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Three weeks after Eddie dies, he shows up in Steve’s kitchen.
“So,” he says, “do you want to hear something totally crazy, Harrington?”
It’s three in the morning. Steve had wandered downstairs to get a glass of water only to find Eddie looming in front of the sink. “Uhh,” he says, because he’s still not entirely sure he’s not hallucinating. “Sure?”
Eddie smiles. It sends warning bells ringing in the back of Steve’s head. “I think I might be a fucking vampire.”
Steve, because he never learnt proper self-preservation, steps close and shoves one sleepy thumb into Eddie’s mouth. True to Eddie’s words, his teeth feel alarmingly sharp against Steve’s skin. Up close, with the moonlight pouring through the window behind them, he sees Eddie clearly for the first time.
He’s pale. Sheet white sort of pale. The tips of his ears aren’t round any more. Instead, they taper to a fine point, like a bat. His eyes, now that Steve is close enough to look into them, are alarmingly red. Not ‘got a little too high’ red. Red as in ‘wow, what big eyes you have, grandma’.
“Huh,” Steve says. His thumb is still in Eddie’s mouth. “I think you might be right, dude.”
Eddie smiles. His fangs catch the light. “Yeah, you think so?” he says around Steve’s thumb.
Vampires. Vampires. Christ. Why the fuck not?
Steve removes his fingers from Eddie’s mouth. They’re soaked with saliva. Vampire saliva. Steve wipes them on his pajama pants. “Well,” he says diplomatically, “no point waking the kids up at ass o’clock in the morning. Let’s go back to bed, this feels like a tomorrow problem.”
Eddie’s eyebrows climb high. “You’re not worried I’m going to eat you in your sleep?”
“It’s okay, I sleep with a nail bat, I can take you,” Steve tells him. “C’mon, you can have the good guest room.”
“You have more than one?” Eddie asks.
“Sure,” Steve says. “There’s the guest room, and then the room my parents sleep in twice a year when they remember Hawkins exist.”
“Steve,” Eddie says seriously. “That is the most personal thing you’ve ever told me, and I appreciate your trust enormously, but I just came back from the dead with fangs and bloodlust so I’m gonna need things to be about me for a little while.”
Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, you’re still Eddie,” he says, and turns, tromping up the stairs. “Guest room’s on the left. Try not to sneak out and eat any woodland creatures while I sleep.”
“I make no promises,” Eddie says, and follows him upstairs.
--
Come morning, Eddie is still a vampire, and the kids are not at all pleased about the situation.
“You’ve known for how long?” Dustin hisses.
“Since about three in the morning when he nearly made me piss myself in my kitchen,” Steve says, leaning against the bench, cradling a cup of coffee. “So, I guess like, seven hours, give or take. I dunno. I was asleep for most of them.”
“Seven hours,” Dustin says, “and you only just called us.”
“Go easy on the dude, Henderson,” Eddie says. He’s sitting in one of Steve’s chairs at the breakfast nook, legs kicked up on the table in a way that would give Steve’s mother a heart attack if she were here to see it. His feet are bare at least. He’d left his mud covered boots by the door, and his blood covered clothes in a pile in Steve’s bathtub. He’s wearing Steve’s old swim meet hoodie and a pair of Hawkins High gym shorts. “You know he needs his beauty sleep.”
Dustin doesn’t look like he knows any such thing. Beside him, Mike is staring at Eddie’s ears with horror. Will, at least, doesn’t look horrified. Baffled, maybe, but not horrified. He hadn’t known Eddie before. Has nothing to compare him to.
The ears are kind of cute, honestly. They’re sort of doing it for Steve. He sips his coffee and wishes he’d thought to add more sugar. He wishes Robin were here too, but they couldn’t both call out of work. “Looking a lot more beautiful than you right now, Munson,” Steve says.
Eddie smiles at him sunnily. In the morning light, his teeth look positively dangerous. The way he bats his eyes does not. “You sure know how to make a guy feel special, Harrington.”
“Dude,” Dustin cuts in. “Can you, like, take things seriously? I’m freaking out over here.”
Eddie looks offended. “I am taking things seriously. Do I not look serious?”
He doesn’t. Dustin, meanwhile, looks on the verge of a breakdown. “You died in my arms, Eddie.”
Will lays a tentative hand on his shoulder. Eddie looks less offended now, more contrite. His chair legs drop with a thunk to the tiles and his feet migrate back to the floor. “Shit, man. Fuck. Sorry, sorry. I didn’t - hey, I’m right here, okay?”
Dustin’s face screws up miserably. Exactly the way it does when he’s trying not to cry. Ah, shit, Steve thinks. “Sure, now you are,” Dustin snaps.
Steve sets his coffee down, drags Mike’s chair back so he can slip in beside Dustin, hand on his other shoulder like he and Will can anchor him. “Eddie’s fine, yeah? Same old oblivious, wise-cracking Eddie.” He ignores Eddie’s protest, giving Dustin a gentle shake. “You’re both okay. Everybody’s okay.”
Mike, because he’s at least twice as oblivious as Eddie, says, “Sure, except he’s apparently a vampire.”
“A very cool, incredibly sexy vampire,” Eddie corrects, eying Dustin carefully. “Very impressive. Very cool.”
Dustin’s face scrunches further. “The bats did have rabies,” he says miserably, and bursts into tears.
Steve rolls his eyes to the sky, slinging an arm over Dustin’s shoulder. “Way to go, jackass,” he says to both Mike and Eddie. “Look what you’ve done.”
Mike holds his hands up, eyes wide. “I was just saying the truth!”
“And I can’t help that I’ve got a casual case of vampirism,” Eddie protests. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”
Beneath Steve’s arm, Dustin sobs harder. Steve pats him consolingly on the back. To Will, Steve says, “Think you could maybe take him out for some fresh air?”
Will, because he’s the only one of the kids who knows how read between the lines, nods and says, “Mike and I’ll take him to sit by the pool for a bit.”
“We will?” Mike asks. Then, seeing Steve’s face, corrects to, “Yeah, of course we will.”
Steve stands back, watching as the two boys escort a crying Dustin out of the kitchen. On his way out the door, Dustin sobs, “And now his ears are ugly.”
Eddie’s hands flick up to cover them self-consciously. “They’re not, right?” he asks Steve.
Steve sighs, sinking into Dustin’s vacated seat. His coffee is cold by now. “They’re hideous,” he says, then kicks Eddie beneath the table. “I can’t believe you made Dustin cry.”
“It wasn’t on purpose,” Eddie says guiltily. “He just has a lot of feelings!”
“Yeah, I wonder who taught him to have those,” Steve says.
“I don’t want to hear it from you, you mother hen.”
Steve ignores him, looks out the window towards the pool. The boys are sitting in front of it, feet in the water as Will rubs Dustin’s back. He’s not crying anymore, thank God. Honestly, all things considered, Steve thought they’d gotten off relatively lightly. “Well,” he says, “that’s three kids down, at least.”
“This was not how I wanted to meet the legendary Will Byers,” Eddie says. “I had like, a whole campaign planned to wow him. Was gonna be the best DM he ever had.”
Steve snorts. “You still can.”
Eddie eyes him skeptically before waving a hand over the length of his narrowed, stretched body. “Hello? Vampire?”
“Don’t you nerds love vampires?” Steve asks. “I would have thought it’d be right at home in your little play sessions.”
“You, Steve Harrington, are incredibly mean,” Eddie says. “My life just got turned upside down, be nice to me.”
“Whoop de doo,” Steve says. “Join the fucking club.” He gets to his feet, setting the kettle to boil again. “How do you like your coffee?”
“Black,” Eddie says without hesitating.
“Of course you do,” Steve mutters, heaping instant coffee into a fresh mug. “Fucking stereotype, I swear.”
When Eddie accepts the coffee, he takes one sip and spits it out dramatically all over Steve’s shiny kitchen floor. They both pause, Steve halfway to taking his seat, and Eddie hunched over the table, coffee dripping from his red mouth. “Uh,” he says. “I didn’t really mean to do that.”
“So that’s a no to coffee, then?” Steve asks flatly.
Eddie gives him a smile. His fangs are on full display, but it’s hard to take him seriously when Steve’s shirt is riding high on his stomach and he has coffee stains around the stretched neck of it. “Sorry?”
“It’s like having another kid,” Steve tells him, and fetches a mop.
--
That night, once the kids have gone home, Steve tries to cook Eddie dinner. It goes about as well as the coffee had.
“Look,” Eddie says as Steve scrapes congealed mashed potatoes into the bin, “it’s not your cooking, I swear.”
Steve gives him a sour look. “I know it’s not my cooking, Munson. My cooking is great.”
“It is!” Eddie agrees earnestly. He’s tapping at the table, his rings rattling on every hit. “If I was less, you know, I’d be all over it.”
“Less what?” Steve prompts mercilessly. He sets a lid over the leftover roast atop the oven. Just because Eddie can’t eat it doesn’t mean the kids won’t appreciate it for lunch tomorrow. “Go on, less what?”
“Now you’re just being petty,” Eddie informs him. “You know exactly what I mean.”
Steve turns around, drying his hands on a towel. “Maybe I’m allowed to be petty,” Steve says. “You’re the one who told me you were hungry and then spat my food out like a little bitch.”
“Yeah, I don’t think Sunday roasts are the top of my food pyramid anymore,” Eddie says sheepishly.
Steve eyes him. Eyes the sharps of Eddie’s teeth that peek past his lips. “Why don’t you tell me what is, then?”
Eddie smiles at him. Still sheepish. A little hopeful. He’s not looking at Steve’s mouth. He’s looking at his throat.
“No,” Steve says, as if the mere thought hasn’t kicked his heart up about a dozen notches. “Absolutely not.”
“I’d be gentle!” Eddie insists, fluttering his eyelashes.
He would be. Whatever the Upside Down did to him to turn him into this, it’d left his personality solidly intact. The same old dorky, charming Eddie Munson. Red eyes, sharp ears, sharper teeth. Supernaturally enticing. But Eddie all the same.
Still. Still.
Steve opens his fridge. Pulls a raw steak from the bottom shelf he’d been saving for dinner later in the week and slaps it down on the table. “You want something to sink your teeth into? Try that instead.”
Eddie sighs, sulking like one of the damn kids. He drags the steak towards him all the same, making quick work of the clingfilm. “I don’t know what the kids see in you,” he complains. “You’re so mean, Harrington.”
“At least I’m not the one sucking on a piece of raw meat,” Steve says. “I think I’ll sleep easy.”
Eddie’s teeth cut into the steak like it’s butter. The raw juices of it smear across his mouth. “This tastes like shit,” he mutters.
“But you’re not spitting it out, so I guess we’ll consider that a win,” Steve says. He drops the towel he’d been holding over Eddie’s head. “Make sure you clean up after yourself.”
--
Robin, when she finally gets the chance to come visit, is terrified.
“Steve,” she says, clinging to his sleeve. “He has fangs. Did you know he has fangs?”
Like Steve might have missed them. Like they weren’t there every time Steve turned his head to look, flashing behind Eddie’s smile like a promise. Steve sets a hand to Robin’s head, mussing her hair. “It kinda goes with the vampire thing, dumbass.”
Unhelpfully, Eddie says, “You don’t need to worry your pretty little head, Buckley. I’m not going to bite you, you’re not my type.”
They’re outside, by the pool. It’s an overcast day, and Eddie has stripped down to a pair of Steve’s borrowed shorts, sprawled out over one of the lounge chairs, Steve’s sunglasses propped up on his nose and arms crossed behind his head. He looks less like a vampire than he does some kind of alternative fashion model, showing off the latest in scar tissue and trauma.
Watery sunlight leaks through the clouds. It would worry Steve more, but Eddie hasn’t burst into flames yet, so he supposes they’re probably safe.
“That sounds exactly like the words of somebody who wants me to let me guard down so he can tear out my throat with his fangs,” Robin insists. “I’ll have you know, if you try and kill me, Steve will get revenge.”
“Or maybe I’ll let him do whatever he wants if you don’t stop acting like a drama queen,” Steve says.
Robin shoots him a betrayed look. “I’m not acting like a drama queen! You’re the one who’s not appropriately worried to be rooming with the count over there.”
“Dracula wishes he was this cool,” Eddie says.
“I’m not rooming with him,” Steve says. “I’m like, babysitting him or something.”
The sunglasses dip down Eddie’s nose as he glares at him. The red of his eyes makes it more menacing than it ought to be. “Keep treating me like one of the kids and maybe I’ll go for your throat instead, Harrington.”
“Thought we weren’t your type,” Steve says.
The corner of Eddie’s mouth curls up. “I said Buckley wasn’t. Didn’t say anything about you.”
It’s a threat. Steve knows it’s a threat. It sounds a hell of a lot like flirting instead. “Rip my throat out and you can buy your own damn steaks,” Steve informs him.
Eddie laughs. Steve’s stomach tosses a little at the sound. Nothing supernatural about that, at least. His stomach had done that before Eddie wound up a vampire. Steve has always been weak to a pretty face and a nice laugh.
Robin says, “The two of you are taking this way too calmly.”
Eddie sighs, pushing his sunglasses back up and looking out at the clouds. “Well, if it’s a choice between being a little blood hungry and being dead, I know which one I’m going to pick,” he says. “It already happened; I don’t see the point freaking out over it now.”
Steve toasts him with his lukewarm beer. Half of it is gone already, because Eddie had really wanted to try it and wound up puking it up in the bushes, like an idiot who never learned his lesson. “That’s the spirit.”
Robin buries her face in her hands. “The two of you are so weird,” she says. “You make me miss the Russians.”
“Could the Russians do this?” Eddie says, and tilts back his head to let out a badass, kind of inhuman, howl. It would be terrifying if it didn’t come from the mouth of a man wearing board shorts and preppy sunglasses.
“No,” Robin says, fingers still latched in Steve’s sleeve, “because they weren’t trying to sound like a fucking moron.”
“I thought bad singers were totally your type,” Steve wheedles.
Robin punches him in the arm, and across the pool Eddie cackles.
--
The government does not take the resurrection of Eddie Munson with the same grace as Robin. In turn, Eddie Munson does not offer the government any grace at all.
“Please,” says Owens, after three hours of circular arguing. “You know you can’t stay here, Edward. You’ll put everybody you love in danger.”
“Fuck off, my name’s Eddie,” Eddie snaps. “And I’m not putting anybody in danger.”
“If Hawkins sees you looking like that -”
“So I’ll wear a hat and make sure I don’t smile too big, it’s not exactly rocket science.”
Steve sets another cup of coffee in front of Owens. He’s gone through three cups already. Steve has a bet going with himself that he can make it to five before Owens realizes that Steve stopped adding actual coffee after the first one.
“Steve,” Owens says, as if Steve’s presence is any help at all. “Would you be the voice of reason?”
“Sure,” he says. He turns to Eddie. “You should let the government kidnap you for experimentation in the middle of nowhere.” Eddie flips him off. Steve turns back to Owens, hands held up in resignation. “Sorry, doc. I tried my best. He won’t be swayed.”
Owens looks at him as if Steve is part of the problem instead of a passive observer. Steve offers him his most charming smile, the one that has won everybody in Hawkins over. Owens sighs and says, “I should have known better than to expect reason from you.”
“Probably,” Steve agrees. “Hey, now that we all agree that Eddie’s staying here, you think you could foot his grocery bill?”
--
With the government's reluctant approval, Eddie stays. Eddie stays, and, after crashing in Steve’s spare room for a week, he goes home to his uncle.
Steve’s happy for him. Really, he is. He knows what Wayne means to Eddie, and after everything he’s been through, Eddie deserves a home he feels happy going back to.
Steve doesn’t blame him for leaving. He wouldn’t want to stay in the Harrington household if he had any say either.
Two nights after Eddie leaves, Steve’s woken up by somebody falling through his window.
“Fuck, shit, fuck me, God.”
Slowly, Steve sits up. One hand goes to the nail bat he keeps by his bed. The other goes to the lamp. Preparing to fight for his life, he clicks the light on.
Eddie is sprawled on his floor, one foot still caught on the windowsill. He winces against the sudden light, hand coming up to shore his red eyes against the brightness of it as he hisses, “Jesus, could you turn that off?”
Dumbly, Steve does. The room plunges back into blindness. Sometimes, Steve thinks it’s a miracle he’s survived as long as he has with his survival instincts. “What the fuck are you doing in my room?”
The dark shape that is Eddie hauls himself up from the floor. “Your front door was locked,” he says petulantly.
“Uh, yeah, because monsters exist.”
“I know,” Eddie says. Steve’s bed creaks as Eddie sets a knee on it. “I’m one of them, remember?”
“Fuck off, you’re not a monster,” Steve says automatically. Then, “What are you doing?”
Eddie’s crawled the length of his bed now, and he flops down beside Steve, close enough that Steve can feel the whisper of his hair against his bare shoulder. “Shove over, your bed’s tiny.”
Steve’s bed is a king. It’s twice the size of the bed Eddie has in his shiny new apartment. He shoves over anyway. “I don’t recall inviting you in,” he says. “You’re a shitty vampire.”
Eddie makes a contemplative noise. “You don’t have to invite me in when I know I’m welcome.”
Suddenly, Steve is grateful for the dark. He can feel the heat coming off his face in waves. “Don’t get cocky just because I haven’t kicked you out yet.”
Eddie laughs. Quiet, warm. It rolls through Steve at all the points where their bodies connect. “Lie better than that, dude,” he says. “I can hear your heartbeat.”
Christ. Of course he can. Steve slings an arm over his face to keep embarrassment from eating him alive. “Great. Thanks.”
Eddie says, “Something about fangs really does it for you, huh?”
“I will kick you out,” Steve says. “Put garlic up at the windows.”
Eddie’s fingers close around his wrist. They’re so long and narrow that they almost encompass Steve’s wrist in its entirety. Steve’s pulse pounds beneath Eddie’s thumb; no supernatural hearing necessary to read the beat of it. “Would you, really?”
Of course not. Old age is making Steve too easy.
“Yes,” Steve says, and turns over to kiss him.
Eddie’s mouth is burning warm, a counterpoint to the freezing fingers he digs into Steve’s hair, rolling them over as he presses Steve down into the mattress, looming over him in the dark. He kisses deeply, hungrily. His fangs nick Steve’s bottom lip, and Steve hisses as he feels the blood well from it.
“Shit,” he says, pulling away to press the back of his hand to it. “Watch yourself, will you?”
“Sorry, sorry,” Eddie says, not sounding it at all. “Just - let me.” He moves Steve’s hand out of the way. Kisses him again. His tongue drags along Steve’s bottom lip, and Steve realizes he’s tasting him. Eddie groans. The sound of it makes Steve weak all over. “Christ, Harrington. You’re killing me here.”
“I’m killing you?” Steve manages. “Jesus, man.”
He feels Eddie grin against his mouth. One of his hands is framing Steve’s face, holding him in place. Steve could probably break away if he wanted to. He lets himself be held still instead. “Don’t blame me. You play a mean game of hard to get. Really gets in a guy’s head after a while.”
Steve opens his mouth to reply, but Eddie’s lips are on his neck, teeth nicking the fine skin of Steve’s throat. His heart trips over on its next beat and his breath hitches. He shoves a hand in between them, settling on Eddie’s chest. Somehow, he manages to say, “Watch it, Munson. You’re pushing your luck and you know it.”
Eddie laughs again. His tongue swipes along Steve’s pulse point, right below his jaw. “What if I say please? What if I promise to make it up to you?”
Steve stares at the ceiling above him, past the shape of Eddie in the dark. He can’t believe this is his life. He can’t believe he’s survived the end of the world a half dozen times, and now he has a hot vampire in his bed, asking to bite Steve’s throat, asking to do a hell of a lot more than that too.
Four years ago, Steve had been worried about dating Nancy Wheeler and passing high school. Now, he has to decide whether letting Eddie suck his dick is worth letting him suck his blood too.
Eddie’s hands skate down, resting on Steve’s hips. Broad and cold against Steve’s naked skin. “If you want me to beg, Harrington, I will.”
Christ. Christ.
Steve swallows. Tilts his head back, throat barred to the world. “You better make this worth my while,” he says.
He can feel the way Eddie’s looking at him, the burn of his eyes. Eddie’s hands on him are tight enough to bruise. “When have I ever left you hanging,” he says, and bends to put his mouth back to Steve’s throat. For a moment, it’s just that - his mouth, warm and welcoming on Steve’s skin. And then he bites.
It feels - well, it feels like being bitten. Pain bursts like fireworks behind Steve’s eyes, and his knees come up, locking at Eddie’s waist as he fists his hands in Eddie’s stupid band shirt. “Warn a guy next time, geez,” he pants.
Eddie doesn’t answer. His mouth is still at Steve’s throat. Drinking from him. Steve feels the pull of it, the unnatural way his blood leaves his body, not in a trickle but in a rush. The pain is a hot one, like a burn, a brand; like setting a hand to a stovetop.
Above him, Eddie is an immovable weight, wedged right between Steve’s legs. One of his hands is still on Steve’s waist, but the other is in his hair, holding Steve’s head back, his throat exposed.
Steve shivers. Tightens his knees at Eddie’s hips. He’s not thinking about the pain anymore.
It’s an eternity before Eddie pulls away. A thousand years. More, maybe. The longest somebody has touched Steve with intent in a long, long time. When Eddie’s mouth finally lifts from his throat, Steve is lightheaded from both blood loss and arousal.
Eddie swallows. In the darkness, the sound of it makes Steve flush. Eddie sits back on his heel, wipes a hand over his mouth. He’s trembling. It’s only a little, but Steve notices all the same. “Eddie?”
“Just… give me a moment.”
Steve feels too dopey to be concerned. Clumsily, he reaches out, setting a hand on Eddie’s knee. He’s wearing jeans. For some reason, that seems funny in the moment. “Did I taste that bad?”
Eddie laughs. Giddy, and a touch too loud. “Harrington, if I didn’t have more self-control, I could drain you fucking dry.”
That probably shouldn’t sound as sexy as it does. “I’d rather you didn’t,” Steve says.
“Yeah,” Eddie says. “Me too.” Then, with no warning at all, he shoves his hand down Steve’s pants.
“Jesus!” Steve jumps, hands flying to Eddie’s shoulders even as his hips kick up to meet Eddie’s hand. “Fuck, didn’t I tell you to warn me?”
“You had all the warning you needed,” Eddie says, and kisses him.
Steve tastes his own blood in Eddie’s mouth. Another thing that shouldn’t be sexy but somehow is. Steve thinks he felt better about himself before Eddie awoke half a dozen kinks he didn’t even know he had.
“I’m not going to blow you,” Steve says, even as it’s a struggle to talk with the way Eddie’s touching him. “You don’t kiss that good.”
“Cool, I’ll blow you instead,” Eddie says, and slinks down the bed, leaving Steve scrambling to keep up.
Turns out a blowjob is a lot more exhilarating with the threat of blood loss involved. Steve comes in about three minutes flat. Eddie grins at him, delighted and smug, until Steve bullies him down on his back to return the favor.
“Thought you said I don’t kiss that good,” Eddie huffs, winding his fingers through Steve’s hair as he shucks Eddie’s jeans down his legs.
“You don’t,” Steve informs him. “But I’m not rude.”
Eddie laughs. “Steve Harrington, as polite in bed as he is everywhere else.” He stops laughing when Steve bites at his skinny hip, and by the time Steve gets his mouth on him properly is moaning loud enough that Steve is embarrassed for him.
Eddie doesn’t last any longer than he did. Steve, quite generously, doesn’t make fun of him for it when he reclaims his spot on the sweaty sheets beside him. Eddie buries his face into the bloody side of Steve’s neck and says, “No way is that the first time you’ve done that.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Steve says.
“You, Steve Harrington, are an eternal well of mystery,” Eddie says, and tucks his knuckles beneath Steve’s chin to kiss him.
Steve lets him. Enjoys the kiss, the calmness of it. He’d liked Eddie hungry and desperate too, but after-sex kissing has always been Steve’s favorite part. The intimacy of it, the closeness. An excuse to burrow in and not worry about being too needy.
Eddie seems to like it too. He sighs against Steve’s mouth, content. “You gonna make me sleep in the guest room again?”
Steve smiles, breaking the kiss as he rolls over onto his back. “I dunno. The guest room window might be a little out of your abilities to climb. I suppose you could crash here.”
Eddie shoves at his shoulder and Steve rocks with the movement. “You’re such a dick,” Eddie says. “I don’t even know what I see in you.”
The fact he sees anything at all makes Steve giddy. He’d known, he thinks. Eddie doesn’t strike him as the kind of guy to just screw around with his friends for the hell of it. Knowing it and hearing it are vastly different beast.
Feeling brave, Steve says, “It’s not the fangs, you know?”
“Huh?” Eddie says sleepily.
Steve doesn’t look at him. Keeps his eyes facing upwards. “It’s not the fangs or like, any of the other shit. It’s that it’s attached to you.”
Silence for a moment. Eddie rolls over to stare at him, and even without looking at him, Steve knows he’s smiling. “Harrington, I never would have thought you could be so sappy.”
“I don’t want to hear that from the guy who said he wanted to suck my blood until I died,” Steve says.
A pause. “You make me sound like a serial killer when you say it like that.”
Steve snorts. “You sounded like a serial killer. You also sounded like you meant it to be romantic.”
“I did,” Eddie says. “It was.”
“It really wasn’t.”
“You were totally into it,” Eddie protests.
“I’m totally into you,” Steve corrects. “The shit that comes out of your stupid mouth? Not so much.”
Another pause. Longer than before. Eddie says, “We’re kind of messed up, huh?”
Steve laughs so hard he feels the wound on his neck split open anew, spilling fresh blood on his clean pillows. It’s going to be a bitch to clean in the morning. For Eddie, anyway. A clean round of laundry is the least he owes Steve after tonight. The idea of him hunched over Steve’s sink, scrubbing bloodstains from his linen is enough to make him laugh harder still.
“Jesus, Harrington,” Eddie says, propping himself up to stare Steve down. “It wasn’t that funny.”
Steve throws an arm over Eddie’s waist, dragging him back down to the bed. “Shut up,” he says. “You’ll ruin the moment.”
“Were we having a moment? I thought you were just losing it.”
It seems possible. Steve’s probably been losing it for the better part of half a decade now. Finding Eddie in his kitchens, smiling at him with teeth like a predator and scars that match Steve’s own tucked beneath his shirt might just have been the final nudge he needed to fall over the edge he’d been teetering at.
Steve says, “Shut up and go to sleep, Munson.”
Eddie says, “You know, I sucked your dick, you can probably call me Eddie now.”
Steve says, “If you don’t shut up, I’ll never suck your dick again, how’s that, Eddie?”
Eddie shuts up.
--
Three weeks after Eddie comes back from the dead, Dustin squints at Steve and says, “Since when do you wear turtlenecks?”
Steve hauls the cooler full of picnic foods into the back of Eddie’s van and says, in his blandest tone, “Since when do you care about my fashion choices?”
Dustin’s eyes narrow further. “Since when do you avoid questions about your fashion choices?”
The door to Steve’s house bounces open, and the rest of the party comes pouring out, chattering at a mile an hour, eager to make the most of Will and Eleven’s last day in Hawkins. They don’t even bat an eye at Steve and Dustin squaring up in the driveway, fighting for prime position in the van as if this wasn’t a dance they’d done a million times before.
“I call shotgun!” Mike announces, throwing himself to the passenger seat, only to be caught by a hand in the back of his shirt.
“Nice try, Wheeler,” Eddie drawls, tossing him in the direction of the other kids. “You know the rules; you can call shotgun when you’re old enough not to need adult supervision.”
Mike scowls. More at Steve than Eddie. “Steve doesn’t count as supervision!”
“You’re right,” Steve says. “So the next time your mom asks me to take you to the arcade, I’ll just tell her ‘oh geez, Karen, I wish I could, but you know how it is, only proper adults can pass the scrutiny of Mike Wheeler’.”
From inside the van, Eleven says, “You can sit with me, Mike.”
Mike perks up immediately, but before he can climb in, Dustin snags his arm and says, “Mike, ask Steve why he’s wearing a turtleneck.”
“Dustin, I couldn't care less if Steve was wearing a turtleneck or a tux,” Mike says seriously and climbs in the van after Eleven.
“Dude,” Steve says. “Seriously, a man can’t just develop a new taste in clothing?”
“You once said turtlenecks were for old people and nerds,” Dustin says, and well, he’s got Steve there.
An arm wends around Steve’s waist and Eddie’s chin lands on his shoulder. “I think our secret is out, Steve,” Eddie says, with an over dramatic sigh. “I think it’s about time we told the children about our passionate love affair. Better they hear it from us, before their innocent young hearts can’t take the shock.”
Steve leans back into his chest, hand coming up to rest on the one Eddie has on his waist, and wryly says, “I don’t know, Eddie, I think their innocent young hearts might be beyond saving at this point.”
In front of them, Dustin rolls his eyes. “God, keep your stupid turtleneck secret, you weirdo,” he says, and scrambles into the van, making a point to drag the door closed.
Behind Steve, Eddie’s chest rolls with barely surprised laughter. “Henderson, always so close and yet so far.”
“He’s going to figure it out sooner or later,” Steve points out. “Probably sooner if you keep feeling me up like that.”
Eddie cackles, squeezing Steve’s waist. His mouth dips down to rest over the top of Steve’s collar. “Would that be so bad?”
Steve thinks about it. It’s hard to think about a lot when he can feel Eddie’s teeth so close to his throat, but he makes an effort anyway. After a moment, he admits, “No, probably not.”
Eddie grins against his throat. He kisses Steve’s neck, right above his turtleneck where his teeth are near-permanently etched into Steve’s skin. When he pulls away, Steve doesn’t miss the heat of him only because there’s no heat in his body to miss. “C’mon, let’s get this geek show on the road.”
Eddie climbs in the driver’s seat, and Steve slides in the passenger side beside him. In the back, the kids are arguing over something Steve can’t even pretend to understand. To Eddie, he says, “Did you tell Owens we were leaving town for the day?”
“Nope,” Eddie says cheerfully, like causing the government distress is the highlight of his day, and turns the keys in the ignition. His van sputters to life, music pounding out of the speakers as his mixtape kicks in where it’d left off. Eddie sets a hand to the gearshift, and calls out, “Those of you with seatbelts, buckle in. Those of you without, hold on tight.”
Steve, who has a seatbelt but knows better than to rely on it, holds onto the door handle tight. Beside him, Eddie grins like a lunatic, fangs on full display and red eyes bright. “What’s the matter, sweetheart, don’t you trust me?”
“I trust you to be exactly who you are,” Steve says dryly, and Eddie’s grin widens with something that makes the bite marks on Steve’s neck ache.
“Promises, promises,” Eddie says, voice just low enough to be covered by the pounding music.
Steve, voice just low enough to match, says, “Get us back from this stupid trip alive, and I’ll show you promises.”
In the rear of the van, Dustin kicks the back of Steve’s seat, and says, “Oh my god, what’s the hold up, we’re wasting daylight here!”
Eddie rolls his eyes, says, “Hold onto your damn socks, Henderson,” and throws them into reverse, roaring out of Steve’s driveway like a bat out of hell.
In the back, the kids whoop, banging on the van’s walls and into each other as the van rockets down Hawkins sleepy streets. One of Eddie’s stupid metal bands screeches from the speakers, and Eddie sings along to it at the top of his voice, tapping at the steering wheel as he goes. He has a beanie wedged on, something he’d never be caught dead wearing of his own free will, and Steve’s sunglasses are hooked in the front of his shirt, ready to shield the unnatural red of his eye when the hit civilization.
He looks nothing at all like the man who’d first fought the upside down. He looks everything like the man who’d survived it.
Steve turns, hiding a smile in his palm, and watches the streets bounce past them as they go.