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"I'm getting the distinct feeling I'm not welcome here," Steve says, shifting his weight from foot to foot. The pair of drumsticks clenched in his fist.
There are four pairs of eyes staring at him, and only one could be even remotely deemed friendly.
Maybe, two. Jeff looks neutral. Steve will take neutral.
"No, it's not that!" Eddie shouts, far too over the top. It is exactly that.
It's not like this was his idea. He starts gathering up all his stuff. It's stupid. He didn't even want to do this, Eddie coerced him, twisted his arm, begged, and now Steve's feelings are hurt for no goddamn reason whatsoever.
It's bullshit.
Steve was just trying to be a good friend. Eddie wanted to get back to playing at The Hideout after everything that happened. But Gareth's hand is still fucked, one of the fingers Jason Carver stepped on didn't heal right, and they had to go in and fix it surgically.
Eddie's been antsy. The Hideout wants to give their spot away, and Steve gets that Eddie wants any sliver of normal that he can get right now.
Unfortunately, Steve was stupid enough to think he could be the one to fix this problem for him.
He can't. He really, really can't.
"You're just not doing it right!" Gareth shouts, the one arm that isn't in a sling, flailing.
"I haven't played drums since fourth grade!" Steve yells back. Everybody had to pick an instrument to play during fourth grade band class. All the boys wanted to play the drums. Obviously. He can keep a steady beat, can play a drum roll on the snare. Can play the fucking timpani if need be, but he's never played a full drum kit before.
He's not a drummer.
It's gonna take him a minute to learn, and it damn well hasn't been made any easier with Gareth hovering behind him, breathing down his neck. Sighing, and grumbling.
"We're just stressed out," Jeff says, "if we cancel one more time, Carl said we're gonna lose our Tuesday spot."
Steve nods. He gets it. But it's not his fault he can't just play like they want him to right away. He was doing them a favor, not the other way around.
"Carl's a fucking liar," Eddie pops off, "Who the fuck else is he gonna get to play in his shit hole for five drunks?"
"Probably not a band led by a supposed murderer," Goodie says, and Steve wishes he wouldn't do that. Wouldn't bring it up. The town still looks at Eddie like he's guilty, and it sets Steve on edge.
"Do we really want to call his bluff?" Jeff asks, and Steve watches them all volley off each other, eyes following the banter.
"And he can't wear that!" Goodie interrupts, drawing the attention back to Steve, berating him for no goddamn reason, pointing an accusing finger at him.
Steve looks down. He's just wearing a polo and jeans. What he always wears. What's wrong with his clothes?
"We can't make him wear a costume," Eddie argues, and Steve agrees there. He can't dress like Eddie. He'd look like a dumbass.
Not that Eddie looks like a dumbass, just that he would look like one if he tried to mimic him.
"Well, we can do better than that!" Goodie insists.
Eddie nods, and this is really the least of their concerns. Steve doesn't know the songs. What he's wearing isn't important at this point.
"Just. Try again," Gareth says, and Steve nods, reluctantly.
Gareth sits on the stool, hitting the kick drum repeatedly, and Steve tries to follow along, sitting next to him. Foot tapping an imaginary pedal.
Eventually, Gareth gets up and makes Steve take over the hot seat again.
And it's going pretty smoothly.
Until Eddie has a fit for no reason that Steve can figure out.
Gareth is leaning over Steve's back, his hand covering Steve's, leading him through a very basic backing beat.
"1, 2, 3, 4," Gareth counts in his ear.
"You're harassing him!" Eddie shouts, and Steve looks up from where he was closely watching Gareth's good hand guiding his own.
"What?" Steve asks, confused. This is the first thing they've tried that's made this even seem possible.
"Stop groping him," Eddie demands, pointing a finger at Gareth, and now they're both looking up.
"I'm not flirting with him, I'm trying to teach him the bare fucking bones of this song, Eddie, Jesus Christ! Get a goddamn grip!" Gareth yells, and Steve hates this whole experience.
He should have never told Eddie he's ever even looked at a drum. It would have saved them all a lot of hassle.
"Just. Back off. Let him try it by himself," Eddie demands, and Gareth takes a dramatic step back. He's been around Eddie far too long.
"How's he supposed to play it without Gareth teaching him?" Jeff asks, and it's far too reasonable of a question for Eddie.
"It'd be easier if he could read sheet music!" Gareth snaps, and Steve looks back at him.
"I can read sheet music," Steve says.
"You can what now?" Eddie asks, whipping around to look at him.
Then, the rest of them turn to look at Steve.
"What?" Steve asks, feeling pinned down. "I can play the piano. Don't all kids have to take piano lessons?" Steve asks, and Eddie barks out a laugh. But Goodie is sort of nodding along, begrudgingly. Steve can tell that he knows the pain of sitting next to Ms. Ruth in her old, musty living room, being forced to learn piano scales.
"You all take twenty. No. Give us an hour. Go get us a six-pack, anything," Gareth says, ushering them out of the garage, pulling the door down half-way behind the three of them. Probably so they don't suffocate in here, it's already hot enough without the door closed.
Then, Gareth turns and looks back at Steve.
"Finally. Peace and quiet. Okay. You know how piano sheet music is written with notes on a scale?" Gareth asks, rifling through the cabinet in the corner, finally comes up with a folder and a dusty music stand.
"Yeah," Steve answers, getting up to help him unfold it, since Gareth's only got the one good hand.
"For drum notation, the staff is instead for which part of the drum kit you should play on. Does that make sense?"
Steve thinks so. At least somewhat.
"Executive decision. We're going easy. They'll have to deal," Gareth says, and spreads out a hand drawn notion for Back in Black.
Then, Gareth starts explaining which part of the staff goes to which drum.
"Notes are for drums, X's are for cymbals," Gareth says, then starts pointing at each piece of his drum set, and then back at the piece of paper where they align, "Snare, hi-hats, crash, high tom, mid tom, ride, low tom, kick. That's it. Eight pieces."
Steve nods, but he's not very sure about this.
"It's easy. I promise," Gareth says, "You won't even need the sheet music in like ten minutes. You'll feel it."
They work up Back in Black and move to Highway to Hell. On that one, Steve comes in behind, or ahead, he's not sure.
He hates this.
"You've heard this song right?" Gareth asks, and it's only slightly mean.
"Of course I've heard this song," Steve snaps.
"Then just listen to it. You're rushing. You know what that guitar part sounds like and you know when the drums come in. Do it then."
If only it was that easy.
Gareth rewinds the cassette, and they start all over again. Steve attempting to play along with it, as Gareth's tapping on his shoulder, counting softly, giving him the beat he should be following. Maybe that's what they can do at The Hideout — set up a curtain, and Gareth can tap him to keep him where he should be. That's an idea.
The song's not good. It's not bad either, which is a definite upgrade.
Steve is sweating, and he wipes his forehead with the tail of his shirt.
"You're not so bad, Harrington," Gareth says, and Steve laughs. He's terrible.
"I'm terrible," Steve argues.
Gareth laughs, "At the drums? Yes. You, Steve Harrington, aren't so bad."
"Oh," Steve says, "Thanks, I guess."
The way Gareth is looking at him is weird.
"What?"
"Eddie's a good guy," Gareth says, "just a little high strung. He means well. He always does."
"I know," Steve says, because he does. They've become friends since spring break. He doesn't need to be sold on Eddie Munson. He's not the rest of Hawkins.
Gareth just nods, "Okay, from the top."
They are on song four, Steve reading the music, only making a few mistakes, when he catches movement and it draws his attention away from the kit.
Eddie is squatted down like some sort of weird owl, head cocked to the side, nearly upside down, spying on them from under the half-open garage door.
"We can see you, asshole," Gareth says, "just get in here. I think he has it."
"I didn't know we were an AC/DC cover band now," Goodie snarks, holding onto his bass. Steve doesn't have time to say there's a Queen song in there, too, and one he doesn't know the band name, before Gareth jumps in to defend his executive decision that they are playing easy shit.
Songs that he could basically boil down to a repetitive pattern. Steve was on board with that. There's whining and grumbling, but Gareth was the only one that helped him learn anything at all.
"Shut up. I could have taught him Stayin' Alive," Gareth sasses.
Goodie shuts up.
"Great. And he can play Living After Midnight, so you can stop your stupid whining," Gareth says, then adds, "These are the songs he can play, and you'll damn well play them, too."
There's bitching and moaning, but they all do exactly what Gareth says, playing them together for the first time.
A week later, Steve sits on the stool in The Hideout, sweating. There's nobody in this goddamn bar, but he's still nervous. Mainly because he doesn't want to disappoint Eddie. Steve's never wanted to be in a band. Still doesn't.
They practiced every day, and it is what it is. Gareth just needs to get that hand healed fucking soon.
Eddie looks back at him, expectantly. Gareth is standing off-stage, and he gives Steve a single thumbs up. So, Steve counts them in. Nervous and shaky-voiced.
And away they go.
It was fine. Nobody booed, nobody paid them any attention to them at all, really, and it was all over before Steve even had time to stop being nervous.
Afterwards, they load up all the equipment in the back of the van.
"You did good," Gareth says, and Steve smiles a little, reaching out to put his hand on Gareth's shoulder.
"Thanks for teaching me," Steve says, "I had fun."
Gareth raises an eyebrow, challenging him. Sniffing out the lie immediately.
"Okay, fun might not be the exact right word," Steve laughs, thinking of what he actually feels, but he's interrupted. Eddie shoving between them, making them step apart. Forcing Steve to yank his hand from Gareth's shoulder, if he wants to keep his elbow from being dislocated.
Gareth rolls his eyes, and walks off, climbing into the van.
Steve watches as Eddie puts the last piece of the drum kit into the van, and then slams the back doors closed. Leaving them standing there in the dark back alley, just the two of them.
"Thanks for doing that for us," Eddie says, pulling his hair across his mouth, "You were good."
"I wasn't good," Steve laughs.
Eddie giggles, and it's too high pitched and weird. He's being weird. He's been weird all week. Steve is pretty sure Eddie doesn't want Steve Harrington in his band, but the feeling is mutual. Honest.
He's staring at Steve, and Steve is curious why.
"Why are you being so weird?" Steve asks. He won't know unless he asks.
And Eddie lunges forward, hand wrapping around the back of Steve's neck, tugging him into a kiss.
Oh.
Steve yelps with surprise, and then goes with it. Kissing him back.
This is why he's been weird. He was jealous. He was flirting.
Steve didn't realize.
In that case.
Steve takes charge, taking a big step forward, then another, forcing Eddie to walk backwards until he's pressed up against the back of the van. Steve slides his arm around Eddie's waist, and pulls him close. He can feel how much Eddie wants this, and well, Steve's not about to disappoint him.
Pressing into him, kissing him until they need to stop to breathe. When they do, Steve pulls back and grins.
"So, drummers make you hot, huh?"
Eddie laughs, "Just you. Definitely not Gareth."
And then Eddie is staring in his eyes, "What about you? Does Gareth make you hot?"
Steve giggles, reaching out to touch Eddie's hair, and kisses him again. He's so fucking ridiculous. When they break apart again, Steve can't take his eyes off Eddie's lips. They are so kissable. He'd never noticed that before.
"No, he doesn't. My attention is all reserved for someone else in this band."
Eddie smiles so fucking wide, that Steve doesn't know how he didn't see this mutual crush they've been building on each other for months.
"Let's go dump off the guys and the gear," Steve suggests and Eddie nods, eagerly.
When Steve climbs in the back of the van, Gareth looks at him knowingly, "Did Eddie finally stop being an asshole and get what he wanted?"
Steve laughs, nodding.
"Unless you want first dibs, of course," Steve teases, and Gareth laughs as Eddie reaches around the seat, threatening them both. Jealous of nothing.
It might be fun to gang up on Eddie, though. Rile him up. The real drummer, and the shoddy replacement. A one-two punch.
Steve holds out his hand, offering a fist bump, which Gareth takes him up on.
Maybe Steve's made a new friend.
He doesn't have time to think about it, though, because they all have to hang on for dear life as Eddie wheels the van out of the alley like he stole it.
But Steve gets it. The rush.
They have places to be. Things to do.