Work Text:
“Flowers”
It's allowed to hurt, I'm allowed to burn
I'm allowed to wonder what you doing now
And dig up all your dirt
I'm allowed to beg, I'm allowed to scream
I wish that you were in this room with me
Instead of in my dreams
With a bouquet of flowers, you used to bring flowers
You grew me flowers
-Lissie
He’s not sure what the fuck it is.
The first time, it’s like… did he eat a flower?
No, obviously not.
It like.
Blew in there.
Somehow.
Or it’s a fancy salad leaf.
Yeah, definitely a salad leaf from a salad he hasn’t eaten. He hasn’t fucking eaten all day today so far.
And it’s a bright red… rose petal.
That’s… well, whatever.
It doesn’t matter.
What matters is being a really good friend to the man he’s in love with.
*
It’s been three years since Eddie almost died. Three years is a long time but it’s not enough for his scars to leave, they never will. Steve sees him trace them sometimes, mapping the outline in the mirror when he thinks Steve can’t see, or maybe doesn’t mind that he can. They span his whole chest, his back, his shoulders, arms, even up his neck.
Eddie’s the kind of man who laughs about ugly things, who wields dark humour for himself and only himself. He’s the kind of guy who jokes about the kind of shit that gave Steve nightmares for months after and Steve, not wanting to seem weak, jokes right along with him even though it leaves him sick and sad with phantom loss.
Because Eddie was dead for a while there.
They never talk about that.
Not even in the beginning.
Steve can’t and Eddie won’t and that’s just fine.
They can talk about everything else.
And they do.
They talk all the time.
Even now, three years on.
They’re still in Hawkins, most of the others aren’t.
Robin and Nancy are in college.
They packed up together, they’re roommates. Steve loaded up the car, he made it the whole time without crying. He smiled warm and bright for her, he hugged her tight, his Robbie, and he kissed her cheek a million times before she pulled back, wiped her eyes with trembling fingers and made him promise to call and answer whenever she called, even if it was midnight to talk about the universe.
And he promised to answer, always does.
Even if she doesn’t call that much these days.
He answers every single time.
Nancy drove and Robin hung out the open window, loudly yelling instructions on how to survive without her and Eddie draped his arm around Steve’s shoulder, yelling that he’d make sure Steve drank water every day until Nancy took a left and the car vanished.
Steve made it the whole time without crying, until she was gone.
And then Eddie pulled him close, fiercely gentle, it’s just how he is, and Steve cried until it hurt and Eddie just held him, told him everything would be OK, promised it over and over until Steve’s skin would forever know the shape of those words from the lips that pressed there. Eddie’s mouth against his jaw. Everything’s gonna be OK.
It wasn’t at first.
They got ice cream and Steve cried some more and Eddie told funny stories, made them bright and sharply dramatic, he’s just got that way about him. Sugar and company healed with it could and when Steve pulled himself together enough to say he’d be fine, Eddie smiled and spoon fed him hot fudge.
Eddie stayed the night that first day without Robin Buckley in Hawkins. He stayed in Steve’s tiny apartment over the flower shop. He stayed on the sofa and Steve stayed in his bed until around three in the morning when Eddie came in, took Steve in his arms and brushed away his tears.
‘I’ve got you,’ he said then, that first night.
And Steve’s stupid little heart let the words sink like seeds where it’s wet and dark and made to birth.
That was two years ago.
The Byers family moved away.
Will, Eleven, Jonathan, Hopper, Joyce.
Steve still has a piece of the Goodbye and Good Luck banner that the kids made.
Just a small corner of it.
Eddie was there for that too.
He helped Joyce to cook, he drank cola instead of beer because he never drinks alcohol, it’s not his thing. Steve ripped the label off his own Budweiser and scraped the gluey, paper mess deep under his fingernail while smiling for the kids, promising to write. Promising to answer the phone whenever they call. Promising to drive out there for birthdays, for holidays.
Jonathan gripped his shoulder later on.
‘Are you OK, man?’
Steve blinked and smiled. ‘Of course.’
Eddie came up from behind, grabbed Steve around the waist and hoisted him. ‘Course he is, look at him, huh? Hawkins is in safe hands, don’t you worry.’
And Steve protested, always does.
Isn’t that funny?
The Byers family left.
The Wheelers were next.
Dustin leaving broke Steve into little pieces, but he didn’t show it. He was there for the last night. The big game, the campaign of a game he still doesn’t really understand, but he loves what the kids love, and he got snacks, he joined in, acted up to get the kids laughing, to make Dustin scoff and correct his intentional failures because the kid’s never happier than when correcting someone.
And under the table, Eddie held his hand.
After, Eddie moved in.
The tiny apartment over the flower shop is meant for one, but the old dear beneath who rents it out to Steve doesn’t seem to mind so long as his cheques clear.
Steve can’t function for days.
Feels stupid.
Feels too much, all bad.
Left behind. Last choice. Too dumb for college, too dull, too clingy, too much of everything unwanted in painful excess.
Eddie’s patience never frays.
He washes Steve’s hair one awful grey day when Steve can’t get out of bed. He carries him bridal style and sets him fully clothed in the tiny bathtub, showers him and washes him and sings under his breath the whole time.
He sings Rainbow in the Dark.
Steve knows all the words now.
And after, he put Steve in bed and told him when he woke up, they’d have dinner.
And they did.
Because Eddie follows through.
Steve survives.
Eats, sleeps, laughs again.
He shouldn’t be this fucking weak. He shouldn’t be made to break so easy, but he feels like a vase, like a thing that was dropped too often, survives whole but cracked and any pressure will shatter him.
Now it’s been three years and the only ones left in Hawkins are Steve, Eddie and Max.
Max and her Mom still live in the trailer park. Her Mom’s sick, she’s struggling. The medical bills, the fact she can’t work. Steve calls his parents, asks for money and lies, says it’s for him, but they can tell it’s not and they refuse.
‘We’re not made of money,’ they say down the phone. ‘You have a job, you have a place of your own. You’re an adult.’
They hang up first, always initiating the end of things, like with the house when they sold it, retiring abroad in sunny Spain.
He and Eddie help out however they can.
Susan is slowly wasting away and no matter what, the three of them can’t make her stay. Like water in cupped hands, doesn’t matter how tight you hold, it’ll find a way through.
Max works down at the local garage with Eddie. Steve wishes he knew fuck all about cars or bikes, engines, mechanics. He’d love to work with them, he would like to learn something so useful, but his mind doesn’t work like that.
He’s distracted easily, emotional too often, moody and melancholy, prone to obsession and too good at hiding it.
Steve works in the grocery store.
He’s not good at it, but he doesn’t need to be good at it. He just needs to be there, to scan barcodes and read out totals, give the correct change and bid them a nice day. He manages most of those things. Gets paid.
Eddie puts little stickers around his nametag. The manager either doesn’t care or doesn’t notice that Steve is surrounded by tiny stars.
Eddie comes home with grease and motor oil all over him and Steve makes dinner sometimes because he finishes first, plus he gets to take home food that’ll be thrown out otherwise. It’s the one good thing about his job there. The manager is fine with people taking almost expired goods. Steve gives Max and Susan all the best of it, gets creative with what’s left.
Their life is small, busy, loud.
It’s loud because Eddie is loud, and Max is learning how to be just like him. How to laugh even when things are fucking awful. She’s learning how to look people in the eye, men, and tell them to say that again, go on, dare you.
She’s learning how to mend her broken heart, the cracks coming together after Lucas left. The painful night she talks about sometimes. The night he asked her to come with him and she had wanted to say yes.
Only she didn’t, couldn’t.
Steve loves her, they both do.
And Steve loves Eddie.
But it’s not the same.
It’s definitely not the same.
It’s not how Eddie loves Steve.
It’s been three years since the world tried to end and they did not let it. Three years since Steve gave his blood to Eddie when the hospital asked if anyone was a compatible donor. Three years since Eddie woke up.
Three years is a long time.
The passage of time can be cruel.
But Steve doesn’t mind because their little life is lovely, it’s got everything he needs and in the summer, the flowers from beneath their apartment smell beautiful and in winter, he smiles at the holly wreathes that glisten and gleam and they make do with what they have, all three of them.
It would be perfect, if he wasn’t in love with Eddie.
*
They talk all the time.
About anything, everything, nothing. They engage effortlessly, they intersect, they are interwoven. Steve packs Eddie and Max’s lunches for work and he puts dumb little notes inside, sketches things to make them smile.
Eddie will come by sometimes when he’s on break, he’ll come and buy a candy bar and take forever counting change just to linger with Steve and talk shit and make Steve laugh. Eddie’s always dirty and he wears his overalls half down, arms tied around the waist, vest filthy with the kind of stains that don’t wash out.
Once paid for, he bites the candy bar in half and then gives the other half to Steve, who always, without fail, saves it for later.
Until Eddie’s gone and the store is that much more dull for his absence, until Steve misses him so much that the feeling carves him hollow, leaves him like a pumpkin on Halloween that everyone forgot to light up and use.
He eats the candy bar and savours the rough join, ashamed of his thoughts where they tend about spit and lips. He’s gross. He’s fucked up.
Robin calls once a week. She comes to visit sometimes. She’s got a girlfriend now, they live together in Seattle. She’s happy.
She won’t come back to Hawkins and Steve doesn’t know if he’ll ever leave.
Dustin calls and writes letters to them both. Steve writes to everyone, but he writes to Will once a week without fail. He doesn’t often get letters back and that makes him happy, he wants the kid to be too busy and distracted to reply to shit like letters from Steve Harrington back in Hawkins, but every now and then he’ll get a beautiful, long missive in that increasingly elegant cursive and Will talks about his life, their life. He talks about the California sun and the waters and the beach. Abstract images, like he’s painting. Steve keeps them all, he keeps everything.
He has a box.
It’s big, it’s not easy to fill.
It’ll hold for a long time.
In a one bedroom apartment, there isn’t much room for two, but they make do. They sleep in the same room in different beds. The beds take up all the space and Eddie jokes often about just getting a big double and Steve rolls his eyes, hides how much he wishes that wasn’t a joke and feels disgusting for the things he wants.
Because his life is beautiful.
Even with so many gone.
He has Eddie and he has Max and some nights, they stay over with Max and her Mom and Susan will say to Steve, quiet, her chest crackling, you’ll look after her, won’t you?
And Steve says yes, every time.
He’ll look after Max always, no matter what.
Even when she too is long gone from this town that’s too small for someone as incredible as she is, when she’s spread her wings and burst free of the rural chrysalis, he’ll be here for her.
He’ll be home base. He’ll give her whatever she needs, he’ll take care of her however he can.
They both will, he dares think.
But that’s a dangerous thought.
Because they talk all the time about the future, about what they’ll do when they start saving up, when there’s money enough to do more than just get by.
Eddie has plans, he’s got dreams, ideas.
Steve never asks what the us means, when Eddie says, ‘We’ll get us a big ass RV, drive all over the country and do whatever we like, live wherever we like,’ he doesn’t push, can’t, does not know how to ask someone to bring him along with them, please.
He is always left behind.
And he knows he will be too, by Eddie, eventually.
And he knows that when Eddie hugs him goodbye, he’ll hold it together long enough for Eddie to turn left, just like Robin did and then he’ll finally break.
And he won’t mind by then.
He’ll be grateful for what he had.
He already is.
He just wishes he wasn’t in love with Eddie.
It’d be better if he wasn’t.
But he can’t change how he feels.
Can only hide it.
So he does.
They talk all the time and one day soon, they won’t. It’ll be by telephone if at all. Less and less. Maybe a postcard he’ll put in the box that will never be full, it’s too big.
Steve is so in love with Eddie and they sleep in the same room, they share a life.
They share everything.
*
The first rose petal comes when he’s at work and he’s making himself wait to eat the candy bar. It’s a risky thing because this summer is the hottest on record and even in the store with the air con blowing constantly, it’s humid and warm inside and the chocolate is melting.
He’s scanning weekly groceries for a Mom of three, makes sure to miss a few items, the diapers especially, when he feels something in the back of his throat.
‘S-sorry,’ he says to her, stops to try and swallow but it’s big, it’s… what the fuck. ‘Sorry, one sec.’
He gets up, bolts to the bathroom and in the mirror, he watches as his own fingers pull a bright red rose petal out, almost perfectly formed, glistening with spit.
He holds it, touches it.
His mind is doing mental gymnastics, coming up with explanations a-plenty, but none of them make sense. He hasn’t eaten today yet and he definitely didn’t eat roses yesterday.
His co-worker knocks on the door, reminds him he’s got customers waiting.
Steve drops the petal in the trash.
Puts it way out of his mind.
He’s got bigger things to focus on.
Like being a good friend.
And if the candy bar tastes sweeter than usual, he ignores it.
Pretends he only tastes Eddie.
*
‘How was work?’ Eddie asks and always seems to want to know the answer in detail. Steve is stir frying vegetables that go bad tomorrow, he’s boiling noodles and humming along to the radio.
Eddie’s freshly showered, smells like cheap soap and clean water and skin. They share what very little cologne they can afford so they smell like each other all the time, but Eddie has this scent that’s just him. Steve loves it, thinks about trading pillows sometimes.
‘Oh, y’know,’ he says, immediately thinks of the rose petal. ‘Long, dull.’
‘Trevor give you shit?’
‘No, he was off today.’
‘He’s always off, I swear to god. Any shoplifters?’
They share a little smile. Steve never reports if he sees someone slip out with full pockets, but he likes telling Eddie about it. Eddie used to steal from that store sometimes. He roots for all who do.
‘Not today.’ He plates up, makes it look bigger than it is by using bowls. In bowls, it’s piled high. ‘What about you?’
‘Ah, fuckin’ great day,’ Eddie says, takes his bowl and kisses Steve’s cheek now that he’s clean, as if Steve wouldn’t wear his grease marks and his oil stains, as if he wouldn’t let Eddie paint him with those messy fingers and say thank you after. ‘We finished up on the Harley.’
‘Oh my god, that’s amazing! You’ve been working on her for weeks! Was Max happy?’
‘Fuckin’ thrilled. She finished it off, brought it out to the guy and everything,’ Eddie tells him happily, sitting cross legged with a cushion in his lap for the bowl. No table, no chairs, no space. Just a small sofa, a little TV. ‘I swear, she’s so talented.’
Steve smiles, listens, eats.
Their knees are touching.
Eddie’s skin is warm and scarred and he still makes jokes about how gross he thinks he looks. About how nobody’s ever gonna wanna hook up unless it’s in the dark. He still touches them sometimes, even while Steve looks on now because they share this tiny space and everything in it, even the sight of one another.
He forgets all about the petal.
*
Until the next morning.
Eddie kisses his cheek sometimes.
Often.
Always.
It’s just how he is.
He does the same to Max, he braids her hair sometimes for work because it’s long and summer is hot and she wants to get it cut, but her Mom loves it long, so.
Eddie’s tactile and playful and this, the cheek kissing, began a while ago when Eddie first moved in.
He’d say, ‘Bye, wifey,’ and try to kiss Steve’s cheek and Steve would put up the customary fight, laugh it off and call Eddie gross, even while his insides burned.
And then Steve gave up, just let him.
‘Have a good day, darling,’ he’d say, rolling his eyes and Eddie would cackle with glee so bright it stayed in Steve’s mind all day, imprinted there.
And then it stopped being funny.
Eddie was in a rush one day, slept in, had to take his jam toast with him out the door and he jogged over to Steve, kissed his cheek and said, ‘Have a great day!’ all breathless and clumsy and neither of them laughed and Steve touched his cheek when Eddie left.
And it just stayed that way.
So, Eddie kisses his cheek that morning when he’s out the door, earlier than Steve because he picks Max up and they like to be in the garage before it opens.
‘Bye, babe,’ he says like always and Steve is poised to say it right back, minus the babe, when he feels the same thing as yesterday.
Feels something soft in his throat.
And he freezes, can’t get a hold on it quick enough for Eddie not to notice.
‘Hey, you OK?’ Eddie asks, frowning. He touches Steve’s face, light and gentle. ‘What’s wrong? Stevie, what’s wrong?’
Steve tries to swallow but it’s not helping, it’s coming up again, into his mouth.
He clears his throat, keeps his lips shut, tries to smile. He shakes his head.
Eddie’s not remotely fooled.
‘Steve,’ he says seriously, voice dropping low. ‘What is it?’
He turns away, hand rising to his mouth.
Quick as he can, he pulls out the petal.
Red, shiny, fresh.
Just like yesterday.
He crushes it in his palm and swallows floral spit and bodily terror, arranges his features into something resembling normality, but it’s all fucked up.
‘S-sorry,’ he says, voice cracking. ‘Thought I was choking there. All good, sorry.’
Eddie’s not fooled. ‘Did you have something in your mouth?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Show me your hands.’
‘Eddie, you’re gonna be late again.’
‘Show me your hands, Steve.’
No.
He can’t.
Can’t let him see.
‘It’s… sorry, I had a hair in my mouth,’ he says, desperately aiming for chagrin and levity, like he’s a dumb-ass and he is, but it’s not the cause of the issue for once. ‘Gross.’
Eddie’s cupping the hand Steve won’t unclench.
‘Open your fist.’
‘Eddie—’
Dark brown eyes rise to meet his own.
‘What’s happening?’
‘N-nothing. It was a hair.’
‘Show me then,’ Eddie challenges gently. ‘Because you looked terrified.’
‘I’m not, I wasn’t.’
‘Show me then, please.’
Steve frets, can’t contain it. ‘No.’
And years ago, when they were first becoming friends, maybe Eddie would have backed off. He might have shrugged and told Steve he wasn’t getting off that easy, that later they’d get to the bottom of this.
But now, he pries Steve’s hand open.
He’s careful not to hurt him, but he opens it up and Steve is helpless but to let him, would let Eddie open him with kind fingers or a fucking knife, wouldn’t matter.
The petal is crushed, wet, darkened where distorted.
‘What the fuck?’ Eddie whispers, touching it. ‘Is that… a flower?’
Steve wants to cry.
‘I don’t know,’ he croaks, trembling.
Eddie looks at him, eyes wide. ‘Has this happened before?’
Steve nods, has a handful of Eddie’s overalls balled up in his other hand, like Eddie might run now that he knows and Steve would try to keep him there.
‘When?’
‘Yesterday. I—I didn’t know what to think, what to do.’
‘OK, well, obviously, we’re going to a doctor, right fucking now.’
‘No, no.’
‘Yes, yes, yes, Harrington. This isn’t the kind of shit you just raw dog. Like, what the fuck even is this?’
‘Maybe… something I ate?’
‘You been throwing up?’
‘No.’
Eddie feels his forehead. ‘Feel different?’
‘No.’
‘We’re going to the doctors.’
‘And say what?’
‘It’s Hawkins, they’ll have seen worse.’
*
The Doctor is as dismissive, if not more so, as Steve expected. Tells him to be careful what he eats, talks about salad leaves getting stuck in teeth, tells Steve to invest in toothpicks and Steve has to drag Eddie out before he goes off.
It’s sweltering outside and Eddie is fuming.
‘Fucking asshole,’ he seethes, lights a cigarette and aggressively smokes, which is a rare luxury when every spare penny goes towards Susan’s medical bills. ‘OK, I think we should call the kids.’
‘Absolutely not,’ Steve says and now it’s his turn to be stern. ‘No way, I mean it.’
Eddie shakes his head. ‘What, then?’
‘Nothing. It probably won’t happen again.’
‘That’s not good enough.’
‘That’s all we’ve got.’
‘Yesterday, was the flower—the petal, was it all crushed?’
Steve looks away, stares at the heat shimmers over the nearby hill. Small town, woods all around, it gets real hot sometimes. Unbearable and the trees block out the breeze.
‘I don’t know,’ he lies.
The petal was pristine.
Eddie crushes the cigarette, eyes Steve.
‘You’re coming to work with me.’
*
Steve sits on a closed toolbox.
He’s got this little notebook that Eddie wrapped up for his birthday, plus a few nice pencils. Steve can’t draw for shit, but he likes to. He likes the faded grey, the way the lead stretches over paper, he likes to sketch even though it’s not good.
And it’s his day off today.
So it’s fine to be there, out back in the hot sun with his two favourite people in the world.
Watching them work together, seamless and beautiful and strong. He wonders if where Max goes, Eddie will go too.
He’d like that. That would bring him great comfort, knowing they were off in the world together.
Max’s hair is in an Eddie braid and she talks to Steve near constantly, happy to have him there while they work on fixing a Buick, changing the oil and tuning her up a little, whatever that means.
‘You OK?’ Eddie keeps asking and Max gives him a bemused look each time.
‘He’s fine, dude,’ she says, laughs to herself. ‘You’re obsessive.’
‘I am not,’ Eddie complains over the gentle din of the radio. Eddie knows all the words to all the best songs and Steve only knows the ones he liked as a teenager, he can’t learn new songs unless he concentrates. ‘Just. Y’know. I can ask, you little brat.’
She grins and scoots under the car, tools in hand. They’re so smart, so adaptable. They’ll both make it outside of Hawkins, Steve has no doubt.
Eddie kneels in front of Steve, looks down at his silly sketches. Looks for a while.
‘That’s so beautiful,’ he says quietly. ‘Can I keep this one?’
He keeps them sometimes.
He’ll ask for whatever little mess Steve made of a perfectly clean page and Steve will give it to him, of course he will. He doesn’t know what Eddie does with them. Maybe he tosses them, maybe he keeps them.
‘Of course.’
‘Any more petals?’
‘Nope,’ Steve says, smiles brightly, just for Eddie.
And sometimes he feels like a dying star.
Like he just wants to keep shining a little longer for the last two people close enough for his light to reach.
He wants to shine right up until they leave.
‘Are you sure?’
‘How could I be unsure about that?’
Eddie cocks a brow. ‘You could lie.’
‘I wouldn’t.’
He would.
‘You absolutely would.’
Steve rolls his eyes, has such affection and love and desire in him that he thinks, if he pulled it all out, there’d be enough to make two of him.
‘No petals. Get back to work, slacker.’
Eddie kisses his cheek.
Steve freezes.
Oh no.
No.
This time, though, he swallows it.
*
Three more come up later.
Payment for the swallow.
Three all at once.
Steve pulls them from his mouth, little rope bridges of spit between them and his fingers.
He’s dying.
He must be dying.
It’s like… some leftover shit from the Upside Down. It’s death making flowers in his body where there should not be.
They’re the most beautiful shade of red he’s ever seen, almost as vibrant as Eddie’s blood. The blood Steve gave to him all those years ago.
He writes his letters.
They’re longer than usual.
He makes sure to say he loves them all. He tries to keep it subtle, to make it seem like he was just a little sappier than usual for no reason at all.
Telling Will not to give up on his art degree, that the world needs beauty now more than ever.
Tells Dustin to forgive Susie for the argument, tells him it’s OK to disagree about what she named their cat.
Tells Lucas that he has to put his own dreams before his Dad’s, that his talent matters, but so does enjoying his life.
Tells Eleven that he’s so proud of her and that every day she wakes up and tries, that’s another star in the sky and they’ll count upwards from eleven, until the sky is full.
He tells Mike Wheeler to please, please just be honest with Will. He tells him that life is short, regret scars deepest and pining hurts everyone.
He can’t write to Robin.
That’ll crack him to pieces.
He posts them and when another petal comes up, he chews it before he spits it out.
*
Eddie’s on the phone with Robin late at night.
Steve only heard it because he needs to pee, pads out of bed, rubbing his eyes and it’s dark in the tiny apartment, but he can hear Eddie right away.
‘Robs, you don’t understand. He won’t let me. How? How can I do that? He’ll just deny it, pretend it’s not happening. You know what he’s like. Yes, of course I have. I’m sorry. I know, I’m sorry. I just. He’s lying about it now, pretending it’s stopped. Because it hasn’t, I can tell. I know when he’s lying. I just do. It’s not that. No. Because he’ll disconnect entirely and I can’t…’
Eddie’s breath hitches sharply, the last word breaking off into something high.
‘I can’t lose him.’
Steve listens in the dark.
His heart is cracking around the edges, it’s already misshapen like sea glass, eroded with time and the natural force of water that waits for no man.
And then Eddie says, wrought with misery, ‘You know I do, Robin. More than anything.’
And Steve tastes roses.
He pulls them out and wipes away his tears and goes back to bed until Eddie’s done.
*
Eddie takes the day off work.
He never does that.
And maybe years ago, he’d casually lie about why. He’d cover for it with the most slipshod of excuses. Ah, you know, just wanted a break, he might have said, but now he looks Steve dead in the eye when asked, and answers, ‘There’s something not right with you and I’m not going anywhere until we figure out what, I don’t care what you say or do. I don’t care how much you lie.’
And Steve grits his teeth, eyes stinging.
‘I don’t want you here,’ he lies, just to be spiteful but it’s kitten spite anyway, because Eddie wouldn’t believe him in a million years.
‘Tough,’ Eddie declares.
‘I have to work.’
‘No, you don’t. I already called. Give me shit if you want, but we’re figuring this out today.’ Eddie rubs his eyes. ‘I know it’s getting worse.’
‘How?’
Eddie’s got rose petals in his hand when he opens it, shows Steve.
‘They were on your pillow this morning.’
Steve stares at them.
He can’t get level, cannot make this OK.
‘Am I dying?’ he whispers.
Eddie crushes the petals. ‘Not on my fucking watch.’
*
They spend the day outside.
All alone on the edge of the woods near Lover’s Lake. They need to be alone, so Eddie said.
To test it.
They sit opposite one another, legs crossed.
And Eddie says, ‘OK, we’ll just talk. See what happens.’
So they do.
They talk about normal shit.
Max, her Mom, groceries, dinner, replacing the shower curtain that finally tore because Eddie yanks it too hard.
Nothing.
Then Eddie’s gaze turns speculative, he chews on his bottom lip before he speaks.
‘What do you wanna do tonight, then?’
‘Um,’ Steve says, knows to go along with it, that Eddie’s testing. ‘Whatever, I don’t mind.’
‘You wanna go see a movie? We can sneak in.’
Steve smiles despite himself. ‘And get tossed out again?’
‘They can try,’ Eddie scoffs, leaning back against the sparse grass, the rough earth, trees all above. ‘Nobody lays a hand on my Stevie.’
And there…
There it is.
Steve looks away, feels the birth of it in the back of his throat. The soft emergence, like the most benign intrusion; silky and floral but it does not belong.
Eddie watches him closely.
Steve pulls the petal out as neatly as he can. They all look the same. Fresh plucked from a whole rose, but born instead inside Steve Harrington.
‘It’s me,’ Eddie says quietly.
Steve shakes his head.
‘It’s not.’
‘Liar.’
‘We don’t know what it is.’
‘We’ve been sitting here for hours. It hasn’t happened until now.’
‘It’s. Eddie we don’t know.’
He sits up, leans in.
His eyes are bright, focused.
‘I love you, Steve.’
Steve winces, his heart twisting the way a cornered animal lashes out and his throat swells, makes him softly gag. Hand over his mouth, he lets them move to the front before he spits them.
Six.
Six pretty petals, rosy red in full bloom, spit slick and revolting.
And Steve stares at them, cheeks burning.
Heart pounding.
‘You love everyone.’
Then he gets up and walks away.
*
He can’t eat.
He’s scared of putting things inside his body when there are already intruders. He feels sick with misery and every time he thinks of Eddie, a new petal is born.
Steve has a little pile of them.
He’s letting them build up.
Is morbidly curious how many he can create.
Enough to make confetti, he thinks.
He’s in his car.
Eddie’s inside their small apartment and the lights are on, but he can’t go inside. He’s just there in the car. He wonders if he could fill the car.
He cries quietly and wishes he’d worked harder to hide it that second time, to keep this a secret.
Eddie will blame himself now, if Steve dies.
The little old lady is leaving the flower store, locking up after inventory. She sees Steve and comes on over, leaning on her cane.
He tosses the pile on the floor and forces a smile as he rolls the window down. ‘Hi, Miss Carne.’
‘Hello, Steve,’ she greets cheerfully. ‘Did your car break down?’
‘Oh, um no. No I’m just. I felt a little weird, so I’m getting my bearing before I go up.’
‘You’re sure? Didn’t get locked out?’
‘No, I’m all good thanks. How are you?’
‘Oh, you know. Getting by. Not so many people buying flowers these days, but every one sold will make somebody smile, so that’s all I care about.’
‘They’re all so beautiful,’ he tells her.
She looks at the other seat, seeing the petals he tossed perhaps. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting her to say, but she’s just quiet for a long time, until…
‘Oh, sweetheart,’ she says. ‘You should just tell him.’
And then she walks away, gets in her little Ford and drives off, leaving Steve with four new petals.
*
Steve is breathing fast by the time he gets upstairs. He’s been muttering under his breath this whole time, planning what he’ll say, how he’ll say it. He’s left a fucking trail the whole way, just spitting them now because every word he’s planning on saying is Eddie related.
He gets inside, and he is just gonna say it.
Can’t wait anymore.
He doesn’t want to die without saying it, just once. Just one time, reciprocated or not (definitely not) he has to say it.
But Eddie’s on the phone, he’s pulling his boots on. There’s a gorgeous dinner on the side, getting cold.
‘Babygirl, we’re comin,’ Eddie says down the phone, meets Steve’s gaze.
And Steve’s heart sinks.
*
They’re holding her hand when the doctor comes out, has the face, the voice. She cries into Steve’s chest and they hug as three while the doctor says he’s very sorry.
Steve kisses her hair and cries too, gets one arm around Eddie, they’re the last three.
‘We’ve got you,’ he promises and oh god, he can’t die. How he ever thought he could is beyond him now because she’s gripping him so tight and her Momma is gone. Susan’s gone and Steve promised he’d take care of her. There’s no roses in his mouth, only love and truth and the salt of his own tears.
They cry in the hallway.
They cry together.
She comes and stays the night.
Windows open, the flowers from underneath fill the air, trickle inside on the gentle breeze and she falls asleep between them both on the small sofa.
Tomorrow, they’ll make arrangements.
Tomorrow, they’ll do whatever she needs to do.
Eddie has Steve’s hand wrapped up in his very tightly, it almost hurts.
‘Don’t you dare do that,’ he says, staring out the window. The sky is lilac, the sun takes her time settling during summer. ‘Don’t you leave us, Steve.’
Steve blinks tears down his face.
A rose petal comes up.
He chews and eats it.
‘I don’t want to.’
‘We’re gonna fix this.’
Steve nods.
He’s thinking of the last time he saw Susan. She’d been so weak, she could only smile at the flowers he brought. They made the room brighter, brought a little of the outside in.
He should have told her how much he loved her, he should have taken her frail hands in his and kissed them and said what a beautiful girl she raised, that Max was testament to her strength, that he would die for Max and that she’ll never want for anything as long as he lives.
He didn’t say any of that.
He just brought flowers.
‘OK.’
*
Everyone comes back for the funeral.
Steve feels awful that he didn’t expect them to.
But Hawkins is suddenly full again. The world is bright and noisy and it’s just what Max needs. She tosses her hair and argues with Lucas, hot and brash. She wears shit kickers with shorts and a crop top she made from Steve’s old gym tee while they clear out the trailer.
She wants to move, so she said.
Steve wonders if she’ll go back with one of them. With Lucas, with Eleven.
Robin comes last.
She hugs Steve for far too long.
She’s still hugging him when she whispers, ‘Do you know how much I love you?’
He nods, throat full.
Feelings, not roses.
‘Do you know how mad I am at you?’
Another nod.
‘Good. Then we can skip it.’
They hold hands all day.
He subtly shows her the petals that come up whenever he thinks of what this mass return will mean for Eddie’s sense of adventure. Will, Dustin and Mike telling Eddie all about these places he’s never been to while Lucas and Max argue loudly and Eleven quietly braids what little of Susan’s hair she pulled from the brush. Nancy and Jonathan are organising boxes for goodwill.
Hopper and Joyce didn’t come, but they sent a lot of flowers.
‘It’s gotta be like, the Upside Down, right?’ he whispers to Robin as they sort through clothes.
‘I guess, but like, you’ve always been weird, Steve.’
He rolls his eyes. ‘Maybe not flower vomit weird.’
She cracks a grin at that.
‘OK, maybe not flower vomit weird.’
They don’t talk about it much more, determined to be there for Max, whatever that means.
The funeral is quick, quiet.
Max wrote a poem. She read it aloud, holding Lucas’s hand while Eleven stands beside her, close enough to hold her up.
Eddie has his arm around Steve’s middle.
The earth, the dirt, the flowers that may yet grow where she is put to rest.
Steve has now almost perfected the art of swallowing what comes up, even though it’ll be worse later. He’s not spitting petals at Susan’s funeral for anything.
*
Max doesn’t want to go with anyone.
She’s staying.
Steve carefully asks why, asks if she’s sure.
Eddie pours lemonade for them both. It’s homemade, tastes fucking amazing. Steve is so sick of roses and it’s all that helps.
‘She knows what she wants,’ he tells Steve. ‘We both do.’
Max is watching Steve very carefully when a bunch of petals come up.
‘Why haven’t you told me?’
Steve looks at Eddie, accusation of betrayal immediate, but Eddie holds his hands up, gives Steve a very flat look and says, ‘She’s a fuckin’ genius, what do you expect?’
*
The others drift away.
But not before Will tells Steve he’s staying the course, he won’t give up. Not before he gives him the most beautiful painting Steve’s ever seen of a completely empty sky. A warm, void of space featuring nothing but normality. A mundane sunset and a boring horizon, a summer where nothing bad ever happens.
Not before Will tells Steve that Mike kissed him.
Not before Eleven shows Steve the little tattoo she got last month. A small gathering of stars around the number eleven. Not before she tells him the names of every single one.
Not before Dustin whispers to Steve that he wants him to be the first to know that he’s gonna propose to Susie and that he needs Steve’s help setting up the insanely complicated method of said proposal and Steve wipes tears from his eyes, promises he’ll be around for that.
Not before Lucas tells Steve he dropped out and Steve is so proud, they hug tight for the first time.
Not before Mike Wheeler winks unsubtly at Steve and then adds a thumbs up.
Not before Nancy hugs Steve and whispers that she hopes he knows how special he is.
And not before Jonathan hugs Steve and says, ‘He likes you back, man. This is excruciating.’
Not before all that.
Now, it’s just three of them left in Hawkins.
Max on the spare bed they pulled out into the living room, Eddie and Steve sharing a single and pretending not to. A whole sleeping bag on the floor, unused.
It’s too hot for covers anyway.
They lay on their sides, facing each other.
Eddie strokes his cheek and Steve is just…
He’s a flower.
He’s a rose.
Skin red and flush, petals falling.
Eddie pulls them out now.
Steve loves him so much it’s killing him. ‘I love you too, you know that?’
Eddie nods slowly.
‘I know, baby.’
Steve cries quietly.
He doesn’t know how to ask for what he wants.
Could not survive Eddie ending the call first.
He falls asleep like that.
*
And wakes with something in his mouth.
It’s big.
It’s hurting him.
He pushes upright with tears in his eyes, rocks in his heart.
Eddie wakes too, the force of Steve’s scramble has him alert. ‘What is it? Stevie?’
Steve pulls a whole rose head from his mouth.
Tears streaming, throat sore.
Eddie stares at it, pale and terrified.
It’s so big, the size of a human heart as it unfurls right there and then. Spit slick and gross, Eddie touches it with trembling fingers and lets out a soft cry.
‘Steve.’
‘I don’t wanna die.’
Eddie takes a shaky breath, squeezes his eyes tight shut. ‘Do you… not know how much I…?’
But the words get stuck where it’s all thick and tight, Steve knows the feeling.
And then Eddie puts the rose in his mouth.
The whole fucking thing.
Chews it, swallows.
And then he kisses Steve.
He kisses him.
Press of wet, warm lips and the taste of rose water consumption except it’s got Eddie in it this time.
And Steve…
All he can do is be.
Be in this moment.
Where Eddie is kissing him.
Where he ate the rose, all of it.
And then kissed him.
‘I love you like this,’ Eddie says, swallows the last of it. ‘I always have.’
Steve blinks.
He feels… like he just woke up.
Like he’s been dreaming, only he knows he hasn’t. He knows it’s real, all of it, but it’s like glass breaking around him that he didn’t even know was there. Like he sees all the colours again. Like he can taste the air and not only flowers, not only red, red roses.
‘Oh,’ he says, struck dumb. ‘Oh, right.’
‘You really didn’t know?’
Steve shakes his head. ‘No.’
‘Do you… love me like that?’
Steve crushes their mouths together. Eddie’s tongue is warm and wet and he wants to suck on it, wants three years’ worth of kisses and skin and sweat and making love with their bodies, not roses.
‘I love you like that,’ he utters.
And there’s nothing in his mouth but that tongue, nothing in his throat but the swollen lump slowly dissolving, nought but shared spit and the delicate remnants of that final rose, heart shaped and whole before Eddie ate it.
Eddie’s fingers caress his hair.
And they kiss forever.
Until Max wakes up.
Until she knocks and asks who wants coffee.
And then they smile, laugh and kiss some more.
*
It’s been four years since the world tried to end, and the scars it left behind fade a little more every day, but they will never leave.
Steve doesn’t mind.
There are better marks.
Maps in skin, of ink and small scars from mishaps and sun born freckles from days at the beach.
Eddie has a rose tattoo over his heart.
Steve has nine stars over his.
Max’s hair is cut short, it’s long enough to brush her shoulder on one side, shaved above her ear on the other, cropped and faded in. It suits her so much.
They travel together.
Sometimes she drives herself, her own little car.
But wherever they go, they always come back home.
To Hawkins.
To the flower shop Miss Carne left to Steve when she passed, and the building above.
He keeps it like was.
He likes selling flowers.
He wraps them with love and care, sometimes he hides little notes inside the thick, fresh stems. Sketches too.
Eddie will come up behind him, kiss his neck and suck love bites in there to last, to sting, to play.
He’ll whisper, ‘How’s my little rose petal?’
And Steve will scoff, he’ll protest.
He’ll turn and kiss Eddie properly, say, ‘Shut the fuck up, weirdo,’ and Eddie will growl, pick Steve up and sit him on the counter, atop cut leaves and trimmed stems and petals that fell naturally. The silk of ribbons and the crease of pretty paper, the smell of all that living beauty.
They try to sell as many things as possible in pots, so that what grows beautiful may live on.
But sometimes, flowers only need to last a little while. They only need to go in one room for a day or two. They need only brighten a single space before they fade.
‘Your weirdo,’ Eddie will hum into the kiss.
Not many people buy flowers.
Not many people buy plants.
Steve hopes that changes, one day.
Until then, though, he’s happy.
He is ridiculously, stupidly fucking happy and his box is overflowing, he’ll need a new one soon. More than one, maybe, because Eddie has kept every drawing Steve ever sketched. They can share. There’s room enough to share.
‘Mine,’ he says, with dirt beneath his fingers.
And love in his heart.
And Eddie’s spit in his mouth.
And all the reasons in the world to try.
*