Maybe it was vain, but Steve's first thought when he saw the damage after being dragged into the upside down was that he'd never be able to take his shirt off around a date again. The mark around his neck would hopefully fade to nothing but his back, his waist… Steve horribly felt tears burning his eyes as he stood in Max's cramped bathroom inspecting the damage.
It was stupid, but he'd always been the pretty one. Everyone complimented his complexion and face like he had any control over it. Lucky genes, he supposed. The upside down had left a lot of scars. Now, they were physical, too.
So once Venca was defeated, and life returned to normal - or as normal as it got in Hawkins - Steve stopped dating. He couldn't explain it to anyone, and when Robin asked why he'd turned down the umpteenth girl who batted her eyelashes at him, he could only say he wasn't feeling it because the truth was too ugly to admit. He didn't feel attractive anymore.
He missed that feeling, that confidence he used to have. It didn't help that his skin crawled every time he changed clothes, scars sensitive to any touch, even his own. He couldn't imagine letting another person see or touch him.
And it started to show. The others made comments, asking if he was okay. Steve just shrugged them off, refusing to admit what was really wrong.
Which made it all the more surprising when Eddie figured it out. But then again, maybe it shouldn't have been, considering they had both been attacked by those bats.
Smoking with Eddie became a natural pastime. The nights were too long and too dark for Steve to relax, and Eddie was a natural night person. They fit together, in an odd sort of way, smoking the darkness away together, keeping each other sane.
"Robin told me you're going through a dry spell. What's the deal with you turning away all the pretty ladies, Stevie?" Eddie asked, getting straight to the point as his dark eyes focused on Steve sitting across from him on the worn couch.
Steve laughed, blowing smoke at the ceiling. Although the weed helped him relax, it, unfortunately, made him loose-lipped. Therefore, he answered truthfully. "I don't feel attractive anymore."
It was Eddie's turn to laugh, long and hard. Chuckling, he wiped away his tears and looked at Steve again. "You can't be serious? Steve, you're the most fucking gorgeous person I've ever laid eyes on."
"Bullshit."
"No, it's true. You have no idea how torturous it is, being this close to you." Eddie seemed genuine. His cheeks had even turned pink.
And for the first time in months, Steve's stomach fluttered with anticipation. "Careful, Munson," he warned Eddie playfully, taking another drag of his joint. "Flattery works on me."
"Yeah?" Eddie got closer as Steve tracked the movement. Slowly, as if waiting for a rebuttal, he placed a warm hand on Steve's thigh. "How's this?"
Steve had to swallow thickly because his mouth had gone dry, and he got out in a strained voice, "Good." He watched Eddie's hand move higher, breath catching when he bypassed his crotch and his fingers slid under his shirt. When they skimmed the edge of the first scar, Steve grabbed his hand and yanked it away. "Stop. Stop it. I don't want you to touch there."
Eddie sat back, contemplating him for a long moment. Then, without a word, he pulled off his shirt. Steve stared at the expanse of pale, inked, and scarred skin suddenly bared to him and had to resist the urge to reach out and touch. Seeming to read his mind, Eddie pressed his hand to the center of his chest.
"It's okay, Steve," he said softly, keeping the fragile cocoon that had enveloped them intact. "We're the same, see? Nothing to be scared of. There's nothing you can say or do that will change how I feel. With or without scars, I've always thought you were beautiful."
Fuck. What was he supposed to say to that? Steve could feel tears welling in his eyes but didn't bother to hide them. Instead, he gave in and explored Eddie's skin, marveling at his warmth and contrasts—soft skin with a dusting of hair turning to mottled scars, still pinkish against the usual paleness. Eddie shuddered but didn't stop Steve as he explored first one and then two, three, four bites- gouges. Steve almost felt the sharp teeth digging in and ripping the flesh away.
"Not so bad, right?" Eddie asked when Steve finally stopped, hands resting over the worst scar, leaving an irrevocable hollow space underneath his ribs that shouldn't be there. "Lost a bit of weight, though."
"You're beautiful, too," Steve said without thought, and even as the words left his mouth, he knew they were true. Eddie was beautiful. In a way, Steve had never truly appreciated it before. Getting to his knees, Steve did the only thing he could think of, kissing Eddie gently.
His heart swooped at the first touch, chest seeming to expand to make space when Eddie didn't recoil but kissed him back. Eddie's skin felt electric under Steve's fingertips, and he wanted to know if he was, too, so he grabbed Eddie's hands, guiding them back under his shirt.
Eddie's touch was surprisingly soothing, warm instead of repulsive, and Steve let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes, face pressed to Eddie's as he reveled in the new sensations.
"Good?" Eddie asked.
Steve could only nod. Fingers digging into Eddie's hair, he kissed him again but soon broke free to get his shirt off. Skin against skin, lips against lips, it felt wonderful to touch someone again. Someone he didn't have to explain himself to. Someone who understood.
Dawn was breaking when they finally broke apart. Steve could see the dark circles under Eddie's eyes, and feel his own fatigue, but he didn't regret a second of it. He wanted to stay tangled together on the lumpy couch forever, but Eddie kissed him once more and got up. He didn't leave Steve wondering, though, only smiled and held out his hands. Steve didn't hesitate to take them and follow him back to his room.
Eddie showed him how a soothing touch could heal much better than pain meds. And Steve was delighted to learn he would keep showing him, as long as he wanted. Steve wanted it forever. That night, he was promised forever.
