I Love This So Much. And I Agree. Gareth Can't Look Scary With His Curly Mop Of Hair He Has On His Head.

I love this so much. And I agree. Gareth can't look scary with his curly mop of hair he has on his head. But he sure can try and it will only look more adorable 🤗

Eddie doesn’t tell the Corroded Coffin guys about his relationship with Steve. Not at first.

He knows they wouldn’t bat an eye at the fact that he’s got a boyfriend; they’re cool like that. But telling them who his boyfriend is? They're cool enough to accept Eddie being gay, but dating a jock? Dating Steve Harrington? Eddie isn’t so sure how they’d react to that. 

So he keeps that little detail to himself.

Not too carefully, though, as it turns out.

Eddie shows up to Wednesday band practice with a new ring on. It’s big, just like most of his rings are, but it’s a whole different breed of gaudy, with a huge emerald gem right in the center and thick lettering circling it and embossed onto the sides.

Gareth is the first one to clock it for what it is.

They finished up their first run through of their latest track (something new about a totally badass warrior who's beaten and battered and bruised, but won't let that stop him from throwing himself intro the fray) that Eddie just finished penning the lyrics for, then broke for a quick break and some water. Eddie stands across from Gareth, right hand wrapped around a water bottle, new ring on display. Gareth is close enough that he can make out some of the smaller details now — a paw print, the word ‘Hawkins’ right above it — and then it clicks.

“Dude,” he says, smacking his hand into Eddie’s arm. “You got a class ring? Since fucking when?”

Eddie’s face seems to go through several emotions all at once — confusion, surprise, a brief flicker of panic. It smooths over pretty fast after that, settling into something much more controlled, something much more collected after.

He switches the bottle to his left hand and flattens his right in the air, admiring the ring for a moment. “Oh, this?” Eddie asks with a chuckle, flashing it towards Gareth and the boys (who have all perked up in interest and shuffled closer), too fast for any of them to really get a good look at it.

“Holy shit, that is a class ring, what the fuck, Eddie?” Archie asks, face twisting up.

Jeff looks surprised too, squinting at Eddie’s hand, curiosity painted across his features.

Eddie doesn’t deign any of them with an answer, just sort of shrugs and drops the water bottle, replacing it with his guitar. He twists at the tuning keys on the head of his baby, ignoring it as Gareth and Archie erupt into a flurried back and forth of reasons why in the hell Eddie would be wearing one of those monstrosities.

Jeff is the only one to jump to his defense. “It’s weird, sure, but, like, is it really that bad? I mean, he spent six years there, so what if he wants to, like, commemorate it or something?”

Gareth and Archie turn twin what the fuck looks on Jeff, who just shrugs.

He doesn’t look too convinced of his own argument either — which is pretty merited. Eddie getting a class ring goes against, like, everything he stands for. He’s pretty sure he’s ranted about how stupid class rings are. How pointless they are. Plus, those suckers are expensive as fuck and Eddie has plenty of other, more important things to put that money towards. All things considered, they have every reason to be suspicious of it.

They all turn back towards Eddie, looking for confirmation or contradiction, but Eddie doesn’t offer them either.

He just gives the ring another short look, shrugs, and says, “So are we gonna get back to playing or what?”

And that’s that.

Except it isn’t.

Because at some point Eddie must have been playing with the ring, and he must have slipped it off, must have spun it around, must have stuck it back on his finger with the other side exposed. The side with the “1985” on full display. Big and bold and hard to miss.

And, of course, they notice that.

“Does that say ‘1985’?” Gareth asks, eyebrows pulled together and mouth curved down into a confused frown.

“‘85? Eddie, dude, isn’t that the year that you were supposed to graduate the first time?” Archie asks, just as baffled.

Jeff elbows him. “No, that was ‘84,” he corrects. “But he didn’t graduate in ‘85 either.”

“So why the fuck do you have a class of 1985 ring then?” Gareth questions. It’s hard for him to look menacing with that floppy hair of his, but he crosses his arms over his chest and fixes demanding eyes on Eddie anyways.

Eddie, once again, does not answer any questions. In fact, the only acknowledgement he does give them is a very casual, very nonplussed “Oh? Does it?” when they keep pointing out that the ring boasts “1985” instead of “1986”.

It’s pretty amusing, actually, listening to them trying to figure it out. But none of them come close to the truth. And Eddie certainly isn’t going to be the one to hand that over to them.

It goes on like this for a few more practices. The mystery of who Eddie’s class ring actually belongs to (because the boys have decided that there is no way it actually is Eddie’s. Not with the 1985.) continues to plague Corroded Coffin — before practice starts, during their breaks, in the aftermath of their jam sessions.

Eddie doesn’t stop wearing the ring, despite it, though. And he always finds a way to change the subject when Gareth, Jeff, and Archie bring it up, or he gives them stupid nonanswers instead that make them huff and puff.

It all comes to a head one day when practice is getting close to ending and a familiar maroon Beemer pulls up outside of Gareth’s garage. The engine cuts, and then out pops none other than Steve goddamn Harrington himself. 

The boys are vaguely aware that Eddie is on friendly terms with Steve, but they don’t know the full extent of it. They don’t know how deep it actually runs. And they certainly don’t know that they’ve been dating for the better part of four months now.

It’s almost funny how they didn’t even think to make that connection.

Until now.

Until Steve Harrington saunters his way up Gareth’s driveway and stops in the mouth of the garage, arms crossed loosely over his chest, head bobbing along like he’s actually enjoying the noise they’re making. There’s a certain look on his face, in his eyes — something pleased, something contented, something unbearably soft, as he watches them jamming out. As he watches Eddie jamming out.

They’re in the middle of a song, and everyone’s sort of lost in their instruments, lost in the music — except for Gareth. He spots Steve first. He sees that look on his face, follows his eyes to find them glued to Eddie. Observes for a few seconds, and watches as Steve’s stare doesn’t waver once.

He only has eyes for Eddie.

And that’s when it clicks.

Gareth’s hands stop moving, the drumbeat cutting off as his sticks just hover and he stares, slack-jawed. 

It takes a couple of seconds for the others to notice that Gareth stopped playing, and when they do they stop too and turn on him.

“Gareth, the fuck, dude?” Archie says, throwing his arms out.

“Everything good, man?” Jeff asks.

“Class of ‘85,” Gareth says, dumbfounded, finally pulling his eyes away from Steve to fix them on Eddie, who freezes in the middle of making googly eyes at Steve and slowly turns to meet Gareth's gaze. "No fucking way."

Eddie offers Gareth a sheepish, lopsided smile and a one shouldered shrug. "Surprise?"