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Saturday, June 4, 9:01 p.m.
Eddie pauses on the street outside of Benny’s Bar. There’s an electronics store there on the opposite corner, and all the TVs in the window are playing the same soundless Mr. Mister video.
Rick Page is driving with the wind in his hair when Eddie bends forward to check his reflection in the glass, fingers instinctively ruffling his bangs so they land just right on his forehead.
He could still turn around and go somewhere quiet. It’s been a lifetime since he read a book or watched a movie. He doesn’t have to do this tonight. Except…
He looks at the watch on his wrist, the second hand steadily ticking.
He fluffs his bangs one more time and heads for the entrance, the matte leather surface of his boots catching the neon lights of the blinking bar sign, dully reflecting back purple, white, green. He sings to himself on the way in.
Inside, INXS is playing. Don’t you know it’s not easy when you gotta walk upon that line?
Eddie orders something fruity to drink.
“I’ll take one of those kickass little umbrellas too,” he says.
After it comes, he sits and watches the dancers. There are tons of them, all decked out in leather and sequins and studs. Eddie’s gaze keeps being drawn to one in particular. He’s a man with dishwater blond hair, streaks of it turned golden by the sun. Freckles and moles dot his cheeks and his neck, disappearing into a lavender polo striped with pink and blue.
He has glasses, the frames rounded and clear. Eddie’s not sure he ever told anyone how weak glasses make him, and that this guy is wearing them in this place?
His dance partner is a man also, his hair long and dark. They’re playfully stepping in circles around one another, laughing like old friends, when the blond looks up. As soon as their eyes meet, his dance steps briefly falter, and he stumbles for one beat and then another before catching himself.
The smile he gives Eddie is charmingly self-deprecating, and he spends the rest of the song playing eye tag with Eddie where he’s assembling a little flock of rainbow cocktail umbrellas. At the end of the second song, blondie’s partner departs in a flurry of friendly back pats. Alone now, he raises a hand and gives Eddie a come-hither motion with his fingertips as Heart’s Never starts over the speakers.
Eddie can envision it so easily, placing a hand on the guy’s waist, feeling a hand on his own. A guy’s hand, large and firm and perfect. They would stand on the bar’s small dance floor, all lit up under neon purple, and they would spin and spin and—
Some things you can never choose.
Eddie leaves behind the umbrellas when he steps back out onto the street. Out there, the TVs are still playing Mr. Mister, and Eddie wonders if it would even matter if he shattered all the windows.
Saturday, June 11, 9:03 p.m.
It’s raining, the gentle shower pleasantly cool in the slight warmth of early summer. Eddie pauses outside of the electronics store and tilts his face back, rain kissing his cheeks while Rick Page pours water into his mouth. The rain’s a nice way to start the night, but it means he makes a beeline for the bathroom at Benny’s before he even gets his first drink.
He’s busy fluffing his bangs in the mirror when someone steps up beside him, leaning forward to adjust his own hair against the water dripping onto his yellow sweater. Eddie focuses hard on his own reflection, tussling his damp hair where it cascades down to his shoulders.
He can feel blondie’s eyes on him, like the sun on his back.
“I’m Steve. Steve Harrington.”
Eddie pulls a few strands of hair over his face, holding it there, his fist over his mouth.
“You’re new to Hawkins,” Steve says, taking off his glasses to wipe them with his hem.
Eddie finds his voice and the guy who used to stand on tables and amplifiers Before…
“I am,” Eddie says, dropping his hair, shrugging casually. “I’m, you know, just trying it on.”
“Yeah?” Steve leans on the bathroom counter. “And how’s it fitting?”
Eddie finally looks at him, meeting his eyes in the mirror. It’s like shoving a fork in a light socket, looking at those eyes. They’re brown, but they’re not. They’re green, but they’re not.
They’re moss clinging to fallen branches as they nourish new beginnings. They’re the comfort of an old growth forest that has been cradling life for eons, that promises it will cradle Eddie too as long as he’s there beneath the canopy.
Eddie looks away, tingles spreading through his belly.
“The music’s shit,” Eddie says, tensing as soon as the words leave his mouth because Eddie hasn’t talked like that in a long time. Not since he realized that admitting to liking a single pop song didn’t make him more vulnerable. And pretending to hate things couldn’t stop people from hating him.
Steve huffs, somehow coming off as unimpressed and amused all at once.
“That’s because you haven’t danced to it, man.”
“Oh ho ho. Huge assumption there, tiger. What if I’d danced to it hundreds of times? What if this is a very well-formed theory, created only after I adhered to all of the various tenets of the scientific method?”
Steve slowly cocks his head to the side, making Eddie feel like he’s being fully weighed and measured.
“You haven’t danced to it with me,” he says simply, and it should be corny, but there’s something about Steve’s tone and the little furrow between his brows. Eddie wants to smooth it with his thumb despite himself, despite all the promises he’d made before doing all of this.
“Well then.” Eddie gestures toward the bathroom door. “By all means, do convert me.”
They catch the tail end of Prince’s Kiss , dancing an arm’s length apart like two kids at a middle school dance. When the music shifts to Wham’s I’m Your Man , Steve’s face splits into a smile bright enough to light up the world.
“God, I love this song.”
When Steve puts his hand on Eddie’s waist, it’s big and warm and perfect.
“Should we maybe cool it a little?” Eddie asks. The last time Eddie danced with another guy, he’d been at a gay bar. He never would’ve even considered dancing with at a mixed bar back then, not romantically, not even in a friendly way. And right now, they’re close enough that Eddie can feel the dampness of Steve’s sweat in the air.
Eddie casts his eyes around to look for judgement or rage on the faces around them. Gently, Steve takes his chin, redirecting it back to him where the Benny’s sign behind the bar reflects in his glasses.
“Why the hell should we?” Steve asks. “Especially now. Especially somewhere like this.”
Eddie lets him pull him closer as Wham gives way to Sheila E.
“So, have I converted you yet?” Steve asks, voiced raised high over the saxophone.
“Maybe it wasn’t as hard a sell as I made it out to be.”
“No? Any chance I could get a name then? So I can stop calling you Hot Hair Guy in my head?”
Eddie’s a little breathless when he answers. “Eddie. It’s Eddie.”
He dances with Steve until the clock runs out.
Saturday, June 18, 9:02 p.m.
He watches Steve go into the bar, engaged in a sibling-like shove fight with a woman with shaggy hair. The urge to follow is stronger than Eddie’s comfortable with. He splays his own large hand over the spot where Steve had held him.
“I just want this to all be as painless as it can be for you. What if you love it there and want to stay?”
“I won’t. I’ll make sure of it.”
Eddie thinks of earthen eyes in a mirror, of a whole lifetime’s worth of butterflies swarming and churning within. If he goes into that bar, there’s a good chance he’ll end up on the dance floor again. Maybe he’ll put a quarter in the jukebox and let Steve spin him to some melodic metal song. Maybe he’ll start to fall in love.
Eddie only glances back at Benny’s once as he walks away, headed for the quarry instead.
It’s its own kind of party over there, bonfires spitting sparks at the moon, car doors open to let a cacophony of everything from Cameo to The Cars spill out into the night. Eddie finds a beat-up van blasting Iron Maiden and gladly accepts a beer from a dude in a flannel with cutoff sleeves. Eddie plops down next to him after he pops the tab, sipping it in the van where the back doors are open wide to the summer night.
Somewhere down in the chasm below, people screech in delight as they launch themselves off the banks, splashing into the cool waters. More fires burn down there, and boomboxes churn out synth and basslines that echo up the quarry walls.
“You live in Hawkins?”
Eddie glances at the guy next to him, his hair a mop of curls atop his head. He’s got a dragon tattoo down his bicep, its tail circling a golden d20.
“Passing through. You play?” Eddie gestures at his arm, and the guy’s eyes light up.
“Every week, dude. You?”
“I was actually a DM in another life.”
“Really? Because Hawkins is pretty great, but we need a good DM so bad. We’ve been taking turns making each other do it.” A sip of beer and a proffered hand. “I’m Gareth by the way.”
Eddie shakes it. “Eddie. I used to love it. Penchant for torture, I guess.” Eddie lets out a soft, fake maniacal laugh. Bwa-ha-ha.
Gareth huffs in amusement. “That’s why my buddy Frankie’s so bad at it. Big softie. He’s great at cooking up a rescue storyline, but you can always tell when the big bad monster’s coming because he gets so damn apologetic.”
“I guess that’s still its own special method of foreshadowing,” Eddie says.
Gareth laughs. “Yeah, I guess. Hey, if you decide to stick around, we play every Wednesday at Jeff’s place. I can give you the address.”
Eddie stares down at his beer. He’s not in town on Wednesdays and he never will be, but that’s okay. He gets to be in town on Saturdays, and he gets to taste crappy beer again and listen to Iron Maiden. That can be enough.
“It’s, uh, pretty expensive to move to town.” Eddie’s family wants him to stay, but he knows the sacrifices it would take to make that happen. He won’t let him do that.
Gareth nods, thumbing at the frayed knee of his jeans. “Yeah, man, it is,” he says, and that Eddie stands up and toasts him with the beer can before draining it.
“It was really nice to meet you, man. Thanks for the beer and the tunes.”
“You too. I’m here pretty often if you change your mind. Could even throw together a little weekend one shot before…”
“Before.” Eddie smiles, the brightness not quite reaching his eyes. Then he salutes Gareth and moves on, walking along the edge of the quarry, staring at the glow of all the fires and headlights. He even considers the offer. It might be nice to play again just once, to really savor it.
Still, there’s always the danger. That he’ll like Gareth and all his friends. That he’ll be compelled to accept his family’s offer after all, that he’ll get stuck in the fly paper trap of selfishness because he can’t let go of something God or the universe or whatever never meant for him to have.
That he’ll hurt strangers that could’ve stayed strangers.
No attachments, Eddie. That was the deal.
“Didn’t take you for the late-night swim type.” And there’s Steve, emerging from the shadows in a gray bomber jacket and sunglasses.
“Nice shades, Corey Hart.” Eddie flicks the edge of the black plastic. “Believe me, I have every intention of staying dry.”
Steve pulls them off, folding them and tucking them into the collar of his plain white tee. In the dark, his eyes lose all their color, mirroring the world instead. Firelight dances through his irises, bright and alive. Eddie wants to know why he’s not wearing his regular glasses, but he doesn’t ask.
“I was hoping for another dance or two,” Steve says.
“Yeah, and my dad always hoped he’d win the lottery so he could quit petty thievery.” Eddie brushes past him and keeps walking, hands pushed deep into the pockets of his battle jacket. He can feel Steve following him, the awareness of someone just behind tickling his brain.
“Did I do something wrong?” Steve asks.
“Nope.”
“Then what gives, dude?”
“I have no idea what you mean.”
“You…” Steve’s shoes catch on the dirt and he stops. On instinct, Eddie stops too, both of them caught up in the beams of a parked car like twin narrators in a ghost story. There’s a little line between Steve’s eyebrows again, and Eddie’s thumb twitches against the inside seam of his jacket pocket. “We danced and it was really nice,” Steve says, “and now you’re acting like I, I don’t know, insulted you or something.”
“No, I’m not,” Eddie says.
“Yes, you are.”
“Look.” Eddie rubs the inner seam of his pocket harder. “You said it. We danced and it was nice. Doesn’t have to mean anything.”
Steve sucks in a breath and swallows, staring at Eddie like he just told him two plus two is actually three. Steve opens his mouth once, then shuts it like he thought better of whatever he was about to say. The next time his lips part, it’s to let out a resigned sigh. “Okay.” Steve nods. “Okay, that’s fine.”
His gaze lingers on Eddie for just a moment, the furrow in his forehead deepening. Then Steve turns on his heel and walks away.
For some reason, Eddie follows.
Ha. For some reason . Eddie knows exactly why it is, and it’s because he can’t leave that little goddamned line there.
“Look, it’s not you,” Eddie says, and Steve stops without turning around. “There’s just, you know, a lot of bullshit.”
“Bullshit…” Eddie can’t see Steve’s face, but he can see the way his shoulders slump.
“I can’t get involved with someone, Steve.”
“ Bullshit… ’” Head shaking, Steve laughs humorlessly and walks away.
Eddie only hesitates for a few seconds, but by the time he gets his feet moving again, he can’t find Steve anywhere.
Saturday, June 25, 9:06 p.m.
Eddie sits at a bar and spins a yellow cocktail umbrella in his fingers, watching the little floral design on the paper swirl into indiscernible colors.
Saturday, June 25, 10:04 p.m.
Steve’s not at the quarry. Or if he is, Eddie can’t find him.
Saturday, June 25, 11:15 p.m.
Steve’s nowhere. Not the arcade, not the 24-hour diner, not even the parking lot at the mall with all the drag racers. Eddie loops back to Benny’s before he runs out of time.
He almost misses the guy with the long, dark hair. Steve’s dance partner from weeks ago, sitting at the bar now with red, glassy eyes.
“Have you seen Steve?”
A long pause. The guy blinks at him, and Eddie has to bite his tongue to keep himself from shaking him, fully aware that it wouldn’t work even if he did. Eddie has been that high many, many times.
Finally, an answer…
“No, not tonight, brochacho. Maybe he’s, you know, elsewhen.” The guy moves his hands like he’s revealing some great mystery of the universe, and if Eddie was thinking straight and wasn’t just visiting, he’d probably be ready to roll out the welcome mat of eternal friendship. He would invite this guy to play D&D with Gareth and all those other potential new friends. And they’d smoke up and play Tales from the Infinite Staircase, and life-or-something-like-it would be good.
“Right…” Eddie inhales, exhales. “Thanks, man.”
Across the street from Benny’s, Eddie breaks a window on the electronics store. It fixes itself the second he turns his back on it.
Saturday, July 1, 9:01 p.m.
Eddie stands in Benny’s, Eagle-Eye Cherry pouring out of the bar speakers while he watches a guy in low rise jeans and a belly chain dance with a girl in JNCOs. Their faces aren’t familiar, nor are any of the faces surrounding them.
Like the week before, Eddie makes passes through town.
“You’re looking for someone.” The woman at the quarry has brown curls, her head pillowed on the lap of a man with shaggy hair. The Red Hot Chili Peppers hum low out of the car speakers.
“A friend. Kind of. His name is Steve. Steve Harrington.”
She sits up straighter, and there’s something in the way she’s holding herself or pursing her lips, but Eddie can feel it. An awkwardness that makes the smoke-filled atmosphere feel that much heavier, that much staler.
“Oh. You went forward,” she says. “His favorite movie’s Grease . Did you know?”
Eddie didn’t know. There’s so much Eddie doesn’t know about Steve. But there’s so much he does know. That he likes 80s pop music and bright colors, and he’ll dance with anyone. That there’s a kindness to him that can be felt from the first look. That there’s a bitterness hiding under that soft exterior, like the rind beneath the bursting sweetness of a fruit.
“You can hang here tonight if you want,” shaggy hair says. “It’s not our era either, but it’s nice sometimes. The music’s not bad.”
Eddie jerks his head just a little to the left. “Thanks, dude, but I think…” Eddie gestures vaguely, echoing the wave he gets when he goes.
After that, it’s just walking. Aimless and thoughtless until it’s time.
Saturday, July 8, 9:03 p.m.
The speakers at Benny’s are blaring Great Balls of Fire , and when people spin their partners, poodle skirts flare out like lamp shades. It takes Eddie a second to spot Steve, tucked away to one side in rolled-cuff jeans and a leather jacket. The glasses are back, the frames thick on top and barely-there at the bottom.
John Travolta could never look so good, not in his wildest dreams.
“I gotta say, Steve, I have no idea how to hand jive.”
Steve barely reacts, spinning that same woman Eddie had spotted him with weeks ago. She’s wearing jeans and a leather jacket too, her shaggy hair slicked back. Together, she and Steve both twist down toward the floor. Steve doesn’t even glance his way as far as Eddie can tell.
“Can we talk?” Eddie asks, and Steve tilts his head just enough that Eddie knows he’s listening.
“Fine. After the song.”
Eddie sits at the bar and waits, tapping his thumb on the bar top. That’s where Steve finds him after his dance, jerking his head toward the door. Eddie follows him out into the night. The electronics store has been replaced with a showroom, a shiny Cadillac convertible in mint green spinning on a turntable in the window.
“I didn’t know Hawkins went this far back,” Eddie says, breathing on the glass of the showroom, outlining one of the more distant floor models in the condensation.
“I think it’s more for us. Less reality, more Happy Days .”
“You like it here.”
“What? You can’t tell me you of all people don’t enjoy playing pretend.” Steve sets off down the sidewalk past the showroom, Eddie trailing. “It’s nicer this way, I think. The aesthetic plus several decades of progress.”
“Isn’t all of this pretend though?” Eddie asks. Hell, Eddie’s wearing skintight black from head to toe like he’s Bad Girl Sandra Dee. Add in his messy pinup girl bun and red bandana headband, and it’s very costume party.
Steve shrugs. “So is everything else probably. At least, that’s what the scientists have been saying for a minute, right?”
“Uh…” Eddie looks down at his feet. “What? Since when?”
“Oh I… I mean, I don’t know. I just remember seeing all these articles in, what, the 10s? The 20s? About how maybe everything is a simulation or whatever. I was half-joking though. I definitely don’t know much about the science of reality, and a lot of it was probably clickbait if we’re being honest.”
“Yeah. It’s fine. I would’ve missed that info anyway.”
“What do you mean?” Steve asks, and Eddie’s mouth opens and closes a few times.
“I’m engaged,” Eddie says, blurting it out more than anything. “Or, well, it’s not… We’re not actually together.”
“Okay.” Steve stops walking. They’re in the middle of a city park, a quaint little place with a duck pond and nice benches. They sit down beneath a lamp post, the light a comforting orange. “Is that why you can’t get involved? Loyalty?”
“No. And yes.” Eddie’s leg bounces against the perfectly smooth sidewalk. “It’s like I’ve been dead for most of my life. So I’m just trying to live a little before the end, you know? That’s why I didn’t want to dance with you again. I don’t want to be tempted to…”
“To stay.”
Eddie nods. “To stay.” And it’s not so hard after that to keep talking. “My uncle raised me, and then he got married. Claudia. The best step-mom in the world honestly, and she had a kid of her own about six years younger than me—Dustin. It was like I finally had the little brother I always wanted, and he was this total nerd just like I was which was… God, we’d snipe at each other for hours and then we’d go sword fight with sticks in the front yard, and it was awesome.”
Eddie smiles, remembering some argument about a stolen Weird Al tape that had really just been mislaid somewhere. Remembering wrestling matches and arcade challenges and D&D games in their friends’ garages and basements.
“He wants to pay for me to stay in Hawkins, but he’s a scientist helping save this endangered sea slug or something, and he’s not…” Eddie inhales. “He’s not rolling in it, you know? And he’s got a lifelong medical condition, plus he’s just getting old too, so there’s always a medical bill somewhere.”
Steve’s brows knit together, and this time, Eddie reaches out and pushes his thumb against the lines just over the top of Steve’s glasses. He feels Steve’s skin smooth out, and then he traces alone one eyebrow before fanning out his hands and letting them run through Steve’s hair. It’s stiff with gel. Eddie doesn’t care.
“I’m getting married because I want them to pull the plug so he can stop paying for the facility, so he can go back to his life. So he can finally live free and clear of me.”
Steve catches his wrist, fingers curling around his pulse point. “You think that’s really gonna make it better for him?”
“Oh, I know it’ll hurt, and I know he’ll be pissed. But he’ll get to live, you know? He’ll get to enjoy the rest of it, maybe splurge on a diving trip to pet his precious slugs. I don’t know. Whatever he wants once he’s done being mad at me. It’ll be his life.”
“And what about your life?” Steve asks.
“I have Hawkins, and I know how much longer I have to appreciate it all. Lot of people never even get that much.”
Steve’s stroking Eddie’s wrist now, holding onto it where Eddie still has his fingers in Steve’s hair. For a long time, they just stare at each other. In the distance, there’s music playing somewhere, something simple and dreamy.
“If I promise I won’t let any of that happen…” Steve’s index finger traces the tendon running down Eddie’s forearm. “If I promise I won’t let you keep him from the life you want for him, will you dance with me again?”
Eddie can’t help the way his chin dips low in a nod.
They share their next dance beside a park bench, and it’s kind of nice that they can barely hear what they’re dancing to. That they can hear each other breathing.
“So, who is this Steve Harrington guy anyway?”
Steve laughs quietly. “There’s not much to tell. High school jock turned firefighter turned divorcee. House, picket fence, dogs, a lot of years trying to make a marriage work that was always doomed because we didn’t belong together. It’s like I wanted someone to love me so bad that I…” A breath. “She comes here sometimes with her second husband. We all used to be friends actually, which I know makes things awkward for Robbie and Args, but it’s an old wound now, and we all make it work. I hope we’ll be able to be friends again someday, me and her. And obviously we’ve got plenty of time to work everything out. But right now…”
Eddie thinks he knows her, but that’s a conversation for another time. Steve clears his throat.
“Anyway, I met this girl one day. Giant lesbian, probably my soulmate. She owned this little ice cream shop, and she was telling off this customer for making one of her employees cry, which was hilarious because Robbie—Robin—knew that, like, no one’s gonna be mean to an old lady .” Steve makes air quotes. “Made me love her instantly.
“I was in my sixties when she dragged me and my repressed bisexuality to our first queer bar. I had a blast. Then we went to Pride and to this afterparty at another bar. I remember seeing some guy who looked like he could’ve been me in a different era. Just there dancing with anyone and everyone. It was really, you know, beautiful to see the world was different enough for someone to just exist like that. But I felt like I’d wasted so much time too.”
Steve spins Eddie out and pulls him back in, then lets Eddie copy the motion for him, dipping Steve low. He tries to do it as smoothly as Steve had, but he stumbles and barely misses dropping him, both of them laughing.
“Now you’re here,” Eddie says, out of breath.
“Now I’m here,” Steve echoes, and there’s a sparkle in his eyes when they struggle to stand back up and realize it’s a lost cause, Eddie gently lowering him to the ground instead. Somehow, Steve drags him down with him, so suave about it that Eddie barely notices until his knees hit the concrete.
Steve’s hands are heavy on his shoulders when he says, “Do you trust me enough to kiss me?”
Eddie replies by closing the distance between them.
Saturday, July 15, 9:07 p.m.
Steve has a house on the edge of Lover’s Lake. It’s a quaint little sunshine yellow cabin with white gingerbread trim. On the edge of the little wooden dock, Eddie sits shirtless between Steve’s legs, both of their feet dangling off into the water.
“I loved the little teddy bears,” Steve says, fingers combing through Eddie’s hair, twisting it and winding it into a bun atop his head.
“The ewoks.”
“Yeah! The ewoks. So cute.”
“I actually really appreciate that out of the entire Star Wars universe, that’s what you took.”
“That’s not true. I love Baby Yoda too. I had, like, a little stuffed one and everything.”
“There’s a Baby Yoda? When?”
“God, you really did miss the Teens and 20s. What were you doing? Saving sea slugs with your brother?”
“Oh, you know, mostly just lying around.”
Steve finishes what he’s doing, wrapping the base of Eddie’s bun in a little braid before pulling a few artful tendrils loose around Eddie’s face, fluffing his bangs with his fingers.
“There you go. When I saw your hair last week, I knew I had to.” Out of Nowhere, there’s a mirror in Steve’s hand. Eddie checks himself out from several angles and then meets Steve’s eyes in the reflection. “Looks good.”
“Yeah? You wanna swim?”
“I really do,” Eddie says, and he slips off the edge of the dock into the water.
Above him, Steve stands up and peels off his shirt to reveal a gloriously hairy chest and belly. Eddie could stare at that sight all night if it weren’t for the fact that there’s something even more interesting somehow—a little silver bar through one of Steve’s nipples.
“Is that real?” Eddie asks.
“It used to be. I’ve always missed it.” Then, giving Eddie a cute little quirk of a smile, Steve executes a near-perfect dive right off the end of the dock. When he comes up, he shakes the water from his hair, droplets splattering Eddie’s face.
“Rude.”
“Was it?” Steve crowds close to him, their feet swiping against one another’s where they kick gently to stay afloat. “Tell me then. How can I make it up to you, Stevie boy?”
The look on Steve’s face says he knows exactly how he intends to try.
“Okay.” Eddie puts a hand on Steve’s chest and fuck , so much hair. “Okay, I know I can’t actually drown, but if you’re about to start making out with me, I’d like to be able to touch the bottom.”
“Oh was I about to start making out with you?”
“Fuck, I really hope so.”
“I suppose I could be persuaded. Maybe.”
“ Steve .”
Laughing, Steve tugs Eddie closer to the bank. His lips are on him the second their toes hit the sandy bottom, one hand curling around the back of Eddie’s neck, the other resting on his waist. Eddie wraps both arms around Steve’s back and holds tight.
It’s a summer storm of a kiss—soft showers giving way to lightning and sky-splitting thunder. Steve’s mouth moves with a roiling sort of urgency, tongue sliding into Eddie’s mouth. Asking. Begging. Demanding.
More, more, more.
One of Eddie’s hands migrates to Steve’s hair, grabbing hold, drawing a deep moan out of Steve’s chest.
“Eds…” A single hum of a word before the whirlwind starts again, Steve’s teeth nipping at his lip.
Eddie sucks in a breath, stealing it from Steve’s lungs.
“Mm?” Eddie asks, and Steve trails his lips sloppy wet across Eddie’s jaw and onto his neck, sucking at the tender skin behind his ear.
“I want you tonight. If…”
“Yes,” Eddie breathes. They barely make it onto the bank of the lake. Steve’s still in his simple white swim trunks. Eddie’s still in cutoff jeans. For a while, they stay that way, continuing their furious kiss. They take turns rolling atop each other in the sandy grass. Like teenagers, they rut against each other, panting and moaning into each other’s mouths.
“I…” Eddie stares down at Steve. “I never…” Eddie swallows. “I’ve done this, just… not with…”
“With a guy?”
Eddie shakes his head. “No, never girls.” A strained laugh, a deep inhale. “Not with someone I knew, I guess. Someone I, uh, actually care about.” Eddie looks down, eyes finding the center of Steve’s chest. “Jesus, that sounds terrible out loud.”
“No. No, it doesn’t. I know how things used to be. Robin and her wife—I know.” Steve reaches up and brushes his cheek. “If it helps, I’m pretty nervous too, you know? You can’t fuck this up. ”
Eddie lets out a long breath and lowers his face to Steve’s to lick into his mouth. The next time they break the kiss, it’s for Eddie to undo the ties and Velcro on Steve’s shorts, hand slipping inside while his mouth finds the little silver bar on Steve’s chest. It’s warm from Steve’s body heat when Eddie flicks his tongue against the metal. Steve’s cock is warm too in his hand, hard and heavy when Eddie gives it a stroke.
Beneath him, Steve shudders and sighs. “Fuck.”
It can’t go on for long like this. Eddie’s jerking Steve dry and careful, more teasing than anything. Plus, the clock is ticking, always ticking. Eddie lets go, mouthing at hairy skin, dipping his head lower and lower. Indelicately, he jerks down Steve’s shorts to bury his nose in the hair there, inhaling the musky scent of Steve’s arousal. He rakes his nails down Steve’s hips on either side, delighted at the twitch of Steve’s cock when he does.
“Interesting,” Eddie says, looking up at Steve where he’s pushed up on his elbows to watch. “In another life, I would’ve had so much fun figuring out everything you’re into.”
“In another life, I would’ve let you.”
Eddie answers that by slipping his lips over the head of Steve’s cock and taking it down deep, eyes cast upward all the while to watch the way Steve’s bottom lip slowly hangs open. To watch his eyelids flutter like curtains in the wind.
It’s Steve’s face he focuses on, using it as a barometer to know exactly how to keep going. A twitch tells Eddie to keep moving his tongue like that. A brief appearance of the whites of Steve’s eyes says that it’s good when Eddie lets him hit the back of his throat.
And that look—that gorgeous blissful one that Eddie will never forget for as long and as short as he lives—that one says Steve is close. So near to the summit he can taste it, and he’s just trying to keep his footing under him and hold on the rest of the way.
“Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”
Steve comes down his throat, sweet as honey, groaning up at the waxing moon.
It’s not until after that Eddie sees the clumps of grass in Steve’s hands and the dirt deep under his fingernails. Steve doesn’t even bother wiping them off, trailing filth down Eddie’s arms while he takes control, pushing Eddie onto his back.
“I’m gonna cheat a little,” Steve says.
“What?”
“I wanted this to feel pretty real the first time, but we’re here, aren’t we?” Steve gestures around them. “Where the rules are just suggestions. Where two impatient guys who wanna bone each other can be a little hasty if they wanna. Objections?”
“Uh…” Eddie looks down at where Steve’s unbuttoning his shorts. “No.”
Steve yanks the denim down, moving to straddle Eddie’s hips. Eddie hardly has time to process before Steve’s sinking down on him, warm and wet and open.
“Oh shit.”
Atop him, Steve smears sand and mud on Eddie’s chest while he rides, tugging on Eddie’s own little chest hairs, scratching across his nipples and his tattoos.
“Jesus Christ, Steve.” Eddie rips up his own little patch of grass, bucking his hips up to meet every single bounce of Steve’s body.
It doesn’t take long, not with Steve so hot around him, with him moving like that. Eddie lets go of the grass to grab hold of Steve’s wrists, nails digging in, grit sharp between their skin.
“Steve, I’m gonna—“
“Inside of me. Not like it matters anyway, but I want to feel it. I never got to—“
“Oh Christ.” Eddie’s head hits the ground. He’s staring up at the stars when he lets go, filling Steve up, come pooling around the base of his cock. A second later, Steve comes again too, groaning hoarsely while he paints Eddie’s torso.
For a moment, they’re still, heavy breaths overlapping like the backbeat of some song. Eddie stares openly at the absolute picture that is Steve in the moonlight, hair tussled, body filthy and covered in a sheen of sweat.
“Stevie, baby, if you don’t kiss me right now, I’m going to—“
This time, the kiss is the storm breaking—post-coital frenzy quickly melting into a drizzle, gentle and sweet.
“Let’s go inside,” Steve says, and they do, twining up together on Steve’s couch while Head Over Heels plays low on the stereo.
Strands of Eddie’s hair have fallen loose out of the bun when he catches his reflection in the glass coffee table. There’s still sand and mud clinging to both of them, pale-pink scratch lines marking their bodies.
And beyond that, the clock on the wall, minute hand almost kissing midnight.
Please. Not yet.
“I want to meet you,” Steve says, pulling a blade of grass out of Eddie’s hair and tossing it aside.
“No.”
“Eddie…”
“You wouldn’t…” Eddie breathes in deep. He’s never seen himself as he looks now, but he imagines it’s pretty pathetic based on what Dustin has told him. He knows there are a lot of scars. “I don’t think you’d like me very much.”
“I’m an old man now too, Eds. Gray hair, wrinkles, gut that sags over my pants.”
“It’s more than that.”
“What? Are you some kind of hideous monster? Because I’m not gonna lie, I could actually probably be into that.”
“Steve…”
“It’s more than that for me too.” Steve shifts them, lifting his head away from where he’s had it cradled into Eddie’s neck. His eyes are the first sprouts of spring barely peeking out from the loam. “I just never want you to think you’re not good enough, all of you.”
And fuck, what is Eddie supposed to say against that? Reaching up to press his thumb between Steve’s brows, he tells him the address of the facility.
Monday, July 17, 2:45 p.m.
It takes Steve a long time to get out of the van, his nurse hovering nearby while he holds onto the handle above the door, gritting his teeth through all the little aches in his old bones. Max has his cane there waiting for him to lean on. He’d injured it in the 30s during a call. The same call that had given him the burn scars on his neck and torso.
“You’ve got…” Max pulls a tissue from her pocket and hands it to him. Steve wipes the blood from his nose and puts it in his pocket.
“You’re a good kid, Max.”
“You know I hate it when you say stuff like that,” Max says, flipping her fiery braid from one shoulder to the other. “Like you’re someone’s harmless grandpa instead of the source of a future ulcer.”
“I could be someone’s grandpa. I’m old enough to be yours,” Steve says, taking a couple slow steps before adding, “ w hippersnapper. ”
“Yeah, yeah, off the lawn, blah blah blah. We get it. You’ve got Werther’s in your pocket.”
“Hey, Werther’s slap. Are fire. What are all the youths saying now?”
“Youths.” Max huffs, rolling her eyes behind thick glasses. “You’re a few decades late for the word ‘fire,’ Grandpa Steve.”
“Yeah?”
“Everything’s fetch right now. Gen Beta found that old movie, and they think they’ve done something.”
“ Mean Girls !”
“Yeah, Regina.” Max adjusts the mechanized brace on her leg and then follows Steve into the assisted living facility, standing right at his elbow like she’s his Victorian chaperone. There’s no receptionist inside, just a waiting room. A voice—AI—greets them.
“Good afternoon and welcome to Sunset Villa. What is the purpose of your visit today?”
“I’m here to see a patient. Eddie Munson.”
A pause. “You must be Steven Harrington.”
“That’s what it says on the bills. Max, does Steven Harrington sound right to you?”
“Oh my God,” Max says, and Steve can almost hear her rolling her eyes. “You’re gonna cause the robot uprising if you don’t stop toying with them like that.”
The AI ignores them. “Please proceed through Door 3. A nurse will meet you.”
The door in question beeps three times and then opens wide. On the other side, a petite young nurse in green scrubs bounces in white orthotics.
“Steve? Hi, I’m Chrissy Cunningham, Eddie’s nurse.”
“Wait, Chrissy? Like his fiancé Chrissy?” Steve looks at her again. She can’t be older than twenty-five, her hair a strawberry blonde, pulled into a high ponytail. Even knowing the whole engagement between them is a farce, Steve didn’t expect her.
“Oh gosh.” She ducks her head. “I guess I technically am.”
“I have so many questions,” Max mumbles, but Steve hisses “later”and they follow Chrissy down the hall. When they reach Eddie’s room, Max hangs back, carefully lowering herself into a chair in the hallway and rubbing at the skin beneath her leg brace. Steve follows Chrissy in.
“So I’m guessing he gave you some of his backstory? The accident and everything?”
Steve moves closer to the hospital bed. Eddie’s eyes are closed, a feeding tube disappearing into his mouth. His gray hair is short and curly where it’s been cropped close to his head, and there’s one section obviously missing where an old scar runs across his scalp.
It’s not the only scar. A jagged one runs down Eddie’s cheek and neck. There are more all up his arms, crisscrossing ancient tattoos, disappearing into his hospital gown.
“Accident?” Steve asks. “I… He hinted that he was on life support, but he didn’t really…” Explain how. Steve had just assumed it was recent. Cancer like Steve’s constant companion. Something else. Not…
God, you really did miss the Teens and 20s. What were you doing?
Oh, you know, mostly just lying around.
Shit.
“Oh.” Chrissy rocks once on her feet in Steve’s periphery.
“Sorry, you probably already said too much. HIPAA and all that.”
“No, it’s okay. He gave me permission when we discussed your visit during our last Link.” Chrissy takes a step closer, joining Steve where he leans on the bed rail and stares down at Eddie. “So Eddie was a musician. Is a musician. He did okay through the end of the 80s and the early 90s. He said it was mostly studio work and weddings, but it kept him from giving up, you know? Otherwise, it was all bartending and—Eddie’s words here—“ Chrissy laughs softly “—a little light drug dealing. From there, he got to tour regionally with some different bands, then he did a few national runs opening for some bigger acts.
“His big break though, that came in 2000 when Steel and Iron’s guitarist split, and Eddie got the chance to audition. And then Kaitlyn Iron called him personally to welcome him on board.”
“THE Steel and Iron?”
“Yeah, Eddie was almost Ned Finn. Bigger than Ned Finn maybe since they wouldn’t have had to postpone their Fall 2000 tour and the release of Hybrid Static.”
Steve can picture it easily, Eddie commanding a stage, his long hair hanging loose so he could swing it around like the blades of a helicopter. “God, he must have been something.”
“Oh, he was. Steel and Iron filmed all those auditions and Eddie’s ended up in a few different documentaries about them.” Chrissy smooths a strand of Eddie’s hair off his forehead. “He was headed to meet them to start tour practice when a drunk driver ran a red light. He’s been comatose since.”
“Since 2000?”
“There was brain activity, but he never woke up.” Chrissy chews her lip and Steve feels his brows migrate closer together. He can almost feel the warmth of Eddie’s thumb there, smoothing the lines away.
“His Uncle Wayne never gave up—sold everything he could. Before Andrei Steel passed, I guess he sent money every month to help out too. When he was gone, it was just Eddie’s family. Then his uncle and step-aunt passed in ’31 and ’32. Sucks because the Link hit in ’33. I know they talk about the early beta like it was this infinite, like, blackness. And they hadn’t added Hawkins and digital immortality. But Sunset Villa was an early beta facility. They could’ve reconnected.”
Steve reaches out and finds Eddie’s wrist, touching the crepe skin, feeling the texture of one of Eddie’s scars. “It’s the step brother now, right?” Steve asks, tracing the faded black-green ink that forms a swarm of bats. “Who pays for it all and wants Eddie to…”
“Yeah. I’ve been in the family room in the Link with them. He wants Eddie to live so bad, but Eddie’s too smart, you know? The law says we can’t deny sharing a patient’s own medical info with them if they’re of sound mind, so Eddie knows the price tag of being uploaded.”
“He mentioned that. I didn’t realize he was marrying his nurse though.”
“Yeah. The patient and the nurse. A bit corny 20 th century porn, I know,” Chrissy says, and it shocks a laugh out of Steve. He punctuates it with a cough and waves Max off when she cranes her head around the door frame.
“I guess it’s…” Chrissy pauses, gathering her thoughts. “I don’t have any siblings, but I’m pretty close with one of my cousins. If I had to look at her and tell her to let me die, I… I get it. That Eddie doesn’t want to do that to Dustin. And as much as I love Eddie, it’s his choice to make, not anyone else’s.”
Steve hums, staring at Eddie’s eyes where they flick beneath paper-thin lids. “Does he have any Link time today?”
“You know Hawkins is only Saturday nights for visitors.”
“I know. Fear that we’d all check out before our time and stop feeding the capitalist machine or whatever. I don’t need Hawkins.” Steve traces another one of Eddie’s tattoos, a messy X right inside of Eddie’s ring finger. “I’ll take the family room. Hell, throw me in the old beta if you want. I just need to talk to him. Five minutes.”
“Let me see what I can do.”
Ten minutes later, Steve blinks awake into the sunny-but-sterile environment of the Family Room. He doesn’t wear his Hawkins persona. Instead, he lets himself be the same Steve sitting at Eddie’s bedside. Across from him on the boxy couch, Eddie sits, his hair up in the same braided bun Steve had put it in at his house.
There are only a couple of faint lines on Eddie’s face, and Steve wonders if this is Eddie as he remembers himself in 2000.
For one long moment, he squints at Steve, taking him in. Then he meets his eyes, recognition breaking across his face.
“Steve?”
“Hi, Eds.” Steve smiles and then gestures at himself. “So here I am. The real life today Steve, wrinkles and burn scars and all.” Gently and with Eddie lifting his head to let him, Steve cups his jaw. “Chrissy’s nice.”
Before him, Eddie’s appearance shifts from young to old to match. It’s not quite right compared to the man out in the real world, and Eddie leaves the bun, filling it with long, gray hair instead. It’s still Eddie though, this version of him half-real and half-imagined. His eyes are that same lovely brown that tripped Steve up that first night at Benny’s.
“She is nice,” Eddie says. “If I had an estate, I’d leave it to her.”
“I don’t think she deserves to be a widow, even if it is in name only.”
Eddie flinches. “What?”
Steve takes a breath, rubbing a soothing thumb across Eddie’s chin.
“I never told you about my dad. Big jerk, never really talked to me anymore. He was also loaded and just… had no one else to leave all his shit to so he never even bothered with a will. That surprised me honestly. I really expected him to have one just out of spite alone, but he didn’t so…” Steve shrugs.
“One day I’m living paycheck to paycheck, the next day, I inherit a decent nest egg and a house. I’m not buy-a-yacht rich, but I did okay with what I was given. I got to retire as comfortably as I could, and I’ve got enough that I can move to Hawkins a few times over.”
Like Chrissy said, Eddie’s not stupid. He’s also the guy who had his only big dream come true only to have that dream ripped to shreds and thrown back in his face.
It shows in the way his eyes are hopeful but his shoulders are stiff. Steve lets his hand move from Eddie’s face to one of those shoulders, squeezing some indecipherable Morse code along the way. Dot, dot, dash.
“Marry me instead,” Steve says, soft and sure.
“Steve…”
“I’ll help you move. You can try this whole living thing a little bit longer. And when I move to Hawkins myself someday soon, whether we’re still making it work or not, we’ll leave a little behind for Dustin. For Chrissy too if you were serious.”
“You…” Eddie swallows and grabs Steve’s wrist. “You want…”
“It doesn’t have to be forever. I’ve always figured I’d probably check out of Hawkins someday because, I mean, who can even imagine, right? I just—we’re both people who deserve a second chance. I want mine with you, Eds. For as long as you’ll have me. If you’ll have me?”
On the couch, Eddie starts laughing, each note building on the other until he’s near hysterical with joy.
“Yes,” Eddie breathes, standing up to throw his arms around Steve where he keeps laughing and half-sobbing into Steve’s neck. “God, yes. Fuck yes. Hell yes!”
Steve’s grinning—tears welling up behind his glasses—when Chrissy gently pulls him from the Link.
Friday, July 21, 7:01 p.m.
Eddie marries Steve in the family room, surrounded by yellow and orange lilies. Sunrises and sunsets. Beginnings and endings.
Steve’s friend Robin officiates. Max is his best man, and Dustin is Eddie’s. Chrissy bears the rings. Steve’s other friend Argyle dances down the short aisle scattering flower petals before they walk.
They marry in the same bodies they met in, in matching black slacks and black button-downs. They wear lavender ties. Eddie’s not sure if they’re in love yet or not, but when he hears Steve say he’ll care for him for as long as they both choose, Eddie feels like his heart might explode.
“Cool,” Robin says. “So by the power vested in me by GetOrdainedFreeNow dot com, I am pleased to pronounce you both queer as fuck. Feel free to kiss.”
They do, and their teeth clack together because neither of them can stop smiling. They’re still smiling when they face the room and their closest loved ones. There are only two people Eddie wishes could’ve made it. On instinct, he glances skyward. He’s never been particularly religious, but he hopes somewhere beyond Earth and the Link and Hawkins, his uncle and Claudia are watching.
“You’re gonna do it after this, aren’t you?” Dustin asks later, poking at a piece of wedding cake with his fork. Eddie can hear the strain in his voice—tears he’s trying not to shed.
“Yeah. You okay?”
“I am. It’s what I wanted, you know? When they came up with the Link and then with Hawkins. It’s like I lived so long with this feeling of regret that you didn’t get to live and there was nothing I could do about it, and now you do get to live. And that’s so awesome, and maybe it’s even better than real life because you never have to deal with aching joints or a headache ever again, but…”
“But your big brother’s still physically dying.”
Dustin sobs once, and for a second, Eddie’s a teenager again, holding Dustin after the family cat passed away. Or throwing together a D&D one shot to help him through his first ever heartbreak.
“Hey, it’s okay if you need to mourn,” Eddie says. “Visiting me was something real you could do, and you did it for such a long time, a really long time. Longer than I can honestly even wrap my mind around. You could see my ugly face and, frankly, terrible hospital haircut, and I was still there in some way. That’s been your reality for a super long time.”
“It has. But it feels so fucking stupid. Like a lot of my life was hoping that something might happen, and I’d get to see you again. And then something did happen. And I did get to see you again. So why am I…?”
“Because the mind is a vast and stupid little tapestry, Dusty Roads,” Eddie says. “Just know it’s okay if you need to have feelings about it. But also remember it’s not forever. You’ll be able to do the Hawkins trial, maybe even move in someday if you want that for yourself. We’ll get more time.”
Dustin sniffs, nodding. “We will.”
“And I’m gonna have a sweet D&D group going by the time you do. I hear there’s some dudes who need a good DM.”
“Can’t wait. And hey, congratulations.” Dustin hugs him like he used to, like he always has. “I really like Steve.”
“Yeah.” Eddie catches Steve’s eye across the impromptu dance floor. “Me too.”
An hour and some change later, Eddie dies. Sort of.
Not really.
Thursday, December 1, 7:07 p.m.
Eddie knew it was coming. Apparently Steve’s been fighting the cancer on and off for a long time, winning a round, spending a few years in remission, then starting the fight again. Until his body just couldn’t get back up anymore.
An occupational hazard, Steve had called it, right before he told Eddie if he could do it all over again, choosing to fight fires isn’t something he’d change.
“It sucks. It’s, like, the most suck anyone can go through. But if I knew that was the price for all of it? I’d pay it again and again.”
“How long?”
“Not much.”
Eddie’s ready, has been ready since Steve told him he’d been approved to make the big switch.
Steve wasn’t able to visit on Saturday due to pre-procedure procedures, and Eddie’s spent the last week decorating just to have something to keep him busy. There are Christmas lights strung up all over the little house by Lover’s Lake. The tree in the corner is as real as anything in Hawkins, the scent of pine permeating the living room. It’s lit but undecorated, waiting to be filled with new memories.
In the fireplace, Eddie has logs burning. On the mantle above, stockings hang with his and Steve’s names drawn on in messy puff paint. Photos line the shelf. Old grainy uploads of Eddie’s family, of Steve’s old firefighting crew. Crisp digitals of an older Steve and Robin at Pride, of Steve with Max. There’s even a little Eddie-approved selfie of Chrissy next to his hospital bed.
And at the center, a Link screenshot of Steve and Eddie on their wedding day, laughing after their terrible first kiss.
Eddie checks the clock. Steve’s late. He stares into the fire and waits, leg bouncing.
In typical Steve fashion, he uses the front door.
“Eds?”
“In here,” Eddie calls.
When Steve pads into the living room, he’s wearing a hideous, plush Christmas sweater. His smile is soft, eyes warm behind his glasses. “Hey there.”
Eddie stands to meet him, taking both of Steve’s hands in his. He kisses the backs of Steve’s knuckles, then one of the freckles on his wrist. He talks against Steve’s skin, casting his eyes upwards when he says, “Hey there, big boy. Welcome home.”
Tomorrow, Eddie will host a D&D game with Gareth and Jeff and Frankie and Argyle. On Tuesday, he’ll strap on a guitar and stand with those same guys on a stage at Benny’s. On Wednesday, he’ll go to the mall with Steve and Robin and Robin’s girl Vickie.
But on the first true day of the rest of a shared forever, Eddie drags his husband down onto the rug in front of the fire and remembers what it means to be alive.