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Of course the expectation is always the exact opposite of the truth.
Because Eddie’s gotten this taste of fame, right? They’re not topping all the charts but they’re topping some of the charts and that’s so wild, that’s so far beyond anything he ever saw for them, and that’s the kind of shit you’d assume breeds jealousy: people know he’s taken but of course they don’t know how, or by who—it’s not safe, even if things are getting ever-so-gradually better as time marches on, but even if it were mostly-safe, Eddie doesn’t feel…right, with Steve being left to deal with it. Not that they’re apart for long, ever, and it’s definitely not because Steve can’t handle himself—he’s more than capable, and more capable than Eddie by far, still—so it’s…it’s more because Eddie’s chest clenches almost concerningly, wholly sickeningly, like he can sick up his own whole heart for fear and need and he…
He’s not strong enough for that.
Point is, though: people know Eddie’s taken, and given, entirely, and the people who matter know who holds the whole of him in his hands.
And Steve knows, when he sees a tabloid mention the band, or mention someone else mentioning the band—Steve knows first that the bulk of the chatter from actresses, front women, a handful of supermodels: Steve knows there’s no threat there, even if it grates on his nerves. If anything, it makes for amazing sex when Steve’s especially irritated by the lies of a whole gender Eddie can only appreciate as an uninvested observer—and the handful of brazen male admirers are so not your type, in Steve’s words, like it’s inconsequential; Steve’s not jealous. He’s definitely a little bit of the jealous sort but…Eddie thinks he just understands that Eddie’s type is this one beautiful man who saved the world at his side, who fought demons, who held his hand, his body, and holds his heart so safe and sure and is Eddie’s whole fucking world—yeah.
Eddie’s type is Steve and Steve alone: and Eddie could have all the fame and accolades in the whole fucking world and they’ll never goddamn touch the fact, the knowledge, the proof that Steve Harrington knows Eddie Munson loves him more than life, unshakably. Immortally. Written in blood and bones.
But yeah. People would probably expect Steve to be the jealous one.
People are real fucking stupid.
It happens…it doesn’t happen overnight, or in an instant: but it hits him, one singular day, like all of the undercurrents of every moment over months, years; it’s like the pull has been growing and building and has just been waiting to catch him in the undertow, pull him down and drown him a little.
Drown him…a lot.
He’s just waiting, got back early and came to see Steve at the school, came to pick him up and shower him, smother him with the ever-overwhelming devotion that pools in him when he’s out of Steve’s orbit for too long, the gravity of him so fucking strong that it sets roots in Eddie’s chest: and his eyes seek him out automatically, instinctual, and he…
He finds him with the moms.
And it’s not these moms, on this day alone. It’s not just them. It’s not just the teachers who are moms, too, standing nearby. It’s not just Steve’s smile at the kids he cares so much for, the moms’ kids, it’s not just—but it’s definitely fucking helped by—the eyes on Steve every goddamn moment that Steve deserves, truly he does, he’s incredible in every fucking, and they make such a…such a picture, don’t they, Christmas-card worthy, Steve grinning at these kiddos, these little nugge—
Oh. Oh, well: fuck.
Eddie doesn’t expect it, though he probably should have, but in that moment?
There’s a part of him, like a really important vital part, that whole-ass fucking drowns.
It’s not even just…it’s not even just jealousy; well, it is that, yes, fucking of course, these women look like goddamn sharks when Steve isn’t looking at them, then they simper and melt like butter when he turns eyes their way and Eddie knows how that feels, the melting under that gaze, but shit, shit—
It’s the kids.
It’s the kids, and Eddie knows how good Steve is with them, knows how amazing Steve’s become at his job, a fucking natural—but it’s the kids that take the feeling away from just jealousy.
It’s the kids that pivot the feeling close to guilt.
“Babe,” Eddie startles a little when he realizes the kids, the moms, they…everyone is gone, and Steve’s next to him now; “what are you doing here?” and he asks it with such a smile, he looks at Eddie with so much affection, it’s, it’s…
“Got done early,” Eddie says, and he could almost buy that his voice is normal, doesn’t shake or go pitchy; he almost manages; “just wanted to see you.”
Steve’s eyes narrow on the first fucking words; he knows Eddie too well.
His arm swings and brushes Eddie’s palm, draws a shiver from him as he slides his shoulder casual against Eddie’s as he jerks his chin toward the school doors.
“Come in with me?”
And at the end of the day, at the end of every day, at the end of the whole goddamn world: Eddie’ll go anywhere with Steve, so.
He follows, silent even as he blinks too fast, as Steve takes him to his office, ushers him in and locks the door before he turns, grabs Eddie biceps, braces him tight, and close as he tilts his head, studies Eddie now that they’re alone:
“Eddie?” he asks, soft and careful like Eddie’s a wounded animal and fuck all if he doesn’t kinda feel like that, like some core part of him is absolutely bleeding out at the center of his self, and fuck all if he doesn’t have to swallow a little moan, a tiny whimper.
He doesn’t manage to swallow it fully enough, not to fool Steve, he sees everything.
He sees all of Eddie because he pays attention; because Eddie’s never hidden from him—who fail to, if he tries.
He…doesn’t even know if he’s actually trying, now, or if this is just some half-assed survival instinct beyond his conscious control.
“What is it?” Steve leans closer, his eyes so big, the concern there so bright and it clenches hard under Eddie’s ribs because…this man loves him. He does. Eddie would never question that.
He just…he just…
What did loving Eddie cost?
“Nothing,” Eddie tries to shake his head and dismiss it, this ache that’s risen up and taken hold in him; “nothing, ignore me—“
There’re fingers at his chin now, he didn’t even realize he’d tried to duck, tried to hide—but there are fingers on his chin, gripping firm but with care as they tip Eddie’s face back up to meet Steve’s gaze, and that gaze: that gaze is fucking weighty, fucking ablaze with…steel. Resolve; and so’s his tone when he fucking growls—
“Never.”
And Steve holds his stare for a few unblinking moments, and Eddie feels all the promise in that single word sink in: Eddie’ll never be ignored, never not be seen, never not be, be…
“What’s wrong?” Steve presses, sounding like he hurts for it, like he’s a little desperate to staunch whatever’s bleeding and shit, shit, this man’s too good, he’s too good—
“Nothing,” Eddie tries to bite a little but fuck if he manages, the soul in him unwilling to make it sound harsh when it’s for Steve: the words, and, y’know. Also his whole fucking soul, too, so.
Yeah.
“Don’t bullshit me,” Steve catches his pitiful fucking attempt and counters with this…this unshakable bottom line that cuts through the moment but cradles it, too, cares so fucking much and slices through what was keeping Eddie’s insides hanging together and not plummeting through space straight into his stomach and he…he fucking gasps like he’s really in free-fall, like he’s untethered entirely, and—
“Babe,” Steve whispers, and leans in to cradle his face; “you look like you’re gonna fuckin’ cry, come here,” and he tries to draw Eddie close, and Eddie wants to go but he…if he goes he’ll fall apart, whatever’s left of him holding together will collapse and he, he can’t—
“No, no,” Eddie swallows, shakes his head a little…too much, too frantic; “I’m fine, we can just—“
Then Steve’s grabbing him by the elbows and walking him further into the office, nodding toward his desk.
“Sit down.”
And Steve watches him, and his eyes widen and his brows raise, concern flashing molten through his gaze when Eddie drops into one of the parent seats—Eddie perches on Steve’s desk almost as a rule.
Steve exhales heavy before taking Eddie’s normal spot on the desk and leaning in, reaching down to grab Eddie’s hands and fold them over his knees, to pull them closer as he damn-near begs:
“What is it?”
And Eddie feels…he feels…
“It’s dumb.”
He feels stupid, is what he feels, but he can’t…he can’t quite tell why; doesn’t know which answer to that question is the worst one, the one that’ll undo him swiftest and most completely.
“Stop it,” Steve sounds a little like something…like something’s ripped through him, harsh and shrill and painful; “nothing that makes you feel this bad is dumb, okay?” he shakes Eddie’s hands up and down emphatic-like; with feeling; “nothing that hurts you is ever dumb,” and Steve holds his gaze as he lifts Eddie’s hands to his lips:
“When you hurt, I hurt,” he breathes warm against him, kisses at his fingers and…catches his breath, like yeah, like Eddie’s causing him pain and Eddie wants anything but that, anything in the whole fucking world—
“Let me help?”
And it’s the heart in it, the sheer amount of Steve in those words and not just him, not just this wonder of a human being, but the love he’s pouring into those words, the want, and for Eddie—
Eddie isn’t strong enough to fight the way he kinda falls into those words, that heart, and just…surrenders something central to himself—or, then: not really.
All of Eddie’s self is tied up in Steve’s heart anyway. So it’s…it’s inevitable to give, and fall, and break for it opening like that, isn’t it?
He’d have never stood a chance.
“You,” Eddie swallows, like, he swallows a lot; he thinks he makes his own throat raw for the effort before he grits out real fucking words:
“You gave up a lot, to be with me.”
They’re the words he feels, the words that are sour in his gut, in his chest, in his veins, but—
“What?”
They’re also words that tear through Steve, Eddie can see the way they do, and the fire the light in his gaze; the way his mouth drops and his brow furrows and he looks…not quite angry, but, incandescent with something as close to rage as pure incredulity can probably ever come.
“You, with,” and Eddie wishes he could stop his mouth, like, for fuck’s sake, but nope—nope, he’s broken, he’s limbless, he plummeted to the depths and he’s…there’s no stopping now, he’s just spilling forth beyond control—
“Those moms, they want you.”
“They do not.”
“Steve,” Eddie pleads with him, but for what he’s not sure; agreement would kill him, but he doesn’t want Steve to bullshit him, either; “Steve, come on.”
“It doesn’t matter, if they do,” Steve huffs, his tone the same even, factual thing, no wavering, no shift: “plenty of people watch you on stage and they want to fucking eat you alive,” he raises his brows pointedly; “does that matter?”
“No,” Eddie’s quick to argue because that’s not the same, that’s…immaterial.
“No, because they’re,” he takes a deep breath and makes himself make the point; “I wouldn’t ever even look their way.”
“And this is different?” Steve asks, pushes; he’s so sure, too, and Eddie wishes that could lift the pressure on his sternum trying to cave inward but…
“You wanted a family.”
Eddie’s voice cracks on the first goddamn syllable.
Steve’s eyes widen again, when Eddie wasn’t sure they could get wider, and he watches in real time as all the things Eddie packs into those four words dawn on him, and break over him, spill across his features and it’s painful to watch as Steve wrestles with Eddie’s…Eddie’s bullshit and—
He doesn’t even get to blink, or process the motion, before the weight settles as Steve crawls into his lap, and snakes his arms around Eddie’s shoulders, folds him into his chest and Eddie…Eddie’s weak, y’know? And he needs this man to fucking breathe.
So he doesn’t fight it for a single goddamn second, even if maybe he should, maybe he should be better, less selfish, less—
“I have a family,” Steve hisses out with the kind of force and feeling that could, fuck, move mountains, part seas; “right here,” he squeezes Eddie to him closer, reaches to cradles his head full on and whole to his heartbeat where it kicks heavy, just as much force and feeling like Steve knows to the cells of him how to beat down Eddie’s walls.
“You,” he breathes, and Eddie hears it from both sides, through Steve’s ribs and at his ear; “you, and Rob, and the kids, and everybody, this,” and his hand’s woven in Eddie’s hair now, and he tugs a little for attention, to underscore his point:
“This is my family.”
And Eddie…Eddie’s feeling like he could believe it, could let go of the fear in him but, but—
“You wanted kids.”
The Christmas card shot, man. Just, just—
“Say that again.”
Eddie’s breath catches; he doesn’t know what Steve’s asking. He isn’t cruel, never; never cruel, this man’s heart could hold oceans, galaxies it’s so much, so open, so it’s not to be mean, or to hurt him, because Steve would never, but…
Saying it once was bad enough, and—
“Say it again,” Steve repeats, but there’s this, this note of something in it, and Eddie can’t quite suss out what: “pay attention when you say it.”
And at the end of the day, Eddie cannot deny the man he loves.
“You wanted kids,” he repeats slowly, lets it drag a knife-point down the center of him.
“Middle word,” Steve says and; and why, he wouldn’t hurt Eddie but this, this—
“Want,” he whines a little, and fuck.
This hurts.
“Nope,” Steve’s holding him tight to his chest now, kinda…kinda protective, almost; “you were right the first time,” he breathes against the shell of Eddie’s ear:
“Wanted,” and it rumbles in Steve’s chest where he’s pressed so close; it trembles through Eddie’s body like an omen, or maybe…
Maybe like mercy, but Eddie doesn’t think he understands.
“Before this, before,” and Steve’s reaching to grab his hand, now, to lace their fingers where they fit like they were made to intertwine; “before you, there was this,” and Steve swallows, Eddie knows how he looks for his words when they matter, and all his words matter to Eddie, but these…these he’s being careful with.
“There was this prescription, this fill-in-the-blanks kinda form for what life was gonna look like, and how I’d get there, y’know?”
Eddie knows. He remembers railing against that shit from tabletops. He remembers hearing Steve talk about how he was going to drive that shit around in a fucking RV.
“I love kids,” Steve says simply. “I love these kids,” and Eddie doesn’t have to look to feel him gesture toward what’s beyond the door, the hallways, the classrooms; “I love our kids, even if they’re not kids anymore,” and Steve pauses then, and murmurs:
“Don’t tell them I admitted that,” and Eddie can’t laugh, not yet, but his breathing shifts a little and Steve presses his lips to Eddie’s temple for it, like it was a win, like Eddie’s to be praised and rewarded for it, and…
Fuck.
“But Eddie,” Steve breathes less against his skin, and more into him, like he wants to move Eddie’s lungs with it and Eddie’d let him, of course he’d fucking let him, he’d welcome it—
“The moment I knew I loved you, the script I thought my life was written into,” he hears, feels Steve swallow, and his voice comes out a little choked, a little flooded: “it got scrapped wholesale, babe.”
And he…he doesn’t sound like he regrets it. It sounds like he’s…
He sounds like he’s…happy, for it?
“Because from the first moment, I knew,” Steve’s rubbing between his shoulders, now; “I knew there was no script I’d ever seen, or considered, that could fit how you slotted yourself here,” and now he’s taking their joined hands and moving away only the slightest bit, and Eddie whimpers before he can reel it in but it’s useless, it’s pointless.
Because Steve’s only moving, apparently, to drag their hands between their chests and hold Eddie’s palm to his sternum: you slotted yourself here.
Oh.
“And how I felt right with you here, in a way I’d never felt before,” Steve’s voice is shaking a little, but somehow that only makes it feel more unquestionable, more certain.
He keeps holding Eddie’s hands to his chest as he draws away enough, now, to look Eddie in the eyes; Eddie realizes his own are swimming, and his cheeks are wet when he takes Steve in before him and it’s wobbly; when he sees the tear-stain on Steve’s shirt.
“The things we’ve been through changed me,” Steve holds his gaze tenderly, but fierce as all hell. “Loving you changed me,” he says so solid, undisputed fact:
“You never followed a script, and you taught me, just by,” and he smiles, and Eddie feels almost like his lungs might be able to fill again, like there’s hope where it’d all felt a little hopeless, before: “just by breathing as yourself, and wanting to do it next to me, which was always this impossible miraculous thing, y’know,” and Eddie can’t imagine that, really, as something felt about him, but he knows it to the letter as something he’s always felt because of Steve, so: yeah.
“You taught me that it wasn’t about fitting a script at all,” and Steve kinda…kinda marvels at him, which isn’t new, but feels momentous just now, with Eddie so fucking raw; “it was about what felt, what all could feel right, like you felt inside my chest,” and Steve somehow presses him closer as he breathes, as he looks Eddie in the eye and whispers:
“Inside my heart.”
And there’s something in that moment that breaks through; the words, and the sincerity, the pulsating feeling in Steve gaze, the grounding beat of Eddie’s whole fucking life in that exact same heart under his hand—there’s something in it all that is indisputable.
They’re here. Them. Steve is with Eddie.
Steve’s heart is still Eddie’s.
“Our life, together,” Steve squeezes his hands with every fucking word, insists that Eddie listen with all of him, that he get this; “this is the most right thing in the whole goddamn world, exactly as we are,” he tells him with a kind of passion that’s undeniable; “exactly as we grow to be,” and Eddie…
Eddie believes him.
“I’m sorry if I did anymore to make you, like, doubt that, or think—“ Steve starts, just eyes so sad for it and Eddie…Eddie can’t have that.
He’s caused enough hurt, here, without ever wanting to.
“You didn’t,” he shakes his head fervently; “you’re perfect, you’re so much more than I deserve, it’s—“
And Steve leans, kisses him hard, just shy of something that’s the sweetest kind of violent before he breaks away and breathes:
“Love’s not for deserving, baby,” he chides a little, but holds him so close and dear; “but you?” And his lips quirk, and hell if he looks at Eddie with anything less than the kind of love that defies explanation, that cannot fit in words:
“If it was, you’d deserve everything.”
And Eddie whimpers again, but for such softer reasons now, and leans his forehead against Steve as he just…just breathes.
“It’s just my head,” Eddie swallows, and nuzzles his nose a little against Steve’s for the comfort, for the embedded intimacy; “sometimes I still get a little blindsided, you know?” he tries to explain it; “Sometimes it still seems too incredible to be real, to be something I can have,” and he squeezes Steve’s hand, then, grounds them here, and together before he speaks it:
“To have, and to keep.”
And then Steve’s bringing his hand to his lips again, and the other to his chest again, and he’s kissing Eddie’s right palm while the left counts his pulse:
“It’s the most real thing I’ve ever known,” Steve mouths into his skin; “you have all of it. You’ll keep all of it whether you want it or not,” his looks up at Eddie through his lashes as his whispers:
“You’re it, Eds,” and he’s said it before but…something about this here, and now, shakes the foundations of…of everything.
“I will die before I don’t want this,” Eddie hisses, emphatic and with his whole chest, his whole heart; “before I don’t want you. A me that doesn’t want you isn’t,” his voice cracks but Steve is his everything, and Eddie knows he hears the rest:
A me that doesn’t want you isn’t even me.
“I am so fucking happy, Eddie,” Steve tells him, and it’s…even the words are this beautiful blinding thing, but they’re nothing compared to the wonder, the sunrise that is Steve’s expression, the light in his eyes; “and I never thought that could ever happen,” he shakes Eddie’s hand in his, then, underlining the point so clear; “not for me,” and then his eyes go softer somehow, and he purses his lips and leans close, almost like a secret when he speaks:
“Not for that guy with the Winnebago, either.”
And the rest of Eddie’s worries, his insecurities where they’d reared their fucking heads?
That snuffs them out in one go.
“I love you more than I think,” Steve murmurs against him; “more than I think anyone could ever love another person,” and Eddie pulls back, knows he looks scandalized, knows his eyes are watering again when he rasps out.
“Wrong,” and Steve quirks a brow, questioning as Eddie just shakes his head.
“I’m anyone,” and he loves so big; “I’m another person,” and he loves so much, and Steve hears it.
Steve knows, and believes.
“Come here,” he pulls Eddie to him again, and this time Eddie reaches back, this they hold reach other.
“I’m sorry,” Eddie murmurs, wet through the tears that are easing away from sorrow toward relief, even toward joy; “I’m sorry I,” he swallows, looks at Steve, begs him to see all of him and understand:
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Steve tells him, knows to say don’t be sorry is harder; Eddie needs to know they’re okay, and…
Steve knowing that is as much a balm as the words themselves. They are so fucking okay.
“I don’t doubt you,” Eddie needs to say those words out loud, even if he’s sure Steve can see them; “I could never doubt you.”
And the way Steve smiles at him, small and with so much love: he saw already; he knew.
“Can you try to stop doubting yourself?” and this…this man. This man who has all of Eddie, will never not have all of Eddie and somehow Eddie gets to have all of him and—
You know what, fuck that guy in the Winnebago; he’s not here. He’s not...he doesn’t have this.
“For you?” Eddie whispers, marvels; “for you, I can try.” And yeah. He can. They have…forever, don’t they. Jesus.
They’ll work on it.