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loveinhawkins · 1 year

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In the morning, Eddie wakes first.

Steve’s arm is draped across him, and from this angle, Eddie can see the dark bruise on his inner elbow—smaller now, much smaller. Barely the size of a penny. And his chest only stutters the slightest bit while he keeps breathing deeply.

Relief pours into Eddie’s veins. He dozes for a little while, until Steve’s fingers start to twitch against his hip bone; but when he glances at Steve’s face, he just looks like he’s dreaming. No nightmares.

If I could manage it, I’d make it so you’d only have good dreams forever.

“Your arm’s gonna fall asleep like that,” Eddie says softly, almost like he’s still dreaming, too. He moves Steve’s arm as gently as he can.

And though Steve hardly stirs, Eddie finds himself running his fingertip along Steve’s palm, just in case it helps him stay wrapped up in that warm, safe sleep…

Then he feels it. Stills.

There’s a tiny indentation on Steve’s lifeline.

And Eddie knows that it’ll just be a little nick in the skin, no doubt evidence of a past splinter being removed, like the one on his thumb.

But that doesn’t change the effect: that it seems like Steve’s lifeline stops, breaks off, only to start again further down his palm.

Eddie lets out a shaky chuckle. “How about that, huh?” he whispers, and he smiles when Steve gives a sleepy murmur, as if in answer.

There’s a few moments more of simply listening to Steve sleep, and it kind of feels like Eddie’s heartbeat has slowed to match his breathing again, timed to the steady rhythm of it.

And then there’s a little sniff, the lightest of sighs as Steve starts to wake up.

It feels like a gift to see, to know the subtle changes in his breathing, in his face, as he slowly rises out of sleep.

Steve just manages to open one eye, looks over at Eddie before it droops shut again with little resistance.

“Mm… no,” Steve says, both firm and drowsy.

Eddie smiles. “No?”

“No,” Steve confirms with a yawn. “Don’t wanna get up. Can’t think of a good enough reason to.”

“Me neither,” Eddie says, as Steve’s yawn quickly proves contagious.

At the sound of Eddie yawning, Steve smiles, too, eyes still closed. “Glad we’re in agreement.”

It’s only then that Eddie realises he’s still following the path of Steve’s lifeline, when Steve’s fingers briefly curl around his. Warm.

“So, what’s the plan? We staying here forever?”

Steve laughs, sounds a little more awake. “Yup. Objections?”

“Hmm… none. But, uh, Dustin might come and kill us, and then, like, donate our bodies to science.”

Steve snorts. “Oh, he would.” Then he suddenly starts to giggle.

“What?” Eddie grins as Steve just keeps going without an explanation. He prods him in the side. “What?”

“D-Dustin once—he—he asked me to—to—” Steve cracks up again, and when he speaks, Eddie has to really concentrate to make out the words. “To—put a d-demodog in the f-fridge.”

“A what in the what?”

“It was dead already!” Steve explains, spluttering, like that makes it at all more reasonable.

“Wait, did you actually do it? What the—”

“Hey, the little shit was persuasive!” Steve’s eyes open, sparkling with mirth. “He said it was a scientific discovery.”

“Oh my god, you two are dangerous together. Jesus, I can’t believe I’m saying that.”

“I r-remember thinking—” Steve breaks off to laugh again, a spectacularly ugly cackle that sets Eddie off too, with the giddy sort of high that he used to believe only came from sleep deprived conversations at three in the morning. “There were—it was Joyce’s fridge and she had, um, these leftovers on one of the shelves, and I obviously tried not to touch them with the, uh… But this thing was big, man, I really just had to ram it in there and pray the door would shut—”

“Jesus Christ.”

“And, like, the woman’s a saint, she never brought it up, Eddie! She must’ve noticed, or I don’t know, maybe Jonathan opened the fridge first, or… I kinda forgot about it until Dustin’s mom had me over for dinner, and she was getting stuff out of the fridge, and I just thought oh, shit. I couldn’t stop wondering if they ate the leftovers, or if it was just tainted with, like, eau de demodog or—”

“Steve,” Eddie laughs, “that’s fucking disgusting.”

It takes a while for their giggles to stop; when one of them calms, the other seems to start again in response. The moment’s broken only when Steve unceremoniously elbows Eddie until he rolls off the couch.

“Move, I’ve gotta piss.”

From the floor, Eddie sighs dramatically. “Oh, there’s the legendary Harrington charm.”

And though the promise to stay there forever is gone, what remains is a light sensation in Eddie’s chest, a gentle fizziness, almost like cream soda; he thinks of I need some more time and a private I love you, and he knows that all of this isn’t going anywhere.

Wayne buys a few cans of paint and sets them in front of Eddie before work, each one already opened.

“And you’re leaving me alone with them?” Eddie asks with overblown incredulity.

Wayne rolls his eyes. “At least one brush better be used by the time I get back.”

“But Wayne,” Eddie says, “I’ll create an eyesore.”

Wayne chuckles. “Oh, yeah, I’m countin’ on it.”

And through the joking, Eddie gets what he’s driving at.

When Wayne leaves for work, he picks the muted yellow that looks almost like it’s the exact shade he had in his old bedroom, and even just painting one wall helps make the room feel less… empty.

And it’s good, he thinks, that it’s not the same colour of paint. Very similar, but still different. It’s an odd balance to try and strike, to know that he misses the trailer, that a degree of familiarity is comforting, but that anything too close to the room’s appearance would set the hairs on the back of his neck on end, take him straight back to…

“It’s better,” he says to Steve on the phone, “it just still feels… kinda like a hotel, y’know?”

Steve hums. “Yeah. I think you just need time. Gotta mess it up a bit and stuff. Make it yours.” There’s the sound of a page turning and then he adds, putting on a TV presenter like voice, “Have you considered bright cushions?”

Eddie laughs. “No, Mr. Interior Design.”

“Robin’s parents gave me all these magazines. Like, too many, I think they’re using me just to clear out stuff. Seriously, I’m reading one from Spring 1979.”

There’s a very faint scoff, and then Eddie can practically hear Steve roll his eyes as he says,“Oh, Rob’s on the extension, so careful what you say.”

A much louder gasp. “I am not!”

“Hi, Robin.”

“Hello, Eddie Munson, light of my life, you’re just the man I wanted to speak to.”

“I’m also here,” Steve says.

“You see,” Robin presses on, “me and little Stevie here appear to have come to a stalemate, an impasse, if you will—”

“Oh my god—”

“And I know, Eddie Munson, that you’re a man of sense—”

“Oh sure, all my report cards say so.”

“—so you’ll agree with me that we should get takeout?”

“Rob, I’ve got a fridge full of—”

“So I’m a glorified tiebreaker?” Eddie says.

“Oh, you’re much more than that,” Robin says, tongue in cheek, “but right now, yeah, you are.”

“Hmm…” Eddie draws the sound out, grins as Steve and Robin make various hurry up noises. “Takeout.”

“Betrayed,” Steve says, “completely and utterly—”

“I knew there was a reason I liked you, Eddie,” Robin says. “Okay, I’m going, giddy up, boys, so I can order.”

“No, I’m ordering, you’re just gonna order a mountain of—and she’s gone. Uh, I’d better—you’re coming over soon, right, so I can order?”

Before Eddie heads out, he leaves a note for Wayne on the yellow paint can: At Steve’s. Made a start!

Robin lets him in, her hair damp from having a shower. Steve throws a takeout menu at him from where he’s sat on a stool by the downstairs phone.

“Tell me what you want, go wild.”

“Not too wild!” Robin calls from halfway up the stairs, running a towel through her hair. “Any order that comes with sides I disapprove of means you have five solid minutes of me judging you.”

“Thought I was the goddamn light of your life, Buckley.”

“I’m a fickle creature, Munson.”

“Okay kids,” Steve says, “pipe down so I can order.”

Robin opens her mouth, but Steve waves her off without looking.

“I already know what you want.”

Steve has actually already written it out on a notepad. Eddie scrawls his order underneath Robin’s, draws comically frowning cartoon faces at some of her choices; Steve chuckles mid-dialling of the number.

While Eddie hears a tinny voice on the other end repeating the order back, Steve suddenly breaks out into a smile.

“What?” Eddie mouths.

“Come here,” Steve mouths back.

Bemused, Eddie does.

And Steve swipes his thumb delicately across Eddie’s cheek, pulls back to reveal yellow paint.

“Can’t take you anywhere,” Steve says, eyes warm with fond amusement; and the feeling in Eddie’s chest glows like the sun.

#thank u so much again for all your kind words i treasure each comment tag & ask ❤️ so moved u r enjoying i get shy with replying sometimes❤️#the self sacrificial steve agenda #steddie #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie and robin #steve and robin #eddie and wayne munson #robin buckley

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