Extra Credit: House Calls (E.M.) - Ch.1
⋆˚꩜｡pairing: eddie x f!reader
⋆˚꩜｡summary: Eddie’s Wednesday night gets interrupted when you knock on his door, encouraged by your best friend to seek his help before a date.
⋆˚꩜｡tags: no y/n, first kiss, teenage angst, coming of age?, slow burn (kinda), internal conflict, guided intimacy, multiple povs
⋆˚꩜｡tw: very mild suggestive content (pg-13, but minors are still not welcome!), inexperienced!reader (not in a dumb/childish way), experienced!eddie, slight power imbalance, internalized stigma/social judgment, anxiety
⋆˚꩜｡word count: 7.1k+
Sometimes Eddie wished he was a cigarette, destined to die on the lips of someone who deliberately chose him despite knowing how bad he was.
Sometimes Eddie wished he was a cigarette, destined to die on the lips of someone who deliberately chose him despite knowing how bad – how deadly he was.
But no one in the sleepy town of Hawkins, Indiana, wanted to choose him. Not deliberately. Not for who he truly was: Hawkins’ social outcast, the product of a doomed trailer park romance that was never destined to work out anyway.
It was a recurrent, depressing thought that liked to creep into his mind late at night; one he didn’t like to dwell on too much. After all, the girls of Hawkins High could dismiss him with all the disgust in the world, but at the end of the day? There they were; hands knocking tentatively at his front door while heavy embarrassment dripped from their pretty faces like gold, thick honey.
They needed him. Not the other way around.
It was just another lonely Wednesday night when soft, tentative knocks at his front door stole his attention away from the TV. His eyes moved away from the door to the ticking clock above it – a few minutes past nine. It couldn’t be his uncle; he had clocked in at work not even two hours ago, and wasn’t expected to return until dawn. Standing up from the tattered couch, his nose and eyebrows scrunched while he tried his best to remember if he had something planned for the night.
His heavy, calloused hand curled around the knob, turning it to the side and pushing the flimsy door open just a crack. The first annual cicadas made themselves known, a soft sound that was barely there at all. “Yeah?”
“Oh, uhm, h-hi!” you choked out, cheeks warm with embarrassment. He watched the way you looked over your shoulder, eyes drifting around the pitch-black trailer park, afraid to be caught with him. A perfectly lacquered finger played nervously with a loose strand of hair. “I, uh– Nathalie said you could help with my, uhm, extra credit?”
Eddie’s hand twitched at the sound of your flustered voice, his hand tightening its grip on the doorknob. “Nathalie, huh?” he said without much thought. He licked his lips, lost in thought, and pushed the doors further open. “Well, come on in, then.”
The creamy hallways of Hawkins High were a harsh contrast to the fleeting, coloured clothes of its students. Loud chatter and echoing footsteps mixed in with the overpowering scent of sweaty teenage boys and delectable perfumed sweethearts. Just your typical Wednesday afternoon.
Your shoulder bumped into Nathalie’s ever so slightly as you walked toward your lockers. The grip you had on the strap of your backpack tightened more and more with every word that left your mouth.
“I just– I mean–” your brain scattered to find the words. “Did you see that? The way he smiled at me? Out of all the girls in our class, me.”
Nathalie rolled her eyes as she rotated the dial of her locker from side to side. Fourteen to the left, six to the right, twenty to the left. A deep sigh left her mouth.
“Yeah, I saw,” she muttered under her breath with a jabbing tone of frustration. She had spent the last few weeks listening to your rose-tinted rambles about Zack Fucking Whitaker, the newest addition to the basketball team, and her ears just couldn’t take it anymore.
Ever since the Whitakers moved back to Hawkins after a year abroad, it seemed like that was all anyone could talk about lately. It had been three, very long weeks of hearing about how his sandy blond hair fell over his thick eyebrows, how his arms flexed with every controlled move he made during PE, how he put the Jason Carver to shame in every single way possible – with his strong nose and angular chin.
Sigh. It wasn’t like Nathalie didn’t agree with it all; she did find him cute, and she did like the view of his flexing arms. Hell, she even liked how Jason Carver had been in a bad mood the past three weeks, not being Hawkins High’s golden boy anymore. Serves him well, cocky prick. She just couldn’t listen to your rambles anymore; whether it be at school or on the phone late at night, it was all you could talk about.
It was driving her absolutely insane.
Another sigh left her lips as she tried occupying herself by retrieving her AP calculus book. She’d never tell it to your face, but right now she’d rather have two consecutive hours of Mr. Flynn talking about the rules for finding derivatives than another fucking word on Zack Whitaker. She loved you, she really did, but a girl could only handle this much boy talk.
“–me out.” Your airy voice pulled her back to the real world.
“What?” Nathalie shook her head, thick eyebrows furrowed over her baby blue eyeshadow as confusion took over her. “Sorry, zoned out for a sec. What were you saying?”
“Sorry, I’m rambling again, aren’t I?” The chuckle that left your lips didn’t contain any amusement. You knew you had been doing that a lot lately, but honestly, you just couldn’t help it. He was all you could think about. You sighed. “Don’t worry about it, it’s nothing, really.”
“No, no. It’s okay, please. I wanna know.”
“I… He asked me out.” You repeated, voice small and eyes glued to your shoes. Your lips pursed at the sight of a brown stain – that hadn’t been there this morning. Nathalie didn’t notice it, and took your expression as nerves instead.
“That’s what you wanted, right?” Nathalie’s perfectly manicured hand wrapped around the heavy book. She closed her locker and turned her body to yours. “When did he ask?”
A shy chuckle left your lips, cheeks warming up. “This morning, after History. Said he want to take me to the movies.” Your eyes averted towards your restless fingers. You were picking the loose skin around your nails again. Nathalie’s disapproving stare forced you to stop. “And, I mean, yeah. I have been dreaming about this for weeks. I just–”
The words died in your throat when the memories of this morning slipped to the front of your mind. You replayed how Zack’s glimmering green eyes clung to yours, giving you all of his attention, how his fingers brushed his hair upwards when a few strands fell in front of his eyes, the sound of his quiet laughter echoing in your mind.
You glanced around the hallway as if the creamy walls and tiled floors held all the answers you needed, and pushed off the locker you were leaning on with a defeated sigh. Your feet moved without you really noticing, drifting down the hallway with Nathalie glued to your sight. Turning the corner, the loud background noise only amplified when you pushed the cafeteria’s doors open.
The unforgiving sound of clattering trays and high-pitched conversations echoed through the space. Your grip tightened around your bag strap. Your stomach has been in a knot ever since Zach had asked you out; you doubted you could stomach any kind of food right now.
A fleeting, insecure thought took over. “Hypothetically speaking,” you began.
“Go on,” Nathalie murmured without much thought. She was too preoccupied choosing between soggy pizza and the sandwich with a suspicious looking yellow sauce to give you her full attention.
“Let’s say the date goes well, right–” now that the blonde wasn’t actively looking, your fingers were at it again, the skin around your nails already too red, too irritated. “What would I even do?”
Nathalie’s eyebrows furrowed; she chose the suspicious looking sandwich. “What do you mean?”
“What if the date goes well and, I don’t know, we’re in an empty parking lot or something–” you lowered your voice. The busy lunch line wasn’t the best place to have this conversation, but still. You snatched a carton of orange juice, substituting the food your stomach couldn’t handle anyway. “I wouldn’t know what to do, not really. I have no… real experience.”
That pulled her attention back on you. Nathalie snorted, lips pursed into a barely contained toothy smile. The sight of a tiny, hot pink stain on her teeth caught your attention. “I’m not making fun of you, promise! You’re just so cute.”
“Oh, c’mon, Nathalie!” you groaned. Cute was the last thing you wanted to be. You looked away, scanning the cafeteria for two empty seats. You walked without another word.
Hiding your face from the blonde, you diverted your gaze to your lap. Suddenly, you regretted choosing to wear a baby pink skirt today; the soft colour wasn’t doing you any favours, not after Nathalie’s comment.
“What if he thinks it’s a dealbreaker?” your voice sounded small even to your own ears. Your eyes drifted across the room, searching for the boy that had been plaguing your mind all day long. You found him easily, even in the sea of green letterman jackets – his sandy blond hair shining under the harsh fluorescent lights.
“Then he’s not the one.” Nathalie shrugged in indifference.
You averted your gaze as he stood up. That wasn’t necessarily what you wanted to hear; you’d expected something else, something reassuring.
You let the sound of chairs scraping across the floors and incessant chatter fill the silence between you.
You were too busy replaying her words in your mind to say something. Nathalie’s eyes softened when she noticed your lost, disappointed expression.
“Listen,” she sighed. Her eyes scanned the cafeteria as she leaned closer to you, blonde strands falling into her face as she angled her head just slightly. She lowered her voice when Caleb Antonoff walked by, just in case – you never knew with those who are part of the school newspaper. “If you’re really insecure about it, I know something that can help.”
Your eyebrows furrowed, curiosity getting the best of you. You leaned forward, meeting her halfway across the cold tabletop, elbows supporting the weight of your upper body.
“Eddie Munson’s kissing booth,” she whispered. Her nose scrunched in disgust as she picked at the sliced pickle hidden between the lettuce, throwing it on the side of her lunch tray. “Girls go to him to practice before dates.”
“Practice?”
“No one admits to it, but half the girls in our year have. I swear to god. Hell, me included.” She took a bite of the sandwich. Her eyebrows furrowed in a deep scowl before her eyes widened. Whatever that suspicious looking sauce was, it was fucking delicious. “He’s really good at it too; got Sean wrapped around my little finger with the things he taught me.”
“You got to be joking.” She shook her head, mouth too preoccupied to give you a proper reply. You didn’t trust the sandwich she was eating; there was no way in Hell that the weird looking sauce wasn’t messing with her brain. You pulled a weird face. “And he just… doesn’t tell anyone about it?”
“Nobody would believe him, anyway. Think, babe. It’s the Freak we’re talking about here,” Nathalie replies with a sarcastic glimmer in her eyes. She placed the sandwich down on her tray and reached for your orange juice. You swatted her hand away – you were not giving her a chance to contaminate you with the brain-eating amoebas she had just consumed. “I’m telling you, he’s great. No complaints. Besides it being him, I mean.”
Almost instinctively, your eyes darted around the loud cafeteria and only stopped when they caught sight of a certain metalhead.
“–increase the concentration, what happens to the reaction rate? Can anyone tell me?” Mrs. O’Donnell’s voice echoed through the otherwise silent classroom. The high pitched screech of her chalk moving across the blackboard, and the lingering dust in the air added another layer to the headache you’d been sporting since lunch.
You looked away, the blank page of your notebook staring back at you. There was no use writing down all the words, numbers and draw pointed arrows, none of it made any fucking sense.
Neither did Eddie’s side business that every girl made use of. Apparently.
There was no way in Hell you were going up to him and ask–
You wouldn’t even know how to finish that sentence. Your headache deepened. This was getting ridiculous.
But the idea kept circling back, and Nathalie’s voice echoed in your head like a broken vinyl.
Eddie Munson. Girls go to him to practice before dates.
You looked at Chrissy Cunningham, sitting two rows to your left. With her perfect ponytail, cheer uniform tailored to her lean body, baby blue eyeshadow applied with flawless precision. You tried to imagine her knocking on Eddie’s door, all rosy cheeks and fluttering eyelashes, asking for his help to bag the Jason Carver. The mental images made as much sense as O’Donnell’s blabbering.
The shrieking ring! of the bell pierced right through O'Donnell's voice. Classmates behind you started to rise, hastily shoving their notebooks into their backpacks, limbs moving in desperate need to leave the classroom.
“Don’t forget next week’s homework!”
You shoved your notebook and chemistry book back into your bag in one, lazy movement. Thoughts still tangled into the whole Eddie Thing, there was no forecast that the headache would leave any time soon.
But even when you followed the fluid current of classmates heading for the door and entering into the crowded hallway, you could still feel it there. The thought of what if looping in the back of your mind.
Nathalie and that stupid mouth of hers be damned.
The hallway was louder than usual, drowning out your thoughts effortlessly. Overlapping voices, slamming lockers, loud laughter somewhere behind you – you welcomed it all, desperate to stop thinking about what you had learnt during lunch today.
You adjusted the grip on your bag as you walked.
It didn’t matter anyway, you weren’t doing it. You weren’t having your first kiss with Eddie Munson. It was embarrassing enough to just be thinking about it.
Zack probably wouldn’t even mind your inexperience anyway.
Hopefully.
You turned the corner, paying no attention to the world around you, eyes scanning ahead for your locker.
Your steps faltered just slightly before you corrected them again. And then you stopped walking altogether.
He was there. Leaning against the wall, just a few feet away from your locker. Almost like he’d been summoned by your lingering thoughts.
He wasn’t doing anything, not really. Just… standing there, leaning against the wall while he talked to a junior you didn’t personally know. They were half way out of the main flow of people, almost like they had placed themselves there on purpose. People passed them without looking. One or two glanced, but quickly looked away again.
“Freaks,” one of them muttered loud enough when they walked past them.
You looked away quickly, afraid that the slightest glance would draw his attention to you. You forced your feet to start moving again. This was exactly what you were going to do: walk over to your locker, open it, grab whatever you needed, leave whatever you didn’t, and go home without another glance in his direction. Like every other student.
The grip on your bag strap tightened even more, knuckles turned white. You lowered your head and rushed to the locker. Three to the left, nine to the right, twelve to the left.
The locker clicked open, and you exhaled a breath you didn’t even know you’d been holding in. The hallway noise carried on like nothing happened, but failed to drown out the loud, pulsating sound that pounded in your ears.
You reached for a book you didn’t need. Shakespear, maybe, and told yourself you weren’t going to turn around.
You did it anyway, taking in the way his curly hair framed his face, the way the leathery material of his war jacket hugged his slender frame, how his white Reeboks contrasted against the rest of his pitch-black outfit. You noticed his ringed fingers tighten around the metal lunchbox he held, and suddenly it wasn’t as hard to imagine those same fingers holding someone’s face before he leaned in and–
Nathalie and her stupid, stupid suggestions be damned. Your mind too, for conjuring up those stupid images.
There was no way in Hell–
Your fingers busied themselves with their favourite activity as you hesitated for a second or two. There would be no way back, not really – even if you left, the fact that you had sought out his help would follow you for the rest of your life. You nodded only once, a little too quickly, and slipped inside.
Eddie closed the door behind you with a hard pull, the sound making you flinch. “Sorry. We keep meaning to fix it.”
The trailer looked smaller from the inside. The kitchen lamp cast a warm, uneven glow towards the living room, over the mismatched furniture and the decorated walls. The TV still murmured quietly in the background. His home smelled like stale beer, microwaved dinner and, if you focused a little harder, citrussy cleaning supplies – something your mom would use to clean the kitchen sink.
“Relax”, he said when he noticed the way you hadn’t moved away from the door. He crossed the room to turn the TV off. “It’s not as bad as you think.”
You stayed near the door. “I didn’t say it was,” you replied, the words coming out tighter than you had meant. Your eyes kept wandering around the room, doing everything in your power to not look at him.
“So,” you trailed off. Your throat dried up, and you picked at the loose skin around your thumbnail a little too hard. You forced a cough to clear your throat. “How, uh– how does this work?”
He glanced at you over his shoulder, an eyebrow arched under his bangs. He moved around the coffee table, putting the remote back on its spot on top of the TV. “Well, depends. What’s your level?”
“Level?”
“Yeah, level of experience,” he replied. His hands moved to the back of his neck, nails scraping at the skin. He leaned against the couch, body relaxed, waiting patiently for your answer.
“I, uh–“ you stammered. Another hard pull at another loose piece of skin. You looked away, the mug collecting gathering dust on the shelves a view less intimidating.
To say you were nervous was an understatement – not only was this the first time you stood in his living room, this also was the first time you were having a conversation with him. You didn’t have any friends in common, you had never been paired for anything at school, and you don’t smoke weed. There never had been any reason to approach him before.
It was a lot of firsts to take in all at once.
Eddie softened. He had done this often enough to know when to step in, when to pull someone out of their head, away from their own thoughts. “It’s ten for half an hour. We keep it PG-13.”
“Okay, yeah,” you gulped. “That sounds, uh, reasonable. I think.”
“I usually do this in my bedroom, just in case my uncle gets home earlier than planned,” he scratched his chin, eyes locked onto your nervous frame. There was a slight warmth to your cheeks that spread down your neck. “But we can stay here, if that’s more comfortable.”
You appreciated the gesture, but you could already see his uncle getting off work early – just your luck.
“Your room is fine, I guess,” you shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. Your voice didn’t sound as casual as the words did in your head.
Eddie backed away from the couch, planting his feet firmly on the ground. He offered you his hand, slender fingers adorned with heavy, silver rings. You hesitated for just a second before placing your raw fingers in his palm. “This way, Sweetheart.”
Eddie sat on top of his bed, naturally relaxed, like this was something totally normal to him. And maybe it was – he had done it times and times before.
You looked around his room with a sudden curiosity. He apologised for the mess as he scanned his bedroom, noticing the empty cans of beer and scattered sheets of paper he hadn’t yet tidied up.
You hummed at his apology, not trusting your own voice. The walls had a faint tint of yellow to them, stained over the time by his smoking habit. It wasn’t strong, and you didn’t really mind. Your eyes wandered over to the wall behind Eddie’s lean figure, ignoring the tattoos that peeked from under his tight tank top, settling instead on the dark, uneasy poster of Wes Craven’s A Nightmare on Elm Street.
Eddie’s eyes followed all the little movements you made, noticing how you took in every little detail of his personal life. He wasn’t used to people actually paying attention to what he considered to be his safe haven; they usually jumped right into it, eager to leave again. He noticed the way your eyes didn’t just scan the room – they lingered, absorbing the titles in his book collection, the scattered pictures of him and his friends, the fantasy world maps he had drawn for previous campaigns, the extensive assortment of the cheapest 1.5mm picks he could find at the local music shop. He noticed how you hesitated for half a second before you picked one up from his desk, its olive-green colour calling to you.
He tilted his head slightly. “Ye’kno, most girls don’t look around this much when they come here.”
Your fingers stilled. You felt like a baby deer caught in headlights, your heart pounding in your chest, afraid you were overstepping. “Sorry–”
“Not complaining.” His lips twitched. “You don’t have to overthink it.”
Your fingers moved the plastic triangle around, shoulders tensed. You looked away, just for a moment. Your cheeks were too warm for your liking, and you hoped Eddie didn’t notice it.
“You always do that?” Eddie tilted his head to the side, gaze dropping to your fingers. You shot him a questioning look. “Fidget.”
Eddie pushed himself off the bed, the imprint of his body visible on the sheets. A quiet exhale left his lips, his socked feet thudding softly against the old carpet as he closed the distance between you. He wasn’t hesitant, but he didn’t rush either. The faint remaining scent of his cologne hit your nostrils – something moody and slightly earthy, not what you had expected from him. Not smooth and familiar like Zack’s – something darker, something that forced your attention to him.
You gulped as his calloused hand reached out, warm fingers moving slow and giving you an out – you didn’t take it. His fingertips brushed against yours, gentle, guiding your fingers to loosen the grip on the worthless piece of plastic.
“See?” he murmured. His eyes drifted upwards, settling on your face. “You’re holding it like your life depends on it. Don’t worry, I don’t bite.”
It was embarrassing how easily he could read you. You blinked, once, then twice more, breath hitched when you noticed he was still holding your hand. You felt the weight of something settling between you – quiet and impossible to ignore.
Eddie didn’t comment on it, just observed you for a second, his gaze flickering, almost as if he were trying to figure something out. The warmth on your hand was instantly lost when he loosened his grip and took a step back.
“Alright,” he said after a moment. “Ground rules, yeah?”
You nodded, not trusting your own voice.
“Like I said – PG-13. We can stop whenever, no questions asked.” His brown eyes flickered to meet yours, a sharp glimmer in them. “But you gotta be honest with me, Sweetheart. Can’t help you if you’re in your head like this the whole time.”
The nickname didn’t go unnoticed. It was the second time he’d used the endearing nickname on you, and you didn’t know how to feel about it. You licked your lips, momentarily smoothing the chapped skin. He was right – if you were asking for his help, you needed to be honest with him.
“I know what I’m supposed to do. I just–” your voice edged toward insecure embarrassment. “I don’t know how to do it, where to start.”
Eddie rubbed the back of his neck, lips forming in a soft smile and eyes sparkling with something that looked almost like adoration. He took a few steps back, returning to his original spot. The old bed frame creaked with the extra weight on top of it.
“First thing?” he said, hand resting on the empty spot next to him. “Stop standing like you’re about to bolt.”
Your grip tightened around the pick, your shoulders tensing instinctively. You looked away, just for a moment. Your cheeks grew warm, again, and you hoped he didn’t notice the way you hesitated. Your mind raced, going eighty miles an hour. And then you exhaled, stepping forward in slow, cautious steps.
He noticed – of course he did. Your chest heaved a little heavier than it did just moments ago, and you looked at everything that wasn’t him or his bed.
“Look at me,” his voice dropped. The silver material of his rings caught the low, warm light of his bedroom as he moved his hand towards you. Warm fingers curled around your fidgeting ones, while his other hand lifted your chin. The sudden heaviness returned, taking root between your bodies while your stomach nervously twisted.
Your eyes followed the lazy movements of the ceiling fan, its quiet humming filling the otherwise silent room, your mind a chaotic mess of thoughts that would have never crossed your mind if it wasn’t for everything that had happened this week. The five badly hand-painted, plastic blades did nothing against the late spring weather, nor did they do anything to cool down your mind.
You heard the soft noise of ice cubes clinking against glass before you heard footsteps approaching the room. Nathalie pushed her bedroom door open with a weird movement of her foot, repeating it to close it again. She stepped closer to the bed, stretching one of her arms in a silent offering. You pulled your body upright, taking a sitting position before you took the glass from her hand.
She raised an intrigued eyebrow when you downed the fresh lemonade in one go without much thought. A spark of mischief crossed her eyes.
“If I wasn’t curious before, I certainly am now. Spill.”
You averted your gaze, unable to look her in the eyes. Your grip on the cool glass tightened, condensation rolling down the material and disappearing down your fingers.
“I went,” you exhaled, shoulders tense. You were still avoiding her curious gaze, instead taking in the various blue shades of wall paint swatches. You decided you liked the second swatch the best.
“Duh,” Nathalie’s eyebrows moved in opposite directions, her face pulled into a sarcastic glare. “I meant what happened.”
You hesitated – this was Nathalie, your best friend since you were maybe five or six years old; it shouldn’t be this hard to open up to her. And yet, you stalled, gulping nervously.
The events of the previous night plagued your mind ever since you left his trailer. You didn’t know what to tell her – that Eddie wasn’t the freak like everyone made him out to be? That he was actually really sweet, and that you felt mortifyingly guilty for using him just so you could impress another boy?
Said boy, who would be picking you up in less than twenty-four hours.
Nathalie always prided herself in knowing you better than you knew yourself, so it wasn’t hard for her to notice how your muscles tensed under her gaze. She usually knew when not to push you for answers, but she needed to know. With a sigh, she put away her own glass, still full, and lay next to you. “You know you can tell me everything, right? I’d never judge you.”
Easier said than done. You loved her with all your being, but the nagging voice in the back of your mind told you she wouldn’t keep her promise. Not when it involved Eddie.
You gulped and offered her a breadcrumb instead: “He… isn’t weird.”
Nathalie blinked and pulled a face. She ran her hand through her hair, loose from the usual dramatically high updo.
“Not weird,” she repeated, voice dripping with scepticism.
“Not like people say.” You shrugged, maybe a little too quickly. You looked away again when her gaze started burning holes into your face. You decided to change the subject. “I like the second shade of blue – it suits your skin better than the other ones.”
She followed your finger towards the swatches of wall paint. It was more than obvious you were deflecting her questions. “Would you feel less embarrassed if I told you about my experience?” Nathalie asked softly.
You didn’t know what answer to give her. A few seconds passed, and your eyes still hadn’t moved away from the swatches. Biting your inner cheek, you nodded.
“I will absolutely kill you if this leaves this room,” she threatened, her pale, milky skin turning as pink as the lipstick she’d applied earlier that afternoon. She held your gaze, pinky finger raised in the air. Your finger curled around hers in a silent promise. “I really liked how, uh, attentive he was.”
Nathalie’s gaze dropped, her pinky slipping from yours. Her cheeks were still hot, almost bordering on red now. You hadn’t seen her this embarrassed since that one time in the fifth grade, when Ethan Russell ran up to her to ask, in front of the entire playground, if she wanted to be Mason Walker’s girlfriend, only to learn it was a joke all along.
“I wanted to dig a hole in the ground, that’s how embarrassed I was to be there, in his room,” she continued in a low voice. “He pulled some vinyl from his collection, something slow, to calm me down. I didn’t even know he listened to anything other than those screaming, satanic bands. I just – I wish it hadn’t been him.”
Your stomach dropped at the evident disgust in Nathalie’s voice. It didn’t sit right with you, especially given her soft confession about how much she liked his attentiveness – a stark contrast to the hard tone in her voice now, as if he’d personally offended her.
You could easily picture it – the way his body probably moved around, how he took the time to choose something soothing to play. You imagined him slowing everything down, like there was nowhere else he needed to be, like Nathalie wasn’t something to rush through.
Your grip tightened around your glass. You wished you hadn’t drunk it all in one gulp, your throat suddenly dry again. “Why does it matter that it was him?” was what you wanted to ask. You didn’t, taking a deep inhale instead.
Putting away your empty glass, you lay next to her. Your gaze returned to the lazy movements of the ceiling fan. It kept spinning and spinning, almost as if it were mimicking your mind.
“I, uh–” your voice sounded smaller than you’d hoped for. A deep sigh left your lips. “Let’s just say it wasn’t what I expected.”
You hesitated – the horror movie and band posters behind him were less intimidating. A soft, nervous sigh left your lips. With a hesitant shift of your eyes, your gaze met his, something flickering in his coffee-brown eyes.
“There ya go,” he murmured, his lips pulling into a soft smile. “I knew you could do it.”
The palms of your hands started to sweat, and your grip on the plastic pick faltered.
His room suddenly felt smaller – like the air between you had pulled the walls closer and closer, trapping the both of you into each other. Your breathing was uneven and loud in your ears, your heart stammering in your chest in ways it had never done before.
Eddie didn’t move, just watched you with curious eyes, almost like he was waiting for something.
“First step,” his voice sounded thicker than it did before. He licked his lips, slightly distracted, his thumb brushing softly against your knuckles. “You gotta stop thinking so much.”
Your lips parted slightly. The feeling of his warm thumb felt distracting, almost too intimate for a situation you’d expected to feel more… clinical.
“Just look at me,” he continued in a soft tone. “Like I said, I don’t bite.”
That pulled a choked chuckle out of you. His gaze felt too intense, but you didn’t look away. You took in the sight – his hair was slightly frizzy after a long, humid spring day, but somehow still looked good. The tiny brown constellations spread on his cheeks were something you hadn’t noticed before, a nice, gentle surprise from someone that carried themselves in such an intimidating way.
Your heart kept beating harshly against your ribs, but your breathing had steadied itself, just slightly. Not exactly calm, but… quieter.
“Second step,” he said after a moment, voice still low. His hand let go of yours, giving you the space to take a step back if you wanted to. You didn’t. “You don’t rush it – that’s where people mess it up.”
His gaze flickered briefly to your lips, taking in the faint glimmer your tongue had left behind, before his eyes trailed back to yours again. A faint smile tugged at his lips. “You get used to being close first.”
You nodded softly, barely paying attention to what he was saying, too focused on how his eyes glimmered under the soft lighting of his room.
His Adam’s apple moved when he gulped, eyes still glued on yours. His thumb stilled against your knuckles before he moved his hand, fingers brushing lightly against your cheek as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Eddie’s movements were quiet, careful – almost absentminded, like he didn’t want to startle you.
“Step three,” he murmured. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, almost like he was having an inner battle with himself. His eyes moved down to your lips and stayed there. The tip of his tongue slithered across his lips. “I lean in and I–”
He cut himself off, head leaning in and closing the distance between you, his eyes fluttered closed. His breath fanned across the lower part of your face, a soft, warm exhale that only added to the warmth that had already spread throughout your body.
Your hand trembled in his, your skin too warm and slightly damp. Too nervous to keep your gaze on him, you closed your eyes almost as if you were bracing for impact.
And then– the soft touch of Eddie’s lips on yours.
Just as quickly as he pulled in, he pulled back again – just enough. His eyes opened, studying your face, waiting for your reaction.
Eddie had done this before. Enough times that it had stopped meaning anything.
The same hesitant girls, the same careful instructions, the same steps – like one of those well-rehearsed songs he’d play at the Hide Out with his band. Nothing ever really changed, besides the occasional need to put on a vinyl to break the awkward air in his room.
It was easy. Detached. Something that didn’t take too much thought.
But this–
Eddie’s eyes lingered on your face a second longer than they should have, longer than he liked. He noticed it immediately – the way his body had tensed slightly under your touch before he forced his muscles to relax again.
But that wasn’t the only thing he’d noticed – you hadn’t pulled away, or looked at him like you needed him to hurry up with the lesson as quickly as possible.
He noticed how you just… stayed. How you didn’t try to fill the silence between you.
It made an uncomfortable feeling settle in his chest – something unfamiliar he wasn’t planning on getting used to.
Eddie cleared his throat, the quiet sound cutting through the thick air that had filled the space between you. His hands twitched, his mind carefully calculating his next move. He moved them to your sides, thumbs resting lightly against the soft material of your baby pink skirt, like he was steadying you.
Your breath caught in your throat at the change in contact, not having expected him to touch you the way he did now.
“Next step,” his voice slipped into a controlled, calm, almost matter-of-fact tone. “Same idea as before, just… a little longer.”
His gaze flickered between your eyes, brown irises checking, grounding – giving you an out if you needed one. You gulped nervously, but didn’t move a muscle.
“Relax your mouth, don’t keep it too tense, yeah?” he added, carefully choosing his words. “Just follow me, okay? We’ll take it slow.”
Eddie’s grip on your hips stayed light, thumbs still brushing faintly against the fabric beneath them as he watched you for a second, taking in your expression, just to be sure.
You didn’t move, nor did you break eye contact with him.
The ends of his curls tickled your cheeks when he leaned in again, slower this time. The way he’d closed the space felt different – less abrupt, more expected. Your lips trembled right before they met his, instantly stilling with the soft weight of his mouth on yours. It wasn’t fleeting, like the previous kiss was; he lingered, like he said he would.
A sigh left your lips when you instinctively parted them. You hadn’t meant to do it, nor had you even realised you had.
Eddie’s thumbs stilled on your hips.
Almost as if you were made of porcelain, he carefully moved his lips, deepening the kiss in such a delicate way, like he was testing the water before stepping further in it.
His hands stayed where they held you, steady, not pulling you any closer – just there, grounding you.
Grounding himself.
He tilted his head slightly, the angle shifting just enough to make everything feel different – closer, warmer, more real.
The change caught you off guard, spinning your head slightly just as he deepened the kiss a little more. His plush lips pushed against yours – soft, yet insistent – coaxing them to part ever so slightly, just enough to explore the contours of your mouth.
Your breath hitched – the feeling unfamiliar, but not unwelcome.
Before you could get used to it, he parted away again, leaving small pecks on your lips before he pulled off completely. His eyes opened up, a new, undecipherable glimmer in them.
“Next step? Tongue,” he said with a soft smirk.
The three little words were enough to make your chest heave, a small change that didn’t go unnoticed by Eddie.
“It’s the same as before: I lean in and I kiss you.” His eyes looked down, taking in the new, soft hue that had taking over your lips. He cleared his throat before continuing, his gaze now lifting up back in search for yours. “I’ll just… touch your lower lip.”
His fingers dug ever so slightly into your hips, pulling you into him in a slow, careful movement. He moved his head – slowly, just like before. The tip of his nose nudged yours, and the curly ends of his hair found their place against your cheeks once more. His warm lips found yours again in one gentle motion.
The tip of his tongue slipped out, softly licking your lower lip. It was even warmer than his mouth, the feeling pulling a low gasp from of your throat. Eddie swallowed the sound with practiced precision, his tongue now gently entering your mouth – just a little further, slow and deliberate.
The slick texture of his tongue against yours felt like nothing you had ever experienced before, and it scared you how much you actually liked it, how easy it was to fall into it.
He’s really good at it. Nathalie’s voice echoed in your mind. She said it so nonchalantly, you hadn’t actually expected…
It wasn’t rushed or clumsy, like you had imagined. It didn’t feel like something to just get over with.
You had expected something quick – some awkward hands, nerves – an evening you could just… forget about as soon as it was over.
You hadn’t expected it to be slow and intentional, like he was paying attention to every little reaction he was getting out of you.
Eddie pulled away, giving your lips small, gentle pecks before he completely took his mouth away from yours. His dark brown eyes opened and took in the view in front of him – red, swollen lips glistening with his spit, blown out pupils staring back at him. “See? You’re a natural.”
Your cheeks warmed even more at the compliment.
He’s really good at it.
And then, seemingly out of nowhere, your thoughts shifted. You wondered, briefly, how it would feel if you were kissing Zack. If it would feel like this.
But as soon as the thought entered your mind, you pushed it away, your chest tightening at the idea.
Your breathing changed, just slightly. And it didn’t go unnoticed by Eddie.
His thumbs resumed their light movements on your hips as he widened the distance between you just a little bit. His eyes searched your face, looking for whatever had pulled your attention away from him.
“Hey,” he whispered, voice softer than before. “You okay?”
You swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat, your gaze dropping for just a second before lifting back to his.
His expression shifted ever so slightly, his thumbs still smoothing the fabric beneath his fingers while he waited for your answer.
You nodded, not trusting your voice.
He didn’t trust the nod you gave him. His thumbs stilled again as he decided to give you an out. “We can stop, if you want.”
His words echoed in your ears, heavier than they had actually sounded leaving his mouth. You parted your lips, only to close them again. Your fingers tightened around the pick you were still holding before loosening again, like you didn’t know what to decide on.
Your gaze shifted again, this time to the ground.
You reminded yourself that it was just practice – just something to get over with before your date with Zack. It wasn’t supposed to make you feel like… whatever you were feeling.
Your lips parted slightly, a trembling breath slipping past them as you tried to organise your thought, to find the words.
“I…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper. Your gaze lifted back to Eddie’s, his dark brown eyes already fixed on yours – soft and attentive, still waiting.
⋆˚꩜｡a/n: eeeeeeppp here it is<3<3 my mind is racing as i write this, can't believe i'm posting this after having this idea swimming in my head for yearssss, can't wait to write more of this hehe as always pls lemme know watcha think 💋
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