Robin's mother dropped them off. Steve unfolded himself from the cramped backseat, stretching with a groan. "God, I'm too old for this. Next time, we're taking my car, even if it means you two lovebirds have to sit on each other's laps."
Robin Buckley, already halfway to the trailer door, flipped him off over her shoulder. "Deal with it, Harrington. Besides, Nancy enjoys my lap more than yours."
Nancy Wheeler, ever the diplomat, just smiled and squeezed Robin's hand. "Let's just get inside. I'm freezing."
The air inside Eddie's trailer was a welcome blast of warmth, a stark contrast to the November chill seeping into Hawkins. The familiar scent of stale pizza, patchouli, and something vaguely metallic hung in the air. Eddie, draped in an Iron Maiden t-shirt that looked like it had survived the apocalypse, greeted them with a theatrical bow.
"Welcome, welcome! To Casa de Munson, your haven for cinematic terror and questionable snacks!" He gestured towards a mountain of chips, candy, and a few suspiciously green-looking dips.
"Questionable is an understatement," Steve muttered, snagging a bag of Doritos.
Eddie just grinned. "Your loss, Harrington! More for me! Now, everyone grab a spot! I've got Night of the Living Dead locked and loaded!"
The living room was a chaotic symphony of mismatched furniture. Nancy and Robin settled onto a threadbare floral couch, while Steve cautiously lowered himself onto a lopsided armchair. Eddie, after much dramatic deliberation, chose the floor, strategically positioning himself between Steve and the coffee table, which served as a makeshift buffet.
As the opening credits rolled, the room plunged into darkness. Steve, despite his best efforts, found himself getting sucked into the grainy, black-and-white horror. He jumped at every creak of the floorboards, every rustle of candy wrappers, every strategically placed sound effect. He preferred action movies, things he could laugh at and dissect afterward. This was just… unsettling.
Eddie, fueled by half a bag of Sour Patch Kids, was in his element. He provided a running commentary, alternately mocking the characters and offering insightful (and occasionally disturbing) interpretations of the film's deeper meaning.
About halfway through the movie, a particularly gruesome scene involving a garden trowel made Steve flinch violently. He felt a hand brush against his arm. It was Eddie.
"Hey, you alright, Harrington?" Eddie's voice was softer than Steve had ever heard it.
“Yeah, yeah, just peachy,” Steve mumbled, brushing it off. The hand remained, hovering tentatively.
"You sure? You look a little… pale."
Steve shifted uncomfortably. He wasn't used to being fussed over, especially not by Eddie Munson. He glanced at Nancy and Robin. They appeared absorbed in the movie, oblivious to the subtle interaction beside them.
"Just… cold," he grumbled, pulling his bomber jacket tighter around himself.
Eddie didn’t say anything, but his hand didn't move either. It just rested there, a warm, reassuring presence against Steve’s forearm. As the movie continued, Steve found himself relaxing slightly. He was still tense, still bracing himself for the next zombie attack, but the anxiety had lessened.
Then, it happened.
Steve felt a gentle tug. He looked down to see Eddie’s hand, hesitantly, reaching up. Towards his hair.
Steve froze. He didn't let people touch his hair. Not since… well, not since he’d painstakingly crafted it into the feathered masterpiece that had defined his popularity in high school. It was an unconscious comfort, a symbol of the life he used to have. It was also incredibly sensitive. Very few people were allowed to trespass. Only his mom, and sometimes, very rarely, if he was incredibly vulnerable, Nancy.
Eddie seemed to sense his hesitation. He froze, his hand hovering awkwardly in the air.
"Sorry, man. Didn't mean to…" he stammered, pulling back as if he'd touched something radioactive.
But Steve, in a moment of inexplicable impulsiveness, stopped him. He barely knew why. Maybe it was the vulnerability in Eddie's eyes, the genuine concern he felt emanating from him. Maybe it was the unexpected comfort he'd found in Eddie’s presence during the movie. Or maybe, deep down, he was just tired of pretending to be the invincible King Steve.
He took a deep breath. "It's… it's fine," he said, his voice barely a whisper.
Eddie looked at him, his eyes searching, questioning. Steve offered a small, almost imperceptible nod.
And then, Eddie’s fingers were threading through his hair.
It was a tentative touch at first, almost feather-light. But as Steve didn't pull away, Eddie’s touch became more confident, more deliberate. He ran his fingers through Steve's hair, gently massaging his scalp. It was… surprisingly good. Incredibly good, actually. Steve felt a wave of unexpected relaxation wash over him.
He closed his eyes, letting himself sink into the sensation. He forgot about the zombies, the gore, the unsettling atmosphere of the movie. He forgot about his past, his insecurities, his carefully constructed image. He just focused on the warmth of Eddie's hand in his hair, the gentle rhythm of his fingers against his scalp. It was a small, intimate moment, shared in the darkness of Eddie’s trailer, a secret language spoken without words.
Robin, however, had noticed. She'd been subtly observing Steve ever since Eddie had first touched his arm. She knew Steve better than almost anyone. She'd seen him at his worst, his most vulnerable, his most insecure. And she knew that allowing someone to touch his hair was a big deal. A huge deal.
She glanced at Nancy, who was still engrossed in the movie. Robin decided to keep her observations to herself. For now. This was something private, something delicate, and she wasn't about to intrude. She just made a mental note to talk to Steve about it later.
As the movie reached its climax, Steve found himself leaning into Eddie's touch, almost unconsciously. He felt a strange sense of contentment, a quiet understanding that transcended words. Even the gruesome finale couldn't shake the feeling of peace that had settled over him.
When the credits finally rolled and the lights flickered back on, Steve blinked, disoriented. He felt oddly vulnerable, exposed. He quickly straightened up, smoothing down his hair, trying to regain some semblance of his usual composure.
Eddie, equally flustered, pulled his hand away. "So… uh… good movie, right?" he stammered, avoiding eye contact.
Steve cleared his throat. "Yeah. Good movie." He glanced at Nancy and Robin, who were stretching and yawning. They seemed none the wiser to the quiet intimacy that had unfolded beside them.
The drive back to Hawkins was quiet. Steve kept replaying the scene in his head, trying to make sense of it. He knew that something had shifted, something unspoken had passed between him and Eddie. He just wasn't sure what it meant.
Robin, ever perceptive, squeezed his arm as they pulled up to his house. "You okay, Harrington?" she asked, her voice laced with concern.
Steve hesitated. He wasn't ready to talk about it yet. Not really.
"Yeah, Robin. Just… tired," he said, forcing a smile.
Robin didn't push. She knew that Steve needed time to process things. But as he climbed out of the minivan, she caught his eye and gave him a knowing look. A look that said, "I see you, Steve. And I understand."
As Steve walked up the front steps of his empty house, he touched his hair, his fingers tracing the path where Eddie's hand had been. He knew that things were different now. He didn't know how, or why, but he knew that movie night at Eddie Munson's trailer had changed something fundamental within him. And he suspected, with a nervous flutter in his chest, that he might actually welcome the change.