Just A Hopeless Romantic With A Dirty Mind

By the time the sun started peering through the curtains, you had worn yourself out enough to at least fall unconscious. Sleep was a generous term that didn’t quite describe the state of restless stupor you’d slipped into. You could still see the way he looked at you—filled with so much hate and fury—and hear how you were screaming at him with equal ferocity as you tried to snooze on, but there was no escape and certainly no relief. 

How could he do that? Flip like a switch from laughing hysterically over nothing to screaming so hard that the vein in his forehead visibly throbbed. Maybe everyone was right—Munson was crazy. Demented. An outright nutcase. And he turned you into one too just by being around him. He somehow amplified your emotions—both good and bad—to something you couldn’t manage yourself. Getting away from him could only be a good thing, even if the idea of being kicked to the curb by even the town freak stung quite a bit. 

Whatever. He was fucking deluded anyway. 

Whether it be from exhaustion, dehydration, the whirlwind of emotions over the last twenty-four hours, or all of the above, you couldn’t wake up once you fell out. You tried to force your eyes open at the piercing shrill of the phone ringing, but your body wouldn’t comply. You were sunk too deep reliving a nightmare that nothing could wake you from. 

At least, until one in the afternoon when a pounding so loud and persistent made your senses float back to you. Slowly. At first you thought the noise was just the pounding of your headache, but the shouting of your name that accompanied it made you realize someone was at the front door.

Moving was awful. You weren’t hungover but it sure did feel like it—limbs heavy as lead when you staggered into the hallway. Everything was spinning. Your skin sticky with sweat and hands shaking as you crashed against the walls like a pinball until you finally reached the door and opened it to a very concerned looking Nancy Wheeler. 

Great. The last person you wanted to see. 

During your hours of infuriated self reflection, you’d come to terms with the idea that perhaps Munson wasn’t completely wrong in statement. He wasn’t right! But…he wasn’t incorrect either. 

It wasn’t Nancy’s fault. 

It took a long time and a lot of ruminating to come to that conclusion. In the previous years, every time you tried to play the “if the tables were turned and I did what Nancy did…” you always came up with the answer “but I wouldn’t have done that!” Until you realized that’s exactly what you had done last night. You argued with yourself that it wasn’t the same—just like you had done with Munson—that the motive for separating from your friend wasn’t selfish until it dawned on you that it was. If something had happened to Nancy last night, would you be to blame since you were the last to see her alive? Of course not. That was stupid. The fact that you went to hang out with Patrick or if you’d have even gone to the toilet and found her missing, it wouldn’t have been your fault. The fault was with whoever or whatever had taken her while you were gone no matter what the reason for your sudden departure.   

Then there was the ‘what would Barb do?’ scenario. Normally you tried to justify why Barb would blame Nancy too. Left to die alone in the woods after being told to go away by her lifelong friend. But after much uncomfortable contemplation, you knew deep down that Barb wouldn’t have blamed Nancy for what happened. She probably would be disappointed and a little hurt at being dismissed, but she would be more than peeved to know that you held any resentment towards Nancy at all for this. She’d hate to see her two friends at odds, especially when she wasn’t there to remedy it. 

What you said to Munson was true: the lab had killed Barb, and it was the lab that went to disgusting lengths to cover it up. Barb would’ve despised the way you felt about her death and she would tell you Nancy Wheeler wasn’t to blame at all. 

It was a truth that tasted as sweet as vinegar. It was easy to be angry at her. It was easy to blame her. It was not easy to admit you were wrong in doing so. And here she was, mere hours after your revelation, as if to taunt you into admitting the truth aloud. 

She didn’t wait for an invitation inside. Instead she stepped past you and scolded you. “You were supposed to call when you got home.”

“Sorry,” you muttered, shutting the door. “I didn’t get home until almost two and it was—“

Nancy gawked. “Two? A-M? In the morning?!”

You nodded, instantly regretting the movement. You beckoned her to follow you, stumbling all the way back to your room. She was muttering something, but you couldn’t comprehend it. You had mere seconds to get back to your bed or else you were going to pass out. Or puke. Or both. 

You collapsed face first onto your bed, legs dangling off the side, and waited with your eyes pinched shut for the room to stop spinning. 

“So,” Nancy said stiffly behind you. “How bad was it?”

You groaned, grumbled, and huffed into the mattress as you rolled over just enough to peer at her sitting at your thighs, brow arched high as she chewed the inside of her cheek in anticipation. 

The permed hair really fit her. Much better than the straight, sleek look she had for so long. It made her look older. More mature. But then again she was both of those things compared to when you met her so long ago. 

“You’re really pretty,” you admitted softly. 

Nancy did not seem impressed. “You’re still drunk.”

“I didn’t drink,” you responded. “Well, I had two beers at the party but I wasn’t drunk.”

Nancy’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You really expect me to believe that? You’re the picture next to ‘hungover’ in the dictionary!”

You were getting annoyed. “Nancy, I did not get drunk last night. Other stuff happened. It—it was a disaster.”

She quirked her brow, her expression clearly saying ‘I told you so’ though her mouth never did. 

“Not for the reason you think,” you said defensively. “Or maybe it is. I don’t know.”

So you told her what happened at the party. The only thing that seemed to suprised her was Munson’s sudden appearance. Your nausea increased at the memory of how excited you were to see Eddie when he showed up. Nancy noticed you grab your stomach and cover a disgusting wet belch behind your hand. She went to the kitchen and came back with a glass of water and a few slices of bread that she instructed you eat before you continue your tale. 

“You were with Munson all that time?” she questioned with clear concern. “Eddie Munson? Your partner for Albrecht’s class? What on earth were you doing with him until two o'clock in the morning?”

You took your time chewing to avoid the question—or more like the answer. What were you doing with him? Having fun before screaming at each other like absolute lunatics and swearing to never darken each other’s doorsteps again. 

“We went to the Waffle Hut in Ladoga,” you answered quietly. 

Nancy’s eyes widened. “That is…so gross. No wonder you’re miserable. You’ve got food poisoning!”

The thought did occur to you when you were spewing up your midnight feast, but you were certain it was related to the sudden and intense spike in stress rather than an actual illness. Though the remembrance of how greasy the place was made your stomach stir again. 

“I don’t have food poisoning,” you sighed. “The food was actually good for what it was.”

Nancy wrinkled her nose. “What’s wrong with you then? What did he do to you?”

Again, you took your time busying your mouth to avoid answering her, but the cool water was too good and nourishing to mess around with for too long. When you did finish it and ran out of an excuse to keep quiet, you collapsed on your back and watched her bewildered and impatient expression. 

“We were kind of getting along during the project. But last night we had a giant fight. He said I was a shit friend to you.”

Confused, she asked “How would he know?”

You side stepped her question. “Do you feel that way?”

She shook her head just a tick before stopping abruptly, taking more time to consider. “I think we’re all just doing our best after years of tragedy.”

You frowned. “So yeah, you think I’m a bad friend.”

She scooted closer towards you. “That’s not what I said.”

With your resolve for keeping things bottled up shattered during the previous hours, you had no will to hold back. Your chest started heaving. “What if I am? What if all this time I’ve been so angry with you and I blame you for what happened to Barb?”

Nancy’s thin lips tightened. “I know you do.”

Your heart jumped and your breathing ceased for a second while you gaped at her. If you weren’t so dehydrated, maybe the waterworks would’ve started, but instead your face morphed into an ugly grimace while your nerves frayed, unable to formulate a response.  

She nodded slowly, her shoulders slumping under the weight of the tension. “I’d say you should work on your poker face but you’d have to have one to begin with.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Nancy sighed heavily. “Because I agree. It is my fault.”

“It’s not. The lab—“

“I know,” she interrupted sharply. “It was the lab. Everyone keeps telling me so. They keep saying it’s not my fault and I’m not to blame, but they’re wrong and it feels wrong when they try to pardon me. I killed her. I let her go out in the dark alone and then she died.”

You didn’t know what to say. How to console her since you had—as she had known all along—agreed with her sentiment. But seeing her admit it, hearing the self loathing Munson said would plague forever, let a shamefully sick, almost perverse, pleasure trickled through your veins. 

“You’re the only one who wasn’t bending over backwards to stop me from blaming myself,” she continued, sniffling quietly. “Sometimes you’d give me this look and I just knew—I knew what you were thinking and I was waiting for you to explode. I needed you to throw it in my face and punish me because I wanted someone to just once say that yes! I deserve to feel guilty!”

The rush of smug superiority washed away as quickly as it surfaced, replaced by shame and self loathing. All this time you thought she’d been unaffected—focusing all her attention on boys instead of mourning her supposed best friend—but it wasn’t true at all. Nancy had been carrying her own pain as well. 

Perhaps Munson wasn’t just not wrong—but right. Maybe you had been a shit friend.

“But you don’t,” you countered. “Just because you saw her lost doesn’t mean you’re responsible for her death.”

Nancy gave a waterlogged, humorless chuckle. “Doesn’t it?”

You sat up and sat beside her with your thighs touching and wrapped your arms around her. Nancy stiffened, since it had been many years since you hugged each other, and hung her head to hide beneath her curly curtain of hair. 

“I don’t deserve everyone telling me it’s okay cause it’s not and she’s gone and she’s never coming back!” Nancy huffed. 

Twenty-four hours ago, you would’ve agreed. Wholeheartedly. Perhaps even blown up at her like you did Munson and given her the punishment she craved. But now, things were different. Not only had she been punishing herself, but she’d been waiting for someone to demand retribution—give her a chance at penance so she could rid herself of some remorse. You weren’t going to convince her that she was absolved of all guilt, that much was clear. The last thing she needed was another voice echoing in her ear the same sentiment she didn’t believe. You could, however, give her a little bit of both—scolding and reprieve. 

“It was selfish to cast her aside to hang out with Steve,” you told her firmly. “but being a selfish fifteen year old girl does not make you a murderer.” 

Nancy shook her head. “If I had just stayed with her—“

You rested your head on her shoulder as you gently interrupted. “Barb wouldn’t blame you, you know,” you said, resting your chin on her shoulder. “She might have been a little irritated with you when she left Harrington’s house, but she wouldn’t be now. She’d probably think us both jackasses for how we’ve handled things.”

Nancy covered her eyes as she began to sob. “I know!” she snapped. “That’s what makes it worse! I ju—I jus—“

And there it was. The uncontrollable, harrowing, soul-unburdening wail of someone who had been suffering from something so painful yet unable to let go of. The same one you’d echoed many times in the hours previous as you wrestled your demons and came face to face with reality. You had done it alone, but Nancy didn’t have to. 

So you held her and wept with her. Both hugging each other eventually and making a cacophony of heartbroken sobs, shrieks, and wails. Blubbering apologies and exonerations into each other’s shoulders. Assurances that you didn’t hate her, and that she didn’t hate you, and promises to one another to be better friends. You weren’t sure how long it went on for. An hour, perhaps. Maybe more. Until it became impossible to produce any more tears or when your nose got so stuffy you couldn’t breathe through it anymore. Perhaps it was Nancy who hiccuped last and it all quieted down from there. 

Your headache was worse, but the weight of the world seemed to have lifted from your chest. Your bones. Everywhere. Nancy quite looked the same—tired, a little forlorn, but free of the darkness that underlined her posture. 

“I miss her,” Nancy said sadly, wrapping her pinky around yours. “And I missed being close with you.”

“Yeah,” you agreed with a watery smile. “Me too.”

And that was how spring break started. You lost a friend, but found your way back to an old one. 

It had been great for the first couple of days into break. You and Nancy had been almost inseparable. You spent three nights in a row at her house like the old days watching movies, talking about college, your plans since you were waitlisted (which she insisted was not the end of the world), and simply hanging out. It was as if you were both making up for lost time. Barb was included, of course. There was her yearbook picture that Nancy glued to the end of a popsicle stick and sat it between you during movies, tucked ‘Barb’ into a book on her nightstand when it was time for bed, and as horrifyingly insane as it sounds, you both talked to the photo on the stick as if it really could answer as to whether or both Barb liked that nail polish color on you.

“I think she likes it,” Nancy said proudly. “Look at that smile!”

It was inane, and stupid, and wonderful all at once. There were tears again, of course, during moments where the silliness dissipated into sadness. Mostly in the dark of night when the rest of the house slept. But you had each other to cling to and somehow always found a way to pause the guilt until the dark came again tomorrow. 

The most important thing was that there were no boys! Johnathan had rung Nancy exactly one time during the three days, and she told him she’d been with him some other time—she had some things to tend to and would call him later. It was honestly so nice to not have to compete with him for conversation or listen to him sulk. And with the new reconnection, you found yourself able to ask Nancy exactly how on earth that happened. 

“His brother Will had gone missing at the same time,” she answered. “So we both knew what it was like and found comfort in each other over it.”

You swallowed thickly, trying not to find the resemblance in how you felt the same about that butthead, Munson. 

“Then why do you guys never look happy?” you prompted. 

Nancy shrugged. “I don’t know. It used to be enough and we make a great journalism team but…after the internship at The Post…things really haven’t been the same.”

“But you’re going to Emerson together?”

Nancy chuckled bitterly. “I doubt that. Every time I bring it up he gets fidgety and weird. He’s hiding something. I just don’t know what yet.”

You always found Johnathan to be fidgety and weird, so you could not attest to any change Nancy may have noticed. 

“What are you going to do?”

“Go to Emerson,” she answered simply. “Try my hand at New York. See what’s out there for me. If Johnathan doesn’t want to come with me, then…” she shrugged again. “He’ll be doing his own thing, I guess.”

You gave her a curious look. She seemed nonchalant about the idea of breaking up with him and moving across the country. You wanted to ask more about that since they’d been together almost all of high school, but she interrupted your train of thought by bringing up him. 

“What was going on with you and Munson anyway?” she asked. “You never fully explained that.” 

Thinking of Eddie Munson made you react quite viscerally inside, and unfortunately you thought of him often. Against your will. Much to your displeasure. Almost everything reminded you of him. The morning meals Mrs. Wheeler made was a slap in the face because now Eddie Munson’s memory had tainted all breakfast foods. Mike zipping around the house made you think of him since he was in the same stupid club, not to mention the long hair he was attempting to grow out made you do a double take every time. 

Yes, Eddie Munson was haunting you like a ghost with a vengeance. It made you furious. Annoyingly angry. And terribly, terribly solemn. You found that most nights, even with Nancy’s company only a few feet away, you felt incredibly lonely. You wondered what he was doing. If he thought of you as much as you did him. How were you going to continue with the project? Would you just have him write his name on the remaining sheets and turn in it? It seemed the most logical thing to do since he probably wasn’t going to play nice anymore. Not that his version of nice was very pleasant to begin with. 

“Nothing,” you spat. “We had a truce to work on the project but he said I was a shitty friend to you and we got into a fight. That’s it.”

Nancy gave you a look, unconvinced. “I thought you said he made you laugh.”

“Yeah—like—once,” you lied quickly. “Don’t look at me like that. He’s annoying. He doesn’t bring anything to school to do work. He doesn’t help with the project when it comes to writing stuff down, and he talks about the weirdest shit! Not to mention—“

You listed one hundred and one reasons why Eddie Munson was the biggest, most annoying, irritating, waste case to ever cross your path, but Nancy seemed unconvinced judging by the way her sharp brow stayed quipped and her lips pursed with suspicion. 

“Not friends but comfortable enough to let him take you to Ladoga, treat you to dinner, and talk about a highly sensitive topic? Something he wouldn’t have known about had you not discussed it before,” Nancy hummed thoughtfully. “Not to mention the whole flower thing.”

You gave her a nasty look and resumed cutting out coupons from the paper for Mrs. Wheeler, offering no words to continue the conversation. But Nancy would not let it go. 

“Would you ever forgive him?” she probed. 

You scoffed. “Yeah, right. Munson would rather die than apologize. Or speak to me again.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Nancy replied. “Guys don’t usually go out of their way for girls they don’t like and Ladoga is a little bit of a ways.” 

You were starting to get irritated. Mostly because she was playing the seed of a hope and it made your heart stutter at the thought. 

“Respectfully, Nance, you don’t know anything about it. Just what I’ve told you. He judges me, he sneers at me, and he just makes me so angry I could spit.”

A little smirk graced the side of her lips. “That may be true, but I think you miss him anyway.”

“Think again,” you snapped. 

She giggled, which only infuriated you more, but did not press the issue further. 

Her brother, however, was not as kind. 

Some hours later after lunch, a crazed and wide-eyed Mike Wheeler came charging at you as you sat on the porch swing with Nancy.

“YOU!” he hollered with an accusatory index finger pointed straight at your forehead. “This is your fault, isn’t it?!

You looked at Nancy with confusion before looking towards Dustin who stood beside Mike. 

“He means Eddie,” Dustin said. 

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t talked to him in days.”

Steam was practically whistling out of Mike’s ears. “So it is you! I knew it! I told you it was her!”

Dustin held up his arms in surrender. “I never said it wasn’t!”

“I’m sorry, what’s going on here?” Nancy interjected. 

Mike stood to his full height—which was now incredibly tall—and sighed heavily, glaring at you with pure malice as he spat, “Purple Rain.”

Clearly he thought this was some sort of revolutionary statement, but neither you or Nancy knew what the hell he was talking about. 

“The song?” you offered. 

“Yes,” he replied through gritted teeth. “Continously. As soon as the song finishes—no, sometimes even before it ends—he rewinds it and starts it all over again. He won’t stop playing it!”

This still did not give you any clarity on the situation at all. “I think you need your head checked or something.”

Dustin stepped forward. “What Mike is trying to say is, we’ve been through this before, okay? He went through it the first time Lucas and Max broke up, and I had to deal with it when Steve and—you know—sorry Nance, no offense. When Steve and Nancy broke up,” he smiled weakly. “The point is, Eddie is playing break up music and we can’t get him to stop. So can you just talk to him?”

“Not to mention he’s been extra pissy lately,” Mike added bitterly. 

You didn’t know what else to do besides laugh. Munson playing Prince on loop? In front of people? Like some lovesick idiot? How pathetic! And hilarious. And also a little sad. Though the self satisfaction of knowing he was suffering—whether or not that had anything to do with you—was a little uplifting. 

“I can guarantee you that I am not the reason he’s doing that!” you laughed. 

Mike’s top lip curled in a confused sneer. “Yeah it is.”

“He said that?” Nancy piped in with an annoying smile. 

“No, but I just know it is,” Mike argued. “You’re the only girl who’s ever talked to him in his life and now you just said you’re not. Who else would it be?”

You hoped not-so-deep down that there wouldn’t be anyone else that could do this to him.

“I don’t know, but it’s not me. Sorry,” you shrugged. 

Dustin pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t think you understand the severity of the situation here. Purple Rain in its entirety is eight minutes and a half minutes long, okay? Almost nine minutes! You gotta help us!”

“I like Prince. I mean, who doesn’t? But I swear if I have to listen to that goddamn song again….” Mike threatened. “I don’t know what I’ll do but I won’t listen to that album for a very long time.”

“I don’t know what power you think I have, but I can’t stop him,” you told them. 

“Will you try?” Mike questioned. 

You were starting to get annoyed. “Try what, Mike? It’s not like we're friends! I’m actually the last person that can get that freak to do anything!”

Mike swelled. “Just talk to him when he gets here! He’s picking us up to go to the arcade. Should show up any minute.”

Your stomach fell to the seat of your ass. Any minute? He couldn’t see you like this! You hadn’t been home in a few days, so you weren’t at your best. Yeah, you combed your hair but it wasn’t with your comb. The spare soft bristled toothbrush Nancy gave you probably didn’t whiten your teeth the way your firmer one from your own home did. You weren’t decent. You weren’t ready. And frankly, you didn’t want to see him! What if he said something stupid and you flipped out at him again in front of everyone? What if he said nothing at all and pretended you weren’t there? That would hurt worse than getting called a shit friend. 

Frantically, you scrambled to your feet and tried to shove your way through the boys in order to hide in the house. Dustin, who wasn’t nearly as tall as Mike but was far sturdier, jumped in front of you to block your path. “Do I have to get on my knees and beg? Cause I’m at that point.”

“Get out of the way!” you demanded, trying to push past him. 

Mike joined in creating a barricade with his long arms. “Face your fears!” he yelled, bumping his chest into your face to herd you back onto the porch swing. “It’ll only take a minute!”

“That’s seven less than one play of Purple Rain!” Dustin yelled, boxing you into the corner of the porch. “Please! Just this once, just try—!”

Then, you heard it. The loud, roaring engine of the van as it got closer and closer towards the house. There was only one person it could be, and if what Dustin and Mike said was true, the unmistakable guitar solo becoming more and more coherent was a dead give away. 

“I will hurt you if you don’t get out of the way!” you shouted, sawing your forearm in between their shoulders. 

“Please! Just this once, just try—!” they begged. 

But it was no use. You knew it as soon as you heard the tires screech to a halt. Eddie Munson was here. 

The clack of the driver door opening made you all freeze—ceasing the struggle between you and the boys. He started shouting before he stood up to crane his neck over the top of the van. “Let’s go, people! I got—“

As cliche as it sounds, time stood still when your eyes met. 

He looked the same. I mean, why wouldn’t he? It hadn’t even been a week. His hair was as unkempt as usual and he had on that same dumb leather jacket. But the circles under his eyes stood out a little more. Or was it just your imagination?

For a split second neither of you said anything nor did anything but stand there and stare at each other—completely at a loss as to how to react to the sudden presence of the other. 

You weren’t overcome with anger and annoyance like you were every time he crossed your mind. No, this horrible, sinking feeling was something quite different. It was then you realized—by the way your heart plunged to the floor—how much you did miss his company. 

You wanted him to say something. Perhaps ask if he could speak to you privately. Maybe even acknowledge you with a small wave or anything. Some sort of olive branch to show that perhaps he was over it? Since he was the one that flipped like a damn switch and went berserk like a crazy person. He had to be the one to make the first move, right? 

But then he looked away and nodded his head towards the boys. “Hurry up. It’s Two-Scoop Tuesday,” he said, and got back into the van without another word. 

“Wait—so that’s it?” Dustin deflated. 

“Go say something to him!” Mike urged. 

“Move,” you commanded. And when the boys split like the Red Sea with hopes you’d talk to their leader, you instead took the opportunity to bolt into the house, trying to outrun the searing pain of heartbreak in your chest. 

Nancy found you sometime later face down on the twin mattress you’d been sleeping on in the middle of her small bedroom, simmering in despair.

“Drama, much?” Nancy observed. 

You groaned into the pillow your face was smushed in.  It shouldn’t bother you. You were mad at him. He screamed at you, drove like a madman that could’ve killed both of you. You shouldn’t want to see him. And yet…

Defeated, you rolled over onto your back and frowned at her. “Clearly he didn’t want to talk to me. You saw how he ran like a coward!”

“So did you,” she pointed out. “At least, you would have if Mike and Dustin didn’t stop you.”

You glared at her. “Who’s side are you on?”

She shrugged, the shadow of a smirk lingering on the corner of her lips. “You’re miserable being on the wrong side of him. He’s obviously miserable too. Someone’s gotta fess up and fix things.”

“No, we don’t,” you muttered bitterly. 

She grinned. “We’. So cute.”

“Stop,” you demanded. 

Nancy laid in her bed, snuggling towards the edge so she could look down at your sulking form. “Just admit you miss him.”

“But he’s so stupid!” you blurted, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “And annoying, and so damn irritating!”

“You’ve said all that before,” Nancy nodded. “But if he was only that, you wouldn’t look so pathetic right now. Spill. What’s likeable about Eddie Munson?”

“Nothing,” you sneered. 

Nancy, getting irritated with your resistance, barked your name in a tone that resembled her mother. She was not amused when you shared that with her. 

Nancy held up Barb’s popsicle stick next to her cheek and pouted. “Talk to us,” she pleaded softly. 

Your frown deepened as those sparkly, round eyes shone with sadness, pleading to connect over something that mattered. Unable to refuse her, you huffed and gave in—to both Nancy and the part of you that vehemently refused to acknowledge what you missed about that shitass. 

“At first he was not easy to be around. At all. All we did was bicker and get on each other's nerves. But after that day I ran out of class, we kind of became friends. He made a comment about Barb being the redhead that…yeah,” you trailed off. “He told me about his friend that died in the mall fire—“

Nancy stiffened. So much so that you were taken aback by it. “Barry Berman,” you added. “Did you know him?”

Nancy shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Oh. Well. Eddie was really close friends with him and he’s been a wreck ever since the fire. He said Barry was with him shooting fireworks when he suddenly started walking towards town. Eddie thought maybe he was going home or something but it turns out he went to the mall and ended up—you know. Munson claims it’s some huge government cover up but so is the moon landing. Anyway, we got closer after that? At least less volatile towards each other. We’d go to the gas station and get—“ you paused, not wanting to betray the illegal gambling operation Janine ran from behind the counter. “—roller dogs when doing homework.”

Nancy grimaced. “Why do they eat that stuff? Johnathan loves the cheddar ones.”

“I only eat the pretzels. I haven’t braved a hotdog yet outside of a single bite,” you admitted. “I don’t know. I went over to his house once because he hung up on me, and then he got mad at me for biking there alone. He thinks remnants of the lab are still active or whatever the government is covering up is still out there. I don’t know. He doesn’t like me traveling alone.“

“That’s why you bike with Mike and Lucas,” Nancy breathed. 

“Yeah. He told them to do that.”

A disgusting, sticky sweet smile spread across her face. “That is the cutest thing I ever heard!”

“Whatever,” you bristled. “We smoked a couple of times together—“

Her jaw dropped. “You?! You smoked? You smoked weed?! All the times you bitch about Johnathan—!”

“I know, I know!” you interrupted. “But it turned a bad time into a good time so it’s fine. Anyway, I just. I don't know, Nance. He's easier to be around because I don’t have to impress him. I mean—it’s Munson.”

“I thought you said he judges you?”

“He does but on stupid stuff. Well. Maybe more like he challenges me? This is annoying. I don’t know what I’m feeling right now.”

“You’re thinking too much,” she advised. “Stop explaining and just answer. Why do you miss him?”

You sighed heavily and stared at the ceiling instead of at Nancy. It took some time to sort things out in your head, but Nancy waited patiently while you figured it out and at last answered. 

“We have fun,” you said sadly. “I haven’t laughed like I did the other night in a long, long time. He talks a lot about nothing but I learn some things from him. Things I never thought about or honestly even cared about, really. He’s seen me cry. He’s seen me drool. Probably heard me snoring that time I fell asleep at his house. God, that’s awful to think about. But he’s never judged me for that or made fun of me. Not until we had that fight.” You frowned further at the memory of him. At how easy he actually was to be around. “I just—I don’t feel pressure when I’m around him. I feel…free.”

You opted to keep any notice of his looks to yourself. She didn’t need to know he actually had really cute dimples or expressive brown eyes that sparkled. Was it really important to share that he had different smiles and the one where his teeth and dimples showed was your favorite?

The pity that washed over Nancy’s features was unbearable. “Sounds like love.”

You closed your eyes in order to stop tears from forming. “Doesn’t matter now.”

“Sure it does,” she replied. “You've both just got to stop being stupid and talk it out.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Nancy argued. “I saw that sad puppy dog look on his face. I think he—just like you—doesn’t know how to fix it.”

You didn’t want to talk about this anymore. In fact, you wanted to just go home and come to terms with what you had just admitted aloud. Nancy didn’t object, but she did let you know that she had to spend at least some time with Johnathan over break, and that tomorrow she would likely be out. 

“You should get out, too,” she suggested. “Go digging in the lake or something.”

That sounded a lot better than being at home and staring at the walls. “Yeah,” you agreed. “I’ll probably go to Lake Jordan. Lover’s Lake is the last place I want to be.”

So the next morning you took her advice. Dressed in your best fishing bib and waterproof boots, you headed down towards the shallow end of Lake Jordan with a bucket and the least stained Tupperware tub ready to find some goodies to trade Mr. Horowitz at the antique shop. 

Though the sun was shining brighter than it had in months, the water was still far too cold for swimming, and if it weren’t for your waterproof fishing boots and coveralls you wouldn’t have dared enter the lake. It was quite nice being outside—really outside—for the first time in months. A few others had the same idea to come out and enjoy the sun. There were a few fishermen casting their line on the other side of the bank and one or two on skiffs in the middle of the water. Each person kept to themselves and enjoyed the solitude and the outdoors. The crisp, fresh air filled your lungs with each breath and for a few moments you completely forgot to be miserable. 

The chilly breeze made ripples in the water, obscuring the clarity a little. Even so, tiny minnows could be seen swimming around the ankles of your rubber boots. Within no time you were tossing pottery fragments, crazy colored rocks, old glass bottles, and coins into a bucket. A badly rusted buckle of some sort was your current prize, and you wasted not time in trying to chip off the heap of crusty corrosion to try and make out the material. You were so engrossed in removing as much junk by hand that you didn’t know anyone was near until they spoke. 

“When are you gonna learn you’re not supposed to be out here by yourself?” he questioned with exasperation. 

Your froze, heart jumping into your mouth at the sudden appearance of one annoying ass Eddie Munson. You didn’t look over at him at the edge of the bank. Instead you resumed scraping the buckle against the plastic rim of the bucket. You could’ve asked how he knew where you were, what he wanted, or maybe why he was there in the first place, but the angry part of you settled on, “Why do you care what happens to me since I’m such a shit friend?”

He sighed loudly and clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Really? We’re just going straight there? Can’t even be a little decent first?”

You said nothing, abandoning the seemingly silver buckle and returned to rummage for goods in the silt and sand. You didn’t really know what to say to him. Nancy was right, you did miss him, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t partly relieved to have him speak to you, but the bitter and more insecure part of you was not going to let go easily. 

You saw him plop onto the ground from your peripheral, resting his elbows atop his knees as he squinted your way. “Wheeler said you’d be out here. Guess yall are cool now?” 

“Which Wheeler?” you snapped, already knowing the answer. 

The only one who knew you were planning on coming out today was Nancy. When the hell did he talk to her? What did she say? She wouldn’t have dared say anything to him about what you told her. No, she wouldn’t do that. Right? What did he say? A bitter bite of jealousy and fear took hold. 

“Your Wheeler. The sister,” he answered with confusion. 

“Why don’t you ask her? Since apparently you’re friends with her now,” you snapped. 

“You know what? Whatever, man,” he scoffed, rising from his place in the dirt and dusting off the seat of his pants. “I only came out here cause she said you wanted to apologize.” 

Your jaw dropped, eyes bulging out of your head in shock. “Me apologize? ME?” you yelled. “You screamed at me like an asshole. You drove like an asshole and nearly chucked me out the window. You were just a complete ASSHOLE!”

“Yeah, cause you were saying complete bullshit!” he shouted back. “Excuse the fuck out of me!”

You were so angry you could scream. Actually, you did exactly that. With gritted teeth you screeched in fury. He was so maddening! He couldn’t even admit that he had done something wrong or hurtful! You had already apologized to Nancy, and that should’ve been enough! How you felt about Barb’s death had nothing to do with him! And that’s exactly what you told him. 

“I was talking about me and my friend and what I thought and you turned it into a soapbox session for your pain!” you added hotly. 

Munson, with a nasty grimace on his face, shrugged. Repeatedly. Like he didn’t know what to say or where to start. You were just about to give up and tell him to piss off when he finally seemed to string together a thought. 

“Look, man. I know I freaked out,” he said stiffly, taking steps towards the edge of the water. “It pissed me off because you know what happened to your friend—the whole damn country does. They did a  20/20 special on it. But no one knows what happened to Barry. Not really. Just the bullshit we’re being told. Another cover up. So how you could sit there and say it was someone else’s fault just because they were the last one—“ he paused, and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “It set me off, alright? ‘How dare you? How could you?’ you know?”

You stared at him hard for a long while, trying to find your own words while simmering with both relief to be talking to him and aggravation. He made it sound like having the answer somehow made it less painful to lose a friend, but he didn’t seem to realize he was implying. 

With an attempt at a calming breath, you emerged from the lake—ignoring the embarrassing squeak of the rubber bibs and boots—and stood before him on the rocky shore’s edge. 

“That 20/20 special came out a year and a half after Barb’s death,” you said as calmly as you could. “There was an entire year that we didn’t know what happened to her. The lab people stole her car and made a fake purchase for plane tickets and claimed she was a run away. For a year, I didn’t know if she was living or dead. Abducted? Grabbed by some Ted Bundy wanna be and left in pieces somewhere! I—“

You took another calming breath as old feelings of anxiety and fear welled in your throat before continuing. “But yes, you’re right. We now know what really happened to her. That doesn’t make it easier. That doesn’t mean I don’t still get angry or resentful about it.”

“Yeah, towards the wrong people—“

“Like you lashing out at me was towards the wrong person?” you interrupted. 

At least he had the decency to look a little ashamed. 

“I know how you feel, Eddie, so please understand I’d never say or throw anything like that in your face. Just like I never said anything to Nancy about how I felt,” you continued sullenly. “It’s a bitter, ugly feeling that I hated having and I thought that by sharing it with you that I’d be freeing myself of it but…”

You didn’t really know what else to say, so you left it at that. Awkwardly moving around the rocks and sandy debris in your gloved hand while you waited for him to say something. He appeared to be mulling it over as he toed his shoe in the dirt. But seconds that felt like torturous minutes ticked by and he still said nothing, keeping his gaze on the ground and gnawing on the inside of his cheek.

“Now I feel like I can’t talk to you,” you blurted. “Not like before.”

He finally looked up and frowned deeply. “Well that’s just not true.”

“You don’t make it easy. You’re so defensive and ready to explode.”

He wiped his forehead again, wincing at the discomfort of being confronted. “I usually have to defend myself. You’re not stupid. You know what people around here say about me. It makes me a little touchy.”

“Yeah, but I thought we were friends,” you admitted sadly. “I don’t think those things about you.”

He rolled his eyes, not even pretending to believe you. 

“Okay, I don’t anymore,” you clarified. “I think you’re an abrasive jerk sometimes, but—“ you shrugged. Your turn to be uncomfortable with muttering the truth. “I have fun hanging out…with you.”

God. You wished a rogue wave would ripple over the lake and whisk you away from this conversation. Is there anything as embarrassing as barring your soul to a dumb boy?

“I think you’re judgmental and sheltered.” Though it wasn’t a compliment, he seemed to skeptically brighten just a little. “But you’re willing to try new things and change your mind, which I like.” He cleared his throat and shrugged. “I guess I have fun too. It’s been a weird few days.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding back. Suddenly things didn’t seem so tense and scary. He missed you too, in his own Munson-esque way. At least something was mutual. 

“Well, stop being such a combative butthead!” you teased. 

“Sweetheart, you’re asking a fish to breathe out of water,” he scoffed playfully. 

Sweetheart. How quickly you were willing to forgive him just to get that title back and never lose it again. 

“Then could you at least not be such a combative butthead to me?” you proposed. 

He made a show of considering the suggestion—humming loudly and rubbing his chin as he tapped his foot. “Oh, I suppose,” he sighed. “Wouldn’t want my balls kneed into my chest.”

You grinned. “Exactly.”

He smiled lazily, ticking up only one side of his lips. “I’m sorry,” he said firmly. “For the whole thing. It was just…you know?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I know. I’m sorry, too.”

You both stood there, not really sure what to do now. Relief was still ebbing its way through your mind and body. Things were okay. At least, they were going to be. And Eddie would try to not be a dickhead and you would try to be patient with him. It wasn’t until Munson started to take off his shoes that you were prompted to speak. 

“What are you doing?”

“Kenku training.”

“What?”

“In DnD there’s this creature that scavenges for shiny things. Trades it for money or goods or whatever. It’s called a Kenku. You’re scavenging for shiny things, right?”

“Not just shiny things,” you replied stiffly. “Don’t be ridiculous, Eddie. The water is freezing.”

He didn’t seem to hear or care. Rolling his pants up to his knees to reveal very pale legs that might have never seen the sun, you instinctively stepped back as he made his way towards the water. 

“Yeesh,” he groaned as he stepped into the chilly lake. 

“Your toes are gonna fall off,” you warned him. 

He shrugged, but didn’t step any further once the water got to his ankles. Surprisingly, he listened intently and watched how you scoped the bottom with the Tupperware and didn’t interrupt or tell you any better ways to do your thing. He seemed genuinely interested and eager to try. Much to your annoyance, he was already much luckier than you were. Within just a few minutes he was pulling coins, rings, and even a rare homemade item. 

“No way! Is this really—?” he questioned, holding out a small cube in his palm. It was chipped, but sure enough there was a small dice in his hand. 

“I’ve found only one of these before. Mr. Horowitz said it’s made of bone.”

“That is so fucking sick!” he cheered, holding it up to the sun to inspect it further. “Move, you might be standing on the other one.”

All the stress and misery of not having him around had melted away into nothing as you watched him wince and chitter while he tiptoed in the shallows in search of forgotten treasure. It looked so silly that you laughed, and once you started doing that around Eddie Munson, it was hard to stop. 

————

Part Ten

As much as you tried to do other things on Sunday, your mind somehow drifted back to memories of spring break last year. How he had smiled and waved at you at the end of February--so bashful and shy. At first you couldn’t believe he was waving at you. You ignored him the first time, assuming it was someone behind you. But the second and third time couldn’t be a coincidence. You waved back with uncertainty, hoping you weren’t making a fool of yourself, and his smile grew--dimpling only one cheek. It was then that you noticed he was looking at you, and he was quite cute. 

Within a week he was asking to carry our books as he escorted you to class. He said you had caught his eye. That he knew it was probably out of the blue and weird, but he wanted to get to know you. How could you refuse? No one else had ever shown a romantic interest in you, especially not someone as good looking as him. Not to mention he was on the basketball team and had a lettermen jacket--the same one he draped over your shoulders about a week later. 

A date at the skating rink was something straight out of a movie. Lots of conversation, giggling, and sheepish handholding. He won you a handful of penny candy from one of the claw games and you let him give you a kiss on the cheek goodnight when he took you home. He never sat with you at lunch, saying he didn’t want to subject you to the locker room talk his friends took part in, but he did walk you home from school every day and called you every evening to talk about…everything. His favorite songs, the food he liked to eat, and eventually opened up about the rocky relationship with his parents. And sometimes you would talk about nothing at all. Just sit on the phone and do homework in silence together--enjoying the knowledge that someone else was there. That neither of you were truly alone. 

By the time spring break rolled around, all you wanted to do was be with your new boyfriend. Apparently he felt the same because you spent nearly all day and night together over break. You frequented the arcade, the mall the next town over, and everywhere in between. He was just so sweet. He really looked at you and talked to you. He told you things about himself that he never shared with anyone else. You just couldn’t believe how lucky you were to have the attention of such a great guy. He opened doors for you, let you wear his jacket, and every time he was near you couldn’t help but smile--your stomach as light as air and fluttering without fail. 

It wasn’t long before kisses on the cheek turned to kisses on the lips, and then other places. But he remained respectful when you let him know you weren’t ready for something. He admitted he was a virgin too, the last one on the team, and wanted to give himself to someone special. Someone he cared about. How romantic it was to have your first time ever, much less together, in a boathouse by Lover’s Lake after a moonlight picnic. 

Once wasn’t enough, though. It seemed like that’s all he wanted to do before the end of break. “Since we will only have after school and weekends to see each other. If I can get out of the house,” he had said. It’s not like you minded much. Each time became less uncomfortable and felt better. Besides, you liked being that close with someone. There really was nothing more intimate.

The phone call the night before returning to school was odd. Short, clipped, and distant, Patrick didn’t offer much to the conversation. When you asked him what was on his mind, he said that he was just worried about his midterm grade. His dad wouldn’t take it too kindly if he underperformed again. He hung up within a few minutes, saying he really needed to get some sleep. 

The next morning when you tried to greet him at his locker, he was once again curt. He didn’t escort you to your class or carry your books like he normally did. You assumed he was having an off day, but by lunch you were finding it hard to excuse his behavior. After school, you started walking towards him at his locker. Andy and Jason were with him, but when they saw you approach, a sick grin grew on Andy’s face. 

“Hey, Patch,” he said loudly, making direct eye contact with you. “What’s the difference between a washing machine and a virgin?”

You wrinkled your nose at the brash and inappropriate joke. If this was how his friends talked, no wonder he advised you to stay away during lunch. 

Patrick shrugged, removing the textbooks from his backpack and placing them in his tin cubby. 

Andy delivered the punchline. “A washing machine won’t follow you around for two weeks after you dump a load in!” Andy smacked Patrick and nodded towards you. “Here’s your follower now!”

Blood rushed to your face so quickly your knees wavered at being talked about like this. You hoped that with the announcement of your arrival, Patrick would at least have the decency to look embarrassed or make a show of telling Andy off, but he didn’t. He glanced at you for a second and turned his attention back to his books. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t defend you. He didn’t tell Andy to piss off at all!

You glared at the boy next to you, hoping that if looks could kill he would drop dead at any second. But nothing of the sort happened. Andy kept laughing.

You decided to rip Patrick a new one on the way home. That way you could talk to him without his idiot friends egging him on. Attempting to keep all anger from saturating your voice, you spoke evenly. “Ready to go?”

Andy and Jason couldn’t hold back their giggles--not that they even made an attempt to. Patrick cleared his throat and shrugged, not even giving you the courtesy of speaking directly to your face. “I think you should walk yourself home from now on,” he said. 

Chest tightening, you did your best to ignore the whispering from Patrcik’s two friends. “Any reason why?”

He did look at you then. Well, more like above your head instead of in your eyes. “We had our spring fling. But it’s over now, you know? No need to drag it out anymore.”

Head suddenly swirling, you had to focus on resisting the urge to vomit, swallowing down the burning vile posed at the back of your throat. You wanted to move. To scream and yell at him. To slap him as hard as your strength would allow. To turn and leave. To run as fast as you could and hide from the embarrassment of literally being laughed at to your face, but your legs were cemented in anvils, and your arms wouldn’t budge. 

Jason threw his arm over Patrick’s shoulder, turned him away from you, and led him down the hall. “Good for you. You let her down easy! There’s nothing to feel guilty about!”

You watched as the three sauntered down the hall, leaving you behind to shatter into pieces. Through the tears clouding your vision, you could’ve sworn Patrcik turned back to give you an apologetic look, but there was no way someone capable to use another person the way he did could feel  remorse. 

You cried to Nancy that night, determined to get revenge for making a fool out of you--to smack him on the head with a lunch tray and cause a scene, but Nancy talked you out of it. She reminded you of how things had turned for the worst when the whole thing with Steve Harrington happened. The rumors that still to this day followed her. How Steve and Tommy spraypainted the theater sign calling her a giant slut. She urged you to consider getting quiet revenge instead. You didn’t want to be further embarrassed by being called a crazy psycho slut.

You thought of what Barb might’ve said about the whole thing. She would’ve been so supportive and cheered you on for finally getting out there and she would certainly ask about every single detail of every date. But her outside perspective and protective nature would’ve alerted you to something amiss—something you were too blinded to see yourself. She also would’ve taken revenge with you. Something subtle and unable to be traced back to you—like mailing potatoes to him with no return address. Annoying, confusing, and downright odd. Yeah. That’s what Barb would do.

So you settled for giving his address and phone number to random newsletters, churches, and military recruiting offices that traveled to the school in hopes to ensnare the young men of America. Anytime a telemarketer called your home, you immediately redirected their efforts to the McKinney household. The minor annoyance he and his parents might have felt with Army recruiters and Mormons visiting was nothing compared to the pain and shame you felt for being used and discarded like a soiled rag.

It took a lot of self control on Monday when you saw Patrick in the cafeteria to not shred his face apart with your nails, but you made do. You filled Nancy in on what happened during lunch, trying hard not to send daggers at the back of Patrick’s head. Nancy’s solution was much the same. She advised that you forget about the whole thing and continue to ignore him. You were so close to going off to college and meeting new, better looking boys that in four months time, Patrick McKinney would be nothing but a footnote on the memories of high school. You knew if Barb were here she would say the same thing this time. You were all so close to a new adventure. What was the point of getting riled up over someone who wouldn’t matter in just a few months?

You begrudgingly agreed, but it did nothing to lighten your mood. The anger must’ve been written across your face because Munson gave you a reproachful look in class before taking his seat next to you. 

He held up a small stack of envelopes. “Bills. Curiosity of Albrecht.”

With a scowl still strong on your face from thinking of your ex, you glanced at Munson through your peripheral. 

A curious thought crossed your mind. You wondered if Munson would rough Patrick up a little. For a fee, of course. Or perhaps scare him a little with the witchcraft everyone accused Munson of doing. You could probably snag a hair or two off of Patrick’s shoulder in passing. Or better yet you could get one of Munson’s minions to do it to avoid suspicion—

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Munson asked cautiously. 

“Like what?” you snapped. 

Munson’s eyes narrowed. “Like you’ve got murder on the mind.”

The daydream of getting revenge dissipated like a popped soap bubble. “Not murder exactly. More like battery,” you grumbled, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. 

Munson’s lip curled into a snarl. “Whatever, dude. I haven’t done anything to you.” 

“What? No, not against you, stupid,” you attempted to clarify. 

His cheeks reddened. Voice low and full of venomous warning, he said, “Don’t call me that.”

Your own words thrown back at you stung like a slap across the face. You hadn’t meant that he was actually stupid. Well. Maybe you did. But it was just a slip of the lip. You didn’t mean it too maliciously. Even so, by the firm line his lips were pressed in and the color of his face deepening, you had clearly stepped in it with him again. 

You swallowed your pride and nodded. “Fine. But it wasn’t directed at you. I was just thinking you’d make a great weapon.”

What sounded like a compliment in your head only pissed Munson off further. He folded his arms over his chest and sunk into his desk. Once again no personal stationary in sight. “Whatever beef you have, leave me the hell out of it.”

You rolled your eyes and sighed, silently vowing to yourself to ignore him for the rest of class. Or even better: the rest of your life. 

Mr. Albrecht had given each household a couple of different bills. He went over how to properly balance a checkbook, reviewed how to write a check to mail into the respective companies, and then went on to the most nauseating part thus far of this section: banking. 

Your mind was spinning over the next forty minutes as you tried to comprehend the gobbledygook Mr. Albrecht was spewing. You’d gone over the chapter reading beforehand and wrote the definitions of words you were unfamiliar with, but it did not help your understanding when it came to Mr. Albrecht’s lecture. The smaller things you understood—loans, assets, liabilities, and interest rates—but the concepts of purchase APR, investing, 401k versus a 403b, and bonds was like trying to understand Chinese upside down and backwards. 

You weren’t the only one lost. Everyone seemed to have their palms against their temples in an effort to shove the information into their brain over the three days of information overload. Except for Munson, of course. He spent most of his time launching his pen towards the ceiling in an attempt to lodge it into the tiled fiberglass. 

Albrecht may have been able to ignore the loud thunk of the pen whacking the ceiling and the annoying clatter of the plastic hitting Munson’s desk, but you couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Would you knock it off?” you hissed. “It’s annoying!”

Munson let out an exaggerated groan and flopped his head atop his desk—his long frizzy hair sprawled all over like a mop. “It’s all bullshit anyway,” he sighed from beneath the wild brush. “Can’t trust the banks.”

“Why? Are they out to get you, too?” 

Munson slowly sat up, glaring at you as his hair fell away from his face to reveal it. Maintaining eye contact with you, he raised his hand. 

Albrecht paused his speech. “No, you may not go to the bathroom. Hand down.”

“I have a question,” he informed the teacher. 

“Ask your partner and try to listen. Anyway, usually after a three year period with certain companies, you’ll become what’s called ‘vested’—“

Munson blurted his question out anyway. “Is it true that during the depression people only got ten cents to every dollar they had in their account  because the banks were out of cash?”

Albrecht sighed with exasperation. “This isn’t history class, Munson.”

“How can you tell us to invest and whatever when millions of Americans were screwed out of their hard earned money by the banks? Not just investors but your everyday average joe, wasn’t it?”

“Wait, is that really what happened?” Winney piped up. 

“Banks can run out of money?” Andy Dixon questioned. 

An immediate flurry of questions started to spread across the class. Albrecht’s eye twitched in tune with the clench of his jaw. “What are you trying to do here?”

Munson shrugged. “I just don’t see how we can be expected to trust putting our money where we can’t see it. Banks. 401k. Seems pretty ridiculous.”

Nancy was the one to speak up. “Some of us have heard of the New Deal.”

“Yes, thank you Ms. Wheeler,” Albrecht said. “After the stock market crash of 1929–which Munson is referring to—by the way, a shame to see you awake for once. After the crash, the New Deal was put in place which put forth regulations to prevent another collapse from happening again.”

Albrecht went into an annoyingly detailed answer about the FDIC, the SEC, the emergency banking act of 1933, and a slew of other abbreviated names that put most of the class to sleep. You had stopped following along a while ago, sneering at Munson’s profile while he stared down Albrecht, seemingly hanging on to every word. When Albrecht finished his monologue, Munson simply hummed. 

“So you’re saying another crash like that—banks running out of money—it’s impossible? It’ll never happen again?”

“Never,” Albrecht answered firmly. “Next time try not to derail my class with this nonsense.” Albrecht resumed teaching while you lashed out at the annoyance next to you. 

“Do you ever get tired of being such a combative asshole?” you scoffed.

Munson smirked. “Nope. Say what you want about me but I’ll never be dumb enough to put my money in the bank.”

“Then I guess you’ll just be easier to rob,” you answered smartly. 

Munson did not acknowledge your existence for the rest of the day, or the day after that. In fact, when he decided to recognize your presence it turned out to be far more embarrassing than you anticipated. 

Instead of sitting beside you, Munson turned his desk to connect to yours at the side for the in-class assignment. You were supposed to create a paystub from your ‘job’ based on the example given in the textbook and the metrics for tax withholding and other deductions like health insurance on the board.

Munson leaned over, his long frizzy hair draping across the fake check you were trying to write. 

“Health insurance is a scam,” he announced.

As much as it went against every fiber of your being to just stay quiet, you did. You discovered quickly there was no use arguing with him about this class. It would only lead to long winded rambling that sounded like the manifesto of a state psychiatric patient.

You slapped the encroaching curtain of his hair from your field of vision. You were just about sick of him. “Yes, Munson. Health insurance. The banks. The moon landing. It’s all a big fat scam to get the million dollars that’s stuffed in your mattress,” you deadpanned. 

He sat back in seat. “If we really went to the moon how come no one else has done it? You’re telling me the Russians would pass up a chance to show us that they could do it? They just gave up and said ‘if we’re not number one we just won’t try’? And why haven’t we been back, huh? If America really went to the moon, we’d have a constant presence. Probably even military. No, definitely military. Not just the flag. Especially in damn near twenty years? It’s fake. We never went.”

You already heard his opinion on the matter at lunch today, much against your will. Once again his shrill voice was ringing through the cafeteria as he debated Dustin Henderson about the validity of the 1969 moon landing. Dustin Henderson was on the side of science, technology, and the desire to make Star Trek a reality while Munson was spewing—as usual—conspiracy and government cover up.

You hummed a sarcastic “mhm” and kept working on your paystub. You suggested Munson do the same since he was worth fifty percent credit. He signed heavily and quickly began scribbling with more noise than you thought possible to come from a standard number two pencil. Why was everything he did so freaking loud? 

He slammed his pencil down within a few minutes and clasped his hands behind his head. Doubting that he was done already, you took a peak at his barely legible chicken scratch. 

“You didn’t put any kind of deductions on here,” you frowned. 

“Why would I? You’re the one that’s gonna pay for insurance.”

You scoffed. “Oh, is that so?”

Munson gaped at you as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. “Uh, yeah? You’re the one making all the big bucks. You have the funds to put me on your insurance if you insist. I’m fine without it.”

It was like he was purposely trying to irritate you, but you were adamant that you wouldn’t bicker with him (at least not a lot) today. So you just mumbled an annoyed ‘fine’ and left it at that. So long as he had something to turn in, whatever. You could notate his insistence to Albrecht. Unfortunately it did make sense since you made twice his annual salary. 

Seemingly bored with your lack of reaction to him, he pressed onward. “What job do you have that rakes in that much money anyway?”

What a jerk. He hadn’t even asked until now what your portion of the project was about. You wanted to tell him the worry about his own portion and bring at least a notebook to class once in a while, but you held strong. “Lawyer,” you answered calmly.

Munson’s grimace deepened. “I suppose it’d be too good to be true to guess you were a public defender.”

“You would be correct. I am not interested in criminal law.”

“Oh god. It’s not something boring like tax law, is it?” 

Even the hairs on your arms were starting to prickle with irritation. “No, not tax law.”

Munson waited for you to continue, but you pretended to not notice and calculated the unfortunate reality that to provide yourself and a spouse on health insurance with Albrecht’s metric, you would be spending a theoretical $120 a month, not including vision or dental. That was the most expensive bill to date since you hadn’t bought a house yet. 

“Well don’t keep me in suspense, Princess. What kind of law are we talking about?” Munson pressed. 

God he was irritating when you were trying to think. Trying to figure out what 7.5% of your bi-weekly earnings with him gabbing in your ear was a lot harder. So you gave up trying to punch numbers in your calculator and gave him just a fraction of your attention. 

“Wrongful death,” you answered flatly. “It’s a subspecialty within personal injury."

Munson’s brow lifted, his grimace morphing into an expression of intrigue. “Wow. Sounds fancy. So are you the one protecting these multimillion dollar companies that work their employees into the grave or are you seeking justice for the families?”

Your throat started to tighten at the thought of Mr. and Mrs. Holland. You wondered where they were now. After the lab took responsibility for Barb’s death, they sold their house and used their money to travel, leaving behind the memories that were too painful to face everyday. You didn’t blame them for leaving. It must’ve been hard to watch the people their daughter went to school with get older while their little girl remained forever sixteen. Sometimes it haunted you, too—when you caught yourself no longer able to associate her with a place immediately. It was like you were forgetting her, too. Just like everyone else did. Valentine’s Day made it clear just how much you had moved on without realizing it.  

Whether it be from being so angry over Patrick the last few days, irritated with the reality of the current project you were assigned, or the guilt of living your life without thinking of your late friend; tears started to blur your vision. 

You tried to gulp down the knot solidifying on your throat. “The families,” you managed to squeak out. “They’re the ones who need someone to help them.”

You didn’t like the way Munson was looking at you. His usual abrasive sneer or taunting smug smirk wasn’t there. Instead, he appeared quite quizzical. Scanning your face with his brown eyes narrowed in suspicion, head tilted slightly to the side. 

“Color me surprised,” he said. “I figured you’d be working for the man.”

You only had the will power to hold back one thing at a time: tears or a snarky reply. Nose stinging with unshed tears, the latter won. 

“That’s because you don’t know anything about me either!” you snapped. 

A few people nearby peered over their shoulder in your direction to find out the source of the noise, but once they realized it was an outburst aimed at the class irritant, they quickly abandoned interest. 

Munson closed his eyes and sighed heavily. “I didn’t until now. But I just remembered who you are.”

Lancing the hurt with a vicious reply didn’t keep the teardrops from escaping the refuge of your eyes. You tried to wipe away the wetness from cheeks before they could roll any further, but it was too late—they’d already started, and the more you tried to hold them in, the faster they fell. In vain, you kept swiping them away. 

“I doubt that very much,” you said angrily. 

His eyes drooped with sadness. “She was your friend. The girl that was killed. The redhead.”

Agony whirled through your veins so fast—your stomach lurched like a punch landed right through it. You wanted to yell at him. To tell him to SHUT UP! He knew nothing about it! He didn’t even know her name! He called her the redhead. The girl that was killed. He didn’t remember her name. 

But you just couldn’t do it. Munson’s usual snarl was replaced with something else--something softer--and you couldn’t stand to see the pity. Instead of screaming at him and smacking his pale cheek with enough force to cut it open, you hid your face behind your hands in an attempt to conceal the ugly face you were surely making—snot nosed and twisted--and wept. You didn’t want to, but you couldn’t stop it. No matter how much air you tried to gulp to steady your breathing, no matter how hard you squeezed your eyes shut to stop the trail of tears, noisy sobs wracked through you in spite of every effort. 

“Damn it, Munson, another one?” Albrecht barked from across the room.

“Don’t look at me, I didn’t do it. Must be that time of the month,” Munson replied. “You know how they get.”

That got you to remove your hands from your face. “Oh, you are such a shit!” you yelled, hastily wiping the wetness from your nose and cheeks with your sleeve. If there wasn’t so much of it to get rid of, you probably would have clocked Munson across the face right then.

Albrecht winced at the sight of you. “Spare us the commentary and--I don’t know--take her to the nurse’s office or something.”

You didn’t care that everyone was staring at you or that Nancy was standing from her desk to get to you. She was the last person you wanted to talk to right now. You didn’t want to talk to anyone. Just get away. Far away. You crammed the things from your desk unceremoniously in your bag and sprinted out of the door, pencils and wrinkled paper dropping behind you as you took off.

You ignored the call of your name down the hallway until your backpack was almost ripped from your grasp. You yanked it away until you realized it was Munson. Then you thought it had better use as a weapon and slung it right at his head like a hammer.

“That time of the month?!” you shouted through sobs, angry that he blocked your clean head shot by grabbing the bag midair. 

“Hey—hey!” he yelled, pulling on the bag as you tried to yank it from him, but he was too strong and kept his grip firm. “I was trying to get us a cover. Nothing makes Albrecht squirm like women troubles. Relax, alright? Take a breath.”

The natural response to Munson telling you to do something was to do the exact opposite, but you were already struggling for air between the harsh hiccups and sniffling. So you did as he said and mimicked the deep breathing he modeled for you until the hiccups stopped. 

“Better.” He took the things you dropped on your way out from beneath his arm and stuffed them into your open bag before zipping it up. “Let’s get out of here.” 

You watched him through the blur of hot tears that still bloomed as he held the bag out to you. “And go where?” you whimpered pathetically. 

Munson scoffed as if you asked him something stupid. “Anywhere. We just scored the rest of the day off. Waste it if you want to, but I’m going home.”

Carefully, as if not to spook him, you took it and slipped your arms through the straps. “Thanks.”  

You went to the bathroom to wash your face and regain some dignity and composure. Of all people, you had to fall apart in front of Eddie Munson. But what was more surprising is that he wasn’t being a total dick about it. You would’ve thought he’d try to jar your tears and mock you the entire time. Everyone warned you about him—how he was dangerous and could hurt you—but you never expected him to be so…not an asshole when the opportunity presented itself. 

You weren’t sure what to do or where to go now. You could just ride your bike home and call it a day. Curl up in bed and let out all the anger and hurt you’d let fester for far too long. Maybe even get a fried pie from The Nut House on the way home to eat for recovery.

Munson had other ideas. You were surprised to see him still standing in the hall waiting for you. “Took you long enough,” he muttered. 

You tugged the hem of your shirt down uncomfortably. “I thought you left.”

The softness and pity had evaporated from Munson’s face without a trace. “I’m trying to. Let’s go.”

You wrinkled your nose in confusion. “You’re taking me home?”

He stared at you blankly. “Is that where you want to go?”

No. Not really. Sitting in a house alone with nothing but dust and guilt for company wasn’t very appealing. But neither was an afternoon with Munson if you were being honest. Patrick’s warning rang loud in your head—how Eddie could seriously hurt you—but as you looked into Munson’s bright, shiny umber eyes, there was no malice there. He looked as genuine as you’d ever seen. 

It could’ve been a ploy to get you to trust him. Still, he was company. Another living soul. A warm body to sit next to while you waited for school to officially let out. Patrick didn’t offer that, and you didn’t want to talk about Barb with Nancy. Resentment bubbled to the surface every time the subject was brought up and you’d rather avoid another fight. Munson was as good as it was gonna get for today. 

You shook your head no, you did not want to go home.  

He nodded firmly. “Thought not. You ride your bike here?”

You nodded, quietly thankful for the implied invitation. He motioned for you to head towards the exit and followed behind you. Fortunately he let you unlock the padlock with your key instead of picking it like last time, and wordlessly put it in the back of his van. 

It was difficult not to feel awkward. The vehicle was playing another song that sounded like it opened the portal of hell but this time at a tolerable volume. Neither of you spoke. Munson rapped his hands on the steering wheel to the cacophony of the radio while you rested your head against the window trying to claw your way out of the depth of sorrow. 

Hawkins could be pretty if one was only passing through. Tall trees surround the area in dense forests. Cute little homes sprinkled through the gaps in the brush. Main Street was quaint with the Ma & Pa stores kept in the family for generations. It probably looked like a nice, sweet little place to live for someone who wasn’t attuned to the darkness that lurked in the shadows. 

Munson pulled into The Standard parking lot. “My uncle usually sleeps until three o’clock so my place is kind of off limits right now. If you got any other ideas I’d love to hear them.”

There were some other places you could think of, but if you saw someone you weren’t supposed to while skipping class, your parents would surely find out. The curse of a small town was nosy, gossipy, neighbors always looking for someone or something to talk about. The last thing you wanted to do was give them ammunition to do so. 

“It’s fine,” you muttered. “Probably shouldn't sit right in front of the window.”

Munson held open the door for you—another weird and out of character action that earned a grimace of confusion from you—and asked at you wanted to eat and drink. You told him you weren’t really in the mood for snacks and sat in the last booth before the deli. It gave you a view out of the window, but no one could see you unless they walked in and looked right at you—the perfect vantage point. 

The clerk from last weekend was there, eyeing you over the rim of her beaded glasses perched atop her nose. Her nails were a vibrant magenta this time instead of red, pinching a cigarette between them.

”You know the rules,” she said sternly. “Buy or move on.”

Munson poked his head over one of the isles. “Don’t worry, Jeanine, I’m getting it.”

This seemed to pacify Jeanine, but only a little. Inhaling from the end of her cigarette, she let her narrow eyes roam over your face. You shifted uncomfortably under her judging gaze, not really sure why she was looking at you with such suspicion. The only thing that stopped her was Munson standing directly in her line of sight, his arms full of crinkling packaging. 

When he joined you, he laid down an array of food and tin cans in front of you. Chips, candy, bean dip, coffee, cola, and two hot pretzels from the rotating hot rack with packets of mustard and cheese sauce. He must’ve noticed your wide eyes and shrugged when he slid into the booth. 

“Didn’t know what you liked so I got a little of everything,” he answered, fishing for something in the breast pocket of his leather jacket. He peaked over his shoulder to make sure the store was empty before tossing a small stack of cards onto the table. 

Pull tabs.

You quickly covered them with your hand and slid them into your lap. “What do I owe you?”

Munson waved you off dismissively. “What kind of asshole would I be taking money from a crying chick?”

You gave him a sneer that was almost playful. “I’m not crying anymore.”

He hummed, rubbing the butt of a cigarette against his bottom lip before committing to light it. It really was unfair for him to have such nice, supple lips for a man. The sight of them moving pulled you from your thoughts.

”So you’re pursuing a career in wrongful death law to avenge your friend,” he began. “That’s pretty badass.”

You hadn’t thought of it as avenging Barb, more as doing it in her name—in her memory. You explained this to Munon, kind of unnerved at how his eyes bore into yours with such intensity as you spoke. You were used to him sneering, snoring, and scoffing—not so much having his interest and attention.

”Not just for her, but I watched what her parents went through,” you explained sadly. “They had so much hope she would be found and when Will Byers came back, it just solidified their wish. They spent so much money on private investigators, missing posters, gas driving all the way to Chicago and searching the highway fields in between.” The tip of your nose started to sting again, warning that tears were on their way again. “It was…awful. Awful watching them fret when the lab knew Barb was gone. They killed her, hid her body, and covered it up like spilled milk. They let her parents, her friends, me—they let all of us suffer every day with the unknown and false hope until those tapes came out. They only acknowledged it because they were caught. Not because it was the right thing to do.” 

You grabbed one of the napkins from the dispenser and held it against your closed eyes in an effort to absorb the overflow. “No one should be allowed to do that. To get away with such a thing. To make anyone live the rest of their lives without answers or closure. If I can save anyone from feeling like that ever again, I will.”

Sniffling and choking back the sadness, you cleared your throat and promised you weren’t going to break down again. It was just hard to talk about.

”They took me down to the station for that, you know?” Munson said, taking a quick puff. 

“They thought you did something to Barb?” you asked. “Why?”

Munson scoffed. “Cause of who I am. Who my dad is. I told them I didn’t even know her outside of an art class, but they were insistent that I had something to do with it. Held me at the station for hours. The only thing that got me out of that was my friend Barry getting film developed of us down at the quarry. They tried to say the time stamp was fake, but without any other evidence and with people corroborating my alibi, they had to let me go.”

Shoulders slumped in thought, you weren’t really sure what to say. You didn’t know they had suspects besides Steve and Tommy, who were let go almost immediately. Vandalism and arson was the only thing you knew Munson to be accused of, but those weren’t a pattern that could lead to something like kidnapping and/or murder. 

“Barb was with Nancy at Steve Harrington’s house when she went missing,” you recalled. “Why would you be anywhere near there?”

He chuckled, taping the ash of his shrinking cigarette against the glass ashtray. “Right? I was at the quarry throwing M80s off the cliff. I think the baby cops just wanted to seem like they were doing something. Hopper knew I hadn’t done it. He dismissed me as soon as he came into the station.”

Munson pulled his wallet from his pocket, the heavy chain clinking loudly against the resin of the booth. He pulled out a small wallet size photo and slid it across the table. It was of him and a few other guys looking in a different direction making faces. He pointed at the larger boy with thick curly black hair. “Do you remember him?”

You maybe had seen him once or twice in the hallway, but not in a long time. When you told Munson this, he sighed heavily and turned the photo back to face him, staring down at it with defeat written all over his face. 

“You could say that’s my Barb,” he said morosely. “Barry Berman. Died in the Starcourt Mall fire on Fourth of July.”

You inhaled a great breath, understanding finally clicking in place. By the look of their playfulness in the photo, Barry was a great friend. Come to think of it, wasn’t that the same guy that had obtained proof to get him out of jail for Barb’s disappearance? That’s why Munson was being so kind to you. He had lost someone, too. 

He sniffled, quickly placing the photo back into his wallet and shoving it into his pocket. “I thought they were gonna try and pin that on me, too, but I never got picked up for it. I didn’t, by the way—“ he added hastily, snubbing out his cigarette. “But I know for damn sure it wasn’t a fire that took Barry.”

You leaned forward with interest ”What makes you say that?”

“I was with him that night. We were all eating hotdogs and blowing stuff up in the field behind my place. Then all of the sudden he was gone,” Munson answered. “He just disappeared. We thought maybe he had a case of the runs and went home—too embarrassed to tell us or didn’t have time before he shit himself—but then it turns out he died in a mall fire a couple hours later? The mall was closed. What was he doing there? He was with us chowin down dogs and playin Roman Candle Dodgeball. He wasn’t at the fucking mall.”

The newscast had said that the mall was closed when it went up in flames, caused by an electrical conduit error, and that the thirty people inside who were killed were employees or first responders that were first on scene. Munson insisted that Barry had no business being there at all, much less after hours. 

That’s when people started moving. The lab leak and then the mall fire? Someone was cutting corners in Hawkins and they didn’t seem to care who they took out. Quite a few families weren’t keen on staying in a town who’s mayor let those kinds of things slide. 

”What do you think happened?” You questioned.

“Don’t know. But I would suspect another cover up. Another wrongful death. Thirty wrongful deaths.” Munson grabbed a pretzel and ripped it with his teeth—the frustration apparent as he chewed angrily, deep in thought. “None of it adds up.”

Normally you wouldn’t have put much stock into Munson’s theories, but he did have a point. If he was with his friend who suddenly disappeared only to be found in a closed facility where he didn’t work…well that didn’t make sense either.

Munson’s brow furrowed. “That's why I don’t let any of my friends walk alone anymore. I should’ve been there for him. I won’t let it happen again.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” you replied honestly. “Like you said, you thought it was an emergency bathroom trip.”

”My point is—,” he said through a mouthful of bread. “You're not the only one who’s lost a friend.”

He must’ve heard how rude his tone was or maybe it was the shock written across your face that had him backtracking. “No, not like that. I mean I know that it fuckin sucks. Some days are worse than others. But then some days aren’t bad at all, and that’s when you realize fuck. I forgot. Just for a second I was enjoying myself.”

Your posture straightened. “I know Barb wouldn’t have wanted me to just sulk and give up living my life, but I feel guilty when I do. As if I’m forgetting her—like you said—or disrespecting her somehow because I’m here and she’s not.”

A confession hurled it way from behind your lips. “I forgot to visit her grave for her birthday this year and I just—how could I do that? How could I forget her like that?” Damn those pesky teardrops forming. This was something you hoped to take to your own grave because you felt so terrible about it. But if anyone could understand, maybe it was Munson. “What was I doing instead of visiting her? It wasn’t important. But I forgot. Sometimes I feel as if I’m the only one who does remember her, so if I forget, then she really is gone. I can’t do that to her. She wouldn’t forget me.”

Munson nodded along, swallowing the chewed bit of pretzel. “I know exactly what you mean. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. If Barry saw me moping and wasting the life I have mourning the loss of his, he’d kick my ass. Tell me to quit being a pussy and go live life for him. And I try. But there are days where the guilt of being here without him…lets just say I didn’t know rock bottom had a trap door till he was gone.”

You rested your elbows on the table, placing your cheek against knuckles. That was the perfect way to describe it--the weight of one’s heart so heavy with despair it dragged it’s owner through depths previously unimaginable. “You really do get it,” you said softly. 

Munson lowered his head, hiding beneath the curtain of his hair. “I wish I didn’t.”

He sniffled loudly and quickly dropped his pretzel, saying he needed to go wash his hands really quick, but you knew that was just a ruse. He, like you, needed a minute to clean the leaking wound before patching it up again. So while he was gone, you let the sobs claim you once again.

Jeanine poked your shoulder sharply. Startled by her sudden presence, you wiped away the evidence of melancholy and snot before looking up at her. 

“Do I need to whack him upside the head?” She asked viciously, pointing towards the bathroom door Munson disappeared through. “Cause I will and I won’t feel a bit bad about it.”

”Wha—Oh—no,” you answered with a watery chuckle. “No, we were just talking about the mall fire and our friends that…passed.”

She hummed and let out a soft sigh. “I’m sorry to hear that, hun. Eat,” she picked up the untouched pretzel and held it in front of your nose. “Can’t cry while you’re chewing. They’re only good when they’re hot anyway.”

You doubted they were good at all with the sheen of grease glistening atop the shaped bread. Still, you were a little afraid of the woman, so you did as she said. Taking the pretzel from her grasp, you nibbled a small corner piece. It wasn’t bad. Actually, it was pretty good. Crispy on the outside from being in the rack too long, but soft and fluffy on the inside with large salt flecks on it. Without hesitating, you took a bigger bite, ignoring the grease smearing across your lips as you chewed the warm food.

Jenine patted your shoulder. “That’s it, sugar. Don’t forget to open your tabs. You’ll wanna turn them in if you won.”

With a half eaten pretzel in one hand, you halved the six cards to give three to Munson. He did pay for them after all and should get a chance to win something. He disagreed when he returned from the bathroom, but at your insistence he completed his share. He won a whole quarter back, while you were lucky enough to win three whole dollars. 

“How the hell do you do that?” He frowned. 

You shrugged, a small smile playing at the corner of your lips. “I don’t know. Beginners luck, I guess. I’ll take a dollar of my winnings and get us each a couple twenty-five cent tabs. You can try again.”

Munson smiled—the first smile you had seen that was genuine and made his eyes crinkle—no shadow of sarcasm or cruelty behind them for once. He even had dimples on both of his cheeks. He looked much nicer when he smiled.

“Yeah, alright. That sounds fine to me,” he said.

You approached Jenine and traded the paper for winnings and more tabs. Looking over your shoulder, you watched the back of Munson’s head as he cracked opened a can of coke. Maybe the people of Hawkins did have a reason to fear him—he was abrasive, belligerent, annoying, insane, and all around rude, but he was also hurting. He was missing someone who was gone too soon. Someone he should’ve been with when they disappeared. He, too, was haunted by someone he loved and missed. Eddie Munson, for all the unsavory things that he was, could understand you in a way that others couldn’t. 

Suddenly you weren’t alone in your grief and guilt, and for the first time in a long time, it felt great to not be alone. Munson wasn’t yet a friend, but he was no longer an adversary. He’d been promoted to a headache inducing acquaintance for now.

Jeanine counted your dollar bills aloud. You pushed two back towards her. “I’ll take four more quarter tabs, please. Oh, and can I get another pretzel?”

——

Part Five:

If I missed tagging you, it’s not a slight! I just need a gentle reminder. 🫡

Munson grabbed some crumbled wrappers from atop the kitchen counter and squashed it into the soon to be overflowing trashcan. You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sudden appearance of a much older man a few feet away. You couldn’t see his face as he hunched over his knees to tie the laces of his work boots, leaving only the top of his balding head visible.

“That damn thing back there won’t stop chittering,” he said from the couch. “Probably need to feed it or something.”

Munson gestured towards the tiny two person table. “Sit. I’ll be back.”

It was then that the older man took notice of you. His head snapped up at the sound of you pulling the chair across the linoleum floor—his blue eyes wide with confusion.

“Uh—hello?”

You gave a small wave and your name, which only made the man’s confusion more apparent as he stared past you to where Eddie disappeared.

“Friend of his?” he asked. His southern drawl became more apparent.

It took a lot of self control to not allow your lip to curl at the insinuation. You had already fucked up too many times today and you wouldn’t insult the man in his own home. You sidestepped the question and said you were partnered for a class project.

The man hummed thoughtfully, standing to his full height and zipping up his brown canvas jumpsuit. He offered you something to drink, but you politely declined. Instead, you made yourself busy pulling the binder out of your backpack and ignoring the man’s curious gaze.

Munson returned to the tiny kitchenette, dug around a stack of papers on the counter and sat across from you at the table.

“Ed?” The older man prompted. “Gonna introduce me to your friend here?”

Though you hadn’t held his unfortunate acquaintance long, it didn’t take a genius to see that was the last thing he wanted to do. But to your suprise he did it anyway. He offered up your name and in exchange you discovered that the older man before you was Wayne Munson, Eddie’s uncle.

”What are you doing?” Mr. Munson asked as he watched his nephew unfold the mail.

“Showing her what bills look like. Hope you don’t mind. These are ones that are already paid,” he answered.

Mr. Munson couldn’t look more confused even if he tried. “And lookin at my light bill is needed for a school project?”

The younger man nodded. “Contemporary Living.”

You could see the dots connect behind Mr. Munson’s blue eyes, though he still held a little reservation. He leaned closer to his nephew and made an attempt to whisper, but his voice still carried enough for you to hear, “This partnership ain’t court ordered, is it? She’s really in your class?”

The youngest Munson didn’t look amused as he frowned at his uncle. “Yes, she’s in my class and no it’s not. I already finished paying restitution for that—other thing.”

A million questions sprung to mind, but you repressed the urge to ask. What other thing? Restitution? What did he destroy? Why would he be court ordered to complete a class? Perhaps you could simply ask Johnathan Byers what he’d heard around about your classmate, but the more you considered it, the less you wanted him to catch wind of you snooping. You could try and ask Nancy to look into it instead. She had a knack for investigative journalism and finding out all kinds of things she wasn’t supposed to.

“Did you get my pull tabs?” Mr. Munson asked.

Eddie pulled out a stack of small cards and handed them to his uncle. You watched as he pulled a lip hanging from the end of the card and scanned its contents before clicking his teeth and ripping the next one. You watched him do the same to the next two cards, grumbling expletives under his breath with clear dissatisfaction.

Your curiosity got the best of you. “What is that?”

“Hm? These?” Mr. Munson said, taking a step towards you with the small slips in his hand. “Pull-tabs. These pictures right here is what’s needed to be under the tab when I pull it for me to win this dollar amount here. Haven’t won nothin’ yet. Here,” he said, handing you an opened card. “Try it.”

Carefully, you took the card from Mr. Munson. It had five perforated tabs to be pulled in order to reveal the images underneath. “So I just pick any row?”

“You open all of them and match the pictures on the top,” he answered.

Finally understanding the object of the game, you peeled back the perforated paper to reveal the images beneath the cardstock. Only one matched the icons above the peeled paper. You showed it to Mr. Munson. “Like this?”

Mr. Munson cackled. “Well I’ll be! You won five dollars on a twenty-five cent tab!” He reached into his back pocket and withdrew his wallet. You tried to stop him, insisting that you couldn’t possibly take his money, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

“No, no. You won it fair and square,” he said. He traded you a wrinkled five dollar bill for the pull-tab. “I’d keep this between us if I was you. We wouldn’t want anyone finding out about it since--.”

“It’s illegal,” your classmate blurted.

You looked at Mr. Munson expectantly. “It is?”

Mr. Munson scratched his greying eyebrow. “Let’s just say we wouldn’t want anyone finding out, alright, darlin’?”

Good god. You’d been in Munson’s company for an hour and he had already made you inadvertently commit a crime! What was with these people! Were they just born to break the law?

You scanned Mr. Munson over. He looked at you with a hesitant yet polite grin, waiting for you to agree to the terms of silence. He didn’t seem as frightening as his nephew. His face was worn with age, but his blue eyes were tired and without malice. He was much nicer to you in the last few minutes of knowing him than the two days you’ve had to interact with his kin. He did give you five dollars after all…

“I understand,” you assured him. “Thank you.”

“Great,” Eddie muttered sarcastically. “Do we need to budget for your gambling addiction, too?”

You gave Eddie a scornful look as you pocketed the money.

Mr. Munson plucked one of the hats that lined the wall and placed it snuggly on his head. “Well, I’ll leave y’all to it then.” He bid you and his nephew goodbye and exited the small abode.

The silence he left behind was deafening. Awkward. Unpleasant. Clearing your throat, you pulled a blank sheet of paper from your binder. “Guess we should get started.”

At first you thought getting paired with Munson was a funeral for your GPA. However, at the moment you were almost glad to have him. You hated to admit it, but Munson was right. His bills were much less than what you had projected on your original draft. He walked you through what the hell a kilowatt-hour was and how one kilowatt was equivalent to 1,000 watts of energy. He even took you to the meter on the side of his trailer to show how the energy company gathered the data for each billing cycle. When examining the water bill, he educated you on how the bill broke down the usage of gallons within the month, what amount was dedicated to sewage, and what the base charge for service. Gas for the trailer was much the same with usage charge, supply charge, and maintenance charge. You and Munson both frowned at the small print labeled “Taxes” at the end of every statement summary.

It was almost too much to take. Munson had explained that it was winter, so the gas bill was much higher than it normally would be in the summer, and once the seasons changed, vice versa would occur. Even though he didn’t sound condescending or brash like he normally did, you were trying to figure out a way to set aside a certain amount of money to ensure there was enough for a fluctuating bill.

“That’s the struggle,” he sighed.

Your head was starting to sting from the information overload. You thought budgeting was more like setting aside fifty bucks here and there, but you were clearly oversimplifying it. Desperate to finish this torture session, you both agreed to move on to groceries. Something that should have been simple--comprising a grocery list, comparing the prices to the ads in the newspaper and conjuring up a total sum to set aside. But like everything else with this boy, Eddie Munson was not going to make it easy.

“Are you insane?!” you shouted across the table. “I am not going to eat cat food!”

Munson was unbothered by your sudden volume. “No one said you had to eat it. Just budget for the cost of wet cat food instead of tuna. Save thirteen cents.”

“I’d rather spend the thirteen cents than eat canned animal food!”

“Again, no one said you had to eat it!”

You pointed towards the pantry door. “If I look in there, am I gonna find cans of Friskies?”

“Of course not,” he scoffed, though you weren’t entirely sure he was telling the truth. “I’m just saying do it to save money. Besides, if you actually looked at the ingredients, you’d see that the cat food has almost the exact same ingredients in it as tuna.”

You gaped at him with your mouth hung open in disbelief. “I can’t believe you. You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re being stuck up!”

“Because I don’t want to eat catfood!?”

“YOU DON’T HAVE TO EAT IT!”

“WHY WOULD I BUDGET FOR IT IF I AM NOT GOING TO EAT IT?”

Munson wiped his hands over his face, just as frustrated as you with this whole thing. And no wonder, you realized, when you noticed the time on your watch had shown it was nearing five o’clock.

“I think we had enough for today,” you said with defeat. “We’ll just skip canned meats from the budget all together.”

“Thank fuck,” Munson grumbled.

He would’ve seen the very cross look on your face if he bothered to look up. Instead, he stretched his long legs out to the side of the table and tilted his head back against the wall to stare at the ceiling instead, letting out a heavy sigh.

It was quite unfair for him to have such long eyelashes. From this angle, it looked as if they were long enough to brush against his eyebrows. He had such blemish free skin too, you noticed, raking your eyes over his cheeks. While they were often rosy with annoyance in your presence, they were quite pale now. There was no trace of scruff or any hint that he needed to shave his angular jaw, though he did have some shadowing on his neck. Especially near his Adam’s apple that protruded quite nicely—

Oh GOD! Were you checking out EDDIE MUNSON?!

A croak of mortification expelled from your throat at the realization, instantly causing you to choke on your own spit and send you into a coughing fit.

Ew! He’s rude! Abrasive! He wouldn’t be in his third senior year if he was smart. Not to mention he looked like a seance leader and by the sound of it, probably has eaten wet cat food once or twice in his life. A smooth face doesn’t make up for all of the shortfalls he’s surely guilty of.

“You good?” the offending subject asked with a raised brow.

Struggling to catch your breath and save yourself the last bit of dignity, you waved him off and quickly shoved your schoolwork into your backpack. You needed to get out of there fast.

But Munson had other ideas. For someone with the reputation of being Satan’s favorite henchman, he was insistent on being chivalrous. When you asked him to remove your bike from the van, he declined, stating it was too dark and cold for you to ride your bike anywhere. You were well aware that he was right, but it didn’t make the fact any less annoying. Agreeing with Munson was not a pleasant feeling, and you loathed the idea of having to get used to it.

You followed him solemnly to the van and pouted at the darkness that had already blanketed the sky. The winter had an unfortunate habit of bringing out the most persistent melancholy in you that simply refused to relent. How you wished for spring to be on its way so you could have more than a glimpse of sunlight at a time.

Munson rewound the cassette tape himself and put it into the stereo, but at least he turned it down to a volume that didn’t make your brain rattle. You wouldn’t call the noise he was wailing along to music, but with his rendition alongside the recorded vocals, you were able to understand the lyrics better.

They made you grimace.

“Come into my coven and become Lucifer’s child?” you quoted with a wrinkled nose. “And you wonder why people give you a wide berth at school when you’re listening to this kind of devil crap?”

Munson’s face seemed to have flashed between at least half of the stages of grief right before your very eyes. “You know,” he started with a sharp huff. “You just don’t get it, man. None of you people do.”

”I don’t get worshipping a goat and listening to music about it? Yeah, you’re right. I don’t.”

Munson gritted his teeth, muttering something incomprehensible behind them as he slammed his hands repeatedly on the steering wheel in frustration. He looked menacing—chewing on the inside of his cheek and lips—torn between saying something snarky and keeping it locked in the vault. It didn’t take long for this bottom lip to free itself from the hold his teeth had on it.

”First of all, they’re European and it’s called shock value, Princess. Ever heard ‘There’s no such thing as bad publicity’? Nothing sells like taboo subject matter, okay? And, you know what? Who gets to dictate what's taboo and what’s not? Everybody likes to sing about the light stuff—love, family, rainbows in the sky and shit, but what makes those things possible? You can’t have light without darkness. You can’t have love without hate. You can’t have cohesion without isolation. Rainbows come after—guess what—rain,” he rambled. “Not everyone can be happy all the time. Not everyone relates to ‘All you need is love’.”

”But you can relate to joining the coven?” you countered.

Munson chuckled and let out an exaggerated sigh of exasperation, letting the short chortles turn to forced maniacal laughter. He looked and sounded crazed.

“It’s a concept album. The whole album is about this guy who’s missing his witch wife, Melissa. Melissa was murdered by a priest. A man of the cloth. Of all people! And this guy, right, even though yeah, he is a satanist and yeah, the love of his life was a witch, the point is that even with their dabbling in the occult and black magic, neither of them are as evil as the man who took Melissa’s life—the man who posed as a servant of God and took the life of another. Violated one of the commandments that’s written on every wall in every single fucking church. That is the true evil.”

Munson’s umber eyes burned with a silent dare for you to challenge him—to say he was wrong—but you didn’t. You didn’t know anything about what he was listening to, but with the conviction of which he spoke, you found it hard to argue with him. Not even with the logic, really, but the harrowing and ironic message behind the theme.

He finally looked away, turning his eyes back to the road and spat one final thought on the matter. “I can’t relate to having my lover killed, but I've been mistaken for the scum of the earth by those who preach love and acceptance, yet show in their actions that they believe I deserve the exact opposite.”

He looked almost dejected at his admission—his plump lips twisted downward in a frown as he kept his eyes trained away from you. Did they seem a little glossier than usual?

How the hell would you know what Eddie Munson’s eyes usually looked like anyway?

“And it’s got a kickass guitar solo,” he added bitterly.

You were unsure what to say to him. You could tell him that he didn’t make it easy for himself—playing right into the role of what he was so adamant that he wasn’t. You could tell him to cut his hair and wear something other than black if it bothered him so much, but you thought better of it. He didn’t strike you as someone who took feedback well, and the last thing you wanted was to kick a man when he was so visibly down.

Instead, you gave him driving directions and told him that the vocals were annoying and too high pitched for your taste. He simply shrugged and suggested you don’t spend your money on any Mercyful Fate albums to avoid it. A clear indication that he neither cared nor intended to change the tape.

Prick.

After a few minutes of more loaded silence, you instructed him to stop in front of the house at the end of the street.

“Nice castle,” he commented, stepping out of the van to take your bike from the back. “Didn’t realize you lived so close to Sinclair.”

“Yeah, they live down the street. Have for years,” you said awkwardly, taking possession of the bike. The reminder of your earlier comment paired with the fact that he gave you a ride made you feel even more guilty. “Your uncle…he’s nice.”

Munson snorted, pulling a cigarette from the pack resting in the breastpocket of his leather jacket. “I’ll be sure to let him know at least someone thinks so.”

Clearing your throat, you tried again. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier…about your home.”

Judging by the mild eyeroll, he wasn’t convinced of your sincerity. “Yeah, okay. Call next time you need a ride. Don’t go out alone.”

You agreed with a curt nod and walked your bike up the driveway, listening to the rumble of the van coming to life. When you made it to the porch and dug for your house keys, Munson yelled your name, once again demanding your attention.

“By the way,” he shouted over the roof of his vehicle. “You’re more at risk of getting mercury poisoning from canned tuna than you are from cat food!”

Twice in less than an hour, Eddie Munson left you at a loss for words. With your own indignant eyeroll, you turned your back to him and went inside the dark and empty home.

——

Mom used to cook every evening, but since she took on the role of full time employee, good home cooked meals were few and far between. You were mostly in charge of coming up with something, or at least thawing, dicing, preparing food for her to make if she didn’t throw it all in a crockpot to being with.

Tonight’s mystery crockpot meal was a concoction of ground beef, cream of mushroom soup, a medley of canned vegetables, and melted cheese served on a bed of roasted potatoes. It wasn’t the best, but it certainly wasn’t the worst. Perhaps you would ask her for some cash to get fresh produce and make something more edible tomorrow night for dinner.

Mom and Dad sat at the table with you, clearly exhausted from their day. Whatever house they were showing didn’t sound as if the ‘buyers’ were really an interested family in search for their forever home, but reporters from Indy that came snooping for answers about the abandoned lab.

”It’s just a phase,” Dad grumbled. “Soon the sensationalism will die down and no one will remember that.”

You knew what he meant, but the association of the lab with Barb’s death made you frown. Would everyone forget her, too? Sometimes you felt like they did. Barb wasn’t popular to begin with, but sometimes you felt as if the school had forgotten she ever existed in the first place. Sometimes that even included you.

“I could use your help for a class project,” you told them with hopes of changing their mood. “We’re budgeting for a home in Contemporary Living.”

Mom was instantly ecstatic. “Karen Wheler was telling me all about it!” she exclaimed. “I think it’s wonderful they let the girls take that class now!”

”What’s this?” Dad questioned without looking up from his food.

Mom excitedly told him about the class, all of her information clearly simplified secondhand from Mrs. Wheeler. Her brief overview of the course included creating a budget, buying a house, buying a car, and learning how to manage student loans and general debt.

“Apparently they group a boy and girl up to simulate a marriage,” she added. “But it’s certainly not what we think, it’s just a sharing of the finances and debt, really.” Mom shimmied her shoulders and grinned expectantly at you. “So? Who’s the lucky boy you were paired with?”

There was no easy way to say it. No way to soften the blow. So you just spit it out. “Eddie Munson,” you answered quietly.

For the first time since he walked through the door, Dad looked at you. “Who?”

”Eddie Munson,” you repeated a little louder.

“Isn’t that the idiot that burned up half of Merrill Wright’s crops last year?” Dad asked.

“It was,” Mom answered coolly. “Same boy who was caught vandalizing Regan signs in Henrietta McCorkle's lawn.”

Mom and dad shared a look that could only mean a severe lecture was about to come on, so you speedily added, “Albrecht offered me extra credit to keep the arrangement so I did.”

Neither parent looked pacified, their faces hard as stone. It reminded you of Munson’s earlier words in regards to being wrongly judged, though he hadn’t really shown you that the general public was wrong about him. And judging by the incidents mom and dad clearly knew about, they had every reason to be wary of him.

Well, you supposed that wasn’t entirely true. He did insist on giving you a ride because it was cold and rainy, and he didn’t even ask for gas money now that you really thought about it. You wouldn’t ever expect that kind of decency based on his reputation.

Even so, the whole town wouldn’t hate someone for no reason. The Munson name was synonymous with crime. The illegal gambling tickets were a prime example of that. Perhaps he did earn the distinction imposed on him.

It was Dad who finally spoke up. “How much time do you need to spend with him on this project?”

”Just a couple hours on Saturday to talk to people like you about houses and the process of buying a car,” you answered. “Not a lot.”

“You’re not allowed to be alone with him. You study in open, public places only. With witnesses.” Dad returned to eating, his gaze away from you likely for the rest of the night. “You’re a smart girl, so I trust you’ll use that ability and stay away from him as much as you possibly can. No funny business.”

”Yes, Dad,” you grumbled. It was infuriating when they attempted to set rules for you like this. They were never around. They didn’t really do anything with you. Besides, you were 18 now. You were a legal adult. You could study with Munson in his trailer if you wanted to.

Not that you ever wanted to.

“And don’t be afraid to call the police if you need to,” Mom added hastily. “They know all about that family. They’ll help you in a jiffy.”

You agreed and changed the subject to when you could meet them with Munson to discuss houses. They demanded he go to the office instead of being let into the house, so you agreed to Saturday at nine in the morning before they started showing and staging homes for the rest of the day.

“It’ll be fun!” Mom cooed. “Think of what you want in a house. Carpet? Hardwood is all the rage right—“

The telephone ringing cut her off. You jumped at the opportunity to leave the table, not really finding tonight’s dinner all that enjoyable. “I’ll get it.”

”Let me know if it’s for us, okay?” Mom piped.

It wasn’t for either of them. It was the last voice you’d ever guess to hear on the other side of the line. One that made your stomach jump to the back of your throat.

“It’s for me. I’m going to take it in my room,” you informed them.

“If it’s that Munson boy, you’ll take it right there,” Dad barked.

”It’s not. It’s Nancy. Boy troubles,” you lied, and raced off towards the phone in your room.

You paced a couple of times in front of the phone, wringing your sweaty hands and you tried to collect yourself. You couldn’t decide if you were angry or excited. After a few attempts at a calming breath, you sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the receiver.

“Patrick?” you questioned carefully.

“Yeah. H-hey, it’s me,” he stuttered awkwardly through the phone. “Patrick. Patrick McKinney.”

You already knew it was him by the sound of his voice the first time he answered the phone, but it still didn’t stop the pang rocketing through your chest when he stated it so plainly. So after all this time he hadn’t lost your number. You had assumed after the second time you attempted to speak to him at school that he had disposed of it—erased it from his memory and the slip of notebook paper had found its way into the trash. Somehow knowing he still had it, either memorized or hidden away somewhere, did not bring you comfort. If anything, it hurt more. All this time—all this time he could’ve called. He could’ve said something.

“Why?” is all you could utter into the receiver. Why was he calling? Why did he abandon you? Why did he pick you if he was going to toss you aside like a used tissue? Why did it end the way it did? Why was he mute and blind to your existence until this very moment?

He cleared his throat on the side of the line. “I—uh—I saw you today. At the corner store? And I just—I wanted to say—I’m sorry. For what happened with Jason. He shouldn’t have said that.”

A tight knot formed in the center of your sternum—heavy as rock and as solid as steel. Of all the things he should be apologizing for, you didn’t think today’s interaction was at the top of the list.

A bitter, mirthless chuckle left your lips. “Didn’t think you noticed I was even there.”

A surge of panic pulsed through your face. As angry as you were with him, you dreaded the thought of blowing this chance to talk to him. Somehow resuming silence with so much left to say was far more frightening than him getting angry with you over the phone.

He side stepped the comment. “Is Munson really your partner for Albrecht’s project?”

You resisted the urge to repeat Munson’s question about being jealous, though you had to physically swallow the retort down. “It’s not like I would hang out with him for any other reason, Patrick.”

“Right. Good. I just uh—I wanted to tell you to be careful around that guy, okay?”

Jesus Christ. Was that the only reason he called?! Huffing in irritation, you said, “You and everyone else. Any reason in particular as to why?”

“The things I’ve heard about him from the guys on the team—just trust me, okay? He’s bad news, babe. He’s craz—“

Whatever he had to say next, you couldn’t hear over the roar of blood rushing through your ears with fury. “Don’t call me that!”

“Fine, okay, but listen to me—“

“Why!?” you repeated angrily, shooting up to your feet. “Why should I? I can’t trust you either!”

“Calm down!” Patrick interjected. “I don’t want to see you get hurt and Munson can seriously hurt you!”

Breathing raggedly and pacing furiously across the room, you couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth! Why did he call you ‘babe’ after all this time! Like he still had the right!

“Well I guess it’s a good thing for you that you never seem to see me! Because if you did, you would know that Eddie Munson couldn’t possibly hurt more than you already have!”

Patrick sighed heavily into the phone. “Just be careful. Please.”

Against your desire, hot tears raced down your cheeks. “You don’t get to do that! You don’t get to—hello? HELLO?”

The line had gone dead, leaving nothing but the annoying dial tone ringing loudly in your ear.

Just like before, he had cut you off. Slammed the proverbial door so hard in your face that the recoil made you falter and stumble onto the bed with the phone still pressed against your ear. He never let you say your peace—always hiding behind his friends, a phone, or distance. He avoided accountability and repercussions at every turn, yet had the nerve—the gall—to call you as if he suddenly cared! After a whole year of silence!

Pulse throbbing against your temples, you let the phone drop to the ground with a thunderous thud before throwing your face into the pillow and letting out a scream that could wake the dead were it not muffled.

———

Part 4

If the weather was warmer, you would’ve spent the day outside like you normally did. True that since Hawkins became haunted with the souls of the damned and deceased, you hadn’t ventured into the woods much anymore, but you did still like to go to the Eno River and the three lakes to go mudlarking and even magnet fishing sometimes. If you found anything good, you’d take it into town and trade with Mr. Horowitz at the antique shop. But with winter in full effect, you decided it was best to be near the water when it wasn’t freezing should you accidentally fall in. 

There were other things you could do: Homework, watch TV, or get your laundry started, but none of it sounded appealing. Even after eating the last stale bagel, you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything but lounge around the empty house and wait for the mailman to come by. 

You’d been waiting for months to hear whether or not you got into the University of Chicago. As February was already nearing its end, you hoped to have heard back about your early admissions application. Every day you sprinted home to see if the hefty welcome packet was waiting for you in the mailbox, and yet every day you were disappointed. You were accepted into Indiana State already, but you weren’t keen on it as your first choice. Too many Hawkins classmates were going to be there and the program you wanted wasn’t nearly as prestigious as Chicago’s. Not to mention Terre Haute was way too close to home and your parents. 

Your relationship wasn’t always this strained with them. You remembered a time when family dinners were a nightly occurrence made by a homemaking mother for your very business oriented father at the end of his work day. Where there would talk about your day and gossip about the neighbors. But those quit by the time you finished the fourth grade. Mom decided that being by dad’s side selling homes was where she belonged. She said he needed to have a closer eye on him. Later you realized that meant she didn’t trust him to stay within their marriage though you were never told exactly why she felt that way. You let your imagination run wild and it left a very bitter taste in your mouth towards him. He didn’t seem to notice.  

Even so, mom became obsessed with reputation. Upon her insistence, they created a tag team husband and wife realtor duo with the studious daughter who never got in trouble, and worked hard at selling their ’American Dream come true’ to young families looking for a place to reside within western Indiana. Nevermind the fact that the wallet size photo of their precious model daughter was used as a tool to sell houses while the living, breathing girl was mostly forgotten. Left alone in the house after school until the late evenings and on the weekends. For a while Sundays were when you saw them and got to spend time with them, but even that came to an end when they started branching out to show homes more than thirty miles from town. 

You felt like a piece of furniture in the background of their life. Like an ugly armchair with a poky spring that was too uncomfortable to sit on but remained within the house because it completed the living room decor. You tried to express your loneliness to them, but they just pushed you to have more slumber parties with Nancy and Barb, or even ask the Wheeler’s if you could stay for dinner at their home most nights. After Barb went missing and so many people died in the mall fire, the only thing they said was they hoped the term Haunted Hawkins wouldn’t stick and ruin marketability. 

So now, in your last semester of high school, you were beyond ready to leave. You didn’t want to be the ugly armchair in the corner anymore. You wanted to get out there! Chicago was the New York City of the Midwest. You couldn’t wait to explore it and live a life of your own. Try new foods, meet new people, make new friends! All without being told to stay and hold down the permanently empty fort that was once a home. Get to go out without being reminded that they were prominent community members and that anything you did reflected badly on them and their business. In a new town you could be someone else. Someone cool. The person you truly wanted to be. 

When the mailman came around ten o’clock, you sprinted out into the freezing and damp cold to greet him as you did every Saturday morning. The stack was thin, and all too soon you realized there was no correspondence from your dream school—only coupons for a pizza place and presumably bills addressed to your parents. Shoulders rounded in defeat, you went back inside. Perhaps doing some of your homework would show whatever ruling divinity that you were serious and really really wanted to go to Chicago in the fall. 

It wasn’t very stimulating work and you found it very difficult to focus for long periods of time. You tried changing subjects, taking brain breaks, and getting small snacks to keep your mind fueled, but nothing helped your thoughts remain on course. As much as you wanted to please your calculus teacher, you did not pass up the opportunity to abandon chapter fourteen’s review questions when the phone rang around one o’clock in the afternoon.

Perhaps it was Nancy wanting you to come over to hang out. Even if it was just to talk about Johnathan Byers, you’d jump on the opportunity to leave the house for some company. 

“Hello?” you answered hopefully.

The masculine voice flatly reciting your name on the other side of the line certainly did not belong to your childhood friend.

“This is her,” you replied, frown etching its way across your lips. There was only one person it could be. The same person you gave your number to the day before in class. The one you were paired with for a dreadful grade-defining project. But still, you asked the question anyway in hopes that literally anyone else would answer.  “Who’s this?”

“Munson,” the voice said. “ From Albrecht’s class?”

Pouting, you crossed your arms across your chest. “Yeah, okay.”

He scoffed at the lack of your enthusiasm. “Wanna meet up today and get this over with or what? Fine by me if you don’t.”

As awful as it sounded, further evaluation of the rubric determined you were going to need him, and were absolutely not going to deny his help if he was saving you the trouble of trying to bully it out of him. You cleared your throat and tried to be a little more forgiving in your tone towards him since he at least took the initiative to not be a total useless lump thus far. 

“That sounds fine, actually. Yeah," you agreed. “Did you have a place in mind?”

Munson inhaled deeply, probably smoking by the sharp sound of it, before answering. “How about The Standard on Franklin in a half hour?”

Wrinkling your nose, you questioned the location. “The gas station?”

“They’ve got heat, fifty-cent burritos, free bathrooms, and unlimited drip coffee. They know me there and they won’t kick us out. Name a better spot to hang--I dare you,” Munson challenged.

You could think of a hundred different places that were better than the greasy corner store adjacent to the gas station on Franklin street. The library, but it didn’t allow food or drinks. Burger Chef had food, but it certainly wasn’t as cheap as fifty-cents nor did they let customers stay for an undesignated amount of time. Robusta-Ina-Cuppa had coffee but--

“Got a problem with that?” he snapped.

“Geez! Would you just--!” you exclaimed in frustration with clenched fists. You glanced at the clock above the mantle and exhaled deeply. “Fine!”

“In a half hour,” he repeated firmly.

“I will be there when I get there!” you sneered, slamming the receiver onto the hook and huffing verbal annoyances to yourself as you dressed for the outdoors. 

Biking in the winter was less than ideal, but part of the deal with your parents allowing you to apply to schools out of state was to save money by not allowing you to own a car. You were licensed on your eighteenth birthday and reluctantly added to the insurance policy at your father’s dismay, but other than that you weren’t like the other kids at school who were offered a car. Instead, you agreed to let that money be put towards room and board for a school far away from home. It sounded like a dream come true at the time, but as you peddled and skidded the three miles towards the meeting spot with your backpack thrashing side to side, not opting for a car was a stupid choice. 

By the time you chained your bike to the frost covered rack outside of the corner store, you were both simultaneously freezing and sweating from the cold and exertion of the trek. No one seemed to be around except some guy pumping gas a few feet away. Unraveling the scarf from your neck and removing the gloves from your hands, you went inside the small store to see if Munson was already there. 

You scoffed when a quick sweep of the small, poorly lit interior alerted you that he wasn’t. 

The place reeked of smoke, oil, and burnt coffee grounds, and you tried to ignore the way you had to nearly rip your shoe from the clutches of the thick film that tried to anchor it to the floor as you made your way towards the two small booths that sat in front of the food display. With a wrinkled nose, you eyed the hot dogs as they rotated under the heat lamp--glistening with grease and blistered from being dried out. The fifty-cent burritos Munson mentioned were on the hot rack next to the offending hot dogs, and by comparison looked far more edible, though you weren’t eager to give either a taste test. Declining on the less grimy table, you set your backpack down and continued to remove the layers of winter clothing. 

“Can’t sit in here if you’re not gonna buy something,” a hoarse voice wheezed out. 

Looking towards the origin of the speaker, you found a severe looking woman in her later forties behind the counter staring at you--a lit cigarette pinched between her red nailed fingers. 

“Right,” you muttered to yourself. You kept glancing over your shoulder to see if Munson was pulling into the driveway, but even after you picked out a drink and something to snack on, paid, and resumed your seat, he was nowhere to be seen. 

What you did see, however, nearly made you slip under the table to hide. The sleek, black Jeep Cherokee parked crookedly as close to the front door as possible, and out poured five familiar face from the Hawkins High basketball team, including one that still ached to see.

In an effort to hide from Patrick McKinney, you quickly pulled out your portfolio and the other materials needed for Contemporary Living and quickly tried to shield yourself from view—leaning your forehead against your palm to hide your face and looking intensely interested in the rubric, occasionally jotting down cursive nonsense in your notebook while Jason, Andy, and Patrick noisily made their way through the shelves of the small store.

Each thump of your heart against your throat only slowed the agonizing passing of time. Seconds. Minutes. Hours. How long did it take to pick out snacks and leave? Forever, apparently. They were so loud, rowdy, and bickered about everything. What flavor chips to get, how many bags, which candy Chrissy Cunningham liked better. The more they moved through the store, the more assured you were that they weren’t paying any attention to the people around them. They didn’t seem to care who knew that there was going to be a party at Benny’s, or that they were trying cases of beer for it with Andy’s new fake ID. 

The mention of Benny’s Burgers made your shoulder slump with sorrow. The restaurant that had once been where you went with your friends on Wednesday night for dollar malt shakes and pinball was once Benny’s murder scene and has since been used as a den of degeneracy, or so you had heard from the grapevine at school. What a sad way to memorialize the place. Perhaps it wouldn’t sting so much if they at least took the sign down…

Barb. Benny. The restaurant. The mall. Haunted Hawkins indeed.

The raspy voice of the store clerk hollering pulled you from your sadness. 

“And what do you think you’re doing with that, young man?” she demanded waspishly, peering over the jeweled rim of her coke bottle glasses directly at Andy Dixon. 

He held up a wad of cash in the hand not holding a case of Budweiser and looked at her as innocently as he could muster. “I’m gonna pay for it.” 

The clerk chuckled as she stamped out her cigarette. “Seeing as you’re not 21, I don’t think so.”

Andy looked nervously to his ring leader, who immediately jumped into action. Jason, ever the charmer, put his hand across his heart and smiled just wide enough to allow a dimple to dent his cheek. “Ma’am, I think you might remember me? I’ve been here quite a few times since I am 21 and I’ve always had nothing but good things to say about this establishment—“

The clerk leaned across the counter, looking down at Jason like a judge would a guilty defendant, with a very unamused, flat face. 

“What kind of fool would I be if I sold beer to a bunch of kids wearing their high school lettermen jackets?” she asked cooly. Pointing at Andy, she demanded he put the case of beer back immediately. 

You, Jason, and everyone else looked at the team and sure enough, each of them were wearing signature greens and white leather to show their accomplishment on the basketball court. The high school court, to be exact, with Hawkins High School Tigers etched in loopy cursive down the sleeve. 

There was no stopping the chortle that erupted in the back of your throat or the eyeroll that went along with it. What absolute fools. Unfortunately for you, the mocking scoff alerted the dunderheaded jocks to your presence, and though you tried to keep your focus on the work in front of you as a way to maintain your innocence, Jason Carver wasn’t going to let being laughed at go. 

From your peripheral vision, you saw him saunter over to you and brace his wrists on the table. 

“Is something funny?” he sneered. 

Continuing to avoid his gaze, you shrugged. “You could say that.”

Jason looked down at what could be holding your attention instead of him and chuckled. “Albrecht, huh? Chrissy and I were paired together. No surprise there, we’re gonna be together forever—“

It took an extreme effort to hold back a second snort at his cliche proclamation. Jason Carver and Chrissy Cunningham absolutely would be the high school couple that got married young and ended up being community staples with enough kids to roster their own basketball team with substitutes that never left Hawkins except the summer vacation to the cabin two hours north. Jason’s life dream was your personal nightmare. 

“—but I wonder who you got paired with? I know it wasn’t who you wanted it to be,” Jason smirked. 

Your eyes briefly flitted over to Patrick, who stood by silently with his back turned pretending not to hear what was going on as he looked at the nutritional information on a stick of beef jerky. Typical. He didn’t stand up to Jason back then, so there was no reason to expect he’d do so now. Especially no on your behalf if history had anything to show for it.  

Cheeks stinging with embarrassment and irritation, you stared into the crystal blue eyes of your tormentor. “Weren’t you just leaving?”

Jason shook his head. “During our pleasant conversation? Not a chance! C’mon, who’d you get partnered with if not my dashing friend over there?” 

Fate was a cruel thing. The frizzy haired freak could have shown up ten minutes earlier or even ten seconds later, but instead he came bursting through the corner store door like a bull in a china stop. He stopped when he saw you being crowded by Jason, a look of pure disgust and fury wrinkling his features. “I knew you’d ask for a new partner,” he accused viciously. 

You hoped Jason would be stop on the uptake, but you weren’t that lucky. Roaring with laughter Jason said, “Munson!? Now that’s funny!” 

Mortification and rage pulsed through veins as you clenched your fists on the tabletop. If the ground could just open up and swallow you whole, you’d let it in an instant as the rest of Jason’s cronies joined him in snickering at your misery. It was hard enough being estranged from your once good friend, but to be lumped into the same loser caliber as Eddie Munson on top of it was downright insulting. 

Munson, however, smiled smugly as he stepped closer to the booth. “Jealous I’m already taken, Carver?”

Jason’s laughter ceased immediately and the grin slid from his face. Even you were shocked as Munson winked and picked his lips to send a kiss to the stunned jock. 

With his pale face reddening, Jason barked, "Let's get away from this freak,” to his friends before marching towards the door. 

“See ya, toots,” Munson sniggered, watching Jason practically break out into a run towards his Jeep with his minions sprinting behind him to keep up. 

You eyed Munson curiously as he roamed through the isles, loudly shouting towards the clerk behind the counter as he grabbed copious amounts of snacks, a burrito, and a coffee. He seemed to know the woman he called Jeanine well, daring to ask about her weekend plans and teasing her about her red nails. She didn’t seem amused by him at all. In fact, she chastised him for his flirtatious behavior towards the other boy, advising him that even in jest he should never suggest such a thing. A part of you wondered if he was just joking at all. It would certainly explain a thing or two about him if he wasn’t kidding.  

Munson waved her off dismissively. “Got rid of him, didn’t I?” 

Jeanine grunted in reluctant agreement, her thin red lips pursed in disapproval as she rang him up and slid his purchased goods across the counter. “I’m trying to get rid of you, too. Get on and tell your uncle I said he needs to come see me more often.” 

Munson let out an indignant huff as he ripped a massive bite from the greasy burrito and made his way back towards where you sat. You noticed again that he didn’t have a backpack or…anything with him at all related to school work when he slid into the booth across from you. 

Cheeks bulging from the giant bit he took of his lunch, Munson raised his brow at your furrowed one. “You look pretty pissed. What did dear ol’ Jason Carver want with you? Hopefully he wasn’t hitting on you.”

Mortified, you gagged. “Never, and I mean ever would I even consider—! He’s a pig!”

Munson waved his hand dismissively, wincing. “Jesus, okay! No need to get so shrill. I’ve got sensitive ears.” 

Irritation reaching its near peak, you had to resist the urge to jump over the table and throttle him by his stupid neck. “Where’s your stuff?”

“What stuff?” he asked with faux innocence, taking another mouth full of food. 

“Your portfolio?” you huffed. “Your backpack? A pencil? Literally anything to help with this project!”

He shrugged. “Don’t need it. Besides, you seem prepared enough for the both of us.”

“No, oh no you don’t!” you snapped. “I told you I wasn’t going to do this by myself! You’ve taken this class how many times? You don’t have any notes from last year?”

Munson scoffed before swallowing roughly. “What kind of person saves their homework from last freakin school year?”

When you didn’t dignify his inquiry with an answer or waspish retort, Munson rolled his eyes. 

“Who said you were gonna do it by yourself? I said I didn’t need a portfolio and I don’t!” he replied sharply. “Occupaiton, Hawkins power plant employee. Education needed, High school diploma. Annual income, $18,000. What else do you need to know?”

“Eighteen--Powerplant?” you blubbered. “Of all the things you could have picked, you went with the powerplant down the street?”

He sucked the greasy remnants from the finished burrito from his fingertips before wiping his hands on his jeans. “You were there when Albrecht said I couldn’t pick rockstar.”

“Yeah, but you still could have done something with more money,” you argued. “18,000 is barely above the poverty line. You would know that if you did the worksheet--”

Munson cut you off sharply, a violent sneer twisting his features. “Believe me, I do know that.” 

Shifting uncomfortably beneath the weight of his gaze, you still pressed on. “So, why not something else?”

He shrugged. “What’s the point? I’m familiar with the requirements for the powerplant. Less research to do on my end.”

Rubbing your temple with your thumb to prevent the headache he was brewing up for you, you decided not to grill him anymore on his career choice or how he knew all of those specifics. Perhaps his dad worked there and gave him the information. It didn’t really matter anyway. You filled out his portion of the household income worksheet and sighed heavily. This was going to be a lot of work. 

“According to the rubric, we have to come up with a budget so we can start looking for a house and a car by the first of march,” you informed him. “I’ve got some ideas for categories that don’t include the mortgage, gas, car insurance, and maintenance. What do you think?”

He shrugged haphazardly, looking incredibly disinterested. 

“Fine,” you muttered beneath your breath. “Our total monthly income, which I found by adding our two annual incomes and dividing by twelve--”

Munson sat quietly as you broke down the finances and listed the categories of the budget. It wasn’t until you started to fill in the blanks on the projected budget did he show signs that he was actually paying attention. 

“Why the hell would we need that much for a phone bill?” he questioned. “My phone bill is twelve bucks a month, not twenty.”

“I’m just estimating--”

He pulled the binder away from you and turned it around so he could see. “Sixty bucks for electricity? Are you leaving the lights on all day and night? No way, thirty bucks, max.”

God, he was annoying! Offended at your hard work being picked apart, you snatched the binder back. “And how would you know? You don’t live on your own!” Suddenly, you weren’t so sure. “Do you?”

Munson scoffed. “Might as well be. I pay half the bills at my house and maintain my own vehicle. I know a thing or two about budgeting, sweetheart and this--” he said aggressively tapping his finger on the worksheet. “--shows that you don’t. How did you even come up with these numbers?”

You slapped his hand away from your work, embarrassment--and for some reason--shame, heating up your face. “I looked at the bills from my house last month.”

He barked out a mocking laugh. “That explains it. You’re looking at numbers for a 3,000 square foot house that mommy and daddy pay for, right?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing!”  you added defensively. 

The smirk plastered across his dumbface was infuriating. “Right. I’ll show you some real bills. Let’s go to my house.”

You watched him slide from the booth in disbelief. “What, now?!”

“Yeah?” he replied as if you were stupid while he stuffed his remaining snacks into his denim jacket pockets. “I don’t keep bills on me and I have brownies in the oven.”

You stared at him incredulously. “You were late because you were making brownies?”

Munson let out a genuine laugh and shook his head. You tried not to notice that he had dimples in his cheeks. “No. That’s not what I--nevermind. I just need to get home.”

Looking at the sad bicycle that was chained to the rack outside, you frowned. You didn’t want to ride even further away from home in the freezing cold, nor did you want to ride back in the dark. You did, however, want to get as much of this done today and you hated being wrong or worse, look stupid. And Eddie Munson’s critique of your proposed budget left you feeling a bit of both. 

He paused at the door and followed your line of sight when you didn’t move to join him. “That's your bike?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you sighed. “How far is your house? It’ll take me some time to get there.”

Munson left out a PFFT and rolled his eyes. “Don’t be stupid. I’m not a piece of shit.”

You weren’t sure what he meant by that, but you were fuming at being called stupid. Angrily tossing your notes together and shoving them into your backpack while Munson exited the building with a curt goodbye to the clerk. You were putting your layers back on when you noticed him pull loose the chain that secured your bike to the post.

“Hey!” you shouted, paying no mind that there was a glass window between you. “How did you--That was locked!”

He either didn’t hear you or was purposely ignoring you as he walked the bike towards the only vehicle in the parking lot--a large van. Realization suddenly dawned upon you while you watched him open the double doors of the back. 

He intended to give you a ride.

Going in Eddie Munson’s van to Eddie Munson’s lair sounded like the beginning of a slasher horror film, and you’d be lying if you said your chest didn’t constrict with a bit of fear at the thought. But you weren’t in a position to refuse. No one sane would turn down a warm car ride in the dead of winter to trek in the freezing sleet miles back home with a soon to be setting sun. 

Awkwardly, you walked towards the passenger side of the van and climbed inside. It reeked of weed and cigarettes and had scraps of paper and food wrappers everywhere, but it was still better than being outside. You just hoped you could wash the smell from your hair before your parents caught a whiff of it.

“Thanks,” you said quietly when Munson clambered in beside you. 

“Uh, yeah? Like I said, I’m not a piece of shit,” he retorted. “Can’t believe you biked here to begin with. It’s as cold as a witch’s tit outside.”

You didn’t have time to contemplate the euphemism before the stereo came on and blasted a shriek so loud it made your skull vibrate. 

Munson made no effort to lower the volume as he screamed along to the high pitched falsetto as he smashed his foot on the gas to throw the van into a harsh reverse. 

“Good god!” you hollered, instantly grabbing onto the handle atop of the ceiling and putting your other hand across your chest to keep your heart within its designated cavity when he kicked the van into drive and thrusting you full force back into the seat. “TURN IT DOWN!” 

Either he didn’t hear your command or just didn’t care as Munson paid you no mind. It wasn’t until a very crude shrill of a much too long guitar solo came to an abrupt end that he stopped the tape and ejected it. His lips were moving, but you couldn’t make out what he was saying—your ears ringing and fuzzy from the cacophonous noise. Judging by the tape and pencil he tossed it into your lap, you gathered that he wanted you to rewind the offensive material.

“I most certainly will not!” you protested loudly. “I can’t hear myself think, much less speak!”

Munson rolled his eyes and said something in reply, but you couldn’t make out the muffled mess. You told him you’d appreciate some silence until your hearing returned. Luckily for you, it only took a few minutes of clasping your palms against your ears to cure. Munson scoffed at you and punched to power off, muttering something about being dramatic.

“Buying a house will be the easiest part of the project,” you informed him—your voice a little too loud still from your recovering hearing. “My parents can help with that.”

Munson waved at you dismissively. “We don’t need a house.”

“Oh yeah? Are we living in a box under a bridge?”

“Just get a trailer,” Munson shrugged. 

Your face morphed in disgust. “I’m not living in a trailer.“

“Why not? Are you too good for that kind of thing?” he challenged. 

“Sorry for not wanting to live in a shack,” you quipped. “Having standards  isn’t exactly a bad thing.”

“Standards,” he repeated. 

“They’re way too small. You shouldn’t be able to hook your house up to a truck and drive off with it.” you continued. “I want a real home.”

Munson looked almost amused as the corner of his lips ticked upward. In fact, it looked as if he was fighting the urge to laugh as he bit his lips. It wasn’t until a few moments later when he turned down a terribly bumpy and unpaved road that you realized exactly what he found so funny. 

Much to your horror, the van passed one—two—trailers, an RV, and a few broken coiled playground horses, and approached a very small, grimy, blue and white trailer. Munson engaged the parking brake and turned off the vehicle.

“My shack awaits,” he said with a frightening faux sweetness and bright smile. 

All the air in your lungs rushed out in a mortified, defeated sigh. How was it possible that this day could get worse? How many times were you going to be embarrassed beyond the will to live? Face scalding from the humiliation of having shoved a metaphorical foot in your mouth, you slowly turned towards your classmate.  

All the mirth that was spread across his face evaporated in an instant. He was no longer grinning—lips now pressed firmly in a flat line. His eyes were just as dark and unforgiving as they were the day before when he snapped at you in class. The revulsion radiating from was almost palpable. 

It was futile, but you tried to issue damage control anyway. “I didn’t mean—“

The way his lip curled made you fall silent. “Don’t,” he hissed. “We both know what you meant.” 

You didn’t make another attempt to apologize or correct him. Instead, you flinched at the harsh way he slammed the door when he made his exit. Head ducked in shame, you followed behind him with as much enthusiasm as a guilty man walked towards the hangman’s noose. 

————————————————————

Part 3

You, Barb, and Nancy had been childhood friends, though as the three of you got older it became clear that Barb and Nancy were closer. It was difficult not to be envious of their friendship--often feeling like a piece of furniture in the room instead of one in a trio when you were all together. 

It made Barb’s disappearance more painful when you found out she went missing during a hangout you weren’t invited to. You wrestled with many feelings during her absence. Panic and despair at the fact she was nowhere to be found and the second missing person within a week or so, as well as anger and betrayal for being left out again.

But Barb always knew what to say to make things better, and would have sleepovers with just you and her, especially once Steve Harrington came into the picture. It made you feel like you were finally worthy of their attention, but once they started to push you to the outskirts again, it only hurt more.

You tried to remind yourself that the top priority was finding Barb safe and sound. However, at night when you were staring at the popcorn textured ceiling, it was impossible to keep your mind focused. What was wrong with you? Why would Nancy and Barb not invite you? Especially since Barb had voiced on many occasions her distrust for Harrington and how she did not like who Nancy was becoming to keep his attention. Were you not cool enough to go to Steve Harrington’s little backyard powwow? Did Nancy explicitly say that you weren’t allowed to come? As soon as you realized where the rabbit hole of self pity led, guilt for making Barb’s disappearance about yourself sat heavy on your mind. 

When it turned out she died, you were devastated. Absolutely distraught. Your friend since preschool was gone and never coming back. There would be no more trips to the lake with her, laughing and counting her new freckles from being under the summer sun. No more Rob Lowe movie nights at her house.  No pictures together for graduation. She wouldn’t be your roommate at University or be there to talk about the cute college boys. You wouldn’t be able to do her hair and makeup for her first date…

It took a few months to be able to think of your redhead friend without bursting into tears, but as the saying goes, time heals all wounds, and though it pained you, you eventually moved on. 

But every year on Valentine's Day, you were plagued by the absence of your best friend and a simmering resentment towards Nancy. Though you tried to bury it, a small part of you blamed her. She abandoned Barb to have sex with Steve. If she had been a better friend, Barb would still be here. 

When you shared this with Ms. Kelly, the school counselor, she said to remember Nancy lost her best friend too, and try not to judge or blame her. 

As your grief became less pronounced, so did your bitterness. The trio became a duo, but Nancy wasn’t who she used to be. She dropped Steve Harrington like a box of rocks and started dating the total freakazoid Johnathan Byers. You tried to be nice to him, talk to him and include him in things, but he made no effort to reciprocate those efforts--often giving one word answers or only shrugging when you attempted to engage with him. Eventually you just gave up trying to be his friend. Of course this led to seeing Nancy less. So instead, you tried to make an effort in becoming closer friends with your classmates. 

Being in Hawkins for so long, it wasn’t easy to suddenly try and become something more than just someone who shared a classroom with them. You’d talk to your desk neighbors and they would respond friendly enough, but when you approached them outside of the classroom, you were often meant with furrowed brows or awkward chuckles before they scurried away to the safety of their true friends. 

It didn’t take long to accept that it would only be a few years before you were headed to the other side of the country and could find kindred spirits of your own. Barb’s death, Nancy’s all consuming relationship with Johnathan, and the growing chasm between you and your parents only solidified that there really wasn’t anything worth staying in Hawkins for. Once school ended you would spread your wings and flee from the nest as far as the wind would take you. 

Watching Nancy happily caress the pink and peach petals of her carnation made the weight of guilt and loneliness heavy in your gut. In an attempt to hide your frown, you rested your chin upon your palm and stared at the state flags hanging from the cafeteria ceiling, until a loud voice rose above the rest of the rumble and caught your attention. 

“—asinine, man, and completely commercialized!” the voice exclaimed. 

“I bet more than half the people in here don’t even know who St. Valentine was.”

You frowned and rolled your eyes when you realized who the malcontent sitting at a table ahead of you was: Eddie Munson. 

Malcontent was certainly right. Eddie Munson was a well known annoyance. A notorious loudmouth always bitching and fretting over something, always using the cafeteria table as his soapbox and the student body as his unwilling audience. Most of the time you and everyone else had just ignored him—much like the ever present hum of the lightning from the fluorescent bulbs overhead—but sometimes the shrill of his voice would pierce through the armor you’d built against him--like now. 

You actually did know the origins of Valentine’s Day and the significance of the titular saint, but you wouldn’t ever try to encourage him. Munson was insane and instantly made a spectacle of anyone who dared to engage whether they agreed with him or not. And that wasn’t just in the cafeteria. In the class you shared he was just as feisty. Thankfully he knew well enough to isolate himself towards the back far away from everyone else, but that didn’t stop him from clashing with Mr. Albrecht on a near daily basis. 

You, like everyone else outside of his weird cult following, stayed away from him. He was combative. Rude. A snarling beast with no manners and always itching for someone to say something to him so he could snap at them. So you limited your interactions with him to almost none at all—at least indirectly if you could help it. 

Unfortunately for you, it seemed your sneering judgment alerted him to your gaze. 

Quick as a whip, Eddie paused his furious monologue about his personal vendetta against the entire Hallmark cooperation and the founding family to challenge your stare. 

“What?” he snarled. 

You startled at suddenly being on the receiving end of his scowl, but only gave a half shrug in response. You weren't afraid of him like some of the other people in school, but you could do without being on his radar like Jason Carver. He couldn’t possibly turn a mute gesture into a shouting match in the middle of lunch, could he? 

No, he spared you the personal attack he would have certainly given Jason. Instead he flipped his eyelids inside out and stuck his tongue out at you, forcing you to look away in total disgust at the unnatural sight.

Nancy turned at your exclamation of “Eugh!” and huffed at the howls of laughter from the Munson minions behind her. “Ignore him,” she advised. “You won’t want to encourage him before class anyway.”

Considering the very next class after lunch was your Contemporary Living course, no, you did not want to sit through an hour long class with him in an even more irate state than he already was. 

With another roll of your eyes, you forced yourself to tune out the screech ramblings of the village lunatic and tried not to focus on the gleeful girls with carnations from their boyfriends in their grasp for the remainder of the lunch period. It wasn’t as easy as it sounded—stifling down the longing to have a physical token of someone’s affections for all to see. Your eyes found the side profile of the jock you hooked up with a few times last year during spring break, but Patrick McKinney didn’t spare you even a sideways glance once school resumed the following week, nor for a single second since. 

Choosing somewhere else to set your sightless stare, more than once you found yourself nodding along to the echoing sound of Munson’s sentiment that Valentine’s Day really did suck. 

——

You walked absentmindedly besides Nancy and Johnathan towards Mr. Albrecht’s classroom and were a little confused to see the teacher standing outside the door instead of his usual spot behind the desk. He was of average height, a little stocky, with short dark hair, and numerous deep scars on his face that many assumed were from his own struggle with stubborn acne back in the day. As always he looked bored and annoyed, but stood guard at the door and instructed the approaching students to line up against the lockers instead of shuffling into unofficial assigned seats you all picked yourselves at the beginning of the year. 

You did as he said, silently scooting up in line with a wrinkled nose as you realized he was assigning seats now in the middle of the year for whatever reason. You hoped he kept you close to Nancy but separated Johnathan from you, that would feel a lot better to have your friend back without her boyfriend around for one class period. A small grin tugged at the corner of your lips at the thought. 

Mr. Albrecht glanced at you and muttered your last name before sighing deeply. “You’ll get ten extra credit points for your efforts. Deal?”

“Huh?” you questioned dumbly. 

Patience much thinner than the rest of him, Albrecht scoffed. “Sit down and if you don't react poorly, you’ll get your points. Column One, Row Five.”

More confused than ever, you slowly took in the new order of the desks—columns paired by twos—and made your way towards your destination and sat at the desk Winny Cartwright usually occupied. Nancy and Johnathan followed in and settled a few rows over and ahead of you sitting side by side in their new seats, blissfully unaware that you were not within easy note passing length of them. Your hopeful grin fell into a frown. Of course they wouldn’t notice you weren’t amongst them. They were, as usual, happily paired. You tried not to look at them by redirecting your efforts to digging out your career portfolio for class. 

You were glad for this unit to be over soon. Mr. Albrecht had somehow turned Contemporary Living into a nightmare. He said part of it was to instill good researching habits in preparation for the journey to college while also giving you an idea as to what you wanted to study, but it felt like a hell of a lot of busy work to keep you and the other students out of his thinning hair for the hour. If it weren’t a required course for graduation, you wouldn’t have put so much effort into it. 

The project, in theory, was simple. Pick a career, research the education requirements, and the entry level salary. Then, pick a college, research the total amount of money or student loans one would accrue from start to finish with the necessary degree for the chosen field of study. However, it wasn’t all bad. It gave you something to fantasize about as you laid in bed at night and drifted off to sleep—Where would you live? What kind of dwelling would it be? A house, an apartment, a loft? Would you have roommates, a boyfriend, or even a spouse? It sucked starting a new life in debt, but you’d do just about anything to get away from Haunted Hawkins, and this project let you see a lucrative way to do so—plan a life only a few years down the road, well within your reach.

A howling, menacing cackle pulled you from your thoughts, and in no time the small frown etched upon your lips melted into a full blown grimace as none other than the cursed loudmouth himself came sauntering down the next column. The chains dangling from various bits of his clothing noisily clanging as he came closer towards you. You hoped he would pass. That he’d walk right by you and keep going all the way to the back like he usually did but again, no such luck. Eddie Munson shook his head to beat back the wild mane of frizz and unkempt curls as he slid into the desk right next to you.

Now you understood Albrecht’s bribe. For ten extra credit points you could pretend that being separated from your only remaining friend in to school and instead sentenced to sit next to Eddie Munson’s wasn’t some kind of sick punishment. You propped your head against your palm and kept your head turned to avoid him. The last thing you wanted was to get caught staring at him again. 

Given the new seating arrangement, you were likely expected to fill in the person in the row next to you about the contents within your portfolio and pretend to care about theirs. You weren’t sure what the hell Eddie Munson ended up picking since he and Albrecht started the unit fighting over whether his career choice could be a rockstar this time (his third), but Mr. Albrecht’s joke about the Munson boy’s only hit song being a rendition of Jailhouse Rock for other Indiana State Prison inmates resulted in a very frightening shouting match between both males that ended up with Munson suspended for a few days. 

You couldn’t care less what his future job ended up being so long as his eyelids stayed flipped the right way and he kept any comments about your made up life to himself. However lame it may seem, you did put some elements of your true desires in there and weren’t keen on having anyone make fun of them. 

You hoped that with the completed research for your preferred college, the course load, the kind of debt you would be in after graduation, your chosen career path, average annual salary for the state of Indiana, and a new seat yards away from your original desk, the unit would be done after today and that you would move on to something else that required far less investigating. Maybe something more useful like resume building. 

You should have learned by now that wishful thinking did you no favors. 

Albrecht entered the room with the door slamming shut behind him, demanding the class cease their chatter and get their stuff out if they hadn’t already. You spared Munson a peak over your shoulder and found he made no movement to reach for his things. 

“Do you even have a backpack?” you blurted. 

Munson blinked, shocked that you’d addressed him at all much less like that, before scowling. “Don’t get excited. You won’t care in a minute.”

You didn’t care much now. At least you didn’t have to pretend to be impressed with whatever stupid job he picked. Brow furrowed and frowning, you resettled your attention on moodily picking the fraying plastic of your binder until Albrecht spoke again. 

“Listen up!” he barked. “There’s no whining and there will be no switching or reassigning partners so don’t bother asking. Capisce?”

When Albrecht’s cold grey eyes landed on your grimace, you gave a surly nod. Ten extra points didn’t seem to be enough. Perhaps you could swing  fifteen. The guy didn’t even have a backpack for god’s sake! What did he expect you to work with here!

“Column one, look at the person next to you in column two,” he said, casually strolling at the front of the room. “Column four, look at the person next to you in column three.”

Reluctantly, you looked at Munson, who merely sat in the desk with his arms folded crossed his chest looking incredibly sour. This did nothing to improve your mood. What did he have to be so pissy about? You were a great partner! 

“Boys and girls, what you’re looking at is your new spouse for the remainder of the semester!” Albrecht announced loudly with a laugh and a thunderous clap of his hand. 

The room rang out in cacophony. Gasps, shrieks, laughter, protests. Jeering, hollers, and demands for clarification. 

“You heard me right!” Albrecht shouted over the crowd. “Your desk mate is now your spouse!” He held up a stack of papers before passing out a stack for each column to pass back. “Here is your rubric. You and your new spouse are to build a life by putting your two careers together! You’re gonna build a budget. Balance a checkbook. Hell, I doubt any of you know how to write a check! We’re gonna learn that, too. In this unit you’re going to learn how to buy a car. Buy a house. File taxes. Oh, yes!” he exclaimed over the cries of misery from his students. “You are going to learn personal finance, people! And you’re going to do it with a partner to prepare you for what it’s like when you’ve got someone else’s hand in the honeypot.”

The class had a lot to say about this. Some seemed excited while others were downright distraught by the prospect of having so much work to do alongside someone they didn’t like or know. More than once you heard someone say that their boyfriend or girlfriend was not going to like this, to which Albrecht said they could take it up with him and he’d tell them to get over themselves.  

You didn’t say anything. Couldn’t say anything with how heavy your tongue suddenly felt in your mouth. The sight of the course load as you scanned the rubric was almost heinous! And the idea of having to spend the amount of time it would take to do these kinds of things in the way that would meet your own expectations in one class was a little ridiculous. Did Albrecht think this was the only class you had? Did he forget about math, science, English, and the other core classes needed to graduate? The nerve of that beady eyed bastard to assign this kind of work right at the end of the final freaking year!

Not to mention the thought of having to spend any amount of this time with Eddie Munson, much less speak to him about these things. Filing taxes together? Balancing the family checkbook? Good Grief. You eyed him skeptically as he stewed in his seat, no portfolio to show for the last six weeks of work assigned. 

“Well?” you prompted rudely. “Don’t you have your stuff with you?”

Munson stared at you incredulously. “What, you’re not gonna go crying to Albrecht for a new partner?”

“You heard him. We can’t,” you replied sharply. 

Munson snorted, and mumbled something under his breath that sounded something like “wouldn’t be the first time”, but he refused to clarify when you asked him to say it again. 

You huffed and looked over the outline again, making a mental note of how much time each assignment would take outside of class to complete. The chapter reading, the discussion, agreeing on the execution, and eventually putting it together nicely for your binder to turn in. Would you use yours? His? Well of course not his seeing as he didn’t even have one!  Would you need one for your “married” life together now that would probably end up just being your responsibility to take care of anyway?

Albrecht demanded the class settle down and began to teach. “Building a budget,” he narrated as he wrote the words on the blackboard in chalk. “To do that you will need to determine both your monthly input and output. In other words, the money that comes into the bank, and the money that comes out of it. Someone gives me an example of what money input might be. Dixon?”

Andy Dixon, the mullet wearing jock a few rows ahead simply shrugged. You rolled your eyes and tried not to join in when Munson snorted loudly beside you at the meathead’s apparent idiocy.

His partner raised her hand, to which Albrecht agreed to let her answer. “Money from our jobs.”

“That’s exactly right,” Albrecht nodded. “The money coming into your bank account will be the number from the salary of the career you picked.”

“But you said that was money we make in a year!” Andy exclaimed.

Albrecht huffed and began writing the equation to calculate the monthly sum one would get from the annual salary if they did the math correctly. A flurry of pencils began scratching across paper and before Mr. Albrecht turned back around, hands shot up in the air. 

“No, you may not switch careers,” he said without facing the class. “You will stick with what you have.”

All the hands dropped as a chorus of disgruntled sighs rang out. 

“Now, someone tell me what output would be,” he said, continuing to draw a chart on the board.

“Costs,” Nancy answered simply.  “Any payments that may take place.”

“Correct,” he said. “Now, your parents might be tight lipped about what it takes to keep the lights on, but in my day, the kids worked just as much to chip in for the bills. So, here’s what we’re going to do for this unit--”

For the remainder of the class period Mr. Albrecht went over general bills each ‘household’ would have to account for and stated that every Monday each group would receive mail from him with due balances. Checks, which he also went over how to write and passed out a handful of fake (“So don’t try to use them at Melvald’s or anywhere else because you’ll end up in jail!”) sets of to each group, would need to be turned into him along with a transaction sheet showing what was left in the bank along with how much accrued debt in student loans was still owed. 

And that was only part one of this semester-long fiasco. 

“You will need to spend time on this outside of class,” Mr. Albrecht warned seriously. “Exchange numbers. Find the time to make the effort, people, or you’ll see me again next year, or god forbid the year after that.”

The dig wasn’t very subtle, and quite a few heads turned to peek over their shoulder at Munson, who simply sneered at the onlookers.

Too engrossed in taking notes and hanging on to Albrecht’s every word, you hadn’t paid much attention to Munson, but looking at him now he still hadn’t bothered to move a muscle. He didn’t take notes. Didn’t do anything but lean back in his seat with his arms crossed over her chest and look miserably bored. You supposed with this being his second? Third? Time taking this class, he wouldn’t need to take notes, but his lack of effort was still quite irritating. 

“So,” you began uneasily. “How do you want to continue? I have time tomorrow afternoon.” You had more than enough time with no plans besides a couple of other assignements, but you didn’t want to seem like a loser with absolutely nothing to do besides homework, no matter how true it was. 

Munson’s brow furrowed. “You’re serious?”

You looked to Albrecht for assistance with your less than compliant partner, but he was walking around the class individually answering questions on the assignment. 

Face heating with annoyance, you snapped at him. “I’m not doing this project by myself so yes, I’m serious.”

Munson’s brow shot up, a small smirk starting to form on the corner of his lips. “Well excuse me. No one has ever wanted to work with me on this project before.”

“You may want to stay in Hawkins forever, but I don’t. If working with you is how I get out, then fine,” you said sharply, scribbling your phone number and address on a sheet of paper with your name, not entirely sure if he knew it, and slapped it atop his desk. “Call me when you have a time in mind.”

Munsons scowled, balling the paper up and shoving it in his jacket pocket. “You think you know everything, huh?”

“Is that supposed to mean something?” you questioned, shoving your binder into your backpack. 

“Yeah. It means you don’t know shit about me, so don’t pretend that you do,” he barked. 

The sharp command in his voice made you look at him. While you never interacted with him directly before now, you finally understood why some considered him frightful. Lips pressed in a flat line, brow furrowed over angry brown eyes glowering directly at you, red dusting the apple of his cheeks--Eddie Munson did look like a force to be reckoned with. 

While he did make you feel a twinge of shame for your judgement, the attempt at intimidation only made you want to remain firm. He may push everyone else around with fear tactics, but you refused to be one of them.

“And you wonder why no one wants to work with you?” you challenged. 

The bell rang, signifying the end of class. Instead of answering you, Munson forcibly pushed himself out of his desk and charged out of the room without a word to anyone. Tension in your shoulders that you hadn’t realized you were holding released in an instant and you fell limp against the back of your chair. This was going to be a long few months and not at all worth only a measly ten extra points. 

————————————————————

Part Two

Let me know if you would like to be tagged!

You checked your surroundings like a deer in the middle of hunting season. To the outside eye, you probably looked like one, too. Alone in the woods, paranoid, unarmed... you weren't exactly screaming "don't mess with me." No; if anything, you were a welcoming target. Alone in the woods, paranoid, unarmed... not a good look for you.

"Well, shit," a smooth voice hummed, seemingly appearing from thin air. A twig snapped under his foot as he drew nearer. "Of all the people at school, I never thought I'd be selling to you."

You looked up at him, eyes wide and alert. Eddie always scared you from afar. The individual parts to him weren't that frightening. You could never tell him, but you thought his battle jacket was sick as hell, and so was the rest of his getup. His hair seemed fun, so to speak, and his big smile-- always like a kid on Christmas-- told you that he came in peace. But all together? He was sort of intimidating. Not so much that you'd burst into tears if he spoke to you, but enough to keep you from ever approaching him. That's why you dropped the note in his locker instead of making a phone call or having a conversation. That note let you cower away.

"Well, let's get down to business." Eddie let his lunch pail clatter onto the picnic table. He gestured across from him. "Have a seat. Can't do business if you're six feet away."

You stepped away from the tree you'd been leaning against and over to the table, sitting silently on the very edge of the bench. He shot you a weird look but didn't say anything on the matter.

"So, Four-Point, what brings you to me?" He inquired, propping his elbows up on the table and joining his hands together. His chin came to rest atop his fists.

"Four-Point?" You squeaked. Damn. Wait to be cool.

"Yeah. Four-Point. How have you not heard that before? Half the school calls you that."

Oh, God. Half the school?

Eddie immediately backtracked, seeing the nervous look on your face. "It's not a bad thing," he assured you. "It's just because you're so smart. Four-Point, as in a 4.0 GPA. It's not because you're, like, a square or anything."

"A square?" You glanced up at him, daring to make eye contact only for a few seconds before you returned to the pile of pine needles on the table. "People think I'm a square?"

"God, I'm making it worse, aren't I?" He held his hands up in a peaceful gesture. "You're not a square. That was just the only other reason I could think of that somebody might be called Four-Point. Everybody calls you that because you're smart. As in, the GPA. Okay?"

You swallowed and nodded. You weren't so sure he was telling the truth, but anything to get what you needed and get out of here. "Okay."

"Okay, then." Eddie smiled softly. "Good. Now, business. Based on your whole deer-in-headlights look right now, I'm going to assume this is your first time buying?"

You nodded shyly.

"Hey, nothing wrong with that. We all start somewhere." He began rifling through his pail, setting a bag of pretzels down on the table, then a tin, rattling with something small inside, and finally, a dime bag stuffed with a mossy green substance. "So, considering this is your first time, this little baggie here will probably be enough. But... it would help if I knew what the problem was."

You paused for a moment, on edge. How did he know about your problems? Had somebody heard you talking to your guidance counselor? Damn it; you knew this would happen. You found the courage to make eye contact again, then spoke in a tiny voice. "P-problem?"

"Yeah," Eddie affirmed. "Problem. I don't know you well, so feel free to correct me if I'm wrong, but you don't seem like the type to smoke recreationally. So, what is it? Joints giving you problems? Trouble sleeping? Home sucks?"

Home sucks.

God, he couldn't have summed it up better. Home sucked butt right now. School sucked, too. And so did work. And your head. You couldn't even retreat to your room and hide from your problems anymore, because they followed you into your dreams like some sort of reverse Freddy Krueger. You'd been having the stereotypical, stupid dreams about losing teeth for three days straight. Next, you'd be chased off a building and fall for a million years, only for your teeth to fall out once you hit the pavement.

"I--" The words caught before you could even get halfway through the sentence. You swallowed, but it didn't do anything for the dryness in your throat, or the tears welling up in your eyes.

"Oh. Oh, shit." Eddie straightened up, pretty brows furrowing in concern. "Hey, I didn't mean-- what happened?"

You moved your mouth wordlessly, begging syllables to work with you. "E-everything..." you managed. A sob forced its way out before you could stop it. The first of many.

"Jesus, um..." He looked around, as if there would be a trusted adult to wave over. When he found no one, he reached across the peeling table and patted your hand uncertainly. "It-- it's okay. Do you want to give me some specifics? You don't have to, but it might help if you got it off your chest..."

"I-- I got kicked off the tennis team because I hurt my wrist, and my mom got mad and isn't talking to me, but she keeps talking to my dad about it, and their room is right next to mine, so I can hear them talking at night, and I don't even understand what's so bad! I got hurt! It-- it's not like I got suspended or anything!" That was all you intended to tell him. You posted up the 'stop' sign in your head, but traffic laws don't apply to things that don't drive. "She's stressing me out because there's no way the tennis thing is the only reason she's not talking to me, but it's affecting my sleep, and that's affecting my grades, and my dad's not happy about that, and I don't know what to do!"

Eddie's thumb moved over your knuckles rapidly, like he couldn't comfort you fast enough. "Take a breath, okay? Just... just breathe a moment."

You didn't even try. You just pulled your hands away from his and cupped your face, wanting to hide. You hated crying in front of people. You hated being vulnerable. And here you were, all but wailing about your miseries with some guy who you'd never spoken to before. Embarrassment flooded your cheeks, but who could tell under the flush from your tears?

"Hey... hey, come on..." He stood up from his side of the bench, drugs totally forgotten. He rounded the corner and came over to your side, hesitating before placing his hand on your shoulder. "It's all right."

"I-I'm so t-tired!" You cried under your palms.

"Yeah. Yeah, I can see that," he agreed. "Come on; put your hands down." Eddie crouched down beside you and took you by the elbows, turning your upper body to face him. He slid up to your wrists and gave them each a gentle tug. He bit his lip to keep down a smile when you resisted. "It's okay. Just look at me."

You let him pull twice more before allowing him to uncover your face. No amount of biting would keep down the smile now. Your cheeks were all wet and red and puffy, your nose a similar color. Your lower lip trembled between sobs, your lashes stuck together with tears... all things considered, you were a pretty crier. Or pretty in general.

"There... hi..." He nodded approvingly, still holding your wrists in his calloused, warm hands. "Good to see you. Can you breathe?"

You nodded. Now, how well you could breathe was up for interpretation, but oxygen went in and carbon dioxide came out. That was breathing in your book.

"Okay. Take a big breath and hold it for me. As long as you can," he instructed gently.

You tried, counting the seconds in your head. One... two... three... four... Just before you could think of 'five,' your body forced the air out, and the sobs started up again.

"Good. Again."

Again, and again, and again. Somehow, it worked. Before long, you were reduced to sniffles and hiccups. Eddies thumbs remained on your radials and his eyes stayed on yours the whole time. He gave you a moment of silence before breaking his news to you.

"I'm not going to sell you anything today."

Your stomach plummeted. Really? After pouring your heart out to him, laying out all the reasons why you needed the weed, and giving him a front row seat to the emotions you desperately needed to turn off, he wasn't going to give you anything?

"No, no. Eddie, I need this--"

"Shh..." He gave your wrists a little squeeze and shook his head firmly. "Bars won't serve you beer if you come in shitfaced. I, as a dealer, can't sell to you if you're already spiraling. I won't go to bed feeling good about that. I'm sorry about your wrist, and your mom-- that's really petty of her, by the way-- and about your grades and your wellness, but Y/N, I can't give this to you and feel okay about it."

A whine clawed its way up your throat. "What-- what am I supposed to do, then? If you won't help me, what am I supposed to do?"

"I didn't say I wouldn't help you," Eddie corrected. "I just said I wouldn't sell to you. Come on; stand up."

He didn't give you a chance to act on your own. He straightened his knees, hauling you up with him. He released your wrists, only to smooth the hair out of your face. He just looked at you for a second, as if confirming in his head that this was what he wanted to do, before wrapping his arms around you.

The first thing to hit you was the smell. You could smell the pot on his jacket; faint, like he'd smoked while wearing it and hadn't washed it since. The cologne masked it slightly, but not well. You couldn't describe it other than being akin to the holiday season. In that little gap between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Like sitting in front of a fire after eating a crazy amount of pie. The second thing you noticed was just how warm he was. Your breath bouncing between the crook of his neck, the cover of his curls, the heat in his palms against your back.

The last thing was the safety. Never in a million years would you have thought you'd buy from Eddie Munson or seek refuge in Eddie Munson. Hell, that you'd even talk to Eddie Munson. But he held you so close, with no expectation to talk or apologize. Just to be still.

"Weed won't fix this." His chest vibrated against your cheek. "I think a conversation would do more. Just, 'hey, mom, this is bullshit, let's talk.' Actually, you should see a doctor. You could get your wrist checked out, and then maybe get something proper for all this stress."

"It's just a sprain," you sniffled. "And she won't talk to me."

"Then write her a note. Leave it on her pillow or slip it in her bag. If she won't read it, write more. Keep writing until she caves or gets over herself and talks to you again."

"...you really think that'll work?"

Eddie pulled back slightly with a little sigh. His hands framed your shoulder blades. "I don't know," he admitted. "I don't know this lady. But the silent treatment? Over getting kicked off a team because of an injury? Even a five-year-old could see how stupid that is. At this point, I'm willing to bet she's only keeping it up because she's too proud to admit how stupid this is. If not..." He winced. "Mama might have some problems."

"What do I do if it doesn't work? The-- the letters, or the conversation."

"Call me," he said simply. "Then we'll talk about getting high, because that's a whole other demon. But for now, I'm prescribing you with hugs and deep breaths. You're in luck, too. Insurance covers everything."

You chuckled. Eddie's shoulders visibly relaxed at the sound, like he'd been freestyling this whole thing and just praying that something stuck. "Do I get free refills on the hugs?"

He pulled you back into him, smile widening. "Definitely."

Ask to join my taglist! Message me with the character(s) you want to be notified of (or just all posts in general), and I'll add you. Requests are welcome!

“C’mon, c’mon,” you muttered under your breath, tossing jeans, leggings, socks, underwear into the bag with shaking hands.

“She’ll understand. Nat will understand. And if she doesn’t then Jake will - just until the end of the lease,” your frantic words masked the sound of the front door opening again. Shielding the sound of hurried footsteps until his voice cut through the fog.

“Fury!”

No, no, no, no, no.

You froze, half bent over the bed, and spun. Bob stood in the doorway, chest heaving like he’d run the whole way back. His eyes swept over the chaos, the clothes, the bag, your panicked movements that left a trail of clean clothes in its wake.

“What are you doing?” His voice cracked, bewildered.

“Packing,” you said flatly, yanking open another drawer.

“Packing?” he stepped into your room, incredulous. “You’re not serious.”

You let out a pathetic bark of a laugh.

“I can’t stay here, Bob.” You shoved a handful of flight tops into the bag without looking at him, grabbing some t-shirts next. “Not after…” your throat closed up. “Not after that.”

“And what, you think I’m gonna just let you walk out?” His voice had an edge to it you’d never heard before. “That you can just drop that and then disappear on me?”

“Yes!” You shouted back at him, finally meeting his gaze.

“You have Leah, and I just fucking ruined whatever friendship we have left. Do you really need me to say it again? I can’t stay here and continue to pretend to be happy for you when I know that you’ll never want me like that.”

His face twisted, like the words had physically hit him.

“That’s not true.”

You laughed bitterly.

“You can’t say that to me! Do you understand how cruel that is when you’re in a relationship?”

“I’m not.”

“Not what? Cruel? Yes you fucking are, Bob.”

He narrowed his gaze at you and took a step closer, shaking his head.

“I’m not in a relationship.”

You blinked, the words rang through the room like a gunshot, your mind desperately struggling to understand. 

“...wh…what?”

He took another step closer to where you clutched your t-shirts in your hands like a lifeline.

“We ended it,” he swallowed hard. “Over a month ago.”

Your pulse stuttered.

“What?”

“It wasn’t working. She knew it, I knew it. And she-” his voice softened, earnest “-she said I was looking for someone else. She was right.”

You shook your head in denial, mind still struggling to comprehend the words coming out of his mouth. 

Bob’s throat worked, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he searched for words. Then, with a sharp breath, he let go of any remaining restraint.

You couldn’t bear to hear what came next.

“Don’t -” you tried to start but he interrupted you.

“That it’s you,” your breath left you in a whoosh. “That it’s always been you.”

He stepped forward, gently but firmly prying the t-shirts out of your hands and letting them fall forgotten to the floor. 

“I was too blind to see it, too stupid to understand it for what it was, but God, Fury… Leah saw it before I did. She told me I already belonged to someone else.” His eyes burned into yours, pleading.

“She meant you.”

You forgot how to breathe. You shook your head, stepping back until the edge of the bed hit the backs of your knees. 

“Bob…”

“Please,” you’d never heard him so desperate as he looked at you. “Please, I know that I’ve totally fucked this up, but if there’s even a chance you could forgive me… that we could try-”

“I don’t…” you trailed off and your chest clenched at his wince. “I don’t understand… what are you saying?”

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a sad attempt at a smile.

“I’m saying that I’ve been in love with you for close to a decade. I’m saying that I hope I’m not too late. I’m saying that I am so god damn sorry for these past months, for how I hurt you. I’m saying that you’re fucking it for me and I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you’ll let me.”

At the lost look on your face he closed the distance between you, cupping your cheek in his hand and gently forcing your gaze up to meet his. His eyes seared into you, staring into you in a way that made you feel stripped to the bone.

“That call you got from NASA? I told you then, it wasn’t because you weren’t good enough. It just wasn’t your time. And this,” his thumb brushed over the side of your jaw, tentative but solid. “This is our time. Not later. Not someday. Now. That is, if I haven’t screwed this up beyond repair.”

It was as if your mind had blue screened, like all your systems had failed at once and you were flying dead stick. 

“You… you love me?”

Bob’s smile was brittle and he nodded, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.

“I’m in love with you. So much it hurts.”

You weren’t entirely convinced that you hadn’t crashed your car on the way home and this was some sort of sick transition into the afterlife. Your trembling hands came up to grasp onto his wrists where they framed your face.

“You love me.”

The fondness behind Bob’s smile lit something inside of you.

“I think we’ve already established that, yes.”

His sass broke you out of whatever spell you’d been under and you smacked him on the arm. 

“Now is not the time to fucking sass me Robert Floyd!”

He grinned and grabbed the hand that you hit him with, placing a kiss on your knuckles before nuzzling into your palm.

“Sorry, sorry, just… laid my heart out on the line and am waiting for some sort of indication that you still feel the same…”

You narrowed your gaze at him.

“I’m the one who said it first!”

“And then you tried to leave me-”

“Because I thought you were still dating Leah!”

“And for all I know you regret telling me-”

“And you have the nerve to say you’re waiting for my response-”

You continued to talk over each other, falling back into that easy camaraderie that had followed you for the better part of a decade. You opened your mouth to continue but he beat you to it.

“Okay, okay, so we’ve both established that we are, in fact, in love with each other… yes?”

His thumb rubbed back and forth over your wrist. Your heart skipped at the confirmation but you managed to nod, your face flushing at the smile it got you in return. 

“Yes.”

“Great. And we can both agree that this is like a forever kind of thing, right?”

You sucked in a breath and snapped your gaze up to meet his, heart galloping at the seriousness behind his eyes.

“Yes.”

“Good. Then, if it’s okay with you, I’d really, really, like to kiss you now?”

The words had barely left his mouth before you were grabbing him by the collar of his flight suit and pulling his lips down to meet yours. 

All of the broken pieces, all of the parts of you that had been floating in the abyss slid into place at the first touch of his mouth. 

A low groan escaped him as his hand slipped to the back of your head, pulling you in like he couldn’t bear even a centimeter of space between you. His other hand gripped your hip, urging you closer until every inch of you met him. The world tilted; all you could feel was his warmth, his solidity, and the wild beat of your heart answering his.

Clothes disappeared in frantic pieces, tossed over the duffel, onto the floor. The room was chaos, your half-packed bag, uniforms in heaps, the door still ajar, but none of it mattered. The only thing that existed was the weight of him, the warmth of him, the soft way he murmured your name like a prayer between kisses. The apologies he whispered into your skin as he took you apart with his fingers, then his mouth, worshiping your body in a desperate attempt to make up for those months of turmoil.

When he finally pushed into you, slow and reverent despite the urgency, you clung to him with a sound that was equal parts relief and hunger. His forehead pressed to yours, breath shuddering as he whispered, “I’ve got you. I swear, I’ve always got you.”

As he moved within you the whispers didn’t stop, low and sacred against your skin.

“I love you so much.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I’m yours.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you.”

And in the wreckage of your half-packed room, you let yourself believe him. You let yourself feel him, all of him, in a way you’d ached for but never let yourself imagine could be real.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you’d lost. You felt like you’d finally come home.

______

The following morning Bob woke up in your bed alone. His feet tangled with some of the clothing that hadn’t made it off the bed before you’d tumbled onto it together and he kicked it away. His stomach dropped when he rolled over to find your side of the bed empty, sheets cold.

He scrambled upright, frantically looking around for his boxers in the chaos of the room and hastily pulling them on while trying to make his way to the door, tripping and crashing to the floor in his haste. He swore as he pushed himself up, running out of the room and coming to a screeching halt at the sight of you curled on the couch.

Your knees were curled to your chest, swimming in one of his Navy sweatshirts, hood pulled up and staring at the carpet. The look in your eyes made his heart wrench, pulse pounding behind his ears as he took a step in your direction.

“Hey,” his voice was soft as he approached and your gaze flicked up to his.

“Hey,” the hesitancy in your response had him striding towards you, crouching in front of your place on the couch so you could look at him.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Your gaze shifted over him in a desperate bid to avoid eye contact and you swallowed. 

“Nothing,” you could feel his unimpressed gaze and it made you shrink further into the couch.

“Baby,” his voice was soft and his hand landed on your knee. You flinched, more out of surprise than anything else, but he snatched back his hand like it burned, eyes wide with grief. 

“Did I hurt you?”

His voice was distraught and his gaze pained as he stood up and took a step back from you, giving you space.

Before he could put more distance between the two of you, your hand snatched out for him, gently pulling him down to sit next to you on the couch.

“Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.”

He seemed to pull away, still not convinced that you didn’t need distance. 

“Fury-“

“You’d never hurt me, Bob.”

The finality in your voice had his shoulders relaxing minutely. 

“Then what’s… what's wrong? What did I do?”

You sighed and turned your body to face him, bringing one leg up to curl underneath you on the couch. 

“Waking up and seeing you this morning was… it was everything I’ve wanted for so freaking long.”

He gave you a small smile and ran his thumb over your wrist where you still held his hand.

“And then my mind just started racing… spiraling with all of these thoughts about the last few months.”

He grimaced but gestured for you to continue.

“I just…" you took a deep breath. "Why didn’t you tell me you broke up with Leah when it happened? I can understand not wanting to right away, but it’s been almost 2 months at this point. And you…” you swallowed against the lump in your throat. “You saw how much I was pulling away. I just don’t understand why.”

Bob let out a harsh breath, chest tight at the hurt in your voice. 

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed out. “I wanted to. God, you have no idea how much I wanted to once you came back from Houston. But then… I didn’t want you to think that you were a rebound, or that I was only leaning on you because of the breakup. I wanted you to see that things could be like they were, better even, before even thinking about taking that step.”

“I didn’t…” he continued, his voice rough. “I felt like I had no right to run straight to you, after all I’d inadvertently put you through. You seemed like you were better, that you were finally okay, and I didn’t want to mess that up. And then the call from NASA-”

“So you took the choice away from me? Let me think you were still with her. Let me hate myself for my feelings?”

Bob’s heart broke and he reached forward to tentatively place his hand on your knee, hesitating for a second before setting it on your skin.

“I can never say it enough, but I am so incredibly sorry. It’s killing me that I did this to you…but sweetheart, I may have, finally, dug my head out of my own ass when it came to my feelings for you, but I still wasn’t positive that you still felt the same. And that scared me more than anything.”

You nodded and threaded your fingers through his.

“This scares the shit out of me too.”

He looked at you and it was all there, the months of swallowed hurt, of waiting for him to notice, of trying to be a good friend, loving him in silence.

“I want this,” you admitted, voice breaking. “Want you. I do. I just… I spent half a year teaching myself not to need you. And now you’re here, and I don’t know how to turn that off.”

“I understand, sweetheart,” his voice was low and cracked on the pet name. “But I’m not going anywhere this time. I’ll keep showing up, whether as a friend or as more, whatever you need, I’m there.”

Your eyes closed, fighting back the burning behind them. You leaned forward, your hands cupped his face and your forehead bumped gently against his, a softer version of you mission send offs.

“I want to believe you,” you whisper. “Just… give me some time.”

Bob nodded, resolute.

“As long as you need.”

______

Telling the team about Leah was… anticlimactic to say the least. When Bob broke the news the following work day there was a palpable question resonating through the room. You had felt a few sets of eyes flick your way but you studiously ignored them in favor of pouring yourself a cup of coffee.

“Uh,” Coyote started awkwardly, “sorry to hear that, man. You good?”

Bob shrugged like it was nothing.

“More than.”

“Oookay then. Glad to hear it.”

And just like that they moved on. 

______

If you’d thought that your morning after conversation would have made things awkward between the two of you, you’d thought wrong.

The weeks that followed reminded you of the time before, before the Uranium mission, before Leah, and before your pesky feelings made themselves known. 

You and Bob were closer than ever, falling back into your routine like you hadn’t missed a beat. The only change was the underlying current of desire that seemed to flood the room whenever you were alone with him. 

You hadn’t slept together again, hadn’t even kissed. The morning after your couch talk Bob had met you in the kitchen before work with a thermos full of coffee and a hard set to his jaw. 

“I love you,” he had told you and your heart skipped a beat at his tone. “And however you want to handle this, I’m game." He reiterated. "Whatever pace you want to take, whatever you need, I’ll do it.”

You’d flushed and nodded, already feeling those walls start to crumble. 

The following weeks had made you feel settled, hopeful, that things could fall back into the ease of your friendship.

He kept his hands to himself for the most part, the odd hand on a waist here or brush of his fingers down your arm there notwithstanding. The ball was very much in your court and after a few weeks of orbiting each other, you finally collided.

He had been driving you both home from base, the setting sun sparkling over the ocean and glinting off the highlights in his hair. The windows were down and he was singing along to a Billy Joel song unashamedly, drumming his hands on the wheel along to the beat. 

You didn’t even try to bite back your smile, or the absolutely smitten look you knew was plastered over your face. 

When he pulled into your driveway and turned to let himself out of the truck your hand had stopped him, forcing him to turn back to you in confusion.

“Hey, Bob?”

“Yeah, sweetheart, what’s up?”

God, those pet names. Every time one left his mouth you melted a little bit more. 

“If it’s okay with you,” you smirked at him parroting his own line from the night of your confession back to him. “I’d really, really, like to kiss you now.”

His eyes had darkened at your words and you watched his Adams apple bob as he swallowed. 

“Yes,” he croaked out. “If you’re sure-"

You cut him off with your lips, sighing into the feeling of his mouth on yours after weeks without it. The groan he let out sounded like it was punched out of him and you let out a little whimper as his tongue met yours. You made out in his truck like teenagers until you were both flushed and the windows started to fog before finally pulling away from him with a grin.

The smile that met you in return rivaled the sun.

He had pressed another quick kiss to your mouth and was out the door, appearing in front of yours and holding it open for you. You laughed when he pulled you down from the truck and closer to him, encircling your waist with his arms in an embrace.

“Not to push my luck too quickly, but would you go out with me?”

You pulled back from where your head was against his chest and crooked an eyebrow at him.

“What, like a date?”

He grinned and nodded, pecking you on the lips one more time before pulling back to look you in the eyes.

“Exactly like a date.”

You snorted and shook your head.

“We’ve already had sex, Floyd. I think we’re a bit beyond that, don’t you?”

His brows furrowed. 

“What? Of course we aren’t. Just because things got a bit, uh, heated, that night doesn’t mean you get to skip being wined and dined, baby.” 

Your cheeks flushed at the name and at his words. 

“You literally made me cum like three times in a row, you don’t need to wine and dine me to get back into my pants.”

“Only three, hm? Must have been off my game,” you rolled your eyes at his grin. “I’m not asking you out to get in your pants, Fury. I want to take you out on a date because it’s literally the least you deserve and I’ve been thinking about it nonstop. So, what’d you say?”

How were you supposed to say no?

“And what, pray tell, would this date entail?”

Bob’s fingers hooked into your belt loops and pulled you closer to him, large hands wrapping around your waist. 

“That, darlin,” his accent punched through on the word and the sound of it had heat flooding your veins. “Is a surprise.”

______

You were going to strangle Bob Floyd - strangle him and then lay the filthiest, most dirty kiss right on those dumb lips of his.  

The work week you both had was long, filled with late nights and more paperwork than you knew what to do with. Friday had Maverick pulling the team into the ready room.

“We’ll we’ve got our dates. Barring another specialized op, we’ll start workups in January and deploy next fall with the USS George Washington.”

Everyone knew it had to be coming, your team was too good to stay stationed in California long term. Your exercises and additional training following the mission were coming to an end, and your classes would be handed off to the next officer to take over when you all finally deployed. Although it was a half year away, it didn’t make it any easier knowing the nice life you had all built here would be coming to an end. 

You’d both had a rough and long week and all you’d wanted was a rough and long night in bed with a one Robert Floyd.

But no matter how hard you tried to get him into bed with you he refused, claiming you should wait until after your date. Every attempt at taking things further led to him chastely kissing you and pulling you close to him, winding his arms around you in a hug that left you simultaneously melting and frustrated beyond belief. 

So yeah, by the time your date night rolled around that following Friday you were ready to strangle Bob Floyd - strangle him and then lay the filthiest kiss right on those perfect lips of his.

The date had been a home run - he'd shown up with flowers, then a picnic on the bluffs overlooking the ocean followed by a F1 style go-kart race that had the two of you wiping the floor with anyone unlucky enough to be in the same heat.

You laughed at the messiness of your hair in his truck mirror on the drive home, the helmet and head sock had wreaked havoc on your carefully done hairstyle. 

Bob’s was no better, sticking up in every direction no matter how many times he’d tried to pat it down. Your body was practically vibrating, the left over adrenaline from the race warring with the low thrum of desire that had been flowing through your body for weeks.

He’d walked with you up your front steps and paused at the threshold to your shared front door, grabbing your hand in his.

“I had a really great time today.”

You grinned back at him and nodded.

“Me too. Not half bad for a first date.”

Your teasing tone told him you were downplaying it by a mile and he chuckled, shaking his head.

He took a step closer to you and his hand came up to cup your cheek.

“If it’s okay with you,” you let out a forced groan at the line, broken up by a chuckle you couldn’t hold in.

“Don’t say it-”

“I’d really, really, like to kiss you now.”

“God, you are such a dork,” the words had barely left your lips before they were meeting his in a passionate kiss.

Bob tried to pull back, tried to keep it chaste yet again, but you were having none of it. You chased his lips with yours, latching your hands onto the back of his neck and shutting him up with a kiss when he tried to protest.

“Fury,” when he finally pulled away your lips found the skin of his neck, nipping and kissing your way down it, pulling a grunt from deep within his throat. “I’m trying to do this right. I don't want to push you-"

You answered him with a bite to his collar bone causing him to hiss.

“I swear to god, Floyd. If you don't carry me through this door and fuck me until I can't say anything but your name I will give our neighbors a show.”

“Jesus Christ,” the words came out as a groan and his hand dove into your hair, cupping you by the back of the head and pulling you back up to meet his lips while he blindly scrambled with his keys.

It felt like an eon before the door swung open and you were pulled through it. The click of the lock barely registered before he was on you again, pressing you against the door, hips driving forward, kissing you in a way that made your legs turn to jelly.

You both kicked your shoes off without thinking, the heavy thud of them hitting the floor echoing through the empty house.

Your body was thrumming, blood rushing as you finally got what you’d been craving for what felt like years. His hand hooked under your knee, lifting it up to hook around his waist as he ground into your core, a moan falling from your throat at the hard press of him against you.

His other hand pulled up on your other leg, hefting you up and pinning you to the door with his weight, your legs locked around his strong waist and you writhed against him desperately seeking friction. 

His answering groan was low, wrecked, as he kissed you again, harder this time. He pulled away from the door and started moving, carrying you down the hall in a stumbling rhythm that left bruising kisses against your throat and half-suppressed laughter spilling between the two of you.

“Don’t drop me,” you teased against his ear, though your voice was shaky with want.

“Wouldn’t dare,” he muttered, though the half-stumble into the wall made both of you laugh before his mouth was back on yours, fierce enough to erase the humor in a breath.

By the time he shouldered open his bedroom door, the playful edge was unraveling into raw heat. He set you down only to shove you back against the nearest wall, his lips crashing against yours like he’d been holding this in for years, and he had. Your laughter dissolved into a gasp, his name catching in your throat as his hands slid possessively down your sides.

For a heartbeat, you both froze, foreheads pressed together, panting. And then his low voice broke through the silence, ragged with both restraint and need.

“Tell me to stop, and I swear I will.” His thumb traced your jaw, his gaze locked on yours. “But if you don’t…” his mouth curved, frustration and desire flaring in equal measure, “I’m not holding back anymore.”

“You fucking better not,” you threatened, and a cocky, infuriating smirk slid over his features. 

“Mmm,” he hummed, hand trailing down your side, skirting over your breast, avoiding where your nipples were straining against the fabric of your shirt entirely, landing instead on your hip. “Someone seems a bit…frustrated.”

His tone told you that he knew exactly how hard these weeks had been for you. That he knew just how the teasing smirks and fleeting touches had driven you up a fucking wall. 

You opened your mouth to retort but your words died in your throat as his fingers brushed over the heat between your thighs. Even through the fabric of your pants the touch was electric.

“Bet you're dripping for me, aren’t ya darlin’,” your brain short circuited at his words and the cool confidence behind them. “Don’t worry,” he continued. “I’m gonna take care of you.”

Your brain was still struggling to come back online as he dropped to his knees, deftly taking your pants and underwear with him on the way down, guiding you to step out of them, leaving you bare before him. 

“Fuck,” his gaze was molten as he took you in and your head thunked back against the wall at the depravity of it.

You struggled to get your shirt over your head, leaving you in the lacy bra you had donned in hopes of the night ending like this. Your shirt hit the floor just as he leaned in, large hands parting your legs to expose your core to him. His fingers dipped between your thighs and you let out a whimper. He smirked up at you, the sight of him still fully dressed, kneeling between your thighs made you keen.

“Dripping for me,” he repeated and your mind was spiraling, coherency fleeing your brain en mass.

You had the far away thought that you should be pushing back more, making him lose control right back, but those thoughts flew out the window at the first touch of his tongue.

A cry slipped from you, your head tipping back against the wall as your hands found his hair. His groan reverberated through you, a deep, consuming sound that seemed to ignite every nerve. Your leg was thrown over his shoulder, heel digging into his back as he took you apart with his mouth. 

“Been thinkin’ bout the taste of you for weeks,” he murmured against your thigh when he came up for air. “Touched myself to the noises you made last time.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” his words set you on fire, the image of him biting back his moans as he fucked his fist in his own bed, just a wall away from you, causing you to clench around nothing.

Like he knew what you needed he slid two fingers right into you, your wetness easing their way. You squeezed around them, crying out again when his mouth fell to your clit, attacking it like it was his sole purpose in life. 

You should have been embarrassed at how quickly you came but as you floated back down to your body you didn’t have it in you to care.

“That’s it,” he cooed, placing open mouthed kisses across you, each touch jolting your body from the overstimulation. “So good for me.”

You keened at his words and fluttered around where his fingers were still stuffed inside you. He grinned at the feeling before slowly drawing them out and away from you, bringing them up to his own mouth and sucking on them like they were a fine dessert. 

He stood up and leaned back in, shoving his tongue into your mouth in a sloppy kiss that let you taste your own desire on his lips. 

Where that one night had been steeped in desperation and love, years of repressed feelings unraveling in a beautiful collision of confessions and bodies, this was an entirely different Bob. Confident. Cocky. Eyes glinting with the promise of something reckless and thrilling.

He turned you from the wall, making you stumble back a few steps before you hit the edge of the bed. You barely had time to breathe before you were on your back, chest rising and falling as Bob loomed over you, his gaze molten and unrelenting.

He was still fully clothed, the only thing missing were his shoes, and the contrast to your almost naked body made you squirm. His eyes locked onto the lacy bra, your dogtags falling just beneath the rise of your chest, and he quickly rid himself of his shirt and shorts, leaving him standing before you in his boxer briefs, the outline of his throbbing cock prominent against the straining fabric. 

Your teeth dug into your lip, legs slipping together in search of relief at the sight of his body. His gaze snapped to the movement and his hand dropped to stroke himself over the fabric once before pushing it down his legs and leaving him bare before you. His own dogtags a stark contrast to the pale skin of his chest. 

Your eyes were locked between his legs, his large hand wrapped around himself and stoked once causing your mouth to water at the sight. Your mind was finally filtering its way back into your body after vacating it during your orgasm.

“You gonna stare at me all night, or do something about it?”

You couldn’t resist one more quip and his gaze shot to yours, narrowing at the smirk on your mouth. He finally joined you on the bed, draping himself over you and placing a messy kiss to your mouth.

“Such a smart mouth,” he mumbled against your lips. “Just desperate for something in it.”

Three of his fingers pushed their way past your lips, effectively silencing you.

You were dead. You were dead and this was some sort of nirvana that you’d been granted access to in the afterlife.

A soft whimper escaped you as your tongue toyed with them, lips drawing him in, mimicking the way you ached to touch another part of him. He left them there, pressing down on your tongue, and drew his gaze down your body, once again locking onto the flimsy bra still digging into your chest.

He sat back on his knees, freeing up his other hand to cup your breast, thumb rubbing over your sensitive nipple before pinching it between his fingers. You cried out around his fingers and he let out a groan at the sound.

He dipped his head down and wrapped his lips around the bud through the lacy fabric, pulling it into his mouth and sucking in a way that you felt down to your toes. He pulled away and blew air across it, the wet fabric cooling and shifting across your sensitive chest. He moved to the other, giving it the same treatment before sitting back onto his haunches and finally pulling his fingers free from your mouth. 

You sucked in a breath and your back arched as he reached behind you to undo the clasp to your bra, flinging the fabric to the side once you were free of it and running his hands along the indents it left in your skin.

“Fuck,” he ran a hand down his face. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, sweetheart.” 

His hands fell back to your chest, caressing and squeezing in a way that had you trying to squirm to get friction between your legs. 

“If at any point you want to stop, we stop.”

It took a second for your brain to comprehend the change in tone and you would have fondly rolled your eyes at him if not for the pulsing ache between your legs that was begging to be filled by the man in front of you. 

“Bob,” you didn’t mean for the whine to come through your voice. “Please. I want to. Want you, baby.”

Your words were like a switch and he nodded, laying himself over you, your legs spreading to accommodate his hips between them. You sucked in a breath at the feel of him against you, your arousal coating him as he slowly dragged himself up and down your core in a slow tease. 

Your hips squirmed, desperate to line him up so he could sink into you but he stayed just out of reach. When the waiting finally ended, you felt him notch himself against you, sliding forward so you could just feel the head of him breach your walls. 

And just as quickly as he had pushed in, he pulled back out leaving you empty and aching. You couldn’t stop the cry that ripped out of you at the feeling and you reached for him, ready to throttle him if you could just get your brain and limbs to work correctly.

“Easy, baby,” his voice was placating and you wanted to knock that stupid smirk off his face as he sunk his head back between your legs. “I’m not done tasting you just yet.”

Two mind blowing orgasms later had you shaking and desperately wrenching on his hair to pull him away from your core. He had played your body like a fiddle, wrenching a climax out of you using his talented mouth, and then another with his equally talented fingers stretching you out. His beautiful lips biting and sucking at your chest simultaneously until you exploded. 

By the time he kissed his way back up your body you were trembling, your body on the verge over overstimulation but still aching to feel him inside you again. 

“Bobby,” your voice was hoarse and your lips sloppily met his. His glasses had somehow stayed on throughout the ordeal and they were crooked, fogged along the edges and smudged with evidence of just how close he'd been to you. You reached out to take them off but he shook his head, catching your fingers and placing a kiss on your palm instead.

“Want to see every bit of you.” 

Your heart clenched at the words and you nodded, threading your legs back around his waist. You sucked in a breath at the feeling of him at your entrance. You both let out a desperate sound as he sunk into you, slowly inch by inch, until he was seated flush within you. 

You had known he was big, had felt it for a day or two after the first time you slept together, but the stretch still took your breath away. 

“Fuck, darlin’,” his head dropped to your shoulder as he stayed seated inside you, not moving. 

“I love you, but I swear to god Bob, if you don’t start moving I am going to tie you to this bed and ride you until you fucking pass out from it.”

His hips jerked forward at your words and he swore. 

“Christ,” his hips pulled back. “That mouth’s gonna get you in trouble one day.”

The next thrust of his hips had you crying out, nails digging into his back. His rhythm turned fierce, commanding, each motion pulling another sound from your lips. The room blurred around you and all you could feel was him, the heat, the weight, the steady, unrelenting drive that left you trembling and gasping for air.

“That’s it,” Bob panted, slamming forward on a particularly hard thrust that left your head spinning. “You’re taking it so well, hmm? Such a good fucking girl for me.”

Bob Floyd was going to be the death of you. 

Your orgasm crashed over you like a wave, sudden and absolute, sweeping you away between one thrust and the next. Your head slammed back into the pillow, spine arching against Bob’s hold on you as your body clamped around his. 

“Fuck...yeah, that’s it, give it to me,” his voice was rough as he continued moving in you, prolonging your pleasure until it became too much and you cried out at the feeling. His hips slowed to a pulsing grind against you and you struggled to pull a breath into your burning lungs.

“So fucking beautiful, squeezing me so well,” his words were mumbled into your shoulder as you came down from your high, legs wrapping around his waist to hold him still inside of you. He was still hard, hadn’t found his own release yet, but he let you breathe, placing soft kisses along the side of your neck as your body readjusted. 

“Love you so much. So perfect for me.”

When he finally felt you relax around him he grabbed you by the hips and rolled, leaving him on his back, you straddling him, and him somehow impossibly still inside you. You let out a groan as the angle pushed him even deeper into you, your hands falling to his chest, nails digging into his skin as you rocked back and forth, chasing the pleasure that came with it. 

“That’s it, baby. Remember you sayin something about ridin' my cock until I passed out, hmm?”

His fingers dug into the plush of your waist helping you rock back and forth on him. Your body was exhausted, muscles straining from the orgasms he had pulled from you, but you’d pushed your body through worse before, for much less desirable outcomes.

Your thighs burned as you lifted yourself up, sliding along his length before languidly sliding back down, torturously slow. It was his turn to thump his head into the pillow, swearing as he watched you unhurridely fuck yourself on him. 

“Not so fun when you’re the one being teased, is it?”

Your voice didn’t even sound like your own, husky and used, as it rasped its way out of your throat. 

“Pretty fun from where I’m sittin’, darlin,” his voice was strained as his gaze locked onto where you were joined. 

You picked up the pace, a slow drag up followed by a hard drop onto him and his mouth fell open. His hands dug into your hips as you continued to move, riding him in a way that left him panting, broken moans clawing their way from his throat as his gaze roamed over your body, flicking between your face, the way your chest bounced on every downswing, and where he was wetly disappearing into your body.

Your muscles screamed at you with each movement, but you could impossibly feel the telltale signs of another peak approaching. So you chased it, wanting to bring Bob as much pleasure as he had you.

You moved faster but it wasn’t enough, your body too exhausted to fuck him at the pace you longed to. 

“Bob, please,” you begged. “I can’t…”

Like he knew what you were thinking he pulled your face down to his, crashing his mouth against yours in a filthy kiss, arms curling over your shoulders to anchor you to his chest.

“Don’t worry, I gotcha.”

His hips fucked up into you and you cried out, the pace brutal as he held you in place and fucked up into you with everything he had. Each thrust up had his waist grinding against the most sensitive part of you and your mouth dropped open against his as you felt your release building again. 

“Shit, baby, yes, fuck, you’re gonna cum again aren’t ya? Yeah you are, can feel you fuckin' squeezin' me. Fuck, fuck, yesss-”

His hips drove up into you faster chasing his own release as he babbled into your neck.

“Gonna fill you up, pump you full till you're dripping with it. So everyone knows your fucking mine.”

The last word was punctuated by a deep thrust and you exploded around him. You felt as he finally found his own release, pumping into you and spilling his heat inside of you in a few last desperate sloppy thrusts. 

You felt like you were floating, your body numb as your orgasm retreated, leaving you panting on top of him, shaking from the intensity of the night. Bob was looking at you like he couldn't quite believe his own eyes, or luck. He pushed himself up onto his elbows as you sat back on him, moaning at the feeling of him shifting inside of you, his release leaking out from where you were still joined. 

He engaged his core and curled himself up to a sitting position. His hand came up to brush a sweaty strand of your hair away from your face before cupping your cheek.

“You okay?”

His voice was soft, worried as he took in the fucked out, dazed look on your face and your droopy gaze. You nodded slightly, sighing as your eyes slipped closed.

“I need words, sweetheart.”

Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth as you struggled to formulate the sounds.

“So good, Bobby.”

His soft smile at your words made you lean forward onto him, nuzzling into his neck as the ache in your hips made itself known. 

“Gonna pull out now, okay?”

At your nod he lifted you off of him, both of you hissing as he slipped out of you, a flood of his release spilling onto his thighs and softening cock. 

“Fuck,” he only let his gaze wander there for a moment, the image of his cum trickling out of you forever burned into his mind.

He gently rolled you over, situating you on the bed and running his palms down your sides. Your eyes were closed and you stretched with a small smile on your face, flexing your body against the ache that was settling in. 

He pushed himself off the bed and took a step towards the ensuite, getting stopped in his tracks as your hand latched onto his arm. 

“Don’t go,” your gaze was wide and watery as you looked up at him. He crouched down to your level, placing a kiss to your brow and stroking down the side of your face with his palm.

“Just gotta get something to clean you up, sweet girl. I’ll be right back I promise.”

Your eyes shut again and you nodded, releasing his arm and snuggling into the sheets below you. Bob hurried to the bathroom, plugging the tub and turning on the tap. He quickly wiped himself down and grabbed a clean washcloth, wetting it under the tap with warm water and heading back out to the bedroom. 

You hadn’t moved an inch, curled into his pillow on top of the sheets. Bob’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of you so thoroughly wrecked and languid on his bed. 

He soothed his hand up your leg, running it over your side and gently wiping you down to get you as clean as he could. You barely stirred, just letting out a little groan when he ran the rag between your legs. Your hands latched onto him again, pulling him back down into bed with you and attaching yourself to him like an octopus. 

Bob couldn’t fight the smile at the feeling of you pressed against him. 

You laid in content silence for a bit, his hand stroking through your hair and down your back in soothing motions as your cheek pressed to his chest, listening to his slowing heartbeat. When your eyes finally blinked open, clearer now, less dazed, his gaze was waiting for you.

“There she is,” you blinked sleepily up at him, a smile grazing your lips as you gave him a brief kiss. 

“Well god damn, Floyd.”

He let out a bark of laughter in response and pulled you closer to him, burying his face into your hair. 

“I take it you enjoyed it?”

Your fingers dug into his sides in response and he giggled as he tried to squirm away from them.

“You damn well know the answer to that.”

He laughed and slowly sat up, detangling himself from you before holding out a hand.

“Come on, I drew us a bath.”

You grinned at him, lazily stretching, your grin deepening as his gaze roamed over your naked form. 

“Careful. A girl could get used to treatment like this.”

“Good,” he replied, the corner of his mouth curling. “I’m counting on it.” 

______

The next morning Bob was cooking breakfast and you were sitting at the counter, drinking your overly sweet coffee and relishing the ache that resonated throughout your muscles. You had woken up pleasantly sore, a variety of love bites and bruises marring your body in a way that had heat flooding you at the thought of how they got there. 

Your mind couldn’t help but bring back the memory of Bob's downright filthy words as he fucked you stupid, causing you to clench your thighs together. He had been wild, feral in a way that you hadn’t expected.

Your first time together had been no less intense, but more sweet, more ‘I just confessed my undying love to you and want you to make love to me’ and less ‘I’m going to bend you in half and fuck you through the mattress.’ 

You’d never been overly submissive in bed. Most men didn’t have what it took to even get you across the finish line, let alone put you where they wanted you. 

But Bob…

Your thighs clenched again as you thought back to the night before. 

“Gonna fill you up, pump you full till you're dripping with it. So everyone knows your fucking mine.”

It had activated some animal part of your brain, the need to be claimed, and you had chased that need willingly. 

You blinked out of your daydream as Bob waved his hand in front of you, a teasing grin on his face. 

“Where’d you go?”

You gave him a wicked grin and took a sip of your coffee, giving him a once over as he ran a plate under the tap. 

“Just reliving how you told me you were gonna fuck me full of your cum so nobody else could have me.”

The plate clattered into the sink with a sharp sound that echoed throughout the kitchen, and you bit back a laugh, taking another sip of your coffee as you watched Bob turn bright red. His hand, still wet from washing the dishes, came up to rub the back of his neck and he winced at the feeling, clumsily drying it off on his T-shirt.

“Fury!”

His voice cracked and you let out a laugh as he turned away from you, flustered beyond belief. You just grinned at him as he looked anywhere but at you, glad to finally have the upper hand. 

“It’s got me wet just thinking about it.”

Bob wheezed and, although you didn’t think it was possible, turned a deeper shade of crimson, stammering as he searched for words that just wouldn’t come.

Your laughter carried through the house, chasing away the silence that had settled there for too long.

------

You and Bob had been living in your own little bubble for the past week, business as usual at work followed by hours of defiling every single horizontal and vertical surface in your townhouse until you both passed out from exhaustion.

After your second time bailing on them, Rooster had finally given you both shit for blowing off the weekly squad hangout and demanded your presence at the Hard Deck later that night.

You had arrived together, not out of the ordinary, and saddled up to the bar where the rest of the crew was congregated. Bob ordered you both drinks and put his card down for the tab, handing you yours and taking a sip of his own.

The words slipped out of your mouth before you could even think to stop them.

“Thanks babe.”

It was as if every member of the squad froze simultaneously at the word. Hangman’s mouth hung open, one centimeter away from the beer bottle frozen in front of his lips. Rooster’s eyes looked ready to pop out of his head. Fanboy, Payback and Coyote had gone statue-still, while Phoenix wore a slow, knowing grin that only widened by the second.

Bob, either oblivious or unbothered, just slipped a hand to your waist and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek.

“Sure thing, darlin’.” 

Hangman let out a wheeze that sent you into a fit of laughter. Rooster shrieked loud enough to make you wince, and the sound seemed to break the spell. Suddenly, the room exploded into noise and chaos, your cheeks burning as the teasing began.

After a round of celebratory shots and congratulations the guys and Phoenix were giving Bob shit about finally pulling his head out of his ass and you and Hangman were cozied up to the bar. He lightly hip checked you and took a sip out of his beer bottle, giving you a signature side eyed smirk. 

“So,” he drawled. “You make him grovel at least?”

You responded with a good natured eye roll and hip checked him right back.

“Maybe… just a bit.” 

He nodded in approval.

“Good. Boy deserved to sweat a little.” 

You let out a chuckle and shook your head, taking a sip of your own drink.

“You look happy,” you sighed and let a smile appear on your lips.

“I am happy.”

You turned to look at him, smile dropping off your face as you looked at your friend.

“And Jake, if you ever want to talk… I know I’ve been caught up with my own bullshit but I haven’t forgotten what you said that night, about you being in a similar position with someone.” 

“Ah,” his gaze flicked over to where Rooster and the squad were still giving Bob shit, before quickly flicking back. “Story for another time, m’dear.” 

"Gonna give you your own advice. Make sure you don't, what was the term? Rooster it?"

He let out a bark of laughter and clinked his drink against yours, nodding in appreciation before taking a swig of his beer.

______

The following months leading up to deployment were some of the best of your life. Work continued as usual, your relationship the worst kept secret on base, but since neither of you outranked the other there wasn’t much that the Navy could do.

Maverick had pulled you both in to make sure that, when it came down to it, any mission’s integrity would come before everything else. You’d assured him it would, a polite platitude, considering he’d risked his own mission more than once to save a teammate. Still, it was enough for him to check the box and move on.

The months were spent on the receiving end of endless teasing from the crew, Phoenix pretending to gag every time you and Bob so much as smiled at each other, and Rooster covering his eyes anytime he saw you two alone in a room. It was embarrassing, loud, and exactly what you had expected from them.

But underneath all the ribbing and teasing, there was relief. Relief that you weren’t pulling away anymore, that Bob wasn’t looking lost, that whatever had cracked between you both was now stronger for having been broken.

And Bob…well Bob never looked back. It was you he drove home with. You he traded schedules with so one of you was always making sure there was dinner waiting. You he trusted with the weight of his quiet, steady heart.

_____

It was a week before deployment and you were hosting one last stateside hurrah before the lot of you would be confined to the less than ideal accommodations of an air craft carrier. You were all sitting around your coffee table, most of you more than a little tipsy, sharing war stories - of the literal and figurative variety.

You snorted in laughter as Fanboy recounted the unfortunate circumstances surrounding his callsign, taking a swig of the bottle of beer in your hands and leaning back into the couch.

The team was howling, shaking their heads, and you grinned as Mickey laughed along, his cheeks flushed with alcohol and a tad bit of embarrassment. You shared a look with Bob and your stomach dropped as you saw the glint in his eye. 

Bob Floyd may come off as a nice polite midwestern gentleman but that man had a menace streak a mile wide. Hidden behind all that polite nonchalance was a shithead that could throw down with the best of them. One you knew the look of all too well.

Your gaze narrowed at him as one side of his mouth ticked up in a smirk. 

“Don’t you dare,” you mouthed at him but it only seemed to encourage him. 

“I don’t know y’all, it’s not as good as how Fury got her callsign.”

The squad turned to him in confusion and your gaze narrowed even further.

“Floyd, I swear to god-”

“What’d you mean,” Jake piped in. “Anyone that’s flown with her knows where her sign comes from. That woman flies like she’s mad at the god damn sky.”

The rest of the squad nodded in agreement and you fluctuated between pride and embarrassment.

Even drunk, Bob's gaze met yours with a grin and a silent question. He wouldn’t actually air your dirty laundry if you didn’t want him to, would make something up to get them off your back.

The quiet check in made your face flush in appreciation and you rolled your eyes with a smile, gesturing for him to continue with one of the most embarrassing stories of your life.

Bob let out a laugh and shook his head at Hangman's response.

“No no no no,” he giggled, gesturing to where you were sitting on the couch with his beer bottle. “Well, yes, that’s true, she does. But that’s not how she got her name!”

You let out a groan and flipped off your drunk boyfriend causing him to giggle again. 

“She got her call sign after Nick Fury, from Marvel,” he let out a peel of laughter and everyone else sat confused. 

“Whaaa?”

“Because of the eye patch!” He blurted out and you sunk back into the couch, taking a long pull from the bottle in your hands, cheeks flaming. 

“What eye patch?” Jake perked up as he looked between the two of you causing Bob to laugh even more. 

“Cuz, you know, Nick Fury has an eye patch and she had an eye patch.”

“Baby on Board I’m gonna need you to take a few steps back and explain cause you’re making zero sense.”

As if that knocked some sobriety into him Bob nodded seriously and took another sip of his drink before placing it on the coffee table.

“So, way back in the day, when we were… where were we babe, LeMoore? First round?”

You let out a groan and nodded, accepting your fate and biting back a smile.

“So we were young, and dumb, and everyone was screwing everyone. Except us, apparently, which… man we really were idiots weren’t we?”

“Bob!” Hangman snapped at him, cutting off his tangent.

“Right, sorry. And Fury, she had this guy over… oh god what was his name?”

“No idea.”

The group let out a round of cheers at your answer. 

“And apparently they were getting hot and heavy on the couch, which, not cool - we shared that couch!”

Bob turned to you affronted and you rolled your eyes at him, gesturing for him to continue. It’s not like you both hadn’t defiled your current couch innumerable times over the past months.

“Annnnyway, things were getting hot and heavy and I guess they were doing hand stuff - were you doing hand stuff? I can’t remember. Regardless, he was getting a little…overexcited, and apparently when Fury kissed him again it was just a little too much for the poor guy and he… well… you know… he uh, prematurely found his pleasure shall we say.”

You prayed for the couch to open up and swallow you whole as the squad howled, equal parts entertained by Bob’s unabashed retelling and your obvious embarrassment. 

“You can just say he came, Floyd! Ya prude!”

Bob nodded and gestured towards whoever had yelled that tidbit out.

“Yes, yes. He came, and Fury didn’t realize he was cuming and looked down and, the poor guy was so worked up, when he popped off some of it hit her right in the eye!”

There was a beat of silence and then the room exploded. You glared halfheartedly at Bob as he cackled along, and you flipped off Hangman as his hand pounded on your back in laughter.

Bob was giggling along with everyone, waiting for the laughter to die down to a reasonable level before continuing.

“And I came home and she was sitting on that same couch, just nonchalantly watching TV with sunglasses on. Like I wouldn’t notice. Tried to tell me that she had a headache and the light was bothering her, even though it was night time! Finally got her to confess and when she took the glasses off… you guys, I’ve never seen an eye look that red!”

“Oh fuck off! It would have been fine!”

Bob shook his head with a grin. 

“So, being the concerned amazing roommate that I was, I made her go to the infirmary. Where they flushed it out, gave her some drops, put her on DNIF and instructed her to keep the EYE PATCH on for 48 hours.”

The room was howling, and as much as you tried to fight your smile it still crept onto your face.

“And it just so happened that one of our teammates was also at the infirmary, and saw her walk out with the eye patch. And low and behold, Fury was born.”

You couldn’t help but laugh along, cheeks still flaming at the memory.

“And that’s also when I learned that cum is, apparently, pretty acidic!”

You lightly kicked him in the side with your socked foot. 

“You’ll be lucky if I ever let you cum again after that spilling that story, Floyd.”

“OOooooo,” the room echoed. “Mrs. Bob is NOT happy with you Bob-o!”

“Oh please,” Rooster crowed. “We all know he’s Mr. Fury.”

You let out a cackle at the way Bob flushed and you pushed off the couch to go to the kitchen, chuckling at the follow up questions and laughter that followed you.

“Anyone need another drink?”

A few calls for more rang out and you shook your head with a smile, grabbing the bottles and heading back to the family room to pass them out.

When you passed where Bob was sitting on the floor his hands grabbed your waist and pulled you down to sit between his legs, arms easily encircling you and pulling you back flush against him. Your shoulders relaxed and you leaned into him, heart skipping a bit at the ease of which you fit together. 

The conversation moved on, and someone else ended up in the line of fire, leaving you and Bob alone for the moment. His chin rested on your shoulder and he nuzzled into the side of your face.

“You know, I kind of like the sound of that.”

You tilted your head to give him better access to your neck.

“Hmm?” 

“Mr. Fury,” your heart leapt at the seriousness in his tone and you turned in his arms to look at him. "Or Mrs. Bob...well Mrs. Floyd, I like em both." He shot you an infuriating wink and turned back to the conversation like he hadn’t just short circuited your brain. 

_____

The deployment hit harder than you’d expected.

You’d been deployed together once before, back when you were just friends, but this was different. You hadn’t realized how much you’d come to rely on the steady rhythm of Bob’s heartbeat lulling you to sleep until you found yourself sharing a two-bunk stateroom with Natasha, the hum of the ship's engine a lousy substitute as you tossed and turned.

Your mind always drifted to him, wondering if he was thinking the same, the off limits male berthing area seemed miles away.

You’d grown used to falling asleep tangled up with him, to the quiet comfort of knowing he was never far away.

Now, you had to settle for stolen moments, meals in the mess, quick conversations between flights, laughter shared in the rec area, his voice over comms during flight runs, all under the watchful eye of Navy protocol. Professional distance was mandatory; one wrong move, and you could both be facing a court-martial.

It was hell. Pure and simple.

Hell only broken by the rare gift of shore leave, when the two of you would vanish into a hotel room and make up for lost time, not emerging until the very last possible minute.

And somehow, you made it through it all, the squad all heading their separate ways for extended leave before reconvening back in San Diego, falling back into their easy rhythm. 

And for a while, that was enough. More than enough.

But some dreams never stop tugging at you, no matter how full your life feels. And when the call came, this time with your name followed by the word “selected”, you and Bob both knew you couldn’t say no.

He’d kissed you long and slow that night, hands trembling like he was memorizing you. And then, steady as always, he’d whispered, “Go. I’ll be here when you come back.”

The years passed faster than either of you expected. The Navy kept him busy, deployments carrying him far from you even as your own training pushed you further than you’d ever dreamed. But through it all, letters, calls, and rare days together stitched the distance into something survivable.

Until at last, it was time.

______

The ready room of the carrier wasn’t built for comfort, let alone for a gaggle of loud fighter pilots crammed shoulder-to-shoulder, but that didn’t stop the Daggers from turning it into a watch party. Empty mugs of bitter coffee littered the tables, voices bounced off the bulkheads, and the grainy old TV buzzed before finally locking onto the NASA feed.

“Jake, sit your ass down!” Phoenix barked, shoving Hangman into a seat.

“Can’t see a damn thing back here!” Rooster hollered, halfway through a mangled rendition of Rocket Man.

Fanboy and Payback were mid-bet on which thruster would detach first, Coyote sighed like he’d aged twenty years, and Maverick just leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, the ghost of a smile on his face.

Through it all, Bob sat quietly near the front, eyes fixed on the screen. His elbows rested on his knees, one hand absentmindedly thumbing over the place where the non-regulation flight patch that he had painstakingly sewn into the inside of his flight suit sat.

FURY stood out, white letters on a black background.

The camera on-screen cut to the launch pad, the rocket gleaming white against the Florida sun.

Bob stood up trying to get the noise in the room to a tolerable level.

“Would you all shut up,” he snapped, though fondness bled through his words. The room snapped to attention as he glanced back to the small tv.

“If it’s all right with you, I’d like to watch my wife go to space.”

The room erupted.

Inside the shuttle, you drew a steadying breath. The rumble vibrated through the seat, through your bones, louder than anything you'd heard before. Your fingers curled inside your glove, longing to brush over your heart, against the patch velcroed neatly into the inside of the suit. BOB - white letters on a black background, a matching set. 

It hadn’t been easy. You’d fought tooth and nail with mission control, argued against tradition and regulation, for morale, for the right to carry him with you. And you’d won. Just as he carried you stitched into his flightsuit every time he took to the sky, you were carrying him now, into the stars.

“T-minus ten,” the voice crackled over the TV speakers. The Daggers leaned forward, elbows braced on their knees.

Bob didn’t move. His fingers tapped out a nervous beat over the letters of your callsign stitched into the chest of his flight suit.

Inside your helmet, your eyes flicked to the countdown.

“Main engines armed.”

Your heart pounded, but you could practically feel his name burning into your chest. His name. His steadiness. His faith.

“Three… two… one…”

The ready room held their breath as the engines ignited, fire billowing across the screen. The rocket tore upward into the sky, smoke trailing white against the blue. The squad cheered, shouted, slapped each other’s backs.

Bob didn't let out a breath until the feed cut out, your ship successfully slipping beyond the atmosphere. 

His lips moved around words too soft to rise above the din.

“That’s my girl.”

Pinned to your seat as the shuttle surged free of Earth's atmosphere, you smiled inside your helmet.

Because over the roar of engines, you could almost hear him anyway.

That’s my girl.

And you carried him with you, stitched against your heart, as the sky gave way to stars.

_________

a/n: AHHHHH I can't believe it's over. Thanks for taking this wild ride with me. Hope the angst in part 2 was worth the tooth rotting fluff in part 3 (and of course the smut). Also, did I see a hint of a Hangster easter egg in there?

This is the second fic I've ever written, so any thoughts or feedback are always appreciated!

_______

Hope it's okay I'm tagging y'all :) Figured based on your comments/reblogs you might want to know this is up!

P.S. Sorry if you got like 5 notifications about it... I am Tumblr stupid.

“C’mon, c’mon,” you muttered under your breath, tossing jeans, leggings, socks, underwear into the bag with shaking hands.

“She’ll understand. Nat will understand. And if she doesn’t then Jake will - just until the end of the lease,” your frantic words masked the sound of the front door opening again. Shielding the sound of hurried footsteps until his voice cut through the fog.

“Fury!”

No, no, no, no, no.

You froze, half bent over the bed, and spun. Bob stood in the doorway, chest heaving like he’d run the whole way back. His eyes swept over the chaos, the clothes, the bag, your panicked movements that left a trail of clean clothes in its wake.

“What are you doing?” His voice cracked, bewildered.

“Packing,” you said flatly, yanking open another drawer.

“Packing?” he stepped into your room, incredulous. “You’re not serious.”

You let out a pathetic bark of a laugh.

“I can’t stay here, Bob.” You shoved a handful of flight tops into the bag without looking at him, grabbing some t-shirts next. “Not after…” your throat closed up. “Not after that.”

“And what, you think I’m gonna just let you walk out?” His voice had an edge to it you’d never heard before. “That you can just drop that and then disappear on me?”

“Yes!” You shouted back at him, finally meeting his gaze.

“You have Leah, and I just fucking ruined whatever friendship we have left. Do you really need me to say it again? I can’t stay here and continue to pretend to be happy for you when I know that you’ll never want me like that.”

His face twisted, like the words had physically hit him.

“That’s not true.”

You laughed bitterly.

“You can’t say that to me! Do you understand how cruel that is when you’re in a relationship?”

“I’m not.”

“Not what? Cruel? Yes you fucking are, Bob.”

He narrowed his gaze at you and took a step closer, shaking his head.

“I’m not in a relationship.”

You blinked, the words rang through the room like a gunshot, your mind desperately struggling to understand. 

“...wh…what?”

He took another step closer to where you clutched your t-shirts in your hands like a lifeline.

“We ended it,” he swallowed hard. “Over a month ago.”

Your pulse stuttered.

“What?”

“It wasn’t working. She knew it, I knew it. And she-” his voice softened, earnest “-she said I was looking for someone else. She was right.”

You shook your head in denial, mind still struggling to comprehend the words coming out of his mouth. 

Bob’s throat worked, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he searched for words. Then, with a sharp breath, he let go of any remaining restraint.

You couldn’t bear to hear what came next.

“Don’t -” you tried to start but he interrupted you.

“That it’s you,” your breath left you in a whoosh. “That it’s always been you.”

He stepped forward, gently but firmly prying the t-shirts out of your hands and letting them fall forgotten to the floor. 

“I was too blind to see it, too stupid to understand it for what it was, but God, Fury… Leah saw it before I did. She told me I already belonged to someone else.” His eyes burned into yours, pleading.

“She meant you.”

You forgot how to breathe. You shook your head, stepping back until the edge of the bed hit the backs of your knees. 

“Bob…”

“Please,” you’d never heard him so desperate as he looked at you. “Please, I know that I’ve totally fucked this up, but if there’s even a chance you could forgive me… that we could try-”

“I don’t…” you trailed off and your chest clenched at his wince. “I don’t understand… what are you saying?”

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a sad attempt at a smile.

“I’m saying that I’ve been in love with you for close to a decade. I’m saying that I hope I’m not too late. I’m saying that I am so god damn sorry for these past months, for how I hurt you. I’m saying that you’re fucking it for me and I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you’ll let me.”

At the lost look on your face he closed the distance between you, cupping your cheek in his hand and gently forcing your gaze up to meet his. His eyes seared into you, staring into you in a way that made you feel stripped to the bone.

“That call you got from NASA? I told you then, it wasn’t because you weren’t good enough. It just wasn’t your time. And this,” his thumb brushed over the side of your jaw, tentative but solid. “This is our time. Not later. Not someday. Now. That is, if I haven’t screwed this up beyond repair.”

It was as if your mind had blue screened, like all your systems had failed at once and you were flying dead stick. 

“You… you love me?”

Bob’s smile was brittle and he nodded, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.

“I’m in love with you. So much it hurts.”

You weren’t entirely convinced that you hadn’t crashed your car on the way home and this was some sort of sick transition into the afterlife. Your trembling hands came up to grasp onto his wrists where they framed your face.

“You love me.”

The fondness behind Bob’s smile lit something inside of you.

“I think we’ve already established that, yes.”

His sass broke you out of whatever spell you’d been under and you smacked him on the arm. 

“Now is not the time to fucking sass me Robert Floyd!”

He grinned and grabbed the hand that you hit him with, placing a kiss on your knuckles before nuzzling into your palm.

“Sorry, sorry, just… laid my heart out on the line and am waiting for some sort of indication that you still feel the same…”

You narrowed your gaze at him.

“I’m the one who said it first!”

“And then you tried to leave me-”

“Because I thought you were still dating Leah!”

“And for all I know you regret telling me-”

“And you have the nerve to say you’re waiting for my response-”

You continued to talk over each other, falling back into that easy camaraderie that had followed you for the better part of a decade. You opened your mouth to continue but he beat you to it.

“Okay, okay, so we’ve both established that we are, in fact, in love with each other… yes?”

His thumb rubbed back and forth over your wrist. Your heart skipped at the confirmation but you managed to nod, your face flushing at the smile it got you in return. 

“Yes.”

“Great. And we can both agree that this is like a forever kind of thing, right?”

You sucked in a breath and snapped your gaze up to meet his, heart galloping at the seriousness behind his eyes.

“Yes.”

“Good. Then, if it’s okay with you, I’d really, really, like to kiss you now?”

The words had barely left his mouth before you were grabbing him by the collar of his flight suit and pulling his lips down to meet yours. 

All of the broken pieces, all of the parts of you that had been floating in the abyss slid into place at the first touch of his mouth. 

A low groan escaped him as his hand slipped to the back of your head, pulling you in like he couldn’t bear even a centimeter of space between you. His other hand gripped your hip, urging you closer until every inch of you met him. The world tilted; all you could feel was his warmth, his solidity, and the wild beat of your heart answering his.

Clothes disappeared in frantic pieces, tossed over the duffel, onto the floor. The room was chaos, your half-packed bag, uniforms in heaps, the door still ajar, but none of it mattered. The only thing that existed was the weight of him, the warmth of him, the soft way he murmured your name like a prayer between kisses. The apologies he whispered into your skin as he took you apart with his fingers, then his mouth, worshiping your body in a desperate attempt to make up for those months of turmoil.

When he finally pushed into you, slow and reverent despite the urgency, you clung to him with a sound that was equal parts relief and hunger. His forehead pressed to yours, breath shuddering as he whispered, “I’ve got you. I swear, I’ve always got you.”

As he moved within you the whispers didn’t stop, low and sacred against your skin.

“I love you so much.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I’m yours.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you.”

And in the wreckage of your half-packed room, you let yourself believe him. You let yourself feel him, all of him, in a way you’d ached for but never let yourself imagine could be real.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you’d lost. You felt like you’d finally come home.

______

The following morning Bob woke up in your bed alone. His feet tangled with some of the clothing that hadn’t made it off the bed before you’d tumbled onto it together and he kicked it away. His stomach dropped when he rolled over to find your side of the bed empty, sheets cold.

He scrambled upright, frantically looking around for his boxers in the chaos of the room and hastily pulling them on while trying to make his way to the door, tripping and crashing to the floor in his haste. He swore as he pushed himself up, running out of the room and coming to a screeching halt at the sight of you curled on the couch.

Your knees were curled to your chest, swimming in one of his Navy sweatshirts, hood pulled up and staring at the carpet. The look in your eyes made his heart wrench, pulse pounding behind his ears as he took a step in your direction.

“Hey,” his voice was soft as he approached and your gaze flicked up to his.

“Hey,” the hesitancy in your response had him striding towards you, crouching in front of your place on the couch so you could look at him.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Your gaze shifted over him in a desperate bid to avoid eye contact and you swallowed. 

“Nothing,” you could feel his unimpressed gaze and it made you shrink further into the couch.

“Baby,” his voice was soft and his hand landed on your knee. You flinched, more out of surprise than anything else, but he snatched back his hand like it burned, eyes wide with grief. 

“Did I hurt you?”

His voice was distraught and his gaze pained as he stood up and took a step back from you, giving you space.

Before he could put more distance between the two of you, your hand snatched out for him, gently pulling him down to sit next to you on the couch.

“Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.”

He seemed to pull away, still not convinced that you didn’t need distance. 

“Fury-“

“You’d never hurt me, Bob.”

The finality in your voice had his shoulders relaxing minutely. 

“Then what’s… what's wrong? What did I do?”

You sighed and turned your body to face him, bringing one leg up to curl underneath you on the couch. 

“Waking up and seeing you this morning was… it was everything I’ve wanted for so freaking long.”

He gave you a small smile and ran his thumb over your wrist where you still held his hand.

“And then my mind just started racing… spiraling with all of these thoughts about the last few months.”

He grimaced but gestured for you to continue.

“I just…" you took a deep breath. "Why didn’t you tell me you broke up with Leah when it happened? I can understand not wanting to right away, but it’s been almost 2 months at this point. And you…” you swallowed against the lump in your throat. “You saw how much I was pulling away. I just don’t understand why.”

Bob let out a harsh breath, chest tight at the hurt in your voice. 

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed out. “I wanted to. God, you have no idea how much I wanted to once you came back from Houston. But then… I didn’t want you to think that you were a rebound, or that I was only leaning on you because of the breakup. I wanted you to see that things could be like they were, better even, before even thinking about taking that step.”

“I didn’t…” he continued, his voice rough. “I felt like I had no right to run straight to you, after all I’d inadvertently put you through. You seemed like you were better, that you were finally okay, and I didn’t want to mess that up. And then the call from NASA-”

“So you took the choice away from me? Let me think you were still with her. Let me hate myself for my feelings?”

Bob’s heart broke and he reached forward to tentatively place his hand on your knee, hesitating for a second before setting it on your skin.

“I can never say it enough, but I am so incredibly sorry. It’s killing me that I did this to you…but sweetheart, I may have, finally, dug my head out of my own ass when it came to my feelings for you, but I still wasn’t positive that you still felt the same. And that scared me more than anything.”

You nodded and threaded your fingers through his.

“This scares the shit out of me too.”

He looked at you and it was all there, the months of swallowed hurt, of waiting for him to notice, of trying to be a good friend, loving him in silence.

“I want this,” you admitted, voice breaking. “Want you. I do. I just… I spent half a year teaching myself not to need you. And now you’re here, and I don’t know how to turn that off.”

“I understand, sweetheart,” his voice was low and cracked on the pet name. “But I’m not going anywhere this time. I’ll keep showing up, whether as a friend or as more, whatever you need, I’m there.”

Your eyes closed, fighting back the burning behind them. You leaned forward, your hands cupped his face and your forehead bumped gently against his, a softer version of you mission send offs.

“I want to believe you,” you whisper. “Just… give me some time.”

Bob nodded, resolute.

“As long as you need.”

______

Telling the team about Leah was… anticlimactic to say the least. When Bob broke the news the following work day there was a palpable question resonating through the room. You had felt a few sets of eyes flick your way but you studiously ignored them in favor of pouring yourself a cup of coffee.

“Uh,” Coyote started awkwardly, “sorry to hear that, man. You good?”

Bob shrugged like it was nothing.

“More than.”

“Oookay then. Glad to hear it.”

And just like that they moved on. 

______

If you’d thought that your morning after conversation would have made things awkward between the two of you, you’d thought wrong.

The weeks that followed reminded you of the time before, before the Uranium mission, before Leah, and before your pesky feelings made themselves known. 

You and Bob were closer than ever, falling back into your routine like you hadn’t missed a beat. The only change was the underlying current of desire that seemed to flood the room whenever you were alone with him. 

You hadn’t slept together again, hadn’t even kissed. The morning after your couch talk Bob had met you in the kitchen before work with a thermos full of coffee and a hard set to his jaw. 

“I love you,” he had told you and your heart skipped a beat at his tone. “And however you want to handle this, I’m game." He reiterated. "Whatever pace you want to take, whatever you need, I’ll do it.”

You’d flushed and nodded, already feeling those walls start to crumble. 

The following weeks had made you feel settled, hopeful, that things could fall back into the ease of your friendship.

He kept his hands to himself for the most part, the odd hand on a waist here or brush of his fingers down your arm there notwithstanding. The ball was very much in your court and after a few weeks of orbiting each other, you finally collided.

He had been driving you both home from base, the setting sun sparkling over the ocean and glinting off the highlights in his hair. The windows were down and he was singing along to a Billy Joel song unashamedly, drumming his hands on the wheel along to the beat. 

You didn’t even try to bite back your smile, or the absolutely smitten look you knew was plastered over your face. 

When he pulled into your driveway and turned to let himself out of the truck your hand had stopped him, forcing him to turn back to you in confusion.

“Hey, Bob?”

“Yeah, sweetheart, what’s up?”

God, those pet names. Every time one left his mouth you melted a little bit more. 

“If it’s okay with you,” you smirked at him parroting his own line from the night of your confession back to him. “I’d really, really, like to kiss you now.”

His eyes had darkened at your words and you watched his Adams apple bob as he swallowed. 

“Yes,” he croaked out. “If you’re sure-"

You cut him off with your lips, sighing into the feeling of his mouth on yours after weeks without it. The groan he let out sounded like it was punched out of him and you let out a little whimper as his tongue met yours. You made out in his truck like teenagers until you were both flushed and the windows started to fog before finally pulling away from him with a grin.

The smile that met you in return rivaled the sun.

He had pressed another quick kiss to your mouth and was out the door, appearing in front of yours and holding it open for you. You laughed when he pulled you down from the truck and closer to him, encircling your waist with his arms in an embrace.

“Not to push my luck too quickly, but would you go out with me?”

You pulled back from where your head was against his chest and crooked an eyebrow at him.

“What, like a date?”

He grinned and nodded, pecking you on the lips one more time before pulling back to look you in the eyes.

“Exactly like a date.”

You snorted and shook your head.

“We’ve already had sex, Floyd. I think we’re a bit beyond that, don’t you?”

His brows furrowed. 

“What? Of course we aren’t. Just because things got a bit, uh, heated, that night doesn’t mean you get to skip being wined and dined, baby.” 

Your cheeks flushed at the name and at his words. 

“You literally made me cum like three times in a row, you don’t need to wine and dine me to get back into my pants.”

“Only three, hm? Must have been off my game,” you rolled your eyes at his grin. “I’m not asking you out to get in your pants, Fury. I want to take you out on a date because it’s literally the least you deserve and I’ve been thinking about it nonstop. So, what’d you say?”

How were you supposed to say no?

“And what, pray tell, would this date entail?”

Bob’s fingers hooked into your belt loops and pulled you closer to him, large hands wrapping around your waist. 

“That, darlin,” his accent punched through on the word and the sound of it had heat flooding your veins. “Is a surprise.”

______

You were going to strangle Bob Floyd - strangle him and then lay the filthiest, most dirty kiss right on those dumb lips of his.  

The work week you both had was long, filled with late nights and more paperwork than you knew what to do with. Friday had Maverick pulling the team into the ready room.

“We’ll we’ve got our dates. Barring another specialized op, we’ll start workups in January and deploy next fall with the USS George Washington.”

Everyone knew it had to be coming, your team was too good to stay stationed in California long term. Your exercises and additional training following the mission were coming to an end, and your classes would be handed off to the next officer to take over when you all finally deployed. Although it was a half year away, it didn’t make it any easier knowing the nice life you had all built here would be coming to an end. 

You’d both had a rough and long week and all you’d wanted was a rough and long night in bed with a one Robert Floyd.

But no matter how hard you tried to get him into bed with you he refused, claiming you should wait until after your date. Every attempt at taking things further led to him chastely kissing you and pulling you close to him, winding his arms around you in a hug that left you simultaneously melting and frustrated beyond belief. 

So yeah, by the time your date night rolled around that following Friday you were ready to strangle Bob Floyd - strangle him and then lay the filthiest kiss right on those perfect lips of his.

The date had been a home run - he'd shown up with flowers, then a picnic on the bluffs overlooking the ocean followed by a F1 style go-kart race that had the two of you wiping the floor with anyone unlucky enough to be in the same heat.

You laughed at the messiness of your hair in his truck mirror on the drive home, the helmet and head sock had wreaked havoc on your carefully done hairstyle. 

Bob’s was no better, sticking up in every direction no matter how many times he’d tried to pat it down. Your body was practically vibrating, the left over adrenaline from the race warring with the low thrum of desire that had been flowing through your body for weeks.

He’d walked with you up your front steps and paused at the threshold to your shared front door, grabbing your hand in his.

“I had a really great time today.”

You grinned back at him and nodded.

“Me too. Not half bad for a first date.”

Your teasing tone told him you were downplaying it by a mile and he chuckled, shaking his head.

He took a step closer to you and his hand came up to cup your cheek.

“If it’s okay with you,” you let out a forced groan at the line, broken up by a chuckle you couldn’t hold in.

“Don’t say it-”

“I’d really, really, like to kiss you now.”

“God, you are such a dork,” the words had barely left your lips before they were meeting his in a passionate kiss.

Bob tried to pull back, tried to keep it chaste yet again, but you were having none of it. You chased his lips with yours, latching your hands onto the back of his neck and shutting him up with a kiss when he tried to protest.

“Fury,” when he finally pulled away your lips found the skin of his neck, nipping and kissing your way down it, pulling a grunt from deep within his throat. “I’m trying to do this right. I don't want to push you-"

You answered him with a bite to his collar bone causing him to hiss.

“I swear to god, Floyd. If you don't carry me through this door and fuck me until I can't say anything but your name I will give our neighbors a show.”

“Jesus Christ,” the words came out as a groan and his hand dove into your hair, cupping you by the back of the head and pulling you back up to meet his lips while he blindly scrambled with his keys.

It felt like an eon before the door swung open and you were pulled through it. The click of the lock barely registered before he was on you again, pressing you against the door, hips driving forward, kissing you in a way that made your legs turn to jelly.

You both kicked your shoes off without thinking, the heavy thud of them hitting the floor echoing through the empty house.

Your body was thrumming, blood rushing as you finally got what you’d been craving for what felt like years. His hand hooked under your knee, lifting it up to hook around his waist as he ground into your core, a moan falling from your throat at the hard press of him against you.

His other hand pulled up on your other leg, hefting you up and pinning you to the door with his weight, your legs locked around his strong waist and you writhed against him desperately seeking friction. 

His answering groan was low, wrecked, as he kissed you again, harder this time. He pulled away from the door and started moving, carrying you down the hall in a stumbling rhythm that left bruising kisses against your throat and half-suppressed laughter spilling between the two of you.

“Don’t drop me,” you teased against his ear, though your voice was shaky with want.

“Wouldn’t dare,” he muttered, though the half-stumble into the wall made both of you laugh before his mouth was back on yours, fierce enough to erase the humor in a breath.

By the time he shouldered open his bedroom door, the playful edge was unraveling into raw heat. He set you down only to shove you back against the nearest wall, his lips crashing against yours like he’d been holding this in for years, and he had. Your laughter dissolved into a gasp, his name catching in your throat as his hands slid possessively down your sides.

For a heartbeat, you both froze, foreheads pressed together, panting. And then his low voice broke through the silence, ragged with both restraint and need.

“Tell me to stop, and I swear I will.” His thumb traced your jaw, his gaze locked on yours. “But if you don’t…” his mouth curved, frustration and desire flaring in equal measure, “I’m not holding back anymore.”

“You fucking better not,” you threatened, and a cocky, infuriating smirk slid over his features. 

“Mmm,” he hummed, hand trailing down your side, skirting over your breast, avoiding where your nipples were straining against the fabric of your shirt entirely, landing instead on your hip. “Someone seems a bit…frustrated.”

His tone told you that he knew exactly how hard these weeks had been for you. That he knew just how the teasing smirks and fleeting touches had driven you up a fucking wall. 

You opened your mouth to retort but your words died in your throat as his fingers brushed over the heat between your thighs. Even through the fabric of your pants the touch was electric.

“Bet you're dripping for me, aren’t ya darlin’,” your brain short circuited at his words and the cool confidence behind them. “Don’t worry,” he continued. “I’m gonna take care of you.”

Your brain was still struggling to come back online as he dropped to his knees, deftly taking your pants and underwear with him on the way down, guiding you to step out of them, leaving you bare before him. 

“Fuck,” his gaze was molten as he took you in and your head thunked back against the wall at the depravity of it.

You struggled to get your shirt over your head, leaving you in the lacy bra you had donned in hopes of the night ending like this. Your shirt hit the floor just as he leaned in, large hands parting your legs to expose your core to him. His fingers dipped between your thighs and you let out a whimper. He smirked up at you, the sight of him still fully dressed, kneeling between your thighs made you keen.

“Dripping for me,” he repeated and your mind was spiraling, coherency fleeing your brain en mass.

You had the far away thought that you should be pushing back more, making him lose control right back, but those thoughts flew out the window at the first touch of his tongue.

A cry slipped from you, your head tipping back against the wall as your hands found his hair. His groan reverberated through you, a deep, consuming sound that seemed to ignite every nerve. Your leg was thrown over his shoulder, heel digging into his back as he took you apart with his mouth. 

“Been thinkin’ bout the taste of you for weeks,” he murmured against your thigh when he came up for air. “Touched myself to the noises you made last time.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” his words set you on fire, the image of him biting back his moans as he fucked his fist in his own bed, just a wall away from you, causing you to clench around nothing.

Like he knew what you needed he slid two fingers right into you, your wetness easing their way. You squeezed around them, crying out again when his mouth fell to your clit, attacking it like it was his sole purpose in life. 

You should have been embarrassed at how quickly you came but as you floated back down to your body you didn’t have it in you to care.

“That’s it,” he cooed, placing open mouthed kisses across you, each touch jolting your body from the overstimulation. “So good for me.”

You keened at his words and fluttered around where his fingers were still stuffed inside you. He grinned at the feeling before slowly drawing them out and away from you, bringing them up to his own mouth and sucking on them like they were a fine dessert. 

He stood up and leaned back in, shoving his tongue into your mouth in a sloppy kiss that let you taste your own desire on his lips. 

Where that one night had been steeped in desperation and love, years of repressed feelings unraveling in a beautiful collision of confessions and bodies, this was an entirely different Bob. Confident. Cocky. Eyes glinting with the promise of something reckless and thrilling.

He turned you from the wall, making you stumble back a few steps before you hit the edge of the bed. You barely had time to breathe before you were on your back, chest rising and falling as Bob loomed over you, his gaze molten and unrelenting.

He was still fully clothed, the only thing missing were his shoes, and the contrast to your almost naked body made you squirm. His eyes locked onto the lacy bra, your dogtags falling just beneath the rise of your chest, and he quickly rid himself of his shirt and shorts, leaving him standing before you in his boxer briefs, the outline of his throbbing cock prominent against the straining fabric. 

Your teeth dug into your lip, legs slipping together in search of relief at the sight of his body. His gaze snapped to the movement and his hand dropped to stroke himself over the fabric once before pushing it down his legs and leaving him bare before you. His own dogtags a stark contrast to the pale skin of his chest. 

Your eyes were locked between his legs, his large hand wrapped around himself and stoked once causing your mouth to water at the sight. Your mind was finally filtering its way back into your body after vacating it during your orgasm.

“You gonna stare at me all night, or do something about it?”

You couldn’t resist one more quip and his gaze shot to yours, narrowing at the smirk on your mouth. He finally joined you on the bed, draping himself over you and placing a messy kiss to your mouth.

“Such a smart mouth,” he mumbled against your lips. “Just desperate for something in it.”

Three of his fingers pushed their way past your lips, effectively silencing you.

You were dead. You were dead and this was some sort of nirvana that you’d been granted access to in the afterlife.

A soft whimper escaped you as your tongue toyed with them, lips drawing him in, mimicking the way you ached to touch another part of him. He left them there, pressing down on your tongue, and drew his gaze down your body, once again locking onto the flimsy bra still digging into your chest.

He sat back on his knees, freeing up his other hand to cup your breast, thumb rubbing over your sensitive nipple before pinching it between his fingers. You cried out around his fingers and he let out a groan at the sound.

He dipped his head down and wrapped his lips around the bud through the lacy fabric, pulling it into his mouth and sucking in a way that you felt down to your toes. He pulled away and blew air across it, the wet fabric cooling and shifting across your sensitive chest. He moved to the other, giving it the same treatment before sitting back onto his haunches and finally pulling his fingers free from your mouth. 

You sucked in a breath and your back arched as he reached behind you to undo the clasp to your bra, flinging the fabric to the side once you were free of it and running his hands along the indents it left in your skin.

“Fuck,” he ran a hand down his face. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, sweetheart.” 

His hands fell back to your chest, caressing and squeezing in a way that had you trying to squirm to get friction between your legs. 

“If at any point you want to stop, we stop.”

It took a second for your brain to comprehend the change in tone and you would have fondly rolled your eyes at him if not for the pulsing ache between your legs that was begging to be filled by the man in front of you. 

“Bob,” you didn’t mean for the whine to come through your voice. “Please. I want to. Want you, baby.”

Your words were like a switch and he nodded, laying himself over you, your legs spreading to accommodate his hips between them. You sucked in a breath at the feel of him against you, your arousal coating him as he slowly dragged himself up and down your core in a slow tease. 

Your hips squirmed, desperate to line him up so he could sink into you but he stayed just out of reach. When the waiting finally ended, you felt him notch himself against you, sliding forward so you could just feel the head of him breach your walls. 

And just as quickly as he had pushed in, he pulled back out leaving you empty and aching. You couldn’t stop the cry that ripped out of you at the feeling and you reached for him, ready to throttle him if you could just get your brain and limbs to work correctly.

“Easy, baby,” his voice was placating and you wanted to knock that stupid smirk off his face as he sunk his head back between your legs. “I’m not done tasting you just yet.”

Two mind blowing orgasms later had you shaking and desperately wrenching on his hair to pull him away from your core. He had played your body like a fiddle, wrenching a climax out of you using his talented mouth, and then another with his equally talented fingers stretching you out. His beautiful lips biting and sucking at your chest simultaneously until you exploded. 

By the time he kissed his way back up your body you were trembling, your body on the verge over overstimulation but still aching to feel him inside you again. 

“Bobby,” your voice was hoarse and your lips sloppily met his. His glasses had somehow stayed on throughout the ordeal and they were crooked, fogged along the edges and smudged with evidence of just how close he'd been to you. You reached out to take them off but he shook his head, catching your fingers and placing a kiss on your palm instead.

“Want to see every bit of you.” 

Your heart clenched at the words and you nodded, threading your legs back around his waist. You sucked in a breath at the feeling of him at your entrance. You both let out a desperate sound as he sunk into you, slowly inch by inch, until he was seated flush within you. 

You had known he was big, had felt it for a day or two after the first time you slept together, but the stretch still took your breath away. 

“Fuck, darlin’,” his head dropped to your shoulder as he stayed seated inside you, not moving. 

“I love you, but I swear to god Bob, if you don’t start moving I am going to tie you to this bed and ride you until you fucking pass out from it.”

His hips jerked forward at your words and he swore. 

“Christ,” his hips pulled back. “That mouth’s gonna get you in trouble one day.”

The next thrust of his hips had you crying out, nails digging into his back. His rhythm turned fierce, commanding, each motion pulling another sound from your lips. The room blurred around you and all you could feel was him, the heat, the weight, the steady, unrelenting drive that left you trembling and gasping for air.

“That’s it,” Bob panted, slamming forward on a particularly hard thrust that left your head spinning. “You’re taking it so well, hmm? Such a good fucking girl for me.”

Bob Floyd was going to be the death of you. 

Your orgasm crashed over you like a wave, sudden and absolute, sweeping you away between one thrust and the next. Your head slammed back into the pillow, spine arching against Bob’s hold on you as your body clamped around his. 

“Fuck...yeah, that’s it, give it to me,” his voice was rough as he continued moving in you, prolonging your pleasure until it became too much and you cried out at the feeling. His hips slowed to a pulsing grind against you and you struggled to pull a breath into your burning lungs.

“So fucking beautiful, squeezing me so well,” his words were mumbled into your shoulder as you came down from your high, legs wrapping around his waist to hold him still inside of you. He was still hard, hadn’t found his own release yet, but he let you breathe, placing soft kisses along the side of your neck as your body readjusted. 

“Love you so much. So perfect for me.”

When he finally felt you relax around him he grabbed you by the hips and rolled, leaving him on his back, you straddling him, and him somehow impossibly still inside you. You let out a groan as the angle pushed him even deeper into you, your hands falling to his chest, nails digging into his skin as you rocked back and forth, chasing the pleasure that came with it. 

“That’s it, baby. Remember you sayin something about ridin' my cock until I passed out, hmm?”

His fingers dug into the plush of your waist helping you rock back and forth on him. Your body was exhausted, muscles straining from the orgasms he had pulled from you, but you’d pushed your body through worse before, for much less desirable outcomes.

Your thighs burned as you lifted yourself up, sliding along his length before languidly sliding back down, torturously slow. It was his turn to thump his head into the pillow, swearing as he watched you unhurridely fuck yourself on him. 

“Not so fun when you’re the one being teased, is it?”

Your voice didn’t even sound like your own, husky and used, as it rasped its way out of your throat. 

“Pretty fun from where I’m sittin’, darlin,” his voice was strained as his gaze locked onto where you were joined. 

You picked up the pace, a slow drag up followed by a hard drop onto him and his mouth fell open. His hands dug into your hips as you continued to move, riding him in a way that left him panting, broken moans clawing their way from his throat as his gaze roamed over your body, flicking between your face, the way your chest bounced on every downswing, and where he was wetly disappearing into your body.

Your muscles screamed at you with each movement, but you could impossibly feel the telltale signs of another peak approaching. So you chased it, wanting to bring Bob as much pleasure as he had you.

You moved faster but it wasn’t enough, your body too exhausted to fuck him at the pace you longed to. 

“Bob, please,” you begged. “I can’t…”

Like he knew what you were thinking he pulled your face down to his, crashing his mouth against yours in a filthy kiss, arms curling over your shoulders to anchor you to his chest.

“Don’t worry, I gotcha.”

His hips fucked up into you and you cried out, the pace brutal as he held you in place and fucked up into you with everything he had. Each thrust up had his waist grinding against the most sensitive part of you and your mouth dropped open against his as you felt your release building again. 

“Shit, baby, yes, fuck, you’re gonna cum again aren’t ya? Yeah you are, can feel you fuckin' squeezin' me. Fuck, fuck, yesss-”

His hips drove up into you faster chasing his own release as he babbled into your neck.

“Gonna fill you up, pump you full till you're dripping with it. So everyone knows your fucking mine.”

The last word was punctuated by a deep thrust and you exploded around him. You felt as he finally found his own release, pumping into you and spilling his heat inside of you in a few last desperate sloppy thrusts. 

You felt like you were floating, your body numb as your orgasm retreated, leaving you panting on top of him, shaking from the intensity of the night. Bob was looking at you like he couldn't quite believe his own eyes, or luck. He pushed himself up onto his elbows as you sat back on him, moaning at the feeling of him shifting inside of you, his release leaking out from where you were still joined. 

He engaged his core and curled himself up to a sitting position. His hand came up to brush a sweaty strand of your hair away from your face before cupping your cheek.

“You okay?”

His voice was soft, worried as he took in the fucked out, dazed look on your face and your droopy gaze. You nodded slightly, sighing as your eyes slipped closed.

“I need words, sweetheart.”

Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth as you struggled to formulate the sounds.

“So good, Bobby.”

His soft smile at your words made you lean forward onto him, nuzzling into his neck as the ache in your hips made itself known. 

“Gonna pull out now, okay?”

At your nod he lifted you off of him, both of you hissing as he slipped out of you, a flood of his release spilling onto his thighs and softening cock. 

“Fuck,” he only let his gaze wander there for a moment, the image of his cum trickling out of you forever burned into his mind.

He gently rolled you over, situating you on the bed and running his palms down your sides. Your eyes were closed and you stretched with a small smile on your face, flexing your body against the ache that was settling in. 

He pushed himself off the bed and took a step towards the ensuite, getting stopped in his tracks as your hand latched onto his arm. 

“Don’t go,” your gaze was wide and watery as you looked up at him. He crouched down to your level, placing a kiss to your brow and stroking down the side of your face with his palm.

“Just gotta get something to clean you up, sweet girl. I’ll be right back I promise.”

Your eyes shut again and you nodded, releasing his arm and snuggling into the sheets below you. Bob hurried to the bathroom, plugging the tub and turning on the tap. He quickly wiped himself down and grabbed a clean washcloth, wetting it under the tap with warm water and heading back out to the bedroom. 

You hadn’t moved an inch, curled into his pillow on top of the sheets. Bob’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of you so thoroughly wrecked and languid on his bed. 

He soothed his hand up your leg, running it over your side and gently wiping you down to get you as clean as he could. You barely stirred, just letting out a little groan when he ran the rag between your legs. Your hands latched onto him again, pulling him back down into bed with you and attaching yourself to him like an octopus. 

Bob couldn’t fight the smile at the feeling of you pressed against him. 

You laid in content silence for a bit, his hand stroking through your hair and down your back in soothing motions as your cheek pressed to his chest, listening to his slowing heartbeat. When your eyes finally blinked open, clearer now, less dazed, his gaze was waiting for you.

“There she is,” you blinked sleepily up at him, a smile grazing your lips as you gave him a brief kiss. 

“Well god damn, Floyd.”

He let out a bark of laughter in response and pulled you closer to him, burying his face into your hair. 

“I take it you enjoyed it?”

Your fingers dug into his sides in response and he giggled as he tried to squirm away from them.

“You damn well know the answer to that.”

He laughed and slowly sat up, detangling himself from you before holding out a hand.

“Come on, I drew us a bath.”

You grinned at him, lazily stretching, your grin deepening as his gaze roamed over your naked form. 

“Careful. A girl could get used to treatment like this.”

“Good,” he replied, the corner of his mouth curling. “I’m counting on it.” 

______

The next morning Bob was cooking breakfast and you were sitting at the counter, drinking your overly sweet coffee and relishing the ache that resonated throughout your muscles. You had woken up pleasantly sore, a variety of love bites and bruises marring your body in a way that had heat flooding you at the thought of how they got there. 

Your mind couldn’t help but bring back the memory of Bob's downright filthy words as he fucked you stupid, causing you to clench your thighs together. He had been wild, feral in a way that you hadn’t expected.

Your first time together had been no less intense, but more sweet, more ‘I just confessed my undying love to you and want you to make love to me’ and less ‘I’m going to bend you in half and fuck you through the mattress.’ 

You’d never been overly submissive in bed. Most men didn’t have what it took to even get you across the finish line, let alone put you where they wanted you. 

But Bob…

Your thighs clenched again as you thought back to the night before. 

“Gonna fill you up, pump you full till you're dripping with it. So everyone knows your fucking mine.”

It had activated some animal part of your brain, the need to be claimed, and you had chased that need willingly. 

You blinked out of your daydream as Bob waved his hand in front of you, a teasing grin on his face. 

“Where’d you go?”

You gave him a wicked grin and took a sip of your coffee, giving him a once over as he ran a plate under the tap. 

“Just reliving how you told me you were gonna fuck me full of your cum so nobody else could have me.”

The plate clattered into the sink with a sharp sound that echoed throughout the kitchen, and you bit back a laugh, taking another sip of your coffee as you watched Bob turn bright red. His hand, still wet from washing the dishes, came up to rub the back of his neck and he winced at the feeling, clumsily drying it off on his T-shirt.

“Fury!”

His voice cracked and you let out a laugh as he turned away from you, flustered beyond belief. You just grinned at him as he looked anywhere but at you, glad to finally have the upper hand. 

“It’s got me wet just thinking about it.”

Bob wheezed and, although you didn’t think it was possible, turned a deeper shade of crimson, stammering as he searched for words that just wouldn’t come.

Your laughter carried through the house, chasing away the silence that had settled there for too long.

------

You and Bob had been living in your own little bubble for the past week, business as usual at work followed by hours of defiling every single horizontal and vertical surface in your townhouse until you both passed out from exhaustion.

After your second time bailing on them, Rooster had finally given you both shit for blowing off the weekly squad hangout and demanded your presence at the Hard Deck later that night.

You had arrived together, not out of the ordinary, and saddled up to the bar where the rest of the crew was congregated. Bob ordered you both drinks and put his card down for the tab, handing you yours and taking a sip of his own.

The words slipped out of your mouth before you could even think to stop them.

“Thanks babe.”

It was as if every member of the squad froze simultaneously at the word. Hangman’s mouth hung open, one centimeter away from the beer bottle frozen in front of his lips. Rooster’s eyes looked ready to pop out of his head. Fanboy, Payback and Coyote had gone statue-still, while Phoenix wore a slow, knowing grin that only widened by the second.

Bob, either oblivious or unbothered, just slipped a hand to your waist and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek.

“Sure thing, darlin’.” 

Hangman let out a wheeze that sent you into a fit of laughter. Rooster shrieked loud enough to make you wince, and the sound seemed to break the spell. Suddenly, the room exploded into noise and chaos, your cheeks burning as the teasing began.

After a round of celebratory shots and congratulations the guys and Phoenix were giving Bob shit about finally pulling his head out of his ass and you and Hangman were cozied up to the bar. He lightly hip checked you and took a sip out of his beer bottle, giving you a signature side eyed smirk. 

“So,” he drawled. “You make him grovel at least?”

You responded with a good natured eye roll and hip checked him right back.

“Maybe… just a bit.” 

He nodded in approval.

“Good. Boy deserved to sweat a little.” 

You let out a chuckle and shook your head, taking a sip of your own drink.

“You look happy,” you sighed and let a smile appear on your lips.

“I am happy.”

You turned to look at him, smile dropping off your face as you looked at your friend.

“And Jake, if you ever want to talk… I know I’ve been caught up with my own bullshit but I haven’t forgotten what you said that night, about you being in a similar position with someone.” 

“Ah,” his gaze flicked over to where Rooster and the squad were still giving Bob shit, before quickly flicking back. “Story for another time, m’dear.” 

"Gonna give you your own advice. Make sure you don't, what was the term? Rooster it?"

He let out a bark of laughter and clinked his drink against yours, nodding in appreciation before taking a swig of his beer.

______

The following months leading up to deployment were some of the best of your life. Work continued as usual, your relationship the worst kept secret on base, but since neither of you outranked the other there wasn’t much that the Navy could do.

Maverick had pulled you both in to make sure that, when it came down to it, any mission’s integrity would come before everything else. You’d assured him it would, a polite platitude, considering he’d risked his own mission more than once to save a teammate. Still, it was enough for him to check the box and move on.

The months were spent on the receiving end of endless teasing from the crew, Phoenix pretending to gag every time you and Bob so much as smiled at each other, and Rooster covering his eyes anytime he saw you two alone in a room. It was embarrassing, loud, and exactly what you had expected from them.

But underneath all the ribbing and teasing, there was relief. Relief that you weren’t pulling away anymore, that Bob wasn’t looking lost, that whatever had cracked between you both was now stronger for having been broken.

And Bob…well Bob never looked back. It was you he drove home with. You he traded schedules with so one of you was always making sure there was dinner waiting. You he trusted with the weight of his quiet, steady heart.

_____

It was a week before deployment and you were hosting one last stateside hurrah before the lot of you would be confined to the less than ideal accommodations of an air craft carrier. You were all sitting around your coffee table, most of you more than a little tipsy, sharing war stories - of the literal and figurative variety.

You snorted in laughter as Fanboy recounted the unfortunate circumstances surrounding his callsign, taking a swig of the bottle of beer in your hands and leaning back into the couch.

The team was howling, shaking their heads, and you grinned as Mickey laughed along, his cheeks flushed with alcohol and a tad bit of embarrassment. You shared a look with Bob and your stomach dropped as you saw the glint in his eye. 

Bob Floyd may come off as a nice polite midwestern gentleman but that man had a menace streak a mile wide. Hidden behind all that polite nonchalance was a shithead that could throw down with the best of them. One you knew the look of all too well.

Your gaze narrowed at him as one side of his mouth ticked up in a smirk. 

“Don’t you dare,” you mouthed at him but it only seemed to encourage him. 

“I don’t know y’all, it’s not as good as how Fury got her callsign.”

The squad turned to him in confusion and your gaze narrowed even further.

“Floyd, I swear to god-”

“What’d you mean,” Jake piped in. “Anyone that’s flown with her knows where her sign comes from. That woman flies like she’s mad at the god damn sky.”

The rest of the squad nodded in agreement and you fluctuated between pride and embarrassment.

Even drunk, Bob's gaze met yours with a grin and a silent question. He wouldn’t actually air your dirty laundry if you didn’t want him to, would make something up to get them off your back.

The quiet check in made your face flush in appreciation and you rolled your eyes with a smile, gesturing for him to continue with one of the most embarrassing stories of your life.

Bob let out a laugh and shook his head at Hangman's response.

“No no no no,” he giggled, gesturing to where you were sitting on the couch with his beer bottle. “Well, yes, that’s true, she does. But that’s not how she got her name!”

You let out a groan and flipped off your drunk boyfriend causing him to giggle again. 

“She got her call sign after Nick Fury, from Marvel,” he let out a peel of laughter and everyone else sat confused. 

“Whaaa?”

“Because of the eye patch!” He blurted out and you sunk back into the couch, taking a long pull from the bottle in your hands, cheeks flaming. 

“What eye patch?” Jake perked up as he looked between the two of you causing Bob to laugh even more. 

“Cuz, you know, Nick Fury has an eye patch and she had an eye patch.”

“Baby on Board I’m gonna need you to take a few steps back and explain cause you’re making zero sense.”

As if that knocked some sobriety into him Bob nodded seriously and took another sip of his drink before placing it on the coffee table.

“So, way back in the day, when we were… where were we babe, LeMoore? First round?”

You let out a groan and nodded, accepting your fate and biting back a smile.

“So we were young, and dumb, and everyone was screwing everyone. Except us, apparently, which… man we really were idiots weren’t we?”

“Bob!” Hangman snapped at him, cutting off his tangent.

“Right, sorry. And Fury, she had this guy over… oh god what was his name?”

“No idea.”

The group let out a round of cheers at your answer. 

“And apparently they were getting hot and heavy on the couch, which, not cool - we shared that couch!”

Bob turned to you affronted and you rolled your eyes at him, gesturing for him to continue. It’s not like you both hadn’t defiled your current couch innumerable times over the past months.

“Annnnyway, things were getting hot and heavy and I guess they were doing hand stuff - were you doing hand stuff? I can’t remember. Regardless, he was getting a little…overexcited, and apparently when Fury kissed him again it was just a little too much for the poor guy and he… well… you know… he uh, prematurely found his pleasure shall we say.”

You prayed for the couch to open up and swallow you whole as the squad howled, equal parts entertained by Bob’s unabashed retelling and your obvious embarrassment. 

“You can just say he came, Floyd! Ya prude!”

Bob nodded and gestured towards whoever had yelled that tidbit out.

“Yes, yes. He came, and Fury didn’t realize he was cuming and looked down and, the poor guy was so worked up, when he popped off some of it hit her right in the eye!”

There was a beat of silence and then the room exploded. You glared halfheartedly at Bob as he cackled along, and you flipped off Hangman as his hand pounded on your back in laughter.

Bob was giggling along with everyone, waiting for the laughter to die down to a reasonable level before continuing.

“And I came home and she was sitting on that same couch, just nonchalantly watching TV with sunglasses on. Like I wouldn’t notice. Tried to tell me that she had a headache and the light was bothering her, even though it was night time! Finally got her to confess and when she took the glasses off… you guys, I’ve never seen an eye look that red!”

“Oh fuck off! It would have been fine!”

Bob shook his head with a grin. 

“So, being the concerned amazing roommate that I was, I made her go to the infirmary. Where they flushed it out, gave her some drops, put her on DNIF and instructed her to keep the EYE PATCH on for 48 hours.”

The room was howling, and as much as you tried to fight your smile it still crept onto your face.

“And it just so happened that one of our teammates was also at the infirmary, and saw her walk out with the eye patch. And low and behold, Fury was born.”

You couldn’t help but laugh along, cheeks still flaming at the memory.

“And that’s also when I learned that cum is, apparently, pretty acidic!”

You lightly kicked him in the side with your socked foot. 

“You’ll be lucky if I ever let you cum again after that spilling that story, Floyd.”

“OOooooo,” the room echoed. “Mrs. Bob is NOT happy with you Bob-o!”

“Oh please,” Rooster crowed. “We all know he’s Mr. Fury.”

You let out a cackle at the way Bob flushed and you pushed off the couch to go to the kitchen, chuckling at the follow up questions and laughter that followed you.

“Anyone need another drink?”

A few calls for more rang out and you shook your head with a smile, grabbing the bottles and heading back to the family room to pass them out.

When you passed where Bob was sitting on the floor his hands grabbed your waist and pulled you down to sit between his legs, arms easily encircling you and pulling you back flush against him. Your shoulders relaxed and you leaned into him, heart skipping a bit at the ease of which you fit together. 

The conversation moved on, and someone else ended up in the line of fire, leaving you and Bob alone for the moment. His chin rested on your shoulder and he nuzzled into the side of your face.

“You know, I kind of like the sound of that.”

You tilted your head to give him better access to your neck.

“Hmm?” 

“Mr. Fury,” your heart leapt at the seriousness in his tone and you turned in his arms to look at him. "Or Mrs. Bob...well Mrs. Floyd, I like em both." He shot you an infuriating wink and turned back to the conversation like he hadn’t just short circuited your brain. 

_____

The deployment hit harder than you’d expected.

You’d been deployed together once before, back when you were just friends, but this was different. You hadn’t realized how much you’d come to rely on the steady rhythm of Bob’s heartbeat lulling you to sleep until you found yourself sharing a two-bunk stateroom with Natasha, the hum of the ship's engine a lousy substitute as you tossed and turned.

Your mind always drifted to him, wondering if he was thinking the same, the off limits male berthing area seemed miles away.

You’d grown used to falling asleep tangled up with him, to the quiet comfort of knowing he was never far away.

Now, you had to settle for stolen moments, meals in the mess, quick conversations between flights, laughter shared in the rec area, his voice over comms during flight runs, all under the watchful eye of Navy protocol. Professional distance was mandatory; one wrong move, and you could both be facing a court-martial.

It was hell. Pure and simple.

Hell only broken by the rare gift of shore leave, when the two of you would vanish into a hotel room and make up for lost time, not emerging until the very last possible minute.

And somehow, you made it through it all, the squad all heading their separate ways for extended leave before reconvening back in San Diego, falling back into their easy rhythm. 

And for a while, that was enough. More than enough.

But some dreams never stop tugging at you, no matter how full your life feels. And when the call came, this time with your name followed by the word “selected”, you and Bob both knew you couldn’t say no.

He’d kissed you long and slow that night, hands trembling like he was memorizing you. And then, steady as always, he’d whispered, “Go. I’ll be here when you come back.”

The years passed faster than either of you expected. The Navy kept him busy, deployments carrying him far from you even as your own training pushed you further than you’d ever dreamed. But through it all, letters, calls, and rare days together stitched the distance into something survivable.

Until at last, it was time.

______

The ready room of the carrier wasn’t built for comfort, let alone for a gaggle of loud fighter pilots crammed shoulder-to-shoulder, but that didn’t stop the Daggers from turning it into a watch party. Empty mugs of bitter coffee littered the tables, voices bounced off the bulkheads, and the grainy old TV buzzed before finally locking onto the NASA feed.

“Jake, sit your ass down!” Phoenix barked, shoving Hangman into a seat.

“Can’t see a damn thing back here!” Rooster hollered, halfway through a mangled rendition of Rocket Man.

Fanboy and Payback were mid-bet on which thruster would detach first, Coyote sighed like he’d aged twenty years, and Maverick just leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, the ghost of a smile on his face.

Through it all, Bob sat quietly near the front, eyes fixed on the screen. His elbows rested on his knees, one hand absentmindedly thumbing over the place where the non-regulation flight patch that he had painstakingly sewn into the inside of his flight suit sat.

FURY stood out, white letters on a black background.

The camera on-screen cut to the launch pad, the rocket gleaming white against the Florida sun.

Bob stood up trying to get the noise in the room to a tolerable level.

“Would you all shut up,” he snapped, though fondness bled through his words. The room snapped to attention as he glanced back to the small tv.

“If it’s all right with you, I’d like to watch my wife go to space.”

The room erupted.

Inside the shuttle, you drew a steadying breath. The rumble vibrated through the seat, through your bones, louder than anything you'd heard before. Your fingers curled inside your glove, longing to brush over your heart, against the patch velcroed neatly into the inside of the suit. BOB - white letters on a black background, a matching set. 

It hadn’t been easy. You’d fought tooth and nail with mission control, argued against tradition and regulation, for morale, for the right to carry him with you. And you’d won. Just as he carried you stitched into his flightsuit every time he took to the sky, you were carrying him now, into the stars.

“T-minus ten,” the voice crackled over the TV speakers. The Daggers leaned forward, elbows braced on their knees.

Bob didn’t move. His fingers tapped out a nervous beat over the letters of your callsign stitched into the chest of his flight suit.

Inside your helmet, your eyes flicked to the countdown.

“Main engines armed.”

Your heart pounded, but you could practically feel his name burning into your chest. His name. His steadiness. His faith.

“Three… two… one…”

The ready room held their breath as the engines ignited, fire billowing across the screen. The rocket tore upward into the sky, smoke trailing white against the blue. The squad cheered, shouted, slapped each other’s backs.

Bob didn't let out a breath until the feed cut out, your ship successfully slipping beyond the atmosphere. 

His lips moved around words too soft to rise above the din.

“That’s my girl.”

Pinned to your seat as the shuttle surged free of Earth's atmosphere, you smiled inside your helmet.

Because over the roar of engines, you could almost hear him anyway.

That’s my girl.

And you carried him with you, stitched against your heart, as the sky gave way to stars.

_________

a/n: AHHHHH I can't believe it's over. Thanks for taking this wild ride with me. Hope the angst in part 2 was worth the tooth rotting fluff in part 3 (and of course the smut). Also, did I see a hint of a Hangster easter egg in there?

This is the second fic I've ever written, so any thoughts or feedback are always appreciated!

_______

Hope it's okay I'm tagging y'all :) Figured based on your comments/reblogs you might want to know this is up!

P.S. Sorry if you got like 5 notifications about it... I am Tumblr stupid.

Robert Floyd was an idiot. He was also so fucked.

From his spot in the Hard Deck, he watched you laugh with your teammates and flit about with a sweet little sundress on that Bob desperately wanted to get his hands under. His grip on his drink tightened as Hangman slipped behind you, toothpick swirling in that loud mouth of his, to “show you some moves.”

“Thanks, Texas, but your moves just aren’t doing it for me.” You’d teased, twirling right out of his grip. Bob smiled into his drink. Seresin laughed like you hadn’t just turned him down in front of the entire team.

You might not be his, but you certainly weren’t Jake’s. That was a fact Bob knew as well as he knew his own name.

Bob’s eyes were glued to your legs whenever he knew no one was watching him, which was pretty often. He had the uncanny ability to hide in a crowd, something he was thankful for tonight. Because your toned legs? They looked like sin.

Usually, your legs were hidden with a uniform or the basketball shorts he’d seen you wear when you did PT together. Baggy shirts and sports bras usually hid your figure, but tonight? Oh, you were playing dirty.

Your eyes flickered up from the bar where you’d been ordering another drink and met his, and he watched that flash of mischief cross your features.

So, yes, Bob was fucked and he knew it. You knew it too.

You’d been playing this cat and mouse game since Lemoore and the secret of it all was the most exciting. Because you? You were a little better at communicating with people, a little more out there with the team because you wanted their respect. Whereas Bob got their respect in other ways. And he’d gotten yours one night at a bar when you’d been out with some of your old coworkers. He’d complemented a particular call of yours that he thought was brilliant and you’d turned to him, whiskey in hand, and thanked him.

You had noticed him before, obviously. But there was a quiet confidence about him that really drew you in. There was more under the surface and you were determined to figure it out. So you’d invited him back to your place, slammed him against the wall of your studio apartment, and promptly had your way with him. Bob still jacked off to that night and the thought of it again was causing a problem the longer he focused on those memories and the way you looked tonight.

Almost as if you knew what he was thinking, you maintained eye contact at the bar as you drew one finger up and down the side of your glass, condensation dripping from your fingertips. And suddenly, Bob had way more than a little problem. He spread his legs wider on his stool to compensate and sent a quick glare your way, your laugh sounding in response.

No one else had noticed, and that was how he liked it. Because the both of you? There was no label. If either of you felt like it, you spent the night together. There was no domestic bliss, no strings, no morning regrets. You were both free to do as you pleased, but Bob couldn’t help but like that you’d been spending more time in his bed lately than ever before. He hadn’t really had the time to focus on it, but it was nice.

“Fellas, Bagman,” you greeted when you walked back over to the crew who were still hogging the pool tables, “I’m gonna call it a night. Phoenix, you’re in charge.”

“Hey, c’mon,” Jake smirked, stepping closer to you, and Bob decided he really wanted to snap that toothpick before it offended him further, “we all know Trace can’t keep these losers in line.”

“She’s in charge, Seresin, especially since she’s the only sober one left.”

“Baby-on-Board’s always sober and we don’t put him in charge.” Jake flashed a sideways glance at Bob to find Phoenix’s backseater giving him the most unimpressed look he could muster.

“Bob’s driving me home.” you said sweetly, patting Jake’s chest with such a look of false pity that it almost made Bob burst out laughing. Mickey did, and quickly hid his laughter into his beer. That was two for you, and none for Bagman.

“You’re letting Floyd take you home?” Jake quirked an eyebrow and you just knew he was making an innuendo. Bob watched your eyes roll.

“He’s my neighbor, you idiot. And he drove me here?” you sighed and downed the rest of your drink, leaving Hangman and Bob to watch the tepid water on the outside of your drink slide down your chin and onto your chest.

Bob quickly looked away, knowing the attention was turned a little too close to him and his reactions right now. Besides, he knew how to hide his feelings about you. He’d been doing it for a year and half and figured he’d probably be doing it for the rest of his life if he couldn’t figure out how to make your little situationship a bit more permanent.

“Ready?” he asked quietly, keys at the ready along with your flight jacket which you’d left beside him when you came in. Your smile was bright as you took it from him and waggled your fingers back at Hangman. It felt like a threat and the cocky man scoffed at your retreating form.

Bob didn’t say another word and neither did you until you got into his truck. He’d never been more thankful for a bench seat than when you started your little rendezvouses and you were next to him each time.

“God, Jake was insufferable tonight. Kept staring at my ass and trying to touch me,” you frowned, turning on the radio and settling on some station. It was just background noise.

“He wasn’t the only one.” Bob said, turning out of the Hard Deck and back towards your shared apartment building.

“No? See something you liked, Floyd?” Your grin was lethal as you slid all the way over to him on the seat and settled a hand on his thigh. It was far too close to where he really wanted it and he looked at the space between when he hit a red light.

“You’re playing with fire.” Bob muttered, jaw tightening. Because you always did this. You riled him up and let him get all hot and bothered, like you enjoyed when he lost control. He never knew how to feel about it, but he knew he loved being with you.

“Drive faster.” You warned him, fingers inching dangerously close to the bulge straining beneath his jeans.

He made the normally twenty minute drive in about fifteen, breaking at least two traffic laws in the meantime. You’d just smiled, smug like a cat, as you kept your hand on his thigh and drew circles on the denim. A fucking tease, Bob thought, teeth gritted.

And as he shifted into park and turned off the vehicle, he didn’t have to wait before you were kissing his jaw and spreading your whole palm over the crux of his jeans.

“Inside, now.” he snapped, his control hanging on by just a thread. There was that flash in your eyes again as you both climbed out of the truck and headed inside.

“Yours or mine?” you murmured, pressed against him in the empty elevator. You both lived on the third floor, right across the hall from each other, so it wasn’t like you’d travel far either way.

“Mine.” he bit out, key already at the ready. Your giggle nearly set every last ounce of his self control on fire.

He didn’t even get a chance to lock it behind you both before you were tearing into his button up, unbuttoning each one as fast you could.

“Off,” you gasped, trying to pull it away from his arms.

“Stop.” Bob trapped your hands and stopped your frantic movements. “I don’t want it fast tonight. Wanna take my time.”

Your eyes darkened and you resigned yourself with leaning against the wall, that fucking dress on full display. Bob’s eyes raked across the sight and let go of your hands.

“What’s gotten into you, Floyd?” Your smile was soft all of a sudden, comfortable, and he wanted to kiss it off. He needed to make you moan, hear those noises escape your lips like he needed air.

“You wore this for me.” Bob smiled as he dragged his fingers over the soft material of the skirt.

“Maybe,” you quipped, trying to drag him closer but failing. He stood just a step apart from you, but he was unmoving. “Robert, c’mere.”

Bob shook his head, staying exactly where he wanted. With you. Squirming and right where he wanted you.

“You teased me all night. Messing around with Hangman, flirting with the others, dancing around in this fucking dress. Made me want to take you outside and press you up against a wall at the bar.”

“Penny wouldn’t have liked that.”

“We’re not talking about Penny right now.” Bob groaned, finally giving in and leaning in to kiss you. The kiss was hot and messy and your tongue slid against his like a promise, tasting of whiskey and something else he couldn’t place. “I’m gonna take my time with you.”

“Do your worst, Floyd.” You whispered into the dim light of his living room lamp, the one he always left on. It illuminated you both just enough and that soft smile came back. Bob couldn’t have that.

The dress was held up by a zipper on the side, not on the back, and Bob had realized that about fifteen seconds after he saw you at the bar. Because you’d Ubered in just so he wouldn’t see your dress until you were walking into the bar. And Bob had spent the next three hours figuring out exactly how he wanted to take it off you.

He undid the zipper in silence, watching intently as the fabric gave him enough space to then unhook the little eye at the top. The strap on that side was now draping just low enough that he could see the truth. You weren’t wearing a bra. The groan that escaped his lips was painful, and he didn’t waste any more time pulling it down to expose your chest to his wandering gaze. A quick kiss pressed between your breasts was all you got.

And then he dropped to his knees. Bob Floyd on the floor in front of you. Your breath caught, your eyes staring deep into his as he knelt before you and reached between your legs to pull off the skimpy bit of underwear you’d worn just for him, though you’d deny it if he asked. He removed it in ten seconds flat, chucking it over his shoulder. You’d have laughed if the sight wasn’t so hot. But Bob wasn’t done.

His hands, the ones you were so obsessed with. Not huge, but large enough to encompass parts of your body you didn’t even know existed. Those hands were on your hips and between your legs and then he was using his mouth. His tongue.

He was right there, beneath your dress where you couldn’t see him anymore, kissing and licking and his nose was pressed right where it needed to be. The pleasure was immediate, Bob knowing exactly what to do with your body, and he played it like an instrument. His movements were fine-tuned.

“Floyd. Robert,” you moaned, writhing above him. With one hand, he was pressing inside you, making sure you were ready for the main event he was mentally planning in his bedroom, and with the other he was holding your hips in place. He was strong, you remembered in your haze. And just when your moans reached their highest pitch, right before you fell off the cliff, he stopped. He pressed a kiss to your clit and stood up abruptly, glasses fogged.

“What—“

He cut you off with a wet kiss and promptly dragged you onto his bed. Your head was still reeling with the ruined orgasm when you landed on the plush surface. He abandoned his glasses on his bedside table and caged you in.

“Told you,” Bob grinned between kisses, “you’ve been teasing me all night. I wanted to take my time.”

You groaned as he kissed down your face, your neck and that spot that made you keen, and down your chest. He attached his lips to your right nipple, tweaking the other with his fingers and eliciting yet another deep moan.

“I don’t care,” you whined, “just want you.”

“Patience.” he chuckled and let you go.

Your eyes raked over his body and you shuddered. Bob looked dangerous like this. No glasses, gelled hair all messed up. His button up still hung from his shoulders and he still had his jeans on. The effect was sinful.

“Fuck it,” you snapped, launching yourself at him and knocking him over. You succeeded in straddling him and Bob settled in for the ride with a smile like he knew he wouldn’t let you do this for long. “Take these off.”

Your hands shoved the rest of his shirt off and your fingers flew to the buckle of his belt while you pressed kiss after kiss to his toned abs.

Finally, you got the buckle loose and unzipped his pants, gaining a hiss from the man beneath you when you brushed your fingers over the part of him you wanted most right now. And Bob Floyd was not tiny.

“Off off off.” you muttered, yanking the fabric down towards his knees. Bob helped, shoving his jeans and boxers off while you ripped your dress off your body. Both bare, you straddled him again and let yourself slide over his huge dick. He handed you a condom and you wordlessly stretched it over him.

You remembered the first time you’d seen his dick and how you’d fallen in love with the stretch. No man had compared since, which was something you didn’t want to think about right now when you had him under you.

“Not gonna let me take my time with you, are you?” he laughed, leaning in to kiss you again.

“Absolutely not.” you declared, reaching down to position him where you wanted. The head brushed your clit and finally slid between your folds. 

Then, he slid home. The first slide was always the most devastating as he filled every inch of you so deliciously. Your moans bounced off of each other as you pulled yourself up and down on top of him. Sure, every position was fun with Bob, but this one? It was a personal favorite. It never lasted long before he’d flip you and fuck you harder.

You decided to make it last by alternating thrusts and grinding, making him emit a string of curses you didn’t even know he knew.

“Y’know, I love that you wear your t-shirts all the time.” you gasped after a particularly deep and heavenly spot was touched on inside you. “Means I can leave as many marks as I want on you and no one but me will see it.”

To make your point, you leaned down and dragged your teeth over one of his nipples. Bob shuddered. Then you attached your lips just above his pectoral, sucking a mark just above his heart. That sealed the deal.

Bob’s eyes glittered as he flipped you over and pulled out, slamming back into you and sucking the breath from your lungs. Taking his time was forgotten as he rearranged your insides and smiled while he was doing it. Robert Floyd was dangerous and he took you apart so thoroughly that he ripped your orgasm out of you before you even sensed it coming.

“Oh, God,” you moaned, clutching onto his shoulders as he continued his punishing pace.

“I’m close.” he whined, reaching a hand between you to brush against your clit. You were still sensitive, but he launched you into yet another orgasm as he shuddered inside you and painted the inside of his condom, his moans settling deep into your skin. When he peeled himself off of you, you whined at the loss of contact until he smiled dopily at you and kissed your forehead.

He always smiled the same way each and every time after your little trysts, but this time the sight punched a hole in your very being.

Bob was right that you’d worn that dress for him. You had. You’d been hoping he’d be watching, had even contemplated not wearing underwear at all just to be able to flash him a peek and make him lose control sooner. Each time you teased him, you hoped he’d break and decide he didn’t want this to just be a friends with benefits thing and maybe he’d want more. But he never said anything. It still stung.

“Same time next week?” he laughed, climbing out of bed to get you both a glass of water. You threw on his button up and stumbled into the bathroom to clean yourself up. But as you looked at yourself in the mirror, you grimaced. How much longer could you keep doing this?

After you’d finished, you left the bathroom to find Bob who was clad in a new pair of boxers and his glasses, sitting on the edge of his bed with a glass of water for you in hand.

He stood up and handed you the glass, pressed a kiss to your temple, and entered the bathroom himself. As you sipped the water, you listened to his movements, sounds that were so familiar to you. You heard the shower turn on and he popped his head out to ask if you’d like to join, but you shook your head.

“Mav asked me to come in early tomorrow for a simulation exercise, so I’m gonna shower at my place and crash. This was fun, though.” You smiled, giving him a once over again. God, he looked good. He always did after sex when his skin had that sweaty sheen and his lips were swollen and his hair was all mussed. You missed the disappointed flash in his eyes when you turned him down, but he helped you gather your things anyway and lent you a pair of his boxers to walk across the hall in.

And when your own door shut behind you, you wondered just how you were going to get over this man when you never really had him in the first place.

----------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, you were determined not to make it weird. You’d caught feelings, but you knew Bob hadn’t and that had to be okay. So you’d do your job and let him do his. You’d turn down the flirting a bit and see how things went if you didn’t take Bob home for the next week. Or maybe a month. You weren’t sure how long you’d last without giving in.

And Bob? He was none the wiser. Back to his controlled state, he worked alongside Phoenix and made training plans with Maverick silently, just like normal. He didn’t notice anything might be wrong until you didn’t flash him your usual smile when saying goodnight for the day.

That caused him to pause, but he knew you were probably tired so he brushed it off.

“Still up for movie night later?” he asked, hoping you’d say yes. “I’m ordering pizza.”

“Sorry, buddy, but I think I’m gonna go to bed early. Mav wore me out today.” you shrugged, climbing into your own car and leaving the lot before he could try to reschedule. As he stared at the spot where your car had been, he frowned. 

You had never cancelled on him before, but maybe you just needed a night. Mav had run you ragged making you do a hundred pushups when you’d failed to master your training simulation. He decided not to let it bother him. But buddy? When had you ever called him that? He shook his head and climbed into his own truck.

Meanwhile, Hangman and Phoenix stared at the man from twenty yards back, coming to a conclusion both you and Bob would be mortified to know about.

“D’you think they’re fucking?” Phoenix asked, eyes bright with mischief. She’d had her suspicions, but she certainly never thought she’d share them with Bagman of all people. She wished it were Rooster.

“Oh, a hundred percent. Why do you think I fuck with them all the time? Haven’t you noticed they sneak off sometimes? Eight out of ten times, she drives with him. And, oh my god, he’s always staring.” Jake drawled, getting his own suspicions off his chest. While he liked to have a good time, he was very aware of when people weren’t on the market and you both were off the market. “Also, that little dress situation last week at the bar? Dude left with a boner and he kept smiling when I was flirting with her, like he knew she wouldn’t be going home with anyone but him.”

“Holy shit.” Phoenix swore. “Do you think they’re just fucking or are we all idiots and they’ve been together this whole time?”

“Bob’s a fucking idiot, so I think it’s just friends with benefits. He’ll never man up to that. Y’know, we could—“

“Get a fucking grip, Bagman.” Natasha cut him off with a fake gag thrown in for good measure. “Some of us have higher standards than you.”

“Whatever.”

It had been a week, and you’d somehow managed not to let Bob in your bed. A very difficult week. And not for lack of him trying, either. He was teasing you just like you’d teased him, hoping you’d break.

He showed up for PT in a tighter shirt than normal, a white Navy shirt that was just threadbare enough that you could see the mark you’d left on his chest right between the V and the Y. When he caught you staring, he had the audacity to wink. You walked away, guzzling your water.

At the Hard Deck, on karaoke night, he brushed a hand down your spine during one of Rooster’s songs that caused shivers to run down your whole body and almost drenched your khakis. He barely touched you and you reacted like that, and it made you leave early. You didn’t let him come with you, claiming a headache from the noise.

He texted you, and you didn’t want to make it weird, so you kept texting back. But absence was making this a whole lot harder instead of easier.

“So, how long have you been in love with my backseater,” Phoenix asked during your run the next morning. You pulled up short.

“Excuse me?”

She shot you with a knowing glance when she circled back to you, not expecting your abrupt stop. “Y’know, Hangman was the one to figure it out. I just started watching and the signs are all there.”

“Hangman thinks I’m in love with Bob, so you listened to him? C’mon, Phoenix. The dude’s demented.”

“No, he brings up some excellent points. Bob’s always staring at you and you’re together more often than you’re apart. It makes sense. And that’s not even mentioning that dress situation two weeks ago.”

“What about my dress,” you deadpanned.

“You left with Bob and he had a boner the size of Mount Everest. So either you’re fucking or you’re in love with each other and we’ve all missed it.” She finished with a smirk.

Your eyes widened.

“Oh my god, do you think he knows?”

And there it was, your almost confession. Natasha’s eyes softened.

“Knows what, babe?” She asked, sitting down on a bench in the park and patting the space next to her.

“I’ve never told anyone. But Bob . . . we’ve been hooking up for about two years.” you sighed, head in your hands. “At first, it was just fun. Everyone expected me to end up in the bed of these fucking hotshot pilots and I ended up in his. It was like an ego boost. I had a secret and so did he and we were just having a good time.”

“But then you fell for him.” Natasha finished.

You nodded miserably.

“I did. He doesn’t know. Or at least, I don’t think he does. I mean, who am I to try and break two years of some of the best sex I’ve ever had—friends with benefits basically—to tell him I’m in love with him? He’s always so careful and purposeful that I figured, if he really wanted me as more then he would say something, right?”

“Well,” Phoenix started, “I haven’t known him as long as you have, but I think we’ve all noticed that he doesn’t look at anyone else but you. When you turned him down for your weekly movie night last week and just left? He stared at your parking space for like five minutes while Hangman and I speculated. That doesn’t look like friendship to me.”

“I just can’t keep doing this. I want him so much, but I’m—“

“Afraid of getting hurt? Listen, in our line of work, I don’t think I need to tell you that tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. You should tell him.” Natasha nudged your shoulder with a smile, “Just don’t tell anyone else for another week at least. I kinda made a bet with Bagman.”

“You’re the worst,” you laughed. But in your head, her words made sense. You needed to talk to Bob.

You sent the text before you could overthink it. “Still on for movie night at my place tonight? I’m making spaghetti. Garlic knots or bread?”

“Absolutely!” he texted back immediately with a second one coming right after, “garlic knots pls.”

The first part of your plan was now done, but now you had to ply your man with food and talk to him instead of him ending up in your bed or on the couch where your movie nights always ended up with him inside you. You never thought you’d be telling yourself that sex needed to be on the backburner.

The night started with him showing up freshly showered with a bottle of wine. That was normal. He wore an old Star Wars t-shirt and these grey sweatpants you usually couldn’t get him out of fast enough. Judging by his smug expression when you poured the wine, you knew he was thinking that too. You didn’t give in to his blatant teasing.

He picked some action movie to watch while you plated up the spaghetti and garlic knots, and you took them over to the couch where he was sprawled like he owned the place, bare feet on your coffee table.

“Heathen,” you sniffed like you did every week, and he grinned up at you. He took his feet off the table, but you knew they’d be right back up there as soon as the movie started.

“Food smells amazing, thank you. It’s been awhile since you cooked for me.” Bob’s smile was easy as he took his plate from you and placed it on his lap.

You shrugged, “I wanted real food.”

And despite your uneasiness about finally confessing your feelings tonight—if you got the chance—the night passed normally and comfortably. You both ate your food and stacked your plates on the coffee table, you ended up comfortably tucked into his side, and his quips about the inaccuracies in the film just endeared you both further.

“You’re thinking loudly.” Bob murmured during the film credits, dragging the back of a finger down your cheek. You turned in his arms to face him and your gaze slipped to his mouth. Big mistake.

He surged forward to kiss you, but you stopped him, hands splayed on his chest. He stopped, curious.

“We need to talk.” You stated, and you both winced at the way it sounded.

“Okay.” Bob let you go and turned to face you, knee bent and body leaned against the back of your couch. He looked like he belonged there all the time, and your heart did a painful little squeeze knowing he might not ever again if this didn’t go the way you wanted it to. “Hey, whatever it is, you can talk to me about it. Did I go too hard two weeks ago? Is that what this is about?”

“No, no two weeks ago was perfect.” You muttered, heat rising to your cheeks as you tried to find your words. “I’m just gonna say it.”

Bob looked at you expectantly, quietly, waiting for you. God, he was perfect. You hoped you didn’t ruin him.

“I’m in love with you.” The words left his mouth, not yours.

You blinked at him. “What?”

“It’s true. Took you not really being around for the last two weeks for me to figure it out, but I needed to say it before you ended whatever it is we’ve been doing for the past two years.” He said calmly, like he hadn’t just flipped your world upside down.

“I wasn’t going to end it.” Your smile was watery, “I was going to tell you that I love you.”

“Oh.” Bob said, the words not registering, “oh!”

“We’re such idiots,” you laughed. “Wasting all this time instead of just talking and—”

“Fucking more often?” Bob grinned. You slapped his chest, right over the mark you’d last left on him. He had the audacity to look wounded. “What? I’m just saying that, as my girlfriend, you have a few more perks than I’ve been allowing.”

“Allowing, hmm?” You smiled, and finally leaned in for that kiss he’d been angling for all night. He hummed into it. “You get so crude when we’re alone. Hangman’s really wearing off on you.”

“Don’t bring him up right now.” he groaned, head falling back on the couch cushions behind you. “If he touches you again, I now have the right to pummel him.”

“Well, babes, he figured us out before we did so . . .”

“Don’t you dare tell me Hangman is responsible for this sudden confession.”

“He’s not, but Phoenix is. And we can’t tell anyone about this for at least another week so Phoenix can win the bet they made. I’m sorry!” Bob leveled you with such an unimpressed look that you started pressing tiny little kisses all over his face just to make up for it. You could feel his smile under your ministrations.

“Fine, but I get to kiss you in the Hard Deck the next time he runs his mouth around you.”

“I think that can be arranged.” Your smile was brilliant as you nuzzled your face into his chest, both of you shifting positions so you practically laid on top of him on your oversized couch. Bob’s hands wandered towards your backside.

“Do I get to smack your butt during—”

Bob's stare burns through you, makes the space between your legs throb. He's fuming and it's the hottest thing ever. Your husband is usually so composed, so well mannered.

But now? Oh man. His blue eyes are dark and narrowed in on Jake. His nostrils are flaring, chest rising up and down as he stews. He is not happy.

That's when you turn to Jake to personally thank him. His brows knit together in confusion. It's not like he bought you a drink or gave his number (yet), "Uh, you're welcome?"

"No, seriously. I'm about to get the best dicking of my life."

Now Jake is really confused. And when he turns around to find the person who was clearing their throat behind him is Bob Floyd, his confusion doesn't get any better.

You, however, are practically giddy. Flashing Bob a smile, he simply extends his hand out. Taking it, he leads you to the bathroom, leaving an open mouthed Jake Seresin at the bar. That was the last time you thought of the blonde pilot, though who could blame you when you had Bob's mouth on your neck and his large hands groping your curves.

"Saw how he was looking at you."

"Yeah?" Is all you can get out before his lips crash against yours. It's not a sweet kiss. No. It's claiming and all consuming. His tongue wastes no time in exploring your mouth, his long fingers reaching underneath the hemline of your dress to push your panties aside.

"Jealous?" You ask when he lets you breath. Bob simply scoffs in response, his hands turning you to face the bathroom mirror, bending your body over the sink.

You and Bob were never supposed to meet at the crossroads. Not to say that you were never meant to be friends but rather your futures just never aligned. You remember back during high-school when you first met him. It was some dumb exercise  about what you wanted to be when you grew up. You awkwardly smiled and mumbled about how you’re not sue what you wanted to be. However, Bob on the other hand looked at you with starry eyes and said he wanted to be a co-pilot. You just responded with a simple: “at least you know what you want!” even if you thought his dream was a strange one.

You never understood why people liked being on planes so much. Sure, you enjoyed to travel but you never liked getting on those death traps. You heard in many shows and movies that it was the safest way to travel and you believed that. But there was feeling you got every time the plane shook or when it dropped once turbulence occurred that made you feel like you were frozen in your seat. 

It was why, despite your desire to see the world, you wouldn’t dare risk reliving that horrible moment ever again. You never liked admitting it to people. You thought it sounded embarrassing. Only your parents knew about your fear. No one else knew.

Not even Bob Floyd when you both finally became friends.

You were like two peas in a pod. Both of you were never seen without the other. Anyone with eyes could tell that you were inseparable. 

And yet, you knew that would never last. Your futures were too different. Perhaps you were just cynical deep down, buried under your faux optimism. 

Bob thrived in the sky. You both knew it. He was ready to spread his wings and fly. When you both graduated, he had plans on joining the U.S. Navy similar to his grandfather. 

You, however, were a flightless bird who didn’t want to use its wings even if you longed to join him up on the air. If you even feel your body drop slightly, you’d completely lose your composure. 

It just wasn’t meant to work out. You loved Bob. You wanted to follow him everywhere. 

This just happened to be the one exception.

You knew you would keep in contact with him. You didn’t want to let him go nor did you want him to forget about you. Even if you were going on different paths, you’d still talk. That remained true after graduation. 

Then your talks got shorter, less frequent like you knew they would. He was always in the air and you were on the ground, just meant to watch him. 

Though, you suppose that you shouldn’t beat yourself up for it. Fear of flight or not, you’d never want to be a pilot. Much less work for the military.

As you later find out, fate has a funny way of making things work out. You needed a roommate since you couldn’t afford a place and you had to get a new job after your last one didn’t work out. Bob quickly offered a job at a bar called the Hard Deck since its owner wanted more help. Not only that, but he said he had room at his place that you could stay at. You agreed since you didn’t have a choice and it was better to live with a good friend than a stranger’s.

You got along with the owner, Penny Benjamin and you enjoyed your time meeting new people such as Bob’s friends he met at TOPGUN. They were all people you enjoyed the company of with only the exception of Jake or Hangman but you found him to be entertaining at the very least.

Even Penny noticed your attitude around him. She nudged you with her shoulder as you were cleaning up the counter. “So you’re here because of him, huh? I’m starting to think you would follow him anywhere.” 

You shake your head, laughing. You catch a glimpse of him with his friends, smiling brighter than the sun. Maybe that’s why he was always in the sky. “Not everywhere. There are exceptions.”

“Really? Like what?”

“Flying, I guess. It always scares me to be on a plane.”

Penny smiles, patting your back. “You must be glad you’ve lived in California all your life.“ 

“You have no idea.” You hand Jake a beer, already getting a feeling that he was sneaking up on you. “Here you go, Bagman.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” You rolled your eyes in response, hitting him with a hand towel.

You still found it strange being in Bob’s world but it’s fortunate that bird who loved to fly had time to spend with his flightless friend. 

The days with Bob blur together. You got so used to each other that you both practically started to share a bed. You didn’t mind in the slightest. You liked being close to him. 

One day, the two of you were just on his bed. Bob had been a bit awkward, not saying much the entire night. You knew something was wrong and as his best friend, you took it upon yourself to find out the cause of his new mood. 

You quickly stole his glasses as he was trying to read. He closes the book and tries to get them back. “What are you doing?”

You put them on. He suddenly became blurrier than before. Damn his vision. “I always stole your glasses in high-school!”

“Yeah, but that was in high-school.” Bob pointed out, squinting his eyes. “My vision got worse over the years and I can’t see without them!”

“Excuses, Excuses!” They slide down your nose. “And I just took them because I needed your attention.”

He chuckles. “That’s it? I mean, you could have just asked for it, you know.”

Your face grows warm. “No! I mean… you’ve been acting weird tonight. I know you’re not the most talkative but you’re sweating, avoiding eye contact and fidgeting more than usual.” You lay down on the mattress. “So what’s wrong?”

Bob turns bright red. You raise an eyebrow at that. You never see that man get so flustered in his life. “Well,” he scratches the back of his neck. “It isn’t that important-“

“Bullshit,” you shot at him. “Yes, it is. It’s clearly bothering you!” 

He gives you an unamused look. “-but if you really wanted to know, it’s my mom’s birthday soon.”

“Yeah?” You remember his mom. She was at graduation with his grandfather, cheering the loudest at Bob came up on stage. That memory never fails to put a smile on your face. He was so embarrassed. “What’s wrong about that?”

“Well, she’s wants to fly to italy and she’s asking if I can bring someone… maybe someone I like,” he nervously laughs, trying his best not to look you in the eyes. “So I was wondering if you wanted to come?”

“Oh, uh, I don’t think I can make it! I mean Penny will probably be busy at The Hard Deck without me and I don’t want her to overwork herself, you know?” Now, it was your turn to act awkward. Bob could tell the way your expression changed. If he couldn’t notice it then, he definitely did when you hand him back his glasses. Your palms were sweaty and you pull your hand back almost instantly after it brushes his. 

“Did I do something wrong?” Bob asks, his heart breaking in his chest. 

“No! No. It’s not you. It’s me.” You turn your back on him. “I’ll just head to sleep. It’s been a long day after all!”

He doesn’t say anything in response. He only turns off the light coming from his lamp at his side. 

The night went on in an uncomfortable silence until you eventually fell into a deep slumber.

He had a harder time doing that.

———

The Hard Deck wasn’t busy during this time of day. You were going around the bar, trying your best to keep track of the people who came in and out by handing out their drinks. 

You didn’t notice the weapon systems officer staring at you. 

Though, even if you hadn’t, someone else did. 

“Well, look who it is!” That jolted him out of his train of thought. He turned his head to the sound and felt a sense of dread once he saw who it was. “Baby on board! Boy, Am I glad to see you!”

“Hangman? What are you doing here? And where’s everyone else?” There was no way the rest of the group was meeting at The Hard Deck, he would have known otherwise. He wasn’t even at their usual spot near the pool table. 

“Phoenix and Coyote are helping Mav with somethin’. Rooster’s with his mom and I’m pretty sure Payback and Fanboy are sleeping in right now.” Much to Bob’s dismay, he sits beside him. “As for me, well, I gotta get my daily work out in.” Jake’s eyes drift towards the beer bottle in his hand. “Thought you weren’t a drinker.”

“I’m not. You can have it after I’m done. I’m just..”

“Peeling the label off?” 

“Yeah, pretty much.” Bob pushes the bottle towards him who happily drinks it. “I needed to actually get a drink. I’ve been here for a while so it’d be weird if I hadn’t.”

“For a while? Jeez, Floyd. What were you-“ Jake pauses, his eyes moving towards you as you talk to Penny. He smirks. “Looks like you took my advice, huh? You’re welcome. Told you that you should have just asked her out. Bradshaw owes me now.”

Bob winces. If it weren’t for Jake, he wouldn’t have asked you to accompany him on his mom’s birthday trip. He thought it’d be the perfect opportunity to ask you out but judging by your reaction, it was anything but. 

“It didn’t work. I’m pretty sure your master plan made her hate me.” He’d prefer it if you just outright said it to his face rather than dance around him all morning. 

Jake almost spat out his drink. “What? No way! I’ve seen the way she looks at you. That isn’t platonic by any means.”

“Well, you clearly read it wrong,” Bob sighs. “It’s mostly my fault for getting my hopes up. I’m more upset about the fact I ruined our friendship over my feelings.”

Jake pauses for a moment. He looked like he was thinking carefully on his words. “How exactly did you phrase it?”

“Like a confession? I said it’s my mom’s birthday, she was planning a trip to Italy and told me to bring someone I like.” 

“How much did you emphasize the word like?”

“None at all?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s not a confession, Bob. You’re just telling her you like her. That could mean anything! I like you but I don’t like you.”

“Oh…” Bob suddenly understood it now. His lack of experience with these things came back to bite him in the ass. He never loved anyone before you so he never practiced a confession before. Or confessed anything romantic in general. 

One thing bothered him though. “But still why did she react like that? Maybe she did read it as a confession and doesn’t like me in that way?”

“Nope. Definitely not.” Jake took another sip from his beer. It amazed Bob that he was halfway done. “Probably got to do with her fear of flying.”

“What?” 

He shrugs his shoulders. “Overheard a conversation between her and Penny. Said she’s afraid of flying. She never told you?”

“No… she hadn’t.” Bob searches for you around the Hard Deck. He spots you about to leave. “I got to go.”

He doesn’t let Jake respond. He’s already following after you. 

How could he not have known? Was it in front of his face this whole time? Why didn’t you want him to know?

He was going to get to the bottom of this. You both were going to confess to something now.

———

A long day at the Hard Deck was finally done and you were ready to head home. You were walking in the rain without an umbrella when all of a sudden, you feel someone put their jacket over you. You turn around and find Bob there, soaking wet. 

Despite the awkward tension this morning, you smiled. “Hey.”

He mirrors your expression. “Hey.” 

The two of you start to walk in the rain in silence. “You sure you’re okay with being in the rain like that?” 

“Yeah, don’t want you to get sick,” he hesitates a bit before continuing. “Can I talk to you when we head back?”

“We can talk now.” You drag him to a nearby bus stop, hiding under it and sitting on the bench. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Are you afraid of flying?” He jumps right into it. 

“Yeah. I’m sorry it took years for me to tell you.” You look forward, facing the street. “I don’t even know why I never told you. I just thought it was a stupid fear, i guess. I mean, everyone tells me it’s safe and I know that. Hell, your whole job proves that the act of flying is safe for the most part. But I don’t know… the turbulence scares me. The feeling I get knowing I’m up at the air and can fall at any time.. it’s terrifying.”

Bob wraps an arm around your shoulder. “Hey, it’s not stupid. Things like that can happen. Sure, it’s safer than a car technically but even I had my fair share of accidents. Nat and I had to deal with a bird strike and got sent to the hospital after we ejected from our plane.”

“How come I didn’t know about this?!” Holy fuck, that sounds horrifying. 

“I keep things from you too. Didn’t want you to worry.” He lets out a breath. “I don’t like talking about it much. We both don’t. It’s something we like to repress in the back of our minds. I still have nightmares about it though.”

“How do you do it?”

“I’m not sure.” He lets go. You miss his touch. “I guess it’s because I like doing it. I love flying. At that moment, I was more worried about if whatever happened to me would keep me grounded. If it’d keep me from flying again.”

“You’re so dedicated to your dream. Even if it’s fucking horrifying.”You chuckle woefully. “That’s why I like you so much.”

“I like you too.” He blurts out. “I really like you.” Your eyes widened. “That’s what I was trying to tell you yesterday. It was a poor attempt of asking you out.”

“Oh.” Oh. Someone he likes. “Shit, sorry, Bob, I didn’t think-!”

“Hey, it’s okay.” He cups your cheek, making sure you’re looking at him. “You don’t have to feel like you owe me or anything. You don’t have to come with me to a trip with my mom. I feel like I was being too forward anyway.”

“But- but I want to go out with you. I like you too.” 

He grins. It’s the same one that could rival the sun. “Like… like me? Hangman said you got to “emphasize the like”.”

“Shut up, Robert.” You shove him playfully. “Quit hanging out with Seresin. He’ll give you horrible advice.”

“But you’d still like to go on a date with me. Technically, he was kind of helpful.”

“A broken clock really is right once in a while.” You notice the rain stopped. The sun was peeking through the clouds. As silly as it was, you like to think that Bob’s smile caused it somehow. “I’d love to go on a date with you. I could do one right now actually.”

“Isn’t it late?” 

“It can be a movie date! We can watch horrible romcoms until we pass out.” You stand up and extend a hand for him to take, only to catch him by surprise and grab his glasses. You place them on your face. “You up for it?”

He may not be able to see how you look like but even then, he could tell you were breathtaking.

“Yeah, I am.”