull over this confirmation, and then his mouth starts moving again, without his permission.

"Is it lonely? Cause I mean, it's got to be hard to date in Hawkins. People here are shitty. Unless you've got like, a secret boyfriend or something."

"No...no secret boyfriend. It does get a little lonely sometimes. I'm lucky though, I've got my uncle, and my friends are pretty great. That's enough most days."

"What do you do when it's not enough?"

"Hmmm?"

"When your uncle and friends aren't enough, what do you do? To try and...make it better?"

Eddie is quiet again for a long stretch before he shrugs.

"I try to focus on something else. I'll play my guitar or work on a new campaign, read a book. Something to take my mind off it."

"Oh."

Now Steve is the one who seems tense, his jaw is tight and he's got his arms wrapped around himself. His next words come out as a whisper, but Eddie manages to catch them.

"I don't know how to do any of that."

He sounds almost choked, and Eddie is caught off guard. He's never seen Steve Harrington as anything other than solid, as happy. He's the king, after all. He's supposed to be all smiles and great hair. Only...Eddie's noticed that he hasn't hung out with his old friends lately, that he's eaten alone at lunch too many times to be anything other than strange.

"Steve...are you lonely?"

Eddie expects a denial, for Steve to laugh it off and tell Eddie that he's perfectly fine and fulfilled. Or maybe he expects a shrug, a non-answer. What he doesn't expect is the gut-wrenching sob that seems to tear past the other boys lips.

He doesn't expect to turn and see Steve Harrington's face, a scant foot from his, shining with tears.

He panics a little at the sight.

"Fuck- I'm so sorry-"

"Don't be." Steve tries to wipe his eyes, to hide the tremble in his voice. "Not your fault there's something wrong with me."

"What do you mean?"

"It's like I'm broken man, like nobody can stand to be around me. Tommy and Carol hate me now, Nancy- hell even my own parents hate being at home with me for more than a week. It's like I'm repellent or something. Couldn't even get a date to stick around for a whole night."

And Eddie's pretty sure *he* might start crying now. He'd never have expected this much from Steve, all that sadness to come pouring out. It wouldn't have happened if Steve was completely sober. Without thinking, he reaches out.

Eddie puts a hand on Steve's shoulder and waits to see if the touch gets rejected, but Steve seems to lean into him, so he lets his hand linger.

"This probably won't help, but I don't think you're repellent. And that's coming from somebody who your whole group used to torture. I don't know much about you, but I kind of liked having you around tonight."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Steve gives him a tiny smile. His eyes are still wet with tears, and the smile doesn't come close to reaching them. He seems impossibly small here in Eddie's bed.

"I don't know man. I just wish-"

He cuts himself off, apparently deciding his words are too far, but Eddie urges him to keep talking.

"What do you wish Steve?"

"I just wish that... there was somebody out there I could have a future with. Somebody who actually loved me, you know?"

It might be the saddest thing Eddie's ever heard, and he blames that fact for what he does next.

He takes his hand off Steve's shoulders and instead hauls Steve closer to him, fitting the other boy against his chest and wrapping his arms around him. It's a move that might get him decked, but he doesn't think it will. And he'll be damned if he doesn't hug Steve right that second.

He doesn't get hit. Steve tenses for a second, but it's just that one instant before he's melting into the embrace.

Eddie feels more tears falling against his shirt, and he couldn't care less. He keeps Steve close, let's him cry into his chest, runs a hand through that famous mop of hair.

He isn't sure how long it takes for Steve to calm down, but eventually he does. His breathing evens out, and he shivers a little before speaking.

"Thanks man."

And Eddie takes another leap of faith.

"I could be that person, you know."

"What?"

"I mean. You know Im... not straight. It may not be exactly what you're wanting but. I think I could picture a future with you. If you want to, just for tonight...I could be that someone who loves you."

Steve looks at Eddie, like he's a puzzle that he needs to solve, before a other shiver seems to wrack his body.

"Just for tonight?"

It comes out as a whisper, but Eddie hears it all the same.

"Yeah. For tonight Steve."

"I think...I think I'd like that."

Eddie gives him the sweetest smile he can muster, and nods.

"Alright sweetheart."

Eddie isn't exactly sure what it means, to love Steve for the night. After all, Steve is straight. He figures it doesn't matter much though, it's only for a night.

He keeps a hold on Steve, let's him get comfortable tucked against Eddie, and he does what feels natural. He runs a hand up and down Steve's spine, traces shapes into the soft fabric of his shirt. He tangles their legs together, and in a moment of insane bravery he presses a kiss to the top of Steve's head.

He's met with a sigh, full of relief, and figures he's on the right track.

"Just close your eyes Stevie, I've got you."

"Can you tell me about it?"

"Hmmm?"

"The future. You said you could see one. Can you tell me?"

And he asks so carefully, he sounds almost afraid, Eddie can't say no to that.

"Do you want the fantasy future, or the realistic future?"

"The real one."

"Alright then. Well, if I'm not going to be a rich and famous rockstar...I'll probably graduate and get a job somewhere in town. A real job, maybe working on cars or something. I'm good with cars. You'd come over all the time, have dinners with me and with Wayne. You'd have to meet Wayne. And we'd have more nights like this, sleeping close."

Steve let's out a pleased sounding hum, and shifts his face so it's buried even closer in Eddie's neck. He can feel Steve's breath on him.

"We could save up money and get a little place together, somewhere outside Hawkins. I have to stay kind of close, for my uncle, but maybe Indy?"

Steve nods, mutters something about staying close 'just in case'. He sounds like he might fall asleep, so Eddie keeps going.

"We could get an apartment, nothing too fancy. We would get two rooms, so nobody gets suspicious, but we would share a bed most nights. I'd play with my band on weekends, just for fun, and you'd join some little local sports team. I'd make sure to schedule DND nights so that I never miss a single game, even though I don't understand a damn thing about sports. We would come home for holidays, but most of the time it would just be us. I'd take good care of you, make sure you never go more than a few hours without me telling you I love you. I'll show up wherever you're working just to give you a hug and a kiss, and make sure you don't forget it. And I'll annoy the hell out of, but you won't mind too much, because I'll make you happy too."

Eddie can think of more. He can think about so many things. How he could give Steve one of his rings, even if they couldn't legally get married, even if Steve would never want that. Just as another reminder that he's loved. They could take trips together and go out to parties where Steve will never have to worry about getting ditched. Eddie doesn't do things halfway, and he has a hell of an imagination. He could picture them growing old together, if he tried, if he let himself. But this is just for tonight, so he doesn't. Instead he runs a hand through Steve's hair again, and listens to his quiet breathing. He thinks he may have fallen asleep, but he's wrong.

"That sounds nice."

It comes out muffled, spoken into Eddie's neck, but he manages to make it out, and he let's the vibration of it sink into his skin.

*It's only for tonight.*

He has to remind himself, because Steve is just feeling lonely. He doesn't want that future with Eddie, he just wants to feel loved.

But even if it's just pretend, just to help Steve for a few hours, he's okay with that.

Steve may think he's broken, but Eddie thinks he would be easy to love for a long time. Loving him for one night is nothing. He doesn't even have to try.

Tomorrow Steve will wake up sober, and he'll thank Eddie for letting him stay over, and they won't talk about it. Eddie will drive Steve back to his car in silence, and they'll say their goodbyes. They may not talk ever again, they never had before.

But for tonight? Eddie Munson will love Steve Harrington, and Steve? He'll let himself be loved, let himself beleive it. And he'll love Eddie right back.

Just for one night.

And if Steve ever needs it again? Eddie will love him for another night. And Steve will give that love right back. He's got plenty to spare, after all. And there's far worse people he could share it with.

[kodaibara]

do you like him better?

[terikanae]

[jinxarchive]

Yeah,,, I'm not ready

[valenrepetto]

"Let there be light" ✨️

Need more pre-fall crowley, I get so emotional just by looking at him dude

[steviewashere]

Little Steddie WIP for a fic that I'm making up as I go. See where the flowing vibes steer me. (Point of time is 1984. Thinking note passing. Thinking different first meeting. Thinking of friends to lovers to strangers to lovers again.)

Now as a full chapter Here!

-------- Steve picks up a little piece of paper that somebody shoved inside the grates of his locker door. It's folded, crumpled, creased and stained. He glances around. If the messenger just left this, they must still be around, right? At the bathrooms, nobody stands. Or at the narrow opening that floods into the main hall of Hawkins High. Or even peeking from under the stairwell. He runs his thumb over the paper. It's soft, most likely worn down from being held onto for so long. From being in somebody's pocket. Pressed up against the radiating warmth from their naked thigh. Possibly held between their fingers, twirling and folding in the gaps.

Does he open it? He's curious, he should. But what if it's another one of Tommy's pranks, which have increased tenfold since they stopped being friends. What if it's Carol giving him a fill-in on gossip he no longer wants a slice of? Or...What if it's Nancy apologizing? He shakes his head at that. What does she have to apologize for, he questions himself. If anybody should say sorry, it would be me.

Basketball practice is in ten minutes. He's got his sweatbands on. Retied his sneakers. Changed into shorts and a particularly revealing muscle tank. Slathered on deodorant, lip balm, and baby powder to prevent chafing on his thighs. He's ready to go. Gotta go, he hastily thinks.

But...

The note. Somebody left it just for him.

Oh, but what if it's to tease him? To poke fun at the fact that he lost his girlfriend to somebody the whole school deems as his rival. To laugh at the new cut near his hairline, pink and puckered, laughing at his inability to fight back (parents teach their kids the damndest things). From that insufferable guy, Billy, that's barreled in through town from California and shoved him on the spikes of his King Steve crown. From that band girl with choppy strawberry blonde hair that's always too observant. From somebody else...somebody who wants to see him bend over, gasp for air that's too sharp and fleeting, and cry with nothing else to do.

He blearily thinks, Fuck it. He thinks, Men don't cry. Though the voice is his father's and they're almost the same in intonation, does it matter who's ridiculing him? He thinks, I just want to go home and rest.

It unfolds without him willing. The paper still soft, not yet agitating his palms. Gently torn around the edges. Blue pen glowing up at him. He takes a breath and reads.

"You seem haunted. But you're lovely. I hope you find peace soon, Steve. -E.M."

Steve's watch beeps at him. Time to shoot some hoops. And all the while he will think, Who the hell is E.M.?

-------- Is this anything? Let me know, because I think it is.

[lilpatison]

“𝘓𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵”

[yamisnuffles]

Starmaker

Angel Crowley is very precious to me because he's a tragedy.

[erlandious]

Do yall think Silco gave Jinx that hairstyle or it just kinda happened and he went “oh lmao I did that too”

[hairmetal666]

It starts in Eddie's second senior year, close to the beginning of the semester. Eddie's in trig (again). He's good at math, but Mundy fucking sucks, always giving Eddie shit for breathing, or his shoes squeaking on the linoleum, or whatever, and he ends up with detention most days. So, he hardly ever shows and can't be bothered to do the homework, even though he knows the answers more often than not.

On this particular day, Mundy is in a bad mood, on Eddie's case way more than normal. In the heat of frustration, Eddie scrawls, "I fucking hate this class" on a scrap of notebook paper, and for reasons he can't begin to explain, leaves it folded on the window ledge. He doesn't think anyone will answer; fully expects the paper to be gone come morning with maybe another detention slip under his belt to show for it. He's a little flabbergasted, the next day, when the note is still there, and loses his mind a little when he sees the words "tell me about it" underneath his first message. He doesn't recognize the handwriting, sloping and a little looped, and for most of the class period, he's too bemused to respond. Right before the final bell rings he scrawls, "trig. You?" He leaves the paper on the ledge again. "Algebra 2 :(" is the response.

They keep it up, just a few words at first, before Eddie accidentally doodles on the page, and the other guy scribbles a hasty formula, the math spectacularly wrong. There's a little arrow leading to the words, "this shit sucks." Eddie re-writes the formula with the correct math, leaving careful notations of how and why. The next day he sees, "Shit, dude, I totally get this now. Mundy should retire and let you take over." Which pleases Eddie down to his core.

The messages get longer, nothing super personal, but complaints about life, math help, Eddie's silly little doodles, bad jokes, the slightly lewd drawings typical of teen boys. Eddie's never had a better attendance record in his life, but there are some days where his notes are left unopened. Most remarkably a couple week period before Thanksgiving, where he goes unanswered for so long he figures whatever thing they had going is done. But after the holiday, the notes start up again, with no acknowledgement they ever stopped. Eddie doesn't bother questioning it.

They keep it up almost all year, and they're definitely friends, even though they're totally anonymous. And that wouldn't have changed, except it's the day before spring break and Eddie's vibrating out of his skin with anticipation of the time off, so he forgets his dnd notebook in Mundy's class. He makes it all the way to Click's before he realizes, then sprints back across the school. He crashes through Mundy's door, tripping a little over his own feet.

"Sorry," he pants. "I just left--" he looks over to his desk, far corner right by the window, and then forgets every word he's ever known because Steve Harrington Steve Harrington King Steve, stares right back at him. And he just. He stops and fucking laughs, because all this time--this whole goddamn year--it's been Harrington he exchanged notes with. And sure, the jock's star has fallen in the last few months, with the breakup with Nancy and all that shit with Hargrove, but it's still Steve Harrington. With his big house and his fancy car and his girls. It's pretty Steve Harrington, the focus of Eddie's most hopeless daydreams.

He has a few seconds to see Harrington's hazel eyes go wide, before Eddie spins on his heel and makes a hasty exit. He absolutely doesn't spend the break thinking about the notes, matching what Harrington wrote with the gossip Eddie heard on him from the past few months.

Once break ends, he doesn't bother going to Mundy's class at all.

The Friday of the first week back, Eddie walks out to his van, only to find King Steve leaning up against it. He's doing that obnoxious thing where he has one leg bent, foot resting against the side panel, arms crossed over his chest, stupid hair falling in glorious cascades around his face. It's ridiculously, unfairly attractive.

"What do you want?" Eddie asks. He opens his front door without fully looking at Steve.

"Can we talk?"

Eddie snorts, "what could you and I possibly have to talk about."

Steve narrows his eyes. It's so bitchy and so fucking cute it makes Eddie queasy. "You know what."

"Enlighten me, Harrington."

"C'mon, man, the notes!"

"What about them?

"Don't be stupid, Munson, you know what. Why'd you stop?"

Eddie pulls a pack of camels and his lighter out of his jacket pocket. "Lost its appeal once I knew who was on the other side. Surprised you even want to keep it up now that you know you've been writing to the freak."

He pointedly ignores the little jolt Harrington gives at that, like the words hurt. Which is pretty rich from Steve Harrington, former #1 bully of Hawkins High.

"I've always known it was you," he says.

"You don't--wait what?"

I've known since, like, the first week, Munson."

"How??"

"What do you mean 'how,' dude, you're always drawing little pentagrams and d20's. Writing the word "Slayer" over and over. Who else would it be?"

And he can't even deal with the fact that Harrington knows what a d20 is (what the fuck) with everything else the other boy just said.

"I gotta go," is his only response. He ducks into his van, slamming the door basically in Harrington's face, before peeling out of the parking lot.

��️✏️✏️✏️

It's the last day of school. Eddie's failed again. His grades, which weren't great to begin with, took a sharp nosedive after spring break, and he just can't wait to be done with this place for a few months. Harrington hasn't spoken to him again, and Eddie tries his hardest to ignore the other boy (aside from seeing him hanging out with Robin Buckley, a junior and a band geek, besides, and he forcibly has to remind himself that he doesn't care what Harrington does).

He slouches into his last math class of the year, slumping over in his seat. He rests his head on his desk, eyes blankly staring out the window as Mundy talks about what a joy most of them were to have in class. His eyes are unfocused, he contemplates a nap, and then he sees it. The tightly folded piece of paper resting on the window ledge.

Eddie almost doesn't take it. He almost ignores it, but he physically can't stop himself for reaching for it, unfolding it, staring at Harrington's now familiar handwriting.

Hey man, I'm pretty sure I fucked things up with us, and I owe you an apology. I've always known who you were, but you had no idea I was me. Buckley helped me see how that maybe freaked you out a little. I know I used to be a piece of shit. But I'm better--or I'm trying to be. And I'm so fucking sorry for the shit I did to you before and the things I didn't bother to stop. You don't owe me forgiveness, but you should know that I regret all of it. I liked passing notes with you. You made me laugh, and I don't know. It was nice to think someone liked me for reasons other than that I'm Steve Harrington, or whatever. I'd really like it if we could be friends. I get if you can't do that or don't want to.

Whatever the note actually ended with is scribbled out in pen so thick Eddie can't make it out.

All day he thinks about the note, the apology, all of it. Eddie thinks, if he's smart, he won't forgive Harrington. That he knows better than to trust him. But Eddie's never actually been that smart in this way, so he's not totally surprised to find himself walking to Steve's car after the last bell rings.

This time, Eddie's the one with his foot resting on the side panel of Steve's BMW, arms crossed over his chest. He doesn't have to wait long before Harrington makes his way to the car, chestnut hair dancing in the breeze, biceps on display in a short-sleeve polo. A little smile dances across his lips when he spots Eddie.

"So, you gonna tell me how you know what a d20 is, Harrington, or do I have to guess?" Eddie offers the other boy a cigarette.

"Babysitting?

"Babys--Are you serious??" Eddie splutters. Steve Harrington babysits. Steve Harrington babysits little dnd playing nerds. Steve Harrington wants to be his friend.

A full grin spreads across Steve's perfect face and Eddie is absolutely, 100%, fucked.

(Part 2)

(Steddie Notes is now posted in full on ao3!)