Steve may have been trapped in a Russian elevator, drugged, tortured, fought a flesh monster, watched his high school bully die, and can’t really remember if Robin’s mom picked her up or he lost her but…
The window is down, the air is fresh, and the wind is blowing through his dirty blood-tacky hair and, you know what?
“This is better than the last time I got kidnapped.”
“For the last time,” Eddie says behind the wheel of his van. “You’re not kidnapped. You got on my van. No one asked you to be here.”
“Okay.”
“What do you mean last time?” Gareth asked, poking his head up from the back. “When were you last kidnapped?”
Steve stares blankly ahead either not hearing or not caring to answer the question. Eventually, he asks, “Are you taking me to your lair?”
Obsessed with Blind! Eddie Munson meeting Steve and them hitting it off like instantly. And Eddie bragging constantly over the phone to corroded coffin/hellfire because Steve is great. He’s funny and bitchy and he makes all these sounds that drive eddie crazy —- anyway, he’s just super excited for his boyfriend to finally meet his friends.
And then when it finally happens it goes different than expected because yeah Eddie knows Steve is great…. What he didn’t know was…
“Holy shit,” Jeff says into the weird silence after Eddie’s introduction.
“What?” Eddie is worried.
“He’s hot,” Jeff says like it pains him to admit. “Like… like really, really hot. Like he might be a model hot.”
“Is he blind too? What’s he doing with Eddie?” Gareth asks under his breath and then grunts like he just got an elbow to the gut for it.
Steve just laughs. “Thanks,” he tells Eddie’s friends.
He doesn’t sound too embarrassed about it or like it’s a joke at all that his friends have concocted and holy shittttt
“Wait,” Eddie says quickly, twisting to hold Steve’s hands, “wait, wait, wait, are you— just how out of my league are you???”
“Eons,” Gareth wheezes.
“I’m not out of your league,” Steve says and Eddie can practically hear the eye roll as he tugs Eddie close and kisses him on the cheek. “Obviously.”
"Are you fucking kidding m-" Gareth throws his hands up pushing away from the table. "You know what, nope. Fucking jocks man."
The guys all laugh, Eddie included, while they watch the interview they were tagged in on their socials - like a million times. They're not sure why they've been tagged, other than some random (to their fans) person not recognizing Gareth but maybe there's more that happens later. Like some karmic justice enacted out by way of a storm cloud forming above Steve Harrington's head.
They're doing a reaction video and Jeff is hamming it up more than normal, wrapping an arm around Gareth and messing up his hair while Eddie and Grant watch on.
"Alright, focus," Grant finally pushes between the two.
Eddie leans forward, readying to resume the video, "Yeah - I want to see what happens next. Maybe we'll see a bird shit on his pretty little head."
"Oh god, the hair!" And that's all it takes, the room is full of laughter once again.
Once they play it again, the rest seems pretty tame, aside from watching little challenges or extra questions. Eddie really isn't sure what their fans were losing their shit for. Other than learning that Steve apparently has a thing for guys, which Eddie will revisit later in the privacy of his own room, the video has been a let down. Except for Gareth, who Steve did say smash to, at least. A tick in the confidence column for that man, even if he wasn't into men. Lucky bastard.
Why couldn't Chrissy just show his pho-
It's simultaneously the worst and best moment of his life when his photo lights up the side panel and he's launching himself forward, smashing buttons on the computer until the video finally, blessedly stops. "Oh my god, no. Nope! I cannot, we can't." Eddie is shouting, trying to breathe and disappear all at once while the guys are protesting in the background.
"Oh my god," Eddie steps back, hands tearing at the tie before his hair cascades down his shoulders, hiding and shielding him. "I can't breathe, I can't." He really can't breathe, holy shit. He can't watch, on a recorded video, as Steve Harrington announces to the world that he has no idea who Eddie is, or listen as Steve tells everyone that Eddie's just an ugly trash gremlin. Fuck.
What if he does remember Eddie but only because he was trailer trash or –
Ice cold water splashes over him, leaving him to sputter as now soaking wet strands of hair stick to his nose and lips.
"Dude! Pull yourself together," Jeff, normally the most patient, shakes Eddie's shoulder. "Do you want to go to the other room while we watch?"
He's quiet with the question, they don't ever pause their recordings, wanting their fans to experience all of them. They aren't just a sellout, they aren't posing as the self-proclaimed freaks. They really are what they've branded themselves. Their just like their fans, even if they've climbed quickly into the spotlight.
"Eddie?"
"N-no, I'm good." Eddie, eyes wide, looks at Jeff and begs the universe for this to be over quickly.
They set up, once again, to watch the video, the guys now surrounding Eddie in solidarity, while Gareth reaches forward to resume the video.
Nothing happens at first, Steve's face is still furrowed in what appears to be confusion, and if this weren't about him, Eddie would be the first to tease about him having jock brain.
"It's alright if you don't know, you didn't kn-" Gareth, he didn't know Gareth. Which is just unreal. It's not like their group didn't stand out in school.
"Munson?" The air leaves the room, holy shit.
"Holy shit!" Eddie shouts, nearly punching Grant in the nose from how hard he throws his fist up and he's shushed by all three. And thank whatever overlord they have for that because, "Absolutely smash."
Smash.
SMASH.
"Would pass everyone else for a cha-." Someone must have paused the video again because Steve's stupid perfect, pretty face is frozen and the guys are all jostling Eddie.
Holy shit.
"Wait - the asshole didn't remember me!" Gareth whines into the chaos, forehead dropping sharply into Eddie's shoulder.
"He doesn't want to suck your dick, either." Eddie shoves him off, spinning in a circle before facing the biggest crush of his life on the tiny screen.
"Ah hell." Eddie puts a dampener on their celebration. "It's just 'cuz we're famous." Why the fuck would Steve Harrington want him otherwise. Mr. Popular that didn't amount to anything. Status has to be the only reason. Corroded Coffin had seen their fair share of people popping out of the woodwork for their five minutes during their success, this is no different. Eddie flips his middle finger up at the camera before smashing it against the screen, right over Steve's face, as he presses play again.
"Wait. How do you guys know Munson?"
"How do…?"
"How do you know Eddie Munson?" Off screen, Heather speaks up, and Eddie waits for the proof to his own assumption, the guys crowding in close.
"I went to Hawkins, did either of you go to Hawkins?"
"No fucking way."
"Shush!!!"
"Shut up!"
"-diana. I left the first chance I could. I never could shake the thought of Eddie though, he's like the one who 'got away'," he puts the quotations up for emphasis. "Not that we ever had a chance, I didn't even know I was into men until a year after I left Hawkins and that I wasn't just insanely jealous of his hair."
Steve waves to brush it off.
"The dimples, right? Uh, so we know him from a different space, I guess. Is that the only reason you know of Eddie?"
"Yeah, I have no idea where he ended up at, he was taking senior year again when I left." Steve shrugs.
"Famous my ass!" Grant crows, arms circling Eddie's middle, pressing his own arms flat against his sides, before he picks him up and shakes him around.
~
Later, when the video is posted, and nothing of their reactions is edited out, the video cuts off there and it explodes across their fanbase.
The idea that Eddie is stronger than he looks is fun.
There's nothing else to it.
He doesn't have the stereotypical "jock muscles" that he teases Steve about and very much resembles a gangly, floppy-muppet creature (especially in the midst of his cafeteria speeches and other such performances). But he's not weak!
And everyone gets their own taste of what that means.
Exhibit A: The Party
Eddie will absolutely haul the children around with the same ease he hauls his laundry bag around (he is SLIGHTLY more careful with the children because they bruise easier than his laundry bag). If they're being particularly unruly, they're going over the shoulder to get the potato sack treatment.
Whenever they need to set up a space for D&D from scratch, Eddie's the one doing most of the heavy lifting. He brings the most stuff (from gear for the actual game to the snacks) and deals with the tables and chairs.
He is the only one allowed to move his throne. He's the only one who knows exactly where it goes for the best effect.
Exhibit B: Corroded Coffin
Similarly, there's a lot of heavy lifting. Eddie and Grant (the unnamed freak in CC) are the only ones who can lift their band's amps on their own. Gareth and Jeff need to work together, or have help from Eddie and Grant.
He has carried each of them at least once after rescuing them from bullies or for the heck of it (this mostly applies to Gareth since he's still short enough that his feet dangle when Eddie lifts him up).
No one talks about it out loud, but they know Eddie's had to defend his "territory" in the woods on more than one occasion. Being a known dealer in Hawkins has never been as easy as he makes it look.
Exhibit C: Jocks
Eddie's not an inherently violent person, necessarily, but he will and has absolutely thrown down to defend his sheepies. And unlike Steve's track record with human opponents, he's won enough fights to make even jocks like Jason Carver nervous.
He's not afraid to get loud, he's not afraid to bear his teeth, he's not afraid to get in people's faces. No punches actually need to be thrown for jocks to get the idea.
His metal rings have left their marks on certain offenders. The smart ones have healed, but those stupid enough to keep going? Well, at least they'll always have a fun conversation starter when they meet new people.
Steve's not the only one who's been thrown against a wall. He's just one of the few who Eddie willingly let go before the fight was finished. He's also the only one who's walked away relatively unscathed.
Exhibit D: Steve
Eddie refuses to let Steve carry the grocery bags. Even if they're preparing a party that involves all of their friends and their families, and end up buying a quarter of the store to accommodate everyone, Eddie will fight Steve when it's time to get the groceries back to the car. He insists that they maintain the foundation of equal trade--Eddie handles the bags, Steve handles the food later on.
He despises Steve's morning runs, and makes sure Steve knows it. He will cling to Steve the night before and refuse to let up, even when still under the enchantment of sleep. It's only when Steve uses all his might to try and escape that Eddie finally wakes up--no alarm clock needed anymore. Whether Steve proceeds with his run or not depends heavily on his skills of persuasion that day. He's found that bribery usually works best.
Eddie will regularly trap Steve in blanket burritos when he feels like Steve is running himself ragged or notices that he's especially stressed. He's the only one who can get Steve in the blanket and the only one who knows how to secure it so that Steve can't get out on his own.
Steve might be The Party's resilient knight, but he's Eddie's fair maiden. And Eddie treats him accordingly. He loves scooping Steve into his arms with loud declarations of adoration, spinning him around, and then settling him on his lap. Bonus points if Steve ends up falling asleep--it warms Eddie's heart that Steve trusts him enough to NAP in his presence when he's usually too worried about everything to randomly fall asleep.
He will carry Steve to bed if they stay up late watching a movie, or Steve needs some time to come down from a nightmare. That includes braving the stairs with so much care that Steve doesn't realize he's been moved until the next morning.
(If he and Steve had been together during the latter's encounter with Billy Hargrove, or even just friends, Eddie would have left Billy with a permanent limp for laying his hands on Steve and Lucas.)
Some NSFW prompts
Eddie likes pinning Steve against the wall when they make out. He likes it even more when Steve lets Eddie hold him completely--jumps up and wraps his legs around his waist and everything. It feeds his ego to know that he's the first of Steve's partners who can pick him up and hold him where he wants.
When given permission to manhandle Steve around during sex, he doesn't hesitate. He TAKES it. He loves the way Steve moans and whines and tries to grind back into him at Eddie's show of strength. Just as much as he loves watching Steve's blush extend past his face and travel down his body.
He likes holding onto Steve hard enough that his fingerprints leave bruises. His fingerprints on Steve's ass have been a favorite between the two. Hawkins isn't a safe place to be out, but Steve likes physical reminders that he's with Eddie to substitute not being able to freely take him out on dates or commit to his usual grander romantic gestures, and Eddie will leave his mark any way he can.
୨୧˚- pairing: eddie munson x best friend! reader. no use of y/n, reader is occasionally referred to by she/her pronouns. wc 9.2k
part two of the picture you series. [1] [2] [3]
୨୧˚- warnings : mutual pining, slow burn best friends to lovers, eventual smut, slight jealousy (on eddie’s part), jason carver being a dick, swearing, mention and use of weed, shared trauma from the events of season 4 (timeline is a bit diff, season 4 took place at the beginning of the ‘86 school year), basically everyone lives au, brief discussion of nightmares, reader comforts eddie, kinda self indulgent on the fluff (happy eddie is a must), slight angst, and so so so much tension. 18+ mdni.
୨୧˚- a/n ; thank you so much for the love on chapter one!! i already had this chapter mostly finished, so i was able to get it out fairly quickly (and i was too excited to keep it to myself tbh), but starting now, updates will probably be about once a week depending! tyty everyone <3
: ̗̀➛ listening to ; coming up roses - harry styles
the halls are chaos, same as always, students spilling out of classrooms, locker doors slamming, and mindless chatter in between classes.
eddie expertly navigates the halls, weaving through the sea of letterman jackets and high ponytails. his eyes scan the hall, searching. when his gaze finds your familiar face, he grins, quickening his stride.
he sidesteps a group of freshmen, nearly knocking over some of them in the process, before sliding up beside you with a dramatic flourish.
“miss me?" he teases, bumping your shoulder with his. “splat didn’t give you too much trouble last night, did he?”
his grin is infectious, the morning sunlight catching the glint of his rings as he tucks a wild curl behind his ear. you can still smell the faintest hint of leather and cigarette smoke clinging to his jacket, something distinctly eddie, something that makes your stomach flip.
you roll your eyes, but you can't stop the smirk tugging at your lips. “he cried all night. real tragic, demanded a lullaby. he’s definitely your kid.”
eddie clutches his chest dramatically. “our poor, neglected son." he leans in conspiratorially, lowering his voice to a stage whisper. “tell me it was at least a metal lullaby. please tell me you didn't subject him to, like, madonna or some shit."
his face is so close you can count his freckles, can see the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he's trying not to laugh. you shove him away, but your fingers linger a second too long against the worn fabric of his jacket.
“relax. i went with sabbath."
eddie beams like you just handed him a grammy. “that's my girl," he says without thinking, then freezes. his ears go pink.
you pretend not to notice, but your heart stammers traitorously in your chest. if eddie hears, he doesn’t say anything, just clears his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“so," he says, a little too casually. “you, uh… got plans this weekend?"
you close your locker with a slam of metal on metal, shaking your head. “other than hellfire? just the usual,” you fall into step beside him, headed towards the cafeteria for lunch period. “oh, i do have an interview at the video store. you have robin to thank for that one,” you sound less than enthused.
eddie's eyebrows shoot up, lips curling into a smirk. “whoa, whoa, hold up. buckley got you a job interview?" he nudges you with his elbow, grin widening. “you? behind a counter? voluntarily interacting with customers? what happened to ‘i’d rather eat glass than serve jocks their shitty action movies,’ huh?"
you groan, shoving him sideways into a row of lockers, but he just laughs, dodging easily and throwing an arm around your shoulders. “relax, doll. think of it this way, now you can hide all the good flicks in the back before carver and his goons even get a chance to rent ‘em."
his voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, “corporate sabotage. very metal."
you snort, but can't fight the smile tugging at your lips. it's stupid, this whole conversation is stupid, pointless, meaningless, but you can't help the warmth spreading through your chest. it's easy with eddie, too easy.
“corporate sabotage, huh? sounds more up your alley than mine.”
“me? a bad influence? never," he protests. “i'm the pinnacle of innocence. i've never done a single dishonest thing in my damn life."
you swat him on the arm, trying not to laugh. "right, and i’m gonna be nominated for prom queen this year."
he grins, eyes dancing with mischief, then his gaze snags on something over your shoulder, smile faltering.
“uh-oh," he mutters. “brace yourself."
you follow his eye line, jason carver cuts a path through the crowded hallway, flanked by his usual band of jocks.
his gaze lands on you, and of course he notices how close you and eddie are walking, of course he frowns, jaw tight, of course he nudges his friends, calling out to eddie mockingly.
“hey, munson. shouldn't your girlfriend be out in the woods somewhere? casting spells and sacrificing chickens, or whatever it is you freaks do in your free time.”
eddie stiffens beside you, his hand twitching like he wants to hit him, but he hesitates. instead, he leans in closer to you, voice big and theatrical, “careful, carver. she does know some spells." he flicks his fingers toward jason mockingly. “one wrong word and poof, your hairline recedes even further."
jason’s face flushes slightly red, but before he can retort, you lean into eddie’s side and add with a sweet smile, “and for the record? i don’t sacrifice chickens,” you pause. "goats, on the other hand..."
jason blinks in quiet shock, and eddie beams at you like you just won the damn lottery.
“that’s my girl," he says, bolder now, loud enough for everyone to hear, before steering you away from jason with a flourish.
by the time you reach the cafeteria, you're buzzing. every nerve in your body is alive, hyper-aware of eddie's fingers against your shoulder, the warmth of his arm around your shoulders, the way your hip bumps his as you walk. you shove down the feeling, forcing a smirk like nothing's different, as if you're not replaying his voice—“my girl"— in your head like a broken record.
the second you push through the cafeteria doors, eddie drops his arm, suddenly remembering where you are, who’s watching, but his fingers linger for a split second, brushing against the back of your jacket like he can’t quite let go.
jason’s voice still rings in your ears, girlfriend, and your pulse kicks up again, traitorous, hopeful.
eddie clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “so uh, video store interview, huh? when’s that?" his tone’s casual, but his eyes dart to yours like he’s searching for something.
you shrug, trying to play it cool. “saturday. robin said to ‘dress like a functioning member of society,’ so…" you gesture vaguely at your outfit, ripped jeans, battered boots, one of eddie’s old band tees you stole years ago and never gave back.
eddie huffs out a laugh, “good luck with that." then, quieter, more sincere, “but hey… you’ll kill it."
his smile is small, genuine, the kind that makes your stomach swoop. you open your mouth to reply, but—
“munson! quit flirting and get over here!" gareth’s voice cuts across the cafeteria, accompanied by the clatter of dustin dramatically slamming his lunch tray down onto the hellfire table.
eddie rolls his eyes, but there’s no real annoyance in it. “duty calls," he sighs, jerking his thumb toward them, but he hesitates, biting his lip. "you… coming?"
it’s a silly question, like you’d ever sit anywhere else, but you nudge his shoulder with yours anyway, grinning. “try and stop me."
eddie’s answering smile could power hawkins for a year.
lunch passes in a blur of chaotic debates, gareth insists aliens built the pyramids, dustin’s voice cracks mid-rant about star wars lore, and eddie steals fries off your tray with zero remorse. but every now and then, when the noise fades to background static, you catch him watching you — quick glances, the hint of a smirk when you roll your eyes at the idiots surrounding you, your own little kingdom of freaks and outcasts.
the bell rings too soon. eddie lingers as the others scatter, slinging his bag over his shoulder with deliberate slowness.
“so," he starts, rocking back on his heels. “saturday. you want, uh… moral support? before the interview?" he fiddles with one of his rings, avoiding your eyes. “could swing by your place, help you not look like you rob graves in your free time."
the joke’s weak, but the the offer isn’t. you bite your lip to hide the grin threatening to split your face. “are you saying my aesthetic isn’t professional?"
eddie meets your gaze dead-on, suddenly serious. “sweetheart, you duct-taped your boot back together last week."
you gasp, “that was an emergency! the sole was—"
he interrupts you by reaching out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “say yes," he murmurs.
your breath hitches. his fingers linger near your jaw, calloused and warm.
"...yes," you whisper.
for an instant, a flicker of surprise crosses his face, like even he didn’t expect the answer. then he smiles, soft and slow.“great." there’s a pause. he rubs his neck, suddenly nervous. “i’ll be there. saturday. four…-ish?"
you nod, your heart pounding too hard in your chest. "four," you confirm, and try not to think about the way his fingers feel against your skin.
the rest of the week passes quickly, classes blend together, teachers' voices droning in the background while your mind keeps drifting to saturday, to eddie’s promise. to the way his hands hesitated near you like he wanted to reach out and never let go.
saturday afternoon finds you sprawled on your bedroom floor, surrounded by discarded clothes. your usual ripped jeans and band tees litter the carpet, nothing screams ‘hire me’ less than your usual style. you groan, flopping backward onto the mess.
“this is impossible," you mutter to splat, who watches judgmentally from your pillow. “what are you lookin’ at?”
a sharp knock at your door makes you jump. before you can answer, it swings open, revealing eddie, leaning against the frame with a smirk. his eyes rake over the chaos.
“damn," he whistles. “you do own clothes that aren’t black. who knew?"
you throw a sock at him. “shut up. help me."
eddie steps inside, kicking the door shut behind him. he picks through your disaster of an outfit pile with exaggerated concentration before holding up a dark green sweater, one you forgot you even owned.
“here," he says, tossing it at you. “pair it with those almost clean jeans. boom. ‘functioning member of society.’"
you catch the sweater, wrinkling your nose. “this is so boring."
eddie grins, crouching beside you. “yeah, well. play the game now, burn the place down later,” he nudges your knee with his. “you got this, sweetheart.”
the nickname sends a familiar warmth through you. you hug the sweater to your chest, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.
“thanks," you mumble.
eddie’s quiet for a beat. then, softly, “anytime."
you shove the sweater over your head, the fabric settling awkwardly against your skin, too soft, too normal. eddie watches with an unreadable expression as you turn to check yourself in the mirror, frowning at the reflection staring back.
“i look like a librarian," you groan, plucking at the collar like it's personally offended you.
eddie's laugh is sudden and bright as he steps up behind you, his hands landing on your shoulders, warm through the fabric. his gaze meets yours in the mirror, eyes dancing with amusement.
“nah," he murmurs, tugging lightly on the sleeve of your sweater to straighten it. “you look... good.”
there's something in his voice that makes your stomach flip, something uncharacteristically soft and unguarded that wasn't there before. his fingers linger for a second too long before he clears his throat and steps back, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“alright, let's go before you chicken out," he teases, already heading for the door, but you catch the faint pink at the tips of his ears before he turns away.
the interview goes shockingly well. robin vouches for you hard, the manager seems too tired to care about your usual ‘aesthetic rebellion,’ and by the end, you’re scribbling your availability on a crumpled napkin like some kind of responsible adult.
eddie’s waiting outside when you emerge, leaning against the side of the building with a cigarette dangling from his lips. he straightens when he sees you, blowing smoke to the side.
“so?" he asks, trying, and failing to sound casual.
you hold up the hastily scribbled sticky note with your new schedule on it, “you’re looking at hawkins video’s newest nightmare."
eddie’s face splits into that wild, unfiltered smile you love, the one that makes him look seventeen instead of someone who’s seen too much. he crushes his cigarette under his boot and pulls you into a one-armed hug before you can react, his voice muffled against your hair, “knew you’d nail it."
as he lets go, too soon, always too soon, you catch the way his fingers flex at his side, like he’s stopping himself from reaching back.
the ride back to your house is quiet, filled with the hum of the radio and the steady thrum of eddie’s fingers against the steering wheel as he drives. every now and then, he glances at you out of the corner of his eye like he wants to say something, but the words stick in his throat.
you chew your thumbnail, looking out the window, resisting the urge to fidget with the sleeves of your new-old sweater. you wonder if eddie can hear your heartbeat thumping in the silence.
he pulls up in front of your trailer, killing the engine. the quiet stretches between you, almost awkward in a way that it never was. eddie drums his fingers on the wheel once, twice, before turning to face you fully, reaching into his pocket for something you can’t see yet.
“so," he starts, voice rough around the edges. “celebratory smoke?" he holds up a joint between two fingers with a lopsided grin.
you should say no. you have homework. your mom will be home soon. a dozen reasons flash through your mind.
instead, you reach for it. “only if you don't hog it this time."
eddie's laugh is startled, delighted. he leans across you to pop open the glove compartment to rifle around for a lighter, close enough that his hair brushes your cheek, close enough that you catch the faded smell of his leather jacket, scented with weed and cheap cologne.
when he pulls back, his eyes catch yours. just for a second. just long enough to make your pulse skip.
the joint burns slow between your fingers, smoke curling into the twilight air as you pass it back to eddie. his fingertips brush yours, just barely, and the contact lingers, warm against your skin. he takes a long drag, exhaling towards the van’s roof with a contented sigh, tilting his head back against the seat. the seat creaks softly underneath him as he adjusts, his eyes finding yours instinctively, as if he could feel yours on him already. you swallow thickly, watching the way his adam’s apple bobs slightly in his throat.
“so," he murmurs, voice roughened by the smoke, “first paycheck comes in, you're buying me lunch at benny's, right?"
you grin, nudging his arm with your elbow. “pretty sure you owe me lunch for all the times you've mooched fries off me."
eddie clutches his chest in mock offense. “mooched? that’s harsh, sweetheart.” but he’s smiling as he says it, eyes crinkling at the corners in that way you know means he’s trying not to laugh.
the joint dwindles between you, the ash glowing orange in the dim light. when it’s finally down to the filter, eddie flicks it out the window and turns to face you fully, suddenly serious.
“hey," he says softly, “proud of you, y’know."
your breath catches. his expression is so open, so unguarded, the way he only ever is with you. you swallow hard and look away before you do something stupid, like pull him closer.
“yeah, well," you mutter, “don’t get used to it. still planning my corporate takeover from within."
eddie laughs, loud and sudden, and something in your chest cracks open at the sound.
for a moment it feels almost easy again. eddie, the streetlamps flickering on, the smoke almost fully dissipated by now. it feels normal; like you can ignore the way your breath catches when he smiles, as if you're not holding onto the ragged edge of something that could break you both.
then he glances at his watch and his expression softens. the air changes. “i guess i should go. don't think your mom would appreciate the town freak loitering in her driveway on a school night."
“oh, come on. you know she tolerates you,” you joke back, your fingers moving to the door handle but not quite pulling yet.
eddie smirks, leaning back in his seat with exaggerated ease, but his knuckles whiten slightly where they grip the steering wheel. “tolerates. what a glowing endorsement."
he flicks his gaze toward you, mischief creeping back in. “guess that means i’m still banned from sunday dinners, huh?"
you roll your eyes, shoving his shoulder lightly, your hand lingers just a second too long on the worn leather of his jacket. eddie notices, his breath hitches almost imperceptibly.
“only if you show up wearing that judas priest shirt with the sleeves ripped off again," you deadpan.
then eddie clears his throat and leans over, reaching across you, “forgot to unlock it,” he mutters, his arm brushing yours as he pops the door open for you.
the night air is cool against your skin compared to the warmth of the car as you step out, shoving your hands into your pockets to avoid the temptation of climbing back in, to be with him a bit longer.
“thanks for the ride," you say, kicking at the dirt.
“anytime," eddie says quietly.
you force a smile that doesn't reach your eyes, trying to ignore the disappointment sinking in your chest as you shut the door, speaking through the cracked window. “i’ll see you.”
he nods, his eyes lingering on your face for a second too long. “later, sweetheart.”
eddie pulls away with one last wave, the car disappearing just down the street.
you linger on the porch for a moment, the silence closing around you like a cocoon. you shake your head, shoving away the tangle of thoughts churning in your mind. it’s just eddie, you remind yourself. just your best friend. not your boyfriend. not some unattainable fantasy. just eddie.
just eddie, who always gets under your skin and never stays close enough to touch.
inside, the trailer feels too big. too empty. you tug off the stupid green sweater and throw it onto your bed, where splat sits judging you with his button eyes, a physical reminder of eddie, of what you couldn’t have.
“shut up,” you mutter, flopping down next to him.
the clock ticks, your neighbor’s dog barks. you close your eyes and pray for sleep. it doesn't come.
hours later, you toss and turn in a tangle of sheets, trying to find some way to shut your brain off, but your thoughts keep circling back to eddie; his laugh, his smile, his eyes the way they get when he’s teasing you, and your heart pounds against your ribs with each memory.
you run an annoyed hand through your hair, it mussed from shifting against the pillow all night. you feel utterly idiotic, like some dumb cliche in those teen movies you and eddie hate.
“god, what is wrong with me?” you sigh, your voice quiet as your fingers fiddle with a loose green thread hanging off of splat. you pull at it quickly, attempting to be rid of it. instead, it continues to unravel, more thread wrapping your fingers; this is like us, you think. us? stupid.
the phone on your bedside table rings suddenly, jolting you out of your spiraling. you grab it off the receiver, fingers still wrapped in the green thread. “hello?” you reply groggily into the phone.
eddie's voice crackles through the receiver, low and gravelly. you catch yourself sitting up straighter.
“did i wake you?"
you shake your head, despite the fact he can't see you. “no," you say, trying to sound like your heart isn't hammering in your chest. “just... couldn't sleep."
there's a pause on the other end of the line. he asks quietly, “nightmare?"
“you could call it that, i guess.” your fingers absentmindedly begin twirling the green thread again as you reply, your other hand keeping the phone held up to your ear.
his voice drops impossibly soft, it almost feels like he’s in the room with you, “that bad, huh?"
you can picture him running a hand through his messy hair, frowning at no one in particular. your fingers tug too hard at the green thread, unraveling it a little more, not trusting your voice to be convincing in your white lie.
it's quiet for a second, like he's thinking carefully about what to say. “you wanna hear something funny?”
you smile faintly, despite the tension in your chest. “hit me.”
eddie clears his throat dramatically, like he's about to deliver some grand performance. “okay, so, what do you call a fish wearing a bowtie?"
you groan, “eddie, that's literally the oldest—"
he cuts you off, voice brimming with fake offense. “ah-ah-ah! let the master work!" then, with a terrible attempt at a posh accent, “sofishticated."
the silence on your end is deafening. eddie waits exactly three seconds before bursting into laughter, the kind that makes him wheeze a little at the end.
“you hate me right now," he gasps between chuckles. “i can feel it through the phone."
and god help you, you're smiling, actually smiling, despite the fact it's the dumbest joke in existence.
you glance down at the green thread still tangled around your fingers, looser now, less suffocating. “shut up," you mumble, but you both know you mean to say thank you.
eddie’s laughter settles into a quiet hum, the line crackling with static between you. for a moment, neither of you speaks, just the sound of his breath and yours, steadying in tandem. then he sighs, his voice dropping into something quieter, more sincere.
“seriously though,” he murmurs, “if the nightmare was real bad… i got my van.” a beat. “could be there in five… four if i run the stop sign.”
it’s late and you should probably just go to bed, but your chest aches with something tender and raw, and suddenly all you can think is, “which stop sign?”
eddie huffs a laugh. “the one by mrs. andrews’ mailbox. you know she hates when i-“
you cut him off, “come over.”
a pause. the line goes so quiet you think maybe the call dropped. then, “yeah?” his voice is rough, hopeful. “you sure?”
you glance at splat, at the unraveled green thread pooled in your lap. “yeah,” you whisper. “hurry up.”
the line goes dead, only leaving a soft hum in the absence of his voice. you put the phone back onto the receiver, the green thread now limp in your fingers, finally detached. the silence of the trailer feels heavier now, anticipation crackling under your skin. you count the minutes in your head, listening for the familiar rumble of his van.
one.
you notice your palms are weirdly sweaty.
two.
a car door slams outside.
three.
knuckles rap against your window, soft, trying not to wake your mom in the other room.
four.
you yank the curtains aside. eddie’s standing there, hair wild from he wind, cheeks flushed from sprinting across your lawn in the cold. he grins when he sees you, crooked and bright, breath fogging the glass as he leans in closer.
“told ya," he mouths through the window, "four minutes."
eddie tumbles through the window with all the grace of a bull in a china shop, landing with a thump on your bedroom floor, knocking over a stack of cassettes in the process. he freezes mid-step, wincing at the clatter.
“shit—"
you clap a hand over your mouth to stifle your laugh as he frantically gestures for silence, eyes darting toward your closed door. when no angry footsteps come, he exhales dramatically and flops onto your bed beside, limbs sprawling like he owns the place.
“so," he whispers, propping his head up on one elbow, "wanna tell me about this nightmare, or do i gotta guess?" his tone is light, but his eyes are serious, dark and searching in the dim glow of your bedside lamp.
you swallow hard. the thread is gone, but the weight of it lingers between you. eddie waits. patient. always patient with you. you lay down beside him, pulling the comforter over the two of you.
outside, the wind rattles the trailer park streetlights. inside, his knee brushes yours under the blankets, warm and solid and probably crossing some kind of line.
“just the usual," you finally mumble. your fingers find the blanket hem, nervously fiddling with it.
eddie nods. he reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, a gesture so gentle it makes your breath catch. his eyes hold yours, steady in the dim light. “you know that stuff isn't real, right?"
you take a shaky breath, shaking your head. “feels real," you admit.
eddie's expression softens further, like he can sense the things you aren't saying, the double meaning in your words. his hand lingers near your face, so close you can feel the heat of him, hovering in the narrow space between you.
“wanna know something stupid?" he asks quietly.
you nod, not trusting your voice.
eddie exhales sharply, almost like a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “i get ‘em too,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper. “not the…the vecna shit, not anymore, but… other stuff. the kinda stuff that sticks around even when you’re awake.” his thumb brushes your cheekbone, feather-light. “you never look at me like i’m crazy when i talk about it. that’s… that’s why i called. ‘cause i figured if anyone gets it…”
he trails off, eyes darting over your face like he’s seeing it for the first time. the confession hangs between you, raw and terrifying and so painfully eddie it makes your ribs ache.
“that’s not stupid, eds.”
he swallows, throat bobbing. his gaze snaps to yours like he'd forgotten you could hear him.
“thanks, but i mean, it kinda is a little." he clears his throat, suddenly sheepish. “i just… it’s bullshit, isn't it? i can beat the hell out of monsters, but i can’t shut my brain off at night? kinda pathetic when you think about it.” he offers up a half-smile that doesn't quite cover the vulnerability in his eyes.
“it’s not,” you shift a bit closer, laying your head on the pillow and rolling onto your side to face him. your faces are now just inches apart, you can feel his warm breath fanning your lips on every exhale. “you’ve seen shit that most people our age can’t even imagine. you’re brave, eds. always have been… even without the monsters.”
eddie's breath hitches, just barely, at the nickname, his gaze flickering from your eyes to your lips and back again. he doesn’t pull away, voice barely above a whisper when he answers, “brave, huh?" a smirk tugs at his mouth, but it's softer now, less defensive.
“could say the same about you, y'know. if we're handing out compliments tonight."
his fingers twitch against the pillow near your head like he wants to touch you but isn’t sure he’s allowed. the air between you hums with something electric, fragile, like the moment before a guitar string snaps.
“how so?”
he blinks for a second, the sudden closeness is throwing his thoughts off kilter, but he keeps your gaze, unwavering. “you're not scared, ever. you fight the whole damn world without even realizing it, and it's… it's pretty badass, y'know?"
your heart pounds in your ears, the heat rolling off eddie's body making you dizzy, as if you're standing too close to an open flame. you lean forward, just a tiny fraction.
“i’m scared a lot of the time, actually,” you admit quietly, eyes scanning his face in the dim light of your room.
eddie lets out an exhale like you just punched him in the ribs, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced with something softer, more serious.
“but you keep going," he says, voice low and rough. “when most people would have given up or run for the hills, you keep going. that's bravery, sweetheart, even if you don't think so. that's who you are."
you snort, “funny. i just copy you.”
that makes him pause. he shakes his head, something like wonder flashing across his face in the half-light.
“you give me too much credit." he wets his lips, eyes flickering between your mouth and your gaze like he can't decide which to focus on. “i'm not as fearless as you think i am."
“someone has to give you your flowers. god knows you’ll never do it yourself.”
he huffs, but you catch the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth, the same one that appears whenever you tease him. “who died and made you the flower-giver?"
it's a defense, you know that, a deflection, a way to play off how your words affect him so he never has to be vulnerable first.
your voice comes out barely above a whisper, but he’s so close he catches it anyway. “fate, maybe? if you believe in that stuff, anyway.”
eddie goes very still, eyes searching your face for a moment that feels like an eternity. his expression crumbles into something like disbelief.
“you don't honestly believe in that garbage, do you?" he lets out a low, disbelieving huff. “it's just a bunch of cosmic nonsense, sweetheart. no fate, no destiny. just chaos and luck and shitty timing." his tone is harsher than usual, bordering on bitter.
“maybe you’re right… but i can’t help but think,” you pause, exhaling shakily. “what if, you know? all of this feels like more than coincidence, doesn’t it?”
eddie's jaw tightens. his gaze flicks away from yours, your words are a hit he can't bring himself to dodge.
“so… what? we’re just pawns in some big show, some pre-ordained path? bullshit.” he lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. the movement sends his hair tumbling into his eyes as he looks back at you.
“what's the point, then? if everything's already been decided?"
his voice is rough, cracking around the edges. you wish you could take the words back, rewind the moment and not bring up something that clearly hits too close to home.
“eddie—" you start, but he shakes his head, sitting up.
“it's bullshit," he cuts you off. “the thought that there's no control, that no matter what i do… my life's already laid out, start to finish,” his hands flex against the sheets.
you sit up too, reaching for his hand before he can pull away completely. “eds, i didn't mean—"
he doesn't jerk away, but his fingers stay stiff in your grip. “then what did you mean?" his voice is quiet now, but the frustration still simmers beneath it.
you swallow hard. the words feel too big, too fragile to say out loud, but you owe him this honesty.
“i just meant…" you trace the calluses on his knuckles, guitar strings, fight scars, years of survival etched into his skin. "...that out of all the uncertainty, all the ‘chaos and the shitty timing’… i still found you. don’t know where i’d be if i hadn’t.”
the silence between you is thick. eddie stares at your joined hands like he's trying to decipher a riddle. then, slowly, still unsure, his fingers tighten around yours.
eddie exhales sharply, his grip almost painful in its intensity. his eyes flick up to meet yours, raw, unguarded, stripped of every sarcastic defense he usually wears like armor. “yeah," he rasps. “me too."
he doesn’t elaborate. he doesn’t need to. the words settle between you like an oath, like something sacred. his thumb brushes over your knuckles, once, twice, before he pulls his hand away with a shaky breath.
the air between you crackles with years of the unspoken. eddie leans back against your headboard, raking a hand through his hair as if trying to physically shake off the weight of the moment.
“christ," he mutters, voice rough with something like awe or terror or both. “we’re a pair, aren’t we?"
you lean back beside him, staring straight ahead at the wall. “yeah, guess so.”
he shifts next to you, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours. the silence stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable. it’s the kind of quiet that only exists between people who know each other down to their bones.
eddie nudges your knee with his. “still think we'd find each other in any universe?" he asks, voice laced with faux-casualness. as if it’s a joke; like it doesn’t matter, but you know him better than that.
you lean your head on his shoulder, voice coming out unsure, “feels like we already have.”
eddie inhales so sharply you think he might have stopped breathing. for a second you think he's going to pull away, or shove you lightly and mutter some sarcastic reply to deflect the moment, but instead, your best friend, your person, leans into you gently, his head resting on top of yours.
“y'know what’s stupid?" he says after a moment. his voice is uncharacteristically soft, the words whispered into the dark like a confession.
“hm?” you hum softly, fingers absentmindedly tracing the black ink popping out from underneath his shirt collar.
“every time i think i’ve got this life figured out, something comes along and proves me wrong." eddie shifts beside you, one knee coming up to rest against your thigh. he seems to be choosing his words carefully, a rare moment of vulnerability from the boy that hides behind jokes.
“like… there's this part of me that expects to wake up someday and this, all of this, is just some kind of dream. some cosmic joke being played on me because… because people like me aren't allowed to have this, right? this… peace. happiness. whatever."
he sighs in frustration, clearly having been thinking about this for a while.
you lift your head just enough to look at him, his face so close in the dim light that you can see every unguarded flicker of emotion, the way his lips press together, the quiet frustration in his brow. you reach up without thinking, brushing a loose curl from his forehead with your fingers.
“people like you?" you murmur, holding his gaze. “you mean people who are brave, and kind, and stupidly good at making other people feel like they matter? to those kids, you’re a hero, and you don’t even realize it. henderson practically idolizes you.”
eddie's breath hitches. his fingers twitch against the blanket between you, wanting to touch, but still not allowing himself.
“that's not—" he starts, but then stops when your thumb grazes his cheekbone. his voice drops to a whisper, “sweetheart..."
it sounds like a surrender.
“i'm not brave." he shakes his head slightly, eyes fixed on your hand against his skin. his jaw clenches. “and i’m not some kind of hero. i’m a third-year senior with a genetic unlucky streak, at best. at worst I'm a—"
“don't," you murmur, your thumb brushing just beneath his eyelashes. he blinks, eyes going impossibly soft. “don't call yourself that. god, eds, i can't stand when you do that. don’t downplay all the shit you’ve been through just so you don’t have to talk about it.”
eddie’s breath stutters. he reaches up to curl his fingers around your wrist, not pushing you away, not pulling you closer, just holding you there, needing you to anchor him in the moment. his pulse thrums wildly under your fingertips.
“fine," he whispers. “but you don't get to call me a hero either. deal?"
his voice is rough, but there’s a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, trying to wrestle back some control, some semblance of the usual eddie, but his thumb strokes absently over the inside of your wrist, betraying him.
“can i think it?” you joke half-heartedly, trying to lighten the mood.
eddie groans, pressing his forehead against yours dramatically, but he doesn’t pull away. his nose bumps against yours, breath warm as he grumbles, “ugh, fine. just…don't expect me to start wearing a cape or some shit." he tilts his head slightly, smirking. “unless it's leather. then maybe."
just like that, the tension shatters because this is eddie, and this is you, and no matter how heavy things get, he’ll always find a way to make you laugh.
“nah, you’re more of a suit of armor kinda guy,” you joke, barely able to get through the sentence without laughing, picturing eddie clanking around in creaky metal, trying his best to stay upright under the weight.
eddie gasps, clutching his chest like you’ve mortally wounded him. “excuse you, i’d be a rogue, obviously. leather armor, daggers, maybe a cloak for dramatic effect,” he gestures wildly, nearly smacking you in the face before catching himself.
you burst out laughing, trying your best to stifle it with your hand while shoving his shoulder. he grins, victorious. the sound fills the quiet trailer, bouncing off the walls like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
eddie leans back against the headboard, watching you with an expression so soft it makes your stomach flip. “there she is," he murmurs. he doesn’t have to say it, you already know— his girl. you realize with sudden, terrifying clarity, that you’d follow him anywhere.
you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling so wide your face hurts. eddie studies your expression for a second before suddenly leaning in close, close enough that you can see all the little flecks of gold in his eyes, the soft yellow lighting from the lamp bouncing off of his irises.
"...you’re blushing," he whispers, delighted.
you shove him again, harder this time, and he topples sideways onto the bed with a dramatic yelp, pulling you down with him in a tangle of limbs and laughter. he just holds you there, not wanting to let go so soon.
“you staying?” you say after a few moments of silence, shifting more onto your side of the bed.
eddie looks at you like you just asked the dumbest question on earth, raising an eyebrow. “uh, yeah?" he tugs you a little closer, throwing an arm around your waist to pull you back towards him.
“night, eds.” you reach to turn off the lamp beside your bed, settling back against him.
he smiles against your neck, his breath warm on your skin. “night, sweetheart."
you let your eyes flutter shut, listening to the wind outside, the rise and fall of his chest.
right as you're drifting off, you feel a gentle touch against your hair.
“you awake?" eddie whispers in the dark.
you hum sleepily, shifting a little closer under his arm. “hm?”
he hesitates for a second, his fingers still tangled in your hair. his voice comes out softer than you’ve ever heard him, “thanks for… y’know. not letting me spiral.”
it’s the quietest admission you’ve ever heard from him. before you can respond, he shifts, pulling the blanket over both of you and rolling over to face the wall.
you stare at his back, the rise and fall of his shoulders. you could reach out and touch him, tell him he doesn’t have to thank you, that you’d always be there.
you don’t, because he knows. he’s always known.
you lay there in the darkness, listening to him breathe. wishing, for a single selfish second, that words alone could be enough. that in the silence of the trailer, the weight of unspoken things could disappear.
his breathing evens out slowly, the tension in his shoulders unspooling as sleep finally takes him. you watch the way the moonlight cuts across his profile, the sharp line of his nose, the curve of his lips, the dark flutter of his lashes against his cheeks. he shifts onto his back, messy curls splaying across your pillow.
and then, because you’re weak, because you’re selfish, because you’ve always been a little in love with him, you reach out. just once. just to brush your fingertips against the back of his hand where it now rests over his stomach. his fingers twitch in his sleep, curling slightly toward yours.
you close your eyes, but sleep doesn’t come. the night stretches on.
outside, the wind hums through the gaps in the trailer walls, a quiet, familiar lullaby. the faint glow of streetlight bleeds through your curtains, painting gold across eddie's collarbone where his shirt has slipped askew and you have to stop yourself from running your fingers over it. you memorize the way his pulse jumps under his skin when your fingers skim his wrist.
“eddie," you whisper to the dark, just to taste his name on your tongue. he doesn’t stir, but in his sleep, his pinky hooks around yours, keeping you close.
sunlight spills through the gaps in your curtains, painting stripes of gold across the tangled blankets and the still-sleeping boy beside you. eddie’s face is half-buried in your pillow, mouth slightly open, one arm flung out around your waist, where it had stayed all night. his hair is an absolute disaster, curls sticking up at odd angles.
you’re frozen, suddenly hyper-aware of every point of contact, his knee knocking against yours under the sheets, the warmth of his palm pressed flat against your ribs. you should move. you should wake him up, but for one stolen moment, you let yourself linger, memorizing the weight of him, the quiet rasp of his breathing. his nose scrunches slightly, as if feeling your attention on him even in sleep, a soft groan escaping him as he stirs.
"...mmph. time’s it?" he mumbles into the pillow, voice thick with sleep.
you glance over at the clock on your wall, “almost ten.”
eddie groans, finally opening one eye at you. “ten? really? why didn't you wake me, dickhead?"
he pokes you in the ribs, not hard, just enough to make you jump. you swat at his hand, biting back a grin. “you just looked so peaceful.”
he gives you a halfhearted glare, but there's no real heat behind it. he drags himself up onto one elbow, scrubbing a hand through his sleep-mussed curls.
“that's a shitty excuse, sweetheart.” but he glances away, cheeks flushed, lips twitching.
“didn’t say it was a good one.”
eddie huffs, but he doesn't move away, just flops back onto your pillow, one arm thrown dramatically over his eyes.
“you're lucky you're cute," he mutters, muffled by his sleeve.
you both freeze, effectively stunned. the air between you goes electric with the weight of the words neither of you were supposed to say out loud. somewhere outside, a car backfires, effectively shattering the moment.
you clear your throat, attempting to move on without a hitch. “you mind driving me to work today? first day of corporate hell, can’t be late.”
eddie sits up too quickly, nearly knocking heads with you. “oh shit, yeah, today's the day you sell your soul to the man, huh?" he grins, clearly relieved by the subject change.
he scrambles off the bed, already halfway to the door before you can process him leaving your side. just like that, the moment passes, but the ghost of his warmth lingers on your skin long after he's gone.
as eddie disappears down the hall towards the bathroom, you collapse back onto the mattress, your pulse still hammering against your ribs. you press your palms to your face, inhaling shakily.
“fuck," you whisper to the empty room.
then you hear the sound of a door opening and shut, followed by the unmistakable noise of the shower turning on. which gives you an idea. a stupid idea. an absolutely terrible idea.
you stare at the bathroom door, the bathroom where eddie is currently standing under the spray in your shower.
your heart lurches, but not in the way you expected. the thought should thrill you, should make your pulse race. instead, something cold and sick twists in your stomach, your heart stuttering for a different reason entirely.
“fuck," you mutter again, rolling onto your side and curling into yourself.
because this isn't just some flirty game anymore. this is eddie. your best friend, and you're not about to ruin that for a stupid fantasy
the shower shuts off after what feels like both an eternity and no time at all. you hear eddie humming, some off-key metallica riff, as he pads back toward your room. you squeeze your eyes shut, pretending to be asleep when the door creaks open.
“sweetheart, you awake?” he whispers. when you don't respond, he sighs, voice softening. “alright, sleeping beauty. five more minutes."
his fingers brush your shoulder, light as a breath, before he pulls away.
you wait until he shuts the bathroom door again before finally sitting up, exhaling slowly. you can do this, things don't have to change. you can ignore the way your heart stutters every time he looks at you. you have to.
when eddie reappears, hair still damp, he takes one look at your face and stops dead in the doorway.
“jesus,” he says quietly. “you look like someone kicked your dog."
“just first day jitters,” it sounds like a lie, even to you.
he eyes you skeptically from across the room, not buying it. “uh huh. that why you're sitting there like someone pissed in your cheerios instead of getting dressed?"
you try forcing a smile, it doesn't reach your eyes. “maybe”
you shove yourself off the bed before you can say something stupid. “we’re gonna be late,” you say, avoiding his gaze as you search your floor for anything you can throw on.
“right, yeah,” he clears his throat, grabbing his jacket off the floor. “let’s roll.”
the drive to your new job is filled with music, eddie’s familiar mix of metallica and black sabbath blasting through the speakers, but the usual comfort of it feels distant today. you stare out the window, your knee bouncing restlessly.
eddie glances over at you, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “you sure you’re good?”
you nod, forcing another smile. “yeah. just… thinking.”
he doesn’t push, just turns the music up louder, filling the silence between you with something easier than words.
when he pulls into the parking lot of the video store, he shifts in his seat to face you, grinning. “aright, corporate warrior. try not to let ‘em break your spirit on day one.”
you roll your eyes but can’t help the real smile that tugs at your lips. “thanks for the pep talk.”
eddie’s grin softens, just for a second, before he reaches over and ruffles your hair. “go get ‘em, tiger.”
you take a deep breath and step out of the car, glancing back once to see eddie still watching you through the windshield. he waits until you’re safely inside the family video before driving away.
the bell dings cheerfully as you enter, spotting robin immediately behind the counter. her face lights up in excitement when she catches sight of you, “thank god, i totally thought you were gonna bail.”
you manage a laugh, shoving your hands into your pockets. “sorry. overslept." not technically a lie.
robin arches a brow, leaning forward on the counter with a smirk. “and by 'overslept,' you mean…?"
“that i overslept,” you reply back quickly, already agitated at what you know she’s implying. steve appears from the back room, dropping her a fresh family video vest on the counter.
steve squints at you, then at robin, then back at you again. “wait, hold up, were you guys talking about—"
robin smacks him in the chest with the back of her hand before he can finish. “no! nope. no we were not."
steve rubs his sternum, looking deeply offended. “jesus, fine." he tosses the vest your way. “just saying, if you were talking about munson, i have insider info. that's all."
robin kicks him behind the counter, earning a slight wince from him.
you stiffen, the mention of eddie sending a familiar jolt through you. you force a laugh, trying to play it cool. “oh yeah? enlighten me."
steve leans on the counter on his forearms, voice lowering conspiratorially. “well, i heard from henderson, who heard from brian, who heard from gareth, that a certain someone doesn’t want you working here. with me.”
you blink, processing.
“what?" your voice comes out sharper than intended, earning a surprised look from steve.
robin kicks him again, harder this time. steve yelps.
“i'm just the messenger!" he hisses at her, before turning back to you with a wince. “look, don't shoot me, i'm just repeating what i heard."
your pulse thrums in your ears. you can picture the scene so clearly, eddie pacing his trailer, grumbling to gareth about you working with steve harrington of all people. it’s ridiculous. it’s… possessive.
you swallow hard, schooling your expression into something neutral. “yeah, well. tell henderson, and gareth, and brian, to mind their own business."
robin shoots steve a warning look. “hey, steve, why don't you go start the returns?"
“what, why?" steve looks between you with a frown.
“just go, dingus,” she says, rolling her eyes at his inability to read the room.
he looks like he wants to protest, but finally throws his hands up in defeat. “fine, whatever. i'll go do the boring manual labor."
he disappears into the back room, still grumbling to himself, leaving you and robin in awkward silence for a moment.
she clears her throat awkwardly. you stare determinedly out the window at a car driving past.
finally, she lets out a huff. “can i be honest?" here it comes.
“you might as well." you mutter.
she leans forward, bracing her elbows on the counter. “look, you know i love munson. the guy's a total weirdo, but in like, a good way, you know?"
you nod slowly, waiting for the rest of it.
robin exhales sharply, raking a hand through her hair. “but this? him getting all bent out of shape about you working here? that's bullshit." her voice drops lower, glancing toward the back to make sure steve isn't listening. “you don't belong to him. you get to make your own choices, and if he can't handle that—"
she cuts herself off, shaking her head. “just… don't let him scare you off from something you wanna do, okay?"
the words land heavy in your chest. because she's right, but it's not that simple, not when the thought of disappointing eddie makes your stomach twist into knots.
before you can respond, the bell above the door chimes. you and robin end up, thankfully, interrupted by a customer. your first day goes by in a bit of a blur, robin trains you on rewinding the tapes, and you pretend like there’s not a pit in your stomach.
the neon family video sign flickers as you clock out, stepping into the dim parking lot. eddie’s van idles near the curb, exhaust curling into the cool night air. he’s leaning against the driver’s side door, arms crossed, cigarette dangling from his lips. the glow of the ember illuminates his sharp features when he spots you.
“told you i’d pick you up," he calls, grinning.
your stomach flips, equal parts irritation and something warmer, something treacherous. you shove your hands in your pockets and walk toward him. “yeah, yeah. just don’t make a habit of lurking outside my job like some kinda stalker."
eddie scoffs, flicking ash onto the pavement. “please. if i was lurking, you wouldn’t have seen me.” he pushes off the van, swinging the passenger door open with a dramatic flourish. “m’lady.”
you roll your eyes, climbing into the passenger seat. “oh, so you have an appropriate amount of stalker-like tendencies. that’s comforting."
“hey, stalking implies there’s some element of subtlety. that’s not my thing," he protests, starting the engine and cranking the a/c. the van rumbles to life, filling the air with the familiar sound of black sabbath’s war pigs.
eddie turns the volume down slightly, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he pulls out of the parking lot. he keeps glancing at you out of the corner of his eye like he wants to say something, but can't quite find the words, continuing the dance that had become your new normal almost overnight.
finally, he clears his throat. “so, how was the first day?”
“it was fine," you say, staring out the window as hawkins blurs past. “steve and robin are... they're nice."
eddie stiffens almost imperceptibly beside you. “yeah, nice," he mutters under his breath, grip tightening on the wheel.
the silence between you grows heavier.
you glance over at him, taking in the set of his jawline, the way his bangs shadow his eyes just a bit. “you’re mad," you say, more of an observation than a question.
he huffs, eyes fixed on the road. “i’m not mad."
“eddie." you give him a sharp sidelong glance. he sighs, shoulders slumping a little. “fine, alright. yeah. i'm mad."
“mad at me?”
“no," he snaps, “not at you."
you watch him warily. “then who?"
“steve."
ah. “why?"
“because… i don’t know, alright?" he exclaims. “he just pisses me off."
“i thought you guys were cool after, y’know, everything?” you don’t need to specify, you were all there those few short months ago; the demobats, the upside down, all the things you’d both rather forget.
eddie scoffs, fingers tightening around the wheel. “we are cool. doesn't mean i gotta like the guy hovering around you all day."
you blink at him. "...what?"
he grimaces, realizing what he just said. the van slows at a red light, and he finally turns to look at you, really look at you, his expression caught between frustration and something far more vulnerable.
“look, i don’t—" he cuts himself off, jaw working. “forget it."
the light turns green. eddie exhales sharply and hits the gas. neither of you speak the rest of the way to your house.
when he pulls up to your trailer, the silence between you feels like a living thing, heavy and tense. eddie doesn’t turn the engine off, doesn’t look at you, just drums his fingers against the wheel like he’s waiting for something, like maybe he wants you to break first.
you unbuckle your seatbelt, hesitating before grabbing the door handle. “thanks for the ride,” you mutter.
eddie nods stiffly. “yeah. no problem.”
you should get out, go inside and let this, whatever this is, fizzle out like every other almost-argument you’ve ever had, but something stops you. you sit frozen. maybe it’s the way his knuckles are white around the steering wheel. maybe it’s the way he hasn’t looked at you once since that red light, or maybe it’s the way your chest aches at the thought of leaving things like this.
you take a deep breath. “eddie—”
he cuts you off with a sharp laugh, finally turning to face you. his eyes are dark, unreadable. “what? what do you want me to say?”
you swallow hard. you don’t know. that’s the problem.
the silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating. finally, eddie sighs, running a hand through his hair. “just… go inside, alright? i’ll see you tomorrow.”
it’s a dismissal. a gentle one, but a dismissal all the same. you nod stiffly, mimicking his previous actions and push the door open, stepping out into the cool night air. the van doesn’t pull away until you’re safely inside, the sound of the engine fading into the distance as you lean back against your front door, exhaling shakily.
something has shifted between you tonight. you’re not sure what it means yet, only that nothing will ever be quite the same again.
“So I’m supposed to hit the thing now, right?” Steve says with a furrowing brow as he scans down his character sheet. He was usually better at math than English back in school, but now even the numbers on this page are doing little flips around.
“Yes, Steve, that is the object of this fight: to win.” Dustin’s eye roll is almost more pronounced than his attitude.
Steve jabs his pencil toward him and is about to remind him to watch his tone, again, but Eddie’s voice starts before he does.
“Give him a break, alright? It’s his first time,” His voice is firm, but not unkind, and Dustin surprisingly listens. Steve reminds himself that this is Eddie’s domain, and the dungeon master himself flashes him an encouraging smile. “Go ahead, dude, what’re are you thinkin’?”
“You didn’t give us a break our first time,” Lucas grumbles.
“You little gremlins have years of experience on our esteemed guest here, didn’t think I needed to.”
Mike huffs loudly, “Don’t tell me you’re going easy on him just because you’re dating now, because that’s cheating!”
Eddie’s head snaps toward Mike. The sass from his face drops into fear.
“Wheeler.” He slowly raises a crooked finger, “You dare accuse your,” A hand goes over his heart, “beloved game master of such a heinous crime as cheating?”
Gareth groans. “Now you’ve done it.”
“The integrity of this table—my integrity!—at stake here and judged by a child,” The dramatics are in full swing, as are his arms that wildly slam against his chest as if he’s been shot. His head drops and his expression sneers at Mike. “I didn’t realize you’d so quickly forgotten who exactly caused the last near-TPK of this group.”
Steve doesn’t know what the hell a tee-pee-kay is, but judging by the boos now resounding around the table, it seemed very serious. Even Dustin is giving Mike the stink eye.
“I’ll still never forgive what you did to Bastian.”
“Oh come on, he was remembered as a hero!”
“You FED him to the ENEMY!”
“That wasn’t my fault, the soldiers tricked me and the dragon’s AC was—!”
“SILENCE!”
The room stiffens. Dustin and Mike shamefully retreat into their seats once more as Eddie narrows his eyes in their direction.
Steve blinks. Blinks harder. Looks anywhere he can that isn’t directly at his boyfriend. He shifts in his seat as memories of a certain moment in Reefer Rick’s boat shack flood his mind.
No, no, he will not be thinking about that in front of the kids.
“Good. Now, if I recall correctly…” Eddie turns to Steve with the sweetest smile reserved only for him, like he didn’t just command the entire room into shutting the hell up, “Steve’s initiative is higher than both of yours and it is still his turn. Go ahead, sweetheart.”
The jock’s face burns bright red all the way to his ears. His brain racks itself to try and think of something—does he attack? Does he roll? What’s his weapon again?
“Well um. I guess—”
But all he can do is stare right back at Eddie’s brown doe eyes that are still trained on his own.
“Uh…”
Jeff shakes his head. “Great job, man, you broke him.”
