Chapter Text
On the one hand, Steve’s life had gone completely off the rails. On the other hand, the plan he’d never really managed to form fully might have been playing out in front of him. Either way, the facts were irrefutable. Steve was 30, still lived within 30 miles of Hawkins, and was a district manager for two Family Video stores.
Now, if that were the only set of facts available, he’d honestly be fine.
Munroe was a decent-sized town. He liked it most days. He didn’t actually hate his job, either. He had a small team of okay-enough employees, most of whom he liked. He had enough money for the rent on his tidy little house, gas in his car, and takeout once a week. He lived twenty-three minutes from Robin, who’d come back to Indiana after her adventures at college with a freshly minted linguistics degree and a deep desire to use it to translate books from her cramped little desk in her solarium. Her long-time girlfriend, Nadine, was a broadcaster who drove to Indiana three times a week and was Steve’s third favourite person in the world. His life was full enough. Safe enough. Full of enough love.
Usually.
The problem that had formed within the last year, though, was that apparently 30 was a cliff; his employees had steadily started getting younger and younger. His assistant manager at the Munroe store was now 23, with bright blue hair and several piercings, and the annoying habit of smirking and laughing when he tried to tell her about bands he was going to see.
The problem was that at Family Video, Steve had somehow developed a reputation.
Well. No. The problem was the reputation they’d chosen. It was completely unfamiliar and infuriating; he didn't recognize himself in the version of him they all saw. He wasn't the dethroned King Steve. Not his badass fighter persona. Not even the mothering babysitter. No, somehow, in the eyes of his adult coworkers, Steve Harrington has become painfully, tragically square.
He honestly understood how it had happened, which just made everything worse. He wasn't exactly a wild specimen in the world anymore. He brought a packed lunch. He remembered inventory days. He always put up the new ad campaigns, so the kids didn't have to do it while they were on shift. He wore polos unironically. The Hawkins assistant manager had once described him as “the kind of guy who says gosh.”
Robin thought this was the funniest thing that had ever happened to a human being. Steve did not agree. The reputation was wrong. He’d fought interdimensional monsters. He’d been concussed like seven times. He used to host parties with keg stands and minor property damage. But every time he tried to defend himself, Linda from accounting would pat his shoulder and say, “Sweetie, there’s nothing wrong with being dependable.”
Dependable. Jesus Christ.
It was making him feel approximately ninety years old, and the more he let himself think about it, the worse it got. Especially with the summer creeping to a close. The fact that he was about to lose four employees to high school always felt like a slap in the face. He had no idea when his life had gotten so small.
He took a much larger drag from the blunt he was holding than was advisable and choked on the smoke halfway through holding it. To his left, Munson laughed, the aggressive roar loud in the backyard. Steve groaned and lay down on the deck with his hands over his head. Nadine resumed her favourite activity of poking him with her foot so that his body rocked back and forth. He was just high enough that the action was lulling him slowly to sleep.
“He seems more broken than normal,” she said to Robin, who was sitting on her other side with a magazine propped on her lap.
“He’s fine,” she said without looking up. “End of summer always makes him feel old.”
“Hm,” Nadine replied. “Might be because we are old. Unsure.”
“You’re not old. You’re cool,” Eddie added.
“That’s true,” Gareth quipped, strumming his guitar from where he was curled in Steve’s hammock. Steve scowled without opening his eyes. He hadn’t invited Gareth. And he wanted the hammock. He didn’t say anything. “Harrington’s not cool or old. He’s just…Steve.”
“Just Steve,” Nadine said, but he smiled when she said it. It sounded like a compliment coming out of her mouth.
He cracked one eye and squinted at her; her red hair was loose, the curls flying around her face like a firestorm in the evening light.
“You are cooler than the rest of us, for the record,” he said.
His voice was hoarse. He hadn’t spoken in a while. Until the bad pull from moments before, none of them had. It had been a nice evening, honestly. They were all full of burgers and homemade beer, and the light was doing that late August thing of lingering in the middle distance. The suffocating heat had finally broken, and the evening was just comfortable and breezy. Even Robin and Eddie had stopped their usual endless diatribe at some point, distracted by Nadine’s extensive collection of Tiger Beats, going right back to ‘75. They’d just been handing magazines back and forth for an hour.
“I’m not cool. My job is. That’s different.”
“Tell that to my coworkers,” he insisted, sitting up to hand the blunt to Eddie, who took it with a smirk. “They still think I separate my laundry.”
“Gasp,” Robin said, deadpan. “How dare they.”
“Shut up. You don’t hear them. The other day, Angela said she could see me owning a Voyageur. A Plymouth, Dean. A van!”
“Hey, now,” Eddie protested. “Don’t dis vans. Excellent people movers.”
“Yeah, when they’re cool,” Gareth said. “Not like, mom-style minivans.”
Steve gestured at Gareth in agreement; he was suddenly far less annoyed with him.
“My point,” he continued, “is that at least all of you got out, even if you’re all back now.”
“Well, I mean…none of us are really back.”
Robin does not like it when Steve makes this argument. She and Nadine do not, emphatically do not, live in Hawkins still. Eddie, Jeff, and Gareth share a townhouse in Munroe because the rent is cheaper here than it is in Indie, and it makes it easier to get to gigs. Steve guesses she’s right. Just because he has to drive back to Hawkins every three days doesn’t mean any of them actually live there still. He concedes the point.
“You know what I mean. You all have futures. What’s my future?”
Eddie snorted. “Not sure we actually have a future, man. The band still can’t afford performance space and it’s been like a decade.”
“The shop,” Steve clarified. “I was talking about the game store. Your band sucks.”
The well-worn joke slid into the conversation without much protest. Corroded didn't actually suck; they still booked paying gigs. They had two albums, one of which had ended up with a limited second pressing. But they'd only ever managed to clear expenses for recording, and nothing was about to go multi-platinum and get them out of Steve’s storage garage downtown.
“The shop is a pet project,” Eddie insisted, which got him the requisite titter.
The game store was how the three of them all afforded rent, and everyone knew it. They sold figurines and board games, held tournaments, had a small cafe that Jeff ran like a well-oiled machine. Steve didn’t really understand the nerdy side to it, but the store was cozy and safe, and he didn’t hate spending time there.
Friendship with Eddie Munson had been sort of just as cozy. An accident, but the good kind; after the ‘nonsense’, Eddie had just never really left the orbit of Robin. They were still close. Since Steve was attached to Robin by a brainstem, he’d figured out how to be friends with the Freak, too. They’d had a good deal of giant arguments and debates over the years, but now, they shared custody of their best friend like two divorced dads sharing a kid.
It was weird and it worked.
“I mean, Steven,” Robin sighed, clearly tired of being interrupted from her quizzes about the Hottest Boy in Boy Bands from 1984, “if you want your coworkers to stop thinking you’re boring, you could always try to stop being boring.”
“I’m not that boring!”
Nadine snorted, holding her beer bottle out to him to finish. “Steve, remind me…why are we all here tonight?”
He took the bottle, downed the last inch, and collapsed back onto the deck.
“I needed help repainting my living room,” he admitted, defeated.
“And what colour did he need help repainting it, Dean?” Eddie asked Nadine.
“Elephant's Breath,” Steve mumbled defensively. “It's a very sensible neutral.”
“It's grey!” the other three shouted. It was at least the fourth time they've said this sentence in unison.
“A warm, contemporary grey! For resale value! Never mind. I'm getting another beer. Anyone want anything?”
He took drink orders and shoved open the patio door with more force than was strictly required, deposited bottles on the counter, and took a moment in the powder room to just exhale. When he made it back to the kitchen, Eddie was sitting casually on the counter, kicking his feet and air drumming to some song he was also humming.
“Munson, get your boots off my cupboards.”
He jumped down and flourished, making a cymbal crash with his hands.
“You actually okay, Stevie baby?”
“Course,” Steve sighed, grabbing bottles from the fridge. “Just whining.”
“Cool. Cuz I have a favour, and I don't want to ask you when you're down.”
Steve smiled at Eddie and gestured for him to speak. “Ask away. My complaints about life don't factor into favours for friends.”
“So the van is…well, dying a slow death, if we're being real. But. It's going in next week to have some bodywork done. Wondering if I can have a ride home from practice?”
Steve laughed. “Of course. I don't know how you manage to make every request seem like you're asking for a kidney.”
Eddie grinned at him and stole a beer. He winked. “It's so that when I start asking for a kidney, no one is surprised. Thanks, lover boy.”
Eddie was not having the early midlife crisis Steve seemed to be experiencing. He reflected on this as he crashed onto Harrington's basement couch for the night. Too drunk to drive either, Gareth was on the camp cot on the other side of the room and already asleep, from the sound of it. Eddie smiled. He was warm and content and a little floaty, but not so far gone that he couldn't reflect on his own journey through the day-to-day.
By all measures that mattered to him, his life was going pretty damn good. Better than he'd ever dared hope, actually.
He'd managed to buy Wayne a small townhouse upstate with the money the government had thrown at him to shut him up. Through careful planning, the leftovers had bought their first proper demo tape, which had miraculously led to a small recording deal. The minuscule proceeds from that album went straight into the storefront, picked up for cheap during a beautifully timed downtown turnover in Munroe, Indiana.
After that first year, the store somehow managed to clear rent every month. By pretending to be a ‘hobby shop’, they somehow survived the first six months, and once the Satanic Panic had died down, it was worth getting a few train guys in every few weeks to have the store just be a real RPG, games, and comic book nerd haven. Eddie kept a list of real train stores at the counter and everyone usually stayed happy.
He knew no one believed him, but he'd never really intended to be famous. This middle ground life they'd carved out, where he got to play, and also had left a vinyl with his own face on the cover by his mom's grave? It was so much more than enough.
He also had friends outside the posse, which he tried not to make a big deal about. The others didn't, and Eddie secretly believed it was part of the problem. If he was having a bad week with nightmares, he did spend more time around the Hawkins gang. It was hard to explain interdimensional warfare dreams to anyone who hadn't been there. But otherwise, he had a rich and varied social life. He even dated sometimes.
And if he harboured an inconvenient little crush on his best friend's best friend? Then what of it. He was hardly going to act on it. He thought Steve was pretty. That was hardly a novel experience. And so he also thought Steve was pretty smart, and exceedingly kind, and the type of guy that should already be making some woman deliriously happy. So what. That was just Eddie hoping for the best for all his friends.
He could have used a life outside of the tri-county area. Could have benefited from finishing school properly. Should maybe cut his hair now that he's properly an adult.
But all in all?
Eddie Munson was also completely fine.
And he really had not meant to end up pretending to date Steve Harrington, no matter what Nadine and Robin accused him of later.
The first time, it’s accidental. The band had been at its usual rehearsal space, in Steve’s empty storage warehouse next to the Munroe store. Then, Eddie had stomped into Family Video five minutes before closing, wearing ripped black jeans with chains, a sweaty Metallica shirt with the sleeves hacked off. As usual after rehearsal, his hair was in a messy bun on the top of his head, and his rings were looped through the leather strap around his neck. There was enough metal to qualify as a weapon.
He'd leaned across the counter as Steve flitted around doing closing things, and complained, loud as hell, “Baby, you ready or are you makin’ me wait all night?”
The entire store had gone silent.
Eddie called them all every pet name under the sun, and since it wasn't actually out of the ordinary, Steve did not register the problem before he replied.
“Five minutes,” he called back.
But Angela, the store manager of the Monroe location, is closing the store with him. Angela is relentless. She’s twenty-five, a former cheerleader in an annoyingly stereotypical way that sets women back about ten years. Yet, as a person, Steve doesn’t actually mind her all that much. She’s a bit flighty, a little air-headed, and an absolute disaster when it comes to men. But all in all, she’s not bad people. Her worst quality is that she worries about Steve endlessly.
She tells him once a week that his hair is thinning, and she asks him constantly if he’s had a vegetable that day. Worries over him driving up to Hawkins if there’s even the lightest dusting of snow on the ground, and tells him ad nauseam that he really needs to settle down before ‘all the good ones are gone’. It would almost be less annoying if she did it because she was interested in him, but the one time he’d alluded to the fact that it would be inappropriate for him to date a subordinate, she’d laughed. Fully. Out loud. In his face. He was not, apparently, her ‘type’ (this was rich, considering her type seemed to be anyone with bad credit and a history of closing down dive bars, but whatever.).
He realized the exact moment he'd fucked up, because her head popped up from behind the shelf she’s been mopping under like a damned prairie dog. She looked from Steve to Eddie, back to Steve, and then her brow furrowed. He watched her attempt to work out what she was missing. He watched her fail.
Eddie hopped up on the counter, shoved the string with his rings in his mouth, and started kicking the counter. A Munson special. Steve sighed, stopped watching Angela, and finished with the cash drawer. He figured the only solution now was getting Eddie out of the store. He rushed through his back office prep.
“Let’s go, Munson,” he hissed a few moments later, coat on his shoulders.
He grinned at Steve, who rolled his eyes, already braced for the reaction. Eddie didn't disappoint. He chewed once on the leather in his mouth, spat it out, and winked at Steve.
The wink should not impact him, not in any way; Eddie was just being an asshole. He’d noticed Steve was uncomfortable, though Steve would put money on him not having figured out why, and he was going to take full advantage.
“Not unless you ask me nicely, big boy,” Eddie purred, head tilted like a big cat on the prowl.
“Eds,” Steve pleaded.
When Eddie hopped down, picked up the guitar case he’d left on the floor beside the till, and saluted Angela, Steve exhaled. She waved sheepishly back at them.
“I’ll be back Wednesday, Ang,” he called back, twirling his car keys on his finger. In the parking lot, he sighed with a growl. “Well, that’s not going to end well. Did you have to…be you. In front of the store gossip?”
“What?” Eddie asked innocently. He didn’t seem to understand why he was in trouble. He knew he was; it was obvious that he’d figured that part out the way he was worrying at his necklace. But his smirk stayed firmly in place.
“She definitely thinks we’re dating. Which is going to be a problem, since they think I’m, like, Mr. Rogers or something…and you currently look,” he gestured at Eddie. “Like that. That’s not going to go well for me, I just know it.”
Eddie’s grin only widened as he processed this information. “What do I look like, Stevie?” he asked with a purr. When Steve just rolled his eyes, Eddie laughed. “Calm down, old boy. They’re not going to think you, of all people, are dating a rat boy. You should be so lucky. Chill, man. They’re your employees. They’re entitled to a little harmless gossip.”
Steve sighed again, grumbling. “Says you. You don’t know Angela. The gossip will not be harmless. Okay, menace. Let’s get you home.”
In the car, Eddie pulled the necklace off and put his rings back on one by one. It settled something in Steve’s stomach to watch him; the jewelry tapping on the windowsill was like a correction in the order of the universe. The Metalhead re-metaled. The longer Eddie sat happily in silence, the worse Steve felt for freaking out.
“I’m sorry,” he said lightly. “I think I’m freaking out a bit about work.”
Eddie snorts. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. Sorry I called you baby in public.”
“You also have nothing to apologize for. I didn’t mean to like, basically insult you while worrying someone might be…”
“Yeah, about that, though. What are you worried about?” Eddie asked, still smirking. “The homophobia? Or is it the reputation impact of dating all this?” He gestured down at himself, and when Steve didn’t reply, he laughed again.
“I think I’m just dealing with a little cognitive dissonance. I don’t feel old. And yet.”
“Whoa-oh-oh. Big words, sir. You spend too much time reading the New Yorker.”
“It’s what makes me so dependable,” he complained.
“There are far worse labels to end up with than ‘dependable’, Harrington,” Eddie replied hesitantly.
“Yeah,” Steve said quietly. He knew exactly which label Eddie was remembering. “I know.”
Eddie stared out the window, but he seemed content. A small smile was serenely plastered on his face, and he hopped out when they pulled up, unbothered. The house he shares with his bandmates is lit and warm and looks inviting. Steve is just a little bit jealous. He’s headed home to dark, empty space.
Eddie leaned into the car before he closed the door, one arm propped on the roof. Steve is only just aware of the fact that this isn’t the first time he’s noticed Eddie’s armpits. It was…a strange thought. He shoved it down.
“You know,” Eddie said carefully, tucking one half of his hair behind his ear. “If it’s bugging you that much that they think you’re boring, you could pretend we are dating. If it’d help. I don’t care. I don’t know any of those people. They don’t know me. I can be your ‘bad boy’ if that’s all they want to see. If it would help your street cred.”
Steve snorted. “My ‘street cred’? I don’t think you have enough ‘street cred’ to even use that term, Eddie. You run a magic store.”
“Sir!” Eddie gasped. “The crap I put up with by being friends with you! I do not own a ‘magic’ store. Anyway. Thanks for the ride. Keep sweet!”
“Ew!” Steve called after him. “That’s why no one likes you!”
Eddie turned around at his porch and blew Steve an exaggerated kiss; since he was now grinning from ear to ear, without exactly knowing why, he mimed catching it. It was embarrassing and the second he dropped his hand, he felt the back of his neck heat uncontrollably.
“And that,” Eddie shouted, “is why you can’t keep a girl around, you dork!”
Steve laughed, flipped Eddie the bird, and drove home with Cheap Trick blasting on the radio.