#steve harrington is traumatized

[kitchen-spoon]

southern Nights

Pre Season 4 Steddie set Post Season 3:

After the mall fire Robin's parents take her out of Hawkins to go visit family in August so Steve is left to cope without her after spending nearly every day and night with her. So he turns to Eddie who he had been becoming friends with all summer leading up to the fire.

Eddie has to leave Hawkins in August too to go live out in Kentucky with his grandmother (Wayne's mom) at her farm until school starts back up again. He offers for Steve to come with him because he doesn't want to go alone and he knows Robin is leaving and doesn't want Steve to be alone.

Initially Steve being his stubborn self refuses but eventually he relents and agrees to come. They drive out together and once they are there Steve calls Robin Everynight after dinner while Eddie's grandma's cat Bruce sit in his lap and gets attention and pets.

It takes them about a week and a half to start fooling around together after all the tension they had been building at the start of the summer. It Happens for the first time after they smoke weed together on the porch and Eddie teases Steve about hogging the joint because he is spaced out and says "Never learn how to share baby?"

One Night Steve cuts Eddie’s because it was in his face all day and getting in the way and Eddie had been quietly grumbling about it at dinner. He does it at the kitchen table after dinner and its the first time they kiss without having sex. A few days later Eddie gives Steve a small stick & poke star in return.

Steve always insists on sleeping alone in the guest room even after they start fooling around. Eddie hears Steve’s screams when he has nightmares, he always waits until he hears Steve leave his room and go to the porch to check on him and sit with him.

Steve refuses to sleep with Eddie because he sleeps with a little stuffed lamb from his childhood and is embarrassed about it. It helps with his nightmares though. One night Eddie finds it and Steve gets really embarrassed and tries to hide it but Eddie doesn’t let him. They talk and Steve starts sharing a bed with Eddie and bringing the lamb (Cloud) with him. One night Steve falls asleep first and Eddie see’s how Steve rubs its ear against his lips to sleep.

Wayne comes down for the last week of their stay to help move his mom from the farm and back into her home for the winter.

One night Steve has a nightmare and wakes up where it turns into a panic attack. Eddie finds him kneeling on the lawn in front of the porch head in his hands rocking while he mumbles to himself barely breathing. It's when Wayne was coming so he pulls up and sees that and goes to Steve and recognises that it's PTSD. Steve is mumbling about a plan so Wayne plays along with it, assures him it worked and they are safe it's over.

While Wayne is there for the last week they try to be sneaky but he catches on and calls them out when he catches them being all sappy in the kitchen. Steve is cooking dinner and Eddie comes up behind him and wraps his arms around his waist and kisses him. Wayne *ahems* in the door frame and they split a part, Eddie is out to Wayne so he is more embarrassed but Steve is scared. Wayne is like calm down boy, I knew it the night I got here.

[hairmetal666]

Steve knows he falls in love too easily. Nancy told him, Robin too.

But falling in love with Eddie Munson is hard.

They're supposed to be friends after Vecna. They're supposed to be friends, but Steve can't get past what Eddie did in the Upside Down; how he put himself in a position to nearly die, how Dustin got hurt. It's not fair. He knows it's not, but it doesn't make the anger go away.

Eddie's part of the group now, though, and Steve won't leave him out, no matter how angry. They're all at movie nights, at pool parties, at Hellfire, at Corroded Coffin gigs. It's just that Steve and Eddie don't speak. And Steve is okay with it. If it's what it takes to make sure that they're all hanging out together, not talking to Eddie is a small thing. He's pretty sure Eddie doesn't mind. At least, he seems as uninterested in hanging out with Steve as Steve is with him.

It doesn't need to be anything more than that, and it isn't, not until Steve goes upstairs to get more sunscreen during one of the pool parties, and walks back downstairs to find Munson waiting for him in his kitchen.

"You need something?" He asks, unable to fully hide the way he jolts with surprise.

Eddie twists the rings on his fingers, something Steve's noticed he does whenever he's nervous. "You have a problem with me, Harrington?

"No, of course not," he answers too fast.

"C'mon, man. You can barely stand to be in the same room with me."

"That's not true! We're in one together right now."

Eddie rolls his eyes so hard that it has to hurt. "Don't do that. Don't pretend like you don't know what I mean. You can't stand to be alone with me for more than thirty seconds."

Steve splutters, searching for a plausible reason.

"Is it cause--" Eddie swallows, hand going back to cup his neck. "Is it cause you heard me tell Robin that I'm gay? Back at the hospital. Is it because--" he cuts himself off.

Something in Steve's chest clenches hard, warmth swooping dangerously in his stomach. "No," Steve says, means it. "I didn't hear. I didn't-- it has nothing to do with that. It's--that's cool. Thanks for--yeah, that's cool."

Eddie's smile is a brittle little thing. "Then, what else?" Eddie pulls a chunk of hair over his mouth. "I can't think of any other reason you'd hate me so much."

"I don't." And Steve hopes it's coming off as genuine. "I promise."

He can't help remember the camaraderie, the understanding, that started to grow between them in the Upside Down. The "don't cha, big boy?" of it all. They could be friends. They should be.

They shouldn't get into it. Not right here, not right now when the kids' splashes and excited screams filter through the sliding door.

"You're a shit liar, Harrington."

"Ed--I'm not--"

"You know what? Don't bother. I'll just--" He jolts in the direction of the front door.

"Don't be stupid, Munson."

"God, I can't believe I didn't see it before. You just fucking loathe me."

"I do not. Grow up."

"Oh, yeah? Then what's your problem?"

"There isn't--"

"Stop lying!"

"You didn't fucking think!" He shouts. Loud enough that the noise outside cuts off. "You pulled that shit in the Upside Down and you almost died! Dustin got hurt!"

Eddie blinks his big brown eyes in stunned surprise.

"I told you, I said, 'dont try to be cute or be a hero or something.' And you know what you said? Do you?"

Eddie won't look at him now. "I had to make a choice, Steve."

"It was the wrong one!"

"I would do it all again. No matter what you say. I would do it to draw the bats away. To protect Dustin."

"But you didn't."

"There was no other way to stop them, Steve! They would've gotten through, into Hawkins."

"It doesn't matter."

"You weren't there! You can't tell me--"

"Yes, I can! I know."

"You don't! You think--"

"I almost lost you!" He screams. "You nearly died in my arms, Eddie. And for what?"

Falling in love with Eddie wasn't easy. It was blood and near death; it was weeks in a cold hospital room while Eddie existed in a drug-induced twilight state; it was agonizing convalescence and physical therapy and changing bandages; it was Eddie leading dnd sessions with bright eyes and contagious enthusiasm, herding the kids to the arcade and video store, theatrically serving snacks at movie night; it was festering, senseless anger at the near loss of something.

Eddie's lips tremble. "Steve, I--"

"It doesn't matter." He turns away to slide a hand down his face in an effort to wipe away the emotion. "You're fine and we're--it doesn't matter."

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "Steve, I'm sorry. I wanted--I thought it would help. I thought--"

And Steve has to admit, he does, the whole terrible contradiction of it all. "I know," he whispers back. "I would've--I know."

"I thought I was protecting Dustin. I thought I was buying you guys time with Vecna." Eddie's voice breaks. "I didn't--I--" He squeezes his eyes shut.

In the quiet of the kitchen, they gravitate to one another, foreheads resting together.

"I should have been there, Ed. I shouldn't have left you two alone. You almost died, and I--"

"Sweetheart, I'm right here. We're right here."

They don't kiss, but they're close enough that their mouths brush with each breath they take.

"Don't do that, again." Steve clenches his fists into Eddie's cutoff t-shirt. "Promise you won't ever--"

"I promise, Stevie. I promise. I'll be by your side until the very end, whatever it is."

[wheneverfeasible]

Bullshit (part 1/3)

Now on ao3

He should probably get a new car.

He didn’t want to. He loved his car, but it wasn’t really cool, was it? Preppy cool, maybe, but not my-boyfriend-is-in-a-metal-band cool. It had certainly seen better days too.

He’d used to reprimand the kids whenever they trailed in dirt and food crumbs or spilled their milkshakes or whatever, but after he stopped doing the same to Eddie, he couldn’t really do it to them either. Besides, he didn’t want to be a stick in the mud.

It was why he’d thrown out all his Wham! and Tears for Fears cassettes, threw out anything that wasn’t Judas Priest or Iron Maiden or whatever else Eddie liked. It was why he boxed away all his brightly colored polos and now just wore the band tees that Eddie let him borrow, why he’d bought some of his own, as well as skinnier dark jeans that he knew Eddie liked the look of his ass in. He even got some bracelets like Eddie’s, and now he actually looked the part of Eddie’s boyfriend and not so much like a sore thumb when he went to all of Eddie’s shows.

The only thing he needed to change, besides his car, was his hair. He’d been putting it off the longest. He loved his car, but he loved his hair more. He didn’t make it quite as styled nowadays, but it was the last part of him that spoke of his former personality. Because he had to change, didn’t he? He knew what happened when you didn’t make your partner happy. Knew what happened when your love was bullshit and he never wanted Eddie to find him unworthy.

So he liked the things Eddie liked now, he dressed the way Eddie dressed, and he did what Eddie did. If he made Eddie happy, if he didn’t make Eddie do anything he didn’t want to do, then Eddie wouldn’t find fault in Steve. It was simple as that. He knew better now. Because Nancy had broke his heart, but losing Eddie? It would break his soul.

So he needed a new car. Maybe a van like Eddie’s, or would that be too much? A BMW was hardly metal, after all. He needed something cooler. And then…then he would change his hair.

He would need to figure out what Eddie thought was cool. Needed to figure out what Eddie liked. Should he buzz it? Should he grow it out? He didn’t know. Eddie had never brought up hair before. He didn’t know what Eddie would prefer. Maybe he could ask Jeff. He’d known Eddie the longest, after all.

Maybe he should dye it. That would look cool, right?

The others had noticed, of course. They’d commented on his new attire, the fact that he didn’t listen to his favorite music anymore, that he only seemed to be doing what Eddie wanted to do nowadays. But Eddie just looked happy whenever Steve agreed to whatever movie Eddie wanted to watch, or what to have for dinner, or what to do on Steve’s days off. That was the important part: making Eddie happy.

So Steve just brushed off their concerns, explained it away as saying that he was growing up and his interests were growing. He even played stupid Dungeons and Dragons now, always making certain he got the names correct, always doing his best to play it how Eddie would want him to play it, even if it always gave him a headache afterwards with all the numbers and words and strategizing.

He always put Eddie’s needs first, be it physically, emotionally, or even just recreationally. If Steve did that, if he was good enough, if he became exactly what his partner wanted, maybe he wouldn’t lose this. Wouldn’t lose Eddie.

Maybe, if Steve made his love good enough, Eddie wouldn’t ever say it was bullshit.

-

Now with a part two

[rambamthxman]

Eddie.

You're thinking out loud, Eddie.

Eddie.

Eddie please💀

-Robin

[morganbritton132]

Eddie starts a live-stream in the kitchen and then immediately leaves the room because he forgot half the shit he needed in his studio. Meanwhile, Steve and Dustin are coming in from the backyard. They’re bickering about the injury Steve got.

Steve: It’s a splinter. I don’t care that your mom is a nurse, I don’t need her to drive to Chicago to remove it. This is just like with-

Dustin: Oh my god, if we would’ve called my mom then than maybe your nose wouldn’t look like that and you wouldn’t have spent the whole night at the hospital getting Miss Byers’ plate removed from your skull with Hopper.

Steve: Dude, what were you planning on telling her? The house was torn to shit and we put a dead dog in the fridge.

Eddie, standing in the doorway: …What the fuck?

Dustin:

Steve:

Dustin: It was for science

Steve, at the same time: It was dead when we found it

[harringroveera]

They never put Billy on speaker ever again

[artiststarme]

After the events of Spring Break and long before either of them even consider dating, Steve and Eddie become friends. Eddie shares his weed and buys them alcohol, Steve provides food and a place for Wayne and Eddie to crash for awhile, and Robin kind of freeloads on everything (although she considers her witty one-liners and company payment enough). Even still though, it takes more than just friendship to force Steve to join a DnD campaign. 

With the departure of Grant, Jeff, and Gareth from the Hellfire club, the Party is woefully short on manpower. Will joins and Eleven tries too but even with the addition of their two characters, the Party isn’t strong enough to survive Eddie’s devious campaigns. So they target Steve. Between Eddie’s pleading puppy dog eyes and the endless pestering of the kids, Steve joins. Initially, he’s hesitant. He thinks he’s only going to play a handful of games to get the kids back on their feet before parting with them. But then he discovers that he’s good at it. He discovers that he enjoys flirting with the NPCs and annoying the shit out of his fellow characters. He likes saving the kids and watching their backs in fights all too reminiscent of the Upside Down. It makes him feel useful, needed, wanted. 

Most of all though, he likes seeing how his words affect Eddie. He starts looking forward to  seeing the blank look on Eddie’s face when he does something he’s not expecting, forcing Eddie to dive into the very depths of his imagination. Steve likes seeing Eddie’s lips quirk into a smirk when his flirts land their mark. He imagines kissing the quirk away until those very same lips are bruised red with burst capillaries. He wants to see Eddie’s smile directed at him for every moment of everyday, not just from behind the Dungeon Master’s partition or on a dinner date with Robin. Steve wants to hear Eddie’s husky voice explain his plans for DnD while they cuddle in bed hiding from the cold Indiana winter (although he would never admit something so nerdy to anyone). His thoughts and Eddie’s reactions to his admittedly mediocre flirting only makes Steve like playing DnD with him more. 

He especially enjoys the day when all the flirting finally leads Eddie to corner him once the kids leave to ask him out on a proper date (or in their case, Cheetos and strawberry milkshakes on the roof of Eddie’s van while watching snowflakes fall from frozen clouds). In hindsight, it only made him wish he’d joined the nerdy dragon club sooner. Maybe then he could’ve been kissing Eddie Munson for years by then. Steve guesses he’d just have to keep Eddie around for years to come.

[livwritesstuff]

inspired by an absolutely insufferable boy-mom skit on tiktok

“I was wrong,” Steve announces as he enters the kitchen, “It would have been better to just go by myself.”

Eddie looks up, eyebrows furrowed, because – A) it's not exactly what he’d expected his husband to say first thing after arriving home from a day spent in the Berkshires at his coworker’s wedding, and B) Steve can be stubborn as a mule when he wants to be, and almost never admits defeat – not for dumb, petty shit, anyways, like how Steve almost didn’t go to the wedding at all because Eddie couldn't go with him until their oldest daughter Moe gallantly volunteered to attend in his wake.

(Which Steve had been goddamn thrilled about too, mostly because he’s hoping if Moe sees enough wedding propaganda, she’ll start thinking about popping the big question to her partner, Gray).

“Not a fun party, I take it?” Eddie asks.

“I had a great time,” Moe shrugs.

“Oh, I know,” Steve replies, “I know you had a damn fantastic afternoon.”

Steve has a tone, and it's the same tone he used when he found out Moe helped her friends password-protect all the Fox News Channels on their WASP-y mom's TVs, the same tone he used when Moe got kicked off the basketball team the same day she received an academic award from the school for having a 5.0 GPA (which, for the record, Eddie didn't even think was possible), the same tone he always uses when Moe stirs up her very specific flavor of trouble. Thing is though – Moe is twenty-three, and while she’s been a menace since day-one, she’s got a more than decent head on her shoulders and a fine-tuned sense of place and time. It’s not exactly like her to cause problems at something as important as a wedding – not without cause anyway.

“I think I’m, like, best friends with the bride now or something,” Moe is saying, and again, Eddie’s brow furrows as he looks back at Steve.

“Wasn’t your coworker the groom?” he asks.

“Yep,” Steve sighs, “Moe got into it with his mother.”

“Oh, god.”

“It had to be done,” Moe nods, “She wore a veil. She was openly complaining about how he danced with his wife – the bride – before he danced with her. She kept getting all worked up because her baby boy was leaving her. She needed to be stopped.”

Eddie had to keep a look of understanding off his face (in solidarity with Steve, obviously), because he’s been a certified girl-dad for over two decades now and he’s had his fair share of encounters with the dreaded boy-mom (a girl-dad’s natural enemy, he’s pretty sure).

“Hon, it was not your job to get involved,” Steve tiredly insists.

“I totally disagree,” Moe replies with another casual shrug, “The maid of honor was trying her best but she clearly needed help. And – I maintain that I pulled my punches. I could’ve spilled wine on her dress, but I didn’t. There’s only one rule at weddings and it’s don’t piss off the bride. The bride thanked me afterwards, so…it was fine.”

"You've got an interesting definition of fine," Steve tells her, "I really think there's an unspoken preserve the peace rule or something that wedding guests shouldn't start shit in the middle of the reception – especially not with anyone in the wedding party."

“Oh, what would you know?” Moe fires back, “You didn’t even have a wedding!”

“And even if we had,” Eddie comments idly, “there wouldn’t have been a mother-of-the-groom present to screw shit up. Hey – people get all up in arms over the bride’s mom and the groom’s mom. What about the dads?”

Moe shrugs.

“I think the bride’s dad was just happy they didn’t do the stupid garter thing,” she says, and she misses the way Eddie’s face falls, his eyes meeting Steve’s over Moe’s head to see he’s got a matching grimace on his face.

[badboysteve]

Steve really looked at these severely traumatized kids regularly giving him shit, threatening to prosecute him, dragging him into danger left and right and said:

'Yeah! Yeah, give me six of my own. I want to do this for the rest of my life.'

And I think that's beautiful.

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

They're having family dinner at Steve's house when Steve asked Eddie to pass him something. Everyone at the table knew they were together.

Eddie: Here you go, Stevie.

Steve: Thanks, Teddy.

Hopper: Teddy?

Steve: Yeah, because he's my Teddy bear.

Hopper: *snorts with laughter* Your Teddy bear?

Steve: *glares at him and then smiles at Joyce* You know what would be a cute nickname for Hopper? He's like your bunny, your sweet, grumpy bunny.

Joyce: *cooing at Hopper* Are you my grumpy bunny, Hop?

Hopper: What did you do?

Steve: Not so funny now, is it?

It was from that day forward that Hopper never mocked Steve’s relationship ever again. He learned his lesson.

[kiwibirbkat]

"I love you." Robin's eyes were dead, emotionless. Her eyebags only added to the effect, like straight charcoal was rubbed underneath her eyes. Like she hadn't slept in a week. And she probably hadn't, Steve remembered. Her voice was raspy from misuse, the only sounds Steve had heard her say since he found her being screams and those three simple words. He held her bloody hand, rubbing the joints on her fingers. Too thin fingers. He suddenly realized she wouldn't have had anything to eat all week unless she was eating the monsters corpse.

His eyes trailed down her arms. Covered in inhuman bites and scratches. He could feel splinters in her fingers. That explained the mediocre stake she had. That she swapped for her hands halfway through the fight. He shivered, remembering the gruesome fate that the monsters were doomed to. Even evil creatures didn't deserve such a horrible death. He glanced at the desecrated corpses surrounding them. What had she gone through to make her fight like... THAT?

The thing that really caught his attention was the cut on her forehead. A large scratch, mediocrely covered by a strip of her jacket.

With a start, he realized he hadn't responded. "I..." His voice cracked with emotion. Tears welled up in his eyes as he pulled her into a bone crushing hug, breaking down sobbing. "I love you too..." He mumbled into her shoulder.

The corpses surrounding them didn't matter anymore. The sulfur in the air of the upsidedown didn't matter anymore. Not even the fact that they were still in the upsidedown and anything could attack them at any moment mattered. The only thing that mattered was Robin back in his arms.

OR Robin gets dragged into the upside-down and can't be found for a week. Steve finds her and they fight a pack of demidogs (more of Steve watching in horror as Robin decimated them)

[formosusiniquis]

when you're fifteen

Even as he hands over the platter of chocolate chip miracles he makes, Steve sighs. It's a full bodied affair that makes Eddie nervous on instinct. "We need to talk about Mike."

It is and isn't a surprise.

Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson; Steve Harrington & Mike Wheeler WC: 4044 | Rated T | Tags/Themes: Good Babysitter Steve, Period Atypical Depictions of DnD, HoH!Steve, Disabled!Eddie Ao3

Eddie prided himself on his ability to manage a table. A forever DM, four years into a lifetime sentence, he can keep a story on track and, more importantly, keep tempers in check for hours at a time. 

He kept track of a thousand little details across notebooks, binders, and just trapped in his own brain. He knew everything about his NPCs, the world, his player’s characters, and the things that drove his players nuts. He had plans, backup plans, and vague ideas of shit he could do if things went completely and totally off the rails despite all of those plans. That was one of the things he held fast on his tongue the first time he failed senior year. Of course he didn’t pass. He’d taken on the mantle of Dungeon Master. He had to put together a story that took into account: Jeff’s high stakes backstory with the missing mother and bounty on his head, Gareth’s need to flirt with anything age appropriate that had a pulse, and Joey’s tactical mind when it comes to battle. Wasn’t it enough that he was going to class, he had to do shit at home about it too?

He didn’t like saying it. He liked to bitch about it a lot, actually. Eddie wasn’t really sure what he’d do with himself if he wasn’t The DM. It was like a core part of his identity.

It made the current situation he was in more world rocking than he really wanted to deal with.

He liked to think, if he couldn’t feel the remaining muscles in his side screaming in agony because he was sitting wrong -- or for too long or both -- and if his lower back wasn’t seizing and spasming for the same or maybe a brand new reason it had decided to come up with today, that he’d be able to manage this table just as well as he always had. Eight really wasn’t that different from three.

Except that combat is impossible to manage, each round took forever and that’s when everyone was paying attention. Except that there hasn’t been a satisfying story moment for Jeffrey the Jovial or Dustin’s Sir Rathington in the last four sessions. Except that Erica has been scribbling something in her notebook that probably wasn’t campaign notes since she hadn’t called him on the plot hole he caught session planning a month ago and hasn’t been able to fix -- and is more likely to have something to do with the way he noticed her looking at Uhura and Chapel when she was watching Star Trek reruns with Steve.

Except that Mike has been screaming at Dustin and Lucas for the better part of five minutes and Eddie really isn’t sure how to fix it.

“The plan is stupid. Did you even spend more than ten seconds thinking about it or did you decide that Will could just roll another character and we could save the resources.”

“Will could roll another character. It's not the first time he's rolled another character.” Lucas points out for what might be the third time, Eddie’s lost count.

“This whole thing is about resources, Mike.” Dustin snaps, “We’ll all be rolling new characters if we go into this stupid fucking fight while Gareth has no spell slots, Lucas is down to three arrows, Joey’s already used his second wind, and half the party is below half health.”

“It doesn’t matter, if we don’t go into the fight now Will is going to turn into some bloodsucking vampire spawn.”

Eddie knows this is the point that he should grab the reins again. He should prompt one of them to make a decision, or better yet, take the decision away from them entirely. But there’s a numbness in his thigh that has somehow spread to his mouth; it’s different from the pain the rest of his body is in, not really better or worse, and just as distracting. 

The rest of the table is quiet, boredom and annoyance plain on their faces. But they’ve also stopped looking to him to fix the problem. That’s the worst thing the Upside Down took from him, he thinks, even as his body is radiating pain from places he used to be able to forget he had.

“Or maybe it’s a trap,” Lucas points out. And it should be, but Lucas is a far better tactician than Eddie who already knows he won’t want to deal with the work it would take to do that well. “Y’know since you made all your weak spots pretty clear to Lord Ellias.”

“Or,” Dustin drawls out with a Harrington’s level of bitch and ire, “we could trust Eddie to turn this into a fucking story moment.”

“You guys are both so full of shit, just-” Mike has his nose curled and lip snarled, Eddie can feel the breeze of the blade swinging down to deliver the death blow to this campaign and adventuring party.

“Alright time to take a break.” Steve claps his hands, an angel come from on high to save Eddie. “Get up, get a snack, move your feet. Give my dining room some time to air out before it smells like nerd forever.”

Mike turns the full weight of his aggression on to Steve, who hopefully has a damage immunity or advantage on saves at the very least otherwise this is looking like a short talk, “We can't just take a break. Do you not get what the stakes are here? We've got to save-”

“Save someone who will still be in danger in twenty minutes.” Steve steamrolls over Mike’s argument with an unaffected ease. Eddie can feel the mood of the table lift just a bit, now that they’re about to be rescued.

“You just don't get it.”

“I get that it's pretend.” In a pre-Vencapocalypse world that would have been enough to get Eddie fighting on Little Wheeler’s side, but much as DnD is still his life. Fuck, it is all just pretend. “Go take a lap.”

“Ugh why do we even come over here. We could do this at my house without washed up jocks interrupting us.” Mike says but he gets up. Storming off to god knows where in the monstrosity of Steve’s house. Will, quiet as he always seems to get when he’s the center of one of these drag outs, trails off after Mike with an eye roll at the other two sophomores and an apologetic shrug for Steve.

And Eddie has his table again. Quiet and still, waiting for him to say something. Like there’s even anything to say when his very own Deus Ex Machina is leaving the room without so much as a backward glance at the poor schmucks he’s saved. “Well,” he says with a clap of his hands, “My blood sugar is dropping, so I’m going to shove as many of those cookies I smelled earlier into my mouth as I can in twenty minutes.” Because as much as they weren’t looking to him before, they need the DM to break the spell of the table. That’s how the whole thing goes.

And they scatter once it breaks. Eddie’s original Hellfire boys stay at the table, their ease at the Harrington house has been hardwon and the argument has rekindled something nerdy and skittish in them. Erica has headed off to the corner of the house Steve has let her claim as her own, nose still buried in her notebook. He doesn’t know where Lucas and Dustin are, but wherever they’ve gone they aren’t around to watch him struggle to pull himself out of his throne with his cane. He should just give in and let Steve raise the seat, half the problem is that it sits too low -- but knowing that and being willing to admit it at any point other than when he’s in PT levels of misery from pulling himself up are very different things.

Steve has his back to the door again, by the time Eddie makes his way to the kitchen. He has a bizarre semi-awareness of his surroundings that can be hard to predict. Sometimes it’s freaky how Steve can call out Dustin or Erica from a different room with an almost parental ‘eyes in the back of his head’ sixth sense. Other times his own soulmate can get the drop on him, managing to get her arms wrapped around his middle before he even realizes they’re in the same room.

It’s better to slam his cane against the floor a couple times. To let Steve feel the vibrations through the floorboards with his sock feet, that way nobody has to get hurt or feel guilty for doing the hurting.

Getting to see Steve’s grin bloom across his face as he flips that famous hair and catches sight of Eddie isn’t so bad either.

Next to Steve, it’s safe to prop his cane against the counter. He can rest his hips against the sure, solid surface and relax in the presence of his boyfriend while the blood returns to his limbs and a new kind of discomfort settles in. A hand, warm and sudsy finds the back of his neck. A strong thumb digging into a knot that had been there since at least last week with an erotic precision.

“You’ve got to stop letting them keep you in that chair for so long.”

"If we take breaks we'll just be here longer."

He shrugs, pulling his other hand from the dish water to pull Eddie into a gentle hold. "So be here longer."

"You'd get sick of the fighting. I'd get sick of the fighting." Actually it was probably better not to remind Steve of that. "You know I really did want one of those famous Stevie Henderson cookies."

Even as he hands over the platter of chocolate chip miracles he makes, Steve sighs. It's a full bodied affair that makes Eddie nervous on instinct. "We need to talk about Mike."

It is and isn't a surprise. "I know the yelling is a lot, Sweetheart, I'm sorry. You don't have a migraine, do you? I can talk to him and make him chill out a bit." That last part is absolutely a lie; he doesn't think he could get Mike under control right now if he had a stun gun and half a pound of Argyle’s primo Cali weed.

Not that it matters Steve has on his scrunchy faced 'you're wrong about something,' look, Eddie just needs to give him the minute it'll take to get his thoughts together. "You know I love you right?"

“In this dimension and any others,” Eddie supplies.

Steve smiles, feather soft, and runs a soothing hand through Eddie's hair the way he always does right before he says something atrociously bitchy. "I turn my hearing aids off the second you all start playing. If I had to listen to your game three different times, three different ways I'd drive my car into a portal."

He keeps going the way he does when he's afraid he's been too mean and wants to try to soften his edges for general consumption, like Eddie hadn't fallen in love with him the first time he called Dusin a butthead. "This way you and Dust can still use me as a sounding board for your plots and theories and I don't have to listen to my favorite nerds try to remember if 5+7 is 11 or 12."

“So what’s?”

“I’m worried about him!” Steve insists. Eddie might pride himself on his ability to handle a table, but he knows Steve is proud of his way with the kids. His relationship with each of them is rich and distinct, the way he handles each of them unique.

But it’s Mike.

Something must cross his face. He can only call it something, because he’s honestly not sure what emotion he’s feeling other than headache and how many cookies can I eat before they start tasting like nausea. But something else must have been there that causes Steve to cross his arms and glare.

“Yeah, of course, you’re worried about him. We are worried about him. Why are we worried about him, other than worried about what an asshole he’s been lately?”

That was not the right thing to say either, Eddie’s really rolling straight ones today. Steve’s glare shutters even further closed, and seriously it’s Mike. The same kid who called Steve a washed up jock not ten minutes ago. Who takes every single offered opportunity, and even some that he makes himself, to bitch and glare at Hawkins own #1 babysitter and monster hunter. 

“He’s a teenager with more trauma than a ‘Nam vet. But even if he weren’t he’s not an asshole for being barely fifteen and not knowing when to shut the hell up. Do you remember the kind of shit you were saying back then?”

Big brother Steve has successfully landed a critical hit. Eddie does remember the kind of shit he used to say. Just like he knows Steve remembers the kind of shit he used to say. And they both remember the shit that they used to say to one another. How Eddie called Steve a braindead future Reganite who wouldn’t know good taste if it spit in his mouth. How Steve had called Eddie a tryhard that was so desperate to be different because that was the only way he could hide having nothing to offer.

“So we’re worried?”

“I just don’t want him to say something he can’t walk back because he forgot the thing he’s getting upset over is pretend.” He runs a finger down Eddie’s splayed hands. A tickling sensation he can feel down the path it traces from the back of his palm and down his middle finger and, in a phantom mirror, down his spine. “I know you get into your characters, or whatever, I’m sure this is bringing up a lot of memories but he’s going to regret lashing out if it means he pushes away Dustin or Lucas or one of the other guys.”

“I notice you left out Will.”

“Yeah well, Will is more likely to get hurt by something he says when lashing out while they aren’t playing exposure therapy the game. I mean seriously, you had to kidnap him? That’s where your, ‘Stevie, baby, what should I do with them this week? They decided to do something stupid,’ bitching and moaning landed you?”

Eddie doesn’t even really have time to let himself feel the fluttery, squishy feeling he wants to feel -- cause Steve does actually listen when they’ve got their feet tangled on the sofa together, each working on their own things -- before it’s getting smacked by down by the paladin of his heart. “No, no, that isn’t where I landed. I had a perfectly acceptable diplomacy mission prepared, with a back up fight that they were supposed to run away from. What do you want me to do, Sunshine? I gotta give the game some stakes. It’s not exactly fun for Will if he knows he’s indestructible.”

Maybe, he thinks, he should just stop talking today. Just cancel the rest of the session entirely. Will gets carried off by the vampire spawn, half dead and unsaveable, the party on its last legs, unable to agree on a course of action; and actually that’s where we’re gonna end things come back next week and hope Steve even lets us in the house after the screaming we’ve all done. Why? Because he can feel every joint in his body and every one of them is in pain. Because there’s been the dull throb of a low grade headache beating an even pulse in his temples since he woke up this morning. But mostly because every time he opens his stupid fucking mouth to talk Steve stops touching him, and that sucks absolute balls.

“I maybe had an idea,” Steve says. His voice dips and slides while he keeps his hands small, quiet, and close to his chest. Something Robin told him, and he’s now noticing, means Steve has thought about this idea a lot, long enough that he’s convinced himself it’s bad. Eddie’s noticed that even when these ideas aren’t phrased well, they’re never bad.

“I know it’s like rule number one: don’t split the party,” Steve can’t help but roll his eyes when he says it, an instinctive bit of brotherly mockery of Dustin, he would guess. “But what if you split the group a bit. Mike can go after Will, I’m sure Erica would be down to kill some vampires. She loves a chance to test drive her new feats and shit. Then Jeff and Dustin and whoever else can finish up that thing? With the missing girlfriend or whatever? And once that’s done they reunite to do whatever’s next on the list, save the kingdom.”

Eddie sits with that for a bit.

Impulsive is still his middle name, but sometime between being eaten alive by other dimensional hell creatures and getting a thousand and six tiny, itchy stitches removed he’s started giving things second and even third thoughts. Though in this case the second thoughts are less ‘is this a good idea’ and more ‘will Steve bend me over that solid oak dining table and critique my DM notes while he rails me.’

As his stomach swoops, his lower body twinges in a much less enjoyable way. Letting him know that now he’d been standing too long, or leaning against the counter the wrong way, or maybe something else entirely that made his legs tired of doing one of the few things they were made to do. 

Figures he finally lands a hot boyfriend and he's got chronic pain keeping him from getting his dick wet.

“If you’ve already got another idea-”

“No,” he rushes to assure Steve, who needs to stay confident in his own ideas for all kinds of reasons but right now mostly so he’ll be willing to play into this new fantasy of Eddie’s once his body is willing to cooperate with the standing and the bending it’s going to require. “No, it’s a fantastic idea. I’m plotting as we speak.” 

And that isn’t a total lie. Forever DM, he can think about all the fun ways the love of his life and reason he’s still living could degrade his current campaign -- An oath of vengeance paladin questing to save a lost love, isn’t that a little played out. Oh wow, rat swarms in a dungeon, they’re never gonna see that coming -- and figure out how to trick the group into thinking splitting the party was their own idea.

“How long,” he asks his resident child expert, “do you think it would take Will to roll up a new character?”

The smile that tips the corners of Steve’s face is the best part of his day. “Will always has an extra character rolled up with the rest of his stuff in his folder."

Things are slotting together in his head now, and as Steve's hands come around to do something magical in a spot on his back that probably has a name but mostly makes his legs feel like they should really belong to a baby deer.

“So Will…”

“Can convince Mike, and get a chance to try out the new thingy he built. He’s been waiting to talk to you about it.”

Eddie’s getting excited now, hands shaking in the good way. He doesn’t even care that his knee locks as he tries to bounce on his toes, just lets his hands get out the excited energy. “And the band can go do the story side plot shit I’ve been putting off…” 

“With Dustin,” Steve reminds, “cause he’ll want to go wherever there’s the best chance to stir up shit. You already know Erica is going to go where there’s a chance to prove she’s the best at fighting, Lucas too. Not the fighting thing. He’ll go to round out the group, and so his mom doesn’t have to worry about keeping track of one more thing on the family calendar.”

“You’re a genius, Sweetheart.” He snags Steve by the collar, ignoring his bitching that the two fingered pinch he’s got it in is going to stretch it out, and pulls him close. Pressing a kiss on the corner of his perfect boyfriend’s pleased little smile. “I gotta go talk to Will about this character.”

“Send Mike down when you do?”

He’s surprised when he gets no argument, barely gets acknowledgement, when he finds Will and Mike in the guest bathroom and separates them. Mike slips from the room with nothing but a backward glance at Will, who smiles supportively. Once he clears the room, it takes next to zero prompting to get Will to talk about his backup character. The ‘thingy’ he'd been working on a tricked out ranger build that's going to annihilate. 

There's something fresh, brightening, about Will's enthusiasm for the character that infects Eddie too. It gets him excited, for the first time since everyone arrived, to sit down around their over crowded table and play the hour of set up it's going to take to get the party ready to be split. 

And Will doesn't duck his head anymore when Eddie pushes at him and his DnD expertise, he just pushes back. Together they work out a couple tweaks that will make the build fit better in the party, flesh out a backstory that they can integrate even if it doesn't end up going anywhere, and it doesn't really feel like time passes at all. Until Sinclair is sticking his head through the door, surprise artfully hidden at who he finds, as he asks if they're ready to go.

Mike is conspicuously absent from the table when Eddie makes his way to it, and that won't do at all. He's not an asshole, he's just 15. Something like shame crawls up the back of his throat as Steve's reminder sounds in his head. He remembers 15 and the things he said but more than that, as he looks around the table, he remembers being the last to arrive at a hangout of people you're already worried hate you only to find them having a good time without you. 

Eddie has always prided himself on his ability to run a good session. "Stevie, gimme back our paladin, do I need to bring in a hostage negotiator."

A cookie held in one hand while the other smooths down the ruffled fringe of his bangs, Mike re-enters the dining room. The back of his Hellfire shirt is bunched and, if that weren't sign enough he'd been on the receiving end of a perfect Harrington hug, he looks settled. A smile tugging at his face that Eddie hadn't realized how much he missed, he looks boyish and happy and if Eddie didn't before he understands Steve's mission to keep these kids kids by whatever means necessary.

"Alright, now where were we?” He says once Mike is back in his seat beside Will, “Ah yes, you all watch in horror as the vampire spawn, hastened, dash away from you all with the unconscious, but still alive, body of Sir William the Wizened." Before anyone can restart the shouting, and he knows there will be shouting now that they’ve all had a chance to look over their notes and their character sheets, he barrels on. “From the hill behind you comes a shot. An arrow flies, thwip thwip. It slices between you all, before sinking into the back of one of the spawn at the back of the pack. He stumbles to the ground and the rest of the pack leave him to die.”

“We can interrogate him!” 

“Worry about who’s behind us, dude.”

He doesn’t let Mike or Dustin derail him, Eddie continues, “As you turn the hill behind you is nothing but mist. You all know the range of an elven bow, but whoever fired it is nowhere to be seen. You wait, breath held, as a figure all in black slowly approaches. You get the feeling you see him now only because he wants to be seen.

“Will, describe your new character for us!”

[emo-nova]

Robin and Steve are always playing Marco Polo to find the other. Legit Steve at the top of the stairs yelling Polo like it’s normal at the Wheeler house and Robin stopping mid-convo to yell back Marco and then resumes the convo like it’s normal. I just find it both sad and cute that they are always keeping a look out for the other.

[steviewashere]

Hold My Hand and Look Me in the Eye

(also on ao3)

CW: Canon Compliant Violence/Gore, Slight Panic Attack

wc: 2,251

Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington & Eddie Munson

Tags: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Steve Harrington is Traumatized, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Post Season 4, Brief Mentions of Character Death, Eddie Munson Lives, Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Hopeful Ending, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Sort of Love Confessions in Here

------------ In Steve's lap is Eddie's head. His wild, scraggly, curly mane of hair. Relaxed face—closed eyes and neutral lips and button nose. Tens of freckles and fanned eyelashes and straight cut eyebrows. Him and his soft puffs of air. All of him, facing up to Steve's torso and own face and his shaking hands.

He wants to run his fingers through Eddie's hair. Feel the dry ends and the knotted strands and how it's all soft in the end anyway. Wants to hear him hum in contentment, because that's what's missing in his demeanor. But there's one problem. One huge problem that threatens to gape Steve's mouth and make him puke. That causes him to rip his eyes away and stare at the wall.

For a while, he thought it was love. Something simple and mundane as that. Well, sort of simple and mundane; Steve's never loved normally a second of his life. He wished it was just this wonderful, bright thing that causes his insides to flutter and his heart to cease and his tongue to pool saliva like a hungry dog. Maybe, if he were to close his eyes and feel Eddie's skin against his own, he could admit out loud through a waned, hesitant, soft breath: "I'm so in love with you." Because he is. He's so madly, terribly in love—he wishes sometimes he could consume all of Eddie, stuff him behind his ribcage, squish him around his heart where all the holes are, and feel Eddie's sinew combine with his—feel them coagulate and meld and stick to one another like dried blood in lifelines. Maybe he's possessive, obsessive, beyond freak and human nature. But maybe tasting Eddie between his teeth would cure his sickly insides.

But no, he's just sick. He's sick with want and need. He's sick in the head, unable to imagine anything else but...blood. Eddie's blood. The torn, shredded skin on his limbs. All the wet layers of muscle that dried in the air of the Upside Down. That's all Steve can see when he looks at Eddie. When he feels him. When he hears him, even. That death rattle. The thing that haunts his sleep. The thing that threatens his very being, his solitude, his touch starved sin. The thing that makes him lean close, too close sometimes, and make sure Eddie's breath is solid and long and passively peaceful—or there at all, for that matter.

Steve can't look at somebody he wants like no other. Can't stare without imagining death and grief and sabotage and broken ribs under his palms and the metallic taste on his own lips, the metallic strings of saliva that connect him to the Eddie of yesterday—the one who laid stock still in a field of rock hard dirt and blue skies. He wonders how Nancy can ruminate on pictures of Barb. If her stomach and heart lurch the same—if her insides know her betrayal, like Steve's insides know his and Eddie's betrayal like the alphabet. (Steve can recite it all backwards, forwards, misplaced but with the same end result.)

So, instead of running his fingers through Eddie's hair, Steve tucks his hands under his armpits and looks off at the wall. He wants to touch, but can't. Just...can't.

---- It comes to a head one evening in Steve's living room, miles of space beyond them, and yet. It's the same predicament, of sorts. Eddie's too close. Steve's too hungry with want. Too devastated by what he's seen. And makes last ditch efforts to not look Eddie in the eyes. But the one time his sight locks on with Eddies, by accident because Steve would never allow this, all he sees is anger.

"You don't look at me," Eddie bites.

Steve flinches. And, even though it's being Brough to light, he still looks away. His tongue too heavy in his mouth, he doesn't dare open to respond. There's a million things he could say. The trauma. The heartbreak. The devastation. His messy over the moon feelings. Put his beating heart into the open air, it pulsating and tender and red raw. He could look Eddie in the eyes and feign annoyance. He could look Eddie in the eyes and break out into tears. He could cry, that's it. That's what he wants to do every time he sees Eddie, and how awful is he?

"Seriously, man?" Eddie asks aloud, annoyed. "You're unbelievable. Maybe I should just go home."

He whines pathetically at that like he's a wounded animal. Some little thing laying battered on the forest floor behind his house. A three-legged dog with a sprained foot and wet eyes and malnourished belly. The mewling cat that lays prone in his neighbor's front yard, also hungry, also sad, also injured like a shot-to-the-head mistake. Steve shakes his head. Inhales something stuttering and scrunches his fists in his jeans. If Eddie goes now, Steve knows he'll never see him again. And if Eddie goes, it'll be just like what Steve thought back in the Upside Down: I will never see him again and I will miss him with my whole body and I will wish that I was his friend. I will love somebody I could've loved harder.

"Look at me," Eddie demands. "Look me in the eyes and tell me that you want me here."

And Steve should. He should stare and gaze and ignite with fury. How stupid of an idea, that he doesn't want Eddie in his home. He should say something, really. Get down on his knees, maybe. Beg and plead. And tell Eddie all the ways in which he's charmed Steve's soul. With every flourish and every stuttered sentence and every half-assed doodle. All the smiles he presents because Steve can remember, if he tries hard enough, though he truly isn't sure he could. Recite word for word how Eddie orders his cheeseburgers and his breakfast platters and his coffee. Make list after list of every band that's ever inspired Eddie to be a musician or to fall in with music. Paint over all the ugly Harrington portraits with all the colors staining Steve's heart—the rainbows and pastels that Eddie has somehow bruised him with. But it's futile.

He can't look and can't speak and can't stop the lurching of his own stomach.

"See," Eddie hisses, "this is exactly what I'm talking about. I'm going home."

Eddie stands. And he’s tall. Well, as tall as Steve. Lithe and long and movement after movement after movement. Steve has always loved to watch his back as he enters rooms or exits doors or turns and stretches and—But Steve doesn’t like to watch him leave. 

His chest boils with unkept feelings. The want, the desire, the multitudes. Throat stinging and nose pinching and eyes…He begins to cry. Softly, at first, as Eddie grabs his coat from by the front door. As he bends down to tie his shoes and untuck his hair from the collar of his jacket. As he chases around his pocket for his keyring. But as his hand lands on the doorknob—

Steve sobs, at least he hopes he did. The sound that escapes him is halfway a cry and halfway a scream. Raw and bleeding and hurting. He can’t stand to look at Eddie always leaving, nearly leaving, leaving Steve’s heart like a steadfast bullet.

And that’s when, for all the energy and movement constantly leaving Eddie’s body, Eddie goes stock still. Head angling to look over his shoulder, though not quite peeking. Fingers scrunching around the doorknob.

“Wait,” Steve gasps, “Eddie, wait.” He scrambles up from the couch as fast as humanly possible, clumsily ambling around his coffee table, nearly tripping over the floorboards. “Eddie,” he whispers, pleading, “please don’t go. I can—Please let me explain.”

“Then explain,” he demands once more.

Steve, for the first time, reaches out. He gently brushes the back of Eddie’s right hand with his fingers. The skin under his fingertips is warm, thin, malleable. It’s wrinkling and pushing with Steve. It’s warm. On a real body. On an alive body.

His breath stutters in his chest as he attempts to get himself under control. He swallows back the rest of his tears, they go down harder than he would like to admit. “It’s really hard to—To really look at you sometimes,” he admits, voice quiet and trapped. “But I always want to look at you. I just can’t bring myself to do it.”

Eddie shifts in front of him. His hand moving away from Steve’s fingers. Face directed at Steve’s head. Probably looking, but Steve doesn’t actually know. His own face is pointed down to where his fingers were, eyes dim and closed off. “Why, though? You too good for me or something?” Eddie asks. And Steve feels mad for a second, that that’s the assumption that he goes to. But also, he knows that Eddie has every right to ask. It’s not everyday that one of your close friends admits that it’s hard to look at you.

“No,” Steve breathes. “I just can’t look at you without—“ And his voice stops there. Trapping in his throat as if two hands wrapped themselves around his neck, pulling him back and restraining, forcing him to choke and heave and fall silent. He just shakes his head and sobs again. He feels so weak, unable to explain himself, unable to put himself back together enough to get the words out in the open. To finally let Eddie truly decide if he wants to leave or not.

And at this point, Steve would understand if the door slammed in his face. Opportunity now forever closed off to him.

But instead, there’s a soft touch to his shoulder. Fingers gently creeping up the side of his neck, probably able to feel his rabbit like pulse. “Hey,” Eddie whispers, “just tell me. Let me understand what’s going on in that big brain of yours.”

Steve lets out a self-deprecating chuckle. “You’re going to hate me,” he chokes. “You’re going to hate the reason.” He thinks, as he always does, Please don’t hate me, Eds. Please don’t go around and hate me.

“Stevie, if you just tell me what’s going on—No—“ Eddie’s hand scoots up to Steve’s face, his palm barely cupping his cheek, a thin gap of air and palm. “—Stevie, I don’t know what’s happening, but I assure you that I won’t hate you. It’s too easy to love you for that to happen.”

He peels off the bandaid at that. He loves me, Steve glows, he thinks it’s easy despite me. “I look at you and see blood, Eds. I see…I see death. And I hear that—That stupid fucking rattle. I can’t escape it,” he rambles on. “I go to sleep and have nightmares about you laying on the ground and I’m able to see all your muscles and your bones and—The blood, Eds, I see the blood.” His breath leaves him haltingly. Sharp and fast and panting. “I’m sorry,” he croaks. “I love you, but I can’t even fucking look at you. I don’t know—I don’t know how to fix it.”

Eddie makes a soft sound. Something like a coo. A gasp. A gentle, unmoored, sad sigh. “You don’t need to be fixed, Steve. That’s—God, you’re traumatized. Fuck,” he whispers. “I fucking scarred you.”

“Eds, you didn’t—“

“But I did! I changed the way your brain functions. But I—You don’t need to be fixed. We…” Eddie’s hand flexes on Steve’s cheek. His other hand cups Steve’s face. They bring him up to Eddie’s eyes. And Steve, for all that he usually can’t handle looking at, sees color. Like the transition in The Wizard of Oz. Blushing cheeks and dark brown eyes and rose petal pink lips. “We’re going to get you through this,” Eddie devotes, determined and still. “What makes it easy to hang around me? Like…What do you do to even let me be in your home?”

Steve squeezes his eyes shut and sighs through his nose. “I keep my music and movies low. To hear when you move around or when you breathe. Like when you stayed the night a few days ago, all I did was lay awake in my room to hear you shift around your bed,” he concedes. “I know that sounds…It sounds really creepy now that I say it out loud. When you laugh, I like that. Or when I can feel your skin under my hand, it’s warm. I like the warmth.”

Eddie blinks, thinking too. “What if,” he tentatively starts. “What if when I stay the night, we share the bed? Or when you listen to music, I sing along? Or if I blink really fast and you look at me?” Steve huffs a laugh and opens his eyes, feeling already a tad lighter. “It could work! Even if you just watched my mouth when I talk? Or when I snore, because I know that I snore.”

“God, you really want me to look at you,” Steve teases.

“I want you to be comfortable. Also—“ He drops his hand away and grabs Steve’s left. “What if I just hold your hand all the time, squeeze it every once in a while? Maybe that will tell you that I’m alive.”

Steve’s smile is small, but there. “I’d like that.”

“Good, then I’ll hold your hand every step of the way.”

-----------

[rambamthxman]

How to Make Friends!

Step 1: go through several traumatic moments together

Step 2: congrats! Now you're bonded for life 🙂

Edit: removed incorrectly used term! Traumatized buddies still be here tho 💕

[morganbritton132]

Eddie posts a Tiktok of Steve standing in the kitchen, opening their mail with a big ass knife which, you know. Eddie’s not crazy about.

He’s got on a striped polo, the same Member’s Only jacket he’s been wearing since the 80s, jeans, and a pair of blue Nikes. The smile he gives Eddie is a little confused, “Why are you staring at me?”

“Hold this,” Eddie says in lieu of an answer, and then shoved his phone at Steve. You can hear him running away.

There’s a cut to Eddie taking the phone back and him holding up a picture of Steve from ‘87.

In the picture, he’s wearing a blue and white striped polo, a member’s only jacket, jeans, and blue Nikes. He is also opening the mail in Wayne’s tiny kitchen with Eddie’s pocketknife.

Steve just asks, “What?”

Eddie smiles back, “Never change, Steve Harrington.”