Work Text:
There are a few simple facts about Eddie. First, he loves metal. Second, he's the lead guitarist of the world famous Corroded Coffin. Third, he is never one to hold back his opinions, no matter how off-the-wall they may be.
One such opinion is his obvious dislike of all things sports. He is a pretty strong campaigner for more funding for the arts in schools, and has donated a not insignificant portion of his income to organizations dedicated to bringing arts to underprivileged kids.
His dislike of sports, jocks, and preppiness was like a cornerstone of his identity in school. He's tamed it down some as he's gotten older, mellowed out a fair amount, but he still would rather be anywhere else than a sports game.
Which, unfortunately, is where he is right now.
He had begged, hard, to not be here. But Jeff’s only getting one bachelor party (hopefully), so he can't cop out. It had been Jeff's big wish. Fuck renting out a club for the night and going wild, or going to Vegas, or just flatout party somewhere. All he wanted was front row seats to a hockey game with his boys.
Gareth and Grant are being good sports about it. They haven't complained, even going out and getting team merch to fit in. Jeff is wearing his prized limited edition jersey, a huge grin on his face as he passes them all overpriced beers.
(Yes, money means nothing anymore, but paying more than eight dollars for a beer anywhere is a crime. )
Eddie, on the other hand, is pouting like a child. He promised he wouldn't complain, but he can still make his boredom obvious. He's wearing no team merch, just his usual all-black attire. Which unfortunately, means he's kind of freezing in here, because he’s wearing ripped fucking skinny jeans. He thought they'd be in some kind of suite, where there's heating or something, but Jeff wanted to be right up at the action .
The things he does for his best friends.
He doesn't even know who all he's watching. Jeff’s team, since he was a kid and watching hockey with his dad, is the St. Louis Blues. Eddie knows that much, but he has no damn clue who the other team is. And quite frankly, doesn't really care enough to find out.
Eddie will admit one thing though– the energy in here is kinda rad. It's a packed game, classic rock blasting, and everyone's all hyped up for it. The players come on the ice and the whole place cheers. It reminds Eddie of their own concerts.
The teams start their warm-ups, weaving seamlessly between each other. Eddie's impressed; he knows he'd be little more than a newborn deer if put in a pair of ice skates. So he is entertained by that at least, expecting to see at least someone collide with another.
(Unfortunately, that never happens.)
“Stop pouting, your face’ll get stuck.” Jeff jokes.
“Thanks, mom,” Eddie sticks his tongue out.
“You'll like it, I promise. Some of ‘em are hot.” Jeff continues.
“They're wearing helmets, Jeffrey, I won't be able to see them,” Eddie replies with an overexaggerated frown.
Jeff just laughs, and Eddie continues to pout.
The game starts and Eddie still doesn't know who the other team is. They’re wearing black, white, and yellow, but he’s somewhat sure that there's at least two teams that wear black and yellow.
Either way, Eddie is not entirely sure what's happening. There's men in big pads hitting pucks with a stick, which sounds about as silly as shooting balls in laundry baskets.
(Honestly, if you describe any sport that simply, it sounds silly.)
So Eddie just watches them go back and forth, absolutely nothing about the events happening in front of him making sense. Jeff is getting into it though, yelling along with the crowd. All Eddie knows is that no one’s scored.
He has stopped pouting though. He’s still bored, but it's kind of hard to stay pouting when Jeff is clearly having a fun time. He loves his friends, okay? If they're having a great time, he can't stay mad and moody. It doesn't mean he's enjoying himself though. He's just no longer pouting.
“Well that was fun,” Eddie states as the players head off the ice. He slaps his hands on his thighs, and starts to stand.
Gareth reaches over Jeff to yank on Eddie's wrist.
“It's not over, idiot,” Gareth says, pushing Eddie back into his seat.
“It’s not?!” Eddie exclaims.
Jeff rolls his eyes. “That was the first period. There's two more.”
Eddie groans, drawing the noise out as he sprawls back in his seat. “And there's more?!”
“Chin up Eddie, I'll get you another beer.” Jeff pats Eddie’s shoulder as he stands up.
“I'm going to need something stronger,” Eddie mutters, but the complaint is lost in the noise of the arena.
They're about halfway through the second period when something truly glorious happens.
Well, glorious for Eddie. For everyone else, it's definitely not a big deal.
The Blues have scored twice, causing Jeff and everyone else to jump up and lose their minds. Eddie claps weakly since both times; he actually missed the puck entering the net and jolted when people suddenly cheered.
The other team, the… whatever they are, are approaching when suddenly someone is thrown against the glass one foot in front of Eddie.
Eddie jumps in shock and Gareth whoops, leaning forward to slam his palms against the glass. All around them, the crowd starts whooping and chanting.
The player in the white jersey has his back pressed up against the glass, making the whole thing rattle. He's held by a Blues player’s palm against his chest.
“C’mon Harrington!” The white jersey guy yells in anger, loud enough to be heard over all the ruckus and through the glass.
The Blues player, Harrington, laughs, simultaneously gleeful and mean. “Keep your damn attitude in check Hagan, and I wouldn't fucking have to.”
Hagan starts to yell and curse, but whatever he's saying is blocked out by the yelling of the referees as they come to break up the altercation.
Harrington backs off, one hand reaching up to yank off his helmet.
Eddie's jaw hits the fucking floor.
He gets a front row seat, literally, as Harrington tosses his head back to get his sweaty bangs out of his eyes. He gets the absolute pleasure of beholding A GREEK GOD . A Greek god with the last name Harrington.
Harrington is fucking breathtaking. His strong jawline, tanned skin dotted with moles, and a sweaty flush to his face.
God, what I would do to be the one to cause that flush, Eddie’s little lizard brain starts racing. He would write sonnets for him, carve them into stone to immortalize his worship of such a ethereally stunning man.
“I know, I know, I'm going,” Harrington says as he skates off, but Eddie is completely gone.
No no no, come back!!!
The almost-fight breaks apart, the players given a penalty and they go off wherever for that, but Eddie is paying absolutely zero attention.
He whirls around to Jeff.
“YOU DIDN'T TELL ME IT COULD BE LIKE THIS!” Eddie pretty much screams. “I thought it was like basketball on ice, like no contact!”
Jeff, Gareth, and Grant all burst into laughter.
“Who was that?!” Eddie continues, throwing a hand out to the ice. “That was the most beautiful man I have ever seen!”
Jeff can't breathe. He's holding his stomach.
Eddie searches the ice wildly for Harrington. He now understands why people watch hockey. Hot men throwing their weight around!?!?! What's to not love?!
“I was waiting for that,” Jeff says between wheezes. “He's exactly your type, and known for starting fights. I knew you'd get a hard-on for him.”
Eddie gasps dramatically, flattening his hand against his chest as he looks back at Jeff, scandalized. “I don't have a hard-on!”
Yet. If my dreams come true then yes, yes I will.
“I have never seen someone fall in love faster,” Gareth snickers, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes.
Eddie scowls. He has no luck finding Harrington. Did he get kicked out completely?
“I don't even know his first name,” Eddie laments, slouching in his chair.
Play resumes on the ice, but Eddie's distracted. Where is the man of his dreams? The love of his love? His future husband? He wants to scramble over the glass wall like a feral raccoon and throw himself at Harrington’s skates. That man is a god among men, wearing sharp blades on his feet.
“It's Steve,” Jeff supplies.
“ Steve,” Eddie repeats with reverence. He scrambles for his phone, wriggling in his seat to get it out of his tight jeans.
He's got some serious google searching to do.
becca @bec-ccoffin –
SPOTTED: Corroded Coffin at a St. Louis Blues game
[attached: blurry photo of Corroded Coffin in the front row, all standing and cheering]
reply from @embaby
Since when was Eddie a fan of hockey ??
reply from @bec-ccoffin
since this
[attached: zoomed in photo of Steve Harrington pressing Tommy Hagan up against the glass. Over Tommy’s shoulder, Eddie is clearly visible with his jaw dropped and eyes bugging out]
By the end of the game, the photo is spreading through the Corroded Coffin fandom.
Eddie does not help his own case, and as per usual with him, makes matters worse.
Eddie Munson @eddiethebanished
I CANT BELIEVE NO ONE EVER TOLD ME THERE WAS FIGHTING IN HOCKEY
how could you withhold this information from me
Eddie Munsion @eddiethebanished
i saw god today and he was wearing blades on his feet
Eddie Munson @eddiethebanished
hel l l o oo? ?? ????? ??
[attached: from the official Blues page, a short video of Harrington hitting Hagan against the glass. Eddie is clearly visible at the edge of the frame, absolutely stunned.]
reply from @garethemersonofficial
[attached: the Office meme of “tell these two images apart”. One image is surprised pikachu, the other is Eddie Munson from the video]
reply from @eddiethebanished
SHUT UP GARETH NO ONE ASKED FOR YOUR OPINION
And by the next morning, the photo has spread far beyond the band’s fandom. Not quite network news, but celebrity gossip pages on all corners of the internet have taken notice and written their own little fluff piece on it.
If Eddie was a normal person, he’d probably be embarrassed by it. But alas, Eddie is not a normal person. He’s been called horny on main several times, and wears it like a badge of honor. He already has like zero filter, and has pretty much unfettered access to hundreds of thousands of people who would love to hear his hot takes on things. The days of being embarrassed by his own tweets have long since passed. If they ever were around to begin with, honestly.
The only thing that is embarrassing is that the rest of the band is smug as all hell because Eddie found himself actually enjoying the remainder of the game. The Blues kept scoring, with one of the goals made by Harrington himself. Of course Eddie had to cheer for his soulmate.
“So do you think I can get you to come to more?” Jeff had asked as they were walking out of the arena.
Eddie threw him a scathing look. “That’s pushing it buddy.”
Jeff laughed, loud enough to have caught the attention of a few fans also leaving the game. The conversation dropped from there as they signed things and took photos.
It comes back up though when they’re driving back up to Chicago the following afternoon. Grant’s driving, Jeff passenger, with Gareth and Eddie in the back.
(Gareth had been the one to complain about driving, but Jeff had also wanted to drive, because it felt like the old days , or whatever.)
Eddie is idly scrolling through social media when he comes across it.
quote retweet from @steveharrington
😘
Eddie screams.
Grant screams too, jerking the wheel in shock, which causes Jeff to yelp and Gareth to curse violently.
“Eddie what the fuck!” Gareth yells.
“Jesus, I’m fucking driving!” Grant adds, checking every possible direction to make sure no cop or state trooper saw him swerve violently in the lane. Fortunately, they're in the glorious Corn Fields™ of central Illinois, where it's just nothing but corn for hundreds of miles.
“He replied!” Eddie answers. He feels like throwing his phone out the window.
“Who replied?” Jeff asks, twisting in his chair to look at Eddie.
Eddie doesn’t respond verbally, instead shoves his phone so close to Jeff’s face it nearly brushes his nose. Jeff curses under his breath, snatching up Eddie’s phone so he can look at it at a reasonable distance.
“Harrington?” Grant asks. He sets his eyes back on the highway, and doesn’t stray.
“Yeah, with the kissing winking emoji.”
Eddie feels like throwing himself out the window. What does he do now!? He looks like an idiot! Like a lovestruck fool, an absolute buffoon not worthy of Steve Harrington’s attention.
“Hell yeah,” Gareth says gleefully. He claps his hands together, leaning forward to no doubt conspire with Jeff.
“No, no no–” Eddie starts, but Gareth keeps going.
“Now that Eddie embarrassed himself, it can only go up from there–”
“No!” Eddie slashes his hands through the air. “No, there is no going up from here! He replied, but I can’t slide into his dm’s without being even more creepy!”
“It wasn’t creepy, it was endearing ,” Jeff says. He’s still holding onto Eddie’s phone. But, at least he’s not typing or scrolling or doing anything damning.
“Yeah. It’s cute.” Gareth agrees.
Gareth then makes the disastrous decision to reach for Eddie’s phone. Eddie knows that Gareth has no such qualms about just holding Eddie’s phone . Eddie yells wordlessly, reaching across the small space of the backseat to try and hold Gareth back.
What ensues is a mini-wrestling match. Eddie tries to stop Gareth, while Gareth squirms around with one arm out to grab Eddie’s phone. Jeff watches in amusement.
“Children!” Grant cries, “I am driving! ”
Gareth pulls a nasty move– he slaps a palm on Eddie’s forehead and bodily shoves him away. Like they’re fucking siblings. With his free hand, he snatches up the offered phone and one-handedly starts typing.
Eddie freezes. He knows he’s lost. He could truly keep going but he’d make Grant even more upset, if he’s lucky, or just crash the god damn car if he’s not. That’s not a chance he’s willing to take. He sags back in the seat, and watches Gareth type out something for a few long minutes before Gareth finally dumps his phone back in his lap.
His phone sits dejectedly in his lap, open to a Twitter private message page.
Eddie Munson:
this is Eddie’s friend. He’s a coward and will chicken out so here’s his number
seen by Steve Harrington
Seen by Steve Harrington.
Eddie wants to cry.
“How could you do that to me?” He asks, just staring down at his phone.
“You’ll thank me in your vows.” Gareth snorts.
🏒– 🎸 – 🏒– 🎸
Eddie Munson @eddiethebanished
look at my man go!!!!!! isn’t he the greatest? 🤩🤩🤩
[attached: video of Steve Harrington scuffling with New Jersey Devils defenseman Jason Carver]
Eddie Munson @eddiethebanished
rattling the bars of my enclosure
[attached: screenshot of Steve Harrington in an intermission interview. There is a noticeable bruise forming on Harrington’s cheek, he is covered in sweat but grinning confidently.]
reply from @corrodedjeff
do we need Chrissy to change your passwords again
reply from @eddiethebanished
YOU CANNOT SILENCE ME
Eddie Munsion @eddiethebanisheds
Eddie has been banned from his account for the rest of the week 😚 😁
-Chrissy
🏒– 🎸 – 🏒– 🎸
That cycle repeats itself for the next several months. Eddie frequently gets his accounts taken away from him, like a child being punished. Eddie wants to be mad, but Chrissy, the band’s manager, is like a little petite fairy that one could never be mad at. That’s what makes her so damn good at her job.
Anyway, the whole thing becomes a running gag both in and outside of the band. Eddie’s perpetually horny on main thanks to his new, sudden interest in professional hockey. He watches Blues games when he can, and live-tweets his thoughts if he has access to his account that day. Of course, said live-tweets are centered around one player and one player only.
Steve never responds to his tweets, however, it was noticed that the same day as his first and only response, he and Eddie followed each other on both twitter and instagram. That went viral, of course, spawning a small group of fans to relentlessly follow Eddie’s new obsession and cross their fingers in the hopes that #steddie is real.
Their dreams are answered when Eddie gets his account back exactly three months after his first Blues Game.
Eddie Munson @eddiethebanished
I GOT HIM YOU FUCKS 🥰🥰🥰 YOULL NEVER MAKE ME SHUT UP
The attached image is Eddie, as he stands rinkside, pressed up against Steve. Steve is in his full uniform, arm wrapped around Eddie’s waist, as Eddie leans in to kiss his cheek. Both are absolutely glowing, Steve smiling warmly as he holds Eddie close. And Eddie looks the happiest he’s ever been, wearing his boyfriend’s jersey.