no1 chrissy cunningham kin

He'd sold Chrissy Cunningham weed two weeks ago.

There was some big ball-fondler-slash-cheerleader camping trip planned over a weekend at the beginning of March, so a number of cute girls in tight clothes came to him at his designated dealing spot, trying to act all coquettish to get a discount outta him.

It wasn't the first time. Certainly wouldn't be the last. And he wasn't weak enough to fall for it.

Usually.

Then Chrissy left him a note, and her actual, sincere interest in just talking to him had him handing her an ounce for basically pocket change. And, alright, sue him, maybe it had something to do with the fact that it was Chrissy Cunningham. He wasn't about to psychoanalyze himself to figure out why the queen of Hawkins High was more worthy than any other green-clad miniskirt, however.

(It was 'cause he, y'know, liked her, but fuck him if he ever admitted that bullshit aloud.)

What surprised him most was how unusual Chrissy's ask was. In all the years they'd shared within Hawkins borders, she had never once reached out with hope of obtaining some under-the-counter pharmaceuticals. And, even as he'd thrown himself in the dirt just to make her laugh and offered her a price that would barely put him in the green for her sale, he figured this was a one-and-done deal.

So, lo and behold, a mere thirteen-and-a-half days later, as they were steamrolling their way toward spring break, another pink slip of paper fluttered out from between the slats of his locker with handwriting he couldn't admit he recognized. To say he was shocked would be an understatement.

And now, here they were. Sitting across from one another. Eddie preparing to offer her yet another steal of a price on Mary Jane, only to be told that Chrissy potentially wanted to dip her toes into something even more illicit.

"Uh," Eddie said, speaking before he could take a half-second to think about her request. "I think I have some Special K back--"

"Can I try that?" she asked, clearly without understanding or caring what Special K even was. She looked at him, chin tilted down so the blue of her eyes was disrupted by long, dark lashes. "Please?"

"I-I mean," he stammered, extremely suavely, thank you very much, "I dunno, Cunningham. It's not, y'know, for the faint of heart. Or newbies to the genre, like one such as yourself seems to be."

Drumming his knuckles on the tabletop, he tilted his head as he took her in. Having hardly had a chance to even greet her before she asked him for capital D-Drugs, he hadn't really had an opportunity to actually look at her.

She looked... not so great.

Thin. Weary. Atlas, weighed down by the earth on her narrow shoulders.

The thing with Chrissy was that she always kinda sparkled. Like, full-on glitter and stardust with every smile she tossed carelessly in any given direction.

Sometimes at him. Typically not.

Even though there was always something there, just beneath the surface - some unidentifiable strain around her eyes, some sadness in the twist of her lips when she thought no one was looking - she always managed to shine like she'd climbed out of her mother's womb and stepped directly into the sun's most favored ray.

That glow was entirely absent right now. As bare as the branches swaying above them had been just a couple months ago. So desolate and broken, it was hard to tell if there was anything salvageable in the decay. Any green hidden beneath the muted bark now swaddled around her.

"Please?" she asked again, though her shoulders deflated a little in her plea. Like she was expecting him to tell her no. Preparing herself for the disappointment.

And, alright, listen: Eddie was a lot of things, yeah? But a purveyor of dissatisfaction he was not.

Not with her.

"It's not here," he replied, as gently as he could. "But, uh. I could-- After Hellfire, I could run home, I guess, or bring it to you tomorrow--"

"Can we just go get it?" she asked, once again shocking him with her question. Rolling her lips, she squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep, shuddering breath. "After, um. After your club, a-and the game, we could get it together. I can-- I don't want to go to the stupid afterparty anyway." Her voice cracked when she said, "Please, Eddie?"

It was the way she said his fucking name that did him in.

Later that evening, after the rest of the crowd had cleared out, Chrissy approached his van with slow, careful steps. Like she'd trip on a pebble and keel over.

Her shoulders, already drooping with the weight of the world, somehow seemed further burdened. Even her peppy little ponytail didn't bob with the same gusto as normal.

Holding open the passenger door for her had Chrissy awarding him a tired smile. Absolutely bare of emotion. Not a glimmer to be seen.

Jogging around to the driver's side, Eddie started up the beast that was his van and pulled out of the parking lot. Driving, y'know, like a normal human being for once. Even the stereo, by design, was at a reasonable volume.

He'd gotten to his parking spot a few minutes early for a reason, okay?

A few minutes of driving in basic silence was enough to have him on the verge of tearing his own hair out, however.

"Are you alright, Chrissy?" he asked, still trying to keep his voice even. Indoor voice. "Not to, like, overstep or anything, and tell me to go fuck myself immediately if I am, but you kinda seem like you haven't slept. Or something."

That was safe, right? It wasn't gonna make her feel like he was telling her she looked like shit? Because she didn't. Ever. She just looked exhausted.

For a beat, she said nothing. Just dead silence. Eddie was about to retract the entire sentence - fucking hoover it straight back into this throat and swallow down the words until they'd never been spoken aloud in the first place.

Then, her next breath hitched on a sob, and Eddie almost drove into the goddamn shoulder.

"Uh--"

"I-I'm sorry," she sobbed, and it took Eddie a second to realize she was apologizing for crying. "I-I don't-- I don't--"

"Whoa, hey, it's alright," he interrupted before she could finish her stuttered sentence. Which, for some reason, just made her cry even harder. Eddie balked, trying to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do with a passenger seat full of crying cheerleader. This had happened approximately zero times in the past, so it wasn't like he was pulling from experience. Plus, Munsons weren't exactly known for their hospitality.

All he could think to do was rest his hand on her shoulder. Fingers curved around the small round, feeling the jut of her collar beneath. He squeezed, feeling the way she shook, and had to grit his teeth to not retract his hand.

Wishing, not for the first time, that there was a magic encyclopedia in his brain where he could search up something like, what to do when girl crying and get some divine response.

Yet, to his mounting surprise, she actually leaned into his hand.

She leaned into his hand.

Like he was holding her. Like he was a source of comfort.

What the fuck?

They pulled in front of his house a few minutes later, just as her sobs began to quiet into little skips of breath, and neither of them made any move to exit the van.

Admittedly, Eddie was kinda waiting for Chrissy to move first. To shrug herself out from under his palm, or shift like she was reaching for the door handle. She didn't, so Eddie kept still.

A monumental feat, given how his energy buzzed just beneath the surface of his skin. Stemming from where his hand rested on her shoulder.

Except he had to pull his hand away. To put the van in park and turn it off. So he did both of those things, and still, she didn't move.

"So, uh--"

"Jason cheated on me during the camping trip."

What?

"What?" Eddie asked aloud, blindsided by this sudden information. And, Jesus, her voice sounded so goddamn small when she said it. So fucking disconnected.

"I didn't--" Shaking her head, she let out a long, slow breath. "I didn't even get to smoke the weed you sold me. I was-- I'd never tried it, you know? And I was nervous, because Jason doesn't like getting high. He says it's disgusting, but I guess drinking until you black out is okay? I hate drinking, though, so I wanted to try weed. And Jason told me he wouldn't be able to kiss me if I smoked. I didn't-- I just thought he meant, like, that night, right? So Abby - one of my teammates - taught me how to roll a joint, and I was so excited, but I couldn't--I couldn't actually bring myself to light it. I got too scared."

She paused, pulling her knees up to her chest. Curling up like she could make herself smaller. Like the weight of her admittances was swallowing her whole.

"So I trudged back to camp, tail between my legs," she sighed, "and Jason was there. Making out with Stephy Stevenson. Right in front of everyone."

"What the actual fuck?" Eddie could come up with nothing useful to say.

"Yeah," she laughed, her voice devoid of any humor. "I just, um. I lost it, Eddie. I started screaming, and I grabbed my bag, and I left. And now, everyone on the basketball team and half of the cheer squad is making it seem like I'm the crazy one. Like I'm--like I'm damaged or something, and I--" Her eyes welled again, and she squeezed them shut as though to trap the tears in her ducts.

It didn't work.

"I am tired," she admitted, her voice breaking. "And I just-- I just want to sleep, Eddie. God, I just want to sleep until I forget who I am and what's waiting for me back home, because, of course, even my mom thinks I'm insane for breaking up with Jason Carver, like I committed some cardinal sin, and--"

"Hey, uh," he interrupted her tirade, which had her taking in a deep, shaky breath that almost seemed relieved. "Look, I'm not giving you any Special K tonight, peach, got it?"

Her eyes, shiny with tears, popped open and stared at him in wide-eyed terror.

"But," he continued before she could protest, "I am, in fact, the best person to come to with sleep issues."

Her lower lip warbled, brows pulling together with her upset as she let out a choked, "Really?"

"Hell yeah, toots," Eddie said, trying his absolute best to lift her mood. "Ain't nothing a joint, a pepperoni pizza, and a pointless movie can't cure. Might even help with that stupid broken heart you're dealing with. Who knows?"

He shouldered his door open, practically sprinting around the front of the van to get to hers before she could exit herself. She took his hand gratefully when he offered, holding to his arm as they trudged up the few steps and he let her into the trailer first.

The pizza was ordered. Eddie plopped down on the couch beside her, watching her watch him as he rolled a joint. Lighter sparked, he looked at her, seeing the hesitance in her eyes.

"Hey," he said, pulling her gaze away from the joint and onto his face. "You trust me?"

She blinked, and he woulda swore she took in a breath like a gasp. Eyes wide, there was the briefest pause before she admitted, "Yes."

And, Christ, Eddie would have swore some of her sparkle came back when she said it.

She fell asleep in his bed that night.

Eddie, completely unintentionally, fell asleep next to her.

(And, somehow, perhaps by the divine intervention that Eddie did not believe in? Over the next few months, and all through the summer, they slept like that more often than not. And Chrissy swore, every goddamn time, that it was the best she'd ever slept.)