a s h

And you were kind about it, always went through the motions and attempted to set these dates up. But they always fell short without fail. They were obnoxious or selfish or rude. Most importantly, none of them ever made you laugh. Then, after the night was over and you vowed never to see the guy again, you'd get the "I'm so sorry it didn't work. You know, I always hated blind dates."

So you didn't know why they kept trying. Actually, you didn't know why you kept graciously agreeing, and you eventually put your foot down.

Well, you tried to.

Your friend, Jen, made one last ditch effort. One final blind date and then you would never need to do it ever again. According to her, at least.

"How do you even know this guy?" you had asked over the phone. "I know everyone you know."

"Friend of a friend of a friend," she simply dismissed. "And you would've known him already if you had come to the last Garage Beer Friday last summer."

You wondered for a moment if she had tried to set you up with this Eddie guy back then. Had your unseasonable cold saved you from disaster? You couldn't bring yourself to lick a doorknob to contract another disease to avoid this again. You hated being sick more than you hated being set up.

"He'll be great!" Jen promised when you didn't respond. "Besides, you need a date for Stef's wedding, and he's already invited!"

"So he's John's friend?"

"I think they work together."

"You think?!" You sat upright. "That's it, I'm not going."

Jen proceeded to yell at you through the phone until you finally relented. Which was the reason why you were sitting in a booth at the local greek diner. It was right before the post-church rush on a Sunday morning, and you were impatiently waiting for the final blind date of your life to show up.

The blue-haired waitress was kind enough to refill your coffee twice, and did not pressure you to touch the enticing bread basket at the center of the table or to order. But you knew that kindness was running out. Along with your patience.

Where the fuck was this guy?

It was at the exact moment that you'd slammed your coffee cup on the table, ready to call it, that a body slid into the other side of the booth.

"I'm sorry I'm late. In my defense, Jen shouldn’t have suggested the morning after daylight savings." The words were blurted out, out of breath, and all in one messy string of sound. Like he'd been practicing it on the drive here and was so eager to get the words out, it didn't matter if they were coherent or not.

Rosy-cheeked, wide-eyed, and with a bashful grin, Eddie was the grown man equivalent of an eager puppy. A mutt of a man, at that. His long, frizzy hair was still a little damp at the ends, and he had a worn leather jacket over a flannel shirt with some fraying on the collar, with ringed fingers that nervously tapped on the top of the table as soon as he had a second to breathe.

Of course, you weren’t judging him for what he wore. It looked comfy, worn like a second skin, unlike other dates who were stiff and clearly out of their depth. You’d done the same; worn something tried and true that you wouldn’t feel too uncomfortable in. But still cute. Just like him.

No, what really spoke to you was that he seemed exactly the kind of guy who would fit in at Garage Beer Fridays. A little weird, a little unruly. The kind of person with a personality already baked in who looked like they had stories to tell. The type of stray that naturally gravitated towards your ragtag group of friends. If he was already in good with your friends, he was good people.

"Daylight savings was last week, actually," you announced after a beat. Said lightheartedly, you were signaling that this diner, this booth, and you were safe from further judgement. Well, as far as blind dates went, that is.

The record-scratch moment that occurred in his head was immediately evident on his face. Cute confusion.

"No it wasn't," he muttered with a chuckle. Then his brow furrowed slightly. "No...was that why I was late to...oh shit. I'm so sorry I'm an idiot."

He shook his head and chuckled, and then reached into his jacket and produced one, slightly crumpled, tulip for you.

"My uncle always said never to show up to a date empty handed," he explained as you took the flower from him. You ignored the electricity that tickled your fingers as they brushed against his. "Figured a rose would be too much."

"It's perfect, thank you." You grinned as you felt your impatience evaporating. "Unfortunately I don't have anything for you. But maybe we just start with a cup of coffee."

You reached across the table to flip Eddie's cup over and then waved the waitress over for a top off.

---

You'd gotten the typical "getting to know you's" out of the way fairly quickly. Names, what you did for work, how you both knew Jen. Then, once you had a chance to look at the menus, you got to the real meat of the conversation.

Because Eddie, it seemed, was a regular at Omega Family Restaurant.

You'd been clued in as he schmoozed your waitress for an extra bowl of little creamer packets, and although she had expertly brushed off his charms, she had returned with the creamer and referred to him by name.

Only for you, Ed.

"I'm her favorite," he explained as he dumped an absurd number of sugar packets into his coffee. Shake, shake, rip, dump, toss. Shake, shake, rip, dump, toss. It was a comical rhythm and you wondered if all that sugar made him sweet too. "But, uh, I'm usually not around in the mornings. I'm in a band. We play a few regular gigs in the area. Jen said you like metal?"

"I've been known to attempt to deafen myself in the car before work," you replied.

"Hell yeah, baby. You should come see us sometimes. Anyway, all of our gigs are usually late. We needed a 24 hour place to call terra firma. With pancakes, of course." His spoon went into his cup and it clinked against the sides as coffee sloshed over the lip and onto the paper placemat.

"Of course." You smiled into your own coffee cup.

"And," he abruptly pulled his spoon out to point right at you, "a free bread basket. Which I notice you haven't touched yet."

"I was trying to be considerate and not eat the croissants before you got here," you explained. "But you were late, so..." You reached over and grabbed the flaky pastry with an exaggerated gesture.

He hummed judgmentally and you shot him a questioning look. "No, I just think it's interesting you went for the croissant and not...I dunno, the poppy seed muffin."

"I mean, if we're here long enough, all of those pastries are getting eaten," you announced unabashedly. "What is this bread basket psychoanalysis?"

He reached over, letting his hand undulate in the air until he chose the chocolate muffin. You didn't know it then, but it would become the first of many thesis-level Munson philosophies that you would hear about in your life.

"There are few things more sacred in life than the bread basket at a greek diner," he began with the air of a scholar. He slowly peeled the liner off the muffin as he spoke. "Not even the bread basket at a steakhouse! At a steakhouse, you're paying for good bread and butter. At a diner, this is a gift. Welcome, we're about to treat you like a part of the family. We're happy to see you. Have a pastry, an old family recipe made with love.

"You chose a croissant, which means you appreciate the craftsmanship of laminated pastry. You like nice things, you like butter. Poppyseed muffin? You don't care what people think of you. You also don't work in a job where they drug test. But most importantly? If you decided not to have a pastry altogether? That would be a cardinal sin. That means you don't appreciate the bread basket, you don't enjoy the mundanity of the every day, and that would've been the end of our date, in my humble opinion."

Your brows jumped in shock at his closing statement. "You're awfully judgy for someone who doesn't want to be single."

"Judgy? Sure." He narrowed his eyes at you and popped a piece of the muffin in his mouth. "But not weird? Not a freak?"

"It's not the worst way to gauge the quality of person you've been set up with," you admitted after some contemplation.

Eddie beamed. Not the easy smiles and smirks he'd been giving you so far during your time together. It was a smile that morphed his face into something of sheer beauty. And your heart skipped a beat as you desired to see that smile more.

"As long as you don't judge anything else I order," you added as an afterthought.

"Wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart."

---

Unfortunately, that plan went to shit immediately because judgement seemed to be the theme for the rest of your date.

Good natured judgement, sure. But judgement nonetheless.

As it turned out, you were both incredibly opinionated when it came to food.

It wasn't something you'd ever consciously considered yourself to be, seeing as you were the furthest from a picky eater possible. You ate everything. But you had preferences that came to light when it was time to place your orders. Eddie's hawklike gaze caught every twitch of your brow and scrunch of your nose. And you had done the same in return.

"What's that look?"

"What's what look?"

"That one?"

"Excuse me, but you've got a look too."

This led to you bickering across the table as you continued to consume the bread basket.

"Who puts mozzarella in their omelet? It's swiss or cheddar or nothing."

"Mozzarella is the reason there's a cheese stretch. And you're one to talk. Who orders ranch on their caesar sirloin sandwich instead of caesar? It's in the name."

"I don't like the anchovies."

"You can't even taste them."

"No, but I know they're there."

At some point, Eddie had reached across the table and flicked at the tips of your fingers lightly.

It tickled. You giggled. You were not a giggler.

What the hell was wrong with you?

Back and forth you went as you scanned over the menu and went over your preferences. Waffles verus pancakes versus french toast. Minestrone versus cream of chicken and rice. Rice pudding versus spumoni.

It seemed that every time you compared preferences, you were at odds with one another. But that was the best thing about them being preferences, you didn't explicitly dislike what the other person liked. Just preferred your own. So it didn't stop either of your utensils from sneaking across the table to steal bites from each other's plates once the food had arrived.

"You put too much syrup on your pancakes," you cajoled.

"Well they're my pancakes, sweetheart," Eddie joked before flipping the short stack over so you could access the pancake that wasn't absolutely doused in butter and syrup. "You put too much hot sauce on your eggs."

"They needed something," you defended and he pointedly hit his fork against the glass Heinz bottle that sat between you. "Don't tell me you can't handle spice." You pointedly cut a particularly bland looking portion for him to take.

There was one item on the menu you had yet to discuss, and Eddie was the one to cross the metaphorical line in the sand.

"How do you feel..." Eddie paused as he swirled a fry through a pool of ketchup. He avoided your gaze, either through fear or shame, you couldn’t be sure. “About saganaki?"

You twirled your fork thoughtfully and asked "versus what?"

"Versus nothing." He shrugged. "Just...wanna know what you think of it." He leaned back in his seat and stretched his arms over the back of the booth, the complete opposite of the defensive, avoidant body language he had just moments ago. He was open, welcoming your response. Even if it was one that he wasn't going to like.

Flaming Saganaki was in a league of its own, and Eddie was right not to put it against something else. Briney cheese doused in brandy and then set aflame at your table in a brilliant spectacle. Squirt a bit of lemon on it once the fire had burned out--or to put the fire out altogether--and it turned gooey and a little roasty and a little funky.

It was a divisive dish and you'd sat through plenty of arguments with friends and family alike over ordering it for the table to share, and you're sure Eddie had experienced the same.

Even though you'd had the lowest of hopes for this date, it was actually going well and you really liked him. His humor, his smile, his je ne sais qois. You didn't want this whole thing to derail over saganaki of all things. Should you tell him the truth? Or not?

"I love it," you said confidently, shoulders pulled back.

"Bullshit," he hissed at you and leaned forward, elbows placed on the table as he tented his hands in front of his face. "Nobody likes saganaki."

"I do," you insisted with a scoff. "I like the corner pieces, actually, because they get the best crust."

"But it's stinky."

"Sometimes the best food is stinky food."

"It's not even greek!"

"Yes it is! It's greek cheese! Halloumi. Kasseri!"

"It's weird."

"It's a tradition," you insisted, getting a little hot under the collar.

You mirrored him, leaning forward to meet his challenge. But instead of tenting your hands, you fisted the cloth napkin in your lap. Wringing it. It was your turn, now, to wax poetic about a food; you knew this date was over anyway if this was anything to go by, just as you feared. Who knew cheese would be your undoing. Another anecdote never to tell your nonexistent grandchildren.

"It's a Chicago diner staple," you spat at him. "It's a spectacle, and you don't have to eat it if you don't like it, but you have to respect it. You have to clap when it comes out of the kitchen. You have to say opa when they light it on fire.

"And it's my favorite part of coming to places like this," you said with finality. "So if you can't deal with that...I guess this date is over."

You stared at him, stared him right in the eye, and he stared right back at you unblinkingly. That warm brown gaze that might as well have been made of molten fire the way it glinted in the incandescent light of the fixture overhead.

Finally, he blinked. And the serious facade fell away as he grinned. "Well good!"

"Good?" you asked, confused.

"Yeah, good." He nodded. "You passed my final test."

"Oh you son of a b--" He cut you off before you could get the expletive out.

"Listen, I don't like liars and I don't like people who pretend to be something they're not. I like real people. And sometimes, that's the last thing you get from someone when you go on one of these blind dates. I took a chance, and it was worth it. You're worth it."

You were at a loss for words.

He had a point. Blind dates...any dates really...were full of pitfalls and fake personalities and best behaviors. And sometimes you got to see authenticity peeking through, and sometimes that was a bad thing. So you couldn't fault him for this...because it was working out. For both of you.

But did it have to be over cheese of all things?

"It's also really good," Eddie continued after a few seconds. Your attention snapped back to him. "Because I placed an order for us to share while you were in the bathroom and if you didn't like it, this was gonna be really awkward."

And you couldn't help but through your head back in the biggest laugh, before you threw your napkin right at his face.

---

By the end of the date, you were so full of good food and good spirits from each other's company. Eddie had insisted on getting you a slice of their cherry cheesecake to go.

"It's a staple," he said as you waited in the line along the bakery case to pay. He leaned down and practically had his entire face pressed to the glass to ogle the beautifully lit cheesecake with shiny glazed cherries atop it. "I'm getting a slice to eat for breakfast tomorrow. So you in? Or no?"

He was also a sweetheart who paid for the absolute mountains of food you both had consumed, even though you insisted that you could pay for your portion.

"My uncle would roll in his grave," he said, elbowing you as he pulled bills out of his wallet. "He's not dead, by the way. But I think he would drop dead, let us bury him, roll over in it just to make a point."

"Nice to know where you get your flair for the dramatics from," you teased.

He smiled that big, bright smile again that made your heart flutter.

After he paid, you walked outside and hesitated to part ways, awkwardly figuring out how to say goodbye after such a perfect final blind date of your lives.

Eddie, once again, was the one to finally cross the line. No tricks this time, though. No tests.

"So, next Sunday?" he asked as you fiddled with your keys. "Pancakes and chicken and rice soup and saganaki?"

It’s a mess, an explosion of loose-leaf paper and empty beer bottles across every room within view – the living room, the kitchen, the hallway. Not one, but two ashtrays filled to the brim sit patiently on the coffee table. You can make out butts of cigarettes, as expected, but there’s also plenty of roaches to catch your eye. Burnt down to the filter, sucked dry for all they were worth. You swear you see broken glass, and when you find the strength to stumble forward one more step, you confirm it. 

Not broken out of anger, but seemingly having slipped off the edge of the coffee table. 

“Fuck,” the expletive falls from your lips before you can think better of it. The longer you stare at the scene, the worse it all comes to light. 

Pens thrown astray, plenty of glasses laying on their side on both the floor and couch.  Sticky rims, sparse ashes flickered about. You see one empty bottle of whiskey, and have no doubt there’s another – possibly multiple – scattered throughout the apartment. 

“I told you,” Gareth says weakly, placing an attempt of a comforting hand on your shoulder, “It gets bad.”

How can so much damage happen over four measly days? 

You try to shrug off Gareth’s hand, but he tightens his grip, “Look, maybe we should leave. Matt and I can handle this-” 

“No,” you snipe, pulling far from him, taking several steps into the wreckage. “I told Matt that Eddie was my problem now, and I meant it. You can leave if you want, but I’m staying.” 

Eddie’s clearly not out here in the living room. There’s a deep imprint on the couch that looks like he may have been there recently, but he’s long gone. All that’s left is the mess, and a sinking feeling in your gut as you spy another terrible item on the coffee table. 

Gareth spots it just as you do, as well. 

“Listen, I really think we should leave.” 

The magazine with that blurry, candid photo of the two of you on the cover, bold and bright letters obscuring it. Those, and the little white line you can spot remnants of across the shiny paper. 

“I’m not fucking leaving, Gareth.” 

What the fuck happened in the last four days? 

Had you said something wrong that night? One wrong step, in a fatal direction, sending Eddie right into this crash out? Had it been the contract, and how hastily you had signed it, that sent him straight into spinning out of control? 

You lean down to snatch up one of the glasses discarded onto the floor, unphased by the residue of alcohol that clings to your fingers. The overwhelming and nauseating scent of pure whiskey almost makes you sick. 

“Does this happen every time?” you ask, trying to keep your voice even, almost too quiet to be heard over the drumming in your chest, “Does this- is this fucking normal to you guys?” 

He gets this way.

You kick a pile of papers, eyes wandering over deeply scratched words in black ink. 

This is sort of normal for him.

“Do you guys just-” you struggle to find the words, looking around at this mess. All the red flags, all the reasons to run, and all you feel is a terrible pull towards Eddie. The need to find him, the need to refuse to leave him alone through this all, is rampant in your chest. “Do you guys really just leave him during times like this? When he clearly needs you most?” 

You swear, you’ve started to see red. 

When you turn to face Gareth, he’s holding his hands up, face twisted in defensiveness, “Hey, listen, it’s not like that-”

“Then what is it like?” 

If Eddie’s in this apartment, he can surely hear you. Your voice is no longer quiet and timid, wavering with each syllable. Loud and clear, ready for a fight. 

“You haven’t been here this last year!” Gareth raises his own voice to match yours, seeming more desperate than agitated, “It’s not like we just- just- gave up on him!”

And yet, that’s exactly what it looks like has happened. 

Every single person that has become a staple in Eddie’s life has seemingly given up on him. They’ve given up fighting for him, on pushing him, on offering a helping hand. They claim to have grown weary, broken bones and patience alike in the battle of forcing Eddie to be a better person. And standing here in this apartment, seeing what they so clearly try to cover up and ignore, you know they’re going about it wrong. 

You don’t have to force Eddie to be a better person. He already is a good person, somewhere deep down. 

“That’s exactly what it looks like!” you laugh coldly, waving about the apartment, “You all clearly knew what to expect, what- what this place was going to look like. You knew what was happening, and you’re doing nothing.”

Gareth’s nostrils flare with one deep breath, and you already know what he’s about to say is going to cut deep, “Aren’t you the one that simply vanished on him? On all of us?” 

He’s right. The blow of the truth would have jarred you more had you not been prepared. 

“I didn’t know,” you say lowly, narrowing your eyes at the boy before you, “I had no idea he had gotten this bad-”

“Oh, c’mon,” Gareth shakes his head, turning and walking carefully through the damage, gesturing about just as you had been, “You’re not stupid. We both know you aren’t. What else did you think was happening?” Another step, and you can hear the crunch of glass beneath the sole of his shoe that has you cringing, “That Eddie was just… having the time of his life? That everything was perfect?” he pauses on the other side of the couch, and you can see a world of hurt behind his big brown eyes. “You knew better than that. You knew him better than that.”

What had you thought was going on when Eddie pulled away so suddenly?

Had you really known Eddie as well as Gareth is assuming right now? 

Your eyes flutter shut as your throat tightens, because the hard pill to swallow is that’s exactly what you had thought. That Eddie’s life was finally perfect. That he was living his wildest dreams. That there was only one bump in the road to his otherworldly success, in the terrible shape of you. 

“You…” You don’t know what those last months were like. You don’t have the sound of Eddie’s voicemail memorized. You don’t wake up from nightmares to the sound of a dial tone in place of future plans bursting into flames. You don’t know the silence. “You’re right.”

You could spend days standing here as you made excuses. One after another, a list longer than the miles once put between you and Eddie. Dissect every possibility you’d deemed possible, and drudge up all the ones you’d simply refused to see in the daylight. 

Fighting with Gareth doesn’t make this right. Fighting with one of the boys you’d grown up with doesn’t erase the situation at hand. 

“Everything was going to shit a long time before you left, y’know,” Gareth’s voice finally breaks a bit, and you look up to find the rims of his eyes pink as they hold back tears, “I don’t know why you left, none of us do, but I’m willing to bet all the blood money I’ve made from this band that it’s because of something an awful lot like this.” 

“I did what I had to do,” you defend yourself so weakly that even you don’t believe the words. 

“Exactly. Just like we have been since you left.” 

There’s more to say and more to argue about, but it’s enough for now. You don’t want to waste another second here, pointing fingers at who’s in the wrong and who’s to blame. Really, all you want to do is find Eddie. 

So you do just that. You decide to make a beeline for the hallway.

“I-” Gareth takes a few steps towards you, but you don’t slow down. He has the common sense to follow, “Where are you going?” 

“He’s obviously not in there,” you say through heavy breaths, fighting tears and pausing between the two doors at the end of the hall. The in-house studio, or the bedroom. “We can fight about it later. I don’t care, I just-”

You choose the bedroom. 

All your words die on your tongue as you throw open the door and see him, all the oxygen in your lungs expelled forcibly to make room for a hole like never before in your chest.

He’s sprawled out across the bed, still in a t-shirt and jeans that look eerily similar to what he had worn Sunday. 

“Eddie.”

You’re not sure if it’s your voice or Gareth’s that echoes through the room as you throttle forward, body in autopilot. 

What happened to him? Is he okay? Is he breathing? Is he alive?

The bed jumps from the weight of you as you crumble beside him, quick to press your ear to his chest. 

Is he alive?

The first thing you notice is the warmth of him beneath your palms. A good sign. 

Please be alive. 

The next thing you notice is the shaky breaths resonating within that chest you cling to. A heartbeat mingling somewhere beneath the press of your cheek as you slump in relief. A grunt as the weight of you pins him down. 

“What the-”

The words are croaked and slurred, as if Eddie hadn’t spoken out loud in days. You feel him start to shift beneath you, and the moment of serene relief that had overcome you from him just being alive evaporates as quickly as it had momentarily lived within your chest. 

Please stay alive.

You sit up straight, eyes finding his, “What did you take?” 

Blown out pupils. Whiskey breath. Powder residing at the tip of his nose, barely noticeable until you were as close as you currently were. 

“I-” Eddie blinks up at you slowly, mouth ever so slightly agape, looking confused as ever, “What do you mean?” 

I need to keep him alive.

“I mean,” you hiss out, sitting up fully and dragging him with you. You can’t focus on the fear creeping up at seeing him this way; it’s as though he might not be within his body, like he’s vacated the premises and you’ve been left with an uncoordinated vessel. “What the fuck did you take, Edward Munson?”

“Maybe we should give him a sec-” Gareth starts, but he’s cut off when you stand up entirely, Eddie in tow with your hands around his biceps. 

The boy makes no move to help you, clearly shocked, but Eddie is pliable. He lets you toss him around like a ragdoll, no protests to be heard beyond ragged breaths that you can’t quite be sure you aren’t just imagining joining your own. 

I need him to stay.

You’re not giving him a second. Depending on what he’s taken, that second could be the line between life and death. 

“Tell me,” you grunt with persistence, working your way under Eddie’s arm to support his weight against your body properly, “What you’ve taken,” Gareth takes a step forward but pauses at your sharp glare, “So I can make sure you don’t fucking die on me, Munson.” 

Your voice is terribly fragile as you start dragging him along towards the bathroom. His feet are moving, stumbling right along with you, but he remains mostly slumped against your side. Head lolling, eyes closed every time you sneak a glance through your struggle.

I need him to stay with me. Please.

Gareth is a foreign stranger, a mere on-looker to the catastrophe. 

That’s fine. It’s fine. It’s becoming abundantly clear that he doesn’t recall any of Eddie’s speeches, lectures, regarding the mixing of drugs that he gave once the group had discovered his side gig back in Hawkins. 

Which drugs did he warn against mixing? Which substances should I be worried about getting out of his system first? What symptoms should I be watching for? 

You rack your brain with each step towards the bathroom, only being able to remember one thing crystal clear. If nothing else, you recall Eddie telling you the easiest way to sober someone up a great deal, across most substances they might have taken. 

The shower. You need to get him in the shower. 

It’s not the cold water you need, although it’ll certainly help. Maybe it can shock him out of this trance just a bit, doing away with his droopy lids and any lingering substances on his body. Sweat, cocaine, alcohol – it’ll clean him up, surely, but that’s not your only goal. 

“Anytime Rick has seen someone try to mix the harder stuff with alcohol,” Eddie had once drawled to you in his van after a party he’d let you join him in attendance of, a milkshake in both of your hands as you’d reminisced on the night, “He makes ‘em chuck it all up. It’s gross. But efficient. Gets ‘em in a shower, or out in the yard, and just… makes it vomit town. Doesn’t do much but does somethin’, I guess.” 

All your movements are robotic, your mind hardly your own as you go through the motions. You don’t know how you’ve dragged him fully into the bathroom so quickly, no help from Gareth – but you have. You don’t know how you kept him upright, pressed tightly to your side as you turn on the water – but you have. You don’t know how you manage to situate him on the floor of the tiled shower, water soaking his knees and calves – but you do. 

Your body isn’t your own. Just like Eddie, you’ve become a witness to the events, no longer feeling as though you’re actually partaking in them as you take the final step. 

It’s not a pretty sight.

You don’t register the feeling of you shoving your fingers down Eddie’s throat, but soon enough, his head is hanging between his knees and Gareth is hovering behind you in sheer distress. 

“Did he just-” he starts to question, trying to peer past your kneeling figure to get a better look.

You don’t make him finish the sentence, doing the honors, “Throw up all that shit in his system? Yes.”

Look at me. Stay with me. Stay alive. 

Your chest feels two sizes too tight as you look at his heaving shoulders, a hand hesitating in mid-air as it reaches out to land on his back. That space between your palm and his shaking back. Two inches of space as your skin constricts a bit tighter. 

Stay with me. Please. 

Gareth is saying something, probably having a complete meltdown as you should be, but it’s static noise. Nothing else matters as you completely destroy that final bit of distance, and you let your palm fall against his back. Feather-light, so unsure, quivering even more than his figure as you go deathly still. 

You can feel every breath. Every little hiccuping gasp he takes as he regains composure. 

Look at me, please. 

Your pride, your fear, and your panic all collide as you give in. Your still hand is now in motion, palm rubbing his back feverishly with desperate comfort. You collapse entirely on the ground, letting yourself fall half into the shower to be close to him. You don’t care about the metal railing digging into your thighs and hip, you don’t care about your clothes growing damp as you enter the edges of the stream of water now washing away all the vomit. 

You only care about him. 

You’re about to open your mouth to say his name, surely being your voice this time as Gareth continues to hang back in shock, when umber brown eyes are finally looking up at you. 

The rivers of blood below the surface of your skin run far colder than the stream of water coming from his shower ever could. 

It’s simple syllables, the quietest of noises, and it has the power to absolutely crush you – all he does is sigh your name, and the world stops. 

You can’t speak. He slowly leans back up, back colliding harshly with the tiled wall of the shower, and you can’t speak. You hardly even move that pathetic attempt of a comforting palm out of the way in time.

He’s squinting as he groans, eyes darting between you and Gareth, “What the fuck happened?” 

You lean back out of the water a bit, unaffected by the feeling of wet jeans sticking to your skin, as Gareth scoffs out, “You went on a fucking bender. That’s what happened. Again.”

“It wasn’t a bender-”

“Bull-fucking-shit.” 

All his words are still slurring. His pupils are still just a tad bit too big for those whiskeyed eyes. 

“I was just having a bit of fun-”

“What about this is ever fun?” Gareth’s voice raises, louder than he had even been when fighting with you in the living room. “The part where we find you high out of your mind, half-dead in your apartment? Or the part where we’ll be cleaning up your mess?” 

I just wanted him safe. Alive. With me. 

You can’t join in the fight, because you weren’t looking for a fight. You had been so focused on simply finding Eddie, making sure he was okay, that you’d never considered what would happen once you did. 

“Oh, fun,” Eddie laughs coldly as his head throws back carelessly, and you flinch at the way he lets his skull bounce against the tile. Your fingers twitch, aching to have stopped it, to prevent any further damage, “We’re gonna have this argument again.” 

I just needed him alive. 

Your palms are sweaty against the tops of your thighs, pressed down tightly to prevent from reaching out to Eddie. There’s a ferocious need to clean him up further, to kick Gareth from the bathroom, to focus more on getting him sober than scolding him right now, but-

“Damn right, we are!” Gareth’s sneakers narrowly miss your lower back, and you’re looking over your shoulder with shock as he begins pacing, “Yeah, we fucking are having this fight again. How many times is it going to take? How many times am I going to have to explain to someone new how this is your normal now? How many times is someone going to stare at me like I’m the asshole here when I don’t do anything to prevent it, because I can’t?” 

“Gareth-” you whisper, trying to calm him down, moving to stand up when Eddie laughs again. 

“I don’t even fuckin’ know why she’s here,” you aren’t looking at him when he says it, and you’re almost glad for it. It’s in the way he says it – words easily mistaken for the ringing of a blade being sharpened, “What’s the point? Go ahead and do it now, Sugar.” 

Slowly, ever so slowly, you turn back towards Eddie, “Do what?” 

Dagger in hand, eyes so cold, he finally hits his mark, “Leave. That’s what you do, right? So just do it. Leave.”

Just how much blood can the human body spill? 

There must have been a time you learned that fact. 

Some time long ago, in a faraway classroom, the fact fell from the lips of a high school teacher in a droning tone. But you can’t remember it, because somewhere in that mystifying glimpse of the past, you’re sitting in a chair beside the man in front of you. You’re not bothered with facts of the human body or blood loss, because all you know is passing notes and giggles covered with coughs, the gentle tickle of knuckles brushing and knees bumping beneath desks. Your mind was on afterschool plans, which diner you’d meet up at and which of you would be picking the flavor of the milkshake you two would share. Who would claim they don’t want fries, and who would be sliding their plate across the table to let the before liar have easier reach. Who would be dozing off on the other's shoulder, as the other one finally brought up the responsible topic of homework. 

Trivial things. Things taken for granted. Things that fall out of reach when you finally extend yourself towards them, with the whisper of never being able to go back. The weight of Eddie’s cheek pressed to your bare shoulder over the roar of summertime cicadas outside a diner window, or the flat tone of a teacher informing their students of a fact they’ll seemingly never utilize again in their life.

You don’t remember, because back then, you’d never expected the man before you to make you bleed. 

You start to shake your head, but he prevents you from defending yourself, “You can’t deny it. You did it – it happened. We wanna air out all my dirty laundry? Cool, let’s start with yours.”

“Eddie,” Gareth has quieted down as you’d wanted, but you wish he hadn’t, “Give her a break, man.” 

Every atom in your body is hardening to try and prepare itself for his next blow. All expression drained from your face, the life fading from your eyes. 

“Why should I?” When he leans forward, you don’t even worry if he might get sick again all over you. He levels you with a wintery stare, and it’s the eyes of a stranger looking into yours now, “Why should I give her a break, or get my hopes up, when we both know how this ends? I’m saving us both some heartbreak, ain’t I, Sugar?” 

The way each word bleeds into one another should lessen the blow. The haze over his eyes should make everything feel a little more dull, a little less precisely sharpened. The sluggish movements and the constant sway of his body even when frozen in place should make it all less painful. 

But drunken words are honest thoughts, and you can’t help as the first crack of emotion bursts in the form of burning eyes. 

Stay with me. I need you to stay with me.

You don’t have it in you to defend yourself, to defend whatever this is that you two have pulled out of the rubble. 

All you can do is meet his stare, so vacant and so chilling, as you say, “I’m not leaving.” 

And then, ironically, you do exactly that. You leave. 

Shoulder bouncing against Gareth’s, you move as quickly as you possibly can out of the suffocating bathroom, the tables turning entirely. The roles have switched, and now you’re the one gasping for air. 

“Hey, hold on,” Gareth tries to reach out for you, but you’re quicker than him in pulling yourself away from the two of them entirely. 

“Clean him up,” you instruct flatly, unwilling to look at Eddie. You’ve seen enough, bled enough, for one day. 

Neither man replies to you verbally, and all you hear as you exit the room is the pattern of water breaking against the tile. It almost sounds like your heart, if Eddie Munson hadn’t already done the honor of tearing it apart in his current state.

—

You stay true to your word.

You don’t leave.

Not the apartment, at least.

For the next hour, you put yourself to work, digging under Eddie’s kitchen sink and finding a large enough trash bag for the current task you busy yourself with. You never let a single tear fall as you glide around the living room, the kitchen, the hallway. 

You don’t go near the bedroom. Near the bathroom. Near Eddie. 

Gareth only shows his face once the entire duration, stepping outside of the room briefly but never glancing your way. You can only assume it’s to let Eddie get dressed, his clothes probably needing to be washed after the entire ordeal. 

If he flinches as he hears you toss all the trash within reach of your hurricane in the bag particularly violently, you don’t say a word. 

By the time there’s any sign of life on Eddie’s part, you’ve already cleaned up most of the apartment. Ashtrays emptied, all glasses not broken in the sink, a semi-neat pile of any pages you could decipher his handwriting upon. You were cruel, if Eddie’s presumption of knowing how this ends was anything to go off of, but you weren’t so cruel as to toss away anything he might have written for his career. 

This time, you don’t snoop. You know better than to read a single line on the pages. If Eddie has something he wants to say to you now, he’ll have to say it to your face. 

There’s a creak from down the hall as you’re finally collapsing onto the couch, a photo frame in hand as the overflowing trash bag is discarded to the floor temporarily, fingers already working nimbly at getting the back of the frame off before whoever it may be enters the room. 

Just as the creased photograph is in your grasp, a throat clears from behind you. 

“I…” he sounds smaller than he had in the bathroom, voice a bit clearer, “Uh, thank you. For…. for earlier.” 

Slow, steady steps. No longer blundering, or needing the support of another body to guide him. 

“I’m-”

If you were to turn around, you know you’d see the Eddie Munson you swear you know. The one who had sat beside you in science class, the one you would kiss under the bleachers every Friday night. You’d see the boy you’d followed across states, followed all the way to New York, sprinting to catch up with him as he’d trailed ferociously after his dream. Clear eyes, somber face, not a single blade in hand. 

But you can’t keep chasing after that boy. You think before Eddie ever turned his daggers towards you, he had taken them to that boy first, and he was buried long before you could even think to say goodbye. 

“Don’t apologize,” you force out, letting the words leave you as easily as the breath you were holding. The air in your lungs, however, stays put. “You were fucked up. It’s fine.”

Over the edge of the photograph you hold, you see his bare feet. New tattoos on unfamiliar ankles, the hems of pants he’d bought without you at his side. 

“It’s not fine, and I shouldn’t have said that,” Each word drips with sincerity. Then again, his accusation in the shower had as well, as you recall it now, “Will you- Please look at me.” 

Please look at me.

Please look at me.

Please stay with me. 

You can’t say that you break. Because, truthfully, you hadn’t been whole to begin with. Some sort of chasm had torn you apart the moment you walked into this apartment - no, the moment you had walked into that damned meeting room and seen his face for the first time in years. 

Two years. Twenty five months. One hundred weeks. 

Your brain has no capacity to break down the hours, minutes, seconds. All the time spent without him, unknowing that the man you had loved was rotting away in the ground six feet under, as the ghost of him haunted stages across the world. 

“I need to finish cleaning,” you say suddenly, jumping up off the couch, keeping your vision downwards. 

What if you look at him, and you decide to leave?

What if you look into his eyes and see the picture once painted by dial tones and automated voices announcing an electronic mailbox was full? 

What if you just weren’t as strong as you were determined to be?

“I have all the cups in the kitchen sink,” the words slip over a frantic tongue, one hand twisting at the plastic material of the bag until your nails are piercing right through the thin veil to prod painfully at your palm as the other won’t let go of that damned photograph, “I emptied all the ashtrays, and-”

Why should I give her a break, or get my hopes up, when we both know how this ends?

When we both know how this ends? 

How does it end? You want to scream at him, ask him the question that chokes you up now. Is this how it ends, with awkward encounters and coming to the rescue recklessly? Does it end with hurtful words said out of spite over the stench of intoxication, or does it end more quietly, over the whispers of apologies and thanks that should never have been necessary to begin with? 

Does it ever really end? Because surely, it didn’t end for you two years ago. Twenty five months ago. One hundred weeks ago. 

Why does this love of yours insist upon being a weapon, just as Eddie had written in his song? 

“Sugar, please,” he tries to stand in your way, force you to look up, but you won’t, “Please, stop cleaning, and-”

“I can’t.”

“You can, just sit down, let’s talk about-”

“I can’t.” 

“Gareth can get the rest of it all, it’s fine-”

“I can’t!”

You both stop all movements, Eddie’s shuffling and your attempts to escape him, as the yell falls off your lips. Finally, you look up at him, shocked to find red-rimmed eyes.

They weren’t that pink when you’d found him. Even when intoxicated. 

The tears gathered proves it. 

“I almost lost you, Eddie!” It feels good to scream. Feels good to watch him crumple right along with you as your voice bounces around the hollow room. “You almost left me this time, okay? And not- not in the- you wouldn’t just be somewhere out there!” At some point, your hands begin to curl into shaking fists, and you let them fall against Eddie’s chest in a broken pattern. Thump, thump, thump, “You’d just be fucking gone! There would be no contracts to fix it! I can’t make a deal with the fucking Devil or God to bring you back!” His fingers wrap around your wrists, fists still in motion. Not stopping you, simply holding onto you, “Gone!” Another smack to his chest, “No second chances!” Tears had started to fall, finally, but you pay your blurry no vision any mind as sobs tear out of your throat along with every weak toss of your fists, “De-”

You can’t finish the word. It’s coiled up at the back of your throat, a stopper to all the sobs you’ve started choking out. 

A chest two sizes too small, a heart with a hole in the center of it. 

Maybe you had been born with the hole in the shape of the man that catches you when you collapse against him. It was always there, nothing to be done about it, except to let him fill it. Slot himself right into your life, place himself over it just like a bandage, wrap his arms around you as small shushes fall from his lips. 

It’s selfish – terribly, terribly selfish – that he’s comforting you now. 

But he does. He lets you cry out, slumped against him without complaint. As though simply holding you might fix this. As if this entire day may be capable of being erased by this very moment. 

At some point, you have no sobs left in you. Your entire body has been pressed into Eddie’s chest, and he’s clinging to you as though his life might rely on it as he buries his cheek against the crown of your head, but not a cry is left to give. 

“I’m not leaving,” he repeats your words from earlier in the softest of tones. 

They hold an entirely different weight on his tongue. 

But the entire Universe holds its breath as it’s set into stone – neither of you are leaving. You’re both here, headstrong with feet cemented where you stand, and you are not leaving this time. 

Your fist still homes the photograph, albeit adding new wrinkles to the picture as it curls within your hold. 

Carefully, you start to pull back from Eddie, and he lets you. Arms dropping away as you take one step backward, sneakers crunching on the broken glass scattered about the rug below. 

There, in your palm, there’s a lifetime you think you may always miss. A time that you’ll always remember like a sore ache in your back molars. 

You, and Eddie, and Gareth. Even Dustin Henderson is in the photo. 

“What’s that?” Eddie asks as his eyebrows wrinkle and he attempts to get a closer look at the treasure you stare blankly at now. 

“A photo,” you blandly explain, another step back before you can collapse onto the couch once more. Eddie joins you this time, “From that first big show at the Hideout.”

There’s more words turning stale on the tongue, but you don’t need to reminisce anymore. You get it now. Sort of. 

It hurts, it might hurt for a while, but it’s over with. It’s never going to be fair to continue to compare the two of you to what once was. You can’t go back, you can’t change a past already written. Two graves need to be laid to rest now, after one hundred long weeks, and it’s time to leave the cemetery. 

That chapter was closed. The book wasn’t. 

“I meant what I said, you know,” Eddie whispers. You swear you can hear noises from down the hall, suddenly remember that Gareth was still here, “I… I didn’t say it the way I should have, but I meant it. If you want out, I’ll let you go.” 

Maybe the Universe had gotten the memo, but Eddie hadn’t. 

You look at him with wild eyes, “What? I don’t-”

“I know, I know. The contracts and stuff. But I could get them nullified. If it’s what you want, I’ll force them to let you out,” you’re stunned into silence as he smiles sadly at you, “You didn’t sign up for this shit, Sugar. I can scrap the album, too, if you want. The guys can help me write new stuff, stuff not about us, and we can just-” 

You toss that photo right onto the ground, let it flutter down to settle beside the trash can. Like flowers on a grave. 

“Do you want to know what my first thought was when I came in here?” you interrupt him, staring up at the front door as you fight back tears. He doesn’t respond, so you continue on, “Please be alive. My first thought was for you to just be alive, be okay.”

That’s what it had been. No care for nostalgia or all that once was. Simply needing him to be breathing inside this apartment.

The callous laugh that escapes him isn’t quite as cold as the ones he’d let out in the bathroom, but there’s still no trace of humor, “Can I be honest? I’m definitely alive, and some of that credit belongs to you, but… Jury’s still out about being okay.”

You turn your body towards him, blinking your sore eyes slowly, “Then talk to me about it.” 

His shock proves that this has clearly become a foreign concept. 

“What?” he tries to chuckle, tries to force a little laughter into the tone rather than sheer nerves, but it’s useless when it comes to you. He used to laugh like that any time that he lied to Wayne – it was always his giveaway. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but like I said, you didn’t sign up for any-”

“I did,” you stress, almost reaching out to grab each side of his head, shake some sense into him if possible. Just make him understand. “When I signed Matt’s contract, I signed up for it. When I agreed to get just a cup of coffee with you, I signed up for it,” you pause, taking a deep breath, eyes shutting for only a moment to compose yourself. It’s hardly a second, a long blink if anything, just so you can keep him in your sights, “You keep acting like you’ve forced me into this, but I’ve always been able to walk away if I really wanted to. Every step of the way. I could have refused to take Corroded Coffin on as a client, I could have told you to go to Hell and meant it. I could have laughed in Matt’s face when he suggested the contract. But I didn’t. Get it through your dense skull, please, Munson – I’m here, I’m staying, and I signed up for it.”

He’s quiet, dead silent as he stares at you with red eyes. You can see the bags shadowing beneath, all the damage done over four days that you can’t clean up with a trash bag and enough anxiety to fuel you for days. Things that take longer to heal, things that eat away at someone if they don’t talk about it.

You remember all that anger you’d felt when you’d realized this wasn’t the first time that Eddie had done this, that this was his new normal. 

How it had stunned you that none of them had ever just offered to talk to him. 

‘You knew him better than that.’

Gareth had been right. You do know Eddie better than that. 

“I can’t force you to talk about it all,” your voice drops, something for just the two of you, “But I can ask you to stop bottling it up. I can ask you to stop self-destructing. Because, trust me, I’ve been there – and look where it left us.” 

He tilts his head as he opens his mouth, but you’ll never hear his argument as Gareth finally enters the room. 

“I, uh, cleaned up the room and bathroom,” he holds up a smaller trash bag, free hand rubbing the nape of his neck, “I just tossed his- your old clothes into the laundry basket, but…. Yeah. It’s clean.”

A small correction, a shifting of the eyes to acknowledge not just you, but Eddie. 

“Thank you,” Eddie says, terribly earnestly, twisting his body to settle his arm along the back of the couch. You’re still thinking about that tilt of his head, and whatever he had to rebuttal you with, “I… I appreciate it.” 

The words sound uncomfortable on Eddie’s tongue, as though he hasn’t said them in a while. 

“I also called Matt and let him know you’re alive,” Gareth breezes right past the gratitude, but it moves as though a weight in the air has finally been lifted as he circles around the couch to drop his bag of trash beside yours, “He said to take a few days to recover, but… Keep in touch. Not specifically with him, if you don’t want to, just- Anyone.” 

Gareth’s eyes catch yours as he says it, and you know exactly what he means. 

Eddie won’t, can’t, speak to them – but maybe he can find a way to talk to you. 

“Thanks, Gar,” you can’t fight the slightest twitchings of smiles on the corners of your mouth as you say it, and Gareth is quick to roll his eyes. It almost feels normal. It’s almost enough to forget what’s happened. 

“If you’re going to start calling me that, I might just have to tell the guys that the pizza date is cancelled,” Eddie’s head snaps from Gareth to you, not angry but simply confused, “They still haven’t stopped talking about that, by the way. Better be good on your word, Hellfire.” 

All you can do is nod, and try to not sink too deeply into the warmth sparking up in your chest at the nickname. 

“Hellfire?” Eddie, for the first time since you’ve found him, is laughing genuinely. It’s a tired sound, a little breathless, but it’s actual laughter. “Haven’t heard that one in a while.” 

“Haven’t had her around in a while,” Gareth is quick as he nods in your direction before finally moving towards the front door, “I’m heading out now, but… Call me if you need me. Or if you start craving pizza. Or… Don’t. I don’t know, I don’t control you two.” 

You almost ask him to stay, but you’re starting to suspect Gareth had heard more of your private conversation with Eddie than you’d like, and that it might be better for him to leave before you two can continue talking.

Before you ask Eddie about the tilt of his head, the argument on his tongue. 

“See you around, Gareth,” you hum, waving as you sink back further into the couch. Already preparing to settle in for a long night, a long talk. 

“See ya,” he makes the effort to not just nod in response to you, but Eddie as well. Just as his hand is on the door, though, he suddenly turns back around, “Oh, and before I forget - catch.”

Your hands move faster than your mind, thankfully, as a shining object flies through the air from Gareth’s palm and into your chest, “What the f-”

“Matt can make a new copy if he really wants one. I think you’ll make better use of it than us for now.” 

You look down at the silver key that Gareth had produced right as you had been on the verge of getting inside the apartment, of getting to Eddie. 

Eddie sees it too, and his brows furrow quickly, “When the fuck did Matt get a key to my place?” 

“Who cares?” Gareth shrugs, “Just be glad he did, or else you’d probably be replacing your front door from her kicking it in.”

It’s your turn to let out a sincere scoff, pocketing the key regardless. He’s right – your ankle almost screams out it’s thanks as you think about whether you would have tried (you would have) and if you would have been successful (you wouldn’t have been).  

With that, Gareth leaves. 

The front door doesn’t slam shut as you and Eddie are left properly alone. A new key to add to your own chain heavy in your pocket, and a million questions weighing down your mind. 

You and Eddie turn back to one another in sync. Something simmers in the air – something hopeful, something promising. The rosy glow of sunset outside the skyline windows illuminates the room just so. 

“Now that we’re alone, I’m going to ask you one more time, and I want you to be honest,” you start strong, sure, ready. Eddie nods along with each word, never shying away from your gaze, “Are you okay?” 

Instead of answering immediately, Eddie suddenly shuffles around his position on the couch. You’re taken back, freezing up, but don’t dare protest once you realize what he’s doing. 

His head falls into your lap with minimal hesitancy, and suddenly, big brown eyes are staring up at you. 

“Honestly, Sugar? No. I feel like shit,” you can’t fathom how he manages to do it, delivering it with a boyish grin that doesn’t feel condescending, only slightly teasing. It should be inappropriate, but if this is how he needs to be in order to open up, then it works. “Got any preference on where I start?” 

Your fingers find home in his scalp on instinct, “Wherever you want, Rockstar.” 

You can bury the old versions of yourself all you want – some habits will never die. Some things will never change. 

“Great,” he sighs, letting his eyes flutter shut for just a moment. You both bask in all the serenity that traces the edges of his face as the dipping sunrise continues to paint his cheeks gentle shades of pink and orange. “Then let’s start with promising I’ve learned my lesson, and I’m never mixing cocaine and whiskey again. Totally cancels out for me. A real buzzkill.” 

“Not funny.”

“I know,” his eyes shoot open, and half his mouth raises at a sorry attempt for a grin. Still tired, still truly looking like shit, but there’s promise behind those twisting vines of amber and chestnut looking up at you, “But I mean it… Gotta start somewhere, Sugar.”

He’s right – it’s a start. And you hope he means it. Because, whether it be fortunately or unfortunately, you’re not leaving. 

Looking at him outside of the station, you were about ready to kill him yourself. Your eyes burned with tears and if looks could kill, he’d be dust. It took everything not to slug him right then and there for daring to think that he could throw his life away like that, for a town that hated him. 

How could you? Your look said. 

I’m sorry. Came the silent reply as he dared to take a step closer. When you didn’t step back, his arms wrapped around you tightly. 

The two of you held each other for a long moment, and each passing second your anger dissolved as the emotions you’d been ignoring and repressing over the past few days started to surface. You couldn’t do this here. You couldn’t allow yourself to process this outside of the police station, not when the two of you were covered in sweat and blood. 

His hand gripped yours tightly, as if you were the last lifeline he had in this world. There was so much more that needed to be done. He had to tell his uncle he was alive, you had to check on Max and the others, Eddie probably needed some sort of lawyer. You had to see Steve and Robin and see what happened with Vecna while the two of you were in holding. 

But it was late, nearly midnight and neither of you had a walkie talkie anymore and the weight of what the two of you had been through was starting to catch up. 

Your apartment was small, cozy even. Eddie walked in with you, having followed you blindly back home. You couldn’t let him go, even when you dropped his hand to get you both some water from the kitchen you were constantly looking over your shoulder to make sure that he was still there, that he was still real. 

The whole time, he was looking at you, too. 

The two of you sat on your bed, hands clasped together tightly as you both tried to figure out what to say or do. You’d won, Vecna was dead and the gates were closed. You were alive, Eddie was alive and his name was cleared. If this was Eddie’s campaign, you two would be heroes, celebrating and drinking and would be standing tall and proud. 

Instead, the two of you were holding hands on your bed. Staring down at the floor as you both tried to sort through the horrors you’d seen in the past four days. Your eyes closed, and you saw everything; the news of Eddie being suspected of murder, the bats attacking, the upside down, Eddie’s back as he ran away-

A tear slid down your cheek and you gripped his hand harder, and in response he squeezed back. You took a deep, slow breath-

“We... stink.” You weren’t sure you meant to say that out loud but it broke the silence between the two of you. Eddie was silent for a few seconds before letting out a breath that almost counted for a laugh.

“Yeah... yeah we probably do. I haven’t showered in... shit. I don’t want to think about it.” He said. 

“We should shower.” You said, not meaning anything by it. 

“We should.” 

The two of you were quiet for another few minutes, neither of you moving. Having Eddie out of your site, even though you knew he’d be in a room that he wouldn’t be able to disappear in, made your stomach twist unpleasantly. 

But he needed a shower, he fucking deserved to hog all the hot water he wanted after what he’d been through. So you stood up, still holding his hand. “I’ll... show you how the shower works.” 

He followed you wordlessly to the bathroom, and you rummaged through your cabinet and pulled out a spare toothbrush for him. Eddie grabbed it and the two of you made your way over to the sink, brushing your teeth as the first step to feeling like a human again. 

“The left one is the hot water.” you said, turning the shower on for him. “And this button makes it a shower and not a bath.” 

He was staring at you, and you had the feeling that what you were saying was the least important thing going through his mind right now. You didn’t blame him. 

“There’s clean towels right there.” you pointed to the towels on the hooks by the sink. 

The water ran, and it was already starting to get a bit foggy in the bathroom. You turned to look at Eddie, who was still staring at you. His mouth partially opened as if he wanted to say something but for once lacking the words. 

“Take all the time you need.” you said, and started towards the door. His hand grabbed yours, stopping you from moving forward. 

“I...” Eddie said, his large doe eyes were looking at yours with a million different emotions. He didn’t want you to go. You didn’t want to leave. 

There had been an underlying tension between the two of you through this whole week. From the finale of his campaign with Hellfire to you saving his life there was something there. You would have always easily admitted that you found Eddie attractive but had never let yourself move past that. 

The moment that he’d disappeared, you felt like your world had blacked out, only returning to  your senses when he’d had you pinned against the wall of Reefer Rick’s boathouse with a broken beer bottle against your throat. You’ll never forget the fear in his eyes, like a wild animal cornered as the glass poked at your neck as his gaze darted between you and the others. 

What a terrible time to realize that you might be in love with Eddie Munson. 

You had been swallowing your emotions all week, focusing on the task at hand. Dustin brought Eddie junk food, you made sure there was something of substance in the grocery run. At least something that he could heat up so he wasn’t surviving on pure sugar. When the others were busy trying to piece together Vecna, you’d kept your own walkie close, updating him every step of the way. 

You don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t shown up to Reefer Ricks as the basketball team seared for Eddie. You’d given him just enough time to escape without suspicion, and as thanks you had been witness to the gruesome murder of Patrick in the water of Rick’s boathouse. 

The memory was pushed down as far as you could, and you were brought back to reality by Eddie taking a hesitant step closer. You had never realized how badly you needed him in your life, the freak who’d given you a place to feel safe in a town where a toe outside of normalcy was seen as a crime. 

You needed him, and by the look in his eyes, he needed you, too. 

There wasn’t anything to say, words wouldn’t do anything in a time where actions meant everything. So you squeezed his hand and pulled it away, reaching up to his shoulders to start pushing off both his battle jacket and leather jacket. The heavy garments fell to the floor and he pushed them away with his foot to a corner. You reached up and pulled off his bandana, freeing his hair and tossing it as well. 

Eddie kneeled down and unlaced his shoes, as well as yours. Your shoes and socks were both discarded as he stood back up. You took his hand again, removing each of his rings carefully followed by his bracelet and watch and setting them on the counter. There was blood in the mouth of the pig ring that made your stomach turn and you looked back at Eddie instead. 

His Hellfire shirt was stained with blood and sweat and god knows what else, and he discarded it quickly. Small cuts and bruises littered his body, and you looked over each visible wound. Distress filled you, and you swallowed hard, trying not to think about the bats attacking and biting him just hours before. You’d been so strong up until now for him, and you’d be strong again until you could finally be alone. 

You weren’t expecting him to cup your jaw and tilt your head up to look at him. His brown eyes looked straight into your own and he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours. Your eyes slid close, one of his hands moving to the back of your neck. You could feel the warmth of his skin, the slightly scratchy callouses of his fingertips, the way his hand would squeeze slightly on reflex reminding you that he was here and safe. 

Safe. 

That thought alone nearly broke you as it passed through your mind. Eddie was safe, and he wasn’t dead and he wasn’t going to jail for murder. He was alive and cleared and free. 

You let out a choked sob and tried again to push down everything you were feeling but his hand squeezed tighter and his other hand wrapped around your middle and pulled you close. You let out a shuddering sob against his chest, holding his arm for dear life as you tried to calm yourself. 

It’s... really hard to cry with the scent of blood and sweat and boy filling your nose and shocking your senses. 

You met his eyes as you pulled away, but his hands remained firm on you, keeping you grounded. Eddie’s eyes were red and bloodshot, both of you were exhausted. 

Just hold it together. You said to yourself as you pulled your shirt off over your head, and fought with the button on your jeans. Eddie reached down to help you, his thumbs brushing over the bruise on your hand you’d earned from punching a demobat. You stepped out of your pants and reached for his, dropping the bullet belt on the ground which echoed with an alarming clang. 

“Jesus.” Eddie muttered. 

“Why did Erica even grab that?” you asked, as you both stared at it. “Those bullets don’t even work with Nancy’s gun.” 

It was a question without an answer, one of thousands from this week. 

You went back to his pants, pulling on the belt and.. Well that didn’t work. There was a handcuff around his belt that you tugged on. You’d noticed it before a few times, and had always wanted to question this particular fashion choice. But you never did, not wanting him to know that you had ever glanced at his crotch, no matter how innocent the circumstances. 

“Here, it’s uh... a little fiddly.” Eddie said, moving your hands away as he jiggled the cuff and it opened with a metallic click. You reached out again, removing the offending item and hesitated for a moment as your thumb and forefinger held onto his zipper. 

You looked up at him. Are you sure? He nodded and you pulled down his pants, leaving you both in your underwear.

A gentle push on your shoulder had you turning around as he unclasped your bra, letting it join the rest of the discarded clothes before you slid your fingers into your underwear and pulled them down before you lost the nerve. 

You could hear Eddie let out a shuddering breath and when you turned around there was a red flush underneath the layer of dirt on his face. But he didn’t look down at you, not yet, only focusing on your eyes as he also pulled down his boxers.

Neither of you made a move, only staring up at one another for a long time as the water ran. You took in every detail of his face, as if this was the first and last time you’d seen him. His long hair was a greasy mess, his fringe plastered to his forehead and covered in sweat. Dirt and blood speckled his face and there was a cut on his cheek. 

How were his eyes so impossibly round and expressive? You had no idea how he could wear every emotion on his face and yet still not have a clue what he was thinking. You two stood naked in the bathroom, something that would have been laughable to imagine just a few weeks ago, but now it was the least crazy thing that had happened to you in even twelve hours. 

Eddie made the first move, carefully placing his hand on your lower back and pushing you towards the shower. You stepped in, Eddie right behind you as the hot water hit your skin. You let out a hiss as it hit a cut on your shoulder, but other than that it felt... fucking amazing. 

You reached out of the shower to the sink to grab the antibacterial soap that Eddie had left at your place months before after getting the black widow on his chest done. Your mind flashed to him leaning against the counter with his shirt off as you had carefully cleaned the fresh ink. He’d been making a fuss about how it burned and you had scolded him for going to a shady scratcher’s basement and that he was lucky that he didn’t get an infection. 

Had that only been a few months ago? 

Now his tattoo was healed, but there were new wounds to tend to, new permanent fixtures on his body that you wish were just from an illegal tattoo gun. You grabbed a clean washcloth and finally looked over his body. 

It wasn’t like it was your first time seeing a man naked, and you’d seen Eddie shirtless plenty of times before. There was no denying this was different though, and your eyes wandered down between his legs for just a moment, curiosity getting the better of you in the moment because it was better than letting your mind stay trapped in the Upside Down. 

He wasn’t hard. You didn’t blame him, you doubted you could get aroused in this state. You were both tired and gross. You pulled your focus away from his crotch and back to the washcloth, lathering it up and began to wash his shoulders and neck first. 

Eddie’s hands made their way to your hips, unable to stop himself from touching you. Touching you meant that you both were real. 

He let out a small noise in the back of his throat as you began to gently wash away the gime on his neck and shoulders. Dirt and sweat flowed down each of your bodies from the water stream, and you focused as best you could on cleaning each of the cuts on his body, even if he let out grunts of discomfort. 

Your hands started washing lower, running the cloth against his chest and the black widow you’d cleaned a dozen times for him before. Eddie hissed as the cloth brushed over his hard nipples and you couldn’t tell if it was because it felt good or didn’t. You moved lower, washing his stomach and his hands held your hips tighter. It was becoming a game of chicken to see how far down you’d go. 

You were staring at his dick as your hands hovered at his hip bones. It’s not like you could help it, well, that was a lie, you probably could. But it had twitched just slightly, and your mind had raced with a thousand dirty thoughts. 

Not the time. You scolded yourself as you tried to figure out how to proceed. 

Sensing your hesitation, Eddie reached behind you for another washcloth and turned you around. 

“It.. might be better if I do this part.” he said in your ear and your skin erupted in goosebumps. “Between the lake water and the sweat and everything, yeah. Just, give me a second to do that part myself.”

Jesus Christ, he was talking about washing his ass and your body had still reacted. What the fuck was wrong with you? Well other than falling in love with your friend and Dungeon Master, nearly losing him to monsters, nearly losing him again to the justice system-

Something soft rubbed your back and the tension you’d been holding suddenly evaporated. While you were distracted, Eddie had finished his own business and had grabbed your loofah. He was washing your back in slow circles, getting the dirt off of you as well.

You let out a quiet noise and his hand froze for just a moment before resuming. Maybe in another timeline you would have been embarrassed about the noise you made, but not this time. Not when you were touch starved from him, not when he was naked and touching you, not when you two felt impossibly close and yet still so fucking far apart. It was a balancing act, a dance that neither of you knew the music to. Each movement was careful, hesitant, as if one wrong move might scare the other away. 

There will be no more retreating from Eddie, the Banished. Did that extend to you? With the way his fingers slid down your spine you were assuming so. One hand was firmly on your shoulder to keep you in place (as if you were ever going to move away) while the other ran your loofah over your sides. 

He turned you around, endlessly deep brown eyes meeting yours while his hand holding the loofa twitched just slightly. It was his turn to look down at your body fully, eyes raking down over your chest, your hips, and your legs. You saw his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed, looking back up at your eyes. 

When you gave him a nod, Eddie reached out again, working the loofah over your neck and shoulders. You tilted your head back, letting him get as much grime off you as possible before his hand moved lower, running over your breasts carefully. Eddie’s eyes darted between your chest and your face for any sign that this was too much, that he’d gone too far. But you only leaned closed to him, resting your hands on his forearms as he washed you. His hands drifted lower, not lingering too much on your breasts when getting clean was more important than the hormones that were starting to stir in both of you. 

Just like you had, his hands stopped at your hips, just above your mound. You turned him around the same way he had for you, deciding that you could also wash your own ass for the time being. 

You closed your eyes as you washed yourself, imagining a world where taking a shower with Eddie wasn’t the result of a week of trauma. Maybe he’d joke about how he’d make your tits squeaky clean and you’d respond with a joke about him dropping the soap. Maybe in another life the two of you would be blasting music and he’d be rambling about the latest song he was learning on guitar while you two swapped off who was under the hot water. 

Your bodies were clean now, Eddie taking the free moment to wash off his legs and feet while you did the same. You pulled him back around and reached up to his face with a warmed washcloth, and his hands went back to your hips. Once you were satisfied with that, you grabbed the shampoo and conditioner. 

“Sit down.” you said quietly. 

The tub was comfortable enough for one person to lay in and stretch out but it was more cramped with two. Eddie sat down and you sat behind him, working the shampoo through his hair slowly, your fingers digging into his scalp. Eddie tilted his head back and let out a moan as you massaged and scratched at his head. 

There was a small part of you that said that you shouldn’t be having a reaction to this, that you two had just gone through something terrible and this wasn’t the time to unpack those feelings. 

You told that part of your brain to shove it. 

You peered over Eddie’s shoulder as you worked the lather through his hair, and took in a deep shuddering breath as your gaze was met with his cock standing at full attention. The warmth inside of you was growing as well, made hotter by his constant groans and murmurs of enjoyment. 

You rinsed his hair, and started working the conditioner through his ends. 

“Let that sit for a bit.” you instructed and he made a noise of understanding. You quickly worked on cleaning your own hair, and as the last of the sweat, blood, and tears slid down the drain you were now faced with it being just the two of you, naked, raw, and alive. 

Eddie turned around and leaned against the back of the tub and he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in as well. He pressed your back against his chest, his head resting on your shoulder. You leaned back into him, letting him hold you as the warm water washed over you both. 

Your hands reached down to his, and his fingers immediately laced with yours. Around you there was only the thick steamy air and the warmth and safety of the shower. Your fingers rubbed against his, unused to the bare skin without the heavy metal rings he wore. You wondered briefly if they were silver or pewter or some other metal. 

Something soft on your shoulder brought you back to reality, A shiver ran down your back as Eddie’s lips placed small kisses along your clean, wet skin. You squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back. 

The kisses stopped after a moment, and he pulled you closer until you were completely flushed against him. His cock was pressing into your back, and you felt him shift his hips to try and find a way to have you close without bothering you about his physical reaction. 

You shifted in his arms, turning around to face him. The porcelain dug into your knees, but you ignored it to look at Eddie. His eyes were wide and everything stood still. He reached for you again, placing his hand on your jaw, his thumb resting on your cheek. In return you held onto his shoulders, one hand on the side of his neck. 

It didn’t matter who moved first. It didn’t matter if his hand pulled you in or if you had leaned after you looked at his lips. All that mattered is that Eddie’s grip on you tightened and his mouth was on yours and you were pressing up against him and his hands were moving around you and-

You slipped, your knee sliding against the soaked porcelain and your body was pressed fully against his. Eddie’s hard cock was pressed against your stomach, and he jumped at the sudden accidental movement. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, sitting up a bit to check on you. 

No, you weren’t okay. And you didn’t think you’d be okay until he kissed you again. So instead of answering you kissed him again, deeper than before. He didn’t hesitate in responding to the kiss, his hands were sliding around you again, rubbing your back as your fingers tangled in his hair. 

The two of you stayed like that for a long time, meeting each other’s lips over and over again as the hot water fell on you. You’d occasionally shift and feel his cock rub against your stomach and he’d moan into your mouth in response. You liked that, and found every reason to squirm and rub against him as the two of you kissed. 

Eddie’s tongue pressed into your mouth, as easily as if the two of you had kissed a thousand times before. You moaned as he did, the taste of your toothpaste still lingering in his mouth melded with the taste of him. The moan only encouraged him to keep going, exploring your mouth and licking against a spot behind your front teeth that made you shudder. 

The water was getting cooler and it took everything inside of you to finally pull away. Eddie looked up at you with a hint of confusion on his face as to why you pulled back. 

“Did I-” he started and you shook your head. 

“Water’s getting cold. We should get out.” you said. 

He nodded and the two of you untangled from each other and helped each other stand up. You finished rinsing the last of the conditioner from Eddie’s hair before turning off the water and stepping out, grabbing you each a towel. He took it from your hand and wrapped it around your shoulders, using it as an excuse to touch you and pull you into another kiss. 

Your arms wrapped around his neck and he pushed you up against the wall, needing the closeness as much as you did. Each press of his lips was slightly different each time, as if he was trying to decide the best way to kiss you, or maybe to just have the chance to kiss you every way he could. Making up for lost time? Making up for the uncertain future? It was hard to tell. 

“I’m here.” You don’t know why you said it, but those two words slipped out of your mouth in the two seconds that Eddie had pulled away to breathe. 

He was panting, and staring intently at you, his look of surprise mirrored your own thoughts. Then his mouth was on you again, kissing you rougher, holding you tighter, his hands were grabbing at you in a near bruising grip. Eddie’s cock was rubbing against your hip now, and he groaned feeling your soft skin against him. You could feel your own wetness start to pool between your legs as you kissed back, trying to keep up with him. 

“I’m here, too.” His voice echoed back. 

Your hips rocked up against him, and up bit his lower lip, sucking on it hard. He groaned again, and grabbed at your breast, squeezing it before rubbing his thumb against your nipple. You squirmed at the touch, and all you wanted was to be closer, closer, closer. 

When Eddie pulled back, it was your turn to look confused. You were dazed from the kiss, breathless with your heart pounding in your chest. 

“Eds...?” 

“Bedroom.” He pulled himself away from you like ripping a bandaid off. You followed his lips, kissing him again and he shuddered, stumbling back towards the door and reaching blindly for the doorknob. 

With some fumbling, you both managed to stumble into your room, lips locked together. It was cooler outside of the bathroom, and you could feel goosebumps raised along his arms as you both fell back into your bed. 

You wasted no time straddling him, pushing him down by his shoulders and giving him quick rough kisses. 

“Don’t you-” you kissed him “ever” you bit his lower lip “run like that” another bruising kiss “again.”. 

“I won’t” he replied, running his hand to the back of your neck and squeezing it. “I won’t. I won’t run.” 

Before you could capture his lips again, he pulled you down by your neck and latched his mouth against your throat. Eddie wasted no time with soft kisses, immediately sucking hard on the skin and pulling the blood to the surface until a deep bruise bloomed on your neck. You cursed, and ground your hips down on his cock, feeling the length drag against your clit. 

Eddie hissed and kissed the spot lightly where he’d been sucking. His hands gripped your hips, moving his own in rhythm with yours in a desperate attempt to get friction on his leaking cock. One hand slid down to grab your thigh, squeezing the back of it in a way that made your hips shudder and sparks of pleasure shoot right to your core. 

“Fuck, Eddie.” you whispered. 

Hearing his name had him grabbing you and rolling you below him, kissing your neck more. His lips trailed up to right below your ear, breathing in deeply before moving his mouth down to your chest. 

Eddie latched onto one of your nipples and sucked hard, making you gasp and arch your back up. His hand slid down, lower and lower until it was between your legs, sliding a finger through your slit with a trembling hand. The touch to your sensitive folds made you let out a small giggle at the feeling and your hips jerked again before settling back down. 

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” Eddie said, talking to himself more than he was talking to you. He played with your entrance for a moment as he kissed and sucked along your breasts, sliding two fingers through your folds and stroking your clit with careful circles. 

You wanted to beg for more, roll your hips and tell him to keep going, but you couldn’t. If this was any other scenario, you would have. But when his head tilted back to look at you, all words died down in your mouth. This wasn’t something that you two could rush, not now, not after everything. This was more than just sex, more than a desperate quickie after the heat of battle. This was something you didn’t have a name for yet, but you two would figure out in time. 

Eddie leaned over you more, resting one arm by your head. His wet hair ticked your shoulders, and looking up at him, you thought about how a few hours earlier, you were on top of him like this as well, shielding him from monsters. He leaned down and kissed you again as he slid a finger into your entrance. 

Your hands gripped his shoulders, gasping into his mouth. He pumped his fingers in and out slowly, never letting your lips disconnect. Eddie was fingering you, Eddie who’d all but bullied you into joining Hellfire when you were the new kid. The same Eddie who you’d bickered and squabbled with regularly because you two loved to get on each other's nerves. The same Eddie who you’d seen cry when no one else was looking over the death of Chrissy Cunningham-

Another finger slid in carefully and this time he did pull back, looking into your eyes for any sign of discomfort. Instead he found your face warmed and your lips parted in pleasure. You let out a small moan as he moved his fingers again, your nails digging into his shoulder. 

A quiet cry escaped your lips as he curled his fingers inside you, moving them back and forth until you gave him the signal that he had found the right spot. His name escaped your lips in a way he never dreamed that he’d hear. Eddie’s forehead pressed against yours again, taking in every reaction as his fingers explored your inner walls. 

His thumb brushed over your clit, stroking it in shaky and clumsy circles. As unpracticed as it was, it felt good. It felt good because it was him, and because you needed him, and when the fuck was the last time you had even had a chance to get off with everything going on?

“Eddie,” you panted as you moved your hands to his jaw. You kissed him again, and he kissed you back. His fingers sped up, pressing more into that sweet spot that was turning your brain off, removing any thoughts of the Upside Down, or of the shared trauma you now held. Right now, there was only you and Eddie and a mind-numbing pleasure that was building up inside you.

“It’s okay.” he whispered, his hand shaking a little. “Tell me what you need, please.” Eddie looked at you like getting you off was the most important thing he could do right now. You’d only seen this look in his eyes once as he’d cut the sheet rope that connected the two worlds-

“Tell me you’re here.” you begged, the words spilling out without thought. “Fuck, Eddie- just tell me you’re here. That you aren’t going- oh... oh God, please-”

“I’m here.” His voice sounded desperate, looking down at you. “I’m here, I swear. I’m not going anywhere again I- I’m so fucking sorry. I’m here, I’m here, Sweetheart.” 

It was that simple nickname that had you tumbling over the edge. That pet name that had always been reserved only for his guitar. His lips crashed onto yours as you reached your peak, swallowing your moans as your pussy clamped down around his fingers. Your body tensed up hard, and you tangled your fingers into his hair pulling at the roots. Eddie moaned at the feeling, his fingers faltering for a moment before slowing down and then finally pulling out. 

Immediately you felt empty, the orgasm not enough to satiate the need to have him as close as possible. You could still feel your pussy contracting as you came down from your orgasm, and you realized he was still talking. 

“‘M here.” Eddie whispered against your temple as he placed gentle pecks to your skin. “I’m here. I won’t leave again.” 

“I need you, Eds.” you said, looking up at him. “Fuck, I’ve needed you for so long.”

You hoped that he understood what you were saying. This was more than needing him inside you, this was about everything you two had been through together over the past few years. Every Hellfire Club meeting, every Tuesday at the Hideout, every shared joint between the two of you, every shitty study session that never went anywhere because you two would get too distracted and end up talking to each other about everything and nothing. 

You needed it, all of it, all of him. Eddie had made an indent on your life that you never wanted straightened out. You could not, and would not, conceive of a world without Eddie Munson in it. His death would have destroyed you in every possible way. 

Friendship, romance, sex, you didn’t care. If he was willing to just exist in your life, that’s all you fucking wanted. 

You didn’t even notice that you were crying again, until Eddie was wiping away your tears with his clean hand. He had a panicked look on his face as if worried that he’d done something wrong. 

“Shit, I’m sorry. Did we take this too far?” he asked, grabbing a tissue from your bedside table and wiping his own hand off before offering one to you. You took it and shook your head, wiping your eyes and trying to take in a deep breath. 

“No, not that’s not it.” you said. “I just... I was so scared that I was going to lose you, Eddie. I’m still scared that when everything is done you’re going to disappear on me again.”

Eddie looked down at you, and you could almost see the wheels turning in his head. “I thought I was doing the right thing, buying them more time.” he said quietly. “I thought if I could keep them distracted for just a few more minutes, everything would work out. If I had climbed back up, I thought- I was convinced the bats would either break in and attack you and Dustin or they’d go after the others.”

“You’re stupid.” you sniffed. 

“I know.” he agreed. 

“A total buttface jerk.” you added. 

“Yeah, you’re right.” Eddie spread your legs more, putting himself into position. His cock was sliding through your folds now. 

“Y-you’re a freak and my fucking hero.” you gasped out as he pushed himself inside you carefully. Eddies cock stretched you pleasantly and easily. 

“I’m getting mixed signals here, Sweetheart.” he mumbled, kissing along your jaw. Your arms wrapped around his neck tightly, and you pushed your own face against his neck, sucking your own mark against the front of his throat. You didn't care if anyone else saw, you wanted to see proof of this night on him. 

You wanted proof on him every night for the rest of your life. 

“I'm never running away again.” he groaned in your ear as his hips started moving. Eddie held you tighter, nearly suffocating you as he did. How many times had he hugged you like this before, with you laughing and pushing him away, only for him to squeeze you harder telling you that your Strength stat sucked? 

“I'll find you.” You whispered in his ear as he grabbed your thigh, lifting it to wrap around his hips. “I'll find you every time, I fucking promise.”

He moaned loudly, his hips pushing harder into yours. Eddie was as deep inside you as he could possibly be, and each drag of his cock inside you made every nerve light up in your body. 

“Why did you come after me?” Eddie's voice was a near growl. His voice was strained, as if asking that question would snap the connection between the two of you. His lips never left your skin, kissing every inch that he could reach on your neck and face. 

“I couldn't let you- ohh oh God... I couldn't let you go. Couldn't let you disappear again” your body shuddered under him as his angle shifted slightly, just enough that it was rubbing up against that spot again that made it hard to think. 

“You could have died too.” Eddie's voice rattled around your head, frustration dripping from his lips as he sank his teeth into your shoulder. You cried out, dragging your nails down his spine in return, leaving raised marks down his back. 

He hissed and smashed his lips to your again, biting at your lower lip and sucking hard. Eddie looked at you, frustration now in his eyes as he looked down at you. 

It seemed like you weren't the only one processing your emotions through sex. 

“You could have died too.” He repeated. One hand went to the back of your neck, his thumb pressing right below your ear. You met his eyes, suddenly feeling small under him. 

Eddie had only ever looked at you like this once before. You two had a blow up fight the night that Chrissy had been murdered. You'd been so fucking mad at him for not moving Hellfire, having missed that whole conversation as you had a different lunch period. 

You hadn't learned about it until Erica Sinclair had walked in with Mike and Dustin. You'd swallowed the fight until after the campaign, when everyone was celebrating and Eddie was sneaking towards the back of the gym. 

It hadn't been pretty. You two had yelled at each other, called each other every name in the book. You were furious that he'd abandoned a party member and wouldn't budge. 

Eddie had hated that you were the only one to really stand up to him, to call him out for refusing to budge this one time. His brown eyes had turned black as you said things that didn't even fucking matter anymore. 

You saw him leave pissed with Chrissy Cunningham. You wondered if anyone else saw you two fighting that night which would have made him look worse when the cheerleader showed up dead in his trailer. 

Another moan passed your lips and your eyes closed as he started thrusting faster inside you. His hand on your neck tightening and loosening rhythmically, the blood running to your head and cutting off over and over again. 

“I can't lose you either.” He panted, kissing you again in a way that you were sure was going to screw you up forever. “You think I wanted to watch you die, too?” He demanded. 

“Eddie, I-” you didn't know what to say, all you could do was lay there as he mercilessly pushed into you, watching as the anger turned to anguish as he leaned over you. 

“Look at me,” he said, his voice low and firm. The same subtle husky voice he used when he ran his game, the same voice he'd conditioned you to listen to over the past year. 

You nearly came again right there.  

Eddie’s warm brown eyes bore into yours and you didn't look away, even as his pace hit that perfect stride that had your toes curl and made your eyes want to roll back.  

“If I can't run away, you can throw yourself into danger.” He said. “I'm not losing you either.”

“Not gonna lose me-” you panted. “Fuck Eddie, I just-” your back arched as his lips sucked another bruise into your shoulder. “Don't put yourself in danger again and I won't have to.”

“We’re never doing that again.” he grunted into your shoulder. “No more monsters, no more fucking spellcasters, no bullshit alternate dimensions.” His hands were everywhere, as if he couldn’t decide where he wanted or needed to grab you. “Gonna get us as far away from this shithole town as possible.”

Us. 

That word echoed through your brain. Us. That meant there was something more here, a future. A future with Eddie that he wanted you to be a part of. 

You kissed him again, and any more words between you died down as it didn’t mean anything anymore. The Upside Down, the future, none of it. Eddie’s hand finally made its way down to your clit again and stroked it fast. You tangled your fingers into his hair and pulled at the roots, his hips were starting to falter with their thrusts. Each push making your brain grow hazy as the pleasure continued to build inside you. 

Eddie pulled away from the kiss, pressing his lips against your ear again instead. “I’m here.” he promised. “Fuck, right- I’m right here.”

“I’m here, too” you repeated, your own voice breathy and desperate. “Eddie, I-” 

“I love you.” 

Those three words from his lips, had you seeing white. The whole world stopped and your body tensed up. Your nails sank into his back, and if you had been in a more clear state of mind you would have noticed you’d accidentally drawn blood. You cried out, unsure if you had managed to say those words back at all until the orgasm had started to subside. You felt dizzy, lightheaded and you breathed out the air that you had been hoarding in  your lungs. 

Eddie was staring at you with wide doe eyes, lips parted slightly in surprise. His hips were rocking slower now, as if unsure if he should continue after having apparently shattered your mind.

“I... love you, too.” you managed to gasp out, meeting his gaze. That was enough for Eddie as he picked his pace back up, rougher than before. He pressed his lips against your neck, breathing you in completely, listening to your overstimulated cries of pleasure as he pushed faster into you. 

It didn’t take long before he was cumming too, his hips jerking and shaking as he finally slowed down his thrusts. His weight was fully on top of you now as he started to soften inside you. 

You don’t know how long the two of you stayed like that, with him laying on you and with you stroking his back and matching his breaths. Maybe the two of you dozed off a few times, trying to savor the moment of peace between the two of you. 

Eddie was the one to break the silence with a chuckle. 

“What’s so funny, Eddie?” you asked, your eyes still closed. 

“We’re gonna need another shower after that.” he replied, slowly getting up off you. It was cold without his warmth and you whined at the loss. 

“Sounds like a tomorrow problem.” you mumbled, looking up at him. His curly hair was frizzing badly in its half-dried state. But he still got up and went to the bathroom, you heard the sound of running water and the a toilet flushing before he came back with a towel to clean help clean you up. 

“Did you mean what you said?” you asked quietly, as he settled back into bed with you, the two of  you getting over the sheets. 

Eddie nodded, looking at your blankets before meeting your gaze. “Yeah, I did.”

“Good.” you said and gave him a reassuring smile. “Because I don’t want to fight anymore monsters either again.” 

“Wait that’s-” Eddie stopped and laughed, shaking his head. “You know what I meant.”

“I know.”

“Did you mean it?” He asked. 

“Yeah. I meant it.” you reassured him. 

“Say it again?” he asked, cupping your jaw again. “I want to know it wasn’t just my amazing dick making you say it.”

You laughed. It felt so fucking good to laugh with him again. Had there been any doubt about your feelings for him, that would have sealed it. 

“Eddie Munson, I love you.” you said, looking into his eyes. “And if you ever do something stupid like that again, I’m going to be the one to kill you personally.”

“I love you, too.” he said, and for the first time in a week, his eyes were clear. There was no haunted look in his eyes, no anger, no frustration. For this brief night before reality came back the two of you could just exist with each other. Neither of you knew what was going to happen after this evening, but you knew in your gut that the two of you were going to get through this together. 

----

Please comment and reblog <3

Alternative title: Use Your Tears As Lube

"We might as well have played kazoos," Jeff adds, yanking out his guitar case.

"Never showing my face in public again," Grant whines, joining the unloading parade.

Eddie fumes and slams the back doors shut. Well, he tries. Instead of latching, they bounce and fly back at him. He gets it on the second, slightly-less-violent, try.

Corroded Coffin just opened for a band from two towns over that people actually show up for. Someone from a record label was in the building. This was supposed to be their shot at getting noticed by someone who mattered. They were supposed to rock everyone's socks off. But no. They played the worst show of their stupid little lives. Even Wayne, who hardly ever got to see them play, looked horrified at the shit-tastic show they put on.

His girl leans against the side of the van, next to the busted taillight that earned him a ticket from that asshole Callahan on the way to the show. Not even she can pretend Corroded Coffin didn't suck a fat one tonight. There's pity in her eyes, and it makes Eddie even madder. He turns and directs his rage at the band, not wanting to crack under her annoying gaze.

"See you dicks around," Eddie snaps. "Since there's no point in ever fucking practicing again."

"C'mon, man," whines Gareth.

"What about the Henderson's Christmas party?" asks Grant.

"At least we can go drown our sorrows in cocoa," Jeff sighs.

They just bombed so hard, they'll probably never be allowed to perform in the tri-county area ever again. Their careers are over before they even started. And they're worried about a shitty little Christmas party thrown by Dustin's mom?

Eddie Munson is mad at himself for being a failure. Mad at his woman for feeling sorry for him. Mad at his dumb band for sucking ass. Mad at the Hendersons for scheduling a party and being a distraction on a night this important. Mad at Wayne for not coming on one of the nights they actually sounded good. Mad at the world for giving him a sliver of hope and snatching it away just when he thought he had a chance of making it big and getting out of Hawkins Fucking Indiana.

He needs to get out of here. Right now. He turns with the intention of stomping to the driver's side door and driving off like a bat out of hell, but she's blocking his way.

"Baby, it's not the end of the world," she says calmly, putting a hand on his chest. The act breaks a barrier and unleashes his barely-contained rage. He smacks her hand away, maybe a little harder than he meant to, and her eyes widen in shock.

"What would you fucking know about it?" Eddie seethes. He can feel the blood boiling and the vein pulsating in his neck. He can't stop. The words keep coming, and Eddie closes in on her. She shrinks. "You've never had a fucking dream! You've never wanted something more than this shitty little life in this shitty little town! I'm sick of you fucking holding me back!"

"Shut the fuck up, man!" Gareth yells, stepping between them and giving Eddie a shove backwards.

"Oh, now you react to something on time?" Eddie laughs cruelly.

There's a blinding flash of pain, and Eddie's suddenly staring to the side. He slowly swivels his head back to Gareth, standing in front of him with balled fists and a red face. Eddie's jaw throbs. Did his own drummer just punch him in the face?

He attacks.

Grant and Jeff are on them in an instant, trying to get Eddie and Gareth apart. Everything becomes a blur of grunts and blows until Jeff gets Eddie's arms behind him and drags him out of the open garage door.

"Cool off, man!"

This isn't how tonight was supposed to go. He was supposed to be signing a contract and sipping spiked cocoa and eating cookies. Kissing his girl under the mistletoe and promising her a mansion in Beverly Hills. Celebrating his talent and good fortune with everyone he loves. Instead, he's standing outside a cold garage, staring at the disappointed faces of all the people he let down.

A sniffle draws his eyes to his girl. His Evil Woman. The love of his fucking life. The look in her teary eyes makes his insides turn to ice. He hit her. He yelled at her, and he fucking hit her. He takes a step closer, wanting to hug her and tell her that he didn't mean it.

She flinches.

She's scared of him.

He's just like his old man.

Eddie climbs in the van without another word. He doesn't know where he's going, but he knows he can't stay here.

He speeds and spirals and re-lives the worst night of his life over and over. It takes him several miles of squinting into the dark to realize his headlights aren't even on. When the van finally comes to a stop, he's at the quarry. He doesn't know why he came here. But by the time he turns off the ignition, he's exhausted from beating himself up.

He slides down from the driver's seat and walks to the edge of the cliff, kicking rocks as he goes. Each breath sends out so much fog, it looks like he's smoking. A smoke would be nice. That'd take the edge off. He pats his pocket for his pack and pulls it out. Empty. Of course.

He tosses the empty pack over the edge and leans over just a little bit, hoping to see it fall. The darkness swallows the little white box almost immediately. It's a long way down. The only light comes from the moon, and it reflects on the still water below like glass. It's both beautiful and unsettling.

The cold starts to seep into his bones, but he welcomes the ache. He deserves it. Eddie sits near the edge, sighing and looking up at the starry sky, wondering how the fuck his friends are ever going to forgive him for this.

Maybe they weren't really that bad. Maybe they tried their best. Maybe he put too much pressure on the younger guys. Maybe the person from the record company didn't even come. Maybe the band that they opened for sucked too, and they could all chalk this horrible evening up to bad acoustics.

Maybe Eddie hadn't just ruined all of the most important things in his life in the course of one night.

His heart hurts at the thought of what he said to his girl, whose only crime was caring about him. Holding him back? Where the fuck did that come from? It's all a little fuzzy, now that he thinks about it.

Eddie touches his swollen jaw and winces. Little Drummer Boy packs a hell of a punch.

He fucking deserves this pain.

Eddie pulls his knees to his chest and hunches over, curling into a ball near the edge of the quarry cliff.

He wishes he hadn't blown up and said those awful things to the person he loves most. He wishes he hadn't forced his friends to practice until their fingers bled. He wishes he'd never begged (and traded a considerable amount of weed) for the chance to play a three-song opener for some douchebag band from the city. He wishes he hadn't turned into a total cunt the second he saw a chance to live out his stupid teenage dream of becoming a rock star.

Hell, why stop there?

Eddie Munson wishes he'd never even been born.

"Don't even think about it, asshole," a voice rumbles from behind him.

Eddie turns, surprised that he let someone sneak up on him. A guy really lets his guard down when he's got nothing left to lose.

An ass thumps against a rock nearby and Eddie squints at the silhouette in the moonlight. That curly hair looks familiar, but he doesn't know for sure who it is until the stranger takes a drag off a cigarette and his face is illuminated by the burning cherry.

"Hargrove?"

"Knew you couldn't be as stupid as everyone said you were." Eddie can't see the smirk, but he can hear it.

"Not a good time, Hargrove," Eddie sighs. "Don't have anything on me."

"I'm not here for drugs, dumbass," Billy says, taking another drag. "I'm here to save your eternal soul or some shit."

"Sounds like you've already been into the good stuff tonight," Eddie deadpans.

"Nobody ever fuckin' believes me," Billy groans, staring upward and blowing a long stream of smoke into the air before turning his intense gaze to Eddie. "Listen up, dickhead. You fucked up, you hurt people, you wished you were never born, et cetera. I was sent here to show you the error of your ways or whatever. Let's take a little trip."

"What is this, like a Christmas Carol thing?" Eddie snorts. "What are you on, man? I want some."

Billy sighs and flicks his cigarette out over the water. He stands and stares at Eddie, his eyes glinting in the moonlight.

"Let's go, fuckface," Billy orders.

"I'm not going anywhere with your stoned ass," Eddie laughs, trying to pretend he's not a tiny bit afraid.

Billy stomps over and grabs Eddie's jacket and hauls him to his feet with surprising strength. Maybe he was right to be scared.

"Woah, calm down, Ghost of Christmas PCP," Eddie snarks, sounding braver than he feels.

"I said, let's go," Billy repeats, dragging Eddie backward. Eddie tries to dig in his heels and resist, but his sneakers slip and slide on the loose gravel.

"Where are we going?" Eddie asks, his ears beginning to ring.

A blinding flash of light makes him cover his eyes, and when he lowers his arm and opens them, he's standing in front of Wayne's trailer. The glow of a street lamp shows more of Billy's face than Eddie has seen tonight. He stares at Eddie through unblinking, half-lidded eyes. Eddie doesn't like it. Not one bit.

"Kay, thanks for bringing me home, I owe you one," Eddie mumbles, trying to side-step him and get away. Billy blocks his path.

"This isn't your home."

"Yeah, it is," Eddie argues. "Since I was eight."

"You wished you'd never been born, remember?" Billy asks pointedly. "Now you get to see what that's like."

"Isn't the first ghost supposed to be the nice one?" Eddie asks. "I thought the third one was the mean one."

"You only get one ghost," Billy says. "Only gonna need one stop, too. Made a bet that I could break you quick."

"Good fuckin' luck," Eddie scoffs.

"C'mere," Billy orders, reaching for him.

Eddie feels the urge to bolt, but before he can act on it, Billy grabs him by the collar and drags him up the steps and through the door.

Like, through the door.

"Did we just--? Did you just--? What the hell?!" Eddie splutters, looking around him for answers. The door is still closed. And then he begins to notice other things. This isn't that ugly brown carpet that's been here since the 50s, when this hunk of junk came off the lot. Those aren't the right curtains. Where are Wayne's mugs? And his hats? And his chair?

There's a small Christmas tree on a table by the window and a few wrapped gifts beneath it. There are plastic toys and wooden blocks on the new-ish rug, which is an odd green color. Photos of prettier places than Hawkins adorn the walls. Carefully arranged pillows line a yellow couch that doesn't belong here. Aside from the toys on the floor, it's neater than he's ever seen it. This isn't his house.

"What is this?" he asks, turning to Billy. "Why are we here?"

Billy nods his head toward Eddie's room, and Eddie follows his gaze to a body stepping out of it. A woman. She lingers in the doorway for a moment, then reaches in to flip the light off and close the door.

Eddie's heart drops into his stomach when he sees her face.

His one and only.

His Evil Woman.

She looks tired. The dark circles around her eyes remind him of the time they experimented with zombie makeup. Something is different with her hair. Has she lost weight? He inwardly cringes at his own question, knowing she'd give him a smack for it. But she can't read his mind. She doesn't even acknowledge his presence.

She tiptoes down the hallway and takes a left in the kitchen, pulling out stuff to make a sandwich. Four. Four sandwiches. She assembles four peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, packs them in crinkled brown lunch bags that have seen better days, then folds down the tops. There's one bread heel left. She stares at it for a moment, then wraps it up and puts it back in the bag.

She looks around, as if she can feel someone watching her. Eddie shifts uncomfortably, almost wishing she'd make eye contact and laugh because he fell for whatever sick joke this is. But she looks right through him with her dull eyes. Where's that wicked twinkle he loves so much? Why does she look so sad? What's she looking at? Eddie glances behind him. Is she waiting for someone to come in the door? Looking at the tree, maybe?

Just when Eddie thinks he can't possibly stand that blank stare for one more second, her face crumples. She sinks to the floor, grabbing a kitchen towel on the way down and holding it to her mouth to stifle her sobs. Eddie wishes he could look away and save her this indignity, but he can't. He can't take his eyes off of her.

"What happened to her?" Eddie whispers, afraid she'll hear.

"It's more of a what didn't happen to her," Billy answers somberly. "She never met you."

"Is that all you got?" Eddie scoffs, turning to his companion with annoyance. "She never met me, so she cries sometimes? Get fucked, Hargrove."

"No, asshole," Billy seethes, taking his attention from the crying girl on the floor to the metalhead at his side. "She never met you and became a social pariah, so she actually made friends with the popular kids. Became quite the party animal. Hooked up with some older guy one weekend, who happened to possess some illicit substances that needed to be distributed to the desperate students of Hawkins High. Sound familiar?"

Eddie thinks for a moment, and when he understands, his jaw drops.

"Rick?" Eddie asks. "My girl was selling for Reefer Rick?"

"She's not your girl," Billy growls. "You don't exist, remember? Anyway, she was doin' a lot more than selling for him."

"No fuckin' way," Eddie protests.

"Yes fuckin' way," Billy argues. "They were together for almost a year before she realized he was stickin' his dick in anything that would let him. By that time, it was too late."

"Too late?" Eddie asks hesitantly.

"She'd already had the baby."

Eddie feels the blood drain from his face. Wait, does he even have blood in whatever this freaky little fever dream is?

"While her classmates were dancing to Cyndi Lauper or some shit at prom, she was in the hospital having a baby," Billy continues. "She never got to graduate. Got into a real bad fight with her mom. When her dad found out that his unwed teenage daughter got knocked up by the town drug dealer, he took her mom to court and won full custody of the little brother. After the kid got shipped to his dad, her mom sold the house and went back to live closer to the rest of her family. And then when she found out Rick was fucking around, it was just her and the baby…"

Eddie tenses, sensing an "until".

"Until me."

"You?" Eddie asks with an accusatory tone.

"Me." The corner of Billy's mouth twitches, like he's remembering something nice. "I liked her in school, but she was Rick's… until she wasn't. Then I moved in. Then came the triplets. They're absolute hellions, but she loves 'em," Billy sighs. "And me. Nobody ever loved me like she did. I wish to Hell,"

Thunder booms, and Billy winces.

"I wish to Heaven," he says, looking up at the ceiling apprehensively, "that I hadn't tried to drive that night. It was hard sometimes, but we were happy, y'know? I didn't mean to leave them all alone like this."

Eddie focuses on the longing in Billy's eyes, rather than the broken woman he's staring at.

"She didn't deserve this," Billy whispers. His face hardens, and he turns to Eddie. "She didn't deserve that shit you said to her either, asshole."

Eddie feels almost as bad as he did the second those words left his mouth.

"So you're dead?" Eddie asks, desperate for something else to think about.

"Yes, I'm fucking dead," Billy rolls his eyes. "You don't exist at all in this world, and I got drunk and drove my car into a tree just before Christmas last year. What a fuckin' pair we make, huh?"

Eddie sighs and turns his attention back to the girl who's now staring blankly at the floor, silent tears still streaming down her cheeks.

"Why's she in Wayne's house?" Eddie asks suddenly.

"Thought you'd never ask," Billy says, lighting another cigarette. "Only place she could afford. Guy cut her a real good deal, after what happened to your uncle."

Billy pauses and makes Eddie ask: "What happened to my uncle?"

"He blew his brains out," Billy says matter-of-factly, pointing to the spot where Wayne's chair should be with his cigarette. "Right there."

"Bullshit."

"Why do you think a trailer this old has a new carpet and wallpaper?" Billy asks.

Eddie surveys the place. The kitchen is mostly the same; same sink, same stove, same fridge, even some of the same ancient magnets he used to play with as a kid. But the living room…

"Why?" he breathes.

"Hmmm," Billy hums, pretending to flip through the pages of an imaginary book and pointing to some imaginary answer. "It seems that dear old Uncle Wayne had a little bit of a drinking problem."

"Wayne never drank anything but beer," Eddie argues.

"Well, funny thing," Billy says, taking a drag of his cigarette and blowing his smoke in Eddie's face. "Seems he gave up hard liquor when his punk-ass nephew came to live with him. And since in this universe, he didn't have a nephew… he just kept on drinking. Even though he was already depressed, and the liquor just made it worse… and worse… until one day, he'd had enough."

"No," Eddie breathes.

"Yeah," Billy nods, not looking very sympathetic. "Wanna hear about your little sheepies at school?"

"No."

"Tough shit," Billy scoffs. "Little Drummer Boy, before he got shipped back to Daddy-O's, was in the marching band. Wedgie City, man. The big guy with the curly hair got bullied so bad, his mom decided to home-school him. He's so scared of everything, he hasn't left the house in months. Brace-Face joined the fucking Mathletes, thus ensuring him a lifetime of virginity. And the rest of those little weirdos just try to lay low and survive. Your little club that brought them all together and made them proud to be freaks? Doesn't exist. Never will. Most of 'em don't even know each other."

"Stop," Eddie says weakly.

"You want more?" Billy asks. '''Cause I can keep going. Wanna know about the worst thing your girl's ever done to make rent? Or how she'll never be able to fix the relationship with her mom? That her own brother won't bother to invite her to his wedding, when he finally finds some four-eyed geek who will have him?"

"Stop," Eddie begs.

"Maybe you want to hear about your parents? How they only had you as an attempt to save their marriage, and how they fared with another miscarriage instead? It wasn't pretty, man."

"Stop," Eddie begs.

"Wanna circle back to the uncle? And how all he ever did was work and drink and had no friends and no reason to live? About how the first time he'd smiled in years was the night he loaded that pistol?"

"Stop!" Eddie shouts.

"YOU STOP!" Billy shouts back. "You've got a good life on the other side of this shit, and you're wishing it away like a fucking loser! Oh, boo-hoo, you're not gonna be a rock star. You've got a fucking family and friends and people that love your stupid ass! You know what, I don't think you even deserve to go back. I should tell the man upstairs to make this reality the real one, and as payment for erasing your sorry ass from existence, I should get another shot at this life!"

Billy and Eddie stare at each other for a moment, both breathing hard and wondering who's going to break first. Then, the clock in the living room chimes, and Billy looks at in a panic.

"She needs you, man," Billy says quickly. "She needs you to pull your head out of your ass and think about why she's with you. Holding you back? She's the only reason you made it this far, dipshit. She's the reason you graduated, the reason you're not in jail, probably the reason you're still alive. She could've gone anywhere, done anything she wanted. But she stayed in the shittiest town on the planet, and she was happy about it, because you were there together. Never had a dream? What a crock of shit. You were her dream, asshole."

Eddie feels tears prickling at his eyes.

"Now, you get your stupid ass back to your reality and you tell that girl and those nerds how fucking sorry you are," Billy yells, his voice getting louder and barely overpowering the ringing increasing in Eddie's ears. "And you better fucking mean it!"

Eddie nods. Billy grabs the collar of his jacket and gives it a tug. The light flashes white, and Eddie hides his face in his sleeve.

"HEY!"

Eddie opens his eyes and raises his head, but the light hasn't gone out yet. He lowers his head again and hears a scrape. A shower of gravel hits his side. He looks up in surprise. The light moves.

"What are you doing out here, you little shit?"

Eddie squints and makes out a flashlight pointed to the ground… and a pair of boots… and tan pants…

"Hopper?"

"You hurt?"

"No?"

"Then why aren't you at Mrs. Henderson's Christmas party?"

"Uh…" Eddie racks his brain, trying to think of something to say that wouldn't make Hop beat his ass.

"Only a Munson would choose to freeze his balls off alone at the quarry instead of being at a Christmas party with all his friends," the chief sighs. "Get goin', kid. People are worried about you."

"Doubt it," Eddie mutters without thinking.

"Oh yeah?" Hop asks, lighting a cigarette. "Then why am I out here looking for some dumbass when I could be riding out the last of my shift at the station with Flo's fruitcake?"

Eddie doesn't know what to say to that. Someone really sent Hop looking for him? After all that?

"I'm off in thirty, and I'm coming by for the cookies Dustin promised me. If you're not in there having a good time with all your dumb little buddies, we're gonna have a problem. Got it?"

"Got it, Hop," Eddie confirms. He can't help but smile.

"Move your ass, then!" Hop orders.

Eddie scrambles away from the edge of the cliff, heading for the van.

Hop follows him down the quarry road, saying goodbye with a honk when they part ways. Eddie smiles when he sees Hopper's lights turn in his rearview mirror, almost missing the chief's company after his crazy night.

He doesn't have to feel alone for long; he can see the glow of the Henderson house from almost a mile away.

Dustin's mom loves Christmas more than anyone else Eddie's ever met. She's hosted a Christmas party for Dustin and his friends every year since they moved to Hawkins, and other moms may try to compete, but they simply can't. Claudia Henderson bakes the best cookies in the world. She decorates the house like she was trained at the North Pole. She has never once run out of hot chocolate or snacks, or let a guest leave empty-handed.

Eddie hopes his friends are having too good a time to stay mad at him.

The turnoff is easy to find. He's never seen so many lights in his life. The mailbox is covered. Every tree in their yard has a string of lights on it. The driveway is lined with lights and filled with cars Eddie knows, including Uncle Wayne's truck and Jeff's car. There's a light-up Santa on the roof. There are plastic reindeer in the yard.

And there's a black shape smoking on an otherwise well-lit carport that looks very familiar.

Eddie eases out of the van and jams his hands in his pockets, approaching the figure cautiously. His Evil Woman meets his eye but doesn't say anything. When he gets close, but not too close, he stops. He stands. He stares. She stares back. He doesn't know where to start. Begging? Groveling? Punching himself in the nuts until she tells him he can stop?

And then she offers him the lit cigarette she'd holding.

The simple gesture floods Eddie with warmth.

Overwhelming warmth.

The kind that makes a person's eyes water.

Eddie rushes forward to wrap his arms around her. He feels her shift, like maybe she's dropped the butt and stamped it out. She hugs him back, and he melts into her.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

"I know," she whispers back.

"I didn't mean it."

"I know," she repeats.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"I know," she says again.

"I love you."

"I know."

"You're saying 'I know' a lot," Eddie notices.

"I know."

"We should definitely have tons of sex tonight," he says, holding his breath while waiting for a response. Too soon?

"Dream on, dickweed."

He snorts and pulls back, and she looks up at him with the smallest of smiles. He'll take it. She reaches for his hands, and Eddie takes her freezing fingers in his. How long has she been out here?

"Do you still love me?" he asks, almost afraid of the answer.

She hesitates. Eddie's blood runs cold.

"Do you really think I'm holding you back?" she asks quietly.

"God, no," Eddie sighs, fighting the urge to drop to his knees and hug her around the middle while he grovels. "I don't know where the fuck that came from. You're everything to me. You're probably the only reason I'm still alive."

She considers it. Makes him squirm. Eddie bites his lip, preparing for the worst.

"The night is young, Munson."

She smirks. Eddie lets out a sigh of relief, head swimming at the comfort of a familiar threat. She reaches up to touch his swollen cheek. Did she just wipe away a tear? Fucking traitorous eyes! Eddie wipes angrily at his face, just in case.

"I'm sorry tonight didn't turn out the way you hoped," she says softly.

"It did," Eddie cuts in quickly. He doesn't want to think about that. He doesn't want to think about anything but making things right with the people he wronged. "I'm at the best Christmas party in Hawkins, with all my favorite people. If… if you think they'll let me in?"

He glances uneasily at the front door, decorated by a massive wreath with Santa's jolly face at its center.

"You think those boys, who've been playing D&D with you for years, have never witnessed an Eddie Munson Tantrum?" she teases, with that beautiful, amazing, wicked sparkle in her eyes.

Eddie's face burns with embarrassment.

"Oh!" she remembers suddenly, digging in her jacket pocket. She extracts a folded napkin and opens it to reveal a pile of cookies. Eddie's favorites.

"I snatched the last of the double chocolate chip. Apparently they're Mike's favorites too. I know he's a skinny brat and all, but damn that boy can stuff his face."

Eddie looks from the cookies to the girl, his eyes tearing up again. She did that for him? After he did that?

"C'mere," she orders, shoving the cookies back in her pocket and pulling him in for another hug. Eddie closes his eyes and buries his face in her neck, not ever wanting to imagine a world where they don't have each other.

"I love you," he croaks.

"I love you too," she responds. She squeezes him as tightly as he's squeezing her. He's never, ever letting go.

She seems to read his mind, since her hands soon find their way under his shirt. Eddie jumps out of his skin and lets out an honest-to-God squawk when those icy fingers make contact with his warm back, and she laughs at him. It's the most beautiful thing Eddie's heard all night.

Is she really like this because of him? Fun and happy and everything a person should be?

A car door slams, and both of them turn to the driveway to see Chief Hopper approaching.

"Munson, you got a taillight out."

"Yeah, I know," Eddie sighs.

The trio stands there awkwardly for a few seconds, before Hopper asks, "Wheeler eat all the cookies yet?"

"Just about," she grins. "If we hurry, we might be able to grab a few crumbs before he licks the plate."

Hopper chuckles and walks toward the front door. She takes Eddie's arm, tilts her head to Hopper, and waggles her eyebrows suggestively. Eddie shoots her a fake glare, and she laughs again before leading him inside for the party of the year.

What started out as the worst night of Eddie Munson's life ended up being one of the best. The band had softened under the influence of sugar, and did not murder him when he reappeared. Eddie spent a great evening surrounded by the people who matter most, in a place they all call home, with hundreds of cookies and gallons of cocoa. Eddie had so much fun, he didn't even groan when all the moms started singing Christmas carols at the piano.

Although he did nearly have a heart attack when Billy Hargrove, who'd been dragged to the party by his step-sister Max, tapped him on the shoulder and asked to bum a smoke.

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck! 

Eddie stared down at you with wide eyes and a slightly open mouth as that mantra repeated over and over in his head. You were clutching your headphones tightly as if they were your lifeline, your knuckles white and hands trembling as you held his surprised gaze. 

You swallowed hard and cleared your throat as you tried to find your voice, “You’re not Wayne.” 

“I’m not Wayne.” Eddie’s voice was quiet, almost a whisper, as he confirmed with a slight nod, “You’re the cleaning lady.” 

“I’m the cleaning lady.” You confirmed as well and finally broke your eye contact with him to look down at the floor. He watched your hands shake and sighed softly as he placed one large hand over yours and used the other to gently pry the headphones out of your grip. 

“You’re gonna break them.” he said as you looked up at him in surprise and then down at your headphones in his hand. He reached down and unclipped the CD player from your belt and placed it on the counter, “ I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“It’s okay, I was just in my own little world and I didn’t think you’d be back until late.” You said with a nervous chuckle as you tucked a loose hair behind your ear. Eddie cleared his throat and you looked up as he rested his crutches against the counter and leaned back against it to take pressure off of his leg. 

“I wasn’t just talking about right now.” he said as he shoved his hands into his pockets and avoided your gaze, your brows furrowing in confusion before realization had your eyes going wide. 

“Oh.” You said softly and took a small step towards him as you touched your fingers to his arm. Eddie flinched and tucked his arm in closer to himself and you quickly pulled your hand back and swallowed the lump rising in your throat, “Are you…are you hungry? I could make you lunch if you’d like.” 

“No.” he said curtly and you felt a wave of defeat wash over you. You didn’t care what Dustin said in the grocery store. 

Eddie did in fact hate you. 

“You sure? It’s getting late in the afternoon and dinner won’t be ready for a few more hours.” You offered as you nodded towards the crockpot that currently housed a roast you had picked up that morning, one of Wayne’s favorite meals. 

“I’m sure. I don’t need your help.” He made brief eye contact with you in the form of a glare and you bit the inside of your cheek to stop the tears that had already begun to well. 

“I’m sorry.” You said softly and turned your back to him as you returned to the dishes that you had been washing. 

Eddie sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose when you turned away from him. 

Stop being a fucking asshole.

“I won’t be here for dinner. I promised Dustin I’d be at Hellfire tonight.” Eddie said, his voice a little softer this time and watched you nod in response but with no verbal answer, “I’m sorry, I’m sure it’ll taste good though.” 

“It’s fine.” You answered before you turned the water on to rinse the soapy dishes, “I hope you have fun tonight. Dustin’s been looking forward to playing DnD with you again.” The dryer buzzed loudly, making Eddie jump, and you finished stacking the dishes in the drainer before drying your hands on a towel and disappearing into the laundry room. Eddie took a moment to look around the kitchen to see the little parts of you scattered throughout. 

The scented candle placed in the middle of the kitchen island he was currently leaned against, the perfectly folded hand towel that was draped over the oven handle with matching pot holders hanging from the cabinet knobs above the stove, the fresh herbs growing in small pots in the window sill, down to the matching floor mats in front of the sink, the stove, and under his feet. 

He knew in the pantry, cabinets, and refrigerator he would find it fully stocked and perfectly organized with all of his and Wayne’s favorite foods and drinks. In the freezer he knew you kept perfectly portioned and frozen homemade meals for Wayne to heat up for days you didn’t work for him. 

He heard the lid to the washing machine snap shut and the sound of water spilling into the basin as the soft tumble of the dryer began. You stepped out with a laundry basket of freshly laundered towels and made a beeline for the dining room table where you sat the basket on a chair and began folding them. A knock sounded from the front door and before Eddie could tuck his crutches under his arms you had already moved to greet the visitor. 

“Hey, sis!” Dustin said from the foyer before Steve’s voice was next to greet you, “Eddie here?”

“Kitchen.” You answered, your voice clipped and Eddie winced as he watched you move back to the table to continue your task before the phone started ringing. 

“I got it.” Eddie offered and you held your hand up to silently dismiss him as you disappeared into the living room. 

“Oh boy, what did you do?” Steve asked as he and Dustin made their way into the kitchen and Eddie sighed as he heard your soft voice from the other room greet Wayne. 

“Doing what I do best, apparently.” 

“Being an absolute dick to my sister?” Dustin asked and Eddie shot him a glare, the younger boy raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms to challenge any rebuttal from Eddie. 

With a defeated sigh Eddie moved to grab his denim jacket from the back of one of the dining room chairs and slipped it on. 

“What about Honeybee?” he heard you ask as the three made their way to the front door to leave, Dustin and Steve waving goodbye to you before heading out the front door. Eddie stopped at the door and waited for you to look over at him and when you did he nodded ever so slightly. You pressed your lips together in a thin line but still gave him a soft wave before returning your attention to the phone pressed to your ear. 

After saying goodbye to Wayne you sighed and placed the phone back in its cradle, propping your hands on your hips and watching the three men load into Steve’s car before pulling out of the driveway and disappearing down the street. 

“Fuck.” You said aloud to the empty house. 

******

Many hours later as the clock pushed past three a.m. Eddie found himself looking in confusion as Steve pulled into the driveway at your car that still resided there. He was even more confused at the lack of Wayne’s truck. Dustin was out cold in the back seat, legs and arms splayed out in all different directions as a pizza box crammed with leftovers was balanced on his lap and nearly sliding on the floor. 

“Need help getting in?” Steve asked but he shook his head as he pulled himself out and balanced on his crutches, “Have a good night, we’ll see you later.”

“Thanks, man. Drive safe.” With that the two waved goodbye and Eddie gave the door a pat after closing it. He made his way to the front door and fumbled through bleary vision to get the right key into the lock. He pushed open the door and stifled a surprised cry when a furry form sat in the middle of the foyer, its tail thumping wildly against the hardwood and it’s lips pulled back in the semblance of a grin as it panted with its tongue flopping out of the side of its mouth. 

“Hello to you too.” he said as he shut the door and took a cautious step forward, the dog only wagging its tail harder as its front paws began to tippy tap in excitement. He bent down to give the golden retriever a cautious pet and in response the dog happily nudged against his hand before moving to lean its body against him. Eddie smiled widely and scratched behind the ears before the flash of a dark pink collar hidden by fur caught his attention. 

“You must be the famous Honeybee that your Uncle Dustin told me about.” he said, “Just so you know, you’re a terrible guard dog.” he chuckled, “Where’s your mama?” 

He hung his keys up on the rack by the front door and moved forward till he saw the flash of the tv in the dark living room. In there he saw your sleeping form on the couch and as quietly as he could he shuffled past and made his way into the kitchen. He flipped on the light and moved to open the fridge where he was stopped by a note tacked to the center of the door by a souvenir magnet the Eddie had bought for him at one of his first out of state concerts. 

Eddie, 

Wayne called earlier and something came up with one of his friends that he needed to stay and help him with. He hopes to be home by tomorrow evening but couldn’t guarantee it. He asked me to stay in his absence to help you if you need it and to make sure you rest your leg as much as possible. 

I left you dinner in the fridge in case you were hungry and stocked a few more cans of Dr. Pepper to start getting cold. Wayne told me absolutely no alcohol, sorry. 

Feel free to wake me up if you need anything, but I’ll stay out of your way as much as possible. I already changed your sheets and set up your next dose of pain medicine in case you need it on your bedside table. 

Y/n

Eddie looked down at the dog that had followed him into the kitchen and gave her a soft smile before opening the fridge and grabbing the plate of food that had been wrapped and had his name written in cursive on a sticky note stuck to it. He popped it into the microwave and grabbed a can out of the fridge, trying to slowly pop it open to make as little of noise as possible so as not to wake you. He watched the timer on the microwave intently and was quick to pop the door open before it hit the last second, the smell of the roast and veggies filling his nose and making his mouth water. 

He wasn’t the only one. He glanced down at Honeybee who now had drool collecting on her tongue and bottom lip before dripping to the freshly mopped floor. 

“Sorry, girl. Even if I did share my food, this has onions in it and your mother would kill me.” He leaned against the counter and smiled around a bite of food as she lay down at his feet with a defeated huff. As he ate the sight of the dish drainer made him stop chewing, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. Your lone plate, fork, and cup sat drying in the rack and he felt a pang of sadness at the thought of you eating dinner by yourself in an empty house while he was off playing a game with his friends. 

“Honeybee.” he said with a mouthful of food and her tags on her collar jingled as she looked up at the mention of her name, “I’m a real asshole, aren’t I?” She perked her ears and tilted her head as she listened to him, her eyes darting back and forth from him to his plate. He finished his food and washed his dishes before moving back towards the living room. He crept in quietly as he tried to keep the bottoms of his crutches from clacking against the floor, moving around the couch to see your sleeping form. The lights on the tv flashed across your face, your brows furrowed in your sleep. 

“Shit.” he whispered softly as he saw the faint mascara smudges under your eyes and your lashes still damp and clumped with tears. He pressed the back of his hand to your bare upper arm and felt your chilled skin. He gently pulled your blanket up and tucked it around your shoulders before tenderly touching your cheek with his calloused fingers, “I’m such an asshole. I’m so sorry.” 

*******

“You think they’ve killed each other yet?” Roger asked as he popped the top to another beer before handing another to Wayne. Wayne only laughed and placed the bottle to his lips and took a long sip. 

“Won’t know till I go back.” He said and picked up his cigarette from the ashtray on the small table between their two rocking chairs, “Besides, I have an emergency with a close friend to worry about.” 

“Wayne Munson, you sure are a sneaky bastard.” Roger’s girlfriend said from where she sat on Roger’s lap, his arm lay around her waist to keep her pulled close to him. 

“Aw c’mon Jenny, a long needed fishing trip is an emergency.” Roger said and she rolled her eyes with a smile and shake of her head. 

“Those two idiots have some big misunderstandings they need to work out and I’m just giving them the opportunity. It’s up to them to take advantage of it.” 

Taglist:

Carefully, trying not to wake the man next to you, you ease yourself up to check your phone.  It’s far too early to worry about picking Hazel up yet.

Not for the first time, you say a silent thanks to the universe for your neighbour for agreeing to babysit Hazel so that you could have a well-deserved Christmas night out with the friends you had made at work. You will bring her a nice hand-tied bouquet from the shop next week, just because. Without Claudia and her kindness to lean on, you know that going it alone in this small new town would so be much harder. It had been serendipitous really, moving in next door to an older and wiser woman who had been in the very same position as you when her son was not much older than Hazel. You begin piecing together the perfect bouquet for her, eucalyptus and rose and red ribbon, distracting yourself briefly from the dull ache in your head and the dry feeling on your tongue.

He brought you a glass of water before you fell asleep together. It’s cool in your throat, though it barely touches the sides of the discomfort pressing behind your brows. When the glass is mostly empty, you settle back next to him and let yourself doze for a little longer.

Eddie instinctively pulls you closer in his sleep, his warm morning breath tickling your shoulder and neck. You know it is just temporary, he is still a stranger, but let yourself enjoy the fleeting comfort while it lasts.

“Morning.”

His voice is rough and smoky, and there’s a tired smile waiting for you when you open your eyes a while later. You are struck by how pretty he is, handsome and hot but pretty with it; long dark lashes and doe-eyes, cheekbones to die for.

“Hi,” you whisper back. You feel yourself smiling back at him, feeling dreamy and oh-so-comfortable. You stretch your body out, relishing the rush of blood and oxygen to your muscles and your eyes drop closed again at that so-good feeling.

“Sleeping Beauty.” 

When Eddie kisses your hair, you miss how he closes his eyes and savours the moment; you are too busy basking in the unexpected tenderness of this one-night stand, the easiness of waking up slow with a man you met less than twelve hours ago. Even if it is just for this morning, you soak it up. 

“Mhmm. You have a comfy bed,” you whisper, looking up at him again. 

You brush your fingertips along his silver chain before tracing up to his jaw, past the tendrils of hair escaping his scrunchie. You know the feeling of that dark grown-out and nicely-maintained stubble, how it brushed and burned so good on the inside of your thighs, how it feels against your lips. 

Tentatively, bravely, you press your mouth against his and feel his smile. It’s sweet, slow. Intimate and lovely.

“Yeah? M’glad you think so,” he murmurs and steals one more kiss before pulling you against his body. 

Last night as you basked in the afterglow, Eddie asked so quietly if he could hold you and you almost teared up about it. It had been a long time since anyone had held you like that, like he is holding you again this morning.  It has been a long time since anyone has been sweet to you, shared closeness and intimacy like this. Not since the man you loved upped and left, leaving you and one-year-old Hazel with only each other to love. 

You feel the strength of his arms and the softness of his belly. There’s a stirring, hardening interest against your thigh and yet he’s not being too forward or pushy. He’s just holding you, just ‘coz. 

“I don’t… S’a while since I had a sleepover,” he admits, running his blunt nails over the small of your back. “You didn’t hog the covers, and you didn’t sneak off without saying bye…”

Eddie pulls back a little, wearing that small flirty smile that made you swoon last night. His voice is so playful, even though it is deep with morning huskiness. 

“Still here,” you whisper back, “I… It’s been a while for me too. I don’t usually… Yeah.” You shrug, you know he gets it. 

There is a glint of something in his eyes before he looks up at the ceiling. “I’m glad we did. I had fun.” 

The dimple in his cheek is beautiful and bashful, and when he looks at you again his eyes go right to your lips.

“Me too.” You touch his chain again and tug gently to bring your lips together again, putting you both out of your misery.

No one has ever kissed you like Eddie did last night, with all-consuming lust that made you feel electric. He is a blend of rough and smooth, a firm guiding hand followed by a gentle caress. You have never felt so wanted, so craved.

The way he kisses you this morning pushes aside the thoughts of all you need to do today. All you know is want, the cloying feeling of wanting to touch and be touched, craving pleasure. With his hands to guide, you straddle his lap and lean into the feeling of his fingertips wandering past the hem of the t-shirt he loaned you last night. 

Eddie looks up at you like you’re some sort of deity, his eyes and lips shining as you peel off the t-shirt and throw it behind you, leaving yourself bare in his lap. He was not put off by the stretch marks, or the Mom Body you felt so self-conscious about sometimes. Nor was he put off by the fact that you are a Mom. Eddie had simply smiled when you briefly mentioned your daughter, told you he had his own little girl without giving too much away. With that fresh layer of yourselves on show, you could understand each other just a little bit more without going full gushing-parent mode, sharing pictures of your little angels or ranting about who loved Bluey and loathed Peppa more. 

His fingers run over the stretch marks on your hips, starting up a slow grind as he kisses your neck (remembering your ‘no marks’ rule). There is a slight chill in the air to remind you that beyond this liminal bliss, it is a frosty December morning, but Eddie warms you up and distracts you without second thought. 

In the gauzy light, you see touches of fatherhood around his room, easily missed in the passion of last night - a framed drawing on his bedside table, a kiddie hair clip in his ring dish. You smile to yourself and shiver when his warm breath skates over the damp trail of kisses.

“Pretty smile,” he murmurs, needing to taste and feel it again. 

Hands wander and squeeze and you get drunk on each other all over again in the cocoon of Eddie’s bed. You blindly follow his dark treasure trail before taking him in hand, hot and diamond-hard, and savour the taste and sound of his moan. Your aching need for him is tempered and satiated by his fingers and you flush hot all over when he encourages you to scoot up and let him taste you, almost begging for it. Dazed with want, you find yourself clinging to the headboard with white knuckles and his name spilling from your lips. 

Eddie could die a happy man with your thighs bracketing his head. The taste of you makes him feel drunk as you take your pleasure from him; the needy roll of your hips is encouraged by his greedy hands in contrast to how cautious and careful you had been not to trap and tug his hair beneath your knees. 

When you are sufficiently dumb with pleasure, he lays you back against the pillows and lays out his desire for you in between messy kisses, losing his train of thought when you get your hand back on him and whisper back your need for him to fuck you now. Eddie reaches blindly for the (blessedly still-in-date) box of foil-wrapped packets in his drawer, not wanting to look away from you for even a moment.

He holds your hand as he makes love to you and you have to remind yourself not to get too caught up in how sweet Eddie is, even when he his making you feel like you have never been so full; sweetness and filthy words wound together so sweetly. It’s overwhelming and he catches you fighting tears when you feel too good. 

“Hey,” he whispers, wearing too much worry between his brows. “Do you want to stop, sweetheart? Am I hurting you?”

A guy being decent should not make your heart swell like this, and yet it does. You shake your head, tears spill over and he brushes them away with care.

“No, no. You’re not hurting me,” you promise. “I feel really good. S’just a lot.” 

Your voice wobbles and he smiles fondly against your mouth, relieved and happy to be wanted in return. 

Eddie has this magnetism, warm and cloying and a little mysterious; it makes you feel comfortable even when he’s teasing you and making you flush hot all over. 

“Yeah, baby? That’s what I’m here for,” he whispers, and kisses you slowly, sweetly. “Let me make you feel good.” You feel like your heart could beat out of your chest. He can feel it hammering against him as he starts up a slow roll of his hips that fills you completely. 

Your fingers clutch at the sheets as Eddie fucks you into his mattress. Nothing else matters in those moments, only pleasure. You fight the urge to sink your teeth into the meat and muscle of his arm, lick the drip of sweat from his neck. Instead, you taste the way he moans your name and cling to him when you come just moments apart - you first, then him.

He shares his water with you afterwards when he sees your empty glass; you are both damp with sweat and lying side by side with your heartbeats pounding in your ears, the lingering taste of each other on your tongues.

When he kisses you again, his lips are water-cooled and tender.

“Can I make you some coffee? I have to pick up my little terror in a bit…” he says, already cringing at himself. “She’s great, I swear. I promised her diner pancakes for brunch.”

Reality trickles back in, a not-unpleasant cooling off of your morning together.

“Yeah, I should probably not show up in last night’s clothes to pick my kid up. Coffee sounds good.” 

There was always an expiry date on this; the boundaries of a one-night stand were set and familiar, despite how long it has been and despite how easy and intimate this morning has been. You’re both adults, both okay with it. 

“Cool.” He smiles and hauls himself out of bed, stepping into his lost and found again boxers before he doubles back to kiss your cheek. 

When your legs are steady enough he shows you how the shower works, leaving you to it with a new toothbrush, fresh towels and a familiar squeeze to your bare hip. There’s a little part of you that wants him to join you, waste hot water and let him press you against the cold tiles. Eddie wants that too, to delay your inevitable parting of ways and return to reality.

When you look in the mirror, you see a well-fucked woman; kiss-bitten lips and that long-lost post-sex glow. 

“What the fuck,” you murmur to yourself, giggling a little when you think over the last twelve hours. 

You had not gone out looking for a hookup last night, but you made the most of the festive excuse to go for drinks with the few friends you had made since moving to Hawkins six months ago. Catching Eddie’s eye at the bar had been a happy accident. A happy accident that lead to letting him buy you a drink, and then buying him one back. Your friends had wholeheartedly encouraged it, knew him to see around town and vouched for him as a mechanic. Good with his hands, they had teased. Oh, how right they had been.

The water is hot and Eddie’s shower gel is the typical ‘for men’ scented sort of thing. You feel fresh and clean when you step back into the bedroom, finding sweats and an Iron Maiden hoodie on the bed for you, alongside your clothes from last night (which Eddie has attempted to fold neatly, instead of leaving you to pick them up from the floor).

It should not make you smile so much, but your cheeks ache pleasantly as you dress yourself, opting for last night’s jeans with Eddie’s sweater. It’s washed-soft and smells like the detergent you have at home with a hint of his cologne.

You follow the scent of coffee and the sound of music downstairs, finding more traces of parenthood on your way - a purple fairy door on the baseboard,  a washing basket full of clean kids' clothes outside a closed bedroom door, light-up Skechers and silver glitter rain boots in the hall. There is something familiar about them, but brush it aside as something Hazel probably asked for in Target.

Eddie’s unbuttoned jeans hang low on his hips as he makes coffee in mismatched mugs, his hair is down tickling against his bare shoulders and back. There are drawings on the fridge and a Christmas tree peeking out from the living room. It feels like a happy home.

His eyes light up when he sees you, looking as hungry and enamoured by you in his hoodie as he had been when you were wearing nothing at all. 

“Do you take sugar, or are you sweet enough?” he asks, wearing a softer version of that panty-dropper smile from last night. He smells clean, minty and masculine, after a quick whore’s bath in the other bathroom.

“Just one,” you say, resting your hip against the kitchen island while you watch him fix up your coffee. “You’re smooth, huh?”

“You tell me.” He slides the mug across to you before blowing on his coffee, taking a still-too-hot sip that he tries and fails to cover. For a moment, you think he might be doing a bit, alas he is simply endearingly clumsy.

You feel bad laughing, but Eddie only pouts a little bit before grinning at you. There’s a faint blush on his cheeks and he ducks his head to hide behind his hair. 

“Real smooth.” 

Exercising patience, you decide to let your coffee cool a little.

“I’ll give you a ride home if you like?” he says, hoping it’s not too forward. 

He wants to be more forward, ask for your number and ask you out. He likes how his clothes fit your body, and how you looked blissed-out in his bed. While Eddie’s trying not to come off too strong, you appreciate his sweetness and fight your own internal battle of trying not to fall for your one-night stand.

“Yeah, that would be great. Thanks, Eddie. I’m over on Cornwallis, is that out of your way?”

He smiles a little, “I don’t mind a little detour, sweetheart.”

You pointedly blow on your coffee, learning from his mistake, and savour the made-just-right coffee in a Snoopy & Woodstock mug.

Over his shoulder, you spot a photo of a familiar man on the fridge, bookended by two heads of dark curly hair. There’s a handpainted fridge magnet with ‘Fae’ written in childishly charming pink writing, and you feel your cheeks flame.

He watches your face change, looks over his shoulder to see what you’re looking at. 

“Ah. That’s my Uncle Wayne, and Fae. My daughter. she’s six.” He unpins the picture and thumbs over it gently before turning it around to you.

You know exactly who they are, but take it anyway.

When you moved your life to Hawkins, Indiana six months ago, you would never have believed that you would make friends with a grandfather in his sixties outside of Curtain Call Dance Studio while you waited for Hazel. Making friends as a single Mom in a new town was not easy, you had little time outside of work and parenting for yourself, let alone socialising (and god forbid, dating). And then you parked next to Wayne one Thursday. He was a little quiet but had warmed up more each week; now he smiled when he saw you, asked how your job at the florists was and how Hazel was doing in school.

Even though they were in different First Grade class groups at Hawkins Elementary, Hazel and Fae had become almost inseparable in their dance classes and on the playground. 

You knew Fae’s dad worked late some evenings, so Wayne helped him out. Hazel had told you that she had seen Fae’s dad once when he picked her up early to go to the dentist, and that he had hair just like her friend.

“She looks just like me, it’s crazy - poor kid. I can’t believe she’s six. She’s supposed to be three, max. Y’know what I mean?” He says, showing you more of his proud Dad side before realising that your confusion is not because you’re looking at a picture of two clones. “You okay?”

“You’re Fae’s Dad? Fae Munson?” you ask, watching his shoulders tense a little as he nods. “Eddie. Our kids know each other. I’ve met Wayne.” 

He scowls slightly beneath his bangs, confused and a little worried that he hooked up with the mother of one of the kids who was mean to Fae in school, who told the teacher when she was ‘too chatty’ or when she stood up for herself.

The words spill from you untempered, unrestrained to clear it all up. “They’re at dance class together. They’re in the same grade. Hazel and Fae are friends, Eddie…”

He visibly softens, drops his shoulders, and even though he still looks confused he melts even more when an involuntary nervous laugh bubbles from your chest. 

“Seriously? No… You’re Hazel’s mom?” His eyes blow wide. “Fuck.” 

Eddie puts his head on the counter with a thunk, and you’re left with the photo of three smiling Munsons. Fae has her Dad’s eyes and hair, his impish mischief that had endeared you to the little girl. They really are alike.

“Wayne was right,” he says, muffled beneath his hair before peeking at you, “You are cute.” 

It makes you laugh more, though your cheeks feel like the surface of the sun.

“Wayne thinks I’m cute? Huh…”

“No. Nope,” he yelps, head flying up like a wild thing. “Oh my goddd.”

You feel a little spacey as the pieces fall into place. Wayne’s nephew Ed worked at Thatcher Tyre as a mechanic, and Fae had told Hazel her Dad looked like a rockstar. She wasn’t wrong…

“He was totally going to try and set us up or somethin’.”

“He did say I’d finally get to meet you at the Winter Performance…” you say, feeling fizzy-all-over as you come to terms with the shock of it all. “Guess we bet him to it.”

“Told me you were real sweet too.” Eddie smiles, his cheeks are pinker than ever.

Part of your brain berates you for hooking up with a stranger in a small town - a small town where everyone knows everyone else. But when Eddie reaches his hand out across the island and says, “Good to finally meet you, Hazel’s Mom,” with that flirty smile and his whiskey eyes, it melts away and you’re not really that sorry at all.

You take his hand, mug-warmed and adorned with silver rings. 

“Nice to meet you at last, Fae’s Dad.”

Neither of you is too embarrassed by the revelation, though you both circle back to how fucking crazy it is at least twice. Even though you still feel gooey-warm under his attention, you don’t want anything to get in the way of your daughter’s friendship, of your new start in Hawkins, and feel selfish for wanting more than the taste you have already had of Eddie Munson. You both know your time together is drawing to an end, the bubble is about to burst, and a little part of you wishes that the illusion of being strangers could have lasted a little longer. 

With your coffee consumed and your coats and boots on, Eddie takes your hand and pulls you against his body before you step outside of the door together. 

“Hey, gorgeous. One more kiss?” he asks, head tilted to the side. 

You don’t need to think about it, and take his stubbled jaw with both hands as he holds your hips. Kissing him makes all the tension roll away once more, and you hope it is enough to help him remember you as more than just some other Mom in the First Grade Parents Group Chat (which you both have muted). You have to savour it, remember his taste and touch.

Eddie is not shy about kissing you, he slides his tongue against yours and moans ever so quietly when you push your chest against his. He is also the one to slow it down, makes it sweet and tender and you would dare say romantic, even with his hands on your ass. 

“Can I ask for one more thing?” he whispers, nudging his nose against yours. 

Right now, you would consider giving him a kidney or a blow job if he asked nicely. 

“Mhm,” you whisper, giving nothing away just yet. 

“Can I get your number? I wanna take you out properly,” he says, his thumbs play with the belt loop at the back of your jeans. “Like a date.”

Feeling hot all over, you try to play it cool and not nod so eagerly lest you headbutt him and leave him bloody-nosed. 

“Yeah. That would be nice, Eddie.” 

He watches how your teeth sink into your lip and has to kiss you once more, just because. You take his phone and add your number and name, adding a little sparkle emoji before deleting it. Then you add it again and hand it back before you can change your mind.

“Cool. And, um maybe the girls could have a play date sometime? I was gonna ask for your number anyway, so y’know. Two birds, one stone and all that. Silver linings?” Eddie does a jazz-hand-flourish thing before he shakes his head at himself and tucks his phone away. “I had a good time with you. A great time. And I know what you might be thinking, I don’t want this to get between the girls either. But I’d love to see you again.”

You are even more endeared by these glimpses of how sensible he is as well as his goofy awkwardness beneath the leather jacket and bad boy stare.

He is as gentlemanly as he had been last night, opening doors for you, though he is less handsy in the bright morning light (he does give your knee a squeeze at the stoplight). You feel safe with him as he navigates the frosty roads of Hawkins, talking about music, what concerts you had been to before becoming parents, and where to get the sparkly tutus for the Winter Performance. 

All too soon he pulls up outside your house, spotting the red door with the handmade wreath that you had described.

“Next to Henderson’s?” he asks, brow raised.

“Yep. Do you know Claudia, or is this town just too small?”

He laughs, tilts his head against the headrest. “It’s way too small. Her son, Dustin? One of my best friends.” 

You tip your head forward, smiling even as your head shakes. “I’ve heard so much about Dustin. We’re having Christmas dinner with them.”

Eddie's dimpled cheeks crease even more. “Damn. Well, I can’t wait to hear why you picked Hawkins of all places to move to. You can tell me on our date.”

Proud of how that flusters you, he presses a kiss to your hand and winks, “I’ll text you later, sweetheart.”

You want to kiss him again, but you manage to restrain yourself, remembering the nosy neighbours on Cornwallis. Instead, you let the flickering fire inside you flirt back, hoping to fluster him too.

You place your hand high on his thigh and squeeze. “You better, Eddie. Drive safe.”

You can feel him checking you out all over again, the weight and warmth of his gaze, as you make your way up the path to your door. Once your key is in the lock, you part ways with a wave and a wink, lingering just a moment more to watch his car peel away from the curb. 

Left with a fluttering feeling in your tummy and warm cheeks that ache from smiling, you take a moment for yourself in your hallway. 

It is time to go back to being Hazel’s mom. You can’t wait to hear about her sleepover with Ms. Claudia and the cats, bask in her brilliance and take every hug and smooch she will offer you (or let you take for yourself). Inspired by Eddie and Fae’s breakfast date, you think of taking your girl to the diner for dinner later on, maybe watching a Christmas movie before bed. 

In the mirror above your sideboard, hanging above the key dish and the thrifted lamp and a photo of you and Hazel in matching sunglasses, you catch sight of your smiling reflection once more, enveloped in a dreamy daze and borrowed hoodie. Your phone buzzes in your pocket and your smile becomes bigger, brighter, brimming with hope. 

What did you think? Do we want more of these two? 👀 Thank you so very very much for reading! Your comments, reblogs and likes are incredibly appreciated and adored!