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Eddie drops onto one knee on the dewy grass.
He plucks off one of his own rings—the blue mood ring on his right hand, tho’ they all mean everything to Steve—and offers it up between a finger and thumb.
Steve staggers backward. Might’ve literally toppled, if it hadn’t been for his Alpha landing a hand, warm and steadying, on his hip.
“Steve Harrington, will you…”
Steve’s blood pounds to the phantom beats from the ghetto blaster Eddie recently switched off. His brain is a freakin’ fog. He’d been having a shitty night, his pain and insomnia feeding greedily on each other, as per ever. Eddie woke too, as he intuitively does, when his Omega’s struggling this bad.
They came out to wait for the dawn. So yeah, this feels like a hazy dream.
“…marry me?”
It’s real. As is that cliché of a galaxy glittering across his Alpha’s super-earnest, super-loving eyes.
Eddie loves him. The Omega who often lacks the energy to style his hair. The Omega whose scent is too regularly soured with pain. It is right now, when he’s on top of the world, really. It’s like there’s always a darn bluebottle drowning in his honeysuckle perfume.
He’s sucked in the best Alpha in Hawkins too, tho’, so that’s a total win.
He dabs his eyes, sniffs, kinda squeals. The heat of his Alpha’s touch flows through his sore hip and floods his belly, and his heart, with warmth.
They both know what Steve’s answer is going to be.
Life shouldn’t be this perfect.
…
Three years ago
“Are you okay, Steve?” asks Chrissy, dropping her pom poms and hurrying over.
“I’m good. Quit fussing and leave me alone already.”
She’s hunted him down in the locker room at the end of Omega cheer squad practice, and yes, he’s lying. He’s not okay. He’s not crying either, which is one strike for his tattered pride, tho’ he’s pretty damn close. His eyes and throat burn with unshed tears.
He wants to sneer, “Come to gloat?”
Apart from this is Chrissy. Kind, caring Chrissy. Why the heck is he being a bitch?
His only excuse is that he’s useless, and that’s on him. He can’t even follow a cheer routine without his shoulders feeling like they’d been wrenched at the sockets, and he’s constantly stumbling over his own damn feet. No wonder she quietly suggested he sit out the pyramid and basket toss.
Now, she sits down and curls an arm around him. “Stevie, you’re not okay.”
He chokes the truth out to her. Doing anything, everything, any sport, any movement at all—hell, even sitting down in class—it hurts.
“Chrissy, what’s wrong with me? The doctors haven’t a clue. They say I’m making it up. Why the heck would I do that?”
She folds both arms around him and snuggles him properly. Her scent is sweet, proper Omega cotton-candy sweet, saturated with comfort pheromones that only choke him up more.
“I’m sorry, Steve,” she sniffles.
“Why? It’s not your fault.”
It is my fault. For not being the grade-A, piano maestro, sports champ Alpha he was supposed to be. Who else was there to blame?
“It’s not your fault either, Stevie.”
He actually smirks.
Of course, she knows what he’s thinking. Clever, empathetic Chrissy. He’s not even good at being Omega, not like her.
He knows she’ll never push him away. He quietly drops out of the squad.
In the final years of High School, the fatigue kills him worse than the pain. He rarely sleeps for more than an hour or two, and his grades crash and burn.
His love life crashes and burns, too.
He takes a chance on Jason Carver. One moment, the Alpha is husking in his ear, “Gonna take good care of you, little darling.” The next, he’s growling, “Gonna split you so wide you’ll squeal for your momma. Gonna bone you so hard your brains rattle.”
“Yeah, I’ll pass on that one, Romeo.”
Jason seems genuinely hurt. Steve realizes that it was supposed to be a ‘turn on.’ For other Omegas maybe. Omega biology can absorb some pretty full-on fuckings. For the Omega off sick half the time, who’s been barred from all the sports he once loved?
No thanks, dickwad. Read the room.
He swears off Alphas. Their spiky, predatory stench makes his over-sensitive skin crawl, and his own perfume grows simply depressing, bitter as vinegar. Besides, how is he supposed to be a goddess in the kitchen and a whore in the bedroom, if he can’t get out of bed in the morning? He bruises easily, too, like the rotten apple he is. How will he ever safely perch a pup on his hip?
And yeah, he’s a bitch to everyone, exhausted and fractious all the time. Probably deserves the ‘frigid cow’ graffiti somebody sprays on his locker.
Nobody will want him. Ever.
Then his mom flushes his painkillers down the toilet. “I don’t want you getting addicted to those things, Steven.”
He tries to explain. It’s not like he’s getting high. He only wants to get to some place where he feels normal. Where every raw nerve, every fiber in his body, stops complaining enough to let him sleep.
Nobody listens. Which is how he ends up arranging to meet Eddie Munson at some skanky picnic bench in the scrubby strip of forest behind the football ground.
Munson isn’t there when he arrives. Its dead quiet. Too quiet. Not a bird squawks, and it’s bordering on creepy.
Steve slides onto the bench and slumps forward, pillowing his head in his arms.
This is insane.
Munson is an Alpha. Steve should leave, like now, for a billion good reasons. On the other hand, his legs are a crazy cross between jello and ton weights, and he’s used a whole day’s worth of energy getting here.
“Harrington?”
Steve jumps, squeaks, gulps air into his too-tight lungs. Eddie looms over him. Also, smiles down at him, and his eyes are kind.
His scent reassures Steve, whose rabbiting heartbeat slows. He inhales Indiana fir and juniper berry, with low notes of earthiness and freshly ground coffee. It’s potently Alpha, yeah without being punchy or scary. Eddie’s words underline his soothing musk:
“You’re safe, I promise. Nobody ever comes out here.”
He sits down opposite Steve, places a boxy kind of satchel between them, opening it to reveal packets of druggy shit inside. A cloying marijuana stench sticks in Steve’s throat and makes his eyes water, and he wishes he could just taste more of Eddie.
Eddie, meanwhile, explains how the exchange is gonna work. Then pauses, a smile flirting across his absurdly pillowy-soft looking lips:
“Can’t believe here I am doing a drug deal with Stevie Harrington, the Omega Princess of Hawkins High.”
“Uuuuuh, I think you’re mistaking me for Chrissy Cunningham? Or you’re outta your mind on your own weed and missed, like, a year of everyone’s life.”
“My Liege Lady, you wound me!” Eddie’s hands clasp his chest like he’s been stabbed. Then—to the soundtrack of Steve’s latest surprised squeak—he tumbles dramatically from the bench. “I am a loyal and true knight! After all, this isn’t the first time we've hung out together.”
Huh?
Eddie springs up like Tigger. “Have I got stuff in my hair, Princess?”
He clowns around, fiddling with that feral mane, which Steve is already hankering to groom. He reminds Steve of their ‘shared history.’ Steve laughs so hard he hiccups, and yeah! He does remember that Middle School talent show.
Turns out, Eddie was that dude with buzzed hair.
The dude who, though Steve keeps silent about it, he’d secretly crushed on for months. Eddie’s band, Corroded Coffin, had gone down a whole lot better than Steve’s yawn-fest piano recital. At least following that, his mom had let him focus on sports, and on the cheer squad after he presented Omega, until… until…
Eddie yanks down his collar to display more of the ‘sweet ol’ tatties’ that’d transformed his look so completely. Steve starts salivating, sucking and licking and even biting at his own lips.
No doubt now. He’s still gotten that damn crush. He longs to lick the salt from Eddie’s inky skin, nibble that creamy collar bone. He wants that expressive hand, with all its badass chunky silver rings, to clasp his. Above all, he yearns to crawl into Eddie’s lap, be cocooned in that caressing Alpha scent.
To feel safe, to let it smother his pain.
Yeah, like that’s ever gonna happen.
His a-hole of a body is already destroying this glimmer of fun. He was so tired this morning, he forgot his sunshades, and the daylight glare is triggering a headache, even out among the trees. He rubs his brow, feeling slightly sick and dizzy, then a gust of wind slams him from behind, scattering leaves, litter, and any remnants of Eddie’s scent. That bone-deep weariness reclaims him. His spine sags, and his eyes flutter closed.
“You okay there, Stevie?” Eddie is sat opposite again, his stash bag open. “You don’t want to do this, just give me the word, I’ll walk away.”
“No! Please, I don’t want you to go. It’s just… I’m in pain, like, all the time. I can’t sleep, and I’ve tried weed, and…” His teeth skate up his lower lip, which is getting sore. Probably all yuck and swollen. Ew, he must look gross. And did he even remember to put concealer on the circles beneath his eyes. He shades his face. “I wondered if you’d got anything maybe stronger? I got cash. Plenty of it.”
Eddie closes his bag with a devastating clack. “I can’t do this, Stevie. My mom had issues a bit like yours. More Omegas have to put up with this kinda shit than you think. Let’s just say, folks weren’t very kind to her either, and in the end… the wrong drugs didn’t help, okay?"
Steve almost defaults to cranky bitch mode, his mind reaching for something unforgivable to say about Eddie’s junkie mom. Eddie obviously wants rid of him. He might as well force the issue by saying something horrible and doubtless untrue.
Instead, tho’, he forces a trembling hand across the table, grabs those be-ringed fingers. They both startle slightly, and Steve conjures the truth.
“Please, Alpha, I need something. Anything. I’m so through with it all, and… I honestly don’t think I could make it back to school without help.” Eddie pulses Steve’s fingers, and Steve’s heart squeezes with a pathetic hope. He’d do anything to prolong this time with Eddie, and he can’t believe what he’s about to say: “C-can I, erm… sniff you? I-I don’t usually like the scent of Alphas. I really like yours, and maybe it will help?”
Eddie gawks at him. He’s grossed out. Ugh, of course he is. Steve tugs his hand away, wishing the forest would somehow swallow him. Where are those ravenous Omega-munching bears when you need them?
Then he sees.
Eddie is nodding vigorously, a strange unreadable glow in his intoxicating eyes. “Yeah, you can totally do that.”
Eddie scoots around the table and slides onto the bench, closing in. Steve cringes and wriggles away slightly. “Oh God,” he moans, “I’m such a freak.”
“Don’t steal my thunder, Honey.” Eddie waggles his brows, swinging his legs around so he’s leaning against the table. “Would it help if I..?”
Eddie opens his arms, and Steve surrenders, tumbling forward, notching his nose above that inviting collarbone. Eddie enfolds him gently, and he’s choking up.
He’s been touch starved so long.
He swallows hard then breathes Eddie in till his lungs are bursting. Till an incredible sense of ease overwhelms. Instincts kick in, and he tentatively slides his nose up Eddie’s throat.
He licks and nibbles that salty inked skin, hugs loosely around Eddie’s neck and simply inhales more. Eddie’s scent seems to be getting stronger. Which must be born of pity. Nothing more. Soon, however, Steve is literally chewing on earthy fruity tones that are, somehow, uniquely Eddie. His headache fades to a bearable background hum.
“Is this okay?” Eddie’s fingers lightly comb through Steve’s hair, kindling truly delicious shivers.
“Mmmmmm,” sighs Steve. “As long as you don’t mind?”
“Mind? I don’t leak off pheromones like this for any random Omega who bats their electric-blue lashes at me. For you, Pretty Baby? I could do this all day. So, now I’ve come clean… Is this okay?”
The revelation washes through Steve, leaving a strange fizzy frothy sensation in its wake.
Eddie likes him.
Eddie likes him, and that super-strength Alpha aroma surely can’t lie. And it's been so darn long since he’s been called ‘pretty.’ His tears are leaking, steady and silent. He wants to burrow into Eddie, and sleep forever, till every last shred of his pain and misery slides away.
“Yes,” he whispers, brokenly, “I love it. Th-thank you, Alpha.”
Time passes. All of it floaty and wonderful, and Steve faintly realizes it’s not all about the scent. He’s never believed in that quasi-mystical tug everyone yaps about, between Alphas and Omegas. He’s beginning to, which is dumb, because he barely knows Eddie. He wallows in it all the same, clinging ever tighter, revelling in the coolness of Eddie’s rings as the Alpha’s palm lightly cups his nape.
Eddie’s solid heartbeat thrums through him, till his own falls into sync.
Steve crawls into Eddie’s lap, and Eddie rumbles in blatant appreciation. He holds Steve and gently sways, rubbing soft circles down Steve’s sore spine, his burning hips and always miserable lower back. Their bodies notch together as if some crazy deity created them to fit this way.
Occasionally, a breeze ruffles Steve’s hair. Other than that, the whole rest of the world has scooted away.
All that exists is them.
Steve lays his head on Eddie’s chest and sighs contentedly.
“You’re not what I thought you’d be like,” he says at length, peeping up through the blur of his lashes.
Eddie beams, flashing his Alpha fangs. “What? Mean and scary? Alpha as He-man? Nearly as Alpha as She-ra herself?”
“Yeah. You’re not like that at all.” Eddie hoots and Steve mentally facepalms. “Crap! That came out wrong. I mean, obviously, you’re still uber-Alpha and all, and mega scary—"
“It’s okay, I get ya, and you know, flattery works with me, so I’ll let you in on a secret. There was a time I thought you were terrifying, Harrington.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you and your mighty pompoms, and your ice-princess pout, and those green ribbons jangling in your petrifyingly perfect hair. Always had a bit of a crush, tho’.”
“You’re kidding?”
“No, I swear.”
Steve giggles, and the answering rattle of Eddie’s laughter awakes something—a strange unfamiliar vibration that radiates from Steve’s chest. Christ, is he purring? Hot on its heels, something like warm honey starts trickling from Steve’s innermost core.
He gasps. Then he giggles again. His fingers twist in the back of Eddie’s Hellfire-club t-shirt, clenching in sheer surprise.
He’s perfuming wildly, and it’s not all sourness and yuck. Somewhere, blooming deep inside Steve, are honeysuckle levels of sweetness.
“Baby,” husks Eddie, dropping a gentle kiss to Steve’s hair, “you smell completely amazing.”
…
Eddie holds Steve for as long as he needs. In fact, he never lets Steve go.
While Steve’s pain doesn’t vanish overnight, it’s more bearable when somebody ‘gets’ it. When he’s not so incredibly alone. Also, he’s now got a living, breathing body-wrapping hot water bottle, and Eddie’s Alpha fingers do their bestest to soften his seriously bullet-proof muscle knots.
He’s found an Alpha who will be gentle with him, and he’s grateful every damn day.
Mutual need and love happen first. A realisation that they complete each other, that they can’t be apart without ripping their souls in two. Then leisurely, loving sex happens. Eddie makes Steve’s body sing with pleasure and that, in itself, is a fucking miracle.
“You saved me, Honey,” says Eddie, one day, as they’re cuddling and figuring life out. “I wasn’t an Alpha. I was a kid, pushing drugs to other kids because I couldn’t see any other way to rock and roll. You gave me the kick up the ass I needed.”
Steve smiles and purrs into Eddie’s neck.
They still struggle. However they manage to get their paws on them, Steve’s meds cost far too much. He refuses to let Eddie pawn his guitar.
They hold each other through the endless nights, with Eddie worrying, working two bar jobs to pay the bills. Steve hates not being able to earn much and still gets snappy sometimes.
“Baby, it’s okay,” whispers Eddie, when Steve cries because it’s all too much, “it’s okay.”
His parents are out of the picture now. They’ve had their fill of Steve’s ‘weakness and faking,’ and ‘typical Omega attention-seeking antics.’ Wayne stands by them, steadfast and solid. Good, kind, unjudging Uncle Wayne.
And now here they are, on a hilltop backlit by a smudgy yellow dawn. Steve is managing his pain, not ‘beating’ it, but getting by with a temp job in retail. And Eddie earns enough at the bar and as a gigging guitarist to start to save. They’re not sure if they can have pups, let alone afford them. The future is theirs, together, whatever happens.
“Steve Harrington, will you marry me?”
Steve’s nodding his head off, grinning his face off. Eddie slides that ring onto his outstretched finger, chasing up the cool slide of metal with a warm and slightly damp kiss.
Steve drops to his knees, arms flung around Eddie’s neck, cheek rested, perfectly dry, on Eddie’s shoulder. He breathes in the perfection of life, and of being alive and in love.
“Like you need to ask, idiot,” he murmurs into Eddie’s ear. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you.”