Where impulse takes over

Time seemed to stretch painfully while you waited for Adam to arrive. Every minute that passed only made the whole situation feel more impossible, as if the sword inside the store might vanish if you looked away for too long. You stayed near the entrance, trying to act casual while your eyes kept drifting back to the window, and when Adam finally appeared, he looked exactly like someone who had sprinted across half the city to get there.

His breathing was uneven, his shirt was slightly disheveled, one side of his collar hanging open as though he had not stopped to fix it, and his hair looked like it had been windblown into complete disorder. He still managed to look unmistakably like Adam, though not nearly as composed as he had at dinner.

You frowned immediately. “What happened to you?”

Adam slowed as he reached you, and despite the state he was in, a bright smile spread across his face the second he saw you. “I think I may have just lost my job,” he said, almost cheerfully, as if the words belonged to someone else, “but other than that, this might be the best day I have had in a very long time.”

Before you could even reply, he stepped forward and pulled you into a quick, enthusiastic hug.

You stiffened for half a second out of sheer surprise, but the warmth of it was impossible to ignore, and more than that, Adam himself seemed so relieved to see you that you quickly decided not to make it awkward. If anything, he looked like he needed the reassurance more than you did.

When he finally let go, you were already shaking your head, a little breathless yourself. “We have to get your sword.”

Adam’s smile sharpened into something more focused. “Yes,” he said immediately, as if that had been the only possible answer. “We do.”

Without wasting another second, the two of you went inside.

The comic shop was louder than it had looked from outside, crowded with shelves packed full of action figures, graphic novels, collectibles, and framed posters that covered nearly every wall. The air smelled faintly of cardboard, plastic packaging, and something sweet from the café tucked into the back corner. A few customers wandered between the aisles, and somewhere deeper in the store someone was talking to an employee about an upcoming signing event.

Adam moved beside you with more caution now, the energy from the hug fading into something sharper and more intent. He looked around the store once, taking everything in with the kind of focused attention that made it very clear he was no longer pretending this was just a strange coincidence.

You lowered your voice. “Do you see it?”

“I do not yet,” he murmured, scanning the front of the store. “But I can feel that it is here.”

You glanced at him. “You can feel it.”

He gave you a quick look, as if that was the most obvious part of the entire conversation. “Yes.”

That should have worried you more than it did.

Instead, you found yourself smiling faintly as you both drifted farther into the store, pretending to browse while actually trying to move without looking like you were searching for an ancient magical weapon. Adam lingered by a display of fantasy figures and old game boxes, while you took the aisle beside him, your eyes moving between the shelves and the people milling around the front.

Then, from the other end of the store, you heard a pair of voices near the back counter.

One of the employees was speaking to someone out of view, and a familiar metallic glint caught your eye between two shelves.

You froze.

Adam noticed instantly and turned toward you. “What is it?”

You barely whispered the answer. “I found it.”

His whole posture changed at once. Not dramatically. Not enough for anyone else to notice. But enough for you.

Adam stepped closer, his voice still low. “Where?”

You nodded subtly toward the back of the store, where a display stand was being assembled near a stack of boxed merchandise. “There. They brought it farther in.”

Adam followed your gaze, and for a second the amusement from earlier was gone entirely. In its place was something steady and intent, the expression of someone who had been separated from something important and was now seeing it again at last.

Then he looked back at you, and the seriousness in his face softened just a little.

“Stay close,” he said.

You gave him a look. “I was planning on it.”

That earned the smallest smile.

The two of you moved deeper into the store together, careful and quiet, weaving between aisles while trying not to look suspicious. Adam passed a row of comic books and action displays as if he belonged there, though he still looked wildly out of place in the most charming way possible. You, meanwhile, were doing your best not to stare at the way his focus had sharpened or the way all trace of the earlier chaos seemed to have burned away the second he knew the sword was close.

At the back of the store, two workers were adjusting a large display while a third man, likely the store manager, stood nearby with a clipboard and a very concerned expression. Behind them, on a reinforced stand half-covered by packing material, sat the sword.

Even half-hidden, it was impossible to mistake.

The blade gleamed under the fluorescent lights, and the closer you got, the more you could see why Adam had reacted the way he did. It was not just oversized or decorative. It looked old in a way that made your skin prickle, as though it carried a history that did not belong in a comic shop at all.

Adam stopped beside you, and when he spoke, his voice was almost reverent.

“There it is.”

You turned to him. “That is the thing you almost lost your job over?”

He gave a breathless laugh, though his eyes never left the sword. “Apparently.”

You looked back at it too, the reality of the moment settling over you in slow, impossible layers.

You had called him. He had come. And now the sword from another world was sitting in a comic book store on Earth, like that was the most natural thing in the world.

Adam shifted slightly beside you, and when you glanced at him again, you noticed he was smiling despite the seriousness of the moment.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, almost like he meant more than just this one thing.

You swallowed, suddenly aware of how close he was standing. “Just get your sword before somebody asks questions we cannot answer.”

His smile deepened. “That sounds wise.”

Then, together, you both looked toward the display again, already planning your next move.

“Do the two of you need any help?”

The question came from a store attendant who had clearly noticed the two of you hovering too long in one place. You straightened at once, forcing your expression into something far more casual than you felt while Adam stood beside the display with his attention fixed so completely on the sword that he looked almost reverent.

“Actually,” you said, turning toward her with what you hoped was an innocent enough smile, “my friend here was wondering how much that sword costs.”

Adam’s hand hovered near the blade, his eyes bright with unmistakable awe as he looked at it, and the attendant followed your gesture before glancing between the two of you with immediate interest.

“Oh, your friend?” she said, her expression shifting into something faintly amused. “I thought you were a couple.”

You nearly choked.

Adam, who had been staring at the sword a second earlier, turned his head sharply in your direction as though he had heard that just as clearly as you had. The attendant, meanwhile, seemed far too entertained by the idea to care whether either of you was prepared to answer it.

Unfortunately, she recovered before either of you could say anything and gave a polite little smile. “I’m sorry, but that item isn’t for sale.”

You frowned, keeping your tone light even as your pulse kicked up. “It’s just a replica, though, right? Surely it has some kind of value if it’s being displayed here.”

Adam made a low, offended sound beside you and shot you a reproachful look that would have been more convincing if he had not already been reaching for the sword like a man who had found the last missing piece of his entire life.

“That is not a replica,” he said, his voice low but absolutely certain. “That is my sword. I can feel it.”

The attendant blinked.

Adam stepped closer to the display, looking almost overwhelmed now. When he spoke again, his tone had sharpened into something deeply serious. “Miss, that sword belongs to me, and I intend to take it.”

You immediately moved to recover from the damage, smiling brightly enough to suggest Adam was simply being enthusiastic in a deeply unhelpful way. “My friend doesn’t really know what he’s talking about,” you told the attendant quickly. “He just really wants this replica, and I’m sure we could work out a reasonable price.”

Adam turned toward you with a look of pure disbelief, then made a noise of outrage when you kept your smile fixed on the attendant and continued to bargain on his behalf as if he were not, at that exact moment, trying to wrench the sword free from the character stand it had been mounted on.

“I am telling the truth,” he said, dropping to one knee beside the display as though he had just entered battle with a particularly stubborn enemy. “This is my sword.”

One of the nearby customers glanced over. Then another. Then another.

You could feel the attention in the store slowly shifting toward the two of you, curiosity spreading with every second that passed.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to call management,” the attendant said, her tone still polite but now edged with the kind of firmness that meant the situation had stopped being amusing for her.

“There’s no need for that,” you said quickly, still trying to keep the moment under control. “We only need a minute of your patience.”

Adam, who had apparently stopped caring whether he was making a scene, finally managed to get the sword loose from the display. The moment it came free, he stood with it in both hands, his entire face lighting up with a sharp, almost disbelieving relief.

The reaction from the store was immediate. Several customers stared. The attendant looked horrified. And you, despite yourself, felt your own breath catch.

Adam lifted the sword as if he was certain the moment he did, everything would finally make sense.

“In two seconds,” he announced, looking far too alive for a man standing in a comic store with a stolen fantasy sword, “you are all going to see me return to Eternia in a burst of something almost cosmic.”

You stared at him. The attendant stared at him. The customers stared harder.

Then Adam raised the sword more fully and drew in a breath, his voice filling the store as he shouted, “By the power of Grayskull, I want to go home!”

The entire shop went completely still. And then everyone waited. You waited with them. So did the attendant. So did the customers.

Adam stood there with the sword raised, his expression transforming little by little from determination to confusion, then from confusion to dawning uncertainty, and finally to unmistakable disappointment as the seconds stretched on without so much as a flicker of light.

Nothing happened.

No flash.

No portal.

No cosmic burst.

Just silence.

The kind of silence that only made everything worse.

Adam lowered the sword slightly and looked at it as though it had personally betrayed him.

For a moment, his face was so openly crestfallen that your own frustration softened into concern. The poor man looked devastated, and not in the dramatic way he had probably expected, but in the quiet, stunned way of someone who had just realized the thing he had been waiting for might not be happening after all.

“Well,” the attendant said carefully, after the longest pause imaginable, “I think I definitely need to call management now.”

You winced, but Adam barely seemed to hear her. He was still staring at the sword, holding it too tightly, his shoulders gone rigid with disappointment.

And for the first time since you had seen him at the window, he looked unsure of what to do next.

“Maybe it’s broken.”

The comment came from somewhere in the growing crowd that had gathered around the display, followed by a few scattered laughs.

You immediately turned toward the voice.

“Thank you,” you said dryly. “Your contribution has been incredibly helpful.”

A few people laughed again, though this time it was at the person who had made the comment rather than at Adam. Adam seemed completely unaware of any of it.

He was still staring at the sword. Still holding it tightly. Still looking as though the ground beneath him had shifted.

You felt a pang of sadness in your heart when you saw the disappointment on his face.

Just minutes ago, he had been practically glowing with excitement. He looked so much happier than you had ever seen him, and it was just so lovely to see.

Now he looked a little lost.

"Look," you said, glancing toward the area where the attendant had disappeared, "I would really appreciate it if you could wait until we had left and then call the management."

Adam didn't react.

You looked a little sad and gently tapped his arm.

"Adam."

Nothing.

"Adam."

This time he blinked and finally looked at you.

"I don't understand," he said gently. The certainty was gone.

For the first time since meeting him, he sounded like a really open and vulnerable person.

"It was supposed to work," he speaks softly as he looks at you, as if he were desperate for a glimmer of hope. Your expression softened right away.

Around you, customers continued whispering amongst themselves, phones appearing here and there as people debated whether they were witnessing performance art, a publicity stunt, or an actual breakdown.

Adam didn't seem to notice any of it. His eyes remained fixed on the sword.

“I know it was,” you said gently.

"No, you don't understand." He shook his head. "I can feel it. This is the Sword of Power. It's the same sword. The same energy. The same..." He stopped, trying to explain something you weren't sure words could properly describe. "It's mine."

The way he said it made it obvious how important this was to him. Not because of what the sword could do. Because of what it represented.

Home. Family. Proof that he hadn't imagined any of it. Proof that he belonged somewhere.

“Hey.”

Adam looked at you again.

“Maybe nothing is wrong.”

His brow furrowed.

“What?”

You stepped a little closer, lowering your voice despite the fact that half the store seemed determined to listen in.

“Maybe you found it five minutes ago after spending who knows how long searching for it. Maybe you're surrounded by forty strangers staring at you. Maybe there's a very good chance the police are on their way.”

A faint smile almost appeared.

Almost.

“So?”

“So,” you continued patiently, “if I were a magical sword, I probably wouldn't perform under those conditions either.”

That finally earned the smallest laugh from him.

It wasn't much.

But it was enough.

“There he is,” you said.

Adam rolled his eyes.

“You're ridiculous.”

“I'm not the one waving ancient artifacts around comic book stores.”

“Fair.”

The smile faded, though not completely.

You hesitated before reaching out and placing your hand over his.

The one gripping the sword.

The moment your fingers touched his, Adam went still.

Not startled.

Just focused.

His gaze dropped briefly to where your hands rested together on the hilt.

“Maybe,” you said quietly, “you need less pressure and more time.”

For a second, neither of you moved.

The noise of the store seemed farther away somehow.

You weren't sure whether you believed in Eternia.

You weren't sure whether you believed in magical swords.

But you believed in him.

And apparently that was enough for you to be standing here holding the hand of a man who claimed to be a lost prince from another world.

Adam's shoulders loosened slightly.

He took a slow breath.

Then another.

His grip on the sword relaxed.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

The words carried more emotion than you expected.

Before you could answer, movement near the front of the store caught your eye.

Your stomach immediately dropped.

The attendant had returned.

And she wasn't alone.

A woman who looked very much like a manager was striding behind her with the determined expression of someone already preparing to deal with a problem.

Possibly several problems.

“Oh, that's bad.”

Adam followed your gaze.

“Who is that?”

“The reason we need to leave.”

The manager was already looking in your direction.

Unfortunately, she had also noticed the giant sword currently in Adam's possession.

“Adam.”

“Yes?”

“We have to go.”

His eyes widened slightly.

“Now?”

“Now.”

The manager pointed directly at the two of you.

“Oh, definitely now.”

Adam looked down at the sword, then back at you.

“You do realize this probably counts as stealing.”

You grabbed his wrist.

“You can explain the legal implications after we've escaped.”

“Escaped?”

“You're a prince from another world.”

You began pulling him toward the nearest exit.

“Act like it.”

Despite everything, despite the crowd, despite the manager rapidly approaching and the very real possibility that neither of you had any idea what you were doing anymore, Adam laughed.

And with the Sword of Power finally back in his hands, he followed you out of the store.

You were always the one who gave people way more credit than they ever deserved. Not because you’re naive, but because you truly saw the good in absolutely everyone. 

Time and time again, you’d meet someone new, overlook every warning sign, excuse every bad decision, and convince yourself there was something underneath it all worth sticking around for.

That maybe they were just having a hard time. Maybe nobody had ever been patient with them before. Maybe all they needed was one person to believe in them.

And every single time, they proved you wrong.

Friends forgot about you the second something better came along. Partners made promises they had no intention of keeping. Family members disappointed you in ways that eventually stopped surprising you. It became a quiet sort of routine, collecting little heartbreaks until they stacked so high you almost expected them.

Still, you never seemed to learn. You'd swear this time was different. This person was different. They wouldn't leave. They wouldn't lie. They wouldn't make you regret trusting them.

Then they always did.

Your mother used to tell you that one day you'd have to stop looking for the best in people and start believing them when they showed you who they were.

You hated hearing it growing up; it sounded cynical and bitter. 

Now, years later, you wondered if she'd simply been trying to spare you. The funny thing was, you convinced yourself that you were used to it. 

You told yourself the disappointment didn't sting as much anymore. That you'd learned to expect it. That every broken promise and every person who drifted away had built up some invisible armor around your heart. It was easier that way.

If you expected people to leave, then they couldn't really surprise you when they did. If you kept your expectations low enough, maybe it wouldn't hurt so much when someone forgot your birthday, stopped returning your calls, or looked right through you like you'd never mattered all that much to begin with.

You got very good at pretending those things didn't bother you. You'd laugh them off, shrug your shoulders, and tell anyone who asked that it wasn't a big deal, that everyone has their own lives, and nobody owes you anything.

But every now and then, usually late at night when there wasn't anything left to distract you, you'd wonder why it always seemed to happen to you.

What was so fundamentally wrong with you that everyone else found it so easy to walk away?

By morning, though, you'd bury the thought somewhere deep enough that even you couldn't find it anymore. Then you'd wake up and give someone else the benefit of the doubt.

God, you wanted it to be Eddie Munson so bad.

Wanted him to be the exception. Wanted him to be the one person who proved every disappointment before him wrong.

It wasn't supposed to happen, honestly. If someone had told you a year ago that you'd end up falling in love with Eddie Munson, you probably would've laughed in their face. Not because there was anything wrong with him, but because Eddie had a way of keeping people at arm's length.

He made a joke out of everything, turned every serious conversation into a bit, and acted like nothing in the world could ever really touch him.

Most people stopped there, but you didn't.

You noticed how he always made sure everyone got home safely after a Hellfire campaign. The way he'd hand over his last cigarette without hesitation. The way he'd remember tiny, insignificant details about people and bring them up weeks later like they mattered.

Like they mattered. Like they mattered to him. And maybe that was what did it. Not some grand gesture or some dramatic declaration.

Just a hundred small moments that slowly convinced you that beneath all the noise, beneath the sarcasm and the theatrics and the reputation everyone loved to throw in his face, there was someone unbelievably good. Someone worth believing in.

So you did, and you believed in him with your whole heart.

Even when your friends warned you not to get too attached. Even when every instinct told you that caring this much about another person was dangerous. Even when a small voice in the back of your mind reminded you how every story like this had ended before.

Because this was Eddie. And God, you wanted it to be Eddie so goddamn bad.

It started small, one day while you were waiting outside of the drama room for Hellfire to end so you could bring Dustin home.

Eddie and Dustin came out last; Eddie's arm slung lazily around Dustin's shoulders while the younger boy looked up at him with the biggest grin you'd ever seen, talking so fast his words practically tripped over each other.

Eddie was listening. Not the distracted kind of listening where someone nods along until it's their turn to speak, but genuinely listening. Laughing in all the right places, asking questions, giving Dustin his full attention like there wasn't anywhere else in the world he'd rather be.

You remembered how upset Dustin had been when he and Steve started to drift apart. Something about Steve caring "more about women" and "breaking bro code," delivered with all the dramatics only a fourteen-year-old could manage.

You'd smiled and comforted him at the time, told him people got busy and that it probably wasn't as personal as he thought.

But watching Eddie now, ruffling Dustin's curls just to annoy him before immediately apologizing with a crooked grin when Dustin swatted his hand away, you realized Steve had left behind something Eddie had picked up without anyone asking him to.

You fully expected him to peel away from Dustin with a quick goodbye and disappear into the crowded hallway with the rest of the students.

Instead, he nudged Dustin forward with a light shove and wandered over to where you were leaning against the wall like he'd been planning to the entire time.

"You ever finish that book?"

You blinked. "What?"

"The one you wouldn't shut up about in English." He pointed at you accusingly. "The one with the... existential crisis or whatever."

You stared at him for a second before laughing. "You mean The Stranger?"

"That's the one."

"I finished it weeks ago."

"And?"

"And it was good."

He scrunched his nose. "That's it? You spent ten minutes arguing with Mrs. O'Donnell about symbolism and your review is 'it was good?'"

You couldn't help smiling. "I'm trying to avoid spoiling it."

"For me?"

"You were listening?"

He looked almost offended. "'Course I was listening." The words shouldn't have lodged themselves in your chest the way they did.

It had been weeks. One offhand discussion in a class Eddie barely seemed awake for half the time, and somehow he'd remembered not only the conversation but the specific book you'd been talking about.

It was such a stupid little thing. But nobody ever remembered the little things about you. And somehow, Eddie Munson did.

As the weeks went on, you suddenly became much more interested in waiting in the hallway for Dustin instead of the parking lot like you normally would. You told yourself it was because it was warmer inside.

Because sometimes he took forever to pack up. Because it saved him from having to look around for you.

It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Eddie Munson inevitably came walking out of the drama room a few minutes later. Absolutely nothing.

Somehow, the conversations became expected.

He'd see you leaning against the lockers and make a beeline over with that same lazy smile, asking about your classes or complaining about a teacher or launching into some dramatic retelling of Gareth doing something stupid during Hellfire.

And every single time he talked to you, it was like the rest of the hallway ceased to exist. He looked at you. Not over your shoulder. Not around the room. Not scanning for someone more interesting to interrupt the conversation.

When you made a joke, he'd laugh without hesitation, his whole face lighting up like he'd genuinely found it funny instead of politely humoring you.

Sometimes he'd laugh so hard he'd have to look down and shake his head before looking back up at you with that stupid grin that was becoming increasingly difficult to stop thinking about.

The first time he held eye contact for so long that you had to glance away first, he just smiled wider. It made your stomach do something embarrassing.

By the time Dustin finally wandered over with his backpack half-open and a handful of dice threatening to spill onto the floor, Eddie would always clap him on the shoulder, throw you a casual, "See you tomorrow," and head off toward the parking lot, like he already knew there'd be a tomorrow.

One afternoon, after Eddie disappeared through the front doors, Dustin buckled himself into the passenger seat with a look on his face that immediately made you suspicious. "What?"

He didn't answer; he just looked at you.

"What?" you repeated.

A grin slowly spread across his face. "Oh, my God."

"What?"

"He likes you."

You nearly missed the key trying to start the car. "Dustin."

"He does."

"He absolutely does not."

"He asked me if you had a boyfriend."

You turned so fast you almost gave yourself whiplash. "He what?"

Dustin shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"We were at lunch yesterday. Just me and Mike. He sat down and was acting all weird, and then he goes, 'So... your sister seeing anybody?'"

Your face immediately warmed.

"And what," you asked carefully, "did you say?"

"I told him no."

"Dustin."

"What? It's true."

"Dustin."

He looked over with the most smug expression you'd ever seen on a fourteen-year-old.

"Then he goes, 'Huh.'"

"Huh?"

"Just 'huh.'" Dustin mimicked him with a terrible impression. "'Just curious.'"

You stared straight ahead at the windshield, trying very hard to pretend your heart wasn't threatening to beat its way out of your chest. Beside you, Dustin snorted.

"I can literally hear you smiling."

"I'm not smiling."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"You totally have a crush on Eddie."

You finally looked over at him. “Shut up.”

His grin was so wide you could’ve worn his eyes would pop out of their sockets. “Never.”

The first time Eddie approached you when Dustin wasn't anywhere in sight, you were halfway convinced he had the wrong person.

You were standing at your locker, trying to force an algebra textbook that absolutely did not fit into a space that absolutely wasn't big enough, when a familiar voice sounded beside you.

"So."

You looked over to find Eddie leaning against the neighboring locker with his arms folded across his chest, rocking back on his heels with an almost suspicious amount of casualness.

"So?" you echoed.

"So..." He scratched the back of his neck. "You busy tonight?"

You blinked. "Tonight?"

He nodded once. Your brain, completely abandoning you, decided to stop functioning. 

"No?" It came out sounding far more like a question than an answer.

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "No?"

"No," you repeated quickly. "No, I'm not."

He nodded to himself like he'd just confirmed a theory. "Cool."

You waited for him to elaborate; he didn't. Instead, he looked down at the floor, nudged the toe of his sneaker against the tile once, then looked back up at you.

"Meet me at the Hideout."

Your heart skipped so hard it was almost painful. "The Hideout?"

"Mhm."

"When?"

"Eight."

You stared at him for another second. "Why?"

His smile widened into something almost boyish. "If I tell you, it'll ruin the surprise."

"Eddie."

"C'mon."

"What if it's something weird?"

"It is something weird."

"That is not reassuring."

He laughed, a quiet one that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. "I promise it's a good weird."

You narrowed your eyes. "I don't know..."

He placed a hand dramatically over his heart. "You wound me."

"I don't even know if this is a date."

His eyebrows shot up for the briefest moment before he covered it with another crooked grin. "I didn't say it was."

"You also didn't say it wasn't."

He took a tiny step backward, already beginning to walk away. "Eight o'clock."

"Eddie."

"No excuses."

"What am I even supposed to wear?"

He glanced back over his shoulder. "You'll look pretty no matter what."

And then, before your brain could catch up enough to formulate any kind of response, he turned and disappeared into the sea of students.

You stood frozen in front of your locker for another thirty seconds. When you finally managed to move, you shut it without grabbing a single one of the books you'd opened it for.

By seven-thirty, you had somehow managed to convince yourself not to go. By seven-thirty-five, you had changed your outfit again. By seven-forty-five, you were sitting in your car with both hands gripping the steering wheel, wondering if there was still enough time to fake a flat tire. By seven-fifty, you were pulling into the Hideout parking lot.

The building looked exactly the same as it always did, all faded neon and cigarette smoke drifting out every time someone opened the front door, yet somehow it felt entirely different. Your palms were sweating.

You caught your reflection in the rearview mirror for what had to be the twentieth time before taking a deep breath and climbing out. The second you stepped inside, Eddie looked up.

He'd been halfway through saying something to Gareth at the bar, but the moment he saw you, he stopped in the middle of his sentence and broke into a smile so genuine it almost made you forget how to walk.

"There she is."

He excused himself without another word and crossed the room toward you. "You came."

"You told me to."

"I was hoping you would."

There was something about the way he looked at you that made it impossible to hold eye contact for more than a few seconds.

Every time your eyes drifted away, you'd find him already looking back, smiling like he knew exactly what he was doing.

"You look..." He paused for a second, looking you over just enough to make your heart start racing. "Really pretty."

You laughed nervously, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "I almost didn't come."

"I'm really glad you did." The words came so naturally that you almost didn't know what to do with them.

He led you over to a quieter booth tucked against the wall, waving off a couple of people who called his name along the way.

Every conversation seemed to circle back to you somehow: your classes, your favorite music, what you wanted to do after graduation, stories from when you and Dustin were kids.

And every answer you gave was met with complete attention. No scanning the room. No waiting for his turn to talk. Just Eddie, chin resting against his hand, looking at you like every sentence was worth hearing.

At one point, you made some stupid self-deprecating joke under your breath.

He frowned. "Don't do that."

"What?"

"Talk about yourself like that."

You blinked. "I was kidding."

"I know." His expression softened. "I just don't think it's true."

The conversation moved on, but you couldn't. You were still thinking about it ten minutes later.

By the time the waitress came by with another round of drinks, Eddie had somehow managed to compliment your laugh, tell you your taste in music was "criminally underrated," insist you had "the prettiest eyes in Hawkins," and inform you that your opinions on horror movies were objectively correct.

"You know," you finally said with a suspicious smile, "you're awfully complimentary tonight."

He looked entirely unapologetic. "Should I stop?"

"...No."

"No?"

"No."

"Good." He grinned. "Because I wasn't planning on it."

You laughed again, shaking your head. He watched you for a second before reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulling out a pen.

"So."

"So?"

"You got a phone?"

You looked at him like he'd grown another head. "...Yes?"

"Good." He held the pen out toward you. "Need your number."

"My number?"

"Mhm."

"What for?"

He gave you the most incredulous look imaginable. "So I can call you."

"You could just ask Dustin where I live."

"I could."

He leaned a little closer across the table, his voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flip. "But I'd rather have an excuse to hear your voice."

You could actually feel your pulse in your fingertips. Without another word, you reached over, took the pen from his hand, and scribbled your number across the back of a paper napkin.

He looked down at it, smiled to himself, and folded it with surprising care before tucking it safely into his wallet, like it was something worth keeping.

The drive home felt shorter than it ever had before.

You caught yourself smiling at a red light for absolutely no reason, quickly looking around to make sure no one in the car next to you had noticed before realizing there wasn't even another car there.

Every few miles, you'd replay another little piece of the night. The way he'd looked at you the second you walked in. The way he'd leaned across the table to hear you better, even though the music wasn't all that loud.

The ridiculous amount of compliments he'd managed to slip into completely normal conversations without making them sound rehearsed.

The napkin folded neatly into his wallet. God.

You actually had to grip the steering wheel a little tighter just to stop yourself from smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

By the time you pulled into your driveway, your face genuinely ached. You sat there for another minute with the engine still running, staring at nothing in particular and laughing quietly to yourself like a complete idiot.

It felt embarrassing. It felt juvenile. It felt like every cheesy romance novel you'd ever secretly read under the covers with a flashlight. And for the first time in a long time, it felt nice.

You'd barely made it through the front door before your mother called from the kitchen to ask how your night had been.

"It was good," you answered, hoping she couldn't hear the grin in your voice.

"Just good?"

You kicked your shoes off by the door, trying very hard to sound casual. "Yeah. Good."

She peeked around the corner, took one look at your face, and smiled to herself. You immediately looked away.

After a quick shower and far too much time standing in front of the bathroom mirror replaying every second of the night, you finally crawled into bed, still fully convinced you were making the whole thing up in your head.

Maybe Eddie was just naturally nice. Maybe he complimented everybody. Maybe asking for your number hadn't actually meant anything at all.

You'd just reached over to switch off your bedside lamp when the phone rang. The sound startled you enough that you nearly knocked the thing onto the floor trying to answer it.

"Hello?"

A familiar laugh came through the receiver. "Hey."

Your stomach immediately betrayed you. "...Hi."

"I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"No."

"Good."

Then Eddie cleared his throat. "I just wanted to make sure you got home okay."

You smiled before you could stop yourself. "I did."

"Good."

He could have ended the conversation right there. Instead, he asked what you were doing tomorrow. You asked what he and the guys had planned for Hellfire next week.

He somehow ended up telling you a fifteen-minute story about Gareth locking his keys in the van, which spiraled into another story about Wayne accidentally setting off the smoke detector while trying to make grilled cheese, which somehow became a debate over whether pineapple belonged on pizza. You found out your birthdays were only days apart. 

You couldn't remember the last time a conversation had felt so easy. There were no awkward silences to force your way through. No pressure to say the perfect thing. No moments where you felt like you had to perform some better version of yourself. You could just exist.

And somehow, Eddie seemed to like that version best. At one point you laughed so hard you had to pull the phone away from your ear, and through your own laughter you could hear him laughing too.

When the conversation finally lulled again, you glanced over at the digital clock on your nightstand.

1:43 a.m.

"Oh my God."

"What?"

"We've been talking for..." You looked again. "Almost four hours."

There was a brief silence, then Eddie chuckled quietly. "Huh."

"Huh?"

"I didn't even notice." Neither had you.

"I should probably let you sleep."

"...Probably."

"But I don't really want to."

You tucked your knees up against your chest beneath the blankets. "I don't really want you to, either."

The line went quiet again. You could hear him breathing. Then, softly enough that you almost thought you'd imagined it, "I'm really glad you came tonight."

You closed your eyes. "I'm really glad you asked."

When you finally hung up twenty minutes later, you set the receiver back into its cradle with more care than necessary and just sat there for a moment in the dark. Your cheeks hurt from smiling.

As you rolled over and pulled the blankets up to your chin, one thought drifted lazily through your mind before sleep claimed you. Maybe your mother had been wrong, maybe there really was someone worth believing in after all.

After that, it was almost impossible to remember a time when Eddie wasn't somehow part of your day. Sometimes he'd call before school just because he'd been up since six and was "bored out of his fucking mind."

Sometimes the phone would ring at eleven-thirty at night, and before you could even say hello, he'd say, "Hypothetically speaking, if a raccoon learned how to drive, do you think it'd obey traffic laws?" and the conversation would somehow last until nearly three in the morning.

He'd call just to tell you he heard a song that reminded him of you. He'd call because Wayne had made chili and insisted on putting cinnamon in it. He'd call because he wanted to know what you thought happened after people died. He'd call because he missed your voice.

He never actually said that last one. But sometimes he'd let the silence linger for so long that you knew.

The dates weren't really dates. At least, neither of you called them that. He'd show up outside your house with no plan whatsoever, and somehow the two of you would end up spending five hours together anyway.

He'd take you to the record store and spend twice as long watching you flip through albums as he did looking for anything himself.

You'd sit on the hood of his van in abandoned parking lots, sharing gas station snacks while he pointed out made-up constellations with complete confidence until you laughed so hard he couldn't keep the lie going anymore.

Once he drove for 30 minutes because you mentioned wanting to try a milkshake from some tiny roadside diner you'd seen in passing weeks earlier.

Another afternoon, you wandered around a thrift store with exactly four dollars between you, leaving with a hideous ceramic frog and an ugly orange sweater because Eddie insisted they had "character."

He made you try the sweater on. Then proceeded to spend the next ten minutes telling you that orange might actually be his favorite color now. You rolled your eyes so hard they almost got stuck while he just grinned.

Sometimes he'd come over just to sit on your porch steps. No music. No television. No plans.

The two of you would just sit there talking until the sun disappeared and the mosquitoes forced you inside. Every now and then, the conversation would run dry, and you'd apologize.

Eddie always looked confused. "For what?"

"I don't know... not saying anything."

He'd just shrug. "I like hanging out with you."

"...Even when we're not doing anything?"

He'd look at you like you'd asked the dumbest question in the world. "Especially then."

And slowly, so slowly you almost didn't notice it happening, Eddie became your first thought in the morning and your last thought before bed.

You'd catch yourself reaching for the phone to tell him something insignificant before realizing you hadn't even finished thinking it yourself.

You started noticing songs because he'd like them. Funny stories because you couldn't wait to hear him laugh. You started looking for him in every hallway without meaning to. The terrifying part wasn't that you were falling in love with Eddie Munson; the terrifying part was that it felt so natural.

When Eddie asked if you wanted to get dinner Friday night, you didn't even try to hide your smile. "Like... dinner dinner?"

He laughed through the phone. "Last I checked, yeah."

"What if I wanted breakfast?"

"Then you're about nine hours too late." You could practically hear him grinning, "I'll pick you up at seven?"

You tucked the phone closer against your ear. "Seven sounds perfect."

You spent half the next day thinking about it. The other half was spent trying very hard not to think about it.

By lunchtime, Robin had already asked you why you looked so distracted, and Dustin had spent an embarrassingly long amount of time making kissy faces every time your name and Eddie's ended up in the same sentence.

By five-thirty, you'd already changed twice. At six-fifteen, the phone rang.

You answered on the second ring. "Hello?"

"...Hey." His voice sounded different. Not bad, but just quieter. "So... listen."

You sat down on the edge of your bed without realizing it.

"I was thinking."

"Dangerous."

Usually he'd laugh; this time he just let out a small breath. "Can you come over instead?"

You frowned. "What about dinner?"

"I know." Another pause. "I just... I think we should talk first."

Your stomach sank so suddenly that you almost felt it physically. "...Okay."

"I don't want you freaking out."

"I'm not freaking out." You were absolutely freaking out.

"I just wanna talk."

"Okay."

"I'll see you in a bit?"

"...Yeah."

When you pulled into the trailer park twenty minutes later, Eddie was already sitting outside on the steps. He stood when he saw you, smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

For a long minute, neither of you spoke. He rubbed his hands together, then looked down at them.

"So..."

You tried to smile. "So."

He exhaled through his nose. "I've been thinking a lot lately."

Your heart was beating so loudly you wondered if he could hear it.

"And I..." He stopped himself, trying again. "You're leaving next year."

It took you a second to understand what he meant. "For college."

"Yeah."

"I'm only going an hour away."

"I know."

"I can come back whenever."

"I know."

He stared out toward the road. "I just don't think I'm looking for anything serious right now."

You felt something inside your chest quietly crack.

You nodded before he could see your face. "Okay."

"I really like spending time with you."

"I know."

"And I don't want to lose this."

"I don't either."

He looked over then, studying you carefully. "I just don't think it's fair to start something when you're leaving."

"I'm going an hour away, Eddie."

"I know."

"You act like I'm moving across the country."

"I know."

The repetition almost hurt more than anything else. He knew, and it didn't change anything.

He swallowed. "So..." His voice dropped almost to a whisper. "Would you be okay with just... this?"

You looked at him. "This?"

"What we've been doing."

"What are we doing?"

His expression faltered. "You know what I mean."

Long phone calls. Random drives. Accidental hand brushes. Stolen looks. Every conversation that felt suspiciously like a date despite nobody ever calling it one. Everything except the part where he'd actually choose you.

You wanted to say no. You wanted to tell him that it wasn't enough. That somewhere along the way you'd fallen hopelessly, stupidly in love with him, and pretending otherwise was becoming impossible.

Instead...You smiled. The same smile that had gotten your heart broken your entire life.

"I think I'd like that."

The relief that washed over his face was immediate. He looked like he'd been carrying something impossibly heavy and had finally been allowed to set it down. "Really?"

You nodded. "Really."

He stared at you for another second before quietly scooting closer. "So we're okay?"

You looked at him and lied without hesitation. "We're okay."

His hand found yours so naturally it almost made you forget what had just happened. His thumb brushed across your knuckles once, twice. Then he leaned forward so slowly that he gave you every opportunity in the world to pull away, but you didn't.

His lips met yours softly, cautiously, like he'd been wanting to do it for weeks but wasn't entirely sure he was allowed. It wasn't rushed, and it wasn't desperate, but it was gentle enough to make your chest ache.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours and laughed quietly. "I've wanted to do that for a while."

You smiled because he couldn't see your eyes. "I know."

He kissed you again. And because you loved him...you let yourself believe that maybe this was enough.

Maybe labels didn't matter. Maybe loving someone without asking them to love you the same way wasn't the worst thing in the world.

You'd spent your whole life convincing yourself to accept less than you wanted; it came as naturally as breathing.

The saddest part was that Eddie never asked you to settle. He simply offered you what he could, and you loved him enough to convince yourself it was everything.

A couple of days later, you found yourself curled up on the couch in Eddie's trailer with your legs tucked underneath you and absolutely no memory of how you'd ended up there.

One minute you'd been talking to Wayne in the kitchen while he made coffee. The next, Eddie had wandered in, stolen your spot without asking, and somehow convinced you to sit beside him instead.

Wayne took one look at the two of you, hid a smile behind his mug, and muttered something about needing to run to the store.

You were halfway through telling him about something Robin had said at lunch when you felt his fingers absentmindedly reach for a strand of your hair.

You stopped talking. "What?"

He didn't even look embarrassed. "Hm?"

"You're playing with my hair."

"Oh."

He glanced down like he'd only just noticed. "Sorry."

He made absolutely no effort to stop. Instead, he carefully tucked the strand behind your ear before lazily winding another piece around his finger.

You couldn't help smiling. "You know that's weird, right?"

"I've been informed."

"And yet..."

"And yet."

A few minutes later, after the conversation had drifted somewhere else entirely, you shifted to get comfortable.

Without saying a word, Eddie's hand found the center of your back. His thumb traced tiny circles through the fabric of your shirt, and you melted before you could stop yourself.

A smug grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You like that."

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

"Liar."

His hand moved again, gently rubbing across your shoulders. You sighed.

"There it is."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"No..." You smiled despite yourself, "I really don't."

He laughed quietly and kept tracing slow circles across your back while the conversation faded into nothing.

At some point, he started absentmindedly braiding tiny sections of your hair despite having absolutely no idea what he was doing.

You reached up to feel it. "Eddie."

"What?"

"This isn't a braid."

"It is spiritually."

"It is spiritually a knot."

"I prefer the term artistic interpretation."

You laughed so hard you nearly knocked into him. He just looked at you, and kept looking. Long enough that your smile slowly faltered into something softer.

"What?"

He didn't answer.

"Do I have something on my face?"

"No."

"What?"

Still nothing, just that impossibly gentle expression.

Then, almost quietly, "I think you're the prettiest girl I've ever seen."

Your face immediately warmed. "Eddie."

"I'm serious."

"You say that to everybody."

"I absolutely do not."

"You definitely do."

He shook his head. "I don't."

"You have to stop saying things like that."

"Why?"

"Because..."

You couldn't even finish the sentence because he leaned a little closer. "Because what?"

"It makes me nervous."

His smile somehow softened even more. "I know."

"Then stop."

"I'm not gonna lie to you." You looked down at your hands. "I don't think I'm anything special."

He was quiet for a second, then he reached over and gently tilted your chin back toward him.

"I do." With complete certainty,  "I think you're beautiful."

You could barely hold his gaze.

"I think you're funny." His thumb brushed softly across your cheek. "I think you're smarter than you realize."

Another pause. "I think you're kinder than anybody deserves."

Your chest hurt. Not because of what he was saying, because you believed he meant it.

He looked at you for another long second before smiling to himself.

"I also think your left eyebrow does this weird little thing when you're embarrassed."

"My what?"

He pointed. "There."

"It does not."

"It absolutely does."

You covered your face with both hands, and he laughed.

"Oh my God, there it is again."

From behind your fingers, all you could manage was a muffled, mortified, "Shut up."

Instead of teasing you more, he gently took your wrists and pulled your hands away from your face. "Hi, pretty girl."

Then, like it was the easiest thing in the world, he leaned over and pressed a kiss to your forehead. Not your lips, just your forehead.

The trailer was quiet except for the low hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the old couch springs as Eddie shifted beneath you.

His fingers had long since stopped pretending to braid your hair; they just stroked through it now, slow and absent, like he couldn’t help touching you. 

The forehead kiss from earlier still lingered on your skin like a brand.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice rough around the edges. His lips brushed your temple. “You okay?”

You nodded against his skin, not trusting your voice. Instead, you tilted your head and kissed the underside of his jaw. He exhaled sharply, fingers tightening in your hair.

“Yeah?” he asked softly, checking in like he always did. Like he could read every unspoken thing you tried to hide.

“Yeah,” you whispered, and kissed him properly this time; slow, a little desperate. He met you gently at first, then deeper, tongue sliding against yours with that careful patience that made your whole body warm. 

His free hand slipped under the hem of your shirt, palm warm against your lower back, holding you there like he was afraid you might vanish.

You shifted until you were straddling his lap, knees sinking into the worn cushions on either side of his hips. Eddie groaned quietly into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he breathed, breaking the kiss just enough to look at you. His eyes were dark, but still so soft. “C’mere, sweetheart. Let me see you.”

He tugged your shirt up slowly, giving you every chance to stop him, but you didn’t. The fabric whispered over your head and landed somewhere on the floor. His gaze dragged over you, reverent and almost stunned.

“Goddamn,” he said under his breath, hands sliding up your ribs to cup your breasts through your bra. “Look at you. So fucking pretty for me.” 

His thumbs brushed over your nipples until they peaked, and you arched into the touch with a shaky breath. “That’s it… just like that. Let me hear you.”

He sat up a little, mouth finding your collarbone, then lower, kissing and nipping softly while his fingers worked the clasp of your bra. 

When it fell away, he pulled back to watch your face as he took one nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling, gentle suction that made your hips roll against him instinctively.

“Eddie—” His name came out broken.

“Right here, baby. I’ve got you.” He switched sides, lavishing the same attention on the other while one hand stroked down your spine, soothing the tremble in your muscles. “You’re shaking. You want this?”

You nodded fast, grinding down against the growing hardness in his jeans. “Please.”

He hummed against your skin. “Good girl. Arms around my neck—yeah, just like that.” He stood suddenly, hands under your thighs to hold you up, and carried you the short distance to his bedroom. 

The door clicked shut behind you. The fairy lights he’d strung up weeks ago (because you’d mentioned liking them once) cast everything in a soft, golden glow.

He laid you on the bed carefully, like you were something breakable, then stripped off his own shirt and jeans, never taking his eyes off you. When he crawled over you, the weight of him felt like safety and ruin all at once. His hand slid between your legs, cupping you through your panties.

“Already so wet,” he murmured, voice low and awed. He rubbed slow circles over the fabric until you were rocking against his palm. “All this for me? Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”

He hooked his fingers in the waistband and tugged them down your legs, kissing every inch of skin he uncovered: your stomach, your hips, the inside of your thigh. When he settled between your legs, he looked up at you, chin resting lightly on your mound.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart. Want you to watch.” His breath ghosted over you, making you clench around nothing. Then his tongue was there—hot, slow, licking a broad stripe up your center before circling your clit with devastating patience. He talked the whole time, voice muffled but steady. 

“Taste so fucking good… That’s it, baby, just relax for me. Let me take care of you. You feel that? Right there?” He sucked gently, two fingers sliding into you with almost no resistance, curling just right.

You moaned, hand flying to his hair. He groaned in response, the vibration pulling you higher. He kept talking you through it, praise and instructions and soft curses, until your thighs were shaking and you came hard around his fingers, back arching off the bed.

He worked you through it, gentling his touch but not stopping until you were whimpering. Only then did he crawl back up, kissing your stomach, your ribs, the swell of your breast, your throat, your mouth. You tasted yourself on his tongue, and it made something inside you ache even sweeter.

“Eddie… please,” you whispered against his lips, hands tugging at his boxers.

He helped you push them down, kicking them away. He wrapped a hand around himself, stroking slowly while he looked at you. “You sure? We can stop—”

“I want you.” You reached for him, pulling him closer. “Please.”

He nodded, forehead dropping to yours. “Okay. Okay, baby. Breathe for me.” He lined himself up and pushed in; slow, so slow, inch by inch, whispering the whole time. “Fuck, you’re tight… so warm. Taking me so well. That’s my girl. Just a little more—there you go. You feel that? Feel how deep I am?”

You gasped at the stretch, nails digging into his shoulders. He stilled when he bottomed out, hips flush against yours, letting you adjust while he kissed your face; your eyelids, your cheeks, the corner of your mouth. 

“Breathe, sweetheart. I’ve got you. Not gonna move until you’re ready.”

You rocked your hips experimentally, and he cursed, burying his face in your neck. “Jesus Christ. You’re perfect. So fucking perfect.” 

Then he started moving, deep, rolling thrusts that dragged against every sensitive spot inside you. One hand slid under your ass, tilting your hips to take him even deeper. The other braced beside your head, thumb stroking your cheek.

“Look at me,” he breathed. You did. His eyes were glassy, hair wild, face flushed with effort and something deeper. 

“Best fucking thing I’ve ever felt. Best sex I’ve ever had, baby. No one else—no one—makes me feel like this. Just you.”

The words hit like a spark to dry tinder. You moaned his name, legs wrapping tighter around his waist as the pleasure built again, sharper this time, edged with the ache of everything unsaid. 

He kept talking you through it, right there, just like that, come on, let go for me, until you shattered around him a second time, clenching so hard he groaned like it hurt.

He followed right after, hips stuttering, spilling deep inside you with a broken sound of your name. He collapsed over you, careful not to crush you, face tucked into your neck as you both caught your breath.

For a long minute, the only sounds were your heartbeats and the soft rustle of sheets. He pressed lazy kisses to your shoulder, your jaw, your lips, sweet and lingering. His hand stroked up and down your side like he couldn’t stop touching you.

“You okay?” he whispered eventually, brushing damp hair from your forehead.

You nodded, even as the familiar crack in your chest widened. It was painfully sweet, and almost perfect. And still not enough.

But you smiled anyway, because that’s what you did. “Yeah, Eddie. I’m okay.”

A week later, you had become embarrassingly good at pretending not to notice the things Eddie said. Not because they didn't mean anything, but because they meant entirely too much.

You'd be halfway through some rambling explanation about a fantasy novel you'd just finished, going on about world-building and obscure folklore and symbolism, and he'd just stare at you with the most hopelessly fond expression.

Then he'd grin. "God, you check every box."

You'd laugh it off. "What boxes?"

He'd shrug. "The boxes."

"Very descriptive."

"You know what I mean." You, in fact, did not, and he never elaborated after that. 

Another day, you were flipping through records in a shop when you found some obscure metal band neither of you thought anyone else in Hawkins had ever heard of.

You held it up triumphantly, and his face lit up.

"No fucking way."

"What?"

He looked at you like you'd just personally hung the moon. "You know them?"

"I literally told you about them."

"I know."

"So why are you acting surprised?"

"'Cause normal people don't actually listen when I talk."

You frowned. "I listen."

"I know." There was that goddamn smile again. "Trust me. I know."

It happened constantly. You'd steal one of his rings just because, and he'd spend the next ten minutes trying to figure out which finger fit yours best.

He'd absentmindedly tuck your hair behind your ear while talking to somebody else. If you got cold, he'd hand you his jacket before you even had the chance to say anything.

If someone interrupted you, he'd immediately turn back and go, "Wait, she was talking."

Little things, tiny things. The kind of things that didn't mean anything on paper, except they did.

One afternoon, the two of you were sprawled across the couch in his trailer, sharing a bag of pretzels while a movie neither of you was paying attention to played quietly in the background. You started explaining some random mythology fact you'd learned in class.

Halfway through your sentence, Eddie just looked over at you and laughed.

"What?"

He shook his head. "I can't believe you're real."

You smiled. "What does that even mean?"

"It means you're pretty."

"Eddie..."

"It means you're funny."

He nudged your knee with his. "It means you're a giant nerd."

"I'm aware."

"It means somehow every time I think I've figured you out, you say something that makes me like you even more."

You looked down at your lap before he could see your face.

He reached over and laced his fingers through yours without a second thought. "So..."

"So?"

This is it, you thought.

"If I had made a list when I was twelve of everything I'd think was cool in a girl..."

He squeezed your hand. "...you would've checked every damn box."

Your heart practically stopped; you didn't know what to say, so you didn't say anything at all.

You just sat there, letting him hold your hand while your mind raced a hundred miles an hour. Because people who didn't want anything serious didn't say things like that.

People who didn't want anything serious didn't look at you the way Eddie looked at you when he thought you weren't paying attention.

They didn't call just because they couldn't sleep. They didn't remember every insignificant detail you'd ever mentioned. They didn't introduce you to Wayne with this quiet sort of pride in their voice. They didn't reach for your hand automatically. They didn't smile every time you walked into a room.

So maybe...maybe he was just scared. Maybe he'd been hurt before, and maybe he just needed time.

Maybe one day he'd wake up and realize that what the two of you already had was everything people spent years trying to find.

And maybe then he'd ask. Maybe then he'd call you his girlfriend. Maybe then he'd look at you and say he'd changed his mind. 

The hope settled so naturally into your chest that you barely noticed it happening. You watered it with every lingering glance. Every compliment. Every soft touch. Every almost-confession.

You built an entire future in your head out of maybes.

So that’s why, when the shift came, you’d convinced yourself you were being dramatic.

At first, it was so subtle you could explain it away. He took an hour to call instead of ten minutes. He canceled one night because Gareth needed help with something. He seemed distracted once or twice, his mind somewhere else while you were talking.

Normal things, completely normal things. People got busy. People had bad days; you of all people knew that.

So when a conversation ended a little earlier than usual, you told yourself he was tired. When he forgot to call one night, you figured he'd fallen asleep. When he promised he'd ring you after Hellfire and didn't, you reminded yourself that he wasn't obligated to account for every second of his day.

You refused to let yourself become the kind of person who overanalyzed everything. Still...

You started noticing little things. He stopped absentmindedly reaching for your hand quite as often. The compliments didn't disappear, but they became less frequent, almost like he was catching himself halfway through saying them.

The pauses on the phone became quieter and longer. Sometimes they'd end not because either of you wanted to hang up, but because it felt like neither of you quite knew what to say anymore.

And every single time, you blamed yourself. Maybe you'd been talking too much. Maybe you were becoming annoying. Maybe you'd imagined half the chemistry in the first place. Maybe he'd realized you weren't nearly as interesting as he'd initially thought.

You never blamed him, not once. You blamed yourself so instinctively it didn't even occur to you there might be another explanation.

Every now and then, though, he'd do something that unraveled all your worries in an instant.

He'd look at you with that same impossibly soft expression. He'd brush your hair away from your face without thinking. He'd tell you you looked pretty. He'd laugh at one of your stupid jokes so hard he'd have to wipe tears from his eyes.

And you'd think: See? You're overreacting. He's still here. He's still calling. He's still kissing you. He's still choosing to spend his time with you.

Everything's fine, everything has to be fine.

Looking back, you'd eventually realize that the saddest part wasn't the shift itself. It was how desperately you wanted it not to be real.

Sometimes, usually on the nights when you couldn't sleep, you'd let yourself imagine another version of the story, one where Eddie really had loved you.

One where every compliment was genuine, every late-night phone call meant exactly what you'd hoped it meant, every lingering touch and forehead kiss and the whispered, you check every box had been as real to him as they were to you.

Maybe he got scared, or maybe one day it all stopped feeling hypothetical and started feeling dangerously real.

Maybe he'd looked at you and realized that if he let himself fall any further, there was no pretending it was casual anymore.

Maybe he'd remembered you were leaving in less than a year and decided it would hurt less to loosen his grip now than have you ripped away later. Maybe he'd convinced himself he was protecting both of you.

You thought about that possibility more often than you'd ever admit because it was kinder than the alternative.

Kinder than believing he simply woke up one morning and decided you weren't worth choosing.

But the truth was you didn't know, and you probably never would. Because one missed phone call became two. Two became a week. A week somehow became a month.

And somewhere in all that silence, neither of you reached across it. There was no screaming match. No cruel words. No dramatic goodbye. No slammed doors. 

Just the slow, almost imperceptible fading of someone who had once occupied every corner of your life. The kind that leaves you wondering if you imagined the whole thing.

Every now and then, Dustin would mention him in passing. Robin would ask if you'd seen him lately. Steve would look between the two of you from across a room with the unmistakable expression of someone who knew there was a story there but had enough sense not to ask.

You'd just smile, "Nah. Haven't talked in a while." 

Like it didn't still hurt to say.

Maybe Eddie Munson was just another person who left. Or maybe he was the first person who wanted to stay and got too afraid to try.

In another life, maybe one conversation would've changed everything.

Maybe if he'd been a little braver. Maybe if you'd been a little less willing to accept almosts instead of certainties. Maybe if one of you had simply looked the other in the eye and said what you were actually feeling.

But there was no other life; there was only this one. And in this one, the last thing Eddie Munson ever gave you wasn't a kiss.

It wasn't a promise; it wasn't even an explanation. It was a question you'd probably spend the rest of your life trying to answer:

Was it ever casual?

thank a very evil man for the inspiration for this fic.

taglist:

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

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────────

“Well, hello beautiful.”

You look up from your book, your gaze snagging on your husband who leaned cockily in the doorway of your bedroom, a triumphant grin on his face.

“Guess who just got both of the gremlins tucked into bed.” He wiggles his eyebrows “And in record time, might I add. Oh yeah, this guy.” He brags, pointing at himself.

“Wow!” You grin, glancing at the alarm clock “And before nine-thirty?” You gasp.

“What can I say, baby?” He flirts “I’m just that good.”

“You must tell me your secret, Mr. Munson.” You play along, indulging in his shameless flirting.

“Oh, baby…you know daddy doesn’t give away his secrets.” He says “But for you? I’m willing to make an exception. The secret is half a melatonin gummy, that stupid fucking Llama Llama Red Pajama book, and a couple sippy cups of warm milk. They were out like this-“ He snaps his fingers in emphasis.

“Wow, daddy.” You tease “Well, don’t you have the magic touch…”

“Speaking of the magic touch,” Eddie replies slowly, his brown eyes drinking you in “Now I think it’s time for me to put you to bed.”

“Oh, is it now?” You laugh.

“Oh yeah…” He nods “Now that the gremlins are tucked in and asleep, it’s mommy and daddy time. You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to get you alllll to myself.”

“Yeah?” You ask, closing your book as you place it on the nightstand “You’ve been waiting for me?”

“Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea. Daddy’s been waiting so patiently.” He winks “Daddy even drank two cups of coffee right before this so that he could stay awake long enough to have you.”

“Two?” You snort, watching as your husband enters your bedroom.

“Damn right.” He says “Gotta make sure I’m efficiently caffeinated. So, what do you say, gorgeous? Wanna start working on baby number three?”

“Whoa there, cowboy.” You raise an eyebrow “I feel like we should have a discussion about that first.”

“I’m joking, sweetheart. Well, mostly. There will be a baby number three but that can wait. Right now I’m content with just practicing.” He flirts “So….what do you say?”

“Alright, loverboy.” You roll your eyes playfully “Come over here.”

Eddie watches with dark eyes as you beckon him over with a crook of your finger. You could tell by the way he twitched beneath the fabric of his plaid pajama pants that he was excited. That he had been waiting for this.

You didn’t have to tell him twice. Eddie was across the room and on top of you in a second. He immediately goes for your lips, capturing them in a searing, impatient kiss. He wanted you…badly.

Eddie loved being a dad. Especially to two beautiful girls that adored him just as much. What Eddie didn’t love was how tired he was all the time. How, as much as he loved spending time with the girls, he hated how there never seemed to be enough time for just the two of you.

Your four year old was very time-consuming while your two year old was attached to Eddie’s hip at any given moment. Bedtime was hard, daycare drop-offs were atrocious, and getting them to eat even a quarter of their dinner was like fighting a war. But there was nothing that Eddie would change about any of it. Unless he could somehow be able to steal more of your time for himself.

“Fuck, you smell so good.” He mumbles against your neck as he presses chaste kisses to your skin “Can’t wait to be inside you. Need you so bad.”

“Yeah?” You moan, looking up at your husband- his hair wild and untamed from all of the running around he had been doing that evening in order to get the girls to bed.

“God, baby, you have no idea. I miss you.”

“You see me every day, Eds.” You point out.

“Yeah but not like this. Not when it’s just the two of us and neither of us are feeding Gogurt tubes to a couple of feral animals.” He says “I mean, no offense.”

“Well, considering that they take after you, no offense taken.” You laugh.

“…You know what? I’m gonna let that slide. Just for tonight because I’m ready to fold you in half like a fucking lawn chair. I can’t take it anymore.” Eddie says.

“A what?” You laugh.

“Don’t question it, okay? Just fucking go with it.” He replies.

“Alright, daddy. Whatever you want.” You tease.

“Ugh….stop it. You know how weak I get for you when you call me daddy.” Eddie smirks.

“Do you get weak or are you just easy?” You joke.

“Hm….both.” He answers “Now come on, momma. Daddy needs some lovin’. Don’t make me beg.”

“Mmm…but I like it when you beg.” You flirt, grabbing a handful of his shirt as you yank him towards you.

“Oh? Well, in that case-“

You heard the sudden screaming of your two year old ring out from her bedroom, immediately making your body jump into worried mom-mode. As you prepare to hop out of bed, Eddie stops you.

“Wait.” He says, his hands on your hips “She probably just lost her paci. Give it a sec and she’ll stop.”

You waited. A few more cries before it suddenly stopped as fast as it started. Just like Eddie had predicted, your daughter’s cries had ceased. Maybe it was just her losing her pacifier. You let out a sigh of relief.

“Alright, baby.” He whispers “Now where were we?”

He leans into you again, wiggling his way in-between your legs as he began to kiss down your neck.

“Gonna take my time with you…” he mumbles “Gonna get you nice and wet. Gonna make you feel so good. Fuck, I wanna take care of you after you spend so much time taking care of me and the girls. You deserve this, angel. We deserve this…”

You let yourself melt into his words as you kissed him back, savoring the way his lips felt against yours. It had been so long since you and Eddie have had alone time to explore each other’s bodies and catch up on the emotional and sexual intimacy that you both craved.

Of course there was still sex between you two but mostly rendezvous during the girls’ afternoon naps on the weekends, or quickies in the laundry room while My Little Pony kept them occupied for the ten minutes it took for you both to get off. Maybe, if you were lucky, you and Eddie could sometimes enjoy a shower together before your kids woke up- but it was a rare occurrence. You missed having your husband to yourself.

“Missed you, Eds.” You mumble against his lips “Missed this.”

“Oh, trust me, baby. No one has missed this more than I have. Can’t wait to make you cum on my cock. Can’t wait to make love to you.”

His filthy words spurred you on, causing you to grab ahold of his Metallica t-shirt- fisting the material in your hands.

"Do it then." You flirt, voice low and dripping with sex. Eddie took it as a challenge.

"Oh baby, I fucking plan on it." He rasps "Panties off. Now."

You scramble to obey, reaching down underneath the covers to peel off your underwear that were becoming wet with your arousal. You kick them off, letting them get lost beneath the sheets. Without missing a beat, Eddie spreads your legs- pushing your thighs apart of slot himself in-between them.

His hand dived down between your legs, his fingers beginning to rub against your wet, slick heat as you let out a soft moan.

"Fuck, baby. So wet already. Been missing me?" He whispers.

"Too much, Eds." You answer, causing him to hum appreciately.

"Look, baby, I know I said I was gonna take my time with you but I fucking lied. I need to be inside of you." He admits "Missed this too fucking much."

"Yeah?" You breathe.

"Fuck yes.." He replies "I promise I'll give this pussy the attention she deserves but I've gotta fucking cum in you, sweetheart. I'll make it up to you during round two."

"If we stay awake that long." You snort.

"Baby, I'll stay awake even if I have to glue my fucking eyelids open. I need all of you."

"Okay." You accept, feeling Eddie's rock hard cock nudge against your cunt- ready and waiting to fuck into you "Make it up to me after, babe. Take your dick out for me."

"Fuck, angel." Eddie moans "I fucking love you. Gonna give you this-"

"Mommy?"

You and Eddie practically jump at the small voice, immediately turning your heads to find your four-year-old poking her head through the door. You hadn't even heard it open. Your face immediately heats up as you worry about how long she had been standing there- what she might have heard.

Eddie, on the other hand, had an expression on his face that conveyed that he was definitely screaming on the inside.

Jesus H fucking Christ! Why didn't I lock the fucking door?!

"Hey baby," You call out, immediately switching on your mommy voice "What's wrong? You okay?”

Your daughter looked upset, a frown on her cute little face that scarily resembled Eddie's- her favorite stuffy cradled in her arms.

"I had a bad dream." She explains, her eyes welling with tears that made your heart ache. As soon as Eddie saw it too, he went into daddy mode.

"C'mere, sweetheart." He coos, rolling off of you as he pulled the covers over himself. Your daughter pads over to his side of the bed as you try to inconspicuously find your discarded panties in the sheets and pull them back on. So much for mommy and daddy time, you thought. But when one of your little gremlins needed you, you were there.

As Eddie picked up your daughter and tucked her into the bed between the two of you, you hear another familiar pattering of tiny feet- causing you both you look up and find your two-year-old standing in the hall. She was rubbing her tired eyes with her cubby fist, sucking on her pacifier as she dragged her trusty blankie behind her- her curls disheveled and wild from sleep.

"You too, huh?" Eddie sighs, smiling as he shakes his head "C'mon, bug. Might as well make it a party."

Your two-year-old joins in, curling into her daddy's side as he presses a kiss to the crown of her head.

"Everyone comfy?" He asks, looking over at his three beautiful girls in the bed beside him. In that moment, he didn't care that his daughters had just cockblocked him, he didn't care that he had to share his bed for another night this week, and he didn't care that he would have to wait a little bit longer to have you. All he cared about was his baby girls feeling safe, comfortable, and loved. His needs could wait. They always came first.

Just when he was beginning to doze off to the sounds of his daughter's soft breathing and occasional tiny snores, he heard your voice whisper to him.

"Eds?"

"Hm?" He hums, cracking open a tired eye as he turns to look at you.

"I'll make it up to you." You promise.

"Baby, you don't have to-"

"I want to." You correct "How about we call out of work tomorrow? We can drop the girls off at daycare...have the house all too ourselves."

Eddie's interest was immediately piqued.

"Oh, sweetheart." He grins "Don't threaten me with a good time."

"Is that a yes?" You giggle.

"Oh, sweetheart, that's a hell yes."

"Okay." You say "It's a date then. I love you."

"I love you more." He whispers back "You and these cockblocking little gremlins of ours."

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