Chapter Text
He knew immediately that he’d fucked up.
Steve dressed how Steve always dressed. But then he’d stepped outside, and it was fucking hot.
Of course it was hot, Hawkins was a hellscape, and nothing had really changed. It was quiet, for a minute, at least, but it was still Hawkins.
It had to be the armpit of America.
Regardless of his internal monologuing about the heat and how much he hated the place, Steve knocked on the door of the trailer, waiting for Eddie Munson of all people to answer and let him in. If someone had told him a year ago he’d be here, he wouldn’t have believed it. Then again, there was a lot of unbelievable shit about the last few years of Steve’s life.
Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington had gone from a bunch of friends he didn’t even really like but who were cool to being best friends with a lesbian he’d once had a crush on and a whole bunch of nerdy-ass children. And now he was volunteering to spend time with Eddie fucking Munson of all people.
Sure, Eddie wasn’t someone he’d ever have elected to spend time with before. He was fine though.
Or… Steve liked him, actually. As completely unforeseen as it all was, Eddie was a good guy. Sort of like Steve had come to like the kids. Or even Jonathan, though he liked the kids objectively better than he did Jonathan.
It was a whole other lifetime, actually.
He couldn’t remember who he used to be.
“Greetings and salutations, Harrington!”
And there he was. Just as in your face and over the top as ever.
Only he looked… different. He looked like fucking Bon Jovi. Jeans so ripped they may as well just be shorts and a crop top and hair pulled back into a bun with loose bits falling around his face. In some weird way, the jeans almost seemed more revealing than shorts. They weren’t, of course, Steve couldn’t see the backs of Eddie’s legs or his left knee or either calf, but there was so much open ripping around his thighs that almost seemed more… teasing.
“Holy shit, I can see your whole face.” Steve mumbled out, lips parted in genuine surprise, instantly reaching out to try to touch the bun at the crown of his head.
Eddie batted him away.
“Oh, har-har, so fuckin’ funny. Some of us dress for the weather, Harrington.” He turned on his heel to walk back into the trailer and Steve just sort of… watched.
He stared absentmindedly at how different Eddie looked, the more pronounced curve of his jaw. His long, sun-freckled arms — Steve hadn’t seen his bare arms before. The soft part where waist met hip, exposed beneath the crop top.
If he was any kind of smart, he’d stop looking before—
“Look, I know I’m gorgeous, but you’re not much good to me out there, so do you wanna at least come stare inside the disgusting trailer?”
Well, fuck. That was embarrassing.
Steve had been caught staring. Or… why was he even staring anyway? So Munson owned a crop top, big fucking deal. Steve had owned one or two when he was younger, before Dustin and Lucas had started following him around giving him shit about growing hair.
They were only fourteen, he was sure a lot would change in a few years, but still.
Anyway, he’d seen people in crop tops before, male and female. He wasn’t usually quite so easily distracted.
It was Munson.
It was obviously just because it was Munson, serial killer suspect and self-appointed rocker. He just wasn’t expecting to see him in something so… exposed. He normally had on layers. Shirts and jackets and vests and the hair covered half his face on a good day.
It was just out of the ordinary, that was all. He’d stare if he saw Nancy in a nun’s outfit or something too. Unusual things caught the eye. Duh.
He tore his eyes away and walked inside, looking around. At the ridiculous amount of mugs on the mantle, at the shit laying around everywhere, at the handcuffs on the wall. He blinked at the room, then back at Eddie, forcing himself not to get distracted again.
“Dude. There is so fucking much going on in here apart from the need for a new coat of paint.” He scoffed, “What are we painting it anyway?”
“It’s just white,” Eddie told him with a scoff, kicking a mop out of the way. “I don’t live on my own, so a lot of this shit isn’t actually mine.”
Right.
Steve was being stupid. Getting distracted by stupid things and—
“So are the handcuffs yours?”
Jesus christ. Honestly, Steve might be okay with it if one of those demonic bat fucks crawled out of the walls and ate him right then and there.
He used to be good at things. He used to be Steve Harrington, popular guy, okay at school, charming or whatever. Now he embarrassed himself in Eddie Munson’s trailer while asking about fucking handcuffs.
“Yeah, they’re mine.” Eddie glanced at him, sort of careful and intent. Like he was waiting to see Steve’s reaction. How was Steve meant to react? Other than choking on his own spit, of course, which he promptly did.
“And why do you—?”
“Well, Stephen—”
“Steve.”
“When two people love each others’s’ bodies very much—”
“I hate you.”
“Sometimes one of them might decide to handcuff the other to the bed—”
“Please stop talking.”
“Or table or chair or hell, shower and—”
“C’mon, man!”
“Well, you know the rest.” Steve had never seen Eddie looking quite so proud of himself. His face looked different without hair covering all of it, but still kind of… oddly pretty. Or… something. He clearly thought he was hilarious, and Steve had spent too much time around the little snots, because he was looking for Dustin or Max’s ears to cover instinctively.
“Did you give yourself that nickname?” Steve asked flatly.
“Come again?”
“The freak.” Steve’s voice was level, brows raising. “Like, is that just your whole thing? Being aggressively out there and dramatic? Do you want people to be weirded out?”
Because it sure seemed like Eddie was trying to get a reaction from Steve. And there were plenty of things about Eddie that Steve wanted to react to in that moment, but that would require a whole lot of understanding Steve didn’t currently possess, so he’d much rather be irritated instead.
“I didn’t give myself the nickname.” Eddie said with a roll of his eyes, moving to pick up a paint brush that was in his sink, talking though he no longer looked at Steve. Why was it so annoying talking to someone who wouldn’t look at you? “And believe it or not, I don’t have to work at being different, it just happens. And if it gets a reaction out of popular little golden boy types, then that’s fine too.”
Steve’s brows raised. “I’m not made of lego, y’know.” He said flatly, “Like, I’m not a ken doll, I have a life outside of the reputation I had in school at sixteen.”
“Oh, I know, Harrington, I saw you bite the head of a bat.” Eddie answered, and his eyes turned back to Steve. Steve hated the way it made him instinctively stand a little straighter, like he had something he had to prove.
“So then why are you acting like I’m gonna be scared of you or somethin’. I know you’re no murderer or actual freak.” If Eddie wanted to tease him, Steve could do it back. “Besides, I've worn your clothes, man. Basically blood brothers now or some shit.”
Eddie flashed a wide, sarcastic grin, “Ain’t nothing brotherly about the way you looked at me when you got here.” He turned away then, slapping some paint onto the stained wall beside him, leaving Steve to stand there gawking like a moron. “Surprised you didn’t bring Wheeler here with you.”
Now that comment felt… pointed? Although he was sure that Eddie and Nancy got on fine now, after all, there had to be some kind of bond that came from parading around Creepy Blue Hawkins together. And all the shit they had fought down there together. Things were quiet now, but once you were in on something like this, there really wasn’t any going back.
Like Erica, Eddie had just caught himself on a fun one way ticket into the absolute horror of their lives. Just like Steve had back when he had been obsessed with trying to keep Nancy. That, too, felt like a lifetime ago. Sometimes he thought maybe there was still something, but ultimately, he knew it wasn’t true.
He didn’t want Nancy. Not like he used to. He just missed her. As a friend, more than anything.
“Did you invite Nance?” Steve asked dumbly.
Eddie glanced back. “Nah. Should I have? Only asked you.”
Steve’s mind went reeling like a teenager trying to figure out what it meant when someone passed you a note in class saying the bare minimum. Whether you were reading too much into things or it really was the way it felt. Steve hadn’t done that since. Well, since Nancy, actually. Since he’d sat up on the phone at night trying to convince her to hang out with him, his stomach all fluttery and nervous, worried that she’d decide he was too stupid for her.
He knew how people saw him. He knew people thought he was… well, a douchebag. But he also thought people had him all wrong, and he’d thought… things were different with her. She hadn’t wanted him, not like he’d wanted her, but he remembered how that felt. The nerves and excitement.
The feeling of something being on fire in your stomach, something that set your teeth on edge and made you so nervous and shy and fluttery and stupid, the way it consumed your thoughts and made you feel all airy and dumb.
But none of that applied to Eddie. So why was he overthinking that comment so hard? What did it even mean?
“As opposed to like… Dustin or Mike or Lucas?” He asked, brows raising. Why was he pushing it? Why did he even care?
He used to be so much more witty. Now he was just… saying stupid shit.
Okay, maybe he always said stupid shit.
Eddie glanced back at him again. “Do you want me to paint your face?” He asked with a scoff. “I asked you.”
Which clarified… nothing. Clarified approximately zero things. He still had no idea why he was asked to be there. Or, a better question, why he had gone. And why was he just standing uselessly looking at Eddie.
When he stretched up to paint, Steve could see a lot of his back, could see the muscles move under his skin. He wasn’t sure he’d been this bad at speaking since he was like, fourteen and hadn’t kissed a girl yet.
Not that he wanted to kiss Eddie. He definitely did not want to kiss Eddie.
“Are you going to help or…?”
And Steve did. He got to work trying to distract himself with literally anything other than whatever confusing thing was happening inside his head and/or stomach at that point.
He kept getting distracted though, and he knew he needed to keep his back to Eddie or he’d get distracted again.
Why was he so distracted? It’d been a while since he had a good date, but surely not long enough that…
He cut himself off, telling himself he could have a panic later in the privacy of his own car.
They kept talking though. About Eddie’s favourite bands. About Steve’s hair (that was a weird one, and mostly full of teasing). About the kids and about Eddie’s DND campaigns. They spoke briefly about Nancy and Robin, about how Steve had come to be friends with Robin. They argued briefly about Steve’s favourite music, and Eddie mocked him relentlessly about that for a bit.
Eddie was asking him questions about the demogorgons when Steve heard his voice strain.He looked around to see what was happening, and saw Eddie reaching up to the ceiling, stretching and holding a longer roller to paint over the ceiling, where the hole was closed up, things looking mostly normal.
Except, stretching up to the ceiling at that angle, Steve could see his stomach and — Jesus christ, what was wrong with him?
He turned sharply again, returning to the wall he was painting before he’d noticed.
“So you were really doing all of this… during school? All of you? And no one… knew?”
Steve laughed, “I mean, some people knew. But most people… nah. I mean, I guess people will find excuses to not see what they don’t want to see, right?” He commented halfheartedly, “I’m not sure I would’ve ever noticed if I hadn’t been fucking attacked.”
“Yeah, well, at least you’re not a murder suspect.” Eddie commented snarkily.
Steve scoffed, “Yeah, almost been murdered a whole bunch of times though.”
“Yeah, same.”
“More than you though.” He answered, just as quick, looking back over his shoulder at Eddie, who was looking back at him. They stared at each other for a moment, and though Steve wasn’t sure what it meant, he couldn’t tear his eyes away.
Was there subtext? Why were they staring?
“I’m fuckin’ boiling.” Steve grumbled, shaking his head.
Eddie scoffed, “And you made jokes about what I’m wearing. Why would you wear that? Are you seriously so concerned with looking cool?”
“I’m not concerned with looking cool,” He argued, shaking his head. “I just didn’t think about the weather, I dressed how I always dressed when I’m not in like, gym class.” He shook his head, feeling weirdly self-conscious of his clothes, though that seemed like a stupid feeling to have.
“You can borrow a shirt, if you want to.”
And a few minutes later, Steve was also wearing a cropped singlet. And he felt… very exposed. Although really, he just expected Eddie to mock him for it. He didn’t. He just stared at Steve appraisingly for a minute and then went back to painting without a word. The whole thing was painfully confusing for Steve, who couldn’t decide what the look meant. Did he look bad? Stupid? Why did he even care what Munson thought of him? Since when did he care what Munson thought? Especially of his physical appearance. It wasn’t like it mattered.
It was a little while later that Steve watched as Eddie went to brush hair back from his face, watched as he realised with his hand close to his face that he had paint all over his hands and that if he wiped his hair back, he’d be inadvertently painting bits of it white, and probably his forehead too.
“Wait.” Steve said, taking a few quick steps forward. His own hands weren’t covered in paint, and it only made sense to help. It definitely wasn’t that he wanted to push some of the fluffy, wavy hair away from his face. It definitely wasn’t that he wondered if it was as soft as it looked. It definitely wasn’t curiosity to see if he had product in his hair or if it was just naturally like that. It definitely wasn’t an excuse to be closer.
Pushing the hair back was… odd. It felt sort of wrong, but also not at all wrong. The bit of hair was soft, he thought, but it was hard to tell from just brushing it back, and he sort of wished it was out again. Not that he could just stand there and touch Eddie’s hair anyway.
His hand fell back by his side, and he found that he couldn’t focus on Eddie’s face, maybe because he was suddenly nervous about what the other boy might say or do.
“I should probably split.” Steve said awkwardly, turning back away and pushing his sleeves up. “I’m— I’ve gotta work later. And y’know, I’m meant to pick Robin up on the way, so…”
Eddie rested a hand on his own arm, leaving a white handprint behind when he did. “You and Robin…”
Steve frowned. He wasn’t going to out Robin. He didn’t do that. He would never do that to her. But he wanted to make it clear that Eddie shouldn’t go chasing that particular avenue. He swallowed, shrugging his shoulders.
“Dude, I’ll never get done telling people this I’m sure, but we’re… Capital P Platonic.” Those were her words, but they worked just fine, so Steve figured he’d just co-opt them. “I’m uh, not sure you’re exactly her type though, man.” That was vague enough, right?
Of course, Eddie just laughed. “Yeah, uh, she’s not mine either, King Harrington.” He laughed, and maybe there was some joke that Steve wasn’t in on, but if he hung around here any longer, he was going to fully spiral, and he had no time for that, he dealt with enough bullshit with the kids without his brain caving in on him too. Things were simple with Robin. Easy. He never over thought every word and action with her.
“Yeah, whatever, Munson. I’ll, uh, see you later.”
*
A few hours and some benign conversation with Robin later, but Steve was still stuck in a weird place in his mind. He kept thinking about, of all the stupid things, Eddie’s hair. How it had looked up in that bun. How it had looked falling out around his face, and how it had felt to push it back behind his hair.
What the hell any of it meant, he didn’t know. Which was, of course, probably why it wouldn’t leave his mind. It was simple, he told himself, just a quick attempt to help out. He’d have done the same thing for anyone else. For any of his friends or any of the kids. Helped them out so they didn’t get paint on their face. So why was he overthinking it? And why was he overthinking the way he’d been distracted by Eddie's outfit? Why was he even still thinking about any of this? Munson had become a new friend. That was fine, Steve didn’t give a shit about popularity anymore.
But it wasn’t shame. He wasn’t embarrassed of being friends with Munson.
He just couldn’t stop thinking about Munson.
He wanted to touch his hair again.
He was used to people wanting to touch his hair, he wasn’t so used to wanting to touch someone else’s. He should just ask. It was weirder that he was scared to ask, right? He was making it weird. He was the one making it weird.
“Hello? Earth to Stephen Edward Harrington?”
Steve’s eyes snapped up to Robin.
“That’s not even my full name.”
“But it got your attention, didn’t it?” Robin asked him, smirking rather proudly.
God, he was surrounded by sarcastic and smug people. Which was probably why he fit in with them, he supposed. Still. He was constantly filled with the desire to bang his head against something.
“What were you talking about?” He asked, brows raising.
“I was asking you if you’ve spoken to Nancy recently.” She shook her head, “Honestly, Steve, I think she was really bothered when she thought there might’ve been something between you guys, so if there’s something—”
“Oh my god, we’re not doing this again.” He said quickly, shaking his head rapidly back and forth. “I know, Robin, I get it, I know you’re trying to help me, but I did not ask to be set up with her. I do not want to be set up with her. I do not have feelings for her. Period. Maybe she was jealous of you instead of me.” He commented, mostly just trying to get her off his back, though, he’d be lying if he said the thought hadn’t occurred to him. Nancy and Robin had gotten along like a house on fire. And while that had felt weird at first, the idea had grown on him. They both deserved to be happy. And he knew they’d be good to each other. In a weird way, it seemed kinda perfect.
“I… I have been successfully put in my place, my apologies.” She snarked.
There was a moment of calm and casual silence, before Steve let slip a thought he really hadn’t meant to actually ask.
“How did you know you were gay?” His voice was quiet, but he knew the second it came out of his mouth the mistake he’d made. He could see it on her face.
She stared at him.
“Well,” She began, and he couldn’t help the itching feeling she was about to start mocking him. “As you so pertinently and intelligently pointed out to me not so long ago, I like boobies.” Steve immediately began to laugh, but she just spoke louder over the top of him. “And I pretty much always liked boobies. I think I always kinda knew, on some level, it was more about being brave enough to look at it, y’know. To name it for what it was. To stop kinda letting it sit in the corner of my mind like a ghost or something. But then I looked at it and… I don’t know, it was still hard. But it got easier when I stopped pretending.”
Well, that was a… surprisingly thoughtful answer. Maybe more thoughtful than he’d expected. He’d really expected to get mocked.
“Is this why you’re wearing Eddie Munson’s shirt?”
Steve choked on nothing but air.
“I dressed stupidly for painting.” He answered, sounding a little too defensive.
“Oh my god, Steve.” It was less mocking and more intent. “Steve. Steve.”
He couldn’t look at her. God, why was this so hard?
“What?” He asked, feigning innocence.
“ Steve!” She repeated, tugging on the singlet he wore. “Tell me I’m reading this silence right. I need this to be true. I need it like I need air and sugar, please.”
“He asked me if we were dating today.” Steve answered, still avoiding her eyes. “I just said no. Obviously. And that I wasn’t sure he would be your type. Nothing more specific.”
She was grinning, he could feel it, even without looking.
“I’m not his type either, Steve.”
Steve actually did look at her then. “That’s what he said too!”
She burst out laughing, and she looked so happy it was hard to resist laughing with her. Of course, he had no good reason to laugh, because he felt like he was being made fun of here.
“Yeah, no shit, Harrington. Oh my god.” She couldn’t stop grinning. “And you’re wearing his shirt. Did you like…?”
“No!” Steve burst out again, shaking his head. “No, god, Robin. No. Nothing… happened. What would happen? I don’t… I’m not…” His nose pinched up. “I like boobies, Robin.”
He could feel her trying not to laugh, like something in his bones.
“Okay.” She nodded. “Do you also like… his boobies?” She asked, smiling a little, conspiratorial and amused.
“He doesn’t—” Steve cut himself off. “Robin.” He was pleading with her, confused and freaked out and embarrassed all at once. He felt like he was being left out of a conversation he was definitely supposed to be a part of.
“It’s okay, Steve.” Robin told him, resting a hand on his wrist while he drove. “It’s okay. It’s not like you’re around people who wouldn’t understand. I mean, there’s me obviously. But also Will and Mike. And Eddie. It’s not like you’d be alone in any of this. You know, and maybe I’m totally off base, and I’m sorry if I am, I shouldn’t be laughing, it’s just so…” She cut herself off again, taking a deep breath as if to recenter on being serious about it. “It’s okay to like both.”
He felt really stupid all of a sudden. Because he knew, objectively, that there were people who did like both, but… it wasn’t exactly like people were open about their preferences in a town like Hawkins, where dressing wrong could get you attacked in the streets. Where the main insult growing up was based purely around equating being bad with being gay. It felt… abstract. He knew it wasn’t bad, he knew that. But he also knew his parents wouldn’t like it and…
“That’s a thing I can do?” He asked, and he sounded… young and scared. He sounded like a kid. He felt like a kid.
Robin was smiling now, much more genuinely. “Yeah, Steve. That’s a thing you can do. And there’s nothing wrong with it either, no matter what anyone says.”
Steve was quiet for a minute, pondering that. Both. He could like both. Or all. Or whatever. He could just like… people, regardless.
They were quiet for a while, and then the teasing started back up again. Now that Steve had had his actual moment to ponder on what Robin had said, Robin had gone back to teasing, because it wasn’t just that Steve was having confusing feelings about a boy, it was that that boy was Eddie fucking Munson.
“Oh my god, you wore his vest.” She grinned, “I bet he was into it when you wore his vest.”
She was sitting on the counter at the video shop, and Steve was ready to tackle her if she didn’t stop before someone they knew came in and heard it.
“He was trying to set me up with Nance.”
“Mhm.” She was smirking. “This is hilarious. I bet he just hates being into King Steve. I bet he hates that he’s just like everyone else in Hawkins, fawning all over The Hair.” She couldn’t stop grinning. He could see it on her. “And he gave you the most revealing top to wear too.”
Steve glanced up at her again from where he’d been trying to distract himself stacking movies. “Robin. Please.”
“Oh my god, Dustin is going to be insufferable. Promise me I can be there when he finds out. Actually, no! Promise me you’ll warn me so I can leave Hawkins before he finds out.” She was laughing again, and Steve was wishing the ground would swallow him up.
“For the— Robin.” He shook his head, dropping it into his arms, which folded over the counter. “There’s nothing going on, please.”
“Still wearing my shirt, Harrington?”
It had been less than five hours since he’d last seen Eddie, but there he was again.
And this time, Robin was standing right there. Standing right there watching Steve. Steve, who couldn’t pry his own eyes away from Eddie. Eddie’s hair, which had been released back out in fluffy loose curls around his face. Eddie’s leather jacket, back over his shoulders, though he wore that same crop top beneath it. Steve forced himself to look away from the toned stomach, the hint of a ‘v’ rising above his jeans, the line of hair from beneath his naval. He forced himself not to look at any of Eddie, because all of it was distracting, and now that he’d admitted that to Robin, it was banging around in his head yelling at him.
It felt just like what she’d said. Like now that he’d looked at it, that ghost in the corner of his mind, it wasn’t a ghost anymore. It was a fully formed feeling. A fully formed desire. For Eddie fucking Munson, apparently.
He walked right past Steve into the shop, walking about like he knew where every single thing was.
Robin was mouthing at him, general obscenities and encouragement. Steve was mouthing at her right back, only he was begging her to shut the fuck up, before Eddie noticed.
They were mouthing yells back and forth when they were cut off by Eddie, who was back at the counter far too quickly.
He cleared his throat loudly and dramatically.
“What time do you get off work, Harrington?”
Steve blinked. And then, listlessly, “Ten.”
Eddie slapped the vhs tape down on the counter. “You seen this movie?”
He didn’t even have to read the title. Just from the cover, even upside down, he knew he hadn’t. It looked like the kind of sci-fi slasher thing that Dustin would’ve tried to get him to watch, that he would’ve refused vehemently. He shook his head, not speaking.
Robin was uncharacteristically silent.
“Right. Come over when you knock off. I need my shirt back.” He didn’t wait for Steve to answer, instead, shooting a wink in Steve’s direction and walking off, completely casual and at ease.
Steve felt like he might be about to vomit.
He turned on the spot, raising his hand to point at Robin. “Don’t even think about it!”