Chaotic Good Fangirl

Your grandmother is sat comfortably at one end of the table, occasionally offering a helpful suggestion, but mostly gossiping with your mom while the two of them work. Your mom, a master multitasker, chats away while wrapping picture-perfect presents. She's been doing this every December for the better part of two decades, so every fold is crisp, every corner perfectly tucked, and every bow looks like it has come straight off the shelf at a department store.

You've spent years trying to figure out how she makes it look so effortless. As it turns out, the secret wasn't really a secret at all. It was simply practice. Years and years of it. That, and Elf School.

The tradition had actually started with your grandma. Once a kid was finally old enough to know the truth about Santa, they were officially enrolled in Elf School. The first lesson was always wrapping presents. Grandma insists that if you are going to help Santa, you have to make the gifts look worthy of going under the tree. When it was finally your turn, your mom had happily taken over as your teacher.

Finding out Santa wasn't real had been... traumatic. You had started to have your own suspicions, but that didn’t mean you were ready for the cold hard truth yet. It was catching your mom at the dining room table carefully writing "From: Santa" on a gift tag that finally shattered the illusion. There had been tears and a dramatic accusation or two. You remember saying something about "lying to children” or Christmas being “ruined forever.” Your grandma still likes to bring it up to Christmas visitors.

After your tears had dried, your Mom declared you officially old enough for Elf School. If you didn't believe in Santa anymore, you could at least help keep it magical for the ones who still did. You had accepted this new task with enthusiasm. Guess you were always a sucker for learning new things. She'd taught you how to hide tape seams, fold perfect corners, curl ribbon with scissors, and make those perfect fluffy bows. Years later, your bows were almost as good as hers. Almost. 

You reach for another length of ribbon, curling the tails with your scissors before tying the bow. A final fluff of the loops, a quick trim of one tail, a satisfied nod, and voilà! A bow that would’ve made Santa himself proud… if he were real… you’ll settle for motherly praise instead.

"Not bad," your mom sing-songs.

You grin. "I know."

Your grandma chuckles. "Uh oh, she's gotten cocky."

"Well, I learned from the best."

Your mom smiles without looking up. "Darn right you did."

Warm laughter settles around the table, blending with Bing Crosby who is drifting softly from the kitchen radio. For a little while, the only other sounds are paper folding, tape tearing, and the occasional sip of coffee.

"Mom?" You ask, turning a roll of ribbon slowly between your fingers.

"Hm?"

"Do you think Wayne would remember what kind of records Eddie's mom liked?"

Your mother's hands pause over the gift she was wrapping and she looks up. "Maybe, why?"

You hesitate. You didn't really want to tell the whole story about what happened at Eddie's house the other day. It all seems a little too personal. "I think he's just been missing her a lot lately." You looked back down at the gift in front of you, smoothing a wrinkle in the wrapping paper with your thumb. "He mentioned that her records got destroyed in the house fire." You shrug, "I thought, maybe if I could replace a couple of them..." You trail off.

Your mom's hand raises to her chest, right over her heart. "Oh, honey..."

Grandma looked up. "Wayne Munson?"

"The very same," your mom said.

Grandma smiled. "Lord, he and your uncle were practically brothers. They were almost always getting into something."

 Your mom laughs. "They really were."

Grandma nods. "One summer they decided they were gonna build a raft… It floated for about thirty seconds."

The three of you laugh.

"Your grandpa had to fish both of 'em out of the pond."

Your mom shakes her head. "They came home covered in pond scum."

"And Wayne apologized before I even had a chance to yell at them," Grandma adds with a chuckle. "Sweetest boy." She smiles into her mug. "Always had the biggest heart."

Your mom nods. "He still does."

Your chest warms, your mind drifting to Eddie. "Guess that runs in the family."

"Yeah," Grandma says with a small smile. "Mostly. I just wish his brother–"

"Mom." The warning from your mother is gentle, but unmistakable.

Grandma presses her lips together, stopping her train of thought. You have a feeling you know exactly where that conversation was headed…  

Your mom reaches over and gives your hand a gentle pat. "I'll give Wayne a call later this afternoon. I bet he'll remember something."

You smile. "Thanks, Mom."

"Of course." She slides another gift box toward herself and reaches for the tape.

—---------------------------

After your mom finally called Wayne, she'd phoned you at work with the short list he'd managed to piece together from memory. It wasn't everything Eddie’s mom had loved, but enough to start somewhere. Muddy Waters. Living Chicago Blues, which apparently had several artists on it. And a handful of others Wayne thought she listened to often like Howlin' Wolf, Buddy Guy, and Etta James.

Jerry had barely let you finish reading the list before slipping into what you privately called his “treasure hunter mode.” He'd start muttering to himself rattling off collectors, distributors, swap meets, some guy named Dave in Tacoma, and tiny independent record stores scattered across the country. That was how you knew he was in the zone.

You’d finally laughed. "Jerry, is there some kind of underground vinyl black market I don't know about?"

"Kid… you'd be amazed." He'd looked up with a grin, folding the list, and tucking it into his shirt pocket. He had disappeared into the back room without another word after that, and you hadn’t seen the list since…

Now with just five days left until Hellfire's Christmas party, you can't help checking behind you every time the beaded curtain to the back rattles. Maybe today would be the day Jerry found something. If not, you still have your own copy of Electric Mud you could easily wrap and have ready as a backup. You'd miss it, but not nearly as much as Eddie would appreciate it. 

The record store is unusually quiet. Thalia had called in sick, leaving you to cover the front by yourself while Jerry worked in the back sorting through new acquisitions and pricing other used vinyl. By the early afternoon you've already finished everything on your list of to-dos.

The new arrivals have been put away, the shelves have been dusted, the displays straightened. With nothing left to do, you plop your favorite little project onto the counter. The button press. You put a stack of battered Rolling Stone magazines beside it, along with old concert advertisements and a pile of record sleeves too warped, torn, or water-damaged to ever sell.

The press gives a satisfying clunk as a button comes together. You keep going, one after another.

David Bowie.

Clunk

Fleetwood Mac.

Clunk

The Clash

Clunk

That one finds its way into your pocket…

You drop each finished pin into the ceramic bowl beside the register, watching the colorful collection slowly grow. The store always sells through them faster than either you or Thalia can make them. Off to one side sits a much smaller pile of ones you had made for your friends as part of their Christmas presents. You drop an old Accept logo onto the pile, it’s clear plastic prison shining in the lamplight. It lands next to the other one you had made for Eddie from a Judas Priest advertisement.

Jeff's pile has a Rush logo and a pin cut from an old Bass Player magazine advertisement. Gareth gets Television and The Who. Doug is still missing one more to go with the Black Sabbath pin sitting in the pile though. You thumb through another stack of battered record sleeves and advertisements, searching for something that feels like him.

"There you are," you murmur. The button press gives another satisfying clunk around a cool stylized Fender logo.

The afternoon continues this way, the bell above the front door remaining stubbornly silent. Every so often, the beaded curtain leading to the back room rattles, and your eyes drift there to find nothing. Just Jerry moving another box. You look back down at the half-finished button in your hands. If Jerry can't find the records… Well, it would be fine. Really. That doesn't stop you from looking toward the back room the next time the beads rattle though.

Eventually, the clock above the register creeps toward closing time.You set the last finished button into the ceramic bowl and stretch your shoulders, wincing as a satisfying pop works its way across your back. The closing routine is second nature by now. You straighten the display by the register, return the stack of worn magazines to their shelf beneath the counter, and sweep the last paper scraps into the trash. The warm lamps tucked between the shelves are switched off until only the soft glow at the register remains.

Jerry ambles toward the front of the store, jingling a ring of keys around one finger.

"Catch ya later," you call as you shrug into your coat.

“Oh, wait a sec kid.” Without another word, he disappears behind the beaded curtain again, emerging a second later carrying a brown paper bag. He sets it gently on the counter between the two of you. "I think," he says with the smallest hint of a smile, "you'll want to take a look at these."

You eye him curiously before reaching for the top of the bag. Was this it? Did he find something? The heavy paper crinkles beneath your fingers as you fold it open. Right on top of the stack of records you pull out sits an old but well-kept copy of The Best of Muddy Waters. Your breath catches. Beneath it rests Living Chicago Blues, and nestled underneath them is another familiar cover. At Last! by Etta James.

"You found three?"

Jerry shrugs, like he'd merely remembered to grab milk on the way home. "Figured if I was making calls, I might as well keep going. Didn't have much to work with for Etta, I just know the kid likes metal, so I used my best judgment." He taps the corner of the album. "It's a little lovey-dovey... but it's really good. If you're going for nostalgia alone, then this will definitely do it. Be careful with the Muddy Waters record though. That's an original press from ‘58.”

You shake your head in disbelief, gently running your thumb over the corner of the old Muddy Waters jacket. "Jerry..." You laugh softly. "Thank you."

"Hope your friend likes 'em." 

"I think he will." You smile. "Thanks for going through all this trouble! What do I owe you?"

Jerry waves the thought away with a flick of his hand. "Don’t worry about it, kiddo. You do good work here, and I live for this sort of stuff."

You tuck the bag carefully beneath one arm, feeling like you're carrying something far more valuable than just three old records now. At the door, you pause. "Thank you so much! Merry Christmas, Jerry."

He looks up from straightening something behind the counter. "Merry Christmas, kid."

The little brass bell jingles as you step out into the crisp December evening. Snow crunches beneath your boots, and your breath curls into the cold air. Parked along the curb, your mom's station wagon idles, wisps of exhaust drifting into the dusk air. She spots you through the windshield and gives a small wave. You smile, clutching the paper bag a little tighter before hurrying across the sidewalk and slipping into the warm passenger seat.

"Have an okay day today?" she asks as you pull the door shut.

You glance down at the bag resting carefully in your lap, unable to stop smiling. "Better than okay, Jerry found some of the records!"

Your mom glances over, your excitement instantly contagious. "I had a feeling he'd come through."

"I hoped so..." you admit with a small laugh.

She reaches over and gives your knee a gentle pat before pulling away from the curb.

The warm glow of the record store slowly disappears in the rearview mirror as the two of you head home through the snowy December evening, three treasured albums resting safely in your lap.

—--------------------------

Christmas comes and goes in the way it always does at the McCoy house, with one wonderful exception. This year, your three-year-old brother is finally old enough to start understanding that Christmas is something special. Seeing it through his eyes somehow makes it feel new again. He marvels at every present, insists on showing everyone his new treasures one by one, and spends half the morning convinced Santa might still be flying somewhere overhead.

More than anything, though, he's fascinated that everyone is together. Mom and dad, you, grandma, your uncle, aunt, and cousins. Every few minutes he seems to realize someone else is in the house, racing off to give them hugs or play. The house is louder than usual, full of overlapping conversations, laughter, wrapping paper, and joyful chaos. It's impossible not to get swept up in his excitement. Watching him discover that Christmas isn't just about presents, but about having everyone he loves together in one place, reminds you why the holiday always felt magical in the first place.

The rest of Christmas break settles into an easy rhythm. There are leftovers to polish off, movies to watch, and absolutely no reason to set an alarm. With nowhere in particular to be, you finally find the time to finish The Silmarillion. It isn't an easy read, not like The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings had been. However, somewhere between its ancient kings, impossible quests, and tragic heroes, you find yourself completely drawn in. 

Of all its tales, the story of Beren and Lúthien stays with you the longest. Days after you've closed the book, you catch yourself thinking about the mortal man who dared to love an immortal elf, and the lengths they were willing to go for one another. For all its tragedy, there's something achingly beautiful about their unwavering devotion. The way love gives them the courage to face impossible odds again and again, without either of them giving up on the other. A gentle reminder that even in the darkest corners of the world, love can endure, sacrifice can mean something, and hope can still be found.

You carry that feeling with you through the remainder of Christmas break, even as the days blur together. Before you know it, December twenty-eighth arrives. You grab the canvas tote bag waiting by your bedroom door, giving it one last glance to make sure everything is packed. The cookies you and your mom baked, a few small gifts for Hellfire, and one larger package carefully tucked beside them all. Then you head downstairs for one last Christmas celebration before heading back to school after the new year.

The bite of late December nips at every bit of exposed skin as you pedal through the neighborhood. Even bundled beneath your wool coat, scarf wrapped high over your nose, and gloves tucked beneath your sleeves, the cold still manages to find its way in. Thankfully, Gareth only lives on the other side of the neighborhood. By the time his house comes into view, your cheeks sting from the ride. 

Music, loud enough to spill through the closed garage door greets your ears as you approach the driveway. The steady pulse of drums and the unmistakable wail of electric guitars spreads a smile across your face as you coast to a stop beside the house, propping your bike against the fence before making your way to the side door. You ease it open just enough to slip inside.

You are immediately hit by a wall of sound. Guitars scream through battered amps, drums thunder hard enough to feel it in your chest, and the concrete floor seems to hum beneath your boots. The garage is warmer than you'd expected, carrying the faint smells of motor oil and sawdust.

Doug and Eddie stand shoulder to shoulder in the middle of the garage, absolutely tearing through a twin guitar solo with matching serious looks. Jeff anchors everything from the side with an easy groove, while behind the drum kit, a girl you've never met drives the whole thing forward with effortless confidence. Her brown hair spilling from beneath a backwards baseball cap as she punctuates the end with a flourish across the toms. Gareth sits off to the side on the couch with his arms folded tightly across his chest trying, and failing, not to pout. He spots you first.

"Madi!" he hollers over the music as you’re peeling off your extra layers.

Eddie glances up, and without missing a single note of the solo, he leans toward the microphone. "What the hell are you wearing?"

The rest of the band barely falters.

You blink down at yourself. "A vest?"

Beneath your cozy layers is your favorite Christmas outfit: well-worn blue jeans, a forest-green long-sleeve shirt, and the patchwork holiday vest your grandma made you years ago, stitched with little reindeer, candy canes, wrapped presents, and sprigs of holly. It's festive, and you happen to think it's adorable. However, judging by the looks on the other boys' faces, you're suddenly not so sure everyone else agrees.

Eddie looks like he's about to say something else, you just know it. The slight purse of his lips. The glint in his eye. That particular expression that you've learned means he is about three seconds away from saying something stupid, so you turn toward him and wait. One eyebrow rises as you hold his gaze, silently daring him to finish whatever thought is currently fighting its way out of his mouth.  He draws a breath, his mouth already twitching with the beginnings of another smart-ass remark. 

You hold the stare for another second, neither of you willing to break first. "Fuck off, Munson." You put some real weight behind it this time.

Eddie bursts out laughing, Your mouth threatens to betray you with a smile, but you stubbornly hold the glare. His grin only gets wider. Butthead… He likes this, clearly pleased that you've learned to meet him blow for blow.  Worse, you're beginning to suspect you do too.

From behind the drum kit, the girl in the backwards cap laughs. "Ooooh, I like her already!"

He flashes you a satisfied smirk. Leaning back into the microphone, so close his lips almost touch it, he answers as casually as if you'd asked him what time it was. His voice is a little muffled from the close proximity. "Wow," he says into the mic. "How punk rock of you."

Laughter ripples through the garage. It had started a few weeks ago over lunch, after you'd made some offhand comment that Gareth had jokingly declared "anti-establishment." He'd looked at you with exaggerated admiration and deadpanned, "Wow. How punk rock of you."

Eddie, naturally, had piled on, insisting your newfound taste in British punk was finally starting to chip away at your usual "picture-perfect example of demure femininity."

"Wow," you'd replied. "Such big words, kiddo."

Eddie's face had fallen flat. "Kiddo?"

You'd smiled sweetly. "I'm proud of you."

He'd flipped you off.

Ever since then, the boys had enthusiastically celebrated every sarcastic remark, muttered swear, or tiny act of defiance like further proof of your supposed descent into punk-rock rebellion. Eddie, in particular, never missed an opportunity to point it out, mostly because the combination of your exasperated groan and rosy cheeks never ceased to amuse him. 

You wander over to the couch and plop down beside Gareth. Looping your arm through his, you give him a quick, affectionate shake. "Hi."

"Hey buddy," he says with a small smile and a pat of your arm.

Satisfied with your greeting, you let go of him and turn your attention back to the band. You’ve been dying to see them play basically since the beginning of the school year, but the timing never worked out. The song barrels toward its finale, Eddie and Doug trading the last few notes before meeting on the final chord. Ronnie punctuates it with one last cymbal crash that rings through the garage.

"Hell yes!" Doug laughs, pumping a fist into the air.

Jeff points his bass toward the drum kit. "That was awesome."

Ronnie twirls a drumstick between her fingers with a grin. "Told you I'd lock right in."

Eddie lets out a triumphant whoop, reaching across to smack Doug's shoulder before turning to point at Ronnie. "That's what I'm talking about!"

Doug and Jeff exchange a quick fist bump while Gareth nods appreciatively from the couch. "Okay," he admits. "That was pretty sick."

Ronnie beams. "Damn right it was."

Eddie finally looks over toward the couch, still absently picking at his strings. "Alright, McCoy. What d'you wanna hear?"

You blink. "I get to pick?"

"Sure."

"What do you guys know?"

That gives him pause. His mouth twists to one side as he looks toward the ceiling, apparently taking inventory of every song Corroded Coffin has ever learned. "Uh..." His gaze drops back to you. "Basically anything on the tape I made you."

From behind him, one eyebrow slowly disappears beneath the brim of the girl's backwards baseball cap. Ah, that must be Ronnie. Eddie had talked about her enough that you'd already been fairly certain, but the look on her face confirms it. You give her a small wave. Ronnie answers with an easy little salute of her drumstick, the corner of her mouth still suspiciously curled upward. Proper introductions could wait until they weren't in the middle of a rehearsal.

You turn back to Eddie and start mentally flipping through the tape you'd listened to enough times over the last month to know the track list by heart. "Ummm..."

He rocks forward eagerly on his toes. "C'mon. First thing that pops into your head."

You glance toward the guitar in his hands. "Rainbow. 'Since You Been Gone.'"

Eddie's face immediately lights up. "Attagirl."

Jeff chuckles as he adjusts the strap on his bass. "Good choice."

Ronnie leans forward over the drums. "I haven't played that one in a while." 

Eddie waves a dismissive hand. "You'll pick it back up. Trust me."

"Guess we're about to find out." Without another word, Ronnie twirls one drumstick between her fingers before catching it cleanly. She lifts both sticks overhead, glances around the garage to make sure everyone's ready, then clicks them together. 

"One... two... one, two, three, four–" Ronnie's count barely finishes before the garage comes alive again.

The opening riff is instantly familiar, and you can't help but smile as the chorus you've heard probably a hundred times through your headphones suddenly fills the room around you instead. The garage feels alive. Jeff bounces in place without ever missing a note, Doug throws his head back during the chorus, and Ronnie punctuates every fill with the biggest grin you've ever seen. Even Gareth, who'd been pouting moments ago, finds himself absentmindedly drumming along on his knees.

Nobody stands still, and nobody takes themselves too seriously. When Eddie flubs a lyric, Doug is the first to point dramatically at him, laughing so hard he nearly misses the next chord.

"My bad!" Eddie shouts between verses.

Ronnie immediately sings the next line louder than everyone else just to give him a hard time.

"Oh, screw you!" Eddie laughs.

She only answers with another cymbal crash.

Your attention bounces around the garage, never quite sure where to land. There's too much happening at once. Jeff somehow manages to hold everything together while laughing at whatever face Doug is making at him across the room. Ronnie is an absolute force behind the drums, throwing herself into it like she's been waiting months to sit behind a kit again. 

Eddie holds down the center behind the mic, guitar slung low across his hips. He's grinning through half the lyrics, occasionally pulling away from the microphone to laugh at one of the others before leaning back in just in time for the next line. Even from there, he seems connected to everything happening around him. A glance toward Jeff before a change. A matching grin with Doug when their guitars lock together. A quick point toward Ronnie with the neck of his guitar after a particularly nasty fill. 

More than anything, though, you're struck by how much fun they're having. It's obvious they've done this a thousand times. By the time the song crashes to a finish, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

Ronnie punctuates the last chord with a flourish across the cymbals before hopping off the drum stool. She pats the top of one tom. "Alright," she says, taking a step back. "I had my fun."

Gareth raises an eyebrow. "You sure?"

She laughs. "Get over here before I change my mind."

Gareth is already halfway across the garage before she even finishes her sentence.

Eddie shakes his head, and looks over to you. "Now you get to hear our current drummer."

The boys immediately launch into a debate over Maiden versus Sabbath while Gareth quietly adjusts his cymbals with a contented smile.

Ronnie wanders over and drops onto the couch beside you. "Hi," she says, offering her hand. "Ronnie."

"Madi."

She shakes your hand once before leaning back against the cushions. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"You too." A comfortable silence settles between you for a beat before Ronnie chuckles to herself.

"I feel like I already know you."

You laugh. "I was going to say the same thing. Eddie was really excited you were coming home for Christmas, so he’s told me a lot."

Ronnie shifts sideways on the couch to face you. "Eddie running his mouth? Shocking.” she says sarcastically. “So, when'd you get mixed up with these idiots?"

You glance over at the boys who are still debating on what to play next. "A couple of months ago, but I’ve been around for awhile, just not like actively hanging out before."

“Huh, I feel like I've been hearing about you a lot longer than that."

"Well… Yeah." Eddie pipes up with an absent shrug. "You’ve been to her house before. Remember those summer barbecues? This is Lord of the Rings Girl." The moment the words leave his mouth, his expression changes, and he looks like he'd very much like to shove those words back into his mouth.

Ronnie slowly turns to look at you. "Wait, Lord of the Rings Girl is you?"

You look between the two of them before pointing at Eddie. "Elaborate."

He flashes you that maddeningly innocent grin you've come to know so well. "I decline."

Ronnie laughs loud enough to draw the attention of the rest of the garage.

Jeff looks over. "What?"

Ronnie just shakes her head. "Nothing."

Eddie shoots her a look that clearly says Don't you dare.

She holds up both hands innocently."My lips are sealed."

Your eyes narrow, darting between the two best friends.

Ronnie stares right back before her gaze deliberately drops to your chest. "Okay, I do have one question."

You hesitate. "What?"

She points at the patchwork reindeer. "Where did you get that?"

Your suspicion immediately detours towards offense. "My grandma made this."

"No, no." Ronnie sits forward. "I'm not making fun of it, unlike someone I know." She glares over at Eddie. "I need you to understand that thing is fucking incredible. Your grandma actually made that?"

Behind her, Eddie folds his arms across his chest, his bottom lip pushing into an exaggerated pout at the blatant betrayal.

You catch his eye and have to fight a smile. “Yeah."

"Think she'd make me one?"

You laugh. "I mean, probably. I think half the kids in her neighborhood have knitted sweaters or mittens from her. She loves making things for people."

"Hell yeah." Ronnie says casually leaning back into the couch, throwing her foot up on her knee.

From across the garage, Eddie groans. "Jesus Christ, there's two of them now."

Ronnie glances toward him. "Careful. I'll ask for matching ones."

You brighten. "I'd wear it."

Eddie stares at you both. "I've made a terrible mistake introducing you two..."

Just like that, whatever curiosity you had about being deemed “Lord of the Rings Girl” is swept away by Ronnie and the antsy picking of guitar strings. Soon enough all you could hear was galloping drums and twin guitars. The song they had started playing had to be an original. You hadn’t heard anything like it before.  Doug and Jeff lock in without missing a beat, Gareth drives the rhythm forward with enough force to make the floor beneath your boots vibrate, and Eddie… Well, you'd known he was good, you just hadn't realized how good. 

When the solo arrives, the rest of the band gives him room to breathe. His fingers dance effortlessly across the fretboard, moving so quickly they're almost impossible to follow. Every note seems to tumble into the next without hesitation, like the guitar is simply an extension of him. For a moment, all you can do is stare. Then the rest of the band joins in again. The final note rings through the garage before dissolving into laughter and the smack of high fives.

"Not bad," Gareth says, twirling a drumstick.

"Not bad?" Jeff scoffs. "That kicked ass."

"It always kicks ass," Doug says.

Only then do you realize you're perched on the very edge of the couch. At some point during the song, you'd leaned so far forward your elbows are resting on your knees, completely engrossed in the performance. You don't remember moving.

Eddie unplugs his guitar, glancing over just in time to catch your wide-eyed expression.

He wanders over, coiling the cable loosely around one hand. "You doin’ okay over here?"

"How the heck do you do that?"

He blinks.

"Do what?"

You gesture vaguely toward his guitar. "All of–" Another equally vague gesture. "that."

A crooked smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. He lifts both hands into the air, wiggling his fingers dramatically. "Magic guitarist fingers, baby."

You look at the long digits skeptically. "That's not a real thing."

"’Course it is." He wiggles them towards you again for emphasis, reaching out and giving your nose a quick Boop.

You both freeze, blinking at one another.

"I don't know why I did that… Awkward."

Heat rushes into your cheeks, then you laugh. A genuine, surprised laugh.

Eddie lets out a sheepish chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm gonna... put my guitar away now." He nods once before making a very dignified retreat toward his guitar case.

Beside you, Ronnie watches him disappear across the garage before calling after him. "Wow. Real smooth, dude."

Eddie sighs dramatically. "Shut up."

Without looking back, he raises a single middle finger over his shoulder. Ronnie laughs, but he doesn't bother responding, too busy pretending to be fascinated by the organization of his guitar cables.

The moment passes as easily as it had come, and like flipping a switch, the garage shifts from rehearsal space into a D&D space. Guitars are traded for character sheets, pizza boxes are nudged closer, and everyone slips into their usual seats around the table. Ronnie takes the seat next to you.  Eddie ducks behind his DM screen with the look of someone who knows exactly how much of a ruckus he's about to cause.

The one-shot proves to be exactly as ridiculous as he had promised. According to Eddie, an army of malicious gingerbread monsters, candy cane goblins, and animated toy soldiers had joined forces under Krampus, kidnapping an entire village of cookie elves just days before Christmas. Without their master bakers, there would be no cookies for Santa and his workshop on Christmas Eve.

"The fate of Christmas," Eddie declares dramatically, "rests entirely on your deeply questionable decision-making."

"Well," Jeff says, reaching for another slice of pizza, "we're screwed."

Your own character, an elven fighter who had spent months searching for the missing village after narrowly escaping Krampus's forces herself, quickly becomes the group's reluctant guide. Between your knowledge of the frozen forests and Ronnie's quick-thinking rogue, the party starts working together with surprising efficiency. Jeff catches onto your plan almost immediately, using his spells to funnel a pack of Krampus's creatures directly toward the waiting fighters, while Gareth gleefully holds the narrow passage beside you.

"Oh, they're so done for," he announces, surveying the map. And they absolutely were.

Doug takes advantage of the bottleneck first, charging straight into the opening Gareth created and sending one of Krampus's guards sprawling into the snow. Jeff follows with a spell that catches two more before they can regroup, and Ronnie immediately sees her opportunity.

"Can I use Doug as a springboard?"

Eddie pauses. "Excuse me?"

"I run at him, step on his back, and launch myself over the guards."

Doug doesn't even hesitate. "I crouch."

Eddie stares at the two of them. "Of course you do."

Dice clatter across the table, and a second later, Ronnie's rogue is sailing over the battlefield, daggers drawn, while the entire table erupts.

"Yes!"

"Get his ass!"

"Behind you!"

"I know!"

You're laughing too hard to properly follow what happens next, but somehow it ends with Ronnie behind enemy lines, Doug surrounded by three furious guards, and Gareth pounding both fists against the table while Jeff frantically searches his spell list for something that won't accidentally kill half the party.

"I have an idea."

"Is it fire?" Gareth demands.

Jeff looks offended. "No."

Doug points across the table. "That's exactly what somebody with a fire idea would say."

"Would everyone hush and let the wizard think?" You say looking at the other two boys.

"You have six seconds," Eddie warns.

Jeff's eyes dart frantically over his spell sheet. "Aaaah– fuck it!" He jabs a finger at the map. The spell erupts across the battlefield, catching the guards surrounding Doug without touching Ronnie just beyond them.

Eddie's eyebrows shoot up. "Oh, shit."

Doug slams both palms against the table. "Yes!"

Gareth shoots to his feet. "That’s what I’m talking about!"

Ronnie reaches a high five across the table to Jeff. "Okay, now get me out of here!"

"Working on it!" You say.

What follows is less a hastily put together battle plan, and more like five people all spontaneously operating on the exact same wavelength. Doug clears a path. Gareth intercepts the creature coming up behind him. You cut down another before it can reach Ronnie, and Jeff uses one of his precious few remaining spell slots to give her the opening she needs. One good roll later, and Ronnie buries both daggers in the final guard.

The table erupts, and by the time the last creature falls, everyone is shouting like you've just won an actual battle rather than defeating a handful of tiny painted monsters on Gareth's folding table.

Eddie surveys the carnage from behind his screen. "You know what? That was actually pretty fuckin’ cool."

Gareth's fist shoots across the table toward you. "Nice hit."

You bump yours against it. "Thank you."

Ronnie holds up her hand next, and you slap your palm against hers. "And that," she says, pointing between the two of you, "is how you rescue some goddamn elves."

"Excuse me?" Doug protests. "I was instrumental."

"You were furniture."

His mouth falls open. "I was a tactical springboard."

Jeff nods solemnly. "Put some respect on his name."

"Thank you." he says, crossing his arms across his chest.

Eddie leans back in his chair, surveying the table over the top of his screen. There's something deeply satisfied beneath the exasperation on his face. "You assholes know there was another way into that room, right?"

Gareth looks at the map. Ronnie looks at the map. You look at the map.

Doug slowly turns toward Eddie. "Was it cooler?"

Eddie considers that. "Not in the slightest."

"Then I fail to see the problem."

A grin breaks across Eddie's face. "Fair enough."

The rest of the afternoon slips by like that, dice bouncing across the table, plans growing increasingly elaborate, pizza disappearing by the slice, and somebody constantly reaching into the tin of Christmas cookies you'd brought from home. Somewhere between rescuing another handful of elves and watching Doug vehemently defend his new title of Tactical Springboard, you stop feeling like the newest person at the table. You're just playing D&D with your friends. 

Ronnie starts to feel a little less like a stranger too. It doesn't take long to understand why Eddie had been so excited for her to come home. She's funny and quick-witted, easy to talk to in a way that makes it feel like you've known her longer than a few hours. But more than anything, you find yourself entertained by the way she and Eddie are together.

Their banter is top notch. You'd known Ronnie and Eddie had been friends for years; the other boys had told you that much. Seeing it was something else entirely, though. They seemed to speak the same language. Half-finished thoughts, sarcastic jabs, entire conversations built from knowing looks and tiny smirks. Ronnie rolled her eyes at Eddie's theatrics without a second thought, and Eddie only grinned wider for it. Neither of them seemed worried about saying the wrong thing. Years together had stripped away that kind of caution. Whatever they'd built over the years looked less like friendship and more like family.

You don't get much longer to dwell on it as Eddie's voice drops into that familiar, ominous register that immediately pulls everyone's attention back toward the head of the table. Apparently, Krampus has finally decided to make an appearance. By the time the final battle begins, the entire table is leaning forward.

Krampus towers over the cookie elves' workshop, booming laughter filling the frozen valley as toy soldiers march through the snow. The fight descends into chaos almost immediately. There’s exploding ornaments, collapsing candy cane bridges, and one particularly heroic sacrifice involving Doug, a barrel of eggnog, and what Eddie later describes as "a complete misunderstanding of basic physics."

Against all reasonable expectations, it works. With Krampus finally defeated, the last of the enchanted chains shatter around the cookie elves' workshop. One by one, the tiny bakers emerge from hiding, cheering as your party frees the village just in time to save Christmas.

Eddie waits until the celebration around the table dies down before folding his hands behind the Dungeon Master's screen. "And that," he says with a satisfied grin, "is why Santa never skips Hawkins."

Jeff raises his slice of pizza in salute. "To the cookie elves."

"Hear, hear," Gareth agrees.

You lift what's left of your own slice. "Long may they bake."

Ronnie raises her cup. "And may Doug never be trusted with eggnog again."

Laughter rolls around the table as everyone finally begins stretching after hours spent hunched over character sheets. Dice disappear back into bags, pencils get tucked away, and Eddie starts collecting miniatures while Gareth carefully folds the battle map.

It's only when Gareth suddenly ducks beneath the table that you remember the evening isn't quite over yet.

"Oh! Before I forget." He resurfaces with a small gift bag.

Jeff's face lights up. "Right!"

Like dominoes falling, everyone starts reaching beneath chairs, into backpacks, and behind the couch for small packages they'd apparently stashed away hours earlier.

Gareth drops the bag onto the table with a grin. "Merry Christmas, nerds."

A chorus of overlapping "Merry Christmas!" fills the garage as gifts begin making their way around the table. The exchange is wonderfully chaotic. Wrapping paper quickly covers the floor, laughter erupts every few seconds, and nearly every gift is accompanied by an explanation that starts with, "Okay, so I saw this and immediately thought of you."

Some gifts are practical, while others are completely ridiculous. A few are somehow both. Watching everyone's faces light up as they unwrap another small package, it's obvious that the thought behind each gift means far more than whatever was inside the wrapping paper. You find yourself smiling just as much watching everyone else open their presents as you do opening your own. By the time the last of the tissue paper has been tossed aside, the garage feels somehow even warmer than it had a few hours earlier.

After the excitement winds down, everyone pitches in to clean up. You gather the crumpled wrapping paper into an oversized garbage bag before excusing yourself to use the bathroom. By the time you come back, Jeff has already wiped down most of the table, and someone has tied the trash bag shut. Eddie and Ronnie are nowhere in sight.

"I'll get it," you offer, hoisting it over one shoulder. "It's just out at the curb," you say, waving off Doug's offer to help. 

Outside, the warmth of the garage gives way to the crisp bite of December. The sky has long since turned black, and a fresh blanket of snow drifts lazily through the glow of the porch light, dusting your hair and shoulders before you even reach around to the front of the house. You pause for a moment, glancing up into the falling flakes. In the warmth of the garage, you hadn't even realized it had started snowing.

Hoisting the trash bag a little higher on your shoulder, you continue toward the garbage can at the curb. Halfway down the driveway, familiar voices drift from the far side of Eddie's van. Parked between the garage and the street, it shields the two figures from the worst of the cold breeze as cigarette smoke curls lazily into the snowy night. Mystery solved on where they had disappeared to.

You don't mean to eavesdrop, you fully intended to keep walking, but then you hear Ronnie laugh.

"I'm just saying," she says. "You should ask her out."

Eddie groans. "Oh my God."

"What?"

You hear the creak of someone leaning back against the van.

"It's not happening."

Ronnie snorts. "I really think you've got a shot."

Eddie falls silent, long enough that you wonder what expression might be on his face. Then he laughs under his breath, like Ronnie has just suggested something so wildly optimistic he doesn't know what else to do with it.

"That train is never leaving the station." There's something strangely matter-of-fact about it, like he'd made peace with the answer long before Ronnie ever asked the question. 

You hesitate. Who were they talking about? A girl from school, maybe. Someone from Ronnie's old class? Or, hell, probably someone you'd never even met. It could be someone Eddie had liked for years, for all you knew. The thought lingers just long enough to leave an odd little knot in your stomach.

 Shaking it off, you round the corner of the garage. "Hey." You say announcing yourself.

Eddie startles so violently he practically inhales the whole cigarette burning between his fingers. He immediately doubles over into a fit of coughing.

Ronnie bursts out laughing. "Oh my God." She says between full-body chuckles.

"You okay?" you ask, taking an instinctive step forward.

Eddie waves a hand through another cough. "I'm–" Cough. "Fine." Cough. "You just..." He clears his throat. "Scared the hell outta me. Popped up outta nowhere like a ninja."

Ronnie takes the cigarette out of Eddie’s hand, taking one last drag before dropping it onto the pavement and grinding it beneath the heel of her boot. 

"Sorry." you say, trying to look as apologetic as possible.

He gives one last cough before straightening up. "S'all good." Then he nods his head past you toward the side of the house. "Hey, you rode your bike here?"

You glance over your shoulder. Your bicycle is still leaning against the porch where you'd left it hours ago, now covered in a thin layer of snow.

"There’s no way you're not riding that home."

You glance over at him. "I've ridden home in worse."

He snorts. "Yeah, and I also watched you almost eat shit on that patch of black ice a couple weeks ago. And that was on your feet, let alone going warp nine down the road on two wheels."

Your face warms. "I recovered."

"It looked like a baby deer learning to walk," Eddie says.

You roll your eyes.

"Plus it's dark now, it's freezing, and it's snowing."

As if on cue, another flurry drifts lazily through the beam of the porch light making you shiver.

Eddie glances up at it before looking back at you. "I'm driving you home." Eddie jerks a thumb toward your bike. "We'll brush the snow off, toss it in the back of the van, no biggie." He says it so matter-of-factly that it doesn't even sound like an offer, it's simply the plan now.

You look between the steadily falling snow and Eddie. "You really don't mind?"

He looks genuinely confused by the question. "Mads..." He gestures toward the white flakes drifting around the driveway. "It's Christmas break, I've got nowhere else to be."

You smile. "Okay."

"Cool." He rubs his hands together against the cold. "C'mon."

It only takes a few minutes before everyone begins filtering out into the snowy evening. Jeff and Doug exchange fist bumps with Eddie, Gareth pulls Ronnie into a quick one-armed hug before clapping Eddie on the shoulder, and a chorus of "See you next week," and "Happy New Year," follows everyone toward their cars.

You wave goodbye to the boys as Eddie slips around the side of the house to grab your bike, brushing the fresh layer of snow from the seat and handlebars with his sleeve. Satisfied, he grips the frame with both hands and lifts the entire bike clean off the ground. Somehow, despite his lean build, he makes it look effortless.

He slides it into the back of the van, nestling it neatly between the driver's side wall and the old amp that seems to just live permanently in the van. The cargo area is mostly empty, leaving plenty of room for the bike before he reaches down for his wooden Dungeon Master crate and slides it in beside it. His guitar case follows last, tucked carefully into place.

He steps back, gives everything a quick once-over, then nods to himself shutting the back doors. "There."

You laugh, shaking your head. Maybe it shouldn't surprise you. Playing shows meant hauling equipment. Working at The Hideout meant moving kegs. Of course he was stronger than he looked. He simply went about it differently. No flexing. No showing off. He did it, then moved on as though there had never been anything remarkable about it. The thought caught you off guard. You caught yourself waiting for the brag that never came. You'd spent so long around Trevor and his friends that you'd forgotten quiet confidence existed.

"Alright," he muttered, grabbing the chrome handle of the back passenger slider. "Moment of truth." He gave it a tug, and it didn’t budge.

"Told you," Ronnie said, already smirking.

"Shut it." Eddie planted one boot against the running board and yanked harder.

The door groaned in protest before finally giving way with a loud Clunk that echoed through the still night.

"There she is," Eddie said triumphantly, patting the side of the van. "She's just a little dramatic when it's cold."

"Same," you muttered in agreement, giving the van a sympathetic pat before climbing inside.

Ronnie barked out a laugh.

Eddie caught the gesture out of the corner of his eye and grinned. "Finally," he said. "Someone else who understands her." 

The van shuddered to life with its familiar grumble, the dashboard rattling a little as Eddie put it into reverse.

"Don't get too comfortable," he warned over his shoulder. "The heater's got all the urgency of a government employee."

You scootched over to the middle seat. If the heater decided to cooperate, you'd get the first blast of warm air.

For the first few minutes, the van was filled with little more than the rhythmic squeak of windshield wipers, the soft hum of the engine, and Metallica playing through the speakers.  Outside, fresh snow drifted through the glow of streetlights, turning Hawkins into something quieter than it ever seemed during the day.

Ronnie twisted around in the passenger seat to look at you. "So," she said. "Madi."

You looked up.

Ronnie continued, "What's the plan after Hawkins? Eddie says you're the smart one."

“Yeah, this one is going places, that’s for sure.” His eyes briefly flick to you in the rearview mirror.

"I've got my eye on a couple schools in California," you admitted. "Scripps, maybe Monterey Bay if I can get in." A small smile tugged at your lips. "California's hard to beat if you want to study marine life and oceanography." You paused, glancing out the window as another flurry of snow drifted through the headlights. "But..." You shrugged. "I don't know. Lately I've been thinking about the University of Washington."

"Seattle, right?" Ronnie asked.

You nodded. "I've been reading everything I can get my hands on." Your voice brightened. "There’s the Puget Sound, the San Juan Islands, the Olympic Peninsula." You caught yourself smiling wider. "You can study tide pools one day, then drive a couple hours and be standing in an old-growth rainforest the next. Orcas, harbor seals, sea otters, giant Pacific octopuses… Then there are the smaller waterways." You laughed softly. "It's basically a giant outdoor classroom."

Ronnie smiled. "Pacific Northwest, huh? Interesting." she mused. "Eddie... wasn't that record store guy talking your ear off about Seattle a while back?"

"Jerry?" Eddie nodded. "Yeah."

You sat up straighter in your seat. You hadn't been present for any conversations like that, and Eddie never mentioned anything of the sort. I guess you never really mentioned your college plans either. How would he have known?

"What was that all about?" She said, propping a foot up on the dash.

Eddie reached over to smack at her leg. Her foot didn't budge. "He'd been telling me the music scene's starting to wake up over there. Said a bunch of bands are popping up in Seattle and Tacoma, and the clubs are getting busier every year." He glanced at you in the rearview mirror. "He kinda figured Corroded Coffin would fit in better there than L.A."

Ronnie tilted her head. "How's that?"

Eddie shrugged. "Jerry says everybody in L.A.'s chasing the same thing right now. Big hair, leather pants, power ballads..." He smirked. "Not exactly our style. We're a little too..." He searched for the word.

"'Ugly'?" Ronnie offered.

Eddie barked out a laugh. "Yeah, thanks."

"I’m kidding, Corroded Coffin has always been more…garage." Ronnie grinned.

"Exactly." Eddie nodded.

Ronnie raised an eyebrow. "You considering it?"

"I wasn't." Eddie admitted. "Not really, but after Jerry started talking more about it..." He shrugged again. "I dunno. Kinda got me thinking. He says Seattle's a little rougher around the edges. Less interested in looking like rock stars and more interested in sounding like themselves. Bands are just playing what they want to play. He figured if that keeps growing, it'd be a hell of a lot easier for a band like ours to find a crowd than trying to compete with guys trying to be the next Mötley Crüe."

Ronnie was quiet for a moment, apparently turning all of that over. "So, let me get this straight." She shifted in the passenger seat to look between the two of you. "Madi's thinking about Washington because of school."

"Among other places," you reminded her.

"Among other places," she conceded. Then she pointed toward Eddie. "And you've got Seattle floating around in that head of yours because Jerry thinks Corroded Coffin might actually find people willing to listen to you there."

Eddie glanced over. "People listen to us here."

Ronnie stared at him. "The same six drunks at The Hideout don't count. We were in the same predicament when I was the drummer."

You chuckled quietly from the back seat.

Ronnie settled forward again, shaking her head. "Still. That's kinda funny."

 Eddie immediately looked suspicious. "Why?"

She turned forward again. "It just is. Big country, and somehow you two are looking at the same exit out of Hawkins."

You caught Eddie's eyes in the rearview mirror for the briefest moment before both of you looked away.

"Yeah," you said with a quiet laugh. "Funny."

The conversation drifted on, but your mind stayed behind.

Until now, every version of college you'd ever imagined had been solitary. Robin was looking at something different, so that meant a new city, new campus, new apartment, new people. Exciting, yes, but also terrifying in ways you usually tried not to think about. You'd always assumed leaving Hawkins meant leaving everyone in it. But now… The thought of arriving somewhere and already knowing people– friends, people who felt like home, made Seattle seem a little less intimidating, and a lot less lonely.

The rest of the drive passed in comfortable conversation, broken occasionally by Ronnie's stories about New York or Eddie grumbling at the icy roads.

"There you are," Eddie said, slowing beside the curb in front of your house.

The porch light glowed warmly against the fresh blanket of snow, your family's Christmas wreath hanging a little crookedly from the front door.

Ronnie stretched with a groan. "You two take your time," Ronnie said, already settling deeper into the passenger seat and rubbing her hands together over one of the heater vents. "I'm not giving up the warm air."

"Smart," Eddie laughed, climbing out into the snow.

You reached for the sliding door handle and gave it a firm shove. Nothing. You frowned and leaned into it harder. Still nothing.

"Release me, Munson."

A snort escaped Eddie before he peered around the edge of the driver's seat. "Oh, right."

He walked around the side of the van, planted one boot against the running board, and gave the handle a good pull.

Clunk

The door rolled open the rest of the way.

"There we go."

"I was beginning to think your van had claimed me."

"She gets attached.” He stepped back and held out a hand.

You slipped your gloved fingers into his, and he steadied you as you stepped down from the van. The instant your boots hit the sidewalk, one foot found a thin patch of ice, your heel slipping a bit.

"Oh–"

His hand tightened around yours while the other came instinctively to your elbow. "Whoa."

You caught yourself before you could fall, letting out a small, embarrassed laugh. "I'm okay."

"I know," he said with an easy smile, waiting another heartbeat before letting go. "Just making sure."

The warmth lingering in your hand had very little to do with your gloves.

Turning back to the van, you reached in for your canvas tote. As you did, you caught Eddie patting the inside pocket of his jacket before subtly nudging something farther inside, as though making sure it hadn't worked its way loose. Curious… You didn't ask. Instead, you slung your tote over your shoulder while Eddie grabbed the handlebars of your bike.

"C'mon," he said. "I'll walk you up.”

Eddie fell into step beside you as he wheeled your bike toward the porch. The tires crunched softly through the fresh layer of snow, the only other sound was the quiet rumble of the van waiting at the curb. The porch light cast a warm yellow glow over the front walkway, making the snow sparkle beneath your feet.

You stop beside the bottom step and turn to take your bike from him. "Thanks."

He shrugs, brushing a few stray snowflakes off the handlebars before letting go. "'Course."

You adjust your bike beneath the porch roof, grateful for the shelter as the steady snowfall softened to a distant whisper beyond the edge of the eaves. Eddie followed a step behind, stamping the snow from his boots before ducking under the porch with you. The warmth spilling through the front windows made the house feel even cozier from outside.

You slipped your tote from your shoulder and started reaching inside. 

"Hey”

You looked up. Eddie had already shoved both hands into the pockets of his jacket, suddenly looking far more interested in the porch boards than your face.

"So..." He cleared his throat. "I got you a little something extra."

Your hand paused inside your tote. "You did?"

He nodded once before pulling a package from inside his jacket. The wrapping was... charmingly imperfect. Brown paper, slightly crinkled and creased in places, that you quickly realized was probably an inside-out Melvald's grocery bag. The corners weren't quite even, and a suspicious amount of tape held one end together. But across the front, your name had been carefully painted in black acrylic, framed by tiny green vines curling around the letters.

"I wrapped it myself," he said quickly. "Don't judge."

A smile tugged at your lips. "I would never.”

The package was solid, and kind of warm from having been tucked inside his jacket.

"Go on."

You carefully peeled back the tape, unfolding the brown paper instead of tearing it. Nestled inside was a beautiful sage green journal. Your breath caught. Painted across the cover was Narsil, its broken blade stretching elegantly from top to bottom, every detail painstakingly rendered by hand. Encircling the hilt like a delicate crown was a ring of flowing Elvish script, the inscription from the One Ring.

Your fingertips traced the painted lines almost reverently. "Eddie."

His ears had already started turning pink. "I, uh... painted it."

You looked up at him, genuinely speechless. Before you could find the words to say, he reached into another pocket and pulled out a small bundle wrapped in a scrap of brown paper, tied with black string.

"Oh, and these."

You untied the string, and blue-and-white swirled resin gleamed beneath the porch light. The familiar red numbers caught the light immediately.

You looked up in surprise. “The Jaws dice!"

He smiled. "Figured it was about time they officially belonged to their favorite player."

For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke. Your thumb rolled the d20 between your fingers. The same one you'd nervously thrown into his DM screen your first ever session. You looked from the dice to the journal and back again, feeling your chest tighten with a warmth that had nothing to do with the house behind you.

"These are perfect, Eddie." You smiled up at him. "Thank you.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. "Good.”

"My turn!"

His eyebrows lifted. "Huh?"

You reached back inside your bag and pulled out a neatly wrapped package, setting it carefully into his hands. "Merry Christmas.”

He looked back up at you, genuinely caught off guard, and maybe a little suspicious. "This is for me?” He looked from you, to the package, then back again before a crooked grin slowly spread across his face. "Well, alright then."

Rather than tearing straight into it, he carefully untied the dark green ribbon, smoothing it between his fingers before absentmindedly tucking it into the pocket of his jacket. "Waste not," he muttered. Then he tore into the paper. For a moment, Eddie doesn't say anything. His fingertips skim gently over the edge of the first record before he lifts it, revealing the one beneath.

The Best of Muddy Waters.

Living Chicago Blues.

At Last!

He goes through them once. Then again, slower this time, his thumb tracing along the worn edges of the sleeves as though he's still trying to wrap his head around what he's holding. The crooked grin he'd been wearing is gone. When he finally looks up at you, his expression is softer than before, almost bewildered.

"How did you..."

You couldn't help smiling. "I had some help."

"Who?"

"Jerry helped me hunt them down, and your uncle gave me a list of artists to start with.” You wring your hands in front of you. Looking at his face told you he liked them, but for some reason you were so nervous!

For a long moment, Eddie just looked at you. The porch light caught the shine gathering in his eyes before he blinked it away with a quiet laugh through his nose.

"Jesus, Madi." Carefully, almost reluctantly, he set the records on the porch swing beside him, making absolutely certain they were safely out of harm's way. Then he closed the distance between you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. You hardly had a chance to react before your own arms found their way around his waist. He held you there for a long moment, the familiar scent of Irish Spring and the faintest trace of cigarette smoke clung to his jacket, grounding you in the moment. With your cheek resting against his chest, you could hear the steady thump of his heartbeat. Or perhaps not so steady, it was beating just as fast as yours.

"Thank you," he murmured softly into your hair. He gave you one tight gentle squeeze before slowly pulling back. "You–" He shook his head with an incredulous laugh. "You have no idea how much these mean to me.”

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest. "I... I'm really glad you like them."

"Like them? Madi, these are incredible. I love them."

You ducked your head, feeling your cheeks warm. "Well... Merry Christmas."

Your eyes dropped to the journal still held carefully in your hands.

"And I love mine too. The journal, the dice– all of it." Your thumb brushed lightly over the painted cover. "Seriously, Eddie. It's perfect."

"Yeah?"

You looked back up at him and smiled. "Yeah."

A small, pleased smile tugged at his mouth. "Good."

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Then, almost without thinking, you reached out and gave his forearm a gentle squeeze. "I'm glad those records are yours now."

The two of you lingered beneath the porch light for another heartbeat, neither seeming particularly eager to end the evening.

Finally, you let out a small laugh. "I should probably let you guys get home."

"Yeah, Probably." He looked back toward his van where Ronnie was very obviously watching the two of you. Caught red-handed, she quickly turned away.

You both laughed.

"Can't take her anywhere, I swear." He reaches back for the records, carefully gathering them from the porch swing and tucking them beneath his jacket to protect them from the snow still drifting down beyond the porch. "Goodnight Madi."

"Goodnight Eddie." You gave him a little wave.

He started down the porch steps before glancing back, his crooked grin returning to his face. "And Merry Christmas."

Your own smile answered him. "Merry Christmas."

You watch him climb into the driver's seat, pulling the door shut behind him. Ronnie immediately leans over and smacks him squarely on the shoulder.

Eddie jerks in surprise, clutching the records protectively with his free arm. You can barely make out a probably shouted "What?"

Ronnie says something animated you can't make out through the windshield, punctuating it with an exaggerated eye roll and another playful shove. Eddie barks out a laugh, shaking his head as he rubs his shoulder. You can't hear a single word between them.

Smiling to yourself, you slip inside, your new journal tucked beneath one arm and your dice safely cradled in your pocket. Before tucking in for bed, you carefully cut around the little green vines, smooth the creases beneath your palm, and paste the scrap inside the front cover, officially marking it as yours. 

As you close the journal, your thoughts drift back over the day. Eddie had seemed so happy from the moment you'd walked into Gareth's garage. Playing music with his friends, laughing across the Hellfire table, having Ronnie back at his side after months away. There had been something easy about him all afternoon, like having so many of his favorite people together in one place had settled something inside him.

But it's the look on his face on your porch that lingers. The stunned silence when he saw the records. The way his whole expression softened once he realized what he was holding. How openly, unmistakably happy he'd looked. And you'd done that. You like seeing him that way. More than that, you like knowing you had something to do with it. The thought brings that same warmth back to your chest, quiet and pleasant and a little difficult to explain. You find yourself hoping you'll get to make him look that happy again.

------------------------------

Notes: Oh Madi, my sweet little idiot baby. She is so smart, and yet so catastrophically stupid about this one specific thing. Girl is collecting clues like they're side quests, and somehow still has not found the main objective. The dice are rolling, the DC is not that high, and yet... That's okay. She'll get there eventually. 😂

I had so much fun with this chapter! I’ve been looking forward to properly introducing Ronnie for a while now, and getting to finally show her and Eddie together was such a treat. I also loved getting to give everyone a cozy little Christmas break before we dive back into school, tutoring, and whatever other completely normal, not-at-all-complicated feelings might be waiting around the corner.

As always, thank you so much for reading, commenting, kudos-ing, and sticking with me. Especially after the longer wait for this one. It genuinely means so much to me. ❤️