Someone’s gonna end up crying. Probably me.

“I’m proud of you,” you told Eddie, your voice crackling through the speakers.

He was inside the recording room and looked up to see you on the other side of the glass, leaning over the speaker with your hand on the switch.

“I have bad news for you, though,” you said. He frowned. “Harry called again. Told Dustin he thought it would be cool for his band to be the first to record here.”

Eddie shook his head and left the room, coming through to you. “Never,”

“He’s so obsessed with you,”

“Too bad for him that I’m obsessed with someone else.”

You laughed. “You’re ridiculous. Come on. Take me home. I don’t wanna catch the bus.”

…

“I hereby call to order the first official Raconteur Records team meeting,” Robin announced.

Steve banged a small plastic gavel on the break room table, and though the sound was not deep or booming, it did draw attention.

“If this is a team meeting, where’s Max?” Dustin asked. “And why are they here?” He nodded at you and Nancy.

“Excuse you?” Nancy said at the same time as Will, Lucas, and Steve’s sounds of disbelief echoed each other.

“I do a lot of unpaid work here,” you half-heartedly argued.

“I pay you! In kisses!” Eddie said, smiling at you and reaching out to try to squish your cheeks.

“Where are mine, then?” Nancy joked.

“I assumed Jonathan was handling the payment of all otherwise unpaid labour. I’m deeply sorry about that, Nance. Rest assured, you’ll receive far more kisses from here on out. Got it, Jon? Sort that shit out with the tax department.”

“This is so unprofessional… How do you guys actually run a business?”

“For the new guy, you sure do have a lot of opinions, buddy,” Steve said to Dustin.

“It’s alright, Steve, I’ll start paying you in kisses too, if you’re upset about it,” Eddie offered with a wink.

Robin snatched the plastic gavel and began repeatedly smashing the table with it. “Order!”

Everyone shut up and held in giggles.

“We have a Halloween slash recording studio grand opening party to plan,” she reminded everyone seriously.

“I don’t think recording studios have grand openings… It’s just, like, a celebration of it… uh…” Eddie tried to correct.

“Celebration of it what, Eddie? Of its opening?”

Eddie put his hands up in surrender.

“So, it’s a grand opening and a Halloween party?” Lucas asked.

“Yeah… Two birds,” Robin replied.

“Three birds,” Nancy reminded Robin.

“Of course, Babychino, how could I forget?”

“I’d be fine with it if you did,”

“So we’re all on the same page, this is our annual-”

“No. Good try though,” Eddie cut in.

“Had to. This is our once-off recording studio grand opening, slash Halloween, slash birthday party. There’s a lot to plan, so if you would all kindly be quiet. I have relinquished all my authority to Nancy.”

Halloween in 1994 would fall on a Monday night, but the party would be held on the Saturday before, Nancy explained. “Everyone will have a job, but don’t worry, it will only be for a couple of hours. Then you’re welcome to, you know,”

“Par-tayyyyyy,” Lucas finished for her, nodding to everyone.

“Uhhh… yeah. So, Max and Will, you’ll be on the door. Just to make sure we don’t have too many people come through at once,”

“And to make sure V.I.P.s get in easy,” Eddie added.

“V.I.P.s?” Dustin asked.

“Very important people,” Steve replied.

“Yeah, no, I know what it means, Steve. Who are the V.I.P.s?”

“Nobody you gotta worry about kissing ass to. Just some people that it would be useful for them to have a good time,” Eddie explained. “Rob’s got the list,”

“I’m gonna put it up with photos in the break room,”

“Sounds like you do want us to kiss their ass,” Dustin muttered.

“No ass kissing, Dustin! We don’t kiss ass here,”

“Unless you want to, then by all means, ass kiss away,” Steve furthered, trying to be helpful.

“No!” Eddie yelled, voice getting pitchy in his annoyance. “Not a single ass will be kissed,”

“Can we move on from the asses…” Nancy said after a beat of silence.

“Please,” Eddie said, closing his eyes and rubbing a knuckle on his forehead. You reached out and put a hand on his jittering leg.

“So, Max and Will on the door from 9 or 10, to about midnight… We’re going to make sure nobody parks out the back, and use that for the main party space,”

“The parking lot? With the dumpsters?” Steve asked.

“Yeah. The two dumpsters can be pushed to the back. We can hide them with Halloween decorations. It won’t be hard. Then we hire in tables, chairs, some big mats and beanbags. It’s a good space for it,”

“Oh, can we get some of those lights? You know, the lightbulb string ones?” Robin had her hands together like she would beg if it came to it.

“Of course. Already on the list,”

“The list? How big is the budget for this party?”  Steve questioned, looking suspicious.

“Cost us about a hundred kisses all up,” Eddie deadpanned.

“We’ll have it catered so we don’t have to worry about food and drinks. Then, Eddie and Jonathan will set up the sound, and Jonathan will take care of the music,”

“Why does he get the best job?” Steve piped up again.

“Because your talents are needed elsewhere. You can take over music later in the night,” Nancy offered.

“When you say my talents…”

Steve didn’t love the grin that spread across Nancy’s face, lighting it up.

“You, Dustin, and Lucas are going to run the Haunted Hallway.”

Nancy wanted to make a clear run from the door of Raconteur, past the counter, past the doors to Eddie’s office and the break room, straight out to the party. The stands and shelves that displayed stock and merchandise would be safely covered, and a haunted house-like interior would be built.

“It doesn’t have to look as good as a proper haunted house,” she consoled.

“Oh, well, thank god for that,” Steve mumbled to himself, earning an elbow to the ribs from Robin.

“But, I think we could make something cool. Guests will have to run the gauntlet. Give people something to talk about, you know? We’ll only run it for a few hours,”

“Okay, but when you say we’re running it…” Lucas said. “You want us to…”

“You’d be ghosts. Or monsters. Or whatever. Jump out. Scare people.”

It was written all over both Dustin and Steve’s faces that they were trying to come up with a clever insult to throw at each other. Neither was quick enough.

“Robin and Eddie will be circulating and showing people the studio.”

Dustin coughed out something that sounded a lot like ‘kiss ass.’

Steve’s eyebrows shot up, and he pointed at Dustin. “You really want to keep him?”

“I’m reconsidering,” Eddie conceded.

“I’ll be available to help wherever I’m needed. Keep an eye on everything and troubleshooting,” Nancy finished.

“Sounds good to me. Sounds like a plan,” Eddie said, nodding.

“Why don’t I have a job?” you asked.

“Because it’s your birthday,” Nancy answered.

“And because you’re the guest of honour,” Eddie added.

It must have been obvious you did not like the assignment of ‘guest of honour.’

“And, besides, I’ll need help too. You’ll be my second-in-command,” Nancy said, keeping her voice light.

“I have a few things I’ll need you to do too,” Eddie told you. “I’ll talk to you about it later,”

“Okay, fine.”

Nancy looked around the table. “Any glaring issues at this stage? Or are we all good?”

Everyone nodded.

“Now, can we talk costumes?” Dustin said, pulling his chair closer to the table as if he were just arriving at the meeting.

…

“It looks nice from out here,” you told Eddie.

Eddie’s old apartment building was already decorated for Halloween, though October had only just begun.

“It wasn’t bad. I got lucky. Has Robin told you about the first place in the city she lived in?”

“Oh, yeah, gnarly.”

Eddie was driving you around Little Italy, showing you the artifacts of his early life in Chicago. The tour was almost up, the afternoon waning. You’d counted 34 jack-o-lanterns.

“Where’s the bus stop?”

He drove two blocks down and rounded a corner. The bus shelter had been upgraded since Eddie considered it his. It made him feel a little nostalgic, but he didn’t long for the past. With the van parked just down the road, he cut the engine.

“Do you know where he lived?” you asked.

“The apple man? Yeah, I’m pretty sure it was the place on the corner… What are you doing?”

Eddie got out of the van and followed you down the road, jogging to catch up.

“He’s probably not there anymore…”

“It wasn’t that long ago,”

“I moved in… like… It was winter. So, end of ’92?”

The house you stopped in front of absolutely looked like the home of a little old Italian man. It was a bungalow, all red bricks and neat garden beds. Around the front door were pots of herbs and flowers. Undeniably charming, you were imagining how many generations had lived there.

Eddie, on the other hand, nervously glanced around the street to make sure nobody was watching with suspicion. As he turned back to the bungalow, he saw the curtain in the front window move.

“Come on. That’s enough walking down memory lane. Let’s go before someone calls the cops,”

“Why are you so jumpy?”

Then, in the thickest Italian accent you had ever heard, “Eddie?!”

The bungalow’s front door was open, and an old man stood in the space. He waved, but you couldn’t tell if it meant to convey ‘stay there’ or ‘come in.’

“Is that…”

“Holy fuck… Yeah.”

The man went inside, quickly returning with a young woman. The apple man spoke to her, then she faced you and Eddie.

“Uh, hi. He says you’re friends of his?”

Eddie took a few steps towards the house. “Um, yeah? I guess… We used to sit at the bus stop together,”

“Oh! No shit?! You’re the apple kid?!” But the woman’s excitement was cut short by the scolding she got for using a curse word. You didn’t speak Italian, but the look on the man’s face transcended the language barrier.

“Scusa, scusa, sorryyyyy!” she laughed with no contrition. “We all thought he was, you know, getting old… maybe losing it a bit, when he told us he’d made a friend with some kid. But… he called you a long-haired hippy. You’re definitely not a hippy.”

The man said something else to her, pointing between Eddie and inside the house.

“He wants you to come in and see something.”

Eddie looked at you, so you pushed him along. On the doorstep, the apple man hugged Eddie like he was a long-lost son. Eddie introduced you, and the man’s granddaughter introduced herself.

Maria explained that Frank never actually caught the bus; he just liked to take a little walk each morning. He’d tell his family about Eddie, how this strange kid was so determined to have a conversation. They had all been imagining someone with pin-straight hair, maybe a tie-dye shirt or something in a paisley print. Frank had gotten his subcultures mixed up.

Nobody else had ever seen Eddie, so he was almost like an urban legend.

“But here you are!” Maria exclaimed. The four of you were standing on the back porch. “He was so sad when you moved. It was kinda when we started to believe him. He came home with the bag of apples. Then you were gone. We figured if he was seeing things, his imaginary friend would appear more, not less,”

“Le merle,” Frank said, pointing to a row of small bushes.

“He wants to show you the trees. He used some of the apples you got him to grow those. We call them the ‘Eddie trees.’ Like, ‘Maria, don’t overwater the Eddie trees!’ and ‘No, Frank, the Eddie trees don’t have apples yet.’ That kind of thing.”

Frank ordered Maria around. She served espresso in beautiful, tiny cups, and continued to translate, throwing in her own commentary whenever she wanted. Frank told the story of his family, the Bungalow, and the apples. Then, it was Eddie’s turn.

The sun was setting over the back fence. The baby Eddie trees’ leaves shook gently in the breeze, lit up in brilliant orange.

“Qual è la tua storia?”

“He wants to know your story now. What’s your story about?”

Eddie looked at you, the way you were watching him, already smiling.

What was his story about?

It was about… music. About pain, loss, and grief. But it was also about family, new and old. It was a story about love, but not really a love story. Mostly, though, Eddie’s story was one of finding home in another person. About having the safety to fall apart but the support to pick himself up and keep going. It was a story about a ginger cat, and vinyl records, and apples and coffee, and squishy cheeks.  

Eddie didn’t know where to start. Then, he didn’t know when to stop.

With repeated promises to visit again, “I have something for you, but I don’t have it on me today,” you left Frank and Maria waving on the bungalow doorstep. As Eddie drove you both home, back to the apartment that was getting harder and harder to pretend wasn’t yours too, you looked over at him.

“Are you okay?” you asked him.

Eddie smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

…

Raconteur was closed on the Friday and Saturday before the party. As expected, Nancy’s planning created something magical. The back parking lot no longer looked like a parking lot. The store’s Haunted Hallway turned out significantly more legitimate than even she anticipated. The whole thing felt like being on set for a Halloween themed musical.

Eddie had met Nancy on Saturday morning for final checks. On his way home, he picked you up. Despite your constant assurances that you could keep an eye out for him pulling up, or he could beep, Eddie still parked the van and came to your door – every single time.

Clarke opened the door when he knocked. You were still in bed, barely awake. After a few minutes of conversation, of which Clarke would later relay to you for no apparent reason, Eddie was climbing across your bed and flattening himself against you.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

You made a grumbling sound in response.

“Good sleep in?”

Eddie could only see the top of your head from under the covers, but it was enough to see you shake your head no.

“What’s wrong?”

Crawling out, you shrugged, opened your arms wide in request of a hug. Request granted, always.

“What’s up? Sick? Gonna puke on me?”  

“No, just…” You shrugged again. “I hate waking up here,”

“Here as in, your comfy bed surrounded by all your trinkets?”

“Here as in, without you.”

Eddie’s body reacted before his mind. His skin felt hot, prickly. His chest tightened and the tips of his fingers went all twitchy. He believed you’d all the other times you’d told him that you loved him. He really did. And, if he ever doubted it, he briefly let his mind wander back to the year before. To Hawkins.

But, there was something in the way you were looking at him.

Something in the domesticity.

Just in the lone fact that if you woke up without him, you were unhappy.

It was all love, and apparently, love in a language Eddie’s DNA could properly code.

“Yeah,” he replied softly, tracing a line from the top of your forehead, down the slope of your nose, across your lips, stopping at your chin.

You were never going to say it first. You were never going to be the one to suggest it. The most you would do is say stuff like that. Maybe drop small details mid-conversation, like when the lease expired, that Clarke’s deadline for deciding if she was transferring to Columbia was almost up, and that you were painfully grumpy waking up without him.

It felt familiar to Eddie, playing a game of ‘we don’t acknowledge it’ with you. There wasn’t anything fun about it though. Eddie knew if he asked you to move in with him, that you would want to. He didn’t know if you’d say yes. Though there was a fair reason for the intensity at the start of your relationship with Eddie, you both knew intensity and moving fast probably wasn’t a good thing.

“It’s the same for me,” Eddie told you, a sad smile on his face. “I love you,” he added.

“I love you too,”

“Do you love me enough to tell me what your costume is?”

Eddie’s costume was not a surprise; you’d done most of the work. Tracking down a leather trench coat, buying the makeup, and painting the only bird prop you could find black. Your costume, on the other hand, was a secret.

Eddie tried to smile his way into a confession. All teeth. You reached out and tapped on them.

“Maybe we should have made you the Cheshire Cat,”

“Would’ve been cool… Argyle would be a great Caterpillar. And you could be Alice,”

“Eat me, drink me,”

“Uh, don’t mind if I do!” And he grabbed your hand, started to nibble on your fingers.

You laughed and let him bite away.

After a slow start to the day – slowly getting out of bed, slowly showering, slowly having breakfast – you and Eddie drove back to his.

The rest of the day was spent in and out of bed, followed by another long shower and burritos for dinner. Then, Eddie sat down to let you paint his face. A white base with black tears. You used a straightener to try to put more defined waves in his hair, giving up and letting his locks do what they wanted. With the straps buckled and the bird pinned to the coat’s shoulder, Eddie absolutely looked the part.

“Woah,”

“Yeah?” Eddie asked, looking at himself in the mirror. He glanced over his shoulder at you. “Is this costume for me or you?”

“Me. Definitely me,” you answered quickly.

Eddie laughed. “Nawww, you wanna do a little role play? A little ‘can’t rain all the time,’ kind of thing?”

You grinned. “You make an excellent Eric Draven,”

“Should I climb Raconteur’s roof and shred out a metal solo?”

“I would love to see that,”

“You and the rest of the world, babe,” Eddie joked, pushing all his ego into his voice.

“Right, yeah, Chicago’s biggest rockstar,”

“Speaking of… Was that a little top hat and tambourine I spied?”

It was. You changed into a white, layered skirt. The blouse was part of a pirate costume, but it worked under a corset. A black lace shawl with tassels sat on top. Black suede heeled boots. Ribbons tied to both the tambourine and to random parts of your clothes. And, a lot of necklaces and bracelets.

“She rings like a bell through the night. Wouldn’t you love to love her,” Eddie sing-songed.

“I bet Stevie Nicks loves The Crow,”

“Surely,” he agreed. “You look cool as fuck. And beautiful.”

You beamed, basking under the praise.

…

When you arrived at Raconteur, Will was already standing outside, ready for guests.

“William! You look so good!” you complimented. He made an excellent Jack Skellington, a strange little version at least.

“Why you out here so early, man? It’s only, what, 9?”

“Nancy said just in case,”

“Nah. Come on,” Eddie told him, pushing him inside.

Through the Haunted Hallway, you found the others in various states of readiness. Steve, in a low effort but maximum impact Ace Venture outfit, and Jonathan, Bowie in the Halloween Jack era, were sitting on beanbags, eating Cool Ranch Doritos.

Nancy, Bowie in the Ziggy Stardust era, was directing the teens as they adjusted the Edison string lights.

“What was wrong with how they were this morning, Nance?” Eddie asked.

She shot him a look.

“Woah, there. You promised you were not gonna get stressed,” he said.

“She’s not!” Robin yelled, appearing from inside. “This,” she added, motioning to Eddie’s costume, “is incredible. And you! Look at you!”

You tried to shrug off her praise. “Why aren’t you in costume?”

“Well, it’s more just a change of clothes and a wig. I’m going as Mia Wallace,”

“Cool,” Eddie said.

Looking back at the teens, you could tell they put in vastly different amounts of work into the costumes. Lucas’ Terminator would have been a project, for sure. Max’s Kate Bush was a successful copy of the Wuthering Heights dress. Disappointing was Dustin’s Weird Al Yankovic. It worked, but you felt like he was capable of more.

“Lights are fine, by the way,” Robin told Nancy. “Lights are great!” she yelled at the kids, giving them the thumbs up. “And how’s the Doritos, Steve? Taste test going well?!”

He flipped her the bird.

“Alright, so… we’re good?” Eddie, almost fearfully, asked. Nancy and Robin nodded in unison. “Well… till death do us party.”

…

Ballroom Blitz played upon the arrival of Joyce dressed as Lydia Deetz, and Divinyl’s I Touch Myself welcomed Argyle as Jimi Hendrix. Steve would have embarrassed himself by knowing all the words to Baby Got Back, but as he rapped along to Sir Mix-a-Lot, his sheer earnestness earned him admiration. Max and Lucas danced together when Ever Fallen In Love (With Someone You Shouldn’t’ve) was spun, though nobody was arguing about their budding romance. And, the entire party sang along to Hotel California.

Such a lovely place.

From Heaven Is A Place On Earth to Killing in the Name, the music spanned decades and genres. You Really Got Me to Can I Kick It?

Yes, you can!

Someone, somehow, managed to play Ice Ice Baby. Nobody took responsibility, but M.E. by Gary Numan was on next, like an offering to the music gods and a beg for forgiveness.

You sat next to Eddie, watching people jump and sing to Dancing With Myself.

“Is it what you wanted?” you asked him.

Eddie sighed. “Yeah… Makes me nervous… It’s all so…” He wriggled his fingers in the direction of his friends. His family. Steve and Robin throwing M&Ms into each other’s mouths. Dustin playing air guitar. “Perfect.”

It was easy to understand. Not only did Eddie have a lot to lose, he knew what that loss could feel like. His grief would always be there.

“It is perfect… but… I don’t know… It won’t always be. Like, it can’t always be this good…”

Eddie looked at you and frowned.

“I mean… I think when you call something perfect, then as soon as it’s not, it’s automatically a bad thing. So… don’t call it that? Like, yeah, tonight is perfect. But not every night will be. And that’s okay. That’s good. It’s… um, realistic… I don’t know. I don’t know how to say it,”

“I get you. If I put my entire life on a pedestal, as soon as one thing gets fucked up, then it’s all over,”

“Yeah,”

“So, you’re basically telling me to be normal about it all. Less intense.”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not telling you to do anything. I just… I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Eddie leans across to you. You let him take hold of your face and kiss you.

“Can I be intense about one thing? ‘Cause I don’t wanna be normal about you,”

“Stop it,” you laughed, pushing him back into his own chair.

“You’re perfect,”

“Shut up. Don’t. You’ll stress me out.”

Eddie laughed. He wanted to reassure you that he didn’t truly expect you to be perfect, but if he was honest with himself, you’d always been on a pedestal. You’d always be. He couldn’t help it. Instead, he told you a truth he knew the way he knew his own name.

“I love you,”

“I love you too,” you replied.

…

“Eric Clapton?”

Sometime after two in the morning, Eddie disappeared. The VIPs were long gone, the studio tours done. The kids had bailed too, heading to a second location somewhere in the city. Some people were off to other Halloween parties. Some went home, like Joyce and the man who’d coincidentally come dressed as Beetlejuice. The ones left sat around on beanbags, eating the dregs of chips and dips, talking about music, movies, weed, and other stupid shit. Even the adopted ginger cat had wrapped up the night, curling around some CDs in the store.

You found Eddie in the studio at the controls, Wonderful Tonight playing.

It's late in the evening, she's wondering what clothes to wear.

She puts on her makeup and brushes her long blonde hair.

And then she asks me, “Do I look all right?”

And I say, “Yes, you look wonderful tonight.”

We go to a party and everyone turns to see.

This beautiful lady that's walking around with me.

And then she asks me, “Do you feel all right?”

And I say, “Yes, I feel wonderful tonight.”

Eddie spun in his chair to face you.

“You sentimental baby,” you teased.

He snorted out a laugh. “It’s only the second song on the record… You just missed Cocaine… So, I don’t know if sentimental is a fair call,”

“Yeah, alright,” you conceded.

Eddie held out his arms and grabby hands for you. You crossed the space and let him pull you down onto his lap. He held you tight.

I feel wonderful because I see the love light in your eyes.

And the wonder of it all is that you just don't realize.

How much I love you.

“Did Wayne like Eric Clapton?” you asked. Eddie nodded. “Do you?”

“Sometimes,”

“Now?”

“Yeah… Now.”

It's time to go home now and I've got an aching head.

So I give her the car keys and she helps me to bed.

And then I tell her, as I turn out the light.

I say, “My darling, you were wonderful tonight,

Oh, my darling, you were wonderful tonight.”

Eddie rocked you both back and forth to the music. The question stirred awake in his mind, and he told himself to wait. It wasn’t the plan to ask now. But when did things ever go according to plan when it came to you?

“I want you to move in with me.”

It’s so matter-of-fact. Almost pathologically casual. You broke free from his grip and stood up, turning to face him.

“What?”

Eddie studied your expression for a second or two, then spoke again with the same coolness. “Spoke to Clarke… She’s doing it. Columbia. And your lease is up soon.”

You should have been used to it, that feeling of Eddie pulling the wants and needs from your mind into reality. Yet, it was always startling. Uncanny but still shaded with love.

“We… It’s…”

“I know,” he said. “It’s too soon. Everything we do is… a lot. But…” Eddie shrugged. “Fuck it? Not to be a total cliché, but fuck it. Life is short. Shitty things happen all the time. But everything feels better when I’m near you. So… move in with me.”

You had two options. You could take all the small, glittering beads of doubt and string yourself a necklace and wear it too tightly, let it bruise your skin and stop your breathing. Or, you could –

“Yes. Okay. Yes. You’re right. Fuck it.”

Eddie grinned, a subdued reaction that made you feel like he knew this was inevitable. Likely, because it was.

“On one condition,” you added.

“Anything,”

“We bring the cat. And we name her Pandan.”

End note Well, that's all folks! The record has spun, the needle is up, and you don't have to go home, but you can't stay here.

Thank you for reading this story. I hope it provided escapism from the meanness of day-to-day life. I hope it reminded you of the reasons you love Eddie. I hope, for those of you still swimming in that vast and changing ocean of grief, you felt seen.

Lots of love, Rhi xoxo

P.S. Please enjoy this photograph, which was of great inspiration to me: Untitled by Tom Humphre on Flickr.

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So, you dared to hope anyway, as you snuck back into town in the middle of the night with the breeze that loosened the first fallen leaves. Avoiding the town's gossip and pitying, prying eyes as you drove through empty streets, shopfronts dark but still twinkling under fairy lights. The news would spread like an uncontained flame by the morning, that you could always count on, but for now it was a quiet homecoming. And you could pretend things were just the same. Like there was still something bigger out there waiting for you.

You drop your shoes at the door and lock it quietly behind you. Leaving your bags until the morning, your tiny bed calling you to disappear under the colourful blankets and freshly washed sheets. Everything is how you left it, stilled by time, and you’ve just willingly slowed right down to join it. The Ivy League pennants, band posters and hardcover bildungsroman would be taunting if you hadn’t immediately shut your eyes to it, burying your face in your pillow and letting your body unclench and feel safe. Sleep is beginning to pull at you when you feel the warmth of a body slide in beside you, the smell of saffron and rose, of summer days at the movies and winter nights on the couch, enveloping you along with her arms that reach across your waist. “Nice try, kiddo.” She whispers, and a sleepy smile pulls at your mouth – the first in a long time.

You were home.

***

“Everyone’s staring.”

“Nobody’s staring.”

You tilt your head to the window, where a small group of the nosiest town residents have gathered, talking animatedly and gesturing towards your table inside the diner.

Your aunt sighs, “Okay, I was trying to be gentle.” She throws a plastic menu at the window. “Get a life!” The gruff diner owner comes over and stands at the window, arms crossed, face stony enough that any of the ogglers that weren’t spooked by the menu throwing now disperse quickly.

He picks up the menu and places it back on the table, pointing at your aunt, “No throwing.” She smiles at him, and you swear you see a hint of a smile in return before he walks away. You always thought he had a crush on her.

Your shoulders slump even further, practically melting into the table when you shove in another mouthful of fluffy pancakes, “Everyone’s staring.”

“It’ll be old news by next week. They’re just excited to have you home.” She pats your arm, her other hand curled around a large mug of coffee.

“It’s pity, not excitement.”

She offers a pout, so sincere and warm it tugs at your chest, “Are you gonna be okay while I’m at work?”

You muster a nod, “Yeah, I was just going to stop by the bookstore and stock up, then begin my life as a shut-in.”

“That’s the spirit.” She swallows the last of her coffee, leaving cash on the table and kissing you on the forehead. “I’ll bring home pizza for dinner.” You’re too busy finishing your pancakes and wallowing in self-pity to notice her make a ‘keep an eye on her’ gesture at Luke, the diner owner and oft-worshipped sustenance provider.

Your aunt was only sixteen years older than you, the same number of years you were when she’d moved into this town and into your house after a basic tale of orphaned tragedy befell you. The whole situation was made slightly less tragic by the colour she brought along with her – movie nights overflowing with popcorn and junk food, a superior taste in music, a loose set of rules regarding your young adolescent social life (mostly to encourage you to actually leave the house and make friends), tales of the world that awaited you, and a fairly inadequate cooking ability (hence the close relationship with the local restauranteur). She was there for all the adolescent milestones. Unrequited crushes, driving exams, college applications, the many rejections in both romance and professional attempts – always with a fresh tub of cookie dough ice cream, a Macy Gray CD and a funky outfit.

She made sure to let you know that home would always catch you, even if you felt like you were too old to still be falling.

With a deep breath you leave the comfort of the diner for the crisp morning, not having to walk too far down the main street to the front door of the bookstore. It jingles when you open it and you’re relieved to find it empty. Andrew, the owner, must be out the back. You lose yourself in the aisles, eventually moving to a seat in the corner with a couple of potential purchases when your neck begins to burn from reading spines.

You’re curled up in this spot, rain pattering quietly against the window, wearing a soft grey sweater that was neither a grab at nostalgia nor comfort, but your only option in clean clothing, when through the smell of paper and the pumpkin spiced candle burning at the counter, something dark and woodsy catches your attention, pulling you out of a trance along with a deep voice.

“Thanks for holding it for me.”

“How’d you like the last one?”

“I read it in a coupla’ days. Pretty good for you know, not Steven King.”

He looks over at the same time your eyes travel up, catching you in his dark stare as Andrew bags up his purchase, brown eyes glinting in the warm light. Your breath hitches and you look back down at your book, quickly, reflexively. There’s a moment when he continues staring, only briefly, but enough to make you hot under your sweater while you pretend to read, then he moves, leaving with the tinkling of the bell on his way out.

“W-who was that?”

Andrew looks up at your voice, “Oh! You wouldn’t have met him yet. That’s Eddie. He moved to town about a year ago. He works a couple of shifts at Gypsy’s during the week and bartends in Woodford on the weekend. Big Fantasy guy.”

You smile at that last remark, but quickly put it away. “Well then.”

“I guess that’s what happens when you don’t come home for a while.”

And there it is. You take your selections to the counter, impatient to get back home and away from probing eyes – even the impossibly dark and pretty ones.

***

Eddie noticed the change as soon as he woke up that morning, there was a crack in his bedroom window he’d been meaning to fix, and it whistled with the wind, beating his alarm to the punch.

The trees were something else in this part of the country. Halloween was big in Hawkins, but here they had a whole festival for Fall before the carved pumpkins even made their way to doorsteps. The road was carpeted in red and brown on his short drive to work, but it seemed the leaves weren’t the only change the town was talking about. He’d heard whispers in the diner when he stopped by for his morning coffee. The town’s golden girl had returned. A small blue car parked in a normally vacant spot outside the house on Peach.

He'd met Lorelai a few times around town, and her niece was apparently a lot like her, just with a slightly tighter grasp on reality. But she’d been away for a while, living in New York, a Joan Didion meets Ann Powers type if he were to make a comparison from what little he knew. Only now she wasn’t, and the talk of the town was she’d moved back in, unemployed. He felt a little bad for her. He couldn’t face returning to Hawkins after his own lost years on the road – hell, he’d moved here instead. It couldn’t be easy, especially with a town this idling. But from what he knew, she was an Ivy League girl, chasing a by-line, going from success to success – maybe she needed to be taken down a peg. He’d tossed that thought away quickly, it didn’t make him any better than the gossip mill.

For the most part, the townspeople were odd but welcoming. It’s not a place he’d thought he’d ever end up, it was even smaller than Hawkins, but it grew on him quickly and he on them. Gypsy, the town’s mechanic found him useful, it was as simple as that. He didn’t go to the To Kill a Mockingbird-like town meetings, but he unwillingly got caught up in all the town’s comings and goings when he worked shifts at the bar.

Eddie was content with his new middling but peaceful existence after all the challenges life had thrown at him.

That was until he’d gone to the bookstore on his morning break, hoping to pick up the latest book in the series he was reading, and saw you. His eyes wandered over to the corner, and he knew who you were straight away, curled up in the chair sporting a Yale sweater, so engrossed in your book you barely even notice him.

So, you were pretty – stop and creepily stare, beautiful really – as well as smart. And they say you’d inherited your aunt’s dry wit. Great. Looks like the Universe wasn’t done throwing spanners his way; thick heavy ones he’d never quite figured out how to dodge in time. He comes to his senses and bolts out the door, paper bag in hand. Fucking, great.

***

“Honey, I’m–oh that’s a lot of laundry.”

Your aunt stops short in the living room, large pizza box balancing in her hand.

“This is the second load.” You place a folded t-shirt on pile number three taking up the sofa. “New York is dirty.”

“Hmm,” She turns towards the kitchen, “Fresh, clean air goes on the pro list for Connecticut. Along with Joe’s pizza.”

“I’m sorry, you think New York doesn’t have better pizza?”

“Joe is from New York,” she yells over the clatter of plates, “plus a Stars Hollow slice is probably like half the price.”

“Can’t argue with that.” You mumble. A flash of wild hair enters your mind out of nowhere, and you take a breath before speaking again. “I saw the new guy in town today. Eddie?”

The clack of her heeled boots echoes through the house as she runs back to you, pizza almost sliding off the plates.

“Wow. That was quicker than I was expecting.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t mentioned him. It must’ve been front-page news when he moved in. With that hair.” You gesture around your head, moving your piles of clothes so you can both sit.

“I had a feeling you’d find each other on your own.”

You roll your eyes, “Oh, please.”

She points at you, “Don’t even try it, kid. I’ve been home five seconds and you just had to talk about him. I knew you two would hit it off.”

“We didn’t hit it off. We made exactly zero point three seconds of eye contact in the bookstore, and I asked Andrew who he was after he left.”

She takes a bite of her slice, talking through a mouthful, “Of course you met him in the bookstore. Was there any hint of this happening in your cards?”

“I haven’t done a reading in a long time.”

“Why?”

“’Cause I know what the future holds, and it’s bleak.”

She tuts, “Scaredy cat. We’re doing one right now.” She stands up to look through the drawer under the landline.

“Nooo.”

“Yes!” She holds up a packet of tarot cards with a satisfied and slightly menacing grin.

***

Leaves crunch under your feet as you walk the streets to the diner, Nick Drake blasting through the foam headphones of your old portable CD player. You’d found it the other day during your attempt to clear space for your big city baggage, giving up when you became too nostalgic and your room only got messier – a problem for a future, less burned you.

Fortunately, the one place nostalgia only wrapped you up gently in its warm embrace and didn’t feel like a swift kick to the chest, happened to serve the best coffee and pancakes anywhere in the world (or so you presumed, you weren’t that well-travelled).

You remove your headphones as you take a seat at the counter. Luke offers you a head tilt of acknowledgement and places a hot takeaway cup next to you.

“Oh, I was just going to sit here for a while.”

“It’s not for you.” 

A ringed hand places some change next to the cup, and you follow the leather jacket-clad arm up to that head of wild curls. He shifts awkwardly at the attention as you feel the heat crawling up your neck again, like you were a high school girl with a crush on the one boy who didn’t look like the rest of the cookie-cutter teenagers, Sabbath t-shirt and longer hair than the trending style. Instead of greeting him, like a normal human being, you pivot, turning your attention back to Luke.

“You’re serving strangers before me now?” He pours coffee into a dramatically large mug he’s placed in front of you. Your favourite green one with the chip on the saucer.

“Eddie’s lived here for longer than you have in the last five years. If anyone’s the stranger–“

“Alright, alright, I get it!” You drag the mug towards you. “You must all be so pleased it was all for nothing.”

Luke crosses his arms, “All for noth–you want me to get the scrapbook out?”

Your eyes widen, “Please God, no.”

He smirks, “Eddie hasn’t seen the scrapbook.”

You glance at him, the poor guy’s eyes moving quickly between the back-and-forth conversation. “Andrew says he’s a reader. Real readers don’t enjoy my writing. Just let him leave with his coffee unoffended, to go about his day.” Luke walks away with a chuckle, and you’re left with Eddie, who looks lost, unsure of whether he can leave. You take a sip of your coffee. “Sorry, that was a weird way of introducing myself.” You give him your name, opting to not offer your hand as well due to its clamminess.

“Uh, Eddie.” He tips his head.

“I know,” you nod. “This is a very small and very strange town you’ve found yourself in.”

He smiles a little, scratching the back of his neck, drawing your eyes to the prominent vein there. “I’ve gathered as much.” You turn back to your coffee, hands and eyes focused on the ceramic cup. He clears his throat, “I guess I’ll see you around then.”

“More than you’ll want to.”

He opens his mouth, frown lines etched across his forehead briefly before he turns and walks away instead. What kind of thing is that to say to someone you just met? Your bitterness, it seems, will be clinging on like a shadow.

***

After a few days back in town, you’re already starting to feel claustrophobic. Tired of the pitying tuts and arm touches. The questioning of your “next steps”, which, depending on the devotedness of the asker’s conservatism, made you either feel like you were a fresh graduate again or that you were recovering from alcoholism.

Of course, when you try to make a break for it and go for a drive, the universe decides to have a chuckle at your expense once again. Your head finds the steering wheel in exhaustion when the engine gives nothing but a sputter in response to your key, and you find yourself making the short walk to the mechanic in town instead.

“Hey Gypsy.” She beams in dirty coveralls at your appearance.

“I was wondering if I’d be seeing you soon. How’s the little zipper running?”

“Not very zippy. Can’t get her started.” Your arms fold on top of the car separating you. “Would you be able to come take a look?”

She shrugs, “Not today. Flat out. Eddie can go.”

Your back straightens as he appears, in similarly soiled coveralls but his are tied at the waist, a ratty t-shirt fairing no better to the grease, his hair pushed away from his face by a red bandana. You forgot he might be here.

He looks over at Gypsy’s call. “Eddie, go take a look at Ivy’s car.”

You clarify with embarrassment at the look of confusion he gives you. “Terrible nickname. The college acceptance letters arrived at the same time as another town festival. There was a town crier and t-shirts made. It was horrifying–“ you trail off. “Um, I live at the end of Peach, but if you’re busy–“

“I’ll grab some tools.” You wait for him as he does just that. Leading in silence a couple of streets away. The sun was cutting through the chilled air today, bouncing golden off the leaves.

You hand him your key when you get to the car, praying it wasn’t one of those situations that made you look like an idiot when it worked for someone else.

“It just won’t turn over.”

Eddie leans an arm on the top of your car while he tries the ignition, squinting against the sun as it sputters just the same as it had before. He pulls a lever below the steering wheel to pop the hood, clicking the metal arm in place, his hands immediately getting lost in the depths of the engine. He pulls out something that looks like a small metal screw and holds it up.

“Spark plug needs replacing.” You just nod, trusting he knows what he’s talking about. He wouldn’t be working with Gypsy if he didn’t. “When was the last time you had a service?” You open your mouth and close it again as you try to do the math. Eddie licks his bottom lip, “Never mind. I can bring some more tools over and give it a once over while I’m at it.”

“If you find a free parking spot in New York City, you don’t move.” You smile weakly, and it grows genuine when Eddie chuckles in response.

“Yeah, same as Chicago.”

“Is that where you’re from?”

He shakes his head, “No. Just lived there for a while.” He points down the street. “I’ll go get some tools and come back?”

“I’m not going anywhere.” You shrug. “Take your time.”

He taps the spark plug on his palm, and you think he’s about to say something else before he turns and walks off. Why does he keep doing that? God, you want to know what he’s thinking.

Ten minutes later, you’re sitting on the porch swing reading when he pulls up in a pick-up truck. He unloads a few heavy bits of equipment, getting to work without a glance in your direction, so you go back to your book.

You spend half an hour like that, both seemingly concentrating on your own tasks. Eddie unaware that your eyes keep wandering to his arms while he works. You, ignorant to the fact that it’s taking the full strength of Eddie’s willpower to keep his gaze on your car.

You give in when you realise you’ve spent fifteen minutes on one page, brain unable to absorb the words, moving inside instead with the intent of making yourself a snack, but you realise you should probably offer Eddie something. The fridge is empty, in desperate need of a trip to the store, so you end up making two peanut butter jelly sandwiches. He’s underneath the car when you appear again, wedged in on one of those rolly things. You’re about to tap his foot with your own when you have a panicked vision of startling him. You interrupt as softly as you can.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah, I’m almost done.”

“Okay, um do you want a sandwich?”

You step back when he rolls out, he squints up at you, eyes softening when he sees the plates in your hand.

He sits up, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s just peanut butter and jelly. We don’t really have anything else edible. Actually, the bread’s questionable.” You wince while he stands.

He holds up his grease covered hands, which you stare at until he speaks, “Can I wash up?”

“Oh yeah, just in the kitchen.” You turn back towards the house, and he follows you, but you turn to find him gone when you place the plates on the kitchen table. You open your mouth to call out before he appears, bootless and in socks. You smile, “You didn’t have to take your shoes off, it’s not that type of house.”

“I didn’t want to track anything in.”

“We play slapsies to figure out whose turn it is to clean, and we’re definitely overdue.” You look down at the crumbs on the floor with a scrunch of your face.

Eddie walks over to the sink and scrubs vigorously up his arms, then takes a seat next to you. He eats his sandwich in four bites.

“I think we have some Pop-Tarts.”

He shakes his head, “I’m okay, thank you.” You expect him to get up and go back to work, but he sits for a moment, tapping his fingers on the table. “Your writing isn’t offensive by the way. It’s good.” Eddie stammers an explanation at the puzzled look on your face. “I googled you at the library.” He rubs his forehead roughly. “That was fuckin’ weird.” Your laugh eases some of the tension in his shoulders and he hopes to god it’s not directed at him, but the idiot routine has worked in his favour before. “I just heard that you’d written for The Times and all these places, and I was curious. You’re really good.”

Something squeezes your chest, grief once again pulling you under.

“Yeah, well, not good enough as it turns out.” He doesn’t know what to say. No one ever does. You interrupt the threatened silence, saving him from having to come up with something pitying and take his plate away, telling him you won’t keep him from finishing up the work. He gets back to it with a nod, working quickly and starting to pack up in another ten minutes. You meet him at his truck, knock-off leather wallet out.

“I’d say don’t worry about it, but I’m not sure Gypsy’d be happy with me coming back with nothin’.”

You laugh, “Too many free of charge jobs for pretty girls then?”

He shakes his head, “No–I don’t­–it’s not…”

“I’m just messing Eddie, it’s fine. I don’t expect anything for free. Gypsy works hard. So do you, I’m sure.”

He tries to undercharge you, but you give him a little more, knowing it’s still not enough but accepting his kindness out of necessity. You watch from the porch as he drives off, jumping at the sudden voice coming from your neighbour, shouting across your gardens.

“You hittin’ that yet, sugar?” Babette was turning the last corner of her 50s, living smitten with her husband of ten years and their two cats.

You call back, “No.”

“He’s got some jawline – and a great ass. Better get in there quick, hun. The young divorcees have been circling him since he got here.” Your head tilts in thought as she walks back inside. She was rarely ever wrong, Babette.

***

“You scored the sofa, good job.”

Your aunt plops down next to you, sinking into the worn red fabric. She digs a hand into the large paper bag on her lap and pulls out fries, then a soggy burger, which you take from her.

“Fiesta burger?”

“Of course.”

The bookstore-come-movie theatre starts to fill up as you take the first few bites. The lingering stares had almost completely subsided now that you’d been back a month, and the freshness of failure wasn’t hanging around you like a bright neon aura. Your body relaxing back into familiar spaces and the routine of a quieter pace of life.

You’re eating the last handful of fries when an unmistakable head of hair finds a seat in front of you.

“Oh good Eddie, you can help settle an argument from earlier. Megadeath or Metallica?”

You begin rolling your eyes, but stop when Eddie turns around, softly perplexed at your aunt’s attention.

“Uh, do you mean who do I prefer? They’re not really comparable.”

She chuckles, “God, you’re such a nerd.”

You quickly clarify her tone when you spot a blush spreading across his cheeks, “That’s a good thing in our house. We lo–we like nerds. You should hear her talking about the golden age of Hollywood.”

“What’s your specialist subject?”

Your stomach does a flip, a smile tugging at your lips. It’s been a while since you met someone who was able to keep pace with the two of you.

“She has many.” You shy away from the cheek pinching.

“Do you want to go get the popcorn before the movie starts?”

You try to remove your aunt from the conversation but she just points to the food she’s filled her cheeks with and mumbles, “Why don’t you and Eddie go?”  

Eddie follows you to the small snack bar at the front, “Please excuse my aunt. She can be a bit…familiar.”

He leans against the candy cabinet while a teenager scoops the popcorn into a bucket. “I like her,” he smiles, “you two are really close, huh?”

“She’s my best friend,” you admit. “Which sounds a little sad, I know, but she helped raise me. She was there when…she’s always been there.”

Eddie nods, “I get it. My uncle raised me.”

You brighten at this morsel of information on the cryptic metalhead. “Really?”

“Yeah. We’re not exactly best friends; it was more of a Gandalf guiding the hobbits type of relationship, but I’d still do anything for him. He never gave up on me, even when everybody else had already written me off.”

“He sounds like a good man.”

He nods again as you take the bucket of popcorn, “He is.”

You want to ask him if he misses him. Where exactly he is. Where he’s from. But seeing as this is the most Eddie has talked to you since you’d met, you don’t want to spook him, so instead you say, “You can move seats and pretend you don’t know us if you want. We won’t be offended. She provides a lot of commentary during movies and she’s not a very good whisperer.”

He smiles and follows you back to the seating area, “It’s okay.” He doesn’t take his seat in front of you. Instead, he sits beside you on the couch. There’s still plenty of room with the three of you, but you clock the move nonetheless. As does your aunt, who raises her eyebrows as she takes a handful of popcorn.

***

“How ‘bout this one?” Your aunt holds up a white picnic basket.

“Way too big. Have you seen the contents of our fridge?”

“You’re being too honest. You have to falsely advertise and stuff it with napkins to lure them in.”

“What did we do with all the baskets from previous years? Shouldn’t we have some at home?”

“We donated them every time we did a clear out, thinking that we never go on picnics, why would we need picnic baskets, forgetting of course, this quaint annual tradition of our little town.”

“Right,” you nod. “The women get to make a basket of homemade food. The men get to bid on it, and the world gets to rotate backwards on its axis.”

“I think it’s fun,” she claps.

You pick up a smaller basket, just big enough for two containers of leftover takeout. “That’s because you’ve always got someone cute bidding on yours, even if it's full of napkins and stale pizza.”

The town square is full of excitement as you place your baskets amongst the pile, ignoring the mayor’s disapproving look at his watch and finding a place in the crowd, coffees in hand. The bidding begins on baskets decorated with flowers, stuffed with homemade pies, cookies and sandwiches. Partners making their loved ones happy, crushes revealing themselves in Hallmark simplicity.

Then your basket is held up.

“Shall we start the bidding at three dollars?”

“Hey.”

The mayor shrugs, gavel loosely held in his hand.

“Five dollars.”

Your head spins around, looking for a voice in the crowd, “Who was that?”

“Six!”

The quick opposing bid from a face you vaguely recognise, “Is that Peter Cutler from middle school? I thought he was married.”

“Ten.” A different voice altogether has your head spinning around in confusion.

“What’s happening? Who are all these people?”

“Uh, oh.”

You look at your aunt, “What?”

“That’s why Babette was showing your picture to the UPS guy.” She winces as the situation sinks in. You really were being auctioned off. For a mere ten dollars.

“No, no, no.” You shake your head. “What do I do?!”

“Uhh,” she looks around frantically, spotting something in the crowd and making a motion like a plane landing.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping…I think.”

“Fifteen.”

“Fifty dollars.” Now there’s a voice you recognise, though you can’t see where it’s come from. Deep, cool, and liable, you think, to get you on your knees in an act of devotion at some point.

“Do you know what’s in this, young man?” You roll your eyes at the mayor’s unhelpful commentary, “Alright, fifty dollars going once…”

Silence from the scattered group apparently vying for your attention – all for under a crumpled twenty. “Well, it’s certainly nice for my pitiful worth to be yelled out for all to hear.”

“Sold. To the leather jacket-clad young man, who plays the loud music.” 

You watch Eddie go up the makeshift stage to collect the basket. “What just happened?”

“Think you just scored a date with the sweet metalhead.” Your aunt smirks into her coffee.

You look at her, “Did you plan this?”

“I may have nudged him to swoop in, but it seems your knight didn’t need much of a push.”

Eddie finds you after, the auctioned dispersing with their buyers for a romantic or platonic lunch, your aunt off to negotiate some light fixtures from the electrician she bagged.

“Thank you for saving me.” You smile at him as he approaches.

“You looked uncomfortable. This is supposed to be fun, for charity – I think. I’m not really sure what this was all about.” He holds up the basket, “It feels kinda sexist to me.”

You smile, “One of those traditions it’s hard to criticise without sounding like an asshole because it’s for the benefit of the town.”

Eddie nods, peaking into the basket, “So watchya bring?”

“Oh, it’s not–we should just go for pizza or something, that’s–if you want to.”

He takes a plastic container out and sniffs under the lid, scrunching up his nose, “What is that?”

You laugh, “I don’t even know. Could be Kung Pao, could be Sweet and Sour.”

“You were going to let some poor, innocent guy eat this?”

You shrug through laughter, “I didn’t know what was going to happen! Figured it might be an easy out in case it went horribly wrong, which it almost did!”

Eddie smirks, “Almost. So, this isn’t worst-case scenario?”

“No,” you admit. “Not at all.”

He blushes, putting the container back in the basket, “Seriously though, how do you not have a reputation as the town food poisoner?”

You push his shoulder, “Hey! It’s been a while since I’ve taken part in a town ritual. My friend and I used to bid on each other’s baskets and hang out. She moved away around the same time I did. Currently travelling the country with her band while her mother prays for her soul.”

“She sounds cool.”

“She is. You’d like her. She’d give you a run for your money on encyclopaedic music knowledge.”

“Maybe, I’ll give her a run for her money on picnic hangouts.”

“Are you literally threatening me with a good time, Eddie?”

“I believe I am.” He holds a hand to his chest before gesturing outwards, “After you, fair maiden.”

***

“So aside from giving D&D advice to young friends over the phone, what else do you do with your spare time?”

Eddie throws his crust into the pizza box, leaning back on his hands as his foot taps gently on top of the water underneath the bridge. A swan flaps its wings further down the pond.

“I run music classes at the senior centre on Tuesdays.”

Your face screws up; every new bit of information too much to handle. “What are you a fucking saint?”

His eyebrows raise, a chuckle in disbelief. “I guess the devil worship rumours haven’t followed me from Hawkins.”

“Is that where you’re from?”

“Yeah, about 800 miles that way, Indiana.” He points behind him. “Less quaint, but smaller in minds.”

“So, what brought you here?”

You see the toss up happening in his head, whether or not he wants to divulge that much information, “That one’s a much longer story,” he gestures to the sky that had quickly begun to darken in the last half hour, “we’ll be out here all night.” He clears his throat, then offers to help you up when he stands. You’d been out all day since the basket auction – book shopping, talking.

“Thanks again for saving me from a dreadful lunch.”

Eddie rubs his jaw, “I might’ve stopped you from finding true love or somethin’.”

“Considering none of them were obviously prepared to fork over more than twenty dollars for me–“ you laugh, hiding your face in embarrassment–“god, that’s such a horribly medieval sentence. You’re right, this tradition is terrible.” Eddie smiles. “Anyway, I’m not exactly in the right headspace for dating right now.”

He licks his bottom lip, “Oh?”

You flush, wanting to back track. Wanting to stop your mouth from saying something you don’t even really believe, “I just–don’t know what I’m doing with my life, you know. Everything’s–I’m–it’s all a mess. Dating sucks enough as it is, I’m not about to drag the little self-esteem I have through that minefield.”

“Right.” He shifts, eyes darting around, “Yeah, minefield.”

“What about you?” Why were you still talking.

He looks at you then, head bobbing in question, “What about me–“

“Babette says the divorced mums of Stars Hollow are after you.”

He chuckles, “I don’t know about that.”

“You should be careful.”

His eyebrows shoot up, “I should?”

“Small town, and all that.” You shrug, and Eddie smirks at your stumbling.

“It’s not exactly my style.”

You ignore the drop in your stomach. The glimmer of hope in your chest at the way he looks at you, “No?”

He shakes his head, swallowing his lips, arms crossed over his chest. “More of a bookstore and pizza kinda guy, I guess.”

He’s offering it to you. A subtle acknowledgment. Of this being more than just a favour from an almost friend. His eyes swimming with a sincerity that you can’t pretend to not see.

“Good.”

He smiles bashfully, looking down at his feet. “Good.”

You pick up the pizza box by your feet, and Eddie’s gaze follows you.

“Walk me home?” Another offering. A definitive end-of-date ceremony. He nods in response, letting you lead the way back through town.

***

The rain soaking through your clothes and plastering your hair to your forehead, the cause of that awful squelching sound in your shoes, at least covered up the fact you’d been crying for the last twenty minutes; tears and raindrops mixing to provide the perfect cover.

When you take a seat at the end of the bar, Eddie’s concerned furrow of his brow proved, however, you weren’t really hiding it that well at all.

“What happened?”

You shake your head, throat constricting so you take a second before talking. You don’t want to cry in front of him. “Nothing. Just had a really bad job interview today, like worst I’ve ever had probably.”

“Shit, sorry.” He leans over the bar instantly when your eyes tear up again, holding onto your sodden shoulder.

“It’s not a big deal, like at all,” you try to smile. “I just feel so stupid. It’s such an easy job, writing newsletters and memos for the city council’s office–I could do it in my sleep. How could I tank it?”

“Hey, you don’t want that job anyway.” Your laugh is wet, self-deprecating. A sound Eddie knows all too well.

“I do!” His eyes dart around the crowded bar quickly when your voice rises, before settling back on you. “I want something, anything I can just do, and it doesn’t really matter if I’m good at it. I want a paycheck, I want to be independent again, to have some form of control over my life. I don’t want to think about how much I suck anymore, I just want to get on with life and forget I ever had any stupid dreams!”

“C’mere.” Eddie tugs you up off the barstool and steers you around the bar, out the door with a lit-up exit sign above it. It’s stopped raining outside, but you’re more focused on Eddie’s hands. One is firmly gripping your arm while the other wipes your face and hair with a clean dish towel you hadn’t noticed he’d grabbed.

The softness in his eyes only pulls more tears from you, which you quickly help him wipe away.

“Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise. You had a bad day.”

“It’s more than that–I’m,” you cover your face with your hands, “I’m such a loser.”

Eddie pulls your hands away, “Hey, c’mon.”

“It’s true! I keep failing, I can’t even talk about myself for ten minutes to get a mind-numbing job. Everything that I’ve worked for all these years means nothing because I’m not good enough. I was never good enough. I just studied my ass off, and for what? A few years of stumbling through, barely scraping by, rejection after rejection after rejection. I hated the city, it was so big and everybody’s always in a hurry, but I didn’t want to just come home. I don’t know what to do. What am I going to do? I’m pathet–“

The feeling of Eddie’s lips crushing against yours makes you suddenly aware of the rapid beating of your heart. It slows, with the lowering of your shoulders as he melts your collision into a soft pace of movement. Then he pulls away, leaving only an inch or two between your faces.

“What–I–are you turned on by pathetic losers or something?”

You feel the breeze of his laugh tickle your face, and your body relaxes further into his hold. “You’re not even close to true loserdom, sweetheart, trust me, but yeah, everything about you turns me on. I thought that was obvious.”

“Why would that be obvious?”

“’Cause I can’t even talk around you.”

“I thought you were just quiet.”

A pained laugh escapes him, and his hair brushes your shoulders as he shakes his head, “No. I’m not just quiet.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” He leans in slightly, your head pulling to match like a magnet, before he leans back out again. “Why did you come here?”

You take a breath, “I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t want her to know I failed again.”

He nods slowly, knowing who you mean by her. Knowing how it feels to want to hide things from someone who altered their life to raise you. “I get it. But I’m sure she wouldn’t–“

“I wanted to see you too. Didn’t want to talk to anyone else. Just wanted to see you.” He kisses the side of your mouth with a gentle smile when you confess to his shoes. “Is that okay?”

Another peck to your lips. “It’s good.”

“Good,” you whisper in return before he steals your breath with the longest kiss yet.

“I get off in twenty, can you hang around 'till then? I can take you to mine, I think I’ve got…pretzels, maybe. Definitely some beer…Sorry, I didn’t really think that through.”

“I’d like that.”

Kiss. “Fuck.” Kiss. “Just give me.” Kiss. “Twenty.” Kiss. “Minutes.”

Eddie drives you back to his. After pouring you your favourite drink and checking the clock behind the bar in between every customer. And it doesn’t take long for you both to abandon the pretence of beer and pretzels, tossing the salted snack bag on the floor when your lips and hands tug him in another direction. Turns out he does have a lot to say. About you, your body, how it reacts under his sheets. Eddie Munson is a talker after all. He could just never find his words around you.

Until last night.

Which is why your first reaction is confusion when you awake the next morning, a crack in his window and the breeze of the morning raising goosebumps along your skin – the bed empty. The bathroom empty. The kitchen empty. The living room empty.

But then your brain reminds you. Pathetic. Weeks of bashful flirting and one night of sex doesn’t mean, what? A pancake breakfast and your problems solved?

You dress quickly, huffily, as buttons are fumbled and things are dropped repeatedly. Idiot.

***

“And where were you last night young lady?”

“I don’t want to talk about it before coffee.” You brush past your aunt on her way out of the house to work, catching the not-so-subtle scan of the clothes you’d left in yesterday.

“Gypsy called this morning. She said you can pick up your car this afternoon.”

You groan, head hitting the front door in a thud. Your car. The reason why you took the bus to your interview yesterday, because Eddie had warned you that you’d need a new…something to do with your engine anyway, and then he’d ordered it and told you to drop off your car whenever you wanted. Because he was a nice guy. Who did you favours. Who didn’t owe you anything, least of all the kindness he showed you last night.

“Fuck.”

“Okay, well good luck with whatever’s going on there.”

You wave her off as she skips lightly down the front steps.

***

Please be on lunch break, please be on lunch break, please be on lunch break.

“Hey!”

Fuck. “Hi. Is Gypsy around?”

Eddie steps from behind the car he was working on, wiping his hands on his coveralls. “No, but your car’s ready, I’ll grab the keys.” He startles you with a peck on your cheek before he disappears into the back office. Black Sabbath is pouring out of a speaker on the work bench, which he turns down on his way back to you, swinging your key around his finger. He’s grinning, and you frown at his energy.

“Don’t worry about payment this time, alright.”

You scoff, unable to help it, and then his hands find your arms and you stiffen under his touch, “I can pay for it, Eddie. I don’t need your help.”

He steps back at your tone; at the way you don’t melt. Squinting at you.

“What happened? I thought we…I thought last night was good?”

You stare at his scuffed work boots. “It was.”

“Okay, so…I’ll see you around six at the diner?”

“Why would you see me at the diner?”

“Because I–” he pauses, “Did you read the note?”

“What note?” You huff, looking at him now.

His frown deepens for a moment, then he’s grinning again, “You thought I didn’t leave you a note. You’re mad…you like me.”

“Excuse me?!”

“I didn’t want to wake you before I went to work this morning, so I left a note. It must’ve slipped off the pillow. I said I’d meet you at the diner after I was done. To talk,” he traces a finger up and down your arm, “about how we can have a repeat of last night continuously until the day I die, a very lucky and fulfilled man.”

“Oh, well…”

“You were so mad.” He grins.

“No, I wasn’t–I was just–you–you don’t owe me anything. I know that. It’s okay, if it was just a one-night thing, it’s just a little awkward in this town is all–” 

His lips press against yours in a smile, and you can feel the light chuckle knocking against his chest, “Sorry, I cut you off again. What were you saying?”

You shake your head, “Nothing intelligent.”

***

Red cellophane crinkles in your grasp, your aunt leaning above you on the ladder, hanging another caramel apple in the tree. The light from inside the house catches on the plastic, making them sparkle like Eve’s forbidden fruit. You can already hear the sugared screams of kids in the street, a big plastic bowl of candy ready for them on your porch steps.

“You’ll get a job kid, I know you will. But I really want to know more about this date tonight.”

You hand her another apple. “How do you know about that?”

“I ran into Eddie at the market, he’s walking around with a smile like he’s just been told a dirty joke.”

“Did he use the word date?”

“It was implied. I can read between the lines.”

“I guess it’s more like a date compared to what we were doing.” You mumble, but she still catches it.

“And what pray-tell were you doing?”

You flush, shifting your feet, “You know–after date stuff.”

She gasps, faux-clutching at pearls, and drawls, “Corrupted by the big city, oh my.” She laughs, “Going to a town event together, guess that means you’re going steady. Do you think he’ll give you his battle vest?”

“Oh my god, I’m not holding this ladder anymore. Make like an apple and fall.”

She shakes with laughter, spooking the kids walking up your drive, watching the witch hang juicy candy apples and cackling.

***

“Ooh, last year they had these amazing cookies.”

“Oh, Andrew’s spiced pumpkin ones? They’re legendary, we’ll get some from the bake sale stall. Just avoid the punch, it’s Ms Patti’s recipe, it could knock down a horse.”

Eddie squeezes your arm, and you melt further into his side, both of you walking around the town square and browsing the Halloween Fair stalls.

“How ‘bout I get us some hot chocolates instead and we tackle that hay maze. Get lost in a dark corner?” He raises his eyebrows, and you giggle.

“Okay, but I’m not kissing you with those vampire teeth in.”

He pats his jacket pocket where he stowed the plastic prop after play attacking your neck with it the moment he saw you. “Don’t knock it ‘till you try it, sweetheart.”

You watch him as he waits in line, standing near the bonfire with stars in your eyes. Unfortunately, it doesn’t take long for your attention to be pulled away by nosey neighbours – the older couple who run Le Chat Club, one of two cat-themed trinket stores in town.

“So, what’s the next adventure?”

“Well, the five-year plan currently looks like paying off my student debt and finally finishing Ulysses.” You smile.

“Not moving away again? They say all the kids are moving to Seattle, must be some housing boom or something.”

“It’s not the housing it’s the music, Mary.”

“No, I’m officially unpacked and planted firmly back home.” You look back over at Eddie, now walking towards you with cookies and a huge smile on his face. “I’ve got a lot more reasons to stay this time.”

He sat in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, people watching for only a minute before Easy started to play.

Know it sounds funny, but I just can't stand the pain.

Eddie recognised the song by the Commodores. He listened to it, then to the radio D.J. Angel Dust had been re-released with bonus tracks days earlier. Easy was on an Australian exclusive, but the D.J. had a special place in his heart for the Commodores, so he’d got his hands on it.  

Eddie thought about Angel Dust and how it didn’t even crack his top twenty best records of the prior year. Eddie thought about how he should tell Wayne about the cover, since he, too, was a fan of the Commodores.

Then, Eddie remembered.

He wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve, the denim coarse against the fragile skin. A glance around the depot reassured Eddie nobody was paying attention to him. Slowly, he stood and made his way back to his van. It was worse in there, a coffin of Wayne’s things.

Eddie’s hands shook as he tried to put the key in the ignition; it took a couple goes before he got it and the engine stuttered awake. You’d not been at Clash that morning, but you would be soon. It was your first shift back. Eddie drove straight to you.

“Hellooooo… Hey!” the customer raised their voice and waved a hand in front of you.

“Sorry! Sorry… Uh, no sugar? Got it.” Money in the register and the customer only slightly annoyed, you leaned over the counter and watched Eddie’s van find a park down the street.

“You okay?” Nancy asked.

“Yeah… Eddie’s here…”

“Okay?”

What was he doing? Why didn’t he park behind Raconteur? Why wasn’t he getting out? Was he okay? Nancy was calling your name.

“Sorry?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing… I don’t know…”

Nancy frowned and looked down the road too. “What are we looking at?”

“I’ll be back.”

Eddie sat gripping the steering wheel. His teeth started to chatter, and he didn’t bother pretending it was the cold. His nose tingled so badly it hurt. Spiked pins and needles. It was a glance in his side mirror that broke him, and not just that you were walking in his direction, but the way you were walking. Fast. Purposeful.

You watched Eddie nearly tumble onto the road, running across it and towards you. The force with which he crashed into you almost knocked you off your feet. He buried his face in the crook of your neck.

You couldn’t work out what you were feeling. There was wetness running down into your shirt, tears, but a hardness too. Teeth. Eddie’s mouth was open, the collar of your shirt between his teeth. He was biting down on it to keep his crying from getting any louder.

The angle of the hug was making it hard to breathe, but you didn’t move, just waited for the crush to loosen. When it did, you whispered, “Let’s go sit in the van.”

When you let him go and saw his face, you felt afraid because he looked afraid.

Pushing him into the back seat, you followed him in. Eddie dived for you again, his arms wrapped around your waist and his head in your lap. He sobbed. There was nothing to do but let him.

It took a little shuffling and squirming to get into a comfortable position. Once you did, you rubbed Eddie’s back and played with his hair, and waited it out.

Though you couldn’t tell exactly how much time had passed, eventually the sobbing subsided and Eddie stirred.

When he sat up, you rolled your sleeves over your hands and wiped his face clean of tears and snot. You folded the loose pieces of stringy hair behind his ears, letting your fingers gently slide down his neck and across the front of his shirt.

Eddie tried to smile, then sat back on the bench seat, his head slumped.

“I didn’t realise you’d miss Dustin this much already.”

Eddie choked on a chuckle and shook his head. “That’s mean,”

“But it made you smile… What happened? What was it?”

“A song…”

“It’s always a song, huh?”

“Yeah. It was a cover of a song Wayne loved. By the Commodores. Easy,”

“How does it go?” you asked.

“Um…” His head started to bob to a beat only he could hear, then he sang. “I know it sounds funny but I just can’t stand the pain. Girl, I’m leaving you tomorrow,”

“Oh! Yeah… That’s the one… uh… Easy like a Sunday morning?”

Eddie nodded.

“You said it was a cover?”

“Yeah, by… Fuck…” He couldn’t remember. “I was just thinking about them… They had a new album last year…”

“Doesn’t matter,”

“No, I’m gonna go insane if I can’t think of it. Album last year. American…” He had just been thinking about them, how could he not remember? His brain was fried. “They have that song that goes: You want it all but you can’t have it.” He had the strange whine of the vocals down perfect.

“Faith No More?”

“Faith No More!” Eddie repeated, clapping his hands together. “That’s it. Fuck,”

“They do a lot of covers,”

“Yeah, it’s my favourite thing about them,”

“What’s your least favourite thing about them?”

He did his strange little snort-laugh. “Everything else.”

You laughed.

Eddie took a sharp intake of breath, silent tears rolling down his cheeks. “I can’t… I can’t do this every time I think of him,”

“You won’t. I don’t think… I don’t think it will always hurt like this.”

He nodded. “But… What’s that mean? I just… think of him less? Things remind me of him less?”

“No. I don’t know. But, no… I don’t think it works like that.”

Eddie went quiet. You sat together for a little while. When you looked at him next, you couldn’t help it. It popped into your head, and you knew you could use it.

“I just had an inappropriate thought,” you told him.

Eddie chuckled. “You did?”

You nodded.

“Well, now you have to tell me,”

“Only because it will cheer you up,”

“Big prediction.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, well, I think you are always beautiful,”

“You’re right. This is cheering me up,”

“Told ya. So, always beautiful, but sometimes when you cry, like, when you’re just sitting there zoned out with a tear rolling down your face… You’re like…” You chickened out. Couldn’t commit.

Eddie looked at you seriously, then burst into laughter. “You think I’m hot when I cry?!”

“I told you it was inappropriate!”

He sat up straighter and looked at you, then took your face in his hand, pushing your cheeks together. “You are such a fucking weirdo.” He kissed your lips. “But you’re my weirdo now… We should move though.” The van was getting noticeably cold.

“You’re okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Will be,”

“What are you going to do now?”

“Work. I’ll be better off there than sitting around at home,”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “I’ll come over after my shift. Bring you guys the leftover pastries.”

Eddie walked you back to Coffee Clash, nodding a thank you to Nancy for holding down the fort. Eddie held you in another tight hug and kissed you greedily again. He didn’t care who was watching, and it made your heart flutter.

After he’d crossed the road and gone into Raconteur, Nancy asked, “He alright?”

“No. Not yet,”

“He’s lucky to have you.”

You looked at her with her sincere expression. “Hug me, Nancy Wheeler.”

…

The Rolling Stones had released a ‘best of’ record, while Wu-Tang Clan, Angra, and Rotting Christ all debuted. A Tribe Called Quest, Aphex Twin, and INXS all had new stuff out too. They were Raconteur’s best sellers of the month of November to that point.  

Eddie looked over the list, wondered how Kate Bush wasn’t on it – maybe Max hadn’t been working much, and reminded himself he still hadn’t listened to Iron Maiden’s Live at Donington. He sat with Robin in the office and went over everything he’d missed at the store, and they started planning for Christmas. Music was a sure bet for a gift; they were already getting the early shoppers in.

When you closed up Clash and headed over, you had to dodge customers to make your way to the counter.

“This is good,” you said to Robin and Steve.

“Yeah. Definitely making budget. One less thing for Eddie to worry about,” Robin replied.

“How’s he been today?”

“Ah… you know…” She made a strange, high-pitched ‘eeeeeee’ sound as she thought. “Kinda sad but… committed to the bit… In this case, ‘oh, look at me, I’m normal, doing normal things, just normal Eddie over here, la-de-dah,’ is the bit,”

“He’s not good,” Steve clarified. “Some guy came in talking shit about Liz Phair, and Eddie didn’t kick him out.”

Frowning, you nodded at them and went to find Eddie. He was out the back, sitting on a deck chair with his stray ginger cat curled up in his lap.

“Thinking about letting her move into the shop,” Eddie told you. “I don’t know where she’ll go when winter really starts.”

You reached over to pat her behind the ears. “If you’re adopting her, you gotta take her to a vet first.”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah…”

“It’s busy in there,”

“Yep. We’ll make budget,”

“That’s what Robin said,”

“Mmmm. She’s got it all sorted.”

You dug your hands into your pockets and looked up at the clouds. They were thick, darkening, and almost morphed into one fluffy sheet. You’d learnt about cloud types in school but couldn’t remember anything. Columbus? Nimbus? Circus? Nope.

The cat’s purring was loud; it pulled your attention back to Eddie.

“Are you staying ‘till close?”

“Uhh… No. Nah. They’ve got it. I can probably go home whenever…”

“Are you-” You stopped yourself. It was a dumb question. You knew the answer. “What can I do to help?”

Eddie sighed, looking up at the sky. He saw the shape of a guitar in a cloud and a bunny in another. Cumulonimbus clouds, he identified. Might be a thunderstorm on its way. When he stood, the cat jumped from him and sped off back under her favourite dumpster. Eddie turned to you.

“Wish I knew,” he said in earnest. “Wish I knew so I could sort my shit out myself. But I’m…”

“It’s okay,” you told him.

He held a hand out to you, which you took.

“Can I take you out? On a proper date?” Eddie asked. His eyes watched your face for a reaction; he saw the little burst of surprise. “Not now. On a better day. That doesn’t start with a breakdown. I want to… I don’t know… Do this for real.”

Eddie had been holding back. He’d been holding back when he kissed you. When he said good morning or goodnight and didn’t add, ‘I love you.’ All the time, really. But it wouldn’t always be like that. He wanted a date. One date. Candlelight and romance. He could admit that to himself.

He saw it now. The things he had been telling himself about relationships and love. How they weren’t true. How he had been afraid that if he let someone close, they’d see the worst in him and run away. Like the girls in Hawkins. Like his father.

You didn’t just stay put. You ran towards the worst and kept coming back.

Eddie cupped your face in his hands, something he was growing more and more in love with doing. He loved how your eyes sparkled as you watched him for his next move.

“I want to pick you up with a bunch of flowers and tell you that you look beautiful in that dress. And I’ll open the car door for you. And the door to the restaurant. It will be somewhere nice. Maybe one of the places on your list. It will be fancy, but not like, douchebag fancy. Just nice. The food will be good. And we will definitely have dessert. It’s gonna be soooo good,”

“Then what?” you asked.

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. “Then what?”

“Yeah. After dinner. What do we do then?”

He grinned. “Then I say something charming and you laugh. And maybe I strategically talk about a book or movie or something, and tell you that I have a copy if you wanna borrow it, and so we casually decide to go back to mine. To get the book,”

“Or movie,”

“Or whatever,” he said, smiling.

“Yes,”

“Yes?” He wasn’t shocked by your acceptance, just needed to hear you say it again.

“Yes, I will go on a proper date with you. That’s… that’s what I want to.”

You looked happy. Eddie hadn’t seen that carefree joy on your face in a while, and it emboldened him. Before he said it, you saw his stupid, cocky expression and knew whatever he was thinking was going to be dumb and annoyingly charismatic.

“In the meantime, though… We could practice the part where we go back to mine?”

After saying goodbye to Robin and Steve, you detoured to your place to pack a bag. Eddie followed you inside. He walked around your bedroom, picking up things, and tried to memorise every detail. He wanted to remember the books you’d bought yourself, the candles you like. They were clues. Information he needed to hoard.

“Small bag,” Eddie commented. He had your pink-haired troll doll in his hands.

“Should I be packing more?”

“If you want to,” he said nonchalantly.

 Of course, you wanted to. But you wanted him to want you to. You wanted him to tell you that he wanted you to.

“I don’t want to intrude,”

“Oh, yeah, ‘cause if one of us is hijacking the other’s life, it’s definitely you, sweetheart,” he joked. He put the troll down and looked at you. “Seriously… I don’t care if it’s selfish. I feel… better… when you’re with me. So, pack a bigger bag.”

…

After Thanksgiving, a muted but wholesome night hosted by Joyce, everyone fell back into their usual roles and routines. The calendar page turned, and November became December.

“Hey, boss, can I put up some hooks in the wall?”

“No,”

“I told you,” Steve said to Robin. “It’s better to ask forgiveness than ask permission,”

“Wow, you’re so wise,” she teased. “Seriously though, Eddie. It’s for Christmas decorations,”

“We didn’t put up hooks last year. Or the year before. Or-”

“And that’s why the decorations sucked. This year, I have a vision,”

“We’re a record store, Robin. In Wicker Park. Not some shitty mall store that has two buck tapes. Christmas isn’t on brand,”

“On brand?!” she snorted. “You’ve turned into quite the capitalist there, Edward,”

“You get away with calling him that?” you asked, entering the Raconteur.

“She does not,” Eddie clarified.

“I thought you were meant to chill out now, you know? Now that the pining is over,” Steve said.

Eddie greeted you in a hug, ignoring Steve.

“What’s he not chilling out about?” you asked them.

“Christmas decorations. He’s being a grinch,”

“You mean, he’s being The Grinch,” Steve corrected.

“What?”

“He’s The Grinch. There’s only one of him,”

“So?”

“So, you said he’s being a grinch. Grinch isn’t like… a species.”

You and Eddie watched the back and forth.

“Steve, for the sake of getting Eddie to say yes, I don’t think this matters,” Robin told him.

“Uh, wrong. If anything, Eddie’s a nerd about shit like this. It could make or break the argument,”

“He’s right,” Eddie said. “Not about The Grinch. I cannot confirm or deny that. But about the nerd shit,”

“Whatever! Are you going to steal our Christmas joy or not?!”

Steve and Robin both comically pouted.

“Fine. Whatever. But no Christmas music!”

…

On December 6th, Depeche Mode released Songs of Faith and Devotion… Live. When the carton of stock arrived, Eddie smiled to himself. It felt a bit like a sign. Or a kick in the ass. It was time.

He threw on his jacket and wound the fluffy black scarf you’d left in his office around his neck. As he crossed the road to Coffee Clash, he watched the dead expression you were levelling at the customer standing in front of you.

“Sir, that doesn’t work here,” you told the man.

“But they’re all connected. That’s how it works now.”

Eddie lingered back, waiting his turn. He could see that the man was holding out a small rectangle of cardboard.

“Yeah, all the Starbucks are connected. But not, like, every coffee shop,”

“So, if you just accept it, you’ll get a new customer,”

“A customer that doesn’t pay,”

“I’m paying with this,” the man argued.

“Again, that’s a Starbucks stamp card. We are not Starbucks,”

“All you shitty little places get bought up eventually. So, just take it.”

Nancy was standing behind you, arms crossed, watching the interaction carefully. Eddie knew Nancy usually stepped in when customers were being… customers… But, you were holding your own. Quiet Babychino, no more.

“Please leave,” you told the man, exasperated more than anything else.

“Listen-” The tone of those two syllables alone launched Eddie into action.

“You heard her,” Eddie said before any more words could spill out of the customer’s mouth.

“Do you wanna mind-”

Eddie shook his head and held his hands up. “No. Nope. We’re not doing this. Take your fucking bullshit and briefcase back to Starbucks. Here. I’ll even point you in the right direction.” He snatched the stamp card from his hands, crumpled it up, and flicked it down the sidewalk.

For a blistering moment, it looked like the man was going to say something back. His spine straightened and his nostrils flared. He thought better of it, turning on his heels and stalking off down the street.

“I had it,” you told Eddie.

“I know you did.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“I didn’t like the tone he used. I know you had it, but… you know,”

“Oh, we know,” Nancy assured Eddie.

“And hello to you too, Nancy,”

“Munson. Coffee?”

“Sure, yeah.”

Eddie winked at Nancy, and she made a face like she was going to puke. He smiled, then turned his attention back to you.

“You look cute in that scarf,” you told him, reaching out to touch the fluffiness.

“So, you think I’m cute?”

“Among other things, yeah.”

December in Chicago could have been the explanation behind Eddie’s reddening cheeks, but you knew he was an easy blusher.

“I think you’re cute too… So cute, in fact, that I was wondering if you would do me the absolute honour of accompanying me on a date Friday night,”

“I’ll have to check my diary… I might have plans,” you teased.

Eddie just smiled. “I’ll pick you up at 6?”

You nodded.

“Wear something nice. Or don’t! Whatever.”

You nodded again.

Eddie leaned across the counter to kiss you, then trotted back across the road, entirely forgetting the coffee Nancy was making for him.

She put the cappuccino next to you.

“That’s not his order,”

“He wasn’t here for the coffee.”

…

On Friday the 10th of December, Eddie pulled up in a car you did not recognise. When you opened the door upon the knock, the sight of you pulled the breath from his lungs. He forgot how to breathe and how to be normal.

You bit back a grin. “Are they for me?” you asked, pointing to the bouquet of moonlight blue roses. They were a strange choice, but they suited Eddie well.

He nodded and held them out, still silent, which made you laugh. He followed you inside and stood while you found something large enough to fill with water and put the flowers in.

“Sorry!” he said suddenly. “You look… You look beautiful.”

The car was a friend’s, Eddie said. Something nicer than the van. He drove to a part of Chicago you’d spent very little time in. The restaurant had valet parking, which Eddie handled like it was totally normal for him to be wearing a suit jacket.

Eddie, even just the suit jacket, was a lot for your brain to process, though you weren’t sure that was the body part entirely in charge of the situation. He’d pulled his hair back into a bun, but it was neat, and a few delicate strands still framed his face.

He held your hand and guided you inside to where a waiter greeted you and didn’t need to check a book to confirm the reservation or remember which table it was for. When offered wine tastings, Eddie accepted for both of you, bullshitted his way through it like a pro, winking at you over the bottles to keep you in on the joke too.

The menu seemed to be in French, and there were no prices listed for anything. Eddie asked the waiter for his recommendations, then approved them without question. The food was amazing, but the portions were small. The bathroom was fancier than the majority of rooms you’d be in across the span of your whole life. It was all dizzyingly special, lovely but a little alienating.

After tipping generously, you left.

“Come home with me?” Eddie asked, the first words spoken since getting in the car.

You felt drunk, not just on expensive wine, but on the brilliance of it all. “Please,” was how you chose to answer Eddie, and for the second time that night, his breath was stolen.

Floating into Eddie’s apartment instantly put you at total ease. You leaned against the kitchen counter, pulling at the tiny buckles of your shoes, humming to yourself. Eddie walked around the room, sticking to the borders like a predator as he watched you.

He put a record on, and it was probably perfectly selected, but you were not listening to it at all. Once you were on flat feet, you looked at Eddie standing across the room.

The suit. His hair. The way his gaze had yet to settle, yet to choose somewhere to sit. Your eyes, or lips. Hips. Hands.

Eddie grinned, refused to move. You did the same. Game on.

“Are you happy now?” you asked gently. “Did you do it right?”

Eddie nodded. “I did,”

“Good. I think so too.”

There was a tightness across your chest that under any other circumstance, you’d be sure was a heart attack. Sometimes that’s just what loving Eddie felt like.

“Now what?” you dared to ask.

Eddie smiled. “I think now is when I tell you a couple of important things,”

“Oh?”

“Like… I got you some Ben and Jerry’s,”

“Thanks,” you replied.

Silence.

“What else?”

“What else?”

“You said there was a couple of important things. Ice cream is one,”

“Right,” he agreed, narrowing his eyes at you and smirking. “Of course… If you come here, I’ll tell you,”

“No, you come here,”

“Don’t you want to know?” he tried.

“I do. Buuuuuut… I wanna hear it and you’re too close to the speakers, sooooo.”

He just shook his head at you and gave you a look that was almost a command to go to him. You knew you’d lost the game when the look made you suck in and bite down on your bottom lip. It would have been embarrassing, how you threw yourself into him, if he hadn’t asked you to.

Eddie kissed you hard, his hands were everywhere, but no single place long enough to savour it. When you broke apart for oxygen’s sake, his pupils were blown.

“I am so, so fucking in love with you,” he said breathlessly.

“I love you too,” the words tumbling from your mouth. “I’m in love with you too.”

It’s all Eddie needed to hear. He was back on you, pulling you through the apartment to his bed, where he undressed you fast and kissed every part of you slowly. Everything else melted away. There was nothing. No pain. No grief. No memories. Nothing. Just you. Just this heaven.

Two nights later, after a weekend of being in a saccharine safe space of only each other, you were back in bed. The wind had been howling all day, the temperature dropping by the minute. It seemed a good enough reason as any to call it an early Sunday night.

“So… Tomorrow is the 13th…”

The corners of Eddie’s mouth twitched.

“Your birthday,” you continued.

Eddie shrugged.

“You’re a Sagittarius, a fire sign, which makes sense.” You paused, waited to see if you’d hooked him yet.

Total poker face. A casual, “Does it?” was all he gave you.

“Mm-hmm. You’re curious and like to learn. But on your own terms. Can be intense. But are surprisingly adaptable when you want to be. Honest. Good storytellers. A bit… go big or go home, kind of thing,”

“I see,”

“Eddieeee,” you whined.

He pulled you close and kissed you. “What do you want? Spit it out.” He kissed you again.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?”

“Didn’t come up… How’d you know?”

“Robin. She’s got you something real nice. She told me last week.”

Eddie thought for a second. “I guess it’s just not that important to me,”

“It is to me. You are to me.”

The softness in your voice was beautifully suffocating. Eddie shrugged again.

“We’ll do something,”

“We did,” he replied.

“The date? That wasn’t a birthday thing,”

“No, I am, in fact, referring to the two days we’ve spent acting like stupid, drunk, horny teenagers. Because, if I’m being an honest – what was it? – intense, storytelling Sagittarion-”

“Sagittarius,”

“-Sagittarius about it, two straight days of finally being allowed to touch you is easily the best birthday present I could get,”

“That’s so cheesy. Stop!”

But it was too late. Eddie hijacked the conversation with the art of kissing, and you were not immune to it.

It had been a big year for him, you’d thought earlier in the week when considering his birthday. His first birthday without Wayne. You’d let him off the hook. A small gift. No party. Next year, though, he’d be fucked.

…

December, the fastest moving month of the year, was cold.

You were still spending long stints at Eddie’s, briefly punctuated with nights at your apartment here and there. Clarke didn’t mind. She was growing to love the feeling of living alone.

Though Eddie was entirely different now compared to how he had been in Hawkins, his grief was still so present. It wasn’t as if you were a little scared to leave him alone, but he seemed more settled and consistent with you around.

Coffee Clash fuelled people with caffeine and cake, sending them sated over to Raconteur to finish their gift shopping. Too soon, Christmas was upon you all.

“Last year, I lied to everyone and said I was going home for Christmas,” you admitted to Eddie. You were in the store, it was a little after midnight, and it was almost done counting out the cash taken that day.

His troubled face looked up at you.

“I was fine. Don’t look at me like that… Clarke actually did go home to see her family in Florida. I got drunk by myself and ate some Chinese take out and went to bed. It wasn’t bad,”

“Surprised you didn’t get roped into Joyce’s thing,”

“No, I did. Well, no. I was invited. And then Robin invited me to her thing… which is your thing… But I told everyone I was going home.”

Joyce’s thing was a very traditional Christmas day with gifts, food, and Santa hats. Everybody was invited, but only Jonathan and Will were forced to go. Nancy, of course, would go. The year before, Argyle even accepted the invitation.

Robin’s thing was actually the Raconteur thing. For whatever lost little weirdo out there, the doors were open. The price of entry was a bottle to share, or if you could, a lukewarm dish of food. Music was played, and everyone with nowhere to go got drunk together. It had been their thing for years.

“So, you’re telling me I could have met you sooner if you’d just come to our party?”

“A couple months earlier, not much,”

“Three. Three months earlier. That’s a quarter of a year,”

“I’m… sorry?”

“You should be. Depriving me of your existence. At Christmas, no less. Tsk tsk.”

The 1993 Raconteur party was the biggest yet. At some point, it wasn’t just the lost souls, but the who’s who of the local music scene. Eddie locked his office door and gave you the key so you’d have somewhere quiet to go if you want it. Ultimately, the key was used from the inside,  so nobody would walk in on you, Eddie, and the festive spirit in action.

…

Eddie was twirling an unlit cigarette between his fingers like a drumstick. He hadn’t noticed you lingering in the shadows. After the countdown ended, 1994 rang in, he had disappeared. You’d been all across the confetti-coated club in search of him.

The ‘no way out – do not open door’ sign may as well have been a ‘please enter, Eddie Munson.’ You slipped behind the door and climbed the stairs to the small third-story balcony. It was mostly home to stacks of plastic chairs, milk crates, and other old hospo shit. Eddie was leaning against the railing, deep in thought.

“Hi,”

Eddie turned. “Hi,” he replied, flicking the smoke off the balcony and holding his hand out to you.

You took it, letting Eddie pull you in front of him, pressing his chest to your back. He sandwiched you between the railing, arms wrapped around you tightly, and his head resting on your shoulder.

“What was your New Year's wish?”

“Can’t say. Won’t come true,” he replied.

“Right. Resolution then?”

“Ah… You know… Same as every year. Smoke less. Sell more records.”

You nodded, accepted the cliché.

“You?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Don’t really have one. Probably should. Can’t just make coffee and scrape by forever.”

The city was loud, full of celebration. People were down on the street, drunk and happy and introspective and a little lost. Chicago’s population in the mid-90s was expanding, neighbourhoods were being gentrified, and everything felt a little unstable but exciting. A real livewire of a place. No night felt more like that than New Year's Eve.

Eddie didn’t want ’93 to be over. If he let the calendar delineate then from now, Wayne’s death was in the then. If his death was in the past, Wayne himself was in the past. He was history while Eddie was moving forward into the future.

It wasn’t the best measure of time, Eddie knew. The only other one he had was being with you, versus not being with you. That, too, probably wasn’t the healthiest framework.

“I love you,” Eddie told you, kissing your neck.

“I love you too.” Wriggling around in his arms to face him, you brushed the hair from his face and looked at him carefully. “I love you,” you repeated.

A few more stolen kisses on an out-of-bounds balcony, then you and Eddie returned to the party. The party where Argyle had strands of tinsel through his hair, Robin was giggling with a redhead in the corner, and Steve was fighting to keep his crown as king of beer pong.

Shots. Shots. Shots.

And, Eddie grinning, “I liiiiiied,”

“About what?” you slurred back.

If anybody were paying attention, they would not have described what you and Eddie were doing as ‘dancing,’ but it was close enough. There was swaying involved, and balance only achieved by holding up each other’s weight.

“I do have, like, a resolution. Or whatever. For the year.” In actuality, Eddie hadn’t thought about it in months and months. The deadline, though, was looming. The future was coming at him whether he liked it or not.

“What issssss it?”

“Ya know that place next to us? At the store? The… the fuckin’…”

“The map store? With the maps?”

Eddie nodded, “Turns out, cartography is dead. They’re not gonna renew the lease,”

“What’s carton-og-graphy?”

He snorted. “Maps. Map store’s going out of business,”

“Nooooooooooooooo. Map guy is so nice. He loves green tea,”

“Yeah, well, I wanna take the lease,”

“You wanna sell maps?”

He snorted again and stopped swaying with you to look at your face more clearly. He smiled. “No, sweetheart. Maps will go with map guy… I wanna open a recordin’ studio.”

The alcohol being absorbed into your blood stopped you from fully comprehending. Still, you nodded. Eddie laughed.

“Let’s get outta here. I’ll show you…”

The cab ride was quick and the cab driver hated you both, which was fair.

Inside Raconteur, you twirled around Eddie’s office while he searched a filing cabinet for something. Eddie pointed at you in a hilarious warning when you drunkenly dropped the record you were trying to put on. You giggled and managed to complete the task.

Side two of Strange Days by The Doors.

People are strange when you're a stranger.

Faces look ugly when you're alone.

Women seem wicked when you're unwanted.

Streets are uneven when you're down.

“Found it!” Eddie yelled.

Suddenly, blueprints with his handwriting and drawings all over them were shoved into your hands. The lines were a little fuzzy. No, not fuzzy! They were moving!

“Eddieeeeeeee.”

He had flopped down on the couch and was looking up at you.

“I can’t read.”

He laughed and pouted sarcastically at you.

“Don’t! Don’t laugh at me!” You handed him back the blueprints and sat next to him.

“Look, here.” He began to point out the rooms as he spoke. “I’d knock this wall down. Set up a studio in there. Sound proofin’ and that kinda shit. I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I haven’t really looked at the numbers,”

“The numbers,” you squeaked, giggling. “So serious. Businessman,”

“Alright… Well… yeah, I mean… I haven’t done shit since before… Whatever. But if I can. This… this would be cool. There’s some fuckin’ cool bands around,”

“Wait… This is for other people?”

“Yeah?”

“Ohhhhhhhhh, I thought you were gonna be a rockstar.”

Eddie laughed, rolled the blueprints up, and put them aside. “Come ‘ere,” he ordered, pulling you onto his lap. You straddled his legs, sitting with all your weight down. “I used to wanna be one,”

“But then?”

He reached up, ran his thumb along your bottom lip. “But then… I dunno… Bought a record store instead,”

“I’d buy your record store.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Oh, sweetheart, you already have.”  Eddie nuzzled into your neck, leaving kisses and bites in a line.

…

“Steven,”

“Babychino… Ah, was wondering if you wanted to swap places for the afternoon?”

“You can’t make coffee,”

“Nancy can.”

Nancy’s face lit up. You’d started to take turns making coffee and serving customers. Hiding at the machine was the better of the jobs.

“Why?” you asked.

“Uh, well, you know how we’re sponsoring that battle of the bands or whatever? Eddie’s letting some kid band borrow some of his equipment. He needs to take over there. But, you know…”

You shook your head at Steve and shrugged.

“Gotta empty his van…”

“Oh…”

Eddie’s van still had the boxes of Wayne’s things stacked inside.

“I offered to like, move everything. Said I just put it in his office or whatever, but he just went all quiet. He’s been out the back for an hour,”

“Yeah, okay, but Nancy – this does not count for my machine-turn, okay?”

Raconteur was eerily quiet. The radio was tuned to a local station, but the volume was barely audible. Steve clearly hadn’t told Eddie he was leaving the store; it was completely unsupervised. Opening the back door, you lingered in the doorway in case a customer wandered in.

Eddie was leaning against the dumpster, watching his van like it was a sentient beast liable to attack at any moment. He looked over at you, then nodded resignedly.

“Wondered how long it would take,” he said, a little bitter for your taste.

“Kinda what happens when you make friends, Eddie. They care about you. Want to help you,”

“I don’t need help moving a few boxes. And they don’t need to go get my girlfriend whenever they don’t like my mood.”

It was strange to feel hurt by a sentence that referred to you as his girlfriend. That seemed like an implausible combination. You sucked on your teeth, the sound drawing Eddie’s gaze again, then went inside.

Eddie followed you in, feeling worse than he had a minute before.

“I didn’t mean… I’m sorry,” he said.

You leaned on the store’s counter and started to straighten up the pile of paper stabbed through the receipt spike.

“Where’s Steve?” Eddie asked.

“We swapped jobs for the afternoon,”

“Was I that much of an asshole?”

“That’s not what he said.” You turned to face him. “He didn’t know what to do. But he’s not stupid. He could see you need help.”

Eddie clenched his jaw and breathed hard through his nose. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head and looked anywhere but at you. If he didn’t want to talk, it meant he wanted touch. You went to him, and it was enough permission for him to close the gap with a hug.

“Do you want me to move them?”

“No… I can do it…”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah… yeah… I can do it.”

Empowered by the kisses you gave to his forehead, nose, and lips, Eddie went back outside. Between serving customers, you listened as he piled the boxes in the break room. It didn’t take long. When he returned to you, he was holding something small.

“What’s that?”

“Must have fallen out a box… Just sitting in the back of the van.”

Eddie handed you a pocket knife. It was probably a very expensive thing when it was bought, but it had aged. It had weight to it, and a strange kind of beauty.

“Wayne’s?”

Eddie nodded.

“Makes me think of the apple man,”

“Huh… Yeah, shit. A nice little flip knife would have been a way cooler present than a bag of fucking apples.”

You handed it back to him. “What did Wayne use it for?”

“Nothing… Don’t think it meant anything either. Just something he had,”

“You could give it to the apple man,”

“Wonder if he’s still there. Could be dead by now,”

“Eddie,” you warned.

“People die, you know,” he said with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“And, he’s back.”

…

It was February 1994, Black Sabbath had just released their 17th album, but once again, Dio was out and Tony Martin was in. Eddie was hyper-fixated on it. Despite the constant bitching about the record and Dio’s departure, etc. etc., he played it non-stop. The only real break from it was when you pouted and begged to hear Tori Amos’ new record, Under the Pink.

“You love Cornflake Girl!”

“Shhhhhhh!” Eddie would shush you, press a finger to lips if you were in reach.

His obsession was a glaring red flag to you.

It was a lie what they said about time healing a broken heart. You could see it in Eddie. The shadows under his eyes. The guitar that sat in the corner of his office hadn’t moved in a while. The lack of snark about Steve’s new haircut.

Eddie wasn’t scared that time wouldn’t heal. He was, however, scared of what it was likely to do. It could eat at the memories he had of Wayne. Erode them. Take the pieces of his broken heart and grind them down too. He’d be empty. A fucking ghost town.

He knew you saw it. Or more accurately, saw through it. The Black Sabbath discourse. The constant roster of Raconteur Records supported events. The masking. Eddie wanted to reassure you. He wanted to feel like he was getting better. He just didn’t know what to do or say.

As winter finally began to thaw, you started to think about what it would take to jumpstart Eddie’s mind into processing, into healing. There would be no tricking, no talking, no subtlety. If you were going to help, you had to take a risk.

…

Eddie hadn’t slept so great. He was still working out a way he could keep you in his bed every single night without being too clingy; it had only been about four months since your official first date. He was yawning as he drove through Wicker Park to open the Raconteur, your cassette copy of Let Love In by Nick Cave playing. Jangling Jack gave way to Red Right Hand.

The lights were on inside the store as Eddie drove past it and turned down the staff car park’s alleyway. It wasn’t uncommon for Robin to leave them on, she was sometimes scatterbrained, but there was no way in hell she’d have left the security gates up overnight like they were. Someone must already be there.

You met him at the back door.

“You okay? What’s going on?” he asked, dropping his bag in his office and grabbing your face to stare into your soul.

“Jesus. Eddie, I’m fine!” You giggled nervously.

He kissed you and looked at you carefully once more before letting the tension out of his shoulders. He nodded, convinced.

“Alright. What’s happening though? Who gave you keys? Whatcha’ doing here so early?”

“I have a surprise… for you. Um, no. That’s not what I… should say…”

Eddie frowned, said your name slowly. “You’re kinda freaking me out,”

“I know! I know. Sorry. Just. Um.”

Fuck. There was no real way of introducing it. A ‘surprise’ sounded too whimsical and fun. However, saying something like ‘I have done something’ was weirdly confessional and ominous.

You sighed and tried again.

“I had an idea and once I saw it in my head, I couldn’t just… let it go. If you hate it, or it makes you feel… bad… I can change it.”

Eddie’s eyes flicked to the shop floor, his head cocked in interest. “You did something to the store?”

You nodded but failed to move.

“Shall we… take a look?” 

You nodded and followed him through, then positioned yourself far enough away from him that you could see his face fully and watch every micro expression. There was no way he could have been prepared.

Eddie was looking for major changes. He’d already put together that Robin was somehow involved. She had closed the night before and had been pushy about getting Eddie out of there as early as possible. So, major changes. Entire sections relocated to the other side of the store. Counter and register moved too. That kind of thing. But at first glance, it was still the store he knew and loved.

The emotion changing from a confused searching to confused recognition happened in a split second. Eddie’s face froze blank.

All the hooks that had been holding shitty Christmas decorations, then had been left empty over January and February, now proudly held Wayne’s baseball cap collection. There were the fourteen from the trailer’s wall, plus others found in the clean-up.

Above them, a series of thin floating shelves sat, the new home to Eddie and Wayne’s mugs. The 1977 plastic Star Wars, and the Chewbacca. Don’t bother me, I’m crabby. The Morton Salt girl. Campbell’s Soup, green cable knit sweater, the McDonalds, Maxwell House, and Disney. The Cleen ‘Kiss that Frog’ accordion gnome. And all the Garfields, grouped together.

As the seconds ticked by, you had to fight the urge to fill the silence with explanation and apologies. Your hands were held together tightly and you were rocking on the spot.

His face still entirely neutral, Eddie suddenly sat down with his legs arched in front of him. His eyes didn’t leave the hats and mugs.

Slowly, you knelt next to him. “I need you to say something,” you whispered.

“I’m scared that I’ll forget him,” Eddie whispered back, tears beginning to pool in his eyes. “That I’ll stop thinking about him, you know?”

Before you could tell him that he wouldn’t, he spoke again.

“But… It’s like… I’m too fucking scared to think about him on purpose. If I see his face or I talk about him then it’s… Real. Like, real real. And, and I know it is. It’s been… four months? Four months. And I think I’ve been… living in this space where… it’s not real. He’s not gone.”

You nodded; it was exactly what it looked like he’d been doing.

“But, um… Those should be in his home,” Eddie continued. “But they’re here… Jesus. Oh, fuck.” He pushed the heel of his palms into his eyes. “He’s gone.”

Swallowing hard, you shuffled closer to him. He looked at you.

“Do you want me to take them down?”

“God, no. No. This-” He waved over at the store. “-is perfect. It’s… I mean, I feel fucked, but maybe in the way I need to? I don’t know… It’s perfect. You’re perfect,”

“It’s not about me,”

“Actually, pretty much everything is about you. For me,”

“Eddie…”

“Come here.” He pulled you up with him, went back to his trademark position of holding your face in his hands and squishing your cheeks. “I love you so fucking much,”

“I love you too.”

Like a plaster cast cut from a healed limb, Eddie felt something inside him snap.

End note In case you've not seen it, here's Eddie's van. xo Rhi

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There were two options.

Option A: Tell Eddie not to drop you home, instead you’d go with him to his apartment. You’d stay, at least, the night. Help him acclimatise back into his life. But, did he need you now? Was he already back to normal?

Option B: Go home. Let Eddie do what he wanted. Dustin would be there tomorrow.  He wouldn’t be alone for long. It hurt to think about separating from Eddie, but that voice in the back of your head was still whining that maybe you’d overstepped, maybe you were unwanted, maybe you were annoying. It took all the good psychology in the world to talk yourself out of listening to that.

You were chewing on the decision as Eddie weaved through the nighttime traffic. Cinemas announced midnight showings of The Nightmare Before Christmas, and lines to bars and clubs were already looping blocks. Despite the late November cold, the city was alive.

It was such a busy, pretty distraction that you hadn’t noticed the direction Eddie was driving. Option A and Option B were rendered moot as he slowed down through the streets of Ukrainian Village. 

“You’re coming with me,” Eddie told you with a shrug when you looked over at him. “Objections?”

You shook your head and tried to smile a normal amount and in a normal way.

Eddie pulled into the alleyway behind his six-flat.

“Are you allowed to park here?” you asked dubiously, looking at the closed garage doors and ‘no parking’ sign.

“Someone’s always threatening to get the van towed, but it hasn’t happened yet,” he answered.

 You smiled. He was so… Eddie. “Um… Do you wanna take everything up now? Get it done?”

He shook his head. “It’s, uhhh, yeah, no, it’s fine where it is.”

Maybe since he was back in Chicago, he was locking down that part of himself. No Wayne. So, no Hawkins. No history. No boxes.

You glanced behind you, the van full. If Eddie planned on using it for anything but getting himself to and from work, he was going to have a problem. He was tired, you thought. You both were. If he wanted to ignore the boxes, you’d let him.

You got out of the van and followed Eddie into the building. You’d been to his place in Ukrainian Village only once before. Sometime in August, he’d so graciously allowed the gang to assemble at his apartment before heading to a nearby show. Hiding down the block, you waited and watched Steve and Robin go in. There was no way in hell you were going to show up first. Jonathan and Nancy would have caught you hiding if Argyle hadn’t sneaked up behind you. He dragged you along, laughing but promising to keep his mouth shut.

Eddie was a contradiction. Mostly, he was an open book. But the apartment you were climbing the stairs to, his home… it was private. Even back in August, you all had only seen the main living area – a combined living room and kitchen space. No tour. No ‘make yourself at home.’

You’d heard about the place Eddie used to share in Little Italy with some guy who loved Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch. Eddie wasn’t private about that place. It wasn’t his though, not entirely.

It took Eddie a beat longer than normal to unlock the door. He put it down to the cold, rather than nerves. Inside, he dumped his bag and yours by the door and moved about to switch on the lights. You hovered by the kitchen bench, not sure what to do.

Eddie’s apartment was bigger than the Munson Trailer. The living/kitchen was almost the same size as the lounge, kitchen, hall, and bathroom of the trailer collectively. Then, there was a short hall with three doors. A bathroom and bedroom, you assumed. Door number three was a mystery. Likely, it was a second bedroom, but you doubted Eddie had used it as one.

The place was frozen in time. You could smell the trash can from the cupboard it was in, left to rot while Eddie was in Hawkins. A clothes horse sat on the far side of the room, t-shirts and socks dried for days. Empty cans of Mountain Dew littered the coffee table, and a fine layer of dust covered the stacks of books and rows of vinyl.

“I, uh…”

The sound of Eddie’s voice pulled your attention away from the refrigerator, from the photo of Eddie and Wayne stuck to it.

“I mean… It’s usually a bit cleaner,” Eddie joked. “Normally doesn’t smell like this… Not that bong water is much better, but…”

“It’s okay,” you replied. The ‘I’ve seen worse – I’ve seen you worse’ left unsaid.

“Alright… So, uh, since I have basically kidnapped you here, I don’t want you doing anything. No cleaning or… babysitting,”

“What do you want me to do?”

Eddie’s face lit up in a toothy grin. The tops of his cheeks were tinged pink. “For now, just sit. Here-” He cleared the couch of clothes and patted the pillows, then hunted for the television remote between the cans of Dew. Once located, he handed it over. “I’m just gonna clean up a bit, then I’ll throw our clothes in the wash downstairs. Get the Hawkins off it all.”

And that is what he did. A window was left open for less than five minutes before the cold made it unbearable; the smell faded once the bin was emptied anyway. Eddie cleared surfaces and took the trash out, while you watched The X-Files. It was a new show, and you’d missed some episodes since it started in September, but you’d already decided to buy the series on VHS if it was released.

“That’s it?” Eddie asked when you presented clothes for washing. It wasn’t everything you’d worn in Hawkins. You were not about to let Eddie go off with your dirty underwear.

“How long am I kidnapped for?” you counted.

Eddie grinned. “Fair… ‘Kay, I’ll be back.”

It wouldn’t take long for him to throw a load of washing on, but while Eddie was busy in the basement, you snooped.

The living space only consolidated all the things you knew about Eddie. It was filled with records, VHS tapes, and books. On the shelves were small trinkets and figurines, and on the walls were two framed film posters, The Lost Boys and Excalibur. There was also a canvas banner tacked up. It looked very D.I.Y., and you couldn’t remember it being there in August.

The kitchen cupboards and drawers were chaotic. If there were a system in place, you couldn’t identify it. At the sink, you wrestled with the urge to wash dishes.

Down the hall, evidence of a very quick clean gave Eddie away. He’d wiped down the vanity and the air smelled like lemon toilet cleaner.

You left the other two doors closed.

Eddie returned to you sitting where he had left you, though he had expected you to give yourself a little tour. He didn’t mind; boundaries were blurring.

“On the menu for tonight is,” Eddie began, “Pizza. I’ll order while you shower; you can go first. Heat will’ve kicked in properly by the time you get out. You can then pick a film from my excellently curated library here while I shower. I promise to wash my hair, which will immediately improve the general…” He waved a hand around, rolling his wrist. “Aura… We can pack a pipe, relax. Pizza will come. I will not forget to move the washing to the dryer. And I’ll not forget to get it out of there either. You’ll have warm, clean clothes, pyjamas, whatever… Aaaaaaand that’s it. A perfect plan,”

“Well, almost perfect,”

“Almost?!”

“Yeah. There’s a flaw, oh wise one. A plot hole in your brilliance,”

“Enlighten me, fair maiden,”

“Am I just… sitting around in a towel that whole time?”

There was something in Eddie’s expression. Hunter and hunted. You’d stepped into his trap. “I don’t know if you’ve heard much about him, but Joe – the owner of Raconteur before me – was a really good dude. One year, he took me with him to this music store convention thing in L.A. We stayed at the poshest hotel I’d ever seen. Like, the entrance part, the receptionist and shit, that room was huge. Roof just in there was three stories tall, I swear. Obviously, I took home all the tiny soaps and shampoos. And the slippers… which didn’t last long. Turned out to be pretty cheaply made. But the real prize was the robe. One of those fuzzy bathrobes like in the movies. And I don’t. Know. Why. But I’ve kept it all these years. Never worn it. Never even taken it out of the Record Surplus bag I brought it home in. Maybe, just maybe, it was destined for you. For this moment.”

You had held it in while he was telling his story, but as soon as it was done, ending with the usual Eddie flourish, you lost it laughing. The story might have been part of the trap, though, the way he looked pleased as punch that he’d made you laugh.

“Sounds like a ‘yes, Eddie, I’d love to borrow the very fancy robe,’ to me,” he said as he stood, then walked down the hall.

The robe was exactly as described – picture perfect. He handed it over with all the reverence of a queen knighting a man. You giggled, you couldn’t help yourself, then went to shower.

Eddie stayed where he was, kneeling on the ground. He looked around and recognised he probably needed to borrow a vacuum. Mostly, he just swept, but once a month, Eddie would either bring home Raconteur’s vacuum or go for a little visit with Mrs Shevchenko across the hall.

He stood, rifled through the second kitchen drawer down for the pizza place’s menu. He knew what he wanted and probably had muscle memory in his fingertips for the number, but he wanted to make sure they had your favourite.

After the call, Eddie sat on the couch and tried to focus on The X-Files, but the sound of the water running through the old pipes kept pulling him back to the image of you. Showering. In his bathroom. The poetry of the robe, which, though he joked about, felt truly important to him.

Eyes closed, head leaned back against the couch, Eddie took a deep breath in and held it. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. And out. His lung capacity wasn’t great.

He could hear the city too, outside his building, beyond his street. It reminded him of, well, his life. Of his everyday existence. Of Raconteur. How had Steve and Robin been going? Probably fine; they were capable. Did Will’s campaign end in a blaze of glory? What had Joyce assigned him to bring to Thanksgiving dinner? Who was topping the Billboard charts?

Eddie’s spiralling thoughts only slowed when the shower went quiet. A few minutes later, you emerged dewy and bright. The robe made you look like some bougie princess, and it made Eddie feel weak.

You dropped down next to him on the couch and smiled. The robe was soft and warm, and it was so easy to sit in Eddie’s apartment like that.

“Looks good on you,”

“Yeah?”

“Real good, sweetheart… My turn.”

Eddie stood in the bathroom looking at his reflection. “Fuck…” He had about ten days' worth of stubble, he’d never seen the colour under his eyes so dark, and there were pimples along the side of his nose. He was seriously concerned that washing and conditioning his hair might not be enough and that some of the knots might need to be cut out. He ran a finger across his lips; they felt dry and tight.

Even after the good people of Chicago schooled him on the fact that he was attractive, and that Hawkins had been blind not to see it, Eddie never really felt all that beautiful. He was just a guy. It was the hair, he thought, that people really liked. And maybe his style. Looking into that mirror, he was dead sure he was nothing special. How could someone like you be into someone like him?

“Fuck.”

Eddie began the process of returning to himself, turning the shower on.

You were looking through the VHS collection when Eddie emerged from the bathroom wearing only a towel slung low on his hips. Sanitised and clean-shaven.

“You took longer than me,” you said with a grin. You looked over at him properly when he didn’t have a snappy comeback. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m… I’m good. Pizza hasn’t called up?”

“Not yet.”

He nodded, leaving to get dressed. He returned in red plaid flannelette pyjama pants and a W.A.S.P. shirt that looked like it had been through hundreds of wash cycles. There was a weariness in the way Eddie moved that wasn’t there before his shower. You watched him flop down on the couch.

“Can I brush your hair?”

Eddie smiled, but even it was laced with sadness. “It gets really frizzy if I brush it too much,”

“I’ll be careful. Pleeeeease?”

“Well, how could I say no to that? …You picked something?”

“Yeah, what about this?” You held up your choice.

“Sounds good,” he nodded, leaning forward and pulling an ornamental wooden box out from under the couch. It was a touch smaller than a cereal box.

You slotted The Abyss into the tape player while Eddie ground the last of his stash, making a mental note to call Argyle the next day.

The film began, and you had Eddie sitting on the floor, you behind him on the couch with a brush in one hand and a few scrunchies on the wrist of the other. You sectioned his hair off and were methodically working through it. A gentle brush, twirl the curls, then leave them be.

The Deep Core underwater drilling platform was being briefed on the sinking of submarine USS Montana when the pizza guy buzzed through. Eddie went downstairs to meet him, returning with way too much food for two people. Three pepperoni slices were gone before Eddie remembered the washing.

When he got back from that trip, you’d finished eating and had gotten a little too comfortable, close to dozing off.

“You want to sleep?” Eddie whispered, squatting next to the couch to be eye level with you.

You shook your head.

“You sure?”

“Mmmmhmmm,”

“Alright, then scoot.”

With your head lying in his lap, you were fighting to keep your eyes open. At some point after not-drowned rat, but before the face in the water tube thing, you fell asleep.

When Eddie shook you awake, he’d brought the clothes up from the dryer and turned the television off. “You wanna sleep in the robe, or get changed?”

“Changed,” you squeaked.

Unable to fully shake the heavy combination of sleepiness and weed, you shuffled off to his bedroom with your still-warm pjs in hand. Once dressed, you laid back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “Eddie! What’s it mean?”

Suddenly, as it seemed to you, Eddie was there, leaning against the doorframe. “What does what mean?”

“The… the thing… on the wall out there,”

“The flag? I caught up with an old friend and he thought I might want it,”

“But… what is it?”

“Oh, you know, only the best high school metal band of all time… Corroded Coffin!” Then he made a sound like a crowd of people cheering.

“Thought you didn’t wanna think about Hawkins.”

Eddie sighed. “I said that?”

You shrugged. “Just what it seemed like,”

“Right, well… Not all of Hawkins sucked. Besides, I haven’t decided if it stays up,”

“Would look gooooooood in the store.”

He laughed. “I didn’t notice you getting this high out there,”

“What’s the friend’s name?”

“Jeff. He lives in Portland,”

“So much about you is secret,”

“I’m not keeping anything from you.” Eddie crawled onto the bed and propped himself up on his side. “I’d tell you anything you want to know,”

“Are you just saying that because I’m high? ‘Cause it’s not like being drunk. I’ll remember,”

“No, I know. It’s not ‘cause you’re high as a kite. It’s because you’re cute.”

You frowned. “I don’t wanna be cute,”

“Shit, I forgot,” he replied sarcastically. “No Babychino.”

A fake scowl and a boop to Eddie’s nose were delivered in sync. “I don’t know what I want to know. But I do know what I do know.”

He laughed again. “Oh, yeah? What do you know?”

“I know… you have big, brown, puppy dog eyes.”

Eddie snorted. “Alright,”

“Aaaaannndddd that you are-”

“Noooooo, I don’t need you to tell me things about me,”

“But, I wanna,”

“If you do, I get to tell you stuff about you,” he threatened.

“What if I want you to?”

“Babygirl, don’t start with me.”

You laughed. “Did you just call me ‘babygirl?’ That’s so dumb.”

The rest of the night bubbled away with sleepy jokes and poking at each other from across the bed. At some point, you were close enough to hold hands, fall asleep, and dream of each other.

…

The sunrise felt different in the city, the harshness tempered by all the buildings between it and you. Eddie’s bed was a little too comfortable. He was a little too lovely in his calm, sleeping form. He was lying on his stomach, his face squished into his pillow.

Eddie started to mumble something. You caught the word ‘apple.’

“Apple?” you asked him.

“Wan’ an apple,”

“You want an apple? Are you awake? Or dreaming about apples?”

“Both,” he grunted. His eyes remained closed. “Sometimes, in th’ mornin’, I feel like an apple,”

“I guess that’s not that weird. Banana would make more sense,”

“It’s ‘cause the apple man,”

“The apple man?”

Eddie just nodded and smiled, then seemed to go back to sleep.

Sleep came back for you, too.

Mid-morning, the buzzing was impatient and insistent. You whined as Eddie growled, rolling out of bed and leaving the bedroom. Staying put, you listened to the arrival of Dustin, his voice booming through the apartment.

“Parking, man!? Had to walk here from God knows where!”

“Yeah, welcome to the city, man. There’s people here. Wait until it starts to snow and dibs rules apply.”

That’s when the music started, and the day began.

Around Dustin, you and Eddie resumed your pre-Hawkins personas. You were friends and everything was normal. Still, you watched Eddie like a hawk.

After finding your car parked terribly on a side street, you drove to Wicker Park. The street home to Coffee Clash and Raconteur Records was busy. You parked in the staff car park behind the store, where Eddie’s van normally lived.

Inside, Robin had been playing Flashback, the Joan Jett and the Blackhearts’ compilation album. Track thirteen, a cover of Bowie’s Rebel Rebel was spinning as she looked up at the sound of the back door opening.

“Oh my god!” she squealed in happiness, running and almost bowling you over.

After introductions, Eddie gave Dustin a tour of the shop. You hung back at the counter with Robin and Steve.

“How is he?” Steve asked, voice low and gaze tracking his friend across the store.

“Uh… Today? Good. But when I got there… Not good,”

“Joyce told us not to mention anything,” he said.

“No, she didn’t. She told us not to be weird,” Robin clarified.

“Yeah? That’s the same thing. For us, at least,”

“I think, just… I mean, I don’t know. You could say something if you wanted to. But he’ll probably just brush it off,” you said with a shrug.

Across the road, it was Nancy who first mentioned Eddie’s abrupt absence. She stopped pouring steamed milk mid-stream to jump the counter and pull him into a tight hug.

“I’m so sorry, Eddie,”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks, Nance,”

“Is there anything we can do?”

Eddie felt hot and uneasy under Nancy’s sincere stare. “No. I’m good. I’m…” What was he meant to say?

“I’ve got him,” you said suddenly, unplanned. The words just slipped out.

Everyone looked at you with various faces of amusement and reassurance. Eddie smiled and nodded. “There you have it. Everyone can stop worrying now. Babychino’s got me.”

You rolled your eyes at the way he said it.

Dustin fit in as if he had always been there, like he was part of the furniture. He was also a natural at selling records, starting a competition with Steve to see who could make the most money for Raconteur by close of business.

In the afternoon, Joyce came to visit. She pulled Eddie aside, the only person brave enough to speak to him in private. You watched them go into his office and close the door. When they returned to the front of house, Eddie’s eyes were a little bloodshot, and he hugged Joyce warmly.

At the end of the day, the math was calculated, and Dustin had won the competition by a landslide.

“The thing is, Steve,”

“Why did you say it like that? Why’s he saying my name like that?”

“You gotta give people an out. Nobody wants to walk into a store like this and ask for Bonnie Tyler and Celine Dion… But it’s right there. On the shelf. So you let them pick up the Grateful Dead and the Velvet Underground and then pretend like Bonnie and Celine are for someone else. You go, ‘Oh, did you need to pick up something for your mother maybe?’ or ‘It’s Christmas soon; do you have a friend that loves that Rick Astley album you were looking at?’ and BAM!”

“Jesus…” Eddie said. “You sure you don’t want to move now? You got a job if you want one.”

The afternoon tasted like jugs of beer, and the night like cheap Chinese food. Close to midnight, everyone went their separate ways, Eddie receiving lingering hugs and kisses to the cheek.

You drove back to Eddie’s, parked behind his van.

“Here,” Eddie handed his apartment keys over to Dustin. “I’m right behind you.”

Dustin nodded knowingly and got out of the car.

“Who’s the apple man?” you asked, afraid to say anything else. Afraid of letting Eddie leave.

“Oh, shit, yeah. I said something about him this morning, right?”

You nodded.

“At my old place, at the bus stop, there was always this old Italian man. He’d have a little paring knife and an apple every single time I saw him. Like, every time. Never understood each other, but he’d share his apples,”

“That’s… that’s insanely cute,”

“Yeah. I was bummed to leave him. I got him a bag of apples to say, like, thanks. I think he thought it was weird… which, it probably was…”

“That’s so sweet. And now apples remind you of him?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded. “And sometimes when I wake up, I want apples.”

Silence wasn’t usually uncomfortable between the two of you, but in the moment, you both felt uneasy.

“Are you gonna be okay?” you asked, the words coming out in a whisper.

Eddie was afraid to look at you, afraid to see your beautiful, worried face. He started to nod, then stopped. “I don’t know… Have to be…”

“You don’t. Not for me.”

You turned to him just in time to see him crack. He squeezed his eyes shut, turned to the window, and rapped his knuckles against the glass.

Eddie cleared his throat. “For Dustin,”

“I don’t think you have to for him either,”

“Maybe. But I want to,”

“Okay… I’ve gotta go home, but I can come back after.” Desperately, you wanted him to say yes. You wanted him to give you a reason to stay with him, look after him, never let him go. It was unrealistic, you knew. It wasn’t how it was going to play out.

Eddie had already begun shaking his head. “No, sweetheart. You gotta, you know, live your life.” He opened the door and stepped into the cold Chicago night.

You got out of the car too, following him around to stand face-to-face. Each breath you took was visible, the chill hurting your lungs.

Eddie could feel the tears stinging his eyes; he pictured them turning to ice. Still, he carried on. “I… I don’t know what to say,” he started. “About… any… thing… really,”

“Me either.”

He nodded, then pulled you into a crushing hug.

You couldn’t help it; you started to cry.

“No, no, no. Hey, no. It’s alright. I’m alright.” Eddie let you go only to hold your face in his hands, his thumbs wiping away the tears. “Don’t cry, you’ll make me cry.”

You tried to smile.

“Uh-ohhhhh,” he sang, smiling when you looked up at him, confused. “I think my hands got tear-glued to your face.”

Despite how your heart ached, you laughed.

Eddie started to make sound effects, pretending to try to rip himself away from you.

You put your hands over his. “Okay! Okay! You win! I’m laughing, okay?”

“Oh, sorry, no, this isn’t a joke. I am genuinely stuck to you… There’s only one known cure to tear-glue,”

“It better not be your saliva… You’re very prone to licking,”

“You’re close. But no. It’s… kisses!” Eddie peppered your face with kisses, letting his hands fall to your waist so he could kiss your cheeks.

Giggling and squirming, you gave in to the assault entirely. When it ended, Eddie’s forehead was pressed against yours, the tip of is nose brushing against yours.

At an agonisingly slow speed, Eddie closed the space and kissed his lips to yours.

There was no music, hardly any sound at all. The city was quietly asleep. There were no witnesses, nobody there to see the love. Just a conclave of you, Eddie, and the ruinously perfect way you fitted together.

…

After the kiss, it was both harder and easier to tear yourselves apart. A contradiction made by the promise the kiss gave and the immediate knowledge that there would be no further kisses that night.

Eddie bundled you back into your car and watched you drive away. For him, there was a strange peace that came from the kiss. Relief. Yeah, that was it. Finally. Finally, he wasn’t wasting time. Finally, he knew what you tasted like. Just… finally.

He went upstairs to Dustin, who was waiting for him with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Sooooo… I know you said she’s not your girlfriend… But…”

At home, your housemate, Clarke, was not there, leaving the apartment cold and quiet. You sat on your bed and looked around. The room was a mess, evidence of your late-night escape to Hawkins scattered everywhere. The obvious thing to do was sleep. If not that, then tidy. Do a load of washing. Start a Christmas gift list. Something productive, your brain told you.

Instead, you pulled out Radiohead’s Pablo Honey, one of the best debuts of the year in your opinion, and laid on the floor.

You are the sun, and moon, and stars, are you,

And I could never run away from you.

…

Ringing.

Silence.

Ringing.

Silence.

Ringing.

“Clarke! Can you get that?! … Clarke!”

The phone kept ringing, Clarke was still not home, and you couldn’t shut the noise out. Stomping into the kitchen, you pulled the receiver off the hook. “What?!”

“Jesus. That is no way to greet a friend.”

It took you a moment to recognise the voice. “Dustin?”

There was an echo. Another, “Dustin,” but yelled from somewhere in Eddie’s apartment. “You better be calling home!”

“Nah, I just dialled this number you’ve got stuck up here. You know, the ones with all the little hearts around it,”

“There’s no hearts. Gimme that!”

The sound of a struggle, the phone being dropped, then, “Sorry! I’m sorry!”

You laughed. “It’s fine, Eddie,”

“Did he wake you?”

“Yeah. What’s the time?” Your kitchen clock said 7 am. “God, why are you guys up so early?”

“I wasn’t. Dustin fucking ‘night shift at the gas station, day shift at Big Buy’ Henderson apparently runs on very little sleep.”

Dustin roared in the background, “Entertain me!” like a Roman emperor.

“Dude!” Eddie yelled back at him.

“Who’s the babysitter now?” you quipped.

“Funny, that’s so funny… But, ah… while I’ve got you… Are you busy today? Probably, right? Probably got things to do, since you’ve been… you know…”

“I’m free. Joyce covered my shifts for the week, so I don’t start back until Monday… which is… tomorrow.”

Dustin yelling again, “She’s coming?!”

“Tell him I’ll be there soon.”

‘Soon’ was apparently not soon enough; Dustin met you at the apartment door, taking the coffee you offered like he was a lifelong addict. One night in the city and he seemed at home.

“You’re welcome,” you said as he took the entire bag of bagels and sat on the couch. He waved over his shoulder at you as he flipped through television channels.

Eddie walked down the hall, coming from his bedroom. He glanced over at Dustin, then back to you.

“You didn’t have to feed him,”

“I was feeding all of us… Is he an only child?”

Eddie snorted and nodded. You put the coffee tray down on the kitchen bench, then stepped into the hug Eddie was offering.

“Hi,”

“Hi,” you replied. You could feel him look back over at Dustin, and could almost hear the cogs turning in his brain. “Come on,” you whispered, taking Eddie’s hand and gently pulling him through to his room. Closing the door, you beamed at him. “Hi,”

“Hi.”

The collision was immediate. With one hand on your hip and the other cradling the back of your neck, Eddie’s lips were on yours.

There was a neediness in the kiss that the previous night’s didn’t have. That one was tentative, and in some ways, an appeasement. It was to tide you both over. It had felt like everything and nothing. It wasn’t enough. Just a ghost of a kiss.

This was different. He tasted like toothpaste, like he was ready and had been waiting. He had been. Eddie medicated himself to sleep, yearning and restless.

Your mind wasn’t focused, a buzzing brrrrrrr brrrrrrr slowly giving way to the awareness of a lack of thoughts. Then, you laughed. You couldn’t help it.

Panic flashed across Eddie’s face for a split second before he was grinning at you while you tried to rein in the giggles.

“That’s not, like, a performance review, is it?”

“No! No. It’s just… Nothing. No, it wasn’t.”

Eddie gave you a sceptical look as he sat on the edge of his bed.

The bed was made in the sense that the top sheet and blankets had been shaken out and neatly thrown on top. No hospital corners. This approach was uniform across the room. You looked around properly.

Eddie’s office at Raconteur was so jam-packed with things that it could never be properly tidy. His bedroom, though, was far more sparse. One bedside table was stacked with books, a gator-mouthed journal, and a Shedd Aquarium souvenir mug filled with pens.

 With no built-in wardrobe, Eddie had two large tallboys and a coat rack instead. The rack was home to jackets you didn’t recognise, and the few usual denim and leather ones you did. On top of the tallboys were more books, trinkets, and jewellery. You wandered over, picked up a ring, and put it on.

“Everything has a place,” you thought out loud.

“You were here yesterday,”

“Yeah, but I didn’t… I don’t know. Look around. It’s different to how I pictured it,”

“The room?”

“Yeah,”

“You pictured it?” he asked with, of course, a smirk.

You put the ring back and turned to him. “I thought your whole place would be like the shop.”

He shrugged, then thought for a moment. “It takes a lot of… stuff, to run a store. There’s always so much stuff everywhere. Guess it’s nice to have a break from it,”

“Clarke hates mess, so we don’t have a lot of random things. But my room is filled with… It’s not stuff…”

“Treasure?”

Sitting next to him, you nodded. “Yeah. And maybe things that might become treasure. I might need it one day,”

“Ahhhh, yeah, okay. I started off like that. Before I lived with Wayne, when I was with my dad, he kept everything. Said the same thing, that you never know what might come in handy. Living paycheck to paycheck, to no paycheck, back to paycheck does that. When you can’t afford shit, you keep it all.”

You nodded again. “Yeah, it’s something like that. The first place I lived when I moved was with three other people. It made it cheaper, but I hated all the noise, and there was just always people around. It’s better now with just me and Clarke, and she pays a bit more because it’s the room with the closet and view, but I probably should get a second job if I ever wanna throw out some of the stuff,”

“It’s not stuff. It’s future-treasure,” Eddie said kindly.

Before a smile could fully bloom on your face, Eddie was kissing you again. You wanted it to last forever. You could feel the brrrrrrrrr coming on.

“Stop,” you half-moaned into his mouth. “You can’t do that to me here.”

Eddie had to bite down on his bottom lip to stop himself from combusting. “I can’t do what to you where now?”

“Shut up.” You stood and headed for the door.

“Noooooo, wait, wait.” He chased you, had your hips back between his palms.

Pressing your forehead to his chest, you answered, “You can’t kiss me like that in here,”

“Well, if you want an audience,”

“Shut up!”

“Sweetheart,” he cooed like an asshole.

You shook your head, and he kissed the top of it in return.

“Come on, we got a kid to entertain,” you said, leaving the room.

Eddie followed you. “You say that like he’s ours. Are we gonna play mommy and daddy?”

“Wish I didn’t hear that!” Dustin yelled.

The city called, though the temperature was dropping. Dustin didn’t want to see the sights; he’d been to Chicago a few times before. The day was spent touring the best comic book stores, then an afternoon at Raconteur.

As the sun melted away behind brewing storm clouds, you had arrived back at Eddie’s apartment. Much to his dismay, it was with Steve and Argyle. While Eddie walked you to your car, they were calling Jonathan and Will.

“How you feeling?” you asked.

“Liiiiiike… We’ve gone this long without a… boy’s night…” He said the phrase like it was an infection. “Don’t know why it’s happening now.”

Thinking for a second, you concluded, “I think it’s how boys do… feelings. They don’t know what to say or do, so, you know,”

“Couldn’t they just make me a pasta bake like everyone else?”

“Come on, Eddie. You love it. You’ll sit around and drink beer and watch something dumb and… burp… and talk about girls. You’re allowed to have fun.”

Having arrived at your car, you leaned back on it and smiled at Eddie. He stepped forward and pressed his body to yours.

“You know what would be fun?”

You wanted to say something funny or cute. Instead, you could feel the heat of a blush on your face. It was disarming how his personality switched back into the Eddie you knew once back in Chicago. It was like having whiplash, going from looking after him and worrying about him, to having his hands on you and gaze settling on your lips.

“Stop. I have to go home to my empty apartment. Don’t be cruel,” you warned. Any actual warning was mitigated by all the pouting.

Eddie grinned, nodded. “Fair. ‘Kay.” He kissed your forehead, then your lips gently. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yep.”

You slunk into your car like your spine was made of wet spaghetti.

End note I appreciate the support this story has received thus far. If the theme of grief/death has fucked you up a bit, please know my DMs are open. I'm a friend, but I also have a psych degree. You're not alone. xo Rhi

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The story had to be entirely rewritten though. The chapter where you met Wayne was to be omitted. No road trip back to Hawkins, Bad Reputation playing loudly through the car speakers. No pointing out the important locations of Eddie’s childhood. No cheap drinks at The Hideout. No wedding with Wayne as Best Man.

Eddie ground his teeth together and tried to breathe through his nose.

Focus on something different.

Don’t think about Wayne.

Don’t think about Hawkins.

It was a little hard to do when he was asleep in Wayne’s bed, the bed that used to be his. It felt like the same mattress. God, he should have bought Wayne a new one. Should have visited more. Should have sent money. Oh god.

From next to him, you made a small squeaking sound, pulling Eddie’s attention out of a near-spiral. He rolled onto his side, faced you, and watched. His mind calmed while he took the opportunity to study you up close, closer than he’d ever been before.

Was he allowed to be grateful for this? For this closeness. This quiet.

Before he could assign some sort of morality to his love and grief, you screwed your face up, consciousness taking the place of sleep. Before he could move, you’d opened your eyes.

“Oh, hi,” you whispered.

“Sorry. Hi,” Eddie replied.

You blinked slowly, fell onto your back, and stretched. “How long have you been awake?”

“Not long. I was gonna let you sleep.”

He watched you yawn, pull the covers up under your chin. An audience didn’t seem to faze you. He was pleased, and you were surprised. You felt normal. Not like you’d woken up next to someone new.

“You know, we’ve never really been properly alone before,” Eddie said.

“Yeah, we have,”

“No. Not really. It’s been just us in the shop, or at the movies or whatever, but never like this… No idiots about to walk in.”

It was easier to joke, to say, “I know I just met him, but Dustin seems like the type of person to walk into someone’s house without knocking.”

Eddie snorted and nodded.

“Do you want to see him again? Before going home, I mean?”

He frowned, seemed confused.

“You… are coming home, right?”

The worry on your face was a gift Eddie felt shitty about reveling in. “Yeah, of course. Nothing left for me here… Fuck. That’s what I said when I first left… Jesus, I hope I never said that to him,”

“He would have understood,”

“Yeah but… Wouldn’t make it sting less.”

You didn’t know what the right thing to do was. Were you meant to distract him every time he slipped into his thoughts, or were you meant to let him drift in and out of them at will? Settling on just watching him, you waited until the creases between his eyebrows smoothed out and he looked at you again.

“I should see Dustin,”

“Okay. Is there anything else you need to do?”

Yes. The thing he’d been scared of the most. Maybe even more than the funeral. The emptying of the house. Eddie needed to pore over a life’s worth of things and decide what to do with them. What would a good son do? Keep it all? Sell it for profit? Donate it to people who might find use for it?

“Uh… Yeah. Park’s gonna want the trailer back sooner rather than later,”

“How soon?”

He shrugged. “Even if I covered the rent, it would just sit here gathering dust and spiders. Might as well give someone else a home.”

You nodded, a little worried at how practical he seemed. It was a sharp left turn from the day before.

“Should only take me a day or two to-” The words got stuck in his throat. “Finish up here,” he said, choosing a more palatable phrase. “Then I’ll be back in the city.”

You nodded again, then paused. “Wait… I’m staying. You know that, right?”

Eddie wasn’t sure which it was, the sentiment or steadfast delivery, that caught him off guard. “What?”

“I didn’t drive all the way here to leave you alone.”

Panic? Was this panic? “I, uh… I’m like… over the worst of it,” he said with no commitment. Eddie cringed at himself.

“Eddie,” you whispered, so softly, so gently.

He backed away, half-fell, half-leapt out of bed. You sat up and watched him pace the room, looking for something to do, anything.

That feeling crawled its way back into you. That dread that you were not wanted. That you had overstepped and it was unforgivable. You were making it worse.

All you could do was steel your nerves and remind yourself of what Joyce said. Eddie needed help and it had to be you.

Eddie opened the door and left the bedroom. You got up and followed him out, lingering at the threshold to the kitchen as he searched through the cassette tapes on the bench. He picked one, put it in the tape deck.

It picked up partway through a song, where it had last been switched off.

I'll go away and I will wander.

Lay aside my earthly gain.

Not partway through, but the end. The song played out.

Oh and I'll not end it, the man with riches.

Undone in sorrow I remain.

Undone in sorrow I remain.

It must have been another one of Wayne’s tapes. Songs you knew to be folk, bluegrass, or other subgenres that were both deeply American and rarely patriotic, but couldn’t name.

Eddie stood still, holding the tape deck in his hands, staring at it.

“Um… Okay, let’s have some coffee…” You began the task, nudging Eddie out of the way with your hip bumping into his.

He walked around the bench and sat on one of the barstools, shaking himself out of his reverie.

“Not as good as what I could make you at Clash, but it will do. It’s sweet at least.”

Eddie accepted the mug you slid towards him, holding it with two palms wrapped around it. “I’m sorry,” he started. “For um, acting like that. Just then. When you said you were staying,”

“It’s okay,”

“No, I don’t want you to think I’m…” He frowned as he searched for the word. “Ungrateful, I guess. ‘Cause I’m not… And I want you here. It’s just…” Eddie shrugged.

“I know. It’s a lot… And it’s…”

“This wasn’t the plan,” Eddie finished for you. It was as close to an acknowledgement of the situation as either of you was willing to get.

You nodded. “What else is there to do?”

“The funeral place gave me a thing, a um, flyer thing. With a list.”

Eddie got up and shuffled through some of the paperwork on the small kitchen table. He found the flyer and gave it to you.

“What now?” you read. Despite its on-the-nose approach to it, the information inside was a useful guide to what needs to happen after a death. Step one had been completed. Funeral arrangements.

“Are you okay to talk about this stuff? Or not yet?”

“Guess we’ll find out,”

“Okay… So… the funeral is finished. Do you need to contact them about anything else? Like, organising a gravestone or anything?”

Eddie shook his head. “That’s all done. I don’t know why they make you pick it all then and there. It’s not like it was ready for the funeral… But it’s done. The bill is in with the other shit from them,” he told you, nodding over to the table.

“Okay. So, then it says to contact his employer. And that there might be an insurance payout if the… if the death was work-related,”

“Len was at the funeral. Gave me his last paycheck there,”

“That’s his boss?”

Eddie scoffed. “Boss doesn’t give a shit about any of them. Len is his manager… Said if I wanted to come back, there’s a spot for me there.”

You thought it was a weird thing to do at a funeral – hand over a final paycheck and offer a grieving son his uncle’s job. Practical though.

“Next is to action his will,”

“I don’t think he had one,” Eddie said. “There’s nothing for anyone to fight about anyway.”

You nodded, thinking. “Eddie… Did your dad come to the funeral? Does he know?”

He started to grind his teeth, holding in something you couldn’t read. “He knows. I called him straight away. He didn’t come.”

It was out the front of a dive bar a couple of months prior that you learnt the reason why he’d been raised by Wayne for the better part of his life. Eddie’s mother died when he was a kid, so early that he hardly had any memories to hold on to. His father was a shitty combination of dumb and mean, highly adverse to an honest day’s work and fatherhood.

Eddie had told you about them when everyone else was still inside. It was just you and him, a shared jug of something cheap, and the setting Chicago sun.

“I’m sorry,” you offered, though it felt inadequate. Then, and now.

“It’s better he didn’t come,” Eddie replied, looking into his cup of coffee. He gulped down a couple of mouthfuls, then looked back at you. “What’s next?”

“Oh… Um, well, if there’s no will that means, I guess, there’s no lawyer, so you have to go to the ‘financial institution’ yourself. The bank,”

“Right,”

“Then it says some stuff about dividing assets and home ownership. So, we just skip that one… Then it’s just closing out utility accounts.”

Eddie nodded. “Reduced to a goddamn to do list.” It all seemed so simple but was impossibly hard. Sign on the line. Let’s wrap this up. People to see, places to be. Let’s go. Let’s go. What did it mean that his uncle’s life was so easily finished? So easily finalised? Was it a bad thing? Would Eddie’s life be like that if he dropped dead then and there?

You didn’t know what to say, so instead tried to remember the name of the Joni Mitchell song that was playing.

Eddie zoned back in, read how you’d stopped talking. “Sorry.”

Looking across the kitchen bench, you shook your head at him. “You don’t have to keep saying that,”

“I know… But I am… I guess… Guess the next person to go talk to is the asshole who owns the trailer,”

“You don’t get along?”

“Nah. Wayne always said he was alright. Guess he never forgave me for all the shit I did as a kid,”

“What do you mean?” you asked.

Eddie hesitated. Take your pick, he thought.

When he was really little, there was a summer when nobody’s flowers and plant beds were safe. Eddie needed the dirt and petals for his vital potions that were critical to slaying dragons and healing gnarly sword wounds.

Then, when he was only a year or two older than that, the citizens of Forest Hills swore a raccoon was terrorising them. It was going through their trash, leaving carnage in its wake. Alas, just a pre-teen Eddie looking for anything he could repurpose into the figurines he’d make of characters from his favourite books.

Early teens saw the mess come inside. The walls of the bedroom looked like the crater-faced moon. Sometimes Eddie’s solo moshing and air-guitar solos got a little… jumpy. Sometimes he couldn’t keep his balance. Sometimes posters and tapestries hid the damage. Sometimes not.

The late teens were dubbed ‘the handyman years.’ Driven by shitty living conditions, Eddie tried to fix and improve things around the trailer, but more often than not, he made it worse. The day he smashed the faucet off and flooded the bathroom, he was only trying to increase the water pressure. Both Eddie and Wayne knew the aircon unit was worse after a session of tinkering, but neither ever said that out loud.

Not to be forgotten were the countless pranks, the loud van rumbling along the gravel at all hours, and the general menace…

“Nothing that bad… I had this cool acorn collection. I’d try to carve them into orcs and shit. But Wayne made me keep the pile of acorns outside, and apparently, all the squirrels it attracted were a plague on the park,”

“That’s it?”

Eddie was trying not to smile. “Yeah, and maybe I played my guitar too loud. Drove some people crazy when I was learning a new riff. Might have dented the wall carrying amps back and forth…”

“Might have?”

“Who’s to say? Oh, I might have spent a year convincing all the kids that lived around here that Tim, this guy, the owner, used to have a little girl and a little boy neighbour, but they went missing. And one day their bones were found in Tim’s trash,”

“Eddie! You probably gave those poor kids nightmares!”

“Oh, yeah, definitely. But Tim couldn’t walk around without a kid crying, so it was totally worth it.”

You grinned at him, happy to see a little joy in his expressive face. “I might hold a grudge against you too, if I were Tim,”

“What?! You’re meant to be on my side,” he pouted, elbows on the kitchen bench, face perched in his hands.

You leaned forward and mirrored his position. “I’m always on your side, Eddie,”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Tim only lived in Forest Hills, so Eddie was sure he could go out alone. You watched him pull on some old Reeboks, wincing at the lack of socks. He wore the same clothes he slept in.

“Shouldn’t be long,”

“He might be nicer if I’m there?”

Eddie snorted a cynical kind of laugh. “Oh, yeah, he’ll be reeeeal nice. I don’t think I’ve got the energy to tell him to get a fucking grip once he sees your pretty face. Guy’s a creep.”

Your stomach flipped and your thoughts collapsed into single syllables. “Oh… ah… ‘kay.”

With a jacket on, Eddie opened the front door. “You don’t, like, have to do anything while I’m gone. But you can if you want. I don’t know… Whatever, ah…”

“I’ll be okay.”

He nodded, looked at you for another two beats, then ventured into the cold trailer park.

As you set up a breakfast of Honeycomb cereal, you sorted through the junk mail, pizza menus, and paperwork sitting around the kitchen.

Eddie looked shorter when he returned, his slouching back and heavy heart weighing him way down. He shook off the jacket, kicked off the Reeboks, and took a deep breath.

“How’d it go?”

“Ah, yeah, fine. I guess… He’s gonna waive all the usual costs,”

“Costs? Of what?”

“Well… Apparently, the lease is technically being ended early,”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Your outrage came out in a spitted whisper.

Eddie shrugged. “Between him and the funeral asshole… Lotta money to be made from the dead,” he replied bitterly, closing his eyes and running his hands through his hair.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Eddie walked into the kitchen, into you. He held you tightly, burying his face.

“Said he’d do me a favour,” Eddie kept talking; you had to concentrate to make out the words. “Said after I take what I want, I can leave the other stuff here,”

“So… he wants to try to sell it for a profit himself,” you guessed.

Eddie nodded. “Or leave it here. Say it’s a furnished trailer, up the rent for the next guy.”

You scoffed.

After a few moments of comfort, Eddie stepped away from you and looked at the bowls.

“Honeycomb,”

“You don’t like it?”

Eddie smiled. “I do… It’s what I eat when I want a healthy breakfast.”

You laughed. “That tracks. What’s your favourite cereal?”

Eddie took a seat at the kitchen counter. “Lucky Charms,”

“I should have been able to guess that,”

“Fruity Pebbles are also good… A couple years back, they did this Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles one. Kinda like Rice Chex but with the marshmallows from Lucky Charms but pizza,”

“Pizza flavoured?!”

“No, God, no. Just shaped… I don’t know if they still make it,”

“I don’t remember it at all,”

“Well, if I ever see it again, I’ll get some,”

“Okay,”

“Alright…”

Settling into a comfortable quiet, you ate cereal and continued to sort through the kitchen.

“What was his favourite?” you asked, nodding over to the extensive record collection.

“Asking to pick his favourite kid there,” Eddie replied softly.

As he walked over to the stereo, you watched him. Eddie padded over, kneeling as if at an altar. The album on top was Southbound, by Doc Watson, and probably the last music Wayne ever listened to. Eddie loaded the record and lowered the needle.

I was born one mornin,’

The rain a-pourin' down.

Heard my mammy say to my pappy,

"Let's call him John Henry Brown."

Walk on, boy; walk on down the road;

Ain't nobody in this whole wide world.

A-gonna help you carry your load.

“Feels like he’s haunting me through music,”

“Maybe he is. Not haunting, but maybe saying goodbye?”

Eddie looked over his shoulder at you, a sceptical expression on his face. “You really believe that?”

You wished you could say yes; faith would be a comfort. Shrugging, you asked, “Do you?”

“No. He’s not here.”

Eddie stood, looked around the room through new, foreign eyes. Everything felt both familiar and alien, as if he was standing in the set of his favourite television show. He knew all the props. All those things. Seen how they work. Knew what they meant to the occupants of the home. But there was a distance between him and them. An aching rift in the earth.

“It’s not a lot… but I don’t know what I’m gonna do with all this,”

“Well… You don’t have to decide now, right? We can pack it up and take it home.”

Eddie pictured his van filled with boxes. He pictured them piled neatly against the wall of his apartment. How much space would Wayne's life take up? How much space did Eddie take from Wayne when he took him in?

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “The records… and the mugs…”

“It’s an impressive collection. A lot of Garfield,”

“Yeah… He loved that fucking cat.”

Eddie set about emptying cupboards and drawers, trash bags bulging and multiplying on the outside deck. You left the trailer in search of boxes, knocking on most doors in the park’s neighbourhood.

Successful in this endeavour, you worked through to midday, packing up the sentimental and leaving behind the mundane.

“I should have brought him a house,” Eddie said.

“What?”

“I bought a… a record store… when he was here… Why didn’t I buy him a house? Or at least, I don’t know… helped with rent somewhere nicer. Maybe if he was somewhere better, it would have been different?”

The kitchen was done; anything left could be donated or offered to the next tenant. The lounge was almost there too. The emptiness, the soullessness of it, made Eddie look small. He was sitting on the couch with a panicked look on his face, his eyes darting around like he was looking for something he lost.

You sat down next to him.

“Did he ever visit? See the store?”

Eddie nodded, wiping tears away before they could fall.

“What’d he think?”

“Loved it…” He couldn’t say anymore, and you didn’t push him.

Wayne had loved Raconteur. And, it was so obvious to Eddie how proud his uncle was of him. At his funeral, all the guys from the plant confirmed it. “He was so proud of you, Ed,” they said over and over. Each time it felt like a twist of the knife.

There wasn’t anything you could think to say that didn’t hit like a Hallmark card, so you stayed quiet.

Eddie twisted at the lone ring on his finger, his foot tapping silently against the carpet. He could feel himself standing at the top of the wormhole; one more grief-stricken thought would pull him in. He could feel you next to him, the solid and perfect weight of something real.

When he looked at you, his eyes glistening, you reached for him impulsively. Eddie pulled you onto his lap and squeezed you tight. It was a comfortable position for consoling. You just had to relax into the straddle and let him burrow into you. With his head nestled just under your chin, you could comb your fingers through his hair and rub circles on his back.

Eddie didn’t care what it meant. Or how it looked. Or what would happen when he tried to let you go. He didn’t care that he yanked you off the couch and folded you onto him like a kid on a merry-go-round. He didn’t think about your ribcage or the fabric of your shirt. He needed to disappear into your smell, the rhythm of your heartbeat. He needed you.

He missed Wayne. He should have seen him more often. Should’ve been a better son, he thought. All that fucking wasted time. Eddie could hear the ticking now. Everything ends. Everything is ending. When it’s all over, what else was wasted?

He’d been an idiot. Grade fucking A dingus, as Robin would say. How long had it been? Months. Months of playing a stupid game of flirtation and favouritism when he could have been with you. Could have been playing you love songs and taking you on proper dates and calling you his girlfriend and Jesus fucking Christ.

You could hear Eddie’s jagged breathing. It wasn’t evening out. Nudging him, cupping his face in your hands, you made him look up. Wiping at his tears, you frowned.

“Let’s get out of here. Just for a bit?” you whispered.

Eddie made a sound muffled by your body. He would have done whatever you’d asked.

Except let go.

He shook his head. “Just… gimme a minute… Stay,” he mumbled out.

You nodded and put your hands back to work. It took four more minutes for Eddie to let you untangle yourself from his hair and limbs.

Nothing had been loaded into the van yet, so Eddie drove. Fast. “That’s something I miss, living in the city… Driving 25 miles an hour sucks. Nice to, you know, spread the van’s wings,” he told you.

You giggled, looking out over the fields and yards that made up Hawkins.

First stop, Bradley’s Big Buys to ask Dustin to salvage some boxes from the pile out back, and to hand over a free bag of chocolate-coated peanuts.

“Here,” Eddie offered when he was back behind the wheel.

“Here what?”

“A peanut,”

“You just sucked the chocolate off that,”

“Yeah. Peanuts are your favourite,”

“So why didn’t we get plain peanuts?”

“I wanted chocolate,” he shrugged like it was obvious. “Two birds kinda thing.”

You looked at him and the chocolateless wet peanut in his hand. “Fine,” you sighed, taking it from him and eating it. “I can’t even say this is some weird grief-induced behaviour. This is so… you, of you.”

Eddie laughed. Spring’s first sun melts the snow.

…

After a McDonald's lunch, you kept working until all that was left was the bedroom.

“Let’s leave it,” you suggested. “We can do it in the morning… see Dustin before we go home.”

Eddie was standing in the kitchen, hands on hips. He nodded. “Yeah…” He grinned at you. “Didn’t know you could be like-” He motioned at you, “-this,”

“What does that mean?” Panic. “What am I being like?”

“Liiiiiike… being the boss,”

“I’m being bossy?” you replied, the fear obvious in your voice.

“No! Fuck, no.” He was quickly in front of you, one hand on your shoulder, the other cupping your face. “No, not bossy. I mean, I don’t know, taking charge or whatever. Making all the decisions and… I mean, it’s just different… It’s a different side of you,”

“Different good?”

“Sweetheart… Different is always good.”

Eddie watched the relief flood your face. Even if you had been bossy, he would have loved it. But you hadn’t been. The way Eddie saw it, you’d shown up just in time. Showed up like a fucking angel pulling him out of… Well, he wasn’t entirely sure. He couldn’t really explain the missing time.

He realised he was still holding onto you, staring a hole into your beautiful head. Stepping away, he apologised.

You didn’t want him to let you go.

“So, what do we do with the rest of the afternoon?” he asked, adding a kind but roguish smile, “Boss.”

There was still a stack of VHS stacked next to the old television set Eddie was leaving behind. The films he grew up with, the nostalgic ones, and the Wayne-associated titles had been put in boxes for Eddie to take home.

“Nothing worth watching then?” You pointed to the stack.

Eddie shrugged. “Pssschhhhh, I mean… maybe?” Kneeling in front of the T.V. he reconsidered the leftovers. “Tape’s chewed up pretty bad in some of these. Probably could trash ‘em.” But he didn’t. He couldn’t. “Pale Rider, Butch Cassidy, The Cowboys,” 

“He liked westerns then?”

“Yeah. These weren’t good enough to be favourites though.”

“Butch Cassidy wasn’t one of his favourites?”

“Noooo. Wayne thought the tone wasn’t right or something. His favourite was My Darling Clementine,”

“I haven’t seen many westerns,”

“Well, he’d tell you to watch The Outlaw Josey Wales over Pale Rider. He liked True Grit as well,”

“What’s your favourite?” you asked.

Eddie laughed. “It used to be Westworld, but a couple years ago I saw this weird one. Like, a comedy and a western and a horror all in one. Stupid as fuck. It’s called Sundown. Or… no, it’s Sundown: The Vampire in Retreat. I don’t know if it was an indie film or just something a studio regretted, but it didn’t get a proper release. I think… yeah, Argyle had it on VHS and we watched it one night. Anyway, it’s got Bruce Campbell in it. From Evil Dead. He’s this vampire king and the vampires just wanna have a normal life in this little western town. But one of the other vampires wants them to eat the humans. So, there’s a big civil war… I don’t know… I was pretty high when I saw it the first time. But that’s my favourite,”

“Did Wayne ever see it?”

“Yep. And he was outraged. Big speech about how he raised me better to know better.”

You laughed. You could picture Eddie in either role. Max or Will saying they preferred grunge to metal. Eddie shaking his head at them in disappointment.

“Have you seen this?” Eddie held up Repo Man.

“No, but I know it’s the one you and Robin love. You’re not keeping it?”

“I’ve got a copy. We should watch it.”

There was no limit to the things you liked watching Eddie do. Play guitar, especially when he listened to a new song, trying to identify the notes and chords. Help Max tighten the trucks on her skateboard. Humour a customer with terrible taste in music but an obvious will to spend money. Draw characters for Will’s Dungeons and Dragons party. Stand at the bar while an awful band plays across the room; his eyes always searched for yours and he’d give you that look.

And now, a new entry to the list.

Watching Eddie watch a film he was a little too invested in. He talked over the top of the dialogue, telling you facts he considered to be interesting and relevant. By the end, you were not exactly sure what was happening, but Eddie was distracted and animated in that way you knew him to be.

A late dinner and early bedtime rolled on. Gloriously, you both fell asleep swiftly, not tangled together, but closer than friends.

It was a sound that alerted you to Eddie’s disappearance. An animal scratching around the bins outside, waking you up sometime past 3 am.

He couldn’t have been gone long; the sheets were still warm. When you couldn’t find him in the trailer, you checked the windows. Out beyond the playground, sitting under the sheltered barbecue area, was Eddie. You could see the smoke rising from the tip of his cigarette.

Pulling your boots on, you made your way outside and over to him. He didn’t turn on your approach, but he must have heard the crunch of the gravel as you crossed the road. When you saw him, you could tell he’d been crying, though the tears had since dried.

“Didn’t want to wake you,” he said, voice hoarse from sleep and grief.

There wasn’t really anything to say, so you stepped closer, between where his legs dangled off the end of the table. He pulled you in, letting you curl around his body while he locked you in place with his arms.

It almost felt like a dream, Eddie thought. The eerie silence of a trailer park in the early hours. A low mist forming and dissipating in a strange cycle. The limbo he felt all around him. A creeping space between Wayne and No Wayne.

Then, you. Warm in his arms. Your head resting under his chin. Breathing slow and steady. All comfort.

“I wasted so much time,” Eddie said. “I don’t… I could have spent more time with him. I just… I just didn’t think I’d run out of time like this…”

You closed your eyes, held him tighter, and focused on naming scents to stop yourself from crying.

Grass.

Cigarettes.

Cologne – smoky, woody, familiar.

Grease and charred something, the barbecue.

“I don’t want to do that again. I don’t want to do that with you.”

If it had to happen now, you’d let it, but you were scared it left room for Eddie to take it back. Anything he said now, while mourning in Hawkins, was said under the influence of great loss. It wasn’t regular life out here. Especially not then, in the misty dark.

“It’s… fun… or whatever. What we’ve been doing. But it feels… now it feels like it hasn’t counted. Hasn’t been real. Like a game. Like I’ve been wasting time… I’ve known, you know? I’ve known from the very first fucking moment you walked into the shop. And it’s been almost a whole fucking year. I’ve just been scared, I think. I don’t know. That’s what I told myself at the start. That I’d just end up hurting you. That I didn’t know how to… be like… I don’t know… That I didn’t feel things like this. But I do. And I should have done something about it. Instead of just… being an idiot. Jesus, Robin is right… I’ve been a total idiot.”

You stayed still, letting him ramble, mostly to buy time while you figured out what to say.

“I’ve never stopped to think. Once I graduated, I ran like hell outta here. And Chicago was so different. Who I was meant something so different there. I just went with it. Thought I knew who I was and what I wanted, but… I fucked up. Got a little lost… I missed him, you know? Before he- before this. I missed him and I knew I did. I should have made the time to see him. But I didn’t… It’s like you. I knew what it was from day one. But I… I just did nothing. And now he’s gone and all that’s left of him is packed into boxes. And now it’s been months and I haven’t told you…”

When he didn’t go on, you stood up straight and looked at him. His face stricken and eyes blurry.

“Eddie… I can’t say anything about you and Wayne, but… me… I don’t feel like this year’s been a waste… I get what you’re saying, and you’re right… It has kinda felt like a game… But, I don’t know… We’re okay. It’s going to be okay.”

Eddie looked at you, deep concentration etched into a dark expression. “It hasn’t hurt you?”

This is a story about pain. It was excruciating. All the different types of pain rolled into one unbearable experience. The agony of being completely in love with Eddie.

Eddie broke eye contact; your face gave him the answer he sought.

“It’s cold,” you said. “Let’s go back to bed.”

Eddie nodded, let you take his hand, and lead him off the table. Like a lost puppy, he followed you inside and between the sheets.

The illusion of ‘just friends’ was broken, and he pulled you close, not letting you go for anything.

…

The morning hit hard. It felt like you were hungover, muscles ached, and you had to chase away a headache with pills and cool water. Eddie felt about the same.

It made sense he’d left the bedroom to last. Wayne’s record collection was the heart of the home, but what was left of his smell, his real physical presence, was in those clothes. In the aftershave on the dresser. The pile of change, random keys, and Scrabble pieces on the bedside table.

You left Eddie to sort alone, but when you checked on him twenty minutes later, he’d hardly moved. Slowly, you came to sit beside him on the carpet.

“Do you know what you might like to keep?” you asked softly. Eddie shook his head. “Do you want help?”

A small nod, then he looked at you. “It’s like… I just keep freezing. My body won’t let me do anything. Then my mind just shuts down too,”

“It’s okay. We’ll get there.”

The first step was reassuring Eddie that nothing would be thrown away. Things went into boxes for him to take back to Chicago, or folded neatly into a bag ready for donation. The state of most of the clothing rendered them unfit for a charity shop, but you were willing to pass on the task of disposing of them to someone else. Your moral allegiance was to Eddie’s well-being.

When the wardrobe, dresser, and bedside tables were cleared, you stripped the bed. The last contents of the fridge and pantry were binned. Eddie locked the trailer door. It was done. He stood with the key gripped tight in his fist, his eyes held steady on the door.

Eddie listened as you fit the last few boxes into his van, then closed the doors. He heard the sound of your keys being fished out of your bag.

There was some stupid, childish part of his brain that told him if he just stayed a little longer, wished a little harder, maybe Wayne would appear. Tell him it was all an elaborate prank. Punishment for being a shitty son.

Just when he needed it, Eddie felt your hand take his. The grip on the key loosened, and he bent to slip it under the frayed welcome mat.

“Do you want to go find Dustin?”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah, ah, maybe… Can we just take your car? Come back for the van after?”

“Yeah, of course.”

He didn’t want to be alone.

…

Dustin wasn’t at Bradley’s Big Buys, but one of the girls at the checkout told you he was working at the gas station. You found him cleaning out the hot dog warmer.

“Why are you smelling them?” you asked.

“How else am I gonna tell if they’re still alright to sell?”

“Shouldn’t you, like, have that written down somewhere?”

Dustin shrugged. He was entirely indifferent about giving the good citizens of Hawkins food poisoning.

“So, that’s it, huh? Guess we won’t see you back here,”

“Couldn’t pay me to come back here now. But you should come to Chicago. Meet everyone,” Eddie replied.

“Yeah? That’d be sick… Maybe winter break; that’s soon,”

“Or…” you started, looking back and forth between them. “Now… It’s Friday… And you’d be doing us a favour,”

“He would?” was said simultaneously with “I would?”

“Yeah. Eddie and I need to ride back in his van, but my car is here… Real cool of you to drive it home for me.”

Eddie looked at you and quickly looked away.

“Beats a round trip on the bus,” Dustin said, nodding.

Neither of the guys asked for a more concrete plan. Where would Dustin stay? How would he get back to Hawkins? Details didn’t matter though; they could be worked out on the fly. What mattered was that you could stay by Eddie’s side for the drive back to Chicago.

After leaving Dustin with the hot dogs, you got back in the car to the radio playing The Cure. At first, you didn’t recognise it. It was orchestral and sweepingly sad music without vocals. But there was a familiarity to the synth, then you heard him. Robert Smith’s voice was unmistakable.

There is no one left in the world,

That I can hold onto.

There is really no one left at all.

There is only you.

And if you leave me now,

You leave all that we were undone.

There is really no one left.

You are the only one.

And still the hardest part for you,

To put your trust in me.

I love you more than I can say.

Why won't you just believe?

You changed the station when the instrumental break hit, finding something upbeat, poppy, and entirely unrelatable. Eddie was chewing the inside of his cheek, and you could tell he had been listening to the lyrics too.

He had to stop himself from laughing. Or crying. Eddie couldn’t tell which his body was on the cusp of. Instead, he thought about Dustin. Everyone would love him, he knew. Max and Will could show him around, since they were the same age. Probably, though, he’d like to spend some time in the store. Would he get along with Steve and Robin?

Eddie didn’t let himself think about how you had solved the problem of the drive home. He’d been stewing in the anxiety of it. The dread at being behind the wheel of the van, surrounded by Wayne’s things, and alone with his own crumbling consciousness. If he thought about how you could pre-empt problems like that, he’d spiral.

The van was where it was left – sitting out the front of the trailer that was no longer home to a Munson. Eddie opened the car door and looked back at you.

“Straight to Dustin, okay?” you told him. Reassured him. Eddie nodded.

On the short drive back to the gas station, Eddie’s knuckles were white, his grip on the steering wheel painful. He could only breathe again when you climbed into the seat next to him, throwing your bag in the footwell and pulling your legs up under you.

“He’s got the keys and directions. Says his mom freaked when he told her, so he’s gonna come tomorrow morning. Get up early,” you reported, getting comfortable and clicking the seatbelt in.

Metallica cassette in, windows down despite the cold, and you and Eddie left Hawkins with no further ado.

End note Thank you to: @writinginthetwilight @tomtomslongdong @krimsonsilance @frombeyondthegravez @engineernerdygirl – idea owners for Eddie’s naughty childhood antics.

xo Rhi

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“Sure,”

“I wasn’t… I was just… I was gonna pick up the Bikini Kill record,”

“The one you bought last week?”

Your skin felt hot, and you awkwardly shook your head and pointed behind him, to the back of the store. “I’m… Robin. Going to see Robin now…”

Robin looked small sitting at Eddie’s desk. She was deep in concentration, annotating a sheet of paper with numbers on it. It took her a couple of beats to notice you.

“Hey! Hi. What’s up?”

“Nothing, just coming to say hi… We closed early today.”

Robin nodded, narrowing her eyes at you. “You okay?”

“What?”

“Are you okay? You look…” She waved her hand around. “I don’t know. Worried,”

“No. I’m okay. Why? Are you okay? Should I be worried?” you asked, unable to ignore the breadcrumb clues.

Robin dropped her pen and sat back in the chair, letting it swivel to face you. “When you say ‘coming to say hi’ you mean ‘coming to say hi to Eddie’ specifically, don’t you?”

“No,”

“Yes,” Will said as he brushed by you to give Robin a sheet of paper. “Jonathan’s predictions,”

“Ah, yes, thank Nostradamus on behalf of all of us peasants,” Robin replied, standing to shoo Will out and pull you into the office. She closed the door. “Eddie’s not here,”

“I’m not-”

“He’s not here, as in, not in Chicago.”

You crossed your arms across your chest and hoped the pressure would help you stay calm. 

“I thought he might have mentioned something to you,” Robin said, more to herself than you.

“Said something about what? Where is he?” Your body’s panic mode had been activated and there was no going back. All you could do was mitigate the fallout.

“He’s gone home. Like, to where his family is,”

“Hawkins?”

“Yes? Sounds about right, yeah,”

“Why? What happened?” You weren’t bothering to hide the emotion in your voice.

Robin shrugged. “I don’t know. He just said family emergency, told us not to set anything on fire while he was gone, and that he’d be back as soon as he could be,”

“When did he go?”

She hesitated. In some ways, Eddie wore his heart on his sleeve, but he also held a lot of cards close to his chest. Despite his very obvious obsession with you, she was sure he’d not be particularly stoked to hear that she’d spilled to you.

In Robin’s moment of consideration, your eyes swept across the room. Sitting next to Eddie’s record player was Iron Maiden’s Live at Donington, released three days prior. It was still sealed. You remember Eddie talking about it, being excited for it. He’d said he’d sit you down and make you listen and point out all the coolest things about the set. An education, is what he’d called it.

“He left Friday night, or early Saturday,” Robin finally admitted. “He’s okay. He left a message on Monday checking in,”

“A message?”

Robin nodded.

Eddie hated leaving messages on machines. He’d always hang up and try again later. If he left a message, he had called out of hours, and it had been on purpose so he’d not have to talk to anyone.

“He’s fine,” Robin tried to assure you. “We gotta start sorting shit out for Christmas soon, like stock and rosters and stuff. He won’t be gone for long. He’s fine.”

If loving Eddie was a headache, loving him and not having him close was a searing migraine. When days went by with no news of Eddie returning to Chicago, it felt so bad that decapitation was surely the only cure.

You were finding every possible way of distracting yourself. Lingering after shifts at Coffee Clash, volunteering to unpack stock for Raconteur, proofreading Max and Will’s schoolwork, and helping Joyce develop the perfect gingerbread recipe. It wasn’t working.

You were at home, trying to focus on the words in The Tale of the Body Thief when the phone rang. You’d never gotten out of bed so fast.

“Hello?!” you breathlessly answered.

“It’s just me,” Robin replied. “Sorry. I know you-” A pause, then change of direction. “I just thought I’d let you know Eddie left another message at the shop. Said he’s gonna need a couple more days,”

“A couple? Like, two, or…?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know. He sounded… Distracted?”

“Distracted?”

“I know! I know you wanna know more, but he didn’t say much. Nothing new anyway,” she said, sounding as unsure as you felt.

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. Like I said, he sounded distracted. He said he needed more time and that there’s been a family emergency. But he already said that. So, it was kind of weird. I don’t know,”

“Robin,”

“I don’t like it either. But, but, you know. There’s nothing we can do except wait.”

You tried. You waited over the weekend. Monday. Tuesday.

Eddie had been gone for a week and a half. Realistically, a short amount of time, but it felt like an eternity. And logically, you thought to yourself, rationally, it didn’t make sense that he was still gone. Eddie hated Hawkins. The only family he had there was his uncle. He didn’t have friends there.

You fixated on that idea.

He didn’t have friends there.

Whatever had happened or was happening, could Eddie be going through it alone?

You left a message on Joyce’s machine, packed a bag, and left the city in the middle of the night.

…

Hawkins was exactly how you pictured it. It was every small town in every movie. It was Eddie’s rarely shared teenage stories. It was the local radio playing Christian soft rock bands. It was shades of brown, and mostly red but sometimes blue. The only thing about Hawkins you really cared about though, was where it was hiding Eddie.

It had occurred to you at some point as you crossed state lines that not only did you not have any address to find Eddie, but by the time you reached Hawkins, it would be so late in the night that nothing would be open.

No friendly girl at the checkout who might know someone who knows Eddie. No library with a list of local addresses. There was a police station with an illuminated sign, but the last thing you wanted was to talk to a cop about Eddie Munson.

All you could do was park your car outside the one gas station in town still open, and hope to catch a few hours of sleep before the sun came up.

…

A sharp knocking of knuckles on your window woke you; the teen standing outside your door looked pissed. It was still dark, but there was orange on the horizon.

“You can’t sleep here!” he yelled through the glass. His curly hair was barely contained under a black baseball cap with the Alien3 logo on it.

Winding down your window, you held your hands up like a white flag. “Sorry… Sorry…”

“My boss sees you sleeping out here and I’ll get fired!”

Still waking up, you rubbed your eyes and looked up at him. “Why? How’s it your fault?”

“My job to, you know, keep the riff raff away,”

“Riff raff?” you laughed. You were sure nobody had ever considered you riff raff in your life. Mildly amused by it, you made a mental note to tell Eddie about it later.

The teen was still standing there, still looking pissed. 

“Sorry-” You read his name tag. “Dustin. I’m sorry, alright? I just… Didn’t know where else to go. But I’m going.”

As you reached for the key in the ignition, Dustin audibly sighed, muttering to himself. “What do you mean you don’t know where to go? Hawkins isn’t that big. You lost or something?”

“Uh, no… No, I know where I am. I’m just…” You didn’t know if Dustin was friend or foe. The way Eddie spoke of Hawkins sure made it seem like everyone was a foe. What were the odds that this kid had any bad blood with Eddie though? You figured about the same odds that he might know where to find Eddie. “I’m visiting a friend. Lost his address…”

Dustin his eyes, assessing you like a detective hot on the case. “Who’s your friend?” Dustin had a feeling. Maybe it was something about your badly concealed desperation. Maybe it was the number of cassettes strewn across your car’s dashboard and passenger seat. The disorganisation of showing up in the very early hours of the morning just to camp in your car. There was just something very… Eddie… about it all.

“Eddie. Eddie Munson. He grew up-”

“Yeah, I know him,”

“You do?”

“Like I said,” Dustin shrugged, “Hawkins is not that big. If you’re here for the funeral, you’re way too late.”

First, a cloud of light-headedness settled over you. Then, the nausea. Nose tingled. Eyes began to water. Jaw clenched.

“Oh, shit. You didn’t know?” Your lip began to tremble just as Dustin realised – “Shit! No, Eddie’s fine! Eddie’s not dead!”

All the sensations receded too quickly, like the ocean pulling back before a tsunami. You breathed in deeply. Then, “What the actual FUCK!” You weren’t accustomed to yelling profanities at strangers, but you were on a roll with being uncharacteristic.

“I’m sorry, man! I meant Wayne! Wayne’s funeral!”

This second time, your body didn’t react the same, and it made you immediately guilty. In place of intense and instantaneous grief, there was prolific anxiety. “Wayne… Munson died?”

Dustin nodded. “About two weeks ago. That’s why Eddie’s in town… But… you should know that… if you’re really his friend…” Dustin had returned to suspiciously assessing you.

You looked around, dazed with the shock. Pushing back the conclusions that could be drawn from the new information, you pulled the map you’d been following since Chicago and pushed it into Dustin’s hands. “Show me where he is.”

…

The car stereo had been off since the gas station. You were laser-focused on street signs and following Dustin’s directions to Forest Hills Trailer Park. As soon as you saw Eddie’s van, it felt like you could breathe again. It was a short lived wave of positivity.

Once you cut the engine, you took stock of the situation.

Eddie had not told anyone in his life about his uncle's passing. That was a clear choice he’d made. In fact, Eddie had not even told you specifically that he was going to Hawkins. Yet, you made the clear choice to ignore those facts and show up on his doorstep.

“This is…” you whispered to yourself, looking out the front windshield of your car at the trailer. No lights were on inside, and the sun was so low you could barely call it dawn. “This is…” you repeated. “…crazy. What am I doing?”

There were other facts, though. Eddie had lost his only family, besides the one he’d found in the city. Eddie had been experiencing that grief, presumably, alone. For over a week, just shy of two.

You got out of your car and walked slowly to the trailer, the gravel crunching below your boots. Took the steps up slowly, you knocked gently on the door and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Knocking a second time, a little louder, was terrifying. It felt like being ignored. It felt like being told you were doing the wrong thing. It felt like you were about to stir up a bunch of shitty memories about being the quiet one in the friendship groups who was often forgotten and left out of plans.

Maybe Eddie wasn’t alone. Maybe he did have more friends and family than you knew about – like Dustin – and he was somewhere else in Hawkins with them. Safe and understood.

“Can I help you?”

Almost yelping, you jumped, startled.

A woman dressed in a green nightgown and rainboots was standing behind you, cigarette in one hand, the other in her pocket. “I’m a light sleeper,” she said. “And your car’s loud,”

“Oh, sorry… Um…”

“Haven’t seen you around here before,”

“I’ve never been here,”

“Why you here now? Sun ain’t even here yet.” She was unimpressed. She had a point.

“I’m here for Eddie. To… help… with everything.”

The woman eyeballed you again, the Hawkins special, apparently. You wondered if you looked like someone who would be friends with Eddie.

“Sad thing that happened. Wayne was good people,” she said. Her posture softened as she took a drag. “Ed’s good too. Good that someone’s here for him,”

“He, uh, didn’t answer when I knocked,” you told her.

She looked at the trailer. “He’s in there. Music stopped yesterday morning but. Been a bit… worried about checking in on him, if I’m honest.”

You nodded, though confused.

“It was Wayne’s music going quiet that made me check on him…”

Oh. “I’m sorry… That’s… hard. I didn’t know,”

“He was my friend. And so young, you know? Nothing wrong with his ticker before this.” The suspicion and defensiveness were masking grief. The woman wiped away tears before they had a chance to fall. She cleared her throat, seemingly aware of how she was presenting. “Anyway… If the kid doesn’t answer, there’s a spare key under the mat. Stupid place to keep it, if you ask me,”

“Okay,” you nodded. “Thank you and… I’m sorry.”

She waved at you, or herself, or at nothing, and went back over the road and to the trailer she’d so quietly come from.

You turned back.

There was no social script for that type of situation. Even if there were, your personality was at odds with playing the role. But god, if the roles were reversed, all you would want would be Eddie. You would want Nancy and Robin. You would want people driving through the night. Looking for you. Choosing you over everything else.

The key was where the woman said it would be. You tried knocking a third and final time before letting yourself in. Quietly closing the door behind you, you peered through the gloomy dark.

No Eddie yet.

Just a lounge room decorated with mugs and trucker caps, and a kitchenette with no visible bench space. Dirty dishes, pizza boxes, and what looked like well-wishers’ Tupperware took up all the room. It was almost silent, the electrical humming of the refrigerator the only sound.

You steeled your nerves to call out, “Eddie?”

Nothing.

Walking by a small table covered with paperwork, you took the narrow hallway and paused at the next door. It was already ajar, your light push revealing the bathroom. Unoccupied.

One door left.

It was also open, barely enough to see through. You rapped your knuckles against it. “Eddie?”

Nothing.

With no other options, you held the doorknob and walked through. The bedroom was darker than the rest of the home. You could make out the furniture, but not much else. The window closest to you was filled with an air conditioning unit. Knowing the overhead light would be too much, you navigated around the bed to the other window.

Looking back at the bed, you could tell Eddie was there. He was asleep, a reassuring quiet snore taking up space in your heart.

You parted the curtains slightly, only enough to make the room safe for you to move in. Enough to see the state Eddie was in. His duffel bag was on the floor, clothes strewn around. The robe was open too, like Eddie had raided it. Crumpled in the corner was a suit, funeral attire.

“Eddie.”

You moved to the bed, knelt on the floor. Even through your clothes, you could feel the grit and dirt embedded in the carpet. Hands on the sheet, you could feel it there too.

Eddie remained motionless. There were sleepless shadows under his eyes. His lips were chapped, so much so that they’d cracked and bled in one spot. His hair was a bird’s nest. And, you could smell the grief.

Carefully, you reached out and laid your hand on top of his.

“Eddie,” you said louder.

His eyes opened. His lashes cast darker shadows down his pale face. Eddie didn’t move, but his eyes tracked the light across the room to you. He looked empty.

The quietness of the moment was so loud, you’d never been alone with Eddie without noise. He seemed so incomplete without music.

 “Hi,” you whispered to him.

“He’s dead.” Eddie’s voice was strained. It broke in all the wrong places.

“I know,” you replied as kindly as you could.

Eddie closed his eyes.

“Eddie… I know… I know this hurts. But… You have to get up. Okay?”

You watched tears pool in the corner of his eyes, trail down his face, and hit the sheet below.

“Eddie, how long have you been here. Like, in bed… When did you last get up?”

No response.

“Okay… I’m going to…” What? What could you possibly do to even begin to help him? Sentence left unfinished, you got up and left the bedroom, closing the door behind you.

Sitting at the small table next to the kitchenette, you zoned out. You wouldn’t have known what to do if it had been any of your friends in there, but the fact that it was Eddie added an entirely new complexity.

Eddie had never needed a single thing from you. Sure, he whined if you wouldn’t listen to a record or pout when you skipped a hangout session with everyone, but ultimately, he was in charge. You followed his lead with heart eyes, and from the front, he laid rose petals for you to walk on. He dominated the friendship, and you blissfully submitted to that.

You didn’t know how to boss Eddie around. You didn’t know how to tell him to take a shower or drink some water. You’d never played that kind of role. You’d only ever spaced out and melted to goo around him.

You wiped your own tears away and gathered yourself. On the wall behind you hung the telephone. You dialled the number of the smartest person you knew.

Joyce picked up on the second ring.

…

“Look, honey, there’s not really a right or wrong thing to do here… Just be there for him,”

“Okay, but what does that mean? Like, practically?”

“Maybe coax him out of bed with some mac and cheese… Boys love mac and cheese… He probably needs a shower, right?”

“Yeah but… He looks… It’s bad… Like, I don’t know if he could even stand without passing out.”

Joyce thought for a moment. She knew you were smart and more capable than you were giving yourself credit for. You didn’t need practical advice. You’d figure that stuff out. What you needed was a reason.

“I know it’s a lot. It’s a lot that he didn’t tell anyone. But that’s Eddie. He looks after the others, thinks he’s shepherding lost sheep, but really… He’s just as vulnerable as any of us. Sometimes I think maybe even more. He’s kind of a mystery, right?”

You were nodding. “Mmhmm,”

“But we know a few things for sure. We know how much music means to him. We know he loved his uncle more than anything. And we know that he’d let you get away with murder… It has to be you there. He’s not going to let anyone else help him,”

“That’s just it though… What if he doesn’t want me to see him like this?” you asked.

“Of course he doesn’t. Nobody wants to be seen at their worst. But that’s just… how the world works.”

Joyce ran through all the assurances that both Coffee Clash and Raconteur Records would be fine in your and Eddie’s joint absences. Nancy would call your flatmate and let her know not to expect you. Take your time.

After hanging up, you pushed through some of the loose sheets of paper and bills on the table. Invoices for rendered funeral services. Brochures for two Hawkins cemeteries. The program for Wayne’s funeral, his photo glossy on the front. You didn’t see any of Eddie in Wayne’s features, but you saw the same gruff kindness.

Looking around the grim home, you sighed to yourself and nodded. Time to start.

While the trailer was ground zero for Eddie’s grief, the size meant it didn’t take too long to clean. It was mostly washing dishes and creating neat piles of things Eddie would have to tell you what to do with.

It was freezing outside; when you opened the windows to let in airflow, you wondered how you’d managed to fall asleep in your car. Still, the fresh air was good. The light was good.

After tackling the main areas, you checked the bathroom, throwing the towels in the washing machine and wiping up Eddie’s long, wavy stray hairs into the bin. You noted with a detached sort of feeling that none of this had made you feel gross.

It wasn’t as if you were particularly precious or squeamish, but you’d always struggled with too much contact with someone else’s mess. Yet, you waded through Eddie’s semi-rotten leftovers with ease. Hadn’t shivered in disgust at the grime on the bathroom vanity. It had to be done. For him. So, you did it.

By midday, there was nothing else to do but rouse Eddie again. Back inside the bedroom, he’d not moved. You knelt in the same place as before.

There was a nightmare in his mind; his eyes were moving rapidly beneath his eyelids and beads of sweat were dotting his forehead.

“Eddie.”

As your hand touched his, he startled awake, ripping himself away from you and panting.

It was less patience that made you wait for him to acclimatise and more the unease of what to do. You watched him sit up a little and look around. He pressed his hand across his forehead and scrunched his face up.

“What…” His throat was dry, his entire body dehydrated. “What are you doing here?”

Eyes wide, you were caught off guard. “Oh…” Not a single coherent thought came to mind.

He looked at you then, and you realised he was seeing you properly for the first time.

“I was here before,” you said slowly, confused.

Eddie looked just as confused.

“But you just… You went back to sleep.”

He looked around again, like he’d woken up on another planet.

“I’m…” The sentence abruptly stopped when Eddie looked at you again, his big brown eyes watery, more tears threatening to surface. You stood up, his gaze following you. “I’m gonna make… um, run a bath. For you. Okay?”

He said nothing, so you walked from the room.

“Wait!”

Your jaw clenched, and you braced yourself for whatever was coming.

“I don’t fit in the bath,” Eddie told you, voice small again. “I did when I was little… when I was a kid… here. But… I don’t… I can’t…” His train of thought disappeared into the fog.

“Okay… but…” But you look like you’ve not eaten in days and haven’t been near water in weeks. “I don’t know if it’s… like… Um… It might be easier for you just to sit, you know?”

Eddie nodded slowly, staring into space.

“So, maybe, just this once, you can… make it work?”

He nodded again, not quite there. He was chasing thoughts into his memories.

…

There was, unsurprisingly, no bubble bath, so you squeezed body wash into the tub. It was filled with hot, soapy water quickly, and you found clean towels in the hallway linen closet.

Eddie hadn’t shifted from his spot, but he looked up as you entered the bedroom, nodding when you told him the bath was ready. The way he moved, as if his body was weighed down with cement bones, hurt to watch. He didn’t need to say how much he ached.

“Do you need anything else?” you asked softly.

With his back to you, Eddie shook his head. You left him there, walking back into the kitchen.

Closing your eyes, you listened. Barely audible swooshing of clothes being peeled from him. The toilet lid flipping up. Silence, followed by a small, pained whine. The first, then the second splash of feet through water. Sloshing water. Quiet.

While you’d been cleaning, you hadn’t wanted to wake Eddie. Now, you could fill some of the void with music. Without knowing which vinyls were Wayne’s, you didn’t want to go near the record player. Instead, you shuffled through some cassettes stacked next to the old radio boom box. One case was marked with Eddie’s recognisable handwriting: OLD SONGS THAT DON’T SUCK.

You slotted the tape into the deck and pressed play. As soon as you heard the guitar, you immediately regretted your choice. There was no going back now though. It would be worse to fumble to stop it and find something else. You gripped the edge of the kitchen bench tight and closed your eyes.

Childhood living is easy to do.

The things you wanted I bought them for you.

Graceless lady you know who I am.

You know I can't let you slide through my hands.

After a deep breath, you opened your eyes and glanced out the window. Forest Hills was alive with activity. People were hanging washing on clothes lines, dogs sitting at their feet with wagging tails.

Wild horses couldn't drag me away.

Wild, wild horses, couldn't drag me away.

It was a strange kind of place. You would never be really alone in the trailer park, everyone packed in close. Yet, were these people friends? Family? Did they know Eddie like you did? Had they comforted him at the funeral?

I watched you suffer a dull aching pain.

Now you decided to show me the same.

No sweeping exits or offstage lines.

Could make me feel bitter or treat you unkind.

You already knew there was nothing in the fridge. You’d thrown it all out. Still, you opened it and stared inside. Then, you did the same with the cupboards. There were tins of beans and spaghetti, but none of it would make Eddie feel much better. What could?

Wild horses couldn't drag me away.

Wild, wild horses, couldn't drag me away.

Maybe you’d have to go for a drive, get some groceries. How much would you need to buy? Did Eddie have to stay in Hawkins? Could you take him home? Or was this where he felt most at home?

I know I dreamed you a sin and a lie.

I have my freedom but I don't have much time.

Faith has been broken, tears must be cried.

Let's do some living after we die.

You walked back down the hallway, not letting yourself glance into the bathroom. In the bedroom, you clenched your jaw, letting the muscles hurt. Keep busy, you told yourself. Bedding stripped, you took it through and piled it next to the washing machine.

Wild horses couldn't drag me away.

Wild, wild horses, we'll ride them some day.

You made the bed with clean linen, then dragged Eddie’s bag up on top of the covers.  With respect, you sorted his belongings into clothes (straight to the washing pile) and non-clothes (back in the bag).

Wild horses couldn't drag me away.

Wild, wild horses, we'll ride them some day.

Some of the tension dissipated when The Rolling Stones ended. Something slightly more upbeat played, though you didn’t recognise it. It was too country for your tastes. But it was something Wayne had most likely loved, so you let it be.

Knocking just before you entered, you stood in the bathroom doorway. Eddie was sitting in the tub, his legs folded up against his chest, his arms hugged around them.

“I’m going to go to the store,” you told him. “Is there anything you want… or need?”

He shook his head, his eyes glazed over, and his gaze unfocused.

“Okay. I’m gonna wash your clothes, so when you get out, maybe put something different on. I’ll put them in the washer when I get back. Towels are in there now.” He’d do nothing with this information, but you were clinging to anything that made this feel normal. Or casual. Just popping to the shops. Be right back. I’ll finish the laundry later.

Eddie nodded.

Leaving the trailer felt wrong, like it was your duty to stand sentry, and getting in your car was a moral failure. You kept glancing back at Forest Hills as you drove out onto the main road.

…

The car park of Bradley’s Big Buys was almost full. The place to be in Hawkins on a cold Wednesday afternoon, apparently. 

Grabbing a cart, you decided to approach shopping systematically. Starting in the first aisle, you mapped the entire store, buying both things to nourish Eddie’s body and treats you knew he loved.

Dunkaroos.

Ecto Cooler.

Bagel Bites.

Nerds.

Yoo-hoo.

Push Pops.

Toaster Strudel.

Anything that you had seen Eddie buy or eat went in the cart.

In the produce section, you were overwhelmed with the responsibility of picking the right apples. Did Eddie eat apples? Did he like the crisp, sour green ones? Or the small, sweet red type?

“Did you find him?” Dustin Henderson appeared out of nowhere, his Alien3 hat replaced with a Bradley’s Big Buys one.

“You work here too?”

“I’ve got a lot of projects to fund,”

“Uhh… Okay… And, yeah. Found him,”

“How’s he doing?”

Frowning, you looked anywhere but Dustin’s face, trying to find a way to answer the question. You shrugged. “As well as can be expected, I guess,” was the best you had.

Dustin nodded.

“So how do you know him?”

“My mum used to work with Wayne. She worked in the office of the plant. Whenever my babysitter was booked, she dropped me with Wayne. Eddie was like, pshhhh, sixteen around then,”

“What was he like?”

“Oh, profoundly uncool in the eyes of everyone except me. He listened to metal. Read a lot of comics. Used to read me The Lord of the Rings. Told me if I told anyone he’d deny it. He was the cool older brother I never had, I guess,”

“Sounds like he hasn’t changed at all.” It was easy to picture teenage Eddie and kindergarten-aged Dustin.

“So, all this for him?”

“Yep,”

“Lemme hook you up with a discount then. Come on.”

…

Upon return, the trailer was silent again. Wayne’s mixtape had ended and nobody was there to flip it.

Expecting to find Eddie in the bedroom, you dumped your shopping on the kitchen bench and walked through. He wasn’t there. Taking a few small backward steps, you stood in the bathroom door.

“Eddie…”

He’d not moved.

You felt dread drip down your back and pool at your feet; you were fast becoming more and more out of your depth. Whatever grief Eddie was experiencing, it wasn’t… normal? Was there such a thing as normal grief? Did you have the vocabulary to be able to quantify what was happening? Did you have the life experience?

“Eddie… It’s freezing out… You need to get out of the cold water.” You tried to make your voice sound firm but kind.

“Yeah,” he mumbled.

“Um… now… You need to get out now.”

Slowly, he looked up and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

If you stood in front of him and gave him direction, he seemed willing to comply. Without the insistence though, he was immobile.

You went back into the kitchen and unpacked the groceries, listening to the bath water splash as Eddie got out. He was quiet in the bedroom as you swapped the washing over, piling the towels in a basket, wondering how long on the line they’d take to dry in this weather. Maybe it would be better to hang them up inside somewhere. Maybe the trailer park had a communal laundromat type situation.

With your mind buzzing with domesticity distraction, you didn’t notice Eddie appear. You’d spun around, looking in the cupboards for a saucepan, when you almost collided with him. Eddie didn’t react, but you yelped and almost tripped over your own feet. Eddie reached out and held you steady by both shoulders.

“Sorry,”

“No, it’s okay. Sorry. I did hear you come through.”

He let you go and took stock of the freshly supplied kitchen. He looked like he wanted to say something, which made you nervous.

“I’m gonna make something to eat. Do you wanna go sit and watch T.V. or something?”

He glanced over into the lounge room. Eddie blinked back something that looked like fear or panic; you couldn’t read it. He began to shake his head. “No… I’ll just… sit…”

You nodded as he walked to the other side of the kitchen bench and sat on a bar stool.

“Which of these tapes should I play?” you asked, pushing the boom box toward him.

As Eddie looked through the cassettes, you started on an early dinner.

The first course was apple slices with a side of peanut butter and chocolate chips. Out of the corner of your eyes, you watched Eddie slowly begin to eat.

He thought of Little Italy and the bus stop apple man. When Eddie had moved, he wanted to say a proper goodbye to the old man. He wanted to say thank you for the apples and company. So, he bought him a big bag of apples. The man took them with an expression of suspicion but with grace. It was only later that Eddie realised it may have been a weird gift.

As he ate, Eddie picked a tape, the click clacking of the boom box reassuring. Something familiar to you began to play. Maybe Metallica… or was it Slayer? Sometimes you couldn’t tell them apart, much to Eddie’s chagrin.

While you chopped vegetables and attempted to make a decent enough chicken noodle soup, you workshopped something to say in your mind.

“I met your Dustin Henderson.”

Eddie huffed a small almost-laugh. “He still working at Bradley’s?”

“Yeah. And the gas station just outside of town. He’s…”

It was hard to sum up Dustin in one or two words, and by the look on Eddie’s face, he knew it too.

“He’s Dustin,” Eddie finished for you.

Eddie watched you cook, keeping his focus on you. If he thought too hard about the baseball caps and mugs on the shelves, if he started to process any of the thoughts he was blocking out, he’d fall apart.

“How’d you know where I was?” he asked suddenly.

“Robin,” you answered. “She didn’t know though… about…” 

“No, I didn’t, um, tell her. How did you…”

“Uh, that would be Dustin again. At the gas station last night. Asked if he might know where to find you.”

Eddie sat up straighter and frowned. “You were already in Hawkins?”

You nodded.

“What were you doing here?” he asked, confusion on his face. It wasn’t clear if Eddie’s clouded mind wasn’t connecting the dots, or if it was a symptom of a larger problem with his thinking – a flaw that didn’t let him naturally recognise when he was being loved.

“Eddie… You kind of just disappeared,” you tried to explain. “And that’s… that’s whatever. That’s your business… But… I just…”

Eddie’s eyes were burning into you. He realised there’d never be a way to explain to you what it meant that you’d show up in godforsaken Hawkins.

You continued, “I freaked out a little bit. I was scared something bad had happened.” 

The tears in Eddie’s eyes spilled over; he quickly wiped them away on the sleeve of the old flannel shirt he was wearing. It wasn’t one from his bag, so you figured he’d pulled it from Wayne’s wardrobe.

Eddie did the math, worked out that you must have driven through the night. He’d been in love with you from the moment he saw you, and now he felt entirely indebted to you. More than that. He wanted to curl up in a ball and have you hold him forever.

“Drink,” you ordered gently, pushing a glass of water towards him.

He held the glass in his hands and looked down at it. “Something bad did happen,”

“I know.”

Eddie took a small sip of water. “This is gonna make it worse,”

“Make what worse?”

“It’s nothing… It’s… gross,”

You continued with the soup, measuring out spices like you knew what you were doing. “I can handle gross,” you told him, aiming for casual.

He thought about it. Gave in to the pressure of giving you everything. Even gross information. “I think I’ve kind of… fucked my body up… I’m not hungry even though I haven’t really eaten anything… And I can’t pee.”

Neither of those facts was gross or surprising. You shrugged. “You’ve probably been in like, shock. You just gotta do the normal things, like eating and drinking, and your body will sort itself out.”

He nodded and took another sip.

“Did you know male giraffes headbutt females in the bladder to make them pee, then they taste the pee to figure out if they’re ovulating… Now that’s gross,” you said, entirely straight-faced.

Eddie looked at you, then smiled. It wasn’t a laugh. At best, a little puff of air out of his nose. But it was something. “Is that true?”

“I’d never lie to you,”

“How do you even know that?”

“I think Argyle told me?”

Eddie almost-laughed again. “A trustworthy source of information.”

You watched him take another sip of water.

“The soup will help. And I’ll make you some tea after. And I can go to the drug-”

“No!” Eddie loudly interrupted. “Don’t… go… I don’t wanna be here alone now that I’m… awake…”

Desperately, more than anything, you wanted to walk around the bench and hug him. Pull him into your arms and never let him go. But your gut told you to wait for him to come to you. Eddie looked like an exposed nerve. You didn’t want to hurt him more.

“I won’t go anywhere,” you promised him.

He nodded. “I’m sorry… For freaking you out. I should have told you I was leaving Chicago,”

“No, don’t apologise. You don’t owe me, like… I don’t know, and it wasn’t like you had a choice. It was an emergency.”

Eddie chewed the inside of his cheek. He held his glass so tightly it was a wonder it didn’t shatter in his hand. “I had a choice. Maybe not then. When I got the call. But it’s been, what, a week?”

Your spoon went still, stirring paused. “Um. Almost two…”

“What?”

“It’s the 17th today, you’ve been here for almost two weeks.”

Eddie looked over to the calendar hanging near the telephone. He tried to remember the time passing. The call came in late on a Friday. He was in Hawkins by Saturday, driving through the night. Saturday afternoon was the hospital. Identifying the body. The body. Wayne. Seeing him in the basement of Hawkins Hospital.

Saturday night, Sunday, a blur. Visitors to the trailer. Holding it together.

Monday morning, a message left for Robin. A meeting with the funeral director. Finding out that Wayne’s one suit fitted him now. Holding it together.

Tuesday. Dustin. He’d spent the day sitting on the trailer’s couch with Dustin, the kid was all grown up. Dustin forced him to talk. He wanted to know all about cool Chicago and the cool record store and all his cool friends. They’d watched old movies, the ones Eddie first showed Dustin when he was little. Dustin had kept him tethered to sanity.

Eddie gritted his teeth and walked over to the calendar. Shaking his head, he looked down. Eddie picked up the same funeral program you had seen when you first walked through the trailer. The date of Wayne’s funeral, Wednesday the 10th of November, 1993. 

Thursday. Friday. Saturday and you. That’s what Eddie could calculate. But the truth was Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Sunday. Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday. Then you.

“Wait… Robin said you left a message at the shop,”

“Yeah, on the Monday,”

“That was the first one. She said you called again on Friday.”

He didn’t like unaccounted for time. Didn’t like feeling out of control. Yes, Eddie was spontaneous and sometimes chaotic, but there was always a plan. He was always grounded. “I don’t remember that… I don’t… know… I mean, I don’t remember…”

“Eddie…” you softly said. “It’s okay. I don’t think anyone has been expecting you to, you know, be anywhere or do anything,”

“Yeah… I guess…”

“Hey, um, can you try this?” you asked, trying to redirect him. “Does it need more salt?

…

The soup wasn’t the tastiest thing you’d ever created, but it was good fuel and seemed to ease some of Eddie’s pain. He downed two bowls quickly, not moving from the bar stool.

Dinner was done. The dishes were washed. Darkness had fallen enough that the windows no longer showed Forest Hills but instead reflected the trailer's lights back in.

The quiet and the dark, you could handle. The cold though? The November chill? That could really do some damage.

While you drafted the right words to suggest moving to the couch or bed, somewhere with a blanket, Eddie felt himself slowly coming back online. He felt it, and was so reminded of his own body, his life, his existence, that the shadow of grief’s wave was over him faster than he realised.

The feeling was why he’d just… stopped. He’d dragged himself from point A – getting the call about Wayne, to point B – the funeral, then stopped. He’d been rotting for a week before you’d shown up, and it had been easy. Easier than the guilt of eating when Wayne couldn’t anymore. Easier than showing himself any kindness, because Wayne would never feel kindness again. Easier than looking at the little life of Wayne Munson built up in the thin walls of the trailer.

Eddie was clean. He was fed. He was on his way to being hydrated. Worst of all, he was loved.

“Eddie?” It had not mattered how you worded the suggestion; he’d not heard a word of it. “Eddie… Hey…”

Before you could reach him, Eddie stood up and stumbled away, holding his hand out to keep you at a distance. “I’m… fine. I’m fine. I just need…”

The caps.

Mugs.

Couch.

Records.

Photographs.

Eddie screwed his eyes shut, pushed the heels of his palms into them. He backed up all the way to the wall, then slid down to sit.

You knelt in front of him, your heart aching. “Eddie,” you whispered, then shuffled forward to take hold of his wrists. Gently, you made him let go of his face, then got close enough to hold him. His response was immediate. Eddie wrapped his arms around you and buried his face.

That’s when the sobbing started. The tsunami had hit.

Grief is like a snowflake. From a distance, it all looks the same. But up close, everyone’s grief is unique. Individual to them. Neighbourly suspicion and defensiveness. Acts of service and support from a friend. Or, their own personal hell. A son in mourning.

There had never been a worse sound than Eddie’s cries. A terrible, marrow-deep howl. His fists holding your clothes like a vice grip. All you could do was cradle him in your arms.

Time passed uncounted. However long he needed, you’d wait. You closed your eyes and combed through his hair with your fingers, rubbed along his spine.

When the sobbing slowed and turned to sniffles, Eddie unfurled himself from you. He wiped his nose on his sleeve and looked around through blurry eyes.

“Let’s get you to bed,” you said.

Eddie complied, following you wordlessly through to the freshly made bed. You pulled the blankets back, then nudged him into action. He climbed in and looked back up at you with his stupidly sad puppy dog eyes.

You kept your promise, climbing in after him and not leaving him alone.

Even when you switched the lamp off, there was enough light to see Eddie by. You reached out and took his hand, holding on tight.

“I’m so sorry, Eddie,” you whispered.

He nodded. His bottom lip started to tremble.

“Come here,” and you closed the space between you, holding him again.

Eddie cried himself to sleep, but locked in your arms, he didn’t feel like he was falling apart entirely. It was easier to cry with you, with your arms around him. All his vital organs were being held in place. He couldn’t come apart at the seams.

You fell asleep only once he did.

End note Useful links for this chapter: a floorplan for the Munson trailer and other references. Sorry for any hurt feelings and broken hearts.

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What was obvious to Robin within seconds of Eddie meeting you became obvious to everyone else almost as quickly. And, it wasn’t as though you didn’t notice the things they did. How he suddenly bought coffee every day you were working. How everyone else got the full Munson attitude, but you did not. Your music taste was never criticised. He’d hold you a little longer than anyone else when everyone hugged goodbye. The softness in his gaze. Yeah, you had the evidence in front of you.

It didn’t compute. Like speaking a language with perfect pronunciation, but not understanding a word.

If Eddie liked you in the way everyone said he did, then why were the days and weeks going by so fast without a date proposal or admission of love? The closest you’d gotten to anything other than friendship was the time Jonathan’s car got a flat tire on the way home from picking Nancy, Robin, and you up from a night out. Eddie came to help, and you responded with a drunken embrace and almost passed out in his arms. He’d have let you; he would have held you all night if Nancy didn’t politely put you in the backseat.

For Eddie’s part, he knew he was being stubborn. There was a voice in the back of his head that sounded a lot like Wayne. It affirmed to him that how he felt wasn’t like all the times before. It could be different. It would be different. The terror though, was paralysing.

It was an aching sort of freeze that took over him. Emotional frostbite. Eddie felt like he had used up all his reliability on Raconteur. He looked after the staff and the business and the growing community surrounding the store. Would he even have time left to be a good boyfriend? Could he protect your gentleness from the harsh reality of the world?  It hurt when he let himself fantasise about it. It hurt when he tried to suppress it all. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt.

…

“You don’t seem excited,” Eddie observed. He was sitting on an upside-down milk crate out the front of Coffee Clash, smoking a cigarette.

Taking your sweet time cleaning the espresso machine and closing up, you could feel Eddie watching your every move.

This was all routine. Eddie often wandered over to ‘help’ you close in the mid-afternoon sunlight. He often tuned in the radio on the shelf above you to something better, whined about Informer by Snow being popular and what that meant for society as a whole, then took a seat. Often considered it the best part of his day.

“Steve’s parties are kind of legendary,” he offered.

At the end of every April, Steve threw himself a birthday party. This would be your first party with the entire Raconteur/Coffee Clash family; you’d been to after work beers and a few gigs, but nothing as anticipated as Steve’s party. You went to the cinema with Robin a lot, and to museum exhibitions with Nancy. Movie marathons with them both, tucked up on the couch. But nothing like a Steve Harrington Birthday Party.

You looked over at him. “Legendary? Like… What happens at them specifically?”

Eddie frowned. “Specifically? Normal… party stuff, I guess? What do you mean?”

“Like, what are some of the… activities? Like, is there gonna be a keg… Should I eat before or is there gonna be food… Or like… anything else?”

Eddie put his smoke out in the paper coffee cup you’d given him upon arrival, then stood up, leaning across the small counter.

“If you tell me what information you’re fishing for, specifically, I’ll tell you whatever you wanna know,”

“I’m not- I just want to be prepared.”

Eddie didn’t believe you. He shook his head. “Right…” He looked you up and down, making your stomach flip in response. “Something’s wrong.”

You could see Eddie trying to guess. You could see him trying to find a solution to an unknown problem.  “Do you know who’s going?” you asked, continuing your fishing expedition. 

“Uh, just like, a hundred people… plus the… usual suspects,”

“Okay, so like, Rob and Steve, and you, and Nancy,”

“Yep. And Jon. Max and Will have been bitching non-stop about it,”

“Why can’t they come?” you asked. Max, Raconteur’s resident skater girl, was quick to befriend Joyce’s youngest son, Will. The teens stuck together.

“Because Nancy’s making some fancy cocktails or something… And Argyle’s making some brownies, so… Not exactly kid-friendly,” Eddie grinned, briefly remembering himself as a teenager, almost setting fire to the stove when trying to make THC-infused butter.

There it was. Argyle, the friendly neighbourhood baked goods and weed dealer. Initially, it was just the baked goods. He was the supplier of the croissants, danishes, and bagels Joyce ordered for Coffee Clash. Once he got to know everyone on the street, he looped them in on his side hustle.

You nodded at Eddie and started to cash up the register. 

Eddie frowned. “No more questions?” 

“Like I said. Wasn’t fishing.” 

He tried to figure out what was important in the information he’d shared. Whatever it was, it wasn’t obvious to him.

Eddie pulled the shutters down when you’d run out of things to clean and count, and waited for you to lock the shop up. “Are you okay?” he asked, sincerity oozing from his tone.

You nodded, smiled, and broke his heart a little. He nodded back and pulled you into a hug.

“If something’s… up… or whatever, you can tell me,”

“I know. I’m fine. Promise.”

When you stepped back from him, Eddie was staring.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you pouted, turning to leave.

“Stop being so pretty!” he yelled after you. “Get home safe!”

All night, you tossed and turned. Eventually, when it felt more like the next day than the night, you got up and killed time by listening to a stack of records you still hadn’t gotten around to. Vinyl on loan to you from Raconteur, care of both Robin and Eddie.

Using those loans as a thinly veiled excuse to see Eddie, the next day you returned them to Jonathan at the counter and went through to the office, ignoring Jonathan’s muttering about it being a record store, not a record library.

“Hey… You didn’t have work today, did you?” Eddie asked, looking up from the paperwork piled in front of him. “Not that I, you know, I was just… Nance was there today. So…”

Normally, Eddie’s flustered rambling would put you into a state of equal fluster. The anxiety was gnawing at you though, stopping any emotion with a slight hint of whimsy within. He saw that on your face.

“What’s going on? Come in.” Eddie ushered you into the room, closing the door and sitting with you on the couch he’d spent too much time sleeping on before he moved into his own place.

Eddie had been forced to move out of the apartment he’d shared with the daytime college student, nighttime bartender at the end of 1991; the guy claimed that the best debut album of that year was Music for the People by Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch. Meshuggah, Kyuss, Hole, Mr. Bungle, and Pearl Jam all released their first records, and the guy sincerely believed Good Vibrations was better track than Black.

He could afford to get a place alone, which felt like an insane luxury. The only thing he missed about Little Italy was the old man at the bus stop. It didn’t matter what day it was, nor the weather, there was always the same man sitting at the stop outside Eddie’s building. He was always there at 8 am sharp, always holding an apple and cutting chunks off with a dull knife.

Eddie started to drive his van to work less just so he could sit next to the man. Sometimes they tried to hold a conversation, but Eddie did not speak Italian, and the man seemed content in being misunderstood. He didn’t care if Eddie didn’t understand. Their shared language was the slice or two of apple he’d offer Eddie each time he sat down.

“It’s stupid,”

“Most things are,” Eddie said.

It made you smile, if only a little bit. “I kind of… lied… about something. And it’s… snowballed… a bit… And this party… It’s gonna be pretty obvious that, you know, I lied…” Your sentence trailed off into mumbled oblivion.

Eddie wondered what you could have lied about. Had you lied to him? Maybe he was about to be put out of his heartsick misery and have you tumble down from the pedestal you were on.

“Um, okay… Just avoid the Never Have I Ever games?”

A look of sheer panic flashed across your face. “Wait… Does that- You guys play that?”

“No! No, sorry!” Eddie grabbed your hands. “Of course not. We’re, like, adults… So, no. Nope.” You still looked like you were going to throw up. “Do you secretly hate Steve?”

“What? No. Nobody secretly hates Steve,”

“You’re right. Most people are pretty open about it,” Eddie smirked. “Uhhh, is it like, a Gremlins thing?”

“I can’t get wet? Is there going to be a pool?”

“Yeah, the house has a pool. But I was thinking more of the midnight rule. Like, does something happen if you’re out past midnight… Never mind. I think you’re just going to have to tell me.”

Eddie waited for you to speak again. You couldn’t force it out yet. Instead, you listened to the music playing in the room. “Are you listening to The Cranberries?”

The person fallin' here is me.

A different way to be.

 “Uh… So? Don’t try to change the subject! Trying to distract me from the huge secret you came here to confess,” Eddie said.

“Is your huge secret that you love women-fronted political Irish rock bands?”

“I own a record store. I have to know my product!” he argued, his voice sounding very shrill for someone meant to be comfortable in their convictions.

After stifling a giggle, you promised to keep his secret.

“And I’ll keep yours. If you tell me,” Eddie promised back. He wasn’t going to let you drop it. He was unsure if he was motivated by a want to help you, a want to know everything about you, or a want to know things other people didn’t. Likely, a combination of all three.

“It’s embarrassing,” you said with a sigh.

“I would wager that it is not more embarrassing than the fact that Will has never once answered a Who Sung the Original correctly.”

If a cover was heard, you could be sure Eddie would start dishing out pop quizzes to whoever was around. Didn’t know I Will Always Love You was a Dolly Parton song? Foolish. Thought Tainted Love was a Soft Cell classic? Get absolutely fucked.

You had never been on the receiving end of Eddie’s insufferable Who Sung the Original game. Which was too bad, because of course, you had been studying. You’d be Eddie’s honour student.

“Eddie, he’s just a kid. Give him a break,”

“Nope. What about when Steve said, ‘Oh, this Morrissey guy sounds like The Smiths.’ That was embarrassing,”

“To be fair, I wish I didn’t know anything about Morrissey either,” you said. 

Eddie smiled, but reigned it in quickly. “Point is… Whatever it is, it’s alright. We can fix it. Just lay it on me.”

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

“So… When I started at the coffee shop, I obviously spent a lot of time with Nancy. Then I met Jonathan and he’s like… painfully cool. And I know he kind of works on that, but also he’s just… cool. And then I met Robin and Steve. And they’re all so, I don’t know. Cool.”

Eddie nodded along, though deeply confused. He loved each member of your cool list with all his heart, but he did not consider them to be cool. Robin and Jonathan… maybe… sometimes.

“And then I met Argyle-”

Eddie agreed on that one.

“-and… I don’t know. I think I was so quiet at the start because I was in awe of them and this little family you all have. And I think they mistook that quietness for being like them, being cool, and I’m not. Like, at all. And so when we started to hang out and stuff, I just let them believe stuff about me. And then I might have… lied… about stuff… so they’d think I’m cool… And now I’m freaking out.”

Eddie had to clench his jaw to stop himself from smiling. You were so stressed but you were so goddamn endearing.

“So… What did you tell them?” And did you tell it to me too?

You could feel the heat in your cheeks. “They may or may not think that I have definitely smoked weed before. Multiple times.”

He couldn’t catch it in time. Eddie’s face nearly split in half with a huge shit-eating grin.

“Eddie!” you squealed, standing up.

He followed you, grabbing you before you could move and holding you in a hug. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry, okay! It’s just… a little funny,”

“No, it’s fucking not. It’s embarrassing! And stupid! I don’t know why I said it!”

“Look, we’ve all said dumb shit. But honestly, none of them are gonna care. They’ll think it’s… I don’t know… cute… and they’ll be so up their own asses that you thought they were cool enough you needed to do it.”

You pushed away from Eddie and flopped back down on the couch. “I don’t want to be cute. I don’t want to be…”

“Babychino?” The look on your face told Eddie he was spot on. “I’ve had worse nicknames. A lot worse,” he said, sitting back down with you.

“I know… But if I tell them the truth now, it will be a thing. It will turn into a joke and won’t ever go away.”

Eddie knew you weren’t wrong. They’d never let you live it down. He would, but you’d not told the lie to him. And you were still sitting like a queen on that pedestal.

“I can’t fake it either. I’ll either cough my lungs up smoking a joint for the first time or lose my shit on an edible… I think I’m just gonna say that like, I quit or something. They’ll believe that, right? I can say it messes with my head, so I’ll stick to… like… Nancy’s cocktails or whatever…”

Eddie was aggressively playing with the ring on his left thumb, spinning it around and around. You could see the tension in his jaw, see him holding in whatever reaction he was having.

“Don’t laugh at me,” but your voice came out smaller and sadder than you intended.

“No, hey, look.” Eddie moved fast, shuffling closer to you and putting his hands on your shoulders. “I’m not laughing at you… Anymore… I swear… Have you… abstained on purpose?” He let you go but it still looked like he was going to laugh.

“No,”

“So, you just haven’t walked into the right room at the right party?”

“Um… I guess?”

“Alright, well, there’s a super simple solution that doesn’t involve, you know, more lying.”

He was looking at you with such intensity that it was like he was testing you. Could you guess? Would you make this suggestion too? All you could do was shake your head and shrug.

He watched you for a few more beats, then smiled, the intensity dissipating. “Practice makes perfect, sweetheart,” was all he said before standing.

“What?”

You followed Eddie through the store to where he asked Jonathan if he wanted to finish his shift early. “It’s dead anyway. I’ll pay you through to the end.”

Jonathan looked confused but quickly collected his backpack and camera, leaving without questioning the free money. Eddie locked the store’s door and pulled down the blinds.

“I don’t think it’s this urgent,” you said, trailing behind Eddie again.

“Life rarely gifts us solutions to our problems,”

“Why are you talking like that?”

“We must not offend dear Life by squandering such opportunities,”

“Seriously… Are you, like, quoting a film?”

Without answering, Eddie started pulling things from his desk drawer. You sat on the couch and watched him set up.

“You’re so organised,” you mused. It was a surprisingly streamlined process. Select. Grind. Pack. Ready.

“Like I said, practice makes perfect… You want me to talk you through this?” He looked up briefly, enough to see you nod. His dark eyes were calm. This was nothing. You would be fine.

The happy-sad sound of Linger spun from the record as Eddie joined you. “So, the good news is every smoker has their preferences, and if anyone asks, yours is absolutely not a bong. Unless you’ve already told them…”

“No, I’ve been vague,”

“‘Kay, cool. So, a blunt is all well and good. Maybe a better starting point, but we’re on a bit of a time crunch, and Robin and Nancy both prefer a pipe, so,”

“I kinda love that Nancy smokes. When Robin first told me, I didn’t believe her,”

“Yeah. She’s way less strait-laced than everyone expects. Me included… Alright, so, I’ll do it for you the first time. Mouth goes here. I’ll cover this hole, light up, smoke builds in this part, then as I let go, you inhale. Make sense?”

“Yep… Are you gonna, um, do it too?”

“Uhh… Do you want me to?” he asked. You nodded. “Then yes. Alright, here we go.”

It burnt and you coughed and no drink helped. You tried again. Eddie was patient, gentle, and tried not to laugh at you too much.

You weren’t sure you were feeling it until suddenly Eddie was putting Everyone Else Is Doing It, So Why Can’t We? back in its sleeve and swapping to a cassette. He looked tiny. You slowly raised a hand to try to measure him against it.

“Eddie… You’re… small…”

He snorted and sat on the floor in front of you, looking up from under the canopy of his lashes. “Am I?”

“Ahhh-huhh…”

All your limbs felt heavy. Eyelids heavy. Not asleep. Not awake. Warm. Itchy without the itch. Fizzy. Sparkly. Bubbly. No. Not bubbly. Static. Soft static. Noise. Music. Singing.

I feel unhappy, I feel so sad.

I've lost the best friend that I ever had.

She was my woman, I loved her so.

But it's too late now, I've let her go.

I'm going through changes.

I'm going through changes.

“Eddie?”

No, not Eddie… But… No, Ozzy. No, definitely Eddie. Eddie singing.

We shared the years, we shared each day.

In love, together, we found the way.

But soon, the world had its evil way.

My heart was blinded, love went astray.

I'm going through changes.

I'm going through changes.

Giggling, you opened your eyes and found that Eddie had starfished out and was singing to the ceiling. He looked over at you when he felt you watching.

“How ya feelin’?”

“Good,”

“Not spinning out?”

“Wha’s that feel like?”

“Bad. Panic,”

“Nope,” you confirmed.

“Cool…” He kept singing. “I’m going through changes.”

Side A flipped to Side B, and when that ended, the room fell into a comfortable silence. Slowly but surely, you felt control slip back into your body, and your stomach gurgled with hunger.

“Can we get food?” you asked.

Eddie laughed, agreed, and stood up, collecting his jacket and bag. “Couple more practice sessions in, and they’ll be none the wiser,” he told you on your way out of Raconteur.

As he helped you up into the front seat of his van, Eddie paused, “Can I ask just one thing?”

“Mmm-hmm,”

“Have you ever lied to me? Like, like this?”

He watched your smile morph into something confused. “No. I’d never lie to you.”

…

“Jurassic Park?”

“Rob’s already seen it,”

“The Dark Half,”

“Eddie will kill us if we see it without him,”

“Okay, well every other film breaks either your ‘no sad animals’ or ‘no guy holding a gun’ rules,” Nancy reported, looking over the screening times in the newspaper. There were not a lot of May releases that suited all three of you. “Except for maybe Dave…”

“Let me see… No, I don’t like the look of him either,” you told her. “Can’t we just rent a tape?”

“No, because that’s code for renting Dracula for the twentieth time this year,”

“But you could get Far and Away…”

You were awaiting Nancy’s reply when Eddie’s van pulled up outside Raconteur. From the coffee shop, you both watched him pull a box onto his lap, then get out, moving awkwardly and with all the grace of a baby giraffe.

“Hello, ladies,”

“Gross,” you immediately replied.

“How’d it go?” Nancy asked.

“Good! Yeah, good. Think the dates will work,” Eddie replied. He was a smarter businessman than people gave him credit for; he never counted his chickens before they hatched. Whatever meeting he had just driven all the way across town for, he’d not call it a success until it had all played out.

Nancy nodded, turning to serve a customer.

“When you finish, sweetheart.” Babychino was a good nickname, but you were everyone’s Babychino. You were only his sweetheart. “Come see me? I got something for you,” Eddie yelled across the street as he went into his store.

An hour of ignoring Nancy’s wink-wink nudge-nudges later, you clocked out and walked through the doors of Raconteur. The bells chimed and Max looked up from the counter.

“Ohhhhh, okay. Yeah,” she greeted, if that could be considered one.

“Um. Hi?”

“I wondered why he was in such a good mood,”

“The meeting with the city permit police or whatever went well,” you argued, brushing off her implication.

“Riiiiight,”

“I’m going to ignore you now,”

“Okayyyyyyyyy.”

Eddie wasn’t in his office when you peeked your head in. Instead, you found him in the break room, sitting at the table. He was eating a chocolate muffin the size of a human heart.

“Wow,” you laughed, pulling up the chair next to his.

“You were right,”

“What about? Also, don’t talk with your mouth full,”

“Sorry,” he replied, making sure to open his mouth on the e-sound. He chewed and swallowed, reaching for his glass of water. “About that bakery with the raccoon logo,”

“Bake Bakery?!”

“Yeah. Dumbest name, but holy shit. This is the best thing I have ever eaten,”

“You went?”

“Yeah, it’s near the city council offices. Thought I’d kill two birds. And this-” He reached across the table and pulled a brown paper bag across to you. “-is for you,”

“No! It’s not!” Ripping the bag apart, the telltale green of the croissant pastry confirmed your hopeful suspicions. “Oh my god!” you squealed.

Pandan was not an easy flavour to find in 1993 Chicago. The only place you knew that used it was Bake Bakery, a small bakery tucked away in a part of the city you hardly went to. They appeared often on the city’s best bakeries list, but on the few times you’d been there, they’d been sold out of your long-lusted-for pandan croissant.

“Figured you could take it home and have- orrrrrr shove it into your face right now,” Eddie laughed.

You’d ripped the croissant in half, green goo exploding out of it and dripping onto the paper bag. Eddie couldn’t finish his sentence before you’d already started on it.

It didn’t matter what you looked like, your eyes were closed and you were entirely blissed out.

“This is… oh my god…”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Eddie parroted at you.

All you could do was grin. “You have to try this,”

“Uh, no thanks,”

“Eddie,”

“As you can see, I am more of a chocolate muffin man,”

“No, you have to,” and you ripped a bite-sized piece of pastry off and swiped it through the filling. You held it out to Eddie to take, not factoring in that it was Eddie Munson you were with, not a normal human.

One of Eddie’s eyebrows shot up and he ducked his head down so his mouth was at your hand. He looked up at you, then ate the piece you’d offered, his lips brushing against your fingers.

While your brain tried to process, Eddie was a step ahead.

“Right again. That’s ahhhhhmazing.” He opened his mouth and you obeyed, feeding him another piece. “Pandan, huh?” Eddie took your hand, held it to his lips, and looked you dead in the eyes. Then, he licked the pastry crumbs and gooey filling from your fingertips. All you could do was watch.

When he dropped your hand, you didn’t know what to do. Your thoughts were hot static, so you turned to the rest of the croissant and ate it.

Eddie seemed relaxed next to you as he finished his chocolate muffin.

Neither of you said anything. Not until you’d crumpled the paper bag up and nodded to yourself, mentally ticking off an item of your food bucket list.

“You got some here,” Eddie said, his voice quieter than usual. You looked to him and froze, his hand reaching out, fingers grazing the side of your face and thumb rubbing a drop of green from the corner of your mouth. Eddie sucked the filling from his thumb, not breaking eye contact.

It was only then that you realised how far away the music sounded. You were used to the loud shop floor or the carefully curated selection in Eddie’s office. The break room was a respite from noise. Your mind was unable to identify whatever Max had playing, all the energy fizzing up like Eddie was dropping Mentos into your Coca-Cola brain matter.

Eddie’s eyes were as dark as you’d ever seen them, only a touch of gold reflecting the dull ceiling light. Slowly but with confidence, he took one of your hands in his, fingers threading together.

He leaned in closer to you. You could feel the warmth of his breath, leaning in.

Everything was still and sticky and suffocating, and you’d never felt more alive.

Then,

“OH SHIT! SORRY! FUCK. SORRY!” Max yelped, leaving the doorway fast.

You sprang apart so fast it could have given you whiplash. Eddie covered his face with his hands, shook his head, then gritted his teeth.

“I’m-” he went to say as you said,

“I’ve-”

You both stopped, then started again, talking over each other.

“I’ve got to go!” you finally yelled.

Eddie stopped, his eyes wide and his lips parted. “Are we… are you okay?”

“Yep. Yes. I’ve just gotta catch the bus. Don’t want to miss it. Um. Thank you for the croissant… and I’ll… see you around,”

“Wait. Can we-”

But you were gone.

The next time you saw Eddie, you pretended that nothing had happened. Max hadn’t sold you out to the others. And, suffering his own internal anxiety monster, Eddie followed your lead.

You had been so close to getting what you wanted. What you’d rhapsodised and daydreamed about since meeting Eddie. Yet, given the thing you desired, you’d freaked out.

Maybe it was the fear of what came after. What if the anticipation was the good part? What if it all fell apart somehow?

It was by no means easier to pretend nothing had happened, that you hadn’t felt a monumental shift in emotion and intention. Of course, it was torture. But nobody has a higher threshold for pain than a small town freak and a girl with a vivid imagination.

…

“Do you have a funeral song?”

“Jeez, little morbid.”

You shrugged. “I bet you do. And I bet it’s something ridiculous,”

“Me? Ridiculous?!” Eddie whispered dramatically. “I’ve never said or done anything ridiculous in my life,”

“Oh, sure. Yeah,”

“Alright. Guess then. If you’ve got me all figured out.”

The waiting area of the DMV felt like limbo, even with Eddie as company. The aircon was having a hard time battling the July heat, and an old radio crackled from the corner. When it played songs, it seemed to get quieter, but the advertisements were loud. Not exempt was the one just played, a funeral home, the cheapest in Chicago.

“Another One Bites the Dust… or Stayin’ Alive,”

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m a real Bee Gees kind of guy,”

“Highway to Hell then,”

“Nope. It’s actually Roll Me Up & Smoke Me When I Die,”

“Really?”

“No. Come on, sweetheart,”

“So, you honestly don’t have one?”

“I do, but you’re way off,”

“Not gonna go out on a bit?”

“Nah. Been the joke enough in my life. Might try to, you know, die with some dignity.”

When you looked over at Eddie, he was purposefully looking away. Though you saw his vulnerable side more than most, it still sometimes caught you off guard.

“The Killing Moon by Echo & the Bunnymen,” you told him. “That’s mine.”

Eddie nodded slowly. “That’s a good pick. Suits you,”

“Thanks.”

Eddie glanced around at the other people waiting to renew their license or complain about something the city probably didn’t care about. He hated places like that, but he knew the feeling was mutual; he’d offered to come with you. Ever since the Bake Bakery incident, Eddie had been offering to do a lot for you.

“Mine is The Wind Cries Mary. I stole it from Wayne. Figured he won’t mind, since he’ll be gone before me… I mean, hopefully… I mean, not like, hopefully-”

“I get it. I get what you mean. And, it’s also a good choice. If Hendrix is ever the wrong choice, I don’t want to know context.”

Someone else’s number got called, and you watched her stand and walk to one of the counters. Her empty seat was immediately taken by someone leaning against a wall. Too many people in line, not enough chairs. Behind you, someone coughed and apologised. A fly crawled along the dirty beige wall.

You looked up at the clock, wondering if it was broken or if you checked it only seconds earlier.

Besides the uneasy feeling that always came over you in a liminal space like the DMV, you felt additionally unsettled there. Unsettled in places like it. Places so mundane. Places that held a mirror up to society. Slow, sad, institutionalised society.

“Eddie, do me a favour?”

“Mmm,”

“Let me die first. I don’t want to go to your funeral.”

Eddie knocked his shoulder against yours. “DMV really does bum you out, huh?”

“Eddie,”

“Yeah, I’m not making that promise. Munson men tend to die young. And I don’t particularly love the idea of burying you either,”

“Guess neither of us can die then,”

“Guess not,” Eddie agreed, smirking.

He tried not to watch you too closely. Like how he tried not to catastrophise about the near-kiss. Tried to keep convincing himself he wasn’t capable of being boyfriend material. Tried to stop from asking to keep your old driver’s license.

…

It was a warm September day when you found Eddie and Jonathan out the back of Raconteur, hiding in the shade of the building. They were sitting in plastic deck chairs looking out on the staff car park shared by a few businesses on the street.

“Shhhh,” Jonathan warned when you approached. “Don’t scare her.”

When you were close enough, you could see a ginger cat by the dumpsters. Their feline gaze was set firmly on Eddie. The cat meowed.

Eddie had one of his acoustic guitars in his lap, and he played an echo of the cat’s call. You couldn’t tell if it was the same note, but it definitely sounded similar.

Another prolonged meow.

Another echoing guitar note.

Eddie and Jonathan were holding in laughter.

The cat looked at you then, almost as if for explanation. “I don’t know,” you told them.

“She likes it,” Jonathan claimed.

“You know she’s probably a boy though. 80% of ginger cats are,”

“I think she’s a girl,” Eddie said, copying the cat’s sound again.

“She does look unimpressed and bored… which is very girly of her,” you agreed.

From the record store’s back door, Will yelled, “Jonathan, Mom wants to know if you and Nancy are coming for dinner on Sunday!”

The ginger cat skittered away as Jonathan groaned and got up. You watched him go inside, then took his seat next to Eddie.

“How long have you been feeding the cat?” you asked, looking at him.

Eddie tried, but he couldn’t keep his face set naturally. A smile twitched on his lips. “Since she was a kitten. How’d you know I’m feeding her?”

“Because that is a well-fed cat,” you answered, spying the ginger as she emerged from under the dumpster. “And she was talking to you just then,”

“She likes the guitar game,”

“She plays the guitar game to get the food. She’s playing you,”

“Yeah… But I let her,” Eddie grinned.

“Metalhead with a heart of gold,”

“That’s my schtick.”

After a few minutes of quiet companionship, you noticed the boom box sitting by the back door. “Is that playing a CD?” you asked, scandalised.

“Robin and Steve have been pitching hard,”

“They’re probably right, you know,”

“Oh, I know. Robin has-” Eddie paused, sighed for dramatic effect, “shown me the data. CDs have outsold tapes and vinyls for a couple years now,”

“But you’re not into it?”

Eddie shrugged.

You looked back over at the boom box. CDs were a lot easier to use day-to-day compared to vinyl. No flipping the record. No dust on the needle. And, the sound was a hell of a lot clearer than cassette. Trends come and go, you thought.

I used to be a little boy.

So old in my shoes.

And what I choose is my choice.

What's a boy supposed to do?

Siamese Dream was still on high rotation for you, months after its release. Eddie had said that though lyrically and vocally Billy Corgan had a lot going for him, overall, their sound was “a bit thin.” And yet, unmistakably, the fuzzy guitars played.

“Wait, are you listening to The Smashing Pumpkins? You told me this album was, and I quote, mediocre.”

Eddie looked over at the boom box, then to you. “Guess you were right.” Eddie rarely admitted when he was wrong, so you took the win.

“Does that mean you’ll-”

“No,”

“But if I was right about them, then-”

“Barking up the wrong tree.”

You pouted. The mission to convince Eddie of My Bloody Valentine’s worth would have to wait.

Disarm finished and Soma began.

Nothing left to say.

And all I've left to do,

Is run away,

From you.

“I used to feed the feral cats that lived out the back of our trailer. There was this baby raccoon that showed up one day. It was like the cats just accepted him as one of them. He would eat, like, three times the amount they did though,”

“What’d your uncle say about that?”

“About feeding strays? He couldn’t say shit. He fed me,”

“Eddie,”

“I know, I know… See, this is why I don’t like depressing records like this. Makes me feel weird,” he said, standing up and literally shaking his arms out, like it could rid him of the introspection inspired by The Smashing Pumpkins.

You laughed. “I’m just saying, from everything you’ve told me about your uncle, I don’t think he sees raising you like feeding a feral raccoon,”

“You’re right. I’m a lot more like the cats,”

“Eddie!”

He grinned, then held a hand out to you. “Come on. There’s another Stephen King movie playing over at that shitty cinema on the corner.”

Eddie pulled you up, and you followed him into Raconteur.

“I hate it there. The guy in the ticket booth is creepy,”

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” he replied, voice dipping into one of his fantastical characters.

Nobody stopped the CD from spinning, and the album played out in full before Will brought the boombox in when he closed.

I’ll hear your song.

If you want me to.

I’ll sing along.

And it’s a chance I’ll have to take.

And it’s a chance I’ll have to break.

I’m in love with you.

I’m in love with you.

I’m in love with you, oh.

I’m in love with you, so in love.

…

In the second week of October, you were still listening to Nirvana’s In Utero on repeat. It had been released on September 21st, but it occupied a space in your head and heart that nothing else came close to. Bad Religion, Iggy Pop, Fight, and Paradise Lost had all put out new stuff too, but they barely registered on your radar. The only brief interlude was a few spins of The Cure’s live record Show.

When Eddie leaned on the counter of Coffee Clash and told you he had something he thought you’d like, you were sceptical.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said. “It’s better than Nirvana,”

“Excuse you?!”

“Now, I love sticking it to the man as much as the next guy, but the lyrics? There’s a lot to be desired. And, the mixing on In Utero is shit-”

“Eddie!” Nancy interrupted from where she was steaming milk and pouring it expertly into takeaway cups. “Starting a fight with her about Kurt may not be the best way to get her to agree to hear you out. Also, Steve was here the other day begging us to go and listen to this new band he found. Said it was going to change our lives, and it turned out to be a stupid joke,”

“Was it Anal Cunt?” Eddie guessed.

“Who names their band that!”

“I kind of like it,” you offered with a shrug.

Eddie grinned. He’d taken the tray of coffees from Nancy and started to walk away. “Of course you do. Seriously though. I’ll see you on your break, yeah?”

You just shrugged again.

“You’re killing me!” Eddie yelled, more than halfway across the street.

He disappeared inside Raconteur, and you waited until the fuzzy feeling completely dissolved from your body before you turned to face Nancy. When you did, she was giving you one of her signature looks.

“Shut up,”

“I didn’t say anything,”

“Your face says a lot, Wheeler.”

Eddie was in his office when you went over. Robin was working out front with Max. “Helllooooo Babychinooooo. I’m starting the reservation list for Bikini Kill. Meant to be here near the end of the month. I’ll put you on the list?”

“Yeah. Thanks,”

“No problemo. Also, if it makes you feel any better, Steve’s done the Anal Cunt thing to a bunch more people since you guys,”

“He’s got to get a new hobby,”

“You’re telling me.”

No matter how many times you’d gone behind the counter of the record store and walked down the hallway, your heart always started to race. When you stood at the threshold of Eddie’s office, rapping your knuckles against the doorframe, your mouth always went dry.

Eddie looked up and smiled. He motioned for you to come as he jumped up and pulled fresh vinyl from a sleeve, flipping it onto his player. You wheeled his office chair over, knowing the drill. First plays should always be heard on a good record player and through good headphones.

“This definitely isn’t my type of music, but Robin played it yesterday and…” And what? And I thought of you. And I am constantly compiling lists of songs that remind me of you. Songs I pretend we dance to. Songs I pretend I’ve written for you. Songs I’d learn the chords to. “Uh, yeah. I don’t know. Thought you’d like it.”

Goosebumps rose along your arms as Eddie crashed down into the old office couch. The crackling sound came through the headphones. Eddie always watched you intently, but it got worse when he put a record on for you.

I wanna hold the hand inside you.

I wanna take the breath that’s true.

Immediately, you were spellbound. Eddie could see it too. Your eyes welled up and your lips parted. Your breath got caught somewhere in the back of your throat.

I look to you and I see nothing.

I look to you to see the truth.

It was just simple rock and roll. A girl and some guitar. Tamborine and drums. Eddie was right; it wasn’t what he listened to at all. He didn’t appear immune to its effects though.

You live your life, you go in shadows.

You’ll come apart and you’ll go blind.

Some kind of night into your darkness,

Colors your eyes with what’s not there.

You could feel his eyes on you. You desperately wanted to be seen by him, but you didn’t let yourself think about how music was Eddie’s native tongue. He saw you in the songs he shared, and he wanted your confirmation that what he saw was true.

Fade into you.

Strange you never knew.

Fade into you.

I think it’s strange you never knew.

There was a guitar break and you shut your eyes and pictured Raconteur closed for the night. You’d be sitting on the counter, legs crossed, watching Eddie pull his acoustic guitar out. He’d strum the notes learnt by ear.

A stranger’s light comes on slowly.

A stranger’s heart without a home.

You put your hands into your head,

And then its smiles cover your heart.

Sometimes it made him feel like a god. Giving someone the gift of music. Standing at the gate of experiences like that. Eddie had to reel himself in. Put his feet back on the ground.

Fade into you.

Strange you never knew.

Fade into you.

I think it’s strange you never knew.

I think it’s strange you never knew…

Neither of you made eye contact. It would hurt too much, and everything already hurt enough.

…

“Who brings kids to a bar on a Friday night?!” Steve yelled over the music. He’d just had his game of pool ruined by two children wearing heavy-duty earmuffs.

“Probably family of one of the bands,” Eddie guessed.

The kids had no hesitation in approaching the table and flicking the coloured balls across the green top. At first, Robin and Steve tried to play around them, smiling politely but looking for adult supervision.

You and Nancy had watched it all unfold, giggling at Steve’s increasing annoyance. It was only when they rejoined the group that the kids’ parents appeared, starting a family pool session.

“Are you kidding me?! Did they plan that?”

“I don’t think it was a coordinated attack, Steve,” Robin said, patting him on the back.

Despite it being your birthday, you had lost the argument about what would be done for it. Your vote was: nothing. It wasn’t a big deal. Just another day. On the opposing team were Robin, Steve, and Nancy. Eddie and Jonathan were Switzerland. As a consolation prize for losing, you got to choose where you spent the night – as long as it was out of the house.

A bar a few blocks over from Coffee Clash and Raconteur let up-and-coming bands take the stage most Friday nights. Although the small stage was in the next room over, it was still loud. And only chain smokers braved the cold outside, their socks getting wet from snow melting through their cheap boots and trainers.

You’d been there enough that it felt comfortable. You knew which toilet didn’t flush properly, which bartender was generous with the spirits, and which pinball machine ate coins up and never played fair.

“So, a toast to Babychino,” Jonathan said, raising his glass.

“Wait, I have a speech-”

“Shut the fuck up, Rob,” you quickly stopped her.

Robin laughed. “I wouldn’t do that to you, don’t worry,”

“But we should say something… It’s your first birthday with us!” Nancy argued.

“Yeah, and you didn’t even let us get you presents,” Robin added.

“This is enough, okay?”

“What’s the point of a cool birthday if you don’t even take advantage of it?” Jonathan asked.

“Wow. Are you still jealous about that?” Robin quipped.

“I’m not jealous. I’m just saying,”

“He’s right. As if you don’t throw a Halloween party every year,” Steve mused, clearly picturing an alternative reality in his mind.

“Yeah, well, sharing is caring. Don’t want to monopolise Halloween from the kids… and goths.”

Eddie snorted in amusement.

“And what about you?” Robin pointed at him.

“What about me what?” he asked.

“Surprised you didn’t get on the train for Celebration Station,”

“Ah, well, you see, I’m more into the whole free will and choice thing.”

Everyone booed Eddie. Steve threw a couple of bar nuts at him.

“So smug,” Nancy said, shaking her head.

“Self-righteous asshole,” Robin laughed.

Eddie put his hands up in surrender, the satisfied look on his face not moving an inch.

“I’ll go first,” Nancy started, turning to you. “My favourite thing about you-”

“Oh, no, seriously, we don’t have to do this,”

“-is… how you have really rounded out the little family. Since you started at Clash, it’s been, I don’t know. Different. Complete.”

Your nose started to tingle, the threat of tears was imminent, but Jonathan cleared his throat and saved you from Nancy’s earnestness. “Mine is how you out-smoked Steve at his own birthday,” he said.

“She didn’t!” Steve immediately yelled.

“She did,” Eddie confirmed.

“Okay, but only because she was doing training for it like it was the freakin’ Olympics,” Steve replied.

“Don’t worry, Steve. You’re still the greatest party host in all of Chicago,” Robin assured him with a pat on the back. “My favourite thing about Babychino is…” Robin realigned the conversation, “that you know lots about food. I’ve had more good food in this city this year than the other five combined. And even more selfishly, I appreciate how distracted Eddie gets when you’re around, because he’s not even noticed that I gave myself a raise,”

“That’s what you think,” Eddie said under his breath.

“My turn! My favourite thing about you is that you don’t make people feel bad when they make mistakes… Like, the kids, I mean,”

“So, this isn’t about the Morrissey – The Smiths thing?” Jonathan teased.

“Yeah, alright, and that!” Steve conceded, his voice a little higher than usual. “What I’m saying is, you’re not an asshole like everyone else here,”

“Hey!” Nancy frowned.

“Oh! I have another one!” Robin said suddenly.

“Please, I am begging at this point. I love you all. But we’re done,”

“No, Eddie hasn’t had his turn yet,” Nancy said, taking a long sip of her drink through a pink straw, eyelashes fluttering innocently.

Everyone went quiet. Your pulse started to race.

Eddie cocked his head to the side, gave Nancy a too-casual, lazy smile. “My favourite thing,” he began, swivelling on his stool to face you, “about you is…” He leaned close, his lips brushing your ear. He cupped his hand up to hide the action. “You’re really good at going along with it,”

“Eddie!” you squealed and pushed him away. “You promised you would never bring that up,”

“How could I not?” he asked, eyes bright with mischief.

“What if they had heard you?”

“I’m good at whispering,”

“Never again!” you faked a warning.

For the second time that night, Eddie held his hands up in surrender.

“You’re fucking with us… Right…” Steve accused, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

“Of course they are,” Robin shrugged.

Drinks were poured. The bar grew more crowded. Musicians plugged leads into amps and tightened wing nuts on cymbals.

The third band to play was smart. They’d peppered in originals between covers of the exact type of songs that get drunk young people up and singing. Steve and Jonathan had their arms around each other, loudly screaming the words.

At least I have her love,

The city she loves me.

Lonely as I am,

Together we cry.

Robin was twirling Nancy around like a ballerina, and you’d found a cool spot under a vent. The room was hot with dancing bodies and alcohol-infused blood.

I don’t ever wanna feel,

Like I did that day.

Take me to place I love,

Take me all the way.

You turned to look at Eddie, but he was gone from the last place you’d seen him. Immediately, automatically, you walked off to find him. Carving a path through the bar’s crowd, he wasn’t ordering drinks or playing pool. He wasn’t at the Pac-Man arcade machine trying to beat Robin’s high score.

Harry’s voice was your first clue. “Seriously, man. I think it would be a killer addition to your catalogues,”

“My catalogues,” Eddie repeated. You were confused about how Harry never noticed the cynicism in his voice.

“Music like, like Joy Division, but more punk,”

“Real gap in the market, huh?”

“Exactly!”

You approached slowly, Eddie’s eyes flicking to you. The relief was visible as he motioned for you to enter the conversation.

“You remember Harry,” Eddie said.

“Right. With the band. You playing later?” you asked.

“Nah. We’re trying to be more selective about the gigs we play,”

“Great strategy,” Eddie mumbled.

“Okay, well, I need to grab Eddie for a second. Sorry.” Before Harry could protest, you took Eddie’s hand and led him through the bar and out the front door.

There were more people outside than you’d expected, occupying tables and warming themselves with beer and cigarettes.

“Thanks for the save,”

“Is his band really that bad?”

Eddie shrugged. “Don’t know. Haven’t listened to the several demos he’s dropped at the store… Something about him is just… I don’t know,”

“He’s very confident,”

“One word for it.”

You laughed.

Eddie watched you for a second, then ordered, “Come here.” He opened his jacket and pulled you into him. He hugged you while you wrapped your arms around him and closed your eyes.

“It’s kind of sweet though. You must feel flattered,”

“About what?” Eddie was confused.

“You’ve got a bit of a reputation as a cool music guy around here.”

Eddie laughed. “Cool music guy?”

You nodded into him.

“Alright, well, at the risk of losing that prestigious status, I’ve broken the no birthday present rule with the most cliché present of all time,”

“Eddie,”

“Don’t worry. It’s… It’s nothing. It’s just… Here.”

The gift was wrapped but the size and weight were a dead giveaway. “Surely this can’t be! One of Eddie Munson’s very rare handmade mix tapes.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Don’t make me regret it,”

“I could probably sell this to Harry for like, twenty bucks,”

“Twenty?!” Eddie squawked. “Nah. It’s gotta be worth at least fifty,”

“Maybe. Depends on how niche it is,”

“You know me. Niche is my middle name,”

“It is? Because I thought it was-” Before you could say it, Eddie had his index finger raised and pressed to your lips, forcing the secret to stay just that. You held in a laugh.

“You swore.”

Saying nothing, you nodded.

“Alright. Come on. I’m freezing my balls off out here. Let’s get back to your not-party.” He turned to head back inside, pausing when you didn’t follow. “You good?”

“You didn’t tell me,”

“Tell you what?”

“Your favourite thing about me.” It was a risky thing to say. To ask of him. You regretted it immediately, terrified of his answer. Whatever he said, you would no doubt fixate on. Obsess over. A trait or behaviour or whatever that could never be completely normal again.

Eddie looked caught off guard, then, a little pained. “Sweetheart, don’t do this to me,” he said softly. “You know I love everything about you.”

On cue, Steve and Robin came tumbling from the bar’s door. “Quick! They’re playing Come as You Are! It’s horrific!”

End note A cat meowing and a guitarist copying the sounds was not an original idea; click here. Thank you to everyone who liked, commented on, and reblogged the first chapter. This one gives you something to really sink your teeth into. Hope you loved it! xo Rhi

Taglist (all)

 @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes  @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob  @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel @dashingdeb16 @cultish-corner @mrsjellymunson @munson-blurbs @solomons-finest-rum

Taglist (this fic only)

Eddie answered a ‘housemate wanted’ notice he found on the pinboard at the first public library he visited. The rent was cheap, and the guy spent almost all his time between his classes and his bartending job somewhere in Pilsen. The room was in Little Italy, which seemed fine. It worked out well.

After that win, he thought finding a job would be easy. It took him a little over a month, forcing him to live off his meagre savings while he looked. Maybe it would have happened faster if he’d widened the field of consideration. No, though. Eddie wouldn’t consider anything he thought to be soul-sucking.

No, he wouldn’t apply to McDonald's. No, he wouldn’t stand in a factory line. No, he wouldn’t take the graveyard shift at a 7-11. No, Eddie wouldn’t compromise.

His stubbornness paid off. One day, while killing time in Wicker Park, between the aisles of Raconteur Records, his favourite music store, he noticed a new flyer in the window. They were advertising for staff. Eddie showed up with bells on. He sat opposite the manager and word vomited his musical knowledge at her.

Freya listened, amused, vaguely impressed, then looked down at the one-page handwritten resume Eddie had presented.

“Where’s Hawkins?”

“About eighty miles that way,” Eddie said, pointing.

“And your work history…”

“Yeah, I worked on guitars a bit for the music shop there. Not like, officially, but on the side. Freelance, if you will.” He was sweating bullets.

“You wrote ‘small business owner’ as well?”

Eddie nodded, immediately regretting the decision to write that. Of course they were going to ask about it. How were they not going to ask about it?

“Do you want to elaborate on that?”

Fuck.

He hesitated. In the few seconds he spent scouring his brain for something to say, he came to the realisation that his best bet was probably the truth.

Eddie rubbed his face in his hands, then slumped back in the chair dramatically. He looked at Freya, tried to get a read on her. Nothing.

“Okay, look, I really wanna work here. I’ll sell the shit out of the records. I know my way around most instruments. I’ll show up on time. I promise. And I get it. On paper, I look like shit. And maybe in Hawkins I was. Took me a couple tries to graduate. Sold weed to rich kids. But that’s not what I wanna be here. Gimme a shot, please. I won’t fuck it up. I won’t.”

Freya had been waiting all day for someone to say something interesting. Raconteur wasn’t in the business of employing beige people. She made him suffer for a few beats, watching those big brown eyes hold steady on her expressionless face. Then she said something that caught Eddie off guard.

“You judge other people for their taste in music?”

“Absolutely,” he answered truthfully.

Freya snorted and couldn’t hold back a smile. “Can you rein that in? Whitney Houston was the bestselling artist last year, and Living on a Prayer is number one on the charts,”

“I can totally act. I was actually in the drama club, before, you know, they kicked me out,”

“For what?”

“Uh, not… showing up… for drama club.”

Freya smiled again. There was no denying Eddie’s charisma. Somehow, despite the actual words he was saying, he was doing a solid job at selling himself.

“One week. I’ll give you a trial run for a week. You’ll be sweeping. Doing coffee runs. Get no say in the shop music. Minimum wage. Take it or-”

“I’ll take it.”

Two years later, when Freya left to move to Texas, Eddie became manager. A year after that, he ushered in the new decade by hiring Robin to work full time. She was insanely capable and had a knack for convincing customers to try new bands. The only downside of Robin was that she came as a matching set with Steve.

Steve, who would want to play King of Wishful Thinking multiple times per shift, even if it meant the entire store had to listen to the Pretty Woman film soundtrack on repeat. Steve, who would convince mothers to buy their kids Hall & Oats over Metallica, just to piss Eddie off. Steve, who barely avoided getting fired by playing Sunglasses at Night, because even Eddie could admit the song was aging well.

Robin more than made up for it. She was the only staff member who knew anything about classical music. She liked almost every genre, only drawing the line at the heavy stuff. She was smart, welcoming, and kept the counter and back room organised.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” Eddie had told her a couple of weeks into her starting.

“Yeah, I know, but it was freaking me out how it was,”

“By genre and artist? And now it’s… what?” He looked around and tried to work out what her system was.

“No, no, it’s better. See, it’s by subgenre and influences. Like here. Rick James and Neil Young need to be grouped, why, you may ask?”

“I ask,” Eddie agreed.

“The Mynah Birds!” she said like Eddie should know who that was. “Mother Love Bone need to predate Pearl Jam. The Beatles have to be here, after Little Richard, because without him, well, you know,”

“Sureeeeeeeee,”

“And here. Your guys. You’ve got Ozzy’s stuff, then Black Sabbath, then Dio, and then Elf, then Rainbow, and then Heaven & Hell.”

Eddie was lost. But Robin was at the shop 40 hours a week. “Looks good!”

By ’91, Eddie, Robin, and Steve had established a routine that was working for them. Mostly. They did try to have some casuals on the roster to help out when it was busy or someone got sick, but it always seemed to end badly.

Zac told a customer that heavy metal wasn’t real music and subsequently was yelled at and fired by Eddie. “THIS. IS. MUSIC!”

Nicky gave themselves five-finger discounts on the cassettes when they thought nobody was watching and was subsequently fired by Steve. “Come on, man… Didn’t even think to take the shitty ones?! There’s like, twenty copies of Milli Vanilli right there!”

Matilda showed up to every shift half an hour late and asked questions like, “Who’s Phil Collins?” “Are Vanilla Ice and Ice Cube in the same band?” and “How come we don’t have more songs from The Simpsons if Do the Bart Man is on the charts?”  without a hint of irony, and was subsequently fired by Robin. “No… This isn’t because you tried to do shots with Steve in the back room…”

The trio had all but resigned to nine-hour shifts and disgusting instant coffee when their knight in shining armour moved into the neighbourhood. Joyce Byers was the coolest woman they had ever met. She already owned most of the vinyl Raconteur sold, could probably take both Steve and Eddie in a fight, and made the best coffee they had ever tasted. The day she opened Coffee Clash across the street from them, they were indebted to her forever.

Coffee Clash was quite literally a hole in the wall; there was no inside, just a window to order at and a couple of chairs out front. Joyce worked there most days with Nancy, her new hire who was studying her Master's at the Medill School of Journalism at Northwestern.

Joyce and Nancy alternated between taking orders and making coffee in the small space. A selection of freshly baked artisan pastries was available too, and if you asked their favourite, they’d recommend the raspberry croissant.

Along with Joyce, Nancy, and a close supply of sublime caffeine came Jonathan. Joyce’s oldest son had just graduated from NYU and had come back to Chicago to help her set up Clash. He was working as a freelance photographer for the papers and a few art houses when Robin and Steve cornered him in the new wave section of Raconteur.

Robin shoved Hounds of Love by Kate Bush into his face, quizzing, “Where do we put this? Art pop?”

“Experimental pop?!” Steve yelled.

“Baroque pop?!” from Robin.

“Do you know what baroque pop is?!” Steve asked. “Because I didn’t!”

Before Jonathan could answer, Steve had the next record ready. “Look at this hideous thing!”

“Frizzle Fry by Primus. What genre? Go!”

It went on like that until Jonathan relented, somehow bamboozled into answering their unhinged questions and agreeing to some casual work.

The peace lasted until the end of the following year.

At the end of ’92, as Killing in the Name Of played daily in store, Malcolm X screened in theatres across the city, and the waitlist for copies of The Bodyguard soundtrack hit four pages long, the owner of Raconteur sat Eddie down.

“I don’t like the look on your face, man,”

“You’re gonna like what I’ve got to tell you even less,” Joe replied.

It wasn’t that the business was failing. In fact, every year since Eddie became the manager business had improved. People came to the store to find new music, local bands, and hard-to-find vinyl. It was entry-level enough that people walking by saw it as approachable, but well-stocked enough that it was a destination store.

“This city was great when I was younger. But I got the kids now. Carol’s always on me about getting somewhere with a bigger yard, but they just keep building those fuckin’ sky highs. We wanna move out somewhere warmer.”

Eddie felt like everything was going to slip away in mere seconds. “Yeah, yeah, I get you. But how come you gotta sell the place? Can’t you keep doing what you’re doing now?”

Joe popped into the store every fortnight to see if Eddie needed anything, to double check the books, and do anything else required. Other than that, he was a passive owner. He worked 30 hours at a publishing house doing something Eddie didn’t really understand.

“Selling means we got more money to put down on a bigger house. Between here and the apartment, we can get something real nice in California,”

“California?!”

“Yeah. That’s the other thing, Ed, be real hard to oversee this while I’m on the other side of the fuckin’ country. I trust ya and everything, but… I gotta do what’s best for my family.”

Deflated but putting on a brave face, Eddie nodded and smiled. “Totally. Totally…”

“I just wanted to give you the heads up. Don’t tell ketchup and mustard out there, alright? Keep it between us until it goes on the market.”

Eddie shook Joe’s hand and walked him out the store. As soon as Joe was out of sight, Eddie turned around. “All clear.”

Robin and Steve popped up from the medieval folk rock and new jack swing sections respectively.

“How much of that did you hear?”

“All of it. Am I ketchup or mustard?” Robin replied.

“We’re fucked. Even if someone buys it, what if they’re like, not cool? What if they want to change everything?” Steve mourned, arms waving through the air for emphasis.

“No, it’s fine. Totally fine. Eddie’s got this,”

“I do?”

“Yeah… I mean, unless you’re hiding an expensive drug habit or harbouring a fine art collection, you’ve gotta have some savings, right? You’ve been here for, what, six years. Full time. Overtime. Never gone on a holiday. Still haven’t traded in that janky van. It’s like you were preparing for this!”

Robin and Steve suddenly looked like a pair of wolves, stalking their prey. They both nodded, wide-eyed and grinning. He took a step back.

“Jesus, you can drop The Shining twins act. I’ll think about it… Now go do something useful,”

“I’ll go sort the-” Robin started.

“No!” Eddie yelled. “Please. No more new systems… Can you call back that kid that came in? The skater girl. See if she wants some weekend work or whatever?”

The truth was, Eddie had been thinking about. Since 1987. He’d dreamed about what it would be like to own a record store. How it would prove so many people back in Hawkins wrong. How it would make Wayne proud. A proper businessman. A proper adult. A valid person.

Robin, as per usual, was right. Eddie had a savings account that would be enough to secure the store in his name. He’d be making commercial mortgage repayments for the foreseeable future, but he could make it work.

When the ball dropped, closing out 1992, Eddie was the proud owner of Raconteur Records.

Songs of Faith and Devotion by Depeche Mode was released on the 23rd of March that next year. It was a Tuesday, usually quiet, but made busy by a line of black-clad kids waiting to buy the record. Robin was at the register while Steve unpacked stock, hardly getting it on the shelves before it sold through again.

It was well managed chaos.

Eddie was sitting behind the counter, keeping an eye on things while working on some ideas he had for the place. He had just agreed to play the record over the store’s speaker system when he saw Jonathan come through the door.

He skipped the line and came to greet Eddie. “Hey man, told you to order that extra stack,”

“Yeah, yeah. Yours is out back,” Eddie replied.

“I’ll just be a second,” Jonathan said to the girl behind him – to you.

Eddie hadn’t noticed you until then. You’d trailed along behind Jonathan like a shadow. But when he saw you, he could feel his stomach flip and his extremities grow hot. It was a reaction he’d never had before, not in his 27 years of living.

You appeared so out of place. Not in the way that you didn’t look like a Depeche Mode fan or that you didn’t belong in a record store. Because either could be true. You just looked so lost and simultaneously unconcerned about it. Kind of spaced out.

When your gaze fell on Robin, your face lit up, and Eddie almost smiled in response to yours.

“Hey, Babychino,” Robin greeted. “How’s my line looking? Not still around the block?”

“Nope. I think you’ve almost got everyone in.”

The sounds of the store melted away. Eddie could hear the music. He could hear the words.

This is the morning of our love.

It’s just the dawning of our love.

Jonathan returned, getting Robin to ring him up with a staff discount. The customers in line all rolled their eyes and gave each other looks. Eddie didn’t care.

Where angels sing,

And spread their wings.

Jonathan turned back to Eddie and said something. He didn’t notice.

My love’s on high.

You take me home,

To glory’s throne.

“Eddie!”

It pulled him out. “Fuck. What?”

He looked at Jonathan, who was looking back at him confused. Robin glanced over and snorted. Eddie had been staring at you, totally in a world of his own. Or your own. It was hard to say if you’d noticed.

“I said, you guys have met before, right?”

You shook your head no. Eddie stayed a deer in the headlights.

“Really? Huh.” Jonathan said your name, told Eddie you worked over at Coffee Clash, been there since December. You’d been just over the road for four months and Eddie had no idea. Albeit, he’d been a bit busy buying a record store, but still. “Mom wanted to spend less time at the store, so Cheenz joined the family,”

“Cheenz,” Eddie repeated, almost whispered.

Jonathan took it as a question. “Babychino. Cheenz,” he explained with a shrug. “I guess because you’re the baby?” he turned to you.

“That and the cappuccinos,” you nodded.  

“Baby?” Eddie asked, still not actually greeting you.

“Yeah, she’s like, 12,”

“I’m 24,”

“Barely.”

Robin chimed in, “Jon is just jealous that she was born interesting and he has to work so, so hard at it,”

“A cool birthday. That’s what constitutes being interesting now?” Jonathan shot back.

“Cool birthday,” Eddie repeated, still being bizarre as fuck.

“Halloween,” Jonathan said in a mock-ghost voice. OhhhOOoOOhhhh. He twinkled his fingers and everything. “Anyway. This is Eddie,”

“Hi,” you said, small smile and what Eddie believed to be sunbeams emanating from you, while butterflies danced above your head.

“Hey,” he managed to croak out. He knew it sounded odd; your smile fell and your expression morphed into confusion.

Jonathan waved goodbyes to Steve and Robin, then took you somewhere beyond the limits of Eddie’s field of vision, and for that, he would never forgive Jonathan.

“Ohhhhhhh captain, my captain… Hey, dingus… Eddie…? EDDIE!”

“What?!”

Robin laughed. “I said – do you know when we’re getting more in?”

“More what?”

“More what?! Jesus… More Depeche. We’re out, but I can make another waitlist if it’s coming in soon.”

Eddie looked up over the counter. Suddenly, the store was empty, save for a small line of people awaiting his response. Where did all the people go? How long had he been daydreaming for?

“Ah, yeah, yeah. Take names and numbers, and I’ll call my guy and find out.”

Robin just nodded, smirking, and shooting Steve a look that said I’ll tell you later.

“She hates it when he calls her Cheenz,” she told Eddie as he stood up. He looked at her like he had no idea why she’d be offering that information. “Prefers Babychino. She’s kind of everyone’s favourite weirdo… Easy to see why, huh?”

Eddie opted not to dignify her with a response. Instead, he disappeared into his office, then said your name out loud a few times. Babychino, he agreed, was a good nickname. And Halloween. A Halloween birthday. Perfect. So perfect. Fuck.

Eddie thought about the first impression he had just made. It wasn’t great. You probably thought he was standoffish and a bit of a freak. He’d have to fix that. He didn’t know how.

Eddie had never really done the whole… girlfriend thing. In Hawkins, he hadn’t really even had a crush on someone. As far as his experience with girls went, it was limited to a few terrible make out sessions with people he’d met at gigs.

When he moved to Chicago, it all seemed a lot easier. Girls liked him more. A lot more actually, but he refused to acknowledge that. He tried his hand at romance, yet it always fizzled out within months. Eddie just… didn’t really like them that much. He felt shit for it; he always broke it off before feelings could get hurt.

He’d realised that all he needed was no strings hook ups and a good group of friends. It had been working for him for years now. Eddie had come to believe he wasn’t capable of romance. Maybe it was all the meanness of Hawkins or the jokes played on him by cheerleaders. Maybe it was childhood trauma reaching into his adult years and fucking around with his head. Maybe he was just born like it. He didn’t really care. He’d accepted it.

But then, you.

You, walking into his safe place with goddamn Depeche fucking Mode playing like a wedding waltz. You, with your lost lamb vibe and beautiful face. With your Halloween birthday. Your Tremors t-shirt. That film is criminally underrated, he thought.

Eddie didn’t want to hurt you. He knew when the rose-coloured tint wore away that he’d be left feeling empty. He’d fuck up the good thing he had going with Coffee Clash. He’d piss Robin and Nancy off. Joyce would probably have a thing or two to say. No, it was better to wait for… whatever this was… to fade. Surely, it wouldn’t take long.

End Note I have been writing this story for over a goddamn year! It's over 40,000 words, and almost complete at the time of posting Chapter I. I'm not going to pretend I don't want reblogs and comments. Of course, I do! xo Rhi

Taglist (all)  @ruinedbythehobbit  @sweetpeapod  @thorfemmes   @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob  @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs  @aheadfullofsteverogers  @hiscrimsonangel  @cultish-corner  @mrsjellymunson  @munson-blurbs @solomons-finest-rum

One-shots

No Title by @ashwhowrites: (BF!Eddie) So Y/N believes they are dating and Eddie has no clue

Rockstar Eddie x Childhood Bestfriend Reader by @munson-blurbs: Eddie's got a new girlfriend, which means you get put on the back burner indefinitely. But there's only so much you can take.

Grouch by @heart-eyed-love: (Friend!Eddie) You’re not the most pleasant person to wake up, so Eddie decides to stick it out in Gareth’s basement. Ernest Only has lovely Things to Say About You by @kookygranger: You've come home to your quaint and close-knit small town, tail between your legs after a failed attempt at life, only there's a new handsomely moody resident no one told you about. Staring down the dark abyss of dreams unrealised never looked so good.

Hold On by @say-al0e: (Best Friend!Eddie) Falling in love with your best friend was never part of the plan, especially when you figured you weren’t Eddie’s type. But a trip home to sub in for a Hellfire meeting brings you more than a victory.

New Girl Request by @headkiss: The new girl at Hawkins is trying to find a seat at lunch, and decides to go up to Eddie at his table, and he treats her like a literal princess cause no girl has ever willingly wanted to sit with Hellfire.

Untitled by @headkiss: Basically something where the new girl (super shy and nervous cause AH I love it😂) at Hawkins is trying to find a seat at lunch, and decides to go up to Eddie at his table, and he treats her like a literal princess cause no girl has ever willingly wanted to sit with Hellfire.

My Favorite Customer by @loveshotzz: (Dealer!Eddie) You’ve been buying weed from your new dealer for a few months now. Always leaving it in your mailbox while you’re at work, you two never cross paths until one Friday night when you come home early.

No One Wanted Her by @damon-loves-pie: (BF!Eddie) Based off my “Living With Eddie” headcaon. Eddie brings home a kitten and builds a cat army of the cats around the trailer park. 

Whatta Man by @loveshotzz:   (90’s au) After being stood up by a blind date, the cute bartender you’ve been ‘trying’ not to flirt with keeps you company.

Too Much by @luveline: (BF!Eddie) you get upset when eddie's friends think you're clingy. he sets you straight with some unbridled affection. requested here. fem!reader, 2.6k

Untitled by @luveline: (BF!Eddie) Request: What about Eddie comforting sunshine reader? Like she’s worried they’ll break up bc of how different they are.

Is It Casual Now? by @officialaegontargaryen: (BF!Eddie) You and Eddie totally aren’t dating, right?

Untitled by @h4rring1on: Request: hii!! could you please do one where eddie is fighting someone (probably jason) and reader tries to step in and stop him but ends up getting hurt? ty and i love ur writing :)

Are You Together? by @galaxy-siren: (Best Friend!Eddie) Request: Hi! Could I please request an Eddie x fem!reader where they are like best friends and they're like "all but dating." And maybe it takes place around the time when Dustin, Mike, and Lucas join Hellfire and after a couple of weeks, one of them finally asks if Eddie and reader are dating and Eddie gets all blushy because he's been in love with her since she joined Hellfire. And reader tells the boys that they're friends because Eddie rejected her when she asked him out and then Eddie is just like "WHAT?????"

Untitled by @lovebugism: Request: hi!! could you write shy!reader where Eddie bumps into the new kid at school and she gets hurt? I’m a sucker when it comes to Eddie doting on people 🙈

Hold On by @say-al0e: (Best Friend!Eddie) Falling in love with your best friend was never part of the plan, especially when you figured you weren’t Eddie’s type. But a trip home to sub in for a Hellfire meeting brings you more than a victory.

Meddling Mr. Munson by @the-witty-pen-name: Wayne is your favorite regular at work. Plus- his nephew is really cute.

Candygram by @/hellfirenacht: It's Valentine's day and you shoot your shot with Eddie by sending him a Candygram.

Eddie Munson x Plus Size Reader Recs

Multi-Parts

Love is Blind by @the-witty-pen-name: In a last ditch effort to evade the normal disappointments of dating, a group of misfits desperate to have someone see who they are on the inside volunteer for the most recent brain chemistry study at Hawkins Lab.

One Step Away From You by @eddiexmunsonlover: (Frenemy!Eddie) You move back to Hawkins after 3 years away to finish out your senior year. Can you salvage the friendship you once had with your ex best friend, Eddie? Will you be able to push down your deeper feelings for him, or will it all come bubbling out in disaster?

One-shots

The Morning After by @joshkiszkachaos: After a drunken night Y/n wakes up naked next to her high school crush Eddie Munson with no memory of the night before.

Cocoa and Cream by @ethereal27cereal: (Neighbor!Bucky) When a big snowstorm hits town, you and your neighbor Eddie find yourselves shoveling nearly 3 feet of snow off your shared driveway. And the only way to warm up is with a good cup of hot cocoa. Based on the prompt: “You don’t put marshmallows in your hot chocolate? Are you a serial killer or something?” from the lovely @thefreakandthehair​ Spicy Six Holiday Fic Challenge.

It's A Date by @luveline: (Coworker!Eddie) When Eddie asks you on a date, you don’t believe it. He probably meant as friends, right? Spoiler alert — Eddie wants to be more than friends, and he’s willing to prove it.

Eddie Is That A Baby? by @warmaidensrevenge: (Dad!Eddie) Eddie needs help with the baby.

Untitled by @sweetpeapod: (Dad!Eddie) Request: Is there any chance of seeing single parent reader meets single parent Eddie?!

Untitled by @thorfemmes: Eddie and reader work in stores across from each other at the mall. Eddie finally works up to courage to talk to reader.

Gotta Believe by @alloftheimaginesblog: Eddie overhears you getting bullied for your weight so he steps in and shuts it down.

I'll Wait by @alloftheimaginesblog: Eddie’s crush on you has never been a secret.

Sober With You by @vaporizedvendetta: (Friend!Bucky) you're tired of how everytime you want to hangout with eddie, he's high. especially when you want to tell him how you feel.

This Must Be The Place by @vaporwave-slimecreature: (Childhood Friend!Eddie Munson) You have a strained relationship with Eddie now.

Untitled by @plussizefantasia: (BF!Eddie) Touch starved reader wants to be held by Eddie but is nervous to ask.

“I mean yeah, yeah she’s beautiful. Cute as hell when she gets flustered. But she’s a city girl–used to more than this, right?” He looks around at the small-town square, filled with little kids dressed in matching sweaters and flustered mothers pushing prams with clenched smiles. “She’ll be gone well before the ice on the road thaws.”

“So? What’s wrong with having a little holiday fling?”

Eddie sucks his teeth, “I don’t think I can.”

Steve lets out a low whistle, “You’re that head-over-heels already?”

“No.” Eddie shakes his head, cheeks flushing pink from more than just the bite to the wind, then sighs. “Think if I have a fling I might just get there though. This is Robin’s fault she shouldn’t’ve talked her up so much!” Steve chuckles at his friend’s distress. “Doesn’t help that she looks like a damn angel when the snow’s kissing her eyelashes.”

Steve rubs his face, “Jesus Christ.”

***

You and Robin had vowed to hold off drinking for the rest of the holidays after your night at The Hideout, which was followed by a day spent on the couch, groaning about loud noises as Gremlins beamed across the TV in the darkened living room. When you’d finally managed to peel yourselves away from the nest you’d made out of blankets, large diet sodas and greasy fries from the drive-thru, you decided to cross off making Christmas cookies from Robin’s list of “holiday activities that could make the grinch’s heart grow.” She assured you weren’t the Grinch in this situation but it certainly felt, pointed.

The misshapen sugary treats weigh down your tote bag as you walk arm-in-arm with Robin towards the designated meeting spot.

“I keep making a fool of myself in front of Eddie.”

Robin smirks, “You’re doing fine.”

“I can just be so,” you hold out your hand in a vague gesture and grimace, “sometimes, you know?”

Robin laughs, “Oh, I know.”

“Thanks.”

She squeezes your arm that’s wrapped around hers and shakes her head, “Everybody loves you I promise. And if they don’t yet, they will.” You both round a corner, the fountain and a group of animated college kids coming into view. Steve waves from across the street, Eddie turning his head in your direction then away again quickly when you make eye contact.

“Right.”

***

“C’mon now everyone keep up.” Steve claps his gloved hands together, his cheeks pink and his brows furrowed in faux admonishment as he leads the group towards the petting zoo set up for the weekend in the parking lot of Bradley’s Big Buy supermarket. You can tell by the glisten in his eyes how much it means to him to have all of his found family in one place.

You laugh softly when he claps Dustin on the back and the younger boy tries to shrug off his embrace.

“He’s in his element this time of year.” Eddie falls into stride next to you, the both of you now bringing up the rear of the boisterous group.

You nod, a small smile permanently etched on your face from the company. “I can tell.” You walk the rest of the way in silence, watching the antics of the strange mix of personalities in front of you with a distant bemusement as you tried and failed to come up with something to say. Had you called him sexy at one point the other night or did you dream that?

The stench of hay and something less savoury wafts over you as you all enter the car park under a bright red banner with ‘Petting Zoo’ written in white cursive on it. You’re about to ask Eddie if they did this every year when a middle-aged woman stops you with a brochure held out in front of you.

“Have you found Jesus?” She’s standing by the entrance in a matching woollen navy-blue coat and skirt, heels on her stocking-clad feet and hair quaffed perfectly in a bob accentuated by the pearls on her ears and neck.

You don’t even think about your response before it slips out, “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise he was missing.” You can see Eddie smirk out of the corner of your eye. It was just meant to be a light-hearted joke, but the woman clearly didn’t see the humour.

She purses her lips in a thin line and snatches the brochure back out of your reach. “I should’ve known you were one of his type.” You keep walking along, her voice changed back into a sweeter version as she asks the next person the same question behind you.

You turn to Eddie, his eyes downcast and shoulders higher than they were a second ago. “What type are you?”

He rubs the back of his neck underneath the black knitted scarf that matches his beanie. “Uh, devil worshipper according to this town.”

“Oh, I’m actually lapsed. Found all that sacrificing was getting in the way of my day job you know?”

The smile that catches at the corners of his mouth makes your tummy flip.

“I know whattya mean.” He nods, all dramatics with his feigned seriousness, “So much laundry with all those blood-stained clothes.”

“Right? Such a hassle.” You both laugh as you look at each other. “Do they actually think that?”

Eddie shrugs, “It was worse when I was in high school, but I still get the odd bit of holy water thrown in my direction.”

“Why?” You shake your head and frown, serious this time. “Just because you listen to Motorhead?”

“That and I was the leader of the Dungeons and Dragons club in high school. It’s a game for nerds really, but it kinda got swept up into the satanic panic that was going around at the time.”

“That’s so…dumb.”

He huffs a laugh through his nose, watching your feet walk in sync together. “Yeah, I guess it is.” His head snaps back up, “Wait, how do you know Motorhead?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” You bump his shoulder and scoff, “Did you just judge a book by her cover Eddie the devil worshipper?” He opens his mouth to speak but his reply is cut off by an animalistic snort that has your head turning in curiosity. You gasp as you spot the furry brown creatures leaning into patting hands over a wooden fence, “They actually do have reindeer here!”

Eddie grins as your face lights up. “Did you think they were lying?”

You shake your head, “I thought they’d just be regular deer. I’ve never seen–“ You grab Eddie’s leather-clad arm in your excitement and he looks down at your touch before you bound off towards Robin who’s laughing at your reaction.

El and Max have to coax you into actually patting one when you get closer, the antlers much more intimidating in person. They giggle as you squeal and pull back your hand when a cloud of condensation escapes from the deer’s nostrils as it huffs loudly.

You turn to laugh with them, distracted as the reindeer leans in closer, your body tensing when you feel its hot breath on the back of your neck before it snatches your scarf from around your shoulders. The girls yell as you whip around to see it trot off, barely processing what just happened when you feel a warm hand on your back, Eddie’s frame coming into view as he slips past you and jumps the fence. He’s able to grab the scarf out of the creature’s mouth and sneak back onto your side of the fence before anyone who works there even notices.

You’re speechless as he hands your scarf back to you, El and Max cheering along with Robin and Nancy who’d noticed the commotion.

The younger girls are giggling again when Max interrupts the silent look you and Eddie share while the scarf is held in between the both of you. “You’re a real knight in shining armour this week Munson.” He looks up at Max as she and El walk away, looking for their boyfriends to ask if they’d brave a reindeer pen for them.

“Thank you, Eddie.” You take the scarf from his hands, grimacing at the wet patch on the light fabric. “Don’t know if you can get reindeer drool out of cashmere though.”

He snorts, “Maybe you shouldn’t have worn something so expensive to a petting zoo, princess.”

You brush off the nickname, not entirely sure if it was meant in jest. “You know I’m a feminist, I’m gonna need you to stop coming to my rescue Eddie.”

He smirks, “I don’t think that’s feminism, I think that’s stubborn independence to the point of detriment.”

He was taunting. Flirting really, but Eddie forgets it takes time for people to figure out he’s not just being grumpy all the time. That he isn’t as mean as his initial wariness of people might suggest. For a second he forgets that you haven’t always been a part of this group – that you don’t know him like the others do.

The awestruck look that had graced your face drops. “Jeez okay, I didn’t realise we were reading each other.” His eyes go wide as you shrink into yourself. “You know, I realise you probably don’t like me very much and you might feel like I’m ruining your time with your friends at Christmas, but I am trying Eddie.”

He hates the way your eyes begin to water.

“Robins told me so much about all of you, I know how much you all mean to each other and I really didn’t want to intrude on that, but she insisted that it would be okay. She’s letting me spend the holidays with her family because I don’t have one, and I don’t want her to regret that.” You look down at your feet, “I’ll make sure to stay out of your way from now on.” 

Eddie clenches his eyes shut as you walk away to find Robin or anyone else who won’t mind you joining in.

“Nice work Munson.”

***

Once the group have had their share of reindeer petting and eaten the cookies you and Robin had brought along with some hot cocoa from a nearby stand, everyone gathers in the town square again for the annual Secret Santa. You’re huddled together with Robin, head leaning against hers as you steal each other’s warmth and the group gathers in a circle, Steve tossing pieces of paper with everyone’s name written on them into his beanie.

Eddie keeps stealing glances at you as Steve goes around the group, dramatically holding a gloved hand to each of the teens’ eyes and yelling, “No peeking!”

Eddie feels shit. He can’t believe he’s made you feel unwelcome. Well, he can. He knows he can be guarded when it comes to letting new people into his life, but you’re one of Robin’s best friends – spending Christmas with her because you don’t have anywhere else to go and he’s made you feel like he doesn’t want you here. Asshole.

When Steve gets round to you and Robin, he holds the hat out to her then moves on to Jonathan and Argyle next. You figure you’re too new to the group to partake in this tradition, which seems fair. Steve rounds out the wonky circle with Eddie, dropping the beanie with a “whoops” before fumbling on the ground with it, then holding it out to Eddie. You notice him squinting his eyes in suspicion, wondering what’s going on between them when Steve comes back to you.

“Lucky last,” he smiles that charming cherub grin of his and you reach into the beanie to pull the last piece of paper out.

Of course it would be.

Steve reminds everyone of the budget and secret part of Secret Santa with a pointed look at Mike, who frowns in offence before the group starts heading off in different directions.

Robin moves to stand in front of you. “Who’d ya get? Do you need help? I can bend the rules for you seeing as you don’t properly know everyone.”

“Yeah, I feel like I’m a bit disadvantaged.” You laugh nervously, “I uh, I got Eddie.”

“Oh great! He’s easy. Big nerd, you know what he likes.” She starts counting off on her fingers, “Music, DnD, Lord of the Rings and all that fantasy stuff.”

“Yeah, I guess.” You shrug.

She hooks her arm with yours again, “C’mon let’s go together, I got Nancy. I feel like you’ll be better at picking something for her than me.”

***

After an hour and a half, you’re about ready to give up. You helped pick out a faux-leather journal and fountain pen set for Nancy from Robin, but you haven’t been able to find anything remotely good for Eddie’s gift. Everything feels impersonal like something he could’ve just picked up himself and the last thing you want is for him to be disappointed that you got him for the gift exchange. Just another friend-only activity that your presence has ruined.

You’re currently browsing through a second-hand bookstore, hoping to find something you can curl up on the couch in your apartment with during the rest of the holidays, while Robin’s popped into the bath and body shop across the street to look for a gift for her aunt.

Your eyes scan the hardbacks in the fantasy section, fingers running lightly across the spines when they come to a stop on a light green book. You tilt the book from the shelf, admiring the mountains and dragon carved in navy blue adorning the border. This could be perfect. Carefully opening the worn cover, you find an inscription written in the yellowed pages that makes you smile. You close the book softly and head to the counter to ring it up. Maybe he wouldn’t be disappointed.

Dear Henry,

In celebration of our mutual liking – I hope Bilbo becomes a friend as well.

Happy Birthday,

Love, your Arwen

***

Christmas Eve

The butcher paper wrapped gift sat heavy in your palm as you’re greeted by Steve in his living room when you and Robin walk in. You hold up the present in question, keen to get rid of it before your clammy hands ruin the red satin bow decorating it, and Steve points you in the direction of the pile under the colourfully lit tree. You take a moment to admire the personal ornaments, the glint of a red 20-sided dice reminding you of the other inhabitant of this apartment.

The famous Harrington Christmas Eve party had been talked up by Robin for months. In her attempt to get you to Hawkins, she promised you a preview of the King Steve you’d heard her tease him so much about (which he vehemently denied was a thing), potently spiked punch (which you would not be partaking in) and impromptu games out on the street that would cause noise complaints from the neighbours.

And now that Steve and Eddie shared an apartment? Apparently, rowdiness was a prerequisite.

You’re more nervous than you should be as you settle in, taking solace in Jonathan and Will’s quiet company on the couch as you sip on a non-spiked mug of egg nog. It isn’t until half an hour later that Eddie even shows up, despite this being his apartment.

He walks into the living room, cheeks red from the cold, snow still sprinkled on his shoulders and in his hair. He’s followed closely by Dustin who’s rugged up in an assortment of knitwear that looks like it was definitely made by a doting family member, and grins when everyone greets him.

“Finally, you two.” Steve walks in from the kitchen with a bowl of freshly poured potato chips. “Everyone’s here, we’re getting ready for Secret Santa.”

Eddie just nods at him, offering you a tight-lipped smile when you catch his eye before he walks over to the tree to place something under it with his back turned to you.

While everyone gathers in the living room, he ducks out. Returning without all the extra layers, his crisp white t-shirt takes you by surprise and your eyes wander to the silver chain around his neck.

Pull it together, honestly.

“Okay, I’m first!” Robin walks across the room to the tree by the front window, only to be stopped by Steve’s arm.

“What? Why are you first?”

“Well, someone has to be dingus. Why not me?” 

“Uh, maybe we should let our guest be the first?” Everyone turns their head towards you and the attention makes you sink further into the couch.

“Oh, no Robin is always first.” You wink in her direction, then frown. “Wait, did that sound weird?” You look at Jonathan and Will who both chuckle, the older boy giving you a shrug.

After Robin tears through her present the decision is made to go anti-clockwise around the room. The closer it gets to Eddie who’s sitting on the couch opposite you, the more your palms begin to sweat. You don’t think your heart could take him being indifferent to his gift, and you hated that you cared so much about what he thought. What was this town doing to you?

When Steve hands Eddie his gift your back automatically straightens, perched perilously on the edge of your seat you grip the mug of egg nog in your hands. He takes his time with unwrapping, not diving straight in and tearing like you would’ve expected, even draping the ribbon around his neck once he’s untied it. When he gets to the gift the room is mostly silent, save for the Christmas carols playing from the stereo in the corner. You’d already clocked The Kinks, The Damned and Ramones – sure that the boy who held your last ditch gesture in his hands had picked the tunes.

Eddie’s face is stoic as his fingers run along the cover of the book. When Dustin and Mike, sat near him spot what it is they share exclamations of “Sick”, but you’re more interested in the metalhead’s opinion. You take in a deep breath as he opens the well-preserved cover and you watch his eyes read the inscriptions.

After much back and forth you’d decided to leave your own message next to the original one. Writing in pencil in case he wanted to erase it.

He rubs his freshly shaven jaw then his eyes find yours across the room. They’re soft. Pools of awe that match the tone of his quiet voice.

“Thank you.”

You offer him a small smile, “You’re welcome.”

“How did you know it was from her?” Dustin pipes up from his seat on the floor.

“Lucky guess.” His eyes hadn’t left yours until then, and you watch him scan the message again.

Dear Eddie,

I know you’re already well acquainted but I thought what better company on a long winter’s night than the second best party to go on adventures with (second only to your own of course).

Merry Christmas,

C.G.

xx

You feel his eyes on you as the rest of the gift-giving takes place around you. Wiping the sweat off your palms now that the moment was over, but the tension you’d felt hadn’t lifted from your chest – only tethered itself to the cause that was sitting across the room lightly brushing his thumb over your offering.

You’re the last in line to open your Secret Santa, but the attention of the room has been caught up in the gifts that have already been revealed. You’re admiring the new camera bag Jonathan is turning over in his hands when Steve taps you on the shoulder. He holds out a small parcel that fits in the palm of his hand and winks at you when you take it, before walking over to sit by Dustin.

You look down at the parcel wrapped in shiny red paper, tugging at the twine tied around it when you feel the weight of the couch shift beside you.

Eddie takes up more room than Jonathan who’s now sitting on the arm of the sofa across from you with Nancy’s arm draped over his leg. He’s manspreading a little, but the only reason you notice is because of the close proximity of his knee to yours.

“You got me,” he gestures to the gift in your hands, “I mean I got you. Well, I guess both are true.” He holds up his new copy of The Hobbit and smiles softly.

You look down at your lap again and begin to unwrap your present, Eddie’s leg bouncing next to yours. A glint catches your eye as a pair of dangly ruby earrings is revealed.

“They’re not real obviously,” Eddie scratches his jaw, “and Robin said you’d be happy with anything, like a snow globe or candy but I saw these in the drugstore and thought they’d look good on you.”

You smile, “Eddie they’re really pretty. Thank you so much.”

He blows out a puff of air, “You like them?”

“I love them, honestly. Oh, look we match!” You hold out the earrings next to the ring on his finger sporting a small ruby stone.

His cheeks are dusted in pink as he smiles, “Yeah, I guess we do.” You ask him to hold the earrings you had in before as you swap them. “You don’t have to put them on now.”

“I know, I want to.”

His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, mesmerised as he watches you put on his earrings. “What does C.G. mean by the way?” He opens the book in his lap again.

“City girl.” The frown on his face troubles you momentarily before he speaks again, doe eyes pining you down once more.

“Thank you. It’s really special. You’re really–“ He trails off, eyes searching yours as you wait for him to finish his sentence. But he doesn’t. Instead, he gets up so abruptly that you flinch. “I gotta uh, find something…I’ll be back.”

You turn to Will who had been not so subtly watching the whole exchange from the other side of the couch and gives you a sympathetic smile when you say, “I still don’t know where I stand with him.”

***

For the next twenty minutes, you only see glimpses of Eddie as he darts in and out of rooms. Stomping around like he’s on a mission, a crease etched deeply in his brow. While Nancy and El are admiring your earrings in the kitchen, you hear a squeak of shoes on the linoleum before you see a blur of brown hair disappear around the corner.

You excuse yourself, finding Eddie alone in the hallway, leaning up against the wall with his arms crossed and head tilted to the ceiling.

“Eddie, are you okay?” He shakes his head and huffs out a bitter laugh. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s always goddamn mistletoe at these things. Steve always gets drunk and tortures people with it, but then this year? Of course there’s none!”

You step closer, now standing in front of him but he doesn’t meet your eye. You’re confused. “Why do you need mistletoe?”

“So I have an excuse to kiss you.”

Oh.

OH.

Wait, what?

“Why don’t you just…kiss me?”

His head snaps down, eyes flickering back and forth between yours with a frown. “Can I?”

You bite your lip to stop the enormous smile threatening to creep onto your face. “Yes Eddie, you can kiss me.”

He pushes himself off the wall, crowding your space and reaching a hand out tentatively to touch your face, thumb gently stroking your skin like he had the book. He searches your eyes for any hesitation before he leans in slowly until your fluttering lashes tickle his cheek and he can’t take it anymore. The kiss is as soft as the snow falling in flurries outside, one elongated peck before you're both leaning in for another, and another. Turning tender as he reaches his other hand to pull you closer by the waist. You can taste peppermint on him, probably from one of the candy canes hanging on the tree, but it’s the warmth from his chest and the heady scent of his cologne and smoke that clings to his shirt that has you lost in him. So lost that when his thumb gently pulls down on the side of your mouth, you let him in with no hesitation, his tongue now spreading his warmth from the inside.

“Wow, that got R-rated really quick.” You jump and lean back, not moving far with Eddie’s grip still on your waist. You look down the hall and catch Robin nodding with a look of slight disgust on her face next to a smirking Steve standing there with his arms crossed.

Eddie bows his head and sighs, “Really? Think you can maybe take the commentary somewhere else Harrington?”

He holds up his hands in defence, a leafy twig with white berries hanging from his hand. “Hey, I was just coming to give you two a push, but it looks like the party’s already started.”

Eddie pinches the skin in between his brows, “For fuck sake.” You cover your mouth with your hand at the sight of the deep blush creeping into his cheeks, which deepens even further when you both hear Dustin yell from the other room.

“Did he kiss her yet?!”

Eddie groans and moves his hand to the small of your back to guide you out the door, flipping off the audience at the end of the hall before grabbing your coats off the hanger. He helps you into yours and leads you outside the apartment building by your hand.

For the first time since you arrived in Hawkins, you don’t notice the cold that greets you, focused entirely on Eddie’s warmth as he crowds you against the brick wall of the building. He holds one arm above you, almost enveloping you in his soft waves when he leans in.

That intense gaze has you shying away again, opting to play with the zipper of his jacket instead of looking back.

“You really liked your gift that much huh?”

“I really like you.” He tilts your chin up.

“I didn’t think–“

“I’m sorry if I made you feel unwelcome,” he frowns. “I have trouble letting people in.”

You shake your head and he moves his hand to stroke along your jaw. “It’s okay, this is a very special family I’ve walked into. I understand why you’d be wary of anyone disturbing that.”

“You fit right in. I promise.”

“Thank you, Eddie.”

He smirks, “Also, I’m just really, really bad at flirting when it comes to drop-dead gorgeous city girls.”

You grin, “I think you’re probably better at it than you think.”

He leans in, lips a breath away from yours, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

***

Christmas Day

The screen door shudders under your touch as you knock on the trailer, your gloved hand coming back to wrap around the translucent cake plate tucked into your chest. You hear muffled footsteps before the inside door swings open to reveal a beaming Eddie on the other side.

“Hi,” you smile.

You step back to let him open the screen door and he meets you with half a step out, grabbing the plate from you before placing a gentle kiss on your lips that has you desperate for more.

“Hi, sweet girl. C’mon in.”

You follow his warmth, “There’s only half left of the cheesecake. I’m sorry Robin and her family already ate most of it, then I kind of hid it when I realised I didn’t have anything to bring over – I think it tastes pretty good though. And I brought this wine, which is all they had left at the store and it only came in this gigantic bulk size, I think it might be half water–”

You feel Eddie’s smile as he presses his lips to yours again, “It’s okay sweetheart. You didn’t have to bring anything.” “I know, but I wanted to make a good first impression and we both know that I…don’t.”

He chuckles, “Trust me, I was blown away as soon as you stepped outta that car.”

You roll your eyes, snappy reply dying on your tongue when you hear a door open and an older man walks down the short hallway towards you. “Hi, Mr Munson.” Eddie squeezes your shoulder as you step forward with your hand held out and introduce yourself. “Thank you so much for having me, I hope I’m not intruding on your Christmas.”

“Nonsense,” he frowns at you, the resemblance uncanny, and brings you in for a tight hug. “Please call me Wayne, darlin’. Honestly, Ed’s been bouncing off the walls waiting for you to come so you might be able to do me a favour and get him to sit still.”

“We were just watching Gremlins.”

“Oh, I love that film! I didn’t get to appreciate it the other day because I was hungover–I mean…we were busy baking cookies.” You feel Eddie’s chuckle on the side of your face.

“She brought baked goods and wine, Wayne. All for lil’ old us.” He squeezes your shoulder again.

“It’s not any good.” You hold out the cheap bottle to Eddie’s uncle.

“Oh hell, anything you can uncork, uncap or unscrew, I’ll drink it.”

You laugh, shoulders relaxing under Eddie’s subtle massage.

***

You feel light.

Floaty and fuzzy with the laughter coming from beside you, your body sinking into the worn couch and Eddie’s gentle stroking of the back of your hand grounding you in the moment. The Munson’s, like almost everybody else in Hawkins had welcomed you into their home with open arms.

It was Christmas and you were curled up on the couch with a boy who meant something to you. Allowed to be a part of a family if only for a short period.

“So little miss, you headin’ home tomorrow?” You turn to Wayne, who’s sitting in his armchair, eating a piece of the cheesecake you plated up for him with Eddie’s help.

“I was planning on it, but you know the airport gets so busy during the holidays and Robin’s still gonna be here so…I think I might just stay till New Year, actually.”

Eddie’s head snaps from the TV set towards you. He grips your hand a little tighter to get your attention.

“Is that right?”

You turn to him, “Yeah. Are you–are you gonna be around?”

“No,” he shakes his head, frowning in that way that’s starting to make your heart flutter, “I gotta work. Lotta damsels in distress needin’ me to rescue them from the side of the road.” You feel the heat creep up your neck as Wayne rolls his eyes at his nephew.

“Wanna ride shotgun?”

~ THE END ~

this is my hc for Eddie too. he can do casual until he can’t

laugher gets you everywhere especially into a Munsons heart

This is his brand of hero. and for a man so clumsy it’s amazing how stealthy he can be

when miscommunication is done as perfectly as this it’s DELICIOUS

Steve and eddie sharing a place makes my lonely little heart happy. I’d pay a good sum to see how they woild decorate a home

they’re both adorable. These are the times when I should take up drawing so I can stick Dustin in an ugly Christmas jumper

you could take Eddie’s name out of and I’d still know who you were writing about just from the way you describe him

nothing makes me gooeyer than that big soft scary man being treated so thoughtfully

you write a fucking hot kiss I’ll tell you that

1. so charming 2. WAYNE🖤

“So would you say that Steve is your summer lovin’?” 

Robin’s voice breaks through the jumbled mess of your thoughts that you hadn’t realized turned you mute. It takes a minute to finally comprehend what she’s implying, but when you do, the roll of your eyes couldn’t be any harder.

”Don’t start-“

”Are you guys having a blast? I mean, it happened so fast!” She smirks, sunburnt freckled cheeks pushing up with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

”You’re actually being really annoying about this whole thing.” You scold her in a hushed tone emerging from the woods, and into the chaos that is Lover’s Lake on the Fourth of July.

Smoke and sulfur fill your nose as the wrath of Indiana’s mid summer sun hits you both at full force without the shade of trees to hide from it. Kids run along the beach with fruit punch smiles and sticky fingers, while their parents spray way too much lighter fluid on the charcoal heating up their grills. Families spread out far leaving no part of the lake untouched, locked into their favorite spots for the colorful spectacle that’s expected tonight. A Hawkins tradition, one you hate to admit you missed.

”There they are!” Robin points with a chipped lime green finger, the nerves in your stomach twist into a knot.

Your eyes follow the invisible line to the corner end of the lake, immediately recognizing Eddie’s unruly hair tied up sloppily in a bun. He’s prepping the grill talking animatedly, throwing his head back in a full bellied laugh. Your eyes narrow, because only one person could be telling him a joke. 

Whatever it is, it can't be that funny. 

It takes you about a half a second to find Steve, unfortunately, it’s right as he’s taking off his shirt revealing tanned skin kissed by the kind of moles that make you want to play connect the dots with your fingertips. The dark thatch of hair on his chest you can’t seem to stop thinking about on full display. 

“Come on.” You grumble, huffing an irritated breath through your nose, making Robin cackle loud enough to catch the boy's attention. 

You avoid Steve’s gaze, defiantly.

”Quit acting like you don’t like it.” She snorts, grabbing your wrist, leading the way towards the table, “cat’s out of the bag, in fact it actually found its forever home when you came back to the apartment last week looking like a leopard.”

“I can - I can still think he’s annoying.” You argue feebly. Robin doesn’t entertain it, throwing you a deadly side eye.

”There’s the beer - I mean, my dear sweet friends, I’m so glad you can make it.” 

Eddie greets you both with Ray Bans covering his big brown eyes and dimples so deep they poke holes in his cheeks, squashing whatever bickering this conversation was going to turn into. There’s still evidence of sunscreen painted on the tip of his nose, and more sloppily covering the tattoo on his chest. Little white skulls dot the black swim trunks that hang low, revealing a slight farmer's tan around his hips, the creamy skin already turning red.

”Imagine I forgot it.” Robin quips, entertained by the way Eddie’s eyes narrow over the top of his frames at a joke that isn’t very funny to him.

”Ha - ha - ha Buckley.”

The holes that Steve burns into the side of your head make it extremely hard to focus on your two friends, especially when he’s wearing nothing but fucking cherry red swim trunks. You chance a glance in his direction and immediately regret it meeting his amused stare. His white teeth shine in a smile that stretches wide across his face, catching onto you. Clearing his throat, those same teeth dig into his bottom lip to try and contain it from growing as he walks over.  Eyes shamelessly trailing up and down the length of your body. 

“Are you really going to play hard to get with my chain around your neck?” He tuts, close to your ear, sunscreen and amber tickling your nose. 

Calloused fingertips whisper up your exposed back before curling around the strap of your beach bag, relieving you of the heavy weight you forgot you were carrying.

“You really like bringing that up don’t you?” You fight the curve of your lips with a roll of your eyes.

”Well, you keep wearing it.” He shrugs, setting the bag on the table before turning the full force of his attention onto you. You hate the way your thighs still press because of it. 

“It’s just funny to me, you know? Since you haven’t called after that ‘date’ you practically begged me for.” Your hum, refusing to meet his eyes, tightening the tie on your sheer cover up skirt that suddenly feels too short under his heavy gaze. 

Steve sucks his teeth.

”Just giving you space to process what happened, honey, because if I’m being completely honest, it’s been very hard to figure out if you want to kiss me or punch me. Like right now? The way you’re looking at me is a perfect example.” 

Still, he takes the gamble, invading the rest of your space with a knowing smirk before continuing.

“I’m happy to hear that it was in fact a date, but I’d like to take you on a better one.”

You look up at him from under the thick hood of your lashes, wondering if he can see the quick way your chest rises and falls. 

”Two things can be true at the same time. And the jury’s still out on that second date.”

Steve wets his lips, taking a deep breath through his nose, taking one last look at the gold that shimmers in the sun, 

”That’s okay honey, we’ll just have to see how today goes then, won’t we?” He says quietly, like no one else is around, gaze flicking down at your mouth. “But since you did say both things are true.”

He curves two fingers under your chin, tilting your head up the rest of the way while his other hand grabs at your hip pulling you in. Steve gives you a minute to do anything like push him away, tell him to fuck off, but when you don’t, he closes the gap without any hesitation. Full pink lips that you missed more than you’d like to admit slot between yours with a sweetness you aren’t familiar with. Your cheeks warm under his hand that spreads wide across the side of your face, a gentle swipe of his tongue begging you to open up, threatening the edge of what’s appropriate.

Steve kisses you like he missed you too.

”Alright, I know you guys are like rekindling things or whatever but there’s literal children around.” Eddie scolds wasting no time cracking open a beer, bringing you back to reality.

Steve smiles against your mouth, matching the one that curves up the corners of yours despite yourself.

”This is actually some real sick shit that you two have going on.” Robin interrupts, snorting “she was literally just calling you annoying.”

”Robin!-“

”Wait, were you really calling me annoying?” Steve pulls away amused at the clear guilt painted all over your face.

“Oh yeah, she absolutely was, look at her man.” Eddie points out laughing, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his netted pocket silently offering one to your best friend, “this is a weird dynamic, but I’m not gonna lie, I’m probably liiiiike seventy five percent excited to see how this plays out tonight.”

”Crazy fun idea, let's all talk about something else.” You snap, crossing your arms ditching Steve for the spot next to Robin at the faded red picnic table. “Just keep your hands to yourself okay, Harrington? We don’t need to provide an extra show with the fireworks tonight.”

“Come on, I’ll pay extra.” Eddie pleads, batting his lashes, your obvious annoyance only egging him on.

None of it seems to phase Steve, too lost in his own world staring at you with the kind of goofy smirk that actually does make you want to punch him and then maybe kiss it better. 

Baby steps.

”You couldn’t afford us Munson.” Steve winks not missing a beat, bringing himself back to the conversation like he never left, making Eddie smirk around his beer can.

“We’re not for sale! ” You interrupt, narrowing your gaze at your ex boyfriend, folding your hands on top of the table.

”But you are saying there’s a ‘we’?” Steve immediately takes the bait you’ve unknowingly laid out for him with the kind of glint in his eyes that tells you he’s going to be trouble all day.

”I’m afraid you walked right into that one.” Robin leans over whispering purposefully loud enough for everyone to hear, the corners of her eyes crinkling with a grin. 

She meets Steve’s high five without even having to look at him, begging your lips to twist no matter how hard you press them into a straight line.

”Everyone at this barbecue is really annoying.” You announce contradicting the smile that finally splits your face in two.

”Here! Here!” Eddie bellows, polishing off his beer with a loud ‘ahh’ wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

For the first time all summer, you give in to the part of yourself hidden so deep you thought you’d lost forever that’s actually happy to be back. You didn’t realize the weight of it until it clawed its way into your chest, cracking at the wall you’ve built around your heart. 

“It looks like those gremlin O’flanery kids finally got out of the lake, I’m gonna take advantage before I Emeril Lagasse the fuck out of these burgers.” Eddie announces his exit standing up tossing the crushed aluminum into the metal trash can near your set up. 

You’re almost positive you see him give Robin a look, and then you know you did when she starts standing up too.

”I’m gonna come with, I don’t want to be in there when they start playing Marco Polo again.” She follows his lead with an excuse that would be believable if it wasn’t for the notorious crack in her voice every time she tries to lie. 

She ignores the heat of your glare, fully knowing she’s going to get an earful on the way home.

”Have fun and don’t drown.” You grumble at her retreating figure, your tone making it sound like you mean the complete opposite.

“I will, thank you! I know you’d come save me if I diiid!” She sings in response, white teeth gleaming against the sun as she runs into the water, tossing her shorts on the sand cackling loudly with Eddie who splashes water at her.

You’ll drown both of them yourself.

The humidity feels thicker in the air once you’re alone with Steve for the first time without the buffer of your two friends. Heat steams, bubbling in the space between you with the kind tension that could combust without a release. Your own mind actively working against you when his words from the garage come sneaking out of the place you’ve tried to shove them down into.

”I could be so nice to you baby, don’t you want that?”

“I know you said to keep our hands to ourselves, paid or not.” he interrupts your wildly inappropriate thoughts pulling out a dark green backpack from under the picnic table. 

The smirk on his pink lips makes you feel like he can read your mind, your hips shuffle subtly to try and hide the way you want to squirm. It doesn’t work. 

“But I really don’t want to look like those two, especially since I’m gonna be on my back trying to fix the car you almost killed this week.” 

“I did not almost kill my car.” You scoff arching an eyebrow at him, looking at the baby pink Banana Boat sunscreen bottle he set on the table. “And really? This is the trick you’re going to use on me?”