AM I IN HEAVEN?

The banging, the music completely loud and vibrating at every window, the people cheering, the chanting of them coaxing someone to drink, and the steps that signaled jumping and some dancing. A full-on party, filled with people in a very small one-floor apartment. 

A party you were not at.

You were staring at the ceiling of your living room, hearing the loud stomps, and you feared the floor might cave in, and just a bunch of people would fall into your home. You grumbled underneath your breath, cuddling Roxas close to you on the couch as you sat cross-legged. And of course, he is the cutest dog ever. Pictures hung around your home, of him, of you and him, and you just kept adding them because– Your dog was a mix of dalmatian… with a corgi, and you were just so in love with him that you called him your son sometimes.

A loud cheer from your neighbor makes you wince, glaring at your roof. Steve Harrington. You knew your personalities would clash the moment he moved in, but he was still a nice guy. He told you he was going to throw a small ‘moving in’ party with some friends, so you really couldn’t complain because he had warned you, but–

“Uh huh, small he said.” You got up from your couch, Roxas whining from the loss of cuddle, hopping down with his small legs, and following you towards the kitchen. Your complex was small, just a set of six apartments, divided into three floors. You were happy to be on the bottom floor, with easy access for when you have to go grocery shopping and not take the bags upstairs. Since it’s just two flights of stairs, the necessity for an elevator was none, so it seems. Hopefully, the people who live on the top floors don’t break their legs or something any time soon.

A loud crash startled you as you were pouring some wine into your glass, and you shook your head at that, wondering what artifact could have fallen. Yeah, Steve and you were going to clash. An extrovert against an introvert. This was not gonna go well in the long run. You heard Roxas softly bark at you, and you looked down to see him sticking one paw out while sitting. You giggled and opened a jar that contained his chew sticks, grabbing one for him.

“Only one. You had two already today, but I am allowing this because it’s the weekend.” He looks so fucking cute, you can’t help but grab the phone out of your hoodie and wiggle the stick in front of you so he wouldn’t stop looking at you, and that stupid baby voice came out of your lips. “Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good booooy~?”

You snapped a picture and then gave the stick to him, looking at how he ran away with his little legs, making you squeal at the cuteness of it. You grabbed your glass and walked towards your room, where your gaming setup and bed awaited you. You looked towards your bookcase and then to your pc. Gaming or reading? Can you even read with how loud everything was upstairs?

To answer your question, you heard some guy scream nonsense, and it seems it was on the balcony right above your window. You rolled your eyes and put the glass on the desk, turning your pc on, your mind racing with the decision of what to play tonight. You could always play that new game that came out, that one that is like a roleplay–

CLANK. THUD.

“What the fuck!?” Your head snapped towards your window. What the fuck was that bang!? You rushed towards it and looked through to see a figure on the grass. You gasped as worry filled your body, and you yanked your window open, letting the cool air enter your room.

“Ngh…” It was a mop of long black hair sprawled, face down, hands pressed on the grass, and at least they sounded alive?

“Oh my fucking god…” You looked up to see Steve’s balcony and then back down towards the body that was just outside your window. “Are you alright!?”

“Jst– eachy–” You heard the guy, and he was not moving, already worrying you, and you were about to get out of your window to check on him, but then you saw his head slowly lift up and turn to look at you. His eyes were brown, pupils completely blown from the alcohol and red from obvious extra substances. Grass clings over his face and hair, and he was at least talking, so it’s a good sign.

“Are you okay? I’m getting you help–”

“Well fuck me– Am I in heaven?”

“What?” You were startled as you looked at this guy who suddenly smiled cheekily at you and managed to turn his body, wincing in pain as he did so, and then resting his head on his left hand while his elbow pressed on the grass.

“You are one fine as fuck Angel. I honestly–” A hiccup. “Honestly thought I w’s gon’ go to hell but– it seems I got redempted!” You were stunned, staring at this stranger who was– trying to flirt with you? Or did he truly think he was dead?

“Do you mean… redeemed?”

“Hot and intelligent? I won the lottery in the angel department–” He tried to do a finger gun at you with his free hand and– you looked down at yourself, at your cookie monster pants, your black hoodie, your hair a mess, your face washed… what was this guy on?

“Okay, um–” You saw him wobble and fall on his back, and you cursed at yourself, making sure your phone was in the pocket of your hoodie. “Wait there!”

You put on your slippers and rushed out of your room, passing by Roxas, who was still eating the chew stick on the couch. He raised his head to look at you moving around your living room looking for your house keys, and when you finally caught them, you grabbed your trainee medical bag and ran to the door.

You waved goodbye to Roxas and told him to stay, rushing out of your apartment and messaging Steve. You were rounding the building, trying to find where the guy might still be lying and hopefully not dead. You knew Steve was not going to answer your texts, and you cannot really waste time going to look for him. This guy might have a concussion, and you can’t wait around for Steve to message you back in his obvious state of drunkenness, or for anyone up there to actually help you.

You turned the corner, and the guy was still lying on his back, mumbling to himself, or was he singing? You approached him, leaning down so you would be looking directly at his face. A goofy grin spread on his lips and– well, shit, he’s cute. 

“My angel! I thought you left me!”

“Okay big guy, what’s your name?” You asked, looking all over his exposed arms to look for any signs of broken bones or cuts, but it was hard to tell with all the tattoos. Good tattoos at that.

“You checking the great Eddie Munson out, baby?” Eddie. Okay. You rolled your eyes at his antics and looked back at his face. You kneeled down next to him, opening your bag with all your medical tools inside.

“I’m checking to see if you have any other injuries.” You got your small light pen and turned it on, leaning down closer to his face. He was still smiling up at you, and this was going to be a hard thing to decipher because the guy was drunk. 

“And what is my beautiful angel’s name?” You couldn’t help the small tug at the corner of your lips as you pulled his left bottom eyelid down and shone the light in his eye to look for signs of a concussion. You told him your name as he winced, and then you moved on to the right eye.

“Hard to tell with those dilated, drunk, and high pupils, Mr. Munson.” You sighed and put the pen back in your bag. “Can you sit up?”

“Anything for my guardian Angel.” You help him sit up, a loud groan escaping him, but still managing to sit and face you with that dopey smile on his lips, and showing his dimples off as if it were an exhibition. “So, do angels go on dates with humans?”

This guy still thinks he is dead?

“I don’t know if you are playing stupid to just flirt with me, but I suggest you tell me because if you are not faking it, confusion is a symptom of a concussion–” And it seems that you sobered him up at that, knowing he might have to go to the ER.

“I know I’m alive, but here you are, checking on me like a hot nurse. Looks pretty angelical to me.” He says with a wiggle of his eyebrows, which only makes you sigh as you raise one index finger up in front of his face.

“Follow my finger without moving your head.” You start moving it from left to right, and you can see him holding in his own giggles, but aside from the drunkenness, his reflexes are good. “How old are you?”

“Damn, getting to the age basis already? Fuck yes– Twenty-Six sweetheart.” Just one year older than you are. You lowered your finger as you inspected his face for injuries, bumps, or bruises.

“Alrighty, and do you know where you are?”

“In front of the most beautiful person I’ve seen all night– NO! All week, or– make it a month or two.” He slurred, smiling at you still as you felt your face flush with embarrassment. It’s been a while since you’ve been complimented. When was the last time you went out with someone? You shook those thoughts away; you can’t think of something like that with the drunk man in front of you.

“You have a way with words, but honestly, whose party did you attend?” You insist,ed and you saw how he pointed up at the balcony.

“Steve’s. The bastard who didn’t tell me that he has a beautiful, hot nurse as a neighbor.” You snorted at that, feeling your cheeks burn slightly at the compliment. You cleared your throat as you saw him sway in his place to the music above.

“Well, it doesn't look like you have a concussion. You probably fell on your stomach rather than your head.”

“Aw, wait– Is the examination over? I think I have more owies on– uh– my arm! Yeah, my right arm.” You squinted at him, knowing he was definitely lying, but he still smiled at you, dopily so.

“Hmm… Let me see.” You indulged because– Who are you kidding? This guy is fucking cute. He looks so threatening with his heavy metal look, but he is definitely a dork. A very enchanting, charismatic dork. You grabbed his hand, much larger than yours, and you pulled his arm upwards and–

“AH, FUCK!” He winced and tried to move away from you and, oh–

“Well fuck, Eddie, you might have to go to the ER after all, you fell on your arm. It might be sprained.” It seems the pain sobered him up a bit, and then he put his arm down as you let go of his hand, taking your phone out to call Steve.

“Wait, wait– Okay, I’ll go, but first, is it a really bad time to ask the hot nurse for her phone number?” He tried to smile through the sudden pain, but his face was very contorted. You didn’t know if he truly meant this, or if it was just a drunk display. Just flirting thanks to the alcohol.

But what if you don’t give him your number and you regret it later? He is very cute, but what if he doesn’t call you? Or message you? Now that would be a punch to your confidence. But– Fuck it, you opened your mouth to speak only for some people to start yelling, making you turn your head.

“Fuck, Munson! You fell from the fucking balcony!?” You saw Steve walking towards you two with another boy next to him, he was blonde, wearing a mullet, a very 80’s look in your opinion. They didn’t seem as drunk as you expected or heard.

“I was just admiring the outside, and I may have leaned too far out.” You heard Eddie talk and smile innocently at the two men towering over both of you. “But look! Hot nurse here is taking care of me, so you two can go–”

“Oh no, you need to go to the ER!” You shoot a glare at him, and he pouts at you.

“Wait, the ER?” Okay, you heard the slur in the unidentified man’s voice.

“Yeah, I think he fell on his arm and sprained it. He doesn’t seem to have a concussion, but also check for that.” Steve nodded at you, and you slowly got up, grabbing your bag and phone while the other two helped Eddie. The metal head winced in pain when the blonde guy grabbed him by the arm, and he apologized to him and helped him up by the waist while Steve wrapped his good arm over his shoulders.

“I’ll make Nance drive since she is sober, and we’ll take him to the ER. Thank you for taking care of this dumbass.” Steve smiled at you, and you reciprocated weakly as Eddie pouted, his feet giving up on him as he tried to step forward towards you.

“But I want my Angel’s number–”

“You caused enough trouble.” The blonde man said with a roll of his eyes, and you wanted to interrupt, tell him it’s okay, and have your number but– the situation was not the best to do so. Maybe some other time.

“Go to the ER. You know where I live.” At your boldness, you felt your entire body flush with how that could be perceived; the three men were stunned while looking at you. You blinked a few times and opened your mouth to defend yourself, only for barking and whining to be heard. You turned your head to see a snout peeking from the edge of the window, inside your room. It seems Roxas smelled you, and the short-legged dude cannot even reach to look over the window. “- Fuck, I gotta go. Get better Eddie!”

You walked off as quickly as you could, not looking back from the embarrassment. What made you think he meant anything he said? He is drunk! And high! And maybe you didn’t check him right, and he truly has a concussion. He most likely won’t remember you the next day. He’ll just have a very nasty headache and super-painful joints.

You rapidly got into your house, Roxas speeding towards you to start jumping for your attention, his tail wagging rapidly. You felt drained, the awkwardness of the whole situation taking more of your social battery than expected. The stupid comments, and you blushing and smiling like an idiot at the most minor of compliments. You seriously need to get out more. 

“Kill me, Roxas.”

You were getting ready to take Roxas out on a walk. It was a nice day out, and despite the party above you, sleep got to you rather quickly. You put on his light blue harness as he tippy tapped in excitement, knowing he gets to go to the park. 

“I know you’re excited, but you have to behave, okay?” You heard him ‘awoo’ softly, and you smiled as you patted his head. “Alright, let’s go.”

You leashed him and grabbed your purse with all your things inside, plus treats and potty bags for your dog. You grabbed your keys and opened the door, walking out and turning to close it, only to be startled by Roxas letting out a bark. You locked the door with a frown and looked towards the corridor to see– 

What the fuck was he doing here!? Why is he out in the front door of the building!? Why is he holding flowers!? Just what in the world is going on– You saw Eddie spotting you through the glass, and he gave you a shy smile, very different from the confident smirk from yesterday night. He waved at you with the flowers, and that’s when you saw the arm support brace on his right arm. You gasped as you told Roxas to go with you as you two walked to the front door.

You opened the door, the warmish air hitting you as well as his cologne. He smelled fucking good. He looked nervous, gulping as he looked down at you. His hair was tied in a low ponytail, which honestly suited him, and–

“I’m sorry for putting you on the spot yesterday night…” The hand holding the flowers extended towards you, and it was a pretty small thing, but– You haven’t received flowers in… have you ever?

“Uh…” You didn’t know what to say. Your heart was beating quite fast in your chest, and you were just staring at the flowers. It seems that made him panic because he immediately retreated the flowers with a worried expression.

“Fuck! Are you– Are you allergic!? I’m a fucking idiot, I almost killed my saviour!” He was very theatrical, even sober. You rolled your eyes and grabbed the flowers, putting them to your nose to smell them.

“No, nothing like that. It surprised me, that's all…” You then looked back up at him to see him giving you those goddamn dimples– “What are you doing here?” 

“Oh, uhm… well… I came to thank you, and probably apologize?” Ah, you weren’t mistaken. He totally did not mean anything he said yesterday night, so you made the right choice in not giving him any data of yours. 

“Don’t mention it. I’m a nurse, well, a trainee, so… I’m glad I could at least make sure you weren’t concussed… Wait– you aren’t, right?” You frowned in worry as you looked at him, and he shook his head, laughing.

“No, just the sprained arm and some bruises here and there. You are a good nurse.” Oh, that made you– Fuck, it’s hot in here. You opened and closed your mouth, but then you felt the leash in your free hand yank you. You looked down to see Roxas staring at you and Eddie with a pissed-off look.

“For fucks sake, Roxas, I’m going–”

“Roxas?”

“Huh?” You raised an eyebrow in question at him. Did he find the name of your dog funny? He just smiled at you with amusement in his eyes.

“I just– Didn’t think I would hear a Kingdom Heart’s name on a dog.” Wait, he knows about it? You saw him fidget in his place. He kept his eyes on you, licking his lips as he anticipated his next words. “Do you– mind if I join you in your walk?”

You certainly didn’t expect that. You really didn’t, and much less when you said yes. Now you are sitting at the dog park, while Roxas runs around with his pet friends, and you are sitting next to a not-a-total stranger on one of the benches.

“So that blonde guy is named Billy? And this Nance girl took you to the hospital.” You asked as you snacked on some candy you had in your purse, Eddie sucking on a hard one while he moved his hand around as he talked.

“Yeah, I got really scolded by her. I honestly didn’t think I would fall when I leaned over, I swear!” You couldn’t help but giggle while shaking your head. You two have talked for an hour already, and your interests are very much alike. Food, hobbies, some music but not all, movies, series, and your excitement grew the more you two talked with one another. Your eyes were now looking at Roxas and making sure he didn't get into any trouble, not noticing the brown irises that were nervously looking at you still. “-- um… can I tell you something?”

“Well, shit, we just met and we’re on a trauma bonding basis?” That made him chuckle, a warm sound invading your ears.

“No, nothing like that, not yet… but um… I– I am not good at this. Drunk? I am a babbling, insufferable person. Sober? I fuck it up all the time.” You heard him sigh while rubbing his temple with his free hand, and you felt yourself flushing from the awkwardness once again. Flashes of all his flirting coming back to you, and knowing he might be about to apologize for them, was just a punch to your ego and pride.

“Um, it’s okay, you were drunk, you don’t have to apologize for anything–”

“Apologize?” He looked at you again, an eyebrow raised in question, baffled by your answer. “I am not here to apologize, Princess. Well, maybe for interrupting your night, but for what I said? No chance.” 

Okay, that surprised you. He wasn’t going to take it all back? Tell you he was just in a state of drunkenness, and he just became a flirty drunk because of it? He wasn’t going to?

“What?”

“I meant every word I said yesterday about you and what I wanted.” He was staring into your eyes, and you could see the honesty lying there, but what if you were making it up? Things like these don’t normally happen.

“You saw me once, and it was enough to ask for my number? You barely knew my name last night.” You clarified, hopefully to get some other kind of truth out of him, but he smiled at you with those forsaken dimples.

“And that you have cookie monster pajamas, and in this walk, it made me want one more thing other than your number.” Your heart was jumping around in your chest and probably your stomach as a small smile started tugging at the corner of your lips.

“And what would that be… angel?” He squinted at you in question, giddiness blossoming in your features. “You called me that, but as far as I remember, the one who fell from the sky was you, wasn’t it?”

You were surprised to see his face darken into a deep red, his good hand covering his mouth as he looked away from you in embarrassment or shyness, but it made you smile at the man who was wearing all black and ripped jeans, tattoos all over his arms, and he was acting so dorky and adorable. He cleared his throat and looked back at you after a second, but the blush never left his face.

“You can’t say stuff like that, hot nurse.” You giggled at his retort but nodded at him to continue what he was saying. 

“C’mon, what else do you want?” The blush started going down, but the pinkish tone was still there as a smile appeared on his lips again.

“I want a date.” You couldn’t help the turn your belly did at the excitement of it. You bit your bottom lip as you pretended to think about it.

“Mmm… now should I?” The moment you asked that, Roxas came running with a ball in his mouth, and you reached your hand down to get it for him, only for your traitorous dog to go to Eddie’s side and press the ball against his good hand. “Roxas, you little shit–”

Eddie did a ‘HA’ in response to the action and grabbed the ball, smirking as he looked at you, and Roxas whined for him to throw it. “The longer you take to respond, the longer your child will cry for this ball.”

You feigned a gasp and pretended to be dramatic, putting the back of your hand on your forehead, faking an act of despair.

“No, please, spare my child! I will do as you say.” Eddie laughed at your theatrics, pleased with you following his lead, and threw the ball away. It seemed seeing Roxas running away with his short legs amuse him because he started cracking up at it, making it contagious for you to follow as well. 

“His fucking legs– I’m sorry–” You crossed your arms as you tried to pretend you were offended.

“Making fun of my child now?” His laughter was subdued, and a smile was kept on his lips as he turned to look at you once again.

“No, admiring him…” You two stared at one another for a moment, and fuck– you really want to kiss him right now. There’s this urge that is telling you to kiss him, but you can’t. You barely know him, and he barely knows you, and you two aren’t two drunk people at a club right now. You were becoming embarrassed by his staring, so you looked away, playing with your fingers over your lap.

“So…”

“I know you said yes to a date, but– I’m embarrassed by not being able to take you in my car myself…” You looked at him as he moved the sprained arm in its constrained brace, and he scrunched his nose at it. “If you want, we can wait–”

“I can drive.” You sounded desperate, and you honestly don’t know if you were or not. What you knew, though, was that you wanted to go on a date with him, yes or yes, and you didn’t want to wait until his arm was recovered for it to happen. A soft smile spread on his lips as his eyes glinted in the afternoon’s sun.

“Alright, darling. I can roll with that.” 

end

“You know what I really wanna do in life?” Steve broke the silence, you turned your head to gaze at him curiously, he was never the one to start the deep conversations, but there was always a sense of vulnerability whenever you were alone.

“What?” He kept looking at the sky.

“I wanna pack everything into a small car and just hit the road.”

You couldn’t help but snort in response. “Those are your big aspirations?” You mocked.

“I’m serious.” He huffed, the grin on your face softening when you realized he was.

Steve folded his arms behind his head. “I wanna see stuff that doesn’t even fit inside Hawkins, the Grand Canyon—all of it.”

You smiled, genuinely this time. “The Grand Canyon?”

Steve finally glanced over, holding your gaze. “I know it’s stupid.”

You shook your head, “it isn’t stupid.”

He looked back at the stars. “I just…I want to see it for myself. To know things like that actually exist, that I’m not really trapped here.” He spoke quieter, and you instantly knew he meant freedom. A life beyond Hawkins, a future neither of you could fully process yet.

You nudged his shoulder with yours. “Well, when we graduate we’ll go.” You said, warming up to the idea.

“We?” Steve laughed.

“Someone has to make sure you don’t drive off a cliff.” You said. “We’ll make it like a bucket list sort of thing.”

You noticed he was smiling, a real smile that reached his eyes. He simply looked at you for a couple of seconds before extending his hand.

“Deal?” He asked.

You stared at it, then while laughing extended yours in return. “Deal.” You agreed, shaking his.

The moment lingered longer than it should have, neither of you making a move to pull away, just hand in hand. Steve finally cleared his throat and let go, “Grand Canyon.” He finalized.

You had no idea years later you’d actually stick true to the promise, that you’d be stuffing duffle bags into Steve’s tiny BMW, with nothing but a wallet full of cash, a paper map that didn’t fit into your hands, and a head on your shoulders.

You climbed into the passenger seat while Steve was midway through starting the engine. “Steve.”

“Hm?” He hummed absentmindedly.

“You do know that Arizona is like three days away from Indiana, right?” You asked him worriedly.

“Uh, yeah?” Steve looked up at you with furrowed brows. “I took geography.” He scoffed.

You narrowed your eyes, you could tell he in fact did not by the way his eyebrows shot upwards for half a second before he’d caught himself. “Oh my god.” You sighed. “You didn’t know.”

“Okay, maybe I didn’t know it was three days far.” He rushed out, attempting to reason with you.

“Thats exactly how people end up stranded in the desert with no way out.” You groaned, burying your face into your hands.

“We’re not gonna get stranded—you wanna know why?” Steve asked, waiting.

You looked up at him. “Because I have you.” He shrugged like it explained everything.

Then he reached over and poked at the map you were holding. “Just keep that thing ready and tell me where to go.” He grinned.

“You’re insane, you know that?” You said, but smiled anyway.

The car started pulling out of the driveway, and suddenly it felt real. The trip had officially begun, and you had to take a deep breath to fully prepare yourself. Not even a couple minutes later, Steve reached over for the radio, inserting a music disk and the familiar notes of your favorite song began to blast through the speakers.

Your eyes widened, and Steve cranked up the volume with a crooked smile that was impossible to miss.

“Roadtrip rules.” Steve stated.

“What roadtrip rules?” You lowered the map to look at him.

“We sing.” Steve answered, before beginning to belt out the lyrics terribly. You blinked at him, reconsidering turning back around, before bursting out into laughter.

“Your voice sucks, Harrington! You sound like a dying seagull.” Steve gasped at your accusations, taking one hand off the steering wheel to cover his chest dramatically.

“Oh, c’mon.” Steve turned to lift a brow at you. “You know you love it, babyyy.” He prolonged the last word matching the song, you pretended like your heart didn’t skip a beat at the name.

You rolled your eyes, though a smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. He always knew how to lighten the mood, even when you used to show up to his house with tears in your eyes and a broken heart, Steve would force you to dance with him across the floorboards—where he’d inevitably slip from his sock covered feet, causing you to forget all about the reason you were actually sad.

By the second chorus you had joined him in singing incredibly off-key, and the miles seemed to disappear beneath the tires. The fields stretched endlessly on either side of the highway, the morning light spilling through the windshield, representing the lightness you felt beside him.

You remembered something, reaching into your bag to pull out the disposable camera you’d brought specifically for this trip. The same one you’ve had since middle school, capturing the most important moments—first dance, where you and Steve decided to go together after unsuccessfully scoring a date, up until your graduation with your caps thrown in the air.

Steve noticed it when you pointed the device at him. “Oh no, already?” He groaned.

A wicked smile spread across your face as the camera started splashing. “Yup, road trip rules.” You repeated his past words to your advantage.

The sunlight caught the edges of his long hair as he winked at the camera, turning the brown strands almost golden.

Click.

His veiny hands gripping the steering wheel.

Click.

You zoomed in on the concentration shown on his face as he watched the road.

Click.

“I think there are more interesting things to take pictures of rather than me.” Steve said.

You shrugged, keeping your eyes on the first photo you had taken of him, the one where he looked almost angelic, you already knew it was your favorite.

“You look pretty.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, silence immediately took over the car, your stomach dropped.

Steve’s surprised eyes flicked toward you, long enough to make your breath catch. Then he turned his gaze back to the road, his tongue poking into the inside of his cheek as though he was trying, and failing, to contain his amusement.

“Pretty?” He repeated like it was a foreign word. You wanted to launch yourself out of the moving vehicle.

“I meant—”

“Oh, I heard you.” He cut you off, your face burned further. “I like that.” He said, quieter this time.

You sank lower into the seat, ignoring him. But when you glanced back over, you caught the slight upturn of his mouth, less teasing, softer in a way that hinted it was a secret to keep to himself. And for the first time since the trip started, something shifted. Not enough to name, but enough to make the road ahead feel longer than the one passed.

The steady hum of the engine was the first thing you heard. You shifted slightly against the leather seat, your head having been rested back against the window. For a moment, you felt disoriented. There was no more music playing through the speakers, then you realized where your legs were.

They were sprawled across Steve’s lap, you must’ve fallen asleep hours ago, judging by the change in afternoon light. Apparently, you’d decided to use him as a cushion, though the embarrassing part was he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he hadn’t even noticed you were awake, his eyes remained fixed on the road, one hand on the wheel, but the other was holding your ankle absentmindedly.

His thumb stroked back and forth in slow, thoughtless motions, as if he wasn’t aware of it anymore. You watched him for another second, then pushed yourself upright with the palms of your hands, catching his attention as he snapped his head toward you.

“Oh,” a smile tugged at his mouth. “Look who’s awake, sleeping beauty.”

You rubbed at your bleary eyes, holding back a yawn. “How long was I out for?” You asked.

“A couple hours.” Steve estimated.

“A couple—Steve!” You hit his shoulder. “Why didn’t you wake me?” You said with more anger than intended.

He looked genuinely confused by the question. “Why would I wake you?”

“So I could keep you company.” You retorted.

“You were tired, so I let you sleep.” Steve justified it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Your chest tightened slightly. “You drove three hours by yourself?” You asked, feeling bad for leaving him on his lonesome.

Steve shrugged, “hey, I had the cows to look at.”

You scoffed, his answer not helping. “That's even worse.”

You became aware of your legs still thrown across his lap, slowly pulling them back into your own seat. It forced Steve to move his thumb away, though there was a patch of warmth that lingered where he’d been touching you, goosebumps rising on your skin from the imprint.

You reopened the map, trying very hard not to think about it while willing to make yourself useful again.

By the time the sun had begun dipping lower in the sky, the rush of excitement from that morning finally started giving way to hunger. The kind that couldn’t be satisfied from the packets of nuts and pretzels you had packed.

“I swear, if I don’t eat real food in the next hour, I’m gonna lose my mind.” You groaned, your personality turning sour from the lack of nutrients to keep you sane.

“No need to get hangry on me, look what I found.” Steve pointed out the windshield, a neon sign reading diner flickered in the distance.

You gasped at the sight, becoming overwhelmed with the urge to strangle him in a hug. “Oh my god, you’re the best.”

He smirked in response, “told you I am.”

The smell of coffee and fried food invaded your senses as you entered the roadside diner, sliding into a red booth as Steve lifted his arms above his head, the full day of driving wearing his body down.

A waitress approached the both of you, dropping menus onto the table. “You two passing through?” She asked.

“Yup,” Steve answered. “Arizona.”

She whistled, “long drive, you must be exhausted.”

“Tell me about it.” He sighed, observing the food options in front of him.

She smiled, tilting her head at you. “Well you two make such a cute couple.”

You nearly choked as Steve froze in response. “We’re not a couple.” You defended simultaneously.

The waitress blinked before slowly smiling. “Mhm.” She hummed, while you and Steve looked equally horrified. You groaned as she walked away, turning to Steve.

“Isn’t it clear we’re just friends?” You asked.

“Totally,” he scoffed.

Soon enough, the food arrived, shutting you two up as you practically inhaled your burgers and shared a basket of fries. Steve’s gaze dropped to your pocket before he suddenly leaped over to snatch the camera away from you.

“You took approximately a million pictures of me today, it’s only fair if I have a turn.” He said pleased with himself.

You kicked him under the table, leaning over to take it back, but he held it high enough out of your grasp. “Give it back.” You demanded.

“Nope.” He said immediately, a flash going off in response.

Your mouth fell open at his audacity. “Steve!” He only laughed loudly, pointing the camera at you again. You grabbed a French fry and threw it at him, it bounced off his shoulder as it egged him further, Steve taking more photos of you then you had of him.

The flash caught you mid laugh, reaching for him with your face scrunched up, eyes squeezed shut, trying to escape but naturally gravitating towards him.

Steve lowered the camera, the expression on his face looked unexpectedly soft. He glanced back at you, like he was trying to memorize the moment before it simply became a memory.

“What?” You asked, feeling uncomfortable with how quiet he’s gotten.

He blinked, completely wiping the expression from his face like it hadn’t even been there in the first place. “Nothing.” He shook his head, standing up from the booth before you could question him further.

“C’mon, we’ve been sitting for ten hours, time to stretch our legs.” You followed him out the diner.

The reality of the situation only settled in once you made it back to the car, there was nowhere to stay. You were currently in the middle of nowhere, the nearest motel was an hour behind you, and it was too dark to even see the road.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “Looks like we’re sleeping in the car.”

You looked at his bmw, which was already cramped enough as it was. “I can’t even fully straighten my legs.” You complained.

“We’ll work something out.” Steve promised, but when he tried reclining his seat as far as it would go, his knees were still bent.

You stifled a laugh. “You don’t even fit.” You pointed out, his miserable reaction only making you laugh harder. He reached behind you into the backseat, grabbing the only blanket you’d packed and tossed it into your lap.

Your laughter faded. “What about you? It’s gonna get super cold.” You stated, looking at him with furrowed brows.

“I’ll be fine, I’ve got my jacket.” He said, making no room for arguments. Eventually, the both of you settled as you pulled the blanket over yourself, outside, the world seemed impossibly still. There was no noise, or traffic, or even lights to fill the emptiness of the night sky. The only thing that remained were stars, they reminded you of the same night you two shared all those years ago. When you first promised to carry out his dream together, just like this.

“They’re pretty.” Steve said aloud, noticing your staring.

You nodded, though remained mesmerized by the sight. “Yeah.”

Steady conversation continued after that, talking because neither of you seemed ready to fall asleep yet. Even though you were cramped in a single vehicle with no knowledge about your surroundings, it all was worth it. Because you had Steve, and he had you.

Your eyes started to feel heavy as the stars blurred into a painting. “Hey, Steve?” You called out through a yawn.

“Hm?” He hummed back.

“I’m glad you asked me to come.” You confessed.

When he spoke again, his voice was quieter than before. “I’m glad you said yes.”

The last thing you heard before sleep claimed you was the soft sound of Steve humming along to the song from earlier long after he’d assumed you were asleep.

The next morning was spent recovering from the worst night of sleep either of you have ever experienced. Your neck was sore and Steve’s back was strained.

“You look awful.” You looked up from your gas station coffee, Steve looked even worse than you felt. His untamed hair was sticking up in every direction, dark circles sat beneath his eyes, his clothes were wrinkled beyond repair.

Steve pointed at you. “You drooled on yourself.”

You gasped, mouth falling open. “I did not!”

Steve grinned, “where do you think that mark from your shirt came from?” He asked, though when you glanced downwards there was no mark.

“You little—”

His laughter followed you all the way back to the car. The windows were rolled down as the crisp morning air drifted through them, everything felt calmer compared to yesterday. Your map rested in your lap as Steve held onto the wheel with one hand, the other hanging lazily out the open window.

“When we were kids, what did you think we’d be doing now?” Steve asked out of boredom.

You didn’t even consider your answer before speaking. “Definitely not driving all the way to the Grand Canyon.” You snorted.

He smiled, “seems fair.” Then you really thought about it, how differently your life could’ve ended up if you weren’t where you were now, if you hadn’t met Steve.

“I don’t know.” You sighed, short but honest.

“Really?” He asked, brows flitting upwards.

“Yeah,” you looked out the window. Because the truth was, you didn’t know where you’d be without him.

“I thought I was the only one.” Steve glanced over. “I have no idea what I’m doing.” He confessed.

“Well that’s comforting.” You said, the smile that followed settled into your chest. Knowing that Steve felt just as lost made everything seem less terrifying, where you’d been after this trip, if there’d even be a next time, felt daunting. But things always had a way of working out in the end.

Steve made a joke, and you laughed so hard your stomach hurt, though the sound vanished the moment you looked down at the map. Your stomach dropped when you looked back up.

“Steve.” You said, worry evident in your voice.

“What? What’s wrong?” He asked anxiously, looking between you and the road.

You pointed at the rear windshield with a look of horror on your face. “That was our exit!” You cried out, staring at the highway sign that was rapidly disappearing into the distance.

Steve followed your gaze, his own face paling as the realization settled over him. “Oh shit!”

“How long until the next one?” You asked loudly, fearing his answer.

He scratched his stubble, expression wincing. “A couple miles.” He said above a whisper, not looking at you.

You grabbed his shoulder, shaking him violently. “How many are a couple?” You repeated.

“Twenty-five.” He gulped, and the map fell onto the floor underneath you.

“Twenty-five!” You gasped, knocking your head into the headrest.

“In my defense—you were distracting me!” Steve yelled, and your jaw dropped.

“You should’ve been watching the road, this has nothing to do with me!” You pointed at him, but he was only shaking with laughter.

You couldn’t help but laugh too, because what else was there to be done? A few extra miles hardly mattered anymore when you still had plenty of hours left anyway.

Steve looked at you when he finally caught his breath, “sorry,” he muttered.

“You should be.” You rolled your eyes, but as he took the next exit to turn the car around, you hadn’t noticed you stopped paying attention to the destination hours ago, the journey had become the best part.

That night, you had gotten much luckier than yesterday. The motel appeared right when both of you were prepared to collapse, Steve pulling into the parking lot with a relieved sigh.

“No more sleeping in the car.” He said, gratefully.

“No more sleeping in the car.” You repeated.

You headed for the front desk and the receptionist looked up at you two with an annoyed expression on her face. “We’re booked for the night.” She Steve off before he even had the chance to open his mouth.

“We’ve been traveling for the past two days with nowhere to sleep.” Steve argued.

She glanced behind her at the wall full of keys before turning back to you. “We only have one room, take it or leave it.” She offered.

“We need two beds,” Steve said, but she only shook her head.

“There’s only one bed, that’s all I can do for you tonight.” She shrugged.

“What?” You said.

“We’ll take it.” Steve said at the same time, snatching the key out of her hand.

The room was much smaller than you thought, a room clearly not meant for two people to be sleeping in. There was one dresser, one lamp, and one very obvious bed that took most of it.

Steve immediately pointed at the tiny couch shoved against the wall. “I’ll sleep there.”

You looked at the couch, it wouldn’t even be able to hold half of him. “You’re driving tomorrow, you can’t sleep there.” You shook your head.

“I’ll survive.” He sighed, dropping the duffle bag beside the couch.

“You’re sleeping in the bed, it’s fine.” You said, not putting much thought into it, though your mind was racing.

His eyebrows shot up, “you sure?” Steve asked.

“Why wouldn’t I be, we’re just friends.” You said, sitting on top of the mattress.

Something flickered across Steve’s face, gone before you could identify it. He swallowed once, then looked at you. “Right. Friends.”

Not much time later, both of you ended up lying stiffly on opposite ends of the bed, it somehow still felt small. The lamp had been switched off, and darkness surrounded you, though neither of you were sleeping considering how tired you were.

You stared at the ceiling and Steve followed, every movement was louder than usual. “You awake?” His voice cut through the silence.

“No,” you answered, the corners of your mouth quirking upwards.

“Right.” He exhaled heavily, he could only keep quiet for much longer before speaking again. “This is weird.”

“Steve.” A laugh escaped you.

“What?” He turned his head towards you on the pillow.

“You’re making it worse.” You said through a laugh, shaking your head.

“Sorry, I just…every time I move I’m more aware that you’re here.” Steve explained.

“I know.” You replied, then the conversation started, like it always did. About random things, stories from high school, your favorite memories, until the tension had slowly begun to fade.

Before you knew it, your eyelids were growing heavy and Steve's voice sounded more and more distant. “Goodnight.”

“Night Steve.” You called out through the darkness, allowing sleep to take over.

When you woke up the next morning, you felt warmer, warmer than when you had fallen asleep. You blinked your eyes open, and immediately recognized the scent that surrounded you. It was impossible not to, that scent only belonged to Steve.

Somehow during the night, you’d both drifted to the middle, your head resting against his shoulder with one of his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. The blanket was tangled around both of you, and all you could do for a moment was stare.

Then the panic arrived, the problem was that it didn’t feel wrong at all. It felt entirely too comfortable, like cuddling Steve was the most natural thing you could do. You carefully tried shifting away, though you ended up waking Steve in the process.

His eyes opened and he squinted as he looked down at your form, then to his arm, then back to you again. You swallowed, waiting for a reaction.

“Morning.” You tried to say with a soft smile.

His voice cracked as he sat up so quickly he nearly tore something in his back. “S-Sorry.”

You looked away. “It’s okay.”

“No, I—”

“It’s really okay, Steve.” Then silence enveloped the room, the awkward kind that had you shifting away until you were about to fall off the edge of the bed.

Steve cleared his throat after a couple of moments. “So—we should probably get going.”

“Yep,” you responded without turning back to him.

“Yep.” He repeated, then a second later—Steve laughed, because of course he did. Despite the awkwardness, he was still your best friend. The same boy you grew up with, the same boy you were now crossing half the country with.

Once the two of you started gathering your things again, you couldn’t help but notice how much harder it became to convince yourself there was nothing there, because there was.

Nothing could’ve prepared you for it. Not the postcard or the pictures, or the stories Steve had spent years telling.

The Grand Canyon stretched endlessly before you, the layers of rock carving so deeply into the earth it took your breath away. The afternoon sunset painted everything in shades of gold and amber, shadows stretching across cliffs that seemed to go on forever.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Because you were finally here, taking it all in as the wind tugged at your clothes, the other visitors didn’t even matter, it felt like the two of you were completely alone.

You glanced over, but Steve hadn’t moved. His hands were resting against the railing, his brown eyes fixed on the canyons with a look you couldn’t decipher. The sunlight caught the side of his face, lighting up his features like they had during the first day of the trip.

You were struck by the realization that you’d spent nearly your whole life beside him. Every version of yourself and Steve had each other to rely on.

You looked back at the canyon, then quietly asked.

“Is it everything you’d thought it’d be?”

The question lingered between you, you expected him to answer almost immediately, but he went silent instead. Completely and utterly silent.

His gaze swept across the landscape once more—the cliffs, the horizon, everything he had been dreaming of seeing. But in that moment, it wasn’t enough, not fulfilling like he had thought it’d be. Not as simple as checking a box of his checklist.

“No.”

Your eyebrows lifted, looking at him in surprise. When he turned to look at you, Steve didn’t look disappointed, far from it. He looked happier than he’s ever been.

“It’s not.” His smile softened.

You scrunched your face at him, feeling completely lost by what he meant. “Steve—”

“I realized something.” He stepped a little closer, and your heart started beating a little faster. Maybe it was from the way he was looking at you, or how his tone had changed, or how you had no idea where this was going.

“When I was a kid, I thought this was what I wanted.” He laughed softly, eyes flickering towards the horizon.

“But standing here…” his eyes returned back to you, almost nervously.

“I don’t think it was ever about what I wanted to see.” The canyon couldn’t have felt smaller in that moment, the world narrowing to just you and Steve.

“It was about who I wanted to see it with.” You couldn’t move, or blink, or even breathe anymore. Steve was staring at you like you held the meaning to life.

“And there’s no one else I could see it with but you.” It hit you like a brick at what Steve managed to say without saying anything at all. You returned a full blown smile, at the boy who made three days trapped in a car not nearly enough time.

Emotion tightened painfully inside your chest because you knew your answer, shaking your head with teary eyes. “There’s no one else I could see it with but you Steve.” You repeated, his worry was replaced with hope.

You stepped closer, close enough to see every detail of his face. Without over thinking it, Steve slid his fingers between your own, like they’d always belonged there.

“It’s always been you.” He said with a wide smile, before reaching into his back pocket. You furrowed your brows at him, confused by his actions, until you spotted the same disposable camera you had been carrying along with you in his hands, the same one that had gone missing before yesterday.

Steve looked down at it before returning his gaze back to you, suddenly looking shy as he brushed his thumb along the plastic. “I started carrying it around myself.”

You tilted your head at him, blinking. “What?”

“I realized how much I didn’t want this to just become a memory.” The words settled gently between you, and you almost cried at his raw honesty.

“One more?” He asked, and you nodded without hesitation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So he didn't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You should just stay," Dustin insisted.

"You literally sit here anyway."

"I'm not playing."

"You don't have to."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eddie blinked. "Hm?"

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

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

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

Silence. "It can," Eddie answered carefully.

"It can…but not instantly."

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

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

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

You already hated this.

"And how exactly do you know that?"

You mumbled the answer.

"What was that?"

"...Monster Manual."

"What?"

You looked up reluctantly. "The Monster Manual."

He stared, and you stared back.

"...Page seventy-three."

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

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

"You own a Monster Manual?"

"...Yeah."

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

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

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

"The books."

"The books."

"Yeah."

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

You frowned. "There are eight."

His eyes got wider.

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

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

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

"You've been hiding this from me?"

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

"Cared?"

He sounded personally offended. "Cared?"

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

"So?"

"I just read them."

"So?"

"I like lore."

"So?"

"I didn't think it mattered."

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

You looked confused. "...Really?"

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

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

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

You laughed.

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He'd stop. "No?"

"They're being taken."

"By what?"

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

"But?"

"It's not."

He'd grin. "But?"

"It's a druid."

His eyebrows would shoot up. "Oh?"

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

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

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

"What?"

"You don't even hear yourself."

"Hear what?"

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

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

"Mhm."

"I did."

"Mhm."

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

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

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

"Holy shit."

You'd glance up. "What?"

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

He'd snatch your notebook. "Eddie."

"Nope."

"Eddie."

"This is mine now."

"You can't just steal my ideas."

"I absolutely can."

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

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

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

"Eddie."

"You color-coded the districts."

"Eddie."

"You made economic systems."

"Oh my god, give it back."

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

"Jesus Christ."

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

"You suck."

"I know."

"You bent it."

"I'll buy you another."

"I don't want another."

"I'll buy you five."

"They won't have my notes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I saw it and thought of you."

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

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

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

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

Jeff noticed. "What?"

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

"Do what?"

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

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

"They're in love."

"They're discussing dragons."

"They're discussing dragons in love."

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

"Hm?"

"You know you can just ask her out."

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

"You heard me."

"No?"

"Ask her out."

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

"And why not?"

"Because she's your best friend."

"So?"

"What if she says no?"

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

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

"I'm literally not."

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

Gareth pointed at you now. "And you."

Your head snapped up.

"When are you gonna tell him?"

You nearly choked. "Tell him what?"

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

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

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

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

"You absolutely do."

"I don't."

"You do."

"I don't."

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

"I smile at everyone."

"You do not smile at Jeff."

Jeff looked mildly offended. "Hey!"

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

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

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

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

Jeff followed. "Me too."

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

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

You looked up.

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

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

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

"So..."

"So."

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

"I'm sor—"

"I didn't mea—"

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

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

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

"He definitely wasn't."

"He looked like he was gonna explode."

"He has looked like that for weeks."

Your eyebrows pulled together. "Weeks?"

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

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

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

"And?"

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

"You did?"

"Mhm."

"And was he?"

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

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

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

"You can tell me."

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

He shrugged. "You laugh at my jokes."

"They're funny."

"You always sit next to me."

"So do you."

"You remember everything I tell you."

"So do you."

"You still have that stupid dragon pin."

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

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

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

"And I kept thinking you flirted with everybody."

"I do flirt with everybody."

"I know."

"But not like that."

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

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

"I didn't either."

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

"I didn't either."

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

"I didn't either."

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

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

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

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

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

"Fair."

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

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

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

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

You laughed. "Eddie."

"No, seriously."

"I'm serious."

"You mean yes?"

"I mean yes."

"You actually mean yes?"

"I do."

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

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

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

"You did?"

"It was terrible."

"I would've liked to hear it."

"No chance."

"Please?"

"It somehow involved dragons."

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

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

"What?"

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

"What is?"

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

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

"...Not exactly."

You bit back a smile.

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

"I appreciate the honesty."

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

"What?"

"The open-air market."

"The one over by Main?"

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

"I've never actually been."

"You haven't?"

You shook your head. 

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

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

Your eyebrows lifted. "Oh?"

"And another booth with vintage band shirts."

"Oh?"

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

"...Eddie."

"What?"

"I already said yes."

"I know."

"I'm just making my case."

"You don't have to."

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

You smiled. "I'd like that."

"You would?"

"I would."

"What time?"

"Whenever you pick me up."

His grin somehow grew even bigger. "Nine?"

"Nine."

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

His eyes narrowed. "...No."

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

Jeff stepped around him. "What?"

Gareth pointed dramatically. "They're smiling."

Jeff looked. "...Yeah?"

"The weird smiling."

"They smile."

"No."

He pointed harder. "The smile."

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

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

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

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

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

Eddie nodded solemnly. "Fair."

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

You nodded just as seriously. "Also fair."

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

Jeff laughed. "What?"

"I HAVE BEEN WATCHING THIS FOR SIX MONTHS."

He turned toward the ceiling. "THANK YOU."

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

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

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

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

The door swung open. "Good morning."

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

"And?"

"You look entirely too excited."

He grinned. "I got a date."

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

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

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

"I did not."

"You absolutely did."

"I moved things."

"Eddie."

"The important garbage is still here."

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

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

"This is cute."

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

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

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

"This place is amazing."

"I know."

"You come here often?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes with Wayne."

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

"What about this?"

"No."

"This?"

"Absolutely not."

"This?"

"Now we're talking."

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

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

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

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

His eyes widened. "No way."

"It's my size."

"That's illegal."

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

"You are absolutely getting that."

"I don't know."

"Eddie."

"It's kinda expensive."

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

"Okay, when you say it like that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Got a girl?"

Eddie immediately looked away. "No."

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

"Honey."

He groaned.

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

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah."

"You should buy her flowers."

"What if she thinks it's weird?"

The woman gave him a look. "Son."

"Yeah?"

"She's here with you at the crack ass of dawn, isn’t she?"

Fair point.

Five minutes later, he was walking back with the bouquet hidden awkwardly behind his back. You still hadn't noticed him. You were standing in front of a shelf with three books pressed against your chest, completely focused.

"Find anything good?"

You looked up immediately. "Look."

You handed him one. Then another. Then another. By the end of your explanation, you were smiling so hard that he almost forgot what he'd been doing. 

"Oh."

"What?"

"I got you something."

Your eyebrows lifted. "You did?"

He suddenly felt sixteen years old. "Yeah."

Then he awkwardly revealed the bouquet, and immediately regretted every decision he'd ever made.

"I saw them and—"

You froze. "Oh."

His heart dropped. Maybe it was stupid. Maybe flowers were too much. Maybe—

"Oh, my God." You looked genuinely shocked. "Eddie."

Your expression softened into something so sweet it nearly killed him. "They're beautiful."

The relief that hit him was immediate. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." You carefully took them from him.

"They reminded me of you." The words slipped out before he could stop them.

You looked up, and his face immediately turned red. "That sounded cooler in my head."

A laugh escaped you. "No."

You glanced down at the flowers again, then back at him. "It's actually really sweet.".

The crowd continued moving around you. People walked past. Music drifted through the air. Yet somehow it felt like the entire world had narrowed down to that tiny space between you. And somewhere in the distance, a vendor yelled that fresh cider donuts were ready.

Eddie immediately pointed. "Okay."

You laughed. "What?"

"Before I say something embarrassingly romantic and ruin my reputation—"

"You don't have a reputation."

"I absolutely do."

"You really don't."

He grinned. "Cider donuts?"

You looked down at the flowers in your hands. "Lead the way, Munson."

His smile was so bright it almost rivaled the morning sun. And for maybe the first time in his life, Eddie couldn't think of a single place he'd rather be

The funny thing was that absolutely nothing changed after you and Eddie started dating. And simultaneously, everything changed.

Band practice still happened in Gareth's garage. Hellfire still met every week. You still spent entirely too much time arguing over music and fantasy novels and campaign mechanics.

Eddie still stole your fries. You still stole his jackets. On the surface, very little was different.

Except now Eddie could kiss you whenever he wanted, which turned out to be a problem. Because Eddie Munson was possibly the most physically affectionate human being to ever walk the earth. You discovered this approximately forty-eight hours into the relationship.

It started innocently enough. A hand on your lower back. His arm around your shoulders. His knee pressed against yours whenever you sat together. Normal boyfriend things. Then it escalated…rapidly.

Somehow Eddie always needed to be touching you. Not in an overbearing way, just constantly. If you were sitting beside him, his hand would find yours without him even realizing it. If you were standing next to him, he'd hook a finger through your belt loop. If you were walking somewhere together, his arm would automatically settle over your shoulders.

Movie nights became nearly impossible because he'd slowly slide lower and lower until his head was in your lap. You'd look down halfway through a film to find him completely comfortable, stealing handfuls of popcorn and using your thigh as a pillow.

"Eddie."

"Hm?"

"You have your own seat."

"This is my seat."

"No, it isn't."

He'd just smile, close his eyes, and settle in deeper. Hopeless, absolutely hopeless. Then there were the kisses.

God. The kisses. Eddie kissed you constantly. Not because he was trying to be smooth. Mostly because he genuinely seemed incapable of stopping himself.

The top of your head. Your cheek. Your temple. Your shoulder. The back of your hand. Sometimes he'd walk into a room, kiss your forehead, and then continue whatever conversation he'd been having as though nothing had happened.

The first few weeks, it caught you off guard every single time. Months later, it still made your heart do stupid little flips. One afternoon you were helping him organize campaign notes at his trailer. You'd been focused on a map for nearly twenty minutes when suddenly—

Mwah.

You looked up. "What was that for?"

He blinked. "What?"

"You just kissed me."

"Yeah."

"Why?"

He looked genuinely confused. "You looked cute."

Then immediately went back to writing, as if that was a perfectly normal explanation. Which, for Eddie, it apparently was. Wayne found the whole thing hilarious.

"You know," Wayne had said one evening while watching Eddie practically drape himself across you on the couch, "for a fella who spent years actin' tough, you sure turned into a sap."

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

Wayne pointed; Eddie was literally entirely in your bubble. 

"And now?"

"I'm comfortable."

"You followed her into the kitchen earlier because she went to get some water."

"I was thirsty."

"You don't even like water."

Eddie opened his mouth, closed it, then looked at you.

"...That's not the point."

The truth was that Eddie had spent so long convincing himself not to cross the line that once he finally could, all that affection had nowhere to go except directly toward you.

And honestly? You loved it. Because underneath all the teasing and dramatics, he was impossibly sweet. He remembered everything, every little thing.

Your favorite candy. Your favorite records. The books you'd mentioned wanting but couldn't find. The exact coffee order you got at the diner. One time you casually mentioned liking a specific fantasy author. Two weeks later, he showed up with a battered secondhand copy he'd found three towns over.

Another time you'd complained that your hands were cold. The next day he brought you a pair of fingerless gloves he'd found at the market. They were hideous and completely ridiculous.

You wore them all winter.

Ironically, your first kiss had been nothing like what you’d expect.

It had happened a couple of weeks after the market, after band practice. Everyone else had left. Jeff had work. Gareth had dinner. You'd stayed behind to help pack up equipment while Eddie finished putting away cables.

The garage had been quiet, just music playing softly from an old radio. You'd been sitting on an amp while he rambled about a campaign idea. Something about dragons, obviously.

At some point, he'd stopped talking, and you'd looked up and realized he was already looking at you.

"Eddie?"

"Hm?"

"You stopped talking."

"I know."

You smiled. "That's unusual."

His laugh had been nervous, which should've tipped you off immediately. Then his eyes dropped to your mouth, only for a second. And suddenly your stomach was somewhere near your shoes. Neither of you moved. Neither of you looked away.

Then Eddie had done something completely out of character. He asked quietly, almost as if he wasn't sure he was allowed, "...Can I kiss you?"

You remembered the way your heart had nearly exploded. The way he'd looked terrified. The way he'd immediately started backtracking when you didn't answer fast enough.

"I mean—you don't have to—I was just—"

You kissed him before he could finish. Mostly because if you'd let him keep talking, he probably would've apologized and fled the state.

For a second, he froze, as if his brain needed a moment to process what was happening. Then one of his hands found your jaw, and suddenly he was kissing you back. Soft and careful, like he couldn’t quite believe it. 

Months later, Eddie still brought it up sometimes, usually when he wanted to annoy you.

"You know."

You immediately knew that tone. "What?"

"You kissed me first."

You rolled your eyes. "Here we go."

"I'm just saying."

"You literally asked."

"Technically."

"You were halfway through a panic attack."

"Technically."

"You would've talked yourself out of it."

"Possibly."

"Definitely."

He laughed, then leaned over and kissed your cheek. "Good thing you saved me, sweetheart."

By the time you and Eddie had been dating for about seven months, Hellfire had developed a new problem. Or, more specifically, Eddie had developed a problem. And that problem was you.

"Okay," Dustin said, pointing accusingly across the table. "This is bullshit."

The entire campaign immediately ground to a halt. Eddie looked up from behind his DM screen.

"What is?"

"This,” Dustin gestured wildly.

"Define this."

"You giving her special treatment."

You nearly choked on your soda.

Across the table, Mike immediately nodded. "Thank you."

Lucas pointed. "Finally somebody said it."

Eddie looked genuinely offended. "I do not."

"You absolutely do."

"I absolutely don't."

Jeff snorted. "You absolutely do."

Even Gareth joined in. "Dude."

Eddie looked around the room. "You guys are insane."

Then slowly looked toward you. "...Back me up."

You immediately betrayed him.

"Oh, no." His jaw dropped. "You too? Babe."

The entire table collectively groaned; even the nickname irritated them now.

"Babe?" Mike repeated. "You call her babe in-game too."

"It slipped out once."

"It happened three times last session."

"That's not important."

"It kind of is when you're talking to a barbarian."

Eddie pointed dramatically. "None of you have evidence."

The room exploded. "No evidence?"

"Dude!"

"You literally gave her a dragon."

"It was a baby dragon."

"It was still a dragon."

"It was injured!"

"You let her keep it."

"She nursed it back to health."

"You gave her a dragon."

"...Okay, maybe the dragon thing wasn't helping my case."

"THANK YOU." Dustin practically stood up.

The truth was that they weren't wrong. Eddie tried to be fair; he genuinely did. But every time he sat behind that DM screen, all logic immediately left his body.

You'd mention some random piece of backstory you'd thought of at two in the morning, and suddenly there was an entire side quest dedicated to it.

You'd casually mention that your ranger grew up near the ocean. Next thing everyone knew, there was a mysterious coastal kingdom appearing in the campaign.

One time you'd joked that your character liked collecting shiny rocks. Two sessions later, Eddie had created an entire magical gemstone subplot. The man had no self-control, and everyone knew it. 

Especially Gareth, who had spent months witnessing it firsthand. The latest offense had happened approximately twenty minutes earlier. The party had entered a ruined cathedral.

A dangerous encounter, lots of enemies, high stakes. Or at least it should've been. Unfortunately, Eddie had described a hooded traveler sitting alone by the fire.

A traveler who immediately recognized your character. A traveler who apparently knew your character's family. A traveler who had information specifically relevant to your backstory. A traveler who somehow only wanted to talk to you.

The entire table had immediately erupted. "NO."

"Dude."

"Again?"

"This is ridiculous."

Eddie had tried defending himself. "It makes sense narratively."

"No, it doesn't."

"It absolutely does."

"It absolutely doesn't."

Now, twenty minutes later, they were still arguing about it.

"I just think," Mike said, crossing his arms, "that maybe the rest of us deserve emotional character development too."

"You have emotional character development."

"When?"

"You got stabbed."

"THAT'S NOT CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT."

Jeff nearly fell out of his chair laughing. Meanwhile, you were actively trying not to laugh, which wasn't helping.

Eddie noticed immediately. "You think this is funny?"

"A little."

The rest of the session dissolved into more good-natured ribbing until the guys finally started packing up their dice and minis, trading complaints about favoritism all the way out the door. 

Gareth shot you both a knowing look as he left last, muttering something about "not wanting to know what happens next."

You started gathering scattered papers and pushing chairs back into place, the faint scent of dry-erase markers and lingering pizza still thick in the air.

Eddie watched you for a moment from the end of the table, that familiar wicked little smile tugging at his lips. Then he rounded the table, coming up behind you as you reached for a stray miniature.

His arms slid around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest.

"You look like this," he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear, "and they still act shocked I can't keep my hands off you." His voice dropped lower. 

"Can't really blame me though. Look at you, sitting there all session like you weren't thinking about what I’d do to you once they left."

You shivered as his mouth found the side of your neck. He kissed the sensitive spot just below your ear, then scraped his teeth gently over it, sucking lightly until your breath hitched.

One of his hands splayed across your stomach, fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt to trace slow circles on your skin.

"Eddie," you warned, half-laughing, half-breathless. "We’re supposed to be cleaning up."

"Mm, we are," he said against your throat, kissing lower and more open-mouthed. "I’m just… multitasking."

His other hand slid down to grip your hip, pulling you back against the growing hardness in his jeans. 

"Been hard half the session thinking about bending you over this table. You know that?"

You turned in his arms, intending to tell him to behave, but his mouth crashed into yours before you could. The kiss was messy and eager, all tongue and teeth, the kind that always left your lips swollen. 

He backed you toward the edge of the massive wooden table, hands roaming under your shirt until he cupped your breasts, thumbs teasing your nipples through your bra.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned into your mouth. "Need you. Right here. Been dying to feel how wet you get for me after I’ve been staring at you all night."

You gasped as he lifted you onto the table, shoving aside papers and a few forgotten dice that clattered to the floor. He stepped between your spread thighs, grinding against you as he tugged your shirt up and off. 

His mouth returned to your neck, sucking marks you’d have to hide tomorrow, while his fingers worked your jeans open.

You reached down to palm him through his pants, earning a low, wrecked sound from deep in his chest. "Eddie…someone could come back."

"Let ‘em," he muttered, nipping at your collarbone as he pushed your jeans and panties down just enough. "Let ‘em see how fucking perfect you look when I’m buried inside you." 

He dropped to his knees briefly, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss between your legs that had your head falling back with a moan. One quick, filthy lick, then he was back up, freeing himself from his jeans and lining up.

He pushed in slow at first, savoring the stretch, eyes locked on your face. "That’s it," he breathed, voice strained. "Take me so good, like you were made for this." 

Once he was fully seated, he gave you barely a second before he started moving; deep, rolling thrusts that made the table creak beneath you.

Your hands fisted in his hair, legs wrapping tight around his waist as he fucked you harder, the drama room filled with the wet sounds of skin on skin and your shared, ragged breathing. He kept kissing your neck, your jaw, whispering filthy praise between thrusts.

"Love how you squeeze me… fuck, you’re dripping down my cock already. My perfect girl."

The angle had him hitting that spot inside you with every snap of his hips. You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt, chasing the building heat. Eddie’s rhythm faltered as he got close, one hand slipping between you to rub tight circles over your clit.

"Come on, baby," he panted against your mouth. "Want to feel you come on me. I’ve been so good to you all night."

The combination of his words, his fingers, and the relentless drag of him inside you sent you over the edge with a cry.

He followed right after, burying himself deep and groaning your name like a prayer as he spilled inside you, hips jerking through the aftershocks.

For a long moment, you stayed tangled together, foreheads pressed close, catching your breath in the quiet room. Eddie kissed you softly, peppering kisses all over your face, jaw, and neck. 

You laughed breathlessly, tugging lightly at his curls. "We’re never going to finish cleaning up at this rate."

"Worth it," he said, already leaning in for another kiss.

well, hey! hope you all enjoyed ;) i have an inquiry for you all. going forward with requests, would you prefer...

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@abbysleftbicepp @britttzy267 @ssculker @eddiemunsonsimpp @powerpuffedbjtch @kylorensbaby

When you’d grown tired of just twiddling your thumbs, you finally called Jaxon’s sister, Suze. The phone rang for nearly a full minute before you heard, “...Hello?” She sounded groggy.

“Hey, Suze, just making sure you made it in.”

“Wh—Huh?”

“Jax told me about coming to pick you up, so I just wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

“He told you what? Sorry, I’m still half asleep—I haven’t seen Jax today.”

You sighed. Honestly, you should’ve known. 

You muttered off apologies to Suze—Sorry, I think I got mixed up, goodnight—before hanging the phone back on the hook so aggressively it rang out in the quiet studio. 

Peeking through the glass into the booth, you watched Eddie, the frontman of the band, pick at his guitar. You couldn’t hear him, but you could tell by the papers crumpled up at his feet and the way he seemed to be singing softly to himself that the new song wasn’t coming along as smoothly as the band had been hoping for.

You heard Gareth and Jeff grumbling about the track as they left earlier. It seemed they were at a stalemate. 

You flopped back onto the sofa, snatching the Rolling Stone magazine from the coffee table. Of course, it was Corroded Coffin’s 1989 issue. You had this exact issue in your apartment, sitting on your coffee table too, actually, but you couldn’t help but drink in the cover like it was the first time you’d seen it.

Eddie stood in the middle, looking down at the camera. His chest was bare, showing the expanse of his pale skin littered with black ink. His guitar rested against his lower half, partially blocking his pants, but the shine of the leather was still noticeable. His fingers, adorned with rings, of course, gripped the neck of the guitar. One eyebrow was quirked slightly beneath his bangs; his lips were parted gently. You could see his tongue prodding the inside of his cheek.

Jax, Jeff, and Gareth were around him, posed similarly, albeit more clothed—almost every rock band of the era was going for this look—but there was something about Eddie that kept drawing your eyes back to him. He oozed charisma and sex appeal, even through the glossy pages. 

You guessed that was why he was the frontman.

You flicked through the magazine, attempting to read the stories but inevitably skimming through them. You’d just read it too many times.

Not long after, the door clicked open and Eddie emerged. 

His hair was sticking up like he’d been running his fingers through it (he probably had been). Despite it being just a studio day with no planned public appearances, he still wore a studded belt and rings on nearly every finger.

He blinked at you, stuttering out your name. “I didn’t realize anyone was still here. Jax said you had to go pick up Susan—”

“He,” you corrected, flopping the magazine back atop the table. “He went to get Suze.” You put airquotes around the latter part of your statement. Jax’s behavior wasn’t exactly a secret, so what was the point in even pretending?

Eddie’s forehead wrinkled like he was holding back a wince. “Shit, I’m sorry—and he just what? Left you here?”

“Said he was coming back to get me, but I guess he got too lost in whatever groupie’s pussy—” You sighed, scrubbing your eye with a fist as heat rushed to your face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

He shot you a small smile. It was laced with something close to pity. “I mean you have every right to be mad, sweetheart; he—” He raised a ringed hand to scratch above his eyebrow. “Honestly, I thought you were done after the Layna incident.”

Layna was a well-known Corroded Coffin groupie. Around a year ago, she’d totally disappeared from the scene, then reappeared three months ago with a baby, claiming Jax was the father. Too bad Jax admitted to fucking her before the paternity test came back negative.

You don’t think you could ever forget the way his face fell when he heard the news—like he’d wanted to be the father. You’d left for around three weeks before coming back that time.

It wasn’t even that you still had feelings for Jax. It’d be impossible for that at this point. It was more so just routine, and sure, maybe it was selfish, but you enjoyed hanging around with the band.

Drinking and hanging out with Jeff’s girlfriend, Livie, at concerts; dinner with Gareth and his wife, Aleah, on Sundays. Sure, you could’ve still hung out with Livie and Aleah without being Jax’s girlfriend, but you wouldn’t have had an excuse to see Eddie anymore. It’d dwindle to only seeing him on paper or grainy television screens.

You couldn’t imagine he’d hang out with his bassist’s ex-girlfriend.

“Yeah. Me too, to be honest.” You sighed. “How’s the song coming? It sounded good earlier.”

Eddie sighed back, moving to plop next to you. He let his head fall back against the top of the couch, his eyes closed. “It’s, hah, I dunno.” He turned to look at you. “Missin’ something, I guess.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” You wrung your hands together in your lap, giving him a small smile.

Sitting on the couch like this, your faces were close. You forced yourself to keep your gaze on his nose and above—no glancing down any further. 

But Eddie didn’t abide by this rule. His eyes darted down to your lips. He must’ve not meant to do it because he sat up, resting his elbows on his knees and successfully hiding his face from you. He cleared his throat.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” he asked.

You raised your eyebrows, but before you could answer, he sighed, leaning back against the couch cushions again. “Sorry—I’m sorry. I dunno why I—” He ran a hand down his face. “I don’t know why I asked you that. ‘M being unfair.”

“It’s—You’re fine.” You tried to keep your voice steady despite the confusion that was rising within you.

“Can I ask you something?” He was looking at you again.

“Sure.”

“Why are you still with him?”

You blinked. You couldn’t pretend you hadn’t been asking yourself that same question.

“Guess I just got used to it. It’s my routine…” You shook your head. “Honestly, I don’t know. He treats me like shit. Left me to go ‘pick up his sister.’ I called her, and she hadn’t even talked to him. I mean, I already knew he was lying…Well, I figured he was. Still, it–it fucking sucks that he sucks.” You laughed a little, self-pityingly. 

You sighed again. You mumbled, “Dick’s good, I guess.” An afterthought to yourself, really. You weren’t sure why you said it to Eddie Munson of all people. It wasn’t like it made you look any less pathetic—only made it worse, if anything. You dropped your head in shame the moment the words left your mouth. 

Why would you bring up your sex life with your shitty boyfriend to his very attractive bandmate—

“Yeah right.”

Your head snapped up and over to Eddie. For a moment, you thought you might’ve imagined it. “Wh—huh?”

Eddie, who any other time was the opposite of nonchalant, was suddenly cool and composed. He shook his head as one shoulder rose. “Just find that hard to believe, ‘s all.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from retorting,“You some kind of sex expert or something?” Oh God, why did you say that, why did you say that, he’s going to think you’re a total freak—

“Maybe. Never heard that one before, but I haven’t heard any complaints either.” 

Heat rose up your neck. 

Haven’t heard any complaints. 

Suddenly you were plagued with the images of the girls you’d seen leaving Corroded Coffin’s shared apartment. Girls with makeup smeared across their faces, their hair a mess—even then you’d known just sleeping didn’t make you look like that, but you’d forced the thought from your head.

“Know I’m better than your shithead boyfriend, that’s for sure.”

You couldn’t stop your brows from shooting high on your forehead. Eddie was talking about Jax like they weren’t bandmates—weren’t friends. Your thoughts must’ve been clear on your face because Eddie added, huffing out a laugh, “You ever see me get along with him?”

Your gut instinct was to say yes, but the more you mulled it over…had you?

You thought back to last week at the bar. Had you seen Jax and Eddie speak? You could only remember Eddie addressing you. Then, a few weeks earlier, at their apartment for dinner…again, only you. 

Your face flushed. You’d been so caught up in your own interactions with Eddie, you hadn’t even noticed the tension between the two.

“I could be better than him.” Eddie was so close, you could see specks of gold in his eyes. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip.

“What are you saying?” you asked, eyes trailing from the curve of his lips up to where his eyes seemed to be boring into you.

“I think you know what I’m saying.”

“Are you really playing games right—mmph—”

A flash of brown hair was the only warning you received before his lips met your own. Your eyes were wide and you were taken with how soft his lips were. Frozen, you couldn’t get your body to react.

Eddie was kissing you. He was kissing you, and it wasn’t weird. He was kissing you, and he tasted like cherry chapstick and tobacco.

He slowly pulled away, and you realized you hadn’t kissed him back—you’d just sat there, unmoving. His eyes darted away from you. “Oh Christ, I’m sorry I–I don’t know wh—mmph—”

You rushed forward, meeting his lips again. For a moment, like you had been, he was frozen in place, but he quickly relaxed into it. His hand met your hair, and you easily let his tongue into your mouth as his grip tightened on you.

You brought your own hands up to his chest as his hand shifted from your hair to your neck, tugging you closer to him. You moved together, the only sound in the empty room the slick clicks of your mouths.

Eddie pulled back, rubbing his nose against yours. “Can I ask you something?” His thumb was running up and down the side of your throat, and you worked hard to concentrate on what he was saying.

“Ye—” You cleared your throat. “Yeah.”

His eyes left yours. “Feel free to smack the shit out of me if you want—”

“I’m not gonna do that.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” He didn’t look convinced, so you added, “I’m not gonna hit you, okay? Just ask.”

“Well,” he started. “I had this idea for the record—”

Okay. Maybe you would smack the shit out of him. “Is now really the time for that?”

“Yeah, actually.” He glanced from you to the recording booth. “The record—What it’s missing—” He sighed before starting again. “I think you can help me.”

You leaned back in his grip to laugh. “Me? I can’t sing, let alone play an instrument. I can’t even play the triangle.” 

“I think you can do the kinda singing I need.” His eyes darted down across your body, and it felt like they’d shot lasers at you.

“Wh—I’m not sure I know what you’re saying.”

“I don’t mean to make assumptions here, sweetheart, but if we, ahem, keep goin’...” He nodded his head as he spoke, clearly choosing his words carefully. “Could we move it to the booth?”

“You mean—” You blinked and gestured a finger at the both of you.

“Yes.” He quickly added, “But only if you want to.”

“But…everybody’ll hear me.”

“Nobody has to know it’s you. I won’t say anything.” A small smile peeked at his lips. “It can be our secret.”

Your secret. Your secret with Eddie. It made you giddy like a schoolgirl to think about. You could be on the song. More specifically, you and Eddie having sex could be on the song. You didn’t want to dwell on why that made your stomach flip and your neck hot. 

Everyone who bought the record would hear you and Eddie. Even before that, the band would hear you and Eddie. The band, including Jaxon, would hear you and Eddie—

“Oh my god Jaxon.” Your stomach flipped again but this time, soured. “I can’t believe I didn’t think about Jaxon—He’ll hear and–and he’ll know—”

“I thought you said you didn’t know why you were still with him?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“This’ll show him he can’t get away with just treating you like this. He’s always blowing you off and treating you like shit. Somebody needs to show him what happens when you take a pretty girl—a good girl—who has always done right by you and you treat her like garbage.” Eddie’s chest was nearly heaving, and he looked down at himself slightly, like he wasn’t sure where all that had come from. “But—I mean—only if you want to. Of course.”

You swallowed. He had a point. I mean, where was Jaxon now? Definitely not with his sister, that was for sure. You thought back to the number of times he’d ditched you and were embarrassed to realize it was easily in the double digits just this month. 

You frowned. When had you decided you were fine with being treated like a doormat? When had you decided that this was what you were worth—

Eddie must’ve interpreted your silence as rejection. “I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t trying to bash you or–or something. I just—You deserve better.” He took a deep breath. “You don’t have to do this with me. Or–Or you can, but we don’t have to—” He shot a thumb back towards the recording booth. “You can forget I asked. I can figure something out. It’s, uh, not a big deal.”

You wondered what ‘figuring something out’ looked like. Dropping the idea all together and trying something else for the record? Or asking someone else?

Your stomach rolled at the idea of Eddie asking another woman. You knew he wouldn’t have any issues doing so either. Part of you knew it was unfair to be jealous about it, but that didn’t matter. 

You stood from the couch abruptly. You had made your mind up—honestly, you had made your mind up the moment he asked you.

“We can just forget this happened—” he started, but instead of moving towards the exit, you moved towards the door to the booth.

“Are you coming or what?” you asked, narrowly biting back a smirk. 

You’d never seen him move so fast.

You tried to maintain your confidence, but something about Eddie melted it down to mush. “B-But is it—”

“It’s recording, sweetheart; don’t worry.” 

You were both seated on a couch in the recording booth. You hadn’t ever thought of Eddie as muscular per se, but he’d pulled the couch from the studio into the booth effortlessly. 

He cradled your neck as he planted kisses along your throat.

“Oh—Okay.” You were nodding, and you knew you should’ve been embarrassed at how desperate you were from just a few kisses.

Eddie sure didn’t seem to mind. His cool rings pressed against your neck as he pulled you closer to him. You braced yourself with both hands on his shoulders, quickly moving them to caress up and down his shoulders in an attempt to mask the fact you were truly gripping him for dear life.

Getting impatient at the attention your neck was getting, you grabbed his hand from your waist, moving it to your center. You felt his teeth as he smiled against you.

He pulled the button from your pants with one deft hand, and you bit back the jealousy that was stewing. How many women had he practiced on to get that just right? Not that you had any room to talk considering you had a boyfriend, albeit a shitty one, but—

You didn’t have time to overthink when Eddie immediately tucked your panties to the side to run agile fingers up and down your folds. You instantly noticed the calloused pads of his fingertips—that of a guitarist.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He leaned back to rub his nose along your cheekbone. “You get this wet for him, or is this just for me?”

For a moment, a stab of guilt ran up your spine, making you sit up straighter, but it quickly morphed to arousal when you felt the tip of his finger dip into you.

“Eddie, I—mmph—” He trailed his finger back up to dance around your clit, never quite giving you the pressure you needed.

“Yeah? Tell me something, baby.” He was still nosing across your face.

“D-Don’t wanna talk about him.”

“Hm, that’s right. You don’t need him when I’m here, huh?”

You shook your head shamelessly—the wetness between your legs had already given your desperation away.

Eddie smiled. “Sweet girl.”

You leaned into him at the nickname, making him chuckle. 

Suddenly, he took a step back, pulling his hand from your pants, leaving you suddenly cold without the warm touch of his fingers.

Your lower lip jutted out into a pout, and he chuckled at you again. “I know. Here.” He tapped his fingers that had just been at your cunt across your lips. “Get ‘em wet for me, baby.”

You opened your mouth instinctively, wrapping your lips around the digits. Overcome with the desire to be good for him—to even remotely wreck him the way he already had you—you bobbed your head, taking his fingers down to the glittering silver along his knuckles.

He was watching you, his lips slightly parted as you gagged around his fingers. “Knew you’d have a sweet fuckin’ mouth.”

You gagged around him, the sound wet and humiliating, but you couldn’t be embarrassed—not when his mouth lolled open while he watched. You went to bob your head again, but he withdrew his fingers, leaving your mouth empty and waiting.

Without hesitation, he gripped your cheek, four digits on one side, his thumb on the other, as he pulled your mouth to his. He spread your saliva across your cheek with his fingers.

With your chest heaving, you could only peer at him through your lashes.

Eddie paused, drinking in your features. “Is–Is this okay?” He moved like he was going to retract his hand from your face.

You nodded eagerly, grabbing his hand to keep it there. You nuzzled your face towards his hand as best you could with his grip on you. “I—” Your face was warm, and you were starting to feel a little dizzy. “I like it dirty.”

For a split second, you couldn’t read his expression. But then, you noticed the sparkle in his eye. “Yeah? Sweet girl likes it dirty? I should’ve known.” He tilted your chin back. He planted a surprisingly chaste peck on your lips before murmuring, “Open your mouth.”

You blinked up at him, and God, all he could think about was painting your pretty fucking face with his load. Especially when your lips parted so obediently. 

He didn’t hesitate to spit directly into your waiting mouth, not missing the way your thighs pressed together. He watched your throat bob as you swallowed his warm spit, shamelessly removing his wet hand from your face to adjust himself in his jeans.

“You like that, baby?”

You nodded, but that wasn’t enough. “Tell me,” he insisted.

“Yeah.” Your voice came out breathy and high. “Yeah, I like it, Eddie.”

“Fuck,” he practically groaned. “I need to see you.”

You didn’t need to hear anything else, instantly moving to pull your pants down, stumbling about in your attempts to be swift. You felt your face heat, but when you looked over at Eddie, he was too busy pulling his own belt from its loops and shucking his pants down to his ankles, just as desperate.

As if he felt you staring, he suddenly looked up. His hair was unruly against his forehead, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed deeply. His eyes darted from yours, and you could’ve sworn his cheeks were dusted pink, but it was hard to tell in the dim lighting.

You lifted your hips to finish pulling your bottoms over the swell of your ass, and Eddie quickly jumped into action. His jeans rustled as he kicked them off his legs. One foot got caught at the bottom, causing him to jump and flail until it flew onto the floor with a thump.

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped you.

Here was Eddie Munson—rock band frontman, guy you’d seen smash paparazzi cameras for getting too close—dancing around, trying to get his pants down his legs. 

Somehow, he made it not dorky, though. Okay, maybe it was dorky, but he managed to make it charming.

“Whatcha laughing at?” He approached you again.

You would’ve thought Eddie was the type of guy to wear tight black briefs. In your head, he was in a perpetual state of chains and leather. But instead, he wore a pair of loose blue checkered boxers, clearly choosing comfort over his typical garb.

He put his hands against your pants at your knees, looking up at you from beneath his bangs. He raised his eyebrows at you. “Is this okay?” He suddenly sounded worlds smaller.

You nodded incessantly, helping him tug your pants the rest of the way down your calves. He balled them up and threw them in the general direction of where his own pants were. 

You pulled at the bottom of his t-shirt, and he quickly got the hint, pulling it over his head. 

You’d seen him shirtless plenty of times. There was the Rolling Stone cover (along with countless other magazines), outdoor Corroded Coffin shows where he’d inevitably end up shirtless, even days when he’d invite the band over to his fancy rooftop apartment to lounge by the pool in the summertime. But you’d never been this close.

Close enough to see the spot on his chest beneath his collarbone where the one of the legs on his spider tattoo was a shade more faded than the rest.

Your gaze shifted down his torso to the dark trail of hair that disappeared into his boxers. Suddenly struck with the fact you’d been blatantly ogling him for the past few minutes, you looked back up to his face quickly, expecting to find him already staring at you.

He was staring at you, just not at your face like you’d expected.

You couldn’t exactly pinpoint where his gaze was, but it was without a doubt far below your neck.

You were naked, sure, but something about the way he was so openly peering at you made you feel even a step past naked. It was like he’d stripped a layer of you back, and was looking at you completely. It made your skin prick with something beyond arousal. 

For a moment, you wanted to sink in on yourself—you couldn’t name a time you’d felt more exposed. But the way his boxers were tented replaced any mortification with something hot injected straight into your veins.

He finally looked up at your face, shameless about being caught, and leaned in, closing the gap between you. Your lips met and his moved against yours like second nature.

His tongue licked into your mouth like he was trying to map it. You suckled at the warmth of his tongue as he began to pull at the hem of your shirt. You parted long enough for your shift to join the pile of the rest of your clothes. 

Eddie’s hand met your face and caressed you gently, a stark contrast for the way his tongue was ravaging your mouth. Your chest heaved as you moved impossibly closer to him, centimeters from being entirely in his lap.

“Here,” he mumbled against your lips before softly turning you around until you were over the back of the couch.

Your breasts pressed against the top of the couch, your nipples pebbled on the rough fabric, as your knees sunk into the cushions of the seat. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t purposefully push your ass out, presenting yourself to him.

The wet spot in your underwear was growing uncomfortable and you were painfully aware of it as you pressed your thighs together in a lame attempt to ease the incessant throbbing in your core.

You sat up on your elbows to peer over your shoulder. Eddie was running his tongue over his bottom lip, and when you noticed the slight jerk of his arm, your gaze trailed lower to watch him tug on his cock slowly. You couldn’t help the way you arched your back further.

He’d dropped his boxers just enough to free his cock and for a moment, you (embarrassingly) hated you missed the exact moment he’d pulled it out—hated you missed the way it surely had bobbed up towards his stomach from the sheer weight of it once he’d pulled his underwear down.

He paused at the base to squeeze tightly, and God, it gave you the opportunity to truly admire it.

You knew he would be big. I mean, come on. It was clear by the way he acted that he would be packing. But shit, your imagination really had nothing on the real thing.

Thick and long—you were sure your hand wouldn’t be able to fit around its girth. Against his hand it seemed even bigger. A pronounced vein ran up the side to the rosy tip.

Eddie gave it another slow stroke, a smirk on his face. “Big enough for you, sweetheart?”

Your only response was the slight shift of your shoulder and chin. 

He squeezed his cock, mumbling under his breath, “Too fuckin’ sweet.”

You didn’t have any time to react before Eddie was diving down onto his knees, his mouth latching onto your glistening pussy.

“Oh!” You jumped, and Eddie wrapped his arms beneath your thighs to keep your cunt held tightly against his hungry mouth.

He licked a stripe from your clit to the edge of your tightest hole. For a moment you thought his tongue was going to keep going right across, and you weren’t sure if you liked the way the mere idea of it made heat crawl up your neck, but he stopped to pull back.

“Sweet girl, even sweeter cunt.”

Cunt.

“Eddie,” you whined, feeling your heartbeat in your ears.

He sucked two fingers into his mouth before you felt them run along your slit.

“Yeah, baby?” He rested his cheek right below the swell of your ass. “Talk to me.”

Suddenly, you were hyperaware of the recording equipment surrounding you and picking up every word, sound, and rustle. You dropped your face to the top of the couch, rubbing your nose against it.

“Hey,” Eddie mumbled. His hand shifted and ran across the globe of your ass. “I can delete it if you don’t like it.” His other hand came up, then he was caressing the expanse of your ass broad with both his wide palms. “I’m still enjoying myself, okay? I’m not just doing this for the record, I…” You heard him swallow. “I think you’re gorgeous—fuckin’ perfect, really—and I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about you before…like this.” 

Leave it to Eddie to make you blush when he just had his entire face in your cunt. 

You lifted your head to peer over your shoulder at him. “No, no—I, uh. I wanna keep going. And I want you to use it for the record. I just—” You sighed. “I don’t wanna sound stupid.”

He immediately bristled. “You’re not gonna sound stupid.” He brought his hand down a few times on your cheek, not quite a spank. “Here, turn this way.” He helped you maneuver until your back was against the couch cushions. “Help me out, baby.” He pressed your legs up from beneath your knees, and you tucked your arms there, holding yourself open for him.

He made a low sound in his chest, and you realized how exposed you were. You didn’t get bashful though. You managed to keep yourself the way he wanted, even with the way you felt heat rising up beneath your skin.

“Don’t think so hard about it, okay?” Eddie said as he lowered himself back down to you. “It’s just you ‘n me.

And the recording, you thought, but his words eased you nonetheless. 

You were suddenly thankful he had you holding your legs as his nose prodded your hole as he moved to suckle at your clit. 

“Oh, th–that—yeah,” was all you managed to spit out.

“Mhm?” he hummed against you, and you swore you felt it down to your toes.

“Yeah,” you sighed.

A hand reached down to swipe his thumb across your clit as his tongue finally dipped into you.

You whined. “Please.”

“Hm? Talk to me, sweet girl, d’you want it?”

“Mhm, I’wan’it.” Your words all slurred into one another.

When you felt his middle finger prod at your hole, you couldn’t help the desperate sound that left you.

“Yeah? That what you need?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Ah…c’mon. Tell me.”

“That’s what I need, Eddie,” you quickly breathed out. In that moment, you would’ve done anything he asked you.

“There we go,” he said, more to himself, as he finally sunk a finger into you. 

You couldn’t even be embarrassed anymore with the sounds that left you. You were so wet, you could hear the slick sucking sound everytime he fucked his finger into you, and he quickly added another. 

“So wet. She’s sucking me in.” He didn’t even look up as he spoke. Your pussy was drooling around his fingers and down his wrist, his rings now coated with milky white. Your clit was puffy and swollen, peeking out with every thrust of his hand.

You raised your hips as he continued, following him as he curled his fingers up into you, hitting that spot. You hadn’t even realized your mouth had been wide open, sounds falling out freely.

“Ed—oh.” You bit your lip harshly. “Your mouth.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, never one stopping his ministrations. “Huh, baby? She want a kiss?”

You nodded eagerly, hands slipping along your thighs that had become balmy with sweat. “Yeah, yeah, please.”

“I’ll give her a kiss, baby.” The last thing you saw before he lowered his head again was the flash of his smile. 

When his lips met you, you gasped. He closed them firmly around your clit and the wet sound was so loud you were certain the microphones were picking it up. You didn’t care anymore—you couldn’t care, not if it felt this good.

His tongue on your swollen bud paired with his fingers inside you—curling so perfectly you swore your vision whited out every time he did it—brought you barreling towards your release. You could barely pant out, “I’m–I’m gonna—” before you were cumming loud and unabashedly. He worked you through it, finally stopping when your whines got especially pitchy. 

The moment he raised up from your core, you dropped your legs, now boneless. Your heartbeat was still a steady pulse in your clit. You caught your breath, swiping the sweat from your face. 

“Good?” Eddie asked, looking a little too smug (though you guessed it was earned).

“Better than good,” you said, your voice already halfway ruined. 

You sat up properly on the couch as Eddie maneuvered back over to his pants, pulling something from his pocket. He turned back around and now had a condom pulled over the length of his dick, making you sit up even straighter. 

Once your legs had stopped feeling like jelly, you had had every intention of returning the favor. You started, “Y’don’t want me to—”

“No, no.” You heard the smack of his hand against his dick. “Fuck. I mean, yeah, sweetheart, ‘course I do, but I need to be inside you, like, now.”

“Next time, then,” you said, narrowly biting back a smirk.

He quirked a brow at you, not bothering to bite back his smirk. “Next time?”

“Yeah.” You spread your legs, making room for him. “If you don’t kill me first.”

He fit perfectly between your legs, crowding you against the couch. His gaze was glued to your slippery cunt as he tapped the spongy tip of his cock against your clit. He raised his eyes long enough to say, “Could say the same for you.”

He slid his length up and down your slit, coating himself in your juices. You tried to be patient, you really did, but when he tapped his head against your clit again with a wet squelch, you couldn’t help the whine that left you.

“Alright, alright,” he mumbled. He said it so gently and lovingly, you swore your pussy spit out another half gallon. “I’ll put it in, now you just gotta sing for me. You’ll do that for me, right?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You were nodding eagerly. “Please, please, please just put it in. I need it. I—oh—” 

He sunk in easily, you more than prepared after your first orgasm, but his size still made your breath catch in your throat. He groaned like he wasn’t doing much better.

“She’s choking me, baby, fuck.” He sounded pained, the veins in his arm flexing where he was holding himself up over you. 

It was a stretch, and you could feel every inch of him in you, yet you still clawed at his arms, wanting—no, needing more.

“More, come on, I need it all—” No quicker than the words left your mouth, Eddie pushed all the way in with a loud groan.

Now, it was you that sounded pained, but you’d never felt better in your life. It felt like he’d sunk completely up through your stomach and into your throat. You could feel him everywhere. Your head flew back against cushions and you gripped his bicep as you looked down where you were taking him.

He had been staring up at the ceiling, his mouth wide open, but when he saw where your gaze was locked, he lowered his own, and you watched as his neck all the way down to his chest grew red. 

“Fuck, I’m, fuck—” He pulled out maybe an inch before sinking back in, like he couldn’t bear to pull out. He couldn’t. “She’s sucking me right in.”

Finally, he began to shallowly thrust into you and the grip you had on his bicep tightened as your mouth fell open. His heavy cock was splitting you right open and felt like it was hitting every spot, if that was even possible.

Eddie raised one hand to cup your chin, running his thumb along your bottom lip. “C’mere, baby,” he said lowly.

He lowered his face to yours and spat right into your waiting mouth. As he did, he pulled all the way out, leaving his tip kissing your hole, before plunging back in completely. You didn't recognize the strangled, pornographic sound that left you.

His spit was warm in your mouth and you could feel your slick gushing from between your legs with every thrust of his fat cock. You were easily gripping him for dear life—both with your hands and your cunt. 

He shifted until his dick was kissing that spot that he’d so easily found with his fingers. The sounds—your whining, his moans, the slick sound of your bodies meeting—seemed to bounce off the walls, and the recording equipment couldn’t have been further from your mind. All you could think was Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

It seemed to be the same for him, the way your name left his lips in desperate puffs. “Touch yourself, please, I’m so—” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, but never once stopped his eager pace.

You dropped your hand between your legs immediately, your fingers slippery as they scrubbed across your clit.

“Right—right there.” You had squeezed your eyes shut. You were right at the edge of your release, you just needed— “Right there, right there, right—ohmygod—”

“Yeah? Yeah, baby? I got you, I fuckin’ got you—” 

You clung to him, your vision spotty and your chest heaving, as you came with a loud whine of his name. He buried himself to the hilt with a shout of your name, the hair at the base of him borderline overstimulating your sensitive clit.

He dropped down against you, his cock softening inside you. His arms wrapped around you, and you felt he was trembling. You weren’t in much better shape.

“Are you—” He stopped to inhale shakily. “Jesus, you okay?” 

You hummed. Your bodies were both slimy with sweat and other juices, which sounded more than uncomfortable, but you found the warm weight of him comforting. 

He peered at you, petting your hair away from your face. “You sure?”

“‘M good,” you finally croaked. “You—I—” You paused to laugh, shaking your head. “I think you fucked my brains out."

He laughed, strands of his damp hair shaking with the force of it. 

“Yeah, well, if that’s the case then you sucked out my soul.” He ran a finger along the length of your face. “You know, through your puss—”

“I get it,” you cut in, laughing. You glanced over to the window to the production room. “Think we got anything good?”

Eddie looked at you like you’d grown three heads before his lip curled, a devious smile on his face. “I dunno…might better do it one more time. Just to be safe.”

Six months later.

“Eddie, you gotta tell us, man.” The interviewer leaned over his desk towards him. “Everybody’s dying to know about…that part on the new record.”

“What part, Howard?” Eddie shot a knowing glance at the audience, which got a few cheers. “I know Gareth killed the drums on the bridge.”

The crowd laughed.

“You know the part,” Howard insisted, laughing. “I think everybody knows the part.”

“I think it speaks for itself,” Eddie said. “Don’t really have much to say on that.”

“Well, your fans have had a lot to say about it,” Howard continued. 

“No denyin’ that, that’s for sure.” Eddie tugged at the collar of his shirt, making the crowd laugh.

“I think one of the biggest questions has been…well.” Howard shrugged. “I don’t know how else to ask it—but well, was it real?”

Eddie looked from Howard to the audience. Right before he opened his mouth to speak, the television flickered off.

“Hey!” you called. “I was watching that.”

Eddie sat the remote down on the coffee table before taking a seat on the couch next to you. “You’ve watched it at least ten times since it aired.” 

“Maybe I was trying to make it eleven.” 

He hummed, his arm coming around your shoulders. You melted into his side easily. 

“How’s the new guy?” you asked, rubbing your cheek against his chest.

“Good. He’s a great fit for the band.” He dropped his cheek and rested it on top of your head. “Jaxon hasn’t tried to reach out anymore. Or showed up at the studio wasted, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not worried.” It was true—you weren’t. You knew Eddie would handle everything. He always did.

“Good.” He planted a kiss on your head. 

You sat up and grabbed the remote from the table. He groaned as you turned it back on.

“You could probably recite this word-for-word by now.” He shook his head.

You pressed back against him, pushing your tongue to your teeth to prevent a smile. 

“Everyone’s dying to know who it is,” Howard was urging. “At least give us a hint.”

On the screen, Eddie shrugged, clearly trying and failing to seem nonchalant. You couldn’t stop yourself from mouthing the words along with him as he said, “Well, it’s my girl.”

But there was something about dreaming out loud in Hawkins that made it feel impossible. Like no matter how loud you said it, no one outside the small town’s perimeter would hear it. 

But someone did hear him.

Someone from a big city who’d ended up drunk in the Hideout one Friday night after visiting some family for the holidays, and got swept away by Corroded Coffin's performance. 

Crazy, right?…everything happened too quickly after that. 

First came the call. Then the tape. Then an audition. Then another one. And the next thing you knew, your best friend had a shot at making it big. 

You remember the way he looked at you when he told you, like a little kid who just found a golden ticket to get the hell out of that place like he’d always dreamed. He’d bounced on the balls of his feet, then crushed you in a hug so tight you couldn’t even breathe.

“I’m not saying it’s gonna happen,” he’d said, breathless from disbelief, then grinning from ear to ear, “but…it might.”

You’d celebrated with him like it already had. 

You were proud of him. God, you were so proud of him. It melted your heart to see him finally shine the way he was always supposed to. People in town had called him a freak for so long, always looking down at “the guy with no future”, that sometimes you felt like he believed it too. But you’d always pushed away those thoughts by admiring him loudly. So loud that any compliment you threw his way quieted every bad thing people ever had to say. 

Eddie was the coolest person you’d ever known. And if this was the universe finally siding with him? You weren’t going to stand in the way of that. You couldn’t. You were so supportive when he told you he was heading to LA for one more audition, the most important one, even if it broke your heart when he didn’t ask you to come with him.

Because of course. Why would Eddie–your Eddie (who wasn’t yours at all) ask you to come with him? 

For him you were just his best friend, his smoking buddy, his class projects partner, his neighbor, his…nothing. 

Unfortunately, to you, Eddie Munson was everything. And when you got excited about his future, you’d thought he’d at least want to include you. 

Whatever. 

It wasn’t even like you could back then, or at least that’s what you told yourself to make it sting less. Your mother had just started dating this man after years of being a single mother. He was a good man, and she was a good woman, but being in love after so long made it easier for her to get stuck in that haze that makes you forget about responsibilities or…the rest of the world. Which led to you having to look out for your little sister, Ember, when she couldn't. You were happy for her, as much as you were happy for Eddie, but it meant you couldn’t just drop it all and leave. And Eddie…well, he hadn’t thought the spell of whatever was working in his favor would last either. 

“Just a couple of weeks,” he’d said, packing his favorite shirts into a small duffel bag. “A month maybe. That’s all.”

You still remember the way his voice wavered when he said it. The way he tried not to look you in the eyes. Even if you didn’t know it, saying goodbye hurt him as much as it hurt you. 

But in the end…it did last longer than just a ‘couple of weeks.’ All those auditions, all those meetings, all those maybes eventually turned into an impossible record deal. Suddenly, Corroded Coffin wasn’t just the local joke anymore, they were a real band, with real potential, real fans, real money. 

And real distance.

It all changed so fast, but Eddie kept his promise of keeping contact even miles away. 

Late night phone calls where you sat on the floor for hours just to hear the cords he was working on, or the thousand crazy stories of his new life. He’d mail you postcards that smelled like smoke and expensive hotels, with lyrics written on the back; some for his songs, some he only meant for you. You’d send him letters telling him how proud you were and how Ember always asked about him. 

But as all things expire…so did his promises. 

You weren’t even sure when it stopped. Losing him was not as dramatic as you’d thought it’d be. There was no big fight. No ‘I don’t wanna be friends anymore’. Just…silence. A missed call here. An ‘I’m tired’ there. Letters that stopped coming and being sent. An awkward moment when you told him you’d missed him after not talking for weeks and he didn’t get to say it back because he had to leave. 

He always had to leave. 

And that built up slowly over time. It killed you slowly over time. You went from seeing him every day, to talking every day, to almost everyday, to once a week, to…three months with zero contact. Three months since you’d heard his voice. Since you’d gone from being someone’s best friend, partner in everything…to being a stranger again. 

It hurt like hell. Especially on days like these. 

Your mom had left that morning, face lit up with excitement, Ember bouncing beside her with her little backpack and a candy cane in hand.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” Your mom had asked, still trying to drag you into spending Christmas with her fiancé’s family. 

You’d just smiled, said you didn’t mind staying back, that you wanted them to have their fun. Ember hugged your leg tightly before climbing into the car and you waved until they disappeared from the trailer park, and then only the silence kept you company. 

But you weren’t alone just today. You’d been alone since the day you and Eddie stopped hearing each other’s voices.

The hollow in your chest had become something you tried to ignore with responsibilities, with taking care of Ember, with pretending you were okay with him finding the better things in life. But every time the house goes empty, there’s nothing left to distract you. 

So all you can do is curl up on the couch, knees to your chest as you stare at the half lit string of lights above your window. The same ones Eddie helped you put up last year. Some bulbs had been out for weeks, like they've been grieving him too, but you couldn’t bring yourself to fix them. 

The place is so quiet, that it makes you hear every echo of what life with him used to be. Every laughter that had long faded out. Living so close to each other meant you were always at each other’s places growing up, and every corner was embedded with memories of Eddie. 

So of course you think about him. You always think about him. 

You think back to the last Christmas you spent together, laughing over burnt cookies and cheap instant cocoa Wayne tried to fix with mini marshmallows and a dash of cinnamon. The way Eddie joked about kissing you when he found a plastic mistletoe gathering dust in one of the messy shelves of his trailer. 

Just a harmless joke that left you flustered the whole night. Because friends don’t kiss under mistletoes, even if they’re plastic. 

Now, as your sweater barely keeps you warm within the thin walls of your own trailer, you can’t help but think he’s probably in sunny Malibu, spending Christmas in some mansion with the band or…kissing some model under a real mistletoe. 

The thought makes your stomach twist. He’s not like that. 

But then again, you don’t really know him anymore.

He’s out there living his life, and it sucks not knowing how much of you he carries, when you still carry all of him inside you. It makes you wonder if he misses you too. If he feels lonely too. If he thinks about you all the time too. 

The clock keeps ticking toward midnight. 

You know you aren’t supposed to be spending Christmas eve like this. You aren’t supposed to be spending your life like this. But the thing about grief, about missing someone who’s still very much alive, is that it doesn’t warn you. It just crashes into you. The first tear slides down your cheek before you even know it. You wipe it away with the back of your hand, irritated. But then another comes. And another. Until suddenly you are crying. 

Because it’s not fair. 

It’s not fair that he gets to be a ghost in your trailer. In your head. In your lungs. 

And no matter how dumb it sounds, all you can think about is taking the phone and calling him. Because what if he picks up? And you get the chance to say “Merry Christmas Eddie, I miss you every fucking day.” 

Even if he doesn’t say it back. Even if you’re lonely and he’s not. Even if you’re just another person he forgot from his hometown. But you need to get it out of your chest before the weight crushes you completely. 

You press your hands to your face, wiping away the tears, and stand up before you can regret it. You walk slowly, fuzzy socks dragging against cold vinyl floors, toward the corner of the kitchen where the phone lives on the wall. The long spiral cord looks so outdated, so ordinary now, yet it used to be the only way you could feel close to Eddie. Maybe it can help you tonight too. 

Your fingers hover over the phone, taking a deep breath before dialing the number you still know by heart.

One ring. Two. Three. This is useless. Four.

You close your eyes, already bracing for the stupid voicemail and another tear in your heart–

“…Hello?”

Your breath hitches when you hear his voice. Not through a recording. Not through a demo he sent you. Just Eddie…your Eddie. Your mouth opens, but closes again. 

You didn’t really think this far ahead. Part of you thought he wouldn’t even pick up.

“Hey,” you manage to say.

You hear movement on the other end. A soft shuffle of fabric shifting. Maybe the sound of him sitting up. 

“It’s…is it really you?” He asks after a moment, voice full of disbelief like it surprised him to hear your voice as much as it surprised you to hear his. 

“Yeah,” you let out a nervous chuckle. “Still remember me?” You try to sound light, teasing, but maybe the chuckle comes out too shaky. 

Whatever. 

Eddie laughs back, and God, months have passed, but he still laughs the same. You hate the way that sound causes your stomach to do the stupid butterflies thing. 

“Always, sweetheart,” he says, sounding too suave for the way his heart was slamming against his chest too. “I uh…you caught me off guard. It’s just…shit–I didn’t think you’d want to talk to me after everything...”

After everything…what? After everything you’d lived ended up in nothing? After you ghosted each other? 

“I’ll always want to talk to you, Eddie,” you say softly, leaning your head on the wall as you play with the cord of the phone. 

He doesn’t say anything to that, which feels weird because Eddie always finds a way to fill the silence. It makes you hesitate about calling in the first place, but you’re already there, so you better get it over with. 

“Listen, Eddie, I didn’t call to…make it weird. I know you’re probably busy tonight. But this–this has been sitting on my chest all these months and I need to get it out...” 

You lean your whole body against the wall for support, staring at the dead Christmas bulbs on the string of lights that start to look blurry from the fresh tears threatening to spill. 

“I miss you,” you finally say it, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I don’t care if you don’t say it back. I don’t care if you’ve moved on. I just–I miss you, Eddie. And I didn’t want to go this Christmas without saying it.”

His breath hitches, you can hear it even through the phone…but that’s it. 

Well, you were right to not expect hearing it back. 

You let out a shaky exhale, “I–I’ll leave you to whatever you were doing before this. Have a good Christmas Eddie–”

“No–no,” he cuts you off before you can cut the call. It came out quickly, a bit desperate. “Please…don’t. I’m just…you keep making me forget how to breathe and I–I can’t say what you want me to say here.” 

Here? 

Before you can ask what that means, you hear shuffling again. You realize it’s surprisingly quiet on the other side of the line. Not the usual music you’d hear, not yelling, not an ‘Eddie come on’ or ‘Dude they’re waiting for us.’

It’s just you and him. 

“Where are you?” You ask quietly, like you don’t really want him to answer because it’s probably going to hurt more. 

The silence before he does is not comforting either. For a moment you think someone just found him on the quiet space he’d gone to answer to your call, to get him back to the party or whatever he was doing, and now he’ll say goodbye and then you won’t talk for God knows how long–

“I’m outside,” he breathes. 

The weight of the words doesn’t sink in until you hear him close a car door, and the sound travels all the way from the line to the outside of your trailer. 

The next sound is the crunch of gravel under his steps, getting closer and closer. 

Before you know it, the phone slides from your hands, coiled cord bouncing against the wall as you sprint toward the front door. Your shaking hand reaches for the doorknob, and when you finally open it, it’s not the cold winter breeze that knocks the air out of your chest. 

Eddie’s standing outside your trailer, cheeks pink, frizzy hair adorned by snow and his hopeful face lit up by the moon and the single string of colorful Christmas lights you hung around the door this year only because your sister insisted on it. His van–the van–now wrapped in black with Corroded Coffin’s white logo plastered on the side is parked behind him, and the sight of it feels like a deja vu, like he never said goodbye before leaving in it in the first place.

“Wh–“ 

What are you doing here? You try to ask, but you’re so breathless that the words just don’t make it out of your mouth. Your chest rises up and down quickly, as he steps closer to the trailer, going up the creaking steps until he’s standing right in front of you. 

Eddie, your Eddie, is here here. 

He’s a bit…different. Still wrapped in a leather jacket, but this one looks like it had a three digit tag on a fancy rack. Still in ripped jeans, but not because they’re old and Eddie can’t really afford another pair, but because they were a designer's intention. Still wearing white sneakers, but these ones are actually white, probably freshly bought.

But his face? His eyes? Always the same. Those impossible, huge brown eyes still hold so much tenderness for you it makes your knees weaken. 

“I’m sorry.” It’s the first thing he says, his apology cutting through the silence like a blade. “I’m sorry it’s been so long, sweetheart.” 

It hits you so unexpectedly, that you almost have to hold yourself up by leaning into the doorframe, but you’re frozen in place. 

“I’m here to tell you what I should have a long time ago,” he continues, stepping closer to grab your freezing hand into his warm one from being in the van all night, trying to gather the courage to knock on your door. “I want you to come with me, please.”

You blink in disbelief at his words, biting the inside of your cheek hard, to confirm this is indeed real life and not a cruel fantasy of your own head. He’d slipped out of your grasp so long ago that holding him again is like holding a ghost. You look down to where your hands meet, a touch you’ve craved for so long, yet it surprises you when your hand doesn’t go straight through his.

“Eddie,” you breathe, eyes still fixed on his hold on you, “it’s not that simple–”

“I know,” he cuts you off, softly, his voice wavers with hesitation but he pushes through. “I know it’s not. And I know I was an idiot to you. I should've asked you to come with me from the start–but you had your sister, and I didn’t want you to feel like I was pressuring you to follow me into what I thought was my dream. But it’s not. All this shit–” he points at himself with a bitter chuckle, his thousand dollar outfit he could’ve never even dreamed of touching a few months ago, “this is nothing without you. I’m nothing without you.” 

His voice starts to crack, he pauses for a second to breathe, and you realize you’ve stopped doing it too. Eddie came all the way here to tell you everything you’ve wished to hear for months–or years of being in love with him, actually–but all you can do is stand there in silence, completely still as his desperate gaze searches for yours.

“I’m sorry it took me this long to come here and say it. I’m a coward, I know that, I’ve been waiting all night inside the van because I didn’t think you’d care if I came back.” 

You blink. You’ve been crying on the couch and he’s been outside this whole time? 

“And then you called me,” he continues, laughing breathlessly like he still can’t believe it. “Fuck–you actually called me. Because you were brave enough to say you missed me even if you didn’t know you’d hear it back…and I got all quiet, I know, but it wasn't because I didn't want to say it, but because I didn’t want it to be over the phone–not if I’m here to look in your eyes when I say it.” And he really is, looking at you. Big, wide, chocolate brown eyes searing into yours, before he exhales, “I miss you every fucking day.” 

The pain behind that statement is no stranger to you. Especially not when you see it in the mirror every morning, but now that reflection is in front of you. 

“I’m sorry I let our friendship die. I’m sorry it took me leaving to realize it, but angel–“ he pauses, only to take a deep breath for what he’s about to confess. “What we had? Whatever thing we had going on in our own weird way never died for me. It’s here–you’re still here.” He pulls your hand toward his chest, pressing it right over his racing heart. “This has always been your home, since I have a memory. Since you looked at me like I was actually worth something instead of the crap the other kids said about me. You were there through my weird haircuts, my eyeliner phase, and you always heard my stupid stories,” he smiles sadly through it, pressing your hand tighter onto his chest. “You were always here–and you never left. I don’t think you can ever leave. Please…please tell me I never left yours.” 

A few excruciating seconds of silence pass before you can even think what to answer. 

Snow keeps falling, the world’s still turning, but the only one’s in it might as well just be you, Eddie and two broken hearts third wheeling. 

He keeps looking at you, waiting for you to say something, to say anything, but you don’t trust your voice right now. Or your judgement to be honest, because all you can do is step out into the cold and throw yourself into his arms. He stumbles back, barely catching you, but immediately wrapping his arms around your shaking figure as he hears small sobs vibrate against his chest.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he mumbles, bringing a hand up to cradle the back of your head.

You let yourself crumble in the arms that pushed you away in the first place, but it’s the same arms that once made you feel like you weren't carrying the weight of the world alone. It’s bittersweet, it’s probably just the eye of the storm, but he feels like home. He always felt like home. Like breathing again. 

That’s what happens when you make Eddie Munson your oxygen. 

He doesn’t mind it, of course, he holds you through it. Muttering apologizes and sweet nothings, gently rocking you in his arms as you let all the weight from the last months finally drop. When the tears finally subside, and the shaking in your body is not from sobbing but from the cold, you begin to pull apart slightly, only as much as his grip allows you to. His ringed hand goes to your face, wiping away your wet cheeks so softly you almost start crying again. 

“You went away, Eddie, but you never really left. Not this town, not this trailer, not my soul,” you sniffle, hands playing with the collar of his leather jacket to hold yourself upright. “I know I wouldn’t have said yes, not then…but I never stopped wanting you to ask, even if we were nothing more than friends,” you confess, lashes heavy with tears lifting up to see Eddie’s own glassy eyes. 

He shakes his head. “It’s my fault we were only that. I…I always wanted more. And I know I’m so damn late–but I’m asking now,” he says, almost begging. “I want you to come with me. I want you to be with me. Every holiday. Every session. Every late night. Every concert or whatever the hell is next for us–I don’t care where I am, as long as I’m with you.” 

He pauses, gaze lowering to your lips, and it makes your heart skip. “If you’ll have me,” he looks up again, “...I promise I'll keep you for the rest of my life on this crazy ride.”

You find yourself speechless again, taking in every word he just said. You can’t help the soft smile curling the corners of your mouth, or the warm feeling on your chest against the unforgiving snow. His eyes drop again, and all you can do is pull him by the collar of his jacket so he looks at you again, then whisper:

“Just kiss me, Eddie.”

“Oh thank God,” he exhales, almost sobbing in relief, clinging to your body before crashing his lips against yours. 

They’re soft, eager, just like you've imagined them a hundred times alone in your room. Your hands fly to his frizzy hair, his travel to the low of your back, pulling you closer, breathing you in like he’d made you his oxygen too. It’s not enough though, because you both run out of air soon even if none of you want to stop. You pull apart after a moment, breathless, just enough to cradle his face in your hands, and see the huge grin that spreads across his blushed face. 

You smile too, whispering against his lips, finally feeling home. “Merry Christmas, Eddie.” 

“Merry Christmas, angel,” he grins, already lifting you in between giggles to get you inside the trailer. 

You always appreciated the small town a bit more when autumn rolled through. A certain calmness blanketed over like a cozy hug. All warm sweaters and hot spiced drinks that left a sweet aroma sticking to the air.

The atmosphere made the near twenty minute drive towards Forest Hills trailer park all the worthwhile. Windows down while one of your cassettes played a themed witchy mix of songs. Courtesy of Eddie's handiwork, since he had helped you put it together.

Of course he had grimaced and rolled his eyes with each Stevie Nicks or Bowie song you'd requested be added. Griping on about you having "dated" tastes. You'd argued that music from the couple prior decades was hardly dated, while he continually reminded you to listen to his "best of" metal mix he had made you. He knew, of course, that his endless crusade to turn you into a leather wearing, headbanging, metalhead was a losing battle. Mainly because he knew that wasn't you.

You with your giant comfy sweaters and glasses that were too big for your face. You who in the nearly ten years of friendship, still only spoke when spoken to. Not because you were necessarily shy, but you had always been under the impression that you should only ever speak when there's something worthy of saying. That not every single thought was worth a breath unless it meant something to you or anyone hearing it. You were calculated and well thought out. Never cold or off putting, or even mean. Just quiet.

And to someone like Eddie, who was the polar opposite, each soft spoken sentence you uttered was scripture. He'd ramble on about a few dozen things at a time, bouncing from story to story all within a single breath. You'd sit there, usually occupying yourself by re-sewing the patches onto his vest for him, or even patching up holes in his pants. Every now and then he'd slow down, thinking maybe he'd lost you in his ever chugging train of thought. But you'd push your glasses up your nose bridge and give a small hum of understanding, letting him know you were in fact still listening. When he finally found an end to his babbling, you would always spout out an all too wise statement of advice. Leaving him wondering how full your brain actually was.

"About time you decided to show up, mouse." Eddie breathed out a puff of smoke as he sat on the porch of the trailer. He tried his best to seem like he hadn't been waiting on your arrival, but the look of relief on his face said otherwise.

"I took the back roads." You answered softly as you walked up the couple steps to meet him where he sat. Plucking the lit cigarette from his fingers and extinguishing it under your boot.

"I wasn't done with that, you know?" He huffed out a laugh, not resisting as you stubbed it out.

"They're terrible for you, and you know it." You smoothly rebuttal, swinging open the screen door and gesturing him inside.

"Whatever you say, mousetrap." He knew better than to argue, not wanting to be on the receiving end of one of your scolding glares.

Eddie had come to understand the fundamentals of who you were. Quietness being the biggest one. When he had first met you, you would hardly meet his eye. You'd sat at the other end of the Hellfire table at lunch one day at the beginning of your freshman year of high school. By then he was a junior and all the alarm bells in his mind were blaring the second he took a look at you. Sitting alone, nose deep in some gothic romance book, while you snacked on a bag of banana chips. A lost sheep. That's exactly what he had assumed.

"Hi, my name's Eddie." He had stopped you after school by your locker, extending his hand for you to shake.

You didn't say anything back as you gave him a once over and gently shook his hand. Your gaze wasn't judgmental, which surprised him, but more so inquisitive. Your handshake was soft enough that he feared he may break your hand if he shook it too hard.

"Don't you have a name?" He offered a soft smile down to you once you slid your hand out of his.

He could barely make out the syllables of your name as you whispered them, needing to ask you to repeat yourself for him to make sure he heard you correctly.

"Well, you're as quiet as a mouse, aren't you?" He had joked, earning a small puff of laughter from your nose. The corners of your mouth ticking up in a barely noticeable smile.

"Listen, I saw you today at lunch, and I wanted to formally invite you to join me and my friends tomorrow after school. We're in this club, Hellfire. It's a D&D club." He handed over a handmade, sort of, flyer. All hand drawn sketches that said where they'd be meeting and what time.

"Uh, that's Dungeons and Dragons." He explained further when you didn't respond.

"I'm sort of like the club leader. Always looking out for new recruits. So if you're interested, or even just want to check out a session…" He trailed off, furrowing he eyebrows just a bit when you still remained silent. Thinking, maybe you'd rather be left alone.

"… Thanks." You mumbled, fixing the strap to your bag on your shoulder and nodding before stepping around him towards the exit. Leaving Eddie standing there a bit confused and not very hopeful on your attendance.

So when the doors of the cramped theatre room opened the next day, with you walking through them, he grinned like madman.

"Hey there mouse. Didn't think you'd show."

"Was I uninvited?" Your voice only sounded louder now because of the silence in the room. Still so soft but a firmness of confidence in it.

"No, of course not. Come on, I saved you a seat right next to me." He patted the chair next to his makeshift throne where his divider had already been set up and ready for the session.

It didn't take Eddie long to figure out that even though getting you to speak sometimes felt like pulling teeth, you weren't lost at all. You were smart, smarter than he believed he would ever be. Sure, maybe you had been a little sheltered, but even back then at only 14, you seemed to be one of the only people he knew that actually had a chance of getting the hell out of this town.

Now that you both were in your early twenties (with him nearing his mid twenties, but don't remind him of that) he had really grown to understand you. Settling into an easy and comfortable friendship. Him all fast and loud, overly dramatic and crass at the worst of times, but still utterly hilarious and kind. You, observant and still, with a quick and smart wit that only could be challenged by him. An unlikely pair from the outside looking in, but a deep sense of understanding and care, built strong like a tether between the both of you. Never needing to be spoken, but still tectonic and important to you both.

"I can't stay too late, I've got an 8 a.m. tomorrow." You let out a sigh of relief as you settle into the worn cushions of the couch.

"What? It's movie night. I thought that was sacred." He feigns offense as he hands over a can of soda, plopping down next to you.

"I've got a psychology exam tomorrow." You roll your eyes as you pop the tab on the can.

"My bed's always open." He playfully squeezes your knee.

"Ugh, quit." You cringe as you push his hand away, a slight buzz left behind by his fingers. A feeling you choose not to acknowledge as it sits in your chest.

"Where are the guys?"

"They should be on their way, Gareth said him and Jeff would pick up Dustin and Mike."

"hmm." You hum and nod in understanding, noticing a book on the coffee table that you'd never seen before. Some sort of photo album, the edges look somewhat charred, like they'd been slightly burned. Carefully picking it up and putting it on your lap, you notice the name Edward printed on the cover of it.

"Where have you been hiding this?" You ask while cautiously peeling open the book, being met by a picture of a baby, mid yawn, in a hospital bassinet.

"Shit, I forgot to put that away…" Eddie tries to gently pull the picture album off your lap, but you're already looking through it.

"I don't think I've ever seen you as a baby before. Actually, I don't think I've seen you before the age of sixteen." You lightly laugh as you mindfully turn each page. Each page is filled with a scarce number of photos of him as a baby.

"Mouse, c'mon." He huffs slightly, a light blush setting over his features as you scan through the pictures.

"Shut up, you were adorable, look." You point to a picture of toddler Eddie, wearing a pair of blue denim overalls with an embroidered Winnie the Pooh on the front, clutching a blue blanket in his small fists. The short, dark curls on his head still unruly just like they are to this day.

"I look like a square." He scoffs lightly.

"You can't be more than three, Eds."

"Doesn't mean I need to look like I belong in the Brady Bunch."

"I assume the outfits were your mom's doing." You speak softer when you bring up his mom. It wasn't that Eddie never wanted to talk about his mom, but he hated the ache it left in his chest every time he did. The older he got the more he had worried he would slowly lose the limited memories he had with her, hence the trip down memory lane with the photo album.

"She liked when I wore blue. A little on the nose for a boy, but it's not like I could fight her on it." He shrugs his shoulders, settling down a bit beside you as you flip the page.

The next two photos are of him and his mom. One where they're both looking into the camera, side by side, cheek to cheek and grinning. The more you stare at the both of them, the more you realize just how similar they look. Sure, Eddie inherited his handsome looks from his father, but the way him and his mother's eyes both pull as they grin wide enough, and how one side of each of their mouths ticks up just a bit higher, it's easy to see exactly where Eddie's smile comes from.

"You two look almost identical…" You say, almost in awe of the realization.

"Wayne always said I got lucky that I look more like her than my dad." He mutters quietly, staring down at the photos along with you.

"I think that is very lucky." You agree looking over at him, a soft, melancholic look slowly taking over his face. He does his best to avoid your gaze, hating the way he always weakens under your stare. The way his chest opens up and he can't help but want to bare his soul and leave it at your feet. A feeling, he's come to realize, only happens with you.

"Have you heard from him? Your dad, I mean." The question is cautiously asked, not wanting to offend Eddie or upset him.

"Nope. And I don't ever want to again." He shakes his head.

"And you have no idea where he is?" You push a bit.

You knew what happened, about the big "job" his dad had come back to offer him. It was what got Eddie arrested back in high school, while his dad ran off and never even bothered to worry about what happened to his only son. It caused Eddie to lose out on his shot at a record deal in Los Angeles and what led him to working with Refer Rick. It had happened the same year you two met. Eddie found it shocking when you stuck around, but it wasn't like you had a gaggle of friends other than him and the rest of Hellfire.

Nowadays he makes his money by working at the auto shop in town. Wayne was friends with the owner and luckily was able to nail down the job for him. It wasn't making him millions, but it was enough for the bills and for him to be able to go out with you and your friends on his days off.

"I don't know, and I don't care." He answers, his voice carries just a bit of firmness.

"That's what you always say." You reply, closing the album and handing it over to him.

"I don't want to talk about it, mouse." He doesn't mean to sound hostile, especially not to you, but he hates thinking or even acknowledging the man's existence. After all the waiting around, day after day, for him to come back home, having to move in with Wayne, it had all been so emotionally draining on him. When he decided, once more, to trust his father and take him at his word, he was ultimately let down again.

It wasn't like Eddie expected the world from Alan, hell he barely expected the man to remember he even had a son, but his entire future had been riding on that one last chance. Everything he had only ever dared to dream about slipped right through his guitar-calloused fingertips. And to top it all off, he was the one that took the fall for all of it. He hated that man, and no matter what, he always would.

"Alright, alright. I'm sorry I asked." You held up your hands in defeat.

"It's just," He sighs, his shoulders slumping some as he releases the tension. "I can't stand him and I hope he never shows his face around here again, because if he does I swear to God I'll…"

"Eds, I get it. I know he's a pathetic excuse for a human, you don't have to convince me of that. I only ask because I worry about you, that's all."

"You worry about me?" Eddie lightens up a bit, smirking over at you and leaning over towards you more.

"Not like that-"

"Aww, my mousey girl." He playfully coos, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug. "I knew you had a heart somewhere in there."

"Get off me, you giant oaf." You struggle and squirm to try and get out of his grasp, but the more you wriggle the tighter his grip gets

Eddie was always the more affectionate type. Always hugging and squeezing and hand holding. You did your best to try and act as if none of it bothered you. As if the touch of his slightly rough skin against yours didn't immediately send a swarm of goose bumps prickling your body. Each too long hug or arm around your shoulder creating a warm feeling in the hollow of your chest, which sends the blood pumping to your ears, and raising a steady thump thump of your heart. It wasn't easy, avoiding all of the overwhelming feelings that he brought out, but the longer time went on the better you got at hiding it all.

In the beginning, you had thought he was a little all over the place. An amalgamation of D&D facts, cheap beer, and loud guitar playing. It had never seemed like something that would wrap around you and lasso you in. He never seemed like the type. But it was almost all of a sudden when all these feelings began to choke you. That rope was just pulling and pulling almost like it was trying to suffocate you. Maybe there would be a day where it all would come to light, a day where emotions finally were too much that you literally choked on them on their way out of your mouth. But you'd be damned, because today was not that day.

"My little mousetrap, you just love me so much, don't you?" He continues to tease, his hold on you only getting tighter and more restrictive by the second.

"God, Eddie, get off me. You're crushing my lungs." You do your best to try and push him off.

He couldn't help himself, really. Every time he got you in his arms, there was always something inside him screaming to keep you there. Like some magnetic pull, or some cheesy string-tied fate scenario. He never knew what to call it. He didn't even know if there were any words that had enough meaning to convey it all. Love, maybe? But even that didn't seem right. But then again, it did. All he knew was that if he had to only choose one person to be by him forever, and even for whatever came after that, it would be you. If everything came crashing down around you both at this very second, he'd be perfectly fine with ending it all like this, with you right there with him.

Of course, Eddie would never say that all out loud. No, he's too afraid of scaring you off. Fearing that there will be a time where you get one real good look at him. A look where you saw everything from the scared, abandoned little boy who just wanted his mother back, to the man that still had wild dreams and fantasies of picking up everything and getting as far away from this town as possible. That all of it, all of him would be too much for you.

"Oh, I'm sorry are we interrupting something?" Gareth's teasing tone comes along with him and Jeff walking into the trailer. Mike and Dustin both following behind.

"No."

"Yes."

Your denial and Eddie's agreement overlap as they all walk in, making themselves comfortable in Eddie's living room. You already feel warm just from the playful tight-armed hug, but now with your friends watchful eyes, you can feel that heat creeping its way up your neck and onto your face. Eddie eases up his embrace, letting go, only to throw an arm around your shoulders and pull you into his side. Deciding that it's better not to fight him on it, you allow him to do so as you settle back against the couch.

"Please continue, don't let us ruin your fun." Dustin joins in on the teasing, earning a laugh from Mike.

"Up yours Henderson, don't be jealous." Eddie subconsciously tightens his arm that's around you, almost protectively.

"Oh please, it's about time you two stop beating around the bush anyways." Gareth scoffs out a laugh as he all but throws himself into the La-Z-Boy.

"Beating around what bush?" You ask him, your voice much more pointed.

"The bush where the two of you hide how in denial you are." Gareth quips back, earning an unimpressed scoff from you now.

"Don't you boys get tired of always using your imagination?"

"No imagination needed to see what's in front of our eyes." Mike adds in.

"Alright, that's enough. All of you." Eddie tries to shut them all up, feeling the way your frame gets more tense by the second. "Did you assholes bring the movies with you, or are you just here to talk shit all night?"

Pretty quickly the topic of conversation moves off the two of you and onto which movie they should put on first, after having rented several horror movies. Your mind stuck onto the idea that most of your friends seem to think that there's something more between you and Eddie. The idea that Eddie might actually know about all these harboured emotions makes your stomach churn with nausea. Making it difficult to focus on anything going on on the TV screen as each movie plays.

Eddie's arm remains around you for the remainder of the night. He notices you flinch just slightly each time his thumb strokes your shoulder, the movement was unconsciously done, and the slight jolt from you makes him freeze each time he does it. He hopes that the teasing from your friends doesn't cause you to retreat from him. After being friends for so long, losing you to something as silly as a crush would devastate him.

By the time the clock above the TV reads 11:30, Eddie's arm around you feels like an anchor. Pulling you down, keeping you in place beside him, and entirely too heavy.

"I should really get going." You whisper over to him, not wanting to draw too much attention to yourself.

"But it's just starting to get good." Eddie turns his head down to you almost too quickly, immediately wanting to fight for you to stay.

"I know, but my exam, remember?" You softly remind him, trying your best not to get distracted by the soft glow of his features in the light of the TV.

"Yeah, alright. I'll walk you out." He sighs, softly squeezing your upper arm before removing it.

The two of you slip out the front door of the trailer, the other four boys too engrossed by what's playing on the screen to even bother to look back. The night air has dropped significantly compared to the soft wind from the earlier afternoon. A crisp feeling arrived that brings a soft reddening to the tip of your nose.

"You're sure you don't want to stay? My offer about my bed still stands. Sans me, of course." Eddie does his best to try and convince you not to leave. The way he always does.

"I will not banish you to the couch just so I can stay a bit longer." You chuckle softly at the idea.

"It's no problem, really."

"Eds, I'm going home, to sleep in my own bed. I'll call you tomorrow after my exam. Are you going to be at the shop?" You ask as you both stop in front of your car.

"Yeah, I have a shift in the morning."

"Okay, then I'll call the shop around one, I can bring you lunch." You offer.

"You'll look for any excuse to see me." He smirks teasingly, poking your side gently.

"Says the man that's begging me to sleep in his bed." You swat his hand away, not being able to fight the small smile off your face.

"Hey I'm just trying to be a gentleman. Gotta make sure my mouse is well taken care of." He chuckles, putting his hands up in defeat.

His mouse. The implications aren't lost on you as the words come out of his mouth. They almost make you feel weak in the knees just from the thought of being his. That small sense of nausea slowly makes itself known again, a feeling like something is crawling its way up into your throat and trying to escape.

"Yeah, whatever." You scoff out a small laugh and roll your eyes. Hoping to whatever higher power out there that he can't read your mind.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Eds."

"Goodnight mouse. Get home safe, alright?" He says gently pulling you towards him into a soft hug.

He couldn't stop himself from doing it. Gently slipping your hand into his and pulling you forward into his chest. Making sure every movement was soft enough not to frighten you, when all he actually wanted to do was bury himself against you. Burrow his way into your neck with his face and deeply inhale until all he could breathe was you.

"I'll be fine, you worry too much." You answer, the sound muffled a bit against his chest, your own arms wrapping around him for a moment.

"Can't help it." He murmurs against the top of your head, holding you there for a few moments more until you both reluctantly pull away.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'll be counting the minutes." He jokes as you get settled into the drivers seat and begin to back out onto the road. He watches as you laugh and wave once more before all he can see is your tail lights receding in the distance.

"So… did you lay one on her?" Mike jokes the moment Eddie walks back into the trailer.

"Shut up, Wheeler." Eddie groans as he throws himself back onto the couch, almost sulkingly so, now that you've left.

"You know she won't stick around forever? She's going places. Got things going for her." Jeff points out.

"Of course I know that." Eddie grumbles. "Why do you think I've never done anything about it? Tie her down to this place that she's clearly way too good for."

"Yeah, but are you only avoiding it because you're scared she knows she's way too good for you?" Dustin counters.

Eddie doesn't feel the need to answer aloud, it's obvious that yes, he's afraid the moment you figure him all out you'll think he's too much. Too broken or flawed or some other entirely sad and pathetic thing. That you'll pity him for the rest of your life. He huffs out a soft grunt at the thought, standing from the couch to go find a beer in the fridge.

The drive back towards the town center seems longer now. Trying your best to focus on the road instead of how much you would've rather stayed at Eddie's tonight. There weren't too many times that you'd slept over, you could count each instance on one hand. Long nights. involving either too much cheap wine on your part, or getting stoned past your limit. Leaving you with no excuse but to crash on his couch, waking up to one of Wayne's old hangover cures and a breakfast Eddie tried his best not to burn.

The most recent incident had been one that nearly killed you from embarrassment alone. Eddie had brought you back to the trailer after a party at Steve's house. Having to practically drag you up the front steps, caused by the full bottle of wine you had drank. You had needed the unwinding. The new semester had just begun and trying to get through school and work at the same time was no easy feat for anyone. So what was so wrong with a few glasses?

"Quit pullin' me." Eddie noticed your voice was slurring even more than when he had finally convinced you to leave the party.

"I'm not pulling, mouse. M'trying to get you inside." He huffed out a chuckle at your attitude, doing his best to guide you up the couple steps and onto the porch of the trailer.

"You are pullin'." You grumble back, nearly tripping over one of the lifted wooden boards as you get to the door.

"Jesus H Christ, stay still for one second." He swiftly catches you, hands reaching out to steady you so you don't completely lose your balance.

"M'trying." You softly huff back, leaning yourself against the cool metal of the trailer while he unlocks the door.

"C'mon, let's get you to bed."

"No, not yet. It's not even late yet."

"It's three in the morning."

"Who are you? Father time?" Your words sound even slower now as you lean your head back, closing your eyes to try and steady yourself.

"Mouse, c'mon let's just go inside…" Eddie does his best to try and coax you along, sounding a little more concerned as he watches you try and get your bearings.

"Just… hold on… I don't… feel…." Your words get cut off as your body betrays you, nearly jumping as you push yourself forward to lean over the wooden railing of the porch, your body expelling everything that was previously in your stomach.

"Shit!" Eddie cursed, and just as quick he was grabbing your hair from in front of your face and holding it up for you.

"…christ." He huffed out a sigh, gently rubbing your back with one hand as he stood behind you.

"M'sorry… m'sorry, Eds." You managed an apology between heaving.

"It's alright… don't worry… it's okay…" He did his best to calm you as he rubbed your back.

The memory makes you cringe with embarrassment, remembering just how sick you had gotten. So much so that you cried when Eddie dragged you to his bed moments after it happened. That night he did take pity on you and gave you his bed while he braved the couch in the living room.

Without warning there's a loud pop sound from right outside your car. The near deafening noise immediately makes your chest tighten in fear. The back tire literally imploding on itself, making the entire car swerve sideways. You take your foot off the gas, trying to keep your mind right as you quickly turn the wheel away from the direction of any oncoming cars. Doing your best to hit the brake as hard as you can, but the car is accelerating too fast for you to even be in control. As you're straightening out the wheel, there's no way of avoiding veering off the road and into a ditch. Your front bumper hits the ridge, causing your entire body to be thrown forward and your head to bounce off the steering wheel.

"Eddie! You're out of beer!" Gareth shouts over his shoulder as he digs through the refridgerator.

"Yeah because you drank it all." Eddie grumbles back to him, still sitting in a self-pitying mood since you left nearly thirty minutes ago.

"Jeff! Let's go for a beer run."

"No, I'll go… I'm out of cigs anyways." Eddie groans as he stands from the couch to slip his leather jacket on.

"Bring me back a 3 Musketeers! And a better attitude for you!" Dustin chimes in. Eddie just waves him off as he slinks his way out of the trailer and into the brisk night air.

The air is cold as he drives down the back road towards the convenient store, his last cigarette between his lips as his music blares through the vans speakers. He thinks maybe if the music is loud enough the lingering thoughts of you will quiet down. It isn't until he sees not only Hopper's sheriff truck pulled off on the side of the road, but he's being met with officer Callahan standing in the middle of the road stopping any oncoming cars. Once he slows to stop, officer Powell is walking up to his window.

"Hope you're not out here looking to cause any trouble, Munson." Powell firmly speaks, a tone Eddie was used to coming from any type of authoritive figure.

"Well you know me, Powell, trouble just seems to follow me wherever I go." Eddie chuckles, blowing a stream of smoke out in the mans direction.

"That why you're out here on the back roads past midnight?" The man begins to question him.

"Look, I'm just trying to get another pack of cigs and a drink. I've got company waiting at home." Eddie huffs, his eyes looking towards where the two police cars are.

"What happened here?" He asks curiously, wondering why they're stopped here anyways.

"Girl had a blowout on her back tire, lost control and swerved into the ditch. Got a pretty nasty cut on her head from the impact." Powell explains.

"Girl?" Eddie's stomach instantly churns at the explanation, his eyes immediately trying to focus on the back half of the car that's sticking out of the ditch as his heart begins to race. Before he can even focus enough to half recognize it as your car, he's putting the van in park there in the middle of the road and jumping out, not bothering to even turn it off.

"Hey! Munson! Get back in the van!" Powell tries to hold him off, but it just falls on deaf ears as Eddie pushes past him towards the crashed car.

"Mouse?!" Eddie calls out for you without even needing to see you, a determined look set on his face even as the officer attempts to tug him away.

"MOUSE?!" His voice gets louder but more shaky as he gets close enough to see it is in fact your car, with no one inside it. He shouts out your name this time, ignoring the way he feels a firmer pull on his jacket from officer Powell. He's beginning to panic the longer he can't see you, his mind reeling towards the worst case scenario.

"Let him go, Powell." Hopper chimes in now, walking out from around the back of his truck. Powell reluctantly backs off once ordered to do so.

"Where is she?" Eddie stomps over to Hopper, a scowl already set onto his face as he walks around the taller man towards the back of his truck. He can see officer Callahan now standing there at the bed of the truck, speaking to someone who is sitting on the edge of the truckbed.

"Mouse?" Eddie's voice gets softer as he approaches, coming in-between you and the lanky officer now that he's close enough.

"Eddie?" You shakily ask as you look up at him, not sure if its actually him or a hallucination brought on by how hard you've hit your head.

"Jesus christ… what happened?" Eddie's cold hands gently reach forward to cradle your face, his thumb reaching up to your eyebrow to wipe off some of the stray droplets of blood there. He finally lets out a sound of relief now that he's got you in his sight, looking you over to make sure you're completely in one piece.

"I dunno… my tire just… exploded." You do your best to explain what's happened, the sound of your voice coming out so soft it reminds Eddie of a time when the two of you had just met.

You feel shaky, your chest feeling like it's vibrating with each deep breath you take. Eyes glistening with unshed tears from the way that you were jostled around. You can feel an ache in your head that's just growing by the second, no doubt from the impact of hitting it against the steering wheel. A small gash present now as the blood slowly trickles down the side of your face.

Without a second thought, Eddie's taking a step closer to pull you into his chest, tucking you under his chin, wanting to shield you from the pain of it all. He reminds himself not to tighten his grip too much, not wanting to add to the stress or discomfort. With both arms wrapped around you, he lets one hand slowly crawl its way up to the back of your head, gently carding his fingers through your hair.

You let out a shaky sigh as he tucks you into his chest. The steady sound of his heart rate helping guide your own back down. You let your eyes flutter shut for a moment, grateful for the air of solace you're always able to find in him.

"Are you okay? Nothing feels broken or anything like that?" Eddie's voice is uncharacteristically soft as he pulls back just enough to look down at your face.

"No, nothing like that. Just got a bit freaked out, that's all." You weakly answer, shaky hands clinging to his white shirt now that you're close enough.

"I… I don't know what to do. Hospital? Should I take you to the hospital? You could have a concussion. Do you feel dizzy? O-or sick? Like do you feel like you're gonna puke?" Eddie begins to ramble as he tries to figure out what the first thing to do is. His mind feeling like one of those crime boards with all the criss-crossed red string. Wanting nothing more than to comfort and care for you.

"Slow down, you're making it hurt more." You half joke with him. Hoping it will ease him a bit, his frantic need to help making your head pound slightly.

"I don't feel sick or nauseous or anything like that. My head just really fuckin' hurts."

"Alright… how about I drive you home then? That's something I could do." He fumbles a bit as he reaches into his back pocket, pulling out the bandana that is always there. Tentatively, he reaches up to gently wipe the slow trickle of blood on your forehead.

"Yeah… I'd really appreciate it." You wince slightly at the soft sting of the fabric, feeling a sense of relief as Eddie offers you the ride home.

Once he's gotten you settled into the passenger seat of the van, Eddie manages to convince Hopper to tow your car to the auto shop he works at; promising to take a look at the damages himself for you. He practically yells down the pay phone that he stopped at to call the guys back at the trailer with. Threatening Dustin when he teases him about being your knight in shining armor. And managing to follow every street law humanly possible as he drives the rest of the way to your apartment that's just north of Main Street.

"You know, I never knew you were capable of driving the speed limit, let alone going nearly 15 under." You joke slightly, noting the way the van is moving at a snails pace.

"I just don't want you to get all shook up… any more than you already are." He says, slowing even more as he goes over a speed bump and narrowly avoiding the curb as he turns into the lot of your apartment.

Without too much convincing, he guides you out of the van and up to your apartment, wanting to get you inside. He can't remember if he's ever seen you hurt like this before. Maybe a scraped knee or a bruise, but nothing that would ever bring on as much distress as this. Even if you weren't outwardly showing it, he knew you were shaken by the small accident. The way your hands trembled a bit as you unlocked the door, and how you let out a huge breath of relief as you entered. There was a glossy look in your eye that he had never seen before, one he could only assume was caused by the sudden fear and anxiety. What he did know is that he would do absolutely anything possible to get you to feel at ease again. He hated the way his chest ached as he watched you, or how badly he wanted to pull you towards his chest and keep you there until you felt better.

"Do you, uhh… how are you feeling?" He was never really good at the comforting part.

"Better now that I'm home. I'm glad you got there when you did. Thanks for bringing me." You thank him, the both of you moving into the small living area to sit on the couch.

"You don't need to thank me, I'm just… you know… glad that you're okay." He reaches out to gently rub your hand with his.

For a few moments that's all there is, you and him sat there together while he offers up a quiet comfort. You feel less shaky now that you're in your own space, grateful that he's here with you and you aren't alone and dwelling.

"Why don't we get you cleaned up a bit? That way you can get to bed and rest." He suggests, watching the far off look you have, like you're lost in your own thoughts.

"Yeah… yeah I definitely need to." You sigh softly as you peel yourself off the couch and away from his side towards the medicine cabinet over the bathroom sink.

"Here, let me do it." Eddie's already taking the anti-septic and bandaids from your hands before you can even argue, following you into the space and looking for a wash cloth to run under warm water.

You rest your back against the counter while he wets the cloth, watching the way his face sets in determination. A soft frowline between his brows as he wrings out the wet cloth and begins to gently dab away the now dried blood from your forehead. It's a form of care you're not used to from him. The undivided attention and gentleness creating a warm almost sticky-sweet feeling in the pit of your stomach. His touch is so light, almost like he's afraid you'll shatter beneath it if he's not cautious enough. You allow yourself the moment to soak it in. Letting your mind focus on the way he cleans the wound and bandages it for you, without even needing to be asked. Like it was second nature for him to do all of it just for you.

If you weren't thoughtful enough, it was easy to get lost in those delusions. The ones where you let yourself think about more than just a friendship with him. How moments where this sacharrine feeling in your chest were constant and yours to keep between each other. Because in those moments you would be allowed to not only relish in this feeling, but to ask for more of it. To be able to reach out for him and beg for any ounce more of affection, not even needing to use words as you clung to him however you wanted. Those were the delusions you could never allow yourself to give into, because the hope would end up crushing you; more than any harboured emotions already were.

"Alright… that should be good for now. You'll need to clean and re-bandage it in the morning, that way it can heal up, alright?" Eddie's voice brings you out of your thoughts and back into reality once he's got the ati-septic and bandage on you.

"Yeah, okay… thanks." You give him a nod of understanding while he cleans up the first aid supplies. You watch for a few moments of silence, attempting to get a grasp on your own emotions before that suffocating feeling finds itself in the back of your throat once more.

"I think I'm gonna make some tea… do you want some?" Really you were trying to find any excuse to get him to stay longer, not wanting to have to say that aloud.

"I dunno, it's already gonna be one. I should get out of your way; let you get some sleep." Eddie does his best to try and find a way out.

The longer he stays, the more he can't fight back the feeling of protection. Sure there's no current danger, but that didn't stop the way all he could think about was how visibly shaken you had looked when he first got to you. He was afraid of slipping up, saying something he definitely meant, but rather not have you hear. Like how all he was thinking about was holding you until you fell asleep in his arms. Maybe he'd force himself awake all night just to watch each rise and fall of your chest, so he knew you were safe and out of harm's way.

"Well… I was gonna ask…" You take a soft, shuddering, breath. Willing the words out of your mouth.

"Do you think… if it's not too much to ask… maybe you could stay tonight? Here. With me."

The words sound like a bomb going off in his ears. Leaving a high pitched ringing sound behind. He swallows softly as he tries to piece words together in his mind, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans as his palms begin to sweat slightly from nerves.

"Uh… yeah, sure. I mean, of course I can. If that's what you want." He does his best not to stumble over all his words as he answers. Hoping to whatever higher power there was that this wasn't a dream.

"I just, don't really wanna be alone tonight." You shrug your shoulders a bit to try and seem somewhat casual. Even though the admission makes you feel practically transparent.

"Don't worry mouse, I understand." Eddie nods, taking a breath to prepare himself for the rest of the night with you.

You rummage through just about every single one of your drawers in order to find something for Eddie to change into for the night. Settling on an old pair of sweat pants you hardly remember buying, and a plain black shirt. Changing yourself out of your clothes and into a pair of your own pajamas, deciding to trash the shirt you were wearing instead of fighting out the few blood stains on it. The both of you set up camp on the sofa for the time being. Making a whole pot of tea for the both of you to share while quietly watching the Twilight Zone marathon you found when flipping through channels.

This part was always the easiest. Being able to just sit together and forget about everything else around you both. Laughing at the way Eddie jokes about the show actually being a documentary and not just science fiction. More than a few times he'll say how he needs to be taking notes for his new campaigns he creates.

When it was only the two of you together like this, it always seemed like the most natural state for the both of you. His arm draped lazily on the back of the couch, just barely around your shoulders, as heavy eyelids watch whatever episode plays next. Your head falling to the side, right under his chin. He tenses slightly, not from discomfort, but from the way he holds his breath after his body betrays him and he lets out a sigh of pleasure as you rest against him. The small noise gives you a small boost of confidence as you tuck yourself into his side more, reaching one arm over his torso in a soft cuddle. The muscles in his abdomen slightly tighten from the touch as you ease yourself against him more. The action mirroring the feeling of your heart in your own chest. It's less than ten minutes more when your eyes begin to flutter as you fight to stay awake a little while longer, wanting to stay just like this.

"Why don't we get you to bed, hm?" Eddie's soft voice whispers against the top of your head, sending a warm tingle down your spine.

"Will you lay with me?" Your voice is nearly inaudible as you whisper the request, any filter in your brain now gone from becoming overwhelmed with tiredness.

"Sure thing, sweetheart." He can't fight back the grin off his face as he hears you ask for more affection.

His own heart skips a beat as he guides you towards your bedroom and under the covers. He'd only slept next to you a handful of times. Most of them are unremembered from being so drunk or high on his part. This was completely different, and the closest thing to domestic he had ever come to. That idea alone makes him feel entirely too giddy for his own good. The way you're practically asleep as you reach over to turn out the last of the light, flipping onto your stomach and moving over towards him. It all feels like a dream he's had before. He gets a moment of deja vu when your head comes to rest against his chest, his own arms wrapping you in a gentle embrace, while one of his hands buries itself in your hair and slowly begins carding through each tendril.

"Thank you, you know… for everything." Your voice is so soft and weak that Eddie barely hears you, making him want to laugh as he remembers how often he used to have to strain just to hear you in the earlier days of your friendship.

"Quit, you don't need to thank me. It's what I'm here for." He quietly replies, a soft smile playing at your mouth as you rest against him. The steady sound of his heart beat lulling you further and further towards sleep.

"I just don't want you to feel like you need to take care of me or anything."

"I told you, I always gotta make sure my mouse is well taken care of." He softly teases, pulling a light, sleepy, chuckle from your throat.

"Love you, Eds." The words are out barely in time to beat your sleep. They're meant to be platonic and thankful, but maybe the way you sound so certain, even in sleep, makes them all the more real and intense.

"Love you too, sweetheart." He whispers, his entire body feeling like it's floating just from the three words alone.

He's not sure if you mean more than you say, and he may never know just exactly how full your brain is, but he doesn't care when he gets moments like these. Times where he gets to hold you as close as he wants and lay awake all night watching you breathe. That's what makes it all worthwhile to him. Because no matter how much he loved you, or how terrified he was to even think that, he knew what the two of you shared transcended any unsaid thoughts and emotions. And he'd fight his way through it all to end up in this bliss as many times as need be. No matter what it took.

———

When you woke up on Eddie's uncomfortable couch, much later than you'd anticipated, you sat up in a rush. The clock on the wall read 8:47 AM.

Your head ached from the night you'd spent crying (Eddie had eventually retreated into his bedroom, throwing the old tattered blanket you'd always loved over you), and you felt overwhelmingly out of place in the trailer that you used to call your second home. Your clothes, clearly washed and dried, sat folded in front of you. And in the kitchen, Wayne silently made a cup of coffee. He hadn't realized you were awake yet.

Eddie was nowhere to be seen.

The stale, quiet air of the trailer pressed in on you, thick with the ghosts of last night’s screaming match and the scent of Wayne’s cheap coffee. You pushed the familiar blanket -- the one with the frayed edge you used to worry between your fingers during scary movies -- off your legs. It felt like a betrayal, its comfort now tainted.

Moving stiffly, you gathered the neatly folded stack of your clothes. They smelled faintly of generic laundry soap, not of Eddie. The consideration of it, washing and drying them, felt like another kind of arrow to the chest. It was a practical kindness that spoke of a closure you hadn't agreed to.

You slipped into the bathroom to change. In the clean, cold daylight, the small room felt like a museum of a past life. You avoided looking in the mirror.

When you emerged, dressed in your own skin again, Wayne was standing by the small formica table, sipping his coffee. He looked over, his face its usual landscape of weary lines, but his eyes were soft.

“Mornin’,” he grunted.

“Morning, Wayne.” Your voice was raspy from disuse and spent tears. “I, uh… thanks for the…” You gestured vaguely at your clothes.

He nodded once, a sharp dip of his chin. He set his mug down and walked to the hook by the door, snagging a set of keys. He tossed them to you underhand. They landed with a soft jingle in your hands.

You stared at them. Your car keys.

“Fixed ‘er,” he said, as if commenting on the weather. “Was just the alternator cable. Corroded clean through. Re-spliced it. Should get you home.”

Tears, stupid and hot, pricked at your eyes again. This man, who had every reason to resent you, had been out in the freezing dawn fixing the car you’d used to flee his nephew. The kindness was almost worse than Eddie’s anger.

“Wayne, I… you didn’t have to…”

“Car wasn’t gonna fix itself,” he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. He studied you for a long moment, his gaze knowing and sad. “He’s gone. Needed to lick his wounds, I reckon.”

He didn’t offer excuses for Eddie. He didn’t ask for yours. He just stated a fact.

Then, to your utter shock, Wayne Munson closed the distance between you. He didn't say a word. He just opened his arms in a gruff, unmistakable invitation.

A sob fell through your lips before you could stop it. You stepped into the hug, burying your face in the flannel of his shirt. He smelled of motor oil, coffee, and a steadfast, unshakeable decency. His arms came around you, strong and solid, patting your back twice in that awkward, perfect Wayne way. It was the first real comfort you’d felt since your world had collapsed months ago, and it undid you completely. You held onto him for a long moment, letting the silent understanding seep into your battered soul.

When you pulled back, wiping your eyes, he just gave you another nod.

“Drive safe,” he said, the same two words he’d always sent you off with.

“I will. Thank you, Wayne. For… everything.”

You didn't look toward the hallway leading to Eddie’s room. You didn't let yourself glance at the photo over the sink. You just turned, opened the door to the bright, cold, snow-blanketed morning, and walked out.

The drive home in a now-functioning Daphne was a silent, blurry tunnel. The storm had passed, leaving Hawkins hushed and glittering under a pale sun. But inside the car, the quiet felt heavy, full of Wayne’s hug, the memory of Eddie’s devastated eyes, and the crushing weight of a prison sentence you’d imposed on yourself -- one that, after last night, felt like it had no release date.

It seemed pointless to act like you were over him. But you'd at least been able to pretend.. before the stupid fucking storm and your stupid fucking car threw you right back into the war path. You'd been doing okay. The first month, you'd hidden all of the pictures in an old shoe box and shoved it under your bed. You sent him all of his clothes in the mail and paid him back for almost everything he'd ever paid for. The second, third, and fourth, you settled for avoiding him like the plague. You got a new job in a different town and threw yourself into it, not allowing much time to gruel over everything that had gone wrong.

It was helping. Was it, though?

You knew the truth. You were putting a bandaid over a crack in a glass. It wasn't the right type of repair, and it wouldn't heal anything. But you weren't sure what else could be done.

When you got home, you showered again, trying to scrub the past night's events off from you. You used your expensive, new shampoo, your rich body wash, you shaved every inch. But you felt no cleaner. You quickly dried yourself off, throwing your dripping hair into a towel, before changing into some fresh clothes.

Some clothes Eddie had never seen or touched.

You were supposed to be at work at 12:00. You got there at 11:30.

Sitting behind your computer, you sighed. The normalcy was a kind of relief you'd been begging for since you'd first set foot in the Munson home. You worked diligently in your cubicle for a while, forcing yourself into tunnel vision.

The familiar, mind-numbing rhythm of data entry was a balm. Click, type, tab, enter. The sterile office air, the hum of fluorescent lights, the distant chatter of coworkers about weekend plans -- it was a world away from the emotional carnage of the trailer and the humid, charged silence of Wayne’s hug. For two solid hours, you disappeared into the spreadsheet, letting the numbers erase the memory of Eddie’s voice cracking.

Then, you jolted. A hand gently touched your shoulder, bringing you out of your data-based trance.

Thomas. The new intern. He'd been brought into the office the same time you had. He was conventionally attractive, nice enough, and did his job without any problems.

"Sorry," he winced, lifting his hand. "I didn't mean to scare you."

You laughed breathlessly, turning around in your chair. "It's okay. I'm just jumpy," you admitted. "I had a long day yesterday."

He frowned, leaning against your desk. There was genuine concern on his face.

"Something going on? I'm a good listener."

He was charming. That much was hard to ignore. He was exactly the kind of distraction you were supposed to want. Safe. Stable. Uncomplicated. A guy whose biggest rebellion was probably using the office printer for personal stuff.

"Just... car trouble," you said, forcing a smile. "In the storm last night. All sorted now."

"Ah, the great blizzard of '86," he joked, his eyes warm. "My roommate's Datsun still won't start. You're lucky you got yours going." He paused, seeming to gather a bit of courage. "Listen, I know it's last minute, but a bunch of us from the accounting floor are grabbing drinks after work at The Hideout. Drown our spreadsheet sorrows. You should come."

The Hideout. The name was a punch to the gut. It was their bar. The place where Eddie had played his first gig with Corroded Coffin, where you’d cheered so loud you lost your voice, where he’d kissed you for the first time -- slow and sweet and tasting of cheap beer -- in the sticky, dark hallway by the bathrooms.

Thomas noticed your hesitation. "Or, you know, if that's not your scene, we could just... get a coffee? Just us?"

The offer was clear. A date. A step forward. A chance to prove to yourself that you could be interested in someone who didn't come with a built-in tornado warning.

You were about to say no. Your mouth was forming the polite refusal. But then you saw it -- in your mind’s eye -- Eddie’s wounded, furious face as he spat “You just… walk away from.” You heard Wayne’s quiet keys jingling. You felt the ghost of that hug.

A reckless, furious energy surged through you. Yes. You would go. You would have a nice, normal time with a nice, normal guy. You would prove you could move on. You were moving on.

"Actually," you said, your voice sounding strangely bright to your own ears. "A drink sounds great."

Thomas's face lit up. "Yeah! Yeah, awesome. Can I pick you up?"

The question hung in the air. It was the natural, gentlemanly next step. It also felt like crossing a line you weren't entirely sure you wanted to cross. A pick-up implied a real date, a definite end to the night together. It felt… binding.

Your hesitation must have shown on your face, because Thomas’s bright smile faltered just a fraction. "Or," he added quickly, "we can just meet there. Whichever is easier."

The out was handed to you, polite and easy. And a small, cowardly part of you wanted to take it. To keep this experiment at arm’s length, to have your own escape route parked right outside.

But that was the old you. The one who planned exits before she even entered the room. The one who left notes instead of having fights.

"No," you said, firming your voice. "Picking me up is fine. It’s… nice." You forced a smile, scribbling your address on a sticky note from your desk. "Seven?"

"Seven," he confirmed, taking the note, his smile returning full force. He looked genuinely pleased, and a pang of guilt twisted in your stomach. He wasn't a pawn in your game with Eddie. He was a person. A nice one.

The rest of the workday was a blur of restless energy. At 5:30, you were the first one out the door, the ghost of your own decisiveness propelling you home. You showered again, as if you could wash away the lingering scent of the trailer and the memory of Eddie's furious eyes. You stood in your closet for a full ten minutes, rejecting every item of clothing. Too somber. Too yours. Too his.

It was a dive bar. The place you went when you wanted to wear something skimpy or cover your skin in glitter. You'd dress for the setting.

You decided on a black skirt, a simple one that hit mid-thigh, and a silky, emerald green top that you knew brought out your eyes. You added your favorite pair of boots -- the ones with just enough of a heel to make you feel powerful -- and a swipe of dark lip gloss. You stared at your reflection. This wasn't the girl Eddie remembered. This was someone sharper, a little more polished, someone who went on dates with accountants in nice sweaters. The pang of guilt returned, sharper this time. You were constructing an entire facade, and Thomas was just the audience.

The knock came at 7:02. Not 7:00 on the dot, but fashionably late enough to feel casual. You took a deep breath, grabbed your coat, and opened the door.

Thomas’s eyes widened appreciatively. “Wow. You look… incredible.”

“Thank you,” you said, the words feeling automatic. You let him help you into your coat, his fingers brushing the nape of your neck. You didn't flinch, but you didn't feel a spark either. Just the polite, expected contact.

The drive was pleasant. The conversation was easy. He was charming, telling a self-deprecating story about a client meeting gone wrong. You laughed in all the right places. But your mind was elsewhere, tracing the familiar route to The Hideout, anticipating the turn into the gravel lot with a mix of dread and a sick, undeniable pull.

When you pulled in, the dread won. The Hideout’s neon sign buzzed like an angry insect against the darkening sky. It looked smaller, dingier than in your memory, or maybe you’d just grown accustomed to cleaner, brighter places in your attempt to move on.

“Cool,” Thomas said, his tone carefully neutral as he held the heavy door open for you.

The wall of sound and smell hit you like a returning heartbeat. It wasn’t quaint. It was alive. And it still felt like yours.

You spotted his coworkers in a booth near the back. You recognized a few faces from the accounting floor -- polite smiles, curious glances at you and Thomas. You slid in, the vinyl seat sticking slightly to your tights.

“So this is the infamous new girl from marketing,” one of the women, Lisa, said with a friendly grin. “Thomas hasn’t stopped talking about you.”

Thomas flushed, chuckling. “Lisa, come on.”

You smiled, taking the beer Thomas handed you. “All good things, I hope.”

The group laughed, and the next twenty minutes were a blur of introductions, office gossip, and a shared basket of soggy fries. You were playing your part perfectly. Engaged. Charming. A great catch for a guy like Thomas.

Then, the door opened.

You didn't see him. You felt him. A shift in the room's energy, a sudden, magnetic pull that tightened your chest. Your eyes, of their own volition, cut through the haze of cigarette smoke and chatter towards the entrance.

There he was. Eddie.

Fuck. Why had you been so stupid? Why had you come here?

He wasn't just coming in; he was making an entrance, shrugging off his jacket to reveal a faded Black Sabbath tee, his laugh ringing out over the jukebox music as he clapped Gareth on the back. He was a burst of vibrant, chaotic color in the dim bar. He looked… good. Better than good. He looked like home, and the realization was a physical ache.

His gaze, sharp and scanning for his friends, swept across the room. It passed over your booth, did a double-take, and locked onto you.

The smile vanished from his face. The lively light in his eyes guttered out, replaced by an icy, flat stillness. He stared, his expression unreadable from this distance, but you could feel the shock, the hurt, and then, simmering beneath it, a dark, gathering storm.

Jeff, following his gaze, paled and grabbed Eddie’s arm, saying something urgent. Eddie shook him off, his eyes never leaving yours.

He started walking.

“Oh, god,” you whispered, the words lost in the chatter of your table.

Thomas, mid-sentence about a new tax software, followed your line of sight. “Everything okay?”

You nodded hurriedly, moving to get up, but before you even had the chance to slide out of the booth in your panic, two ringed hands slapped themselves down onto the table. The impact was sharp, final. Eddie leaned down, his body blocking out the rest of the bar, his face inches from yours. Up close, you could see the flecks of amber in his brown eyes, the faint, tired shadows beneath them, the tight set of his jaw.

“Well, well,” he drawled, his voice a low, intimate thrum that vibrated in your bones. “Look what the cat dragged in. And she brought a friend.” His gaze flicked to Thomas, a dismissive, scathing once-over that took in the sweater, the careful haircut, the whole safe, tidy package. "Who's this, sweetheart?" Eddie's voice was sugar-coated venom, his eyes never leaving Thomas's face as he spoke to you. "Introduce me to your... accountant."

Thomas stiffened, his jaw tightening. "Thomas," he said, his voice holding a note of forced calm. "And you are?"

Eddie finally dragged his gaze away from you, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across his face as he fully turned his attention to your date. "Eddie," he said, his tone conversational, almost pleasant. "The man she was with for almost four years." He jerked his thumb towards you without looking. "You're sitting in my seat, by the way."

The air in the booth vanished. Lisa’s mouth had formed a perfect, silent ‘O’. The other coworkers stared into their drinks as if they could divine an escape route in the foam.

Thomas’s forced calm cracked. A flush crept up from his collar, and his knuckles went white where they gripped the edge of the table. “I wasn’t aware we were keeping seats warm for past residents,” he said, the words clipped.

"That's funny," Eddie snorted, drumming his fingers on the glass of the booth's table, "considering the fact that this lovely woman spent the night at my house.. last night, was it?"

The gasp from Lisa was audible this time. The rest of the booth went preternaturally still. Thomas’s face, previously flushed with anger, drained of all color. He looked from Eddie’s triumphant, cruel smirk to your horrified expression, and the pieces clicked into place with a nearly audible sound.

Your car trouble. Your jumpiness. Your long day.

It wasn’t just a past relationship. It was current. It was last night.

“You…” Thomas’s voice was a dry rasp. He looked at you, his eyes wide with a hurt that was rapidly solidifying into something colder. “Is that true?”

“Because my car broke down,” you blurted out, the explanation feeble and pathetic against the weight of Eddie’s loaded statement. “In the storm. Right by his trailer. I had to wait it out. That’s all.”

“Oh, is that all?” Eddie purred, his eyes glittering with malicious satisfaction. He leaned his hip against the table, fully committing to the performance now, playing to his captive audience. “Just a little sleepover for old times’ sake. Very platonic. Very… chaste.” He let the word hang, dripping with implication. “You should’ve seen her, Thomas. Cozy as anything in my clothes. Looked right at home.”

This was beyond humiliation. This was annihilation. He was systematically dismantling not just your date, but your character, your integrity, in front of your new colleagues. He was painting you as a liar, a tease, someone who hopped between beds during snowstorms.

Tears of pure, impotent rage burned behind your eyes. You stood up, shaking. “You are vile,” you said, your voice shaking with a intensity that made even Eddie’s smirk falter for a second.

“I’m honest,” he shot back, but the bravado seemed thinner now, stretched over a core of something desperate and ugly. “Which is more than you’re being with him right now.”

You turned to Thomas, pulling enough money to cover your drinks out of your wallet and tossing it in front of him. "I am so sorry. I'll explain another time."

Then, you turned back around, centimeters from Eddie's chest. He towered over you, intense brown eyes burning through your skin. You leered up at him, hot, angry tears flowing down your face.

"Fuck. You." You gritted out.

He burst into laughter, his gaze heating up even more with the vulgar words leaving your lips. Tilting his head, hummed.

"You have. Many times. Or did you forget?"

The sentence burned your stomach. Of course you hadn't forgotten.

The sleepless nights because you couldn't get enough of each other, the nails in his back, the sting of his teeth on the delicate skin of your neck. You remembered every moment of it. He knew that, too. But drawing your attention to it in a room full of people? In front of your date?

Before you could even think about it, a crack sounded through the air. Eddie's head whipped to the side. You were on autopilot, the anger, yearning, and arousal warring inside of your brain.

You'd slapped him. The right side of his face was red. It was like the bar was paralyzed behind him -- all you could see was Eddie. He slowly turned his head back to face you, a dangerous glint in his eye. Predatory. Intense. Slightly pissed.

A slow, deliberate smile spread across his face, the one that didn't reach his eyes. He touched his fingertips to his reddening cheek, testing the sting. The sound in the bar danced around you, but your mind was silent.

"Well," he said, his voice an intimate rasp that seemed to vibrate in the space between you. "There she is. You let her out."

Your hand throbbed. Your entire body was trembling -- with rage, with shock, with the electrifying realization of what you’d just done. He stared at you with his unrelenting eyes, his ringed fingers still touching his cheek. You couldn't bare it anymore.

You shoved past him, leaving the bar.

You frantically waved a taxi down, the only taxi in Hawkins which a creepy old man drove. The type you wouldn't trust driving a taxi. He attempted small talk. You barely responded, having used up any ability to talk for the rest of the night. When you finally got to your house, you paid the man, climbed out, and tore your dumb, fancy clothes off.

You put a pair of old, tattered pajamas on. Cried a little. Ate a grilled cheese sandwich, which you cried into. You collapsed onto your sofa, watching reruns of a stupid rom-com. You cried so much that you soaked the decorative pillow beside your head.

You weren't even sure what had happened. You weren't sure how everything had been ruined so quickly. Your new job was tainted now (you wouldn't be able to look four of your coworkers in the eye ever again), your car had proven it couldn't be trusted (which you already knew, but now she was choosing the roads to break down on), and your ex-boyfriend was intent on ruining any chance of getting over him. The four months you'd disciplined yourself into being done with him were now wasted. Crumbled and discarded.

What was it all for, anyways? Why had you done this to begin with?

It was for your mother. For your friends. They hadn't even bothered to get to know Eddie, forming an opinion based on what the town whispered about him: that he was a lost cause. Unreliable. A boy that was too lazy to graduate high school until he made the choice to do it. A freak from a bad family. Mean, scary, with bad intentions. Your friend had said that "your life will go nowhere if you marry a bad egg." The worst part? You started to believe them. The pressure cracked you.

They were wrong. All of them. They didn't know Eddie.

Eddie Munson was a diamond under layers of rock -- the best person you'd ever met. He could be mean. He was scary, sometimes. But he deserved to be. The world had dealt him shitty cards since he was born. It was cruel to him. Despite how cruel the world was, he never chose to be. He didn't let it sour him up. He was a cornered dog that never bit anyone, a tortured soul that persevered to stay soft.

He wasn't a lost cause. He worked hard. Every day. As soon as he graduated, he got a job at the record store. A job he loved, which you couldn't blame him for, and a job that he never relented from. He worked every single day, from open to close. He poured his heart into the things that he loved, like you once, his band, the group of kids that he'd left when he graduated Hawkins High School. They looked up to him. They looked up to his strength in adversity, because in reality, adversity was all he seemed to face until you'd come into his life.

The miserable irony was that if anyone who spoke ill of him actually tried to get to know him, they would love him immediately. But they were terrified of the rumors. Terrified of Eddie's exterior. The wild, black hair. The intense brown eyes. The chains and skull-shaped rings, the black boots and towering height. The loudness. The rebellious aura.

The thought was a barbed hook in your chest, reeling you back through time. To the first time you’d really seen him.

It wasn’t in a class, or at the grocery store. It was in the woods behind the school, a place you weren’t supposed to be. You were smoking a secret cigarette, relieving the stress of the day. You’d heard shouting, a cacophony of cruel, laughing voices. You’d crept closer, heart in your throat, expecting to see the monster the town warned about.

Instead, you saw Eddie Munson, standing between three older, bigger guys from the basketball team and a scrawny freshman -- Jeff, you’d learn later -- who was clutching a torn-up D&D manual. Eddie’s back was to you, his hands up in a placating gesture, but his voice was a low, steady rumble that carried.

“C’mon, guys. The kid’s just trying to get home. You’ve had your fun. His handbook’s toast. Call it a win.”

One of them shoved him. “What’re you gonna do about it, freak?”

Eddie didn’t shove back. He just… absorbed it. Steadied himself. A strange, sharp smile cut across his face, all teeth and no warmth. “Me? Nothing. But I’m recording this little display of masculine insecurity for posterity.” He tapped the side of his head. “Got a real good memory. And I’m real chatty with Chief Hopper. Wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea about the varsity squad’s after-school activities, would we?”

It was a bluff. A brilliant, stupid bluff. But it worked. The bullies muttered, threw one last insult, and slunk away. As soon as they were gone, the sharp smile vanished from Eddie’s face. He turned to the trembling kid, his posture softening instantly. He knelt, picking up the scattered, muddy pages of the manual.

“Hey, no harm, no foul. They’re just pages. We can tape ‘em. Hell, we can redraw the diagrams. Might even improve on ‘em.” His voice was different now -- softer, encouraging. “Let's go. Let’s get you cleaned up. You did good. You didn’t cry. That’s the first rule.”

That was Eddie. The cornered dog who put himself between the teeth and someone weaker. The boy the town called lazy, spending his Friday night painstakingly taping a kid’s rulebook back together. The "freak" whose first instinct was to protect.

A fresh wave of sobs wracked you, not just of loss, but of shame. You’d abandoned him. You’d chosen the easy path, the one paved with your mother’s approval and your friends’ relieved smiles. You’d broken his heart to soothe your own social anxiety, and in doing so, you’d proven every one of his deepest fears correct: that he was unworthy, that he would always be left behind.

You ran away from him. You believed the monster stories, the stories of him being a waste. And now, it was too late.

You curled into the side of the couch and cried yourself to sleep.

The light stung your eyes when you woke up. Your head pounded. You ran to the toilet and threw up your dinner from the night before, and all the alcohol you'd had at the bar. When you trudged back out into the living room, you frowned.

This house was suffocating. You needed air.

You quickly dressed yourself in a jacket and jeans, yanking boots on. You brushed your teeth and tossed your messy hair into a bun. You grabbed a bottle of water and your keys. Then, you went outside into the chilly breeze and walked down to the Quarry. It was a comfort spot for you. Silent, gentle. You could escape whatever had happened. Every single time something broke your heart, that was where you ran to pick up the pieces.

You trudged through the mud until you reached the water. It was half frozen, but it still lapped at the edges. The horizon was grey, but still peaceful. You sat down on a log, staring up into the sky. Crows flew from the trees, stark black marks on a white sky. Minutes passed. Sometimes, more hot tears came down your face. The water bottle calmed your dry throat and aching stomach. But everything still felt wrong.

Then, you heard familiar boots trudging on the ground behind you. You shuddered, the idea of seeing his face right now almost lethal. But.. of course he'd come. He knew this is where you went when shit hit the fan. He was the only one that knew your spot.

You didn't turn around. You kept your eyes fixed on the half-frozen water, on the crows carving their dark paths across the clouds. The crunch of gravel and frozen earth under his boots was a familiar cadence, a heartbeat you'd tried to silence for months.

He didn't sit beside you on the log. He stopped a few feet away, a respectful distance that somehow felt more intimate than if he'd crowded you. The silence stretched, filled only by the whisper of the wind through the bare trees and the faint, rhythmic lap of water.

"You look like hell," he said. Always so charming. His voice was soft, but flat. Tired. Contrasting the cruelty it held the night before.

You laughed humorlessly at his words, sniffling.

"Thank you."

“Anytime,” he replied, the ghost of his old smirk touching his lips before fading. He shifted his weight, the leather of his jacket creaking. “Place hasn’t changed.”

“No,” you whispered. “It doesn’t.”

More silence. It wasn’t the comfortable quiet you used to share, where words were unnecessary. This was a chasm, and every second stretched it wider.

He filled it again.

"Did you call Thomas back? Reschedule for a night I can't fuck up?"

He spat the name like it burned his tongue. The question was a direct hit, laced with the self-deprecating poison he knew so well how to brew. It hung in the cold air between you, a challenge wrapped in a shield of assumed rejection. You finally turned to look at him fully. The morning light was cruel, highlighting the exhaustion in his face, the tension in his shoulders. He looked like a man braced for a verdict.

"No," you said, your voice quiet but firm in the still air. "I didn't call him. And you didn't fuck it up."

He scoffed, a dry, brittle sound. "Right. Because public humiliation is a great second-date foundation."

"You know that's not what I mean," you said, a flicker of the previous night's frustration reigniting. "You didn't ruin a good thing, Eddie. You ended a bad one."

He shrugged, as if it couldn't have been more obvious to him that your choice was a stupid one.

"He dressed business casual to go to a dive bar. You don't even like sweaters. Or blondes."

A laugh burst out of you -- sharp, surprised, and utterly genuine. It echoed oddly across the frozen quarry, shattering the heavy tension. Eddie’s eyes widened slightly, the perpetual defensive scrum on his face cracking to reveal a glimpse of the boy you fell for.

“You’re an idiot,” you said, the affection thick in your voice.

“Yeah, well, I’m all yours,” he shot back automatically, the old refrain slipping out before he could stop it. He froze, the words hanging between you, a relic from a time before the fracture. His cheeks flushed, and he looked away, suddenly fascinated by a crack in the frozen mud.

The simple phrase did more to dismantle your walls than any grand apology could have. It was a piece of your shared language, a secret handshake from a club you’d both resigned from.

“Are you?” you asked softly, the laughter gone, replaced by a vulnerable ache. “Still mine?”

He didn’t look at you. His shoulders were up around his ears, a tense line against the grey sky. “Don’t ask me that,” he muttered, his voice thick. “Not fair.”

“Why not?”

“Because!” He whirled to face you, his eyes blazing with a frustrated, helpless pain. “Because the answer’s always gonna be yes. So you asking… it’s just you checking if the toy you threw away is still on the shelf, waiting. It fucking is. And it pisses me off.”

The raw honesty was a sucker punch. It left you breathless. He was laid bare, no sarcasm, no armor, just the humiliating, unwavering truth of his constancy.

“I didn’t throw you away,” you whispered, tears welling again. “I got scared and I ran. There’s a difference.”

“Feels the same from this side of the shelf.” He kicked a chunk of ice, sending it skittering into the water.

Another tear dropped.

"Then you show up to our place with some corporate dumbfuck. You force me to be an ass. To make you cry. And you know I hate doing that," he ranted, his voice raw. "You left but you won't stay away. And now here I am, chasing you, like an idiot."

He got closer. You smelled him. Weed, patchouli, sharp cologne.

"I am an idiot. But you cried and I had to make sure you stopped. I hate when you cry. So stop it." He whispered, a cold finger reaching forward to wipe the warm tears coming down your face.

His touch, the rough pad of his finger brushing away your tears, was the final crack in the dam. Not for more tears, but for the truth you’d been clinging to like a life raft.

“I can’t,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I can’t stop it.”

"Why not?" He asked, his voice low and heavy.

"Because I messed up so bad. I can't fix it. You hate me and you're still here trying to take care of me."

The raw admission hung between you, more vulnerable than any slap. His hand stilled against your cheek. For a moment, the only sounds were the wind and the ragged pull of your own breath. He didn't move away. His thumb brushed once more over the path of a tear, then his hand slid down to cradle your jaw, his touch firm, anchoring.

"Yeah," he said, the word a low rumble in his chest. "You messed up. Spectacularly. You broke my fucking heart. Stomped on it, actually."

You flinched, the directness a fresh wound.

"But," he continued, his voice dropping even lower, forcing you to lean in to hear. "Do I look like I'm here to collect a debt? To punish you?" He shook his head slowly, his intense eyes holding yours prisoner. "You think this," he gestured between the two of you, at the frozen quarry, at the whole miserable, beautiful situation, "is about hate?"

You couldn't speak. You just stared, lost in the storm of his gaze.

"It's the opposite," he whispered, his breath a warm cloud in the cold air. "I'm here because I can't not be. You cry, it's like a fucking alarm in my head I can't shut off. You're in pain, and even if I'm the cause, even if you're the cause, my first instinct is still to make it stop. That's not hate. That's the problem."

You fought the urge to cry some more. He was so good. So gentle. So loving. And you'd hurt him beyond measure.

"'M sorry," your voice cracked, your eyes blurring. "You can go. You shouldn't be here."

Your words were a flimsy wall, and he saw right through it. He didn't let go of your jaw. If anything, his grip gentled, his thumb stroking the frantic pulse at the side of your throat.

"See, that's the thing," he murmured, his voice so quiet it was almost stolen by the wind. "You don't get to decide where I should be. Not anymore. You gave up that right when you walked away."

It was the truth, and it burned. You tried to look down, but he held your gaze, unwavering.

"But," he continued, leaning in so close his lips almost brushed yours with each word, "you asking me to go? That just proves you still don't get it. You think you're doing me a favor. Setting me free from the mess you made. But you're not." His eyes were dark pools of conviction. "This is me free. Choosing to be here. Choosing you, even after everything. Even though it's stupid. Especially because it's stupid."

A tear escaped, tracing a hot path down your chilled cheek. He caught it with his thumb.

"I'm not going anywhere," he stated, the words final, absolute. "Unless you tell me, right now, looking me in the eye, that you don't love me. That you don't want this. And you have to mean it."

He fell silent, giving you the space he thought you wanted. The space to send him away for good. The air grew colder, the silence heavier, pressing in on you. The silence stretched, thin and taut as a wire. His gaze held you, unflinching, a challenge and a plea all at once. The wind seemed to still, the world narrowing to this frozen patch of ground, the feel of his hand on your face, and the terrifying, beautiful ultimatum hanging between you.

He was offering you the clean break you’d pretended to want. The easy out you’d tried to create with Thomas. All you had to do was lie. To say the words that would sever the tether for good, that would let him walk away and finally, truly hate you. It would be the kindest cruelty you could offer him.

Your lips parted. The words -- I don’t love you -- felt like shards of glass in your throat, impossible to force out. Because you loved him with a desperation that terrified you. You loved the stubborn set of his jaw, the unexpected gentleness of his hands, the fierce loyalty he wore like armor. You loved the mess and the noise and the glorious, difficult truth of him.

You loved him so much it had scared you into leaving.

And he saw it. He saw the war in your eyes, the way your breath hitched not in preparation for a lie, but because the truth was a living, painful thing clawing its way up. The hard line of his mouth softened, just a fraction.

“You can’t,” he said, his voice a low, certain vibration. It wasn’t a question. “You can’t say it. Because it’s not true.”

A sob broke free, the last of your defenses crumbling. You shook your head, a frantic, tiny motion. “No,” you choked out. “It’s not true.”

The admission seemed to unlock something in him. The last vestige of his defensive stance melted away. His shoulders dropped, and he let out a long, shuddering breath, his eyes closing for a second as if in prayer.

“Thank Christ,” he whispered, the words rough with emotion. When his eyes opened, they were bright, vulnerable. “For a minute there, I thought you were actually gonna make me leave.”

He pulled you into him then, not with the desperate force from before, but with a deep, enveloping relief. You buried your face in the cold leather of his jacket, your hands fisting in the back of it, holding on as if he were the only solid thing in a spinning world. He held you just as tightly, his face pressed into your hair.

“I love you,” you mumbled into his chest, the words muffled but fervent. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Shhh,” he soothed, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head. “I know. I know, baby. Me too. All of it.”

You stood there for a long time, wrapped in each other, the frozen world around you forgotten. The only warmth was the shared heat of your bodies, the only sound the steady, synced beating of your hearts. Finally, he stirred, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Alright,” he said, his voice still thick but laced with a new, gentle determination. “We’re done with the quarry. We’re done with the past. Starting right now.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands coming up to frame your face again. His thumbs brushed away the remnants of your tears. “Clean slate. But this time, together. No more solo missions. Deal?”

You nodded, your vision blurry but your heart clearer than it had been in months. “Together.”

A real, slow smile spread across his face, the one that reached his eyes and lit them from within. It was the smile you’d fallen in love with, the one he saved for rare, unguarded moments. It felt like coming home.

“Good.” He took your hand, lacing his fingers tightly with yours. “Now, let’s get in the fucking van. I’m freezing, you’re shivering, and I have a sudden, intense craving for the world’s greasiest diner food. My treat. We can start our new, improved, communication-heavy relationship by arguing about whether hash browns should be crispy or soggy.”

A wet laugh escaped you. It felt like the first real breath you’d taken in weeks. “They should be crispy.”

And then Eddie happened. 

A boy with a guitar, a devilish grin and a tragic story you never saw coming. He made you laugh, God he made you laugh. He welcomed you into his club. He listened and looked at you like you were interesting, like you mattered in a way that wasn’t tied to the end of the world or the Wheeler last name. 

Even then, you told yourself it wasn’t that serious. Just a silly crush on a guy that was cooler than anyone in your friend group. A guy you needed to save before you could even think about more. 

But the “friend group” could tell there was always more. Even Steve.

Especially Steve.

He pretended not to notice how your smile grew whenever Eddie asked specifically for you on the walkie or when you insisted on visiting him at the safehouse. Pretended not to twitch in annoyance when Eddie offered you his jacket or leaned a little too close during planning meetings. 

It was Steve’s fault after all. He’d been too hung up on his ex to notice he had what he needed right in front of him all this time. And you know what they say, chase two girls…lose the one. 

And as if it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t only you. He was losing his other best friend to the metalhead too. 

Dustin. 

So Steve got bitter. Jealousy sat on his tongue like poison, seeing Eddie treating you both the way he should’ve. And the worst part is that it didn’t even look like he was trying. It was in Eddie’s nature to encourage people to be unapologetically themselves. That’s what drew people to him. That’s what drew you and Dustin to him. A safe place. 

And then, as quickly as he came into your lives…Eddie was gone. 

Dragged into the kind of “hero’s death” that didn’t leave room for more than just one goodbye, and it wasn’t yours. You weren’t there, and part of you wishes you could’ve said more to him, but you’re not sure if you could've handled seeing him go like that. 

So the what-if’s, the hope of it all, the pain…it all broke you. 

The grief was quiet at first. A numbness you could carry in silence and loneliness when everyone gave you space. 

Then you got angry. So angry.

You can’t say Steve didn’t try to be there. He did, in his own way. But this wasn’t the kind of grief he understood. He’d change the subject, act like nothing happened.

You wished Steve had waited for you the same way you did for him all those years. Wait for all the hurt to pass. But you always felt like he was impatient for you to move on. Like mourning was something you could time with a clock or the change of seasons. 

It didn’t take long before you started snapping, and he snapped back. You accused him of not caring. He accused you of using Eddie to push everyone away. The fights got longer and hurtful. And eventually you just stopped being what you once were. 

Months passed. Hawkins covered its wounds under rugs and metal plates. Steve carried on with his life and started The WSQK station with Robin as you and Dustin were still stuck right where Eddie had left you. 

And you didn’t even have space anymore. Not with all the crawls, and the secret meetings, and the same bullshit over and over again that always ends up with you in the same damn room with Steve Harrington. 

Still angry. Still hurting. 

And still looking at each other like maybe, just maybe, things had gone differently, you could’ve loved each other.

“We should split up,” Nancy says, looking at the stairs where the path goes up and down. “Cover more ground.”

“I’ll go with her,” Jonathan says quickly. 

You glance sideways and meet Dustin’s bloodshot eyes. It’s unspoken, but clear, he’s with you. Always has been, especially since Eddie. 

“We’ll head down,” you shrug, motioning to the stairs descending into darkness.

Steve shifts beside you awkwardly. “Actually, I think I’ll switch teams.”

Nancy stiffens as Jonathan turns his head slowly, already reading too much into it. And you? You roll your eyes. Here we go again.

“We need a bit of space,” Steve adds, motioning vaguely between you and Dustin, as if you weren’t right there. “Nance I’ll go with you upstairs.”

“Yeah? Why don’t you go with me then?” Jonathan shoots back. 

“What? No. I just–look, you and I could use some space too, man,” Steve stammers. 

You really have to bite your cheek to keep yourself from chuckling bitterly and calling him out, but Jonathan beats you to it. 

“Wow. So everyone but Nancy.”

Preach. 

“Enough,” Nancy snaps. Her voice echoes across the walls. “We don’t have time for this. We split like we planned. I’m with Jonathan. Steve stays with Dustin and her.”

You don’t miss the way Steve deflates. God forbid he has to spend more time with you. 

You don’t even wait to hear what he has to say about it. You just brush past him with a huff, shoulder grazing his on purpose as Dustin follows right behind you. 

There was a time when you’d glance back to make sure Steve was coming too, but now you don’t even turn as you disappear down the shadows. 

The rainbows on the wall and the scattered toys on white shelves make you sick. You know what this place was. Where she was made. Where they turned kids into weapons.

It doesn’t help that Steve and Dustin keep bickering behind you, as you scan the place with a flashlight trying to disconnect from all of it. You’re used to it by this point…doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like hell. 

“…yeah good luck looking for your…treasure. I mean shield generator. I mean made up bullshit–”

“Thank you.” Dustin cuts Steve off sharply. 

He storms off the room before you can say anything to him. His sneakers stomp across the grimy floor, disappearing into the hallway. You walk to the door, but hesitate at the threshold, considering if you should really go after him. 

Because you know that bitterness. You’ve lived with it for months. When it takes hold of you like that, the last thing you want is someone chasing you, asking questions and trying to fix the unfixable. 

So you turn to Steve instead, who’s now leaning on a table, pouting as he fiddles with a Rubik’s cube he found laying around. It only pisses you off more. 

“You should be more gentle with him, you know,” you snap, crossing your arms. “He’s hurting.”

“Oh come on,” Steve scoffs. Of course he’s offended. “I’m the one who should be more gentle? He’s been treating me like shit for months.”

“This hasn’t been easy for him,” you retort, walking closer to him. “He’s just a kid, Steve.”

“And that gives him a free pass to be an asshole?” He fires back. “He knows this plan is bullshit. We’re wasting our time.”

“God, Steve,” you sigh. “All I’m saying is you know better to give him a break.”

That seems to snap the last of his patience. He straightens up from the table, walking toward you until he’s just a few inches away. 

“No,” he says sharply. “You both need to give me a break. I’m tired of you acting like I don’t care about what happened.”

That makes something in you snap too. It comes out in the shape of a bitter laugh. “Do you, Steve? Do you actually care?”

“What?” 

“I don’t think you do,” you accuse, shaking your head. “You never talk about him–not in a way that matters. After you told me he didn’t make it, I’ve never heard you mention Eddie again in a way it didn’t feel like you were calling me out for something. Not once.”

He lets the weight of your words take over him. Here we go again. The accusation sits so heavy it blinds him and the words just start spilling out recklessly. 

“Oh, this has always been about Eddie, hasn’t it?” He retorts, breathing heavily. “You want me to talk more about him? Fine. Why don’t we talk about the mistakes he made then?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” You mutter under your breath. 

“Since everyone likes to remind me I’m a fucking idiot, why don’t we talk about the fact that at least I’m still here?” He says, and the tears in your eyes should be enough for him to shut up, but he doesn’t. He can’t. “All because he didn’t listen to me. I told them not to be heroes. I told them. But Eddie made a wrong call and suddenly I’m the one taking the shit for it.” 

The words punch the air out of your lungs. 

You go quiet for a moment, blinking away the tears blurring your eyes and swallowing the lump burning your throat. You don’t have it in you to yell anymore. 

“Don’t you dare, Steve,” you say slowly. “Don’t you dare talk about him like that.”

“It’s the truth,” he insists. “You’re just angry because you know it is. He didn’t save anyone. He went and got himself killed for nothing!”

Slap. 

Your hand connects with his cheek, sharp, sudden, leaving a red mark on his face. 

The sound echoes on the walls, as you both stare at each other in disbelief. His hand lifts slowly to his face, and you try to shake the sting off your hand. 

“I can’t believe you,” you whisper, stepping back. “I can’t believe someone I thought cared about me could say something like that so easily.”

“I’m–“ He tries to step forward, but you lift your hand between you both. 

“I’m drowning, Steve,” you choke out. “Every day. I wake up and it feels like I’m still hearing you say he’s not coming back all over again. And now–now I have to deal with this? With you turning his death into some kind of argument you need to win?”

You shake your head, disbelief laced into every word. Tears keep falling, making it hard to breathe, but you push through them. 

“You’re right. Is that what you want to hear?” You sniffle. “Maybe Eddie was stupid. Maybe he wasn’t like you or Nancy or Hopper who always get shit done. And you know what? Yeah, maybe he didn’t save anyone that day. But maybe he just wanted to do something for good. Like all of us. He tried. He thought he’d keep us safe. And I think that should count for something.” 

Your chest rises up and down quickly, as you wipe your tears violently with the sleeves of your sweater. Steve opens his mouth, but whatever he wants to say never makes it out. You don’t wait to see if he does. 

You turn away and leave in the same direction Dustin did. 

You don’t know how far you walk, just that the corridors start blending together and by the time your legs give out, you’re somewhere dark and quiet. You find a spot to lean safely against the wall, and let yourself fall to the floor. 

You cover your mouth to muffle your little cries, and try to find a way to not hate Steve for everything he just said. 

He’s hurting too. You know it. All of you are. But that doesn’t give him a reason to–

“Hey…”

Dustin’s soft voice startles you. He was making his way back to the playroom when he spotted your figure in the hallway. 

You wipe your face quickly, but it’s useless, you look like a mess either way. He stops in front of you, but you don’t say anything yet. You can’t.

“Did he say something shitty too?” He asks carefully. 

You nod.

Dustin sighs. “Of course he did.” He sinks down next to you, and you both sit there side by side. “I heard something. I thought maybe it was…” He hesitates, eyes flicking toward you with curiosity. “Did you–did you slap him?”

You huff. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he says immediately.

A small, broken laugh escapes your throat, followed by Dustin’s. After a moment he shifts closer, leaning his head on your shoulder. It makes you feel less alone. 

“I know he didn’t mean it but–it still hurts,” you whisper. “He just doesn’t know what to do with all of it. The grief. The guilt. And he’s angry at him. We all are…”

You don’t even need to say Eddie’s name. It’s there, hanging between every word. The handprint on your heart. The empty space beside you. The hollow that never leaves.

“I just…I miss him,” you add. “I miss them both.” 

“I know,” Dustin says. “I miss them too.”

He's been having a lot of sleepovers with his friends since the Starcourt Mall incident. None of them want to be the person who says it but they're all terrified of being alone. He's woken up quite a few times in a cold sweat with gory images in his mind, and he doubts he's the only one. Steve's parents are hardly ever in town so his house becomes the designated place for sleepovers.

The credits are rolling for whatever movie they watched, Mike can't remember because he fell asleep half-way through. His memory is hazy of what time they started but if he had to guess it's probably close to one in the morning.

Dustin is fast asleep next to him on the floor and Will's knocked out on the couch above them. They had been designing their characters for a new DND campaign, Mike's pretty sure there's pen on his cheek from falling asleep while writing the character details.

One of the other side of the couch Max is squished between El and Lucas, and he sincerely doubts she'll mind come morning. She'll probably be grateful considering she's been having some of the worst nightmares.

His eyes make his way over to the loveseat where you had been sitting with Steve. What once started as a respectable distance to avoid incurring any teasing has disappeared. You're leaning on Steve, curled into his side and he has an arm wrapped around you, rubbing your shoulders. You're trying to focus on the credits, dangerously close to dozing off while Steve stares down at you with something in his eyes Mike can't quite understand.

What he does understand is that his parents have never held each other like that.

"You sleepin' over there baby?" Steve's voice is a soft murmur, smiling as he looks down at you.

"Mmmm…" you let out a sleepy hum, barely acknowledging his words before burrowing deeper into his side.

Steve's smile widens in response and all of a sudden Mike's stomach twists. It's not disgust or repulsion but… embarrassment. He's intruding on something special, he should just close his eyes and go back to sleep. That's what he should do, but he can't bring himself to.

"Mmm…. need to put… the kids,” you mumble just barely comprehensible in your sleepy stupor.

“What about the kids sweetheart?” Steve whispers brushing hair out of your face.

“Put em to bed….” you’re practically in Steve’s lap despite the fact the loveseat was made for two. “Mike and Dustin are on the floor… and clean up…..”

“I’ll do it,” Steve murmurs gently and kisses your forehead, “but first I'm putting you to bed.”

“No…..” your brow furrows in your half conscious state.

“Yes,” Steve smooths out the crease with his thumb and kisses your cheek. Then in one smooth movement he’s standing up and hoisting you into his arms, all while making sure the blanket is still tucked around you. You let out a quiet giggle when he picks you up and he notices.

"Having fun over there?" he teases quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. It's almost a knee-jerk reaction, he can't keep his lips off you.

"I feel special," you whisper as if you're sharing a secret and Steve's face softens even more. Mike didn't know it was possible for someone to look at another person like that.

"You are special," Steve whispers in that same secretive tone and kisses your forehead. "C'mon pretty, let's get you to bed."

Your words fade into quiet indecipherable whispers and giggles as Steve carries you to and up the staircase and Mike finds himself staring at the empty loveseat. A million thoughts swirling in his head and none at the same time. He's about to sit up when he hears Steve coming down the staircase and immediately closes his eyes, pretending to be asleep.

He doesn't know why, he could just pretend he woke up now. He doesn't have to give Steve any indication that he witnessed their intimate moment, but for some reason a part of him believe that waking up now would ruin something. Something he can't quite put words to.

The older teen shuffles around a little, turning off the TV, before coming over to where Mike and Dustin are laying on the floor. Then before Mike knows it Steve is lifting him up and placing him on the couch. He feels like a little kid being carried to bed after falling asleep on the car ride home. Though that only happened once or twice at his mother's insistence, usually his father woke him up to walk inside.

He hears some more shuffling and then the couch dips presumably with Dustin's weight. He hears the sounds of Steve cleaning up trash and crafts, carefully organizing their DND papers as to not be scolded later. Just when he thinks Steve is about to head upstairs a blanket is gently tucked around his shoulders and a damp cloth is pressed to his cheek to wipe the pen marks off.

"Wheeler?" Steve whispers gently, and his body tenses but his eyes don't open.

Noticing the tension in his body, Mike hears Steve let out a huff indicating he's smiling. He tucks the blanket a little tighter and ruffles Mike's hair.

"Go to bed kid."

Steve tucks a blanket around Dustin before flicking off all the lights and setting the heater to a comfortable temperature. Then he quietly creeps upstairs and Mike can hear the soft murmurs of you two speaking. He doesn't need to be in the room to have an idea of what's being said.

The sun is warm from its descent through the opened window of the infirmary. You’d just finished reorganizing the shelf’s after finding it hard to sit still. You’d swept, had the beds cleaned and remade. You were a kakushi who specialized in the medical field—even if the kakushi was a term under multiple professions. Providing first aid, typically for demon slayers out on the battlefield, cleaning up said battle fields after—and guiding them towards the butterfly mansion if injured.

Those tasks might’ve seemed normal, maybe even basic to everyone else. But to you, the scent of demons was irritable, revolting, and overall nauseating. The remains of their blood, retched—as their bodies stuck to the hard working demon slayers like a second skin. Every time you’d approach one—to help, to get them to safety. You’d plummet straight to the ground from the stench.

The Master of the Mansion was surprisingly very understanding of this—condition you were suffering from. You’d thought your entire life would’ve been over, after finding out another how considerate he was. Your initial worries had ceased. Though, with this hindrance there also came this rise of expertise, this mastery in the arts of healing.

From the village you orientated from, women—most. Where seen as witches, evil from the devil brought amongst man to wreak havoc with these doe like eyes. Words with twists and turns to lure you in. Children, mostly young girls at the time were seen as curses. The spawn of said evil. They were taken, executed—put to death.

A warning for all.

So when your mother had you, she was filled with a great fear that the same would be brought upon you. So she kept you hidden on the far outskirts of the village until your time for adulthood had came.

It had. And at some point during that time frame—leaving home. Brought you here. You were happy with your life, and the progress you’ve made. Finding friends—family.

The door to the infirmary was aggressive when shoved open—you flinched despite yourself. You knew who it might’ve been, he always came with new cuts on his skin. Hands, arms—mostly inflicted in the heat of battle.

“Good morning, Mr. Shinazugawa!” You smiled, finishing up your newly displayed incense tray. Gifted to you by non other than the master after he promoted you to “head” kakushi. You weren’t sure if it was a real title or not, of if he just made it up on the spot. Nonetheless it stuck.

You turned around to find the wind pillar standing in the entrance of the doorway. Expression sour and no doubt angry, he always wore that kind of expression. The one where you could tell he hadn’t wanted to be here. But the Master—well he had suggested that he should always have his wounds cleaned. As grumpy as the hot tempered man was he listened—despite still being stubborn about the whole thing.

“Mr. Shinag—“ You started, removing your hands from the incenses tray to approach him. He bristled instantly, like a feral cat.

“Don’t approach me! I can move on my own!” He snapped. Shifting his foot forward, as if the mere thought of medical attention offended him completely.

“Ok, Mr. Shinazugawa. Take your time.” You muttered softly, waiting patiently by the bed as he steadily approached. You accessed him quietly, eyes moving along the bulk of his body. Searching for wounds. He was staggering slightly despite his already slow kitten like steps, uniform torn and worn into. Meaning you’d probably have to get some sewing done if you weren’t too busy.

He growled meanly at your soft tone, feeling coddled—he wasn’t a baby! He was mean, and angry for having to sit here and let you tend to some wretched wound!

Eventually he sat down, laid onto the bed as you kindly asked that he listened. He did so, fuming—but quiet.

“Thank you. May you remove the top part of your uniform please?” You asked him, you turned to prepare the tools you needed. The wound on the side of his waist was at least an inch to seven. Not extremely deep, but deep enough that if left unattended an infection was more than likely.

He groaned behind you, not loud but enough to know that he was in pain and trying to mask it. Plus it’s something your keen senses would have been able to pick up on any way. You reached inside the cabinet, grabbing a disinfectant. Disposable cotton swaps for cleaning, and a prepared stitching kit. As well as the gauze for after.

You turned back around, placed the items down on the table nearby. Nudged you chair in the direction of the bedside and took a moment to clean your hands again. By the time you’d finished he’d removed the remaining pieces of his shirt.

You sat down and pushed his arm up over his head. He scowled of course, but you paid him no mind really—you were used to his behavior at this point. You’re just surprised he’s actually continuing it.

“Alright, I’ll disinfect and clean the surrounding area first—it’s gonna sting so prepare yourself.” You told him, not removing your eyes from the wound. You grabbed the wound disinfectant and began using the cotton balls—and swabs to clean the bloodied area.

He’d flinch noticeably each time, rush you as you moved to tentatively for his liking—but you were gentle. You were positive he was just making a fuss to fuss. With all the squirming he was doing, you’d be surprised that he was still able to act all rash and be a bully in the end. Though you’d never consider embarrassing him like that, he’d probably kill you—

Well in private he claimed he would, especially when you thought it was a good idea to check up on him.

“We’re almost done.” You murmured, lowly—too low. Seriously with the stench of your strong, sense dulling—incenses he almost wanted to claim that you were also a demon. Just so he could get rid of you. You finished stitching up his wound, covered it in a piece of gauze and wrapped him up. Gently around his waist.

You assured him that he shouldn’t scar, that he should be completely fine if he cleaned and redressed it properly.

But—

“I don’t care! You tell me what I should do—one more time and I’ll—“

“Have a good day, Mr. Shinazugawa. Make sure you enjoy some ohagi today, it’ll make you feel better.”

He turned, whipped his head around. Just as he’d been leaving- his expression once contorted in toddler like anger falls like a stack of logs.

“What—“

He starts, voice growing angry. The door to the infirmary is pushed open again, but gently this time. You recognized the raven strands of hair instantly as the water pilled stood center in the middle of the door frame.

He didn’t say anything. Just stood there, Shinazugawa turned and you blinked as they eyed each other—like two wild animals in a face off.

They both spoke, at the same time telling each other to move. Compared to the snap of the wind hashira, the water hashira’s voice was low and monotonous. As if he weren’t bothered. But still he step aside as shinazugawa pushed past him. He stood there for a couple seconds more. As if waiting for something.

Finally you came back to your senses and eventually opened your mouth. “Ah—Mr. Tomioka,” you greeted, far too politely for his liking. He stepped further inside and closed the door—locking it without you realizing.

“Are you here for your appointment?” You asked, voice tremor-ing as he steadily approached with this blank expression. You were nervous—and it was no doubt showing by your expression. Thinking you’d be able to stand up, you found it near impossible by how quickly he moved to stand in front of you. Invading your personal space;

Fingers twitching as if wanting to reach out and touch—though considering the fact he hadn’t been given permission. And that he was also far too nervous to initiate affection he simply hadn’t. Though painfully tempted as you plopped back down onto the seat. Eyes flicking up to meet his down casted, and tired eyes.

“Yes.” He told you simply, as if it had been obvious.

Your first meeting with Mr. Tomioka. As you called him had been insanely wholesome—at first you found it strange how he watched you so intently but never approached you. Always lurking in the shadows, not to far from where you’d be assisting another young demon slayer. He’d watched closely as your expression twisted with noticeable disgust at the scent that clung to their clothes—

Seeing your reaction—the abrupt collapse. It’s not like his hygiene was even terrible to begin with. But he became insanely paranoid that he might’ve been walking around smelling like a demon after some mission. He wasn’t sure if it was out of respect or something else, but he immediately sought out different perfumes to wear. New body washes, and soaps. After missions—he’d practically drown himself in his bath water, later. himself in soap again and again— trying to wash off the stench—even if he had no idea if it was there or not.

Slowly but surely he became more confident, though still cautious. He began to approach you, he’d linger. Watch as you worked if he weren’t busy—he wasn’t busy very often. Even if he had been. He’d subconsciously search for you around the mansion. Seeking your calming presence. It was small at first, the attraction he had for you. Warm and fuzzy as it built in his chest. He began to watch your eyes as they lit up, everytime he’d approach.

Like he was a breath of fresh air. He began to watch your habits, the way you ate slowly. Surely taking time to enjoy the food right in front of you—compared to him who swallowed his food the second it had touched his hands.

Old habits die hard they say.

Then he noticed your hands. Soft compared to the roughness of his, you kept them well moisturized, manicured often. You had an habit of touching things, people without realizing. Sometimes you’d unexpectedly poke at his cheek when he made a silly face.

Not used to it, he’d flush—turn beat red and turn away. Trying to mask the embarrassment. There was also power in those finger tips of yours, he’d noticed months ago. Your touch was calming, centering—healing. Literally.

A flower could be wilting, and a simple brush of your hand brought it life. And he—felt as if he’d been that flower. Maybe he wished he had been. As if the true essence of life came from a simple brush of your fingers.

He was weak to your touch, unbelievably so for being an hashira. So everytime he came for his weekly appointment, he’d locked the door. In fear of someone seeing him in this entirely embarrassing state—

“I told y—you—hnnngh!—“ he squealed, voice pitched and high, half whimpering into the pillow. Fingers dug tightly into the sheets as you sat, straddling his hips. Thumbs pressed deeply, rough but not hard into his lower back. Working out the prickling tension of a long week.

“—to called me g—giyuu—“ he choked out, voice slightly muffled as you massaged his back into oblivion. But god—the touch of your hands felt like heaven. He was gone.

“Mr. Tomioka—“

“Giyuu—!” He stammered out again, he inhaled sharply as your thumbs pressed up and up into his shoulders blades—massaging slowly into the muscles with your knuckles. With his back and your hands slick with a non-scented oil. The glide across his skin was smooth.

“Giyuu—right, Giyuu—“ You sighed. In public you were always professional, respectful. He was a hashira after all, whether he thought so or not. You completely forgot how close you’d gotten behind closed doors—literally. How intimate your relationship had grown with others non the wiser.

You tended to forget to drop your act of professionalism out of sheer necessity to keep your relationship private—which resulted in some usual frustration from the man below you. Who enjoyed to the sound of his name leaving your lips.

You flattened your palms against his back, but kept your thumbs firm as you massaged his sides, and the center of his back throughly. He flinched beneath you, hips bucking abruptly into the mattress of the bed. As if he were being shocked.

A moan—something far too close to a sob tumbled from his throat. Anyone outside would have thought he was being tortured—though he was still very tame with the amount of noises he let out. Doesn’t mean he weren’t trying— he was.

“Giyuu, we’re almost finished.” You muttered atop his hips. Working out the tension on his back. He nodded but couldn’t bring himself to answer without stammering. Giyuu realized something—weeks maybe even months ago before you both had established your relationship together.

That just as badly as he enjoyed your touch his body had also—like really badly. He found that each time you brushed against him, whether it was clothed or your hand on his or his arm. He got hard. Which was new for someone like him—to leak copious amounts of pre-come just because you acknowledge him.

Was so embarrassing!

which meant it was no different from now. He was aching—he had been half the week. Trying to keep his composure when you both find that you were alone. It took everything not to pounce you—with you always looking like you fell from the heavens.

He hoped that you’d been dropped here just for him and him alone—if not. He wouldn’t be able to take it.

You’d been busy the entire week! Stuck in this infirmary—tending to slayers. Never getting home, stationed inside this mansion like a live in nurse. If you were anyone’s anything you were his first.

His pretty…

Pretty, Pretty girl-

He was still hard, no matter how many times he attempted to will his erection away. With your encouraging coos—

“Just a littlee…more, almost finished. A couple knots to get out—“

“You’re being so good.”

“So good, Giyuu—you’re being so good for me.”

That last one would break him, he moans softly—muttering something you couldn’t possibly understand into the pillow. But it’s enough for you to keep encouraging him, and it’s enough for him to lose control of his hips.

Grinding into the mattress, humping the covers—rutting his cock against it. Trying to relieve the pent of pressure he’s feeling from always needing you so bad. As your hands gently caressed his back, rubbing in the excess oil. He felt you shift on his back—he lifted his head wondering why it was ending so soon-

“What are y—mmgh—“ If you would’ve seen his expression, you would have seen the flush on his cheeks. The roll of his eyes and the pretty pout on his lower lip as you decorated his upper back with sweet kisses—the ones he’s been longing for against his in the middle of the night.

Giyuu does everything to not cum his pants as your fingers burn against his waist—searing his skin. His hips buck—aggressively this time, he throws his head back into the pillow and a longgg, drawn out moan of pure need spills from his lips.

You finally pull your lips away, the warmth of your thighs around him finally leaves as you get back on your feet. He hadn’t came—but he was pretty darn close. Coming to the terms that it might’ve been enough to satisfy him—but this time it hadn’t. Giyuu laid there for a couple long minutes as you washed your hands in the corner of the room.

He moved silently as he climbed off the bed, the shift of the springs beneath not registering as you hummed to yourself—covering your hands in a thick latter of soap. Behind you Giyuu snuck quietly, you hadn’t even noticed he was there until strong arms wrapped around your waist. He intertwined his fingers just in case you wanted to “escape” him.

You flinched as he nuzzled into the side of your neck, pulling you back against him—close enough to feel his hardness poking into your backside.

“Mr—“

His grip tightened, as if warning you about the next words that dared spill from your mouth. Your expression faltered, and you chuckled softly.

“Giyuu. Is something wrong,” You asked him, rubbing your hand up to your wrist, repeating the step on your other. He mumbled softly, lips brushing against your ear. “You know I can’t understand you when you mumble like that.” you scolded sweetly, rinsing off the soap from your hands and wrists.

“When are you coming home…I’ve been sooo’ lonely without you.” He muttered, sounding like a whimpering puppy in your ear. You resisted a giggle. When he realized you’d finished washing your hands he quickly spun you around, pressing you back into the edge of the sink.

“I’m serious,” he insisted, his expression suddenly just as serious as the moment of body heat you felt radiating off him. “I mi—“

Before he could even finish what he was saying— a frantic knock came from the locked side of the door. You and Giyuu bristled—though schooling his expression as you rushed over.

“Kakushi-samaaa! My ankle—“ one of the younger demon slayers wailed dramatically—another voice came, probably another young demon slayer, voice kind but somehow still worried. “Miss. Kakushi—? Are you ok, why’s the door locked?”

You quickly swatted giyuu towards his shirt, who clearly hadn’t seemed too worried about the voices on the other side of the door. Trying to handle his disappointment without it being so obvious, he did as you asked and put on the top part of his uniform. Fixing the buttons and collar into place—

As he had, you opened the door and helped the young demon slayer onto another bed with the help of his friend who stayed by his side. Giyuu glanced at the bed he’d previously been on—and was suddenly made aware of the wet stained patch in the middle of it.

Drowned in instant despair he’d ripped the sheets off, caught in the act when you suddenly turned around at the sound of rustling.

“Mr. Tomioka! What—what are you doing.”

“Helping.” He stated bluntly, and ripped the rest of the sheets and pillows off the bed, leaving nothing but the mattress as he scurried out the room.

You blinked—before suddenly being reminded of the teenage and his sprained ankle as he flailed dramatically behind you. You would have thought he was being mauled instead.

“Young Agatsuma—you must calm down! Otherwise you’ll worsen your sprain!” You suggested, over his still crazed wailing—you began pulling out your supplies. Listening to his friend as he demanded that he calmed down.

“Zenitsu! You are being far too loud!”

.

.

.

It’s been two complete days since you’d seen Giyuu. Day in and day out you tended to wounded demon slayers who had just escaped in the heat of their battles—by the time the third day rolled around you were beyondd exhausted. All you wanted was to go home, snuggle alongside your lover—Giyuu and enjoy the warmth of his body after a long day.

The day slowed—finally. You could barely move your limbs as you cleaned up after the day you had in the infirmary. After Giyuu took one of the bed sheets off the bed, you half expected him to return. But ultimately during laundry day they finally made their way back on their own. Having made the bed, reorganized and restocked the shelves. You sat the burning incenses by the slightly cracked opened window.

The sun shined brightly; it coated your skin in this gentle golden glow as you walked outside. The gravel beneath your feet crunched as you moved with a small smile. In the distance you could hear the unmistakable sound of the love pillar. Her cheery voice, full of joy—pink hair with unique and green tips, to match the light green color of her eyes.

But as you approached you heard the words-

“Tasty!—“ Being repeated over and over again, you were sure that whoever was repeating themselves like that…most likely; something was completely and horrifyingly wrong with them—

Until you realized that it was non other than the flame pillar himself, which wasn’t new to you—or anyone else who usually accompanied him.

“Ah…Good evening! Miss. Kanroji and Mr. Rengoku!” You greet politely. The love pillar turns towards you, smiling all excitedly as she moves towards you with a plate a of Sakura mochi.

“Good evening to you also, Miss. Kakushi! Would you like to try some Sakura mochi?” She smiles at you, stretching out her arms. The flame pillar, who was behind her—chewed up the rest of his little snack and also approached you.

“Evening! You’ve worked hard! Congrats!” He praises—loudly—ridiculously loud. Like he wanted the entire world to know what was happening. You gulp at their wild smiles and raised your hand to take a single mochi from the plate, Kanroji had outstretched to you.

“Thank you—“

Your feet that had once been planted on the ground of pure dirt and pebble had suddenly and unexpectedly been lifted off the ground by strong arms and much to your surprise—pure ease. You caught yourself, your free hand wrapping around someone’s large head—no instead they wrapped around a jeweled head band—

The sound pillar has you over his shoulder in a matter of seconds, as if you were no more than a sack of potatoes. Miss. Kanroji startles, squeaks more than you do at the abruptness—but Mr. Rengoku isn’t even fazed—

“Your skills are admirable! Even if you’re a little weak—your talent makes you strong! I’d say even Flamboyant like me!” He declares, having stilled yourself atop his shoulders. You became well aware of the distance between your feet and the ground. I mean being dropped wasn’t a problem, you felt safe enough that you’d probably be caught.

“Oh—eh…Thank you. Can I ask what all this is for?” You mutter, eyes flicking around. Trying to figure when you should ask to be put down.

“We should celebrate!” The love hashira suggests, plate still in hand. But you had began to noticed that each second one began to disappear. “Yes! Enjoy a hearty meal with drinks!”

Mr. Uzui starts to agree—but there was no way that was gonna happen! You hadn’t been home in days, and if Giyuu wasaround he’d be standing behind you. Muttering in that monotonous tone—(like he always had) that he wanted to go home.

“I can’t—tired! That’s right- I-l’m tired a-and I need to get home!” You quickly blurt out, shifting around—the sound pillar eventually places you down. Feeling flustered, there was no way you were able to bare the eyes of the much disappointed hashira. Not when you had one to deal with at home.

As you scurried off, dust follows behind from how quickly you move on your feet. Thanking the love pillar for her Sakura mochi. They all watch, Mr. Flame pillar with his arms crossed—and Mr. Sound pillar who places his hands on his hips. Standing tall.

“I’m surprised—to see that she’s able to deal with that gloomy dud,” Tengen exasperates lowly, waving his hand around in the air. “So not flashy.”

“They remind me of-“ Mitsuri gleefully startes, cheeks turning red at the thought of such a blooming romance.

“Lovebirds!”

But Kyojuro had interrupted—surprisingly with the most perfect words. While Mitsuri sways around they all seemingly agree.

That such a romance in bloom was admirable.

You returned home just in the nick of time as the night split the sky and the moon illuminated the night. You gently push the gate open, and walked calmly to the front door. Sliding it open, stepping inside and closing it behind you. You found that the further you entered the space it became barren.

Well—with no sign of Giyuu currently in sight. You figured he’d probably taken a walk outside at some point, maybe he had another mission or something that caused him to stay out later. Knowing he’d be home eventually.

You decide to prepare a meal for dinner.

You spent almost two hours in the kitchen, moving from place to place—tidying up as you went along. By the time you were finished you had a meal fit for a king—or maybe just one you and Giyuu this time.

With both trays in hand, perfectly steady as you make your way to the Kotatsu.

“Ah—Giyuu!” You smile, placing the trays down onto the table. With the heavy futon already out of the way. Giyuu opens his eyes as you sit across from him. Finally realizing that he was still in his uniform. With his haori neatly hung up on the rack in the corner of the room. You almost felt silly comparing yourself to him who was still in their kappogi.

“When did you get home?” You ask, taking a seat on the cushioned pillow on top of the tatami mat.

“Just an hour ago, I hadn’t wanted to bother you while you were cooking—so I waited here.” He tells you lowly, glancing at the food. The aroma of grilled fish hit his nose; probably from when he’d headed to the market while you were too busy. clear steaming soup, regular veggies, pickled veggies. Cucumber and most likely radish as well as some freshly warmed rice.

“You wouldn’t have bothered me.” You reassured him warmly, eyes sparkling from where you sat from across the table. Giyuu glances at the empty space beside him and meets your eyes again.

Seconds after.

You’d move spots to sit next to him.

“Thank you. For…doing this.” He mutters, picking up his chopsticks as you pick yours up.

“Of course, I just wished we were able to do this more often—“ your expression quickly shifts as you watch the familiar quickness in which Giyuu moves his chopsticks to eat—stuffing his mouth with rice.

“Slow down,” a small amused snort leaves you as you try to stop yourself from laughing too loudly.

”I promise— it isn’t going anywhere. It’s been sooo long since we’ve enjoyed a proper meal together, let’s enjoy it!”

Your voice cuts through him, pausing his motions completely. Chopsticks still held in his hand; he glances up at you and nods. Clearly realizing his tiny mistake—he considers what you said, and he wills down his urge to quickly eat up his food.

“Ah…ok.” He murmurs.

Simultaneously matching your slower pace as you ate. Occasionally you’d place a piece of fish onto his plate—or even give him extra rice if you felt that he was getting low. In return without thinking, he’d do the same thing for you. Or he would have if you hadn’t reprimanded him. Claiming that to be strong he must eat a lot of food, especially if he wanted to be out fighting demons.

But he’d insist that he had more than enough food—and he’d in turn gently scold you that you should also eat your food.

Which made you giggle when you realized how ridiculous you both sounded.

What the other hashira hadn’t understood was that Giyuu could be the kindest—warmest person in the room. Despite his quick remarks, sass and closed off nature. He was considerate, extremely attentive and loyal. They hadn’t seen the part of him that smiled softly at you, chuckled—and sought out your touch.

That part was only meant for you.

Giyuu realized that the longer you sat beside him, telling him about the week you had without him. With giggles and sweet smiles. The sooner he became aware of the need he had suppressed to get through perimeter checks. Jealousy or something else—his fingers twitched at his sides.

Having finished his food moments ago—he seriously couldn’t believe that you were such a slow eater.

Couldn’t you see the need growing on his rapidly warming cheeks, the hunger in his eyes as he stared at you with a full stomach?

Scooping up the last bit of rice from the bowl, you placed it down to pick up your lukewarm cup of tea. He wasn’t making it not obvious that he was staring—you could totally feel his eyes.

But still even after being together for nearly half a year you still couldn’t deny the butterflies you felt.

You brought the cup to your lips, and Giyuu watched in awe. As if he were seeing an angel. You avoided his eyes—pure tease he thought warmly. You finsh off the rest of your tea, and just as you were placing the cup down—

You felt a gentle gust of wind as Giyuu leaned forward, something wet. Besides the tea you had unknowingly spilled. He licks from your chin to the corner of your mouth. As you shudder, he sighs softly like he drank from the fountain of vitality itself.

He’d notices your widened eyes, and immediately realizes what he’d done.

“Oh—ah, I—I’m…sorry…” he murmurs as he slowly begins to pull away, licking at the corner of his mouth as if subconsciously savoring you.

Eyes blown wide like saucers he would have thought you were a cat “high” on Nepeta cataria.

There were many things you’d forgotten about Giyuu over the course of the week and being so focused on work—how soft his lips were. A little impulsive when it came to you, but besides that he was very levelheaded.

Stoic.

Shy.

Cute.

“Kiss me.”

And for your voice to still be so soft, and airy; yet wrapped in demand— he couldn’t deny you. Giyuu leans back into you without hesitation, catches your lips in a feverish kiss. Clumsy and eager as he was in his efforts. Greatly warmed your heart. Your hands left the emptied cup to pull him close, fingers wrapping around the back of his head. Grasping his hair, the other held onto the front part of his uniform—closer to his belt.

“So cute—“ you murmur into him, while he groans when your hand tightens in his hair. His hands eagerly finds your hips. While the glide of his tongue grew messy against your lips, you part them—just enough to let him slip his tongue inside. Moaning softly as his tongue caresses and strokes yours—

He nips at your bottom lip, as if he weren’t getting enough. And you bring your hand up to his chest to nudge him back gently. Disconnecting your lips from his.

“What are you doing?” He asks, staring down at your mouth while breathless. Even though he was well aware of the difference in strength between the both of you, he stayed still.

“What’s got you so eager, Giyuuu?” Your voice, the sweetest thing he’s ever heard. As you purr his name with such pure sensuality. He nudges closer, thigh hitting the leg of the table—pushing it out the way. Even as he crowds against you from the sheer need to be close, he keeps that sliver of distance you put between his body and yours.

“You—I’ve waited nearly a week for this.” He tell you, glancing from your lips to your eyes—and lips again. You softly giggle, and bring your hand out from around his head. Pressing your thumb against his cheek, pulling it down to press against the corner of his mouth.

“Tease.” He whispers under his breath, he catches your wrist between careful but strong fingers. Kissing the center of your palm, leaving kisses until he meets the inner part of your wrist where his eyes meet with your own.

“Can I kiss you, now?” He asks, quietly. Warm, breath fanning against your wrist as soft dark blue eyes met your lowered ones.

Warmth blooms throughout your body, clouding thoughts, bringing about need. Fanning desire within the deepest parts of you.

“Say, please.”

Giyuu’s eyes flutter, keeps your hand near his cheek as he pressed his lips against your wrist again. While murmuring into you with soft eyes.

“Please?” He whines lowly.

The way to the bed was disastrous. An entanglement of kisses, need and eager touch. Giyuu lifted you against him, and you wrapped your legs around his waist. Your tongues wrapped around each others, his arms tightened around your body as he slid the sliding door opened.

As your tongue explored the crevices of his mouth, shoved and stroked his tongue—he could feel his heart racing. Fingers twitching around your hips as he lowered himself onto the futon.

The room was lit with a warm glow from the lamp in the corner of the room. With paintings of familiarity, bringing about that familiar comfort you both shared together. In a haste to feel each other, your lips part to help remove your clothing as Giyuu’s tugs became more insistent.

Giyuu’s dazed—lost in the feel of your body. In the fact he was able to wait this long to finally be in this moment. Your skin presses against his, bare and warm as you straddle his hips.

The taste of your lips are addictive, something he craves restlessly. The feel of your tongue as you effortlessly take control of it. It’s warm like the desire he feels for you everyday, though more experienced.

Slower, sweeter. It’s gentle in the way that makes his heart ache with how much he feels for you. He won’t ever be able to get enough of you. He knows it now. Your lips press against his, as you bring your foreheads together.

Giyuu’s first to break the silence as his fingers move up and down your hips feeling the way you tremble in response.

“Can I—can I you touch now?” He asks.

You lift your head to look at him, smiling.

“Do you remember what I showed you?”

Giyuu’s always been a fast learner, he’s sure of it. When it came to your pleasure there was nothing like pleasing you. With a switch in position, he’s hovering over you. Hands trembling as they explore the curves of your body. Fingers brushing against your pebbled nipples.

Lips grazing your throat. Leaving messy, and wet kisses across the skin as you lay beneath him. One of his hands slide down your inner thigh, and you part your legs to allow him easier access.

His fingers move upwards, over your mound. Down against your warm folds, he uses a single finger to part them. Finding the slick between. Exposing your entrance to his lust blown eyes.

He glances up the check your expression; as you direct that he continue. He strokes your clit gently, applying enough pressure for you to feel it and pant softly in response.

Eyelashes fluttering.

He moves his fingers through your wet slit, prodding your entrance before pressing two of them inside without warning—though patience he pushed them slowly until they were fully sheathed inside of you.

Voice feeling stuck in your throat, you could all but shift your hips slightly.

“It’s this good?” He questions tentatively, eyes glazed with want. He was hard, leaking at the tip—craving your attention while still managing to be so good for you.

“I wanna hear your voice.”

He curls his fingers into your g-spot, sharp but not cruel. Just enough to stop you from reminding him to do so and instead to listen to how you moan instead.

“Mmhf—like that—just—“

Giyuu smiles softly, happiest pleasing you. He pulls his fingers out about half way before thrusting them back inside, simultaneously stroking your sweet spot.

Expression melted; the praise that left you seemed all but natural. “Right t-there…good boy giyuu—“ you gasp, you could all but break him with the sound of your voice. The need you brought about inside him was sinful. Like filth he could never scrub off.

Giyuu fingers explored your deepest parts, movements languid but merciless. The glide through your cunt was easy, your warm slick easing the way as he worked—and toyed with your sweet spot. His skin was growing too warm—seeing you like this.

Flushed and blissful. Egging him one, bucking your hips into his palm—urging him to give you more.

He wouldn’t survive—

Your voice though, grounded him through it all as he gradually lost his composure. And you so unaware as promised you’d give him whatever he wanted, whatever he needed.

“Sooo good G-Giyuu, you’re such a quick learner—“ you’d coo at him, and his heart would blaze.

Telling him how good he was, how perfect.

“C’mere.” You breathe out, outstretching your arms. Giyuu moves without thought while he keepd his fingers inside your gushing cunt aware that you were trying to hold your orgasm back. Your arms wrap around his neck as you bring him in for a reckless kiss.

Lips mashing against his—and from the messiness of the kiss you both were long gone in a fervent embrace.

Giyuu was long past recuperation. When you brought your hips back down, swallowing up the entirety of his cock with your soft pliable walls—all he could muster up was a choked sob.

Fingers ripping into the futon, a failing attempt to ground himself as you throughly enjoyed having your way with him.

“Giyuu—I c-can’t hear you.” You purr, hips bouncing up and down his cock. It’s not like you weren’t losing your mind also, after he’d made you come helplessly on his fingers.

But the constant nudge of his pretty cock head against your g-spot was addictive.

Giyuu gasps sharply, expression twisting as you clench your walls around him. Dragging your hips up slowly before roughly bringing them back down again. Eyes rolling back as he did everything—to stop himself from sobbing.

“P—please—I-oh—mhh! I..” he drawls, fingers twisting into the covers as his hips tremble beneath yours.

You smile, shoving your hips down particularly hard and grinding your clit against his pelvis. Taking him deeper—

“Mm’ yeahh—I can’t hear you, you were being so good e-earlier…what happened?” You coo, trying to keep yourself from drooling as you pressed your lips closed. Hands tightening against his abs as they clench.

“I w—wanna c-cum!” He abruptly sobs, earning a mean giggle and an rougher grind of your hips again in response.

The heat of your walls, the messiness of your slick as you coat his cock from tip to base. Was the best kind of torture and the worst.

“Awn…does my giyuu need to cum?” You question, eyes rolling when your head tilted back briefly. Giyuu watches—lost and in so much aw as pleasure wracks your expression.

Pleasure only he could give you.

He forgets you can feel the eager ruts of his hips, the throb of his cock as he attempts to cum—suddenly. Almost immediately your hips came to a stop upon notice.

He wails, broken and wet—as tears well in his eyes. “ I—I’m sorry—s-sorry, ugh—please- it’s so g-good I-didn’t mean to—“ he whimpers shamelessly, while still covering his face with his arm.

“Your—mm’ just tooo t-tight-“ he gasps brokenly.

Your eyes lit up at his display, the obvious embarrassment he felt because of his impatience. The flush that grew from his ears and spread to his cheeks. The tears of frustration despite willing obeying.

The vulnerability in giving you control—

“Sweet, Giyuu.” You murmur softly, sliding your fingers up his chest. Thumb pressing against his chin, bringing it down to un-part his pouty lips.

“Hm?” He murmurs back, arm still over his face.

“Look at me.”

He sniffles in response, and slowly removes his arm from his eyes; the muscle flexing with restraint as he stares up at you.

You glance at his mouth again and pull your hand back to crook a finger at him. He follows and sits up, arms wrapping around your waist as your hips began to deliberately move against him. Riding him with such grace.

He gasps softly as you take his mouth against yours, hands holding his onto cheeks as you keep him where you want him. He eagerly parts his lips for you, allowing you to slip your tongue inside.

It was reverent, warm—endearing. Tender. Everything he’d been wanting. You pull away to take a small breath, yet stay close enough to breathe him in.

And he sees it, the admiration in your expression. The longing in your eyes.

“I missed you,” he finally says, eyes bright.

“I missed you so much— I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“I don’t know what I’d ever do without you…”

He mutters, eyes flicking across your face, as if he were trying to remember every inch—every freckle and blemish.

“I wanna stay with you, w—will you stay with me, Forever?”

Your eyes widen, just enough for him to know you understood. Your hold on his face tightens subtly—as you caress his warm cheeks. His fingers tightening around your waist as you flutter around him.

“I’ll stay with you forever. Nothing can tear us apart, Giyuu.”

“I promise.”

The desire in which he feels for you explodes like a never dying fire in his chest. And he leans back up to kiss you. The pace of your hips increase as you grow lost in your passion. The promise of forever has its effect.

And you both know it’s everything and more.

Your breaths blur together, heavy breathing accompanied by your hips smacking against his. The slick’ sounds of your cunt as you take him deeply. Buried inside you all he can manage is a whimper—a soft shaky whine as his cock grows sensitive.

“I ca—can’t—“ he chokes out, hands moving down your hips like he plans to stop you. But all he can do is hold on.

“You can—w-we’re almost there.”

“Good…just a little more.”

Giyuu’s breath falters as he chokes back desperate pleas to cum. Hips twitching as yours start to tremble. Your arms wrap around his neck as you press your bodies closer. Voice clouding his mind—making him dizzy.

The warmth of your cunt as you spasm around him—it grows painfully aware they he won’t be able to hold on any longer.

“C—cum! P—please, please-“ he sobs softly against the crevice of your neck. Lips and tongue dragging against a particular sensitive spot—and you keen against him.

Torture him with your moans and equally needy whines.

“Cum—cum inside me Giyuu.”

“Insidee—?” He barely gets to question it before he’s exploding, you slam your hips down. Taking his cock deep enough to have him snug against your cervix. He fills your womb with heavy spurts of scalding heat—hands tight around your hips as his entire body quakes from the force of his climax.

The force of his orgasm rips one right through you, walls convulse cruelly around his already exploding cock. Milking him of every ounce of cum he’s ever had. Your breath is lost—some where.

Disoriented, still feeling the effects of his orgasm—and yours. He drags you back with your hips still against his. Helping you ride it out. Pecking your lips abruptly, catching you off guard as he grinds his cock head against your cervix.

“Mine—mine o-okay?” He breaths against your lips, voice trembling as he speaks. Making you giggle softly—you almost agree.

Unaware.

But forced to be so aware when you find yourself staring back into the still—unchecked desire that you were sure—in this moment border-lined on obsession.

“I want more…please?”

When you wake up hours later, the sun is bright in your face. And you find that the other side of the futon was empty. Realizing that Giyuu probably had an extra earlier morning.

You pushed back the covers and found that you were dressed.

When your night eventually ended—some point or another when the sun had began to rise. You and Giyuu washed up together, sharing a warm bath.

During that time he let you to wash his hair for him—though seeing as you accidentally fell asleep halfway. Hunched over his back through the process. He finished you both up in the end.

Dried you gently, and coaxed you awake so you could have a small drink of water and a light snack so you at least have a little energy in the morning.

after he dressed you and laid you back down—you were sure that he hadn’t immediately left. You could still smell the scent of his skin when he had cuddled up against you.

“I love you..” he whispered under his breath, fingers caressing the side of your face as he watched you.

You’d mutter back in response that you also loved him—and he’d flinched and immediately retract his hand. Asking if you were awake.

Only to find out you hadn’t been, and were simply responding to him in your sleep.

After that he got himself ready for the day, and kissed your forehead before leaving.

You glance down at your wrist, pulling back the sleeve to find a couple leftover hickeys and bite marks. Swallowing—but smiling. You were aware that you’d probably find more up your chest and neck. It hadn’t taken a genius to know.

“Silly, Giyuu.”

From where the sound hashira, and the flame hashira sat they could see you and Giyuu talking before you passed a neatly wrapped bento—from what they could guess and smell. Food for him.

“Ah…he totally got laid. Didn’t he?” Tengen grins, noticing that look on his face with eyes like a hawk.

Giyuu smiles, face unnaturally bright—as he checks what was inside. Finding that it was his favorite food, simmered salmon and daikon. Along with other treats you had made. He walks off—with the brightest smile they’d ever seen him wear. He was sure to enjoy his meal in private while thinking of you.

“Wow! How vulgar!” Kyojuro exclaims, arms crossed over his chest.

Hearing all the noise being made, Sanemi couldn’t help but over hear. Eyes wide—and probably disgusted from what anyone could guess.

And hear.

“Disgusting.” He hisses under his breath.