Fanfics from Ao3 - Private

Dammit, Eddie

In Steve Harrington's book, there were three ways to ruin the otherwise unlimited potential of a Friday night. Said reasons go as follows: 1, Steve is stuck closing shop at the video store. 2, Robin is not with Steve, and is doing something stupid and/or impractical, like studying with Nancy. 3, Steve was just, in general, alone.

It was Friday night, Steve was closing up shop at the video store. Robin had ditched him again, to have another study session with Nancy, leaving Steve alone with his thoughts. Well, not exactly alone. There was the old lady he was checking out. She was renting The Never-Ending Story. Again. Still, Steve put on his most charming smile, and wished the woman a nice evening as he handed her the copy of The Never-Ending Story that she was basically hoarding at this point. As she turned to leave through the door, his smile fell. He sighed, the blew an irritating strand of Farrah Fawcet sprayed hair away from his line of sight.

Once the woman had left, he left his place at the counter, looking for something to keep himself busy with. He took several laps around the store, drumming nervously on jeaned legs, before kneeling down in front of the action-adventure film section, which looked like it could use some reorganization. Before he started, he glanced over at his watch. 8:42, only eighteen more minutes before he could finally close up shop. Suddenly, the doorbell rang, and Steve jumped up ethusiastically, succeeding in hitting his head on the shelf in front of him.

"Woahhh," he heard a familiar, smirking voice coo. "Harrington, did you just bang your head into a shelf because of my sheer presence?" Steve began rolling his eyes, then grimaced. The pain in his head was stinging now. That wasn't good.

"Harrington?" Eddie questioned. Steve brushed his hand over his head, and began to stand up. He cut himself short when he caught his hand in his peripheral vision, and saw a red smear on his hand. He reddened immediately, grimaced ruefully at the blush marring his cheeks, then blushed more at the thought of blushing.

"It's fine," he muttered as he finished standing up, and rushed over the the breakroom to get himself a bandaid.

"Steve, wait!" Eddie said, rushing after Steve. Steve felt him grip the back of his shoulder, and tensed immediately, turning around, hoping the gash on his forehead wasn't too obvious. Not that he cared about it being obvious. Not to Eddie Munson at least. Eddie let go of Steve's shoulder when he turned around, and Steve could swear he saw a blush creeping into Eddie's cheeks when they met eachother's eyes.

"I didn't mean to..." Eddie hesitated, as if searching for the right thing to say, "startle you." Steve tipped his head back, if not to hide the emotions that always seemed to be plain on his face when he was with Eddie, then to show some sort of apathy. Like he didn't care what Eddie thought. Like Eddie was nothing but a nuisance to him.

"You didn't startle me." Steve said, tipping his head back level with Eddie's, making eye-contact that felt uncomfortable for all the wrong reasons. He paused, realizing how dumb what he just said sounded. "Well you did startle me," he conceded, "but it's fine, really, I'm just gonna get myself a bandaid from the breakroom, then be back out here to check out whatever you're here to rent."

"Right, rent," Eddie muttered looking down, so quietly it was likely to himself. He looked up again, hand on his hips, and cocked his head expectantly. "You're gonna let me patch up you're forehead though, right?" He asked. "It's probably not safe to put a bandaid on yourself by yourself, or, something." The last part he said awkwardly, like the words coming out of his mouth didn't match what he was actually thinking. That, or he was just being Eddie. Steve sighed, again. He'd really been doing a lot of sighing that night. He looked up at Eddie, and decided that he would be the one to smirk and fluster for a change.

"Didn't you fail health class?" He asked gleefully. Eddie blushed, obviously, as if a plume of pink smoke had exploded under his round cheeks.

"That was in seventh grade!" he mustered up. "They were teaching me the evils of Marijuana," he droned in a monotone voice. "I passed sixth grade health, the one where the teach you about first aid and stuff, with flying colors!" He argued.