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honeybadgerwritings · 3 months

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DONT READ THIS ITS NOT FINISHED AND I DIDNT MEAN TO POST IT 😭

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary:

Warnings:

A/N:

—————————

The atmosphere of the empty high school hallways would normally seem calming to you, peaceful even. But right now they’re filling you with nothing but an overwhelming sense of dread; reminding you of how everyone else is in class, where they need to be.

Everyone else is continuing on with their day as normal, and you’re being sent home.

You’d been pulled from your biology class in the middle of a test, a particularly hard one that you hadn’t bothered to study for, and were called into the office to meet with the principal. You were asked to bring your bag with you, and the entire class “oooo”ed as you stepped out of the room, cheeks burning bright red.

You could feel your palms sweating, wracking your brain for anything you might’ve done to get yourself in trouble, but you came up with nothing. Nothing bad enough to be called to the office at least.

When the school principal opened the door to his office, you were surprised to see Ms. Kelley, the school guidance counselor, waiting inside. She’d smiled at you, but it was filled with sympathy. They’d sat you down, both looking at you so solemnly, that for a moment you’d thought maybe someone close to you had died.

“Is everything okay? Is my aunt alright?” You’d asked, immediately being reassured that she was completely fine and there was nothing to worry about, so you were able to breathe a sigh of relief.

That, however, did not last long.

“We had another student come to us recently and… well, they told us some concerning things about you Y/N. We wanted to maybe speak to you about them.” Miss Kelley had stated.

Your heart fell into your stomach, and your words were caught in your throat. You had a feeling you knew what she was talking about, but that’s not what startled you.

What startled you was that there was only one person who was supposed to know.

You’d been struggling for the last year and a half with your mental health, and lately things were only getting worse. The most difficult part of it all is you can’t seem to figure out why.

Part of you wants to pin the blame on all of the “End of the world” bullshit you had been forced to endure at such a young age. All the unprocessed trauma that lives inside of you, eating you alive every time you think about it. And while you know you’d be half right if you did, you also know that the other half is something you’re unable to explain.

You have the perfect boyfriend, the most amazing group of friends, and even though you don’t have much family, you’re content living with your aunt (even if she’s rarely home). You live a comfortable life in a cozy home, and you don’t have to worry about work until you graduate. So why is it so hard for you to get out of bed in the morning? To shower? Brush your teeth? To take care of yourself?

Why are your grades rapidly plummeting from A’s to D’s and F’s? Why haven’t you had the energy or will to clean your room in the last four months? Why do you feel like the whole world is watching as your life falls to pieces and you cave in on yourself?

And why did the one person you thought you could trust with these thoughts, rat you out?

A few months ago, your boyfriend had been concerned for your well-being after you had gone a whole 2 weeks without seeing him, and decided to show up at your house. It was there in the dark that he’d found you, curled up in your bed, completely dead to the world as you laid there, feeling numb.

He’d been so sweet to you, just holding you in his arms, before slowly coaxing you out of bed and into the shower. He’d joined you, gentle with his touches as he’d helped you get clean.

He’d monitored you brushing your teeth, after you’d told him that it’d been a week and a half since you’d last done so, before fetching some new clothes for you to change into.

He’d helped you change your bedsheets, throwing the old ones into the wash, before laying down, just holding you in his arms. He didn’t ask questions, he didn’t try to coax answers out of you, he just waited patiently until you were ready to talk.

And when you were, you laid it all out for him, explaining every detail. He’d listened intently, reassured you when you choked on your words, and he understood without judgement. Even when you’d told him that a part of you doesn’t want to be alive anymore.

He was the first, and only person that you’d ever told.

You shouldn’t have been as surprised as you were in that office. Seeing the fear in his eyes when you’d said those words, you should’ve seen something like this coming.

You’d stuttered your way through the entire conversation, trying to assure the two staff members that everything was fine and there was nothing to worry about, but it was easy to see that they didn’t believe you.

So now you’re here, being sent home for the rest of the week to “focus on yourself” or something like that. To make matters worse, starting next Monday you’re to check in with Ms. Kelley twice a week.

And frankly? You’d rather bang your head against a wall.

You slam your locker shut with a groan, and lean forward, resting your forehead against the cool metal. A heavy sigh leaves your lips as you try to collect your thoughts.

“Y/N?”

You tense at the sound of his voice, dripping with concern. It was just your luck for him to show up right now. You find yourself cursing the universe, because god forbid you catch a break once in a while. You shake your head, turning to walk, not even acknowledging him.

“Hey… wait up!” You hear him jogging up behind you, before he places a gentle hand on your shoulder to grab your attention. Though you’re quick to shrug it off.

“Don’t touch me.” You mutter, pushing the front doors open, and heading towards your car. You don’t see the way realization fills his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek as he follows you out to the parking lot.

“Where are you going?” He asks timidly, but you don’t answer him as you reach your car, shoving your backpack into the passenger seat, “Baby?”

“Don’t call me that.” You snap, spinning to face him, “You don’t get to call me that.” He throws his hands up in defense, backing away from you.

“Okay… okay.” He states calmly, not wanting to upset you further. He knows exactly what this is about, and he knew you’d react this way if you figured out it was him. Which was almost inevitable, because who else could’ve told the school administration about your depression?

Your glare is sharp, cutting through him like a knife as he awkwardly stands there, not knowing how to better the situation. “How could you?” You sniffle, eyes welling up with tears, “How could you tell them Steve?”

He’s doesn’t know what to say at first, doesn’t know how to respond in a way that could put you at ease, “I-I didn��t know what else to do! You were starting to scare me and I-”

“You promised!” You interrupt, anger boiling deep in your gut, “You promised to keep this between you and I, and the first thing you go and do is tell the school administration? Are you serious?”

Somewhere deep in your mind you know you’re being hard on him, you know that he’s genuinely concerned for your safety, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Just- take a breath okay? Will you at least let me explain myself?” He practically begs, trying to diffuse the situation. But you’re not having it.

“No, I don’t need you to.” Your tone is sharp.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a sigh, “Listen, I understand that you’re upset, but you’re being unreasonable. Please just try to trust me here.”

Disbelief is the only thing you can feel right now. You scoff, “No. You don’t get to talk about trust right now. Especially after you broke mine. Now you’re here telling me that I need to calm down and that I’m being unreasonable? Fuck you Steve.”

“Y/N c’mon! Will you just listen to me?”

“Why should I listen to you? I told you things that I’ve never told anyone! Now I have to go to counseling two days a week, and the entire school staff thinks I’m fucking crazy.” Your voice cracks as you cuss, and you wipe your teary eyes with the sleeve of your shirt.

He takes a step towards you, and you take a step back, not wanting to be any closer to him, “Nobody thinks you’re crazy. It’s normal to feel like this.”

“No it’s not! Nothing about any of this is normal Steve!”

He doesn’t respond to that, knowing you won’t believe him if he tells you otherwise. At least not while you’re in this headspace. Instead, he takes another step towards you, voice softening as he does so, “Sweetheart please…”

You don’t look at him, but you don’t back away, letting a tear or two fall from your eyes. Your voice shakes lightly as you speak, “When we first got together, you said you’d never hurt me.”

His heart feels like it’s shattering in his chest, and he’s shaking his head, “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Believe me, that’s the absolute last thing I wanted to do. I just wanted to help you.” He takes another step closer to you, almost completely closing the gap between the two of you.

But it’s enough to pull you back.

You step away from him again, making your way to the drivers side of your car. “I didn’t need your help. I needed you to be there for me, not talk about my personal shit.”

You tug open the driver door, bitterly spitting out, “I never should’ve trusted you.” Before slamming it and speeding off out of the parking lot, leaving Steve in the dust.

———

Robin is the first to show up at your house.

Two days after your argument with Steve, you’re being pulled from your afternoon nap by the incessant ringing of your doorbell. You get up from the couch with a groan, quickly tucking your blanket over your shoulders, not wanting to leave the warm comfort it brings you. You can only hope that you don’t look too bad as you pull open the door.

You’re not surprised to see her; she comes over unannounced fairly often. Usually it’s to watch a movie she’d snatched from family video, or to swoon over Vickie for hours on end. You don’t even get a chance to greet her before the words slip past her lips, “Holy shit you look like hell.”

You stare at her, unamused, “Thanks Rob.”

Her eyes widen in realization at what she’d said, “Oh shit no- I didn’t mean it like that I swear- it’s just that your hair is like all over the place and you look like you haven’t slept in days and I was just-”

You roll your eyes, “Do you wanna keep insulting me or are you going to come inside?”

“Right. Yeah. Sorry.”

She steps in, not even bothering to hang up her jacket or take off her shoes as she makes a beeline for the couch. She pats the spot next to her, inviting you to sit, and you do, turning to her and raising an eyebrow expectantly.

She clears her throat, “So, um…. nice place you’ve got here.” She says awkwardly, and you can’t help but snort, “You’ve been here a thousand times.”

She groans, exasperated, dropping her head in her hands, “I know I’m sorry, I’m just not very good at this.”

Your smile falters, “Good at what?”

She frowns as if it was supposed to obvious, “I don’t know, comforting you? Mending arguments? I heard what happened between you and Steve.” You feel your heart sink.

So she isn’t here to spend time with you, she’s here because she knows, and once again, you definitely didn’t tell her.

You let out a sharp laugh, except it wasn’t humor filled in the slightest, it was mean, angry, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Her eyes widen, “What? What’d I say?”

You shake your head, standing up, “Just go home Robin.” You sigh disappointed, making your way towards the front door. She’s quick to stand, gently grabbing your wrist to stop you.“No wait! I want to be here, I want to help you!”

You groan, rubbing your forehead in frustration, “I don’t need help. Why the hell does everyone keep telling me that?”

“Because we’re all worried about you!” She blurts out, not knowing the damage she’s doing to you with every word that slips past her lips.

“All?” You ask softly, and she nods.

“Me, Nancy, Eddie, Jonathan. But nobody’s freaking out like Steve. He’s a mess, wants to give you space and shit but he’s so worried about you.” A part of you feels bad knowing that Steve’s probably pacing, tugging at his perfect hair and biting his nails raw on your account,

“He’s even got the kids freaking out too! They think you’re going to… do something.”

You don’t feel bad anymore.

“Do…something?” You ask lowly. You know exactly what she means, but feel like you need to hear her say it.

“I don’t know, hurt yourself? Do something you’ll regret?”

You scoff, “You actually think-”

She cuts you off, an exasperated look covering her face, “I don’t know what to think Y/N! I find out you’re extremely depressed, and here you are, trying to act like it’s no big deal!”

You bite the inside of your cheek, refraining from saying anything mean to Robin. You have to remind yourself none of this is her fault, “And how exactly did you find out that I’m ‘extremely depressed?’”

“I-” she pauses for a moment, watching you carefully, “Steve told me. Steve told all of us a week ago.” Tears fill your eyes, and you try your hardest not to let them roll down your cheeks. You nod slowly, sniffling, “Of fucking course he did.”

“Y/N…” she murmurs, finally realizing why you’re so hurt. She carefully takes a step towards you and places a hand on your shoulder, but you shake your head.

“No one was supposed to know. He- he wasn’t supposed to tell anyone. He promised me that he wouldn’t.” You choke out. “And now everyone knows. He lied to me.” Your whole body shakes, and you pinch your eyes shut.

“Oh honey…” she murmurs, “He only did it because he was so worried about you. He needed advice, wanted to know the best way to help you-”

“For fucks sake I don’t need help!” You finally snap, voice rising to the point of startling Robin, and she takes a step back, eyes widened at your outburst. You sigh, shoulders dropping as you hang your head in shame, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” your voice trails off mid apology,

“I think you should go Rob.”

She steps forward again, “But I-” You shake your head, “Please leave.” You whisper to hide the crack in your voice, and she nods solemnly. She makes her way to the door, looking back at you as she opens it, “Call me if you need anything. I mean it.” And just like that the door shuts and she’s gone.

You crumple to the floor and cry until you fall asleep.

———

The next time you’re disturbed, you don’t even have to look up to know who it is.

Your front door squeaks open, gaining no reaction from you as your eyes stay trained on the television, wheel of fortune taking up the screen. You know you’d locked the door originally, and you don’t know many people who can unlatch locks with their minds.

You huff out a tired laugh, watching as the two girls sit down on the coffee table in front of you, blocking the TV from view. They both look at you expectantly with their arms crossed, “What do you two want?” You ask with a raised eyebrow.

“To get you out of your house.” Max answers, “You haven’t left in a week.”

You roll your eyes, realizing this is another attempt at making you feel better, “That’s not true,” You groan, “Yesterday I went to pick up some take out.”

“Seriously?” The redhead asks, a look of disbelief on her face. Her eyes rake over your form, and you watch as she scrunches her nose, wanting to cave in on yourself a little, “When was the last time you even showered?” And ouch, that stung a little (a lot).

“Max,” El cuts in, “Nancy said to be nice.”

You may not know much, but you do know that El doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. So you try your best to hide your disappointment when you hear that Nancy sent them.

Max’s face falls as she realizes the harshness behind her words, “Shit, right, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

She actually seems apologetic, and you can’t find it in yourself to be upset with her. Granted, you can’t find it in yourself to feel much lately, “It’s just, we haven’t seen you in a while and we wanted to make sure you’re doing okay.”

She’s genuine, and you feel guilty for not reaching out to them, or any of the other kids in the last week. But it’s hard. It’s hard to find the energy to even take care of yourself, let alone interact with other human beings. You find yourself sitting up entirely to face them,

“I know, I’m sorry. I just… haven’t been feeling like myself lately.” Max nods, knowing what you mean. It was hard for her after Billy died. That was no secret to anyone. So if anyone is going to understand you, it’s her.

El, however, remains entirely clueless.

She eyes you strangely with her head tilted, “Who do you feel like then?” She receives a weird look from the redhead beside her, and you can’t help but let out an amused laugh, the first bit of happiness you’ve felt in last week.

“It’s an expression. I’m um… feeling sad I guess, so I’m not as happy as I usually am. I don’t feel normal.” You try to explain it in a way that she can easily understand, and she nods slowly, thinking.

“How can we help you feel normal?” She asks after a moment, and as much as your heart melts at the sweetness of the girl before you, you’re unsure of how to answer.

Max, your savior, cuts in with an idea of her own, “What about a girls night?” You look at her in confusion, considering they’re both like five years younger than you. Though it’s a pretty mellow idea, at least compared to some of the things you’ve experienced with them in the last few years.

You’re quick to shake off the images of alternate dimensions and lurking monsters, returning to reality, “A girls night?” You ask, cautiously.

“Yeah! We could order pizza, watch your favorite movies, paint each others nails… we could even sleep over… only if you want us to of course.” She’s quick to add, and with the way they’re both beaming at you, there’s no way you can say no to them.

“Okay.” You agree after a moment, “That sounds fun but uh- I don’t really have much food, and I don’t have any movies rented.”

“We have to run home anyways!” El chimes in, “To pack.”

“But we can totally pick up a movie or two! Which ones do you want?” Max asks, excitedly bouncing on her heels, and you take a moment to think, before an unfortunate thought occurs to you. It’s Saturday.

Steve works Saturday’s at family video.

“Um- before we figure that out, can you guys promise me something?” You stumble on your words nervously. They eagerly nod in sync, and you can’t help but smile at the teens, “Promise not to tell Steve that the movies are for me?” Max is quick to nod again, but El looks confused once more.

“Did Steve make you sad?” She asks. As much as you want to say yes, you know that it wouldn’t be fair to him, so you shake your head, plastering on a reassuring smile on for El’s sake.

“No honey, we just can’t let him know how much fun we’re gonna have without him tonight.” She giggles at that, nodding excitedly, and you feel your heart warm, ignoring Max’s sympathetic look.

“Footloose and Sixteen Candles it is then.”

In the time that they’re gone, you force yourself to shower and throw a load of laundry in the washer and dryer. You also take time to clean not only the bathroom, but the living room as well, laying out blankets and pillows for them to sleep on when they grew tired enough.

You can’t help but feel kind of proud. It might not have been a lot of work, but it was more progress than you’ve made in the last week, and that had to count for something.

You call and place an order for a large pepperoni and a medium Hawaiian pizza, per the girls requests, and the food arrives mere moments before they pull up on their bikes.

Max was definitely right. The girls night was a really good distraction from everything. You’d listened to them gossip, gave them advice about their relationships, painted each others nails, happily munched on pizza, and watched Footloose together.

They’d both fallen asleep in their makeshift beds during Sixteen Candles, and you’d tucked them in, making sure they’re each covered with a blanket. You laid back down to finish the movie, falling asleep at some point before the end.

The next morning you make them each breakfast, before sending them on their way with the movies, thanking them for the fun night.

Unfortunately, you can’t stop the sickening feeling from crawling up your spine as you watch them bike down the road, leaving you alone with your thoughts once again. You can already feel the purple polish chipping from your fingernails, leaving a horrible sense of dread in its wake as you make your way back to the couch.

Your clothes stay in the dryer, and the blankets stay on the living room floor, untouched.

————

The next time you’re disturbed, it’s not from the supernatural powers of El, but rather blaring police sirens instead.

You frown when you hear them, listening as they make their way up your driveway, accompanied by the sounds of kicked up gravel. They’re cut short as the engine of the vehicle stops, and you glance at the clock on the wall, reading 8:39 PM.

What the hell could the cops want at this time?

When you pull open the door, you shouldn’t be as surprised as you are to see Hopper on your front porch. He has that tough facade that he always puts on, but you can see it falter in his eyes. You’ve been learning to do that lately.

“Hop.” You greet him, pulling the hood of your sweatshirt over your head, hiding your tangled, unwashed hair.

“Hey kid,” he nods at you, taking off his hat, “The uh- the school called, said you haven’t showed up yet this week. No phone calls, no nothing.” He shuffles his feet awkwardly, not so subtly observing the bags under your eyes, the paleness of your skin, the greasy hair that sticks out from your hood, “Wanted me to do a wellness check on you.”

You shrug your shoulders, gesturing to yourself, “I’m well.” He huffs out an unamused laugh, shaking his head.

“Yeah…I’m not so sure about that.”

Your brows furrow, and you can’t help the way you glare at him, though you can tell he remains unaffected in the slightest, “I’m fine Hop. Just sick is all.” The lie rolls off your tongue easily, but you can tell he doesn’t believe a word you’re saying.

“Sick? I thought you were ‘well’?” He raises an eyebrow, quoting your previous choice of words.

“And I thought wellness checks were for making sure people are still alive. Didn’t realize tending to the ill was part of your job description.” You grumble, kicking a pebble, watching as it hits the older man’s boot, bouncing off it, “I’m fine. You can go home Hop. I’m sure Joyce and your kids are waiting for you.”

As much as you attempt to hide it, he doesn’t miss the tiny bit of dejection in your tone at the mention of family. He knows it’s a touchy subject for you, considering you don’t have much left.

He clears his throat, “Actually uh-” he reaches over to one of the chairs on your porch, picking up a tupperware container he’d most likely set there earlier, “Joyce asked me to bring this to you.” You take the container from him, lifting the lid to see it’s contents.

Your mouth waters at the sight of pot roast, carrots, and mashed potatoes smothered in gravy, the scent hitting your nose. You can’t remember the last time you’d had an actual home cooked meal, only surviving off of takeout and junk food whenever your aunt is gone, “Hop you guys really didn’t have to-”

He shakes his head, cutting you off, “I know we didn’t, but we did. So take it.” You nod, closing the lid fully with a small ‘thank you.’

“Is Donna home?” He asks, referring to your aunt. You shake your head. “How long til she’s back?”

You shrug your shoulders nonchalantly, “Dunno. She said she’d be back by last Friday, but I assume her trip got extended again. It’s not really out of the ordinary for her to come back later than she planned.” He stares at you for a moment, and you wrap your arms around your body, slightly caving in on yourself as he does so.

Jim Hopper is a man that has always been impossible to read. His constant stoic expressions and bored tones usually leave you wondering whether he’s angry with you or not, even if you’ve done nothing wrong. This is most definitely one of those times.

“You know kid…” he finally breaks the silence, “You can always stay with us when she’s gone. Can’t imagine it’s fun being left alone for this long.” He clears his throat, “And besides, El had so much fun with you last Saturday, she’d be excited to have the occasional roommate.” You’re too stunned by his offer to conjure up a response, so he continues,

“And Will he uh- he’s been talking about how much he misses you. Well, how much all the boys miss you.” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, “Dustin and Lucas have been begging me to check on you for days.”

“Not Mike?” You ask with a smirk and he chuckles, shaking his head, “Yeah well you know how he is. Little shit acts like he doesn’t care, but I heard him talking to my daughter last night. He uh- he misses you too.”

The idea of it should warm your heart, knowing all of the kids have so much love for you, but it only makes you feel worse. “So I’m really worrying everybody huh?” You ask timidly, shame filling your entire body.

Hop nods, not hesitating to be honest, “Nobody more than Harrington.” You groan, rolling your eyes at his confession. You’re still very obviously angry with Steve. If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t be having this conversation. Although with each passing day, you find it easier to understand why he’d done what he did.

Hopper watches you, contemplating for a moment as he chooses his words carefully, “Listen, I’m not very good at the whole relationship advice thing.” You’re prepared to stop him, saving yourself from his awkwardness. Instead he cuts you off, “But believe it or not, I know what it’s like to be in a dark place.”

That stops you, because of course you believe it. The whole town had used his late drunken nights and many hookups as gossip topics for years.

Hardly anyone showed remorse for him, even if they knew the reasons behind his actions. You’d always found it horrendous, adding another excuse to your list of reasons that Hawkins is a shithole.

“And I promise you, it gets better.” He adds, “It always does. But not until you let people help you.”

You want to scream. You want to cry, and kick, and punch the nearest object, tired of being told that you need help. But you don’t do any of those things, simply shrugging as you pick up the Tupperware once more, “Tell Joyce I said thanks for dinner Hop. I appreciate you stopping by.”

He clears his throat, getting the message as he places his hat back on his head, “Don’t mention it. If you need anything, I’m a phone call away alright?” You nod, watching him walk back to his truck. Just as you’re about to turn and head inside he adds a gruff, “I’ll call the school and tell them you’re sick, but you’re back on Monday. You hear?”

You nod and he gives you a reassuring one in return, “My offer still stands, come over anytime.” You smile, giving him a thumbs up as he pulls out of your driveway, though it fades from your face once the door is shut.

You set the container in the fridge, not hungry anymore.

————

You’re awoken to the sound of your doorbell ringing once, twice, three times. You glance at the 9:30am displayed on the wall clock, and ready yourself to tell Robin to go away again. That is, until you hear the desperate voice of Steve Harrington.

“Y/N, it’s Steve. I know you’re in there. Can you come out please?” You swear your heart stops for a moment when you hear him, and you slowly lift yourself off of the couch, peering around the corner to get a good look through the glass in the door.

And there he stands, frantically running a hand through his hair, the other one reaching for the doorbell again. His sudden presence doesn’t frighten you as much as his appearance, because to be honest, he looks like just as much of a wreck as you do. From what you can see, bags have formed under his eyes, his movements are anxiety ridden, and you can hear his voice shake when he speaks.

“Baby please, I just want to talk to you.”

He looks through the glass, and you quickly duck back around the corner, back pressed tightly against the wall. You’re unsure of whether he saw you or not, so you don’t move. You keep your back pressed to that wall for the next twenty minutes, ultimately forcing you to listen to his pleas, to how worried he is, to how heartbroken he sounds.

It isn’t until you hear a sigh of defeat through the door, and the rumble of his car engine that you feel safe enough to move. And sure enough when you peek out your window, you watch him pull out of your driveway, taking off down the road.

You make your way back to the couch, not moving for the rest of the day.

————

Metalheads had been a huge target of the satanic panic during the 80’s, unintentionally scaring every god-fearing person that crossed their paths. You’d always roll your eyes whenever you’d witness it, knowing people have much worse things to fear than someone with a different taste in music.

Though, even after all of the interdimensional bullshit you’ve been through, apparently there’s nothing scarier than Eddie Munson sitting at your kitchen table in complete darkness.

You’ve just come back from from the 7/11, plastic bag of goodies in hand, and you’re pretty sure the cashier thought you were a cocaine addict after one glance at your appearance.

“Took you long enough.”

You jump, a loud shriek filling the air as you drop the bag, fumbling for the light switch. You flick it on, revealing a very amused Eddie, resting his chin in his hands, “Damn, even Ozzy can’t hit that note.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose in sheer annoyance, “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?!” You shout, still trying to calm your racing heart.

He shrugs, “You know, most people are home and in bed at 12:30, not venturing to the gas station alone.”

You glare at him, “And most people don’t break into their best friend’s houses when they’re not home,” you run a hand through your greasy hair, “Jesus fuck Eddie, you scared the shit out of me.”

“Guess we’re even then.” He retorts, both his tone and expression becoming serious. You face twists in confusion, “The hell are you talking about?”

He gives you a look, completely unamused, “Oh I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you haven’t bothered to answer the phone or show up to school in two weeks?”

“That’s not fair! The school told me to take that first week off and-”

“Sit down.”

You do with an annoyed huff, promptly shutting your mouth as you take a seat beside him. You refuse to look at him though, eyes locked on the twiddling of your thumbs as he stares at you expectantly. After half a minute of silence, Eddie finally clears his throat.

“Steve stopped by yesterday, yeah?” He watches you carefully, noticing how your shoulders tense at the mention of your boyfriend, ex boyfriend? Nobody’s really sure anymore, but regardless, your resolve doesn’t slip.

“Hear that through the grapevine did ya?” You mumble, finally looking up at him as you set your chin in your hand, elbow resting on the counter. He hums, mirroring your action, “Among other things.”

You squirm in your seat, feeling slightly intimidated underneath his gaze. And the worst part is, you could take a good guess at what he must be thinking right about now. Not only have you known Eddie for years, but he’s got that look in his eyes. The one you had seen in Hopper’s, in Max, El, and Robin’s. Hell you even recognized it in Ms. Kelley’s eyes two weeks ago.

It’s the same look that Steve’s consistently given you since he discovered you in your bed three months ago, and you know it all too well at this point.

You clear your throat, voice practically dripping with sarcasm, “Oh really? Do tell.”

The ghost of a smirk dances over his lips at your response, and he doesn’t hesitate to let the words roll off his tongue, counting on his fingers, “Let’s see, you’re severely depressed, you’re ignoring everyone, you’ve hardly left your house in almost two weeks, you’re fighting with your boyfriend-”

“Okay stop it- I wasn’t fucking serious!” You cut him off frantically, as if he didn’t know that already, “And Steve and I aren’t fighting, we’re just-”

“Not talking?” He finishes, and you hesitate for a moment before nodding, but he shakes his head at you, “See I don’t buy that. Cause he came over here yesterday to talk, and you ignored him. Just like you’ve been ignoring everyone else.” His tone shifts, bordering the line of accusatory.

As true as his statement is, you can’t help but flinch, hurt filling you as you look back down in shame, “That’s not fair Eddie…” you murmur, sniffling.

“Course it is. Everyone’s trying to reach out to you, and you’ve done nothing but push us away.” He’s being cruel now, sounding genuinely upset with you. You shake your head, standing up from your stool and making your way towards the living room that had become your makeshift bedroom over the last few weeks, “I’m not fucking listening to this.”

He follows you though, right on your tail as his words spew out, “Yes you are. You’ve got everyone worried sick. You don’t get to just run away from it.” You try to make yourself smaller, wishing you could just disappear.

“I-I just can’t okay? I can’t see anyone. It’s too hard-”

“You can’t or won’t?” He cuts you off, face showing nothing but disapproval, “See, Steve told me-”

You turn on your heel, finally snapping.

“I don’t care what Steve told you! Steve shouldn’t have opened his mouth in the first place!”

Eddie stops in his tracks, eyes widening at your outburst.

“I-I was fine! I had it under control! And now everybody knows that I’m a total fucking wreck! It’s not a secret anymore that I-I can’t even force myself to brush my teeth or shower or clean up; that I’m disgusting and can’t find the energy to even take care of myself! They know everything, and I had no say in it!” He opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off again.

“And that look- that stupid look you’re giving me! Everyone just keeps showing up at my house as if I’m a fucking charity case, looking at me like- like I’m some kind of kicked puppy! And you all keep telling me over and over again that you, ‘Just want to help!’ But I don’t want help! I don’t want help from you or anyone else!”

He’s studying you now, eyeing you up and down carefully, “And why is that?” He asks, gently urging you to continue.

“Because-” you pause for a moment, eyebrows furrowing as you try to grasp your own reasoning behind your reluctance for their aid.

Your voice softens, “Because if I accept it then you’ll all figure out just how bad it really is, and you’ll hate me.”

You pause for a moment, taking a shaky breath as you wipe a fallen tear from your cheek, “You’ll see the worst parts of me, and then you’ll leave, and I don’t think I can fucking take it.”

More tears start to slip down your cheeks, and your bottom lip wobbles as words continue to spew out from your mouth.

“So I’m sorry okay? I’m sorry that I’m scaring you, and the kids, and everyone else, and I’m sorry that I didn’t fucking open the door to Steve yesterday. I know that everything’s he’s done was to try and help me because he’s scared, but that’s the problem Eddie! He’s scared!” Your hands begin to tremble.

“Every single day for the last three months he’s been scared of me, of what could happen to me. And-and now that I’ve gotten so bad I…I can’t face him. I can’t bare to see the look on his face when he realizes he’s been dating a fucking abomination okay? I’m sorry.”

Your chest is heaving, as your spiel comes to an end, and it takes a moment for everything you just said to hit you. You half expect Eddie to say nothing, to shake his head in pure disgust and walk out. But he doesn’t. He just stares at you for a moment as a shit eating grin slowly makes its way onto his face, “Was that so hard?”

Your eyebrows furrow, teary eyes scrunching in confusion, “What?”

“I’ve known you a long time sweetheart,” He takes a step towards you, “And I also know that you have a habit of not quite communicating what your feeling, until you feel the need to defend yourself.”

You blink at him as you piece together his words, sniffling, “You were being an asshole… to figure out what’s wrong?”

He grimaces, “Well when you put it that way it makes me sound like a dick.” You stare at him unimpressed as you wait for his answer, and he sighs, “Yeah, no that’s… that’s pretty much what I was doing.”

You stand there in utter disbelief for a moment, opening your mouth to shout at him, but he cuts you off instead.

“Before you yell at me,” he quickly lifts his hands in surrender, “You’re forgetting that you’ve done the same thing to me a thousand times.” He gives you a pointed look and your shoulders drop in annoyance. He’s right, you definitely have. More than once. Neither of you happen to be good at dealing with your issues, which makes you a slightly dangerous pair as best friends.

You should technically be angry, but you can’t stop the disbelieving grin that overtakes your face as you reach for your pillow that rests on the couch.

“You’re such an asshole!” You shriek, hitting him with it over and over again, and he lets out a sound close to a squawk, trying to dodge your attacks.

“Hey! Cut it out!” He snatches the pillow from you, holding it above your head, “Jesus, you trying to kill me?”

“If I did you’d deserve it,” you grumble, giving his chest a gentle shove before plopping yourself down onto the couch, rubbing the fallen tears from your cheeks. He drops right down next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

You’re surprised you didn’t see this coming; not even just his ploy to get the truth out of you, but just him showing up in general. The two of you have been practically tied at the hip since you were middle schoolers, of course he was going to pop in and check on you after two weeks of radio silence.

Maybe if your mind had been occupied with less self deprecative thoughts you could have potentially predicted it, but it seems as though you set yourself up for failure once again.

You can’t help but groan, leaning forward with you head in your hands, “What the hell do I do Eds?”

A breathy chuckle escapes his lips as he gently rubs your back, “I have a couple ideas.” You turn to face him, peeking up through your fingers in confusion.

“Such as?” You ask, muffled.

He bites back a grin as he kicks his feet up on the coffee table in front of him, “Well, you could continue doing whatever it is you’re doing, until Hopper comes and physically drags you back to school. And then you’ll have to face everyone against your will.”

You groan, visibly disgusted at the idea of every one of your friends seeing what you’ve turned you into.

“And there’s always the fact that your aunt will inevitably come home, find you, completely flip out, and check you into the hospital.”

“I think you’ve made your point-” you flinch knowing he’s right.

“Or maybe Ms. Kelley will call for another wellness check, and a deputy’ll show up at your door.”

“Why do you always-”

“Or you could call him.”

The silence that follows is almost sickening, and your body tenses. Call him? You can’t call him. How could you expect him to even talk to you after everything that’s happened? You start to shake your head, but Eddie’s quick to cut you off, “Yes, and that’s exactly what you’re gonna do.”

You let out a frustrated huff, running your hand through your greasy hair, “I can’t call him. He probably hates me at this point.”

A laugh bursts deep from his chest, and he folds over, shoulders shaking. You watch in a mix of awe and confusion as he tries to catch his breath. Finally he turns to you, and reaches to hold your face in his hands, eyes still crinkling in amusement.

He sighs, “How can someone so smart be so stupid at the same time?” You pout, and his grin only widens.

You open your mouth with some sort of half-assed retort, but he cuts you off,

“Call him.” He stands, shrugging his jacket on.

“Eddie-”

He ruffles your hair, kissing the top of your head before making his way to the front door, “Call him,” he points the van key in your direction, “Or I’ll go get him myself.”

The door shuts behind him, leaving your house completely silent once again. You sit for a moment, reaching for the TV remote, but your hand hovers over it. Eddie’s words are ringing in your ears like the incessant pressing of a doorbell.

You think of Robin, jamming the tiny buzzer over and over again to make sure you were doing alright.

You think of Max and El, who tried so desperately to pull you from your slump, and Nancy, who’d sent them your way in the first place.

Hopper and Joyce, occasionally leaving meals at your front door over the past week and a half.

The boys, who’d been calling your phone nonstop to make sure you’re still alive, despite you never answering.

Eddie, showing up without warning to knock some sense into you.

And Steve. Poor Steve, showing up at your door all disheveled, just wanting to speak to you.

Letting out yet another sigh, your hand drops to your knee, and you push yourself up off the couch, making your way towards the phone.

Your hand shakes as you pull it off the wall, and you press the numbers in an order you’ve long since memorized.

You place the phone to your ear, and take a deep breath.

————

The phone gives at least four rings before Steve’s groggily getting up out of bed to answer it.

He’s cursing whoever the hell decided to wake him when he picks up the phone, “Harrington residence,” he yawns.

The other line is silent.

“Helllooo?” He huffs out.

There’s some shuffling on the other end.

“Look Dustin, I’m really not in the mood for whatever you’re-”

He’s cut off, “Steve?”

And he freezes. He hasn’t heard your voice in almost 3 weeks, but he recognizes it all the same.

“A-are you there?” You ask, after a moment of silence.

Steve clears his throat, “Uh- y-yeah, yeah I am I-….” He pauses for a moment,

OMG THIS WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE POSTED YET HOW DO I FIX THIS AFSJSBSKAVAU

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honeybadgerwritings · 1 year

Text

Eddie's porn stash is a pretty conventional one. An "if you've seen one stash you've seen them all" type. It basically only consists of skin mags, some of them kinky but most of them vanilla. Normal stuff.

The oddest thing in it is a two-year-old calendar. You know those sexy firefighter calendars? Usually a charity thing? A hit with the housewife crowd? Yeah. Except this calendar decided to branch out and include a bunch of sexy men from a bunch of sexy professions.

So, in this thing, joining the sexy firefighter is a sexy doctor, a sexy construction worker, a sexy police officer (whose month Eddie tore out and burned because fuck cops but don't ever fuck cops), a sexy librarian, and so on. They're all really good-looking, but none of them hold a candle to the paramedic.

It's weird. Paramedics aren't normally part of the traditionally sexy professions. It's messy and sometimes tragic, but lacks the high-paying glamour that doctors and nurses enjoy. Eddie's had his fair share of fantasies, and none of them involved fucking a paramedic.

Until two years ago.

The guy in the calendar simply is that hot.

There's not even anything risqué about his picture. None of the pictures go beyond "this dude is chiseled and shirtless", because veering even slightly past the softest softcore territory would scare off the little housewives or something.

(Eddie is actually pretty fucking sure it'd increase the sales, but hey, what does he know.)

The point is, there's nothing that obscene about the pic. Just a guy kneeling in the back of an ambulance, first aid equipment scattered between his powerful thighs, shirt open to reveal his sculpted torso…

Dark hair spanning across his pecs, over his abs, vanishing down his tight tight tight pants. Hips canting upward, bringing attention to the size of his bulge beneath the zipper. Broad shoulders, ripped arms and large hands, veins protruding across the back. A pretty yet masculine face, with a strong jaw and a straight nose, full lips, a smattering of moles going down his biteable neck. Voluminous, golden brown hair swooped away from his twinkling eyes.

He's got this look in them, this slant to his mouth. Like he knows he's the hottest guy in the calendar.

The one month everyone will go crazy for.

Eddie has become intimately familiar with that look. No joke, in two years it's made him crack his marbles more than anyone else has done in his quarter-century lifetime. When all else fails, November-paramedic has his back. It's basically his longest relationship to date, which sounds a lot sadder out loud (and it sounded fucking sad inside his head, too).

You might wonder why any of that is relevant now, as he sits on the curb outside of The Behemoth with blood trickling from his temple, his band giving their statements to one cop while another hauls away the snarling douchebag that clipped him. How does it play a part in this god-awful night out, you ask?

Well.

"Sir?"

Eddie startles, too caught up in the thudding inside his head, made worse by the buzzing crowd, to notice the man approaching him. He looks up, his gaze gliding past uniformed legs, muscular forearms, a curved neck and honeyed eyes appraising Eddie, and oh.

Oh God.

Eddie's breath sticks in his chest and his tongue becomes a cognate to sandpaper, because it's the paramedic.

It's the paramedic. From the calendar.

He's hallucinating. He has to be. He collapsed on the sidewalk, and now he's having one last weird sex dream before his brain finishes seeping out and he fucking dies.

November-paramedic crouches in front of him. Eddie continues to gape like he's getting ready to catch the peanuts no one is tossing at him.

"My name is Steve. I'm with the ambulance," November-paramedic says. "What's your name?"

Eddie makes a noise incomprehensible to most Earth cultures before his brain registers the meaning of the question and stutters out the answer.

"I- Uh- E-Eddie. It's, it's Eddie."

November-paramedic – Steve – smiles kindly. Heat prickles across Eddie's cheeks and neck. It's not the same as the cocky, sexy smile he's got in the calendar, but still. He's smiling. At Eddie!

"Hi, Eddie." He nods toward Eddie's temple. "That's an impressive cut you got there. May I take a look at it?"

"Yeah? Yeah. Um, g-go ahead."

As Steve sets down his bag and rummages through it, Eddie scours his face to confirm that it really is the guy from the calendar. To his chagrin, it is. There's no mistaking it. Those eyes, like liquid gold. That jawline, a weapon in its own right. Those moles, applied so skillfully it must've been by an artist's hand. That hair, coming straight out of a commercial for luxury shampoo. It's lying flatter than in the calendar, either lacking product or having sweated it out, but it's still glorious.

Steve, having finished washing his hands, tugs on a pair of disposable gloves. The plastic snaps against his wrist, sending a shiver through Eddie. It centers between his legs. Shit, if he pops a boner now…

"I'm going to ask you some questions, okay?" Steve says while pressing a square piece of gauze against the cut. "Do you know what day it is?"

"Eh, Thursday?"

"Do you know where you are?"

"The Behemoth."

Steve nods and, with a lopsided smile, asks, "And are you a patron or did you and your head injury just wander onto the scene?"

Eddie laughs. Loud, merry, and verging on too long. It wasn't even that funny. Steve seems pleased his joke was a success, though. Unless his smile is the uncomfortable kind that one wears when faced with the unhinged. Eddie isn't sure how much blood he's lost.

"No, I, like, my band…" he says, stammering like talking isn't what he does best. Jesus Christ, it's just a hot guy! Eddie has made a fool of himself in front of those plenty of times – no need to get flustered about it. He clears his throat. "We had a gig and, after, at the bar, some guys got into a fight. Got ugly, so we tried to leave, but… alas!" He makes a dramatic sweep of his arm, nearly clocking Steve. Steve expertly ducks away without lessening the pressure on the wound. Eddie soldiers on, not daring to pause lest he lose his steam. Hopefully his burning face is enough of an apology. "Fucker wasn't even aiming for me. He missed his intended target and struck me instead."

"Right. Did you lose consciousness after he hit you?"

"Nope."

"Good. Did you drink tonight?"

"Half a beer, at most."

"Do-"

"Eddie!"

Gareth's nasally voice cuts off Steve's question. The next second, he's materialized beside them with a slightly alarmed expression. "Dude, are you…!"

He trails off, eyes growing into dinner plates. There isn't that much blood, is there?

Steve looks Gareth up and down, a crease between his brows. "Is this your friend?"

"My drummer. Gareth."

Eddie half-expects Steve to demand Gareth leaves so he can do his job in peace, but nope. That kind, calm smile is back. He even gives him one of those little upward-nods 'cool guys' like to do.

"What's up, Gareth? I'm Steve; I'm with the ambulance. Just making sure Eddie won't keel over later tonight."

"Uh huh…" Gareth kneels opposite Steve. He's smiling too, but his is shit eating. Eddie frowns in confusion, because what does Gareth have to be happy about? He was freaking out right after Eddie got hit, but now he's staring at Steve like-

Oh.

He's staring at Steve.

No. Noooooooooo! Oh shit! Oh fuck! Oh why, why has he kept his porn stash in a drawer without a lock all these years?! He can't recollect the reason Gareth opened that particular drawer on that particular day – all Eddie remembers is how Gareth, Jeff, and Marv snickered when he explained the inclusion of the calendar.

That was it, though. They moved on. Sure, there has been the occasional roasting after the fact, but it's not like he hasn't also mocked them for their weird shit. But that's not the point. The point is that Gareth is staring at Steve like he recognizes him.

Gareth's attention flicks toward Eddie. Eddie shakes his head as subtly yet pleadingly as he can. Gareth's grin gobbles down another turd. Eddie makes a valiant effort to explode Gareth's eyeballs with his mind.

"Say…" Gareth turns to Steve. "Have we met?"

"I don't think so. Eddie, do you have a headache?"

"Yeah, man," Eddie says, voice trembling. "Hurts like hell."

"I could've sworn I've seen your face before," Gareth says. "Like, I'm 100% sure."

"Are you dizzy or nauseous?" Steve asks, ignoring Gareth.

"Um, a little dizzy but no nausea?"

"Hmm, okay. Blurred vision or uneven numbness?"

"No."

Steve nods, glancing at his watch. Then, to Eddie’s dismay, he looks at Gareth. "I've never been to this bar before."

"Nono, not here. Somewhere else…"

Steve's lips purse and his brows knit into the most adorable thinking-face Eddie has ever seen. His heart skips a beat, then skips two more as Steve's free hand gently cups Eddie's cheek. The skin catches fire where Steve's gloved fingertips touch it.

"Let me have a look at your pupils…" Steve says, guiding Eddie's face and, holy shit, leaning in close for a better look.

Eddie gulps, half his blood rushing up and the other half down; he squeezes his legs together to prevent the little guy from saying 'hello' to everyone present. His eyes rove over Steve's face. His lips are chapped and the skin on his nose is dry. The nose itself is somewhat crooked. Did he get into a fight between the calendar photoshoot and now, or did they make the nose straighter for the photo? Why would anyone think it necessary to edit a face like this one? Even with its imperfections mere inches away, it's still the handsomest Eddie has seen.

Steve hums. It's a perfectly preserved vinyl. It's a metal festival. It's Eddie's new favorite song.

"Same size but pretty dilated… Keep your eyes open, please." He shines a tiny flashlight into Eddie's eyes before nodding, satisfied. "All right, looks good."

He leans back out of Eddie's space, returning Eddie's ability to breathe, and removes the gauze. His smile tells Eddie that the bleeding has stopped. As great as it is that he won't hemorrhage to death, it also means their encounter is approaching its end.

"You might've seen me at the university campus?" Steve says, fiddling with some plasters; it takes Eddie's horny brain five full seconds to deduce he's talking to Gareth again.

"No-" Gareth freezes, mouth hanging open. His smugness has evaporated. "Actually, I might have? You're a student?"

Steve chuckles as he patches the last of Eddie's cut. "No, but my friends are. None of them own a car, so I end up driving them everywhere. Right, Eddie, I think you're good to recover at home. Unless you feel like you should head to the hospital?"

Great question! Does he? On the one hand: riding in the ambulance with Steve, ensuring a few additional minutes of his lustrous eyes and smooth voice.

On the other hand: hospital bills.

"… no."

"Okay. Do you have anyone who can keep an eye on you?"

Eddie shakes his head. "I live alone."

"Then maybe Gareth could hang around for the next 48 hours?"

"Sure can," Gareth says without hesitating. Eddie's heart swells with affection for him, despite his (failed! Hah!) plot to mortify Eddie to death.

Steve is already packing his medical bag.

"I want you to rest and avoid stressful situations," he tells Eddie. "No alcohol, no recreational drugs, no driving, and no working until you feel completely recovered. You may take tylenol, but not aspirin or ibuprofen. And if your symptoms worsen or you develop new ones – seek medical attention. Got it?"

The last part is sterner, reminding Eddie of every male authority figure he's strived to disobey during his teenage years. He has no such desire this time.

"Got it."

Steve raises his eyebrows as if to say 'have you really?', and Eddie has to wonder if it's he who seems contrariant and/or stupid enough to ignore the medic or if this is something Steve does with every patient. If it's the former, he mustn't seem that contrariant, because Steve's features soften into trust. He stands, brushing dust off his knees.

"Great. You boys take care now. Have a nice night."

"Yeah, you too, man," Eddie calls after him weakly as he retreats to the blinking ambulance. "Thanks…"

He keeps his gaze on the broad expanse of Steve's back, soaking in the rippling of his muscles as he walks and, oh would you look at that, his ass is as nice as the rest of him. Eddie's been wondering for two years now…

"Dude!"

Eddie jerks toward Gareth. Did he say that out loud? Did he drool? Is his boner showing? But no, Gareth isn't disgusted or disturbed – he's excited.

Shit.

He'll never hear the end of this.

"Don't!" he hisses.

Gareth just laughs, eyes twinkling.

"That was-"

"Don't!"

"I can't believe it!"

"Gareth-"

"You are so red right now!"

"For Jesus fucking Christ's fucking sake-"