Eddie Munson x Henderson!reader
Tags: established relationship, accidental pregnancy, soft angst, emotional, protective Eddie, Dustin’s older sister
Warnings: unplanned pregnancy, emotional themes
Summary: Something feels off. You try to ignore it at first, brush it off as stress, lack of sleep, anything but what your mind keeps circling back to. But the days keep passing… and nothing changes. Eddie notices before you say anything, and once you finally do, there’s no going back.
a/n: This is part one of a four-part series 🖤 I've been thinking about this idea for a bit, and I’m really excited to finally start it. This is more on the soft + emotional side, with a little angst and a very protective Eddie (my favorite version of him). The reader is Dustin's older sister in this series, so there’s going to be some fun dynamics with that as it goes on. Everything is set in an AU where nothing from season 4 happens <3 Please let me know what you think!! And seriously, tell me who else you want me to write for next 👀 oh I also want to add I have no idea if Dustin is fifteen in season 4, so.
The first time I noticed it, I told myself not to be stupid. That was the problem, really. Not the date circled on the little calendar by the fridge, not the low uneasiness that had been sitting in my chest all week, not even the dull nausea that kept rising at the strangest times. The problem was that the second the thought slipped into my head, I couldn't get rid of it.
So I ignored it on Monday when I stood in front of the bathroom mirror before school, staring at my own reflection with my toothbrush hanging uselessly out of my mouth, mentally counting backwards and trying not to let my mind wander somewhere I didn't want it to go.
I ignored it on Tuesday when I fell asleep on the couch in the middle of the afternoon with a back half-open on my chest and woke up an hour later disoriented and warm, Dustin standing over me like I'd committed a crime. I ignored it on Wednesday when the smell of eggs made my stomach twist so hard I had to step out onto the back porch and breathe through my mouth until the feeling passed.
And on Thursday, when I found myself back in the kitchen with the calendar and the pen and the same horrible creeping feeling, I realized ignoring it wasn't working.
The house was quiet in that hollow late-afternoon way it only ever was for maybe twenty minutes out of the whole day. My mom wasn't home yet. Dustin wasn't back from school. But for now, it was just me, the humming fridge, and the ugly yellow light spilling in over the sink.
I stared at the date. Counted once. Counted twice. Then again, because maybe I'd somehow forgotten how numbers worked. No. Still late. Still enough days late that my stomach sank a little further every time I looked. I tapped the pen against the table. Tap. Tap. Tap.
I told myself there were a million reasons why my cycle could be off. Stress. Sleep. Eating weird. The weather. The universe being crule for fun. I'd read somewhere that bodies changed all the time, that sometimes things just happened for no reason, and it didn't automatically mean. The front door slammed. I jumped so hard the pen flew out of my hand and clattered onto the floor.
"Jesus Christ," I muttered, pressing a hand over my chest. A second later, Dustin appeared in the kitchen doorway, hair windblown, backpack half-open, expression suspicious before he'd even fully looked at me. "...why are you sitting in the dark?" I blinked at him
Then looked around. He was right. I hadn't turned the actual kitchen light on. Just the one above the stove, leaving the rest of the room washed in muted gray and gold. "I'm not sitting in the dark." He gave me a look so flat it would've been funny any other day. "You literally are." I bent to grab the pen from the floor. "Okay, well, I didn't realize." He dropped his backpack by the wall and squinted at me the way he did when he thought he was on the verge of solving something.
"You're weird." "Thank you." "No, like, weird-weird," he said, stepping closer. "You've been weird all week." I forced my attention back to the calendar and shoved the pen into the little cup by the microwave. "Can you be more annoying, or is this your limit?"
"I'm serious." "So am I." He folded his arms. "You keep falling asleep in random places." "I took a snap." "You hate naps." "I don't hate naps." "You said naps make you feel gross and disoriented and like your soul left your body." I turned and stared at him. "Why do you remember things I say only when they can be used against me?" "Because I'm smart."
"Debatable." That got the finest twitch out of his mouth, but it didn't last. He kept looking at me with narrowed eyes, all nosy younger-brother concern hidden under his usual dramatic nonsense. His gaze drifted to the calendar. Then back at me. "... are you sick?"
"No." "You sure?" "Yes." He took two steps closer, still studying me. "Because mom thought maybe you were coming down with something." I frowned. "Mom said that?" "She asked why you hadn't touched breakfast." My stomach rolled at the memory of scrambled eggs.
"I wasn't hungry." "Which is also weird," Dustin said. "You always steal my toast." "You say that like 'I've been robbing you at knifepoint." He shrugged. "You kind of do." Despite myself, a laugh almost made it out. Almost. But then the laugh got caught somewhere behind the knot in my throat, and Dustin noticed that too. Not teasing now. Just watchful. "...did something happen?" he asked quieter. The softness in his voice caught me off guard.
I looked away before he could see it. "No." "Are you and Eddie fighting?" My head snapped up so fast my neck hurt. "What? No." Dustin lifted one shoulder. "I don't know. You're acting weird. He's been acting weird, too." My heart skipped. "What do you mean, he's been acting weird?"
"He asked me three times if I seemed okay." I blinked. Of course he did. Of course, Eddie noticed. Something warm and terrible bloomed in my chest all at once. "Oh." "Yeah, oh," Dustin said, eyes narrowing again. "Is something wrong?" Before I could answer, there was a knock at the door, two quick raps, then one louder one that sounded less like knocking and more like somebody hitting the wood with their ringed fist.
Dustin's whole face changed immediately. "Oh, thank God." I didn't have to ask who it was. He was already halfway out of the kitchen when he shouted, "It's open!" The door swung wide, and then Eddie Munson's voice drifted through the house, warm and familiar and fairly comforting.
"Nice security system you got here, Henderson. Real alright." I stayed where I was, fingers curling around the edge of the counter. There was the usual shuffle of Dustin grabbing at Eddie's denim jacket, asking if he brought the campaign sheets, Eddie saying something about respect and personal space, both of them bickering all the way into the front hall. Familiar. Easy. Normal.
I wanted normal so badly my chest ached with it. Then Eddie came into view in the kitchen doorway, and everything else dropped away. He had one hand braced on the frame, curls a little frizzed from the wind outside, Hellfire shirt half-hidden under a faded flannel.
His eyes found mine immediately. And changed. Just a little. But enough. There it was, that look he got when he clocked something off in me before I'd even spoken.
Concern tucked beneath softness. Attention sharpened by affection. "Hey," he said. "Hey." Dustin looked between the two of us. Then, with zero subtlety: "...I'm gonna go set up my stuff in the living room." Neither of us answered. Dustin pointed a finger between Eddie and me. "Don't do anything weird." I stared at him. "Please leave." "Gladly." He disappeared, muttering to himself. The second he was out of sight, silence settled between Eddie and me. Not awkward. Just full.
Eddie stepped into the kitchen slowly. "Hi," he said again, quietly this time. I tried to smile. "You already said that." "Yeah, well." He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "I felt like the first one didn't really hit." That earned the tiniest huff of laughter out of me.
His mouth softened in response, but his eyes stayed fixed on my face. "You okay?" There it was. Simple. Gentle. Impossible to answer. I looked down at the counter. "I'm fine." He waited for a beat. Then, "You keep saying that." I glanced back p. "Maybe because it's true?" "Maybe." He tipped his head, studying me. "Or maybe because you don't wanna tell me what's actually going on."
"Eddie—" "I'm not trying to pry, sweetheart." His voice gentled further. "I just know you." That was the problem. He did know me. Better than anything, sometimes, in the small, frightening ways that made my ribs feel too tight. He knew the difference between my real smile and the one I put on when I was tired. He knew when I was pretending not to be upset. He knew every version of my silence.
And lately, he'd been looking at me like he could hear what I wasn't saying. I reached for a glass in the sink, even though it was already clean, just to give my hands something to do.
"I'm tiered." "Mhm." I looked over my shoulder. "What does that mean?" "It means," Eddie said, leaning one shoulder against the doorway now, "you've apparently entered your mysterious Victorian heroine era, and I'm not buying the act."
I rolled my eyes, but weakly. He pushed off the frame and came a little closer. "You've been quiet all week. You barely touched lunch yesterday. Henderson says you keep falling asleep on the couch. and you look..." H based, like he was trying to choose a word I wouldn't immediately hate. "...off." A hard wave of emotion rose so fast I almost hated him for noticing.
"I'm not off." His expression softened. "Okay." "Don't do that." "What?" "That voice." His eyebrow lifted. "What voice?" "The one where you act all calm because you think I'm about to freak out."
A tiny smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. "Maybe because you look like you're about to freak out." I set the glass down harder than I meant to. The sound cracked through the room. Immediately, guilt followed. Eddie stilled. Then, very carefully, he said, "Hey." I shut my eyes. "Sorry." "Don't apologize." "I snapped." "You're allowed." I laughed once under my breath, humorless. "Not really." He took the last step between us before I even realized he'd moved. On warm hand.
settled against my upper arm, feather-light, like he was giving me every chance to pull away if I wanted. I didn't. "Talk to me," he said softly. My throat tightened.
From the living room came the muffled sound of Dustin dropping a pile of books and complaining loudly to no one. It made everything feel even more normal, which somehow made the panic worse. "I don't know what to say." "How about starting with why you look like you haven't taken a full breath in three days?" I stared at the button on his flannel instead of his face.
He waited. Didn't rush me. Didn't fill the silence just because he could. It made something in me crack. "I think something's wrong," I whispered. The hand on my arm tightened just enough to be grounding.
"What kind of wrong?" "I don't know." "That's okay." "No, it's not." My voice thinned. Because I should know." "Why?" "Because it's my body." He was quiet for half a second. "And bodies do weird, terrifying, unpredicatble things all the time. That doesn't mean you're supposed to have all of the answers.
I swallowed hard. He dipped his head slightly, trying to catch my eyes. "Are you sick?" "No." "Do you feel sick?" "Not really." That earned a look. I sighed. "A little. Sometimes." "Since when?" "A couple of days." "Nauseous?" I hesitated. That was enough for him.
"Okay," he said gently. "Anything else?" I looked away. He followed my silence again, not with impatience but with understanding that somehow made it worse. "Tired?" I nodded. "Anything hurting?" "No." He was quiet. Then his gaze flicked towards the calendar on the fridge. The one I hadn't hidden. The one I should have moved the second I heard the door open. His expression changed, subtle but immediate.
His eyes dropped back to mine. And in a voice so careful it nearly undid me, he asked, "Are you late?" The room seemed to tilt. My heart pounded once, hard enough to make my fingers tingle.
I hadn't said it out loud yet. Not really. Not in a way that made it real. I looked at him, and because it was Eddie, because it had always been Eddie, I couldn't lie. "...yeah." He went very still. Not scared. Not angry. Not anything bd. Just processing. "How late?" I crossed my arms over myself, suddenly cold. "Enough."
His jaw shifted. Then he nodded once, more to himself than to me, "Okay." That word shouldn't have felt comforting. It did anyway. I laughed shakily and scrubbed a hand over my face. "Don't do that."
"Do what?" "Say okay like this, somehow okay." He frowned a little. I didn't say it was nothing. I said okay because I heard you." "Oh, sweetheart—" "Don't," I said quickly, embarrassed now. "I'm not—I'm not crying." "You are a terrible liar." "I know." He moved closer, both hands on my arms now, thumbs brushing over my sleeves. I let myself lean into him for exactly one second before forcing myself upright again.
"Have you taken a test?" he asked. "No." "Have you bought one?" "No." "Do you want to?" I opened my mouth. Closed it. Because that was the question, wasn't it? Not whether I should. Not wether I eventually had to. But whether I wanted to know right now, tonight, while the kitchen smelled faintly like dish soap and Dustin's voice carried in from the living room and the world still looked mostly the same.
"I don't know," I whispered. He nodded slowly, as if that made perfect sense. "Okay." I let out a weak laugh. "You keep saying that like it's helping." That like it's helping. "Is it?"
A tiny bit. I hated that he could tell. Before I could answer. Dustin yelled, "If you two are secretly making out in the kitchen again, I'm burning all my campaign notes!" Eddie and I both jerked apart on instinct. Eddie barked out a laugh, loud and real, the sound filling the room in a way that loosened something in my chest.
"See?" he said, looking toward the doorway. "Nothing says romance like the threat of arson." I wiped under my eye quickly. "Shut up." His grin softened into something gentler. "You wanna tell him?" My eyes widened. "Absolutely not." "Yeah, I figured."
"Not until I know. And not in this house. And definitely not while he's already being weird." 'In fairness, Henderson was born weird." "That's true." Eddie glanced toward the living room, then back at me. "You want me to stay after Hellfire?" The answer rose in my throat instantly. Yes. Always, yes.
But Dustin's camaign ight had been planned for days, and if Eddie stayed here after, he'd either have to sneak around my house or face my endless interrogation from my brother, who had somehow become both his biggest fan and his biggest menace.
Still, the idea of being alone with my thoughts tonight felt unbearable. So I nodded. "Yeah," I said softly. Please." His face changed at that one word, all the teasing gone. "Yeah. Of course."
I stared at him for a second too long. Then Dustin shouted again, "MUNSON!" Eddie sighed dramatically. "Duty calls." I almost smiled. He leaned down just enough to press a quick kiss to my forehead. Soft. Familiar. Grounding. His lips lingered a second longer than usual. "W'll figure it out," he murmured.
My eyes closed. I wanted to believe him so badly. When he pulled back, he gave my hand a quick squeeze, then headed toward the living room. I followed a second later, forcing my breathing to even out before I crossed the threshold.
Dustin was sprawled on the rug, surrounded by notebooks and dice, looking deeply offended by the entire universe. He pointed at both of us. "You took forever." Eddie dropped onto the floor beside him. "Maybe because some of us don't treat roleplaying games like military operations, Henderson." "It starts in twenty minutes."
"It starts when I say it starts." "It starts at six thirty!" Eddie looked scandalized. "Who died and made you king?" Dustin opened his mouth with an answer immediately. "My intellect." That one got a real laugh out of me, and both boys looked over.
Dustin's eyes narrowed. Eddie's softened. He knew that laugh was for him. I hated how much that heled. For the next hour, I did my best to pretend everything was normal. I hovered at the edge of the living room with a book I wasn't reading while Dustin and Eddie argued over campaign notes and miniatures and which monster encounter was "narratively earned."
Eddie kept glancing at me whenever he thought I wasn't looking. I caught him every time. When Mom arrived from work, she kissed the top of Dustin's head, told him to stop yelling like somebody was dying, then turned to me and frowned.
"Honey, you look pale." My whole body went rigid. "I'm fine," I said too quickly. From the floor, Eddie coughed into his hand to hide what sounded suspiciously like a laugh. I shot him a look. He raised both hands innocently. Mom pressed the back of her hand to my forehead before I could dodge her. "You sure you're not getting sick?"
"No fever," I said. "Mhm. Still. Get some rest tonight." Then she swept back out as suddenly as she'd come, leaving behind a casserole dish and the smell of perfume. The second the front door shut, Dustin turned dramatically toward me. "That's what I said."
I stared at him. "Are yoy keeping score?" "Yes." "Please don't." He pointed across the room at Eddie. "See? I told you." "You did," Eddie said mildly. My eyes widened. "You two talked about me?" "In a concerned way," Dustin said. "In a very normal, non-creepy way," Eddie added. "That somehow made it worse." Dustin shrugged. "You started it by being suspicious." I pressed the book to my chest and turned away before either of them could see the smile threatening at the edge of my mouth.
They loved me. That was the worst part. They loved me, and if the fear in my chest turned out to be real, their lives ould changed too. By the time Hellfire actually started, the house was louder. Two more boys had shown up. Somebody tracked mud onto the rug. Dustin was in full dramatic mode, yelling over a rule, arguing while Eddie lounged back against the couch like a smug dictator in a flannel shirt.
I sat curled in the armchair nearby, knees tucked up, trying and failing to pay attention. Every now and then, Eddie would lean over the makeshift board to ask if I wanted water.
Or crackers. Or for him to "accidentally" kill Dustin's favorite character in retaliation for being annoying. That last one got him smacked in the shoulder with a notebook. By eight, my head hurt. By nine, I was struggling to stay awake. And by the time the last of the boys left and Dustin started stacking his books with all the tragic energy of a war survivor, my whole body felt heavy.
Eddie noticed immediately. "You okay to drive me home?" he asked, voice low enough that Dustin wouldn't hear from across the room. I nodded. "Yeah." "I can bike," Dustin said suddenly, somehow hearing everything despite being on the other side of the room. "You don't have to leave."
I blinked. "What?" He rolled his eyes like I was the stupidest person alive. "I'm not an idiot. You clearly want him to stay." I almost choked. Eddie made a strangled sound that was definitely him trying not to laugh. "Dustin—" "And I'm fifteen, not five," he continued. "I can bike to Mike's if Mon says it's okay." I stared at him. He stared back. Then Eddie, very carefully, said. "That is... weirdly mature of you, Henderson." "I know." "You're still weird," I said faintly.
He pointed at me. "And you're still suspicious." But fifteen minutes later, after a quick call to my mom and enough assurance that yes, Dustin would lock the back door and no, he wouldn't burn the house down while I was gone, Eddie and I were in the van with the windows cracked, Hawkins passing by in dark, sleepy blurs.
For a while, neither of us spoke. The silence in the van was different from the silence in my kitchen earlier. Not sharp. Not waiting to break. Just full of everything we were both thinking and hadn't found the words for yet.
Eddie drove one-handed, fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel. His other hand rested on the seat between us. After three stoplights and one turn past the dimmed storefronts downtown, I finally reached over and took it. His fingers curled around mine instantly.
He didn't look away from the road, but his thumb brushed over my knuckles. "You're quiet," he said. "So are you." "Yeah, but I'm driving. It looks more mysterious on me." That got a tiny smile. He glanced over just long enough to catch it, then squeezed my hand once. "Wanna come back to the trailer?" he asked. "Wayne's at work. We can just...be there for a while." I nodded.
His trailer had never scared me the way it seemed to scare half the town. To them, it was the wrong side of everything, too loud, too shabby, too much proof that life didn't always come out neat. To me, it was warm lamps and mismatched blankets and the smell of coffee and metal and old books. Wayne's boots are by the door. Eddie's guitar is leaning in the corner. A place where nobody expected me to be anything except exactly what I was.
When he parked outside, the whole trailer park was quiet except for a distant television and a dog barking somewhere down the row. Eddie killed the engine but didn't move. Neither did I. He looked at our joined hands.
Then at me. "You don't have to say anything right away." I exhaled slowly. "I know." "But?" "But if I don't say it, it feels less real." His face softened. "Yeah." I stared out the windshield. The inside of the van smelled like old vinyl, peppermint gum, and Eddie's cologne. Familiar enough to make my chest ache. "I'm scared," I said finally. It came out so small I almost wished I could take it back. Instead, Eddie answered just as quietly. "I know."
"No—" I shook my head. "I'm really scared." He leaned back in his seat, giving me space instead of rushing in. "That makes sense." I should've been more careful." He was silent for a second. "We both should've." I looked at him then.
He didn't say it defensively. Didn't throw it back at me. He just took it too. My eyes burned. "I keep replaying everything in my head," I whispered. "Like if I think hard enough, maybe I can undo it somehow." His mouth pulled tight for a second. "You can't think your way backward." "I know." He nodded once. "Still gonna try, though?" I huffed out a laugh that turned shaky at the edges. "Probably." "Yeah." He lifted our joined hands and pressed my knuckles to his lips. "Sounds like you."
That almost broke me. I stared at him, at the curve of his hair by his cheekbone, at the dark seriousness in his eyes that only ever showed itself when it mattered. "You're not mad?" His head jerked back slightly. "Mad?"
"Or I don't know. Freaked out. Regretting things." He stared at me like he couldn't believe that question had come out of my mouth. Then he leaned closer, not touching my face yet, just making sure I was looking at him. "Listen to me," he said. "Am I scared? Yeah. A little. A lot, maybe. But mad at you? No. Never that." My throat tightened. "And regretting you?" he added, softer now, like the idea itself offended him. "Not even a little bit." The tears came before I could stop them.
"Hey, hey." He unbuckled and shifted closer, one hand cupping the back of my neck. "Come here." I went. Of course. I folded into him across the middle console with a half-laugh, half-sob of frustration, and he aught me easily, wrapping both arms around me until my forehead rested against his shoulder.
His flannel was soft under my cheek. He smelled like smoke, cold air, and something warm beneath it that was just him. He held me like there was nowhere else he'd rather be. And for one long, quiet moment, the world narrowed down to that.
His hand moved slowly up and down my back. "You don't have to do this part alone," he murmured into my hair. "I know." "You can still be scared." "I know." "You can cry as much as you want. Even though your brother would one hundred percent roast you for it." A wet laugh escaped me.
"There she is," he said softly. You stayed like that until your last breath evened out. When you finally pulled back, embarrassed and blotchy and exhausted, he didn't say a word about your face. He just handed you the crumbled napkin from the glove box and waited while you wiped under your eyes. "Came inside?" he asked. I nodded. Inside the trailer, everything felt softer under the low yellow lamps.
Eddie kicked off his shoe by the door and went straight to the kitchen corner, grabbing two glasses and filling one with water before setting it in front of me like he'd done it a hundred times. Maybe he had.
I sat at the small table while he rummaged through the cabinet. "I have crackers," he announced. I groaned. "Do not say that like I'm pregnant." He froze. Then turned slowly, box of saltines in hand. We both stared at each other. And then, because the universe apparently had a sense of humor, we both started laughing at the same time.
Quiet at first. Then harder. Not because it was funny exactly, but because the tension had to go somewhere. Eddie dropped into the chair across from me, shaking his head. "Okay. That one was my bad." "That was awful."
"It was objectively terrible." "I kind of hate you." He pushed the crackers toward me. "Eat one before you pass out, and I'll forgive the hostility." I took one mostly to prove I could. It sat better than expected. He noticed that too. I hated that he noticed everything. The laughter faded. Silence returned, gentler now. Eddie picked at the peeling label on his beer bottle, though he wasn't drinking it. "What are you thinking?" he asked.
I looked down at the cracker in my hand. "That I don't know what will happen next." "That's fair." "I don't know if I wanna know tonight." "That's also fair." "But if I wait, I'm just gonna keep spiraling."
"Probably." I looked up. You're not comforting right now." He gave a small smile. "I'm trying this new thing where I don't lie to you." I rolled my eyes, but fondly. Then my gaze drifted toward the little window over the sink where darkness had fully settled outside. A reflection of the trailer glowed faintly in the glass lamp light, the table, and the two of us suspended in this strange in-between.
"Eddie?" "Yeah?" "If it is..." He didn't rush me. "If it is," I tried again, voice thin, "everything changes." Hi face went soft in that deep, serious way that made him look older. "Yeah." The honesty of it hurt more than reassurance would have. I swallowed hard. "And that terrifies me."
"I know." He leaned forward, forearms on his knees. "But everything changing doesn't automatically mean everything ends." I stared at him. He held my gaze. "I'm not saying it's easy," he continued. "I'm not saying it won't be hard or messy or scary as hell sometimes. But if that test says what you think it's gonna say..." He exhaled slowly. Then we deal with what's real. Together. One thing at a time."
My eyes burned again. He huffed softly. "You gotta stop doing that." "What?" "Looking at me like I just handed you the moon because I said the bare minimum decent boyfriend thing." A laugh escapes me. "Sure it was." "It really wasn't." He shrugged like he didn't believe me, and that made my chest ache in a completely different way.
I reached across the table and touched the back of his hand. He flipped his palm over instantly and laced our fingers together. "Stay with me tonight?" I asked. He didn't even hesitate.
"Yeah." I knew he couldn't actually stay all night without causing questions from both Wayne and my mom, but I also knew what I meant: until I fell asleep, until my breathing calmed, until the thoughts stopped biting at me for a little while. He understood anyway. "Do you wanna go get one?" he asked quietly. I looked at him. "A test," he said, even quieter. The room seemed to shrink around the words. The answer should have been no.
It should have been tomorrow, or next week, or after one more day of pretending. Instead, to my own surprise, I heard myself say, "Yeah." His fingers tightened around mine. "Okay." I laughed once, shaky. "There it is again."
He stood, grabbing his keys from the hook by the door, then came around the table and held a hand out to me like this was some strange terribel dance and he was asking me to trust him through it. I took it. The drugstore on the edge of town was nearly empty. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. The cashier looked half-asleep.
Somewhere in the back, a radio played a song too tiny to recognize. I stood just inside the doors for a second with my arms folded tight over myself while Eddie looked around like he was expecting the shelves to start mocking him.
"This feels cursed," he muttered. Desiote everything, I snorted. "There she is again." "Stop saying that." "No." We walked the aisle together in awful silence until we reached the section we needed. There were too many choices. Too many boxes. Too many smiling women on packages that made it all feel fake and distant and impossible to connect to my own body. I stared at them until the words blurred.
Eddie came up beside me, careful not to touch unless I invited it. "Want me to pick?" "No." "Good, because I have no qualifications." I let out a breath. Then I reached for the painest box I could find, one with too much pink on it and promises printed across the front in cheerful letters that made me want to throw up.
My hand trembled a little. Eddie saw that too. Of course he did. Without saying anything, he took the box from me and carried it to the register so I wouldn't have to.
That made my throat ache. The cashier barely looked up. Just scanned it, named the price, and slid the bag across the counter. I wanted to be grateful for indifference. Instead, it made the whole thing feel eerie. Back in the van, the little plastic bag sat between us on the seat like a third presence. Neither of us touched it. By the time Eddie pulled up outside my house, every window was dark except the lamp in the front, which Dustin always forgot to turn off.
"Do you want me to come in?" he asked. I looked at the house. Then back at him. "Yeah." Inside, Dustin was sprawled asleep on the couch with one sock off and a comic book over his face. Eddie and I froze in the doorway. Then Eddie whispered, "That kid sleeps like he pays rent."
I elbowed him lightly and moved to wake Dustin just enough to send him to bed. He mumbled something about goblins cheating, stumbled down the hall, and disappeared into his room without ever really opening his eyes. The house settled again. Quiet. Dark. Watching. Eddie and I stood in the kitchen staring at the bag. "I can wait outside," he said softly. I looked up. "No."
He nodded once. "Okay." I took the bag and headed for the bathroom with him trailing a few steps behind. At the door, I stopped. My hand on the knob. My breathing is too shallow.
Eddie stood in the hallway, not crowding me. "You don't have to rush." "I know." But I opened the door anyway. The bathroom light felt too bright. I set the bag on the sink and stared at my own reflection. Plale. Tired. Eyes wide. For the second, I was hit by the absurd urge to laugh. How ridiculous that everything could split open in a room with cracked tile and a loose faucet handle and one of Dustin's stupid science fair ribbons still hanging from the corner of the mirror.
Behind me, Eddie's voice came gently through the half-open door. "I'm right here." I shut my eyes. Then I opened the box. A minute later, I was sitting on the closed toilet seat with the test on the edges of the sink, my hands clasped so tightly in my lap they hurt.
Eddie sat on the floor just outside the bathroom door, back against the hall wall like some kind of guardian keeping watch. Neither of us spoke. The whole house felt like it was hodling it's breath. I looked at the little stick. Then away. Then back again. Not yet. Still processing. Still processing. Still. Eddie," I whispered. He was on his feet instantly, but it didn't come in. "Yeah?"
My eyes stayed fixed on the sink. "I can't tell if it's—" My voice broke. He stepped into the doorway carefully, gaze flicking from my face to his tear and back. I looked up at him, panic rising all over again, sharp and hot. "Is that—" He came closer. Slowly. His hand found mine.
And when he looked at the test, the whole room seemed to go still. The room went very, very quiet. Not the normal kind of quiet. Not the kind we'd had earlier in the kitchen, or the soft quiet of Eddie's trailer with the lamps on and the world dimmed around us. This was different. This felt like everything had stopped. Like, even the air in my lungs had paused, waiting. Eddie didn't move right away.
His hand was still wrapped around mine, warm and steady, but I could feel it just the slightest tigehening of his fingers, like something inside him had locked into place.
My eyes stayed on his face. Not the test. Not yet. Because whatever was on that little plastic stick... I'd see it reflected in him first. His eyes flicked down again. Then back up. Then down one more time, like he was making sure he wasn't seeing it wrong. "...okay," he said. But it came out quieter then befpre. Different.
Not the same, okay, he'd been using all night. This one was heavier. My stomach dropped. "Eddie," I whispered, my voice barley was holding together, "just tell me." He swallowed. I saw it. The way his throat moved.
The way his jaw tightened just slightly, like he was trying to keep everything calm for me. For me. God. "...it's—" he started, then stopped. My fingers tightened in his. "Please." And that did it. That one word. His eyes lifted to mine fully now, no hesitation, no looking away. And so gently it almost hurt. "It's positive." The word didn't hit all at once.
It kind of... echoed. Like my brain didn't know where to put it yet. Positive. Positive. Positive. My ears rang. My chest felt tight. I blinked once. Twice. "...okay," I said, but it sounded far away. Like someone else had said it. Eddie's grip on my hand tightened again.
"Hey," he said softly. I didn't look at him. My eyes had dropped to the sink now. To the test. To the two lines that were suddenly the only thing I could see. It didn't look real. It didn't feel real. It was just... was. And that somehow made it worse. "I—" I tried, but my voice broke before anything came out. My breath hitched. Once. Then again. And then it all came at once.
The panic. The weight. The overwhelming, crushing realization of what that meant. My hand flew up to my mouth as a sob slipped out before I could stop it. "Hey, hey, hey—" Eddie was in front of me instantly. I hadn't even seen him move.
His hands were on my arms, then my shoulders, then my face, trying to ground me without overwhelming me, trying to figure out what I needed before I even knew myself. "It's okay," he said quickly. "Hey, it's okay, I've got you—" "I can't—" I gasped, shaking my head, tears spilling over now, "I can't do this, Eddie, I can't—" "Yes, you can," he said immediately, not harsh, not forceful, just certain. I hook my head harder. "No, I can't, I can't, I can't—" "Hey," he said again, firmer this time.
His hands cupped my face, forcing me to look at him. My vision blurred with tears, but he didn't let me look away. "Look at me," he said. I did. Barely. "I know this is scary," he said, voice low and steady. "I know. I'm scared too." That stopped me. Just enough.
"But you're not doing this alone," he continued. "Okay?" You're not. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere." My lips trembled. "You don't know that." "I do." "How?" my voice cracked. Eddie, this changes everything—" "Yeah," he cut in gently. "It does." That wasn't what I expected. I blinked at him through my tears. "I'm not gonna lie to you and say it doesn't," he said. "It does. Everything's gonna be different. But different doesn't automatically mean bad.
"It doesn't mean good either," I whispered. "No," he agreed softly. "It doesn't." The honesty made my chest ache. "But we'll figure it out," he added, "one step at a time. We don't have to solve everything tonight." My breathing was still uneven. Still too fast. "I don't even know where to start." "Then we don't start," he said. "Not yet." I stared at him.
He wiped under my eyes gently with his thumbs, careful, like I might break. "Right now," he said, "we just breathe." My chest hitched again. "I can't—" "You can," he said, softer now. "With me. Okay? Just follow me."
He took a slow breath in. Held it. Let it out. I tried to match him. It didn't work the first time. Or the second. But by the third, my lungs started to cooperate. My shoulders dropped just slightly. My grip on his shirt loosened. "That's it," he murmured. I closed my eyes. Another breath. Another. And slowly, very slowly, the panic dulled into something quieter.
Still heavy. Still there. But not as sharp. When I opened my eyes again, he was still right there. Still watching, like I was the only thing in the world that mattered. "I'm sorry," I whispered. His eyebrows pulled together immediately. "For what?"
"For this." His expression shifted instantly. "No." "For everything," I said. gesturing vaguely between us, the bathroom, the test, the whole situation. "I shoudn've been more careful, I should've—" "Stop." The word wasn't harsh. But it was firm. I froze. "That's not all on you," he said, quieter now. None of this is just on you." My throat tightened. "I don't want you blaming yourself for something we both—" He exhauled, shaking his head slightly. "That's not fair. To you."
I looked down. Because part of me still wanted to. Because it was easier than sitting in the uncertainty. Eddie noticed. Of course he did. His hand slid from my cheek down to my wrist, gently pulling it away from where I'd started picking at my sleeve.
"Hey," he said softly. I looked back up. "Don't disappear on me now, okay?" My chest tightened at that. "I'm trying not to." "I know." There was a pause. A quiet one. Not empty, just full of everything, neither of us knew how to say it yet. My eyes drifted back to the sink. To the test. Still there. Still real. "Eddie..." My voice dropped again, fragile. "What do we do?" He followed my gaze. Then looked back at me.
And for a second, just a second, I saw it. The fear. Not overwhelming. Not panicking. But real. Honest. And somehow...that made me feel less alone. "We don't decide everything right now," he said slowly. "We don't have to." "But—" "But nothing," he said gently. "Tonight? We just... sit with it. Let it be real. Tomorrow, we'll figure out the next step."
I swallowed. "That sounds impossible." "Yeah," he said. "It kinda is." A weak laugh slipped out of me. He smiled just a little. "See? Still funny." "Barely." "I'll take barely." My hands drifted without me even realizing it down to my stomach. It was instinct. Unthinking. Just... there. Eddie noticed. Of course he did. His eyes followed the movement. Then softer in a way I hadn't seen before. Different than earlier. Different from anything. Not panic. Not confusion. Just... something new. Something quieter. His hand slowly covered mine.
Warm. Steady. Neither of us spoke. Neither of us moved. Just stood there, hands resting together over something that hadn't even begun to slow yet, but suddenly felt like it filled the entire room. My breath caught again. But this time... It wasn't panic. Not completely. "I don't feel any different," I whispered.
Eddie's Thum brushed lightly over my kncukles. "Yeah," he said softly. "I don't think you're supposed to yet." I let out a shaky breath. "Everything fels the same." "And completely different at the same time?"
I looked up at him. "... yeah." He nodded. "Yeah. That sounds about right." We both stood there for another second. Then two. Then five. Time didn't feel normal anymore. Finally, Eddie galnced toward the hallway. "Come on," he said gently. "Let's get out of the bathroom before it starts feeling like a horror movie."
A small, broken laugh escapes me. "Yeah. Okay." He laced our fingers together again and guided me out into the dim hallway, flicking the bathroom light off behind us. The house felt different now. The same furniture.
The same walls. The same quiet. But everything had shifted. Just slightly. Just enough. I stopped in the middle of the hallway. Eddie stopped with me. "... stay with me tonight?" I asked. His answer came immediately. "Yeah." No hesitation. No question. Just yes. Always yes. And for the first time since I'd seen those two lines. I felt maybe... Just maybe... I wouldn't completely fall apart.
