Chapter Text
Eddie liked Robin Buckley well enough.
More than well enough, if he was being honest with himself.
She was sharp. Funny. Always quick with some sarcastic remark or half-baked plan that somehow worked. She had this uncanny way of making the air lighter, even in the kind of moments that made most people crumble. She was the kind of person you didn’t mind being stuck with, whether that meant trapped in the hellscape of the Upside Down or just killing time in the real world with a bag of chips and a deck of cards.
So no, he’d never had a problem with Robin.
Hell, he nearly cried when she dragged him through the portal, her grip on his wrist so tight it left marks, Dustin clinging on the other side. She’d kept him tethered to life with nothing but stubbornness. He’d thanked her a thousand times since—at the hospital, at his uncle’s trailer, at Steve’s house during what the kids insisted on calling a We Saved the World party.
Apparently, saving the world was tradition now.
“It’s only my second time,” Robin had shrugged, nursing a beer against her chest, “but I’m glad I’m not the newbie anymore.”
Then she launched into the story of her first apocalypse: the mall, the Russians, the torture, Hopper, Billy. Eddie had almost passed out upon hearing it, right there in Steve Harrington’s living room. He couldn’t fathom how a pack of kids had made it through not one, not two, but four disasters like that. It made his chest tighten just imagining it.
He liked her all through that. Band geek. Semi-loner with her own weird flock. She wore chunky rings, mouthed off at Steve and Dustin, and they let her. For a while, Eddie thought of himself as a Robin Buckley fan.
And then things shifted. Quietly, slowly, until one day Eddie realized that every time he looked at her, his stomach twisted in a way that had nothing to do with her.
----
By the time the dust settled after their latest monster-slaying victory, Eddie was still piecing himself back together. His ribs still ached if he twisted too fast or when the weather turned stormy, but his uncle promised that it was normal. “Old wounds never really leave you,” Wayne had said, rubbing his own shoulder. Compared to the nightmares, the aches were a comfort.
Proof he was alive.
Outcasted more than ever, sure, but alive. The charges had been dropped and, miraculously, redirected toward Jason, enough to make people second-guess whether their golden boy might’ve been the real monster. Hawkins wasn’t celebrating him though, that was for sure. The town still muttered “freak” when he passed. Jason’s dad spat threats whenever he saw him. He was still in the trailer park, just a different lot now, since the last one had been ripped apart.
But Eddie wasn’t alone anymore.
Nancy Wheeler stopped him in hallways to ask about Dustin or Mike, sometimes just to chat about nothing. Lucas Sinclair, star of Hawkins High, peeled himself from the basketball team long enough to greet him like a quiet shield. The kids clung to him with that fierce loyalty that made his chest ache.
And he had Robin. Sometimes she sat with him at lunch. He ignored the stares, the whispers. It wasn’t like he was chasing girls anyway. And yet, Robin started bothering him. Not her fault, not her doing. But every time she sat across from him, twirling her straw in her drink, his chest tightened.
Because of him.
----
The first time it happened was on a Saturday morning. Eddie had been roped into giving Max a ride to Steve’s pool palace, and though she complained the whole way, she was in his van regardless.
“This is so stupid,” she grumbled, fumbling with her crutches. “I could’ve asked Nancy.”
“She’s only got four seats, Mayfield. And you know she’s a big seatbelt fan.”
“Jonathan could’ve picked me up. Or Steve. If I pretend to be helpless, Steve would’ve come flying.”
Eddie smirked. She wasn’t wrong, but he let it drop.
“He’ll probably go get Robin soon,” Eddie said as he drove at a perfectly legal speed. “That’ll give you plenty of entertainment. They’ll bicker for hours.”
Max chuckled. “Yeah. Bicker.”
Something about the way she said it, low and knowing, set his jaw tight. He didn’t ask what she meant, but the frown stayed the whole ride.
By the time Max collapsed on Steve’s couch, Eddie’s scowl hadn’t moved. He climbed the stairs, knocked once on Steve’s bedroom door, hesitated, then pushed it open.
And froze.
Robin and Steve, fast asleep. Tangled together like they’d been that way forever. Her head tucked into his neck, his arms looped around her waist, her hair spilling over his face, but Steve didn’t seem to mind, peacefully asleep and shirtless.
He was shirtless. She was drowning in one of his shirts. They looked like puzzle pieces that had finally clicked into place.
Eddie’s breath stuck in his throat.
He hadn’t thought…he didn’t know they were like this. He’d always figured their bickering, the dramatic gagging anytime someone joked about them being a couple, he thought that was real. But now? Now it made sense.
Steve Harrington. Golden boy. Hero. He tore bats apart with his bare hands. He shielded kids without blinking. He was good, gentle with Dustin. Of course Robin would fall for him. And why wouldn’t Steve return it? Robin was sharp, beautiful, and she got him in a way nobody else seemed to.
It fit.
It hurt.
Eddie backed out of the doorway, shut it quietly, and dropped onto the couch beside Max.
He hadn’t dared wake them. Not when he stood there staring like some creep. Not when his chest felt hollow at how obvious it all was. What had he expected? This was Hawkins. Boys and girls weren’t “just friends.” Not here.
“Well?” Max asked, turning toward him.
Eddie slouched deeper into the cushions. “He’s sleeping. I’ll wake him in a bit.”
“What? Wake him up, then. What the hell?”
“I’m older than you, Mayfield.” He raised a finger like a warning. “And I’m letting him sleep. He needs it.”
And he did. Eddie knew that much. Steve didn’t sleep easy. He had nightmares. Sometimes he called Eddie in the middle of the night, both of them sitting on the line, breathing into the dark. But upstairs, curled around Robin, Steve looked… fine.
Peaceful.
Eddie’s stomach twisted. It was stupid to be upset. Even stupider to have a crush in the first place. But what choice did he have? Steve was-
Yeah, he was a dick in high school. He never really did anything, but always stood by, watching.
But now? Now he was different. Kind. Brave. The guy who dove into lakes without thinking, who took hits from fuckass demon bats and kept going. The guy who smoothed Eddie’s hair back when he was bleeding out, whispering that everything was going to be fine, Eds, just stay awake, keep your eyes open or I’ll blast ABBA in your ears and you’ll regret not listening to me-
Eddie had been screwed from that moment on.
And when he woke in the hospital, Steve was still there: slumped in a chair, dark circles etched under his eyes, hair flat. He’d barely left, bouncing between Eddie and Max, living out of his car, dragging himself to work just to come back again.
Steve had smiled at him then, soft and tired, fingertips brushing the air between them. That was the second Eddie knew: his dumb, gay heart self was done for.
But that didn’t matter. Not anymore.
That was the exact moment Eddie started resenting Robin Buckley, for absolutely no reason other than the fact that she’d found something good. Love. A steady, gentle boyfriend who adored her.
And once Eddie noticed it, it was impossible to unsee. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t caught it sooner.
Robin smearing sunscreen gently over Steve’s scars. Steve massaging her shoulders behind the counter at Family Video. The two of them disappearing into the house without a word, reappearing hours later like it was nothing. Robin lingering after a night at Steve’s place, still barefoot, rubbing her eyes.
Eddie started noticing everything. The way Steve’s hand lingered at her back. The way Robin laughed against his shoulder. The way their glances seemed too long, too knowing. He cursed himself for missing the signs. Steve driving her to school, every day? Who did that unless he was more than just “a friend giving a ride”? That was boyfriend behavior, plain and simple.
And Eddie hated how much it stung.
He did what he always did: pretended. Showed up at movie nights, cracked jokes at Hellfire, leaned against the Family Video counter to banter with Steve about terrible movies. He laughed like it didn’t matter, like his chest wasn’t hollowing out a little more each time.
But Robin was always there. Sliding into their conversations, winking at Steve, slapping his butt.
Eddie told himself it would pass. It wasn’t his first rodeo. He was a gay man in Hawkins; crushes were doomed by default. Straight boys, every time. Steve Harrington was just another case, sweeter than most, sure, but still a dead end.
He’d let this one run its course. Pretend until he found another straight boy to pine over. Maybe then it wouldn’t hurt so much to see them together.
At least, that’s what he told himself.