Archive of Our Own

Eddie feels so much guilt. So much guilt constantly. Over how Steve cares for him, without fail, every second of every day. Steve never complains. Never bats an eye. Never shows any frustration. Any sort of anger towards Eddie. Partly, it drives Eddie insane.

Mostly, it makes Eddie fall more horrendously in love with him.

Eddie’s feeling that guilt today as he slumps into the passenger seat of their car, tossing his head back with a small groan, waiting for Steve to finish returning their cart. His heart pounds against his tightening chest, sending his breathing ragged. He rubs his hands down his face, scrubbing at his bangs stuck with sweat to his forehead, letting out a frustrated growl, before he slowly breathes, in 2 3 4 5, hold, out 2 3 4 5 , like his doctors never failed to fucking remind him. One of these days, they'll be able to go to the grocery store without it making Eddie feel like he was going to have a fucking heart attack. Somehow pushing a cart through Melvald’s or Walmart was the most strenuous activity his body could imagine, which is funny considering how he spent most of ‘86. 

He's grumbling to himself about ‘ weak ’ and ‘ can’t even push a cart ’ and ‘ should’ve left me ’ when Steve slides into the driver's seat, his warm hand reaching over to one of Eddie's own, pulling it gently away from his face, rubbing smooth circles against the top of his palm. Eddie merely grunts in response, vaguely registering the sound of the engine turning over, of the AC kicking on and the vents being clicked toward him, of their car slowly reversing before he peeks out from the hand still resting across his eyes to wearily gauge Steve's face. 

Eddie was always scared that he'd open his eyes to find Steve's face finally giving up on him. To see exhaustion prickling Steve’s eyes and his easy smile contorted awkwardly and angrily in a way Eddie'd only seen it in alternate dimensions or when Steve had a particularly bad migraine. At the very least, Eddie expected the annoyed scrunch of brows and slight frown that was reserved for Dustin when the kid wouldn't shut the hell up. But none of those faces were ever directed at Eddie. Not even when they had their minor arguments. The most Steve's face ever cracked to give him was an eye roll and a disapproving glare when Eddie's hand was elbow deep in a bag of chips while Steve was cooking them dinner. 

Still, Eddie always braced for it. He was used to seeing the faces of those he loved or who were meant to love him just giving up. Downturned lips and squinted eyes and tight jaws and everything but the easy joy with which Steve always looked at him. 

Really, he just expected Steve to give up on him any day now. Everyone else in his life had, save for Wayne, but the old man really didn’t count in that regard. Wayne was somethin’ else. Obligated to love him, sure, but determined as hell to make up for the shitstorm Al had left behind. As a kid, Eddie was convinced Wayne was some kind of superhero, something that still hadn’t lost its luster, even after meeting El. Some things, only his Wayne could do, after all.

Well. And now Steve, too, since Wayne apparently started giving him lessons in how to care for Eddie’s miserable ass. God, what did he do to deserve these fucking angels in his life? Eddie couldn’t even go to the goddamn grocery store without his body replaying its best rendition of a few miles around the Hawkins High track, let alone offer Wayne and Steve anything good in return for the many ways they continued to save his fucking life. 

In the midst of his internal storm, Steve's hand slides down to turn Eddie's wrist up, two fingers pressed to his pulse – a position Steve had taken easily to over the last couple of years. He faintly hears Steve counting out beats under his breath, his other hand tapping on the wheel, eyes scanning the lot as he works toward the exit. After a few seconds, Steve's easy smile droops slightly, a tick down at the corners, his hand slipping down the wheel to hit his turning signal. Eddie's stomach lurches at the change in Steve's expression. 

Here it comes.

Steve is finally giving up on him. 

Just a few more notches downward to the expression Eddie had braced for from everyone since he was 5 years old.

Just a few more ticks of his expression to reflect Eddie's biggest fear. 

His biggest fear used to be dying in this small ass town with nothing to show for it, but after facing the end of the world multiple times, his fears of his own mortality seemed to not be as important as his fears of losing the people he loved -- more specifically, now, losing Steve. He bites his lip, too scared to break the silence, and too weak to fight. 

"I can practically hear you catastrophizing over there, babe. I promise we're fine." Steve soothes, keeping his fingers on Eddie's pulse, gently squeezing and throwing a sidelong smile as he turns out on the road....in the opposite direction of their apartment. 

Yeah.

Fine.

Eddie coughs, leaning against the window, smushing the side of his face into the palm Steve wasn’t branded to to keep his face half-hidden. "We uh....why aren't we....um…” Another cough. “Why are we, um, we…” A sharp intake of breath.

Followed by another, and another, as Eddie’s mind reels.

As he starts replaying the grocery trip to pinpoint every misstep and everything he fucked up.

As he thinks about every joke he made and every look Steve gave him in the store, twisting them to show disgust rather than love .

As he starts thinking of all the ways that Steve is surely, finally , about to break up with him. 

Because surely that’s what’s happening. What other reason would Steve have to not be heading back to their apartment right after getting groceries? The only thing of any import this way is Wayne’s, and Eddie knows what that means.

Eddie knows that means his ass is hitting the dirt walkway up to Wayne’s door while Steve drives out of his life forever.

Eddie spirals, thinking of all the ways that he was finally too much for perfect Steve Harrington. Of how Steve is going to kick his ass out in Wayne’s yard with so little as a “good riddance” because Eddie couldn’t be assed to get his fucking health in order for a 20 minute grocery trip that he swore to Steve he felt okay enough to go on. 

And really, he did. He felt great before they left – well, as great as he could feel now. But still, he promised . He swore he was fine because he was . And then, a half hour later, he’s practically passed out in the passenger seat, trying to will his heart to chill the fuck out and stop being such a dramatic bitch. To tell the rest of his nervous system that they’re fine, that they just went to buy some goddamn eggs and milk, not off to fight Vecna 3.0, so could you please chill the fuck out and drop back to a respectable heart rate and nervous system response?

If he couldn’t be expected to say he was fine and then stay fine, how could Steve expect him to ever be reliable? 

How could Steve expect him to keep any promise ever?

How could Steve expect Eddie to mean it when he says he’ll love him for the rest of their cursed lives?

He knows he’s working himself up. He gets that, logically. But brains are nothing if not illogical, especially when all his blood is decidedly fucked off elsewhere in his body, seemingly leaving his brain to fend for itself with nothing but toppled milk crates and spilled papers and a dozen different Eddie’s in various states of disarray to take the reins. 

“Eddie? What’s wrong, babe?” Steve shoots a concerned look over, his fingers soothing over Eddie’s pulse. “Hurtin’?”

Eddie nods jerkily in response, his chest still heaving with fear, but Steve doesn’t have to know that .

“C’mon, baby, breathe for me, okay? Your breathing exercises. It’ll help.”

Eddie shakes his head. “‘S too hard.” He squeaks out between shaking breaths. “Too…too many steps.”

Steve hits his blinker and pulls over onto the shoulder of the road. He shifts the car into park, leaving his lights flashing, before turning toward Eddie. “Lemme work you through it, sweetheart. I can count ‘em out for you.”

Eddie vigorously shakes his head, quickly shooting out his free hand to grip the door handle, squinting his eyes shut, cursing under his breath as his head starts spinning. 

“Hey hey hey, take it easy, baby. Pull your legs up under you and keep your head still. Movin’ ‘ll only make the spinning worse.” Steve soothes, reaching his hand not wrapped around Eddie’s wrist to rest at the nape of Eddie’s neck, gripping firmly, pressing his thumb and forefinger into the skin there to help ground Eddie’s swimming head. 

“‘M sorry.” Eddie whines, feeling more like the failure he knows he is as he pulls his legs up into his seat, leaning his forehead against his knees, wrapping his free arm tightly around them.

Steve’s brows furrow slightly. “Shh, no sorries needed, but you gotta breathe for me.”

Eddie tenses under Steve’s hand, barely restraining from shaking his head again. He grits his teeth instead, the shaky breaths continuing to rasp too quickly through his lungs. “No – no counts .” He swallows thickly. “‘S too much . Please.”

“Okay, baby.” Steve adjusts with insurmountable ease, a well-decorated soldier in the war on Eddie’s body against itself. “Just follow the taps of my fingers if my voice is too hard to follow. We don’t gotta talk while we do it, just please , lemme count your breaths for you, yeah?” Steve doesn’t wait for a response – just starts tapping and pressing out the counts into Eddie’s wrist, in 2 3 4 5, a long press to hold, then out 2 3 4 5, hold.  

After a few moments, Eddie begrudgingly follows Steve’s count, working to slow his staccato breaths to match the metered pace Steve sets. A few minutes tick by. He turns, watches Steve’s lips silently count out the breaths for him, watches how easily Steve just takes control to let Eddie relinquish the stress of figuring out what to do. He lets himself be grateful for it here in this moment – a rare bout of indulgence. 

Eddie thinks of all the times Steve’s been in a similar position, helping keep Eddie’s head screwed on and his body taped together with an ease that was honestly a bit frightening. It was like Steve was crafted perfectly to cater to every single need and issue and want that Eddie had, and Eddie doesn’t feel like he’s gotten any better at hiding his awe at that, or at even really accepting that, over the last few years. 

Eddie is nothing if not stubborn, after all. 

“There you go, sweetheart. Doing so good.” Steve croons, locks his concerned, but loving eyes with Eddie’s tired, panicked ones. His thumb soothes against Eddie’s neck. He smiles sweetly, bringing Eddie’s wrist to his lips for a gentle kiss to his pulse point. “Feelin’ any better?”

Eddie hums, blinks a few times. Steve stares expectantly, his eyebrows raising slightly. Eddie rolls his eyes, knows Steve’s obsession with vocal confirmations – and understands it, really, after all the shit they’d endured, because Eddie was just as insistent on them when the roles were reversed. He goes to speak, his voice cracking hoarsely in his suddenly too-dry throat, leading him to a few sputtering coughs. He feels the warm pressure on his neck release at that, an action that causes him to lean back toward where it retreated, to whine before he can bite his lips to stop it. Steve chuckles softly, squeezes his wrist, and murmurs a quiet “‘M still here, baby” to soothe him while he leans into the backseat, rustling around in the bags there.

A moment later, a cool bottle is being pressed gently against his knees, an expectant look on Steve’s face when Eddie doesn’t grab it immediately. “Drink up.”

Eddie groans, squeezing his eyes shut, tossing his head back dramatically, the sound of his voice crackling slightly at the dryness of his throat. “ Don’wannaaaa.” He manages to croak out in what sounds like nothing more than a blob of unrecognizable noises, but Steve is well-versed in Eddie at this point. 

“I know, but it’ll help.” Steve presses it more firmly into Eddie’s knees.

Eddie keeps his head back, leaning his body back against the seat. “ Noooo .” 

Steve scoffs. “Whiny little bastard. ” 

Eddie smirks at that, revelling in the easy banter, in the mirth in Steve’s voice. He glances over to find Steve’s eyebrows canted up behind his bangs, a slight smirk to his lips, a little more life and joy to his eyes to replace the concern from before. Eddie feels the edges of a soft smile pull at his lips in response. He’d do anything to keep Steve happy, to keep him from being concerned about anything ever.

“Fine then.” Steve drops Eddie’s wrist to the seat gently, but not before placing a gentle kiss to his pulse point once more, much to Eddie’s delight. Then, Steve brings his hands together to crack open the Lemon Lime Gatorade slowly beading condensation. He brings it up to Eddie's lips, locks their eyes again, his smirk deepening as he lets a deep, commanding “Drink.” slip into the air between them. 

Eddie feels something tight within him relax. He lets his lips fall open, nodding slightly for Steve to slowly tip the drink into his mouth. The cool liquid rushes in, coating his dry throat as he swallows a few tiny gulps. He closes his eyes, a tiny moan escaping his lips from the pure relief the drink gives him – one he wasn’t even aware he needed. 

“That’s my good boy.” Steve praises, just as commanding as before. 

Eddie shivers in response, tilting his chin against the bottle to signal Steve to take it away, which he does immediately, capping the bottle and setting it in the cup holder with a soft thunk.

The two had developed such an easy, unspoken language between them that might honestly be rivaling the one Steve shared with Robin – much to Robin’s (mostly) fake chagrin. She lamented endlessly that it wasn’t fair, that only she got to share that connection with Steve, always tracing it back to the summer of Scoops and Russian torture. “I’m just saying, we really broke some boundaries there bleeding out together in the bunker.” 

Steve always replying, “Oh my god, Robin, you were never bleeding out, stop lying to Eddie to make him feel bad!” before smacking her with a pillow. 

Eddie laughing, “Yeah, Buckley, if anything that means that I have a stronger claim to the mind meld than you do, lest we forget my stint in the ol’ Upside Down as a bit of roadkill.”

“Oh, don’t you start!” Steve yelling in response before launching a pillow at Eddie’s face. “Can’t you two just agree to share me equally so we don’t have to keep reliving the trauma of our pasts every time one of you gets slightly jealous of the other.”

“Long as I get the dick part of you, sweetheart.” Eddie would grin, eliciting several “ ew, ew, ew, ew, ew” s from Robin, before they all dissolved into a pile of laughing, clingy limbs, the hauntings of their pasts forever melting them together as one.

Steve’s hand reaches up and rests against Eddie’s cheek. “Better?” 

“Yeah, much.” Eddie lolls his head to the side, opening his eyes to gaze softly at his boyfriend. “Thanks, Stevie.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.” Steve’s eyes soften as leans forward to press a feather-light kiss to Eddie’s lips. Eddie hums eagerly beneath him, chasing Steve’s lips as he pulls away, eliciting a small chuckle from Steve. “More time for that when you’re not feelin’ like shit. You wanna tell me what’s wrong, now?”

Eddie feels a handful of answers boil up his throat, most of them too honest, so he swallows them down, lands on a, “Jus’ a flare, I think.”

Steve furrows his brows. “A flare…”

“Yeah, jus’, the heat and all got to me I think, but I’m okay.”

Steve chews his lip, brows still furrowed as he takes in Eddie’s words. Eddie holds his breath, tells his brain to chill the fuck out so he doesn’t break down over the same fucking bullshit again, leaving Steve to pick up the pieces. Again .

Steve lets out a soft sigh, his face going lax, all the furrows gone without a trace. “Sweetheart, are you sure?” Steve leans forward, cards his free hand through Eddie’s hair, tangling in the curls. “You know you can talk to me about anything.”

“I know, Stevie. I’m okay. Jus’ wanna get home and spend the night with you and Robin.” Eddie smiles, presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth to try to stop the sob from jumping out of his throat into the space between them.

“God, I bet she picked out another horrendous film one of her campus buddies made, didn’t she?” Steve crinkles his nose at that, his mouth pressed in a thin line.

Eddie chuckles, the sob slipping back down into the cavern in his chest. He slips his tongue out, wets his lips. “Yeah, I’m honestly a bit stoked to figure out why she picked it. I could use a winning week.”

Steve leans back, surreptitiously slipping the half-drunk Gatorade into Eddie’s hands. “Finish this for me.”

Eddie looks down, momentarily perplexed at the shift, before throwing his head back with a groan. “Ugh, do I have to?” He slips his legs back into the footwell, uncapping the drink and holding it against his cheek, the condensation cool against his heated skin.

Steve turns forward in his seat again, shifting the car into drive and adjusting their lights back to normal before merging back onto the road. He reaches over to grasp Eddie’s free hand loosely. “It’ll help. And, we’re almost there, too, so you’ll be feelin’ even better in no time.”

Right. Eddie shoots back into his body, Gatorade half-raised to his still-parched lips, aware again of how they’re not going in the direction of their apartment – how they’re not heading toward the place they call home where Robin is waiting with another trashy film for their regular routine movie night. 

No, they’re driving away from it. 

So, logically , the only other place they could be “almost there” to is Wayne’s. But, they didn’t have any plans, and they have groceries in the back, so, again, logically , the only thing this means is Steve’s hit his limit and Eddie is being kicked into Wayne’s yard. 

Again.

Eddie cringes as the thought hits him full force again, wants to jerk his hand free of Steve's calming grasp, his lungs tightening in response. He pulls the Gatorade away from his lips, grip tight on the bottle as he plunks it in the cup holder, yellow liquid sloshing up the sides vigorously. His stomach sours, replaying the last 10 minutes where Steve doted over him, nothing but love in his eyes, but now he was carting Eddie away just as easily as everyone else ever had. 

If this is it, if this is the end, Eddie doesn't think he could bear any final touches that masqueraded as care. It makes it that much harder when the person pretends to care as they throw Eddie into Wayne's yard with disgust. That had already happened one too many times for Eddie's liking, so he just stopped letting people get close. Much easier that way.  

That was, until spring break of ‘86. Kind of hard to shut everyone out who’s trying to show they care when the whole rest of the town is hunting him with literal pitchforks and torches like they were in some off-brand horror film. 

Though, with the alternate dimension spewing out flesh monsters and viscera, he supposes it was technically a higher budget horror film, the kind that went for the practical effects, but whatever. 

He couldn't really keep everyone out when a gaggle of freshmen showed up to save his ass with Buckley and Harrington and Wheeler in their posse. Buckley, sure, he guesses he could see her helping – nerds and geeks stick together. Wheeler? Maybe , on a good day, but only because Mike was one of his new freshmen sheepies, so he supposes he was in Nancy’s good graces for saving her brother from the hell of high school social networking. But, Harrington? The King himself? Yeah, right . That one he couldn’t rationalize, which is why The King ended up pressed against a wall with a bottle against his throat, blood thrumming in Eddie’s ears, pure panic and hatred and fear plastered on his face, before Dustin of all people talked him down, swearing Steve was here to help , that he was a good guy . Eddie only let him go after meeting Dustin’s eyes, after seeing the pure honesty on the kid’s face, throwing him back to every interaction over the last, like, 7 months with the kid talking his ear off about how “cool” and “great” and “badass” Steve Harrington was now.

None of the group crowding the boathouse made any sense together, none of the whole situation made any fucking sense , but nothing had made sense since that first morning before he left for school, before Chrissy fucking Cunningham seeking him out for help of all people, before his trailer became a certified crime scene. In that moment there later on in Rick’s boathouse, Harrington and his gaggle of misfits coming to his aid was only the second most unbelievable thing he’d experienced in Hawkins, the first only happening some hours prior, so he had supposed he wasn't exactly in a position to choose his saviors at that moment.

3 years later, and that same gaggle of misfits had fully absorbed him, barreling through his walls and holding him up and fighting for him to be a free man. 

3 years later, and Steve Harrington himself had persistently chiseled even deeper through his defenses, pouring his molten honey love in to fill in the cracks of Eddie’s soul, some of the cracks much much older and deeper than what the Upside Down had left on him.

Some of them still gaping in his chest, prickling his insides like nettle, telling him that Steve Harrington would always be too good for him. 

That Eddie would always be Too Much . 

And that thought finally sends him over the edge, because it always boils back down to here, doesn’t it?

“AreyoudumpingmeoffatWayne’s? ” Eddie finally gets out in one big breath. He heaves with it, the feel of it dragging sharply against his vocal chords. His throat feels like it’s on fire, his body aching all over from effort. The panicked breaths start to scratch their way up again, tearing at the calmness Steve had instilled in him only some short minutes prior.

"What?" Steve whips his head round, eyes wide in confusion. "Why would I--?"  Steve’s eyes linger on the crease in Eddie's brow, the shiftiness of his eyes, the way his teeth worry against his perpetually chapped lips. Steve sighs, gripping Eddie's hand tighter, ping ponging his gaze from the road to his sulking boyfriend. His voice slips, a touch of shock and sadness? "I'm never going to just drop you off at Wayne's like that, babe.” He clears his throat, lowers his voice, still strong and sure, but softer, less pitched and full of determination and love. “Not unless you want to, and even then, my ass would be sitting there, talking to Wayne to find a way to help. I’d stay my ass on his porch all day and night trying to help. He wouldn’t be able to get rid of me.” Steve squeezes Eddie’s hand. “But otherwise, you're always coming back home. To our home. With me." He looks over, softness taking his features. “I’m not giving up on you, Eds.”

A few silent beats pass, the only noise the hum of the AC, of the tires on the asphalt, carrying them further and further away from their apartment, from their home . Eddie's knee vibrates with every passing second, his foot kicking at the dust in the footwell, his gaze stoically locked out the window, his thumbnail shredding between his teeth, the memories of every time his ass hit the ground leading up to Wayne’s trailer clouding his brain, flimsily shielding him from Steve’s promises.

"You know that, right, babe? You know I’d never leave you, right?" Steve whispers. “That you’ll always be coming home with me?” He squeezes Eddie's hand softly, rubbing his thumb in slow circles. Eddie's hand twitches in response, betraying his own anxieties, aching to curl tighter around Steve’s. Aching to feel the warmth seep deep into his bones and blanket the fire burning beneath his skin. “Talk to me?”

The tightness in Eddie’s shoulders drops slightly, a slight breath falling from his lips, the shield fracturing. “I’d hardly call our 2nd floor walkup a home , Stevie.” Eddie chuckles mirthlessly. “You kind of have to have the whole picket fence, driveway, multiple bedrooms and bath–”

“Eddie.” 

“--rooms, a yard to corral the inevitable horde of pets, a grill set out to be Mr. All-American every weekend with the kids, perfectly manic–”

“Eddie.”

“--ured lawn, obviously, because god forbid you let the Wheeler’s outperform you in the realm of lawncare. I don’t think Mike’d ever let ya live that one down. Then again, he might not care as much–”

“ Eddie. ” Firmer this time, with a squeeze of the hand to match, as much of a pointed look as Steve could muster while still driving.

A beat passes, then another, before Eddie sighs, the shield crumbling away, letting Steve’s words crawl into the cavern in his chest, radiating warmth in the void. He quietly breathes out, "Yeah.....yeah, I know ." His hand not tangled in the strong, warm fingers of his boyfriend finally drags down his face to settle across his lap. “I know.”

"I promise, sweetheart. You're not getting rid of me." Steve pulls their hands up to his mouth and brushes his lips delicately over the taut skin of Eddie’s knuckles. "Gonna take care of you forever."

Eddie scoffs. “Forever, huh? You sure ‘bout that, Harrington?”

“Most sure I’ve been about anything in my life.” Steve responds immediately, his voice holding that strong, steady baritone Eddie’d come to love.

“Damn, quick to draw there. Don’t be making promises you can’t keep.”

“You know I don’t.”

Silence takes the car after that. Eddie festers in it, keeps his gaze down, his free hand fiddling with the loose threads at the hem of his shirt, his other staunchly locked in Steve’s, sending red hot shockwaves through his body. They’d had this conversation, or some variation of it, countless times. Eddie knows Steve means it. He knows Steve holds to his word. 

He knows Steve loves him. 

Yet still, Eddie continues to retreat to this any time he feels frustrated or defenseless in his own body – the way his health issues and trauma make him feel constantly. Though, he knows that with Steve, he couldn’t ever push it as far as the gaping holes in his chest screamed for. He couldn’t bear to hurt Steve intentionally. He’d rather die.

He’d always found it easier, even before all the Upside Down shit happened, to push against the barriers of his relationships to see where he could form cracks. Everyone always had a weak point that he could leverage, that he could stick a chisel into and start hammering. A way he could build an escape route. 

If Al taught him anything, it was to always go into a place knowing where the exits were, and to never let yourself be somewhere that didn’t have at least two ways out of it. 

That was one of the things that scared him most about loving Steve Harrington. There was only one way out of it – a way that Eddie couldn’t bring himself to fully commit to anymore, a devastating way he hadn’t ever really entertained past the first few weeks of disbelief that this relationship wasn’t some cruel prank. A way he honestly couldn’t even see at this point, so far out of the realm of possibility that it didn’t even ping on his radar. 

But always a way he expected Steve to take against him someday – though Eddie’d never hold it against him – because loving Eddie was harder than fighting all the extra-dimensional terrors they’d faced together, so he always made sure there were plenty of exits for Steve to leave him.

It was easier to try at the start, to try to push Steve away, to show him all the ugly parts of himself. There was plenty in his past to make anyone take one look and deem him Way Too Much to handle – a fact that had gotten him called “ Too Muchson ” or some variation of it on so many occasions growing up that Eddie damn near forgot it wasn’t his actual name. 

Then, with ‘86 came even more shit to pile on his already “Too Muchson” pile, so he thought it’d be easy enough to scare Steve off. Easy to scare Steve off with all his injuries laying him out for months in bed. With all the doctor’s visits and diagnoses being thrown his way as ‘86 wrapped. Easy to prove to Steve that even a friendship with Eddie wasn’t worth the cost, so why even bother with anything more? 

Steve never bought it for a second – instead, he started driving Eddie to his appointments, no matter how far away they were (and god knows the government made him fucking drive for them, the bastards). 

Started holding his hand on the drives and filling the car with easy conversation and updates about the kids when Eddie was too anxious to talk. 

Started popping by Wayne’s more to help around the house, surprising Eddie when Wayne didn’t grumble about it, but rather handed Steve a key over breakfast one morning after the 5th or 8th visit and told him to come on in whenever, as long as he planned to stay , which Steve promised to do. 

Started bringing Robin over every weekend to have movie night since he knew Eddie struggled leaving the house at that time, enlisting her to start a trend of chaotic movie choices, forcing the boys to guess the reason she picked the movies, with whoever chose correctly by the end of the night winning music and lunch choices for the next week. 

Started pouring every ounce of his love and kindness into Eddie with no expectation of anything in return, apart from Eddie continuing to get up and keep trying day after day, to not give up . 

If Eddie’s being honest, he has no clue where or when or why Steve decided he was worth loving in any capacity. He knows that he was a fucking mess, especially at the beginning, what with all the doctor’s visits, and the way he could barely leave bed for close to a year due to the pain. Still, Steve never made him feel worse for it, never made him feel like a freak for the things wrong with him that he didn’t yet have the diagnoses and definitions for. 

No, Steve showed up during those moments and cared for him so easily that Eddie couldn’t help but fall in love with him. 

Eddie comes back to the present with Steve’s thumb clumsily wiping at Eddie’s cheek through the tangle of their fingers, smearing damp across it. Eddie jumps, letting out a quiet yelp, pawing at his cheeks to find tears streaming down them. "Shit, sorry, I’m fine, I just--"

"Shhh, don't apologize.” Steve grips his hand tighter, shooting a tiny glare out the corner of his eye, pointedly raising their hands higher, flicking his pointer finger out to press against Eddie’s lips when Eddie goes to open his mouth again.

“But–”

 “Stop it. Right now.”

“But Ste– ” 

“Nope.”

“Steve, I’m so– ” 

“Zip it. No apologies. None. You did nothing wrong." 

Steve pulls into Benny's, swinging into a parking spot right in front of the door, pointedly using his hand not pressed against Eddie’s mouth to awkwardly shift the car into park and unbuckle his own seatbelt before turning in his seat to face Eddie, eyebrows raised expectantly. 

“Can I talk now? ” Eddie grumbles out against the pad of Steve’s finger.

Steve cocks his head to the side. “That depends, are you going to try to apologize to me again?”

Eddie shifts his eyes. “...maybe .”

“Then no.” 

Eddie huffs. He’s very aware that he could just…pull their hands away from his mouth himself, but he doesn’t. He knows the point Steve is trying to make, and Steve knows he knows , the annoying little shit. No apologies allowed for feeling your emotions, idiot.

“You just gonna hold my mouth hostage all afternoon in front of Benny?” Eddie nods his head in the direction of the door, though his eyes never leave Steve’s.

“I’m gonna keep my hand right where it is if you intend to keep apologizing to me when you’ve quite literally done nothing wrong – not today, or yesterday, or honestly ever, so.”

Eddie laughs, his lips sliding against Steve’s finger, his tongue aching to slip out and lick , but refraining. “Ever? ”

Steve smiles, all lips stretching across his tanned cheeks, little bits of teeth poking out. “Yeah, ever . You’ve not done a single thing wrong in your life, Eddie, ‘s far as I’m concerned.”

“Not even the drug dealing? ”

“Nope. Call that,” Steve waves his other hand through the air aimlessly. “Entrepreneurship?” 

“Bah, sure. Hopper’d beg to differ. ” Eddie knows that isn’t true, though. Knows Steve knows it isn’t true, too. Thinks of how many times Hopper hauled his ass out of the woods and told him to “go home, Munson. Wayne’ll be worried.” before sending him off with a stern glare. Thinks about how Hopper could’ve easily locked him up for a night any of those times, but how he kept letting Eddie off the hook because he was buds with Wayne, the two of them going fishing and hunting and whatever else old guys hardened by the war do in their pastimes together. 

“I’ll move if you tell me what’s really bothering you.” Steve whispers out, his finger gently brushing against Eddie’s lips. “I know it’s not just a flare.”  

Eddie looks over to find the beautiful smile that was on Steve’s face moments ago replaced by a tenseness, his eyes crinkled at the edges, his lips slightly chapped with worry, stuck tightly together. He swallows down the warring in his chest, swallows down the parts of him aching for Steve – aching for Steve to patch him up and fix all the leaks in his armor like he always does. Squishes down all the fear and anxiety and sadness boiling inside of him. Instead, hums against Steve’s fingers, quirks his lips in his best imitation of a smile, “‘M fine .”

Steve raises his eyebrows slightly. “Crying in the car and thinking I’m going to kick you into Wayne’s yard without so much as a glance back doesn’t exactly scream fine , babe.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything, just tilts his head toward his lap, away from Steve’s prying gaze. He knows it’s a losing battle – that Steve will whittle it out of him eventually, probably sooner than he wants. But, fuck , Eddie is so tired of making all of his problems Steve’s problems. He’s tired of not being able to handle his own damn shit. He survived an evil wizard and a town full of angry homophobic jocks hunting him down, so why can’t he just fucking get a handle on the mundane shit like his health and his anxiety and everything else in his fucking brain, spilling out of the milk crates? It really isn’t that hard. Eddie just is too weak or broken, he guesses. But, that isn’t Steve’s problem, so he keeps his lips clamped shut, willing whatever supernatural shit still waving through the universe to just let Steve drop it and let Eddie learn how to bottle it all up better so he doesn’t burden anyone anymore.

They just sit there like that for a couple of minutes, the car idling, silence festering, the AC blasting full force at Eddie finally enough to make him shiver slightly. That’s all it takes for Steve to relent with a sigh, pulling his hand away to lower the AC to a much more manageable level. Eddie licks his lips, the taste of Steve faintly there, feels the loss of Steve’s warmth deep in his bones. 

Steve pulls his hands together, takes in a deep breath, breathes it out slowly, flexes his fingers, fidgets with his nail beds in a way that makes Eddie’s heart ache since he knows it’s a shitty habit that Steve picked up from him. Steve turns his eyes up, locking onto Eddie’s with determination. “Are you okay, Eddie?”

Well, fuck you too, supernatural energy of the universe. Can’t ever cut a guy some slack, can you?

“Why are we at Benny’s?” Eddie turns, looks out the window through the glass of the front doors, making eye contact with Benny behind the counter, the man smiling and waving at him. Eddie manages a small smile and head nod in response.

“You’re deflecting.”

“Benny’s waving at us pretty intensely. Kind of looks like a doofus, honestly.” 

“Eddie .”

Eddie grits his teeth, feels those late nights with Al creeping into his subconscious, the well-practiced venom slipping sharp around his tongue before he can stop it. “I’m fine, okay. Just fucking drop it, will ya? Geez.” 

Steve sighs. Eddie turns at the noise, his face falling as he catches the sadness in his partner’s eyes, feels a pang in his heart knowing he’s the cause of it. He stammers, trying to find a way to fix it, broken “I’m sorry ”s falling from his lips. A slight grumble falls out of Steve’s lips as his hand falls to the door handle. “‘S fine. I’m picking us up some dinner.”  

Eddie scrunches his eyes, confusion taking his face as Steve turns, opening his door, stepping out of the car. "Dinner? But we just went shopping! We didn’t buy all those groceries just to waste ‘em." 

Steve huffs, turning around as he stands out the driver’s side. "And you need salt and carbs right now." He leans down, arms on the top of the car, letting his torso and neck stretch as he kicks his foot out behind him, the sadness in his eyes spreading to his smile. "I'm not gonna let you suffer in silence like you're so prone to do. I know you’re hurting. More than just the physical pain from shopping, but I s’pose the food will at least help make it a little bit better right now.” Steve shrugs slightly, a brief trace of uncertainty taking his face. “‘Least I hope so, it usually does."

Eddie huffs, tries to ignore the ache in his chest at Steve knowing exactly what he needs in this moment, and every other moment, honestly, even when Eddie’s a dick to him. He crosses his arms tightly across his torso. "I told you, I'm fine. "

Steve chuckles, a glint to his eyes. "Yeah, you are, babe. Fine as hell ." Eddie groans, mutters of “stop it” and “oh my god” filtering through, which makes Steve’s sad smile a bit more happy. "But you're not okay right now. So, I'm gonna get you your usual and we're gonna go home and probably watch some god awful movie that Robin picked out and have a quiet night in while I take care of you." 

“But–”

At that, Steve shuts his door, effectively cutting off Eddie’s protests, then smacks the roof of the car twice like some middle aged suburban dad, shooting fingers gun through the windshield, before spinning around and sauntering into Benny's. Eddie watches him, chuckling to himself at Steve's over exaggerated walk, his hips bopping this way and that, before he leans over the counter talking to Benny. 

“He’s such a fucking dork.” Eddie mutters to himself. 

He watches Steve for a moment, watches how his hands gesture and his foot kicks the ground while he talks to Benny, how Benny laughs and nods along like they’re old friends, which Eddie supposes they are after Benny being the one to find El first all those years ago now. Eddie thinks it’s crazy just how many people in this town knew about the goddamn horror dimension for years and still decided to stay here – especially after the ground fucking cracked open like the ice breaking on the lake at the first signs of spring rolling in. Fucking idiots, the lot of them.

Though Eddie himself is still here, only a couple years since it all finally ended, so who’s he to judge, really.  

He knows that once Steve comes out with their food, that they’ll go home and set up on the couch, probably with Robin if she’d made it in yet, to watch some horrid movie she picked up on campus. He knows that he and Steve will have to talk later, that Steve won’t let him fester in his emotions. He knows that Steve will hold him, will let him complain about the pain, both physical and emotional. He knows Steve will offer his shoulder to soak Eddie’s tears. He knows Steve will do it all without any complaint, will offer him love and support and kindness and make all the rough edges from the day smooth out.

Eddie knows Steve will pour all of his love out in their shared bed, shouldering all of the pain if Eddie would let him. 

Eddie will never let him, though. 

Steve’s been through too much – way too much – before Eddie even really knew him. He can’t bring himself to add to that pain more than he already does, to give Steve anything more to be concerned about. Besides, it’s not like Steve can actually fix any of the issues, and Eddie already complains “ Way Too Muchson” as it is, so he’ll just bear it on his own. 

Steve deserves a partner who’s simple. Simple to love and simple to care for. Simple means less emotions. 

He can do that. 

He can be less.

Eddie knows he’s far from being simple in any aspect of the word, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try if that means selfishly keeping Steve. 

God, he feels like such a fucking dick . 

Eddie slumps low in his seat, covering his face with both hands again before screaming all the breath from his lungs. His chest still aches, but it’s settling a bit, though his heart is still firing off far faster than it should. " Fuck. Chill the fuck out, Munson. You’re fine. Get your shit together for once and stop spiraling." 

He reaches down and pulls the lever to let his seat recline. His legs find their home curled up beneath him as he leans back. He lays there, working through his breathing exercises, focusing on the low hum of the car’s engine and the faint sound of stray cars passing on the thoroughfare. The words of his doctors tumble through his brain, telling him to “focus on happy thoughts” as if he was on some after school special. Eddie had honestly grown sick of all the platitudes they threw at him. He’s sick of being told that yoga and good vibes will fix the very real and very wrong illnesses he’s started stacking like legos. It’s not like you can “good vibe” your way out of a heart attack – but, at least with that, they know how to treat it. They have no fucking clue what POTS or fibromyalgia even is , really, and Eddie is exhausted from being the government’s personal test dummy for treatments. Hell knows he grew up as a test dummy, or some nights punching bag, for Al’s bullshit. He guesses “test dummy” deserves a slot on his resume now.

Still, the nagging part of his brain that sounds a hell of lot like Wayne tells him that “mopin’ around and stewin’ in those thoughts of yours won’t do ya any damn good,” so he might as well make the hellhole of his brain a little less “toppled milk crate” and a little more “pillow fort” in nature. Eddie sighs, grumbles out a quiet curse at Wayne.

He tries to focus on calming thoughts, happy thoughts – thoughts that had honestly become more common and easier to call on in the last few years. They start playing through his mind like previews. 

Wayne coming home from a late night shift, taking a seat by Eddie on the porch, reaching a hand over for a cigarette. The two sitting in silence, enjoying the early morning air from Wayne’s new porch, comforted by the scent of nicotine swirling around them, close by the Hopper/Byers household. Wayne reaching his arm around Eddie’s shoulder, squeezing them together, his calloused thumb on his free hand coming up to wipe the stray tears streaming from Eddie’s eyes, a gruff “Proud of ya, son.” bobbing out around the cigarette dangling from his chapped lips. 

Steve’s face lazily smiling at him over syrupy pancakes and coffee at their kitchen table every morning, music softly playing on the record player. Never a quiet moment in their home after everything, everyone’s tapes and records stacked up neatly just in case.

Robin walking through Family Video, rattling off whatever films she was determined to force him and Steve through that weekend, while regaling him with whatever drama had trampled through her college the last few days.

Joyce and Hopper pulling him aside one night as Wayne was getting set up in his new place, the gaggle of kids and adults moving boxes around. Joyce squeezing him so hard, whispering fiercely into his ear, “You will always have a home with us, Eddie. You and Wayne both.” Hopper’s hand coming down firm on his shoulder, a nod passing between them like it had so many nights before out in the forests of Hawkins, but this time Hopper’s words coming out, “We love ya, kid. You let me know if anyone, and I mean anyone , in this town gives you any shit. You’re a free man now.” Eddie’s face wet with tears, a relief spreading through his bones, the only response he could manage a small nod and smile, a tiny “ Thank you .” before falling into their outstretched arms.

Dustin taking up the Hellfire reins at school and asking him for pointers on each new campaign idea and NPC development, scoffing at Eddie’s suggestions, telling him how they would never work. Eddie still catches him making notes the whole time.

Teaching himself how to skate so he could help Max relearn after it all ended, though she constantly bitched at his form and balance in front of the others, only to hug him and whisper “ thank you ” once they took off alone.

Teaching Mike how to play guitar, though the kid seriously struggled with rhythm at first, but made up for it in rock solid determination.

Will timidly coming out to him before most of the rest of the group and asking him for advice, Eddie being the first openly gay man the kid had met, which broke Eddie down to tears quicker than the demobats had.

Erica calling him for rides more often than Steve, which she swore was because Steve was “too soft looking” and “ruining her street cred,” though Eddie started suspecting she just really really liked hanging out with him , a statement she once punched him for with a soft glare and sharp turn of her mouth and a “you wish, Munson” before fiddling with the tape deck to “put on some real music.”

Making a pointed effort to show up to all of Lucas’ games throughout the rest of the kid’s high school career, something which Lucas constantly told him he didn’t have to do, that Eddie was forgiven for ever making Lucas choose, even though he always sought out Eddie’s face in the crowd, a massive grin taking over his features every single time they made eye contact.

Lazy afternoons in the grass with El, picking dandelions and daisies, showing her how to braid them through her hair, El’s smile radiating stronger than the sun bearing down on their sweat-slick skin. Giving her a chance to be a fucking normal kid for once, something she always hugged him and thanked him for. 

Days in the library with Nancy, their unofficial book club meetings every few weeks when she made the visit home from college, swapping theories and final thoughts and sharing recommendations, alternating their picks.

Nature walks with Jonathan, helping him frame shots for his portfolio, trading stories about their fucked up dads, Eddie finally feeling an inkling of understanding from another kid in this town.

Hell, even Argyle, who came to visit often enough that, one day, he just never left, shacked up at Jonathan’s, so Eddie took him around town to his favorite spots, talked to him about California life, found comfort in Argyle’s relaxed attitude and warm smiles and casual acceptance of all the shit the world had thrown at them. 

He plays over so many good memories that had left the last few years bursting at the seams, barely contained in Eddie’s fragile body, mingling with all the horror, both spilling through the cracks in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep, another nightmare rattling through him, when Steve reached over and grabbed his hands, soothing him quietly, assuring him it was okay, that it was over now, then telling him to share a happy memory, and listening to him talk about whichever of the party he’d recently been with, what they’d gotten up to, watching the tension release from his shoulders, the creases in his brows smoothing out, his voice getting quieter and words getting further apart before he drifted off to sleep.  

Eddie feels the corners of his eyes wet, so many tears unshed, so many good memories, so much pain bottled inside, boiling beneath his skin, constantly threatening to spill over, getting closer and closer to the limit every day. He refuses to break down in front of anyone – in front of Steve or any of their friends. Too tired of being a burden in their lives. Too many times being chastised for it, told he was weak and a disappointment when he let the tiniest bit show.  

He hears Al’s voice creep in, bellowing down the hall of their trailer, the wallpaper yellowing and fraying at the edges. Sees himself scrambling to hide his journals under the mattress, grasping for the closest ball, spinning it in his hands as Al stumbles in. Feels the spittle of Al’s rage hit him just before the rough leather boot lands against his thigh, knocking him over on the floor. Feels the tears prick his eyes, his arms tightening around his middle, as Al–

A soft rapping on the window behind him, followed by a muffled click of the door handle being pulled, brings Eddie out of his head. He sniffles, swallows down the rage and fear that were taking over the happy memories of his real family. 

He feels Steve’s warmth before he sees him. 

Eddie basks in Steve’s gentle heat, inhaling the air he brings with him – soft vanilla, woodsmoke, a bit salty from the sweat of the day, mixed with that of the food, of salty fried potatoes, grilled meat, toasted bread, and… “Strawberry?” Eddie twists to the side, peeking out from under the arm draped across his face. 

Steve chuckles, knees crouched as he places an armful of to-go boxes in the backseat carefully, under the recline of Eddie’s seat. “You and that nose of yours, Munson. I swear you missed a calling as a hunting dog or somethin’.” 

Eddie snorts. “That requires too much runnin’ for my liking. You know I’m too attached to sittin’ on my ass for anything like that.” He pulls his arm down, allowing his full attention to direct towards Steve, the corner of his mouth ticking down slightly. “Besides, I’ve done enough runnin’ for a lifetime. I’d rather not do it ever again.”

Steve meets his eyes, a soft, sad smile on his face. “Yeah, me too.” He reaches his hand out to brush some stray curls back from Eddie’s face, his hand cradling Eddie gently, thumb rubbing against the corner of his eyes, picking up the damp left there. He opens his mouth, closes it briefly, worries his lip between his teeth, before murmuring a tentative, “You okay, sweetheart?” 

Eddie leans into Steve’s touch, nuzzling his cheek deeper into his boyfriend’s hand. He takes a moment to stare, to really take in the man crouched in front of him, this pure adonis of a man with the evening sun dropping behind him, casting him in soft pinks and yellows, softening and blurring the edges of his face. He takes in Steve’s soft smile, the way the plush of his lips spills at the edges, how the space between his brows is soft and relaxed, how his eyes stare back, slightly crinkled at the edges, full of unrepentant adoration and softness and care. Eddie thinks about how no one has ever looked at him like that before Steve, how he isn’t sure he even deserves it, knows he doesn’t deserve it from Steve, but fuck , if he isn’t greedy enough to take every scrap of it he can get it, storing these images away deep in the recesses of his brain, in a folder in a toppled over milk crate labelled “Too Good for Eddie Munson,” just in case the day ever came he had to live without the man before him.  

“Just thinking, ‘s all.” Eddie murmurs. 

Steve reaches his other hand out to wrap around Eddie’s forearm, slowly dragging up and down. “You wanna talk about it right now?”

Eddie knows that Steve, however begrudgingly, would continue to drop the topic for now as he so often does – even though he’d been doing so at what must be a worrying rate for him in the near hour they’d been gone from home – but will bring it up again later, coaxing Eddie to let out his emotions, or at least however much of them Eddie was willing to let slip. Never all of them – just small spills here and there when the pressure got to be too much.

And fuck, if the pressure wasn’t overwhelmingly too much these days.

Eddie lets a small smile slip, the pot of his emotions starting to boil over at the edges, splats of water fizzing violently beneath his skin. “Thinkin’ ‘bout how you’re too damn good for me, Harrington. What’d I ever do to deserve you?”

Steve scoffs. “What’d I ever do to deserve you is a better question?” 

“Ah, well, my running theory is that you’re permanently cursed from years of otherworldly fuckery, so you’ve been sentenced to loving me. Probably one last,” Eddie throws his hands up, wiggling his fingers and smirking, “ fuck you from Vecna himself. That’s the only thing that makes any sense to me.” He settles his hands back in his lap. 

Eddie means it as a joke, he thinks, though he knows there was a bit too much truth to his tone – a bit too much of a grimace when he said it. 

Steve stares at him, blinks once, twice. His eyes scrunch together, his lips turning down slightly, and – ah, there it is . It’s not quite the ultimate disappointed expression Eddie was waiting for, but it certainly isn’t a happy one. It’s more like a kicked puppy than anything else. 

Yeah, definitely kicked puppy. 

Eddie feels the cracks in his chest festering at it, the darkest crevices singing out their praises, greedily grasping at the expression to deepen the chasm within him. He feels a sick sort of pleasure from it. This is familiar – the hurt on the face of someone he loves. This he knows how to navigate easier than hope and love, even if the pain of seeing Steve look at him this way screams wrong in his brain.

“Is that–” Steve huffs a shaky breath. “You think loving you is a curse ?” Steve whispers. 

Well, fuck.

Faintly, he hears Al’s voice calling out to him, telling him “ good job, son .” And isn’t that something? That settles like lead in his stomach, bile roiling in his throat. He clamps his teeth together, sure the grinding of them echoes over the hum of the engine.

Steve soothes his thumb across Eddie's cheek once more.  “Sweetheart, loving you is the easiest and best thing I’ve ever done.” 

Eddie can’t help it. He laughs at that. A quick and wet throaty chuckle that makes Steve jump a little, makes his brows furrow. “Why are you laughing?”

“Stevie, nothing about loving me is easy . Believe me, I’ve tried .” 

And, well, if that doesn’t just shatter Steve’s heart on the spot. You’d think Eddie just threw all the kids into the quarry with the way Steve looks at him. But the thing is, Eddie’s telling the truth . He knows loving him is hard. He’s seen it in Wayne, how the man has grown so much older and more exhausted since Eddie was kicked into his yard years ago. Thinks about how much better Wayne would be without him in his life every single day . Thinks about how Wayne may have even found someone to settle down with if he didn’t have to take care of Al’s biggest mistake . Fuck, it’s all he thinks about – how much space he takes up in the lives of those he loves, especially now with how much worse he’s gotten in health.

Eddie knows loving him is hard because he hasn’t even tried since he was a kid, since the 5th or 8th or 12th time his dad told him to “ stop being such a sissy writing about your feelin’s and go throw a fuckin’ football or some shit .” Shit sticks after a while. Fuck knows he couldn’t even pick up a notebook to write anything, not even school notes, until he’d lived with Wayne for at least a year, finally learning one night while reading on the couch, hearing Wayne hang up the phone with a sigh, watched him sit next to him, grunt out “ Al’s locked up tight this time, kid, ‘m sorry. You’re stuck ‘ith me for a while. ” That let a breath out of Eddie he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding, feeling like he could breathe the easiest he had in a decade, a single tear spilling over his young eyes as Wayne gripped his knee tightly.

“Eddie . Oh, baby , come here.” Steve leans forward from the rear door across the reclined seat, wrapping his strong arms across Eddie’s chest awkwardly. Eddie stiffens in his embrace, lets out a small “ what? ” at Steve’s affection. 

Steve whispers into Eddie’s chest, rubbing his arms up and down in a soothing motion. “I love you so much , sweetheart. So. Much . ‘S the easiest thing I’ve ever done, I promise.” 

Eddie tenses, grumbles against the bunched up shirt on Steve’s chest, arms fidgeting at his sides. He aims for deflection, trying to suppress the raw emotions dangerously clawing their way up out of the chasm in his chest, aching to soak up Steve’s love greedily. “It was a joke, Steve. I’m fi–”

“I swear to fuck, if you say that you’re fine one more goddamn time, I am going to drive down to Wayne’s so we can talk some fucking sense into you.” 

Eddie laughs at that, a deep belly laugh, the air rumbling through his chest, into Steve’s haphazard hold on him. Tears prick the lower lids of his eyes and he tilts his head back into the headrest, willing them to just absorb back into his eyeballs or something, anything to avoid Steve seeing him cry again today. “Y’all teamin’ up on me now?”

Steve squeezes his rumbling chest, voice strong and steady. “If that’s what it takes to get it through your thick skull that you’ve got people who care a whole hell of a lot about you, then yes, obviously.” Steve’s hands soothe against his skin. “I’ll get the kids rounded up for it too. Stage a whole intervention.”

Eddie blinks up at the ceiling of the car, grown rough and scratched after years of carting children around. He follows one of the slight tears in the fabric, thinks about how Steve 4 years ago would’ve lost his shit at it, probably would’ve yelled at who did it and made them pay for it even though he was swimming in the monetary “love” of his parents.  

He thinks about how Steve now is so different – how Steve now didn’t bat an eye at Max when her skateboard nicked the roof as she jumped in. Eddie aches over how scared she’d looked and how she immediately spewed out a series of “I’m sorry ”s and “ I’ll fix it ”s – he knew where that fear came from. But, he thinks over how Steve now shrugged her off, told her it wasn’t a big deal. Eddie thinks about how that was at least a year ago now and the tear was still there with a tiny smiley face and a “ -Max ” written beside it like she was signing a work of art. 

Eddie bites his lip, sucks in a sharp breath. “Hurtful. My skull isn’t that thick, Harrington.” 

“Could’ve fooled me with the whole ‘loving me is a curse ’ bullshit, man.”

“I’m just sayin’, you spent enough time breathing in that fucked up dimension, you were bound to be cursed with somethin ’. It’s not out of the realm of possibi–”

Steve starts to pull back at that, a short “Wayne’s it is, then” falling from his lips, the cool air hitting Eddie’s stomach viciously as his shirt rides up. Eddie grasps desperately at Steve’s arms, clinging to them like his life depends on it. It honestly feels like it does in that moment.  

“Wait. ” Eddie murmurs, his fingers bruising in their grip on Steve’s arms. “Please . Don’t–” Eddie stumbles, the boiling emotions thick and wet in his throat. “Just…hold me. Please . Don’t–” He swallows thickly, whispers out, “Don’t leave .” He feels Steve’s chest take in a sharp breath, feels him melt a bit.

“Of course, sweetheart.” Steve winds his arms around Eddie’s middle, squeezing their chests together. 

Eddie knows Steve’s back must be aching from this angle, but he can’t bear to let him go. He feels like if he lets Steve go right now, the pot will finally boil over and all his messy emotions will rush out of him with nowhere to land. 

He swallows them down thickly, nuzzling his nose into Steve’s chest, inhaling deeply, basking in the woodsmoke and vanilla that follows him around. They stay like that for a while – Eddie’s face buried in Steve’s chest, Steve’s strong fingers rubbing soothing patterns against the strip of Eddie’s back peeking out from where his shirt rode up. 

Eddie feels a few more drops splatter chaotically out of the pot, searching for a place to land.

Eddie squeezes his eyes as tightly shut as possible, trying to minimize the damp that aches to fall from them. He keeps his face smushed tightly into Steve’s chest, his mouth pressed into the wrinkles of Steve’s t-shirt, hoping it would muffle what he was prepping to say enough. After a few moments, croaks out a quiet, “’M sorry I keep fucking up, and that…that all my health shit is getting worse.” He takes a steadying breath, sniffles lightly into Steve’s crinkled shirt. “And that I’ve got too much shit trauma makin’ it all worse.” A beat passes. “But, thank you. Thank you for…for takin’ care ‘f me so well.” He’s not even sure if Steve hears him, kind of hopes he doesn’t, while a smaller part of him hopes that he does . Because if Steve did hear him, then that means he’d put together what was going on well enough so Eddie wouldn’t have to say so many words in explanation later. 

Hopefully. 

Probably not, but hopefully.

Eddies ventures a bit quieter, “I love you, Stevie.” 

He loves Steve so much it hurts – hurts more than all the demobats ever did, than his father’s hands grasped around his weak body, or all his health issues do now. 

God, he loves Steve so much that it radiates through every fiber of his being, thrumming loudly in his veins.

“I know you do, sweetheart.” Steve responds quietly. Eddie gasps a bit, mild parts shock, mild parts relieved. “I love you too. Fuck, I love you so much .” Steve takes a deep breath, presses a kiss to Eddie’s stomach. “You’re never too much f’ me. God, I can’t get enough of you.” A few more lazy kisses pepper against Eddie’s stomach. “I meant what I said earlier. I’m gonna take care of you forever. All of you.” Steve squeezes Eddie’s chest tight at that, knocking a slight umph out of Eddie, a few tears spilling over from the force of it.

Eddie laughs a bit, hiccups into Steve's chest, the damp taking over his cheeks, clogging up his throat, his mind replaying “You’re never too much f’ me” over and over and over . 

 “You take care ‘f me just as well, too.”  

“‘S easy when you're so pretty to look at, Stevie.” 

Steve groans in response. “I'm trying to be sweet, you dick.”

Eddie smiles, bites his lip. “Well, you are pretty close to my dick now , so you could be sweet ‘n–”

“Oh my god shut up, you heathen. ”

Eddie laughs louder at that, feels the edges of the cavern in his chest knit a little further shut as a few more tears stream down his cheeks, feels a little lighter than he did an hour ago, a little more himself. Steve joins in, their laughs together making what might be the most beautiful sound Eddie’s ever heard.

Eddie pulls up one of his arms, quickly wipes his nose off on his sleeve, smearing his tear-stained cheeks with his palm, before he pushes against Steve’s chest, prying his boyfriend off of him. “Now, didn’t I smell strawberry? You holdin’ out on me, Harrington?”

Steve is still laughing slightly as he extricates himself from his awkward stance, quietly pressing a kiss to Eddie’s lips as he retreats to standing again. He stretches back a bit, leaning to the side until a soft pop echoes into the car, followed by a small grunt. “‘M not sweet enough for you, honey?”

“Oh, you are, but you’ve brought my other true love into the mix: strawberry.” Eddie grins, a manic thing, his cheeks tacky with dried and fresh tears that can’t seem to stop popping out from the boiling mess in his chest.

Steve quirks his head to the side, his eyes squinting slightly as he stares at Eddie’s still wet face, as he watches the near-imperceptible sniffles as Eddie tries to regain his composure. “You know we’re not done with this conversation, right? Like, you know I’m not gonna let you say all of this, be so,” Steve sighs, “so cruel to yourself, without fully talking it out to figure out what’s hurtin’ you, help make sure you’re alright? You aren’t getting off that easy, Munson.”

Eddie smirks. “Actually, I’ll have you know, I get off quite –”

“Bup bup bup! Stop. You know what I mean. No jokes, no laughs, no get-out-of-jail free card.” Steve holds his gaze firmly, eyebrows scrunched together, one hand crooked in his hip. “We’re gonna talk more later and I’m gonna make damn sure you know how fucking much I love and adore every goddamn thing about you. You’re stuck with me. Forever. No matter what you tell me about your past or your present or your future. For. Ev. Er. ”

Eddie’s smirk falls as Steve carries on in front of him, his emotions suddenly wholly and completely vulnerable on his face as he stares up at the love of his fucking life. He watches Steve rant above love and forever , watches his hand flit through the air, pointing at Eddie, shooting fire under his skin. Eddie’s sure his face is full of love and adoration and fear and pain . And he’s sure that Steve sees it all and isn’t the least bit fucking scared – a fact that scares Eddie even more, hasn’t stopped scaring him over the last few years. 

Eddie feels the ache deep in his chest, the boiling beneath his skin growing louder, near knocking the lid off the pot. He knows it’s inevitable, has known for years now. Knows he can’t keep hiding away sectors of himself from Steve, can’t keep shielding him from the ugliness inside of him, the pure pain and exhaustion from holding up the remnants of his protective barrier, weakened from decades of performances and, more recently, years of fighting his own body to keep moving.

“Later. Promise.” Eddie whisper-nods, feels the tears hot and heavy on his cheeks again, but keeps his hands fidgeting in his lap, lets them exist in front of Steve unbidden. He quirks his lip up, “I really do wanna see what Robs brings back to show us, first. I miss her.” A beat passes, Eddie’s face shifting to a look of horror. “Oh fuck, did you get her dinner too? Shit, I can go grab it if–”

“I got her dinner too, babe, don’t worry. All safe and secure behind your pretty little head.” Steve smiles, a full face one, a sight that knocks the breath from Eddie’s lungs.

“Fuck me, Harrington, you’re gorgeous. Who the hell lets you just walk that smile around like that? Fuckin’ lethal weapon, jesus.” Eddie sputters out, his eyes sparkling with tears and love.

Steve just laughs, reaches up on top of the car, brings a too-pink drink back down with him, condensation beading aggressively down the sides after baking in the late afternoon sun for however long. “Here, take a sip. Courtesy of Benny. Sorry ‘s a bit melty.” He offers it up to Eddie’s lips, straw already poised and ready, crooked to the side because of-fucking-course Steve got bendy straws like the fucking charmer he is.

“Fuckin’ bendy straws.” Eddie mutters before greedily taking a sip.

“Still top ten.” 

Eddie smirks, mind drifting back to one of their first dates-not-dates at Benny’s. Thinks of Steve, exasperated, as he asked, “How can you not love bendy straws, Munson? They’re easily top ten best straws to exist.” Thinks of himself, leaned across the booth opposite, head lolling to look at Steve dead on, barely hiding a smile as he replied, “I’m not even sure there are ten different types of straws, but please, do go on.”

Eddie pulls away, swallowing down the perfect mixture of vanilla and strawberry chunks. He smacks his lips loudly, grinning lazily up at Steve. “Ya know, you never did tell me your whole top ten. I still think I won that debate.”

Steve smiles, his eyes crinkling beautifully at the edges. He licks his lips, biting the bottom gently. “Hmm, well, I landed in bed with you that night, and the next night, and the next, and basically every night since, so I think I’m the real winner after all.”

Fuck, Eddie is such a goner. 

Steve laughs seeing Eddie’s jaw go slack, his eyes mooning wide. “”M gonna get in so we can head home and meet Robs, ‘kay?” Steve leans down, sticks the shake into Eddie’s hands, presses a kiss to his forehead, before retreating, shutting the door, circling the car to slide into the driver’s seat. 

Eddie sits up, fixes his seat and gets buckled back in. He looks up, catches Benny’s eyes through the door again, sees the old man’s brow furrowed. He raises a tiny wave and smile in response. “Ah shit, Benny saw my breakdown. I don’t think I can ever show my face here again.”

“Benny saw a hell of a lot worse in this town. Seeing you cry in the parking lot is nothing.”

“Alright, damn, Harrington. I see we’re back to joviality, are we?”

Before Steve can respond, a tap hits the hood of the car, making both boys turn to look. Benny stands there, a shy smile on his face, a bag of food in his hand. He rounds to Steve’s window, waits for it to roll down, leans his head down a bit. “Hey, uh, thought y’all might ne– want to try out a new recipe f’ me.” He sticks a bag through the window into Steve’s arms, the smells of even more fried food carrying through.

“New recipe ? Really, Benny?” Eddie smiles. “You could jus’ say you saw me out here cryin’ like a baby and that you wanted to help through the powers of greasy food.”

“Munson, my food is not greasy. You take that back right now. I don’t care what kind of breakdown you’re having.” Benny’s stern voice carries across the console, his finger pointing over the edge of the window at Eddie. 

Eddie smiles in response, cracks a hefty laugh, wipes the last few tears from his cheeks. 

Steve leans toward the backseat, sets the new bag of food in the footwell behind Eddie’s chair, makes sure it’s secure before righting himself. “Thanks, Benny. You’re fueling us for whatever Robs is about to put us through when we get home.”

“Oh, movie night, is it? You tell that girl to come see me ‘fore she leaves again. Be nice to catch up.” Benny smiles, fond and warm.

“Sure thing. ‘M sure she misses you and your cookin’ jus’ as much.” Eddie offers, a matching smile settling on his face. 

Benny nods. “I worry ‘bout y’all still. You tell Wayne ‘r Hopper to call me so we can set up our next shindig.”

“Sure thing. That sounds nice.” Steve replies, reaching over to grab Eddie’s free hand. “Make sure to put your milkshakes on the menu for this one.”

Eddie scoffs, indignant. Brings the half-drunk shake to his lips, sucks down a dramatic swallow. “Whatsoever could you mean by that, my liege?”

Benny laughs, slaps the window frame before standing up. “I’ll keep that in mind. Y’all be safe now. Take care of yourselves. And stop by anytime you need a pick me up. Y'all know ya got pick of the diner anytime ya want." He steps back. "See y'all soon. Night!” He waves before walking back in the diner.

“Night Benny!” Steve yells before rolling up his window. He looks across at Eddie, squeezes their hands together. “You ready to go home?”

Eddie leans his head against the window, one hand linked in Steve’s, the other holding the half-drunk milkshake in his lap. He watches as the sun dips behind the trees, as Hawkins starts turning to nighttime. He thinks of how Robin is undoubtedly lounging on the couch by now, probably irritated at the two of them for taking so long and cutting into their cherished hangout schedule. 

Eddie knows he isn’t okay, knows things won’t be just because he spends the night smushed between his best friends on their too-soft couch. He knows it won’t all be magically fixed when he tumbles into bed with Steve, when he peels back the edge of the pot to let out the first stream of boiling water, releasing the pressure that’s been keeping the cavern in his chest satisfied for so long. He knows that things won’t magically just get better overnight. 

But still, he smiles, takes a sip of the too-sweet milkshake, squeezes the hand of the love of his goddamn life, and lets himself relax into the comfort of the life they’ve built together, knowing that no matter what, Steve will still be there every time he opens his eyes for the rest of his life.

A thought that scares him, but maybe not in the terrifying I-need-to-arm-and-protect-myself way that Eddie falls to so easily. No, more in the I-have-someone-who-loves-me-for-everything-I-am-and-always-will way. 

Loves him for all of his “Too Muchson ” self. 

He turns, smiles at his boyfriend. “Yeah, Stevie. ‘M ready.”