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“Don’t laugh, man,” Steve warns from behind the relative safety of the open closet door. On its other side, sprawled out over the entirety of the bed like it’s not two people usually sleeping in there, Eddie snorts.
“You have to know that’s basically begging me to make fun of you, right?” he asks. Steve’s still hiding behind the door, but he can picture him perfectly, one brow quirking up over large brown eyes, curiosity piqued by that single plea. Steve should’ve known better, of course he should’ve. It just slipped out.
“I’m serious,” he tries. Uselessly and they both know it. “We’re gonna be outside all day and I don’t wanna die of fucking heatstroke. And I don’t got anything else.”
“Okay, Harrington,” Eddie says, and Steve can hear the shrewd smile in his voice, the absolute glee of anticipation, “Show me your bucket hat and then let’s go. I wanna get ice cream for breakfast.”
Steve lets out an exasperated sigh. “You’re gonna get sick if you do that.”
“I’m not ten years old,” Eddie says without missing a beat, like that’s how that works.
“Exactly, the older you get, the more likely you’re to throw up on rides. Even without ice cream,” Steve explains, because Eddie’s never been to an amusement park before and, unfortunately, he’s speaking from experience here. Twelve-year-old and freshly graduated Steve had very different experiences on the swing-boat at the annual Hawkins fair.
“I’ll be fine,” Eddie assures easily, “Unless I’m gonna grow ugly-ass Upside Down vines and become one with this bed because you’re taking so long.” And then after a short pause, “Seriously, Steve, it can’t be that bad.”
It isn’t. Steve looks fine, he thinks, checking himself again in the mirror that’s mounted to the inside of one of the closet doors currently encasing him. It’s just Eddie who’ll laugh his ass off about it, simply because it’s so cliché. For about a minute, and then he’ll keep teasing Steve about his choice of headwear all day, and they’re gonna have fun and it isn’t even a big deal. Steve smiles to himself.
“It’s not a bucket hat,” he clarifies, just as he turns around to face Eddie and simultaneously shuts the closet behind him.
“No,” Eddie says. “I can see that.”
He’s kinda frozen on the bed, which is weird because Chicago’s cooking them with, like, ninety degrees today and well, it’s Eddie, energetic cannonball personified. Appendages often out on their own adventure, sans coordination from command center, even in sleep. Especially in sleep sometimes. More than once, Steve has woken up from a thud in the middle of the night to find a cursing, half-asleep mess of curls and floppy limbs scrambling back into bed, usually going straight for his chest, so Steve’s drifted off again with long hair tickling his nose and his favorite smell engulfing him.
Present Eddie’s still frozen though and staring and he’s obviously not laughing. Huh. Interesting. Steve shifts his weight, tilting his head a little and giving into the slight tilt of his lips.
“You okay there?”
“Mhm.”
Eddie bites his lip and Steve’s smile widens. This isn’t exactly how he thought this would go. Not that he’s complaining. So, Eddie’s weakness for mocking jock apparel does have limits after all, who would have thought, namely Steve’s black snapback that he hasn’t worn in forever but kinda needs today and he was expecting a little joke fest about it from his sports-hating, creative-insults-loving, bandanna-obsessed boyfriend. Big miscalculation here. Pity. Steve cocks an eyebrow.
“You sure?”
“Where did you hide that thing?” Eddie goes for nonchalant, the fucker, looking down at the floor as he gets off the bed. Like that’s hiding any of the intention here.
Steve shrugs, his lips twitching and his insides warming, tiny flares of electricity zapping down his spine like they’re coming directly from the visor at the back of his neck as he watches Eddie come closer. He’s got his skull bandanna tied around his head and it probably shouldn’t since he wore this the night he basically died and well, since it’s kind of his standard look in the summer, and yet it always does things to Steve. But hey, at least the horniness about each other’s head gear is apparently mutual.
“I kinda thought you’d hate it,” Steve confesses. Eddie’s crowding into his space now, gently pushing him backwards, calloused, strong hands encircling his arms.
“Why?” Eddie sounds genuinely incredulous and it settles something beneath Steve’s ribs, lets something loose too, tumbling out of his mouth as a light laugh even as the heat flowing down his spine is rapidly intensifying, because Eddie loves ripped jeans and chains and skull-adorned band shirts, but somehow all of that flies right out the window when it comes to Steve. “Have you seen yourself?” Eddie pushes. Steve hums. Eddie’s a total hypocrite.
Steve’s back hits the bedroom door, solid and unrelenting, trapping him between cool wood and Eddie’s lithe body. Fuck. They’re definitely gonna be late. Robin’s gonna kill them. Steve meets Eddie halfway, forehead to temple, Eddie’s breath hot on his cheek, his ear as he adds, “It fucking suits you. ‘S you.” Steve shivers.
That’s just the thing, isn’t it? Eddie likes that Steve isn’t like him. Likes the smidge of a good-natured challenge that comes with that. And fuck, who’s Steve calling a hypocrite here, ‘cause he’s the exact same. Case in point being this goddamn bandanna. It’s a little rough under his hand he brings around Eddie’s jaw, years of use leaving their marks on the fabric against his fingertips, the dark curls flowing out from under it much softer on his palm.
“This whole athletics thing doin’ it for you, huh?” he mumbles into Eddie’s hair, his lips curving.
“Fuck off.” Eddie’s voice is breathy against the shell of his ear, vibrating straight to his core and then lower still. Christ. Steve makes a small punched out noise.
“Okay,” he manages, on his last resort. Pulls away a little with a grin like this movement ain’t costing him an arm and a leg right now.
“No.” Eddie yanks him back, leaving about a hair’s width between their lips. “Just the first part,” he says lowly and then he finally closes that last bit of distance between them and they stop talking for a while.