description: you know those men that say "i don't want kids?" yeah, this isn't one of them. this is about eddie munson willingly attending tea parties in a feather boa and considering it the highest honor of his life.
pairing: stepdad!eddie x singlemom!reader
tags: stepdad!eddie, no y/n, girldad!eddie, so much fluff your eyes will water and your teeth will fall out, domestic fluff, zero plot all vibes, he is in fact the father that stepped up, rosie is his everything, she calls him dad, baby dad ain't shit, yes he lets her paint his nails and do his hair, oh my god this is the cutest shit ever, eddie is so girl-dad coded
TW: slight angst, tooth rotting fluff
WC: 7.5k
A/N: requested by my dearest @bitterestwillow hope you enjoy queen <33
(soft girl-dad eddie is my apology after "I Told You Things"). this shit made my eyes water and my feet kick the entire time while writing. i know having a kid isn't everyones ff cup of tea but i promise, it's worth it. let me know what you guys think :)
reblogs are always appreciated, friends <33
“Excuse me, sweetheart,” a voice from behind stops you mid-step.
You look up from the sea of plumbing fixtures with a sigh already halfway out of your chest, one hand gripping the shopping cart while the other clutches a list that might as well have been written in another language. PVC elbows. Pipe thread tape. Half-inch coupler.
Somewhere between watching a three-year-old full-time and trying to keep a roof over both your heads, you'd apparently become the designated handyman too.
You turn to find a man with long curls spilling over a faded Metallica shirt and a worn flannel rolled up to his elbows, exposing an array of tattoos.
He points toward the floor, "I think these are yours."
Your eyes immediately drop to the little cardboard box of screws that had apparently slipped from your arm, scattering across the concrete. Before you can bend down, he's already crouched, gathering them one by one.
"Oh my God, thank you," you mutter, already embarrassed. "Today's just... one of those days."
He stands, holding the box out to you. "Trust me, I have a lot of those."
Before you can answer, the tiny voice from your shopping cart pipes up.
"Mama forgot apples."
You look over at your daughter, whose legs are happily swinging from the front of the cart as if the world isn't actively trying to kick your ass.
"We're not at the grocery store, bug."
"I know."
"So..."
"I still wanted apples."
The man snorts, trying to hide it behind his hand, and you can't help smiling despite yourself. He glances at the collection of fittings in your cart before looking back at you.
"So... you remodeling your house or planning on flooding it?"
You hold up the wrinkled list. "My kitchen sink won't stop leaking."
He nods once. "And you got sent here with that list?"
"My landlord told me it'd be an 'easy fix.'"
His face immediately says everything. "Oh..."
"What?"
He scratches the back of his neck. "I mean... no offense to your landlord, but he's either lazy or doesn't know what he's talking about."
You laugh, genuinely this time. "Could be both."
"Probably both."
He steps beside your cart and gently picks up one of the connectors you'd grabbed. "You don't actually need this one."
"No?"
"Nope."
He swaps it for another. "And this thread tape is garbage."
"It is?"
"It's the cheapest stuff they make."
"I picked it because it was the cheapest stuff they make."
He smiles. "Fair enough."
For the next ten minutes, he walks beside you through the aisle, explaining everything in terms that actually make sense instead of sounding like a repair manual. He never talks down to you, never makes you feel stupid, just casually points things out with an easy patience that surprises you.
Your daughter has apparently decided he's the most fascinating person she's ever seen.
She leans over the cart. "Mister."
He looks over. "Yeah?"
"I like your hair."
He instinctively reaches up to touch it. "Thanks."
"You look like a lion."
You slap a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing.
He pauses for a second before grinning. "I've been called worse."
She nods thoughtfully. "I have a unicorn."
"That's awesome."
"It's pink."
"My favorite color."
Her eyes widen. "No way."
"Way."
She gasps dramatically and immediately begins digging through the pile of toys she'd somehow accumulated in the shopping cart.
You rub your forehead. "I'm so sorry."
"For what?"
"She adopts people."
He glances down at the little girl now proudly presenting him with a stuffed dinosaur that has clearly seen better days. "I'm being recruited?"
"I'm afraid so."
He accepts the dinosaur with complete seriousness. "An honor."
Your daughter beams. Mission accomplished.
After another few minutes, he places the final item into your cart. "There."
You stare at the contents. "So... this should actually fix it?"
"Should."
You hesitate, then smile sheepishly. "You don't happen to know how to install it too, right?"
The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, and you immediately regret them.
"Oh my God, forget I said that."
He laughs. "No, actually..." He rubs the back of his neck. "I do."
"You do?"
"Spent enough years fixing my uncle's trailer. Not licensed or anything, but I know what I'm doing."
You study him for another second. "And what's the catch?"
"The catch?"
"Nobody just offers to fix a complete stranger's sink."
His eyebrows lift. "I wasn't exactly offering."
"No?"
"I was kind of waiting to see if you'd ask."
You laugh. "So now that I have?"
He pretends to think. "Hmm..."
Your daughter kicks her feet again. "Mama makes yummy grilled cheese."
He looks at her. "She does?"
She nods emphatically. "And tomato soup."
You cover your face. "Honey..."
She points at him. "He can come over."
He immediately raises both hands. "For the record, I support stranger danger."
"He doesn't look dangerous."
"I appreciate that very much."
She studies him another second. "You got nice eyes."
His ears actually turn pink. "Thank you."
Then she sticks out one tiny hand. "I'm Rosie."
He shakes it with complete sincerity. "I'm Eddie."
She smiles like she's known him forever.
You don't know what possesses you to trust him. Maybe it's the way he talks to your daughter like she's a real person instead of a nuisance. Maybe it's because he's spent the last fifteen minutes helping you without expecting anything in return.
Or maybe it's because, for the first time in what feels like years, someone looked at you and didn't see a burden. He just saw you.
"So..." you say carefully. "If you're sure..."
He shrugs. "I'll fix your sink."
"And if it turns out to be a bigger problem?"
"Then I'll tell you honestly."
"And if you can't fix it?"
"We'll order pizza and pretend we never touched it."
A laugh slips out before you can stop it. "That's a terrible plan."
"It's worked for me before."
Rosie is already nodding enthusiastically. "I like pizza."
He leans closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "I think she's on my side."
You smile. "I think she’s usually on the opposite of mine."
Neither of you could've known then that the sink would be fixed in under twenty minutes. Or that he'd stay another three hours because Rosie insisted on showing him every stuffed animal she owned.
Or that he'd come back the next weekend because she'd proudly announced she wanted to show him her coloring book.
Or that months later she'd accidentally call him "Dad," clap both hands over her mouth in horror, and burst into tears because she thought she'd hurt his feelings.
And years after that, if anyone ever asked Eddie Munson when he met the love of his life, he'd grin and tell them it happened in the plumbing aisle because a stubborn little girl needed apples and her exhausted mother didn't know the difference between a pipe coupling and a garden hose.
2 years later…
By the time you pull into the driveway, your shoulders are aching from wrestling grocery bags in and out of the trunk, and your patience has been thoroughly tested by the woman in front of you at the checkout who insisted on writing a check in the year 1998.
You manage to hook three bags over one arm, another two over the other, and nudge the front door closed behind you with your hip.
The house is quiet for approximately three seconds, then you hear it: a tiny burst of giggling. Then another. Then Eddie's voice, dramatically lowered into what can only be described as a very serious royal accent.
"I'm terribly sorry, Your Majesty, but Sir Teddy Bear has informed me that the strawberry scones have been stolen by dragons."
Rosie's gasp is so loud you hear it from the foyer. "No!"
"I'm afraid so."
"The pink dragons or the green ones?"
"The pink ones."
She sighs dramatically. "They're always doing that."
You quietly set the grocery bags on the kitchen counter before peeking around the corner into the living room, and your heart almost physically stops.
The coffee table has been pushed against the wall, a floral blanket spread neatly across the rug with every stuffed animal Rosie owns arranged in a perfect little circle. Tiny plastic teacups are balanced precariously in front of each guest, alongside mismatched toy plates covered in invisible desserts.
And sitting right in the middle of it all...is Eddie.
He's cross-legged on the floor, his long curls pulled into two horribly uneven pigtails secured with glittery pink scrunchies. Rosie has somehow convinced him to wear a feather boa, an oversized plastic pearl necklace, and a paper crown that's hanging halfway off his head.
He still has a black band tee and jeans on, of course. The tiara somehow makes it look even cooler.
Rosie notices you first. "Mama!"
She jumps up and nearly spills an imaginary cup of tea all over herself before sprinting toward you, wrapping herself around your legs.
"Eddie's having tea with us."
"I can see that."
She beams proudly. "He knows all the rules."
You glance over at him as he lifts the tiny plastic teacup with absolute dignity. "I've been informed that my pinky needs to stay out."
Rosie immediately corrects him. "It stays up."
"My apologies."
He raises it another inch. "Better?"
She nods approvingly. "Much."
You can't stop smiling. "What exactly am I looking at here?"
Rosie grabs your hand and starts dragging you toward the blanket. "We're princesses."
Eddie quietly adds, "I'm Princess Sparkles."
You bite your lip so hard it almost hurts. "Princess Sparkles?"
He nods solemnly. "I wasn't given a choice."
Rosie immediately spins around. "You picked that one."
He freezes. "...I was given a choice."
She points a tiny accusing finger at him. "You said it was the coolest one."
"It was."
"You said sparkles make everything better."
"They do."
"So you wanted it."
He looks over at you with complete resignation. "I have no defense."
Rosie climbs right back onto the blanket before patting the empty spot beside her. "Mama, sit."
You carefully lower yourself onto the floor, smoothing your jeans beneath you. Immediately, Rosie starts pouring from an empty plastic teapot into your equally empty cup.
"This one's raspberry."
You take a sip with complete seriousness. "Oh my goodness."
She smiles. "It's yummy."
"It's delicious."
Eddie clears his throat. "If I may..."
Rosie nods graciously. "You may."
He lifts his cup. "I detect notes of raspberry with... perhaps a hint of gasoline."
Rosie frowns. "No."
"No?"
"No gasoline."
"My mistake."
She leans over and whispers loudly enough for everyone to hear. "It's strawberries."
He nods in understanding. "Ah. An excellent vintage."
She looks unbelievably proud of herself.
The tea party continues for another twenty minutes, complete with imaginary cookies, a lengthy debate between Bunny and Mr. Dinosaur over proper table manners, and Rosie insisting everyone sing happy birthday to a stuffed giraffe whose birthday appears to have been invented on the spot.
Eventually, she crawls into Eddie's lap without thinking, settling there like it's the most natural place in the world. He absentmindedly smooths a hand over her hair while continuing an entirely serious conversation with the stuffed giraffe.
"And how old are you turning today?"
Rosie answers for it. "Six."
"Oh wow."
"But not really."
"Oh."
"It's pretend."
"Right."
"You're bad at pretending."
"I'm learning."
She reaches up and gently fixes one of his crooked pigtails. "There."
He smiles. "Thanks, sweetheart."
Your chest aches. Not because of anything dramatic. Not because of all the nights you sat awake wondering if Rosie would grow up wondering why she wasn't enough for someone to stay. It aches because she no longer wonders.
She has Eddie. The man currently accepting fake tea from a five-year-old with the same reverence most people reserve for expensive wine. The man wearing a plastic tiara without a single complaint. The man who never once made her feel like she wasn't his.
He catches your eye from across the blanket, so you smile at him softly. He smiles back.
Then Rosie reaches up and shoves another glittery necklace over his curls. "There."
He looks down. "What does this one make me?"
She grins so wide her cheeks puff out. "My daddy."
Silence settles over the room for just a heartbeat. Eddie doesn't hesitate; he just looks up at her with the gentlest expression you've ever seen and presses a kiss against the top of her head.
"My favorite title I've ever had."
Rosie simply nods like that was the obvious answer all along before returning to her tea.
By the time Rosie is tucked into bed, complete with three stuffed animals, one bedtime story, a glass of water she absolutely won't drink, and a solemn promise that you'll check for monsters under the bed even though she's well aware monsters don't exist, the house has settled into that quiet only late evenings seem capable of producing.
The dishwasher hums softly in the kitchen. The television is on low volume, neither of you really paying attention to whatever old movie is playing.
You've long since changed into one of Eddie's old shirts, sleeves swallowing your hands, and he's stretched out on the couch with his legs kicked over the coffee table, one arm lazily draped around your shoulders while the other balances a bottle of beer against his knee.
You're tucked comfortably against his side, your own beer untouched for the last fifteen minutes because somehow you've become completely distracted tracing absentminded circles against his forearm.
Neither of you says much; you never really have to. Comfortable silence had become one of your favorite languages together. After almost two years, it isn't awkward anymore; it's simply home.
Eddie presses a kiss against your temple before taking another sip of his beer. "Can I ask you something?"
You tilt your head up. "When have you ever waited for permission?"
He grins. "Fair."
He looks back toward the television for another moment before his expression softens. "You don't have to answer."
Your fingers stop moving.
"But..." He shrugs. "I realized the other day I don't actually know what happened."
You don't have to ask; you know exactly what he means.
He keeps his voice careful. "Rosie's dad."
For a second, all you do is stare at the condensation rolling down your bottle. It's funny. People assume single mothers talk about it all the time. In reality...you spend most of your life trying not to.
After a quiet moment, you let out a slow breath. "I was married."
You feel Eddie's arm tighten ever so slightly around your shoulders, but he doesn't interrupt.
"We got married young."
You smile faintly, though there's no humor in it. "I thought that was what you were supposed to do."
He stays quiet.
"So we got married, got an apartment together, talked about vacations we'd never actually take because money was always tight."
You laugh softly. "We used to argue over whose turn it was to buy toilet paper."
Eddie smiles. "The truly romantic stuff."
"The glamorous side of marriage."
Your smile fades. "When I found out I was pregnant... I was terrified."
You look down at your hands. "I remember sitting in the bathroom, staring at the test, thinking there had to be a mistake."
"And then?"
"And then I got excited."
Your voice comes out almost embarrassingly quiet. "I started making lists. I looked at baby names. I started clipping little nursery ideas out of magazines. I remember standing in the grocery store crying because I walked past baby socks."
A tiny laugh escapes you. "They were so little."
Eddie reaches over and quietly intertwines his fingers with yours, and you squeeze them.
"I couldn't wait to tell him."
You stare at the floor.
"He didn't cry. He didn't smile. He just looked at me."
The silence stretches.
"I remember asking him if he was okay. He just stood and told me he'd be back later."
You swallow. "He wasn't."
You blink a couple times before continuing. "He started coming home less. He worked late. He stopped touching me. Hell, he stopped looking at me."
Your voice remains remarkably calm. "I found lipstick on one of his shirts."
Eddie's jaw clenches.
"I asked him about it." You laugh quietly. "He told me I was hormonal."
"A month later, he asked for a divorce."
Eddie finally looks down at you. You don't look angry anymore; you just look tired.
"He actually used the words..." You smile bitterly. "'I think we've grown into different people.'"
He says nothing.
"So I signed." Your thumb rubs absentmindedly over the bottle label. "A week later he moved in with someone else."
"A girl barely old enough to drink." You let out another humorless little laugh. "My mother called it trading in for a younger model."
You look toward the ceiling. "I think she was trying to make me laugh."
"Did it?"
"A little."
Your eyes drift toward the hallway leading to Rosie's room.
"He never came to appointments. He wasn't there when she was born. He didn't call. He didn't write. He never met her."
Eddie's entire face has gone still. "He knows about her?"
You nod once. "He just... didn't want her."
The words hang in the room. Simple, matter-of-fact. Far crueler because of it.
You shrug one shoulder. "It took me a long time not to think there was something wrong with me."
Your voice cracks for the first time. "Then I worried there was something wrong with her."
Eddie turns immediately. "There isn't."
"I know that now."
"But at three in the morning with a newborn who won't stop crying and bills stacked on the counter..."
You smile through watery eyes. "You start asking yourself questions you know aren't true."
Without saying a word, Eddie reaches over and gently takes your beer from your hand before setting both bottles on the coffee table. Then he wraps both arms around you, like he's trying to hold every broken piece anyone else ever left behind.
You bury your face into his shirt, and he presses his cheek against your hair. After a minute, he quietly says, "Can I tell you something?"
You nod.
"The first day I met Rosie..."
You smile despite yourself. "The hardware store?"
"The hardware store."
He chuckles softly. "When she held out that stuffed dinosaur and told me his name was Mr. Pickles..."
You laugh through your sniffle. "It was Mr. Sprinkles."
"Oh." He grins. "See? I wasn't listening."
"You absolutely were."
"I wasn't."
"You were."
"I was busy because this tiny little person had just informed me that dinosaurs eat grilled cheese."
"They do."
"They absolutely do." He kisses your forehead. "I remember thinking..."
"...that if I ever got lucky enough to have a kid someday..." His voice lowers. "I hoped they'd look at me the way she did."
You close your eyes.
"And then I kept coming over." Another kiss against your temple. "And somewhere along the way..."
He shrugs against you. "...I stopped imagining some hypothetical kid."
"It was just Rosie."
You feel your throat tighten and he smiles into your hair. "I don't know the first thing about biology. I don't care whose eyes she has. I don't care whose nose she has. I don't care who signed what paper or what his last name was."
He gently tips your chin up until you're looking at him. "I've been hers since she handed me that beat-up stuffed dinosaur."
You can't stop the tears anymore, and he wipes one away with his thumb.
"And for the record..." His voice is impossibly soft. "The biggest idiot in Indiana walked away from you."
He gives you that crooked little grin that still makes your heart flutter after all this time. "Worked out pretty great for me, though."
You laugh, sniffling. "Yeah?"
"Oh, absolutely."
He starts counting on his fingers. "I got the prettiest girl I've ever met."
You roll your eyes. "Mm-hmm."
"I got a kid who thinks dinosaurs eat grilled cheese."
"They do."
"They absolutely do."
"And..." He leans over to steal a quick kiss. "I got invited to tea parties."
"A real privilege."
"The highest honor."
You smile into another kiss. Then he rests his forehead against yours and murmurs so quietly you're not sure he even meant to say it out loud.
"I didn't step up because someone else stepped out." His thumb brushes your cheek. "I stepped up because I fell in love with you."
"And somewhere along the way..." His smile softens into something almost impossibly gentle. "...I fell in love with her too."
You don't answer; you just lean into him until he's practically swallowing you whole with one of his hugs.
The familiar rumble of Eddie's van pulls into the driveway just as Rosie finishes painting approximately half of your thumbnail and almost all of your finger.
She leans back with a look of absolute pride. "There."
You hold your hand up to admire the aggressively uneven layer of bright pink polish coating your nail and cuticle alike. "It's beautiful, bug."
"I know."
She nods very matter-of-factly before dipping the tiny brush back into the bottle with all the confidence of a seasoned professional and absolutely none of the precision. The front door creaks open a second later.
"I'm home!" Eddie calls.
Rosie's head whips toward the foyer so quickly she nearly launches the polish across the living room. "Daddy!"
She abandons your half-finished manicure entirely and hops off the couch, bare feet slapping against the hardwood as she sprints toward him. You hear him laugh before you even see him.
"Whoa, whoa, easy there."
You round the corner just in time to see Rosie wrap herself around one of his legs. Eddie looks exactly like he always does after work at the shop.
His curls are tied back in a loose bun that's already halfway fallen out; there's grease smeared across his cheekbone and forearms, his old band shirt is stained with oil, and his jeans look like they've survived some kind of explosion underneath a car.
He crouches down anyway. "Hi, sweetheart."
She immediately wrinkles her nose. "You're dirty."
He looks down at himself. "...Little bit."
"A lot bit."
"Maybe a lot bit."
She reaches up and pokes a streak of grease on his arm with one tiny finger. "Ew."
He gasps dramatically. "Excuse me? This is artisan-grade mechanic seasoning."
"It looks yucky."
"It probably is."
He scoops her up anyway, careful to keep his hands away from her clothes as much as possible before carrying her over to where you're standing. His tired eyes immediately soften the second they land on you.
"Hi, pretty girl."
You smile. "Hi yourself."
He leans down, stopping just short of kissing you. "I'm gross."
"I noticed."
"You sure?"
You grab the front of his shirt and kiss him anyway, grease and all. When you pull away, he looks almost offended. "I literally smell like motor oil."
"And?"
"And you kissed me."
"I happen to like motor oil."
He grins. "Liar."
Rosie wedges herself between the two of you. "You both smell funny."
You snort. "Thanks, Rosie."
"You're welcome."
Eddie presses a quick kiss to the top of her head. "I'm gonna go shower before I contaminate the entire house."
She watches him head toward the hallway before suddenly remembering something incredibly important. "Wait!"
He turns. "Yeah?"
"I'm painting nails."
His eyebrows lift. "Are you now?"
She proudly holds up the tiny bottle. "And after Mommy's..."
She points directly at him. "...I'm doing yours."
He looks at you, and you very helpfully shrug. "I don't make the rules."
He presses a hand dramatically to his chest. "I've been selected?"
"You have."
He smiles at Rosie. "You got black?"
She blinks. "What?"
"Black nail polish."
She looks down into the little plastic basket of colors before digging through every bottle with increasing concern. "No..."
He sighs dramatically. "Of course."
She brightens. "I have sparkles."
He looks at you, and you bite your lip. He already knows he's doomed. "Well..."
He says carefully. "...dealer's choice."
Rosie gasps like she's just been entrusted with the nuclear launch codes. "Really?"
"Mhm."
She nods once with complete seriousness. "I know exactly what to do."
You exchange a look with Eddie. He mouths, Help. You smile sweetly. Absolutely not.
Twenty minutes later, he's freshly showered, hair still damp around his shoulders, wearing an old pair of gray sweatpants and one of your favorite oversized Sabbath shirts. He sits obediently on the living room floor while Rosie carefully arranges her entire nail polish collection around him. You curl up on the couch behind them, pretending to read while secretly watching everything.
Rosie picks up one bottle, sets it down. Another, sets it down. Then…she finds it. The brightest, loudest, most offensively glitter-infested neon purple imaginable. You physically have to cover your mouth.
Eddie eyes it suspiciously. "...That's the one?"
She nods enthusiastically. "It's princess purple."
"Oh."
"And sparkles."
"I see."
"And hearts."
"I can... also see that."
"And glitter."
"I definitely see that."
She beams. "It's pretty."
He looks at her, then at the bottle, then back at her. Without another word, he extends both hands. "Do your worst."
Rosie giggles so hard she almost falls over. For the next half hour, she paints with absolute artistic freedom. The polish ends up on his fingers, his knuckles. One suspicious streak somehow appears halfway up his thumb.
She pauses every few minutes to inspect her work before adding another layer. When she's finally done, she grabs both of his hands and holds them up proudly. "There."
Eddie examines them with complete sincerity. "...Rosie."
She waits expectantly.
"I think these are the coolest nails I've ever had."
Her entire face lights up. "Really?"
"Oh yeah." He wiggles his fingers dramatically. "I've never looked more fabulous."
She immediately launches herself into his lap for a hug. He catches her without hesitation, wrapping one arm around her while being careful not to smudge his fresh manicure. You watch them from the couch, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.
Rosie pulls back just enough to admire his nails again. "I made you pretty."
He gently tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. "You always do, sweetheart."
She yawns a huge, sleepy little yawn, the kind that scrunches up her whole face. Eddie notices instantly.
"You getting tired?"
She shakes her head, then yawns again. "No."
"Mhm."
"I'm not." Another yawn.
He smiles knowingly. "Sure."
She curls herself against his chest anyway. Within maybe three minutes, she's completely asleep. Eddie looks over at you, careful not to move too much.
His hands are still decorated in violently purple glitter polish. His stepdaughter is slightly drooling on his shirt. His hair is still damp. He looks happier than you've ever seen another human being.
You quietly reach over and lace your fingers with his. He glances down, then back at you.
"So..." You whisper. "You gonna keep the nails for work tomorrow?"
He looks at his hands, looks at Rosie, looks back at you, and smiles. "Absolutely."
"You know the guys are gonna make fun of you."
He shrugs. "They can."
You raise an eyebrow. "They won't bother you?"
He looks down at the little girl asleep against his chest and gently kisses the top of her head.
"I'd let this kid paint my entire face green if it made her smile."
He glances back at his sparkly purple fingertips. "As far as I'm concerned..."
He wiggles them proudly. "...these are the coolest damn mechanic hands in Hawkins."
The house has long since gone quiet.
The dishes are done, the lights downstairs are off, and somewhere outside, rain taps softly against the bedroom window. The fan hums overhead, filling the room with the kind of gentle white noise that always seems to lull everyone to sleep.
Rosie had insisted on one extra story tonight. Then one extra hug. Then one extra glass of water. Then one extra kiss for Mr. Sprinkles. Then another for herself. If you give a mouse a cookie, or whatever they say.
By the time you'd finally pulled her bedroom door closed, she'd already been halfway asleep.
Now you're curled beneath the blankets with your head resting on Eddie's chest, absentmindedly tracing lazy circles against his side while he combs his fingers through your hair. Neither of you is talking anymore, the exhaustion of the day settling comfortably over both of you.
His lips brush the top of your head. "You asleep?"
"Almost."
"Liar."
"Mhm."
"You drooled on my shirt."
"I absolutely did not."
"You absolutely did."
You smile into his chest. "I think you're making things up."
"I would never."
"You literally convinced Rosie last week there were raccoons that delivered pizza."
"There could be."
"There aren't."
"You don't know that."
You laugh quietly, the sound muffled against him. "I love you."
He doesn't even pause. "I love you more."
"You can't prove that."
"I can."
"How?"
"I made you grilled cheese with the crusts cut off yesterday."
"I didn't ask you to."
"You didn't have to."
You shake your head, smiling to yourself. You don't know how much time passes before a tiny knock sounds against the bedroom door. Three little taps, then another.
Then the knob slowly turns. The door opens only wide enough for a small face to peek through. Rosie's eyes are watery; her little bottom lip trembles when she spots the two of you.
"Mama?"
Your heart immediately softens. You sit up before she's even finished speaking. "What is it, bug?"
She clutches Mr. Sprinkles tighter against her chest. "I had a bad dream." Her voice is so quiet you almost don't hear it.
You hold your hand out. "C'mere."
She doesn't hesitate. Bare feet shuffle across the hardwood before she climbs onto the bed, crawling right between the two of you without so much as asking permission, as though she'd done it a hundred times before.
Maybe she has. You immediately pull the blankets over her little shoulders while Eddie scoots closer from the other side, making sure she's tucked safely between you.
Rosie simply curls into your side, one hand reaching across until it finds Eddie's sleeve. She hangs onto it tightly. You smooth her hair back from her forehead.
"Wanna tell us about it?"
She shakes her head. "It was scary."
"I know."
"There was a loud noise."
You gently rub circles against her back. "But you're here now."
She nods once, then another sniffle. "You guys are here."
"We are."
"And we're not going anywhere."
She wiggles a little closer until she's practically glued to both of you at once. Eddie quietly reaches over and tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear.
"You know what's nice about bad dreams?"
She looks up at him with sleepy, curious eyes. "What?"
"They end."
She thinks about that. "They do?"
"They always do."
"And then you wake up."
She nods slowly. "I woke up."
"You did."
"And then I came here."
"You did."
"And now you're with us."
Rosie looks down at Mr. Sprinkles before whispering, "He got scared too."
Eddie leans over to inspect the stuffed dinosaur with complete seriousness. "He seems pretty brave to me."
"He was pretending."
"Oh."
"He didn't want me to be scared."
Eddie smiles softly. "I think he did a pretty good job."
Rosie considers that before giving the dinosaur a little kiss on the nose. After another quiet minute, she yawns. One of those enormous little yawns that seems far too big for someone so tiny.
You can't help smiling. "Tired?"
She immediately shakes her head, then yawns again. "No."
"Mhm."
"No."
She curls up even smaller anyway, one hand still tangled in your pajama sleeve now, the other resting against Eddie's arm.
You feel Eddie's hand find yours over the blankets, his fingers lacing through yours without a word. Rosie's eyes are already drifting closed. Just before she falls asleep, she mumbles something so quietly you almost miss it.
"I'm happy."
You glance across at Eddie, and he's already looking at her.
"What made you think of that, sweetheart?" he asks softly.
Her eyes never open. "I like when we're all together."
Your throat tightens instantly.
She nestles deeper beneath the blankets. "I like my home."
A few seconds later, she's asleep; completely, peacefully asleep.
You and Eddie don't move; you don't dare. He looks over at you in the darkness, and there's something in his expression that says everything words can't.
You reach over the little lump of blankets between you and rest your hand against his cheek. He turns just enough to press a kiss into your palm.
this shit actually made me ugly cry from pure content
summary: when Steve vanishes and Eddie gets caught up in a secret, you find a way to force the three of you to put your cards on the table.
pairing: steve harrington x you (platonic), eddie munson x you (established relationship)
warnings: mention of drugs, other than that none? didn't proof read, lots of angst and dialogue.
word count: 3.7k
Things seemed to get a little better between you and Eddie, the dust sort of settling until the occasional argument broke out but you both always moved past it and focused on the baby. To your surprise, it was Steve who went radio silent.
Every phone call went unanswered, and when you stopped by Family Video, he wasn't there. Robin always offered the same frown and apology, whipping up some excuse as to why he wasn't working. You were hurting from his sudden absence; you desperately needed your best friend.
You knew Eddie didn't want you talking to Steve, and part of you felt so guilty for needing him, but you were used to Steve always being there, and now he wasn't. It felt like a death.
"I don't understand why he won't talk to me anymore," you frowned, your tired eyes incredibly heavy, "it's like he's vanished."
You watched as Eddie stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, double-checking the time on his watch, trying to avoid any conversation about Steve.
Eddie was the reason Steve went away, and he had no guilt; you were his, and that baby was his, DNA or not.
"Eds?" you asked calmly, staring at his face.
He looked up at you, his eyes lighting up, "Sorry, doll. I'm just waiting for something to arrive. Stop getting yourself so upset about him. He isn't cut out to be a dad. You know he's all talk."
You furrowed your eyebrows, "I don't know, it's not like him to act like this. Did he... did he say anything to you?"
Eddie shook his head, "Nah, I've not heard from him. Maybe he just wants us to do this on our own. We're the parents expecting a child, right? Not him."
Before you could argue back, a loud knock sounded at the door. Eddie jumped up from the couch and hurried towards the door with his hand hovering over the doorknob.
"You're going to love this!" Eddie beamed, opening your front door.
Outside, a deliveryman stood beside a large box, with a clipboard in his hand, "I've got an order for..." The deliveryman checks the name, "Mr Edward Munson?"
You walked behind Eddie, peering at the box, "What's this?" you asked.
"Just you wait," Eddie whispers, a huge smile spreading across his face. He then turns to the deliveryman, "That's me," he smiles, "how much again?"
"Fifteen hundred dollars."
Your eyes widened, but you focused on Eddie, casually pulling out the cash without breaking a sweat, counting it once before handing it over.
"Thanks, man."
Eddie carried the box into the middle of the living room as you slowly closed the door, he got onto his knees and removed the plain cardboard packaging, revealing another box decorated with illustrations of cribs and happy, smiley babies.
"Surprise!" Eddie smiled up at you, "Here's another thing ticked off the list."
He stood up and walked behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder before placing his large, ring-covered hands over your stomach. "Happy twelve weeks, princess. I'm gonna build it before work, thinking in the corner of your room or next to your side of the bed?"
"How did you afford this? You said the gig at the Hideout won't pay until next month." You said quietly, your eyes still scanning the box.
Eddie’s grip tightened as he shushed you, "Don't worry about it. I did some extra jobs... sold all the coke, I'll be done with dealing by the time the baby comes, thought I'd get on with it."
He placed a tender kiss against your cheek before he went back over to the box, pulling off the tape and opening it. You wanted to believe him, you knew things would be easier if you did, but something in you couldn't be convinced.
Eddie stopped dealing the moment he decided he could make it work with you, he knew how you felt about the risk of him being caught with drugs and getting locked up again. So you knew straight away he was lying about the coke; there was no way he'd risk missing out on the baby's birth and upbringing.
"So, corner of the room or next to your bed?" he asked again, reading the instruction manual.
"Uh.. next to my side of the bed."
The round wooden crib sat next to your bed, beautifully built, surrounded by the baby clothes Eddie bought weeks prior. You tried your best to distract yourself whilst Eddie went to work: reading a baby name book, flicking through a pregnancy magazine, then trying to nap, and finally going through all of the clothes again, but you couldn't settle. You couldn't rest.
You needed your best friend. You needed Steve.
Standing by the phone in the kitchen, you picked up the phone and dialled Steve's number, your heart throbbing.
"Harrington Residence, who is it?" Steve's mother answered.
"Hi, please can you put Steve on the phone? It's... I'm a close friend of his."
Steve's mother called him over to the phone, and his tone became suspicious when she couldn't tell him who it was. He took the phone from her and waited until she had walked away before pressing it up to his ear.
"Hello?" His voice came through the other line; he sounded tired and down, but you were relieved to hear him, regardless of his tone.
He recognised your breathing and instantly his heart ached.
"Steve? It’s me," you said quickly, "I know you've been avoiding me and the not knowing why is killing me. Eddie said he hasn't heard from you either, and I, I need to know what's happened... I'm so worried, this isn't like you at all."
Steve didn't answer. He wanted to, desperately, but he couldn't. Not with the arrangement he forced himself to agree to with Eddie.
Your chest felt heavy, and your throat swelled, forming a lump, hot tears pricking at your eyes. You sighed and swallowed hard, wiping your wet eyes.
"Steve, please talk to me." You cried, "I don't understand what I've done wrong. Was it because I threw up the pills? A-are you angry with me for something else? P-Please talk to me, Steve. You promised me you would be here."
"I can't," Steve snapped down the phone, tears prickling at his eyes, too. "I can't talk to you. Please don't call here again."
"Steve, wait—"
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
Steve hung up the phone, and a suffocating wave of nausea washed over him. He ran up the stairs and into the bathroom, the guilt eating him alive.
Your eyes were wide, and all you could hear was the dial tone buzzing. Steve had completely shut you out, and Eddie was buying your happiness with secrets. Here you were twelve weeks pregnant, and the two men you trusted most were spinning a web of lies right beneath your feet. Hanging up the phone, you dragged yourself back upstairs and climbed into bed. You cried yourself to sleep until you were woken up by Eddie tumbling into your bedroom after work.
"Sorry I'm late, sweetheart," he murmured lowly as he climbed into bed, I didn't mean to wake you."
Eddie's calloused fingers gently stroked your cheek, he could feel the dampness of your skin and see the puffiness around your eyes through the low glow of the bedside lamp.
"Hey... what’s wrong? Are you hurting? Is it the baby? Why didn't you call-"
You sat up slowly, pulling away from his touch, "I called Steve today, Eddie," you whispered.
Eddie's eyes didn't blink, he stared at you and clenched his jaw., "You did what?" he asked.
"I know it was wrong but I called him," you repeated "he sounded so broken, Eddie. He refused to talk to me, and I don't know why. It's killing me."
Eddie glared and got out of bed, frantically pacing around your room, "Are you fucking kidding me? Jesus Christ!" He raised his voice.
"Eddie, my parents are sleeping, please be quiet!" You hissed at him, your eyes filling with tears again.
"I told you I was handling it!" Eddie lowered his voice, "I told you I was taking care of you! Why the hell are you calling Harrington behind my back?!"
You felt the guilt eating you up again, crawling up your throat and ready to spill out, "Because I need him!" you confessed, getting out of bed, "He's my best friend, he promised me he'd be here for me."
"You have me, yet you want him?!" Eddie stormed over to you, his eyes dark and possessive, "Harrington has everything. He was born into wealth; he's got a nice house and car. What do I have, huh?" He glanced at the crib, "I have a band that's going nowhere, a job that doesn't pay enough, and a girlfriend carrying another guy's baby!"
"How many times do I have to repeat myself? I didn't mean for any of this to happen, Eds!" You covered your bump with your hand.
"Then quit begging for him! Do you know what it feels like? Knowing that the guy who got you pregnant can buy you a better life at the snap of his fingers? I let him pay for the crib because I wanted you to have the best. But I’ll be damned if I let him walk in here and take my place. Playing daddy to the child I'm prepared to raise!"
Your eyes widened as you connected the dots.
Steve paid for the crib.
Eddie suddenly had more money when Steve went away.
Eddie was taking Steve's money, Eddie forced him away.
"Oh my god..." you cried, "you've been taking his money, haven't you? You're the reason he won't talk to me!"
Eddie stared at you, his chest rising and falling heavily, "I told him to stay away, to protect us, to protect our family. The fact that you're crying over him hanging up on you tells me I was completely right to do it."
"I chose you, Eddie! I chose you!"
"Yet you can't keep away from him! You're not satisfied with just me, are you?!"
"You’ve been taking money from him, Eds, you can't do that!"
"It's child support!" Eddie’s voice snapped, running a hand through his wild curls, "He’s paying his dues without being involved!"
"You don't get to make that decision!"
"The hell I don't!" Eddie stepped in close, his hands hovered near your bump, desperate to touch you but too afraid to upset you further, "I am the one sleeping in this bed with you every night. I'm raising this kid with you. Not him."
"Steve is the father, Eddie," you whispered, the betrayal stinging your eyes with more hot tears. "He has a right to be here, even if you don't like it."
"He's a threat!" Eddie finally reached out, pulling you into him, "You think I don't see the way he's looked at you? You fucked him, and now you're connected to him for life..." Eddie croaked, "I lost you once, and I don't want to lose you and the baby if he comes back."
"Steve isn't like that," you sighed, "he isn't trying to take me away... he wants to help, and all you've done is force him to abandon me and become your cash cow so you can feel like a big man."
"I did it for us," he muttered, "I can't lose you to him."
"I know what I did to you... Hiding something as big as that hurts, and kills you every day, but lying to me and forcing Steve away isn't going to make things any better. You can't hide things from me, not like that." You pulled out of Eddie's arms, your eyes falling on the crib, "I think you should go home tonight, Eds. I need some room to breathe."
Without another word, you turned your back on him and climbed back into bed, squeezing your eyes shut.
-------------------
You woke up later than expected, and the sound of another knock at the door forced you out of your slumber. Rubbing your eyes, you sat up and stared at the wooden crib, thinking about how long Eddie spent building it but also thinking about how Steve was the one who paid for it.
Unable to stay in the room any longer, you forced yourself to get out of bed, still able to smell Eddie's shampoo on your pillows and sheets, and as you went down the stairs, you couldn't stop thinking about the argument; you broke your own promise to never sleep on it.
I should've resolved it. I was the one who chose not to.
He means well, he just makes fucking stupid decisions when he's scared and threatened.
The dial tone from your call with Steve still echoed in your head. You wanted to go back into the kitchen and call again but you knew it would be no good. Steve was under Eddie's control, but you needed to intervene somehow, and fast.
Walking over to the front door, you unlocked it to find the porch empty, but when you looked down, your heart dropped; sitting right on the top step was a small and soft plush duckling with a fluffy cream body, a yellow nose, and feet. Tied around its neck with a piece of green ribbon was a folded square of paper.
You crouched down and stroked the duckling's face before picking it up, untying the ribbon and unfolding the note, recognising Steve's handwriting, your breath hitched in your throat.
I'm so sorry for not being here, for ignoring you. Hearing your voice yesterday made me panic. The guilt is eating me alive. Munson made me promise to keep my distance; he said the only way this would work was if I kept away. He mentioned the money, and he was right about it. I can't refuse to pay for a baby I helped make... and he said you guys needed a crib. I don't want to keep away but I have no choice.
I bought this for you and the little baby. I love you both so much.
— Steve
You clutched the little yellow duckling tightly against your chest and squeezed your eyes shut, your tears seeping through the corners of your eyes and running down your cheeks. Nuzzling into the duckling, you couldn't help but feel relief knowing that Steve hadn't abandoned you, and that your suspicions were correct.
All you could do now was figure out what you needed to do to get him back.
You didn't go inside Family Video; you didn't need to; Steve's car in the lot gave him away. Stubbornly, you waited until he finished his shift and locked up and approached him once he was about to climb into his car.
"Steve." You cleared your throat, making him jump, "We can talk here, you don't have to hide, okay?"
Steve slowly turned to face you, his body stiffening as his eyes darted to your small bump and then to your face.
"Is everything okay?" He breathed, "Is the baby-"
"The baby is fine, Steve." You smiled at him, fighting the urge to pull him into a hug, "I got the duckling and your note, thank you."
Steve's face dropped, and his eyes began to go glassy, "I'm so sorry for what I've done, for disappearing. I wanted to be there, I swear to God, I wanted to be there for you both, but Eddie came over and..."
"He gave you no choice, did he?"
Steve swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing, "He loves you and I'm a threat to him. I'd never ever do anything to ruin what you both have but... I want to be there for the baby too, I'm just as much as the father as him."
"I thought you hated me," you murmured, "that you didn't want to be part of this anymore... you should've told me, Steve"
Steve nodded, his eyes dull. "I know, but you should've seen how terrified he was; he's trying to build a life for you and the baby, and every time I show up, it'll just be another blow to him, and every time I'll have to look at you both with our child, it'll make me feel like I'm the mistake in all this."
"Steve," you whispered, your anger melting into overwhelming sadness, "You're aren't the mistake in all this, there is no mistake. I want this baby more than anything. I want you to be part of this with Eddie and me. I don't know how it's going to work, but it has to. For all of us."
Steve reaches out and takes your hand. He squeezes it when you don't pull back.
"I want to be here for all of you," Steve croaks, crying, "more than anything."
You squeeze his hand back and offer a small smile, "Well, come to Eddie's tomorrow night? The three of us need to get this sorted, talk it out."
Steve hesitated for a moment, "Are you sure?"
"Yes," your other hand rubbed his shoulder, "It'll be okay, Eds won't bite."
Eddie lit up another cigarette, his knee bouncing up and down whilst he tried to get comfortable on the couch but couldn't.
"I don't like this at all." He huffed.
"It'll be awkward for all of us, Eds." You walked over to him, leaning over and kissing him on the forehead, " But we need to do this, okay?"
Steve knocked on the trailer door, and Eddie got up and walked over to open it. You stopped Eddie for a moment, your hand resting on his shoulder, "Please be nice to him, he's sensitive about this."
"I think we all are." Eddie sighed, opening the door.
Eddie and Steve didn't speak, but Eddie stepped aside, allowing him to walk into his trailer.
You were careful with how you approached Steve in front of Eddie, not wanting to hurt him or cause him to panic. "Thank you for coming, Steve." You smiled at him, "Do you want to sit down, or-"
"I'll stand," Steve replied, the air in the trailer becoming stuffy.
Eddie walked over to your left and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his jaw already clenching, and to your right stood Steve, pacing near the front door with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Both of them refused to look at one another, their eyes only focusing on you.
"Alright," you started, looking between the two men who meant the most to you in the world. "I don't want this to blow up, okay? No shouting, I don't want things to get heated but I'm done with secrets, no more of it. I'm tired of it, and I think we all need to be open about what we want and expect from one another because in a few months, this baby will be here. They deserve to grow in a peaceful environment, with both of you."
Silence hung heavily for a moment. Finally, Eddie looked up at you.
"I'm terrified I'm just a placeholder," Eddie admitted, then looking directly at Steve, "I’m terrified that the second this kid is born, you’re gonna step up and take them with your big house, and all your money... I'm fucking freaking out in case there's a chance that she’s gonna realise she made a mistake picking me," Eddie takes a drag from his cigarette, "I want to be a father to this kid, Harrington. The baby might be yours, but I want to raise them, pack their lunches for school, and teach them how to play guitar. I don't want or need you hanging around our house twenty-four-seven, reminding me of what I can’t give them when you show up with a huge dollhouse, or bike."
Steve listened carefully and nodded, not shrugging off Eddie's concerns or wants.
"I don't want to replace you," Steve spoke up, "It's never been about that. I just want what's best for her and the baby, but do you want to know what I'm terrified of?" He took a breath, "I'm terrified that I'm going to be pushed out, that I'll be denied the chance to get to know this baby... I know you're stepping up as the father, and I'd never get in the way of that but... I deserve to be in that child's, my child's, life too, maybe not as a father but a close uncle at least."
Tears pricked at your eyes, watching and listening to both of them talk it all out, with more respect and understanding for each other than they'd ever had in their lives.
"I want to support your girl too, pay for the medical bills, and make up for anything you're struggling to pay."
"Steve, no-"
"He has a point," Eddie cut you off, "If he wants to help, we can't stop him."
"And I want to be able to hold the baby, I don't want to feel like I'm overstepping with my own child." Steve sniffled, "That's all I want."
Reaching out, you placed one hand over Eddie's tightly clenched fist, and the other over Steve’s trembling fingers. Running your thumbs over their knuckles, circling the pad of your thumbs into them.
"Eddie" you sighed, looking into his eyes, "I chose you, and I love you more than anything. You need to believe that I'm not going anywhere. I want you to be my partner through this, to raise this baby with me, but you need to understand that Steve isn't a threat to any of that."
Your eyes then trailed over to Steve, and you squeezed his hand, "Steve. No one is going to take away your opportunity to have a relationship with the baby. I want you to be here to watch them grow... to take part in that growth. But I need you, Steve, I need you as my best friend and not his rival when the two of you are arguing over what's best for me."
You let go of their hands, "You both care so much, and you have a lot more in common than you realise." You looked between the two of them, "Can we do this? All of us?"
Eddie and Steve stared at one another in silence, your heart thumping. They both reached a mutual understanding, finally settling on the same page.
They were both two guys who loved you, who were terrified of screwing up.
"We figure out a schedule. You get your time with the kid, Harrington. But she's my girl."
A small smile broke across Steve's face, and he wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes.
"She's your girl, but she's still my best friend."
"Understood." Eddie nodded, pursing his lips, "Do you want a beer or a smoke?" He asked Steve, "This whole thing has stressed the fuck out of me."
Summary: As he comes to his decision, Eddie thinks back on the defining moments of your friendship, how you got to where you were, and just how deeply he had loved you for so very long. Now all he wanted was for you to feel the same way too.
A/N: Please excuse any spelling errors. I will edit this at a later time.
────────
1983
“Wow.” You sigh, rolling off of his lap and onto the floor below you- staring up at the ceiling in a kiss-induced haze.
Wow.
“Was that okay?” Eddie asks, watching the way you closed your eyes and your lips spread into a grin.
“Yeah.” You whisper, opening your eyes as you turn your head to look at him “That was nice. Really nice, Eds. Was it okay for you too?”
Was it okay?
He’s pretty sure that you had just stolen his heart. The worst part was that he didn’t even want it back.
“Yeah.” He swallows “It was nice. I liked it…a lot.”
“Good.” You hum, smiling at him “Stay with me?”
You look over to the spot beside you, attempting to wordlessly convey to him what you wanted. You wanted him to lay beside you- to just bask in the moment with him. You wanted to remember this.
“Okay.” He says, scooting closer as he lays on his back beside you on your fluffy pink rug. The room was quiet once again as he stared at the ceiling. Just thinking about how he had kissed you- his best friend. Wondering how things could ever go back to normal after this. Wondering if he even wanted them to.
“Eddie?” You whisper.
“Yeah?” He asks, turning to look at you. You already had your eyes on him.
“Thank you for being my first kiss.”
The sound of your voice was so sickeningly sweet. You were sweet.
“Let’s just hope you don’t regret it.” He says, letting it come out as self-deprecating as possible. You hated how much Eddie ragged on himself. How he constantly sold himself short and acted as if he were an inconvenience when, to you, he was anything but.
You reach for his hand, holding it in yours as you squeezed- sending his heart thumping.
“Never.” You say “I could never regret anything about you. I love you, Eds.”
Love. The word love feels so nice in his ears even though he knew that it wasn’t quite the same way that he loved you. As a lover and not just a friend. He loved you in a way that he was too cowardly to admit. He loved you in a way that would destroy him if you didn’t feel the same. But he’d never tell you that. Not ever.
Instead, he says it back in the way that you meant it. In a way that said that he cared about you deeply. That he’d do anything for you. That he would protect you. That he would always be there. Even if it meant that he’d be stuck loving you in a one-sided way that would never quite be met by you.
He loved you in a way that he would sacrifice his own feelings and swallow them down if it meant that he still got to have you in any way that you’d let him. As a lover, friend, or anything else. As long as you were by his side.
“I love you too." He says, squeezing your hand back.
He loved you so much that it was immeasurable. The scariest part? He didn’t think he could ever stop loving you.
────────
1984
He sat at the picnic table in the wooded area near Hawkins High School as he waited for his next “client,” painstakingly flipping through yet another jewelry store catalog- desperately trying to find anything that caught his eye. Something special. Because, in less than a week, it was your sixteenth birthday. The big one. However, Eddie still had yet to find you the perfect gift.
He looked everywhere and was still empty-handed. Normally he was so good at knowing exactly what to get you but, for some reason, this year was the hardest. He didn’t want to just get you another vintage vinyl record or a band t-shirt or another scrapbook for your Polaroids. This year needed to be special. He wanted to get you something that you would love- something that you would remember forever.
He wanted your Sweet Sixteen to be perfect. He already had it all planned out. He was taking you to the drive-in to see that new Molly Ringwald movie, Sixteen Candles. When he was looking through the showings in the Hawkins Post, he immediately knew it would be perfect.
He would make up the back of the van with cozy blankets and hoards of your favorite snacks. It would be just you and him. The only thing missing was the perfect gift. It needed to be special, sentimental, and totally and completely you. He wouldn’t settle for anything less.
His head was so focused on it that he didn’t hear the snaps of twigs beneath Chrissy Cunningham’s shoes as she approached, watching Eddie intently as he stared at a page of diamond earrings. This was so much harder than he thought it would be.
Eddie practically jumps out of his skin when Chrissy plops her backpack down onto the table.
“Jesus-“ Eddie calls out before his eyes settle on Chrissy, letting out a sigh of relief that it was only her. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get all jumpy. I didn’t hear you walk up.”
Chrissy swings her legs over the bench seat of the table, sitting down gingerly as she takes in the catalog in Eddie’s hand.
“What’s that?” She asks, nodding her head towards the magazine “Doing some shopping?”
Eddie looks down at the jewelry catalog before sighing and tossing it aside. “Trying. Mostly failing.” He admits “Don’t know why I’m even looking at a jewelry catalog. S’not like I know the first thing about jewelry that isn’t the pawn shop variety.”
“Are you…shopping for someone special?” Chrissy asks, testing the waters. Unbeknownst to Eddie, Chrissy Cunningham had a crush on him. She had ever since she began buying from him every other week. However, Chrissy didn’t know him well and she felt like she never had the chance to tell him. Not like she believed that Eddie Munson would even look at her that way. She was sure that she was the exact opposite of his type- whatever his type was.
“Yeah.” Eddie admits, absentmindedly tapping his fingers against the surface of the table “I guess you can say that. My friend’s birthday is next week. Sweet Sixteen and all that. You know, the big one. I wanna get her something special but I just….I guess I haven’t found the right thing yet.”
Chrissy watches as Eddie chews on his bottom lip anxiously.
“Do you have any ideas on what she might like?” Chrissy tries, wanting to assist Eddie with his problem.
“I know what she likes.” Eddie admits “But I wanna get her something that she won’t expect. Something special. I just….what do girls like? Like, what would you want for your birthday?”
“Hm…well,” Chrissy ponders, looking over at the discarded jewelry catalog “I definitely think jewelry is a good choice if you want to get her something special. Jewelry is totally sentimental. Something she can wear forever, you know?”
Eddie nods, listening to Chrissy’s opinion. “Yeah. You’re right. I just don’t know what type of jewelry. I feel like…a ring is too intimate. Earrings don’t seem special enough.”
“Well, have you looked at any jewelry stores? Maybe seeing things in person might give you a better idea?” She suggests.
“No, I didn’t think of that.” Eddie replies “Why didn’t I think of that?”
Chrissy watches in amusement as Eddie shakes his head. Then it dawned on him.
“Chrissy, you’re a girl…” He ponders, causing Chrissy to look at him quizzically.
“Yes, last time I checked.” She giggles.
“This might sound crazy so, like, feel free to say no…but…maybe you can help me?” Eddie suggests “Find something for her? I just…I’m not good at the whole shopping thing.”
Eddie withers a little, embarrassed to be asking a girl that he barely knew for help but he was desperate. He didn’t want to mess up your birthday by giving you something lame or something that was completely not your style or taste.
However, to Eddie’s disbelief, Chrissy was completely on board.
“Okay,” She smiles “Sure! When?”
Eddie checks his watch. “Are you free right now?”
────────
Nearly three hours later, Chrissy had dragged Eddie into practically every store in Starcourt Mall and he still hadn't found anything that jumped out to him. Nothing that stuck out and screamed that it was perfect for you.
They had ventured through stores that sold cutesy little dresses and handbags, shops that carried large arrays of perfumes, and what felt like dozens of sections that lived within every department store that Starcourt had to offer. Yet, nothing felt right- and Eddie was starting to lose hope.
"Okay," Chrissy says "What about here? We haven't tried this place yet."
Eddie straightens up from the slumped posture that he had adopted more and more as disappointment began to sink in with each store that he left empty-handed. He somehow felt like he was even more clueless than he had been when he had started. He looks up to find a small jewelry shop. Locally owned instead of the couple of big-box stores that they had perused through. He supposed it was worth a shot.
"Okay." Eddie shrugs, disappointment still etched on his face "Why not, I guess."
Chrissy grabs him by the elbow, pulling him in towards the jewelry cases that housed rows upon rows of sparkly diamonds, bright silvers, vibrant golds, and the most brilliantly gorgeous hues of colored gemstones. Eddie couldn't help but wince at how expensive the place looked.
"Hi!" A bubbly shop assistant exclaims once she notices them, quickly sliding up to greet them "Is there anything I can help you find?"
"We're kind of on a mission." Chrissy giggles, looking up at Eddie who seemed to be looking everywhere all at once. "We're looking for a birthday present for a friend. It's her Sweet Sixteen and we want to get her something really special."
"I see." The shopgirl beams "Do we have something in mind?"
"Um...that's kind of the hard part. I have no fucking idea what I'm looking for." Eddie admits, causing the shopgirl to laugh.
"Well, no worries." She replies "That's what I'm here for. Do we know what kind of jewelry the birthday girl likes?"
Eddie freezes. He had no idea what kind of jewelry you liked. He had no idea if you had a preference between silver and gold. He didn't know if you preferred gemstones to diamonds. He didn't even know your ring size. His mind was as blank as a sheet of canvas. So, to Eddie's dismay, he shakes his head.
"Does she typically wear jewelry?" The shopgirl continues.
"Sometimes." Eddie answers "Not every day. But she owns jewelry. Sometimes she wears necklaces. They're usually pretty simple."
"Okay, that's good to know!" The shopgirl beams "That actually helps a lot. Now we know that she probably isn't into big statement pieces."
"Oh, no." Eddie shakes his head "She's not flashy. She's....classic. I guess? Does that make sense?"
"That makes perfect sense." Chrissy interjects "So we should look for something simple, classic, and timeless."
Chrissy begins to wander around the cases, peering in as she scans each selection. The shopgirl ushers Eddie through the other side of the shop, discussing budget and what type of jewelry you would like best. For the first twenty minutes, they go through gemstone rings that hold your birthstone, modest diamond tennis bracelets, solitaire stud earrings, and monogram necklaces. Yet, nothing seemed right.
Until Eddie wandered towards a small section in the corner of the shop.
There is was. He knew as soon as he saw it that it was perfect. That it was the one.
The shopgirl watches a few feet away as a hopeful glimmer took over Eddie's eyes. She walks up to the display case, her sight landing on the item that he was admiring. Sitting on a cream-colored pillowy display under a bright light was a dainty golden locket necklace on a thin gold chain.
"Can I see this one?" Eddie asks, pointing at the locket.
The shopgirl smiles as she takes out her keys, unlocking the glass before delving her hand into the case and carefully scooping up the dainty piece of jewelry. As soon as she puts it into the palm of his hand, Eddie felt something. There was no mistaking the feeling- this was it.
Suddenly, he could envision you wearing it- the delicate locket hitting just below your clavicle at the end of the short chain. His thumb caresses over the elegant-yet-simple engraved design on the front of the locket- a pretty whimsical flower etched into the center as it was surrounded by other thin etched lines. It was effortlessly pretty in a way that wasn't over-the-top or gaudy. It was timelessly gorgeous, just like you.
"Ooh!" Chrissy exclaims, popping her head around Eddie's side to look at what he was holding "That's so pretty!"
"You think so?" Eddie beams, turning the necklace over in his hands.
"I think it's perfect." Chrissy smiles.
"Yeah? Me too." Eddie agrees.
"You know," The shopgirl says "You can even get it engraved on the back. Something personal and sentimental. There's even room on the inside for a picture or two.
Eddie uses his fingers to gently open the locket, revealing a spot on each side for a tiny photo. Something special that he could put inside. It was absolutely perfect in every way.
"How much?" Eddie asks, holding his breath nervously at the total. He had a tight budget and couldn't stray too far outside of it. No matter how badly he wanted to splurge on his favorite person in the world. But, when the shopgirl told him the price, his eyes widened at just how perfect it was. Just within his range of affordability.
"I'll take it." He says hastily, causing the shopgirl to smile.
"You got it." She says.
"Wait!" Chrissy squeals "You should totally get it engraved with something personal. It would be extra special."
"Yeah?" Eddie asks, turning over the idea in his head.
"Yes!" Chrissy says "She'll love it because it came from you. At least, I would love that sort of thing."
"How much would it cost to get it engraved?" Eddie asks, looking at the shopgirl.
"I don't normally do this but since it's a special occasion, I'll do it on the house."
"Really?" Eddie's eyes widen "You'd really do that? Thank you."
"Of course," She smiles "Really, I couldn't resist doing it. I also don't see too many guys come in here and put so much thought into something like this. It's really sweet. Your girlfriend's a very lucky girl."
Girlfriend.
Eddie knew that he should correct her- that he should tell her that you were just a friend and that he just wanted to get you something special for your birthday. Because you deserved it. Because he loved you. Maybe that's why he couldn't bring himself to say it. That you weren't his even though, deep down inside, he wanted you to be. He wanted you to be his so badly. Even if he knew it would never be a reality. So, he thought, what's the harm in pretending?
────────
“Eddie, are you going to tell me where we’re going?”
“Just wait a little bit longer. We’re almost there.”
You had been sitting in the passenger seat of Eddie’s van, his skull bandana tied around your eyes as a makeshift blindfold. He insisted on maintaining the surprise and not telling you where he was taking you.
“Can you at least give me a hint?” You ask.
“Nope.” Eddie answers “No hints. We’ll be there soon and then you can take off the blindfold.”
“You’re not going to drag me into the woods and dump me there, right?” You joke.
“What?” Eddie exclaims “No! You weirdo….”
“Good.” You smirk “Just checking.”
Ten minutes pass before you feel the van stop moving- Eddie putting it in park.
“Wait right there.” He says as he opens up the driver’s side door, hopping out before jogging over to your side- opening it up. He leans over and unbuckles your seatbelt, releasing you as he grabs for your hands.
“Okay, I’m going to help you out.” He says “Just swing your legs over….good. Okay, I’m going to lift you out.”
You feel Eddie’s hands wrap around your waist and he pulls you towards him, letting you steady your hands on his shoulders as he hoists you out of your seat. You were grateful when your feet met solid ground.
“Alright, sweetheart. Just a liiittle further. Hold onto my hands, okay?” He wraps his large hands around yours as he gently pulls you forward, guiding you to walk the few feet that it took you to get to the back of the van. He quickly unlocks the back doors before opening them.
“Okay.” He says “Now we just take thisss off.”
You feel Eddie’s fingers at the back of your head as he works them against the fabric of the bandana, untying the knot. As soon as the fabric is removed from your eyes, you let them flutter open. What you were met with was a surprising sight.
Your eyes land on the back of Eddie’s van, decorated with heaps of soft blankets and pillows- spread out like a comfy bed. Alongside the inside walls of the van were thin fairy lights hung up around the inside, casting a soft whimsical glow. He had hung crepe paper streamers from the inside of the back doors, creating a curtain-like effect. He has even taped up a small banner that read “Happy Sweet Sixteen!” in his unmistakable scrawl.
“Do you like it?” He asks nervously, trying to gauge your expression. You absolutely loved it.
“Eds, you did this for me?” You whisper, your voice slightly choked up.
“Of course I did.” He says, squeezing your shoulders affectionately “It’s your birthday.”
You look around at you, noticing that you were surrounded by several other cars in a large stretch of dirt road and rocky gravel. You turn to look behind you at a large silver screen. You were at the Drive-In theater.
“Wait!” You squeal excitedly, causing Eddie to smile “You brought me to the Drive-In?”
“Yeah. Is that okay?” Eddie asks “I know you wanted to watch movies for your birthday like we always do but I thought that maybe this would be better than sitting on my couch like we usually do. More special. But if you don’t want to we-“
“Are you kidding?” You ask “I love it, Eds. Thank you! This is….god, I love you.” You pull Eddie into a hug, resting your head against his chest as you squeeze him close in appreciation. “I love it. Thank you.”
Meanwhile, Eddie’s heart had never felt so full. You loved it. You were happy. God, did he love to see you happy.
“But wait.” He says, holding up a finger as you pull away “It gets better.”
He hops into the back of the van, landing in the cushiony piles of blankets as he reaches for a small cooler that was tucked away behind a mountain of pillows.
“I took the liberty of packing drinks and all of your favorite snacks.” He clutches a brown paper grocery bag and shakes it in the air.
“You didn’t!” You gasp.
“Oh, sweetheart, I absolutely did.” He beams “So, what do you want to start with first? Sweet snacks? Or bags of salty goodness with all the calories and MSG?”
“Hm…” You ponder, climbing into the back of the van to sink down into the comfy blankets next to Eddie “Surprise me.”
“Shit! Wait!” Eddie exclaims “Before I forget!”
Eddie’s hand delved into the bottom of the grocery bag, pulling out a two pack of Hostess Cupcakes. He opens up the wrapper, pulling out one of the cupcakes before reaching into his jacket pocket- pulling out one singular pink birthday candle and his signature skull Zippo lighter.
“S’not really a birthday without cake, right?” He says, inserting the candle into the middle of the snack cake before lighting it. “Alright, you ready?” He smirks.
“You’re not going to sing, are you?” You snort.
“Of course I’m going to sing.” Eddie rolls his eyes playfully “It wouldn’t be your birthday if I didn’t embarrass you with my god awful rendition of Happy Birthday.”
“Alright.” You sigh teasingly “Get it over with then.”
“As the lady wishes.” He grins, immediately hopping into a slightly off-key crooning- and you suffer through it because Eddie was your favorite person and, as bad as his singing could sometimes be, you found it endearing.
“Geez.” You snort after he hits his finishing note “Please remind me how you got to be the frontman of Corroded Coffin again?”
“Oh just shut up and make a wish, will ya?” He laughs. You close your eyes, taking a moment to think about what you wanted your birthday wish to be. Then again, you always struggled to think of something to wish for on your birthday.
As cheesy as it may sound, you already had everything that you could ever even think to wish for. Especially a best friend that loved and cared for you enough to do something so special. So, just like every year, you made the same wish- that you and Eddie would always be best friends. No matter what.
You quickly blow out the candle, extinguishing the small flame. Eddie plucks out the candle, handing over the snack to you.
“Here you are, m’lady.” He announces “I present to you, the best of the shitty junk food snack cakes.”
“Why, thank you, Sir Edward.” You joke, taking a delicious bite of your “birthday cake.” It really was the best of the crappy junk food variety and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Want some?” You ask, offering Eddie your birthday snack. He shrugs as you hold it to his lips, watching as he takes a bite- the delicious vanilla creme filling sitting on his lips. Before you could stop yourself, you began to think about what would happen if you were to lean in and lick it off- tasting the sweet frosting.
“Mmm.” Eddie hums appreciatively “These really are the best of the shitty snack cakes.”
“You can say that again.” You laugh. But your heart can’t help but flutter in your chest as you watch him lick the creme filling from his lips.
“Okay.” Eddie announces, clapping his hands together “Now that that’s out of the way, I have something for you. Close your eyes.”
“What-“
“Hey, I said close them.” He insists. You decide to oblige in what he had asked. “Open your hands.”
You do as your told, immediately feeling something small and rectangular being placed in your hands.
“You can open now.”
Your eyes flutter open to find a small gift box in your palms, wrapped in hot pink wrapping paper with little silver foil stars. There was a cream colored bow tied around it.
“Eddie, I said no gifts.” You say.
“Did you?” He asks, feigning innocence “Must’ve slipped my mind. Oopsies.”
“You do this every year.” You tsk, shaking your head.
“And I conveniently ‘forget’ every year.” Eddie teases “Open it.”
Instead of arguing like you always did, you begin to untie the little string bow- unraveling it from the gift. After ripping off the wrapping paper, you are left with a small rectangular black box.
“I really hope you like it.” Eddie says “It took a while for me to find something special enough but I definitely think this is it.”
You pull the lid off of the box, revealing a dainty golden locket resting inside. The sight immediately takes your breath away.
“Eddie…” You whisper, your mouth parting open in amazement as you stare at it. It was absolutely beautiful. Small and delicate yet simple with the most gorgeous etchings on the front. The dainty little flower, the elegant swirls and lines surrounding it. It was absolutely perfect. Yet, Eddie was sitting across from you- holding his breath.
“Do you like it?” He asks.
“Eddie, I love it. It’s…..it’s absolutely beautiful.” You say, eyes brimming with tears.
“You haven’t even seen the best part.” He says “Take it out of the box.”
You slowly remove the locket, holding it in your hands as you feel the smooth gold in your hands. Your interest was further piqued when you felt something etched into the back. You gingerly turn it over in your hands to find a secret engraving, a message that would rest against your chest for only you to see. There in a cursive engraved script was a message. Simple and sweet.
Love always, Eddie.
“Sweetheart, you okay?” Eddie asks, reaching for your hand “You’re crying. You….you hate it, don’t you?”
“No!” You shake your head, your voice full of tears and emotion “Eddie, I love it. I love it so much. I…it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
You are the most beautiful thing that I’ve ever seen….
“Yeah?” He asks “You really like it?”
“Eddie, I wish there were words to explain how much I love it. Thank you. So much.”
“Wait. Open it.” He says.
Just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, you gently open up the locket, revealing two tiny pictures of you and Eddie on the inside. Your heart immediately felt like it was about to burst. On one side was a tiny locket-sized version of a photo of you and him sitting on the floor of the trailer with his guitar during your first Christmas together in 1979.
You were seated on his lap as you held his guitar in yours, his hands gently placed over yours as he showed you how to play it. It was a picture that Wayne had taken with your Polaroid from that year. It was Eddie’s favorite photo of you together.
On the other side of the locket was a semi-recent photo from just the summer before. It was a photo of the two of you at the lake during a beach trip. It was one that Jonathan had taken. The two of you sitting side-by-side on the sandy shore of the lake as you smiled at the camera, hugging your knees close to your chest. Eddie was sitting beside you, not paying attention to the camera- his eyes completely on you, a grin on his face. It was one of your favorites.
As soon as you saw it, you were practically sobbing.
“Shit, sweetheart, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to make you cry.” Eddie panics.
“No, it’s okay.” You assure him, wiping your nose with the back of your hand “I’m happy. Really fucking happy, Eds.”
“Yeah?” He asks, a sigh of relief escaping his chest “Good. Because that’s all I want, sweetheart. For you to be happy.”
You lean in, wrapping your arms around Eddie’s neck as you pull him in for a hug- burying your face in his messy curls.
“Thank you, Eddie.” You murmur “For everything. I don’t know what I’d ever do without you. You’re so good to me.”
“Of course.” Eddie whispers back “You deserve it, sweetheart. You deserve everything.”
And he meant it. With his whole entire heart, he had meant every word. You deserved the world, the moon, and the stars above- and Eddie cared about you so deeply that he’d risk his life to try and get them for you. All to make you smile.
“Happy Sweet Sixteen…”
────────
1986
“Principal Higgins, I know that what Eddie did was wrong but I really don’t think expelling him is fair.” You explain, wringing your hands together nervously “I think you and I both know how hard Eddie worked to get on track to graduate this year.”
You had been babbling on and on as best as you could to keep Eddie from getting in trouble. You had been in the principal’s office for at least a half an hour trying to reason with him. All you could hope was that you were finally getting somewhere.
“Look, young lady, I know that Eddie is your friend but if I let him off easy, things like this will keep happening. If I let him get away with what he’s done, that will set a poor example for the other members of the student body. It sends a message that violence and physical assault is okay. That’s not the Hawkins way. You understand where I’m coming from, don’t you?”
You felt like you were losing. You had to try harder. As angry as you were with Eddie, you couldn’t let him get kicked out of school. No matter how unacceptable his actions were.
“I know, sir. Really, I understand completely. However, I think a couple days of after school detention and cancelling Hellfire Club for the rest of the year is an ample amount of punishment for Eddie to learn his lesson. Graduation is only a couple weeks away and he’ll be completely out of your hair after that. Please, sir. Please at least consider it.”
“Like I said, young lady, I completely understand and I admire your determination in trying to help your friend but chasing other students off of school grounds and threatening bodily harm is not acceptable at Hawkins High School. It’s my responsibility to keep my students safe. I’m sorry but this is just how things have to be.”
“Okay.” You sigh. Maybe this was finally a situation you were faced with where you couldn’t talk Eddie out of trouble. Maybe there was nothing that you could do after all.
You felt absolutely defeated.
You bend over in the chair across from his desk, burying your head in your hands. Maybe you really should let it go. Maybe, for once, you should leave Eddie’s mess for himself to clean up. Then you hear Principal Higgins sigh.
“Okay, look…I think that we could potentially make a compromise. But this needs to stay between us.”
Your head shoots up to look at Principal Higgins whose eyes had softened at how helpless you looked. Maybe he could do just one little favor for you.
“Eddie Munson has to sit through two sessions of after-school detention and forfeit his position as president of Hellfire Club for the rest of the year. If he can agree to those terms and give me confirmation that he will absolutely not violate any more school rules or get into any more trouble, he can continue to attend the rest of the school year.”
“Oh my god, thank you, sir.” You reply, letting out a sigh of relief “I…He’ll be on his best behavior, I promise.”
“Also,” Principal Higgins replies “He will be banned from walking the stage at graduation. The last thing I need is to risk him acting foolishly at the most important event of the school year.”
While having Eddie’s right to walk completely revoked was a little harsh, you knew that you’d have to lose some in order to win some. He’d just have to learn to deal with it.
“Thank you, sir!” You say “I promise you won’t regret it. I really, truly appreciate you giving him another chance. I’ll make sure that this never happens again.”
“Well, I sure do hope so, young lady.” Principal Higgins replies “Otherwise, I won’t be anywhere near as lenient next time. Don’t let there be a next time.”
“Thank you, sir!” You beam “I promise you won’t regret it.”
You stand from your chair before exiting his office. You weave through the hall leading you back into the front office where you find Eddie perched anxiously on the edge of a chair, his elbows rested on his knees. His body instinctively rises as soon as he lays eyes on you. You, on the other hand, wanted nothing to do with him.
As you cut him a look and start making your way out of the office, Eddie lunges for your wrist- attempting to still you so that he could do something. Apologize? Explain? Grovel at your feet for absolute forgiveness? He didn’t know. Eddie just knew that he really fucked things up this time.
“Sweetheart…” He says, brown eyes pleading as you yank your arm out of his grasp “Look, I’m sorry. I-“
“Just fucking save it, Eddie.” You shake your head disgustedly “I really don’t wanna talk to you.”
“But-“
“I don’t want to hear it. I’m tired of everything always being about you, Eddie.” You spit “Just leave me alone.”
He stood behind in the office, watching as you pushed your way through the doors as you hurried down the hallways. Maybe you just needed space, Eddie thought. If thats what you needed then that’s what he would give you.
Well….as long as it didn’t take too long for you to come back around.
────────
That night, you sat on the edge of your bed, staring at your pink prom dress that hung proudly on your closet door- a dress that you’d never get to wear. Because of your so-called best friend, you no longer had a date or a boyfriend. Might as well kiss Senior Prom goodbye too.
You lay back on your bed, staring up at the ceiling as you think about the mess that Eddie had gotten you into. You were sure that if you even tried to call your boyfriend, well now ex-boyfriend, he wouldn’t even want to talk to you. Truth be told, you knew this was coming. He and Eddie both hated each other. It was only a matter of time before the tension finally came to a head.
The sound of something hitting your window causes you to startle. You sit up, waiting for it to happen again so that you were sure that you hadn’t imagined it and that it was all in your mind. A few seconds later, it happened again- a small stone bouncing off your second story bedroom window. Your heart immediately begins to lift. Maybe it was your boyfriend finally coming to make up with you.
You jump off of your bed, hurrying to your vanity mirror to check and make sure you looked presentable. You race to your window, throwing back your curtains and sliding it open before peeking out. But the person you found on your front lawn wasn’t your boyfriend.
It was Eddie.
Your heart immediately drops to your stomach. Great.
“Wait!” He calls out, watching as you reach up to close your window again “Sweetheart, I know you’re mad. Just come down and talk to me, okay?”
“Screw you, Eddie!” You shout.
“Baby, please talk to me! I know you’re upset-“
“Upset?” You shout “You think I’m upset? Eddie, I’m fucking furious! You…you….God, I’m so fucking mad at you!”
“I know, angel.” Eddie sighs as he looks up at you “And you have every right to be. I really fucked up this time. But please don’t be mad at me.”
Unfortunately for Eddie, his pleading wasn’t going to get him anywhere with you. This had been the straw that finally broke the camel’s back.
“I’m done, Eddie!” You call out “Completely done.”
“Sweetheart, you don’t mean that.” Eddie says “You’re just mad. C’mon, let’s just talk it out like we always do.”
“You really think that talking is going to fix this?” You scoff “Well, it’s not. You can’t fix this.”
“You don’t mean that.” Eddie says, very unsure of himself because he’s never seen you this angry with him in….well, ever.
“Yeah, Eddie.” You say “I do mean it. Now get out of my yard. I don’t want to see you anymore.”
“Sweetheart-“
“Seriously, Eddie! Get off my lawn or I’m calling Wayne!”
“Look, I know you’re mad but-“
And before Eddie could react, you ball up your fist and whip something out of the window at him- launching it right at his face. It hits him right smack in the forehead, causing him to wince in pain.
“Ow! Jesus fucking Christ!” He yells “What the fuck was that?!”
But instead of answering, you slam your window down- angrily yanking the curtains closed as you leave him out there on your lawn.
Eddie rubs the spot on his forehead that was impacted by your angry throw, looking around for whatever it was that you had chucked at him. It didn’t take him long to see it.
Right next to his boot, in the grass lying face-down, was your locket.
Fuck, Eddie thought as he bent down to scoop it into his hand. I really did fuck up this time.
────────
For days, you had ignored Eddie. You declined his rides to and from school, you refused to sit with him during lunch, you wouldn’t answer his calls. Nothing. You weren’t even speaking to him. Hell, you wouldn’t even look in his direction. Eddie was starting to worry that he might have actually lost you for real this time.
You saunter down the hallway to your locker, stopping in front of it to put in your combination. As you open it up, you are met with another folded up note in Eddie’s handwriting.
I’m Sorry :(
Was scribbled on the front of it. This was the fifth one that you had received this week. You shake your head, clutching it in your hand as you grab out your algebra textbook, slamming your locker shut as you begin to walk to class. From across the hall, Eddie watches you. His eyes following you as you stop at the end of the hallway near the water fountains, tossing the note into the garbage cans that were housed next to it.
His heart sank in his chest.
You didn’t even read it.
────────
He had finally cornered you in the hallway that the end of that week. As you were walking past the drama room, Eddie shoots his hand out to drag you inside- quickly closing the door and locking it.
“Hey, what the fuck?!” You grumble angrily as Eddie leans up against the door with his body so that you couldn’t escape.
“Eddie, what-“
“Look, I’ve had enough of this.” He cuts you off “You’ve been so fucking mean and angry with me all week. Let’s just fucking talk this out, okay? So that we can both stop being miserable.”
“Miserable?” You scoff “You’re miserable? Eddie, you completely flew off the handle and tried to beat up my boyfriend! Now he won’t fucking talk to me because he thinks that my best friend is a goddamn psycho! Do you know how humiliating that is?”
“I know,” Eddie nods “I’m-“
“Nuh-uh.” You hold up your finger “I’m not finished.”
Eddie immediately felt like he had swallowed a rock.
“I’m so sick of this shit, Eddie! The crazy part is that you probably don’t even realize how much you affect my love life by acting the way that you do! No guy wants to date me when my best friend is absolute dick to them! Now, because of you, I lost a guy I really cared about and now I get to miss out on Senior Prom because I don’t have a date. I’m going to have to spend the rest of my life looking back and remembering that I didn’t get to go because of you.”
Eddie didn’t expect the reaction that your last few words had on him. Hearing you say them felt like he had been punched hard in the stomach. You were missing out on an opportunity because of him.
“Sweetheart, I’m….fuck. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I-“
“That’s the problem, Eddie.” You shake your head “You don’t think about shit. You just do it and disregard how your actions could make other people feel. You’re so selfish, Eddie. You always have been.”
“That’s not-“
“Eddie, you can’t just apologize and hope that it fixes things. You hurt me really badly this time and….it’s not okay.”
“You’re right, baby.” He says, stepping forward to cup your face into his hands “It’s not okay. I….fuck. How do I fix it? Sweetheart, just tell me what do to fix it and I’ll do it. I can’t stand seeing you like this. It kills me. I just…I just want things to go back to how they were.”
“They can’t, Eddie. The damage is already done.” You answer “….I don’t know if things can go back to the way that they were. I just….I don’t know if you and I can even be friends after this.”
Eddie felt like the wind was knocked out of him.
“Sweetheart, I know you’re mad,” Eddie starts, his voice shaky “But don’t say shit like that. I’ll fix things and we’ll make up like we always do because…fuck, that’s what we do. It’s kind of our thing. We fix our shit and we fucking stick together because it’s us, you know. It’ll always be us.”
“No, Eddie.” You sigh “It used to be. Not anymore.”
You gently wrap your hands around Eddie’s wrists, removing them from your face as he lets them drop to his sides in defeat. You take a step back, putting distance between the two of you. Distance that probably should have always been there but you were too selfish to maintain. But now you were finally coming to terms with the facts. Maybe you and Eddie aren’t good for each other, after all.
“I’ve gotta go, Eddie.” You say, trying to hold yourself together as you try not to look at the boy in front of you that was falling apart.
“Sweetheart-“ He hiccups, his eyes welling with tears. The side of it hit you hard. You can count on one hand how many times over the past seven years that you had seen Eddie cry. This one had to be the most hurtful to watch. So, you wouldn’t. You’d just have to walk away this time.
“I’ll…see you around, Eddie.” You whisper, trying to control the urge to reach for him and make everything better. You knew you couldn’t. Because, if you did, you would just find yourself stuck in this same fucked up cycle. Maybe it was finally time for the pattern to be broken.
You look down at your shoes, walking around Eddie to get to the door of the drama room- letting yourself unlock it before turning the handle. You spare yourself one last glance at your best friend as he stares at the wall in front of him- only giving you the back of his head and the large Dio: The Last in Line panel on the back of his vest. In that moment, you were glad that you couldn’t see his face. You knew the look that would be upon it would completely destroy you.
────────
Eddie’s eyes were red and puffy when he finally got to the clearing in the woods where he had was supposed to meet Chrissy Cunningham ten minutes ago. He toted his metal lunchbox at his side as he approached the picnic table. As he sets it down, Chrissy looks up at him- taking in his tear-streaked face, red eyes, and sullen expression.
“Hey.” He said glumly, swinging his legs over the picnic table to sink down onto the wooden bench “Sorry I’m late.”
I’ve just been crying in the boys restroom like a pathetic asshole until I lost track of time.
“Are you okay?” Chrissy asks, worried by Eddie’s messy appearance- well, messier than usual “Have you been…crying?”
Eddie immediately felt embarrassed, wanting to shrink into himself and disappear.
“I, uh….no.” He lies “Just….allergies. They really kick my ass this time of year.”
God, you’re fucking pathetic.
“So….” Chrissy starts, not knowing how to keep the conversation going but she knew that she desperately wanted to. He would never know it but talking to him during their “deals” was the highlight of Chrissy’s week.
“How have things been?”
Eddie looks up at her as he digs through his lunchbox for the dime bag that he had prepared for her. He has no idea how to answer that.
“It’s…I’ve been…it’s been terrible.” He sighs in defeat.
“Oh?” Chrissy asks, caught off-guard by his honesty “I’m sorry! Do you wanna talk about it?”
Eddie just shakes his head. “No. Not really. The last thing I want to do is get you involved in my shitty life issues.”
“No, it’s okay!” Chrissy says “I don’t mind. If you do want to talk about it.”
Eddie then realizes the weight of all of this and everything that happened to you. He was exhausted with it. So tired that he didn’t even want to talk about it. He didn’t have the energy. He just wanted to shut his mind off.
“Nah.” He replies “I don’t really wanna talk about me. How are…things with you? How are things going with the queen of Hawkins High?”
“The queen, huh?” She giggles, fiddling with her necklace. It unexpectedly causes Eddie to smile. Just a little bit.
“Well, yeah.” Eddie shrugs, beginning to perk up “Captain of the cheer squad. Most popular girl in school. What’s up in the kingdom, you know?”
“Bold of you to assume that I’m so popular.” Chrissy replies.
“No?” Eddie asks “Every time I see you in the halls, you’re surrounded by people. I’d consider that popular.”
“I think you and I have very different ideas of what being popular is like.” Chrissy says “If I was so popular, I would probably have a date to prom.”
Eddie couldn’t miss the unmistakable way that Chrissy shoulders had dropped in disappointment.
“You don’t have a date to prom?” Eddie questions, arching his eyebrows in surprise “Really? You?”
“What do you mean me?” Chrissy asks curiously.
“I…I don’t know.” Eddie responds “I guess I just assumed that a girl like you would have been the first to be asked to prom. I mean, I’d go as far to say that I would’ve expected guys to be knocking down your door.”
This immediately piques Chrissy’s attention.
“Really?” She asks “What do you mean by that?”
Suddenly, Eddie realizes what had just come out of his mouth and begins to backtrack.
“I just…you know,” He stammers “You’re a cute girl and you’re popular. I just assumed that you’d…I don’t know…that you would have a date.”
“Oh.” Chrissy replies “What about you? Are you going to prom?”
“Me?” Eddie laughs, shaking his head “No. Prom is not really my thing.”
“Why not?” Chrissy asks.
“I’m just not into it.” He explains “Standing around watching a bunch of ball dribblers grope on their cheerleader girlfriends and dance to mind -numbingly shitty pop tracks just isn’t my scene.”
“Oh.” Chrissy whispers, her face turning into a frown.
“No offense or anything.” Eddie hastily corrects himself “That has, like, nothing against you. I think you’re cool, Chrissy.”
“Really?” She asks, beginning to perk up.
“Yeah.” Eddie replies “Totally. Super cool.”
“Yeah, well, apparently not cool enough for someone to ask me.” She pouts.
“Well, why do you have to wait for some guy to ask you? Why can’t you just ask someone?” Eddie states, as if it were obvious.
“Well, I…there is this guy.” Chrissy starts “He’s a little rough around the edges but he’s really…sweet. I really want to ask him but I…I’m scared that he’s going to say no.”
“Really?” Eddie asks, resting his chin in his hand “Why do you think he’d say no?”
“I just….I don’t know. I just don’t think that I’m his type.”
“Really?” Eddie shakes his head “I think any guy that wouldn’t like you is an idiot.”
“Really?” Chrissy whispers, her eyes glimmering with hope.
“Yeah.” Eddie shrugs “I think he’d be stupid not to go out with a girl like you and, if he says no, he’s probably some asshole that isn’t worth your time.”
“Wow, Eddie.” Chrissy says, looking up at Eddie with her baby blue eyes. Eyes that Chrissy hopes that Eddie thinks are pretty. “Thank you. That’s really sweet of you to say.”
“Don’t mention it, sweetheart.” He smiles, causing Chrissy’s heart to skip a beat. Eddie really was sweet. And cute. And not like anyone else.
Unbeknownst to Eddie, he had just kickstarted Chrissy Cunningham’s crush into overdrive- and he was the very subject of it.
────────
“She really hasn’t said anything about me?” Eddie asks, agonizing as Nancy Wheeler continued to rearrange her mock-up of the school newspaper. He had been in the journalism room for the last twenty minutes trying to pry any sort of info out of her about you.
“Eddie, don’t you have someone else to complain to? I’m kind of busy right now.”
“Wheeler, you don’t get it.” Eddie tries to explain “This is dire for me. I haven’t spoken to her in days. She really hasn’t said anything about me to you?”
“Eddie-“
“I miss her.” Eddie admits “We’ve never gone this long without talking. I just…I really fucked it up with her and I just want her back. I don’t know what to do, Wheeler. I’m literally clueless here. I need to fix it. I just…I don’t know how.”
Nancy Wheeler didn’t know why but watching Eddie become vulnerable had somehow softened her heart- just a little bit.
“Alright.” Nancy sighs, looking up at Eddie with a serious look on her face “She misses you too.”
“Really?” Eddie perks up like a dog who could sense that its owner was home. “She does? She said that?”
“Yes.” Nancy sighs “It’s all she talks about. How much she misses you even though she’s still mad.”
“What?” Eddie exclaims “Why did you lie then?”
“Because it’s girl-code, Munson.” Nancy rolls her eyes “I’m not supposed to tell you that she’s miserable and sad over you. I’m supposed to lie and say that she’s doing great in order to get you to believe that she’s doesn’t need you.”
“She needs me?” Eddie beams, causing Nancy to roll her eyes.
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Wheeler, you’ve got to help me.” Eddie pleads “You’ve gotta help me fix this. I need her to be friends with me again. What do I need to do?”
“Have you tried apologizing?” Nancy interrogates, raising her eyebrows.
“Yeah.” Eddie admits “I tried to apologize a shit load of times and she still isn’t talking to me. I just don’t know how to get her to finally come around and see how sorry I am.”
Suddenly, Nancy’s hands halt completely- dropping her mock-up onto the desk in front of her.
“I’ve got an idea.” She says, looking at Eddie “But you aren’t going to like it.”
Eddie watches in horror as Nancy’s lips curl into a mischievous grin.
“Oh no…”
────────
“Ow! Jesus!” Eddie exclaims as Robin rips the hairbrush through his hair for the umpteenth time.
“Well, if you would stop moving….” She tsks “I’m almost done.” She pulls Eddie’s hair back, tying it up in a bun at the nape of his neck.
“Voila!” She announces, allowing Eddie to turn and look at himself in the mirror. He didn’t want to admit it to Robin but he looked…good. He was freshly shaken, his hair was brushed and styled neatly, and he was actually wearing cologne. He even dared to think that he looked sort of sophisticated- mature.
“Alright. Tux time.” Robin announced, walking over to bring down the garment bag containing the tuxedo that she had borrowed from Steve. Eddie holds his breath, worried that Robin had found him something cheesy and ridiculous but was pleasantly surprised when he realized that it was a classic plain black suit jacket and a nice white button-down shirt.
“I didn’t think that you’d go for the suit pants that went with this.” Robin explains as she pulls out the jacket and lays it out on Eddie’s bed “So, black jeans will have to do. Plus, I’m sure they’ll suit you better.”
“Fine by me, Buckley.” Eddie shrugs.
Eddie follows Robins directions, putting on his nicest pair of black jeans and slipping on the white tux shirt as he begins to button it up. As Robins helps him with the bow-tie, he can’t help but think about you only a few blocks away- Nancy Wheeler was probably helping you get ready. As long as everything was going to plan.
After Robin finishes with the bow-tie and helps him slip on his tux jacket, Eddie turns around to look in the mirror fully at the finished look. He didn’t look half bad. He actually looked handsome. Suave, even.
Robin lets out a low whistle in approval, walking up beside him as he looks at his reflection.
“You know, Munson, if I wasn’t into women, I’d definitely look twice at you.” She admits, turning to pin the boutonnière to the lapel of the tux jacket.
“Thanks?” Eddie asks, a little puzzled by the compliment.
Alright, tiger.” Robin says, smoothing out his jacket “Let’s go get her.”
Just when Eddie was about to say something sarcastic, he hears a knock at the door. A few moments later, Wayne pokes his head into his bedroom.
“Ed, there’s a girl here for you.” He announces, a confused look on his face “Said she’s here to see you and that it’s important.”
Nancy.
Eddie’s immediate thought was that something in the plan had failed. He walks out of his bedroom, hurrying to the door as he finds Chrissy Cunningham standing on the front porch- dressed in a pretty blue formal dress that brought out the color of her eyes. Her hair was done up and she was wearing makeup.
Eddie is met with confusion. What the hell was Chrissy doing here?
“Hi.” She says bashfully.
“Hey.” He greets her, standing awkwardly.
“I…sorry for just dropping by here like this. I honestly don’t know why I came. I guess I just got this idea in my head and I knew that, if I didn’t act on it, I would regret it. Eddie, the other day you said that any guy would be lucky to go to prom with me. Do you really believe that?” Chrissy looks up at him with her blue eyes, leaving Eddie feeling as though he were under some sort of spell.
“Y-yeah.” He stammers before clearing his throat “Of course I believe that. It was all true. Everything I said.”
“You also said that I shouldn’t have to rely on a guy to ask me to prom. That I should just ask someone myself. Ever since you said that, I’ve been thinking about it and…Eddie, I really like you. A lot. I think you’re so cool and smart and funny and I feel silly doing this but I know I would regret it if I don’t ask but….would you come to prom with me?”
Eddie froze. Chrissy Cunningham just asked him…to prom. This was officially the strangest thing that has ever happened to him.
Chrissy Cunningham with her pretty, angelic face and her soft voice and her cute demeanor. Her hair done up and dressed so pretty to ask him to be her date tonight. It was far too much. Eddie was immediately flooded with guilt.
“Wow…” Eddie mutters, trying desperately to find the right words- how to let down a girl that had worked up the courage to come and bare her soul to him. “Chrissy, I’m flattered, really. Like, this is really unexpected. I mean….wow. Um…”
“Is everything okay?” She asks, looking at him with those innocent baby blues.
God, she was going to think that he was a complete dick.
“Yeah. Yeah, no, everything’s fine. It’s just….I’m sorry Chrissy but I…I’m actually about to go and ask someone else to the prom. I didn’t expect you to ask me. God, I feel fucking horrible.” He agonizes, rubbing his hands down his face. “I-“
“Hey, it’s okay!” Chrissy says, her voice a little too high-pitched and saccharine sweet. She was hurting “I did kind of just…show up here and sprung this on you. I didn’t think about the fact that maybe there was someone that you wanted to ask. I guess I just assumed that because you said that you didn’t like prom. But I just thought that maybe you were saying that and didn’t actually mean it.”
Which made everything worse because he had told Chrissy that he didn’t like the idea of prom and that he wasn’t going to go. Now, here he was, all dressed up for prom. About to ask someone else.
“You look nice, by the way.” Chrissy says with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She was disappointed. Eddie’s heart ached. “You look very handsome.”
“Thanks, Chrissy.” Eddie says “You look…you look beautiful.”
“Thank you.” Chrissy says. As soon as she finished talking, an awkward and uncomfortable silence falls over the both of them.
“I….should get going.” Chrissy finally says “I have to go meet up with my friends but….good luck, Eddie. I hope you have a good time tonight.”
Before Eddie could think of what to say to hopefully make things better, Chrissy descends the steps of his front stoop and makes her way back to a little silver town car that he was guessing that she might have rented.
As the little car backed out of the driveway and started off down the road, Eddie couldn’t help but feel his stomach twist in immense guilt. Poor Chrissy…
────────
“Nance, are you going to tell me what’s going on?” You ask, standing in the middle of your living room in your prom dress.
Ever since she arrived two hours ago with a duffle bag full of makeup and hair styling tools, she had refused to answer any of your questions.
“I already told you.” She says “You are going to prom.”
“Nancy,” You sigh, preparing to explain again for the thousandth time “I can’t go to prom. I don’t have a date.”
“Actually,” Nancy corrects “You do have a date and he should be here any minute now.”
“What?” You ask incredulously “No, I don’t. Who-“
Your protest was interrupted by the door bell ringing, causing Nancy to smile excitedly.
“Right on time.” She says, bounding towards the door as you stand in the middle of the living room even more confused. You follow behind her, watching anxiously as Nancy grabs the door- swinging it open to reveal Eddie. Your jaw practically drops to the floor.
“Munson.” Nancy greets, letting him stroll into your foyer- followed by Robin Buckley who had a camera draped around her neck. There was so much going on and you were struggling to keep up. Before you could react and try to make sense of everything, Eddie approaches you- a plastic container in his hand that held a pretty corsage of white roses and one singular bright yellow marigold at the center. When he stops in front of you, your breath hitches.
He was dressed up in a nice tux shirt and suit jacket. His bow-tie perfectly tied and a white rose boutonnière pinned to his tuxedo jacket. He sported black jeans and a nice pair of black boots. His wallet chain hanging against his right hip. He looked good. Formal and handsome yet still…Eddie.
His hair was neatly styled in a low bun with the shorter pieces of his wild curls framing his face. He looked so neat and put together- and he smelled good. Real good. The sight of him left your mouth dry and you were so distracted by how he looked that you didn’t realize that you were having the same affect on Eddie.
From his eyes, you looked the most beautiful that you had ever looked. Even prettier than that yellow dress you hated. You looked gorgeous, more mature- womanly. Eddie couldn’t take his eyes off of you.
Your dress was light pink satin and hugged your waist perfectly. It had a ruffled off-the-shoulder neckline. It was floor length and elegant, making you look like a princess. Your hair was swept up in an updo of soft curls that Nancy had painstakingly used three different curling irons to achieve. Your makeup was minimal yet gorgeous, accentuating your natural beauty. You were a vision.
“You look…..wow.” Eddie breaths. At least, he was trying to. The sight of you had taken his breath away.
“Thank you.” You say, looking down bashfully at the hem of your prom dress “You look nice too.”
Eddie’s heart flutters at the compliment.
“Alright, children!” Robin sing-songs, pulling your attention away from each other “Time for photos!”
“Ugh…” Eddie groans exaggeratively “Buckley, no. Please no.”
“C’mon!” She replies “Just a couple. Your future grandchildren are gonna want to see them.”
“Robin!” You exclaim, giving her a horrified look. Eddie just blushes, Robin’s comment about sharing grandchildren replaying in his mind.
“Oh, calm down.” She says “I never said that you two are going to have the same grandchildren.”
You suddenly felt foolish. Robin didn’t actually say that. You just assumed. Your face began to heat up in embarrassment.
“Now, come on, you crazy kids. We don’t have all night. Go stand by the fireplace.” She orders, waving her hand around to usher you both over. You look over at Eddie, immediately met with his gaze when you realize that he had already been looking at you. You didn’t notice but Eddie’s gaze hadn’t shifted from you since he arrived.
“This is crazy.” You murmur, causing Eddie to crack the first smile that he had in days.
“You can say that again.”
“Hey!” Robin bellows “Less talking, more moving.”
“I suppose we should appease mom before she grounds us.” You joke, causing Eddie to let out a short laugh.
“Or lock us in a broom closet.”
────────
The ride to prom in Eddie’s van was awkward, neither of you speaking as he drove- the radio playing softly at a low volume. You weren’t used to the uncomfortable silence. Especially from Eddie who never seemed to stop talking.
You were still reeling at the sight of Eddie dressed up in formal wear. For years you were thoroughly convinced that you’d never see him dressed in anything fancier than non-distressed jeans unless someone died. But he was sitting across from you looking so…gorgeous- to take you to prom of all places. Despite his very vehement negative stance on prom and how it was all a part of the forced conformity that he was so against.
He drums his fingers against the steering wheel as you nervously fidget with the corsage he had slipped on your wrist before leaving your house. You were using it as a distraction so that you wouldn’t resort to staring at him and how good he looked.
And damn did he look good…
Eddie, on the other hand, was sweating bullets. The silence unnerved him. In the past, it was always the silence between the two of you during a fight that bothered Eddie the most and this was no exception. He would much rather prefer that you yell at him than give him the cold shoulder. He missed your voice. All he wanted was to talk to you. To finally get over this fight like all the others and just be friends again. He couldn’t wait any longer. Too much time had already been wasted.
“I-“
“Hey-“
You both spoke up at the same time, causing you to lock eyes.
“Sorry.” You mutter, looking down at your lap “You go first.”
“…I just wanted to say…I’m sorry.” Eddie sighs “About everything. What I did was shitty and I shouldn’t have done that. You were right about what you said. I don’t fucking think some times and I just do shit and that’s not fair to you because you get stuck dealing with my shit. I’m sorry. I wish I could take it back. If I could, you would be going to prom with your ex like you wanted and not stuck here with me.”
“Eddie,” You sigh, shaking your head “Going to prom with you isn’t the problem. The problem is….why did you even do it in the first place? What did he do that even got you so upset?”
Eddie’s hands grip the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white, thinking back to that day over a week ago that caused him to try and kick your ex’s ass.
“I…I don’t think I should talk about it.” Eddie murmurs, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I don’t…you’ll just get upset.”
“Why would I get upset?” You ask, looking at Eddie in confusion. What you don’t know was that there was way more to the story with your ex than you actually knew.
“It’s nothing. It doesn’t matter.” Eddie replies.
“Yes, it does matter.” You say “Eddie, what happened?”
“Sweetheart…” Eddie groans.
“Eddie, tell me what happened. What the fuck happened?”
And finally he exploded, spewing out everything that he had been holding in for days.
“He was talking shit about you, okay?” Eddie admits, forcing his eyes to stay solely on the road in order to prevent himself from seeing your reaction. He knew it would destroy him.
“What?” You ask, blinking as you sat in your seat- trying to make sure you hadn’t misheard him. Unfortunately, you hadn’t.
“He was talking shit about you, sweetheart.” Eddie repeats “That’s why I got so fucking upset, okay? He said some shit about you that I didn’t like. Did I maybe overreact? Yeah. But he was…I just couldn’t fucking stand to listen to him talk to you like that. When that fucking asshole was lucky that you even gave him the time of day? It was fucking bullshit.”
“Eddie, what did he say?” You mutter, your eyes brimming with tears.
“Shit, baby, please…sweetheart, please don’t do this. Don’t make me fucking say it.” He pleads, his voice coming out weak and helpless “I can’t repeat what he said to me. I would just get upset all over again and I’ll want to say fuck prom and go drive to his house and actually finish what I started….and I just can’t do that to you, okay?”
“Eddie,” You start, looking over at him with a serious look upon your face. One that Eddie knew all too well. He knew you weren’t just going to let this go “Tell me what he said.”
“Fuck…you really want to know?” He asks.
“Yes, Eddie. I really want to know. Even if it’s going to fucking hurt me.” You state.
“Jesus Christ,” He groans “Okay…fuck. That day we were waiting for you at your locker. I was just standing there waiting for you like I always fucking do so that I can drive you home and this fucking asshole…god, this asshole…starts to tell me about your college admissions essay. The one you sent into Indiana State.”
“….Okay….” You reply, prompting him to go on.
“Well, he just…he just starts fucking ragging on it. Like, horribly, sweetheart. About how terrible he thought it was and how even though he ‘loved you’ no one in the admissions office would ever in their right mind think that it was any good and send you an acceptance letter. He just…he was such a fucking dick and he just kept going, sweetheart. Like you were my fucking best friend. Like I was just going to jump in and agree with him. Like Wayne and I hadn’t read that fucking essay and thought it was one of the best things we’ve ever fucking read in our lives. Like I didn’t fucking tear up at the fucking kitchen table after he left for work because I fucking knew that you were going to get in. That the fucking essay you wrote was a fucking one-way ticket out of here and away from me. To hear him fucking talk about you like that, baby? That fucking killed me! I didn’t know what fucking happened but it felt like something fucking snapped in me and I just lost it and I threw him into the lockers and I just….I wanted to kill him, sweetheart. For fucking talking about you like that. Like you were nothing. When you’re the best that would ever happen to me and Wayne and even that fucking piece of shit asshole that didn’t fucking deserve you. There. That’s what happened.”
You were left there. Stunned. It all fucking made sense.
“Eddie…”
“It also, you know, didn’t exactly help that I already hated him. He always thought he was a pretentious little fuck from the moment you brought him around but I fucking put up with him because he made you happy and, sweetheart, I just wanted you to be happy. Even if I fucking hated that prick and his stupid fucking sweaters. Like, seriously, who the fuck wears argyle print sweaters? But I just…I didn’t want to ruin any chance of you being happy. But listening to him talk about you like that? I couldn’t fucking do it. That’s where I fucking draw the line, sweetheart. I-“
You immediately reach for Eddie’s hand, pulling it into your lap as you intertwined your fingers with his. Eddie’s pulse quickened. This was the closest he’s been to you in so long and, fuck, did he miss it.
“Does this…mean that you’re not mad at me anymore?” He asks cautiously, trying not to melt as you rubbed the pad of your thumb against the back of his hand.
“No, Eds.” You say “I’m not mad at you anymore. I…I never wanted to be mad at you. I can’t stay mad at you.”
“Good.” He sighs in relief “Because I can’t stand it when you’re mad at me. You know that.”
“Yeah.” You sigh back “I do.”
“So…friends again?” Eddie asks, looking over at you with hopeful eyes. You can’t help the feeling of butterflies in your stomach underneath his lopsided grin- the cute little dimple in the right side of his cheek.
“Yeah.” You smile back “Friends again.”
“Cool.” Eddie beams, removing his hand from yours momentarily to dive into his tux pocket. You watch in confusion when Eddie pulls it back out, opening his hand out to you as your locket sits in the middle of his palm- the golden hour sun glinting off of the smooth metal.
“I’ve been carrying this around.” He admits “I figured you might want it back. You know, on the condition that you don’t throw it at me again.”
You smirk. “I won’t. I promise.”
“Good.” Eddie smiles “It looks better on you anyway.”
────────
That whole night, Eddie couldn’t help but stare. Pretty much every single girl in the senior class was all dolled up and dressed to the nines but he couldn’t care less about any of them. Not when he had the most beautiful girl in the world on his arm. No one could ever compare.
“Doing okay?” He asks, watching you as you sipped your punch.
“Yeah.” You nod, cracking a smile.
“What?” He asks “What are you smiling at?”
“Nothing.” You laugh “Just thinking about how almost seven years later, we’re right back where we started.”
“What do you mean?” He asks.
“You…me…standing in a crowded school gym, drinking shitty fruit punch. It’s kind of symbolic, don’t you think?” You snort “Only thing that’s missing is that god awful yellow dress.”
“Hey!” Eddie laughs “I just so happened to like that god awful yellow dress. I thought it was cute.”
“I looked like a canary.”
“A cute canary.” Eddie jokes, causing you to shove his shoulder playfully.
“Ha. Funny.” You laugh.
“I’m not joking. You looked adorable. Even seven years later, I still think that.” Eddie admits, his lips spreading into a smile “Marigold.”
“Oh shut up.” You tease “Don’t get all sappy on me.”
“Can’t help it.” Eddie shrugs “I’m feelin’ all sentimental.”
“Well stop.” You joke “Being sentimental and cheesy isn’t exactly helping your brand, now, is it?”
“Sweetheart, I am literally standing in the middle of prom right now. My brand is kind of shot to hell right now, don’t you think?” He points out.
“Fair enough.” You laugh.
“So…do you wanna dance?” Eddie asks, his eyes surveying all of the other prom-attendees as they dance to shitty pop music that Eddie wouldn’t dare to listen to in any other scenario. Just like he wouldn’t be caught dead dancing to it but he was willing to make that sacrifice. For you.
“Since when do you dance?” You ask, eyeing Eddie suspiciously.
“I don’t but since it’s prom and all, I’m willing to be a proper gentleman and make some hard sacrifices.” Eddie jokes, causing you to roll your eyes.
“Oh, my hero.” You drone sarcastically as you grin.
“Also, I don’t mind this song and might still remain in possession of my coolness if I just stand on the dance floor and spin you around in circles or something.” Eddie says “I also know how much you love this song.”
You were so wrapped up in Eddie, his easy-going smile, and the way he looked tonight that you didn’t even realize that the DJ was playing one of your favorite songs; Come On Eileen by Dexys Midnight Runners.
“Alright.” You say, smiling “If you insist.”
Eddie lets you grab his hand, pulling him to the dance floor behind you as the chorus of the song kicks in. He places his right hand on your waist, his left hand grabbing yours as you begin to dance. In that moment, Eddie couldn’t help but overthink about how he didn’t want to step on your toes or how he might he might be dancing too off-beat for the fast, jaunty tune of the song. But as soon as you begin to laugh, his worries melt away.
Suddenly, he didn’t care if his movements were off or his feet were in the right place or if he was holding your waist too tightly. All he could focus on was the grin you had on your face as he lifts his arm to spin you and bring you back into his arms. The way your face lit up as he smiled back at you seemingly having the time of your life dancing to a song that he was just now realizing was about sexual interest and a girl taking off her dress which then prompted him to try hard not to think about you taking off your dress.
“You okay?” You ask, your voice breathy as he continued to twirl you around the dance floor.
“Yeah.” Eddie nods, trying to play it cool “Just didn’t realize how sexually suggestive these lyrics were.” He jokes.
“That’s seriously what you’re thinking about right now?” You laugh, shaking your head.
“I mean, can you blame me when I’m just now realizing why this song might be called Come On Eileen?” He says, causing you to wrinkle your nose in disgust.
“Ew, Eddie!”
“What?” He asks incredulously “I didn’t write the damn song!”
“Just shut up and dance with me.” You roll your eyes.
“Alright.” Eddie shrugs “But I’m totally gonna bring this up again the next time it comes on the radio.”
“You’re such a dork.” You say.
“Yeah but you love me.” He challenges, giving you a devilish smirk- and who are you to lie?
“Yeah,” You say “I do.”
Eddie turns his gaze onto you, as if on cue and perfectly in time with the next song that played. A slow song. But not just any slow song. As soon as the both of you heard it, you knew. This was far too good to be coincidence. This was fate.
“Is this?…” Eddie could barely even get the words out of his mouth before the smooth guitar solo leads into the first verse of the song- a song that immediately transports you back to the night of the 1983 Winter Formal.
“Dance with me?” You ask, butterflies overtaking your stomach as you looked into Eddie’s eyes. You didn’t have to say anything. He knew that you recognized the song. The song that played as the soothing soundtrack of his first kiss. Spandau Ballet’s True.
So true,
Funny how it seems.
Always in time but never in line for dreams,
Head over heels when toe to toe.
This is the sound of my soul,
This is the sound…
“Eds?”
Instead of answering, his hands instinctively wrap around your waist, pulling you close to him as he stares back at you- his eyes full of emotion. This song, the way you look tonight, how close he was holding you. All of it felt so right. So…incredibly…right.
I bought a ticket to the world,
But now I’ve come back again.
Why do I find it hard to write the next line,
Oh, I want the truth to be said.
You encircle your arms around Eddie’s neck, letting yourself be pulled into him- chest to chest. So close.
I know this much is true…
“Thank you.” You whisper, your eyes never leaving his “For bringing me tonight. I’m having a great time.”
“Yeah?” He asks, his eyes full of love, admiration…joy “I’m glad, sweetheart. I want you to be happy.”
“I am.” You admit, reaching towards him to tuck a stray hair behind his ear “I’m always happy when I’m with you.”
And Eddie’s heart suddenly felt like it was full- complete.
“Yeah?” He breathes.
“Yeah.”
I know this much is true…
“I don’t know if I already said this but you look pretty tonight.” He admits “Really pretty.”
“You think so?”
“Are you really asking me that?” Eddie scoffs “You’re easily the most beautiful girl in this room. I…I can’t stop staring at you.”
“Eds…” You say, ducking your head bashfully before Eddie catches your chin in his hand- lifting your face to meet his gaze.
“I’ve always thought you were pretty. So fucking pretty. Everything about you.” He smiles. Your heart beats hard in your chest as he reaches towards your clavicle, his fingers lightly touching your locket- his eyes full of adoration. Because he did adore you. He always had.
“I know I don’t say it a lot but meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me.” He says “Sometimes I think about what my life would be like if you hadn’t left me that book. If I hadn’t noticed you on your bike and if you hadn’t saved me from getting my ass kicked by Tommy Hagan. I guess what I’m trying, and failing, to say is…I love you, Marigold, and I’d do anything for you. Beat up your shitty boyfriends, order your milkshake refills, let you listen to your shitty cassette tapes in my van.”
“Hey! My cassette tapes aren’t shitty.” You pout.
“Sweetheart, that’s not the point I’m trying to make. What I’m trying to say is that you mean a lot to me. I know it’s fucking sappy and gross but no matter what happens, I’m only ever going to want you in my life because things just wouldn’t…make sense if you weren’t. I just keep thinking that, throughout everything that’s happened, it’s always been me and you. You’re, like, my favorite person….or whatever.”
With a thrill in my head,
And a pill on my tongue.
Dissolve the nerves that have just begun
Listening to Marvin all night long.
This is the sound of my soul,
This is the sound….
“Eddie….you’re my favorite person.” You whisper, trying to hold back tears.
“Well, duh.” He says cockily, causing you to raise your hand to smack him on the arm “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” He laughs, catching you by the wrist.
He slips his hand into yours, staring at it for a moment before bringing it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it. Your heart flutters.
Always slipping from my hands,
Sand’s a time of its own.
Take your seaside arms and write the next line.
Oh, I want the truth to be known.
As he releases your hand, you let it rest on his chest- letting Eddie sway against you as you danced slowly in the crowded gym. But you were so focused on him that it seemed as though there was no one else in the room. That you and Eddie were the only two people here on earth.
I know this much is true…
The way he looked, the way he smelled, how close he was.
Eddie.
Your Eddie.
You lean forward, pressing your lips to his in a gentle, feather-light kiss. Mouths barely touching but enough to make Eddie’s body react as if a fire was ignited within him. Like he was awakened. Finally feeling just how he felt that night in your bedroom floor that night in 1983 when he kissed you for the first time. A night he’d never forget. A might’ve tried to relive in his mind for years since.
You pull back, your eyes fluttering open as you are met with his big brown eyes.
“Shit,” You breathe “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m-“
But the next thing you knew, his mouth was back on yours- kissing you deeply as he held you close, his hands gripping your waist. He pulls back for a moment between kisses, resting his forehead against yours before whispering;
“Don’t be.”
The next thing you knew, you were in a heated battle against each other- a back and forth collision of hot, rough kisses as your hands grabbed as his face- cupping his jaw as his large hands gripped onto your hips like he were holding on for dear life. Like he never wanted to let go.
It was all teeth and tongue as he kissed you with desperation, wanting to taste every inch of your mouth as you both fought for dominance against each other. The more you kissed back, the rougher Eddie got and you loved it. You egged him on, giving him the encouragement he needed to just take you. Finally. After all of these years.
“Eds…” You gasp against his mouth as he nips at your bottom lip. Pulling it back with his teeth before releasing and reattaching his mouth to yours. He wanted to get lost in you. He wanted to let himself fall for you. Right then, right there. Kissing wasn’t enough. He wanted more.
More, more, more…
“Sweetheart,” He groans, squeezing your waist in his hands as he tries to control himself. Switching to giving you small pecks on your lips that caused you to whine in frustration. “Do you….do you wanna get out of here?”
He knew the question was risky. He knew what it might sound like it implied. That he wanted you- which he did. But that wasn’t necessarily his goal. He just wanted to be alone with you.
“You know, if you want to. You don’t have to-“
“Okay.” You agree, voice low and breathy as you stared into his eyes that were filled with just as much need as yours were.
“Okay?” Eddie asks, his voice containing a hint of shock. He didn’t really anticipate for what your answer would be but he certainly didn’t expect that.
“Let’s get out of here.” You say “Please?”
And how could Eddie say no to you when you sounded so needy and looked at him like that.
“Okay, sweetheart.” He says, swallowing as he tried to maintain as much self-control as he could. But it was hard. So…fucking…hard. “Whatever you want. Where do you wanna go?”
Neither of you thought this far ahead. Neither of you knew what was supposed to happen next.
“I don’t care.” You whisper “I just wanna be with you. Alone.”
Fuck.
“Okay, baby.” Eddie says “Okay.”
────────
Tell her.
Eddie’s head was battling with his heart as he watched you dip french fries into your vanilla milkshake as you both sat on the hood of his van near Lover’s Lake. It was past midnight. The first place you both could think of after leaving prom, and Eddie couldn’t think of anything more perfect. Shakes and fries from Benny’s, his van, and you- watching the rippling lake bathed in moonlight.
“Do you remember that time you threw up on my shoes?” Eddie laughs, practically doubling over as he recalled the memory of your first stolen beer together “God, you fucking hated it!”
“Yeah, well, it tasted like fucking piss water.” You exclaim in disgust “I shouldn’t have fucking listened to you. Every time I listen to you, I’m immediately reminded that you make the worst fucking decisions.”
“Yeah? Don’t forget that I chose to be friends with you.” He points out, causing you to punch him in the arm.
“Be careful, sweetheart.” Eddie tsks “Don’t start a fight that you can’t win.”
“Who said I can’t win?” You tease, attempting to punch him again but Eddie catches your arm to block your assault. Your eyes widen in surprise.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart? You shocked?” He teases “Didn’t expect me to fight back? Well, lucky for you, I don’t hit back but I do tickle.”
You begin to try and squirm away, knowing exactly what he was planning but you weren’t fast enough. His hands lock around your waist and begin their assault, causing you to squeal out.
“Eddie, no!” You laugh, shrieking as you try to get away.
“Nuh-uh! Get back here!” He laughs, going straight for your ribcage where he knew you were the most vulnerable.
“No!” You scream “No, no! Please stop!” Your voice filled with giggles.
“What’s that?” He asks “You want more?”
“No!” You gasp, trying to catch your breath as you try and push him away, tears brimming in your eyes as you squeal with laughter “Eds! I’m done, I’m done!”
“Nope! Finish what you started!” He teases.
“I can’t! I can’t!” You titter “I’m done! I surrender!”
“What?” Eddie asks, feigning as if he couldn’t hear you “What did you say, sweetheart? I couldn’t quite hear you.”
“I said I surrender!” You squeak between giggles “I surrender! You win!”
“That’s what I fucking thought.” He smirks, stopping his assault on you as you try to catch your breath.
“Fuck, I hate when you do that.” You say. But Eddie knew there was no bite to your words. Not with the way you’re grinning.
“Don’t start fights, princess. Not if you can’t hold your own. That’s, like, rule number one.” He joshes.
“Oh, fuck you.” You laugh. That’s when the nagging thoughts in Eddie’s head start up again.
Tell her. Finally fucking tell her how you feel.
“Sweetheart?” He starts, sitting up as his demeanor starts to become serious.
Tell her you love her. Tell her you’re in love with her.
“Yeah, Eds?” You look up at him, your eyes shining in the moonlight. Your face bathed in its soft glow and just when Eddie thought that seeing you when he picked you up that evening was the prettiest you ever looked, he was proven wrong. This was the prettiest you ever looked- and he was the only one that got to see you like this. No one else.
“I…There’s something I need to tell you.”
I love you. I’m in love with you. I’ve always loved you.
“…I actually have something that I need to tell you too.” You admit, training your eyes on him. His heart begins to beat hard and fast. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the moment where he finally gets to hear you say it too.
“You go first.” He says, reaching to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear- his thumb brushing against your cheek. Maybe this was it. This was finally where his friendship with you evolved into something else. Something he had always been waiting for.
“I…okay.” You say, the nerves in your body taking over as you think about how you were going to say what you were about to say. What you had been thinking about since you found out. What you had been scared to tell him. “Eddie, I….”
Fuck, here it comes…
Eddie, I love you. Eddie, I’ve always wanted to be with you. Eddie, you’re the love of my life and I can’t imagine not being yours for one more second.
“…I got into NYU.”
It hit him with the force of a fucking train.
You what?
“…What?”
“I just found out a couple days ago. I…I applied during winter break just, you know, to see what would happen. I didn’t expect to actually get in. But…I did.”
But NYU was miles away. Hundreds of miles. Which meant that you would be hundreds of miles away. Suddenly, the world felt like it was turned upside down.
He felt sucked out of reality. He felt confused, angry, hopeless, proud- an amalgamation of emotions that completely contradicted each other and made no sense as the raged a war within him that he was trying so hard to hide.
You were leaving him.
“Eddie? You okay?”
And now he was expected to pretend that everything was okay. That he was happy for you.
“Yeah!” He says “Yeah, I’m- sweetheart, this is…”
The worst day of my fucking life.
“Crazy. Fucking crazy. I don’t know what to say. I just.…I’m so fucking proud of you.”
Eddie never thought he could mean something while also not mean it at the same time.
“I know…” You say, your voice breaking into a huge grin “I still can’t believe it.”
“Sweetheart, this is great. Really.” Eddie says, wishing that he actually meant it “I guess this means your fucking ex can eat shit now.”
“Well,” you say “That’s if I go.”
“What do you mean ‘if’?” Eddie questions.
“I mean, I haven’t accepted it yet. I…guess I’m still thinking about it.” You admit.
“What is there to think about? NYU is huge. Like, this is a once-in a-lifetime thing for you.” Eddie says.
“Yeah, I know.” You answer, chewing your bottom lip nervously as you think about what you were going to say next. How you were going to say it. “But…if I go to NYU…I’d have to leave Hawkins.”
“Well, yeah.” Eddie says as if it’s obvious “That’s, like, a given.”
“Eddie, I don’t know if I want to.”
And that confuses Eddie because for as long as you’ve been friends, the two of you had always had big city dreams of packing up one day and getting the fuck out of Hawkins and doing something with your live. Now, here you were, actually granted the opportunity and you were backing out.
Why?
“What?” Eddie laughs, looking at you as if you were joking. But you weren’t- you were anything but. “Why wouldn’t you want to get out of this hellhole? Why would you ever want to stay here?”
And the answer hurt him more than he ever could’ve anticipated.
“Because you’re here, Eddie.”
Four words were all it took to completely rewrite his stance. It happened so fast that he couldn’t even process it. He just knew that, suddenly, you leaving Hawkins wasn’t the worst thing that could ever happen. Now it was the reality that you could be forcing yourself to stay here- for him.
“No.” It was all he could say. The only word to leave his lips.
“No?” You ask “What do you mean no?”
“No.” Eddie repeats “As in, you are not staying here. Not when you’ve got a fucking one-way ticket out of here. Sweetheart….no. Just no.”
“…Okay…” You reply cautiously “That’s definitely not how I expected you to react.”
“Guess we’re both full of surprises then.” Eddie answers.
“I just thought-“
“That I would be happy that you just decided to throw your entire life away to stay here in his shithole of a town to just fuck off with me? Why would I ever be happy about that?” He questions, catching you off-guard.
“I don’t know. I-“
“Listens, sweetheart….I don’t want to sound like an asshole when I say this but if that’s how I have to come off in order for you to hear me then fine. Do not throw your fucking life away. Especially not in this fucking town. Not for anyone and especially not for me.”
His brown eyes that normally held so much warmth for you had suddenly turned hard and cold. The shift was so abrupt that it was startling.
“But what if I want to stay here? What if I want to be here with you?”
“Sweetheart, you and I both know that you don’t belong here. Especially not with me. So, if you think that I’m just going to let you throw everything away like that then sorry but I’m not your guy. So, do yourself a fucking favor and get out of here. Because you’d be stupid to stay and let yourself rot somewhere that you’re better than.” His tone was mean, harsh, and rough. Completely throwing you for a loop. He had been so open, gentle, and laid-back. The Eddie you alway knew- until now.
“Who said that I’m too good to stay here? What if that’s what I want?” You whisper, watching the way that Eddie’s jaw clenches before he looks away from you.
“Sweetheart, that’s not what you want. You don’t want to stay here. And I’m not gonna let you stay here. Not for me. That’s the last thing I’ll say about it.” He states.
“You don’t get to make that decision.” You say, your tone just as hard and final.
“You’re right. I don’t. But I do get the choice to walk away.”
And that nearly depletes you.
“Really? So, what? If I stay here you’re just…not gonna talk to me anymore?”
“If that’s what it’s going to take for you to get out of Hawkins and make something of yourself then yeah. That’s exactly what that means.”
“So you’re just going to throw all of this away, huh?” You ask, voice shaking “You’re just going to end things? Just to get your way?”
“If that’s what’s best for you.”
“And what exactly am I supposed to do with that, Eddie?” You questions, shaking your head at his audaciousness.
“Whatever you need to. Just don’t expect me to stand by and watch you waste your fucking life here. I fucking can’t.”
“Okay.” You say, trying to control your chin from wobbling with tears “I guess that’s it then.”
“Yeah.” Eddie shrugs coldly “Guess so.”
Because as much as it fucking pained him, he knew this was what he had to do. For years he thought that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for you. Turns out, he was wrong. There was one thing he wouldn’t do and this was it. As much as he hated the idea of not having you, there was one thing he hated more- and that was the idea of clipping your wings and taking away a life you could have. A better one. Even if he wasn’t in it.
────────
1988
He stood on your front porch, knocking at your door at an ungodly hour. He didn’t even know what time it was. Just that it was late and that all the lights in your complex were off. He knew that it wasn’t an acceptable time to do this but he had so much on his heart and mind that he couldn’t wait a second longer without seeing you. Face-to-face.
He knew you were probably sleeping. He knew that he was probably waking you up. He knew that you probably didn’t even want to see him but he needed to- right now. Before he could pussy out and run away again like he always did instead of facing his feelings once and for all. There was so much he left unsaid and he couldn’t fucking do it anymore.
Your porch light flicks on, bathing him in its yellow glow before he saw the blinds on the front window pop open just a bit. Within seconds, your front door flung open- revealing the sight of you wearing one of his old t-shirts that he must have left there and forgot about. His stomach fills with nerves as soon as he sees you.
“Eddie?” You call out, rubbing at your tired eyes “What are you doing here? Wh-“ But the words were caught in your throat as soon as you got a good look at him. He was a mess. His eyes were red-rimmed and puffy- his face tear-stained as he was still dressed in the same thing he was wearing when he had practically ran out of Steve’s house. He looked like he hadn’t even gone home.
“I’m in.”
You look at him, trying to make sense of what he was saying.
“What?”
“I am a fucking asshole.” He starts “And I will spend the rest of my life knowing that you and our baby deserve so much better. I don’t come from money like Harrington does and I probably won’t be able to afford to give you everything you’ll ever want but I fucking love you and I’ll always fucking love you even when shit fucking gets hard like it is right now. But you know that just as much as I do because we’ve always been this way. We figure it out together like we always do. I know I fucking said that I don’t want kids but now I know that if I’m going to have kids then I want it to be with you because I can’t imagine raising a fucking psychotic little hellion with anyone else but you. Sweetheart, you’ve got to be crazy to want to have my fucking kid but if that’s what you want to do then let’s fucking do it, okay? Together. You asked me if I was in or out. Well, I’m in. I’m all fucking in.”
Eddie looked at you. Really looked at you. His best friend, his favorite person, his first love- and now, the mother of his child.
Fuck, he thought. How fucking crazy. The mother of his child…
“And….this is what you want?” You ask, trying to keep your voice firm and even “You’re sure?”
“Sweetheart, I’ve never been more sure about anything.” Eddie says “I can’t promise that I’ll be perfect. I can’t promise that I’m not going to fuck up sometimes and that I’m always going to know what to do at all the right times. But, I mean, it’s me….I feel like fucking neither of us expects that. But what I do know is that you’re my favorite person in the world and I want to be right next to you when you do this. I’d be fucking stupid not to. I’m fucking scared but I couldn’t imagine leaving you. I…I don’t want to. I want to stay right here next to you. I mean, if you’ll have me…”
“You won’t run away?” You ask, looking in his eyes as you say it.
“No.” He shakes his head “I’m not going to run away.”
You stare at him for a beat before turning to retreat inside of the house, leaving him there on the porch.
“What are you-“
But you don’t slam the door on him. Instead, you return momentarily with something in your hands before you hold it out for him to take.
“It’s a sonogram.” You state, handing it over to him as he stares down at it- trying to make sense of what he was looking at “It’s from my first ultrasound. It’s the baby.”
And the words struck him like lightening.
The baby.
His baby.
“Wait…” He says, feeling elated and lightheaded at all the same time “This is…”
“I know it doesn’t look like much but they’re growing. The doctor said that they’re about the size of a kidney bean right now.”
“This tiny little thing is inside of you?” Eddie mutters, trying to make sense of it all “Right now?”
“Yeah.” You nod “I can’t believe it either but yeah. They’re in there.”
Eddie watches as you move your hand to your tummy as you rub it. The sight of it was enough to melt his heart. He had a baby in there.
“Holy fuck.” He lets out a laugh “We’re having a baby….”
“Yeah,” You whisper, looking up at him with a small smile “We’re having a baby.”
“We’re really doing this.” He states.
“We’re really doing this.” You confirm, causing Eddie to laugh again.
“You’re fucking crazy, you know that?” He says, instinctively reaching his hand out to rest against your belly. A belly that housed a tiny little bean sized thing that was part of him- part of you.
“Yeah, I am.” You agree, placing your hand over his “But you love me.”
And Eddie doesn’t skip a beat. He didn’t have to. Not when he was looking at you in a whole new light. The woman who was giving him something he never knew he needed- love, a sense of hope, a purpose. A baby.
And for the first time, he said it in the way where he had meant it more than just a sense of romance. He meant it in the sense that was more than physical and emotional attraction. He meant it in a way that you felt like home. A home where he finally belonged. A home that he never wanted to leave.
“Yeah. I do.” He agrees, looking at you with so much adoration. As if you held the world. Because, in a way, you did. You were now holding his entire world and he could never feel more grateful.
warnings: fluff, super cute chapter, mention of a sad flashback, also there was a time jump!!!
word count: 2k
a/n: guys idk why these chapters keep coming out so short
June arrived quietly, like it had been waiting its turn. Warm air drifted through the open bedroom window. Soft sunlight spilled across the sheets.
“Okay, careful—don’t spill it!” you whispered. A small giggle followed, then footsteps.
The soft shuffle of little hands trying very hard to be helpful. Steve stirred slowly, one arm already reaching for you before was fully conscious.
His eyes opened, you were standing beside the bed. Hair slightly messy, smiling like you were trying not to wake him too fast. Blaire, very seriously focused, was holding a tray almost entirely too big for her.
“Happy birthday,” you whispered immediately. You leaned down and kissed him, “my beautiful boy,” you said again between another kiss. Steve blinked up at you like he was still halfway asleep, “…What time is it?”
“Birthday time.” Blaire said cheerily. That earned a small, confused laugh from him. Blaire carefully climbed onto the edge of the bed, balancing the tray with absolute determination.
“I helped,” she announced proudly. Steve’s attention immediately snapped to her, “Oh yeah?”
She nodded very seriously, “I scrambled the eggs.” You coughed to hide a laugh. Steve sat up slightly, instantly more awake now, reaching out to steady the tray before it tipped.
Pancakes, eggs, bacon, coffee. The kind of breakfast that clearly involved love and effort. Steve stared at it for a second, then looked at both of you, “…You did all this?” You shrugged lightly, “Mostly her.” Blaire straightened, “I supervised.” Steve laughed then reached out, pulling her gently closer so she could sit beside him.
“Best supervisor I’ve ever had.” you said tickling her. She beamed instantly. You climbed onto the bed too, settling beside them.
Steve looked between the two of you. Still a little stunned, like he wasn’t used to being the center of something like this. You leaned in immediately, kissing him again, “I love you,” you whispered softly. Another kiss, “Happy birthday.”
Steve smiled into it this time. He caught your wrist gently, holding you there just a second longer, “Okay,” he murmured. “I get it. It’s my birthday.”
You grinned, “I’m just happy.” Blaire reached for a piece of bacon already. Steve shook his head fondly, still smiling at both of you like he couldn’t help it.
Steve decided on a family lake day for his birthday. The lake is busy by the time you arrive.
Kids running through the grass. Families setting up blankets. The smell of sunscreen and charcoal grills drifting through the warm air.
Blaire is out of the car before Steve can even finish parking, “Daddy, hurry!”
Steve laughs immediately, “I’m coming!”
“C’mon, hurry!”
“I’m walking.”
“You’re walking slow.”
You snort beside him. Steve points at his daughter, “See? This is the respect I get on my birthday.”
Blaire doesn’t even look back, already halfway toward the water. You laugh as Steve throws an arm around your shoulders, “She’s your kid.”
“I know.”
“Just like you.” you smirk.
Steve groans, “I know.” but he’s smiling.
The next couple of hours pass easily. The kind of day that doesn’t feel important while it’s happening. Blaire spends most of her time collecting things. Rocks, shells, pieces of driftwood. Anything she decides is treasure. Which means you spend most of your time crouched beside her examining every discovery.
At one point, after swimming, Blaire settles beside you on the blanket, completely exhausted. You automatically start working through the tangles in her hair.
Talking sleepily while she tells you another story. Steve looks up from where he’s digging through the cooler and stops.
He began watching, watching the way Blaire leans against you. The way you patiently listen to every word. The way both of you look completely comfortable together. Something warm settles in his chest.
A year ago none of this existed, and now he can’t imagine life without it.
Later, after lunch, Steve finally gets about ten minutes to himself. Or so he thinks.
He settles into a chair, closed his eyes, and lets the sun warm his face.
“Daddy.” His eyes open immediately. You start laughing before Blaire even finishes speaking.
Steve points accusingly.
“Bug…I just sat down.”
Blaire grins, “Come with me.”
“Where?”
“I need help.”
Steve sighs dramatically, “You always need help.”
“Because you’re my daddy.” And just like that, he’s standing up. Again. Following her. Without a single complaint.
By late afternoon, the sun hangs lower in the sky. Everyone is tired, happy, sun-kissed, and ready to head home.
Before you leave, someone offers to take a picture. A woman walking past notices the three of you trying to squeeze into the frame of a disposable camera.
“You want me to get one?” Steve immediately starts to refuse.
Then Blaire shouts, “YES.”
So that settles that. The woman takes the camera. You move beside Steve, Blaire wedges herself between the two of you. Exactly where she wants to be. Steve’s arm automatically finds your waist, Blaire grabs his hand.
The camera clicks, one picture. Steve doesn’t know it yet but months from now, it’ll become his favorite photo.
When he looks at it, all he’ll see is the exact moment he realized, this is his family.
For Steve Harrington, there isn’t a better birthday gift than that.
By the time you got home from the lake, everyone was exhausted. The good kind of exhausted.
Blaire was already rubbing at her eyes before you even made it through the front door.
Steve noticed immediately, “Somebody’s getting tired.”
“No,” she said instantly then yawned.
You laughed, Steve laughed harder, “Okay, kid.”
“I’m not tired.”
“Sure.”
Blaire narrowed her eyes and Steve kissed the top of her head, “Come on bug.”
You reached out to take Blaire from Steve’s arms, “Actually, birthday boy.”
Steve looked over, “What?”
“Go shower.”
His brows lifted, “I can shower later.”
“Nope.”
“Baby—”
“You’re covered in sunscreen.”
“That’s part of the new 31 year old smell.” he joked.
“You smell like lake water.”
Steve opened his mouth, “…Okay, well so do you..”
“Go.” you smiled sweetly.
The second Steve disappeared upstairs, Blaire practically exploded.
“NOW?”
You laughed, “Not yet.”
“Now?”
“Not yet.”
“Now?”
“Blaire.”
She groaned dramatically, the exact same way Steve did.
Bath time happened, pajamas were put on, hair was brushed through. Blaire somehow you managed to keep the surprise hidden.
Then you took a quick shower yourself, changed clothes, grabbed the gifts, and headed downstairs.
Steve was already sitting on the couch when you came down, significantly more relaxed than he had all day.
He looked up then immediately frowned. You and Blaire were standing there, together.
Holding gifts.
“Oh no.”
You laughed, “What?” Blaire started giggling.
Blaire practically shoved the scrapbook into his hands, “Open this one first!”
Steve laughed, “Wait—.”
“Open it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” he settled back against the couch.
Opening the cover, immediately going quiet. The first page, a picture of him and Blaire. The second, a picture of all three of you. The third, movie stubs, photos, little notes. An entire year captured.
Steve smiled, then laughed. Flipping pages slower and slower as he went. At one point he landed on a candid picture of you asleep against his shoulder, “Baby.”
You smiled, “What?”
“You used this one?”
“It was cute.”
“I looked exhausted.”
“You were cute and exhausted.” Steve shook his head.
Still smiling and still turning pages. Eventually he reached the end.
The last page, blank. The pages still waiting to be filled.
Steve stared at it for a second. “Thank you.” his voice had gone softer.
You smiled, Blaire immediately climbed into his lap, “You like it?” Steve looked down at her, kissed her forehead, “I love it.”
You exchanged a glance with Blaire, then reached for the second gift.
A small box. Steve noticed immediately, “Wait.” You handed it to him. “There’s more?” he asked.
“Maybe.”
“Baby.”
“Open it.” Steve looked between you and the box. He slowly opened it.
A watch. Simple and beautiful. Steve carefully lifted it from the box, “You didn’t—”
“Keep looking.”
His brows furrowed then he turned it over. An engraving.
Love, Your Girls.
Silence.
Steve stared at the words, he read them again. Then again. His throat worked once before he finally looked up.
Straight at you, completely wrecked, “You did this for me, baby?” The question came out so quietly it almost broke your heart.
You smiled immediately, “Of course, Stevie.”
For a second, Steve just looked at you. He wasn’t sure he deserved something this thoughtful.
Blaire broke the moment first, “Put it on!”
Steve laughed through whatever emotion had just lodged itself in his chest, “Okay okay!” He immediately slipped it onto his wrist.
The watch settled perfectly, Steve stared at it for a second then at both of you, “Best birthday ever.”
The words slipped out before he could stop them and judging by the way his voice cracked slightly at the end he meant every single one.
The house had slowly emptied itself of noise. Wrapping paper had been folded and tossed.
The last of Blaire’s excitement had finally worn itself out. Steve had carried her upstairs not long ago, her body warm and heavy with sleep against his shoulder.
She’d barely made it through brushing her teeth. Now she was gone again, tucked into bed, one arm curled around her stuffed animal, already lost to sleep.
You stood in the hallway with Steve for a second after the door closed. Steve exhaled softly, “She’s out.”
You smiled faintly, “Barely made it.”
“She had a long day.” You nodded.
Steve tilted his head slightly, “You good?”
“Yeah.”
Eventually, you both drifted back downstairs together. The living room looked different now.
The aftermath of a full day. Steve started picking things up automatically. The scrapbook still resting carefully on the coffee table like it belonged there.
You wandered into the kitchen to grab a glass of water and that was when Steve noticed. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked.
You were standing there barefoot, hair slightly messy from the day, wearing one of his old shirts. It hung loosely off your shoulder like it had always been yours.
Steve leaned against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, “Is that my shirt?”
You glanced down dramatically then back up at him. A small smile tugging at your lips, “Maybe.”
Steve huffed a quiet laugh, “Pretty sure I know my own shirts.”
You turned toward him now, holding the glass of water, “Oh yeah?”
He nodded slowly, smirking l slightly, “That one’s definitely mine.”
You walked closer, “Prove it.”
Steve raised a brow, “Oh, I can prove it.”
You stopped just in front of him, waiting. He stepped forward immediately. One hand catching lightly at your waist pulling you in.
His voice dropped slightly, “It looks better on you than it ever did on me.”
You laughed softly, “Flatterer.”
“I’m being honest.” he leaned in pressing a quick kiss to your cheek.
He paused just for a second. His hand still at your waist, his eyes still on you.
A year ago, this moment didn’t exist. A year ago, he wasn’t pulling you into his kitchen like this. A year ago, there was tension he never talked about.
Arguments behind closed doors. A birthday spent pretending things were fine while everything quietly wasn’t.
Claire’s voice in his memory, a sharp conversation he didn’t want to think about. The way he’d smiled for Blaire anyway, because he always did. He had hidden everything else behind it. The memory hit and left just as fast.
Steve blinked once then looked down at you. Still holding you, still here. Something softened in his face. A realization he didn’t say out loud.
Instead, he just pulled you a little closer. Resting his forehead briefly against yours, “I love you.”
You leaned in without question, “I love you too Stevie, happy birthday.”
For a moment, the kitchen stayed still around you. The scary reality of a life he almost didn’t get to have like this.
description: following the demobat attack, eddie's in a coma three hours away fighting for his life. while the rest of the party tries their best to move forward, you find yourself stuck somewhere between hope and grief, balancing your own heartbreak while trying to keep dustin from completely falling apart.
pairing: eddie x you (fem!reader)
tags: post season 4, coma au, reader insert, eddie's gf! reader, hurt/comfort, heavy angst, emotional hurt/comfort, protective reader, season 5 vibe dustin, make sure you have tissues on standby, season 5 vibe steve, everyone in this group needs therapy, dustin smokes a cigarette and immediately regrets it, steve getting clocked, probably one of the most dramatic, emotions-focused fic i have ever written tbh
TW: grief themes, emotion heavy
WC: 6.1k
A/N: so i saw a tiktok edit to 'I Told You Things' by Gracie Abrams that immediately gave me inspo to write this fic. it's very reader and oc heavy, but i promise it's worth it. (definitely tear-jerking fs)
reblogs are always appreciated friends <33
I didn’t run away this time…right?
“Hey…” Nancy’s voice shifts you back into the present. She’s standing at the foot of your bed, soda bottle in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other. You lift your jaw just enough to acknowledge her presence, eyes quickly scanning the scene.
“Your mom said you hadn’t been out much, so I wanted to bring your favorite. Chicken sandwich, extra pickles, no tomato, right? And a Coke, of course.”
You turn your head away, nodding once. “Yeah, that’s great. Thanks, Nance.”
She half-smiles, placing the contents onto your crowded nightstand and slowly approaching you, kneeling on the floor. “We all miss you, y’know? I know school starting tomorrow may be hard, but I think you should try to go.”
She means well; you can tell that much. Nancy would never try to make you do something out of her own selfish desires. And, to a point, she is right. You have a couple more months of school left; then you never have to step foot in Hawkins High ever again.
If only it were that simple, though.
Because now, not only do you have to attend school with the same assholes who make your life a living hell, you now have to do it alone. Sure, you have the party, but it’s not the same.
Nobody's going to walk down the hallways holding your hand, obnoxiously loud and completely unashamed of it. Nobody's going to lean against your locker and make stupid comments just to get a smile out of you. Nobody's going to slip notes into your textbooks or steal fries off your lunch tray while insisting he was "saving you from yourself."
Nobody's going to be there.
The realization still hits you at random. Like a punch. Like a car crash. Like waking up every morning and having to remember all over again.
Nancy watches your face carefully; she's always been good at reading people.
"You don't have to stay all day," she says softly. "Just... maybe try first period. See how it feels."
You let out a dry laugh. "See how it feels?"
Nancy's shoulders sink slightly. "I didn't mean—"
"I know what you meant." Your eyes stay fixed on the wall. "It's just funny."
The word funny comes out sounding anything but. "You know what's gonna happen tomorrow?"
Nancy doesn't answer.
"People are gonna stare."
Your throat tightens.
"They're gonna whisper."
You look down at your hands.
"And they're gonna talk about him."
The room falls silent, because you both know exactly who him is. Not Eddie the person. Not Eddie who spent three hours teaching Dustin how to play guitar. Not Eddie who drove halfway across Indiana because you casually mentioned wanting to see a meteor shower.
No.
They're going to talk about Eddie Munson. The freak. The murderer. The devil worshipper. The missing suspect. The monster. The version of him Hawkins created because the truth was too complicated.
Nancy looks away first. You hate that; you hate when people do that. When they can't even argue because they know you're right.
"He isn't dead." The words leave your mouth before you can stop them.
Nancy freezes. Because nobody talks about it, not really. The Party knows. Steve knows. Robin knows. Nancy knows. Your parents know because they had to. And that's it.
The secret sits between all of you like a loaded gun. Two states away. In a hospital room. Machines breathing and blinking and keeping time. Eddie Munson: twenty feet from life, twenty feet from death. And nobody knows which direction he's moving.
"He isn't dead," you repeat quietly.
Nancy's eyes soften. "I know."
"No, you don't." The words come out sharper than intended. You immediately see the hurt flash across her face.
But you're too tired to apologize. Too angry. Too exhausted. Too everything.
"Everyone keeps acting like he's gone."
"Nobody thinks that."
"You do."
Nancy shakes her head. "I don't."
"You do." Your voice cracks. The first crack all day, the first sign that maybe the anger isn't holding as well as you thought. "Because every time someone talks about him, they use the past tense."
Nancy goes silent.
"'He was funny.'" Your eyes burn.
"'He was brave.'" Your fingers curl into the blanket.
You stare at the ceiling while Nancy stares at the floor. And neither of you says anything for a long moment.
Finally, she speaks first, "Have you talked to Dustin?"
You immediately scoff. "No."
"Why not?"
"Because he doesn't want to talk."
Nancy gives you a look. "Dustin always wants to talk."
You shake your head. "Not anymore."
And that's the worst part, because Dustin Henderson used to talk constantly. Now every conversation feels like pulling teeth.
Every answer is one word. Every smile is fake. Every joke sounds rehearsed. The kid who used to light up every room he walked into now looks permanently pissed off at the world. You understand why, you really do. Because every morning you wake up angry too.
Angry at Vecna. Angry at Hawkins. Angry at the government. Angry at every stupid machine keeping Eddie alive while refusing to wake him up.
Some days you're even angry at him. For being brave. For being stupid. For staying behind. For making the choice he made. But it wouldn’t be Eddie without some stupid decisions, right?
A month into the school year, you'd developed a routine. Not because things had gotten easier, just because people could get used to almost anything, even misery.
You woke up. You got dressed. You ignored your reflection. You went to school. You came home. You stared at the ceiling until sleep finally dragged you under, then you did it all again.
The hallways of Hawkins High felt different now. People had moved on from the "earthquake", from the deaths. From the nightmares...at least on the surface.
But grief had settled into the cracks of everything. You saw it every time you looked at Dustin. At first, everyone had hovered around him. Mike. Lucas. Will. His mom. You.
The entire Party treating him like he might shatter if somebody breathed too hard. The problem was that Dustin Henderson hated being treated like glass. So eventually everyone stopped, everyone except you.
Not because you thought he was fragile, but because you knew exactly how much energy it took to pretend you weren't. You saw it in the way he walked through the halls now: head down, shoulders tense, jaw constantly clenched.
The bright-eyed kid who used to wave his arms around while talking now kept his hands shoved into his pockets. The kid who used to laugh loud enough to get yelled at by teachers now barely spoke in class. And whenever somebody mentioned Eddie, you saw it.
The split-second flinch to the immediate anger. The way he looked like he wanted to swing at somebody. So you stayed close.
Not hovering, just nearby, close enough to step in when necessary. Which, unfortunately, was becoming a full-time job.
"Dude, seriously, stop." You grabbed the back of Dustin's jacket as he attempted to launch himself across the cafeteria.
"LET GO OF ME."
"No."
"He's literally asking for it."
Across the room, Jason Carver's former teammates sat laughing at a table. One of them made a dramatic devil-horn gesture when he noticed Dustin looking. The others laughed. Dustin immediately tried to commit murder, again.
You hauled him backward. "Dustin."
"He called Eddie a freak."
"He always calls Eddie a freak."
"Exactly."
"Dustin."
"Let me hit him."
"No."
"One punch."
"No."
"Half a punch."
You sighed. "No such thing."
He groaned loudly as you dragged him toward the exit doors. "You're worse than Steve."
"Thank you."
"That wasn't a compliment."
"It is today."
The second the cafeteria doors shut behind you, Dustin yanked his arm free. "Why do you keep stopping me?"
You stared at him. "Seriously?"
"Yeah." His face was red, eyes bright with anger. "Nobody does anything."
"Dustin—"
"They say whatever they want." His voice cracked. "They get to talk about him like he's some psychopath and everybody just lets them."
The fight immediately left your body, because there it was: the real reason. Not anger, pain.
You leaned back against the wall. "He thinks he knows who Eddie was. But we know the real him, and that's what matters"
Dustin looked away. "It doesn't matter."
"It does."
"No." His laugh sounded bitter. "It really doesn't."
The hallway fell quiet. Students passed by, lockers slammed, a teacher yelled somewhere in the distance. But neither of you moved.
Finally, Dustin muttered, "I should've been quicker."
Your heart dropped. "Dustin."
"I should've."
"You know that's not true."
"How?" His voice rose immediately. "How do you know?"
You pushed away from the wall. "Because if you had gone back, you'd be dead too."
"Maybe."
"No."
"DON'T."
Several students turned to look. Dustin lowered his voice immediately, but somehow it sounded even worse. "Don't tell me what would've happened."
You swallowed. Because this conversation? Is one that kept coming back, the one neither of you ever won.
"He was alone."
"Dustin."
"He was alone, and I was too injured to get there quicker."
Your throat tightened, because you'd thought the same thing. A thousand times. Ten thousand. Every night. Every morning. Every second in between. But you couldn't let him live there, not forever.
"You know what would've happened if you went back? If you tried to step in?"
Dustin crossed his arms. "What?"
"Eddie would've thrown you through a wall and made you leave."
His mouth twitched, just barely. The smallest crack in the anger.
"He would've. You know he would've"
Dustin rolled his eyes. "Probably."
"Definitely."
"He would've called me a little shit."
"Absolutely."
The corner of his mouth lifted, then immediately fell again. But it was something. You'd learned to count those moments.
The knock came a little after nine. You almost didn't hear it.
The cigarette balanced lazily between your fingers as you sat on the front porch steps, wrapped in one of Eddie’s old hoodies despite the lingering warmth of September. The neighborhood was quiet. Crickets sang somewhere in the distance, and a dog barked a few houses over.
For the first time all day, your head had finally gone quiet. Then came the knock. Not on the front door, but on the porch railing. You turned your head and immediately sat up.
"Dustin?"
His left eye was swelling. There was blood on his lip. More smeared across the collar of his shirt. One knuckle looked completely split open.
"Dustin, what the hell happened?"
He shrugged the world's most Dustin Henderson shrug. "Got into a fight."
You stared. "A fight."
"Yeah."
"Dustin."
"What?"
"Dustin."
His eyes rolled. "Oh my God, please stop saying my name like that."
You stood up. "What happened?"
"Some guy."
"What guy?"
"Some asshole."
"What asshole?"
"The usual kind."
You sighed. Of course. Of course it was that. You already knew before he even said it. The bruises. The expression. The way he was trying way too hard to act normal. Somebody had said something about Eddie. Again.
You moved aside and jerked your head toward the porch steps. "Sit."
"I'm fine."
"Dustin."
"Okay, Jesus."
He sat. You disappeared inside long enough to grab a first aid kit from the bathroom before returning. The second you sat down beside him, he groaned.
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
"You aren't my mom."
"Thank God for that."
He snorted.
You grabbed his chin before he could protest and turned his face toward the porch light. The split lip looked nasty. Nothing broken, probably. Hopefully.
"You should see the other guy."
"Did you win?"
A small grin appeared. "Barely."
"Proud of you."
"Thank you."
"You shouldn't have done it."
"I know."
You dabbed antiseptic against his lip, and he hissed. "Ow."
"Good."
"You're mean."
"So I've been told."
The conversation faded after that. You finished patching up his knuckles while he stared out into the darkness beyond your yard.
Eventually he spoke.
"I miss him." The words came so quietly you almost missed them.
"I know."
Dustin swallowed; you could see the tension building in his jaw. The way he was trying to keep himself together. The way he'd been trying for months.
"He would've loved this."
You glanced over. "What?"
"The fight." A watery laugh escaped him. "He would've thought it was hilarious."
You smiled despite yourself. "He would've bought you ice cream afterward."
"Exactly."
"And told everyone you won way harder than you actually did."
Dustin nodded. "Exactly."
"I hope he wakes up," he whispers.
You looked down at the bandage wrapped around his hand. "So do I."
"No." His voice cracked. "I really hope he wakes up."
And there it was, the thing neither of you ever said out loud. Because hoping meant acknowledging the possibility that he might not.
The possibility sat in the corner of every room. Every conversation. Every hospital update. Every phone call. Nobody wanted to look at it, but it was always there.
Dustin wiped aggressively at his eyes, angry at the tears before they even fell.
"I just..." His shoulders shook. "I just need him to wake up."
Your chest tightened. "Dustin."
"He deserves to." The tears came anyway.
"I know."
"He deserves to see Wayne again."
"I know."
"He deserves to play another show."
"I know."
"He deserves—" His voice broke completely; the rest of the sentence never came out.
You wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer immediately. No hesitation, no questions. Because some hurts couldn't be fixed, only carried. And for a few minutes, Dustin cried.
Hard enough to let some of it out, enough to breathe again. Eventually he leaned back, red-eyed and embarrassed. You pretended not to notice, a kindness the both of you appreciated. Then his gaze landed on the cigarette still burning between your fingers.
"Oh."
"No."
"What?"
"No."
His eyes narrowed. "You know what I'm gonna ask."
"Absolutely not."
"Come on."
"No."
"One hit."
"Dustin."
"One."
"No."
"I'm basically an adult."
"You are fifteen."
"Close enough."
You laughed. "Not even remotely."
He groaned dramatically. "Please."
You stared at him, then at the bruises, then at the exhausted expression. Then back at him.
"This is a horrible idea."
"Probably."
"A terrible one."
"Definitely."
"You better not tell anybody."
His face lit up as you handed it over, immediately regretting every life decision that had led you here. Dustin took the cigarette, trying very hard to look cool. Trying even harder to look experienced. Then he inhaled.
A second later, he nearly died. The coughing started instantly, while you doubled over laughing.
"Oh, my God."
"SHUT UP."
He coughed harder. "THAT'S DISGUSTING."
"You're such an idiot."
"Why do people do that voluntarily?"
"Excellent question."
Dustin handed the cigarette back as if it had personally betrayed him. You were still laughing when the phone rang, freezing you both. You exchanged a look, then stood.
"Probably my mom."
"Probably."
The phone continued ringing. You stepped inside, crossed the living room, and picked up the receiver. "Hello?"
Static. Then, "Get to the Wheelers."
You blinked. "Steve?"
"Yep."
"Why?"
"Mandatory meeting."
"What happened?"
"Can't say."
"Steve."
"Can't say."
"Steve."
"Nope."
"What kind of mandatory meeting?"
Steve sighed. "The kind where everyone needs to be here."
“Fine.”
The second you walked into the Wheeler basement, you knew something was wrong. Not apocalypse wrong, not Upside Down wrong, just...wrong.
Everyone was there. Mike sat on the couch, arms crossed tightly over his chest. Will was beside him, staring holes into the carpet. Lucas and Max occupied the recliner, knees bouncing anxiously. Robin was pacing. Nancy stood with her arms folded. And Steve—
Steve looked like he was about to deliver the world's worst speech. The second Dustin entered behind you, the room went quiet. A sinking feeling settled into your stomach.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
Nobody answered, which was answer enough. Dustin immediately turned around. "Nope."
"Dustin—"
"Nope."
"Dude, just sit down."
"Nope."
Steve stepped forward. "Dustin."
"What?"
"Sit."
Dustin looked at the room, then at you, then back at the room. His face twisted immediately. "Oh, my God."
"Dustin—"
"You guys are serious?"
You rubbed a hand down your face. "Steve."
"We just want to talk."
The words sounded rehearsed, which meant they probably were.
Dustin barked out a laugh. "Oh, this is an intervention."
Robin immediately pointed at him. "Okay, don't call it that."
"It literally is."
"It isn't."
"It literally is."
"It isn't."
"It definitely is."
"Can everybody just sit down?" Nancy asked.
Against every instinct in his body, Dustin finally dropped onto the couch, and you sat beside him. Steve cleared his throat, then immediately looked uncomfortable.
"We're worried about you."
Dustin stared, blank-faced and silent as Steve continued. "You've been getting into fights."
No response.
"You're getting detention almost every week."
Nothing.
"You skipped three classes last Thursday."
Dustin finally spoke. "Four."
Steve blinked. "What?"
"It was four."
"Dustin."
"I'm just correcting you."
You could practically feel Mike's patience evaporating. "Dude, that's not the point."
Dustin turned toward him. "Then what's the point?"
Mike opened his mouth, hesitated, then realized the only way out was through. "The point is you're acting like an asshole."
The room immediately went still. You closed your eyes, because there it was, the exact wrong thing to say.
"Damn it, Mike."
"What?" Mike asked.
"Dude."
"What?"
Dustin laughed. "Oh, I'm acting like an asshole."
Mike groaned. "That's not what I meant."
"No, it is."
"Dustin."
"No, go ahead." He leaned back, crossing his arms. "Tell me how much I suck."
Nobody spoke, and the tension thickened. Lucas finally leaned forward. "Dustin, nobody thinks you suck."
"Then why am I here?"
"Because we're worried."
"About what?"
Lucas hesitated, and that hesitation said everything. Because nobody wanted to say it.
Nobody wanted to admit it. Nobody wanted to be the first person to acknowledge what everyone already knew.
You watched Dustin realize it in real time. Watched the anger drain away, and saw something else take its place. Something worse.
"You think I'm becoming him."
The room froze, and Mike immediately shook his head.
"No,” but it sounded weak.
"You think I'm becoming Eddie."
"Dustin—"
"No."
His voice rose. "You think I'm becoming some angry screw-up who gets into fights and skips class and ends up dead."
The word dead hit the room like a gunshot. Robin looked away. Nancy swallowed. Will stared at the floor. And Steve looked heartbroken. "Dustin."
But Dustin was already standing. "You know what's funny?"
Nobody answered.
"You all get to be worried." His voice shook. "You all get to sit here and talk about grief and healing and moving forward." The room fell silent. "But nobody asks me."
"I'm done."
"Dustin."
"No."
"Dustin."
"No."
And then he was gone, storming up the basement stairs. The door slammed hard enough to shake the room. You stood fast enough that your chair nearly tipped over.
"Seriously?"
Steve blinked. "What?"
"What?" The word came out sharp, months of anger suddenly finding somewhere to go. "What the hell was that?"
Steve's face immediately hardened. "We were trying to help."
"No."
You shook your head. "You were trying to fix him. And nice going, by the way. Real efficient work."
By the time you got upstairs and outside, Dustin was long gone. You knew exactly where he’d be hiding, but you knew better than to provoke him when he was feeling this way. So, you leaned against the Wheelers’ house and sparked another cigarette.
You remembered how Eddie would always read you like a book; the mere sight of you with a cigarette tucked behind your lips always earned a “What’s stressing you out, sweetheart?” The thought of him tucking your hair behind your ear while he asked caused a teary-eyed laugh to escape you.
“You okay?” Steve asked, popping around the side of the house.
You laughed, pulling another long drag before answering, “Peachy.”
Steve shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and leaned against the siding a few feet away. The cigarette glowed softly between your fingers. The sounds of the Wheeler basement drifted faintly through the house. You already knew everybody inside was talking about Dustin.
Trying to figure out what went wrong. Trying to figure out how to fix him, like he was a broken appliance.
"You know," Steve finally said, "the intervention wasn't just for him."
You looked over. "What?"
His jaw tightened. "It was for you too."
Immediately, your expression darkened. "Excuse me?"
Steve sighed. "I knew you'd react like that."
"No, seriously." You pointed at yourself with the cigarette. "Explain."
"You've been letting him get away with everything."
You actually laughed; a short, humorless sound. "Oh, we're doing this?"
"Yeah." Steve straightened. "We are."
You stared at him, waiting.
"He's getting into fights every week."
"He misses Eddie."
"Everybody misses Eddie."
"Right, because you and him were so close."
Steve stared you down for a second, then continued.
"And every time he gets himself into trouble, you're right there covering for him."
You scoffed. "Because somebody has to."
"No." Steve shook his head. "Somebody has to be the adult."
You looked away, taking another drag, trying very hard not to lose your temper; it wasn't working.
Steve continued anyway. "He smells like cigarettes now."
Your eyes narrowed. "What?"
"You heard me."
"Steve."
"He smells like cigarettes."
Your stomach dropped, because of course he'd noticed. Everyone probably had. Dustin had only taken a couple of drags that night, but still. You knew where this was heading.
"You think I encouraged him to smoke?"
Steve gave you a look, a look that answered the question all by itself.
You barked out a laugh. "Oh, my God."
"I'm serious."
"You think I'm corrupting Dustin?"
"I think you're both spiraling."
The cigarette trembled slightly between your fingers. You hated that he wasn't entirely wrong, and you hated it even more because he was saying it.
"That's rich."
Steve's eyebrows furrowed. "What does that mean?"
You looked at him. And suddenly all the anger you'd been carrying around for months rose to the surface; raw and ugly.
"You wanna know what's rich?" Your voice dropped, dangerously calm.
"Maybe if you weren't trying so hard to play hero for Nancy..."
Steve immediately froze.
"...Eddie would've never had to."
The silence that followed felt radioactive. Steve's face went blank, then hardened fast.
"Don't."
"Oh, don't?" You laughed. "No, let's."
"Don't do that."
"Let's." You took another long drag, tilting your head back to exhale.
"I think the real reason why you're so pissed that Dustin is acting this way is that he's pushing you away. Which is funny, isn't it?"
You laughed, shaking your head. "While you were busy chasing tail and pushing him away, he found someone who actually cared about him and his interests. Kinda selfish to ask him to just fall back into your arms now, isn't it?"
His jaw clenched. "Eddie didn't have to play hero either."
The words hit you like a slap, causing your eyes to widen. "What?"
"He didn't."
Steve stepped closer. "He made a choice."
"He saved your life."
"He made a choice."
"He saved everyone's life."
"He made a stupid choice. And for what? The towns still fucked."
Something inside you snapped. The cigarette hit the grass; you flicked it away so hard it disappeared into the darkness.
"What did you just say?"
Steve immediately realized he'd gone too far. But it was already out there, already hanging between you. Already impossible to take back.
"He shouldn't have stayed."
Your chest tightened.
"He shouldn't have been there."
"Steve."
"He shouldn't have gone back."
"Steve."
"He shouldn't have—"
"He did it because you couldn't!" The words exploded out of you. Steve physically recoiled. "He did it because somebody had to."
"That's bullshit."
"No." You stepped closer. "That's the truth."
His face darkened. "No."
"Eddie picked up the slack."
"Stop."
"Somebody had to save everyone."
"STOP."
The shout echoed through the quiet neighborhood, and you both froze, breathing hard. Months of grief. Months of guilt. Months of anger. All finally spilling out.
Steve ran a hand through his hair, looking absolutely exhausted.
"You wanna know what nobody says?"
Your stomach dropped because his tone had changed. This wasn't anger anymore; this was something worse, something bitter and ugly.
"Nobody says what happens if he wakes up."
You stared, not understanding. "What?"
Steve laughed, but there wasn't anything funny in it. "If he wakes up."
The words felt wrong, like hearing someone curse in church. If. If. You couldn't breathe.
Steve looked away toward the road, toward the darkness, towards anywhere but you. "You think everything just goes back to normal?"
Your heartbeat pounded in your ears. "Steve."
"No."
"Everybody keeps talking about him waking up like it's some miracle ending."
Your hands curled into fists. "Stop talking."
"But what then?"
"Steve."
"What then?"
His eyes found yours. "And before you say it, I know he's innocent." The words came fast now, years of frustration pouring out. "But Hawkins doesn't."
You shook your head. "Stop."
"Half the town thinks he murdered people."
"Steve."
"The cops still want him."
"Steve."
"And if he comes back—"
Your stomach twisted. "Shut up."
"—if he comes back—"
"Shut up."
"—he's still gonna be the freak."
The world narrowed. "Steve."
"He's still gonna be the murderer to them."
"Stop."
"And honestly?" The next words sealed his fate. "All it's gonna do is make everyone's lives harder."
You hit him, hard. The crack echoed across the Wheeler yard. Steve stumbled backward, completely shocked, one hand immediately flying to his jaw.
You'd never hit anybody before, not like that. Not with every ounce of anger in your body behind it. But this? This felt easy.
Steve stared at you, breathing hard, and you stared right back. Eyes burning, tears finally spilling over.
Months of grief. Months of fear. Months of watching the person you loved fight for his life hundreds of miles away. Months of pretending you were okay, gone.
"Fuck you, Steve." Your voice shook. "Fuck. You."
Steve didn't say anything. Maybe because he knew he'd crossed a line. Maybe because part of him agreed. Maybe because he saw the tears. You didn't care; you just turned and walked away.
And when Steve called your name, you didn't stop.
The ride to the hospital was a long, blurry mess. After Steve’s botched attempt at an intervention, you ran home and immediatley hopped in your car. The only person you wanted to see was five hours away, and nothing was stopping you from seeing him, even if that person couldn’t talk back.
By the time you arrived, it was well after midnight. The familiar fluorescent lights of the hospital made your stomach twist the same way they always did. You knew the route by heart now. Past the front desk. Down the long hallway. Left at the nurses' station. Third door on the right.
You hated that you knew it by heart.
The room was dark except for the glow of the monitors. The steady beeping filled the silence as you stepped inside and quietly closed the door behind you. Eddie looked exactly the same as he had the last time you were here. Same pale skin. Same curls spread against the pillow. Same stillness that made your chest ache every single time you looked at him.
"Hey, handsome." Your voice sounded rough.
You dropped your bag onto the chair and moved toward him automatically, settling into your usual routine. The nurses knew you by now. They never stopped you when you came in. Half the time they left extra blankets in the room because they knew you'd end up staying all night.
You sat down beside him and reached for the brush on the nightstand. Carefully, gently, you began working through his curls.
"You're getting ridiculous, you know that?" you murmured. "I swear your hair is longer than mine now."
The corners of your mouth twitched. "You'd probably love that."
Once his curls were untangled, you reached for the small cassette player you'd practically worn out over the past few months. The tape clicked softly as it started playing. His mixtape, the one he'd made for you. The one you'd listened to so many times that every crackle and skip was memorized.
The music filled the room quietly. For a moment, you just listened. Then your eyes burned again. Because of course they did.
"You remember when you gave me this?" you asked softly. "You spent three days pretending it wasn't a gift because you were nervous."
A laugh escaped you. "You literally left it in my locker and acted shocked when I found it."
Your hand found his; cold and still.
"You were so bad at flirting." You stared down at your intertwined fingers.
"You know, I was thinking about that day at Lover's Lake. The one where you nearly tipped the boat because you were trying to impress me."
A small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. "You swore you knew what you were doing."
You laughed through your nose. "You absolutely did not know what you were doing."
The memory lingered for a second before fading. And suddenly the smile disappeared, just like it always did. Because every good memory ended the same way now. With the realization that it was a memory. Not something you'd get to experience again. At least not yet.
Your throat tightened. "Dustin's having a rough time."
Your voice dropped. "He got into another fight."
You rubbed your thumb across the back of Eddie's hand. "I think he misses you more than he knows how to admit."
The tears came before you could stop them. "He acts tough about it. Tries to be angry instead of sad."
You swallowed. "Guess he learned that from us."
Your gaze dropped to the floor. The words started spilling out before you could stop them, like they always did when it was just the two of you, him awake or not.
"Everybody's falling apart, Eds."
Your voice cracked.
"Mike and Lucas keep snapping at each other. Robin's pretending she's okay. Nancy barely sleeps. Wayne calls every week asking if there's any change and I never know what to tell him."
Your shoulders slumped. "And Dustin..." You shook your head. "Dustin's breaking my heart."
The room remained silent, only the music answered. Only the machines. Only the steady reminder that he was still here. Still breathing. Still fighting.
You wiped angrily at your eyes. "I'm trying."
Another tear slipped down your cheek. "I'm really trying."
"I keep telling myself if I can just hold everybody together a little longer, you'll wake up, and everything will be okay."
You laughed. The sound was pathetic. "I know that's stupid."
Your eyes closed. "Some days I don't even feel like me anymore."
The tears came harder now. Months of grief finally finding somewhere to go.
"I punched Steve." A watery laugh escaped you. "There. Thought you'd appreciate that."
You sniffled. "He said some really awful stuff."
Your voice trembled. "So I punched him."
Another laugh, another sob. "Honestly, you'd probably be proud."
You covered your face. The ugly crying started then, the kind nobody ever talks about. The kind that leaves your chest aching, your nose running, and your entire body shaking. You stared down at the floor. At your shoes. At anything except him. Because looking at him hurt too much.
"I miss you." The words came out broken. "I miss you so much."
You squeezed your eyes shut. The tears wouldn't stop. "I need you."
Your shoulders shook. "Please wake up."
Nothing. Just silence. Just the tape playing softly. Just another night. Just another conversation that would never be answered. You dropped your head, staring at the floor. Crying too hard to even wipe your face anymore.
Then, a rasp. Tiny, barely audible. Your brow furrowed, and you froze. The room suddenly felt too quiet. Another sound, a rough inhale.
And then, "Hey..."
Your head snapped upward and every muscle in your body locked. For one horrible second, you thought you imagined it. Thought exhaustion had finally gotten to you. But then you saw it. His eyes. Open. Heavy. Groggy. Confused. But open.
Your breath caught violently in your throat. Neither of you moved. Neither of you breathed. Eddie blinked slowly. His gaze wandered around the room before finally settling on you. Even exhausted. Even weak. Even after everything, he recognized you immediately.
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Hey, pretty girl."
A sob escaped you; fresh tears immediately spilled down your face.
Eddie frowned weakly, or at least attempted to. His voice came out rough and scratchy from disuse.
"No crying."
You laughed and cried at the same time, completely unable to stop either. His eyes fluttered slightly, still fighting to stay open.
But the smile remained. "No crying, sweetheart."
The next hour felt less like reality, and more like some strange dream you were terrified of waking up from. You cried, a lot. Eddie was awake for maybe thirty seconds before you burst into tears all over again, which earned you a weak, sleepy laugh and a very groggy, "Jesus Christ, sweetheart."
Then you cried harder. Then a nurse came running in because your hysterical sobbing had apparently convinced half the floor that somebody was dying. Then doctors appeared. Then more nurses. Then you got shoved into the hallway while they checked everything.
And the entire time, Eddie never took his eyes off you, like he was afraid if he blinked you'd disappear. The second a doctor finally confirmed that yes, Eddie was awake, yes, he was responding appropriately, and yes, this wasn't some bizarre fluke, your hands immediately found the nearest phone.
The first call was Wayne. You barely got through the words. "He's awake."
The line went silent, then you heard Wayne start crying.
The second call was Dustin. You didn't even bother with hello. "Get in the car."
"What?"
"Get in the car."
"Why?"
"Dustin."
A pause. Then, "...why are you crying?"
You laughed, the first genuine laugh you'd had in months. "Just get in the damn car."
Twenty minutes later, every person you knew seemed to be squeezing into a hospital room designed for about three people.
Robin was crying. Nancy was crying. Wayne was definitely crying. Lucas looked like he was trying not to cry. Mike had completely given up trying not to cry. Will was standing quietly in the corner looking like he might pass out from relief.
And Dustin? Dustin hadn't left Eddie's side once. Not for a second. Not even when nurses politely suggested giving the patient some room, especially not then. You stood near the back of the room watching as Dustin practically sat on the edge of the hospital bed.
"You're an asshole."
Eddie blinked slowly. "What?"
"You're an asshole."
A weak smile pulled at Eddie's lips. "Good morning to you too."
Dustin's face immediately crumpled. "You suck."
"Dustin—"
"You suck."
Eddie's expression softened immediately, months of missed conversations suddenly sitting between them. "I know."
Dustin looked away. His eyes were already watering again. "You weren't supposed to do that."
The room went silent. Nobody interrupted, and nobody moved. Because this wasn't for them; it never was.
Eddie swallowed. "You okay, Henderson?"
Dustin laughed, A broken sound. "No."
Eddie nodded slowly. "Yeah."
Then Dustin did something that would've mortified him under normal circumstances. He hugged him, immediately and without warning. Without caring who saw, practically throwing himself against Eddie's side. You quietly slipped from the room before anyone noticed. Or at least before anyone besides Steve noticed.
The hospital coffee tasted exactly how hospital coffee always tasted. Like disappointment. You stood beside the vending machine, staring out the window while the paper cup warmed your hands.
The sunrise was beginning to creep over the horizon. Everything felt strange. Good, but strange. You still hadn't quite convinced yourself this was real. Footsteps approached; you didn't need to look up to know whose they belonged to.
"Hey, Harrington."
"Hey." Steve stopped beside you. "You hit really hard."
You barked out a laugh, and Steve rubbed his jaw dramatically. "I'm serious."
"Oh my God."
"I think you rearranged my face."
"I barely hit you."
Steve stared. "Nancy literally begged to take me to the hospital. Or the dentist."
You snorted into your coffee. "That's embarrassing."
"It is."
A small smile appeared on his face, the first you'd seen in a while. Then it disappeared.
"Hey."
You looked over; Steve shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'm sorry. For what I said."
The exhaustion in his voice sounded genuine. "I shouldn't have said it."
You stared down into your coffee.
"No." You swallowed. "You shouldn't have."
Steve nodded. "For the record."
You glanced over as Steve pointed toward the room. "If Munson finds out you broke my face, I'm telling him it was self-defense."
You laughed despite yourself. "You literally outweigh me by fifty pounds."
"And?"
"I'll hit you again."
“I’m sure you would.
Eventually the two of you made your way back down the hallway. The closer you got to the room, the louder the voices became. Robin. Dustin. Wayne. Mike. Everybody talking over each other, just like old times.
The second you stepped inside, Eddie's attention immediately snapped toward the door. Still pale. Still exhausted. Still looking like he'd been through hell. But awake.
A smile tugged at his lips when he saw you, then his eyes drifted toward Steve. His brow furrowed immediately. "Whoa."
The room quieted, and Steve froze. Eddie squinted, looking genuinely concerned. "Harrington."
Steve sighed. "No."
"What happened to your face?"
Steve pointed directly at you. "Ask your girlfriend."
A couple of weeks passed.
Not enough time to undo everything that had happened. Not enough time to heal months of fear and grief and nightmares that still woke everyone up in the middle of the night.
But enough for things to start feeling... possible again.
The doctors were cautiously optimistic. Eddie was still weaker than he'd ever admit out loud, still attending physical therapy, still complaining every single time someone reminded him to take it easy, but he was alive. Awake. Walking. Talking. Smiling.
Complaining. Which, according to Wayne, was the best sign of recovery they could've asked for.
The situation with Hawkins, however, was a little more complicated.
You'd gone straight to Hopper. He hadn't even let you finish your sentence before pinching the bridge of his nose and muttering, "Kid, I'm already working on it."
The whole story had been laid out in front of him. Owens had done what he could behind the scenes, Hopper had done the rest, and somewhere between paperwork, witness statements that would never see the light of day, and a whole lot of pulling strings that probably weren't entirely legal, the investigation into Eddie Munson quietly lost steam.
No dramatic public apology, no newspaper retracting everything they'd said, no magical moment where Hawkins suddenly realized they'd been wrong.
Just the charges disappearing. The warrants disappearing. His name disappearing from conversations. It wasn't justice, but it was enough.
Enough that Eddie could come home. Enough that he could enroll again. Enough that, after everything, he was finally going to graduate.
The morning he walked through the front doors of Hawkins High, the entire Party had insisted on escorting him in like he was some kind of celebrity. Dustin practically refused to leave Eddie's side for the entire day.
Eddie looked around the hallway with that same crooked grin you'd fallen in love with and whispered, "I still hate this place."
You laughed so hard you had to grab onto his arm. Months ago, you'd convinced yourself you'd never hear his voice again. Now he was complaining about school. Life was weird, wonderfully weird.
By the end of October, he'd started driving again. By November, he'd started playing guitar again.
The first time he picked it up, he'd only made it through half a song before quietly setting it back down, frustrated with how stiff his fingers felt.
You hadn't said a word. You'd just sat beside him, rested your head on his shoulder, taken his hand.
He looked at you for a long time before muttering, "You'll tell me if I suck now, right?"
You smiled. "I always did."
He rolled his eyes. "Brutal."
"You love me."
"I do." Then, after a dramatic pause, "But you're brutal."
Eventually the leaves started changing. The air turned cold enough that Eddie started stealing your jackets instead of the other way around.
One afternoon the two of you drove with no destination in mind until you ended up parked beside an open field just outside town. The grass had gone golden, the sky stretching endlessly overhead.
No monsters. No sirens. No hospitals. No machines. Just silence.
You spread out an old blanket and laid down first, staring up at the clouds. A second later, Eddie flopped down beside you with an exaggerated groan before immediately rolling over and pulling you against him.
You pressed your face against his chest, just because you could. His fingers absentmindedly combed through your hair.
Neither of you spoke for a while; you didn't have to. Eventually, he broke the silence, because of course he would.
"You know..."
"Hm?"
"I don't remember everything."
You tilted your head just enough to look at him. "What do you remember?"
He thought about it. "Bits."
"The bats."
You nodded.
"Wayne."
Another nod.
"I remember you crying."
You laughed quietly. "That doesn't narrow it down much."
"It really doesn't."
He smiled, then his expression softened. "I remember hearing your voice."
Your chest tightened. "When?"
"I don't know." His thumb brushed gently across your cheek. "It felt like every day."
You swallowed hard. "I talked a lot."
"I know."
"I told you everything."
"I know."
"I talked about Dustin."
"I know."
"I complained about Steve."
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I definitely know."
Your eyes stung. "I played your mixtape until I think I almost broke it."
His smile only grew. "I know that too."
You stared at him, confused.
"I heard you."
The world seemed to stop. "What?"
His voice was barely above a whisper. "I couldn't move."
"I couldn't answer." His own eyes had started to water now. "But I heard you."
A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it.
"I heard every story."
Another.
"I heard you tell me about Dustin getting into fights."
Another.
"I heard you complain about hospital coffee."
You laughed through your tears, he reached up and brushed them away with his thumb.
"And..." His own voice cracked. "I heard you tell me you weren't giving up on me."
You couldn't speak; your throat had closed completely. So you just nodded a tiny, shaky nod.
Eddie smiled, small and tender. "You didn't."
"No."
"You could've."
"I wasn't going to."
"You should've."
"I wasn't going to."
Silence settled between you again. Then you leaned forward until your forehead rested against his.
"I would've sat in that hospital room for another ten years if I had to."
He shut his eyes, and a tear escaped anyway. "I know."
"I would've waited twenty."
"I know."
"I would've waited my whole life."
His breathing hitched.
You smiled through your own tears. "There wasn't really another option."
He looked at you for a long moment before leaning in and kissing you. Slowly, with no urgency and no desperation. Just gentle, soft enough that it felt more like a promise than a kiss.
When he pulled away, his forehead stayed against yours. "I love you."
You smiled. "I know."
He immediately frowned. "That's it?"
You laughed. "I love you too."
"Better."
Another kiss. Then another. One pressed against your forehead. Another against your temple. One against the tip of your nose just because he knew it made you laugh.
The sun continued sinking lower across the field.
Wrapped up in his arms, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, you realized this was something that would've seemed impossible a few months ago.
Who cutting onions!?!?!?!
I'm sorry, I had to write this, though. I had that fight scene with Steve in my brain for a while.
immediately had inspo for a fic and have been writing it all day. it is going to be VERY angsty, very focused on the reader and dustin’s pain with losing eddie. (he isn’t dead in this fic, but he IS in a coma)
The suitcase refused to close. You sat on top of it, Steve pulled the zipper.
Nothing happened. You bounced once, still nothing. Steve looked personally offended, “This thing closed a week ago.”
“There was less stuff a week ago.”
“That’s not my fault.” You pointed toward the corner of the room, “Three of those shirts are new.”
“They were necessary.”
“They absolutely were not.” Steve ignored that, mostly because he was too busy trying to force the suitcase shut. Eventually the zipper gave in, Steve immediately celebrated like he’d won something.
You laughed, then the laughter slowly faded. For the first time all morning, the reality settled in.
The trip was over. No more balconies, no more wandering through streets without a plan, no more lazy afternoons by the water.
Tomorrow wouldn’t be Italy. Tomorrow would be home. Steve seemed to notice the shift immediately, his smile softened, “You okay?”
You looked around the room one last time. The memories attached to every corner, “A little sad.”
Steve nodded, he looked a little sad too, “It went fast.”
“Way too fast.” A moment passed. Steve sat beside you on the edge of the bed, close enough that your knees bumped together,
“But.” You glanced over. “We get Blaire back.”
Your entire expression brightened. He was right. Blaire. Home. The stories she was undoubtedly waiting to tell.
Steve laughed when he saw your face, “See?”
You rolled your eyes but you were smiling now, “Fine.”
“I’m right.”
“You got lucky.” Steve looked very pleased with himself. Which meant he was definitely right. You both knew it.
Home looked exactly the same. For a second, it almost felt strange, like Italy should have changed something.
But it hadn’t. Everything was exactly where you’d left it. The car barely rolled to a stop before movement exploded from the front porch.
The screen door slammed. A blur shot down the steps, “THEY’RE HOME!”
You immediately started laughing. Steve hadn’t even turned the engine off yet. Blaire was already sprinting across the yard.
Her arms pumping. Her hair flying behind her. Moving at a speed that honestly seemed unsafe.
“Jesus Christ,” Steve muttered. The second he stepped out of the car, Blaire crashed directly into him.
Steve laughed catching her automatically. One arm wrapping around her as she immediately started talking.
Words spilling out faster than anyone could possibly understand, “Nana Valerie let me make cookies and Papa Richie showed me tomatoes and I watched three movies and—”
“Breathe.”
“I’m breathing.”
“You absolutely are not.” Blaire ignored that. Her attention finally shifted toward you, “YOU’RE BACK.”
You barely had time to react before she launched herself at you next. Arms wrapping tightly around your neck, “Hi, bean.”
“I missed you.” Your heart squeezed instantly.
You hugged her tighter, “We missed you too.”
“Did you bring me something?” You laughed immediately, Steve laughed too.
Blaire pulled back, completely serious, “What?”
The front door opened again before either of you could answer. Your mom stepped outside first, Richard right behind her.
“Welcome home.” The words settled warmly. Steve wrapped an arm around your shoulders, Blaire still attached to your side.
Standing there in the driveway didn’t feel like an ending. It felt like returning. Returning to the people who mattered, to the life waiting for you.
Returning to home.
The living room quickly became crowded. Suitcases sat half unpacked near the doorway. Souvenirs covered the coffee table. Blaire had already claimed at least three things that absolutely did not belong to her.
Everyone talked over each other. Valerie wanted details, Richard wanted pictures, Blaire wanted to know everything at once.
Steve seemed more than happy to provide entertainment, “The food was incredible.”
“Of course it was,” Valerie said.
“And the coffee ruined me, America is doing something wrong.” Laughter spread through the room. Steve continued flipping through photographs, pictures of the beach, pictures of the city, far too many pictures of you.
“Steve,” you said.
“What?”
“There are more pictures of me than Italy. Richard immediately nodded, “I noticed that.”
Steve looked completely unapologetic, “She’s easier to look at.”
A chorus of reactions followed. Valerie rolled her eyes, Richard laughed, Blaire made a face, “Ew.”
Steve pointed at her, “One day you’ll appreciate romance.”
“No.” More laughter.
Eventually, while everyone was distracted by one of Steve’s stories, your mom quietly appeared beside your chair.
You barely noticed her at first, until she touched your shoulder, “Can I borrow you for a minute?”
The smile on her face looked normal. Something immediately made your stomach tighten, “Sure.”
You stood and Steve glanced up briefly. Your mom was already leading you toward the kitchen. The farther you got from the living room, the quieter things became.
When you reached the kitchen, she waited until you were alone before speaking. For a moment, she simply looked at you.
Then she sighed, “I found something before you left.”
Your heart dropped, “What?”
Your mom nodded slowly, “It was in your purse.”There it was.
“A pregnancy test.” Silence filled the kitchen. Your mother crossed her arms loosely.
You looked down, suddenly very interested in the kitchen floor, “I wasn’t hiding anything.”
“I know.” Her voice softened, “That’s actually why I was concerned.”
You looked back up. Your mom took a step closer, “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
The concern in her face made your chest ache because this wasn’t an interrogation.
It was your mother worrying about you, waiting an entire week because she didn’t want to ruin your vacation.
“I am okay.”
She nodded. Giving you space to explain. For the first time since coming home, the excitement of Italy faded into the background.
This conversation had been waiting for you all week.
When you stepped back into the living room, the noise wrapped around you again instantly. Blaire was still mid story, talking over Richard who was pretending to keep up.
Valerie had already moved back into conversation like nothing had happened. Steve was where he had been before, half turned toward the couch, listening, smiling at something Blaire said.
You sat down beside him. The second you did, his hand found your knee. A small, instinctive squeeze, “You okay?” he asked quietly.
Not loud enough for anyone else to hear, just for you. You looked at him immediately, smiled, “I’m fine.”
Steve studied your face for half a second longer than necessary, watching you the way he always did when he knew you weren’t saying everything.
“Okay.” His arm shifted behind you, settling around your waist instead, pulling you in slightly. Comforting in a way that didn’t demand anything back, you leaned into him without thinking.
Your thoughts still weren’t quiet, they kept circling. Your mom’s words. The conversation in the kitchen. The weight of it still sitting somewhere under your ribs.
Steve didn’t ask again, he didn’t need to. Instead, he just rested his hand lightly at your side, thumb brushing once against your hip in a small grounding motion.
He knew you weren’t ready yet and that when you were, you’d come to him. Eventually.
For now, he let the moment stay simple. The living room kept moving around you. Blaire’s voice rising and falling as she recounted every detail of the week she’d spent away, but in the middle of all of it, Steve stayed steady beside you.
Your breathing started to slow again. Not because everything was solved, but because you weren’t alone in it.
By mid afternoon, the house had finally started to quiet down. Valerie and Richard had left not long ago, the front door closing behind them with soft goodbyes and promises to visit again soon.
Now it was just you, Steve, and the fading sound of Blaire’s sleep heavy breathing from upstairs.
She had knocked out hours ago. Completely worn out from talking nonstop, showing off souvenirs, and reenacting half her week in dramatic detail. Steve had carried her up himself.
Now the house felt still in a different way. Steve sat beside you on the couch, one arm draped loosely behind you.
For a while, neither of you said anything. Then, quietly, “Hey.”
You turned your head slightly toward him, “Yeah?” Steve studied you for a second, “You wanna talk about earlier?”
Your stomach tightened immediately. You shook your head before he could finish the thought,“No. It’s fine.”
Steve didn’t respond right away. He didn’t push but he didn’t miss things either, “Are you sure?” he asked softly.
You nodded quickly, “I’m fine, Stevie.”
He exhaled through his nose, like he didn’t fully believe you, but also didn’t want to force it out of you. “Okay,” he said gently and then quieter, “I just don’t like not knowing if something’s wrong.”
You turned toward him fully now, reaching up before you could overthink it. Your hand brushed his jaw first then you leaned in and kissed him.
Steve stilled slightly. Surprised, but only for a second. Then his hand came to your waist instinctively. You pulled back just enough to look at him, “I promise,” you said quietly, “nothing’s wrong.”
Steve searched your face again, still not convinced but willing to accept your words for now, “Okay,” he murmured.
You shifted then, climbing into his lap before he could protest. Steve let out a small breath of surprise, “Hey—”
“Shh.” That made him huff a quiet laugh. His hands settled at your back immediately, holding you steady as you adjusted against him.
You rested your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Steve’s arms wrapped around you fully now, one hand rubbing slow circles at your back.
He knew something had happened or something had been said. He just wasn’t going to pull it out of you.
Instead, he leaned his head down slightly, pressing a kiss into your hair. You closed your eyes, holding on a little tighter.
For now, that was enough for both of you.
The next morning arrived quietly. Sunlight spilled through the curtains. The house still half asleep.
There was a faint feeling of somebody kissing your neck. You groaned softly, immediately trying to burrow deeper into the pillow. The kisses followed.
“Go away.” A laugh sounded against your skin, “Can’t.” Another kiss.
You cracked one eye open. Steve was already dressed. Jeans, t-shirt, hair still slightly damp from his shower. Far more awake than any human being had a right to be.
“What time is it?”
“Early.”
You groaned again, “Where are you going?”
“Grocery store.” One week away and Steve was already thinking about restocking the refrigerator. Getting the house back together. Getting back into routine.
You felt another kiss land against your cheek, “Question.”
“Hm?”
“Where’s my other credit card?”
You frowned sleepily. Thinking, very slowly, “Oh.”Steve waited. “It’s in my purse.”
“What purse?”
“The one I used when I went shopping before Italy.”
Steve nodded immediately, “Got it.” Another kiss, this time on your cheek.
“Love you.” you said sleepily.
“I love you, baby.” he whispered back. You heard him moving around the room.
Your eyes drifted shut again. The mattress warm beneath you, the pillow impossibly comfortable.
You were halfway back asleep when the thought hit. Hard. So hard it felt physical.
Your eyes flew open. The purse. The shopping trip. The pregnancy test.
“Shit.” You sat upright instantly, heart dropping straight into your stomach.
The bedroom door stood open. Steve was still there, frozen.
One hand holding his wallet, the other holding a small rectangular box.
Your stomach sank, there it was. The test.
Steve looked between it and you. A dozen questions all appearing at once, “Baby…”
His voice was quiet, like he was afraid the wrong word might break something. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t move.
Steve swallowed, still staring at the box. Then finally looked up, meeting your eyes.
Here we are at the penultimate chapter. Just one more chapter to go.
Now I'm not saying this is how it should have gone in the show regarding the championship game and the D&D finale, but this how it would go sans Upside Down bullshit.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 |
~
Steve woke up the next morning to a warm, sleepy boyfriend wrapped around his middle and couldn’t have been happier. He ran his fingers through Eddie’s hair until he woke up.
“Morning, sweetheart,” Eddie murmured, his voice rough with sleep and not misuse. “What are you doing awake so early on a Saturday morning?”
Steve laughed. “Eds, it’s almost eleven!”
Eddie snuggled closer. “It’s a sin to be up before noon on a Sunday, I’ll have you know.”
“According to whose religion?” Steve scoffed, but snuggled into Eddie.
“The Munson Doctrine,” Eddie replied sleepily, already back to half to sleep. “Best religion there ever was.”
Steve kissed the top of Eddie’s forehead. “Whatever you say, rockstar.”
Eddie lifted his chin and kissed Steve on the lips. “Shush, now. It’s sleepy time.”
Steve wanted to get up but Eddie was so warm and soft, he fell asleep too.
When they woke up again it was after noon and this time Eddie willingly let Steve get up to pee and brush his teeth. Eddie following after to do the same.
They practically joined at the hip when they wandered sleepy-eyed into the kitchen.
Which was probably why it took Steve a minute or two to recognize his best friend sitting on the counter with a cup of hot chocolate in her hand and smirking at them.
“Did someone forget they were going to take me to work today?” she asked innocently, batting her eyelashes over the rim of the mug.
Steve scoffed. “No, you don’t work until one, and it’s barely after noon. And before you get all smug or whatever, nothing happened between us other than getting together. We were both tired after last night and so he stayed over.”
“Mhmm,” she murmured. “Hello, Eddie. You break his heart, I break your knees.”
“‘Ello, Robin,” Eddie muttered back, finally dislodging himself from Steve side to start the coffee. “I can’t promise never, as I am but a mere mortal, but I will endeavor to minimalize such agony.”
Robin blinked at him for a moment. “You’re such a dork. I like you.”
Steve huffed out a laugh. “Thank you, your majesty.”
Robin attempted to bow but nearly fell off the counter. He just shook his head. After all he had known she was a dork from the beginning and she was still his best friend.
“I aim to please,” Eddie huffed rolling his eyes. “I am trying to teach Stevie here the ways of the perpetually lazy and sleeping in on Sundays.”
Robin snorted. “Good luck, he’s had years and years of having to get up at the ass crack of dawn to stay in shape for his numerous sports he was in.”
“Don’t worry, baby,” Eddie cooed. “I’ve got time.”
And Steve went bright red as Robin cackled.
After they had their ‘brunch’, as in lunch that was more like breakfast, Eddie kissed Steve on the lips and said goodbye.
Robin waited until she heard the front door click shut. “So Eddie Munson... is cute?”
“Fine,” Steve said with a pained sigh. “Yes, Eddie Munson is cute. And hot. And sexy. And most importantly, my boyfriend.”
Robin let out a squeal of sheer joy and set her mug down to give Steve a flying tackle of a hug. Steve caught her deftly and swung them around.
Once he finally put her down, she kissed his nose. “I’m happy for you dingus, but I really do need to get to work now.”
Steve laughed and went to go grab his keys and put on his shoes. He locked the door behind them and drove her to work.
“So...” she said, wagging her eyebrows. “How did you two get together?”
Steve told her about the campaign the night before and how he basically got to DM with a little bit of help from Eddie and how they talked afterwards, leading up to the kiss.
“Pair of dorks the both of you!” she cackled. “That is the sweetest, most romantic thing ever. I’m insanely jealous you got a boyfriend only months after figuring out like guys and I’m still girlfriend-less after literal years.”
“I kept telling you you were on borrowed time,” Steve said, sing-song. “That I was going to bag me that man.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Robin said pained. “At least I’ll get sit next to the pretty redhead for marching band.”
“Ask her out!” he crowed. “I’ve told you my ‘Fast Times’ theory and I’m saying I’m still right!”
“I’ll tell you what,” she said, turning in her seat to face him. “If the basketball team wins the championship game, I’ll ask her out.”
Steve stuck out his hand and said, “Deal.”
Robin eyed his warily but shook his hand. She thought it had been a good bet, but Steve was too wildly chipper to think that anymore.
She sat there and brooded in silence until they got to Family Video.
Steve waved at her with a shit-eating grin as she walked into the store. What information did he have that she didn’t?
~
Lucas came running up to Dustin and Mike in a panic.
“The best most awful thing has happened!” he whined.
“Uh...” Mike said, sharing a glance with Dustin. “I don’t think I understood a word of that. Say it again.”
Max turned around from where she was at her locker. “What the idiot is trying to say is that the basketball team won last night so they get to play in the championship tonight. Which is at the same time as your nerd game.”
Mike and Dustin stared at Lucas in shock.
“Come on, man,” Dustin whined back, “you can’t possibly be thinking about going to the basketball game instead of the actual finale of the Cult of Vecna? What are the chances of you being allowed to play?”
“Oh next to none,” Max snarked.
“But not zero,” Lucas insisted. “Come on, it’s a once in a life time opportunity!”
“That you’ll get three more times,” Mike countered. “Yeah, you can’t control the team or what everyone else does but you’ll have three more years of being on the team. This is the last session for Hellfire this year. Steve only gets one more day to host before the club is forced to stop for the year. Plus with Eddie, Jeff, Brian, and Danny all graduating this is the last time we’ll be able to play with them as a club.”
Lucas looked at them, pained. “But Spring Break starts this weekend we can do it all tomorrow or even later in the week, this is one night only.”
Dustin and Mike shared another glance.
“And you’ve got to ask Eddie to move it for me, please!” Lucas asked, clutching his hands together.
“Oh hell no,” Dustin growled. “We aren’t doing your dirty work for you. If you want him to move the session last minute, you ask him yourself.”
“I know!” Lucas said, waving him off. “I’ll ask Will to do it for me!”
Will who was walking up to their lockers with Gareth, paused and blinked at them. “Ask me what?”
Mike looked over at how the two other boys were standing and frowned. He opened his mouth to interrogate his best friend about the interloper when Lucas blurted out, “I’M IN THE CHAMPIONSHIP GAME TONIGHT AND I NEED EDDIE TO MOVE IT!!”
Gareth and Will shared a glance and burst out laughing.
“Ah hell nah,” Gareth said, shaking his head. “You want something from Eddie. You do the asking. Stop trying to pawn the responsibility off on your friends.”
Lucas looked down at his shoes and scuff the floor with his heel. “It’s just that back in September that first session he said he would only accept emergencies and this isn’t that...”
“That’s true,” Will said sagely. “But you won’t know until you ask.”
Lucas nodded. “It’s just I didn’t want to see the disappointment on his face because I know him and Steve have been working so hard on this finale, but I also never thought we would make it to the championship game. Like when I joined the basketball team back at the start of the year, they were pretty much trash. But then Jason Carver came along and really turned the team around and now we’re here and I don’t want to miss it.”
“You might have to,” Mike warned him. “It’s pretty short notice and there are nine other people to take in consideration. And that includes your sister. She was really looking forward to playing with us tonight.”
“Oh,” he breathed. “Well shit.”
He had forgotten literally everything else in the rush of winning the game last night that there was more riding on the Cult of Vecna finale then just beating Vecna once and for all. There was the resolutions of all their character arcs, Mike’s in particular.
All year he had been working on getting Kas on to their side to betray Vecna and turn the tide of battle, defeating him once and for all, and to see that finally come to fruition was going to be monumental.
“Okay...” Lucas said and then the five minute bell rang scattering everyone to their first class.
~
At lunch Lucas sat at the table with the rest of Hellfire barely picking at the lunch his mom gave him. He didn’t even look up when Eddie went on his tirade about conformity killing the kids and how being forced to choose a sport or get good grades to fit in was a losing proposition for everyone.
When he sat back down and began munching happily on his pretzels he looked over at the kid and kicked the leg of Lucas’s chair and leaned down to look him in the eye. “Hey, who pissed in your Cheerio’s this morning?”
Mike and Dustin shared a glance and grimaced.
“The basketball team is playing the champion game tonight...” Will said solemnly. “He really wants to go and support the team, but with the finale at the same time...”
The older Hellfire Club members let out a roar of outrage saying that Lucas should want to do D&D and not basketball.
Eddie licked his lips slowly. If this had been before the freshmen and their babysitter arrived on the scene, he would have absolutely sided with the guys.
But this was after and he could see that it was utterly tearing Lucas apart.
The freshmen started arguing back, protecting their friend from the onslaught of the older teens.
“SHUT UP!” he yelled. “Everyone just shut up!”
The entire table went dead silent.
“Who is going out of town for Spring Break?” he asked coolly.
Everyone looked at each other as no one raised their hands.
“Does anyone have plans for tomorrow?” he pressed. “At anytime during the day?”
Again he was met with a lack of a show of hands.
“Then that settles it,” he declared hitting his hand on the table. “We will all go cheer Lucas on at the basketball game, then tomorrow we will have all day to play the finale and not worry about having to cut it short for the kiddies having to go home to bed.”
Lucas looked up from his sandwich, eyes wide and mouth open. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“All in favor?” Eddie asked, raising his hand.
All the hands went up.
“The motion has been carried unanimously,” he said solemnly. “When does the game start, Lucas?”
“Oh!” Lucas cried in shock. “At 7pm here at the high school.”
“Then we’ll meet here at 6:30 to make sure we can all get seats together,” Eddie said.
Everyone agreed and then Gareth asked Will a question about his wizard and the table moved on.
Lucas caught Eddie’s eye and mouthed, ‘Thank you.’
Summary: Can you and Steve really start over after everything that happened?
Warnings: angst, established relationship, married couple, arguments, marriage issues, pregnancy, infertility issues, maternity, motherhood, emotional distress, smut, dirty talk, nsfw, unprotected p in v
English isn't my first language, so be understandable and gentle, thanks!
Word count: +20k
Author's note: So, here we go... we’ve finally reached the end of this story! 🥺 I honestly can't believe it's over, and I'm definitely feeling a little sad about it because I'm going to miss this couple so much! That being said, maybe I'll write some extra chapters about them in the future. I feel like there are still a few stories left to tell — like their first official date, for example! But for now, that's a wrap on this story. I really want to thank you all for all the love and amazing feedback. It seriously warms my heart knowing that you've loved this story just as much as I loved writing it. I truly hope you will be satisfied with the epilogue I wrote. Let me know what you think with a comment, your feedbacks are really important for me. And if you want to support me even more, reblog it. I'd really appreciate it. Now enjoy it and thanks for reading!
Masterlist
A week later, Steve was finally discharged from the hospital and you went home with him.
But “home” didn’t look exactly like it used to. Not yet.
Steve moved slowly through the house on crutches, his steps careful and uneven. The bandage at his temple remained a constant reminder of how close you had come to losing him.
Sometimes he reached instinctively for the wall or the back of a chair to steady himself, stubbornly trying to do more than he probably should. And every time, you found yourself hovering nearby, close enough to catch him if he slipped but careful not to make him feel like you didn't trust him.
But even though he hated being stuck in the house and feeling useless, he enjoyed having you around, all for himself.
After spending weeks apart, having you back in the house felt like breathing properly again. He seemed to find reassurance in your presence. He loved waking up and finding you beside him. Or hearing you move around the kitchen in the morning. He simply loved the comfort of knowing you were there.
The conversation about children stayed untouched. Not avoided, not denied — just… gently set aside, left somewhere between you, waiting. And while you tried to make peace with it — with your body, with what it meant — Steve stayed close and patient, without pushing or rushing you.
It wasn’t always easy, though.
Because the thought never truly left you, feeling it in small, unexpected moments. A woman passing by with a hand resting on her stomach. A baby crying softly somewhere nearby. A stroller rolling past. Each one was like a quiet reminder of something you couldn’t quite look at directly.
School wasn't any easier. You spent your days surrounded by children—laughing, arguing, running through hallway — and sometimes it hit you so suddenly you had to pause, just for a second, and take a breath before moving on.
But the worst moment was when someone you knew announced they were pregnant. Because before happiness could come, before excitement or congratulations, you felt a sharp drop in your stomach. A flash of jealousy so quick and ugly that it made you feel ashamed. For a split second, thoughts crossed your mind that you immediately wished you could take back. That they didn’t deserve it. That it should’ve been you instead. Then guilt followed just as quickly. You swallowed it all down, forcing a smile onto your lips. You congratulated them, asked questions you didn’t really want the answers to and nodded in all the right places as you listened to nursery plans, baby names and ultrasound stories.
And you got good at that.
But when you got home, where no one was watching, everything came out, quiet at first, then all at once. You cried in the shower where your tears mixed with the water, or laying on the bed with your face buried against the pillow.
But never in front of Steve.
He was still recovering from the accident and you didn’t want him to suffer even more and to make everything worse.
Again.
Sometimes, you caught him watching a father with his child after baseball practice or a family crossing the street together. His gaze lingered just a second too long, his expression almost nostalgic, making your chest tighten. Every time he noticed you looking at him, he smiled or squeezed your hand. Like he knew what you were thinking. Like he wanted to reassure you without saying it out loud. Sometimes it worked. Other times it didn’t, the thought still finding its way in.
Maybe one day he’ll realize it wasn’t enough.
That you weren’t.
And he’ll want more.
He’ll leave.
It crept in at the worst times. At the end of the day, when everything was finally quiet and there was nothing left to distract you. During Steve’s baseball practices. At night, when sleep wouldn’t come. Even when you were in his arms. In those moments, you stayed still, your face tucked into his chest, breathing him in like that alone could keep everything else at bay. Until the thought began to haunt you, waking you up in the morning.
Every day, before you even opened your eyes, your arm would move across the bed, reaching for his side — checking. Making sure he was still there. That the space beside you wasn’t empty. Or too cold. That he hadn’t gotten up and left. Not just the room. Not just the house.
But you.
Most mornings, your hand found him without effort. Sometimes he was still asleep, his breathing slow and even. Other times, he was already awake, looking at you with that soft, familiar smile that made something in your chest ease and forget all your worries. Some days, instead, you didn’t even have to reach for him. You woke up already tucked against him, his arm loosely wrapped around you, like even in his sleep he hadn’t let you drift too far.
Those mornings were easier.
But not all of them were.
Sometimes, when you brushed the sheets slowly, carefully, hoping to find him without having to look, there was nothing. His side of the bed was already cold. You gave it a second. Then another. Your fingers pressed a little more firmly into the mattress, like maybe you had just missed him. Like maybe he was still there and you just hadn’t reached far enough.
But he wasn’t.
You kept your eyes closed for a moment longer, your breath catching as you delayed the reality you already felt settling in. Then you slapped your eyes and saw the sheets already smoothed out, as if no one had slept there.
That was when the panic set in.
You’d sit up too quickly, your breath already unsteady, your thoughts racing ahead of you. And then you’d get out of bed, almost without thinking, your feet carrying you straight to the closet.
It had become a habit before you even realized it.
You’d pull the doors open and scan the space, your eyes moving over his things — his jackets, his shirts — checking, counting as you made sure they were still there. That he hadn’t taken them. But sometimes even that wasn't enough to reassure you. You’d turn and head for the stairs, taking them too fast, your hand brushing the wall to steady yourself as you went down two steps at a time, your chest tight, your pulse loud in your ears. Until you found him sitting at the kitchen table with the newspaper spread open in front of him, a mug of coffee growing cold beside his elbow. Other times, he was stretched out on the couch, half paying attention to whatever was playing on television. His eyes would lift automatically and that familiar smile would appear. Easy. Familiar. Reassuring. Like everything was fine. And you would smile back, pretend you had just come down for something else.
You never told him anything but Steve noticed. Of course he did. He was good at noticing things about you. He just… didn’t say anything.
Until one Sunday morning, when you were standing in front of the closet again, your fingers still wrapped around the edge of the door as you let out a slow, quiet breath. Your eyes slipped closed for a second, your shoulders dropping just slightly as the tension eased out of you.
“What are you doing?”
His voice was close enough to make you flinch. Your eyes flew open. You turned quickly, your heart jumping into your throat, and found him standing in the doorway, staring at you. He must have just come up the stairs. His expression wasn’t accusing or angry. Just… confused, careful. In his hands there was a tray with breakfast.
Shame rushed through you, sudden and sharp. For a second, neither of you moved. You swallowed, your hand still resting against the closet door as if you hadn’t quite decided whether to close it or not.
“I—” you started, then stopped. Your voice caught, the excuse you were about to give dissolving before it could even take shape. You shook your head slightly, a breath leaving you that sounded thinner than you intended. “Nothing. I was just—”
Steve didn’t move. His eyes flicked past you, briefly, to the open closet. Then back to you.
“Checking if I’d left?”
The words cut in cleanly. Your breath caught. For a brief second, you thought — hoped — he might be joking. But there was nothing playful in his expression as his eyes held yours, steady, serious.
“Wha—what?” you stammered, even though the denial sounded weak the moment it left your lips.
Steve let out a short breath that almost sounded like a laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He stepped forward carefully, crossing the room with slow, uneven steps before setting the tray down on your vanity fair in front of the bed. The porcelain clinked softly against the wood. The sound felt louder than it should have. Then he turned back to you. He hesitated for a fraction of a second — like he was deciding how far to push it.
“You really think I haven’t noticed?” he said, his tone flat, controlled in a way that made it sharper. “The way you reach for my side of the bed every morning before you even open your eyes. The way you practically run downstairs when I’m not there.” His jaw tightened slightly. “Or how relieved you look every time I walk back through the door after work?”
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Your mind scrambled for something — anything — to say, but there was nothing you could say. Because he was right. And the truth — the real reason behind it — felt too ugly, too fragile to put into words.
“I—” you tried again, your voice faltering, but it died there, unfinished.
Steve didn’t wait this time. “You still think I’m going to leave,” he said.
It wasn’t a question but a statement. The certainty in his voice made your chest tighten.
You didn't answer him but your silence did it.
He turned away from you, nodding, in disbelief, his back facing you as his hands settled on his hips. For a moment, he just stood there, looking up toward the ceiling like he was trying to steady himself, like he was holding something in.
You dropped your gaze. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable.
When he spoke again, his voice was lower. Quieter. But if anything, it felt tired.
“I’ve told you — more than once,” he said slowly, “that I’m staying. That I’m not going anywhere.” A small pause. “I’ve never given you a reason to think I would. Even when I could have. Even when I was at my worst.”
You instantly knew he was talking about Kirsten. About that night. When he could have left and gone to her house. When he could have chosen something simpler. But he still didn’t.
“I didn't even think about it,” he added, almost under his breath.
You believed him.
And that made things even worse.
You swallowed hard.
“And still…” He stopped, exhaling through his nose before turning back to you. His eyes found yours again, something unsettled flickering behind them now. “Still it’s like you don’t believe me. Like you don’t trust me,” he went on, quieter now, but no less direct.
You flinched slightly at that, your fingers curling in on themselves.
“When…” He hesitated, just for a second, like he was debating whether to let it out or keep it in.
You could already feel that it was no good. That it would hurt you.
“When you’re the one who left.”
The words hung between you. Heavy. Painful.
Steve looked away for a moment, shaking his head faintly before letting out a breath that sounded more like frustration than anything else.
“I’m the one who should be checking that closet,” he said, his voice tightening despite himself. “Making sure your things are still there. Making sure you didn’t just—” He stopped, jaw clenching, the rest of the sentence catching somewhere in his throat. Then, more quietly, but still honestly. “I’m the one who should be wondering if you’re going to leave again. Not you.”
He was right. You knew that. But that didn't mean his words hurt any less. Your hands tightened together until your knuckles ached. You bit down on your lip, hard, trying to keep the tears from spilling.
His gaze dropped for a moment, then lifted back to you. “Do you really think I don’t have those thoughts too?” he went on, his voice less controlled, sharper now, stretched thin. “That I don’t wonder if I’m going to come home one day and you just… won’t be here anymore?”
The words hit you straight in the chest like a punch, knocking the air out of you.
“Or walk in and find you halfway down the stairs with your bags again?” he added. “Just like that day.”
You stayed silent.
Steve took a few steps toward you, his shoulders tense. “I’m scared every damn day,” he said, louder now, the frustration breaking through. “All the time.”
Your chest tightened as the words sank in.
“Do you know what I think about when I kiss you goodbye in the morning?” he continued, his voice rough, unsteady in a way that made it worse. “When I leave for work?” A short, humorless breath escaped him. “That it might be the last time.”
Your eyes filled with tears, burning you.
“The last time I get to hold you. The last time I get to kiss you.” He continued, swallowing hard. “And every single time, I just hope… it’s not.”
Silence followed, thick and suffocating.
He turned away again, dragging a hand over his face before lifting both arms briefly, resting them behind his head. He stayed like that for a second, staring ahead, jaw tight.
“But I still choose to trust you,” he said after a moment, quieter now. “I choose it. Every single day.” His arms dropped back to his sides as he turned to face you again. “I choose to believe that when I come home, you’ll still be here.”
You couldn’t breathe properly. Your throat was dry, sore.
He looked at you like he wanted to say more — like the words were there, right on the edge — but then something in his expression shifted. He stopped himself. His mouth opened slightly, then closed again, his jaw tightening.
The silence stretched.
You pressed your lips together, unable to speak. Because he was right. About all of it.
Even after everything he had said, some stubborn part of your mind kept waiting for the moment he would finally decide he had had enough. Even when… when you had been the one to leave. The one who had packed a bag and walked out, breaking something between you that you were still trying to fix.
What was wrong with you?
The thought came sharp and merciless.Your throat tightened painfully. For a second, you almost felt angry at yourself, enough to want to shake yourself out of it.
Steve cleared his throat, the sound cutting through the silence.
“I need you to trust me too,” he said, more quietly now. Exhausted.
“Steve, I do trust you, it’s not—”
Your voice was so weak that you almost didn’t recognize it.
“Well, it doesn’t feel like it,” he cut in, not raising his voice, but not letting you finish either. He hesitated, like he wanted to keep going — like there was more sitting behind those words — but then he exhaled slowly and shook his head.
“Forget it. I just… went out to get breakfast,” he added, his tone changing, flattening, like he was forcing the conversation somewhere safer. “I got you those pastries you like. Thought I’d bring you them in bed. I just wanted to… surprise you.” A small pause. “That’s all.”
Your eyes closed for a second, the guilt settling heavier in your chest. When you opened them again, your gaze dropped to the tray on the table. You looked at it better this time — the coffee, still steaming faintly, the pastries neatly arranged like he had taken care choosing them, orange juice, eggs and bacon. There were all the things you loved to eat.
Steve followed your gaze. “You should drink the coffee before it gets cold,” he said. His tone cold, detached that it surprised you.
He turned before you could say anything else, moving toward the door with quick steps, without looking back at you.
For a second, you didn’t understand what was happening. Your body froze, your mind lagging behind as the sound of his steps carried down the stairs.
Then it hit you.
He was leaving.
Your throat tightened as you forced yourself to move, your legs finally responding as you rushed out of the room and down the stairs after him, still in your nightgown, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it might break through your chest.
“Steve!” You called his name with everything you had, your voice echoing through the house.
But he didn’t answer. He didn’t slow down either. He just kept going, one hand gripping the railing, as he moved fast, like he needed to get out before he changed his mind.
Panic surged through you.
“Steve, wait—!”
By the time you reached the bottom, he was already in front of the door.
“Wait — please, wait!” Your voice broke as you closed the last bit of distance and grabbed his arm, your fingers tightening around it, forcing him to stop. “Where — where are you going?”
He stilled under your touch, turning around to face you. His eyes were shining. “I need… some air,” he said, his voice low, steady in a way that felt final. “I’m going for a walk.”
You shook your head immediately, your grip tightening, your breath uneven. “No — please, stay. Let’s just — let’s talk, okay? Please.” Your voice trembled, the words stumbling over each other as the tears spilled freely now, warm against your skin. You didn’t even try to hide them.
Steve closed his eyes briefly, exhaling through his nose like he was holding something in. “I already tried,” he said after a second, quieter now. “More than once. But you don't seem to hear me.”
You shook your head again, desperate. “I know. I know, I’m sorry, I just—”
“I don’t know what else to say,” he cut in, not harsh, but firm. Tired. Exasperated. “I don’t know… what else to do to make you believe me.” His jaw tightened and for a moment he looked away. “I’m tired,” he admitted, his voice cracking just slightly at the edges. “And… angry.” He swallowed hard and you saw his throat move. “That’s why I’m leaving. I don’t want to say something I might regret later.”
Or do something he might regret, you thought.
Your chest constricted painfully.
“Please, don’t go,” you whispered, shaking your head, your fingers curling tighter around his arm like you could keep him there if you just held on enough. “Please, don’t leave me.”
For a moment, his expression softened. He hated seeing you like that.
“I’m coming back, okay?” he said, softer now, like he knew exactly where your mind had gone. Like he needed to stop it before it spiraled. “I’m… I’m not leaving. I just —” He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “I just need a minute… to clear my head. Be alone for a bit.”
Your grip loosened, but only slightly.
“I’ll be back,” he repeated, more gently this time. “And we’ll… talk later. Promise.”
Talk about what? You wondered.
Before you could say anything else, he leaned in and pressed a light kiss to your forehead. It lingered just long enough to hurt. Then he pulled away. Carefully, he slipped his arm from your grasp. The loss of contact felt immediate. Cold.
You stood there as he opened the door and stepped outside. The door closed behind him with a soft click.
Silence flooded immediately the space he left behind. Loud. Unbearable.
You didn’t move. You stayed there, right where he had left you, your hands hanging useless at your sides, your vision blurred with tears you didn’t even try to stop anymore. Your heart pounded unevenly as your gaze fixed on the closed door, like you expected it to open again any second. While upstairs, the coffee he had made for you was already growing cold.
His voice replayed in your mind, louder with every passing second.
I’ll be back.
You swallowed hard, your throat tight, your chest aching.
Would he?
-
You were lying on the couch in the living room, curled on your side, facing the TV, even though it was off.
You hadn’t moved from there since Steve left.
The clock was ticking but you didn’t know how much time had passed. Long enough for the sobs to stop and the tears on your cheeks to dry, leaving your skin tight, your body still, your mind heavy and hollow. Your breathing had evened out. The storm had burned itself out, leaving behind nothing but a quiet that felt too big for the room.
Silence settled around you. Heavy. Uncomfortable.
Then, suddenly you heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. Your body reacted before your mind did. You pushed yourself up from the couch, your heart jumping as you turned toward the door just as it opened.
Steve stepped inside. His gaze lifted as he crossed the threshold, and it found yours immediately.
You stayed where you were. Even though every instinct in your body told you to run to him — to close the distance, to hold onto him, to make sure he was really there — you didn’t.
He closed the door behind him with a soft click and took a few steps forward.
“You’re here,” he said, his gaze fixed on yours.
You knew he didn’t mean just now. That you hadn’t left. That he hadn’t come back to an empty house.
You nodded, your throat tight. “And you are back.”
Something in his expression shifted — subtle, but there. He nodded once in return, like he was acknowledging something unspoken between you.
He knew exactly what you meant too.
He moved around the couch, with still his jacket on and sat down, leaving only a small space between you. For a moment, he just sat there. Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, dragging a hand over his face before pressing his palms briefly against his eyes, like he was trying to steady himself.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “About before. I shouldn’t have… reacted like that.”
You hesitated for a second before sitting down beside him, careful and let out a slow breath.
“No,” you said softly, shaking your head. “You — you were right.”
Steve turned his head to look at you.
You swallowed, your hands tightening together in your lap before you forced yourself to keep going. “I am… I am still scared. That you might leave one day.” Your voice wavered slightly, but you didn’t look away. “And I know I shouldn’t be. That it doesn’t make sense. You’ve never given me a reason to doubt you. Not once.”
A small pause.
“I’m the one who did that,” you added, quieter now. “I’m the one who left. I’m the one who… broke your trust.”
The admission sat between you, raw and unguarded. It hurt you to remind what you had done. But you needed to.
“And I’m sorry,” you said, your voice softer now. “For that. For everything.”
Steve didn’t interrupt and kept listening to you.
“But it’s not true that I don’t trust you,” you went on, shaking your head slightly, like you needed him to understand that part most of all. “It’s… me.”
That was harder to say.
Your gaze dropped for a second before lifting again.
“I don’t trust myself,” you admitted, the words catching slightly on the way out. “Because I don’t feel like I’m enough. Like I’m… lacking something. Like I’m not…” You exhaled shakily. “Not what you deserve.”
Your fingers twisted together again before you stilled them, forcing yourself to continue.
“And I know—” you added quickly, almost defensively, “I know you don’t see it that way. I know that’s not how you think. But I do. And it’s not something I can just switch off, Steve. It doesn’t work like that.”
Your voice softened, losing some of its tension.
“I need time,” you said. “To come to terms with it. With the fact that… it’s not my fault.” You swallowed. “And that it doesn’t make me less. Or… harder to love. I just… need time,” you repeated more quietly.
Then, after a small pause, you reached out, slowly, carefully, and rested your hand on his knee. Steve's gaze immediately dropped to where your hand rested. His eyes lingered there for a second before lifting back to yours.
“But I’m not going anywhere,” you said, meeting his eyes. There was no hesitation now, only quiet certainty. “I’m here. And I’m staying.”
Your fingers pressed slightly against his knee, grounding yourself in the moment.
“I almost lost you,” you went on, your voice softening further. “Twice.” Your throat tightened. “And the second time… I almost didn’t get you back at all. I don’t want that again,” you whispered, your eyes filled with tears. “I don’t want to lose you again.”
You held his gaze as Steve reached for your hand where it rested on his knee, lacing his fingers through yours and giving it a firm, grounding squeeze.
“Good,” he said quietly. “Because I’m not going anywhere either, okay?” His gaze held yours, steady, intent. “I’ve seen what it’s like… living without you. And I didn’t like it. Not even a little.” A faint, humorless breath left him. “Worst week of my life, actually. And I’m not planning on going through that again.”
Your chest tightened, but this time it wasn’t fear.
“So yeah,” he went on, softer now, his thumb brushing absently over your knuckles, “some mornings you might wake up and not find me in bed. Or downstairs. And some afternoons or nights, I might come home late.” A small pause. “But wherever I am, I’ll be thinking about you. And I’ll always come back.” His voice dipped slightly, more vulnerable now. “As long as you still want me to.”
You didn’t hesitate. “I will,” you said, your voice steady despite everything you were feeling. “And I’ll be here too. Waiting for you.” A small breath. “As long as you want me to be.”
Something softened in his expression. Then he smiled and lifted his free hand to your face, cupping your cheek gently before leaning in.
The kiss started soft. Careful. Like everything else between you had been these past weeks.
But as the seconds passed, some of the distance you had both been carrying seemed to melt away. You shifted closer without even thinking about it, your body moving toward his like it had been waiting for this. Your hands came up to his face as you kissed him back, deeper this time, more certain. The hesitation that had lingered between you began to slip, piece by piece.
You moved onto his lap, straddling him, your lips never quite leaving his. His hands found your waist, holding you there, tightly, like he needed to make sure you wouldn’t disappear.
The kiss grew hungrier, faster. His hands moved along your sides, firm, warm, sliding up your back, pulling you closer. Yours slipped into his hair, fingers curling, holding on as if that alone could keep him there. You felt him exhale against your lips, his forehead brushing yours for the briefest second before his mouth found yours again, more urgent this time.
He trailed slowly down your jaw, your neck, until it reached your shoulder. The strap of your nightgown had already slipped down your arm, giving him space, and he took it without hesitation. His lips pressed warm against your skin, lingering, then moving again — slower this time. Each touch sent a quiet shiver through you, your breath catching as he traced a path along your collarbone. You tipped your head back instinctively, giving him more room, your hands settling on his shoulders to steady yourself. For a moment, you just felt the warmth of his mouth, the roughness of his hands against your skin. And the solid presence of him beneath you.
He was already hard.
Your hips shifted almost unconsciously against him, drawn closer, and the contact made his breath hitch for a brief second. His hands tightened at your waist in response, grounding, firm, like he needed to keep you right where you were.
You threaded your fingers into his hair, gripping lightly, guiding him back to your lips. There was nothing hesitant left in the way you kissed him now. It wasn’t careful anymore — it was need, release, everything spilling over at once after being held back for too long.
You pushed his jacket off his shoulders, the fabric sliding down his arms as your hands moved over him, impatient. He let out a quiet breath against your mouth, helping you shrug it off the rest of the way without breaking the kiss for long.
Your nightgown had ridden up completely, forgotten, as you shifted in his lap, the fabric bunched at your waist. But you barely noticed it, too focused on him — on the way his touch felt after everything. After weeks without intimacy — without sex. The last time had been during that famous weekend that was supposed to be the last. Fortunately, it hadn’t been in the end. How could you have thought you could live without him? Without his touch? Thinking back now, it seemed almost impossible.
His hands slid lower along your thigh, slipping beneath the fabric of your nightgown, hesitating only for a fraction of a second — as if giving you time to pull away, to stop him.
You didn’t.
If anything, you leaned into him more, your hands tightening his face even more, your lips parting against his in a silent answer.
You weren’t pulling away anymore.
His hand started moving over you again, sliding under the hem, caressing the bare skin of your ass, gently, slowly, as if he wanted to savor the moment. Like he was relearning you — like he needed to feel every inch just to remind himself that you were real, that you hadn’t slipped away again.
You pressed closer instinctively, grinding down on his bulge in search of something more, something deeper. It wasn’t enough — none of it felt like enough after everything you had been through. The distance, the fear, the almost losing him.
You needed to feel him. Really feel him.
Your fingers curled into his shirt, holding on just as tightly, like you were afraid that if you let go, he might disappear.
“Steve… please,” you whispered against his lips as his hand moved closer to where you needed him most. But every time, when he was almost there, he pushed it away, teasing you.
He smirked, amused. “What’s it, babe?” He murmured, voice low. “Tell me what you need.”
You let out a soft, frustrated breath, your forehead resting briefly against his.
“Please,” you begged, desperate, unable to form a complete sentence.
Steve’s grin widened even further. He hesitated a few seconds, his hand tightening on your thigh, the other one on your hip, holding you in place as he watched you for a moment longer than necessary. Then finally, he gave in. His hand began to slide down along your core, feeling the wet spot that had already formed on your panties.
His touch was slow, deliberate, rubbing gentle circles over your clothed clit as heat pooled low in your belly. Your hands found his shoulders again, gripping for balance as you moved against him, hips rolling, chasing his touch. Steve increased the pressure and you moaned into his mouth as you kept grinding your soaked panties.
The other strap of your nightgown slipped from your shoulder, revealing your breasts. Steve groaned. As he kept caressing your core, he ran his other hand up your stomach and squeezed your tits, gently first, then hard. You moaned again, letting your head fall back.
But it still wasn’t enough. You wanted more.
“Steve… I need you… Please,” you begged him, almost crying.
“Yeah, babe? Where do you need me? I’m right here.”
His hand pressed down on you harder, while your fingers curled into his shirt even more, resting your forehead on his shoulder, panting. For a moment, you hesitated, swallowing slowly.
“Inside me.” Your voice lower than a whisper. “I need you inside me, Steve. Please.”
Steve stopped moving, taking his hands off of you. You whined at the loss of contact, missing him already. But before you could say anything, he pulled your nightgown over your head in a single motion and threw it somewhere behind you, leaving you half-naked.
His gaze dropped straight to your bare breasts, his eyes widening, hungry. He swallowed hard.
“God…” he breathed, almost to himself.
After few seconds, you found yourself lying on the couch, on your back with Steve on top of you. He hooked his fingers into your panties, tugging them quickly down your legs. You lifted your hips to help him, eager to be free of them.
Steve stood up, pushing his shirt up, revealing the trail of hair disappearing into his jeans. Then he took them off and his boxers in one smooth motion, letting them drop to the floor. His length slapped against him.
Both naked, he settled between your thighs, bringing you closer as you raised yourself on your elbows to see him better. His gaze traveled over your body spread open on the couch, lingering on your centre, shiny and swollen already.
“Fucking beautiful,” he said, looking back at you, a little smile on his lips. “And it’s all mine.”
Even though you were married and he had already seen you like that several times, you couldn't help but blush at his words.
He lay down on top of you and kissed you passionately, supporting himself on one arm, as he dragged his other hand through your slick folds, spreading yourself open. His fingers drew slow circles around your clit before dipping inside. Your body responded instantly, arching into him, hips rolling against his fingers. The wet sounds filled the room, mixed with your shaky breaths.
“You’re so wet, babe, and I barely did anything,” he murmured under his breath, holding his glistening fingers up to your lips.
You took them into your mouth and sucked, tasting yourself on them as Steve never took his eyes off you.
“So needy and desperate, aren’t you? And you really think you could live without me?”
You didn’t answer. Instead, a broken moan ripped from your throat as he rubbed his hand all over your entrance, spreading the wetness. Your hips moved towards him, looking for more. Then he grabbed himself and stroked it a few times, lubing himself up with your arousal. Your eyes fixed on him the entire time, biting your lip at the sight of his thick member. Even after so many years together you still hadn't gotten used to its size, capable of leaving you breathless and sore every time.
Steve moved closer to you, guiding his length through your folds, the tip nudging against your clit, teasing you. You threw your head back, a sigh escaped your lips.
Without warning, he drove into you with one, quick thrust, seating himself fully inside you. You gasped at the intrusion, arching your back as he stretched you open with a deep groan.
He started moving immediately, without giving you time to get used to it. You were so wet that he slid perfectly inside you all the way, meeting no resistance. The wet slaps of skin and your desperate moans filled the living room as he kept pounding into you at a brutal pace. Your hands ran down his hairy chest, his arms and then over his back, scratching him, digging your nails into him as he went deeper with each stroke.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, trying to pull him in tighter to you. His hand reached your clit, rubbing it as he kept fucking you harder. He thrusted in and out, relentlessly, quickly. His eyes stayed locked downward, fascinated by the sight of himself sliding in and out of you, dragging a creamy ring back and forth along his length.
“How — How can you think I can leave? That I can do without all this? Without you?" he asked after a while, his lips pressed to your ear.
There was no malice or bitterness in his voice, just honesty. You didn't respond, you couldn't. Partly out of shame, partly because Steve's movements prevented you from thinking or speaking clearly. Only half-formed words, moans escaped your mouth.
"Steve, I…"
"Yes, babe? Are you coming? I can feel you squeezing my cock. Come on, cum for me."
And you came, clenching around his cock and crying out his name. Steve followed you right away, coming inside you with a low, guttural groan as his release painted your walls. He gently collapsed on top of you, both of you breathing hard, skin slick with sweat.
-
About ten minutes later, you were lying on the couch, wearing only his shirt, curled slightly on your side with your head resting on Steve’s chest. Your fingers were still loosely intertwined with his, your breathing slowly returning to normal. He lay beside you in nothing but his boxers, one arm draped around you, absentmindedly tracing slow patterns along your arm.
Everything felt… lighter now. Not just because of what had just happened between you, but because of everything that had come before it — your argument, the honesty, the way you had finally let yourselves say things out loud instead of carrying them alone.
It hadn’t fixed everything. You knew that. There were still cracks — fears that wouldn’t disappear overnight. Things you —especially you — would have to work through, slowly, patiently. But for the first time in a while, it didn’t feel impossible. It felt like something you could face together.
Steve shifted slightly beneath you, his fingers tightening around yours for a moment before he lifted your hand, turning it gently so your wedding band caught the light of the lamp.
“Give me your ring,” he said after a beat.
You barely noticed at first, still half lost in the quiet haze of the moment. Then you blinked, the words taking a second to fully register. You pushed yourself up slightly, one hand pressing against his chest as you looked down at him, your brows knitting together. “What?”
“Your ring,” he repeated, his voice calm but his gaze intense. “Give it to me, please.”
Confusion flickered across your face as you sat up properly, turning to face him.
“My ring? Why?” There was a trace of unease in your voice now, subtle but there. You instinctively curled your fingers slightly, as if protecting it without even realizing. You didn’t like taking it off. Not even when you had temporarily left Steve you had taken it off.
Steve pushed himself up into a seated position, resting against the couch armrest as he looked at you.
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
You knew, instantly, that he wasn’t just talking about the ring. He was asking something bigger.
Did you trust me to stay?
Did you trust me not to leave?
Your throat tightened slightly, but you nodded without hesitation, swallowing. Your fingers hesitated for only a second more before you slipped the ring off and placed it in his hand.
It felt strange the moment it left your finger. Lighter. Wrong, almost.
Steve watched you for a second, then reached up and removed his own. For a brief moment, he held both rings in his palm, staring down at them — silent, thoughtful.
You shifted closer, kneeling on the couch in front of him now, your eyes fixed on his face, trying to understand what was happening but without success.
“What are you doing?” you asked softly.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned forward slightly and placed both rings on the couch between you.
Side by side.
You followed the movement with your eyes, your confusion deepening, your brow furrowing as you looked back up at him.
“Give me your hand,” Steve said softly.
You looked up at him, your confusion still written all over your face.
“Steve… will you tell me what you’re doing? I don’t—”
“We’re renewing our vows.”
You blinked, your eyes widening as you stared at him, even more lost than before.
“What?”
“Didn’t we say this was a new beginning?” he went on, his voice steady, certain. “For you, for me… for us.”
You nodded slowly, still trying to catch up.
“Then we need new promises,” he said. “Ones that actually fit us. Our way.”
Before you could say anything else, he reached for your hands again, holding them gently but firmly between his.
“Trust me,” he added, quieter this time.
There it was again.
That question beneath the words.
You swallowed and nodded. “I do.”
Steve took a slow breath, his thumbs brushing lightly over your knuckles as he gathered his thoughts. For a second, he looked almost nervous — but he didn’t look away.
“Do you take me to be yours again,” he began, his voice low but clear, “knowing that we don’t have everything figured out… that things might change, that life might not go the way we planned…”
Your breath caught in your throat.
“To have and to hold anyway,” he continued, “to stay instead of running, to try, even when it’s hard… to not walk away when things get complicated…”
Your eyes burned, but you didn’t blink.
“To love me for as long as we both want this… for as long as we keep choosing each other?”
Silence settled between you the moment he finished.
For a second, you couldn’t speak. You could barely breathe. Then you nodded — once, twice, again — your grip tightening around his hands.
“I do,” you said, your voice trembling but certain. “I do.”
Tears blurred your vision as you held onto him.
“Okay,” he murmured, a faint, relieved smile tugging at his lips. “Your turn.”
You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, your heart still racing as you repeated his words — slowly at first, then with more certainty, your voice finding its strength as you went. When you finished, Steve didn’t hesitate.
“I do,” he said immediately, like it was the easiest thing he had ever done. There was no doubt or uncertainty in his voice.
He reached for your ring, holding it carefully between his fingers before looking back up at you.
“Repeat after me,” he said softly.
You nodded.
“With this ring, I choose you.”
“With this ring, I choose you,” you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.
“I promise to love you, to be honest with you and to let you in, always.”
You repeated each word, your gaze never leaving his.
“I promise I won’t shut you out when I’m scared… to trust you, to stay… and to build whatever life we can — together.”
Your throat tightened, but you kept going, holding onto every word like it mattered more than anything.
“For as long as we both keep choosing each other.”
When you finished, his expression softened completely. Slowly—almost reverently— he slid the ring back onto your finger. The weight of it felt different now. Not heavier.
Stronger.
Your eyes dropped briefly to his ring, still resting between you on the couch. You picked it up carefully, turning it between your fingers before looking back at him.
“Your turn now,” you said softly, almost timidly.
He nodded.
“With this ring, I choose you,” you began.
He repeated it without hesitation.
“I promise to love you, to trust you, and to stay when things get hard — not because I have to, but because I want to.”
His voice was firm, certain.
“I promise to stay even when it would be easier to walk away… and to build whatever life we can— together.”
Your chest tightened.
“For as long as we both keep choosing each other.”
When he finished repeating, you took his hand and slid the ring back onto his finger, your touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. Your fingers intertwined.
When you looked up again, he was already staring at you. Smiling. There was something lighter in his expression now. Softer. Hopeful. You smiled back, your eyes still shining.
“And now what?” you asked quietly.
A small, familiar spark returned to his gaze.
“Well,” he murmured, his voice dipping just slightly as his hands came up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing softly along your cheeks, “now I get to kiss my wife.”
A flash of playfulness softened his features — something boyish and bright, as if he’d been counting down the seconds to this very moment. A faint smirk tugged at his lips, fueled by a quiet, steady confidence. Like he wasn’t asking — just finally claiming what had always been his.
And then he kissed you.
The force of it, the sudden pull of his hands, sent you tipping backward onto the couch, a soft gasp slipping from your lips as he followed you down without breaking the kiss, his body settling over yours.
You barely had time to react before your hands found him again — his shoulders, his hair — pulling him closer as if there was still distance left to close.
At first, the kiss was slow, his mouth moving against yours with a kind of care that felt almost reverent, like he was memorizing you all over again. Then it deepened, growing stronger, more urgent, the quiet tenderness giving way to something warmer, fuller, alive with everything you had both held back for too long.
Your fingers tightened in his hair, his grip on you firm but steady, keeping you anchored beneath him as if letting go wasn’t even an option anymore.
It wasn’t just a kiss.
But a promise.
A new beginning.
The first step into something new.
Together.
-
A week later, you started therapy.
It wasn’t an instant fix. Nothing about it was. But slowly — almost without noticing at first —something began to shift.
The mornings were the first to change.
You still reached for him sometimes when you woke up, your hand instinctively searching for the warmth of his side of the bed. But you no longer did it with that same sharp edge of panic or fear. You didn’t brace yourself before opening your eyes. You didn’t lie there, afraid of what you might — or might not — find.
And some mornings… you didn’t even have the chance to.
You woke up already wrapped in his arms, his body warm against yours, his hand resting at your waist like it had been there all night. Other times, you felt him pull you closer in his sleep, like even unconsciously he was making sure you were still there — still his, still within reach.
Those mornings were easier. Quieter. Because they didn’t leave space for doubt to creep in.
And when he wasn’t there, you didn’t rush. You didn’t run to the closet anymore to check if his clothes were still hanging where they belonged. You didn’t scan the house with your heart in your throat, waiting to confirm your worst fear. Instead, you breathed — once, twice. You reminded yourself — quietly, firmly — of everything he had told you. Of everything you had promised each other.
You chose to trust him.
And, slowly, you started trying to trust yourself too. To believe that you were enough. Not just because he said it, or because he loved you. But because you were.
-
Two months later, you came back from a weekend away with Robin and Nancy.
The moment you stepped into the house, you barely had time to set your bag down before Steve reached you, taking the suitcase from your hand and leaning in to kiss you softly.
“I missed you,” he murmured against your lips.
“I was gone only for two days,” you replied, smiling anyway.
“I know,” he said. “Two very long days.”
And then you noticed the expression on his face. He looked suspiciously satisfied, like he was waiting for you to figure something out.
Your eyes narrowed slightly. “What?” you asked, suspicious now. “What did you do?”
He feigned offense, placing a hand over his chest. “Wow. No trust at all?”
You gave him another look.
“Okay, maybe I did something,” he admitted, a grin slipping through.
“Please tell me you didn’t burn the kitchen down while I was gone.”
He scoffed, shaking his head. “Firstly, rude. And secondly, it’s a good thing. A surprise. Promise.”
Then he extended his hand toward you.
“Come on,” he said. “I’ve been waiting all day for you to see it.”
You hesitated for only a second before taking it, letting him guide you inside and up the stairs.
He left your suitcase by the bedroom door without a second thought and kept going.
And that was when you realized where you were going.
Your steps slowed. Your grip on his hand tightened just slightly.
The further down the hallway you walked, the heavier your chest felt until you stopped, right in front of the door you almost never opened anymore.
Your throat went dry.
You hadn't stepped inside in months. Most days, you barely even looked at it when you passed. Sometimes you wished it wasn’t there at all. That the door could just… disappear.
“Steve… what are we doing?”
He turned back to you immediately, and whatever excitement had been on his face softened the second he saw yours. He stepped closer, taking both your hands this time, holding them gently but firmly.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “Trust me. Okay?”
The words settled between you. Familiar now. Your eyes flickered to the door for a brief second, your chest tightening — then back to him. You swallowed hard and nodded.
“Okay.”
He smiled, just a little, then squeezed your hands.
“I need you to close your eyes,” he said. “And don’t open them. No matter what.”
A small flicker of hesitation crossed your face again. But this time, you didn’t let it take over.
“I’m trusting you,” you murmured.
“I know,” he said softly before closing your eyes.
You felt him let go of one of your hands, the other still firmly wrapped around his as he guided you forward. Then you heard the sound of the door opening. Your heartbeat picked up.
“Okay,” he said. “Come on. Just follow my voice.”
You did. Slowly. Carefully.
“Stop,” he said gently after a moment.
You stopped instantly, abruptly.
“Okay… you can open them.”
You inhaled deeply and opened your eyes.
At first, all you saw was him — standing in front of you, watching you carefully, almost nervously. Then your gaze shifted and everything else came into focus. You turned slowly, taking it in piece by piece.
Everything was different. But it wasn't what you had once imagined either.
The boxes were gone. The walls had been repainted in soft, warm colors that made the room feel brighter than you remembered.
There was no crib by the window. No changing table. No carefully planned corners for a life that hadn’t come. Instead, there were large canvases leaned against the far wall, waiting to be used. Shelves lined with paints, brushes, pencils and jars of color.
Your breath caught. Your hand rose instinctively to your mouth as your eyes began to sting.
It wasn’t a reminder of what you had lost anymore. Of what you couldn’t have. Steve had transformed it into something full of possibilities that didn’t hurt to look at. That didn’t whisper what if every time you passed by.
Behind you, Steve shifted slightly. When you didn’t speak right away, uncertainty crept in.
He cleared his throat. “Maybe I should’ve talked to you first,” he said quickly, stepping closer. “I just… I thought it was a shame to leave it like that and not using it. And you always said you wished you had a space to paint, so I thought—”
He stopped himself, running a hand through his hair, suddenly unsure.
“I mean, you don’t have to use it if you don’t want to,” he added, softer now. “We can —”
You turned to him before he could finish the sentence and closed the distance in two quick steps, kissing him.
He froze for a second, clearly caught off guard — then melted into it, his hands coming up to steady you as he kissed you back. When you pulled away, your forehead rested against his, your breath uneven.
“It’s perfect,” you whispered. “I love it. And I love you.”
Your arms slipped around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace.
“Thank you,” you murmured against him.
He held you just as tightly.
And over the following weeks, that room became yours.
You spent hours in there — painting, sitting, letting your thoughts settle into something quieter. Sometimes, you didn’t even realize how long you’d been there until the light changed. Steve would linger in the doorway now and then, leaning against the frame, watching you with that same soft expression—like he was witnessing something slowly come back to life.
Eventually, you even convinced him to sit for you. He complained about it at first. A lot. But he stayed.
And little by little, that room changed. From something that once held only absence, pain, sadness… to something filled with color.
And hope.
-
A few weeks later, Steve showed up with a camper that looked like it had lived several lives before you ever laid eyes on it. It was old, dented in places, the paint faded and uneven — but there was a spark in Steve’s eyes when he stood in front of it, one hand resting on the hood like he’d just found treasure.
“I know what you’re thinking but it has potential,” he said.
You raised an eyebrow. “It probably has tetanus.”
He grinned.
With Eddie’s help — and a lot more time, effort, and swearing than either of them would ever admit— they brought it back to life. By the time summer arrived and school let out, it was no longer falling apart.
With no schedules to follow and nowhere you had to be, you left. The road stretched out in front of you, endless and open. It felt… freeing.
You drove for hours with the windows down, music playing too loud, your hands resting somewhere on each other — your arm, your thigh, wherever you could reach — just to feel each other.
You made your way through the Rockies first, the air thinner, cooler, the silence deeper than anything you were used to. You hiked trails that left your legs aching and your lungs burning, but every time you stopped, every time you looked around, it felt worth it.
At night, you slept outside more often than not. Sometimes in the camper, sometimes in a tent, sometimes just wrapped in blankets under a sky so full of stars it didn’t feel real. There were moments when you lay side by side, not speaking, just looking up. And your thoughts didn’t spiral anymore.
At the Grand Canyon, you stood at the edge in silence, your shoulder pressed against his. His hand found yours without looking, fingers threading through yours like it was second nature.
“Hard to believe something like this just… exists,” you murmured.
Steve glanced at you instead of the view. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “It is.”
After that, you went to Yellowstone. Beautiful and unpredictable at the same time. One moment you were admiring the scenery, the next you were lost, soaked by unexpected rain, or arguing over a map you both insisted you knew how to read properly.
And then there was California.
Everything seemed to slow down there. The air was warmer, the days felt longer. The ocean stretched out endlessly in front of you, the sound of it constant.
Steve decided he was going to learn how to surf. In reality, he spent most of his time falling off the board while you sat on the beach laughing so hard your stomach hurt.
You played volleyball on the beach with strangers, drank overly sweet cocktails decorated with ridiculous little umbrellas, and watched the sun melt into the ocean more evenings than you could count.
During the day, Steve refused to wear sunscreen, even though you had told him he’d regret it.
And he did.
“This is your fault,” he muttered later, lying on his stomach, his skin flushed red while you tried not to laugh as you applied aloe.
“My fault?” you echoed, incredulous.
“You should’ve insisted harder.”
You shook your head, smiling despite yourself, your fingers gentler than your tone. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah,” he said. “But you love me.”
You didn’t answer.
You didn’t need to as you both knew the answer.
Sometimes, you acted like kids — splashing each other in the water, chasing each other along the shore, collapsing into the sand, breathless and laughing.
Other times, things slowed down. Quieted.
You’d sit close together, his arm around your shoulders, your head resting against him, listening to the waves without feeling the need to fill the silence.
One night, long after the beach had emptied, you slipped into the ocean together, only in your underwear.
The cold hit you instantly, sharp enough to steal the air from your lungs. You gasped, instinctively reaching for him. His hands found you beneath the surface, firm on your hips, pulling you into him until there was no space left between your bodies. The water moved around you, waves brushing against your skin. You laughed quietly when one hit you harder than expected, your hands gripping his shoulders to steady yourself, pressing your chest against his, your breath mixing.
You started kissing — your lips touching, hesitant for half a second — and then it deepened instantly.
Hungry.
Your fingers slid into his hair, grabbing, pulling him closer as his hold on you tightened, one hand pressing firmly at your lower back, anchoring you against him while the ocean swayed around you. There was no teasing or slow build. Just want. Desire. Raw and immediate.
“I need you,” he muttered against your mouth.
“Then stop talking,” you shot back softly, breathless, your eyes fixed on his. “And show me how much you need me.”
That was all it took.
The kiss turned rougher, deeper. His hand shifted, gripping your hip harder, pulling a quiet sound from you that you couldn’t hold back. The ocean rocked around you, but neither of you paid attention anymore.
By the time you made it back to shore, you were both breathing harder than you should have been, your skin still wet, cooling in the night air. The moment your feet hit the sand, his mouth was on yours again, stronger this time, more urgent, more demanding. Your hands moved just as quickly, sliding over him, holding, pulling, needing to feel him.
You stumbled back together, barely coordinated, until the sand gave way beneath you and you fell, a soft breath leaving your lips as your back hit the ground. Steve followed immediately, catching himself just enough to not hurt you.
Sand clung to your skin, your legs wrapped around him without thinking, pressing into him like you couldn’t get close enough, like your body refused the idea of space between you.
His mouth moved from your lips to your jaw, your neck, slower now — but not softer. Each touch leaving something behind, something you could feel spreading under your skin.
“You feel that?” he murmured against your skin, voice rough.
“Yes—”
Your head tipped back, breath catching, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he held you tighter, like he wasn’t planning to let you slip away again.
“Don’t — don’t stop,” you breathed against his mouth.
A quiet exhale left him, almost like a laugh, but darker.
“Never,” he replied, almost immediately.
When you finally came together, it felt inevitable. Natural. Like your bodies already knew the rhythm before you even found it. Every movement met, answered, matched. Your breath broke into uneven patterns, your fingers tightening, needing something solid as the rest of the world blurred into nothing but the sound of the ocean and the feeling of him.
His name left your lips without thought, barely more than a breath, your body reacting to every shift, every movement that pulled you further into him.
Afterward, you didn’t move. You stayed wrapped around each other, your skin still warm, your breathing slowly evening out as the night settled back around you. His arm tightened around you, pulling you closer instinctively, like distance wasn’t something either of you could tolerate. Your fingers traced slow, absent lines over his chest, your cheek pressed there, listening to his heartbeat.
The waves kept coming and going, soft, constant.
And for once, there was nothing chasing you.
No doubt.
No fear.
No voice in the back of your mind asking what if.
-
When you came back from your trip and the new school year began, things felt different between you and Steve. Not all at once. Not in a way that erased everything that had happened. But the tension, the constant weight of fear and doubt — it had softened.
You still talked about children sometimes. About the future. About what you both wanted. But the summer spent together had reminded you of something important: you were happy. With Steve. With the life you had built together, even if it was only the two of you for now. But it was enough for now. So you decided to wait and to give yourselves time.
No deadlines.
No pressure.
No quiet panic about what should come next.
Just the two of you.
Or rather, the three of you.
Because shortly after you got a dog.
A golden retriever puppy, barely a few months old, all oversized paws and endless energy that you named King.
King made his loyalties very clear from the start. He followed you everywhere like your shadow. If you moved, he moved. If you stopped, he sat at your feet. At night, it became a problem. Every time you and Steve went to bed, King would jump up before either of you could stop him and curl up right on Steve’s side.
“You’ve got competition,” you teased one night, already half under the covers as Steve stood there, hands on his hips, staring at the dog sprawled comfortably across his pillow.
Steve scoffed. “Yeah, I can see.”
King didn’t move. If anything, he stretched and it took a solid minute of negotiating — firm voice, light pushing, and eventually bribery — before Steve managed to reclaim his spot. Even then, King would lie at the foot of the bed, eyes on you.
Steve pretended to be annoyed at him, almost jealous. Sometimes he even sounded like it. But you caught the way he looked at the dog when he thought you weren’t paying attention — soft, amused, completely gone. He loved him as much as you did.
Every evening, he took him out for walks, no matter how tired he was. You’d watch from the window sometimes as they crossed the yard — Steve throwing the ball, King sprinting after it like his life depended on it, ears flying, tail wagging wildly.
-
Not long after classes started, a position opened in the art department. A few days later, the principal called you into his office and offered it to you. Your first instinct was to say no.
The thought of being so close to children every day made something in your chest tighten again. Old fears, quieter now, but not completely gone, stirred under the surface.
What if it would hurt?
What if it was too much?
What if you couldn’t handle it after all?
But then you thought about the studio that Steve had set up for you. About the way your hands had found their way back to color, to creation. About the way you had slowly, carefully started building something new out of what you thought you had lost.
So when the principal asked for your answer a few days later, you said yes.
Steve was… impossibly proud.
The surprise party he organized was chaotic, loud, full of people you loved — and entirely overwhelming in the best way.
Your first day in the classroom felt different than you expected.
Not heavy.
Not painful.
Just… new.
There were moments of uncertainty, of course. Small pauses where you caught yourself observing, adjusting, learning where to stand, how to speak.
At one point, while you were leaning over a desk helping a child mix colors, you felt something shift in the room — a subtle change in attention. You looked up. Steve was standing by the door. He hadn’t said anything. Just… watching. A small smile already on his face.
One of the kids noticed him first. Then another. And suddenly the entire class had turned, voices rising all at once.
“Who is that?”
“Coach Harrington!”
“Is that your husband?”
“Are you gonna kiss him?”
Your face flushed instantly.
“Okay — alright — back to —” you tried, but it was too late.
“Ki-ss! Ki-ss! Ki-ss!”
You shot Steve a look — half warning, half embarrassed.
He only grinned and walked over, slow, deliberate, like he was enjoying this far too much. When he reached you, he leaned in and pressed a quick, soft kiss to your cheek.
The class erupted.
You covered your face for a second, laughing despite yourself.
“Sorry,” he murmured near your ear, low enough that only you could hear. “Couldn’t help it.” Then, after a beat, softer. “I’ll make it up to you later.”
Your cheeks warmed even more, and you nudged him lightly, trying to regain some composure.
By the time the day ended and the last child had left, the classroom fell quiet. You stood there for a moment, taking it in—the scattered drawings, the faint smell of paint, the soft echo of a day that hadn’t hurt the way you feared it would.
If anything, it had felt… right.
A light knock pulled you from your thoughts.
You followed the sound.
Steve was leaning again against the doorframe, watching you with that same soft expression.
“So?” he asked.
You hesitated only a second.
“It was good,” you said.
He raised an eyebrow.
You smiled a little, shaking your head. “Okay… it was better than good.”
Something in his face eased. He stepped closer, his hand settling lightly at your waist.
“I knew it,” he said quietly.
You let out a small breath, glancing around the room one last time before looking back at him.
“I’m happy. Really happy,” you admitted.
It came out softer than you expected.
Steve’s thumb brushed gently against your side. “And I’m proud of you.”
You held his gaze for a second, then a small, knowing smile curved your lips. “Then maybe we should go home,” you said lightly, tilting your head just enough, “so you can show me how proud you are.”
Something shifted in his expression immediately — subtle, but unmistakable.
“Don’t say more,” he murmured, a hint of a grin breaking through.
“Come on,” you said, reaching for your bag.
He took it from you without a word, his other hand finding yours and you walked out together, turning off the lights behind you.
-
One evening, you were already home, waiting for Steve to be back. Dinner was ready, the table perfectly set. The kitchen still carried the warmth of what you had just cooked, and King lingered nearby, pacing in small, hopeful circles, his eyes fixed on the counter in case something might fall.
You glanced at the clock one more time.
Steve was late.
You furrowed your brow. Practice should have ended a while ago and he was rarely off schedule without a reason.
You dried your hands on a dish towel, trying not to let your thoughts drift too far ahead of you. But just as a flicker of concern began to settle in your chest, the sound of the front door opening cut through the silence.
Relief left your lips in a quiet breath before you could stop it. King reacted instantly, tail wagging as he rushed out of the kitchen, nails clicking against the floor as he ran to greet Steve.
“Hey, what happened? The kids wouldn’t let you go?” you called out, stepping out of the kitchen after the dog, still distracted as you wiped your hands.
“Hey,” Steve said.
Something in his tone — slight, uncertain — made you lift your gaze. At first, you didn’t notice anything different. Then your eyes caught it.
A small hand, barely visible, peeking out from behind his leg, fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his pants.
You slowed mid-step. Your mouth parted slightly, the words you had been about to say fading before they could form. Your gaze stayed fixed there, on that small hand, and on the hint of a face just barely visible behind him as you tried to make sense of what you were seeing. But you couldn’t quite see who it was.
You looked back up at Steve. “Oh,” you said, managing a small smile despite the confusion already building, “I see we have a guest.”
Steve lifted a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it lightly, a nervous habit you knew too well. He smiled back—but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was hesitation there. Almost… caution.
He glanced down behind him. Then, after a brief pause, he shifted slightly to the side.
And the child finally came into view.
You blinked. “Charlie?” you said, surprise softening your voice.
He stood half-hidden still, shoulders slightly hunched, his eyes flicked up briefly before dropping again like he wasn’t sure if he should be there at all.
You knew him. He was one of your students. And one of Steve’s athletes too. Quiet. Gentle. Polite. The kind of child who never demanded attention, who was always the last to leave, as if he had no hurry, or worse, nowhere to go.
“Good evening, Mrs. Harrington,” he said, his voice small, careful. His eyes lowered to his worn shoes, toes turned slightly inward.
King, meanwhile, had already approached him, tail wagging enthusiastically as he sniffed at him. Charlie flinched slightly at first but didn’t pull away. He just stood there, still, letting the dog investigate him like he didn’t quite know how to act.
You softened immediately at the sight.
“Hey,” you said gently, your voice shifting without you even thinking about it as you took a few little steps closer. “It’s okay, you don’t need to be afraid. He’s friendly. And… curious.”
Charlie gave a small nod, barely lifting his gaze.
You knew enough about his situation. In a town like Hawkins, people talked and everyone seemed to know everyone else's business. Over the years, you had heard various things about him. No father. A mother who was rarely home. And when she was, she often seemed lost in problems of her own and Charlie ended up spending many evenings alone.
Your attention flicked back to Steve again as he stepped closer to you. A thousand questions sat just behind your lips but you didn’t ask them. Not yet.
Steve cleared his throat. “I’m sorry I’m late,” he began, his voice low. “I should’ve called, but—”
He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, lingering just long enough to brush his lips near your ear.
“His mom didn’t show up,” he murmured quietly so that only you could hear. “We couldn’t reach her. And I couldn’t leave him there.”
He pulled back, his hand finding yours, fingers wrapping around it as he searched your face. Your eyes flicked briefly to Charlie, then back to Steve. You nodded, a small smile forming as you squeezed his hand lightly, reassuring him that it was all okay. You stepped away from Steve and moved toward Charlie, lowering yourself to his height so you wouldn’t tower over him.
“Hey,” you said softly. “You actually got here at the perfect time.”
He shifted slightly, hands clasped behind his back, weight moving from one foot to the other.
“I hope you’re hungry because dinner’s ready,” you continued, keeping your tone light. “And I made way too much food. Honestly, it’s a problem at this point.” A small smile tugged at your lips. “Think you could help us with that?”
Charlie nodded after a moment, still not quite meeting your eyes. You nodded back, as if sealing an agreement.
“Perfect,” you said gently. Then, glancing over your shoulder at Steve, “why don’t we go wash our hands while Steve… gets everything ready?”
Your eyes lingered on him just a second longer, enough for him to understand that what you were really giving him was time. He gave a small nod in return before going back to look at Charlie. You reached out carefully, giving him the chance to step back if he wanted to but he didn’t. Your fingers closed gently around his hand—small, a little cold—and you guided him toward the bathroom. Behind you, you heard Steve move, the faint sound of the phone being picked up echoing through the quiet house. As you walked, you could feel the slight tension in Charlie’s grip, the way he stayed close but cautious, like he wasn’t used to this kind of care.
When you stepped back into the kitchen, your eyes found Steve’s immediately. He shook his head, just slightly. Something in your chest dropped, but you didn’t let it show. You forced a small, easy smile for Charlie.
“Here we are,” you said lightly. “Go ahead, Charlie, sit here.”
You gestured to the chair between you and Steve. He moved toward it slowly, almost carefully, like he was afraid of getting something wrong. Steve took the seat across from you, while King had already settled at your side, tail brushing against your leg, eyes fixed on the table with quiet anticipation. He knew you well enough to expect something, even if he’d already eaten.
You looked at Charlie, searching for the right thing to say. Make yourself at home sat on the tip of your tongue — but it didn’t feel right. Not when you didn’t know what home meant for him.
“Take whatever you like, please” you said instead, softer.
He still didn’t move. His mouth was slightly open, his gaze fixed on the table in front of him. You followed it.
Dinner wasn’t anything special — just spaghetti with meatballs, fresh salad and warm garlic bread. The portions were the same you cooked every night for you and Steve, the kind that usually left leftovers for the next day. It was normal for you.
But not for him.
His eyes moved slowly from one dish to the next, taking everything in. There was something in his expression — something caught between hesitation and wonder. Like he didn’t quite believe it was real or that it was actually meant for him.
Your chest tightened and a thought slipped in before you could stop it.
When was the last time he ate like this?
Not just ate — but sat down at a table, with other people and warm food in front of him that he didn’t have to earn, or rush, or hide. Maybe he didn’t know what to do. Maybe he was just waiting to understand what was allowed. Waiting for someone to tell him it was okay.
You swallowed hard but didn’t ask questions. Instead, you reached forward and began serving him yourself, adding a bit of everything onto his plate. More than you normally would. More than he probably expected.
“There you go,” you said gently once you were done. “There’s more if you want, okay?”
He nodded faintly, his hands still resting in his lap for a moment longer.
You and Steve served yourselves next, exchanging a brief look across the table before your attention returned to Charlie.
He hadn’t touched the food yet.
Only when you both took your first bites did he finally move. At first, it was tentative. Slow. Careful. He picked at the food like he was testing it, like he wasn’t entirely sure it was really his to eat. Like he expected someone to stop him. But after a few bites, hunger took over and his movements changed — faster now, less careful. He ate quickly, almost urgently, like his body couldn’t afford to wait. A bit of sauce smeared at the corner of his mouth.
You had stopped mid-motion without realizing it, your fork suspended halfway to your mouth as you watched him. Something shifted inside you. It wasn’t discomfort. Or pity. It was something else — warm, but heavier than you expected. Something that settled low in your chest and stayed there, tightening your throat just slightly. You didn’t have a name for it but it made it harder to look away.
You loved your students. All of them. But this felt different. Seeing Charlie like that, so small in that chair, so quiet and guarded one moment and then suddenly… unfiltered. Unaware. There was something vulnerable about it. But also something incredibly real. And it stirred something in you that you didn’t quite recognize. Something close to affection — but deeper, instinctive, almost unfamiliar in its intensity.
You smiled, softly. Charlie caught it out of the corner of his eye and he slowed down almost immediately. The shift was instant — shoulders tightening again, movements becoming smaller, more controlled, like he had just remembered himself or as if he thought he had done something wrong. Your smile faded just enough. You looked down quickly, pretending to focus on your own plate, giving him privacy again.
Dinner moved forward like that. Quiet, mostly. You and Steve tried to make conversation — small questions, light comments, easy conversation — but you didn’t push. When Charlie answered, it was brief. Polite. Careful.
So you let the silence settle instead.
And strangely… it wasn’t uncomfortable.
It felt gentle.
Safe.
The kind of quiet that didn’t demand anything from anyone. The only sounds were the soft clink of cutlery, King’s tail occasionally brushing against the floor, and Charlie’s breathing slowly evening out as he ate.
And as you sat there, across from Steve, watching this small, fragile moment take shape at your table, you felt something shift inside you again.
Not sharp.
Not painful.
Just… something opening.
Something that felt, quietly, like the beginning of something you hadn’t planned — but somehow already cared about.
At some point, King started circling the table again, nails clicking softly against the floor as he moved from one chair to the next, hopeful and impatient in the way he always was. Then, without warning, he stopped beside Charlie and rested his chin on the boy’s leg. Like he’d done it a hundred times before. Charlie froze instantly. His shoulders stiffened, his hand hovering mid-air, his whole body going still.
“It’s okay,” Steve said gently, his tone easy, reassuring. “You don’t have to be scared. It just means that he likes you.”
He reached over, picking up a small piece of leftover meat from his plate and holding it out toward him.
“Here,” he added. “You can give him this if you want. He’ll be your best friend for life after that.”
Charlie hesitated. He looked at Steve first, uncertain — then at you. You gave him a small nod, soft, encouraging. He took the piece of meat slowly, carefully, like even that small gesture required permission. Then he lowered his hand toward King, a little unsure.
King didn’t hesitate. He took it immediately, tail still wagging, clearly thrilled by the interaction and the food. Charlie watched him, something shifting in his expression. Then, almost cautiously, he lifted his other hand and rested it on the top of King’s head. He started petting him, slowly at first, light, almost testing. King leaned into it, happily, before licking his hand in response.
And just like that a small smile appeared on Charlie’s face. Barely there at first, like he didn’t quite know how to hold it. Then a quiet, surprised sound slipped out of him — something between a breath and a laugh.
You realized then that it was the first genuine smile you'd seen since Steve had brought him home.
A real smile.
The sight of it sent a rush of warmth through you so sudden it almost caught you off guard. You looked up, meeting Steve’s gaze across the table.
His expression had softened in exactly the same way.
Neither of you said anything. There was no need. Your smiles said more than a thousand words.
-
Darkness had settled outside the windows. The last traces of daylight had disappeared long ago, replaced by the quiet hum of crickets and the occasional headlights passing on the distant road. The clock in the kitchen kept ticking steadily forward, each passing minute making the silence feel heavier.
Steve had tried calling again. And again. But it had become clear no one was coming.
Hopper had been informed, and after a brief conversation, the three of you had come to the same conclusion. It was late, Charlie was safe where he was, and dragging him somewhere unfamiliar in the middle of the night would only make an already difficult situation worse.
Hopper promised he would start looking into things first thing in the morning. He'd check hospitals, talk to people, ask questions and figure out what had happened. But until then, the best place for Charlie was here. At your house.
You and Steve got the guest room ready together, moving quickly, instinctively falling into rhythm without needing to say anything. Clean sheets, an extra blanket, a small glass of water placed on the nightstand.
You found something for him to sleep in as well. One of the spare pajamas that had been left behind over the years after countless sleepovers. Dustin, Mike, Lucas and the others always seemed to forget something whenever they stayed over. The pajama shirt hung almost to Charlie's thighs and the sleeves fell past his wrists. It was obviously far too big for him, but it was clean, warm, and smelled faintly of laundry detergent.
When it was finally time to put him to bed, something shifted again — a different kind of uncertainty. You were suddenly aware of how unfamiliar this felt — not the presence of a child, not really. You and Steve were surrounded by them every day at school and you had even years of babysitting behind you.
But this was different.
This was your home.
And right now there was a child who was almost a stranger to you. Not one of your little friends, like Dustin, or a friend's kid you found yourself looking after for a night. Sure, he was your student, but you still knew little about him. He was a responsibility that didn’t have a clear boundary. You didn’t know what his routine looked like. Or if he had one at all. You didn’t know if someone usually tucked him in. If he was used to silence, or noise, or being left alone entirely. You didn't know what you could or couldn't do.
He wasn’t your son, after all.
And you weren’t his mother.
The thought made you hesitate. But not for long. Because he needed you, whether you were his mother or not.
You stepped closer to him. He had already slipped under the covers, lying stiffly on his back, like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself there either. You reached down and gently pulled the blanket up a little higher, tucking it around him. Your movements were careful, slow. His eyes stayed fixed on you the entire time.
“I… uh,” you started, your voice quieter now. “Me and Steve — we’re just down the hall. First door on the left.” You offered a small smile. “If you need anything… anything at all, you can come get us. Or call.”
He just nodded.
You held his gaze for a moment longer, searching his expression, hoping he understood — not just the words, but what you meant.
That he wasn’t alone.
“Goodnight, Charlie,” you said gently. “Sweet dreams.”
Still no answer.
You smiled anyway, then turned toward the door. You had just opened it, one foot already out in the hallway, when his voice stopped you.
“Goodnight… Mrs. Harrington.”
You turned back, your eyes met his again. For a second, something caught in your chest. You smiled again at him. Part of you wanted to tell him to use your name. To make it easier, less formal. But you didn’t. It was too soon.
“Goodnight,” you simply said.
Then you stepped out and closed the door gently behind you, the quiet of the hallway wrapping around you almost immediately. You let out a slow breath, your shoulders dropping without you even realizing how tense they had been. It felt strange. Like you had just passed some kind of test you didn’t know you were taking.
-
By the time you reached your bedroom, the exhaustion of the evening had finally started catching up to you. You pushed the door open quietly.
Steve was standing beside the bed, halfway through changing out of his clothes. His shirt was already gone, a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips while he tugged a clean T-shirt over his head. The moment he saw you, he stopped immediately.
“How is he?” he asked right away, concern already written all over his face. “Did he fall asleep?”
You shook your head as you closed the door softly behind you, your hand lingering on the handle for just a moment before you let it go.
“Not yet,” you said. “But he was fine... and I think he was tired too. After all, it was a busy evening... for all of us. I'm sure he'll fall asleep soon.”
Steve nodded slowly, eyes dropping for a second as he processed that, some of the tension visibly leaving his shoulders. Then his gaze lifted back to yours.
“And you?” he asked more carefully this time, his voice low.
There it was.
The real question.
Are you okay after all of this?
You leaned back lightly against the dresser, crossing your arms loosely over yourself as you thought about it.
“Honestly?” you said after a moment. “Better than I expected.”
“Are you sure?” He said, carefully.
You let out a small breath that almost turned into a laugh, but didn’t quite make it.
“I’m not gonna lie. It was… intense,” you admitted. “And a little overwhelming at first.” You paused for a moment before continuing. “When I saw him standing behind you, I think my brain completely stopped working for a second.”
That earned the faintest smile from Steve, though it disappeared quickly again.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call first to warn you, but I didn’t really have the time or… a choice,” he said immediately.
You shook your head gently.
“Steve,” you said softly, “you weren’t going to leave him there all alone.”
His jaw tightened slightly at that.
You could still picture it clearly — Charlie patiently waiting at the baseball field long after everyone else had gone home, like he was already used to it. To being forgotten. The thought made something ache inside your chest all over again.
“You did the right thing. I would’ve done the same,” you told him.
“Yeah?” he asked softly.
You nodded.
“Of course.”
Steve looked at you for a long moment after that, something conflicted moving behind his eyes.
“When I showed up with him,” he admitted quietly, “I was scared you’d look at me and think I’d lost my mind.”
You frowned immediately.
“Steve—”
“No, I —” He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling softly. “I was really scared… I didn’t know if this would… bring everything back up again.” His voice lowered on the last part.
Even now he hated talking about the pain you both had gone through. But you promised each other you'd be honest and tell each other everything, even when it wasn’t easy. You didn't want to repeat the same mistakes.
Your expression softened instantly. “You thought I was gonna fall apart again.”
He didn’t talk but his silence was answer enough. You pushed yourself away from the dresser and walked toward him slowly.
“I… I was scared, at first,” you admitted.
Steve’s face tightened slightly.
“But not because of Charlie,” you clarified quickly. “More because… I didn’t know how I was supposed to act. What he needed. Or what the right thing was.”
You stopped in front of him.
“But…” your voice softened, “I’m glad you brought him here.”
Steve’s eyes searched yours carefully, like he still wasn’t fully allowing himself to believe that.
“And he can stay as long as he needs to,” you said firmly. “Honestly, I’m more angry that nobody seems to even be looking for him.”
Something dark flickered briefly across Steve’s face at that.
“Yeah,” he muttered quietly. “Me too.”
Silence settled between you for a moment. Then Steve looked at you again, softer this time.
“You were really good tonight,” he said suddenly.
You blinked.
“With him,” he added. His mouth lifted faintly at one corner. “The second you realized what was happening, you just… took over.” He shook his head a little, almost like he still couldn’t quite believe it. “You made him feel safe in, like, five minutes.”
Warmth spread slowly through your chest.
“So did you,” you replied quietly.
Steve huffed softly. “I mostly panicked internally.”
You laughed under your breath. “No,” you said, stepping closer. “You brought him home. You made sure he wasn’t alone tonight.”
Your eyes softened as you looked at him. “You’re a really good man, Steve Harrington.”
His gaze dropped briefly, almost shy despite all these years.
“And… You’d be an amazing father,” you added, gentler now.
Steve smiled automatically at that—but it faltered almost immediately after. You noticed it instantly. Like the words had caught somewhere inside him. Your head tilted slightly, knowing exactly what had happened.
“You can say it, you know,” you murmured.
His eyes lifted back to yours. For a second, he looked almost hesitant. Then finally, “You’d be an amazing mother too.”
A small smile pulled at your lips as you stepped even closer until your bodies nearly touched.
“Thanks,” you said quietly. “I’ll try to be.”
Your hand slid gently against his chest.
“One day. When we’re ready.”
Steve’s expression softened completely.
Relief.
Love.
Hope.
All at once.
His hands found your waist slowly, carefully, like he still wanted to make sure this was real.
“That sounds nice,” he admitted quietly.
You smiled.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
You looked at each other for another moment before Steve finally pulled you fully against him. You melted into his arms immediately, your cheek pressing against his chest as his arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you close. His hand slid slowly up and down your back while the other rested protectively at the base of your spine. You could hear his heartbeat beneath your ear.
After a moment, you tilted your head back just enough to look at him again. “I love you,” you whispered.
Steve smiled. “I love you too.”
Then he leaned down and kissed you.
-
The next morning, you woke before the sun had fully risen. You blinked slowly against the soft morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in muted shades of blue. For a moment, you stayed still beneath the covers. The house sat wrapped in that quiet kind of silence that only existed in the earliest hours — before alarms, before life began moving again. Beside you, Steve was still asleep, sprawled on his stomach. One arm had somehow ended up stretched across your waist sometime during the night, heavy and warm over the blanket, his face half-buried into the pillow. His hair stuck up messily in every direction, lips slightly parted, completely unaware of the world.
You watched him for a few seconds, then your thoughts drifted to Charlie. You carefully slipped out from under Steve’s arm, moving slowly so you wouldn’t wake him. He stirred anyway, mumbling something incoherent under his breath before instinctively reaching toward the warm spot you had left. You smiled to yourself. Then quietly, you pulled something on and stepped into the hallway. Your feet slowed when you reached the guest room. Carefully, you opened the door just enough to peek inside.
Charlie was still asleep, curled under the blankets, one arm tucked awkwardly beneath the pillow, hair messy from sleep.
Relief moved through you instantly.
At some point during the night, he must have kicked the blankets halfway off himself and King had somehow managed to sneak in too, curled at the foot of the bed like some oversized guard dog, completely passed out.
You almost laughed.
Traitor.
You had checked on him more than once during the night. Each time half expecting him to be awake, scared, crying, confused. But every time, you had found him still sleeping.
Charlie’s face looked different asleep. Softer. Younger. Relaxed in a way you didn’t think you had ever seen him at school. He was just a little boy sleeping. Something in your chest tightened unexpectedly. You wondered when he had last slept somewhere without worrying. If he ever had.
You stepped inside just long enough to pull the blanket back over him. He shifted slightly but didn’t wake. King cracked one eye open, lifted his head lazily.
“You’re supposed to sleep in our room,” you whispered.
His tail thumped once against the mattress before he ignored you entirely. You shook your head, smiling faintly, and quietly slipped back out.
Downstairs, the house still smelled faintly of last night’s dinner. You started the coffee machine first. Then breakfast. You decided to make pancakes, hoping Charlie liked them. Without realizing it, you found yourself making more than usual.
By the time you were whisking batter, you heard some familiar footsteps behind you and after a moment, strong arms wrapped around your waist, making you smile immediately.
“Good morning to you too,” you said softly.
Steve leaned down, still half asleep, pressing his face against your shoulder, kissing it lazily.
“It’s Saturday and it’s early,” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep. “Come back to bed.”
You smiled despite yourself.
“Don’t tempt me, Steve.”
A soft hum vibrated against your skin.
“You know I can’t help myself,” he murmured near your ear. “Especially when I know I can convince you.”
His hands settled against your hips, warm and familiar.
“Steve…”
“Mhm?”
“I’d like to remind you we’re not alone in the house.”
He kissed your shoulder again. “I checked,” he murmured. “He’s still sleeping.”
The admission caught you off guard for a second.
Of course he had checked too.
The thought alone made your chest tighten in the softest way.
You tilted your head back for only a moment, giving him space without even meaning to as his lips brushed your skin again. Then you caught yourself. Turning in his arms, you rested your hands against his chest to stop him.
“That doesn’t mean he couldn’t wake up any second,” you said gently. “And I’d rather avoid traumatizing him any more than life already has.”
Steve let out a quiet sigh — not annoyed. Amused.
His forehead dropped lightly against yours.
“Ok, you’re right. I’ll behave,” he said. “For now,” he added before kissing you. Soft. Slow.
When he pulled back, he exhaled quietly.
“I’m gonna call Hopper,” he said after a moment. “See if there’s any news.”
The mood shifted a little, reality settling back in.
You still nodded. Even though, deep down, you already feared the answer.
While Steve reached for the phone, you turned back toward the counter and started cooking. You needed something to do with your hands, something to stop your mind from spiraling.
You poured the first circle of batter into the pan, watching it spread slowly across the surface as the soft hiss filled the kitchen.
After a few seconds, Hopper answered. You could hear his voice through the receiver — agitated, fast — but none of the actual words reached you. You focused on the pancakes, the smell slowly filling the kitchen.
A small stack of pancakes had already begun to form on the plate beside the stove by the time you glanced over again. Steve’s expression had slowly changed as he listened to Hopper. His eyes met yours, your stomach tightening. You could tell before he even hung up.
“Still nothing?” you asked quietly, swallowing hard.
Steve shook his head. “Hopper checked their caravan,” he said carefully. “Nobody was there. And no one has seen her apparently.”
He paused, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “He said… Charlie can keep staying here, for now. If… we want, of course.”
You looked down at the batter absentmindedly as something twisted painfully in your chest. Not because you minded. God, you didn’t. But because no child should ever be left wondering why no one came. Then there was a part of you — the quiet, selfish one — that felt strangely relieved.
Your eyes slowly lifted to Steve’s.
“Yeah,” you agreed immediately. “Of course he can stay. As long as he needs it.”
“You sure?” he asked quietly.
Steve watched you for a second, like maybe he was still afraid of your answer. Like some part of him worried this would be too much.
“Steve,” you said gently. “I told you. I’m okay, really. And he needs us now. That’s all that matters.”
Something softened in his face. “You’re kinda amazing, you know that?”
You rolled your eyes lightly. “You brought home a child, Harrington. You are.”
“Yeah, and you just took over, making it feel normal.”
“I just made him dinner.”
“You made him feel safe. Welcome.”
You looked at him, your mouth slightly open. But before you could answer, soft footsteps interrupted you.
You both turned.
Charlie stood awkwardly near the kitchen entrance, hair sticking up everywhere. King stood proudly beside him like he had personally escorted him downstairs. Charlie hesitated when he noticed you both looking.
“Morning,” Steve said immediately, casual — gentle enough not to scare him off. “Did you sleep well, buddy?”
Charlie shifted his weight slightly. Then, he nodded, quickly.
“Good,” he said, softer than usual. “You hungry?”
Charlie looked up at you and after a moment, he nodded again.
Your heart nearly cracked open. “Well,” you said, turning back toward the stove, “perfect timing. You pointed toward the bowl on the counter. “Pancakes. They’re almost ready. And before Steve eats all of them, I suggest you sit down.”
Steve looked offended. “What? I didn’t…”
“You ate six last time.”
“Seven,” he corrected proudly. “It's not my fault if your pancakes are the best,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.
And for the second time, you saw it. Small. Quick. Gone almost immediately. But there.
Another smile.
And somehow, standing there in your kitchen, with King circling his legs and Steve already pretending to argue over pancake rights, something shifted. You couldn’t explain it yet. Didn’t have words for it. But for the first time in a long while…
The house felt fuller.
Complete.
-
Since school was closed for the weekend, you had the day off and could do whatever you wanted. So after breakfast, Steve disappeared for a moment before returning with two baseball gloves and a ball in hand. He leaned casually against the kitchen counter, looking at Charlie.
“So,” he said, shrugging lightly, like the idea had just come to him, “since you’re here…”
Charlie looked up from where he sat beside King.
“Thought maybe we could get a little practice in.” Steve tossed one ball lightly into the air before catching it again. “Consider it private coaching.” A small grin tugged at his mouth. “But don’t tell the others, alright? Can’t have the team thinking I play favorites.”
Charlie hesitated, shoulders tightening slightly.
“You really don’t have to if you don’t feel like it,” you added gently, not wanting him to feel pressured.
Steve nodded immediately. “No pressure,” he said easily. “We can just throw the ball around for a bit. King will probably join and ruin everything anyway.”
As if on cue, King lifted his head and after a second, Charlie nodded.
Steve pointed at him with mock seriousness.
“That’s my guy.”
-
Outside, you settled onto the porch with your sketchbook, intending to draw. At least, that had been the plan. Instead, your pencil barely touched the page as you found yourself watching Steve and Charlie.
Steve crouched down to Charlie’s height, explaining something while the boy listened carefully, shoulders tense. At first, he nodded and answered only when Steve asked him something directly. But little by little, the nervousness began to fade.
And soon, he was laughing quietly when Steve intentionally exaggerated a missed catch, dramatically falling backward into the grass.
“You did that on purpose,” Charlie said before quickly going quiet again, almost surprised by his own voice.
Steve placed a hand over his chest. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”
Another laugh escaped Charlie, his smile widened despite himself.
You smiled before you could stop yourself.
Charlie looked… lighter. Like for a few hours, he had forgotten to be scared. And watching him — safe, laughing, free in a way you suspected he rarely got to be — stirred something unfamiliar and quiet inside your chest. And frightening in how natural it felt.
You didn’t quite know what to call it. Not yet. Affection, maybe. Or something dangerously close to love. And that scared you more than you wanted to admit. Because you knew what love could do and how quickly it could turn into grief. How suddenly happiness could become fear and loss. And letting yourself care this much felt dangerous.
But then Charlie laughed again — breathless this time, chasing after King while Steve pretended to complain dramatically about being ignored by his own player — and something inside you softened anyway.
So, just for now, you let yourself enjoy the moment. The sound of laughter drifting through the yard. The warmth of the sun on your skin. Steve’s voice somewhere in the background.
-
By evening, the kitchen smelled like flour, tomato sauce, and melted cheese.
You had decided on homemade pizza.
At first, Charlie hovered near the kitchen doorway again, uncertain, hands half-hidden inside the sleeves of Dustin’s oversized sweatshirt. King sat loyally beside him, tail sweeping lazily against the floor every few seconds like he had already decided Charlie belonged there.
“Come here,” you said gently, patting the stool beside you. “I need help decorating.”
Charlie hesitated, glancing briefly toward Steve like he needed confirmation he wouldn’t be in the way.
“You heard the boss,” Steve said, washing his hands at the sink. “No backing out now.”
Slowly, Charlie climbed onto the stool beside you. You handed him a small handful of shredded mozzarella while you spread tomato sauce over the dough.
“Okay,” you said softly. “You can put the cheese on.”
He watched your hands first, careful and observant, before pinching a small amount between his fingers and sprinkling it over the pizza with extreme concentration. At first he moved slowly, like he was afraid of doing something wrong. Then he paused.
“Like this?” he asked quietly, his voice almost a whisper.
You opened your mouth to answer, but Steve leaned over the counter first.
“That is way too much cheese,” he said with exaggerated seriousness.
Charlie froze immediately and you shot Steve a look.
“Ignore him,” you said, nudging Charlie lightly with your shoulder. “There’s no such thing as too much cheese.”
Steve looked personally offended.
“There absolutely is.”
“There isn’t.”
“There is. You just refuse to acknowledge basic pizza science.”
You rolled your eyes.
Beside you, Charlie let out the smallest laugh.
As the evening went on, Charlie relaxed little by little. He started helping more without asking. Passing ingredients. Carefully arranging pepperoni in uneven little circles. Sneaking extra cheese onto one side of the pizza when he thought Steve wasn’t looking.
King, meanwhile, had become completely and utterly attached to Charlie. The dog barely left his side. Every time Charlie moved, King followed. Every time Charlie sat down, King somehow ended up pressed against his leg like they had known each other forever. At one point, while you were reaching for plates, you noticed Charlie glance around carefully before lowering his hand beneath the counter. The second the piece of cheese slipped onto the floor, the dog appeared like magic and eat it. Charlie looked oddly proud of himself. Across the kitchen, Steve caught your eye just in time to see Charlie carefully slipping another tiny piece of pepperoni. Steve let out a dramatic sigh, crossing his arms.
“Great,” he said, crossing his arms. “Now he likes you more than me too.”
Charlie startled slightly, cheeks reddening.
“I— sorry,” he mumbled immediately, hand pulling back like he’d done something wrong.
Steve’s expression softened at once. “Kid, I’m kidding,” he said gently.
Charlie glanced up uncertainly. “He switched teams years ago,” Steve continued, nodding toward the dog. “The second she started sneaking him food under the table, I lost all authority in this house.”
“Excuse me?” you said, pretending to sound offended as you slid the pizza onto a cutting board. “You spoil him just as much.”
Charlie looked between the two of you quietly. Then, almost absentmindedly, his hand dropped to scratch behind King’s ears. King immediately melted into the floor with complete devotion.
Charlie also started speaking more. Small things at first. How he liked baseball more than math. How he hated peas. How King reminded him of a dog he’d once wanted but never got. Nothing really big or life-changing but every sentence felt important to you. Like trust being handed over in pieces.
“You know,” Steve said eventually, leaning back in his chair after another bite of pizza, “I think this might actually be the best pizza we’ve ever made.”
You looked up from your plate and glanced first at Charlie, then at Steve. You smiled softly. He wasn’t talking about the food.
“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I think so too.” Then, after a beat, your eyes dropped back to Charlie. “I had an amazing helper.”
Steve pointed to himself immediately.
“Thank you,” he said, nodding once like it was obvious.
You looked at him flatly. “I wasn’t talking about you.”
Steve placed a hand dramatically over his chest. “Wow,” he said, feigning heartbreak. “That’s actually cruel.”
You laughed quietly when the doorbell suddenly rang. The noise cut through the room so suddenly that all three of you looked up.
“Were we expecting someone?” Steve asked.
You slowly shook your head but but deep down, somehow, you already knew. You couldn’t explain how or why. Instinct, maybe. The feeling settled heavily in your stomach before either of you even moved.
Steve stood first. And you followed almost immediately, wiping your hands absentmindedly on a kitchen towel while Charlie remained seated at the table, one hand resting unconsciously against King’s fur.
When Steve opened the door, Hopper stood there. And beside him, there was a woman.
Her hair was messy, hastily tied back. There was fading makeup smudged beneath tired eyes and a bruise near her temple, yellowing at the edges. Her clothes smelled faintly of cigarettes and hospital disinfectant. She looked exhausted more than anything else. Worn down by life in a way that made it difficult to tell how old she actually was.
You didn't need an introduction to know who she was.
Charlie’s mother.
Your chest tightened instantly.
The woman swallowed hard, eyes flickering nervously past you into the house, searching.
Hopper exhaled heavily, rubbing a hand over his jaw.
“She got into a car accident yesterday,” he explained quietly, glancing between you and Steve. “Minor injuries but she ended up at the county hospital unconscious most of the night. She didn’t have any documents with her, so they didn’t know who she was.”
“Charlie,” she breathed out.
You turned.
Charlie stood a few feet behind you but he didn’t move. Not immediately. Then, slowly, carefully, he stepped forward. The woman’s eyes were fixed entirely on him. She crouched immediately despite the obvious stiffness in her body, one hand bracing against her knee. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached up.
“I’m sorry, baby,” she said quickly, voice cracking as she looked at him. “I’m so, so sorry. For everything.”
Her eyes filled immediately.
And the worst part was that she sounded genuine. Not cruel. Just… incapable. Like someone who loved her child but kept failing him anyway.
The guilt hit you before you could stop it. Because part of you had already judged her and decided what kind of mother she must be. Someone selfish. Someone reckless enough not to notice their child was gone. But now, standing there, seeing the bruising near her temple, the exhaustion written all over her face, she just looked overwhelmed. And broken.
She looked up at you and Steve then, eyes red-rimmed. “Thank you,” she said softly. “For taking care of him.”
“You don’t have to thank us,” Steve said gently. “He’s okay.”
“A little scared,” you admitted quietly. “But… he’s okay.”
The woman nodded like hearing that physically hurt.
Hopper stepped aside eventually, giving them space and quietly pulled Steve aside.
“I already talked to her,” he muttered low enough that Charlie couldn’t hear. “One more screw-up and I’m stepping in. I mean it. And I’ll be checking on her. Frequently.”
Steve simply nodded.
Eventually, Charlie disappeared upstairs to grab his things. When he came back down, King immediately stood, tail wagging, following him toward the door. Charlie wrapped his arms around the dog’s neck, while he started licking his face without hesitation.
“You know,” you said softly, crouching beside him, “you can come visit him whenever you want.”
Charlie looked up. “For real?”
“For real,” Steve said. “Pretty sure you’re his favorite now.”
King barked once like he agreed. A tiny smile pulled at Charlie’s mouth. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
You smiled despite the ache building in your throat. You reached up before thinking, smoothing his messy hair back for a second.
“You’re always welcome here, Charlie”, you said, the words slipping out naturally.
They were already halfway to Hopper's truck when Charlie suddenly turned around. You smile and lifted your hand immediately.
“Bye, Charlie. See you on Monday,” you said, your voice trembling.
He hesitated for a second before raising his own hand in return. Small. Shy. Your arms crossed instinctively over yourself. King moved forward as if ready to follow him but Steve caught his collar gently. “Easy, buddy.”
The dog whined softly.
After closing the door behind you, Steve’s hand found yours silently. Slowly. His fingers threaded through yours and squeezed. Tight. Like he was comforting you. Like maybe he was holding onto something too.
The house felt unbearably quiet.
That night, lying in bed, you broke. You cried silently at first. Trying not to. Trying to be reasonable. After all, you would still see him at school. And Steve would see him at baseball practice. Nothing had changed. And nothing would. Not really.
Except it had.
Because somehow, impossibly, one day had been enough to make the thought of not hearing his quiet voice in the kitchen hurt more than it should.
Behind you, Steve said nothing. He wrapped himself around you, one arm around your waist, the other pulling you closer until your back pressed firmly against his chest, holding you tightly and letting you cry.
After a long while, something warm touched your shoulder. At first, you thought it was your own tears. But then Steve buried his face more firmly against the back of your neck.
And you realized.
He was crying too. Silently. Or at least, he was trying to. The fabric of your nightgown was damp against your shoulder. You turned slowly in his arms. His eyes were red.
“Oh, Steve…”
His laugh came out shaky. “I know,” he whispered hoarsely. “It’s stupid.”
“No,” you said immediately. “It isn’t,” you said, cupping his face, your forehead resting against his.
And somewhere in the quiet dark, holding each other like that, you both understood.
Seeing Charlie again at school would never be the same.
-
The next morning, you woke up early as usual but stayed where you were, tucked beneath the blankets while the soft gray light of early morning stretched across the bedroom. Beside you, Steve was still asleep, facing your side of the bed, hair sticking up in every direction, lips slightly parted as the faintest snore escaped him every few breaths.
You smiled despite yourself. Years ago, you probably would have found it annoying. Now, somehow, it had become comforting. Familiar. You turned onto your side, resting your head more comfortably against the pillow as you watched him sleep.
The night before replayed quietly in your mind.
Charlie leaving.
The silence afterward.
And the ache.
You and Steve had barely spoken once the house had gone quiet again. There hadn't really been words for it. Only a strange sense of loss neither of you had expected.
And it made no logical sense.
Because Charlie had only been with you for a day.
One day.
And yet it had been enough to love him as something more than just a student. His absence had settled over the house like something physical.
Eventually exhaustion had taken pity on both of you. But sleep hadn’t come easily. You had spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, thinking.
About Charlie.
About Steve.
About the future.
And somewhere between all those thoughts, something inside you had finally settled into place. Something that terrified and gave you hope at the same time. Because you had spent so long convinced that door had closed forever and that maybe some broken part of you would never recover enough to want it again.
But Charlie had changed something.
Beside you, Steve stirred. His nose scrunched slightly before he rolled onto his back, stretching with a groan and blinking against the morning light. Then he noticed you watching him, a sleepy smile pulled at his mouth immediately.
“Well,” he said, voice rough with sleep, “that’s either really romantic or really creepy.”
You laughed softly. “Good morning.”
“Morning, early bird.” He rubbed at his face before glancing toward the clock. “How long have you been awake?”
You hesitated. “A while.”
He studied you for a second and then something in his expression shifted, his smile fading just slightly. Like memory had finally caught up with him. He pushed himself up against the headboard, running a hand through his hair.
“How are you?” he asked carefully. “After… yesterday, I mean.”
You sighed and looked down at the blanket for a moment, considering the answer.
“Sad,” you admitted quietly. “I miss him.” Your throat tightened unexpectedly. “And… I’m worried.” You exhaled slowly. “I just really hope he’s okay, you know?”
Steve nodded immediately. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Me too.” He looked down for a second. “I know we’ll see him tomorrow. At school. Practice and all that.” He hesitated. “But it doesn’t really feel —”
“The same,” you finished the sentence, your eyes meeting his. “Yeah, it doesn’t.”
For a few seconds neither of you said anything else. You looked at him and suddenly, the words you had been carrying all night felt too important to keep inside anymore.
“You know, yesterday…” you started quietly.
Steve immediately looked up.
You cleared your throat and continued. “Yesterday felt like —” You paused, choosing your words carefully.
His brow furrowed slightly. You looked down at your hands, swallowing.
“It felt like we were a family.”
The words settled softly between you. Steve stayed quiet, letting you continue.
“And I liked it. A lot,” you admitted, a small smile touching your lips. “And it… it made me realize something.”
Steve sat up a little straighter now, more careful. “What… what do you mean?”
You hesitated for a second, your fingers twisting nervously in the blanket and then, you finally looked him in the eyes. “I think I’m ready.”
His forehead creased. “Ready for what?”
Your heartbeat quickened. But strangely, you weren’t scared anymore.
“To be a mom,” you said softly.
The room fell completely silent. Steve blinked once, then twice, like he genuinely hadn’t expected those words.
You looked down briefly before continuing. “For a long time, I thought that part of my life was over.” You swallowed. “But taking care of Charlie yesterday felt... so natural. And good.”
A faint smile touched your lips as you remembered the previous day.
“I liked making him breakfast. Checking on him.” You let out a small breath. “Seeing him play baseball in the backyard with you.”
Your eyes found Steve's again.
“And… I want that.”
Steve still hadn’t spoken. You could practically see him trying to process your words.
“I want a family,” you finally admitted. “With you.”
Steve swallowed hard. The shine in his eyes made your chest ache. Slowly, his hand reached across the blankets until his fingers found yours.
“You sure?” he asked gently. “Because we don’t have to rush anything. We can wait if—”
You nodded immediately, squeezing his hand. “I’ve never been more sure.”
You took a deep breath.
“Maybe we can’t be what Charlie needs,” you said quietly. “But there are so many kids out there like him.” Your voice softened. “Kids who just… need someone. And we could be that for one of them. Give them a better life, you know.”
Your fingers tightened around Steve’s. You hesitated for a moment, then finally said it.
“I’d… I’d like to adopt, Steve.”
For a second, he just stared at you, completely still.
Your stomach twisted.
“Say something, please,” you whispered, suddenly nervous. “What… what do you think?”
He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a slow kiss against your knuckles.
“I think,” he said softly, voice rougher now, “every time I convince myself there’s no possible way I could love you more…” His thumb brushed gently over your hand. “You somehow give me another reason.”
Your eyes stung instantly, your breath caught. “Steve…”
“No, seriously.” He shook his head slightly. “You have no idea how much I love you right now.”
He leaned forward without hesitation, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into him.
“And you’re going to be an incredible mom,” he whispered against your hair.
A watery laugh escaped you. You lifted your head just enough to look at him, smiling. “And you’re going to be the best dad.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
His forehead rested gently against yours as his hand came up to cup your cheek.
“Let's do it. Let’s adopt.”
Tears threatened to spill. “Really?”
Steve let out a quiet laugh.
“Really.”
Steve kissed you, slowly, carefully. Like the moment deserved to be held onto for as long as possible.
-
Two years later
The afternoon sun spilled across the porch, warm against your bare legs as you sat in the wooden chair Steve had built for you the previous summer. A sketchbook rested on your lap, your pencil moving lazily across the page.
You weren't drawing anything in particular, just pieces of the moment unfolding in front of you.
The yard.
The dog.
And the baseball game currently unfolding across the grass.
King barked excitedly as he tore after the ball that had no intention of being caught by a dog. He missed it entirely, skidded through the lawn, and immediately tried again as though nothing had never happened. A boy sprinted after it, nearly tripping over his own feet before recovering at the last second.
You smiled to yourself.
"That one didn't count!" he shouted.
"It absolutely did," Steve called back.
The boy groaned dramatically while Steve looked entirely too pleased with himself. You laughed softly and shook your head.
Some things never changed.
The competitive streak Steve brought to absolutely everything was apparently hereditary. Or contagious. You still hadn't decided which.
Steve tossed the ball into the air before catching it again.
"Ready?"
The boy narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
“No. You’re cheating."
“I’m winning,” he said, throwing the ball anyway.
The boy managed to hit it this time, the crack of the bat echoing across the yard. His face lit up immediately.
It still amazed you sometimes.
The first time he had stepped into your house, every word had seemed dragged out of him. He had spoken cautiously, as though every sentence needed permission before leaving his mouth. Now he laughed loudly and argued confidently.
Steve grinned. “There you go! Nice job, buddy."
The kid turned toward the porch. "Mum! Did you see that?”
Mum
The word still caught you off guard sometimes. Not because it felt wrong, it was quite the opposite actually. It felt so natural now that it was hard to remember a time when it hadn't.
Your eyes met his.
Your son.
“I did," you called back. “That was a good hit, well done!”
The boy looked pleased with himself.
Your chest warmed.
You never would have imagined this.
You and steve hadn’t been parents yet.
And Charlie had still been someone else's child.
But then everything had changed.
Charlie had lost his mother only a few months after you and Steve had finally decided to adopt. The grief that followed and the months afterward hadn't been easy. There had been lawyers, court hearings, social workers and many questions. But eventually, after months of waiting, the judge had signed the papers and Charlie had finally come home. This time not as a guest.
But as your son.
And now you were finally a family. Not the one you had imagined years ago but the one that had been waiting for you instead.
A sudden movement pulled you from your thoughts. Your hand settled automatically over the curve of your stomach as you looked down, a smile spreading across your face.
Even now, months after finding out, part of you still couldn't quite believe it. After everything that had happened, after making peace with the possibility that it might never happen, life had found a way to surprise you again.
You felt another kick. This one stronger as if she was demanding attention.
You laughed under your breath. "Well, hello to you too."
A moment later you heard the familiar creak of the porch boards and Steve appeared beside your chair.
"You okay?"
You nodded and reached for his hand, placing it gently against the curve of your stomach. Right on cue, your daughter kicked again.
Steve’s face softened immediately. "There you are, princess,” he murmured, as though he were greeting someone already familiar.
You watched him for a moment. The man who had once brought home a scared little boy because he couldn't bear the thought of leaving him alone. The man who had become a father long before either of you realized it.
Out in the yard, Charlie was already growing impatient.
“Dad!”
The word made Steve glance up instantly. “Yeah?”
“Are we playing again or are you tired already?”
Steve looked back at you, looking deeply offended. “Did you hear that? No respect around here."
You laughed. "Go save your reputation, coach."
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead before heading back toward the grass where Charlie was impatiently waiting for him, bat resting on one shoulder and King circling excitedly around both of them. The afternoon sunlight wrapped around the three of them as they disappeared into another argument about baseball. You rested a hand over your stomach and watched.
Your husband.
Your son.
The life and the family you were building together.
Years ago, you had thought some dreams were gone forever. That you would never be a mother. Now, surrounded by the people you loved most, you realized that sometimes life gave you a different ending than the one you had initially imagined.
And sometimes, somehow, it turned out even better.
The first thing you noticed was the bells. Somewhere beyond the open balcony doors, drifting through the morning air. For a moment, you stayed exactly where you were. Curled beneath the sheets, listening.
You opened your eyes slowly. The room was filled with gold. Not the pale light that slipped through your dorm window in Indiana.
Something warmer. Richer. The kind of sunlight that made everything look softer than it really was.
Beside you, Steve was still asleep. One arm stretched across the mattress toward your side, like sometime during the night he’d reached for you and found you there.
Your chest squeezed, it had been almost a year and somehow that still happened.
You sat up carefully, the sheets slipping down your legs. The cool morning air brushing against your skin.
Steve stirred immediately, his hand finding your thigh, a sleepy attempt to keep you where you were. You smiled, “Steve.”
A quiet groan. His eyes stayed closed, “Where are you going?”
“No where, I just sat up baby.” you said tucking a piece of hair behind his ear.
“Mmm, stay here.” he groaned. You laughed softly. That finally got one eye open, Steve blinked at you.
A smile spread across his face, “There it is.”
“What?”
“Best thing I’ve seen all morning.” You rolled your eyes immediately. Steve reached for your hand anyway, pressing a quick kiss against your knuckles, “No, seriously.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah.” He looked entirely unashamed. A minute later, the two of you were standing outside on the balcony.
The city stretched below. Scooters moving through narrow streets, people opening shops, a woman watering flowers from a window across the way, church bells continuing somewhere in the distance.
For a while neither of you said much. There wasn’t a need. The view did most of the talking.
You rested your forearms against the railing, taking it in. Trying to memorize everything at once.
A soft click broke the silence. You turned and Steve was holding his camera. You immediately pointed, “No.” Another click, “Steve.”
His grin widened, “You look nice.”
“I just woke up.”
“Exactly.”
You groaned and Steve looked entirely too pleased with himself. The camera lowered slightly, not all the way, “You look so pretty, my beautiful girl.”
You laughed despite yourself, Steve took another picture then lowered the camera completely. This time he just looked at you,
really looked.
The smile softened, “You happy?”
You looked back out over the city then at him, “Yeah.”
For the first time in a long time, there wasn’t somewhere else you needed to be. No schedule pulling you apart, no clock hanging over your heads, just this morning.
This city. This balcony. Steve standing beside you. Exactly where he wanted to be.
A little while later, he set his empty coffee cup down and reached for your hand, “So.”
You smiled, “So?”
A familiar spark lit his eyes, the kind that usually meant trouble, “Want to go get lost?”
You laughed, “In Italy?”
Steve squeezed your hand, “In Italy.”
That sounded perfect.
Getting lost turned out to be much easier than either of you expected. Not because the city was confusing, but because neither of you were trying very hard not to.
The map Steve had picked up at the hotel remained folded in his back pocket for nearly an hour. Mostly because every few steps something distracted one of you.
A bakery. A fountain. A tiny bookstore tucked between two stone buildings. An alley overflowing with flowers.
Everything felt worth stopping for. Everything felt worth looking at. By the time you reached the third little square you’d stumbled across, Steve had taken six photographs.
Four of you. One of a cat. One of a scooter parked at an angle he apparently found fascinating.
“You took more pictures of me than the city.” Steve didn’t even look guilty, “The city’s not going anywhere.” You laughed.
His hand found the small of your back as the two of you crossed another street. The gesture had become so natural you barely noticed it anymore.
Steve did it without thinking. The same way he reached for your hand, the same way he looked for you in a room, the same way he automatically moved closer whenever you stopped walking.
The city buzzed around you. Italian voices flowing past, scooters humming through narrow streets, the smell of fresh bread drifting from somewhere nearby. It felt alive in a completely different way than home.
You paused in front of a small jewelry shop. The window was crowded with gold chains and rings. Steve almost walked right past before realizing you’d stopped, “What?”
You pointed, “I want to look.” Steve immediately stepped aside, “Then look.”
You spent several minutes examining things you had no intention of buying. Steve spent those same several minutes examining you. Eventually you caught him, his eyes darted away approximately half a second too late.
You smiled, “What?”
“Nothing.” You raised an eyebrow. Steve sighed dramatically, “You get this little look.”
“What little look?”
“That one.”
You laughed, “Very descriptive.”
“I don’t know how to explain it.” His gaze softened slightly, “You look happy.”
The words landed gently. Your smile faded into something smaller. Steve shrugged one shoulder, “You’ve had it all day.”
The city continued around you. People passing. Conversations you couldn’t understand. And somehow Steve had noticed something you hadn’t. You slipped your hand into his, Steve immediately intertwined your fingers.
“Come on.” He squeezed your hand.
“Where are we going?” You looked around.
“I have absolutely no idea.” That earned a grin, “Perfect.”
For the next hour you wandered without purpose. Without plans, without worrying whether you were seeing the right things.
At one point Steve bought two pastries from a shop neither of you could pronounce. You sat together on the edge of a fountain sharing them.
The pastry was incredible. Steve got powdered sugar all over himself you laughed so hard your stomach hurt.
And for the first time in a very long time neither of you were thinking about what came next. That felt like the greatest luxury of all.
The sun was beginning to disappear when the two of you finally slowed down. The city stretched out below you in shades of gold and amber.
Terracotta rooftops. Stone buildings glowing beneath the fading light. The distant sound of conversation drifting up from somewhere below.
For once, neither of you were rushing toward the next thing. You sat together on a low stone wall overlooking the city. Your shoulder pressed against Steve’s, his arm draped loosely around your waist.
The breeze lifted a few curls away from your face. Steve reached over immediately, tucking them back. His fingers lingering against your cheek for a second longer than necessary.
You smiled, Steve smiled back. Neither of you said anything. It was the kind of silence that only happened when you knew someone well enough not to fill every moment with words.
Steve’s thumb traced small circles against your side. You leaned further into him, resting your head against his shoulder. Immediately, you felt his lips brush your hair.
You closed your eyes. “Good day?” Steve asked quietly. A laugh escaped you, “Good day?” His chest rumbled beneath your cheek. “Best day?” you smiled.
“There we go.” Steve turned slightly, pressing another kiss against your temple.
You finally tilted your head up, “You’re being clingy.”
“Correct.” Steve looked entirely pleased with himself. His arm tightened around your waist, pulling you a little closer.
Your hand found the back of his neck, fingers brushing through the hair there. Steve’s eyes softened instantly.
“You know,” you said quietly.
“Hm?”
“I think this is my favorite part.”
The city below continued moving. Lights beginning to flicker on one by one. The sky deepening overhead.
Steve looked out across the rooftops then back at you.
A smile slowly appearing, “The sunset?”
You shook your head, “No.” Steve’s expression softened further.
The feeling of finally being in the same place. For more than a weekend. For more than a goodbye. Steve leaned forward and pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, then rested his own there afterward.
Neither of you moving. Neither of you speaking. Just breathing the same air. Holding the same moment. Letting it belong entirely to the two of you.
For once, tomorrow could wait.
By the time the third day rolled around, Italy already felt less like a place and more like a rhythm. Morning started later than it ever did back home. Sunlight slipped through the hotel curtains long before either of you bothered to move.
When you finally did, it was slow. Steve had one hand over his eyes as he groaned into the pillow, “You’re way too happy right now,” he muttered.
You smiled, stretching beside him, “I slept great.”
“I’ve still got a couple more hours in me.” You laughed softly and kicked the sheets off, already reaching for your swimwear. Steve watched you for a second longer than necessary before sitting up with a sigh.
“Beach day?”
“Beach day.”
That was all it took. Now he was suddenly motivated.
The beach was brighter than anything you’d ever seen. Blinding blue that stretched endlessly into the horizon. Sand warm beneath your feet.
The kind of place that made everything else feel far away.
Steve dropped the towel down with a dramatic sigh, “You realize we could’ve just stayed at the hotel and not moved for twelve hours.”
You glanced at him, “You would’ve hated that.”
He didn’t even argue. Instead, he lay back instantly, arms behind his head, “Yeah. Probably.”
You smiled and settled beside him, adjusting your position until your back faced the sun.
Steve noticed immediately, “Wait—did you put sunscreen on?”
“No.”
“Baby.” he sighed disappointedly. You turned your head slightly, “What?”
Steve was already sitting up, “I’m not letting you burn in Italy.”
You laughed, “I won’t get burned.”
“You will if you don’t put on sunscreen.”
“I put on tanning oil.”
“That’s even worse.” Before you could argue further, Steve was already reaching for the bottle.
You huffed, “Fine. But if I get burned, I’m blaming you.”
“You would’ve anyway.” You smiled into the sand. Steve shifted behind you, squeezing sunscreen into his hands.
The first touch was careful, warm. Slow as he spread it across your shoulders.
“You’re tense,” he said quietly.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m relaxing.” Steve hummed like he didn’t believe you, his hands moved more confidently now. Down your back. Across your shoulders again.
The kind of touch that made you forget you were supposed to be talking. The beach around you faded slightly. Other people still existed. Laughter in the distance.
But Steve’s focus narrowed until it was just the two of you, “Better?” he asked.
“Mm-hm.”
A pause, then you felt him lean in slightly. His lips brushing your shoulder. A soft kiss.
You inhaled quietly, “Stevie…not here.” Steve didn’t stop, another kiss along your upper back, then lower.
Gentle enough that it made your breath catch without warning, “You’re distracting yourself,” you said softly.
“I’m applying sunscreen.”
“That is not what that is.” Steve smiled against your skin, “I think I’m multitasking.”
You laughed under your breath but didn’t move, didn’t tell him to stop. His hands slowed eventually, resting lightly at your waist.
The wind shifted slightly across the beach. Steve pressed one last kiss between your shoulder blades before sitting back,
“All done.”
You turned your head slightly, “Thank you Stevie.” you said sweetly.
“Of course, baby.” he smiled. Steve lay back again beside you but his hand stayed resting near yours in the sand.
The ocean kept moving. The sun kept rising and for a while, neither of you did much at all.
Except exist in it.
By the time you made it back to the hotel, both of you were carrying half the beach home with you.
Sand somehow clung to everything. Your bag, your shoes, Steve. Especially Steve.
“You’ve got sand in your hair.” Steve looked offended. You laughed all the way up to your room.
The second the door clicked shut behind you, Steve tossed the room key onto the dresser. Then turned toward you, “Okay.”
The seriousness in his voice immediately made you suspicious. “Okay what?”
“Get ready.”
You blinked, “For?”
Steve crossed his arms, “A date.” Your entire face lit up, “A date?”
“A date.”
“Where?”
Steve shook his head, “No.”
“Steve.” you whined.
“No.”
“Tell me.”
“No.” You followed him across the room, “Just one hint.”
“No hints.”
“You’re being evil.”
“Me? Never.” You groaned dramatically. Steve looked entirely unbothered. If anything, he seemed pleased with himself.
Which only made you more determined, “Is it fancy?”
“No comment.”
“Do I need a dress?”
“No comment.”
“Are we leaving the city?”
“No comment.”
“Steve!” He laughed, then reached for your waist and gently steered you toward the bathroom.
“None of that.”
“Steve—”
“You smell like sunscreen.”
You gasped, “Excuse me?”
“No—no, it’s amazing. I just want to eat you up.”
“That’s romantic.”
Steve grinned, “Shower.”
You pointed at him, “This isn’t over.”
“It absolutely is.” The bathroom door opened. Steve stepped aside dramatically.
You narrowed your eyes, “Fine.”
“Good.”
“But while I’m getting ready, you have to answer questions.”
“No.”
“Steve.”
“No.” You laughed despite yourself. The excitement had already started building in your chest.
As you stepped into the bathroom, you glanced back one more time.
He was already undoing the buttons of his shirt, smiling to himself. Entirely too pleased with the secret he was keeping.
Which only made you more curious and more excited.
Unfortunately for you Steve Harrington seemed perfectly content making you wait.
The idea should have left him alone. That was the annoying part. Steve had seen plenty of jewelry stores since arriving in Italy.
Tiny ones. Fancy ones. The kind with gold displayed in the windows. The kind tucked away between cafés and flower shops.
Most of them he’d barely noticed. This one had been different, because of you. You’d stopped outside the window. Long enough to admire a few things before moving on.
And somewhere in those five minutes, Steve had looked through the glass and seen it.
A ring. Simple and elegant. Nothing flashy or loud. Just…yours. At least that’s what his brain had decided.
The problem? His brain hadn’t shut up about it since. For three days. Three entire days. While walking through Italy, the ring kept finding its way back into his thoughts.
Which was ridiculous, completely ridiculous.
“Steve?” your voice pulled him back.
He looked up. You were standing in front of the mirror. Half ready. The evening sunlight spilling through the hotel room windows.
One earring in, one still resting on the dresser. Beautiful enough to make coherent thought significantly more difficult, “You listening?”
“Absolutely.” You narrowed your eyes, “You weren’t.”
“I was.”
“You weren’t.” Steve stood and crossed the room, stopping behind you. His hands settling naturally at your waist. Your reflection smiled before you did.
“You look beautiful.” That earned a softer expression immediately. Steve pressed a kiss against your shoulder.
Then another, lingering slightly longer than necessary.
“You say that every time.”
“Because it’s true every time.” You rolled your eyes. Steve grinned then glanced at the clock and immediately remembered.
The ring.mStill there. Still existing. Still occupying far too much space inside his head.
“Actually.” You looked at him in the mirror, “Hm?”
“I’m gonna run downstairs for a second.”
You turned slightly, “For what?”
Steve froze. An excellent question, one he hadn’t prepared for, “Coffee.” The lie left his mouth immediately.
You stared, “Coffee?”
“Yeah.”
“Before dinner?”
“Yeah.”
Your expression slowly transformed, “You don’t even drink coffee this late.”
Steve pointed, “It’s italy baby, gotta be spontaneous.”
“Right…spontaneous.”
He laughed then kissed your forehead before you could ask another question, “I’ll be right back.”
“Steve—” But he was already moving.
Which should have been suspicious. Fortunately, you were distracted by choosing earrings.
Steve practically jogged out of the hotel. The second he hit the sidewalk, he knew two things.
First, he absolutely looked insane.
Second, he wasn’t turning around. Not now.
Not after thinking about it for three straight days. The streets were familiar enough now. He found the shop faster than he expected.
The little bell above the door chimed when he entered. The same older man stood behind the counter. The same one from a few days earlier.
Recognition flickered across the man’s face immediately. Steve felt weirdly relieved. The shop owner smiled, said something in Italian.
Steve understood none of it, “Hi.”
A beat.
“The ring.” The shop owner somehow understood perfectly because apparently nervous men were universal.
A few minutes later, Steve held it. The ring rested in his palm. Exactly how he remembered it, and somehow seeing it a second time only confirmed it.
Not because he was proposing. Not because he had a plan. Because when he looked at it he thought of you.
The shop owner said something else. Then, in accented English, “For your wife?”
Steve’s eyes dropped to the ring. For a second, he imagined it. Not the proposal or a wedding.
Just…years. More mornings. More dinners. More ordinary Tuesdays.
You, Blaire, a future. The answer came before he could stop it, “Not yet.”
The words surprised him slightly because they felt true.
The shop owner smiled knowingly. Which was honestly embarrassing. Steve paid for the ring before he could overthink anything. The small box disappeared into the inside pocket of his jacket.
Suddenly Steve Harrington was walking through Italy with an engagement ring. Which felt absolutely insane. He laughed once under his breath then started back toward the hotel.
There was a beautiful woman upstairs waiting for him, and she had absolutely no idea.
Not about the decision he’d quietly made standing in a tiny jewelry shop halfway across the world. Steve touched the pocket once.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
One day. Not today. Not tomorrow.
Just one day.
The surprise turns out to be worth the wait. You don’t find out where Steve is taking you until the car finally slows.
The restaurant sits overlooking the water, lights reflecting across the surface like scattered stars.
For a second, all you can do is stare, “Steve.” He smiles immediately.
He’s been waiting for this reaction all evening, “What?”
Your eyes remain fixed on the view, “It’s beautiful.” The smile on his face softens, “I know.”
Dinner passes easier than either of you expected. Good food, easy conversation, and the comfort that comes from knowing someone so well. At one point, Steve catches himself just watching you.
You catch him and his only response is a small shake of his head and a smile before reaching for his drink.
The expression stays with you anyway. The kind that makes your chest feel warm. Hours seem to disappear.
The restaurant grows quieter. The sky darkens completely. Neither of you are in a hurry to leave.
Eventually, though, Steve settles the bill and offers you his hand. You take it immediately.
Outside, Italy feels different at night. The streets glow beneath old lamps. Laughter spills from open doorways. Music drifts somewhere in the distance.
You walk without much direction, Steve’s hand remains firmly linked with yours. Occasionally his arm settles around your shoulders. Occasionally yours wraps around his waist.
Neither of you seem capable of staying very far apart. The city moves around you but somehow it feels like you’re moving through it together.
By the time you make it back to the hotel, the city has grown quiet. Your feet ache, your cheeks hurt from smiling and exhaustion settles over both of you in the best possible way.
Steve unlocks the door. The room is dark except for the glow from the city outside the window.
For a moment neither of you move. Just taking in the day.
Steve reaches for your hand one last time, his thumb brushing across your knuckles.
A simple gesture. One that’s become as natural as breathing.
The trip is almost over, but as you stand together in the quiet hotel room, you realize something. Your favorite moments haven’t been the landmarks.
They’ve been the in between parts. The ordinary moments that somehow feel extraordinary because they’re shared.
Outside, Italy continues on without you. Inside, the room settles into silence and for the first time all day, there’s nowhere left to be.
Summary : After giving birth, there was only two things that you missed. Sex and feeling pretty. And you’re husband makes sure that you feel both again.
Warnings : explicit sexual content; 18+; SMUT; fingering; post-partum sex; unprotected p in v (stay safe guys); kinda insecure feeling; no use of y/n; established relationship; gentle sex; FLUFF; joe!daddy; (tell me if i missed some); possible grammatical errors.
Lillie Talks : THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE REQUEST !! I loved writing this and i think that i did great. Tell me what you think of it 💕
English is NOT my first language, sorry if i wrote wrong !! c: Request are open
Four months ago, you gave birth to your beautiful baby daughter. Everything was perfect. Your baby was healthy and you had a perfect relationship with your husband, Joe. Except that you missed something.. sex.
Joe hadn’t touched you for several months, he was scared that you’ll be too sensitive and he thought that it was probably the last thing you needed. He was worried that you’ll be too overwhelmed by taking care of the baby and of yourself. So he made his best.
He put the baby to sleep, woke up when she needed something in the middle of the night, reassured her every time she cried and reminded you how beautiful you look after you told him how you feel ugly. Everyday, Joe tries to come back home earlier than before. He loved taking care of both of you.
That one night, Joe had come home around 7pm. He’d kissed you deeply, a huge smile on his face, before taking your girl to the bath like he did every nights. Around 8pm, he puts her to sleep and come back to you.
Usually he would find you in bed already falling asleep. But tonight you wanted something else, you wanted your husband to find you sexy again. So you took a shower, using the vanilla soap that he loved. You moisturized your entire body with an expensive cream and put on one of your old lingerie set from your honeymoon. Then you put on a silk and lace tank top with a short shorts, hair still styled from the day, and got comfortable in your bed.
The moon light filtered through the curtains of the bedroom, your skin lightened by the soft light on your bedside table.
When Joe opened the door he found you, like always, under the sheets but this time you were waiting for him.
“Oh, I thought that you were sleeping.” He said quietly, gently closing the door behind him.
“No, I was waiting for you.” You answered with a small grin. He lied down next to you, his arms wrapping automatically around your waist, pulling you closer to him. The scent of your skin quickly made it’s way to Joe’s nose and his brows frowned slightly.
“You smell good, baby.” He said tucking his face into your neck. Your smile grew further when his hand slide under the sheets to rest on your stomach. The silk was soft under his skin, he slowly lift his head up. “You’re wearing silk ?”
“Yeah, why ?” He slowly removed the blanket from your body, his eyes widening as he saw the clothes you were wearing. His gaze moved back to yours, small smile on his lips.
“I wanted to be pretty for you.”
His eyes softened, “Oh my love, you’re always pretty, i always think that you’re pretty.” He said, voice soft, his hand finding your cheek. Your smile grew, a soft breath escaping your lips.
“You know.. I miss your touch.”
His brows frowned again, “What do you mean ?”
“I miss when we had sex..” You bit your lips.
“Oh, you miss that touch.” He said, his smile widening, teasingly. His hand slid under your top, holding your waist firmly. “I don’t want to rush you.”
“But I need you now-” His lips found yours, cutting your words. His tongue tasted you like he hadn’t done in so long. He quickly climbed over you, his forearms settling on both sides of your head. Your noses bumping into each other’s. Hands sliding to grip your ass gently. He pressed your body against his so close you could already feel a tent forming in his pants.
Then he slowly took your top off, exposing your laced bra. He stopped, admiring your chest, “Hey, I know this one.” He said smiling, remembering the night of your wedding.
“You still like it ?”
“Of course I like it. I love it.” He said before closing his lips around yours again. Kissing you hard and messy. You moaned lightly into his mouth. His bulge now pressed on your lower stomach.
“I want you to tell me if you’re uncomfortable.” He whispered.
“I’ll tell you.” You answered before pressing your lips on his again.
His right hand slid into your pants, fingers slowly brushing against your already wet thong. After teasing you for a moment, he finally took your shorts and panties off, fingers now moving between your folds.
“You’re so wet, my love.” He whispered, fingers rubbing circles on your clit. Your hips rocked against the movement of his fingers. His mouth found to the crook of your neck, his hands explored your body, like he did a hundred times before.
His other hand found the straps of your bra, unbuckling it and letting your swollen breasts sprang free in front of him. Little moans escaped your lips as he pushed two fingers inside you.
Your breath fastened from his touch. His thumb drawing circles on your clit while he fucked you with his other fingers. Louder moans escaped your lips, chest rising up and down faster.
When he pulled back, both of you breathing heavily, foreheads resting against each other’s. His hands left your body for a second. He quickly took off his pants and boxers, the thick head of his cock leaking pre-cum. You felt him hot and hard on your thigh, but his hands quickly grabbed himself, dragging the tip of his cock to your entrance.
“You’re sure you want to do this ?” He asked quietly, searching your face. You slowly nodded, a moan leaving your lips when he slightly moved his dick between your folds.
Then he finally pushed in carefully and slowly. Even after all these years, he always made sure that you had the time to adjust to his size. Letting you feel every inch. A soft moan left your mouth, his forehead resting against yours.
“Is that okay ?”
“Yea..” You nodded and smiled. His hands held your head. Then he started to roll his hips against yours, making you both moans. One of his hand found your breast, thumb teasing your nipple.
“Fuck.. you feel so good, baby.” He whimpered while thrusting into you.
Then he started to move faster, but still gently. Making sure that this was okay. That this wasn’t too much for you.
“You’re so beautiful..” He whispered in your ear, reassuring you.
“Oh fuck, Joe-” You whimpered. Your hips were whining, while your hand found your clit. Teasing yourself while he thrust deeper inside of you.
You both were moaning loud now. Completely lost in the feeling. You could feel your walls clenching around his length, while he drove you over the edge. The sound of your skin slapping mixed with your moans and the wet sound of your pussy. Joe groans sent you over the edge.
And within minutes you were falling apart around him. You cried out, moaning his name as your orgasms hit at the same time, milking his cock and painting your inside walls.
He sank down on your chest, head finding your neck again, kissing it softly. While his dick softened inside you.
“Are you okay ?” He asked, murmuring into your ear. You slowly nodded, a huge smile on your lips. His head lift up, his eyes meeting yours, “You liked it ?”
“Yeah.. I missed it.”
“Me too.” He said before kissing you deeply and more passionately. His hand found your hair, stroking them softly.
“I love you so much, baby.” He whispered between your lips.
“I love you so much too.”
For the first time in a while, you felt pretty and wanted. And just like that Joe fell asleep in your arms, head tucked in your neck.
Thanks for reading girlsss !!
Let me know what you think of it !! I flopped so hard on my last fic but i kinda get it 😭 Hope you loved this one !! Love yall 💕💕
Request are open, feel free to ask anything !! masterlist.
Authors Note: The pictures are not mine!!! this won the poll that I created a few days ago for my 300-follower special!!! thank you all so much. make sure to send me any questions or request you have.
Warnings: Bad ex bf's, lots of talks of sex, big dick Steve Harrington, Steve being the best bf ever, smut, nudity, oral sex (f receiving), boob play (duh), Cursing (I curse like a sailor), breeding kink, creampie, unprotected sex, pussy pronouns, pet names/ name calling (baby girl, sweetheart, slut), teasing, mentions of having sex in public, fingering, hair pulling, missionary style, rough sex, scratching, Dom!Steve Harrington, aftercare, fluff, no use of Y/N, Not proofread
Word Count: 2k
Dating Steve Harrington was one of the best things that had ever happened to you. He was kind, caring, very attractive, and always gave you his attention. Between his shifts at Family Video and driving Dustin around, he always made time for you. It was refreshing after a string of ex-boyfriends who didn't do anything for you. They were always busy with school, work, or hanging out with friends. Asking them for any ounce of attention was considered “needy’ and “clingy”. It was hard for you to understand what a loving relationship was when you were with these other men. It also didn't help that when it came to the sexual aspect of your relationships, all of these men were… lacking. The sex was dull and lackluster; it made you crave more passion and energy. But when you tried to voice this to them, they would ignore you or say, “I know what I'm doing, babe.” The main issue, however, was the size aspect. Their cocks were smaller than average, every single one of them. When having sex, it was hard to get any pleasure from then not only because of their size but also because they didn't understand your body and its needs. So when you started dating Steve and then started having sex, the difference between him and your ex-boyfriends was astronomical.
Currently, you and Steve are in his bed at his house, making out. His parents were out of town again on another one of their business trips. You don't mind, though, with Steve's tongue in your mouth and his hard cock grinding against your clothed pussy. You smile as he starts to kiss his way down your neck. The only sounds come from his record player and the gasps of the two of you. He lifts his head when he reaches your clothed chest, looking up at you with those hazel brown eyes. You look back at him, smiling and lifting yourself on your elbows.
“What Stevie?”
“Nothing, baby, you're just gorgeous.” He says, smirking, before helping you take your shirt off. Lifting your arms and helping you pull the fabric off of you, revealing your bare chest.
“Shit, baby girl,” He says before leaning down and taking one of your nipples into his mouth, giving it a gentle suck and licking it with his tongue.
After he's done sucking at your breast, he makes his way down your stomach while he tugs your pants off. Once you're free of your pants and underwear, which he tossed onto his nightstand, he spreads your legs and lowers himself down. You gasp at the touch of his fingers near your pussy. He hasn't touched you yet, no, he's just looking at the way your folds glisten and how your legs are twitching before he's even touched you.
“She's just begging for my fingers, huh?” He says to himself mostly before reaching his thumb over and starting to spread your folds, revealing your wet hole, clenching around nothing. You lean back in the pillows, fisting at the sheets. You can feel your clit pulsing and hot, wanting to be touched by him. He looks up and sees the way your mouth hangs open and your quick, short breaths before quietly laughing to himself. Looking back down at your pussy he finally leans in and gives a quick lick at your clit. The action makes you gasp and reach down, burying your hand in his hair. He starts to lick and suck faster now as he brings one of his fingers up to trace along your weeping hole. You gasp and moan louder now, not scared of anyone hearing inside the empty house. He takes this as a sign to continue and starts to lick and suck faster. Before you realize he had let his finger enter inside of you, causing you to gasp and clutch at his hair tighter, he moans into your folds before continuing to eat you out. After you get used to one of his fingers, he adds a second one in and starts to scissor them inside of you. At the stretch of his second finger, you toss your head back and start to try to close your legs around his head. He pulls back from your pussy, his mouth wet, and his fingers still moving inside of you.
“Don't you close your legs, sweetheart, I'm not done.” He states before wedding himself back between your legs. He continues to eat your pussy until he can feel your walls start to clench around his fingers.
“You close?” You nod at him, still lost in the pleasure, “Good princess fucking cum for me,” before he can finish what he's saying, you cum around his fingers. You clench around him while he licks and slurps at your clit, trying to taste more of you on his tongue. You loosen your grip from his hair as you come down from your high. Lifting his fingers, he sucks them into his mouth, tasting your flavor. He grins and gives your pussy one last lick, making you jolt, before he kisses his way back up your bare body. You reach for him and let him lie back on top of you. Steve kisses your cheek before lifting his hand and brushing your hair back. Looking into his eyes, you can still see the desire on his face, and you can also feel his hard cock against you. He sits up slightly, straddling you so he can take his shirt off. As soon as his hairy chest is revealed, you reach up and bury your fingers in the dark hair. He smiles before climbing off the bed to take his pants and boxers off, revealing his hard, leaking cock. Climbing back on the bed, he doesn't bother to find a condom; he simply drags you down to the edge of the bed and wraps your legs around his waist. You smile at him and hold his face when he leans down to kiss you. One of his hands is propped up next to your head so he doesn't crush you, while the other is guiding his large cock to your entrance. He guides his cock head through your folds teasingly before smacking it on your clit a few times, making you gasp.
“Yeah your desperate, huh?” He laughs at you. After he's done with his teasing, he decides it's time to stop his teasing. As soon as his head breaches you, you arch your back into him and moan into his mouth.
“Fuck, Stevie, it’s too big,” You moan out.
“Shhhhh, princess, you know you can take it, fucking took it the other night in the backseat of my car,” he kisses you, “then you took it in that alley outside the bar.” He laughs gently and guides more of his cock deeper inside of you. “Such a slut for me, huh? Letting me fuck you wherever and whenever I want, huh?” He laughs before kissing you again and bottoming out inside of you, causing you to gasp and twitch in his arms. He shushes you by holding your face in his hands and kissing your lips. He knew he was the biggest man you had ever been with. You had told him so while he was balls deep inside of you multiple times. Knowing that he was the biggest you had ever been with turned him on more than anything. Looking down, he can see the way his cock stretches your hole out and how tight you are around him. He sees the way your hair is around you on the pillow and the sweat on your chest and forehead after he ate you out.
He starts to thrust as soon as you tell him you're ready. His cock is steadily pumping in and out of you at a slow pace. Letting you feel all the ridges and veins along his cock. He moans into your ear as he buries his face against your neck. God, his cock was stretching you out, filling you to the brim, and hitting all the right places deep inside of you. He starts to speed up his thrust at the sound of your moans and groans. You wrap your legs around his waist and move your arms to hold onto his back, digging your nails into his taut muscles. He tosses his head back at the feeling of your nails digging into his skin, his forehead is damp with sweat, and a few strands of his dark hair stick to him.
“Fuck, sweetheart.” He says, thrusting harder into you while looking down at you.
“Shit-Shit- Steve fuckk!” You moan out, your breast bouncing as he thrusts harder into you, the bed frame hitting the wall. He leans down and bites at your breast. Moving one of your hands, you bury your fingers in his hair, pulling at it gently. At the feeling, he groans and then whimpers when you clench around him again. When your clenching started to get more frequent, signalling your release, he lifts your hips more and slides a pillow underneath you before resuming his thrust. The new angle allows the tip of his cock to reach deeper into your weeping pussy.
“Fuck your gonna cum for me, huh? Yeah cum for me, baby? Shit- and let me fucking cum in you, baby.” He whines before thrusting harder and faster into you while his hand drifts down to toy with your clit. You toss your head back and hold your legs around him tighter.
“Cum in me, baby, please, please Stevie.” You whine before he stills and starts to pump you full of his cum. His thumb rubbing your clit finally sends you over the edge, and he starts to thrust back into you hard and fast at the feeling of you clenching his hard cock. You both moan into each other's mouths and kiss each other hot and sweaty. After both of your highs end, you moan weakly into each other's mouths before he gently kisses you. After a few minutes of calming down, he pulls his now soft cock out of you. He sits up on the bed beside you and watches as his cum leaks out of your swollen pussy. Getting off the bed, he walks to the bathroom and quickly wets a washcloth with warm water before returning to the bed. He spreads your legs gently and wipes your folds, and anywhere else his cum has gotten on your body. Once he's down, he wipes his cock off and pulls his boxers back on. He walks around the room, collects your shirt and shorts, and helps you put them back on. As soon as your breathing has fully calmed down, Steve climbs back into the bed with you and cuddles up to you. He kisses your neck and looks up at you, looking into your eyes.
“I love you.” He whispers to you, wanting you to know that sex with him was never just an exchange between two people; he meant every word and action. He wanted you to know that sex for him was a way for him to make you feel good and show you that you mattered the most to him.
“I love you too, baby.” You say softly, kissing his nose before kissing his forehead next.
He lays his head onto your chest as you wrap your arms around him. One of your hands holds his head onto your chest, with the other trails your fingernails up and down his back gently.
“Mmmmm…” he hums against you.
“Mmmmm?” You hum back at him, wondering what he's thinking.
“Comfy baby…. Hold me all night….. I'll make you breakfast tomorrow, promise.” He hums sleepily, his eyes closed, and his body relaxed against you.
“Ok, baby, sounds good.” You smile at the sight of your sleepy boyfriend nodding off on your chest after fucking you senseless. Steve was officially the best boyfriend you had ever had.
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He was face to face with the man he loves. Loved. Loves.
It was just a crawl. A simple crawl.
Hopper sprained his ankle a few days ago but another burn was happening tonight. Someone needs to go.
So Steve volunteered.
It was a simple run of J1. Nothing exciting, nothing special.
At least, until now.
Eddie, his dead boyfriend was looming over him, wings spread wide, mouth split like a demogorgon.
“Eddie, please,” Steve begged. “Listen to me, this isn’t you. I know you.”
“Steve,” the creature called. “Steve, Steve, Steve.”
“Eddie,” Steve said, stepping forward. “Please. I know you’re there.”
“He said you would trick me,” Eddie said, his voice gravelly. “A projection. I’m no fool.”
“It’s me,” Steve promised, lowering his weapon — a crow bar sharpened on both ends. Dustin said he was better with melee weapons, whatever that meant. “Eddie, you need to come back with me. Back to Hawkins.”
“He’s coming for me,” Eddie said. “The real Steve.”
“It’s me,” Steve begged. “Eddie, please —“
Eddie’s head snapped up, ears twitching as they listened to the wind.
“You remember me,” Steve breathed. “Late nights on the roof of the trailer, sharing a bag of chips and shitty beer. Nights at Skull Rock with the radio playing. I play our songs,” Steve said. “On the radio when Robin lets me. You hear me? On the radio down here? Every Judas Priest, every Black Sabbath, every Bruce Springsteen — you remember Born to Run? Eddie, we promised we’d get out of here —“
Eddie folded in on himself, screaming. Steve took a cautious step forward.
“Eddie, please,” Steve begged. “Let me help you —“
“You’re not real! You’re not real!” Eddie shouted, covering his ears, his eyes pinched shut.
“Eddie —“
“Get out of my head!” Eddie leaped forward, lunging at Steve.
Steve stumbled backwards, bringing the crow bar up —
Steve inhaled sharply.
The crow bar was embedded into Eddie’s chest, inches away from Steve. His eyes wide, matching Steve’s.
Steve followed the crowbar from Eddie’s chest, to his own. Eddie’s weight pushed it into Steve’s body, through his ribs. Any bigger inhale sent pain through his chest — through his body.
“Eddie,” Steve breathed, feeling the blood in his mouth.
“Steve,” Eddie repeated softly, fresh blood on his human lips. “Steve, you came.”
Tears streamed down Steve’s cheeks. He nodded sharply. “I did. I love you, Eddie, always will.”
Eddie’s wings drooped around them, creating a curtain of privacy. The only thing that matters is each other.
“Steve,” Eddie repeated. His thumb shakily came across Steve’s cheek, rubbing something wet into his skin. “You’re bleeding.”
Steve let out a sad laugh, and nodded. “Yeah,” he breathed.
“I am.”
“I knew you’d come for me,” Eddie said. His breathing growing shallow. “I love you.”
“I’d never leave you, Eddie,” Steve felt heavy. Deep. Each closing of his eyes felt more difficult to open. He was close. He didn’t want to let go. Not yet. “I love you, too.”
Steve watched Eddie painfully smile, a similar smile he gave Steve before they tried to kill Vecna — before Eddie got himself killed. He knew too. He closed his eyes, letting go.
Steve let out a sob, glancing back towards the path he was on. Where his belongings were.
Where he could hear Dustin’s voice coming over the walkie-talkie, begging him to answer.
Steve hoped it would be Hopper that finds their bodies. Not Dustin. Not Robin. Not El or any of the kids.
He closed his eyes.
He hoped the next life he has with Eddie will be easier than this one was.
Synopsis: Life as a rich, smart, popular kid in Hawkins, Indina is easy. As long as you do exatcly as you're supposed to do. When your strict parents forbid you to follow your dreams and interests, you have to find secret ways to get what you want. What happens when you're forced to go to Eddie "The Freak" Munson for help?
wc: 15k
Contents: Eddie Munson x Cheerleader!reader, friends to lovers, no physical description of reader, no use of y/n, fluff, nerdoutcast x populargirl trope, mike and dustin being mike and dustin
Your parents had always been on the stricter side. They liked having people's approval, and in Hawkins that mostly meant being a God fearing, rule respecting, status quo following type of family. You went to church every Sunday, you had good grades, you were on the cheer squad and sat at the table with all the popular kids. You were vain, spoiled and sweet and stuck in a cage of their making.
It wasn't necessarily that you didn't care for all those things you participated in, you loved cheering and took pride in being top of your class. Pink suited you and you enjoyed experimenting with the styles from the magazines. It was simply that they weren't the only things that peaked your interest. So, you tried from time to time to explore the other stuff that did.
Your first battle with your parents was at 13 years old, trying to convince them to allow you to listen to pop music. Each album had to be approved by them or by one of their so-called friends. You came to realize, that if the other sweet girls were allowed, their own sweet girl was too, and if not, it was borderline criminal. You started to learn how to use that to your advantage, quietly manipulating your friends to buy an album you wanted to hear, or rent a movie they'd usually never go for. Unfortunately, after a while these tactics started to prove to be less efficient. Your peers began to question your suggestions, and you decided to cut your losses and play safe.
Over the years you learned new tricks, but the hardest part was keeping everything under wraps. Your friends' parents were friends with your parents. They went to the same church, the same parent teacher meetings, the same school games and assemblies, some of them even worked with your dad. That meant that Hawkins was full of spies. If anybody saw you do, or be somewhere you shouldn't, it was almost certain that it would reach their ears in no time. You had to keep everything extremely close to your chest and be as discrete as humanly possible.
Movies had proved to be a hard task. You couldn't rent them because Debbie's father owned the store, so watching them in the theater was your only option. More than once, you had gone with friends to see a parent approved movie, only to excuse yourself with some lame explanation and change rooms to watch something else. That meant most movies were a once in a lifetime experience, to be appreciated and lived in for 90 minutes and never to be seen again.
Music wasn't a walk in the park either, you'd manage to snag a few unapproved tapes at a garage sale on the other side of town once, but you could only listen to them in your car, and not too loud. If the wrong person heard you singing Madonna you'd lose TV privileges for a month.
Nobody could know that you spent hours in the library reading fantasy books pretending to be studying algebra, or that you had a secret hiding place in your car where you kept your secret tapes. And the worst part was that you could speak to nobody about any of it. It was exhausting and stressful, and it drove you crazy. Yet every time you were alone, engulfed so completely in something forbidden, something you loved outside your parents' bubble, it felt so thrilling, so all-consuming that it made everything worthwhile.
That is why you had been sitting in your car still parked in your usual spot for more than an hour waiting for the last person in Hawkins you were allowed to even be nearby. You had started the car many times, so close to convincing yourself to leave, but ultimately failing every time. It was getting dark outside, which you welcomed. The darker it was the more hidden you'd be, and being hidden was the key part of everything in your life. Your friends in the cheer squad and in church were able to open many doors for you in the past, but this one? This one was locked and barricaded. Suddenly, the school door busted open and out they came. The Hellfire Club.
He came out last, juggling books and boxes full of whatever they used to play... whatever it was they played in that club. You watched, transfixed, as he made his way to his van. All swagger and certainty. He moved like he didn't have a care in the world. He didn't give a toss about anything. Anything at all. And you envied him profoundly. Your friends had never had a kind word to say about Eddie Munson, but you'd always thought that he was the most honest person you'd ever met. That's why they were all scared of him, it wasn't just that he was different, it was that he wasn't afraid. Ironically, when you approached him, he was finishing putting his things in the back of the van and you almost startled him to death.
"Hi" You greeted, voice loud enough that he could hear you, but not so much that it could crack under your nervousness. You did your best to appear indifferent, like everything was fine, like approaching Eddie "The Feak" Munson, a drug dealer that kept failing his classes was totally normal.
The oh so feared delinquent almost had a heart attack. You had to force back a smile at the startled way he turned around with a jump, eyes wide open and hand flying to his chest to rest over his fast-beating heart. Always so dramatic. Once he realized he wasn't in any eminent danger, he finally took a good look at you. It took a lot of effort to keep his composure after the shock of coming face to face with the last person he'd expected to see. He did a better job than he gave himself credit for, for to you Eddie Munson never let on anything other than complete coolness.
"Jesus, sweetheart, are you trying to scare me to death?"
The way he was able to call you a pet name so easily when he didn't know anything about you, let alone never met you before, made something flutter in your stomach. How could someone be so confident all the time? He had all the reasons and more to think you despised him like everybody else, and still.
You had had plenty of time in the car to rehearse what you were going to say to him, but now, standing there, with him towering over you, smelling like weed, cheap cologne and bad decisions, your mind went completely blank. This had been a dumb idea.
"Uh...no."
"Well, that's a good start" He responded, eyebrows raised willing you to continue.
"I... I'm sorry if I scared you. I... you don't really know who I am but I, sort of, need a favor?"
Eddie had never been so confused. Firstly, because he definitely knew who you were. Which meant that you were either feigning humbleness (most likely with your kind) or you were extremely naïve. He knew exactly who almost everybody was, having been in that school for so long, but he knew especially who the popular kids were; they made themselves known. Cheerleaders don't go unnoticed; that's their whole deal.
Secondly because, what the actual fuck was a cheerleader doing talking to him? And not just a cheerleader, you. Others he could've expected, they approached him from time to time, for weed and other stuff for their parties, but of all the popular cheerleader gang people, you had always been the coyest one. You didn't make out in the hallways, you didn't speak obnoxiously loud or snicker when he and the other mere mortals passed by.
You didn't go unnoticed, it was impossible to be a cheerleader and not be under the spotlight, but you didn't try to be under it too much either. He guesses that might have made you go under the radar of some people. Not his tough. For someone who couldn't stand still for a minute and had been repeating the same classes for two years, Eddie had an exceptionally keen eye. He was observant and retained a lot of information about his surroundings without really meaning to.
So, he knew exactly who you were. And even if you weren't as loud, you were still one of them. A voice in the back of his mind pestering him about this being some sort of prank forced him to look around the parking lot discreetly. But, to his surprise, there was only your car there, nobody else in sight for miles. You'd outwaited even the teachers.
"You need to ask me for a favor?" He asked slowly, pointing his finger in his direction, eyebrows still stuck high on his face.
You only nodded your head.
Eddie seemed to contemplate his predicament for a second.
"Alright, I'm intrigued. Please, proceed."
"Ok, this is going to sound pretty stupid, so please bear with me."
The boy nodded and you kept going. You started off strong, pushing the words out of your mouth as fast as you could, but as you went on and realized how brutally idiotic it sounded out loud you started to lose steam. The words taking a lot more effort to be expelled from your lips.
"I parked next to you, and you were smoking inside the van. I was doing my make-up, but I had my window open. You had a song on that I liked, and I was just wondering if you could tell me what it was."
You decided to just evert your gaze and just wait for him to speak.
It's fine worst case scenario Eddie Munson thinks you're crazy. So what? He's not really in any place to judge.
"So, let me see if I got this straight. You waited in your car for like 2 hours on a Friday evening only so that you could aske me what song I was listening to... When exactly?
"Oh, this morning"
"This morning, right. Because you...liked the song?" The words felt foreign on his lips, as if they didn't have any real meaning.
"Pretty much, yeah." You responded. Every extra second this interaction took, every extra second you spent under his scrutinizing gaze, was only good to make you more uncomfortable.
"I feel like I hit my head. You're aware this makes absolutely no sense whatsoever?"
"Painfully aware, yes."
Why couldn't he just give it to you? It was a song title. Not even a song, you could survive with just the name of the band. You were starting to learn that nothing was ever simple with Munson, you should've seen that coming.
"Alright." He responded slowly, as if his brain was finally being able to accept the whole ordeal.
"So... Do you know what it was? The song?" You asked after he didn't move an inch.
You could tell a million questions still ran amok in his mind. He had a very expressive face.
"Uhm... I... let me check."
Eddie finally snapped out of his trance, opened the passage door and leaned in enough to eject the tape. He was wondering if maybe he had been listening to something different? Maybe Wayne put on one of his tapes and he didn't notice. But no, clear as day, Ride the Lightning by Metallica sat peacefully in his hand.
The only reason he was sure he wasn't dreaming was because this was way to random a dream to come up with, even for him. If you were asking for drugs? That he could understand and would make for a much more reasonable dream. But this? You, hair armed up to the heavens, denim skirt and rosy cheeks asking him for song recommendations? He would've had to be on mushrooms to come up with that.
Still sitting inside the van, Eddie posed another question.
"Are you sure it was even me?"
This time it was your turn to look confused, and slightly annoyed.
"It's pretty hard to confuse you with somebody else, Munson."
Eddie sighed and jumped out of his seat. He extended his hand to you, giving you the tape, defeated. You took it from his hand, a slight chill running up your arm when your fingers brushed his. You examined it closely, twirling it between your fingers. Eddie's eyes were fixated on the way your manicured hands tapped on the small piece of plastic, as you made a mental note of all the information it held. It felt wrong in your hands, out of place, he had half a mind to reach out and take it from you. You were only going to ruin it; you'd realize you didn't actually like it and turn it into a big joke that everybody would laugh at but himself.
This was his thing. Eddie "The Freak" Munson's thing. And he wasn't entirely comfortable with sharing it with somebody so... different. So completely outside of the bubble where it was supposed to exist.
"Thank you." You finally said with a polite smile, giving him the tape back.
"You're welcome, I guess."
You started to turn around to walk back to your car and Eddie made his way into the driver's seat. A few steps in, you stooped yourself and turned back to him.
"Eddie, could you not mention this to anyone, please?"
"Who would I even tell?"
All of this weird shit was starting to stress him out. He just wanted to get in his car, lit a joint and drive. Maybe blast an album that wasn't Metallica.
"Just... I can't have people knowing."
"That you spoke to me?"
"No! Well, my parents wouldn't be thrilled about that either, but I meant the music. They can't know about the music."
He held your gaze for one more second, brows back to being frowned. This was way too much to handle sober.
"Whatever you say, sweetheart." He dismissed before getting in the van and closing the door with a loud bang.
