Steve And Eddie Don't Like Each Other At First. Or, No, That's Not Quite Right. They're Still Bonded

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.

your honor, they...

I’m not saying that Karen had a one-night stand before she got married to Ted, and was pregnant when they married, but I’m not not saying that Karen, canonically attracted to the bad boys and known to have settled for Ted, had a ONS with Munson Snr and that Nancy is in fact Eddie’s younger half-sister.

Steve Harrington’s type is flawless

Currently thinking about 18/19 year old Toph getting thrown in some random podunk fire nation town’s one-cell jail and being like “hey I’m broke as hell but I’ve got a friend who can bail me out can I make a call” and then 2 hours later Fire Lord Zuko himself slams open the door yelling “WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO THIS TIME YOU SHIT” 

Part 1 (italian is italicized text for easy writing)

The first time Steve hears of Eddie, it's only in passing. A quick note, like one of the many insignificant subjects his grandmother breaches in their frequent calls. 'the neighbours cat snuck in again', 'old man richie from across the street helped me mow the lawn', 'I think I have a new favorite customer. His name's Eddie'

Steve's never bothered to keep up with Mama Ricci's favorites because they change at least once every month. A novel name from the trickle of new people sucked into the family air of her quaint little restaurant– which, considering how much he'd spent there while growing up, now feels unimpressive.

So Steve simply hums to show he's listening, flips through a magazine with his phone pressed between an ear and a shoulder, while Robin unloads the content of her cart for the bookstore cashier. Mama Ricci is still speaking when he catches the panicked look on his best friend's face. One glance at the way her hands are patting down her pockets and Steve instantly remembers the brown wallet he'd seen on their kitchen counter an hour ago.

"Nonna" He says, tucking the magazine back into its little rack. Mama Ricci stops mid rant, and Steve slips easily into the comfortable lul of their mother tongue. "I have to go. l'll call you later."

It's on a friday evening when Steve finally realizes what is happening.

His phone is on speaker, balanced atop the spice holder while he maneuvers around the kitchen. Robin's seated at the island and is clicking on her laptop keyboard a little too frantically to match the report she's supposed to be writing. But she's listening too, because she always is. Her italian is a lot better now, almost fluent even, but she still tends to acutely tune in to all conversation she has access to.

"Eddie came in again today. You remember Eddie?" Mama Ricci is saying. There's a dreamy lilt in her voice that Steve might have noticed if he wasn't too busy frowning at the slightly bland taste in his mouth. He plucks a few spices from the holder, careful not to topple his phone over in the process.

"Your new favorite customer" Steve answers, even though he doesn't actually remember. He's only guessing because that's usually the right answer. Mama Ricci sounds pleased so he knows this instance isn't any different.

"Yes. He's the sweetest thing. A ball of sunshine that one. You should see him smile dear, he gets these precious little dimples and oh Steve, you'll love him."

And there it is.

Mama Ricci goes on to say more, but Steve isn't listening anymore. Because his eyes are wide with recognition, ears perked from the ominous words 'you'll love him'. He snaps his head back to stare at Robin and isn't at all surprised to find her already staring back, because of course she'd heard it too. Her expression mirrors his shocked one for only a second before a sly grin takes its place.

Steve knows immediately that she isn't going to be of any help.

He's careful when he chooses his next words, but not too careful because really, they've been over this.

"Nonna. You're not setting me up with one of your customers."

There's a sound like an exasperated sigh from the other end of the phone, and Mama Ricci takes on a stern tone, a contradiction to the softer register of her voice as she switches to english. It's something she only does when she knows she has an audience.

"Robin." Mama Ricci starts.

"How many successful dates has Steven been on in the last month?"

Robin, the cold-hearted bitch that she is, doesn't even hesitate.

"A whopping total of zero maam."

Steve hates them both so so much.

"See Steven? You need all the help you can get. And I promise you Eddie is an angel."

An angel. Steve can picture it already, can infer from all the previous suggestions his grandmother had offered in the past. The quiet girl who had been pleasant but couldn't even meet his eyes, that one law student that had complimented her dress, the repairman who'd given her a discount for the broken sink because he thought she was sweet. All angels and all poor people passing by for some food and getting a lot more than they'd bargained for the moment she pulled out her wallet photo.

"Nonna– listen." But Mama Ricci isn't listening, because if she listened then this conversation wouldn't be happening in the first place.

"It's different this time I promise. I think I finally understand your type." Steve really doubts it, because if she even knew a little bit about his 'type' then this situation wouldn't be nearly as dire. But there's no room for argument. Not when she gets like this. She'll keep pressing until this Eddie guy either stops showing up or Steve meets him and makes his lack of interest very clear.

As expected, Mama Ricci doesn't relent. Every one of their calls is plagued with 'Eddie this' and 'Eddie that'. 'Eddie plays the guitar, he's in a band.' 'Yknow Eddie works 2 job, isn't he so responsible?' 'There's this game Eddie really likes, I don't know how to pronounce it though-' 'Eddie reads a lot' 'Max let Eddie braid her hair today, he's so good with her' 'Eddie gave me a ride home.' Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

Steve's painted a clear picture of this guy in his head by now. He can imagine the poster child, the perfect son, not unlike himself when he'd been younger and still under the control of his father's expectations. Steve visualizes the tucked in shirt, bright eyes, gentleness, inexplicable kindness. Probably also blatant heterosexuality.

"Nonna" He expresses on one of such calls. "You don't even know if this guy likes men. Stop pestering him."

To her credit, Mama Ricci sounds stuck when she says "Huh. That is true." , and like the idiot that he is, Steve thinks that maybe, maybbbee she's finally ready to drop it.

"It's for you." Robin says a week later, when he walks back in from his evening class with a dead phone and a raging headache.

Steve brings the phone to his ear and the first thing he hears is

"Good news Steven. He likes men."

Much as Steve is numb to the appeal of the restaurant, it's only in that way one gets when they take something for granted. It's his second home, the place he's spent half of his life in following his mother's death. Every summer brings with it the initial relief of stepping into a place he hadn't even realized he missed. Old routines come back. Waking up early in the morning, breakfast with Nonna, driving to the restaurant.

Both he and Mama Ricci still press a kiss to the pad of their fingers when they arrive, place it over the small framed picture of Elisa, late mother and daughter, behind the register. Every shift before they go about their day.

Most summers Robin comes with him, but she's interning at a speech therapy place this summer. Steve expects to feel the dramatic absence of her ever present company, but they still call and daily so it's bearable.

The first 2 weeks are calm, having not yet reached their busier days. Steve notices a very prominent lack of any Eddie character, for which he is eternally grateful. He's enjoying himself so far and would rather delay the inevitable confrontation as much as he can. It's surprising that even the Mayfields seem to like the guy, and the thought alone of someone perfect enough to thaw the cold front of Max Mayfield in such a short time gives Steve the slightest pang of jealousy.

So yes, delayed confrontation is great.

Still he's prepared the process in his head already. Apologize first for any discomfort Mama Ricci might have caused, politely let it be know that he isn't interested– if this person shows an interest that is– and go on along with his day. Easy peesy.

Steve's going over the steps again behind the counter, grumbling it under his breath in annoyance because he's more than a little pressed today. He's being petty and he knows it, but it doesn't matter. The hairnet sits a little crookedly on his head, coating his best feature in an unattractive bluish mesh. Steve hates the net with every fiber in his body. But Mama Ricci's always been big on enforcing it for whoever steps in the kitchen (minus Max because she isn't there enough).

But with the fresh wound of her favorite customer's recent absence, she's also made a point to argue that since no one in her restaurant is ever his type, it shouldn't matter what he looks like anyways. Which yeah, it's true, but somehow extra annoying. It's a piss poor argument to fall back too, but Mama Ricci's always been just as petty as him. Steve's pretty sure it runs in her side of the family cause his mom was like that too.

He's very much still sulking when the bell above the front door rings, and Steve is in the process of taking on his bored customer service tone, hands already finding the notepad in the small apron wrapped around his waist, when he sees him.

Straight out of the hot summer air, there's a light sheen of sweat on the guy's forehead. His long brown hair is tied up in a wild bun, likely to lighten the impact of the heat, and it does wonders for the pretty mix of roughly boyish but gentle features. He's fanning himself with a roughed up notebook, other hand airing out the collar of his sleeveless band tee. The guitar pick necklace around his neck jostles with the action and brushes slightly against one of the many rings decorating his long, slender fingers.

His arms are lined with various tattoos, and the black lines bleed into the parts of his chest that Steve can see. Ripped jeans that show more skin than fabric, worn sneakers with enough scribbles to appear almost entirely black.

Fuck, Steve thinks when they make eye contact. Because this guy is all kinds of hot and it is definitely too late to yank off the ridiculous hair net without being too obvious.

But Steve also knows that he's got other good features, hairnet and dumb apron be damned, he can still pull this off. He's been accused enough times of being overly confident, blatantly shameless even– as Robin likes to say– so this isn't new. Dry spell or whatever, Steve knows damn well he's still attractive enough to elicit at least a little bit of a response. If this guy is into guys that is, but that's a hill he'll cross when he get there. Call him pathetic but he'd be satisfied with the smallest sign of interest, subtlety's never been his thing and his brazenness has gotten him laid enough times to not be entirely useless.

Which is why Steve puts on his most charming smile as the guy walks towards the counter. He's got a strange look on his face, this guy. Like he's caught between trying to piece together a puzzle while simultaneously marvelling. But in Steve's books, marvelling is good. Definitely an encouraging sign.

'You've got this Steve, like clockwork', Steve tells himself as he leans forward on the counter, tone a pleasant drawl as he says. "Good afternoon, what can I do for ya?"

The guy just stares.

The silence drags long enough to throw Steve a little off kilter. Cause sure he loves every bit of attention, especially from someone straight out of his more deviant fantasies, but it's starting to get just a little spooky. So he clears his throat.

The guy blinks, looks slightly embarrassed as he parts his lips to speak.

But then the kitchen curtains swing open and there's a very loud and very perky squeal of "Eddieee!"

Mama Ricci rounds the corner with the speed of someone well beneath her age, and in seconds, has the guy wrapped up in her tiny frame. She pulls him down to kiss the air beside each of his cheek, and grins widely.

Steve is still trying to process what the hell is happening while the two slide into easy conversation. The guy– Eddie– sneaks nervous glances over at Steve as Mama Ricci leads him away, but it's only when he's forced into a chair that everything finally clicks.

Holy shit.

Holy fucking shit.

Holy terrible, lactose intolerant Buckley after 2 pints of ice cream level shit.

This can't be happening.

But it is, because Mama Ricci is clapping excitedly and gesturing over at Steve who must still look like the very definition of an idiot just standing there, gaping.

It's hard to decipher whether he's impressed or insulted at the fact that is grandmother's picked up a guy of this level more easily than he's picked up anyone in months. Since petty stubborness is second nature, Steve inevitably settles on the latter. Hot guy or not, he's not giving Mama Ricci the satisfaction of this very obvious win.

So Steve turns and ducks under the kitchen curtains, wills his mind to get a hold of itself so he can begin building resistance to the grandma stealing hot ass man who is apparently also into guys. Fuck.

Mama Ricci joins him almost instantly, and he can't help but wonder if she'd jogged over with how quick she gets there.

"Steven" She hisses in italian, effectively startling Mrs. Mayfield who's tending to something on the stove.

Mama Ricci pulls him down, much like she'd done minutes ago with Eddie. Except instead of air kisses, Steve gets the hairnet yanked out of his hair. Her boney fingers are frantically trying to tidy up the strand as she speaks.

"Take this ridiculous thing off. Your hair's one of your best features."

And Steve has to audibly gasp because the fucking hypocrisy.

She's not wrong though, but dammit. He's not supposed to be letting her win this.

Steve can't ponder too much on his sworn rebellion anyways, because for all her tiny little grandma-ness, Mama Ricci is surprisingly efficient. She buzzes around the kitchen and in record time has a tray of iced water in her hands, which she pushes instantly into Steve's chest.

It takes years of experience working busy hours not to let the liquid spill all over him as Mama Ricci pushes him out of the kitchen. He glares at the curtain that falls close behind him, tries to get back in but is blocked by a very determined looking grandmother. He can hear Mrs. Mayfield wheezing in the backgriund, thanks the heavens that Max is in school right now because he'll be dying otherwise.

"Go. He asked for water. Take his order while you're at it." Mama Ricci says from the doorway.

They're definitely making a bit of a scene now, and Steve knows it'll only get more obvious the longer he stands there. So he bites back the very long string of opinions he's dying to express, and forces on a smile.

When he turns around, it's just in time to see Eddie duck his face away, one leg bouncing slightly under the table. Jesus. He must have seen all that and is definitely judging them now. Not that Steve can blame him.

It doesn't matter though, he tells himself. He isn't trying to get with a guy reccommended by his grandmother anyways. No matter how much he'd lowkey love to climb all over said guy. There are plently of hot people out in the world, and this attraction is bound to fade with time and more hookups.

But then Steve slides the tray of water on the table, tries to look uninterested as he slips out his notepad and asks for an order. Eddie leans back in his seat, scratches the back of his neck and says "What do you reccommend sweetheart?". And he's got on this stupid smile, definitely cheeky, but with a subtle hint of something bashful.

Steve decides at that moment that he hates everyone and everything.

Because Mama Ricci had been so right about those dimples.

And apparently about his type too.

Steve is fighting a losing battle and he knows it.

i might do 1 more part to this but cant promise i'll tag anyone else besides the people already tagged because its lowkey too much work :') we shall see tho

@maya-custodios-dionach @newtstabber @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @electrick-marionnett @trikigirl271 @yes-im-your-mom @justanothergirlwithobsessions @mars-the-witch @moviebuff90 @misguideadghosts @raisedbylibrarians

modern day steddie who are really into kpop, eddie fell victim to the pop-punk to kpop streamline and steve started being obsessed after he found eddie’s spotify and saw him listen to itzy at 3am,

and eddie asks steve out with exo-cbx blooming day bc he’s a sappy romantic

(the line i mean is “so baby can u be your boyfriend, can i?”)