Johan & North | Fourever You | Episode 12
Hill. Close your boyfriend’s eyes. Jo...you are too much.

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Johan & North | Fourever You | Episode 12
Hill. Close your boyfriend’s eyes. Jo...you are too much.
Xiaoge Cats can return home weeks, months or years later, but if they pick you as theirs they will always remember you and return home.
wangxian whoops drunk texted voice messaged your BFF that you’re into him trope:
[find on Ao3]
Lan Wangji woke up at his normal time of 5 am and started his morning like he always did. Saturdays, by virtue of being one of his only days commitment-free, were busy in other ways.
He finished his morning exercising, showering, and breakfast before even looking at his phone. No one who texted him would expect a text back immediately, and emergencies would have called and rang through.
1 Message from Wei Ying: voice message 9 minutes. 4:03 am.
Hm. He pressed play.
Lan Zhan! Wei Ying’s voice was quiet like he was trying not to wake anyone up. He giggled a little, clearly intoxicated. I would have called but I know you let my calls through and I didn’t want to wake you! I need to ask you something and I don’t think I can type right now
He giggled again and Lan Wangji put his assessment from drunk to very drunk.
Wei Ying then went silent. He was silent for so long Lan Wangji thought he might have fallen asleep. From his shallow breathing, he probably had. He put his phone down on the table, resigning himself to listening to nine minutes of Wei Ying breathing. In a way it was calming, Wei Ying’s presence next to him as he finished clearing his breakfast dishes.
After a few minutes Wei Ying’s breathing snorted, and then he began to speak again like he hadn’t trailed off for a catnap. It was sweet.
Do you ever think about sex?
That was less sweet. Lan Wangji felt all his attention go towards his phone, narrowed to a single priority.
Because I do.
Lan Wangji snatched his phone off the table as though that would help the current situation.
(the situation being the man he’d been in love with for the last decade asking if he ever thought about sex in a low, intimate tone)
I think about you all the time when I’m getting off. I was just thinking about you. Lan Zhan, do you think about it? We’d be so good together.
Lan Wangji, despite knowing Wei Ying for half his life, had never found himself in a situation that called for swearing.
“Fuck,” he whispered to the version of Wei Ying in his phone, a recording that couldn’t hear him or answer back.
Wei Ying laughed again. Lan Wangji was able to picture him, curled in bed in the dark with his phone held next to his face.
There’s so much I want to do with you. Did you know? All my fantasies for the future start and end with you. Do you want to hear them?
He wasn’t sure he could survive hearing them. Situationally, he wasn’t sure he should even still be listening, acknowledging that Wei Ying was drunk enough to be sharing secrets.
He couldn’t stop listening.
Wei Ying was silent for a moment, like this secret was something that was difficult to say. Lan Wangji started to sweat with the possibilities of what Wei Ying could have trouble saying. Wei Ying was so free about saying whatever came to mind. Whatever it was would be devastating. Whatever fantasies Wei Ying had about them together would be the only thing he’d be able to think of for the rest of his life, and he was starting to get hard anticipating it. His hands tightened into a fist and he forced himself to loosen them.
There’s a house for sale a few blocks from here, in the nicer part of town. It has great morning light that would be perfect for you to wake up to. The basement was retrofitted into a hobby room and a large family room. There’s a very large tub for sex and also my bad knee. A large yard so we could get pets, and if we had kids they could play at home and not have to walk blocks to see a blade of grass. I think about it sometimes. It’s overpriced. Been on the market for over 3 months. Or maybe something is wrong with it? It doesn’t matter. I can’t afford a house, and if we bought one it should be together. But gege it’s—
Wei Ying broke off.
Maybe we should get married.
“Yes,” he answered with a desperate tone, knowing it was only to himself.
Maybe ignore me. Good night Lan Zhan.
There was absolutely no hope that Lan Zhan could ignore him. Whatever he thought Wei Ying would say, it certainly wasn’t that. There was never any chance he could ignore whatever Wei Ying had to say, but there was a huge difference between drunk sex fantasies and—
He felt like Wei Ying had just given him something priceless and he was overwhelmed by the details of it.
He checked the time. It was 6:15 am. Wei Ying was still asleep. Most people were. How was he going to start the process of buying a house at 6:15 am on a Saturday?
»»————- ♡ ————-««
Wei Wuxian woke up with a headache and the vague idea that he had done something the night before that he shouldn’t have. All his memory could dredge up was the sense of holding his phone close to his face and talking with Lan Zhan.
He groaned and reached over to check. The recent call log was empty, but his bladder was not and that was more pressing than figuring out what he’d done.
The trip to the bathroom was quick, but there was a scent in the hallway of something cooking. He followed it to his kitchen to find Lan Zhan sitting at his small table, hands folded in front of him and his phone face down. There was a tightness around his mouth that said more than words could but he had no idea exactly what it was that it said.
“So I did do something?” He asked, voice croaky from sleep and alcohol. Lan Zhan got up and poured him some water.
Wei Wuxian resigned himself to facing whatever this was and sat across from him. At least the water felt refreshing.
Lan Zhan turned his phone to show him the voice message.
“Nine minutes! What could I possibly talk about for nine minutes?” He laughed and awkwardly scratched at a spot on the table. There were a lot of things he could have said, each slightly more embarrassing than the last.
“I’ll play it.”
“Please,” he said, desperation clear as he reached over the table to grasp Lan Zhan’s wrist. “Don’t. Spare me the nine minutes of torture. Please.”
“You should know what you said,” Lan Zhan told him with a firm expression. “I listened to it, despite understanding that I shouldn’t, so you should be aware of the contents.”
Wei Wuxian weighed that in his mind. Yeah. Yeah. He’d wonder at it forever if he didn’t know, but he also wasn’t sure he could force himself to listen. “Abridged version?”
“You said you had something to tell me that you couldn’t put in text. Then you fell asleep for 3 minutes and twenty seconds. You asked if I ever thought about sex. You said you think about me when you masturbate.”
Ack!
“More abridged!” Wei Ying cut him off.
Lan Zhan nodded and pulled out a set of matching rings and set them in front of him.
Wei Ying wheezed in shock. “Less abridged!”
“You explained your fantasy of buying a house together. I inquired about it this morning and the foundation is sinking, that’s why it’s still on the market. Also, we can take time to pick something together. I am told that can fun.”
What the fuck. What the fuck. He’d brought up the house? Sure, he’d looked at it a few times over the months and checked the street view but it wasn’t important.
“Then you suggested we get married.”
“I suggested we get married?” He echoed, feeling a sense of shock as he looked down at the rings and then at Lan Zhan.
“I am agreeing to your suggestion.”
“Oh.” He felt like he’d been hit over the head.
“If that is something you still want.”
Something he still wanted? He hadn’t known it was a fantasy! Sure, he’d looked at real estate and daydreamed about a future. Sure, more often than not Lan Zhan was there, but—
Lan Zhan was there, and his drunk self had proposed marriage, and—
“Yeah,” he said in a slow tone. “Yeah, ok. You’re right. I was right. Yeah, I want to get married. Is that weird? Can we just get engaged because I left a drunk voice message? Should we date first?”
“I’m also in agreement on your point that we should have sex,” Lan Zhan said. “We do not have to be engaged in order to fuck, but I would prefer for my priorities not to be misconstrued.”
Wei Wuxian’s throat made a screeching tea kettle sound that hurt his ears. He put his head in his hands. He mouthed the word fuck and pictured it coming out of Lan Zhan’s pristine mouth. He’d been trying to get Lan Zhan to swear for forever and yet hadn’t been ready for it. “Lan Zhan,” he whined. “Please. This is a lot.”
“Mn,” Lan Zhan agreed pointedly.
When he lifted his head to look at Lan Zhan he looked smug. The bastard. “Are you doing this on purpose to get back at me?”
“I wish to marry,” Lan Zhan said. “If receiving a proposal from your best friend moments after waking is a startling revelation, that is an unintended consequence.”
So, yes. Well, fuck it. He reached out and plucked the ring out of the box and put it on. “Fine. But let me eat and shower before we have sex, I feel like a blob and not a sexy blob.”
Lan Zhan put on the matching ring. “I would also prefer you ate and showered.”
Wow warn a guy before telling him he stinks.
Wei Wuxian looked down at their matching bands. “Are these supposed to be for the ceremony? I feel like these are for the ceremony.”
Lan Zhan shrugged.
“Yeah what’s the point of being proper now?” He said, still admiring their hands. He reached out so he could hold Lan Zhan’s hand. Seeing the bands side by side made his heart race. “On second thought I’m going to go shower now...”
“Mn,” Lan Zhan agreed. Then he leaned across the table and kissed him, slow and a little filthy.
Oh shit. That made everything seem a little more real. He wondered if Lan Zhan fucked the same way he kissed, and his brain stopped wondering at the slide of Lan Zhan’s tongue along the inside of his sensitive bottom lip. Wowowowowow.
“Ok. Ok,” he said, after Lan Zhan pulled away, like the kiss was a point. “Maybe I won’t shower and we can just continue that?”
Lan Zhan hesitated. It was a visible hesitation. “No,” he finally said. “Go shower.”
Wei Wuxian laughed all the way to the bathroom.
A/N:
Pretty sure wwx is about to be eaten out for like an hour but what do I know
Also, I feel like LWJ woke up a real estate agent at 7am prevailing on the Lan family name. Upon hearing that lwj was inquiring about one of the cheapest properties on his roster the agent got pissy at lwj. lwj got pissy in return for a perceived slight against wwx's dream house and now refuses to interact with the man when they're house hunting with a budget of a hundred milliony dollars, which is very pretty woman of him. no notes.
Sena never fails to look majestic
Khemjira in Texposts: Episode 7 edition
𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧
Best friends since middle school, you tell Eddie everything, which is why he's so surprised to find out you've been keeping a secret —you’re hearing a voice whenever you're home alone. He’s always had a thing for the fantastical but he can't believe in ghosts, and the longer you insist on it, the more worried he becomes. This would be bad enough if Eddie didn’t have a secret too, and it threatens to change everything between you. [22k]
fem!reader, best friends to lovers slow-burn, mutual pining, eddie is infatuated with you, idiots in love, paranormal activity/au, heavy hurt/comfort, angst, fluff and affection, wayne is uncle of the year every year, ghost-hunting
cw assumed auditory hallucinations, talk of mental health, surrounding worry and circumstances, mentioned mental illness stigma, recreational drug use mention, prescription drugs, grief
my endless gratitude and thank yous to @h-ness1944 and @mrcylvsu for their sensitivity beta reads and for answering my questions so many moons ago, I'm very, very thankful for all that hard work, and all the time and energy you both spent!
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
Eddie's desk fan is on the fritz. It twists back and forth with a weak metallic clicking sound that promises eventual electrocution but for now provides momentary relief. Even the nights have been hell lately. No matter how many windows he and Wayne open, the air at home stays thick with humidity.
Sweat shines on his brow and collar. He refuses to tie his hair back, and each hour it grows more and more uncomfortable.
"Are you sure you don't wanna come and lie up here?" he asks, shifting reluctantly to peer over the side of the bed.
You're laying on the floor of his room, just as sweaty but half as unhappy. You've abandoned a book to your left, having declared the weather too much to concentrate through.
"Our body heat will mingle."
"The fan is really helping," he argues lightly. "If you die on my floor Wayne won't ever let it go. Just come up here."
You mumble something he doesn't hear and pull your shirt from your chest. You attempt to fan yourself with the thin, clinging fabric. It doesn't work, but it does expose the soft hill of your abdomen to his guilty eyes. His mouth dries up.
"It's getting late," he says. He's not trying to get rid of you, promise, but now he's thinking about your body heat mingling and why it wouldn't be such a bad thing, and he doesn't want to. "I'll drive you home, yeah?"
"In a minute," you agree, looking as if you have no intention of moving.
You turn your face to the side, eyes closed, lashes skimming the delicate skin of your under eye. Eddie sits up and rakes his greasy hair away from his face. He'll drop you home, take a cold shower for purely heat related reasons, and hopefully sleep through the night. It's a very unlikely outcome, but a man can dream.
"Come on. We'll roll the windows down and go really fast."
"Eddie," you chastise.
"Moderately fast."
His sleeveless tank top gets caught as he leans down to try and flick you. Eddie can only ever forgive his fourteen year old self for maiming perfectly good vintage in times like these. A completely unnecessary culling of an entire wardrobe's worth of sleeves, but when the weather gets bad for a few heady weeks every summer, he remembers the reasoning behind it.
He's stripped of all his clunky jewellery for now, adorned only in the dark ink of his multiplying tattoos. His most recent addition is an artist's rendition of the Eye of Sauron, blinking up at him from beneath his volley of bats. Still sick, he thinks to himself smugly.
You've pulled yourself into a sitting position with your arms crossed over the bed, your hand stretched out to touch his plaid pyjama bottoms. You're in a nearly matching pair; when Eddie called you to hang out earlier you'd turned him down, citing a reluctance to change. He'd promised to pick you up in his own pyjamas, and you've been lying on his floor since then.
You're the laziest kids this side of the Wabash river, Wayne'd said, looking over your limp bodies with a smile.
The other side, too, Eddie popped back. Will you put those chicken wings in the oven for us, please?
Eddie's not a monster, the wings were pre-prepared. Any other day he'd correct his uncle, say, hey, we haven't been kids for years, but the heat makes him feel gross and sometimes you just want your dad to make you dinner. (Sometimes Eddie's just lazy, also.)
"Eds?" you murmur.
He lets his hands fall away from his hair where he'd been scratching mindlessly and turns to you. He's lethargic, feels like he's turning his head through molasses. "What, sweetheart?"
Years of being friends lends an easy affection. His pet names are purely platonic. Or they used to be. Either way, you aren't perturbed.
"Can I sleep over?"
He usually says yes to that question immediately. But again, the thought of your sweaty body curled into his with your hands breaching a friendly gap to curl over his waist like they tend to do fills his stomach with dread.
His little crush is making him a bad friend, he decides. He will always, first and foremost, be your friend.
"Of course you can." He rubs his mouth. Feigning casualness. "How come?"
You peel out of your fatigue and get on your knees. The extra height is all you need to finally grab his legs, smiling sheepishly. Eddie won't judge you for almost anything and you know that, so it's gotta be outlandish.
"I think…" You tap his kneecap. "Okay, laugh at me if you need to, but I'm pretty sure my house is haunted."
"Like, by a ghost?"
"What else?" you ask, laughing good-naturedly.
"Why do you think it's haunted, superstar?"
You drop your face onto his thigh, giving him a disjointed hug. He hugs you back for as long as the heat will allow it, a handful of stolen seconds with his hand over your back.
"I swear, sometimes, I can hear someone talking."
That's… scarier than he imagined. "Shit, I thought you were gonna say a coat fell off the hanger, or the light in your bathroom started flickering again."
"It has," you admit, your mouth pressed to his thigh. "But it's just the bulb."
He pushes you off of him, your voice sending vibrations through places he'd prefer it didn't, and you fall back with a half-hearted stab at melodrama.
"Oof," you say, straight-faced.
"You really think it's a ghost?" he asks.
"No. I don't know. I won't believe in ghosts until I see one, and I haven't seen one, but if it were a ghost, this is the type of behaviour I'd expect from it. So I guess I do. Does that make sense?"
"Sure." He doesn't know. "What does it say?"
"Here's the bit where you won't believe me."
You smile at him from your spot on the floor. Your hand curls out, like a tight budded flower coming to bloom.
"She asks about you," you say quietly. "It's pretty much all she says."
"Who?"
"The ghost."
"She's a she?"
"Sounds kind of like one."
"Come sit up here with me."
Eddie knows his voice has gone hard and weird, but he can't help it. He understands that he doesn't understand anything, that the world is large and works in mysterious ways, but he wouldn't forgive himself if he took this lightly. You sound so convinced — it makes him feel ill.
Because Eddie doesn't believe in ghosts.
You climb up onto the bed in front of him and he doesn't take your hand. He should. You won’t meet his eyes, a sign that you're slightly embarrassed. It's not what he meant to do.
"What does she say?” he probes.
You go teasing and shiny, a glimmer in your eye. "I know you don't believe me, Eddie."
"Who says I don't believe you? I just need you to explain."
"She says…" You laugh. "Okay, she says stuff like, 'Eddie is okay?'"
Eddie stares at you.
"I was going to tell you–"
"When?" he demands.
"I'm telling you right now!"
"How long have you been hearing voices?"
You climb up on knees to wrap your arms around his head. "You think I'm delusional," you say, a loving murmur in his ear.
He grabs your waist. Unsurprisingly, hugging you doesn't make him nearly as electric as he'd worried. It feels the same as it always has, like hugging his best friend. Loving the smell of your hair is new, but everything else stays the same.
"I don't think you’re delusional, I don't, I just– if I told you the same thing."
You pull away, and his hand comes to rest atop the curve of your hip. "I'd believe you," you say.
"I believe that you believe there's someone talking to you about me. Uh… if it is a ghost haunting your house, why's she talking about me?"
You take his hands off of your waist, squeezing his fingers together in your palms. "Don't know. I tried asking but she never answers, and last night…"
Eddie stands up.
"Where are you going?"
"We gotta let Wayne know you're staying and he's about to fall asleep, and I want a cigarette, and you need something to drink."
"I don't want a beer."
"No," he says. When he says to drink, he really means something cold to sip on. He's hoping to grab you back from… whatever it is you're going. "Soda, apple juice, drink what you want."
He fiddles with the drawstrings on his pants, waiting for you to join him at the doorway. You stay sitting on his bed. He doesn't know what your face means.
"Hey, you still have to tell me about it. I want to know, swear to god. We have all night." He holds out his hand. Wiggles his fingers at you. "I'll let you paint my nails again too, like a real girls night."
That grabs your attention. You slide off of the bed and take his hand, shrieking as he yanks you ten miles an hour down the skinny hallway and into the living room. Wayne's got the sofa bed out already, his padded roll-up mattress laid out over the springs and a sheet stretched corner to corner.
"Hey, kids," he says, fluffing one of his pillows. He chucks it at the top of the mattress. "Home time?"
"Can I stay over, Mr. Munson?" you ask.
Wayne rolls his eyes. You once spent eight days here with no breaks sometime in the summer of 1987 and he hadn't batted an eye. Eddie made sure it was truly alright with Wayne, of course, and you'd done your share of housework. Point is, both Munson's find your asking to stay unnecessary.
"I'll make pancakes in the morning," you add.
"Oh, in that case." Wayne throws his blanket out over the bed and sits on top of it. "By all means, kid, stay over. Tell your guardian."
"Can't. In Santa Barbara."
"Ah, then I have to insist you stay," he says, laying down with a huff.
Eddie passes him the TV remote. "She's a big girl, Wayne." You're well past the age of parental supervision.
Wayne answers with a grumbling sound that means, hey, you can keep talking to me but there's no guarantee I'll answer.
"I won't be annoying, promise," you say.
Wayne grunts again.
"That's old man talk for I know you won't," Eddie translates.
You nod, glad to have permission, and meander into the kitchen. "Can I–"
"Yes!" Eddie and Wayne call simultaneously.
Wayne laughs to himself in that pleased gruff way he's good at and tucks his arms behind his head. He's wearing one of Eddie's t-shirts. They've been the same size since Eddie was seventeen, something both Munson's utilise when laundry day is approaching but not quite upon them.
"Lighter?"
Wayne scrunches his eyes in displeasure. "By the sink."
"Thanks." For some reason, Eddie doesn't leave. He stays standing by the TV, listening to the voice of a late-night talk show chuckle through a joke about some scandal.
When Eddie was younger, he'd get into bed beside Wayne and watch TV until his eyes hurt. Too young to have stopped needing comfort and too old to know how to ask for it, he'd drift down the snug hallway into the living room and Wayne would usually be asleep or almost there. Eddie would stand by the TV hesitantly, and if he was sleeping Wayne must've been able to feel it, a new parents instinct or something, because he'd soon wake, and if he wasn't he'd look at Eddie like he'd been waiting for him. Like Eddie was running late.
His teenage years were almost solely defined by bad dreams and TV with Wayne. On the good nights, Eddie would go back to bed. On the bad nights, heartache would swallow him whole. Well, almost whole. His cheek would rest on Wayne's shoulder as the night went on. Miraculous and ordinary at once. That's the only bit of him that didn't hurt.
Pain emaciates the good from his memory, but it can't erase the comfort of watching TV with someone who loved him when they didn't have to.
Wayne pretends to chop Eddie in the stomach. Eddie laughs and dodges out of his path.
"Gotta be faster than that," Eddie taunts.
"Don't chain smoke," Wayne says.
"We won't be up long." Eddie's lying. He can't imagine that either of you will be getting an early night tonight considering the nature of your confession. What he means is, you won't be keeping Wayne up, and Eddie won't smoke more than what's wise.
Wayne hums.
You're in the kitchen screwing the lid back on a gallon of apple juice, your cup a quarter filled. You're like that. Won't ever take more than you need.
"One for me?" he asks.
"I figured now all your taste buds are dead, you wouldn't want any."
"Ha-ha," he says. The kitchen is unusually clean. "Shit, stop cleaning my house. Good god."
You pull one of his jackets off of the seat of one of the kitchen table's chairs and shake it out. "So I can sleep here, eat here, but cleaning is where you draw the line. I like it."
Eddie grabs the lighter from beside the sink in one hand and your wrist in the other, pulling you away from the table before you can start organising their mail and through the back door.
It's still sticky-hot out and the steps are warm to the touch as the two of you sit down hip to hip. He pulls the stiff pack of cigarettes from his pants pocket and hands them to you. Your hand is already waiting. You peel off the plastic and tap the pack against your chest. You like doing it, arguing that it makes you feel like you're Chelsea Marino in Glory Days, all dark smiles and indulgent self-loathing.
You open the pack, tug out a lone cigarette, and pass it to him.
"You're like a pez dispenser," Eddie says, putting the butt of the cigarette between his lips.
"You little freak."
He laughs and almost drops his cig. Wayne's heavy zippo struggles to light, low on gas.
"Loser can't even light a cigarette."
"Who put two dimes in you?" he asks, thrilled by your negging.
He takes a sharp inhale as the end of the cigarette finally lights, the heat tickling his throat until it burns the way he needs it to.
"Somebody must've," you say.
"Reckon we can tip you upside down and get something to eat?" he asks through an exhale of smoke, tapping ash into the small egg cup to his left that's been serving as an ashtray for as long as he's been smoking. It used to be yellow. Every now and again he washes it and sees the old chicken paint underneath. "Too late for cooking."
"Are you hungry?" you ask genuinely. "I told you we should've had more than just wings."
"It was too hot to eat hot stuff. It's still too hot. Tomorrow, we should go to Bradley's and get stuff for sandwiches."
Eddie waits for your answer. "I'm sick of PB and J, Eds," or "Yes! And a pitcher for sweet tea, my captain." You don't say anything, your face turned up to the sky and your eyes closed, soaking in the heat.
He has half a mind to go get a spray bottle and douse you before you collapse.
"What's going on with you?" he asks.
"I'm just thinking."
"Think out loud. Don't be fucking selfish."
"I'm not sure you wanna hear it."
He puts his cigarette in the eggcup ashtray half-smoked, ribbons of white curling up into the shimmering summer heat. Any other time he'd lounge back and let the nicotine course through his system, a momentary relief against the winding tightness that comes with being so hot, and so worried about you.
"If I ask you how you've been feeling lately, could you answer me?" he asks. "Without assuming I don't believe you. Don't get mad, just tell me."
You drop your shoulder against his. "I feel fine, I think. You know me, I– I worry too much, and work is overwhelming. If you took me to a doctor, he'd probably prescribe me ambien and a week in a dark room, but. I really don't think I'm making this up."
"I don't think you'd know," he says. Isn't that the deal? If you're having a hallucination of some kind, it would likely sound and feel real enough to trick you in some capacity.
"Trust me," you say. Your hair brushes against the top of his damp arm. He can't smell good, but you don't say a thing about it.
"I do." Eddie turns his head to take another drag. He blows the smoke as far from you as he can manage. "Tell me about last night," he says, eyes on the weather worn plating of the trailer. "What happened?"
If you're not messing with him, your ghost has been talking to you for a while now. Something happened last night to scare you in a way you hadn't been before.
He fights his rising nausea with a final drag on his cigarette. You stop leaning on him, hands back in your lap as you tell the story.
"I was listening to the stereo real loud while I did laundry. I don't know if I was trying to, you know, block it out if she started talking, I'm not stupid, I– I know it could be all in my head. I don't think it is, but I'm not stupid. I went down to the basement to swap the load out in the dryer, and while I was down there…"
You look like you don't know how to explain it. Eddie bites his cheek.
"She wrote me something," you say finally. "In my notebook, the one you got me for Christmas. She said hello."
"I could've written it," he says. "I don't remember, maybe I left you a message in it knowing you'd find it."
"Did you come in and take it off the shelf, too?" you ask gently. "Eddie, I know your handwriting. I'm not making this up."
He sighs, rubs his face with both hands, the smell of smoke and salt ingrained in the lines of his palms. He gives himself a long five seconds scrubbing at his stubbly jaw and wishing it was colder, then he shoots up onto his feet and pulls open the door.
"Early night," he says decisively. "If you're still sure there's a ghost in the morning, I'll come over. See if she'll talk to me too. How does that sound?"
You hold your hand out. Eddie takes it, hoisting you up.
"It sounds like you need a better strategy for getting girls to go to bed with you."
"It's working, isn't it?"
"Loser."
—
You wake up to Eddie tapping your shoulder.
"Come on, sweetheart," he says quietly, his voice rough as hewn stone. "I made you pancakes."
It's as if you're submerged at the bottom of a shallow pool. Sound and heat and sunlight reach you, but it's dull. It takes you a second to understand what Eddie's saying, and why his thumb is rubbing into your shoulder.
"Come on," he says again, "'fore they get cold."
You blink. Blink blink blink. Your throat hurts and you have a bad taste in your mouth. Your eyes feel like somebody flicked sand at you while you slept, gritty and dry. You kick the thin blanket away from you, a long day of writhing in the heat yesterday having turned you to sludge, your limbs limp and uncooperative.
Eddie's frowning at you when you look up.
"Want me to get you a rag?" he asks.
"No, I'll wash my face." Your words string together like toffee melted between them and hardened again while you weren't looking. "Oh," you murmur, wincing as you set your feet on the ground. "My back really hurts. Did you push me out of bed last night?"
"You slept like a log. Same position all night." He reaches for you, but his hand wavers. He must change his mind.
Eddie leaves the door wide open as he leaves. The radio is on, and a song he secretly loves but won't admit to wars with the sound of sizzling oil. If you strain, you can hear him humming. You get closer and dip into the bathroom, the door open so you can listen to Eddie sing the chorus.
Dance with me, I want to be your partner, can't you see? The music is just starting.
He doesn't sing well, really. It's a light, high-pitched rendition. He isn't trying. He feels comfortable enough around you to be unapologetically mediocre, and it's somehow sweeter than if he had a voice like Larry Hoppen.
You wash your face with handfuls of cold water, your lips tasting of salt as it drips down your nose to your neck, rogue rivulets of run-off seeping into your rolled sleeves.
The heat broke overnight. A light rain patters soundlessly against the windows, and the back door has been propped open in the kitchen to let in the smell of fresh churned earth. Petrichor.
You pat your tacky face dry. Eddie turns to the sound, and you nod at Wayne's empty seat.
"Where's your uncle?" you ask.
"He wanted to get epoxy and a fresh roll of duct tape in case we spring another leak. The rain was pretty bad last night, I think he's worried it'll rot the ceiling. I don't know. Don't worry, I made him something first."
You sit down and let Eddie serve you a stack of pancakes. The ones on the very top are piping hot. You slather them in butter and maple syrup as he sits down next to you, a plate of his own in hand.
"How's your back?" he asks. He's being too soft with you.
"I saw a ghost, Eds, I'm not dying." You slice down the pancakes with the side of your fork, attempting to act unbothered. "Worst case scenario, I'm schizophrenic."
Eddie sits down in the chair next to yours. It's a small table but there's ample room. His proximity is a choice. "Worst case scenario, you're being targeted by an evil demon, but schizophrenia could also be really bad," he says. "S'why I'm worried."
"Eddie." You put down your fork, swallowing a half-chewed mouthful roughly. "Hey. If it's my head, I'll go to the doctor and I'll let them take care of it and everything will be fine." You have no way of knowing if what you're saying is true. Mental illness isn't easy. You're just saying what you think he needs to hear without outright lying. "I'll take the meds and you'll be there for me. But I'm fine. And you're being weird."
"You're trying to piss me off."
A little. Pissed is better than anxious. You'd rather give him something to glare at than a reason to twist himself into knots. "You're easily riled," you jest.
His eyebrows rise. He eats his pancakes and you your own, the wrinkled knees of your pyjamas rubbing against one another as he jigs his leg along to the song on the radio. The rain starts to worsen, fat droplets slapping the screen door like the thwack of a bullet. From your seat, you can see the sky dark with grey clouds, the sun a long forgotten foe. The humidity has been cut in half, which is to say bad but not unbearable. Last night, if you'd been awake to feel it, the rain would've been warm in your palm. Getting up to close the door now, you nudge the ajar screen wide with your foot, letting some of the rain lash your arms and face.
You sigh at the chilly coldness of each blessed drop.
"Heatwave from hell is finally over."
"Thank fuck for that. Let's hope it's miserably cold for weeks," Eddie says.
It's mid September —summer has said goodbye with one last fierce kiss. By October, you'll be wrapping yourselves up in throw blankets on the couch on the porch, or hiding inside with Wayne's special pasta (buttered noodles and green pesto for the 'brave') watching slashers on Eddie's blurry TV. The humidity will be nothing but a gross memory.
You wash your plates and Eddie lets you shower first. You have your own shampoo in the corner, and a rose scented body wash Eddie buys but doesn't use (but it isn't for you, idiot, why would he buy you something so expensive? He got it by mistake). You could draw the cracks in their shower tiles with your eyes closed, and the condensation that clings to the cold water pipe, that's how many times you've been in here. You finish quickly, dry quicker, and pull fresh clothes over your still-clammy skin.
You tap Eddie in. He's somehow even faster than you were, and you swap places in his room. While he's changing, you dry the bathroom walls with a towel as soon as he's out, knowing the small room has a propensity for dampness.
"Stop cleaning my fucking house," he says when you traipse back into his room, his head hanging upside down as he towel dries his curls.
You forgo your usual explanations and tell the truth. "I know you're perfectly capable. I like helping, that's all."
"I know. Ugh, you suck. Do you have any deodorant?"
You grin and pull your deodorant out of your bag, a new-ish stick of Teen Spirit. Eddie sees it and sighs, obviously unprepared to smell like Pink Crush for the rest of the day. "I have like, half an inch left of Caribbean Cool. Coconut?" you offer.
He goes with the coconut scent. The wall of privacy between you has eroded to a scrap of paper after so long living in each other's laps, but you feel guilty for looking at him, the shifting muscle beneath the skin of his arms and chest stealing your focus. If Eddie were to see you without your shirt, you doubt he'd find himself anywhere near as distracted. He'd look if you let him because that's the way he is, unaffected by simple intimacies, but when you tell him to face the door it doesn’t aggrieve him. Most of the time he’s already averted his eyes.
"Gotta add that to the list of shit we need. Have you seen my shoes?"
"Your white sneakers are in the hallway. One of your converse is under the bed, but it's hard to say about the other." You swallow a sudden lump. "Are we going shirtless?"
Eddie does not go shirtless. He pulls a shirt on that thankfully has sleeves, and then a zip up hoodie under his leather jacket. You didn't think to bring a coat yourself due to the extreme baking temperature of the day before. You're lucky you had clean clothes here, considering you hadn't intended to spend the night. Or, not lucky, loved. One of the Munson’s has washed what you’ve left behind.
You have a momentary lapse as Eddie puts his shoes on, trekking into the bathroom to look in the mirror. It's no secret that you aren't pretty. You can make a good effort, and you keep it classy, stay clean, but you aren't pretty, not by your own opinion.
Eddie knows everything about you (nearly). He knows you don't think much of yourself. And a younger version of him had comforted you as earnestly as an awkward teenage boy could manage, but these days he goes for the root of the problem. He still tells you that you're pretty occasionally, or rather, "Looking good, babe," but not today.
"Hey." Eddie looks you up and down. "What's wrong?"
"I look stupid." You glance at your legs. Why does everything look so weird on you?
He hooks his arm through yours and starts to drag you down the hallway to the front door, sideways like two crabs. "No."
"Yeah, I do, and people are gonna think I do, too."
"Who cares what other people think?" And there's grown-up Eddie's rhetoric, Who gives a fuck what other people think?
"Me," you say.
You understand exactly what it is he's trying to do: free you from the anxiety of overthinking. It doesn't work as often as you wish it would, but he gives it a good go.
"No, you don't. We don't care what other people think because it doesn't affect us." He doesn't make light, exactly, but his eyes are bright and his smile is sweet as he opens the front door and gestures for you to go down first. Rain and wind are quick to kiss at your naked arms.
"What if they all think I'm some sort of slob?"
"Then they'd be wrong. It's okay for people to be wrong about us. That's their problem." More familiar argument. It actually does make you feel better, despite hearing it a hundred times before. "People are wrong all the time."
Eddie follows you down the first step and turns away to lock the door.
"Like you and my ghost," you say, trying to steer the conversation from your moment of weakness and into happy territory again. "You don't think she's real."
"Baby, I'd love it if you proved me wrong with that one." He jogs down the rest of the steps, knowing it’ll give you a conniption, the wet metal a death trap waiting to happen. “Go! Get in the van!”
You scramble across the grass and the curved pathway to the drive where the van is parked and yank open the passenger door with all your strength. The handle is notorious for sticking shut. When nothing happens, Eddie curses up a storm as he clambers into the driver's seat and over the console to force it open, giving it a good old-fashioned kick from the inside. It flies into your waiting hands and you rush up the step into the front of the van away from the rain that’s growing heavier and heavier by the hour.
“Well, glad I didn’t waste time letting it dry,” Eddie says, wringing his hair out over his lap. It only drips two or three drops, but it’s funny all the same. The top of his head shines like a dark halo. “About the ghost. Do you really believe in them?”
“You asked me last night–”
“I know, but last night you said you wouldn’t believe in one unless you saw it, and then proceeded to talk about it like it was real.”
“I’m agnostic about ghosts.”
“Oh, yeah?” he asks. He sticks the key in the ignition and turns it until the engine groans to life. The van was old when he got it. Now it’s super old.
“No. What’s agnostic mean?” you ask.
“We’ll buy a dictionary.”
“I kind of believe in ghosts. I believe in my ghost. If I ever see one, I’ll believe in all the ghosts. Shit, I sound stupid.”
“No, you don’t– you don’t! It’s okay to not know, I wasn’t trying to interrogate you about your personal beliefs.” He is a very responsible driver these days. He keeps his eyes on the road. His hand, however, strays to your arm. “You’re not stupid, superstar.”
“Don’t,” you plead. Superstar is a nickname that stuck despite your vehement disagreement with its origin and further usage. “It makes you sound like an old dad and I’m the son who just got benched at little league. Again.”
You stand as much as your seatbelt will allow and dig out the purse from the butt pocket of your jeans. “I’ll get gas.”
“Way too personal for our relationship.”
Bad, overused joke.
Eddie doesn’t want you to pay for gas, the same way he doesn’t want you paying for takeout or birthday presents. He hates ‘handouts’ —it took you a while to convince him that gas money isn’t a handout, it’s you trying to keep things fair. You know how it feels to need the money and not want to ask for it, so you put him in a position where he never has to ask.
Things are easier now. You’re not in high school anymore. Work doesn’t pay as well as you want it to, but it’s enough to get by, especially while you’re living in your childhood home with only partial bills to pay. Eddie isn’t hurting for money either. That’s something to be grateful for.
Eddie pulls into the gas station. He won’t let you pump while the wind is whipping, but you sprint into the gas station and trawl the fridge for the biggest drinks, sticking two cans of iced tea under your arm. The cold immediately eats into your naked skin. You jog to the counter to pay.
“Pump two, please,” you say, putting your cans down.
“Twelve dollars.”
You frown. Eddie only put ten dollars on the pump. Well, deducting your two cans of iced tea at 99 cents each, ten dollars and two cents. What an asshole.
You hold out a twenty dollar bill with a smile, and look out the window as you wait for your change. The rain is too heavy to see him, but you imagine Eddie drumming the wheel of the van with both hands. You shiver out a thanks as your change hits your palm, dropping it into your purse with your best receipts. There’s one for bowling (a triple defeat, Eddie a secret master), one for two whole frozen cheesecakes you’d eaten in bed a month ago with double-sized dessert spoons, a couple for Hawk theatre; Back to the Future II, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, Ghostbusters II (‘89 was a great year for sequels). All your best memories printed on thermal paper.
“Holy shit I’m so cold,” you squeak, prying open the door without the aid of Eddie’s kick.
“You’re soaked, you fool. You want to go home first for a sweater?”
You close the door behind you and drop the iced tea into the console, grimacing at the great clang they make. Your seatbelt snaps into place around your soft middle, and without ceremony you’re back on the road for your original mission.
“No sweaters, Bradley’s. Stupid to double back.” You look at him from the corner of your eye. “I think we should get frozen pizza and extra toppings to put on them. And fries, obviously, and dessert.” The ghost won’t care. Probably.
“You forgot the side salad.”
“Forgot,” you say, laughing. “Why yes I did.”
“Dessert,” Eddie says, his turn now to make some decisions. “I want a slurpee real bad right now, so I’m thinking we buy a bag of ice for your food processor and get some syrup.”
“We could go get slurpees,” you say encouragingly. If that’s what he wants, why not?
“We have shit to do,” he says, smiling so much his dimples peek out. “Ghosts to convene with, notebooks to analyse. Feasts to prepare.” He looks deeply speculative. You assume he’s thinking about the maybe-ghost, but he says, “Why are we getting frozen pizza? They have those pre-packaged ones now that are basically fresh.”
“They taste the same.”
“Liar, the bottom of the frozen ones go soggy and the cheese burns on the crust. You know that I’m right, don’t give me dish.”
“Aren’t you always?”
Eddie has a horrible tendency to be right about things. Maybe that's why you hadn't told him about the ghost for so long, because you'd wanted to handle it yourself without his explanatory assurances. You’re the worrier and he’s the one who always sets it straight.
What if I make a fool of myself? you've asked him once.
I’ll make one of myself, too.
What if they fire me?
We’ll get you a new job with me cleaning up after idiots.
What if it never goes away?
It will.
What if body snatchers get us while we’re sleeping?
That one made him smile. The fondest upturn of a pretty mouth, not an expression you often see. Then they get us, he’d said, whispering across the pillows, face only partially visible in the struggling light of the TV. It’ll be awesome. Me and you. No brains, no worries. Just lettuce heads forever.
You watch him beating along to a song you aren’t privy to against the wheel. He hadn’t seemed to mind the idea of losing his mind with you back then. He doesn’t believe you now, but that’s because he hasn’t heard her voice. The whistling wind warping itself into coherent syllables. Reaching for you, a dark slice of sound.
Eddie… has… a secret…
You look at your lap, tamping down a shudder at the sensation of ice riding your spine.
Don’t we all?
—
Eddie feels you’ve been overly relaxed about the situation at hand. He doesn’t want to back you into a box and declare a health crisis, but he’s been thinking up possible illnesses while you weigh the pros and cons of pizza toppings in case he has to take you to see someone. He’s not sure how gas lines work but he’s sure a quick phone call to the Munson landline could clear it up for him. Perhaps the most effective test of all for carbon monoxide poisoning would be to subject himself to the same circumstances. He’ll spend a few days at home with you and see how he feels afterward. If push comes to shove he’ll light a match and see what catches.
On the inside, Eddie’s panicking about your mental health and, admittedly, the slim reality of a supernatural presence. On the outside, he’s playing along with your unconcerned dinner plans and aimless chatter. If you want to pretend that today is the same as any other day, he's prepared to let you. He won’t do the same, but he won’t discourage you, either.
You cut through one of the home aisles toward the front of the store with a heavy basket on your elbow, Eddie hot on your heels. He grabs a pocket dictionary from the display to his left and hurries to keep up with you.
You’re shivering. “I really didn’t think it would rain,” you say.
Eddie looks past the registers to the glass doors at the front of the store where rain pelts with a force bordering on stormy weather. If it gets much worse than this, he'll insist you both go back to Munson headquarters and hunker up to wait it out.
“The weather,” Eddie mumbles, unlike himself. “Are we expecting a storm? Maybe we should grab a cart and get some basics. Crate of water.”
“Okay, we can do that. Are you worried?”
“Kind of.”
He meets your eyes. He loves your eyes. He knows you don’t. You're not insecure in a way he feels he can fix —if he can fix any of it. It’s like you dissociate, for lack of a better word, from the things you can’t love. You don’t look in the mirror, won’t let him take photographs of you. You don’t say it. You call yourself stupid, weird, silly. Never ugly.
But he knows.
And now this whole ghost business. Eddie needs to think of something he can say to you that will inspire a better level of honesty going forward.
“How long have you been speaking to the ghost?” he asks.
You grin at a conveniently abandoned shopping cart at the end of the aisle and slide toward it on squealing shoes. You look around broadly for an owner, and when they don’t appear you place your basket in the stomach of it. The only thing remaining from whoever used it beforehand is a small tray of four cupcakes.
“Four. One for you, three for me,” you say, ignoring his question with a smug giggle.
Eddie loves you in a way not many people can love someone else, the kind of love that takes years of patience and acceptance and sweetness to take root, kind of love you only feel after seeing someone at their best, worst, and weirdest — memories come thick and fast whenever he thinks about the sheer years you’ve spent together, seeds of affection long germinated and rearing to grow. You, throwing up behind a Denny’s with sick in your hair, crying so hard you couldn’t catch your breath, and when you could, asking him if he wouldn’t mind buying you a new t-shirt to wear in the car as though you were some dastardly imposition, and not his sick best friend. You, on top of the world, surrounded by people who loved you with a birthday cake in front of you, eyes brighter than the blinking flames of each dripping candle. You, in pyjamas too tight, too loose, old or brand new with your hair up, down, washed, and greasy, your lips chapped, bruised then healed, parted against one of his pillows as you slept, as you yawned, as you laughed, talked. No matter what you’re wearing, saying or doing, you, in his bed, completely at home.
Eddie has a thousand images of you in his head and they all fight to play again, like a VHS on constant rewind, or a movie with duplicated film, double, triple exposed. Before even an inkling of a crush had ever come around, he loved you. That's why it doesn’t really matter that he can’t kiss you. He can’t imagine loving you more than this.
Sometimes, sometimes… you put your leg over his and your thigh spreads out across the top of his, and he has to beg himself not to want to touch you. He wonders if you’d mind. Eddie thinks about asking so often it turns into its own fantasy. He knows what cadence his voice would take, the exact grit and warmth, his hand waiting on your knee and aching to inch downward.
You pull him from his sickly introspection with a poke. Your fingernail dents his shirt precisely atop a small beauty mark. He doesn’t know if you know what you’re doing, if you’ve seen his naked chest enough times to realise that there’s a mole right there an inch shy of his belly button, if you’d ever looked at him in so much detail.
“Transmission incoming,” you say, your fingers flattening over his abdomen, your palm hovering apart. Like the pole of an opposite magnet, it refuses to connect. “Chirp. Houston, we’ve been attempting to connect with Astronaut Munson. He is unresponsive. Let us know when you make contact again.” You smile at him ruefully. “Damn moon keeps dropping signal.”
“Sorry… Astronaut Munson? Do they call astronauts astronauts? I thought it was commander.”
“I don’t know, Eddie, I haven’t brushed up on NASA related job titles lately.” Your deadpan wanes, replaced with a genuine concern. “Are you okay? You really did get lost.”
“I’m just thinking about, you know– Your ghost,” he lies. The ghost should be his highest concern, and for the most part it is, but he’d let his attention get pulled along by other things.
That’s the thing about love. It feels much more important in the moment than anything else, even when it shouldn’t.
“You’re super worried about the ghost.”
“It is an uber worrying ghost.”
“‘Cause she talks?” you ask.
“Well, yeah. Most of the time you just get, like, blurs on night vision cameras or the general malignant presence of the thing. Not words.” Not questions concerning your best friend.
“Casper talks and he’s gorgeous,” you say. “A true sweetheart.”
“Doesn’t Casper have to protect Lucy from his evil ghost uncles?”
“Who the fuck is Lucy?”
“The girl. Lucy and Johnny.”
“Bonnie?”
“Oh. That sounds right. But her name doesn’t matter,” Eddie insists. “My point was that the bad ghosts outweigh the good three to one. That’s more than half, you realise.”
“His name is Casper the Friendly Ghost,” you say, shrugging. Eddie hopes you know where it is in the store you’re going to. He hasn’t looked away from your face for the last twenty minutes. “It’s in the name.”
“But your ghost isn’t Casper,” Eddie says.
“No. My ghost isn’t Casper, but she hasn’t tried to kill me. She would have written something threatening in my notebook or knocked all the books off of my shelf if she were evil.”
Eddie frowns. You’ve steered him around the store like you’ve never been here before, changing your mind after turns to go down the opposite aisle, murmuring about bottled water. He reaches for your hand on the shopping cart rail and can’t resist squeezing it as he pulls it away.
“I got it,” he says.
He swears that your expression flickers. Worry breaking through the closed shutters of your blasé.
You’re not so chatty as you follow him toward the back of Bradley’s where they keep the big jugs of water. He grabs one, thinks back to the bad weather and grabs another. It’s unlikely that you’ll need them, but Eddie would rather be safe than sorry. “Do you have a lamp?” he asks. “An oil lamp? Or a flashlight?”
“I have a flashlight,” you confirm. “Is it really so bad? Uh, I don’t wanna ask again, but I– maybe I could–”
Eddie wants to pull your face into his chest. He thinks about it. Would he have hugged you like that a year ago, before the butterflies and the late nights daring to think of the dough of your thighs or the column of your throat when you tip your head back? He might’ve. It would mean something different, but he might’ve.
He throws an arm around your shoulder and gives you a good shake. “What is wrong with you? If it gets any worse, you’re staying with me. I’m only asking about a flashlight in case we have one of those worst case scenarios and get stuck in your haunted house. I refuse to die like the jocks in a b-rated horror.”
“The jocks or the whore? Isn’t it the girl who sleeps around that gets murdered in the dark?” you ask.
“Super unfair. I sleep around, do I deserve to die?” he asks, dropping his arm.
You mime stabbing him in the gut. Everyone's so violent.
Eddie is amazingly unharmed as he gets you to the register. You try to fight him on who’s paying, but you’re an idiot who insisted on getting gas. It’s the leverage he needs to win. Out of Bradley’s and back into the rain with grocery bags double bagged, you run for the van and thrust the spoils of your shopping trip in the passenger seat footwell. Eddie opens the side door to lug the water jugs inside and you take the cart back to the front of the store against his wishes.
He waits for you to be in arms reach and gets back in the van. You’re soaked to the bone. He’s cold in three layers, so you must be freezing. He shrugs off his sopping wet leather jacket and then the zip hoodie underneath, draping the zip hoodie over your lap and chest and then rushing to put his leather jacket on again.
“Thank you, good sir,” you laugh.
He’s already fiddling with the air conditioning. Heat bursts from the left vent but not the right, leaving you in a cold bubble. “Shit, I’m sorry, the right vent’s still busted. Ol’ Beauville keeps letting us down.”
“Don’t hate on the Beauville!” you scold through chattering teeth.
“You're dying,” he says. “Hold on, I’m gonna do ninety.”
“Do not speed!”
You get to the road outside of your place without any hydroplaning. You live on a regular American street in a two-story semi-detached house not too far from Hawkins High school with your guardian, who isn’t home very often. It has three bedrooms, one bathroom, and a lot of white walls. You often lament that the house doesn’t really feel like your own, and punctuate with a giddy laugh he doesn’t understand but adores nonetheless.
Eddie parks his van on the long gravel driveway as close to the house as he can get it and ushers you inside with your keys. You’re cold enough to listen without complaint.
He puts the groceries in the kitchen on the countertops and kicks off his shoes, intending on putting them away when he’s sure you aren’t in any danger of hypothermia. He kicks off his shoes by the door, locks it tight, and starts up the carpeted stairs to your room.
He’s not surprised to find you half-naked, but overfamiliar, affectionate friendship doesn’t necessarily mean you like being seen. He averts his gaze from your naked legs and tries desperately to think about anything but underwear. The more he tries not to think about them, the worse it gets.
“Hey,” he says, covering his eyes so you know he isn’t perving, “our horror flick just got dirty.”
“Yikes,” you say. “Don’t look.”
“I’m not, I’m not. You could’ve closed the door. You know, spare me a guilty conscience.” Then, because he just can’t help himself, “When did you start wearing fancy panties?”
“Fuck off, Eddie,” you laugh.
“Do I have to make the switch to tighty whities?”
“Our underwear choices do not concern one another.” You trek toward him. He peeks through two spread fingers and finds you thankfully reclothed in dry sweatpants and a sweater soft with age. “I thought tighty whities hurt your–” You raise your eyebrows.
He regrets being honest with you when you were teenagers. A little secrecy might help repaint him in your mind as less of a huge loser. You could possibly find him attractive if you weren't privy to the numerous embarrassments that make up his life, he thinks.
He chokes on his own tongue and dies right there in your bedroom. “Why do you remember shit like that?”
“Same reason you keep a heat pack in your room in case I get all crampy,” you say.
You give him one of your sick smiles —you have to know what you’re doing, you have to— and drape your arms over his shoulders, nearly knocking him down with the sudden addition of your weight. He, stunned, plants a foot behind himself so you don’t both trip and fall on your asses.
The plane of your back beckons beneath your sweater. What he’d give to slip a hand under the hem to explore the ridge of your shoulder blade with his fingertips.
A quiet ensues. Your hug turns from a joking attempt to push him around a bit to a real one. He steel-arms your waist, tightening them around you three times in quick succession, nose buried in your hair to steal a deep breath.
“This where the ghost talks to you?” he asks, looking over your head into the chaos of your room. It’s not dirty, but it isn’t tidy, either.
You sigh too much like a moan for his sanity and stand up tall, your hands trailing down his chest unthinkingly as you follow his gaze. “Yeah. I don’t know if we’ll hear her over the rain. It has to be really quiet.”
“What are you doing? Experiments?” he asks. He sounds as distracted by it all as he feels.
“No. Something I noticed, is all.”
“I don’t get why you didn’t tell me the first time it happened,” he confesses, voice dropping to a murmur.
“Um… remember senior year, you kept missing class because you had all those doctors appointments?” You smile sheepishly. “‘N’ you didn’t tell me about it until after you knew you were okay?”
During his first senior year, Eddie found a small cyst in his arm. Small compared to other cysts, large in his arm. He worried it was malicious, or rather Wayne worried and Eddie didn’t know what he thought about it until after they’d cut it out. It had been a thankfully speedy affair in a doctors office they couldn’t afford. Eddie didn’t tell you about it until he’d been all stitched up and tested — he tried, but then he would imagine the look on your face when he did, and it made him feel like his intestines had learned to jump rope.
He still remembers when he finally told you, the split second between, “a tumour,” and “but it’s not cancer.” The relief on your face. The shock of upset tears it caused.
“I guess I was trying to be good to you,” you say, shrugging and starting down the stairs.
Eddie follows. “If something like that happened again to me, god forbid,” —he dips into a melodramatic voice, scared of the sombre mood that’s descended— “I wouldn’t keep it to myself. I’d make it your problem instantly.”
Every now and then, Wayne will lean over the back of Eddie’s chair at the breakfast table and grab an arm, feeling for a tiny bump that hasn’t come back. You’d done the same in your own way: you wrote ‘check for lesions :D’ on a piece of paper and taped it to his bedroom doorway. It fell off ages ago, but he occasionally gets déjà vu as he leaves the room. And as he walks down the hallway, he’ll roll up his sleeve and check that there's nothing there.
Eddie didn’t tell you senior year. A lingering abandonment issue, maybe, ‘cause Dad didn’t stay when things got hard, who cares? He doesn’t think about that shit anymore. Figures the mark it left was enough. But these days, he’d tell you if he found a lump in his arm, or a ghost in his room. Your scribbled note made sure of that.
"Are you listening to me?" he asks.
"You'd make it my problem," you provide. "Tell me something I don't know."
He grabs you by the shoulders at the bottom of the stairs and blows into your ear.
With the lights on and the radio at a low volume, the rain outside doesn't seem nearly as imposing. The kitchen is small with a long strip light above that gives the room a near clinical white cast, the countertops shining clean, not a plate in the sink. It's evident how much time you don't spend here. No photos on the fridge, no salt or pepper shakers on the table. Where Eddie and Wayne have their insane mug collection made up of states and hours and way too much money in some cases, you have four black coffee mugs in a tower stack by the seldom used machine. Where they have a corkboard of photographs, Polaroids and printouts from Walmart off of rinky-dink digital cameras, you have one photo on the wall, a professionally done portrait of you from the day you graduated and Eddie, unfortunately, did not.
Eddie's grad pictures are much less robotic. Too much eyeliner but just enough you, he has his arm thrown over your shoulders in the back of a grungy restaurant, his smile blisteringly bright. He might as well have written 'Thank Fuck' across his forehead. There's another one of him and Hellfire Club at the time, blurry with the flash making him pale as snow. You and Wayne had been trying to make the camera focus, twin scowls on your faces. Eddie's expression was one of pure joy.
He tried to make up for your shitty grad pics by celebrating your first job with a pack of Polaroids. You'd looked adorably strange in the uniform, so young but so done with his shit, eighteen and exhausted. He keeps one in his room in the bottom of the box with all his rings and chains. If you ever found it, he'd think about drowning himself.
Your appointment with a ghost waits until after dinner. You pull your frozen pizzas out of their boxes and put them in the oven (you don't preheat, which Eddie thinks is a questionable choice, but he'd help you get away with murder). While they defrost and start to cook, you slice and dice your extra toppings on the wooden chopping board beside the stovetop. He stands there with his hands washed and nothing to do. Just watches you cut up jalapeños for him and thinks about how he's going to take care of you if the ghost doesn't speak up. Does he tell your guardian? You're an adult. All your healthcare would be private and confidential. Could he tell Wayne? Would that be a betrayal?
"Check the pizzas?" You scrape the seeds out of a jalapeño, eyes pinched in concentration.
Eddie doesn't know if he can eat. You aren't as out of it as you were at the store, but you aren't fully present. A song you love plays on the radio and it's like you don't hear it.
He pulls the pizzas from the oven. He makes a smiley face out of pepperoni and jalapeños, earning half as big a smile as he thought he would from you in response.
Together, you clean the small mess you made. The pizzas brown. When they're done you take them out, cut them up, plate them, and carry them up to your room on a tray with a two litre bottle of sprite and two plastic cups. Eddie changes into a pair of his pyjama pants that you keep at the bottom of your dresser before he sits on your bed, wide-eyed when he sees how many slices you've managed in his absence.
"Nobody's gonna take it away from you," he teases lightly.
"Can't be too careful 'round you," you say, dropping a crust onto his plate. It's his favourite part.
"Thought you wanted fries?"
"And I thought you wanted a side salad."
"I wanted snow cone syrup," he says, shrugging.
He considers offering to go make you some fries anyway, but he takes a big bite of pizza and it tastes so good he forgets about it. Eddie doesn't know nothing about nothing, but if he had a say, he'd make it so that he and you could spend the rest of your lives doing this, meaningless jabbering over greasy food. It's not a good idea —you need vegetables that aren't on pizza, and fresh grains, and who knows what else to stay healthy— but Eddie's never claimed he had them. He wants this.
He gets it most of the time, but he's selfish. He wants it every night. He loves Wayne but he wants to come home to you, or to have you come home to him, in a space that you decorated, a life that you made. He wants a dog and a pet fish and, in five years or ten or never, a baby if it's what you want too. A front door lined with three pairs of shoes.
He also wants a limousine that takes him from place to place and a room full of thousand dollar guitars. A man can dream.
The first port of call for any dream is making sure you're okay. Let the ghostly stakeout begin.
Sated and sick at once, Eddie puts your empty tray on the dresser and goes to turn on the TV. "She won't talk if the TV's on," you interrupt.
"Ugh. Any chance she likes the stereo?"
You slouch down where you'd been sitting and shake your head. Your jaw goes soft, eyes softer when you smile. "It's not all bad. She doesn't care how loud you turn a page."
Eddie can't be with you every second of the day, the same way you can't be with him. There are shifts to take, shifts to cover, dungeons to pilfer and dragons to slay. You have your job, your other friends (none as handsome as he is), your hobbies. How often are you home alone, talking to ghosts?
He stands by your bookshelf, eyes skipping over the titles in slight disinterest.
"Hey," he asks, "where's your notebook? I wanna see her handwriting."
"I left it on the top shelf."
Eddie stares. There are a few other notebooks and sketchbooks aligned here, but not the one you'd described.
"You sure?" he asks.
"I left it right there,” you say with a yawn.
Eddie looks at you from over his shoulder. You’re tired. He figures he can see the notebook later, and offer you some remedial comfort now. Anything to wipe the frown off of your face.
He grabs a book off of your shelf at random and cracks it open. You love being read to. You'd beg and beg him growing up, and he'd almost always oblige.
"Can I read aloud, or does she hate that too?" he asks, turning away from your shelf.
"I've never tried it."
"I'll do it quietly?"
"Sure," you say, a tired but pleased smile on your lips. "I've read that one before."
"Should I get a different one?"
"No, it's good. It's the one I told you about with the demons who eat stars."
"The dirty one?" he asks, dropping like a stone near the top of your bed, the blankets under his hip warm from the residual heat of the pizza plates.
"It's not dirty. There's one scene toward the end where they get handsy, no graphic detail."
"And by no graphic detail, you mean…"
"No graphic detail," you repeat. It's awful how funny you find each other.
"Not even, like… hand stuff?"
"Do you want there to be hand stuff?"
"With the demons?"
You devolve into giggles, the kind that start slow and thicken into a giddy sort of breathlessness, your head supported by the headboard. Eddie looks up at you in awe.
"I could be into that," Eddie furthers, stretching your laughter as long as it will go. "Are they the kind that look like people but with extra arms or wings or something?"
"You'd like that, huh? Extra arms?"
"I wouldn't be opposed to extra arms."
"Gross," you cheer through another wave of laughter. "I don't wanna think about it."
Eddie looks to the book's first page and tamps down a grimace. You don't wanna think about him in that sort of position.
Eddie, excluding any extra appendages, thinks of you like that more than he should. Never when you're near, not if he can help it, but at night when the hot shower water beating down against his back can be shaped into the vague sensation of a body behind him, he thinks of your chest. Your hands. Or in the early mornings, when he's writhed into a contortionist’s ball and the streaking sunlight through the curtains is kissing his abdomen, he imagines it's your leg thrown across his hip, with your face turned into his chest.
Fuck, it kills him, because he knows what the real thing feels like. He's had you clinging to his waist on colder nights, and he's been under your hands. Tipsy, free with your touches, he's felt the breadth of your palms cupping his cheeks.
You're pretty, you'd told him, as you love to tell him when you've been drinking, but you need a haircut.
He never would've let you kiss him in that state, but he kids himself into thinking you wanted to. It was only booze doing what booze does.
"Read to me, serf," you demand.
Eddie clears his throat.
"The enemy is close," Eddie reads, "and the lane is overrun. Sympathy for the second kind had felt natural to Mellissa once, but now that she sees the sharp angling of their shoulders in the dawn light, she aches with hatred…"
The novel isn't bad. It isn't Eddie's favourite; the tone falls flat, and the main character's actions aren't fed by any particular emotion. Its first arc is formulaic, and soon the hero's forced to answer the call. You evidently find his rehashing tedious, as your head tips toward his head, and you wriggle your way down to his shoulder amicably.
"Don't fall asleep," he says.
"It's your whispering."
"I don't want to disturb the ghost."
"Okay." You start to pick at your nails, little scratches against the cuticle. "I won't fall asleep."
—
Your snores aren't gentle. You're a human being and Eddie doesn't expect you to breathe like a princess, but the wheeze is concerning.
He waits for you to settle down, easing your head onto the pillow. Your airway clears, and your snoring quietens to the same ambient level as the rain hitting the window outside. He feels your head for a temperature carefully. Back of his hand, fingers curled in so his ring can't startle you, he tries to gauge if you're running a fever.
It isn't normal for you to cat nap in the middle of the day, but the sun is occluded by dark clouds and the rain blots out what's left, leaving the bedroom in darkness, and you'd been warm and fed and Eddie had been doing something monotonous. It makes sense that you'd drifted off. Eddie wishes he felt tired too, so he could slide down under the sheets with you and curl a hand around your wrist.
He lies on his back, arms crossed over his chest, straining his ears for the sound of a voice.
I swear, sometimes, I can hear someone talking.
You have a vent in your room, and perhaps a couple of late nights after your shifts had you mistaking a groaning foundation or the wind for a whisper. That's a thing, right? People hear something in the wind. Fatigue has your mind playing tricks on you. Eddie should go to the library and see if they have anything to do with sleep deprivation.
It's no fun listening for ghosts. Eddie's shoulders and upper back begin to feel tense. The feeling travels lower, a snaking ache that wraps around each vertebrae. Even his tailbone hurts.
He shifts onto his side and stares at your closed eyes. He blows a breath at you to watch your lashes flutter like tufts of grass in the breeze.
Your breaths are like a metronome. He syncs his to yours for kicks, just listening. When you're both asleep, does your breath sync on its own? How do your bodies react to each other? Eddie has woken up to your arms around him or your body halfway across the bed, leg falling out from under the covers. You're irregular, where he has a tendency to grab at you while he's knocked out. He doesn't wrap his arms around you so much as hold you in his hands. His fingers curl in the hem of your t-shirts or bracelet your bicep. If he falls asleep with an arm above your head, he'll occasionally wake to find his hand at the top of it, your hair mussed.
He must be stroking it in his sleep.
Or maybe you're frizzy.
No shame in frizziness. Eddie's frizzy more often than not. Curly hair is hard to take care of and he has a lot of it. God knows it was worse before he started seeing that hairdresser in the city who makes magic happen with her thinning shears.
Your lips part.
Thunder cracks outside.
Eddie lifts his head to look out of the window in surprise. Summer days have come to pass and sunset comes earlier in the day, fractals of light bouncing between the violent rain. In an hour or two, it will be pitch black outside.
He should call Wayne and see what's happening. How he is, and if he thinks Eddie should come home and bring you, too.
Eddie clambers off of the bed, careful not to wake you. He slides across your hardwood floor and takes the empty dinner tray with him down the spongy carpeting of your stairs, back to hardwood in the hallway, and finally onto the freezing cold linoleum of your kitchen.
He locates the source of chill quickly. The window in front of the sink has unlatched. It's the thing you call him over for most; when you want to hang out you go to Eddie's, when the window won't close Eddie comes here.
His shirt hikes as he leans against the sink, his abdomen pressed to the cold countertop as he yanks the window and twists the handle the wrong way, goosebumps climbing his arms. It groans in resistance, but Eddie knows from experience that it’ll stay closed for a while.
He takes the liberty of turning your thermostat up as he waits for Wayne to answer the phone, coiled cord pulled taut.
Wayne isn't too bothered by the weather, "It's not a hurricane. A storm, sure– you'll be fine. But by all means, come home if you're scared."
"I'm not scared, jerk, I'm concerned."
He winds the cord around his arm, leaning in when Wayne's voice is hard to hear like it'll make a difference.
"...might go out," Wayne's saying, "call me, or call around Roger's… get back to… warm."
"Where the fuck are you? I can't hear a thing you're saying."
"Don't cuss at me. I'm with Roger, that's why I said to call Roger if I don't answer, he has that new pool table…" Anything Wayne says after that is garbled, like he has a hand pressed over his mouth.
“I thought Roger had a broken leg?” Eddie says. “How’s he getting around?”
“He hops. I left money in the bread bin for you, did you see it?”
“No, I didn’t see it. Wayne, we’ve talked about this before, I’m working. I appreciate it, I do, but I don’t need you giving me money.”
Whatever Wayne says at first gets eaten by static. Eddie doesn’t know if it’s your phone or the Munson’s. He doesn’t need to hear what Wayne’s saying to get the general gist of it. “…water bill..”
This again? Eddie paid the water bill. He thought he’d be allowed to do that, considering he uses the majority of the water, but it’s been a great point of contention between them.
“I’m sorry!” he says. “If I knew it would bother you so bad I wouldn’t have done it. But I don’t want it back, I’m not a kid anymore, half the time you don’t let me pay for groceries–”
“This might shock you, son, but I’ve been paying for you to eat for a decade. I ever complained? No, ‘cause it’s my job, and I don’t want you thinking any…” the words scratch out. Eddie guesses what he’s saying.
The broken phone is starting to irritate him.
He holds in his argument. Call it respect, love, whatever you want. “I’m not saying that! Listen,” —Eddie laughs to himself, words wrought with it like bubbles— “you’re senile.”
“You weasel–” The phone gives up. Whooshing air is all Eddie hears.
"I can't deal with this. I love you, I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" Eddie asks, rubbing the space between his eyebrows.
"Yeah, love you too, kid. Eddie–"
He doesn't catch the end of Wayne's sentence. The line goes dead. He pulls the shiny receiver from his ear and frowns at it.
Wayne was probably just telling Roger and the guys what Eddie was up to. Or what he thinks Eddie's up to, at least. Eddie told him via note that you wanted help rearranging your bedroom furniture. A small lie, but he didn't want to expose you to any outward judgement until he's sure himself what's going on.
Eddie hangs the phone on the hook. He grabs your plates, throwing the meagre leftovers in the trash and dumping the plates in the sink. He turns on the hot faucet and grabs a sponge and the dish soap and gets to work cleaning. It takes him all of five minutes, and he's oh so smug about being a decent person that he doesn't notice the chill.
He dries the plates and puts them in the cabinet across the room with his back to the sink. The dishes clatter together loudly, like a gunshot in the silence. He winces internally and tries to be gentler closing the cabinet door.
The hum of the kitchen light catches his attention. He looks up, unsurprised to find a bug crawling inside of the plastic covering that shields the long bulb. A moth, Eddie thinks, it's fuzz silhouetted in shadow. He doesn't really like moths, but he also doesn't wanna watch one die.
The rain seems worse when he turns off the light. Your kitchen faces out into the backyard, and through the night Eddie can see the house that's behind yours with its porch lights on. It turns the rain to quicksilver, and provides just enough illumination for Eddie to look up at the kitchen light and know what he's doing.
He drags a chair to the middle of the room and steps onto it. It's disturbingly slippery. Thankfully, Eddie doesn't plan on doing any acrobatics. He reaches up to the warm plastic light covering and feels along for the ridges to pry it off. One ridge clicks off, and another. He leans precariously toward the other side and feels for the third and forth ridge when thunder rumbles outside, and somewhere in the distance lightning flashes.
Eddie flinches but doesn't fall. "Fuck," he mumbles. Pussy.
The plastic falls into his hands and Eddie climbs off of the chair as quickly as he can. It's too hot to handle, banging against the kitchen table as he chucks it down. He'd turned off the light thinking the plastic would cool down fast, and he’d been proven very wrong.
"Shit," he mumbles some more. Your neighbour's porch light turns off, leaving him in total darkness.
Eddie’s hand aches from his mild burn. It's like whenever he has to wash the frying pan at home, he forgets that while cold water might cool the pan itself, the slim piece of metal that connects the dish to the handle stays hot. He's burned himself so many times on that fucker–
Lightning flashes again.
There's someone standing in your yard.
The second he notices the figure, it lunges left.
Eddie stands frozen on the spot, unsure if he should approach the window to get a better look, or if he should move backward and away from the potential harm.
He takes a step forward. Mind in a numb state of thoughtlessness, he walks to your sink and stands there silently, looking into the grass and trees for any hint of irregular movement.
Tree branches rail in the wind and rain. Eddie leans further forward.
A third flash of lighting comes, and it must have struck close by, as the light it gives off is long and bright. He gets a clear look at the yard and the image of his own reflection in the glass. No dark figure in the tall grass toward the fence, no heinous murderer trying the back door.
It’s dark again. Eddie puts a hand over the racing pulse of his heart. Fuck, he thinks. I’m seeing things. He’s on edge ‘cause of your fucking ghost, and it’s not your fault but he wonders if maybe loving you is making him tired. He regrets it as soon as he thinks it, what does that even mean? He’s loved you for years. It has never felt like a chore. But… tired. He’s tired. Pining for someone you already have, just not in the way that you want, is exhausting. It’s not your fault and it doesn’t change the fact that he’s exhausted. Today has been a long day.
He scrubs his eyes with his palms until they burn and lifts his head.
There’s a girl on the other side of the glass.
Eddie startles, startles again when he realises she’s not on the other side at all, she’s behind him, outfitted in white like an apparition, like an angel. She’s inside the house, ten feet away in the doorway.
His neck cracks with the force of his turn.
“Sorry,” you say, taking a step back into the hall. “I thought you heard me.”
“Oh, shit.”
You’ve turned the light on in the hall. Eddie turns back to the window and sees your reflection again, no angels and no apparitions. You’re just a girl.
He half turns and gets stuck like that, hand braced against his eyes, torso pitching forward. “Shit,” he mutters.
“Are you okay?”
Eddie laughs. “You surprised me. I’m fine,” he assures you, though he takes his time standing at full height. How can such a small scare feel like a marathon? “Creep, who fucking does that?”
“You were totally spaced, dude, don’t blame me,” you say, holding your hands up in mock surrender.
“I do blame you. I hope you feel blamed. Fucking fuck, that got me.”
“I wasn’t being quiet. I yelled. You didn’t hear me?”
He can’t stop the dubiety that warps his face. “No? What’s your definition of yelling? ‘Eddie?’” he imitates you, tossing his own name into the dark kitchen. “Unbelievable.”
“What were you looking at?” you ask, nodding at the window.
“Lightning.”
“That why you’re in the dark? Or have I interrupted something?”
“‘M moonlighting as a serial killer.” He grins at you. “Got me.”
You lean against the wall next to the light switch and turn it on, exposing the chair shy of his leg and the plastic cover from your light on the table.
“What the–”
“I’m doing a good deed. Or, I was. There was a moth at one point."
You help Eddie clip the light back into place. He climbs back on the chair and you hug his legs to make sure he doesn’t fall either way, arms encircling his thighs and your face pressed comfortably to his stomach. Your cheek flush with the naked stretch of his stomach, his shirt hiked up as he struggles to finish what he started, he explains the moth, who, for lack of an escape, has probably found a home in your curtains or your coat rack. You laugh at his softness.
Back upstairs, you won’t let him read to you again, and the ghost monitoring continues on. Eventually, you both get bored and turn on the TV. Eddie forgets his fright, you forget your haunted house, and the night ends. You fall asleep against his shoulder, drool leaking from the corner of your mouth. He pushes you gently down into your pillow, and goes to brush his teeth with a snort.
Eddie wakes in the morning with a crick in his neck. He feels better, having slept. All his monstrous yearning has fizzled out overnight, and he’s glad to find that the damp circle of dribble under your cheek isn’t cute, it’s gross. (Okay, it’s a little cute. He’s only human.)
The window brags an end to the extreme weather. Rain nor shine reaches through your drapes; the morning looks mundane. He kicks your shin ‘by accident’ and waits for you to rouse, keeping a safe distance. He doesn’t wanna get his morning breath all over you. That would be inhumane.
“Ouch,” you croak.
“It wasn’t that hard.” His voice is as rough as yours.
“Not your kick,” you moan. “My throat.”
“You’ve been drooling again.”
You cover your face sluggishly and your pinky must feel the wet spot staining your pillow.
“It’s embarrassing.” You dig your heels in at the bottom of the bed and pull your head off of the pillow so you can grab it and throw it out of view. Once it’s bashed against your mirror with a concerning glass sound, you pull the blankets over your face and sigh. “I’ll be here forever, if you need me.”
“Could be worse,” he says lightly. “Imagine waking up with a stiffy.”
“Did you–?” you ask, like you’re terrified to know but couldn’t not inquire.
“No, but I have. You know I have.”
“True. That is… unfortunately awkward.”
“‘Xactly. Don’t feel weird about your spit.”
You don’t feel as bad as you pretend. Sure, it’s embarrassing. So is puking in your lap at the movies, or ripping your pants climbing over the fence into the woods by Forest Hills, or getting fired after two weeks from the Palace Arcade because the manager didn’t like your ‘general demeanour and/or presence’, all of which he’s done and you’ve been a witness to. He thinks you might be impervious to humiliation as long as you’re together.
Eddie pulls the blankets over his head, pleased that the morning light reaches you even here. You’re curled on your side underneath them, bleary eyes meeting his from across the small stretch of mattress. You hadn’t touched him once while you slept.
“I don’t remember falling asleep,” you say quietly.
“We watched Poltergeist. You fell asleep with twenty minutes left.”
“Can you blame me? Snore.”
“You wanted to watch it.”
“It’s the only movie I own that has a ghost.”
You share a silent look. Eddie tries to keep a straight face and ultimately fails, his laugh roaring. You join in, half reluctant and half delirious in your fatigue. Your sleep-swollen eyes close like you can’t keep them open anymore.
He stays under the sheets stealing looks at you for as long as he can, despite the building, smothering warmth. The day passes with much of the same.
—
When you first started working at Leaven, Eddie called you a traitor. He said you’d made it impossible for him to show his face in Bradley’s. He’d been joking — the prices at Leaven are ridiculous, and completely out of the average joe’s budget. Bradley’s remains your go to for everything. He’s come around these days — he likes the fancy soups and admits Leaven’s has the best fresh fruit.
Despite the rich old women who frequent and make your workdays… less than ideal, you like working at Leaven. Your days consist almost exclusively of stacking shelves, but occasionally they chuck you on checkout and you get to sit in a padded chair for ten hours. You’re basically living the American dream.
Working here has introduced a special brand of monotony to your life. It’s very, very quiet, and that’s how you like it. But there’s something to be said for noise, for Eddie and Wayne’s noise specifically. You like going there after work to shock your body back into the real world. Here’s sound. Here’s life. Here’s love.
You’re scanning a bag of ‘holistic’ lemons when you notice Eddie lingering toward the front of the store a mere twenty feet away. You don’t wave at him, lest your customer think they aren’t the sparkling apple of your eye and report you to the manager, but you nod jerkily, hoping he takes it for ‘I see you’. He smiles and points his thumb toward the store’s cafe.
When your arms are numb from another twenty minutes of scanning and typing in coupon codes for people who don’t need coupons, you shut down your register and lock it all tight. You take your lunch break early, and thankfully there’s nobody in the cafe to yell at you for being unprofessional.
You waltz over to Eddie sitting at the back next to the huge glass windows and prop your lunch bag against the coke bottle he’s opened. “Hello, handsome,” you say.
“Hey, beautiful.”
“You want half of a turkey sandwich?”
He beams at you, kicking your chair out so you can sit. “Nooo, I brought you a hot dog.”
“Oh, gross. Give it to me right now.”
You know he made it at home before he’s even pulled the foil wrapped package from his bag. Eddie makes the best hot dogs ever. Fancy brioche buns, caramelised onions and a mixture of sauces on the world's worst meat. They make you queasy and they might be one of your favourite foods. You open it, delighting in its retained heat.
His wrist is shiny. You put your hotdog down to grab his arm and bring it closer to your face. He’s wearing a simple tennis chain with black gems like a rich girl. “What is this?” you murmur, pleased to see him wearing something nice.
“You like that? It was thirty four dollars from a magazine.”
“I love it. What’s the occasion?”
“My mom’s birthday.” He fishes his own hotdog from his bag and slaps it down in front of yours. You take a huge bite, and can’t answer him when he asks, “Is that really weird, buying myself something when it’s a day about her?”
You steal a swig of his coke and wince the entire time. “Sorry.” You cough. “No, that’s not weird, Eddie. Wanting to buy yourself something nice is a good way of dealing with a shitty day. A day that makes you feel shitty,” you amend.
“Maybe I should’ve got her a big bouquet of flowers or something.”
“You can still get her flowers.”
“Yeah.”
You take another bite of your hot dog and slip away to get a bottle of water from the cafe. You feel like an asshole for not hugging him. When you return Eddie’s already polished off his hot dog, and has moved onto one half of your turkey sandwich.
“Are you gonna be weird about it if I hug you?” you ask him genuinely.
“No.” He puts down the sandwich. “I don’t know. Maybe. I want one, though.”
You wipe your hands in a napkin showfully before approaching his chair. You slide a knee next to his thigh and wrap your arms around his head, a hand between his shoulder blades and the other pulling his face to your chest. You have to slouch. It's not entirely comfortable but it doesn't feel awkward, so you take the win.
"I'm sorry, Eddie," you say quietly. You think about kissing his head.
"Me too."
There's a moment in there where you feel a nasty emotion brewing, sadness and much worse. You know that the gutted pain aching through you right now is nothing compared to what Eddie feels. That loss.
It must feel so, so heavy.
You pet his neck affectionately. Your nose dips into his hair, the tip touching his scalp. Your hands come up, like trying to hold water as it trickles between your fingers, Eddie's slipping. You grapple to keep him with you.
"I love you," you say honestly. He's your best friend.
Eddie pats your back. "I love you too, loser."
"You're my best friend."
I would fucking think so, he'd say.
"You're mine," he says.
You smile and give him a good squeeze. When you pull away he doesn't look as odd as he had, relaxing against the hard-backed wood of the cafe chair as he tucks his hair behind his ear. He holds your gaze without any weight to it. You sit in your own uncomfortable chair and lean forward to compensate for the space between you, like two slanting trees in the wind, parallel but untouching.
"It's a really nice bracelet," you say.
"She'd like it, I think."
You don't know anything about Eddie's mom. She isn't someone he's ever been able to talk about with you. You can't remember the photographs you'd seen once upon a time, but you remember having the distinct thought that Eddie looked more like her than his dad or his uncle Wayne. She'd been beautiful, and her life couldn't be more starkly mourned.
"I'm sure she would. It's pretty."
His mouth wobbles. You're horrified for a moment, thinking he might burst into tears, but it's laughter he's chasing, and his little giggle is like a beam of sunlight. "Sorry," he says. Laughter doesn't seem like a good enough word to describe the sounds he's making, such understated, small curls of sound. Fleeting, golden. "She would've liked you, too. She would've loved you."
"That's a good thing?" you check, cautious that he might be on the precipice of a nervous breakdown.
"Yeah, that's a good thing. Is it ever bad? To be loved?" he asks.
He's teasing, but it feels like he's asking you something else.
"You could be a stalker, with that logic."
And there you go, ruining a moment with a shitty joke because you're too much of a coward to ask questions when you don't know the answer.
Eddie grabs his coke, tipping his head back as he says, "Who says I'm not a stalker already?"
Funny how the subtext of a conversation can contain magnitudes for one party and not the other. You worry you're in love with your best friend. He sips at coke and threatens perversion.
"You're definitely a stalker. You couldn't wait a couple hours to see me tonight?"
"I didn't realise I would be seeing you tonight," Eddie says, lifting his brows.
"Oh. I asked, didn't I?"
Eddie shakes his head. "Are you sure? I don't remember you asking, babe, I'm supposed to go play at Gareth's."
Babe is his funniest pet name, in your opinion. It doesn't suit you, or him, but it feels good anyhow. Like you're a babe, supermodel pretty for TV or magazine spreads, long legs and not a single wrinkle that isn't marring the paper itself.
"Bummer for me," you say lightly. "What are you doing, Dio tributes again?"
"Don't say tributes like that, like we're out sacrificing goats in studded jackets."
"That's a good image." You laugh. "That's funny."
"I don't know. He wanted to try something he wrote. Invited Jeff and Jamison. Band's back together."
"I'll get out my t-shirts."
You have all the corny classics; I'm with the band; I'm with the guitarist; a Corroded Coffin faux tour shirt, different Hawkins locations written in typeset sharpie on the back. When you made it, Eddie had been wearing the t-shirt and the ink leaked through. He had 'Lover's Lake, Nov 18' between his shoulder blades and 'The Hideout, May 22' over his tailbone for a week. By day three the words had become illegible but you'd known them anyway, in the same way you knew the dots between the letters H and I were freckles rather than ink spots. You've always looked at him more than you should.
"I could cancel."
You and Eddie experience the natural ups and downs of friendship, or rather the ebb and flow. You know you come back together eventually if you get too far apart, and there hasn't been a time since you met him where you were worried about the permanence of your relationship. You're human, and you get insecure about it anyway, but then he says stuff like that and you're confronted with how close you are. He puts you first. He has other friends, other healthy friendships and a life outside of you, but you still get to be a huge and important part of the majority, and that is more than enough. (It should be more than enough. Some days it is.)
"Now why would you do a thing like that?" you ask, sarcastic but soft. "You know they sound shit without you."
"I don't like knowing you're alone."
"I'm not lonely," you say. Truth or lie.
"That's not what I said." Eddie's eyes narrow.
"It's stupid to worry about me, I always lock the doors. I lock the windows, even the ones upstairs. I don't think I'm gonna fall victim to a home invasion anytime soon."
"I don't think many people think they're gonna be in home invasions until their homes actually get invaded. And it's not really what I'm worried about."
"Do you ever think that we worry too much?"
"Yes. We worry constantly. It's, like, our parasitic relationship with each other."
"Like a tapeworm," you agree solemnly.
"Exactly. I'm your tapeworm. And I'm worried about you."
"Can tapeworms worry?" you ask.
Eddie kicks you mildly. "I don't know? I don't think tapeworms have a level of consciousness beyond what's needed for them to survive. They probably think about eating and parasitizing and that's it. Don't make me ask, please."
You take a pull of your drink to prolong the inevitable. "Ask about what?"
"Your ghost."
"Ah."
Eddie waits.
You sigh again. "Look, I don't even know if she is a ghost, I probably just imagined it."
He pulls himself forward and there's the weight you'd be waiting for, sternness marked into his face one feature at a time. "Liar."
"What?"
"You're lying. You don't think you imagined it." He looks you up and down. “You think I don't know when you're lying?"
"I'm not lying," you lie.
"You are. I know you are," he says, smiling despite the point he's making. "I know what you look like when you do."
"What do I look like?"
"I can't tell you, you might change it, and then I won't know when I'm supposed to look out for you 'cause you never tell me anything."
"I don't want to talk about the ghost."
"Why not?"
"Because you don't believe me," you say too loudly.
Eddie reaches across the table but doesn't touch your hand. He puts his palm down and leans ever forward, says, "Hey, I do."
"No, you don't, you think there's something happening to me."
"What would you think, if it were me?" he asks, frustration seeping in. "Try and see it from how I'm seeing it."
"If it were you'd I'd believe you because you needed me to."
You cringe at yourself and veer back into your chair, shoving your hands between your thighs and clamping your legs closed. Your fingers turn numb.
Eddie doesn't look shocked, exactly. Surprised that you're talking to him unkindly, sure, and concerned.
This whole situation is ill-fated, you know that. What good can come of a ghost? Hooks from the past. "I never should have told you," you say quietly.
"Did you tell me?" Eddie asks, speaking with an anger that forms each word like a cut, clean and hurting. "You won't tell me anything. You tell me she talks to you, that she asks you about me. But you won't say what she says, exactly, and you have nothing to show for it. Your notebook conveniently disappeared. I can’t hear her."
He thinks you're making it up.
Fuck. He thinks you're making it up. Eddie thinks you're lying to him, and while it hurts like a sharp kick to the solar plexus, a flooring, winding pain, it's the embarrassment that has tears glowing along your last line. If he really believes you'd make something up like this for attention, what does he think of you? That you're some silly leech clinging to him through bad lies? That you're bored? That this is a game you're playing with him?
Your heart beats hard enough that you can feel it in your chest. Your hands shake with anger and hurt at once, your leg bouncing under the table in an attempt to keep the rush of it at bay. You look at Eddie with your lips parted, trying to say what you mean and not what you feel. You want to say something scathing, and you don't want to be cruel, and these are two facts existing at the same time.
Eddie has other ideas. He sees your eyes turn glassy, he must, because his anger drains and he turns sorry and soft. It reminds you of a different moment like a film cell played overtop, of a younger, remorseful him. The expression he makes when he's just popped you in the mouth wrestling, or burned behind your ear with the hair iron. An accident.
"I'm sorry," he says. Sheepish, gentle, sincere, embarrassed, too many threads of emotion to summarise with one word. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry. Don't cry."
"Fuck off," you mumble, looking down at your bouncing leg. You push your hand against it, forcing it to lay still.
"I didn't mean it."
"Stop, Eddie."
"I'm just hurt you're not telling me everything and I'm acting like an asshole 'cause I'm a big baby," he says, two shades from frantic.
A tear rolls down your cheek. You thought for sure you'd escaped them, but it had already welled, and with nowhere to go it races down your cheek. You paw at it and hope he won't see it.
He does.
Eddie's chair screeches across the floor as he stands up. You know he'll hug you before he's touched you. Same way you know he's freaking out on the inside, allergic to girl tears.
His hands take to your shoulders, hesitating there, and one slides behind your neck so his forearm presses against both shoulder blades. His lips ghost warmly over your forehead as he leans in. His other hand meanders, braceleting the top of your arm and running downward before swiftly changing paths to flatten out against the small of your back.
"I'm sorry," he mumbles, rubbing your back.
His tender hug exacerbates the hurt, like an exsanguination. You cry as quietly as you can manage and Eddie feels it under his hands, the two of you condensed at the back of an empty room. You forget where you are, what you're wearing, what you've been fighting about. What he said. You realise how badly you'd needed him to comfort you lately, and hate yourself for giving in.
He shushes you so quietly you think you might have imagined it.
Or maybe it was your ghost.
"I'm sorry," he says, his breath kissing your scalp. "I'm a dick."
"It's fine," you say. You despise yourself for how weak you sound.
"It's not fine."
"I wanted to stay because it's getting worse," you tell him. You don't mean to.
"Okay. Okay. Then you'll stay. It's no biggie."
"It's worse," you say, turning your face into his chest.
You're shaking hard. Eddie can't make it stop no matter how tightly he holds you.
"I'm sorry," he says again.
He doesn't have to be. If he was acting out, fine. If he does or doesn't believe you, fine. You don't need him to see ghosts, or apologise that he can't.
"I just didn't want to do it by myself," you confess, at the very pit of pathetic. You hope he won't hear. Your growing panic about the ghost is a secret you hadn’t meant to tell.
Eddie pulls away. He looks down at you, and if he wanted to he could kiss you, his lips are that close, but he widens the distance. He takes your face into his hands, calluses rough against your tacky cheeks.
"You think I'm gonna let you? I know I'm fucking it up royally right now, I know I'm an asshole, but I'm not fucking going anywhere, okay? Don't worry. Don't worry about it." He drops his hands to your shoulders. "I'm your parasite, right? Do you know how hard it is to get rid of a parasite? Sometimes they have to pull them out, and they're excruciatingly long, it's a process you don't wanna go through–"
You laugh wetly. Eddie promptly stops talking about parasites.
"Forgive me?" he asks.
You nod on automatic. Of course you do.
"I swear she's real," you say, rubbing your forehead with the meat of your thumb. You think she’s real, but the truth is that you just don’t know. You amend quickly, "I swear I'm not lying. I am hearing someone… even if she's not real."
Eddie frowns. "I know. I believe you."
That's when the real trouble begins.
—
Eddie wants to hold your hand desperately. You're wearing your nicest dress, split hem sewn with infinite care, and your dress shoes with the tiny heels. He doesn't get to see you like this very often, and he wishes it were a better occasion.
You've had your hair down at the hair stylists in the city, you're wearing concealer. You've done everything you can to look presentable. You look beautiful. He hopes you know that, at least.
You heave a sigh. You're as anxious as Eddie is to get this over with.
“You remember Hawk?” he asks you.
“Jack 'Hawk'?” you ask.
“Yeah, Hawk.”
“He’d come around for green?” you ask.
“Yeah, that’s the one. Alright. So, when you were on vacation last summer, Hawk knocked on the door, I answered. I’m straight, right? Haven’t sold anything in years, no plans on selling again. But Jack barrels up the steps and starts going on like I promised him something. I said, dude, I don't deal anymore, and could you possibly shut the fuck up? Wayne’s inside making milkshakes. Blender on, couldn’t hear us but I’m sweating bullets.
“Jack, fucker, starts begging.” Eddie leans into your shoulder, hushed. “He’s saying c’mon Munson, I know you got some, don’t you have a personal stash? I’m desperate.” He picks a piece of hair off of your sleeve. “I didn’t, obviously, and I told him that but he’s not listening to me, he’s getting all wild-eyed and fucking wound like he needs the hard shit. I’m just trying to get rid of him at that point, I don’t know if he was tweaking but he looked like he was going to hit me and I wasn’t interested in fighting.” He laughs, encouraging a smile from you. “Wayne’s inside making milkshakes. Full fat with vanilla extract– I’m not about to take a trip to Hawkins General.”
“What did you do?” you ask.
“I said to him, even if I did you wouldn’t be getting anything, asshole, and pushed him toward the steps, you know? It felt good, standing up for myself.”
“And he left?”
“No, he fucking hit me straight in the dick. Can you imagine that? Junk shot on my own front door.”
You gasp with giggly indignation, hanging on his every word now. Eddie knows he’s taken you out of your head, even if it’s temporary.
“He hit you in the dick,” —you whisper ‘dick’ like it’s insidious within these four walls— “‘cause he wanted pot? You should’ve pushed him off of the porch.”
“I would’ve but he fucking winded me.” He starts laughing again, your giggles contagious though you try to smother them with your hand. “It’s funny now, but it wasn’t funny at the time.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“He was five foot one. I’ve never felt that humble in my life, I told Wayne I was coming down with something and had the worst afternoon nap ever. Didn’t even get my milkshake.”
“No,” you mumble sympathetically. Your eyes widen. “Eds, I’m sorry, that’s not funny. He assaulted you–”
Eddie waves his hand at you. “He got in a cheap shot. I was fine. I’ll still have kids.”
You snort, “Thanks for the information.”
“I got him back for it, anyway.”
He pretends like that’s the end of that, like the story doesn’t go on and he has nothing to tell you. You wait raptly for him to explain but he gloats, knowing you're hooked.
You elbow him.
“What?” he asks. “Oh, you wanna know how I got revenge? You’re evil.”
“Less shame and more story,” you say.
“Alright. Are you ready? Here’s where it gets complicated.
“I’m at The Hideout listening to that new band that blazed through here a couple of months ago, Board Growth, or something? They’re incredible, the booze is cold, I’m tipsy and Gareth owes me anyway, I’m putting it all on his tab and he, seemingly, isn’t noticing. It’s great. Better if you hadn’t been on vacation again, what the fuck, but it’s good.
“And there he is. It’s the fucking Hawk. He’s looking down his nose at these young girls smooth-talking them. Or, he’s trying to smooth talk them, but it’s like watching a worm flirt with a praying mantis, okay, we all know who’s gonna lose.” Eddie’s knee rests against yours, your hand is on his thigh, he’s losing the thread of his story fast under the smell of your perfume and hair oil. “I knock back the rest of my drink, slick my hair like I’m James Dean and, in all my drunken intelligence, decide that this is the perfect moment for me to get him back.”
“I wasn’t on vacation.”
“What?”
“I only went once.” You’d gone for two days with some old friends. He remembers now, and rushes to fix the story.
“Why didn’t you come, then?” he asks, flipping the script. “You’re such a flake.”
“I don’t know, I don’t know when this was.”
“Stop bailing on me and ruining my stories,” he says, teasing.
“Okay, you’re hopped up on liquid courage and about to hit Jack in the dick,” you prompt.
“Right! I stroll up to Hawk and he’s instantly wriggly like the worm of a guy he is, and I say, hey Hawk, how’s it hanging?
“Maybe he’s just that stupid or maybe he thinks I’m putting out the olive branch but he actually starts telling me how he’s doing, and I’m looking at these girls as if to say, can you believe this guy? I cut him off, and I’m a loser, I’m not half as cool as I think I am but again I’m slightly incredibly inebriated. I’m making bad decisions.”
“Where’s your cafeteria bravado?” you ask.
“It’s worse than that. Imagine me at my most insufferable. I smile at the girls and I lean into Jack’s space, I’m laughing, I feel bad about what I’m gonna say before I’ve said it but I say it anyways. I lean right into his ear and tell him at full volume how sorry I was to hear about his recent bout of syphilis. I’m just so glad they caught it in time, man,” he says, imitating a past self.
You open your mouth. “And,’ Eddie says, jumping to finish, “so happy you could keep most of it, buddy.”
“Eddie…”
“I’m a bad person.”
“No,” you mumble, hiding your smile on his shoulder, your forehead a hair’s width from his chin. You’d laugh a storm any other day to make him feel good, whether you think he’s funny or not, but today all you can manage is a hand on his leg. “You’re not a bad person, he deserved it… fucking hit you…”
The story isn’t true.
He made it up. Right here right now. He just spent five good minutes of your lives spinning an outrageously awful story with poor jokes and one glaring plot hole, for what?
This is hard. Making you cry, begging you to see what a doctor has to say, playing grown up in a grown ups body. Eddie thought you’d get to be kids forever. He never imagined what would come after school, and then suddenly it is after, and everything’s an ugly boring mess except for you (and Wayne, god bless), and now you’re sick. The waiting room you’re in, the road here, the look on your face when he told you what he wanted from you. It’s all… heartbreakingly monotonous.
One doctor's appointment, he whispered across pillows. Late and neither of you asleep. The sound of cicadas outside and Wayne’s deep snore a room away.
You nodded and closed your eyes, and you didn’t say another word all night.
What’s the worth in a made up story? What good will it do? You have to see the doctor eventually. Distraction, Eddie thinks pleadingly. Relief. He just wants to give you as much relief as he can from what’s happening with the only thing he feels he has —his quick mouth.
He stares at your hand on his thigh. He wills himself to raise his own and put it on top of yours. He channels his thoughts, like this is telekinesis and not his own body, move. Move your hand, he says to himself.
It's a millimetre out of his pocket when they call your name.
You shoot up like a stalk and smile at the nurse who's come to collect you. You don't look jittery anymore, but there's a distinct doe in the headlights look about you as Eddie watches you trail down the hallway into the doctor's office. You look back at him three times, and each time is a whip.
As soon as the door closes, he bends forward in his chair and heaves a sickly sigh. His nausea has him coughing into his hand and praying he doesn't throw up here. If they want you to go somewhere today, like a pharmacy for temporary medication, or the emergency room for a CAT scan, he can't be covered in his own vomit.
A child babbles across the room. Eddie peeks at her through his fingers. She's pale with dark hair, much like Eddie himself, and her mom is the same. The kid's mom doesn't look like Eddie's mom besides that, but seeing her here in a hospital makes it impossible not to think of her. She's been on his mind so much lately. Her birthday is at the end of the month, and it isn't the same —she'd been in hospital for three brutally short days— but you're being here is like peeling the scab off of a wound he thought healed years ago.
Mom was everything. She was willowy and beautiful and tough as a board. She was smart, she knew everything; how to make microwave pizza taste gourmet, how to make whistles out of blades of grass, how to make a bad day feel brand new.
He wished he could say that he has her every detail committed. The cruellest, most terrifying thing about the people we love is that they aren't permanent, not their life and not what they leave behind. Over time, his mom has turned from an aching spear of love to a dappling of sunlight through the branches of an old tree — scattered. Beautiful and impossible and a thousand pieces in his memory, slowly fading over time.
There'll come a day where Eddie can't remember her. He knows that. He knows his frame of reference for who she was will reduce down to her photographs, and the nearly empty bottle of her perfume under his bed.
Eddie is haunted by her absence everyday.
There is no corporeal apparition of her at his shoulder, no cool chill running down his spine, but he's haunted all the same. It's why he won't accept your ghost. It's why he can't. He knows what it feels like to have someone with him who isn't really here, and he won't let you suffer through the same thing. He'll protect you from this, from her.
Even if it means he has to take you to doctors offices an hour out of town. If he has to bargain for it, and make you cry at work, and– and fucking drive this wedge between you, he'll do it.
He needs you to be okay.
He can't think about his mom anymore. He loves her, he misses her, but if he thinks about her too much he won't be able to stand up.
Eddie sits up, takes a lungful of air in, and waits. He senses you as you come back down the hall, grateful for your dry cheeks, and your small, small smile. Tiny but irrefutably there.
He stands up and holds out his hand. You don't take it, but you walk into his side so your hips are pressed together and he falls into step with you.
"So…" he says.
"She asked if I was getting enough sleep," you say, "and I told her I was. I explained everything to her like I promised I would, even– even… I told her everything. And um, she seemed very open."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, she– OK." You frown.
"Listen, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I know I practically forced you to come, but it's still your life, and you can have privacy from me–"
"It's not that. I just don't want to cry in here."
He puts his hand on your shoulder, his arm folded against your shoulder. You don't speak until you're out of the doctor's office and weaving through people as you walk toward the parking lot.
"She thinks I'm having auditory hallucinations. And that it could be an initial symptom of schizophrenia, or something else. She said it usually starts around my age, and–"
"Hey, it's okay," he says, though internally he feels as distressed as you're beginning to look, horrified by your crumpling chin and wringing hands. "It's okay. You don't have to say it if it's going to upset you."
"It might not be anything," you say, shaking your head. "She said the human brain is complicated, and sometimes stuff like this just happens. She wants to, uh," —your voice twists up very high— "see me again after I've had some sleep to see if it's persisting."
Eddie nods. He's fucking glad that the doctor took you seriously, grateful for her advice and her reluctance to misdiagnose you with something. It's not as though Eddie wants you to be experiencing hallucinations. But he thinks you are, and he needs help looking after you if that’s the case.
"Did she prescribe anything?" he asks.
"A week's worth of ambien. She didn't really want to, but I told her about, you know, you coming over to make sure I'm okay, and I know that was because of the gh–" You bite your lip. You're shaking like a leaf. "Well, she thought it was you making sure I'm not an insomniac. Which I'm not."
"I'm really proud of you," he says quietly. "I know you don't want this to be happening. I get it, I promise. I don't want it either, but this is a good thing."
He can see you regaining some composure. You smile a little, and you offer him your prescription paper. "You know it only costs seven dollars for seven ambien?"
"I could get you some for free."
Your laugh startles him. "No, I don't think so."
"I'm not offering. Just saying. I know a guy."
"No, you knew a guy who knows a guy who could get me something ridiculous, like a percocet."
"I'd never give you anything like that."
"I know." You come to a halt. The cloudy weather paints you in shadow. "I'm sorry this is happening."
"You're what?" He doesn't let you answer moving to stand in front of you. "Why would you apologise for this?"
"Because it's my head," you say stiffly.
"You didn't want this to happen. And– and it might not be happening at all. You'll try the ambien, and you'll take care of yourself, and we'll go from there. I wasn't trying to scare you… I wish I could brush it off, you know? I wish I could believe that you…" He takes you in. Your skirt and jacket are swaying in the cold wind. You look one sharp shove from falling over. "I get that it isn't like me, to not believe in the fantasy–"
You save him from his miserable attempt at placating you.
"I know."
He licks his lips.
"I love you," Eddie says as he starts toward the van again. "Let's go fill your prescription, and then I'll get you whatever you want to eat."
"Boys are so weird about I love you," you say, following. The light behind your eyes makes your teasing worth it. "You say it like you chewed on it first. Struggled to get that one out, did you?"
It's not your best insult. Neither of you are exactly on form.
"Just so hard to say it to you."
You take what you perceive to be an insult on the chin. Only Eddie knows there's a sliver of truth in what he's said.
You generously let him help you into the passenger seat. He's hopeful that your mood's improved until that wretched frown worms its way across your pretty mouth once again. You wait for him to round the hood and start the van before you explain yourself.
"There's a support group. For anybody who's, um, hearing voices. Schizophrenics, manic depressives…"
"Is that something you want to go to?"
"I don't know. Can I be honest with you?"
"Yeah. Absolutely."
"I don't know if I believe that it isn't real. I know that's the point. The definition of hallucination is, uh… an experience involving the apparent perception of something not present, and so… it makes sense. My ghost isn't there, even if I think she is, so I must be hallucinating, but Eddie," —you shrink in on yourself— "I have this feeling that won't go away."
He loves you. You're terrified.
He's already guessed what you're going to ask for.
"Can we try again? Please? I'll take the meds and I'll go to the support group, but in the meantime, could you please come back and just– just listen. Maybe it takes a while for her to talk to someone else." You scrub your face. "Fuck. I sound fucking crazy."
Eddie squeezes the wheel. "Don't say that. Don't say it like you've done something wrong. You didn't do anything wrong."
People say crazy but they mean sick. They ridicule what they can't understand.
He doesn't understand, but he wants to. He says, "If you want me to, we'll try again. I'll come over."
You look up from your palms. He notices almost habitually that they're smaller than his. When you were young teenagers there'd been a short period of time where you'd been the taller one, with bigger hands and a bigger smile. Lately, you've seemed small.
"Really?" you ask hopefully.
"You came here 'cause I asked you to. It was hard for you." He turns his eyes to the road and turns the key until the Beauville's engine is thrumming with life. "I'd do a lot of shit for you, superstar. Like, anything. If you need me to keep trying then I will. And you'll–"
"I'll keep trying too," you promise.
It's all he can ask for.
—
The sky is all kinds of grey. It stretches like a sheet from one corner of your eye to the other, darker toward each limit of your vision, a gradual decay into colourlessness toward the very top where the sun fights hardest to burst through an impossible expanse of clouds. They seem thick as marshmallo, but where they begin is hard to decipher.
Your eyes feel sore. You imagine a hand reaching for you, hitting you, pressing its cold knuckles to each bruised eye socket to calm the raging ache behind them. You hadn't expected to feel this way. It isn't the first time you have, but to feel so intensely unreal while there's someone still with you is new. You lean your weight against the sill and let your arms swing from the open window ledge, knuckles scraping the scratchy brick of the house's exterior walls, instantly chilled by the weather.
A black band of birds burst across the sky somewhere leftwards. The pitch and tumble with no discernible formation. They're too far to hear. You imagine the flap of wings, their buoyed cawing, screeching to one another as they swim between pylon cables and their brothers spread wings.
"What kind of birds do you think they are?" Eddie asks.
You feel his weight settle into the ottoman beside you. You'd dragged it to the window with tired arms. You haven't felt up to anything since you got home, though Eddie's promise should've restored a little hope. He's going to keep trying to meet your ghost. You'll have to hope you don't get worse before that.
You know, starkly, that you aren't having auditory hallucinations. You know, starkly, that your ghost had written to you in your missing notebook.
But maybe that's the nature of your hallucination. A night bent over the pocket dictionary had ended as this one begins, with the crushing realisation that you cannot trust what you know. To put it plainly, you're afraid that you're mentally unwell. Terrified of how it’s going to change your life, the people in it.
Eddie's afraid too.
Your orange bottle of pills glares like a flame to your right where it stands waiting for you on the nightstand. Eddie's made up your bed for the two of you. He could sleep in the guest room, and he never has.
"I don't know," you say hoarsely. Your voice sounds as you feel, like something has its hooks in you, and it's dragging you down, down…
"They're too big to be pigeons."
"They're too dark. They're crows," you guess, tracing an outlier as he skirts the crowd of his family and spirals up into the air.
Like a party trick, you expect him to disappear, or explode, or rocket up into the cotton clouds and out of view. He slows as he falls, and then he dives back toward the main swarm of birds as they migrate toward the horizon.
There's a feeling brewing in you that you don't like.
If you can't trust your own perception. If real isn't real. If you need someone to sit beside you and distinguish real from fake, if… if you're sick.
If you're sick, what does that mean?
You search for something in the air to hold onto.
Eddie hums softly, his hand pushing out into the static as he points toward the glowing clouds. "Sun's going down slow."
You raise your hand and wrap it around his. It isn't enough. You force your fingers between the gaps of his, just a little longer, thicker, solid, and lock him in. He feels real. That's the key. As far as you know, hallucinations don't carry that far. Bugs crawling over your skin and through the strands of your hair, an itch you can't scratch, a drop of rain from a concrete ceiling, the brain can recreate these things. But the exact width of Eddie's palm or the feeling of his calluses against your loveline, your lifeline, and the heartbeat that bumps against the meat of your thumb when you focus, that's impossible. That's a level of precision the human brain can't find.
Right?
Eddie curls his thumb around yours. You can feel his gaze on your cheek like a breath blown between parted lips. You turn toward him, and you catalogue every little mar or mark, every fine hair. His wrinkles, his textured jaw. The strands of a fallen curl come apart near his eye, grown out bangs kissing the highest point of his cheek.
You're panicking. There's a thumping behind your eyes.
"I don't know if you look right," you say.
"I look very right. I'm extremely handsome," he says.
You hold his hand out of the window, worried you'll drop it, and it'll fall.
If Eddie were at home tucked into his double bed a mile away, she would've talked to you by now. Your breath shortens as the meaning behind that thought solidifies.
She only comes when you're alone. Why do you think that is?
She's not real.
Is that how it works? Can hallucinations, auditory, visual, or otherwise, take place in the company of others? You know next to nothing. Maybe they aren’t so common with loved ones standing guard.
You push your head out of the window again and look down at the flat, dying grass in the backyard, a yellowing carpet of bluegrass. Bluegrass is prominent because it can grow anywhere, like mould. With all the rain these past few days, the grass should've livened into a plush and solid green, like the lawns in the southern side of Hawkins where the rich people lavish in sprinklers and gardeners alike. It remains rumpled.
Eddie rubs the back of your hand. It's far from the closest you've ever been. There have been nights you spent unawares in his arms, waking with your face tucked into his neck, so embarrassed you couldn't look at him afterward. But it's the most intimate touch you've ever endured. The whorls of his fingerprint embossing itself into your hand, a quarter circle that doesn't cease. Time feels brief and unsteady.
Eddie must realise you're having a bad moment. He shuffles closer to you, your arms twined, his hair tickling your shoulders. It snaps you back, in a way, with its softness.
"Let's go to bed," he says when the sky's more charcoal than light.
You're cold. You follow. You latch your hand in his and he doesn't say a word, closing and locking your window with one hand, pulling the sheets of your bed back deftly for you to climb in. You slide across to the outermost side and he follows, leaning over you to pull the sheets to your chin.
He stays hovering there.
He holds very still.
"Everything's going to be okay," he whispers.
"What if it isn't?"
"It will be, you…" he trails off. He keeps your hand in his, but he plants his elbow on the other side of you, like a lover about to share sweet nothings, his face so, so close. "You'll be okay, no matter what happens."
"I wish she'd told me more," you say.
"The doctor?" He draws a small, careful line across your cheek with his index finger. "Sweetheart, we'll find out everything there is to find."
"I want to know how scared I should be. Because this feels like torture."
"You don't have to be scared." Eddie smiles, and as far as you can tell, though you're having trouble trusting yourself, it's one of his genuine smiles. "Why do you think I'm here, huh? It's not to watch as something bad happens."
You lift your chin. He's too close to look at both eyes at once: you have to choose, and you can't. Your irises dance back and forth between them, shuddering in indecision.
"You'll look after me," you say, not a question.
He turns his hand, stroking down the length of your cheek with the backs of his fingers. They feel much softer than the undersides, the flat of his nails like silk. Your eyes burn as you free your hand from his, hoping he'll be kind with that one, too.
"I'll look after you."
You tuck your hands behind the trim of his waist and, knowing you shouldn't, let them feed into his shirt. You draw a shaking line through the downy soft blanketing the small of his back until your finger is skipping up the jutting bumps of his spine. It's like climbing a staircase by touch alone. You wonder if anyone else had ever done this to him, if they ever wanted to, and if he'd let them.
Eddie releases a breath. Warmth feathers along your skin.
His hand strokes down to your neck, resting at your collar. Half a second and his petting returns, the side of his thumb brushing your soft jawline tenderly.
He must feel you swallow. His pupils travel down the whites of his eyes like the steady descent of the setting sun.
"I can't," he says softly.
Can't what? you want to ask. You don't know if you should. You know the answer, but does he?
"You're not all here," he says, hand paused. He cups your cheek, holds you in place. You hadn't been moving. "But when you are, I could. I could."
"I don't know if I…" you drift off. How can you explain it to him? I don't know if I'll feel better any time soon.
His eyes move sideways, as if the instruction for your reassurance lay somewhere in the apple of your cheek.
You don't want him to kiss you if it's a fixative meant to soothe your rampant nerves. You want him to kiss you for a hundred reasons, but that's not one of them. You're not sure he wants to kiss you beyond that.
He would, you realise. Kiss you, if he thought you wanted it badly enough. That's a lot of power to have over someone, more than you want over him, and you can't ask him to. You look away from his eyes and search upward, trembling hands and the starts of your forearms pressed to his back, hiking his shirt up one inch at a time.
He sits up agonisingly slowly, in the same way the sky has fallen from light to dusk; inchingly, so as to escape notice, until suddenly you can't feel the emanating heat of his chest against yours anymore, and the only light inside of your room is a yellow band sliced by the ajar door.
Your hands fall back. One under the sheets, one over. Eddie sits where you lay, his hands at the crook of your elbows. He gives symmetrical, superficial massages to each.
The life has been sapped from you, as if it were tied to the sun sunk beyond the horizon. A brutal fatigue sets in.
"You should take your ambien," he murmurs.
"Okay."
The eye tattooed on his arm seems to follow you as he reaches for your seven dollar bottle. He twists off the cap and shakes a single pill out for you, and you watch as the lines of his arms start to blur.
You take your pill, lying firmly in the middle of your pillow, and wonder if now would be an appropriate time to burst into panicked tears.
"I'll look after you," Eddie repeats after a while. Or maybe he doesn't. The weight of the day and the helping kick of your medication pulls you under. He lays down next to you carefully, his hand searching under the covers for yours.
And there, standing in the corner of the room, is your ghost. Real. Stunningly, terrifyingly real.
You can’t open your mouth wide enough to warn him.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
end of part one! thank you so much for reading, I really hope that you enjoyed! this was my baby and such a labour of love in April and I’m so happy now to share it :D if you have the time, please consider reblogging, it means so much to me and I’d love to know your thoughts on the story so far <3<3
Faint of Heart
(Part One)
Pairing: Eddie x fem! Reader
Word Count: 1.6k
Summary: You don’t know his name, but Eddie becomes a regular at your diner. Scared you’ll run like everyone else, he can’t bring himself to tell you how he feels, until…
Warnings: Some angst, brief appearance by an unwanted ex, mild threat and violence, 18+ in later parts, strangers to lovers, smut to come…
A/N: disclaimer - I started writing this in the midst of a week long migraine. I was really high and off my face on pain pills and strong migraine medication, so I’m so sorry if this sucks.
•••
“In this moment together
Though we feel worlds apart
Can you lend me your hand
I’m a little too faint of heart”
It’s always 3:18am when he arrives. So punctual and set in stone that you don’t even need to glance up at the old clock on the wall anymore.
You don’t know his name, but you call him Sunny, because that’s how he likes his eggs when he orders every day (except, it seems, on Wednesdays - although you haven’t figured out why, yet).
It’s definitely not a description of his demeanour - Sunny is anything but bright and breezy. He slinks in each early morning with a constant frown set on his brow, shoulders slightly hunched over as if they’re straining under the weight of whatever emotional burden he’s lugging around. Heavy boots clunk across the black and white diner tiles as he heads to the far end of the counter. You could set your watch by the jangle of his chains as he hoists himself onto the very last worn leather stool of the row.
Wordlessly, he’ll go through the motions of reaching for a menu, holding it open in his hands but never really looking at the options. You play along with the charade of giving him a moment to decide on his order before walking over with a small smile and cheerful tone to ask “what can I get you?” whilst reaching for the little pencil tucked behind your ear and writing down his order before Sunny even starts talking: two eggs (sunny side up), bacon, and a short stack of pancakes with extra syrup. You don’t need to ask your usual follow up question, instead just reaching behind for a coffee cup, filling it to the brim with hot, black liquid and sliding it softly towards him.
His leather jacket squeaks when he reaches to take several large gulps from the mug, and you always wonder if his throat is lined with asbestos because he barely seems to register the heat of the drink.
Every morning you offer sugar, but his heavily ringed hands wave you off with a little grunt. If he were anyone else, you’d have stopped offering and being so polite a long time ago - but there’s something about Sunny that draws you back in. The gentle tug of a string in your chest urging you in his direction, despite the complete lack of interaction.
One time he’d glanced up as you placed his plate in front of him. Eyes dark and still as the sky outside, but you saw something buried in them the second your gaze connected. A flash between you so instantaneous, it was gone before you’d registered the way your heart stuttered in its rhythm.
Like the bite of a venomous animal, you returned to the cash register that day knowing something new and foreign was in your veins. You felt it coursing through your bloodstream - changing the make up of your cells with a heat so intense, you’d never recover.
•••
You’re always in the same spot of the diner when he arrives, Eddie could set his watch by your shift routine these days. It’s 3:18am and you’re refilling the napkin holders. Hands working methodically without your eyes really having to follow what’s going on, such is the depth of your muscle memory.
He keeps his head down as he passes, knowing you never seem to look up when he arrives anymore. Eddie hears his footsteps echo through the mostly empty diner, taking his favoured stool at the end of the row - within reaching distance of the old jukebox he loves so much. He puts in a couple of quarters and picks the same songs like clockwork.
You come over to politely take his order, but Eddie sees you write it down from memory before he speaks. Although he keeps his head ducked low, if you were to glimpse beneath his mane of unruly curls, you’d see the way he can’t help but smile at this little act the two of you go through every morning. It’s become his favourite part of the day, not that he’ll ever tell you that.
Eddie doesn’t know your name, but he calls you Sugar in his mind for several reasons. It started because of the adorable way you ask him each day if he’d like sugar in his coffee, despite him never taking it.
By far his favourite reason, though, is the way you hum along faultlessly when Eddie plays Def Leppard’s ‘Pour Some Sugar On Me’ from the jukebox. You never seem to realise the way your hips sway to the beat as you’re standing at the cash register, yet Eddie finds the movement utterly mesmerising. Can’t tear his eyes away, even at the risk of you catching him staring.
He finds most of what you do hypnotising, if he’s honest. The way your fingers tap on the counter when you’re bored between customers, or that habit you have of tucking your pencil behind your ear, or how your head tips back in laughter at Old Ken in his booth when he cracks the same crazy jokes - a noise bursting free from your chest and brightening his world like fireworks lighting up the night sky. Eddie feels drawn to you like a moth to a flame, has done since the first time he came to this diner.
If this was the Eddie of a few years ago, he’d have worked up the courage to ask you out by now, but a lot changed for him after that night. People look the other way when they see his scars, kids cross the street. He wants so desperately to tell you how you’re all he’s thought about for the past few months, but the words die on his tongue the minute you’re stood in front of him.
He braved a glance up at you once, as you’d laid his plate down on the counter. Eddie felt the lightning bolt through his chest the second your eyes met. The heat of your gaze, even in that fleeting moment, burned into his soul like being branded with a hot poker.
•••
Sunny hadn’t arrived as usual this morning. At 3:49am, his stool is still painfully empty. A feeling of unease squirms its way up from your stomach, crawling between the gaps of your ribs and settling in your chest.
You have plenty to keep yourself busy with - the cook has called out sick, and despite ringing him several hours ago, your boss clearly thinks leaving you high and dry to run the diner by yourself in the middle of the night is acceptable.
Walking over to Old Ken, you take his payment from the table top, sliding over a paper bag containing an extra portion of his meal. What your boss doesn’t know won’t hurt him. The grin on Ken’s face as he shuffles home is worth the risk a hundred times over.
Your other customers so far had been a small group of college girls grabbing burgers to soak up the booze they’d overindulged in, an older couple on a road trip who sat in silence for the entire meal, and a trucker who had the appetite of a horse but the tipping etiquette of a rat.
When they’d all finally left, you take a moment to rest, loosening the ties of your apron, stretching out the ache of your stiff neck muscles with a tired groan while turning to wipe down the back counter. When the bell above the door jingles to signal the arrival of a patron, it echoes loudly into the now empty diner. An unexpected wave of relief crashes down your spine. That must be Sunny, finally. You hadn’t realised until that moment quite how much you’d come to enjoy seeing him each morning.
The excitement is short lived, however - and as you turn to greet him, the smile falls from your face, stomach plummeting to your feet.
“Aiden” You manage to croak out, mouth now painfully dry “W-What are you doing here?”
Your ex-boyfriend lands his hands on the counter and grins, obnoxious gold tooth glinting beneath the strip lighting.
“Didn’t think you’d be seeing me again so soon, did ya?”
No. You knew you couldn’t avoid him forever, but part of you had really hoped you would.
•••
“C’mon, y’stubborn old woman!
Eddie swipes his sweaty forehead with the back of his grease covered hand, a smear of black oil staining his pale skin like ink on white paper. With a final twist of the wrench, he straightens his back a little too quickly, thwacking the back of his skull on the underside of the hood.
“Motherfu_” He catches himself, seething through his teeth with a grunt of pain.
Slamming the hood closed, he hops into the open drivers door and turns his keys, saying a silent prayer to whatever deity was awake and listening at this godforsaken hour.
“Come on. Come on. Come on…”
The van engine miraculously splutters into life, plume of dark smoke billowing from the exhaust. Eddie knows he can’t keep his trusty van going forever - her days are surely numbered, but damn if he isn’t still very much attached to his beloved vehicle. He won’t let her go without a fight.
A glance at the clock on his dash confirms his post-shift breakfast is very overdue. There’s a moment of contemplation, Eddie considers driving straight home. There’s a food stop much closer to the trailer park he could grab something from. Turning the radio up, his fingers tap a beat against the steering wheel, bottom lip protruding in thought. With a shake of his head, Eddie throws the van into gear and grins at the screech of his tires on asphalt as he barrels towards his diner of choice.
Towards you.
•••
•••
PART 2 COMING SOON!
Thanks for reading 🫶🏻 Reblogs keep fic writers thriving 🥰 special thanks to my dearest @joesquinns for giving me the push to post this and not be scared 💛
Eddie, who, as a child, struggled with making decisions, so Wayne gifted him a Magic 8 ball that he could turn to for guidance. Eddie spends most of his childhood carrying around the Magic 8 Ball, using it to decide between mac and cheese (ask again later) or chicken strips (signs point to yes) at lunch or whether he should go talk to the new kid Gareth (without a doubt).
Eddie slowly starts to make his own decisions but keeps onto the Magic 8 Ball for important, life-changing questions. He asks if he should drop out of school after failing his first senior year (my reply is no) and then again if he should repeat said senior year (it is decidedly so). He even asks if he should start working for Reefer Rick (reply hazy, try again) – it’s the one time he chose to ignore the ball’s advice.
Unfortunately, Eddie doesn’t have his Magic 8 Ball on him when the witch hunt starts. He wishes he could ask it if all this hiding and running is going to be worth it. But for once, Eddie has to rely on his own decisions. So he keeps going. Lets Dustin and his friends take him under their wing and protect him. Has to trust that Nancy’s plan is going to work and that Steve is going to make Vecna pay when he nods his head at his request.
It’s hard trusting other people without having something to double check the universe’s whims on, but he has no choice.
When he survives and gets sent to the hospital, the Magic 8 Ball is one of the first thing he asks Uncle Wayne to bring him from home. The first question he asks: was any of it real (without a doubt). Oh, how he wishes it was all a dream.
The second question he asks later when he’s all alone: will I get over my crush on Steve (very doubtful). Not pleased with the answer, Eddie pushes the Magic 8 Ball aside and rolls his eyes. What does it know anyway?
As his recovery continues, Eddie comes to rely on his Magic 8 Ball less and less because he has a group of friends around him who are there to offer their guidance. The Magic 8 ball stays perched on the small hospital table though, always in reach if he needs it.
He nearly tells Wayne to take it home one night, but he’s glad he doesn’t because in the morning he wakes to find Steve shaking the ball in his hands.
“Didn’t strike you as a Magic 8 ball kind of guy, Harrington,” Eddie teases, voice thick with sleep and whatever drugs are still coursing through his body.
“M’not usually, but I needed a little guidance with this question.”
“Oh yeah? And what does the magic ball say?”
“It just says yes.”
“Ah, the most definitive of Magic 8 Ball answers.”
“So I should trust it then?”
“That depends,” Eddie says, stretching out on the uncomfortable hospital bed. “What did you ask it?”
"I asked it if I could kiss you.”
Without thinking, Eddie sits up and snatches the Magic 8 Ball from Steve’s hands. He ducks his head, closes his eyes, and mouths his question before violently shaking the Magic 8 Ball.
It is certain.
“What did you ask it?” Steve asks, stepping closer to Eddie’s hospital bed.
“If you were being serious.”
“And? What did it say?”
Eddie turns the Magic 8 Ball so Steve can see the little triangle floating. When he looks up, he sees Steve barely containing the smile breaking out on his face.
“Guess you better kiss me, Harrington,” Eddie teases. “Don’t want to upset the Magic 8 Ball gods.”
𝒶 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝓁𝒶𝓉𝑒 || eddie munson x reader
𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 || sometimes, the best things happen when you're a little late.
𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 || 2.7k
𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 || implied smut/established relationship (18+), unplanned pregnancy, reader's parents are controlling, no descriptions of pregnancy/childbirth, dad!eddie, implied preppy/rich reader but it's not discussed much
this is just a short and sweet little fic based on a random idea I had, totally different from what I normally do but I hope y'all like it!!
“Hey pumpkin,” he purred as you sat on his desk, resting one of those beautiful ringed hands on your thigh. You had been practicing how you were going to say this all weekend and now you felt like you’d forgotten it somehow; he had that effect on you.
Taking a deep breath, you saw his eyes narrow for a second and his head tilt— he knew something was up, but he didn’t have to ask what before you blurted it out: “I’m late.”
He frowned and looked at the clock on the classroom wall; “It’s still three minutes until class?” he observed.
“Eddie…” you whispered, feeling so— something. This crazy feeling you’d had for days now; this weird, nervous, insecure kind of feeling. This oh my god is this happening to me feeling.
He looked at you, waiting for more context, and you chewed your lip as you looked away. Then he seemed to get it, and his chest sunk. “O-oh, fuck.”
“Yeah.”
“I— okay,” he breathed, leaning in closer to you. “Like… how late?”
“Four days?”
“Shit,” he hissed, glancing out the window and back at you— like there was gonna be someone standing outside holding up a sign for him that would tell him what to say. But there wasn’t, and he obviously had no fucking idea what to say. “Shit,” he said again.
“Yeah,” you also said again.
He stood up from his desk, lowering his voice and standing closer to you so (hopefully) only you could hear; thankfully nobody else seemed to be paying either of you much attention, just trying to get ready for class. You wished you could think about class right now. “What do we— I mean, how do we— I— when will you know? Like, for sure?”
Even with all this fear (and nausea) swirling inside you, you still almost swooned at those big brown eyes, looking at you like this. You could tell he was terrified, just as much as you, but he couldn’t hide the small edge of excitement— as much as this is supposed to be every young guy’s worst nightmare, you knew a part of him was thrilled at the chance of it.
You were too, though you were too embarrassed to admit that even to yourself. It was horribly misguided; your parents didn’t even know you’d been seeing Eddie, because you’d figured they would have a heart attack if they knew. This was going to be armageddon— if it was really going to happen. You were still hoping it was just an unpredictable period and a whole lot of wasted emotion.
“I won’t know for sure until I go to a doctor,” you answered, “but I can’t really do that without tipping off my parents…”
“I’ll drive you,” he decided.
“And… if it’s…?” you dared to mumble, nervously glancing down, preparing for him to answer that he would drive you to a different doctor…
Instead, he opened his mouth and the bell rang. “We’ll talk about that later,” he decided.
“Okay,” you breathed. “I— yeah, we’ll talk about it. We’ll… figure something out.”
He pulled you in for a kiss suddenly, and it soothed you a bit as you melted into his arms. The teacher cleared her throat; “I’d oblige you to return to your own classroom, Miss?” she instructed.
Eddie didn’t let you go quite yet, though, holding your face and looking at you closely. “It’s gonna be okay,” he promised. “No matter what happens, it’s gonna be okay. Okay?”
“Okay.”
He kissed your forehead one more time as he hugged you, and then you took your leave, back to your class, where you had no hope of focusing.
~
“If you do— I mean, if it is—” he kept stopping and starting over— “and if it’s mine—”
“Eddie!” you frowned, smacking him on the arm.
“Sorry, sorry— I know you’re not— sorry,” he mumbled, “I just mean… that’s my baby. Our baby.”
You bit your lip.
“I-if it is, you know, there, I mean,” he mitigated.
“Okay, so if it is— if I am… what do you want me to do?” you asked.
“Whatever you need to do,” he nodded. “Whatever’s right for you. I mean, I know your parents…”
He trailed off, and you raised your brows as you nodded. “Yeah…”
“So if you have to… I understand,” he insisted.
“But what do you want me to do?” you asked again.
He chewed his lip. “It’s your choice.”
“I know,” you groaned, “but if you could choose what I was going to do for me—”
“Which I would never do,” he announced proudly.
“What would you hypothetically want me to do if it was up to you?” you pressed. “And don’t say I should do what’s best for me,” you warned, causing him to shut his mouth which he’d just opened.
“I… uh, well, I guess…” he stalled, looking down; but you could tell he already knew what he wanted, he was just trying to find the courage to say it. Getting a serious look on his face, he finally admitted it: “I’d want you to keep it. I’d want us to… have it, raise it.”
You sighed, smiling with relief— you felt the same way, but didn’t want to say it first, in case it pressured him into feeling like he had to be involved. And the last thing you wanted was to raise a baby with someone only there out of obligation.
“I know we’re young, and it’s sooner than either one of us wanted this to happen,” he continued, “but I don’t… I don’t want you to think of our baby as a mistake. Not planned, sure, a little unexpected… but if we do this, it’s not a mistake. It’s two people who love each other starting a family together.”
He stepped closer to you, holding your hands tightly as you smiled.
“But that’s just if I was in charge of everything, which I’m not,” he laughed.
“No, that’s what I want, too,” you admitted. “But, if that’s gonna happen, I have to tell my parents first.”
Eddie blew out a long breath that inflated his cheeks. “Yeah. Good luck with that.”
You raised an eyebrow, and he coughed.
“Uh, I mean— I’ll come with you, if you want, obviously. Your dad doesn’t own any guns, right?”
You laughed a little, leaning forward to rest your head on his chest with a sigh. “He won’t literally kill you, Ed— but I think I should do it myself, just so they have a chance to meet you when things are less… emotional, I guess.”
“Yeah,” he breathed, kissing the top of your head and petting your hair as you leaned on him. “S’gonna be okay, pumpking, even if they get mad at first.”
You nodded, replying “I know,” but you didn’t really know. You had this sick feeling in your stomach, terrified of how they would react— especially considering you’d already been formally banned from seeing Eddie anymore.
You waited, of course, to tell them until you were late enough that something had to be said— actually, they nearly figured it out once the sudden bouts of nausea began. If either of you had known what would happen after they found out, you would’ve cherished that time before more carefully.
one year later…
It took about half a second for Wayne to figure it out, seeing you on his doorstep with a baby on your hip.
His nephew had been listless ever since you left, and it took him a while to even say what was going on— but after a few times of innocently asking if that girl’s ever gonna come around again, Wayne finally assumed that you’d dumped him. But apparently, it was far worse than that; when he had a few beers in him, Eddie told the whole story about how a broken condom led to a missed period and about a dozen positive at-home tests. And that, apparently, wasn’t the issue— he admitted he’d wanted to go through with it, offered to marry you, got excited about having a child even if he felt totally overwhelmed at the idea of becoming a father.
I figured I could do it better than mine, Eddie told his uncle, a little somber smile on his face, and that made me feel better. Kind of a low bar, but still. I’d’ve done anything for that baby… for our baby…
But that was when he got choked up and struggled to say much more, until Wayne eventually pulled it out of him. Her parents, man, they hate me— guess I can understand why, ‘cept they never even met me. She told ‘em and they just went ballistic. And they… she’s gone.
‘Gone’ as in, shipped off to live with extended family in another state and, presumably, have the pregnancy quietly ‘taken care of’. You’d told him from the start that’s probably what they’d do, or at least make you give it up for adoption. They told their country club and cotillion friends you were studying abroad, to save the shame of admitting their daughter was knocked up by a trailer park freak.
Well, apparently Eddie had been slightly wrong about what happened to the baby after you disappeared, and now, here you were. And Wayne was staring at you, with that sweet-but-slightly-terrified look in your eyes.
“Is Eddie here?” you asked meekly; because what else would you ask?
Wayne sighed. “No, he’s at work— he’ll be back in an hour.”
Your eyes lit up a little, even through all that fear you had on your face. “He has a job?”
“Yeah, at the oil change place on Main,” Wayne nodded. “You can wait for him here, if you don’t mind.”
You smiled a little; “F’course I don’t,” you assured, “and… well, I figured you might wanna meet her, too.”
Wayne smiled back, feeling like he was finally allowed to address the adorable, chubby-cheeked elephant in the room.
“Say hi to Uncle Wayne,” you instructed the baby sweetly, and she smiled but tucked her face into your shoulder.
“Hi, beautiful,” he smiled at her, waving with just the tips of his fingers. “Wow, got your daddy’s eyes, don’tcha?”
You felt your face warm as he noticed it— of course, it wasn’t like there was much chance this was anybody else’s baby, but knowing that Wayne knew made you slightly nervous he would judge you somehow (since everyone else had). Instead, he brought you both inside and started making tea.
~
When Eddie’s van pulled up outside the trailer, you glanced at Wayne nervously. He nodded towards the door, adding, “I’ll watch her— just go.”
Your legs were a little shaky as you stood up off the couch, but you did your best to breathe normally as you opened the door and stepped out onto the lawn.
Eddie was getting groceries out of the back of his van, and your heart rate picked up even more as you waited for him to see you; you worried he wouldn’t want to, after you disappeared on him. You’d never had a chance to say goodbye, to explain what was going on or why you were leaving… he could hate you, if he wanted, for abandoning him.
But when he did see you, and you shyly shrugged a little as you waited for a reaction, he dropped the grocery bags on the ground and ran to you.
“Oh my god!” he laughed excitedly, pulling you into a tight bear hug. “Pumpkin, I thought I might never see you again…”
You hugged him back, wanting to think of something to say but getting too caught up in holding him again, in burying your face in his soft shirt and smelling his cologne; this was all you’d been thinking about for most of the last year.
“I missed you so much,” Eddie began as he let you go for a moment, looking at you like he wanted to be sure you were really here, “and I wanted to call, or write or something, but I couldn’t— I guess you couldn’t either— and I barely got out of bed for a week after you left, just ask Wayne— how long have you been waiting? Are your boobs bigger?”
You started to laugh, covering your face with your hands and Eddie’s laughed thinly as his face tinted pink.
“Sorry, I didn’t wanna say anything,” he mumbled, “but like, they’re bigger, right?”
You nodded. “Yeah— it’s ‘cause I’m breastfeeding…”
He blinked quickly, and you bit your lip as you waited for a reaction. “I thought— I figured your parents had made you— I— pumpkin,” he breathed, and your heart twisted. “Is this really…? I mean, I’m not dreaming, am I?”
You shook your head. “I’m sorry I couldn’t visit before— I wanted you to meet her so bad, I just—”
“Her?” he repeated, and you only started to choke up when you saw the tears in his eyes; you nodded. “I— oh my god, I love you,” he said simply, wiping a tear off his cheek before hugging you again— not as tight as before but somehow warmer and sweeter.
“I love you too,” you whispered, “I’m sorry I left, I’m sorry I couldn’t call, I swear I wanted to but—”
“Don’t be sorry for anything, okay?” he interrupted you, kissing the top of your head as he began to rock you side to side in the hug. “I’m just so happy you’re here…”
“Sh-she’s here too,” you blurted out, making him freeze and look down at you. “She’s inside, with Wayne, if you wanna…?”
He sniffled as he wiped another tear away; “Y-yeah, of course… of course I do, wow, yeah. Okay.”
“I-it’s okay if you’re not ready yet,” you assured, but he laughed.
“Are you kidding? I’ve been waiting for this since… I don’t even know how long— since you sat on my desk in Science class…”
You beamed and hugged him again before you walked together into the trailer.
When you and Eddie stepped inside, Wayne was bouncing her on his knee— she was reaching up to grab his face, a new favorite hobby of hers, and he scrunched up his nose and closed one eye as her little hands explored his rough, stubbly features. Eddie already looked overcome with emotion just watching the scene before him, staring forward at her with a slack mouth and shiny eyes, and he hadn’t even seen her face yet; when you shut the door, the sound made her turn her head to look back at you. He was still speechless, walking forward slowly and kneeling down in front of Wayne’s feet. Wayne turned her to face him better, and Eddie wordlessly reached up towards her; she grabbed hold of one of his fingers, and he smiled and sniffled as he looked at her tiny fist and back up to her face. “Hi there,” he greeted quietly.
“Eddie… this is Emily,” you introduced them quietly, and Eddie beamed as he glanced at you for a second before looking at her again.
“Hello, Emily,” he said, “I’m Eddie— I mean, dad. I’m Daddy. Nice to meet you.”
You snorted at how formal it was, but still had to wipe a tear from your eye.
“Can I hold her?” he asked quietly, nervously.
“Of course,” you breathed, almost heartbroken that he could ever imagine not being allowed to hold her— but then again, he never got to see her, or even know she existed, until now.
Wayne handed her off to Eddie, who put his hands under her arms— she was still so small, his grasp almost covered her whole body. Standing up and taking her with him, Eddie stared at her for a moment with the most amazed smile on his face; she reached for that very face, and he laughed as she held on tight to his nose.
You were wondering if you’d have to guide him in how to hold her, but as he pulled her into a hug, he impressed you with how experienced he already looked— he looked like a dad, and he’d only been doing it for less than a minute. It made your heart so full, finally seeing them together, finally seeing your baby in her father’s arms, finally feeling like your family was complete.
He bounced her in his arms, kissing her head and face, tears still striping his cheeks. Hi baby, hi beautiful, hi gorgeous, hi Emily, he kept whispering to her. Daddy loves you so much. Daddy missed you.
Itty bitty blurb for virgin unexperienced Eddie Munson
Imagine making out with Eddie but he doesn’t kiss you back for the first few seconds so you pull away with a confused look on your face and ask him why he’s not kissing you back and Eddie being the kind respectful boy who’s probably never been kissed before is like “I didn’t know if you wanted me to.”
He looks so sweet, his eyes are pointed at your lips that were just on his, and his cheeks have a red tint on them; so you kindly explain to the inexperienced boy that if you kiss him you want him to kiss you back.
No one’s ever told Eddie that they wanted him to kiss them and that makes Eddie’s heart grow three sizes bigger and the love he has for you tenfold.
That boy is mine now // Eddie Munson
Prompt: “Apparently all of our friends have a bet going on when we’ll get together.”
A fic that absolutely no one asked for based loosely around Avril Lavigne’s song sk8r boi (our boy gets his heart broken but lucky for him you’re there to pick up the pieces, strangers-friends-to-lovers, slice of life vibes)
wc: 26k (i dont know what to say lmao)
*as always, adopted female reader with (hopefully) no references to race or weight. Masterlist || AO3
He was a boy, she was a girl, can I make it any more obvious? He was a punk, she did ballet, what more can I say?
The first time you saw Eddie Munson you were hiding in the trees on your first day of school.
Despite protesting the entire month, your parents had decided to uproot your whole life and drop it in this middle of fucking nowhere town, Hawkins Indiana. Your father had decided it’d be good for you all to be by family. Hilariously ironic considering both your dad and your aunt and uncle were never around anyway.
Taking a deep drag from your cigarette you rubbed your temple, a desperate attempt to assuage the migraine that was building. You weren’t used to being the center of attention – your old school was too big and got new students almost every semester – but you guessed it made sense, considering the population of the entire town rivaled the one of your old neighborhood. Kicking a few leaves around, you frowned. It was so fucking quiet here at night.
“Who leaves New York City for Indiana?” You huffed to yourself, already missing your best friend so much it’d felt like someone had amputated a limb. You two had known each other since kindergarten – besides, she’d know how to handle the stares you’d gotten all day.
You’d taken two steps into the hallway, one of Steve’s friends guiding you to the office, and it’d felt like the metaphorical crowds had descended. To be fair, Robin had tried to warn you that everyone would be curious – she’d even offered to have you sit with her at lunch but the need for a cigarette had been clawing at you from the moment you’d woken up. God this was a shitshow.
The constant questions about what New York was like, what music did you listen to, were those real tattoos? Were endless.
It didn’t matter, you told yourself, it was your senior year and you just needed to make it through before you could make your own way back to the northeast. Back to your real home.
The sound of crunching leaves brought you out of your depressive spiral and you instinctively dropped behind the trunk of the tree you were leaning against. “Shit,” you hissed, throwing the cigarette onto the ground and stubbing it out. Great, it was the first day of school and you were already about to earn a detention. For smoking. Your mother was going to strangle you.
Then, you heard giggling. Peeking from around the tree, you watched as a blonde cheerleader bounced in front of a boy you faintly recognized. Robin had waved to him in first period, Marty? Mason? The only reason he’d stood out was because he didn’t look like a carbon copy of everyone else. He’d had an old Metallica shirt on and wild curly hair – you thought you’d seen a tattoo peeking out from his collar.
“Eddie, you know we can’t – Jason would kill me. The girls, they would never…they wouldn’t understand,” the girl sighed.
“Yeah, I know,” Eddie said, wincing, “but the concert is two towns over. I could drive us and no one would recognize us.”
Guilt flashed across the cheerleader’s expression before schooling it into a pleading one. “You said you wouldn’t push me when it came to this.”
“I know,” Eddie sighed, running a frustrated hand through his hair, “but it’s been almost four months Chrissy.”
Well shit, you thought, catching yourself leaning forward and feeling conflicted at the accidental eavesdropping. It’s too late now, you were in this.
Chrissy’s face softened into something real and she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Be patient with me, please. I like it when it’s just us two, in our own world. Don’t you?”
You cringed, you had an inkling about what was happening and you felt for Eddie.
“Yeah,” Eddie said, his voice sounding defeated. “Of course I do sweetheart.”
“Great, shoot, is that the time? I’m going to be late. I’ll see you after Hellfire, okay?”
You watched her reach up and kiss him quickly before darting up the hill towards the football field you’d crossed. The muscles in your legs ached from your frozen squat and you needed Eddie to run along after her so you could finish your smoke break in peace.
Instead, he walked over to the decrepit looking wooden bench and slumped onto the table.
“Fuck,” you muttered to yourself, the beginning of a cramp building in your left calf. Crab walking a few yards away, under the cover of a few trees, you finally stood and shook out your leg. If you crouched down far enough, you’d be able to sneak away through the side of the parking lot-
“Who’s there?” Eddie’s voice cut through the silence of the forest.
Shit. Well, there was no point in running away, your lungs weren’t built for that anyway. Acting oblivious and oh-look-I-didn’t-see-you-there it was.
“Uh, sorry,” you said, stepping out from behind the trees, adding some confusion to your expression. “I came out for a smoke and got a little lost.” You lifted the pack of cigarettes in your left hand as if he’d been asking for proof.
Eddie straightened, eyes looking a little panicked as they darted to where the cheerleader – Chrissy – had just disappeared through. When his eyes shot back to you, you tried your best to keep your expression neutral.
“Are you a student? I don’t know you and everyone here knows everyone,” Eddie said and you noted the bitterness in his voice.
With a tentative step closer, you pushed your pack into your jacket’s pocket and shrugged. “I’m new,” you said, not being able to help the sad sigh that came after that.
At the sound, the corner of Eddie’s mouth tilted up. “You sound excited to be here.”
“We moved from New York City,” you explained, “no offense to your little town here but it’s got nothing on the city that never sleeps.”
Eddie’s eyes widened, his brown eyes flashing. “New York? Dude, no way! I’ve always wanted to go there. What’s it like?”
You walked over to the table, sitting carefully across from him on the splintering wood and dropped your weight onto your elbows. “It can be shitty – dirty and loud but man, it’s home, you know?” Your gaze drifted over his shoulder, imagining what you’d be doing if you were back. “My best friends and I would get breakfast at a bodega by our apartment building, best bagels in the city.”
Something like recognition lit up his face. “Wait, you’re the new girl…you’re Harrington’s cousin, from France or something,” Eddie said, eyes trailing down your face. “You two don’t look related.”
Snorting, Eddie’s neck went splotchy as he winced. “I didn’t mean for that to sound that way.”
“It’s fine,” you said, waving him off, “I’m not from France. I told one of the preppy girls who wouldn’t leave me alone that we’d just gone to Paris over the summer and apparently that makes me French.”
Eddie snorted. “That’s small towns for you, news travels fast and it’s not always correct,” he said, definitely bitter this time.
“What, so you’re not actually a devil worshiper?” You asked, eyes widening for effect.
At that, he rolled his eyes. “Dungeons and Dragons is a game. I don’t know why everyone thinks we’re worshiping Satan. And even if we were, technically it’s no one’s business.”
“Oh shit,” you sputtered, realizing you’d hit too close to home by accident, “is that actually what people say? I was just fucking with you.”
Eddie chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, when you eventually hear all about it – know that only half of it is true.”
“The Devil worship part?” You teased, wanting to help the defensive glint in his eyes.
Eddie finally smiled and nodded. “Obviously,” he said and nodded to your black jeans and jacket, “although considering we’ve got pretty similar style if you’re not careful their wrath’ll turn on you.”
You looked down at your usual outfit for the fall: t-shirt, denim jacket, ripped jeans, and your all-stars. Eddie definitely wore his style with more grunge than you but you were far from a metalhead back home. Clearly, that was something to avoid here. Your school had popular kids but no one was overtly in your face about it – shit, is that something you had to worry about now? You groaned internally.
“I’m adopted,” you said, wincing at the awkwardness that settled after that. “That’s why we don’t look alike – me and Steve.”
“Oh,” Eddie nodded, noting your subject change, “that’s cool.”
“It’s not when they drag you over state lines in your senior year of high school,” you huffed, “I wanted to go to prom with Kevin Singh.” You thought back to the boy in your class.
His brows rose, a smile teasing as he leaned in. “Boyfriend?”
You smiled, scrunching your nose at him. “No, I wish. He was my lab partner in Chemistry last year. He didn’t know I was alive, much less interested.”
“I know the feeling,” Eddie muttered, hands opening the lunch box near him and pulling out a joint.
Eyes following his fingers, you noticed something and perked up. “What do you play? Guitar? You guessed.
Eddie paused midway to lighting his joint and eyed you. “How’d you know?”
“Calluses on your fingers, guitar pick necklace, Metallica t-shirt, not hard to spot a metalhead when you see one,” you said, resting your chin against your palm.
“You play?” Eddie asked, smiling.
Shrugging, you eyed the flame from his lighter. “Shouldn’t you already know, considering small towns and all?”
Eddie tossed his head back and laughed. That, out of everything, struck you. He had a nice laugh.
“Fair,” he said, snorting once more and you hated how endearing it made him. Eddie offered you the joint and you glanced back at the school. What the hell, your parents wouldn’t be home to hear the message the school left saying you’d missed a few periods anyway. With a shrug, you grabbed it and took an inhale. “Wait,” you grunted as you exhaled, “I’m going to reek of weed and I don’t have anything to cover it up.”
“I got it,” Eddie said, rummaging around in a metal lunch box. He popped out a small body spray, looking confused, and his face flushed. He tried to quickly shove it to the bottom of the box but it’d been too late, you’d seen the label.
“Cinnamon Sugar Cookie scented?” You asked, a smile growing despite your attempts to smother your laughter.
“I-” Eddie sputtered, clearly not knowing how to admit that it wasn’t his, “I could like Cinnamon scented things.”
You laughed harder at his defensive tone and by habit reached out to smack his shoulder as tears almost leaked out your eyes. “You should’ve seen the horror in your face,” you snickered, reaching out for the body spray. “Oh, come on,” you said when he stayed frozen, “I already saw it. Just hand it over, I’d rather smell like a preteen girl than like I just came out a frat party. I’ve still got like two periods before I can go home.”
Eddie reluctantly handed it over to you, his eyes looking panicked again.
“I promise I won’t tell anyone,” you said, avoiding his gaze. Your mind flashed back to the tiny cheerleader and her arms wrapped around his neck. If New Yorkers knew anything, it was how to mind their business.
“Tell anyone about what?” He asked, cautious.
Forcing your eyes to meet his, you chewed on your cheek before taking another drag and handing him the joint back. You thought back on your dad, his disappointment in you, your interests, hobbies, grades, and you felt for Eddie – you knew what it was like to have someone wish you were something else.
A memory of Steve a few years ago, hair shorter and a sneer etched onto his face, eyes always darting to your uncle. Yeah, you thought, your family was intimately aware of what it felt like to crave approval like oxygen. To want to mold yourself so you could get just a scrap of affection.
“Anything that happened here,” you said, nodding to the joint and standing up with the spray in hand, “or anything I may or may not have heard.”
Eddie’s face blanched. You sprayed yourself a few times and instantly started coughing. “Jesus, that's some strong preppy ass perfume,” you waved your hand in front of your face, trying to get the smell out your nostrils. “What I’m trying to say is that maybe small-town people like to talk shit but, where I’m from – we know how to mind our business. So, you don’t need to worry about me, okay?” You grabbed your backpack from the ground and pulled it over your shoulder.
Realizing you meant it; Eddie shot you a grateful look. “Thanks.”
Waving it away, you motioned to the school. “Don’t mention it, Sugar,” you said, winking when his expression shifted.
As you walked away, Eddie’s laughter rang through the trees – following you as you walked further away from him. Your heart sputtered awake and you slapped it back into place. He clearly had some complicated things going on. Not the right person. Especially not in this tiny ass town. You refused to be stuck here, no matter what friends you made along the way. Glancing back at his smiling face, you sighed.
Shit, he really did have a nice laugh.
He wanted her, she'd never tell, secretly she wanted him as well. But all of her friends stuck up their nose, they had a problem with his baggy clothes.
You were starving. Grumbling as you pulled your backpack over your shoulder, you hurried down the hall and towards the cafeteria. Of all the days to have one of your teachers hold you back – to ask about how you were adjusting no less. As if any of them cared.
Hawkins was the worst, you grunted, almost colliding with a jock who glared at you. Shooting him a withering look back, you sidestepped his posse.
“Hey Harrington!” Jeremy, your partner from theater called out. You smiled and waved at him as you jogged towards the double doors.
“See you last period sunshine!” You replied, laughing when he stuck out his tongue at the inside joke.
Okay, so, maybe Hawkins wasn’t the absolute worst.
You weren’t sure if it had a lot to do with the fact that you were new but you’d managed to make a few friends in most of your classes. Bursting through the doors, you hurried towards the food and sighed when you finally grabbed one of the last normal looking sandwiches.
“Hey, sitting with us today?” Brianna asked, bumping her hip with yours. Smiling, you bumped her back and grabbed an apple before walking backwards towards your usual table.
“Tomorrow? I promise?” You laughed when she rolled her eyes, knowing that while you bounced around – you usually sat with –
“Harrington!” Dustin’s voice called out for you, hand waving in the air like he was hard to miss.
Brianna smiled when you shot her an apologetic look. “Go on,” she said, “see you after school.”
You’d met Brianna at band practice – where you sat on the bleachers and waited for Robin – the entire band had welcomed you into their circle, thanks to Robin. Jeremy, and the rest of the theater club, had also befriended you after you’d defended them against some stupid jock with an inferiority complex.
“I’m coming Henderson!” You shouted back when he called you again. You waved to Brian and Amanda, those two had pulled you into the book club with them after you’d gotten a job at the arcade and were surprised to see them working there too.
While you did have to admit, you had made friends a lot faster than you’d thought you would – your dumbest decision was managing to migrate into Eddie’s world. Not because he did satanic rituals like Jason loved to boast, but because you loved to make your life complicated and had managed to develop an incredibly soft spot for him.
You’d barely put a foot in the door on your second day of school and he’d tucked you under his arm, promising to show you where all the cool kids hung out. And, well, shit – you might’ve gotten a little addicted to the sound of his laughter and the way he enthusiastically poured himself into everything he did.
So, here you were, two months into having moved to this shithole and you managed to spend most your time with the entire Hellfire club. Eddie had wasted no time dragging you to the Hide Out for his performances and to his trailer to meet his uncle Wayne.
Letting your backpack slide off into your lap, you tossed an arm around Dustin and Jeff. You bit back a smile when they eyed you suspiciously. “Who do you two love most in the world?”
“Suzie.”
Jeff nodded, “My dog.”
Rolling your eyes, you elbowed them both. “Wrong answer, you’re meant to say me,” you said, rummaging around in your bag. You handed Jeff the book you’d found last night and Dustin the comic he’d been looking for.
Both of them squealed, startling you, and you found yourself smushed between them in a massive hug.
“Revising your previous answers?” You asked smugly.
“Yes!” Dustin said, shaking you. “I can’t believe you’re just giving this to me? Are you sure?”
Jeff was more awed, his eyes sparkling. “Dude, this is a first edition.”
Your dad had an extensive library but you knew it was born out of wanting to have things to show off rather than any actual interest in literature. Jeff had practically salivated at a familiar book downtown when you were out together last weekend and you had sworn that you’d recognized it. Dustin had been searching for a limited-edition X-men comic and almost cried when every store you took him to was sold out. Both of which, you managed to find in boxes hidden away in the basement. Since your dad wouldn’t miss it, you’d handed them to people who would.
“Why are you two screaming like little girls?” Eddie asked, shoving Jeff away and sitting down next to you. Ignoring the way your heart picked up its pace, you smiled when he leaned into you. From the first day that you’d sat with them, Eddie had made it a point to always sit next to you.
“We’re best friends now, Harrington, there’s no use fighting it,” he’d joked when you pointed it out.
Dustin and Jeff rushed to explain, both of them already looking through their gifts, when you felt Eddie elbow you. “That was nice of you.”
“I’m a nice person, Munson,” you said with a pointed look, “besides, my parents won’t even know they’re gone. The books should be with people who appreciate the real worth of it, not hide them away in a basement - you know?” You took a bite out of your sandwich, wincing when you felt the wilted lettuce hit your tongue.
At the lack of response, you glanced up at Eddie and realized he was staring at you meaningfully. Your eyes widened when you realized how backhanded your comment had sounded. Freezing, you swallowed around the bite of food.
“What if they’re not worth much?” Eddie asked quietly, eyes shifting over your shoulder, to where you knew the jocks and cheerleaders sat.
Angry at this thing you both knew about but never mentioned, your eyes drifted over to Chrissy’s back – her ponytail high with a bow tied securely at the base. You hated how small Eddie seemed to get at any reference to her. You hadn’t known him for long, but you knew a great person when you saw one – and your dislike for Chrissy only grew every time you saw the kicked puppy look in his eyes.
Moving without thinking too hard about it, you tapped Eddie’s jaw - ignoring the zing it sent down your hand - and waited until his eyes came back to yours.
“Those books are priceless, okay? And their worth shouldn’t be dependent on what others think, especially not ones who…put books down in the basement, hidden away.”
Dustin’s curls shifted in your peripheral. “I mean, it’s a limited edition but it’s not priceless,” he whispered to Mike, who was eagerly looking through it too. Eddie, however, knew what you weren’t saying – especially considering how his eyes softened into something that resembled gratitude. Your heart thumped against your ribcage, like it always did when his eyes were on you.
Feeling mortified at your lack of subtly, you stood quickly. “Well, I promised Robin I’d sit with her today,” you lied, scrambling onto your feet.
A hand on your wrist stopped you. The warm metal of his rings made you glance down at his fingers. Eddie’s nails were still black, the polish chipped at the edges, from when you’d painted them when he’d been over your house last Saturday. His gaze on you was unreadable and a little guarded. “Only a few months in and already such a social butterfly?” Eddie smiled, teasing. “I didn’t know we had such a hot commodity gracing us for lunch.”
Gareth snorted and you shot him a glare. “I can’t help it if people find my presence fun,” you joked, starting to sweat. Dustin’s eyes caught yours, a knowing look in them.
Fuck, you needed to get the hell out of here.
“Remember, I stumbled onto you first,” he joked, eyes flashing a little and you hated how you wanted to preen at the fact that he seemed protective over you. Get it together, you screamed at your heart, he’s not interested.
With a small smile, you took a few steps away and watched as his hand fell away. “Don’t worry Sugar,” you said, biting back a smile when he laughed at the now-familiar nickname, “I won’t stay away for too long.”
The first inkling that maybe Eddie was the only one blind to your feelings came a few weeks later, when you were sitting on the counter next to your grumbling cousin.
“Do you guys think I’m overreacting?” Robin asked, hands on her hips.
You shook your head and pointed at her. “Definitely not. If she asked you to call her later and you waited a day, that’s like – later, right?”
“That’s what I said!” She exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air.
Nodding emphatically, you let her ramble her most recent encounter with Vickie out her system. She’d never calm down otherwise.
“Don’t you have a job, like a few yards to the left?” Steve asked, as you stole another fry from his lunch.
“What would our parents say if they heard you, Steven?” You gasped, hand clutching your chest dramatically.
Steve snorted, elbowing you gently. “Nothing, considering they barely see each other.”
“Which is hilarious considering they dragged me down to this hellhole because we needed to be by family,” you said, bursting out laughing when Steve cracked a smile.
“Why is that funny?” Robin asked.
Steve put a hand on his stomach, looking like he was about to tear up – which in turn, only made you laugh harder. “B-because,” you stammered around your laughter, “we live right next to each other and the only people in our houses are us.”
“Now, at least, we can grab dinner for two most days,” Steve said, grunting when you grabbed another fry. “Harrington families like to forget they have children. I think only cousins and siblings really like each other.”
“Ironic, considering they picked me out,” you joked morbidly. Robin looked at you horrified but Steve just laughed, used to the adoption jokes. You snorted, chewing on the salted goodness thoughtfully. “Which reminds me, wanna just order pizza today?”
Steve nodded, guarding his fries more fervently.
“You guys aren’t normal; you know that right?” Robin said, shaking her head.
Sticking out your tongue, you had a quip ready when someone interrupted. “That’s what makes her so intriguing,” a new voice said, startling the three of you. Snapping your head back to glance at the door, you grinned when you saw Eddie standing there.
“Hey Sugar,” you said, tilting your head back as he reached out to steady you, “thought you had band practice?”
“Gareth’s parents came home early, ripped him a new one for failing his English test,” Eddie explained.
You sighed. “I told him! But he refuses to let me help him study.”
“I know, Jeff said the same thing.”
Throwing a hand up in the air. “Yeah, I helped Jeff pass his midterm – I know what I’m talking about! I’m in AP English!”
“I know,” Eddie smiled, laughter trickling down into your hair and onto your skin. You shivered, gaze going up to him as he teased Robin after running into her that morning with Vickie.
Releasing his hold on you, he grabbed a few tapes from the romantic comedy section and watched Robin raise her brows. “That’s a new one,” she said, shooing you off the counter to check him out.
Eddie’s face turned red and you felt your chest constrict. Eddie liked to watch horror or cheesy action films. So, you knew who these were for.
“I’m a man of many interests,” he said, avoiding your eyes. You busied yourself with taking a sip of Steve’s milkshake.
“Right,” Robin said dryly, hanging him the tapes. “See you Monday?”
“Yeah, see you Harrington,” Eddie said, stepping forward as if to reach for you. Steve, however, stepped forward and offered him an awkward fist bump. You stared at Steve’s back, recognizing the protective action for what it was, and waved at Eddie as he walked out.
Robin pulled her vest off and pointed to Chinese takeout restaurant at the end of the strip. “I’m going to grab my lunch if you guys want anything?”
“No, I’m not hungry – I’ve got Steve’s lunch, thanks,” you said, laughing when Steve glared at you.
“So,” Steve hummed, eyes avoiding yours.
Realizing the time, you stepped around the counter and pulled your bag onto your shoulder. Brian’s break was up next and you knew he wanted to return a few books to the library across town. “Spit it out Steve,” you said.
“Eddie’s complicated right now,” he said quietly, tone unsure, “I see how you look at him. How he acts around you – it’s not…he may like you too but it’s just…bad timing. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Equal parts mortified that he’d seen through you so easily and touched that he cared enough to mention something, you hugged him as you passed by. “I know,” you said, not wanting to go back on your promise to Eddie, “his sights are set on someone else, and I’m painfully aware of that.”
Steve shot you a knowing look and you realized he probably suspected. “Thanks, for warning me though,” you said, bumping your shoulder with his affectionately.
“He’s a good guy, he’s just got shit to figure out first and I don’t want you to get caught up in it.”
You pulled the door and smiled. “I know, see you for dinner Stevie?”
“Yeah – and stop calling me that!”
“Is that Eddie?” Robin asked you, both of you cutting through the football field to get to the parking lot. “Shit, that’s Gareth on the floor.”
Your head whirled around towards the far left and you growled when you saw a sprawled Gareth bleeding on the floor. Eddie managed to dodge the first swing but you quickened your pace when he doubled over with the second one.
Robin broke through the throng of people and immediately walked over to Gareth, who looked like he’d taken a punch to the nose. Liam stood, frozen, in the clutches of a football player. Behind both of them you saw Jeff, Dustin, Mike, and Lucas looking worse for wear by the bleachers. Furious, and mostly acting on instinct, you shoved Jason hard and he stumbled back.
“Don’t know how to pick on someone your own size, Carver?” You asked, making sure the guys were okay. Dustin nodded, his eyes flashing.
Ignoring you, Jason laughed. “Oh look, your girlfriend’s here to save you Munson,” Jason snapped, hard glint in his eye. His gaze trailed down your body and he shook his head. “Such a shame to see another Harrington be such a loser.” Eddie used your outstretched hand to steady himself. He clamped down on your arm when you hissed at the sight of the blooming bruise on his jaw.
“Shut the fuck up, you moron,” you hissed back at Jason. His groupies all laughed, as if amused, and you felt your temper flare.
Eddie’s grip on your arm was tight, trying to pull you back but you shook him off. “Don’t,” he whispered, “it’ll only get worse and they’re not worth it.”
At that moment, a blonde curled ponytail caught your eye. You watched as Chrissy chewed on her nail, eyes worriedly darting up to Eddie’s split eyebrow. Of course, this was about her, it always had something to do with her. “You can’t be serious,” you said, eyes still on Chrissy. Hers snapped up to you, guilty expression rearing as she ducked her head.
“Let it go,” Eddie said again, grip on you tightening when he saw who you were glaring at.
These were your friends and you weren’t letting anyone fuck with them. “They might not be worth it, but you are,” you snapped at him, yanking your arm out from his.
Cracking your fingers, you stepped up to Jason. “I’ll give you one free punch,” you said, “then we’ll go for it.”
His posse laughed like you’d told the most hilarious joke in the world. “What? How precious, his little girlfriend is going to fight his battles for him. You’re both fucking garbage – but I gotta tell you sweetheart, you can do so much better than him. Just say the word and we can work something out,” his eyes lowered onto your cleavage and you fought the urge to gag.
“Not even in your fucking dreams Carver.”
Eddie growled, straightening at the implication but you held up your hand. His stupid friends chuckled, like he’d told the funniest joke ever and you shrugged. Clenching your hands and steadying your feet like your friends back home had taught you, you lunged forward. Your knuckles creaked painfully as you collided with his stomach, but you grinned triumphantly when Jason doubled over; groaning, and his lackeys scrambled to his aid.
“You bitch,” Jason shouted, voice shrill, as he clutched at his stomach. “You fucking worthless grunge bitch!”
“Don’t talk to her like that!” Eddie shouted, swinging and landing another punch on Jason. They both went down tumbling, when Patrick reached for Eddie. You shoved him, feet coming out to kick the other idiot who was inching towards a stumbling Gareth.
Eyeing a discarded bat from baseball practice earlier, you lunged for it and raised it up.
“You wouldn’t,” Chase said, brows rising as he froze in his spot. Chase was the most tolerable of Jason’s friends – he’d never been outright mean to you and you felt a twinge of regret before tightening the grip on the bat.
“Try me,” you sneered.
Chase stepped back, arms up. “Hey, I know Harrington guys – she’s not fucking around. Let’s just go,” he said, pulling Patrick back by the jacket.
Realizing it wasn’t an easy fight like he’d thought Jason spat out blood and wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. His gaze went around to you all but your blood froze when it lingered on Eddie. Fuck.
“Whatever,” Jason said, turning to you, “watch your back bitch.”
The guys stalked off but you saw a few cheerleaders hesitate. Chrissy’s worried gaze bounced from Eddie’s to you.
“Chrissy, come on!” One of the other cheerleaders hissed at her. “Who knows what they’ll do.”
“Yeah, right,” she said, letting herself be pulled away.
Eddie’s eyes fell to the floor as she said nothing but turned to walk away. You watched her glance back a few times, having at least the decency to look ashamed.
Not wanting to spare her any more effort, you turned to see your bloody friends and sighed when Jeff groaned from the bleachers. Robin’s fingers tentatively took the bat from your tight grip and you let her. Loosening your hold, adrenaline crawling back, you winced when at the blooming ache in your knuckles.
A cold hand came up to take yours, Eddie’s expression both grateful and a little sad. “I’m going to have a bruise tomorrow,” you sighed. His mouth turned down, thumb coming to caress your swelling knuckles. Remembering Steve’s warning, you pulled your hand from his and walked over to check on Gareth. You felt Eddie’s eyes on your back as you leaned over him, checking his nose. “It’s not broken, but you’ll have a hell of a bruise.”
Gareth groaned as you touched it softly, his hand fisting your jacket in pain. “At least you’ll look badass,” you whispered. Jeff, seated next to him, snorted and groaned – a hand coming up to his ribs.
Standing up, you dusted your palms on your thighs – ignoring Eddie’s searching eyes – and grabbed your backpack. “Let’s get the hell out of here. I got room for three more in my car.”
Lucas, Mike, and Dustin immediately followed you and Robin like ducklings. Eddie cleared his throat but you didn’t turn around.
“Thanks,” he said and you knew Robin was rolling her eyes. Her hand reached out for your unbruised one and she squeezed.
“Anytime,” you called back, continuing on towards the parking lot. You were fuming, not at anyone in particular but – just at life. Why did Eddie let himself be shoved aside by someone who wasn’t worth it? Your feelings aside, Eddie was your friend and it hurt you to see him clearly so into someone who wouldn’t fight for him.
The group was silent until you were out the parking lot.
“Well,” Dustin said, breaking the silence, “at least one Harrington knows how to win a fight.”
At that, you finally smiled.
He was a skater boy, she said, "See you later, boy.” He wasn't good enough for her. She had a pretty face, but her head was up in space. She needed to come back down to earth.
It wasn’t exactly a secret that you didn’t like Chrissy Cunningham. You knew she was the school’s darling, with her wide pretty eyes and bouncy blonde hair – honestly, how was that fair? How did anyone compete with that? Even her stupid eyelashes were pretty.
She’d been perfectly nice to you the few times you’d interacted, even after you suspected she knew that you were aware of whatever she and Eddie had. You only shared one class with her – your second period AP English class. She was smart and always kind to anyone you saw her talking to – alone. Ironic, considering she tended to keep to the back whenever Jason was tormenting someone.
Somehow, that infuriated you more. She could be perfectly normal with everyone but the one person you knew craved her attention the most. Sometimes, when you felt her eyes on you in class, you got the feeling that she liked him just as much as he did. You could see it in the way her eyes searched him out first, the way she ducked her head when anyone was rude to him, or the way she shot you grateful looks when you defended him.
Which, annoyed the shit out of you. Because it meant she clearly cared for him, she was just too scared to show it. And you couldn’t help but have a little sympathy for her – you knew what it was like to feel trapped by people and expectations you didn’t meet. It could be debilitating.
“Harrington,” your teacher called out, “you’re with Cunningham.”
Groaning internally, you startled when you saw her already settling in the chair next to yours. “I wasn’t paying attention,” you admitted openly, “I have no idea what we’re partnered for.”
Chrissy laughed lightly and you frowned. Even her fucking laugh was pretty.
“It’s just a in-class assignment. Here,” she showed you her notes and you nodded.
Pulling your book out from your backpack, you made a face at it and laughter fell from her lips.
“What?” You asked, thumbing through to the chapter you needed.
“Nothing, it’s just-” Chrissy cleared her throat, voice softening, “your expressions, you’re like – an open book.”
Trying to remain neutral you rose a brow at her.
“It’s refreshing,” she admitted, “sometimes it feels like everyone has a hidden agenda. Since you moved here, you’ve always been brutally honest. That’s why…Jason wanted you to join us at the beginning of the year.”
At that, you snorted. “Right, because I look like someone who Jason Carver would get along with.”
“No, I suppose not,” Chrissy admitted and you rolled your eyes. “But you did catch his eye, if that’s something you’d like.”
Not able to help your laugh, you smothered it quickly. “Most people aren’t attracted to those that bully their friends, Cunningham. I wouldn’t let Jason touch me for all the money in the world.”
She fell quiet.
Taking the next few minutes, you wrote out the answer to the first three questions and handed the paper off to Chrissy. She nodded, scribbling in the last bit at the end and passing the paper back.
You both sat in silence for a while, as you edited through the few paragraphs you had, but you could feel her stare on your face.
“Just say what you want to say,” you said without missing a beat.
“I want to thank you, for being his friend,” Chrissy said, “for standing up for him.”
A spark of anger burned in your chest and you tried your best so it wouldn’t take over you. “I’m not doing it for you, or looking for any gratitude. I’d do it for any of my friends. Ask Chase, he was being an asshole to the band kids last month and I threw my textbook at his head. Had detention for a week. He bitched about it for weeks.”
“I know,” she said quickly, “I just – I…I do really like him.”
Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you nodded. “Sure.” She really had one hell of a way to show it. If that’s what liking someone looked like, you hoped to never fall in love in this town.
Her brow twitched in annoyance and you felt a little proud of yourself for breaking through her façade. “You don’t know what it’s like for me,” she snapped, “what my life is like.”
“You’re right,” you said, turning to finally look at her, “but I do know that regardless, it makes you a liar.”
Her eyes flashed. “No one would approve of him. Not my parents, not my friends, no one,” Chrissy said, her tone angry. You froze, panicking. You’d never spoken openly about this – to anyone. Certainly not to Chrissy fucking Cunningham. “I can’t ruin everything I’ve built for something fleeting. He’s…you know how he is.”
Fleeting? What a bitch.
“Then let him go,” you hissed back at her, “stop prolonging the inevitable. You just stood by and watched as they beat up him and his friends. Who does that? Who lets that happen to someone they care about?”
Chrissy frowned, petulant. When she didn’t answer, and avoided your look, you sighed.
“That’s what makes you a bad person,” you said, “you’re not thinking of him. You’re only thinking of yourself. What you want. What you get from him. You don’t see how you drain him. You’re turning him into someone I don’t recognize. He wouldn’t ruin anything. He’s-” perfect the way he is, you thought, bringing your gaze up to her. “He’s a good person and you just take and take anddon’t care. You might be a decent person going through a shitty situation but so is everyone else. Be fucking honest with yourself and go sell your ‘poor me’ story to someone who cares.”
With that, you ripped out your paper and handed it to the teacher. He nodded approvingly and you stalked out of class. Running off towards the bathroom, you locked yourself into a stall and rubbed at your head.
Shit, what had you done?
“Holy shit, I’m so drunk,” Steve said sloppily, drink sloshing out his cup. You laughed, happy that Steve had finally managed to loosen up. Searching out for the redheaded girl he’d come with; you saw her dancing with her friends – looking just as drunk.
“Robin?” You called out, her frizzy hair popping out from around the corner where she was waiting in line to the bathroom. “We need to remember to drop off Steve’s girl – she’s wasted too.”
“Jesus Steve,” Robin admonished, “we’ve been here for like an hour.” She fixed her cowboy hat and disappeared from sight.
Steve just smiled dumbly at you, chewing absently on some chips he’d found in the kitchen. “Okay, stay here,” you told him, “I’m just going to go to the bathroom really quickly and I’ll be right out.”
He nodded, grinning and you sighed when you stepped into the bathroom after Robin. She hopped onto the counter as you disappeared into the room with the toilet – honestly, what house was so big it had a room inside the bathroom for the toilet? And that was coming from you. “Did you see Eddie?” Robin called out.
“What?” You sputtered, hurrying out. “I thought Jason and company was here.”
“They are,” she sighed. “They tend to avoid parties the other will be at but…”
Of course, you frowned. “Adam asked him to come by to sell,” you finished for her.
Robin nodded, watching you as you washed your hands and shrugged. “So far there’s been no incidents. You’re having fun, right?” She asked and you smiled. You knew she was worried she’d dragged you along to Adam’s Halloween party for nothing but you had already promised Adam you’d come. He was the tuba player and he’d been anxious that no one would show up considering he was hosting it a week before Halloween. Unfortunately for him, half the school had descended.
“Come on, let’s go before Steve starts anything,” you said, pulling her out. The second you rounded the corner you groaned.
“What? What?” Robin asked, peeking over your shoulder. “Ugh, Dingus.”
Steve had disappeared, the hallway empty save for three girls waiting for their turn.
“You take the basement?” You asked her.
Robin sighed, “Yeah. You take the main floor – I’ll meet you in the kitchen in a few.”
“Alright,” you said, marching out into the chaos. You searched for Steve’s costume – a store bought Indiana Jones – and winced when someone smacked into you.
“Sorry!” The person slurred, jumping along to the music. You rubbed your shoulder and came up empty. Weaving your way through the crowd, you tried to make your way towards the kitchen – maybe Robin had more luck.
“Oh my God!” A loud shriek startled you. “You clumsy bitch! You ruined my fucking costume!”
Startled, you turned to glance at the sound and saw a cowering girl you faintly recognized from the theater club. Courtney? Claire? You squinted again as a cheerleader stomped forward, shoving the girl back into a corner. The small girl cried out, hand shooting up to her shoulder. “I’m s-sorry! It was an accident!”
Without thinking twice, you walked over to them and placed yourself in front of the freshman. “Alright, everyone, take a breather,” you said.
The girl behind you clutched at your shirt, hands shaking. “Of course, it’s Harrington – you never know how to mind your own business, do you?” You quirked your brow, recognizing Brittney instantly.
“Hey Brittney,” you said, rolling your eyes, “always a pleasure. I’m going to guess the poorly dressed nurse is Linda? Yep. What would you two ever do without each other?”
“Shut up,” Linda snapped, chomping at her gum. What a cliché.
“What’s going on?” A third voice joined. You glanced to the side and saw Chrissy, dressed as firefighter. “What happened?”
“Your two friends don’t know how to pick on someone their own size. Claire here – it’s Claire, right?” She nodded, eyes wide and terrified. “Claire accidentally spilled her soda on Brittney – who doesn’t know how to take an apology without being a bitch,” you said, shooting her a fake wide grin.
Brittney’s face twisted and you knew this was far from over. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?”
Snorting, you crossed your arms. “Alright relax terminator-”
“Come on guys, let’s just go,” Chrissy said.
Her sharp blue eyes whipped to Chrissy, who seemed to flinch at the sight. “No, I’m tired of you always letting these losers get away with it,” Brittney said, her gaze turning apprehensive. “Remember what we talked about, Cunningham.” Chrissy frowned, looking a little panicked, before nodding.
Chrissy’s eyes looked a little worried before steeling into something hard. “Well, if she ruined your costume, then it’s just fair if we do – this.” In a move you hadn’t seen coming – and one you had no room and no time to avoid - Chrissy dumped her drink on your shirt. Before you could say or do anything, Brittney and Linda followed her lead.
Anger bubbled to the surface as you felt the sugary red drinks sink into your white shirt. Clearly not enough, you felt a hand reach out and tug at your vest until you heard the fabric rip.
“Stop!” You said shoving the person away from you. Chrissy stumbled back and the other two wisely stayed where they were. Before you could think of anything to say, you felt a pair of hands slam you into the wall. Groaning, you winced when the meat of your shoulder hit the corner of a shelf and you knew you were going to have a bruise.
“Don’t fucking push me,” she hissed, the venom in her voice almost unrecognizable. Alright fine, she wanted to fight – you could fight.
Narrowing your eyes, you took a step forward, doing your best not to show the pain thrumming on your left. “I wasn’t afraid of your little cult leader, I’m certainly not afraid of you,” you said, hands clenching. Uncertainty flickered in you when Brittney and Linda stood at her shoulders. Before you could make the fist move, Chrissy’s hand came out and you presume to think she was aiming for your cheek but managed to slap your jaw. It still stung like a bitch, Chrissy had sharp nails, and you launched yourself at her.
A pair of arms pulled you into a chest a millisecond before you could gouge her eyes out. “What the hell is going on here?” Eddie’s voice cut through the music.
Claire, surprising you, grabbed your hand and pushed you both out of the corner. Brittney stumbled, shouting something, but you couldn’t hear anything past your own pulse. She shoved you behind her small frame and frowned. “I spilled my drink on them by accident when they shoved me out the way and Harrington came to my defense.” You tuned out the rest of the recap and glanced down at your torn vest and ruined costume.
Dustin and Steve had helped you sew this. He was going to his own party - dressed as Princess Leia, and you’d decided to go as Han Solo. Both of you had found it hilarious and promised to take photos next week. Dustin had spent almost a month, most of his allowance and your paycheck, getting everything to look as authentic as possible. He’d even biked a town over to get you the right fabric for your vest.
Without waiting to see what was happening, and slightly afraid Eddie wouldn’t believe Claire, you slipped through the crowds in the house. Running out the front door, you darted towards the side of the house and to your horror you felt tears burn your eyes. What the hell was wrong with people? You dabbed at the huge stain fruitlessly, feeling a lump form in your throat. By the stinging in your cheek, you knew you’d have a bruise tomorrow.
“Harrington?”
You closed your eyes. Of course he followed you out, you shouldn’t have expected less. “I’m fine,” you said quickly, willing the tears to disappear.
“I know you are,” he said quietly, his hand coming up to your elbow, not turning you around yet. “It takes more than some cheerleaders to take a Harrington down.”
You huffed a weak laugh and felt a hand try to pull you into his arms. “I’ll get you dirty,” you said trying to step away.
“Harrington, I don’t care. Just let me hug you.” He wrapped his arms around you and sunk into his hug.
A wave of emotions welled within you and you realized then, a moment of clarity, why you’d gotten so upset. Because this is what Eddie felt, every time she pretended not to know him, or sat by and watched them bully him or his friends. They were awful, vain people and you couldn’t do it anymore. You really couldn’t stand by and be the shoulder to cry on any longer.
Swallowing around the lump in your throat, you looked up at him. “She hit me first,” you said, “I swear.”
Eddie’s eyes lowered to yours and you realized they were red. They went soft and fuzzy, like he wanted to say things you weren’t in the mood to hear. As if already knowing, he nodded. “I know she did, I saw her. I had to struggle through the dancing X-men to get to the kitchen. Even…even if I hadn’t seen it. I would’ve believed you.”
Surprise, you glanced at him. “Yeah?”
You watched hurt flash across his face before disappearing. “Yeah, Harrington. You’re my best friend.”
Placing your head against his chest, you sighed. “I’m telling Gareth you said that.”
Eddie snorted. “He knows, they all know.”
What the hell did that mean?
You didn’t get the chance to ask because Robin’s shrill voice broke the silence. “What the fuck dude? Claire found me and told me you needed me. Aw man, the vest is ruined,” Robin’s face twisted into something sad, knowing how hard you’d worked on it. “Whatever, we’ll fix it. I’m going back in with Vickie and we’ll find the redhead and Steve. Fuck this party. You go home, Vickie will drop them off and she’ll take me to your place for the night. Okay?”
Robin’s indignance on your behalf made you smile.
“Thank you,” you said, stepping back from Eddie and tugging the hem of your ruined shirt. You felt silly being this upset over a costume.
Eddie’s fingers twitched like they wanted to reach out to you but you took another step towards Robin. “Do you want me to come by-”
“No,” you said quickly – too quickly. Avoiding his eyes, you knew he was hurt by your answer but after the night you’d had it was for the best. If Chrissy was who he wanted, then it was his life. Who the hell were you to criticize?
With a faint wave in his direction, you all but ran to your car.
You managed to avoid Eddie for a whole week before he set his kids on you. Despite it being definitely too cold to eat outside, you’d spent the week’s lunch period between your car and hiding in the library.
Which, coincidentally, was where Dustin found you.
“Harrington?” He called out, wincing when the librarian whirled around to glare at him. “Sorry!”
Hurrying towards you, he plopped down next to you – seated between two old forgotten and unused aisles. “What could you possibly need from the Korean dictionary aisles?” You asked him.
“I could ask you the same question,” Dustin said, brow raising.
With a wiggle at your homework in your lap, you shot him a look. “I’m doing my homework, all the tables are full so I found a quiet area to sit,” you said, the lie well-practiced and on the tip of your tongue.
Dustin deflated and you only felt minutely bad that he’d bought your lie. “Well, Eddie is looking for you,” he said, a knowing glint in his eye.
You knew, he was who you were dodging all week. “What for?” You asked, eyes immediately going back to your textbook. Dustin huffed and you knew he heard the wobbling in your voice.
“He’s got something he wants to give you,” Dustin said, trying to catch your eyes.
“Tell him to hand it over to Steve or something, it’ll probably be easier.”
Dustin crossed his arms and you frowned. “Harrington. Why are you avoiding Eddie?”
“I’m not avoiding Eddie.” Lie. You lying liar who lied.
“Which is why you haven’t eaten lunch with us all week?” Dustin flopped over. “Eddie looks like someone killed his puppy – please, for me, can you just talk to him?”
You chanced a look at Dustin’s pleading face and cursed internally. What a rookie mistake. “I’m busy,” you insisted, sticking to your guns.
Dustin sighed dramatically and you had to tighten your grip on your notebook to keep from rolling your eyes. Clearly Eddie’s dramatics were rubbing off on them.
“Fine,” he grumbled, opening his backpack and pulling out a carefully folded top. Your eyes widened when you realized it was your Han Solo vest.
Hands shooting out to grab it, you ran your fingers over the previously torn fabric. It’d been stitched up carefully, looking exactly like it had before. “Dustin, how?” You stammered. Robin, who was the best at sewing, had said it’d take a lot of fabric to fix the tear and stains.
“Eddie found a store a few hours away that sold the same fabric. He helped me fix it,” Dustin explained. “The shirt is a lost cause but that’s easier to get. I knew you wanted to wear it for the trick or treaters tonight so, we worked quickly.”
Tears sprung to your eyes, overwhelmed at the idea of these two rushing to try and fix something just because it meant something to you. “Dustin, thank you,” you said, voice even more shaky.
“It was Eddie’s idea,” Dustin said, “I don’t know what happened between you two at the party, but Eddie’s trying. I promise, he’s trying to fix it. Give him a chance.”
You rubbed his head, not answering. Damn meddling kids.
Living next to your cousin, one you actually liked and got along with, had its perks. It also had a downside.
“Steve, I will be fine handing out candy alone. If you stay here, they’ll egg your house – go hand out candy and I promise I’ll come over at the end of the night,” you said, shoving Steve out the door.
“Are you sure? You’ve been mopey all week and I don’t care if they egg my house!”
Rolling your eyes at the stupidly protective older brother that you didn’t have, or want, you squeezed his arm. “I swear, I’m not moping, I’m fine.”
“Alright fine,” Steve sighed, “but you better come over for the movie. And you are moping – you’re both moping.”
Pushing him out the door, you ignored the last mumbled part of that sentence and shut the door in his face. “Good bye Steven!”
“That’s not my name!”
Snickering, you set up camp in the living room. You wondered how long it’d take for you to get your first trick or treater – and pretty quickly got your answer.
The next three hours flew by and you’d managed to be completely out of candy. Which, considering how much candy you and Steve had purchased – was saying something. You’d seen a very spooky looking vampire, a dinosaur, some Mike Myers, and most notably, some adorably dressed pets.
After a half hour had gone by since your last visitor, you’d ordered pizza to Steve’s. You knew if you didn’t go over, he’d drag you himself.
The doorbell rung just as you’d made the move to change out of your costume. Shit, you thought, gathering up the last old pieces of chocolate you could find in the kitchen. “Hi! I’m sorry but I’m out of candy for the night except for these choco-” You blinked when you saw Eddie standing at your door, bag in his hand.
“Eddie,” you said dumbly, the doorknob creaking under your grip. “What are you doing here?”
He smiled, eyes taking in your costume and he nodded towards the vest. “It looks good.”
“Oh,” you said, stepping back so he could walk through, “I’m sorry – I wasn’t expecting you. Yeah, thank you…really, I hadn’t expected it and was going to talk to you Monday since I had to rush home to change-”
“-I broke up with Chrissy at the party,” he blurted out. Your teeth clinked together as you shut your mouth and you blinked at him.
“What do you mean you broke up with Chrissy?” You asked, feeling like the ground was folding beneath you.
Eddie scuffed his food against the brick in your doorway and shrugged. “The last time we were together was back in September. She hadn’t had a lot of time in October and when she was free, I had something to do, it’d gotten messy and too complicated to handle.”
Say something! Your brain shouted, noting his slumped shoulders.
“Was it because of what happened at the party?”
Jesus out of everything to ask, that’s what you end up with?
Clearing your throat, you spoke quickly. “I meant – I don’t want you to think it has to be me or her. I just…it was…I don’t mind. You didn’t have to break up with her.”
Eddie smiled, watching you flounder and you fought the urge to punch his shoulder. His smiled widened as if he knew. “I did, have to, I mean,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair.
“Sorry,” you jumped, realizing you hadn’t let him in, “come in.”
“Are your parents home?”
Shooting him a look over your shoulder, you dropped the candy bars you’d scrounged up by the door. “Yeah, that was a dumb question, sorry,” Eddie said, sighing when he sat in his favorite chair in your living room. “It’s not about what happened at Halloween. At least not only that. Seeing her treat you – our friends – that way made it real. What I felt, pissed, was what you guys were feeling when it was happening to me.”
“I wouldn’t go that far-”
This time, Eddie shot you a knowing look and you quieted.
“I could see you. All of you giving me these looks-”
“-I wasn’t giving you looks-” you quieted when you saw his glare.
“It was a shitty situation, but…someone really important to me told me that I was priceless once,” he said and you wanted to sink into the dirt.
“She was right, sort of,” he laughed self-consciously and your heart slammed against your chest.
Needing to break the tension, you joked, “She sounds like a really intelligent and super wonderful, pretty smart person.”
“Yeah, she is. I should’ve listened to her – to everyone – sooner.” Eddie sighed and let his head fall back onto the edge of the chair. “I knew but I didn’t want to accept it – not until I had to.”
Not wanting him to feel bad, you stepped forward. “There’s nothing wrong with that,” you said, sitting on the coffee table in front of him.
Sitting in comfortable silence for a moment, you watched Eddie’s chest rise and fall. “She’s not a bad person, you know. She doesn’t have the best family,” Eddie said quietly, “I’m not defending her – it’s just…it’s hard to explain.”
You did know. And somehow, that made it all worse. It was easy to hate someone who was a villain. But you learned a long time ago that people weren’t black and white – they were grey and a mix of colors with a million tiny little pieces that made them…well, them.
“I suspected,” you said quietly, “but I still don’t like her.”
There was a beat of silence before Eddie burst out laughing. He sat up straighter, shaking his head at you. “I know. I know you don’t.”
Thinking about Steve, you motioned to your backyard. “Want to go over Steve’s and eat some pizza I ordered then smoke?”
“Fuck yes,” he said, dragging himself up to his feet. You hesitated for a second before pulling him into a tight hug. His arms immediately wrapped around you, his face burying into your hair. You felt him shiver and you squeezed tighter. “I know it needed to happen but, it still hurt.”
“I know,” you said quietly and the faint memory of your ex’s face swam into the forefront of your mind. Shutting your eyes, you fought the image of Chrissy and Eddie kissing from floating to the surface. “But it won’t hurt forever.”
You hoped.
What the hell?
Cracking an eye open you groaned when you caught the time. Who the fuck was calling you at three in the morning? As the phone stopped ringing, you closed your eyes and slowly drifted back into sleep when – again? You threw your covers off and stomped across the room.
“What?” You tried to shout, your voice coming out more groggy than angry.
“Harrington?”
Rubbing a knuckle across your eye, you grunted. “Yeah, who the fuck is this?”
“It’s Gareth – I’m sorry for calling you so late but, I really need your help.”
“Gareth?” Your brain struggled to catch up. “Are you okay?”
“It’s Eddie.”
It took you twenty minutes to get to the Hide Out. The bartender narrowed his eyes at you when you walked in. “We’re closed sweetheart; besides you look too young to be in here.”
“Harrington!” A loud voice boomed, echoing in the mostly empty bar.
With a wince, you motioned to the drunk Eddie and sighed. “I’m here to take him home.”
“Ah, you’re the ex-girlfriend?” The bartender asked, demeanor softening when Eddie tried to stumble his way over to you.
With a sputtering no, you pointed to Eddie. “We’re just friends.”
“She moved here from New York City, Rick,” Eddie said, hiccupping.
A weird expression came over Rick’s face and you couldn’t make out what it was. “Oh,” he said, appraising you with a soft smile, “you’re the new girl.”
“I…think so? I moved back in the summer,” you said, reaching out to steady Eddie. You wrinkled your nose, “Jesus, Munson, you smell like the inside of a liquor bottle.”
“I haven’t seen you in forever,” Eddie said, burying his cold nose in your neck and you yelped. “Hmm, you smell nice.”
Rick snorted and you shifted your hold on him. “You saw me two days ago at school, you weirdo,” you said, hand coming up to scratch at his scalp. He mewled, leaning into your touch like a sunflower turning towards a sunbeam.
“That’s too long ago,” he said, “I always miss you.”
You laughed at his cross-eyed expression and pulled his leather jacket on. “Come on drunky, it’s almost three thirty and I’d like to get some sleep before school tomorrow.”
“Do you need any help with him?” Rick asked, eyeing Eddie’s stumbling walk. “I can help you drive him home.”
“I’ll be okay,” you said, grateful for the offer.
After struggling a little to buckle him in, you made sure you had his keys and a bag in case he got sick. “Don’t puke inside my car, okay? Nod if you understand.”
Eddie’s head bobbed up and down, his eyes hazy but faintly focused on you. “I meant it,” he said, as you started the car.
“Meant what, Sugar?” You asked, watching a small smile grow on his face.
“I love it when you call me that, you know?”
You did. He’d roll his eyes and be his usual dramatic self about the nickname but you’d always known that he liked it.
“Yeah, I did,” you said quietly.
A few blocks away from his trailer, you felt his eyes back on you. “Are you listening to Madonna?” Eddie asked, nose wrinkling and eyelids drooping.
“Are you drunk off your mind and half asleep and criticizing the music?” You asked, laughing incredulously. “It’s the radio, asshole, I didn’t pick the song.”
Eddie laughed, eyes back on you. “You're so close but still a world away, what I'm dying to say, is that I'm crazy for you. Touch me once and you'll know it's true,” he sang and you hated how he could still sing despite his inebriation.
“Eddie Munson,” you gaped, “do you know the lyrics to a Madonna song?”
He giggled, actually giggled, and you felt your jaw drop. “Oh my God, I’m telling everyone,” you whispered to yourself.
“Come on, sing,” he said, poking your cheek.
Sighing as he begged, you relented once the song was coming to a close. “It's all brand new, I'm crazy for you. And you know it's true, I'm crazy, crazy for you.”
Eddie’s hand almost smacked your face and you ducked. “I am driving, Munson, keep your limbs to yourself!”
“Harrington, you can sing – like really sing,” he gaped, eyes awed. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
You pulled your car into Eddie’s regular parking space and sighed. “Because you never asked,” you said, walking around to his side of the car. “Now come on, we need to get you into bed.”
“I am a lady,” Eddie said, faux-scandalized, and voice a touch too loud for how silent the trailer park was. “I don’t get into bed without being taken out to dinner!”
Grunting under his weight, you elbowed him. “Stop screaming.”
“I’m not screaming,” he shouted and you sighed.
As you rounded the trailer you noticed a green pick up on the other side and winced. Shit, Wayne was home. Being as quiet as possible, you walked past a sleeping Wayne and rushed Eddie down the hall.
He threw himself onto his bed, bouncing a little and immediately knocked over a pile of books beside his bed. Wincing, you quickly shut his door and pulled Eddie’s shoes off. You helped get him out of his jacket and rubbed a hand down your face.
“Eddie, why were you at the Hide Out drinking alone on a Sunday night?” You asked quietly.
His head lolled to the side, eyelids drooping and you chewed on your bottom lip. “Can I tell you a secret?” He asked.
“Always,” you crossed your legs, settling in next to him.
“Even though we broke up last week, it’s been a month and half since I’d really spent any time with her,” Eddie started, your heart breaking at the sad expression on his face, “but I miss her sometimes. Maybe not so much her, but the fact that someone was there.”
You pushed the hair away from his face and you smiled down at him. “It’ll take time, Sugar, but you’ll get there. We all do eventually.”
“She was mean sometimes,” he whispered, words slurring together as his eyes closed further, “I didn’t like how she made me feel.”
“I know,” you said, because you did.
“I never told anyone. It’s embarrassing…” he trailed off as he fell asleep.
Standing, you made sure you placed a trash can by his side and filled a glass with water. You scribbled a note and left it on his nightstand before creeping out his room.
You’d made it to the door when a lamp illuminated the living room. Wincing, you turned slightly and waved to Wayne. “Hi Mr. Munson,” you said quietly.
“Good evening,” he said, dipping his head to look out the window, “or should I say good morning?”
“I…uh,” you scratched the back of your neck, “I was just dropping by…and now….I’m leaving!”
“Thank you,” Wayne said, eyes on you, “for bringing him home.”
Shit. Of course, he heard you – the whole trailer park probably heard Eddie. “It’s nothing. He’d do the same for me,” you said, smiling a little.
Wayne seemed to eye you, weighing something in his head. “He just needs time,” he said eventually.
“I know,” you said, crossing your arms, “I’ve been through it. Time usually is the only thing that helps.”
Smiling, Wayne shook his head and you got the feeling he wasn’t talking about Chrissy.
“He sees you too, you know.”
What? You furrowed your brows, confused, but Wayne kept talking.
“He’s felt guilty since September. I know he thinks I don’t notice things but I knew that girl was hanging around here in the summer. I’m old, not blind.”
You laughed, covering your mouth when it came out too loudly. Wayne smiled and it made face light up. They had similar smiles, you thought.
“Ever since you started coming around, things shifted. I think he felt guilty,” he said.
At that, you straightened. “Mr. Munson, I swear nothing has happened between us-”
“I know. Or else you two wouldn’t be dancing around each other like this but - I wanted to tell you that he’s coming around. He has been since you moved here.”
Shifting your weight, you felt uncomfortable. “I…don’t know what to say.”
Wayne nodded. “You don’t have to say anything - just, accept an old man’s gratitude for helping his kid realize he doesn’t need to change for anyone. I know he ain’t perfect, but he’s a good boy.”
You glanced at the door to Eddie’s room and nodded. “Yeah, he is.”
December crept up on you slowly but surely. As you stepped out your car in the music store’s parking lot, you couldn’t help but feel excited at the sight of all the Christmas decorations.
You loved downtown Hawkins. It was a bit busier, stores littering the main street, and a lot louder than the suburbs but – you really did love it. Trying to remember Eddie’s instructions, had he told you that the album Steve wanted was in the back of the store or to the front?, you avoided a small patch of ice.
Maybe it’d be obvious once you were inside. Taking a few hurried steps through the cold air, you sighed in relief when the warmth from the store helped defrost your fingers. Clenching them together, you started browsing.
“Crap, I’m never going to find this stupid tape,” you sighed, squinting to see the back of the store.
“Can I help you?” A voice asked.
Jumping nearly out your skin, you whirled around and smiled sheepishly at the sight of an amused employee.
“Sorry,” he laughed lightly, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Flustered, you tugged on your jacket and bit back your own smile. “No, it’s totally on me. I can sink into my own world sometimes,” you said.
“Same,” he grinned, eyes trailing down your body. Suppressing the urge to run a hand down your hair to tame any fly away pieces, you couldn’t help but smile at his blatant interest.
“Uh, I’m doing some last-minute Christmas shopping,” you said guiltily, “I know it’s like…in four days, but hear me out – I’ve had a really busy week at work.”
You glanced down at his name tag – David – and smiled when he waved your excuses off. “Trust me, I get it. What are you looking for?”
“Oh! I’m looking for David Bowie’s new album,” you said, “and Iron Maiden’s second to latest one.”
David led the way towards the back left corner and grinned. “That’s a curious mix,” he said, handing both tapes to you and walking back to the cashier. He rang them up slowly, his blue eyes darting up to yours. “Are they a gift for your boyfriend?”
“What?” You squeaked, hating how high your voice got when you were nervous. “N-no! One is for a friend and the other is for my cousin.”
“Ah,” he said, smile widening. “Good choices.”
“Thanks,” you said, handing over the money, “they both managed to break their copies so I thought getting new ones would be a good gift.”
“Thoughtful too,” he teased and you felt yourself get lost a little in his eyes. “Are you from around here?”
You fiddled with the end of your scarf and shook your head. “I moved here last year from New York, we have family in town,” you leaned forward, feeling a little bold, “but, Hawkins is growing on me.”
“Is it?” He asked, smiling hopefully. “I’m glad. It’s probably not much in comparison but I’m sure it’s glad you’re here.”
David handed you the bag and you blinked when his fingers bumped into yours. “Oh, well, um – thank you for your help,” you said, tugging your scarf around you tighter, “Merry Christmas!”
You’d only taken a few steps away from the counter when he called out, “Wait!”
Whipping around, your eyes widened as he hopped over the counter. Jesus, those jeans were tight. “What’s your name?” He asked.
You introduced yourself, smiling when he shook your hand formally. “Well, now that we know each other, officially, would you happen to be free tomorrow for dinner? I know it’s a few days until Christmas Eve and you don’t really know me, I’m a freshman at Indie State, but-”
“-yes!”
David trailed off and grinned so wide it almost split his face in two. “Cool, I’ll pick you up?”
“Yeah, yeah, sure,” you said, scribbling down your number on your receipt. You handed it to him and he pocketed it quickly. “Call me?”
He smiled bashfully, ears red, and you couldn’t help but find it endearing.
“Definitely. See you tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” he echoed, waving as you scurried out.
You all but ran to your car and threw yourself into the front seat. Hands on the steering wheel, you glanced back to the store and grinned. The bag in the seat next to you crinkled as the heat blasted and you looked down at the tapes. Eddie, your mind reminded you and the smile slipped off your face.
Shaking your head, you put the car into drive and sighed. You couldn’t always be trapped by your crush, eventually you’d need to move on. Eddie had never been yours. Just because he’d broken up with Chrissy almost two months ago now didn’t mean he’d be interested in you – or anyone. In fact, he’d probably never be. Eddie Munson was your friend. Besides, there wasn’t anything wrong with liking the attention someone else gave you. At least considering how fast your heart was beating.
Nodding to yourself, you turned onto Riverside Drive and decided to go to the mall. You’d need Robin and a new outfit for tomorrow.
The first signs that Eddie was slowly coming back to himself was the sudden resurgence of energy during campaigns. His smiles were easily given, eyes always flashing with mischief – and if you were being honest with yourself, you were relieved to see him finally revive.
“You’re still coming over, right?” Eddie asked, voice eager and loud.
You pulled on your new platform boots and smiled at the boost they gave you. They definitely weren’t walking shoes but they made your legs look longer. Robin had all but threatened you if you didn’t keep them. “Yes,” you said for the thousandth time, your phone cradled between your neck and your shoulder, “I’m just getting ready!”
“For what?” Eddie grunted; his voice muffled but clear. “Wheeler if you try to look at my notes one more time, I’m going to break your arm!”
Snorting, you looked at yourself in the mirror and nodded, satisfied with the meticulous planning you’d done. A small sigh escaped when you realized you were going on a date, an actual date. It’d been a while and you were excited.
Brushing your fingers along the soft fabric of your dress, you nodded to yourself. “The longer you bug me, the longer it’ll take me to get there,” you told him. Even on winter break, the guys got together to finish up the campaign they’d started weeks ago. You’d started sitting in on them in the hopes of getting used to how the game was played – although, even after all the times you’d sat in, you were still mostly confused. It didn’t matter, you were invested in the story and didn’t want to miss any twists.
“Don’t forget to bring your notebook, and a sweater – Henderson’s house is freezing,” he muttered.
“I will, Dad,” you huffed, picking up your bag, “I’ll be over in like twenty minutes.”
“Fine, ignore my worries. Freeze to death. Who am I but a stranger?” Eddie sighed dramatically.
You rolled your eyes and Eddie huffed. “Don’t roll your eyes at me young lady.”
Laughing at the drama in his voice, and happy it’d come back, you said goodbye and hung up. You knew he’d never let that go, which is why you were completely unsurprised when you knocked on Dustin’s door, he’d opened it with arms crossed.
Pushing past him, you shivered as you tugged your coat off and hung it up by the front door. “You hung up on me, Harrington,” he said, eyes narrowing playfully before they widened. You watched as they trailed down your new dress. You’d tried to steer a little away from your normal black wardrobe – Robin had been the one to pick the maroon color and insisted that David would love it.
“Anyone would,” she said, waggling her brows at your cleavage.
“Are you wearing heels?” Eddie asked, voice sounding strangled.
You glanced down at your shoes and nodded. “They’re boots,” you said, motioning to the light snow that was falling. Eddie’s face looked like you’d struck him over the head with a hammer. “What’s wrong with you? Does it look that bad?”
“I just didn’t know you were dressing up for campaigns now,” he stuttered, eyes still roaming. “You look great, you always do.”
Pleased at the unexpected compliment, you grinned. You grabbed your small notebook out of your bag, pulled your sweater around you, and nodded towards the basement. “Everyone else here?” You asked, walking down the steps without waiting for an answer.
A loud cheering greeted you as the guys grinned at your arrival. “Harrington’s here!” Jeff shouted. Mike held up his fist and you bumped it as you took your usual seat towards the end, next to Dustin and Gareth.
“I’m back, I’m back,” Dustin said, smiling when he saw you. “You’re here!”
“Hey Dusty,” you said, bumping your shoulder against his affectionately when he glared at you for using the off-limits nickname. “Merry almost Christmas!”
Dustin’s eyes narrowed as he took in your outfit but you just smiled. Eddie sat at the head of the table, as always, and avoided your gaze. “Everyone ready?”
“Let’s kick some ass,” Gareth said, slamming his hand onto the table.
Since you’d only started sitting in on the most recent campaign, so you were nowhere near ready to create a character – much less play – but you’d always known Eddie was a great DM. He lived for the theatrics of it, played into it entirely earnestly, and his excitement was contagious. You were sure it was mostly due to his effort that you never realized how much time had passed until you glanced at a clock.
“Fuck,” you said, scrambling to stand. Your back cracked as you stretched, having been leaning in while the group decided whether to proceed into the forest or through the mountains. Damn it, you were going to miss the big climax you knew Eddie was building towards.
“What? Snack break?” Jeff asked, blinking like he’d too been pulled out of a dream.
Feeling a little awkward, you chewed on your bottom lip before just deciding to be honest. “Uh, I actually have plans – soon. I didn’t want to miss this so I just came over already dressed.”
“You have plans during a campaign?” Gareth asked, looking mildly offended.
“I’ve got a date,” you said, feeling oddly bashful. Instead of the teasing you’d expected, you realized everyone’s eyes had darted to Eddie. Who, in turn, hadn’t noticed the looks and was blinking at you blankly.
“A date?” Dustin said eventually, clearing his throat. “Like a romantic date?”
Glancing at the group, all of them who were still watching Eddie warily, you hesitated. “Yeah?” You were confused now, brows furrowing. “You know, with dinner, kissing – hopefully.”
Jeff winced, eyes darting down to his notebook and you felt even more confused.
“A date?” Dustin repeated, sounding like a broken record.
Shit, why was it so tense? You smiled, pretending to joke, “Right, so when a boy likes a girl-”
“-who?” Eddie asked, reanimating. “Is it someone from school?”
At that, you snorted, “Absolutely not. It was actually at the store you suggested!” You said, pulling your sweater on. “The one downtown?”
Eddie’s eyes narrowed. “The cashier? David? You’re going out on a date with that – with David?”
“Yeah!” You exclaimed. “He just sort of asked me out. I guess I’m a little nervous for it. Either way-”
“That’s why you’re all dressed up,” Mike said, eyes still darting towards Eddie. You rolled your eyes.
“Why did you say that like I look horrible normally?”
Mike straightened, looking panicked. “No! That’s not what I meant.” You laughed, only teasing, as you reapplied some of your lipstick in the nearest reflective mirror.
“So, how do I look?” You asked, twirling jokingly. The guys all blinked at you and you had to fight back a laugh at their awkward compliments. God, guys really were clueless about all this.
Well, that’s what you got for being the only girl of the group. “You look beautiful,” Eddie’s compliment rose above the rest. Your eyes snapped to his and you fought the sheepish smile that wanted to grow on your face. Of course he wasn’t making this easy for you.
“Yeah?” You said instead, transfixed by his guarded gaze.
He nodded, hair shifting as he did, and you smiled. “Thanks guys,” you said, clearing your throat. “I’ll see you guys at Eddie’s on Monday? To exchange gifts?”
They all nodded dumbly and you started for the stairs. Pausing at the top, you pulled your jacket on and made sure your hair was still in place. A flurry of sudden harsh whispers floated up the stairs, making you pause.
“You aren’t going to say anything?” “What the hell do you want me to say?” “Dude, you’re just going to let her go? After everything?” “What do you want me to do!” “I don’t know, something! Anything!” “It’s gone on for too long man, if this isn’t a sign – I don’t know what you’re waiting for!” “It’s no use-”
The sound of your boots against your driveway felt very solemn. David’s car puttered as he drove off and you gave the car a last wave before climbing the rest of your way up to your door.
You sighed, rubbing at your temples. It hadn’t been a total disaster but, definitely not what you’d hoped. Flashes of him snapping at the waiters and theater usher made you wince. There were more than a few times where you’d gotten close to snapping at him for staring obviously at your chest. It was nice to be appreciated but Jesus, look at someone in the eyes when you’re talking to them.
Whatever, you thought, nothing gained, nothing lost. Ugh, all you wanted was a warm shower, some hot cocoa, and your bed. Walking up your long driveway, you startled when you saw someone sitting on your front porch.
Your parents weren’t home, they were off somewhere with your uncle until Christmas morning, and you were sure Steve had said something about dropping by some band party Robin was going to. The figure shifted and you realized you recognized the long hair.
“Eddie?” You called out, struggling to see him clearly in the dark. “Are you okay? What are you doing here?”
His head snapped up at the sound of your voice. “Hi,” he said, jumping to his feet and bouncing up and down. “Do you mind if we go in? I’ve been waiting for a while and I’m pretty sure my hands are frozen.”
“Shit, yeah, of course,” you opened your door and ushered him in. “Is Wayne okay? You knew I wasn’t home – why were you waiting?”
Eddie didn’t answer you, instead he ran a hand through his hair and you sighed. You knew his tells and he was nervous. Fuck, you hoped this wasn’t a Chrissy problem – he’d been getting better.
Shrugging your coat off, you hung it up in the front closet and groaned when you pulled off your shoes. Wiggling your toes against the cold floor, you sighed at the comfort of finally taking off heels at the end of the night.
“While you think this through,” you said, waving to him, “I’m going to go make us hot chocolate.”
You’d only taken a few steps towards the kitchen when Eddie’s hand shot out to yours. “Wait!”
“Eddie, please, it’s been a long night,” you sighed, really not sure your heart could handle hearing about girl problems right now, “if no one’s dying, you’re lucky I’m not drinking after that date.”
His eyes darted to yours. “It didn’t go well?” He asked, no longer pacing or jerking around like a live wire.
Shrugging, you perched on the edge of the sofa. “It wasn’t bad, he was just – a little rude to be honest,” you said, shaking your head, “definitely no second date but dinner was nice. I might make Steve take me back to try the carbonara.”
A tense silence followed your admission, most of it rolling off Eddie in waves. Shifting, you brought your hand up to your chin and frowned. What was so urgent that Eddie looked like he was ready to pass out? His eyes were focused on your shoes that you’d left haphazardly in the doorway. The sound of one of your neighbor’s garage doors opening was faintly audible and you tilted your head, realizing it was coming from Steve. Speak of the devil.
“I could take you,” Eddie blurted, eyes wide and panicked.
Not wanting to spook him even further, you nodded slowly like you were approaching a wild animal. “Yeah, sure, we could all go. I think Robin would love the tiramisu; it was amazing-”
“-I like you,” Eddie said, cutting you off. The Christmas lights he’d helped you hang in the living room bounced off his wide eyes and gave the room a warm glow. You hadn’t turned the main light on and you loved how cozy it made the house feel.
You blinked when Eddie repeated himself, like you hadn’t heard him. What was going on? You just wanted hot cocoa. “I like you too, weirdo,” you said, still half-thinking about the dessert and Christmas lights, “you’re my best friend.”
“I’m telling Robin you said that,” Eddie said automatically and you smiled. He shook his head suddenly. “Wait, no – I’m not, I don’t want to chicken out this time. Harrington, I like you.”
Eddie’s eyes finally met yours and you were struck by the severity of it. He swallowed visibly, his hands twitching like they wanted to reach out for you – for something – and he spoke again. “I like you.”
The words floated into the air and you watched them disperse. You knew Eddie better than anyone, you knew what he was saying and felt your heart drop into your stomach.
“Harrington, I like you.”
He really needed to stop saying that.
Because every time he did, you felt like someone was slapping you across the face. “That’s not funny,” you said, serious. Ignoring the fact that you knew Eddie wasn’t cruel enough to joke with you about that. Your brain couldn’t handle logistics when your heart felt like it was about to beat right out your fucking chest. Standing, feeling the itch to pace yourself, you mumbled, “That’s not a funny joke, Eddie.”
“I’m not joking,” his eyes softened like he knew you were panicking and you didn’t know what to do with that. You weren’t entirely sure you hadn’t entered an alternate dimension. “I think I always have, at least a little bit of me, since the first time we met. You’re so…you. It’s like you radiate fucking sunshine – I’m pretty sure that’s why everyone is drawn to you. I can’t believe you never noticed; the way people just gravitate into your space.”
Shocked into silence, a rare moment really, you sat back onto the sofa. What the hell was happening? He couldn’t be…he couldn’t.
Clearly unnerved by your sudden silence, Eddie continued. “I know it’s weird because we’re friends but I just, I can’t keep it in anymore. It’s selfish and Dustin told me that I needed to say something before you ended up engaged to some quarterback – Steve, well shit, don’t get me started on Steve. He said he’d kick my ass if I ever hurt you, which I understand – I’d say the same to any asshole trying to date someone who was like my sister-”
Quarterback? What? Steve? Dating?
“Eddie, I – I don’t know what you’re saying.”
He shook his head, as if that would stop the rambling. “Right sorry, the point is, I like you. A lot. A scary amount.” Your heart lurched forward, slamming against your ribcage.
You felt like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over you. He wasn’t joking. Eddie wasn’t fucking joking. “Why didn’t you tell me?” You croaked.
He shot you a look and well, duh, you knew why. “The last girl I liked didn’t want anyone to know that we breathed the same air much less that she liked me too.”
You scrunched your nose, immediately offended. “You can’t possibly believe I’d be anything like her,” you said, not able to keep the venom out your voice. A little embarrassed at how easily it shot out, you wrung your hands but caught the amused glint in his eyes.
“No, you’re nothing like her,” he said quietly, “but it’s an explanation, why I kept quiet for so long. Why I let her stay in my orbit when I just wanted to spin around in yours. I thought I had time. I had planned – I wanted to – but then I pictured you driving off with that – that, cool sports car driving hair spray wearing guy and panicked a little.”
Still feeling like you were on one of those teacup rides, dazed and dizzy, you blinked up at him. “Eddie, are you sure?” You immediately heard how stupid the question sounded but, Jesus Christ, you really weren’t expecting this tonight.
To his credit, Eddie smiled at you patiently. His fingers inched towards yours and you let your hands unfurl from where they were clutching at the hem of your dress. You watched him trace the lines on your open palm, the touch sending shivers up your arm. His rings pressed comfortably into your skin and you fought to keep your breath even.
“You’ve always seen me, the real me, and made sure to let me know that you liked what you saw. Everyone else sees me and makes assumptions-”
“-to be fair we do have similar style-”
Eddie shushed you and you shot him an amused look.
“-but you never did. If you knew…the way you make me feel. I shouldn’t have stayed with her for so long, not when I’d already started to drift away. She made mistakes but, but I fucked up too,” he sighed, and you winced – the reality of how complicated this was hitting you. “Do you know that you mouth along to the words when you’re reading a book?”
Confused at the sudden turn of topic, you shook your head.
He smiled, eyes darting down to your lips and you felt something in your stomach curl. “There’s this little sigh you do, it’s my favorite one, when you sit on the picnic tables outside the cafeteria. You’ll prop your feet up and turn your face to the sun, close your eyes and sigh. Or this smile you have whenever you’ve helped us study and we get a good grade – it’s like you’re so proud of us, you have this innate ability to make people feel like they matter,” he laughed, eyes unfocused like he was lost in a memory. “Or the way you never walk by and let anyone who needs help be ignored. The way you’re just so fucking reckless and swing before thinking it through.”
Eddie’s thumb swiped across the back of your hand and you tightened your hold on him.
“You’re an enigma, a tornado that burst into Hawkins and completely upended my life. You’re one of my best friends and I can’t imagine life without you in it,” Eddie said, smiling at you like you weren’t two seconds away from a heart attack, “so yeah, Harrington, I’m sure.”
The quiet after his declaration was less tense but still heavy. Your eyes darted between his and you watched him as he waited patiently for you to gather your thoughts. Eddie never rushed you, not even in the small moments. You brought your finger out to trace his jaw and his eyes fluttered closed at the feeling of your touch. His skin was soft, stubble catching against your thumb as you brought it down to his bottom lip. Something in your stomach clenched when his eyes opened, pupils blown as your thumb caught his lip and pressed down lightly.
“Eddie,” you said quietly, as if afraid you’d shatter the moment with your volume.
He hummed, the sound so familiar and comforting, you couldn’t help but smile. Wetting your lips, you watched his eyes follow the motion and you felt a small ember ignite in your chest. If he was brave, you could be too.
“I like you too,” you said, feeling your heart crack open at the sight of his beaming answering smile. It reminded you of a sunrise and you felt it settle between your ribs, a feeling of permanence washing over you. This was going to change everything. And yet, despite the fear of being in freefall, you said it again. “I like you.”
Eddie’s shoulders dropped in relief, his sigh the loudest noise either of you had made since the start of this conversation. His forehead pressed against yours, eyes closing as he inhaled.
You exhaled, the anxiety in your veins ebbing away, returning back to its cave. With a small huff, a thought floated to the surface of your mind. “What?” Eddie asked, leaning back just a little.
“I’m pretty sure everyone knows already, about me at least,” you said, feeling slightly embarrassed.
“What?” He asked, confusion evident.
“Steve told me, a week into having moved here, that I needed to steer clear from you because you weren’t available. A week.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Eddie crossed his arms, teasing glint rising in his eyes. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“You were obviously preoccupied, I’m not blind,” you said, not able to keep the jealous hint out of your voice. Wincing at the sound of it, you sighed when Eddie smiled, looking pleased.
“We broke up on Halloween,” he said, taking your hands between his, “it’s almost Christmas.”
“Well, you could’ve said something too,” you huffed. Eddie shot you a look and you frowned. “I…if she was any indication of your type then I surely wouldn’t qualify,” you mumbled, you motioned to your dress, “I had to go out and buy this. I – you know what I look like normally.”
“You’re beautiful always,” Eddie breathed and you felt yourself grow flustered at the honesty in his eyes. A sudden thought bubbled to the forefront of your mind and you squeezed his hands.
“Eddie,” you said, watching as he intertwined your fingers together, the knot in your stomach taking root, “I can’t be the pit stop before you find someone else – someone like Chrissy. Our friendship won’t survive me being your rebound. I might not survive it.”
He shook his head before you stopped speaking. “I don’t want someone like Chrissy, I want you, exactly like you are,” Eddie breathed, his other hand coming up to your cheek, “I have for a while. If you…if you want me too, I’m in this. Totally, completely, head first.”
Eddie must’ve seen the hesitance in your eyes because he reached for your arm and tugged you into his. “Trust me to know what I want, trust what I’m saying – trust me,” he said, fingers tangling with your hair. “You’re not my rebound. Everyone else in my life was yours.”
At that, it finally sunk in.
Eddie liked you. Eddie liked you. Eddie liked you.
Shit, he might’ve broken your brain. This was a lot to process; a lot had happened today. “Eddie, are you sure?” You asked again, sounding like a skipping record.
Smiling patiently at you, he nodded. “Yeah, I’ve never been surer of anything.”
Despite your stomach feeling like it was at the top of a rollercoaster, you already knew your answer. “Okay,” you said. Because it really was that simple. It’d always been him.
“Okay?” Eddie echoed, confused.
You nodded. “Yeah.”
At that, a grin slowly grew on Eddie’s face. “So, I like you and you like me?” He said, the joke breaking the tension. Of course, you couldn’t expect anything less from him.
“This feels like we’re in middle school,” you huffed, amused.
He wiggled his brows. “Check yes if you want to go on a date with me?” Eddie teased again.
You planted your forehead on his chest and groaned. Eddie laughed, the vibrations of it crawling down your skin and sinking into your bones. He had a beautiful laugh, you thought.
Eddie pulled you closer into him, arms wrapped around your torso for a moment before he started nosing at your temple. “Can I kiss you?” He whispered.
“Hell yes,” you said, surging up and pressing your lips against his before he could move. You felt his answering smile against your lips and soon you had to lean back because you were both grinning. Eddie’s grip didn’t let you get too fair.
“Not so fast,” he said, pulling you back into him, “that didn’t count.”
Before you could make a joke, Eddie’s lips descended. He herded you towards the nearest wall and you shivered against the sudden lack of warmth. With a sharp nip to your bottom lip, he swallowed your gasp and used the moment to slip beyond your lips. You playfully fought for the upper hand but was quickly pressed harder into the wall. Eddie’s hand on your hip gripped you tightly, like you were the only thing anchoring him to the moment. His other hand slid up the length of your body and settled at your neck, possessively.
Your fingers were wrapped around the lapels of his leather jacket, clenched tightly as his leg slipped between yours and you groaned when he pressed into you. Not wanting to be left behind, you released one fistful of leather and snuck a cold hand underneath the hem of his Hellfire shirt. He hissed as your hand warmed from his heated skin and you let your nails scrape lightly against his waist. “Ah, alright, you win,” he said, eyes wild. You grinned; a little punch drunk off the fact that you had this effect on him.
“Can I ask you for a favor?” Eddie said. Nodding, you brought your lips down to his neck – tongue lapping at the muscle like you’d always wanted to do. Shuddering, Eddie’s grip turned vice like and you laughed lightly. “It’s hard to formulate thoughts when you do that.”
“Is it now?” Eddie shot you a heated look and you leaned back. “What did you want?”
“Could we…keep this a secret until we’re back at school next week?”
And just like that, your heart dropped to your feet. Pushing him away, Eddie scrambled forward, already realizing his mistake. “Wait, no, that came out wrong.”
You tried to shake off his hold but you’d reacted too slowly. Within seconds you were back, entangled in each other, with Eddie’s chest rising quickly.
“I’m sorry, I should’ve said that better,” he said, ducking to catch your eyes. “Our friends have a bet going on when we’ll get together. Robin and Max are the last ones at New Year’s. I don’t want to give any of them the satisfaction.” He shrugged, looking a little pink. “I know they’ll be relentless too, insufferable really, and I want it to be just us just for a little. Without our friends being assholes.”
“Oh,” you breathed, relief evident.
Eddie’s face softened into something apologetic and he bumped his nose with yours. “I’d let everyone know that I like you if I could,” he said, “but considering we were the last to realize, I wouldn’t be surprised it they all already knew.”
Your heart jumped into his hands willingly, you watched him curl his fingers around it, like he’d protect it with his life. And you…trusted him to. Smiling at his earnest expression, you nodded. “Yeah, Eddie, I don’t mind.”
Sorry, girl, but you missed out. Well, tough, luck that boy's mine now. We are more than just good friends. This is how the story ends.
You’d barely managed to make your way down to an empty kitchen when the phone rang. Wincing, you glared at it from across the room. Why had this phone always had such a shrill sound? As you padded towards it, you glanced out the west window to see Steve’s curtains pulled tightly. Maybe you should bring him some breakfast.
“Hello?” Your voice sounded like gravel.
“Hey.”
Eddie, your heart jumped in recognition. “Good morning, Sugar,” you said, leaning your hip against the wall.
Eddie’s chuckle warmed you and you closed your eyes. “I miss you,” he said without preamble and you bit back a grin.
“You just saw me a few hours ago,” you reminded him. After your disastrous date last night, and the subsequent make out session you’d had, Eddie hadn’t left your house until two in the morning.
“Doesn’t matter,” he insisted and you could see him huffing in your mind, “I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to be cool and wait two days or something before calling the girl you’re trying to ask on a date.”
Laughing, you could feel his answering grin from over the phone. “Being cool is overrated,” you said.
“That’s what I thought too. Besides, when the girl you’re dating has already witnessed most of your embarrassing moments, what’s the point in playing it cool?”
“I wouldn’t say most, you still have room for a few more,” you teased, grinning when he protested. You tightened your grip on the phone and glanced at the clock. “How much time do I have before you’re in my driveway?”
“Is two hours too soon?” He asked a little hesitantly and you shook your head like he could see you.
“No, that’s actually perfect.”
“Great,” he said, “see you soon.”
An hour and half later, your doorbell echoed in the empty house. You gave your hair one last glance before hurrying down the steps. Flinging the door open, Eddie wa leaning against one of the columns.
“Hey beautiful,” he said, eyes meeting yours. You beamed, reaching for his hand and pulling him into the foyer.
Giving him a short kiss, you let him pull you into his arms for a hug. Tucking yourself into his neck, his black scarf soft and warm, you smiled again. “What?” He asked.
“Nothing, I just missed you too,” you admitted, laughing when he exclaimed. Extracting yourself from his hold, you pulled on your warmest boots and coat. Hesitating at the sight of your scarf, you turned to Eddie. “Want to swap?” You asked.
He raised his brow and you motioned to your light gray knitted scarf. “I like the way yours smells,” you admitted, liking the way Eddie’s face flushed – pleased.
“Sure,” he said, unraveling the garment from his neck. As he looped it over yours, you let him tuck it tightly against you, a kiss pressing to your temple before stepping back.
“Holy shit, what – are those-”
Eddie’s hand came up to pull the neckline of his shirt down further and you followed the expanse of his once pale skin. Bruises mottled the column of his neck and you gaped. “Did I?”
“Mark your territory?” Eddie joked, breath going shallow when you trailed your fingertips over them. “Yeah. It was fun explaining them to Wayne this morning over breakfast.”
“Oh my God,” you whipped your eyes to his. “Does he know-”
“-that you were the one staking your claim? Yeah.”
“Eddie!”
At that he laughed, that stupidly beautiful laugh and you felt your organs turn into mush. He shook his head and wrapped your scarf around his neck, hiding away the evidence of last night. “He spent most of the morning telling me not to mess it up,” he said, pulling you in by your belt loops. “Apparently, you have my uncle’s full approval.”
Flustered, you fiddled with the scarf around his neck until Eddie pressed a quick kiss to your lips. You chased after him, feeling lightheaded and filled with butterflies.
“We’re going to miss it if you don’t stop tempting me,” Eddie said, nipping at the sensitive skin underneath your jaw a few frantic minutes later.
“Miss what?” You breathed, eyes fluttering.
Eddie exhaled deeply, pulled his hands out from under your sweater and smoothed it against your torso. With fumbling fingers, he zipped you up tightly. “Come on, you’ll see.”
You laughed as he pulled you eagerly to his van, nose turning red in the cold weather. A few minutes later you blinked as you passed the ‘You’re leaving Hawkins, visit us again soon!’ sign.
“Is this all an elaborate plan to kidnap me?” You asked, eyes turning to his profile.
“Obviously,” Eddie answered, grinning. “It’s only a few minutes out of town – you’re right at the edge of it.”
True to his word, a few minutes later, Eddie parked next to what looked like a massive Christmas festival. As soon as you opened your door, the smell of peppermint and gingerbread wafted over to you. “That smells amazing,” you said immediately.
“Wayne used to bring me here,” Eddie said, intertwining your fingers. He brought your cold hands between his and rubbed them. “I loved looking through all the stands. My mom she – uh, she loved Christmas.”
“I love it,” you said, grinning brightly before pointing to a cookie stall. “Can we go there first, please? The smell is killing me.”
Eddie laughed, pulling you along towards the crowded vendor. “The sugar cookies are the best ones,” Eddie said.
“What?” You sputtered. “Chocolate chip cookies are a classic, who are you?”
“Sugar cookies are underrated!”
You rolled your eyes. “How did I not know this about you? I’m on a date with a sugar cookie apologist.”
Eddie clutched as his chest, eyes bright, and mouth twisting into a dramatic gasp. “Take that back!”
Ready to quip back, you heard someone call your name. Turning to your left, you smiled when you saw your classmate. “Hey Brian!” You waved. As he broke off from his group, you felt Eddie drop your hand as he came closer.
Frowning, you looked up at him, mildly confused, when you saw a flash of panic bleed into his gaze.
“Oh my god, it’s so cold,” Brian said, hugging you in greeting. He waved at Eddie a little sheepishly. “Sorry for interrupting, I just haven’t seen you all break! We wanted to go to the new bookstore downtown remember?”
Leaning over to tuck yourself under Eddie’s arm, you picked up his left hand and brought it around to your left shoulder. “I know! I’m so sorry, can I call you tonight? We can bring Amanda and see if we can find that book she wanted!”
“It’d be a good present,” he whispered, leaning in, “I haven’t gotten her anything yet!”
You laughed. “Brian!” You both knew she’d bought him his favorite album last month.
“It’s been a long month,” he said, grinning, “anyway, I’ll see soon!” He jogged back to his friends and you turned back to the line.
“So, we were talking about how wrong you were about chocolate chip?” You were met with an amused silence and you could feel his eyes on you.
“I know what you’re doing,” Eddie said, amused, pulling you in tighter to him.
With a small smile, you reached out to pick up a few wrapped cookies for Steve and Robin. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you said, paying and putting them gently into your bag.
If you needed to cling to his side the entire year to help him realize you didn’t care, in fact, you actively enjoyed it – it was a cross you were willing to bare.
“Mhmm,” Eddie hummed, kissing your temple, “did you want to stake another claim or was that one enough?”
Ignoring his teasing, you pulled him along to the next stall. “I do have a question though,” you said, slipping your gloved hand into his. “Did you want me to stop calling you Sugar?”
Eddie frowned. “No, what? Why?”
You hesitated. “Well, because of how it came about,” you said tentatively, “I was always just teasing when I used it.”
Eddie’s face looked a little flushed as he avoided your gaze. “I like it,” he admitted, “it doesn’t have anything to do with anyone but us. It’s our inside joke and I wouldn’t want you to change it now.”
“I just wanted to be sure,” you said, squeezing his hand.
“I do – but – I also want something to call you,” Eddie said, tugging you along to the next vendor.
You wrinkled your nose at him. “Isn’t my name good enough?” Eddie rolled his eyes.
“What about one that matches yours? Cupcake? Cookie?” Eddie snickered at the sight of your expression. “My little honeybun?” Eddie said, barely containing your laughter as his options got more and more ridiculous.
“Oh my God, if you call me honeybun I will never speak to you again,” you threatened.
Eddie laughed and you stuck your tongue out before approaching a flower stand. The red roses were beautiful, reminiscent of the ones you knew your dad gave your mother at every holiday. A flash of purple caught your eye, hidden beneath a bunch of lilies. Reaching for the smaller bouquet, you realized they were wildflowers.
They were a little wilted, small, but the purple and orange petals stood out amongst the red of the Christmas themed flowers. A short, older woman sitting in a chair wrapped up in blankets smiled at you. “Those arrangements are left over from an order we had that fell through. They’re not worth much, I’ll give you a good discount if you want.” Fingers tracing the bloom of the small orange flower, you nodded. They’d look nice on your desk. You reached for your wallet but Eddie was already handing over money.
“Eddie, wait, no-” Eddie waved away your protests and dropped a few bills into the tip jar. The woman beamed at him and you sighed. “I was going to buy them for myself.”
“Too slow,” Eddie teased, kissing your cheek. When you opened your mouth to protest, Eddie sighed, “Don’t deny me the right to buy you flowers.”
“The right?” You repeated, raising a brow.
Eddie nodded, carefully packing the flowers into your tote bag. “Just say thank you.”
“Thank you, Eddie,” you said with an eye roll. You glanced at the bits of purple peeking out from the top of your bag and smiled. You’d never had anyone buy you flowers.
“They’re pretty,” he said with a smile, his eyes lighting up, “what about Petal?”
You scrunched your nose but laughed at Eddie’s eager expression. “Isn’t Sugar embarrassing enough? You want to add calling me Petal to that? You want to be that couple?” You asked, exasperated.
“Yes! We’re steering into it,” Eddie said, clearly having made a decision. Petal, you thought over, liking it but not wanting to give him the satisfaction of giving in too easily.
“Most boyfriend’s call their girlfriend something cute like baby, darling, sweetheart,” you said, turning to pretend and read a vendor’s signs to hide your smile.
Instead of the returning quip you expected, you turned to see Eddie staring at you meaningfully, a brow quirked. “Boyfriend, huh?”
Jesus Christ Harrington, you groaned internally, eyes closing. It was your first date for fuck’s sake. You hadn’t even gotten past first base and you were already fucking it up.
“I’m just messing with you,” Eddie hurried to promise, realizing you were curling into yourself in mortification. “I swear.”
“I’m sorry?” You stammered, unsure and not knowing how to get yourself out the hole you’d dug.
“Don’t be,” Eddie assured you, looking hesitant. “I’d…like that if you would.”
You opened one eye. “Really?”
Eddie laughed, arm coming back around your waist, both of you getting as close as you could with all the layers you had on. “Yeah, your ability to always say exactly what’s on your mind is one of the things I like the most about you,” he explained, smiling when you raised your brows, “and it’s us. We’re still just us, making up the rules to whatever we want. Yeah?”
Something that felt a lot like relief bloomed in your chest. “Yeah,” you said.
“Good,” he said, “cool.”
“Cool.”
Without hesitating, you pulled his face down to yours and kissed him soundly. “Was that clear enough?” His eyes stayed closed, a little dazed, for a moment.
Eddie pretended to think before shaking his head. “Not yet, let’s try a few more times so it can be really clear.”
You laughed and let him kiss your jaw, head tilting to give him more space. His lips landed on your ear, his teeth nipping at your earlobe and the coil within you standing at attention. “You’re cold,” he said, voice low. You watched him pull his beanie off and pull it over your own head.
He pulled you towards a hot chocolate stand. “Hi! What would y’all like to order?”
Eddie turned to you, brows rising. “Petal?” He asked, wiggling his brows, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
You grinned, shaking your head at his blatant amusement at the new cheesy nickname. “A peppermint hot chocolate please, with whipped cream.”
“Now that winter break is over, does that mean we win the bet?” You asked Eddie, his fingers intertwining with yours as you both emerged from his van and crossed the parking lot. The skin on your neck stung as the cold air rushed to meet you, Eddie’s teeth had no doubt left a mark. You’d barely gotten out your car when Eddie pounced on you a few minutes ago. “We could go to dinner with the winning pool.”
Eddie laughed, “I like the way you think,” he said, squeezing your hand and using the other to tighten your scarf – it was still wrapped around his neck. You’d both had conveniently forgotten to return them, since his was tucked into your bag.
“Who do you think is going to make the biggest deal about it?” You wondered out loud, already knowing the answer.
Sharing a look, Eddie snorted. “Henderson’s locker is right by yours. I wouldn’t be surprised if-”
“Eddie!”
You grinned. “Speak of the devil,” you said, moving to let go of Eddie’s hand. With an exaggerated pout, he reached for your hand and pointedly intertwined your fingers together.
“Where the hell were you going?” Eddie asked, tugging you closer. Laughter spilled from you, surprised and caught off guard.
“I thought you’d want to head over to him while I went to my locker. Our first periods are on opposite ends of the school,” you reminded him, bringing your joined hands up to kiss his knuckles.
His eyes softened from teasing into something that made the butterflies in your stomach swarm. “What’s one more tardy?” He said, kissing the corner of your mouth. Eddie’s hand came up to the back of your neck and pulled you in closer until –
“Holy shit, holy shit, YOU GUYS IT FINALLY HAPPENED,” a very Dustin-sounding voice shrieked.
Eddie laughed and his breath minty from the gum he’d stolen off of you. “Henderson.”
Dustin skidded towards you, his eyes wide and shocked. “I win!” He pumped his fist into the air.
The rest of them followed, looking annoyed. “You couldn’t have moved faster?” Gareth grumbled, sliding a victorious looking Dustin a ten-dollar bill.
“I’m sorry, what’s happening here?” You asked, narrowing your eyes at them. “You were betting on us?”
Eddie buried his face into your hair and you felt his silent laughter as everyone sputtered.
Everyone started backtracking, gazes avoiding you, mumbling together. “In our defense, you two were the only blinds one here,” Dustin said, crossing his arms. “Even the Drama club asked me if you two were dating.”
“What?” You said, genuinely floored.
“Duh!” Mike said, throwing his hands up.
Jeff nodded, pointing at Eddie. “Since the day the new year started, he’s only ever been able to focus on you in a room.”
“Hey,” Eddie huffed. “It’s not my fault I have a small attention span.”
Gareth snorted. “Yeah, that’s why you couldn’t take your eyes off her bu-”
“Alright!” Eddie snapped.
Amused beyond reason, you turned to Eddie who was flushed a brilliant red. “Edward.”
“I plead the fifth,” he muttered. You squeezed his hand, wanting to tease him further when Mike snorted.
“She’s not any better,” he said, crossing his arms. “Have you tried to get her to study effectively when Eddie was there? She spent half the time staring at him.”
You felt Eddie’s gaze on you but you were too busy glaring at Mike, who had the decency to look a little worried. Lucas snorted.
“Whatever, he’s hot, I can stare at my boyfriend if I want to,” you said petulantly, ignoring Eddie’s delighted laugh.
“Say it again,” he said, a little too zealous – you almost tripped as he pulled you toward him.
Confused for a moment, you smiled gently at him when you realized. “Boyfriend?” You said quietly. “I can stare at my boyfriend whenever I want to.”
“Yeah, you can,” he said and you rolled your eyes. Pulling him down for a kiss, you ignored your friends’ gagging noises - and for their sakes - kept the kiss short.
“Which reminds me,” Eddie said, leaning over to rip the money from Dustin’s hand.
“What! Hey! Give that back!”
Eddie tucked it into his jacket and shook his head. “We didn’t start dating until right before Christmas. So technically, you were all wrong. And shitty for betting on your friends.”
“Nancy was in it too!” Mike said, ever the younger brother.
Max grinned, her nose turned up into the air. “I wasn’t.” You shot her a grateful look.
Eddie shot him a glare and the group looked chagrined. Their gazes downward and wide, you rolled your eyes. “Alright, enough with the sad puppy looks.”
The bell rung, startling you all, and you frowned. “I’ve got to get my English textbook,” you said, “I’ll see you for lunch?”
Eddie sighed when you nudged him in the opposite direction. “How will I ever survive?”
“God, they’re nauseating.” You whipped your glare around to Mike, who scurried away.
“Yeah,” you said, “meet by my locker?”
Eddie nodded, kissing your cheek once more before jogging after Mike.
Despite Robin and Nancy’s endless teasing, you managed to make it to lunch. Shoving your bag into your locker, you struggled with your Physics textbook – grinning in triumph when it finally fit into place. A pair of arms snaked around your waist and pulled you backward. Caught totally off guard, you shrieked, smacking the arms when you recognized Eddie’s laughter.
“You scared the shit out of me,” you huffed, pushing your hair out of your face.
“Aw, did little Harrington get scared?” Eddie teased, tilting your chin up so he could kiss you. Letting him, because you didn’t hate yourself that much, you nipped at his bottom lip in retaliation.
Eddie snorted, leaning against the locker next to yours, watching you organize everything for your last few classes. He was mid-story about a student getting kicked out of his second period class when you almost went flying into your locker. Eddie’s hands came up quickly to steady you, his eyes narrowing. Whirling around, you caught a familiar blonde head snickering with his two lackeys.
“I see you two finally decided to make it official, can I ask – how do you decide who gets to bottom?” Jason sneered.
Without thinking twice, you grabbed the baseball you had sitting at the bottom of your locker and launched it across the hallway towards his head. Shrieking, Jason jumped out the way at the last minute and the ball slammed loudly into the wall behind him.
“Nice arm,” Eddie whistled, appreciative eyes falling on you.
“Thanks,” you huffed, shoving your hair out your face. “Keep fucking with me, and I’ll rearrange your goddamn face, Carver. That goes for all of you,” you hissed.
Swinging his arm around your shoulders, Eddie straightened to his full height. “I wouldn’t mess with her if I were you,” he added.
“Whatever, fucking weirdos,” Jason spat, stalking down the hallway towards his own locker.
Jesus, what an inferiority complex.
Before you could go and recover your baseball, the bell rang and the hallway flooded with students running to the cafeteria. Eddie wasted no time in herding you towards your locker, his shoulders blocking out the rest of the busy hallway and you tilted your head up to look at him.
“Any regrets yet?” You asked, rolling your eyes at the idea of Jason and his entourage.
Eddie grinned, his eyes darkening. “Considering that was pretty hot, no. I’m good,” you laughed, “I mean besides being interested in a girl who doesn’t like Iron Maiden obviously.”
You pinched his side and he jumped, rubbing at the skin “I’m joking! Don’t bully me next!” Eddie pretended to cower but stopped to quirk his brow. “I mean, if you’re into that I don’t mind being the bottom…”
“I’ll accept an apology,” you interrupted him, ignoring his wiggling brows, your own growing interest, and his widening smile.
Eddie placed his hands on either side of your neck and tilted your head up. His swiped his tongue along your lip, his chest pressing against yours the deeper the kiss got. Your hand had started to wander when a loud wolf whistle broke you apart. Without looking, Eddie flipped off two grinning faces as they walked past you both. “When you come up for air, remember we sit at the back of the cafeteria,” Gareth joked, laughing with Jeff as they disappeared around the corner.
Nodding towards the corner, Eddie did a poor job of hiding his grin. “Let me put some books away and we can go get lunch?” You nodded, out of breath, and realized that most of the hallway had emptied while you’d been preoccupied. Eddie kissed you quickly once more before jogging off.
Smiling to yourself, you placed a hand to your lips and glanced around the hall. Your eyes caught a set of familiar blue ones staring at you. Chrissy startled, her eyes widening when she realized you were staring back. Despite everything, you couldn’t help but feel a little bad. Just a little. She glanced over her shoulder before shooting you a small, sad, smile.
You looked down the hall for Eddie and when you didn’t see him, you nodded at her. After a second, she nodded back, the grip on her books tightening before she was tucked under Jason’s arm.
“Ready?” Eddie’s voice scaring you. He raised a brow at your sudden jumpiness and you huffed.
Turning back around to see her blonde ponytail swishing as she walked towards the cafeteria, you turned back to Eddie, his eyes on you. “Yeah, I’m starving – let’s go.”
“You know, I didn’t think I’d be hauling music equipment into a dirty bar for our two-month anniversary,” you told Eddie, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand.
Freezing, Eddie raised his head to look up at you from where he was squatting by the amp. “Uh-”
“I’m fucking with you,” you said, laughing at his blatant relief, “we’re not the type of people who celebrate monthly anniversaries.”
“I mean,” Jeff said, looking at you both doubtfully. You narrowed your eyes at him and he shrugged. “What? You two are practically fused at the hip.”
“To be fair, they were like that before,” Dustin added, Mike and Lucas nodding next to him. Max pushed the front door open and waved to Rick. He pushed a Dr. Pepper onto the bar and she grinned.
“Hey Eddie!” Rick shouted, waving the phone at the bar in the air. “It’s Gareth!”
You exchanged a look with Eddie. Gareth had said he felt like he was catching something but promised he’d make it to the show tonight. Rick had managed to print a few flyers and the Friday slot seemed to always get the most attendances now. There was no way they could miss one.
“Fuck,” Eddie said, hanging up and leaning his head against the bar. “Gareth’s got food poisoning.”
Jeff’s shoulder slumped; his groan audible as he pinched the bridge between his eyes. “Shit, what are we gonna do?”
“What about his brother? Isn’t he in town?”
You shook your head. “John knows how to play bass not drums!”
Eddie swore again, slumping down into the seat next to Max. She patted his shoulder awkwardly when he groaned.
“We have arrived for your transportation needs,” Steve said, Robin rolling her eyes at his side.
“Technically we’re a little late to being early but we’re still here before opening,” Robin said, teasing tone trailing off when she noticed Jeff, Gareth, and Liam’s slumped figures. “Uh, what happened?”
“We don’t have a drummer, he’s sick.”
Robin whistled. “On a Friday? Fuck.”
“I know,” Eddie said, voice muffled from where he had his face buried in his arms.
“Can’t you do it?” Steve asked, his gaze turning to you.
You widened your eyes, shaking your head and freezing when Eddie popped his head up. “You who? You me?”
Steve rolled his eyes. “No, you – her,” he said, pointing to you despite your clear glare.
“You can play drums? I thought you knew some guitar,” he said, brows rising in genuine surprise.
Everyone’s heads whirled around to you and as the only one left on stage, you felt your shoulders rise up – tense. “Uh, no, you assumed I played guitar. I just told you I played an instrument, like in September.”
“Dude,” Dustin snorted, “you don’t know what instrument your girlfriend plays?”
Eddie bristled. “She never mentioned it!”
“That’s true,” you said, backing him up, “I haven’t played since…”
Steve snorted and you shot him a death glare. He immediately silenced, raising his hands up high. “I was laughing at a joke Robin said,” he said lamely.
Robin quirked her brow, crossed her arms and shook her head. “You’re on your own, Dingus.”
“Doesn’t it take like a few weeks at least for a musician to learn a song? Even if she can play, she can’t just do it,” Max said, smiling when you shot her a grateful look.
“I mean, if she’s been at all their practices, she’d probably know them well enough,” Dustin said.
You did know them, at least most of them. They had a few new covers that were too advanced for you but Gareth had always let you sneak in a few minutes during break for you to play on his set. Eddie’s hand came out to touch your ankle and you looked down. “Hey, it’s okay, you don’t need to.”
Shit.
“Okay, full disclosure, I have pretty bad stage fright. I played at a talent show,” you shot Steve a murderous look, “and it didn’t end well. Let’s just say, I may or may not have puked on my guitar player who then slipped and knocked over our lead singer.”
“Like bowling pins,” Steve whispered, “in front of the whole school.”
You closed your eyes and tried to stomp down on the memory of you running off the stage and crying in the bathroom. Steve, who had been visiting, with your other cousin had been the ones to find you and eventually coax you out. “You don’t have to,” Eddie said, climbing up onto the stage with ease. His arm wrapped around your back and you let him pull you in close. “Seriously, it’s not the end of the world if we miss one night.”
Inhaling deeply, you eyed the drum set behind you and cursed. “Fuck it, I’ll do it. I’ll need to run through the set list and tell you which ones I don’t know.”
Jeff, Liam, and Dustin – as Corroded Coffin’s manager – all scrambled to help. While they ran circles around you both, Dustin screaming for some drummer sticks, you felt Eddie’s lips on your shoulder. “Petal, I’m serious. You don’t have to.”
“I know,” you said, turning to wrap your own arms around him, “but I want to.”
You were rewarded with his sunrise smile and soft kiss. “How have we known each other for this long and I didn’t know you played drums?”
Shrugging, you pulled him back in for another kiss by the collar and sighed. “Because it’s mortifying. I get all sweaty and nervous, wait, is what I’m wearing okay?”
Eddie laughed, the sound going straight to your stomach, and nodded. “You look beautiful.”
“Alright,” you huffed, pulling up every ounce of courage from deep within you, “fuck it, let’s do it.”
“Wait,” Liam said, waving a hand up, “Gareth did backup vocals on some of the covers. Do you want Jeff to pick those up?”
Eddie nodded, turning to Jeff who now looked a little nervous himself.
“I can do it,” you sighed, again.
This time, everyone balked. “You can sing?” Eddie added, looking like he was trying to remember the numerous car rides where you both screamed along to the radio.
“Barely,” you said, walking towards the drum set. “I sang with you once.”
“With me?” Eddie squawked.
“Back in early November, I picked you up – piss drunk, remember?”
Eddie squinted. “I remember Wayne telling me you’d dropped me off but uh, no. I’d remember if you sang to me.”
“We sang along to the radio, Sugar,” your mouth twisting into a smile, “Madonna. You knew all the words.”
Jeff snorted, quieting when a red-faced Eddie turned to glare at him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eddie said, swinging his guitar over his torso.
You glanced towards Liam and both of you looked like you were ready to bust into laughter. “Sure, Munson, suuure.”
“I don’t!”
He's just a boy, and I'm just a girl. Can I make it any more obvious? We are in love, haven't you heard? How we rock each other's world.
“So, are we going to talk about it at some point?” Eddie asked, his foot coming to nudge yours.
You knew what he was talking about but you turned to smile at him. “About how embarrassingly into me you are?” You teased, kissing the edge of his jaw.
Eddie rolled his eyes and tugged you closer onto his lap. “About that Columbia application I saw you pretend not to fill out that day in the library months ago.”
Shit.
“Jeff’s acceptance to Hofstra was sent out last week and you’ve been acting weird since two weeks ago so I’m assuming…”
Feeling guilty for having hidden it from him, even if it was just until you could wrap your own head around it, you jumped up from his lap and plucked the papers from between your bookshelf. Handing the envelope to Eddie, he read through the first page and beamed up at you. “Petal, you did it, you got in!”
“I know,” you said, smile creeping out from beneath your anxiety. “I got into Indie State too and a few others closer to Hawkins.”
Eddie’s brows pinched together when he glanced at you. “Why?”
Because you’re here. The words went unsaid but you knew Eddie had heard them anyway.
“Oh, hey, no,” Eddie tugged on your arm until you went tumbling into his lap and sighed. “One of the first things you ever told me was that you hated it here.”
“I didn’t know I’d end up actually liking it!” You defended quickly. Eddie shot you a look and you grumbled.
His fingers danced across your cheekbone, his eyes flickering back and forth between yours, and sighed. “I guess I should’ve told you about this sooner but it felt a little like I was being smothering-”
“Eddie.”
He let his eyes lower to your intertwined fingers and chewed on his lip until you elbowed him. “Wayne says he knows a few people out there who’d give me a job if I wanted one. He used to live in Connecticut because of his old job.”
“Out there?” You asked, confused. Did he mean in New York?
Eddie smiled, curling one of his fingers around your hair gently. “I got in to a community college there too.”
Mind blank, brain frozen, your hands scrambled for his own. “Are you saying you’d move with me?” You couldn’t ask him to do that, there’s no way. You’d known that showing your parents your acceptance letter would solidify their desire for you to go – especially your dad. There would be no way he’d let a chance like that slip by. His only daughter at an Ivy League? Your fate would be sealed. But, you knew your new life here was special, something you’d never expected. And Eddie…
“What about Corroded Coffin?” You asked quietly, nerves twining up your legs like vines. “I can’t let you leave that behind for me.”
“It’s not a permanent good bye,” Eddie assured you, “Gareth is going out to California, Jeff will be a few hours away from us, Liam’s a train ride away in Baltimore. They said they were willing to make the trip in if whenever we decided to start up again.”
“But Gareth-”
“-said you could take his place until he’s back,” Eddie laughed when you scrunched your nose. “Hey, he’s not wrong – that song you wrote for us last month was a big hit at the Hide Out.”
Crossing your arms, you turned your scrutinizing glare towards him. “Eddie, are you sure? I don’t want you to end up regretting this. Regretting…me.”
“Hey, that’s not possible,” he assured you, his nose coming up to nudge yours. “You’re one to talk. Indie State? This town will snuff out that light of yours. No way I’d let that happen. Besides, I’ve always wanted to go to the Big Apple.”
“What about Wayne?” He was the only stable, present, family member either of you had at this point.
Eddie grinned, his hand inching up to your neck. “He said if I show him a diploma after four years, he’ll consider making his own way up there. Said something about not wanting to miss his only son’s life.”
Happiness burst within your chest, its tendrils reaching out towards Eddie and pulling him in tightly into their hold. How could your life have flipped completely around in just under a year? You released Eddie from your tight hug and leaned back to search his face for any hesitation.
“If you want to stay, we’ll stay,” Eddie said softly, his lips reaching up towards you for a kiss. “We can do long distance for a while if you want, I don’t mind. You’re…”
Eddie’s expression morphed into something serious and a little hesitant. His fingers dug into your thigh, bruising almost. “I love you,” he said, his brown eyes burning you, “I love you and even though it’s only been a few months, I know we have something special. I’ll be wherever you want me to be, until you don’t. Okay?”
“Yeah,” you said, feeling tears burn at the back of your eyes – no one had ever told you they loved you before - “okay.”
With a beaming smile, Eddie surged up and captured your mouth with his. The kiss turned heated quickly, both of your hands scrambling and tugging at clothes. It wasn’t until hours later, both of you sprawled on your bed, skin sticky and hearts full, that Eddie huffed.
“Again?” You asked incredulously, eyes half closed. “Let me take a nap first and I promise I’ll do that thing you like.”
Eddie’s laughter filled your room, and your chest, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sound of it. You never could. “What?”
“I was going to say that I just realized you didn’t say it back,” he hummed, fingertips trailing down your spine.
You knew he’d been waiting to bring that up. With a smile, you lifted yourself up onto your forearm and looked at him.
Eddie’s hair was damp, bangs stuck onto his forehead, the curls wildly sprawled onto your pillow. His gaze was soft, teasing, and held enough interest in them to make heat pool in your stomach.
“I love you, Eddie Munson, how could I not?”
You had first fallen a little bit in love with Eddie because of his laughter but the brilliant smile that beamed at you now let you know it was racing against the former for the special spot in your heart. It made you feel like you’d burst at the seams, like it wasn’t possible to be this happy.
“We can nap when we’re dead,” Eddie said, his hands pushing you onto your back and his hair curtaining around you.
“Eddie,” you gasped, his fingers already pressing lightly at the bruises on your thighs. He dropped open mouthed kisses to your neck, his teeth scraping against the sensitive skin at the corner of your jaw. Your skin felt like it was on fire, his trail of kisses making the butterflies in your stomach flutter frantically. His lips swallowed down your moan and his hand trailed up higher. The coil within you tightened with every move, your eyes starting to roll when his mouth joined his hand. He lapped at your center, fingers twisting, rubbing just right -
Then, he stopped. “Say it again,” Eddie teased, fingers stilling. You grunted, annoyed at the edge he was holding you over. “Please, Petal? For me?”
Desperate, you whined. “I love you, I love you so much,” you said, words stumbling over each other. “I think I’ll love you forever.”
Eddie leaned back, eyes a little surprised, and you felt suddenly a lot more vulnerable than you’d meant to get. Then, like a man starved, he pulled the sheet from between you.
“Fuck, I love you.”
You were almost positive, considering Steve’s disgusted expression that night at dinner, that the whole neighborhood had heard your screams.
The joints in your knees cried for relief as you climbed up the third-floor walkup towards your apartment. The street one block from yours had yet to be shoveled and you’d spent the entire walk tense and trying to avoid slipping on the ice.
“Hello?” Eddie called out as soon as he heard the door close behind you. “Petal?”
“Hi, I brought us dinner,” you answered, smiling when your clingy black cat came running at the sound of your voice. “Hello baby, I missed you.” You hurried to drop the bags onto the kitchen counter before picking her up and pressing kisses to her pink nose.
Eddie leaned against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed and expression amused. “Why does Midnight get a kiss but her dad doesn’t?”
“Because she’s the baby of the family,” you said, snickering when Eddie pouted. “Hi Sugar,” you relented, giving him a kiss.
Happy with your affection, Eddie helped unpack the takeout and groceries. You stepped out the galley kitchen and into the foyer, knowing Eddie hated how crowded he felt in the small space. Despite his frustrations with it, you both knew it was a major step up from the shitty studio you’d both managed to live in for a year and a half when you’d first arrived. Eddie had hated your noisy neighbors and lived in a state of anxiety when you had night shifts and had to half run from the train station.
Eyeing the last remaining boxes in the spacious living room, you promise yourself you’d unpack them in the morning. A soft thump from below, and a subsequent scolding, made you smile.
This time, after years of saving, you both found yourselves on a quiet street, living below a widower and above a single father. Matilda, his daughter, was a sprightly fourth grader. She loved the music Eddie played for her on Friday afternoons, when he watched her until her dad could make it home through rush hour traffic.
Matilda had greeted you both with tight hugs and homemade cookies when you had returned yesterday from your yearly Christmas trip to Hawkins. Snow sprinkled the street, the trees bare, streets slippery, and air crisp. You and Eddie had already agreed to skip most of the invitations you’d received from your friends for New Years and opted to stay in instead.
Refreshing Midnight’s water, you left her in her little cat tower, content and purring. Stripping out of your snow damp clothes, you switched into one of Eddie’s old t-shirts and thick warm socks. Glancing at the time as you searched for your pajama bottoms, you winced. That fifteen-minute pick up from your favorite restaurant had turned into a thirty-minute trek.
“Sugar?” You called out, almost tripping on a pair of Eddie’s discarded shoes. Closing your eyes and asking the universe for patience, you couldn’t help but smile when you heard a sheepish apology from the doorway.
“Are we sure those are mine?” Eddie asked, already whisking them away and back into the small closet.
You quirked a brow. “Am I sure the combat boots that are twice my size are yours? Maybe not.”
“Here, to make it up to you,” Eddie said, producing two mismatched glasses with a red tint that you knew was more vodka than cranberry juice. “Presents time now?”
Laughing, you put your drink down – after a burning sip – and dug out a small bag from underneath your vanity. Excitement bubbled up within you as Eddie eyeballed it curiously before handing you a thick envelope. Not one to wait, you ripped it open and snapped your eyes up to Eddie’s smug ones. “Two, floor tickets, to Fleetwood Mac. They’re passing by DC at the end of next month and Liam said we can stay with him.”
“You said they were sold out!” You jumped up and down, clutching the tickets to your chest. “You fucking liar!” Laughter bubbled out of you as you peppered his face with kisses.
“Yeah, yeah,” he grinned, eyes teasing, “let’s see if you can beat that.”
Rolling your eyes, you sat down at the edge of your bed. “Despite how happy I am, I think I just might…” Eddie furrowed his brows at the sight of the band t-shirt. You knew he’d spotted the signatures when his entire body froze.
“H-how?”
Entirely too full of yourself, you crossed your arms and grinned. “One of my TA’s best friend’s dads knows the tour manager for them. I owe about fifty people favors and maybe an organ but, I know how bummed you were about missing out on the concerts. I thought an autographed t-shirt would make it up to you.”
Eddie held out the signed Iron Maiden t-shirt in front of him, jaw hanging. The last-minute tickets to Hawkins for Christmas had cost you both a little more than expected and while Eddie swore that he didn’t mind, you knew he was little torn about missing their New York tour dates.
“Happy Anniversary Sugar,” you said, head swimming when Eddie shot you that same illuminating smile from years ago.
Pressing a quick kiss to your forehead, Eddie shook his head as he padded out to the kitchen. “I’ll get you one of these years!” He shouted over his shoulder, his voice bright. You followed him out into the living room, sitting on the soft sofa that had cost a small fortune, and grinned when he came out with a huge cupcake, a tradition now, with a candle shaped in the number three.
“Cheers,” you lifted your glass, the drink watered down and much more palatable, and Eddie grinned. “To our new home.”
“To loving each other for forever,” he said, kissing your palm.
Your heart galloped, its little hands reaching out for him like they always had. Feeling your own expression soften into something indescribable, you smiled. “To loving you, Cinnamon Sugar Cookie, for forever.”
Eddie’s nose wrinkled, eyes sparkling. “Don’t use my full name.”
Tossing your head back, you laughed loudly, squealing when Eddie tackled you onto the sofa. “Don’t get food on the couch!” You said between laughter, wrapping your legs around his hips. Eddie tasted like vanilla frosting, shitty vodka, and…like home.
I'm with the skater boy, I said, "See you later, boy.” I'll be back stage after the show, I'll be at a studio, singing the song we wrote, about a girl he used to know.
“Oh,” you crooned, looking at the free drinks in the green room, “this is nice.”
Liam, already reaching for a bottle, grinned. “Right? I guess once you’ve got a song that’s reached the top hundred people start giving you free shit.”
You nabbed a bag of pretzels and chewed on one absently. “Where’s Jeff?” You asked, double checking everyone’s personal bags had been brought in.
“Here,” he said, walking in with Eddie hot on his heels. “Sorry, we were making sure the lighting director had the right notes.”
“Hi you,” Eddie said, bending down to give you a quick kiss, “you ready?”
Nodding, you chewed on another pretzel and glanced up at him. “I always get nervous when I’m going out on stage, you know that,” you said wringing your hands together.
“But you always kick ass,” Liam reminded you, shooting you a grin.
“Besides, you’ve been joining us like this whole tour,” Jeff added, grabbing a water bottle.
“Yeah, but we’re in Indiana, it’s always different when we’re back here,” you said, feeling a bit more pressure.
Dustin breezed through the doorway, VIP pass swinging from his neck. “Plus, there’s a ton of people from Hawkins out there. It’s insane, have you seen?”
“Jesus,” you said, feeling your anxiety swell.
Eddie’s comforting hands cupped at your jaw and you tilted your head up so he could see your eyes. “Hey, you’re going to do great, okay?”
You nodded, his thumbs caressing your skin. “What if I mess up?” You whispered.
“Impossible, but if you do,” he leaned down, “then no one who matters will care and you’ll still be one of the best drummers I’ve ever heard.”
“Kiss ass,” you teased, feeling a little better.
Eddie’s mouth stretched into a wide grin. “Only yours,” he whispered, hand inching down to said ass until you smacked it away. “If you’re so tightly wound, I know something that could help…”
Before you could tease back, Eddie had pressed his lips to yours, biting softly into you. Sighing, you sunk into his hold, world muting around you.
“Jesus, it’s been seven years, shouldn’t you two have calmed down by now?” Gareth’s voice asked. You broke away from a disgruntled Eddie and beamed at your friend. He’d just arrived, bag still slung over his shoulder.
“Gareth!” You cried, happy to finally see him.
Eddie tugged at your chin. “You saw him last week at rehearsals,” he reminded you, chasing your lips.
Gareth gagged and you rolled your eyes, indulging him with another kiss.
“I’ve been asking them that for years,” Steve said, voice a little out of breath. “Henderson, you run fast.”
“Holy shit have you guys seen the crowd outside?” A third new voice asked. At that, you pulled away from Eddie and stood – ignoring his grumbling.
“Robin?” You said, in disbelief. “I thought you said you couldn’t make this one!”
“What? And miss your first performance back home? What kind of friend would I be?” Robin asked, cocking her hip. Both of you paused for a beat before running towards each other with loud screams. She slammed into you, her longer hair tickling your skin as she squeezed her arms around you.
“Where’s Lauren?” You asked, looking for her girlfriend.
Robin winced. “She couldn’t change her flight, she’s still back in London but sends a hug and her good luck!” She said hugging you again.
Your hand came up to her arm, tears burning your eyes. “I can’t believe you’re here. I’ve missed you Buckley.”
“Aw, shucks,” she said, waving away your emotional smile. “I’ll be back by early next year, we finally managed to get a transfer to the New York office so Dingus and Munson will have my scintillating presence again.”
Eddie’s arm swung around her shoulders and Robin smiled up at him. “It’ll be like high school all over again,” she said, wrinkling her nose at him.
“Considering these two still go at it like they’re teenagers, that’s fitting,” Gareth complained.
Flipping him off, Eddie snorted and Robin shrieked.
Everyone jumped as she lunged towards you. Her cold fingers wrapped around your left hand. “Let me see, let me see!” She whistled, shooting Eddie a teasing look. “That’s a nice rock Munson, black diamond huh?”
Eddie smiled, cheeks pink and expression pleased. You rolled your eyes at his endearing reaction. He always seemed to get a little awed and loved retelling the story of how he’d proposed – despite it being almost six months ago. “I always said that she had my heart, just because she has it doesn’t mean it’s not black like my soul,” he said, giving himself devil horns.
Steve snorted but you laughed. “It’s perfect,” you said, kissing him.
“It better be, he spent like two months panic shopping and I couldn’t handle another week,” Dustin grumped.
Robin smacked him in the back of the head and turned to Eddie. “I can’t believe you proposed when I wasn’t here. I demand another party.”
“The engagement party is next month,” you promised, “I waited until I knew you’d be back.”
She turned to Steve. “See that, that’s true friendship Dingus.” You knew she was referring to having missed his recent graduation.
“I can’t control when I graduate Robin!” Steve defended, the both of them bickering.
After making sure everything else was in line, you found their manager and assured her you’d confirmed with the stage hands for the last song. You were on the way back to the green room when a familiar face was waiting for you outside.
His arms went around you, pulling you towards his chest. “How are you feeling?” He asked.
Nosing at the crook of his neck, you inhaled deeply. Eddie’s scent was always calming, his leather vest soft, and hands warm.
“Apparently half of Hawkins really is out there,” you told him and you knew he picked up on your anxiety.
Steve shrugged, mouthing at your neck and placing a kiss at the base of it. “Anyone that matters will be waiting for us off stage.”
“Are you sure we want to sing that last song?”
“The only one that you’re willing to join us on stage for and the one that went viral? Absolutely. Besides, after we visit your family for an awkward dinner - where they no doubt will ask a thousand questions about the wedding – we’re back to Brooklyn for the next set of dates so we’re not staying long anyway.”
“You just miss Popcorn,” you teased, thinking about your small fluffy dog that worshipped the ground Eddie walked on. Him and Midnight were being watched by Wayne’s dutiful eye.
“She’s my daughter,” he said, exasperated, “we’ve never left her for so long.”
“Midnight always does fine whenever we’re on tour, we were in Europe for two months last year,” you reminded him.
Eddie frowned. “Pops is just a baby!”
“Wayne is watching them,” you sighed, for the thousandth time, “he loves her more than he loves us.”
“Okay, okay!” Eddie pouted, ever the toddler. “Matilda and Jack did say they’d visit if they had time.”
Rubbing a hand up his back, you smiled. “You see? They’re fine.”
“I feel like maybe I might need a distraction,” Eddie said, eyes wide in faux innocence.
“Really?” You said, biting back your smile. “A drink maybe?”
Eddie’s lips were already returning to your neck, tongue lapping at the bruise he’d left last night. “Something stronger, more effective.”
You pretended to think for a beat too long because you knew the moment Eddie’s patience had snapped. Herding you towards a corner, his lips pulled you in – like they always did. His wandering hands slipped under the hem of your t-shirt and yours clenched around his.
“I found them!” A disgruntled voice called out. Eddie unlatched himself from you and dropped his forehead to your shoulder. “Hello! We have a concert to put on? For shit’s sake, you’ll have alone time after!”
Snorting, you brought your hand to the back of his neck and waved to Jeff.
“Can’t a guy make out with his fiancé in peace?”
“Apparently work calls, come on rockstar,” you said, kissing him one last time.
Dragging a pouting Eddie towards the green room, you let the guys have their few minutes before walking with them towards the stage. Most of the party had managed to make it, all of them talking excitedly behind you. “I’ll see you in a few,” he said, kissing you one last time – for good luck, he’d always say.
The first familiar chords of their opening song caused a wave of cheering unlike you’d heard before. You peeked out at the massive crowd and felt a surge of pride. The past year had been big for Corroded Coffin, two songs breaking into a few major charts. Venues started selling out, tours had been planned, and more money had come in. There was talk of possibly booking bigger venues and larger festivals. Crossing your fingers, you hoped so because you didn’t know anyone more deserving.
Dancing along with your friends, you sang the lyrics you knew by heart. At one point, you and Robin had gotten lost in the music that a nervous stage hand had to tap you on the shoulder. “Ms. Harrington? Your cue is coming up.”
You startled, not having realized the hour having gone by. “Oops, I’m ready!” You said, letting him help you set up.
“Good luck!” Steve shouted as you walked off, waving.
Then, Eddie was doing crowd work. “We’ve got a special guest, which I’m sure some fans will recognize,” Eddie announced, the crowd’s screams intensified and you grinned. The flutter of anxiety calmed as Gareth darted off the stage and gave you a high-five before you ran out.
Waving to the audience, you grinned when their cheering went up another level. “Since we’ve got Harrington here, I know you guys know what that means.”
You sat by the drums, eyes on the crowd, and adjusted the mic to your height.
Eddie shot you a proud look and you smiled. “Hello Indianapolis! I think you all know the words to this song, so don’t be shy!” You said with a wave. Eddie took a step back from the mic, standing with Jeff, closer to you. At the opening chords, the crowd went wild.
“He was a boy. She was a girl. Can I make it any more obvious?”
The crowd almost drowned you out at one point, their heads bopping as they jumped. Adrenaline rushed through you, your pulse matching the drums you bent to your will. With the guitar solo coming up, you grabbed the mic from it’s stand. Jeff’s strumming softened and you grinned, a well-known announcement by now.
“This one goes out to all the blondes who missed out - you have my eternal gratitude,” you said, winking at a laughing Eddie. He always did like when your occasional flare of jealousy came out.
“Too bad that you couldn't see, see the man that boy could be. There is more than meets the eye, I see the soul that is inside!”
Standing, you always felt a bit extra nervous at this part. The crowd screamed as you walked over to the left where a stage hand quickly helped you sling the guitar around your neck. Hurrying over to Eddie, who was hopping place, you couldn’t help but watch him perform. He had beads of sweat on his brow, hair frizzy, and chaotic energy radiating off of him. His eyes turned to you, expecting your arrival, and he grinned as Jeff started his guitar solo.
‘I love you’ you mouthed. He beamed, beckoning you closer and you lead them into the last chorus. Your fingers strumming to the song’s melody – just the way Eddie had taught you.
“He’s just a boy,” Eddie sang and you leaned in to share his mic.
“And I’m just a girl, can I make it any more obvious?”
Together you sang, “We are in love, haven’t you heard?”
“How we rock each other’s world?” Eddie grinned at you, bopping as you took a few steps back, letting the guys take over, and watching the crowd eat it up.
You helped with back up vocals on the last few lines and grinned when the second of silence transitioned into deafening cheers. Liam urged you forward, stumbling into Eddie’s arms. Sheepishly, you let Eddie pull your hand into the air, waving at the crowd as they screamed.
“Give it up for my girl everyone,” Eddie said into the mic, kissing your cheek before you darted off towards your friends waiting by stage left.
“That was awesome,” Robin shouted, “you kicked ass!”
Adrenaline pumping, you shook your arms and let one of the assistants carry off your guitar. “Thanks,” you said to both of them. “I need a drink!”
Steve handed you his and you shot him a grateful look. “I can’t believe that you being dragged to Hawkins ended up with you becoming a semi-rockstar,” Steve teased, bumping your shoulder. “And to think, you didn’t want to move in the first place.”
“Yeah,” you said, remembering your massive meltdown all those years ago.
The beginning notes of a fairly new song, one Eddie had written about you over summer break, came on and you bit back a smile. Selfishly, this was your favorite of the upcoming album.
Eddie’s voice softened, lighter than before, floating over and kissing your skin as it washed over you.
“I've always been yours, only yours,” Eddie sang, turning to look at you, winking once before turning back to the crowd.
“I didn’t know I’d ever say this but, thank shit for Hawkins,” you said, Robin and Steve laughing. As you watched Eddie shine under the spotlight, you looked down at your ring and smiled.
Thank you, Hawkins.
A/N: 1) I know Eddie doesn’t technically fall under the skater boy emo vibes but if you squint one eye and tilt your head we can soft of pretend that means metalhead. 2) I would like to formally apologize to Chrissy Cunningham for making her into the mean girl in this because she deserves the world. Also, headcanon for this is both reader and eddie are 18+ at the start. This really wasn’t meant to be as long as it got. Over an Avril Lavigne song. But, well, c’est la vie.
Omg this angle 😍
it’s (always) missing pretty boy Munson hours
#sleepyhead JOSEPH QUINN as TOM | MAKE UP (2019)
*sips tea* Let this spread all over Tumblr.
Please Reblog…
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Reblog this right now
Where’s the signal boost multipliers?!





