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thewolfatmydoor · 4 months

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Steve is too drunk. Because he doesn’t get drunk anymore. Not since-

But he’s drunk now. Because he’s sad, and acting pathetic, and thus getting fucking wasted at a high school party for a school he graduated from back in the spring sounded like the thing to do.

Because he’s fucking pitiful.

It’s not Robin’s fault. She’d dragged him here, sure, but he’d assured her- promised her- that he’d be fine. That she should leave with her other friends. Because she deserves to hang out with people who aren’t just him. To have a tiny slice of her life be normal.

He takes another sip of his drink, because he doesn’t want to think about normal, anymore. He just wants to- wants-

He doesn’t know what he wants.

“Harrington?”

Blearily, he looks up, and a guy he vaguely recognizes is standing above him.

Steve hiccups.

“Eddie,” the guy says, pointing to himself. “Doin’ okay?”

Now, Steve remembers him. He does that fantasy game Dustin likes so much. “Munson,” he says, and Eddie grins at him.

“That’s me.”

Steve hiccups again, and takes another sip of his drink.

“Where’d your friend go? The band girl?” Eddie inches closer, his Reeboks now inches from Steve’s fingertips.

Steve gestures vaguely with his beer bottle. He takes another sip, and frowns at the empty bottle. He really doesn’t want to have to go back into the house for another.

He’s still staring at it when Eddie sits next to him.

“Cigarette?” Eddie offers. “Maybe that’s better than another drink, hm?”

Steve watches him pull out a crumpled pack from his back pocket, shaking out two.

He hands one to Steve.

The cigarettes are kind of smashed, but Eddie lights both of them up, and the smoke clears Steve’s head slightly.

“Thanks.”

Eddie shrugs.

Steve’s hands and mouth feel staticky and disjointed as he pulls the cigarette to his mouth, the effects of the multiple drinks he’s had finally making themselves known. His mouth tastes stale and puffy, and the reality of getting drunk- alone at a high school party- sours in his chest.

He groans, dropping his head into his free hand.

“Oh fuck,” Eddie mumbles, “you’re not- Harrington, if you’re about to puke, man, you gotta let me know, cause I can’t handle that shit.”

Steve, despite his wave of mortification, snorts a laugh. He might be pathetic, but he’s not about to stoop as low as hurling on the back porch. “Not gonna puke.” He promises, lifting his head back up to look out across the back lawn.“I just… can’t understand my own choices, sometimes,” he continues, quiet, chewing on his bottom lip. He takes another drag, his tongue feeling heavy and uncoordinated.

“I mean,” he begins again, exhaling a cloud of smoke and gesturing vaguely to himself, “talk about fucking embarrassing.”

Eddie’s quiet again, and nerves of a different sort begin to eat at him. Steve always shares too much, especially when he’s drunk, loose lips and all that. They’ve never spoken, really, and Eddie has more reason to hate him than most- Steve knows the basketball team was cruel to him, knows Carol and Tommy had to’ve been, too, knows this guy’s sympathy can only stretch so far before Steve snaps it-

“I gotta repeat senior year.” Eddie blurts. He’s looking down at his Reeboks, scuffed and dirty, eyes trained on the glowing embers of his burning cigarette. “Again.”

“Fuck, dude.” Steve exhales, “that sucks.”

Eddie snorts, lips twitching, and his shoulders relax as he leans back on one arm. Steve can see most of a tattoo there, some creepy puppet thing that shifts over his flexing muscle. “Yeah, well, sounds like maybe we’re both fuck-ups.” Eddie blows out a puff of smoke, and Steve watches as he does, his lips shining against the porch light.

“I don’t think you’re a fuck up.” Steve says, then catches himself. “I mean-” he starts, backpedaling at once, nerves collecting at the base of his skull, “fuck high school. You know?”

Eddie’s eyes, big and dark, watch him, crinkling slightly at the corners as Steve stutters through his addendum.

“You’ll know the kids I babysit,” Steve adds, a non sequitur that causes Eddie’s eyes to crinkle further. “They do that sci-fi game you run.”

Eddie dips into Steve’s space, his face scrunched in amusement. “Sci-fi game? Are you, Steve Harrington, referring to Dungeons and Dragons?”

For some reason, the way Eddie says it makes Steve flush. “Yes.”

“Steve Harrington.” Eddie says again, and Steve can smell the nicotine in his breath, can see his eyelashes despite the dark, and he knows he should shift away, out of Eddie’s personal space, but Eddie’s eyes are on him. And his shoes are close to Steve’s, and Steve’s still thinking about that creepy tattoo on Eddie’s forearm. He wants to know what it is. What it means.

“Look out for ‘em, okay?” Steve manages, the nagging worry about his little dweebs starting high school cutting through. “They’re, um…” he trails off, unsure. “I think they’ll need it.”

Eddie eyes him again, more considering, now, than humorous.

“‘Course, Steve.” He agrees, and his tone is soft. “I’ll be their big bad protector.”

It shouldn’t feel as comforting as it does. He doesn’t know Eddie. And what he does know is that he sells a lot worse than weed behind the school, and yet-

And yet Eddie’s smiling at him. Warm and friendly and something like kind- and Steve- Steve thinks he might trust him, anyways.

“Harrington?”

It’s a different voice that says his name, this time. Steve turns, squinting against the light from the house, and a stone forms in his gut.

Eddie starts, pulling up from his relaxed position to bring his arms to his sides.

“Carver,” Steve greets, with a nod. He takes another drag, hoping his tone reads as dismissive as he intends.

He must miss his mark because Jason comes closer.

“Am I interrupting?” Jason kicks a black lunchbox by Eddie’s side, not far, but far enough that it’s no longer within Eddie’s reach. “Needed to make sure you’re not ripping off my friend, here, freak.”

Steve’s gut churns. “It’s all good, man.” He’s still trying to sound friendly, doesn’t want to start something, especially not now, five beers deep and in the dark, but Jason’s still staring at Eddie, that wicked smile still on his face. “Eddie’s not ripping me off.”

But Jason takes another step towards the two of them. “Well, it’s always good to take preventative measures, Harrington.” Jason grins, gaze flicking to Steve, and Steve knows that smile. Has seen it far too many times from people like Carver. Like Tommy. The look that’s asking him to join in on the fun.

Steve stands. He feels unsteady, and his head spins, but he doesn’t sway.

Even here, a step below Jason, Steve’s taller than him. “I said we’re good.” He drops his voice, verging on threatening, taking a half step towards Eddie to block as much of Jason’s gaze from him as he can. “Go back to the party.”

Jason’s eyes find his once again. He narrows them, like he’s assessing just how big of a threat Steve really is. Jason’s shoulders tense. His jaw muscles flex and Steve balls his fists at his sides, ready, ready-

Jason smiles. “Right.” He says, and takes a half step away. His cold smile is directed as Steve, now, and he clicks his tongue. “See you around, Harrington.”

The porch door closes behind him, and Steve exhales. Unclenches his fists. He walks over to Eddie’s lunch box.

“Thanks,” Eddie murmurs, when Steve hands it to him. He’s not looking at Steve, but he’s white-knuckling the box, now, his elbows locked in against his sides.

Steve, a little sloppily, sits back down next to him. “Sorry.” He offers, and Eddie looks back up.

Steve smiles a little, goes for reassuring, dipping back into Eddie’s space. “He’s always been an ass.”

Eddie’s lips twitch. “Don’t know why you think those kids need me, Steve. Looks like you’re a big bad protector all on your own.” His smile turns tentative. “Even for someone you barely know.”

And Steve- Steve’s never been one to think things through. Not when it comes to feelings and relationships and the giddy feeling he gets in his chest and in his gut when someone he likes smiles at him. He dives in head first without thought to consequences or repercussions or any what ifs- and Eddie’s smiling at him. And there’s pop rocks in Steve’s chest. And he thinks, maybe, there’s pop rocks in Eddie’s chest, too.

Steve nudges his foot forward. Knocks it against Eddie’s. “Wouldn’t let him mess with you. That’s not-“

Not who I am. Not who I want to be. It’s the person I’m trying so hard to grow out of.

“-what I’d let happen. Anymore.”

He knows it’s not enough. That standing up to Jason goddamn Carver doesn’t make up for Steve’s lifetime of sitting on the sidelines, of letting people like Eddie- of letting Eddie- get teased and pushed and worse and so much worse, but it’s something. It’s something, and Robin’s always telling him to forgive himself.

And Steve’s pretty sure he’s not imagining it when he sees a blush on Eddie’s cheeks. Rosy against the yellow light of what’s emanating from inside the house, and he’s definitely not imagining it when he feels Eddie’s foot tap against his.

“You should probably get out of here.” Steve adds, and jerks his head to the house. “Don’t want to give him another opportunity to come back.”

Eddie pulls his foot away. “Right.” He says. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right.” But Eddie feels tense again, feels like he’s moving much more away than just his shoe.

“D’you think-” Steve hedges, and he risks sounding more pathetic, because he doesn’t want Eddie to move away, not his shoes or his eyes or his anything else, and Steve was planning on walking, it’s 15 minutes tops, but- “think you could give me a ride? Robin’s friend drove us here.” He crawls his hand forward, just a little. Just enough for Eddie to see.

Eddie’s eyes flick to his hand. And when he meets Steve’s gaze again he’s smiling, a little, his eyes crinkling. “Sure, Stevie.”

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Truly- I don't know what this is? Let me know if it's worth a part 2!

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