Later, fucker

The Hawkins High parking lot always smells vaguely like gasoline and wet pavement in the mornings.

Eddie’s gotten used to it.

It’s part of the routine now. Park the van in his usual spot, ignore the stares, climb the concrete steps near the side entrance, and smoke before first period while Gareth complains about something dramatic and entirely self-inflicted.

“—and then she says I ‘lack emotional maturity,’” Gareth scoffs, leaning against the railing beside him. “What the hell does that even mean?”

Eddie snorts, cigarette tucked between his lips. “Means you’re annoying.”

“Seriously? That’s all you have to say?”

“Yep.”

The morning air’s cold enough to bite. Students pour through the lot below them in loud clusters and varsity jackets and clouds of perfume and hairspray.

Eddie barely looks at any of them anymore. Until, a girl stops at the bottom of the stairs. Not just a girl. A fucking vision.

Eddie’s entire train of thought derails so hard it’s almost audible.

You stand there for a second like you belong on a completely different planet than the rest of Hawkins. Black leather jacket hanging off one shoulder, dark denim mini skirt, sheer tights with little runs in them like you’ve had them forever.

Dark hair all messy in that effortless way that should honestly be illegal. And then you pull out a cigarette. Eddie straightens slightly without realizing.

“Well, hello,” he mutters.

“What?” Gareth asks. But Eddie’s too busy staring.

You cup your hand around the lighter against the wind, face briefly illuminated gold as the flame catches.

You inhale slowly, calmly, and completely unbothered by the dozens of people staring at her like Hawkins High has never seen a pretty girl in black before. And maybe, they haven’t.

You look mean. Not a cruel mean, just the terrifying kind of pretty that makes anyone suddenly aware of their own existence. Eddie feels a little insane about it immediately.

“Holy shit,” he breathes.

Gareth follows his line of sight. “Oh.”

“Right?”

“You don’t stand a chance.”

“Shut up.”

You exhale the smoke toward the cloudy sky, eyes scanning the parking lot with obvious disinterest. Like you already know, this town’s too small for you.

Eddie’s halfway through wondering if he should say something when someone suddenly jogs toward you from across the lot.

Robin Buckley.

Your face immediately softens, and Eddie’s eyes go wide.

Robin reaches you first, grabbing your arm dramatically while talking a mile a minute about something that instantly makes you laugh under your breath.

Eddie nearly drops his cigarette. “No fucking way.”

Gareth grins slowly. “You know her?”

“No,” Eddie says, already standing up straighter. “But Robin does.”

“Oh my God.”

Eddie watches Robin link arms with you casually, walking toward the school entrance like you’ve known each other forever. You glance up the stairs briefly, the briefest of briefs. But your eyes flick over Eddie for half a second before looking away again.

And somehow that’s worse for him, way fucking worse.

Eddie turns to Gareth slowly. “I need to know everything about that girl immediately.”

By the time Eddie gets inside, he’s already lost sight of you twice. Which feels ridiculous considering you look handcrafted from a fever dream specifically to distract him.

He shoves through the front doors anyway, cigarette smell still clinging to his jacket, scanning the crowded hallway until he spots Robin near the front office windows.

Bingo.

She’s leaning against the wall outside the office, arms crossed, clearly waiting for someone. Eddie slides up beside her casually. Robin looks at him once and immediately narrows her eyes.

“No.”

“What?”

“No.”

“I haven’t even said anything yet.”

“You have ‘I just saw the hottest girl alive and now I’m about to embarrass myself’ written all over your face.”

Eddie scoffs. “That is slander.”

Robin just stares.

“…Is she new?”

“There it is.”

“Robin.”

She sighs dramatically like he’s deeply inconveniencing her personally. “Yes, she’s new.”

“What’s her name?”

Robin smirks slowly now, clearly enjoying herself. “Why?”

Eddie deadpans. “Because I’m asking.”

“Oh my God,” she laughs quietly. “You do like her.”

“I saw her for like twelve seconds.”

“And yet here you are.”

Eddie opens his mouth to argue, then immediately shuts it again because honestly? Fair.

Robin grins wider.

“She’s cool,” she says. “Her mom opened that vintage boutique downtown? The one next to the old Family Video?”

Eddie blinks. “The one with all the leather jackets in the window?”

“Yes, grandpa.”

“Huh.”

That actually tracks disturbingly well.

Robin nods toward the office window. “She works there after school sometimes. I started helping out a few weeks ago because apparently I’m incapable of saying no to cool women.”

“Shocking.”

“Anyway,” Robin continues, “she moved here like… last week? We’ve mostly just been hanging out at the shop.”

Eddie risks a glance through the office doorway. You’re standing at the counter while the secretary flips through papers, one boot hooked behind the other lazily.

Jesus Christ.

Before Eddie can defend himself, the office door swings open. And there you are again, closer this time.

The fluorescent lights should make everyone look terrible, but somehow you still look unfairly good standing there with your folded schedule in one hand and your headphones hanging around your neck.

You glance up, your eyes landing on Eddie for half a second.

Then Robin waves you over casually. “There you are.”

You walk toward them, expression calm, vaguely bored, like Hawkins High has already exhausted you and it’s barely first period.

“Your school is confusing,” you tell Robin flatly.

“Trust me, it doesn’t get better.”

Robin takes your schedule from your hand, scanning it quickly before suddenly snapping her fingers.

“Oh, shit.”

“What?”

“I have band first period.”

Eddie perks up immediately. Robin looks between the two of you with an expression that instantly makes him suspicious.

“But,” she continues slowly, “Eddie can show you where to go.”

Your eyes flick to him again.

Up close, Eddie notices even more details: the silver rings covering your fingers, the faint smudge of dark makeup beneath your eyes, the tiny scar near your lip.

You smell faintly like smoke and vanilla, and it’s honestly a little distracting.

Eddie straightens slightly. “Yeah, I can.”

Robin hands your schedule back with a grin that feels far too knowing.

“Perfect. Okay. Great. Problem solved.”

“You’re awfully excited about this,” Eddie mutters.

Robin kicks his boot lightly. “Be nice,” she whispers before turning back to you. “He looks scary, but he’s mostly harmless.”

“Mostly?” Eddie repeats.

You glance at him again. Then, finally, you smile. Not too long, but enough to make Eddie feel briefly insane.

“Good to know,” you say.

Eddie learns very quickly that showing you around is significantly harder than he expected. Mostly because every time he looks at you, his brain short circuits a little.

“You have approximately five seconds before someone shoulder-checks you,” he says as you step backward into the middle of the hallway traffic, still staring down at your crumpled schedule.

Without thinking, he catches your elbow and steers you out of the way just as two basketball players shove past.

You glance up at him. “Friendly school.”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie says dryly. “Real community-oriented.”

A laugh slips out of you.

He walks you through the hallways slower than necessary, pointing things out while secretly trying to extend the interaction for as long as humanly possible.

“That hallway floods when it rains.”

“Charming.”

“The cafeteria pizza can legally qualify as a weapon.”

“Good to know.”

“And if you hear screaming near the gym, just keep walking.”

You glance over. “You’re kidding.”

Eddie just looks ahead solemnly. “I wish I was.”

Another laugh. God, he’s obsessed already.

By the time you reach the arts wing, people are openly staring. Not even subtly, and Eddie notices every single one of them.

Some because you’re new. Most because you’re beautiful.

And weirdly enough, the realization makes something possessive curl low in his chest before he shoves it away immediately because Jesus Christ, Munson, get it together.

“So,” you say after a minute, eyes flicking toward him, “you always volunteer to guide random girls around school?”

“Only the cute ones.”

That finally gets a real smile out of you.

“There it is,” Eddie says before he can stop himself.

Your eyebrow lifts slightly. “What?”

“That smile.” He shrugs casually, despite the fact his heart’s beating weird now. “Was beginning to think you didn’t have one.”

You shake your head a little, looking down briefly like you’re hiding another smile.

Cute. Dangerously cute, at that. Eddie’s so distracted watching you that he nearly walks directly into a freshman carrying a trumpet.

“Watch it, freak,” the kid mutters.

Eddie blinks. “Did a fourteen-year-old just disrespect me?”

You snort quietly beside him. Worth it.

When you finally reach your class, Eddie almost feels disappointed. Which is insane because he’s known you for maybe twenty minutes.

The door’s still closed, a few students lingering outside waiting for the teacher to arrive.

You glance down at your schedule again before looking back up at him. “Guess this is me.”

“Guess so.”

For a second neither of you moves. Then you shift your bag higher onto your shoulder. “Thanks for showing me around.”

“Anytime.”

Another tiny pause. And then:

“I’m Eddie, by the way.”

Your lips twitch slightly like you already knew he’d eventually get around to introducing himself.

You tell him your name. And Eddie swears he’s never heard anything prettier.

He repeats it once immediately, like testing how it sounds in his mouth. You notice, and he can tell you noticed. And somehow that makes it worse.

“Well,” you say, stepping backward toward the classroom door as more students start arriving, “thanks, Eddie.”

He watches you disappear inside. Then stands there for another full five seconds doing absolutely nothing. A freshman walks around him awkwardly.

Eddie exhales sharply. “…I’m so fucked.”

By lunch, the situation has escalated dramatically.

“You’re being weird,” Dustin informs him around a mouthful of fries.

Eddie ignores him completely, leaning over the Hellfire table while staring at the tiny screen of Dustin’s phone. “I’m not being weird.”

“You asked me if the school office keeps records of student last names.”

“That was research.”

“That was stalking.”

“Semantics.”

Dustin sighs dramatically but keeps scrolling through Instagram anyway.

“Okay, wait. So, what do we know?”

Eddie starts counting on his fingers.

“New girl. Robin knows her. Her mom owns that boutique downtown.”

“Helpful.”

“She smokes Marlboro Reds.”

Dustin stares at him. “…You noticed the brand?”

Eddie points at him. “Don’t judge me.”

“I’m absolutely judging you.”

They continue scrolling, no luck.

“No offense,” Dustin says, “but you don’t even know her last name. How are we supposed to find her?”

Eddie leans back in his chair with a groan. Then suddenly, “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“The store.”

Dustin squints at him. “What store?”

“The store,” Eddie says again, grabbing the phone back. “Businesses have Instagram accounts, Henderson. Keep up.”

Dustin scoffs and snags the phone back, searching desperately to find the boutique. And suddenly they’re both hunched over the screen like detectives trying to crack a federal case.

“Found it,” Dustin says suddenly.

Eddie nearly snatches the phone out of his hands.

The boutique’s Instagram pulls up first: grainy photos of vintage jackets, chunky jewelry, and old band tees hanging on racks. The whole page looks cool in a way Hawkins definitely isn’t.

Even the bio is intimidating. Dustin scrolls through the feed while Eddie hovers over his shoulder impatiently.

“Can you move faster before I die?”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being efficient.”

Dustin opens one of the newer posts, a mirror picture from inside the shop. Robin’s in the background making a face while holding up a leopard print jacket.

And there you are.

Standing behind the counter in a black lace tank and low-rise jeans, one hip leaned against the register while looking down at something out of frame.

Eddie fully stops breathing for a second.

“Oh, she’s cool cool,” Dustin mutters.

“Told you.”

“Yeah, but this is, like…” Dustin gestures vaguely at the screen. “Advanced levels of hot.”

Eddie grins smugly like he personally accomplished that somehow. Then Dustin notices the tagged accounts at the top.

“Ohhhhhh.”

Eddie leans closer immediately, and there it is: your Instagram.

Your profile picture alone nearly kills him. A blurry flash photo in a back alley, cigarette in one hand, while you face into nothing.

“Open it,” Eddie says instantly.

Dustin clicks the account, and the second he does Eddie is absolutely done for. Your entire feed looks like something ripped out of a late-night MTV music video.

Dark blurry photos. Band posters. Mirror selfies. Stacks of CDs. Cigarettes balanced between ringed fingers. Random shots of rainy streets and coffee cups and record players.

And then there are selfies. Jesus Christ.

“She looks famous,” Gareth says suddenly, appearing behind them out of nowhere.

Eddie jumps. “Where the hell did you come from?”

Jeff leans over too now. “Munson’s in love.”

“I’m not in love.”

“You remembered her cigarette brand,” Dustin says.

Eddie ignores them, thumb hovering over the follow button. Which somehow now makes this all feel more serious.

“Do it,” Gareth says immediately.

“Absolutely do it.”

“What if she thinks I’m weird?”

The entire table goes silent, then they all burst into laughter.

“YOU’RE asking that?” Dustin nearly wheezes.

Eddie flips him off without looking away from the screen. Your bio is short. "no one mourns the wicked."

Eddie’s even more obsessed now, like that's even possible.

“Okay,” he mutters mostly to himself. “We’re doing this.”

Then he hits follow, and the table erupts immediately.

“Oh my God, he folded.”

“That was FAST.”

“Munson’s down catastrophic.”

Eddie shoves Dustin away. “Shut up.”

But he’s grinning, actually grinning. Because now there’s a chance you’re gonna open Instagram later and see his name sitting there waiting for you.

Your phone buzzes:

edsthebanished started following you.

Cute didn’t even begin to cover it, honestly.

Pretty in that dangerous sort of way. Big brown eyes, rings on every finger, messy curls, cigarette smoke clinging to his jacket. The kind of guy your mother would immediately clock as trouble before he even opened his mouth.

Which, naturally, made him exactly your type. Unfortunately for him, you’d met boys like Eddie before.

Cocky ones. Flirty ones. Boys who looked at you too long in hallways and thought a little charm and a pretty smile could get them anything they wanted.

And sure, maybe it worked sometimes. But you’d gotten good at the game too, maybe even better than they were.

So instead of following back immediately, you let the notification sit there untouched for the rest of the school day, left lingering in your inbox while you pretended not to think about it every ten minutes.

By the time you get to the boutique after school, Robin’s already behind the counter reorganizing a rack of skirts while blasting The Cranberries through the store speakers.

She glances up the second you walk in, then immediately narrows her eyes.

“…Why do you look smug?”

“I don’t look smug.”

“You absolutely look smug.”

She abandons the rack she’s fixing, crossing her arms dramatically as she leans against the counter. “Alright. Tell me everything.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Mhm.”

You unlock your phone casually, sliding it across the counter toward her. Robin looks down, then immediately bursts out laughing.

“No fucking way.”

There, sitting at the top of your notifications:

edsthebanished started following you.

“Oh, he folded FAST,” Robin says delightedly.

You take your phone back before she can snoop any further. “It’s just a follow.”

“From Eddie Munson,” she emphasizes. “Who spent half of first period pretending he wasn’t trying to impress you.”

A laugh slips out before you can stop it. “That obvious?”

“To me? Extremely.”

You lean back against the counter, phone still in your hand. “I mean…” Your shoulders lift slightly. “He’s cute.”

Robin gasps theatrically. “Oh my God.”

“Stop it!”

“I’m not doing anything!”

You roll your eyes, but you’re still smiling faintly as your thumb taps absentmindedly against your phone case.

“He just…” You pause. “I don’t know much about him.”

“He’s actually really nice,” she says. “Like, genuinely. He acts all dramatic and flirty and whatever, but Eddie’s kinda… different.”

"Different."

You glance down at the notification again. The username alone screams dramatic little shit. You can practically picture the grin he probably had while hitting follow.

Robin watches your expression carefully before smirking knowingly.

“Oh, please,” she says. “I know how much you love different.”

You point at her immediately. “That sounds judgmental.”

“It’s observational.”

“It’s rude.”

“It’s accurate.”

You snort quietly, shaking your head. Then, after one last second of pretending to think about it, you follow him back.

Eddie is sprawled dramatically across Gareth’s garage couch when it happens. The boys are supposed to be practicing.

Instead, Jeff’s tuning his bass for the fifteenth time, Gareth’s arguing with someone over the phone, and Eddie’s been pretending to listen while checking Instagram every thirty seconds like a psychopath.

Then suddenly, his phone buzzes:

midnightanomaly started following you

Eddie sits upright so fast he nearly falls off the couch. “No way.”

“What?” Gareth asks distractedly.

“She followed me back.”

The entire garage erupts instantly.

Jeff points accusingly. “OH, he’s smiling smiling.”

“Shut up.”

Eddie opens your profile immediately anyway. Now that you’re mutuals, it’s somehow even worse for his mental stability.

Eddie thumb begins to loom over the message button instinctively.

“Jesus Christ,” Gareth mutters. “You are DOWN horrendous.”

“I need to message her.”

“Immediately?” Jeff asks.

“Yes immediately.”

“That’s insane behavior.”

Eddie ignores them, already opening his DMs. And for the first time all day, Eddie suddenly feels nervous.

Because flirting in person is one thing, but DMs are forever.

“Okay,” he mutters. “What do I say?”

“Don’t be weird,” Gareth says.

“Not helpful.”

Jeff leans over his shoulder. “Say something normal.”

“I am normal.”

All three of them stare at him.

“…Right,” Eddie sighs.

Then finally, after another second of overthinking it, he starts typing.

Your phone buzzes while you’re reorganizing necklaces behind the counter.

Robin immediately notices. “You smiled again.”

“I did not.”

“You literally did.”

You glance down at the notification:

Your eyes flick over Eddie’s last message again. You hate how much you can picture him typing it.

Probably grinning at his phone, surrounded by friends making fun of him, and fully aware of exactly what he’s doing.

Robin appears beside you again carrying a stack of folded shirts. “You’ve reread that message like four times.”

“I’m analyzing it.”

“You’re flirting.”

You angle the phone toward her finally, letting her skim through the conversation. Robin’s reaction is immediate.

“Oh, he likes you bad.”

“It’s been one day.”

“And yet.” She points dramatically at the screen. “This.”

You bite back another smile, locking your phone before she can keep reading.

Robin watches you carefully. “So what’re you gonna say?”

You shrug. Honestly? You’re not entirely sure.

Because Eddie’s smooth, annoyingly smooth. The kind of smooth that should feel rehearsed, except somehow it doesn’t, and that’s the dangerous part.

You glance down at your phone again before an idea suddenly hits you. Slowly, a grin spreads across your face, and Robin notices instantly.

“Oh no.”

“What?”

“You’re about to instigate.”

You open Instagram. “Maybe.”

“Girl.”

“He’s in a band, yeah?”

“…Yeah.”

A few taps later, your new note goes live.

Robin bursts out laughing almost instantly. “You are SUCH a menace.”

“It’s subtle.”

“It’s literally bait.”

You grin shamelessly, locking your phone. Across town, Gareth notices the note before Eddie does.

“WAIT,” he says suddenly, grabbing Eddie’s arm. “Read that.”

He goes quiet, then a slight grin forms across his face. “Oh, so this is how she wants to play it, huh?”

Jeff throws a balled-up receipt at his head immediately. “You are unbelievable.”

“She literally handed me an opening.”

“That was not specifically for you.”

Eddie’s already opening Instagram stories anyway. “Yes it was.”

Gareth watches him type with growing horror. “Whatever you’re doing right now is gonna be embarrassing.”

“No,” Eddie says confidently. “It’s gonna be charming.”

He snaps a blurry picture of Gareth’s garage: amps stacked against the wall, guitars and tangled cords everywhere.

Then, types over it:

When you check your phone fifteen minutes later, you immediately laugh under your breath.

Robin looks up from steaming tags onto new inventory. “What now?”

Without answering, you turn the screen toward her, and Eddie’s story fills the display.

Robin’s jaw drops dramatically. “Oh, he’s SMOOTH.”

“It’s a little funny,” you admit.

“A little?” Robin grabs your wrist. “No, absolutely not. We’re going.”

You blink at her. “To the gig?”

“Yes.”

“Robin.”

“You literally baited him first.”

“That’s not—”

“And now he’s inviting you out in public like a normal person instead of lurking in your DMs.” She points accusingly. “That’s growth.”

You snort, shaking your head. The idea of seeing him again sends a weird little spark low in your stomach, which is annoying.

Robin notices your hesitation instantly and grins. “Oh my God, you want to go.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

An hour later, after closing, you’re standing in the boutique’s back room staring at yourself in the mirror while Robin digs through clothing racks like a woman possessed.

“You need something hot.”

“I already look hot.”

Robin pauses dramatically. “…Well.”

You end up in a pair of gray denim jeans, a studded belt, and a fitted black tank top with lace detailing.

Robin wolf whistles from behind you. “Eddie Munson the man that you are.”

“Relax.”

“You’re posting that.”

You glance at yourself once more before shrugging and pulling out your phone.

A quick mirror picture: flash on, but messy enough to look accidental. Then you post it to your close friends story.

And, very intentionally, you put Eddie on your close friends list…

Across town, Eddie’s midway through tuning his guitar when his phone lights up. He almost ignores it. Then, he sees the little green circle around your icon and immediately drops the guitar pick.

“No way.”

“What?” Gareth asks.

Eddie opens the story and forgets how to breathe for a second. “Oh, she’s evil.”

You stare at the screen for a second before slowly turning your phone toward Robin. “…You invited Steve?”

Robin doesn’t even look guilty. “If by invited you mean casually mentioned we were going and he invited himself? Then yes.”

“Robin.”

“What?” she says innocently. “Steve likes live music.”

“Not this kind of music.”

“He likes me. Big difference.”

You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head as you tuck your phone back into your pocket. A dangerous little grin spreads across her face. “Oh,” she says softly.

You immediately narrow your eyes. “No.”

“No, listen.”

“That sentence has literally never ended positively.”

Robin leans across the counter conspiratorially anyway. “If Eddie wants to act all smooth and flirty and mysterious—”

“He’s not mysterious.”

“He thinks he is,” Robin corrects. “Which means we now have leverage.”

You already know where this is going, and absolutely not. “Robin—”

“Imagine,” she interrupts dramatically, “how insane Munson’s gonna go when Steve Harrington walks into the Hideout with you.”

You snort immediately. “You’re evil.”

“I’m hilarious.”

“You’re trying to start a fight.”

“I’m trying to create atmosphere.”

You shake your head, but the idea is admittedly a little funny. Mostly because Eddie does seem like the possessive type. Not in a bad way, just in the very obvious way. And you are very familiar with the game that is boys and their fragile egos. 

Robin notices your expression instantly and points at you. “OH, you’re thinking about it.”

“I’m thinking about how much trouble you’d cause in another life.”

“And yet you love me.”

Unfortunately? Also true.

Before you can respond, your phone buzzes again:

You lock your phone slowly, still grinning a little despite yourself.

“Well?” she asks immediately.

You shrug, trying for casual. “He’s funny.”

Robin gasps dramatically. “Funny? That’s the word we’re using now?”

You busy yourself with fixing the sleeve of your jacket instead of answering, which is apparently answer enough.

Robin grins knowingly. “Oh, you like him.”

“I think he likes attention.”

“And you don’t?”

You point at her accusingly. “You’re getting way too much enjoyment out of this.”

“Because it’s entertaining.” She grabs her bag from beneath the counter. “Also, because Eddie Munson has never looked at his phone this much in his life.”

That image alone makes your stomach flip annoyingly.

“Oh, you’re gone.”

“I’m literally standing right here.”

Before Robin can torment you further, headlights flash through the boutique windows. Then a horn honks twice outside.

Robin brightens instantly. “Our chariot awaits.”

You glance through the front window just in time to see Steve leaning across the driver’s seat of his BMW, one hand on the wheel.

Your eyebrows lift. “You weren’t kidding.”

“Told you.”

Outside, Steve looks between the two of you as you climb in the car. Then he does a visible double-take at your outfit. “…Jesus Christ.”

Robin cackles immediately from the passenger seat. “RIGHT?”

You snort, shutting the back door behind you. “Relax.”

“No, I’m serious,” Steve says, pulling away from the curb. “Munson’s gonna forget how to speak.”

Meanwhile, across town, Eddie’s trying very hard not to lose his mind. The Hideout smells like beer and old wood and cigarette smoke, the small stage barely big enough for the band’s equipment.

Jeff’s tuning, Gareth’s complaining, and the crowd’s slowly filtering in. And Eddie keeps checking the front door every thirty seconds like a maniac.

“She’s coming,” Gareth says without looking up.

“I know.”

“You’re pacing.”

“I’m not pacing.”

Jeff glances over. “You changed shirts twice.”

“Okay, first of all—”

The front door swings open before Eddie can finish, and suddenly every thought in his head evaporates.

You walk in beside Robin, looking exactly as devastating as your story suggested. Tight black top and silver jewelry catching under the dim bar lights, leather jacket slipping slightly off your shoulder.

For one brief second, Eddie forgets literally everything else in the room exists, then he notices who’s behind you.

Steve fucking Harrington.

Eddie’s smile drops instantly. “…What the fuck?”

Normally, Eddie loves this part: the adrenaline, the noise, the attention. Tonight, though? Every single one of his thoughts keeps circling back to the same thing:

Why the hell did you come with Steve Harrington?

He grips the mic tighter as Jeff starts the opening riff of their first song, then his eyes find you again automatically. You’re standing near the front with Robin, one hand wrapped around a drink, while Steve leans down, saying something that makes you laugh.

And Eddie immediately misses a lyric.

Jeff shoots him a horrified look from across the stage. Eddie recovers quickly enough that most people probably don’t notice. Most people, except Gareth, who absolutely notices and starts grinning like an asshole behind his drums.

Dick.

Eddie tries focusing on the music instead; he really does. But then Steve touches your shoulder while guiding you through the crowd, and Eddie nearly breaks a guitar string.

“Oh my God,” Gareth mouths dramatically mid-song. Eddie glares at him, which only makes Gareth laugh harder.

Meanwhile, from where you’re standing, it’s becoming increasingly obvious that Eddie’s watching you. Like, a lot.

Robin notices first, naturally. “He’s losing his mind.”

“What?”

She tilts her drink subtly toward the stage, and Eddie’s eyes are already on you again. The second he realizes you caught him staring, he immediately smirks and turns back toward the crowd like he meant to do it.

Cocky asshole.

Steve notices, too, after about the third time. “…Wait,” he says slowly. “Is Munson glaring at me?”

Robin bursts out laughing. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you showed up with her.”

Steve blinks once, then looks between you and Eddie onstage. Then, he slowly grins.

“Don’t encourage him,” you mutter.

“Too late.”

Unfortunately, Steve seems to take this as a personal challenge. During the next song, he leans closer just to say something in your ear over the music. Not even flirting, just talking.

But from the stage, it looks very flirty. Eddie's jaw tightens instantly.

The next guitar solo comes out sharper somehow, louder, rougher around the edges, like he’s trying to prove something.

Robin watches the whole thing unfold with the satisfaction of a woman witnessing live theater.

“Oh, he’s pissed,” she says happily.

“What does that even mean?”

“It means Eddie wants you so bad he’s entering alpha male state.”

By the time Corroded Coffin finishes their last song, the entire bar feels warmer somehow. Sweat sticks to the back of your neck beneath your hair, the room still buzzing with leftover energy as people clap and whistle while the band starts packing up equipment.

And Eddie looks unfairly good after performing.

His curls are damp with sweat, rings flashing in the dim light as he unplugs his guitar cable. Adrenaline still clings to him visibly, chest rising heavier than before, while people stop him every few seconds to talk.

You catch him glancing toward you twice. Three times. Okay, maybe more than that.

Robin notices, too, obviously. “He’s absolutely coming over here.”

“Robin—”

“You made eye contact during the guitar solo.”

“I did not.”

“You literally did.”

Before you can argue further, Eddie finally slips away from a group near the stage and starts making his way through the crowd toward you. The closer he gets, the more obvious it becomes that he’s trying to play it cool. Emphasis on trying.

Eddie finally reaches your group, slightly breathless, cheeks flushed from the set. His eyes go to yours automatically, which you definitely notice.

“So?” he asks, trying for casual confidence. “Did Corroded Coffin survive the pressure?”

You tilt your head slightly like you’re considering it seriously. “Barely.”

Eddie laughs instantly, ducking his head for a second. “Brutal.”

“You recovered from forgetting the lyrics, though.”

His eyes narrow immediately. “I knew you noticed.”

“You made it kinda obvious, sweetheart.”

That earns you a look, one that lingers just a little too long. Then, Eddie glances toward the crowded room before looking back at you again.

“Wanna come outside with me?” he asks. “Need a cigarette before Gareth starts talking about the set for the next three hours.”

You try not to smile too obviously as you set your drink down. “Sure.”

Eddie immediately straightens slightly, like he wasn’t expecting that answer so easily.

The cold night air hits the second Eddie pushes open the back door. It’s quieter outside. Just distant traffic, muffled music through the walls, and the scrape of Eddie’s lighter as he sparks a cigarette to life.

Eddie leans back against the brick wall outside the Hideout, cigarette balanced between his fingers while smoke curls around him in the cold night air. The dim neon sign above the back door paints everything in washed-out blues and white, catching on his face.

Honestly, it’s unfairly cinematic. You stare at him for a second too long, apparently, because Eddie smirks lightly around his cigarette.

“What?”

You shake your head once, already digging through your bag. “Wait.”

His eyebrow lifts. “That dangerous?”

“Stay still.”

Now he looks genuinely confused, but he listens anyway. One hand shoved into the pocket of his leather jacket, while he watches you pull out your camera.

The sight of that alone nearly kills him. “You carry a camera around?”

“Obviously.”

“That’s hot.”

You ignore him, squinting slightly through the viewfinder instead. God.

The lighting, the curls falling into his face. He looks like he belongs on the cover of some underground rock magazine.

“Okay,” you murmur mostly to yourself. “Yeah. This is photo worthy.”

Eddie visibly short-circuits for half a second.

“Photo worthy?” he repeats.

“Don’t let it get to your head.” Too late.

You snap the picture anyway, and the flash goes off between you. For a second, Eddie’s left blinking spots from his vision while you grin down at the developed polaroid slowly appearing in your hand.

Then his expression softens a little when he sees the way you’re looking at it. “…Lemme see.”

You hold it out reluctantly. Eddie takes one glance at the picture and actually laughs quietly.

“Holy shit,” he says. “I look cool.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You made me look mysterious.”

“You already think you’re mysterious.”

“I am mysterious.”

You snort softly, taking the photo back. Then, before you can overthink it, you pull out your phone and upload the picture to your Instagram story.

You don’t miss the way his entire demeanor shifts when he realizes what you’re doing.

“…Wait,” he says slowly. “You’re posting me?”

You glance up innocently. “Problem?”

Eddie stares at you for a second like he genuinely doesn’t know what to do with himself anymore. Then he laughs under his breath, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says softly. “You’re gonna kill me.”

By the time you get home, it’s nearly one in the morning. Your ears are still ringing faintly from the music, the smell of cigarette smoke still clings to your jacket, too, mixing with perfume and cold night air as you flop backward onto your bed with your phone already in your hand.

And immediately, your stomach flips. Because Eddie reposted your story. The picture of him outside the Hideout now sits on his story, too.

You stare at it for a second longer than necessary, then another. Goddamn it. You’re grinning like an idiot.

Your phone buzzes before you can think too hard about it:

You’re halfway through typing a response when another notification appears across the top of your screen:

crissy.cunningham started following you. 

Your fingers pause immediately, and you shoot up. Because Robin told you all about Crissy. 

Head cheerleader, pretty blonde hair, perfect all-American girl. The kind of girl who absolutely does not interact with girls like you. What the hell?

Before you can even process it fully, another message from Eddie comes through.

You stare at Chrissy Cunningham’s follow for a solid ten seconds before letting your stomach settle. Because honestly? What the hell else are you supposed to do with that?

Almost immediately, your phone buzzes again, and your eyebrows lift at the notification:

You sit upright so fast your blanket falls into your lap.

No fucking way.

You reread the message once, then twice. Then immediately screenshot it and send it straight to Robin.

Your eyes widen slightly.

Fuck.

this is me btw^

AHHHHH okay so im actually addicted to making these...i feel like it just adds more of a realistic feel, yk?

anywayyyyy ofc there's gonna be a part two because love triangle? love square? obsessed.

anywayyyyy.... overall taglist is open!

mylovelylittlebugsomgiloveyouallsomuch: