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Eddie’s earliest memories of Steve were sunny, bright and loud.
They’d been regular visitors to the same park on summer days, a wide expanse of dying grass and half hearted tyre swings pretending to be a playground, but to Eddie and Steve it was a boundless plane of adventure.
Eddie had been trying to propel himself forward on one of those tyre swings, his little legs dangling high off the ground, swinging back and forth wildly, barely able to build enough momentum going to move before he had heard a voice calling bright and excited and completely unashamed from behind him, getting closer and closer as footsteps ran through the grass.
“Let me help!”
Those were the first words Steve had ever said to him, his grin almost splitting his face, showing off his missing teeth and giving him a lisp over the s sounds.
Eddie had screamed with joy as Steve had taken it almost as a personal challenge to push him as high as he could.
It was only once Steve had sprawled down on the grass, panting and tired from the exertion, Eddie had wiggled his way down from the swing and insisted Steve take his turn now.
Steve had looked up at him like Eddie had handed him the world, like he had never expected to have the fun reciprocated with him at the centre.
After they had their fill of the swing, they spent the rest of the day running around the field playing knights and cops.
Steve didn’t want to play knights and dragons and Eddie didn’t want to play cops and robbers. So they had compromised.
In the way that children so often did, they immediately declared each other their best friend.
And unlike most childhood friendships, it had stuck and stuck fast.
They spent their childhood summers barefoot and feral, running through sprinklers and climbing trees they definitely weren’t supposed to climb. Steve was always the one with scraped palms and bruises blooming under his skin, barely feeling it, grinning through the grazes and pouting whenever Wayne or Mrs. Harrington stopped their play to clean him up.
Eddie was always the one insisting it was fine, trying to pretend, tears in his eyes and his hand held gingerly out for a bandage, that he was just as tough as Steve and it didn’t sting, it didn’t hurt with a wobbly lip and Steve’s hand on his shoulder for comfort.
They learned each other young.
Steve learned that Eddie talked big but bruised easily, inside and out. That Eddie hated being fussed over but secretly leaned into it… if it came from the right person. He learned that Eddie’s passions ran deep and his interests were vast but fleeting, like he couldn’t hold onto one for long before a new one caught his eye.
Eddie learned that Steve was far braver than he looked, that he hated being left behind more than anything, that he liked routine and order, knowing what to expect. That Steve would give everything he had to the people he loved without question, even if it cost him.
Wayne took them on their first trip together when they were nine and ten. Nothing big. Just a two-night drive out of state, a cheap motel with a pool that smelled like too much chlorine and sunscreen.
Eddie had been vibrating with excitement the entire way there, hanging out the open window and narrating everything they passed like a sports announcer.
Steve had fallen asleep against Eddie’s shoulder somewhere past the county line.
That had been the first time Eddie realized he liked being someone’s safe place.
They started calling it a road trip even then, even though it was barely two hours away.
Wayne humoured them, let them pick the music, let Eddie read out loud while Steve followed along with rapt attention.
It became their thing.
The tape recorder came into their life the same year Steve discovered he liked quiet moments just as much as loud ones.
Steve had gotten it for his eleventh birthday, wrapped in shiny paper that had barely gotten a glance before it was ripped to shreds.
They’d sat cross-legged on Steve’s bedroom floor, door shut, curtains drawn, whispering into the microphone like they were sharing secrets with the universe.
It hadn’t taken long before the whispers had become excited shouts and then had slowly leveled back down to an inside voice volume once they had listened back to one of the tapes and the screech of the clipping audio was unbearable.
But they found out that Steve had liked hearing Eddie read, even outside of their road trips.
At first, Eddie thought it was just novelty. The way Steve would lean forward while Eddie practically hovered over the recorder, barely able to keep himself upright with all of his wild gestures and flair coming almost naturally at certain points in the narrative.
And then Eddie’s voice changed.
One day, out of nowhere, it cracked and broke and dropped out from under him while they were recording something stupid and improvised. Eddie had flushed hot with embarrassment trying to clear his throat. But the whiny up and down breaking wouldn’t go away.
He was ready to shut the whole thing down, ready to pretend it hadn’t happened.
Steve had just stared at him.
Then he’d smiled.
“I like that,” he’d said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Like Eddie’s changing voice was something good. Something worth keeping.
That moment lodged itself somewhere deep in Eddie’s chest and was still there to this day. Like a cherished organ.
From then on, the tapes became more intentional. Eddie practiced. Re-recorded sections. Lowered his voice deliberately once he realized Steve’s eyes had gotten almost impossibly wide once when he had done it on the fly.
Every year, without fail, Eddie recorded a book for Steve.
Sometimes it was something Eddie had written himself. Some overly dramatic fantasy story, with overwrought monologues and ridiculous accents that made Steve laugh so hard he’d have to pause the tape. Other years it was a book Steve loved already, or one Eddie thought he might love if given the chance.
Every year, Eddie handed over the cassette on Steve’s birthday with the same knot of nerves in his stomach.
Every year, Steve’s eyes glittered like he’d been given something priceless.
His smile would split his face, wide and unguarded, and he’d crush Eddie into a hug that always lingered a second too long, arms tight and earnest and overwhelming in the way only Steve Harrington ever managed.
Eddie had honestly thought Steve would tire of it eventually.
Normal people got bored of the same gift year after year.
Normal people wanted variety.
Surprise.
Something shiny.
But Steve never did.
When middle school hit and the world started pulling them in different directions, the traditions stayed.
Steve went to parties Eddie didn’t want to attend. Eddie fell in with kids Steve didn’t always understand. But every summer, every year, the road trip happened.
Every birthday, the tape appeared.
It was how they stayed tethered.
And now, whenever he pulled the old box from his closet and listened back to the high-pitched, breathless giggles of eleven-year-old Steve and the embarrassingly cracking, breaking voice of twelve-year-old Eddie felt like a balm on particularly bad days. Proof that once, a long time ago, things had been simple. That there had been a time when the worst thing Eddie had worried about was whether his voice would ever stop squeaking mid-sentence.
He didn’t know if Steve still had any of those old tapes.
But he knew Steve remembered them.
It would have been impossible not to.
The one year Eddie had suggested, very carefully and very awkwardly that maybe he should get him a “real” present instead, Steve had looked genuinely stricken.
Like Eddie had just threatened to take something vital away from him.
So Eddie had backtracked immediately, heart in his throat, promising he hadn’t meant it like that, promising there’d be a tape.
Of course there’d be a tape!
And Steve had relaxed, shoulders slumping in relief, grinning again like nothing had happened.
Which was how Eddie had found himself, at the ripe old age of twenty-three, slouched in the passenger seat of Steve’s BMW, listening to his own voice crackle ominously through the tape deck while Steve barrelled them down an empty stretch of highway.
It felt less like nostalgia and more like continuity.
Steve driving, Eddie talking, traditions overlapping and evolving.
A recorded tape and the annual road trip.
“How it is that I appear before you in a shape that you can see, I may not tell,” Eddie’s voice intoned, deep and rough and carefully controlled. “I have sat invisible beside you many and many a day.”
Steve shivered exaggeratedly, rolling his shoulders as goosebumps prickled down his arms. “I don’t think this story is supposed to be this creepy,” he complained.
“You think wrong, Stevie,” Eddie said, grinning as he tapped the side of the tape player. “How else are you supposed to scare Christian charity into the masses?”
Steve snorted, one hand batting at Eddie’s shoulder. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“It’s seasonal!”
“It’s way too spooky to be seasonal!”
“This book invented Christmas, Steven!”
“Pretty sure that was Jesus, Edward!”
“That’s just what they want you to think!”
Steve’s responding eye-roll, paired with an exasperated but entertained smile was all Eddie needed to fill his self satisfaction and his heart up. There was just something addicting about entertaining Steve. Getting him to smile. Laugh. Blush.
Eddie categorised them all, kept their methods locked inside his brain, like a cheat code.
Outside of the car, the world was growing greyer. Clouds were blooming low and heavy, the air was charged with an oncoming storm but neither of them were willing to turn back now.
They still had to finish out their annual summer road trip.
Even if it was the middle of December.
Summer was prime road trip time, warm long days, dry and comfortable. But schedules hadn’t aligned this time around and neither of them were willing to see the end of the year without their usual tradition.
It didn’t matter where they went, not really. The point was the drive. The music. The tapes. The shared silence in between never felt awkward. Being together always made the rest of the world feel quieter.
They’d survived worse than bad weather.
They’d survived that year.
The one where Eddie hadn’t graduated.
Again.
Back then, Eddie hadn’t been able to stand the look on Steve’s face, calm, steady, unbothered while Eddie had raged.
Steve looked at him like he hadn’t just crossed some invisible finish line Eddie was miles away from. Like he hadn’t had his whole future laid out in front of him while Eddie was still stuck, still failing, still disappointing everyone.
Including himself.
The worst part hadn’t been Steve moving forward.
It had been Steve being willing to wait for him.
Eddie couldn’t stand it.
He couldn’t stand the idea that Steve would put his life on hold for him, like it was nothing.
Like Eddie was worth delaying dreams for.
The fight had been loud.
Ugly.
And public.
Hawkins had felt wrong without them after that.
Robin and Chrissy, their respective queer platonic soulmates, were adrift, unsure how to interact with one half of a duo without the other.
Steve and Eddie hadn’t spoken for weeks.
Then the road trip date had come.
Without a word, without a plan, they’d both shown up at the meet-up spot anyway.
They’d driven twelve miles in silence before Eddie had cracked, apologies spilling out of him raw and frantic and desperate. Steve had listened. Had forgiven him without hesitation.
By the time they’d come back two weeks later, sunburned and exhausted and laughing again, they’d been stronger than ever.
Now, as Eddie’s voice continued to narrate Scrooge’s misery and the road stayed blissfully empty, Eddie felt that same familiar contentment settle into his bones.
This, right here, was perfection.
Steve driving, Eddie talking, the world narrowing down to just them, a long stretch of highway and the clouds above.
Until the car stuttered.
Once.
Twice.
Eddie frowned, reaching out to turn the volume down as Steve’s eyes flicked to the dashboard.
“Don’t you dare,” Steve whispered.
Apparently, she did dare.
The engine gave one final cough before falling terrifyingly silent, Steve coasting towards the hard shoulder before coming to a stop.
Silence rushed in, broken only by the faint whistle of wind outside and the ominous roll of distant thunder.
Eddie blinked. “Stevie?”
Steve stared at the dash, quiet and unmoving, eyes trained on the blinking light.
His head landed against the steering wheel with a loud thunk.
“We’re out of gas.”
Eddie’s responding laugh was nervous and strained. “No, we’re not?”
Steve lifted his head slowly, deadpan. “We are absolutely out of gas.”
Large fat droplets of rain began to patter like laughter against the windshield.
“But…” Eddie shook his head, almost disbelieving. “That’s a rookie mistake! We’re not rookies!”
Steve massaged at his temples, pulling at his face like exasperated putty.
“This is what I get for being distracted by your voice.”
Eddie opened and closed his mouth.
“But I haven’t said anything!”
“You were on that tape being all spooky and low and rumbly!” Steve pointed an accusatory finger between the tape player and Eddie, like they were in cahoots. “I kept thinking, I’ll stop for gas at the next station, I want to hear what’s said next. Except I kept thinking the next one and then the next one because I couldn’t stop listening to your damn voice!”
Eddie could only blink.
“I don’t know if that’s supposed to be a compliment or an insult.”
“It’s both!” Steve huffed, arms crossed.
Eddie stared at him for a long second, rain ticking steadily against the glass, wind howling outside of the car, their inside thick with the accusation.
Then he laughed.
Almost giggled.
One could even call it bashful.
If one was a theatre nerd.
It was something soft, surprised and delighted.
“You ran out of gas,” Eddie grinned, “because you were too busy listening to me talk.”
Steve shifted in his seat, shoulders hunched, pouting. “You say that like it’s ridiculous.”
“It is ridiculous,” Eddie said. “And also…” He tilted his head, ignoring the rising heat up his neck. “Kind of insanely flattering.”
Steve scoffed, his own cheeks colouring. “Don’t get a big head about it.”
“Oh, Stevie,” Eddie drawled, pressing a hand to his chest. “You mean to tell me that my low, sexy tones distracted you into vehicular incompetence? I’m never letting you live this down, sweetheart.”
Steve groaned, dragging his hands down his face again. “I knew you’d be like this.”
“You admitted,” Eddie pressed on gleefully, “that you couldn’t stop listening to my damn voice.”
Steve’s ears turned pink to match his cheeks. “That’s not- I mean-” He gestured helplessly at the tape player. “You know what I mean!”
Eddie continued to smile to himself, leaning back against the seat.
Steve stayed silent for a moment, the quiet resting between them as the rain picked up again, heavier now, drumming insistently, filling the space their words had carved.
“You always sound… nice. On the tapes.”
Eddie felt something warm twist low in his chest. “Nice?”
Steve snorted. “Okay, not nice nice. Just…” He waved a hand, frustrated. “Comforting. Like everything’s going to be fine as long as you keep talking.”
Eddie swallowed.
“Well,” he said carefully, forcing a grin back into place, “guess that means the tape did its job.”
Steve smiled faintly at that, the tension easing just a bit. “Guess so.”
Thunder rolled somewhere overhead, closer now, and Steve glanced out at the darkening sky. “Okay. So. Options.”
Eddie clapped his hands. “Hit me.”
“We can walk,” Steve said. “But the nearest gas station is, like, five miles back. And it’s raining. And dark.”
Eddie grimaced. “Hard pass.”
“There was a motel only a couple miles back,” Steve continued. “We passed it maybe… ten minutes ago?”
Eddie’s eyes lit up. “The over the top Christmas one?”
“The over the top Christmas one.” Steve nodded.
Eddie leaned back in his seat, decision already made. “Perfect! We can get warm, dry off, and deal with gas in the morning. Do you think they have Christmas decorations in the rooms? Oh! Do you think they have hot chocolate? Or candy canes?!”
Steve attempted to deadpan stare him down, roll his eyes, frown, but his smile still snuck through.
“You are such a child.”
“Of course I am, being a grown up is so boring.”
Steve shook his head, smile growing. “Okay, child. Grab your stuff.”
Despite agreeing to backtrack to the motel, a journey that took them nearly an hour to complete, Steve still kept looking back at the Bimmer abandoned behind them like he was looking back at his lost love.
Eddie just gave him a conciliatory pat on the shoulder.
He had thrown a jacket over his head in a piss poor attempt to keep the rain off, but it was soaked through immediately, rain dripping cold around his neck while Steve continued to wear his own jacket as a jacket, keeping it pulled tight and close around him.
They bickered the entire way.
Whose fault it was. Whether Eddie had distracted Steve on purpose. Whether the tape player drained gas faster (it didn’t). How Eddie walked too close to the edge of the road and Steve kept yanking him back by the sleeve.
By the time the motel lights came into view, twinkling bright, festive and colourful through the rain, they were both drenched to the bone and laughing breathlessly, steam practically rising off them.
Eddie was honestly amazed they weren’t like two miserable wet cats, but being with Steve always kept his spirits high.
The motel looked like something out of a postcard; string lights outlining the roof, tinsel wrapped around the railings, a plastic Santa waving cheerfully near the office door. It felt almost unreal, a floating pocket of warmth amongst the blustering storm.
Inside, the air was thick with heat and the faint smell of pine cleaner and cinnamon.
The receptionist, an older woman with snow white hair and a garish Christmas sweater on, did a double take at the sight of them.
“Oh my goodness, you boys look frozen!” She said, dipping into a supply closet behind her desk and coming back out, arms full of fluffy towels.
Steve gave her his most apologetic yet somehow still charming smile, water dripping from his hair onto the counter. Eddie stood beside him, shivering, trying not to drench the carpet.
They politely but extremely gratefully took the towels from her, Steve turning the charm up even more as he thanked her and asked for any available rooms.
“I’m so sorry, hon,” she said. “We’re almost full tonight. I’ve only got one room left.”
“That’s fine,” Steve said immediately.
“Yeah, totally fine,” Eddie echoed, just as quickly, eager to get warm and dry.
The receptionist hesitated. “I’m afraid it’s only got one bed.”
They both waved her off at the same time.
“Not a problem,” Steve said.
“We’d take a blanket on the floor at this stage.” Eddie grinned, blinking at her through his still dripping bangs.
“Oh, I’d never do that to you kids!” She looked scandalised at the very thought.
The room was small but clean, decked out with Christmas decorations to Eddie’s immense delight. Tinsel draped over the headboard, a tiny fake tree on the dresser with blinking lights. The heater rattled loudly as Steve cranked it up as high as it would go, smelling of dust and hot coils. He shed his wet jacket and shoes in a heap by the door, hands staring to shake from the cold.
Eddie did the same, fingers numb as he peeled off layers but eventually warmth began to creep back into his limbs slowly, painfully, like pins and needles.
They both stripped down with their backs to each other, too eager to fish their dry sleep clothes out of their bag and too eager to get fully warm and dry again to panic about the other being mostly naked behind them.
It wasn’t until they were both semi-decent again, they turned at the same time and really took in the bed.
They hadn’t slept in the same bed since they were kids. Back when it had been easy. Back before Eddie had realized that the way Steve smiled at him sometimes made his heart stutter, or that the space between them felt like too much and too little all at once.
Before Steve’s warmth had seeped into his bones to live forever.
Steve sniffed loudly beside him and Eddie’s heart shot up into his mouth. It was so incongruous with the reaction he’d been expecting that he was shocked into panic.
“Are you okay?”
Steve’s cheeks were flushed now, his nose pink, eyes glassy. He shivered again, wrapping his arms around himself even as the room warmed.
“Stevie?”
“Yeah,” Steve said, but it came out thick, congested. He scrubbed at his nose with the back of his hand. “Just cold.”
Deflection and denial.
Trying to pretend everything was fine, trying not to worry anyone around him.
Classic Steve martyrdom.
And Eddie would not have it.
“Sit,” he said, pointing at the edge of the bed.
Steve went without protest, sinking down onto the mattress with a tired exhale. Eddie moved without thinking.
He knelt in front of Steve, hands warm now as he pressed them to Steve’s knees, then his forearms, rubbing briskly. Steve’s skin was hot under his touch. Too hot. Eddie frowned, worry sharpening into focus.
“Okay,” Eddie said gently, all joking gone. “You’re not just cold.”
Another shiver wracked through Steve, deeper this time, shoulders drawing in on themselves like he was trying to disappear into his own body. His nose was running now, breaths shallow and congested, every inhale sounding thick.
Eddie reached for a towel and draped it around Steve’s shoulders, then another, piling them on like insulation. “You’re getting sick,” he murmured. Not accusatory. Just a fact.
Steve winced apologetically. “Sorry.”
Eddie shook his head. “Don’t.”
Steve’s mouth pressed into a line, clearly biting back another apology, and Eddie softened like warm ice-cream.
He nudged Steve’s knee with his own.
“C’mon,” he said. “Shoes off. Socks too.”
Steve obeyed, sluggish and clumsy as he tugged fabric free.
Eddie tossed everything damp aside and pulled back the covers, heat trapped underneath like a promise.
“Ed-” Steve started, looking regretful and apologetic.
Eddie didn’t let him finish.
He climbed in first, propped himself up against the headboard, then patted the space beside him decisively.
“Get in here.”
Steve hesitated exactly half a second before he did.
The moment he settled against Eddie’s side, he let out a shaky breath that sounded like relief. His skin radiated heat through the thin layer of his t-shirt, feverish and uncomfortable, and Eddie wrapped an arm around him automatically, pulling him closer.
Steve made a quiet noise at that, something soft and vulnerable.
“You’re burning up,” Eddie murmured, pressing the back of his fingers to Steve’s cheek.
“Feels like I’m freezing,” Steve said thickly, teeth chattering despite himself, curling himself in unconsciously closer.
“Yeah,” Eddie said, shifting so Steve’s head rested against his chest. “That tracks.”
Eddie tucked the blankets around them both, cocooning Steve in warmth even as sweat prickled along his own spine.
He didn’t care.
Not even a little.
If Steve needed heat, Eddie would give him every bit he had.
Steve shivered again, smaller this time, then relaxed incrementally as Eddie began to stroke his hair, slow and steady passes from crown to nape, fingers careful and grounding, in just the way Eddie knew soothed him.
“I’m sorry about the car,” Steve mumbled, words already slipping. “And the gas. And… dragging you out in this weather.”
“Hey,” Eddie said softly, immediately. He dipped his head, lips brushing Steve’s temple without thinking, voice low and soothing. “Shh. None of that.”
Steve sighed, breath warm against Eddie’s collarbone.
“I should’ve checked the gauge,” Steve continued faintly. “I always check the gauge.”
Eddie slid his hand through Steve’s hair again, gently scratching at his scalp the way he knew Steve liked.
“You got distracted. It happens.”
“By you and your stupid voice.”
“Me and my stupid voice.” Eddie agreed. “I’ll take the blame.”
Steve’s fingers curled weakly in Eddie’s shirt, clutching, like he needed to keep Eddie close at all costs.
Minutes passed like that.
Quiet, intimate, the storm raging outside while Eddie counted Steve’s breaths and kept his hand moving, steady and reassuring.
Steve shifted closer sleepily, incongruously cold nose nudging into the hollow of Eddie’s throat, seeking warmth without conscious thought.
Eddie adjusted instinctively, cradling him more securely, heart thudding hard against his ribs, hoping it wasn’t pounding like a drum into Steve’s ear.
He thought Steve had drifted off completely until Steve spoke again, voice thick with exhaustion, words slurred and unguarded.
“This is why I love you, Eddie,” Steve mumbled. “You always take care of me.”
The words hit Eddie like a gunshot.
He froze, seizing up like he had just been dunked in ice water.
He couldn’t breathe.
Wouldn’t allow himself to for fear of breaking the illusion.
Steve was warm and heavy against him, trusting and unaware, fingers still curled in his shirt like Eddie was something solid and safe.
Love you.
Eddie swallowed hard, throat tight, eyes stinging. He didn’t pull away. He couldn’t. Instead, he tightened his hold just a fraction, pressing his cheek to Steve’s hair.
“Yeah,” he whispered, voice barely there. “I got you, Stevie.”
Steve sighed contentedly, already gone again, sleep dragging him under.
Eddie stayed awake long after that.
The rain pounded down against the window outside, distorting the cheerful Christmas lights filtering through the broken blinds, Steve’s breath on his neck was soft but wheezing.
Eddie would be the one driving tomorrow, no complaints.
It took a long time for sleep to take him too, but eventually it did, the rhythm of the rain and Steve pressed close, nose in that thick chestnut hair stealing him to sleep before he could think too hard on it.
Morning crept in slowly, pale and grey, the storm having wiped itself out sometime in the early hours. The rain was gone, leaving the world outside washed cold, bright and quiet, Christmas lights still blinking steadfast through the fogged-up window.
Eddie woke first.
He was aware of Steve before he was aware of anything else, the warm weight pressed against him, an arm slung loose around his middle, Steve’s face tucked into the curve of his neck like it belonged there. Steve’s breathing was still rough, congested, soft wheezes breaking up each inhale, but steady.
Safe.
Neither of them had moved much.
Eddie stared at the ceiling.
He shifted just enough to test it.
Steve didn’t pull away.
If anything, he hummed in mild annoyance in his throat and curled closer, nose nudging warm against Eddie’s skin, hand tightening in the fabric of Eddie’s shirt again like an anchor.
Eddie closed his eyes.
God.
It wasn’t long after that Steve stirred.
He blinked up at him, bleary eyed and flushed from the sickness. eyes glassy and red, but alert, hair flattened down on one side.
“Morning,” Steve rasped.
Eddie smiled softly. “Morning, sunshine.”
Steve squinted at him. “You’re being weird.”
“You’re being sick,” Eddie countered gently. “Truce?”
Steve huffed. A laugh that turned into a cough. Eddie waited it out, rubbing slow circles into his back until it passed.
They lay there for a moment longer, the quiet stretching, comfortable and loaded all at once.
Then Eddie took a breath.
Because he couldn’t let last night go unaddressed.
He couldn’t.
His soul needed to know.
“So,” he said carefully, keeping his voice light even as his pulse kicked up. “You talked last night.”
Steve stilled, a warm and pliant statue.
Not dramatically.
Just… stopped moving. His eyes flicked away, jaw tightened, breath hitched before he smoothed it out with visible effort, ready to face the music as he always was.
“Oh,” he said after a beat. “I did.”
Eddie nodded. “Yeah.”
Silence stretched between them, thick and charged. Eddie didn’t rush it. He knew Steve. He knew the way he needed a moment, just long enough to gather himself before leaping headfirst into whatever scared him.
Steve swallowed.
“I meant it,” he said quietly. “What I said.”
Eddie’s heart thudded hard.
Steve lifted his gaze, meeting Eddie’s eyes directly again, brave and unflinching even now, even like this. “I love you,” he said, unrushed and unwavering. “Not just platonically, though you’re my longest friend, and I love you as my longest friend.” His jaw tightened, eyes flicking away for half a second before coming back, resolute. “But… I also… I’m also in love with you. And I’m sorry if that… complicates things. I don’t want to mess us up. I won’t let it mess us up.”
Eddie felt something crack open in his chest.
“I won’t let it affect our friendship,” Steve continued, voice steady despite the tremor Eddie could hear under it. “If you don’t want it to. I can handle that.”
Eddie laughed softly, a breathy sound. “Yeah?”
Steve nodded. “Yeah.”
Eddie shifted just enough to look at him properly, his hand coming up to cup Steve’s cheek, thumb brushing gently beneath his eye. Steve leaned into it without thinking.
“I kind of hoped it would affect our friendship,” Eddie said quietly. “In a good way.”
Steve blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then his eyes widened, breath catching hard enough Eddie felt it against his chest.
“You-” Steve stopped, restarted. “You mean-?”
Eddie smiled, nervous and real and utterly undone. “Yeah. For… a stupidly long time actually. I’ve loved you since that first road trip, I think. You fell asleep against my shoulder and I didn’t really understand what I was feeling. I just knew it made me incandescently happy that you felt safe enough with me to do that.”
“I’ve always felt safe with you.”
Eddie couldn’t help the wide beaming, b ut still bashful smile that overtook his face.
“And for the record,” Steve went on, “I’ve loved you since the summer before that-”
Eddie snorted.
“It’s not a competition, Stevie.”
Steve’s grin got a little sharper. “Well if it were, I’d win.”
“Jock.”
“Nerd.”
“Can I finish my story of me falling in love with you, please?”
Eddie shrugged, smile unable to be tamped down.
“If you must.”
“I must.”
Eddie’s heart was up in his throat as Steve continued.
“Wayne had given you his old copy of Fellowship to read and you were enraptured. You were so taken with it, it was like you came alive every time you talked to me about it, you recounted the story to me over and over. I had never seen anyone be so passionate about anything before. I didn’t know anyone could. You were magnetic.”
“Jesus, Stevie.” Eddie’s entire face must have been firetruck red. Despite Steve’s sickness Eddie was sure he could give him a run for his money on who’s forehead was hotter right now. “Talk like that is liable to make a girl blush.”
“Well get used to it. I’m going to be making you blush as much as I can for the foreseeable future. You’re so pretty when you do it.”
“Oh my god.” Eddie tilted his head, gaze flicking down to Steve’s mouth before he could stop himself. His heart hammered.
He wanted to kiss him so badly it almost hurt.
Steve noticed.
He smiled apologetically, lifting a hand between them. “I really want to,” he said, voice hoarse from all the talking. “But I’m sick. You don’t want whatever this is.”
Eddie pouted. “No fair!”
Steve smiled at him, a soft, gentle, loving thing. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Eddie’s cheek.
“Your consolation prize.”
Eddie’s skin was on fire where Steve’s lips had touched.
Steve had settled himself back down onto Eddie’s chest, still a little sniffly, still a little congested, but smiling.
Eddie leaned down, brushing Steve’s hair from his forehead, and pressed his own lips to the skin there, a firm pressure, a hope that he’d give Steve the same feeling he had just received.
The flush that had settled over Steve’s cheeks expanded and Eddie knew he can completed his goal.
“I can’t wait to kiss you properly.” Steve admitted to Eddie’s sternum.
“Me too, sweetheart.”
Eddie guided them back down into the mattress, tucking the blankets around Steve with practised care.
“Rest,” Eddie murmured. “I’ll be right here.”
“I know.”
Outside, the wind whistled lightly, the sunlight shone brightly. Inside, the Christmas lights blinked soft and glowing. Warm in bed two people settled into lazy napping, hearts full to bursting.
They had their whole lives ahead of them, full of old traditions and new and same as it always had been, they had each other.