Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

A deep, uncomfortable feeling settled heavily on Steve's shoulders as he reentered the cafeteria from the lunch line gripping a tray of what the Indiana Public School System deemed to be turkey fricassee in his hand. His normal table, where he usually sat with Tommy, Carol, and a few other guys from the basketball team was noticeably empty. 

It was deeply unnerving.

Still, he slowly walked over while trying to ignore the thrashing in his chest and will down the flush threatening to spread across his face. He gingerly set down his tray and pulled out his chair to sit down.  Even though it didn't look that way, it felt as though a thousand eyes were locked on Steve's every move. And not in the way he'd grown accustomed to. People weren't looking at King Steve, no. There was a crack in his crown, and everyone was watching to see if it shattered to pieces. At least, that's how it felt.

He had only just picked up his fork when a crumpled ball of paper landed in his lap. Steve's head shot up to see two guys from the year above him nonchalantly walking past his table, seemingly engrossed in whatever they were talking about. 

Bile rose up in the back of his throat, but he managed to swallow it down.

Steve set the fork back down on his tray, glancing around the room without raising suspicion, desperate to see if anyone was actually watching him. No, everyone else was too busy with their friends and the food to pay him any mind. With shaky hands, he lifted the paper ball and carefully smoothed it out. His heart stopped for just a moment inside his chest. He was actually going to be sick. 

'We know.'

~*~

One.

Two.

Three.

Three brilliant red drops of blood against a dingy off-white sink basin stared up at Steve Harrington. Mocking him. His trembling hand reached out to turn on the faucet, and he watched as those vivid droplets diluted into swirling streaks of pink following the flow of water down the drain. He silently wished to join them. To be able to slip away unnoticed and forgotten. 

New, fresh beads of crimson splattered against ceramic; the color under the flickering locker room lights changed from a bold ruby red to a deep, dark red almost like a pool of ink.

But they too were dragged away by the steadily running water. 

Finally, begrudgingly, Steve lifted his gaze from the sink to stare straight ahead at the mirror hanging on the wall. It perfectly framed him in his own pitiful picture. He hardly looked the worst he ever had but that didn't exactly mean that he looked good.

His nose was slightly swollen, and continued to steadily leak blood. The stream of thick ichor covered his lips, trailed down his chin, and slowly drip, drip… dripped into the sink below. Every breath he took filled his senses with the metallic tang of his own blood, making his stomach churn unpleasantly. It was his eyes, however, that drew his attention. So dull and empty, as if they were simply staring through his reflection.

Once upon a time, Steve had loved those eyes when they belonged to someone else. Now, they just served as a reminder of the emptiness in his life.

A flash of anger suddenly ripped through Steve's body. Though, maybe anger wasn't the word. It was just the closest one he could find. But he used that feeling to push himself out of his unfocused self-loathing. He grabbed the towel that hung limp around his shoulders and stuffed a corner of it under the faucet, allowing the fabric to soak in the cool water, before he brought it to his face. 

Part of him wanted to scrub at his skin– pain be damned.

But he knew that would make his nose look worse. Make it more obvious that something happened. Then people would ask questions.

Steve hated when people asked questions.

So, he carefully swept the wet from his mouth and chin before finally pinching at the bridge of his nose to stave off any more bleeding. He just wanted it to stop so that he could get home. Not that there was much waiting for him there anyway. A silent memorial to the brother who was no longer around. The better brother. His parents couldn't even be bothered to stay in town for that long anymore. And when they were in Hawkins, they hardly paid Steve any mind. 

A ghost in his own home.

Once Steve was satisfied with his clean up job, and sure that he wasn't going to bleed out anytime soon, he grabbed his bag from his locker and tucked the ruined towel at the bottom of the industrial sized hamper by the door. It should have felt weird, hiding the evidence of his pain and leaving a completely empty school to step outside into the dark of night. But it was basically a routine for him at this point.

He was more than used to having to hide or be alone.

It was safer for him that way.

There didn't appear to be anyone else around, as Steve approached his car in the parking lot. The only other sign of life was some ratty old van parked over by the football field, but it had been there all day. It was probably broken down and the owner found another way home.

Steve dumped his bags in the back seat of his car before he climbed into the driver's seat. His hands naturally came to rest on the steering wheel for just a moment, settling into the well worn grooves of someone else's hands at ten and two. His fingers flexed uncomfortably, giving the wheel a squeeze. Even here he didn't fit in. 

He was just a tiny sapling in the shade of a great oak tree.

Struggling for sustenance and left to rot.

~*~

The Harrington house was truly a spectacle. There was no need to build such a gaudy mansion in the outskirts of town. The only reason it existed was to show off. To show off his father's wealth. To show off his mother's fine eye for interior design. To show off the perfect golden child and all of his accolades. 

Which is why there were almost no pictures of Steve in the house. Other than the massive ornate framed portrait of the four of them that hung in the entryway. It was taken before Steve succumbed to his destiny of being the family disappointment. Before he was constantly reminded that he was a mistake. Before he was shunted from any hopes of living a normal, happy life.

Before Adam died.

Adam Harrington —eldest son, pride and joy, of Allen and Rosemary Harrington. Captain of Hawkins High's football team. Student body president. 4.0 GPA. Popular. Classic old Hollywood handsome. Studying Pre-law at University of Michigan. Dating Tiffany Cunningham since they were 16.

Dead at nineteen, a month shy of his twentieth birthday.

Steve could perfectly picture the night they got the phone call. He was thirteen and in the eighth grade. His dad had spent the majority of the evening berating while he struggled with his math homework at the dining room table. The phone rang, rang, rang . 

~*~

"Rose! For the love of God, answer the phone!" He shouted over his shoulder before turning back to Steve, ire glinting deep in his eyes. It seemed to take up residence there once Adam moved out to go to school. Like he suddenly remembered that he had another son and it pissed him off to no end.

"You can't be this stupid, Steven. Look, here!" He jabbed a finger in the middle of his textbook.

Steve just wanted to cry. He missed the days when his dad's attention was solely focused on Adam. He couldn't wait for his brother to come home from school for the holidays. Maybe then Steve would be able to breathe normally again. 

A shriek of shock, of pain, caused both Allen and Steve to jump in surprise, their heads snapping towards the entry to the dining room. Rosemary, wrapped tightly in a maroon silk robe, shuffled into view. She was visibly shaking, her hand covering her mouth as tears filled her eyes.

It'd been so long since Steve had seen any emotion on her face that the sight of her filled his stomach with dread. His father must have had the same realization because he had a look of trepidation that also seemed wildly out of place.

"Rose? What's the matter?"

Slowly, she lowered her hand. Her lips trembled, and a single tear slipped down her cheek.

"Adam was in an accident," she spoke so softly that Steve wasn't entirely sure he'd heard her, "He's gone."

~*~

Steve blinked heavy eyelids in a valiant attempt to clear the fog of his mind. The harsh lights in his parents' ensuite bathroom had him squinting through a headache at the medicine cabinet in front of him. Two prescription bottles sat front and center, staring him right in the face. He knew that he shouldn't even be considering it, but he was just in so much pain.

That felt like an excuse at this point. Considering how often he'd found himself standing on the plush hunter green bath mat in front of the double sink vanity of his parents' large bathroom as of late.

And it's not like his mom would ever even notice.

Hadn't noticed yet.

The question was, however, did he want to numb the gloom weighing on his mind or the ache in his face from having a basketball slammed purposefully into the bridge of his nose?

With a huff of agitation, Steve pushed aside the bottle of Quaaludes in order to take up the hydrocodone right next to it. This had also become sort of a routine for him. It was a dangerous game in more ways than one. There was the possibility of taking too many - getting sick, or worse. There was the potential to become reliant, addicted, to either of the substances and ending up like his mother, a shell of a person just moving and shuffling unfeeling through life.

Or the more likely option was his parents would find out. His mother would come home from whatever trip she was on and find half empty bottles where full containers once sat. He could just imagine his father's rage; he could visualize just how he would scream at him. Not because Steve was in danger or could possibly die, no. But because those were expensive prescriptions. His mother had to see a special, less-than-ethical doctor in Evansville who had some kind of connections to get it prescribed and filled since they had essentially been made illegal in the last year.

Steve wasn't worth their concern. He was just a drain on their wallets.

He tossed two pills into his mouth and forced them down dry before he twisted the knob on the sink to start the water; he ducked down, tilting his head to the side, and stuck his mouth under the stream of too cold tap water to greedily suck in mouthfuls. Once he had his fill, and was sure the pills had been sufficiently swallowed, he quickly exited the bathroom and the subsequent attached main bedroom.

He hated being in there for any longer than absolutely necessary. 

The phone began to ring as Steve hurried down the stairs. He ignored it, making his way towards the kitchen in need of ice for his face so that hopefully he could go to school tomorrow with an unswollen face. It was probably someone calling to fuck with him. Or his mother checking in to make sure that he hadn't burned the place down.

The ringing continued as he pulled open the freezer door. His eyes immediately went to a bag of frozen peas sitting sadly by itself on a shelf. Steve could relate. So he snatched the bag up and closed the freezer just as the answering machine picked up.

"Hi, Steve? It's Nancy, I don't know if you're home yet or not. I just wanted to check o-"

Steve quickly snatched the phone up from its cradle, putting the receiver to his ear.

"Nance. Hi," he greeted gruffly.

He closed his eyes, feeling the world sway beneath his feet. It probably wasn't wise to have taken those painkillers on an empty stomach, after losing a fair bit of blood, but Steve had dealt with worse. Nancy sighed softly in his ear as he slowly peeled open his eyes and began to tread his way back towards the stairs.

"How was practice? Are you just getting home? It's kind of late."

A grimace creased Steve's face. Nancy played the role of dutiful and concerned girlfriend a bit too well. "Practice was practice," Steve murmured noncommittally. He entered his bedroom, closing and locking the door behind him. "I took a while to… clean up before I left the school," he said softly.

He knew that Nancy knew what that meant. While the guys on the basketball team had an inkling, they didn't have any proof. Nancy did. She knew what he was and she still wanted to keep him safe. It wasn't perfect, hiding behind heterosexual cover, but it kept the nastiest of guys off his back. Kept his parents from questioning a bit too much.

"I'm sorry," she replied simply.

Steve could picture her sitting on her bed, twirling the phone cord around her finger. Beautiful and perfect. For someone who was decidedly not Steve.

"I'm gonna go to bed. But I'll pick you up for school in the morning." He could feel his heart rate slowing down. His thoughts getting stuck in the mud. It felt like his tongue was a lead weight in his mouth. He needed to sleep.

Nancy sighed again, "Goodnight, Steve."

He hung up and unceremoniously dropped the phone to the floor. He pulled his clothes off of his body, finding them to suddenly feel scratchy against his skin. Once he was just in his underwear, Steve crawled into bed. He spread out onto his back and laid the bag of peas gently over his face.

Maybe he would suffocate during the night.

He could only hope.

~*~

"You don't look so good," Nancy said, sliding into the front seat of Steve's car.

Steve scoffed loudly, rolling his eyes. "Good morning to you too," he grumbled as he backed out of the Wheeler's driveway.

"No. I just… you look tired. Did you sleep at all?" She asked quickly, as if she was trying to smooth over any kind of offense.

He wasn't offended.

Steve knew what he looked like. He had fallen asleep the moment his eyes drifted shut the night before, and he felt as if his alarm had woken him up immediately. One long blink. One long blink and he was jolted awake, groggy, heavy-limbed with a bag of mushy, wet peas lying limply on his chest. 

But how exactly did he explain to his pseudo girlfriend that he'd taken a slightly too high dose of painkillers that weren't even prescribed to him, basically became dead to the world, and was only just now regaining human-like functions?

He didn't. That was the answer.

"My, uh, my face hurt pretty bad last night," Steve grumbled, his hands tapping out an anxious rhythm against the steering wheel. "It just took a while to actually fall asleep."

Lying to Nancy wasn't something Steve enjoyed doing. She was the only one still in his life who explicitly knew his deepest, darkest secret. He couldn't imagine how good a person had to be to do what she was doing for him; she so easily and so quickly stepped up to help him, too.

~*~

A sharp pain laced up the length of Steve's back as he finally pulled himself away from the locker that he had been shoulder checked into. The echoing laughter of two other guys on the basketball team tapered off as they rounded the corner at the end of the hall. Pretty much everyone had gone home for the day already. He, unfortunately, had practice so he had been waiting around until he could head to the locker room to change.

"Are you okay?" A soft voice asked from behind him.

Steve turned to see Nancy Wheeler standing a few feet back, holding a binder to her chest while she looked at him with wide blue eyes. For a moment, he was worried that she had seen what happened to him. That she'd witnessed the other guys on the team rough him up a little bit. Not that it was a rare occurrence, it just never really became public knowledge of the school as a whole.

He grunted softly as he smoothed out his polo shirt with trembling hands. "I'm fine," he said, his voice unfortunately breaking ever so slightly. The sound made him wince internally. He couldn't very well try to keep up this dumb, fabricated persona if he was going to cry like a wussy in the hallway in front of a girl.

"You're bleeding," Nancy said firmly. She walked closer and reached out to gingerly take hold of his elbow between her thumb and forefinger. She lifted his arm as if to inspect it, and Steve could feel a warm drip cascading down the length of his forearm. "Come on, I'll help you clean up."

She didn't leave much room for argument as she began to tug him by the arm towards the nearest girls' restroom. Once they were inside, Nancy locked the door and gently pulled Steve closer to the row of sinks. He watched her set her things down on the ground before she pulled several paper towels from the dispenser on the wall. She moved quickly and efficiently, wetting the paper towels in the sink and turning back to Steve. 

"Let me see your arm."

He raised his arm without question. She stepped closer and began to clean up the blood. Steve watched her with curious eyes. He hadn't met many people who were genuinely kind or offered help without also getting something out of the deal. But he was mostly drawn in by the concentration on her face, the little wrinkle between her brows as she held the paper towel to his elbow.

She glanced up at him with her wide blue eyes. Steve wished he felt something. Wished something stirred in his heart or stomach. It would make life so much easier. They could be like Adam and Tiffany. Though, deep down Steve knew that he would never live up to his brother.

"If you wanted… I, uh, I could pretend to be your girlfriend."

Immediately Steve's face flooded with white hot shame. He felt his stomach twist and knot painfully inside of him. He tried to pull his arm away as if she were a viper who had punctured and wounded him. But she refused to let go. Nancy's face was calm, though her grip was fierce.

Steve tried again to pull free. He didn't want to hurt her but he suddenly felt trapped, suffocated. "Wh-what the hell is that supposed to mean?" He hissed meanly, trying to deflect from his own fear.

"I just. I thought you. Because I'm-" Nancy tried so hard to make him understand without saying the words.

He stopped struggling, "You?"

She sighed, shrugging one of her shoulders, "I think. Not… not all the way, but. Yeah. And I think if we were… together it'd be easier. For you to be safe. For me to figure things out."

"Yeah," Steve eventually whispered. He swallowed thickly and nodded his head, "Yeah, okay."

~*~

At school, Steve played the part of doting boyfriend perfectly. He walked Nancy to class, held her hand or had an arm tossed around either her shoulders or waist. They shared soft smiles and kisses before parting to go their separate ways.

To anyone not aware, they were just another cute couple strolling the hallways.

It made things easier. Made it easier for Steve to breathe at school. He could walk through the halls not as afraid of some unseen threat. Though, it wasn't as if the people who supposedly knew what he was ever did anything to him in front of other people. No. Despite everything he was still a Harrington.

He had the name.

He had the money.

He had the big, empty house for parties.

So the guys on the team were more subtle about their disdain for Steve before turning around and treating him like King Steve in front of the general population of the school. They waited until they were alone to rough him up. They barred him from the locker room until they were all done and gone.

They, apparently, wrote things about him on bathroom stalls.

'KING STEVE SUCKS COCK'
'HARRINGTON TAKES IT UP THE ASS'
'STEVE "THE FAG" HARRINGTON'

With a small sigh, Steve reached into his bag to retrieve a sharpie marker. He had learned to start carrying one around, just in case. He uncapped the marker and set to work blocking out and covering the harsh words about himself. At least it was in the middle of class and he had the bathroom to himself. 

Slowly, meticulously, Steve blacked out the words as he carefully filled in the spaces and covered the beige stall they were scribbled on.

Once he was satisfied with his work, and double checked that the writing underneath was no longer visible, Steve exited the stall. He set his marker down on the sink before he rifled through his bag again. He found a small ziploc bag with a few cut up pills floating around inside. He knew he shouldn't, not at school. But he just didn't want to be there anymore. 

He fished out a half of a pill and tossed it into his mouth. He swallowed it down dry as he used his free hand to grab his water bottle from his bag as well. Just as he brought it up to his lips, the bathroom door creaked open. In his sudden panic, Steve dropped the water bottle to the floor.

Scrambling, Steve tried to gather everything back up to put away.

A low whistle caught his attention.

"Steve Harrington popping pills in the bathroom in the middle of the day wasn't something I thought I'd see on this fine Wednesday."

With wide eyes, Steve turned to see another guy standing at the other end of the sinks. Black torn jeans, dangling chains, an Iron Maiden shirt underneath a patch covered denim vest. Long, dark, wavy hair, deep chocolate eyes, and a too-pleased plush pink smile. Steve's hand clenched around the bag of pills, as if he could hide what they were now.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Munson," he spat with very little heat.

Of course Steve knew who Eddie Munson was. This was his second round of senior year. He was the school freak. Too obsessed with some dumb fantasy game and loud, nonsensical music. He sold weed, and sometimes more, behind the school and at all the parties. He was dramatic and over the top.

He was, unfortunately, very cute.

Eddie only laughed, which just made Steve feel more on edge. He chose to ignore him in favor of putting everything back in his bag. He had to get back to class. Mr. Palmer was going to get suspicious if he stayed out much longer. He made sure to tuck the pills all the way at the bottom, he didn't want to risk them falling out at some point.

"So what were they? Caffeine? Pain pills? Ketamine? Quaaludes?" Eddie rattled off easily as if he were asking Steve what he'd had for breakfast.

Steve unintentionally froze as the last option left Eddie's mouth. He tried to brush it off, seeming as nonchalant as possible, but he immediately knew that Eddie had noticed. If only by the low, intrigued hum that he let out. With his things safe and secure back in his bag, Steve tossed the strap over his shoulder. "You didn't see anything," he said in a firm voice, narrowing his eyes at Eddie. 

Eddie grinned and raised both of his hands in faux surrender, "I'm in the bathroom talking to myself. Nothing to see here."

With a curt nod, Steve brushed past him and hurried out into the hall.

~*~

By the time that lunch rolled around, Steve was comfortably floating along in the lazy river circumventing his brain. His muscles and limbs felt loose, relaxed. He didn't have the ever present sense of dread and anxiety that usually clawed at the back of his skull. A gentle wave of sleepiness was lapping at the edge of his consciousness.

He was ready to go home and sleep.

A tray smacking down on the table jolted him from his cotton-filled thoughts. Nancy's hand on his knee gave a gentle squeeze as if she were trying to ground him in the moment. He sluggishly turned his head to the side to blink at the perpetrator. 

Zack Ellis, power forward on the basketball team. Steve remembered his older brother hanging around his house a lot when Adam was in high school.

"Are your parents still out of town, Harrington?" He asked with a smile that on the surface looked congenial, but Steve knew better. "We need a place to party after the game on Friday."

Nancy's shoulders tensed under Steve's arm and he could feel the way her hand gripped at his knee, fingers pointed and almost painful.

It took a few seconds for the question to actually register in his brain. Nausea twisted unpleasantly in his gut; if it was from the pills, the lack of food, or the sudden influx of eyes on him, Steve couldn't tell. His mouth and throat felt dry, causing him to swallow harshly in an attempt to ease the feeling.

He didn't particularly want to open his house up to a party. But if he declined it would mean worse things for him than a basketball to the face.

His eyes flitted around the cafeteria anxiously until they stopped abruptly when he spotted Eddie Munson a few tables down watching him intently. His little band of freaks were all talking excitedly but Eddie held his eyes as he slowly chewed whatever it was he was eating for lunch. It made the sick feeling in his stomach even worse.

"Y-yeah," Steve finally said, clearing his throat. He whipped his attention back to Zack who, for his part, seemed to be patiently waiting for a response. "Yeah. They're still going to be gone. My house will be fine."

A smile stretched across Zack's face. It looked to be one of excitement but Steve could see something else in his eyes. He quickly averted his gaze back to his lunch tray as several conversations about who was bringing what erupted around him.

Nancy's hand patted against his leg, and her breath was suddenly at his ear, "You okay? You look a little out of it." Her voice was low. A whisper. 

Steve felt sick.

He shook his head once.

That was apparently all that Nancy needed. She pushed her chair back and grabbed her tray with one hand, using her other to lace fingers with Steve's. He followed her lead, feeling too out of sorts to even try to navigate what was happening on his own. He grabbed his untouched tray of food with his free hand and allowed Nancy to tow him through the cafeteria to the tray return, and then out into the empty hall.

Away from prying eyes and loose lips.

"You really look sick, Steve. Maybe you should go to the nurse," Nancy fussed once they found a secluded inlet. She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead to check for a temperature but he weakly pushed it away.

Steve opened his mouth to try and refute her claim. He was fine — he was just a little dizzy. But his stomach churned viciously. His mouth immediately clamped shut just in case he was going to spew. He really needed to eat something before he took anything out of his mother's medicine cabinet. Then again, he always felt it faster when he took it on an empty stomach. 

Waiting a few seconds for the feeling to pass, Steve nodded his head, "I think I will go to the nurse. If I go home, will you be alright finding a ride home too?"

"Yeah, I'll just ask Jonathan. C'mon, I'll walk you down."

~*~

The nurse had tried to get Steve to just lay down and rest in her office, stating a school policy of not allowing students who were ill to drive themselves home. However, Steve had no other option. He had explained, using every bit of charm and manners his parents had ingrained into him, that he was on his own for the week. His parents were visiting his ailing grandparents for the week — lie, bold-faced lie — and, well, everyone knew that Adam was dead.

"I'll be careful getting home," Steve said, nodding and adjusting his bag on his shoulder, "And I'll make sure to go right to bed."

The fake, too-wide smile hurt his face. But he kept it plastered there until he had exited the front offices before he allowed it to fall. He shuffled out of the building, having to squint at the bright afternoon sun as it hit his face. He ducked his head to shield his eyes so that he could walk across the parking lot to his car.

Sliding into the driver's seat, Steve felt a painful sway in his stomach as his mouth filled with saliva. Keeping a hand on the door he was able to push it open and lean over just in time to avoid puking in his own lap. His body rolled with it a few times as his stomach tried desperately to purge whatever was making him sick.

Once the dry heaving stopped and Steve was no longer worried about throwing up again, he sank into his seat and slammed the door shut. His skin felt cold and clammy; his shirt stuck uncomfortably to his back and all he wanted to do was peel it off.

He couldn't very well do that in the school parking lot.

So, he put the key in the ignition with a trembling hand and drove himself home.

~*~

Steve awoke unexpectedly to a pitch dark room feeling as if he were swimming in a pool of his own sweat. His mouth and throat were dry and scratchy like he had somehow swallowed mouthfuls of sand in his sleep. As he struggled to sit upright, his brain felt as though it spun around his skull as if it were a marble, leaving him at a loss as to which way was up.

On his feet the feeling was worse.

Though, he pushed himself forward. Stumbling through the dark towards his bathroom. The Jack and Jill bathroom where the opposite door had been firmly shut for almost five years.

His hand groped the wall until he could finally flick the light switch on, a move he immediately regretted. The sudden light was too bright and burned his sensitive eyes, causing him to almost hiss at the pain. He swore under his breath, lurching forward towards the double sink vanity. His hands slapped against the counter top in an attempt to steady himself.

A pitiful groan escaped him as he squeezed his eyes shut tightly. His heart was hammering against his ribs and his chest was heaving under the effort it was taking to keep himself standing and moving.

Finally, Steve squinted his eyes and grabbed the cup he normally stored his toothbrush in, dumping it out. His other hand slapped at the faucet until the water started to run; he stuck the cup under the stream to fill it up.

Cup after cup of just below room temperature water was shakily brought to Steve's chapped lips. He lost count of how many he drained. He could only focus on the dribble of water at the corners of his mouth, over his chin, and the chilly weight in his otherwise empty stomach. Once his thirst was sated, Steve returned the cup to its spot beside the faucet and shut off the water.

He exited the bathroom on still shaky legs, somehow turning the light off on the way out, and staggered over to his bed. He unceremoniously dropped back to his mattress, letting out an uncomfortable groan at the way his body bounced before settling. His head was throbbing now and all he wanted to do was go back to sleep. With a heavy sigh, Steve all but crawled to the top of his bed and before settling back down he cast a furtive glance to the alarm clock on the bedside table.

Large red numbers told him that it was almost two in the morning.

He'd slept for well over twelve hours. He hadn't eaten dinner. Or done his homework. He was also pretty sure that he missed basketball practice, though he struggled through his brain fog to remember if they actually had practice that evening. 

But he couldn't bring himself to care.

It didn't matter.

Nothing really mattered.

~*~

The steady pound of his footsteps against the rubberized track echoed into Steve's ears. He felt the sensation of a bead of sweat roll down his forehead and splatter to his chin. The thuds of his steps came closer together with the longer that he pushed himself. His breathing quickened, trying to appease his desperate need for oxygen, to soothe the burn in his lungs.

He had missed practice the night before.

Which is how he found himself running laps after nearly two hours of grueling drills inside the gym.

All Steve wanted to do was quit. He didn't want to play basketball, but he had been forced into it by his dad. After Adam died all his dad wanted was to shape Steve into the perfect replacement for the hole left in their family, in the Harrington reputation. But Steve wasn't built like Adam. He wasn't as built or prone to natural muscle growth, so football wasn't really an option for someone like Steve.

So basketball it was.

And now because he had slept through practice the night before, he had to run two and a half miles, a mile for every hour of practice he missed. He hated his dad more and more with every step. He hated his brother just a little more after each lap.

A thin layer of sweat covered the nape of his neck. His calves burned, his breath forming clouds in the air as his legs pumped harder, propelling his body further and faster. He wasn't sure if he was going to make it, even as he rounded into his last lap. He could feel his knees trembling and a stabbing pain in his lower back.

As the sun was setting, the air was turning colder. The tip of his nose was chilled and his lungs stretched painfully with each gasp of cold air. 

"Finish." He muttered to himself through gritted teeth. The voice sounded so much like his father's he almost tripped over his own feet. 

He could see the coach waiting for him as he got closer to the end. He squeezed his eyes shut and found something inside of himself to push a bit harder until he was full on sprinting towards the older man. The only sound he could hear was his own labored breaths and the pounding of his feet. Until the blissfully shrill sound a whistle broke through.

Steve slowed to a stop, hunching over to plant his hands on his knees as he greedily sucked in gasps of air.

"Good time, Harrington," Coach Gilbert said in a monotone. Steve groaned, raising a hand to give a less-than-enthusiastic thumbs up. "Hit the showers. And make sure you're here on time for the game tomorrow night, yeah?"

Steve swallowed around the influx of saliva filling his mouth. "Yes, coach," he rasped, head hanging between his shoulders. He could hear the sound of gravel underneath the coach's feet as he walked away, leaving Steve alone on the track in the dwindling sunlight.

Once he was sure that his muscles and joints were no longer made of jelly, Steve pulled himself up to stand straight, only to feel a sharp stitch in his side. He hissed softly and pressed his left hand against his flank in an attempt to soothe the discomfort. He slowly began to walk in circles as he took deep, even breaths. His whole body felt out of whack; he was just seeking some sort of equilibrium. 

The sound of leaves rustling followed by a twig snapping caught Steve's attention. He turned to face the line of trees at the other side of the running track where he could just make out the shape of someone exiting the woods. He immediately knew that it was someone who had just bought something off of Eddie. The spot was the worst kept secret among the high school kids, but no one was willing to rat on the only decent dealer in Hawkins.

As the silhouette pulled away from the approaching figure, the recognition of who they were made Steve's stomach ache even worse than it was. Tommy Hagan. Almost instantly Steve's feet stopped moving and he just stared. It had been almost three years since the two of them had talked, or spent any time with each other outside of a classroom; They went from being best friends since the first grade to perfect strangers by the end of freshman year.

Steve had to get away. He quickly turned around to begin jogging back towards the gym. A dangerous mixture of anger and sadness started to roil deep in his gut and he didn't know what he'd say or do if Tommy noticed him standing there.

Not that Tommy could do much worse than he'd already done.

~*~

"You alright, man?"

Steve cut his eyes to the side to see Tommy walking across the gym floor, his backpack dangling from his hand. It was after school and Steve knew that his mother wasn't going to come pick him up, even though she promised, so he was just killing time in the gym until he started to walk home. He sighed softly, setting his feet on the bleacher in front of him, and shrugged his shoulders. He looked across the gym to look at the championship banners for various sports teams over the years.

And the framed green HARRINGTON 27 football jersey hanging directly across from him.

It'd been a year since Adam died and Steve still felt a painful jab to his chest every time he looked at that jersey. Tommy climbed up to sit beside him with a heavy sigh of his own. "So, Tommy J and Alex said that Carol Perkins wants to go to the after party with me next week," he said, mirroring Steve's body language.

"So you guys can get drunk and sloppily make out on a stranger's couch?" Steve scoffed, sounding much meaner than he intended to.

Tommy paused for a moment. It was long enough that Steve had to tear his gaze away from his brother's jersey to look at his friend. Tommy's face was deeply creased in concentration, a look rarely seen on him. Steve wasn't entirely sure why he snapped at Tommy like that. But for some reason the idea of him and Carol kissing like that didn't sit right with him.

"I don't think I'm gonna go to the party," Tommy said softly. His hands were picking at nonexistent lint on his jeans and he wasn't looking back at Steve either.

Steve couldn't help the surprised sound he made in the back of his throat, "Why not?"

"I, uh, I don't think I want to kiss Carol like that."

That certainly caught Steve off guard. Tommy had been trying for weeks to impress Carol one way or another. 

Strange.

"You change targets or something?" Steve asked stiffly.

Tommy finally looked up at him and for some reason Steve's heart began to race in a completely unfamiliar way. "Something like that," Tommy nearly whispered.

There was a brief moment of confusion until something deep inside of Steve flipped on like a light switch, spreading warmth throughout his body and settling in his cheeks as a warm blush. Oh. His mouth opened and closed minutely as he tried to make himself say anything. But what do you say when the deep, dark part of you finally sees the light of day for the first time?

Before either of them could say or do anything else, Steve surged forward, clumsily knocking their lips together. The sudden touch elicited a giddy sort of giggle out of Tommy just before Steve felt a warm hand resting against his cheek. 

Holy shit.

So this is what everyone was raving about when they talked about kissing. Steve had kissed his fair share of girls in middle school and throughout the year thus far, nothing more than a few chaste pecks and maybe a brief but awkward make out session or two, but none of them felt like this. Electricity and fireworks exploding in his veins. He felt lightheaded and happy as he kissed Tommy back.

At least, until the sound of double doors slamming shut echoed in the empty gymnasium.

The two of them pulled apart at lightning speed; they each looked around them with wide, terrified eyes. But they were alone. It didn't do much to ease the hammering in Steve's chest however. Slowly, he and Tommy looked back at one another, unsure what to say. It was stupid, to do that here, Steve knew that. But, at least now they knew, right?

And they would be okay.

~*~

The ringing in Steve's ears almost completely overshadowed the sounds of laughter and the heavy wooden locker room door falling shut. He let out an exhale, a shaky little thing. His body all but curled in on itself, and if it wasn't too little, too late, that might have provided something like protection. His knees buckled and he began to sink to the disgusting tiled floor. His back scraped along the harsh lines and edges of the lockers behind him.

Although it was nothing compared to the stinging throb he felt in his ribcage with every shuddering inhale that originated from several fist shaped focal points- no doubt already bruising. 

Or the sharp hitch in his throat that he was fiercely trying to beat down.

Because he wasn't going to cry.

He wasn't. 

He couldn't. 

Steve raised his trembling hands to press the heels of his palms into his eyes as if he could physically push the tears back into his body. He stayed like that, curled up and shaking, for what felt like an eternity but in actuality was less than a minute. He had to get up. He couldn't sit on the locker room floor crying like a little bitch all night.

That would just make things worse.

So, Steve hauled himself up to his feet and tried to ignore his unsteady sway once he was vertical. His body still felt unsteady and loose from the laps he'd run outside. He grabbed a towel from a nearby shelf as he lumbered past on his way to the open showers. 

He went through the motions without actually thinking about it. His gym clothes were stripped off, set aside, and his towel was hung up. He turned the spray on, probably a smidge too hot, and positioned himself under the shower head. Each drop felt as if he were being pelted with tiny flecks of burning rock.

His mind momentarily drifted to the meteor shower diorama he'd seen at the science museum on some elementary school field trip.

Shaking the thought away, Steve tilted his head backwards as he allowed his eyes to drift shut while the water cascaded down the planes of his face. He remembered Tommy telling him in sixth grade that turkeys would stare up at the sky during a rainstorm and end up drowning themselves. He wasn't sure how true that statement was, but Steve couldn't help but briefly hope that he was at least part turkey.

With a dejected sigh, because he was just some stupid boy not some stupid bird, Steve got to work actually cleaning his body so that he could go home. He worked quickly and efficiently, making sure to avoid the bumps and bruises that littered the trunk of his body. He couldn't remember the last time he didn't have at least one purple spot blossoming under his skin. 

Once his hair and body were scrubbed down and deemed free of sweat, Steve shut off the water. He grabbed his towel from where he had hung it and, with probably a bit too much force, he wiped the remaining water droplets from his skin before securing the itchy fabric around his waist. He heaved an exhausted sigh from deep inside as he shuffled his way back to his locker.

He dropped the damp towel to the floor while he reached for a clean pair of boxers from the gym bag he'd not-so-delicately shoved into the locker in his haste to get to practice. The boxers were easily pulled up his legs until the waistband sat comfortably in place. It took a few seconds of rummaging but Steve extracted his jeans next. He had just gotten them up his body, not buttoned or zipped shut, when he felt his heart suddenly stop in his chest.

A low whistle caught his attention.

"We've got to stop meeting like this, Harrington."

Steve swung around at the unfortunately familiar voice with wide, frightened eyes. Eddie was standing at the end of the line of lockers, leaning so nonchalantly against them with what looked to be a metal lunch box dangling from his heavily ring-clad fingers. He saw the teasing tilt of Eddie's lips falter as his eyes roved over Steve's exposed chest. The edges of his eyes softened, rounding them out even more so than normal. 

For the briefest of moments, Steve felt as if Eddie were staring at the darkest edges of him with his fingers on the light switch; a hopeful sort of feeling that hadn't made itself known since that day with Tommy in the gym. But as Steve glanced down at his bare chest, he became acutely aware of why Eddie was looking at him with such concerned eyes. Obviously someone had gotten a few punches in on him, that was easy to see. 

Shame bubbled up in Steve's chest, pushing– pushing into his throat as if to choke him.

He scrambled for the polo he had worn to school that morning, and yanked it over his head to block Eddie's inquiring eyes from seeing anything further. 

"Now, I know that I'm not exactly Mr. Sportsball or anything," Eddie spoke slowly as he pushed himself to stand upright. He stepped closer tentatively as if Steve were some kind of cornered animal who may attack if frightened. He very well may have. "But I  wasn't aware that basketball was such a… full contact sport."

Steve kept his eyes trained on the tile under his feet while his hands shakily buttoned his jeans. He didn't need anyone feeling sorry for him. Least of all Eddie Munson.

"Well, now you know," Steve grunted, forcing his zipper up. 

He grabbed his socks and shoes and then lowered himself to sit on the wooden bench to pull them on. He resolutely avoided looking at Eddie, as if by not being in Steve's line of sight the boy simply disappeared. Unfortunately enough, he had in fact developed a sense of object permanence; he could make out the shape of Eddie getting closer and closer.

Finally, as Steve pulled a leg up to tie his shoe he allowed himself to look up at where Eddie was standing right in front of him. 

His heart tripped head first into his sternum.

"What are you even doing in here?" Steve asked after a stretch of uncomfortable silence. 

Eddie tilted his head to the side, considering him. The careful scrutiny made Steve feel scratchy under his collar, like he felt after a haircut when innumerable tiny hairs found their way underneath his shirt. He rolled his neck in a vain attempt to relieve the feeling. Finally – blessedly – Eddie turned away from him.

"Business,” was the only response he got.

Steve's brow furrowed as Eddie walked to the very end of the row of lockers and pulled off the combination lock that had surprisingly been left open. Eddie easily slid his fingers under the lip of the shelf inside to pull out what appeared to be money before he tucked it into the pocket of his leather jacket. He then popped open his lunch box, retrieved a small plastic baggie, rolled it up, and put it right where he had taken the money from. He closed the locket and easily returned the lock to its rightful place, even making sure to click it shut.

So that was how so many of the athletes got their hands on Eddie's product.

"You gonna tell me how you actually got all those bruises?" Eddie asked nonchalantly, turning to once again look at Steve with eyes seemingly ready to analyze his every move.

The heavy thumping of his heart almost drowned out Eddie's words. Almost.

Steve narrowed his eyes and got to his feet. He stuffed his gym clothes into his bag and zipped it shut after a few botched attempts. "I got into a fight, it's no big deal," Steve mumbled, pointedly avoiding Eddie's gaze. He retrieved the rest of his stuff from the locker and slammed it shut, the sound echoing loudly in the desolate locker room.

When he finally looked back at Eddie, the older boy did not look all that convinced. He was chewing at the corner of his lower lip while his eyebrows knit together. It irritated Steve- how calm and collected Eddie was behaving was disconcerting. He didn't exactly need someone poking around in his business. The less people who knew Steve's secret the better.

"Look. I don't need the school freak sniffing around," Steve spat with as much venom he could muster. Which was decidedly very little, but he tried. "I've got enough shit to worry about without you getting involved."

And with that, Steve turned his back on Eddie and rushed out of the locker room.

~*~

Steve knew that he should be hungry, that there should be some sort of rumbling, grumbling, or gnawing inside of his gut. For the life of him, he couldn't put his finger on the last time he had a full meal. He certainly hadn't cooked one for himself in his parents' latest absence. He hadn't really eaten more than a few bites of whatever he bought from the cafeteria at school.

And yet, he didn't feel all that hungry.

But he didn't feel great either.

He supposed that those two facts went hand in hand.

Which is how he found himself in his dark kitchen, the only light being the sliver of brightness spilling from the refrigerator door that hadn't closed all the way. Steve leaned against the counter casually tossing questionably dated lunch meat into his mouth. He had no idea when it had been purchased, or opened, but it was there and didn't require any steps other than putting it in his mouth.

Quick and easy.

He didn't feel any different after he polished off the bag of honey baked ham slices. Was he full? He had no idea. Did he need more to eat? Probably.

But his body ached and he just wanted to sleep. So, he tossed the bag in the trash, quickly washed his hands, and kicked the refrigerator shut on his way out of the kitchen. He snatched up his school bag from the couch as he passed by, and hurried up the stairs to his bedroom. 

With the door shut and locked behind him, Steve pulled off his clothes until he was just in his boxers before he perched himself on the end of his bed with his bag in his lap. He shoved his hand inside, rustling around the bottom until…

There it was .

His hand wrapped around the baggie of pills he had stashed down there and he quickly pulled it from the confines of his bag. The pills in the bag had two very distinct shapes, which was still obvious even though they had been hastily halved with a steak knife the other morning before school. There were oblong pieces mixed in with nearly perfect semicircles. Looking down at them, Steve wasn't sure which exactly he wanted to take.

It didn't used to be like this, stealing and squirreling away pills from his mother's medicine cabinet. There was a deep and rich self-loathing that came with all of this. Not that he didn't feel some kind of self-loathing on a daily basis without the added bonus of feeling mostly numb inside.

Maybe his dad was right.

Adam was so unequivocally a Harrington. He was the golden boy who would carry on their good name because he was, supposedly, just like their dad. 

But Steve?

Steve was soft. He was his mother's son. So why shouldn't he also dip his toes into her pool of narcotics in place of worthlessness? It made sense to him.

Deciding that his body hurt more than his brain, Steve grabbed two oblong halves and tossed them into his mouth without a second thought. He struggled to swallow them, his mouth was incredibly dry, so he fished his water bottle from his bag and greedily drank it all until only the dregs were left.

He pushed his bag out of his lap, letting all of his things fall less-than-gracefully to the floor. All he wanted to do was sleep. Preferably forever, but through the night would work too. So, he crawled up the length of his mattress before burrowing underneath his blankets, seeking some warmth and comfort even though he wasn't entirely sure what that felt like.

~*~

Heartbeat by Wham! was playing softly through the speakers as Steve pulled into the Wheelers’ driveway. He parked just as the front door opened. His hands tapped along to the rhythm of the song. His own heartbeat was slow and uneven, not at all on beat.

Through the windshield, Steve watched as Karen Wheeler handed Nancy what appeared to be a bright yellow Tupperware bowl. Nancy rolled her eyes as she accepted it, but she had a soft smile on her face as she did so. It was strange to see other people actually finding their parents amusing. As far as Steve was aware, parents were supposed to completely ignore you or be too hypercritical to the point of micromanagement.

He was at least a little glad that Nancy didn't have that same experience.

As Nancy strolled down the driveway towards where Steve was waiting for her, Steve noticed Karen looking his way expectantly. She raised one hand to cup the side of her mouth to amplify her voice while raising her other hand in the air to wave at him.

"Good luck tonight, Steve! You'll do great!"

Steve's brain felt suddenly wiped clean. How does one respond to that? He shook his head to try to jog himself back to life before he waved a hand out his open window, plastering what he hoped was a grateful smile on his face.

"Thank you, Mrs. Wheeler!" He called back just as Nancy opened the passenger door.

Karen headed back inside the house after Nancy closed the door. Steve looked over at her with raised brows, feeling thoroughly confused. Nancy only laughed softly as she buckled her seat belt. 

"My mom made you cookies," she said, peeling back the lid to show off delicious looking chocolate chip cookies.

Steve stared at her blankly, blinking his eyes slowly. He felt as if he'd stepped into the twilight zone. Was this a thing regular mothers did? He couldn't recall his mom making cookies for anyone growing up. Even when Adam was still around. A slight tickle kicked up in the back of Steve's throat. 

He cleared his throat, putting the car into reverse, "Uh, th- Tell her thanks… for me."

~*~

Letters all but danced in front of Steve's eyes and they refused to settle on the page no matter how hard he tried to focus. His lips pursed in annoyance while his brows pinched together. He for the life of him couldn't figure out why this happened to him. Did other people deal with this shit too? Was he just too dumb to figure it out?

With an irritated grunt, Steve snapped his textbook shut, earning several pointed glares from other library goers at the surrounding tables. He sheepishly mouthed an apology, slumping unhappily in his chair. 

Nancy was working diligently across the table from him. She had some project that she needed to do some research for, but only had time to do so during their lunch period. Steve didn't feel like braving the cafeteria alone, so he tagged along.

Though he was almost regretting that decision.

"I'm gonna head out," Steve whispered as he got to his feet. Nancy peered up at him for a moment, and then tilted her head to the side as he stepped closer so he could press a quick kiss against her cheek. "I'll see you around."

She nodded her head, soft smile tugging at her lips, "If I don't see you before, good luck tonight. "

Steve shouldered his bag and turned on his heel to make his way back towards the entrance of the library. Maybe he would make a quick trip through the lunch line before the next period. Even if he wasn't hungry he knew he needed to eat something before the game tonight.

Something other than Karen Wheeler's cookies.

Although before Steve could even step foot out of the library, a hand grabbed onto the strap of his bag while another wrapped tightly around his bicep, and he was being hauled off to the side until his back all but bounced off a bookshelf. A pained hiss pushed through his lips at the contact. He blinked rapidly, trying to focus on what was happening.

In front of him was Zack and Andy, a junior on the basketball team. 

Zack was an asshole, sure. But Andy was much more aggressive, more willing to ramp things up from verbal jabs to physical ones. 

This was… not what Steve needed.

"What do you want?" Steve huffed, trying to keep his voice down.

Andy chuckled menacingly.

Zack grinned, his hand still holding tightly to the strap of Steve's school bag. "So feisty today," he said in a low voice. His eyes were sharp and his smile felt dangerous. Steve was mostly sure that they wouldn't do anything here, not out in the open of the library. Even if they were in a seeded corner with no peering or curious eyes.

"We just wanted to double check about tonight, Harrington, calm down."

Steve didn't buy that for a second. But before he was able to formulate some kind of response a soft flip, flip, flipping sound was coming from Andy and Zack, drawing all of their attention in that direction. At the next shelf over, Eddie Munson was standing and flipping through a book. But his eyes were glued to the two guys standing between him and Steve, even as his fingers carelessly turned page's.

"Sorry. Am I interrupting something?" He asked dully.

Zack let go of Steve's bag and even smoothed it down against his chest. The move was jarring. Steve was so unused to any sort of softness coming from anyone on the team that he was sure his expression was the picture perfect definition of confused.

"No. No, we were just leaving actually," Zack said, voice tense. He really did hate an audience. Eddie nodded absently, flipping another page but not moving his eyes a centimeter. Both Andy and Zack took small steps backwards, casting quick but furious glances back at Steve.

Perfect.

"See you at the game, Harrington," Andy said, clapping Steve on the shoulder with more force than necessary. 

The two of them stomped off, leaving Eddie and Steve in their wake. A part of Steve thought to be at least a little bit thankful for Eddie. But there was another part of him that knew better. This was just the calm before the storm. Hostility and indignation swirled hotly inside of his stomach.

"I told you to leave me alone," Steve nearly hissed. He sighed loudly, casting paranoid glances around the immediate area. He wouldn't put it past the two of them to just be waiting nearby to drag Steve somewhere more secluded.

"I… god dammit," Steve groaned, storming off without another word to Eddie.

~*~

Objectively speaking, winning was supposed to feel good.

Steve knew that much. 

He remembered cheering Adam on from the stands at every one of his games. But Steve had never experienced that. Even though his dad had forced him into sports, he never showed much interest in actually watching any of Steve's games.

So, it hurt a little to see his teammates being hugged by, getting their hands shaken, or receiving simple claps on the back from family and friends. He momentarily wondered if he could just sneak into the locker room while they were all distracted. He could shower and change and head home before anyone thought to look for him.

But he knew better.

Especially after the non-incident in the library earlier.

Steve slipped away to grab his gym bag which he stashed behind the bench, after he had finally changed, and dipped out of the crowded gym. The night air against his sweat dampened skin sent a fierce shiver down Steve's spine. Whoever decided that basketball shorts had to be as short as they were, and then games had to be played at night was a sadist.

The loose gravel of the parking lot crunched underneath his sneakers as he power walked towards his car.

He threw his bag into the passenger seat and climbed inside, slamming the door behind him. A sigh of relief escaped him as he sagged into his seat. The air in the car was a little stale from being closed up all day, but at least it was warmer than outside.

And now he had time to shower and change in the safety of his own home before he opened it up to the wolves.

~*~

A gentle knock against his open bedroom door drew Steve's attention away from the toys he was playing with on the floor of his bedroom. Looking at the source of the sound, Steve couldn't help but smile at his older brother who was standing patiently in the doorway.

"Hey, Stevie," Adam greeted him with a small chuckle. He entered the room holding a large pizza box with some other items stacked on top of it. He very carefully set the box down on Steve's bed before he sat down beside him on the floor. "So Mom and Dad just left for the weekend."

Steve nodded his head slowly. That wasn't really anything new. They often disappeared for the weekend, leaving Adam in charge.

"I'm going to have some people over tonight and I need you to stay upstairs. I got you a pizza and some sodas and a few movies that you can go watch in my room," he explained easily, reaching back to retrieve the VHS tapes from the top of the pizza box. Steve took the tapes and looked down at them. The Rescuers, Bad News Bears, and Monty Python and the Holy Grail. 

Steve held up the Monty Python tape, "I haven't seen this one yet."

"Well, if you save it for last, and you're still awake, I'll watch it with you when everyone leaves," Adam said with a low laugh. Steve nodded his head enthusiastically, causing his hair to flop against his forehead. Adam smiled fondly down at him before reaching out with a big hand to push the hair back out of his face. "While everyone is here though I need you to keep your door and my door locked, okay? You can go between using the bathroom but stay up here. Can you do that for me?"

Adam's expression was so open and warm that even at eleven – almost twelve, thank you very much – Steve felt a longing, a yearning, in his heart. Neither of his parents ever looked at him like that. No one did.

No one but Adam.

Steve nodded his head again, fingers gripping the copy of Monty Python so tightly that the case groaned under the pressure. 

"Yeah. I can do that."

A wide smile spread across Adam's face. Years later Steve would find that smile, briefly, in his own reflection before it disappeared again. But for now he cherished it and loved being the cause of it. 

The sound of their doorbell rang out, almost echoing through the still, empty air of the house. "That's probably Tiff. I'll come check on you later," Adam ruffled Steve's hair before he pushed himself up off of the floor. "Be good."

Steve watched Adam stride to his bedroom door, flip the lock, and pull it shut behind him. Now, Steve was used to being left to his own devices in his bedroom. It usually left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. But this felt different. Adam made sure that he was taken care of, that he felt comfortable. Steve wasn't expected to keep still and pretend he didn't exist.

He was able to have fun. To be a kid.

A steady beat picked up from downstairs, and Steve figured that Adam had turned on their dad's ridiculously expensive stereo system. Steve had been told that under no uncertain terms was he allowed to so much as breathe on it.

With a soft sigh, he scrambled to his feet. He picked up the pizza box, soda and movies balanced on the lid, and shuffled his way through the bathroom into Adam's bedroom. 

It was a fairly standard bedroom, and not entirely dissimilar to his own. While Steve's room was mostly neutrals and shades of blue, Adam's room was more dark woods and rich emerald green. It felt warmer, more comfortable, than Steve's bedroom. He was definitely glad that Adam had said he could hang out in there for the night. Steve always felt more at ease in his brother's room.

He set the pizza box down on the desk and turned around to see that Adam had in fact brought the VCR into his bedroom. It was new, and cost a lot of money. Steve remembered his father bragging to his colleagues about the purchase, but he couldn't remember seeing him actually watching a movie in the year since.

At least Adam had shown Steve how to work the machine.

He quickly set up the television and VCR, deciding to start with The Rescuers. Once the movie was starting, Steve moved to sit in the middle of Adam's bed with his food and drinks. It was a pretty cozy set up for a last minute thing.

So, Steve watched movies and stuffed himself full of pizza and soda until his stomach felt stretched taut like a balloon begging to burst. He would occasionally wander into his own bedroom to peer out the window— it had a better view of the pool in their backyard. There were a lot of teenagers down there. Which Steve figured as much based on the voices that carried up the stairs. 

He'd sometimes catch glimpses of Adam. He always had a group of people around him who seemed to be hanging on every word that he said. He looked like he was holding court. He looked like a king.

King Adam.

It made sense to Steve. Adam would make a good king– kind and fun.

At some point, the combination of too much pizza and a pretty severe sugar crash led to Steve curled up at the end of Adam's bed, hand dangling in the air as he pressed his face into a pillow that smelled like whatever shampoo his brother used; it was herbal with a soft floral undernote. 

Steve only realized that he had fallen asleep when he woke up to his arm tingling painfully. He groaned lowly and carefully retracted the appendage, flexing his fingers in an attempt to return blood flow. Slowly, he blinked open his eyes. It took a few attempts to focus but when he did he saw Adam right next to him. He was asleep, sitting upright against the foot of the bed, with his head tipped back at what had to be an uncomfortable angle to rest on the mattress. He was breathing noisily through slightly parted lips. 

"Adam," Steve whispered, poking his brother in the cheek, "Adam, wake up."

Adam groaned and lifted a hand to weakly swat in Steve's general direction.

"Why are you on the floor?" Steve asked as he sluggishly started to move. He sat upright just as a yawn ripped through him. 

"You stole my bed," Adam huffed, finally picking his head up.

Steve blinked at him, confused.

"You could have moved me."

Adam twisted just enough to look up at him. He looked tired. His hair was rumpled and wild, his eyes were a little duller than usual. But his smile was the same. "Nah. You looked comfy," he said, shrugging one of his shoulders, "But since we're both up now, why don't we get something to eat and we can watch Monty Python?"

Steve nodded slowly, biting back an excited smile, "That sounds perfect."

~*~

It was strange to go from being a ghost in your own house, to feeling like you're the one being haunted.

It didn't matter where Steve wandered; he could feel a nervous tickle at the back of his neck, making the hairs there stand up on end. He kept his head on a swivel to look out for any guys from the team who may feel emboldened from a win on top of whatever booze or weed they may have ingested. Steve was sure that he looked a little erratic with the way he glanced over his shoulder and slunk from place to place.

He took a small sip from the now room temperature beer that he had been nursing for over an hour as he slipped past a group of junior girls crowded together in his kitchen. They were all holding plastic cups full of lord knows what.

"Hi, Steve," a girl with curly blonde hair called out, startling him. Steve glanced back at her for a moment, trying to attach a name to her face. He knew that they had been in a math class together the previous semester. Finally, it clicked in his brain as he put on his most polite smile.

"Hey, Amber. Having a good time?" He asked, hoping to appear casual. He brought his beer up to his mouth again to take another drink.

Amber smiled sweetly, and some of her friends giggled. "I am, yeah. Where's Nancy? Hard to believe she'd let you wander around all alone," she said, head tilted to the side as she fluttered her eyes.

Was she?

No.

Oh, God.

Steve very nearly choked on his small mouthful of beer. He could feel his face heating up, which just caused the group of girls to dissolve into another fit of giggles. He slapped a hand against his chest as he swallowed harshly, wincing just a little at the tightness in his throat. 

"Y'know, she's actually… um, parties aren't really her thing . So, uh, she's out… I'm just gonna…"

Without another word, Steve turned about-face and booked it out of the kitchen. He just barely made out the rushed whispers and laughter before the music in the living room drowned them out. He needed some space, needed a few quiet minutes to just chill out. So, he made a beeline for the stairs, setting his drink down on a table along the way.

He had made sure to lock certain rooms before anybody got there. He didn't need to worry about people snooping around his or his parents' bedrooms. And, well, Adam's room had been locked for years. The only way in was with a key that was probably tucked away in his mother's drawers, and through their shared bathroom.

The blood in his veins ran cold when he turned down the hallway and spotted both Zack and Andy standing between Steve and his bedroom door. 

For half a second, Steve considered turning tail and running back downstairs. Nancy was out by the pool the last he'd seen, he could go see her. Hell, he just needed to get back to other people. As far as he could tell, the three of them were the only people upstairs which didn't bode well for Steve. However, he apparently froze for too long.

Andy looked away from Zack and locked eyes with Steve.

His stomach suddenly felt as though it were free falling inside of him, plummeting from the highest point imaginable and headed straight for the ground.

Steve's eyes widened and he very slowly lifted a foot, preparing to take a step back towards the top of the stairs. His move seemingly didn't go unnoticed since in the blink of an eye Andy had surfed forward and grabbed Steve by his shoulder. He felt himself being spun around and shoved backwards until his back thumped heavily against the wall.

A soft hiss escaped his lips as the corner of a picture frame dug into his shoulder. He tried to push forward, to get away, but he was being held in place by Andy's hands pressing into his shoulders. 

"What's the rush, Stevie boy?" Zack asked as he approached, stepping into Steve's line of sight. "We missed you after the game, you know? Why did you slip away?"

Steve grunted, rolling his eyes, "Can't you just hit me and move on? Don't you have anything better to do?"

There was a brief look of shock on Zack's face before he pushed it away. Steve watched the way his eyes flicked to the side, maybe to the picture hanging beside him, and back again. An uneasiness pricked up just beneath Steve's skin.

"I feel bad for your parents, Harrington. The wrong brother died. They had to bury their perfect kid and got saddled with a stupid, worthless, filthy little faggot ," Zack punctuated his statement by spitting directly in Steve's face. Steve's stomach churned at the feeling of the warm saliva slowly slid down his cheek. "Do they know? Do they know that they're raising a cocksucker? How do you think they'd react if they found out? You think your dad would try to beat the queer out of you? Maybe we should help him out."

Andy laughed crudely, but removed his hands from Steve's shoulders. And just as Steve tried to take a breath and get away a fist made contact with his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. A pained wheeze trickled out of his lungs as his body tried to fold in on itself, to protect himself somehow. Another fist connected with his cheek, hard enough to snap his head to the side. His ear was ringing, but he knew that the hit wasn't hard enough to bruise him.

Been there, done that.

"Have a good night," Andy scoffed. A rough hand grabbed onto Steve's bangs and shoved his head backwards, slamming it roughly into the wall. Steve vaguely wondered if it made a dent or a hole. 

He watched Andy follow Zack down the stairs, leaving him alone again. At least, he thought he was alone. The sound of a toilet flushing across the hall caught Steve's attention, making his heart pick up pace inside his chest. He absolutely did not need someone else to see him like this.

Steve pushed himself off the wall and lurched forward towards his bedroom. There was a trick to popping the lock from the outside. He pulled on the knob and gave it a harsh twist to the side until it clicked and then shoved it back into place with one last twist to open the door. He slipped inside the room and fumbled with the lock before he rushed into the bathroom.

His hands made short work of turning on the faucet and grabbing a washcloth. He wet the fabric under the stream of water before scrubbing at his face. He was probably doing so a bit too vigorously, a fact he affirmed when he looked into the mirror to see just how rubbed red his face was. But the memory of that asshole's saliva on his face made Steve shudder.

Once he was satisfied that his skin was clear of nastiness, Steve dropped the washcloth to the counter and shut off the water. His hands dropped down to the counter as he hung his head and took a few deep breaths. He kept hearing Zack's words looping in his head. It both enraged him, that he felt he could bring up his brother like that, and filled him with a gnawing sense of guilt.

Things definitely would have been better for everyone if it had been him and not Adam.

Steve sighed heavily and turned his head to the side, letting his eyes land on the door to Adam's room. He hadn't been in there since the week Adam died. But, it couldn't hurt, right?

His mom had thrown a fit when she found Steve curled up in Adam's bed the night after the funeral. It was the first time he'd felt unwanted in that room. She'd started locking the door in the hallway and Steve steered clear of the bathroom door. The room started to feel more like a museum to what could have been. A perfect display of lost potential.

But Adam wasn't just potential. He wasn't this untouchable All-American goliath. He was Steve's brother. He cared for Steve, looked out for him, and shielded him from the scrutiny of judgemental eyes.

Maybe that's why Steve felt so compelled to try the door tonight. He needed a safe haven, an escape, from the crushing weight of being seen. Especially by those assholes from the hallway who came into his home and harassed him. He could just hide away in Adam's room for a little while, maybe things wouldn't feel so bad.

Because Adam wouldn't let him feel that badly.

He pushed himself away from the counter and shuffled closer to the door, his hand hovering over the knob without touching it. He took a deep breath in and felt the air fill his lungs, expand his ribcage… remind him that he was alive and present. His hand closed around the knob and slowly turned it, pulling the door open.

The light of the bathroom spilled over the cream colored carpet, making a spotlight right to the bed. Cautiously, Steve tiptoed into the room. Which he often did when he was much younger to sneak in and bother Adam on weekend mornings. Only now there would be no annoyed grumbles, or half-heartedly thrown pillows, or impromptu wrestling matches that end with a giggling Steve being powerbombed onto the bed.

As if on instinct, Steve grabbed one of Adam's pillows and sat himself down on the floor with his back pressed against the foot of the bed. He held the pillow close to his chest, screwing his eyes shut, and his heart gave a painful squeeze when he noticed that it no longer smelled like his shampoo.

When he finally reopened them, he was positive that his heart fully stopped working.

"Holy shit !"

Eddie Munson was silhouetted in the open bathroom door, casting a shadow over where Steve was sitting. Steve put the pillow to the side as he stared wide eyed at the other boy. "What in the– how did you get in here?" He asked, probably a bit too bluntly.

At least Eddie had the good sense to appear a little sheepish at the question.

"I popped the lock on your bedroom door. Don't worry, I locked it again. I'm a responsible hoodlum," he explained from where he was standing. He didn't move though. Almost as if he were afraid to step foot into the room. He cleared his throat as his right hand raised up to allow his fingers to tug on a wavy tendril. 

"I, uh, well… I overheard what happened in the hallway."

Burning shame blossomed and quickly spread across Steve's skin while his stomach knotted and twisted painfully. He quickly averted his gaze to stare at the line of Eddie's shadow on the carpet. For just a moment, fear pricked up from the base of his neck. What would Eddie have to say about that? What would he do?

Steve didn't exactly have a stellar record when it came to people finding out.

He swallowed the influx of saliva filling his mouth, trying to will down the urge to vomit. He couldn't do that, not sitting on Adam's floor.

"Can I come in?" Eddie's soft voice cut through Steve's internal spiral.

With furrowed brows, Steve looked back up to see Eddie motioning into the room with his left hand. His right was busy tugging at the strand of his hair, pulling it to his face and almost over his mouth. As if he were trying to hide behind it. He didn't look particularly upset or like he was plotting a way to hurt him.

Steve nodded once, looking back to the floor.

He could hear the soft jingle of the chains attached to Eddie's belt as he walked closer. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Eddie stop beside him before he lowered himself to the ground to sit with criss-crossed legs. His knee brushed against Steve's and he tensed for a moment, waiting for… something.

But nothing came.

"Whose room is this?" Eddie asked after a few beats of silence.

Steve looked over at Eddie with slightly narrowed eyes and knitted brows. He looked genuinely curious. Huh. Steve sighed, his fingers absently fidgeting together. "My brother, Adam," Steve said softly. It had been so long since he'd said his name out loud. The sound of it made his heart ache.

"You have a brother?" Eddie asked, head tipped to the side. Almost like a puppy.

Whiplash. It felt as if Steve was suddenly dropped in the middle of the ocean, unmoored and confused. It was very rare to meet anyone in this God forsaken town who didn't know about Adam. He wasn't prepared to have to explain what happened. He never really had to, everyone just knew . He was the kid with the dead brother.

Steve cleared his throat, "Had. He got into a car accident almost five years ago, supposedly died on impact."

"Oh shit," Eddie whispered, obviously to himself. He reached out to gently lay a hand on Steve's knee, giving a brief squeeze before pulling away. "I'm so sorry, man."

The sentiment mostly fell of deaf ears. Steve could only focus on the heat of Eddie's hand dissipating. It took a few seconds to collect himself again, clearing his throat softly. "Yeah, uh, thanks," he mumbled, looking away.

A gentle silence settled between the two of them.

It was almost nice.

"He had a lot of awards," Eddie said. Steve looked over to see him motioning to a shelf by the door that led to the hall. It was full of trophies and medals from sports, academics, and community events 

Steve hummed low before he let out a self-deprecating scoff, "Yeah, well, he was the golden child. And when one brother has his life so put together and figured out it sort of demands that the other be a complete and total fuck-up, right?"

"What is yin without yang?" Eddie asked sagely, an amused grin on his lips.

A small chuckle escaped Steve as he reached out to playfully smack the back of his hand against Eddie's bicep, "Exactly!"

Eddie looked over at Steve with soft, wide eyes that made something twist inside his chest. He took a steadying breath and looked down at his lap with a gentle sigh.

"He had everything figured out. He and my dad had this perfect bullet point list of each step along the way: Go to college. Go to law school. Marry a girl. Work for my dad's company. Get a house. Have kids," Steve rattled off, counting each step out with his fingers. He realized, abstractly, that he was rambling. But no one ever really let him talk about Adam. "I was in middle school when he died. I honestly don't think my parents knew anything about me before that point. I wasn't good at school or particularly good at anything, not like Adam."

There was a gentle prickling feeling along the edges of Steve's eyes. His jaw clenched and his throat felt tight. He felt a heaviness settle on his chest that he had been trying to hold off, push away, for the last five years. It felt strange to let it sit there on his sternum without fighting it.

Weirder still that he was letting all of his out in front of Eddie Munson of all people. 

"It's weird, growing up in someone else's shadow. Because when they're gone, the light shines on your life for the first time and it does not look good."

Eddie was quiet, which from what Steve knew about him was kind of off putting. The gentle bump of a shoulder against his own had Steve blinking slowly back at Eddie with his brows raised in question. Eddie smiled warmly back at him, pretty brown eyes crinkling at the edges.

Steve's stomach aggressively flip flopped inside of him.

"How about I go get us some drinks and something to eat? We can hang out here if you want, away from those assholes," Eddie suggested, face looking oddly hopeful.

Steve swallowed thickly, "Yeah. That sounds perfect."

~*~

"You cannot call me a nerd when you have seen all three Star Wars movies in theaters multiple times !"

The laughter in Eddie's tone was infectious. Steve couldn't help the grin that tugged at his lips as he pulled the plastic cup full of whatever the partygoers downstairs concocted away from his mouth. He rolled his eyes and pushed a hand through his hair before using it to point a wavering finger at Eddie.

"Says the guy who pretends to be an elf with his friends," he laughed loudly. The sound was foreign to his ears. "You're a nerd ."

Eddie laid a hand against his chest in faux offense, giving the illusion of one of Steve's mother's friends clutching their pearls in shock.

It made Steve smile.

"Dungeons and Dragons is a collaborative storytelling game full of adventure and action! And Varis Gemstar is a war hero ," Eddie said emphatically, his eyes were playful but intense. He raised a hand to point a finger back at Steve as a mischievous sort of grin tugged at the corner of his lips. "And. And ! You should play with us."

Steve leaned back, away from Eddie and his back bumped into the foot of Adam's bed. They were both sitting criss-crossed on the floor, though Eddie had taken the spot directly in front of him when he'd returned with what he called 'potables and edibles' which just meant cups of mysterious punch and a bag of chips from the pantry. 

" No, no, no, no, n –"

" Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes !"

Eddie surged forward toward Steve with both of his arms outstretched. Steve's heart squeezed painfully behind his ribs as his entire body winced in anticipation of something bad. When did guys lunge at him if they weren't planning on beating the shit out of him? 

Instead of the expected burst of pain, Steve felt Eddie's hands gently fall onto both of his shoulders. They were holding onto him firmly but the touch wasn't malicious. His body relaxed ever so slightly as he let out a relieved breath he hadn't even been aware that he'd sucked in. When he looked up at Eddie, he was a lot closer than he had thought.

Eddie's face was inches away from his own. His eyes were wide and glinting with excitement, though they began to soften in a way that Steve couldn't quite place. The almost manic smile that had pulled up the edges of Eddie's lips to show off his teeth faltered. Steve wasn't entirely sure what to say or do, or even why Eddie had grabbed him in the first place.

He was sure that his heart had never beat faster, though.

Steve's head tipped ever so slightly to the side as he watched Eddie with curious eyes; Eddie perfectly mirrored the move. He could feel Eddie's fingers flexing against his shoulders, along with the hard press of his rings. Steve nervously pushed his tongue through the right corner of his lips before pulling it back in. 

He felt so off balance under Eddie's eyes. Like that time in fifth grade when he and Tommy snuck out and ended up at the quarry, and he had stood at the very edge with his toes just over the ledge. It felt like a strong gust of wind would have sent him careening to the cold depths below.

Then, Adam had found them. He'd realized Steve was missing and had driven around to all the usual hang out spots. He yanked Steve from the edge by the scruff of his neck.

Now, a loud knock from his bedroom door pulled the two boys apart instead. 

Eddie recoiled from him, embodying the visage of a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. It would have made Steve laugh if he wasn't so confused by it. And if there wasn't another round of much more insistent knocking.

It was then, as Steve pushed himself up from the floor, that he realized the music downstairs had stopped. His brow furrowed as he stumbled through the bathroom, setting his drink on the counter as he passed, into his own bedroom. He could hear Eddie following closely behind him. As he approached the door, Steve also realized that he couldn't hear the sound of people talking or laughing anymore.

He flipped the lock and pulled the door open to see Nancy standing there. She sighed loudly in relief.

" Jesus , Steve," she grumbled, rubbing at her forehead, "You disappeared for hours and you're just up he–"

Her rant died rather quickly on her lips, which confused Steve. At least, until he noticed that she was staring directly over his shoulder. He twisted to look as well. Eddie was standing a bit awkwardly near his dresser, hands futzing with the chains on his jeans and smoothing over the denim. He smiled widely and gave them both a wave.

Steve rolled his eyes but turned back to face Nancy who was looking at him with her brows raised in suggestion. Steve felt his face immediately flood with heat.

" No ," he whispered, keeping his voice down and leaning closer to Nancy, "No. Not that ."

She gave him a smile that said she didn't totally believe him but pressed on, "Well, it's almost one in the morning. Everyone has left. Jonathan is going to take me home."

Steve balked at her. Almost one in the morning? Just how long had he and Eddie been up here talking? It felt like no time at all but obviously hours had elapsed. He shook his head in disbelief, but he stepped forward to wrap Nancy up in a hug. Which she returned, hugging him tightly. 

"Call me in the morning so I know you're okay," Steve said, releasing her from their embrace.

Nancy shot one last look over his shoulder before she nodded her head, "Yeah. Good night, Steve."

Steve murmured his goodbye and watched her walk back towards the stairs. He stayed quiet for a moment until he heard the front door opening and closing once more. He then turned around to see Eddie still standing in his bedroom with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans.

"I should, uh, go see how the rest of the house looks," Steve said with a sigh. He wasn't looking forward to cleaning up whatever mess he would encounter beyond his bedroom door.

Eddie nodded as he slowly pulled his hands from his pockets. He motioned towards the door with one hand, "Yeah, for sure."

With a curt nod of his own, Steve wheeled around to head out of the bedroom to make his way downstairs. He could hear the soft jingling of Eddie's chains behind him on the stairs. He shuffled out to the living room and, thankfully, other than a lot of discarded cups, bottles, and cans, it didn't look any worse for wear. He heard what sounded like cans being crushed and turned his head towards the noise to find Eddie with an armful of beer cans.

Steve paused.

He'd expected Eddie to head out. But there he was clearing off his mother's stupid banquet table. He couldn't help but knit his eyebrows together at the sight.

"What are you doing?" He asked too bluntly.

Eddie's face screwed up in confusion, "I'm robbing you of all your valuable beer cans? I'm helping you clean up. What does it look like I'm doing?"

Steve's face quickly filled with heat at the amused but sarcastic tone of Eddie's voice. It was a stupid question, sure. It was very obvious what Eddie was doing. What wasn't obvious was why he was helping clean up when he could just go home. Steve wouldn't have held it against him for leaving.

"Why?" Steve asked. He was sure his tone was skeptical but it wasn't very often these days that people were kind to him without some self-serving reason. Though Eddie did spend most of the night upstairs with him after he heard what Andy and Zack did and said to him. 

That was also pretty strange all things considered.

Although, he supposed Eddie was a strange guy.

Eddie tilted his head to the side, his hair falling over one shoulder, "Because you didn't make this mess by yourself so you shouldn't have to clean it up by yourself. But… if you want me to go, I can. I don't wanna overstay my welcome."

Steve sucked his lower lip into his mouth and gently worried the flesh between his teeth as he watched Eddie carefully. He couldn't imagine why Eddie would actually want to waste his time helping clean up a party that he barely even attended, but he certainly wasn't going to turn down help when it was offered.

At least help to clean up.

"No, uh… thanks. I'll go get some trash bags."

~*~

Between the two of them Eddie and Steve had the house back to its previously pristine state in record time. Which was great because Steve knew if he had to do it on his own he probably would have given up and had to spend the rest of the weekend doing it. They cleaned up the living room, dining room, and kitchen easily. They deposited the trash bags in the garage before they went out back.

Steve had swept up the cigarette butts and trash while Eddie cleared tables and fished some articles of clothing out of the pool with the net.

Apparently people had a good time.

Once it was all done, Steve all but collapsed into one of the poolside chairs. He was exhausted, but at least with everything done, he could sleep in tomorrow. 

The sound of metal scraping pavement had Steve full-body wincing. He looked to his right with his nose scrunched up unhappily to see Eddie dragging another pool chair closer to where he was sitting. He looked up at Steve's obviously disgruntled face and let out a soft laugh before he flopped down onto his own chair. 

He was quick to pull out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. 

Steve watched the way he tapped the pack against the heel of his hand and pulled out a cigarette with practiced ease. He stuck it between his lips before returning the pack to where he'd pulled it from. He grabbed a lighter from the same pocket and flicked the wheel to produce a flame, holding it close as he inhaled. The burning red cherry behind his cupped hand lit up his face in a way that made Steve's head a little dizzy.

Eddie pulled the cigarette away with a slow exhale of smoke, and then held it out in Steve's direction without a word.

Steve stared wide-eyed at the offered smoke.

When he didn't take it immediately, Eddie looked back at him with a single cocked eyebrow. 

"Do you not smoke?" he asked, still not retracting his hand. Steve's eyes were locked on the way the cigarette dangled from two fingers, and the obvious wetness from Eddie's lips where they'd been wrapped around the filter. 

Why did he feel so hot all of a sudden?

"N-no. I do," Steve stammered. He reached out, trying to keep his hand steady, and plucked the cigarette from Eddie's hand. Their fingers just barely brushed the in process, but Steve was quick to pull his away. "It's, uh, it's just been awhile. Thanks." 

Eddie's lazy smile made Steve want to jump into the pool, sink to the floor, and stay there until his lungs popped.

He settled for taking a slow drag from the cigarette, though. He had to force himself to ignore the fact that Eddie's spit was now on his lips as he pulled the smoke away. He let it out as he tipped his head back and passed it over to Eddie again. Eddie gingerly took the cigarette back and once again placed it between his lips. It left Steve dumbfounded. Never in his life would he assume another guy would be so nonchalant about sharing a cigarette, essentially sharing spit, with a–

With him.

But Eddie was okay with it. He'd initiated it.

They passed it back and forth until it was nearly gone. Steve took one last drag and when he looked back over, Eddie was looking at his watch.

"I should head on home," he said, slowly standing up. He absently patted at all of his pockets before flashing Steve a smile that made him want to scream. Just a little.

Steve nodded as he stubbed the cigarette out against the metal frame of the chair. "Thank you. For hanging out with me. And helping clean up," Steve murmured, lifting a hand to rub self-consciously at the back of his neck.

Eddie nodded once, "No problem. I'll see you at school."

And just like that, Eddie started to walk off. Not through the house but around the side. Steve could hear the soft crunch of leaves and twigs under his feet for quite a while. Slowly, the noise disappeared and Steve was once again left alone. He let out a shaky sigh as he lifted his gaze to the back of the house. He could see his bedroom window, and looked over to see Adam's window– lightly illuminated by the bathroom light Steve hadn't shut off.

It made his heart ache just a little. The room almost looked occupied from the outside, but as soon as Steve went upstairs he'd have to face the hollow emptiness of it all over again.

Well, it had been nice for a moment.

~*~

Steve was losing his mind.

That was the only viable explanation. 

What had started as a low undercurrent of anxiety quickly swelled into thrashing waves of near panic. "Where is it?" he seethed, unending his school bag on his bed. Vaguely, he was aware that now was not the time to be doing this. He was already running a little behind to pick Nancy up for school, but now he couldn't focus on anything else.

He pushed aside notebooks, loose papers, and broken pencils in his frantic search. His breathing was a little ragged and his chest ached in an unpleasant way. It wasn't there. Which made no sense. It was always there except…

Steve stood up and stared at his floor with wild eyes.

Thursday night. He'd taken some of the hydrocodone from his small stash and then dropped his bag on the floor. It had to be there. It must have fallen out and he didn't notice.

He dropped to the floor on his hands and knees to look under his bed. His hand swept underneath the bed frame, running along the carpet, but returned with nothing. An annoyed growl slipped past his lips as he moved a little further along to peer under his dresser. When he couldn't see anything, Steve sat back on his knees. He could feel his hair flopping messing around his head but couldn't bring himself to care.

"Think. Think ," he whispered to himself, slapping a palm to his forehead.

There was nowhere else he could even fathom to look for it. The last place he had it out was right here in his room. He groaned loudly as his posture slumped. But his eye caught something sitting on the floor by his desk. Crawling over, Steve reached out to pluck up a small pin. He turned it over in his hand to see the words Judas Priest printed on it.

For a brief moment, Steve was incredibly confused.

Until he remembered who had been in his bedroom Friday night.

"Oh, he is so dead," Steve muttered to himself, closing his fist tightly around the button.

~*~

The problem with looking for Eddie Munson was that he was never where you expected him to be. Any time that they had run into one another in the last week was solely due to the fact that Eddie just seemed to appear whenever Steve didn't want to be bothered. So now that he was actively looking for the other boy, it was as if he had completely disappeared off the face of the planet.

It certainly wasn't helping the ever present ebb and flow of nerves coursing through Steve's body at any given moment. 

He was zoning out, lost in thought, for most of the day. But not in the calm, relaxed way that he wanted. No. He was constantly running through places that he could find Eddie and confront him. It was infuriating that he would spend all of that time with him Friday night to just steal from him.

Eddie was a drug dealer– Steve knew that. 

He just didn't expect him to be a thief as well.

The pointed press of a finger against his outer thigh pulled Steve's attention back to the lunch table. Nancy was watching him with a sort of incredulous look on her face. He raised his eyebrows in question, though he knew that she was mostly just checking that he was there. Present . He wasn't, but that wasn't really a conversation to have at the moment.

His eyes skirted away from her face to the table across the way from theirs. 

And there he was.

Eddie was seated at the head of the table with his group of friends. Although he didn't seem to be as in command of the conversation as he usually was. Not that Steve ever noticed. Or cared.

He didn't. 

Steve knew that he should look away. He couldn't really risk anyone seeing him openly staring at another boy in the cafeteria, but there was a low bubbling anger in his stomach that was growing in intensity the longer he watched and he just couldn't look away. That is, until Eddie looked away from the book that was laid out on the table in front of him and finally caught Steve's eye.

The immediate recoil and sheepish look told Steve all that he needed to know.

He watched as Eddie mumbled something to his friends, picked up his book and left the table. Steve moved without thinking. He stood up abruptly, causing his chair to scrape the linoleum and draw too many eyes to what he was doing. Nancy looked up at him as if he had grown another head.

"I just, uh… I just remembered. I've gotta see Mrs. Click. About. A review for our test. The test on Friday," he stammered, eyes desperately flicking between where Nancy was sitting and Eddie was leaving the cafeteria. 

Before Nancy or anyone else could question him further, Steve tossed his bag over his head and picked up his tray of uneaten chicken tenders. He moved as fast as he could without drawing any more attention to himself, dropped the tray off at the return, and hurried out of the double doors leading to the hallway.

He had made it just in time to see Eddie pushing open a set of doors that led outside.

Steve quickly followed behind.

The early afternoon sun outside hurt Steve's eyes. He had to squint and look towards the ground so that he could acclimate. He glanced up briefly to see Eddie leaning against the building, lighting a cigarette. They were at the back of the school, away from the parking lot and athletic fields. Almost no classrooms had windows that faced this direction. 

It made sense why Eddie came out here to smoke.

Steve took a deep, steadying breath before he marched closer.

"Munson," he said through gritted teeth, stopping right in front of the other boy.

Eddie raised an eyebrow as he pulled the cigarette from his mouth. He blew the stream of smoke out of the corner of his lips, away from Steve. 

"Hello to you too, Steve. How are you today?" he asked in an overly chipper tone that just grated on Steve's nerves.

"Where is it?" he asked point blank.

A long pause filled the air as Eddie took another drag from his cigarette. "Where is what? I know the locations of a lot of things. You'll have to be a bit more specific," he grinned, flicking some ash off to the side.

Steve wanted to throttle him.

He reached into the pocket of his jeans to pull out the button he found in his bedroom that morning. "Well, did you know that this was on my floor, smartass?" Steve snipped, narrowing his eyes.

Eddie laughed.

His eyes crinkled, his lips curled up, and a set of dimples appeared in his cheeks as he laughed . Steve felt a strange mixture of rage and shame boiling over in his chest. Which just led to his face burning hot and no doubt turning bright red.

Steve dropped the Judas Priest button to the ground and pressed his palm flat against Eddie's chest, pushing him into the brick wall behind him. It wasn't aggressive or violent, Eddie was already leaning there but it was enough of a move that Eddie's pleased expression immediately dropped.

"What? Are you going to hit me, Steve?" Eddie asked in a low voice dripped in venom.

Saliva filled Steve's mouth.

No, he didn't want to hit Eddie.

He just–

"I want my stuff back."

Eddie sighed softly, "And you don't see a problem with you missing something and you holding me against a wall?"

Steve's nostrils flared. He didn't want to think about that. He didn't want to have to reflect on why exactly he'd been on edge all day and chased Eddie down like a rabid dog.

"Like you're so high and mighty , Mr. Drug Dealer," Steve spat, narrowing his eyes at Eddie. He could feel his heart hammering against his sternum like an overexcited woodpecker. "You spent all that time with me on Friday and for what? To take my shit? Where is it? Or did you sell it already?"

Eddie's face fell into a look that was almost violent in its impassiveness. He tossed his cigarette to the ground and wedged an arm up between both of their bodies to shove Steve backwards. He huffed loudly and straightened out his denim vest with a bit too much force.

"You think if I wanted some shit to sell I would have spent an entire party with you? I don't need that garbage, Steve, and neither do you."

Steve pursed his lips, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, "You don't know what I need. You don't know anything about me!"

"I know that you shouldn't be taking fucking quaaludes . I don't even know how you got them. They're illegal for a real reason, man. They'll fuck you up and not in the fun way," Eddie said shortly. Eddie crouched down to snatch his pin from the dirt. "And I know enough that you see yourself as some big fuck up and you're not. But if you keep taking this shit, you will be."

Steve took a very slow and deliberate breath in. He felt his lungs fill, his chest inflate, before letting it out again. He felt a little wild. Deep down, he was hearing Eddie's words, his concern, but on the surface, there was just anger and hurt. He didn't want to be lectured about drugs by Eddie fucking Munson of all people.

If Eddie wanted to hold onto some higher moral ground, that was fine.

There were more pills in his mother's medicine cabinet.

He turned to head back inside but before he got too far he felt a hand wrap around his wrist, and he was pulled back towards Eddie. He was much closer than before. He could smell the nicotine on his breath. As well as whatever after shave or cologne that he wore. They were too close. Especially considering that they were outside of the school. 

A bolt of fear shot through Steve's body.

"Eddie, let go," he mumbled in a low voice.

Eddie blinked slowly back at him, "Why?"

"You said you heard Zack and Andy on Friday. You heard that… you heard about me . It'll be easier for you if you don't get too close to me."

There was a beat of silence between them that felt stretched thin. Eddie cocked his head to the side as he let out a scoff, "You really think we're all that different? That we're not in the same boat?"

The war between anger and shame that was waging inside of Steve's chest was suddenly won out by shame. There was no contest. How could Eddie make a joke like that? Steve clenched his jaw and all but ripped his wrist free from Eddie's grasp. He took a few tentative steps backwards.

"That's not funny," Steve whispered, shaking his head, "Making fun of the queer kid like that. If you're going to be cruel, at least hit me like everyone else."

Steve fully turned and staggered back to the door. He felt like his head was swimming and his body was slogging through mud. He just needed to get away from Eddie. He needed to find somewhere quiet. He needed to go home. But he couldn't do that, not yet.

So he headed off towards the nurse's office.

Maybe she would let him lay down until his next class.