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gap year

Eddie Munson x fem!Reader (SFW) - Canon Divergent -> No Upside Down

Synopsis: It’s 1990, you’re out on a date with a nice enough guy you’d gone to high school with just a few years ago. All is going well, it’s a sweet date, you already want to secure a second one, and then Zachary Grant decides to make a detour. An unexpected house party at who else’s but Reefer Rick’s. What are the odds you’ll go in and not see your ex-best friend at the staple place for him to be? Your odds are good, right? Right???

Warnings: slight reader x OC (Zachary Grant), some angst, ex-best friends with feelings, canon divergent if there’s no upside down in hawkins, they don’t know they’re doing it but it’s arguing/bickering as flirting, tension (romantic and slightly sexual), longing/yearning, mutual pining but they’re both unaware, jealous!Eddie, Eddie’s kinda feral and likes getting into physical fights

Word Count: 9.8k

A/N: I know this isn’t what I usually write, but I’m struggling with some writing stuff, and I’m trying to get back into it. I also started rewatching season four of Stranger Things and really wanted to write something with that Eddie and not another AU. So…here we are :) I hope y’all like it :D I miiiiight write a part two.

The music was so loud. The kind of loud that should’ve had the cops there if it was anywhere near any sort of actual neighborhood. You should’ve been in an actual neighborhood. Shit, you should’ve been in yours. But circumstances were going to circumstance.

“A friend’s having a party, we should swing by,” Zach said.

Zachary Grant, who wore an old varsity jacket from high school that the last few years definitely wore out, still talked about how Hawkins High was doing in basketball. Which, all things considered, was fine. It wasn't his main personality trait. And the blind date definitely had been going fine up until then. Some dinner at the edge of Hawkins, a pass by the movie theater to see Back to the Future Part III. He held your hand a few times, had a smile and a glint in his eyes that could make you flustered.

It was all teeing up to be a really, really nice first date. All with a perfect chance to kiss you at your front door. Whisper a sweet goodnight. Then you’d wait for him to call, try a second date, and see where things led. It was going to be a fine goddamn date!

Then, while driving one of the too many backroads through Hawkins, it was like a lightbulb appeared over his head. And, truthfully, if it'd been any other house back there by Lover's Lake, you would've been fine. Sure. Swing by and maybe have a drink, dance a little, see some friends who were probably there. All in good fun.

But you knew that goddamn house before Zach even pulled in. Felt that stutter in your chest and that flip in your stomach when he hopped out and got your car door. What were the odds, right? It was one thing to be a little surprised that Zach pulled up to Reefer Rick’s–whatever. But actively seeing him want to go in there to see friends? Bullshit.

This wasn’t the crowd Zach hung out with. No fucking way.

Was he there?

Your hand felt clammy as Zach took it. In the dark, through the trees, through the thumping of loud music, you looked around. Past the slew of cars, before the dirt became dirt and stony sand and sand became lake. You glanced from shitty car to shitty car to shitty…van.

Goddamn it.

It was nestled near the back. Zach pulled you up to the door without a thought of your delayed steps. But there it was. That stupid fucking van. Could’ve been someone else’s. But the odds? Was that your heart? That thumping–that hard, harsh thumping that sounded like heavy footsteps. The kind that echoed deep into your belly. That made water ripple and hands twitch. That made everything feel too present and not present at all. Twisty and awkward and…and….

“We’ll just stay for like half an hour, then I’ll have you home,” Zach whispered before throwing that front door open.

Jesus Christ.

Varying smoke hit you like a wall. Alcohol next. Beer, wine, liquor. Music took over what wasn't already drowning your other senses. His clammy hand, the brush of his varsity jacket sleeve of that goddamn coat that was making him stand out like a sore thumb. A slew of dark colors in a sea of drunks. Food everywhere. Someone in the bathroom vomiting.

Where?

Something flickered in your wrists. Like a bulb about to go out. Or maybe there was just some shitty wiring inside of you. Who the fuck knew? All you felt was that flickering that snuck along beneath your skin, tangling itself in the unease in your tummy and the slight pinch in your chest. Filled the space in your skull that should’ve been where some cognitive thinking came into play, but nope. No, no. There was just thud after thud after thud of what you couldn’t differentiate between the bass of the song playing or your heart.

It couldn’t be your pulse. God, no.

Please, just let him be outside smoking or passed out on a couch somewhere.

If you were just staying for like half an hour. Fine. You could avoid him that way. If you played it right, he would never know you were there, and you'd never even see him. Hear him. Be in the same room as him, even though the house was a one-story, nearly open space. Right? Yeah. He could be out on the porch the whole time, and yeah! Never see him.

Zach weaved you through the too-many people inside the house. Reefer fucking Rick was not this popular. The crowd was mostly what you expected it to be, but there were some other varsity jackets-esque people there. Some younger than you, some older. Mostly drunk. Mostly dancing. Mostly smoking.

You fanned some away from your face while Zach greeted them. If he said their names, you missed them. If yours was said, you weren’t sure. You just waved when they looked at you. He still held your hand.

Apparently he did have friends there. Alright. Point for him. You'd lend that his way. But you still wanted to leave. Sooner rather than later, just in case. Another song was starting. Zach sauntered up to the kitchen counter, where he pulled you with him, getting much more comfortable. Someone came strolling up with shots, shoving one at Zach with a wide smile. Christ. You kept a steady smile while he downed it with some coughing.

“You want one?” he asked, holding the shot out to his friend, and you both watched vodka spill over the edges with the half-drunk pour.

“Oh,” you started. It was all that came to mind in that empty, thumping space. Drinking. Drinking–right. You hadn’t planned on it when you left for the night. And vodka–

Something lukewarm brushed against your unheld hand. Something lukewarm and metal.

“She’s more of a beer girl.”

A can slid between your fingers right as your stomach dropped. Metal brushed the outside of your fingers as his hand drew back. The same fucking rings that grazed against you the same fucking way. That went along your knuckles before your knuckles brushed all the same. Warm. Roughed up. A leather sleeve touching your sweater sleeve.

At the drop of your stomach, it twisted into a tight, unrelenting knot. One that lifted your chin from the can of beer, past the black leather, the same goddamn jean vest he still wore these last few years, and over that wild hair. His smile was all the same–tight, baiting, and wide–and those eyes….

Your hands twitched. Heat was a light dollop on your face. Your shoulders didn’t quite touch, but they weren’t far apart. Through the smoke, beer, and weed, you could still smell that same shampoo he’d always used and that aftershave Wayne had gotten him that smelled like mint and pine mixed.

Just holding those brown eyes for a single lacking-blink of a moment was a swell in your chest. The kind that made your sweater feel the wrong kind of thick and tight. It wasn't a form-fitting top, but it suddenly became one. Trapping you like a straitjacket with a clenching stomach and a stuttering heart.

“Or has that changed too?” Eddie mused with a smile he didn’t hide any mockery from.

Well, he was right on the money with one thing. You tilted the beer toward him, cleared the awkwardness out of your throat, and nodded. Tearing your eyes from his was like breaking a thick tree branch in half. It bent, bent, bent, giving into the curve as hard as it could, before–snap. You were looking at the same beer you two used to drink a few years ago.

“Yup. Still like beer,” you said without giving him even a cursory glance.

“I can get my girl her own drinks, Munson,” Zach threw out over the music. Ah. A pang. A sharp pang rippling in your chest. Right. There it was–thick and prickling under your ribs. “Piss off.”

“Oh, his girl?”

Eddie leaned in just enough to feel his breath against your cheek. That clenching in your belly was a sudden somersault. Christ. A sudden bump jostled. Your breath was already gone, but it really left as Eddie strolled past you, spinning to walk backward, and there were his eyes again. Had to meet them. Had to–damn it. Had to hold Zach’s hand tighter when he took it as a personal slight against you that Eddie nudged you.

But that wasn’t what it was about.

One look. One wild, annoyed look said all that needed to be said.

His girl. Look at who you’re fucking here with. Wow.

Been about a year since you’d really seen that look. About that long since you last talked. Been…a long time since you’d been anything close to friends. And that vitriol was still fresh when he spun and strolled back into the living room like he owned the place.

“You alright?” Zach pulled you closer. “You know that asshole?”

Yeah. You shrugged. It felt like a disservice, but the past was the past and the present was the present. “Used to tutor him in high school and helped him when he did a few community college courses. When he’d show up, at least. That’s it.”

That was it. Sometimes, yeah, he'd drag you out to the arcade or a movie instead of studying. Maybe he'd take you to one of the diners to grab food. He'd make you laugh. Make you forget you had a test in a few days, and then you'd spend the next two nights cramming for it. He'd crash with you on his couch, on your couch, half-drunk, just talking. So much talking. Your bodies tangled under a blanket, music playing, a case of beer split between you, hands next to each other but not quite touching. Like that was the limit. You could lean on him, sleep on him, lean in close to whisper bullshit in his ear, and he'd lean in and whisper bullshit in yours, but your hands never touched. No matter how many times they ended up near each other.

No matter how many times you had to fight to pull your eyes up from that stupid mouth of his.

Never.

“Shit, well you should be careful with him.” Zach slid his arm around your shoulders and locked you against his side. “Guy’s into the fucked up shit. Wouldn’t want you getting messed up with that.”

Said the man at Reefer Rick's. Pot calling the kettle black and all that. But you just nodded. Satanic Panic still raged in Hawkins, and it wasn't going away anytime soon. Not that Eddie ever cared. As he shrugged off his coat and kicked back in the living room, one glance–one measly glance–showed some new ink on his arms when he pushed his sleeves back. He tossed his keys at a familiar face, the ring of silver as full as it always was with too many keys, the same faded red demonic dragon pendant, and the black can opener that almost looked like the same one you’d given him.

Jesus. No, no way it was the same one. It’d been on sale at the hardware store when you had them make a copy of your key for your place. Figured…figured Eddie might as well have a copy. But that was years ago.

Goddamn it.

How many times had he shown up to a tutoring lesson with a bloody lip or a black eye because of that bullshit? You’d lost count over the years. Not the ones you had to physically hold his arm to keep him back from. Those he mostly backed down from. The second you reached for him, he was only fighting you as a show–it felt like–then he was letting you shove him out the door. He bitched about it. You interrupted some stupid ritual between assholes. Like the fight was the only way for it to end. But he still got in his car or yours and left.

“Yeah, I know.” You cracked the top of the can open and took a long sip. “So how do you guys know Reefer Rick?”

Ugh. Christ.

You leaned with both hands on the small bathroom sink. A crooked mirror looked back at you with your makeup slightly smudged and a slight tipsiness in your body. Half an hour turned into a full hour, one beer became two, and you'd managed to avoid Eddie, but at what cost? He was still there. Inside. Laughing. Fucking around. Catching your eye like a goddamn magnet.

Water. Needed water. More than what you were splashing on your wrists. You needed fresh air and water. Zach was too drunk to drive, so you’d have to get you both home. Fine. Whatever. It was definitely a certain way to take the date, but it wasn’t the end-all-be-all. Just needed water and air and…and to catch your breath. Get away from the music. Take a fucking breath.

In the last half hour alone, you’d been cozied up next to Zach, danced a little, he’d kissed your neck a few times. Kissed your hand. Your shoulder. Like you two were going steady for a couple months. It was a lot, but in some world, it could’ve been nice. He was nice. Nice enough. Handsome.

Damn it.

You ran your hands under the cold water longer. Longer. Longer. Until your fingertips felt cold.

Air.

Yeah.

You needed some air.

Some nice, cold, fresh air. Away from the night. Away from Zach. Away from Eddie.

Strolling back through the house, everything was as it was. You’d only stepped into the bathroom for a few minutes, but just a few minutes could lend things to chaos. Thankfully, no fights were making you pull Zach or Eddie away from someone. No group of drunks falling over vomiting. It was just a party. One that you maneuvered through with weaving motions, avoiding the familiar and unfamiliar faces, until you returned to Zach’s very drunk side.

“I’m gonna step out for a bit,” you said over the music.

“Wha–?” He leaned in, taking you by the sleeve of your shirt. It stretched the collar out a little. “Outside? We’re going outside?”

“Just me.” Which…sounded harsh, but you needed space. The night was far from as you’d planned and, just…. “I’ll just be right back.”

His face contorted into confusion, but it was too loud, too full, too hot in there to really stick around and explain it slowly for him. He’d catch up with his thoughts eventually and recognize that you’d just stepped outside. Probably.

So you pried yourself from his hand, smiled as politely as you could, and slipped into the crowd. He called after you, but it went ignored. He’d figure it out. Or he’d come chasing after you, and you’d have to explain it outside. Which, alright, that’d be a little easier. Probably.

At least then you’d be outside.

Outside where you threw the backdoor open and stepped out onto the porch. Oh. Outside where you strolled over the creaky planks, down the steps, and onto the dirt and sand combination that brought you to the edge of the lake. Where…. Christ.

You dropped your head back and sighed.

Where the music faded behind you with the laughter, the shouts, the hollering. Where the wind brought a chill through every layer of clothing and snuck down into your boots. The party was behind you, the scent of the lake, of the forest, it came through with breath after breath. And one little crack of your eyes showed the stars. The moon. The glittering top of the still lake.

Lover’s Lake.

As beautiful as it was mocking.

Zach could’ve just brought you out to see the lake, and that would’ve made the night a thousand times better. But no. No, you were at Reefer Rick’s house, tipsy, past the allotted time you’d extended to the date, alone, fighting off the twisting in your stomach at knowing Eddie was around every turn. Could be around them.

Just…of all places to be, of all the timing….

Crunch.

A little shiver slipped along your back like a whisper. It wasn’t quite silent, but it was quiet enough to hear the steps. Through the combination of dirt and sand, there were twigs, branches, pine cones, leaves, rocks. They made it real hard to keep anything quiet. And since Zach was so drunk, he wasn’t going to be subtle about anything.

Damn it all.

You threw a glance in his direction with a sigh.

“Zach, I–”

Not Zach. Your pulse was in your ears again. Your head. Your hands. Every vein, you felt the thumping. It was so immediate, you hardly heard the words. Just saw Eddie’s mouth move while he took those idle wide steps toward you.

“Not your meathead boyfriend.” He tapped the side of his beer can, his rings clanking against it. “Don’t think I’d look good in a varsity jacket.”

Well. You jerked your eyes up from the jean and leather combo he wore again. To look at the lake had been your intent. To turn, to face away from that frustrating face, and just stare out at the lake for that was the easiest option. But the path your eyes went seemed to go north. To his neck. His chin. His mouth. His parted mouth in that sarcastic smile before the can of the beer was lifted. Pressed to the plump, soft-looking, pink lips.

The moon catching that dented can was the only thing that saved you.

Another somersault in your belly had you stalled, but you avoided eye contact.

The lake welcomed you.

The lake welcomed you with ease.

You crossed your arms and didn’t fight the frown.

“He’s not my boyfriend. This is just the first date.” And knowing Eddie…. “And he’s not a meathead.”

“Wow, so quick to come to his defense. How fucking loyal of you.” Eddie snorted out a real dry laugh. Like he always fucking did when he talked about anything that wasn’t in his bubble of nonconforming. Cause he was so much better than everyone because he didn’t like some of the mainstream shit.

Nine times out of ten, it never bothered you. That was Eddie. But tonight? It struck a nerve. Maybe an unfair one, you couldn’t tell. But you felt it in your somersaulting belly, and you just shook your head.

“Didn’t take him three times to graduate and he got a scholarship for basketball.” You threw a look at those rosied cheeks. Eddie’s jaw was set tight and his smile didn’t reach his eyes. He nodded, yeah, but it was that nod. Where he was pretending like what you’d said was just rolling off of him, but it wasn’t. It was a low blow. Damn it. “But I doubt he can play guitar as good as you. So.”

“You know damn well he can’t,” Eddie breathed.

He stepped closer. Still tapping at his beer. Still stewing as he always stewed. The ground crunched again. Light waves hit the edge of the dirt. The lake waved, and you let yourself watch. Better there than at Eddie. Better there than falling into whatever just opened up underneath you when he stilled beside you.

When his shoulder bumped yours.

He wasn’t leaving anytime soon, then. He would’ve turned back already. And you hadn’t told him to fuck off like you should’ve. The second you saw him, it should’ve been the first words out of your mouth. You were out there for space. This wasn’t space.

But he was there. And he smelled really, really good. Just for a second, when you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, it was a few years ago, back right after his graduation, and you were drunk on his couch, laughing, congratulating him. His arm hooked around the back of the couch, his side pressed to yours, and he leaned in. He leaned in just close enough that his mouth brushed your cheek. That when you turned, flustered and burning all the way down to your sneakers, you had to pull your chin back or else your mouths would meet.

How badly you hadn’t wanted to move your chin.

How close you almost got to doing something so, so, so stupid when your eyes locked and held. And held. And just held. Unbreakable. If the phone hadn’t rang all shrill in the empty trailer, you might’ve….

You were glad you hadn’t.

It wouldn’t have worked.

Standing there beside each other by Lover’s Lake was very proof of that.

You shrugged–it was all you could think to do. But when you lifted your shoulders, the right touched his left. On the way up and on the way down. A drag against the other. Right. Fucking. There.

“Yeah, well,” you muttered. Step away. Your feet were anchored in the sand. Just an inch. Two inches. Just step away. Your toes curled and your calves tensed. Step. Away. “He’s more nerdy than you’d think. He took me to see Back to the Future Part III before coming here. So he’s not a complete jock. How you’d define them anyways.”

Another low blow, but not a purposeful one. Felt it, though, when you caught Eddie glancing at you in your peripherals. He’d hyped you up and taken you to see the first movie back when it came out. If he’d gotten at least a C+ on his English paper, then you’d agreed to go with him. He’d gotten exactly that. Came running up to you, slamming it down on the picnic table in front of you with a wide-ass, shit-eating grin.

You were true to your word.

Watched it about five dozen times after that with him throughout the years.

Hadn’t…hadn’t watched it in a while, though.

You were supposed to go see the sequel when it came out, but that was right around when things got…shitty. So there it came–the sudden elephant in the room. A thick tension carried by the wind that made your handles feel way too empty. Should’ve grabbed a water. Should’ve grabbed something at least.

“Wow. He likes a mainstream movie. Want me to go pat him on the back? Still walks around wearing that stupid jacket like he didn’t graduate years ago.” Eddie took another sip of his beer, lingering with it by his mouth for a second. “Real stellar of a date choice.”

“Do I need to point out what you’re wearing?” you threw back without looking at him.

“When Zachary Grant can spend all of daddy’s money that he wants, it’s pathetic that he’s still clinging to the high school bullshit with that jacket. Trying to relive those glory days.”

Wow. You scoffed a little and nodded. Just…wow. It was comical, really. You laughed as dryly as he had earlier.

“Good to see a year hasn’t changed you at all, Eddie. Really.” Just step back. Step aside. Step anywhere. “I came out here for some space. So. See you later. I guess.”

One step. You just needed one step. One step where you lifted your foot–and you really lifted it!–and you could just step aside–

“Yeah, will you?” he snapped. “Pretty sure that’s what you said last time we talked, and that was, what? 1989?”

Your foot didn’t make it a stride away. It went right back to where it was. Another somersault in your belly came, except it wasn’t…it wasn’t what it was earlier. It was harsher. It was…heavier. Guiltier. The kind that made your breath bottom out and stall. Where your lungs and your chest burned. Where you felt the same discontent and broken irritation as you had a year ago.

“How long until we accidentally run into each other again and act like we barely know each other?”

“So, just…I’ll see you later then, Eddie.”

The last thing you’d said before taking off. It stung. You’d said the words, but it still stung like he’d shouted them at you. But you were right. If that decision had proven anything, it was that you were right. Didn’t matter how much it hurt. Didn’t matter how awkward the night was. You were right.

“You never apologized.” Three words you’d been holding onto for a year. Stupidly, probably. But, shit, you felt vindicated that he still wouldn’t own up to it. “Still haven’t. You insult the guy I’m clearly here with, but you can’t apologize for making me almost miss my final.”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

“I don’t want to have this argument again, Eddie. It’s…it’s whatever. I barely managed to make it on time. I passed. But don’t pretend like you’re some angelic influence who never risked my academic standing for your own fun.”

“Christ, (Y/N), you made the decision to hang out with me. Don’t put that bullshit on me and pretend you don’t know exactly the kinda guy I am. Or did you forget all that tutoring bullshit? All the failed practice shit that you kept throwing at me.” A lighter flicked. A cigarette puffed. “I still fucking got you to your final on time.”

Oh, yeah. What a fucking caveat to the goddamn issue.

You shook your head.

“Yeah, and whose fault was it we were hours out of town with no gas, slept whose van with a new guitar he had have, in the pouring fucking rain? I told you I couldn't go, but you twisted my arm." He gave you those big, pretty, brown eyes with a needy look. A bat of those lashes. A teasing smile and a hook of his fingers through your belt loops. Hauled you in like a fish caught on a hook.

“C’mon, I twisted your arm?” Eddie took a step back and shook his head. He dropped the empty beer can to the ground and kicked it. Dirt and sand went with it, flying off toward the house. “I asked you to go. You agreed. Bullshit that you wouldn’t have turned me down if you hadn’t wanted to go. Maybe I talked you into it, but you sure as shit let me.”

Fine. Maybe you did. But you’d told him to fill up his car. Told him to just order the guitar delivery into Hawkins–you’d pay the fucking difference in the delivery fee if it was that important. And you told him you had to be at campus by 8:30 the next morning. And with every problem, he just kept brushing it off.

God. You wiped your hands over your face. The somersault again. In annoyance. In irritation. In debilitating frustration. You groaned into your palms then just…let them drop by your sides. Down they fell and swayed with you.

“I just told you I don’t want to have this same argument again. Listen, I just….” You waved toward the house. “I should get back to Zach. Someone’s gonna have to drive him home, and I’m gonna have to make up my couch, cause he’s too drunk to drive from my place. So, real fucking great seeing you again. Really. I’ll see–”

A warm touch. That’s what it was. A warm touch on your wrist, fingers sliding underneath your sleeve, to close around you. A little too tight at first, but the grip adjusted. Eddie’s grip adjusted. He tugged you just as he stepped toward you, the cigarette at his lips before dropping by his side. An awkward movement far from the smoothness of the tug.

A vein snuck through the gaps of his hair, bulging near his temple. His jaw was set so, so tight. And he had that look. Tense. Hard. Irritated. Like when the van came rolling to a stop on the way home, the rain pouring down on you two in the middle of nowhere, and he grabbed his steering wheel with both hands and sighed. His knuckles had been white. The whole air of the van changed as your I fucking told you so went unsaid.

The closest gas station was ten miles away, and it was pitch-black outside.

In his defense, he'd started going out to get a gallon of gas, but you'd stopped him. Weren't going to let him get hurt or killed like that. He'd go at sunup.

“Just,” Eddie started, both his eyes and yours right where his hand was. Where your skin tingled and the callouses on the end of his fingers scraped against. “Jesus Christ.”

He smelled good. Eddie, that close, smelled so fucking good. Less than half a foot–that’s how much space there was between you. So little space and…and you faced each other…and…. And your eyes locked like they were made to meet. A connection with a jolt through your veins when those big, frustrating eyes narrowed just a smidge.

When his mouth parted just a little.

When his hand tightened and the only other thing he managed to say wasn’t a word, wasn’t a grunt, wasn’t even a curse. But a sigh. Eddie’s cigarette dropped into the moist dirt, and he sighed.

It’d be a miracle if he couldn’t feel your pulse. With how his fingers came around your wrist, he could, couldn’t he? They touched your veins. They pressed into you with just enough force that you felt the count. The thumping. The pressure building with every quickening beat. Every unsteady new rhythm it took on as your eyes stayed so, so frustratingly locked.

A year. A whole goddamn year. Fuck. You'd missed him. You'd never admit it to him or anyone, but he was your best friend. He'd probably mock you for it. You had other friends. Friends who gave you shit for hanging out with Eddie. But there was just…just a different connection with him. One you couldn't describe. One that made the whole world feel a bit better when you were with him.

One where…where Eddie’s hand loosened just a little. Where the pads of his fingers slid along the inside of your wrist, grazing the tender skin with light, calloused drags. They skated past your pulse point and over the hell of your palm. Tickling, but not quite. A touch like a ghosting breath across the skin and…and his fingertips brushed over your palm and his fingers curled around yours and his thumb grazed over the back of your hand–

“Hey!” A slurred voice cut across the water’s edge. “What the fuck are you screwing around with, freak?”

Eddie's hand fell from yours unceremoniously. The touch once there just lost. Suddenly. A fall of a warmth that fit almost like a perfect puzzle piece. Heat licked at the back of your neck now an instant chill. A slither along your spine much like ice. It cooled the heat wrong. It…it stole goosebumps away without a gentleness.

“Wow, Grant.” Eddie tilted his head and dropped his hands to the back of his hips. Oh, no. “Big man coming out here looking after his girl, right?”

“Eddie,” you breathed, already moving. Your legs moved just fine right then. And it only took two strides to get in front of Eddie and between him and Zach. “Zach, alright, I think it’s time to go.”

“You find a girl all alone out here, Munson, and swoop in?” Zach pushed back against you a little harder, but you didn’t budge. Jesus. He was drunk. Very drunk. Must’ve had more shots while you were in the bathroom and outside. “Whatcha think happens to a guy like that in a circumstance like…like this, huh?”

“Relax. I’m not her type. She likes varsity jackets and scholarships. Ain’t that right, (Y/N)?”

There…. There was an edge in Eddie’s voice that hit your back like a shove. You threw a look over your shoulder, and he already had another cigarette lit. His lighter flicked shut, his eyes looked far less…less big and open as they’d been a second ago. Closed off–that’s what he was doing. Asshole did it all the time around others. Just shut himself off when he needed to be that big and scary freak of Hawkins.

The same freak who used to make you laugh until you cried, poking at you with the same stupid joke over and over. Had you nearly on his lap at one point, clinging onto his arm, cause you were wheezing so hard. The very same freak who, a week later, had tears in his eyes while he talked about his mom.

Multifaceted, yeah. Also completely dependent on the scenario, the person, the time of day, the day.

“Just out here saying hi,” Eddie mused with that taunting smile he had. Goddamn it. He was poking the bear. He knew exactly what he was doing. He always fucking did it when bullshit came right up to his face. “(Y/N) was just saying hi back.”

The knowing, taunting look he gave you was a cruel one. One that you knew was leading exactly to where it was. The one that got under skin so goddamn easily. The one that had Zach pushing you aside, leaving you stumbling back a few steps, as he got in Eddie’s face.

“You wanna mess around with someone else’s girl, freak? You think she’d ever give you any actual time of day if she didn’t pity your sorry ass?” A fist closed around Eddie’s jacket. He was beaming. He grinned and leaned into Zach’s hold without breaking a fucking step, losing a breath, or stumbling more than Zach was. “Fuck off.”

Zach shoved Eddie back with the might of a guy who still trained after graduating. Eddie went back pretty hard, but this wasn’t his first scuffle. Water splashed under his sneakers, but Eddie didn’t go down. He stumbled a tad, yeah, but only the bottom of his jeans got wet.

“Real charmer of a guy you’ve got there,” Eddie tossed at you. “A real trade-off. Brawns and the scarecrow’s got a real brain in there that can do more than tossing a ball into a fucking basket–”

A drunk asshole was going to do what a drunk asshole does. Eddie stupidly had his focus on you so when Zach's fist was a blur, Eddie just took the hit. To his jaw, maybe his chin or mouth. It happened really fast. There was movement. There was the splash of water. And then Eddie was on his ass, soaking wet, his eyes a little feral, and his mouth in a wide smile. Blood. There was blood too. A cut on his lip.

Oh, Christ. Your heart was in your throat in an instant. It stole at your breathing and made your head hurt just a tad. A light headache wasn’t quite right, but it was the closest you could come up with. Something hurt.

Maybe it was closer to your chest? Stomach? All that made sense was that when you saw Eddie push up and Zach step forward, you were back in between them. Back with both hands on Eddie's chest when he was upright. Taking fistfuls of his shirt and pushing him back further in the water while Zach stayed behind you.

“Eddie, hey. Hey. Let’s go. Let’s go." Words that came like it was 1988 and you were with him at some stupid house party where he could do what he did behind the house, in the basement, with that stupid lunchbox while you hung out with your friends. And, inevitably, your paths would cross, and some shit would stir. "Come on. Come on.”

Eddie, for what it was worth, moved with you. Just as he used to, unless he was real deadset on a fight. He just stomped back further into the lake then, with your grunt and a jerk of him, he was walking back with small steps toward wherever the hell his van was. They were resistant steps, but steps nonetheless.

“Hey, (Y/N), you came here with me–”

Yeah, and Eddie’s bullshit did exactly what he’d intended. Probably. Maybe he was prodding to prod, but it still had an effect and the expected outcome.

“Date’s over,” you shouted. Under your hands, you felt the low rumble of Eddie’s laugh. It was heard next under his breath, but his expression didn’t hide his amusement. “Don’t call me, Zach.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me it’s cause of this freak.”

A long breath came next. Eddie stopped resisting. He actually…he threw his hand into his pocket and was digging for his keys while the other was at your back pretty damn quickly. Even when you turned and threw a look at Zach, he still had his hand on the small of your back.

“He’s a friend, asshole. I don’t like guys who are mean to my friends.” Even if Eddie was pissing you off. He was still…Eddie. Still a friend. Words that earned you another snicker from Eddie and disbelief from Zach, but you weren’t sticking around for either. You just turned while shaking your head. “Let’s go.”

“Oh, yes, ma’am,” Eddie breathed.

He followed you in step without breaking his stride. His hand was still on your back with each stride.

Asshole. Both of them. Different reasons, yeah. But, goddamn it, Eddie.

"You just can't leave well enough alone, can you?" You snatched his keys out of his hand–tried to. Tried to snatch his keys, but he went staggering back, holding his hand back way out of reach. You knew better than to try again. It was a game that you'd played before, and it'd just end up with you falling over him and yourself in a failed effort to get him back.

Especially when, when you really looked at him, he…he might've been sober. Actually sober. His words hadn't slurred at all. He stumbled only about the amount he normally did with his clumsy self whenever he played it up. And he only had cigarettes on him. Had the one beer by the lake, but had he had more than the one before that?

“Yeah, and you came strolling into Rick’s with the asshole of the century.” Eddie spun around you, his fingertips snagging at your sweater. Inevitably, they left. Both hands twiddled with his keys while he stalked backward. “Wouldn’t you rather know the kinda prick he is now rather than later?”

Christ, like he’d actually intended that from the start. Eddie could be conniving, but like that? He was just baiting to bait.

“Yeah, you took a punch for my sake. How chivalrous of you. Truly. Give me your keys, Eddie, you’re not driving.”

“I’ve had two shitty beers in the last hour and a half. How many have you had, lightweight?” He tossed his keys up and caught them with ease. That gleam in his eye…. Familiar. So familiar. “Let me take Cinderella home.”

“Cinderella?”

Was he screwing with you? Cinderella? You took a larger step and shoved his shoulders. Eddie went back a bit more on his next step, but that was it. His laugh bounced around the cars like an arrow ricocheting and aiming right for you. Woah. He used the momentum to turn, swinging toward his van nestled away. When his back was to you, you lost your momentum. The sound of his laugh was like a door unlocking with a key you’d lost ages ago. A year ago.

It wasn’t anything particularly pretty or…or graceful. No, it was just a snorted laugh that devolved into a snicker, and it…it had been so fucking long since you’d heard it. Really heard it. The floodgates were cracking. Danger was a flashing light over your head.

“Yeah, Cinderella. Princess had her poor date with Prince Charming interrupted, and she didn’t make it back in time before the carriage became a pumpkin.” He waved his keys around. “Or some shit like that.”

At his van, there was no pause. Eddie jerked the passenger door open for you with a flourish. He waved, beckoning you to climb in, but you stopped. Just…stopped. Found those brown eyes so he could really look at you when you said the obvious. Because he’d started it. He’d opened the door to this. Were you taking it too literally? Maybe. But he was part of the reason your night had gone to shit, so if he was going to play stupid games, you’d play them right back.

“You saying I look like shit, then? Since my carriage became a pumpkin, then I guess I lost my, uh, magical transformation into a princess. Right?" You crossed your arms, and Eddie tapped his hand on the back of his door. "Is that the game you wanna play right now, Eddie?"

Eddie sucked in his cheeks. Silence. Just silence and that light tapping at his door.

You returned it with a pointed, calculated smile.

“Get in the car, Munson,” you stated.

"Yup." He tapped the door again and scurried off to the other side.

Idiot. He could’ve just…. Didn’t matter. Expecting any sort of response from Eddie was pointless. Just like expecting an apology. Wasn’t like he was going to look you in the eye and say you looked nice or good or pretty. As he’d so claimed about him not being your type, you were far from his.

“You’re an idiot,” you muttered just as his door shut.

Either he didn't hear you, or he had no response. Eddie just turned his keys, and the van roared to life. Iron Maiden blasted from the nearly-blown speakers. He was already rolling down the window before you were settled in. It smelled as it always did. Old. Like smoke. Varying kinds. Might've been a while since you'd been in it, but you still didn't bat an eye like you used to when you first rode with him.

Thankfully, Eddie wasn’t parked in, and with a glance over his shoulder, his hand on your headrest, he threw the van in reverse. The whole vehicle jerked, squeaked a little, and rocked. But you made it out of there with the music blaring and drowning out your thoughts.

Huh. Back in Eddie's van. Back in it, pissed off, awkwardly not talking, listening to…what might've actually been the same tape as the night before your final.

You leaned out the window a little. Still clear skies.

Leaning back in, a little pivot toward Eddie….

“The tank is full,” he shouted over the tunes. “Relax.”

You caught the tail end of his eye roll. Still hadn't apologized. Still wasn't going to. Did he seriously not see what was wrong with the entire situation? Fine, yeah. Fine! You agreed to go with. He still twisted your arm. Maybe you should’ve held firm, but he still pushed you. And even then, you told him so many fucking times to just fill up the car. Later. He’d get it at the next gas station. There was one he liked between there and the city, and he wanted to make it there.

If you'd missed that final, you would've flunked the class, you would've had to repeat it the next semester, and it was a prerequisite for your degree. Then the next class was going to be put off to the next semester, and then the next after that would be pushed further. It threw off your plan. It wasted money. It wasted time.

Goddamn it.

Getting mad about it wasn't going to change it. He'd gotten the gas the next morning by luck of a passing cop taking you both to the gas station up the road. He'd brought you back, where you distracted them from witnessing anything illegal inside Eddie's van. Got the tank filled, drove to the gas station, and then Eddie got you to campus in the clothes you'd slept in to take your exam.

He'd waited for you after. Offered to take you out to breakfast, but it was just…so much. Seeing him be semi-playful about it…. You both had bags under your eyes, felt gross, and just…. You'd trusted him with one thing.

“Just take me home.”

“You sure? Cause there’s a special over at–”

“Eddie. Take me home.”

And when you got out of his car, that was it.

”So, just…I’ll see you later then, Eddie.”

Later was Reefer Rick’s. Later was sitting in his van, feeling the wind on your face, and sitting in complete and utter stewing silence. Later was watching him roll up to your small house across Hawkins, throwing the van into park, and cutting the music.

Maybe you’d see him again in 1991. Make it a yearly reconnection of arguing and bickering. No reminiscing necessary.

“Later,” was all you managed. You just wanted to go inside. Just wanted to put the night behind you. Just wanted to be done–

“You never gave me the chance to apologize.”

Your fingertips brushed the door. It was cold from the fall air. Freezing, really, but you didn’t lift or drop them. Just held still with the slightest tremor. Felt how your fingers moved when your heart thumped.

Didn’t give him the chance?

You gave him a slow, incredulous look.

“Did you lose my number?”

He sucked in his cheeks again and shook his head. Both hands were pressed to the steering wheel.

“Didn’t feel like it was a calling sort of apology.”

Oh, it didn’t? You laughed. Wow. The back of the seat was at your back, and you turned and fully faced him. Really. Really faced him.

"Yeah, and did you call at all?" you asked with dry laughter around the edges. His grip grew tighter on the wheel. "You seem to recall where I live without prompting." You waved at your place. "Did you swing by to try to talk to me face-to-face?"

His jaw went tighter. His knuckles were pale and drifting toward pure white.

“Yeah, that’s what I fucking thought, Eddie. Jesus Christ. You don’t get to pull that bullshit excuse when you never tried.”

"Do you think I don't know when I'm not wanted around, (Y/N)?" Big brown eyes were narrowed right at you. His chest heaved, and his seat jostled when he sat back. One hand stayed on the wheel, still tight. A pinch found your chest and sank in. "You told me to fuck off without saying it, and I figured, sure. I fucked up. I'll give her some space. Space that you seemed totally fucking fine with for…." He checked his watch. "A whole year. So, hey, this is what you wanted.”

Oh. Anger was a twinge through that prick in your chest. He was serious. He was fucking dead serious.

Wow.

You threw your hand at the door and yanked the handle.

“Yeah? You still haven’t fucking apologized, you asshole.” Boots touched the round, and the second you were clear, you slammed the door behind you. “Maybe I’ll see you again in 1991, Eddie. Thanks for dropping a de-magicked Cinderella off. It’s your good deed for the year.”

Keys. You searched your pockets for your keys. Keys and…. And behind you, another car door shut. No engine turned over. No music blared. No screeching of his van pulling away. Your pulse skyrocketed, but you didn't stop. Right on up to your front porch, where Zach was supposed to kiss you goodnight, you slid the key into your lock and turned it. Got the door open just as Eddie came up the steps behind you. You were faster, though. Fast enough. You stepped inside and faced him, hand on that thick yellow-painted wooden door.

One hand, clad in those frustrating rings, caught your door even when you didn't try and fully shut it. His eyes were full and a little wild. His chest moved quickly with deep, fierce breaths. And he glared. He just glared.

“I can’t fucking apologize here, (Y/N), cause you sure as shit won’t believe it if I do. I’ve thought it over. For a year. I’ve thought over what the right way to make it up to you was. I was gonna. I was gonna apologize at breakfast after you came outta that stupid final. I was gonna get you breakfast and…and a milkshake or some shit, and I was gonna apologize and take you out to see Road House that night if you’d given me the chance.”

Tap. Tap. Tap. Eddie tapped his hand against your door before it just slid down.

He held both up and shrugged.

“But you weren’t interested and you still aren’t, so what the fuck am I doing?”

It was hard to set that aside. It really was. You had to bottle it up–breakfast, a movie, an apology, all just a few hours away, but you'd wanted to be done. You were done. But just knowing…. You chewed on your bottom lip and sighed.

“Could’ve just left me alone tonight, Eddie.”

“I was gonna apologize out there before goddamn Zachary Grant showed up drunk off his ass,” he whispered. Jesus Christ. “Threw me way off my shit when I looked up and not only saw that asshole in Rick’s house, but you on his fucking arm. Are you kidding me? But I figured, hey, been a year, maybe she’ll tolerate me now.” His eyes flicked over you so slowly. Head to toe and right back up, dragging and snagged where your throat felt so tight. Where your mouth was a fine, fine line. “But fuck it, right? I’m sorry about almost fucking up your final. I am. Sorry your date with Prince Charming didn't go as planned. He was supposed to take you back here, and, what? Give you a nice goodnight kiss and then call you tomorrow like a proper gentleman?"

Your hand was still on the side of the door. You squeezed it harder and harder as Eddie’s focus finally shifted up that last little bit. Gazes locked, a stitch in your chest made your breath catch.

"Maybe he was," you muttered. Something…something pricked the backs of your eyes that pushed blurry vision forward. No matter how hard you squeezed the door, no matter how tight you clenched your jaw, they still came. Shit. But you didn’t break eye contact. “Maybe I was actually looking forward to it. It was a nice date before we stopped at Rick’s.”

“Yeah, well, give it a day or two. You’re the only catch in Hawkins. Some other idiot with a varsity jacket will get their head outta their ass and come strolling up.” Eddie sighed, but you barely heard it. Was it your pulse again? That damn heart? Something in your head was rushing like pumping blood, and it was all you could hear. Eddie just shrugged, gave you a half-hearted smile, tapped your door again, and turned. “Whatever. Just…see you later.”

The only catch in Hawkins. There was that somersaulting again. It was deep in your belly and joined the roar of the rushing in your head. In your chest and veins and everywhere. It was everywhere.

No.

No, that couldn’t mean what you thought it meant. No fucking way. That was just…Eddie being uplifting. So he wasn’t walking away being an ass. But he did that. He didn’t care that he did that. With others. Never with you. The only time you parted without being on good terms was after your final. Everything before that was minuscule and pointless. But he never….

He’d only ever stopped and called you pretty when you showed up at his place dressed in a formal dress after visiting a wedding in the city for a cousin. Or whenever you were too sick to function and you looked horrendous. He’d swing by with soup from any place on the way, use his key to get in, and flick your forehead before thanking you for getting all dolled up for him.

Don’t do it. You stepped closer to the doorway. Watching him walk away. Don’t do it. It was pointless. It was so pointless.

Jocks weren’t your type.

Four words.

Easy words to say.

Really, really easy words to say.

He was right there.

Jocks weren’t your type.

Jocks weren’t.

Eddie was.

His car door opened and shut.

Something wet slipped down your cheek when Iron Maiden started blaring.

When it was an echo down the street, you closed your front door and locked it.

Eddie was.

Strolling back to your room, your hand still tingled from where his had been.

Maybe you just weren’t meant to be. Maybe…. Maybe you’d see him again in 1991. It’d be a repeat or…or a redo or it’d be nothing. Maybe that’s all you were meant to have with Eddie.

Nothing but that.

Nothing but–

Click.

You went still at your dresser, in the middle of taking off your jewelry. A bracelet that went down first. Then you unclasped your necklace as the creaking of your front door. At the thump of it shutting. It was left next to your bracelet when you heard the jingling keys, and you poked your head out into the hallway.

“You kept the key?” was all that sputtered out of you when Eddie tucked them away into his jacket pocket. On his keyring. He kept your key on his keyring.

For the whole goddamn year.

“Yup. Never took it off.” He nodded once. His stride didn’t break. “C’mere.”

“Eddie…?”

What the fuck was he….?

Your brows furrowed, and his hands…. His hands came to your waist. Just like that, in a blink, he went from your hallway to your bedroom doorway, and his hands were taking fistfuls of your sweater while he pushed you back. Just a little. You’d wrestled enough to know that tremor in his hands was sincere. To know the strength was all going to the way he wrinkled your sweater in his fingers.

To know that you’d walked yourself back that last step against the doorframe and that he paused when your hands went up to his shoulders. Shaking. Your hands and his shoulders.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you muttered.

You knew he knew you well enough that you would've pushed him away already if something was wrong. His cheeks were rosy, and his chest moved so, so quickly. He just shook his head with that wild look in his eye and he cracked an equally as wild smile.

“Something probably stupid if I’m wrong.” He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “Am I wrong?”

His eyes dropped and lingered. Not too low to be anything on your modest collar. Not high enough to be your nose or locked onto your gaze. Exactly where you thought he was looking, and you just….

As the stutter in your heart, you shook your head once.

“Jocks aren’t my type, Eddie.”

A twitch of his hands was all the warning you got.

Hair tickled your cheeks. So, so, so gently. So many times, Eddie had leaned in so goddamn close, and you'd get a feel of his hair like that. Like he was trying to taunt you with every whisper during a movie or in your group of friends. Shit, Eddie used to whisper to you when you were tutoring–just the two of you, no matter where you were. Always close, also there. Always making you wonder what his mouth felt like on yours. If he'd be a good kisser, a sloppy one, or…or whatever. Whatever!

One hand slid a little higher on your waist, dragging your sweater up just over the top of your jeans. The other cupped your cheek. Cold from the night air that quickly became warm. That…that brushed a thumb over your cheek right along with his hair, and…and….

Unreal.

It was unreal.

Were you hallucinating? Dreaming?

He was so fucking hesitant. Eddie Munson, the guy who did so much dumbass, risky, improvised shit on a whim. He hesitated with his mouth barely touching yours. Mint. Tasting like mint. The gum he always had in his van. He was the slightest taste of mint when those goddamn tempting lips pressed to yours.

And you tipped your chin to meet them.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

Eddie goddamn Munson.

He kissed you. Slowly. Eddie kissed you like the weight of the world was between you, with all that was propping you up was your doorframe and him. His chest pressing to yours, his thighs meeting yours, your toes almost bumping down below. He kissed you with a fervor that had lips parting, sighs falling, and still a languidness of savoring. Of…of making your thoughts nearly vanish.

He was kissing you.

This was what kissing him was like.

And the parting of your lips, the gasps, the sighs, that pulls at your sweater and his shirt…. You dared an escalation. Nothing more than a brush of your tongue, and Eddie’s knees buckled. His hand was bare against your ribs underneath your sweater. His body curved against yours. Warm and sweet and savory all in one. You’d lost count of how long you’d known him. Since you’d been in school together for so long, since you’d started tutoring him, since you were actually friends. Best friends.

All you knew was the year apart.

All you knew was the way his other hand fell when the gasps came in faster. When the kiss deepened. When the air sparked and everything–everything–felt like it was shifting into place.

When his nose nudged yours. When his mouth brushed over yours. When the kiss didn’t break, but you both just…stood forehead to forehead, panting. Against the other, clinging. Feeling. Processing.

Holding.

His fingers intertwined with yours.

“Let me take you to breakfast tomorrow, try that, uh, apology again,” he breathed.

You nodded. “I can get Back to the Future Part II from Family Video, and there are some, um, later showings for Part III tomorrow afternoon."

Eddie nodded. Your mouths brushed again.

“Pick you up at nine?” he asked.

“Nine works.”

He squeezed your hand and you squeezed his back.

"Had to give Cinderella her kiss." Again. He brushed your lips with his again. Lingering that time. Lingering and…and planting another kiss that you leaned right into. Just a small lean, and there you were again. Mouths together like you were made for each other. As if the last year was just...nothing. "I'll actually see you later. Night, (Y/N).”

You smiled and felt his right against yours.

“Night, asshole.”

With one last squeeze of your side and hand, Eddie was gone.

Jesus Christ. Your front door shut and locked. With weak knees, you dropped onto the edge of your bed. Your side tingled. Lips tingled. Hand tingled. All the same. All mesmerizing. All….

All so perfectly imperfect.

Goddamn him.

“Asshole,” you muttered.

An asshole you already couldn’t wait to see in the morning. Jesus Christ. Eddie freaking Munson.

He was an even better kisser than you’d imagined.

But now.... Now you were in uncharted territory. You'd kissed. That wasn't something you just turned away from. Didn't just pretend it didn't happen. So....

So tomorrow. Nine.

It was all hedging on that.

Goddamn it.

Nine. Well.

You could make it work. Right?

Right?

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