Random Stuff

You sit on the bed, a dingy mattress and rotten frame covered by your bedroll and blankets. Your flashlight is in your mouth as you try to wrap a bandage around your new bite. The bite she put there with her carelessness. You don’t look up, but your hands shake more. 

She tuts, slowly inching toward you. “Let me.”

Around the flashlight, you grumble something like, “I’n go’it.”

She pries the bandages away anyway, sitting to gently cradle your arm in her lap. You drop the flashlight, shining it begrudgingly on the bite. She tries not to think of it, tries not to see those sunken teeth marks, as she patches you up once more, but her nostrils flare at the sight of that smooth skin now bearing the same marks as your other arm. How long before this becomes a sleeve of scars, too? 

She looks at you beneath her lashes, thinking that, by the time this is over, she’ll be able to do this blindfolded. You’re still pale, eyes glassy, front teeth sinking into your lower lip like you’re trapping something. She’s scared to know what: a sob, or more yelling? 

“Will you talk to me about it?” she asks. 

“Thought you’d be sick of me talking by now,” you quip, but it’s flat. Your heart’s not in it. She rips the tape with her teeth to secure the bandage, but neither of you move when she’s done. She’s so tempted to let her fingertips dance across the delicate skin of your inner forearm, tempted to kiss and kiss until all of this goes away.

But it won’t. It’ll only make things worse. So why can’t she just let this — you — go?

“Please,” she whispers, like there’s anybody else to hear her but you. After the mayhem upstairs, it’s too quiet, enough that she feels underwater, yet she doesn’t dare break it. You and her, you’re wrapped in something unbearably fragile, and she’s just trying to keep it whole in her heavy hands. “I want to know what you feel when you’re near them.”

“So that you can tell Roe?” 

She deserves the bitterness in your voice, but it still nudges her back.

“I don’t want to talk about Roe again tonight.”

You pull away, turning to untie your shoelaces. “I don’t want to talk about anything. We only end up fighting when we talk. Or we end up kissing, which isn’t much better.”

She swallows thickly, eyes never leaving your curved spine. She clasps her hands tightly. So tightly, her nails bite into flesh. You don’t notice, too busy trying to dislodge your bloodied feet from your boots. You weren’t exaggerating about the blisters, socks stained red along most of your heel. Abby sighs and moves to her knees in front of you, gently peeling away the fabric to see how bad it is. 

“Abby, please. I can look after myself—”

“I know that you can,” she says. “You just don’t have to. I’m here, okay?”

“They’re blisters.”

She moves to the other foot, examining the bite on your ankle. All the walking is preventing it from healing, blood seeping through the bandage you haven’t changed since she last dressed the wound, despite your insistence you would. 

Since you’re out of water, and not even she can stomach the idea of leaving in the search of some now, soaking isn’t an option, so the best she can do is clean the blood and lather your skin in antiseptic cream until tomorrow. You watch her like you don’t understand why. Like you’re not sure you deserve it. Like nobody has ever, ever taken care of you before. Maybe Abby has been fending for herself these past years, but she’s lucky she at least still remembers the way her dad would tend to even the smallest of grazes with his patterned band aids. Kiss it better, even when she was far too old to believe in such magic. 

Her brows knit together, hands curling around your calf as she looks up at you. What have you done to me? she thinks when her sinuses begin to prickle with the promise of tears. Why you?

“What did you mean,” she begins instead, “when you said I was dangerous? Is it… Is it what you saw me do to Cal?”

You shake your head, something like resignation on your face. 

“Then what?”

“The way you make me feel, Abby.” You reach out, giving her ample time to prepare for your touch. Your palm lands featherlight on her cheek, cautious, expectant, like you’re waiting for her to pull back. Instead, she leans in, desperate to take anything you’ll give her. “I keep waiting for you to treat me the way everyone else does, but you don’t. You act like I’m not immune at all. Like these bites aren’t here. And when they are, you don’t run from them. You… You soothe them. To everyone else, I’m just a lab rat or contagious. You look at me like you see a person.”

“Because I do. I see you,” she says. “I see what you’ve been through. How you’ve suffered. And I want to take it away.”

“Why?”

She frowns, and you’re quick to add, “You could just take me to Avalon, hand me over to Roe, then go back to your life with Lev. No complications. You’d never have to think of me again. You’d never have to… to want to keep me alive. Instead, we’re dooming ourselves. We’re getting attached. Or, at least, I am. And it’s just going to make it hurt more later. The more you kiss me, the more I…”

“The more you what?” she pleads. And then, because she thinks maybe she knows exactly what it is you want to say, and needs to hear it: “Please, tell me. The more you what?”

You blink the tears from your eyes, bottom lip quivering again. “The more I wish things could be different.”

There it is. Finally, something that isn’t sheer indifference to your own death. She’s been desperate for some kind of sign, any kind of sign, that you want to stay. That you want to live. Nobody should want to throw away their own life. Even in her darkest moments, when a longing for the end had closed in on her, Abby had swiped those thoughts away quickly. Found a reason to keep going. 

If you haven’t found one, she wants to give you one, because no matter how many people you’re saving, it isn’t right to give up on yourself like this. Not when you’re so good, funny, beautiful, gentle. Not when you’re the best person she’s ever met, second only to Lev.

She rises on her knees, sliding her hands over your thighs as she leans close. You’ve only given her more incentive, more desperation. If kissing you means keeping you, she’ll do it everywhere. There won’t be an inch of skin she leaves untouched. 

“I can’t stop,” she admits shakily. “I can’t stop wanting you. Needing you. That’s your answer. That’s why. Because you deserved better than this.”

You shake your head. “Look at the world. We all deserved better.”

She cups your jaw, firm, now. Willing you to understand. “I don’t care about anybody else. That’s the fucking problem. Before I agreed to get you, Roe… She said I'm too comfortable in the darkness, and she was right. I changed after Seattle. I came here to get you because I thought I’d feel close to my father. Instead, I only feel close to you. I looked for the light, and I found you.”

Your lips part like there’s something waiting to break free, tears dribbling down your cheeks as you look at her with a softened gaze. You place your hands on her chest, fingers curling into her T-shirt. “This can’t change how it ends for me. I’m so glad I met you, Abby, but I still have to do this. It’s the only way all this pain will be worth it, if I can give the world a chance at a vaccine.”

She wants to argue. Wants to say pain will never be worth it, and a cure won’t change that. But she knows better than to try. She’s seen how badly you want this. She’s seen you try to scratch at the demons under your skin. She can’t take it away. She can’t hope you’ll change your mind. 

All she can do is feel what she feels, and for you, that’s everything. 

So she nods. Lies. “I know. I know that.”

“But until we get to Avalon…” you whisper, eyes darting down to her lips. Her throat goes dry, blood runs hot. “I can be yours if you want me to.”

And then you kiss her, and it feels like the first and last time, like the cool night air after a lifetime under the sun and like breath being pumped back into her lungs right when she thought it was over. She holds you tightly, afraid you might go again otherwise, gasping into your mouth as she nips at your bottom lip. 

“Abby,” you whimper, and it only fuels her more. She tugs you down onto her lap on the floor, fingers knotting in your hair as your lips begin to pepper her nose, chasing every one of her freckles.

She is yours, too, she thinks. She will be long after this is over. 

You can’t help but begin grinding against her thighs, bolts of pleasure shooting through you with every movement until, soon, you’re panting with want. 

And then you remember all the times she’s recoiled from your touch, and you freeze. “Is this okay?” 

She grips your hips bruisingly tight to keep you there, keep you locked against her on the floor. “Don’t fucking go anywhere.”

“Abby, I… I need you to tell me that you’re okay—”

“I’m good. Don't stop.” She licks up your throat, and your back arches involuntarily, breath hitching under her mouth. 

“Fuck,” you whisper. “I forgot.”

“Forgot what?” Her eyes are near-black with a lust you surely haven’t done anything to earn. 

“That not everything has to hurt.” Because all you’re used to is needles under your skin, and knives, and teeth, and whatever poison runs through you as a result. You can’t remember the last time you experienced pleasure that wasn’t a quick release by your own hand. Can’t remember the last time anybody savoured you, taunted those nerve endings for something other than pain. 

She pulls away just far enough to meet your eye, her jaw setting with a sympathy you don’t want, because it means you’re likely more broken than you thought. 

She traces your waistband, and you shiver each time her fingers find your soft stomach. “You want me to make you feel good?”

You nod. “And I want to make you feel good.”

Her chin quivers, a suffocating silence falling over you both as she… stares. Analyses. No, not that. It’s far too adoring to be that. 

“I haven’t done this in a long time,” she admits.

“Me either.” You draw circles over the nape of her neck, wondering if she’ll ever tell you what happened to make her fear touch. Wondering why she lets you in anyway.

She closes her eyes, inhaling as she dips her nose into your neck. Her breath scuttles over your skin like laughter from a throat, palms squeezing your tits gently. “We can take it slow.”

“Abby,” you say. “We’re exhausted. We don’t have the energy or the patience for slow.”

A chuckle, soaked up by your goosebumps, like they’d risen just to hear it. “No. Maybe not.”

“Just tell me where you want me.”

“Can I take this off?” she asks, pinching the hem of your sweatshirt. You nod, helping her peel it off, and then your vest top. She kisses over the top of your tits, then sucks at your collarbone, your jaw, the top of your cleavage. She doesn’t stop when she gets to the bites over your ruined shoulder, only turning gentler. 

“Be careful. Please—”

“I’m not fucking scared of them.” Her knuckle brushes over your ribs. “But I want all of you. Lie on the bed for me.”

You do, dragging her with you as your spine presses into the bedroll. The frame creaks under your shared weight, foam mattress sinking at either side where Abby’s knees bracket your hips. She treats your bare stomach with the same attentive care she gave the rest of you, and soon you’re biting down on a beg, embarrassed by the way your underwear is already soaked for all the arousal she’s eliciting. You can’t wait. You wrestle your bra away, watching her reaction carefully. She licks her lips, toying with your nipple before lapping at it. 

You claw her hair, lids growing heavy as you stare up at the ceiling. It feels like you’re floating. Like this body is finally surrendering, showing mercy, in the way it allows you this warmth, this lightning. 

“Can I see you, too?” you question. 

She pauses, throat bobbing, before rising to remove her T-shirt. Fuck, she’s beautiful, all hard lines of strength, right down to the hinge of her hips. 

You don’t have to ask this time: she takes your hand and places it on the left side of her ribcage, right beneath the elastic of her bra. Her heart is pounding like drums. “This is what you do to me.”

You take her hand, slip it beneath your waistband so she can feel how wet you are. “This is what you do to me.”

Something fierce wakes in Abby. She bares her teeth, unbuttoning your jeans in one swift movement and tearing them off. You bend your knees, and her splayed hands force your thighs open, kisses beginning at your knee and ending at your groin. 

Your cunt pulses with anticipation, and you’re worried you’re so far gone you might come before she even touches you properly. Every kiss, brush, feels like it’s pressing right against your centre, even the caresses of your hips, the kneading of your asscheeks. She yanks you closer, hooking her arms under your thighs so your legs rest on her shoulders. 

When she slips your panties to the side to gather your slick, your head rolls back against the pillow, and you’re quick to move your hands to either side of you, afraid you might tug her hair too hard otherwise. You don’t know what she’s been through, don’t know what might pull her out of this moment and into a terrible one, and you refuse to take the risk.

Only, she looks up like she feels your absence, carefully guiding you back. “You can touch me however you want, baby. I’m okay. I promise.”

“Tell me if I do something you don’t like. Please.”

She nods, kissing the hollow between your ribcage. “I will. But you won’t. I like everything you do.”

The pad of her thumb presses against your clit, then, and you jerk involuntarily. Her lips curl, like it’s pleasure enough just to watch your reactions to her. “I’m going to make you come like this first, with my fingers. And then you’re gonna fuck my mouth. Does that sound okay?”

She says it so bluntly, as though she’s hashing out your next route with a map splayed out in front of her. Your brows knit together as pleasure begins to build against her fingers alone, hole clenching around nothing. “What about you?”

“After.” 

“Not fair.” You sound intoxicated, words slurred as you turn your face into the pillow. She’s parting your folds to get better access, fingers slippery and gentle and perfect, like you have all the time in the world. “Didn’t I tell you not to go slow?”

She laughs again, nothing but a shadow carved by moonlight, placing a kiss on the side of your knee before she returns her attention back to your cunt. “God, you’re perfect. D’you know that?”

“Abby.”

“What, baby?” she coos. “‘S this better?” Her finger dips into your entrance, and your walls clench, trying to keep her there, hips bucking to meet her. 

“Oh god. Please. More. Just… Forget the fucking fingers.”

Her teeth flash in the dark, and then she disappears between your legs, a kiss stamped against your clit that has you twitching, desperate. She’s warm, steady, fingers digging just this side of too firm on your hip, and you relish the idea of finding bruises that aren’t grotesque like your scars come tomorrow. Relish being marked by her, for once, instead of the infected. 

You bravely tug her hair, and she growls against you like she likes it. “That’s it. You’re in control. Always have been.”

Her tongue stokes more fire in you, stomach tightening like a knot as your head begins to spin. You must be making sounds, because she keeps saying, “I know, baby. I got you,” but you don’t hear anything but her voice, don't feel anything but her lips and this building, excruciating bliss that feels powerful enough to cancel out all the bad in your body.

And then she plunges two fingers into you, just enough to fill your entrance, as her tongue flattens and ripples against your clit, and you think maybe you’re sobbing, or screaming, or both, as you convulse in a desperate effort to seek more, more, more. The room fills with lewd sounds of her licking through your wetness, and your nails drag over her shoulders. “Still… okay?” you just about gasp.

She rises, teeth gritted, and pins your arms on either side of your head before kissing you. You taste yourself on her, musk and salt and sweetness. Your leg slips off her shoulder, and she’s grinding against it suddenly, every movement brushing her knee against your core as she uses your thigh for purchase. “Gonna go back. I just… fuck—”

“Take these off,” you beg, sitting up to help her unbuckle her cargoes. You begin to finger her immediately, and she sighs like she’s finally found the relief she’s offering to you. The column of her neck gleams in the night, hair curling where it meets her shoulders, and you think maybe you’re already in love with her, which is ridiculous, but she slots against you so perfectly that you can imagine, almost, that the world made her as compensation for the rest. 

You end up back on her lap, playing with her swollen clit while she stretches you out with her fingers. The sounds she makes are breathy and guttural, not too dissimilar to the ones you’d heard when she was fighting earlier — you suspect she never really lets that part of her go, though you can see the tension slowly dissolving from the veins in her neck, her forearms, as you explore her warmth. 

A tear rolls down your cheek.

“Fuck, stop, before I come,” she begs, but she doesn’t let you, thighs squeezing around your hand as her own thrusts speed up. Her coarse pubic hair tickles your palms, fingers wet and slippery and unskilled when you’re this tired and emotional and hers, but she doesn’t seem to mind, not as she splays you back onto your back to devour you like a wild beast. 

“Abby!” you scream, mouth agape as you look down at her lapping at your cunt. You can’t control your jutting hips now, your whole body moving to fall into her rhythm because if it stops, just for a second, you might implode. “Please. Please, please, please—”

She nips at your folds, and the sharp sting pushes you over the edge. Abby stuffs her fingers into your writhing walls, drawing out the orgasm until you’re a boneless mess, fingernails clawing her thick shoulders and thighs quivering around her. 

It lasts longer than any you’ve had before, aftershocks zapping through you as she continues to drive more pleasure into you with both her fingers and tongue. You slump back, unsure if you want to push her away or pull her closer so that you never know what it feels like to stop again. 

“So fucking pretty for me like this,” she’s murmuring around your pussy. “God, you’re soaked.” And she’s drinking you like she wants every drop for herself. 

You whine her name, twitching when the tendrils of her hair brush against your inner thighs. “It’s… It’s your turn now.”

“One more. Wanna make sure you forget about everything else.” Her fingers curl without warning, hitting your G-spot, and your overstimulated clit throbs against her. 

“Abby.” A wave of exhaustion washes over you. “I don’t know if I can last much longer. Please. C’mere.”

She stops with one final kiss to your clit, rising to meet you with your arousal coated all over her lips and chin. She uses that on her fingers like a balm over your nipples, then cleans it with her tongue like she could never tire of playing with your body. Of worshipping it. 

But it’s her turn, and you refuse to leave her without release tonight. You tug her down, unfastening her bra and drawing the straps down. Her chest is as toned as the rest of her, and you wish you could take your time with her, sink your teeth into all that thick flesh. Instead, you go back to her pussy, and she moans through closed lips. 

“Fuck, I can still taste you,” she’s murmuring. “I don’t… I don’t need much more. Just like that. I’m already so close.” 

Her head drops into the crook of your shoulder, stomachs pressed together, soft versus hard, hot meeting cool. Her legs tangle with yours as she falls on her side and opens herself up.

“You deserve for someone to take care of you for a change,” you mumble. “You’re so good, Abby.”

Her toes curl against your calves, and she tugs you closer, like she needs to feel you everywhere. It’s an awkward position, offering not nearly the pleasure she deserves, but her eyes squeeze shut as she ruts against you all the same. 

“God, I…” She finds you again, stroking your clit softly this time, like she’s doing it just to touch you, to memorise you. Still, your sensitive core coils for her from the sheer pleasure of watching her fall apart. You find a rhythm together, your thighs locked in hers so she finds extra friction against you, and you her. It’s a raw, uncoordinated thing, rocking for the sake of pleasure, not caring what or how it’s gotten, only that you’re melding into one, so close you don't know where you end and she begins. 

She comes with a sharp rasp of your name, and the increased pace of her thrusts has a second, gentler orgasm rolling through you. 

You grip her through it, feeling like you might be falling.

“This… This was perfect,” you whisper as her movements finally ebb. “I’m so glad I got to have this before it’s all over.”

She tenses, suddenly, in your arms, hiding her face in your neck like maybe she can’t bear to look at you. 

Still, she places a final kiss on your collarbone. Still, she stays tangled in you. 

You feel her sigh as her breaths slow and wonder if, by some miracle, she’s actually sleeping. Running your fingers through her hair, you pull back to check and find her lids closed, breaths leaving your skin tacky. 

In the darkness, you smile. Soon, you’ll have to get up to barricade the door and keep watch by the window, knowing she’d never forgive herself if you both fell victim to unconsciousness. 

For just a few more moments, though, you get to be hers, and there’s a peace in that. A peace that, until now, you’d been searching for in all the wrong places.

⊹₊

⤷ CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It's 2:47 AM, and you're ready to wreak havoc. You have been tossing and turning since you and Abby settled into your shared bed around 9. She had created a set schedule, not only for getting up early for work in the morning, but you struggled with insomnia, so Abby gave you a big enough window for you to wind down comfortably. Except here you are, staring into the dimly lit room, your book long forgotten on your lap, fiddling with the pages. You and Abby have tried everything under the sun, melatonin gummies and lavender essential oil behind your ear that stunk. Abby even bought you a sound machine, but it was long forgotten in a drawer.

And you want to cry because Abby is knocked out next to you, her squished cheeks against the pillow facing you. “Abby..” you whisper into the intimidating silence, brushing back the golden baby hairs that lay against her forehead. You watch Abby’s eyebrows furrow, shifting around by the ticklish feeling. You feel so bad but all you want is her to envelope you in her warmth, lulling you into sleep. “Abby,” you try again, gently nudging her, seeing that it does the trick since Abby starts stirring. She blinks a few times, your cloudy figure coming into focus as she rubs one of her eyes.

“Can’t sleep?” she murmurs, and you feel your stomach flipping from anxiety. How dare you disturb your peaceful girlfriend from her slumber? You nod, sinking further into the bed. Abby’s side is so warm as you start itching yourself towards her. She gets the memo and reaches her arm around you to press her closer to her chest. Facing her, she maneuvers your legs so it lay comfortably against her, cupping your butt in a comforting way.

“Close your eyes, baby,” she whispers against your forehead as she plants a kiss there, letting her lips linger as she starts patting your butt, the same way a mother would rock their baby to sleep. You two fall into the comfortable silence of your soft breaths, feeling Abby's inhale follow yours. The gently patting falling you into a rhythm that ends up knocking you out, gently snoring in Abby's face that has her placing a tender kiss on your sweet lips before she joins you.

You couldn't understand why you were depressed. From the outside everything was going right—you had a healthy relationship, good grades, a small but cozy apartment with your girlfriend… but you were still sad. And that sadness led to hurting yourself at times. You had been clean for a while, about a month. Nothing to scoff at when you're always in a dark place but you mind dismissed it as you grabbed a small box and left for the bathroom with a tired expression.

  When Abby came home you were a sobbing mess covered in blood and shame. Your arms and thighs burned as much as your eyes did from hot tears pouring down your cheeks. She knew you struggled, but seeing it first hand was awful every time. She stepped into the bathroom with a somber expression.

  “C’mere baby…” She held out her hand—calloused from years of gym workouts and working odd jobs to help you stay with her in a safe environment away from people that hurt you. She knelt down on the floor and pulled you into her lap. Just hugging you for a time. You cried into her chest, tears staining her tank top with dark splotches. You felt her start rubbing your back, trying to soothe you as strong arms wrapped around your shaking form. She kissed your forehead several times before moving down to your cheeks, kissing the tears away as fast as she could. 

  You stayed like that for a while, until your sobs turned to soft sniffles in your lover’s arms. You were too tired to speak; stuck in the fetal position on Abby's lap for God knows how long. Maybe until the bleeding stopped on its own given the crust forming over your skin now. 

  “How bad?” Abby asked, breaking the calm silence.

  “B-bad—” You respond quietly, barely even above a whisper.

  “Let me see, I'm patching you up.” A command, not a question. 

  You nervously roll up your sleeves then wiggle out of your pants. Wincing as the fabric, previously fused with blood and fluid to your skin, was ripped off carelessly. Abby pursed her lips as she began to examine your wounds carefully. She caressed the uninjured side of your arm and pulled your wrist to her lips, pressing a kiss as soft as silk over the red lines. She then picked you up easily and sat you on the counter—opening up the medicine cabinet to grab supplies.

  “I'm not mad. You know that, right?”

  “You're not?”

  “No, never.”

  “I figured you'd at least be disappointed…” You let out a bitter chuckle, to which Abby responds by flicking your forehead with her finger.

  “You're holding on for dear life to stay with me here, I can't get mad at your attempts to keep the thoughts at bay. I do wish you didn't hurt yourself, but I'm not mad or disappointed or upset or whatever your brain is telling you.”

  Her words were filled with finality as she grabbed a washcloth full of warm soapy water and started lightly scrubbing your arms and thighs clean. Paying special attention to any wounds that seemed deep enough to need a butterfly closure. The whole process was filled with loving words, kisses, and gentle squeezes of affection. She didn't talk down to you, she made you feel safe and cared for. 

  Each gauze pad was applied tenderly to skin covered in antiseptic ointment, then  wrapped over with bandages—or taped down for your thighs. Of course she kissed the bandaged injuries a million times, making you laugh softly at how sappy she was being. She scooped you up in her arms again and started to carry you to your shared bedroom. Looking up lovingly at you as the moonlight from a passing window perfectly caught in your eyes. Illuminating their beautiful colour and the small beads of tears still within your waterline, shining temporarily in the dark. A melancholic beauty that was a bittersweet vice on Abby's heart. She loved you in all forms, even your most broken. Shown by the way she paused to kiss you and press your foreheads together for just a moment after seeing you like that.

  “I'm not losin’ you, alright baby?” 

  You nod as the tears started back up again. She wiped them with her thumb as she laid you down in bed and tucked you in all your favorite blankets. Putting a plushie in your arms while she fumbled with the TV remote to put on a show. Something random on Netflix that she could cuddle you while watching. Afterwards she slid in bed next to you and wrapped you in her arms, resting your head on her chest with your ear right above the steady beat of her heart.

  “Rest darlin, you've had a long day…” Were the last words you remember as you nuzzled up to her and started to drift off to sleep.

That was the first sentence Eddie Munson had ever uttered to your humble person. You were eating your lunch in peace, staring into space as per usual when he suddenly spoke to you. You blinked. You looked around to make sure he was indeed talking to you. He snorted.

“Yeah. You. I’ve been watching you for the past five minutes and you haven’t stopped staring at me all this damn time. What ? Got a problem with my face, Gazer ?”

Gazer ? You blinked again and chuckled awkwardly before you tried to defend yourself. “I…No. Not at all. I just…I wasn’t staring at you I swear. I was just—”

“Yeah ?” He interrupted you. “Well from where I’m standing. It kinda looked like you were. And I don’t like people staring at me. It ain’t cool.”

You wanted the ground to swallow you whole when everyone at your table was suddenly staring at you. You pulled your cap down over your face in shame and begged for a reprieve of this moment of sheer embarrassment. And as if you had been heard, a voice raised behind you.

“Munson. Cut it out.” One of the school monitors spoke up and Eddie huffed—but still complied. He sat back down with an angry thud and his arms crossed over his chest. Once the monitor was gone though, he glared at you.

“Don’t think this is over. I’m onto you, Poker Face. One more weird look from you and I’m breakin’ out the tinfoil helmet, got it ?”

You were speechless. You hadn’t meant to be staring at him. It was just that sometimes you had episodes of complete absence and you just started staring into space. It wasn’t your fault. You swear you hadn’t meant it. But before you could apologise, he was gone…You stood up as well and walked towards the exit. You REALLY didn’t want to run into him again.

…

The next time you saw Eddie, it was two days later—during a fire drill. You were standing on the grass near the edge of the baseball field, biting your nails and trying not to look like a lost idiot in a sea of yelling classmates. Your class was grouped loosely together, but you’d instinctively drifted off to the side, head down, eyes fixed on the trees past the fence. Until someone bumped your shoulder—deliberately. You blinked and turned. There he was. Eddie Munson. Same wild hair, same jean jacket, same permanent scowl. He stood with his hands shoved into his pockets, tilting his head like he was trying to figure you out.

“You doing it again.” He finally told you.

Your throat went dry. “Doing what ?”

He gestured to your eyes. “Staring. Spacing. Whatever the hell it is. Just…do it somewhere else, alright ?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Where else were you supposed to do that ? It’s not like the fire drill had been your idea. “I wasn’t looking at you.”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Sure you weren’t, Poker Face.”

You frowned. Why wouldn’t he just leave you alone ? You had apologised. Multiple times. “Why do you keep calling me that ?”

Eddie tilted his head again, then shrugged before taking a step forward. “Because you’ve got this…blank look. Like you’re just…trying to win at an invisible game of poker in your head.”

You took a small step back. “I just…sometimes I space out. It’s not personal. I swear. I wouldn’t be staring at you if I could help it. I really just space out and you happen to be in my line of vision often when that happens for some reason.”

He blinked. The hardness in his eyes flickered for a moment. “…You for real ?”

You nodded, pressing your lips together, embarrassed again. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I can’t help it. It just happens.”

“Huh.” He looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “Well. You should tell people that.”

“I tried to tell you,” you muttered and looked away.

He didn’t respond for a second, then replied with a slight wince, “…Yeah. Right. Sorry. Guess I kinda jumped the gun on that one.”

You looked—really looked—and for a split second, he looked…sheepish ? Before you could say anything else, the principal blew a whistle, yelling for everyone to get back inside.

Eddie gave you one last look and finally smiled. Then he playfully ruffled your hair and told you: “Still think Poker Face fits though. But I ain’t upset anymore and I accept your apology. We cool, Gazer.”

And then he walked off. You were stunned by the unexpected exchange and it took you a second to get back inside…only to have one of the monitors tell you something that you really didn’t expect…

That night:

You were already sitting when Eddie strolled in the detention room. He froze. He really didn’t expect you to be there. But he then dramatically dropped into the seat beside you with a groan that was louder than necessary. The teacher at the front—Mr. Keller, who clearly didn’t want to be there either—glared briefly, then returned to his newspaper.

Eddie leaned over, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “So…” he whispered conspiratorially. “Was it you ?”

You blinked at him. “Was what me ?”

“The fire,” he insisted, like it was obvious. “You started it ? I’ve heard of love burning bright, but damn, Gazer.”

Your face dropped. “What ?”

He chuckled, clearly pleased with himself. “I’m just saying, if this was all some Bonnie-and-Clyde way to get my attention, it worked. You even got us detention together. Real smooth.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Eddie. It was a toaster short-circuiting in the teacher’s lounge.”

“Oh, sure,” he said, nodding solemnly. “But was it a metaphorical toaster ? That’s the question.”

You groaned, dropping your head onto the desk. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Flattered.” He shot back with a smirk.

You turned your head just enough to glare at him sideways. “You do know why I’m actually here, right ?”

Eddie blinked at you. It was his time to be surprised. But it quickly turned into amusement. “…Because you’re a criminal mastermind ? No ? Enlighten me.”

You sat up, arms crossed. “Parker. In biology. Said I was ‘ogling’ you during class. Then he told the teacher I was your stalker.”

Eddie stared at you—dumbfounded. “Wait—what ?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah. Apparently, I’ve been ‘following your every move’ and ‘writing your name over and over in my diary.’ Which is funny, because I don’t even own a diary.”

He leaned back slowly in his chair, eyebrows raised. “Wow. So you’re my stalker and a pyromaniac. What a résumé.”

You let out a heavy sigh. “Eddie.”

He put his hands up. “Kidding. Jeez.” Then, after a beat, “Parker’s such a dick.”

You blinked. He actually agreed with you. That was unexpected. He almost seemed to be feeling sorry for you…

Eddie then sighed and tilted his head towards you. “Alright, Gazer. Poker Face. Whatever. For real—I didn’t think you were, y’know, actually stalking me. I just thought you were…weird.”

“Thanks,” you replied dryly.

“But not in a bad way,” he added quickly and looked down—playing with his rings. “Like…you’re weird the way I’m weird. Which is probably why I reacted like a cornered cat.”

You eyed him skeptically and Eddie drummed his fingers on the desk, suddenly fidgety. “Look, I’m not great at the whole…being nice thing. But maybe I shouldn’t have called you out like that in the cafeteria.”

You stared at him. “Is that an apology ?”

He winced. “It’s the Eddie Munson Special™ version of one.”

You cracked the tiniest smile despite yourself and he grinned—proud of himself for making you slip. 

“You’re smiling. See ? We’re bonding.”

You rolled your eyes and looked away. “I still don’t like you.”

He smirked and nodded. “Even better. All the best friendships start with mild hatred.”

You rolled your eyes again…Right. As if…

The next morning:

You’d barely stepped into the building when you heard the whispers.

“That’s her.”

“No way. Eddie Munson ?”

“I heard they did it in the chemistry closet.”

Your stomach dropped before you even made it to your locker. You could already feel it—the way people’s eyes clung to you, half disgust, half fascination. The cliques didn’t even try to lower their voices. You saw Parker leaning against a locker with his smug little smirk, whispering animatedly to a few wide-eyed girls.

And then you reached your locker.

Spray paint. Sloppy, red, and dripping.

Devil’s Whore.

You froze. Your mouth went dry. Someone behind you giggled. You didn’t even turn to look. For a second, it was like everything slowed down. Your ears rang. Your fingers curled into fists.

I didn’t even do anything.

I didn’t even touch him.

You wanted to scream. Instead, you just stood there—glued to the floor.

“Hey.”

You turned—Eddie. He’d just rounded the corner, binder under his arm, chewing the end of a pencil. His eyes landed on the locker and he immediately stopped chewing and straightened up.

“What the—” He stepped closer, his voice sharper. “Who the hell did this ?”

You said nothing. Couldn’t. You were still frozen in place. Eddie looked at you. Really looked. And his usual teasing, cocky expression faded fast. You shook your head just a little, lips pressed together. He turned towards the hallway, eyes scanning the nearby faces like a wolf catching scent.

“Who the fuck wrote this ?” he barked and slammed his hand against the tagged locker. “Huh ? Parker ? Was it you, you little rat-faced shit ?”

Parker laughed. “Man, don’t look at me. I just heard what everyone else did. Gazer over here’s been—”

Eddie was already moving. He was about to deliver a punch that would hopefully rearrange the idiot’s brain right. But you quickly grabbed his sleeve. “Don’t. Please.”

He looked back at you, jaw clenched so tight it ticked. “They don’t get to do this to you.”

“They already did.” Your voice cracked. You hated that it cracked. The hallway was starting to go quiet. Too many people watching. Too many grins. But you didn’t want Eddie to get into trouble. He already had more than enough on his plate.

He finally glared at the students watching and raised his middle finger at them. “Anyone else wanna say something ? Huh ? Step right up. Come on. I’ve been dying to use my evil powers on all of you assholes.”

Silence. Everybody eventually looked away.

The bell rang.

Later, in the hallway outside the front office, Eddie leaned against the wall as you sat beside him on the floor. A janitor had painted over your locker in rushed, messy brushstrokes.

“You know,” he spoke up, “if we had slept together, I guarantee you’d remember it.”

You shot him a look.

He smirked. “Too soon ?”

You huffed. “Way too soon.”

Silence…Then—

“…You’re strong,” he complimented you suddenly, the teasing gone. “Most people would be crying in a bathroom stall right about now.”

“I wanted to,” you admitted. “Still might.”

He nodded once, slow. “I guess I’ll wait outside the stall today, just in case.”

You smiled and he smiled back at you. He then nudged his foot against yours.

“Come on. Let’s go. I suddenly got the urge to go to class.”

You were surprised, but smiled nonetheless and nodded before standing up and he smiled back at you before following you.

A few days later…

You were halfway through stabbing a sad excuse for a salad when she approached.

Marcie Winters.

Cheerleader. Always smelled like strawberries and money. She sat down across from you like you were already friends.

“Hey,” she said, all faux-sweetness and sugar-coated venom. “You don’t mind if I sit here, right ?”

You blinked. “Uh…”

You were pretty sure she had never talked to you before…She didn’t even wait. Just plopped down with her friends and leaned across the table like she was about to share a secret.

“So,” she started, voice dropping to a whisper. “How big is he ?”

You stared at her with a confused expression. “W-What ?”

She smiled innocently. “Munson. You know. Big.”

Your stomach turned.

“I mean,” she continued, totally unbothered, “people say he’s crazy in bed, like wild. I just figured you’d know.” Her smile widened. “Unless the rumor was just fake and you didn’t actually—”

“Are you serious right now ?”

She blinked at your defensive tone, as if you were the one being unreasonable.

“I didn’t sleep with him,” you told her truthfully. “That was a lie. Someone made it up. And even if I did, why would I ever share such an intimate information with you ?”

Marcie pouted. “That’s a shame. I kinda liked the idea of him being as much a freak in the bed than in his everyday life.”

You stood up so fast your chair scraped loudly against the floor. But before you could say something that would land you in another detention, a familiar voice rang out behind you.

“Wow. Really classy, Marcie.”

You froze.

Eddie.

He’d shown up with a half-eaten bag of chips in one hand and a “do not test me” expression that was usually reserved for people who tried to touch his guitar without asking.

Marcie scoffed. “What ? I was just curious. Jeez.”

Eddie stepped between you and her, putting himself squarely in her line of sight. “You wanna know how big I am ? Why don’t you ask your boyfriend ? I hear he’s got a measuring tape and plenty of insecurities he’s trying to hide. Sooo…instead of asking the poor girl embarrassing questions, how about you take care of your own backyard for once, hmm ?”

The lunchroom snorted. Someone two tables over even clapped.

Marcie’s jaw dropped in shock before she scoffed. “You’re disgusting.”

“No,” he quickly answered, popping a chip into his mouth. “I’m selective. And you didn’t make the cut.”

She was silenced and stormed off with a huff. You were still standing there, wide-eyed.

Eddie turned to you and his gaze grew concerned. “You alright there, Gazer ?”

You blinked before sighing and huffing a bitter laugh. “Why are you always showing up right when things get really humiliating ?”

He grinned. “Maybe I’ve got a sixth sense for it. Or maybe,” he said, lowering his voice as he leaned just a little closer, “I don’t like when people talk shit about someone I like.”

Your heart skipped and your eyes widened significantly. “You like me ?”

He raised an eyebrow and smirked at the shock on your face. “I was kidding. Don’t flatter yourself, Poker Face. I just hate Marcie.”

He walked away, tossing the empty chip bag into the trash, but not before glancing back—just once—to make sure you were smiling.

You were.

A few days later…

You were nose-deep in a history book, fully zoned out when—

Tap.

You jolted so hard you knocked your pen across the table.

“Jesus—!”

Eddie was crouched behind your chair, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“Hi,” he said sweetly.

You slapped a hand to your chest. “Eddie. You can’t just do that—”

He didn’t move. Still crouched. Still smirking.

“I’ve been here for five minutes,” he informed you. “You didn’t even notice me creeping up. I could’ve been a serial killer.”

You snorted. “I wish you were. Then maybe I’d have peace.”

He gasped—mock hurt. “Gazer. Wounding me.”

You glared at him and turned back to your book, trying not to acknowledge the fact that your pulse was still hammering. But then—

Poke.

Your eyes went wide. His fingers had poked your ribs. Right under your arm. You stiffened.

“Oh ?” Eddie exclaimed, leaning closer, mischief radiating off him like heat. “Was that a reaction ?”

You gave him a warning glance. “Don’t.”

He wiggled his fingers again. “I’m looking for it. The tickle spot. I know it’s there.”

You tried to use the back of your chair as a shield against the assault. “I will kick you in the shin.”

“Promises, promises,” he sing-songed.

You glared at him and tried to focus back on your page, ignoring how close he was now, chin resting on the back of your chair. But he poked your side again and you yelped—actually yelped.

“There it is,” he grinned, triumphant. “Bullseye.”

You shoved your book closed and gave him a half-hearted glare, cheeks warm. “Don’t you have anywhere else to be ?”

“Probably,” he admitted with a grin. “But I like bothering you more.”

You huffed and stood up to walk out. You then sat cross-legged under the old tree near the edge of the field, unmoving. Your eyes were fixed somewhere off in the distance—nowhere, really—and then you just went into one of your weird spacing out episodes.

From the path, Eddie spotted you.

At first, he thought you were ignoring him. Then he realized that you weren’t.

He slowed as he approached.

“Hey…” he said softly, crouching in front of you. No reaction.

He waved a hand near your face. “Earth to Poker Face.”

Nothing.

He paused. This wasn’t the first time. He’d seen it happen before, but never quite this…deep. Instead of pushing, Eddie exhaled through his nose and lowered himself into the grass beside you. He sat close—but not touching—watching you out of the corner of his eye. You were still breathing slow. Calm. Peaceful, even. His gaze wandered. And then he saw it—your hand, resting lightly against your thigh, fingers relaxed. Something stirred in his chest. He looked around for any potential witnesses but no one seemed to be around at this hour.

Left. Right. No one watching.

His tongue poked out briefly as he wet his lips. He looked at your face again, searching for any flicker of awareness.

Still nothing.

So slowly—ever so slowly—he reached out. His hand hovered for a moment over yours like he was afraid you’d burn him. Then, inch by inch, he slipped his fingers between yours. His palm pressed against yours with the lightest pressure.

You didn’t pull away. He wasn’t sure that you were even aware that he had decided to hold your hand. So he stayed like that. Sitting beside you, hand in yours, heartbeat skipping like a stone across water.

A soft breeze rustled the leaves above.

He looked at you again—studying the curve of your eyelashes, the calm in your brow, the stillness that always made people whisper, what’s wrong with them ? But not him. He didn’t think anything was wrong with you. He thought you looked like someone who just…lived in a different kind of quiet. And maybe, for once, he wanted to know what that quiet felt like. So he stayed. Just sat there. No jokes. No jabs. Just some guy with his hand in yours, hoping maybe when you came back to the world, you wouldn’t let go.

A few moments later…

You blinked slowly and the haze lifted. Your fingers twitched and tightened slightly around a warmth you hadn’t expected. Turning your head just a little, you saw him—Eddie, eyes closed, head tilted back against the tree trunk, breathing steady and calm. He was asleep. His hand still held yours, fingers loosely intertwined. You hesitated for a moment, the instinct to pull away warring with something deeper. Then, instead of moving away, you shifted closer, letting your shoulder rest against his. The grass was cool beneath you, the sky above muted and gray, but in that instant, the quiet felt safe.

You closed your eyes.

The soft rise and fall of his breath was soothing to you. Minutes stretched and slipped by. And somewhere between the crunch of leaves and the distant chatter of classmates, you both drifted into a peaceful nap—side by side, hands still touching, shoulders leaning in.

…

The moon hung low and silver, casting long shadows across the empty field when you woke up. You stirred first, eyes fluttering open to the chill night air. Your heart jumped when you realized you were still pressed up against Eddie’s shoulder—and your hand was still in his. You jerked awake, coughing softly to cover your sudden fluster. Quickly, carefully, you slipped your hand out of his grasp, trying not to disturb him.

“Sorry,” you whispered, voice barely audible in the quiet.

Eddie stirred too, blinking slowly as he registered where he was and who was beside him. He smirked, eyes half-lidded in that trademark devil-may-care way.

“’S fine,” he mumbled, stretching one arm above his head like it was the most natural thing in the world. The two of you then stood up and started walking towards the school ground exit. The street was empty, quiet but for the wind rustling through the trees and your slow footsteps on the pavement. Eddie shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and glanced at you out of the corner of his eye.

“…You wear that cap a lot,” he noted casually and gestured to the one you were wearing. “Like, a lot a lot.”

You looked down quickly, fingers twitching with the urge to adjust the brim again.

“Yeah,” you acknowledged. “I know.”

He let the silence stretch, giving you the chance to fill it if you wanted to. You did.

“It’s not just because I like it. It’s sort of…a shield.”

Eddie raised a quizzical eyebrow at you. “A shield ?”

You nodded. “From people. From their eyes. I have a…habit. Sometimes I space out and stare. It makes people uncomfortable. Makes them think I’m doing it on purpose.”

Eddie tilted his head, quiet now.

You kicked a rock on the sidewalk. “So I wear the cap low. It gives me something to look at. Lets me hide a little. I know it’s weird.”

Eddie was quiet for a second longer, then replied with a shrug, “That’s not weird.”

You glanced at him and he looked away.

“I mean,” he shrugged again, “people stare at me all the time. But I guess it’s only cool when they do it.”

You smiled, surprised by his reassuring words.

He looked ahead again, a breeze lifting his curls. “So what, the cap’s like—your armor or something ?”

You nodded. “…Kind of, yeah.”

He smiled. “Well, I dig it. It’s got that mysterious ‘who is she under that brim ?’ vibe. Very mysterious and dramatic.”

You snorted despite yourself. “Thanks, Munson.”

He was quick to retort. “You’re welcome, Poker Face.”

And with that, the silence returned. You both kept walking, your cap tugged low and your secret out in the open. Eddie glanced down at his hand—still swinging loosely by his side—and suddenly stopped walking. You paused too, watching as he wiggled his fingers, the silver of his many rings catching in the streetlight.

“You know…” he began, quieter now, “these aren’t just for show.”

You tilted your head. “They’re not ?”

He held up his hand, turning it side to side, letting each ring glint like a tiny spotlight.

“Most people think it’s just part of the whole… metalhead, freak-show image. And I mean, yeah, sure—some of it is. Gotta look cool when you’re scaring preps and failing math.”

You let out a small chuckle. He smiled faintly, but didn’t drop his gaze from his fingers.

“But I started wearing them when I was like… twelve. Found one in a pawn shop. Cheap as hell. Felt heavy. Solid. Like I had control over something.” He glanced at you now, his face more serious as he continued. “It was stupid, but I used to think if I had rings on my fingers, no one would notice they were shaking.”

Your breath caught and your eyes widened slightly. He gave a nonchalant shrug. “Still do it. If my hands are bare, I feel…I don’t know. Off. It’s stupid really.”

You were quiet for a beat, then replied softly, “That’s not stupid.”

He looked at you again. You hesitated, then tugged your cap a little higher—just enough for your eyes to meet his. Eddie held your gaze for a moment longer than necessary. You didn’t look away this time. His lips quirked up into something real.

“Well then,” he said softly. “Guess we’ve both got our special armor.”

You hesitated just a moment—then, without a word, your fingers reached out and intertwined with his. The weight of his rings pressed softly against your skin. Eddie’s eyes flicked down to your hands, then back up to your face, surprised but not pulling away.

“If…you ever feel like your hand is shaking…you can just…hold my hand.” You suggested and for a long moment, neither of you said anything. Then, Eddie’s usual smirk softened into a small, genuine smile.

“Thanks, Poker Face. I think I’ll take you up on that generous offer.”

You chuckled. “Actually, the name’s Y/N.”

He gave you a dumbfounded look. “Yeah, I know. But I prefer Poker Face or the Gazer.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “…Wow. Thanks a lot, Munson.”

But you then both burst out laughing as you kept walking hand in hand.

The next morning:

You were walking towards the front steps of Hawkins High with a bounce in your step. The memory of yesterday still lingered—your hand in Eddie’s, the quiet promise you’d made. For once, school didn’t feel so unbearable.

Then you saw them.

Eddie leaning against the side of the school, talking to Marcie Winters—her laugh shrill and fake, her manicured fingers grazing his sleeve. He handed her something small—probably another drug deal—and for a moment, it was normal.

Until she looked up and spotted you.

Smirk.

Without hesitation, she grabbed him by the collar and kissed him. You froze. You knew she had probably done that to make you jealous. However, your stomach didn’t twist with jealousy. It twisted with rage. You stormed forward, every step harder than the last. Eddie pulled back, clearly startled, but before anyone could speak, you ripped your cap off and slapped Marcie across the face with it.

Whack.

Gasps echoed from nearby students.

“YOU NEVER KISS ANYONE WITHOUT PERMISSION, BITCH !” you shouted, fury lighting up your face.

Marcie stumbled back, stunned, hand flying to her cheek.

“AND YOU GOT A FUCKING BOYFRIEND !” you continued, voice cracking from the emotion bubbling out of you after years of staying quiet. “LEAVE EDDIE ALONE !”

Silence. Eddie stood frozen, eyes wide, half in shock and half in awe.

Marcie sputtered, “Wha—are you crazy ?!”

You didn’t even give her the dignity of a reply. You turned your back on her, shoved your cap back on, and looked to Eddie. Eddie blinked. Then grinned.

“…Holy shit.”

He then looked down at Marcie on the ground, then back at you, then at the students around with this look of ‘have you seen that shit ?’.

You barely registered Eddie grabbing your hand. One second you were standing your ground in front of a gasping crowd, and the next, you were running away from the scene. He tugged you through the hallway, laughing breathlessly as you ran past lockers and students to finally slip into a dark, musty janitor’s closet. The door shut with a quiet click. You stood in the darkness, the scent of mop water and dust in the air, your chest heaving from the sprint—and from what you’d just done.

“Oh my God, oh my God,” you whispered, pulling your cap low again. “I didn’t mean to—I just saw her, and then she kissed you, and she has a boyfriend, and I just—shit, Eddie, I shouldn’t have—”

Your voice was rising, a full-blown panic ramble—Until he grabbed your face and kissed you.

Full stop. No warning. No build-up.

Your breath caught in your chest and your pupils started dancing around in their eye sockets as you tried to make sense of what was happening. Your heart exploded in your chest and your hands flailed up and down in the air like a headless chicken.

When he finally pulled back, he was grinning like you’d just lit the world on fire.

“That,” he breathed, eyes gleaming, “was the sexiest, most badass thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

You blinked, stunned into silence.

Eddie leaned in again, forehead resting against yours, breath warm. “You really just smacked Marcie Winters with your damn cap, Poker Face ?”

You stammered and tried to justify yourself. “…It-It was the only weapon I had.”

He barked a laugh, squeezing your hand tightly. “You’re fucking insane. And I mean that in the best way possible.”

Your cheeks burned, but you didn’t look away. Not this time. “…You’re not mad ?”

He scoffed. “Mad ? I’m in love.”

Your lips were still tingling from the kiss. His words—I’m in love—echoed in your head like a dropped match in a room full of fireworks. You blinked. And then—

Gone.

The janitor’s closet faded. His voice, the heat of the moment, the nearness of him—it all softened into static as your mind slipped.

Eyes open, but not seeing.

Still. Silent.

You were staring into nothingness again.

Eddie tilted his head. “Hey…?”

No response.

“…Shit,” he murmured under his breath, the playful spark in his eyes softening instantly. “You’re doing the thing again.”

He didn’t try to shake you. Instead, he sighed and crouched a little lower, gently resting one hand on your shoulder and the other on your hand—the one still warm from his grip.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, “I got you.”

He glanced at your face. You looked calm. Peaceful, even. Like you were off somewhere far away where none of this mess existed. After a beat, he slowly moved to sit on the floor beside you, shoulder brushing yours again—just like that day in the grass.

“I’ll wait,” he whispered. And he did.

Suddenly, your lashes fluttered. The mop bucket and dim fluorescent light above came back into focus. The weight of the air shifted. You blinked, head turning slowly, and saw Eddie sitting next to you on the floor—elbow resting on his bent knee, eyes watching you carefully.

“…How long was I out ?” you asked, your voice still distant, like you’d just woken from a dream.

“Just a couple minutes,” he replied with a smile. “Not too bad.”

You looked down at your lap. Embarrassment started creeping in again. “Sorry.”

“Don’t,” he cut in, his voice firmer this time.

You looked up at him with wide eyes when he cut you off and he smiled. He shrugged, fiddling with one of his rings absentmindedly. “I mean…I get it now. You weren’t ignoring me. Or zoning out ‘cause I’m boring.” He smirked a little, but it faded quickly. “You’re just built different, huh ?”

A pause.

Then he asked. “Is it scary ? When it happens ?”

You hesitated. Then nodded. “Sometimes.”

Eddie leaned his head back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling like he was thinking hard about something.

Then, “Well…for what it’s worth ? You don’t look weird when it happens. You just look like you’re somewhere important. Like your brain’s off doing spy shit and forgot to bring the rest of you.”

You laughed, startled and warm. “Spy shit ?”

He nodded. “Yeah. You probably know all the secrets of the universe and just can’t tell me ‘cause I’d freak out.”

He nudged your shoulder gently. “Anyway, I’ve decided I’m gonna be your handler now. Like, your official lookout. You space out, I keep you safe. No questions asked.”

You tilted your head. “And what do I do for you ?”

Eddie grinned. “You hold my hand when it shakes. We’ve already got a deal, remember ?”

You smiled—small, shy, and utterly real. “…Okay.” Then you let out a small chuckle, rubbing the back of your neck nervously. “We should…probably get back to class though.”

Eddie groaned dramatically, tilting his head back against the wall like you’d just told him finals were moved to today. “Ugh, why ? We just committed a public slap. Shouldn’t we be fugitives by now ?”

You stood slowly, brushing dust off your pants. “You can go full fugitive if you want. I still have homework due.”

“God,” he sighed, getting to his feet and stretching his arms overhead, “you’re such a nerd.”

You shot him a dry look beneath your cap. “And you kiss nerds. So what does that make you ?”

He paused. Then grinned, stepping a little closer, his nose brushing yours. “A nerd lover, apparently.”

You blinked—then smacked him lightly in the chest with the back of your hand. “Let’s go, Romeo.”

As you reached for the doorknob, Eddie gently caught your wrist. “Hey…seriously.”

You turned back before he continued.

“Thanks for what you did. With Marcie. No one’s…ever done something like that for me before.”

You felt your throat tighten—but managed a quiet, honest: “Anytime.”

And with that, you slipped out into the hallway. Whispers were already crackling through it like static—students leaning in close to each other, nudging shoulders, darting glances. You didn’t need to hear the words to know what they were about.

You were walking beside Eddie Munson. And he was holding your hand.

You felt it then—that rising heat under your skin, the old instinct to shrink, to disappear, to pull the cap lower and pretend none of it was real. So you looked down. Your hand in his. His fingers tangled with yours.

Slowly, gently, you opened your hand—leaving it there for him, but giving him the choice.

If he wanted to let go, he could.

For a second, nothing happened.

And then—

His fingers tightened.

He didn’t let go. Instead, he laced your fingers together more firmly and lifted your joined hands a little—almost like a dare to the hallway around you. You looked up at him. He was already looking at you.

“Poker Face,” he whispered under his breath, leaning in just enough so only you could hear, “I’d rather be holding your hand than pretending I’m not.”

The whispers got louder.

But suddenly, they didn’t matter.

Not when his thumb brushed the back of your hand like it was second nature. Not when you realized he hadn’t even looked at them. Not once.

Just you.

Always just you…

You smiled and dared to stare into his eyes.

He smiled as his eyes met yours. “Welcome back to Earth, Y/N.”

and yeah, you’re a little drunk, but it’s not even midnight yet and steve, who is typically your knight in shining armor (nine times out of ten, anyway), is… well, he’s sucking up all the fun! so you stomp your feet in the kitchen and cross your arms over your chest and you think you just heard robin snort over her shoddily mixed drink, but right now, you don’t care.

“did you just… are you throwing a tantrum?” steve asks through slightly squinted eyes, “is that what this is? this thing you’re doing right now?”

“no," your face is warm now, and you can't tell if it's from the bubbly alcohol pulsing through your system or the slight embarrassment you're feeling, "you can't just— you know, you don't have to babysit me all the time!"

the confession spills out of you like you've knocked over a glass, liquid pouring across the tiled floor of nancy and jonathan's kitchen. you watch as steve's throat bobs before he quickly hooks his arm into yours, pulling you in the direction of the bathroom. you're light and stumbly on your feet as you allow him to manhandle you, and your brain is too foggy to question why.

"i don't babysit you," steve nearly spits out once the he shuts the bathroom door closed, locking it to make sure no one can drunkenly barge in. "why would you say that? i'm just trying to look out for you— you're... you're my girl, why wouldn't i be concerned about your wellbeing?"

you swallow, and it's only then that you notice that your boyfriend's eyes are wide and watery. he leans back against the sink and folds his arms, then stuffs his hands in the pocket of his jacket.

"sometimes i just feel like... i don't know. like maybe you treat me like i'm one of the kids instead of your girlfriend."

the words sound small coming out of your mouth and your heart squeezes, watching as discomfort crawls across steve's face. he blinks once, then twice, and brings one of his hands up to scrub his face.

"first of all, i'm very aware that you're my girlfriend, not one of those shitheads i drive around because none of them have their licenses yet," he says, looking at you. "secondly, i... i've spent a lot of time being in survival mode and watching people die. i'm always scared shitless that the people i love most are gonna be the next ones to go."

you swallow thickly.

"i'm sorry if i'm a little too much sometimes, but i know when i have a good thing, and i care about keeping you safe. does that make sense?"

you nod, bringing your hands in front of your body, wringing them together. steve's confession has sufficiently sobered you up, drying any excess champagne out of your bloodstream. now, it all makes sense.

when you meet his eyes, you can instantly see the sadness in them, and you want nothing more than to cross the small distance and throw your arms around him.

and so you do.

he doesn't question it, not as he returns your tight, all-encompassing hug and buries his nose in your hair. because suddenly, you understand steve just a little bit more. it was never about being controlling or overprotective. yes, everyone teases him about being the dad of the group and yes, maybe he's the emergency contact for dustin, mike, max, lucas, robin, and you, but it's because he cares. he loves deeply, and he cares, and he wants — no, he needs — to keep you safe.

"i'm sorry," you mumble into the soft skin of his throat. you ghost a kiss over one of the moles that decorate his skin, feeling as he swallows beneath your touch. "i was being a baby. and you're right, i was throwing a tantrum. it was really stupid of me."

steve shakes his head, his cheek still nuzzled against the top of your head.

"i understand where you're coming from and i promise to try to tone it down a little," he says softly, "i never want you to feel bad about anything i do."