Tears in the Rain
other Eddie Munson Hanahaki Disease fics: Cherry Blossom Colored Kisses (read now) Gone with the Sin (read soon)
prompt: feelings are confessed and a decision is made; the only thing left to do is heal and be okay.
pairing: Eddie Munson x female!reader
show: stranger things
note: Eddie's 19, reader's 18+, and Chrissy's 17-18 years old. and yes - The Book of Unholy Mischief was published in 2008, but i still use a quote from it, oh well - roll with it!
second note: we know the drill - i'll edit as time goes but i actually think it's pretty okay...
word count: 8.4k
warnings: Hanahaki Disease AU, cursing, unrequited love, y'all know the drill - angst! potential for part two! hospitals, and minor description of surgical procedure. again - angst! please proceed with maturity and caution. is this a happy ending? depends on your mental state idk anymore.
🔞 none of the following content is appropriate for minors 🔞
It started in the 8th grade, spitting out bits of petals and scraping them off your tongue when nobody was looking; subtly wiping your hands on your jeans and pretending you hadn't. Your child's mind was overwhelmed and confused by the sight but figured it had to be normal, never asking any questions, because who would ever believe your symptoms?
You kept this secret to yourself like you did many others, never sharing with anyone the pain that was slowly creeping through your veins. You didn't even tell him - the boy who made your heart race and palms get sweaty. The boy who made your mind go blank and simultaneously race with thought. He's been your friend since the 1st grade, best friend since 3rd, you thought you could share anything, but after the talent show in 7th grade and you saw the way he was held hostage in his seat while watching Chrissy Cunningham do her cheer routine, you knew things couldn't stay the same.
His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly agape, and it was the first of many star-struck looks Eddie would give the strawberry blonde. A look you'll come to understand would never be directed at you.
Everything around you was changing but you refused to be left behind, so, you changed with the times; you changed with your friend. Your hair was cropped short as his grew out in unruly curls; you wore black almost everyday (like he did), you might've even learned how to play guitar so you two could have another bonding experience, and you even joined his stupid fucking Hellfire Club because you thought you could impress him with your Dungeons and Dragons knowledge that you didn't spend all summer studying over.
When you got to high school, your symptoms changed - just like you did. It wasn't fair, but you never tried to fix what was wrong; Nancy Wheeler spending hours with you in the library as you feigned a personal project you needed to research, searching for any solution. Your friend didn't know you found answers the summer before high school, the summer puberty hit you like a bullet train; the summer everything changed.
You knew something was terribly and fatally wrong yet never bothered to fix it, because why bother putting forth effort into an inevitable end? Your options were limited and neither sounded better than the last.
Option One: you succumb to your symptoms and suffocate. Two: you got a surgery to remove the blooms growing in your lungs - but it would in turn take away all known thought and memory of your beloved. And Option Three: confess your feelings and pray to any and every known God, Goddess, Deity that he would return them.
However, you worried that if he did return your affections - whether he verbalized them or not - you wouldn't be in this predicament to begin with. So, you sucked it up and kept quiet because having him as just a friend was better than forgetting him, or losing his friendship. You were never good being alone but found being alone with him was better than being by yourself. You chose to remain strong and silent, despite the way you withered away inside; you chose to stay close, even though his proximity made your heart crack. You chose to borderline torture yourself because you knew walking away would take more bravery than sticking around.
But in the words of Ellie Newmark, "Unrequited love does not die; it's only beaten down to a secret place where it hides, curled and wounded. For some unfortunates, it turns bitter and mean, and those who come after pay the price for the hurt done by the one who came before."
You positively refused to turn "bitter and mean", so, you plastered a smile on your face and never gave anyone reason to think anything could be wrong. You never thought there'd be anyone after him, because you were enamored with everything he did and the very idea of being in love with anyone except him drove your heart into your throat. The idea was unimaginable.
The first semester of high school, your chest got heavier with meat but also pressure, causing a terrible tightness that left you feeling as if you were breathing through a sauna; your lungs constricted with tendrils of prickling pain, and soon, those bits of petals were fully intact, giving you first sight to what was being hacked out of your body - white chrysanthemums.
After a bit of research, you discovered these particular flowers were used in European funeral bouquets - but not many others. You discovered white chrysanthemums were a symbol of death, grief, and mourning in some Asian cultures, and it did little to quell the worry in your chest.
Yet, how oddly beautiful to suffer through this; where your own body betrayed you but produce something pure, innocent even, despite being slathered with a halo of tacky blood.
However, you feared life without him and even if it meant your heart would permanently weep, you would sign yourself up for a lifetime of pain if it meant he stayed close. If it meant he stayed in your life. If his hand would continue to hold yours. If his smile would grace your sight, if those pillowy lips would form precious nicknames that always made you feel on top of the world.
You'd mourn yourself, in order to preserve and celebrate all he was.
For years, you persevered through the unimaginable pain in body and mind, and for years, you and he grew closer than ever before. In the 10th grade, things changed again - but this was only because you caught yourself about to confess your feelings for Edward Munson. Panic-inducing fear halted the words before they could slip out, and instead, it caused a violent coughing attack.
One so intense that it made you turn away from Eddie and get back in your father's car, driving away from his trailer as your palm was slathered in a slick, sticky mixture of blood and limp white petals.
You felt immense guilt when you glanced in the rearview mirror, Eddie's shocked, confused, and concerned figure standing on his porch - watching you drive away, and wondering what had gone wrong. You two had been smoking, sure, but Eddie often thought that you could smoke him under any table, any day. Maybe he had indulged you too much, and maybe your lungs and throat were going raw from it all - spurring a bud of guilt to sprout in Eddie's gut.
He didn't let you smoke going forward.
You accepted the new limitation because you couldn't handle telling him the truth. You chose to suffer for him, you chose to remain close and depend on him more than you should've. It became increasingly painful to live through your days, and to your heart-stopping fear, the pain was tenfold when you were nearest Eddie.
Eddie, who was oblivious to your pain.
Eddie, who couldn't pick up a fucking hint.
Eddie, who you've been in love with since you were a kid.
Eddie, who you spent every birthday and holiday with.
Eddie, who only ever wanted the pretty, popular head cheerleader... And not you.
Still, his friendship was better than nothing at all and you dealt with the staggering pain that soon left your limbs weak. Surely, the pain of losing him wouldn't match the pain you had now, so, you stuck it out.
You and Eddie hung out every weekend. You went to his shows at The Hideout, you helped him do his homework and study. You defended him against bullies, you'd wipe his tears, hold his hand through tattoos, you brought him new customers to up-charge his drug sales. You loved him, and you did what you could to show that without needing to verbalize it.
You laughed with him, cried, watched movies; went to concerts, checked out books in the library on how to fix automobiles to help him tune up his van. You remembered his Uncle Wayne's birthday and got him a new mug each year, you taught Eddie how to bake, you both would raid the music store and spend his drug money - and he'd always buy you a new record, even if it "wasn't real music".
Because that's what best friends did - they loved each other unconditionally.
And for years, you'd watch him stare after the pretty captain of the cheer team; her oblivious to his staring and him oblivious to yours. It was like a never-ending circle, watching the three of you idiots tiptoe around feelings and truth. Yet Eddie was focused on what was in front of him in the form of Chrissy, never bothering to ever check to see what was behind him - in the form of you.
Because you were always there. A constant presence tethered to his soul, forever being a safety net during the times he pushes himself too far.
The stake in your heart drove deeper when he'd ask your opinion on his hair - wondering if Chrissy would notice the trimmed dead ends (like you did). He'd ask you what flower was your favorite, because he wanted to impress the pretty strawberry blonde with a pretty bouquet. He asked you for a mixtape of your favorite love songs - learning a few of them on his guitar in the hopes of serenading the girl who you'd never be.
Thing was, Eddie was the only constant in your life and you felt it was impossible to walk away from him; some kind of chain keeping you from ever wondering too far. He was there from Day One, never leaving your side, and always knowing when something was wrong - until now.
When your symptoms graduated to coughing out blood daily, he didn't notice. When your chest was ready to cave in, making your breaths ragged and wheezy, he didn't notice. When your eyes became dull and lifeless due to the consistent pain that didn't let you rest through the night, he didn't notice.
What he did notice, was how Chrissy Cunningham was paying him slightly more attention since she and Jason Carver broke up. He noticed when her hair was different, he'd rave about how good she looked in the color green, gush to you in excitement when Mr. Lang had assigned them as project partners, and how Chrissy told him how funny she thought he was.
And the first day they decided to hang out together outside of educational purposes was the day you coughed out a full bloom. Floating on the surface of the water plugged in your bathroom sink was a white chrysanthemum, speckled in bright red blood; a string of red-stained saliva dripping from your mouth as you stared in shock. The face scrub popped lightly on your cheeks and fingertips, but your skincare routine was forgotten as you registered the newest symptom change.
This was new, this was much more painful. The usually beautiful flowers slowly grew in your lungs, sprouting thorns the longer you fought against your feels - refusing to admit defeat, and confess your deepest, longest kept secret.
For the following days, you were excusing yourself every single class period to retch into a toilet bowl, the blooms now sopping wet from your blood due to the shredded rawness of your throat and lungs.
Eddie didn't notice because Chrissy's perfume was still in his nostrils. Her swaying ponytail still behind his eyes. Her beaming smile painted in his mind, and fingers tingling from the ghostly memory of her hand in his.
Thorns sliced your throat, stabbed your tongue, and shredded the inside of your cheeks when you tried to spit them out as quick as possible. It was like your blood was made of glue, keeping the blooms and thorns stuck to your mouth and lips - no matter how your river of tears tried to wash them away. Or how your sobbing breath tried to force them out into the toilet - they just wouldn't budge.
Petals and flowers and thorns stuck to you, like your love for Eddie.
And Eddie didn't notice because Chrissy was wearing that skirt today, and he was telling you all about how beautiful she was instead of focusing on spending quality time with you; instead of noticing how you visibly shrunk into yourself in an effort to quell the pain throbbing in your chest and head, in an effort to block out the pain of hearing the boy you love gush about the girl he loves.
Breathing became harder, as if something were blocking your lungs. Blocking the passageway air needed to travel; blocking you out of your life. It took a physical toll; color of your eyes dulling, hair drying of any moisture, bones protruding from the harsh symptoms that refused to ease in severity. You felt fear for the first time since the 8th grade and this had all first started; trying to weigh your options over what to do.
Three options...
Eddie didn't notice your turmoil to make a decision because Chrissy agreed to a date with him.
Before you know it - years have passed since your first indication of symptoms. You prayed for deliverance, but God couldn't hear you through your gargled cries; coughing petals and blooms out between blobs of thick clots. Your pillow cases were all soiled, yet you couldn't replace them - it was futile with the way blood shot from your mouth and nose. You ran through tissues more than tampons, and your bedroom became something akin to a hospice room.
Eddie didn't notice when you dulled of life.
Being as you were now seniors, you figured showing up at Eddie's trailer in the middle of the night wasn't totally weird. After all, you both had sought refuge with the other since before you really understood what friendship meant. With worry and fear dropping your heart to your feet from the weight of your panic, you hopped in your beat up Toyota and drove through town to reach Eddie's home; used tissues scattered across the passenger seat - all saturated with blooming drops of blood.
You had no idea how to explain what was happening, but you needed to tell him. You needed help, and if there was a chance all of this could be over if you just told him the truth, you were willing to let down your walls. Eddie had always told you he'd do anything to help you, and you just banged your hands on the steering wheel as you tried to rid the idea from your mind that that, too, had changed.
When you got to Eddie's front door, the lights were on and you prayed he'd answer despite the late hour. You knocked, waited; knocked again, waited some more. After 4 minutes, you were pounding at his front door until it was shoved open - forcing you back a step - and to your horror, there stood Chrissy Cunningham... In Eddie's favorite Metallica shirt.
And only his shirt.
"Oh, hey," Chrissy smiles awkwardly, shifting her weight over her feet. Her shining strawberry blonde hair is strung off her neck in a messy bun that makes her look fucking ethereal. "Um, Eddie's in the shower... Do you want me to go get him for you?"
But the small blemish poking out from the collar of the shirt she wore made you shake your head through tears; trying to offer a small smile. "No, oh, my God, I'm so sorry, I-I didn't mean to interrupt. Shit, my bad, Chrissy," you backed away down the stairs, needing to use the railing to save yourself from falling over.
"You weren't," she assured. "We were, um... Done. H-He's in the shower, why don't you come in?" Her brows pulled together as if a string was threaded between them, offering sweetly, "I was gonna make some tea, do you want some? We could, um, hang out? Until he's out of the shower, i-if you want?"
FUCK! You knew Eddie didn't have fucking tea, so, the sweetheart must've brought it with her and now, she's offering to make you some? God damn it. Why'd she have to be so nice!?
"Oh, yeah, um, no, no thanks, Chrissy, that's really nice of you, but it's really nothing. I should just get going, I'll talk to him later, um... H-Have a nice weekend, and I'm sorry, again."
"Are you sure? You look kinda upset - I don't think you should drive right now."
Eddie didn't notice - but one look from Chrissy Cunningham and she had. If your heart wasn't broken before, it was now.
You nodded despite the pain swelling in your chest, "Yeah, no, no I'm fine - I should've just called. It's not a big deal, I'm sorry again, um, good night, Chrissy, um, yeah - just, yeah, have a nice night."
She nodded, "You, too. I hope you feel better, I'll tell Eddie you stopped by."
You trusted that she would, returning home and with petals still sticking to your tongue, charged into your mother's room. She sat up in her bed in shock - late night shifts taking their toll and leaving her sleep deprived. This was her first weekend off in months, and you felt terrible for interrupting her, but you couldn't hold it in anymore.
You needed your mother. You needed her more than ever before because your fear was tangible, and you weren't ready to die.
See, thing is, your mother was borderline your best friend (besides Eddie, that is). She and your father had been high school sweethearts, married, and he died in a tragic car accident on the night your mother was going to tell him she was pregnant on their first wedding anniversary. She never dated, she never brought a man home, she only focused on you. When you got older, she figured she could work more and you were happy to support her; taking up more house chores to save her from any unnecessary stress.
It was just you and your mother... Until Eddie, then, he was a constant presences at your dinner table. He had his own Christmas stocking your mother knitted. His favorite snacks kept in a stocked up supply for whenever he chooses to visit. And you and your mother would spend an entire day baking a cake for his birthday before hosting a full meal for him and his Uncle Wayne.
Your mother never had an issue with doing any of that because she was grateful for Eddie being in your life. It made her feel as if you'd never be alone.
However, you now felt like a burden, but the moment your mother clocked your tears and trembling hands clutching bloody tissues, she was beckoning you to her chest and begging you to tell her what was wrong as she rocked you soothingly.
So, you confessed. Everything.
From that night in 7th grade when you saw Eddie mesmerized by Chrissy Cunningham for the first time. That being the night you coughed out petals... And how everything changed and got worse from there on, and you didn't understand what was wrong, why you were suffering.
You told her about how you were now coughing out the full thorny blooms, how the bleeding wouldn't stop; how the pain was festering, spreading, and suffocating your heart, mind, and soul.
You told her about tonight... What you saw... How nice the cheerleader had been, how you couldn't find it in your heart to hate her, and how you didn't know what to do anymore.
You told her how Eddie didn't notice anymore - he couldn't see you - because he could only see Chrissy, and it was slowly killing you.
It took all night to explain, and your mother sat you at the kitchen table. She made you hot tea and plated a few cookies - talking well through the night and into the morning. She wanted to understand everything and as the sun breached the horizon, she was encouraging you to tell Eddie how you felt after reading the same book you had that explained the disease you suffered from.
You told her she was crazy, but she begged you to at least try. She validated that you had the right idea in going to his trailer; she thought that you and Eddie had always been cute, that you'd make a great couple; and though your sense of style had changed again (after it didn't get Eddie's attention, like you'd hoped), she still thought you two complimented each other well. "You balance each other, my dove," she whispered. "Tell him. Please, for your own sake."
So, you bucked up the courage to tell him on Monday. You'd see him at school and couldn't back down, leaving it neutral grounds for you both to be honest and open in. Or, so you hoped.
That morning, you caught Eddie before he could enter the school and asked to talk to him. "Shit, I meant to call you, doll," he breathed, looking at you with concern. "Chrissy said you were upset and showed up at my door - are you okay? What was wrong? I'm sorry I wasn't there."
So, when Chrissy points it out, he pays attention. Instead, you just answered, "It's okay, I'm okay. Um, c-can we go talk? Privately?"
"Of course, yeah, c'mon," he agreed, leading you to the lesser-populated hallway to slip into the old drama classroom that now posed as the Hellfire Club room. Eddie sat on his throne but leaned forward on his knees to hold your hands as you took time to think over in your mind what you wanted to say.
"Eddie," you whispered. "I-I just really need to tell you something, and you have to promise not to hate me after."
He nodded, "I could never hate you, pretty girl, and you know you can tell me anything."
"Right," you sniffled. "Well, um, listen, I just want you to know that I-I value this friendship more than anything, and never want to jeopardize it..."
"Okay, now you're scaring me," Eddie chuckled. His hands squeezed yours, encouraging, "C'mon, sweetheart, what's going on in that pretty little head of yours?"
You nodded, blurting, "I'm in love with you."
Only the silence stretched between you two like an oversized bubble of Hubba Bubba - popping as your words registered in his mind. His eyes just shot between both of yours, mouth opening to form a word before sighing and shaking his head. Panic and fear gripped your heart, lungs, and mind in a tighter vice than the white chrysanthemums' roots.
"You can't be," he finally whispered brokenly.
A record scratched in your head, "What?"
"You can't be in love with me," his head shook as he repeated his statement. "No, no, you - you can't be."
"Why can't I be? Is it that hard to imagine?"
"Because you're my best friend - you're supposed to be my best friend!" He looked spooked, startled, unsure, and like he was going to have an anxiety attack. "You can't be in love with me, you're just - no!"
"Well, I didn't exactly plan it."
"Just - stop!"
"Stop what?"
"Stop loving me!"
"You don't think I've tried!?"
"Try harder!"
"For fuck's sake, Eddie! You don't think this is hard enough?"
"Well, it'd be easier if you had some kind of restraint!" He snipped, wiping a hand down his mouth. "Shit, I mean, what the hell am I supposed to do about this?"
"I-I don't know!"
"Well, why tell me?"
You gulped, fearing telling him the truth now. Instead, you just whispered, "I-I take it you don't feel the same?"
"Shit, sweetheart," he sniffled, shaking his head, "y-you know I love you but... But no, I-I'm not in love with you."
You nod slowly, blinking even slower, "No?"
"I'm so sorry - fuck, God damn it."
"It's not your fault," you promised. "I-I didn't mean for this to happen, okay? I swear, I didn't want to do this, I never wanted things to change between us."
He nodded sadly, "I get that, I do, but I think I need time to think."
"Wait, what? Think about what, Eddie? L-Like - you need to think about us? You need time to think about us?" You squeaked, panic swelling. You started to cough lightly, that sticky feeling clogging your throat again.
"Yeah," he whispered. "Because I'm with Chrissy and I don't think she would like... This."
Now you understood... "So, because you're dating Chrissy, you can't be friends with me? We've been friends forever, Eddie, why does this have to change things?"
"Because you're in love with me! I didn't want you to be, you were supposed to be my friend. Just my friend!"
"I'm sorry it happened, but why does this mean we can't still be friends? I've dealt with it this long, I can go longer - "
"Because I'm in love with Chrissy, and can't do this to her! For fuck's sake, why'd you have to do this, huh? Why'd you have to fall in love with me right when I got a girlfriend - "
"It didn't just happen, Eddie, I've been in-love with you since middle school! But notice how we stayed friends! Please - please, we can stay friends, this doesn't have to change anything."
He shook his head, standing abruptly, "It changes everything. I gotta go - I just can't be here, I'm sorry."
"Eddie! Please! Wait, just wait, please, let me explain!" You begged, watching him flee the room; the door slamming in an echo around you and forcing the tears teetering in your waterline to fall pathetically. You felt your heart nailing you to the floor, tears falling numbly down your cheeks; hands shaking and coughing getting worse. Your hands finally found feeling again and rose, covering your mouth and nose to catch the splatter.
You hacked as your lungs shriveled to expel whatever clogged them, falling to your knees and needed to use two fingers to reach in the back of your throat to pull a full floral bloom out; blood dripping off of it and from your mouth to soak into the old, dingy carpet. The thorns pierced your finger pads when you rolled the short stem between them, the flower falling into the puddle of blood you'd spat out.
Stumbling to your feet, you kept a tissue in hand and covering your mouth; the material slowly saturating as you punched your mother's number in the outside payphone.
"Mom?" You begged into the receiver, wheezing and sobbing through the pain. Everything had changed, again. "I-I need you to take me to the hospital. Please, Mommy, i-it's hurts. 'S blood everywhere, an-and the pain - Mommy, please, it hurts so bad."
Your mother was pulling up in a skidding halt within 6 minutes. Her rubber tires burned over the pavement, slight smoke wafting into the air to indicate not just her speed, but her harsh stop when she saw your body bolting towards her.
From the side of the school, moments before the first bell rang, Robin Buckley and Nancy Wheeler watched you fully sprint for the car and how fast your mother pulled off, sharing an uneasy look before darting for the same payphone and calling Steve Harrington.
But they couldn't find you all over town, opting to wait at your house instead. They only waited for about an hour before your mother's car was pulling into the driveway.
"You gonna tell them?" Your mom muttered, smiling and waving at the three teenagers.
"Yeah," you whispered. "Doctors said keeping it a secret doesn't make it easier, right?"
She nodded, "For whatever it's worth, my dove, I think you're making the right decision. This took a lot of bravery, but you're going to get better, and you're going to feel better, too."
"I know," you whispered with a watery smile. "Just gonna suck until Thursday."
"I'll call the school, you're gonna be out for recovery for at least 2 weeks."
"Don't forget my post-op appointment," you nodded.
"Right," she agreed, opening her door and triggering you to follow suit. "Hey, kids," she beamed at your worried friends.
They greeted her politely (but enthusiastically) before she was excusing herself and heading for the house. It left you to stand before the three people, who, up until a few years ago, you wouldn't have imagined being real friends with.
Technically, you and Nancy Wheeler had been friends since before Eddie; Robin and Steve coming into your life through inter-dimensional circumstances before choosing to stick around.
"Are you okay?" Nancy asked first, looking the most worried. "We saw you running from school and thought something was wrong."
"So, you blew off school to stalk my house?" you teased lightly, trying to alleviate the pain settling on your heart after leaving the hospital.
"Exactly," Robin crossed her arms. "You ran like something was chasing you - we knew something was wrong. What is it? A-Are you okay? I mean, you looked pretty spooked, we were afraid something else came back - you know - "
"Okay, Robin, yeah," you chuckled lightly, interrupting her rapid words. "Um, I appreciate the concern, but it could've waited."
"Not when you've been acting funny for months now," Nancy shook her head. "Don't think we haven't noticed; you're skinnier, you look like you haven't slept in weeks, you carry tissues around like you're paid for it... What's up with you?"
"And I've clocked the constant nose bleeds," Steve nodded, arms folding against his chest. "Look, if something's going on, you're going to need friends through it, and we're willing to take on the job."
Your heart swelled slightly and you nodded, blinking quickly to keep the tears down. "Um, yeah... Yeah," you sniffled, looking up at them as the emotion couldn't be kept out of your voice, "something's going on, and um... I-I think I would like to tell you guys about it. Do you mind waiting in the backyard? I've gotta grab a book from inside, trust me, it can explain some things better than I can."
Nancy looked nervous as her fingers twisted together; Robin nodding before nudging her along. Steve shifted on his feet and dropped his arms, clearing his throat, "You sure?"
"Yeah," you nodded with a whisper. "Just hang tight."
He nodded with crinkled brows of concern, heading off behind the two girls as you bolted for the front door. Your mother was heard in her room, on the phone, and you dropped your school bag on your bed, snatched up the library book you checked out every year, and made for your backyard.
As kids, you and Nancy loved hanging out here because it was spacious, and your mother had a beautiful garden with patio furniture nestled amongst the greenery. At the white-washed table, Steve, Nancy, and Robin waited together, muttering quietly, and left you to take your seat.
Sighing, you opened the book and slid it forward; Nancy's hands darting to pick it up and read swiftly as you began your tale. After voicing everything to your mother, you had a better idea of how to word it all; starting with when you realized you had a crush on Eddie in the 5th grade, how it festered in middle school, and when you realized you'd only be friends - so, you kept it that way.
You told them about the tiny bits of torn up petals, then how they became intact. Next, you explained how things got worse for you; blooms being coughed out with blood, how Eddie crushed majorly on Chrissy, and then to how everything hit rock bottom.
You explained the petals changed into full blooms, sprouting thorns as you stuffed your feelings deeper inside your cracked heart. You explained the constant pain, the confusion, the sleeplessness, showed them the cuts on your lips and in your mouth; even picking a leftover petal from the inside of your cheek to prove your point.
Steve's hand deftly reached out to examine it.
You explained the mental anguish of loving someone who couldn't love you back; the anguish of being so close - yet so far; and the anguish of knowing you were being killed from the inside, out because you couldn't let go of your overwhelming feelings for Eddie 'the Freak' Munson.
Then... You told them about Chrissy and Eddie at his trailer when you went to tell him the truth. How you confided in your mother for the first time in years. How you were encouraged to tell Eddie - and how it royally backfired, which lead you to today.
To your decision.
To your appointment at the hospital that your mother bullied administration into giving you last minute.
To meeting the cardiothoracic surgeon that diagnosed you with, as the library book highlighted, Hanahaki Disease.
Steve had tears in his eyes; elbows bent on the tabletop to keep his folded hands in front of his mouth, like he was physically suppressing his emotion with the petal laid to the table. Robin stared at you the whole time, never once making you feel as if you were talking to thin air; brows crinkled and perked at appropriate moments, never interrupting.
Nancy had read the entire passage before slamming the book down and letting her tears fall. She listened intently as you explained to the three that you had to choose one of three options, and immediately after that, you told them you had come to a decision.
You'd made the appointment and you were to under the knife that Thursday before returning in two weeks for a post-op check-up that would ensure all of the blooms were cleared from your lungs. And after today, you had discovered the plants were creeping up your esophagus and if you waited, soon, it would kill you.
"Well, why're you upset?" Robin asked gently, reaching for your hand. "This is good, right? Y-You'll be cured!"
You nodded in agreement, but it was Nancy voicing, "She'll forget Eddie completely."
"What?" Steve asked, looking between you and Nancy urgently. "Are you serious?"
"It's the only contingency in exchange for my life," you nodded.
"You've been friends forever," he shook his head, leaning back. "No, I just - I can't believe him. He doesn't love you back? That's just bullshit - c'mon!"
"Steve - "
"No, seriously!" he cut Robin off, her hand tightening in mine. "We've all seen how he looks at you, how he behaves! It doesn't make sense, it's not possible. He's just scared," his head shook still, looking angry with pinched brows. "He's scared and he's not thinking."
"No, Stevie," you whispered, "he understands, and trust me, he doesn't feel the same. It's okay."
"You'll forget your best friend," Steve shook his head. "That's not okay."
"It's a small price to pay, right?"
Nancy nodded, "If it means you're out of pain, and you won't die, yeah, I'd say it's a reasonable price to pay."
You agreed, "It's gonna be okay, but I'll be in recovery until the surgeon okay's me to return to school and normal activity."
"Will you remember why you need the surgery?" Robin wondered.
"Apparently not," you shrugged.
For the next few days, you remained at home and prepared for your operation. Your mother worked extra shifts because she was taking Thursday through TBD in order to take care of you, and your friends visited you everyday.
Nobody spoke of Eddie, who had asked Robin that Wednesday where you were - only to receive a fierce glare and slammed locker in his face. Chrissy's brows furrowed at the aggression, worrying something was wrong with you if your friends were shunning Eddie. She reminded him of how upset you'd been when you showed up at his trailer, his mind flashing to when he found a bloodied white chrysanthemum in the Hellfire room after he left you when you confessed your feelings for him.
He knew that was why you showed up at his trailer that night, and his heart constricted as he grew cold in your absence. He had to admit, if you've had these feelings since middle school, you never let it interfere with your friendship and he was a fool for blowing up at you.
Could it really be that hard to love you? Was the idea that far fetched?
The day of your surgery, your mother and you pushed out of your front door at 4 am to make it to the hospital for pre-op; blood work; all the standard procedures that needed done before you were sliced open and roots carved out of your lungs. And to your honest shock? Steve Harrington was waiting on the street, leaning on his car, dressed in a pair of jeans and an old hoodie.
"What're you doing here?" You wondered, oblivious to your mother's knowing smirk.
Steve shrugged lightly, "Figured you'd want a familiar face around, and Nance and Robin have tests in school today - otherwise, they'd be here, too."
"'Too'?" You repeated with a soft smile.
"Yeah, well, I-I'd still be here," he nodded. "Is that okay?"
"Yeah," you breathed, nodding with a soft smile. "I think I'd really appreciate the, um..."
"Support? Comfort? Seeing my pretty face when you wake up from anesthesia?" He grinned.
"All of the above, Harrington, c'mon," you chuckled, waving him with you. In your mother's car, she kept conversation light as a distraction when your nerves flared the closer you drove to the hospital; the boy in the back doing his best to chime in charmingly. Steve was allowed to stay with you once in the pre-op procedure room (again, your mother bullied hospital admin into letting him stay), and cracked a few really poor jokes while needles were poked into your skin.
Medicine was administered, your hair stuffed into a surgical cap, vitals taken for a final time - and then it was time to go.
When you were wheeled away, Steve squeezed your hand and your mother kissed your forehead; both wishing you luck, reminding you of your brave decision, and sent you down the sterile hallway. While staring up at the blinding, florescent lights of the operating room, a gas mask was placed over your mouth and the anesthesiologist instructing you to count backward from ten... And your heart begged you to change your mind.
Begged you not to erase Eddie. Begged you to jump off that table.
But your mind told only your tongue to move, and you counted, "Ten."
Eddie's soft hair through your fingers, "Nine."
Eddie's stupid grin when he's showing you a new guitar riff he'd mastered, "Eight."
Eddie's laugh, "Seven."
The warmth of Eddie's hugs, "Six."
His hands holding your cheeks, thumbs sweeping to clear your tears as he would coo to you, trying to calm you down, "...Five..."
"She's out," the doctors nodded to one another; scalpels clinking over the sterile table, machines beeping to indicate vital readings, and rubber gloves snapped into place as your hospital gown was peeled away, and disinfecting betadine squirted over your skin.
Across town, in the hallways of Hawkins High, Eddie was pacing by your locker. He looked disheveled, not himself; confused and scared, by what Robin could judge.
"What're you doing here?" she shot venomously, using her hand to push his chest and force him back a step from your locker.
"Where is she?" he begged. "Please, Robin, I know she's hurt - I know I hurt her, but I have to talk to her an-and she hasn't been at school all week. Please - I have to talk to her."
She used your combination to open your locker and set the packet of missed work inside for her to pick up at the end of the day, sneering, "It's too late."
"No, it's not - "
"No, seriously, Eddie," she snapped, the locker slamming in an echo. "It's too late for you. She's let you go, time for you to do the same."
For two weeks, Eddie repeated the last words he'd said to you, how broken you looked when he said he didn't love you. The words you said to him, then how you weren't seen again, to that bloody flower he found, and how Robin, Nancy, and Steve were all giving him the cold shoulder. He thought over what went wrong and every single way he was going to make it up to you, because while he might be in love with Chrissy Cunningham, there was never replacing you - and he needed you.
Eddie needed you.
And his heart sunk to his stomach as he realized how bitter he's turned; shunning Chrissy, becoming testy, canceling Hellfire, and missing you to the point he was tugging his hair out of his scalp and chain smoking cigarettes.
Loving you was easy and maybe he's loved you longer than he's known - longer than he ever wanted to admit. But missing you was hard, and Eddie wasn't accustomed to it.
It was supposed to be easy between you two, but when you confessed your feelings, Eddie felt everything become messy and change. Eddie Munson wasn't very good with change. He missed your laugh, he missed your comfort, a few times he'd even looked up to his bed when he mastered a new guitar riff - and feeling his heart sink in disappointment when he only saw Chrissy.
Granted, she was smiling at him, but it wasn't your smile. Tears filled his eyes when he realized he spent every Friday with Chrissy, finding new ways to impress the cheerleader, and feeling crushed when he remembered he never needed to impress you. You were always proud of him, you always encouraged him, and with a single look, you could say more than ever opening your mouth.
Eddie needed you, and he had ruined any chance of loving you properly. But Edward Munson was stubborn and not willing to give up, not until you were beating him off with a stick. The two of you had been friends forever and he knew you had some fights, but one way or another, someone was always apologizing and together, you could move past the issue. So, until you were telling him to fuck off, he was going to try - because you had never given up on him.
Two weeks of nothing. Two weeks of your home's voicemail. Two weeks of nobody answering the front door. Two weeks of confusion, heartache, and stress. Two weeks of smoking packs of cigarettes, of snapping at Chrissy, of praying to a God he's never prayed to before.
When he saw you that Friday, Eddie's heart leapt into his throat and he gave a strangled gasp before sprinting across the carpark to make it to your side. You were surrounded by Nancy Wheeler and Robin Buckley, all three piling out of Steve Harrington's car - who now leaned on his driver's door, mid-conversation - and he thought you looked more beautiful than ever.
The weight you've lost had slowly built back up now that you weren't constantly vomiting. Your head had cleared, your heart feeling lighter than ever before, your veins racing with helium, and the bags under your eyes had cleared. In fact, your eyes looked clearer than they ever had, and your skin was practically glowing.
God did you look good.
Eddie panted your name, coming to a skidding halt as Steve pushed off his car and looked at you with worry.
Why would Harrington need to worry about you?
"Oh, uh, hi there?" you nodded at him, tugging your binder closer to your chest and sending a cautious look to Robin.
But Eddie's heart was in his throat, "I-I need to talk to you, please."
To his horror, you shook your head, "Um, I don't think we actually have anything to talk about."
"What? No, we have so much to discuss, please, I know I was a jackass and you don't deserve that - "
"Wait, hang on, I-I'm sorry. You don't understand, we don't have anything to talk about," you chuckled weakly, "because I don't know you."
Ice shot into Eddie's veins, stuttering, "W-What? Th-That's not funny, doll, don't joke like that."
You looked at Nancy for support, whispering in a small, panicked voice, "I don't know him, do I, Nance? I don't think I know him."
"No, honey," Nancy assured, smiling softly at you before glaring at Eddie. "He's just a classmate."
Eddie knew Nancy was protective of you but what the hell was going on? What kind of a sick prank was this? Look, Eddie knew he's pulled some mean jokes in his life but this? This wasn't mean, it was cruel, and he didn't find it funny in the least bit.
"What? No - what the hell are you guys talking about?" Eddie begged, looking between the four teenagers. "Sweetheart, it's me - it's Eddie. It's your Eddie, please, what do you mean you don't know me - what's going on? This isn't funny, sweetheart, please, okay? Look, we've known each other a decade, right, how can you - how can you not know me?"
"I'm really sorry, um... Eddie? Was it Eddie?"
His heart shattered, shards stinging as they were pumped through the rest of his body. "Sweetheart, no, please, I just... I'm so sorry, but this isn't funny - "
"Look, I'm really sorry, but this isn't a joke, I really don't know you," your head shook. "And I would remember someone I've known a decade - right?" You asked Nancy again, looking nervous. "I-I don't know him, but he knows me. Nancy, I-I don't understand, I don't know what's wrong. Is something wrong with me?"
"No, honey," she rushed to speak, sending Steve a pointed look when stress made your eyes shine. "You're okay, you're okay, it's okay."
"Okay, hey, hey, hey, okay," Steve stepped in, pushing Eddie back a few steps. "You need to back off, you're upsetting her."
"I'm upsetting her?" he repeated, tears collecting as his feet tried to plant against Steve's force. "She doesn't remember me - "
"Back off, dude," Steve warned.
"I'm really sorry," you called to him, genuine look of distorted pain over your face. "I'm sorry," you repeated to Robin and Nancy, "I-I don't know him, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I-I don't know what's wrong, I'm sorry - "
"Hey, hey, breathe, okay? It's all fine, it's all good, you're okay, I promise, just try to focus on breathing," Robin assured, hand rubbing circles over your back.
"No! Baby! You do know me!" Eddie begged over Steve's shoulder as Nancy turned you away. "Please! No! You know me, baby! Don't do this, please, please, I need you! Sweetheart - please! I need you, and I'm so sorry for what I said! Don't do this! No, please, I-I'm sorry!"
His heart glued itself back together just to shatter once again when Robin took your books to let your hands slap over your ears to block him out as Nancy directed you away - Steve still pushing Eddie back.
"Dude!" Steve snapped with anger coloring his iris' a darker shade, "You're fucking upsetting her!"
"Steve, please - "
"No," Steve shook his head. "You had your chance, and it's too late. Okay? Leave her alone, she doesn't remember and doesn't need you trying to 'remind' her when it's already done, dude. Okay? It's done."
"What the hell does that mean? Please, Steve, I need her - she's my best friend and I can fix this," Eddie begged.
Steve felt fleeting compassion for the other boy, seeing the distress and heartbreak over his face. Steve sighed, glancing back to see you being spoken to softly by Nancy and Robin, assuring you it was okay not to remember the boy with long hair, before turning to look into the eyes that had broken your heart on too many occasions.
"She doesn't remember because you were removed from her memory, Ed, you were just... All of you was removed from her, okay?" Steve sighed finally. "Look, it's hard to explain, but do yourself and her a favor?"
"Anything."
"Go to the library and look this up," he pulled a torn piece of paper from his pocket, handing it over. "It'll explain what was wrong, and you should hopefully be able to piece together why she can't remember you. Don't make this harder, all right? She's finally okay, and you were so sure you didn't want her that it's time for you to be okay without her, too. Don't do this to her, man, you get me?"
"What did I do?" Eddie whispered.
Steve gulped, shaking his head, "You couldn't love her back."
Eddie stood there, piece of paper clutched in his fingertips like the petal of a flower, as Steve turned and headed for you three girls. He lifted his arm to bring you in for a side hug, assuring you that it was okay not to remember - while Eddie stood there, like you had so many times, watching with tears and heartbreak in his eyes.
He didn't go to classes, he obsessively searched books for the Hanahaki Disease Steve told him about; finding his answers, and never finding peace. He had to live everyday watching you really bloom into your own person; becoming more radiant by the passing second, realizing he was draining you of your life before, and how there wouldn't ever be room for him with you now.
When you graduated with an acceptance to your first choice college, you returned home in your cap and gown with a giggling Robin and Nancy; planning on changing and getting ready to hit a few grad parties already. The girls were so excited that you were feeling (and looking) better now that they didn't want to waste anymore time and insisted you all hit a few parties. However, before you could hop up the stairs to your room, a large bouquet of flowers caught your attention.
Sat on your kitchen counter was a thick bouquet of white chrysanthemums. There was no note, no signature, but something in your gut twisted with knowledge. Your fingers reached out to gently stroke the petals before smiling lightly, leaning in to sniff them, and then turn for the stairs to rush up to your bedroom.
All the while across town, a long haired metalhead in a matching green cap and gown, tipped a bottle of Irish whiskey to his lips; a single stemmed white chrysanthemum rolled between his fingers; old polaroid photos scattered around his body on the floor, tears sliding down his cheeks, and regret echoing across his mind.
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