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Eddie first heard the tires tread through the dirt as a car pulled up outside his trailer on a lazy Saturday. Next, it was the slam of a car door, followed by the slam of a trunk as he approached his kitchen window. Eddie brushed aside a curtain with one ring-cladded finger, the other hand preoccupied with his morning-but-really-afternoon coffee he made while still groggy. It has been several months, a whole Vecna-induced apocalypse, and one graduation ceremony later, yet Eddie still peers out his window anticipating the worst: a hoard of angry jocks, a mob of suburban moms armed to the teeth with shotguns and pitchforks, a gang of pestering officers. Hell, even the party of kids he'd come to adopt ambushing him with Steve trailing just behind. He had been right about one thing; there was Steve, hauling with him a duffle bag haphazardly filled to the brim with clothes narrowly grazing the earth.
Eddie shuffles to the door, placing his mug of too-weak coffee on the kitchen counter as he went. He approaches the door and opens it, finding Steve with one fist raised to knock. Eddie takes quick inventory of the man on his front porch: the duffle bag, tousled hair with well-loved pajamas and mismatched chucks, eyes that are red and have dark bags underneath, and a red handprint gracing his delicate cheeks. Without a word, Eddie takes the duffle bag from Steve with silent protest. He shoves a shirt that is about to fall deeper into the bag before his other hand reaches out to pull him in by the wrist.
Eddie drops the man's wrist in the living room and turns towards his room. He has half a mind to be embarrassed by the state of the space: dirty clothes across the floor trailing to his unmade bed, surfaces covered in knick-knacks and DnD gear, cassettes which he shuffled through in a hurry, old half-completed homework assignments, receipts, stuff from his hobby of the week. He drops the duffle in a chair that is partially covered in worn-but-clean articles of clothing. He turned back towards the living room but halted. He debated whether to do a quick clean-up effort in his room, but waved away the thought as soon as it came. They'd both seen worse sides of one another.
Moving back towards the living room, he finds a dazed Steve staring off at one point: Wayne's hats which grace the wall of their living room. Whenever the two found themselves on the road, they would stop at gas stations, truck stops, or flea markets and pick up a ballcap. It became a tradition and a point of pride for them to buy one with the most ridiculous saying on it. The one that Steve was focusing on had a navy brim with the words "ask me about my lobotomy" gracing the front. Even though Steve looked tense, picking at the skin around his fingernails to soothe his nerves, a small smile perked up at the corner of his lips.
Steve's gaze turned upon hearing Eddie's footsteps. He reached out towards him, his lips parting before they closed and his arms wrapped across his chest instead. Let's be honest, Eddie has no sense of personal space, and the distance between them only grew increasingly thinner as the summer dragged on. Eddie stopped in front of him, his sock-cladded feet toe-to-toe with Steve's chucks. He looked at the other boy's face, attempting to meet eyes that were glued to their feet. Eddie allowed the backs of his fingers to graze Steve's cheek. His eyebrows pinched and his lip grew in distaste for the one who dared to lay their hands on Steve Harrington.
The man's eyes finally found Eddie's, unshed tears clinging to his lashes. Eddie went to say something, yet he wasn't sure what. Whether his next words were a tongue lashing towards the one who hit him or words of comfort and adornment, they never passed his lips. Eddie couldn't even gather the breath to say a word before Steve was shaking his head and falling into Eddie.
Eddie caught the man in his arms, always would and always will for the rest of his days. Steve's normally strong and assured body was limp and shaking in the other's arms. His face pushed into the safety of Eddie's neck, curls pillowing his weary head. It was a no-brainer; Eddie followed his instincts and tightly wounds his arms around Steve's shoulders, ushering him closer into his body. He wanted to protect him from the wears of the world, to shoulder the burdens that weighed on his head. Others think they slip off Steve like water off a duck's back. Rather, they cling to him like blood and dust after another round in the Upside-Down.
Eddie won't allow himself to consider his own troubles that cling to him like a second skin. How could he when Steve, the protector of the party, the mother hen, the glorified babysitter, the foundation beneath their very feet, fell into his arms like they were his own personal sanctuary?
Eddie, still with Steve in his arms, turns the duo towards his room. Steve wordlessly allows himself to be ushered by Eddie through the trailer until they approach his bed. Eddie taps Steve's shoulder and the other boy's head sluggishly lifts from Eddie's shoulder. The display reminded Eddie of a weary groundhog that saw its shadow, ready to retreat back to its den for a few more weeks of slumber. Eddie's hands slip from his shoulders down to his lower spine before gently trailing back up, coming to rest on his cheeks. His hands never leave Steve.
They look at one another for a moment before Eddie presses further into his space. Their chests press against one another, hearts resting side-by-side, as Eddie allows his right hand to cup the other's jaw. Ring-cladded fingers scratch into his hair as his thumb trails back over the slap mark on the apple of his cheek. Steve releases a shakey breath and leans into the touch.
Eddie inches forward slowly as though approaching a spooked deer. His cracked lips meet the mark before he pulls back, hands coming to rest on his shoulders once more. Eddie eases him onto the edge of the bed before crowding into the space between the man's thighs. Hands trail once more to entwine with Steve's, and he pulls the tops of each hand to meet his lips. First the right, then the left. He squeezes once before he finally lets go.
Knees meet the carpet and his heels dig into the meat of his ass as Eddie kneels before Steve. His hands trail down his right calf, working his way towards Steve's shoes. His fingers pull at the loose knot, clearly laced up in a hurry. His lips brush against the inside of his knee as he pulls the black hightop over Steve's heel. The converse comes off in his hand, and he neatly tucks the laces into the shoe before pushing it aside.
His fingers repeat the process on Steve's left side. His fingers trace down his calf to his foot and tug at the tighter laces of the red chuck. Once the shoe is off, his lips meet the inside of Steve's knee. He tucks the laces in and places the shoe next to its mismatched counterpart before allowing his eyes to wander up to Steve’s. The boy is looking down at him with a sense of wonder, eyes dewy and full of admiration. Eddie eases into Steve's lap, resting his forearms across his thighs, his chin following. He looks up at Steve with mesmerized wide eyes.
They stare at one another for a moment in silence, allowing their actions to do the talking. One thing that resulted from the increasingly apocalyptic circumstances of the Upside-Down was their ability to read one another without a word passing between their lips. They could have full conversations with just a glance. While it made the other members of the party wonder if the duo possessed their own set of superpowers, for them it came naturally like everything else. Like a baby learning to walk for the first time, it took time to understand one another, an unshakable trust earned and given.
Eddie perked up suddenly like a dog and smiled, dimples on display as he rose to his feet. Steve gave him a questioning glance as Eddie trailed out of the room with his pointer finger raised over his shoulder. Upon his return from the living room, he had a cassette in hand. He was met with the sight of Steve's head on his pillow, hair haloed and his hands resting on his stomach. Eddie takes a meandering step in the doorway as he's met with the sight of a relaxed Harrington nestled in his bed. He shakes out his curls and walks over to his desk where the tape deck is, unveiled from under a discarded tee. He places the tape into the player and closes it with a click, pressing play before sliding back over to Steve.
He clambers onto the bed and comes to rest with his knees meeting Steve's side. Without prompting, Steve rises and allows Eddie to commandeer the pillows he had been nestling into moments ago. Eddie layers the pillows before flopping into the pile, his arms coming to rest over his head. Steve places his head on the man's chest, his right hand playing with a strand of his hair and left coming to rest over Eddie's heart. Eddie immediately sets his hand over Steve's shoulder blade, soothing concentric circles into his worn Hawkins High sweater.
They laid encompassing one another, legs intertwined as the music washed over them: a mixtape with melodies from the 60s that Eddie had obviously borrowed from Wayne. Eddie hummed along with the music, his fingers drumming lightly with the rhythm. The crooning singer draws out the lyrics in a way that always manages to resonate with Eddie, singing, Happiness is just an illusion, filled with sadness and confusion. Where the singer went high and punched out the lines, Eddie was inclined to go low and draw it out smoothly, sending deep rumbles throughout his chest.
The song came to an end and Eddie pressed a kiss into Steve's hairline. The tape continued, changing from a sorrowful tune into a soaring timbre with a soulful warble. As their heartbeats fell into tandem, Eddie closed his eyes. He allowed the hopeful message to wash over him and sink deep into his soul just as Steve sank into a comforting slumber.
It's been a long
A long time coming
But I know a change gonna come.
Oh, yes it will.
As Eddie dozed off into sleep, he allowed himself to simply exist. In this moment, they could take solitude in one another's arms. They could ignore the world outside these walls that lashed out at any deviation from the American dream. The idea that right was the only way to be and to be different was to be a freak of nature. Rather, at this moment, they were two souls intertwined, utterly intoxicated and devoted to one another.