young and bold

Steve looks up and prays you can’t see the hopeless devotion in his eyes. You’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, with your messy hair and your eyes lined with glitter. Rosy cheeks, glossy pink lips that he stares a beat too long at. He’s known you for years, and yet he’s never gonna get used to how gorgeous you are. He swallows, forces his eyes up to yours.

“I’m okay,” he says, though he’s really not. He never is, because you never won’t look like that. “Are you?”

There’s another explosion of noise from the soda-pong players, but you don’t seem to notice. You frown like you don’t believe him. He’s being too obvious, he knows.

“Yeah, I’m good. Are you sure, Steve?” You stretch your free hand across your torso to touch his face. Steve heats like an oven under your hand as you press your palm to his forehead. “You’re not feeling sick, are you? You feel sort of hot.”

Steve grabs your wrist, harder than he means to. He loosens his grip guiltily when you give him an alarmed look.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, lowering your hand gently. He can feel your pulse, only just, underneath his fingers. It’s damn sure slower than his. “I— uh, no. I’m not feeling unwell. It is pretty hot in here though.”

A total lie. The only reason he’s burning up is you.

Your frown deepens, a push of your bottom lip that makes Steve want to kiss you. It’s such an overwhelming feeling that he has to blink multiple times to make it go away.

“Oh,” you say. You look around the room and then back at Steve. “Do you want to go outside?”

Steve has a bit of a dilemma. If he says yes, he’ll be alone with you. He can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing. If he says no, he’ll have to stay in this stuffy room with yelling teenagers and ping pong balls flying at him every five seconds. He decides on the first option.

“Sure,” he says as nonchalantly as he can. Then, to make you laugh, “Smells like boy in here anyway.”

You giggle. Steve feels like copying Dustin’s lame victory dance.

“You’re a boy, Stevie,” you say teasingly.

He wrinkles his nose at you. “No, I know, but it’s like … adolescent boy.”

You laugh loud, your mouth pulled up in a staggering smile. “Oh, okay,” you say, as if anything he just said made any sense.

Steve is starstruck for a second before you’re pulling him up from his seat, your hand in his a familiar, heart-aching weight.

Steve finds himself sitting side by side with you on the hood of his car. He can’t exactly remember how he got here — on the way, all he could think about was your hand in his and the fact that your thumb kept brushing over his knuckles in very distinct lines. Whether you’d meant to or not, he doesn’t know. He hopes you did.

“Any better?” You ask quietly, stretching your pinky across the small gap between your hands to tap his.

Steve feels something like an electric shock where your skin touches his. It baffles him, how such a tiny touch can cause such a big reaction throughout his body. He stares at your hand when he answers.

“Much,” he says honestly. He looks up at you. “You didn’t have to come with me, you know. You can go back in if you want.”

Secretly he hopes you’ll stay here with him forever. But that would be selfish, and if Steve is anything when he’s with you, it’s not selfish.

“Eurgh, no.” You pull a disgusted sort of face that makes Steve grin. “I could barely stand it when you were there. Without you, I think I’d die from the smell alone.”

Steve laughs. Really laughs. The words without you, I think I’d die, float around his brain like fish in a fish tank. When he’s done laughing he catches your smile, all pretty and wide, and his heart does one of those funny backflips that he’s never gonna get used to.

Steve watches as you brace your hands on the edge of the car and push yourself up the hood, pulling your shoes up to rest on the metal. Your skirt is short enough that Steve can see half of your thighs, more when you shift yourself like that. He stares for two seconds too long and then feels so guilty he almost apologises.

Instead, he says, “Aren’t you cold?” He points at your skirt but doesn’t look.

You shrug. “No, not really.”

With a sigh you let yourself fall back against the hood of the car. Your skirt rises even more and a half inch more of your skin is exposed — Steve feels like the universe is out to get him. His only escape is to fall back next to you, his right shoulder brushing your left one. You smile when he does, head rolling to the side to look at him. Face to face now, Steve can feel every small breath coming from your parted lips.

“See any stars?” He blurts, because your face is much too close and he’s scared if you look at him like that any longer, he’ll kiss you stupid.

You look up at the dark, empty sky and wrinkle your nose. “No.”

“Wait, look, there’s one.” Steve lifts his arm to point at what he thinks is a star.

You squint in its direction. “That’s a plane.”

“What? No it’s— oh.” He trails off when he realises the ‘star’ is moving. It disappears behind a cloud a second later.

You laugh, breathless and pretty, and drop your head onto Steve’s shoulder. Your perfume fills the air around Steve and he has to stop himself from leaning closer. You bring a hand up to fiddle with your necklace, a cheap, plastic ‘S’ charm that sits directly on your sternum. The fake diamonds are falling off, half of them gone already, but you’ve refused to take it off after all these years. Steve has one of your initial, too. You got them from a dollar store when you were twelve and pinky promised to be best friends forever.

You slip your necklace safely beneath your top and then stifle a yawn behind your hand.

Steve gives your elbow a nudge. “Tired?”

You shrug one shoulder and then droop further into Steve’s side. Every point of contact between you burns.

“You’re tired,” Steve says matter-of-factly.

You make a noise that’s probably meant to be a sound of protest but comes out more like a tired moan. Steve chuckles lightly, reaches over and rubs your arm.

“Alright, sweet girl. Let’s go home.”

‘Home’ really means Steve’s house, because you’ve left your car there and because you’re over so much it’s become your second home. By the time Steve is pulling up the driveway, you’re so dead beat he doesn’t even consider letting you drive yourself home. You practically hang off his waist as he walks you both inside.

“M’tired,” you mumble as you pass the living room.

Steve has to bite back a laugh. “Uh-huh, I can tell.”

You look up at him and squint like you know he’s laughing at you. Then you say, “Can I sleep in your bed?”

Steve’s heart skips. Sure, you’ve slept in his bed before, but every time you have Steve lay awake for at least half the night. He’s not above admitting that he’s watched you sleep more than once. He’s seconds away from telling you to take the guest bedroom when you pout dramatically.

“Please? You’re so warm.” You push into his side, your arm tightening around his waist like you don’t ever want to let go.

Steve hates himself for nodding, but he can’t help it. “Yeah, okay.”

He drags you up the stairs and into his room. Your makeup and stray jewellery is strewn across his dresser — you’d gotten ready at Steve’s before the party. If you could even call it that, Steve thinks. He plants you on his bed and you fall back immediately, eyes shut tight as your hair splays across the sheets.

“You’re like a zombie,” Steve says amusedly, his gaze all fond and mushy as he looks down at you. “From like, Day of the Dead or something.”

You pull a face, faux offended but your big grin gives you away. “Ew. I’m not that ugly, am I?”

Steve hums long and high like he’s thinking about it. This makes you gasp and throw a hand to your chest like he’s wounded you. Before Steve can get half a laugh out a pillow is hitting him straight across the face.

“Hey!” He exclaims, glaring at you. You’re still lying down, eyes screwed tight like you’re pretending you didn’t just brutally attack Steve. He laughs because you’re fucking adorable. “Zombies don’t throw pillows, Y/N.”

Your words are plagued by a yawn as you say, “This one does.”

Steve sighs at your antics, picks up your murder weapon (his pillow) and replaces it on the bed.

“Oh no,” you groan suddenly, like you’ve remembered something awful, hands flying to your face in despair. “My makeup, Stevie. M’too tired to take it off.”

Your words stick to each other like taffy in your tired state. Steve remembers the last time he let you sleep in your makeup. He didn’t hear the end of it for days. He’d rather avoid your wrath this time round.

Steve sighs, knowing full well he’s about to put his foot in it. “Well, will you let me do it?”

You open one eye blearily and look at him. “Would you?”

Steve shrugs, though the thought of being that close to you makes him feel nauseous. Luckily, you’ve closed both eyes again so he can blush all he wants. Plus, he’d do anything for you. Even endure the overwhelming urge to kiss you breathless.

“Sure thing, babe. I’ll get the stuff.”

Steve ends up sitting on his bed with you across from him, crossed legs pressing up against his. You’re sitting so close you’re almost in his lap. He ignores this for the sake of his dignity.

You’ve got your eyes shut and your hair up in a clip. A lock of hair has tumbled out of its knot and Steve pushes it away from your face, fingers hooking behind your ear and lingering. He keeps his hand on your jaw as he raises his other hand, a wet cloth ready to clean your sparkly makeup off.

“You sure about this?” He asks hesitantly. He’s dead terrified he’ll do something wrong, like get glitter in your eye.

You smile softly, your eyes staying firmly shut. “Yes, Steve, it’s fine.” Your tone is half reassuring and half exasperated.

Steve bites the bullet and goes right in, pressing the wet cloth to your cheekbones first. You’ve got blush and glitter there, sprinkled on your cheeks like fairy dust. He smooths the cloth along your skin and it comes away sparkly and pink.

“Okay?” He asks, pausing worriedly.

You nod slowly, your head starting to droop in his hand. “Yeah, Steve.”

Steve grins fondly at your face, screwed up in exhaustion. He tightens his grip on your jaw to keep your head steady, thumb hooked under your chin. Carefully, he begins to dab at your eyelids, also painted with silvery glittery eyeshadow.

Your face dewy and makeup-free, Steve thinks you’ve never looked prettier. So pretty it drives him mad. He stares, really stares, for far too long but he’s worried if he opens his mouth, breaks the silence, he’ll never get to see you like this again. Your hair all messy pretty, your eyes shut and eyelashes kissing, your pink lips turned in a half smile.

He’s not surprised when your soft voice drifts into his thoughts.

“You done?” You open your eyes, eyelids heavy and head heavier.

Steve snaps out of it. He lets go of your face quickly, slides off the bed even quicker.

“All done,” he says, almost tripping over his own feet.

You smile, seemingly oblivious to his clumsiness. Or maybe, it’s just happened so often that you’re not surprised. Either way, your smile is sickeningly sweet. Steve is torn between the desire to kiss you or run as far away as possible from you.

Your voice matches your honey-smile when you say, “Thank you, Stevie.”

You reach out to touch his forearm, your hand a heavy weight on his skin as you wrap your fingers around his arm and squeeze.

He grins lopsidedly, and he’s sure he looks like a lovesick idiot but he can’t find it in himself to care. “You’re welcome.”

You drop your hand and Steve’s arm suddenly feels cold as ice. He wants to touch you again but knows he shouldn’t. He strides to his bedroom door and pauses to turn and look at you.

“I’m gonna get you a glass of water,” he says. Your eyelids are drooping again. He laughs fondly. “Get in bed while I’m gone, zombie-girl.”

Your giggle follows him all the way to the kitchen.

When Steve gets back, a glass of water in each hand, you’re still as a statue on your self-appointed side of the bed. You’ve swapped your outfit for a grey t-shirt that you totally stole from him but deny every time he asks about it, and the shortest shorts known to mankind.

He switches off the light and shuts the door with his heel. Pointedly avoiding looking at your bare legs, he rounds the bed and sets the water down, then bends over you.

“Y/N?” He whispers.

You hum softly, though Steve can’t tell if it’s a hum of acknowledgement or just a sound you’ve made in your sleep. He leans closer, listening to your breathing. You’re awake, only just.

He brushes his hand over your upper arm, touch as light as a feather. He thinks he feels goosebumps on your skin but doesn’t have time to wonder why. You’re lifting your chin slightly, lips parted.

“Goodnight, Stevie,” you whisper, so quiet he barely hears you. Steve’s heart swells. “Thanks for … everything.”

A few moments later you fall silent and your breathing grows steady, and Steve wonders how the hell you always fall asleep so fast.

He rubs your arm, kisses your forehead because he knows you won’t remember this part. His lips buzz as he pulls away. “Goodnight, sweet thing.”

-

You’re outside Family Video. Steve emerges from the back room and spots you so fast it’s like he’s got a third eye. He’s both shocked and pleased — he hadn’t expected to see you until after his shift.

You’ve got the kids with you. You and Max are zooming around the carpark on your skateboards while Dustin and Lucas are poised on the hood of your car, poring over comics.

He watches you skate with Max. Like some lame rom-com cliche, your hair is blowing in the wind and Steve swears you’ve moving in slow motion. You’re laughing and joking with Max and Steve stares and stares. Stares until Robin sidles up next to him.

“What’re you— oh.” Steve can hear the smirk in her voice even though he refuses to look at her. “What’re they doing here?”

Steve shrugs and makes an ‘I don’t know’ sound, moving to the counter to put down the box of videos he’s carrying. Robin follows.

“You’re not gonna go say hi to Y/N?” Robin asks slyly. Steve can hear in her voice what’s coming. “You’ve been staring long enough.”

Steve blushes furiously despite himself. “I wasn’t staring.”

“Oh, sure.” Robin hoists herself onto the counter, peers into the box of videos and picks one out at random. “Just like you weren’t holding her hand on Tuesday night?”

Steve can’t exactly get himself out of that one. He snatches the video from Robin with an annoyed tsk, slotting it back into the box. Her laugh is devilish.

“You are hopeless, Steven,” she says, whacking Steve over the head as she hops off the counter.

Steve rubs his head and glares at Robin. If looks could kill she’d be dead meat. “That’s not my name.”

Robin gets this look on her face that Steve knows all too well. He wants to pummel her before she’s even said anything.

“Oh, sorry,” she says, all sarcasm. “What is it, then? Stevie?”

Steve’s blood boils. Only you’re allowed to call him that.

“Y’know what, Robin?” He says loudly. He turns on his coworker, seething. She’s totally nonchalant, a stupid smirk on her lips. “Why don’t you just leave me—?”

“Steve!”

A shout of his name from the door. He turns and finds Lucas standing there, looking panicked.

Steve’s brow furrows. Then he notices you and Max are no longer whizzing around the carpark. “What—“

“Y/N fell,” Lucas says, out of breath. “We think she hurt her wrist.”

Steve’s heart drops. “Shit.”

He goes flying out the door and into the parking lot. You’re sitting on the concrete, one knee pulled up to your chest, your skateboard dormant next to you. Max is kneeling over you, and Dustin has graciously abandoned his comics for your sake.

“Y/N!” He damn near shouts. He runs over to you and Max and gets on his knees. He’s probably just ruined his jeans on the concrete — he doesn’t give a single fuck.

“Y/N,” he says frantically, a tentative hand landing on your shoulder. Both your knees are scraped something awful and a nasty gash blooms on the outside of your wrist. Steve’s worry is loud and his heartbeat twice as much. “Y/N, are you okay? What happened? What’s—“

You look up. Your eyes are shining but you’ve got a dopey smile on your lips.

“Steve,” you say breathlessly. You blink and a tear falls from your eye and over the bump of your cheek. “Hi. Good to see you.”

Steve stares at you in horror. How can you be making jokes at a time like this? You laugh wetly and Steve looks at Max, totally alarmed.

“What happened?” He demands.

Max is much calmer than he is. “She went over a bump or something,” she says. She’s rubbing your back and Steve feels a rush of gratitude for the younger girl. “Fell on her left arm. Her wrist might be sprained or broken, but—“

“Broken?” Steve repeats. He’s pretty sure his soul just left his body.

“I said might,” Max says through her teeth.

“Y/N?” Steve slides his arm around your shoulder, carefully avoiding your left wrist, which you're cradling in your uninjured hand. “Y/N, baby, can you get up?”

You make a noise like a scoff but it’s muffled by your sniffly nose. “‘Course I can.”

Steve helps you anyway, Max on your other side keeping a firm hold on your jacket. You hiss as you straighten your legs, knee-wounds sprouting fresh blood. Steve bites down on his lip so hard he almost bleeds himself.

“Are you gonna take her to the hospital?” Max asks. There’s genuine worry in her eyes that Steve barely sees. Dustin, Lucas and Robin appear, looking equally worried.

Steve puts on a brave face. “Think so. What do you think?” He asks Max. “You’re the skateboard expert.”

She grins so quick Steve almost misses it. It disappears when she looks at you in your bloody and bruised state. “Yeah. Just in case.”

Steve walks you over to your car, half dragging you. Not that you need him to, he just can’t bear for you to hurt any more than you already are. He deposits you in the passenger seat, ducks his head in to pull your seatbelt across your torso. He’s seconds from ducking back out when you stop him, your uninjured hand on his chest, right over his racing heart.

“It hurts,” you say, quiet enough that only Steve can hear. Your eyes are welling up again. Steve feels like crying himself.

“I know,” he says, nodding vigorously like it will make a difference. “I know, sweet girl. It’s gonna be fine. You’re gonna be okay.”

At this point he’s talking to himself as well as you. You nod in an exhausted sort of way and Steve presses a kiss to your cheek. Slow and soft and as close to your lips as he’s ever kissed. He has to take a few seconds to compose himself before straightening up and turning to the others.

“I gotta take her,” he says, sending an apologetic grimace in Robin’s direction.

Robin nods once and surprisingly, doesn’t say a word. She looks about as sympathetic as Steve has ever seen her. He turns to the kids.

“Help Robin,” he says. He’s trying desperately to make his voice sound normal but falling short of the mark. Everyone notices but nobody comments. “Don’t mess up the store.”

He gives a grateful smile to Max and then rounds the car, hopping in and starting the engine.

-

You’re half asleep on Steve’s couch, your head in his lap. You’re wearing his yellow sweater — the one he bought only because you’d said he’d look good in yellow. You’ve just woken up from a post-hospital nap and Steve’s hand is in your hair, brushing slow strokes over the side of your head.

He’s feeling a lot of things. Relieved, for starters. The doctor had said it was only a sprain, they’d bandaged up your wrist and you’d left the hospital in far better conditions. Steve was in far better conditions, too.

Steve looks down at you, at your bandaged wrist and the huge bandaids on your knees and thinks, fuck. He thinks his heart is about to claw its way out of his chest. He doesn’t think he can take this love thing any longer.

You stir and take a long breath, turning your head in Steve’s lap to look up at him. Your eyes are tired but you’re smiling.

“You okay?” Steve asks softly. He doesn’t want to break the silence. It feels good, to sit in silence and comfort with you. He runs his fingers through your hair again.

You nod. “Mhm. I’m good.”

“Hurting?”

You shift in his lap. “No, not right now.”

You fall silent and Steve doesn’t know what to say. He wants to tell you how worried he was about you, but you could probably tell. Anyone with a pair of eyes could tell he was nauseous-level worried. Then he thinks about telling you he loves you. It’s a stupid reason, really, but it was all because a nurse had asked if he was your boyfriend. He’d wished he could say yes.

“Steve?”

Steve hums and meets your eyes. You move to sit up and Steve helps you, knowing you won’t let him stop you. A firm hand between your shoulder blades, his palm sliding down your back as you straighten yourself. You shift so you’re facing him, your legs crossed beneath you and your injured wrist resting in your lap. Steve is careful to avoid your wounded knees.

“What is it, babe?” Steve asks quietly. He brings his hand up to caress your cheek, dragging his thumb over a spot where your tears had smudged your mascara earlier.

You melt into his hand, eyes falling shut as a long, deep sigh falls from your lips. You raise your good hand to cover his, holding it to your face. Your hand burns stars onto the back of his.

“Is it your wrist?” Steve asks. You’re acting strange. He puts it down to your injured state. “Your knees? Do you want more ice? New band-aids?”

He’s being a total worrywart, he knows, but who can blame him?

You shake your head, eyes open but cast down. “No.”

“Just feeling bad?” He asks through a frown. In a strange parallel to a couple of days ago, he lifts his free hand to press his palm to your forehead. You feel warm but not hot.

“It’s …” you start, then trail off. Both yours and Steve’s hands fall to your lap.

Steve’s concern spikes. You’ve never been one to hide anything from him. “Yeah?”

“Um, it’s … it’s silly but—“ You take a deep breath and let your eyes raise to Steve’s. You get a look on your face Steve doesn’t quite understand, but it makes his heart leap to his throat anyway. “You know today, when that nurse asked us if you were my boyfriend?”

Steve laughs embarrassedly, too loud and too sudden. So you’d been thinking about that, too. He pulls his hand away from your lap and rubs the back of his neck.

“Yeah, that was kinda weird, wasn’t it?” He says, though it wasn’t really. Almost every new person he meets thinks you’re dating him. “I was—”

“I wanted to say yes, Stevie.”

Steve stops talking abruptly, his mouth slamming shut. He hadn’t really known what he was about to say, anyway. He searches for words but all he comes up with is a garbled, “What?”

You laugh, all soft and slow and distorted by fatigue. You raise your hand to rub your neck, a mirror of Steve only a moment ago.

“I wanted to say yes,” you repeat, like it’s obvious. Even the second time, Steve doesn’t believe what he’s hearing. His chest feels like it’s on fire, worse when you say, “I want you to be my boyfriend.”

For once in his life, Steve has nothing to say. He gazes at you like you’re some sort of angel on earth. Maybe he’s dreaming. Maybe he’s in some cruel dream and he’s about to wake up with his chest aching.

“I …” Steve‘s voice catches on the words. His throat burns so he mustn’t be dreaming. He tries again. “Y-You … you do?”

He’s not even embarrassed by the stuttering. Just when he didn’t think he could be any more in love with you, you giggle. He was dead wrong. His heart grows about three sizes too big for his chest.

“Yeah, Steve,” you say, fondness smothering your fake exasperation. “Do you … do you want me to be your girlfriend?”

What Steve wants is to kiss you. He wants to kiss you til you can’t breathe and then some more after that. Silently, he takes your injured wrist in his hand and gently shifts it so it’s out of the way, resting on the couch cushions. Then he grabs your face, fingers splayed over your jaw and neck. He can feel your pulse. It’s almost as quick as his. He leans so close he can hear every breath you’re taking.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he whispers, his lips ghosting over yours. “That okay?”

You laugh a giddy, breathless laugh, surprised at his suddenness. “Please do.”

He slams his eyes shut, darts forward to kiss you and fucking misses. Your noses bump. A surprised giggle bubbles from you and Steve goes red.

“Wait, I’m sorry—“ He tries again, tilting your head to one side and angling his head to the other. This time it works perfectly, and your giggling is swallowed up by Steve’s mouth, lips fitting together like they were made for each other.

You sigh and go all melty and Steve’s heart skyrockets. It feels like everything in the world is falling into place. It’s years of longing, eternities of lingering touches and offhand compliments and longing glances all rolled into one life changing kiss. Your good hand has jumped to Steve’s chest, first bunched in the material of his t-shirt and then spreading over it, palm atop his wild heart. He thinks he might die on the spot. Or like, catch on fire or something.

Steve is losing breath but he won’t stop just yet. He drops his hands to your shoulders and pulls away a hair’s breadth. Then he dives back in for one, two, three kisses that you respond to with all the eagerness in the world. Your kisses are so lovely they make him light-headed.

When Steve pulls away (for oxygen, nothing less) you chase his lips with yours. He laughs, all fondness. He’s dizzy with love.

“Woah, hold your horses, cowboy,” he says through a woozy laugh. He’s finding it hard to speak. He barely hears himself. For all he knows, he’s talking in an alien language.

“Sorry,” you whisper, not sounding very sorry at all. “So … was that a yes?”

Steve has to laugh. He can’t help it. “Are you kidding? Yes, Y/N. That was a yes. I—“

He’s rudely interrupted by someone banging on the door. He thinks he knows who it is. Only one person he knows knocks that hard.

He sighs morosely but he can’t keep the grin off his face for very long. “I’ll get it.”

He heaves himself off the couch and makes for the front door. You stop him before he gets very far, a hand in his bicep.

“Wait, Steve.”

Steve turns, puzzled. “Yeah?”

You’re lifting your chin up, lips parted. Steve knows exactly what you want.

His grin grows impossibly wider as he bends at the waist to kiss you once, chaste and slow and just as perfect as the kisses shared moments ago. When he pulls away you’re smiling so big he’s worried you’ll get stuck like that forever. He wouldn’t mind.

Another round of banging from the door. Steve sighs, squeezes your good shoulder once and then marches to the front door, just about ready to kick the intruder off his front porch. He opens the door and finds his suspicions were correct. It’s Dustin.

He’s holding a handful of flowers that look suspiciously similar to the ones that grow in Steve’s mom’s garden.

“Those for me?” Steve asks. He shoots his arm out to stop Dustin from barging in, hand gripping the door frame.

Dustin pulls a face. “Ew. No, they’re for Y/N.” He steps aside and more kids appear, plus Robin and Eddie. Eddie’s van has been parked haphazardly in Steve’s driveway. “Can we come in or are you gonna stand there and guard the door like that all night?”

“She’s tired.”

“But we bought chocolates.”

“Well—“

“Dustin?” You call from the living room. Oh, great. Now Steve’s gonna have to let them in. “S’that you?”

Dustin beams and gives Steve an expectant look. Steve drops his arm with a defeated sigh and Dustin goes marching in like he owns the place. Max, Lucas and even Mike follow. Mike, who never shows up to anything. Though Steve shouldn’t be surprised. You’re Mike’s favourite, out of the older ones.

Eddie comes next, then Robin, who stops to give Steve a grimace.

“Sorry,” she says wryly. “They really wanted to see her.”

Steve shrugs good-naturedly. He’s on cloud nine and much too happy to care all that much. He follows Robin into the living room and finds everyone crowded around you, Max on your side and Dustin getting down on one knee to present you the probably-stolen flowers like you’re the Queen of England. You look the same as Steve feels — kiss bitten and with your head in another world. But you’re pleased by the company, he can tell.

Dustin moves to give you one of his bone-crushing hugs and Steve goes all panic mode.

“Please be careful with her!” He says urgently, his panic obvious under the usual demanding tone he takes with the kids.

But you’re laughing under Dustin’s hug, and Steve can’t stay mad when you look like that. You meet his eyes over a mop of curly hair and your gaze goes all mushy and sweet. Steve’s legs feel like jelly. If he keeled over dead right now, he wouldn’t be surprised.

He’s sure someone will see but he doesn’t really care. Grinning from ear to ear, he mouths, “Love you.”

He’s said it before, of course he has, you’re his best friend in the whole entire world. This time though, it’s all the more different. It’s better. You flush, oblivious to the noisy chatter around you.

“Love you too,” you mouth back.

Steve can’t stop smiling for the rest of the night.

How could you still want him so badly after he’d already made you come? You were still vibrating, body buzzing from the flick of his tongue and the feel of his fingers sliding in and out of you. 

But then the boy slid one hand into your hair, held you to him so he could kiss you senseless, tongue licking over your own again and again and again. His other hand traced the lines of you, from the dip in your waist to the curve of your hip, hand skimming down to cup your ass, squeeze the flesh there and pull you into him.  

You could feel how hard he was, thick and hot against your thigh, trapped beneath denim and god, the way he was grinding himself into you was maddening. 

You couldn’t stop kissing him though, revelling in the way it left you both breathless, more and more desperate for the other, noses pressed to cheeks, your hands tugging at his curls until he groaned into your mouth, let you swallow his sounds and keep them for yourself. 

“Eddie,” you whimpered, back arching off of the bed, into his frame, trying your best to wrap yourself around him “Eddie.”

“I know- fuck,” Eddie’s voice was shot, low and rough, dripping in need and he smelled like smoke and sex and something that was entirely him. “S’alright, sweetheart, Christ, I know.”

You were pushing him back then, eyes a little wide, hair a mess and your hands on his bare chest. You tried your best to coax him backwards and the boy let you, went soft for you and let you manhandle him to where you wanted because fucking hell, Eddie Munson would throw himself into traffic for you if you asked. 

So you got him on his knees on the bed, followed him to do the same and you let out an almost watery laugh at the way he didn’t let go of you, not once. He kept a wide hand on your waist, fingers splayed comically large over your ribcage, your back and all he could do was stare down at you, taking in every detail, every line, every freckle and scar. 

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he whispered, catching your mouth once more, making you both both cling to the other as your swayed on the mattress, kissing like you’d never been allowed to before. 

And perhaps you hadn’t, not like this. Alone with the boy in a bed that smelled like him, in the dark of his room with no one else to worry about. Hands dragging over naked skin, new places to touch, to see, to kiss and taste. 

“Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” Eddie was still running his mouth as he kissed you, catching every soft sigh and whine you gave him with a push of his lips to yours. “What you doin’ with a guy like me, huh?”

It was a rhetorical question, you knew that. The boy was mumbling, almost to himself, eyes closed, lips smoothing over your jaw, totally lost in you. But you felt the need to answer him, to show him why you were with him. 

Your hands found the waistband of his jeans, fingers a little shaky as you tugged at it, popping the button and messing with his zipper, a little noise of indignation stuck in your throat when it didn’t budge as easily as you wanted. And then you were pawing at him, hands roaming over the ink on his chest, lips pushed back to his and you were whining, his name tumbling from your lips over and over again. 

“Hey, hey,” Eddie was catching you, hand cupping your chin, pulling back enough to look you in the eye and he felt like he’d been punched in the gut at all the emotions he found there. Need, want, a heavy dose of something fond, something more. “Sweetheart, s’fine, I know. C’mere for me.”

He took your hands in his, let them drag slow down his chest, over the lines of his hips, the soft of his stomach and he unzipped his jeans with your fingers curled between his own. Everything seemed to slow then, right back down like before, like he was reminding you that you had all the time in the world. Eddie pressed sweet little kisses to your face, peppered them over the apples of your cheeks, open mouthed presses to the corner of your mouth, the angle of your jaw. 

“S’that what you want?” He kept your hand in his own, hissed when he brought it to rub over the hard outline of his dick, twitching beneath his boxers. Your fingers curled around it, thick and heavy in your hand and Eddie squeezed your palm around it with his own, groaning. “You want this, baby?”

You nodded, eyes clenched shut as he pressed his forehead to your own, crowding into you with your joined hands still tugging at his cock through his underwear. The boy was panting, needy noises coming from his lips and you couldn’t believe the way your cunt was aching again, a dull throb that you were desperate to make go away. 

“Eddie,” you whined and your heart stuttered when he whispered your name back, his free hand curling around your waist to hold you closer to him. 

“Shit, I need- I need to be inside you, sweetheart,” he gasped out, jaw slack and parted lips ghosting over your cheek in a lazy kiss. “Fuckin’ desperate for you, please.”

You don’t know how it happened, how Eddie ended up beneath you, back against his headboard that rattled a little too loudly. But you were curling your fingers into his jeans, tugging them down his hips, taking his boxers with them until his cock spring free and slapped against his stomach. You were a mess of limbs, huffs of laughter and kiss swollen smiles as Eddie yanked off his socks as you tried to wrestle the denim down his legs at the same time, both of you completely naked before the other for the first time.

You took a second to take him in, all of him. New tattoos that appeared from under clothes, dark swirls of ink that curled over his skin. He was lean, trim waist, subtle lines of muscle that wrapped around his arms, his thighs. 

He looked nervous as you sat between his spread legs, hands smoothing across his thighs as you leaned into him. Eddie could help but drop his stare to your tits for a second or two, nipples peaked and grazing across his own chest as you moved against him. 

You caught his lips in a sweet kiss, your voice sticky and soft with affection as you told him, “you’re so pretty, Eddie.”

You couldn’t see, not from the way you were sucking a nice bruise into his neck, but Eddie had the sheets fisted in his hands at your words, your voice. He sighed, let his head fall back and his jaw go slack, tilting himself this way and that so you could bite and suck at his throat. 

You felt him swallow, a harsh bob of his Adam’s apple as you kissed over it. He sighed, soft, melting under your touch and his hands caught your waist as you moved yourself to perch on his lap. Your thighs spread over his own, your bare cunt sliding slick and warm over the hard length of him. 

He twitched, you moaned, he held you a little tighter. 

“Yeah?” He asked you, voice higher and breathier than you’d heard it before. 

You grinned, nodding, the graze of your lips following the line of his jaw, stubble catching on your tongue as you flicked it out a little dirty at the space under his ear. You mimicked his words from earlier, hurting your own heart with how true they were. 

“Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” you whispered. 

Eddie grinned, Eddie blushed, shaking his head at you as he smiled all soft, sticky fondness catching at his throat as he cupped the back of your neck and tugged you into him. 

“C’mere, you.”

Another kiss, sloven and lazy, one that stirred up heat in your stomach, made you grind against him with a whine. He didn’t get a chance to pull away as you wrapped your hand around his dick, pumping him once, twice, before you raised yourself up a little, and sunk back down.  

Eddie’s fingers were bruises on your hips, grabbing at you as his tip nudged at your cunt, slick and warm, a slow slide of you as you went down down down. 

You took him inch by inch, gasping at each bit of stretch, eyes watery and on his own as he watched you, pupils blown, jaw hanging slack. 

“Jesus fuckin’ christ,” he moaned, the sound ripping out of him in a stutter. You were both panting, chests heaving as you took him all, sitting pretty in his lap with his cock seated fully inside of you. “Oh, good girl, good fucking girl.”

You gasped, didn’t dare move, because you were already clenching around him and you could feel the way the boy’s cock was twitching inside of you, his head thrown back at the way you were tightening up at the feel of him. 

It was too much, the stretch, the ache, the feeling of being so full. 

“Eds, Eddie,” god, you sounded close to tears, too overwhelmed by it all. “I can’t, s’too good, already close, don’t wanna- fuck, not yet-”

The boy was petting at you, hands brushing over your thighs, your shoulders, cradling your cheeks in his palms as he kissed over your lips. He made soft noises, nudged at your jaw with his nose so you’d move your head back for him to kiss a line across your throat. 

“You’re alright, sweetheart, yeah?” Eddie cooed, voice full of awe and heat for you. “I’ve got you. S’okay, gonna take it real slow for me, aren’t you?”

You mewled, made a little whining noise for him, because fucking hell, that’s all you could do. His cock was throbbing inside of you, his thighs already a mess with you and you couldn’t help but rock a little, hips moving over Eddie’s and making him grunt. 

“Yeah, jus’ like that, hmm?” Eddie nodded, eyelids drooping with pleasure. “Can I watch you? Huh? You gonna let me watch you fuck yourself on a my cock, like a good little girl?”

You were nodding, small hands gripping around the boy’s board shoulders and you realised then and there that you’d do absolutely anything Eddie asked. His voice made your toes curl, singing with praise, thick with adoration. 

“Shit, yeah,” you told him, eyes squeezing shut as he chanted his hips up a little, nudged somewhere deep inside of you. “Yeah, please, you can watch me, I can do that.”

You were babbling, a mess, back arching for him to touch more of you and Eddie obliged, one hand smoothing down the curve of your tummy, the other flicking fingers over your nipples, twisting and pulling a little rough when he felt you get wetter for him. 

His lips were at your ear when he whispered, mouth warm on the shell of it, “remember, sweetheart, nice n’ slow for me, yeah?”

You nodded, all words gone as you started to move your hips. Eddie kept his hands on you, fingers splayed wide over the tops of your thighs, thumbs pressing into the crease that separated them from your cunt, just gently sliding over the spread of your folds as you rocked back and forth over his cock. 

You barely lifted yourself off of him, just rolling yourself over and over, hips grinding down onto him as the boy  groaned his praise to you. And every time you got too eager, Eddie tutted, wrapped a large hand around your neck and brought you to his lips, kissing you sweetly and murmuring about how you needed to take your time. 

It eventually got too much, just like you knew it would, like Eddie hoped it would. ‘Cause you were whimpering, begging, petting at the boy as your eyes turned wet and you could hardly keep your legs from shaking anymore. 

He gave in then, barely able to keep himself together, harder than ever as his cock sat deep inside you, throbbing for release. So he shushed you with a soft coo, gathered you in his arms and let you fall into his chest. He kissed you desperate, kissed you greedy and then his hands were roaming you back, clutching you right and finally, finally, finally he was rutting up into you. 

Eddie’s eyes were on yours as he snapped his hips into yours, holding onto the curve of your ass to gain some purchase, he slack and lids hooded. He was babbling nonsense, words sticky sweet and filthy as his cock started a fast, hot slide in and out of you. 

“Babybabybaby,” Eddie groaned, his hands everywhere at once, like he couldn’t get enough of you. “Fucking Christ, that’s it, fuckin’ bounce on me sweetheart, you got it, you got it, shit.”

You keened as you grabbed back at his hair, curls fisted in your fingers and Eddie grinned at your touch, like he knew you couldn’t help yourself. You scratched at his scalp, sighed at the way his lashes fluttered with it and you did as he asked, indulged him by lifting yourself off his cock, just enough to feel utterly empty before dropping yourself back down. 

It made Eddie swear, head thrown back, bumping against his wall but he didn’t care, just encouraged you to do it again and again and again and again until-

“Sweetheart, m’gonna come, tell me you’re close, tell me what you need please, c’mon baby, tell me.”

Your hand was shaking as you grabbed Eddie’s, dragging it between your legs so he could thumb at your clit; rough, sloppy circles that did exactly what you needed it to do. 

You pressed your face to the crook of his neck as you came, your entire body rigid against his as Eddie continued to fuck his hips up into you, the boy gasping at how tight you got around him, his arms wrapping themselves around you to hold you to him. 

Another few thrusts, one, two, and Eddie was falling apart underneath you, clutching at your jaw so he could press his mouth to yours, lips parted as he moaned and whispered against you, a barely there kiss. 

Minutes passed before either of you spoke, before either of you moved. Happy to stay curled against each other, still in Eddie’s lap, his slowly softening cock still nestled between your legs and you were messy and sticky, but fuck, you didn’t care. 

You lay lines of kisses across his shoulder, nose nudging soft at his neck whilst the boy drew shapes over your back, his touch bringing goosebumps across your skin. And when you eventually cooled down, your body growing sore and a different ache set in, Eddie helped you shuffle from his lap, tutting in sympathy when you whined at the way he slipped out of you, every part of your body too sensitive. 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered and he left you with a quick kiss to your forehead as he pulled on a pair of sweats he found on the floor, coming back with a warm washcloth and a large glass of water. 

You let him clean you up as well as he could, shared his drink with him until your chest stopped heaving and you felt like your throat could form words. Reality seemed to hit, and you were suddenly so aware that you were in the boy’s room, in his bed, naked and flushed and so, so satisfied. 

But you didn’t know what this was, if it had changed, if this was still the same. If you and Eddie were still the same. Because sex had always been sex but there was something different in the way he was looking at you, with your clothes on his floor and his hand smoothing back your hair so he could kiss over your eyelids, down your cheek to your jaw. 

You didn’t think he wanted you to leave, he wasn’t acting like it, wasn’t rushing you but god, female insecurity seeped in and tugged at your bones, making you feel hollow and unsure. 

You moved as if to find your clothes, not getting very far before Eddie pulled a large shirt out of his drawer, handing it to you with a shy smile and hopeful eyes. You weren’t sure who was happier when you accepted it, the boy’s eyes following the movement of it as you dragged it over your head, lips twisted when you realised it smelled like him. 

“So, uh,” Eddie cleared his throat, stood near his bedroom door and crossed his arms self consciously. He was still shirtless, muscles flexing, tattoos shifting over skin. “Did you mean it? Earlier? About you, me… all night?”

Your stomach flipped, tumbled, like someone had lit a sparkler inside of you. 

“S’okay if you’ve got somewhere to be,” he told you, a hand reaching up to tug at a curl, a telltale sign of his nerves. “I can drive you home or-”

“I don’t have anywhere to be, Eds,” you replied, voice more shy than he’d ever heard it. 

“-or we could order a pizza or somethin’.”

You looked up to find him smiling, that smile you loved, slow and soft and wide, the kind that made his eyes seem warmer, like honey. 

“Yeah?” 

He shrugged, moving back into the room. He toed at your bra, grinning. “Yeah.”

“That sounds like a date, Munson,” you gasped, all faux shock and drama and god, Eddie adored you for it. 

He was back on the bed with you, a warm hand curling around your ankle where you’d stretched your sore legs out. His thumb rubbed over you, like he was trying to soothe his own nerves as well as your own. 

“It does, doesn’t it?” Eddie scrunched his nose, acted confused and like he wasn’t sure what he was saying. But his heart was hammering and he wondered if you could hear the way it rattled his bones, if you could see the relief on his face when you didn’t immediately get up to find your shoes. “S’weird.”

“What’s the ‘or something’ part?” You asked him, smiling as he moved closer, like he’d finally realised you weren’t going anywhere. 

He took your legs in his hands, brought them over to rest across his own and looked at you through messy curls. Another smile, cheekier this time. 

“Maybe a movie, on the couch,” his voice was so soft. “Could act a fool and make a move, y’know how it is.”

You laughed, a bright burst of sound that made his heart happy because you were still in his bed without any underwear and he’d came inside of you only minutes before. 

“You’re ridiculous,” you told him, and Jesus, you could hear the sticky fondness in your voice, could feel the soft way you were looking at him. 

“You’re still here, though,” Eddie answered and he sounded like he was in awe of the fact. He tapped out a guitar riff over your calf, smiled when you hugged out a laugh and blushed for him. 

Your hand caught his easily, big and wide in your own but he let you curl your fingers around his, let you pull him a little closer still and you loved the way his eyes fluttered closed when you leaned in to kiss him 

“I told you,” you pretended to huff, an affectionate roll of your eyes only softened by another kiss to the boy’s lips. “You’ve got me all night, if you want.”

Eddie smiled, beamed, cheeks rosy, eyes bright and he nodded. His throat bobbed like he was swallowing back emotion he didn’t expect and he cleared his throat and his pretty face in the crook of your neck when he answered:

Eddie had all but trashed the place, random junk all over every surface; he seemed to have a habit of setting something down the first spot he could find when he was done and just leaving it there.  When you told him to clean up, he usually ignored you— or pretended not to hear you since he either had headphones on to listen to a tape or was practicing his deafening guitar— so you’d gotten into a habit of doing it yourself.  You were on your knees on the ground now, trying to separate the dirty clothes, unfinished homework, and trash into three different piles.

“Liquor store receipt, trash,” you mumbled to yourself.  “First page of an essay about… General Custer?  Homework.  I mean, kind of trash but… technically homework.”

You made your way around the room, eventually getting to clear off your desk and vanity; of course, when he got home from Hellfire, you were doing the one thing you didn’t want him to catch you doing— thinning out the shelf of albums.  You were in the middle of pulling one of his records out when he slammed his hand over it to push it back in.  “Hey!” he yelped, glaring at you.  “Don’t touch my stuff!”

“My room, my stuff,” you replied, trying to pull another record out, but he grabbed your hand this time which startled you.

“Our room,” he corrected, “my albums.  No touchy.”

“Your records are crowding mine!” you explained.  “There’s no room!”

“Yeah?  Your records are tainting mine!” he replied indignantly.  “I mean, Escape and Frontiers I’ll forgive, Journey has a few bangers but come on— your Make It Big next to my Animalize is criminal.  It’s going to infect it with its… suckiness, somehow.”

“Okay, I’m gonna stop you there because George Michael is a god,” you sneered, “that your little pea brain simply can’t comprehend!”

“George Michael is a hack!” he spat back, and you gasped— like he’d put out his cigarette on a statue of baby Jesus or something.  Except that this was infinitely worse.

“You take that back,” you ordered.

“Prove me wrong,” he offered instead, “or admit you just think he’s hot and don’t even care about the music.”

“Oh— oh!” you yelped, laughing in pure frustration as you turned and knelt down in front of the stacks of records.  “I’ll prove you wrong.”

“I swear, if you try to make me listen to Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go—” he began to warn you.

“No, no way,” you shook your head, “we’re listening to his masterpiece.”

The drums started, and already Eddie was trying to turn the record player off.

“No,” you insisted— not quite a bark, but very stern— as you grabbed his arms.  He stilled and looked at you again, swallowing as your fingers dug into the sleeves of his jacket.  “Just listen.  Wait for the bass line.”

It came in a second later.  You watched his face as he listened: he didn’t react too visibly, but you waited in anticipation for him to be forced to eat his words.

“Somebody told me—” the lyrics began, in George’s beautiful voice, and you saw Eddie’s eyes narrow.  The bass was more prominent as the first verse continued, and you smiled as Eddie nodded slightly.

“Okay, that’s…” he trailed off, smiling as he met your gaze.  “That’s actually kinda sick.”

“I know!” you agreed.  

“Man, that bass with some guitars would be so good!” he whined.  “Why did he have to make pop and not metal?  He would’ve been amazing.”

“He is amazing,” you frowned.

“Fair enough,” Eddie nodded.  “I don’t know about a god but, sure, he’s pretty good.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled as you reached to take the needle off the record, but his hand suddenly landed on your wrist.  

“Uh, you don’t— um, have to turn it off so fast,” he stammered, and you smiled.

“Do we have a new Wham!-head on our hands?” 

He scoffed.  “No way.  Just giving them a fair shake is all— after this song’s over I wanna play you something by Poison that I think you’ll like…”

Your mom pulled her translucent shawl up over her shoulders as she stepped out onto the porch.

"Have her back by eleven, mister," Eddie wagged his finger at Wayne, who chuckled along with your mom as they walked down the steps together.

He waved one more time before shutting the door, and letting out a quick breath as he turned to look at you.

"We throwin' a rager or what?" he prompted.

"A rager that ends by eleven?" you raised an eyebrow, though you didn’t look up at him for more than a second from where you sat on the couch— you were too busy reading Persuasion for far from the first time.

"I was just kidding," he smiled, "but next time we'll get them to stay out all night so we can really do something."

"I don't like the idea of them out all night," you shuddered, focusing on the book in front of you— but of course, you couldn’t really focus with him bothering you still.

"Don't be a prude, they're engaged," he crossed his arms.  "It's not like they haven't—"

"Stop," you groaned.

"It upsets you that much?" he laughed.

"I'm not saying they're not allowed to do it, I'm just saying I don't want to think about it."

“Then just be thankful their bedroom’s on the other side of the house from ours,” he grinned as he hopped over the arm of the couch to sit next to you.  You scooted further away.

“They should be, too; they don’t have to hear you snore,” you returned, still looking at your book as you turned the page.  Unfortunately, after that, you had one of those thoughts that, once you had it, you had to ask.  “Oh god,” you groaned, looking up from your book and grimacing slightly at him, “my mom stayed over at your place some nights, didn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Eddie shrugged.

“You didn’t… hear them…” you trailed off, widening your eyes and leaning your head forward a bit.

“What, fuck?” Eddie laughed.  “No— when Wayne was bringing her over he’d let me know in advance and I would… find other lodgings for the evening.  You know, give ‘em some space, crash at Rick’s or something.”

“How… considerate,” you offered, though it was mostly sarcastic.  You didn’t like imagining this ‘gentleman’s agreement’ Eddie and Wayne had concerning your mother.

“I mean, that’s just common courtesy,” Eddie smirked, “you know— when the trailer’s a-rockin’, don’t come a-knockin’, and all that.”

“Gross,” you frowned.

“He’d do the same for me,” Eddie explained.

“If you were actually getting any,” you added.

“Well,” Eddie clarified, “if I had a girlfriend, I mean.”

“Oh,” you grinned, “so you don’t just bring any girl back to the trailer, huh?”

He snorted.  “No, definitely not.”

“Because she’d turn and run as soon as she saw how filthy that place was?”

“Hey,” he frowned, “it wasn’t filthy… there was just a mild griminess.”

There was a long pause, but it was only awkward for one of you— he was rubbing his hands on his jeans and looking around while you paid attention to your book again, hardly noticing he was there anymore.

“So, what are we doing tonight?” he wondered.

“We?” you repeated.

“I mean, house to ourselves has to be good for something.”

“You better not smoke any fucking pot,” you snapped.

“That was only one of my ideas,” he smirked.  “You’ve really never smoked?”

“I never said that,” you mumbled, and you saw him peer at you over the top of your book with a glimmer in his eyes.

“Oh, I wanna know that story,” he pleaded.  “Was it high school?  Wait, did Rick sell you stuff?”

“No, and no,” you sighed.  “It doesn’t matter.”

“Matters to me!” he insisted.

“So do a lot of things that don’t actually matter,” you shrugged.

His finger hooked around the top of your book, in the spine’s crease, and he pulled it down to meet your unamused stare.  “C’mooooon,” he whined, “I’m curious what occasion would make a good girl like you decide to get stoned.”

“It was after I broke up with Gary,” you explained, sighing as you shut your book and set it down.  He pulled his legs up onto the couch like he was waiting for some juicy, riveting story.  “I went to a party with some people from my Intro to English class.”

He blinked at you as he waited.  “And?”

“And, we smoked.”

“Oh my god!” he groaned, his head falling back dramatically.  “That’s so boring!  You skipped the good part.”

“What good part?”

“Why you did it,” he answered.

“I wanted to fit in, I guess?  They were passing it around, I felt weird being the only one not smoking.”

“Did you cough?”

“Of course I did,” you rolled your eyes, “I’m not a professional pothead like you.”

“Hey, I’m cutting back,” he defended, raising his hands defensively.  “Just nights and weekends now.”

“Just— just nights and weekends?!” you repeated.  “So… what?”

“So, I don’t get stoned at school anymore,” he explained confidently.

“Wow,” you congratulated flatly, “better start writing your valedictorian speech.”

“Don’t need to be the best, unlike some of us who are terminally competitive,” he grumbled, “just need to graduate.  Sick of being in fucking high school.”

“I’m sure,” you nodded.

“Is college cool?” he wondered.  “Like, are the people chill?”

“Uh, I guess…” you shrugged.  Not that that’s something you need to be worrying about with your grades.

“Do you have any friends?” he asked, point blank, and you kicked him semi-lightly in the side.  

“Shut up!” you frowned.

“Okay, that’s a no,” he widened his eyes as he looked away.

“I mean, I have friends,” you disagreed, “just not like, close friends?  I guess?”

“You never have anybody over,” he recalled.  “And you never call anybody.”

“Not when you’re home,” you corrected.  “I can’t ‘cause you’re always on the fucking line with your Hellfire pals.”

“You could talk to them!” he offered.  “Might be the only chance some of them would get to talk to a girl at all.”

“Yeah, I’m good,” you rolled your eyes.  “Believe it or not, I’ve kind of outgrown high schoolers.  Unlike some of us who are terminally immature.”

“Aw, look at us,” he clicked his tongue, tilting his head as he smiled at you.  “The witty repartee, the flinging of insults— this is better than throwing a party.”

You groaned and pulled up your book again, opening it to where you’d left off.  “Okay, I’m done,” you mumbled.

“If you say so,” he shrugged, but he was smiling mischievously.

“In fact, now that I know it’s fun for you, I’m never arguing with you again,” you decided.  “Conversation over.”

“Don’t say that,” he pouted, but there was a dark shine to his stare as he continued.  “You know it’s never over with us, sweetheart.”

You really, really hoped he couldn’t see the way you shivered when he said that…

Before you could worry about how to respond, he got up— your eyes couldn’t help but follow him, lingering on the bandana dangling out of his back pocket— before he turned around and you shot your eyes back to the pages of your book.  Why is he so distracting now, just standing there?  I can’t even tell if this book is in English anymore, I swear it was before…

“I’m gonna practice guitar,” he informed you.

“Not while I’m trying to read, you’re not,” you frowned.  “That thing is so goddamn loud—”

“Acoustic,” he explained with a small, condescending smile.  “Won’t offend your delicate little ears.”

“Great,” you hummed in reply, and he disappeared back into your shared bedroom as you focused in on your book again.

You could just barely hear him, but it wasn’t so bad, so you didn’t shout for him to shut the door.  He tinkered around with a few songs, none of which you thought much of until halfway into his practice.  Your mind was so occupied with reading Jane Austen that you didn’t even really consciously realize that you were listening to the riff he was playing, or that you recognized it in the back of your mind.

You didn’t even notice that you were quietly singing along.

“Wouldn’t it be nice if we were older,” you mumbled, “then we wouldn’t have to wait so long…”

The music stopped, and you swallowed as you realized you’d sung; his head popped out of the doorway, smiling wide.  “You have a nice voice,” he offered.

“Sorry,” you cleared your throat, “I didn’t— I wasn’t trying to interrupt.”

“Don’t worry about that,” he smiled, setting the guitar down against the wall and stepping up to the couch.

“I’m surprised you know that song,” you admitted.

“It was one of the first ones I learned,” he recalled.  “My mom really liked The Beach Boys.”

You glanced down awkwardly; you were pretty sure he wasn’t using the past tense because she stopped liking the band…

“Sing along to whatever you want,” he offered.

“N-no, I’ll just keep reading,” you decided.  “But you can keep playing… you can play here if you want.”

“Really?”

You shrugged, and he grabbed the guitar by the neck, sitting down and setting it up in his lap oncemore.

You only recognized a couple more songs after that— Hotel California, Tangerine by Zeppelin, and You Can’t Always Get What You Want— but didn’t sing along to any of them.  Occasionally, you heard him humming the melody or mumble-singing the lyrics, and you smiled to yourself.

After a while, you weren’t even reading anymore, just listening.

You furrowed your brow as you listened to him singing something, only able to make out a few words.  Something about she’s so lovely and she’s so fine and take me home— pretty vague, could be anything.

“What song is that?” you finally asked.

“O-oh,” he choked, “um, I wrote that one, actually.”

“You write your own songs?” you realized, impressed.  He shrugged.  “Is that what Corroded Coffin plays?”

“Oh— not this one,” he shook his head, “too sappy.  But yeah, sometimes we play stuff I wrote.”

“That’s cool,” you smiled.  “Is it about a girl?”

“Let’s talk about something else,” he blurted out suddenly.

“Aw, come on,” you teased, “it is, right?  Is it about a specific girl, or just… a hypothetical girl?”

He laughed a little.  “Um, a real one.”

You raised an eyebrow.  “Did you guys ever go out?”  You tilted your head when he scoffed and looked away.  “Really?  Maybe if you played her the song, she would’ve wanted to go out.”

“Does that work?” he wondered, looking at you again.

“I mean, seems to work on most girls,” you shrugged.  “She’ll forget that the guy’s a total dog or a douche or just a good old fashioned loser— so long as he’s a sexy guitar player or whatever.”

“Which one of those am I?” he laughed.

“All of the above,” you decided, “except sexy.”

Of course, one instance of Eddie practicing quietly couldn’t last.  The next day, he was back to the abrasive, headache-inducing squeals of his electric guitar on the amp, impossible to block out even as you covered your ears and put all your mental effort into studying.  Finally, when you were frustrated with trying to ignore it, you stood up defiantly from your seat at the kitchen table and marched across the hallway.

You swung the bedroom door open, hit with a wave of even louder sound, and the sight of him strumming quickly— his head was hung low at first, though it fell backward as he continued and you could see that his eyes were closed.  

“Hey!” you barked.  “Eddie!”

He was still playing, starting to rock his head back and forth and sending his hair flying every which way.

“Munson!  Pencildick!” you tried to get his attention, but you couldn’t even hear yourself with how loud it was.  “COULD YOU TURN IT DOWN?!” you screamed.  He either couldn’t hear you still or was simply ignoring you; you stormed across the room, interrupting his headbanging, and grabbed the neck of the guitar tightly.  The sounds came to a literal screeching halt, leaving only the ambient buzzing of the amp to fill the air.

“Hey!” he defended.  “I was shredding.”

“Yeah, shredding my eardrums,” you spat.  “I’m trying to study.  I have a test coming up.”

“Oh wow, big photography test?” he rolled his eyes.  “What studying do you have to do, making sure you know which button actually takes the picture?”

“No, it’s for my math class,” you frowned, “now could you please keep it down!”

“This is just the volume of metal, my dear,” he sighed, “can’t help you, sorry.”

You groaned as you turned around, kneeling quickly to find the volume knob on his amp and spin it to the left.

“Damn it!” he snapped, bending down and turning it back.  “What did I tell you about touching my stuff?”

“Do it more ‘cause you love it so much?” you guessed.

“First my records, then you grab my guitar, now the amp?” he sneered.  “Is nothing sacred?  How would you like it if I touch your stuff?”

You thought it was a hypothetical until he took the guitar off over his shoulder and set it down, the motion making a slightly-melodic buzz come out of the speaker.  He stormed across the room to your closet, throwing it open as you tried to reach around him to stop him.  “Get out!” you whined as he dug around through your clothes, taking a pink dress off the hanger and tossing it over his shoulder.  “Hey!”

He found another dress, a black one, and he snickered at it.  “Cute,” he decided before throwing it, too.  You ran to try to pick up your clothes from the floor, but when you turned back to look at him, he was holding onto your stuffed bear.

“Don’t touch that,” you warned him.

“Who’s gonna stop me?” he grinned.

You ran up to him and reached for it, but he held it up high above his head and watched you struggle with a proud smile.  "Eddie, give it back!" you whined, jumping up to try to grab it.

"Nuh uh," he laughed.

"Stop!" you groaned.

"You can come get it for yourself, sweetheart," he taunted, knowing you couldn't reach.  When you almost managed to grab it, he held you back with his free hand to keep you away.

"Just give it back, Eddie," you begged, starting to get really upset, "my dad gave me that!"

He brought his arm down in a split second, and you snatched the bear from him to hug it to your chest.  "I'm sorry," he said instantly, clearing his throat and looking around sheepishly.  "I didn't know… I was just trying to— I didn't know."

You sniffled a little, and he looked at you again, eyebrows tilted with a guilty, almost pleading look.  "It's okay," you assured quietly.  "Just don't take my stuff anymore, please…"

"I won't, I swear," he promised.

You nodded, resting your chin on Barry's head.  Eddie sighed a little, looking at you more gently than you could ever remember him looking at you before.

"How old were you when your dad…?" he asked quietly.

"Twelve," you answered.  "He got sick when I was eleven, but he died a week before I turned thirteen."

"That's a hard time for that," he nodded.  "Not that there's any good time for that but, damn, thirteen is hard enough."

You widened your eyes and blew out a breath as if to say, yeah, no shit.

"I wish I had my mom that long, though," he added, and you looked up at him.  He scratched behind his ear for a second, looking off to the side and staring at your wall.  "I was nine."

"Was she sick?" you wondered.

"Yeah, something like that," he sighed.  "She got better for a while— for me— but she started using again, she didn't know her limits… I found her, actually, and she still had the needle in her arm."

"Oh, god," you breathed, "Ed, I'm so—"

"Don't worry about it," he shrugged, looking at you again and wearing a more familiar, playful expression on his face.  "I got to go live with my dad after that, and he was buckets of fun.  It was like summer camp with the Boy Scouts, but less knots and more crime."

You snorted a small laugh through your nose.  "Sounds cool."

"And now that you know my sob story, you can't get on my case for being a delinquent anymore," he grinned.

"But can I still silently judge you?" you pouted.

"Of course," he winked.  "Anyways, point is— sorry for taking the bear.  I guess I just wanted to try out some of the annoying-older-brother classics."

"Don't apologize to me," you suggested, "apologize to him."

You held the bear out with one hand, pointing it right at his face.

"His name is Barry," you informed him, something he could incorporate into his apology.

"I'm sorry, Barry," Eddie spoke to the stuffy, "you were collateral damage in my war on my sister.  Won't happen again.  If you want, I can make it up to you by setting you up with this saucy little throw pillow from the living room—"

You giggled briefly, and Eddie's eyes darted over at you for a second, with a glimmer in them that made your heart skip a beat.

He looked at the bear again.  "We square?" he asked and after a pause, he reached up and pinched Barry's right paw, gently shaking it.

"Give him a kiss," you demanded suddenly, and Eddie crinkled his nose in disagreement.

"Uh, I think the handshake oughta do it—" he began to argue.

"Give. him. a kiss." You wiggled Barry in front of his face a bit, emphasizing your demand.

Hesitating for a second first, Eddie pursed his lips and gave Barry a kiss on the head.  You pulled the bear back into your chest with a smile.  

“I’ll try not to touch your stuff,” you offered.

“I’ll try to keep the music down,” he replied.

“Great,” you sighed, and you slowly turned and left the room, shutting the door behind you.  You grabbed your textbook and took it outside to study on the porch— it was a little warm outside for it, but sunset was coming and you knew it would cool off quickly.  The silence was so precious after all the noise, and you found yourself losing focus on your practice questions so you could admire the way Hawkins looked bathed in fading purple light.  You didn’t love living here all the time, but it had its perks— and really, you weren’t sure if you could ever bring yourself to leave.

Having to tell Eddie about how you got Barry brought the memory to the forefront of your mind— that must’ve been why you dreamed about it that night, about your dad.

Maybe some people who lose a loved one enjoy dreaming about them, it’s like the last way they can see them anymore.  But you hated it; it was easier just to not think about him.  It was easier to pretend none of those happy memories ever happened, so you wouldn’t have to remember the worst ones too— the medications, the hospitals, the surgeries… the deterioration, right before your eyes.

The dream itself was fine, really; it was sweet.  It was waking up that you hated, because for a split second, you forgot.  And you had to remember all over again that your dad fucking died when you were still just a little kid.

Barry was the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes, by your pillow, and you grabbed him as you sat up to go do something other than lay here and cry. 

Of course, when you sat up, your head slammed into the fucking bunk beds again.  You crinkled up your face, more from the frustration than the pain, and let a little fuck slip out as you held your forehead.

Still, you ducked down and got out of bed, navigating your way to the living room.  You glanced at the clock— 1:17 AM.  Something’s probably still on, you thought to yourself.  You grabbed the remote and the folded blanket off of the couch’s back, throwing it over yourself as you flipped it on and turned the volume down to something quiet enough for the wee hours of the morning.

Yes, something was still on— after flipping a couple channels, you found something funny and comfortable to hopefully lull you back to sleep, and you adjusted yourself on the couch as you cuddled up with Barry.

Maybe it was the TV that woke him up, or your head injury on the underside of his bed, or maybe just his instinct to show up and bother you at all times; regardless, within a few minutes, you heard the bedroom door open again.  Eddie’s shadow moved through the dark until you could just barely see him in the light of the screen, sporting his classic pajama combo of soft plaid pants and his necklace and nothing else.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked quietly.  You shook your head, pulling the blanket up higher on your chest.

He sighed a little, crossing the room and standing at the end of the couch— he made a little shooing motion until you moved your feet out of the way and he could plop himself down by your scrunched up legs.

“Whatcha watchin’?” he asked.

“Partridge Family rerun,” you shrugged.

He laughed a little.  “You were totally in love with David Cassidy when you were a little girl, weren’t you?  Shoulda known.”

“Dude, I never stopped loving David Cassidy,” you snorted.  “That’s my man.”

“Uh huh,” he grinned.  “And does Detective Sonny Crockett know about this?”

You smirked.  “He understands.  I loved him first.”

“Yeah, never forget your first love,” he agreed.  

“Who was yours?” you wondered.  “You know, on TV.”

“Is that even a question?” he scoffed.  “Wonder Woman— Lynda Carter.”

“Really?” you giggled.

“Oh yeah,” he nodded, sticking his lips out a bit.  “I had it so bad for her and the little, uh… the little thing she wore…”

He gestured to his waist and crotch vaguely as he tried to think of the word.  “Hotpants?” you offered.

He grinned and snapped his fingers at you.  “Hotpants!” he agreed.  “Yeah, anyways, I watched that show way too much for someone who really isn’t into comic books.”

“You’re just into everything else geeky,” you assumed.

“Hey, listen— I’m not some kind of nerdery slut,” he corrected with raised hands. “I like D&D.  And Lord of the Rings.  And metal, if that counts.”

“The way you like it?  Definitely,” you nodded.  “I’m afraid you’re gonna wear that new Metallica tape out, you keep listening to it over and over.”

He smiled proudly.  “Okay, yeah, I’m a metal geek, then.”

The commercial break ended and with that classic sitcom musical sting, the episode continued.

“Hey, there’s your man,” Eddie nodded at the TV, “and his glorious mullet.”

“Mm,” you hummed appreciatively.  “He does have great hair.”

“Uh, hello?” Eddie prompted, and when you looked over at him, he fluffed his hair with one of his hands.

“Yours is okay,” you offered, “but doesn’t have the same, you know… lusciousness.”

“Pfft,” Eddie scoffed, but he offered no defense as both watched the show again.

It was Keith— aka David Cassidy, your preteen awakening himself— and his middle brother Danny walking to school together.  “I got one!” Danny pointed at him as they strolled.  “You’re so ugly your face oughta be arrested for littering.”  The canned laughter offered support for the mediocre joke, and you smiled a little.  “Top that one.”

“Alright, uh…” Keith replied, “you’re so dumb—”

Danny rolled his eyes.  “Not another ‘you’re so dumb’ insult, not very original.”  Keith frowned as he tried to come up with something better.

“I always wanted a family like that,” Eddie admitted quietly.

“Like what, a band?” you wondered.

“That too,” he nodded.

You frowned as you adjusted on the couch, struggling to get comfortable.  “Can you get up?  I can’t stretch my legs out,” you pouted.

“Yeah you can, just put your feet on my lap,” he offered.

If you were entirely awake, you would’ve questioned that more— but it was that time of night where even the strangest ideas seemed sort of fun, and so you stretched out a bit to let your feet slide across his thighs.  With one arm up on the back of the couch, his other hand came to rest on your ankle, and it made your breath catch slightly (though he didn’t seem to notice) before you relaxed.  Once you accepted it, it was actually kind of soothing— yeah, your heart raced for a second, but then your eyes kept getting heavier as you tried to blink them open to look at the glowing screen.

Sleep overtook you quickly, like a weight that sunk into you and just kept pulling you down.  You didn’t have any more dreams that night.

After you’d dozed off, Eddie’s gaze lingered on your still face for a moment; he smiled to himself, looking down at his hand on your ankle.  Gently, he stroked your skin with his thumb, checking your face again to make sure it wouldn’t wake you up.

He turned down the volume on the TV two more clicks, focusing on the scene before him again— something about Laurie having a date coming over to pick her up.  Mrs. Partridge greeted him at the door, before he joined Keith on the couch.

“Boy, glad that’s over,” the date sighed as Mrs. Partridge went upstairs to fetch Laurie.  

“What?” Keith asked him.

“Meeting the mother,” he answered.  “But your mother’s pretty cool… yeah, they usually give you the third-degree— you know, ‘where are you taking her’, ‘what time are you gonna bring her home’...”

“Ah, I know what you mean,” Keith agreed, not looking up from whatever he was reading— Eddie obviously hadn’t been paying enough attention to keep track of that.  “Where are you taking her?”

“Huh?” 

Keith shut his book and narrowed his eyes.  “What time are you gonna bring her home?”

“Early, after the movie,” the date replied defensively.

Keith scooted closer to the other young man.  “You, um, taking her to a walk-in or a drive-in?”

“A drive-in,” he answered.  Keith immediately began shaking his head.  “A walk-in?” the other offered instead, and Keith nodded approvingly.

“As long as it’s rated for the general public,” Keith added.