So you leave the small store behind, equipped with two popsicles tucked between your knuckles; a cold surprise for a fiery fiend on a smoldering day.

Down the narrow set of concrete steps, soaked so full of sun you feel the heat waver around your calves as you ascend. The camping ground is a ring hugging a large lake with a small island not quite in the middle of it, but a little offset to the east. There is one main path, paved in sandstone, that eats its tail right at the foot of those stairs and you follow it past tents and motor homes of all shapes and sizes.

Not twenty minutes ago, when you had left Eddie and the van behind to use the restroom, the sky had been nothing but endless, mindless blue and the whole place had been brimming with people; bathing in the sun and water, old folks playing cards and young folks tricks on each other. But as fast as the clouds had crowded in, they had fled, no, deserted the place as if it was about to rain steak knives and rattle snakes.

The path carries you past the mini golf course. It’s an ancient thing, all chipped paint and wonky surfaces, decorated with large, wooden sculptures of animals so bizarre they elude classification and you think back to the night before. Hushed voices and conspiratorial giggles as Eddie climbed the horse-crow-beaver, a bit tipsy a bit tired but determined to take you for a ride on this monstrosity while the camp was fast asleep.

You both agreed it was not the weirdest place you had made each other come undone, but one of the more dangerous, probably, as balance seemed to succumb to ecstasy.

Thunder rumbles calmly across the sky and you continue your way across the lawn.

Almost there now.

The van is tucked away against a small thicket of bushes and fragrant trees in bloom close to the lake shore. It’s the perfect spot, really, catching shade from the trees when the sun is a at its peak and secluded enough that even with neighboring tents, nobody ever passes by.

The back doors are open wide, the folding chairs in front of them empty and so you slip around and find Eddie in bed, flat on his stomach, feet dangling just off the edge of the mattress, his arms folded beneath his head. He’s naked and still damp from the lake, or maybe it’s a fresh sheen of sweat; it’s hard to tell.

You take off your shoes, laces loose enough to just slip out, and shove them into the wine crate turned shoe rack-bedside table combination.

“At long last,” he nearly yawns, yet doesn’t move a muscle. “What took thee so long?”

He’s different shades of Eddie everywhere, separated by a harsh tan line where the hem of his swim shorts sits low on his hips and more of a gradient along his thighs. You can’t see it well from outside but you know his shoulders are pink and his nose is probably too.

He somehow always forgets his nose.

“The good porcelain was in high demand,” you say and smile, slowly bringing the icy treats close to the soles of his feet, ready to strike.  “Also took a little detour.”

“Adventures? Without me?— haaa,” he squeaks and jolts, pulls his feet away and throws a look over his shoulder that speaks of betrayal, considers revenge.

Again, thunder rumbles.

And you hurry inside, crawl in besides him while his eyes follow you, sleepy and soft but oh so watchful.

“Whatcha got there, Poltergeist?” he asks, turns on his side as you come to sit and looks up at you clearly still indecisive of your fate. His hair is dry and frizzy on top and the tips are still damp. His nose is pink.

“Something cold,” you grin and his eyebrows jump up his forehead.

“No shit.”

Straining against a wild laugh you finally hold a popsicle out to him, “I brought you cherry.”

He stares at you. That stare that lives right between saint and serial killer and it tingles on your face, more and more and more like you’re covered in ants and you’re about to tackle him to make him stop when he grins; dimples and teeth and crows feet and you still want to tackle him, but very differently.

“Hmm, my favorite,” he coos, snatches the thing from you and places his hand over his heart. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

It comes without warning this time, makes you both jump, a crash like all the china cabinets in the world just exploded. When it’s over, the quiet seems absolute. Then the rain starts pouring.

“Woah,” Eddie says, frozen in the middle of tearing open the wrapper. “Felt that in my bones.”

You had felt it too.

And as the feeling fades out the noise of the rain swells and swells a little more until it’s a consistent murmur engulfing your small world. Some fat stray drops hit the roof harder, like a weak signal in the static. You unwrap your treat and push yourself back to the top of the mattress, dropping your head against the back of the seat behind you.

The first lick is messy; an effort to stop drips of molten sugar water from getting on your fingers that’s not fully successful. It’s so sweet, it’s an instant rush and the artificial flavor is so strange that you become unsure what kind you’d even picked at the store.

“That’s…” Eddie says, smacking his lips.

“Odd?” you supply. “Alien?”

He pops the tip in his mouth, suckles, then you hear a soft, moist crunch and he’s chewing a chunk, looking back at you with on eye squinting and the other in wide wonder.

“Was thinking, like, something more around, uh… perverse?”

Nodding, you have another thorough lick while more thunder rumbles. “So you love it.”

Already chewing a new chunk he grins from ear to ear, eyes black and tongue an alarming shade of magenta. “Oh, hell yeah!”

You reach out and cup his cheek, caress it with your thumb. “Your stupid face,” you say softly as he nuzzles into your hand, his lips a sticky kiss on your palm.

“You love it,” he says.

“Oh, hell yeah.”

He laughs that smooth, rich sound that comes from deep in his throat. Shuffling closer, he turns on his back, placing his head in your lap. You sink your hand into his hair, gently rake your nails across his scalp and smile when he purrs and wiggles and curls his toes when you hit the very good spots. Silently, you watch the rain together. It’s a thick, hazy curtain in front of the world, tinting it slightly blue and everything it hits much, much darker. The air is calm, yet the surface of the lake ripples and shudders; an empty boat rocks along, drifting further out towards the small island.

 Eddie offers you the last bit of his abominable cherry and you let him finish the rest of your mystery flavor. He suggests watermelon and kitchen gloves as he sucks the stick clean and you don’t contest this assessment.

“Fuuuck,” he suddenly groans, rubbing a hand across his chest. “This… is nice. T’s finally cooling down.”

There is sweat on your forehead and upper lip - and really everywhere - that disagrees. “Don’t know about that…”

Tilting back his head and baring neck doing so, he looks up at you. “What,” he crosses his arms over his chest and shivers, head to toe, rubbing his upper arms to go with it, “you don’t feel that breeze back there?”  

You snort, shake your head. “Well acted, Mun—“

“Nuh-uh,” he protests, wiggles one index finger into your face and with the other, he points to his crotch. “Mr Dick ain’t lying.”

And sure enough, nestled inside dark curls like a small, naked creature fleeing a storm, the evidence undeniable. You smile down at Eddie giddily looking up at you and awaiting response to his silly joke and rake your nails along the sides of his throat, leaving faint marks behind. ”Want a sock for him?”

“Nah,” he chuckles, then groans and his eyes roll before he closes them. “Mr Dick likes the v-view.”

“M’ sure I can find a sock with holes in it— wha—“ fumbly fingers roughly poke your lips and nostrils—

“Shit, sorry,” he laughs, eyes open again but heavy lidded, and re-aims, slides his hand gently along your cheek and to the nape of your neck. “You disrupted some critical functions there for a moment.”

“Want me to do it again?”

“Aye, please…”

Starting right above the dip of his collar bones, you move slower this time, savoring him and his delight. The motion below his skin; tendons twitching, pulse racing and the ripple of a swallowed groan as you inch closer to the edge of his jaw. Lips parted, wet and still tinted a little too pink he digs his skull into your thigh when he tilts his head back further, digs his nails into your neck as he holds on tighter, bracing himself before you—

“Fuck—“

— move back down again and his chest expands on a sigh, deflates on a moan and hitches when your fingers don’t stop at the base of his throat but venture further down down down across hot skin covered in ink and blush and hair. It’s magic how pale trails of friction turn dark and small gasps leave his shiny mouth when you graze one nipple, then the other.

He lets go of your neck, both arms flailing briefly as he reaches behind to grasp your hips, kneading your flesh as you draw wavy patterns across his ribs and back up again. Down below in the thick patch of hair, where your arms won’t quite reach, something stirs, grows, hardens.

When he’s covered in lines from chin to navel you switch nails for fingertips to soothe.

He’s so pretty when he’s a mess; you want to join him.

“Ed, is Mr Dick still cold?”

He lolls his head in your lap, eyes closed and mumbling just short of incomprehensible, “Why? Got a lil’ coat for him or somth’n?”

“Right,” you snort and mumble to yourself, “critical functions turned off…”

Calling his name again, you cradle his face, meeting his eyes as he opens them. His gaze is hazy and soft and he blinks at you like he’s surprised to see you, then breaks into a smile so disarmingly sweet it’s hard to breathe for a moment.

“You think they make top hats his size?” 

“Edward.”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“How about a vagina?”

When you get your new schedule for the second half of your senior school year, the only thing that's pretty much changed is your new elective.

Sex Ed.

When you arrive to the Hellfire table at lunch, everyone's looking at schedules with each other.

"I can't believe classes are only going to get harder!" Mike complains, wrinkling his schedule from how hard he's gripping it.

Mike continues whining to Dustin while Jeff and Gareth talk amongst themselves.

"Hey. What are the shrimps talking about?"

Eddie crunches on a walnut, and you both exchange schedules.

"Yours looks pretty much the same-"

You squint to make sure that what you're reading is true.

You and Eddie are both going to have sex Ed during your sixth period.

"Looks like you've got sex Ed with me. Don't worry, it'll be like every Saturday you spend at my place."

You toss his schedule at him.

"This is going to be a nightmare."

You know exactly how Eddie is. He's going to make certain innuendos and jokes the entire class.

"What could be more fun then learning the joys of reproduction?"

"You know exactly what I mean, Eddie. When we go to this class later, I want no stupid jokes-"

He smirks. "You think so little of me."

"I think I'm just smart."

"That's mean." He chuckles.

"You're predictable. Insanely predictable."

He playfully shrugs. "If you say so."

___________________________________________________

After a couple of days of boring "meet the teacher" presentations and icebreaking assignments, a day for actual curriculum arrives.

You're sitting at your desk and waiting for class to start, and for Eddie to arrive.

You're bobbing your leg up and down mindlessly as the couple of minutes pass.

Unmistakingly, Eddie comes in.

"I hear Scott is actually gonna be teaching some new stuff today."

He sits in front of you, turned around so that he's facing towards you.

"I can already tell how this is going to start off. 'The penis goes into the vagina'. And then there'll be some really detailed diagram that'll make a few students snicker-"

"I just don't get why you're so against this. Unfortunately, it's curriculum. Or are you just afraid of little old me?" Eddie brings his curls in front of his mouth.

"You catch on quick."

He chuckles. "I'll behave."

He in fact did not behave.

"Now, be mature class. The diagrams are purely for educational purposes." Mr. Scott says.

As expected he shows side by side pictures of a vagina and penis.

A few students giggle under their breaths, including Eddie. You kick the back of his ankle.

"Ow!" He whisper yells. "Sorry."

He's not sorry.

"Oh look, there's the clit. Try to remember that." You say lowly, which makes him snort.

"I found yours."

Your face heats up.

"I'm going to suffocate you."

"Make sure it's with your thighs."

Scott continues teaching.

"Male ejaculation emits sperm into the vagina. However, there must be an egg available in the fallopian tube for part of the pathway to fertilization to be successful."

"Woo! It's getting hot in here." Eddie comments, which makes the class laugh, except for Scott.

"Munson." He says tightly, then resuming his lesson.

You're trying so hard not to whack him.

"Smooth talking, Munson." You say lowly.

"Thank you, ma'am."

___________________________________________________

Doing Sex Ed homework with him is a job within itself.

"We have to do this assignment by the end of the week." You say, handing him the rubric for it.

"Huh. That's funny." Eddie says.

"What?"

"I thought we would have 9 months."

You grab a fistful of his hair, which makes him laugh hysterically.

___________________________________________________

When you finally have to give your presentation with Eddie to the whole class, you feel like you're sweating bullets.

"I swear, Eddie. Don't say or do anything stupid, you got that?"

"Have I ever said anything stupid, honey bun?"

"If I answer that, it'll hurt your feelings."

Eddie chuckles. "Lay it on me thick, mamas."

Scott finally calls you and Eddie up to present.

After the project is set up for everyone to see, Eddie's already on a roll.

"Today we will be talking about sex- I can't say that so I'll just say reproduction."

The class giggles, and you feel like you want to die.

"Of course, reproduction is more than sex. There's an entire process that goes on in the human body, just for us to age and grow." You add.

"If your parents tell you a stork carried you in, don't believe them. They're lying to you."

As much as you want to choke Eddie and risk suspension from school for a few days, you can't help but admire the way he actually makes a crowd listen.

___________________________________________________

A few days later, you're so anxious you're on the verge where you're about to start biting at your fingernails.

"Do you think he deducted points because you decided to be all vulgar??" You panic.

"Or maybe he found us funny." Eddie says, playing with the back of your shirt by plucking it.

"Scott doesn't do funny. He could straight face through a Saturday Night Live show."

"We'll see. Here he comes now."

Scott places the graded rubric down without a word before walking away.

Eddie picks it up, and his eyes go wide. Then, he smirks.

"105?! Extra 5 points for "immersive speaking and detailing of visual graphics?!"

You rip the paper from his grasp, then gasp when you see he's right. You set it back down on the desk, then grab and pull him in for a kiss.

"We are creating our own Sex Ed this weekend, Eddie Munson."

"Groupie," he corrects. You smack him in the chest. You can feel him grin into your neck. He breathes in deeply.

"What is it?"

"Pheromones. You want me so bad, your brain's gone haywire."

"I believe it." He breathes in again, and exhales with a "fuuuuuuck."

"Can you stop sniffing me, please? People are starting to look at us weird."

"People always look at us weird," he argues. "We are weird."

"You're really pushing it right now, Munson."

"What is ittt?" he whines.

"The blood of a blonde virgin."

"Can you not be sarcastic for like four seconds?" He nips the side of your neck and digs his fingers into your hips, and you try to get away. He spins you and pulls you to him, your back to his front, putting him in the perfect position to sniff you again.

"Alright, alright, it's new lotion and body wash."

"After school, we're going to my house, scraping together every cent I've squirreled away, and going to buy more."

"Not likely," you laugh, trying to get him off of you. He refuses to detach.

"Yes likely," he argues. "You're going to put this stuff on and roll around in my bed every time I put clean sheets on."

"So what, like… once a year?"

He bites your shoulder.

"Ow, Edward! We talked about this! Cannibalism is a no for me!"

"Shouldn't smell so fucking good, then," he growls into your ear.

You wiggle, trying to escape his grasp, and feel something hard poking into your lower back. You freeze.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" you ask.

"This is all your fault."

"Yeah, I used this shit because I knew it'd make you go feral, not because I ran out of the other stuff." You try again to get out of his hold, but he grips you tight.

He licks a slobbery trail up your neck, and you squeal and squirm. He chuckles evilly and goes for the other side.

"You guys know you're in public, right?"

You both stop and look toward the curly-haired freshman staring at you. The more experienced members know better than to make eye contact when you're like this. This one's about to learn.

"What's your point, Henderson?" Eddie asks, voice full of venom.

"Uh… nothing? Nothing. Forget I said anything." Dustin quickly turns around and tries to rejoin the D&D discussion.

You lean back against Eddie and stretch, knowing he's feeling this with every inch. He moans quietly in your ear. You look at him and smirk.

"Wanna skip today?"

It swung open fast. Eddie stood there in his usual uniform- black band tee with the sleeves cut off, ripped black jeans, guitar pick necklace resting against his collarbone. His curls were a little wilder than usual, like he’d been running his hands through them while writing. The second he saw your face, his easy grin dropped.

“Whoa. Hey. You look like you’re about to commit a felony. Get in here.”

You pushed past him into the familiar mess of his living room. His acoustic guitar leaned against the couch. A notebook full of half-finished lyrics sat open on the coffee table next to two empty beer bottles.

You didn’t sit. You paced.

“This fucking asshole at work,” you started, voice already climbing. “Mark. Again. I spent three weeks putting together a new client intake process- actually good shit, Eddie, stuff that would’ve saved the whole department hours every week. I presented it in the meeting and he just… laughed. Not even a real laugh. That little condescending huff. Then he goes, ‘Cute idea, but we’re gonna stick with what’s been working. No offense, but some of us have been doing this longer.’”

Eddie closed the door and leaned back against it, arms crossed, listening hard. His jaw was already tight.

“He said that shit in front of everyone,” you continued, spinning on your heel to face him. “And the worst part? Half the room nodded like he’d said something profound. Like I was some intern who wandered in with finger paintings. I called him on it after. Pulled him aside. And you know what he said? ‘You’re being too sensitive. It’s not personal. Girls just take things harder sometimes.’”

Eddie let out a low whistle. “Jesus H Christ.”

“I know.” You threw your hands up. “And when I told him it was personal- that he’d done the exact same thing three times this quarter- he hit me with the classic: ‘Look, I’m just trying to help you. You don’t want people thinking you’re difficult, right?’”

You stopped pacing and dropped onto the edge of the couch like your legs had given out. Eddie pushed off the door and came to sit beside you, close enough that his knee brushed yours. He didn’t say anything yet. Just waited.

“It’s not even just him,” you said, quieter but no less furious. “It’s the whole fucking machine. You have to be good at your job- really good- but not so good that you make the men around you feel small. You have to speak up in meetings, but not too much or you’re ‘talking over people.’ You have to look put-together, but if you wear anything that shows you have a body, suddenly you’re ‘asking for attention.’ And if you don’t look put-together? Then you’re frumpy and unprofessional.”

Eddie’s hand twitched like he wanted to reach for you, but he kept it on his own knee.

“You have to be ambitious,” you went on, “but not too ambitious, because then you’re ‘power hungry’ or ‘bitchy.’ You have to take criticism, but if you give it back you’re ‘emotional.’ And the second you call any of it out, you’re the problem. ‘Why do you have to make everything about gender?’ Like we’re the ones who made the rules. Like we’re the ones who built the whole system so that no matter what we do, we’re failing at something.”

You laughed, but there was no humor in it. “It’s literally impossible. Be confident, but not intimidating. Be warm, but not weak. Be a team player, but also a leader. And when you finally get somewhere- when you earn it- they still find a way to make it about your tits or your hormones or how you must’ve smiled at the right person. I’m so tired, Eddie. I’m tired of smiling through it. I’m tired of doing twice the work for half the respect. I’m tired of living in a world that was built by men who decided what ‘professional’ looks like and it just so happens to look exactly like them.”

The words hung in the air between you. Your chest was heaving like you’d run a mile. Eddie was quiet for a long second, just watching you with those dark, steady eyes. Then he reached over and gently tugged one of your hands into his, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“That’s fucked,” he said, voice low and rough. “All of it. Every single word. And that guy? Mark? He’s not just an asshole- he’s scared. He knows you’re better than him and it’s easier to make you small than to do the work himself.”

You squeezed his hand without thinking. The contact grounded you a little.

“I hate that you have to deal with this shit,” he continued. “I hate that you go in there every day knowing the deck’s stacked and you still show up and kill it anyway. You’re the smartest person in that whole building and they’re too busy protecting their fragile egos to see it.”

You let out a shaky breath. “It’s not even that I need them to see it. I just… I want to exist without having to prove I deserve to be in the room. Without every win coming with a side of ‘but remember you’re still a girl.’”

Eddie shifted closer. His free hand came up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, the touch lingering a second longer than it needed to. Your stomach did that stupid, traitorous flip it always did when he got gentle like this. Best friends. That’s what you were. That’s what you’d always been. But with him sitting here and listening to you- actually listening- stirred something in your chest you didn't want to acknowledge right now.

“You don’t have to prove shit to me,” he said quietly. “Never have. You walk in here pissed off or crying or laughing or whatever, and it’s still you. And you’re… fuck, you’re kind of everything, you know that?”

The words sat heavy between you. His thumb was still stroking the back of your hand. Neither of you moved to pull away.

You swallowed. “Eddie…”

“I know.” He gave you a small, crooked smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know we’re best friends. I know the world’s a mess and I’m a disaster who lives in a trailer and you're a smart as fuck marketing exec. But I’m here. For the rants. For the bad days. For whatever you need. And if you ever want me to go down there and make that guy’s life hell- legally, of course- I will. No questions asked.”

You laughed for real this time, the sound cracking open the tightness in your chest. “You’d get arrested in five minutes.”

“Worth it.” He bumped his shoulder against yours. “You’re worth it.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was charged. Warm. Like something important was sitting just under the surface, waiting for one of you to be brave enough to name it.

Eddie cleared his throat and stood, but not before giving your hand one last squeeze. “Beer? Or I can roll something. Your choice. And then you can tell me more about how you’re gonna run that place one day while the rest of us watch in awe.”

You watched him head to the kitchenette, the familiar sway of his walk, the way his shirt rode up just enough to show a strip of skin at his lower back. Your heart did the thing again- that dangerous, hopeful little kick.

“Beer’s good,” you called after him. “And Eddie?”

He glanced over his shoulder, one brow raised.

“Thanks for listening. Really listening.”

His smile softened into something that made your ribs feel too small. “Always. That’s what best friends do, right?”

Pale morning light filtered softly through the bedroom curtains, painting warm stripes across the rumpled comforter and the hardwood floor beyond. Somewhere down the hall, the refrigerator hummed faintly through the otherwise silent house while rain tapped lazily against the kitchen windows, steady enough to blur the world outside into muted shades of gray.

She stirred slowly beneath the blankets, still caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. For a moment, she stayed exactly where she was, eyes still closed as she listened to the familiar sounds surrounding her. The ceiling fan turned steadily overhead, cool air brushing across the room, while the mattress shifted ever so slightly beside her.

A quiet grunt.

Her eyebrows pinched together. Still half asleep, she frowned faintly into her pillow before finally blinking her eyes open. The digital clock on Eddie’s nightstand glowed just after eight in the morning. Normally by now, he’d already be up, dressed for work, halfway through a cup of coffee, and teasing her about sleeping in while he headed off to Hawkins Auto.

Today, he hadn’t even gotten out of bed. He was still lying beside her, flat on his back with one forearm thrown over his eyes. His dark curls were even messier than usual, sticking out in every direction against the pillow, and every few moments another quiet, miserable little groan escaped him beneath his breath.

She propped herself up onto one elbow, studying him for a second.

“…Eddie?”

The only response she got was a low, sleepy hum that sounded more exhausted than conversational. That alone was enough to tell her something wasn’t right. She shifted to face him, gently guiding his arm away from where it was draped over his face.

“Are you sick?”

He exhaled heavily through his nose, squinting up at her with tired, bloodshot eyes before immediately grimacing and covering his face again.

“Oh, fuck, no,” he muttered into his palms, his voice rough and strained. “No, no, I’m fine. Just… slept weird.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You slept weird.”

“Yeah.” He sniffed sharply, rubbing his nose with the heel of his hand before shifting uncomfortably beneath the blankets. “Yep. Neck’s all messed up. That’s—that’s definitely it.”

She leaned over and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead before he could duck away. His skin was burning.

“Eddie.”

He groaned, twisting away from her touch like a petulant child.

“Okay, okay, maybe I feel like shit,” he admitted, his voice cracking halfway through. “But it’s probably just allergies.”

She gave him a knowing look. “Mhm. Allergies my ass.”

Sliding out of bed, she disappeared into the bathroom and returned a moment later with the thermometer she’d pulled from the drawer.

“Give me your head,” she instructed, switching it on. A tired huff escaped him that almost sounded like a laugh.

“If you insist.” He rolled onto his back, one hand disappearing beneath the blankets. She smacked him lightly over the covers, fighting a smile.

“Your forehead, dummy.”

A brief smirk crossed his face before another cough interrupted it. He brushed the bangs from his forehead, and she held the thermometer against his skin until it beeped.

“100.1,” she read. “Just like I thought. Sick.”

Eddie groaned dramatically before rolling onto his side and looping an arm around her hips, tugging her closer until he could bury his face against her thighs.

“I gotta go to work,” he grumbled.

“Tuh,” she scoffed. “Absolutely not. You’re staying right here and resting.”

She set the thermometer on the nightstand before gently working herself free from his hold.

“I’m gonna make you some tea,” she said, already heading toward the dresser. “Then I’m finding you some medicine.”

Eddie didn’t have much of a reply, which she took as the first sign he was finally accepting defeat. Once she moved his arm away from around her, he simply let it fall back onto the mattress and stayed where he was, watching her through half-lidded eyes as she got dressed and disappeared into the kitchen. A few minutes later, she returned carrying a steaming mug of tea in one hand and a medicine cup filled with DayQuil in the other.

“Eds,” she said, walking over to his side of the bed, “sit up and take this.”

With the world’s most dramatic sigh, Eddie slowly pushed himself upright for the first time that morning. His hair stuck out in every direction, his beard just as disheveled, faint creases from the blankets marked one side of his face, and the miserable expression he wore made him look every bit as sick as he felt. He eyed the little medicine cup with obvious suspicion before gingerly taking it between his fingers.

“How do I know you’re not trying to poison me?” His voice was hoarse enough to make the joke lose some of its usual charm, but he tipped the medicine back anyway. The second he swallowed, his face twisted in disgust.

“Ugh,” he groaned. “That is foul.”

She ignored the complaint, looking at him with equal parts amusement and sympathy as she held the mug out instead. “Tea.”

His fingers curled gratefully around the warm ceramic. He lifted it toward his face, letting the steam wash over him before taking a slow, careful sip. His eyes drifted shut for a brief moment, and he let out a quiet sigh through his nose.

“God,” he muttered into the rim of the mug, his voice muffled and scratchy, “you’re too good to me.”

She reached out without thinking, smoothing down a few stubborn strands of his hair before giving his scalp a gentle squeeze.

“Get some more rest,” she said, her tone leaving very little room for argument. “I’ll be in the office if you need me, okay?”

Eddie lowered the mug from his lips and wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. Then, without a word, he puckered his lips expectantly.

She looked at him, then at his lips, and her face scrunched almost instantly.

“As much as I love you…” she muttered. When he saw her hesitating, his expression melted into an exaggerated pout.

“Damn,” he said, sounding genuinely betrayed. “You’re gonna do me like that?”

A sympathetic, mildly disgusted noise escaped her. “You’re contagious.”

“So?”

She shook her head, laughing despite herself before finally giving in. Leaning over as quickly as humanly possible, she pecked his lips in what was quite possibly the shortest kiss either of them had ever shared before immediately pulling back.

“There,” she said. “Happy?”

A lazy grin spread across Eddie’s face. “Very.”

“Thank you, angel,” he murmured before taking another sip of his tea and setting the mug back on the nightstand.

Rolling her eyes with a smile, she left the bedroom, pulling the door nearly shut behind her before deliberately leaving it cracked open just enough to hear him if he called.

The home office wasn’t anything extravagant. It had once been the guest room until Eddie transformed it into a workspace for her after she moved in, knowing she’d need somewhere quiet to work as a freelance creator. One of the projects currently spread across her desk was a refreshed logo for Hawkins Auto, something Eddie had asked if she’d be willing to design. Naturally, she’d said yes. Settling into her chair, she picked up her pencil and quickly fell into a rhythm, her attention narrowing to the sketchbook in front of her. Time slipped by almost unnoticed until, less than two hours later, a faint, raspy voice drifted down the hallway.

“Baby…”

Her head lifted. “Yes?”

Silence.

Setting her pencil aside, she got up and walked back to the bedroom. Eddie hadn’t moved much. He was lying on his stomach with his face half-buried in the pillow, one eye barely cracked open as he looked at her.

“Can you make me more tea…”

She blinked at him, folding her arms as she took in the truly pitiful state he’d managed to become. Without a word, she picked up his mug, disappeared into the kitchen, and returned a few minutes later with a fresh cup before quietly heading back to her office.

That became the pattern for the rest of the morning. Almost every hour, Eddie called for her, and not in the way she was accustomed to. He was rarely sick, but when he was, he turned into the stereotypical man who suddenly needed the world to know exactly how miserable he felt. Sometimes he wanted something. Other times he simply wanted to announce his suffering.

“My throat hurts.”

“I hope Ray doesn't burn down the shop.”

“You think my D&D character ever gets sick?”

A pause.

“Did you know I love you?”

It wasn’t until a little after noon that she found herself slumped comfortably in her desk chair, laptop still open in front of her. Her head rested against her hand, her eyelids growing heavier with each passing minute until, without realizing it, she’d drifted off. A warm hand settled gently on her shoulder.

“Hey…”

She stirred, blinking sleepily as she craned her neck to look up at him. Eddie stood beside her wearing nothing but a pair of wrinkled gray sweatpants, his hair messy and his beard still a little tousled from sleep. He still looked a little pale, but the feverish haze in his eyes had softened into something closer to exhaustion than misery.

“Awe, angel…” he murmured with a tired smile.

She rubbed at her eyes as she sat up straighter. “Didn’t realize I fell asleep.” A yawn escaped her. “How’re you feeling?”

“Ehh.” He gave a small shrug, gesturing vaguely with one hand. “Better than this morning.” He sniffed, scratching lazily at his beard. “Hungry though. You want lunch?”

She raised a brow. “I was literally about to ask you the same thing.”

His smile grew a little. “Great minds.”

Taking her hand, he gently pulled her to her feet before leading her into the kitchen.

“I was thinking grilled cheese,” he said, already opening the refrigerator. Then he paused. “And tomato soup, if we still have a can.”

He gathered the cheese and butter before reaching for the bread on the counter. After rummaging briefly through one of the cabinets, he pulled out a can of tomato soup as well before setting a pan over the burner to warm.

“You sure you don’t want me to do that?” she asked.

“Nah.” He waved her off. “I got it.”

She leaned against the counter and watched as he buttered each slice before laying them into the pan. The kitchen filled with a familiar sizzle as he layered thick slices of sharp cheddar between them and flipped the sandwiches with ease. While they toasted, he emptied the soup into a small pot and stirred it occasionally until it began to steam.

“I really do feel better,” he said after a moment, glancing over with a small smile. “Promise.”

She answered with a skeptical hum, reaching up to press the back of her hand against his forehead. He was still warm, but nowhere near as hot as he had been that morning.

“Maybe,” she admitted.

Eddie chuckled under his breath as he ladled the tomato soup into two bowls before sliding a grilled cheese sandwich onto each plate. He took the first bite of his sandwich, letting out a satisfied little hum before dipping the next into the warm soup. They ate together, the shared silence broken only by the occasional sniffle from Eddie and the steady rain outside.

He nudged her shoulder with his. “Told you I was fine.”

She rolled her eyes, though she leaned into him anyway. “You’re still taking it easy for the rest of the night.”

“Whatever you say, angel.” Eddie smiled, leaning over to press a kiss against the side of her head before murmuring into her hair, “Thanks for taking care of me.”

A quiet laugh escaped her through a mouthful of grilled cheese.

“No problem, baby,” she replied once she’d swallowed, her voice warm.

-

Chapter One

The interrogation table could have been the fluffiest of pillows with the way your sleep sunken eyes blinked down at it. The silver metal beneath your elbows is so scraped and tarnished that you can't even make out your appearance in it, though sure that you looked an absolute mess. It had been two hours since someone last checked up on you and three hours since the handcuffs were slapped around your wrists. Tight enough to strangle your circulation.

You were behind this desk through no fault of your own. Luckily you had your mother to thank for the intrusion into your Friday errands. Unlike your mother, who is short fused and accusatory, you had a patience that was as free form as water and kindness by the bucketful.

In the corner of the room is an old fan that spins its rusty blades lazily, as if time has visibly slowed and you try not to fret over the sweat beginning coat the back your neck in the sweltering mid July heat.

"Sorry about the wait, Ma'am. We're a little overrun here at the precinct." Finally, another human graces your presence and the bonus? He wasn't too harsh on the eyes, either, "Have you had anything to drink or eat?" A slight shake of your head tells him 'No' and he releases a soft sigh through his nose.

Opposite from you he silently pulls out the only other remaining chair, sitting on it with a care that filled you with questions.

"I apologise about that… someone should've taken care of you. Would you like a glass of water? Maybe a soda?" In the time it takes you to respond you have already consumed intricate details from his appearance. Shiny black leather belt, polished boots with scuffs on the front that he has tried desperately to hide and a necklace tucked beneath the collar of his white button down. He'd be the picture perfect cop if it weren't for the mess of curls upon his head that he's attempted to pull back into a bun. His face is clean shaven from this morning, you can tell from the shine on his face and his lips read an expression of concern.

"I'd like these cuffs off." A silence that lingers, "But I'll take a Sprite, if you have one." To that he smiles.

You were prepared for a gruelling evening and even more so to be held in a holding cell until Monday morning, but the officer in front of you gave you a quiet hope.

"Officer Munson?" His eyebrows perk at the question, evident he has forgotten the ID badge dangling from his hip.

"Detective." He corrects with a undercurrent of pride.

You bow your head, respecting the title, "Detective." You repeat coolly, "When exactly can I leave?" Part of you suspected the answer, but who were you if not a trier?

The brunette releases a gruff sigh through his plump lips, "Unfortunately, I have no authority to say." He clasps his hands onto the table and tilts his body towards you on his elbows. His nails are trimmed and clean, "Your mother has some compelling evidence against her and thanks to your destruction to private property we may be here a few more hours or until Monday. Depends on the cooperation."

"Cooperation?" You ask instantly.

At this closeness you could smell the freshness of his cologne. It reminded you fondly of the fresh outdoor springs from your childhood where you used to play. He hums and nods, "People are going to want to ask you a lot of questions. If you're open and willing to helping them build their case against your mother then I can't see why they wouldn't release you tonight."

Your tongue pokes into your cheek, "I still have a phone call, don't I?" You knew you did.

"Mhm," He replies with a readiness to grab an attending officer to help escort you to the nearest pay phone outside, "You got someone in mind?"

The gentle urge to tell him was undeniable. Like two old friends catching up after years of distance, it felt easy and familiar. He was damn good at his job.

"I do."

That person wasn't a lawyer, as it might've been best to call on one, but it was your neighbour Sally from the trailer across the way.

"Sally? Hi! Uhm, I'm in a bit of a pickle, would you be able to go on over and feed Ellie at around 6 tonight? The keys where it usually is… I won't be home for a while and you know how she gets when she's hungry." A coy smile is feathered onto your lips, "Yeah, that's the one. Okay, thank you, Sally. Buh-bye now. Bye."

To your right, the attending officer has been replaced with Detective Munson who's bulging arms are crossed comfortably over his chest and his dark brown eyes have a intrigued twinkle to them.

"Is Ellie a daughter?" There was nothing casual about the question and his body language demanded a response.

"Something like that."

"Because if there is a child at home then we can post an officer out there with them until this is all sorted out." You dismiss him with a flick of one of your contained wrists.

"Ellie is the family dog, she'll be alright." And that ended the conversation.

For the following hours men came and went with questions about your mother and about her finances. A lot of the questions you had no answer for. You didn't know much about what she did, or where her money came from, exactly, but what you did know is that it was shady. Apparently you weren't aware of just how seriously she had messed up.

Her conviction? Fraud and embezzlement.

Yours? Damage to private property.

A.k.a, when you kicked the wing mirror from your mothers car after she accused you of ratting on her. She always said you had the temper of your Daddy.

The good news is that Detective 'Hot Stuff' was able to get those charges waived on the grounds of your cooperation with the leading officers.

You'd face no consequences.

For the most part.

-

The trailer park sits settled in the dim light, but not yet asleep as you arrive home and the red marks around your wrists itch with mild irritation. A not so gentle reminder of what you'll always be… what you'll forever be seen as.

Every night without fail you can rely on the faint music playing from Sally's porch to bring sleep into your reach. Her radio was old, small and would often glitch and jump around to other stations, but every now and again there was a sweet spot that played some classical music for hours on end.

In the Summer time it was near impossible to get Sally to go indoors to bed, her husband Ally tried tirelessly but she wouldn't budge from her wicker chair out front. She was an observer, not dissimilar to you.

When you first moved to the trailer park when you were only 16 years old, and you hadn't a clue about living life on your own, you thankfully found Sally and bonded with her instantly. She reminded you of your late grandmother Patty who you could only remember through blurred memories from your youngest years. Slowly but surely that lone wicker chair on her front porch turned into one more reserved for your late night chats together and midnight nibbles of home baked goods.

As much as you cherished Sally's wisdom and her ability to make you belly laugh, you decided to steer clear of her detection tonight and clamber into your trailer through the back door. You'll thank her in the morning. Welcomed, you were met with a slobbered teddy bear dropped at your feet by Ellie, your trusty Retriever who has clearly missed you dearly.

"Hey, baby! Wait a sec while I turn a light on", The warm bulb from the red beaded lamp illuminates your small space in a homely glow, one that throws a blanket of relaxation over you instantaneously. Your window nook sofa has never looked so good.

Before bed you decide to fix yourself something quick to eat, a bland sandwich which was too dry to swallow comfortably accompanied by a can of soda fresh from the fridge. Match made in Heaven.

After allowing your food to digest a little you go about your nightly routine; refilling Ellie's water bowl, giving her a quick little treat and then taking her on her last walk of the day when the concrete is cool enough for her paws to endure. You never felt alone with Ellie, or unsafe on these late night walks because you knew her nature. She was your life's purpose and you were hers. Equally, you would protect each other.

Which was confirmed by Ellie's reaction to a strange man standing by your front door as you returned to the park. She nearly pulled your shoulder from its socket as she tried lunging toward him, "Ellie, heel! Heel, girl!"

She hadn't barked yet so hopefully the neighbours kept their noses to themselves but you could hear the growl resonating at the back of her throat. Poised and ready.

"Can I help you?" You stop a few feet away from the steps leading up towards your porch and the figure raises his hands in friendly surrender, in one of his grasps you see the reflection of a gold badge glint beneath a nearby street light.

An officer.

Your conclusion comes and goes as a whiff of aftershave engulfs your nose.

Not an officer. A detective.

"I don't mean to intrude, Detective Munson, from earlier…"His hand finds his chest sincerely before he is tucking his badge back into his pocket, "I just wanted to swing by and ensure you got home alright, you refused the lift from the other officers."

"It's a small community here," You needn't say much else, the shadow in front of you nods like he knows all too well what it's like, "Can I do you for anything else?" Ellie rests by your side now, much calmer than before.

"I guess I also wanted to confirm that Ellie really was—"

"My dog?" With a tilt of your head you look down at the panting girl by your side, patting her head lovingly before rewiring your attention back to the detective.

"Yes." He replies plainly but with a small smile which you register now as he makes his way cautiously towards you.

"Well, meet Ellie and Ellie meet… I'm sorry, do you have a first name? Or is that just detective as well?" The stranger chuckles heartily at your quick mouth and you smirk only to yourself.

"Eddie. Eddie Munson." You hum, satisfied with that reply. He looked like an Eddie.

"Do you check in on all your released criminals, Eddie, or just this one?" Your hip pops to the side and your hand follows to sit on your waist, your feet still unmoving toward your home.

"Not all of them," He hesitates, "Only the pretty ones."

A sharp inhale through your nose fills your lungs with the needed capacity to reply with composure, "Well, I thank you kindly but I'm sure you have other pretty's that you can go and holler at whilst I pitch up for the night…" You say all of this whilst moving around him, the pitter patter of Ellie's claws against the gravel acting as a pendulum as the call of your name from your unmade bed grows more tempting by the second, "I've had a long day, Eddie, if you wouldn't mind trailing off." Your head bobs in the direction of the dirt road stretching out and away from the trailer park and Eddie, the gentleman that he is, doesn't stick around to make you beg.

"Goodnight." He bows his head as if he were respectfully tipping a hat towards you.

"Bye, now."

Your bid farewell is half swallowed by the jingle of your keys in the door and as you are met with the quaintness of your empty living room you can't help but ponder the real reason why he came by tonight. And even more worrying:

Will you be seeing him again?

-

The never tiring light of Summer stirred you from slumber long before the sunrise took to the pale blue sky and as you lay staring at your alarm clock with exhaustion you can tell that today was going to challenge you in unavoidable ways. Especially with only four measly hours of proper rest.

By day, you worked with a cleaning company for businesses and home owners: Wiped Clean. One day you could be at an intimate B&B which only took an hour or two to get around on your own and the next you're at a house big enough to be a gothic castle which would take you well into the early evening with additional help. After clocking out it's heading back home to shower, change and tend to Ellie before you're hiking out again to your late shift at one of the local bars centred in town. Vinny's.

Your work schedule was arduous but the bills never did find a way of paying themselves without your help and your tin can of a car needed more gas than a lorry truck some weeks with all the miles you'd cover.

Generously, Wiped Clean would sometimes cover travel expenses if your work for the day was further than usual, but anything closer than the strict 20 miles was left up to you to finance. Today you worked close to home on a farmhouse that you visited regularly. The owner, Bob, is a sweet old man that always awaits your arrival with a huge smile and some peach iced tea to get you going. His wife, Jessie, who was unable to move much now with her crippling arthritis, waved at you from the living room window like clockwork.

"I always ask for you, I say, 'She's the sweetest girl and she's a very hard worker' I say, 'I'm not paying anyone else, you gotta send her.'" Bob follows you in from the growing heat with a hearty chuckle, imitating his phone calls with the cleaning company and you huff a laugh through your nose, already weakened with lack of sleep and his story that he has repeated to you a hundred times over. Evidently, they didn’t receive many visitors and from the lack of family photographs around the house you assumed they must be childless. But their wedding pictures were divine and pumped full of love and devotion.

"That's real kind of you, Bob. I'm glad you keep having me back." You place your bucket of supplies at the bottom of their staircase, taking a sip of the cold tea and waiting for any further instructions from the grinning old man in front of you.

"Just the same as always, Dear. Only needs a little spruce up here and there and you can be on your merry way. Don’t wanna take up too much of your time on a day like this." Internally you scream with gratitude and nod with a sweet smile before turning on your heels and heading up the stairs. Each one creaks beneath your weight and every time without fail, no matter how many times you visit, you always picture yourself falling through the wood.

The minutes tick on and an hour passes quickly. Bob was right, there wasn't much that needed to be done. It's just unfortunate that you are paid by the hour, "That's me all done, I'll see you guys next Saturday?"

"Absolutely, Honey! See ya then." Jessie replies this time, her eyes only flicking away from the television screen for a split second to acknowledge your departure before she is invested back into her show. It must've been a juicy episode.

On your way to your following and final home you wolf down your lunch in the car with one hand on the steering wheel whilst the other rummaged around blindly on your passenger seat for any other snacks you had thrown into the car with you and you washed it all down with four greedy gulps of lukewarm water. The heat was absolutely unbearable and thanks to your car air conditioning that only half worked you arrived to your new location fully drenched in sweat, windswept with grains of sand and gravel stuck to your hair and face. This wasn't a fashion runway, you knew that much, but still you felt overly aware of your appearance as the customer looked you up and down with caution.

All you could do was gleam at him.

"Cleaner?" Carefully groomed dark eyebrows perk up above his eyes, the clearest icy blue eyes you had ever encountered in your life. So blue that looking at them made you question if he were human.

"Yes," You confirm with a flash of your small ID card which has a faded headshot of you stamped in the left hand corner. Desperately you begin using your forearm to dab away at your slick forehead, pulling some rouge hair from the skin by your temples. The house behind the man looms down at you and your heart pricks with panic, "Am I the only one here?"

Registering your worry, the curly haired blonde shakes his head, "Don't worry, it's only the one room I'd like focused on today. My usual maid is out on… annual leave." You remember now, this was the customer that kept rotating different cleaners from the company. Some would come in groups for the entire house, but throughout the week it would be one or two for maintenance and upkeep purposes only. Mr. Hargrove was his name if you seemed to remember correctly from all the stories from the other ladies.

"Okay." Your bucket rattles at your side in your loosening grip.

"Shall we?" He asks with a voice dripping with charm, extending his arm back toward the front door of the property.

"Lead the way."

You couldn't help but feel semi-frustrated as you knelt scrubbing the toilet bowl elbow deep to reach the bottom. One room. Just one room and you travelled all of this way. The room did take you some time, changing the Egyptian cotton sheets, making the bed to a standard of high quality and vacuuming the thick rugs and wooden floor but still not enough time for you to have wasted coming here. The adjoining bathroom also needed some major TLC.

By the looks of it, Mr. Hargrove had had a wild evening the night before. The telltale giveaway?

Used condoms in the garbage can which you tried your best not to dry heave at.

Snapping off your yellow rubber gloves with a satisfying pop you slap them down into your bucket and after checking over all the intricate details you wander your way down towards the first floor where you'd hope to find Mr. Hargrove easily. This house appeared even bigger on the inside than it did from the outside and each corridor lead to someplace else, sometimes wrapping you around in a circle. The decor was an elevated modern style which screamed new money and the paintings on the walls made your eyes roll. You could definitely do better than most of these pieces.

Closer inspection told you of Mr. Hargrove’s character. The house was lonesome and unlived in. Ornaments dusted and polished, but unmoved and unloved. Flowers that appeared fresh poked out of grand vases but they too turned out to be fakes.

It confused you, this big house and no one to cherish it.

Finally you reach the floor below and you find Mr. Hargrove pacing the tiles in the kitchen with a tattered notebook in his hands. He looked and dressed like a business man, maybe he was practicing an important pitch.

He stops dead when he sees you, almost surprised that you're still here, "All done?" He asks gently and you nod.

"Yep. Good as new." You shoot him a thumbs up and immediately cringe at yourself afterwards.

"Great, here's some cash. Thanks again." Awkwardly you watch as he digs through his wallet that is thick with all sorts of bills. Part of you questioned if you should tell him that the company pays for these visits and he shouldn't have to pay you anything today, but you stay silent. Accepting the $50’s that he hands to you. Not like he'd miss it.

"Thank you, Mr. Hargrove—"

"Call me Billy." He reaches an open palm out to you and you wipe your hand on your pants leg, ensuring it's dry before you clasp your fingers with his, "See you next time."

He dismisses you with a wink and you take that as your queue to get out of there which you do all too eagerly.

Now onto the next eventful thing:

Your shift at Vinny's Bar. Never a dull moment.

“Hey…” Nancy’s voice shifts you back into the present. She’s standing at the foot of your bed, soda bottle in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other. You lift your jaw just enough to acknowledge her presence, eyes quickly scanning the scene.

“Your mom said you hadn’t been out much, so I wanted to bring your favorite. Chicken sandwich, extra pickles, no tomato, right? And a Coke, of course.”

You turn your head away, nodding once. “Yeah, that’s great. Thanks, Nance.”

She half-smiles, placing the contents onto your crowded nightstand and slowly approaching you, kneeling on the floor. “We all miss you, y’know? I know school starting tomorrow may be hard, but I think you should try to go.” 

She means well; you can tell that much. Nancy would never try to make you do something out of her own selfish desires. And, to a point, she is right. You have a couple more months of school left; then you never have to step foot in Hawkins High ever again. 

If only it were that simple, though.

Because now, not only do you have to attend school with the same assholes who make your life a living hell, you now have to do it alone. Sure, you have the party, but it’s not the same. 

Nobody's going to walk down the hallways holding your hand, obnoxiously loud and completely unashamed of it. Nobody's going to lean against your locker and make stupid comments just to get a smile out of you. Nobody's going to slip notes into your textbooks or steal fries off your lunch tray while insisting he was "saving you from yourself."

Nobody's going to be there. 

The realization still hits you at random. Like a punch. Like a car crash. Like waking up every morning and having to remember all over again.

Nancy watches your face carefully; she's always been good at reading people.

"You don't have to stay all day," she says softly. "Just... maybe try first period. See how it feels."

You let out a dry laugh. "See how it feels?"

Nancy's shoulders sink slightly. "I didn't mean—"

"I know what you meant." Your eyes stay fixed on the wall. "It's just funny."

The word funny comes out sounding anything but. "You know what's gonna happen tomorrow?"

Nancy doesn't answer.

"People are gonna stare."

Your throat tightens.

"They're gonna whisper."

You look down at your hands.

"And they're gonna talk about him."

The room falls silent, because you both know exactly who him is. Not Eddie the person. Not Eddie who spent three hours teaching Dustin how to play guitar. Not Eddie who drove halfway across Indiana because you casually mentioned wanting to see a meteor shower.

No.

They're going to talk about Eddie Munson. The freak. The murderer. The devil worshipper. The missing suspect. The monster. The version of him Hawkins created because the truth was too complicated.

Nancy looks away first. You hate that; you hate when people do that. When they can't even argue because they know you're right.

"He isn't dead." The words leave your mouth before you can stop them.

Nancy freezes. Because nobody talks about it, not really. The Party knows. Steve knows. Robin knows. Nancy knows. Your parents know because they had to. And that's it.

The secret sits between all of you like a loaded gun. Two states away. In a hospital room. Machines breathing and blinking and keeping time. Eddie Munson: twenty feet from life, twenty feet from death. And nobody knows which direction he's moving.

"He isn't dead," you repeat quietly.

Nancy's eyes soften. "I know."

"No, you don't." The words come out sharper than intended. You immediately see the hurt flash across her face.

But you're too tired to apologize. Too angry. Too exhausted. Too everything.

"Everyone keeps acting like he's gone."

"Nobody thinks that."

"You do."

Nancy shakes her head. "I don't."

"You do." Your voice cracks. The first crack all day, the first sign that maybe the anger isn't holding as well as you thought. "Because every time someone talks about him, they use the past tense."

Nancy goes silent. 

"'He was funny.'" Your eyes burn.

"'He was brave.'" Your fingers curl into the blanket.

"'He loved you.'" A laugh escapes you. "Like he's already dead."

You stare at the ceiling while Nancy stares at the floor. And neither of you says anything for a long moment.

Finally, she speaks first, "Have you talked to Dustin?"

You immediately scoff. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because he doesn't want to talk."

Nancy gives you a look. "Dustin always wants to talk."

You shake your head. "Not anymore."

And that's the worst part, because Dustin Henderson used to talk constantly. Now every conversation feels like pulling teeth.

Every answer is one word. Every smile is fake. Every joke sounds rehearsed. The kid who used to light up every room he walked into now looks permanently pissed off at the world. You understand why, you really do. Because every morning you wake up angry too.

Angry at Vecna. Angry at Hawkins. Angry at the government. Angry at every stupid machine keeping Eddie alive while refusing to wake him up.

Some days you're even angry at him. For being brave. For being stupid. For staying behind. For making the choice he made. But it wouldn’t be Eddie without some stupid decisions, right? 

A month into the school year, you'd developed a routine. Not because things had gotten easier, just because people could get used to almost anything, even misery.

You woke up. You got dressed. You ignored your reflection. You went to school. You came home. You stared at the ceiling until sleep finally dragged you under, then you did it all again.

The hallways of Hawkins High felt different now. People had moved on from the "earthquake", from the deaths. From the nightmares...at least on the surface.

But grief had settled into the cracks of everything. You saw it every time you looked at Dustin. At first, everyone had hovered around him. Mike. Lucas. Will. His mom. You.

The entire Party treating him like he might shatter if somebody breathed too hard. The problem was that Dustin Henderson hated being treated like glass. So eventually everyone stopped, everyone except you.

Not because you thought he was fragile, but because you knew exactly how much energy it took to pretend you weren't. You saw it in the way he walked through the halls now: head down, shoulders tense, jaw constantly clenched.

The bright-eyed kid who used to wave his arms around while talking now kept his hands shoved into his pockets. The kid who used to laugh loud enough to get yelled at by teachers now barely spoke in class. And whenever somebody mentioned Eddie, you saw it.

The split-second flinch to the immediate anger. The way he looked like he wanted to swing at somebody. So you stayed close.

Not hovering, just nearby, close enough to step in when necessary. Which, unfortunately, was becoming a full-time job.

"Dude, seriously, stop." You grabbed the back of Dustin's jacket as he attempted to launch himself across the cafeteria.

"LET GO OF ME."

"No."

"He's literally asking for it."

Across the room, Jason Carver's former teammates sat laughing at a table. One of them made a dramatic devil-horn gesture when he noticed Dustin looking. The others laughed. Dustin immediately tried to commit murder, again.

You hauled him backward. "Dustin."

"He called Eddie a freak."

"He always calls Eddie a freak."

"Exactly."

"Dustin."

"Let me hit him."

"No."

"One punch."

"No."

"Half a punch."

You sighed. "No such thing."

He groaned loudly as you dragged him toward the exit doors. "You're worse than Steve."

"Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"It is today."

The second the cafeteria doors shut behind you, Dustin yanked his arm free. "Why do you keep stopping me?"

You stared at him. "Seriously?"

"Yeah." His face was red, eyes bright with anger. "Nobody does anything."

"Dustin—"

"They say whatever they want." His voice cracked. "They get to talk about him like he's some psychopath and everybody just lets them."

The fight immediately left your body, because there it was: the real reason. Not anger, pain.

You leaned back against the wall. "He thinks he knows who Eddie was. But we know the real him, and that's what matters"

Dustin looked away. "It doesn't matter."

"It does."

"No." His laugh sounded bitter. "It really doesn't."

The hallway fell quiet. Students passed by, lockers slammed, a teacher yelled somewhere in the distance. But neither of you moved.

Finally, Dustin muttered, "I should've been quicker."

Your heart dropped. "Dustin."

"I should've."

"You know that's not true."

"How?" His voice rose immediately. "How do you know?"

You pushed away from the wall. "Because if you had gone back, you'd be dead too."

"Maybe."

"No."

"DON'T."

Several students turned to look. Dustin lowered his voice immediately, but somehow it sounded even worse. "Don't tell me what would've happened."

You swallowed. Because this conversation? Is one that kept coming back, the one neither of you ever won.

"He was alone."

"Dustin."

"He was alone, and I was too injured to get there quicker."

Your throat tightened, because you'd thought the same thing. A thousand times. Ten thousand. Every night. Every morning. Every second in between. But you couldn't let him live there, not forever.

"You know what would've happened if you went back? If you tried to step in?"

Dustin crossed his arms. "What?"

"Eddie would've thrown you through a wall and made you leave."

His mouth twitched, just barely. The smallest crack in the anger.

"He would've. You know he would've"

Dustin rolled his eyes. "Probably."

"Definitely."

"He would've called me a little shit."

"Absolutely."

The corner of his mouth lifted, then immediately fell again. But it was something. You'd learned to count those moments.

The knock came a little after nine. You almost didn't hear it.

The cigarette balanced lazily between your fingers as you sat on the front porch steps, wrapped in one of Eddie’s old hoodies despite the lingering warmth of September. The neighborhood was quiet. Crickets sang somewhere in the distance, and a dog barked a few houses over.

For the first time all day, your head had finally gone quiet. Then came the knock. Not on the front door, but on the porch railing. You turned your head and immediately sat up.

"Dustin?"

His left eye was swelling. There was blood on his lip. More smeared across the collar of his shirt. One knuckle looked completely split open.

"Dustin, what the hell happened?"

He shrugged the world's most Dustin Henderson shrug. "Got into a fight."

You stared. "A fight."

"Yeah."

"Dustin."

"What?"

"Dustin."

His eyes rolled. "Oh my God, please stop saying my name like that."

You stood up. "What happened?"

"Some guy."

"What guy?"

"Some asshole."

"What asshole?"

"The usual kind."

You sighed. Of course. Of course it was that. You already knew before he even said it. The bruises. The expression. The way he was trying way too hard to act normal. Somebody had said something about Eddie. Again.

You moved aside and jerked your head toward the porch steps. "Sit."

"I'm fine."

"Dustin."

"Okay, Jesus."

He sat. You disappeared inside long enough to grab a first aid kit from the bathroom before returning. The second you sat down beside him, he groaned.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"You aren't my mom."

"Thank God for that."

He snorted.

You grabbed his chin before he could protest and turned his face toward the porch light. The split lip looked nasty. Nothing broken, probably. Hopefully.

"You should see the other guy."

"Did you win?"

A small grin appeared. "Barely."

"Proud of you."

"Thank you."

"You shouldn't have done it."

"I know."

You dabbed antiseptic against his lip, and he hissed. "Ow."

"Good."

"You're mean."

"So I've been told."

The conversation faded after that. You finished patching up his knuckles while he stared out into the darkness beyond your yard.

Eventually he spoke.

"I miss him." The words came so quietly you almost missed them.

"I know."

Dustin swallowed; you could see the tension building in his jaw. The way he was trying to keep himself together. The way he'd been trying for months.

"He would've loved this."

You glanced over. "What?"

"The fight." A watery laugh escaped him. "He would've thought it was hilarious."

You smiled despite yourself. "He would've bought you ice cream afterward."

"Exactly."

"And told everyone you won way harder than you actually did."

Dustin nodded. "Exactly."

"I hope he wakes up," he whispers.

You looked down at the bandage wrapped around his hand. "So do I."

"No." His voice cracked. "I really hope he wakes up."

And there it was, the thing neither of you ever said out loud. Because hoping meant acknowledging the possibility that he might not.

The possibility sat in the corner of every room. Every conversation. Every hospital update. Every phone call. Nobody wanted to look at it, but it was always there.

Dustin wiped aggressively at his eyes, angry at the tears before they even fell.

"I just..." His shoulders shook. "I just need him to wake up."

Your chest tightened. "Dustin."

"He deserves to." The tears came anyway.

"I know."

"He deserves to see Wayne again."

"I know."

"He deserves to play another show."

"I know."

"He deserves—" His voice broke completely; the rest of the sentence never came out.

You wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer immediately. No hesitation, no questions. Because some hurts couldn't be fixed, only carried. And for a few minutes, Dustin cried.

Hard enough to let some of it out, enough to breathe again. Eventually he leaned back, red-eyed and embarrassed. You pretended not to notice, a kindness the both of you appreciated. Then his gaze landed on the cigarette still burning between your fingers.

"Oh."

"No."

"What?"

"No."

His eyes narrowed. "You know what I'm gonna ask."

"Absolutely not."

"Come on."

"No."

"One hit."

"Dustin."

"One."

"No."

"I'm basically an adult."

"You are fifteen."

"Close enough."

You laughed. "Not even remotely."

He groaned dramatically. "Please."

You stared at him, then at the bruises, then at the exhausted expression. Then back at him.

"This is a horrible idea."

"Probably."

"A terrible one."

"Definitely."

"You better not tell anybody."

His face lit up as you handed it over, immediately regretting every life decision that had led you here. Dustin took the cigarette, trying very hard to look cool. Trying even harder to look experienced. Then he inhaled.

A second later, he nearly died. The coughing started instantly, while you doubled over laughing.

"Oh, my God."

"SHUT UP."

He coughed harder. "THAT'S DISGUSTING."

"You're such an idiot."

"Why do people do that voluntarily?"

"Excellent question."

Dustin handed the cigarette back as if it had personally betrayed him. You were still laughing when the phone rang, freezing you both. You exchanged a look, then stood.

"Probably my mom."

"Probably."

The phone continued ringing. You stepped inside, crossed the living room, and picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

Static. Then, "Get to the Wheelers."

You blinked. "Steve?"

"Yep."

"Why?"

"Mandatory meeting."

"What happened?"

"Can't say."

"Steve."

"Can't say."

"Steve."

"Nope."

"What kind of mandatory meeting?"

Steve sighed. "The kind where everyone needs to be here."

“Fine.”

The second you walked into the Wheeler basement, you knew something was wrong. Not apocalypse wrong, not Upside Down wrong, just...wrong.

Everyone was there. Mike sat on the couch, arms crossed tightly over his chest. Will was beside him, staring holes into the carpet. Lucas and Max occupied the recliner, knees bouncing anxiously. Robin was pacing. Nancy stood with her arms folded. And Steve—

Steve looked like he was about to deliver the world's worst speech. The second Dustin entered behind you, the room went quiet. A sinking feeling settled into your stomach.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

Nobody answered, which was answer enough. Dustin immediately turned around. "Nope."

"Dustin—"

"Nope."

"Dude, just sit down."

"Nope."

Steve stepped forward. "Dustin."

"What?"

"Sit."

Dustin looked at the room, then at you, then back at the room. His face twisted immediately. "Oh, my God."

"Dustin—"

"You guys are serious?"

You rubbed a hand down your face. "Steve."

"We just want to talk."

The words sounded rehearsed, which meant they probably were.

Dustin barked out a laugh. "Oh, this is an intervention."

Robin immediately pointed at him. "Okay, don't call it that."

"It literally is."

"It isn't."

"It literally is."

"It isn't."

"It definitely is."

"Can everybody just sit down?" Nancy asked.

Against every instinct in his body, Dustin finally dropped onto the couch, and you sat beside him. Steve cleared his throat, then immediately looked uncomfortable.

"We're worried about you."

Dustin stared, blank-faced and silent as Steve continued. "You've been getting into fights."

No response.

"You're getting detention almost every week."

Nothing.

"You skipped three classes last Thursday."

Dustin finally spoke. "Four."

Steve blinked. "What?"

"It was four."

"Dustin."

"I'm just correcting you."

You could practically feel Mike's patience evaporating. "Dude, that's not the point."

Dustin turned toward him. "Then what's the point?"

Mike opened his mouth, hesitated, then realized the only way out was through. "The point is you're acting like an asshole."

The room immediately went still. You closed your eyes, because there it was, the exact wrong thing to say.

"Damn it, Mike."

"What?" Mike asked.

"Dude."

"What?"

Dustin laughed. "Oh, I'm acting like an asshole."

Mike groaned. "That's not what I meant."

"No, it is."

"Dustin."

"No, go ahead." He leaned back, crossing his arms. "Tell me how much I suck."

Nobody spoke, and the tension thickened. Lucas finally leaned forward. "Dustin, nobody thinks you suck."

"Then why am I here?"

"Because we're worried."

"About what?"

Lucas hesitated, and that hesitation said everything. Because nobody wanted to say it.

Nobody wanted to admit it. Nobody wanted to be the first person to acknowledge what everyone already knew.

You watched Dustin realize it in real time. Watched the anger drain away, and saw something else take its place. Something worse.

"You think I'm becoming him."

The room froze, and Mike immediately shook his head.

"No,” but it sounded weak.

"You think I'm becoming Eddie."

"Dustin—"

"No."

His voice rose. "You think I'm becoming some angry screw-up who gets into fights and skips class and ends up dead."

The word dead hit the room like a gunshot. Robin looked away. Nancy swallowed. Will stared at the floor. And Steve looked heartbroken. "Dustin."

But Dustin was already standing. "You know what's funny?"

Nobody answered.

"You all get to be worried." His voice shook. "You all get to sit here and talk about grief and healing and moving forward." The room fell silent. "But nobody asks me."

"I'm done."

"Dustin."

"No."

"Dustin."

"No."

And then he was gone, storming up the basement stairs. The door slammed hard enough to shake the room. You stood fast enough that your chair nearly tipped over.

"Seriously?"

Steve blinked. "What?"

"What?" The word came out sharp, months of anger suddenly finding somewhere to go. "What the hell was that?"

Steve's face immediately hardened. "We were trying to help."

"No."

You shook your head. "You were trying to fix him. And nice going, by the way. Real efficient work." 

By the time you got upstairs and outside, Dustin was long gone. You knew exactly where he’d be hiding, but you knew better than to provoke him when he was feeling this way. So, you leaned against the Wheelers’ house and sparked another cigarette.

You remembered how Eddie would always read you like a book; the mere sight of you with a cigarette tucked behind your lips always earned a “What’s stressing you out, sweetheart?” The thought of him tucking your hair behind your ear while he asked caused a teary-eyed laugh to escape you. 

“You okay?” Steve asked, popping around the side of the house. 

You laughed, pulling another long drag before answering, “Peachy.”

Steve shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and leaned against the siding a few feet away. The cigarette glowed softly between your fingers. The sounds of the Wheeler basement drifted faintly through the house. You already knew everybody inside was talking about Dustin.

Trying to figure out what went wrong. Trying to figure out how to fix him, like he was a broken appliance.

"You know," Steve finally said, "the intervention wasn't just for him."

You looked over. "What?"

His jaw tightened. "It was for you too."

Immediately, your expression darkened. "Excuse me?"

Steve sighed. "I knew you'd react like that."

"No, seriously." You pointed at yourself with the cigarette. "Explain."

"You've been letting him get away with everything."

You actually laughed; a short, humorless sound. "Oh, we're doing this?"

"Yeah." Steve straightened. "We are."

You stared at him, waiting.

"He's getting into fights every week."

"He misses Eddie."

"Everybody misses Eddie."

"Right, because you and him were so close."

Steve stared you down for a second, then continued.

"And every time he gets himself into trouble, you're right there covering for him."

You scoffed. "Because somebody has to."

"No." Steve shook his head. "Somebody has to be the adult."

You looked away, taking another drag, trying very hard not to lose your temper; it wasn't working.

Steve continued anyway. "He smells like cigarettes now."

Your eyes narrowed. "What?"

"You heard me."

"Steve."

"He smells like cigarettes."

Your stomach dropped, because of course he'd noticed. Everyone probably had. Dustin had only taken a couple of drags that night, but still. You knew where this was heading.

"You think I encouraged him to smoke?"

Steve gave you a look, a look that answered the question all by itself. 

You barked out a laugh. "Oh, my God."

"I'm serious."

"You think I'm corrupting Dustin?"

"I think you're both spiraling."

The cigarette trembled slightly between your fingers. You hated that he wasn't entirely wrong, and you hated it even more because he was saying it.

"That's rich."

Steve's eyebrows furrowed. "What does that mean?"

You looked at him. And suddenly all the anger you'd been carrying around for months rose to the surface; raw and ugly. 

"You wanna know what's rich?" Your voice dropped, dangerously calm.

"Maybe if you weren't trying so hard to play hero for Nancy..."

Steve immediately froze.

"...Eddie would've never had to."

The silence that followed felt radioactive. Steve's face went blank, then hardened fast.

"Don't."

"Oh, don't?" You laughed. "No, let's."

"Don't do that."

"Let's." You took another long drag, tilting your head back to exhale.

"I think the real reason why you're so pissed that Dustin is acting this way is that he's pushing you away. Which is funny, isn't it?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "While you were busy chasing tail and pushing him away, he found someone who actually cared about him and his interests. Kinda selfish to ask him to just fall back into your arms now, isn't it?"

His jaw clenched. "Eddie didn't have to play hero either."

The words hit you like a slap, causing your eyes to widen. "What?"

"He didn't."

Steve stepped closer. "He made a choice."

"He saved your life."

"He made a choice."

"He saved everyone's life."

"He made a stupid choice. And for what? The towns still fucked."

Something inside you snapped. The cigarette hit the grass; you flicked it away so hard it disappeared into the darkness.

"What did you just say?"

Steve immediately realized he'd gone too far. But it was already out there, already hanging between you. Already impossible to take back.

"He shouldn't have stayed."

Your chest tightened. 

"He shouldn't have been there."

"Steve."

"He shouldn't have gone back."

"Steve."

"He shouldn't have—"

"He did it because you couldn't!" The words exploded out of you. Steve physically recoiled. "He did it because somebody had to."

"That's bullshit."

"No." You stepped closer. "That's the truth."

His face darkened. "No."

"Eddie picked up the slack."

"Stop."

"Somebody had to save everyone."

"STOP."

The shout echoed through the quiet neighborhood, and you both froze, breathing hard. Months of grief. Months of guilt. Months of anger. All finally spilling out.

Steve ran a hand through his hair, looking absolutely exhausted.

"You wanna know what nobody says?"

Your stomach dropped because his tone had changed. This wasn't anger anymore; this was something worse, something bitter and ugly.

"Nobody says what happens if he wakes up."

You stared, not understanding. "What?"

Steve laughed, but there wasn't anything funny in it. "If he wakes up."

The words felt wrong, like hearing someone curse in church. If. If. You couldn't breathe. 

Steve looked away toward the road, toward the darkness, towards anywhere but you. "You think everything just goes back to normal?"

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears. "Steve."

"No."

"Everybody keeps talking about him waking up like it's some miracle ending."

Your hands curled into fists. "Stop talking."

"But what then?"

"Steve."

"What then?"

His eyes found yours. "And before you say it, I know he's innocent." The words came fast now, years of frustration pouring out. "But Hawkins doesn't."

You shook your head. "Stop."

"Half the town thinks he murdered people."

"Steve."

"The cops still want him."

"Steve."

"And if he comes back—"

Your stomach twisted. "Shut up."

"—if he comes back—"

"Shut up."

"—he's still gonna be the freak."

The world narrowed. "Steve."

"He's still gonna be the murderer to them."

"Stop."

"And honestly?" The next words sealed his fate. "All it's gonna do is make everyone's lives harder."

You hit him, hard. The crack echoed across the Wheeler yard. Steve stumbled backward, completely shocked, one hand immediately flying to his jaw.

You'd never hit anybody before, not like that. Not with every ounce of anger in your body behind it. But this? This felt easy.

Steve stared at you, breathing hard, and you stared right back. Eyes burning, tears finally spilling over.

Months of grief. Months of fear. Months of watching the person you loved fight for his life hundreds of miles away. Months of pretending you were okay, gone.

"Fuck you, Steve." Your voice shook. "Fuck. You."

Steve didn't say anything. Maybe because he knew he'd crossed a line. Maybe because part of him agreed. Maybe because he saw the tears. You didn't care; you just turned and walked away.

And when Steve called your name, you didn't stop.

The ride to the hospital was a long, blurry mess. After Steve’s botched attempt at an intervention, you ran home and immediatley hopped in your car. The only person you wanted to see was five hours away, and nothing was stopping you from seeing him, even if that person couldn’t talk back. 

By the time you arrived, it was well after midnight. The familiar fluorescent lights of the hospital made your stomach twist the same way they always did. You knew the route by heart now. Past the front desk. Down the long hallway. Left at the nurses' station. Third door on the right.

You hated that you knew it by heart.

The room was dark except for the glow of the monitors. The steady beeping filled the silence as you stepped inside and quietly closed the door behind you. Eddie looked exactly the same as he had the last time you were here. Same pale skin. Same curls spread against the pillow. Same stillness that made your chest ache every single time you looked at him.

"Hey, handsome." Your voice sounded rough.

You dropped your bag onto the chair and moved toward him automatically, settling into your usual routine. The nurses knew you by now. They never stopped you when you came in. Half the time they left extra blankets in the room because they knew you'd end up staying all night.

You sat down beside him and reached for the brush on the nightstand. Carefully, gently, you began working through his curls.

"You're getting ridiculous, you know that?" you murmured. "I swear your hair is longer than mine now."

The corners of your mouth twitched. "You'd probably love that."

Once his curls were untangled, you reached for the small cassette player you'd practically worn out over the past few months. The tape clicked softly as it started playing. His mixtape, the one he'd made for you. The one you'd listened to so many times that every crackle and skip was memorized.

The music filled the room quietly. For a moment, you just listened. Then your eyes burned again. Because of course they did.

"You remember when you gave me this?" you asked softly. "You spent three days pretending it wasn't a gift because you were nervous."

A laugh escaped you. "You literally left it in my locker and acted shocked when I found it."

Your hand found his; cold and still.

"You were so bad at flirting." You stared down at your intertwined fingers.

"You know, I was thinking about that day at Lover's Lake. The one where you nearly tipped the boat because you were trying to impress me."

A small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. "You swore you knew what you were doing."

You laughed through your nose. "You absolutely did not know what you were doing."

The memory lingered for a second before fading. And suddenly the smile disappeared, just like it always did. Because every good memory ended the same way now. With the realization that it was a memory. Not something you'd get to experience again. At least not yet.

Your throat tightened. "Dustin's having a rough time."

Your voice dropped. "He got into another fight."

You rubbed your thumb across the back of Eddie's hand. "I think he misses you more than he knows how to admit."

The tears came before you could stop them. "He acts tough about it. Tries to be angry instead of sad."

You swallowed. "Guess he learned that from us."

Your gaze dropped to the floor. The words started spilling out before you could stop them, like they always did when it was just the two of you, him awake or not. 

"Everybody's falling apart, Eds."

Your voice cracked.

"Mike and Lucas keep snapping at each other. Robin's pretending she's okay. Nancy barely sleeps. Wayne calls every week asking if there's any change and I never know what to tell him."

Your shoulders slumped. "And Dustin..." You shook your head. "Dustin's breaking my heart."

The room remained silent, only the music answered. Only the machines. Only the steady reminder that he was still here. Still breathing. Still fighting.

You wiped angrily at your eyes. "I'm trying."

Another tear slipped down your cheek. "I'm really trying."

"I keep telling myself if I can just hold everybody together a little longer, you'll wake up, and everything will be okay."

You laughed. The sound was pathetic. "I know that's stupid."

Your eyes closed. "Some days I don't even feel like me anymore."

The tears came harder now. Months of grief finally finding somewhere to go.

"I punched Steve." A watery laugh escaped you. "There. Thought you'd appreciate that."

You sniffled. "He said some really awful stuff."

Your voice trembled. "So I punched him."

Another laugh, another sob. "Honestly, you'd probably be proud."

You covered your face. The ugly crying started then, the kind nobody ever talks about. The kind that leaves your chest aching, your nose running, and your entire body shaking. You stared down at the floor. At your shoes. At anything except him. Because looking at him hurt too much.

"I miss you." The words came out broken. "I miss you so much."

You squeezed your eyes shut. The tears wouldn't stop. "I need you."

Your shoulders shook. "Please wake up."

Nothing. Just silence. Just the tape playing softly. Just another night. Just another conversation that would never be answered. You dropped your head, staring at the floor. Crying too hard to even wipe your face anymore.

Then, a rasp. Tiny, barely audible. Your brow furrowed, and you froze. The room suddenly felt too quiet. Another sound, a rough inhale.

And then, "Hey..."

Your head snapped upward and every muscle in your body locked. For one horrible second, you thought you imagined it. Thought exhaustion had finally gotten to you. But then you saw it. His eyes. Open. Heavy. Groggy. Confused. But open.

Your breath caught violently in your throat. Neither of you moved. Neither of you breathed. Eddie blinked slowly. His gaze wandered around the room before finally settling on you. Even exhausted. Even weak. Even after everything, he recognized you immediately.

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Hey, pretty girl."

A sob escaped you; fresh tears immediately spilled down your face.

Eddie frowned weakly, or at least attempted to. His voice came out rough and scratchy from disuse.

"No crying."

You laughed and cried at the same time, completely unable to stop either. His eyes fluttered slightly, still fighting to stay open.

But the smile remained. "No crying, sweetheart."

The next hour felt less like reality, and more like some strange dream you were terrified of waking up from. You cried, a lot. Eddie was awake for maybe thirty seconds before you burst into tears all over again, which earned you a weak, sleepy laugh and a very groggy, "Jesus Christ, sweetheart."

Then you cried harder. Then a nurse came running in because your hysterical sobbing had apparently convinced half the floor that somebody was dying. Then doctors appeared. Then more nurses. Then you got shoved into the hallway while they checked everything.

And the entire time, Eddie never took his eyes off you, like he was afraid if he blinked you'd disappear. The second a doctor finally confirmed that yes, Eddie was awake, yes, he was responding appropriately, and yes, this wasn't some bizarre fluke, your hands immediately found the nearest phone.

The first call was Wayne. You barely got through the words. "He's awake."

The line went silent, then you heard Wayne start crying.

The second call was Dustin. You didn't even bother with hello. "Get in the car."

"What?"

"Get in the car."

"Why?"

"Dustin."

A pause. Then, "...why are you crying?"

You laughed, the first genuine laugh you'd had in months. "Just get in the damn car."

Twenty minutes later, every person you knew seemed to be squeezing into a hospital room designed for about three people.

Robin was crying. Nancy was crying. Wayne was definitely crying. Lucas looked like he was trying not to cry. Mike had completely given up trying not to cry. Will was standing quietly in the corner looking like he might pass out from relief.

And Dustin? Dustin hadn't left Eddie's side once. Not for a second. Not even when nurses politely suggested giving the patient some room, especially not then. You stood near the back of the room watching as Dustin practically sat on the edge of the hospital bed.

"You're an asshole."

Eddie blinked slowly. "What?"

"You're an asshole."

A weak smile pulled at Eddie's lips. "Good morning to you too."

Dustin's face immediately crumpled. "You suck."

"Dustin—"

"You suck."

Eddie's expression softened immediately, months of missed conversations suddenly sitting between them. "I know."

Dustin looked away. His eyes were already watering again. "You weren't supposed to do that."

The room went silent. Nobody interrupted, and nobody moved. Because this wasn't for them; it never was.

Eddie swallowed. "You okay, Henderson?"

Dustin laughed, A broken sound. "No."

Eddie nodded slowly. "Yeah."

Then Dustin did something that would've mortified him under normal circumstances. He hugged him, immediately and without warning. Without caring who saw, practically throwing himself against Eddie's side. You quietly slipped from the room before anyone noticed. Or at least before anyone besides Steve noticed.

The hospital coffee tasted exactly how hospital coffee always tasted. Like disappointment. You stood beside the vending machine, staring out the window while the paper cup warmed your hands.

The sunrise was beginning to creep over the horizon. Everything felt strange. Good, but strange. You still hadn't quite convinced yourself this was real. Footsteps approached; you didn't need to look up to know whose they belonged to. 

"Hey, Harrington."

"Hey." Steve stopped beside you. "You hit really hard."

You barked out a laugh, and Steve rubbed his jaw dramatically. "I'm serious."

"Oh my God."

"I think you rearranged my face."

"I barely hit you."

Steve stared. "Nancy literally begged to take me to the hospital. Or the dentist."

You snorted into your coffee. "That's embarrassing."

"It is."

A small smile appeared on his face, the first you'd seen in a while. Then it disappeared.

"Hey."

You looked over; Steve shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'm sorry. For what I said."

The exhaustion in his voice sounded genuine. "I shouldn't have said it."

You stared down into your coffee.

"No." You swallowed. "You shouldn't have."

Steve nodded. "For the record."

You glanced over as Steve pointed toward the room. "If Munson finds out you broke my face, I'm telling him it was self-defense."

You laughed despite yourself. "You literally outweigh me by fifty pounds."

"And?"

"I'll hit you again."

“I’m sure you would.

Eventually the two of you made your way back down the hallway. The closer you got to the room, the louder the voices became. Robin. Dustin. Wayne. Mike. Everybody talking over each other, just like old times.

The second you stepped inside, Eddie's attention immediately snapped toward the door. Still pale. Still exhausted. Still looking like he'd been through hell. But awake.

A smile tugged at his lips when he saw you, then his eyes drifted toward Steve. His brow furrowed immediately. "Whoa."

The room quieted, and Steve froze. Eddie squinted, looking genuinely concerned. "Harrington."

Steve sighed. "No."

"What happened to your face?"

Steve pointed directly at you. "Ask your girlfriend."

A couple of weeks passed.

Not enough time to undo everything that had happened. Not enough time to heal months of fear and grief and nightmares that still woke everyone up in the middle of the night.

But enough for things to start feeling... possible again.

The doctors were cautiously optimistic. Eddie was still weaker than he'd ever admit out loud, still attending physical therapy, still complaining every single time someone reminded him to take it easy, but he was alive. Awake. Walking. Talking. Smiling.

Complaining. Which, according to Wayne, was the best sign of recovery they could've asked for.

The situation with Hawkins, however, was a little more complicated.

You'd gone straight to Hopper. He hadn't even let you finish your sentence before pinching the bridge of his nose and muttering, "Kid, I'm already working on it."

The whole story had been laid out in front of him. Owens had done what he could behind the scenes, Hopper had done the rest, and somewhere between paperwork, witness statements that would never see the light of day, and a whole lot of pulling strings that probably weren't entirely legal, the investigation into Eddie Munson quietly lost steam.

No dramatic public apology, no newspaper retracting everything they'd said, no magical moment where Hawkins suddenly realized they'd been wrong.

Just the charges disappearing. The warrants disappearing. His name disappearing from conversations. It wasn't justice, but it was enough.

Enough that Eddie could come home. Enough that he could enroll again. Enough that, after everything, he was finally going to graduate.

The morning he walked through the front doors of Hawkins High, the entire Party had insisted on escorting him in like he was some kind of celebrity. Dustin practically refused to leave Eddie's side for the entire day.

Eddie looked around the hallway with that same crooked grin you'd fallen in love with and whispered, "I still hate this place."

You laughed so hard you had to grab onto his arm. Months ago, you'd convinced yourself you'd never hear his voice again. Now he was complaining about school. Life was weird, wonderfully weird.

By the end of October, he'd started driving again. By November, he'd started playing guitar again.

The first time he picked it up, he'd only made it through half a song before quietly setting it back down, frustrated with how stiff his fingers felt.

You hadn't said a word. You'd just sat beside him, rested your head on his shoulder, taken his hand.

He looked at you for a long time before muttering, "You'll tell me if I suck now, right?"

You smiled. "I always did."

He rolled his eyes. "Brutal."

"You love me."

"I do." Then, after a dramatic pause, "But you're brutal."

Eventually the leaves started changing. The air turned cold enough that Eddie started stealing your jackets instead of the other way around.

One afternoon the two of you drove with no destination in mind until you ended up parked beside an open field just outside town. The grass had gone golden, the sky stretching endlessly overhead.

No monsters. No sirens. No hospitals. No machines. Just silence.

You spread out an old blanket and laid down first, staring up at the clouds. A second later, Eddie flopped down beside you with an exaggerated groan before immediately rolling over and pulling you against him.

You pressed your face against his chest, just because you could. His fingers absentmindedly combed through your hair.

Neither of you spoke for a while; you didn't have to. Eventually, he broke the silence, because of course he would.

"You know..."

"Hm?"

"I don't remember everything."

You tilted your head just enough to look at him. "What do you remember?"

He thought about it. "Bits."

"The bats."

You nodded.

"Wayne."

Another nod.

"I remember you crying."

You laughed quietly. "That doesn't narrow it down much."

"It really doesn't."

He smiled, then his expression softened. "I remember hearing your voice."

Your chest tightened. "When?"

"I don't know." His thumb brushed gently across your cheek. "It felt like every day."

You swallowed hard. "I talked a lot."

"I know."

"I told you everything."

"I know."

"I talked about Dustin."

"I know."

"I complained about Steve."

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I definitely know."

Your eyes stung. "I played your mixtape until I think I almost broke it."

His smile only grew. "I know that too."

You stared at him, confused.

"I heard you."

The world seemed to stop. "What?"

His voice was barely above a whisper. "I couldn't move."

"I couldn't answer." His own eyes had started to water now. "But I heard you."

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it.

"I heard every story."

Another.

"I heard you tell me about Dustin getting into fights."

Another.

"I heard you complain about hospital coffee."

You laughed through your tears, he reached up and brushed them away with his thumb.

"And..." His own voice cracked. "I heard you tell me you weren't giving up on me."

You couldn't speak; your throat had closed completely. So you just nodded a tiny, shaky nod.

Eddie smiled, small and tender. "You didn't."

"No."

"You could've."

"I wasn't going to."

"You should've."

"I wasn't going to."

Silence settled between you again. Then you leaned forward until your forehead rested against his.

"I would've sat in that hospital room for another ten years if I had to."

He shut his eyes, and a tear escaped anyway. "I know."

"I would've waited twenty."

"I know."

"I would've waited my whole life."

His breathing hitched.

You smiled through your own tears. "There wasn't really another option."

He looked at you for a long moment before leaning in and kissing you. Slowly, with no urgency and no desperation. Just gentle, soft enough that it felt more like a promise than a kiss.

When he pulled away, his forehead stayed against yours. "I love you."

You smiled. "I know."

He immediately frowned. "That's it?"

You laughed. "I love you too."

"Better."

Another kiss. Then another. One pressed against your forehead. Another against your temple. One against the tip of your nose just because he knew it made you laugh.

The sun continued sinking lower across the field.

Wrapped up in his arms, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, you realized this was something that would've seemed impossible a few months ago.

Who cutting onions!?!?!?!

I'm sorry, I had to write this, though. I had that fight scene with Steve in my brain for a while.

hope you all enjoyed :')

taglist:

@lnnn1n @youngbrokefab @ludachrissy @sisteramycatherine @izzycstairs @britttzy267 @eddiemunsonsimpp @powerpuffedbjtch @sariahs-stuff @cciessuzi @lilyquinnmunson @julxsxx @kozume-ko @obsessed-eddie @doomdabss @leelei1980 @hexqueensupreme @ches-86 @plaidamoosette @bobiverses @meadows-of-asphodel @whitakerstorm @brrrainst3w @serendipdipity01 @hypersexytoptobottom @m-art000 @walleloveseve @camsmunson101 @flavorfullsteve @peachpuffs25 @micheledawn1975 @whitakerstorm @cciessuzi @blackqueenie-18 @ggdawgg @velvetdimond @enne02  @ludachrissy @izzycstairs

@abbysleftbicepp @britttzy267 @ssculker @eddiemunsonsimpp @powerpuffedbjtch

If anyone had asked Eddie Munson to describe you, his answer would've been embarrassingly simple: quiet, pretty, funny when you actually spoke, and an absolute menace on rhythm guitar.

You'd been Gareth's best friend since elementary school, which automatically made you part of the group years before Eddie ever showed up. Somewhere between band practice in Gareth's garage and late-night drives to nowhere with cheap gas station snacks, you'd just... become one of them.

You usually sat with your combat boots kicked up on an amp, cigarette hanging lazily between your fingers while Jeff and Gareth argued over chords and Eddie rambled about whatever had caught his attention that week.

Sometimes horror movies. Sometimes a new Metallica album. Sometimes some insane campaign he'd spent six straight hours writing instead of doing homework.

You'd just listen, smile every now and then. Throw in the occasional dry comment that made everyone laugh harder than anything else said that evening. Then go back to quietly restringing your guitar.

As far as Eddie knew, that was the extent of it. He knew you liked metal. He knew you preferred your coffee black. He knew you kept a denim jacket covered in patches draped over the back of Gareth's couch because you were over there so often.

He knew you could play Iron Maiden riffs cleaner than half the guys he'd met. He knew he had the most pathetic schoolboy crush on you imaginable. He also knew Gareth would never let him live it down if he acted on it.

So he didn't.

He flirted just enough that everyone thought that's simply how Eddie talked to girls. He'd throw you a grin. Call you sweetheart. Offer you the first beer. Let your shoulder bump against his when everyone piled onto the couch.

Nothing serious, nothing obvious. Nothing that would risk screwing up something that already worked. Because having you around was better than making things awkward and losing you altogether.

You, meanwhile, had somehow convinced everyone you had absolutely zero hobbies beyond music, which was exactly how you preferred it.

Nobody knew about the stack of fantasy novels hidden underneath your bed. Nobody knew about the little notebook full of campaign ideas. Nobody knew about the afternoons you'd spent reading through Gareth's Player's Handbook after he'd accidentally left it at your house when you were fifteen. And absolutely nobody knew that after borrowing it once, you'd gone out and bought your own.

Then another, and then another. By now you owned enough books that your bookshelf looked suspiciously like a tiny game shop. Not because you actually played; you'd never had the courage.

You just liked learning about it. The stories. The worlds. The maps. The mythology. You found it fascinating. But somewhere along the line, quietly reading had turned into quietly memorizing.

Which was why, every time Hellfire met in the theatre room after school, you intentionally sat just far enough away that you couldn't hear very well.

Because if you could hear...You'd start correcting people, and nobody likes that person. So you kept your mouth shut. It worked for months.

Until one rainy Thursday when band practice got canceled because Gareth's parents wanted the garage cleaned out, leaving the entire group with nowhere to be. Hellfire happened to be meeting.

"You should just stay," Dustin insisted.

"You literally sit here anyway."

"I'm not playing."

"You don't have to."

Jeff chimed in from somewhere behind him. "Yeah, just hang out."

You looked toward Gareth; he shrugged, "Might as well."

So you settled into one of the empty chairs against the wall with a comic book you'd barely read a page of while Eddie started spinning another one of his ridiculously elaborate campaigns.

You weren't trying to pay attention; you really weren't. But you couldn't help overhearing bits and pieces. Names you recognized. Places you recognized. Monsters you recognized. And honestly? He was really good.

Animated. Creative. Completely invested. Watching him practically stand on top of the fake throne to voice an evil wizard was charming enough that you forgot to hide your smile.

Then it happened. "So naturally," Eddie declared dramatically, "the basilisk's gaze instantly petrifies all three of you permanently—"

You physically looked up, and your eyebrows pulled together, lips parting. No. No, no, no.

You looked back down at your comic. You could ignore it. You should ignore it. Dustin was already reacting. Mike was planning around it. Lucas looked mildly horrified.

You squeezed your eyes shut. Stay quiet. Stay quiet. Stay—

"...Actually..." The word slipped out before you could stop it.

Every single head turned toward you. You immediately wished the floor would open beneath your chair.

Eddie blinked. "Hm?"

You stared at your comic. "...Nothing."

He tilted his head. "No, c'mon."

You sighed through your nose. "...A basilisk's gaze doesn't permanently petrify you."

Silence. "It can," Eddie answered carefully.

"It can…but not instantly."

You paused, rethinking your life’s choices, but decided to follow through. "It requires you to fail the saving throw."

Dustin slowly looked between both of you like he was watching a tennis match.

Eddie folded his arms. "...Okay."

You already hated this.

"And how exactly do you know that?"

You mumbled the answer.

"What was that?"

"...Monster Manual."

"What?"

You looked up reluctantly. "The Monster Manual."

He stared, and you stared back.

"...Page seventy-three."

Absolute silence. Jeff's jaw slowly fell open. Gareth looked at you, a mix of suspicion and pride forming. "...Since when?"

You rubbed the back of your neck. "I don't know."

"You own a Monster Manual?"

"...Yeah."

Eddie's voice got quieter. "...Anything else?"

You made the mistake of answering honestly. "I've got most of them."

He blinked. "Most... of them."

"The books."

"The books."

"Yeah."

He looked genuinely speechless. Then, very carefully, "...Name five schools of magic."

You frowned. "There are eight."

His eyes got wider.

Without thinking, you started listing them. "Abjuration, Conjuration, Divination, Enchantment, Evocation, Illusion, Necromancy, Transmutation."

By the time you finished, Eddie was staring at you with an expression somewhere between existential crisis and complete infatuation.

He looked over at Gareth, looked back at you, then looked at Gareth again.

"You've been hiding this from me?"

You blinked. "I didn't think anybody cared."

"Cared?"

He sounded personally offended. "Cared?"

You shrugged helplessly. "I don't actually play."

"So?"

"I just read them."

"So?"

"I like lore."

"So?"

"I didn't think it mattered."

Eddie dragged both hands down his face, then looked at you again with something that almost looked pained. "I have spent three years desperately searching for people who voluntarily read sourcebooks."

You looked confused. "...Really?"

"And Gareth has apparently been gatekeeping the coolest girl in Hawkins."

Gareth immediately defended himself. "I DIDN'T KNOW EITHER."

Eddie looked back at you. Then, with complete sincerity, "Please join Hellfire."

You laughed.

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

"No, seriously." He leaned across the table. "I am literally begging you."

You couldn't help smiling. He looked completely smitten, like something had clicked into place. Like the cute girl he'd been trying not to flirt with too much had suddenly started speaking his favorite language.

And judging by the ridiculous grin spreading across his face, you had absolutely no idea what you'd just done to him.

It started small: a little less space between you on Gareth's couch. Conversations that accidentally stretched long after everyone else had wandered into another room. The realization that if Eddie had a campaign idea, your opinion was one of the first he wanted.

At some point, it became completely normal for Gareth to call your house and ask if he could come over to work on music, only to show up twenty minutes later with Eddie in tow and an armful of graph paper, dice, and notebooks.

Band practice would last an hour; campaign brainstorming would last four.

You'd all end up around your bedroom floor or the dining room table with pencils scattered everywhere, Eddie pacing barefoot because he'd inevitably kicked his shoes off halfway through explaining something.

"No, okay, listen," he'd insist, waving his hands around wildly. "Imagine the town thinks they're cursed because people keep disappearing into the woods."

You'd be scribbling notes already. "They're not disappearing."

He'd stop. "No?"

"They're being taken."

"By what?"

You'd chew on your pencil for a second. "They think it's a monster."

"But?"

"It's not."

He'd grin. "But?"

"It's a druid."

His eyebrows would shoot up. "Oh?"

"They're taking people because something older is waking up underneath the forest and they're trying to keep them away from it."

"That's why you're my favorite."

Gareth, without missing a beat, would throw a crumpled piece of notebook paper at him. "You are so unbelievable."

"What?"

"You don't even hear yourself."

"Hear what?"

"'That's why you're my favorite.'" He mocked. 

Eddie would look genuinely confused. "I meant campaign-wise."

"Mhm."

"I did."

"Mhm."

Jeff would snort from wherever he happened to be sitting. You'd duck your head to hide a smile while pretending to be very invested in your notes.

Eventually Eddie would wander over anyway, leaning over your shoulder to look at whatever you'd been writing. His hair would brush yours.

His hands would be slightly closer to yours against the table. He'd smell faintly like cigarettes and weed and that cologne you complimented one time, and he refused to wear a different one since. 

"Holy shit."

You'd glance up. "What?"

"This is so much better than what I had."

He'd snatch your notebook. "Eddie."

"Nope."

"Eddie."

"This is mine now."

"You can't just steal my ideas."

"I absolutely can."

He'd flip another page. "You drew maps?"

You'd immediately reach for the notebook. "No."

He'd lift it over his head. "You drew maps."

"Eddie."

"You color-coded the districts."

"Eddie."

"You made economic systems."

"Oh my god, give it back."

He'd be laughing too hard to defend himself as you reached for it, nearly climbing over him in the process. Somewhere behind you, Gareth would let out the most exhausted sigh known to mankind.

"Jesus Christ."

Neither of you would even notice. You'd finally grab the notebook back, smoothing out the bent page with exaggerated offense.

"You suck."

"I know."

"You bent it."

"I'll buy you another."

"I don't want another."

"I'll buy you five."

"They won't have my notes."

He'd soften immediately. "...Good point."

Then, almost sheepishly, "I'm sorry."

You'd just smile. "It's okay."

And somehow that stupid little interaction would live in his head for days afterward.

The problem was that spending more time around Eddie wasn't making your crush go away; it was making it catastrophically worse.

It was one thing to think he was attractive from across Gareth's garage while he played guitar. It was another thing entirely to watch him get excited over stories.

To watch him grin when you challenged one of his ideas and immediately start building on yours instead. To watch him get genuinely delighted when you beat him to a fantasy reference. He really listened to you. Like, actually. 

Half your conversations started with him saying, "Wait, what do you think?"

Nobody had ever asked you that so often before. It made your chest hurt a little. Then there were the little things.

He always sat next to you. Always offered you the first slice of pizza. Always saved you the root beer because he'd noticed it was your favorite after seeing you pick it out exactly twice.

One afternoon, he disappeared for ten minutes while everyone argued over music. When he came back, he tossed something into your lap. You looked down: a little pewter dragon pin.  Nothing fancy, probably from the flea market. Its wing was chipped, and one eye had faded paint.

"I saw it and thought of you."

Your heart nearly stopped. "It's cool."

"I figured you'd put it on your jacket."

You smiled so hard your cheeks hurt. "I will."

He looked suspiciously pleased with himself. Across the room, Gareth watched the exchange happen in complete silence before rubbing both hands over his face.

Jeff noticed. "What?"

Gareth looked at him. "I can't do this anymore."

"Do what?"

He pointed between the two of you. "This."

Jeff looked over. "...They're talking."

"They're in love."

"They're discussing dragons."

"They're discussing dragons in love."

Jeff started laughing, then Gareth stood up dramatically. "Eddie."

"Hm?"

"You know you can just ask her out."

The room went completely still. Eddie looked genuinely horrified. "What?"

"You heard me."

"No?"

"Ask her out."

He immediately looked at you, then away again so quickly it almost gave you whiplash. "I am not asking her out."

"And why not?"

"Because she's your best friend."

"So?"

"What if she says no?"

You looked down at your hands, and Gareth threw both arms into the air. "And what if she says yes?"

Eddie looked personally offended by the suggestion. "Don't mess with me."

"I'm literally not."

Jeff had gone completely silent, clearly realizing something much larger was unfolding.

Gareth pointed at you now. "And you."

Your head snapped up.

"When are you gonna tell him?"

You nearly choked. "Tell him what?"

He stared. "Oh, don't even."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You look at him like he personally invented the damn game himself."

Your face instantly went hot. "I absolutely do not."

"You absolutely do."

"I don't."

"You do."

"I don't."

"You literally smile every time he walks into a room."

"I smile at everyone."

"You do not smile at Jeff."

Jeff looked mildly offended. "Hey!"

You buried your face in your hands. "This is awful."

Gareth groaned loud enough to shake the walls. "I swear to God, one of you has got to grow a spine."

Eddie looked over at you. You peeked at him through your fingers. The second your eyes met, both of you immediately looked somewhere else.

Gareth stood there for another few seconds before muttering to himself and grabbing his jacket. "I'm going outside."

Jeff followed. "Me too."

The door shut behind them. You were still looking at the floor while Eddie was rubbing the back of his neck.

Finally, after what felt like forever, he spoke. "...For what it's worth..."

You looked up.

"...I don't think he's completely wrong."

Your stomach did a complete somersault. He looked terrified; you probably looked exactly the same. Then, somehow, despite both of you being objectively hopeless at this sort of thing...

You both started laughing. The nervous, embarrassed kind that comes out when there's nothing else left to do.

"So..."

"So."

Then both of you started talking at exactly the same time.

"I'm sor—"

"I didn't mea—"

You stopped, he stopped, and you both laughed again. Eddie shook his head, looking down at the floor with the kind of smile that only appeared when he was genuinely embarrassed.

"I've fought people with knives, and somehow this is scarier."

That made you smile. "I don't think Gareth was supposed to say all that."

"He definitely wasn't."

"He looked like he was gonna explode."

"He has looked like that for weeks."

Your eyebrows pulled together. "Weeks?"

Eddie looked up, immediately realizing he'd said too much. "...Maybe."

You studied him for a second. "You knew?"

He let out a long sigh. "I knew he thought something."

"And?"

"And I kept telling him he was making it up."

"You did?"

"Mhm."

"And was he?"

He looked at you for a long moment before quietly admitting, "...No."

Your heart gave one heavy, impossible thud. He looked back down almost immediately.

"I just figured..." he started, picking at one of the rings on his fingers. "I don't know."

"You can tell me."

He laughed softly to himself. "I figured I was reading into things because I wanted to."

He shrugged. "You laugh at my jokes."

"They're funny."

"You always sit next to me."

"So do you."

"You remember everything I tell you."

"So do you."

"You still have that stupid dragon pin."

You instinctively looked down at your jacket hanging over the chair across the room. It was still there, pinned right over your heart.

You looked back at him. "...Of course I do."

His ears turned pink as he smiled to himself. "I kept thinking maybe you were just nice."

"And I kept thinking you flirted with everybody."

"I do flirt with everybody."

"I know."

"But not like that."

You looked at him. He was still staring at the floor. Quietly, almost too quietly to hear, he added, "Not like you."

He took another breath. "I didn't want to make things weird."

"I didn't either."

"I didn't want Gareth to think I was making band practice complicated."

"I didn't either."

"I didn't want to screw up the friend group."

"I didn't either."

That earned another little laugh from both of you. It was almost ridiculous, months of overthinking condensed into a handful of matching sentences.

He shifted a little closer on the couch. "...Can I ask you something?"

You nodded, but he hesitated anyway. "If Gareth comes back in here and starts laughing at me, I'm moving to Canada."

You couldn't help smiling. "I don't think you’d make it that far."

"I've got enough gas money to reach Ohio."

"Fair."

Then he just blurted it out. "...Would you maybe wanna go on a date with me?"

No dramatic speech, no rehearsed line, no confidence. Just Eddie, visibly terrified, trying to act like his entire future wasn't hanging on your answer.

Then your mouth betrayed you before your brain could. "...I thought you'd never ask."

His eyes got impossibly wide. "...Really?"

You laughed. "Eddie."

"No, seriously."

"I'm serious."

"You mean yes?"

"I mean yes."

"You actually mean yes?"

"I do."

He blinked twice. Then covered his face with both hands. "Oh, my God."

You could hear him laughing behind them. "Oh, my God."

He dragged his hands down slowly, looking somewhere between relieved and completely stunned. "I had a whole backup speech."

"You did?"

"It was terrible."

"I would've liked to hear it."

"No chance."

"Please?"

"It somehow involved dragons."

You laughed so hard your head dropped forward. "I absolutely believe that."

He looked at you for another second before another thought visibly crossed his mind. "Oh."

"What?"

"So..." He scratched at the back of his neck again. "This is kind of embarrassing."

"What is?"

"I didn't think you'd actually say yes."

"So you don't have a date planned."

"...Not exactly."

You bit back a smile.

"I had approximately seventy-three fantasies and zero logistics."

"I appreciate the honesty."

He thought for a second, then suddenly snapped his fingers. "Wait."

"What?"

"The open-air market."

"The one over by Main?"

"Yeah,” he smiled. "My uncle goes every few weeks."

"I've never actually been."

"You haven't?"

You shook your head. 

"They've got old records and books and weird antiques and flea market junk and people selling handmade jewelry and all kinds of random stuff."

He was getting animated now, talking with his hands the way he always did when he got excited. "And this old guy that always has boxes of fantasy novels for like fifty cents."

Your eyebrows lifted. "Oh?"

"And another booth with vintage band shirts."

"Oh?"

"And there's usually a food truck with cider donuts."

"...Eddie."

"What?"

"I already said yes."

"I know."

"I'm just making my case."

"You don't have to."

He grinned. "So..." His voice softened. "Tomorrow morning?"

You smiled. "I'd like that."

"You would?"

"I would."

"What time?"

"Whenever you pick me up."

His grin somehow grew even bigger. "Nine?"

"Nine."

For another second, neither of you moved, just smiled at each other like two complete idiots. Then the front door flew open. Gareth walked in carrying two sodas, took one look at the way you were looking at each other, and immediately stopped.

His eyes narrowed. "...No."

Neither of you said anything. He looked at Eddie, he looked at you, and then he looked back at Eddie once more.  "...No."

Jeff stepped around him. "What?"

Gareth pointed dramatically. "They're smiling."

Jeff looked. "...Yeah?"

"The weird smiling."

"They smile."

"No."

He pointed harder. "The smile."

Jeff watched for another second, then slowly grinned. "...Oh."

Gareth closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "...Did one of you finally grow a spine?"

Eddie looked over with a smile he couldn't suppress if he tried. "...Maybe."

Gareth stood perfectly still, then set both sodas on the coffee table. Then walked over and hugged you. Then hugged Eddie.

Then immediately pushed him away again. "If you break her heart, I'll kill you."

Eddie nodded solemnly. "Fair."

Gareth looked at you. "If you break his heart, I'll kill you too."

You nodded just as seriously. "Also fair."

He looked between the two of you one last time before throwing both hands into the air. "Jesus Christ."

Jeff laughed. "What?"

"I HAVE BEEN WATCHING THIS FOR SIX MONTHS."

He turned toward the ceiling. "THANK YOU."

And somewhere beside him, Eddie's hand quietly found yours for the very first time. He didn't make a joke. Didn't look at you. Didn't say anything at all.

He just laced his fingers with yours like he'd been wanting to for a very, very long time. You squeezed once, and he squeezed back.

The next morning, you were standing on your front porch at exactly 8:58 when you heard the familiar rattle of Eddie's van coming down the street. Not that you'd been waiting by the window or anything…definitely not.

The van pulled into the driveway, and before it had even fully stopped, you could see Eddie leaning across the passenger seat.

The door swung open. "Good morning."

You laughed. "It's nine in the morning."

"And?"

"You look entirely too excited."

He grinned. "I got a date."

Your stomach immediately betrayed you. The stupid thing was that you'd known Eddie for years now. You'd spent countless afternoons with him. Late-night band practices. Movie marathons. Campaign planning sessions.

Yet somehow, the word "date" made everything feel different.

You climbed into the passenger seat and immediately noticed the stack of cassette tapes scattered between the seats. "You cleaned."

"I did not."

"You absolutely did."

"I moved things."

"Eddie."

"The important garbage is still here."

Neither of you had to struggle for conversation. You talked about music, about the campaign you'd been helping him write. About the ridiculous argument Jeff and Dustin had gotten into over whether dragons or vampires were cooler. By the time the market came into view, you'd spent half the drive laughing. 

The open-air market occupied an old fairground lot just outside town. Rows of tents stretched across the grass. People wandered between booths carrying coffee cups and paper bags. Music drifted through the air from somewhere. The entire place smelled like baked goods, fresh grass, and sunlight.

"This is cute."

Eddie looked weirdly pleased by your approval. "Right?"

You followed him through the aisles, taking your time. Every booth seemed to have something different. Old records. Handmade jewelry. Vintage books. Antiques. Hand-painted signs. One tent was entirely dedicated to old movie posters. Another sold homemade candles.

A woman was knitting behind a table full of scarves despite the weather being far too warm for scarves.

"This place is amazing."

"I know."

"You come here often?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes with Wayne."

You stopped at a table full of records while Eddie flipped through another crate beside you. Every couple of seconds, one of you would hold something up.

"What about this?"

"No."

"This?"

"Absolutely not."

"This?"

"Now we're talking."

It felt easy, like everything else did with him. Eventually you reached a booth covered in old band shirts hanging from racks.

Your eyes immediately lit up. "Oh, my God."

You were already digging through them. Most were faded, some had holes, and a few were clearly older than both of you combined.

You found a Black Sabbath shirt and held it up. "Eddie."

His eyes widened. "No way."

"It's my size."

"That's illegal."

You immediately bought it. He found a faded Dio shirt twenty minutes later and looked just as excited.

"You are absolutely getting that."

"I don't know."

"Eddie."

"It's kinda expensive."

It was eight dollars. You stared. "Eddie."

"Okay, when you say it like that."

You rolled your eyes. He bought the shirt, and you continued wandering. At some point, your shoulder started brushing his when you walked. 

Then you found the books, a whole tent full of them. Secondhand fantasy novels stacked in crooked towers. Leather-bound collections. Old paperbacks. Forgotten adventures.

You immediately disappeared inside. Eddie smiled before you were even fully gone. Of course this would be your favorite booth. He watched you crouch beside a stack, completely absorbed within seconds.

Your fingers carefully turned pages. Your eyes scanned titles. You smiled when you found something interesting. And God, maybe it was pathetic. But he could've stood there all day watching you be happy.

Instead, he wandered a few booths down, and that's when he saw the flowers. A little elderly woman sat beneath a striped canopy surrounded by buckets overflowing with blooms. Sunflowers. Wildflowers. Daisies. Lavender. Tiny pink roses. The entire booth looked like something out of a storybook.

Eddie wasn't really a flower guy, at least he hadn't been. But then he spotted a small bouquet sitting in a glass jar. Nothing fancy, just a handful of wildflowers tied together with twine. It looked like something someone had picked during a walk.

For some reason, it immediately reminded him of you. The woman caught him staring.

"Got a girl?"

Eddie immediately looked away. "No."

She smiled knowingly. Then glanced toward the book tent where you stood.

"Honey."

He groaned.

The woman laughed. "That one's cute."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah."

"You should buy her flowers."

"What if she thinks it's weird?"

The woman gave him a look. "Son."

"Yeah?"

"She's here with you at the crack ass of dawn, isn’t she?"

Fair point.

Five minutes later, he was walking back with the bouquet hidden awkwardly behind his back. You still hadn't noticed him. You were standing in front of a shelf with three books pressed against your chest, completely focused.

"Find anything good?"

You looked up immediately. "Look."

You handed him one. Then another. Then another. By the end of your explanation, you were smiling so hard that he almost forgot what he'd been doing. 

"Oh."

"What?"

"I got you something."

Your eyebrows lifted. "You did?"

He suddenly felt sixteen years old. "Yeah."

Then he awkwardly revealed the bouquet, and immediately regretted every decision he'd ever made.

"I saw them and—"

You froze. "Oh."

His heart dropped. Maybe it was stupid. Maybe flowers were too much. Maybe—

"Oh, my God." You looked genuinely shocked. "Eddie."

Your expression softened into something so sweet it nearly killed him. "They're beautiful."

The relief that hit him was immediate. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." You carefully took them from him.

"They reminded me of you." The words slipped out before he could stop them.

You looked up, and his face immediately turned red. "That sounded cooler in my head."

A laugh escaped you. "No."

You glanced down at the flowers again, then back at him. "It's actually really sweet.".

The crowd continued moving around you. People walked past. Music drifted through the air. Yet somehow it felt like the entire world had narrowed down to that tiny space between you. And somewhere in the distance, a vendor yelled that fresh cider donuts were ready.

Eddie immediately pointed. "Okay."

You laughed. "What?"

"Before I say something embarrassingly romantic and ruin my reputation—"

"You don't have a reputation."

"I absolutely do."

"You really don't."

He grinned. "Cider donuts?"

You looked down at the flowers in your hands. "Lead the way, Munson."

His smile was so bright it almost rivaled the morning sun. And for maybe the first time in his life, Eddie couldn't think of a single place he'd rather be

The funny thing was that absolutely nothing changed after you and Eddie started dating. And simultaneously, everything changed.

Band practice still happened in Gareth's garage. Hellfire still met every week. You still spent entirely too much time arguing over music and fantasy novels and campaign mechanics.

Eddie still stole your fries. You still stole his jackets. On the surface, very little was different.

Except now Eddie could kiss you whenever he wanted, which turned out to be a problem. Because Eddie Munson was possibly the most physically affectionate human being to ever walk the earth. You discovered this approximately forty-eight hours into the relationship.

It started innocently enough. A hand on your lower back. His arm around your shoulders. His knee pressed against yours whenever you sat together. Normal boyfriend things. Then it escalated…rapidly.

Somehow Eddie always needed to be touching you. Not in an overbearing way, just constantly. If you were sitting beside him, his hand would find yours without him even realizing it. If you were standing next to him, he'd hook a finger through your belt loop. If you were walking somewhere together, his arm would automatically settle over your shoulders.

Movie nights became nearly impossible because he'd slowly slide lower and lower until his head was in your lap. You'd look down halfway through a film to find him completely comfortable, stealing handfuls of popcorn and using your thigh as a pillow.

"Eddie."

"Hm?"

"You have your own seat."

"This is my seat."

"No, it isn't."

He'd just smile, close his eyes, and settle in deeper. Hopeless, absolutely hopeless. Then there were the kisses.

God. The kisses. Eddie kissed you constantly. Not because he was trying to be smooth. Mostly because he genuinely seemed incapable of stopping himself.

The top of your head. Your cheek. Your temple. Your shoulder. The back of your hand. Sometimes he'd walk into a room, kiss your forehead, and then continue whatever conversation he'd been having as though nothing had happened.

The first few weeks, it caught you off guard every single time. Months later, it still made your heart do stupid little flips. One afternoon you were helping him organize campaign notes at his trailer. You'd been focused on a map for nearly twenty minutes when suddenly—

Mwah.

You looked up. "What was that for?"

He blinked. "What?"

"You just kissed me."

"Yeah."

"Why?"

He looked genuinely confused. "You looked cute."

Then immediately went back to writing, as if that was a perfectly normal explanation. Which, for Eddie, it apparently was. Wayne found the whole thing hilarious.

"You know," Wayne had said one evening while watching Eddie practically drape himself across you on the couch, "for a fella who spent years actin' tough, you sure turned into a sap."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Wayne pointed; Eddie was literally entirely in your bubble. 

"And now?"

"I'm comfortable."

"You followed her into the kitchen earlier because she went to get some water."

"I was thirsty."

"You don't even like water."

Eddie opened his mouth, closed it, then looked at you.

"...That's not the point."

The truth was that Eddie had spent so long convincing himself not to cross the line that once he finally could, all that affection had nowhere to go except directly toward you.

And honestly? You loved it. Because underneath all the teasing and dramatics, he was impossibly sweet. He remembered everything, every little thing.

Your favorite candy. Your favorite records. The books you'd mentioned wanting but couldn't find. The exact coffee order you got at the diner. One time you casually mentioned liking a specific fantasy author. Two weeks later, he showed up with a battered secondhand copy he'd found three towns over.

Another time you'd complained that your hands were cold. The next day he brought you a pair of fingerless gloves he'd found at the market. They were hideous and completely ridiculous.

You wore them all winter.

Ironically, your first kiss had been nothing like what you’d expect.

It had happened a couple of weeks after the market, after band practice. Everyone else had left. Jeff had work. Gareth had dinner. You'd stayed behind to help pack up equipment while Eddie finished putting away cables.

The garage had been quiet, just music playing softly from an old radio. You'd been sitting on an amp while he rambled about a campaign idea. Something about dragons, obviously.

At some point, he'd stopped talking, and you'd looked up and realized he was already looking at you.

"Eddie?"

"Hm?"

"You stopped talking."

"I know."

You smiled. "That's unusual."

His laugh had been nervous, which should've tipped you off immediately. Then his eyes dropped to your mouth, only for a second. And suddenly your stomach was somewhere near your shoes. Neither of you moved. Neither of you looked away.

Then Eddie had done something completely out of character. He asked quietly, almost as if he wasn't sure he was allowed, "...Can I kiss you?"

You remembered the way your heart had nearly exploded. The way he'd looked terrified. The way he'd immediately started backtracking when you didn't answer fast enough.

"I mean—you don't have to—I was just—"

You kissed him before he could finish. Mostly because if you'd let him keep talking, he probably would've apologized and fled the state.

For a second, he froze, as if his brain needed a moment to process what was happening. Then one of his hands found your jaw, and suddenly he was kissing you back. Soft and careful, like he couldn’t quite believe it. 

Months later, Eddie still brought it up sometimes, usually when he wanted to annoy you.

"You know."

You immediately knew that tone. "What?"

"You kissed me first."

You rolled your eyes. "Here we go."

"I'm just saying."

"You literally asked."

"Technically."

"You were halfway through a panic attack."

"Technically."

"You would've talked yourself out of it."

"Possibly."

"Definitely."

He laughed, then leaned over and kissed your cheek. "Good thing you saved me, sweetheart."

By the time you and Eddie had been dating for about seven months, Hellfire had developed a new problem. Or, more specifically, Eddie had developed a problem. And that problem was you.

"Okay," Dustin said, pointing accusingly across the table. "This is bullshit."

The entire campaign immediately ground to a halt. Eddie looked up from behind his DM screen.

"What is?"

"This,” Dustin gestured wildly.

"Define this."

"You giving her special treatment."

You nearly choked on your soda.

Across the table, Mike immediately nodded. "Thank you."

Lucas pointed. "Finally somebody said it."

Eddie looked genuinely offended. "I do not."

"You absolutely do."

"I absolutely don't."

Jeff snorted. "You absolutely do."

Even Gareth joined in. "Dude."

Eddie looked around the room. "You guys are insane."

Then slowly looked toward you. "...Back me up."

You immediately betrayed him.

"Oh, no." His jaw dropped. "You too? Babe."

The entire table collectively groaned; even the nickname irritated them now.

"Babe?" Mike repeated. "You call her babe in-game too."

"It slipped out once."

"It happened three times last session."

"That's not important."

"It kind of is when you're talking to a barbarian."

Eddie pointed dramatically. "None of you have evidence."

The room exploded. "No evidence?"

"Dude!"

"You literally gave her a dragon."

"It was a baby dragon."

"It was still a dragon."

"It was injured!"

"You let her keep it."

"She nursed it back to health."

"You gave her a dragon."

"...Okay, maybe the dragon thing wasn't helping my case."

"THANK YOU." Dustin practically stood up.

The truth was that they weren't wrong. Eddie tried to be fair; he genuinely did. But every time he sat behind that DM screen, all logic immediately left his body.

You'd mention some random piece of backstory you'd thought of at two in the morning, and suddenly there was an entire side quest dedicated to it.

You'd casually mention that your ranger grew up near the ocean. Next thing everyone knew, there was a mysterious coastal kingdom appearing in the campaign.

One time you'd joked that your character liked collecting shiny rocks. Two sessions later, Eddie had created an entire magical gemstone subplot. The man had no self-control, and everyone knew it. 

Especially Gareth, who had spent months witnessing it firsthand. The latest offense had happened approximately twenty minutes earlier. The party had entered a ruined cathedral.

A dangerous encounter, lots of enemies, high stakes. Or at least it should've been. Unfortunately, Eddie had described a hooded traveler sitting alone by the fire.

A traveler who immediately recognized your character. A traveler who apparently knew your character's family. A traveler who had information specifically relevant to your backstory. A traveler who somehow only wanted to talk to you.

The entire table had immediately erupted. "NO."

"Dude."

"Again?"

"This is ridiculous."

Eddie had tried defending himself. "It makes sense narratively."

"No, it doesn't."

"It absolutely does."

"It absolutely doesn't."

Now, twenty minutes later, they were still arguing about it.

"I just think," Mike said, crossing his arms, "that maybe the rest of us deserve emotional character development too."

"You have emotional character development."

"When?"

"You got stabbed."

"THAT'S NOT CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT."

Jeff nearly fell out of his chair laughing. Meanwhile, you were actively trying not to laugh, which wasn't helping.

Eddie noticed immediately. "You think this is funny?"

"A little."

The rest of the session dissolved into more good-natured ribbing until the guys finally started packing up their dice and minis, trading complaints about favoritism all the way out the door. 

Gareth shot you both a knowing look as he left last, muttering something about "not wanting to know what happens next."

You started gathering scattered papers and pushing chairs back into place, the faint scent of dry-erase markers and lingering pizza still thick in the air.

Eddie watched you for a moment from the end of the table, that familiar wicked little smile tugging at his lips. Then he rounded the table, coming up behind you as you reached for a stray miniature.

His arms slid around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest.

"You look like this," he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear, "and they still act shocked I can't keep my hands off you." His voice dropped lower. 

"Can't really blame me though. Look at you, sitting there all session like you weren't thinking about what I’d do to you once they left."

You shivered as his mouth found the side of your neck. He kissed the sensitive spot just below your ear, then scraped his teeth gently over it, sucking lightly until your breath hitched.

One of his hands splayed across your stomach, fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt to trace slow circles on your skin.

"Eddie," you warned, half-laughing, half-breathless. "We’re supposed to be cleaning up."

"Mm, we are," he said against your throat, kissing lower and more open-mouthed. "I’m just… multitasking."

His other hand slid down to grip your hip, pulling you back against the growing hardness in his jeans. 

"Been hard half the session thinking about bending you over this table. You know that?"

You turned in his arms, intending to tell him to behave, but his mouth crashed into yours before you could. The kiss was messy and eager, all tongue and teeth, the kind that always left your lips swollen. 

He backed you toward the edge of the massive wooden table, hands roaming under your shirt until he cupped your breasts, thumbs teasing your nipples through your bra.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned into your mouth. "Need you. Right here. Been dying to feel how wet you get for me after I’ve been staring at you all night."

You gasped as he lifted you onto the table, shoving aside papers and a few forgotten dice that clattered to the floor. He stepped between your spread thighs, grinding against you as he tugged your shirt up and off. 

His mouth returned to your neck, sucking marks you’d have to hide tomorrow, while his fingers worked your jeans open.

You reached down to palm him through his pants, earning a low, wrecked sound from deep in his chest. "Eddie…someone could come back."

"Let ‘em," he muttered, nipping at your collarbone as he pushed your jeans and panties down just enough. "Let ‘em see how fucking perfect you look when I’m buried inside you." 

He dropped to his knees briefly, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss between your legs that had your head falling back with a moan. One quick, filthy lick, then he was back up, freeing himself from his jeans and lining up.

He pushed in slow at first, savoring the stretch, eyes locked on your face. "That’s it," he breathed, voice strained. "Take me so good, like you were made for this." 

Once he was fully seated, he gave you barely a second before he started moving; deep, rolling thrusts that made the table creak beneath you.

Your hands fisted in his hair, legs wrapping tight around his waist as he fucked you harder, the drama room filled with the wet sounds of skin on skin and your shared, ragged breathing. He kept kissing your neck, your jaw, whispering filthy praise between thrusts.

"Love how you squeeze me… fuck, you’re dripping down my cock already. My perfect girl."

The angle had him hitting that spot inside you with every snap of his hips. You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt, chasing the building heat. Eddie’s rhythm faltered as he got close, one hand slipping between you to rub tight circles over your clit.

"Come on, baby," he panted against your mouth. "Want to feel you come on me. I’ve been so good to you all night."

The combination of his words, his fingers, and the relentless drag of him inside you sent you over the edge with a cry.

He followed right after, burying himself deep and groaning your name like a prayer as he spilled inside you, hips jerking through the aftershocks.

For a long moment, you stayed tangled together, foreheads pressed close, catching your breath in the quiet room. Eddie kissed you softly, peppering kisses all over your face, jaw, and neck. 

You laughed breathlessly, tugging lightly at his curls. "We’re never going to finish cleaning up at this rate."

"Worth it," he said, already leaning in for another kiss.

well, hey! hope you all enjoyed ;) i have an inquiry for you all. going forward with requests, would you prefer...

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Eddie had stayed back in California while you'd come back to Hawkins for a few days. His recording schedule wasn't panning out how you'd liked it to have and your dad was constantly reminding you that this was nothing major and that you didn’t even have to come. It was just a quick little minor procedure on his knee. You'd found out it was an entire knee replacement when you were sitting in the waiting room of the hospital from your brother. That’s why you're currently perched at your dad's bedside— that unfortunately still reeks of your dad's dinner, which consisted of canned green beans and an awful meatloaf. He's asleep in the bed beside you, mouth open and snoring. A baseball game drones on from the TV, you arent even sure who's playing. Your coffee tastes bitter enough to strip the paint clean off these walls, but it's better than nothing. 

You lift the cup to take a sip almost at the exact second your phone starts buzzing. You smile as you see Eddie's name light up the screen. You answer it immediately, pinning it between your cheek and shoulder. "Hey."

"Hey, Bats." His voice sounds lower, like it does in the mornings. You glance at the clock. He must just be waking up for the day. "Your dad survive?" He chuckles.

You glance over at your dad and sigh mockingly. "Barely, they had to amputate. What a shame." 

Your dad's eyes stay closed, but you can see his lips tug up at the corners. "I can still hear you, asshole."

And Eddie must hear it, because he cackles so loudly, you have to pull the phone away from your ear the second he starts. "That's the spirit old man!"

Your dad cracks an eye open, "You tell that long-haired delinquent if he touches my grill while I'm laid up, I'll kill him." 

You chuckle and smile, getting a bit more comfortable in the chair. "Dad says if you touch the grill you're toast, curly." 

"Counterpoint." He chuckles, sounding like he's stretching. "He's eighty."

"He's seventy-two." You laugh softly. 

"Same crypt." He teases. You can picture him shrugging, the smile on his face, the twinkle in his brown eyes. How the lines he's gotten with age would crinkle as he laughed. You smile. God, you missed him. His voice gets a little softer. "You okay?" 

"Mmhm." You hum, not daring to speak. You hate being away from him when he's on tour, why in the fuck did you think you'd be okay without him here?

"You forget we've been married 19 years there, beautiful? I know when you're lyiiiing." He sing songs. 

You sigh, turning your head to stare out the hospital window at the gray Indiana sky. "I'm fine… Just tired." 

"You eat anything today?" He asks softly. 

You bite the inside of your cheek, counting the birds as they fly across the sky. You miss seeing birds like that. But you miss watching them with your husband more. "…does coffee count?" You ask, stealing a glance down at your cup.

You can feel that eye roll telepathically. "That's not a meal, fucking vampire." 

And at your parents' house, Roan is standing in the kitchen a few feet away from your mom holding a potato. Her thumb picking at a bad spot with her nail. "I just think if a potato can grow eyes, we should probably treat them better. They probably have feelings or some shit." 

Alice doesn't even look up from where she's painting her nails at the table. The same shade of black that Eddie buys for you. "You say shit like that and then wonder why people at school think you're weird." 

Roan's head snaps up and she glares at her. "I'm not weird."

"You literally licked a battery last month to see if it would shock you."

Your mom laughs under her breath as she shakes her head. She stirs the sauce on the stove and hums quietly. "You two are exactly like your parents." 

"That's unfortunate." Alice sighs, shaking her own head. She was looking painfully like Eddie these days. You swear just yesterday she still looked mostly like a little girl, but sometimes when the light hits her a certain way, you can see 17-year-old Eddie from the photos in Wayne's hallway. Especially now that she's cut her long waves for the summer. 

Roan's got your eyes though, that much you can tell. And your exact unimpressed stare, which as Eddie says, is unfortunate for everybody around her. 

Your mom sets her stirring spoon down onto the rest with a sigh. She takes a few steps towards the sink, opening up the drawer beside it and pulling out a clean dish cloth. She wets it down and begins wiping down the counters. "Your father used to drive me crazy just like you girls drive each other crazy." Your mom chuckles as she just keeps wiping down the counters. "That boy used to come over here looking like he'd slept in a ditch."

Alice immediately looks up from her nails, raising her eyebrows. "Grandma." She warns. 

"What?" She laughs, not really picking up Alice's tone. "He did!" She laughs as Roan shifts awkwardly against the counter, setting the potato back down onto the cutting board. "And all those chains? Lord. About gave me a heart attack the first time your mother brought him home."

Alice sighs and places the applicator back into the bottle, setting the polish aside. The girls get quiet, which in turn makes your mother quiet. All they can hear is the bubbling coming from the sauce pan. Alice leans back in her chair, eyes boring into her grandmother as she crosses her arms over her chest. "You always say stuff like that about him."

Your mom frowns a little, confused. "Like what?" 

"You talk about him like he's some loser Mom just ended up with." 

Roan glances between them, uncomfortable to be caught in the middle. 

Your mom opens her mouth to speak again, her annoyance growing by the second. "Alice—"

"No." Alice cuts her off. "It's weird. You talk about Dad like he's some burnout still living in Hawkins. He's like… ubber successful. He's literally a millionaire. And he adores Mom." She frowns. "And he's a really good dad. Like freakishly good. He still leaves me little notes in my lunchbox when he packs it for me and I'm sixteen. It's humiliating, but I love that he cares about me enough to try and make me smile during my day." 

Roan grins, biting the inside of her cheek as she nods at Alice. "He does do that! He drew a bat smoking a cigarette in mine one time. I hung it in my locker."

Alice gives your mom a look, "See?" 

She just stares back at them.

Alice sighs a bit louder, adjusting in her chair, more wound up than before. "And every time Mom comes back here, she gets all weird because you act like she ruined her life by marrying him when she literally like… likes him more than anybody else on Earth." 

Your mother clears her throat and tosses the dishcloth into the sink basin. "I… I didn't realize you girls felt so strongly." 

Alice shrugs, her cheeks pink with frustration. "He's our dad, of course we do." 

Grandma Bats, your mother, sighs again and shakes her head. She rests her hands on the counter by the sink, looking out the window as she speaks. "I'm not saying your father is a bad man or anything—"

"Then stop fucking talking about him like he is." Alice frowns, standing up finally and storming upstairs to your old childhood bedroom. 

Later that evening, when you'd finally dragged yourself through the front door. Your dad had grumbled dramatically the entire way home and you almost wish Eddie, or even your brother, were here to help him inside. That was a show in and of itself. You take a deep breath and then let it out, heading up to your room for the weekend— which belonged to your brother once upon a time. One little body follows you immediately. "Alice pissed off Grandma." 

That explains the lack of nagging in your ear this evening. Your chest tightens, preparing for the worst news. You don’t even correct her on her language. "Was it bad?"

"Nah." Roan shrugs, "Was mostly awkward. Alice was kinda scary though." 

"Mm." You nod as you lift your overnight bag off the floor and onto the bed, unzipping it and beginning to unpack it's contents. 

"She said Grandma acts like you settled for Dad." 

You sigh and nod. Moving one shirt after another out of the bag and onto the top of your old dresser. She always had made comments, that's one of the reasons you're annual trip back to Hawkins grows shorter and shorter each year. You would've called it quits already, but unfortunately for you, your husband loves your father. "I'll talk to Alice in a bit." You tell Roan quietly. 

And you find Alice about half an hour later curled sideways into one of the old wicker chairs sitting on your parents back patio. Fireflies blink lazily across the backyard as she relaxes there. Her phone is laying on her chest, on speaker, and Eddie's voice crackles through. You can't hear the exact speech but you're pretty sure you make out Jeff's name.

Alice just laughs. "That's disgusting."

"It was honestly pretty impressive." He jokes softly. 

You stay quiet by the doorway, not wanting to intrude on her time with her dad. She needed him just as much as you did. She looks down at her nail polish, that's already been chipping off with how bad she's been picking at it. "Happy Father's Day, by the way." 

There's a pause and then a soft chuckle from Eddie's end. "Thanks, Tater." The name always makes your (and hers) heart swell three sizes larger. "You doing okay?" He asks softly. 

"Yeah." 

"Well, you sound like you're not. And I just went through this with your mother—" 

"I know, I know. She says that too." Alice sighs.

"She's hot and intelligent. You should listen to her." 

"That's so gross." She laughs softly and smiles. She does look exactly like Eddie in this moment. 

"It's Father's Day, Tater Tot. You have to let me be annoying. Thems the rules." He teases softly.

Alice gets quiet and nods, smiling to herself a bit as she picks at a loose string on the chair cushion. "Grandma said weird stuff about you earlier." 

"Like what kind of weird?" Eddie asks. There's rustling, you assume he's sitting down or crawling into bed himself. 

"She basically said Mom could've done better and it really pissed me off and I just—"

“Cut her some slack, sweetheart.” Eddie sighs softly and you can imagine how he drags his hand through his hair, trying to find his words. "Your grandma met me when I was a 23-year-old dipshit with chains on my wallet and approximately four functioning brain cells." He chuckles softly. It even pulls a little laugh from the daughter on the other end of the line. "And for the record, your mother absolutely could've done better."

"No she couldn't." Alice says. You know she's frowning, even if her back is to you. 

"Tater, she was hot. Like offensively hot." 

"Daaaaad." Alice groans loudly and rolls her eyes, "you still asked her out! You thought she'd go out with you!"

"Nah, I was just stupid and brave and almost knocked her out." He chuckles softly and smiles. "She's the best thing that's ever happened to me besides you girls… and you know what I think?" 

"What?" She asks softly, that little string twisting around her finger. 

"I think, maybe, Grandma might be having a hard time updating her idea of who I am now, when she decided I was somebody else a long time ago." 

Alice stares at the yard as the fireflies keep blinking and the crickets start to chirp. "Mom loves you a lot, I just wish Grandma could see that." 

Eddie chuckles softly. "Well… I love her too. And if Grandma doesn't see that, then that's on her." 

Alice just nods, her voice picking up in volume just a bit, making sure you can hear her. "And mom's eavesdropping, by the way." 

You gasp, "how long did you know I was standing here?" 

"I saw your reflection in the glass somewhere around Happy Father's Day." She rolls her eyes as she sits up properly in the chair. Then she sighs. "Love you, Dad." 

"Oh, I love you more than literally anybody, dude." 

"Even Mom?"

"Don't start pitting yourselves against each other for my affection." He teases softly. "Tell your sister I love her too."