Dear Teddy
Chapter 8
Rockstar!Eddie Munson x ex Best Friend reader
Chapter warnings (18+ minors dni) - angst and comfort, mentions of parental death, drug use, alcohol mentions, Eddie wears reader’s clothes but there’s no mention of sizes just that they’re ill-fitting. 8k
A/N: I’d say sorry for taking so long, but I think you’ve all come to expect it now, and it probably will happen again in the future lol
Series masterlist
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Eddie rushes down the stairs, taking them two at a time and almost tripping over his own feet in his hurry. It had only been a few minutes since you left. If he’s quick he can catch you before you get too far.
The lobby is empty when Eddie reaches the bottom. He pushes out through the door, into the cold night air.
It’s begun to rain. Just a light drizzle falling from the pitch black sky, not a star in sight. Eddie’s head snaps left and right, but there’s no one around apart from a couple getting out of a taxi, likely returning from their own Thanksgiving dinner. The guy holds his hand out to his partner, smiling lovingly at her as she slips her fingers into his and steps out of the car. When he presses a kiss to her cheek something lurches in Eddie’s chest.
He shouldn’t drive. He’d knocked back three large glasses of wine with dinner, and the rain is beginning to pick up intensity. He should ask the driver of the now empty cab for a ride.
But he’s never been one to make good decisions.
The Viper peels out of the parking lot, tires screeching against the wet road. The wipers struggle to keep up with how hard the rain now falls, a downpour that has puddles already forming, water splashing up over the sidewalks as he speeds through the town.
Eddie white knuckles the steering wheel, his foot pressing down harder on the gas. If a cop sees him now he doubts he’d be able to talk his way out of trouble, even if it’s Hopper that catches him. He’s speeding, driving recklessly, and he’s definitely had too much to drink. But he won’t slow down.
He has to get to you.
Eddie’s furious. How could everyone keep this from him? Steve, Robin, Wayne. None of them deemed it necessary to tell him that your mom had died? Wayne had hinted that you’d had a rough time. Eddie assumed maybe it was because of him, or maybe you’d had a bad break up with that douchebag you’d been dating - Jim, or Jake. Whatever his name was.
But this was huge. This was too much. He should’ve known. Someone should have told him.
Because no matter how angry he’d been, no matter how much he’d convinced himself that he didn’t care about you at all, Eddie could admit now that it was all a lie. He did care. He’d always cared. And if he’d known what you’d been going through he would have put all that bullshit aside.
He turns onto your street, taking the corner a little too fast. The back end of the car swings out, and he curses, fingers slipping over the steering wheel, but he manages to keep it under control. The engine roars as he speeds through the quiet cul-de-sac.
He knows this street well. The small, simple houses, set back a short distance from the road, all with neatly pruned front yards and perfect white fences. He’d driven down this road so many times before. In his beat up van, with you sat by his side, your feet propped up on the dash while the two of you sang along to Metallica or Dio.
The neighbours used to frown, peering out from between their curtains, shaking their heads disapprovingly at the loud rattle of his engine and the louder music that blared from the speakers.
“You two are gonna get me in trouble one day.” Your mom used to say. But it was always accompanied with a fond smile. She thought it was funny.
She’d always liked Eddie.
It had surprised him when he first met her. He’d prepared himself for a bad reaction. It wasn’t unusual for his friend’s parents to screw their noses up at his clothes and his hair and his tattoos. Like he was nothing but trailer park trash.
But on that first day of your junior year, and the first day of Eddie’s second senior stint, when he knocked on your front door to give you a ride, your mom opened the door with a beaming smile.
“So you must be the famous Eddie.” She’d grinned.
And just like that, Eddie was accepted. Your mom never minded him hanging around. Always happy to have him over, inviting him for dinner and sending him home with extra for the nights when Wayne was working overtime at the plant.
She’d drop you off at The Hideout on the nights he was playing, waving to him from her car and calling “good luck!” through the open window.
When he failed to graduate again, she’d been there. Letting him spill the tears that he didn’t like to shed in front of Wayne, and hugging him close like he was her own son. She’d always treated Eddie good.
And now she was gone.
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Eddie pulls up in front of your house, bumping against the curb. There’s a car he doesn’t recognise on the driveway. It must be yours. Had you driven to Steve’s? You shouldn’t have driven home, you’d been drinking too. But it wasn’t Eddie’s place to tell you what you could and couldn’t do. He realises he doesn’t have much of a place in your life at all.
What was he doing here? He’d come all this way in a blind haze, driven only by his need to see you. Guilt gnawing away in his chest, his heart ripped to shreds by the thought of just how much you had suffered. While he was none the wiser.
He was here now. But what was he going to say exactly?
Eddie sits and stares at your front door for longer than he would care to admit. Rain pounds on the roof of the car, running in fat droplets down the window that fogs up with his anxious breaths. His pale reflection stares back at him. A ghost trapped in glass, distorted by the rain until it’s features blur into something unrecognisable, almost unhuman.
Beyond that white face Eddie can see that the lights are on in your living room. A faint amber glow seeping through the gaps in the curtains. The rest of the house is in darkness.
Everything is so familiar, and yet not.
Eddie knows how the gravel of the path would feel crunching beneath his boots. He knows it takes exactly twelve steps from the gate to your front door. He knows the smooth texture of the doorbell beneath the pad of his calloused fingers, and the exact tune of the two notes that ring out when it’s pressed.
But beyond that front door is a mystery to him. It makes him anxious, the thought of seeing inside.
He’s not sure what would be worse. To see that you’ve changed the decor, proof that your life has progressed without him. That you’ve developed your own taste and style, that you’re adult enough now to have an opinion on boring shit like floor boards and lampshades.
Or would it be worse if you haven’t changed a thing? Living in a time capsule, a tomb of another life. One where your mom was still alive and you still called Eddie a friend.
He might not get far enough to see. There’s every chance you’ll slam the door closed in his face, if you even answer it at all.
With no clear plan of what he’s going to do or say, Eddie forces himself to get out of the car. He’s soaked by the time he walks the twelve steps to your porch, his curls sticking to his face and neck like wet noodles, his skin erupting into goosebumps despite his winter coat. The doorbell is smooth and cold. He presses, and it chimes. A shrill, sharp sound that cuts through the hum of the rain falling. Eddie finds himself taking a hesitant step back. This was a mistake. He shouldn’t have come here. Or at least he should have prepared what to say before he -
The lock clicks. Eddie holds his breath.
You pull the door open just a crack. Enough to peek your tear stained face through the gap. Mascara runs in dark smears down your cheeks, the lipstick you’d carefully reapplied after dinner smudged and messy.
“Eddie?” You whisper, voice strained.
“Uh.. yeah. H-hi. So I don’t-“ he stammers awkwardly.
He doesn’t get a chance to finish. You cut him off with a sob, face screwing up in anguish, more tears pouring like the rain that lands on his shoulders. It hurts. Eddie feels his heart splinter again seeing you like this. Because this time your tears don’t feel like a victory. He hasn’t won some petty war of words, he can’t sit back and feel smug. This is real, unfiltered pain. Raw grief, bubbling up and spilling over the surface. Making you cry so hard that you’re gasping for breath.
It’s like Eddie’s body has an instinctive response to your distress. While his head is reeling and his mouth is opening and closing uselessly, his hands are slipping out of his pockets. His arms are opening wide. Inviting you in.
Eddie staggers backwards when he catches an armful of you, the two of you stumbling off the porch steps while he struggles to keep you upright. Your arms wind tight around his waist, fingers gripping fistfuls of his button up, your face pressed against his neck. The rain is so cold but your tears are warm on his flesh. Shivers ripple up his spine. He holds you closer, still not really thinking. One hand on the back of your head, fingers curling into wet hair, the other arm wrapped around your shoulders.
“I’m sorry. M’so so sorry.” Eddie whispers. He murmurs the words against your scalp over and over, his eyes now stinging with tears of their own. His shoulders shake in time with yours, the two of you clinging to one another in the downpour, sobbing noisily.
Your breaths are rasping, a terrifying sound, like you can’t draw in enough oxygen.
“Hey. Hey, honey please. Just take a deep breath.” Eddie pleads. The pet name comes more naturally than he would care to admit.
Cupping your jaw he encourages you to look up at him. Your eyes are puffy and tired, lips swollen and cheeks wet. You look so desperately sad that it makes Eddie’s chest seize tight.
“I’m - I’m sorry.” You gasp.
“No. It’s okay. You’re okay.” Eddie says quickly, wishing he could come up with something better to say. Something more reassuring. He wipes at your face with his thumbs, a fruitless attempt at drying your cheeks. He only succeeds in further smudging your make up, the steady stream of tears you shed and the torrential rain dousing you.
“I didn’t mean to - I know we’re not, like.. and I’m-“ you stammer anxiously, cringing and attempting to pull free of Eddie’s arms.
“It’s okay.” He says again. He holds you firmly, refusing to let you wiggle free.
“I came here to see you.”
“Why?” You whisper. Your bottom lip wobbles, and Eddie traces his thumb across your sad pout in a move that’s far too familiar. But you allow it anyway.
“They told me. Rob and Steve. They told me about…”
Eddie finds that he can’t finish that sentence. Can’t speak it out loud.
“Can we - can we go inside?” He murmurs.
“You’re soaked.”
You blink rapidly, tilting your head back to the sky, like you hadn’t even noticed the rain before he mentioned it.
“Y-yeah. Come in.” You reply. Eddie lets you turn back to the house, but keeps his arm looped around your shoulders as you walk side by side up the path and through the doorway.
Once inside, Eddie finally lets you go, closing the door gently behind him.
The hallway is almost in total darkness, the faint light spilling through the living room door just enough for you both to see. You’re shivering, rain dripping from your hair, your dress clinging even closer to your body now that it’s weighed down with water. You don’t even have shoes on.
“I should… I’ll get us some towels.” You say quietly.
Eddie nods. His tongue feels like dead weight. He doesn’t know what to say.
So he watches silently as you make your way up the stairs, a trail of wet footprints left on the worn beige carpet. Overhead he can hear your footsteps, the familiar squeak of the bathroom door when you push it open.
While you fetch the towels Eddie kicks off his boots, sliding out of his coat and hanging it up on the rack by the door. Then he lingers, not wanting to traipse water through the rest of the house. More tears burn in his eyes, and he realises it’s the smell of your home that’s got his chest hurting. It’s exactly the same as it was, that unnamable scent that distinctly belongs to this place. It should be comforting. There was a time when coming here felt like sinking into a warm bath after a long, arduous day. Safe and soothing. But those times are long gone, and it’s been a long time since Eddie’s been somewhere that truly feels like home.
A moment later you return, a large bundle of towels in your arms.
“C’mon.” You whisper, nodding your head to the living room.
“I’ll light the fire so you can warm up.”
Eddie follows you.
The living room remains almost entirely unchanged. The floral couch and matching armchair in the same positions, facing the fireplace with its cherry mantle. Atop it sits your mom’s collection of chintzy ornaments; little figurines with hand painted smiles that you’d always insisted were creepy. But they’re still here, grinning away like they’re welcoming Eddie back. In between them all is a small frame, silver, engraved with little teddy bears and rattles. It holds a photo of you as a baby, a little round cheeked thing reaching up the camera with chubby fingers.
You lay one towel over the couch, wrapping another around yourself. The last one you leave for Eddie. He drapes it over his shoulders, reaching up to squeeze the worst of the moisture from his hair while he takes a seat.
He watches as you crouch in front of the fire, stacking the logs just so. You fumble with a book of matches, your shaking fingers trying and failing to light one.
“Shit.” You hiss under your breath.
“Here. Let me help.” Eddie says softly. He moves to you, crouching by your side and taking the match book from your icy fingers. He lights one on the third try, holding it in place until the flames begin to catch and spread.
“Maybe we should stay here for a minute? Until we’ve warmed up.” He suggests.
You nod, moving to sit cross-legged.
Eddie matches your pose.
The flames grow and dance higher, crackling and pops the only sounds breaking the silence. Eddie steals a furtive glance at you, watching your face become illuminated by the glowing light, the amber flames reflected in your eyes which stare forwards, vacant and unblinking.
Should he say something? He probably should. But if he opens his mouth he’ll say the wrong thing. It feels like he always does.
The wine has left his mouth dry and sour. There’s a headache blooming in his skull, forming at the base and making his neck hurt. Eddie shifts a little, rolling his shoulders back to alleviate the tension in his muscles. You startle at the movement, like you’d forgotten he was even there.
Eddie holds his breath. Watching your eyes flit back and forth, mapping out his face, an expression he can’t read on yours. For someone who is used to having thousands of eyes on him when struts across stages in stadiums, he feels oddly scrutinised by the two that watch him now. There’s an intensity in your gaze that makes his stomach churn, more of that familiar anxiety building within him.
“Why did you come here Eddie?” You ask softly. It doesn’t sound like an accusation, your tone isn’t combative. You sound genuinely confused.
“I… you were upset.” He says.
“That’s never mattered before.” You reply.
Eddie swallows the lump in his throat.
“This is different. I wasn’t about to.. I didn’t know that..”
Eddie clenches his fists in his lap, knuckles turning white. Frustrated at his inability to just get the damn words out.
“You didn’t tell me.” He says finally. A whiny quality to his voice.
“Why didn’t you tell me about your mom?”
A pregnant pause follows.
You look down at your lap, twirling a loose thread of the towel around your finger. Winding it tighter and tighter.
“I don’t know.” You admit finally.
“There were times when I thought about it. I even got your number from Wayne, picked up the phone ready to call you and tell you everything. But I just couldn’t do it.”
“I- I wished you’d called.” Eddie whispers.
“I would’ve been here. I swear, I would’ve been here for you. All the shit that’s happened, it wouldn’t have stopped me.”
“I think maybe that’s it.” You say sadly.
“I don’t know what I was more afraid of. You telling me you didn’t care and slamming the phone down. Or you dropping everything to come back to me.”
“What? Why would that have been a bad thing?” Eddie asks.
You sigh deeply, swiping at a rogue tear that slips free.
“Because I didn’t want to be a burden to you again. You’d made it pretty clear that I asked too much of you. I thought if I called you I was just.. proving you right in a way. That I needed you.”
Eddie winces. He didn’t realise he’d made you feel like that. Not for the first time he wishes he knew exactly what had happened, what was said that drove this wedge between you.
“I’ve always wanted you back in my life Eddie.”
You whisper the words like a secret. Still avoiding Eddie’s gaze and staring blankly into the fire.
“I missed you. But I didn’t want you to come back just because you felt sorry for me. I didn’t want to be an obligation. I wanted you to come back because you wanted to, or not at all.”
Your admission burns. Like Eddie had thrown himself head first into the fireplace, letting the flames swallow him and melt his skin from his bones.
He’d missed you too. He can admit that to himself now. Beneath all the anger and the bitterness, the hurt ran deeper. He’d missed hearing your voice on the phone, missed the private jokes your shared that no one else understood, missed the warmth of you hugging him tight when he finally got to see you in person again. Eddie had spent all the years apart denying that longing, locking those feelings away tightly in a chest in his mind. Being around you now felt like Pandora’s box had been kicked open. All the scary, painful things he’d been hiding from breaking free to makes themselves known.
“Sorry.” You mumble, shuffling yourself away from him a few more inches.
“I shouldn’t have said all that. It’s not fair.”
You say sorry so easily. Eddie still can’t make himself do it.
But he can move closer, closing the distance you created. Stopping when his arm is pressed to yours, knees nudging against one another in the warmth of the fire.
“You don’t have to apologise.” He whispers.
“And for what it’s worth, I’m not here because I feel sorry for you. You’re not a burden. I’m here because I want to be.”
When you dare to look up at him your expression is so filled with hope that Eddie feels his eyes sting, and he has to blink rapidly to keep the tears at bay. If you notice you don’t comment. But you do offer him a small smile which he returns. He slips an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer in a familiar gesture. You rest your head on his shoulder, and Eddie settles with his cheek pressed to your hair, not minding that it’s still wet and cold.
“Do you want to talk about her?” He says softly.
“Y-yeah. I think so.” You reply quietly.
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The two of you stay like that for a while. Huddled close in front of the fireplace, clothes drying and skin warming. You both shed a few tears when you fill Eddie in on the parts of your life that he regrettably missed. Moving home to Hawkins after college. Your mom’s sudden sickness. The panicked hospital visits, the solemn faced doctors, the treatments that came too late to work. It took just months for her to go from her usual vibrant self to a shell of the person she was before. Then her body succumbed, and you were left alone.
At some point you grow uncomfortable on the floor, limbs stiff and tired. Eddie moves with you to the couch. He’s not able to let go of the closeness, it feels wrong to let you sit at the opposite end of the sofa. So he pulls you gently until you get the message, leaning back against him with your head on his chest, his arms a safety net for you to rely on. The conversation continues into the early hours of the morning. Brighter topics, memories you shared of your mom, and your time together in this house that’s not felt like a home in so long. While the rain continues to pour outside, and the fire slowly dies, the two of you drift off to sleep, the towels draped over your laps like blankets.
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You come to with a full body shudder. Blinking slowly you squint in the faint light that’s beginning to break through the curtains, your eyelids feeling heavy and sore. The fire has long died out, the living room air now chilled. The faintly damp clothes and towel draped over you don’t help either, your skin erupting into goosebumps.
But your back feels warm. Something solid and hot beneath you. With a quiet groan at the ache in your limbs you turn onto your side, your cheek brushing soft material and a row of small smooth buttons. The body you’re using as a pillow shifts, an arm sleepily draping around your shoulders and pulling you in tight. You twist your neck, looking up and seeing just who it is that’s snuggling you in their sleep.
The realisation dawns, and all the memories of the night before come rushing back at once.
You fleeing Robin and Steve’s apartment. Eddie showing up on your doorstep in the pouring rain. The two of you whispering in the quiet, holding each other close like the old days.
But these aren’t those days anymore. And despite all the progress that you might have made last night, you’re sure Eddie won’t be happy to wake up with your head on his chest.
He grumbles when you pull away from him, hands reaching for you but too weak from sleep to keep you there. You scramble back to the end of the couch, putting distance between you, your skin prickling and missing his warmth instantly.
He screws his face up as he wakes, dark eyes peeking open and glancing around the room in confusion.
“Wha- where..?” He rasps.
“Uh.. good morning?” You reply, your own voice groggy.
It seems that your voice is enough finally shock him awake. His eyes grow wide, head raising from the arm of the couch just enough to look down at where he lays. To look at you, arms wrapped around yourself for warmth, your teeth chattering when you give him a nervous smile.
Eddie jolts upright, pulling his legs back away from you quickly. Creating space. Space is good. Space feels normal.
“What’s the time?” He asks with a frown. He tilts his head, his neck clicking audibly.
“Almost eight.” You say, glancing at the clock on the wall.
Eddie nods. His hair has dried to a frizzy mess, backlit by the morning light like a halo. He grunts as he raises his arms, shoulders clicking when he stretches. His shirt has come untucked at some point in the night, and it rises with his movement, exposing a sliver of pale flesh and dark hair above the low waistband of his jeans. You feel your cheeks burn, eyes hurrying to look anywhere else.
It seems he shares in your awkwardness. Likely just as embarrassed as you are at your outpouring of emotion last night, and the fact that you’d slept curled up together when just days ago you could hardly stand to look at one another.
“I should-“
“Do you-“
You both cringe.
“S-sorry. You first.” You insist.
“I uh - I was gonna ask if you need to head to work? ‘Cause I can get out of your hair if-“
“No.” You say too quickly.
“I mean, I don’t have work. The shop’s closed today.”
“Right.” Eddie nods.
“Do you have plans?”
“Not really. I was supposed to stay at Rob and Steve’s last night. We were just gonna have a lazy day, watch movies and stuff.”
“Cool. That’s.. cool. I guess I should get going then.”
Your heartbeats quickens. You’re panicking. You don’t want him to leave yet, you realise.
“I don’t have to go now. It’s still early. You could stay for a bit, if you want to?”
If Eddie hears how pitifully hopeful your tone is, he’s gracious enough to not comment on it.
“Yeah. I could stay for a while.” He says, much to your relief.
“Shall I make us breakfast?” You ask as you stand from the couch. You pull down the hem of your dress where it’s risen, the material still a little damp.
“Sure. Sounds good.” Eddie smiles.
“You can take a shower if you want, while I get started? I could throw your clothes in the dryer.”
“That’d be great, thanks.”
Eddie follows you into the hallway, hovering at the bottom of the stairs.
“Do you remember where everything is?” You ask quietly.
He nods in response.
“Okay. Well there’s more towels up there. Just leave your clothes outside the door and I’ll grab em in a minute.”
Eddie watches you walk down the hallway, disappearing through the kitchen door.
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Upstairs Eddie grabs a new towel and slips into the bathroom. The light hums when he tugs the pull cord to turn it on, the extractor fan rattling to life and whirring softly. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror above the sink. Deep shadows cast in the hollows beneath his eyes, tired and bloodshot. His hair is a frizzy mess, sticking up in awkward angles. His pale skin appears sallow in the unforgiving fluorescents. Quite frankly, he looks awful. It makes him embarrassed to think you saw him like that.
Eddie turns away from the mirror and fiddles with the shower dial until water splutters out, giving it a few minutes to heat up. As steam gradually fills the room and fogs up the mirror he strips out of his clothing. He folds the items up, about to put them outside the door like you instructed, but his underwear gives him pause. His cheeks heat up at the thought of you touching them, and embarrassed, he decides to hang them over the radiator rather than let you dry them. With the towel looped around his waist Eddie opens the door just a crack. Thankfully there’s no sign of you outside. He leaves his clothes on the worn carpet and retreats back into the bathroom.
The shower feels like heaven. The water pressure might not be great, but it’s enough to do the trick, the almost scalding heat warming his skin and easing the ache in his muscles.
He helps himself to a squeeze of your shower gel, hoping that you won’t mind. Vanilla scented bubbles foam up on his limbs as he scrubs at himself with his palms. It smells familiar. The same brand you’ve used for years.
Your shampoo and conditioner is cheaper than the stuff Eddie’s got in the bathroom back at Wayne’s but it’ll do in a pinch. He lets the conditioner soak in, his fingers combing through the slick curls like his stylist taught him.
When he’s done Eddie dries his body quickly, then wraps the towel around his head to soak up the worst of the moisture from his hair.
It’s then that he realises he’s butt naked in your house, and has nothing to put on, save for a pair of still slightly damp boxers. He steps into them, holding one hand in front of his crotch for some semblance of modesty as he opens the door. He’s about to call out to you, when he notifies a new pile on the floor. A pair of grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt. You must have left them out for him.
The pants don’t fit him quite right, but they’re better than walking around in his boxers. The t-shirt is just right though, and the realisation of why makes Eddie’s chest hurt. It’s his.
Or at least, it was once. A faded image of Iron Maiden’s Eddie wrapped in bandages adorns the front, the fabric soft and loose with age. Eddie gave this to you one summer back in high school, something for you to sleep in at the trailer when you’d both smoked too much to drive. You wore it home the next day, and Eddie never bothered to ask for it back. He liked seeing you in it.
It hangs a little looser on him now. He’s lost some weight recently. Not much, but enough that he had to buy multiple new pairs of jeans before the last tour, the old ones hanging dangerously low around his hips. Eddie kind of liked how they looked, a little slutty, letting the barbed wire tattooed on his v lines peek out when he moved. But he also knew the fans loved seeing his ass in tight black denim, so he relented and gave the people what they wanted.
Eddie swipes a palm across the mirror, tugging the towel off his head and giving himself a once over. He doesn’t look so much like a rockstar now. His curls damp, cheeks flushed from the heat in the bathroom, baggy t-shirt hanging around his neck. He looks younger. Almost like his old self, the version of himself that frequented this house. For some reason it makes him smile.
Eddie leaves his grinning reflection behind. He makes his way downstairs, bare feet sinking into the carpet, the fibres soft between his toes.
He can hear humming from the kitchen, and the smell of something sweet cooking. His stomach gurgles loudly. In spite of the feast he’d eaten last night he’s hungry again. The pang in his stomach is unusual, Eddie never has much of an appetite these days. Living off black coffee and coke.
When he pushes open the door to the kitchen, Eddie finds you standing with your back to him. You’ve changed too, velvet dress replaced with a fluffy charcoal sweater and black leggings. You stand at the stove, hip cocked to one side, and Eddie can’t help but notice the way the fabric of your pants hugs tight to the curve of your ass. It’s the second time he’s caught himself checking you out in the last 24 hours. He needs to get a grip.
Eddie clears his throat. You jump, spinning and clutching your hand to your chest.
“Jesus! I didn’t hear you come in.” You gasp.
“Sorry.” Eddie smiles.
“Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“S’okay. I guess I’m not used to anyone else being here now.” You say. You pause as though surprised by your own words, remembering why you’re used to being alone. Eddie watches your face flash through a range of emotions in real time. Sadness, then embarrassment, then a brave smile to cover the misstep.
“Anyway, I just made coffee. Help yourself. Breakfast is almost ready.” You say brightly.
Eddie nods.
“You want a cup?” He asks.
“Please.”
He moves to the cabinet above the sink, relieved to find that’s still home to the mugs. None of them match. An eclectic collection, some floral and chintzy, some bearing bright brash logos of vacation destinations, a few plain white with chips on the edges. Nestled at the back there’s two that are hand painted. Eddie reaches past the rest to those.
One is white with a red handle, a wobbly attempt at the old Hellfire Club logo painted on one side. The other is deep navy like a night sky, with little bats and stars dotted all over.
His and yours.
You’d painted them sat side by side at the same table that still stands in the centre of the kitchen. Hunched over the shared paints, reaching across each other to clean your brushes, or to admire one another’s handiwork. Your mom had paid to get them both glazed as part of your Christmas gift one year.
Eddie places them carefully on the countertop. He fills both from the freshly brewed pot, then chucks two heaped teaspoons of sugar in his. When he’s done he slides your cup along to you. You glance away from the stove for a moment, a small smile playing at the edges of your lips.
“Still think mine’s better than yours.” You say.
“Yeah yeah.” Eddie grins, rolling his eyes.
“My talents lie in music sweetheart. You’re the Picasso.”
You giggle softly, bringing the mug to your lips and blowing on the steaming liquid before you take a sip. You nod your head towards the table.
“Sit down. I hope you’re hungry.”
Eddie’s belly growls in reply.
“Starving.” He grins, patting his stomach.
Eddie sips his coffee while you bustle around, putting plates and cutlery down on the table. You return from the stove a minute later, one hand holding a bottle of syrup, the other balancing a stacked plate of pancakes.
“Bon appetite.” You say as you take your seat.
Eddie lets you take a couple of pancakes first, then loads up his own plate. They smell incredible, the ripe blueberries you’d mixed in bursting when he begins to cut into his stack.
When the first bite hits his tongue Eddie groans, his eyes rolling back.
“Good?” You grin.
“So good.” Eddie replies through a mouthful.
“I can’t remember the last time I had blueberry pancakes.”
“Seriously? But they’re your favourite.”
“Yeah, but no one makes em as good as you.” Eddie says.
You seem pleased by the compliment. The stack of pancakes are quickly demolished, the kitchen quiet, but it’s a comfortable silence for once. Eddie’s cutlery clatters against his plate as he chews his last mouthful, his lips sticky with syrup and his heart full. You reach across to grab his plate, but he dismisses you with a wave of his hand.
“I’ve got it.”
“You don’t have to do the dishes.”
“S’fine. You cooked, I’ll clean.” He says.
He moves to the sink, filling it with warm water and dropping in the crockery with the pan you used. As he drizzles dish soap over them you fill up the mugs, leaving his coffee on the side for when he’s done.
“Do you have any plans for today?” You ask, leaning against the counter beside him.
“Nah. I don’t really make any plans these days, unless Steve asks me to hang out.”
“So what do you do all day?”
“Just laze around at Wayne’s.” Eddie says with a shrug.
“Doesn’t that get boring?”
“A little. But.. I think boring is good for me right now, y’know? I needed a break from the crazy.”
“Is that why you came back? Everything was getting crazy?”
“Kind of. It’s just a lot. M’always busy. Get on a flight, play a show, spend a day talking to journalists who ask asinine questions hoping to get a good headline, get on another plane, play another show. Rinse and repeat.”
Eddie begins to stack the washed dishes, cringing when he realises how ungrateful he sounds.
“I’m not complaining.” He says quickly.
“It’s everything I ever dreamed of, obviously. It’s just hectic.”
You shrug your shoulders.
“Even if you were complaining, I wouldn’t judge. I can imagine it’s overwhelming.”
“Yeah, it is sometimes.” Eddie nods.
“Are you glad you’re back?”
Eddie pauses, staring down into the sudsy water. At first he’d resented his forced return to Hawkins, feeling like he was being dragged back to a hell he’d escaped from. But it wasn’t so bad now.
“I wasn’t.” He admits.
“But I’m learning to enjoy it. It’s good to spend some time with Wayne and to catch up with people.”
“Even me?” You tease.
“Especially you.” Eddie smiles. He’s caught you off guard, your brows raising and eye growing wide.
“M’glad you’re back.” You say quietly.
“It’s good to see you.”
“Bet you didn’t think so at first.” He says.
“No, I definitely didn’t.” You laugh.
“But this is… nice.”
“Mmm. It is.”
Eddie dries his hands on a tea towel, then takes a swig of his coffee. You sip your own, watching him over the top of your cup, a small smile on your lips.
“If you’ve got nothing to do today did you wanna come with me to Steve and Rob’s?” You ask.
“Do you think they’d mind?”
“Course not. Your clothes should be done soon, and then we can head over?”
“Okay. Sounds good.” Eddie nods.
————————————💌———————————
Eddie swaps back into his dry clothes, then you each take your separate cars back to the apartment complex. Eddie’s impromptu sleepover last night was an accident, and he realises with a heavy dose of guilt that Ludo has been left home alone for far too long. He makes a pit stop at home, grateful that the poor pup has had no accidents of his own, and that he doesn’t seem to hold his absence against him. Eddie lets him out into the backyard while he changes into more relaxed attire, then gives Ludo a quick cuddle with the promise of an extra long walk tomorrow before heading back to Steve’s.
He’s nervous on the drive over, and feels a little bad that you’ll already be there, likely fending off awkward questions from your friends about what transpired last night. You both agreed it was for the best not to tell them that Eddie had stayed over. Just that he had been to check on you, and you’d reached a comfortable understanding, making the first tentative steps in rebuilding a friendship.
Robin opens the front door with a smile much to Eddie’s relief.
“What took you so long?” She asks as he kicks off his shoes.
“Sorry. Had to go check on Wayne’s dog. The poor thing had been shut in since yesterday.” Eddie explains.
“Why?” Robin says, her brows arching.
“Didn’t you go home last night?”
Dammit. Eddie’s put his foot in it straight away.
“N-no totally, I did yeah. I mean that… what’s that look for?” Eddie stammers.
Robin gives him a wry smile and rolls her eyes.
“Whatever dude. Just hurry up because Steve is insisting that he doesn’t want to watch Candyman even though he’s definitely not scared, so I need you to pin him down while I put the tape in.”
Eddie is relieved that Robin has glossed over his slip up. When he walks into the living room you’re already on the couch curled up next to Steve, munching from the bowl of popcorn resting on his lap. There’s no awkwardness despite what transpired the night before, like everyone’s happy to forget about it and move on. Eddie takes the empty spot beside you, feeling his chest warm when you throw a sweet smile his way.
The rest of the day passes peacefully. The four of you watching movies and eating sugary snacks, the only disruption coming when Steve and Robin start bickering over who ate all of the cherry jelly beans. It feels like the old days again, like you’re all still just teenagers hanging out, before life got in the way and put distance between you. The conversation is easy. No sly jabs, no mean words exchanged. Eddie’s happier than he’s been in a long time.
————————————💌———————————
It’s around the time that Steve calls out for pizza that Eddie begins to notice it. He reaches for his glass of Dr Pepper on the coffee table, his hand shaking as he extends it. Even when he brings the glass to his lips the tremors continue, and he struggles not to spill the soda down his chin.
“You good?” You whisper, brows knitting with concern.
“Yeah.” He says quickly.
“Probably just too much sugar and not enough proper food.” He says. You smile and nod, happy enough with his excuse.
“M’just gonna go have a cigarette.” He mumbles.
“I don’t think that’ll help.” You grin.
“Probably not.” He smiles back. When he stands he feels his head rush. He’s quick to grab his jacket from the hallway, before slipping out onto the balcony. He fumbles for the bottle in his pocket, shaking a pill into his palm and dry swallowing it.
He hasn’t taken anything since yesterday. He’d kind of forgotten all about the little orange bottle, not feeling the itch beneath his skin when he goes too long without reaching for it. But now his body trembles, and it’s not from the cold. He lights a cigarette, hoping that the pill will enter his blood stream quickly, just so he can go back to feeling normal again. The grey cloud he exhales rises and he watches it dissipate.
Eddie hates when it gets like this. He’s not an addict or anything, despite what his bandmates might say. He could give up taking drugs whenever he wanted, the thing is that he doesn’t want to. The buzz is enjoyable, a thrilling little hum in his veins that sharpens his senses. And he’s got stuff that does the opposite, that helps him mellow out, relaxing his aching body enough that he can actually get a decent nights sleep. But when he neglects to top up and his body starts to react to the loss it scares him a little. Eddie’s mind is strong enough to go without, he just wishes that his racing heart and shaking limbs would get the memo.
When he steps back inside his friends are non the wiser. They pay him little attention as he takes his seat again, and he does his best to focus on the movie playing on the small television, sitting on his hands to hide the way they still tremble.
By the time the doorbell buzzes Eddie’s struggling to keep it under control. Something’s a little off. Everything is too sharp, like when you turn the contrast up too high on the TV. Colours are brighter, the warm lights in the living room making his head hurt and forcing him to squint. Every sound echoes in his skull: he flinches when Steve closes the front door too hard, and Robin’s excited cry at the food arriving slices through Eddie like a blade. The smell of the pizza grosses him out, greasy dough and heavy cheese that seems sour to him. His stomach growls, but he can only force down one measly slice before he thinks he might hurl.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” You whisper. Your hand pats Eddie’s arm affectionately, but the sensation of your skin on his grates like sandpaper. You do your best to hide the look of hurt when he snatches his arm away.
“S-sorry. Guess I’m not feeling too good.” Eddie says.
“Oh god, I hope you didn’t catch a cold or something from sleeping in wet clothes.” You whisper, careful to keep your voice low enough that the others don’t hear it.
“Maybe I did. S’fine though, I think I’m gonna just head home. Get some rest.”
“Are you alright to drive? I can take you?” You offer.
“Nah, I’ll be fine. Thanks though.”
Eddie makes his excuses to leave, surprised that Steve and Robin don’t push him too hard to stay. He realises why when he gets back into his car. Catching a glimpse of himself in the rear view Eddie grimaces. His face is ashen and palid, sweat beading on his forehead and sticking his bangs to his skin. Beneath them sit tired eyes, the dark circles beneath deeper now. Maybe he really was sick. It kind of feels like he’s got the flu, the way his body is running hot despite the chill in the air.
Eddie squeals out of the parking lot, speeding through the quiet Hawkins streets. He’ll be fine once he gets home he tells himself. He’ll chug a glass of water, maybe smoke a joint to settle the nausea. Take an ambien to help him sleep. When morning comes he’ll be back to normal.
————————————💌———————————
Outside the house Wayne’s truck sits in the driveway. Eddie curses under his breath. He forgot that his Uncle was due back tonight. He probably won’t get the chance to sneak out to the backyard for that joint unless the old man is already asleep. The ambien will have to do.
Eddie lets himself in the front door, creeping slow and quiet. Ludo doesn’t rush to greet him, probably already asleep on his bed. Eddie’s heading that way too, his foot on the bottom stair when a voice calls from the living room.
“That you Ed?”
“Y-yeah, it’s me. How was your trip?” Eddie calls back.
“It was good. Can you come in here for a sec?” Wayne asks.
Eddie sighs, white knuckling the banister.
“Uhh, can we catch up tomorrow? M’sorry, I’m just not feeling too hot so-“
“Now Eddie.” Wayne says firmly.
Dread prickles up Eddie’s spine. He wasn’t used to that tone from his Uncle. It was reserved for times when Eddie had fucked up and got himself into some kind of trouble.
He forces himself to stand up straight despite the pain in his stomach, running his hands over his clammy face. With his best everything is fine smile in place, Eddie steps into the living room.
Wayne sits in his armchair, posture stiff and face serious. Ludo is curled up on one end of the couch. At the other sits Chief Jim Hopper.
Eddie hesitates in the doorway, his eyes flitting between the two men. Wayne remains stoic, while Hopper shoots him a sympathetic look. It reminds Eddie of the face Wayne makes when he’s “not mad, just disappointed”.
“What’s uh… what’s going on?” Eddie asks as casually as he can.
“I was hoping you might be able to tell us.” Wayne says gravely. He shifts in his chair, reaching into his pocket for something. He leans forward, placing the object on the coffee table amongst the stacks of fishing magazines and empty coffee cups.
It’s a small orange pill bottle.
Shit.
————————————💌———————————