Im Not Really There To

It’s not that Eddie’s unaccustomed to late night callers, exactly - his uncle’s antisocial night hours at the plant are pretty good for business, actually. But usually late night means, like, a little after ten. Or midnight. Or maybe one am, on a weekend.Not ten past four in the goddamn morning.“I couldn’t sleep,” Steve Harrington says, by way of a greeting, standing on Eddie’s porch like a kicked puppy.“I can see that.” It’s a decently coherent answer, with his brain still tucked into bed ten feet away.“Can you sell me something that’ll help?”-Or, the three times Steve goes to Eddies trailer looking for something to take the edge off, and the one time Eddie finds out why Steve looks so haunted.Written for rogha, who made the mistake of sending me a fic prompt on tumblr.