★Ch 8/23 | masterlist | 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8
thefreak!eddie x valedictorian-to-be!fem!reader
*Hurt feelings, an awkward hangout at Eddie's trailer, an Eddie Money tape, and blurred lines between friendship and attraction.
[5.1k words] NSFW/MDNI- slow burn, frenemies to lovers, secret relationship trope, eventual smut, sorta-kinda mentions of religion, no monsters/upside down, canon divergence, characters are in high school, reader is of the age of consent, suggestive language/content.
Chapter 8: Anatomy of a Crush
Like every other December in the past, the weather in Hawkins was brutal, and despite the fact that you'd lived here for your entire life, you still hadn't gotten used to the cold. Rubbing your hands together, you blew hot air onto them, your breath coming out in foggy puffs. From where you stood in the corner of the parking lot, you watched as the crowd rushed from the school building, waddling like bundled-up penguins.
You moved your weight from one foot to the other, a continuous shift, the half-melted slush of the first snowfall of the year squelching beneath your boots as you tried to warm yourself up. There was an impatience to the way you marched in place, your body temperature not rising fast enough for your liking, Eddie taking too long to walk across the lot. The cold didn't seem to bother him as much as the rest of the students half-jogging to their cars, his hands shoved into the pockets of the jacket-vest combo he wore like a daily uniform, his gait an easygoing strut. Until he spotted you waiting beside his van, that was.
His steps appeared to stutter, his eyelashes fluttering as he blinked rapidly, as if he weren't sure if his eyes were deceiving him. Forcing a smile, you raised a hand at him in an awkward sort-of wave, one that he didn't return. As you feared, he wasn't happy to see you. It was to be expected, you supposed. You wouldn't be too happy to see him either if the roles were reversed.
Once more, that guilt that bogged your entire mood down for the rest of Andy's backyard kickback resurfaced. A guilt that followed you for the rest of the weekend. A guilt that led you to the corner of the parking lot after school.
It suddenly felt wrong, waiting for him like this, but it was too late to back out now, as badly as you might've wanted to. He'd already spotted you, already begun walking towards you before you had the chance to change your mind. And when he stopped in front of you, eyes averted to literally anywhere else but your face, you greeted him with a strained pleasantry, "Hey, Eddie."
He nodded in response, a total non-greeting, a simple acknowledgment of your presence that could barely pass as polite. The silence lingered, his moment to speak passing, ignored completely as he stood there and looked aimlessly up at the leafless branches of the tree overhead.
After clearing your throat, you spoke again, another clumsy attempt at starting the conversation, "So, I listened to the tape. You were right, I liked it a lot."
"I'm glad," he mumbled, the insincerity of his words painfully blatant as he continued to avoid your gaze.
You puckered your lips, slanting them to one side. And as another awkward silence filled the space between you, you fished the aforementioned tape out of your pocket, holding it out to him like a metaphorical olive branch. "Here."
"You can keep it," he said, his tone too dismissive for the offer to sound generous. He lowered his gaze then, but he still wasn't looking at you. More so through you, to the driver's side door you had your shoulder leant against.
Though you had no right to be bothered by his brushing you off, considering it was caused by you treating him the very same way, you were irked nonetheless. A hurt that was disguised as annoyance. A facade put up not only for him, but for yourself too.
He outstretched his arm, as if to reach for its handle, like he was expecting you to step aside. But you didn't. You stayed firmly in place, feet planted on the ice-slicked asphalt as you stared at him expectantly. With his hand pressed to the window beside your head, he finally met your eyes, stating, "I've got somewhere to be."
"Look, I'm sorry, alright?" you blurted out sharply, the apology coming out more abrupt and forceful than you intended. Even Eddie seemed to flinch a bit. You grimaced slightly for your lack of tact, and with a gentler tone, you tried again, "The way I acted on Friday, I feel awful about it."
Staring down his nose at you, he slowly straightened his stance, his arm dropping to his side limply. And curtly, he agreed, "Yeah, you should."
It took an embarrassing amount of effort to not let his shortness bother you, having to remind yourself internally that it was your own fault you were in this position. Vaguely, you continued, "I was just stressing about something. It had nothing to do with you."
Remorse bubbled deep in your stomach, your little white lie reigniting the guilt you'd tried, and failed, to stave off. Eddie didn't seem to notice the subtle shift in your expression, though, his own hardened face softening with your false reassurance.
With a self deprecating chuckle, he remarked, "Not going to lie, I thought you were put off by the tape thing. Found it creepy or something."
"No way. The tape was super cool," you said with an overeager shake of your head, the beginnings of a smile spreading across your lips. A tension you didn't even know you were holding in your shoulders melted away, your guilt leaving with it, replaced by the relief of Eddie returning your reluctant smile. "I wasn't put off at all."
"All good," he shrugged. "We're cool."
"Cool," you echoed with a small nod, that silence from before returning, this time void of all its prior tension. Breaking it, you pivoted completely, asking, "So, where're you headed so urgently?"
"Uh, just home," he admitted with a sheepish smile. He shot his eyes to the side as he asked with thinly veiled hope. "Why? Did you, uh, wanna hangout?"
"Oh, um," you mumbled, your eyebrows shooting up. You mirrored his awkward stance, hands shoved into your pockets as you rocked back onto your heels. "I mean, I've got studying to catch up on."
"Right," he nodded, something akin to disappointment in his tone as his eyes shot to the side.
"I mean, I can bring it with me," you heard yourself suggesting before you could even think about the offer you were making.
"Alright," he perked up then, a subtle squeak to his voice that he attempted to cover with a cough. He spoke again, voice deliberately deepened as he amended, "I mean, sure. If that sounds fun to you, I guess."
Through the window, you watched the trees speed by in a blur, their spindly branches appearing to spin as the van took a sharp left into a part of town you'd only experienced in passing. Where paved roads turned to dirt, the grass sparse and yellowed compared to the lush green of the lawns in the neighborhoods you typically frequented.
A sun bleached wooden sign reading Forest Hills floats by and Eddie slows the van, carefully steering around the gaping potholes in the dirt road. You glance over at him then, noting immediately the tension in his jaw. He'd been quieter than you'd ever seen him the entire drive, his hands hardly ever straying from the ten-and-two position on the steering wheel, even as the van rolled to its slow stop in front of the last trailer on the strip.
"This is it," Eddie stated unceremoniously, his voice rough from disuse, and he cleared his throat. Without saying anything else, he killed the engine and hopped out of the van, slamming the door behind him. Through the windshield, you watched as he crossed the front of the van, thinking for a moment he was about to get your door for you before he instead booked it to his porch. He bounded the two steps up without sparing you another glance, expecting you to follow, you guessed.
You fumbled with the seatbelt for a moment before cracking the door open, the chill of the quickly approaching evening seeping into your bones, even through your puffer jacket. With arms hugged around your middle, you crossed the makeshift driveway, the gravel crunching beneath your feet as you caught up to Eddie. He was waiting for you, screen door held open behind his back and with an outstretched arm, ushered you inside.
The warmth enveloped you immediately, hot against your cold-bitten cheeks, the soft hum of the radiator a welcome reprieve from the silence. Closely behind, you felt Eddie follow, hearing the door click shut afterward.
It's dark at first, crude shapes of furniture in the shadows, the barely-there scent of cigarette smoke all your senses have to go off of. Then, there's light, Eddie's hand lingering on the switch as you glanced back at him. He doesn't return your gaze, instead, he stared out at the small living area, lips stretched into a subtle wince.
"Sorry about the mess," he grumbled self-consciously, already heading to the kitchenette, swiping the dishes left on the counter into the sink. "I wasn't really expecting company."
"I don't mind," you said quietly, reassurance somewhere in your tone, as absent as the words sounded from your mouth. A part of you felt bad, inviting yourself over like you did, but there was another part of you, the same that barely even noticed the mess, that was ruled by intrigue.
You weren't quite sure what you'd expected Eddie's home to be like, but what you saw in front of you was most definitely different. Out of instinctual politeness, you slipped your boots off, leaving them beside the door and as you unzipped your coat, you allowed your eyes to wander around the trailer.
The decor was modest, a plaid sofa pushed against the wall opposite a humble box television set, a small coffee table cluttered with unopened mail and beer bottles between them. On the lone side table sat a single lamp, accompanied by an ashtray that desperately neeeded emptied. In the corner sat a very obviously well used recliner, and on the wall above it all hung an array of novelty mugs and trucker caps.
It was cluttered yet charming in its own subdued way, cozy and lived-in with stray laundry and throw blankets strewn about. It looked more like a space inhabited by an old man than a teenage metalhead, in your opinion.
"Do you live here alone?" you asked as you ambled further into the living space. It was then that you realized just how little you knew about Eddie.
When you faced the kitchenette again, Eddie met you where you stood, taking your coat from where you had it draped over your arm. He glanced around awkwardly for somewhere to hang it, a clear signifier of the fact he didn't often have guests over.
"Nah, it's my uncle's place," he answered as he defaulted to draping the coat delicately on the arm of the couch. Meanwhile, you approached the wall of mugs, getting a closer look. Behind you, Eddie continued, "Those are his, by the way. The mugs and stuff."
There's something in the way he says it, like he was embarrassed at the idea of you thinking he'd decorate his home like this on his own.
"They're neat," you remarked with a sincere smile, your head tilted to the side as you attempted to read the snappy slogans on the ceramic.
"Guess so," Eddie mumbled, scratching the stubble on his chin as he watched your curious gaze take in the space around you, growing more fidgety with each second that passed. Then, awkwardly, he started his suggestion,"My room is, uh, through here if you wanna-"
"Sure, yeah," you agreed quietly, a bit too eagerly, nodding as you collected your backpack from where you'd left it beside your shoes. As you followed him across the trailer, eyes fixed on his back, you noticed his shoulders seemed taut, scrunched slightly towards his ears. He was apparently as nervous as you were, his fingers trembling as they wrapped around the doorknob to his bedroom. You wondered if he'd ever had a girl over before.
Not that you'd come over in that context, or anything.
The door opens and Eddie pauses in the small corridor, letting you enter before him. Stepping around the clutter on the floor, dirty clothes scattered about, random books and single shoes separated from their partner, the occasional empty soda can, you stopped dead in the center of the room. With your mouth hung open in a gape, you weren't sure where to focus your eyes first, in awe of just how much stuff he had packed in here.
Posters, torn from magazines, were plastered upon the walls, scribbled doodles on notebook paper and post-it notes pinned up with thumbtacks covering the empty spaces between them. Knickknacks were on every available surface, alongside tin lids repurposed as ashtrays, a soap dish holding a mismatched jumble of silver jewelry.
"This is where I sleep," Eddie announced the obvious from where he lingered in the doorway, his back leant against its frame, his teeth gnawing anxiously at the dry skin of his bottom lip as he watched you turn in a small circle to take it all in.
"This is the coolest bedroom I've ever seen," you murmured, offering reassurance though it wasn't asked for, your gaze falling to the tape deck and turntable on his dresser, buried amongst a disorganized pile of tapes and records. Above the dresser hung an obviously homemade tapestry, black and red spray paint on a white sheet. You read it aloud, "Corroded Coffin?"
"My band," he explained, pushing off the doorframe to stand beside you. Your head whipped over to him, eyebrows raised as you smiled in surprise at his profile. You should have guessed he was in a band, considering the guitar lain across his unmade bed, but it still shocked you. Yet another reminder of how much there was you still had to learn about Eddie.
Before you could gush over how cool you thought it was, him playing in a band, he was already changing the subject. Pushing a pile of laundry off his desk, a few books and tapes falling onto the carpet along with it, he stated, "You can set up here if you want."
"Thanks," you mumbled, shooting him a reserved grin as you pulled the chair out from the desk, plopping into the seat before unzipping your backpack.
"Yeah. And if you need it, the bathroom is right there," he said with a finger pointed to the door immediately beside his bedroom, to which you nodded. His expression shifted to something akin to alarm then, and abruptly, he quickly shuffled out of the room with an offhanded, "Actually, hang on."
You blinked at the spot he'd occupied a second ago, left empty now, before you shrugged it off. Another strange Eddie-ism, you decided. You turned back to his desk, unpacking your Biology textbook and it's corresponding notes, when you heard what sounded like the clatter of soap bottles falling onto tiled floor.
Only a minute or so later, Eddie reentered his room with the easygoing stride of performed nonchalance, as if his pale cheeks weren't so obviously flushed with the exertion of tidying up the bathroom in a panic-fueled rush. You acted like you didn't notice, smiling secretly down at your opened textbook as you chuckled softly to yourself.
He'd finally shed his jacket then, dropping it carelessly onto the floor amongst the clutter, his shoes joining as he kicked them off. Crossing behind you, he stopped in front of his tape deck, the mechanical whir of a tape being rewinded followed by the soft hum of music. Whatever he'd been listening to the last time he was in here.
Just slightly, you turned your head, your chin pressed to your shoulder as you eyed him, watching him without him noticing as he flopped onto the rumpled sheets of his bed. Scooting back until his back was against the wall, pulling the notebook left opened on the foot of the bed toward him.
Without looking your way again, he begun his work, whatever it was, and you followed suit. For a while, there was nothing said, just the scratch of pencils against paper, pages turning, the steady beat of barely audible drums. Then, at some point, the tape stopped, run out of songs to buffer the quiet.
You straightened your posture, arms pulled above your head as you stretched, your back aching from hunching over your notes. Placing your hands on the top of the backrest, you twisted in the chair, hoping for a better, deeper stretch as your eyes fell on Eddie. Resting your chin atop your folded hands, you asked, "What're you working on?"
With his legs crisscrossed, raised knees acting as a steady surface, his tongue peeked out of his mouth, eyebrows furrowed as he scribbled furiously into the lined paper. Distractedly, he mutters, "Uh, brainstorming a character for a future campaign."
"Wait, you come up with your own characters?" you asked as you lifted your head up, face scrunched with confusion as you continued, "I thought it was like, y'know, other board games where you just sort of pick from whatever's there."
"It's not a board game, first of all," he deadpanned, glancing up from his work to meet your eyes, poorly hidden irritation swimming behind his irises from the comparison. "And, yeah. You can create a whole guy for yourself. That's what makes it fun."
"That's pretty cool," you scoffed, tilting your head slightly as you considered it. "How's it work?"
"I mean," Eddie started, stretching his legs out in front of him as he leaned back against the wall again, notebook abandoned momentarily. His tongue swipes over his bottom lip, dark eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to find the words to describe it. "There's usually, like, a specific set of classes and races to pick from. Lots of combination possibilities."
"Elves, orcs, gnomes," he said, providing his examples with a small shrug.
"Humans?" you piped up, your eyes glittering with your interest.
"Humans too, yeah," he nodded, an airy laugh punching out of him as if endeared by your sudden enthusiasm.
"And what about the class thing?" you questioned, turning in your chair to face him more comfortably, a knee hugged to your chest as you lifted your foot onto the seat.
"Well, there's barbarians, clerics, paladins," he began listing, counting on his fingers as he went. He trailed off suddenly when he met your gaze again, a blankness of mystification written all over your face. He sighed, "It's kind of a lot to get into."
"I think I can keep up," you stated with a cheeky grin, a subtle teasing quality to your words as you urged him to go on. With that, he dove into his fleshed out explanation, covering all the basics of the game, and it's not long before your notes are forgotten.
"So, did you get around to listening to Theatre of Pain?"
Eddie's sudden appearance at your side, his voice loud over the music blasting through your headphones with his mouth close to your ear, had you jumping. Scared nearly out of your skin, you ripped your headphones off, shoving him back with a firm palm to his chest. As he fell into step beside you, you shot him a glare, one that was hard to keep up with his infectious laughter.
"Yeah, a couple times actually," you mumbled, succumbing to your own giggles.
"And?" he prodded, bumping his side into yours.
"Meh," you raised a shoulder to your chin.
"Meh? What do you mean 'Meh'?" he asked, his pitch raising as he mocked your voice, mirroring your unimpressed half-shrug.
"I don't think hair metal is my thing," you remarked halfheartedly, leaving Eddie to roll his eyes as he circled around your back to stand on the other side of you.
"What is your thing then?" he challenged with a teasing lilt that was impossible to miss.
"I dunno," you mumbled, more focused on twisting your combination.
"Let's see," his fingers curled around the edge of your locker door the second you got it open, yanking it back to glean a glimpse at the magazine cutouts taped to its insides. With eyebrows raised, he jibed, "Woah. You really like Prince, huh?"
"Hey, cut that out," you muttered, moving the door out of his grasp, proved a futile effort when he yanked it back out again.
"Oh, you're kidding me," he all but groaned, stabbing a finger against a magazine scrap, right between Morrisey's pitiful eyes. "The Smiths?"
"What? They're cool," you sucked your teeth, offended by his lack of taste. Untangling the cord of your headphones from your hair, you set your Walkman down at the bottom of your locker to free your hands.
"The Smiths are not cool," Eddie grumbled, glaring back at the offending cutout, as if truly vexed by it.
"They're cooler than Motley Crue," you countered pointedly, quirking an eyebrow in Eddie's direction.
"Ignoramus ," he insults jokingly, his lingering smile making his attempt at grumpiness fall flat. "Bring me something of The Smiths' and maybe I'll change my mind."
"Trust me, you would," you retorted smugly. You zipped your bag, slinging it over your shoulder once more. But before you could even think of closing your locker, Eddie bumped you aside with his hip, rummaging through the mess of your belongings.
You scoffed, barking an "excuse me" at him that he ignored, his shoulder wedging you out further as he continued to snoop. It's mostly useless junk, to him at least, with him littering crumpled papers and candy wrappers onto the floor as he sifts. Grumbling under your breath, you knelt down, gathering the trash, and when you stood again, Eddie was holding your Walkman.
"Oh, no way," he gasped as he popped open the deck. You're beet red, the gathered scraps falling to your feet again as a feeling of impending doom filled your chest. His chuckling dissolved into full-chested cackling, his voice echoing through the hallway as he shouted, "Eddie Money?"
"Oh my God, shut up," you hissed, a hand shooting out to cover his mouth, even though the hallway was empty. He smacked your hand away, staring down at the tape peeking out of the deck like it's something to be marveled at. Immediately, you're on the defense, sputtering out lamely, "It's not mine. I wasn't even listening to it."
"Like hell you weren't listening to it. It was in your Walkman, mid-tape!" he cried through his laughter, wagging the Walkman in front of your face. With his free hand, he wiped the lone tear that streaked down his cheek, sighing with a grin that nearly cracked his face in half entirely, "Let's see what song we were listening to, huh?"
You reached out to snatch the Walkman back, left with nothing but an empty fist as he angled himself sharply away from you, giggling with glee as he slipped the headphones over his ears and pressed play. Your mortified pleas for him to stop fell on deaf ears as he pretended he couldn't hear you, attempts to grasp onto the Walkman dodged as he turned away from you over and over, acting like he was dancing to the song, his frizzy curls swaying as he bobbed his head.
Your fingers finally pinched onto the edge of the Walkman, holding on for dear life, even as he held you back with an outstretched arm. He swayed to the left, and you were pulled along with him. He swayed to the right and you followed again, his arm moving from in front of your chest to around your neck. Crushing you against him, keeping you trapped in a headlock as he forced you to dance along with him.
His lips were practically pressed to the shell of your ear, his purposefully-off-key humming vibrating against the side of your face, and even as you squirmed in his grasp, you couldn't help but laugh yourself. It was only when he attempted to dip you that you decided you'd had enough, your knee crashing into his thigh, dangerously close to the family jewels.
Eddie immediately released you, yanking the headphones off with a breathless chuckle, "Woah, close one, sweetheart."
"Not close enough," you retorted, your smirk sly as you narrowed your eyes at him.
"Testy!" he snickered, obviously getting a kick out of your annoyance."You'd think you'd be more mellow from this easy-listening, huh?"
"Would you just-" you gritted through your teeth, trying once more to snatch your Walkman back, a fight that Eddie seemed adamant in winning as he sharply angled it out of your reach again. With exasperation, you whined, "Eddie!"
"Yeah, baby, just like that," he purred in your face, a salaciousness in his tone that not only left you flustered, but Eddie too. He took a measured step back and this time, when you reached for the Walkman, he let you have it. A breath passed, the silence of the interim feeling like hours when in reality, it was only a few seconds. He cleared his throat, recovering quickly as he forced the playful smirk back to his face. "Y'know, I'm fine with the fact that I’m not the only Eddie in your life.”
And just like that, it's like his slip-up never happened, your shoulders slacking as you grinned, "You're insufferable."
"I prefer charming," Eddie countered slyly, grin devilish as you shook your head. He leaned a hip against the locker beside yours, arms crossed blithely as he asked, "Got any of your club shit going on tonight?
"For once, no, but, I mean, Andy said something about everyone going to Chrissy's tonight," you started, a hint of reluctance tinging your tone.
"Oh, cool," Eddie nodded with feigned nonchalance, the mere mention of your friends making his smile falter, just enough for you to notice. For his sake, you acted like you didn't, your eyes dropping to an imaginary crumb on your sleeve that you flicked away.
"Yeah," you shrugged, before giving him the same excuse you'd fed to Andy at lunch when the initial invite came, "But I've got college essays to work on, so."
With that, you closed your locker, and when you began your slow stroll towards the parking lot doors, Eddie pushed off the wall and followed. Hands in his pockets, elbow brushing against yours with every few steps. He stated abruptly, "I can't believe you listen to Eddie Money unironically."
"I thought we were past that," you groaned, your head rolling back as you looked to the ceiling.
“Oh, I’m never letting you live that down," he chortled, shaking his head.
“Come on, Eddie. Give me a break!" you begged, reaching across yourself to grip his bicep through bulky leather, shaking his arm for emphasis. "Seriously!"
“Alright, fine. I'll forget it," he sighed dramatically, hands raised in surrender as he shook you off. "But it'll cost you."
“Name your price," you gave in without hesitation, no ask too big, considering you'd only just gotten him to shut up about the Little River Band thing.
"Hm," he pretended to think about it, a ponderous finger tapping at his chin before he looked to you again, his impish smile returning. "A milkshake."
"We'll be right back, after a brief commercial break."
Johnny Carson smiled his signature grin to the camera, the program fading to black briefly before the grating voiceover urging viewers to buy the new Cherry 7 Up took over. Eddie slipped his hand out from the bag of Original Lays crumpled against his side and grabbed the remote from the armrest, turning the volume all the way down, not in the mood to be advertised to.
You had the heels of your hands pressed into your eyes when he turned to look at you, your frame sunken into the cushions beside him. When you'd dropped your hands to your sides again, you had that slightly lethargic look about you that usually came with eating your entire body's weight in greasy diner food. Your lips set in a dissatisfied line, eyes droopy and fighting to stay open.
"You doing alright?" he asked quietly, breaking the silence of his living room as amusement tugged at the corners of his lips.
"Yeah," you mumbled, rather unconvincingly, eyes blankly fixed at the screen. "Just taking a break."
With that, you took the stack of marked-up pages from your lap, an essay for your college applications he deduced, and you set them to the side.
He found himself watching your lips as they parted, a soft sigh escaping from them, the remnants of their gloss glittering in the low light. Before he knew what he was doing, what even compelled him to do so in the first place, he was wiping the oily crumbs from his fingers onto the belly of his t-shirt and stretching his arm out onto the back of the couch.
"You look tired," he murmured, shifting just slightly, scooting just close enough for his thigh to brush against yours. "I can take you home if you want."
A test of sorts, an unspoken bid for you to tell him to stop what he was doing. Whatever it was he was doing.
Your head fell back slowly, resting on his forearm, and your face stretched open with a yawn that ended as a hum, "Not yet."
Your hair tickled his skin as you rolled your head to the side, and when your eyes met his, half-lidded with the whites of them shining under the glare of the screen, Eddie hoped his heartbeat wasn't as loud to you as it was to him.
It was like he couldn't stop himself, his brain rendered to mushy baby food under your groggy gaze. Slowly, he leaned in. His breaths coming out shallow and shaky from his nostrils.
"Eddie," you whispered his name, blinking slowly up at him.
He paused. His mouth felt dry, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. His voice was gravelly as he breathed out, "Yeah?"
"I think I am tired," you mumbled, a rough, sticky swallow following as you reluctantly gave in to your fatigue.
With that, the spell was broken, with Eddie carefully snaking his arm out from beneath your head. He blinked at you a few times, a long exhale deflating his shoulders, and with a weak smile he said softly, "Let's get you home, then."
