You Are Here

In the driveway she hadn’t even looked at him. She just brushed past him, shoulder catching his hard enough to knock him half a step back. Not to mention her not-so-Oscar-worthy ‘I’m fine.’ He frowns, tightening his grip on the wheel. That wasn’t normal. Not even close. 

She’d left her hat behind too. He glances at the passenger seat where he set it. Dark fabric, damp at the edges. She told him all about it in Chemistry today– spent forever messing with those little charms, getting it just right. She loves that thing.

The wipers drag across the windshield, struggling to keep up. The rain’s coming down harder now, and the street’s empty. Too empty. Hawkins has been weird lately. The last couple years especially. People don’t really talk about it, but everyone knows. Stuff happens, people disappear, things go sideways fast. Then there was all that stuff with the Byers kid. And now someone bolts out of a packed house, into the dark, in the pouring rain alone? His jaw tightens.

“She’s fine,” he mutters, not sounding very convinced. She couldn’t have gotten far, not in this. Unless she ran? Which, yeah, looks like she might’ve. “Stupid. Should’ve just–” Stopped her? Said something? Done literally anything other than stand there like an idiot for half a second too long. “Nice job, Munson,” he adds under his breath.

The street stretches ahead of him as he passes the house again, still loud, still packed. He checks his rearview. Half-expecting, he doesn’t even know, something? But there’s nothing. No one is following, no one is looking for her, not even Trevor.

Eddie exhales through his nose. “…seriously?”

He’s heard the guy talk about Madi before. All nice, real convincing. Seemed decent enough… for a jock. The way she left the party though, safe bet he may have had something to do with it. Guess that decency only goes so far. Typical.

He turns the stereo down and leans forward slightly, scanning. Seconds turn into minutes, and still nothing.

“C’mon,” he mutters under his breath.

And then– there. A shadow frozen in place on the sidewalk. A very Madi-shaped shadow.

His stomach drops. “…shit.”

The van slows hard, stopping a little crooked in the road. He flips his hazards on, already reaching for the door. The rain hits immediately when he swings it open, cold and sharp, soaking his hair in seconds.

“Hey, Madi?”

She flinches and turns towards the sound of his voice. Now he can really see her. She looks wrecked. Her makeup is smeared, shoulders pulled in tight, standing out here looking small and lost. Her breathing’s off. It's too fast, too shallow, like she’s trying to calm down and can’t quite get there. He knows that feeling. His pace slows, hands lifting slightly, like he’s not sure if getting closer will help or make it worse.

“You trying to dissolve out here?” he asks, softer now. “You’re soaked.”

Madi:

You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah, no kidding.”

He glances back at the van, then at you.

“Uh-” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. “You wanna…” He gestures vaguely at the sky above. “not stand in the middle of a storm while you have your moment?”

You hesitate. Your fingers curl tighter into your sleeves, your gaze dropping to the pavement. “I don’t think I can go back there,” you admit, barely above a whisper.

There’s a small pause. Eddie nods once. “Roger that, that's okay. Not saying you have to go back, but maybe just come sit in the van? I’ll take you wherever you wanna go,” he adds easily. “No questions asked.”

You hesitate for half a second longer, then move past him toward the van. The door creaks when you pull it open, and you freeze.

Your hat sits on the passenger seat. You reach for it automatically, fingers brushing over the charms.

“Figured you’d want it back.” Eddie says from the other side of the van. 

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Thanks.” You climb in, pulling the door shut behind you, the sound dull against the rain. Eddie slides into the driver's seat.

For a second, the two of you just sit there. The roof rattles softly under the downpour. The windshield ticks with it. Everything feels quieter in here, the chaotic thoughts in your head included.

“Here,” he says, tugging off his jacket. “You’re freezing.”

“Oh– Eddie, that’s okay. You need it too,” you say, shaking your hands.

“No I don’t,” he says, like that’s obvious. “This thing’s basically waterproof. You, however,” he quickly scans you head to toe, “are not.”

He gently nudges the jacket into your arms. “C’mon, take it, that's an order.”

You are freezing. You put it on, and the warmth begins to seep in almost immediately. The jacket smells faintly of smoke with something clean and familiar underneath... Irish Spring soap. You pull it tighter around yourself. It’s heavier than you expect, and not really his style. The worn canvas is more like something passed down, an old work jacket from his Uncle Wayne maybe? You pull your hands into the sleeves, tucking them away. A small sigh slips out before you can stop it.

Eddie lets out a chuckle. “Better?”

You nod, shoulders relaxing just slightly inside the jacket. “Yeah, thank you.”

He nods once, and reaches forward to adjust the heat, turning the dial with a quick flick of his fingers. “You wanna go home?” he asks.

Right now home feels too far away, too much. Too many questions you don’t have the answers for yet.

“Not yet,” you say quietly. “If that’s okay.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says without skipping a beat. “Yeah, that’s fine.” His fingers tap out a restless rhythm against the steering wheel. “I, uh– still gotta drop Gareth’s drums off anyway,” he adds, a little more casual now. “He lives near you. You said you wanted to see them, right?” he continues, words coming a little faster now. “I mean– it doesn’t have to be tonight specifically or anything, just– y’know, at some point, but we could–” He cuts himself off, clearing his throat slightly. “We can dry you off, hang out for a bit, no rush.” He shrugs his shoulders.

You could feel the warmth of Eddie's jacket starting to revitalize you, so being dry on top of that sounds so, so good. “Yeah,” you say. “Okay.”

Eddie nods, flicking off his hazards and pulling the van back onto the road. 

For a second, it’s just the sound of the engine and the rain. The wipers drag across the windshield. Back and forth, back and forth. Eddie shifts in his seat, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music he has playing low. 

Hey, uh.” He starts, then stops. He tries again. “So. Just full disclosure,” he says, a little awkward, “Gareth’s house currently contains a bunch of guys, which I’m now realizing might not be the best follow-up to whatever just happened back there.” he says jerking his thumb towards the back of the van, back in the direction of the party you had ghosted out of.

He winces slightly. “But, like, not in a weird way,” he adds quickly. “They’re not that kind of crowd.”

“Yeah…a different crowd is probably a good thing right now,” you say quietly.

Eddie glances at you, just for a second. “Okay, great. They’re mostly just loud,” he continues, easing back into it. “And opinionated. Gareth’s gonna try to convince you his drum setup is revolutionary, Doug’ll give him shit about it for twenty minutes, and then no one will actually play anything. Which means you can just…sit there and not talk if you don’t want to,” he adds. “That’s a fully acceptable option.” He steals a glance your direction before turning back to focus on the road.

You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Eddie’s not asking anything from you. He’s not pushing. Just…letting you decide. That right there is exactly what you needed right now. “It sounds fun, actually.” You perk up a bit, the corners of your mouth turning up just slightly.

Eddie clocks it immediately, his eyebrows shooting up to disappear into his unruly bangs. “Oh hey– is that the wee beginnings of a smile? Caught ya!” He pokes at your knee.

You roll your eyes, but the grin doesn’t quite go away.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters.

The van turns down a better lit street, the houses a little closer together, porch lights glowing soft through the rain. The scenery begins to become more and more familiar, and your shoulders start to relax more.

Eddie slows, and pulls around in front of a driveway, immediately shifting into reverse.

“Here we go,” he says, more to himself than you. One hand hooks over the back of your seat as he steers. “Professional driver,” he mutters.

The van rolls back slowly over the sloped curb before easing up the driveway. The open garage casting dim light, just enough to guide him in. He backs the van in, lining it up with practiced ease, the rear end stopping just slightly ahead of the opening. The engine idles for a second before he shifts into park and turns it off.

Eddie exhales, tapping the steering wheel once like a job well done. “Nailed it,” he says, reaching up for a high five. You close in on the gesture with your sleeved hand, resulting in a dull thud. “Hang tight,” he says, already reaching for the door. He hops out, jogging around to your side before the rain can soak him any further, yanking the passenger door open. You step out into the cold, the jacket heavy on your shoulders, rain catching you again immediately. “Watch your step,” he mutters, guiding you around the back of the van, one hand hovering at your back, not quite touching

“Dude, you’re late–” Gareth starts, then stops when he sees you. “Oh.”

Eddie doesn’t slow down. “Yeah, yeah,” he says quickly. “Hi, hello, emergency side quest. Can I get a towel? And–uh–a hairdryer?”

Gareth blinks, and shoots you a sympathetic look. “You know where the bathroom is. Towels are in the closet next to it.”

“Cool, thanks,” Eddie says, already steering you toward the door.

“Hey, what happened?” Jeff asked from Gareth’s other side.

“Um, long story short, boys are dumb and it is currently pouring outside.” Eddie calls over his shoulder. “Unload the drums, will ya?”

Doug groans. “Of course.”

—---------------------------

The warmth hits you the second the door opens. Cozy and warm, smelling faintly like laundry detergent and something cooked earlier. Very homey.

Eddie steps inside first, pushing the door open wider for you.

“Hang on—don’t drip all over Gareth’s mom’s floors, she’ll kill me,” he mutters, already toeing off his shoes where the tile met the carpet.

You pause on the threshold, glancing down at your own shoes. Wet and tracking in rain. You slip them off quickly, setting them neatly next to Eddie’s. The carpet is soft under your feet, warm even through your damp socks. Family photos line the wall near the entry. School pictures, a couple of awkward holiday shots, a few of a very small and very cute Gareth cheesing at the camera.

Eddie is already moving quickly down the hall. “Bathroom’s just down here,” he says, glancing back to make sure you’re following. He takes a second to grab a few towels, and nudges the bathroom door open with his shoulder.

“Alright, welcome to the glamorous backstage,” he mutters.

The light flicks on, a little too bright. You blink against it, lifting a hand instinctively like that might help. The tile is cold under your feet as you step inside, the chill seeping up through your feet immediately.

Water still drips from the ends of your hair into the collar of Eddie’s jacket as he sets one towel on the counter, then hands another to you. You nod faintly, fingers closing around it, but you don’t use it right away. You peel off the jacket first, it’s heavier now, having been subtly absorbing the moisture from your skin and clothing the whole ride over. You hesitate for half a second before folding it loosely and setting it aside on the counter. Without its protective layers, a chill curls up your spine.

You step carefully into the shower basin, lifting the hem of your dress. The fabric is soaked through, clinging stubbornly to your fingers. You wring it once, water streaming out and splashing softly against the porcelain. You do this again in a different spot, more splashing down. Your hands start to shake a little, and by the time you step back out, your fingers are beginning to numb. A shiver runs through you before you can stop it.

Eddie grabs the towel off the counter and drapes it around your shoulders without hesitation. “Here, hold still.” He squeezes your shoulders, and looks past you towards the shower. “Oh.” He climbs in, reaching up to shut the small window near the ceiling. The source of all the cold air in here.

You clutch the towel tighter around yourself, pulling it close, the fabric soft against your skin. Eddie’s already out and turned away again, crouching slightly to dig through the cabinet beneath the sink. Bottles clink. Plastic shifts.

“Alright,” he mutters. “We’ve got these.” He pulls out a pack of baby wipes. “High-end skincare.”

A small sound escapes you, not quite a laugh, but close. You reach for them, fingers brushing his briefly. You turn toward the mirror, finally taking in your appearance. Your makeup is a complete disaster. Mascara smeared beneath your eyes, eyeliner blown out at the corners, blush patchy and streaked where the rain cut through it. Your lipstick is almost gone, and what’s left is uneven. You’re an absolute mess. Your stomach dips a little, and you frown.

Eddie notices the pause. “Hey,” he says, softer. “Easy fix.”

You pull one of the wipes free, pressing it carefully under your eye. It comes away dark. You continue working at it as he turns back to the cabinet, still searching.

“I know there’s got to be a hair dryer in here somewhere…” Things shift again, and something knocks lightly against the inside of the cabinet. “Ha! Got it.” He stands, plugging it in, cord stretching across the counter. Without thinking, he lifts it and turns it straight on himself. A blast of hot air hits him full force in the face. “Whoa,” he jerks back immediately, shoulders hunching as he fumbles for the switch. “Jesus– alright, that’s aggressive.”

The corner of your mouth lifts. He catches it, and there is a flicker of relief in his expression.

“Alright,” he says, adjusting it down. “Less jet engine. More human-friendly.” He steps a little closer, hesitating just briefly. “Uh, can I?” he wiggles the hairdryer towards you.

You nod.

“Okay,” he says. “Alright.” He lifts it again, more careful this time, angling it toward the top of your head.

The warmth seeps into your scalp, chasing out the cold bit by bit. He moves through your hair first, drying the strands slowly, lifting them away from your face. Careful and gentle in a way you didn’t expect from him. Then it hits you, he’s been like this since he found you. Gentle and kind. A sharp contrast to your new “friends”. Your throat tightens slightly, and you close your eyes for a second, fighting back the mist forming in your lashline again. You’re really glad he came after you.

“Hey,” he says after a moment. You open your eyes again. “You don’t have to tell me what happened,” he says, voice more timid now. “It’s okay if you don’t want to, but,” he adds, “I do need you to answer one question for me, okay?”

“…okay.”

He finally looks at you properly. “Did Trevor hurt you?” he asks. “Like, physically.”

You shake your head immediately. “No.” You sniff and finish, “We just had a fight.”

He exhales. “Okay. Okay, good.” A moment passes. “I mean, not good,” he corrects quickly. “Just better than the alternative.” He shifts slightly, directing the hairdryer to your neck and shoulders. The edge is gone from him now, like he can breathe again.

The warmth settles further into you, but with it comes a heavier thought. This night could have gone a lot differently. It could have been so much worse. Your stomach twists. It didn’t– Trevor didn’t– but then you walked out of there alone instead of just picking up the phone and calling your Mom. That wasn’t your best decision. You press your lips together, the realization sitting for a second.

“So,” he says, easing the tension just a little, “this was not how I expected my night to go.”

“No?”

“Nah,” he says. “I had a whole plan. Drop off drums, maybe score some candy, watch a movie, low stress.” His fingers shift carefully lifting your sleeve to dry as much fabric as possible. “Instead I get tackled in a driveway, and then poof. You vanish into the night. Not even a glass slipper,” he adds. “Just a pointy hat.”

You scoff. “I didn’t tackle you.”

“It sure felt like a tackle,” he says, dropping your sleeve to point at his chest. “You know, spiritually.”

A real laugh bubbles up, catching you off guard.

He brightens immediately. “And she’s laughing, folks,” he says. “Big fan of that.” He flashes you a crooked grin and squeezes each sleeve to assess their dryness.  “Alright, we’re making progress. Sleeves are no longer actively trying to turn you into a popsicle.”

He hesitates. “Uh– next step,” he says, gesturing toward the rest of you. He clears his throat slightly, adjusting his grip on the dryer. “Gonna– uh– aim in a general, respectful direction here,” he adds. “You let me know if I cross any lines. I’m just winging it.”

That earns another small huff of laughter. “Noted,” you say. 

He starts at your torso, keeping a careful distance, moving slowly so the fabric actually dries instead of just downgrading to damp. “Okay, yeah,” he mutters, half to himself. “This is less efficient than I imagined, but we’re getting there.”

You shift your weight a little, watching him work. He pulls at the hem of your skirt, being extra careful not to give you your own personal Marilyn Monroe moment.

“Alright, I’m just gonna focus on your legs now.” He stops. “…nope. That sounded worse out loud. Hate that. I’m gonna shut up now.” 

Heat creeps faintly into your cheeks, and you look straight ahead, focusing on the bathroom door for a second.

 He glances up, but doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does he doesn’t make a thing of it. “Actually hang on,” he says. “This is gonna be easier if you sit.” He looks around you toward the tub. “Do you wanna sit there? So you’re not, y’know, trying to balance and eat it on the tile?”

“Yeah, okay.” You move carefully, perching on the edge of the tub, gathering the towel a little tighter around yourself as you settle.

Eddie drops down onto one knee in front of you, shifting the dryer in his hand. “Much better, almost done. C’mere, foot please.” he says tapping his bent knee.

You make a face, but oblige.

“May I?” He uses the hair dryer to point toward your ankle.

You nod.

“Okay,” he says. “Cool. Great teamwork.” He carefully peels one sock off, setting it aside with a small grimace. “Wow. That is impressively damp.”

You let out a quiet laugh. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he says quickly, already working on the other one. “This is part of the deluxe service.”

The second sock joins the first. He aims the dryer toward your feet, warm air chasing away the last of the chill. “Tell me if this is weird,” he adds, glancing up briefly.

“It’s a little weird,” you admit.

“Yeah,” he says. “That tracks.”

“Thank you though,” you add, quieter, “I appreciate it.”

He stills for half a second. “Anytime sweetheart,” he says, softer. 

He finishes up, moving the dryer back once more over your skirt, your sleeves, your hair, like he’s double-checking his work. He quickly aims it playfully at your face, then he leans back slightly, giving you a quick once-over. “Alright,” he says. “I think we’ve officially defeated the rain.” He nods to himself satisfied, before standing to finally turn the dryer toward himself, ruffling it through his own hair.

A knocking rattles the bathroom door.

“Dude, you’ve been in there forever,” a voice calls. “We’re starting the movie without you guys!”

Eddie rolls his eyes hard, already moving toward the door. “Touch that tape and I swear to God–” he starts, yanking it open.

Gareth’s there, mid-knock, Jeff just behind him. They both pause when they see you.

“Hey,” Gareth says. “You okay?”

Eddie doesn’t answer for you this time. He glances back at you instead, giving you the space to speak for yourself.

You nod, pulling the towel a little tighter around your shoulders. “Yeah,” you say. “I just got caught in the rain.”

Jeff nods immediately, but you can tell he knows there is more to the story. “Yeah, it’s nasty out there,” he says.

Gareth leans lightly on the doorframe. “You need anything?” he asks. “Dry clothes or whatever?”

You shake your head. “I’m okay, thank you. We got it sorted.”

Gareth snorts. “Cool. Then meet us in the living room before Doug eats all the good candy.”

Jeff nods frantically, like the good candy is actually in danger.

Eddie looks back at you again, a small check-in.

You nod. “Yeah, okay.”

“Sweet,” Gareth says, already turning down the hall.

Jeff gives you a small wave again before following.

“…animals,” Eddie mutters. He glances back at you, softer again. “C’mon, let’s go get you officially reintegrated back into proper society.”

—---------------------------

The living room is dim, lit mostly by the TV glow and a single lamp in the corner. The bigger lights are shut off for peak movie ambience. There is a huge bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. The couch is already mostly claimed, so you settle onto the end, tucking your feet underneath you.

Gareth disappears for a second, then comes back with a throw blanket. “Here,” he says, handing it to you without much fuss before settling into the recliner.

“Thanks,” you say quietly as you pull the blanket around yourself.

Eddie drops down onto the floor in front of you, leaning back against the couch. Close, but not crowding. “Alright,” he says, pointing at the screen. “Important cultural experience incoming.”

“I’ve seen Halloween, Eddie.” you say flicking the back of his head. Then offering Eddie the throw pillow you were leaning against, so he doesn’t have to sit on the hard floor.

“Hey,” he protests, glancing back at you and taking the pillow. “I don’t know your cinematic history.”

The opening music of Halloween fills the room. The house settles for a while. The only sounds being the occasional rustle of wrappers, the crunch of popcorn, and the quiet hum of the TV. 

You find yourself relaxing into it, the blanket warm around you. That is until Michael Myers busts out of the closet to stab Bob in the chest. At the exact same time, Eddie has discreetly snaked his hand up his shoulder to grab your foot where it was poking out from under the blanket and gives it a quick shake. You jump, a gasp catching in your throat.

A chorus of chuckles sounds from the boys scattered around the living room. 

Eddie tilts his head back, looking up at you from basically your lap. He pokes at your knee. “Uh oh,” he says, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face. “You scared?”

Your eyes narrow, and you shove his shoulder. “Shut up,” you whisper. “…animals,” you add, just loud enough for him to hear.

Eddie looks at you for half a second longer, nodding his head to the side  as if to say ‘fair enough.’ He turns back to the screen, and the room settles again, the movie pulling everyone’s attention back in.

You shift under the blanket, tucking your feet back to safety, letting your shoulders sink into the couch.

Eddie leans back a little more, getting comfy again. His hair’s still damp at the ends, curling as it dries. The TV light flickers across it, catching on the strands every time he moves. He reaches up absently, pushing it back out of his face without looking away from the screen.

The movie settles into a quieter stretch. Moments later the front door slams open.

Gareth and Doug jolt. Jeff swears under his breath. Even Eddie jumps, his knee bashing the underside of the coffee table.

Voices drift in from the hallway a second later. “Gareth?” a female voice calls.

“In here,” Gareth answers, still a little stiff.

A figure appears briefly in the doorway, his mom, taking in the scene in one quick sweep. Her eyes land on you for a second. “Oh hi,” she says.

“Hi,” you answer shyly.

“Movie night?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Gareth says.

She nods. “Alright. Keep it down, and don’t leave your stuff everywhere.”

“Yes ma’am.” Gareth says, sinking down into the recliner once again.

Gareth’s dad follows, giving you all a curt nod before retreating to what you assume is their bedroom on the other side of the house.

The house settles again, and you lean forward just enough to poke Eddie in the shoulder.

“What happened?” you say between giggles. “You scared?”

He glances back at you, already recovering. “Please,” he says. “I was just testing my reflexes.”

You raise an eyebrow. “…uh-huh.”

He turns back to the screen like nothing happened. Your smile lingers. The movie pulls your attention back in, and before long the credits begin to roll.

Jeff groans. “Okay, that was still creepy.”

Gareth reaches for the remote.

Eddie glances toward the clock. Then back at you. “Hey,” he says, a little quieter. “What’s your, uh…time situation?”

You blink. “Time situation?”

He gestures vaguely. “Curfew. Do I need to panic drive you home right now or…”

You glance at the clock. “Midnight,” you say. “I’ve got a little time.”

He nods immediately. “Cool. Good. We love extra time.”

Gareth perks up immediately. “Wait, you haven’t seen the drums yet.”

Eddie groans. “Oh no,” he says. “Don’t encourage him.”

“No, seriously,” Gareth insists. “You said you wanted to, right?”

Doug nods. “Yeah, he just rearranged them. This is the final set up, way better quality of life stuff. ” His voice is dripping with sarcasm.

You glance between them, then back at Eddie. “I mean…yeah,” you say. “I’d still like to see them.”

Eddie watches you for half a second, then nods and gets up off the floor. He stretches, his arms reaching for the ceiling, leaning side to side as he does. A low groan escaping his lips. You hadn’t really clocked it before, but from down here with you still tucked into the couch, it’s obvious. He’s kind of tall and lanky, and the guy is approximately 75% limbs, basically a sentient string bean.

He shakes out his arms, and gestures toward the hallway with a small tilt of his head. “C’mon,” he says. “Field trip.”

Gareth’s already moving, weaving past the coffee table like he’s on a mission. “Watch your step,” he calls back. “There’s cords.”

Jeff trails after him, grabbing some stray trash on the way and tossing it in the garbage. You push the blanket off your lap and pad behind them.

The sound of the TV fades behind you as you move toward the back of the house. Gareth reaches the garage door first, already pushing it open and flipping the light on before anyone else makes it through.

The garage hums to life, the dim overhead bulb, a standing lamp in the corner, everything cast in that slightly yellow glow. It smells faintly like dust, metal, and something electrical. The space is mostly open, save for the drum kit, a few extension cords stretched along the floor, and a workbench pushed along the wall. A couple of posters hang slightly crooked, curling at the edges.

The painted logo on the bass drum catches the light. Eddie’s work. You’d been thinking about it since he mentioned it, and wanted to see it up close. Gareth is already in motion though, circling the kit like he’s been waiting for this exact moment, so you let him have it.

“Okay,” he says, placing his hands on his hips. “So, this is the current layout. Totally optimized.”

Eddie folds his arms, leaning against the tool bench to observe.

“You moved the floor tom six inches, bro.” Doug snorts.

“It matters,” Gareth insists.

You step a little closer, letting your eyes move over the rest of the kit now. The cymbals catch the light. The sticks are worn down at the tips. There are little marks everywhere from use. “These are really cool,” you say.

Gareth brightens immediately. “Right?” he says. “Okay, this one,” he taps a cymbal lightly, “is newer. The old one cracked, which was tragic.”

“A moment of silence, please.” Eddie adds.

You smile, watching as Gareth moves around the kit, pointing things out with giddy excitement. He grabs a pair of sticks and holds them out to you.

“Here,” he says. “You can try it.”

You hesitate. “Are you sure? It’s late.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Just don’t go full demolition mode.”

Eddie perks up. “Coward,” he says. “Wind her up and let her go.”

Gareth shoots him a death glare, handing you the sticks. They feel lighter than you expected.

You glance at the kit, then back at Gareth. “…what do I do?”

“Just hit something,” Jeff says.

You tap one of the drums softly, then a little firmer. The sound echoes slightly in the garage. You try another drum, then the cymbal. The sound is louder than you expect, so you reach out to silence it. You laugh. “Okay,” you say. “That’s kind of fun.” You hand the sticks back, still smiling. You circle back around to the bass to admire Eddie’s handiwork.

The bass drum head is painted in thick, jagged strokes. The letters are all sharp angles, some skewed, like they’re leaning into each other crowding for space.

Corroded Coffin.

The words stretch across the surface in black, slashed through with streaks of red that bleed just slightly at the edges, like they were put down fast and left that way on purpose. There’s something about it. It shouldn’t work, but it does. It’s aggressive, slightly grungy in a stylized way, a little chaotic, but deliberate in its own way. 

Your fingers hover for a second before you lightly tap the edge of the drum, careful not to smudge anything. “It looks awesome!” you say, glancing back at Eddie.

Eddie shrugs, but there’s a hint of something there, pride maybe. “Thanks.”

Gareth scoffs immediately. “He was hovering over it for like three days.”

“I was not hovering,” Eddie shoots back.

“Yeah you were,” Jeff adds. “He wouldn’t let anyone touch it.”

“That’s called quality control. The paint needed to dry, man. I couldn’t let y’all get your grubby hands all over it.” Eddie says, pointing at him.

Doug points toward the drum. “It’s sick,” he admits. “I’ll give you that.”

Eddie nods once, like that’s all the validation he needed. “I know.”

You smile at that.

Jeff glances toward the door, yawning. “What time is it, anyway?”

Gareth checks the clock on the wall. “A little after eleven,” he says.

Eddie’s attention shifts immediately to you. “What’s your curfew again?”

“Midnight,” you say.

He nods, “Alright. We’re still good, but probably shouldn’t push it.” He covers a yawn with the back of his hand.

Doug leans back against the wall. “ Okay, Mr. Responsible all of a sudden,” he says, mock impressed.

“Don’t start,” Eddie mutters.

Jeff snorts. “What happened to ‘rules are a social construct,’ man?”

Eddie points at him without missing a beat. “That was before I was responsible for another human being making it home in one piece.”

Doug raises his eyebrows. “Wow. Character development.”

“Well, the next time you’re responsible for my life in that rolling death trap of your’s, I expect the full princess treatment too.” Gareth adds.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “You guys are exhausting. Also, I fixed her up this summer, so she is no longer a rolling death trap. Runs like a dream, thanks.” He raises his middle finger at him, definitely a little offended at the shaming of his van.

You laugh, shaking your head.

“C’mon,” Eddie says, jerking his head toward the house. “Let’s grab our stuff before you turn into a pumpkin."

You slip down the hallway, your shoes still tucked off to the side where you left them earlier, but the floor’s dry now. You step into them, adjusting the heel, as Eddie disappears into the bathroom to get the stuff you guys had left behind. He emerges a second later, lingering in the hallway as he pulls his shoes on.

“All set?” he asks.

You nod. “Yeah.”

“Cool.”

The goodbyes are quick, waves, a couple of “nights” tossed around as you head for the door again.

Outside, the rain has stopped. The pavement still glistens under the streetlight, the air cool and damp, but quiet now.

Eddie jogs ahead a couple steps, pulling the passenger door of the van open before you get there. He dips into an exaggerated bow, one arm sweeping out. “After you, my liege.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help but smile as you climb in.

“Thank you, good sir,” you say, playing along.

“Anytime,” he replies, shutting the door with a soft thud.

The van rumbles to life, headlights cutting across the damp street as Eddie pulls away from the garage. The roads are quieter now. Rain-washed, everything has softened a little.

Eddie reaches for the radio, twisting the volume up until the low tone gives way to a ripping guitar solo.

You tilt your head slightly, listening. “…what is this?” you ask.

Eddie glances over, immediate. “You don’t know this?”

You hesitate. “…no?”

He makes a face like you just said something disgusting. “Oh no, that’s it.” He points at you like he’s just made a very important decision. “You are officially enrolled.”

“In what?” you ask, very confused about what is happening.

“The Munson School of Metal.”

You stare at him. 

“It’s a very prestigious institution run by your’s truly.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound like it's an officially accredited program. Do I at least get a syllabus or something?”

“Oh, absolutely.” He starts counting on his fingers, his other hand loosely on the wheel. “Lesson one: Dio. Lesson two: Ozzy. Lesson three…” He pauses, thoughtful. “…we’ll see how you do with lessons one and two.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Is there homework?”

He looks personally offended. “Of course there’s homework, nerd.”

You lean back into the seat, the corners of your mouth still turned up.

Eddie glances over at you, then back to the road, one hand drumming lightly against the steering wheel. “This” he reaches down, tapping the tape deck with his knuckle, “is from Dio’s newest album, The Last in Line. Just came out in July. This is actually the title track.”

He shifts in his seat, rolling one shoulder like he can’t quite sit still.

“Jerry actually hooked a bunch of us up, ordered a whole box of tapes, not just the records. It was sick.” He glances at you again, just quick, then back to the road.

“On vinyl, though,” he pulls one hand off the wheel making a quick exploding motion near his temple, complete with a quiet pshh under his breath, “it’ll blow your mind.” His hand drops back to the wheel, fingers tapping again, excited.

“Ronnie James Dio is…” he trails off, shaking his head slightly like he can’t quite think of the word, “he’s just ridiculous. In a good way.” He settles back into his seat, one hand lifting briefly as he talks, then dropping again. “Like, the range? The control? Dude could probably sing the phone book and make it sound epic.”

You watch him as he speaks, and can’t look away. He tends to do this, he gets a little brighter when he talks about something he loves. It pulls you straight in. You’ve seen him do it before. Usually over Lord of the Rings in Chemistry class.

“He was in Black Sabbath and Rainbow before this,” Eddie continues, fully committed now. “Which are also incredible by the way, but this?” He shakes his head slightly. “This is like…him just doing whatever he wants, and it’s great.” He glances at you, checking if you’re following.

You nod, a small smile still plastered on your face.

He exhales through his nose, almost sheepish for a second. “Sorry,” he says. “I get, uh. A little carried away.”

“It’s okay,” you say. “It was a great first lesson.”

He looks back at the road, but there’s a faint smile pulling at his mouth now. “Alright. You gotta hear it from the beginning.” He rewinds the tape a bit, finding the start of the song with practiced ease.

You aren’t sure this is even the same song till you hear his voice. It is surprisingly calm at first. A low guitar hums through the speakers, slower this time.  You settle back, listening. Eddie goes quiet.

We’re a ship without a storm

The cold without the warm

Light inside the darkness that it needs, yeah

We’re a laugh without a tear

The hope without the fear

We are coming

The music stretches out, building tension, something simmering just under the surface.

Then the vocals come in with a louder, drawn out

Home

The guitar gets epic, and the sound layers in, fuller now.

We’re off to the witch

We may never, never, never come home

But the magic that we’ll feel is worth a lifetime

The drums kick in stronger. The guitar sharpens. You look over, and you can tell that it is taking everything he has got to not rock out along to the music. Instead he is settling for lightly tapping the drums on his steering wheel as the song continues.

Once the guitar solo comes around, you have committed yourself to hearing more. You'll have to play the record at work during your next shift.

“There it is. You hear that?” he says, a little more animated again. “That shift? That’s–” he cuts himself off, laughing softly. “Okay, I’m shutting up. I’m shutting up.”

You laugh, and look out the window. You’ll be home any minute now, and it kind of bums you out a little. How the tables have turned tonight.

The solo ends. “This is really good,” you say.

“Right?” Eddie doesn’t talk anymore, letting the song play out.

By the time your street comes into view, the song is winding toward its end. The final notes carry through the van as he turns onto your street, the headlights sweeping across familiar houses. The song fades into the next, which starts off loud at the start this time.

He slows as he comes up to your house, the engine idling lower as he pulls into the driveway.

He glances over. “We have reached your destination,” he says. “Thank you for choosing Munson Transit.”

“Five stars,” you say. “Would ride again.”

“Damn right you would.” He lets out a mischievous laugh, and hops out before you can swat at him for the innuendo, circling around to your side before you have the chance to open it yourself. He pulls the door open for you, but with less flourish this time. “After you.”

“Such a gentleman,” you say, stepping out. “Thanks.”

“Always.” 

He walks you up to the front door, falling into step beside you. Hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, shoulders a little hunched against the cool air. Your footsteps echo lightly against the cement as you make your way up the path to the front door. The porch light casting everything in a warm, slightly dim glow.

For a second, neither of you says anything.

“Hey,” you start. “Thank you for tonight. For coming after me. For…all of it.”

Something shifts in his expression, subtle, but there. He glances off to the side for a second, then back at you. “Yeah, of course. Anytime.”

You nod, fingers brushing lightly against the strap of your bag, needing to do something with your hands. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” you ask.

He nods once, a little quicker this time. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay.” you say, starting to turn to head inside. This is one of those moments where you could just…end it there, but you don’t. You step forward and wrap your arms around his middle. It’s a little sudden, and a little tighter than you meant it to be.

Eddie goes completely still. Arms hovering awkwardly at his sides for a split second, like he short-circuited. Then he lets out a quiet breath and folds his arms around you. Careful, a little unsure at first before he settles into it, his chin resting on the top of your head. You can feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath your cheek, the fabric of his shirt still warm from the car.

Then just as quickly as it started, you pull back. “Sorry– I just…” You don’t know what to say.

He shakes his head. “No, you’re good.” A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Goodnight, Eddie.”

“Night,” he says.

You turn, pushing the door open and slipping inside.

—---------------------------

You close the door softly behind you, and for a second, you just stand there taking it in. The lamp in the living room is still on. Your mom stretched out on the couch, fast asleep, a paperback novel splayed open on her chest, some sort of bodice ripper you’d bet. She sure loves her historical romance novels. You shake your head smiling a little to yourself. 

Vader is curled up on the back of the couch within petting distance of the sleeping woman. He lifts his head, blinking the sleep from his eyes as you approach.

“Hey, buddy,” you whisper. 

His tail twitches lazily against the cushion as you reach out to scratch behind his ears. You glance down at your mom, hesitating for a second before gently nudging her shoulder.

“Mom,” you say softly. “Hey, wake up.”

She stirs, blinking slowly, disoriented for a second before focusing on you. “Oh, hey honey,” she mumbles, pushing herself up just enough to look at you. “You’re home.”

“Yeah,” you say. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you, I just wanted to let you know.”

She squints at the clock, it’s just before midnight now, then back at you. “Did you have fun?” she asks, voice still thick with sleep.

“The party wasn’t really my scene,” you say. “I ended up leaving.”

That wakes her up a little more. “Everything okay?” she asks, scooting over to make room for you. “What about Trevor?”

You shake your head quickly, sitting down beside her and leaning in almost automatically. “I–” you start, and then your voice just…breaks. The emotional overwhelm hits you once more, and you tell her everything. The party. The fight. The rain. Everything.

“I messed up,” you say, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “I shouldn’t have left like that. I just– I didn’t know what to do and I–” Your throat tightens, eyes burning again.

Her arm is around you immediately. “Hey,” she says softly. “Hey, it’s okay.”

You shake your head against her shoulder. “No, it’s not. I just walked out. By myself. I didn’t even call you, I didn’t think.” you let out a shaky breath. “It could’ve been really bad.”

She pulls you in a little closer, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Her hand smoothing down the other side. “It’s okay.” she says gently.

You swallow. “Eddie came after me,” you say. “He found me, and he made sure I was okay. He took me to Gareth’s and we just…watched a movie and hung out with his friends.”

“I’m really glad he did,” she says quietly.

You nod against her. “I’m sorry I was so stupid,” you mumble.

“Hey,” she says again, a little firmer this time, pulling back just enough to look at you. “You’re not stupid.”

You sniff, looking down.

“You were overwhelmed,” she continues. “And you got yourself out of a situation you didn’t feel good in. That part? That was the right call.”

“I just…did it badly,” you say.

She gives you a small, knowing smile. “Well,” she says. “It maybe was not the safest execution of an escape plan.”

That almost makes you laugh.

“But you’re home,” she adds, softer now. “You’re okay. That’s what matters.”

You nod, shoulders finally starting to relax again.

“I like Eddie. He’s a good kid,” she continues. “I’m really glad you called him.”

“I didn’t,” you admit. “He just…came after me.”

She pauses at that. “Really now? I like him even better then,” she murmurs.

You smile a little into her shoulder. “I did have fun,” you say after a second. “After all the drama was over.”

She presses a quick kiss to the top of your head. “I’m glad,” she says.  There’s a small pause. “And for the record,” she adds, a little quieter now, “if Trevor made you feel like that? That’s on him. Not you.”

You don’t say anything, but you nod.

Her arm tightens around you for a second. “We’ll deal with that later,” she says. “Not tonight.”

“Okay.” you murmur. You stay there in your mom’s embrace for a few more minutes, feeling the bad energy melt away. 

“Alright, go on scoot. You have school tomorrow, missy.”

You stand and reach for Vader, scooping him up as he immediately settles against you like he’s been waiting. “C’mon,” you murmur. “Night mom.”

“Good night honey. Love you.” she says blowing you a kiss.

“Love you too.” you use one of Vader’s paws to wave goodbye, and head up the stairs.

You set him down on the bed, grabbing a pair of pajamas before slipping into the bathroom.

The shower is short, but it does its job, warm water washing away the last of the rain, the mascara, the lingering tension you didn’t even realize you were still holding onto.

You stand there for a second longer than you need, letting it run over you, letting everything from the night finally settle.

By the time you’re done, your limbs feel heavier. You are so tired. Absolutely spent from the long day. You change, padding back into your room where Vader is already curled up near your pillow, watching you impatiently.

You slide under the blankets, pulling them up around your shoulders as he immediately settles closer, warm and solid at your side. You lean over to flip your lamp off, and just about the second your head hits the pillow again, you're out.

Notes: Our sweet, sweet boy! I really enjoyed writing the softer/ more anxious sides of Eddie in this one. You get to see more layers of him in the Flight of Icarus novel, and I loved it! Highly recommend the read if you are a fan of the character. What did you guys think? Did we like the brief POV change at the beginning?

Song used: The Last in Line By: Dio

I have a whole Eddie playlist I made on spotify linked on my masterlist if you wanted to give it a listen.

Take me back to the masterlist!

You had known Eddie Munson for as long as you could remember. His uncle Wayne was good friends with your uncle Dennis, your mom’s brother. They’d grown up together in Hawkins, the kind of small-town loyalty that stuck around. Wayne was a permanent fixture at every backyard barbecue, loud Fourth of July, and even the odd holiday party. Whenever Eddie was staying with him, he was there too. Always lingering a few steps behind the adults like he wasn’t sure where he was supposed to be for the first little while.

You used to watch him. Not obviously, never obviously. Just little glances from across the yard while the grown-ups talked too loud, and the smell of charcoal and sunscreen hung thick in the humid Indiana air. He was two years older, which felt like a lifetime when you were a kid. He was old enough to seem untouchable. Old enough that you assumed he wouldn’t want anything to do with you. He would usually end up with the other kids tearing across the yard in chaotic games of tag, or climbing halfway up the maple tree before someone’s mom inevitably yelled for them to get down. Sometimes he’d invent elaborate games on the spot, barking out dramatic rules like a dungeon master in training, while everyone else scrambled to keep up. You usually stayed closer to the quieter edges of the yard. Not because you didn’t want to play. You just didn’t quite know how to jump into the middle of things once they’d already started. 

Once, he noticed you hovering there and waved you over. “Hey! We could use one more!” he called from the middle of the yard, already halfway into whatever game the other kids were playing. You had thought about it, but by the time you worked up the courage to move, the game had already started again, kids scattering across the grass. Eddie shrugged and started shouting about new rules and lava monsters or pirates or whatever the game had become. So you stayed where you were, and watched instead.

You started to notice that most of the time he was performing. Big gestures, dramatic groans when someone mentioned school. That loud, exaggerated laugh that made the grown-ups shake their heads and say, “That boy...” Every now and then, when he thought no one was paying attention, the performance slipped. His shoulders would sag, like he had forgotten to hold them up. His smile would flatten into something smaller and quieter. He didn’t look bored exactly, just like his mind went somewhere else. You had seen him flinch when one of the uncles clapped him a little too hard on the back. He covered it quickly. Rolled his eyes, made a joke, but you noticed. You didn’t know why it stayed with you. You didn’t have the language for it yet. You just realized that there were two versions of him. The one everyone else saw, and the one who looked like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. He always seemed more relaxed when Wayne was nearby though. It made you curious. You found yourself watching for those quiet moments after that. As if you were waiting to see which version of him would show up.

You’d end up near each other sometimes on the porch steps, under the maple tree, by the cooler of sodas. Never crossing that invisible line into a true friendship. You existed in each other’s orbit, close enough to feel the pull, but never quite brave enough to fully step into it. Until the summer you turned twelve.

The heat that year felt relentless, and the grass prickled against your bare legs as you hid in the only patch of shade your backyard could offer. You held a paperback copy of The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien above your face, using it as both a shield and a sanctuary. You didn’t hear him approach.

“What part are you at?” His voice cut through your concentration, and you startled, the book thudding against your chest. “Oh-sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.” He dropped down beside you, brown eyes wide with panic, like he had committed some unforgivable crime. 

You blinked back at him, heart still racing. “It’s okay.” you said, pushing yourself up onto your elbows. “Um, I’m on chapter 8. They just got to Mirkwood, and Bilbo was getting wrapped up by a giant spider! It was kind of scary, like the forest doesn’t want them there…” you say excitedly. “They kept going anyway though, because turning back would be worse I-” You froze, suddenly aware you’d maybe said too much.

Eddie’s expression shifted, interest lighting behind his eyes. Not polite interest, real interest. “No way! That’s where it gets good.” Before you could protest, he gently took the book from where it had landed and thumbed through the pages. He was surprisingly careful for someone who pretended not to care about much. He stopped exactly where you’d left off, and handed it back like a peace offering after scaring it from your clutches in the first place. “There,” he said, a crooked half-grin pulling at his mouth. “Didn’t want you spoiling it trying to find your place again.”

You stared at him for a second longer than you meant to. No one else had ever noticed what you were reading before. No one else had cared enough to make sure you didn’t lose your page. 

“Have you read any of his other stuff?” he asked, rolling onto his side, propping his head up with his hand like he had nowhere better to be.

You shook your head. “No, I just found this one at the library.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Just found it?” he repeated, mocking offense. “You can’t just stop at The Hobbit. That’s basically the warm-up.”

“There’s more?” you asked, sitting up a little straighter.

“More?” He let out what sounded like a cross between a sigh and a quiet laugh. “There is so much more.” He lowered his voice slightly, like he was sharing a secret. “The Lord of the Rings. Three books. Bigger. Darker. Way better battles.” He said holding up one finger at a time to count the reasons.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Bigger than dragons and giant spiders?”

“Oh, way bigger.” He leaned in closer, more animated now. “An army of ghosts, an ancient forest that can literally move, entire cities under siege. It’s not just treasure and adventure, it’s about loyalty and sacrifice and-” He stopped himself, shrugging. “It’s just better. Trust me.”

You studied him for a moment. “I take it, you’ve read all of them then?” 

“I’m on the third one.” He said trying, and failing, to sound casual. “The Return of the King.”

The title alone sounded important. “You’re already that far ahead?” you asked.

“Guess you better catch up.” There was no challenge in his voice. No teasing edge. Just an invitation.

You looked back down at your copy of The Hobbit, then up at him again. “Okay,” you said before you could overthink it. “I will.” You let out a pleased chuckle, and gave him a half smile of your own.

His grin, a real one this time, was brighter than the sun you’d been hiding from. “Good,” he said. “We’ll talk about it when you’re done.”

We. That word settled somewhere warm in your chest.

You finished The Hobbit before the summer ended, and borrowed The Fellowship of the Ring from the library the very next week. Then life suddenly got very very busy, not granting you the free time to sit and read, which frustrated you to no end. You had saved up your allowance to start collecting them instead of having to hope they’d be available at the library. Once you had finally made it to The Two Towers you read the book every spare second you could. The whole time, you imagined telling him. You imagined arguing about Aragorn’s stubborn honor. Asking if he thought Legolas ever missed home. Confessing that you didn’t trust Gollum from the very start. How Boromir surprised you. You hadn’t expected to like him. He was proud, flawed, a little desperate in ways you didn’t fully understand. But when he fell, not as a villain, not as a coward, but trying to make something right…you cried harder than you meant to. You wanted to ask Eddie what he thought about that. Whether trying and failing still counted as being brave. Whether being scared of losing everything made someone weak, or if it just made them human. 

You looked for him at the next barbecue, but he wasn’t there. Wayne mentioned something about him being busy or his dad being back in town. You couldn’t remember which. You only remembered scanning the yard, and being disappointed when you didn't see him there. You felt like you two were just nearly friends, and then he was gone again. 

The seasons shifted the way they always did in Hawkins, subtle and then all of a sudden. School ended, and then started again. You entered your freshman year of high school, clutching The Return of the King like a lifeline. It turned out high school wasn’t quite as terrifying as you’d imagined. Somewhere between awkward group projects and shared complaints about homework, you even managed to make a couple of friends. One of them was a band kid named Robin who talked fast enough to fill every silence the two of you might have otherwise sat through. She was a safe place that allowed you to come out of your shell a little.

When you did finally see Eddie, it was in hallways instead of backyards. His laugh was louder now. His edges were sharper. The easy stillness from that summer was replaced with something harder, more guarded. You finished The Return of the King halfway through first semester. You closed the book slowly, relishing in how truly amazing the books had been despite how agonizingly long it had taken you to finish them. You carried the book in your backpack for a few days afterward, just in case. You never did get to tell him what you thought of The Return of the King that school year. After that summer, the backyard barbecues stopped lining up with Eddie’s time at his uncle’s place.

 By the time you were a sophomore, Eddie was a senior. At least he was for a while. He disappeared in the second semester, not with a bang, but with a quiet efficiency. The rumor mill started running like it usually did. Someone said he had dropped out. Someone else said he’d been expelled after mouthing off to the wrong teacher. Another person swore they’d seen him loading his van like he was planning to leave Hawkins for good. Silently, you hoped none of them were true, especially that last one. You didn’t ask Wayne, it never felt like your place.

That summer came the way it always did in Indiana, humid and slow. The cicadas buzzing in the trees complaining like the whole town had been left out in the sun too long. You didn’t expect to see him again until school started back up. Hoping he would return with some weird story about his disappearance. Then Wayne’s truck pulled into your driveway for your family’s annual end-of-summer barbecue. Eddie climbed out of the passenger side, but for a second you didn’t recognize him. His hair had grown longer, down to his shoulders now, and there was something even sharper in the way he held himself. Like the world had taken a swing at him, and he had decided to swing back. His eyes were the same though. You tried not to stare. 

The adults welcomed Wayne in their usual way. Someone handed him a beer, and someone else complained about gas prices going up. Eddie drifted away from the crowd almost immediately, drifting towards the shady area beneath the big maple. The very same spot you usually used to hide from the sun. He sat in the grass, back to the trunk, and shut his eyes. You found yourself there some time later, a familiar book in hand, and a silent hope that maybe you guys could finally talk about it. He noticed your presence, cracking an eye open. “Still doing that?” he asked.

You looked up. “Doing what?”

“Hiding from the sun with a book like it personally offended you.”

Your lips twitched. “It’s called self-preservation.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh and shimmied around to face you. Not as close as he had that summer when you were twelve, but close enough. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then his eyes flicked to the cover in your hands. “Wait, no way.” You turned the well loved book so he could see the title. The Return of the King. His eyebrows shot up. “Holy shit.” he breathed. “I didn’t think you’d actually-” He cut himself off, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, okay, hold on! Important question.” He pointed at you like this was very serious business, causing you to straighten your posture a little. It also brought a smile to your face. “You actually finished them? All three?”

You lifted the book slightly in your hands. “I wouldn’t be carrying this around if I didn’t. I was actually hoping you’d want to talk about it.” You let out a small laugh. “You sir, owe me a very overdue book discussion.”

He squinted at you like he was trying to determine if you were bluffing. “Alright,” he said slowly. “Then answer me this.” You raised an eyebrow. “Favorite part.”

“That’s not fair,” you protested. “There’s a lot of good parts!”

“That’s the point,” he shot back. “This is a test.”

You thought about it for a moment, laying the book down beside you in the grass and pulling your knees up to your chest. “The riders of Rohan showing up at Minas Tirith.” you said finally. “That was pretty awesome. It looked really freaking cool in my head when I read it.”

Eddie nodded approvingly. “Good answer.” Then his expression shifted, a little more thoughtful. “Alright, next question.” You waited. “Favorite character.”

You didn’t hesitate. “Gimli.”

Eddie blinked, then a grin spread across his face. “Gimli?” he repeated, sounding delighted.

“He’s loyal,” you said with a shrug. “And he’s funny. Plus the dwarves are super cool!”

“Okay, first of all,” he said, holding up a finger, “excellent choice. Dwarves are wildly underrated.” You laughed quietly as he leaned forward, warming to the subject. “Second, people think they’re all just grumpy miners, but Tolkien built this whole deep culture for them. Their language, their craftsmanship, their whole honor code… They keep records of their ancestors going back for generations. It’s insane! Plus they treat smithing like an artform. Half the stuff in Middle Earth that actually lasts was made by dwarves. Their cities, their weapons, their armor-” He stopped himself abruptly, dragging a hand down his face. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I get a little carried away sometimes.”

You shook your head smiling. “It’s fine. I like listening to it.”

He eyed you for a second, like he wasn’t entirely sure if you meant that. Then he nodded once, satisfied. “Alright,” he said, settling back against the trunk again. He stretched his legs out in the grass. The tension you’d noticed earlier and the tight set of his shoulders when he first arrived had loosened slightly. You realized it was the most relaxed he’d looked all afternoon.

You tilted your head slightly. “Okay, my turn for a question.” Eddie sat up, giving you his full attention. You paused for dramatic effect. “Boromir.”

He blinked. “What about him?”

“Good man who screwed up,” you asked, “or an arrogant idiot who got exactly what was coming to him?”

“What do you think?” He asked, redirecting your question to you.

“Nuh-uh. That was my question!”

Eddie smirked. “Yeah, well, you asked it like someone who’s already picked a side.”

You took a second to carefully consider your next reply. “He was brave.” you finally said.  Eddie went very still, listening intently. You continued, a little more confidently now. “He knew he was failing, but he still tried to fix it.” You glance down at the grass, picking at a blade between your fingers as you searched for the right words. “Besides…everyone else already knew who they were supposed to be. Aragorn had a crown waiting for him. Legolas never misses his mark. And Gandalf… Gandalf always seems three steps ahead of everyone else.” You shrugged. “Boromir is just a guy trying to hold everything together for his people. Of course he makes a mistake, he's got a lot going on.” You risked a glance at Eddie. “I liked that he still stood up and fought anyway. That counts for something.”

Eddie looked away toward the lower tree branches above you. Then he nodded once, slow and thoughtful. “Most people don’t like Boromir.” he said, turning his head to look at you once again.

You frowned a little. “Why?”

He snorted softly. “Because he screws up. People like their heroes clean.”

You tilted your head. “That seems unfair.”

“You think so?”

You nodded. “I think people who try to make things right deserve a little credit.”

Eddie watched you for a long second, like he was trying to decide something. “Yeah.” he said after a moment. “Yeah, they probably do.”

The conversation drifted easily after that. You talked about the books until the sky shifted from late summer gold to the softer and darker blue of the evening. You talked about Ents, the surprisingly complicated nuances of Elven politics, about whether Aragorn had been avoiding his destiny or just waiting for the right moment. How both of you thought that Samwise Gamgee was quietly the bravest character in the entire story. Every so often Eddie would launch into another burst of lore committed to memory or some dramatic retelling of a battle scene, complete with sound effects, only to stop himself halfway through with an embarrassed shrug. It made you smile, seeing him talk so passionately about something like that. 

Somewhere in the middle of it all, without either of you really noticing, you had finally settled into each other’s orbit. 

Wayne called Eddie’s name from across the yard, somewhere near the house. Looking over, he gave his uncle a quick thumbs up before he pushed himself up, brushing grass from the back of his jeans. “Guess I’ll see you around.” he said, like the words didn’t mean much at all. But this time, you had a feeling that he did actually mean it.   

------------------------------

Not that he minds the hot temperatures himself. He’s the Human Torch! He’s practically immune to drastic conditions. 

No, it’s you that created his hatred for summer. Your unwillingness to be physically close to him at night, specifically. 

“Johnny stop. I’m being so serious,” you say, shoving his face away, desperate to escape his stifling embrace and position yourself closer to the meager air blowing from the fan. The amount of relief the small thing provides is abysmal, but it’s better than nothing. You would think the tech savvy Baxter Building, with mega genius Reed Richards inside, would have working AC.

But no. It broke in the middle of the night, and it’s the one day Reed didn’t stay up late in his lab to work on his next invention. And to top it all off, The Human Torch Heater is your boyfriend. 

And thus, you’re trapped by a tangled mess of limbs that remains stubbornly attached to your side, absolutely melting onto Johnny's expensive sheets.

“Nonono babe please I really need to cuddle with you,” he pouts. Johnny tightens his grip on you as if to reinforce his point, which only makes you wiggle in protest.

You almost crack a smile at his desperation, but the fact that you’re overheating to the point that you can’t fall asleep is currently outweighing your sympathy for your boyfriend.

“Johnny,” you sigh, “the room feels like a freaking furnace, and being stuck to you is only making it worse.”

“It’s not my fault I run hot.”

“I know it’s not, but I’m dying right now!! We’ve already opened windows and turned on this bummy fan. And I’m in shorts and a tank top. What more can I do?”

A playful smirk replaces his pitiful one. “Have I ever told you that you look good in everything? Including… nothing? Maybe that would solve your issue.”

You scoff and swat at him. “Unbelievable.”

He catches your wrist before it can land a blow. “The only unbelievable thing here is your lack of love for your own boyfriend.” He rolls over and crosses his arms, huffing with an excessive amount of drama.

You sit up in bed, simply watching his theatrical performance with an unamused expression.

He glances back at you out of the corner of his eye and immediately turns back around when he caught your unimpressed gaze.

You exhale, “you done?”

“It’s so lonely… and cold…”

“Right. Because summertime is just so cold.”

He clutches his heart dramatically and twists his expression into a pained one. “It’s cold right here..! My heart will cease to beat without your embrace.”

“I think my heart will cease to beat with your embrace,” you shot back.

Suddenly, he turns to you with a triumphant expression.

“Oh no,” you say, examining his face in the dark bedroom. “What’s that look for.”

“If we cuddle now, you get unlimited, exclusive, Johnny Storm cuddle time during the winter.”

You bite your cheek, thinking hard. Winters might be even worse than summers. You reminisce on just a couple years ago, when you prayed the tiny heater in your apartment would last you through the frigid night.

You lay down, dragging your hands down your face. “Fiiiine,” you groan. You open your arms to him, and Johnny practically teleports into your embrace. You’re immediately enveloped in warmth again, but thinking about the cold winter months makes you feel slightly better. Slightly.

Johnny slowly curls his fingers into your hair while the other runs down your back. He rubs his fingers in methodic circles, eliciting a soft hum from you.

“Not so bad, is it?” he whispers.

“I hate you.”

He just chuckles, pleased that he got his way. “Love you too.”

A/N: heyy! been a while! school genuinely killed me BUT it’s summer now, so i'm hoping i’ll write a lot more the next couple months! perhaps something for ryland grace?? project hail mary has consumed me… and i fear i've been infected with the ryan gosling is hot virus. so now i’m watching his whole discography (and maybe some writing for his other characters will soon follow?) ALSO x-men 97 season 2 and spiderman brand new day are coming!! summer boutta be so peak

As a child, you would flush and go giggly around him, always staring at him when he was busy trying to walk in his father's shoes, with his young brother behind him, but even then, he kept his heart hidden and his smile reserved for many others that crossed his path but you.

Dean didn't bother to hide his irritation, either and when you entered the room, he always shot Sam a look, rolling his eyes and muttering under his breath. You put up with it because going hunting with other hunters was rare for you, and after going twelve months without having a hunter by your side, you treated their presence like gold dust. Precious. Rare. 

The autumn woods are pitch-black, and the only light is the beam from your flashlight cutting through the fog and dense tree lines. Dean is leading the way, a good ten feet ahead, whilst you and Sam trail behind, shoulder to shoulder. 

"Your brother is a real dick, you know that?" You spoke up, but not too loud for Dean to hear; you didn't want another argument. Not tonight. 

 Sam lets out a quiet, huffed laugh. "Know it? It's all I've known from him," he replied, staring into Dean's back as he kept pushing forward, leaving you both a little behind. 

"Sam, why does he hate me?" You sigh, the cold air biting at your nose. 

Sam glances down at you with a sympathetic smile, "He doesn't hate you..."

You raised an eyebrow and stared up at him as he towered over you. 

 "I don't know, alright, and I don't understand why, either."

You were always closer to Sam; you two were similar in life experience outside of Hunting and often reminiscing about easier times. You allowed each other to mourn the childhoods you missed out on and the lifelong innocence that got stripped away from you. 

Hunting and the death in the family are what brought you together. Sam lost his mom and girlfriend; you lost a parent and a roommate. Only Sam could understand and lend you a shoulder to cry on; Dean didn't offer sympathy, he lacked it.

Up front, Dean stopped and raised his hand; you and Sam stopped talking, and the sudden silence of the woods surrounded you. There was no sound, nothing.

 "Sammy," Dean whispers, his voice cutting through the dark. "Did you catch those tracks?"

Sam steps forward towards his brother, leaving you two steps behind them both. Sam glides his flashlight over the ground, the beam highlighting large, ugly prints in the mud. 

 "Yeah, looks like fresh tracks heading—"

You don't get a warning, there's no heads up, there wasn't the snapping of a branch or a snarl, and by the time you realise there's something behind you, a searing and deep gash pours with blood across your back. The force of the slash sends you flying forward as the wind is knocked out of your lungs, and your flashlight tumbles into the dirt.

Dean and Sam begin to yell when they get a glimpse of the heavyweight above you, made up entirely of fur, is on top of you, pinning you into the ground as the blood seeping from your back mixes into the mood. The more you fight back, the louder the werewolf growls, flashing its large and bloody teeth at you.

"Sam!" you manage to choke out, frantically bringing up your arms, guarding your chest, your eyes scanning the dirt for any glimmer of your silver blade. 

The claws from the werewolf swipe at your chest, and your heart throbs rapidly, painful with each slash against your arms, slicing through the sleeves of your raincoat, but it wasn't enough. The creature brings its heavy claws down again just as your arms drop slightly from the pain, and another gash rips the fabric of your raincoat, and beneath the skin across your breastbone.

Letting out a blood-curdling scream, your eyes open wide with overflowing hot tears, and with each passing second, your vision begins to turn blurry, with your hearing washing out. The only thing you can focus on is the increasing agony you're in, and the sudden onset of exhaustion from the blood loss; the last thing you should be doing is closing your eyes, but it's the only thing you can do, as your body grows cold and so very tired. 

The last thing you hear before plunging into nothingness is the sound of Dean's voice calling out from somewhere in the dark. 

The sight of you so badly injured, falling closer and closer to death's door, is what paralyses Dean. Lying in the mud, covered in blood, appearing to him as you did as a child, innocent and vulnerable, fills Dean with dread and immediate guilt. 

Dean should've been the one to kill the werewolf, to riddle it's entire body with silver bullets or send its head flying from the whack of a long silver blade, but Sam... his dear baby brother takes control with silver bullets firing between the trees.

Dean's knees are pressing into the mud beside you, and his flashlight rattles in his hand as the beam of light drags over your body, the pools of blood frightening him, and he stares at your chest, relieved to see it still rising and falling. 

"Open your eyes," he panics, "c'mon now, open your eyes!"

You're still, almost peaceful. 

Dean dampens his lips with his tongue and swears under his breath. He quickly yet carefully slides his hands under your shoulders and pulls you into his lap. When your blood rapidly soaks his jeans, Dean only now realises the severity of your injuries, and when he looks down at your face, he notices that you're losing your natural glow, the glow he always scoffed at.

"No, no, no," he chants, pressing his hands to your breastbone, his hands drenched with your blood.

The sudden pressure makes your heavy eyes flicker open, your blurry vision focusing on Dean's face, you notice the tears in his eyes and the blood smeared on him.

Your eyebrows knit together, "Dean?" you whimper, your eyes shutting again.

"I've got you, please stay with me, don't go sleepin' on me again!" Dean's tone is firm but a little soft around the edges, but he begins to panic, "Sammy! Get the car! Now!" He raises his voice,lifts you into his arms, and pulls you tight against his chest, getting on his feet and running back toward the road. "Hold on."

You don't open your eyes; the simple and thoughtless act is far too tiring, and the only thing you can hear is the rain drumming against the roof of the Impala, and Dean murmuring, but you couldn't make out what he was saying. You were slumped in the passenger seat, heart still beating. Dean's pressing a thick and shredded piece of his shirt to your breastbone, and another against your back, your blood soaking it. 

Dean's foot stayed down on the gas, pushing baby way past the speed limit, whilst Sam crammed himself in the back. Sam studied Dean closely, noticing how broken he looked, how frightened he was of losing you, with guilt splashed in the mix.

Before this hunt, you and Dean spent the week arguing with constant glares and rising tension. Dean was jealous, jealous that you could casually drop everything and go out for a night of fun as if nothing else mattered. 

He hated how close you were to Sam, how naturally you could talk to him about anything, without a second thought; you always went to Sam, never Dea; and the more you chose his brother, the more Dean pushed you away to stop himself from getting hurt without knowing why, until now. 

Dean glanced at you quickly, closer and closer to the motel, and his eyes glossed over you, taking in your delicate features, almost completely angelic. 

"We're five minutes away, try and open those eyes!" he barks, his voice cracking.

You're able to hear him now; he's less drowned out. 

Your eyes flicker beneath the lids, opening just enough for you to see the steering wheel and Dean's hand clamped to it. 

"I'm fine, Dean." You whimper, "W-Where's Sam?" 

Before Sam can reassure you that he's there, you fade out again, and Dean's heart is breaking. 

Where's Sam?

You're out of it when the door clicks shut behind you in their motel room. Dean gently lays you down on the mattress, his lips pursed and eyebrows knitted together. Not wasting time, he tears open the first-aid kit, Sam watches in the corner, his tears rolling down his face. 

"Is she-"

"We just need her to wake up, then you'll have your girl back." 

Sam laughs, wiping the tears from his face, trailing forward to help his brother as he pulls out the gauze from the box. 

"Dean, it's not like that between us. She's like a sister... she's a softer, more carefree version of you."

Dean ignores his brother, and with his trembling hands, he dumps the rest of the contents of the box on the nightstand: the gauze, alcohol, needle, thread, and a drop of hope. He removes your raincoat and slowly peels away the fabric of your shirt, shredded and stuck to your damp skin, he hisses through his teeth at the deep claw marks.

He douses the gauze with the alcohol, "This is gonna sting," he warns you.

The alcohol soaked gauze is pressed against your wounds, and your eyes widen, fully waking you up to the cold and immense pain surging through you. Your initial reaction is to thrash around and force Dean to remove the pressure, but if you want to make it out alive, you've got to ride it through. 

"Fuck!" you wince, throwing your head back, "Hurts so bad."

Dean looks up at you, relieved to hear you, to see you with your eyes open and staring up at the ceiling. A smile spreads across his face until he's forced to focus back on your wounds, his hand resting near your cleavage. 

"See something you like?" you try to joke, but it comes out as a pathetic whimper. 

"Shut up," he snaps, but you can hear his relief beneath it, "Just... shut up and breathe."

You're unable to keep calm as another gauze is pressed against another wound, your teeth clamp down on your tongue, and your hands frantically search for Dean, your fingers digging into his jacket. Rather than telling you to man up, Dean doesn't pull away, and allows you to use him to ride through the storm. 

Sam watches the way his brother looks at you again, and when Dean's free hand comes up to cup the side if your face, his thumb circling into your cheek, he smiles to himself and walks out of the motel room quietly, hanging outside in case he was needed. 

You bring your face down to look at Dean, and your heart skips a beat, noticing his lips were slightly plumper because he'd been crying. His green eyes lock onto yours; they are calming and full of love. The quiet is nice, until the searing agony ramps up again.

"No, no, not again," you whine, scrunching your eyes shut. 

 "I know. I've got you," he murmurs, his forehead resting against yours for a brief second, "control your breathing... that's it, now, I need to stitch you up. Take deep breaths."

You watch Dean skillfully stitching you up with a slight twitch in his fingers, "Why are you doing this?" you whisper, totally exhausted, "Thought you'd be glad to get me off your back."

The needle hovers over your skin, the long thread hanging down. 

Dean looks up at you again, and the sheer vulnerability on his face makes your breath hitch in your throat. You hadn't seen him like this before, ever.

"You think this is some joke?" his voice drops, and gaze hardening, "You think I want you dead?"

You don't look away, "Well, I know you don't want me around..."

Dean drops the needle onto the tray; the loud clatter makes you jump, but you're thankful to be aware of your surroundings again, even if you're locked into another argument with him. He leans over you, and despite his hard gaze, there is still a gentleness in him, one you hadn't seen before. 

"You're a pain in my ass, we fight and drive each other crazy, but..." he sighs, his jaw clenching, "but almost losing you tonight? I can't have that happen, ever."

Your heart picks up again, beating a little faster, but for the first time, it's not out of fear. 

"I've never hated you," Dean confesses, "I know I've acted like it, but I don't. I wish I did, it would make losing you a hell of a lot easier."

He leans in closer, his breath warm against your lips, his gaze dropping before locking back onto yours. Your hand, still gripping his jacket, lets go and moves to the back of his neck, your fingers stroking his hair. 

"You could've told me sooner," you smile, a light laugh escaping you, "before I got torn to shreds, I was asking Sam why you hated me."

Dean raises an eyebrow, "So that's how the werewolf got the jump on you, you were too busy thinkin' about other things." 

He doesn't wait for you to reply, and closes the remaining distance, his lips meeting yours in a desperate kiss that lightly bruises against your sore and cracked lips. As you kiss back, you can taste Dean's relief. He's too scared to pull you into him with the wound on your back, so instead, you pull him into you. Your kiss is hungrier and more desperate, and you don't want him to go away, ever.

Dean reluctantly pulls back by just an inch, and he rests his forehead against yours again.

"I gotta finish these stitches," he whispers roughly,  "then we need to talk about whatever this is"

"Take your time," you hummed and closed your eyes, finally letting yourself relax against the pillows, preparing yourself for the next round of stitches, "I'm not going anywhere."

"Check's paid, ready to go?" Johnny asked, breaking you out of your thoughts. Friday night dinner dates were your favorite part of the week; every Friday you and Johnny would search for a new place to dine at, but you always ended up at the same little restaurant a few blocks away from your apartment.

"Yeah, thanks," you rose from the seat across from him and grabbed your purse as he offered you his jacket.

"It's a little chilly outside, I figured you'd might want to wear it." He shrugged and avoided your eyes as you smiled softly and slipped your arms into the warm suede sleeves of his jacket. The scent of his cologne lingered on it, and now on you, too.

The warmth was so fiercely… Johnny. Unlike the usual bone-deep chill of a New York city night, the warmth that radiated from and around Johnny was something no one had quite experienced. Not quite the same as standing in front of a heater after coming in from the snow, or the first day of spring when you feel the last chills of winter slowly seeping out of your soul— no, this was different. It was the type of warmth that replaces the blood in your veins with pure sunshine.

He frantically placed a tip down on the table before shoving his wallet back in the pocket of his pants. He turned to you and stammered, "I'll be back, just a quick trip to the little heroes' room. Don't leave without me!" He hurried off down the hallway and entered the bathroom, leaving you smiling and chuckling to yourself.

"So did he finally ask you out?" The voice of an older woman wavered from over your shoulder.

You whip around and face her, your eyes wide and mouth slightly agape in a nervous horror. The frail woman who'd been your waitress since the first time Johnny took you to the "little spot" he knew after work now stood in front of you with a prying look in her face.

"I'm sorry?" You chuckle nervously, already feeling the warm air becoming thicker, and he wasn't even in the room.

Magnolia, an older woman who sweet, yet nosy, would make sure she always had your usual booth free. After the first few visits together, she'd bring a small plate of dessert to yours and Johnny's table for the "adorable couple." After a few long seconds with awkward chuckles, you'd explain that the two of you were friends and there just for dinner, after she'd nod with a non-committal "hmm." And every time you went again, she'd deliver the same dessert with the same words and insist it "must be her memory" that confused her.

"The two of you come in here a few times a month and leave giggling and smiling like idiots. The two of you have undeniable chemistry, the kitchen's been betting for months on who'll make the first move." She crossed her arms across her chest and did her best to look as intimidating as a short old woman in a floral apron could.

A blush crept up your neck as you shifted your eyes around the room and fiddled with the edges of the jacket. "It's not like that," you chuckled nervously. "We're friends, we just like hanging out in little spots after work." You took in a deep breath, and with a relaxed tone said: "Super platonic, it's nothing."

He shut the water tap off and heated his hands just enough to evaporate the water off, then gently pushed the bathroom door open. "Super platonic, it's nothing," your voice echoed down the hall. His hands stopped before he could fully open the door, and let it close it gently again.

Nothing? He stepped back a few paces into the bathroom and leaned his hands against the small sink. "Platonic," he repeated to himself. "Nothing, right."

"Nothing," like the way he'd always wait outside the elevator with an extra coffee in-hand prepared exactly as you liked it after your shift? "Nothing," like how the two of you searched for the other's eyes in a group of people to see the other's reaction when someone told a joke? "Nothing," in the same way that he'd always make sure to grab that leather jacket before leaving for dinner because he knew it was your favorite of his?

Oh, for the love of whatever deity was enjoying this horror show, he was bewitched since the first time he'd met you. Of course, he'd been told he was in love before by Sue, but he always insisted it was pure friendship— even if it was just to convince himself rather than others.

Finally, he let got of the ceramic sink and ran his hand across his face. Pushing open the bathroom door, he stepped out into the hallway with plastered-on confidence. He strutted over to where you and Magnolia were still making small conversation and he slung his arm around your shoulders. Without breaking conversation with Magnolia, you moved your hand up to meet his warm one and gave a reassuring squeeze.

Magnolia's voice faltered as she eyed the two of you. The arm on the shoulder, the squeeze, the comfortable stances like it was the most natural thing in the world. She gave a tight lipped smile and a hum. "Good night you two," she clapped her hands together and brought them to her chest. "Always such a pleasure for you two lovebirds to dine with us." She turned around and shuffled into the kitchen, leaving just you and Johnny in center of the soft candle-lit dining room. "I've got $20 on them coming in as a couple next time," she yelled not-so-discreetly down the kitchen hallway.

Heat radiated off the both of you and silence filled the air. Neither of you moved. She always says that, you thought to yourself. It's fine, she's old.

At last, Johnny finally broke the silence. "…Let's go now? Reed made me swear I'd be home at a reasonable hour so I don't trigger any alarms or—"

You nodded quickly and broke away from his hold as you began to walk ahead of him to the exit of the restaurant. The bell above the door rang and you were both met with the cool night air nipping at your ears and noses. Apartment windows reflected the soft twinkling lamplight through the street and the off the pavement.

The conversation flowed naturally as the two of you walked down streets laughing and joking as much as your tipsy brains would allow without letting anything too deep slip out.

Maybe it was the cold cutting sensation from your fingertips, but every while you felt a spark of warm fingers close to your own, or the ghost of a hand linger over the small of your back.

—

"Well this is me here," you came to a stop in front of your building apartment and went up the three steps before you began your search inside your purse for keys. Johnny surveyed the small street, as he'd done a hundred times before, and exhaled slowly. The sound of keys jingling snapped his eyes right back to you.

You turned around to face him, keys in hand. "You good there, hotshot?" You chuckled.

He blinked twice and scratched the back of his neck. "Oh, yeah. Sorry I didn't really mean to—" All of him, but his eyes, froze. They flickered down to your lips for just a millisecond. "You look so…" he exhaled breathlessly. He stood there gawking at you.

The way the lamplight shined in bright streaks in your hair. The way the moonlight softly caressed every one of your facial features. The way his jacket draped over your frame like it had always belonged there. The way the cold made your cheeks and tip of your nose slightly pinker. Even the funny little touch of light your eyes seemed to show when you looked at him.

Just, you.

"You're more beautiful than anything I've ever seen," he blurted out.

Your keys clattered on the floor and your breath hitched. His softened, ocean blue eyes searched your face for any signs of reciprocation. Your knees buckled and your heartbeat quickened. So this was actually happening?

Without breaking eye-contact you shakily stepped down the stairs— and failed. Luckily, a pair of arms lunged forward and caught you before you could fall onto the pavement. You grabbed his upper arms and steadied yourself. He chuckled and smiled sheepishly while he glanced you over for any injuries. The laughter died and your eyes met again, faces burning.

He leaned in and whispered, "I mean it, I really do." He paused, then came a sharp inhale and the contents of his heart spilled out. "Every second I'm with you it's like my brain shuts off and I can't think straight but it's okay because everything comes so naturally around you and I don't have to think about anything and after what I heard back at the restaurant I thought that if I didn't tell you tonight I might have to wait forever and—"

A smiled tugged at your lips and you tugged away from him slightly to meet his eyes again. "I love you, too. Not in a platonic way, but more than that. Way more," you interrupted.

It started as a quick peck on the lips, before he pulled away briefly. "Is it okay if I do that?"

You tugged him down by the shoulders and your lips collided into one another and you both melted into the kiss. Faint traces of earlier's wine lingered on each other's lips. Your head swam in the warm fuzziness that was only deepened by the wine. Months of longing and late night talks faded and added passion to the kiss before you broke it, gasping for air.

"You have no idea how long I've waited to do that," you admitted through a shaky breath.

"Less time than I have," he quipped with his signature boyish grin. He tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear and glanced back at the keys on the steps.

You looked in the same direction and cleared your throat. "I should get inside… cold and all."

He took it as a sign to jog up the steps and open the door for you. "Enter, madame." The door clicked open and he gestured you inside with a bow. You smiled at him and crossed the threshold.

"You don't have to go," you muttered. "It's cold and you'll be walking— or flying— home alone."

He smiled and shook his head. "I'm afraid I won't want to leave."

"Then don't."

Strange, he wasn’t expecting anyone and he wasn’t blasting loud music so no neighbours should be complaining… Ignoring it was always a safe option but the knocking seemed almost polite, so it probably wasn’t some asshole jock trying to torment him again. No harm in checking, right?

Just as he made his way to the front door the knocking stopped, still, he opened the door to check outside.

There you were, already turned around from the door and making your way away from his trailer. Eddie noticed how hunched over you seemed, almost as if ashamed or trying to make yourself smaller.

“Hey! Wait, come back!” He called out and was going to go after you before he realised that going outside in just his sweatpants and no shirt might only scare you away. He rushed back inside scrambling for a shirt, a sweatshirt, a blanket, anything to cover up. He usually wouldn’t care but it was you. And he sure did care about you. His guardian angel who dropped down to Earth and somehow landed on the picnic table just as he was dealing for one of your friends.

He was glad to hear your footsteps coming back but it worried him when he heard a few sniffles. Screw the shirt, he had never turned around quicker.

There was an evident pout in your lips and your eyes had a slight gloss to them, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t worried.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” His hands found your upper arms, his thumbs instantly rubbing a soothing motion over them.

You put your hands over your face, trying to hide from him.

“It’s stupid.” It came out in a mumble from behind the palms of your hands.

“Hey- no- nothing’s stupid when it’s you, angel.” The petname came almost naturally when it was you. Still, it earned a snort from you, you slowly removed your hands from your face.

“Angel is so not something you say.” Even though you found it annoying, there was still a soft blush on your cheeks, it made Eddie smile, his own cheeks earning dimples.

“Maybe, but it fits you so I don’t really care.” His thumbs continued their motions as he kept looking at you with this adoring look in his eyes that was so familiar and so Eddie you couldn’t help but calm down.

“So, want to tell me about it?”

-

“-and I studied so hard just to barely write anything on the test, I don’t know what happened…” you were sat on his couch holding a cup of orange juice (as it was the only beverage in the trailer aside from milk or tap water).

“Well, you gave it your all and exams are rigged anyway and-“ Eddie sat next to you on the sofa, desperately trying to get his point across.

“Or I’m stupid.” You countered his argument, his eyes immediately widened.

He turned to you and found you staring into nothing with a bitter expression on your face. He could practically hear your thoughts, repeating that same word. Stupid stupid stupid.

“If you’re stupid, I am beyond lost and America is doomed. You’re the smartest person I know.” It was still evident you didn’t believe him.

“Come on, think about it, if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have passed any of my classes this year. Smartest girl I’ve ever met, I’m telling you.” He nudged your shoulder with his.

“…Not smart enough, apparently.”

A soft sigh escaped your lips. But your breathing wasn’t shallow and your eyes weren’t glossy like when you first entered the trailer, so Eddie felt a sense of relief.

“Want to do something?” He nudged your shoulder again, making you sway slightly.

“…or maybe smoke something…?” He continued in a hushed and dragged out voice.

“Eddie, I didn’t bring any money with me… I wasn’t even planning on smoking today-“

“Nonsense, time to activate your sad-girl-discount.”

Eddie practically jumped off the couch and rushed into his room to get his pre rolled joint, one that he planned to smoke on a better occasion than you getting a bad grade, but alas…

That’s how the two of you ended up laying in his bed, hazy and calm. Overtaken by the silent melody of his cassette player, interrupted by nothing but the cheery chirping of birds outside and the soft static of your thoughts. This time they weren’t filled with thoughts of failure, but with quiet reassurance that everything was going to be okay.