hot for teacher (eddie munson x reader) pt. 3: more than this
part one | part two |
SUMMARY: Feelings start to grow as the weeks go by, but for some reason Eddie won't stop avoiding you at school. As it turns out, there's nothing a little public humiliation can't fix.
word count: 7k (someone sedate me)
[content warnings: swearing, smoking, drug use, name calling, slight angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, mutual pining, idiots to lovers, eddie kind of being an asshole, confrontation, KISSING!!]
NOTE: I know it's a long one, but it's gotta be one of my favorites. Thanks for reading!
tag list: @captinkirc, @eddiestyles-harrymunson, @itswormtrain, @yoojinkang, @untilwearestarsinthesky, @youareadistraction, @totallynotkaibiased, @preciousbabypeter, @feminist-mina-harker, @ajeff855, @projectcampbell, @the-better-harrington
It wasn’t long before tutoring Eddie became a seamless part of your weekly routine. Eyes sprung open eagerly every Saturday morning as slippered feet propelled you to the bathroom on their own accord. As the days went by, you found yourself fussing over each lipstick color and out of place hair more and more, pretending to be blissfully unaware of where your uncaring attitude had run off to. Dustin would pound incessantly on the bathroom door, asking when you decided to become such a girl.
“What are you looking at, creep?”
You had been reading Eddie a passage from his history book about the Louisiana Purchase after he had all but insisted the words would stick better if you did. At the time you didn’t buy it, taking note of the worn through J. R. R. Tolkien and Anne Rice paperbacks tucked away in his unkempt room. Yet you indulged his request anyway, finding it harder and harder to resist Eddie’s wry smile and sable eyes.
Halfway down the page, you realized the familiar scratching of Eddie’s pencil had ceased. Instead, his gaze was transfixed on your lips. The few times you’d caught him staring, he would retreat, pretending to look past you or be intently focused on something right in front of him.
This time was different.
“Red looks good on you,” he smirks.
You've worn that lipstick every day since.
Each weekend was filled with more of Eddie’s erratic outbursts, followed closely by horror movie marathons and music-based rewards for his constant effort. In fact, you were so close to running the Family Video dry of its slashers that Robin started getting more concerned for your health than usual.
“Friday The 13th V!?” she’d shouted incredulously, causing a group of middle school aged kids to scurry hurriedly out the door, bell chiming cheerfully in their wake. “I thought we agreed; no sequels! Everyone knows sequels are the death of originality.”
Another Saturday afternoon had rolled around, and you decided to stop by the video store on the way to Forest Hills to see if there was something, anything in their limited stock you may have missed. As usual, Robin was annoyingly perceptive, a quality you typically found endearing when she wasn’t blurting out your every noteworthy action to the general public.
You roll your eyes. “Well, that was before I ran out of stuff to watch.”
Steve waggles his eyebrows, taking a slow, deliberate sip from his Quik-E-Mart slurpee. “You mean before you and Munson ran out of stuff to watch. That is if you even watch them at all.”
Heat floods the apples of your cheeks, wondering when Steve Harrington of all people decided to get so invested in your personal life. Robin you could understand, she had a heart of gold and a brain that ran a mile a minute, interested in anything and everything that fell outside of the norm. Steve, on the other hand, was chronically preoccupied. He was a bad listener, with a penchant for hitting on girls that had no interest in anything but the newest Tom Cruise flick. Perhaps Steve didn’t understand subtleties, but from where you were standing it seemed more than likely he was just a glutton for punishment.
“Eddie and Y/N kissing in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N–ow!” Robin yelped as a copy of The Breakfast Club collided with her temple.
“Would the both of you grow up, already?” You scold as Robin clutches the back of her head protectively. “I’m helping Eddie, not screwing him.”
“Not yet anyway…” Steve mumbles, straw between his teeth. Irritation stings in your chest as Robin not-so-secretly slides a crisp high-five being Steve’s back, their giggles taunting you.
That afternoon Steve Harrington, too, learned just how much it hurt to get a Molly Ringwald tape to the back of the head.
____________________________________________________________
It wasn’t until you were fully enveloped in school’s mundane cycle that something about spending so much time with Eddie Munson started eating away at you. It seemed that, no matter how many history chapters you conquered or cassette tapes you burned a hole in, Eddie refused to spare you even a passing glance in halls of Hawkins High.
At first it was no big deal–Eddie had his Hellfire Club, and you had a GPA to keep up. It made perfectly logical sense that the two of you wouldn’t magically be fused at the hip after just a few study sessions. Regardless, there were only so many hand brushes and stolen glances you could share under the cover of his trailer before avoiding you seemed deliberate. Any time you were in front of more than one other person, Eddie's demeanor would shift, his usual doe eyes glazing over as if nothing were there at all.
The thought alone of Hawkins’ own outcast turned unlikely confidant not wanting to be associated with someone like you was enough to turn your stomach into angry knots. Anxiety radiated off of you, repeating over and over again that Eddie was just using you to get what he wanted.
It was impossible to believe that he could be so deceptive, especially not after the way he kept after you at the first session when you fell asleep curled at his side. Most boys his age would have jumped at the opportunity to try something unsavory, yet he’d done everything in his power to keep you comfortable. He’d held you there, long after the credits rolled, the film inside nearly curling in on itself as the hours passed.
You weren’t even fully aware of how bothered you were until Friday’s lunch period rolled around. Sitting with the band kids, close at Robin’s flank, you watched sullenly as Eddie laughed along with your brother and his friends, the grinning demon on their matching shirts mocking you from afar. For the first time, you wished so badly to trade places with Dustin at Eddie’s side, ridiculous uniform be damned.
“Why don’t you ever sit with Eddie?” Robin ponders, watching your face evolve into various stages of disappointment. “I thought the two of you were getting pretty close. He’s a freak, you’re a closet freak; you like horror movies and metal; he likes horror movies and metal. It’s like a match made in some kinda weird Lovecraftian heaven, don’t you think?”
Picking at the frayed denim of your jacket, you find yourself unable to even look in his direction any longer, afraid the familiar sting of loneliness would well in your eyes once more. “I guess even the freaks are too good for me after all. You gotta give it to him, though, he plays a damn good game–even I nearly fell for it.”
Robin guffaws suddenly, a snort erupting from her nose. “Care to share with the rest of the class, Buckley?”
She curls inwards, muscles constricting her ribs in pure amusement. “Is that what you think is going on? God, Y/N, you may be the smartest in our grade but you sure are blind. It’s like you’re, uh-uh, a mole person or something–surviving beyond us mortals without a clue of what life above ground is really like. Wait until Steve hears that you think Munson is secretly some evil genius, he’s gonna–”
“What the fuck are you even talking about? Clearly he won’t even speak to me unless we’re reciting the Bill of Rights. Trust me, I know when I’m not wanted.”
Robin coughs awkwardly, giggles fading as your bitterness turns her watery blue eyes into wells of sympathy. She leans in close, her usually loud voice barely hissing above a whisper. “You’re really telling me you don’t see the way he looks at you, Henderson? It’s like you’re the last person on earth.”
A slender hand wraps protectively around your own as the rasp of her words fizzle with comfort. Robin knew better than anyone else what it was like to be rejected, even if the shouts and screams would always fall on deaf ears and behind closed doors.
“The last person on earth he’d want to be seen with…” You mutter, but Robin isn’t letting up. Before she was able to list off the dozens of reasons why she believes you and Eddie are made for each other, Robin could feel a pair of eyes following along as the two of you bickered.
“Psst,” she hisses, “He’s looking at you now, dingus.”
Eyes darting across the cafeteria you find that, sure enough, Robin was right after all. Eddie’s dusky gaze met yours, a glimpse of the sweet boy you’d come to know piercing straight through to your fluttering heart. Face flushed, he turns away, defensively leaning in towards Mike Wheeler and your baby brother, hands folding in as if he’d been concentrating on their conversation all along.
Something inside of you snaps, fraying and severing the glue binding your level headed demeanor together. Who did Eddie think he was ignoring you for weeks and then having the audacity to look at you like nothing was wrong?
“Hold this,” you grunt, shoving your bag into Robin's open arms. Her grip isn’t fast enough, and she’s left scrambling to pick up the mess of notes that tumbled free from your chemistry book as it fell from the loose fabric.
“Y/N, wait–” She tries, but it’s too late, you’re already exiting the bench and striding over to Eddie, hell bent for an explanation.
Watchful eyes follow you in horror, mouths gaping as the quiet, soon-to-be-valedictorian storms Eddie “the freak” Munson’s table of cult followers.
“Eddie Munson,” you bark. He looks up at you bewildered, the rest of his nerdy entourage following in suit–your kid brother included.
“Y/N, are you okay–” Dustin flounders, but you’re quick to cut him off.
“Shut up,” you scowl, voice firm. “This is between me and Munson, isn’t that right, freak?”
Eddie just looks up at you helplessly, all too aware of the audience that was beginning to accumulate. “Y/N, what are you doing?” He’s desperate, slowly coming to the realization that this whole spectacle could be your undoing.
“We have spent every Saturday together for weeks yet you don’t even have the decency to say so much as one word to me at school? I want to know why, now.”
The silence in the cafeteria is deafening as each member of the Hawkins student body absorbs your words. Y/N Henderson the quiet and lonesome honors student, had been hanging out with Eddie Munson? Shock didn’t even begin to encompass the palpable energy that hung dangerously in the air.
Whispers tentatively erupt from all sides, their increasingly eager chitters crawling beneath your skin and raising the hairs on your arms.
I thought she was smart?
They always say drugs fry your brain like an egg.
Do you think they’re banging?
Probably made a pact with the devil.
Oh, he has her under some kinda spell.
Eddie didn’t concern himself with the words of others anymore; in fact, he was more than accustomed to the sideways glances and bouts of wicked laughter following him like a disease. But this time it wasn’t about him, it was about you. His beautiful, perfect, history tutor that all but hung the sun in his midnight sky, illuminating a world he didn’t believe he was meant for. You took the time to understand him, to learn his language and exist in his world, even if it were for a few hours at a time. In his eyes, he assumed it was just a job to you–no more, no less. But to Eddie, it meant the world.
Avoiding you had been his way of protecting you, and he would save all of his wildest stories and funniest jokes for every passing Saturday in the hopes they would eventually make up for it. But now, with the whole of Hawkins High in attendance, he realized the silent treatment wouldn’t be enough. More than anything he wanted to take the hurt and frustration off of your face, even if that meant going back in time and returning every wave and smile you’d so graciously gifted him. After this, that wasn’t going to be a viable option.
He wouldn’t let you become a leper like him, he couldn’t.
Eddie’s face hardens, a ringed fist coiling tightly together under his chin. The grip is so unyielding you’re worried his fingers may snap in two. He didn’t want to do it, but he had to make this hurt.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He says flatly, just loud enough for the surrounding tables to hear and relay back to the others, dark eyes boring into yours. “Dustin, why don’t you tell your sister to get back to the books and stop being such a fangirl?”
Your heart shatters, each broken piece slicing your insides on the way down. The faint sound of gasps and giggles grate against your ears as white hot fury pricks tears in your eyes. Just as the nagging voices in your head had predicted, you had been played. Thoroughly and unabashedly made a fool of after years of ensuring it would never happen again.
With a trembling hand, you snatch an open carton of milk off of Dustin’s plastic lunch tray. In that moment it was as if you were outside of your body, watching helplessly as some otherworldly force guided you.
“Fuck you, Eddie Munson.”
In one swift motion, you dump the carton on Eddie’s head, the steady flow of watery cafeteria milk soaking his curls and cascading down his face. His mouth falls open in astonishment, air sputtering from his lips. The cold is shocking against his skin, seeping through the collar of his vest and trickling its way down his back. Eddie doesn’t dare move, knowing full well he deserves whatever punishment you were willing to dish out.
Before you could let the inevitable clutches of humiliation take hold, the urge to flee overcomes you. Turning on your heel, you rush through the cafeteria, shoving past the onslaught of students crowding around the scene. Sneakers pound against the linoleum, the echoes of your frantic steps and pained gasps chasing you through the halls.
Robin is the first to react, clumsily scrambling to her feet with both of your bags in tow. “Y/N, wait up!”
She hesitates only to shoot Eddie a venomous glance, eyes cutting into him like shards of glass. “When Steve Harrington finds out about this, you’re dead, buster.”
The rest of Hellfire lets out a chorus of oooh’s at Robin’s threat, with the exception of Dustin and Mike sharing bewildered glances. Surrounding laughter continues to dominate the room, drowning out the sound of milk dripping off of Eddie’s trembling shoulders.
“What the shit did you do that for, asshole?” Your little brother slams an opened palm on the table, fed up with Eddie’s silence and the face of his heartbroken sister playing on repeat. “You can’t just talk to my sister like that! All she ever wanted to do was help you.”
As furious as Dustin was for the pain Eddie caused you, he was hurt, too. His hero was tumbling from grace right before his very eyes, the revelation of the crash and burn all too difficult to fully comprehend. When Dustin yelled at Eddie, part of him was seeing someone else.
“I know,” Eddie’s voice is hoarse, cracking under the weight of the pain and humiliation he inflicted. “I returned the favor.”
____________________________________________________________
As the bathroom door slams behind you, the well of tears that had been brimming behind your eyes finally spilled over. Back against the wall, you sink to the floor, legs collapsing beneath you on the dirty concrete. Shallow gasps turn into wet sobs, sucking the air out of your lungs and singeing a hole through your chest.
…Why don’t you tell your sister to get back to the books and stop being such a fangirl?
Eddie’s words are scorched on your memory, the vision of his deep brown eyes turning black with contempt burning in your mind. That wasn’t a face you recognized, and yet the cruelty punched through his voice clear as day. He used you, just like Robin and Steve worried he would, and just as your bruised self esteem had frantically tried to caution you.
Still, memories of Eddie’s laughter came flooding back. You couldn’t ignore the way his eyes crinkled as you flinched away from sprays of fake blood on the television screen, or how he would fall in a heap on the carpet during an air guitar solo, fluffy curls thrashing wildly. Each afternoon spent rifling through history books, you had unlocked a new secret about Eddie that made you grow fonder. Like the way he would leave out food for the stray cats each night, or how he refused to even smell a cup of coffee without heaps of cream and sugar mixed in. He had names and voices associated with each of his guitars, and sometimes they would even “talk” to you when Eddie would take a break to restring them on his lap.
Eddie wasn’t the occultist the Hawkins rumor mill painted him out to be. No, that much was obvious. The Eddie you saw was unbelievably kind and gentle, taking any broken outcast under his wing and taping the pieces back together. In fact, you’d started to think that maybe he could put you back together, too. Instead, he had ripped you apart.
Even as he broke your heart, he still looked so beautiful. You cursed yourself for being so foolish.
A harsh pounding on the door shook you from your grief-stricken trance, the reality of all the anger and humiliation being witnessed by the entire school racing back into view.
“Henderson, open up!”
Relief hits you like a tidal wave when you realize it was just Robin chasing after you and not a mob of Hawkins students coming to claim their new Jezebel. You rise to your feet slowly, knees trembling.
The frantic knocking continues, Robin’s voice increasing in pitch as the seconds ticked by. “Y/N I swear to god if you don’t open the door I’m coming in th–”
Robin’s fist nearly socks you in the face as you open the door, causing you to stagger backwards as she comes stumbling in. Dropping both yours and her books to the floor, her slender frame slams into you suddenly, enveloping you in a tight embrace.
“Jesus Christ, Henderson. Are-are you okay? God, why did I even say anything–of course you’re not okay. No one would be okay after, uh, after…whatever the fuck that was back there. This is totally my fault, okay? I shouldn’t have said anything, and this never would have happened. I’ll fix it! I promise, Steve and I–we’ll figure this out. Trust me, we’ve been through way worse.”
Robin’s babbling rattles through your mind as she holds you close, hands clutching the back of your jacket as if you’d fall apart without them.
“Hey, hey,” you sniffle, “I appreciate it, but you and Steve have already done enough tolerating me, alright? I’m on my own on this one.”
Suddenly, Robin pulls away, still firmly gripping your shoulders. Her eyebrows furrowed together in confusion, making you wonder if you’d managed to grow a second head on top of today’s already emotionally devastating events.
“Done enough? What the hell does that even mean done enough?!”
You pull away, wanting so badly to sink into the floor with nothing but the worms to eat your sorrow and keep you company. “I just mean that you and Steve–you’re not obligated to help just because you feel bad, alright? It’s my mess, and if I’d listened I wouldn’t even be here in the first place.”
Robin snaps two fingers in front of your face, still peering at you like some kind of escaped zoo animal. “Umm, hello, dingus? Earth to dingus?”
“Cut it out, Robin–!”
She lets out an exasperated sigh. “We’re your friends, you moron. I know you’ve been through some serious mental trauma today, but your big ‘ol brain still knows what those are, right?”
Friends. The word hung in the air sweetly, like a grape dangling from the vine in a garden of poisoned fruit. You had cultivated your loneliness out of desperation, out of survival after years of middle school torment at the hands of your peers. What people didn’t know couldn’t hurt them, and in turn they cannot hurt what they don’t know. You had your kind brother, your somber but sweet mom, and school to keep you company–it wasn’t much, but it was safe.
And yet, there was Robin. Robin who rang your landline one night desperate to raise her grade to stay in band, not because she enjoyed playing the trumpet per se, but because of a boy she had a crush on who played alongside her. It wasn’t until she finally got her grade up to a B- that you pointed out her section was made up of only girls.
“And you still wanted to tutor me? Even after knowing…that?”
“What difference would it make? You still suck at AP European history.”
You would never fully understand just how much that meant to her.
“I–uh…” You start, but words fail you. How could you possibly be so wrong about so many things in a short amount of time?
Robin shoots you a sympathetic smile and bends down to pick your stuff up off the bathroom’s filthy concrete floor. She extends your books out to you as a peace offering, gazing up at you from behind her dirty blond fringe knowingly.
“Let’s just get you home, okay?”
You can only nod, a stray tear leaking out as you let Robin wrap a long arm around you. Something warm swells within you, blossoming in your stomach with the knowledge that she wasn’t going to let you face the hall’s predatory gaze alone.
For just a moment, it feels like everything might be okay.
____________________________________________________________
Steve and Robin stayed with you all weekend, only leaving your side when Dustin insisted that he could handle entertaining you all by himself. Robin in particular was pulling double duty, a new arsenal of cheesy horror movies and boxes of board games occupying her arms each time she rang the doorbell. Monopoly and the Evil Dead; Ghoulies and Scotland Yard; Chopping Mall and Go Fish…the options were seemingly endless, and yet all the same.
To your surprise, your mother didn’t seem to mind the intrusion. If you didn’t know any better, you could have sworn she looked pleased to see you spending time with people your own age rather than holed up in your room. While she didn’t pry too much into the matter, each lingering glance at your red-rimmed eyes and every smile directed at your doting friends told you everything you needed to know. A mother’s intuition was rarely fallible, and the woman who raised you and your sweet brother was one who recognized rejection all too well. Perhaps she could see its reflection in your face.
For the most part, everyone had been great at keeping up the act that everything was going to be fine.
“It’s just a sleepover! An extended, mentally and emotionally necessary sleepover!” Robin encouraged, her face filled with unbridled enthusiasm as Steve’s jaw flexed each time he was reminded of what Eddie did to you.
By Sunday night, you had fallen into a safe lull. School was supposed to arrive bright and early the next morning, but everyone unanimously agreed that it would be best for you to remain under the protection of your home until Robin could effectively survey the damage. Occasionally the phone would ring and Dustin would rush to the kitchen, insisting it was just Mike checking in on the situation. You gulped, reminded that your heartache wasn’t an isolated incident.
As the afternoon wasted away, you found yourself in yet another Boggle match with Robin, insisting that no, foreign languages did not count if your opponent didn’t have the means to investigate their legitimacy. Especially if they were written in the Cyrillic alphabet. While Robin pouted in the foyer, you excused yourself to grab a soda from the kitchen. Passing through the hall, the sound of faint voices stopped you in your tracks, your casual stride reduced to tip toes as you tried to make out what they were saying.
“Listen, Henderson, I don’t give a shit if his little club disappears from the face of the earth. There is absolutely no way he’s coming near her. Not unless he wants to eat through a straw for the rest of his life.”
“But Steve, he’s miserable without her. I can only take so many phone calls before she starts to notice. You remember she’s not a moron, right? All he wants to do is talk.” The sound of your brother’s exasperated voice is unmistakable, invoking the same whine you’d heard thousands of times when Dustin wasn’t getting his way.
“Well he should have thought about that before humiliating her in front of the entire school. Hmm?” Steve seethes, an anger you didn’t recognize infecting his voice.
As you try to creep away, your shoulder bumps a picture frame on the wall, the metal jostling noisily against the drywall. You cough awkwardly to muffle the sound, playing it off as if you hadn’t been eavesdropping all along.
“Y/N?” Dustin calls, muffling the sound of Steve swearing under his breath.
You emerge out of the dim hallway and into the fluorescent kitchen light apprehensively. “Hello boys,” you mumble, giving the two of them your best half-hearted smile. “What’re you up to?”
Steve leans against the counter, doing his best to look casual as you saunter forward and make a beeline for the fridge. “We were just, uh–”
The phone rings again and Dustin clambers to pick it up, nearly dropping it as he hisses in the receiver. “Not now!!!” He slams the phone back on the wall, a sharp ding echoing through the kitchen.
“Mike, again?” you venture, cradling an RC Cola nonchalantly. “Maybe you should call him back–that’s what? Four times today?”
Steve shoots Dustin a knowing look. “Yeah, Dustin. Why don’t you call Mike back?”
Dustin grins nervously, “You know what? I think I’m just going to pay him a visit.” Grabbing his book bag and walkie talkie from the kitchen table, he rushes out the door in a flurry, shouting goodbyes over his shoulder.
“Kids, am I right?” Steve snorts as an uneasy feeling settles in your stomach.
The door slams, and suddenly it’s just the two of you. Usually, any interaction with Steve had been buffered by Robin’s endless stream of consciousness that she outwardly expressed to anyone within earshot. Without your security blanket, you found yourself with even less to say than normal.
“So, how are we holding up considering, um, you know…?” Steve searches the floral wallpaper, hand winding in circles as he tries to find the proper words. It’s clear that being naturally protective and being comforting were two totally different things.
You snort, still awestruck by the ridiculousness of it all. Eddie “the freak” had completely broken your heart and here “King Steve” was, standing in your mother’s cheerfully decorated kitchen and checking in on your wellbeing.
“Like shit,” you answer honestly. Robin neverending rotation of distractions had been just that–distractions. There hadn’t been time to think, let alone process the utterly scarring experience that unfolded just two days prior.
Steve lets out a soft laugh, kicking his feet against the linoleum as the back of his arms remain firmly on the counter. “I guess that’s to be expected. Actually, I’ve been in your shoes before–not exactly, but pretty close.”
“You, Steve Harrington, have been in my shoes?” you quirk an eyebrow, struggling to imagine a reality where things didn’t go his way–little did you know, you had a lot to learn.
He shifts awkwardly. “Well yeah, uh, you remember Nancy Wheeler, right? I thought she and I were going to be endgame–the perfect couple for god knows how long. Forever, maybe? I don’t know, it was a stupid thought.”
You want to interrupt him, assure him that no, he wasn’t being stupid, but instead you held your breath. It seemed that Steve didn’t talk about it much, and who knows when he’d have the strength to do it again.
“But, uh, at Tommy H.’s Halloween party everything just fell apart. All I wanted was for her to relax, forget about all the scary shit for just a little while. I guess she thought that meant getting as drunk as everyone else, but that wasn’t–isn’t– Nancy, and I didn’t want her to change, just…have fun.”
“What happened next?” you ask quietly, taking a seat on the countertop.
Steve tugs at his hair. “I tried to help her get cleaned up and all she could do was tell me I was bullshit–that we were bullshit. And right there, in that bathroom at Tommy H.’s house, she said she didn’t love me anymore. That she was just pretending.”
“Jesus, Steve that’s–”
“Humiliating?” Even though he was smiling, you watched as his soft brown eyes traced the moment in his mind, the pain writhing under the surface.
“I was going to say brutal, but yeah, humiliating works, too.”
A moment of silence passes, with only the thrum of the overhead lighting hanging in the air. You think back to all the phone calls Dustin had scrambled to answer, accompanied by his and Steve’s hushed voices.
“Steve?”
His eyes snap up at you suddenly, shaken from whatever trance the memories of Nancy had him under. “Hmmm?”
“Would you forgive, Nancy? I mean, if she wanted to talk–to apologize, would you let her?”
“Of course,” he answers quickly, as if he’d mulled the question over in his head a dozen times before. “She’s–well, she’s not a bad person, you know?”
He’s convincing you, maybe even convincing himself.
“Yeah,” you agree, “I know.”
Steve smiles and moves from his place at the opposite end of the counter to place an encouraging hand on your shoulder. You allow him to usher you out of your mother’s sickly yellow kitchen and into the dim hall.
“We better get you back to that Boggle game, we all know what happens if you keep the beast waiting.”
While Steve had a point–Robin was an absolute monster when it came to word games–the laugh you choke out is hollow, mind drifting elsewhere. Try as you may, you still couldn’t imagine the crisp and put-together Nancy Wheeler slurring venomous words into Steve’s unwary face. Sure, it had been months ago, but Steve had recovered. Forgiven her, even.
If only you could be sure of what kind of person Eddie Munson really was.
____________________________________________________________
Monday goes by in a blur. As soon as the school bell rings, Robin is rushing over to share as many of the grisly details she thinks you can handle. Yes, everyone was still talking about the incident with Eddie–Jason affectionately dubbing you the satanist’s virgin sacrifice. Each confirmation of how much of a loser you now were makes your stomach churn.
“Is that all?” you prod weakly.
“That’s, uh, not everything. Your tutoring fliers, they…well, you’ll have to see for yourself.”
Robin swallows hard, reluctantly unzipping her backpack to unfurl a neatly folded sheet of cardstock. Someone had taken the liberty of scrawling haphazard pentagrams in the empty spaces, each word dripping with red permanent marker. Your phone number had been scratched out, replaced with only sixes arranged in the same pattern. That much you could have excused, childish doodles and poor invocations of the devil were one thing, but it was the place where your name should be that had your nails digging into your palms.
Please call Y/N Henderson – FREAK FUCKER
Yanking the flier out of Robin’s grasp, you crumple it between your hands, hoping mashing it between your palms would emulsify it out of existence. She stares at your pale face wordlessly, each thought in her head only coming up with disappointing silence.
“I think I need to go lie down,” you croak, wishing so badly that the nightmare could be over by the time you awoke.
Robin turns to the door. “Good idea, I’ll tell Steve to come by.”
Her words fell on deaf ears, you were already halfway down the hall.
You awoke with a start, a loud banging on your window ripping you from a fitful sleep. Chest rising and falling with your shallow breath, you frantically search the darkness. Eyes finally adjusting, you’re relieved to find nothing out of place. Only the familiar faces on your posters looked back at you–Kirk Hammett, Poly Styrene, Dave Mustaine, Siouxsie Sioux–each one urging you to go back to sleep.
As your eyes flutter shut once again, another loud bang outside your window sends your heart into overdrive. In the past week you’d muttered a number of pleas that god would just put you out of your misery, but you hadn’t meant it like this.
Tentatively, you lift the safe covering of your duvet and step onto the cold, wooden floor. You shiver, wearing nothing but an oversized Megadeth t-shirt that doubled as a nightgown. The thumping at your window is getting more erratic, branches from the flowerbeds below rustling against the pane. Approaching the window, you cup your trembling hands against the glass, praying it was just a raccoon. It was a misty night, a thick layer of fog distorting the darkness too much for you to make out any figures lurking nearby.
Before you can convince yourself it’s safe to turn around, the window juts open from the sill in a staggering motion. Your lips part in a scream but a clammy hand emerges from the blackness, covering your mouth as a tall figure rises up from under the brush. Instinctively, you bit into the intruder’s palm, teeth clattering dully against the steel rings on their fingers.
“Jesus H. Christ, Y/N!” A familiar voice hisses.
You wriggle free, rushing over to flick on the lamp at your bedside table. A well of orange light floods the corner of the room, illuminating your intruder.
Eddie.
Breath hitching in your throat, you realize that the sweet, puppy-eyed metalhead that sat across from you for so many Saturdays was now standing in your bedroom, holding his wounded palm protectively. It didn’t take long for your sluggish brain to remember he was the reason why your heart ached so heavily.
On the other hand, Eddie’s heart is racing, both from the rush of prying your window open with his pocket knife and the sight of you standing before him, vibrating with pure and beautiful rage.
“Eddie Munson, did you just break into my room?”
He looks at the ground shamefully, milky white skin flushing pink in the dim light. “Listen I–I know what it looks like, but please don't kick me out! Not yet. I’ve been trying to call you all weekend, but Henderson–Dustin, he insisted Steve Harrington would kill me if I tried to see you.”
You take a step towards him, anger flooding through your veins. “Do you really think I’m such a pushover that you can humiliate me in front of our entire school and then climb through my window like some kind of knockoff prince charming?”
“You have to understand I did it to protect you–!”
“Protect me?!” you’re nearly shouting now, uncaring if you wake the whole house. Atop your dresser is the flier Robin brought home earlier, crumpled firmly into a tight ball. With shaking hands you unravel it, thrusting it into Eddie’s chest. “You call this protecting me, Munson?”
Eddie looks down at the vandalized sheet, his eyes wet. His eyes fall on the worst of it, and he tries not to internalize the way his peers clearly thought fornicating with him would be among the worst punishments.
“Are they all like this?” he asks quietly, his voice barely exceeding a whisper.
“What do you think?” you scoff bitterly.
Flopping at the end of your bed, you bury your head in your hands, refusing to face Eddie as the tears begin to leak out. It’s all so surreal, and you find yourself unsure if it's sadness or frustration that has you coming unglued. You try not to flinch as you feel the mattress sink next to you, Eddie’s thigh hovering near yours.
The hesitation in your movements nearly breaks Eddie, knowing in his heart that he was the cause of it. Tentatively, he grabs both of your wrists, his larger hands engulfing yours as you tremble. You don’t resist him, all the sleepless nights and pressure to convince everyone you’re fine crashing down on you all at once.
“Hey, hey,” he shushes, “I’m sorry, you hear me? I’m so fucking sorry.”
You want to pull away, to kick and scream and pound against his chest. Instead you’ve completely resigned, fury fading into a scary numbness that felt too heavy and cold to carry.
“Then…why? You could’ve–I don’t know, talked to me? Told me you didn’t actually want to be seen with me in public. I can handle rejection, I’m not a child.”
Eddie swallows hard, your hands now gripped tightly in his lap as he rubs absentminded circles into your palms. You curse the way your heart stutters and allow the tears to fall.
“I thought that, you know, if people didn’t know we were spending time together you wouldn’t get treated like the rest of us, like me–the freak.” He’s shaking his head, his deep chocolate curls falling in front of his eyes. “And what I did in the cafeteria? I thought if I could at least make you hate me, maybe the vultures would spare you, but I was so fucking wrong.”
Eddie turns to face you, “But then I realized something, and it’s selfish and s-stupid, but I couldn’t–I can’t–let you go. I won’t do it.”
You sniffle, “You’re forgetting one thing, Munson.”
“What’s that?” He’s eager, willing to do anything if that means he got to see your smile beaming for him once again.
“I could never hate you.”
Eddie wasn’t prepared for the way you looked up at him, eyes glittering through tearstained lashes. He hates himself for making you cry, but hates himself even more for the way his eyes wander to your lips, mind racing at the thought of what is or isn’t hiding beneath your pajama shirt. Even with messy hair and leftover mascara running down your cheeks, you still took his breath away. He’d had a whole speech prepared, missing school so that he could rack his brain for the right promises to make that could get you to forgive him. But right now, you were a heartbroken little angel and he was determined to heal you. It was the overwhelming urge to make everything better, make you his.
Oh god, he thinks, I’m gonna regret this.
Without giving it second thought, his lips crash into yours. You melt into the kiss immediately, frustrated by just how quickly your body was willing to betray your brain. Blood buzzes in your veins as Eddie’s arms snake comfortably around your waist pulling you flush against him, his heart thudding in rhythm with your own. It's messy and frantic, like the both of you are drowning and fighting the other for the air from their lungs.
Your hands thread through his curls and they’re softer than you imagine, much like the grip he has around your middle. The kiss softens, foreheads resting together as you try to catch your breath.
Eddie’s the first to break the silence, letting out a laugh of utter disbelief. His head shakes against yours, his hair featherlight and tickling your face.
“You have no idea how long I’ve been thinking about doing that.”
“Since when?” you gasp, pulling away to search his dark eyes.
He bites his lip, knowing he owes you the truth but embarrassed to admit it. “Um, ever since…ever since the video store, actually.”
“Really?” You can’t help that laugh that escapes your lips, remembering the way Eddie jerked out of your grasp after nearly knocking you over.
Eddie tries to hide his face, but you won’t let him. “It’s stupid I know, but–I don’t know there was just something about you. I, uh, haven’t really stopped thinking about it.”
“Been reading any romance novels lately, Romeo?” You can’t help but try to and brush him off, denial seeping in despite how intently Eddie kissed you.
Eddie jumps to his feet, pacing around the room wildly. “Y/N, I’m serious. It’s just like KISS said, it’s like I can’t get enough of you.”
“God you’re so cheesy,” you chide, but he’s already pulling you to your feet with him, left hand at your lower back while the other holds your right hand, swaying the both of you back and forth. He’s humming, the tune of I Was Made for Lovin’ You rumbling softly through his chest. It’s the most peaceful you’d felt in three days, as if the winding world had slowed to a standstill.
“What are we going to do?” you whisper thinly, the weight of reality slipping back in.
Eddie rests his chin on your head. “Well, I guess we’re just gonna have to show the people of Hawkins what a couple of freaks look like, huh?”
“But Jason–”
“Sweetheart, listen. As long as you’re by me, Jason won’t bother you.” His hand brushes the back of your hair. “I may not be tough, but he does think I have the power of the devil on my side…”
You’re about to protest when the bedroom door bursts open, the faded oak nearly flying off the hinges as every piece of furniture rattles with it. Both you and Eddie turn around to find Steve armed with a baseball bat full of bent nails, chest heaving. His usually perfect hair is pressed to one side, a clear consequence from being crumpled up on the couch all night.
“What?” he mumbles, voice still slurry with sleep. “I heard a noise.”
Eddie just chuckles, tapping at your arm and then pointing to the floor. Steve's tired ass was only wearing one sock.
