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nobodyfamousposts · 4 months

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Coffeenette

For the record, they blame Alya. All of them do. No question. They will never NOT blame Alya for this.

Even Nino, who is her boyfriend and supposed to support her. He’s agreed with her about almost everything. But not about this.

Even Rose, who is the sweetest girl in their class. She’ll apologize and be really nice about it, but she still blames Alya.

Heck, even Chloe did, which was a surprise. She was a bully sure, but as such, anyone would have thought this sort of thing would be beneath her. Though it could simply be that she just liked having any excuse to make fun of someone.

…Or so they thought until they saw Chloe scramble away to hide as soon as she saw it happen.

But none of them blamed Alya more for this situation than Marinette, who could only swear all unholy vengeance and glare daggers at her soon to be ex-best friend as she took her sole reason for living in this cold and terrible world and threw it in the garbage!

“Marinette, come on. It’s not that big of a deal!”

“It was innocent…”

“It was a cup of coffee!”

“The perfect cup of coffee. The coffee to end all coffees. Brewed to perfection and at just the right temperature. I could have died happily with that coffee. No other cup of coffee will ever compare. Ambrosia was in that cup and you threw it away!”

“Are you serious?!”

“Shh. Shh…I must mourn.”

“Get off the floor!”

“Mourn, I say!”

Oh sure, some had shrugged it off at the time. Alya had just rolled her eyes and dragged Marinette to class—coffeeless. Others had simply laughed a little at the dramatic display before moving on.

But those who knew better were panicking.

Some were already looking up therapists. Two were immediately calling their parents to ask about a school transfer. A few had given up on life and were writing up their wills.

It should be made clear: Marinette Dupain-Cheng was a kind girl. Sweet. Dedicated. Dependable. If you needed help, she was there. She was the one to look to for a solution to any problem. She was the first to put forth an effort and offer an olive branch, even if you hurt her. And of course the last thing she ever wanted to do was upset anyone. And if she did, she would be the first to apologize and try to make up for it.

…the problem was that this was all when Marinette was in a good space. And while her good days exceeded her bad days, that was not to say that there were not bad days. And when she had her bad days, they were…bad.

The thing that few knew about Marinette Dupain-Cheng was that there were…times, you could say, when she was not her normal friendly self. Times when she was…

…Grumpy.

Kind of mean.

Downright brutal, actually.

It only happened when she was either very angry or very stressed.

Which, unfortunately for everyone, has been increasing quite a bit since Hawk Moth made his grand entrance into the world of supervillainy.

Marinette had been stressed for a while and it showed. She’d been losing sleep. And they could tell she’s been more groggy given how frequently she’s been walking into walls and doors. They had thought this was cute at first. They had even laughed about it.

They hadn’t realized that this was actually only the first stage. Not until she started coming in with coffee—something she hadn’t done in years.

Marinette struggled when she was tired.

Thanks to Hawk Moth, she had lately been very tired.

And with her consistent lack of sleep, coffee had been her best friend. Or at least her best consumable friend. The sort of friend that brought her relief and made living bearable.

…until Alya took it away.

It turned out that Marinette’s parents had become…”concerned” about Marinette’s caffeine intake and had forbidden her from the beverage. Normally, they could only keep it away from her at home by either keeping her from the coffee pot or when necessary, switching to decaf. But Marinette had found ways around that by getting her bitter bitter life-saving paint stripper juice outside, usually on the way to school.

Or at least, she used to. But this was a new year and THIS time, Marinette had a new friend—and a BEST FRIEND at that in the form of Alya Cesaire, whom Tom and Sabine had chosen to enlist in their plot to protect their daughter from things that weren’t good for her.

Like coffee. Her precious life-preserving coffee.

And next to the Ladyblog and her secondary role as Rena Rouge, Alya had never jumped on anything faster.

Marinette’s morning coffee run? Done. A thing of the past as Alya would walk her to school and ensure they made no other stops along the way.

Marinette’s stash of coffee and energy drinks? Ransacked. Alya searched her locker, her desk, her bags. And being Marinette’s best friend, she knew ALL of her potential hiding spots.

Marinette’s emergency chocolate-covered espresso beans? Taken. Alya practically treated it like it was radioactive given the gloves and goggles she wore as she removed them. And in her defense, they very well may have been. Marinette was very tight-lipped over just where she had gotten them. She had tried to hide the fact that they WERE espresso beans, but Alya still wasn’t fooled.

Alya was on the hunt and there was NOTHING that could stop her. For her best friend’s “greater good”.

…as far as Marinette was concerned, the “greater good” could shove it.

She saved Paris on a daily basis! This was the LEAST it could give her in return!

Sadly, it appeared that Alya—and by extension Paris, cared not for Marinette’s sacrifice. Thus she was left to stew in her growing rage…stew like the precious brew she was being deprived of.

Up until that point it was clear that Marinette had been surviving on coffee and sheer spite. And now she only had one of those two things left.

But it would be fine! Really!

…so long as no one earned her ire.

Chloe had been one such unfortunate recipient of that ire some time ago in her younger days. Though Marinette had profusely apologized to her afterwards, Chloe never forgot and has held it against her ever since.

...well, after her several month sabbatical from school, at any rate.

So the fact that Chloe was suddenly trying to convince her father to let her take a vacation in the middle of the school year should have been a major red flag.

…or the way Marinette slammed her bag on her desk to get the class’s attention when they started getting off task and too loud in class.

……or the death glare she gave Kim the instant he tried to poke fun at her state with a literal poke to her cheek to try to wake her…and the injured finger he received for his trouble when she grabbed the offending object and bent it back.

…………or how most of the teachers were conveniently refraining from giving them any homework assignments they knew they should have been getting. Or not acknowledging Marinette’s grumpy behavior and sleeping in class. Or avoiding even looking in Marinette’s general direction.

The point was that it was evident that not all was right in the classroom and especially with their normally kind and happy Everyday Ladybug.

To their credit, the classmates had tried to bring Marinette coffee in order to help restore her to her usual state...or at least avoid her wrath.

But all their attempts were for naught, as Alya herself had become something of a bloodhound for caffeine. And having appointed herself as enforcer of the coffee ban, she would confiscate any form of the substance they tried to bring in and dispose of it in short order—much to the classmates’ horror and Marinette’s growing displeasure.

As far as the class could figure, it seemed that coffee was either simply useful in keeping Marinette awake and aware, or it was a comfort to her when she was feeling stressed.

Probably both.

And Alya, in all her misguided concern for the girl’s health, had taken it upon herself to remove the one thing keeping Marinette stable. Stable and happy and not inclined to traumatize anyone unfortunate enough to get in her way.

So yes, everyone in the class did blame her. They didn’t do anything about that resentment, of course, but they did still blame her.

Not that Alya seemed to care.

“Alya.” Nino knelt—literally knelt before her, his hands clasped as if in prayer. “Please. I’m begging you! Just let the girl have her coffee!”

She only rolled her eyes before throwing away yet another cup Marinette had managed to procure from the teacher’s lounge—somehow completely ignoring the daggers the other girl was glaring at them all with from the window of the classroom.

Alya was unmoved.

And seemingly oblivious to the scratch marks on the window left in the wake of Marinette’s pawing.

“It’s for her own good.” Alya insisted, much to the growing horror and frustration of those around her.

“What about our good?“

“You’ll be fine.“ She said dismissively.

“She made Kim cry!” Nino exclaimed, gripping his hat.

“You’re exaggerating.“

“She brought out the Vial. Do I need to tell you about the Vial?“

“The what now?“

“Marinette has a special Vial she carries during…these times.” Max explained as he helped the despondent Nino to his feet.

Alya blinked.

“Okay?”

“She uses that Vial to collect the tears of anyone who so much as annoys her while she’s in this state!”

“That’s a little weird, but—”

Nino cut her off.

“She uses those tears to flavor her coffee.”

Alya stared.

“What?”

“She flavors her coffee with tears, Alya!” He continued, gripping her shoulders. “Not cream! Not sugar! Not cinnamon or chocolate or pumpkin spice like normal people and Americans! TEARS! OUR TEARS! What does that tell you?!”

“That tells me you’re exaggerating.“ She replied, looking decidedly unimpressed. And thus cruelly ignored his whimpering as she tossed the rest of the coffee into the trash bin.

She shot them a look as she slammed the bin lid closed, as if daring them to challenge her.

Nino looked on the verge of a breakdown.

Max sighed and texted the others.

To everyone else, the slamming of that bin lid was akin to a signal…one that indicated the sealing of their fates.

Some cried. Some prayed.

Most chose to stay out of the way.

…that was likely all they could do.

Other than blame Alya, of course. Which they did.

As Marinette’s antics changed from funny “walking into walls isn’t she cute” to less funny “eviscerate your soul with words”.

As whispers from the rest of the school followed the classmates, offering them sympathy and prayers.

As the very atmosphere changed from a sense of melancholy to ever growing unease and outright paranoia. As if her presence itself brought with it something seemingly eldritch in nature.

And through it all, Alya ignored the warnings and insisted this was for the best.

To be fair, it was perhaps her friendship with Marinette that offered her some protection from the worst of it.

…others were not spared.

Timothy—everyone remember Timothy? Prominent student and good friend to the rest of the class. Top of his class. Fellow swimmer and athlete to Kim and Odine. Was one of the few people Chloe would listen to. Tried to help Nino throw the party during Bubbler and the only one to notice Sabrina hadn’t appeared in a while in Antibug. Remember? That Timothy. Had totally been there all along and was well liked by everyone. Possibly as much as Adrien.

…until he admonished Marinette for bumping into him and not looking where she was going.

And.

Marinette.

Snapped.

It was the moment Marinette finally had enough. Both of the lack of coffee and of holding back her frustration about the situation.

It was also the last time Timothy was seen at school. Or anywhere for that matter. Given how abrupt it was and how people actively avoid mentioning him again, some question if he had ever really existed…

Eh, probably not. It was likely just a rumor.

What wasn’t a rumor was how Chloe (after being denied being allowed to ditch school) presumed that a new year and being Queen Bee meant she was stronger than she had been before and thus strong enough to put the caffeine-deprived version of Marinette in her place. She would prove to Marinette, to herself, and to everyone that SHE was the head bitch in charge.

Marinette was abruptly woken out of a nice daydream that either involved Adrien or coffee or Adrien AND coffee to find herself being yelled at. And find herself face to face with Chloe.

Oh wait, Chloe was the one yelling at her.

She had a hard time making out what Chloe was saying, but the fact remained that it WAS Chloe. Which was never a pleasant place to begin any realization.

It would help if she had coffee.

Was there coffee?

Marinette looked at her depressingly empty hands.

No.

"Well?! Do you hear me?!" Chloe shouted.

Marinette looked up at the blonde and took a slow breath before opening her mouth to speak.

...

…thirty minutes later, Sabrina found Chloe catatonic under her desk and took her home early.

To be fair, she had brought it on herself. After all, she really should have learned her lesson from the last time. But still, it was hard to forget the scene as Sabrina gently guide her out of the building as Chloe mumbled to herself, her face pale, her mascara running, and her eyes wide and haunted.

She was out for the rest of the week.

Bustier was...no help. In her ever rose-tinted fashion, she attempted to speak with Marinette early on what had been a particularly bad morning.

“Marinette, I heard you’ve been having some trouble with your classmates.”

It took a minute for Marinette to realize Bustier was there, much less that she was trying to have a conversation.

“—argument with Chloe the other day. It seems like whatever you had said really hurt Chloe’s feelings.”

Marinette blinked, trying to comprehend what was being said to her.

“—was uncalled for. Chloe didn’t deserve that.”

Bustier. Something about Chloe? She hadn’t seen her in a while. She thought things had been quieter lately…

“—you know how Chloe is and that she needs help. Surely whatever she said couldn’t have been that bad, and—”

These were clearly words, but they weren’t making sense.

“—remember what I said before about the Marinette’s of the world? It’s important to show love to people, even if they aren’t nice. So they can learn from your good example and—”

Marinette.exe needed coffee to continue this conversation.

“I think the two of you can talk this out. You can apologize to Chloe and model the right behaviors.”

Was there coffee to continue?

“—and who knows? Maybe the two of you will even become the best of friends!”

No.

“—what do you think?”

Marinette frowned at Bustier and opened her mouth to speak.

...

...it would be the first and only time Bustier would make such an attempt to speak to coffee-deprived Marinette. Nobody knows exactly what happened, as the students had come in when class started only to find Bustier in the aftermath, sobbing over her desk and completely inconsolable.

No class was had that day.

#ml fic #marinette dupain cheng #alya cesaire #coffeenette #why alya why #alas poor timothy #we...didn't really know you at all actually #but you will be missed #yes I'm actually writing this #pray for me #pray for everyone actually #the poor poor traumatized souls

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ghosttotheparty · 11 months

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part one also on ao3

Steve’s breaths land on Eddie’s chest as he sleeps.

Slow, and soft, and quiet, and Eddie relishes it. The feeling of his breath, the warmth of his face pressing to Eddie’s skin, and the weight of his hand that’s curled into a loose fist. He feels so small on top of Eddie, though his limbs are long, though he’s larger than life itself. He feels like… a boy.

He’s just a boy.

Eddie blinks his eyes open in the morning light, squinting the way he does every morning as the sun rises. It drives him a little crazy, never being able to sleep in, but it’s nice to be awake when Wayne comes home. To get his forehead kiss and fond, “Mornin’.”

Eddie shifts down a little, carefully moving Steve to look at him, and Steve nuzzles his face into the pillow, sighing in his sleep. His fingers open, spreading and then curling like he’s trying to grab at Eddie’s shirt, but his fingers just dig into his skin a little bit. Eddie smiles, reaching to take his hand carefully, and when Steve’s fingers curl around his, Eddie lifts it to his lips and presses a soft kiss to his knuckles.

He gazes at him. In the morning light, his hair looks like it’s glowing, like threads of spun gold, like he’s some fairy tale character. His expression is light, and Eddie realizes that his resting face is almost smiling. His eyelashes fan under his eyes, and his cheeks are pink, and Eddie’s dark sweatshirt makes his skin looks even more golden. Eddie gazes some more.

He never thought he’d be here. Lying in bed on a Saturday morning with Steve Harrington across from him, sleeping, holding his hand like a child. Steve breathes. A bird chirps outside.

Something shifts in Eddie’s chest. It falls into place.

Steve wakes up slowly. Eddie thinks he wants to see him wake up every single morning. He inhales deeply, his fingers tightening on Eddie’s hand for a moment as he sighs, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment before he blinks them open. His gaze finds their hands first, and he blinks again, his finger shifting in Eddie’s, and then he looks up.

He half-smiles, and his voice is rough when he speaks.

“You’re watching me sleep?”

Eddie smiles, releasing his hand and reaching out to touch him as Steve settles his hand on Eddie’s arm that’s bent under his head. His fingers push his hair aside and press into Eddie’s bicep as Eddie caresses the side of his face.

“Sleeping beauty.”

Steve’s smile widens, and he closes his eyes again. Eddie brushes his hair back, and he moves forward to kiss his forehead before he gets up.

Wayne comes home as they’re sitting at the table, sipping coffee from mugs that were taken down from around the living room. Steve’s is blue.

“Mornin’.”

He stops as the door closes behind him, eyes finding Steve sitting there, his feet on the chair, one of his knees drawn up to his chest. Steve freezes, looking up at him, and Eddie leans back in his seat, smiling as Steve’s cheeks flush pink in embarrassment, like he thinks Wayne can just tell.

“...Who are you?” Wayne asks as he toes off his work boots, eyeing Steve.

“I’m, uhm, Steve Harrington. Sir.”

Eddie grins into his mug, watching Steve set his down awkwardly like he doesn’t know if Wayne is going to want to shake his hand or something. Wayne looks at him.

“Harrington,” he says.

Steve blinks, nodding after a moment, and Eddie remembers suddenly that Wayne’s been in this town his whole life. He knows the Harringtons. Everyone knows the Harringtons.

“And you’re here with Eddie?” Wayne says, looking down at Eddie, who meets his eyes and raises his eyebrows, tilting his head.

“Yes, sir?” Steve says hesitantly.

“You don’t know?”

“I— Yes, I’m with him.”

Steve’s face is red, and he glances at Eddie nervously.

“You’re hanging out with Eddie?” Wayne says, and Eddie rolls his eyes.

“…Yes.”

“Even though he’s weird?”

Eddie lets out an offended squawk, and Steve half-smiles.

“I like him,” he says, his voice softer.

“Why?��

Steve giggles, looking at Eddue. His cheeks are pink.

“Be nice, Wayne,” Eddie says, mumbling into his mug as he takes another sip.

“I am,” Wayne says defensively. “I sure hope you’re nothing like your daddy, boy,” he says to Steve, and Eddie clicks his tongue, swinging his arm around to hit his leg.

“Respectfully, sir, I’d rather kill myself than be anything like him.”

Wayne barks out a laugh, and Eddie chokes on his coffee, leaning forward to wipe his face. Steve looks at him with wide eyes, murmuring an apology, smiling.

“Alright then,” Wayne says, and Eddie can hear the smile in his voice. “I’m gonna take a shower and head to bed,” he says, ruffling Eddie’s hair and leaning down to smack a kiss to his temple. He pauses on his way down the hall.

“Steve?”

“Uh, yes?” Steve stutters, leaning to see him around Eddie, who turns to look at Wayne with a raised eyebrow.

“You need anything, you come on by, alright?”

Eddie looks back at Steve. Steve blinks, his expression softening, and he nods.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

Wayne disappears down the hall, and Steve dissolves, slumping. He lowers his head to the table, pushing his mug away as he hits his head lightly on the table a few times. Eddie laughs, reaching out to pat his head.

“Leave me to die,” Steve grumbles into the table.

“You’re so dramatic,” Eddie says fondly, tugging his hair. Steve just groans. “…Stevie.”

“Mm.”

Eddie tugs again and leans over the table, tilting his head at him as Steve looks up at him, his eyes cutting up at him like a sad puppy. Eddie’s chest aches a little.

“I like you too,” he says softly, smiling when Steve’s cheeks flush pink.

“Really?” he asks, his voice small. Eddie tilts his head the other way.

“We had sex last night, Steve.”

Steve shushes him, and Eddie grins.

“And?” Steve says quietly, taking his mug again and twisting it around, fidgeting. “We’ve both had meaningless sex with people.”

Eddie pauses, looking at how Steve is looking down at his mug, legs crossed on his chair, the sleeves of Eddie’s sweatshirt almost covering his hands. And he reaches across the table, tracing Steve’s knuckles lightly, tentatively. Steve looks at him again with those eyes. Shy. Nervous.

“Last night wasn’t meaningless,” he says softly. “To me.”

Steve blinks at him, his cheeks flushing again. (Eddie loves how much he blushes.)

“Me too,” he says, and then he pauses, blinking again. “Me either? You know what I mean.”

Eddie giggles, and he leans across the table, tilting his chin up. Steve smiles, softening as he leans to meet him in a light kiss that tastes like coffee. (Steve takes his black, the menace.)

They stay in the living room. Watch a movie on the small television. Steve sits next to him on the sofa for a while before he relaxes when Eddie puts his arm around him, pulling him close, and he gradually melts against him until he’s finally laying next to him, his head in his lap. Eddie plays with his hair, forgetting about the movie as he gazes down at him. Steve holds his other hand, tangling their fingers and squeezing.

— — — — —

“Oh my god, no, he was so sweet about it.”

“But he rejected you, I can’t believe that.”

Eddie sighs heavily, dropping his head onto the textbook in front of him. It was quiet just a few moments ago, and his brain was finally getting used to it enough for him to read without getting distracted. But the girls’ voices carry over through the bookshelves, through the air, and he really doesn’t care about their drama right now.

“He was so nice, Marie, seriously. Told me I was pretty and all, but…”

“Why didn’t he wanna go out with you?” the other girl asks, aghast. “You’re a total catch.”

Eddie almost groans out loud.

“He just said he wasn’t interested,” she says lightly. “It’s not a big deal, he was nice about it.”

“Steve Harrington has never once rejected a girl,” Marie says, and that catches Eddie’s attention. He lifts his head. “I don’t get why he’s starting with you.”

Eddie blinks, tilting his head as he listens.

“Maybe he has a secret girlfriend,” the girl says, and Marie giggles. Eddie pulls the collar of his shirt up over his face, suppressing a smile.

The next time he sees Steve it’s in the hallway, and their eyes meet. And then Eddie is the one blushing, because Steve smiles at him. (That’s all it takes. A smile. Eddie is pathetic.)

Eddie tilts his head, gesturing down the hall, and Steve nods subtly. He’s standing with Tommy Hagan and some others, but as Eddie steps backward down the hall, he says something to them that Eddie can’t hear. And then he’s following Eddie down the hall, calling something to his friends, and Eddie is suppressing a smug smile, heading down toward the bathroom, praying it’s empty.

Steve is right behind him as he’s headed inside, and Eddie is grinning now. It is empty, and Steve’s hand presses against the top of his back, pushing him inside and toward the stall that’s the farthest back. Eddie goes easily, dropping his bag as he turns and lets Steve push him into the wall as the stall door swings shut behind them.

“Hi,” Eddie breathes, grinning and reaching up to touch his face as Steve kisses him hard.

“Hi,” Steve whispers back when they part with a gasp. He’s holding his neck and leaning against him to press him into the wall.

“Heard you rejected some girl,” Eddie says softly, his eyes trained on Steve’s lips, which curve into a smile.

“Where’d you hear that?”

“Sound carries a lot in the library,” Eddie complains, tracing his jaw carefully. “‘Steve Harrington has never once rejected a girl,’” he murmurs, dragging his fingertip lightly across his jaw to touch his lips, pulling the bottom one down before he releases it, smiling as it pops back into place. Steve hums softly.

“Maybe I got my eye on someone right now,” he says softly, almost whispering, his eyes shining, half-shut as he looks at Eddie. His hands slide over Eddie’s waist

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm.”

“She pretty?” Eddie teases. Steve suppresses a smile, his tongue sliding across his lower lip.

“The prettiest,” he teases back.

Eddie scrunches his nose, tilting his head at him, and Steve kisses him. His hand presses into Eddie’s chest, pushing him into the wall, and Eddie tilts his head, wrapping his arms around his neck, letting his lips part as Steve slips his tongue across them.

He pushes his fingers into Steve’s hair, and he kind of wants to mess it up, to tangle it and make it stick up in ways Steve would never allow it to, and then he kind of wants to make Steve leave like this. To not let him fix it in the mirror. He kind of wants Steve to look like he’s been making out with someone. And he kind of wants people to talk. To ask Steve who the lucky girl is.

Eddie tightens his hand in Steve’s hair, pulling it at the roots, and Steve huffs, sliding a hand down to the small of his back and pulling him close. Eddie licks into his mouth, tugging his hair to make him tilt his head back, and Steve lets him, sighing softly.

They part when the door to the bathroom bursts open, and they freeze, holding each other tightly, staring at each other and holding their breaths as they listen to someone come in, muttering to himself.

Eddie’s chest aches. Because they have to hide. Because they both know it, they know it so well they aren’t even breathing. And Steve seems to think it at the same time. His eyes flick back and forth between Eddie’s, and his hands run across the small of his back. Eddie slides his hands to hold his face tenderly, looking at him intently.

They both flinch when the boy rips some paper towels from the dispenser loudly, the sound echoing in the room. And then the door opens and shuts again.

They exhale, and before Eddie can say anything, Steve is leaning in and kissing him hard. Eddie closes his eyes, his fingers sliding behind his ears to hold his head. He lets out a soft groan.

They’re both breathing hard when they part, and their foreheads press. Steve reaches to touch Eddie’s face, holding it gently in his hands, and Eddie feels like he deserves it, this tenderness he’s only found on the palms of Steve Harrington’s hands.

They look at each other. Steve looks like he’s going to start crying. Eddie brushes his thumbs over his cheeks as he whispers to him.

“We’re not doing anything wrong.”

Steve blinks at him. His expression softens. And he kisses him again, slow and soft and gentle.

“I know,” he murmurs.

Eddie pulls him into a hug. He buries his face in his neck, sighing as Steve hugs him back, and he closes his eyes.

“I have basketball practice today,” Steve says, his voice muffled. “It ends at, uhm. Five.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says softly.

“…You wanna come over tonight?”

Eddie grins.

“Yeah. Of course.”

“I’ll make you dinner.”

Eddie’s smile widens.

“You don’t have to convince me,” he says. “I already said I’d go.”

“No, I wanna,” Steve says softly. “Wanna treat you good.”

Eddie groans into his neck, grumbling a weak, “Baby,” as he kisses him. Steve’s hand makes its way to Eddie’s head, cradling the back of it as he exhales.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah, honey.”

“...Can you give me a hickey?”

Eddie pauses, nuzzling into Steve’s neck.

“Here?”

“Mhmm.”

“Are you sure?” Eddie asks, pressing a slow kiss to his skin. Steve’s breath hitches, and he tilts his head farther to the side, humming affirmatively.

“Want people to wonder.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, and he whines softly in the back of his throat. He’s never made a noise like this before, and his face flushes with heat, but Steve just breathes a soft, “Please,” and Eddie is putty in his hands.

Eddie opens his mouth and presses another kiss to his neck, slowly, carefully, intentionally, and Steve exhales, his fingers pressing into Eddie’s hair and scratching at his scalp lightly. He hisses in pain when Eddie bites down hard, sucking his skin between his teeth and licking at it, but his hand holds Eddie in place, his other hand gripping his waist as he breathes hard.

“Yeah,” he chokes after a moment, his voice weak and thin. “Fuck, like that.”

Eddie grins, digging his teeth into Steve’s skin, sucking harder, and Steve whimpers, pulling Eddie’s hair. He releases the skin after a moment, kissing it softly and dragging his tongue over it to soothe it, and then he bites down again, his body flushing with heat when Steve lets out a weak, “Oh, shit,” and whimpers again. Eddie shushes him softly, slipping his fingertips under the hem of his shirt to touch his soft skin. Steve squeaks, and Eddie grins again, listening to Steve’s breathing as he kisses his neck again.

When he pulls away, Steve’s skin is reddening.

“How was that?” he asks like he doesn’t know.

“Eddie,” Steve whines.

Eddie shushes him again, grinning and kissing his lips softly.

“Was that good?” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. His eyes are closed, his head fallen back. Eddie brushes their noses together, stroking his neck softly, and Steve reaches up after a moment, tilting his head and pressing his fingertips into the bruise. He lets out a strained breath, biting his lip.

Eddie kisses him again, smiling as Steve kisses him back desperately, his hand jumping to hold Eddie’s neck, and Eddie pushes him back against the other side of the stall. Steve hums softly, moving to wrap his arms around Eddie's neck, and Eddie slips his hands under Steve’s shirt.

Steve chokes, his arms tightening, his tongue sliding between Eddie’s lips. Eddie kisses him some more, listening to his soft, breathy hums, listening carefully in case the door opens again.

“Gotta go,” he says after a little while, between kisses. Steve whines. “Come on.”

“I don’t wanna stop,” Steve complains, his head falling back to the wall as Eddie leans to pepper his neck with kisses. Eddie hesitates before kissing the hickey, scraping with his teeth, and his chest aches as Steve lets out a pained whimper. His fingers tug at Eddie's hair again, but he holds him in place when Eddie tries to lift his head, and Eddie grins, licking the spot gently.

“Stevie,” he whispers.

“Mm.”

“Don’t pout,” Eddie giggles, nudging their noses together.

“‘M not pouting,” Steve says, pouting. He’s almost smiling, looking at Eddie like a puppy again, and Eddie wishes he could freeze time. He touches the hickey, pressing against it lightly, watching Steve’s eyes flutter shut, watching him furrow his brows and bite his lip.

“I’ll give you another one tonight,” he murmurs. “After dinner.”

Steve’s eyes open.

“Wherever you want,” Eddie asks, whispering. Steve’s eyebrows jump, and he smiles.

“Okay,” he breathes. Eddie kisses him.

“I’ll see you later.”

Another kiss.

“Okay.”

Kiss.

“Have fun at practice.”

Kiss. Steve is smiling now.

“You’re stalling,” he says between kisses.

“I know.”

He kisses him again, and Steve giggles, finally pushing his shoulders.

“Get outta here,” he says, holding Eddie away. Eddie bites his lip, taking a breath as he stoops to grab his bag, and he pauses before opening the stall door. He’s almost past the stalls before he groans, turning back around, and Steve is lingering in the stall door, smiling like he knew Eddie would do this: come back to kiss him desperately, holding his face and grinning. It’s fast, three kisses in quick succession before he finally tears himself away.

“See you later, sweet thing,” Eddie says, and Steve blushes before he waves half-heartedly. Eddie catches himself before he can say love you without thinking, and he blows him a kiss.

The sun is going down when Eddie shows up at his house, and Steve greets him by jumping him in the doorway. Eddie catches him in his arms, yelling in protest, and they fall to the floor, Eddie on top of Steve.

“Oh my god,” Eddie says loudly, grinning as Steve cackles, his arms around Eddie. “Are you okay?”

“I’m great,” Steve says, looking up at Eddie and pushing his curls back, tucking them tenderly behind his ears. Steve’s hair is wet, and it smells like expensive products. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Eddie says softly, looking down at him. His eyes find the hickey on his neck, and it’s almost purple now, dark against Steve’s skin. Eddie exhales. “Oh, I fucked you up.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, grinning happily even though he’s on the floor.

“Did people talk?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“And?”

“They’re very curious.”

Eddie beams, caressing his face. Steve turns his face into his hand, his eyes shining, and Eddie can’t help but lean down to kiss him softly.

“What’d they say?”

“‘Steve’s got a secret girlfriend,’” Steve says, imitating the others, a smile teasing his lips.

“What did you say?”

“Oh, I just pretended to not know what they’re talking about,” Steve says nonchalantly, and a laugh bursts out of Eddie.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. What hickey?”

Eddie laughs harder, and Steve pulls him down into a kiss, smiling and nipping at his lower lip. Eddie lets him, revelling in the kisses as he remembers they’re laying in the doorway of Steve’s house, the door open, halfway on the porch. Nobody’s around to see them, except the trees and the clouds and maybe some lightning bugs.

Eddie pulls away when Steve starts to lick into his mouth intently, and Steve groans.

“Dinner,” Eddie says, grinning when Steve leans up to catch his lips again. “And then we can make out.”

“You’re the worst.”

Eddie presses a finger into the hickey, and Steve lets out a hiss and an Ow!

“Fucker.”

Eddie snickers and kisses him again before he pushes himself up.

Steve makes pasta. Eddie sits on the counter and watches as he fills a pot and turns on the stove, as he gets out the pasta from a cabinet and sets out vegetables on the counter. He tells Eddie about how basketball practice went, and Eddie is barely following along. He doesn’t know any of the terminology, and Steve doesn’t seem to realize that Eddie doesn’t know anything about basketball, but Eddie doesn’t mind. Because Steve is ranting, his voice soft and smooth and content as he spins a knife in his fingers without even noticing himself do it (and that’s so much hotter than it should be) before he starts chopping the vegetables. He knows what he’s doing, and even though he’s talking the whole time, he finishes with the vegetables faster than Eddie could ever chop them. (Also Eddie would definitely at least nick his finger a few times, but Steve does it all effortlessly, smoothly. And Eddie grips the edge of the counter to control himself.)

Steve sits on the counter when he finishes, sliding the plates across the surface so they’re in front of Eddie, joining the cans of 7-Up, and hopping up. That’s effortless too; he seems weightless as he moves up onto the counter that Eddie had to use one of the chairs to get on. Eddie presses his lips together and pops open his soda.

“Cannot believe my boyfriend’s a normie,” he says quietly, and Steve snorts.

Eddie looks at him as he’s sipping his soda, and his heart swells when he sees the way Steve’s eyes are shining, almost sparkling.

“Problem?” Steve says playfully.

“You got a problem with your boyfriend bein’ a freak?” Eddie asks, tilting his head, and Steve tilts his head back before he reaches out and hooks his fingers on the silver chain around Eddie’s neck. He pulls him in so they’re both leaning over the plates between them and kisses him softly.

Steve hums thoughtfully when they part, eyes lingering on Eddie’s lips before he says, “No. I like it.”

Eddie giggles.

They go to the living room after eating, and Eddie comes up behind him as he leads him down the hall, stooping down and wrapping his arms around his legs to pick him up, holding him over his shoulder. Steve shrieks and clutches at him, laughing loudly as Eddie carries him into the living room and dumps him on the sofa before pouncing on top of him. Steve is laughing carelessly, happily, and Eddie’s whole body aches as he looks at him, at the way his eyes squint under his smile, at the way his hair is messy, now dry and a little frizzy.

“Are you gonna give me another?” Steve asks between kisses, his fingers in Eddie’s hair as they lick the taste of pasta out of each other’s mouths.

“You want more?” he asks breathlessly.

“Yes, please.”

Eddie shifts so he’s straddling Steve’s hips, and he sits up, tying his hair up in a ponytail with the hair tie around his wrist. Steve giggles, watching, his hands on Eddie’s thighs.

“Where do you want it?” Eddie asks, running his hands across Steve’s chest. Steve’s cheeks are pink, and he looks up at Eddie like he’s fucking reverent before he tilts his head, exposing the side of his neck, the side that’s bare. Eddie grins.

He leans down, brushing Steve’s hair out of the way, and Steve sighs as Eddie brushes his lips over his skin.

“You want it like the other one?” Eddie murmurs.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes.

Eddie kisses his neck softly at first, smiling when Steve’s hands squeeze his thighs. He takes his time, pressing soft, lingering kisses across his skin for a while before he starts licking him, short kitten licks that make Steve exhale slowly, melting into the sofa, his hands loosening on Eddie’s legs before they slide around to his ass and squeeze. Eddie giggles, lifting his head to look at his neck. He can see his veins beneath his skin in some places, and part of him feels like a vampire here, gazing at them.

He presses a kiss to his neck and slides his mouth across his skin until he feels his pulse against his lips. He hums softly, pausing there, feeling the rhythm of Steve’s heartbeat against his lips, lingering. It’s a little fast, and Eddie smiles.

“Eddie,” Steve whines. “Bite me.”

Eddie snorts.

“Rude.”

“You know what the fuck I mean.” Eddie can hear the smile in his voice.

“I know what the fuck you mean.”

He kisses his pulse. And then bites.

Steve lets out a shaky exhale, his hands tightening. Eddie closes his eyes, enjoying himself as he sucks on Steve’s skin, as he bites him and scrapes his teeth over it, as he soothes the spot between bites with gentle swipes of his tongue, as Steve squeezes his ass absentmindedly, almost kneading it. They’re both humming softly, and Steve is letting out strained groans as Eddie bites him, murmuring curses and Eddie’s name under his breath.

When he finally sits up, he looks at the spot on Steve’s neck, and it’s already bruising.

“Might actually be worse than the first one, actually,” Eddie says thoughtfully, brushing over it with his thumb. Steve exhales without opening his eyes.

“Thank fuck,” he says, smiling when Eddie snorts. “Want ‘em to see it.”

“You are an attention whore,” Eddie says, smiling as he leans down to kiss Steve’s lips, and then he kisses across his face as Steve laughs softly.

“‘S fun,” he says as Eddie kisses his jawline, nipping at his skin with his teeth.

“You want one more?”

“Fuck, yeah.”

Eddie gives him one more. This time it’s just under his ear, and Eddie can smell his shampoo as he bites and licks and kisses him, smiling the whole time as Steve whines and groans and swears.

“Eddie,” he says when Eddie finally pulls away.

“Yeah,” Eddie says breathlessly.

“I wanna come.”

“Go ahead.”

Steve whines again, his eyes squeezing shut, and Eddie shifts on his lap, grinding down on him and grinning when Steve gasps. Steve’s hands slide to Eddie’s hips, pulling him down harder.

“Shit, Eddie, I’m—”

“You got it,” Eddie says softly, reaching to his neck and curiously, carefully holding his throat so his fingers press into the bruises. Steve keens, his fingers so tight on Eddie they might bruise (and wouldn’t that be nice: the memory of Steve’s hand on him), and he lets out a loud moan, follows by a breathless Yes.

Eddie tightens his hand, grinding against him again and grinning when Steve lets out an open-mouthed moan, and he’s suddenly very grateful that Steve lives in the fucking woods, that nobody is around to hear him like this. Then he remembers that no one ever has heard him like this, and his grin widens, because he’s the first. Because he gets this, and no one else does.

And because—

“Never thought I’d get this,” he murmurs, leaning down to nudge their noses together, still moving against Steve. Steve’s eyes flutter open to look at him, and he reaches a hand up to touch Eddie’s face. His eyes are glassy. “Even in my wildest fuckin’ dreams. Never thought I’d get anything like you.”

Steve whimpers, his other hand sliding up Eddie’s back, pushing his shirt up.

“Me too,” he says breathlessly. He sits up, pushing his face into Eddie’s neck and kissing him desperately, panting as he pulls at the small of Eddie’s back. Eddie smiles, tilting his head for him and closing his eyes, hugging his neck and pushing his fingers into his hair.

“Eddie,” Steve chokes after another minute.

“Yeah, baby.”

“Fuck. Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

“Me too.”

They hold each other as they come back down, arms tight around each other, faces buried in each other’s necks, and Eddie giggles quietly.

“That was fun,” Steve mumbles. Eddie kisses his neck softly and lifts his head, looking at him. His hair is messy, which Eddie loves, and his eyes are half-closed.

“Yeah, it was.”

He kisses him slowly, tenderly, holding his face. Steve doesn’t open his eyes when they part, his face relaxed, blissful.

“Will you spend the night with me?” he asks softly. “Please?”

Eddie just giggles and kisses him again.

He isn’t allowed to make fun of his wallpaper, which Steve tells him before he leads him upstairs, which just piques his interest. He hides his face in his shirt when they finally go into Steve’s room, trying not to laugh at the horrific plaid wallpaper, but he can’t hold back his giggles when he hears Steve snort.

They take a shower. Steve does his hair with some of his fancy products that smell nice, and Eddie tells him it’s never happening again. Steve sticks his tongue out at him in the mirror, his fingers dragging through his curls, but Eddie decides he’ll let Steve do this whenever he wants to when he sees the way his eyes are shining as he’s scrunching his curls and twisting them around his finger. He looks like he’s making art instead of doing Eddie’s hair.

Also, it feels nice. Which is a nice plus.

And every once in a while Steve’s bare chest presses to Eddie’s back as he reaches for another product. Which…

He’s so warm. Probably because of the shower and the lingering steam in the room, but Eddie thinks it might just be him. Like there’s sunlight in his veins.

In the morning, Eddie wakes up with his chest to Steve’s back, his arm draped across his waist, and he sits up slowly, squinting in the sunlight as he looks down at Steve, who shifts after Eddie’s movement. There are two bruises on the side of his neck that Eddie can see, and he smiles. He leans down and kisses one, and Steve inhales, one of his hands lifting sleepily and reaching for Eddie, who takes it and lifts it to his lips.

“Morning, gorgeous,” Eddie says roughly when Steve blinks his eyes open and rolls onto his back. Steve smiles and opens his arms, and Eddie lies on top of him, sighing as Steve’s arms wrap around him.

Eddie falls in love with mornings like this. Steve gets used to Eddie waking up early in the morning before his alarm clock goes off, and it becomes routine for him to just pull Eddie into a hug for a while. It also becomes routine for him to complain that they have to get up. Neither of them ever wants to, not when they know they have to go to school and they won’t be able to kiss each other or hold each other, when they’ll be separated until after school (unless Steve has basketball, or Eddie has Hellfire or band practice). But they still go.

Eddie hears the rumors and gossip swirling around school. About Steve’s secret girlfriend. About the hickeys that he refuses to hide. There are countless theories about whose mouth could have left them there. One of Steve’s friends asks if Steve refuses to tell them who it is because it’s a freshman, and Steve gags before glaring at him.

“No, I’m not a fucking creep.”

“Alright, we’re narrowing it down.”

Steve just rolls his eyes.

Theories span from other students, girls that Steve has and hasn’t hooked up with, to teachers, but when someone asks if it’s a teacher Steve just laughs.

Nobody even glances Eddie’s way.

— — — — —

Steve’s car is in front of the trailer when Eddie gets home from band practice. Eddie pauses when he parks the van, staring at it curiously for a moment before he gets out, grabbing his bag from the passenger seat of the van.

“Hello?” he says when he walks inside, looking at Steve and Wayne on the sofa. Steve’s legs are crossed, and he’s holding a mug in his hands, smiling contently. They’re watching a baseball game on the television.

“Hi, baby,” Steve says lightly.

“Are you coming over just to hang out with my uncle now?” Eddie asks as he kicks his sneakers off and sets his bag on the table. Steve’s head is tilted toward him, but his eyes are on the television, and Eddie smiles at how careless he looks, comfortable in Eddie’s living room. Eddie leans down to press a chaste kiss to his lips, and Steve smiles.

“I forgot you had practice today,” Steve says. “And there happened to be a game on.”

“Ah,” Eddie says, collapsing heavily onto the sofa between them. “So you guys aren’t becoming best friends.”

“Obviously Steve and I are best friends,” Wayne says dryly, turning to press a kiss to Eddie’s temple, eyes still on the game. Steve giggles, and Eddie grins.

He loves them.

He hasn’t told Steve yet (yet), but he thinks it all the time now. Every time he looks down at his sleeping face, every time he asks for a new hickey, every time he sees him laugh with Wayne.

They keep ganging up on Eddie together, teasing him about his hair, his music, his clothes. (Wayne teases him and calls him a vampire when he sees the way he’s marked up Steve’s neck. Steve burns red the first time, but Eddie just grins, shameless.)

Eddie fucking loves it. Loves seeing their eyes sparkle, loves the way Wayne ruffles his hair affectionately, which he starts to do to Steve too. Whenever Steve is home when Wayne comes back or goes off to work, Wayne reaches to muss his hair before he leaves, and even though he’s Steve the Hair Harrington, Steve just grins and hunches his shoulders like a little kid.

Wayne calls Steve son. Eddie can see the way Steve’s eyes shine every time he says it.

And he sees the way Steve’s eyes shine when Wayne comes home one morning to find them on the sofa and kisses both their foreheads almost mindlessly, murmuring a soft Good morning before he heads off to shower and go to bed.

Eddie’s heart feels warm as he watches Wayne kiss Steve’s forehead, and then Steve watches Wayne disappear down the hall before he looks at Eddie, his eyes shining.

And then they’re glistening, and his lip quivers, and Eddie frowns.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, turning toward him, and touching his face as a tear escapes.

“Just…”

He shrugs, closing his eyes and falling against Eddie, who takes him into his arms.

“What is it?” Eddie asks gently, holding him and swaying as he rubs his arm.

“He’s really nice,” Steve says finally, his voice weak. Eddie smiles into his hair.

“He is, isn’t he?”

Steve sighs shakily, reaching to hold Eddie’s forearm.

“Sorry,” he says after a moment. “I don’t know why that was… I don’t know. Overwhelming.”

“‘S alright, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs, leaning to kiss his cheek. “You don’t have to be sorry.”

And he aches to say it. That he loves him.

But he doesn’t. Not now. Not when Steve’s already crying because he’s gotten casual affection that he isn’t used to.

It gets progressively more difficult to hold it back as time passes. Every time they say goodbye when they leave for school, every time they make out in a bathroom or a janitor’s closet with their veins full of adrenaline, every time they murmur greetings into each other’s mouths, every time they kiss regardless of their morning breath, every time Steve smiles the way he smiles every single time Wayne ruffles his hair and kisses his forehead.

— — — — —

They’re watching a movie when Steve’s parents come home. Steve is laying on Eddie’s chest as they lay on the sofa in the living room, his fingers slipped under the hem of his shirt, and Eddie feels a little sleepy, but the air stills when they hear a car pull into the driveway.

Eddie is about to ask who it could be when Steve sits up abruptly.

“What day is it?” he asks frantically, looking at Eddie with wide eyes.

“Uh, Saturday?” Eddie says, reaching for the remote and pausing the movie. Steve stands, clearly in a panic as he reaches for his hair.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Wait, wha— Babe, what’s…”

“‘S my parents,” Steve says, looking at Eddie desperately. “I forgot they were coming home today, I—”

Eddie reaches and gently pulls his hands out of his hair, squeezing them.

“It’s okay,” he says softly despite the panic in his own chest. “It’s alright. We’re friends, right?”

Steve exhales, lacing their fingers and squeezing as the front door opens.

“Okay,” he says softly.

Steve’s parents look how Eddie expected. His mother’s hair is stiff, frozen in place with an abundant amount of hairspray, and his father is wearing a suit that’s somehow not wrinkled despite the drive back to Hawkins from the airport.

Steve already seems mad at them. Eddie wonders if he is.

His mom kisses him on the cheek in greeting, but Steve looks stiff, smiling tightly as Eddie lingers in the doorway, hands rubbing his legs anxiously, trying to look normal.

“Who’s this?” Steve’s mom asks, eyeing Eddie when she releases Steve from their uncomfortable embrace. She’s looking him up and down. They both are.

“Uh, this is my— my friend,” Steve says, and Eddie waves, smiling. “Eddie.”

“Eddie,” his mom says lightly, but it’s a forced lightness. “What’s your last name, hun?”

It’s sickly sweet.

“Uh, Munson,” Eddie says, and Steve’s father finally speaks.

“Munson,” he repeats, looking at Eddie distastefully. His nose is almost wrinkled, like the rips in Eddie’s jeans have a stench.

“Yes, sir.”

“I thought your parents moved from Hawkins.”

Eddie blinks in surprise, and he remembers suddenly how small Hawkins really is. They probably went to school together.

“They did,” he says. “When I was sixteen. I live with my uncle now.”

“Your uncle.”

“Wayne Munson,” Eddie says confidently.

Steve’s father nods, looking at Eddie again, and then he turns to Steve with an air of disappointment around him. Steve seems to shrink into himself when their eyes meet, and Eddie wants to grab his hand and pull him away, to take him somewhere his father can’t look at him. To take him home.

“This is who you’re fraternizing with now?” he says as though Eddie isn’t even there. “A Munson? What happened to the Hagan boy?”

“I— I’m still friends with Tommy,” Steve says, and he even sounds like a kid now. “I can have more than one friend—”

“Stephen.”

Steve shrinks back even farther, looking down.

“I don’t want you fraternizing with people like this,” his father says, gesturing toward Eddie, who just watches, eyes wide, heart pounding, aching because Steve looks so scared. And a part of him wants to laugh at the use of fraternize. If he only knew that his son begs for Eddie to dig his teeth into his neck until bruises bloom on his skin, for Eddie to tug his pants down his legs and toss them aside, for Eddie to kiss him like the world is ending.

“You don’t even know them,” Steve says, looking up at his father anxiously. “Wayne is—”

“I knew Wayne in school,” his father snaps. “A pathetic underachiever, he isn’t the type we associate with, Stephen.”

Eddie’s hands are shaking. He glares at him, curling his fingers into fists to suppress the shaking, but it doesn’t work.

Steve is glaring at him too. Slowly, he raises his chin, squares his shoulders, and he’s shaking too.

“Don’t talk about Wayne like that.”

Eddie looks at him.

His father scoffs.

“You have no reason to associate with his type, he’ll rub off on you, Stephen,” he says matter-of-factly. “You need to stick the Hagans, not… trailer park trash.”

“Don’t talk about Wayne like that,” Steve says again, his voice louder, and his father looks taken aback, blinking in surprise.

“Stephen—”

“Wayne Munson is a good man,” Steve says firmly, his voice shaking a little. “He’s— He’s kind, and— and hardworking, and he—”

“I knew him in school, Stephen,” his father says again, his voice condescending and mean, and Steve snaps.

“That’s your problem,” he bursts loudly, and Eddie’s never seen him this angry. “You’re so stuck in your head, and— and focussed on stupid fucking juvenile things like popularity a— and— and social status, that can’t see past your own fucking nose.”

His father is staring at him, wide-eyed, scandalized.

“You’ve lived your life with your father’s fucking money, and you got everything handed to you,” Steve says angrily, jabbing his father’s chest with his fingers. “Your house was a wedding gift, and your job was waiting for you when you finished college, which you didn’t even pay for. You never had to fucking worry about affording food or water or a car.”

He’s breathing hard, and Eddie’s lips part in awe as he watches.

“Wayne fought for everything he has,” Steve says, his voice rough now. “You wouldn’t survive a day in his life, show him some fucking respect.”

Eddie’s eyes sting with tears, because Steve is defending Wayne. Standing up against his father even though he doesn’t have to, even though Wayne isn’t here to hear it. Even though he’s scared.

It’s quiet suddenly as Steve and his father stare at each other, and Steve is challenging him, chin raised as he looks into his eyes, hands in fists by his sides. Eddie can hear his own heartbeat in his ears.

And then his father is looking at Eddie, almost scoffing.

“What have you done to him?” he asks lightly, like it’s a joke, and Eddie doesn’t know what to do, what to say, but it doesn’t matter, because Steve speaks again.

“Don’t you fucking look at him.”

His father looks at him again, his eyebrows raised.

“If you have a problem with me, it’s with me,” Steve says evenly, firmly. “Not him.”

It’s quiet again. Eddie’s hands ball into fists, and adrenaline courses through his veins as he waits, just about ready to push his way between them, to do whatever he has to.

“How dare you speak to me like this? I’m your father—”

“I don’t care.”

“Stephen,” his mother says, speaking finally from where she’s backed into a corner, and Eddie looks at her, noticing how young she suddenly looks.

“I don’t care!” Steve yells. He looks at her, and then back at his father. “I don’t care. I’m sick and fucking tired of listening to you talk about people like this, especially people I love,” he says, his voice rapid and angry, and holy shit—

“You come home after leaving for weeks,” Steve says, skimming right past it like he didn’t notice himself say it, and Eddie is crying now, because Steve loves Wayne, Steve loves Wayne, Steve loves Wayne— “And the first thing you do every goddamn time is start bitching about the dishes in the sink, or the dirt on my car, or what my hair looks like, or who I’m with, or the fact that I didn’t call or I called too much, and there’s nothing I can fucking do right, and I don’t care.”

Eddie wipes his cheek quickly, sniffing as he watches Steve’s father nod, running his tongue over his teeth as he stares at Steve.

“You think I’m only here because of my father’s money,” he says slowly, eerily calm, ignoring everything Steve’s said. “Then we’ll see where you end up without your father’s money, how does that sound?”

“Sounds great,” Steve says without a beat. “At least I won’t end up as big an asshole as you.”

And then he’s turning and grabbing Eddie’s hand, pulling him out of the living room and toward the door, where they slip their shoes on and head out the door, leaving their dirty dishes on the coffee table as if in spite.

Steve is breathing hard as they get into the Beemer and pull out of the driveway, as they drive down the road, and Eddie doesn’t know what to do. He’s the only one crying, which feels wrong, but he can’t stop.

But even though Steve isn’t crying, his hands are shaking, and he’s breathing too hard, too fast, and Eddie finally reaches out to touch his arm. The road is luckily empty, but anxiety builds in his chest as Steve’s chest rises and falls and rises and falls.

“Stevie, pull over for me.”

Steve doesn’t pull over, still breathing hard, and Eddie shifts in his seat to face him, squeezing his arm.

“Steve. Pull over.”

Steve finally does, pulling over on the side of the road and putting the car in park. His hands fall to his lap, trembling, and Eddie squeezes his arm again.

He lets go to wipe his own face quickly, unbuckling his seatbelt and turning to face Steve completely, reaching to take one of his hands. Steve laces their fingers, still breathing too fast.

“Stevie, baby, look at me.”

Steve inhales sharply, and he turns to look at Eddie before he exhales slowly. Eddie nods, squeezing his hand.

“There you go,” he says softly. “Need you to breathe.”

Steve closes his eyes, nodding and taking a deep breath. Eddie runs his thumb across his knuckles, waiting as he exhales slowly, pauses, then inhales again.

When his breathing is slow again, he squeezes Eddie’s hand and turns toward him. They look at each other, and both of them are crying now, their eyes filled with tears. Eddie reaches out to wipe one away when it falls down Steve’s cheek, and Steve leans forward to press their foreheads together.

“Thank you,” Eddie murmurs softly.

“For what?” Steve whispers, twisting their fingers.

“...Standing up for Wayne like that,” Eddie says, his voice breaking. “I just…”

Steve lifts his head, looking at him, and his lip quivers, and he looks like he wants to say something, but doesn’t know what.

“I love you,” Eddie says, his voice thick as another tear falls down his cheek. Steve blinks, and tears fall from his eyes, and Eddie wipes them away.

“...Really?” Steve asks in a small voice. Eddie nods, smiling softly.

“Yeah. Really. I really, really love you.”

Steve blinks again, his lip quivering as his eyebrows raise like he’s shocked.

“I’ve wanted to tell you for a while,” Eddie says. “I just— You stood up for Wayne like that, and—” He sobs weakly, taking a stuttering breath.

“I love you too,” Steve says quickly, reaching to hold Eddie’s face. “And I love Wayne, and I love your trailer and all your fucking mugs and your posters and your music and—”

Eddie pulls him into a kiss, squeezing his eyes shut. Steve kisses him back desperately, hands holding Eddie’s face, fingers slipping into his curls. (Which have been so much softer and smoother since Steve’s been taking care of them.) When they part, they stay close, their foreheads pressing, taking slow, deep breaths as they hold each other.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Steve says after a while, his voice soft. Eddie sighs, caressing his cheek, and Steve turns his face into it, his eyes closed. There are tears caught in his eyelashes, and wet streaks down his cheeks, and his nose is rosy, and Eddie aches with how beautiful he is. He wonders how quickly he actually fell in love with him. If it was so fast he didn’t even notice until he almost blurted it out loud without thinking.

“Come home,” Eddie whispers, stroking his cheek. “You can borrow some clothes from me and Wayne, and we can go to yours to pack a bag if we need to.”

“...Okay,” Steve breathes.

He goes home.

Wayne is in the kitchen making himself coffee and a sandwich when they finally get to the trailer, and he notices right away that something is wrong. He leaves everything on the kitchen counter as he comes closer, looking at their tear-streaked faces.

“What happened?” he asks anxiously, wiping crumbs off his hands on his legs as Eddie and Steve kick their shoes off, and Steve wordlessly crosses the room toward him and pulls him into a tight hug. Wayne hugs him back tightly, looking up at Eddie worriedly. Eddie just smiles, watching.

Steve is crying again, shaking in Wayne’s arms, and Wayne runs his hands up and down his back firmly. Eddie leans against the table by the door, watching as Wayne closes his eyes, murmuring something too quiet for Eddie to hear. But Eddie hears Steve’s response, even though his voice is muffled by Wayne’s shoulder.

“I love you, Wayne.”

Wayne’s arms tighten around him, and they sway, and Wayne runs a hand over his back and he turns his face to kiss Steve’s head.

“I love you, too, Stevie, I got you.”

It’s like he knows.

Wayne carefully wipes Steve’s tears when they finally part, nodding and whispering to him. Eddie watches. He’s crying again. Wayne holds his hand out to him when he notices, and Eddie moves forward, taking it and leaning against Steve’s back, pressing a kiss to his shoulder as Steve sighs.

Wayne gets them both glasses of water and has them sit on the sofa. Eddie tells him what happened. Wayne’s eyes get glassy as he listens, looking at Steve, who’s quietly sipping his water and looking at the floor, his cheeks red like he’s embarrassed. And then Wayne is pulling him into another hug and kissing his forehead.

And he tells Steve that he’s home now. That he’s safe here. And then Steve is crying again, falling against Wayne as Eddie takes his glass and carefully sets it aside, smiling despite the tears.

Eddie and Steve stay in the living room when Wayne heads off to work after ruffling their hair and kissing their foreheads. It’s quiet when he’s gone, when they hear his car drive away. They’re sitting side by side, and the room is darker than it was when they got home because the sun’s set and nobody turned on the lights.

Eddie reaches for Steve’s hand. Their fingers lace. Steve squeezes.

He falls against Eddie after a moment, his head on Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie releases his hand to wrap his arm around his shoulders, pulling him close.

“My school stuff is at my parents’,” Steve says quietly, mumbling a little bit. He’s tired. Eddie can hear it in his voice, can feel it in how heavy he feels against Eddie.

“We’ll pick it up tomorrow,” Eddie says softly, running his fingers through Steve’s hair to pull it out of his face. “And we’ll get your hair stuff and clothes and everything. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not,” Steve breathes. “Just thinking.”

“...You wanna go to bed?”

“...Yeah.”

They go slowly, sleepily. Eddie brushes his teeth while Steve changes, and Steve brushes his teeth while Eddie changes. (He already has a toothbrush here, set in a cup with Eddie’s.)

He’s wearing Eddie’s boxers and a sweatshirt. He looks beautiful.

They climb into bed in the dark, seeing through touches and the sliver of moonlight, and before Eddie is even laying down, Steve is pulling him into a messy, sleepy kiss. It tastes like their mint toothpaste.

Eddie sucks on his lip, guiding Steve onto his back gently, listening to him sigh, feeling his hands dance down his spine. Eddie smiles against his mouth.

“I love you,” he whispers softly when he pulls away for a breath, and Steve hums, fingertips digging into his back.

Eddie tilts his head and kisses down his cheek and jaw before he buries his face in Steve’s neck. Steve tilts his head to give him room, sighing again.

“You want one?” Eddie asks quietly.

“Mhmm.”

Eddie smiles again, kissing his neck, and their legs entwine under the blanket as he bites down on Steve’s pulse. Steve whines weakly, pushing a hand under Eddie’s shirt to touch his skin. His hands are warm. They always are.

Right now, Steve’s fingers press into his skin as Eddie’s teeth press into his, and Eddie revels in the way his breaths come out sharper, the way he hums and swears, and when Eddie finishes, he kisses the spot softly, tenderly, before licking it to soothe it. Steve hums, wrapping his arms around Eddie tightly.

Eddie can’t see the bruise in the dark.

He’ll see it in the morning when he wakes up before him and looks down to gaze at him in the morning light, before Steve stirs and opens his arms to hug him.

The thought makes Eddie kiss him one more time, his lips landing somewhere on his cheek as they roll onto their sides slowly, and Steve hums, sighing sleepily. In the morning, Eddie will hold him, and then Wayne will come home as they’re drinking coffee. He’ll ruffle their hair and kiss their foreheads, and Steve will feel beautiful and loved, and he’ll know that he’s home.

Eddie can’t wait for the sun to rise.

#working on the last part of lonely town and i kept getting them mixed up i am so confused and sleep deprived #pray for me #steddie #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic

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