picture you - e.m. [7.1k]
୨୧˚- pairing: eddie munson x best friend! reader. no use of y/n, reader is occasionally referred to by she/her pronouns.
୨୧˚- synopsis: you and eddie have been best friends for years, doing everything together. lately, though, things have started to feel different between you two. this is part one of the picture you series [1] [2] [3]
୨୧˚- warnings: slow burn best friends to lovers, no smut in this chapter but i have plans for the future hehe, mutual pining (they’re oblivious), light swearing, use of nicknames (sweetheart, babe, sunshine), maybe slight oc eddie, reader is basically female eddie, 18+ mdni.
: ̗̀➛ listening to ; picture you - chappell roan
eddie, sprawled out on his bed, stared up at the popcorn ceiling as metallica’s ride the lightning lowly filled the room. his bedroom was a chaotic mess of old comic books, empty coke cans, and dirty clothes. with a dramatic sigh, his eyes wandered to the clock on his nightstand. it was already nearing four pm, you were usually over by now.
you barge into his room moments later, not even bothering to knock. you have your eyes covered by your hand just in case, there had been a few times over the years where you’d seen something you didn’t need to, things that stuck with you despite your attempts to forget them. “you decent?”
eddie jolts slightly at the sudden intrusion but immediately relaxes when he hears your voice. he props himself up on his elbows, grinning as he watches you cautiously enter with your hand blocking your vision.
“oh come on, when have I ever been decent?" he laughs, tossing a crumpled-up sock at you. “yeah, yeah, I'm good. no horror shows today, promise. unless you count my laundry pile, that's pretty scary."
he rolls onto his side, gesturing dramatically at the mess around him before patting the space next to him on the bed. “what’s up, sunshine? you look like you’re on a mission."
you uncover your eyes, plopping down beside him on the bed like you owned the place, which at this point, you basically did. there wasn’t anything eddie wouldn’t let you do.
“i got keith from the arcade to promise me free tokens if i pretended to be his girlfriend for like, an hour for his weirdo friends. didn’t i tell you about that?”
eddie chuckles softly, shaking his head as you flop down on the bed. he can't help but find it amusing how comfortable you always were in his space, claiming it as your own and never looking back. he nods appreciatively at your scheme, knowing first hand how keith can be.
“you did tell me about that, yeah," he says, grinning widely. “and i have to say, genius move, sweetheart. getting free tokens and toying with keith’s emotions all in one go, that’s what I call multitasking."
he leans in closer, playful smirk intact. “so, how long’s this little ‘relationship’ gonna last? just till keith’s ego inflates enough, or are we talking full-on arcade royalty status?"
“dude, no. it was a one and done deal.” you scrunch your nose up in mock-disgust, keith wasn’t the worst ever, but he certainly wasn’t what you would consider a good time.
eddie clutches his chest dramatically, rolling onto his back with a loud gasp.
“sweetheart! you heartbreaker!" he throws an arm over his forehead like some swooning victorian heroine. “poor keith’s probably out there right now, sobbing into his pac-man machine, wondering where it all went wrong. did he not score enough for you? was his joystick technique lacking?"
he peeks at you from under his arm, grinning. “at least tell me you got, like, a ludicrous amount of tokens out of it, enough to bankrupt the whole arcade economy.”
“guess you’ll have to come with and find out for yourself, huh?”
eddie raises an eyebrow, instantly perking up at the invitation. he sits up, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“you had me at ‘free shit,’” he exclaims. he jumps off the bed and begins rummaging through his closet. “give me ten minutes to make myself mildly presentable, and then we’re out of here.”
“gonna need more than ten minutes, babe.” you used that nickname frequently for all your friends, but he couldn’t help but feel a slight flutter in his stomach every time it was directed at him.
eddie freezes mid-shirt-grab, turning to glare at you, though the effect is ruined by the pink tinge creeping up his neck.
“excuse you," he huffs, tossing the shirt over his shoulder dramatically. “i’ll have you know my natural charm transcends hygiene, but fine, fine, twenty minutes, max… and only because i refuse to let keith think he’s competition."
he starts aggressively shrugging his leather jacket over his band tee, grumbling playfully. “‘babe,’ my ass. next thing i know, you’ll be trading me for tokens."
“i’d trade you for less than tokens.”
eddie clutches his chest, feigning hurt.
“ouch, sweetheart. that one stung. can you remind me why we’re still friends, again?” he playfully glares at you, but his eyes betray a hint of affection. he throws on his faded denim vest over his jacket and rummages through the pockets for his wallet and keys.
“hm, because you love me and you’d be nothing without my friendship? or something like that.” you respond, a cute grin plastered across your face. this teasing, the lightheartedness, it had always been so comfortable between you two.
eddie rolls his eyes affectionately, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “yeah, something like that, i guess." he finally locates his keys and wallet on the nightstand, shoving them into his jacket pockets before turning to you. you’re sprawled out casually on his bed, and for a moment, he can't help but appreciate the scene, the familiarity of your dynamic, the way you just seem to fit perfectly in his space.
“alright, alright. let’s go bankrupt this arcade, shall we?" he gestures towards the door. “after you, oh token queen."
you laugh at the voice he puts on, hopping down from the bed and leading him down the short hall to the front door. “hey, you know if buckley’s working today? might stop in for a sec to see her, if that’s cool.”
eddie shakes his head as he opens the door for you, his hand instinctively finding its way to the small of your back as you step out of the trailer.
“beats me, but i wouldn't be surprised. that girl practically lives in there."
his gaze travels to you as you make your way to his van, his tone returning to its usual teasing tone, eddie never being one to stay serious for long. “trying to snag a rental deal from your favorite video clerk, huh? i see how it is."
“believe it or not, eds, i do have other friends,” you shoot back playfully.
“say it ain't so!" he gasps, eyes wide and comically pained. “you mean to tell me i’m not the center of your universe? i’m crushed. devastated, even." he makes a show of swooning, pretending to collapse against the side of his van with his hand on his forehead.
“dork,” you can’t ever seem to hide your smile when he’s around. climbing into your seat in the passenger side, you immediately starts rifling through his tape collection, which is fittingly a bunch of cassettes thrown haphazardly into an old shoebox that he kept in the van.
eddie watches you with a mixture of amusement and mock annoyance as you start going through his tapes. he slides into the driver's seat, shaking his head fondly.
“you know, you could always ask before digging through a man's personal belongings. it’s called respect," he says, though there's no real sharpness to his tone.
he glances sidelong at the shoebox you’re flipping through and can't help but feel a twinge of affection. you were the only person he'd let get away with that, you both knew it.
you glance up, narrowing your eyes in his direction. “since when do you have boundaries?”
eddie snorts as he starts the van, the engine roaring to life with its usual cacophony.
“fair point," he concedes, flashing you a grin. “guess i should just be grateful you're not tossing 'em out the window this time,” he shakes his head, remembering past instances where you’d dramatically ejected tapes mid-drive because you 'couldn't handle another minute of that whiny-ass guitar solo.'
he leans over, nudging her shoulder playfully. “just don't lose my black sabbath tape again. took me three weeks to find it last time, turns out it was under your seat, you little gremlin."
“it’s your fault for feeding me after midnight,” you joke with a slight smirk, popping whatever metallica tape he had in the van’s cassette player out and replacing it with a dio one you picked from the shoebox.
eddie groans dramatically as you swap out his tape, though he can't help but feel a flicker of affection at your choice of replacement. dio was his second favorite after all, and the fact that you knew that felt oddly endearing.
“you have no respect for the classics, you know that? 'master of puppets’ was revolutionary, a masterpiece of thrash metal, and you just... tossed it aside like yesterday's garbage." he mock-pouts, his tone entirely playful.
“and we’ve heard it a million times by now. broaden your horizons, my friend.”
eddie can't argue with that, so he huffs in faux-irritation instead. “fine, fine. have it your way, musical tyrant."
he looks over at you, unable to keep the smirk off his face. “but i get to choose next, alright? can’t have you hogging all the airtime.”
he reaches over, messing up your already tousled hair playfully before turning his attention back to the road.
once eddie pulls into the arcade parking lot, you hop out of the passenger side, already making your way to the family video in the shared lot.
“i’ll meet you over there, get my tokens from keith pleaseeee,” you call out from where you now stand on the sidewalk. eddie leans out the driver’s side window, squinting after your retreating form.
“oh, so now i’m just your token-fetching lackey?" he calls, shaking his head but already stepping out of the van. he shoves his hands in his pockets, shouting after you, “fine, but if keith tries to bond with me over his ‘broken heart,’ i’m charging you emotional labor fees!"
with a dramatic sigh, he turns toward the arcade, muttering under his breath with a grin, “little menace, i swear.”
the bell above the door at family video dings when you enter, moving straight to the counter where steve harrington sits rewinding tapes, looking bored out of his mind.
“harrington, buckley in today?” you ask, leaning on your forearms on the counter.
steve glances up from the rewinding machine, flashing you his trademark ‘king steve’ smirk, though it’s lost some of its old cockiness over the years. he leans back in his chair, arms crossing.
“munson’s better half graces us with her presence," he drawls, nodding toward the horror section. “robin’s wrestling with the vhs display. again. pretty sure ‘poltergeist’ is eating her alive as we speak."
he eyes you with playful suspicion. “you here to actually rent something this time, or just to corrupt my employees with your… questionable tastes?" he gestures vaguely at your outfit, grunge-chic, complete with a homemade hellfire t-shirt.
“okay, rude, and after i’ve been nothing but nice to you.”
steve snorts, rolling his eyes affectionately.
“oh sure, you're a dream,” he counters, sarcasm dripping from his words. “you and munson, terrorizing this town since middle school. real angels, the both of you."
his smirk softens a bit as he glances over at the horror section again, seeing a flash of robin's shoe disappearing behind a shelf.
“seriously though, she's back there somewhere… probably buried in a pile of tapes by now."
“thanks, harrington! a pleasure, as always,” you scurry off to the horror section, catching a glimpse of the messy bun of wild hair pulled up on robin’s head. as you round the shelves into the horror section, you find robin with tapes scattered around her, doing her best to re-alphabetize them all.
“hey, sunshine. you look absolutely thrilled to be here.”
“oh yeah, i’m having a grand ole time over here," robin replies wryly, sarcasm dripping from her tone. “just living the dream, trapped in a sea of movies. it’s the life i always wanted. why are you here?”
“stealing you, it’s arcade night. harrington gave you the go ahead to leave early.” steve’s voice carries from where he still sits behind the counter, “did not!”
robin perks up at that, the prospect of skipping the rest of her shift lifting her spirits already. you just shake your head at steve’s response, signaling for robin to ignore him. robin starts gathering her things quickly before steve can stop her, stuffing her vest under the counter and booking it towards where you wait at the door.
“i could kiss you for that,” she pauses, looking you over with a smirk. “nice shirt, by the way.”
your eyes narrow slightly at her last comment. “you’re still on this?” you didn’t have to specify what you meant, robin had been trying to tell you that eddie was obsessed with you since like, middle school, though, you never paid it any mind. you were friends, nothing more, nothing less.
you push open the door, walking ahead to the arcade as robin follows suit. “i mean, seriously, rob. you know it’s not like that.”
robin grins slyly, raising an eyebrow at your reaction. she knows exactly what button to press to get under her friend's skin.
“oh come on. you can deny it all you want, but the shirt speaks for itself." robin teases, gesturing at the obvious hellfire club logo on the shirt. “he might as well have embroidered 'property of munson' on the back."
she steps closer, nudging you playfully.
“face it, you two are practically attached at the hip."
you roll your eyes, your tone dripping with sarcasm, “oh, you mean the shirt that everyone in the club wears? super telling, you got me. and besides, we’re best friends, so what if we hang out all the time?”
robin rolls her eyes dramatically, throwing her hands up in mock surrender.
“sure, sure. whatever helps you sleep at night," she says, her smirk widening. “just know that everyone else sees it. you two are basically hawkins' most obvious slow-burn romance."
once you two enter the arcade, the lights are bright, draping the room in neon while sounds of various games fill the air. eddie's leaning against the ms. pac-man machine, waiting for you. his eyes light up as he spots you and robin approaching. he straightens up, pushing himself off the machine with a lazy grin.
“hey there, trouble,” he greets, nodding at robin before his gaze shifts to focus on you, as it always did.
you subconsciously move right to his side, tucking yourself against him easily, right in between him and the machine.
eddie tenses slightly when you slide into the space beside him, close, too close, but he doesn't move away. instead, he adjusts his arm almost instinctively, letting it drape loosely over your shoulders in a familiar, possessive gesture.
“got your tokens," he murmurs, shaking the paper cup of arcade coins in front of your face before pressing it into your hands. “keith looked devastated, by the way. you monster."
his smirk is playful, but there's something softer in the way his fingers linger against yours as he passes the cup, brief, almost unnoticeable, but robin notices it. of course she does.
“oh yeah? well, if you’re interested, i heard he’s newly single.”
eddie snorts loudly, pulling you closer against his side in a playful half-hug, though his grip lingers just a second too long to be casual.
“hard pass," he drawls, wrinkling his nose. “unless we're talking about stealing his high score on dragon's lair, then maybe i’ll consider it."
he leans down slightly, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper just for you: “besides, i have standards, and they start and end with not smelling like stale nacho cheese."
you hum in response, a smile curling your lips, “hey, look at you with standards. i’m proud of you, never thought i’d see the day.”
eddie lets out another snort, giving you a playful nudge.
"ah, you know me," he says with a shrug.
he stops abruptly, eyes lighting up as he spots the rows of pinball machines a few feet away.
“hey, you think they fixed that one with the busted tilt yet?" he asks, already starting toward the machines. he glances back at you, raising an eyebrow when he sees you and robin already following. “bet i can beat your record on medieval madness."
“oh, please. you wish," you fire back, tossing a token at him, deliberately missing his head by inches. “remember the last time you tried? you literally flipped the machine; the attendant still glares at you."
robin snickers, falling into step beside you. “yeah, munson. maybe stick to games that don’t involve your temper."
“the disrespect in this arcade is unreal, truly,” he responds dramatically, but he’s already slotting the token in, rolling up his sleeves with exaggerated determination. “prepare to bow before the pinball king."
you lean against the pinball machine, watching eddie with an amused smirk as he jabs at the flipper buttons with unnecessary aggression.
“careful, your majesty," you tease, “wouldn't want another royal meltdown."
robin cackles from beside you as eddie's ball immediately drains between the flippers. he slaps the machine dramatically, earning a harsh look from the older woman whose job it was to ‘respect the machines’ or whatever it was that she yelled at him last time.
“rigged! this is bullshit—"
you laugh, shaking your head as you step in to take your turn. you drop in a token with practiced ease, fingers hovering over the buttons. “watch and learn, munson."
the machine lights up as you send the first ball flying, settling into a rhythm, smooth, calculated, effortlessly racking up points. eddie watches, arms crossed, but there's no hiding the proud grin tugging at his lips.
“yeah, yeah...show-off."
robin glances between you two, shaking her head. "hopeless."
eddie leans his elbows on the machine beside you, chin propped in his hands as he watches you effortlessly rack up points. his grin is equal parts exasperated and awed.
“okay, seriously, when did you get so good at this?" he huffs, nudging your shoulder with his own. “are you secretly training at, like, arcade boot camp while i sleep? is there a pinball dojo i don’t know about?"
robin, meanwhile, has already started wandering off to the concessions counter, calling over her shoulder: “give it up, munson! you’re never gonna beat her!"
eddie flips her off half-heartedly, but his attention snaps back to you as you nail a perfect combo, the machine erupting in flashing lights and fanfare, lighting up your features. he whistles low under his breath.
“alright, that’s it. i’m officially demoting myself to cheerleader." he throws an arm around your shoulders, shaking you lightly as he whoops, “go, sweetheart, go! destroy the capitalist machine!"
his laughter rings loud and bright over the arcade chaos, untamed, unguarded, utterly, stupidly happy.
"capitalist machine?" you snort, still focused on the game but leaning slightly into his side, close enough that you can feel the rumble of his laughter. “real revolutionary of you."
the ball finally drains, your score flashing high above the leaderboard. you turn your head just enough to meet his gaze, smirk sharp. “and now you wanna cheer for me? where was this energy when i was wiping the floor with you?"
eddie opens his mouth to retort, but robin suddenly reappears, tossing a handful of popcorn at them both.
“get a room," she deadpans, jerking a thumb toward the skee-ball lanes. “i’m stealing your tokens for actual competition."
eddie flips her off again, but his arm hasn’t moved from around your shoulders. "jealousy’s ugly, buckley!"
you just laugh, nudging him toward the lanes, “c’mon, cheerleader. let’s go whoop some ass in skee-ball."
you fall into an easy rhythm as you take your places at the skee-ball lanes, your banter flowing as effortlessly as your throws. your focus darts between the targets, your aim steady and precise. eddie’s right behind you, his tongue caught between his lips as he tosses balls into the higher-scoring slots, and somehow, accidentally hitting the ones near yours every single time. why he chose to team up with you instead of choosing his own lane, you’d never know.
you roll your eyes, turning to look at him with a raised eyebrow. “you do know this isn’t team skee-ball, right? you don't have to hog my targets."
“oops," he drawls, the picture of innocence, but his smirk says otherwise. he steps closer, leaning over your shoulder as he lines up his throw. “my fault, guess my aim just tends to...drift sometimes."
his voice is low, tinged with a hint of mischief as he casually rests his chin on your shoulder, close enough that you can feel his breath, hot against your ear. a strange rush of something warm and unexpected flutters in your stomach, but you ignore it, focusing on your throw and purposely hitting the lowest slot.
eddie straightens abruptly, blinking at the measly points you just scored. “the hell was that?" he demands, gesturing at the board like you’ve personally just betrayed him. “you were literally hitting the 50-point slot five seconds ago… did my presence short-circuit your motor skills or something?"
robin, mid-throw from the next lane over, cackles. “oh my god, you two are insufferable."
you just shrug, suddenly very interested in examining your chipping nail polish. “hm? must be losing my touch."
eddie squints at you suspiciously, then, like a switch flipping, grins, slinging an arm around your neck and tugging you into a noogie. “bullshit, you’re tanking to make me look better. admit it."
you yelp, shoving at him, but he doesn’t let go, just laughs, bright and unrestrained, and suddenly the arcade feels ten degrees warmer.
“i am not tanking, you paranoid lunatic—" you’re laughing as you try to push him off, but his grip is too tight, and you both devolve into a brief scuffle right there in the middle of the lanes, your breathless laughter echoing off the cheap plastic surrounding you.
you finally manage to break free, backing away before he can grab you again. “stop it, you weirdo! i’m winning this game!"
“like hell you are,” he smirks, already loading up another throw. “i see right through your tactics, sweetheart."
you roll your eyes, shaking your head as you line up your own shot, but you’re struggling not to smile, the warmth from earlier creeping back up your neck, spreading through your body. “you've seen right through me, genius. i guess it was inevitable."
you throw effortlessly, the ball landing perfectly in the 100-point slot. you turn to him, eyebrow quirked, and can't help a little triumphant grin, “what was that about my motor skills?"
eddie throws his hands up dramatically, the remaining tokens in the cup jingling as he staggers back like he's been shot.
“betrayal! sabotage! you were playing mind games this whole time!"
robin watches the show, too distracted by eddie’s dramatized loss to notice her own game ending. “you realize normal people just play skee-ball, right? without the dramatic monologues?"
eddie groans at robin’s teasing without looking at her, eyes locked on you, challenging, bright, alight with that competitive spark you know so well. “alright, hotshot. best two out of three. no holding back this time."
he steps up to the lane beside you, shoulder brushing yours deliberately as he drops his token in. the machine lights up, casting his grin in neon.
and for once, you don’t mind losing, not when it means watching him celebrate like an over-caffeinated puppy, not when his laughter drowns out the arcade chaos, not when his hand finds yours after, tugging you toward the next game like he'd forget you if he let go.
soon after, the two of you find yourselves leaning over a brightly colored claw machine, various stuffed animals scattered about inside. you watch as eddie fishes around in his cup for more tokens, you were already running low. “god, you don’t have to keep playing these scams, you know," you protest, “they rig them so you can't win."
he just grins, dropping another token into the machine with a dismissive wave. “oh, ye of little faith. i’m gonna win you something, even if it takes all night."
eddie jams the joystick with excessive force, tongue poking out in concentration as he maneuvers the claw over a particularly goofy-looking stuffed frog, “c'mon, c'mon..."
the claw drops, snags the frog, lifts—
“yes! ha!" eddie smacks the glass triumphantly as the frog tumbles into the chute. "undefeated champion of bullshit arcade games, baby!"
he bends to retrieve his prize, shoving it proudly into your hands. “for you, m'lady. a majestic frog... prince? whatever. it's ugly as hell, just like you." his smirk softens, just for a second, as his fingers brush yours. “…told you i’d get you something."
“thanks, loser,” you turn the stuffed frog over in your hands, grinning down at his silly little face. “i’m naming him ‘splat.’”
eddie raises an eyebrow, feigned outrage flashing across his face. “splat? splat?" he shakes his head vehemently, as if personally offended by the choice. “we can't name our son splat. that's a horrible name, sweetheart. we have to make it cool, something badass."
he ponders for a moment, stroking his chin dramatically, and you can't help but laugh, anticipating the ridiculousness.
“how about...gargantua? that sounds, i dunno, epic, right? and it suits his...uniqueness.”
you hold up the frog to his face, ignoring his idea for a name change, and tilt your head a bit to get a better look at them. “he has your eyes.”
eddie squints at the frog, then down at you with faux-offense. “he does not have my eyes," he insists, but his protests are half-hearted at best. he can’t keep the smile off his face.
he takes the frog from you, inspecting it with exaggerated seriousness, turning it every which way with a thoughtful hum. then, suddenly, “actually, yeah, i see it. he’s totally got my eyes.”
“that roadkill stare.”
he steps back, dramatically cradling splat against his shoulder. “don't worry, kid. i'll protect you from your cruel, vicious mother."
you roll your eyes, but you can't hide the amused smirk tugging at your lips, especially when eddie whispers to the frog, “yeah, she's mean, but we love her anyway."
you laugh, shaking your head, you’re trying to keep her expression neutral, but eddie’s antics make it impossible. you reach out to snatch splat back from him.
“yeah, yeah, keep mocking me. just remember," you wiggle the frog between you two. “he’s your legacy now."
robin, who’s been watching this whole interaction with an exasperated but fond expression, tosses her hands up. “i’m getting a soda. when you two are done with… whatever this is, meet me at dig dug."
eddie salutes her with a grin, then turns back to you, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “so, where does splat sleep? my place or yours?"
you shove him lightly, but you’re still grinning. “oh, he’s definitely your problem."
eddie clutches splat to his chest, gasping in mock horror. “you’d abandon your own child? cold. ice cold."
and as he throws an arm around your shoulders, frog squished between you, laughter bouncing off neon-lit walls—it feels, for once, like something more than just friendship. something neither of you dare to name yet.
after robin gets her soda, you all three meet back up at the dig dug machine. you get there slightly before eddie, sliding in next to robin right as she loses. she groans in annoyance at yet again not being able to beat keith’s high score, backing up to give you a try at it. you jokingly put splat over the controls, grinning over at eddie. “look, eds, baby’s first dig dug.”
eddie’s entire face lights up, his grin splitting ear-to-ear, eyes crinkling at the corners, as he watches you press splat's tiny frog hands against the dig dug joystick. his heart does something dangerously close to a backflip.
“oh my god," he breathes, voice thick with fake awe, “he's a natural. look at him go!"
he crouches down next to the machine, pointing at the screen like an overenthusiastic parent at a little league game. “see that, robin? that’s my boy! he’s got the vision!”
robin, mid-sip of her soda, nearly chokes. “you two are disgusting,” she wheezes, but she's grinning too.
you’re still laughing, fingers curled around splat's little arms as you ‘help’ him play, and eddie can't tear his eyes away. the arcade lights catch in your hair, your smile bright enough to outshine every pixel on the screen. his chest starts to feel weirdly tight, almost painful.
eddie leans against the dig dug machine, trying to hide his smile in his sleeve, but he can't help his shoulders shaking with the force of his suppressed laughter as the game flashes ‘game over’ on the screen.
“oh man, too bad," he drawls, a mock-sympathetic tut to his tone as he ruffles splat's froggy head. “better luck next time, kid."
you glance at him, the ghost of a grin still on your lips. “he's got potential, though, he was really feeling the rhythm for a second there."
he nods solemnly, pressing a dramatic hand to his chest. “the raw talent is undeniable. maybe he takes after his old man."
robin groans, tossing her now empty soda cup at them. “i’m gonna lose my mind if i have to witness this frog parenting arc any longer."
eddie catches the cup mid-air, grinning. “sorry, buckley. you’re stuck with us and our emotionally complex amphibian son."
you nudge him with your elbow, but you don’t argue, just begin adjusting splat’s lopsided limbs with exaggerated care, as if he’s a prized heirloom. eddie watches, chest warm, and thinks that this might be the best night he’s ever had.
the arcade lights flicker as the three of them fall into an easy rhythm. robin groaning at eddie’s terrible dig dug skills, you loudly coaching splat through another doomed game, eddie stealing sips of your soda when you’re not looking. the tokens dwindle, the scores climb (or don’t), and somewhere between the neon glow and the sound of quarters rattling in the change machine, eddie realizes—
“shit," he mutters, glancing at his watch. “wayne’s gonna kill me. i was supposed to help him fix the damn water heater like two hours ago."
you laugh, adjusting splat’s floppy arm around your shoulder like a proud parent. “tell him it was an emergency. parent-teacher conference for splat.”
eddie snorts, but he’s already reaching for his jacket, fishing his keys from the pocket. he hesitates, glancing at you and robin. “you guys good to get home? i can drop you—"
robin waves him off. “please, go. before your uncle grounds you or whatever."
you shift the frog toy to one arm, nudging eddie toward the door. “yeah, yeah, get out of here. splat and i will be fine."
eddie lingers for a second, just long enough to flick the frog’s ear and grin at you, something soft and unreadable in his expression. “take care of our kid," he teases, backing toward the exit. “i’ll see you tomorrow."
and then he’s gone, ducking out into the cool hawkins night, but the arcade feels warmer, somehow, even after he leaves. you look down at splat’s lopsided face and roll your eyes affectionately.
robin sighs, leaning against the machine. “you’re welcome, by the way."
you blink, “for what?"
robin just smirks, popping another token into dig dug. “for not mentioning how obvious you two are—"
“don’t.”
robin’s smirk sharpens, she knows she touched a nerve. “what? in denial?" she asks casually, focused on the game, but you know there’s nothing casual about it.
you roll your eyes, fidgeting with splat’s ears. “we’re just…friends. always have been. that’s it." but your words sound weak, even to your own ears, and robin shoots you a knowing look, one eyebrow raised, “you trying to convince me or yourself?”
you exhale sharply through your nose, refusing to dignify that with an answer. instead, you turn the frog’s dopey face toward robin like a tiny, fabric jury.
“splat agrees with me," you declare, petulant, stubborn, entirely unconvincing. “right, buddy?"
robin doesn’t even glance at the frog, just keeps playing the game, her smirk audible in her voice: “mmhmm, real convincing when you’re using a stuffed animal as your wingman."
you chuck a stray token at her, which robin easily dodges, cackling, and splat, ever the silent observer, says nothing. though, if he could talk, you doubt he’d back you up anyway, there was no denying the presence of something between you and eddie tonight, whenever it may mean. “i’m going home. come on, son, let’s get outta here.”
robin watches as you hurry past her, splat clutched to your chest. she shakes her head, exasperated by her friend’s stubbornness. “run away, just don’t expect to outrun the truth forever!”
“i’m not running!” you call back as you push your way out the glass door of the arcade. the irony in your actions isn’t lost on you, but you’d be damned if you gave robin the satisfaction.
the cool night air hits your face as you step outside, the glow of the arcade fading behind you. splat dangles limply from your grip, his stupid little frog face judging you silently.
“don’t you start," you mutter, readjusting him under your arm.
but the truth lingers in the air, heavy, undeniable, as you quickly walk home under the hawkins streetlights, heart racing faster than your footsteps.
as you near your place in forest hills, you spot the old trailer in the distance, the familiar beat-up van parked in the driveway. you stop by the curb, staring at the faint light spilling from the window.
a part of you wants to turn around, a part of you wants to keep walking, keep running, never face the truth, but a bigger part of you—the stubborn, hopeful part you thought you’d lost, somewhere along the way, stops you.
“screw it," you whisper. “let’s get this over with."
you take a deep breath and march up to eddie's trailer, splat clutched tight under your arm like a tiny, ridiculous security blanket. before you can second-guess yourself, you knock, harder than necessary, the sound sharp against the quiet night.
the door swings open almost immediately, like he was waiting. eddie leans against the frame, grease-streaked shirt and slightly mussed hair, eyes widening a bit at the sight of you showing up so late. “sweetheart? you good?"
you shove splat against his chest before he can finish. “here. you forgot your kid."
eddie blinks down at the frog, then back up at you; confusion, amusement, or something else entirely flickering in his gaze. “uh. thanks?"
you cross your arms, chin jutting stubbornly. “and robin’s being annoying."
his lips twitch, “so, a tuesday."
you glare at him, but there’s no heat in it, just exhaustion, frustration, the weight of everything unspoken between you. eddie sobers abruptly, studying your face. then, gently, knowing something was bothering you, “wanna come in?"
you hesitate. splat’s beady eyes seem to bore into your soul. finally, you exhale sharply. “yeah. yeah, i do."
eddie grins, bright, real, and steps aside. “cool. munson family reunion." and just like that, the running stops.
the trailer smells like oil and burnt popcorn, but it’s warm, warmer than the empty street outside. eddie kicks a pile of laundry off the couch with one foot, gesturing for you to sit. you collapse onto the worn cushions, splat tumbling from eddie’s grip onto the coffee table. he lands with a soft plop, staring blankly at the ceiling like a tiny, tragic martyr.
eddie snorts, flopping down beside you. “damn. kid’s seen some shit tonight."
you bite your lip. the silence stretches, not uncomfortable, but charged, like the air before a storm. eddie picks at a loose thread on his jeans, then clears his throat.
“so, robin?”
you groan, tipping your head back against the couch. “ugh. don’t—"
“what?" he grins, nudging your knee with his. “she say something weird? shock me."
you peek at him sideways. his smile’s easy, but his fingers are drumming restless against his thigh. you recognize the tell—eddie munson is nervous. it was rare for him to show it.
you swallow, “just… typical robin stuff. you know how she is."
eddie hums, studying splat like the frog holds the answers to the universe. “yeah. yeah, i do."
another pause; the clock on the wall ticks on, filling the silence.
“sweetheart,” his voice is quieter now, serious. “we’re… good, right?"
your chest tightens. you glance at him, really look at him; the way his brows pinch, the way he’s waiting for your answer like it matters, like you matter. something in you cracks.
“eds." you reach over, flicking splat’s dumb frog foot. “we have a child together. of course we’re good."
eddie’s laugh bursts out of him, sudden and bright, tension shattering like glass. he slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side, the press of him against you warm and familiar.
"damn straight," he murmurs, squeezing you tight. “munson family values."
you roll your eyes, but you don't pull away, just lean into him, letting him ground you to the beat-up couch, the worn carpet, the familiar clutter of the munson trailer.
as you settle against his side, you can feel the steady thump of his heartbeat. familiar, something you didn't realize you'd missed until it was there again. something warm and terrifying blooms in your chest.
for a minute, you don't talk. you just exist in the space between the clock-ticking, eddie's arm around you, splat staring at the ceiling.
"hey, sweetheart?"
you blink, “yeah?”
eddie's fingers are tracing circles on your shoulder, absently, like he doesn't even know he's doing it. “promise me something."
you lift your head to look at him, eyes searching his face. it's serious, but a tiny, teasing grin still tugs at the corners of his mouth.
“depends," you counter, trying to match his light tone, trying not to let your heart jump at how close you are, how easy it would be to lean in. “what kind of promise?"
his hand still moves gently against your shoulder, tracing a lazy path up to your collarbone. “no matter what… we stay friends, right? no matter what anyone says or what happens, you and me, we’re good."
his eyes are locked onto yours, something almost frantic in them, like you're a line he can't afford to lose.
it’s an easy answer, “of course," you whisper. “always, you and me, munson." you hold out your pinky finger like a little kid, waiting for him to hook his around it.
he stares down at your outstretched pinky for a moment, something flickering in his eyes. then, a slow smile spreads across his face, and he hooks his pinky around yours, squeezing hard.
“always," he promises, his voice quiet. “me and you."
you let the moment stretch, the room warm and soft around you, then, slowly, reluctantly, you pull away. you lean back into the couch, putting some space between you.
the distance feels too wide suddenly, the couch too big. eddie exhales, sharp, unsteady, and scrubs a hand through his hair.
“okay, cool. cool. just—" he gestures vaguely at splat, abandoned on the table. “so, uh. joint custody, then? or—“
you snort, kicking his shin lightly. “shut up." he grins, but it doesn't reach his eyes.
he drops his hands like he doesn’t know what to do with them now, looking away, at anything but you. it's suddenly too hot in his vicinity, like all the oxygen's been sucked from the room.
you clear your throat, fingers curling against the worn cushion. “you… ever think about the future, eds?"
his head jerks up like you've hit him, wide-eyed, almost startled. he stares at you for a second, then laughs, but it sounds forced.
“what, like, college and shit?"
you shrug, picking at a loose thread on the couch, anything to avoid his gaze. “yeah, or i dunno just… what comes next?”
eddie’s quiet for a beat, when he finally speaks again, his voice has a softness he rarely used, “i think about it," he admits. “mostly when wayne starts asking if i wanna take over the garage someday." he rubs the back of his neck. “but… i dunno. feels like the future’s this big, weird thing that’s just gonna happen to me, y’know?"
you glance up, his expression is unreadable, half-shadowed by the dim trailer light, half-open in a way that makes your stomach twist. “what about you?" he asks. “got any grand plans?"
you hesitate, the truth sits heavy on your tongue. “i think… i just wanna be happy. whatever that means.”
eddie’s eyes flicker, something raw flashing through them, before he grins, nudging your knee with his. “yeah. yeah, that’s a good plan."
eventually, you push yourself off the couch, stretching. eddie watches you, eyes tracing the line of your back, the slope of your shoulders, the way your shirt pulls tight against your skin.
his fingers twitch, as if he wants to reach out. then he clears his throat, shoving them into his pockets. “you, uh, leaving?”
you hesitate at the door, splat dangling from your fingers. the quiet between you is thick with everything unsaid, the ghost of eddie's pinky curled around yours.
“yeah," you say finally, forcing a smirk. “someone’s gotta tuck splat in."
eddie leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, but his grin doesn’t reach his eyes this time. “right. parental duties."
you take a step back, the night air cool against your skin as he pushes the door open for you. “see you tomorrow?"
he nods, thumb hooking into his belt loop like he’s anchoring himself. “tomorrow."
and as you walk away, splat swinging at your side, you pretend not to hear the way eddie’s voice cracks when he calls after you,
“hey, wait—“
you turn, he’s silhouetted in the trailer light, all wild hair and restless hands. “we’re gonna be happy."
it’s not a question. it’s a vow. you smile, small, real. “yeah, eds. we are."
the walk home is quiet, just the hum of distant streetlights and the occasional rustle of leaves underfoot. splat swings gently from your hand, his button eyes catching the glow of the moon. the night feels endless, like you're suspended between moments, between past and future, between friendship and whatever this other thing is, pulsing under your ribs.
