Chapter Text
I learned my passion in the good old-fashioned school of loverboys
It should probably be weirder, Steve thinks, the fact that he and his boyfriend (and yeah, his brain still cannot quite process this word as a reality yet, a word he actually gets to use, but he’s trying. He totally is) regularly hangs out with Steve’s ex-girlfriend and her new girlfriend. Who happened to be Steve’s best friend. Honestly, Phil Donahue might as well book them just because of the sheer sitcom-esque level of absurdity of it all. Though, Steve supposes, in terms of comparing it to the laundry list of all the other weird shit they’ve had to deal with for the last three years, it probably barely ranks. Dating was kind of automatically relegated to the bottom shelf when monsters were trying to maim your friends. Like, regularly. A yearly affair at this point.
“Where do you go when you zone out like that, dude?”
Steve blinks and the only thing he can see now is Robin’s face, like, way too close to him. “I don’t know. Narnia. Why are you bothering me?” He swats at her, trying to sit up from where he’d been sprawled out next to Eddie on the faded quilt that Nancy had spread out for them just a few feet away from Skull Rock. Not Steve’s first choice of picnic spots, or Eddie’s (“Ah, yes. So many fond memories running and hiding for my life here”), but it’s not like they had a lot of options in terms of places they could… just be. Eddie was already Hawkin’s own persona-non-grata just, like, generally, so it wasn’t like he needed the extra attention.
At least out here, they had ready-made excuses and faux, socially-accepted make-out partners in case somebody wandered through. Most people assumed anyway that Steve and Nance were back together again considering they spent so much time in each other’s company these days, so it was a pretty easy lie to sell. As in, like, they didn’t even have to sell it at all. Because in what universe would Hawkin’s resident good girl Nancy Wheeler ever date a girl, let alone a weird one like Buckley? Or that King Steve would let an accused murderer do all manner of depraved things to him?
And like it (okay, love it. Steve’s easy. For Eddie, at least).
It sucked, having to hide, but it was what it was.
Robin’s looming over him still, but now she’s dangling the daisy chain necklace she’s been putting together, planted firmly between Nancy’s legs, right over his nose, tickling him until he swears, sneezes, pauses, and then sneezes two more times before Robin falls over, cackling.
“You’re a bitch, you know that, Buckley?” Steve says, grumbling as he wipes his streaming eyes.
“Rude. And now I’m not giving you your daisy crown. I’m abdicating the throne on your behalf,” Robin says, sniffing dramatically, before leaning across his lap to offer it to Eddie. “Your majesty.”
Eddie accepts it with a dramatic flourish (and a victory fist pump) and fixes it firmly on his head before resuming whatever it is he’s currently drawing in the tattered sketchbook he carries around in his backpack. These are little things Steve is learning as the weeks go by. Things like…Eddie fidgets, always doing something, whether it’s fiddling with his rings or bracelets, twisting his hair in his fingers, doodling —most of the time on paper, but sometimes on his own hand, or arm, or Steve’s if he’s around.
There was something almost comforting about it. Especially when Steve grew up in a house where he was pretty much the only one making noise, ever, and his parents made sure that he knew exactly how they felt about that. And the fact that Eddie was, like, the complete opposite of that. Like if chaotic good (hey, he listens sometimes when Dustin and Eddie are ranting about that shit) was a person, it would definitely be Eddie Munson.
“You two are not allowed to gang up on me,” Steve grouses. “It’s not fair.”
“Technically, it’s three against one,” Nancy says, reaching over to pat Robin lovingly on the head. Nancy, ever the adult among them, has a pile of books at her side (some college reading list bullshit, who knows) that she’s been flipping through, punctuated by the occasional “walk” (i.e. make-out session) with Robin.
“Yeah. Girlfriend rules — Nancy’s automatically on my side,” Robin says, sticking out her tongue when Steve gives her the finger.
He turns to Eddie, his hand on his hip expectantly. “What about boyfriend rules (nailed it, Steve thinks, finally). You’re not exactly jumping to defend my honor here, man.”
Eddie snorts. “Sorry. Now that I’m King, I have no time for peasants such as yourself. Have we met before? How did you get past my guards?”
Steve rolls his eyes and shoves him, making Eddie laugh even harder. “You need to be medicated.”
“Way ahead of you there, baby,” Eddie says (and Steve blushes, obviously), pulling the joint he’d had tucked readily behind his ear and sparking it.
They spend the next several minutes passing the rolled cigarette back and forth. Even Nancy indulges (Eddie was shocked the first time she’d accepted a hit from him, but Steve has seen Nancy shotgun a beer and shoot a homicidal interdimensional monster with a shotgun she sawed off herself, so seeing her indulge in a little teenage rebellion is far from groundbreaking in his opinion).
“Man, having a girlfriend rules. We should have done this way sooner, Steve,” Robin says, her smile all THC-laced and dreamy when Nancy beams at her, leaning over to press a kiss to Robin’s lips. It’s funny, watching Robin’s brain melt out of her ears for once. He knew he couldn’t be the only moon-brained one between them.
“What?” Steve asks, smirking. “Get girlfriends?”
“Whatever, Harrington,” Eddie says. “I’m by far the prettiest girlfriend you’ve ever had.”
It takes Nancy five seconds to fully process what Eddie’s said before she lets out an indignant huff and launches herself at him, Robin following after, the older boy falling over with a loud oof. “No, hey — tickling is cheating, Wheeler. Only Steve’s allowed to do that — hey, hands, Robin —no hair-pulling, Jesus H. Christ!” By the time they’re finished with him, Eddie’s curls are a complete mess and his clothes are all mussed as he sits up, arms already crossed, pouting. “Thanks for the assist, Harrington.”
“Hey man, give me liberty or give me death, ” Steve says, grinning as he oh-so-helpfully picks out the now-crushed remnants of Robin’s daisies tangled in Eddie’s hair. “Heavy is the head that wears the crown, or some shit, right?”
“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”
They stay out there until the sun starts to set and the cicadas start humming before trekking back to their cars. Eddie’s got band practice and a gig tomorrow, so Steve’s driving Robin and Nancy home, but not before Eddie pins Steve to the side of the aforementioned van and kisses him stupid that way he always did, licking into his mouth and sucking on his bottom lip just hard enough to hurt still as he pulls away. Such a bastard, Steve thinks fondly, though he’s still gripping the back of Eddie’s jacket for dear life as that thought passes by, so what did it matter, anyway?
“You gonna let me go, Harrington?” Eddie asks, though it’s not like the hand Eddie’s got wound in Steve’s hair or the one dug into his hip are loosening their grip or anything.
“Maybe,” Steve says, pressing his lips to Eddie’s throat. “M’sorry I’m not coming to the show tomorrow,” Steve says, more like mumbles, into Eddie’s shirt. It’s stupid to apologize, he knows this, and Eddie will be annoyed, but he can’t help it.
And, right on cue, Eddie sighs. “Why do you insist on apologizing every fucking week, sweetheart?”
“Because,” Steve says, “ — I should be able to go. It shouldn’t be that hard. It’s stupid —” And it is. It’s so stupid. Because if Steve could just be, like, fucking normal again, for once, he could go. Drink and dance and watch his boyfriend play music Steve doesn’t even like and be fucking jazzed to do it. But instead, the thought of all those people (one unforeseen side effect of Eddie’s meteoric rise as Hawkin’s most famous accused satanic murderer had been the huge influx of metalheads, freaks, and people who just wanted to gawk, probably, coming to see Eddie’s band play), and all that noise, it makes his heart start to race and that black-hole-endless-pit feeling appear in his stomach again. Makes Eddie get that pinched look on his face, too, that he gets when he’s worried about Steve.
The look that makes Steve feel even guiltier, even though that’s entirely not Eddie’s fault.
“It’s not stupid, Stevie.” Yeah, and there it is — the look — Eddie’s wearing it now as his hands move to cradle Steve’s jaw, gentle but firm, and force him to look into his eyes. Steve kind of hates it when he does that, but it generally leads to him feeling better, because Eddie always makes him feel better. Still doesn’t make Steve feel any less exposed. “Say that again, and you know what’ll happen.”
It’s funny. Sometimes that voice – that low, husky voice that Eddie uses that always makes his dick twitch and that tingly feeling crawl up his spine — is accompanied by the expected yank on the back of his hair, or a vice grip on his waist, but it’s somehow always more devastating when Eddie’s being sweet to him. Touching him all tenderly and shit.
“Okay, okay,” Steve murmurs. “I got it. I’ll see you tomorrow night. After.”
Eddie hums, leans down to offer an approving kiss to his forehead. “After.”
Steve watches Eddie drive away before heading back to the BMW. Thankfully, Robin and Nancy are upright and fully clothed, but Steve’s been in that situation enough to know what they’ve been doing while he’s been gone. Plus, Nancy’s lipstick is slightly smeared, and Robin’s hair looks like a bird nested in it.
“I’m, like, over-the-moon for you guys, but could you not do that in the back of my car?” Steve huffs, sliding into the driver’s seat, turning around to glower at them disapprovingly.
Nancy at least has the decency to look slightly ashamed. Robin, as usual, does not. “We weren’t doing anything, Dingus.”
“Yeah, sure, Buckley. Is that why your shirt is on backwards?” Steve asks with a judgemental arch of his eyebrow. It’s not, but the fact that both she and Nancy both look down to check just makes him feel all the more smug.
“Fine, whatever. Can you blame me? Nancy’s a hottie,” Robin says, arms crossed and huffing (Nancy covers her own face and groans), “It’s not like you and Eddie were braiding each other’s hair over there.”
“We were clothed at least!”
“We’re clothed now,” Robin says, shrugging. “So drive, monkey, drive!”
Steve rolls his eyes but starts the car. And he’s about to pull onto the road, really he is, but he can’t stop thinking. So he stops, breaks, his fingers still gripping the steering wheel, nervous and clenched.
“Dude, are you okay?” Robin asks, leaning forward to look at his face. “You look like you’re gonna hurl.”
“I’m not gonna hurl,” Steve snaps. “I just — I need you guys to do something for me.”
Nancy’s peering around Robin now, her face warped with that ever-familiar anxious concern where Steve’s, well, concerned. “Sure. You know we will.”
“Good,” Steve says. “Because I need you to come with me to The Hideout tomorrow.”