Chapter Text
It was a silly assignment. Steve was 7 years old and Mrs. McCormick had instructed the class to draw their pet or favorite animal. Steve’s parents had already told him that they weren’t going to get him a dog because “they’re too messy.” So, instead, Steve drew his hero, Robin Hood. He’d seen the movie with his grandparents and he wanted nothing more than to be the cartoon fox. He was a hero. He was brave and robbed the rich to give to the poor and the needy. It didn’t matter that he was rich himself, he didn’t care about that and helped those who needed helping which the preacher at his Nana and Grandpa’s church had said was what made a good person.
Steve had never liked going to Church with his grandparents. He always had to go on the weekends his mom and dad would drop him off because his dad was going on a work trip and his mom had to go with him. Steve never understood why mommy had to go with him but she said it was important. So, off to Nana and Grandpa’s he would go and every Sunday he would be made to get up early, dress in a scratchy suit, and listen to a large, sweaty, balding man shout about heathens and sinners, whatever those were.
What really mattered to Steve was that they would take him to the movies after church. He’d already made them take him to see Robin Hood 3 times since he first saw it when he stayed with them for Thanksgiving. So, as he stared down at the blank white page in front of him, he began to draw. Robin Hood was a fox, so that could be his favorite animal, couldn’t it?
Mrs. McCormick had given them all a handful of crayons but the colors weren’t right. The red crayon was too bright and the green too dark but he continued to draw the picture. He was drawing the feather in Robin’s had when a shadow covered the light.
“Oh wow, Steven, that is really good,” Mrs. McCormick had said as she looked over his shoulder.
“It’s not right. His shirt’s supposed to be more like leaf green and his fur more reddish orange like Molly’s hair,” he’d said not looking up.
Molly was a little girl in his class. She had red hair and green eyes and wouldn’t leave Steve alone. He didn’t like the way he felt when she hugged him. It made his tummy feel weird. Like when Jack McKenzie hugged him.
Mrs. McCormick hung up his picture with the others to show off to the parents. They were supposed to come that afternoon for Parents’ Day. Steve made sure he put his name in the corner of his picture so mommy and daddy would know which one was his. The parents started coming in one by one, going to their son or daughter and getting hugs and kisses before their kid pulled them over to show them their art or the puzzle that they had all put together that week, it was 500 pieces and that was a lot.
Steve sat at his desk as parent after parent came in for their kid. He felt his eyes burning when he realized they weren’t coming. He crossed his arms and laid his head into them. That way no one could see him crying. Daddy had told him that boys, especially Harrington boys, don’t cry. He stayed like that for what felt like an eternity hearing the other kids with their parents and the parents telling them how proud they were of them.
Finally, the day ended and Steve began to put his things into his backpack. Mrs. McCormick came over and squatted down beside him. She handed him his picture. She had a sad look on her face and Steve wasn’t sure why.
“Take this home with you, Steven. You are a very talented young man. Your parents, they, well, they should be very proud of this. Take it home and show them what they missed,” she said before giving him a gentle hug and ushering him out to the pick-up line. Like every other day, he was the last kid picked up. His mother asked him how his day was and he goes to tell her that she missed Parents’ day but she interrupts.
“Good, good. After dinner tonight, we’ll be taking you to your grandparents-”
“But it’s not the weekend, mommy.”
“Well, no matter, your father is going on a business trip and I’m not letting him go alone because I know Becky Miller will be at the conference...”
Steve stopped listening and turned his attention to the buildings and people they pass by on the rest of the ride home. Once they get home, Steve sees that his parent’s suitcases are already packed. A small duffle bag has already been packed for him. When his parents weren’t looking, he would make sure to slip his favorite blanket into it. His father would often tell him that “Big Boys don’t have blankies” but he slept better with it.
He walks into the kitchen to see his father reading the newspaper, glass of brown, smelly liquid in his glass. His mom would always comment that he drank it too much but usually that led to his parents fighting and his father working late. He worked late a lot of nights.
“Hello, Steven, how was school,” his father asked, eyes not leaving his newspaper.
Steve pulls his drawing out of his backpack. He’d made sure it didn’t get bent. He reaches out holding the drawing toward his father. “It was okay, it was Parents’ Day and they had us draw-,”
“Draw? What are they paying these teachers if they are just having you waste the day drawing,” he says as he takes the drawing. He looks at the drawing and frowns.
“Useless,” he says as he crumples up the drawing. Steve’s heart feels much the same as he watches his father throw the crumpled paper into the garbage can and return to his paper.
“Drawing is a useless thing. You need to focus on your studies and one day, when you’re older, you’ll thank me for breaking you of this silly hobby before it ruined your life. Now, go upstairs and change. We’re leaving earlier than before. Your grandparents will have dinner for you.”
Steve’s shoulders slump, his eyes beginning to sting as he walks past his father. He looks back, his father’s attention back to the paper. Steve grabs the crumpled paper out of the garbage can and runs up to his bedroom. Once up in his bedroom, he straightens the paper out and presses it down to try to get as many of the wrinkles out of it. Once he gets it as straight as he can, he lifts the corner of his mattress up the best he can and hides it under there. He wipes as his eyes as he pushes back the disappointment.
He swipes at his eyes as he grabs his blanket.
Harringtons don’t cry.
Harringtons don’t cry.
But...Harringtons do lie.
As the years passed, Steve found that he enjoyed drawing more and more and he was getting better at it. He knew better than to show his parents as they would continue to tell him it was a waste of his time. He started to love going to his grandparents as they were more encouraging of his growing talent. They bought him his first sketch book.
School had never been easy for him never in the way that drawing had been. In times when he couldn’t seem to get the jumbled words on the pages of his textbooks to make sense, he could always rely on the angles and shading in his drawings to come quickly to him. For a few years, it was nice to have the escape.
But then, when he was 11, his Nana died in her sleep. He hadn’t known until his mother told him on the car ride home from school. He hadn’t gotten to say goodbye. He was supposed to spend the night with them, his bag was already packed. But she was gone. And when his father saw him crying, he scolded him for looking weak. His Nana had died and his grandfather would be moving into a home for older people because his parents were going to sell the home. His mother seemed to show no grief in the passing of her mother and Steve had no one to mourn with.
Before his grandfather was completely moved out of his home, Steve had been able to steal away his sketchbooks and hide them under his mattress, away from his parents’ judgmental eyes. He would always remember the last conversation he had had with his grandpa before he left.
“Steven, listen to me boy. I know things have changed quickly, but don’t stop doing what you love, okay? Don’t stop filling your sketchbooks with your art. Do it for me. Do it for your Nana,” his grandfather had said as he hugged him goodbye.
Four months later, his grandfather had a heart attack and passed away. Doctors called it “broken heart syndrome” as his grandparents had been married since they were 20 years old and simply couldn’t live without each other. Steve had to wonder what that felt like. To love someone so much that their passing literally broke your heart. Steve didn’t think he’d have that. His parents didn’t, so why would he?
After his grandfather’s funeral, Steve couldn’t bring himself to put pencil to paper. Without his grandparents, he didn’t have anyone encourage him to draw, and every time he tried, it would just make him sad. He turned his focus back on his school work. He would be starting middle school soon and his parents were already telling him that he needed to aim for a sports scholarship or he’d never get into a good college.
School started and with it came first crushes and first heart breaks. Steve couldn’t help but wonder why, when Kevin O’Reily smiled at him, he had the same funny feeling in his stomach as when Susan Hannigan had smiled at him. He simply stopped thinking about it and did what he thought he was supposed to do. He asked Susan out and they were “going steady” as his mother had called it. Still, Steve wasn’t completely happy. He knew what was missing but had not yet been able to start again. Quickly 6th grade passed into 7th grade.
Steve was staring at the words in the science textbook. They all seemed to jumble as he tried to read them but he rarely raised his hand to answer the teacher’s questions so he just looked at the pictures. The door at the back of the classroom opened and his homeroom teacher, Mr. Sanders broke the silence.
“Oh! Class, we have a new student joining us today. He recently moved to Hawkins,” he says as he walked past the rows of desks. Steve followed him and his breath caught as his eyes landed on the nameless student standing next to Principal Anders. His head was shaved almost to the skin and Steve could see a thin line where the hair hadn’t grown. It looked like a scar. He had a fading bruise on his cheek and eye, stitches in his eyebrow. He was clinging to a beaten-up backpack. But it was his eyes that gave Steve pause.
It was those sad brown eyes that made Steve’s stomach flutter and his mouth go dry.
“Class, this is Edward Munson-”
“Eddie, call me Eddie,” the boy interrupted.
“Eddie. He will be with us this year as he plays a little catch up from his previous school. Now, be nice to him and show him how welcoming us Hawkins Tigers can be,” Mr. Sanders said something to Principal Anders that Steve couldn't hear and then guided Eddie to an empty desk a few rows over from Steve. Once the kid sat down, Mr. Sanders went back to his lesson.
Steve couldn’t take his eyes off of the boy. His skin was pale in contrast to his dark hair. He pulled out a warped paperback as he hid it behind his science book. He glanced back over his shoulder and locked eyes with Steve. It was only for a moment, but Steve found his chest go warm as a smile crossed across Eddie’s face.
It was beautiful. Eddie was beautiful. He looked like the statues that Mr. Nichols, the history teacher, had shown them. The ones that the people in Greece had made of their heroes and Gods. Steve ripped a piece of paper from his notebook and began to sketch. He risked glances at Eddie every few minutes as he didn’t want to get caught staring at the boy but he knew he had to get the sharp angle of his jawline just right.
When the bell rang, Steve hadn’t retained a single bit of information about parts of the cell, but he had a page full of Eddie Munson’s face. He quickly put it away as he packed his things. He tried to get to Eddie to introduce himself. He felt like this new kid was a sun and he was a planet so desperate to be trapped in the warm gravitational pull.
Tommy H beats him to the kid. He’s following Eddie out of the classroom and from the look in his eye, Steve knows he isn’t saying anything nice. Eddie doesn’t respond and just walks faster away.
“Trailer trash Freak,” Tommy shouts at him. Eddie isn’t in his homeroom the next day, his uncle having moved him into Mrs. Dorian’s homeroom.
That is the last he sees of the boy with a smile like the sun.