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You licked your lips as you stared at the man in front of you. The old wooden table creaked as he shifted to face you fully, curls falling into his eyes. You stared at him, trying to find the right words, trying not to betray the fact that you were hopelessly and irreparably in love with him. No matter how stupid his questions could be.

"No."' you shrugged your shoulders a bit and looked at the now deflated smile on your best friend's face. A triumphant smile creeping up on your own. All this before looking down at your sheet of paper, going back to writing the essay you had been putting off, one that you would surely have to convince Eddie to do.

“Why not? Think about it- me and Mrs. Wheeler would be the hottest couple in Hawkins.” His voice carried that theatrical cadence, the voice that painfully screamed Eddie. The same one he used when narrating Hellfire campaigns, except now it was about Nancy Wheeler's mother not to mentions mikes mother.

You sighed, lips twitching despite yourself. “Okay, number one: she’s Mike’s mom. Two: she’s married. And three: she’s waiting for me to turn a respectable age so she can leave her husband and marry me.”

Eddies mouth a gap. Eddie Munson's theatrics came in full kick.

Eddie’s jaw dropped, hands flying wildly in protest. “You’re insane. She’d pick me over you any day. I’m her dream man.”

“You don’t have boobs, Eddie. Everyone likes boobs. Doesn’t matter if you’re gay or straight- boobs are boobs.”

The argument spiraled, your essay forgotten, laughter and sharp words bouncing between you. Then, in a rare moment, Eddie passed you the joint.

A rare occurrence for Eddie Munson. When he first met you, he noticed you hated the smoking. He always noticed the way your nose scrunched when he smoked, the way your eyes lingered on the burning paper. He offered every time, and sometimes you accepted. Not because you liked it, but because it felt like sharing the blunt was sharing something deeper, something intimate. Like every inhale was a kiss you’d never get to have. You hated the idea and sight of him burning up his lungs and ruining them. You constantly joked about how he would die with his lung suddenly bursting and him blowing up.

It started when life got harder, and you needed comfort, that, and you just felt that it brought you closer to Eddie as if the high bonded your souls together.

Eddie rambled on, his theatrics pulling smiles from you despite the heaviness in your chest. But then his tone shifted.

“I’m gonna need you to write down Cunningham’s name in that list thing you keep.” His gaze landed on your face once again, scanning over you as he played with his rings, his untamable curls framing his face.

Your head snapped towards him. “Cunningham? As in Chrissy Cunningham?”

He nodded, lips curling into a small, almost shy smile. “Yep. That one.”

Your brows furrowed. “She’s buying?” You had never heard of or imagined perfect little Chrissy Cunningham near Eddie, much less buying from him.

“Yeah. Shocked me too.” His grin widened, rings glinting as he toyed with them.

“And you’re selling to her?” Your voice was sharper now, suspicion lacing every word. Your eyes squinting at Eddie to see if it was one of his thoroughly played out jokes

“Yeah. We talked earlier. I was debating it, though. I wouldn’t want to ruin her.”

The words hit like a punch to your gut.

Wouldn’t want to ruin her.

Your stomach dropped. The sudden spiral of thoughts going through your head overwhelming every sense of your being. Did Eddie think you were ruined? Damaged goods because you occasionally smoked with him, always laughed with him, and lived in his chaotic orbit? Was Chrissy untouchable, pure, while you were already a damaged good? Were you a lost cause for not being an untouchable being that Eddie couldn't obtain?

You swallowed hard, his voice fading into background noise as he rambled about Hellfire.

I wouldn't want to ruin her.

wouldn't.

want.

to.

ruin.

her.

Sure, the comment was made with no malice behind it, but you knew about Eddie's middle school crush on Chrissy Cunningham. You had met Eddie in 8th grade. Well, his 8th grade your sixth. You only realized your crush on Eddie in the 8th and his sophomore year.

But the words hung in the air. You swallowed.

Did Eddie think he ruined you? Were you damaged goods now that you indulged and hung around him? Was Chrissy this untouchable being pure of sin or whatever made you ruined? Did the smoking make you broken or ruined? Did he mean to say that Chrisy was worth more to a degree, or was she held to a higher pedestal than you because she was Chrisy?

"They have no idea what's coming, I mean, I have been working on this for weeks-" Eddie, being caught off guard by the look on your face.

"Ruin her?" the slight hurt and pit in your stomach fighting hard to be masked and hidden away, or at least attempted to be hidden from Eddie.

"You think you will ruin her with weed?"' confusion took over, rather than that overbearing feeling in your chest.

Eddie froze, wincing. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean… she’s Chrissy. She wouldn’t be caught dead doing this. Not that it’s bad. It’s just… she’s Chrissy.”

He gave a half smile, still wincing as he heard his own response leaving his mouth.

"Oh." you swallowed hard trying to shake the sinking feeling in your gut.

Shes Chrissy.

You felt yourself slipping into your head and rubbed your fingers against the table. Eddie opened his mouth, closed it and swallowed.

The name echoed in your head, heavy and cruel. You weren’t Chrissy.

You smiled up at him with a tight line.

"So, at what time is your next campaign I need to know what Henderson has to say about it."

Eddie hesitated, guilt flickering across his face, but then he launched back into his rant, words tumbling out with his usual flare. You nodded, pretending to listen, eyes drifting back to your paper.

But the essay blurred, meaningless. All you could hear was the echo.

She’s Chrissy.

its Chrissy.

She's Chrissy, its different.

You aren't Chrissy.

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A week had passed since you had become hyperaware of Chrissy Cunningham's existence, your eyes would linger as she passed by the halls. Chrissy Cunningham’s name had become a ghost that haunted every hallway, every classroom. Your eyes lingered on her without meaning to, tracing the way she laughed with her friends, the way she seemed untouchable. Even when Eddie’s arm draped casually around your shoulders, the warmth that used to feel protective now burned with doubt. It wasn’t the same flare of happiness it once sparked it felt hollow, like a reminder of what you weren’t. You told yourself Eddie didn’t think of you as ruined, that he loved you in his own way, maybe not the romantic kind you dreamed of, but something deeper, something platonic and safe. And wasn’t that better than nothing? Better to be loved in fragments than not at all. Still, the words hung in the air. I wouldn’t want to ruin her, echoing like a curse, twisting every smile into a question you couldn’t answer.

Movie nights with Eddie were your sanctuary, the one place where the world blurred into laughter and comfort. You couldn’t always afford the tapes, but somehow Eddie always managed to pull one out of thin air, grinning like he’d just robbed the universe.

“Alright, sweetheart, tonight’s feature presentation: low-budget horror with questionable acting and even worse wallpaper choices,” Eddie announced, throwing his arms wide as if he were on stage.

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous. Who paints their kitchen lime green?”

“The true horror isn’t the killer, it’s the interior design, blind, I tell you. All of them blind,” Eddie quipped, leaning forward with mock seriousness.

The movie played, but Eddie was louder than the actors. He imitated the protagonist’s screams, clutching his chest dramatically. “Oh no! I’ve been stabbed! Tell my story, Y/N!”

You shoved him, laughing. “You’re such a dork, Munson.”

“Correction: I’m a loser and a dork. I'm a double threat, sweetheart. We have to get my title right.” He lunged at you, and suddenly, you were wrestling on the couch, laughter spilling out of both of you. His fingers dug into your sides, tickling mercilessly, and you squealed, begging him to stop.

"Eddie Munson i mean it, stop it right-" your breathless laughs and heavy breaths being pushed out of your chest without your permission.

You flipped him, breathless, hair falling into your face, and Eddie grinned up at you, curls wild, eyes shining. “Careful, sweetheart. You’re playing with fire.” His voice dipped, teasing, but there was something in his gaze that made your stomach twist with butterflies.

You tickled him back, Eddie yelled and screeched, telling you to cut it out.

Both of you breathlessly lay there, you on top of Eddie. The floor of his trailer digging into his back. Your hair falling into your face, tickling at eddies cheek from the proximity.

For a moment, the world stilled. His eyes flicked to your lips, and you leaned down, heart pounding, breaths mingling. His lips brushed yours, soft, hesitant, electric, and you felt yourself melt into the warmth of him. The kiss lingered, the feeling electric despite your lips not connecting yet, the feelings you bottled up for so long making their way up, ready to be released with a kiss.

Then the phone rang.

You both jolted apart, hearts racing. Eddie gave you an apologetic smile, exaggeratedly groaning as he dragged himself to the wall phone. Your chest still buzzed with childlike excitement, the thought screaming in your head: you almost kissed Eddie Munson. A breathless laugh leaving your chest.

Eddie picked up the phone, his smile and frizzy hair making him look all the more breathtaking, the moment still fresh and new to both of you. You watched him smile brightly on your face, still feeling the proximity both of you shared. But then his smile faltered, voice dropping. “Wait… Chrissy, slow down. What happened?”

And just like that, the butterflies died. The pit in your stomach returned, heavier than before. Chrissy’s name hung in the air, and the comfort of Eddie’s laughter dissolved into something sharp, something that reminded you....

She’s Chrissy. You’re not.

You sat on the couch, chest heavy, the movie flickering across the screen like it was mocking you. Every scream, every chase scene blurred into background noise against the sound of Eddie’s voice on the phone. You tried not to listen, tried to let the static drown it out, but Chrissy’s crying bled through, sharp and undeniable. Each word Eddie spoke carved deeper into you.

“It’s going to be okay, Chrissy, I promise I-”

“Wait, no. Don’t apologize. You needed someone to hear you. There’s no need to-”

“Chrissy, you aren’t a burden. I promise.”

Your stomach twisted, sinking into itself as you stared blankly at the screen. The protagonist was running toward safety, the last survivor, her blonde hair catching the light, her delicate smile untouched by the horrors she lived around her. She looked like Chrissy. She looked like everything you weren’t.

“No need to thank me. Bye, Chrissy. I’ll talk to you soon. Good night.”

Eddie sighed, a small smile tugging at his lips as he hung up. His mood was dampened by Chrissy's situation, but he couldn't help the giddy feeling in him. He turned, eyes finding you on the couch, hair tangled, face half-lit by the glow of the TV. For a moment, he just stared, like he was memorizing you, before he let out a dramatic groan and flopped across the couch, sprawling until his head landed in your lap.

“Jason’s a real prick, holy crap,” he muttered, looking up at you with a grin that carried a glint of something unspoken. His eyes lingered, analyzing you, searching for a reaction you refused to give. You kept your gaze locked on the TV, pretending the movie mattered more than the ache in your chest.

“Sooooo… about that thing earlier, I think it was-”

“It’s getting late, Eds. I should head home.” Your voice was steady, but the words cut through him. His smile faltered.

“What? Why?”

“It sounded like Chrissy needed you. And we finished our movie. Besides, I need to brush my hair.”

His brows furrowed, lips parting like he wanted to argue. “You can always spend the night. I mean-”

“No, it’s okay, Eds.” You stood, brushing off your shorts, forcing a smile. “Thank you for the movie night. See you tomorrow. I hope Chrissy’s okay.”

“Wait-” His voice cracked slightly, softer than usual, but you didn’t let yourself turn back.

You left, practically running from Eddie’s trailer, the night air biting at your skin. Only when you were far enough away did you let out a tired sigh, clutching at the stitch in your side. “Shit, I really have to work on my cardio.” The words came out bitter, half a laugh, half a sob.

And still, the thought gnawed at you: did Chrissy ever feel this way? Did she ever have to wonder if Eddie Munson would choose her over the rest of the world?

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You hadn’t really heard from Eddie all weekend. The silence gnawed at you, every hour replaying that almost-kiss until it drove you insane. By Monday, when he waved at you in the hallway, his small smile felt like a knife twisting in your chest.

“I didn’t hear much from you this weekend, Eds.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I was busy.” He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking away. “Chrissy really needed to talk. We kinda smoked, I showed her around town. I was gonna call, but… I needed her advice. Then Jason didn’t drive her to practice, it was this whole thing.”

Your chest caved in. That moment between you and Eddie hadn’t stopped replaying in your brain, the proximity, the way your thoughts short-circuited. And now it was all overshadowed by Chrissy Cunningham. Again.

He kept talking, voice casual. “Then the cheerleaders are having these tryouts since one of them broke her leg. They’re looking for a replacement and…”

That was when the idea hit you. If Eddie liked Chrissy so much, if he cared about her practices, maybe he could care about yours. Maybe if you were more like her, he’d look at you differently.

“I’m actually trying out.”

His head snapped toward you. “What?”

“I’m trying out to be a cheerleader.” The words felt foreign, heavy, like they didn’t belong to you. Your stomach turned, but the thought of Eddie caring about your practices the way he cared about Chrissy’s made it worth saying.

“Since when do you like cheerleading?” His tone wasn’t cruel, nor was it meant to mock you, but it stung.

“What, you don’t think I can make it?” The defensiveness hit before you could stop it, insecurity clawing at your chest.

He shook his head. “No, it’s just… I didn’t think the whole prep thing, skirts, pompoms, makeup, was your thing.”

Maybe the issue was that you weren’t feminine enough. You liked who you were, you thought Eddie did too. But in that moment, you realized he liked those things in a friend, not in a partner.

So for the next two weeks, you worked. Stretching, practicing, forcing yourself into routines that didn’t feel like yours. Eddie asked if you were sure, more than once, his voice carrying doubt you couldn’t shake. The pit in your chest grew. The feeling in your stomach continuously sank as anxiety and insecurity crept up.

Tryouts came. Everything was going well, you felt your palms sweating, your heart beating ringing in your ears. Everything was fine everything was perfectly fine, the anxiety you felt was nothing, or so you told yourself.

That was until you slipped, crashing hard onto the gym floor. Eddie was in the bleachers, you hadn’t known he’d be there. He wasn't supposed to be there. Your heart dropped when you realized he was there for Chrissy. His eyes widened, panic flashing across his face as he almost jumped from the bleachers.

Chrissy ran forward, concern etched across her features. “Are you okay?” she asked, genuine kindness in her voice a panic rising behind her. genuine concern was all that her features showed. And you understood why Eddie liked her. She was light, effortless.

But Eddie’s voice cut through, frantic. “Oh my god, are you okay? Hey, look at me.” His eyes locked on yours, wide and terrified.

Your pride burned hotter than your knee. “Yeah, I’m fine."

They continued asking, especially about your knee, the pain throbbing from it almost distracting you from the humiliation that you were currently facing. Tears burned in your eyes, you refused to let them fall as you blinked them away, anxiety making its way back up.

"That was so embarrassing. I’m sorry.” Your voice shook your heart beat overwhelming you.

Chrissy shook her head. “Don’t apologise. Don’t stand on it, you’ll hurt yourself more.”

Eddie reached out to steady you, but you pulled back. “I promise I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” he insisted, voice breaking, eyes pleading.

Both Eddie and Chrissy crowded in too close, their voices overlapping, Chrissy’s soft, careful questions and Eddie’s frantic insistence that you weren’t fine. Their concern pressed down like a weight, suffocating, leaving no room to breathe. Every word felt like pity, every touch like proof of how small and fragile you must have looked sprawled on the gym floor. Your pride burned hotter than the pain in your knee, humiliation clawing at your chest until it spilled out sharp and raw.

“Eddie, stop it! Just stop already — I get it, okay? !” The words tore from you before you could stop them, tears blurring your vision as both of them froze, their kindness suddenly unbearable.

Tears spilled down your cheeks. Eddie froze, startled. “What do you mean? Hey, hey, look at me. You’re okay.”

“Just stop.”

You turned, limping out of the gym, leaving Eddie and Chrissy behind. The parking lot was empty except for his van and a few teachers’ cars. You sat on the sidewalk, knee throbbing, tears burning. You hated being seen like this. You hated that you’d snapped at Eddie when all he’d done was care. You hated that Chrissy was everything you weren’t.

The gym doors slammed behind you, and Eddie stood frozen, heart pounding in his chest. He hadn’t meant for it to spiral like that. He hadn’t meant for you to think Chrissy mattered more. Hell, he hadn’t even come for Chrissy, he came because he knew you’d be here, because he wanted to see you try, wanted to be the one cheering you on.

But then you fell. And the look on your face when you pulled away from him, that hurt worse than anything.

He grabbed the ice pack from the nurse’s office, snagged some painkillers, and pushed through the doors into the parking lot. The night air was heavy, and there you were, sitting on the curb, shoulders shaking. Eddie’s chest tightened.

He walked over, slow, uncertain, holding the ice pack out like it was some kind of peace offering. You didn’t look at him, but you didn’t push him away either. He sat down beside you, the silence stretching between you like a chasm.

You sighed, voice breaking. “I’m sorry.”

Eddie shook his head, eyes locked on you. “Don’t be. You think I came here for Chrissy?” His voice was quiet, raw, stripped of its usual theatrics. He winced slightly as he asked.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, curls falling into his face. “ I don’t care about cheerleading, or pompoms, or whatever. I care about you. I wanted to see you out there because it mattered to you. Because you matter to me. I wasn't there for Chrissy. I was there for you”

His words hung in the air, heavy and trembling. He wanted to reach out, to steady you, to make you believe him. But he stayed still, afraid you’d pull away again.

“I know you think Chrissy’s perfect. And yeah, she’s kind, she’s sweet. But she’s not you. She’s not the one I spend every night with, laughing at dumb horror movies, wrestling on the couch, and always wondering if it's the right time to kiss you or hold you close. I mean we almost-” He stopped himself, biting his lip, heart racing.

Eddie glanced at you, eyes soft, vulnerable in a way he rarely let anyone see. “I don’t want you to change. Not for me, not for anyone. You’re already… you’re already everything.”

The silence pressed down again, but this time it wasn’t empty. It was charged, aching, full of everything Eddie couldn’t quite say.

"I'm sorry", your voice small.

Eddie’s eyes softened, his voice quiet but steady. “Don’t be. I was there for you, not Chrissy. And I’ll always be there for you.”

He swallowed hard, curls falling into his face as he leaned closer. “And you aren’t ruined. That came out so wrong. You’re the most perfect person I know, and it scared me half to death. I love you. I’m so, so, so sorry.”

Your breath caught, eyes burning as the insecurities that had weighed you down seemed to lift, replaced by something warmer, lighter. Tears welled fresh, but this time they carried relief. You smiled through them, voice trembling. “I love you, you big loser.”

You leaned in, lips brushing his, and Eddie met you halfway. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, like both of you were afraid it might shatter. But then it deepened, his hand cupping your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, the taste of smoke and sweetness lingering as your lips moved together. It wasn’t rushed or desperate; it was slow, tender, the kind of kiss that felt like home. Every second carried unspoken promises, every breath shared like it was something sacred.

When you pulled away, your forehead rested against his, both of you smiling through the tears. “I think I fucked my knee up. We might have to go to the doctor. And I hate cardio.”

Eddie laughed, the sound warm and unrestrained, breaking the heaviness in the air. He pressed a kiss to your cheek, grinning. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you to a doctor before you start running laps out here.”

He helped you up carefully, his arm steady around your waist, and for once the pain in your knee didn’t matter. Because Eddie Munson was holding you, and he wasn’t letting go.

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a/n: As always, comments and suggestions are always welcomed I hope you enjoyed.

LOTS OF LOVE, YALL

The rim was bent, the money he had scraped together gone in an instant. He hated this feeling desperate, cornered, not enough. He hated needing help, hated the idea of handouts.

“Goddammit!” Eddie roared, slamming his fist against the wheel. He kicked the door open, stormed out, and lashed at the ruined tire with his boot. His scream echoed in the empty lot, ragged and furious.

He climbed back inside, shoulders heaving, knuckles raw from pounding the steering wheel. His voice cracked as he muttered, “Why does everything gotta fall apart now?”

Tomorrow was Valentine’s.

He’d promised you something special Enzo’s, flowers, the works. He’d saved every tip from gigs, every dollar from side jobs, every late-night hustle he knew you hated but never judged him for. All of it was for you.

For the girl who lit his world on fire the moment he saw her. The girl whose laugh made him forget every shitty thing in his life.

Eddie closed his eyes, remembering the way you’d smile when he showed up with thrifted rings, ice cream cones, or coupons for movie nights when you would have to sneak in due to his lack of money. Golf courses you broke into at night, arcade games he had found a way to play without paying. He knew you didn’t care about fancy gifts or expensive dinners. You weren’t with him for money. But still, he wanted you to feel special. To know how much you meant to him.

“You deserve more than this,” he whispered, voice trembling. “More than me scraping by, more than me sneakin’ you into movies or pulling coupons outta my ass.”

He thought of your BMW older model, sure, but still sleek. He thought of the little gifts you’d given him: rings, guitar picks, and even offering to help him buy that guitar he’d been eyeing. You were well-off enough, and he was… the town freak.

The shame burned in his chest. “Maybe you’re too good for me,” he muttered, the words tasting bitter.

But then he remembered the way you looked at him, the way you laughed at his dumb jokes, the way you never cared about the money. You cared about him.

Eddie slammed his palms against the wheel one last time, then let out a shaky breath. “No. I’m not screwin’ this up. Not for you.”

He sat up straighter, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. Tomorrow had to be perfect. Flowers, Enzo’s, his best clothes even if the van was falling apart, even if the world was against him.

Because for you, he’d fight through every busted tire, every empty wallet, every whisper in town.

For you, he’d try. Always

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You flopped back onto Eddie’s bed, laughing as you tugged at his arm. “Eddieeee, just tell me, pleaaase,” you begged, dragging out the words with a grin.

Eddie smirked, shaking his head as he slid his arm under your head, pulling you closer against his chest. “Absolutely not,” he declared dramatically, voice dropping into a mock-serious tone. “The fair lady must not know of the sacred planification of the feast.”

You rolled your eyes, giggling. “Planification? That’s not even a word.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Eddie teased, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “It sounds fancy, and fancy is what you’re gettin’ tomorrow.”

He paused, his grin softening into something more tender. “I will say this though… you should wear that dress you love. Y’know the one. The one that makes me forget how to breathe.”

Your laugh filled the room, but Eddie’s mind was already racing. He thought about the reservation at Enzo’s, the flowers waiting at the florist, the way he’d laid out his best clothes, even if “best” meant patched-up jeans and a shirt that wasn’t torn. He wanted tomorrow to be perfect.

Inside, though, the nerves twisted. What if it’s not enough? What if she sees right through me, through the coupons, the thrifted rings, the busted van?

But then you shifted against him, smiling like you always did, and Eddie felt the doubt ease. He tightened his arm around you, pressing a kiss to your hair.

“You’ll see,” he whispered, half to himself, half to you. “Tomorrow… tomorrow’s gonna be good. I promise.”

And for once, Eddie believed it.

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He worked so hard. He was so close.

Eddie climbed out of the van, boots crunching against the gravel. He leaned against the dented side panel, staring at the mangled rim like it had personally betrayed him. His thumb found its way to his mouth, teeth gnawing at the nail a habit he’d never shaken, not even now.

“Perfect,” he muttered bitterly, voice low and sharp. “Just perfect.”

The tow truck fee flashed in his mind, another expense he couldn’t cover. Another reminder that the universe had it out for him. He let out a laugh, hollow and humorless. “Yeah, real funny. Biggest fuck you yet.”

He dragged a hand down his face, eyes burning. He’d worked so damn hard, every gig, every tip, every late-night hustle. All of it for tomorrow. For you. For the night he’d promised himself would prove he was worthy.

But now? Now he was standing in front of a busted van, broke, and ashamed. The words he’d said earlier telling you to dress up, to look beautiful. How could he ask you to do that when he couldn’t even keep his promise?

He kicked at the gravel, frustration boiling over. “I wanted one night,” he whispered, voice cracking. “One night where you’d know how much I love you. One night where I could give you something more than thrift store rings and coupons.”

The thought of calling you, of telling you not to bother dressing up, made his stomach twist. He hated it. Hated the idea of letting you down.

Eddie pressed his palms against the van, head bowed. “I swear, if there’s a god out there, he’s laughin’ his ass off right now.”

The silence of the lot pressed in around him, heavy and cruel. But even through the anger, through the shame, one thought kept him standing: you.

Because no matter how many times the universe spat in his face, Eddie knew he’d fight tooth and nail to make sure you felt loved. Even if it wasn’t the night he’d planned. Even if it wasn’t perfect.

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Eddie sat hunched over in the dim glow of the trailer’s lamp, the phone heavy in his hand. His thumb hovered over the buttons, nerves gnawing at him, shame eating him alive. Still, he dialed.

The ringing filled the silence, each tone daring him to hang up, to run, to disappear before he had to admit the truth.

Then your voice broke through, warm and familiar. “Hey, baby, how have you been?”

Eddie’s breath caught in his throat. He forced a laugh, shaky and thin. “I’m good, I’m good. You know… life.”

You paused, listening closer. “Are you sure? You sound a bit defeated.”

His chest tightened. He wanted to spill everything, to tell you about the van, the tire, the money gone. But the words stuck like glass in his throat. “Yeah, don’t worry. Just a long day. What about yours?”

You brightened instantly. “I went to the mall today. Got you a little something. And… I know you told me to wear my favorite dress, but I bought a new one. I think you’ll love it even more.”

Eddie closed his eyes, the pit in his stomach sinking deeper, heavy as stone. He could picture you smiling, biting your lip at the thought of him seeing you in that dress. It should’ve made him happy. Instead, it twisted the knife.

“Hey, listen, about that—” His voice cracked, trembling, but before he could finish, a voice cut through the line. Your father, sharp and commanding, telling you to get off the phone.

You hesitated. “Yeah, Eddie, what’s wrong?”

His throat burned. He couldn’t say it. Couldn’t crush the excitement in your voice. “Nothing,” he whispered, desperate. “See you tomorrow.”

He hung up, staring at the phone like it had betrayed him. His chest ached, shame clawing at him. Tomorrow was supposed to be perfect. Tomorrow was supposed to prove he was worthy.

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The bell above the flower shop door jingled as Eddie stepped inside, shoulders hunched, hands shoved deep into his pockets. The smell of fresh blooms hit him instantly, reminding him of the bouquet he’d planned weeks ago.

He approached the counter, voice low. “Uh… hey. I had an order in, but… things kinda fell apart. I was wondering if you had anything… smaller. Cheaper.”

The florist, a kind-looking woman in her forties, gave him a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. We don’t really sell anything in that price range. Our arrangements are all custom, and they start higher than that.”

Eddie’s throat tightened. “Right. Yeah. Figures.” He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to swallow the shame.

She leaned forward, her tone gentle but firm. “Listen, if you’re looking for something more affordable, you should try the supermarket down the road. They’ve got bundles of flowers simple, but sweet. Might be just what you need.”

Eddie nodded, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah… thanks.”

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You heard the knock at the door and smiled at your reflection one last time, twirling lightly to check that everything was in place. Heart fluttering, you made your way down the stairs.

There he was Eddie. His eyes widened the moment he saw you, drinking you in like it was the first time he’d ever seen anyone so beautiful. His gaze was full of love and admiration, but you caught the flicker of hurt and embarrassment behind it.

You furrowed your brows slightly, but smiled anyway. “You look… really good, Eddie.”

He shifted on his feet, tugging at the hem of his jacket. “You’re kidding me, right? You look like you just stepped outta a dream. I don’t even know how I’m supposed to keep up with that.”

You laughed softly, cheeks warming. He held out the flowers supermarket blooms, wrapped in thin paper, petals already wilting. His hand trembled as he offered them.

“They’re not… what I wanted to give you,” Eddie muttered, eyes dropping. “But they’re yours. Always yours.”

Your smile softened as you took them. “They’re perfect, Eddie. Because they’re from you.” You leaned in, brushing his arm before heading inside to place them in a vase.

When you returned, you asked gently, “Where’s the van?”

Eddie rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes. “We’re walking tonight.”

You glanced down at your shoes, heels, but not too tall and smiled. “That’s fine. I don’t mind.”

The two of you set off together. The night air was cool, the streetlights casting long shadows. Eddie kept fidgeting—adjusting his jacket, tugging at his rings, running his hand through his hair. His silence was heavy, broken only by the sound of your footsteps.

You glanced at him, catching the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes darted nervously. He was carrying more than just the bag slung over his shoulder. He was carrying the weight of wanting this night to be perfect, even if it wasn’t what he’d planned.

And still, you walked beside him, smiling, letting him know without words that being with him was enough.

------

You stepped into the clearing, the soft glow of candles flickering against the night. A picnic blanket stretched out beneath them, food neatly arranged on the tree stump. It was beautiful, simple, heartfelt, but Eddie stood there with his shoulders hunched, eyes downcast, as if ashamed of what he’d managed to put together.

You smiled gently, trying to ease the tension. “Eddie… this looks really nice.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, rings clinking nervously. “It’s not what I wanted for you. Not even close. But… it’s what I could do.”

You shook your head, stepping closer. “It’s perfect because it’s you.”

He swallowed hard, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “You look incredible. Like… I don’t even know how you’re mine.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you reached into your small purse, fingers brushing against the box you’d tucked inside. “I actually have something for you too. I left the bigger gift at home, but… I couldn’t wait to give you this.”

You pulled out the small box, opening it to reveal two rings nestled beside a folded card. You bit your lip, nerves fluttering in your chest.

“Well… do you like them?” you asked softly, eyes searching his.

Eddie’s breath caught, his hand hovering over the box like he was afraid to touch it. His voice cracked as he whispered, “Like them? Sweetheart, they’re the most beautiful damn things I’ve ever seen. Next to you.”

The shame in his eyes softened, replaced by something brighter gratitude, love, and awe. He reached out, brushing his fingers over the rings, then over your hand, grounding himself in the moment. Yet that made him feel the creeping shame.

You both sat down, the candles flickering against the cold air, the food laid out carefully on the stump. For a moment, it felt peaceful. You smiled, picking at the meal Eddie had packed, your heart swelling at the effort he’d put in.

But then, A sharp hiss broke the silence.

Water burst from the ground beneath the clearing, spraying upward in chaotic streams. The blanket was soaked instantly, the candles sputtered out, and the food was ruined in seconds.

Eddie shot to his feet. “Are you kidding me?!” His voice was raw, furious. He kicked at the ground, water splashing against his boots. “I can’t even get one damn thing right! Not one night without the universe screwing me over!”

His hands shook as he ran them through his hair, pacing in the mud. “I worked for weeks, saved every dime, every tip, every stupid gig, and for what? For this? For a busted van, wilted flowers, and now a damn pipe exploding under us?” His voice cracked, the bitterness spilling out.

You stood slowly, your heels sinking into the damp earth. But instead of anger, you laughed softly, shaking your head.

“Eddie,” you whispered, stepping toward him. He froze as you cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. His eyes were wild, ashamed, desperate.

You pressed your forehead to his, grounding him. “I don’t care about the flowers, the food, or the candles. I care about you. This—” you gestured around at the dripping mess, “-this is perfect because it’s with you.”

Eddie’s lips parted, ready to argue, but you silenced him with a kiss. Deep, certain, full of love. He stiffened at first, the pit in his stomach screaming that he didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve you. But then his hands found your waist, gripping tight, and he melted into you like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment.

When you pulled back, your smile was radiant even in the damp air. “I love everything about tonight. Because I love you.”

Eddie swallowed hard, his throat tight. His voice was hoarse when he whispered, “I don’t know how you do it… but you make me feel like I’m enough.”

You brushed your thumb across his cheek, eyes shining. “You are more than enough. You always are, you're always enough.”

The water still pooled around your feet, the candles sputtered out, the food ruined but none of it mattered. You laughed together, sitting back down on the soaked blanket, sharing bites of what was left, your clothes damp, your hearts warm.

You pulled him close, kissing him as you straddled him in your soaked clothes with a love and passion like no other.

For Eddie, the pit in his stomach didn’t vanish completely. But for the first time that night, it loosened. Because in your eyes, in your kiss, in your laughter echoing through the clearing, he saw the truth: you didn’t need perfection. You just needed him.

And that was something he could give.

To hell with the universe, all he needed was you.

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A/n: I hope y'all enjoyed and i hoped you liked reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Always let yourself be treated right and be with the ones that make you feel special and make you feel loved.

Eddie’s curls bounced as he headbanged, his grin wild, his fingers flying across the guitar strings. He looked like he belonged there, under the neon lights, in the chaos. And you? You were his dirty little secret.

Not in a cruel way. Eddie wasn’t ashamed of you. He just… hadn’t told anyone. Not his bandmates, not his D&D crew, not even Wayne. You weren’t exactly unpopular at Hawkins High, but you weren’t in the spotlight either. You floated somewhere in the middle, not a cheerleader, not a loner, just you. And Eddie liked you. A lot. Enough to sneak into your room at night, enough to write riffs with your laugh in mind, enough to kiss you until you forgot your own name.

But only in secret.

It was as if he was your prized possession, and he was yours, something both of you hid away as a means of not letting the world around you taint the precious gem you fostered between your love.

So, you watched, you always watched, you would admire, and you would softly smile at how he embraced the world around him as if he was the center of it. His song concluded, and he followed into the next, his smile never leaving, even as sweat and huffs left his lips.

Later that night, he climbed through your window, smelling faintly of smoke and sweat, his guitar case slung over his shoulder.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, dropping the case on your carpet. “You see me out there tonight?”

You rolled your eyes, though your lips curved into a smile. “You mean when you almost tripped over the amp cord? Yeah, real rockstar moment.” You nodded, mockingly trying to bite back the smile that was trying to break out.

He laughed, collapsing onto your bed. “You wound me.”

“You’ll live.” You sat beside him, brushing his hair back from his face. “You were good, though. Really good.”

His grin softened. “Better when I know you’re watching.”

Your chest tightened. That was the problem. You were always watching, always supporting, but no one knew. To the world, Eddie Munson was single, chaotic, untouchable. And you were just… his secret.

The lingering glances trying to catch his eye in the middle of it all, seeking eye contact any chance you got, yeah, a dirty little secret. Who has to know?

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Despite the secrecy, life with Eddie was fun. Stupidly fun.

He’d pick you up in his van after school, blasting All-American Rejects and singing off-key until you begged him to stop.

You’d spend afternoons at Family Video, pretending to browse while Eddie made snarky comments about VHS covers.

He’d sneak you into band rehearsals, where you’d sit cross-legged on the floor, pretending not to laugh when Jeff messed up a chord.

Sometimes, though, the laughter caught in your throat. Like the afternoon when Chrissy Cunningham wandered in with a friend, flashing Eddie a bright smile as she leaned against the doorway. “You sound amazing,” she said, her voice lilting in that effortless cheerleader way. Eddie grinned back, polite but warm, and for a second, your stomach twisted. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him; you did, but moments like that reminded you of the gap between his world and yours. She could smile at him in public, praise him openly, while you had to keep your affection tucked away in shadows. And even though Eddie’s eyes flicked back to you almost immediately, the insecurity lingered like a quiet echo. You smiled a light smile while you caught his eye, then turned away. Lingering eyes were a way of being caught.

Youd huff and laugh or roll your eyes.

You’d share milkshakes at Benny’s, Eddie dipping fries into yours just to annoy you.

Sometimes, if the dinner or hideout was empty, you would be entangled in a mess of sloppy kisses, his hair becoming frazzled as your hands ran over it trying to pull him closer, you would end up pressed against the wall on the way to the bathroom of any establishment you found yourself in, giggling and laughing as your lips clashed against one another. Yet private enough to not let yourself get caught.

But in your room, it was different. There was no fear of being discovered, no hurried laughter muffled by the hum of neon lights. Eddie would climb through your window, his boots thudding softly against the carpet, and before you could even greet him, his arms were around you. The kisses weren’t rushed here; they were slower, deeper, filled with the kind of tenderness he never showed anyone else. His rings were cool against your skin as his hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks like he was memorizing every inch of you.

You’d stumble backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, collapsing together in a tangle of limbs and laughter. His curls tickled your forehead as he leaned down, whispering something ridiculous just to make you laugh before kissing you again. The posters on your walls, the faint hum of your desk lamp, the creak of the mattress all of it became part of the soundtrack to your secret world.

Here, Eddie wasn’t the loud, chaotic frontman of Corroded Coffin. He wasn’t the freak everyone whispered about in the hallways. He was just Eddie, messy, affectionate, and yours. And in those moments, tangled up in your sheets with his laughter spilling into your neck, you almost forgot about the secrecy.

It was as if a romcom montage came to life: laughter, music, late-night drives, whispered jokes. Even the silence around him felt like being embraced.

I go around a time or two just to waste my time with you.

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But romcoms always have that moment. The crack in the perfect montage.

Who has to know?

It happened one Friday night. You were at the Hideout again, watching Eddie play. A group of girls near the stage were giggling, shouting his name, reaching for him. Eddie winked at them, harmless, playful, part of the act. But your stomach twisted. You knew he loved you, but the thoughts crawled up your spine, filling your thoughts. Clouding your mind in a way that was drowning. What if he truly was embarrassed of being with you? What if that was the reason and not the reasons he had provided? The reasons he gave were ringing through your head. You found yourself not being able to enjoy the rest of the set, the set you had helped him come up with. The memories of the night that the set was planned in, becoming bitter despite the kissing and entanglement of legs, moans and pretty words that the night had held.

After the show, you waited outside, arms crossed. Eddie bounded out, sweaty and exhilarated. A thrilled smile on his face, one that he always wore after his gigs.

“You were amazing,” you said flatly. You refused to meet his eyes, yet what you remembered from the set was amazing. That part wasn't a lie, it never was when it came to Eddie.

He frowned. “That sounded… not amazing.”

You sighed. “Eddie, I don't want to be a secret.”

His eyes widened. “What?”

“I’m tired of sneaking around. Of pretending I’m just some girl in the crowd. I want to be your girlfriend. Not a little secret. of yours”

The words hung heavy between you. Eddie shoved his hands into his pockets, looking suddenly small. “You know how people talk. They’ll say you’re slumming it with the freak. They’ll—”

“I don’t care what they say,” you interrupted, your voice sharper now, trembling with the weight of everything you’d been holding back. “I care about us. And right now, it feels like I’m the only one fighting for us.” That wasn't fully true, he tried; he was wonderful, the only part that felt shameful was the part in which you were a secret.

Eddie’s mouth opened, but no words came out. He looked at you like he wanted to argue, wanted to reassure, but nothing formed.

You shook your head, blinking hard against the tears threatening to spill. “Do you know what it feels like, Eddie? To sit in the crowd and watch you smile at everyone else, while I’m just… invisible? To hear people talk about you like you’re unattainable, like you’re some wild story, and I have to bite my tongue because I can’t even say you’re mine?”

Your voice cracked, raw and unsteady. “It makes me wonder if you even want me to be yours. Or if I’m just convenient. A secret you can keep tucked away so you don’t have to deal with the world judging you for choosing me.”

Eddie flinched, his jaw tightening, but you pressed on, the ache in your chest spilling out in words you couldn’t stop.

“I’m not asking you to change who you are. I’m not asking you to give up your music or your friends. I’m asking you to stop hiding me like I’m something shameful. Because every time you call me sweetheart in private but act like I don’t exist in public, it feels like I’m not enough. Like I’ll never be enough.”

The silence that followed was brutal. Eddie’s hands curled into fists in his pockets, his shoulders hunched like the weight of your words had landed squarely on him. His eyes were wide, desperate, but he didn’t move closer.

And for the first time, you let the insecurity show the gnawing fear that maybe you weren’t his dirty little secret because of the world, but because he wasn’t sure you were worth claiming at all.

I'll keep you my dirty little secret (dirty little secret) Don't tell anyone or you'll be just another regret (just another regret)

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The next few days were rough. You pulled back, stopped answering his late‑night calls. Eddie tried to act normal, but his music sounded hollow, his jokes fell flat.

At school, you passed him in the hallway, your eyes meeting for a split second before you looked away. It hurt. God, it hurt. And what made it worse was the way other people seemed to fill the space you left behind. You’d catch glimpses of girls leaning against his locker (despite him being the town freak), laughing at something he said, their voices light and easy. Sometimes he’d smile back, not in the way he smiled at you, but enough to make your stomach twist. Watching him joke with them, seeing how effortlessly they stood beside him in public, while you were stuck in the shadows, carving at your insecurities like a knife.

You weren’t exactly jealous of them; you knew Eddie’s heart was tangled up with yours. Yet that didn't help silence the voice in your head. But every laugh, every casual touch on his arm, reminded you of what you didn’t have the freedom to claim him, to stand beside him without secrecy. It made you wonder if maybe he liked it that way, if maybe you were easier to keep hidden than to defend.

That all halted a few nights later.

Eddie showed up at your house, knocking instead of climbing through the window as he usually did. The sound startled you, heavy and unfamiliar, the hour at which it happened not helping the acceleration in your heart, and when you opened the door, he stood there with his curls wild, his eyes desperate.

“Please, I'm really sorry, sweetheart” he said when you opened the door. “I can’t do this without you.”

You crossed your arms. god, you had missed his voice. You took a deep breath and really looked at Eddie. The cocky Eddie you knew and loved was nowhere to be seen; a man defeated and tired stood at your door. You couldn't help but feel that it was a reflection of your own self in that moment “Then stop hiding me.”

Those thoughts I can't deny (deny) these sleeping dogs won't lie (won't lie), and now I tried to, but it's eating me apart

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Two weeks later, Hawkins High was buzzing with gossip. Corroded Coffin was playing a set at the spring carnival, a big deal, bigger crowd, more eyes. Despite the satanic rep that the band had. Devil worship apparently embraced on this one occasion; the universe happened to have the best timing as a form of punishment. You hadn’t planned on going, but your curiosity won.

The band took the stage, the lights flashing, the crowd roaring looked around as the freaks took the stage. Eddie spotted you instantly, his face lighting up. His focus on you and playing, ignoring the stares that the town of Hawkins gave.

The band started the set happy to share what they knew and loved, but then, mid-song, Eddie Munson stopped. The Eddie Munson who's music never stopped, despite how tired he was, despite how tired everyone else was, stopped.

“This one’s not for the crowd,” he said into the mic. “It’s not for fame. It’s for the girl who makes me believe I’m more than a screw-up. It’s for the one I love.” The small crowd looked around not having in mind that this is what Eddie considered fame. Guess the town freak wasn't known for having a grand fan base.

The crowd looked around rippled talk broke through. Eddie’s bandmates looked confused, but Eddie didn’t care. He strummed the opening chords, his voice raw but steady.

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After the set, Eddie found you near the Ferris wheel, his curls wild, his grin shaky.

“Well?” he asked, voice trembling.

You laughed. "You're such a loser, Munson''

Relief washed over him. His shoulders lost the tension they had been holding for days.

You shook your head. ''I missed you''

He pulled you into his arms, spinning you under the carnival lights, kissing you messily and fiercely. For the first time, you weren’t a secret. You were his. He was yours. In that moment, the crowd around you didn't matter, the people in line for rides, the kids asking for cotton candy, all of that didn't matter.

And in that kiss, in that reckless joy, you knew you’d found your way back to each other.

"Does this mean I can kiss you and get to have boob privileges again?" He was half joking half serious.

You rolled your eyes "Yeah, you're a real loser, Munson." But you laughed and kissed him again.

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You swallowed hard. Sweetheart. The word still made your chest ache, but tonight it felt hollow.

A date. That was all you wanted, just one night carved out of the chaos, one evening where it was only you and him. For days, the thought had lingered like a quiet ache. You loved talking to Eddie, being near him, soaking in the warmth of his presence. His smart mouth, his goofy jokes, the way you’d shove him playfully and call him a loser it all made your chest feel lighter, brighter.

Yet, lately, everything felt distant. His band rehearsals swallowed his nights, his D&D campaigns consumed his weekends, and his endless hustling those late‑night sales tucked away in a battered tin lunchbox. Calls would be cut short, his mood sometimes reflecting his long days, leaving no room for conversation.

You tried not to resent it, but the neglect pressed down like a weight you couldn’t shake. He wasn’t cruel, he wasn’t unkind, he was just absent. And absence, you were learning, could hurt more than sharp words ever could.

You wanted him. Not the version of him that belonged to the stage, or the dice, or the shadows of Hawkins. You wanted Eddie Munson, the boy who laughed too loud, who teased you until you rolled your eyes, who made you feel like the world wasn’t so heavy when he was around.

But he no longer had time for you. And that truth sat between you like a wall, growing taller each day, until even the thought of asking for something as simple as a date felt like begging for the impossible.

“I’ve given you more than a sec,” you whispered, voice trembling. “I’ve given you months”

That made him pause. His pen froze mid‑sentence, and he finally lifted his gaze to meet yours. His brown eyes were wide, confused, like you’d just spoken a language he didn’t understand.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I can’t keep waiting for you to choose me over the band, over the chaos, over… everything else.”

Eddie’s jaw tightened. “You know Corroded Coffin is my dream. You knew that when you got with me.”

“I did,” you admitted, tears burning at the corners of your eyes. “But I thought I was part of the dream too.”

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Later that night, you lay on Eddie’s bed, staring at the ceiling while he sat at the edge, guitar in hand. He strummed a few chords, the melody hauntingly familiar.

“It ain’t me,” he murmured, half‑singing, half‑confessing. “You’re looking for someone to take you home, to keep the fire burning. But I’m not that guy, am I?”

You turned your head sharply. “Don’t quote songs at me, Eddie. Talk to me.”

He sighed, setting the guitar aside. “I’m trying. I just… I don’t know how to be what you need. I’m a mess. I’m late, I forget things, I get lost in music. And you deserve someone steady.”

“I don’t want steady,” you shot back. “I want you. Even when you’re late. Even when you’re messy. But I can’t keep being the only one fighting for us.”

Silence stretched between you, broken only by the faint hum of the amp still plugged in. Eddie reached for your hand, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure you’d let him.

“Do you still love me?” he asked.

You closed your eyes. “That’s the problem. I do.”

It was true. You did love him. You loved him more than you had ever cared for someone who wasn't blood related. But deep in your chest, you felt the emptiness, despite him saying that he loved you, despite him acting like he did, the hollow feeling of it being a lie set in. It sets in your bones like an unwelcome disease.

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The next few weeks were a blur of distance. You stopped showing up at gigs. Eddie stopped calling as often. Hawkins felt smaller without him, yet somehow lonelier with him still in it.

One night, he showed up at your window, hair wild, eyes desperate.

“Open up,” he pleaded.

You hesitated, then slid the window open. “What are you doing here?”

“I can’t… I can’t write without you,” he admitted, voice cracking. “Every lyric feels empty. Every riff sounds wrong. You’re the reason I started playing in the first place. You’re the reason I believe in myself at all.”

You shook your head. “Eddie, you can’t keep coming to me only when you’re broken. I need you when you’re whole too.”

He climbed inside, standing awkwardly in your room. “I don’t know how to be whole without you.”

In that moment, the distance you had built, the walls you had stacked so carefully, crumbled as if they were nothing more than dust. All the anger you had rehearsed, all the coldness you had tried to wear like armor, slipped away the second Eddie Munson was in front of you.

You let him consume you. His presence was overwhelming, familiar in a way that made resistance feel impossible. You hugged him that night, clinging to him as though he was the only thing keeping you upright. You kissed him, desperate and trembling, and you held him like you were afraid he might vanish if you let go.

It was a weak attempt at hatred, a fragile performance of indifference that collapsed under the weight of love you couldn’t deny. You wanted to resent him, to punish him for the neglect, for the nights he chose everything else over you. But instead, you found yourself surrendering because even in your anger, even in your exhaustion, Eddie was still the gravity pulling you back.

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The fight came to a head at Lover’s Lake. You sat on the hood of his van, arms wrapped around yourself, while Eddie paced in front of you.

“You’re killing me,” he said, voice raw. “Every time you pull away, it feels like I’m losing oxygen.”

“And every time you forget me for your music, it feels like I’m already gone,” you countered.

He stopped pacing, staring at you like you were the only star in his sky. “I love you. I love you so much it scares me. And I don’t know how to balance it all. But I swear to you, if you give me one more chance, I’ll figure it out.”

You bit your lip, torn between anger and hope. “Words are easy, Eddie. You can't just say that type of thing; you have to show it. Show me.” The words coming out of your mouth felt desperate, but they held the fear of what you could feel coming.

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Two weeks later, Corroded Coffin played at The Hideout. You hadn’t planned on going; your heart was still bruised, it felt heavy, your resolve still fragile, but curiosity won. He had asked you to be there, to support him. If there was something you would always do was be there for him. The place was packed, the air thick with sweat and anticipation, the crowd buzzing like static.

And then Eddie saw you. His eyes found yours instantly, cutting through the chaos like a spotlight. His face lit up, not with the cocky grin he wore on stage, but with something softer, something vulnerable like a child on Christmas morning who’d just spotted the gift they’d been dreaming of.

He stepped up to the mic, his voice rough but steady. “This one’s not for the band,” he said, and the room seemed to hush. “It’s not for fame. It’s for the person who makes me believe I’m more than a screw‑up. It’s for the one who stayed, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and unpolished, but they carried a weight that made your chest ache.

Then he strummed the opening chords. The sound wasn’t perfect, his fingers stumbled once, the amp buzzed, but it didn’t matter. The lyrics poured out of him raw, imperfect, but full of heart, each syllable a confession, each note a plea.

“If the fire’s out, I’ll light it again. If the night’s too long, I’ll stay ‘til the end. It ain’t me who walks away. It’s me who fights to stay.”

Your breath caught, the words sinking into you like they’d been carved for your ears alone. The crowd erupted in cheers, voices rising, hands clapping, but all of it blurred into background noise. Because in that moment, it wasn’t about them. It was about you.

It was Eddie, standing under the harsh stage lights, baring himself in front of everyone, but speaking only to you. Every lyric was an apology, every chord a promise, every glance a tether pulling you back to him.

And as you stood there, heart pounding, you realized that this wasn’t just a song. It was Eddie Munson, finally showing you in the only language he truly knew that he wasn’t going to let you slip away.

Words were never his strong suit. He had told you multiple times, always afraid of making things worse. That made the thought, the action of, much deeper than it once had been.

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After the show, Eddie found you outside, the cold night air wrapping around you both. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders hunched, nerves written all over his face. For once, the loud, confident Eddie Munson looked small, like a boy terrified of losing the only thing that mattered.

“Well?” he asked, voice trembling, eyes searching yours like he was bracing for a verdict.

You stepped closer, tears spilling freely now, your chest aching with everything you’d held back. “You idiot,” you whispered, half‑laughing, half‑sobbing. “You finally got it.”

Relief crashed over him, so visible it was almost dizzying. His grin was shaky, vulnerable, nothing like the cocky smirk he wore on stage. “So… does that mean you’re not done with me?”

You shook your head, laughter breaking through the tears. “I was never done, Eddie. I just needed you to remember I’m here too.”

That was all he needed. In a heartbeat, Eddie closed the distance, pulling you into his arms with a desperation that made your breath hitch. He held you like he’d been drowning and you were the air he’d been searching for.

“Then let’s start over,” he murmured against your hair, voice raw and certain. “No more half‑measures. Just us. Always us.”

And before you could answer, he lifted you off your feet, spinning you in the glow of the neon Hideout sign. You laughed through the tears, clinging to him as the world blurred around you. When he set you down, Eddie cupped your face with trembling hands and kissed you messy, fierce, and full of every promise he couldn’t put into words.

For the first time in months, you believed him. And in that kiss, in that twirl, in that reckless joy, you knew you’d found your way back to each other.

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"You would think that him being a super senior for two years would finally make him get his shit together" Karen snorted, glancing at Jessica and me. I just smiled faintly, leaning against the locker, my attention drifting past her to the blob of curls exiting the classroom, his lanky form sluggish and awkward.

"There's the freak now" I said faintly, catching the attention of both girls. Their eyes followed mine, trying to hide the snicker as Jason shoved Eddie while he walked by.

''Do you think he's ever gotten laid?'' Jessie's voice cut through, Sharp and mocking, snapping me out of my thoughts. "I mean, he's a twenty-something-year-old loser still in high school. Who the hell would want to touch that? No girl in her right mind would waste herself on a jobless stoner freak."

Karan tilted her head in thought for a moment, "Maybe he has. I mean, even freaks get desperate company sometimes. Some trashy girl might've lowered her standards enough to let him-"

I scoffed, my tone sharper than before. " He's not just a freak; he's a pathetic waste of space who needs to get his shit together before reality crushes him. He can't hide in high school forever, no matter how much pity the teachers throw his way." My tone cut off Karan mid-sentence. With that, I shoved myself off the locker, grabbed my bag, and walked out without another word.

Jessie let out a breathy laugh. "I think she's the one that needs to get laid, maybe it will snap that bitchy edge out of her." Her shoulder bumped into Karen's as they shared a look, both staring at my retreating figure.

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I felt a headache coming, my thoughts on Eddie becoming consuming, once again making their way into every crevice of my brain. You'd think that after being friends for years, even dating in the past, he would have stayed. But no. This was Eddie Munson we are talking about. The breakup came after I found his stash. Not just weed or mellow stuff, like he promised, but pills and harder things. It was reckless, disgusting in a way, as I finally understood why he had been acting the way he had, and what hurt most of all was how it was so typical of him. We argued, and like always, he ran, or maybe he just didn't care. He always found a way not to care; he never cared about school, his future, or even himself. I hated the smoking from the start. I wanted him healthy; I wanted him to be Eddie, not some burnout choking on smoke and drugs.

Hypocritically, after we broke up, I picked up the habit of smoking from time to time, but that wasn't the point. There was more to our breakup than what anyone knew. We weren't exactly public, we liked it that way, no one medaling, no one picking, no one pulling, no one poising our own little world, which is why Jessica and Karan and no one else had a clue that their friend once dated "the freak Munson".

I sat at a table in the far end of the cafeteria, not even bothering to look for Jessica or Karen. Then I heard it. An agitated, attention seeking cry for help from none other than the freak himself.

Then there he was, standing on a table in all his glory, running his mouth about how basketball players sucked and how popularity was fake. Typical loud, dramatic, desperate Eddie. But then a particular jab caught my attention.

"Oh, and don’t get me started on little Ms. Untouchable, who thinks she’s better than everyone. Too ashamed to admit she could care about someone other than herself. I mean, look at her, folks-"

I felt my stomach drop. The headache long forgotten in that moment. I wanted to cut him off before he spilled anything about our past relationship, any secret, any declaration of love I once felt for him, any ounce of my love that still lingered, being known to him. My anger bubbled, my bitchy babbling ready to boil over. And it did.

"You wish you could touch me, Munson. Why don't you stop being such an attention seeking whore and focus on graduating instead of rotting as a super senior?" My words were sharp, venomous; I wanted them to sting. I wanted that constant reminder of the faith I had in him and the hope of his leaving this place to remind him of what he could have had. I wanted to act like I didn't care, but the jab felt pathetic as it came out, like proof that I wasn't completely over the loser that Eddie Munson was.

He let out a breathy chuckle, about to retort, throw something back at me, but I shook my head before he could. I wasn't giving him the satisfaction. I walked out, like he had many times before, the only difference being the raising of my middle finger at him as the cafeteria erupted into whispers.

I refused to let anyone know. I would not let anyone know that I cared. I would not let anyone see that I was bothered by the specimen that Eddie Munson was. He was a freak, a burnout, and my biggest mistake, and I would rather choke than admit I once felt something for him. I refused to admit how I had imagined him in my life in the long run

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The next two days dragged on, slow and heavy, as if life was pulling me through the mud for its entertainment. Jessica and Karen never shut up. They gossiped, they bragged, they bitched about everyone and everything. Their voices were constant, sharp and full of judgment.

''god, you look like shit today'' Jessica sneered at me in the hallway.

I shot her a glare ''Yes, I'm wonderful, I'm doing great today, thank you for asking, Jess. At least I don't smell like desperation and scream that I need validation."

Karen laughed, nudging Jessica's arm. ''She's got claws today''

That's how it would always go. They'd throw something at me; I'd throw it back. But when it came to Eddie Munson, I refused to hold back; their jabs at him were the only rumors I would feed into. It was more so to convince myself, but they didn't need to know that.

"Did you see him yesterday? He looked like he hadn’t showered in weeks," Karen whispered loudly enough for half the hallway to hear.

Jessica smirked. ''has probably too busy crying into his bong to care"

I rolled my eyes, such a stupid, insensitive thing to say, yet I added I fed into their twisted words, "'or maybe he's practicing for when he ends up being a junky or getting extra practice on being a loser as a profession, I mean, he's already got the resume."

By Thursday, I was exhausted. My class had just ended, and I wasn’t in the mood to deal with them or anyone. My eyes burned from the dryness, and the thought of seeing Eddie made me want to claw my own face off.

I slipped away. It was finally lunchtime. I headed to the table in the woods near the school, even though I hated it. I hadn’t smoked in weeks but today felt like the kind of day where I needed it. The sky was cloudy, the air heavy, and I sat down on the rough wood, my back facing the school.

I pulled out the joint, feeling its weight in my hand. I bit my lip, wondering if I really wanted to do this. It was just weed, but the thought of being a hypocrite gnawed at me. It reminded me of Eddie, his smoke, his laughter, his carelessness.

"Fuck it," I muttered, lighting the joint with a breathy sigh. I brought it to my lips, staring out into the trees. My mind wandered to college, new friends, a new boy to obsess over like normal girls do. Maybe a new one every week, like every girl seems to do. I mean, who obsesses with their ex for 5 months after the breakup? I wanted to be everywhere, do anything but be in this place.

I took another drag, holding it in, enjoying the burn in my lungs.

"I thought you hated that shit," a voice behind me said.

I closed my eyes, exhaled slowly, and released the smoke.

"Fuck off, Munson," I snapped, not even turning around.

''funny'' he said, stepping closer, his tone dripping with sarcasm. ''you used to bitch at me nonstop about smoking, and now look at you, Hypocrite much?"

I turned my head, glaring at him." At least I'm not wasting my life on it. You're twenty years old and still stuck here, Eddie. You're not a freak, you're a fucking joke"

He smirked, yet it slightly wavered as his figure leaned against the tree. ''better a freak than a coward who hides behind her friend's gossip. You talk big, but you're just scared someone might see you care.''

My jaw tightened. "Care? about you? Don't flatter yourself. You're nothing but a burnout who thinks standing on tables makes him important. Which, by the way, makes you look pathetic"

Eddie’s smirk faltered, his eyes narrowing. "Pathetic? You think I don’t know what I am? At least I don’t pretend. At least I don’t lie about who I am or what I feel. You-" he jabbed a finger toward me "you’re the one who couldn’t even admit you didn’t want to break up."

The words hit like a slap. My breath caught, but I refused to let him see it. "Don’t twist this. I broke up with you because you were killing yourself with that shit. Because you didn’t care about school, about your future, about me. I wanted you healthy, Eddie. I wanted you alive."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "Bullshit. You wanted me perfect. You wanted me clean, polished, someone you could show off. And when you realized I wasn’t that, you ran."

My voice rose, sharp and bitter. "I didn’t run! I never wanted to break up with you, you idiot. I wanted you to fight for yourself, for us. But you didn’t. You just drowned yourself in smoke and pills and let me walk away."

For a moment, silence hung heavy between us, broken only by the sound of the wind through the trees. Eddie’s jaw tightened, his eyes flicking away before snapping back to mine.

"You think I didn’t care? You think I didn’t want you? You were the only thing I gave a damn about. But you wanted me to be someone I couldn’t be."

I stepped closer, my voice low but sharp. "No, Eddie. I wanted you to be someone you could be. Someone better than this. But you chose to stay the freak. And now look at you, stuck, bitter, and still trying to drag me down with you."

Eddie’s lips curled into a half-smile, but his eyes betrayed the sting. "Maybe I’m stuck. But at least I’m not pretending I don’t still think about you every damn day."

My breath hitched, the joint burning between my fingers. I didn’t walk away. I couldn’t. Because as much as I hated him, as much as I wanted to bury the past, the truth was I never stopped caring. And he knew it.

I swallowed hard, my voice sharp but shaking. "You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to act like you still care when you’re the one who ruined it."

Eddie stepped closer, his voice low, almost daring. "Then why are you shaking, sweetheart? Why are you still here, arguing with me instead of walking away?"

My lips parted, but no words came. The anger was still there, burning hot, but underneath it was something I couldn’t kill. Something I didn’t want anyone to see.

And for the first time, I hated myself more than I hated him because he was right. I never stopped wanting him.

"When you learn to give a shit about yourself, when you learn to love me without drowning in pills, when you learn to actually communicate instead of hiding behind a high, then maybe, maybe I’ll reconsider, Munson."

My words hung heavy, sharper than any insult I’d thrown before. "The weed? Fine. I can live with that. But the pills? That’s where you lose me. That’s where you lose yourself. You want me? You want us? Then you put me first. You put yourself first. Because I’m not going to watch you kill yourself one pill at a time. I will be damned if you throw your life and potential away repeating highs cool year after year. Get a fucking grip."

His eyes flickered with something raw, something unspoken. But I didn’t wait for his reply.

I flicked the ash to the ground, shoved the joint into my pocket, and pushed past him. My footsteps were steady, deliberate, each one carrying the weight of everything I never wanted to admit that I still cared, but I wouldn’t settle for less than him choosing himself.

And with that, I walked away, leaving Eddie Munson standing in the woods, the echo of my words louder than any fight we’d ever had.

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