eddie’s gf :)

Ex-FWB Eddie Leaves You A Jealous Voicemail

Sharing A Bed With Eddie After The High School Reunion

Your Roommate Eddie Hates When You Call Him Daddy

Cheering Eddie Up After A Depressive Episode

Hooking Up With Eddie At The Drive-In

Eddie Leaves You A Dirty Voicemail On New Years Eve

Play-Fighting With Your Best Friend Eddie

Your Best Friend Eddie Travels To Visit You But He Gets Mad That You’re Too “Busy” To Hang Out

“Alright,” Steve said, pulling his arms tightly together. “Then it’s decided. Tomorrow, the girls will each wear an article of El and Max’s clothing to throw off the Demodogs.”

“They seem to be gunning for the two of them,” Dustin continued. “El for, well, obvious reasons. And Max, because she has dodged Vecna’s curse like, a thousand times. We add some of their blood to make the scent stronger, and some of Nancy and Robin’s to theirs, so the scent is thrown off. Sound good?”

“Yeah, I love being live bait,” Robin says sarcastically, scanning over to you and Nancy.

Nancy just nods in agreement before looking down at you on the couch. 

“What about Will?” You ask, nodding over to the next room. He sat with his back to the group, eyes staring out the window ahead, headphones tight around his head. “Won’t their connection just immediately give this whole plan away?”

Jonathan sighs and closes the door, “He won’t be coming with us. He’s gonna stay at the squawk with my mom and Lucas in case Vecna’s spying. He won’t even be in communication with us.”

You nod once, flashing him a quick sympathetic smile. 

“Alright!” Dustin claps his hands together. “Meet at Lover’s Lake gate sunrise tomorrow.”

The room filled with the sound of shifting bodies and tired sighs as everyone slowly stood from their spots around the Byers' living room.

Robin immediately groaned. “Awesome. Another sunrise meetup. Love that for us.”

“You complain every single time,” Steve muttered, grabbing his car keys off the coffee table.

“Because every single time we almost die, Steve.”

“Fair.”

Nancy was already gathering scattered papers from the table, slipping them into her bag with practiced efficiency. Jonathan disappeared toward the kitchen, mumbling something about coffee, while Dustin launched himself into explaining some other part of the plan to Mike for the third time that night.

You pushed yourself up from the couch slowly, exhaustion heavy in your bones. And unfortunately, your eyes caught Eddie’s from across the room.

He stood near the hallway entrance, arms crossed tightly over his chest, fingers tapping nervously against his forearm. His eyes flicked over you for barely a second before looking away just as quickly. Still couldn’t look at each other normally.

Cool. Normal. Totally fine.

You moved first, grabbing your jacket off the arm of the couch. “I’m gonna head out.”

“I’ll walk you,” Nancy offered immediately.

Before you could answer, Eddie suddenly pushed himself off the wall.

“I got it.”

The room went weirdly quiet for half a second. Robin’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hairline while Steve looked physically exhausted by the tension.

You stared at Eddie. “I think I can make it to the front door alone.”

“Wasn’t saying you couldn’t,” he muttered.

God. There it was, that sharp edge the two of you had been dancing around for months now.

Nancy glanced between the two of you carefully before stepping back. “Okay then.”

You brushed past Eddie toward the door, hearing his boots follow a second later.

The cold night air hit immediately once the front door opened, damp and sharp against your skin. Crickets buzzed faintly somewhere in the distance while the porch light flickered overhead.

You descended the steps first, and Eddie lingered behind you awkwardly.

“You really think this plan’s gonna work?” you asked quietly.

Eddie shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Nope.”

You huffed out a laugh despite yourself, and his mouth twitched faintly at the sound.

“But,” he added, softer, “it’s the best shot we got.”

You hated how easy it still was to stand beside him. Hated how your body still recognized him instantly. The smell of cigarettes and leather and that stupid cologne you bought him lingered in the cold air between you.

“You should probably get some sleep,” he said finally.

You glanced over at him. “You too.”

There was a moment of hesitation between you, then Eddie rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, curls falling into his face.

“Listen, about tomorrow—”

“We’ll figure it out. Night,” you said quickly, opening your car door and closing it just as fast. 

“Night,” he muttered to himself, tapping the hood of your car once. 

The Upside Down always felt wrong immediately.

The air was thicker here. Wet, heavy with rot and ash and something metallic that clung to the back of your throat every time you breathed too deeply.

The sky stretched above the group in angry shades of red and black lightning, spores drifting lazily through the air like toxic snow, every step squelching beneath your boots.

“God,” Robin muttered, pulling the sleeves of Max’s sweatshirt farther over her hands. “I seriously forgot how much this place smells like a dead animal’s asshole.”

“That is… unbelievably specific,” Nancy replied.

“It’s accurate, though.”

Steve ignored them, flashlight tucked beneath his arm as he unfolded the rough map Jonathan had drawn the night before.

“Alright, listen up.” Everyone slowly gathered closer.

“The crawlspace splits about a mile ahead,” Steve continued. “We cover more ground if we break into pairs.”

“Cool,” Robin nodded. “Dibs on not dying.”

Steve pointed around the group. “Nancy, you’re with Johnathan. Robin, you’re with Dustin and me—” He paused briefly. “Eddie, you and...”

“No.”

The answer left your mouth immediately. Sharp enough that even the distant growls echoing through the Upside Down suddenly felt quieter. Eddie’s head turned toward you instantly.

Steve blinked. “What?”

“I said no.”

You adjusted the shotgun strap harsher than necessary across your shoulder before looking anywhere except Eddie.

“What about Nancy?” you asked. “I’ll go with her.”

Steve shook his head immediately. “Nope. Both sharpshooters can’t be together.”

“Robin then.”

“Also no,” he replied. “You and Robin both have El's blood scent on you. Two El's means a dead giveaway.”

You clenched your jaw. Of course, there was a reason for everything; of course, it made sense. But still...

“No,” you repeated more quietly this time.

Steve sighed heavily like a tired father of six. “Seriously?”

You finally looked at Eddie, and big mistake. Because he looked just as frustrated as you felt, maybe even a little more exhausted from the situation than you were.

“Jesus Christ,” Robin whispered under her breath. “They’re divorced.”

“We were never married,” you snapped instantly.

“Yet,” Dustin mumbled.

You whipped around. “Whatever. Come on, Dustin.”

The kid blinked. “Wait, what?”

“You heard me.”

“Uh—”

“Dustin. Let’s go.”

Your voice cracked through the air hard enough that nearby spores trembled slightly as you shoved past the group toward the forest line. Dustin looked between you and Eddie like a hostage negotiator trying not to die.

Steve slowly lifted both hands. “Hey, Henderson?”

“Yeah?”

“I wouldn’t argue with an angry girl holding a shotgun.”

Dustin nodded immediately. “Excellent point.”

“Seriously?” Eddie muttered.

Dustin pointed apologetically at himself before jogging after you. “Sorry, man! Self-preservation!”

Robin watched the two of you disappear into the foggy tree line before glancing sideways at Eddie. “…So how bad was the breakup exactly?”

Eddie stared after you quietly for a long moment. “Bad enough,” he said finally, “that she’d rather walk into monster-infested hell with a fifteen-year-old.”

The three of them moved carefully through the wreckage of downtown Hawkins, flashlights cutting through the thick haze drifting between abandoned cars and crumbling storefronts.

Somewhere in the distance, something screeched. Robin immediately tightened her grip on the flare gun in her hands.

“Mm. Hate that sound. Really hate that sound.”

“Pretty sure that’s the point,” Steve muttered from the front.

Store signs flickered weakly overhead, vines pulsing slowly up the sides of buildings like veins beneath skin.

Eddie barely noticed any of it. Because every few seconds, his eyes kept drifting back toward the tree line where you and Dustin had disappeared twenty minutes ago.

“You know,” she said casually, “if you stare any harder, I think you might actually burn a hole right through the fog.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

“No, seriously,” Steve added. “It’s getting pathetic.”

“I’m literally just walking.”

“You basically broke your neck turning around five seconds ago.”

Eddie scoffed softly and adjusted the strap of the spear against his shoulder. “She’s fine.”

Steve hummed knowingly. “Uh huh.”

The group ducked beneath a collapsed power line before continuing down the street.

Robin glanced between the two boys. “Wait, hold on. I actually don’t know what happened between you two.”

Eddie groaned immediately. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on,” she said. “We’re in hell dimension therapy hour. Spill.”

Eddie kept walking.

“Munson.”

“No.”

“Eddie.”

He sighed dramatically, dragging a hand down his face. “It was stupid.”

“That means it was definitely your fault,” Robin replied instantly.

“One-hundred percent,” Steve nodded.

Eddie shot both of them a glare before finally relenting. “Chrissy needed a ride home after a game one night.”

Robin blinked. “That’s it?”

“I didn’t tell her beforehand,” Eddie admitted.

Steve already looked exhausted. “Oh, my God.”

“I was going to!”

“But you didn’t,” Robin pointed out.

Eddie groaned louder. “Okay, yes, thank you, I gathered that much.”

Steve shoved aside a hanging vine as they entered the shell of an old grocery store. “So she saw you?”

“Yeah.”

Robin winced. “Oh, that’s brutal.”

“It wasn’t even like that,” Eddie argued quietly. “Chrissy was upset. Jason was being a dick. I just drove her home.”

“But from her perspective?” Steve replied. “Her boyfriend disappears for half the night with the prettiest girl in school.”

Eddie looked genuinely offended. “Why does everyone keep calling Chrissy the prettiest girl in school? That's not even half-accurate.”

Robin deadpanned. "Oh."

“You still love her,” Steve said it casually, like he was commenting on the weather.

Eddie kept his eyes ahead, flashlight shaking faintly in his grip. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Kinda does when you look one bad day away from throwing up every time she talks to another guy.”

Eddie let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, well. She’s still pissed.”

Steve crawled up beside him slightly. “Did you ever actually apologize?”

“Shut up,” Eddie snapped, ears turning red beneath his curls.

Robin gasped dramatically. “Wait, wait, wait— is that why she’s so pissed? Because she thinks something happened with Chrissy?”

Eddie’s expression tightened slightly. Because yeah, that was part of it. But not all of it, not the real part.

The real part was that instead of fighting harder for you, instead of explaining, instead of chasing after you when you stormed away crying…He let you go.

And he’d regretted it every single day since.

Meanwhile, somewhere deeper in the woods of the Upside Down, you and Dustin trudged through layers of ash and rotting vines in tense silence. Well, mostly tense silence. Because Dustin physically could not stop talking if he tried.

“I’m just saying,” he continued carefully, trying to keep up with your pace, “from an outside perspective, I really don’t think Eddie cheated on you.”

You climbed over a fallen tree branch without looking at him. “Congratulations.”

“I’m serious!”

“Dustin.”

“No, because you weren’t there after, okay? He was literally miserable.”

You snorted softly. “Please.”

“I’m not kidding!” Dustin insisted. “The guy looked like someone kicked his puppy for, like… three months straight.”

“That’s dramatic.”

“He started listening to sad music.”

You glanced back at him dryly. “He already listens to sad music.”

“Okay, fair.”

Dustin ducked beneath a low-hanging vine before continuing. “But seriously, he didn’t do anything with Chrissy.”

You tightened your grip around the shotgun because it still stung hearing her name, even now. Especially now. Because logically? You knew Eddie probably hadn’t cheated. But emotionally, that night still replayed in your head perfectly.

Waiting for him, watching the clock, then seeing his van pull into the trailer park with Chrissy Cunningham in the passenger seat, laughing at something he said. And Eddie, sweet, oblivious, Eddie, looking happier with her than he had with you in weeks.

“You didn’t see them,” you muttered quietly.

Dustin sighed. “I saw him after.”

“That doesn’t change anything.”

“It should.”

You stopped walking suddenly, sending Dustin nearly crashing into your back.

“You know what the worst part was?” you asked, voice strangely calm.

The spores drifting through the air caught in your hair as you turned toward him.

“I would’ve understood if he just told me.”

Dustin’s expression softened slightly. “He always thought you were too good for him,” he admitted quietly.

That one hit harder than you expected, because yeah. You knew that already, too. Knew it every time Eddie got weird when boys looked at you too long. Every time he joked about you “slumming it” with him. Every time, he acted as if your love for him had an expiration date.

Your chest tightened unpleasantly, but before you could answer, something screeched in the distance. Both of you froze instantly.

Dustin’s face paled. “Uh…” Another screech, but closer this time. Wet. Animalistic.

You slowly lifted the shotgun. The woods around you suddenly felt very, very quiet. Then, movement, fast shadows darting between the trees. One. Two. Three—

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Dustin whispered.

Demodogs, at least five of them. Their slick bodies slithered between the vines surrounding you both, snarling lowly as their flower-like mouths slowly opened.

You grabbed Dustin’s jacket instantly, shoving him backward. “Run.”

“You know what your problem is?” Steve asked as the three of them pushed through the hollow remains of Family Video.

Eddie sighed heavily. “Please enlighten me, Harrington.”

“You think if you screw something up once, that’s it.”

Robin nodded immediately. “Oh my God, yes. That’s exactly his problem.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “You two done psychoanalyzing me?”

“No,” Steve replied simply.

They stepped over collapsed shelves, boots crunching through broken VHS tapes scattered across the floor. Outside, thunder rumbled through the red sky.

Steve adjusted the nail bat over his shoulder before glancing back at Eddie again. “So...did you ever actually apologize?”

Eddie’s jaw tightened. “…Not really.”

Robin looked horrified. “EDDIE.”

“What?” he defended instantly. “Things got heated!”

“She cried and dumped you, and you just let her walk away!” Robin whisper-yelled.

Eddie scrubbed both hands down his face in frustration. “I didn’t know what to say!”

Steve laughed dryly. “Well, there’s your first issue.”

“I figured if she wanted to talk to me, she would’ve.”

Robin stared at him for a long moment. “Men are genuinely stupid.”

Eddie ignored her. “She looked at me like she hated me.”

“Because she was hurt,” Robin shot back. “There’s a difference.”

Eddie went quiet at that, because deep down? He knew. Knew every sharp comment and glare from you over the last few months felt more like woundedness than hatred.

Steve slowed slightly, expression softening just a bit. “Dude.”

Eddie glanced over.

“When this is over…” Steve shrugged. “Just apologize.”

Robin pointed at him enthusiastically. “YES. Exactly. Thank you.”

“Like a real apology,” Steve continued. “Not one of your weird little jokes where you deflect halfway through.”

“I don’t do that.”

“You absolutely do that,” Robin replied.

Eddie opened his mouth to argue, but static suddenly exploded through Steve’s walkie. All three of them froze instantly. A burst of panicked breathing crackled through the speaker. Then:

“STEVE?!” Dustin, terrified.

Steve grabbed the walkie immediately. “Dustin? What happened?”

More static, heavy footsteps, and your voice somewhere in the background, shouting something muffled. Then Dustin again:

“There’s— Jesus Christ— there’s like FIVE OF THEM!” A deafening screech echoed through the radio.

Robin’s face went white instantly. “Oh, my God.”

“We’re headed east through the woods!” Dustin yelled breathlessly. “They’re right behind us!”

Steve already started moving. “Stay moving. We’re coming to you.”

The radio crackled violently. Then your voice cut through this time, sharp and panicked.

“Dustin RUN!”

Eddie’s stomach dropped instantly. A loud gunshot exploded through the walkie. Then another, then static.

Branches snapped violently beneath your boots as you and Dustin tore through the woods.

The Upside Down blurred around you in flashes of red lightning and black vines, spores whipping through the air every time you shoved past another rotting tree. Behind you, there was screeching.

“LEFT!” Dustin yelled breathlessly.

You grabbed the back of his jacket, yanking him sideways just as a Demodog launched from the trees where he’d been standing half a second before. It hit the ground hard with a wet snarl. You spun instantly:

BOOM!

The shotgun blast echoed through the forest, the flare shell exploding directly into the creature’s chest. Fire burst outward, orange flames illuminating the dark woods as the Demodog shrieked and convulsed on the ground.

“Holy shit!” Dustin yelled.

“No time!” you shouted back. “MOVE!”

The two of you sprinted again. Your lungs burned as another screech split the air, then another. Then three more answered.

Dustin looked back once and immediately paled. “Oh, that is SO many.”

Shapes darted through the fog behind you. Fast, crawling over trees and vines with horrifying speed. One leaped from the side, and you reacted instantly, grabbing Dustin by the shoulders and throwing him down as the creature flew over both your heads.

You hit the ground hard beside him. The Demodog spun immediately, flower-mouth peeling open with a shriek. Dustin scrambled backward, fumbling desperately inside his bag.

“SHIT! SHIT! SHIT—”

The creature lunged, and a Molotov cocktail smashed against its face, fire erupting instantly. The thing screamed horribly, thrashing against the dirt while Dustin stared wide-eyed at the flaming bottle in his hand.

“…That was awesome.”

“Dustin!”

“RIGHT. MOVING!”

You hauled him upright again just as another creature burst from the trees, then another, and another.

Your stomach dropped. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

Because behind the Demodogs, towering above them in the fog…Demogorgons; at least two. Their massive silhouettes moved slowly through the trees, petals twitching open as they tracked the scent of blood soaking into the girls’ borrowed clothes.

“Okay,” Dustin said faintly. “I officially hate this plan.”

One of the Demodogs lunged. Boom. Another flare shell exploded through its jaw. The recoil nearly knocked your shoulder backward as you kept firing. One. Two. Three blasts. Fire illuminated snapping teeth and writhing vines while Dustin hurled another Molotov into the pack.

Glass shattered, and flames erupted across the forest floor. Still, more kept coming.

“Why are there SO MANY?!” Dustin yelled.

“I don’t know!”

A Demodog tackled you from the side before you could reload. You hit the ground hard enough to lose the shotgun entirely. The creature screeched directly in your face, claws slashing wildly as you shoved against its throat desperately, its teeth snapped inches from your face.

“GET OFF!”

You grabbed the knife from your belt and drove it upward into the creature’s neck. Black blood sprayed across your hands as the thing convulsed violently before collapsing on top of you. For one horrible second, you couldn’t breathe.

Then Dustin was there immediately, dragging the body off you. “COME ON!”

The trees ahead suddenly exploded with flashlight beams. Voices.

“THIS WAY!”

Steve. Robin. And then, your heart betrayed you instantly at the sound of his voice. He yelled for you, panicked and terrified; closer now. You turned toward the sound just as one of the Demogorgons burst through the trees.

“LOOK OUT!” Dustin screamed. You barely had time to move.

One massive claw swung forward, and white-hot pain exploded across your side. The force sent you flying backward violently into the dirt.

For a second, everything went silent. No sound. No air. Nothing.

Then warmth poured down your waist, and your hands instinctively grabbed at your sides. Blood, so much blood. Somewhere nearby, Dustin was screaming your name.

And across the clearing, Eddie stopped dead. Because you were on the ground, not moving.

“OH MY GOD—” Dustin’s voice cracked somewhere nearby as the others charged into the clearing.

Steve and Robin immediately started firing at the creatures still circling through the trees, gunshots and screeches echoing violently through the forest while flames spread across the ground from the broken Molotovs.

But Eddie? Eddie only saw you.

Blood soaked through your shirt in horrifying amounts, spilling between your fingers where you clutched desperately at your side. Your breathing came in sharp, uneven breaths against the dirt beneath you.

His stomach dropped so hard it physically hurt. “No no no no—”

He was beside you instantly, collapsing to his knees hard enough to draw blood. Your eyes fluttered toward him hazily, still conscious. Thank fucking God.

“Hey,” he breathed shakily. “Hey, stay with me, alright?”

You grimaced as another cough wracked through your body. Blood splattered across your chin, and Eddie visibly went pale.

“Jesus Christ,” Robin whispered somewhere behind him.

You sucked in a painful breath, immediately trying to push yourself upright. “I’m fine.”

Eddie stared at you in disbelief. “Are you insane?”

“I can still move.”

“You are literally coughing up blood!”

Another wet cough interrupted you immediately, like your body itself was trying to prove his point. You glared weakly at him afterward anyway.

“Don’t,” you rasped.

“Don’t what?”

“Look at me like that.”

Eddie’s face crumpled for half a second before he could stop it. Like that.

Like he was terrified, like seeing you hurt was physically ripping him apart from the inside out.

The sounds of fighting still echoed around the clearing. Steve yelling. Gunshots. Demogorgons screeching somewhere deeper in the woods.

But Eddie barely registered any of it as he pressed, shaking hands harder against the wound in your side. Blood immediately soaked through to his palms.

“You need pressure on this,” he said quickly, voice uneven. “Can you hold this?”

“I can walk.”

“No, you can’t.”

“Yes, I can.”

“You got launched ten feet through the air!”

You tried to sit up again anyway, and immediately regretted it. Pain tore through your side hard enough that a broken sound escaped your throat before you could stop it.

Eddie caught you before you could fall back completely, one arm wrapping around your shoulders carefully.

“There she is,” he whispered shakily. “That’s the stubborn girl I know.”

You clenched your jaw hard, humiliated tears burning behind your eyes. Not now, you refused to cry right now.

“I’m not dying in front of you,” you muttered weakly.

Something about that sentence completely shattered whatever composure Eddie had left. His eyes went glossy instantly.

“Hey,” he said softly, almost pleading. “Hey, don’t talk like that.”

Another scream echoed through the woods. Steve suddenly appeared beside them, blood splattered across his bat. “We need to move. Now.”

“Can she walk?” Robin asked urgently.

You opened your mouth immediately. “Yes.”

“No,” Eddie answered at the exact same time.

“I said I can—”

The second you tried to move again, your entire body folded from the pain, and a horrible gasp tore from your chest. And Eddie finally snapped.

“Jesus Christ, would you stop trying to be tough for five seconds?!”

The clearing went quiet for a second, and even you looked startled. Eddie’s breathing shook violently as he stared down at you, terrified and furious and heartbroken all at once.

“Please.”

That one word hurt worse than the injury. Before you could argue again, Eddie slid one arm beneath your knees and the other around your back.

You instinctively grabbed onto his jacket as he lifted you carefully against his chest. Pain exploded through your side immediately, making you gasp sharply into his shoulder.

“I know,” he whispered quickly. “I know, sweetheart, I got you.”

Sweetheart, your eyes shut briefly at the nickname, because he hadn’t called you that in months.

Eddie adjusted his grip tighter around you before looking toward the others. “Move.”

Nancy’s house in the Upside Down looked even worse from the inside.

The wallpaper peeled in blackened strips from the walls, vines crawling through cracks in the ceiling while spores drifted lazily through the stale air. The entire place creaked softly around them as if it were breathing.

Steve slammed the front door shut behind them while Robin shoved an overturned bookshelf against it.

“Are they following us?” she asked breathlessly.

“I don’t know,” Steve answered. “I don’t hear them.”

Eddie barely registered the conversation. The second they got inside, he lowered you carefully onto the couch and immediately dropped to his knees in front of you again. Your blood stained almost everything now.

The couch. His hands. Your shirt. The floor beneath your boots. It just kept coming.

“Okay,” Robin said quickly, trying to stay calm. “Okay, okay. Nancy keeps medical supplies upstairs, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded immediately. “Bathroom closet.”

The two of them disappeared upstairs instantly. Dustin crouched nearby, frantic fingers fumbling with his walkie.

“Nancy? Jonathan? Come in!” Static answered him.

Your breathing hitched painfully again, and Eddie’s head snapped back toward you immediately.

“Stay with me,” he whispered.

You leaned weakly against the couch cushions, face pale beneath the layer of grime and blood smeared across your skin. Every breath looked harder than the last. Still, you forced out a weak, sarcastic smile.

“Pretty sure… this ruins the mission.”

Eddie let out something halfway between a laugh and a broken sound. “Yeah,” he choked out. “Yeah, sweetheart, kinda.”

Your eyes flicked toward the blood covering his hands, then back to him. He looked terrified, like absolutely terrified.

And it hit you suddenly that Eddie Munson looked like he was watching the worst thing that had ever happened to him unfold in real time.

“You can stop looking at me like I’m dying,” you muttered weakly.

The second the words left your mouth, Eddie’s face crumpled completely. “No,” he whispered instantly. Your chest ached at the sound.

Eddie pressed both shaking hands harder against the wound in your side, trying desperately to slow the bleeding.

“You can hate me later,” he said shakily. “Just don’t leave me first.”

Something in your expression broke, because he sounded serious. His eyes glistened under the dim flickering light, curls stuck damply against his forehead, while blood soaked through his rings and sleeves.

And suddenly, all you could think about was Dustin’s voice earlier.

"He always thought you were too good for him."

Your vision blurred slightly. “Eddie…”

“Don’t,” he interrupted immediately, voice cracking. “Please don’t do the thing where people start talking all soft because they think they’re dying, okay? I can’t—”

His breath hitched sharply. Then…Oh. Oh God. Eddie was crying.

Not loud or dramatic, just silent tears slipping down his face while he tried desperately to keep pressure against your side.

You weakly grabbed at his wrist. Instantly, his other hand wrapped around yours.

“I’m here,” he whispered quickly. “I’m here.”

Upstairs, cabinets slammed open while Robin shouted something about peroxide. Dustin was still trying the walkies. But for a second, the rest of the world faded out entirely. It was just Eddie, holding your hand like letting go would kill you.

Your thumb brushed weakly across his knuckles.

“I don’t hate you,” you admitted quietly.

Eddie froze. His watery eyes snapped up to yours so fast it almost hurt to look at. “What?”

You swallowed painfully. “I tried to,” you whispered. “But I don’t.”

Eddie stared at you like the words physically knocked the air from his lungs. Then suddenly, the house went strangely quiet.

Dustin slowly lowered the walkie. “…Wait.”

Steve reappeared at the top of the stairs with Robin right behind him, carrying supplies.

“What?” Robin asked.

Dustin frowned toward the windows. “Do you guys hear that?”

Everyone went still, and there was nothing. No screeching. No snarling. No pounding footsteps outside. The Demodogs were gone.

Steve moved cautiously toward the window, peeling back the curtain slightly. “…Holy shit.”

“What?” Eddie snapped immediately without taking his eyes off you.

Steve looked back slowly. “They stopped.”

Robin blinked. “Stopped what?”

“Following us.”

Everyone went quiet, then Dustin’s eyes widened. “Oh shit.”

Robin looked at him. “‘Oh shit’, what?”

Dustin pointed toward you carefully. “The blood.”

Eddie frowned slightly, and then realization hit all at once. The creatures weren’t tracking El’s scent anymore, not Max’s either. Your blood threw them back to tracking the real deal. 

“Oh, that is dark,” Robin muttered quietly.

Steve looked back out the window one more time before letting the curtain fall shut again. “Doesn’t matter. We still gotta move.”

Eddie’s head snapped up immediately. “She can’t move.”

As if on cue, another painful cough tore through your chest. Blood stained the corner of your mouth again, and Eddie visibly flinched.

Robin quickly knelt beside the couch with the medical supplies, hands moving fast as she peeled back the blood-soaked fabric around your side.

“…Oh.”

Steve’s face tightened instantly. “Bad?”

Robin looked a little pale now, too. “Very.”

You glanced downward weakly. Honestly, you kinda wished you hadn’t.

The slash across your side was deep, way deeper than you originally thought. Blackened blood smeared across torn skin while the edges of the wound pulsed faintly with Upside Down spores and grime.

Robin pressed fresh gauze against it carefully, and you hissed sharply through your teeth.

“Sorry,” she muttered quickly.

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Eddie said immediately, everyone turning to look at him.

He was still kneeling in front of you, one hand locked tightly around yours like he physically couldn’t let go. And somehow he still looked angry at himself, like this was his fault too.

Steve crouched beside Dustin near the walkie.

“We need everyone back here. Now.”

Dustin nodded immediately, adjusting the frequency with shaky hands. “Nancy, Jonathan, Mike— anybody copy?”

Static crackled loudly, then Jonathan’s voice finally pushed through.

“Dustin?”

“Get back to Wheeler’s house now,” Steve ordered quickly. “We have a situation.”

“What happened?”

Steve hesitated briefly, but Eddie didn’t. “She’s hurt.”

Jonathan swore immediately. “How bad?”

Nobody answered fast enough, and that was answer enough. Dustin swallowed hard before grabbing the walkie again. “Guys, seriously, we need everyone here now.”

Robin kept trying to wrap the wound tighter, but every fresh layer of bandages turned red almost instantly. Steve’s expression shifted subtly from worried to straight-up scared.

“Hey,” he said carefully, crouching closer to you now. “Stay with us, okay?”

You let out a weak laugh. “Everybody keeps saying that.”

“Because you look like shit,” Robin replied automatically.

“Robin,” Steve hissed.

“What? I’m motivating her.”

Your eyelids suddenly felt heavy, and your head tipped slightly against the couch cushions.

Instantly, Eddie tightened his grip on your hand. “Hey.”

“I’m awake.”

“No sleeping.”

“I’m literally just resting my eyes.”

“Absolutely not.”

You would’ve laughed if breathing didn’t hurt so badly. Robin exchanged a quick glance with Steve. Then, he stood abruptly.

“We’re getting out of here.”

Eddie looked up sharply. “What?”

“She needs a hospital.”

“In the real world,” Robin added quickly. “Like yesterday.”

Steve nodded toward the ceiling. “Nearest gate’s at the trailer park. We move fast, we can make it.”

“And if the Demogorgons come back?” Dustin asked nervously.

Steve tightened his grip around the nail bat. “Then we fight.”

Eddie looked back down at you again. You looked exhausted now; blood loss had drained almost all the color from your face.

“Okay,” he whispered shakily. “Okay, we’re moving.”

Then softer, mostly to himself as he brushed blood-matted hair carefully from your face, “You’re not dying here.”

The trip back to the trailer park was brutal; every movement hurt. Every step Eddie took with you in his arms jolted painfully through your side, forcing weak gasps from your throat, no matter how hard you tried to hide them.

“You still with me?” he asked quietly after a while.

You hummed weakly against his shoulder.

“Words, sweetheart.”

“…Unfortunately.”

That earned the tiniest huff of laughter from him. Good. You liked hearing him laugh, even now.

Especially now.

The trailer park gates finally came into view ahead through the fog, and relief instantly loosened the group.

“We’re close,” Steve called quietly. “Gate’s right up—”

A screech exploded overhead, and everyone froze. Eddie’s entire body locked up beneath you instantly. Because he knew that sound, all too well. Demobats.

Robin looked upward first. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

The sky above them suddenly erupted with movement. Dark shapes poured through the red clouds in violent shrieking swarms. Dozens, maybe more.

“No, no, no,” Dustin whispered.

Eddie visibly went pale; you could feel it immediately. The way his arms tightened around you, the way his breathing changed to sharp, uneven, panicked. Because last time, these things nearly killed him.

“MOVE!” Steve shouted.

The swarm dove all at once, and chaos erupted instantly. Robin started firing upward while Steve swung the bat wildly at the creatures swooping down around them. Dustin hurled another Molotov skyward, flames bursting violently across the dark sky.

Still, more kept coming. One of the bats shrieked directly beside Eddie’s head. He ducked sharply, nearly dropping you. Another latched briefly onto his jacket, and suddenly he wasn’t here anymore, not fully.

Your stomach twisted painfully as you watched it happen in real time. The fear. The memory. His eyes looked exactly like they had that night in the Upside Down trailer. Terrified. Overwhelmed.

A bat swooped downward fast. 

“EDDIE!” you shouted weakly. Too late.

The creature slammed directly into him, and the impact knocked both of you sideways violently, causing you to slip from his grasp. Pain exploded through your body as you hit the ground hard, tumbling through ash and dead vines.

Your vision blurred immediately, and everything spun. For one horrible second, you almost blacked out. Then you heard Eddie release an agonizing scream. Your head snapped upward weakly.

The bats swarmed him instantly, exactly like before. Clawing. Shrieking. Dragging him toward the ground while Steve and Robin tried desperately to fight them off. And suddenly, you weren’t in the present Upside Down anymore. You were back there, watching Eddie nearly die.

Watching him bleed out while everyone screamed. Watching his body go limp in your arms. No, absolutely fucking not.

Adrenaline slammed through your body so violently it almost made you nauseous.

You forced yourself upward with a broken gasp, fingers scrambling desperately through the dirt until they found the shotgun lying nearby. Your side screamed in protest, but it didn’t matter. You cocked the gun shakily.

One of the bats wrapped around Eddie’s throat while another clawed at his back. His eyes met yours across the chaos, terrified. And that? That did it.

BOOM

The flare shell exploded directly into the swarm, and fire erupted violently across the sky. Shrieking filled the air as the Demo-bats ignited all at once, peeling away from Eddie in flaming screeches. Another shot, then another.

Explosions of orange fire illuminated the dark woods around you while burning creatures dropped from the sky one after another.

Steve grabbed Eddie immediately, hauling him backward. “MOVE MOVE MOVE!”

Robin ran toward you instantly. “Jesus Christ!”

Your arms finally gave out. The shotgun slipped from your fingers as the adrenaline vanished just as quickly as it came. Everything tilted sideways, and Eddie reached you before you hit the ground again.

His hands grabbed your face carefully. “Hey,” he breathed frantically. “Hey, hey, hey, look at me.”

Your vision blurred around the edges, but you still managed the weakest smile.

“Told you,” you whispered faintly. “Not letting you die.” Eddie looked absolutely wrecked by that sentence.

The first thing you noticed was the beeping, soft and steady. Then the smell of antiseptic hit next, clean hospital air replacing the rot and ash of the Upside Down.

Your body felt heavy and warm, and pain throbbed dully through your side the second you tried to move.

A small sound escaped your throat before you could stop it. Immediately, a chair scraped harshly beside you.

“Hey.”

Your eyes blinked open slowly. Hospital room. Dim lighting. And Eddie, kneeling beside your bed so fast it almost looked like he hadn’t moved in hours. Because honestly? He probably hadn’t.

His curls were a mess, dark circles bruised beneath his eyes, while dried scratches still marked his neck and jaw from the bats. One of his hands clutched yours tightly enough to hurt a little.

“Oh, thank God,” he breathed shakily.

Your throat felt raw. “You look terrible.”

A watery laugh escaped him instantly. “Thanks.”

You smiled weakly. Eddie immediately leaned forward in the chair, still gripping your hand like he thought you might disappear if he let go.

“You scared the absolute shit out of me,” he admitted quietly.

“How long was I out?”

“Day and a half.”

Your eyebrows lifted weakly. “Seriously?”

“Mhm.”

“Wow. Kinda dramatic of me.”

Eddie let out another broken laugh, but this one dissolved quickly. You glanced down at your intertwined hands, noticing how he still hadn’t let go.

“…You stayed?”

Eddie looked almost offended. “Obviously, I stayed.”

Something warm twisted painfully in your chest. You swallowed carefully. “The others okay?”

“Yeah.” He nodded quickly. “Everyone’s okay. Couple scratches, Henderson won’t stop bragging about his Molotovs, Robin cried for like twenty minutes after you passed out—”

“Robin cried?”

“She threatened Steve when he laughed about it, too.”

That earned a small laugh out of you. God, he’d missed that sound.

Eddie stared at you for a second too long afterward, like he was making sure you were real, and alive.

His expression slowly crumbled again. “Listen,” he started quietly.

You already knew from his tone that this was gonna hurt. Eddie rubbed shakily at his eyes with his free hand before looking back at you.

“I am so sorry.”

Your chest tightened immediately.

“I should’ve told you about Chrissy,” he continued, voice uneven now. “I should’ve explained, and I should’ve come after you that night instead of letting you walk away.”

Tears burned visibly in his eyes again. “But honestly?” He laughed weakly at himself. “I think I was just waiting for you to realize you were too good for me.”

Your face softened instantly. “Eddie—”

“No, let me say it.” His voice cracked slightly. “Because I need you to know.”

His thumb brushed carefully across your knuckles.

“You are the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in my life,” he whispered shakily. “Like… stupid beautiful. And smart, and funny, and everybody loves you, and I just kept thinking eventually you’d wake up and realize you didn’t wanna be stuck with some freak in a trailer forever.”

Your eyes immediately stung.

“And then when you saw me with Chrissy…” He swallowed hard. “I don’t know. Part of me almost figured maybe this was it. Like maybe I finally ruined the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Silence filled the room softly. Then finally, “You idiot.”

Eddie blinked, and you squeezed his hand weakly. “I never cared about any of that.”

His face crumpled all over again. “I know that now,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry too.”

Eddie frowned immediately. “For what?”

“I should’ve listened.”

“No, sweetheart—”

“I was hurt,” you admitted softly. “But I think part of me already knew you didn’t cheat.”

Eddie’s eyes went glossy again instantly.

You sighed weakly. “You’re too obsessed with me to cheat on me.”

That startled a laugh out of him so suddenly he actually snorted. 

“Well, yeah,” he whispered again.

You smiled faintly. Then after a small pause, “So…” you murmured. “What now?”

Eddie looked at you carefully, like he was scared to answer wrong.

Then slowly, he brought your hand carefully to his lips and pressed the softest kiss against your knuckles.

“Whatever you want,” he whispered.

Your heart melted a little. “…I think,” you admitted quietly, “I’d like my boyfriend back.”

Eddie actually stopped breathing. “You mean that?”

You nodded once, and that was all it took.

Eddie surged forward carefully, terrified of hurting you, one hand cradling your face while he kissed you like he’d been dying to do it for months.

Soft at first, shaky. Then emotional enough that you felt tears hit your cheeks before realizing they were his. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“I love you,” he whispered immediately. “Like, embarrassingly bad.”

You laughed softly. “I love you too, you idiot.”

Neither of you noticed the door cracking open. At least, not until:

“Oh, thank fucking God.”

You both startled apart immediately. Robin stood frozen in the doorway holding two vending machine coffees and an open bag of chips, staring at the two of you with pure exhausted relief on her face.

Behind her, Steve physically sagged against the doorframe.

“FINALLY,” he groaned dramatically. “Jesus Christ.”

Your face burned hot instantly while Eddie still hovered halfway over you, one hand on your waist. Robin pointed between the two of you accusingly. “Do you understand how insufferable you both have been?”

“Robin—” Eddie started.

“No. No, I’m serious.” She walked fully into the room now, setting the coffees down aggressively on the bedside table. “The sexual tension alone almost killed me before the interdimensional monsters even got the chance.”

Eddie groaned, dragging both hands down his face. “Can we have like… one emotional moment? Alone?”

“No,” Steve answered immediately.

Robin nodded. “Absolutely not.”

Then her expression softened slightly as she looked toward you lying in the hospital bed. “You scared the hell out of us, by the way.”

Your smile faded a little. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Steve said quickly, pushing off the doorway. “Just stop getting mauled by alternate dimension creatures. It’s becoming a weird habit in this group.”

“You first,” you shot back weakly.

Robin’s eyes flicked back and forth between you and Eddie again before narrowing suspiciously.

“So…” she dragged out slowly. “Are we all emotionally repaired now or what?”

Eddie looked toward you, and you smiled faintly before intertwining your fingers with his again.

Robin gasped dramatically. “OH, my GOD.”

Steve pointed immediately. “I knew it.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, but he was smiling now, actually...no. More like beaming at the fact that your fingers were laced with his. 

THE END :D

hope you all enjoyed! <33

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Eddie still remembers the day he first laid eyes on you. Summer, going into his third senior year at Hawkins, you walked into Larry’s Auto Body Repair looking like something pulled from the pages of a half-burnt gothic novel left to rot in an attic trunk.

The heat outside had been miserable; thick, wet Indiana air that made grease cling to skin and tempers run short, but you arrived untouched by it all. Draped in black despite the July sun, lace sleeves swallowing your wrists, silver rings glinting like tiny knives beneath the fluorescent lights. 

Your perfume smelled faintly of clove cigarettes, old paper, and rain. Long dark hair spilled down your back in soft waves, and your eyes, God, your eyes, looked mournful in the way stained glass saints did. Beautiful enough to make a man confess every awful thing he’s ever done, truth or not.

Eddie had nearly dropped an engine part directly on his foot.

You’d stepped into the garage like you belonged in another century entirely, gaze drifting slowly across the room with detached fascination, lingering on rusted tools and oil stains as if they were artifacts in a museum.

Then you smiled at him. Not sweet, not shy, but devastating. Like you already knew every terrible thing about him and adored him for it anyway. From that moment on, Eddie Munson was ruined.

Years later, the people of Hawkins still spoke about the two of you in hushed, bewildered voices. The Munsons of the Creel House. The strange family on the hill with wrought iron gates, tangled in dead vines and black roses that somehow bloomed year-round. 

Children swore candlelight moved through the windows at impossible hours. Neighbors whispered about organ music drifting through storms and the silhouettes dancing behind curtains long after midnight.

The truth was far less sinister, mostly. You simply loved beautiful things that others were too frightened to appreciate. And Eddie loved you enough to follow you anywhere, even the old Creel House.

At first, he’d refused to even step onto the property. Too many memories. Too much blood soaked into those walls. Vecna. Chrissy. The Upside Down. Every rotten thing Hawkins tried desperately to bury lived in the bones of that house.

But then you’d walked through the front doors for the first time, black dress trailing over dusty hardwood, staring up at the massive chandelier with wonder glowing across your face like moonlight.

“Eddie,” you’d whispered softly, almost reverently. “It’s perfect.”

And that had been it. Because you looked at the house the same way you looked at him, not with fear, but affection. Like ruined things deserved devotion too. So he rebuilt it for you.

Every creaking staircase. Every shattered window. Every rotted inch of wallpaper. Together, you turned the graveyard of Victor Creel’s legacy into something warm, strange, and terribly romantic. A home, your home.

Corvina, your eldest daughter, drifted through the manor like a tiny phantom in velvet dresses, all solemn eyes and unnerving intelligence. She collected moth wings in glass jars and read Poe beneath thunderstorms while Eddie watched with equal parts pride and concern.

Meanwhile, Edward Jr, though everyone called him Teddy, was chaos incarnate. Wild curls, scraped knees, and his father’s crooked grin. The poor kid had inherited Eddie’s dramatic flair and your complete lack of fear, which meant most afternoons ended with him attempting something mildly catastrophic somewhere on the property.

Eddie had been hesitant about naming him after himself. Truthfully, he was terrified.

He remembered sitting beside you in bed while rain battered the windows, your newborn son asleep against your chest. Candlelight flickered gold across your skin as Eddie stared at the tiny little thing wearing his name.

“What if he ends up like me?” he’d asked quietly. You’d looked at him then with that same devastating softness you’d always reserved for his ugliest thoughts.

“My darling,” you murmured, brushing your fingers through his curls, “I should certainly hope so.”

And just like that, the fear dissolved. Because in your eyes, Eddie Munson had never been something to outgrow or overcome. He had always been something to cherish.

The Creel House came alive slowly in the mornings. Rain tapped softly against the tall windows that morning, the sky outside painted silver and gloomy in the way you adored most.

Eddie stood at the stove in silk pajama pants and a black robe hanging open over his tattooed chest, swaying dramatically to the music while making pancakes shaped vaguely like bats.

“Darling,” you called from your place at the kitchen table, long black sleeves draped elegantly around your coffee cup, “I do believe those are becoming progressively less edible.”

Eddie pressed a hand to his heart in mock offense. “Cruel. Wounded before breakfast.”

“You married me for my cruelty.”

“I married you because you looked at me like a Victorian widow cursed by the sea.”

You smiled over the rim of your mug. “And you looked like trouble wrapped in leather.”

“Mm,” Eddie hummed proudly. “Still do.”

Before you could respond, Eddie appeared beside your chair suddenly, dramatically dropping to one knee like a man overcome with passion. He took your hand delicately, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. Then another to your wrist. Then another just beneath your sleeve.

You laughed softly, tilting your head as his curls brushed your skin. “Edward Munson,” you murmured. “The children are awake.”

“Good,” he replied against your hand. “They should witness devotion.”

Right on cue, Corvina entered the kitchen carrying three books against her chest, long dark braid hanging over one shoulder. She glanced once at the scene before deadpanning:

“You’re disgusting.”

“Thank you, my dove,” you said warmly.

Corvina moved to pour herself coffee like she hadn’t witnessed anything unusual at all. Then came the sound of slower footsteps, Teddy.

Edward Jr. appeared in the doorway wearing his Hawkins High hoodie, backpack hanging off one shoulder, curls sticking up wildly like he’d been running nervous hands through them for an hour.

And immediately, both you and Eddie noticed the expression on his face, and Eddie straightened a little. “Whoa. What’s with the funeral look, Theodore?”

Teddy hesitated, then slowly held up a folded yellow slip of paper. Your brows lifted slightly while Corvina sipped her coffee with the detached calm of someone witnessing an execution.

“It’s a summons,” Teddy muttered.

Eddie blinked once, then dramatically pointed the spatula toward him. “What’d you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“That’s exactly what I used to say,” Eddie nodded solemnly. “And I was usually innocent at least forty percent of the time.”

You extended your hand calmly. “May I see it, darling?”

Teddy crossed the kitchen and handed it over anxiously while Eddie abandoned the pancakes entirely to loom over your shoulder. His chin immediately dropped onto the top of your head while his arms wrapped around your shoulders from behind instinctively.

You unfolded the slip carefully:

REQUESTED PARENT CONFERENCE. PRINCIPAL HIGGINS. REGARDING: EDWARD MUNSON JR.

Eddie groaned immediately. “Jesus Christ. They started early this year.”

Teddy looked miserable. “Dad, I swear, I didn’t even do anything. It was those idiots from the basketball team—they kept messing with my stuff in gym, and one of them shoved me into a locker, and when I shoved him back, he started bleeding and—”

“Bleeding?” Corvina asked mildly.

“He ran into the trophy case!”

“Ah,” she nodded. “Natural selection.”

“Teddy,” you said softly, reaching for his hand. “Look at me.”

He did immediately.

And despite being nearly Eddie’s height now, despite the deepening voice and teenage awkwardness settling into his limbs, he still looked at you the same way he had as a child: like you could fix anything simply by speaking.

“You are not in trouble with us,” you assured gently.

Eddie nodded instantly. “Absolutely not.”

“But—”

“Nope.” Eddie waved him off. “Listen, kid, Hawkins High has been blaming Munsons for shit since before you were born. It’s practically a school tradition.”

Teddy huffed out a nervous laugh. You rose from your chair then, smoothing your hands over Eddie’s wrists where they rested around your waist. “We’ll attend the meeting.”

“Together,” Eddie added.

“And if your principal insists on being unreasonable,” you continued calmly, “your father does so enjoy making authority figures uncomfortable.”

Eddie grinned wickedly. “Baby, remember the vice principal in ‘89?”

You smiled faintly. “He looked moments from cardiac arrest.”

Teddy finally laughed properly at that, the tension melting from his shoulders almost instantly.

Without another word, Eddie reached over and grabbed one of the bat-shaped pancakes, shoving it onto Teddy’s plate. “Eat up, kid,” he said. “Nothing scarier than school administration on an empty stomach.”

Corvina glanced toward the stove. “Those are burnt.”

“They’re wonderful,” Eddie corrected.

You reached for his hand again, kissing his knuckles this time. “My talented husband,” you said softly.

Eddie practically preened under the affection, leaning down immediately to kiss you dramatically enough to make Corvina groan.

“Oh, my God.”

“Teddy,” Eddie said seriously against your mouth, “never settle for a love that doesn’t make your children physically ill.”

“Noted,” Teddy muttered through a mouthful of pancake.

By noon, rain had turned into a heavy mist that clung to Hawkins like a veil, which was the exact kind of weather you loved. The kind of weather Eddie insisted was “romantic as hell.”

The two of you walked through the halls of Hawkins High side by side like something entirely out of place amongst the fluorescent lighting and beige walls. Students slowed as you passed, conversations dipping into whispers almost immediately.

You floated through the hallway in a long black coat that brushed your calves, silver jewelry gleaming beneath the dim lights, while Eddie walked beside you in dark rings and leather, one hand firmly wrapped around yours, as if he physically couldn’t stand not touching you for more than a few seconds.

Which, truthfully, he couldn’t.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie murmured low enough only you could hear as you approached the office, “if Higgins pisses me off, are we thinking subtle psychological warfare or full public humiliation?”

You glanced at him calmly. “Let us see how brave he feels first.”

“God, I love when you threaten people poetically.”

The secretary barely looked up when you entered the office, though her expression tightened almost immediately at the sight of Eddie, still, after all these years. Eddie noticed too, squeezing your hand once before leaning casually against the counter.

“We’re here about Teddy,” he said.

The woman cleared her throat awkwardly. “Principal Higgins is expecting you.”

“Lucky him,” Eddie muttered.

You placed a gentle hand against his chest before he could continue, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from his jacket. “Behave, mon amour.”

Eddie looked down at you like you’d hung the moon itself in the sky. “For you?” he said softly. “Always.”

The secretary looked deeply uncomfortable. Good.

Principal Higgins’ office looked exactly the same as it had when Eddie sat in it at seventeen; stale coffee smell, ugly filing cabinets, school banners hanging crookedly on the walls.

Only now, Higgins himself had more gray hair and less patience. He didn’t stand when you entered. Instead, he leaned back slowly in his chair, eyes moving between you both with poorly concealed irritation.

“Mr. and Mrs. Munson.”

Eddie sat down across from him casually, slinging an arm immediately across the back of your chair. “Higgins,” he replied. “Still alive, huh?”

You rested one elegant hand atop Eddie’s knee beneath the desk, feeling him relax instantly under your touch.

Higgins ignored the comment. “Teddy was involved in an altercation yesterday afternoon.”

“Involved,” Eddie repeated. “Interesting wording.”

“He assaulted another student.”

“He defended himself,” you corrected smoothly.

Higgins finally looked directly at you then, expression tightening slightly. “And how exactly would you know that, Mrs. Munson?”

“Because, unlike this institution,” you replied calmly, “our son tells us the truth.”

Higgins folded his hands atop the desk. “Mrs. Munson, with all due respect, Edward Jr. has inherited certain… behavioral tendencies.”

There it was. Eddie’s jaw tightened instantly beneath the lazy posture he wore like armor. But you? You simply tilted your head slightly.

“What an unfortunate thing to say aloud,” you murmured.

Higgins shifted faintly. Eddie watched you carefully now, eyes practically sparkling because he knew that tone and knew it well. It was the same tone you used moments before verbally disemboweling someone.

“The Munson family,” Higgins continued carefully, “has had a difficult history with this school. Your husband, especially.”

Eddie gave a dry laugh. “Yeah, because this town treated me like I was carrying the plague.”

“You developed quite the reputation.”

“And your athletes didn’t?” Eddie shot back. “Interesting.”

“Eddie,” you said softly, not looking away from Higgins. You folded your hands neatly in your lap, expression serene enough to be unsettling.

“Our son,” you said carefully, “was cornered by three boys larger than him.”

Higgins opened his mouth, but you continued before he could speak.

“One shoved him into a locker repeatedly. Another destroyed his sketchbook. And when Theodore defended himself after being physically provoked, suddenly, he became the problem.”

Silence, and Higgins shifted again. You leaned forward slightly then, dark eyes steady on his.

“And now you sit before two former students who know exactly how Hawkins High operates and imply there is some sort of inherited defect in our child because his last name is Munson.”

Eddie looked dangerously proud beside you.

Higgins cleared his throat. “That isn’t what I meant.”

“No?” you asked gently. “Then perhaps choose your words more carefully.”

The office went quiet except for the rain tapping softly against the windows. Eddie finally leaned forward himself, rings clinking against the desk.

“Look,” he said flatly, “I know exactly what this place thinks about me. Fine. Whatever. But you do not get to stick that shit onto my son because some meathead couldn’t keep his hands to himself.”

Higgins sighed heavily. “No one is suspending Teddy.”

“Very generous,” Corvina’s voice drawled suddenly from the doorway.

All three of you turned. Corvina stood there holding a hall pass and looking deeply unimpressed.

“She followed us?” Higgins asked incredulously.

“She’s observant,” you replied.

“And nosy,” Eddie added proudly.

Corvina stepped inside without invitation. “Also, for the record, Tyler Bennett admitted in chemistry that he started it because Teddy wouldn’t let them make fun of that freshman girl.”

Eddie blinked. Then slowly turned toward his son’s principal with the most insufferably smug expression imaginable. “Huh,” he said. “Would you look at that?”

You reached over then, brushing your fingers lovingly along Eddie’s jaw.

“My darling,” you sighed softly. “It appears our son inherited your unfortunate tendency toward heroics.”

Eddie practically melted into your hand. “Baby,” he whispered dramatically, grabbing your wrist to kiss your palm, “you say the sexiest things to me.”

Corvina stood near the doorway with her arms crossed, entirely too pleased with herself. Eddie lounged back in his chair again, one boot hooked over his knee while he admired you with open, ridiculous affection.

Meanwhile, you remained perfectly composed, which somehow made you infinitely more terrifying.

“Well,” Higgins said stiffly after a long silence, “I believe this matter can be considered resolved.”

“How fortunate,” you replied smoothly.

Eddie snorted under his breath, and Higgins ignored him. “I’ll speak with the boys involved.”

“You should,” you said. “Especially if the school wishes to maintain the illusion of fairness.”

The principal’s jaw tightened faintly. Then, as though remembering something unpleasant, his eyes flicked briefly toward a framed flyer hanging beside his desk. 

Hawkins High Arts Expansion Fund: Sponsored by the Munson Mortuary. 

Eddie noticed immediately, as did you. A slow smile touched your lips. “You know,” you mused softly, rising from your chair, “Edward and I have always cared deeply about the arts.”

Eddie stood the second you did, naturally gravitating toward your side like a shadow stitched to your heels.

“The theater department,” you continued thoughtfully, smoothing the sleeve of your coat, “the music programs, student scholarships…”

Higgins straightened slightly.

“Hell,” Eddie added casually, “the new ceramics kiln was us.”

You turned your attention back to Higgins, expression warm enough to unsettle.

“It would simply devastate us,” you said gently, “if the environment here became hostile enough that we no longer felt comfortable continuing such generosity.”

Higgins cleared his throat quickly. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”

“No,” you agreed pleasantly. “I imagine it won’t.”

Eddie grinned beside you like the devil himself. God, he loved you. Loved the way you could flay someone alive without ever raising your voice. Loved the way people underestimated your softness right until the moment they realized it had teeth.

You reached for his hand, and he took it instantly.

“Well,” Eddie sighed dramatically, “this has been deeply irritating.”

As the four of you started toward the office door, Higgins spoke again. “Mrs. Munson.”

You paused, turning slightly. “I assure you,” he said carefully, “Theodore will be treated fairly.”

You held his gaze for a long moment, then smiled faintly. “I should hope so.”

And with that, you left. The halls quieted again as your family walked through them together.

Eddie’s hand remained clasped tightly with yours while Corvina drifted ahead in a sea of black fabric, entirely unbothered by the stares surrounding her.

The second the front doors shut behind you, Eddie turned toward you with outright admiration burning in his expression.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed. “Marry me again.”

You looked at him calmly. “I would a thousand times.”

Candles flickered low throughout the house, golden light dancing against dark wallpaper while thunder rolled softly somewhere in the distance.

Dinner had long since ended, dishes abandoned in favor of the far more important activity of Eddie dramatically sprawled across the velvet chaise in the sitting room with his head in your lap.

“Darling,” he sighed as you lazily combed your fingers through his curls, “if I die right now, know that I died fulfilled.”

“You’re forty years old,” Corvina deadpanned from the armchair across the room. “Not a dying Victorian poet.”

Eddie pointed accusingly toward her without lifting his head. “Your mother encourages this cruelty.”

You smiled softly down at him. “I find it endearing.”

“That’s because you worship me.”

“Correct.”

Corvina physically recoiled. “Can you two act normal for ten minutes?”

“No,” both of you answered immediately.

Teddy snorted from the floor where he sat building something suspiciously dangerous out of spare radio parts. Then, the doorbell rang, and everyone paused. Corvina moved first, way too fast for her character. 

You noticed immediately. Eddie noticed immediately. Teddy noticed immediately. The three of you slowly turned toward her as she stood abruptly from the chair, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from her black skirt.

“…Interesting,” you murmured.

Corvina narrowed her eyes. “Don’t.”

Eddie sat up slowly now, a grin already forming. “Oh, my God.”

“It’s probably nothing.”

“Corvina Lucille Munson,” Teddy gasped dramatically. “Are you nervous?”

“I will kill you.”

The bell rang again. Corvina moved toward the front door with all the rigid dignity of someone approaching their execution.

You and Eddie exchanged a look. Then, silently, both rose from your seats to follow.

The front door creaked open, and standing beneath the porch light was perhaps the least expected person imaginable. A boy. Tall, clean-cut, nervous beyond belief. Bright blue varsity jacket. Hair neatly combed. Holding flowers.

The poor thing looked like he’d wandered into the wrong horror movie. Corvina stared at him; the boy stared at Corvina. Then his eyes slowly lifted, and landed directly on you and Eddie looming behind her like two beautifully dressed vampires awaiting explanation.

His face drained completely of color. Eddie blinked once, then immediately leaned toward you and whispered with genuine awe:

“He looks like he says ‘yes ma’am’ unironically.”

You nodded thoughtfully. “How refreshing.”

“Mom,” Corvina warned.

The boy swallowed hard. “H-hi, Mr. and Mrs. Munson.”

Eddie lit up instantly. “Oh, I like him.”

Corvina closed her eyes briefly like she regretted ever being born. You stepped forward gracefully, gaze drifting over the bouquet in his trembling hands.

“How lovely,” you said softly. “Funeral lilies.”

“They’re her favorite,” he blurted.

Then you looked at Corvina slowly, while Corvina looked horrified. Eddie looked seconds from losing his mind entirely.

“Teddy,” he whispered sharply. “Your sister has a boyfriend.”

“I KNEW IT.”

“He is not my boyfriend,” Corvina snapped immediately. “He’s an experiment.”

The boy blinked. “An… experiment?”

“You’re studying social dynamics?” you guessed politely.

“Yes,” Corvina said quickly.

Eddie crossed his arms. “By holding hands with the quarterback?”

“Second-string quarterback,” Teddy corrected.

Everyone looked at the boy while he awkwardly raised one hand. “We lost regionals.”

Eddie burst out laughing. “Oh my God, sweetheart,” he wheezed to you. “She brought home a jock.”

“He’s not a jock.”

The boy tried to help. “I’m also on the debate team.”

You gasped softly. “How multifaceted.”

Corvina looked moments from throwing herself from the staircase.

Eddie grinned wickedly at her. “Baby bat’s got a crush.”

“I do not.”

“He knows your favorite flowers,” Teddy sang obnoxiously.

“I hate this family.”

The boy, still somehow standing there despite the obvious psychological warfare occurring around him, looked toward Corvina carefully. And to everyone’s shock, his expression softened.

“She talks about you guys a lot, actually.”

Corvina froze.

Eddie immediately clutched his chest dramatically. “Oh, my.”

“Dad.”

“She told me,” the boy continued nervously, “that her parents are… intense, but very in love.”

You smiled faintly. Corvina looked like she wanted the floorboards to consume her.

“And,” he added carefully, “that her dad still leaves dead roses on her mom’s pillow every morning.”

Eddie looked at you instantly, utterly smitten. “Baby,” he whispered emotionally, “our love is inspiring the youth.”

You reached up, smoothing your hand against his jaw affectionately. “We are deeply romantic.”

“You’re deeply weird,” Teddy corrected.

“Thank you.”

Corvina groaned. “Can we please go before they start kissing again?”

Too late. Eddie had already grabbed your hand dramatically.

“You wound me, little raven,” he said, pressing a theatrical kiss against your knuckles. “Your mother’s beauty simply overwhelms me.”

The boy stared. Teddy stared. Corvina pinched the bridge of her nose. And you, you simply looked at your husband with soft, endless devotion while thunder echoed gently overhead.

“Oh, mon amour,” you sighed lovingly. “You are still the most handsome thing this house has ever held.”

Eddie nearly died on the spot.

The house felt different when the children were gone. Corvina had vanished off to some poetry reading with her painfully polite almost-boyfriend, while Teddy was staying overnight at a friend’s house after aggressively insisting he was “old enough to survive one night without parental supervision.”

Eddie had looked personally offended by the statement. 

Now the evening rain had finally stopped, leaving the world outside soaked silver beneath the moonlight.

You stood in front of the bedroom mirror, fastening a pair of silver earrings, when Eddie appeared in the doorway, already staring at you like a man deeply unwell. His dark button-up hung half-open, curls still damp from the shower, rings glinting in the candlelight.

But his expression, my God. After all these years, he still looked at you like the first breath after drowning.

“Well,” he murmured, leaning against the doorframe, “there goes every coherent thought I’ve ever had.”

You smiled softly at his reflection. “You say that every time I wear black.”

“Because every time you wear black, I fall in love with you all over again.”

“You’re very dramatic.”

“You’re very beautiful. We all cope differently.” You laughed quietly as he crossed the room toward you.

The second he reached you, his hands found your waist instinctively, warm and familiar through the fabric of your dress. He buried his face briefly against your neck with a content sigh like “this—this right here—was the safest place in the universe.”

“Close your eyes,” he murmured.

You raised a brow. “Edward.”

“Please?”

Amused, you obeyed. You heard him moving around the room for a moment before something soft brushed across your palms.

Flowers. 

When you opened your eyes again, Eddie stood before you holding a bouquet of black dahlias and dead roses tied together with velvet ribbon, just like your first date.

“Oh,” you whispered.

Eddie suddenly looked shy beneath all the tattoos and bravado. “I know they’re a little wilted, but Gareth’s florist cousin said—”

“They’re perfect.”

The relief on his face was immediate. You reached up carefully, fingertips brushing his cheek while he melted into your touch on instinct.

“Do you remember,” you asked softly, “what you said to me the night you gave me flowers for the first time?”

Eddie grinned a little. “Yeah.” He leaned closer. “‘Most girls want roses. You looked like you’d appreciate something half-dead.’”

“And I nearly married you on the spot.”

“You definitely wanted me carnally.”

You laughed again and kissed him gently. Eddie hummed happily against your mouth, already chasing after another kiss before you’d fully pulled away.

“Come on,” he whispered. “I’ve got a surprise.”

The graveyard sat at the edge of Hawkins beneath enormous twisted trees, moonlight filtering silver across old headstones and damp grass. Most people found it unsettling, but you found it beautiful, especially tonight.

Your breath caught softly as Eddie led you through the cemetery gates hand in hand.

Because there, beneath the crooked oak tree where he’d taken you all those years ago, sat an entire picnic laid out atop black blankets and velvet pillows. Candles flickered inside lanterns. An old radio played something metal, low enough to blend with the wind.

Your favorite wine rested beside a basket overflowing with chocolate-covered strawberries and homemade pastries, which Eddie had very obviously burnt slightly. And in the center, a vase of black dahlias. Eddie rubbed the back of his neck suddenly, almost bashful. “I know it’s kinda stupid—”

“It isn’t.”

Your voice was so soft that it stopped him immediately. He watched as you stepped slowly into the little space he’d created, moonlight catching the emotion shimmering across your face.

“You remembered everything,” you whispered.

“Course I did.”

Eddie moved closer then, taking your hands carefully. “This is where I fell in love with you,” he admitted quietly. “Figured it deserved revisiting.”

Your chest ached. Because despite all his theatrics, despite the flirting and dramatics and endless teasing, Eddie loved with terrifying sincerity, always had.

You touched his face gently. “You never told me you loved me that night.”

“No,” he said softly. “But I knew.”

The wind moved through the cemetery trees around you, carrying the scent of rain and earth and candle smoke. Then Eddie suddenly dropped dramatically onto the blanket.

“Now,” he announced, patting the spot beside him, “come seduce your husband under the moonlight.”

You smiled helplessly and settled beside him. Immediately, he pulled you into his lap like gravity itself demanded it. You curled against him easily, fingers playing with the rings on his hand while his chin rested atop your shoulder.

For a while, neither of you spoke. You simply existed there together beneath the stars, wrapped in candlelight and old music and decades worth of devotion.

Eventually, Eddie pressed a slow kiss against your neck. “You know,” he murmured, “I was so scared to bring you here on our first date.”

You turned slightly. “You were?”

“Terrified.” He laughed softly against your skin. “Wayne told me if I took a girl to a graveyard, she’d think I was either a serial killer or possessed.”

“And instead?”

“You told me it was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for you.”

“It still is.”

Eddie looked at you then. And suddenly he was twenty again; grease stains on his hands, heart beating too fast, staring at the most hauntingly beautiful girl he’d ever seen while wondering how someone so lovely could possibly want him back.

Only now, he knew, because you’d spent decades proving it.

His hand slid carefully against your cheek. “My sweet girl,” he whispered.

You kissed him before he could say anything else. Slow and loving, the kind of kiss built from years and years of choosing each other over and over again. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled softly again.

Eddie smiled against your mouth. “Think the kids are behaving themselves?”

You smoothed your fingers through his curls lazily. “Not our concern tonight.”

“God,” he sighed happily, pulling you impossibly closer, “I adore you.”

“Eddie,” you whispered, tilting your head as his lips brushed the side of your neck. “You’ve outdone yourself, mon amour.”

He hummed against your skin, the sound vibrating through you. “Only the best for you.”

You laughed softly, and the sound made him tighten his hold, one hand sliding reverently down your side, tracing the black silk of your dress. 

Eddie loved pleasing you more than anything, maybe even more than breathing. He lived for the way your breath would hitch when he touched you just right, for the way you looked at him like he was the only man in any world worth having.

His fingers found the hem of your dress and slipped beneath it, warm palm gliding up your thigh. “Let me worship you here,” he murmured, voice low and rough with devotion. 

You turned in his lap, straddling him, your long dark hair falling around you both like a curtain. The cemetery was empty, the night yours alone. You cupped his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks, silver rings cool against his skin.

“Then worship me, Edward,” you said softly, the command wrapped in velvet.

Eddie’s eyes darkened with hunger and endless love. He kissed you deeply, almost reverently at first, then with growing heat as your tongues met. His hands roamed, pushing your dress up around your hips. He groaned when he realized you’d worn nothing beneath it.

“Fuuuck me,” he breathed against your mouth, a crooked, adoring grin breaking through.

“Oh my love, I plan to.”

He laughed, the sound rich and warm, then lowered you gently onto your back atop the velvet pillows. The cool night air kissed your skin as he peeled the dress from your body, kissing every inch he revealed. Your collarbones, the swell of your breasts, the soft plane of your stomach. When he reached the apex of your thighs, he looked up at you with pure reverence.

He settled between your legs, curls brushing your inner thighs as he pressed open-mouthed kisses along your skin. His tongue found your center with devastating patience; slow, worshipful strokes that had your fingers tightening in his hair. 

He moaned into you like you were the finest thing he’d ever tasted, savoring every gasp and whisper of his name that left your lips.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured against your slick flesh, voice thick. “Let me hear how good I make you feel.”

Your back arched as pleasure coiled tight inside you, and Eddie watched it all unfold like a man witnessing divinity. When you came undone beneath his tongue, thighs trembling around his head, he held you through it, kissing you gently until the waves subsided.

Only then did he rise, shedding his shirt and pants with reverent haste. His cock was hard and aching for you, but he took his time, crawling over you, kissing you so deeply you tasted yourself on his tongue.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips, lining himself up. “More than life. More than death. More than anything in this fucking universe.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him inside you with one smooth thrust. Both of you moaned at the perfect fit; years together, and it still felt like coming home. 

Eddie moved with slow, deep rolls of his hips, savoring every clench of your walls around him. His forehead pressed to yours, curls falling around your faces as he gazed into your eyes.

“Look at me while I fuck you, baby,” he breathed, devotion dripping from every word. “Want to see those saintly eyes when you come on my cock again.”

The cemetery felt alive around you; the wind whispering through the trees, the distant hoot of an owl, the scent of earth and night-blooming flowers mixing with sweat and sex. Eddie’s pace gradually quickened, one hand sliding between you to circle your clit while the other pinned your wrist gently above your head.

You came again with a soft, broken cry of his name, pulling him over the edge with you. He buried himself deep, spilling inside you with a guttural groan, hips stuttering as pleasure wrecked him. Even then, he kept moving; lazy, loving thrusts to draw it out, kissing you through every aftershock.

Afterward, he collapsed beside you and immediately pulled you into his arms, tucking your head beneath his chin. His fingers traced lazy patterns along your spine while your leg draped over his hip.

Eddie pressed a kiss to your hair, voice hoarse with satisfaction. “I’d desecrate every grave in Hawkins if it meant making you feel like that.”

You smiled against his chest, fingertips playing with the silver strands beginning to thread through his dark curls. “If we keep this up, Corvina and Teddy may have a sibling.”

“Would that be so bad? Another mini-Munson running around, raising hell?”

You rolled your eyes lovingly, planting a few peppered kisses along his chest and jaw. “Poor Principal Higgins wouldn’t know what to do with himself with a third Munson.”

Dinner in the Creel-Munson House was rarely quiet. Not because anyone particularly tried to be loud, it was simply impossible for four Munsons to exist in the same room without the atmosphere becoming theatrical.

Thunder groaned outside while candlelight flickered across the dining room, illuminating velvet curtains, silver dishes, and the massive candelabra Teddy insisted made “every meal feel like a vampire intervention.”

Tonight, Eddie had been suspiciously smug since five o’clock, you noticed immediately. Corvina noticed immediately. Teddy noticed immediately. Which meant all three of you spent most of dinner staring at him with increasing suspicion while he fought a grin behind his wine glass.

Finally, Teddy pointed his fork accusingly. “You’re hiding something.”

Eddie gasped dramatically. “What a horrible accusation.”

“You’ve been smirking for an hour,” Corvina added.

“You also called the garlic bread ‘historic,’” Teddy said. “That means something’s wrong.”

You smiled faintly from your seat at the head of the table. “Darling,” you said gently to Eddie, “are you planning a crime?”

Eddie looked delighted by the question. “No,” he answered proudly. “Something better.”

Then, with all the ceremony of a man revealing the crown jewels, Eddie reached into his jacket and slapped four tickets dramatically onto the table. Silence.

Teddy squinted. Then his eyes widened so violently you thought they might leave his skull.

“No fucking way.”

“Language,” you corrected softly.

“No FUCKING way.”

Corvina leaned forward slightly now, dark eyes narrowing in interest. Eddie sat back in his chair with unbearable smugness. “Iron Maiden,” he announced grandly. “Indianapolis. Front section.”

Teddy SHRIEKED, like actually shrieked. The sound echoed through the dining room while Eddie burst into laughter.

“Oh my God,” Teddy gasped, grabbing the tickets with trembling hands. “Dad—Dad, are you serious?!”

“Your old man still has connections, baby.”

Teddy launched out of his chair instantly. 

You sighed knowingly. “Brace yourself, mon amour.”

A second later, Teddy practically tackled Eddie backward in a hug. “There he is,” Eddie wheezed dramatically as Teddy nearly crushed him. “My son. My flesh and blood.”

“You are the coolest person alive.”

“I know.”

Corvina, meanwhile, carefully picked up one of the tickets with much more restraint. But you noticed the tiny upward twitch at the corner of her mouth immediately.

“Dickinson is still performing?” she asked calmly.

Eddie clutched his chest. “That sounded almost excited.”

“It wasn’t.”

“She got the Munson concert gene,” Teddy informed you loudly.

“She absolutely did,” Eddie whispered emotionally. Corvina rolled her eyes, though there was the faintest flush creeping into her cheeks now. You watched your family fondly from your chair, chin resting against your hand.

This. This was your favorite thing.

Eddie glowing with happiness while the children inherited every loud, passionate, ridiculous piece of him without even realizing it. Teddy flopped back into his chair, grinning wildly.

“This is literally the greatest day of my life.”

Eddie pointed at him immediately. “That’s exactly what I said when your mother kissed me the first time.”

“You say that about everything Mom does,” Corvina muttered.

“Because your mother is extraordinary.”

You reached over and touched his hand gently, as Eddie looked at you like he’d been shot directly through the heart.

Then, Corvina cleared her throat, causing everyone to look at her immediately.

“…What,” she said flatly.

Eddie narrowed his eyes. “You’re about to ask for something.”

“I’m not.”

“You did the voice.”

Teddy gasped dramatically. “She DID do the voice.”

Corvina looked deeply regretful. “I hate all of you.”

You smiled softly. “What is it, little raven?”

A pause. Then, with visible reluctance: “…Could I possibly have one additional ticket?”

The room went silent, and Eddie blinked once. Then slowly lowered his wine glass.

“…For who?”

Corvina stared at her plate. “No one.”

“Corvina.”

Another pause.

“…Damien.”

Eddie’s entire body reacted as if he’d just been informed the government had finally collapsed.

“THE BOYFRIEND?”

“He is not—”

“The assistant quarterback?!” Teddy shouted.

“THE DEBATE CLUB ONE?” Eddie cried simultaneously.

Corvina groaned into her hands. You, meanwhile, were trying very hard not to smile.

“He likes Iron Maiden,” Corvina muttered.

Eddie looked genuinely betrayed. “The clean-cut child likes Maiden?”

“He listens to metal with me.”

Eddie stared at her for a long moment. Then suddenly leaned back in his chair, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “Oh, my God.”

“What?”

“She likes him.”

“I do not.”

“She’s sharing music with him,” Eddie whispered hoarsely to you. “Baby, that’s intimate.”

Teddy looked horrified. “That’s like… sacred.”

“Exactly.”

Corvina looked ready to walk into traffic. You finally spoke, voice warm with amusement.

“Perhaps,” you said carefully, “she simply enjoys his company.”

Corvina nodded quickly. “Exactly.”

Eddie narrowed his eyes immediately. “Have you held hands?”

“Dad.”

“HAVE you?”

“No.” Too fast.

Teddy slammed both hands on the table. “THAT WAS A LIE.”

Corvina pointed at him. “You are dead to me.”

Eddie suddenly looked emotional again. “Oh, sweetheart,” he sighed dramatically, “your first love.”

“It’s not love!”

You stood then, gliding around the table toward your daughter. Corvina visibly braced herself for teasing. Instead, you simply smoothed a strand of dark hair behind her ear gently.

And very softly, you said: “If someone makes our little raven smile enough to frighten her this badly… we should like to know him.”

Corvina froze. Because despite all the drama and teasing, your family loved hard. Openly, and without shame, just like Eddie always had.

The house had long since gone quiet. Somewhere downstairs, the grandfather clock groaned past midnight while rain tapped softly against the windows of your bedroom. Eddie lay sprawled across your chest like an oversized cat, one arm wrapped tightly around your waist while you lazily played with his curls.

This had always been his favorite place to exist, right here, with you.

Even after all these years, he still sought you out instinctively. Every night, somehow ended the same way: his head in your lap, or tucked against your chest, or buried into your neck while he mumbled half-asleep nonsense against your skin. Tonight was no different.

“You know,” Eddie murmured sleepily, eyes closed, “I think Corvina gets scarier every day.”

You smiled softly, carefully winding one silver-threaded curl around your finger. “She is your daughter.”

“Exactly why I’m concerned.”

“You cried when she said she held his hand.”

“I did not cry.”

“You absolutely did.”

Eddie cracked one eye open. “I became emotional.”

“You gasped loud enough to frighten Teddy.”

“That was fatherly grief.”

Your laugh came soft and quiet in the dark. God, he loved that sound.

Eddie tilted his head slightly against you just to hear it again. Then your fingers paused suddenly in his curls, a tiny thing, barely noticeable. But Eddie felt it immediately.

“What?” he murmured.

You said nothing at first. Instead, your fingers carefully separated one curl from the rest, then another. Eddie finally looked up slightly, finding your expression softened by something achingly tender.

“My darling,” you whispered.

“Hm?”

You gently pulled something free: a silver strand, then another.

Eddie blinked once. “Oh,” he said.

There was no fear in his voice, just surprise. You held the strands delicately between your fingers, studying them beneath candlelight like they were precious threads of moonlight themselves.

Eddie suddenly looked sheepish. “Well,” he muttered, “guess I’m getting old.”

You looked almost offended by the statement. “Edward Munson,” you said softly, “you have survived.”

You slid from beneath him carefully, crossing toward the antique vanity near the window while Eddie watched you in sleepy confusion.

Then you reached for the little silver locket resting beside your jewelry tray, the one you wore nearly every day, etched with the letter ‘E’.

Eddie pushed himself upright slightly as you opened it carefully. Inside rested tiny fragments of your life together.

A pressed black rose petal from your wedding bouquet. A piece of the guitar pick Eddie used the first time he played guitar for you. A photograph so faded it barely showed two young people grinning in a cemetery beneath storm clouds.

Eddie went completely still.

You placed the silver strands gently beside them, like they were treasures. Then you closed the locket softly and climbed back into bed.

Eddie stared at you for a long moment after you settled beside him again. “…You kept all that?”

You looked genuinely puzzled. “Of course I did.”

“Baby, there’s literally a piece of an old guitar pick in there.”

“The broken corner because you were nervous while playing for me.”

His expression cracked instantly. “You remember that?”

“You dropped it three times before speaking to me,” you replied calmly. “You were adorable.”

Eddie let out a weak laugh, suddenly overwhelmed in the way only you could overwhelm him. Because no one had ever looked at the broken, embarrassing, vulnerable pieces of him and treated them like sacred things before you.

Your fingers slowly returned to his curls. “You know what I see,” you murmured softly, “when I look at these?”

Eddie shook his head once.

“A life.”

His eyes burned immediately, so you kissed his forehead gently.

“The silver only proves you stayed long enough to grow old with me,” you whispered.

And that nearly destroyed him. Eddie suddenly pulled himself over you completely, burying his face into your neck while holding you tight enough to make you laugh softly again.

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbled against your skin. “How are you real?”

You stroked your fingers through his curls carefully, silver strands and all. “I might ask you the same thing.”

“No, seriously,” Eddie groaned dramatically. “You put my gray hairs in a locket. That’s insane behavior.”

“You married me willingly.”

“I’d marry you in every lifetime.”

Your expression softened instantly. Eddie lifted his head, then just enough to look at you through the candlelight; older now, yes, lines at the corners of his eyes and silver threading through dark curls.

But still the same boy who fell hopelessly in love with a gothic girl in black lace all those years ago. Still yours, always yours.

“You know what the worst part is?” he murmured sleepily.

“What’s that, mon amour?”

“I still get nervous around you.”

You smiled. Then pulled him down into another kiss while rain whispered softly against the windows of your haunted little home.

AGH I HOPE YOU ALL LOVED ITTT:)))

Hell of a Summer pt.2 is currently in the works, GET EXCITEDDDD YUHHH

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The first time your ex called you exhausting, he did it in front of his friends, as if it were a joke.

You had been sitting in the Hawkins High parking lot after one of his basketball games, knees tucked to your chest in the passenger seat while he smoked a cigarette out the window.

You don’t even remember what upset you anymore. Something small, probably. Maybe he forgot your plans. Maybe he snapped at you after a bad game. Maybe one of his friends made a comment that stung more than it should have.

Whatever it was, your eyes had gotten glossy, your voice quiet in that humiliating way it always did when you were trying not to cry. And he laughed. Like, actually laughed.

“God damn,” he muttered, leaning back against the driver’s seat. “You are so sensitive.”

His friends snickered from outside the car, where they stood passing around beers.

You remember shrinking instantly. “I’m not trying to start anything,” you said quickly, immediately trying to fix it. “Forget it.”

“No, because every little thing turns into this whole emotional production with you.” He shook his head with this incredulous smile, as if you were impossible to understand. “It’s exhausting.”

That word lodged itself somewhere awful inside your chest. “Exhausting.” “Too emotional.” “Too sensitive.” “Too much.” “Grow up.”

After that, you started noticing how often people acted inconvenienced by your feelings. Your friends sighing when you got quiet after being teased too hard.

Being called dramatic when something genuinely hurt your feelings. Getting told to “lighten up” when jokes crossed lines nobody else seemed to notice.

Eventually, you adapted. You learned how to swallow hurt before anybody could see it. You learned how to laugh when people embarrassed you. You learned how to cry silently.

And worst of all, you learned how to apologize for having feelings before anyone even asked you to. By the time you broke up with your ex and started dating Eddie, you had perfected pretending things didn’t bother you, which was difficult because Eddie noticed everything.

It starts small.

You’re sitting with him and the Hellfire boys in the cafeteria one afternoon, tucked quietly against Eddie’s side while he argues dramatically with Dustin over some campaign detail. You mostly just listen, occasionally smiling when Eddie gets especially animated.

Then Gareth says something. Nothing cruel, technically, just teasing. “You always this quiet,” he asks you with a grin, “or is Munson holding you hostage?”

The table laughs. You smile automatically because that’s what you’re supposed to do, but Eddie feels it.

The tiny way your body pulls inward. The way your fingers stop moving against your lunch tray. The way your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes anymore. And then, almost like instinct, you make yourself smaller.

“He's not,” you say softly before anyone can even react. “I’m just tired.” You say it like an apology.

Eddie’s eyes flick to you immediately. He doesn’t say anything then. Doesn’t embarrass you by making it a bigger deal.

He just throws an arm over the back of your chair and smoothly changes the subject, loud enough to redirect everyone’s attention somewhere else.

But later, when he’s driving you home with one hand lazily resting on your thigh, he asks quietly:

“People give you shit for being quiet a lot?”

You stare out the window. “Not really.”

“You know I can tell when you’re lying, right?”

That almost makes you smile. “It’s not a big deal,” you mumble.

Eddie glances at you briefly before looking back at the road. “Didn’t say it was.”

A few weeks into dating Eddie, everyone starts noticing the same thing: He’s obsessed with you.

Not in a casual high school boyfriend way, either. No, Eddie hovers.

Always touching you somehow. Hand on your knee under the table. Fingers hooked through your belt loops.

Pulling you into his lap at movie nights like it’s instinct instead of thought. Looking at you constantly, no matter the circumstance. And honestly, it confuses people a little. Because you’re quiet.

Sweet, yeah. Pretty in that soft sort of way that sneaks up on people. But shy enough that most people at Hawkins High never really knew what to do with you. You spent more time listening than talking, smiling politely while louder personalities swallowed entire rooms whole.

One Friday night, you’re all crammed into Steve's living room for movie night. Robin’s upside down in the armchair, Dustin and Mike are fighting over snacks on the floor, and Nancy’s trying to get everyone to shut up long enough to actually start the movie while Steve complains dramatically about people getting grease on his couch.

You’re tucked into Eddie’s side on the floor, knees pulled close to your chest while his arm hangs lazily around your shoulders; it’s nice.

Until Robin snorts at something you say. It isn’t even intentionally mean, either.

“You apologize a lot, you know that?” she says casually, reaching for popcorn. “Like… a weird amount.”

Heat crawls up your neck instantly. “Oh,” you laugh softly. “Sorry.”

Robin bursts out laughing. “See? You literally just did it again.”

Steve groans. “Jesus, now I'm noticing it too.”

“It’s like a reflex,” Robin says, still giggling. “Like one of those little dogs that shakes all the time.”

Everyone laughs lightly. Not cruelly or maliciously, but your stomach drops anyway. Because suddenly every apology you’ve said all night feels humiliating. Every sentence is replaying in your head too loudly.

Your ex’s voice echoes automatically. Exhausting.

You shrink without realizing it, curling a little tighter into yourself. And immediately, Eddie notices. His laughter dies first, eyes flicking down toward you, brows pulling together slightly.

You feel him squeeze your shoulder gently. “You okay, sweetheart?”

Every instinct you have screams at you to fix it before you make things awkward, so you smile.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I’m okay.” Eddie watches you for another second, like he can see the exact moment you tucked the hurt away.

The room moves on quickly after that. Robin starts arguing with Steve about the movie choice, Dustin throws popcorn at Mike, and the conversation shifts naturally.

But Eddie stays quieter, his thumb rubbing absent little circles against your shoulder for the rest of the movie. And later, when everyone’s distracted in the kitchen, digging through Steve’s fridge for drinks, Eddie catches your wrist gently before you can follow after them.

“Hey.”

You glance up. “Hm?”

“You sure you’re alright?”

Your stomach twists instantly because he’s asking genuinely. “I’m fine,” you insist softly.

Eddie tilts his head slightly. “Robin hurt your feelings.” It isn’t a question.

You immediately shake your head too fast. “No, she didn’t mean anything by it.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You blink at him. And there’s no accusation on his face, just this quiet patience that makes something uncomfortable tighten in your chest. Because most people don’t notice when your feelings are hurt. Or they do notice, and act like it’s ridiculous.

But Eddie notices and treats it like it matters. Even now, he keeps his voice gentle. “Did it upset you?”

You stare down at your hands. “No, it’s fine, really. Promise.”

He steps closer then, hands settling carefully on your hips. “You know what I think?” he says quietly.

“What?”

“I think you spend a lotta time trying to convince people you don’t have feelings.”

Your throat tightens. Because he says it like he already knows the answer, like he’s been watching you fold yourself smaller and smaller since the day he met you. 

The fight starts over nothing, which somehow makes it worse. Eddie had canceled plans. Not even completely, just pushed them back a couple of hours. 

He was supposed to come over after Hellfire, but the campaign ran long, and then Gareth’s car broke down, and suddenly it’s nearly ten o’clock and Eddie’s climbing through your bedroom window apologizing breathlessly while you sit curled up on your bed pretending you hadn’t been waiting by the window for over an hour.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he says immediately. “Everything got fucked up.”

And logically, you understand that, you do. But disappointment had already settled heavily in your chest hours ago, and once feelings land there, they stay.

You shrug lightly instead. “It’s okay.”

Eddie pauses halfway through taking off his jacket. That tone.

“You sure?”

“Mhm.”

He studies you carefully for a second. “You’re upset.”

“No, I’m not.”

Lie. A painfully obvious one, at that. 

Eddie sighs softly, moving closer. “Baby.”

“It’s seriously fine.”

Except now your voice has that awful tightness in it, the one you get when you’re trying too hard to sound normal.

Eddie notices immediately. “Hey,” he says gently. “Talk to me.”

You stare hard at your comforter instead. Because you want to. You want to tell him your feelings were hurt.

That you missed him. That you spent the last hour convincing yourself not to cry over something stupid. But experience has taught you what happens when you do that.

People get irritated. People think you’re dramatic. People get tired.

So instead, you swallow it, again. “It doesn’t matter,” you mumble.

Eddie’s brows knit together. “Clearly it does.”

You shake your head quickly. “No, seriously, it’s fine.”

His expression shifts slightly at that. “What?”

“It’s fine,” you repeat quietly. “I shouldn’t care so much, anyway.”

Something flashes across his face then. Not anger exactly, something more towards frustration. But not at you, at whatever invisible thing keeps making you do this.

“Can you stop doing that?” he says suddenly.

You blink. “Doing what?”

“This.” He gestures vaguely between you. “Agreeing with me immediately so we don’t actually talk about anything.”

Your stomach twists instantly. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are.” Eddie runs a hand through his curls roughly now, pacing once beside your bed. “Every time something bothers you, you act like you’re not allowed to feel it.”

You shrink a little automatically. “I just don’t wanna start problems.”

“That’s not starting problems!” His voice rises without meaning to, causing you to flinch instantly.

His face falls a little, but now you’re already spiraling internally, heartbeat climbing too fast.

“It’s fine,” you say quickly, nodding before he can continue. “It’s really nothing! I’m just being dramatic and—”

“Jesus Christ.” The words snap out sharper than he intends, and you go silent immediately.

Your eyes gloss over instantly, but you’re still trying so hard to keep yourself together that it almost hurts him to watch.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

Eddie stares at you in disbelief. “Why are you apologizing?”

You shrug helplessly, arms wrapping around your stomach now.

“I just do! I get it, I do it too much.”

The sentence comes out so small and so, so practiced. Like something you’ve been told too many times.

Eddie feels sick. “Sweetheart…”

“It’s okay,” you rush out before he can continue. “Seriously, I know I get upset over dumb stuff, and I’ve been trying really hard not to—”

“Hey.” His voice softens immediately. “No. Stop.”

But now that you’ve started, it all comes pouring out. “My ex used to say I made everything into a huge emotional thing,” you admit shakily, eyes fixed on the floor. “And my friends always acted annoyed when I got upset, so I’ve really been trying not to be like that anymore—”

Your voice cracks. “I know it’s probably exhausting.”

“Baby,” he says quietly, horrified. “Who the fuck convinced you that having feelings makes you exhausting?”

You wipe angrily at your face before tears can fall, embarrassed now.

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

And you do. Every eye roll. Every sigh. Every laugh. Every “it’s not that serious.”

Eddie kneels in front of you then, hands settling carefully on your knees. “You listen to me right now,” he says softly but firmly. “Feeling things deeply does not make you too much.”

Your lip wobbles immediately.

“It doesn’t make you dramatic. It doesn’t make you childish. And it sure as hell doesn’t make you hard to love.”

The first tear slips down your cheek, and Eddie wipes it away instantly with his thumb.

“I got frustrated because I want you to tell me when something hurts,” he admits quietly. “Not because I think your feelings are annoying.”

And there’s no irritation on his face anymore. Just concern, guilt, and this overwhelming softness like he’s terrified you think he sees you the way other people did.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” he murmurs. “I never want you thinking you gotta earn the right to feel things around me.”

That completely undoes you. A sob catches in your throat before you can stop it, and Eddie immediately moves, pulling you into him so fast you barely process it.

“C’mere,” he whispers, wrapping both arms tightly around you.

You hide your face in his shoulder while you cry, mortified, but Eddie just holds you closer. “No more pretending you’re okay when you’re not,” he says quietly into your hair. “Not with me.”

Your fingers curl weakly into the back of his shirt. “I’m trying,” you whisper tearfully.

“I know.” He presses a kiss against your temple. “And you’re doing so good, sweetheart.”

dividers by @strangergraphics

hope you all enjoyed a little sweetness:) until the next one xoxo<3

taglist is open :D

taglist: @angel4ever9

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series masterlist

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you’re not supposed to get involved with the people you interview. it’s a rule you’ve never had a problem keeping, until Eddie Munson, frontman of Corroded Coffin walks into the room like a challenge you can’t ignore. he’s chaos wrapped in leather and sharp edges, used to being the one in control. you’re the journalist who sees right through him. the problem? neither of you likes losing.

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bones of ours: vampire!eddie x you (fem!reader) NSFW (18+)

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vampire!eddie, dark romance, secret relationship, love that feels like hunger, "you are mine/i am yours", caretaking eddie, angsty fluff, he's attached to you, something else is out there, dead dove.

The Hawkins High parking lot always smells vaguely like gasoline and wet pavement in the mornings.

Eddie’s gotten used to it.

It’s part of the routine now. Park the van in his usual spot, ignore the stares, climb the concrete steps near the side entrance, and smoke before first period while Gareth complains about something dramatic and entirely self-inflicted.

“—and then she says I ‘lack emotional maturity,’” Gareth scoffs, leaning against the railing beside him. “What the hell does that even mean?”

Eddie snorts, cigarette tucked between his lips. “Means you’re annoying.”

“Seriously? That’s all you have to say?”

“Yep.”

The morning air’s cold enough to bite. Students pour through the lot below them in loud clusters and varsity jackets and clouds of perfume and hairspray.

Eddie barely looks at any of them anymore. Until, a girl stops at the bottom of the stairs. Not just a girl. A fucking vision.

Eddie’s entire train of thought derails so hard it’s almost audible.

You stand there for a second like you belong on a completely different planet than the rest of Hawkins. Black leather jacket hanging off one shoulder, dark denim mini skirt, sheer tights with little runs in them like you’ve had them forever.

Dark hair all messy in that effortless way that should honestly be illegal. And then you pull out a cigarette. Eddie straightens slightly without realizing.

“Well, hello,” he mutters.

“What?” Gareth asks. But Eddie’s too busy staring.

You cup your hand around the lighter against the wind, face briefly illuminated gold as the flame catches.

You inhale slowly, calmly, and completely unbothered by the dozens of people staring at her like Hawkins High has never seen a pretty girl in black before. And maybe, they haven’t.

You look mean. Not a cruel mean, just the terrifying kind of pretty that makes anyone suddenly aware of their own existence. Eddie feels a little insane about it immediately.

“Holy shit,” he breathes.

Gareth follows his line of sight. “Oh.”

“Right?”

“You don’t stand a chance.”

“Shut up.”

You exhale the smoke toward the cloudy sky, eyes scanning the parking lot with obvious disinterest. Like you already know, this town’s too small for you.

Eddie’s halfway through wondering if he should say something when someone suddenly jogs toward you from across the lot.

Robin Buckley.

Your face immediately softens, and Eddie’s eyes go wide.

Robin reaches you first, grabbing your arm dramatically while talking a mile a minute about something that instantly makes you laugh under your breath.

Eddie nearly drops his cigarette. “No fucking way.”

Gareth grins slowly. “You know her?”

“No,” Eddie says, already standing up straighter. “But Robin does.”

“Oh my God.”

Eddie watches Robin link arms with you casually, walking toward the school entrance like you’ve known each other forever. You glance up the stairs briefly, the briefest of briefs. But your eyes flick over Eddie for half a second before looking away again.

And somehow that’s worse for him, way fucking worse.

Eddie turns to Gareth slowly. “I need to know everything about that girl immediately.”

By the time Eddie gets inside, he’s already lost sight of you twice. Which feels ridiculous considering you look handcrafted from a fever dream specifically to distract him.

He shoves through the front doors anyway, cigarette smell still clinging to his jacket, scanning the crowded hallway until he spots Robin near the front office windows.

Bingo.

She’s leaning against the wall outside the office, arms crossed, clearly waiting for someone. Eddie slides up beside her casually. Robin looks at him once and immediately narrows her eyes.

“No.”

“What?”

“No.”

“I haven’t even said anything yet.”

“You have ‘I just saw the hottest girl alive and now I’m about to embarrass myself’ written all over your face.”

Eddie scoffs. “That is slander.”

Robin just stares.

“…Is she new?”

“There it is.”

“Robin.”

She sighs dramatically like he’s deeply inconveniencing her personally. “Yes, she’s new.”

“What’s her name?”

Robin smirks slowly now, clearly enjoying herself. “Why?”

Eddie deadpans. “Because I’m asking.”

“Oh my God,” she laughs quietly. “You do like her.”

“I saw her for like twelve seconds.”

“And yet here you are.”

Eddie opens his mouth to argue, then immediately shuts it again because honestly? Fair.

Robin grins wider.

“She’s cool,” she says. “Her mom opened that vintage boutique downtown? The one next to the old Family Video?”

Eddie blinks. “The one with all the leather jackets in the window?”

“Yes, grandpa.”

“Huh.”

That actually tracks disturbingly well.

Robin nods toward the office window. “She works there after school sometimes. I started helping out a few weeks ago because apparently I’m incapable of saying no to cool women.”

“Shocking.”

“Anyway,” Robin continues, “she moved here like… last week? We’ve mostly just been hanging out at the shop.”

Eddie risks a glance through the office doorway. You’re standing at the counter while the secretary flips through papers, one boot hooked behind the other lazily.

Jesus Christ.

Before Eddie can defend himself, the office door swings open. And there you are again, closer this time.

The fluorescent lights should make everyone look terrible, but somehow you still look unfairly good standing there with your folded schedule in one hand and your headphones hanging around your neck.

You glance up, your eyes landing on Eddie for half a second.

Then Robin waves you over casually. “There you are.”

You walk toward them, expression calm, vaguely bored, like Hawkins High has already exhausted you and it’s barely first period.

“Your school is confusing,” you tell Robin flatly.

“Trust me, it doesn’t get better.”

Robin takes your schedule from your hand, scanning it quickly before suddenly snapping her fingers.

“Oh, shit.”

“What?”

“I have band first period.”

Eddie perks up immediately. Robin looks between the two of you with an expression that instantly makes him suspicious.

“But,” she continues slowly, “Eddie can show you where to go.”

Your eyes flick to him again.

Up close, Eddie notices even more details: the silver rings covering your fingers, the faint smudge of dark makeup beneath your eyes, the tiny scar near your lip.

You smell faintly like smoke and vanilla, and it’s honestly a little distracting.

Eddie straightens slightly. “Yeah, I can.”

Robin hands your schedule back with a grin that feels far too knowing.

“Perfect. Okay. Great. Problem solved.”

“You’re awfully excited about this,” Eddie mutters.

Robin kicks his boot lightly. “Be nice,” she whispers before turning back to you. “He looks scary, but he’s mostly harmless.”

“Mostly?” Eddie repeats.

You glance at him again. Then, finally, you smile. Not too long, but enough to make Eddie feel briefly insane.

“Good to know,” you say.

Eddie learns very quickly that showing you around is significantly harder than he expected. Mostly because every time he looks at you, his brain short circuits a little.

“You have approximately five seconds before someone shoulder-checks you,” he says as you step backward into the middle of the hallway traffic, still staring down at your crumpled schedule.

Without thinking, he catches your elbow and steers you out of the way just as two basketball players shove past.

You glance up at him. “Friendly school.”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie says dryly. “Real community-oriented.”

A laugh slips out of you.

He walks you through the hallways slower than necessary, pointing things out while secretly trying to extend the interaction for as long as humanly possible.

“That hallway floods when it rains.”

“Charming.”

“The cafeteria pizza can legally qualify as a weapon.”

“Good to know.”

“And if you hear screaming near the gym, just keep walking.”

You glance over. “You’re kidding.”

Eddie just looks ahead solemnly. “I wish I was.”

Another laugh. God, he’s obsessed already.

By the time you reach the arts wing, people are openly staring. Not even subtly, and Eddie notices every single one of them.

Some because you’re new. Most because you’re beautiful.

And weirdly enough, the realization makes something possessive curl low in his chest before he shoves it away immediately because Jesus Christ, Munson, get it together.

“So,” you say after a minute, eyes flicking toward him, “you always volunteer to guide random girls around school?”

“Only the cute ones.”

That finally gets a real smile out of you.

“There it is,” Eddie says before he can stop himself.

Your eyebrow lifts slightly. “What?”

“That smile.” He shrugs casually, despite the fact his heart’s beating weird now. “Was beginning to think you didn’t have one.”

You shake your head a little, looking down briefly like you’re hiding another smile.

Cute. Dangerously cute, at that. Eddie’s so distracted watching you that he nearly walks directly into a freshman carrying a trumpet.

“Watch it, freak,” the kid mutters.

Eddie blinks. “Did a fourteen-year-old just disrespect me?”

You snort quietly beside him. Worth it.

When you finally reach your class, Eddie almost feels disappointed. Which is insane because he’s known you for maybe twenty minutes.

The door’s still closed, a few students lingering outside waiting for the teacher to arrive.

You glance down at your schedule again before looking back up at him. “Guess this is me.”

“Guess so.”

For a second neither of you moves. Then you shift your bag higher onto your shoulder. “Thanks for showing me around.”

“Anytime.”

Another tiny pause. And then:

“I’m Eddie, by the way.”

Your lips twitch slightly like you already knew he’d eventually get around to introducing himself.

You tell him your name. And Eddie swears he’s never heard anything prettier.

He repeats it once immediately, like testing how it sounds in his mouth. You notice, and he can tell you noticed. And somehow that makes it worse.

“Well,” you say, stepping backward toward the classroom door as more students start arriving, “thanks, Eddie.”

He watches you disappear inside. Then stands there for another full five seconds doing absolutely nothing. A freshman walks around him awkwardly.

Eddie exhales sharply. “…I’m so fucked.”

By lunch, the situation has escalated dramatically.

“You’re being weird,” Dustin informs him around a mouthful of fries.

Eddie ignores him completely, leaning over the Hellfire table while staring at the tiny screen of Dustin’s phone. “I’m not being weird.”

“You asked me if the school office keeps records of student last names.”

“That was research.”

“That was stalking.”

“Semantics.”

Dustin sighs dramatically but keeps scrolling through Instagram anyway.

“Okay, wait. So, what do we know?”

Eddie starts counting on his fingers.

“New girl. Robin knows her. Her mom owns that boutique downtown.”

“Helpful.”

“She smokes Marlboro Reds.”

Dustin stares at him. “…You noticed the brand?”

Eddie points at him. “Don’t judge me.”

“I’m absolutely judging you.”

They continue scrolling, no luck.

“No offense,” Dustin says, “but you don’t even know her last name. How are we supposed to find her?”

Eddie leans back in his chair with a groan. Then suddenly, “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“The store.”

Dustin squints at him. “What store?”

“The store,” Eddie says again, grabbing the phone back. “Businesses have Instagram accounts, Henderson. Keep up.”

Dustin scoffs and snags the phone back, searching desperately to find the boutique. And suddenly they’re both hunched over the screen like detectives trying to crack a federal case.

“Found it,” Dustin says suddenly.

Eddie nearly snatches the phone out of his hands.

The boutique’s Instagram pulls up first: grainy photos of vintage jackets, chunky jewelry, and old band tees hanging on racks. The whole page looks cool in a way Hawkins definitely isn’t.

Even the bio is intimidating. Dustin scrolls through the feed while Eddie hovers over his shoulder impatiently.

“Can you move faster before I die?”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being efficient.”

Dustin opens one of the newer posts, a mirror picture from inside the shop. Robin’s in the background making a face while holding up a leopard print jacket.

And there you are.

Standing behind the counter in a black lace tank and low-rise jeans, one hip leaned against the register while looking down at something out of frame.

Eddie fully stops breathing for a second.

“Oh, she’s cool cool,” Dustin mutters.

“Told you.”

“Yeah, but this is, like…” Dustin gestures vaguely at the screen. “Advanced levels of hot.”

Eddie grins smugly like he personally accomplished that somehow. Then Dustin notices the tagged accounts at the top.

“Ohhhhhh.”

Eddie leans closer immediately, and there it is: your Instagram.

Your profile picture alone nearly kills him. A blurry flash photo in a back alley, cigarette in one hand, while you face into nothing.

“Open it,” Eddie says instantly.

Dustin clicks the account, and the second he does Eddie is absolutely done for. Your entire feed looks like something ripped out of a late-night MTV music video.

Dark blurry photos. Band posters. Mirror selfies. Stacks of CDs. Cigarettes balanced between ringed fingers. Random shots of rainy streets and coffee cups and record players.

And then there are selfies. Jesus Christ.

“She looks famous,” Gareth says suddenly, appearing behind them out of nowhere.

Eddie jumps. “Where the hell did you come from?”

Jeff leans over too now. “Munson’s in love.”

“I’m not in love.”

“You remembered her cigarette brand,” Dustin says.

Eddie ignores them, thumb hovering over the follow button. Which somehow now makes this all feel more serious.

“Do it,” Gareth says immediately.

“Absolutely do it.”

“What if she thinks I’m weird?”

The entire table goes silent, then they all burst into laughter.

“YOU’RE asking that?” Dustin nearly wheezes.

Eddie flips him off without looking away from the screen. Your bio is short. "no one mourns the wicked."

Eddie’s even more obsessed now, like that's even possible.

“Okay,” he mutters mostly to himself. “We’re doing this.”

Then he hits follow, and the table erupts immediately.

“Oh my God, he folded.”

“That was FAST.”

“Munson’s down catastrophic.”

Eddie shoves Dustin away. “Shut up.”

But he’s grinning, actually grinning. Because now there’s a chance you’re gonna open Instagram later and see his name sitting there waiting for you.

Your phone buzzes:

edsthebanished started following you.

Cute didn’t even begin to cover it, honestly.

Pretty in that dangerous sort of way. Big brown eyes, rings on every finger, messy curls, cigarette smoke clinging to his jacket. The kind of guy your mother would immediately clock as trouble before he even opened his mouth.

Which, naturally, made him exactly your type. Unfortunately for him, you’d met boys like Eddie before.

Cocky ones. Flirty ones. Boys who looked at you too long in hallways and thought a little charm and a pretty smile could get them anything they wanted.

And sure, maybe it worked sometimes. But you’d gotten good at the game too, maybe even better than they were.

So instead of following back immediately, you let the notification sit there untouched for the rest of the school day, left lingering in your inbox while you pretended not to think about it every ten minutes.

By the time you get to the boutique after school, Robin’s already behind the counter reorganizing a rack of skirts while blasting The Cranberries through the store speakers.

She glances up the second you walk in, then immediately narrows her eyes.

“…Why do you look smug?”

“I don’t look smug.”

“You absolutely look smug.”

She abandons the rack she’s fixing, crossing her arms dramatically as she leans against the counter. “Alright. Tell me everything.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Mhm.”

You unlock your phone casually, sliding it across the counter toward her. Robin looks down, then immediately bursts out laughing.

“No fucking way.”

There, sitting at the top of your notifications:

edsthebanished started following you.

“Oh, he folded FAST,” Robin says delightedly.

You take your phone back before she can snoop any further. “It’s just a follow.”

“From Eddie Munson,” she emphasizes. “Who spent half of first period pretending he wasn’t trying to impress you.”

A laugh slips out before you can stop it. “That obvious?”

“To me? Extremely.”

You lean back against the counter, phone still in your hand. “I mean…” Your shoulders lift slightly. “He’s cute.”

Robin gasps theatrically. “Oh my God.”

“Stop it!”

“I’m not doing anything!”

You roll your eyes, but you’re still smiling faintly as your thumb taps absentmindedly against your phone case.

“He just…” You pause. “I don’t know much about him.”

“He’s actually really nice,” she says. “Like, genuinely. He acts all dramatic and flirty and whatever, but Eddie’s kinda… different.”

"Different."

You glance down at the notification again. The username alone screams dramatic little shit. You can practically picture the grin he probably had while hitting follow.

Robin watches your expression carefully before smirking knowingly.

“Oh, please,” she says. “I know how much you love different.”

You point at her immediately. “That sounds judgmental.”

“It’s observational.”

“It’s rude.”

“It’s accurate.”

You snort quietly, shaking your head. Then, after one last second of pretending to think about it, you follow him back.

Eddie is sprawled dramatically across Gareth’s garage couch when it happens. The boys are supposed to be practicing.

Instead, Jeff’s tuning his bass for the fifteenth time, Gareth’s arguing with someone over the phone, and Eddie’s been pretending to listen while checking Instagram every thirty seconds like a psychopath.

Then suddenly, his phone buzzes:

midnightanomaly started following you

Eddie sits upright so fast he nearly falls off the couch. “No way.”

“What?” Gareth asks distractedly.

“She followed me back.”

The entire garage erupts instantly.

Jeff points accusingly. “OH, he’s smiling smiling.”

“Shut up.”

Eddie opens your profile immediately anyway. Now that you’re mutuals, it’s somehow even worse for his mental stability.

Eddie thumb begins to loom over the message button instinctively.

“Jesus Christ,” Gareth mutters. “You are DOWN horrendous.”

“I need to message her.”

“Immediately?” Jeff asks.

“Yes immediately.”

“That’s insane behavior.”

Eddie ignores them, already opening his DMs. And for the first time all day, Eddie suddenly feels nervous.

Because flirting in person is one thing, but DMs are forever.

“Okay,” he mutters. “What do I say?”

“Don’t be weird,” Gareth says.

“Not helpful.”

Jeff leans over his shoulder. “Say something normal.”

“I am normal.”

All three of them stare at him.

“…Right,” Eddie sighs.

Then finally, after another second of overthinking it, he starts typing.

Your phone buzzes while you’re reorganizing necklaces behind the counter.

Robin immediately notices. “You smiled again.”

“I did not.”

“You literally did.”

You glance down at the notification:

Your eyes flick over Eddie’s last message again. You hate how much you can picture him typing it.

Probably grinning at his phone, surrounded by friends making fun of him, and fully aware of exactly what he’s doing.

Robin appears beside you again carrying a stack of folded shirts. “You’ve reread that message like four times.”

“I’m analyzing it.”

“You’re flirting.”

You angle the phone toward her finally, letting her skim through the conversation. Robin’s reaction is immediate.

“Oh, he likes you bad.”

“It’s been one day.”

“And yet.” She points dramatically at the screen. “This.”

You bite back another smile, locking your phone before she can keep reading.

Robin watches you carefully. “So what’re you gonna say?”

You shrug. Honestly? You’re not entirely sure.

Because Eddie’s smooth, annoyingly smooth. The kind of smooth that should feel rehearsed, except somehow it doesn’t, and that’s the dangerous part.

You glance down at your phone again before an idea suddenly hits you. Slowly, a grin spreads across your face, and Robin notices instantly.

“Oh no.”

“What?”

“You’re about to instigate.”

You open Instagram. “Maybe.”

“Girl.”

“He’s in a band, yeah?”

“…Yeah.”

A few taps later, your new note goes live.

Robin bursts out laughing almost instantly. “You are SUCH a menace.”

“It’s subtle.”

“It’s literally bait.”

You grin shamelessly, locking your phone. Across town, Gareth notices the note before Eddie does.

“WAIT,” he says suddenly, grabbing Eddie’s arm. “Read that.”

He goes quiet, then a slight grin forms across his face. “Oh, so this is how she wants to play it, huh?”

Jeff throws a balled-up receipt at his head immediately. “You are unbelievable.”

“She literally handed me an opening.”

“That was not specifically for you.”

Eddie’s already opening Instagram stories anyway. “Yes it was.”

Gareth watches him type with growing horror. “Whatever you’re doing right now is gonna be embarrassing.”

“No,” Eddie says confidently. “It’s gonna be charming.”

He snaps a blurry picture of Gareth’s garage: amps stacked against the wall, guitars and tangled cords everywhere.

Then, types over it:

When you check your phone fifteen minutes later, you immediately laugh under your breath.

Robin looks up from steaming tags onto new inventory. “What now?”

Without answering, you turn the screen toward her, and Eddie’s story fills the display.

Robin’s jaw drops dramatically. “Oh, he’s SMOOTH.”

“It’s a little funny,” you admit.

“A little?” Robin grabs your wrist. “No, absolutely not. We’re going.”

You blink at her. “To the gig?”

“Yes.”

“Robin.”

“You literally baited him first.”

“That’s not—”

“And now he’s inviting you out in public like a normal person instead of lurking in your DMs.” She points accusingly. “That’s growth.”

You snort, shaking your head. The idea of seeing him again sends a weird little spark low in your stomach, which is annoying.

Robin notices your hesitation instantly and grins. “Oh my God, you want to go.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

An hour later, after closing, you’re standing in the boutique’s back room staring at yourself in the mirror while Robin digs through clothing racks like a woman possessed.

“You need something hot.”

“I already look hot.”

Robin pauses dramatically. “…Well.”

You end up in a pair of gray denim jeans, a studded belt, and a fitted black tank top with lace detailing.

Robin wolf whistles from behind you. “Eddie Munson the man that you are.”

“Relax.”

“You’re posting that.”

You glance at yourself once more before shrugging and pulling out your phone.

A quick mirror picture: flash on, but messy enough to look accidental. Then you post it to your close friends story.

And, very intentionally, you put Eddie on your close friends list…

Across town, Eddie’s midway through tuning his guitar when his phone lights up. He almost ignores it. Then, he sees the little green circle around your icon and immediately drops the guitar pick.

“No way.”

“What?” Gareth asks.

Eddie opens the story and forgets how to breathe for a second. “Oh, she’s evil.”

You stare at the screen for a second before slowly turning your phone toward Robin. “…You invited Steve?”

Robin doesn’t even look guilty. “If by invited you mean casually mentioned we were going and he invited himself? Then yes.”

“Robin.”

“What?” she says innocently. “Steve likes live music.”

“Not this kind of music.”

“He likes me. Big difference.”

You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head as you tuck your phone back into your pocket. A dangerous little grin spreads across her face. “Oh,” she says softly.

You immediately narrow your eyes. “No.”

“No, listen.”

“That sentence has literally never ended positively.”

Robin leans across the counter conspiratorially anyway. “If Eddie wants to act all smooth and flirty and mysterious—”

“He’s not mysterious.”

“He thinks he is,” Robin corrects. “Which means we now have leverage.”

You already know where this is going, and absolutely not. “Robin—”

“Imagine,” she interrupts dramatically, “how insane Munson’s gonna go when Steve Harrington walks into the Hideout with you.”

You snort immediately. “You’re evil.”

“I’m hilarious.”

“You’re trying to start a fight.”

“I’m trying to create atmosphere.”

You shake your head, but the idea is admittedly a little funny. Mostly because Eddie does seem like the possessive type. Not in a bad way, just in the very obvious way. And you are very familiar with the game that is boys and their fragile egos. 

Robin notices your expression instantly and points at you. “OH, you’re thinking about it.”

“I’m thinking about how much trouble you’d cause in another life.”

“And yet you love me.”

Unfortunately? Also true.

Before you can respond, your phone buzzes again:

You lock your phone slowly, still grinning a little despite yourself.

“Well?” she asks immediately.

You shrug, trying for casual. “He’s funny.”

Robin gasps dramatically. “Funny? That’s the word we’re using now?”

You busy yourself with fixing the sleeve of your jacket instead of answering, which is apparently answer enough.

Robin grins knowingly. “Oh, you like him.”

“I think he likes attention.”

“And you don’t?”

You point at her accusingly. “You’re getting way too much enjoyment out of this.”

“Because it’s entertaining.” She grabs her bag from beneath the counter. “Also, because Eddie Munson has never looked at his phone this much in his life.”

That image alone makes your stomach flip annoyingly.

“Oh, you’re gone.”

“I’m literally standing right here.”

Before Robin can torment you further, headlights flash through the boutique windows. Then a horn honks twice outside.

Robin brightens instantly. “Our chariot awaits.”

You glance through the front window just in time to see Steve leaning across the driver’s seat of his BMW, one hand on the wheel.

Your eyebrows lift. “You weren’t kidding.”

“Told you.”

Outside, Steve looks between the two of you as you climb in the car. Then he does a visible double-take at your outfit. “…Jesus Christ.”

Robin cackles immediately from the passenger seat. “RIGHT?”

You snort, shutting the back door behind you. “Relax.”

“No, I’m serious,” Steve says, pulling away from the curb. “Munson’s gonna forget how to speak.”

Meanwhile, across town, Eddie’s trying very hard not to lose his mind. The Hideout smells like beer and old wood and cigarette smoke, the small stage barely big enough for the band’s equipment.

Jeff’s tuning, Gareth’s complaining, and the crowd’s slowly filtering in. And Eddie keeps checking the front door every thirty seconds like a maniac.

“She’s coming,” Gareth says without looking up.

“I know.”

“You’re pacing.”

“I’m not pacing.”

Jeff glances over. “You changed shirts twice.”

“Okay, first of all—”

The front door swings open before Eddie can finish, and suddenly every thought in his head evaporates.

You walk in beside Robin, looking exactly as devastating as your story suggested. Tight black top and silver jewelry catching under the dim bar lights, leather jacket slipping slightly off your shoulder.

For one brief second, Eddie forgets literally everything else in the room exists, then he notices who’s behind you.

Steve fucking Harrington.

Eddie’s smile drops instantly. “…What the fuck?”

Normally, Eddie loves this part: the adrenaline, the noise, the attention. Tonight, though? Every single one of his thoughts keeps circling back to the same thing:

Why the hell did you come with Steve Harrington?

He grips the mic tighter as Jeff starts the opening riff of their first song, then his eyes find you again automatically. You’re standing near the front with Robin, one hand wrapped around a drink, while Steve leans down, saying something that makes you laugh.

And Eddie immediately misses a lyric.

Jeff shoots him a horrified look from across the stage. Eddie recovers quickly enough that most people probably don’t notice. Most people, except Gareth, who absolutely notices and starts grinning like an asshole behind his drums.

Dick.

Eddie tries focusing on the music instead; he really does. But then Steve touches your shoulder while guiding you through the crowd, and Eddie nearly breaks a guitar string.

“Oh my God,” Gareth mouths dramatically mid-song. Eddie glares at him, which only makes Gareth laugh harder.

Meanwhile, from where you’re standing, it’s becoming increasingly obvious that Eddie’s watching you. Like, a lot.

Robin notices first, naturally. “He’s losing his mind.”

“What?”

She tilts her drink subtly toward the stage, and Eddie’s eyes are already on you again. The second he realizes you caught him staring, he immediately smirks and turns back toward the crowd like he meant to do it.

Cocky asshole.

Steve notices, too, after about the third time. “…Wait,” he says slowly. “Is Munson glaring at me?”

Robin bursts out laughing. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you showed up with her.”

Steve blinks once, then looks between you and Eddie onstage. Then, he slowly grins.

“Don’t encourage him,” you mutter.

“Too late.”

Unfortunately, Steve seems to take this as a personal challenge. During the next song, he leans closer just to say something in your ear over the music. Not even flirting, just talking.

But from the stage, it looks very flirty. Eddie's jaw tightens instantly.

The next guitar solo comes out sharper somehow, louder, rougher around the edges, like he’s trying to prove something.

Robin watches the whole thing unfold with the satisfaction of a woman witnessing live theater.

“Oh, he’s pissed,” she says happily.

“What does that even mean?”

“It means Eddie wants you so bad he’s entering alpha male state.”

By the time Corroded Coffin finishes their last song, the entire bar feels warmer somehow. Sweat sticks to the back of your neck beneath your hair, the room still buzzing with leftover energy as people clap and whistle while the band starts packing up equipment.

And Eddie looks unfairly good after performing.

His curls are damp with sweat, rings flashing in the dim light as he unplugs his guitar cable. Adrenaline still clings to him visibly, chest rising heavier than before, while people stop him every few seconds to talk.

You catch him glancing toward you twice. Three times. Okay, maybe more than that.

Robin notices, too, obviously. “He’s absolutely coming over here.”

“Robin—”

“You made eye contact during the guitar solo.”

“I did not.”

“You literally did.”

Before you can argue further, Eddie finally slips away from a group near the stage and starts making his way through the crowd toward you. The closer he gets, the more obvious it becomes that he’s trying to play it cool. Emphasis on trying.

Eddie finally reaches your group, slightly breathless, cheeks flushed from the set. His eyes go to yours automatically, which you definitely notice.

“So?” he asks, trying for casual confidence. “Did Corroded Coffin survive the pressure?”

You tilt your head slightly like you’re considering it seriously. “Barely.”

Eddie laughs instantly, ducking his head for a second. “Brutal.”

“You recovered from forgetting the lyrics, though.”

His eyes narrow immediately. “I knew you noticed.”

“You made it kinda obvious, sweetheart.”

That earns you a look, one that lingers just a little too long. Then, Eddie glances toward the crowded room before looking back at you again.

“Wanna come outside with me?” he asks. “Need a cigarette before Gareth starts talking about the set for the next three hours.”

You try not to smile too obviously as you set your drink down. “Sure.”

Eddie immediately straightens slightly, like he wasn’t expecting that answer so easily.

The cold night air hits the second Eddie pushes open the back door. It’s quieter outside. Just distant traffic, muffled music through the walls, and the scrape of Eddie’s lighter as he sparks a cigarette to life.

Eddie leans back against the brick wall outside the Hideout, cigarette balanced between his fingers while smoke curls around him in the cold night air. The dim neon sign above the back door paints everything in washed-out blues and white, catching on his face.

Honestly, it’s unfairly cinematic. You stare at him for a second too long, apparently, because Eddie smirks lightly around his cigarette.

“What?”

You shake your head once, already digging through your bag. “Wait.”

His eyebrow lifts. “That dangerous?”

“Stay still.”

Now he looks genuinely confused, but he listens anyway. One hand shoved into the pocket of his leather jacket, while he watches you pull out your camera.

The sight of that alone nearly kills him. “You carry a camera around?”

“Obviously.”

“That’s hot.”

You ignore him, squinting slightly through the viewfinder instead. God.

The lighting, the curls falling into his face. He looks like he belongs on the cover of some underground rock magazine.

“Okay,” you murmur mostly to yourself. “Yeah. This is photo worthy.”

Eddie visibly short-circuits for half a second.

“Photo worthy?” he repeats.

“Don’t let it get to your head.” Too late.

You snap the picture anyway, and the flash goes off between you. For a second, Eddie’s left blinking spots from his vision while you grin down at the developed polaroid slowly appearing in your hand.

Then his expression softens a little when he sees the way you’re looking at it. “…Lemme see.”

You hold it out reluctantly. Eddie takes one glance at the picture and actually laughs quietly.

“Holy shit,” he says. “I look cool.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You made me look mysterious.”

“You already think you’re mysterious.”

“I am mysterious.”

You snort softly, taking the photo back. Then, before you can overthink it, you pull out your phone and upload the picture to your Instagram story.

You don’t miss the way his entire demeanor shifts when he realizes what you’re doing.

“…Wait,” he says slowly. “You’re posting me?”

You glance up innocently. “Problem?”

Eddie stares at you for a second like he genuinely doesn’t know what to do with himself anymore. Then he laughs under his breath, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says softly. “You’re gonna kill me.”

By the time you get home, it’s nearly one in the morning. Your ears are still ringing faintly from the music, the smell of cigarette smoke still clings to your jacket, too, mixing with perfume and cold night air as you flop backward onto your bed with your phone already in your hand.

And immediately, your stomach flips. Because Eddie reposted your story. The picture of him outside the Hideout now sits on his story, too.

You stare at it for a second longer than necessary, then another. Goddamn it. You’re grinning like an idiot.

Your phone buzzes before you can think too hard about it:

You’re halfway through typing a response when another notification appears across the top of your screen:

crissy.cunningham started following you. 

Your fingers pause immediately, and you shoot up. Because Robin told you all about Crissy. 

Head cheerleader, pretty blonde hair, perfect all-American girl. The kind of girl who absolutely does not interact with girls like you. What the hell?

Before you can even process it fully, another message from Eddie comes through.

You stare at Chrissy Cunningham’s follow for a solid ten seconds before letting your stomach settle. Because honestly? What the hell else are you supposed to do with that?

Almost immediately, your phone buzzes again, and your eyebrows lift at the notification:

You sit upright so fast your blanket falls into your lap.

No fucking way.

You reread the message once, then twice. Then immediately screenshot it and send it straight to Robin.

Your eyes widen slightly.

Fuck.

this is me btw^

AHHHHH okay so im actually addicted to making these...i feel like it just adds more of a realistic feel, yk?

anywayyyyy ofc there's gonna be a part two because love triangle? love square? obsessed.

anywayyyyy.... overall taglist is open!

mylovelylittlebugsomgiloveyouallsomuch:

Eddie lets himself into your house, quickly popping into the living room to say hello to your mom and your dog. Your mom gives him a warm smile and a “hello” before nodding towards the hallway.

“She’s in her room,” she says, then sighs.”Has everything been alright with you two? She’s been…” Her voice trails off, searching for the words.

“I’ve been a little tied up at work recently, but yeah, we’re fine. I’ll go talk to her.”

Your mom nods and grabs the remote, insinuating that the conversation is over. Eddie walks down the hallway towards your room, knocking once. 

“Yeah?” your voice calls from beyond the door. He nods once and lets himself in.

“Hey, sweet…” his voice trails off, eyes scanning the scene.

Your curtains are still drawn despite it being nearly three in the afternoon. Clothes are scattered across the floor, half-folded laundry abandoned at the foot of your bed. An untouched mug of tea sits on your nightstand beside a stack of books and tangled headphones.

And you. Curled up beneath your blankets in one of his old Black Sabbath shirts, eyes dull with exhaustion. Eddie’s expression softens immediately.

“Hey,” he says again, quieter this time.

You offer him a weak smile. “Hi.”

He shuts the door behind him carefully, like too much noise might crack something fragile, then crosses the room and sits on the edge of your bed. 

“You sick?” he asks gently.

You shrug.

“Tired?”

Another shrug.

Eddie studies you for a long moment, brows pinching together slightly. “Baby,” he murmurs. “How long’ve you been in here?”

You stare at a loose thread on the comforter. “I dunno.”

“That bad, huh?”

The thing is, he doesn’t ask judgmentally. Doesn’t say it with that forced brightness people use when they don’t really get it. There’s no come on, cheer up in his voice. No, "it could be worse."

“I’m trying,” you whisper finally. “I just feel…stuck lately.”

Eddie nods immediately.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I know that feeling.”

Your eyes flick up to his.

He leans back against the wall behind your bed, fiddling absentmindedly with one of your rings sitting on the nightstand. “Sometimes your brain just decides everything’s heavy for no reason.” A small huff of laughter leaves him. “Makes getting outta bed feel like fighting for your life.”

You blink at him a little. “You get like this, too?”

“Sweetheart.” He gives you a look. “I don’t write sad metal songs for fun.”

That gets the tiniest laugh out of you. Barely there, but enough that his face lights up like he just won the lottery. “There she is,” he says quietly.

Eddie nudges your knee beneath the blanket. “C’mon.”

“I don’t wanna do anything.”

“I know.” He stands, then points at you dramatically. “Which is exactly why we’re doing something.”

You groan immediately. “Eddie—”

“Nope. No arguing.” He walks toward your closet like he owns the place. “We’re getting you outta this crypt for at least a few hours.”

“I look terrible.”

“Incorrect. You always look pretty. Next excuse.”

“I seriously don’t have the energy.”

His movements slow a little at that one. 

“You don’t gotta be fun today,” he says. “Or smile the whole time. Or pretend you’re okay for me.” He glances back at you. “I just don’t want you trapped in your own head all day.”

You stare at him quietly while he pulls one of your sweaters off a hanger.

“And,” he adds, holding it up, “I was thinking bookstore.”

You narrow your eyes slightly. “Bookstore?”

“Mhm. You can judge all the covers dramatically, I can pretend I understand poetry, then maybe we get coffee after.”

“…You hate poetry.”

“I hate bad poetry. Huge difference.”

Another reluctant smile tugs at your mouth.

Eddie notices instantly, pointing at you again. “That’s two smiles. I’m killing it.”

“Oh, my god.”

“Get dressed before I physically carry you to the van.”

“You wouldn’t.”

His grin turns downright wicked. “Try me.”

About an hour later, you’re wandering slowly beside him through the small bookstore downtown, the bell above the door still jingling faintly behind you. The place smells like old paper and coffee beans. Warm lighting spills across crowded wooden shelves, soft music humming somewhere overhead.

Eddie stays close without hovering; that’s the thing about him. He somehow knows how to be there without suffocating you with concern.

He lets you drift through the aisles at your own pace, occasionally holding up books with horribly dramatic summaries just to hear your commentary.

“This one says, forbidden love.” He squints at the back cover. “That’s code for emotionally devastating and poorly communicated.”

You snort quietly.

“And this one,” he continues, grabbing another, “has a shirtless man fighting a dragon, which feels ambitious.”

“Eddie,” you laugh, embarrassed.

“There it is again!” he gasps loudly. “The laugh! She lives!”

A few people glance over. You shove his shoulder immediately while he cackles. And for the first time in what feels like weeks, the heaviness in your chest eases, just a little.

Eventually, Eddie finds you sitting cross-legged on the floor in the nonfiction section, absentmindedly flipping through a book without really reading it.

He lowers himself beside you with a soft grunt, handing you an iced coffee. “Peace offering.”

You murmur a quiet thank you before taking a sip.

Then Eddie says quietly, “You don’t have to explain it to me, y’know.”

You glance over. “Explain what?”

“The way you’re feeling.”

Your fingers tighten slightly around the cup.

“I know sometimes there isn’t a reason.” His voice stays light, but honest. “Sometimes your brain’s just mean to you for a while.”

“I always feel guilty when I get like this,” you admit eventually. “Like everyone else is functioning normally and I’m just…” You swallow thickly. “Behind. Or like, broken…”

Eddie’s expression changes instantly.

“No,” he says firmly.

You blink at the sudden seriousness in his tone.

“You are not behind, or broken, or whatever that stupid internal voice is telling you.”

The words come fast now, certain and unwavering.

“You’re exhausted. And overwhelmed. And your brain chemistry’s being an asshole to you.” He nudges your shoulder gently with his. “But you are not broken.”

Your eyes sting unexpectedly.

Eddie notices immediately, his voice softening again. “Hey,” he murmurs. “C’mere.”

You don’t even hesitate before leaning into him.

His arm wraps around your shoulders instantly, pulling you against his side while your face presses into the leather of his jacket. He smells like cigarettes, coffee, and the cologne he always steals from Wayne.

Safe.

“I know I can’t fix it,” he says quietly against the top of your head. “But I can sit in it with you.”

Your eyes squeeze shut as emotion climbs painfully into your throat.

Eddie just holds you tighter. No rushing, no trying to force positivity onto you, no acting uncomfortable with the ugly parts.

Just there; steady, warm, and real.

After a minute, he presses a kiss into your hair.

“Also,” he says lightly, “if anyone says anything bad about you, I will bite them.”

A watery laugh escapes you.

“There’s my girl.”

By the time you leave the bookstore, the sun’s started dipping lower in the sky, painting everything gold. Eddie insists on carrying your little paper bag despite the fact it contains exactly one paperback and a bookmark.

“You’re being dramatic,” you tell him as the two of you cross the street.

“I’m being a gentleman,” he corrects. “Huge difference.”

“You almost got arrested for stealing road signs once.”

“In my defense, they looked cool.”

You shake your head, smiling into your coffee cup. The park nearby is quiet this time of day. A few people walk dogs along the paths, kids chasing each other near the swings while leaves rustle softly overhead.

Eddie walks beside you slowly, one hand dangling at his side. At some point, your fingers accidentally brush his. He immediately hooks his pinky around yours.

It’s so stupidly gentle it nearly makes your chest ache, and you glance over at him.

“What?” he asks innocently.

“You’re corny.”

“Yeah, but you like me anyway.”

You keep walking, your joined hands swinging slightly between you. Then Eddie abruptly stops beside a duck pond.

“Oh, my god.”

You narrow your eyes immediately. “Why do you sound like that?”

“Baby.” He points dramatically. “Look at him.”

You follow his finger toward an aggressively round duck sitting near the water. “…It’s a duck.”

“That is the fattest duck I’ve ever seen in my life.”

You stare at him for a second before laughing under your breath.

“Be nice.”

“He’s got a fat little head like Gareth.”

The sound that leaves you this time is louder, realer. Eddie’s head whips toward you instantly, eyes lighting up.

“There it is,” he says softly, grinning.

“Oh my god, stop making a thing out of it.”

“I can’t help it.” He starts walking backward in front of you now, hands spread dramatically. “You have any idea how pretty you look when you laugh?”

“Eddie—”

“No, seriously. It’s like witnessing a historical event.”

You groan, embarrassed, but you’re still smiling.

A breeze pushes your hair across your face, and he reaches over automatically, tucking it behind your ear with an ease that makes your stomach flutter.

“You feeling any lighter?” he asks quietly after a moment.

You think about it honestly. The sadness is still there; you know it will be waiting when you get home. Depression doesn’t magically disappear because of bookstores, ducks, and coffee.

But right now? Right now, your chest doesn’t feel quite as crushingly tight.

“...A little,” you admit.

Eddie nods like that answer means everything to him.

“Good,” he says simply.

You keep wandering after that, aimless and slow. Eddie eventually starts trying to balance along the edge of the curb like a little kid, arms spread wide.

“Witness greatness,” he announces.

“You’re literally twenty years old.”

“And thriving.”

Two steps later, he slips slightly, windmilling hard enough that you burst into laughter again.

“Oh my god!”

“I meant to do that,” he says immediately, regaining his balance with what little dignity he has left.

“Sure you did.”

He points accusingly at you. “You’re laughing at me.”

“You made fun of a duck!”

“That duck knew what he did.”

“He did nothing besides have a ‘Gareth-shaped head’!”

You laugh so hard your stomach hurts this time, head tipping back slightly, and Eddie just… watches in pure delight. Your laughter slowly fades when you notice the look on his face.

“What?” you ask softly.

He shakes his head once, smiling to himself. “Nothin’.”

“Eddie.”

His expression softens. “I just missed that sound.”

The honesty in it makes your eyes sting a little again. You step closer without really thinking about it, reaching for his hand properly this time instead of just pinkies.

“Hey,” you murmur.

His fingers immediately lace with yours.

“Thank you.”

Eddie’s brows pinch slightly. “For what?”

“For not trying to fix me.” Your voice comes quieter now. “For just being here. Being your ridiculous, amazing self.”

Something warm and aching flashes across his face.

“Sweetheart,” he says softly, squeezing your hand. “You never gotta thank me for loving you.”

And god, that almost does you in. He notices instantly, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around you before you can even try to hide it.

You bury your face into his jacket with a quiet laugh. “You’re gonna make me cry in public.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve caused a scene.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “C’mon. Let’s walk before I start getting emotional, too.”

dividers by @strangergraphics

i hope you all enjoyed:) sending love and light your way, always<3

taglist is open!

beauties:

It was just a dumb crush; that’s what you’d tell yourself day after day.

Something small and insignificant. The kind of thing that came with summers like sunburns and salt-stiff hair; inevitable, fleeting, easy to grow out of.

At least, that’s what you tried to believe.

You, being the youngest girl, were always subject to the worst of it—constant teasing, relentless torment, paired unfairly with an almost suffocating kind of care from the older boys.

They’d shove you off the dock one second and drag you back up the next, laughing like it was all part of the same joke.

Jayden, on the other hand, was strictly your biggest hater. Or at least, he liked to pretend he was.

Summer had always meant one thing: waking up too early, racing Jayden barefoot down the gravel path toward the docks, the air already thick with heat, both of you shoving and laughing as you tried to be the first one to reach the boat.

And every single time, you hoped he’d already be there.

You remember the day you met him.

You were twelve, dragging your duffel bag up the front walk of Jayden’s house like any other summer, already bracing yourself for whatever chaos waited on the other side of the door. But when you rounded the big oak tree, you paused.

Jayden and Michael were out by the driveway, playing basketball with two other boys.

One looked a little older, maybe a year or two older than Michael, taller, broader, already carrying himself like he knew he was. 

The other looked a couple of years older than you. Not by much, but enough. Enough that you noticed.

When Jayden spotted you, he abandoned the game immediately, jogging over to pull you into a quick, half-sweaty hug, already talking before you could even get your footing.

And that’s when you felt it. The younger of the two strangers had stopped mid-play, the ball forgotten somewhere behind him, eyes fixed on the two of you like something had caught him off guard.

Like you had.

Your gaze met his, and you swore, for just a second, everything stilled. The wind off the water. The hum of cicadas in the trees. The distant creak of the dock. All of it just froze.

It didn’t start moving again until Jayden grabbed your wrist and dragged you toward the group, pulling you straight into the noise of it all.

Up close, it was worse. His hair fell in dark, messy curls just above his ears, sun catching in the strands like it didn’t quite know what to do with them. And his eyes, God, his eyes.

Burnt honey. Warm, bright, and entirely too focused on you.

“Hey,” he said, tossing the basketball into Michael’s chest without looking away. “I’m Eddie.”

You remember how your brain completely short-circuited. How your name got stuck somewhere between your throat and your teeth, coming out in a stutter that made Jayden snort, jabbing you lightly in the side.

“Jesus, what’s wrong with you?”

You shot him a glare; sharp, immediate, before turning back to Eddie, the edge in you softening without permission. And from that moment on, you were completely done for.

Two summers later, you were fourteen, and somehow, it had only gotten worse.

“Move, asshole!” you shout, shoving Jayden as he elbows you off the narrow dock, both of you slipping a little on the damp wood as you race toward the boat.

“I was here first!”

“You literally weren’t—Michael!” you call out, breathless, pointing accusingly. “Tell him!”

Michael doesn’t even look up from where he’s untying one of the ropes, shaking his head like he’s already exhausted. “I’m not getting involved in whatever this is.”

“Coward,” you mutter, already climbing onto the boat anyway.

The air smells like salt and gasoline, early morning sun just starting to burn through the haze, warming the back of your neck. Billy’s sprawled out near the front, sunglasses on like he owns the entire shoreline, while Jayden immediately starts complaining about something you did ten seconds ago.

You barely hear him. Because—

“Careful.”

You turn, and there he is.

Eddie, one hand braced against the side of the boat, the other reaching out instinctively like he thinks you might fall, even though you’re already steady.

He’s taller now. Not by a crazy amount, but enough to notice. His hair’s longer too, curls brushing the back of his neck, a little wild from the humidity.

You blink at him.

“Didn’t ask for help,” you say, but it comes out softer than you meant it to.

His mouth quirks.

“Yeah, I know. You looked like you were about to eat shit anyway.”

You roll your eyes, stepping past him, shoulder brushing his just enough to make your stomach flip in a way you absolutely refuse to acknowledge.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

“Children,” Billy calls lazily from the front. “If you two start fighting, I’m throwing you both overboard.”

“Do it,” Jayden chimes in. “She’d probably lose the race back, too.”

“Oh, fuck off—”

The engine roars to life before you can finish, drowning you out as Michael pulls away from the dock, the boat cutting through the bay water, wind whipping your hair back from your face.

You settle in along the side, trying to act normal. Trying not to notice the way Eddie ends up next to you anyway, close enough that your arms brush every time the boat shifts.

“So,” Michael calls from the front, raising his voice over the engine. “We’re hitting Seagull Shit Island.”

You groan immediately. “That is the worst name you’ve ever come up with.”

“It’s accurate,” Jayden says. “You’ll see.”

Billy snorts. “Smells like it too.”

Eddie leans closer, voice dropping like it’s just for you. “It’s actually kinda cool. You can walk straight across—bay to ocean.”

You glance at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nods, bumping his shoulder lightly into yours. “And we’re gonna teach you how to surf.”

You let out a short laugh. “We?”

“Don’t worry,” Jayden cuts in. “You’re a lost cause. I’m not wasting my time.”

“Good,” you shoot back. “Didn’t want your help anyway.”

“Relax,” Eddie says, grinning now. “I’ve got you.”

The island is exactly what they promised. A stretch of sand cutting between two bodies of water, bay calm on one side, ocean waves crashing on the other, wind stronger here, carrying the sharp, salty tang of everything. Also, so many seagulls.

“Oh my god,” you say, ducking as one swoops overhead. “You were not kidding.”

“Told you,” Michael laughs, already hauling a board off the boat.

The boys move like they’ve done this a hundred times. Easy and practiced; throwing in the anchor, grabbing boards, talking over each other, heading toward the ocean side like it’s second nature.

You hesitate, board tucked awkwardly under your arm. Eddie notices immediately.

“C’mon,” he says, nodding his head toward the shoreline. “I’ll show you.”

Jayden snorts. “Why bother? She’s gonna wipe out in like two seconds.”

“Shut up,” you snap.

“Lost cause,” Billy adds, not even looking back as he and Michael keep walking.

You flip them off.

Eddie just shakes his head, smiling a little, like none of it even registers.

“They’re idiots,” he says simply. “Ignore them.”

“Hard to,” you mutter.

“Yeah, well,” he nudges your board into a better position under your arm. “Good thing you’ve got me, right?”

Your stomach does that thing again. You hate it.

“Debatable.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Alright, smartass. First lesson, don’t stand like that. You look terrified.”

“I’m not terrified.”

“You look terrified.”

“I’m literally fine.”

“Okay,” he says, holding his hands up. “Then prove it.”

He jogs a few steps ahead, tossing his board down onto the sand. “Come here.”

You follow, trying not to overthink it as you drop your board beside his.

“Lie down,” he says, demonstrating, stretching out across his board. “Like this.”

You mirror him, a little more awkward, sand sticking to your arms, the board shifting under your weight.

“Good,” he nods. “Now, hands here.” He reaches over, gently adjusting your wrists. Your brain goes completely blank.

“Then you push up,” he continues, like nothing just happened. “And bring your feet under you—one smooth motion.”

“‘Smooth,’” you repeat flatly. “Right.”

“Hey,” he says, glancing at you, grin softening into something almost reassuring. “You’ll get it.”

“Doubtful.”

“Wow,” he laughs. “Where’s the confidence?”

“Left it at the dock when Jayden called me a lost cause.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, propping himself up on his elbows. “Jayden also thinks he’s funny, so I wouldn’t trust his judgment.”

You snort despite yourself.

“Okay,” he nods. “Try it.”

You push up, immediately wobble, and collapse back down with a groan. “Jesus—”

Eddie’s already laughing, not mean, but warm. 

“Alright, alright, that was, honestly? Better than I expected.”

“Shut up,” you say, shoving his shoulder.

He nudges you back. “Again.”

You try again. And again. And again. Each time a little less terrible.

Each time, Eddie is right there, adjusting your stance, steadying the board, talking you through it like it actually matters.

By the time you make it into the water, legs shaking, heart racing, you’re already exhausted.

“This is a bad idea,” you say, staring out at the waves.

“No, it’s not,” Eddie says, stepping in beside you, water rushing around your ankles. “It’s a great idea.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“I’m really not.”

You glance at him.

“Trust me,” he says.

And there it is again, that stupid, unwavering certainty.

You exhale. “Fine.”

The first wave knocks you flat. The second one’s worse. By the third, you’re sputtering, pushing wet hair out of your face, ready to call it.

“I told you! Lost cause!”

“Hey,” Eddie cuts in, closer now, hand wrapping lightly around your arm to steady you. “No, you’re not.”

You blink at him. Water drips from his hair, curls sticking to his forehead, but he’s smiling like this is the best thing he’s done all day.

“Try one more time,” he says.

“…One more.”

“I’ve got you.”

You don’t even question it, you just paddle out again. This time, when the wave comes, you push up. Wobble, almost fall, and then you’re up. For maybe half a second, maybe less. But it counts.

You hit the water laughing, breathless, adrenaline buzzing through you as you resurface.

“Did you see that?!” you shout.

Eddie’s already there, grinning like you just did something incredible.

“Told you,” he says.

You push wet hair out of your face, still laughing. “That barely counted.”

“Yeah, it did.”

“No, it didn’t—”

“Hey,” he cuts in, softer this time.

You look at him. And he’s still smiling, like he means it.

“It counted.”

The time when it stopped feeling harmless, you try not to think about that one as much.

You were sixteen. Old enough that the teasing didn’t feel as light anymore. Old enough that the looks lasted a little too long, those touches lingered just a second past what they used to be.

Old enough that whatever this was, it wasn’t so easy to brush off. It was late. Way past when any of you should’ve still been awake, the house quiet in that heavy, summer-night way.

Jayden had dragged you downstairs under the promise of “you’re gonna wanna see this,” which, in hindsight, should’ve been your first warning.

The door to the basement, their so-called “man cave”, was cracked open just enough for smoke to curl out into the hallway. You wrinkled your nose immediately.

“Are you kidding me?” you whisper, pushing the door open the rest of the way.

Inside, it’s dim.

One shitty lamp on in the corner, the TV casting flickering light across the room, and there they are, Michael, Billy, and Eddie, spread out like they’ve got nowhere else to be.

The second they notice you, Billy groans.

“Oh, my god. Why are you here?”

Jayden scoffs. “Why are you smoking in the house, dumbass?”

“Relax,” Michael mutters, waving a hand through the air like that does anything. “Windows’ open.”

“It smells like shit,” you say, crossing your arms.

Eddie’s already sitting up a little straighter, eyes flicking between you and Jayden, like he’s trying to gauge how this is gonna go.

“Alright,” Billy says, clapping his hands once. “Field trip’s over. Out.”

“Gladly,” Jayden shoots back, already turning toward the door, before Michael speaks again.

“Or,” he says slowly, a grin creeping in, “you could stay.”

You pause. Jayden turns back. “Stay?”

Billy snorts. “Yeah, right. She’s gonna cry.”

“I’m not gonna cry,” you snap immediately.

“Prove it,” Michael challenges.

“Jesus,” Jayden mutters. “You’re both idiots.” But he doesn’t leave, nor do you.

You end up sitting on the floor, back against the couch, knees pulled in, trying to act as if you belong there. Like this isn’t new. Like your heart isn’t beating just a little too fast.

Jayden takes it first, because of course he does, coughing once, then trying to play it off like he’s fine.

“Pussy,” Billy says.

“Shut up,” Jayden rasps.

The joint passes around easily after that. Michael. Billy. And then Eddie.

He turns toward you, hesitating just slightly before holding it out. You reach for it automatically, but he doesn’t let go.

“Hey,” he says, quieter now, just for you. You look up at him.

“You don’t have to,” he adds. “Like, seriously. You can just say no.”

Something in your chest twists because he means it.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, trying to sound more confident than you feel.

His eyes search your face for a second, like he’s trying to decide if he believes you.

“…Okay,” he says finally, letting go.

You take a hit and immediately regret it. Your lungs burn, a sharp, choking cough ripping through you as you double over slightly, eyes watering.

“Jesus,” Billy laughs. “Told you—”

“Shut up,” Eddie cuts in, already leaning forward, hand coming up to your back, rubbing slow, steady circles.

“Breathe,” he says, softer now. “Slow. You’re good.”

You nod, coughing again, trying to follow his voice, grounding yourself in it.

“In through your nose,” he murmurs. “Yeah, like that. There you go.”

It takes a second, but eventually, it passes. You sit back, wiping at your eyes, cheeks flushed, and extremely embarrassed.

“…That was awful.”

Eddie huffs out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, no shit.”

You nudge his knee weakly. “You could’ve warned me.”

“I tried,” he says, grinning a little.

“Not hard enough.”

“Next time I’ll physically restrain you.”

“Good,” you mutter, and he laughs softly.

The rest of the night blurs a little after that. Laughter, half-finished conversations, the TV droning in the background. At some point, Jayden passes out; head tipped back against the couch, mouth slightly open.

“Finally,” Billy mutters.

“Lightweight,” Michael adds.

You shake your head, smiling faintly.

“I’m gonna get water,” you say after a while, pushing yourself up.

“Bring me one?” Eddie asks, glancing up at you.

“Yeah,” you nod. “Okay.”

You step out into the hallway, the air instantly clearer, cooler. You linger there for a second, letting yourself breathe. Letting your heart settle. Then you head upstairs.

You’re only gone for a few minutes. Long enough to grab a couple of glasses, fill them halfway, and balance them carefully in your hands as you make your way back down.

The closer you get to the basement door, the more you hear. Their voices are dropped, conversation definitely not meant for your ears.

“…I’m just saying,” Michael’s voice carries first. “She’s clearly into you.”

Your steps falter.

Then Billy, “She’s been into him. You’re just noticing now?”

Your stomach drops, and you don’t move. You don’t breathe. You quite literally can’t. 

“…And?” Eddie’s voice comes next.

“You seem like you like her,” Michael pushes. “So what’s the deal?”

A pause, a very, very long one. Long enough that something in your chest starts to hope just a little. Then—

“Dude, fuck no.”

It’s immediate, like he didn’t even have to think about it. You freeze.

“No?” Billy echoes, skeptical.

“No,” Eddie repeats, a little sharper now. “She’s—she’s Jayden and Michael’s cousin. She’s always around. It’s not—”

He exhales, like he’s searching for the right words. “It’s not like that.”

Something cracks, right down the middle.

“Then what is it?” Michael asks.

“I don’t know,” Eddie says, almost frustrated now. “She’s just—she’s just a kid, man.”

That one? That one does it. 

He’s only a year older than me.

The thought comes fast, as if the more you say it in your own head, the more it’ll undo what he just said.

The glasses in your hands shake slightly, water sloshing over the sides, dripping onto your fingers. You don’t even feel it.

“Okay,” Billy says after a second. “Whatever you say.”

A chair creaks and someone shifts, and that’s when you finally move.

You step back as quietly as you can, heart pounding so loud you’re convinced they can hear it through the walls, through the floor, through everything.

You don’t go back in. You don’t say anything. You just set the glasses down on the kitchen counter with shaking hands, blinking hard, throat tight, vision blurring.

It’s stupid. It’s so stupid. You knew. You knew it was a dumb crush. You’ve been telling yourself that for years. So why does it feel like something’s been ripped out of you anyway?

You press the heel of your hand to your eyes, willing the tears to stop. They don’t. They don’t, and you hate it. You hate that this is what did it. That he’s what did it.

Downstairs, laughter starts up again as if nothing happened.

Like everything is exactly the same.

That summer ends the same way they all do. Too fast. Too hot. Too full of things you don’t know what to do with. But something in you changes after that night.

You still show up the next morning. You still sit at the table, still laugh at the same jokes, still let Jayden shove you around like nothing’s changed, but it has.

You feel it in the way you don’t look at Eddie as much. In the way you stop sitting so close. In the way you start leaving the room a little earlier, finding excuses, pulling back inch by inch until it doesn’t feel so obvious.

Until it does.

The next summer, you don’t go. You tell your parents you’re busy. Summer camp, a job, anything that sounds believable enough not to invite questions.

Jayden complains, of course. Calls you lame, says you’re ditching him.

You laugh it off, and you don’t tell him why. You don’t tell anyone. And after that, it just becomes easier not to go back at all.

Now, you’re twenty-one. And somehow, you’re standing in front of the same house again. It looks smaller than you remember, or maybe you’ve just grown.

Your aunt’s already inside, fussing over something in the kitchen, while you linger by the driveway, staring at the stack of boxes in the back of your car like if you wait long enough, they might move themselves.

New job. New start. Same place.

You exhale slowly, pushing a strand of hair out of your face, though it doesn’t stay long, the breeze catching it again almost immediately. Everything about you is different now.

Your hair falls the way you want it to, styled with intention instead of whatever the humidity decided that day. 

Tattoos wind along your arms; delicate in some places, bold in others, disappearing beneath the hem of your shirt, reappearing at your collarbone. 

Rings catch the light when you move, silver glinting against your fingers, small hoops and studs lining your ears. There’s a confidence in you now.

You reach for the first box, and that’s when you hear it. A familiar engine, way too damn familiar. Your stomach drops before your brain can catch up.

The van pulls into the driveway like it’s always belonged there, tires crunching over gravel, sun catching on the windshield just enough to make you squint.

The door swings open, and boots hit the ground. And then—

“Holy shit.”

The voice is deeper and rougher now, but you’d know it anywhere. Billy.

He pulls his sunglasses down just enough to really look at you, head tilting slightly like he’s trying to place something just out of reach.

“…No way.”

Your grip tightens on the box. For a second, you consider pretending you don’t recognize him either.

But then the passenger door opens, and Eddie steps out. It hits you all at once: the years, the distance, everything you tried not to think about.

He’s taller.

Lean in a way that looks more solid now, less awkward, like he’s grown into himself. His hair’s still long; longer, actually—pulled back loosely, a few curls already escaping around his face. There’s a faint shadow along his jaw, like he forgot to shave or didn’t care enough to.

His eyes find you and stay there for a second too long.

“…Hey,” he says, like it’s a question.

You swallow. “Hi.”

Billy lets out a short laugh, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair. “No, hold on. This is—” he gestures vaguely toward you. “This is you?”

“Last time I checked,” you say, shifting the box slightly in your arms.

His gaze drags over you again, less subtle this time. “Jesus.”

“Relax,” you mutter.

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs. “Didn’t expect this.”

Eddie still hasn’t looked away, not really. There’s something in his expression; confusion, maybe. Recognition trying to catch up with reality.

“You moving in?” he asks.

Your chest tightens slightly.

“Yeah,” you nod. “For work.”

Billy claps his hands once, like he’s decided something.

“Well, this is perfect,” he says, already heading toward your car. “You need help, right?”

You blink. “I—yeah, but you don’t—”

“Too late,” he cuts you off, grabbing one of the heavier boxes like it weighs nothing. “We’re already here.”

Eddie finally moves and steps closer. Close enough that you can feel it again, that same strange awareness that’s always been there with him.

“Got it?” he asks, nodding toward the box in your hands.

You hesitate for half a second, then shake your head. “I’m good.”

His mouth twitches slightly, like he remembers something. Like he almost says something about it. But instead, he just nods.

“Alright.” And reaches past you anyway, grabbing another box from the car.

The inside of the house smells exactly the same; something warm, something familiar. A mix of whatever your aunt has cooking and the faint, lingering scent of summer that never really leaves. It hits you the second you step in.

“Shoes off!” your aunt calls from the kitchen before anyone even makes it past the doorway.

Billy groans immediately. “You’re killing me, Pegs.”

“I will kill you if you track dirt through my house,” she calls back, not missing a beat.

You huff a quiet laugh, slipping your shoes off by the door, stacking them neatly beside the others like you’ve never left.

Michael’s already inside, dropping the box he’s carrying with a heavy thud near the hallway.

“Jesus,” he mutters, stretching his arms out. “What do you even have in here?”

“Your personality,” you shoot back.

He snorts. “So nothing, then.”

Jayden appears from the kitchen like he’s been summoned by the sound of your voice alone, stopping short when he sees you.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

You grin. “Missed me?”

“Absolutely not,” he says immediately, already closing the distance and pulling you into a quick, tight hug anyway. “You ditched me for, like, three summers.”

“Busy,” you shrug, even as you hug him back.

“Lame,” he mutters into your shoulder.

“Still your biggest fan,” you say dryly.

“Debatable.”

“…What happened to you?”

You raise a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean—” he gestures vaguely. “You look different.”

“Good different or scary different?” you ask.

“Both,” Michael calls from down the hall.

“Shut up,” you shoot back.

“Don’t encourage her,” Jayden adds, though there’s a grin tugging at his mouth. “She already thinks she’s cool.”

“I am cool.”

“You have rings on every finger.”

“And?”

“And it’s concerning.”

From the kitchen, your aunt finally appears, drying her hands on a towel as she takes you in properly.

And immediately, “Oh my god.”

You brace yourself. She crosses the room in two steps, hands coming up to cup your face like she’s inspecting you.

“Look at you,” she says, eyes softening. “All grown up and beautiful.”

Heat creeps up your neck. “Aunt Peggy!”

“No, I mean it,” she insists, turning your face slightly like she’s trying to catch the light on you. “The hair, the—are those tattoos?”

You duck your head a little, smiling despite yourself. “Maybe.”

She gasps. “You didn’t tell me you got tattoos!”

“I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Well, consider me surprised,” she laughs, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. “You look amazing.”

You wave her off, a little embarrassed, a little pleased. “Okay, okay! Stop.”

“I will not,” she says firmly. “You disappear for years and come back looking like this? I’m allowed to make a fuss.”

Behind her, Billy snorts. “She’s been making a fuss since before we got here.”

“Be quiet,” your aunt shoots back, though she’s smiling.

Your eyes flick, just briefly, to Eddie. He’s leaning against the wall now, arms crossed loosely over his chest, watching the whole thing play out. He doesn’t say anything, but he’s smiling.

Then Jayden claps his hands together. “Alright, enough of this,” he says. “Basement?”

“Immediately,” Michael agrees.

“Already ahead of you,” Billy adds, grabbing another drink off the counter like he lives here. You shake your head, laughing softly as they start filing toward the stairs.

The basement looks almost exactly the same. Same couch. Same shitty lamp. Same TV that’s probably been on for the last decade straight. The only difference is that it feels smaller now.

Billy drops onto the couch first, stretching out like he owns it, while Michael rummages around for something to drink.

Jayden flops down beside him, already launching into some story you only half catch. And Eddie hangs back, just for a second.

“After you,” he says, nodding toward the last open spot.

You step past him, trying not to think about how close you are as you settle onto the edge of the couch.

He takes the spot beside you anyway. There’s a brief shuffle of movement, the familiar sound of a lighter flicking.

You glance over automatically.

Eddie catches it and holds your gaze for a second, then tips his head slightly, offering it out.

You hesitate for a second, then you take it. This time, you’re more careful. Less eager.

He watches you anyway. Not obvious enough for anyone else to clock it, but you feel it.

“Look at her,” Jayden says, nudging Michael. “All grown up.”

“Don’t start,” you warn.

“I’m serious,” he laughs. “You used to cry if we didn’t let you pick the movie.”

“I was twelve!”

“You cried at Jurassic Park.”

“That was scary!”

Billy snorts. “It was a T. rex.”

“Exactly!”

Laughter ripples through the room. 

“Alright, alright,” Michael says, leaning forward. “Enough about her emotional trauma. What’ve you been up to?”

You shrug. “Work. School. Normal stuff.”

“Boring,” Jayden says.

“Stable,” you correct.

“Lame.”

“And you’re still unemployed.”

“Temporarily,” he shoots back.

“Sure.”

Billy shakes his head, amused, before glancing toward Eddie. “What about you, rockstar? You gonna tell her or what?”

Your attention shifts immediately. Eddie exhales through a small smile, rubbing the back of his neck like he doesn’t totally know what to do with it.

“It’s not like a big deal,” he says.

“That means it is,” Michael cuts in.

“Spit it out,” Jayden adds.

Eddie rolls his eyes slightly. 

“My band,” he says, glancing at you for half a second before looking away. “We’ve been getting some traction.”

Your chest tightens, just a little.

“Yeah?” you ask.

He nods. “‘Couple of shows. Bigger crowds.”

“Bigger than, like, ten people?” Billy teases.

“Shut up,” Eddie mutters, nudging him with his foot. “But yeah. Actually.”

“That’s—” you pause, a smile breaking through before you can stop it. “That’s really cool.”

His eyes flick back to you.

“Yeah,” he says, quieter now. “It is.”

Jayden perks up. “Wait, aren’t you playing tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Michael says, snapping his fingers. “At B&Bs, right?”

Eddie nods, and your stomach flips.

Billy grins. “Guess you’ve got plans, then.”

Jayden elbows you lightly. “You’re coming.” It doesn’t sound like a question.

You glance at Eddie again, and this time, he’s already looking at you, waiting.

You swallow. “…Yeah,” you say. “I’ll come.”

B&B’s is louder than you expected. Music hums through the walls even before you step inside, bass low and steady under the buzz of conversation, glasses clinking, laughter spilling over itself. The air’s warm, a little sticky, smelling faintly like beer and salt and something fried you can’t quite place.

You hesitate for half a second at the door, and then Jayden’s already pushing it open, dragging you in with him.

“There she is,” Michael says, spotting you immediately, waving you over toward a cluster of familiar faces near the front.

Billy’s leaning against the bar, already halfway through a drink, while—

“Hey, sweetheart.”

You blink. And then you’re smiling before you can stop yourself.

“Hi,” you say, stepping closer as Eddie’s mom pulls you into a quick, warm hug like no time has passed at all.

“Oh my god, look at you,” she says, hands still on your arms as she looks you over. “You got so pretty.”

“Yeah, she did,” His dad chimes in from behind her, grinning as he raises his glass slightly in greeting. “Barely recognized you out there.”

“It’s good to see you guys,” you say. 

“You too, honey,” she says, squeezing your arm once more before letting you go. “You came on a good night.”

Your gaze flicks toward the stage automatically; the curtain half-drawn, equipment set.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “I guess I did.”

When the lights dim, the whole place shifts.

Conversations fade just enough, attention pulling forward as the band makes their way onstage, the energy tightening, sharpening. And then, there he is. Eddie steps into the light like he belongs there.

It hits you harder than you expect. He’s different up there. Not in the obvious ways, you already noticed those, but in the way he carries himself. The way his shoulders square, the way his presence fills the space without him even trying.

His hair’s loose tonight, falling around his face, catching the stage lights every time he moves. There’s a guitar slung low across his frame, fingers already brushing over the strings like it’s second nature.

He glances out at the crowd, and for a second, you swear his eyes find yours. Your chest tightens.

The first chord hits. And suddenly, you’re fourteen again on that beach, watching him laugh in the sun, only now it’s something else entirely.

You watch him the whole time, you don’t even try not to. The way he leans into the music, the way he grins between songs, the way his voice roughens when he speaks into the mic like he’s half-laughing through it.

It suits him, too well.

By the end of the set, your hands hurt from clapping, your throat raw from shouting, and your heart feels like it’s been dragged back through every version of you that’s ever looked at him like this.

“Alright, rockstar,” Billy says once they’re offstage, clapping Eddie on the back hard enough to jostle him forward slightly. “You didn’t totally embarrass yourself.”

“High praise,” Eddie mutters, but he’s smiling. His eyes flick to you again.

“You were good,” you say before you can overthink it.

He pauses just for a second. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Really good.”

“Alright, enough of this,” Michael cuts in. “We heading back or what?”

“Yeah,” Billy says easily. “Parents said we can use the house.”

Jayden perks up immediately. “Say less.”

“Figures,” you mutter.

Billy grins. “What? You scared?”

“Of you?” you scoff. “Please.”

“Good,” he says, already heading for the door. “Then let’s go.”

Their house hasn’t changed much either. Same layout. Same furniture. Same feeling of something a little too loud, a little too alive, even when it’s quiet.

People scatter almost immediately once you’re inside; Michael heading for the kitchen, Jayden trailing after him, voices already picking back up like the night isn’t even close to over.

You linger near the hallway, taking it in.

“Didn’t think you’d come back.” Billy’s voice cuts in from behind you.

You glance over, watching as he leans against the wall, arms crossed loosely, studying you in a way that feels different than yesterday.

“Didn’t think I would either,” you admit.

He nods once, like that confirms something.

“You did well, though,” he says after a second.

You frown slightly. “With what?”

He shrugs. “Doing something with yourself.”

You blink. “That’s… a weird thing to say.”

“Is it?” he tilts his head slightly. “Most people around here don’t.”

You shift your weight, not entirely sure where this is going. “Okay…?”

He huffs a quiet breath, glancing past you briefly toward the hallway. Toward the back of the house. Then he nods his head in that direction.

Eddie’s room.

Your stomach tightens.

“I know how you felt about him,” Billy says.

You let out a small, incredulous laugh. “I was a kid.”

“Yeah,” he agrees easily. “You were.”

“But you’re not anymore.”

Something in the way he says it makes your chest feel tight.

You cross your arms slightly, defensive now. “What’s your point?”

Billy studies you for a second longer, like he’s deciding how honest he wants to be.

“He’s not—” he exhales, dragging a hand over the back of his neck. “Look, Eddie’s my brother. I love him. But he’s not good at that kind of thing.”

Your throat goes dry. “‘That kind of thing’?”

“People,” he says simply. “Feelings. Whatever.”

You don’t respond, so he keeps going.

“You deserve someone better than that,” Billy adds, quieter now. “Someone who’s actually gonna—” he cuts himself off, shaking his head slightly. “Just… not him.”

You swallow, forcing a small shrug. “You’re making a lot of assumptions.”

“Am I?” he raises a brow. You don’t answer.

From somewhere deeper in the house, laughter echoes; Jayden’s voice, loud and familiar, pulling at the edges of the moment.

Billy pushes off the wall, like he’s done with the conversation.

“Just saying,” he mutters, brushing past you. “Don’t get stuck on something that was never gonna go anywhere.”

The rest of the night never really recovers from that conversation. Not for you, at least.

You laugh when you’re supposed to. You follow the others into the kitchen, accept a drink you barely touch, and sit on the edge of conversations without really sinking into them.

Eddie drifts in and out of your orbit. 

A glance here. A half-smile there. The brush of his shoulder when he passes behind you, like it’s accidental, like it always used to be. Like it still is.

And you hate that your brain won’t let Billy’s words go.

You deserve someone better than that.

You don’t look at Eddie when you leave, not really. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter and that it never did. 

It’s a few weeks later when the message pops up. You’re halfway through your day, sprawled across your bed with your laptop open in front of you, half-working, half-distracted, when your phone buzzes against the sheets.

The group chat. You open it without thinking.

Eddie: bonfire + pool tonight

Eddie: our place

Eddie: if anyone’s not lame

You huff a quiet laugh. Some things really don’t change.

Michael: working

Billy: same

Jayden: got a date, don’t wait up

“Gross,” you mutter under your breath

You stare at the screen for a second longer than you should. Then toss your phone aside, trying to act like you don’t care. You almost forget about it until your phone buzzes again.

Eddie: hey

You stare at it for a second, thumb hovering over the screen.

You: hey

Eddie: you don’t have to if you don’t want to. but you could still come by if you wanted

You bite the inside of your cheek, reading it again and again.

You: thought everyone bailed

The text bubble pops up almost immediately.

Eddie: yeah they did. still gonna do it anyway

Eddie: figured it might be less boring if you were there

Your eyes flick up from your phone, staring at nothing for a second as Billy’s voice echoes, uninvited. Don’t get stuck on something that was never gonna go anywhere.

You swallow, then look back down at the screen.

You: just me and you?

Eddie: yeah. if that’s weird you don’t have to come

Your heart stutters because he sounds nervous.

Because Eddie—Eddie—never used to sound like that. You shift slightly on your bed, sitting up now without realizing it.

You: it’s not weird

Eddie: okay 

Eddie: come over?

It’s so simple, like it doesn’t mean anything. You stare at it for a second longer than necessary.

You: yeah, i’ll come

The response is almost immediate.

Eddie: cool

Eddie: i’ll be outside

A small smile tugs at your mouth anyway. And despite everything, despite Billy’s warning, despite the past, despite the way your chest still aches in places you don’t like to examine too closely…you grab your keys.

Their house is quieter than you’ve ever heard it.

No music bleeding through the walls, no overlapping voices, no chaos spilling out onto the lawn. Just the soft hum of summer night air and the faint crackle of something burning somewhere in the back.

You kill the engine and sit there for a second, like you’re giving yourself a chance to change your mind. You don’t.

By the time you step out, the front door’s already opening.

“Hey.”

You look up. Eddie leans against the doorframe like he’s been waiting, one hand pushing his hair back out of his face as he steps aside to let you in.

“Hey,” you echo, a little softer.

He nods toward the hallway. “Pool?”

You huff a quiet laugh. “Straight to it?”

“Figured we’d skip the awkward small talk.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d make it awkward.”

“You always do.”

“Only with you.” It slips out before you can stop it.

Then he smirks.

“Yeah,” he says, pushing off the doorframe. “I know.”

The basement’s lit a little better than you remember. Still the same table, though. Same worn felt, same slightly crooked rack leaning against the wall.

Eddie grabs two cues, tossing one to you like muscle memory hasn’t skipped a beat.

You catch it easily.

“Break?” he asks.

You tilt your head. “You’re letting me?”

“I’m feeling generous.”

“Or scared.”

He snorts. “Of you? Please.”

“You taught me,” you remind him, stepping into position. “That’s on you.”

“Yeah, well,” he leans back against the edge of the table, arms crossing loosely as he watches you line up the shot. “I didn’t expect you to get cocky about it.”

You glance up at him. “You regret it now?”

“A little.”

You smile to yourself and take the shot. The crack echoes through the room, balls scattering cleanly across the table. One drops. Then another.

You straighten slowly, trying not to look too pleased with yourself.

“…Damn,” Eddie mutters.

You spin the cue lightly in your hand. “What was that about being scared?”

“Beginner’s luck.”

“After how many years?”

“Still counts.”

You laugh, circling the table, already lining up your next shot.

There’s no music. You notice it now, in the quiet between your movements, in the soft sounds of chalk against the cue, the low thud of balls hitting each other.

Eddie notices you noticing.

“Hold on,” he says suddenly, pushing off the table.

You pause mid-step. “What?”

“Can’t do this without music.”

“Oh, now you need a distraction?”

“No,” he shoots back, already crossing to the old stereo in the corner. “You do.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your mouth.

He fiddles with something for a second, looking for a half-broken aux cord, and then glances back at you.

“Rumor has it you’ve got good music taste.”

You blink. “…Rumor has it?”

“Yeah.”

“From who?”

He shrugs, not looking at you as he passes over the chord. 

“Your Instagram stories,” he says casually. “Always got something good playing.”

Your stomach flips, and you try to play it off.

“You watch my stories?”

“Sometimes,” he says, like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t send a weird, warm feeling straight through your chest.

“Huh,” you say, turning back to the table so he doesn’t see your face. “Didn’t think you were paying attention.”

“Yeah, well,” he mutters, stepping back over, picking his cue up again. “I do.”

You line up your next shot and miss.

“Ha,” he says immediately.

“Shut up.”

“Knew it wouldn’t last.”

“You distracted me.”

“Excuses.”

He leans over the table, lining up his own shot, and for a second, you just watch him.

The way his fingers steady the cue. The way his brow furrows slightly in concentration. The way his sleeve pulls back just enough to show the line of his wrist.

He sinks the shot clean.

“Still got it,” he says, straightening.

You scoff. “Please. I let you have that.”

“Oh, you let me?”

“Yeah.”

“Right.”

He circles the table slowly, coming to stand a little too close as you shift to take your turn again.

“Foot’s wrong,” he says.

You glance down. “It’s not—”

“Here,” he cuts in, nudging your foot lightly with his own. “Like that.”

You don’t look at him. You can feel him, though. Right there, close enough that if you moved even an inch…

He circles the table slowly, cue spinning lazily between his fingers as he watches you line up your next shot.

“Don’t choke,” he says.

You don’t even look up. “I’m not you.”

“Wow,” he huffs. “Unprovoked.”

“You started it.”

“I said don’t choke.”

“Which implies I would.”

“Which implies you might,” he corrects, grinning.

You roll your eyes, leaning in and sink the shot clean. The ball drops with a satisfying clack.

You straighten, already smirking. “Say something now.”

Eddie exhales through a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Alright, yeah. That was good.”

“Just good?”

“Don’t push it.”

“Coward.”

He steps in closer, nudging your hip lightly with his as he moves into position. “Move, shark. Let a professional handle it.”

“Professional?” you scoff, stepping aside but not very far. “You barely beat me last time.”

“I did beat you.”

“Barely.”

“A win’s a win.”

You lean your weight against the edge of the table, watching him line up his shot, head tilting slightly. “You’ve been saying that since you were fifteen.”

“And I’ve been right since I was fifteen.”

He takes the shot, misses.

You let out a loud, immediate laugh. “Oh my god!”

“Shut up,” he says, already stepping back, dragging a hand over his face.

“You missed.”

“I didn’t miss, I—” he pauses, then sighs. “Okay, yeah, I missed.”

You grin, grabbing your cue again. “Tragic.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.”

You line up another shot, a little cockier now, and sink it again.

“…Okay,” Eddie says, pointing at you. “This is getting out of hand.”

You laugh, straightening. “You created this.”

“I regret everything.”

“You should.”

The music hums low in the background, something slow and guitar-heavy, filling the space between you. Eddie glances toward the stairs, then back at you.

“Hey,” he says, a little more casual than the way he’s standing. “You wanna—” He gestures vaguely upward. “Go up to my room for a bit?”

Your stomach flips, and you try your damndest not to let it show.

“Why?” you ask, lifting a brow. “You gonna forfeit up there too?”

He snorts softly. “Yeah, that’s exactly my plan.”

You smile a little despite yourself.

“…I’ve got better stuff up there,” he adds after a second. “If you wanna smoke.”

There’s that tone again. Like he’s asking, not assuming. Like, he’ll drop it if you say no.

“Yeah,” you say, setting your cue down. “Okay.”

Eddie nods once, quick, like he didn’t want to push it any further. “Cool.”

He heads for the stairs first, pushing the door open, holding it just long enough for you to follow.

His room is exactly how you remember it.

Same posters on the walls; some new, some faded from years of sun through the window. Same cluttered dresser, same half-open drawers like he never really bothers to close them all the way. A guitar rests against the corner, cables tangled at its base, a few tapes scattered across the nightstand.

“Sorry,” he mutters, nudging a pile of clothes off the edge of the bed with his foot. “Didn’t exactly clean.”

“It’s fine,” you say, stepping in, taking it in anyway. “It’s very… on brand.”

“Wow,” he scoffs lightly. “Good to know I’ve got a reputation.”

“You do.”

“Dangerous.”

“Debatable.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, grabbing his papers off the dresser before dropping down onto the bed, patting the spot beside him. You hesitate for half a second, then sit.

He rolls the joint with practiced ease, fingers moving without thought, the quiet scratch of paper and the faint scent filling the room almost immediately.

“Still sure?” he asks, glancing at you briefly.

You nod. “Yeah.”

He studies you for a second, just like he did years ago, like he’s checking.

Then he lights it. Takes the first hit, holding it for a second before passing it over.

Your fingers brush when you take it. It’s nothing. Okay, maybe it’s everything. You inhale more carefully this time, slower and controlled, handing it back with only a small cough.

“Better,” he says, a hint of approval in his voice.

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m a little surprised.”

“Rude.”

“Honest.”

You roll your eyes, leaning back slightly, propping yourself up on your hands as the tension starts to loosen just a little. He reaches over, grabbing the remote off his nightstand.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Putting something on,” he shrugs. “Feels weird without it.”

“Since when do you care about that?”

“Since it got quiet in here,” he says, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

He flips through channels; something random, late-night, the volume low enough that it’s more background than anything. You both settle into it.

The joint passes between you again and again. Each time your fingers brush a little longer. Each time, neither of you pulls away as quickly.

At some point, you shift. Not consciously, but just enough that your shoulder presses lightly against his.

He stills for half a second, then relaxes into it. The TV flickers quietly across the room, casting soft light over everything, shadows moving with it.

You don’t know who moves first. Maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s both of you.

But suddenly his arm is there, draped loosely behind you. Not quite touching, like he’s giving you the chance to pull away. You don’t, so he lets it settle.

His hand rests against your upper arm, thumb brushing once, absent, like he’s not even thinking about it. Except he is, you can feel it.

You shift again, just a little, and this time, you lean fully into him. 

He exhales softly, like something in him unclenches at that.

“Comfortable?” he murmurs.

“Mm,” you hum back, eyes fixed on the TV even though you’re not really watching it. “You?”

“Yeah.” Then quieter, “Better now.”

You feel the weight of his arm around you, and for a second, it’s too much. 

Your heart’s doing that stupid stuttering thing it used to do when you were fourteen, except now you’re twenty-one and you know exactly how badly this could end.

“Better now,” he’d said. Like it was simple.

You let out a short, breathy laugh that doesn’t quite sound right. “You always say shit like that.”

Eddie’s thumb pauses on your arm. “Like what?”

“Like you’ve been waiting for me to lean on you.” You tilt your head just enough to glance up at him. The TV flickers across his face, catching on the sharp line of his jaw, the faint stubble there. “Like it’s easy.”

His mouth curves. “It’s not easy. You make it complicated as hell.”

You shift against him, half turning so your knee brushes his thigh. “Me? I’m not the one who—” You stop yourself, biting the words back. Not tonight. 

Not when his hand is still on your arm and the joint is making everything feel soft and blurry at the edges.

“Who what?” he asks, voice low. His fingers flex, like he’s fighting the urge to pull you closer.

You shake your head. “Nothing. Forget it.”

“No, say it.” There’s that edge in his voice now, the one that used to make your stomach flip when you were kids. “You’ve been weird since you got back. Like you’re pissed at me for something I don’t remember doing.”

You sit up a little, putting an inch of space between you, even though his arm stays draped behind your back. “I’m not pissed.”

“Bullshit.” He sits up too, so you’re facing each other. 

His eyes search yours, burnt honey in the low light, the same eyes that used to make you stupid. “You barely looked at me for the first week. Then you show up here alone, and now you’re in my bed acting like—”

“Acting like what, Eddie?”

“Like you want this as bad as I do,” he finishes. “But you’re waiting for me to fuck it up.”

“I heard you,” you say before you can stop yourself. “That night in the basement. When I was sixteen. You told them I was just a kid. That it wasn’t like that.”

He goes still. The color drains from his face for half a second, then floods back. “Fuck.”

“Yeah.” Your voice cracks a little. “So excuse me if I’m a little testy.”

Eddie drags a hand through his curls, exhaling sharply. “I was an idiot. I was scared shitless because Michael and Billy were giving me shit, and you were… you. Always around. Jayden and Michael’s cousin. And I—” 

He cuts himself off, then reaches out, his fingers brushing your jaw. “I wanted you so bad it made me stupid. Saying that shit was easier than admitting it.”

You stare at him.

“I’m not a kid anymore,” you whisper.

“I know.” His thumb strokes your cheek. “Believe me, I fucking know.”

The kiss starts awkwardly. Too careful, noses bumping, a little too much teeth because neither of you quite knows how to do this without the safety of years of almosts. 

Then Eddie lets out a low sound, tilts his head, and it clicks. Deepens. His hand slides into your hair, holding you there while his other arm wraps around your waist and pulls you into his lap.

You straddle him without thinking, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. He groans softly into your mouth when you settle against him, already half-hard under you.

“Still sure?” he murmurs against your lips, even as his hands slide under the hem of your shirt, palms warm against your bare back.

You nod, tugging at his shirt. “Yeah. You?”

“Been sure since I saw you in that driveway looking like you do now.” He helps you pull his shirt off, then yours, tossing them somewhere on the floor. His eyes drag over you slowly and hungrily, but somehow still gentle. “Jesus Christ.”

You lean in again, kissing him harder this time, rolling your hips experimentally. Eddie’s grip tightens on your waist, guiding you into a slow grind that has you both breathing heavier.

He flips you suddenly but carefully, laying you back against the pillows. Hovering over you, hair falling around his face like a curtain. “My room. My rules tonight,” he says, voice rough, smile tugging at his mouth. “You good with that?”

You arch a brow, even as heat pools low in your belly. “Bossy.”

“You like it.” He kisses down your neck, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver. One hand slides between you, popping the button on your shorts and easing them down along with your underwear. 

He takes his time, kissing every new inch of skin like he’s memorizing it.

When he settles between your thighs, mouth hot and teasing, you fist the sheets and try not to moan too loud. He’s gentle but relentless; tongue circling, two fingers sliding in slow and curling just right until your thighs shake around his ears.

“Eddie—fuck—” you gasp, hips twitching.

He hums against you, the vibration pulling you right to the edge before he pulls back. You whine at the loss.

He crawls up your body, kissing you so you can taste yourself on his tongue. “Not yet. Want you with me.”

You reach for his belt, clumsy with need, and he helps you, shoving his jeans and boxers down. His cock springs free, thick and flushed, and your mouth goes dry.

He’s bigger than you expected. You wrap your hand around him, stroking once, and he hisses, forehead dropping to yours.

“Condom,” he mutters, reaching blindly toward the nightstand. He rolls it on with shaky hands, then braces himself over you again. The head of his cock nudges your entrance, hot and slick from your own arousal.

He pauses, eyes locked on yours. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

You nod, legs wrapping around his waist. “Just… go slow at first.”

Eddie pushes in inch by inch, jaw clenched, breathing hard through his nose. The stretch is intense; burning, sweet, and full. He stills when he bottoms out, buried to the hilt, giving you time to adjust. His arms tremble with the effort of holding still.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groans, voice wrecked. “So good, baby. Doing so good for me.”

You shift under him, adjusting, and the small movement makes you both moan. “Move, Eddie. Please.”

He starts slow; long, rolling thrusts that drag against every sensitive spot inside you. One hand finds yours, lacing your fingers together and pressing them into the mattress above your head.

The other slides under your ass, tilting you up so he can go deeper, hitting that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyes.

“Eyes on me,” he murmurs when your lashes flutter. Dominating, but so soft it aches. “Want to see you fall apart.”

You do. The pleasure builds steadily and overwhelmingly until it crashes over you, back arching, his name spilling from your lips like a confession. 

Eddie follows right after, hips stuttering, a broken groan muffled against your neck as he comes hard.

He doesn’t pull out right away. Just collapses half on top of you, careful not to crush you, face buried in your shoulder. You stroke his hair, both of you catching your breath.

After a minute, he lifts his head, pressing a lazy kiss to your jaw. “Still testy?” he asks, voice hoarse but teasing.

You laugh softly, the sound shaky. “Give me ten minutes, and I might be.”

The room feels quieter now; the TV still murmurs low in the background, its faint glow flickering across the walls, the air warm and a little heavy.

Eddie shifts after a minute, pushing himself up just enough to look at you properly.

“You good?” he asks, voice still rough around the edges.

You nod, a small smile pulling at your mouth. “Yeah.”

He studies your face like he’s making sure. Then nods back, satisfied, before flopping onto his back beside you with a quiet exhale, one arm thrown over his eyes.

“…Damn,” he mutters.

You huff a laugh, turning your head to look at him. “That good, huh?”

He peeks at you from under his arm. “Don’t get cocky.”

“Too late.”

He lets out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh, dropping his arm and turning his head toward you instead.

“You could stay,” he says, like it just slipped out.

You blink. “What?”

He shrugs slightly, not looking away. “I mean, if you want. You could just… stay.”

Your chest tightens a little at that. You glance toward the window, then back at him, hesitating. “I can’t.”

“My aunt,” you add quickly. “She needs help in the morning. Early.”

He nods once, slowly. “Right. Yeah. Okay.”

You reach out without really thinking, brushing your fingers lightly against his arm.

“I want to,” you say, softer.

That gets his attention. His eyes flick back to yours, something unreadable sitting just beneath the surface.

“…Yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

Then he exhales, sitting up and dragging a hand through his hair. “Alright. C’mon.”

“Well,” you say softly, unlocking the door but not opening it yet.

“Yeah,” he echoes.

Then he steps a little closer. Close enough that you can feel the heat of him again, even out here.

His hand lifts, hesitates for half a second before resting lightly at your jaw, thumb brushing just beneath your cheek. Your breath catches.

“Drive safe,” he murmurs.

“Mm,” you nod, barely.

And then he leans in. His lips press to yours, warm and lingering, like he’s taking his time memorizing it. Like he doesn’t want to mess it up.

You lean into it without thinking, hand curling lightly into the front of his shirt.

For a second, everything else fades. The house. The night. All of it.

When he pulls back, it’s slow and reluctant. His forehead almost brushes yours before he drops his hand.

“…Text me when you get home?” he says, quieter now.

You smile a little. “Yeah.”

“I mean it.”

“I will.”

At first, it’s nothing. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself. He texts you first when you get home.

Eddie: you make it?

You smile at your phone.

You: yeah. told you i would

Eddie: good 

Eddie: sleep

It’s not much, but it’s something.

The next day, you think about texting him first. You don’t, so you wait.

Eddie: you alive?

You roll your eyes, smiling despite yourself, because it feels easy.

For a few days, it stays like that. Nothing heavy. Nothing defined.

Just little messages, scattered through the day. Dumb jokes. Half-finished conversations. The kind of thing that doesn’t feel like a big deal until you realize you’re checking your phone for it.

Until you realize you’re waiting.

And then, it starts to slip. Not all at once. Replies take longer. Messages get shorter. Where there used to be a back-and-forth, there’s now just space.

You tell yourself he’s busy. He has band stuff. Work. A life.

You don’t want to be that person, so you don’t say anything.

One night, Billy shows up.

“Where’s our rockstar?” Jayden asks immediately, smirking.

Billy snorts. “Busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Not this,” he says, grabbing a drink.

Your chest tightens just a little. You don’t ask, you don’t want to.

It happens again: Billy comes by, and no Eddie. Again. And again.

Each time, you feel it a little more. That quiet, creeping realization. So, you stop bringing him up. Stop checking your phone as often. Stop waiting. Or at least, you try to.

When the message about the show comes through, you almost don’t go. But Jayden’s already talking about it, already dragging you into the plan, and you tell yourself it’s fine.

It’s just a show, it doesn’t mean anything.

B&B’s is packed that night. Sweat and noise and bodies pressed too close together. You lose the others almost immediately.

You end up near the side of the stage, arms crossed loosely, trying to focus on the music, trying not to think about him.

It works until he walks out. And it’s like nothing changed, like your body didn’t get the memo. Your chest tightens anyway, and your eyes track him without permission.

He’s the same on stage: confident and easy. Alive in a way that makes it hard to look anywhere else. And for a second, just a second, you think maybe it was all in your head.

Maybe he’s just been busy.

The set ends. You push off the wall, weaving through people, scanning for Jayden, for Michael, for anyone, for him. You don’t find them, so you step outside.

The night air hits you hard, cutting through the noise still ringing in your ears. You linger near the side of the building, leaning against the brick, waiting.

Telling yourself you’re waiting for the others. Not him, not specifically.

You hear his voice before you see him, and your stomach drops. You turn, and there he is, just a few feet away.

Standing with a girl you don’t recognize. She’s laughing at something he said, head tipped slightly toward him, close enough that their shoulders brush.

There’s a cigarette between his fingers. He takes a drag, then hands it to her without thinking. She takes it, lips wrapping around the same spot his just were, exhaling a slow stream of smoke as she smiles up at him.

Your chest caves in. Because it’s so easy. The way he’s standing, the way he’s talking to her, the way he looks at her…

You’ve seen that before. Hell, you’ve felt that before. Haven’t you?

Your throat tightens, and you don’t move. You don’t make a sound. You just stand there, watching it happen like your body forgot how to do anything else. 

Then, he laughs at something she says.

You don’t make it far. Just around the side of the building, past the dim spill of light from the doorway, where the noise dulls into something distant and muffled. 

The brick is cold against your back when you lean into it, arms wrapping around yourself like that might hold everything in place. It doesn’t.

Your chest feels too tight. Like there’s not enough room for air, for thought, for anything except that image—him. Laughing.

Like you never existed in that moment at all. You blink hard, once, twice. It doesn’t help.

“Hey.” The voice startles you.

Billy’s already frowning, eyes scanning your face, taking in more than you want him to.

“…What happened?” he asks, softer now.

You shake your head immediately. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s—” you swallow, looking away. “I’m fine.”

“You’re crying.”

You laugh, a weak, breathy sound, lifting a hand to wipe at your cheek like you can hide it now.

“I’m not…”

“Hey.” He steps closer. “Don’t do that.”

You press your lips together, staring at the ground. For a second, neither of you says anything.

“…You saw him?” Billy asks. It’s not really a question.

Your throat tightens, and you nod, barely. 

He exhales slowly, dragging a hand over his face.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Figured.”

You flinch a little, arms tightening around yourself.

“Don’t,” you say quietly.

He looks at you. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t do the ‘I told you so’ thing.”

“I’m not trying to be a dick about it.”

You let out a shaky breath, blinking hard again. “It just…” you cut yourself off, shaking your head. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“It is,” you insist, voice thinner now. “I knew. I knew what it was.” You laugh again, hollow this time. “I guess I thought it was different.”

Billy’s jaw tightens slightly.

“Yeah,” he says after a second. “I know.”

You glance at him, surprised.

He shrugs, looking out toward the street instead of at you. “He’s my brother. I’ve seen it before.”

“He didn’t even—” your voice catches, and you hate it. “He just stopped. Like it didn’t matter.”

“He’s an idiot,” he says flatly.

You huff out a quiet breath, shaking your head. “That doesn’t really help.”

“I’m not trying to help,” he mutters. “I’m telling you the truth.”

Then he sighs, nudging your shoulder lightly with his.

“C’mere.”

You hesitate, then step forward. He pulls you into a quick, solid hug, one hand coming up to the back of your head like he’s done this time and time again.

You let yourself sink into it.

“You deserved better than that,” he says quietly.

Your eyes sting again. 

“Yeah,” you murmur. “I know.”

He pulls back after a moment, looking down at you.

“You gonna be okay?” he asks.

You nod, even though you know it's not entirely true. “I will be.”

im SORRY!!!

hope you all enjoyed🫵

beasbugs: