⛧°。w/c: 3.1k ⛧°。Tags: Stranger Things, Eddie Munson, Fem OC, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Love Triangles, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn (trust me, really), Mutual Pining (a lot), Mature, Swearing, Slice of Life Romance ⛧°。a/n: This is my first time posting on Tumblr ♡ You can find this fanfiction on both Wattpad and AO3 (Broken Chords | Eddie Munson - yoruink) Let me know what you think, English is not my first language so please be gentle ♡
Summary: Moving to Hawkins was never part of the plan. Neither was meeting Eddie Munson on the worst summer of my life.
𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞: 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐞
Friday, August 31st, 1984.
Why in God's name does everything smell like cow-shit?
If anyone told me this is where I was gonna spend my Senior Year, in some backwoods trash heap, I would have laughed in their face.
What a fucking dump.
Dad and I had moved here almost a week ago. There were still a few boxes scattered, half-open and forgotten. And the house? It was small, cramped even, but I guess it didn't seem too bad. I just wished everything wasn't so quiet. Too quiet. It all had been quieter since she left. I'd already had a few fights with Dad. He wanted me to go out, meet people, and start a new life here, all from scratch. I couldn't help but resent him for that. I loved my life back in Chicago. The streets I knew by heart, the apartment I grew up in, the walls… the walls filled with memories of her. And now I was supposed to try and meet new people. People my age. The thought of starting at a new school made my stomach twist. The idea alone of having to make new 'friends' is just— No. I can't. Never.
I woke up early that morning, the rising sun spilling straight through the uncovered window and nearly blinding me. I groaned and turned my face into the pillow. I forgot to hang curtains. Again. The attic had become my bedroom. Since the house only had one proper bedroom, we'd been forced to improvise. Dad took the room downstairs, though most nights he ended up passed out on the couch with the television still on and empty beer bottles scattered on the floor. The attic still smelled like fresh paint, mixed with old dust and something faintly damp. Mold, probably. Gross.
As I finally decided to get out of bed instead of rotting like the carpet was, I realized Dad was already awake. Or maybe he hadn't slept at all. I could hear dishes clattering from the kitchen and the soft sizzle of something frying. The house felt thin, every sound carrying through the walls. I dragged myself downstairs. "Hi, Pop." I mumbled quietly, grabbing some bacon and eggs and dropping them onto my plate. "'Mornin', Becca." He replied without looking at me. His voice was rough, tired. He didn't smile. We'd fought again the night before, and the tension still hung between us like fog. He cleared his throat then, probably about to say something else, but I didn't give him the chance. I quickly ate in silence, staring at the table, then headed back upstairs as soon as I was done.
I spent the whole morning reading a comic, stretched out on my bed, the pages crinkling softly beneath my fingers. It was my fifth time that week rereading The Amazing Spider-Man #255. Since we'd moved, I hadn't bought any new comics. Maybe I could have, but I was passively protesting Dad by refusing to leave the house or acknowledge this shitty little hole called Hawkins. God, this is boring. I sighed again. The mattress was uncomfortable no matter how I shifted, and eventually I tossed poor Spider-Man aside. When I turned to see where it landed, my eyes fell on my bass guitar. My sweet baby. It had been a gift from Dad. He used to play professionally when he was younger and had taught me everything he knew. We used to play together back home. Back when Mom— No.
I shook the thought away and picked up the bass, letting my fingers fall into familiar patterns. The low vibrations hummed through the attic floor. Music helped quiet the noise in my head. This place sucks. This town sucks. Everything had been perfect back home. I had friends. We were happy. Then you got sick and ruined everything and left us. And Dad decided to run away instead of dealing with it, like a coward— A loud bang against my door made me jump.
"W-what?" I called, stopping mid-note. "Lunch!" Dad shouted through the wood, retreating back downstairs. I sat stunned, coming down from the euphoria of my zone, before finally shedding the instrument and laying it on the bed. I need to make a mental note to fish the stand out of whatever box it ended up in. We ate together, exchanging a few stiff words about nothing in particular. Halfway through the meal, he tried again. "You should go out," he said, poking at his food, refusing to make eye contact. "Meet some kids. Have some fun." I rolled my eyes and let out a tired sigh. Here we go again. I didn't feel like arguing, not today. "Dad, I told you a million times already—" "I saw an arcade on my way home from work." He continued, finally looking at me. "Maybe give it a try, it could be fun." My gaze fell, and I was ready to object, but the word 'arcade' stopped me short. An actual arcade. In this town? I glanced back up and noticed the worry etched into his face. He was trying. I knew he was. I couldn't say no. "Yeah," I muttered. "Okay." Honestly, I also agreed because I probably would've lost my mind if I spent yet another day locked in that attic rereading old comics and playing music by myself. I got dressed, pulling on a band T-shirt and shorts since it was already hot outside, then added a bit of makeup. When I went back downstairs, Dad tossed me the keys to his truck. "Be back before dark." He stated, serious but not unkind. "I will." I weakly smiled at him and left.
The drive to the arcade didn't take long. The parking lot was nearly full, cars packed close together. It was the last weekend before school started, and apparently the entire town had decided to spend it here. I hesitated near the entrance. Okay. You can do this. Inside, the place was loud and chaotic, lights flashing in every direction. Kids crowded around machines, teenagers shouted over one another, and a few older guys leaned against cabinets like they owned the place. It smelled like popcorn, grease, and hormones. I slipped through the crowd, replaced my quarters with the arcade tokens and started playing at the first open machine I could find. It was cramped and noisy, but honestly, it wasn't as bad as I'd expected. Not bad for a crappy little town. After a while, I noticed people glancing at me. Some curious, some lingering a bit too long. Because I'm a girl. Of course. I shook my head and continued playing, trying so hard to ignore those stares. Oh god, if this nerd keeps drooling and gaping at me like that, I swear I'm gonna punch him right in the — "Fuckin' fuck! You gotta be shitting me!" The shout cut through the noise of my thoughts. "I've been stuck on this stage all summer! I'm done. This is bullshit!" I turned and spotted the source of the meltdown. A guy stood in front of a machine, hands thrown into the air. The first thing I noticed were the big rings on his fingers, flashing off the arcade lights. He wore a battle vest, adorned with a Dio patch stretched across the back. Well. At least someone here has taste. His black jeans were ripped, coupled with a chain hanging from a wallet in his back pocket. Hmm. I blinked, forcing my eyes to drift up again. No. Naughty Bex. His long, curly dark hair framed his face as he stormed away, already pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket as he kept swearing to himself. I stepped up to the abandoned machine. "Galaga..." I murmured to myself. Luck was on my side. I'd played this game plenty of times back home. It was nothing over complicated: you had to control a ship and shoot at some aliens, dodging their attacks. Pretty straight forward, pretty awesome. The buttons felt slightly sticky under my fingers. Nasty. The guy before me must have been sweating bullets. I feel like I needed a hundred showers after this.
I was so enveloped by the utter punishment I put these aliens through as the screen flashed STAGE 22. Huh. Not bad. I was so focused on the game that I had absolutely no idea I'd gained an audience until—
"Holy shit." I froze for half a second. A voice came from right behind me. "Where the hell did you come from?" They scoffed. "Like, did you crawl outta the machine or something?" I didn't answer. I kept playing, eyes locked on the screen, fingers moving on instinct. "Oh—wait." Their tone shifted, disbelief bleeding into something else. "No way. You're actually good." That's when I recognized the voice. The guy who'd stormed off in a rage earlier. I finally glanced over my shoulder. He was standing close, leaning forward with his hands braced on the cabinet beside mine. His dark eyes were wide, curls falling into his face, frustration completely gone. There was something in his expression now. Amusement. Impressed, even. "Dodge! Dodge—oh my god, shoot back! Shoot that little bastard! Look, look—" "Shut up!" I snapped, not even turning around. "I'm trying to focus!" He laughed, loud and unbothered, like this was the best thing that had happened to him all day. "Wow. Okay. Someone here's a little try-hard, huh?" He teased. I could hear the grin in his voice, the smug curl of his mouth even without looking. I shrugged and ignored him. STAGE 30. He let out an exaggerated sigh. "You know, it's actually super rude to ignore a man while he's witnessing greatness." He leaned in closer. "Oh, dodge that—yeah, like that. Anyway, I've never seen you around here. You're definitely new. Or I'd remember you. I remember faces." I stayed silent, jaw clenched. "And wow," he continued, unfazed. "That's a sick Sabbath shirt. Master of Reality? That's metal as hell." He paused, watching the screen. "Holy crap—stage 36? Okay, yeah. You're officially ruining my self-esteem."
I could feel his eyes looking at me again, his mouth opened as he started to form a new sentence. "So—" "Please," I begged, finally spinning toward him, irritation written all over my face. "Just shut up." The second I turned back to the screen, my timing slipped. I mashed the buttons too late. GAME OVER. The screen flashed red. I stared at it. Behind me, he gasped dramatically, I turned to him to see the look on his face. "Oh no," he pressed a hand to his chest. "I have killed you. I'm so sorry. This is my fault. I talk too much, it's a curse." I exhaled sharply, half furious, half trying not to laugh. "I know you did it on purpose," I scoffed, turning back to the machine. "You didn't wanna get beaten by a girl, did you?" I cracked a small, satisfied smile as the score screen blinked to life. THE GALACTIC HEROES I leaned closer. Every slot carried the same initials.
——————— BEST 5 ———————
1st 236,070 EDD
2nd 227,405 EDD
3rd 216,004 EDD
4th 180,352 EDD
5th 133,905 EDD
The top three hovered around two hundred thousand points.
ENTER YOUR INITIALS SCORE NAME 142,684 AAA
I sat at fifth place. Not my best, but respectable. Especially considering how distracted I'd been. I entered my initials slowly. B. E. X. Behind me, I heard a sharp inhale. "No way," he huffed, offended on a personal level. "You seriously just bumped me down?" I straightened and glanced over my shoulder, eyebrow raised. "Correction. I earned my way in." He stared at the screen like it had betrayed him. "Wow," he muttered. "Unbelievable. I leave my spot for, like, two minutes and suddenly I'm being dethroned by—" He finally looked at me again, grin creeping back onto his face. "—Bex." The way he said my nickname made me wonder when, exactly, I'd agreed to this level of familiarity. He stuck out a hand, rings clinking softly. "Eddie. As in the tragic arcade legend you just humiliated." I snorted despite myself. Great. Loud, obnoxious, and clearly incapable of shutting up. Just my luck. "I'm Bex." I answered, crossing my arms.
He stared at me for a few seconds, and pulled his hand back. Then flicked his gaze to the screen, then to me again, like he was trying to solve a puzzle. "Bex as in... Bella? Bethany? Beverly? Bernadette?" He snapped his fingers. "Oh. Or maybe it's short for Elizabeth. No, wait. Even better. Rebecca. Nailed it. Right?" "...Yup." Oh God. Do you want a medal or something? I looked at him, then scanned the arcade, already searching for an excuse. Any excuse. I could leave. Fake an emergency, maybe. Or gross him out with 'girl problems'. Or, alternatively, figure out a way to get away with murder. He was still staring at me, that stupidly wide grin plastered on his face like he'd just won something. "Okay, so, Eddie," I grumbled, forcing politeness into my voice. "It was great—" I tried to step away from the Galaga machine, aiming literally anywhere else. He moved at the same time, casually blocking my path. "So, Bex," he rambled, hands shoved into his vest pockets. "Where're you from? You're obviously not local. You gonna tell me what brings a badass princess like you to a dump like Hawkins, or what?" "I— uh— what?" I stared at him, genuinely caught off guard. What did he just call me? "I don't think I gotta tell you anything, actually," I scoffed, irritation creeping into my voice. "Now, if you'll excuse me—" I brushed past him, my shoulder bumping into his hard enough to shove him slightly against the cabinet. I didn't look back. I just walked straight toward the exit, weaving through the crowd, ignoring the noise, the lights, everything. I'd only wanted to spend a few quiet hours at the arcade. That was it. Something normal. Something that didn't involve talking or explaining myself or being seen. Dad had pushed me out of the house, and I'd given in. The last thing I'd wanted was some random guy crashing into my afternoon and refusing to shut up.
Outside, I sucked in a deep breath. The air was still warm, but it felt fresher than whatever recycled mess the arcade had been pumping inside. I hadn't realized how bad the ventilation was until I stepped out. I glanced up at the sky. Late afternoon, I guessed. The sun was still high, but it didn't burn like it had earlier. I didn't feel like going home yet. I still had time before dark. And I really hoped I wouldn't have to deal with any more interrogations. I sighed and pulled a cigarette from my pocket, then rounded the side of the building until I found dumpsters. The smell hit immediately. Trash, old grease, something vaguely like piss. Charming. I leaned back against the brick wall of the building and lit my cigarette with the matches I kept tucked inside the pack. I took a long drag and closed my eyes. I didn't even know why I'd reacted like that inside. Maybe it was because he really was annoying? He talked nonstop. I wasn't used to that anymore. I wasn't used to people pushing their way into my space like they belonged there.
"Hey— hey, wait. I'm sorry. Don't go." As if summoned, his voice cutting through my thoughts. I opened my eyes, just in time to keep from flinching and burning myself. "How did you find me?" I asked, looking at him with half-lidded eyes, equal parts annoyed and tired. He laughed, already lighting his own cigarette. "D'ya really think you're the only one who smokes back here?" He gestured around with the lighter. "This is my favorite spot for my little lung-cancer breaks." He winked, I didn't flinch. "Favorite place?" I arched a brow, glancing at the overflowing dumpsters, the torn trash bags, all of it. "Seriously?" "Yeah, well." He shrugged. "It's not like this town gives you a ton of options." He leaned against the wall beside me, close enough to share space but far enough to feel deliberate about it. Like he was suddenly aware I might bite. "Look," he said, quieter now. "Sorry about earlier. I know I can be... a lot." He scratched the back of his neck. "I just got excited, okay? New face in town. And you've got, like, actual style. People don't just wear that shirt for fun unless they mean it." Despite myself, I let out a small, unintended chuckle. "No worries. I'm sorry too. For storming out like that." I glanced at him. "And yeah. You're a lot." A weak smile tugged at my mouth before it faded. "I'm from Chicago." I added after a moment. "Moved here a few days ago with my dad. He got a new job at some shitty car shop." My expression darkened the second I mentioned him. Eddie caught it. He didn't push. "Ah, Chicago." He echoed instead. I'm not sure why, but I swore his expression at the mention of it darkened a little too. "Well. Welcome to the shitshow that is Hawkins." He took a drag of his cigarette, then added, "So—" He rocked his heel against the wall. "You start Hawkins High this year, I guess?" I shot him a look. "You mean that building with the soul of a prison?" He grinned. "Yep. That's the one." "Then yeah," I groaned. "I start next week." "Senior year?" He asked. I nodded. "Yeah." "Damn, they really just dropped you into the deep end, huh? New town, new school, no instruction manual." I shrugged, taking another drag. "Could be worse." "Could be raining." He deadpanned solemnly, trying so hard to remain serious. I snorted, smoke slipping out with the sound before I could stop myself. "There it is," he grinned, pointing at me, chuckling. "That was almost a laugh." "Don't get used to it." "Oh, I absolutely will." He smiled, softer this time. His eyes then flicked to my hands. "You play the guitar, don't you? You've got the fingers for it." I glanced at them. Bitten-down black nail polish. Short nails, calloused fingertips. Yeah, I could see how he might've guessed. "Close. I play bass." His head snapped toward me. "No way." "Yes way." His face lit up like I'd just handed him a winning lottery ticket. "Okay, see, that explains everything." "Everything?" I asked. "Yeah. The attitude. The murder eyes. The 'don't talk to me or I'll end you' vibe." He gestured vaguely. "Very bassist energy." I rolled my eyes. "You're ridiculous." "Consistent branding." He corrected, proudly. "I play guitar. And sing. Poorly. Loudly. In a garage. I have a band, Corroded Coffin." I flicked ash toward the ground. "Corroded Coffin's a dumb name." He gasped. "Blasphemy." "But it's kind of fitting." I added. His grin returned, victorious. "See? You get it." I honestly couldn't remember the last time I'd had a conversation that lasted longer than two sentences. Or, more accurately, two monosyllables. His mood was weirdly contagious. He made small talk feel easy, even enjoyable, despite the fact that I'd wanted to punch him in the face ten minutes earlier. I glanced at Eddie from the corner of my eye. He rested his head against the brick wall staring at the sky, one foot propped up. For a few seconds, the only sound between us was the crackle of cigarettes and the muffled noise of the arcade around the corner. Oh. So he can stay quiet for more than two seconds.
Then he pushed himself off the wall. "Hey. I'm usually here after school. Arcade, record store, D&D Club, anywhere that isn't my uncle's place." He hesitated. "I play with my band Tuesdays at the Hideout." "The Hideout?" I repeated, tilting my head slightly. "It's a shitty hole in the wall with a questionable clientele and an even worse smell than this alley." He chuckled weakly, gesturing at the dumpsters. "Well, that sounds inviting." I jeered dryly, raising an eyebrow. "You could... come watch. If you want." He fiddled with the rings on his fingers as he spoke, suddenly less confident. I studied him for a second, taking notice of his nervous shift, then nodded once. "I'll consider it." He smiled like that was all he needed.
