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vingtetunmars · 2 days ago

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Baby, Come To Me

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson

Summary: After a second show and another failed attempt to set Eddie up with a girl, Steve pushes too far. Eddie finally snaps and told him the truth. Steve understood, in his own messy way. Because he had been feeling something too—something that made him confused, scared, and alive in a way he didn’t have words for.

Part 1 / Part 2

Tags: fluff, it's tooth rotting fluff now, humor, teasing, slow burn, friends to lovers, coming out, getting together, developing relationship, secret relationship, Steve bisexual awakening, and it's Eddie Munson, a bit of internalized homophobia, Steve is severely touch starved, Steve is also stubborn, Eddie is a sweetheart, and a romantic, seriously in this part Eddie's shooting his shot.

A/N: I put all the romcom flick tropes in this lmao. And yaay Steve finally discoveres himself. If you have any requests, suggestions, or thoughts, feel free to send me a message. Reblogs are appreciated. Please do not steal or cross-post it on another platform without asking. Thank you.

Word Count: 8.2k

masterlist

The second show was even louder than the first.

Eddie had practically set the stage on fire—wild solos, hair flying, voice ragged from shouting lyrics over the chaos. Steve had found himself closer to the front this time, no longer hanging by the wall like he did the first time. And maybe he was a little too fixated on how Eddie looked up there: alive, grinning, sweat sticking curls to his forehead.

Steve barely noticed the time slip past. By the time the amps buzzed quiet and Eddie gave the crowd a lazy, two-finger salute, the room was already buzzing with praise, back slaps, and the scraping of bar stools.

They slipped out through the side door, the cold night air cutting through the haze of heat and beer-soaked reverb.

“Seriously,” Steve said as they walked toward the parking lot, “that solo? In the second song? That was insane.”

Eddie laughed, kicking a crushed cigarette box out of the way. “Yeah? You like that one? Might’ve written it while I was very high.”

“I’m not even mad. I think you broke the sound barrier.”

Steve grinned as they turned a corner, not watching his step—and nearly collided with a biker in a leather vest stepping out of the alley.

Before Steve could react, a hand shot out.

Eddie’s.

He curled his fingers lightly around Steve’s wrist and tugged him back a step—firm but easy, like muscle memory. His other hand settled instinctively on Steve’s waist, fingers splaying wide. Protective.

“Hey—watch it,” Eddie muttered to the guy with a narrowed glance.

The biker grunted and moved on.

Steve blinked, heart thudding—not from fear, but from the fact that Eddie hadn’t even hesitated.

Eddie dropped his arm slowly, hand brushing against Steve’s jacket a second longer than necessary. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, trying to breathe normally.

Eddie didn’t say anything. Just walked beside him again like it was nothing.

But something about the way he had reached for Steve—like it was instinct, like he’d done it a hundred times before—was messing with Steve’s head more than he wanted to admit.

So maybe that was why, when they neared the lot, Steve locked eyes with a girl across the pavement—tall, black jeans, safety pin earrings, laughing with a drink in hand—and latched onto her like a lifeline.

“Hey,” he said, nudging Eddie. “Come on.”

Eddie squinted. “Come on what?”

Steve didn’t wait. He grabbed Eddie by the wrist—not rough, but firm—and pulled.

Across the lot. Straight toward the girl.

Eddie sputtered. “Steve—”

“She was watching you all night,” Steve said over his shoulder. “She’s cute. You’ve gotta talk to her.”

“I don’t think—”

But they were already there.

“Hey,” Steve called as they neared. The girl looked up, surprised. “My friend here was just saying how sick your earrings were.”

Eddie blinked. “What?”

The girl raised her brows. “Oh? Thanks.”

Steve nudged Eddie forward slightly.

Eddie, now standing awkwardly a foot away from her, gave a half-smile. “Uh. Yeah. Safety pins. Very punk.”

The girl smiled. “You were great tonight. On guitar.”

“Thanks,” Eddie said, stiff as a board. “Fun crowd.”

There was a pause. Steve stood beside him, beaming like he’d just nailed a touchdown pass.

And Eddie… was quiet.

Eventually, the girl nodded. “Well—nice meeting you. See you around.”

She walked off with a polite wave.

Steve turned back, triumphant. “See? She totally liked you.”

But Eddie wasn’t smiling.

He let out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Steve.”

“What?”

Eddie didn’t answer at first. He just started walking again—shoulders a little lower than before.

Steve followed, frowning. “I’m just trying to help, man.”

“I know what you’re doing,” Eddie said, quiet but pointed.

Steve frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Eddie looked at him then—really looked. His eyes weren’t harsh, but they weren’t soft either.

“I’m not interested,” he said.

Steve’s throat felt tight. “You don’t even know her.”

“I don’t want to.”

The words lingered in the air between them, heavier than either of them expected.

And for once, Steve didn’t have a comeback.

He just stood there, his hands stuffed into the pockets of Eddie’s borrowed jacket, heart thudding too loud for how quiet everything had gotten.

Eddie finally looked away. “Let’s just go.”

And Steve followed, silent.

The ache in his chest not so easy to ignore anymore.

The drive back to the trailer was quiet.

Uncomfortably quiet.

No music, no dumb jokes, no humming from Eddie like usual. Just the sound of the van’s engine and the faint buzz of Steve chewing the inside of his cheek, too aware of every second that passed in silence.

They’d planned this sleepover yesterday. Joked about watching terrible horror movies and stealing the last of Wayne’s root beer. It was supposed to be easy.

He glanced at Eddie a few times. Wanted to say something. Anything.

But Eddie’s face was carved in stone—jaw clenched, eyes locked on the road, one hand tight on the wheel like he needed it to keep himself grounded.

When they finally pulled into the trailer park, the silence came with them.

Eddie killed the engine and stepped out before Steve could even reach for the door handle.

By the time Steve caught up, Eddie had already shoved open the front door, heading straight for the kitchen like he needed distance between them. The place was dim, warm, lived-in. A safe space—that suddenly didn’t feel so safe.

Steve closed the door behind him quietly. “Eds…”

Eddie didn’t turn around. He was rummaging in a cabinet, not really grabbing anything, just making noise.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, voice low.

Eddie paused.

“It’s fine,” he replied. Too fast. Too flat.

“It’s not,” Steve said, taking a step closer. “I—I wasn’t trying to upset you. I just thought…”

“That I needed help?” Eddie turned, arms crossed now, leaning against the counter. “That I was too pathetic or sad or lonely to find someone on my own, so you’d do it for me?”

Steve’s stomach twisted. “No. That’s not— I just wanted to be a good friend.”

“Well, you’re not helping.”

The words hit harder than either of them expected.

Steve blinked, taking a step back. “Jesus, Eddie.”

Eddie raked a hand through his hair. He looked angry, but not the kind that wanted to fight. The kind that was trying not to cry.

“I know what this is, okay?” he snapped. “I know what it looks like. You bring me girls like I’m a charity case, like I’m broken, like you’re trying to fix something.”

Steve opened his mouth, then closed it.

Eddie’s voice dropped lower. Tighter.

“Well guess what, Harrington? You can’t fix this. Because I’m not interested in them. I’m not ever going to be. That’s not who I am.”

The room went still.

Steve swallowed. “...What are you saying?”

Eddie laughed once—sharp and bitter. “You’re not that dense, man.”

And then, with his back against the kitchen counter like he needed it to hold him up, Eddie said it:

“I’m gay.”

The silence was deafening.

Eddie didn’t look at him.

He stared at the floor, jaw clenched so hard it ached, fists pressed to the edge of the counter.

“Go ahead,” he muttered. “Leave if you want. Beat me up. Whatever. Just—just don’t go spreading it around, okay? I can deal with everything else, just don’t—don’t ruin me.”

Steve’s breath caught in his throat.

And all he could do for a second was stare.

Not in horror.

Not in anger.

But in the kind of stunned silence that comes from something finally clicking—a puzzle piece he hadn’t even known was missing sliding into place.

Eddie still wouldn’t look at him.

Still had his arms crossed, jaw clenched like he was bracing for impact. But now his breathing was shallow, uneven, like saying it out loud had knocked something loose inside him.

Steve took a step forward.

Eddie immediately flinched back, shoulders tensing. “Don’t.”

Steve froze. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“You don’t get it,” Eddie muttered, eyes darting to the floor. “You can’t get it. You don’t know what it’s like to live every day thinking someone might clock you for looking too long. For sounding the wrong way. For being—”

“I do,” Steve said, voice firm.

Eddie scoffed. “Oh, come on—”

“I’m not joking,” Steve cut in, stepping forward again—slower this time, careful. “I’m not messing with you, Eddie. I mean it. I—”

He stopped. Took a breath. His voice dropped into something soft. Raw.

“I’ve been confused for weeks.”

Eddie blinked.

“I mean, I like girls. I’ve always liked girls. And I thought that was it. But then you came along—crashing into my life like some kind of metalhead hurricane—and you’re loud and annoying and touchy and... gentle, in a way I didn’t expect.”

Steve laughed under his breath, shaky. “And I didn’t get it at first. Why I was looking forward to get high with you. Why I started waking up thinking about you. Why I didn’t want to go home anymore when I could just be with you instead.”

He looked up at Eddie now, searching his face.

“I don’t know what this means. I don’t have the right words. I just know that I—” He hesitated. Then: “I understand how you feel.”

Eddie swallowed hard, eyes glassy. “You’re not just saying that?”

“No,” Steve whispered. “I’m not.”

Eddie didn’t move.

Not at first.

But then his shoulders slumped, like something in him finally gave up the fight. He let his arms fall, like he was exhausted from holding everything in.

“You wrecked me, Munson,” Steve said, smiling sadly. “And the worst part is... I think I kinda let you.”

A silence settled, thick with something neither of them could name yet.

Then—quietly, hesitantly—Eddie said, “Me too.”

Steve stepped closer again, and this time, Eddie didn’t pull away.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t hide.

And somewhere in that space between confusion and truth, they stood—finally facing the storm together.

They stood there for a while, both of them unsure of what to do now that all the walls were down.

No more pretending. No more dodging.

Just this—the space between them, electric and still, like a live wire humming in silence.

Eventually, they sank onto the old couch in Eddie’s living room, side by side but not touching. Not yet. Both of them staring straight ahead like the room might start spinning otherwise.

Steve rubbed his hands over his face, letting out a long breath. “This is… a lot.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said quietly. “It is.”

Another beat of silence.

Then, from somewhere cautious but steady, Eddie added, “Bisexual.”

Steve turned to him slowly. “What?”

Eddie looked over, softer now. “That’s the word. For liking both. Guys and girls.”

Steve blinked. “Oh.”

“You, uh…” Eddie shrugged, trying to play it cool but failing a little. “You might be. If what you said is real.”

“It is,” Steve said quickly. “I didn’t—I’m not messing with you.”

“I know,” Eddie replied, smiling faintly. “Didn’t say you were.”

Steve let that settle, brows furrowed. “Bisexual,” he repeated, almost testing the word in his mouth. “That’s… that’s a thing?”

“It’s a real thing, Harrington,” Eddie said, grinning now. “Contrary to the entire state of Indiana’s belief.”

Steve laughed softly, more from relief than humor. “Okay. Yeah. I guess that… kind of fits.”

Eddie leaned back, tossing his arm over the back of the couch. “I can’t believe I’m Steve Fucking Harrington’s bisexual awakening.”

Steve flushed. “Shut up.”

Eddie snorted. “No, seriously. You were the guy in high school. The king. The whole hair and charm and girls falling over you thing. And now? Boom. One metalhead and suddenly you're spiraling.”

Steve groaned into his hands. “This is so embarrassing.”

“It’s kinda hot, actually.”

“Eddie—”

“What?” Eddie grinned wider, nudging him gently. “You said I wrecked your world. Let me bask in it a little.”

Steve shook his head, biting back a smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” Eddie said, eyes softening as they finally met Steve’s again, “you’re still here.”

That shut them both up for a second.

And when Steve leaned just a little closer, his shoulder brushing Eddie’s—

He didn’t pull away.

They were back in Eddie’s room, the dim glow of a lamp casting long shadows across the walls. The air smelled faintly of laundry detergent, weed, and something warm and uniquely Eddie—comforting, lived-in.

Steve tugged off his jeans and flopped down onto the mattress in just a borrowed t-shirt and boxers, already claiming one side like he’d done it a dozen times before.

Eddie watched him with a lazy kind of interest as he shuffled through a drawer for something clean to sleep in.

“You know,” he said, glancing over his shoulder, “I’m still kind of reeling.”

Steve blinked at him from the bed. “From what?”

“From the part where Steve Harrington basically told me I’m irresistible,” Eddie said, slipping off his shirt with an exaggerated flourish. “Truly a landmark moment for the people.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but there was a pink flush on his cheeks that hadn’t quite faded since their earlier conversation. “I didn’t say irresistible.”

“You implied it,” Eddie countered, tugging on a tank top and sauntering toward the bed like a cat with a secret.

“You’re impossible.”

“Mm. You said that often too. Starting to think it’s your version of saying you’re into me.”

Steve turned onto his side, facing Eddie, who crawled into the bed beside him with a grin far too smug for someone who’d had a meltdown an hour ago.

“This is you being humble?” Steve asked.

Eddie shrugged, settling into the blanket beside him. “Nah. This is me being confident, because you’re still here.”

Steve met his eyes, and something warm passed between them—unspoken, but understood.

Then Eddie’s voice dropped just slightly. “So… now that we’ve both bared our souls and all that very romantic crap… what are the rules?”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Rules?”

“Yeah. Like… can I flirt with you now? Without it being, you know, fake?”

Steve’s throat went dry.

Eddie inched closer, just a little, propping his head on his hand. “Because full disclosure—I’ve been dying to do it for real.”

Steve bit his lip to hide the smile threatening to spread. “You’re flirting with me right now.”

“Only mildly,” Eddie said, winking. “I’m holding back out of respect for your fragile post-awakening state.”

Steve let out a soft laugh, ducking his head. “You’re an idiot.”

“And you like it.”

A beat.

Steve looked up again, all soft eyes and flushed cheeks. “...Maybe I do.”

That made Eddie’s smirk falter—just for a second—into something more genuine. Something gentler.

“Cool,” he said quietly. “That’s… cool.”

They settled in, the distance between them almost nonexistent now. Shoulders touching. Breaths syncing.

And maybe, in the quiet that followed, there wasn’t a need for any more flirting.

Because this—the weightless way they rested beside each other, the freedom in their words, the quiet grin on Eddie’s face—said more than teasing ever could.

Steve had never been on this side of it before.

The side where he wasn’t chasing, performing, impressing.

He was being courted.

By Eddie freaking Munson.

And it was working.

It started with the pet names. Eddie had always thrown them around casually—big boy, pretty boy, hotshot—sometimes just to watch Steve roll his eyes. But lately, they’d shifted.

Softer.

Sweeter.

“Hey, baby,” Eddie would say when Steve showed up at his locker after class, like it was nothing. Like it had always been that way.

Or a quiet, “Y’alright, sweetheart?” if Steve looked tired, Eddie’s hand brushing the back of his neck with casual concern.

And maybe the first few times, Steve flushed so hard he had to pretend he was cold.

But he didn’t hate it.

Not even a little.

Eddie’s touches changed too. They used to be thoughtless, unconscious—knuckles against Steve’s arm, a knee bump under the table. Because Eddie genuinely couldn't keep his hands to himself in general. But now? Now they were intentional. A hand at the small of his back when they walked through crowds. Ring brushing over Steve's skin just to say I’m here.

Steve let it happen.

More than that—he found himself waiting for it.

Then came the mixtape.

Eddie had handed it over without fanfare. Just leaned across the van one day, dropped it in Steve’s lap, and said, “Don’t play it around anyone else. It’s got my soft shit on it.”

The label was scrawled in Eddie’s sharpie handwriting: For Stevie—with a crudely drawn heart that Eddie tried to scratch out, but not really.

Steve didn’t say anything at the time.

But he played it that night.

And the next.

It was in his Walkman as he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. It was in his car stereo when he drove to school, to the store, to Eddie’s. Sometimes he didn’t even realize he was humming the songs under his breath until someone asked what he was singing.

And every time it played, something twisted sweetly in his chest.

It was weird.

Steve used to be the one who did the mixtapes. The one who showed up with flowers and smirks and cologne. The one who leaned in first, always.

Now Eddie was beating him at his own game.

And God help him, Steve didn’t want him to stop.

The Hawkins spring fair wasn’t anything special.

But the one out of town—just past the county line in the next town over? That one had a Ferris wheel, good funnel cake, and a reputation for not sucking. Eddie had been once, years ago, for a deal gone sideways in the parking lot. He never made it inside.

This year, he wanted to change that.

“Let’s go,” he’d said to Steve a week earlier, sprawled out across the hood of his van like a lazy cat. “The fair. It’s cheesy, and overpriced, and full of screaming kids, but I don’t know. I think you’d like it.”

Steve blinked up from where he sat on the curb, tossing a pebble between his hands. “You’re inviting me to a fair?”

“I’m inviting you to funnel cake and rigged games and the joy of watching me puke after three spins on the Tilt-A-Whirl.”

Steve had laughed. “Alright. You’re on.”

The day came sunny and unseasonably warm. Steve had just finished shaving when he heard the familiar growl of Eddie’s van outside.

He grabbed his jacket and jogged down the driveway—but stopped short when he pulled open the passenger door.

A small bouquet of daffodils sat on the seat.

Bright yellow. A little uneven. Wrapped in what looked like newspaper comics.

Steve blinked. “What’s this?”

Eddie, in the driver’s seat, leaned back with a shrug and absolutely zero eye contact. “Flowers.”

“No shit, why?”

“Because,” Eddie said, still trying to sound casual and failing. “I thought it’d be nice to give my boy flowers.”

Steve blinked again. “Your boy?”

Eddie winced. “Too much?”

Steve didn’t answer right away. He picked up the bouquet carefully, like it might fall apart in his hands. The stems were damp, and the wrapping was already curling a little, but the flowers were bright. Happy.

He looked over at Eddie, who was finally glancing at him, all nerves under a leather jacket.

“I didn’t know I was your boy,” Steve said, voice softer now.

“Well,” Eddie said, drumming his fingers on the wheel, “you don’t exactly make it easy when you melt every time I call you baby, so I’m just kind of… shooting my shot.”

Steve smiled, looking down at the flowers again.

Then—without thinking—he leaned across and kissed Eddie on the cheek.

It was quick.

Barely there.

But it left Eddie blinking like someone had just short-circuited his brain.

Steve sat back, placing the daffodils gently in his lap. “You got any more romantic tricks up your sleeve, Munson?”

But Eddie didn’t answer.

Didn’t move.

His forehead was pressed against the steering wheel now, both hands gripping it like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

Steve blinked. “Eddie?”

“You can’t just—” Eddie’s voice was muffled against the leather. “You can’t just do that!”

“What, kiss you?”

“Yes!” Eddie lifted his head just enough to turn wide eyes toward Steve—his face bright red, ears flushed, and that wild, completely betrayed expression like Steve had committed an actual crime. “Warn a guy or something, Jesus Christ.”

Steve bit back a laugh. “You’ve been calling me baby for a week and I’m the problem?”

Eddie let out something between a groan and a giggle, then buried his face in his hands this time. “Unbelievable. Steve Harrington is gonna be the death of me.”

Steve leaned back in his seat, smug now. “Didn’t know I had that kind of power.”

“You’re obnoxious,” Eddie mumbled from between his fingers.

Steve just chuckled and looked out the windshield, twirling one of the daffodils absently.

Eddie peeked between his hands. Just a little.

Grinned. Hid again.

Peeked again.

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

“You’re right, I don’t, and it’s the worst,” Eddie groaned dramatically. “God, you kissed me. You kissed me. I’m not gonna recover from that.”

Steve smiled softly, letting the moment settle. “Get it together, Munson. We’ve got a fair to get to.”

Eddie let out one last breath, thumped his head gently on the wheel again, then sat up with a grin that wouldn’t quit. “Okay. But for the record—if you ever do that again without warning, I will melt into goo.”

Steve reached over and patted his thigh. “Good. You deserve it.”

And with that, Eddie pulled out of the driveway, still blushing, still sneaking glances at the boy next to him like he couldn’t quite believe it.

The sun was bright when they pulled into the makeshift lot outside the town's fairgrounds, the warm evening light catching on strings of colored bulbs being flipped on one by one. The air smelled like fried sugar, popcorn, and something vaguely agricultural.

Eddie slammed the van door shut behind him and stretched his arms over his head. “Alright, Harrington,” he said with a crooked grin. “Prepare to be wooed.”

Steve raised a brow. “Wooed?”

“I’m gonna win you everything, sweetheart,” Eddie declared, already motioning toward the rows of game booths ahead. “Stuffed animals. Goldfish. That weird inflatable alien. Name it.”

Steve just laughed. “You do remember these games are rigged, right?”

“I laugh in the face of capitalism and physics,” Eddie said, puffing his chest out. “Let’s go.”

Fifteen minutes later, Eddie had successfully knocked over zero milk bottles, missed five consecutive rings at the bottle toss, and got absolutely humiliated at the basketball hoop game by a child in overalls.

He looked at Steve with wide, betrayed eyes. “Okay, the universe is personally targeting me.”

Steve was already biting back laughter. “You really thought you were gonna nail that last one?”

“I had a good feeling!”

“You hit the side of the tent.”

Eddie crossed his arms. “Rude.”

Steve grinned, stepping up to the next booth—the one with the baseball toss. He handed the carnie a few tickets, rolled up his sleeves, and adjusted his grip on the ball.

Three throws. Three direct hits. All targets down.

He turned to Eddie with a smug little tilt of his head. “Watch and learn, baby.”

Eddie jokingly frowned. “Hey, that's my line, call me something else.”

“You're ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said under his breath, grinning. “You know it.”

Steve chose a small stuffed tiger and tossed it at Eddie’s chest. “Here. Since you suck at winning things.”

Eddie caught it, beaming like a kid. “I’m gonna name him Disaster, after my performance today.”

They kept walking, their hands brushing now and then, the line between friendly and romantic long since erased. Steve let Eddie point out a haunted house ride they had to do, even though it looked like it had last been inspected during the Carter administration.

They shared funnel cake. Took blurry photos in a too-small booth.

And every so often, Eddie would look over—at Steve’s flushed face in the lights, his laugh, the way his hair caught the breeze—and think, this is what it feels like.

To love someone. To let yourself be loved back.

The drive back to Hawkins was quieter than the ride out. The kind of quiet that wasn’t awkward—just content. Full. Like the night had left both of them with enough warmth that they didn’t need to fill the silence with words.

Steve had one leg up on the seat, his hand resting on the daffodils now tucked gently into the crook of his arm, eyes fluttering between half-shut and fully closed. The mixtape Eddie made was playing softly in the background—Cheap Trick fading into Bowie.

The fair had long disappeared in the rearview mirror, but Steve still smelled like kettle corn and summer air.

Eddie tapped the wheel lightly with his fingers, stealing a glance every few seconds.

When they finally rolled into Steve’s driveway, the porch light was on but the house was still and quiet.

Steve sat up slowly, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Anytime,” Eddie said, though his fingers tightened just slightly around the steering wheel.

Steve reached for the door handle—

But stopped when Eddie cleared his throat.

“Hey,” Eddie said, voice low. “Can I ask you something?”

Steve turned back to him, curious. “Yeah?”

Eddie stared ahead at the dashboard, jaw flexing like he had to push the words out.

“Was I… good at this?”

Steve blinked. “At what?”

“The date thing.” Eddie’s thumb tapped the wheel twice, nervously. “Not the fair—clearly I peaked at ‘small bouquet of flowers,’ and then it was all downhill from there.” He gave a weak laugh, then looked down. “I mean with you. Did I—was it okay?”

Steve’s expression softened.

“You’re asking if you fucked it up.”

Eddie nodded, still not looking at him. “Yeah.”

Steve leaned back against the door, hand resting lightly on the bouquet again.

“No,” he said quietly. “You didn’t fuck it up.”

Eddie glanced over, hesitantly.

Steve smiled. “You did really good, Munson.”

Eddie laughed under his breath, a little too relieved. “Good. ‘Cause I wasn’t just trying to impress you. I actually meant all of it. Like… the dumb games, the flowers, the dumb jokes—”

“Eddie,” Steve cut in, his voice warm and certain now. “You don’t have to try so hard.”

“I know,” Eddie said, smiling nervously. “I just want to.”

Steve reached out and touched his hand where it rested on the gear shift. Gave it a quick, grounding squeeze.

“I know,” Steve said again. “That’s why it’s good.”

They sat there like that for a second—Eddie, wide-eyed and glowing, and Steve, calm and sure, like something was finally settling into place.

“I’ll see you?” Steve asked.

Eddie nodded, still smiling like an idiot. “Yeah. Definitely.”

Steve gave his hand one last squeeze before slipping out of the van, bouquet in hand. As he walked up the driveway, he turned back and caught Eddie still watching him from behind the wheel, a ridiculous, love-struck look on his face.

Steve grinned and waved.

Eddie waved back, then immediately dropped his forehead to the steering wheel again, groaning into the vinyl.

“Christ,” he mumbled to himself, grinning so hard it hurt, “I am so pathetic.”

The trailer was quiet except for the occasional soft clunk of cassette cases being shifted around. Eddie was sprawled on the carpet, legs crossed, surrounded by tapes, notepaper, and a near-empty can of grape soda.

The old stereo hissed softly as he rewound a song to just the right timestamp. He was making another mixtape, this time filled only with love songs—real ones, no winks or sarcasm. The kinds of tracks that said everything he couldn’t quite bring himself to say out loud yet.

He scribbled a title on the case:

"Vol. 2 – Music for Stevie"

Behind him, the trailer door creaked open.

Boots scraped the mat.

“Is this for that Harrington boy?” Wayne’s voice came in rough and steady, just behind him.

Eddie jolted, nearly smearing the ink on the label. “Jesus, Wayne—how long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to hear The Cars and Fleetwood Mac back-to-back,” Wayne said, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. “That’s a love mixtape if I’ve ever heard one.”

Eddie flushed immediately, tugging his hair behind his ear and glancing away. “...Yeah. It’s for Steve.”

Wayne nodded slowly, walking further into the room and lowering himself into his old recliner with a familiar creak. “Didn’t say it wasn’t sweet.”

Eddie looked up at him, brows raised. “You didn’t?”

Wayne smirked. “Not yet. But I will now.”

Eddie snorted and leaned back on his palms. “He’s… he’s kind of the best, Wayne.”

“I gathered.” Wayne gestured toward the stack of tapes like Exhibit A.

They were quiet for a moment. The stereo clicked, a new song humming low in the background. Wayne watched Eddie as he picked a new track and cued it up.

Then Wayne spoke again—softer now.

“You know his folks don’t come around much, right?”

Eddie glanced over. “Yeah. I figured.”

“Saw them at high school years back. The dad—he was always stiff. One of those types that thinks being cold means being respectable.”

Eddie didn’t reply right away. Just sat still, the cassette paused in his hand.

Wayne looked at him. “I’m not trying to scare you, son. I just don’t want you to walk into something thinking he’s got it easy.”

“I don’t,” Eddie said quietly. “I don’t think he has it easy.”

Wayne nodded once. “Alright.”

Eddie hesitated, then added, “I’ve seen it. Not just the parent stuff. He puts up walls, but they’re not very high. I think he wants someone to see over them, y’know?”

Wayne studied him for a moment, something like pride warming his tired eyes. “And you’re volunteering for the job?”

Eddie grinned, shy and fond and a little stupid. “I think I already took it.”

Wayne chuckled. “Alright, Romeo. Just don’t let your heart write checks your head can’t cash.”

“I won’t,” Eddie said, picking up the pen again. “He’s worth the overdraft anyway.”

Wayne shook his head, smiling into his hand.

And in the quiet, while Talking Heads hummed from the stereo and the sun crept across the stained trailer floor, Eddie added another song to the list.

Lover’s Rock was a dumb name, really.

Just big rocks out in the woods with a halfway decent view and enough carved initials to prove generations of teens had come here to make out or smoke up or both.

Eddie had scoffed the second Steve suggested it. “What is this, a goddamn John Hughes movie?”

Steve just grinned and said, “You’ll live.”

So now here they were. The sun had dipped below the trees, casting long shadows across the stone. The pack of cigarettes lay open between them, and the scent of weed hung lazily in the cooling spring air.

Eddie took a hit and exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl upward. “Still think it’s cliché.”

Steve snatched the joint from him and took a long drag. “Yeah, well. I like it. It’s quiet.”

“Quiet’s overrated.”

Steve nudged him with his knee. “You’re never quiet.”

Eddie grinned, but there was something softer about it tonight. Something settled. He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small cassette case, slightly scuffed.

“Speaking of sappy clichés,” he said, holding it out, “I made you something.”

Steve blinked, accepting the mixtape. The label was written in Eddie’s messy scrawl:

"Vol. 2 – Music for Stevie"

Steve snorted. “That’s it?”

“Shut up and look at the track list.”

Steve flipped the case over. His brows arched immediately. “These are… all love songs.”

Eddie leaned back on his elbows, watching the sky. “Yup.”

“No metal?”

“Nope.”

Steve grinned, thumbing through the track names.

“This is, like… aggressively romantic,” he said, mock-impressed.

Eddie groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Yeah, yeah. You corrupted me. Happy?”

Steve grinned wider, slipping the tape into his jacket pocket. “Actually… I brought something too.”

Eddie turned his head. “Oh?”

Steve reached into his backpack and pulled out a small box, opening it before Eddie could even get properly nervous.

Inside was a simple necklace—a thin black cord with a red guitar pick attached. Slightly marbled, glossy in the fading light.

Eddie stared.

Steve cleared his throat, suddenly self-conscious. “Figured you’d eventually lose all the ones you actually play with. This one’s not for playing. Just, y’know… wearing.”

Eddie took it gently, like it might shatter in his hands. “Steve.”

“It’s stupid, I know—”

“No. It’s—fuck.” Eddie looked down at it, then back at Steve. “You make it so hard for me to not make you mine right here and now.”

Steve’s breath caught, eyes flicking to Eddie’s.

“You say that like I’m not already halfway yours,” he said, voice low.

Eddie stared for a beat too long. Then he laughed, quiet and overwhelmed, slipping the necklace on like it had always belonged there.

Then said, quieter than usual but with none of his usual deflection, “Well… I kinda want to make you fully mine.”

Steve’s breath hitched.

Eddie gave him a nervous smile, like he was trying to laugh off the weight of his own words, but his fingers were twitching where they rested on his knee.

“How’s that sound?”

Steve looked at him for a long beat. His heart was thudding somewhere near his throat, and everything about this felt heavy and light all at once.

And he smiled.

He nodded. “Sounds like something I’ve been wanting too.”

Eddie blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

Steve laughed under his breath. “Don’t act so surprised.”

Eddie opened his mouth, probably to make some quip, but didn’t get the chance—because Steve leaned in. Slowly. Carefully. Like he wasn’t totally sure what he was doing, but he knew who he was doing it for.

Their lips met.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was soft. Intentional.

Steve melted into it, and god—it felt different. Not like kissing girls, not like kissing anyone he kissed before. There was no script here. No memory of how it should go. Just warmth and pressure and the scent of smoke clinging to Eddie’s hair and the rough brush of rings against his jaw when Eddie reached up to cradle his face.

Different, but good.

Really good.

And maybe it was because it was new, or maybe it was because it felt like coming home. Either way, Steve didn’t pull back. Not for a long moment.

When they finally did part, foreheads resting together, Steve let out a shaky laugh. “That was… something.”

Eddie looked dazed. “Yeah?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. That was my first time kissing a guy.”

Eddie’s eyes widened, guilt flashing across his face. “Shit, was that okay? I didn’t even—”

“Eddie,” Steve said, still smiling, “it was great.”

Eddie exhaled a laugh, relief crashing through him like a wave. “Good. ‘Cause I was about to dramatically throw myself off this rock if you said otherwise.”

Steve grinned and leaned into him, head on Eddie’s shoulder, fingers brushing the red pick still hanging around his neck.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel confused.

He just felt wanted.

Their breath was still mingling in the air, hearts racing but shoulders relaxed, the quiet around them suddenly feeling like it was holding the moment instead of pressing in on it.

Steve leaned back first, resting his weight on his palms, a little stunned smile still pulling at his lips. Eddie just stared at him for a second—at the curve of his grin, at the faint flush on his cheeks, at the fact that he was his now.

“So,” Eddie whispered. “Are we really boyfriends now?”

Steve let out a breath of a laugh. “Yeah, we are.”

That was all it took.

They both broke—into laughter, full and loose, the kind that bubbled out of their chests like they’d just gotten away with something big. Steve leaned into Eddie’s side, giggling, while Eddie threw an arm around him and buried his face in his neck.

Then, without warning, Eddie sat up straight and launched to his feet.

Steve blinked up at him. “What are you doing?”

Eddie spread his arms, threw his head back, and yelled into the woods:

“Steve Harrington is my boyfriend!”

Then he flipped both middle fingers to the sky and added,

“Take that, universe!”

Steve burst out laughing, nearly doubling over where he sat.

“You’re such a dork,” he said through his grin.

Eddie dropped back down beside him, eyes bright, cheeks flushed, his laughter just as breathless. “You love it.”

Steve leaned his head on Eddie’s shoulder again. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I really do.”

And there, under the stars and the trees, with smoke still hanging faint in the air and their hearts feeling way too big for their chests, they just existed. Two dumb teenagers in the middle of nowhere, high on love and weed and the thrill of finally being.

1985

The parking lot of Starcourt Mall was still chaos, hours after the “fire” had been contained. The air stank of smoke and scorched plastic. Sirens wailed distantly. Flashing lights cast harsh reds and blues across ash-covered concrete.

Steve Harrington sat hunched on the back of an ambulance, a foil blanket draped over his shoulders and another thrown across Robin’s lap beside him. His face was a mess—bruised, scraped, his eye swollen nearly shut. He looked like hell.

Felt like it too.

Robin was mid-sip of some god-awful coffee when the sound hit—screeching tires, rubber burning against the lot pavement.

They both turned.

A familiar van swerved to a crooked stop near the emergency line. Before the engine even finished choking out, the driver’s side door flew open.

“Steve!” came a shout, loud and ragged.

Eddie Munson.

Hair wild. Jacket half-on. Eyes wild as he sprinted across the lot, dodging EMTs and officers like a man possessed.

“Steve!” he called again, voice cracking now. “Jesus Christ, Steve!”

Robin sat up straighter. “Uh—”

Steve blinked, squinting through his good eye. Then—

“Eddie?” he croaked.

By the time Eddie reached him, he barely slowed. Just dropped to his knees in front of Steve like the rest of the world had vanished.

“What the hell, what the hell, baby,” Eddie breathed, hands hovering like he didn’t know where to touch without hurting him. “You were gone. You didn’t call, no one knew—forty-eight hours, Steve. I thought you—I thought—” His voice caught.

Steve opened his mouth, but no words came.

So instead, he leaned forward. Wrapped both arms around Eddie’s neck and held on.

Eddie froze for half a second. Then his arms wound around Steve’s waist, pulling him close, grounding them both.

“Shit,” Eddie whispered against his shoulder. “You’re really here. You’re okay.”

“I’m here,” Steve whispered back, voice shaky. “I’m okay.”

Eddie pulled back just enough to cup Steve’s jaw, thumb brushing carefully under a bruise. “What the hell happened to you, sweetheart?”

Steve laughed once, rough and tired. “You should see the other guy.”

Eddie gave a strangled sound—half a laugh, half a sob—and leaned forward to press a kiss to Steve’s hair. “You absolute idiot. You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” Steve murmured. “I didn’t mean to—things just got—”

He stopped himself. Because what could he say?

“Complicated,” he finished lamely.

Eddie frowned, confused and worried. “I heard about the fire on the news. They’re saying the mall’s totaled. You were in there?”

Steve nodded.

“And you didn’t think to call?”

“I didn’t exactly have a phone, Ed.”

Eddie huffed, still visibly rattled. “I’ve got you now,” he whispered. “You’re safe. You’re with me.”

Robin was just getting accustomed to weird things happening around Steve Harrington. Russian code, secret elevators, flesh-melting monsters—sure. But this?

This was new.

She sat still on the edge of the ambulance bench, a half-sipped cup of lukewarm coffee in one hand, the other clutching the foil blanket tight around her. And all she could do was watch.

Eddie Munson—resident Hawkins High freak, metalhead, Dungeon Master, Scoops Ahoy’s biggest flirt—was currently kneeling in front of Steve like a man possessed. His hands were trembling, voice hoarse with worry, pet names slipping out like second nature.

And Steve… was holding on just as tightly.

Robin blinked.

Oh.

Suddenly, all those thrice-weekly visits to Scoops Ahoy made a hell of a lot more sense. The relentless teasing. The finger guns. The winks. The way Eddie used to call Steve “pretty boy” just a little too sincerely.

They weren’t jokes.

They were confessions.

Eddie finally noticed her watching. His whole body stiffened like he’d been caught with a hand in the cookie jar—or worse, caught in something dangerous.

He slowly peeled himself back from Steve, one hand still on the guy’s knee, and turned his head toward her.

Robin blinked, trying to school her expression into something that wasn’t just "holy shit this is real."

Eddie cleared his throat. “I, uh—”

“I’m cool,” she said quickly, lifting her hand in surrender. “I’m so cool. Frosty, even. Like, ice cold.”

Eddie stared at her, still tense. “Yeah?”

Robin hesitated, then glanced at Steve—who was too exhausted to catch the subtext, head leaning against the ambulance—and looked back at Eddie.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Friend of Dorothy’s.”

Eddie’s eyebrows lifted.

Robin gave a small, nervous smile.

Something in Eddie melted. His shoulders dropped. The guarded look flickered into something softer—more familiar. A kind of relief you only show when someone just proved they’re safe.

“Jesus,” Eddie said, letting out a laugh that was more breath than sound. “Of course you are.”

Robin shrugged. “I mean, look at me.”

They both laughed—quietly, but honestly. For a beat, the three of them just sat there under the harsh red glow of sirens, wrapped in trauma and emergency blankets, slowly finding solid ground again.

Robin nudged Steve lightly with her elbow. “You okay?”

Steve murmured, “Mm-hmm.”

Robin sat back on the bumper again. She watched the two of them, bruised and exhausted, but together—and suddenly something in her felt less alone.

Maybe everything was on fire. Maybe none of them had answers.

But in this strange, small, ash-covered moment?

They were a little less in it alone.

3 Months Later

The store was quiet, lit only by the buzzing fluorescents overhead and the fading orange glow from the sunset outside. Robin clicked the lock on the front door and flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED with a satisfying thunk.

Steve was already halfway through wiping down the counter—faster than usual, actually. Suspiciously efficient for someone who once spent ten whole minutes trying to organize the horror section alphabetically before giving up halfway through the H’s.

Robin narrowed her eyes. “Okay, what’s with you?”

Steve didn’t look up. “Nothing.”

“You’re cleaning like you’re being timed.”

“I’m just being productive.”

“You’ve never been productive a day in your life.”

Steve tossed the rag aside and practically jumped to grab his jacket. “I just—might have plans.”

Robin squinted. “Plans?”

Steve hesitated. “...Plans.”

There was a beat. Then Robin’s eyes widened. “Wait. Is this a date?”

Steve tried—and failed—to suppress the grin crawling up his face. “Maybe.”

“With Eddie?”

“Who else?”

Robin groaned, slumping against the counter like a tragic Victorian widow. “You two make me sick.”

Steve laughed, tugging on his jacket. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Buckley.”

“I’m not jealous,” Robin said, pointing a Sharpie at him like a weapon. “I just think it’s cruel that I have to hear you talk about him all day and then sprint out of here like a golden retriever with a bone the minute we close.”

“I do not sprint.”

“You sprint with purpose.”

Steve grabbed his keys, stuffing them into his pocket. “We’re going Halloween costume shopping.”

Robin’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my god. I hate this. I hate both of you.”

Steve was already at the door, positively glowing. “He wants to go as a vampire. I told him I’m not wearing fake blood on my face.”

“Tell me you're not doing couple costumes.”

“No promises.”

“I swear to god, if you show up in matching outfits, I’m setting myself on fire.”

Steve blew her a kiss as the bell jingled behind him. “Love you too, Buckley.”

“Tell Eddie I said barf,” she called after him.

But she was smiling when she said it.

Downtown Hawkins wasn’t exactly a metropolis, but the seasonal pop-up costume store had managed to take over the old furniture warehouse, its windows plastered with cartoon bats, neon pumpkins, and a vaguely threatening Dracula poster that claimed YOU NEED A COSTUME NOW in dripping red letters.

Steve spotted Eddie leaning against the hood of his van, a cigarette tucked behind one ear, looking very pleased with himself.

“You’re late,” Eddie said as Steve approached.

Steve rolled his eyes. “I have a job. You’re lucky I showed up at all.”

Eddie gave him a grin. “Touché. Come on, let’s get spooky.”

Inside, it smelled like rubber masks, plastic packaging, and cheap fog machine juice. They strolled past the horror aisle, already tossing ideas back and forth.

“Vampire still stands,” Eddie said, holding up a velvet cape dramatically. “Timeless. Sexy. Easy.”

“You just want an excuse to wear eyeliner again,” Steve muttered.

They wandered further into the store, past cartoonish clown suits and glittery angel wings. Steve pointed at a werewolf costume with a skeptical look. “That’s just a shirt with fur glued to it.”

“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t rock it.”

Then Eddie turned a corner, paused—and his whole face lit up like a kid in a candy store.

“Movie section,” he announced like it was sacred ground. “This is where the good shit lives.”

Steve followed with a shrug. “Like what?”

Eddie started sifting through racks, rattling off ideas as he went. “Indiana Jones, Spock, Kirk, Sexy Spock, Sexy Kirk.”

“You’re impossible.”

But Eddie wasn’t listening anymore—he’d just pulled out a plastic-wrapped Han Solo costume, complete with the iconic vest and faux-leather holster.

“Oh hell yes.”

Then he immediately grabbed the costume hanging next to it and held it up with both hands, already smirking. “I know who you're gonna be.”

Leia.

More specifically: Leia’s slave outfit from Return of the Jedi— bikini, gold trim, zero shame.

Steve looked at it, blinked, then looked at Eddie. “Why am I Leia?”

Eddie waggled his brows. “You know why.”

Steve’s face went red instantly. “You’re such an asshole.”

“I’m just saying,” Eddie said, holding the hanger up like a sacred offering, “if I die young, it better be because you wore this and my heart exploded from sheer beauty.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Eddie grinned. “I’ll get it engraved on my tombstone.”

Steve grabbed the costume out of his hands and shoved it back on the rack. “You are never allowed to die, just for saying that.”

“Aw, baby, you do care.”

Steve gave him a shove toward the next aisle, but he was laughing the whole time—trying and failing not to picture himself in that ridiculous costume… and worse, trying and failing not to imagine Eddie watching.

They hadn’t picked a costume yet.

But Eddie had definitely picked a favorite.

Eventually, after rifling through an entire rack of questionable superhero knockoffs and rejecting a couples costume labeled "Plug & Socket" with identical looks of horror, they circled back to the Star Wars section.

Eddie held the Han Solo costume against Steve’s chest with a little flourish. “Okay. This we’re keeping. Vest, blaster, hair that screams ‘I shoot first’—this is you.”

Steve raised a brow. “Wait, so I’m Han now?”

“Obviously.”

“What happened to me being Leia?”

Eddie gave him a crooked smile. “I realized I’m not emotionally strong enough to handle you in that outfit.”

“Fair.”

He pulled the Leia costume off the hanger and returned it to the rack, only to come back with a Luke Skywalker robe—tan, oversized, classic.

“I’ll go as Luke,” Eddie said, tossing it over his arm. “Simple. Iconic. Pairs well with smug scoundrels.”

Steve squinted. “But Han and Luke weren’t... you know. Together.”

Eddie grinned, eyes shining with mischief. “Oh Stevie. Sweet, sheltered Stevie. You ever seen the zines people make?”

Steve blinked. “The what?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Eddie said, patting his shoulder. “Just know that if Han wants Luke, Luke absolutely reciprocates. Passionately.”

Steve flushed a little but didn’t argue, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “Okay. Han and Luke it is.”

They started heading toward the checkout line, costumes bundled in their arms, when Eddie leaned in close, his voice dropping low.

“And hey,” he added, “If you're nice, I'll let you handle my lightsaber later.”

Steve nearly tripped over a sale bin.

“Eddie!”

“What?!” Eddie said, feigning innocence, eyes wide with mock virtue. “It’s just Star Wars lore.”

“You’re the worst.”

“And you love me.”

Steve shook his head, grinning helplessly as they walked to the register, two dorks with a costume, very much not canon—and very much in love.

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#kar's fics ☆#steddie #steddie fanfic #steddie fic #steddie fluff #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve x eddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things 4 #stranger things

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