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“I fucked up.” Are the words that greet Robin at 8pm on Thursday night after dialing the number to the Harringtons’ house.
“Wow, what happened to hello?” Robin tuts, leaning against the wall next to the payphone. Next year she’s getting her own place and paying for her own phone line, she’s already decided that, tired of having her conversations out in the hallway for all to hear.
Steve makes a pathetic whining noise in her ear, she can picture him running a hand through his hair. “I fucked up. With Eddie.” He says again, just as agitated as before.
Ah nuts, Robin thinks, sinking feeling in her gut. She might have missed the actual resolution to the ongoing mating ritual of her best friend and Eddie Munson, but she sure saw enough of it with her own two human eyes to know how gone Steve was on the guy.
Robin didn’t necessarily get it herself at first, but Eddie is loud and opinionated and smart in his own wet marsupial man kind of way, and Steve obviously likes people who are willing to call him on his shit and can take as much as they give. Eddie Munson just fits the bill.
(“And he’s a total babe.” Steve says, completely besotted. “Is he?” Robin wonders aloud, looking over at Eddie where he’s challenging Dustin to a game of Chubby Bunny out in the living room.)
“What happened?” Robin asks, switching gears and mentally preparing her arsenal, ready to either comfort Steve or ridicule him mercilessly. Or both. Whatever’s needed.
“I told him I loved him.” Steve says, voiced pitched low into a mortified whisper.
Robin winces, pats her pocket to make sure she’s got more change because she doesn’t think this conversation is going to be a short one. “And—” she clears her throat, tugs a little bit on the cord at the base of the receiver. “Did he—what did Eddie say?”
Her stomach hurts already because nothing that’s come out of Steve’s mouth so far bodes well for this conversation. She realizes, with a faint pang of horror, that she’s never actually had to help Steve with a broken heart. Bad dates and duds a plenty, but this, hurting over someone he’s really truly into? Robin knows she can’t choke now.
“He said thank you.” Steve says, voice partially muffled, like he might be covering his mouth or the phone. Then he says, louder, “Then he left.”
“What?” Robin yelps, unsure she’s heard him right. Because there’s no way that’s actually what happened.
Steve breathes out hard, whistling in Robin’s ear. “I told Eddie I loved him and he said thank you and then he left.”
Robin’s pretty sure her mouth is hanging open. A filing cabinet’s worth of possible responses has exploded into a spectacular mess of loose-leaf papers, fluttering midair inside her head.
Her immediate instinct is to verbally disembowel Eddie and her secondary impulse is to jump the first bus to Hawkins so she can physically do it. She’s fought actual real life monsters. She might not be Nancy Wheeler but she was in band. She’s pretty sure she can inflict real damage swinging her trumpet.
She might suggest as much out loud if it weren’t for the fact that Steve doesn’t sound especially angry or hurt or betrayed. He mostly sounds sad.
She taps her fingertips against her lips. “Steve.” It feels like the only thing she can say right now, voice heavy, concerned, surprised, confused.
“I know.” Steve groans, “I know.”
“Maybe—you probably caught him off guard.” Robin offers, trying to find her footing. God, she can picture Steve’s ridiculously earnest face, the way his eyes get all soft and serious when he’s saying something that’s really important to him.
She leans against the wall, acutely aware of another girl walking down the hall towards her. Robin wonders how much of the conversation she’s heard. She turns a bit, gives more of her back to the hall, drops her own voice a little. “He cares about you. You know he does. Maybe he just—you’ve only been official for, what, two months?” Robin doesn’t know if you’re supposed to count the disgusting pining-flirting portion of events as part of the relationship. ‘Cause that sure went on for a while.
“Six weeks.” Steve corrects her, sounding even more distressed. “I just—I swear I wasn’t planning on it Robin. I mean, I meant it but I would have done it better, I would have, like, waited longer or romanced him or something. I wouldn’t have told him at Henderson’s house!”
Robin grimaces, teeth clenched tight. She’s so glad Steve can’t see her face right now. “Was the pipsqueak there? Or his mom?”
“No, thank god. But still. It was—” Steve sighs again, panic winding down into dejection, “I’m pathetic.”
“You’re not.” Robin squeezes the receiver, pops another dime into the phone. “Listen to me Steve. You were honest about how you feel. Eddie’s always talking about honesty and authenticity and shit. You have nothing to be ashamed of.” She’s proud of her tone, the absolute iron wrought conviction in her voice. “Or maybe saying it back goes against the satanic bible or something.”
Steve actually laughs at that, settles some of the nervous fluttering in Robin’s head.
“Yeah, maybe.” He hiccups. Robin can picture him shaking his head.
There’s a long second of silence and then Steve says, “Thanks Rob.”
“That’s what I’m here for.” She answers, holding the phone as tightly, wishing she were holding Steve’s hand instead.
-
Steve feels a little better after talking with Robin. They talked until her change ran out, Robin hanging up with one more comforting iteration of everything will be okay. And it will be. Of course it will be. Even if Eddie doesn’t say it back or feel that way about Steve. It’ll be fine. They’re all going to be fine.
The gates are closed and the world isn’t ending and Hawkins isn’t falling into a crater directly into Hell, so, yeah, everything’s going to be fine.
Steve pushes his hair back again, trying to ignore the shaky feeling in his stomach as he shuffles into the kitchen. It’s not really late, but he’s tired, today unusually long considering he didn’t work.
He didn’t sleep very well after the debacle at Dustin’s, their weekly game night turned horror show when Steve opened his stupid mouth while Eddie was complaining about getting fleeced by a literal child. He’d just gotten ahead of himself. His fucking feelings had gotten ahead of themselves, blurring the line between six weeks and six months and making a total ass out him.
God, he’d give anything to turn back time, stop himself from saying what he said. He’d still feel it, sure, but he could have kept that shit to himself for a while longer. Eddie told him up front that he’s never really dated before and he’s told Steve how he feels a little weird sometimes being the first guy Steve’s ever dated even after Steve explained that Eddie isn’t the first guy he’d been into.
And then Steve went and told Eddie he loved him in Dustin’s living room and probably scared him off for good.
The only thing remotely close to a silver lining is that Dustin had been in his bedroom looking for another gameboard. And that he hadn’t pushed when he’d come back to the living room and found Steve sitting there alone.
“Eddie wasn’t feeling good.” Steve lied, though it hadn’t felt like a lie, because Eddie had looked like he was going to have a heart attack or blow a blood vessel in his head or something when he was standing there, staring at Steve.
Staring at Steve much in the same way he is now, through the sliding glass door.
“Fuck!” Steve yells, stumbling backwards, heart racing so fast it feels like it might explode inside his chest. He can’t hear Eddie through the glass but he’s pretty sure he’s apologizing based off the frantic waving of his arms.
It takes Steve a second to regain enough control of his limbs to walk over to the door and slide it open.
"Hey." Eddie says, waves his ringed hand and rocks back on his heels, then shoves both his hands in his pockets. “Sorry about that—I just, saw the light was on.”
“From the woods?” Steve asks, because it’s not like this side of the house is visible from the street.
“I, uh, was walking.” Eddie explains, looking askance. Like he needs Steve to give him a break here.
“In the woods?” Steve asks again, pointing out the window into the deepening dark outside. Eddie doesn't even have a flashlight.
Steve's almost as confused as he was scared a minute ago. Eddie doesn’t look like he set out to go for a hike. He’s dressed in his usual leather jacket, t-shirt, jeans, and Reeboks, hair a loose frizzy tangle. The thought of him traipsing through the woods like this is almost enough to make Steve want to ask if he’s on the run again.
"Can I, uh, I need to tell you something." Eddie says in a rush, arms pretty much fused to his sides, shoulders rigid, standing like a straight pin.
Steve blinks, still partially stunned. He steps back, lets Eddie through, closes the door carefully behind him. Eddie doesn't move very far, just stays right there in the entryway. Maybe he wants a clear shot at the door and back out into the forest, Steve thinks, only a little bit bitter.
Steve swallows, stares at Eddie, waiting for him to go. Eddie stares back at him for another long beat, long enough to make Steve feel self-conscious about the fact that he didn’t bother getting dressed today, still in the same gym shorts and t-shirt he went to sleep in last night. He wonders if Eddie can tell he’s been here all day, slowly losing his mind over last night.
Eddie nods, breathes out hard through his nose, pushes all the air out in a hard whoosh. This is the most serious Steve's seen him since they stopped the town from falling into a hell pit.
"Okay, so, first, I'm sorry." Eddie starts, one arm jerking like he’s forgotten his hand is in his pocket. "I shouldn't have just left like that. I know that. I knew it almost as soon as I did it but then I didn't know how to come back without Henderson asking a hundred questions and looking like a total asshole—" Eddie grins, thin and sharp, "But I probably came off as an asshole regardless so, whatever." He squeezes his shoulders tighter, "Listen, it's not like I don't—I do. I really do. No one's ever said that to me, in that way, um, and I guess I wasn't really expecting you to say it either."
Steve's face twitches. Eddie’s words all run together in his head. His eyebrows wrinkle and his mouth twists as he tries to parse out the good and the bad of what Eddie just said.
Eddie's hands pull free this time, palms held upward like he's placating a startled animal. "Not because it's you, I swear. More because I'm me, y'know."
"I like you." Steve reminds Eddie pointedly, even though they're sort of beyond that. Steve honestly can’t believe this whole thing has snowballed into this, Eddie looking nervous and jumpy, eyes round with worry.
"I know you do." Eddie says, an exasperated edge creeping into his voice. It sets Steve’s teeth on edge. Because they’ve had some version of this conversation before. In the Upside Down while they walked through the woods. In the hospital after the cops took the cuff off Eddie’s wrist. In Eddie's bedroom one of the nights they couldn’t sleep.
It’s not as if Steve said it because he’s trying to convince Eddie he’s worth loving or anything remotely close to selfless. He said it because it’s what he feels.
Steve rubs his face. Whatever daydreams he had about how this moment might go down in real life are dust in the wind. "Listen we don't have to—it doesn't have to be a big deal—"
"I wasn't running away." Eddie interrupts insistently, "I mean, I think it started out that way but then I was half-way to Clayton."
Steve's mouth parts on a confused exhale. "What?"
Eddie bites his lips together, nods, then grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it up to expose his chest. Steve spots the new tattoo immediately, the skin reddened and raised, standing out against pale skin.
Oh, right. Clayton. The guy who does Eddie’s tattoos lives there. Eddie’s been talking about getting another one for months now, ever since he woke up and realized how many of his previous ones were either lost or almost unrecognizable due to bat bites. He’s been doodling, has shown Steve a few of the designs, said Lloyd was the real artist, that he’d turn Eddie’s half-baked ideas into something better. Steve’s asked Eddie what he thought he’d get, when he finally went to get another, but Eddie’s always shrugged and said he’d know the right one when he found it.
It's on Eddie's left side, wrapping around the curve of his ribcage, between two patches of pink scar tissue, thin black lettering maybe an inch tall. 3DD64T2. The second D is smaller than the rest, almost an exact replica of how it looks on Steve’s license plate.
"Why did you—”
"Lloyd's a cool guy but I wasn't sure about asking him to ink a guy's name on me." Eddie says, sounding somewhere between apologetic and resigned. "But I thought, uh, I thought this could work. For now. Until I find someone I can trust enough to do it."
Blood is pounding in Steve’s ears, and it feels like being scared all over again, except it’s not exactly fear rushing through him. He reaches out towards Eddie’s side, stops himself from actually touching the fresh tattoo, because it looks sore, a little bit of blood dried around the edges of the three.
He has to swallow a few times before he can get another word out, but his voice still cracks when he asks, "Until?"
Eddie drops his shirt, but his hand stays balled into a fist in the material at the hem. "Yeah." He says, licks the corner of his mouth.
Eddie’s eyes are glossy and for some reason that makes Steve's eyes burn. Steve's never been a crier but that might change tonight, the lump in this throat getting bigger the longer he looks at Eddie, thinks about the tattoo permanently drawn into Eddie's skin in the same spot where Steve rests his hand while they kiss.
"I'm sorry I didn't say it back." Eddie says, wipes his hand over his eyes, clears his throat. "Fuck. I love you. I'm so in love with you. I'm talking, like, a stupid amount here." Eddie gestures at his own side. "Just, so, uh, we're clear."
Steve sniffs but it’s no real use, his nose filling faster than he can stop mucus from dripping, vision blurring even as he laughs. “Eddie, what the fuck, I can’t believe—” His voice breaks and he doesn’t really know why he’s crying. He’s not sad. It’s something else, something he doesn’t know he’s felt before. It’s surprise and disbelief and awe, a stark opposite to the blind terror Steve’s known before on more than one occasion.
He knows tattoos aren’t permanent. The warped remains of Eddie’s old tattoos are evidence enough of that. Not to mention cover ups like the one on Eddie’s calf. Steve knows there’s ways for Eddie to erase the mark he’s made.
But he still made it. Eddie made his decision and drove to Clayton and sat for however long it took for someone to put that reminder of Steve directly into his skin.
“Please don’t cry.” Eddie begs, closing the distance between them, getting close enough that Steve can see through his tears. Eddie’s crying himself, face gone red and tears pouring steadily. “Is it—do you hate it?”
Steve’s laughter is all choked with snot. He’s extra mindful of putting his arms low around Eddie’s waist when he pulls him into a hug. Eddie relaxes into the embrace almost immediately, presses his tear damp face into Steve’s neck, probably rubs his runny nose into Steve’s shirt. Steve thinks Eddie could blow his nose directly into Steve’s sleeve right now for all that he’d care.
“No, I love it.” He mumbles thickly against Eddie’s shoulder, hands slipping under the bottom of his jacket, his t-shirt, settling against the warm skin at Eddie’s back. “I love you.”
He hugs Eddie a minute longer, then pulls back enough to ask, “Were you really in the woods?”
Eddie laughs, rubs at his face again, “I ran out of gas on the way here. I thought I knew a short cut.”
“Dude.” Steve breathes, pulling Eddie back so he can kiss him properly. It only lasts for as long as Steve can keep himself from laughing, his insides too full up of that bubbling excitement to contain.