People Debate If Eddie Or Steve Would SayI Love You First, But I Propose An Alternative Perspective Where

People debate if Eddie or Steve would say ‘I love you’ first, but I propose an alternative perspective where they both say it long before they start dating and confuse the hell out of everyone, including themselves. 

Almost dying could put your life into perspective. 

When Eddie awoke in his hospital bed with his uncle at his side and the late afternoon light shining through the window blinds, he was struck with the kind of death-bed revelation reserved for men sentenced to dangle from gallows or grit worn teeth down the muzzle of guns. He was alive, despite the assumed certainty of his death hours or days before. 

Eddie let Wayne hold him, despite how much it hurt because the pain reminded him he was alive, that he’d made it out on the other side. Without thought, Eddie told Wayne he loved him. It wasn’t the first time he’d said it, but he couldn’t remember the last time it’d happened. 

They were long past the first few tumultuous years when Eddie had moved in with Wayne. Where they’d tiptoed around each other and waited with bated breath for their shared peace to go wrong. Eddie hadn’t been used to living in a household where he didn’t have to walk on eggshells to get by and Wayne wasn’t used to looking after himself, let alone a kid. 

They’d since found their rhythm, but it wasn’t often either man voiced their affections. Wayne showed his love. He didn’t speak it. That was just the way he was. Eddie didn’t share the man’s reservations, not anymore. His adolescents was a wave that had long since crested, and all care for others’ opinions had been thrown out the window. He wasn’t shy with his love, but his proximity to death made him reckless with it. 

When Dustin appeared at his bedside not long after, looking as though he were staring down a spectre, Eddie knew he had to do something. He leaned over, ruffled Dustin’s hair and told the kid everything was going to be okay, that he loved him. 

When the whole mess had died down and Eddie was able to come out of hiding, he showed up in Gareth’s garage at the usual time for band rehearsal. He was bombarded by a mess of limbs and an earful of questions. He told them his well-practised lie then muttered how glad he was to be back, how much he loved those stupid sons of bitches, because he did and they should know it. He’d never told them that before. 

What Eddie hadn’t expected was to fall fast and hard for Steve Harrington. Eddie wasn’t one for fast affection or grand romantic ideals. He had his head firmly attached to his shoulders, thank you very much. He knew fast love was just infatuation. You were falling for the idea of a person, not the real deal.

He knew it was stupid and yet at seeing Steve sprawled out on the floor of his trailer, in front of their shitty Philips Color TV, his usually styled hair mussed, Eddie thought he loved him, which was a terrible thought because it meant Eddie had to tell him. 

Keep reading

Steve and Eddie don't like each other at first. Or, no, that's not quite right. They're still bonded from everything. They're friends, sort of, but they don't spend time together outside the group, have trouble talking one-on-one.

Steve doesn't think about it much. So, he and Eddie won't ever be real friends, okay. He's a little disappointed, but mostly he doesn't understand how he feels about the other guy. He's always anxious when Eddie's around, clumsy and stuttering, infected with Robin's tendency to nervous chatter. It doesn't make sense. It's just Eddie. But that's the thing. It's Eddie and Steve doesn't know how to act around him.

And Eddie? Well, he spends a lot of time avoiding Steve because the fucking cascade of butterflies he gets every time Harrington is around. He knows what it means, knows even he isn't immune to the Harrington charm, but he needs to be. He needs to keep his heart safe. So, he keeps his distance because Steve Harrington is not for him and never will be.

It changes during movie nights. First it's teasing Dustin and Mike, mocking whatever horrible movie the kids put on, and then it's inside jokes, and playful bickering, and evenings with just the two of them drinking beer and sharing joints.

Then it's August. It's too hot everywhere and Steve's parents are home, so they're in Steve's car, driving with no destination, a couple joints in Eddie's jacket pocket and a six-pack in the trunk. They're listening to a mixtape Eddie made Steve, a bunch of metal. Steve still doesn't get it but there are a couple of songs he enjoys. Rainbow in the Dark starts--this is one Steve likes, reminds him of Eddie and not just because it's Dio. Sun filters through foliage and into the car windows, backlighting Eddie's curls like he's some kind of deity, beautiful and ethereal, not part of this world.

Steve starts singing along to the music, can't help himself. His friend throws him a beaming smile, big enough that Steve thinks his heart stops. He smiles back. He and Eddie sing the rest of the song together, and Steve is...he's content. He's happy. He hasn't felt this way since--well fuck--since 1983. Their eyes meet again, gazes linger, warmth pools in Steve's chest and low in his stomach.

Oh. He thinks. That's what this is. It settles something inside him, the knowing.

Time passes, they get closer, share a bed most nights. Doesn't matter where as long as they're together. Sleep better this way, both of them.

They're at the trailer when it happens, sharing a joint, loosely tucked against each other in bed.

"I've never had a friend like you," Eddie says. His eyes stay fixed on the smoke he exhaled. "I know you and Robin are--like, I get it. But you're--for me--"

"Yeah," Steve agrees. He flushes from his chest to forehead. "For me too."

It's enough, they both think. They're standing on the edge of more have been for months, but this? This is good. There's no need to push, to force. They're hurt, Steve thinks. They're healing. And they have time.

Corroded Coffin plays their first show back at the Hideout in December. Steve's never seen Eddie like this, performing. His shirt is cropped and artfully torn, his jeans more rip than pants. He's wearing eyeliner and his hair is wild. And the way he moves, sinuous and sleek, hips thrusting in a tantalizing rhythm as he shreds on the guitar. Steve wants so badly he feels it in his teeth.

He finds Eddie smoking behind the Hideout after the set. His eye are too bright, his smile manic, the adrenaline keying him up to the highest setting of Eddie. Steve knows he matches the energy, can't help it.

Eddie throws himself into Steve's arms, wrapping around him tight enough that no space lingers. The musician presses his face into Steve's neck, nuzzling, lips pressing against his pulse point. They touch always, share a bed and cuddle, but never like this; nothing like this. Steve pulls Eddie closer, and groans at the mutual swivel of their hips.

Eddie's breath comes in panting bursts, and Steve thinks, "here it is, finally, finally," but the door next to them bangs open and they jump apart at the noise.

Their friends and the rest of the Corroded Coffin guys come out, frolicking and shouting, complimenting Eddie on the show. If anyone noticed them embracing, notices the way they both adjust their clothing to hide their matching arousal, they don't say anything.

Steve wakes early the next morning, early enough that Eddie doesn't even stir beside him, hair wild and eyeliner smeared.

He gets out of bed, starts breakfast, chocolate chip pancakes and bacon, Eddie's favorite. He's so intent on cooking that he doesn't hear the other man come up behind him, doesn't realize he's even awake until a warm body presses to his back, long-fingered hands slipping under his t-shirt, tracing the scars on his stomach. He leans into it without a thought. They touch all the time, but they don't touch like this.

"Watcha making, sweetheart?" Eddie whispers.

"Your favorite," Steve answers.

Eddie makes a little sound, almost a whimper, and presses his face to Steve's neck. Steve lifts his chin, leaning into Eddie and offering more. Warm lips press against his jaw, down to the moles on his throat. A moan slips from his lips as he grinds his ass into Eddie's hardness. The other man groans, grabbing at Steve's hips.

Somewhere in the press of their bodies, Steve has the presence of mind to turn. He lifts his hands, cups Eddie's jaw, thumbs caressing the stubbled, scarred skin of his cheeks. "Okay?" He asks. His voice shakes.

Eddie's eyes are wide, shining, and he swallows hard. Steve knows he's overwhelmed, knows that the words won't come. Instead, Eddie nods, and finally finally they kiss.

Steve is flying. His blood soars in his veins, his heart lifts off. It was always supposed to be this. Always supposed to be them.

It was slow. It was easy. It was small jokes, and long looks, and little touches, and singing in cars and best friends and sharing beds.

His heart belonged to Eddie Munson for months. It will belong to him forever.

@ my mutuals who are struggling to love themselves right now or just in general. I love you and I’m proud of you. You’ll get there. You’re worth it.

Eddie Munson icons

• DO NOT REPOST

• please, like/reblog if you use or save them

It starts because of a sudden– and entirely justifed!–late afternoon craving for lasagna, but continues because Mama Ricci is the best fucking thing that ever did grace this pitiful planet. Eddie's sure she's an angel sent from whatever divination exists up there because there's no way a person that sweet isn't.

It's 4pm when he stumbles into the small corner restaurant, lips downturned in annoyance from the fresh discovery that google maps might just be as sporadic as the intoxicated version of his ADHD ridden brain.

Eddie's just starting to think that his craving might have been solved quicker with one of the many accessible delivery options provided by society's advancements. Maybe sitting up to google the nearest italian places with a review above 4.5 hadn't been his most well thought out idea. But Chrissy is 90% of his impulse control and she's out doing whatever lesbians do when the sun starts going down. Which- good for her, between managing the band and stopping Eddie from finding new ways to end up in jail or on a hospital bed, she could use the free time (he's not actually that he bad he thinks, but after one particularly bad bar incident; involving one too many shots, his lawyer, the cops and 3 Newport cigarette sticks up a bigots nose, it's a joke they've started to frequent.)

Mama Ricci doesn't actually make an appearance right away, it's a small red haired girl that stomps over to his table. She takes a second to look him up and down, probably mildly intrigued by the donald duck pajama pants, metallica t-shirt and tattoos combo (he's kinda happy he ditched the bright green crocs back home now). Her expression holds about as much enthusiam as any underpaid customer service employer when she finally asks for his order.

The girl can't be more than 14 years old, but the place is a small enough hole in the wall, tucked at the corner of a slowly emptying strip mall, that it isn't completely odd to see. Eddie's pretty sure its ratings are only good because there's a total of 5 reviews under its name, but hey he's always been a sucker for small locally owned businesses anyways.

When the girl returns with her hand on her hips to announce that 'we're out of Lasagna. Pick something else or wait a few hours' Eddie briefly debates dropping that 4.8 a notch. Because he sure as hell did not just batmobile his way here at prime lazying around hours to get sent back home.

But then an old woman scurries out of the kitchen, small in structure but sturdy, with wispy gray strands that are packed tightly beneath a hairnet. She's speaking so fast that it takes a second for Eddie to recognize the language. But when the girl– Max if he picked her name out from the spiel correctly– answers back in grumbled but slower italian, it registers.

"I am so sorry about her." The old woman says when Max stomps away, her voice holds a heavy accent, but is so much softer in english. "She had a fight with her mother and she's been snappy since. She really is a sweet girl I promise."

And because the lady is so nice and he's never been the type to be dickish to anyone over 50, Eddie doesn't tell her that he doesnt care and just wants some fricken lasagna. Instead he smiles when she introduces herself as Mrs.Ricci and apologizes profusely for the missing menu item.

Eddie doesn't get his lasagna that evening because he isn't that patient, but the discounted Ribollita he gets in return is so insanely delicious that he comes back anyways a week later.

And then the next.

Before he knows it, a sizeable portion of his record store salary is going straight into Mrs. Ricci's pocket, which is saying a lot because she absolutely adores him. Eddie would never spill, but he's gotten more free meals than is probably okay, and still gets ridiculously large discounts on the ones he does insist on paying for. At some point between the fourth and fifth meeting, Mrs. Ricci starts insisting that Eddie call her Mama Ricci like the rest of her favorites do– which is kinda the biggest honor ever but, whatever, totally doesn't make him smile even now or anything.

Considering how quick his own parents had noped out of his life, Eddie's sure he's latching to the restaurant less for the food now and more for the love that Mama Ricci clearly has to give.

But it isn't only Mama Ricci he gets attached to. It's also the wild red haired girl, Max and her mother that keeps him coming back. The 3 of them mostly keep the restaurant going, but Max is at school or with friends a lot of the time which means a lot of work falls on Mama Ricci and Mrs. Mayfield. They're not exactly overworked because it's a small, hardly known restaurant, visited mostly by year old regulars (Eddie's getting to know a lot of them too and he's pretty sure he firmly falls in the regulars category now as well). Still he does suggest that they get more hires at some point because they both deserve some free time.

"Oh don't worry your handsome little self Eddie." Mama Ricci says in response to the suggestion. There's a fun little lilt in the way she transitions between the Ed and die in his name that Eddie really likes. Makes him feel like a kid getting his cheeks pinched. "We love it here. Doesn't really get busy till the summer but we're better staffed then. Mrs. Mayfield helps me hire one or two seasonals and my grandson's usually around to help too."

It's the first time she mentions her grandson, but it's like a dam is broken the moment she does. Eddie effectively loses count of the amount of times Mama Ricci slips him into their conversations after.

"Isn't he cute?" She says one afternoon as she shows him a picture from her beaten up wallet. It's of a kid about 10 years old. The picture is old and faded, but the wide smile, soft eyes and freckled skin are objectively adorable. "He's older now." Mama Ricci adds. "Should be about your age actually."

If he were smarter, Eddie would have noticed the scheming glint in her oh so trusthworthy, caring, old woman features.

But as luck would have it, Eddie isn't the best at reading into the ulterior motives of old ladies. So he doesn't notice the light laugh Mrs. Mayfield gives each time she walks by to hear Mama Ricci gushing about her grandson. Doesn't notice how hard Max rolls her eyes either.

"He's a tough one that boy. I call him my little fighter" Mama Ricci says once. "Ever since Elisa married that dreadful man it's been nothing but struggles for the both of them. May my angel's soul rest in peace."

It's a small section of the extensive family lore Eddie's been subjected too over quiet evenings at the restaurant. Right before closing when the store is empty and Mrs. Mayfield forces Mama Ricci to sit while she and Max cleans (Eddie's offered to help a few times but the ladies never let him, even Max protests). It's at this time that the old woman is most loose lipped.

Eddie learns quickly about her dead daughter, mother of her favorite and only biological grandson (she has a habit of unofficially adopting several people, including the Mayfields, so terms get a bit confusing). Eddie knows they were in the middle of a nasty divorce when Elisa Harrington had gottten terribly sick. Her only child, Steve, was only 12 at the time. Since her ex-husband (whose name Mama Ricci refuses to say) still didn't want custody, Steve lived with Mama Ricci until he went to college out of the city. He still comes every summer to help out.

Again Eddie thinks the guy sounds objectively great, judging from the way even Max seems to grow a little fond when he's brought up. But thats as far as his personal opinions are willing to go since the guy's still just a stranger.

Which is probably why Mama Ricci turns to a more direct approach.

To be fair Chrissy did try to warn him. In retrospect, he should have gotten the hint when the old woman had acted a little distant the one time he'd brought his best friend along to finally show her his home away from home. Mrs. Mayfield had to eventually start attenting to them when Mama Ricci opted to retire to the kitchen.

It wasn't until Chrissy dropped a comment about her long distance, internet girlfriend that Mama Ricci had bounded back with a smile on her face, bringing with her many more stories about her favorite little fighter.

"You realize she's trying to set you up with her grandson right?" Chrissy had said on the drive back home. Eddie thought she'd been kidding.

It's at that time of the day again, a few minutes till closing time. Max is mopping the floor while Eddie washes down the magnificent pasta dish ("yknow that Steve's favorite dish to cook- Mama Ricci 2 hours ago) that he'd settled on for dinner. That's when Mama Ricci slips into the sit across from him. She's using her lovely 'let me take care of you' smile when she does, and it's what distracts Eddie from the overly cheery tone in her voice when she says "Eddie darling."

Eddie smiles back at her, watches as she refills his glass of water before tilting his head back to take another drink.

"Do you like men?"

Somewhere in the distant Mrs. Mayfield shrieks out a "Mama Ricci!" while Max effectively bursts out into laughter. Eddie can't really focus on them though. Not when he's too busy snorting out half a glass of tap water.