Archive of Our Own ^beta

Steve should’ve known something was up the moment Robin knocked on his door at 8:17 a.m., armed with an iced coffee, a clipboard, and that dangerous gleam in her eye that always spelled trouble.

"No," Steve said immediately.

"You haven’t even heard what I’m here for."

"I don’t need to. You brought a clipboard."

Robin shoved the coffee into his hand and invited herself in.

"You’ve been mopey for, like, three months. You haven’t left town except for groceries. Your hair’s lost its volume."

Steve blinked.

"My hair is fine."

"Debatable," she said, flipping open the clipboard like it was official government business. "So, here's the deal. I entered this travel sweepstakes thing on a whim, don’t ask, and shockingly, we won."

Steve raised an eyebrow.

"Five days. All-inclusive beach resort," she said, practically vibrating. "I’m talking hammocks, cocktails, room service that actually shows up, spa credits, complimentary everything. Paradise. And—get this—it’s a couples promo. Like, full-on romance novel setup."

Steve stared.

"What kind of sweepstakes only lets couples win?"

"The romantic kind. Point is, they think we’re two couples. So I’m going with Nancy, and you’re going with… someone."

Steve squinted.

"Someone?"

Robin cleared her throat. "It’s already booked under the names. You and your partner check in as Steve and—well, it’ll be a surprise."

Steve set the coffee down.

"Nope. Not happening. If this is some elaborate setup, I’m not playing."

"It’s not a setup," she said quickly. Too quickly. "It’s an escape. You need a break. We all need a break. After the Upside Down and… everything. You’re allowed to have fun."

Steve crossed his arms.

"And what if I hate this mystery date?"

"You won’t," Robin said, then under her breath, "or at least you’ll fake it really well."

"Robin—"

She looked at him with wide eyes.

"Come on, Steve. Five days. You don’t have to make out with anyone. Just pretend to be a couple so we can use the reservation. Drink something from a coconut. Sleep in a bed with a million pillows. Do literally nothing for once."

Steve exhaled. He hated how much that actually sounded… nice.

So, stupidly, he agreed.

And then immediately regretted it.

Packing was a disaster. He tried to be practical at first—light clothes, something decent for dinner, a pair of sunglasses that didn’t make him look like a dad—but it devolved fast. Shirts were thrown in, taken out, thrown in again. Robin sat on his bed giving unhelpful commentary and, at one point, tried to sneak a flamingo-patterned swimsuit into his bag “for morale.” He told her to get out before he lost it and ended up packing three versions of the same outfit just to shut his brain up.
Now he’s wedged between her and Nancy on a flight that feels longer than it should. Nancy’s reading, Robin’s got one headphone in and keeps offering him stale gummy worms and random facts about airplane crashes. Steve’s leaned against the window, barely blinking, cycling through every worst-case scenario.
Robin still hasn’t told him who else is coming.

Which feels like a trap.

Because if it’s Eddie— God, she knew exactly what she was doing. And if it’s not… then maybe this really is just a vacation. A reset. A chance to move on.
He doesn’t know which possibility terrifies him more.

-----

It smells like coconut oil and fresh linen, and Steve is standing by the check-in desk, suitcase in hand, when a voice behind him says, "What the hell are you doing here?"

Steve turns slowly.

Eddie Munson is standing five feet away, sunglasses in place, jaw slightly dropped. His bag is slung over one shoulder, his shirt halfway untucked.

Steve's brain short-circuits. "Why are you here?"

Eddie gestures vaguely. "Robin."

"Robin?" Steve echoes, dread forming like a fog in his stomach.

Just then, Robin comes bouncing in through the front doors, sunglasses on top of her head, beach hat in one hand.

"Hey! You guys found each other. That’s convenient!"

They both round on her instantly.

"You didn’t say it was him," Eddie snaps.

"You didn’t say it was him," Steve says, pointing at Eddie like he's some exotic bird that accidentally wandered into the wrong ecosystem.

“Oh please,” she says, shoving her hands into her pockets. “Who else would I have invited? You knew what you were getting into.”

Steve turns slowly, eyes wide. “You lied to me.”

“I withheld information,” she corrects, not missing a beat. Then she gestures between Steve and Eddie, who is now glaring at her like he’d also been left out of the loop.

"Nope," Eddie interrupts, already turning toward the exit. "I’m taking the next flight home."

Steve runs a hand through his hair, trying to process. "This is insane. You really think we can pull off being a couple?"

"Listen," Robin cuts in, "I invited both of you because you are miserable. You have both been miserable. Don’t pretend otherwise. And I figured maybe if you had to rely on each other for five days in a fake, low-stakes, tropical island, you might—oh, I don’t know—relax?"

Robin shrugs, way too casual for the nuclear tension between them. "I thought it would be good for you guys. You used to be close..."

Eddie lets out a dry laugh. "Yeah, well, you thought wrong." He crosses his arms, his tone sharp. "Not sure what part of this screams 'good,' unless your plan was to trap me in a room with the guy who ghosted me and hoped I wouldn’t notice."

Steve’s face tightens. "That is not what happened."

"Really?" Eddie tilts his head. "Because from where I was standing, it looked exactly like that."

Robin steps in, raising her hands. "Okay, maybe don’t do this right now."

Steve ignores her. "You have no idea what was going on with me."

"And you didn’t give me the chance to find out," Eddie snaps. "So spare me the post-mortem, Harrington."

Robin’s voice cuts through, firm now. "Enough."

They both turn.

"This is a couples-only resort," she says, voice sharp. "You two keep snapping at each other in front of the front desk, they’re going to catch on and kick you out. So unless you want to go home early and explain to everyone why, I suggest you pull your shit together."

Silence.

Robin presses on. "You don’t have to like it. Just survive it. Five days. Free food. Sun. No monsters. No Hawkins. No expectations."

Robin looks at Steve. "Room 407. Honeymoon suite."

She slaps the keycard into his hand.

Then she turns on her heel and walks away, muttering something about needing a drink.

Steve stares at the key in his hand.

Eddie exhales sharply. "I cannot believe I flew three hours to share a bed with you."

Steve glances around at the huge windows, the palm trees swaying just outside. Steve turns to Eddie. "If you snore, I am smothering you with a pillow."

-----

The elevator ride is dead silent. Eddie doesn’t speak. Steve doesn’t either. There’s nothing but the mechanical hum, the soft instrumental music playing overhead, and the sound of Steve’s fingers tapping the edge of the keycard like he’s resisting the urge to launch it out the window. When the elevator dings, Eddie moves first. Steve follows.

The door to the suite clicks open, and the first thing Steve sees is white. Too much white. White linens. White curtains. Two white towels folded into swans on the bed like they’re supposed to kiss.

Eddie walks in, drops his bag by the dresser, and surveys the room like he’s scouting a battlefield. Steve shuts the door behind them with a little more force than necessary.

"Of course, there’s only one bed."

Eddie tosses his boots off and drops onto the bed like it’s already his.

Steve pauses mid-unpacking. "You serious?"

Eddie doesn’t look up. "What?"

Steve gestures to the bed. "You just take it?"

Eddie shrugs. "There’s only one. I’m not sleeping on the floor."

Steve closes his drawer a little too hard. "I’m not either."

"Great. So go ask the front desk for a cot or something."

Steve laughs once, sharp. "Right. Because I’m gonna be the one to go downstairs and explain to the resort why my 'boyfriend' won’t share a bed with me."

Eddie sits up slowly, hands on his knees. "You agreed to this, not me."

"Oh, don’t start like you were ambushed," Steve snaps. "You showed up. You got on the plane. You said yes."

Eddie swings his legs off the bed and stands. "Yeah, well, you weren’t supposed to be part of the deal."

Steve’s jaw ticks. "You really can’t go one sentence without being a dick, can you?"

Eddie shrugs. "Depends who I’m talking to."

They stand there, staring each other down, the silence between them hot and brittle.

Steve breaks first. "We’ll split it."

Eddie raises an eyebrow. "You serious?"

"Yeah. You stay on your side, I stay on mine."

Eddie leans back slowly, expression unreadable. "Sure. Long as you don’t kick."

A beat of silence.

Eddie mutters, "This is gonna suck."

Steve grabs his bag and heads to the bathroom without answering, the door shutting behind him with a solid click.

Eddie lies back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Steve hadn’t meant to ghost Eddie. Not really. It was supposed to be temporary. Just time to think, to untangle whatever had started to twist itself tight in his chest every time Eddie smiled or leaned too close during late movie nights. Those moments had gotten too quiet, too heavy. He wasn’t ready to name it, not when everything felt like it could break with the wrong word. So he stepped back—carefully, he thought. Just until he could sort out what it meant to want someone like that. But by the time Steve had even started to make sense of it, Eddie had already slammed the door shut. Cold. Dismissive. Like he’d been waiting for a reason to cut Steve loose. That’s what started it—the snapping, the avoidance, the way the whole party started watching them like they were waiting for a bomb to go off. Steve had wanted to say something. Had meant to. But every time he tried, Eddie had already pulled back like Steve was the one swinging first.

Steve figured two could play at that game.

-----

Dinner hadn’t just been dinner. It was a whole scene—an emotionally loaded mess wrapped in white linen and strung up with twinkly lights. The patio looked like something out of a magazine: crisp tablecloths, low-hanging string lights, and a warm breeze that should’ve been relaxing but just clung to Steve’s skin, sticky and suffocating. There was live music—some guy in a flowy shirt strumming a ukulele—and a waiter who kept calling them “lovebirds” like it was part of the script.

Robin had claimed the seat next to Nancy immediately, leaving the two open chairs in the middle for Steve and Eddie. Right next to each other. Of course.

Eddie had hesitated just long enough to make it obvious. Steve had pulled out his chair without looking at him.

The table was already half-filled with couples from around the resort, all of them varying shades of sunburnt and tipsy. Everyone introduced themselves, smiling too wide and asking too many questions. One pair—Beth and Alan from Minnesota—zeroed in on Steve and Eddie like they were the most interesting people at the table.

“You two are adorable,” Beth said, grinning. “You’ve got that look—you know, like you’ve been through something but still chose each other.”

Eddie choked on his water.

Steve blinked.

Robin recovered immediately. “Oh, totally. They’re, like, the definition of slow-burn soulmates.”

“Really?” Beth leaned in, wine glass in hand. “How’d you meet?”

Steve opened his mouth, but Eddie spoke over him. “High school.”

“Oh, childhood sweethearts,” Alan said, nodding like he was watching the final scene of a romantic comedy.

“More like mutual trauma,” Eddie muttered into his drink.

Steve forced a smile. “We ran in different circles. Then kind of… reconnected later.”

Robin beamed. “It was a whole thing. Real dramatic. Lots of yelling. One of them may or may not have stormed out of a diner in the rain.”

Beth gasped, delighted. “That’s so romantic!”

“Yeah,” Eddie said under his breath. “Real Nicholas Sparks shit.”

Nancy kicked him lightly under the table.

Beth turned back to Steve. “So who said it first?”

He blinked. “Said what?”

“You know.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “The big one.”

Steve coughed into his drink. “Uh—”

Eddie stood abruptly, folding his napkin too neatly. “Bathroom.”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

Steve watched him go, face blank.

Robin sipped her drink, not saying anything. Nancy tilted her head and gave Steve a small, knowing look. He ignored it.

They didn’t speak to each other the rest of the night.

-----

The suite was dark. The only light coming from the gap in the curtains—soft, flickering, casting lines across the floor. The air conditioner humming. The waves outside rolling steady, distant.

They’re both lying in bed, backs turned, the silence between them so heavy it might snap.

Steve shifts under the blanket, trying to get comfortable. He pulls it with him as he moves—just enough to make Eddie notice.

Eddie tugs it back without a word.

Steve tugs once, slow and deliberate.

Eddie yanks it harder.

“You serious?” Steve mutters.

“You took all of it.”

“I moved an inch.”

“You moved the whole damn blanket.”

Steve exhales, sharp and tight. “Jesus.”

He pulls again. Not hard. Just enough to prove a point.

Steve rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling like it’s going to offer answers.

A minute passes. Then another.

They don’t speak again.

The blanket stays uneven between them.

Neither of them sleep well.

-----

The sun filters in through the curtains the next morning. Steve hears movement across the room, the scrape of a zipper, the rustle of fabric, and turns his head just enough to see Eddie by his bag, pulling on a shirt like he’s trying to win a race against silence. Steve groans and sits up slowly, scrubbing a hand down his face.

"Do you have to be so loud first thing in the morning?"

Eddie glances over his shoulder.

"Do you have to wake up sounding like a middle-aged man who just lost custody of his dog?"

Steve glares.

"You could pick one day not to be difficult."

Eddie tilts his head "Where’s the fun in that?"

Steve swings his legs off the bed and rubs at the knot in his neck.

"Remind me why I let Robin talk me into this."

Eddie snorts.

"Because you can’t say no to her."

He’s not wrong, which makes it worse. Steve rolls his eyes and heads for the bathroom. He pauses just before closing the door, catching a glimpse of Eddie pulling his hair up into a low bun, jaw clenched.

They don’t speak again until they meet Robin and Nancy for breakfast. Steve spots them already settled at a shady corner table on the patio, Robin halfway through a plate of pineapple and something that looks like cake. Nancy’s nursing a coffee, reading the resort’s daily activity flyer like it insulted her. He slides into a chair across from them without saying much. Eddie drops into the seat beside him a beat later, grabs a piece of mango from Steve’s plate without asking.

"Really?" Steve mutters.

Eddie shrugs, already chewing.

"You weren’t eating it."

Robin looks between them.

"So... how was last night?"

Steve sighs.

"Fine."

"He talks in his sleep," Eddie says flatly.

Steve frowns.

"I do not."

"Sure," Eddie says, grabbing a fork. "Tell that to whatever weird muttering you were doing at three in the morning. You sounded like you were losing an argument in your dreams, which honestly tracks."

Robin’s smile drops. Nancy glances up, brows pinched. Steve's mouth goes dry. He doesn’t bother arguing. Eddie doesn’t answer. Just stabs at a piece of fruit like it personally offended him.

Robin clears her throat.

"Okay. New topic before someone flips the table. Beach day? Hike? Or should we just call it and spend the morning in the hammocks?"

They end up at the beach. Towels tossed in a loose circle on the sand. Robin brought a giant sunhat as a joke but wears it anyway. Nancy’s already got sunscreen on her nose and a book in her lap. Steve stretches out on a towel and tries to relax. Tries being the key word. Eddie refuses to take off his shirt, muttering something about not wanting to "burn like a lobster and die tragically under a tiki umbrella." He spends half the morning sketching something in a beat-up notebook and pretending he’s not part of the group.

Steve watches him out of the corner of his eye. It’s not on purpose. At least, that’s what he tells himself. He just… notices him. That’s all.

"Are you gonna keep staring at me," Eddie says without looking up, "or should I smile for the camera?"

Steve blinks and looks away quickly, grabbing for the nearest drink like that was what he’d been focused on the whole time.

"Wasn’t. Just zoned out."

Eddie snorts.

"Sure. At my face. Totally normal place to zone out."

Steve doesn’t respond. Robin watches them from behind her sunglasses.

“This is gonna be a fun five days,” she says dryly.

Eddie flips a page in his notebook, unfazed. Nancy closes her book halfway and finally looks over, expression caught somewhere between concern and amusement.

“We should do something,” she says, glancing toward the water. “Swim? Walk down to the pier?”

Robin stretches out her legs in the sand.

“As long as it doesn’t involve a tour guide, I’m in.”

Steve leans back on his elbows, squinting at the waves.

"Swimming’s fine. Just not looking to get sunburned before lunch."

Eddie doesn’t look up.

"Huh. I figured someone that high-maintenance wouldn’t want to get near saltwater."

Robin lets out a low whistle but doesn’t intervene. Nancy looks between them, blinking slowly. Steve shifts on his towel, clearly not backing down.

"You’ve been wearing a long-sleeve shirt all morning. You really want to talk about high-maintenance?"

Eddie’s gaze flicks to Steve, sharp and unreadable, but his voice stays calm. Too calm.

“Guess we both have our reasons,” he says, flat.

Steve narrows his eyes. “Yeah? You wanna share with the group?”

Eddie closes his sketchbook—not dramatic, just precise. Final. Like he’s putting more than the drawing away. He stands slowly, brushing sand from his jeans with deliberate movements, gaze trained just over Steve’s shoulder.

“You know I’ve got scars all over my stomach from the bats, right?” he says quietly. “Didn’t think I needed to spell that out.”

The words hang heavy in the air, heavier than they should.

Steve opens his mouth, then closes it. He hadn’t thought. Not really. Not about that.

Eddie doesn’t wait for a response. Just turns and walks off, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

There’s a long silence. Robin finally sets her book down.

"What the hell, Steve?"

Nancy looks at him like he just kicked a puppy.

"Seriously?"

Steve doesn’t say anything. He just stares at the ocean, jaw tight.

----- 

Later that afternoon, he finds Eddie by the poolside bar, alone. Steve hesitates, then walks over.

"Hey," he says, quiet.

Eddie doesn’t look at him.

"If you’re here to explain why you’re not actually a dick, don’t bother."

"I just wanted to say I’m sorry. About earlier."

Eddie finally glances at him, expression unreadable.

"Cool."

That’s it. No follow-up. No acknowledgment. Just that one word, sharp enough to cut.

Steve nods slowly, humiliated in a way he can’t quite name.

"Right. Okay."

He walks away, feeling like he took a step off something that wasn’t supposed to give.

-----
Later that night, music starts near the buffet—ukulele and something vaguely beachy, the kind of song that sounds like a stock soundtrack for vacation montages. A waiter drifts by with a tray of hollowed-out limes filled with something neon and aggressive. Nancy accepts one with a small nod. Robin grabs two without hesitation.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she says, handing one to Steve. “You need this.”

Steve eyes the shot like it’s going to bite him. “What is it?”

“No idea,” Robin says cheerfully. “Tastes like paradise and regret.”

Nancy snorts quietly. Steve takes the shot anyway.

He’s been quiet since dinner. Not sulking exactly—just… stuck. Like there’s sand in his gears. He can’t stop replaying what Eddie said. The way he said it. Not angry, not theatrical. Just hurt.

And Steve had walked right into it. No clue, no defense. He hates that he didn’t even think about the scars.

And Steve, for the first time all night, lets the shot burn down his throat.

Eddie excuses himself a few minutes later, murmuring something about needing a refill and heading for the bar. He doesn’t come back.

Robin sips her drink, eyes narrowed.

"He’s gonna blow it."

Nancy looks toward the bar. Eddie’s leaning in just slightly, shoulder-to-shoulder with some tall guy in a loose white shirt. Tan, loud, too handsy. Eddie laughs at something he says. The guy brushes his fingers against Eddie’s arm, and Eddie doesn’t pull away.

"They flagged us as couples at check-in," Nancy says quietly.

"If someone sees that and decides to mention it…"

"He’s not even being subtle," Robin mutters. "Jesus."

Steve doesn’t say anything. He’s watching, hand clenched around his fork. The guy says something else. Eddie tilts his head, smiling again.

Robin glances at him.

"You okay?"

Steve pushes his chair back.

"I’ve got it."

Nancy gives him a look.

"Steve—just don’t make a scene."

He’s already moving.

Steve doesn’t hesitate. He walks up behind Eddie, purposeful and calm, and places a hand at his waist—fingers settling like they belong there, thumb slipping just beneath the hem of his shirt, warm against bare skin. Then he leans in close, breath brushing Eddie’s ear, voice low and steady.

“There you are,” he murmurs. “What’s taking you so long, baby?”

Eddie goes still. Not stiff—but there’s a tension in his shoulders now, like he doesn’t know what to do with it. His breath catches, just slightly.

The guy next to him freezes mid-sentence.

Eddie clears his throat. “Just talking.”

Steve doesn’t move his hand. Doesn’t pull away. “Didn’t realize we were doing that separately now.”

The guy shifts awkwardly, blinking between them.

“Sorry—I didn’t know—uh. I’ll give you two a minute.”

He disappears fast.

Steve doesn’t step back yet.

He lets his thumb brush against Eddie’s side before finally pulling his hand away.

Eddie turns to him, visibly flustered.

“You’re unbelievable.”

Steve meets his eyes, calm and quiet.

“You’re the one making it look like you’re cheating on me.”

Eddie scoffs. “It was a conversation.”

Steve lifts a brow. “Yeah? Well, it didn’t look harmless.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but there’s a flicker of something tight in his jaw.

“Thanks for the cockblock,” he mutters, voice low but not as sharp as it could be.

“You’re welcome.”

They stand there for a beat, eyes locked under the glow of lantern light and sea breeze. Close enough to feel the tension still humming between them.
Then Eddie shakes his head and walks back toward the table without another word.

Steve watches him go. Doesn’t follow right away.

The waves keep crashing behind him, steady and distant.

His hand still remembers the shape of Eddie’s waist.

-----

The room is silent. Dark, except for the soft spill of light sneaking in from under the curtains, cutting a faint silver line across the floor. The AC hums steady. The waves outside come and go like they always do. Inside, nothing moves. They haven’t spoken since they got back. Not a word. Just brushed past each other, peeled off shirts, did the whole routine of pretending the other wasn’t there.

Now they lie side by side in the bed facing the ceiling like it might give them answers.

Steve can’t sleep. Not even close. He shifts slightly, adjusts the sheet, lets his eyes drift across the room, then straight back to the ceiling. He keeps his breaths measured. Controlled. He’s gotten good at pretending stillness means calm.

Eddie hasn’t moved in fifteen minutes. Not a sound, not a shift. If it weren’t for the steady rise and fall of his chest, Steve might think he’d left the room entirely.

The silence presses in.

Steve’s chest tightens the longer it stretches. He swallows once. Then again.

He opens his mouth, closes it. Starts to speak, then doesn’t.

Shit.

Another minute ticks by. Maybe two.

Finally, he exhales — voice barely above a whisper.

“I have scars too.”

Silence.

Steve keeps going, voice low, measured.

“After the bats, I mean. On my side. My shoulder. One of them never really healed right. Hurts when it rains. I hate that it hurts. It makes me feel like I’m still there.”
He swallows the lump in his throat thick.

“They’re not as bad as yours. I know that. I didn’t go through what you did. But I remember what it felt like. That… fucked up kind of quiet afterward, like your body isn’t even yours anymore. And people looking at you like they don’t know where to put their eyes.”

Eddie’s still quiet, but Steve can feel the weight of him listening now.

Steve closes his eyes.

“I didn’t mean to humiliate you. I just, I don’t know. I wanted to get a rise out of you and I picked the lowest thing. And I’m sorry.”

The quiet after feels heavier than anything Steve’s said.

Then, soft, almost reluctant “…Thanks, Steve.”

That’s it. No more words. No shift in the air. Just two people lying in the dark, still far apart.

Steve exhales.

And for the first time since they got here, he sleeps through the night.

-----

They don’t talk about last night.

Not in the morning, not over breakfast, not when Robin throws a towel at Eddie’s face and declares it a “mandatory couples bonding day.” Steve just sips his coffee, staring into the mug like it holds the answers, and doesn’t argue.

Eddie looks at Robin, then at Steve, and there's something in his expression, something sharp, maybe a little exhausted—that Steve knows isn’t just because of the ridiculous towel toss. But neither of them speaks. They’re both too tired for this, too worn down by the silence hanging between them to get into it.

That’s how they end up sitting cross-legged under a resort canopy with three other couples, all arranged in neat little pairs.

There’s a laminated sign that says: Connection Games: Strengthen Your Relationship.

Robin grins from her seat next to Nancy.

“I signed you up. You’re welcome.”

“We’re gonna die here,” Eddie mutters under his breath, his eyes scanning the layout like he’s already plotting an escape.

“Shut up,” Steve says through his teeth, too tired to put any real bite behind the words, as the resort staff member, some cheerful woman named Carla with perfect teeth and an aggressively soothing voice claps her hands together.

“Okay, lovebirds,” she says, a little too cheerily. “Let’s start with a simple connection exercise. You’ll face your partner, hold hands, and maintain eye contact for sixty seconds.”

Steve stares blankly. “Excuse me?”

Carla beams at him, as though this is the most natural thing in the world.

“Don’t break eye contact,” she continues, too chipper. “It builds intimacy and trust. Let’s go!”

Eddie raises his eyebrows at Steve.

Steve gives him a look, a flat, irritated one but he turns to face Eddie anyway. The tension is already thick in the air between them. He’s not sure why, but somehow, this feels more intimate than it should. They scoot around to sit cross-legged, knees brushing. Eddie sighs loudly, like the entire exercise is an affront to his very existence, and offers his hands, palms up.

“Can’t believe I’m sober for this,” he mutters, eyes barely meeting Steve’s.

Steve grabs his hands without ceremony, feeling the awkward heat of Eddie’s touch, too warm, too present. There’s an electric jolt between them, something Steve can’t ignore. Eddie’s hand is steady, firm. Steve tries not to focus on how the simple touch feels like a lot more than it should.

They stare.

At first, it’s all tension. Brows furrowed. Eyes narrowed. A silent standoff. Neither of them dares to break the contact, but neither is ready to be open either. Steve’s chest tightens with the effort of holding still. His breath catches a little, and it feels like the world is watching them.

Then, Eddie’s face softens, his jaw unclenching, just a little—Carla claps her hands, loud and bright.

“Wonderful! Now, let’s build on that. I want each of you to share three sincere compliments. Still holding hands. No sarcasm. Go.”

Eddie immediately tries to let go. Steve doesn’t let him. He pulls Eddie’s hand back, stubborn. “No. No way. You first.”

Eddie huffs, his fingers flexing slightly in Steve’s grip. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Steve exhales, the air tight in his lungs. He shifts uncomfortably, still holding Eddie’s hand, but now feeling the heat of his skin against his. He swallows, trying to ignore how this is making him feel. He can’t get distracted. He just needs to get through this.

“You look like you’re about to head to band rehearsal, not a beach,” Steve mutters, his voice tight with forced humor, trying to break the tension.

Eddie's lips twitch, a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Comfort matters.”

Steve’s lips twitch too. “You’re in jeans. On a beach.”

Eddie smirks, his eyes flicking to Steve’s as if he’s gauging the sincerity in Steve’s voice. They both know it’s a half-joke.

Thirty seconds in, Eddie smirks. “You’ve got that tense, constipated rich boy look down to a science.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but Robin shoots him a look, clearly unimpressed.

“Okay, but for real…” Steve starts “ y—you’re brave. Not reckless. Just… brave,” Steve says, his voice a little softer now, more vulnerable than he intended.

Eddie blinks, surprised by the shift, but he doesn’t say anything. Steve feels his heart rate pick up, nervous and unsure about what he just said.

“You make people feel safe,” Steve continues, his voice quiet and steady. “And you’re funnier than you give yourself credit for.”

Eddie stares at him like he’s grown a second head. His brow furrows, and he opens his mouth, then closes it again like he’s trying to figure out what just happened. They should be smirking. They should be fighting. But something changes. Something almost tender settles between them.

Eddie’s eyes flick across Steve’s face — not mocking now. Studying. Looking for something he didn’t expect to find.

Eddie hesitates. Longer than he should. The moment hangs between them, taut with uncertainty. Then, finally, he speaks, his voice quieter than usual.

“You’re good with the kids. They look up to you, and you don’t even realize it.”

Steve’s breath catches in his chest, the unexpected compliment a bit too much to process. He doesn’t know how to respond, but Eddie isn’t finished yet.

Eddie shifts his grip slightly, his gaze still not meeting Steve’s. “You look out for people. Even when they don’t deserve it.”

Steve feels a small heat rise in his chest. Eddie’s words are unexpectedly warm, more vulnerable than Steve expected from the usual sarcastic Eddie.

Eddie hesitates again. Then, dry “Also, your hair’s not as tragic as I like to pretend it is.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t let go of Eddie’s hand. He doesn’t want to.

Carla claps, interrupting the moment, her smile almost too wide.

“Beautiful! You all did amazing!”

Eddie drops Steve’s hands like they burned. Neither of them speaks for the rest of the session.

When it’s over, Steve makes for the bar. Eddie follows, just a few steps behind, the silence stretching out between them.

But just as they’re about to walk off in different directions, a sunburned woman in a bright sarong and her partner in matching floral print approach with matching grins.

“We couldn’t help but overhear your compliments,” the woman says, eyes twinkling. “That was so sweet. You two are clearly so in love.”

Steve freezes, suddenly very aware of the air between him and Eddie. He’s not sure if it’s the heat, or the tension, but he feels like his face has gone crimson in an instant.

Eddie blinks like someone just short-circuited his brain.

“Oh,” Steve says, his voice strangled. “Yeah. We, uh—”

Eddie clears his throat, his hands clenching just slightly. “Thanks. We, um… try to be honest.”

The woman smiles even wider, clearly unaware of the nervous energy crackling between them. “It’s beautiful,” the guy chimes in. “You can really feel it. The connection. You’re lucky to have each other.”

Steve opens his mouth, trying to find something to say, but nothing comes out. Then, a few seconds too late, he nods. “Yeah. Super lucky.”

Eddie flashes a tight smile, too polite for Steve’s liking. “Can’t imagine being stuck here with anyone else.”

They don’t make eye contact until the couple walks away, their voices trailing behind them. Then, Eddie mutters, barely audible, “Well, that was horrifying.”

Steve sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. But at least they bought it.”

Eddie scrubs a hand down his face, glancing toward the bar with a look of deep need for something to take the edge off. “I need a drink.”

Steve doesn’t argue.

The rest of the day passes in fits. Back and forth between the beach and buffet, the group lounging under umbrellas or baking in the sun with barely a breeze to show for it. Steve and Eddie trail behind Robin and Nancy like poorly behaved children, snapping at each other like none of the things said earlier ever happened.

“Do you always have to take the last slice of watermelon?” Steve mutters, irritated, his stomach still uneasy from the earlier exchange.

“It’s not my fault you move like an old man,” Eddie shoots back, biting into the watermelon with exaggerated satisfaction.

Robin sighs loudly. “You two are exhausting.”

Nancy doesn’t even look up from her magazine. “They’re getting better.”

“They’re absolutely not,” Robin counters, voice dry.

By sunset, the resort’s hosting a bonfire on the beach, tiki torches staked into the sand, low wooden benches arranged in a circle, a local musician strumming something soft on a ukulele. There’s food too: coconut shrimp, fresh fruit skewers, and way too many drinks served in hollowed-out pineapples and coconuts.

Robin and Nancy settle on a bench close to the flames, drinks in hand. Steve ends up a few steps away, scanning the snack table, trying not to think about how awkward things feel between him and Eddie. He’s reaching for a skewer when a woman in a floral maxi dress slides up beside him.

She’s pretty. Tall. Works at the resort, from the looks of her name tag. And she’s smiling like she knows it.

“Hey,” she says, offering him a drink with a tiny umbrella and a slice of pineapple. “Thought you could use a refill.”

Steve blinks, caught off guard. “Thanks.”

“I get off in an hour,” she adds, a coy glint in her eye, leaning in just a little closer than Steve is comfortable with.

Before Steve can process what she’s implying, Eddie appears beside him, a little sun-dazed and definitely half-drunk. He takes the drink straight from Steve’s hand and offers it back to her without hesitation.

“He doesn’t even like coconut,” Eddie says, dry, his voice carrying just enough edge to make Steve’s chest tighten.

The woman rolls her eyes and mutters something under her breath as she walks away, clearly not pleased.

Steve glances at Eddie, surprised. “You remembered that?”

Eddie shrugs, suddenly avoiding Steve’s gaze, his voice quieter now. “Guess so.”

The fire crackles. The music drifts softer. Around the circle, couples laugh and settle onto benches as one of the staff walks to the center of the gathering with a wireless mic.

“Alright, folks,” she says cheerfully, “time for our favorite bonfire tradition: share-a-story. We’re inviting anyone brave enough to tell a little something sweet about their partner. Doesn’t have to be sappy — just real.”

A few people chuckle. A couple of volunteers go first, something about a first date gone wrong, a proposal during karaoke.

Then the mic comes to Nancy.

She smiles, leaning a little into Robin. “One night, we stayed up late at this cabin, no signal, no distractions, and she kept reading the worst poetry out loud from a journal she found in the nightstand drawer. Like, truly awful. But she was laughing so hard she cried. I hadn’t heard her laugh like that in months.”

Robin shakes her head, grinning. “They were beautiful in a cursed sort of way.”

Nancy rolls her eyes fondly. “I think that’s when I knew I’d follow her anywhere.”

Everyone lets out a soft collective “aww.”

Then the mic starts to move past Steve, until someone across the circle points at them.

“Hey! You guys were at the event earlier, right?” a woman calls, tipsy and grinning. “You have to go. You are adorable together.”

Steve immediately shakes his head, hands raised in a panicked gesture. “No, no. We’re good. Someone else—”

But others join in. “Come on,” someone calls. “Don’t be shy!”

More murmurs of encouragement. A few claps. Someone whistles.

Robin leans in across the circle, eyebrows raised. She doesn’t say anything, just gives him a look.

Steve exhales through his nose, the stress building again. He can feel the heat creeping into his face. He didn’t plan on this, didn’t expect to be forced into any more closeness with Eddie tonight.

He drags a hand down his face, mentally preparing himself. “Okay,” he mutters, taking the mic like it might bite.

He shifts in his seat, uncomfortable. Clears his throat once. Then again.

"Okay... Um…There was this afternoon when we both got stuck driving our friend Dustin and his weird science fair model halfway across town. Everything went wrong, car overheated, some guy flipped us off, Dustin kept yelling about static electricity—but Eddie just kept cracking jokes. Like it was the best part of his week."

He shifts a little, unsure of how to continue. “I remember thinking, ‘God, how is he still laughing?’ But I was laughing too. It was stupid and chaotic, but I think that was the first time I didn’t feel like the world was falling apart.”

Steve hesitates, voice softening. "He made it feel normal again. Even if it was just for a couple hours."

There’s a soft ripple of “aww” around the circle.

Eddie stares at him, dumbfounded. His mouth opens, then closes. He looks away, biting his cheek, like he’s not sure what to do with any of it.

The mic moves on. But the silence between them lingers.

Robin doesn’t say anything for a while. Just watches Steve when she thinks he’s not looking. Later, when the crowd thins and they’re all slowly wandering back toward their rooms, she falls into step beside him.

“You’re falling for him again, aren’t you?” she says quietly.

Steve stiffens, panic rising in his chest. “No. I mean—no. That was just… that was the past. He hates me now.”

Robin gives him a look but doesn’t argue. She just bumps his shoulder gently and walks ahead, leaving Steve standing there, the weight of her words pressing on him harder than he expected.

-----

That night, a storm hits hard. The kind of storm that shakes something deep. The wind barrels through the palms with a ferocity that feels personal, like the island itself is trying to come undone. Thunder cracks the sky open again and again, louder each time, rumbling through the bones of the building. Rain pours in sheets, horizontal against the windows, drumming against the glass like it’s got a vendetta.

Steve startles awake with a ragged inhale, chest heaving. It’s instinct, immediate. He throws the blankets off like he’s drowning, like the weight is too much.

He’s not in Hawkins.

He’s not in that house.

But his body doesn’t know that. Not right away.

He sits up on the edge of the bed, hunched forward, fists pressed to his knees. Lightning splits the room in half and he squeezes his eyes shut. His back aches from how tight his shoulders are pulled. His breathing comes in shallow gasps.

He doesn’t notice Eddie stirring until the mattress shifts.

“Steve?”

Steve doesn’t answer. Can’t. Not yet.

Eddie’s voice is groggy, quiet. “Hey. You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Steve bites out. But the tremor in his voice betrays him.

“You don’t sound—”

“I said I’m fine.”

There’s a pause. Then, softer, “You’re shaking.”

Steve swallows hard. His palms press into his thighs, grounding, anchoring. He doesn’t look over. “Just caught me off guard. That’s all.”

The storm answers with another boom, louder than before. Steve jolts. He doesn’t mean to. But his body jerks like it’s muscle memory.

Eddie watches. He doesn’t move, not yet. Just says, “You want me to turn on a light? Or the TV or something?”

“No.” Steve’s voice cracks. “No, I just… fuck.”

More silence.

Eddie watches him carefully. Listens to the way Steve breathes—shallow, jagged, and sees the way his fingers tremble in the dim light. He hesitates, unsure, then slowly shifts across the mattress.

His hand lifts, hovers for a second, then gently lands on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve flinches, not from the touch, but from the thunder. Then he breathes in. Shaky.

He doesn’t pull away.

A few seconds pass, heavy with unsaid things.

They sit in the dark, Steve’s breathing rough in the quiet.

“I hate storms,” he says finally. “Used to love ‘em. Now they just… sound like that night.”

Eddie glances sideways. “The sound. It’s the sound, isn’t it?”

Steve nods. “It’s never just thunder anymore.”

Lightning flashes again. Steve tenses.

Eddie does something then, soft, easy. He shifts behind Steve and pulls the blanket back up around his shoulders. Lets his hand linger just long enough to make sure it stays.

Steve closes his eyes. Breathes. “This is pathetic.”

“No, it’s not.”

“I don’t get like this.”

“Sure you do. Just not where people can see.”

Steve huffs, but it’s weak. Defeated.

They sit in silence for a while longer. Rain pours on the balcony.

“You want to lie back down?” Eddie asks.

Steve nods.

They settle under the covers again, this time together. Just quiet gravity pulling them close until their shoulders touch, knees brushing beneath the blanket. They lie side by side, facing the ceiling, breaths syncing without effort.

Outside, the storm has softened to a gentle rhythm. Rain taps against the windows like it’s finally tired, like the world is letting itself exhale.

Eddie shifts, slow and careful, like he’s trying not to wake something fragile. He turns just slightly, like he’s about to ease back to his own side—But before he can move away, Steve’s fingers find his arm. Not a grab. Not a grip. Just a touch. Gentle. Asking.

“Stay?” Steve murmurs, barely more than breath.

His voice is raw—threadbare in a way that makes Eddie’s chest ache.

Eddie doesn’t say anything at first. He just blinks up at the ceiling, swallowing hard.

Then he shifts back, closer this time, close enough that their arms touch, and Steve lets his head rest gently on Eddie’s shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says softly.

And he doesn’t.

Then, Steve says barely audible “Just… pretend this didn’t happen. In the morning.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything.

-----

Birds chirp faintly outside. The storm is long gone, replaced with the kind of stillness that only comes after something breaks. Inside, the suite is quiet. Peaceful. The air feels thick with warmth and something unspoken.

Robin’s voice cuts through it with a sharp knock and a louder yell. “You two better be decent! The shuttle leaves in twenty minutes and if you make me miss zip-lining because of your unresolved sexual tension, I will drown both of you in the pool!”

Steve wakes first.

His mind catches up before his eyes fully open. There’s warmth pressed against his back. A hand resting lightly on his stomach. Breath at the nape of his neck that isn’t his.
His brain kicks into gear a second too late to stop the memory, thunder, panic, shaking, Eddie’s hand on his shoulder. The blanket pulled gently around him. The quiet words in the dark.

Shit.

Embarrassment creeps in fast, hot under his skin. It coils in his gut, sharp and uncomfortable. He shouldn’t have let that happen. Shouldn’t have needed it. He doesn’t even know what Eddie must be thinking, if he’s thinking anything at all.

He shifts slightly, trying to move without waking him.

But it’s too late.

Shit.

Eddie stirs behind him.

Then they both jolt at the same time, like they’ve just realized exactly where and how they are.

Eddie pulls his arm back fast, sitting up like the bed’s on fire. “Fuck—sorry.”

Steve bolts upright too, already halfway out of the sheets. “No—it’s whatever. It’s fine.”

They avoid each other’s eyes.

Robin bangs on the door again. “You’ve got ten minutes, lovebirds!”

Steve groans, rubbing at his face. “We’re gonna be late.”

Eddie grabs a shirt off the chair. “Great. Nothing like a death trap strung between trees to make this day better.”

“Zip-lining builds trust,” Steve mutters, heading for the bathroom.

“Yeah? So does staying on the ground.”

They don’t talk about the storm.

They don’t talk about the way they woke up, either.

But something lingers in the quiet between them.

By the time they’re dressed and making their way through the lobby to meet Robin and Nancy, the air between them feels thinner. Not easier. Just… different.

The zip-lining course is a fifteen-minute shuttle ride up a winding jungle trail. Steve claims the window seat, pressing his forehead to the cool glass, trying to shake off the lingering unease. Eddie flops beside him with a groan, clearly not in the mood for anything involving heights, but Robin spends the whole drive bouncing with excitement.

“Did you know they call it ‘the Screaming Eagle’?” she says, grinning like she’s been waiting to share this nugget. “That’s the name of the final line. It’s like, four stories high.”

Eddie groans again, louder this time. “Why the hell would anyone want to do that voluntarily?”

Steve snorts. “You scared, Munson?”

“I just think humans were not meant to fly through the air tethered to glorified dental floss.”

When they reach the platform, the staff are already strapping people into harnesses. There’s nervous laughter. Squeals. The smell of sunscreen and woodchips.

Steve gets roped into going first.

The instructor clips him in, double-checks everything, then waves him off. “You’ll be fine. Just lean back and go with it!”

Steve launches. It’s fast. Wild. The wind howls past his ears. He whoops once, involuntarily, and lands on the second platform grinning, adrenaline still coursing through him.

Eddie’s next.

He steps up like he’s walking to his execution. The instructor gives him a cheerful thumbs up. “You’ve got a partner waiting for you at the other end!”

Eddie mutters something under his breath that sounds like, “Goddamn golden retriever,” and goes.

When he lands, he nearly stumbles. Steve catches him by the arm.

“Still alive,” Steve says, smirking.

“Barely.”

They go through two more lines. Each one longer. Higher.

By the final platform, Eddie looks pale.

“You okay?” Steve asks, quieter now, watching Eddie closely.

“I’m peachy,” Eddie says, deadpan. “If I puke, I’m aiming for your shoes.”

The last line is tandem. One cable, two clips. But this setup is different, Eddie gets strapped in front, Steve right behind him, their harnesses connected at the hips and shoulders for balance.

Steve can feel Eddie’s tension radiating through the shared gear.

“Jesus,” Eddie mutters, gripping the sides of the platform. “This is so much worse up close.”

“You’re fine,” Steve says, placing a steady hand on his back. “We’ve literally fought monsters, Munson.”

“Yeah, but monsters don’t require signing a liability waiver.”

Then, without warning, Eddie reaches back and grabs Steve’s hands. His grip is tight—white-knuckle, unrelenting.

Steve doesn’t move. Doesn’t say a word. He just lets him hold on.

The staff gives the all-clear.

Then they’re flying.

The air rushes past them like a scream in motion—fast, loud, chaotic. Steve can feel Eddie's body tense up through the harness, every muscle locked like he’s bracing for impact. Eddie’s hands squeeze tighter around his, fingers digging in like a lifeline.

Eddie screams, not like Steve’s exhilarated shout from earlier, but a high, startled noise that Steve’s pretty sure he’ll be teasing him about for years. But in the moment, he doesn’t laugh. He just grips Eddie’s hands right back, steady, grounding, not letting go.

The trees blur past them, green and gold and sunlight all melting together. The zip-line sags slightly in the middle, enough to make Eddie swear under his breath—Steve hears it, feels it, but keeps holding on.

When they finally hit the landing platform, they stagger together in their harnesses, tangled and off-balance. The staff unclips them quickly, and Steve’s first instinct is to check him over.

“Hey,” he says, voice low, almost gentle. “You alright?”

Eddie nods without speaking, still gripping Steve’s hand like the ground might fall out beneath them.

Steve’s about to say something else, something sarcastic, when Robin appears at the end of the ramp. She pauses, stares, then lifts an eyebrow. “Wow. Do you two need a moment or should we clear the area?”

Steve immediately drops Eddie’s hand, his ears going red. Eddie does the same, yanking his arm back like he just realized it was still there. They stumble into distance just as fast as they’d clung to each other.

Robin raises an eyebrow, clearly holding back a grin. “You guys really nailed that ‘ride or die’ energy.”

Eddie scowls, brushing his hair out of his face. “He was scared.”

“You were literally shaking,” Steve shoots back.

“I was keeping you calm.”

“You nearly elbowed me in the face.”

Robin just snorts and walks off.

Eddie glances over then, his face unreadable.

And Steve doesn’t look away.

-----

Later, after a lunch that mostly involves Robin tossing pineapple chunks at Nancy and Eddie swiping a third iced drink off Steve’s tray, the group winds up sprawled around the resort’s pool area. Steve claims a shaded lounger, one arm flung over his face. Eddie drops into the one next to him with all the grace of a cat falling off a windowsill.

“Feeling brave now that you’ve conquered the sky?” Steve asks without looking over.

Eddie groans. “I was brave before. That was just... supplemental bravery.”

“Right.”

They lapse into an easy silence. It’s not quite comfortable, but it’s not as sharp as before. Robin and Nancy are already half-submerged in the pool, Robin egging Nancy into some kind of floating race with foam noodles as oars.

Steve glances toward the water, then nudges Eddie’s foot. “You gonna swim or just melt in that chair all afternoon?”

Eddie doesn’t answer. Just stares up at the sky.

Steve follows his gaze for a moment before shifting. “Last night—” he starts, but Eddie cuts in quick. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

Steve exhales. “Okay.”

Another beat.

Then Steve says, low, “Thanks though. For not laughing.”

Eddie turns toward him. “I wasn’t going to.”

The moment teeters there, quiet and uncertain.

Until Robin yells, “CANNONBALL!” and splashes Nancy so hard the water hits the lounger.

Steve jumps, spluttering. Eddie lets out an unfiltered laugh.

Steve grabs a pool noodle off the edge, chucks it in retaliation, and just like that, it’s war.

Five minutes later, all four of them are in the water, soaked and laughing, Steve wrestling a giant inflatable flamingo away from Robin while Eddie pelts Nancy with splashes from both hands.

Steve’s hair is plastered to his forehead. Water drips from the ends of Eddie’s curls, both of them grinning like idiots. No one seems to care.

They’re loud and ridiculous and, for the first time since they got to the island, it feels almost easy.

Later, Robin starts going off about how she'd dominate in a competitive pool noodle jousting league, complete with fake rules and point systems, when Steve snorts and says, “Please, You’d fall off the flamingo float in five seconds tops.”

Eddie laughs. Really laughs. Like, head back, breathless kind of laugh that Steve hasn’t seen from him in a long time.

And it’s contagious.

Steve tries to keep a straight face, but the sound of it cracks something open. He starts laughing too—loud and sudden, until he has to brace a hand against the edge of the pool just to breathe.

They catch each other's eyes mid-laugh, and the world goes a little quiet. Steve feels it then, that ache in his chest. He used to see that laugh all the time. Back when things were easier. Before they stopped talking. Before everything got messy.

For a moment, they’re just two people smiling at each other like idiots in the sun.

Robin notices first. She nudges Nancy.

Nancy glances over, then does a slow double-take.

Robin mouths, “They’re so gone.”

Nancy smirks and shrugs, not disagreeing.

And Steve and Eddie, still tangled up in laughter and sunlight, don’t notice a thing.

-----

After the sun has dipped a little lower and they’ve all dried off around the poolside loungers, Robin settles beside Steve while Eddie disappears for more drinks. She doesn’t say anything at first. Just sips from her straw and watches him quietly.

Then she says, “Just admit it already”

Steve stiffens. Doesn’t look at her.

“No,” he says too quickly. “No. That was just—that was the past.”

Robin tilts her head.

Steve huffs, eyes fixed on a crack in the tile. “He’s not—he’s not over what I did. I ghosted him when he needed someone. He’s just being… civil. For the trip. For you and Nancy.”

Robin nudges his arm. “You don’t know that unless you ask.”

Steve swallows hard.

“Just tell him you’re sorry, dingus,” she adds. “You’re not in highschool anymore. Communication’s sexy.”

Steve gives her a look.

—----

That evening, back in the suite, the light outside has turned golden and soft. The windows are cracked open just enough to let in a breeze that smells like salt and sunscreen. Steve tosses a shirt into his suitcase halfheartedly, more just organizing his mess than packing. Eddie walks out of the bathroom, towel around his shoulders, hair damp and curling slightly at the ends.

The sight of him like this, carefree, unguarded, hits Steve like a punch to the chest. There’s something about the way Eddie carries himself, so raw and unapologetic, that’s always made Steve feel things. He swallows, trying to shake the thoughts loose.

Neither of them speak at first.

Steve clears his throat. “You know, I’m kind of surprised we’re not killing each other by now.”

Eddie smirks, grabbing a clean shirt from the chair. “Not so fast, Harrington. The week’s not over yet.”

Steve chuckles, watching as Eddie pulls on a button-up short-sleeved shirt.

For a second, Steve doesn’t know what to do with the warmth in his chest. It’s like everything that’s been building between them for days is suddenly rising to the surface, threatening to spill over.

Eddie notices. “What?”

Steve looks away too quickly. “Nothing. Just, nice shirt.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “You okay?”

Steve nods a beat too late. “Fine. Just... yeah. Looks good. That’s all.”

But it’s not just a shirt, Steve wants to say. It’s the way Eddie wears everything so effortlessly, like he doesn’t need to try and still manages to catch Steve’s attention without even knowing it.

Eddie shrugs like it’s no big deal, but something flickers across his face. He turns toward the mirror.

Steve exhales through his nose, rubs a hand along the back of his neck. He’s so screwed.

----- 

The bonfire is winding down when someone wheels out a karaoke setup by the edge of the beach. The flames crackle, casting warm shadows across the sand. A low hum of anticipation builds as people drift closer, drinks in hand, settling in to watch.

A few brave souls step up first, a guy belts out something country and off-key, a couple sings a cheesy duet that ends with a dramatic dip and kiss.

Then Robin nudges Eddie hard. “Go on. You're a frontman. Make it count.”

Eddie leans back in his chair. “Nope. Not happening.”

Nancy grins into her drink. “Come on, what are you scared of?”

"I'm not scared," Eddie says, his voice a little too sharp. "I just have taste."

Robin points at the machine. “You scared of the mic, Munson? What would high school you say?”

Eddie turns to Steve, half-daring, half-pleading. “Back me up here. This is social suicide.”

Steve shrugs, fighting a smile. “I dare you.”

Eddie's eyes narrow. “You would.”

He mutters something under his breath, stands, and walks toward the mic like he's heading into battle.

The crowd perks up.

He scrolls through the list, then selects a track without telling anyone what it is. The first chords come in soft, familiar. A rock ballad.

Then Eddie starts to sing.

It’s not loud. Not ridiculous. Not performed for laughs. He’s good, his voice rough but steady, melodic in a way that quiets the crowd. There’s emotion behind it, that same fire he always brings to the stage, but quieter now. Personal.

Steve stares.

He forgets to drink. Forgets to blink.

Eddie sings with his eyes mostly down, but every so often he glances up, and once, just once, he looks straight at Steve.

It’s not long. But it’s long enough.

When the song ends, there’s a pause, then loud applause, whoops, claps, someone whistling near the back. Eddie bows, overly dramatic, but there’s color in his face now that wasn’t there before.

Steve claps too. Louder than he means to.

Eddie walks back toward the group, slower this time, his button-up shirt slightly undone, collar open from the heat and the nerves. He drops into his chair with a soft exhale, running a hand through his curls and avoiding eye contact.

Robin whistles. “Okay, Rockstar.”

Nancy grins, satisfied. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

Eddie tips an invisible hat. “You’re all welcome.”

Then someone calls out from the crowd, loud and grinning, “What about your boyfriend? Doesn’t he deserve a kiss after a performance like that?”

Robin and Nancy pounce like they’ve been waiting all night. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” they chant in unison, faces lit up with mischief.

Steve shoots them both a withering look, the kind of death glare that promises payback, but it only makes Robin laugh harder.

People cheer. A few voices ring out in overlapping chants: “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Steve’s eyes go wide. He lets out an awkward laugh, throwing up his hands like it might shield him from the moment. “Alright, alright, I think we’ve had enough entertainment for one night.”

Eddie waves them off with a crooked grin, his voice dry. “Come on, it was just a song, not a wedding toast.”

But the crowd’s not letting up. The karaoke host reappears with a mic in hand and a grin that says she’s enjoying this way too much. “Oh, come on now! One little kiss for your boyfriend? I think he earned it, don’t you?”

Steve glances at Eddie, who raises both brows like he’s not sure if they should laugh or run. He leans in just enough to mutter, “We’re gonna blow our cover if we don’t.”

They both hesitate.

Then Steve mutters, “Fuck it,” under his breath and reaches for Eddie’s shirt, fisting the fabric near the collar and pulling him in.

It’s supposed to be fast, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it peck. Just enough to shut everyone up. But when their lips meet, it doesn’t feel like a performance.

Eddie doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull away. His hand lands on Steve’s arm, gentle, almost grounding. And Steve doesn’t stop. His hand shifts from the shirt to Eddie’s jaw, steadying him, thumb grazing his cheek.

The kiss lingers, just a second too long. Then another.

The crowd’s cheers blur around them, distant and dim, like sound underwater. All Steve can hear is his own pulse pounding in his ears.

When they break apart, it’s slow. Like neither of them is quite sure who’s supposed to let go first.

Eddie’s eyes are wide. Steve’s breath catches. For a second, they just stare at each other.

Robin’s grin could light up the whole island.

Eddie clears his throat and leans back slightly, eyes flicking away like he’s trying to shake something off. “Well,” he says, voice a little too casual, “guess we put on a good show.”
He winks.

Steve blinks, his heart still somewhere in his throat. “Y-yeah,” he stammers, suddenly aware of how close they still are. “Right. Just… just acting.”

The crowd’s cheers continue, but they’re distant now, lost in the hum of Steve’s racing thoughts. Eddie’s smile is still lingering on his lips, and Steve feels his stomach tighten.

Robin, sensing the tension, claps her hands loudly. "Alright, alright, enough entertainment for tonight!" She grins at the crowd before turning to Steve and Eddie. "Well, we don’t have long here, let’s party!"

Before Steve can respond, Robin has already grabbed Nancy’s hand, dragging her toward the bar with a laugh. Eddie, still flushed from his performance, grabs his drink and follows along. Steve hesitates for a moment, unsure if he should join them, but then follows, pushing through the crowd.

The music is loud now, an upbeat tropical song, perfect for dancing, but the last thing Steve wants to do is join in. He makes his way over to the bar, his drink already in hand, but his eyes can’t help but track Eddie across the space.

Eddie’s standing with a guy chatting casually as they both sip their drinks. Steve watches as the guy leans in slightly to say something, and Eddie laughs, a relaxed chuckle that makes Steve’s chest tighten. It’s a laugh that used to fill their late-night talks, the kind of laugh that made Steve feel like maybe he wasn’t so alone.

Steve forces himself to look away, feeling the sharp sting of jealousy and confusion. He doesn’t have the right to feel like this. Eddie doesn’t belong to him, he never did. But the ache in his chest doesn’t care about what’s right or wrong.

He turns back to his drink, his grip tight on the glass as he takes a slow sip. Just then, Eddie looks up, his gaze sweeping the crowd. When his eyes meet Steve’s, there’s a flicker of something, something Steve can’t read.

Eventually Eddie walks off with the guy, still chatting and laughing, completely unaware of the weight of Steve’s gaze following them.

-----

Steve leaves the party early. The laughter and chatter still echo in his mind as he walks back to the suite, his footsteps heavy on the soft carpet.

Now, sitting on the edge of the bed in the dark, foot bouncing, mind running loops he can’t shut off. The muted TV casting blue shadows across the room. He stares at the screen, but his thoughts are far away, distracted by everything that’s been happening over the past few days. The tension building between him and Eddie, the quiet moments, the unspoken things that have been hovering just out of reach.

Eddie’s laugh still rings in his ears. The way Eddie’s smile lights up a room, the way his eyes soften when he’s not trying to be so damn guarded. He’d missed Eddie. He missed the way Eddie made him feel like he mattered. He missed that sense of being seen for who he really was.

And in the quiet of the room, Steve realizes something he’s been ignoring for far too long.

He’s still in love with Eddie.

-----

It’s nearly 2 a.m. when the suite door clicks open.

Eddie steps in quietly, like he’s trying not to make noise. He smells like smoke and seawater and something sweet from the drinks. He’s mid-way through pulling off his jacket when he sees Steve sitting there.

He freezes. “You’re up.”

Steve stands slowly. “Yeah. Couldn’t sleep.”

Eddie blinks, squinting in the dim light. “Right.”

Silence stretches.

Steve crosses his arms. “Where’ve you been?”

Eddie shrugs one shoulder, sets his jacket on a chair. “Around. Just... hanging out.”

Steve nods, jaw tight. “With that guy? The one from the party?”

Eddie pauses, just briefly. “He was showing me some of his music. We talked. That’s all.”

Steve’s mouth presses into a line. “You didn’t think to text? Let someone know?”

Eddie frowns. “Didn’t realize I had a curfew.”

Steve doesn’t answer right away. The room feels too small.

Then he says, “We’re supposed to be keeping up appearances. You disappearing with a stranger doesn’t really help that.”

Eddie laughs, sharp and tired.

Steve turns back, defensive. “I’m just saying you could’ve told someone.”

Eddie’s voice rises. “Why? So you could pretend to care in front of everyone and then go back to ignoring me the second we get back to Hawkins?”

Steve stiffens. “That’s not fair.”

Eddie’s voice is rough now. “You’re right. Fair would’ve been getting a goodbye instead of silence last year.”

Steve flinches.

“I didn’t mean to ghost you,” he says, but it comes out small. Hollow.

Eddie’s jaw clenches. “But you did.”

“I was a mess, Eddie. I didn’t know how to talk to anyone.”

“You talked to everyone else.”

Steve’s voice cracks. “Not like I talked to you.”

That lands. Heavy. The words settle in the space between them like a loaded gun on the table.

Eddie falters. Just a second.

And Steve, he’s right back there in his head. Back in the hospital room after the Upside Down, when things were raw and real and terrifying. He remembers sitting on the edge of Eddie’s bed at 2 a.m., trading stories and cheap jokes, Eddie too high on painkillers to filter anything and Steve too emotionally wrecked to lie.

Those late-night talks became the thing Steve looked forward to. Became the quiet place in the middle of all the noise. Eddie laughing under his breath, eyes glassy, whispering that Steve had “the dumbest taste in music but a weirdly decent taste in movies.” The way their shoulders would brush. The way Steve didn’t pull away.

He started to feel safe. Which scared the shit out of him.

Because Eddie made him feel seen. And liked. And maybe even loved.

And Steve wasn’t ready for that. Wasn’t ready for something that real. Because if it was real, it could be taken away. And Steve knew better than to think people stuck around.

So he bailed.

He let fear win. And in doing so, he left Eddie to wonder why.

Eddie’s voice snaps him out of it, sharp and cold. “You don’t get to act like that still means something. Not now.”

Steve swallows. “Listen, Eddie”

“No,” Eddie cuts him off, voice rising. “You don’t get to pull this now. You don’t get to stand here and act like you suddenly care because you saw me talking to someone who actually listens to me.”

“I care,” Steve says, breath catching. “I cared the whole time.”

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

Eddie’s face is flushed, whether from anger or heartbreak Steve can’t tell.

Then Eddie grabs his bag off the chair. His movements are sharp. Final.

He throws the door open without another word, storming out into the hallway like the room is on fire.

The door’s barely closed before Steve’s yanking it open again, barefoot on the carpet as he stumbles into the hallway.

“Wait—” he calls out, voice cracking.

The hallway is dim and quiet, washed in soft amber light from the sconces that line the walls. The carpet muffles his steps, but his heart pounds so loud it might wake the entire floor.

Eddie’s already halfway down the hall. Shoulders tight. Head down. Moving fast.

And then Steve blurts it out, breathless and desperate “It’s because I was falling in love with you, okay?!”

It hits the air like thunder.

Eddie stops. Mid-step, shoulders snapping back like he’s been yanked by invisible wire. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even breathe.

The air goes thick. The hum of the AC fades. The distant murmur of waves vanishes. All Steve hears is the sound of his own breathing and the deafening silence Eddie leaves in his wake.

His heart’s racing, his hands shaking. He doesn’t even know what the hell he’s saying anymore, just that it’s everything he’s been holding back for way too long.

“That’s why I pulled away,” he says, louder now. “That’s why I stopped talking to you. Because you made me feel things I didn’t know how to handle.”

He’s almost behind Eddie now, close enough to see the tremble in his fingers, the way his shoulders rise and fall like he’s bracing for impact.

He takes a stumbling step forward. His voice catches again.

“You made me feel seen. And safe. And like maybe someone could actually… want me. Like, really want me. Not for how I looked, or what I could give, but just—me.”

He breathes hard, chest rising and falling fast.

“I didn’t know what to do with that. I didn’t trust it. Because if it was real, then it could be taken away. And everything real in my life ends up going.”

His hands curl into fists at his sides. He’s trying to stay steady. Failing.

His voice cracks, just once.

“I was scared,” he admits. “And instead of being honest, I fucked everything up.”

Silence.

“This trip, it made me realize I never stopped feeling it. That kiss out there? That wasn’t fake. That’s what I’ve wanted since they day I brought you home from the hospital.”

The silence stretches.

And then slowly, Eddie turns.

He looks wrecked.

Like someone pulled the floor out from under him. Like he’s been holding himself up for so long.

He takes a few steps forward, almost cautious, his face twisted in disbelief.

“You were in love with me?” he asks, voice ragged.

Steve nods once. “I still am.”

A breath. Silence.

Then—Eddie pushes him.

Not hard. Just enough to feel it.

“You fucking asshole,” he says, eyes glassy, chest heaving.

He’s too close now. Eyes burning, expression open and hurt and furious all at once. He points at Steve’s chest, hand shaking.

“I spent months—months—trying to convince myself to hate you. I tried so damn hard. I tore you down in my head every night. Told myself you were a coward, or selfish, or fake. That you never meant any of it.”

His voice breaks, just slightly.

“But I couldn’t truly believe it.” he says.

Steve staggers back a half-step, like the words hit too deep.

“I didn’t think you’d ever feel the same. I didn’t let myself hope for that.” Eddie shakes his head slowly, like the ache of it is still lodged in his chest.

“I kept waiting for that feeling to go away,” Eddie says, his voice quieter now, almost like he’s afraid of what he’s admitting. “But it never did. Because every time I thought I was over you, I’d remember your laugh. Or the way you’d call me after work just to talk, even when you were exhausted. Like I was the first person you wanted to tell things to. And suddenly it was all back.”

He wipes his face with the heel of his palm, voice choked. “You made me feel like maybe someone could actually stay. And then you didn’t.”

Steve’s eyes sting. His chest feels like it’s being crushed from the inside. His fists clench at his sides, then slowly, like he can’t stop himself, he steps forward.

“I know,” he says, quiet and wrecked. “I know. And I’m sorry.”

His hand lifts, hesitant, fingers brushing Eddie’s arm. A touch that’s barely there, like he’s asking permission without words.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I swear to God, I didn’t.”

Eddie flinches, jaw clenched. “I needed you.”

“And I know I left,” Steve says, voice breaking. “I know. But I swear, I was scared out of my fucking mind. Not of you. Just… of what it meant. Of what I felt.”

His hand stays where it is, light on Eddie’s arm, grounding them both.

Silence.

Then Eddie shifts. Not away, just enough to register. His fingers twitch like he’s thinking twice, like his body isn’t sure it’s allowed.

He stands there for another beat, breathing unevenly, eyes locked somewhere over Steve’s shoulder.

Then carefully, like he's still bracing for this to be a mistake, Eddie lifts his arms. Slow. Unsure. One wraps around Steve’s back, then the other, until he’s holding him.

A real hug. Hesitant at first, then tighter. Solid. Unshakable.

Steve lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and hugs him back immediately, burying his face in Eddie’s shoulder, fingers clutching at the back of his shirt like he might disappear again.

Eddie laughs, wet, uneven, choked by tears. “God, I forgive you,” he says, shaking his head. “You complete asshole. I forgive you.”

Eddie pulls back just enough to look at him, eyes red and watery but steady now, locked onto Steve’s. His hands stay on Steve’s sides, fingers curling into the fabric like he’s afraid it might all slip away.

There’s a beat of silence. Only the distant sound of the ocean through the cracked window, the soft hum of the hallway light.

“You meant it?” he asks, voice low, cracking. “You’re really in love with me?”

Steve doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away.

“Yeah,” he says, breathless. “I meant every word.”

That’s all it takes.

Eddie moves first, fast and messy, crashing into Steve like a wave breaking. Their mouths meet in a collision of breath and emotion, years of silence and longing poured into a single kiss. Steve stumbles back half a step, catching them both, one hand cupping the back of Eddie’s neck, the other gripping his waist like a lifeline.

It’s not slow. It’s not soft. It’s desperate.

Eddie kisses him like he’s mad at him for taking so long. Like he’s been waiting too damn long to hold him like this, to taste this. Their teeth catch once, too sharp, too eager, but neither of them pulls away. Steve groans softly against his mouth, deep and involuntary, and tightens his hold.

Eddie’s fingers twist into the collar of Steve’s shirt. He pushes forward until Steve’s back hits the hallway wall with a dull thud, and they don’t stop. Don’t come up for air. The hallway is too warm. The air between them, electric.

When they finally break apart, foreheads pressed together, breaths colliding. Eddie’s thumb brushes Steve’s jaw, gentle now, reverent.

“I love you too,” he says.

Soft. Certain. No hesitation.

Steve swallows hard, eyes burning.

Then he leans in and kisses Eddie again. Slower. Tender this time.

Eddie lets him.

Lets himself fall into it like it’s safe now.

Like it always should’ve been.

-----

The next morning, sunlight pours in through the sheer curtains, golden and slow. Steve wakes first, head tucked against Eddie’s shoulder, legs tangled beneath the sheets.

He shifts a little, groggy. “You snore like a dying lawnmower.”

Eddie cracks one eye open. “Bold words from the guy who talks in his sleep. Last night you mumbled something about how much you adore me. Real sweet. Real embarrassing.”

Steve groans and buries his face in Eddie’s chest. “I mean its true, but kill me now.”

“Can’t. Too comfy.”

Eventually, they haul themselves out of bed and stumble down to breakfast. Eddie grabs Steve’s coffee without asking.

“You know, I did order that.”

“You know, you didn’t get to it fast enough.”

Robin looks up from her plate, already exhausted. “Seriously? It's not even 9 a.m. and you’re already arguing over breakfast like it’s a competitive sport.”

Nancy doesn’t look up from her tea. “Honestly, this feels on brand. I’d be more worried if they weren’t bickering.”

Eddie stabs his fork into a pancake. “This is healthy communication.”

Steve narrows his eyes, lips twitching like he’s holding back a smile. “This is your idea of healthy?”

Eddie gives him a pointed look, eyes gleaming. “And yet, you’re still sitting next to me.”

“I’m reconsidering,” Steve says, but he's already smiling, soft and unwilling.

Eddie grins and reaches for Steve’s fruit. “Too late.”

Steve smacks his hand. “Get your own mango.”

Robin drops her fork. “I swear to god, if you two ruin one more peaceful breakfast—”

But she stops, mid-rant, when she sees it—Steve’s hand brushing against Eddie’s on the table. Eddie glancing at Steve with that stupid soft look he thinks no one notices.

And then Steve leans in and kisses him.

Simple. Sure. But definitely a kiss.

Eddie kisses him back with a smug little hum.

Robin blinks. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait—what just happened?”

Nancy beams. “Finally.”

Robin points wildly between them. “You were bickering. And now you’re kissing. Was that foreplay?! Oh my god, I was right.”

Steve shrugs, smug. “What can I say? You wore us down.”

She just smiles. “It worked.”

Robin smacks the table. “It worked. I’m a genius.”

Steve groans, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Please don’t make a scene.”

“I dragged you both to paradise,” Robin says, triumphant. “I orchestrated fake dating under emotionally volatile circumstances. I deserve a scene.”

Eddie snorts into his coffee. “She’s not wrong.”

Steve sighs and leans into Eddie’s shoulder a little, eyes soft. “You know we could’ve figured this out eventually.”

“Eventually could’ve taken years,” Eddie says softly, reaching over to brush his fingers along Steve’s jaw, like he still can’t believe he’s real.

Steve grumbles something into his cup, but he’s smiling. He steals a piece of Eddie’s pineapple. “Payback.”

Eddie gasps, scandalized. “You monster.”

Robin leans back in her chair, victorious. “God, you two are exhausting. And unfortunately adorable.”

With the sun rising above the horizon, they stay close, and something unspoken passes between them, something real, something that finally feels like home.

They keep bickering. They probably always will.

But their fingers stay laced under the table.

And when they get back to Hawkins, they’re not afraid to try again. This time, for real.