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A Hawkins summer night and a wrong errand gone right. Eddie couldnāt have predicted that when knocking on a neighbourās door, heād find you behind it.
A/N: hi again :) this is the first fic of mine Iām posting here. Thinking about making it a series, let me know your thoughts! Happy reading āā§Ā°š²Ö¼š¢
CW: minor swearing & a slightlyyy touch starved Eddie. P.S. youāre both nineteen!
WC: 3.9k
Friday, May 24th, 1985
9:00 PM
Summer vacation started at three-thirty that afternoon.
For the majority of Hawkins High, that was a milestone marked with parties fuelled by cheap beer out on the quarry, bonfires that left clothes smelling like smoke for days, loud radios blasting from truck beds, and three months spent lazily sleeping until noon.
For Eddie, it was another year added to his sentence, trapped in the same suffocating loop.
Another year of navigating those monotonous cinderblock hallways. Another year of feeling teachersā eyes bore into the back of his neck, waiting for him to mess up so they could jump at the chance to express their disdain through heavy-lidded disappointment. It also meant he was in for another year of whispers. Freak. Loser. Prick.
Eddie didnāt care so much about that part. Heād spent the majority of his time in education wearing the āfreakā title like a badge of honour. What actually stung, a simmering, bitter knot of shame deep within the pit of his stomach, was the reality of not graduating. Again. His milestone was marked by another ten harrowing months of being a ghost in a system he was well overdue to escape.
He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his denim vest, knuckles pressing hard against the fabric as the soles of his sneakers crunched down on the dark, loose gravel of Forest Hills. The stones snapped beneath his weight with a similar agitation that was vibrating tightly through his grinding teeth.
The air was thick and saturated with the oppressive, sticky heat of summer that trapped the scent of damp earth and petrol exhaust right at chin level.
Behind him, the trailer park was filled with the low-frequency hum of mundane static. Mismatched window units rattled in their frames, porch lights cast a dim, amber haze over patches of unkempt crabgrass, and the blue, flickering glow of television sets bled into the dark through open screen doors.
Somewhere down the row, a car radio was blasting Springsteen, the bass vibrating faintly against Eddieās shins.
A dog barked twice in the distance before being cut off by a voice and the slam of a door.
Eddie ignored all of it, his eyes fixated on the loose stones beneath his feet.
āShit.ā He muttered, kicking a jagged pebble and watching it skitter across the dirt until it vanished into the tall grass.
Wayne had picked a hell of a night to run out of groceries.
āYou got legs, donāt you?ā his uncle had grunted, his weight hardly shifting against the worn-out recliner when Eddie had pointed out that Bradleyās Big Buy had closed over an hour ago for the holiday weekend.
āGo see Bill.ā Wayne had added. āHe always keeps a freezer full of bulk meat. Tell āem Iāll square up with him on Tuesday. This chilli aināt gonna make itself.ā
So now here he was. Wandering the back end of the trailer park on a Friday night, ready to beg for raw meat like an overgrown errand boy.
Living the absolute nightmare dream.
The trailer he was heading for was tucked away in the very last row of the park. It was pushed so far back against the property line that the dense, black wall of the woods looked like it was swallowing the roof.
Bill Miller had been living there for as long as Eddie had been alive.
Bill was the self-identified mayor of the trailer park. He was the kind of guy who kept a rusty tin of Maxwell House full of equally rusty screws on his porch. He always had coupons for things nobody ever wanted.
More importantly, he was a fixture. The guy could always dig an obscure spice or spare fuse out of his cabinets.
Bill had also spent at least the last decade telling everyone that would listen of his plans to retire in Florida.
Last summer, he had promised heād be gone by Labor Day. The summer before that, it was Christmas. And the Christmas before that, it had been āas soon as the weather breaks.ā
Ultimately, everyone that knew Bill was aware that his escape to the Sunshine State was a local myth, unlikely to become a reality.
But as Eddie rounded the final bend where the gravel gave way to the dirt, his steps slowed.
For half of a second, he considered the unrealistic possibility that in his own misery, heād wandered straight out of the trailer park and into some pristine, upscale neighbourhood.
Typically, Billās yard was a scattered minefield of discarded car batteries and empty PBR cans. The metal steps leading to the door would groan under the mountain of accumulated junk, looking like they were on the verge of caving in at any time.
But tonight, the dirt path was swept clear of dead leaves and aluminium trash. The metal awning didnāt even sag anymore, sitting straight and sturdy against the trailerās frame.
The real shocker that had made Eddie pull up short, though, was the porch light.
For the first time in his life, the bulb wasnāt dead. It cast a thick, honey-coloured glow across the clean steps, cutting right through the dense, heavy dark of the surrounding woods and catching Eddie square in the face.
A faint metallic ring cut through the heavy drone of nearby cicadas. Eddie glanced up, his eyes catching a silver wind chime hanging from the edge of the roof, twisting lazily in the humid breeze.
Huh. Maybe the old man had finally gotten his act together and started fixing up the place before his retirement.
Eddie shook his head, clearing the thought. He was in too much of a sour mood to stand around psychoanalysing Billās choice of home decor for longer than he needed to.
Just get the meat. Go home. Listen to Wayne talk about the price of gas. Repeat until finally rotting out of Hawkins.
He climbed the steps, the wood surprisingly solid beneath his sneakers, and knocked three times against the door frame. The metal vibrated loudly in the quiet yard.
Silence.
Eddie thought about the possibility that Bill might have already passed out in his armchair. But then, a distinct sound drifted through the mesh of the screen. The soft, hurried pitter-patter of bare feet on linoleum.
From inside the dark trailer, a warm, amber light clicked on, illuminating the hallway inside and throwing a sharp silhouette against the screen. Then came the heavy, metallic clink of a brand new deadbolt sliding out of its housing.
The door swung backward, leaving only the thin screen wire between you. And suddenly, the relentless loop of self-pity that Eddie had been carrying around all day had dissolved into the stifling air.
You looked to be about his age, maybe a little younger, maybe not. The incandescent light from the living room spilled over your shoulders, basking you in a warm glow.
Through the screen door, Eddie could see the old, water-stained wallpaper belonging to Bill had been replaced with a fresh coat of cream paint, the hallway behind you stretching out tidied and bright.
For a long, agonising second, silence fell over the porch. Eddieās brain scrambled, throwing gears as it tried to make sense of the shift.
Pretty. It was a simple word, the first thought he could manage since you opened the door.
You blinked, your eyes squinting slightly against the brightness of the porch light as you tried to make out the tall figure looming in front of you.
The first thing you noticed was his wiry physique. Then his wild, tangled curls, and patches of denim. He was standing at your door wearing an expression on his face like he was just as confused to see you as you were him.
āCan I help you?ā You asked, your voice quiet and lacking the sharp edge of suspicion that he was used to whenever people talked to him.
āUh.ā Eddie stammered. He yanked his hands out of his pockets, gesturing vaguely in the air as he tried to force his voice into something casual.
āIām, uhā¦Iām looking for Bill.ā
A small flicker of confusion crossed over your face, your brow shifting before realisation took over.
āOh, Mr Miller? He moved.ā
Of course he had. Of course, after a decade of empty promises, the old bastard had finally high-tailed it out of Hawkins the one time he wasnāt looking.
He stared at you through the mesh of the screen door, his gaze lingering for a beat longer than what he knew was considered socially acceptable. You were wearing a loose camisole and lightweight cotton sleep shorts, and your hair was pulled back into a loose bun. The strands that clung to the sides of your neck indicated youād tied it up and forgotten about it a few hours ago.
His gaze dipped, catching the delicate line of your collarbones before mentally kicking himself.
āRight,ā Eddie managed, his voice dropping into a dry chuckle.
He was absolutely charming you, a regular Casanova. If Casanova was a lobotomised idiot that snapped his head upwards to fixate on a rusty screw at the top of the doorframe to avoid eye contact.
āWell, see, that kind of throws a bit of a wrench in the grand plan.ā He said, brave enough to look back down at you and wave a ringed hand in a dramatic circle.
āMy uncle is currently on a warpath to make chilli, and he sent me out on a scavenger hunt for a pound of ground beef. I was kinda hoping Bill would bail us out.ā
The moment the words cleared his teeth, he wanted to swallow them back down.
You looked at your own bare feet on the woven rug, then back up at him, a tired crease forming between your eyebrows as you tried to process his words.
Eddie closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, letting his head drop back with a defeated sigh.
āYeah, that sounded weird.ā
You laughed, but not in the way he expected. A real, soft huff broke past your lips. Not like the mocking sneers he got at school. It was light, making heat rise to the back of his neck.
āSorry.ā You admitted, your voice losing some of its tired friction as you leaned your forearm against the doorframe.
āItās just usually people come around asking for a cup of sugar.ā
āItās fine. Really.ā Eddie murmured, a small, sheepish grin flashed across his face, hoping that the sudden flush of heat to his neck and ears wasnāt a visible giveaway of his embarrassment.
He shifted his weight, his heel scraping against the step as he pointed a clumsy thumb back over his shoulder towards the dark yard.
āIāll just get out of your hair, cereal for dinner isnāt that bad, anyway.ā
āNo, itās fine,ā you said quickly, stopping him before he could turn around and descend the steps. āDonāt go, I donāt think Iā¦you said it was chilli you were making?ā
Eddie stiffened slightly. He looked back down at you, the wild tangle of his hair casting shadows of untamed ringlets across his face.
āUh, yeah,ā he said, the theatrical cadence creeping back into his tone to mask his fluster. āWell, my uncleās attempt at chilli. But heās a proud man, so I try not to critique the family chef.ā
āIs it just the two of you? I donāt have any raw ground beef. But I do have a container of leftover chilli sitting in my freezer from last night. It would feed two people and youāre more than welcome to take it.ā
āWoah, hold on,ā he blurted out, his hands flying up in a quick, dismissive wave. āNo way, I canāt just rob you of your dinner. Thatās gotta be against the rules of neighbourly etiquette, and Iām already on my second strike.ā
A small smile played at the corner of your mouth as you leaned further into the doorframe.
āIt isnāt robbery,ā you countered as your voice dropped into a softer, persuasive tone as you unlatched the screen door. The wire mesh swung outward, finally clearing the barrier between you both. āI made a massive batch yesterday before my shift, and honestly, if somebody doesnāt take it off my hands, itāll just sit in the back of my freezer until it gets freezer burn. Youād actually be doing me a favour.ā
He looked down at you through the dark fringe of his curls, his palms were clammy, and if he knew it would be you that opened the door tonight, he mightāve made more of an effort to brush out his bedhead before he came. Still, it wouldāve been rude to deny it now.
āWell, far be it from me to let perfectly good chilli go to waste.ā He said, trying to summon something close to easygoing warmth.
He shifted his feet on the top step, dropping his hands back towards his sides but staying firmly rooted outside on the porch.
āLead the way, saviour.ā
Eddie had never previously been inside of Billās trailer, but heād stood on the threshold enough times to know what it offered. It was a bleak view of wood-veneered walls and a stale breeze that reeked of cheap tobacco.
What he could smell now was the crisp scent of laundry soap mixed in with the powdery sweetness of Loveās Baby Soft.
He stayed perfectly still on the woven rug by the door, feeling entirely too big and cluttered to enter your space.
āItās just through here.ā Your voice drifted back to him.
āUh, yeah, got it.ā
He moved deliberately, taking careful strides across the floor. His shoes trekked warily until he reached the edge of the kitchen floor.
He didnāt dare cross into your actual kitchen. Instead, he leaned one hip cautiously against the counter divider, his hands immediately retreating back into his pockets to still the twitch of his fingers.
The layout of your trailer was almost the exact reflection of his own. The front door opened straight into the living room, with a narrow kitchen separated only by a low, laminate breakfast bar.
You were standing by the open refrigerator, the pale appliance light washing over your frame as you reached into the freezer compartment.
āSoā¦how long have you been around? I usually notice when someone moves into this little corner of paradise.ā Eddie said, clearing his throat in an attempt to break the silence.
You turned your head slightly to look over your shoulder before rotating back to resume your search in the freezer.
āUm, a little over six weeks ago, maybe? I just started over at Hawkins Memorial.ā
His curiosity piqued instantly. A job at the hospital likely explained why he hadnāt crossed paths with you around the park.
āOh, yeah? Youāre a nurse?ā He asked, a faint, surprised blink showing under his curls.
āI am.ā You replied, your voice muffled slightly by the freezer door.
āI passed my board exams a few months back.ā
The word exams alone was enough to hit him as if it were a physical bruise.
He swallowed that bitterness, pushing it down before it had the chance to settle, and gave a tight nod.
āThatāsā¦wow.ā He said, a lopsided grin finally breaking out through his remaining nerves.
āThat must feel cool, knowing that youāre certified to save lives.ā
You hummed half-heartedly. āI wouldnāt say that. Turns out that to no oneās surprise, the rookie always gets stuck with the double shifts.ā You admitted in a state of depletion. The energy that it took to be guarded felt entirely out of your reach, making you talk to, and invite in this stranger with transparency you wouldnāt otherwise risk.
And that was when the silence of the room finally caught up to Eddie with belated awareness.
There was no television humming in the background, no radio playing. The only sound in the entire trailer was the low, rhythmic thrum of the old fridge compressor.
The air was profoundly still, the atmosphere unmistakably one that belonged to a person that had been fast asleep before his knocks on the door had disturbed you.
His eyes lifted, tracking you as you searched through heavy containers in the freezer. Your shoulders were slumped under the loose straps of your top, and you let out a long, slow breath that looked like it had taken your entire remaining reserve of energy to exhale.
āOh, shit.ā Eddie said quickly, his voice dropping into a deep register that offered an instant apology. āDid I wake you up?ā
You paused, your hand hovering over the frozen container of chilli as you turned your head to look at him.
āHm? Oh, no, youāre fine. I hadnāt fallen asleep just yet.ā You lied, your voice coated in languor.
You pulled the Tupperware from the freezer and turned around, letting the door close behind you before setting the frosted tub down onto the counter between the two of you with a dull thud.
āBesides, Iām happy I could help. Other than my co-workers, Iāve not really met anyone yet.ā
Eddie was skeptical. With all the other context clues, he knew the hurried pitter-patter heād heard through the door earlier had to have been you, springing up from deep sleep to answer to your visitor of the evening.
But a crooked smile pulled at the corner of his mouth anyway, recognising your white lie as an attempt to make him feel better.
āYeah, Forest Hills doesnāt exactly have a bustling social scene. Honestly, Iām just surprised the rest of the row hasnāt come knocking with torches and pitchforks yet, demanding to know where youāve kidnapped and hidden old Bill.ā
A flicker of amusement broke across your face, your eyes crinkling as you laughed softly.
A surge of pride coursed through Eddie at the sight, satisfaction pushing through his nerves.
āHey, okay, I actually met him once right before I moved in,ā you countered playfully. Your fingers worked to loosen the stubborn, frosted lid of the tub so it would be easier for him to open later. āHe told me he was packing up to retire in Panama City Beach. Which is kinda funny, because thatās where I just came up from.ā
Eddie just looked at you, the idea of leaving a coastal bliss for Hawkins seeming entirely backwards. He had a million different questions pressing against his teeth, but given your sleepy daze and getting self-conscious that he may now be overstaying his welcome, he decided to keep it small.
āYouāre from Florida?ā He asked, voice lowering into a curious murmur.
Your hands left the plastic lid of the tub, your shoulders tensing subtly. It was a barely there shift. A quick and defensive tightening of your posture that didnāt escape his notice.
You shook your head, dismissing the tension with a tired shrug.
āColorado.ā You corrected quietly.
āItās a long story.ā
Your eyes widened just a fraction as you looked back up at him from the counter.
āIām Y/N, by the way.ā You said softly.
Eddie blinked, realising heād been standing in your kitchen for five minutes like a total creep. Had he seriously not introduced himself yet?
Wanting to salvage what was left of his pride before he lost it, he pulled one hand from his pocket and offered it to you across the counter. You noticed the deep, etched skull pattern in the silver ring on his index finger as it caught in the light.
āIām Eddie.ā He told you, his previous theatricality bleeding out of his posture.
Your movements were unhurried as you reached out to take his hand. Your fingers slipped over the smooth silver of his rings as you let your palm meet his. It was a quick touch, casual and polite, not lasting any longer than a simple greeting.
But the warmth of your hand made him ache from a place deep within him that had gone neglected for far too long. The simple weight of your palm felt like less of a standard greeting and more like a sudden, grounding shock.
Before he could even finish registering the comfort of your skin, the contact broke. You pulled your hand back, leaving his palm feeling colder in the exposed air than it had previously.
āWell, Eddie,ā you murmured, your hand retreating to tap against the top of the frozen Tupperware, sliding it an inch closer to him. āDonāt let your uncle burn the chilli.ā
A low, breathy chuckle escaped him, feeling warmer and more relaxed than he had been all night as he lifted the cold container from the counter.
āIāll protect it with my life.ā He promised playfully, his dark eyes lingered on yours for just a beat longer before he began to back away towards the living room.
He cradled the cold container securely against his chest, stepping back onto your entryway rug as you followed him down to see him out.
In the doorway, he stopped, turning back with his hand on the frame. The sticky night air was waiting on the other side of the wire mesh, but he wasnāt in any rush to step back into it.
āSeriously, Y/N, thank you,ā he said earnestly as he backed onto the porch. āAnd if you ever need a thing or two, my uncle and I are down at number 53. Weāre pretty useless unless you have a problem with your car, but hey, if youāre ever down for a world-class, face-melting guitar solo at unsociable hours, Iām your guy. First ticket is free.ā
You giggled, the sound warm and relaxed in the doorway as you watched him descend the porch steps. You leaned your shoulder back against the wall, matching his newfound confidence with a lazy tilt of your chin.
āIāll keep that in mind, Eddie. But if you play loud enough to wake me when Iām on standby for six in the morning, Iāll come over there with the biggest syringe I can find at the hospital, and I will find a use for it.ā You smiled fondly.
Eddie let out a sharp, delighted bark of a laugh, his eyes brightening under his curls as he placed a hand over his chest in mock terror.
āYeah, alright. Not a morning person, duly noted.ā Grinning, he stepped backward onto the last step to look over at you one more time. āIāll keep the volume down, I promise.ā
āNight, Eddie.ā You murmured softly, flashing him one last smile before pulling the screen door shut and closing the main door behind it.
āā¦night.ā He stood there for a moment, the humid silence of the park rushing in to reclaim him. But the heavy, suffocating weight heād been carrying earlier didnāt follow him.
Turning on his heel, Eddie jogged down the gravel path with a sudden, electric pep in his stride that was the polar opposite of the sluggish, miserable trudge that brought him here. The sticky air didnāt feel like a heavy weighted blanket anymore, it felt alive, vibrating with the leftover echo of your sleepy laughter.
His fingers began to drum a triumphant rhythm against the frosted sides of the Tupperware, cradling it like a trophy.
A massive, unbothered grin covered his face as he walked under the dark canopy of the trees.
Today had been an absolute shit show. Still trapped in senior year, still the town freak, and had no idea how he was going to overcome the upcoming semester he inevitably would return to. But as he looked down at his right hand, the palm still retaining the phantom warmth of your skin, none of that seemed to matter quite as much as before.
Sure, Hawkins might have been a dead-end trap designed to keep him left behind, but tonight, the universe had accidentally handed him a massive upgrade to the neighbourhood, and he was entirely prepared to break every single rule of neighbourly etiquette to ensure he stayed on your radar.
āListen, man, Iām not complaining,ā Gareth started, a little too animated for how early it was, āI got driven home by an absolute babe.ā
āIām sensing a but,ā Eddie murmured as he slammed his locker shut before stepping into the early morning sea of grumpy teenagers.
āBut,ā Gareth continued immediately, pointing at him accusingly, āyou gotta stop leaving Jeff and me behind, man. Not cool.ā
Jeff snorted loudly behind them. āYeah, dude, you vanished so fast I thought you got kidnapped.ā
Eddie pressed his lips together to keep the smirk already tugging at the corners of his mouth from giving him way, settling instead for a quiet tsk of feigned annoyance. He didnāt bother replying as he led his little group of black sheep further down the hall.
Instead, he let the noise of the hallway fill the silence while his mind drifted back to the events of last night. And despite his best efforts, that smirk found its way onto his lips anyway.
Ever the observant one ā unlike Gareth, who was operating purely on horny teenage instinct ā Jeff noticed it immediately the second he fell into step beside Eddie.
āYeah,ā he breathed out dramatically, jerking his head towards Gareth as he leaned down just enough to look at Eddie properly. āHeās a goner.ā
Garethās brows shot up as he leaned in for another look at him.
āJesus,ā he snorted. āSheās got you wrapped around her finger, donāt she?ā
Eddie rolled his eyes, though the warmth climbing up the tips of his ears betrayed him instantly.
āFuck off.ā
āNo, seriously,ā Jeff continued, smacking a hand against Eddieās shoulder while a mischievous grin tugged at his lips. āIāve never seen you like this. Itās a good look on you, buddy.ā
Eddieās ringed fingers twitched around the handle of his metal lunchbox as he fought the urge to roll his eyes again and throw some snarky comment back at them.
Instead, he let the endless blabbering of his best friends fade into the background noise of the hallway while his eyes wandered over the sea of students around him, his mind drifting elsewhere entirely.
This morning had been a good one.
Birds had chirped softly from the electricity wires high above the trailer park while the quiet dripping of the coffee machine filled the delicate silence inside the trailer. Eddie had spent most of it half-awake, just letting his eyes wander across your face as you slept beside him ā taking in the soft breaths leaving your nose and the way every muscle in your face had relaxed completely against his chest.
Not even Wayne nearly ripping the front door off its hinges on his way bay inside had managed to pull a harsh reaction out of him.
It had been a little after six when Eddie finally gently nudged you awake, the sky outside already splitting open with warm streaks of sunshine, and honestly? It almost pained him to do it ā which was a realization he still wasnāt entirely comfortable unpacking.
But heād figured you should probably get home to get ready for school, and besides, he wanted to give you the option of driving your own car instead of being stuck with him again.
Still, the image of your sleepy blinking, eyelashes brushing softly against your cheeks while you tried to wake up, had carved itself a permanent place somewhere inside his brain.
And frankly? That scared the living shit out of him; how easily he could slip into this wholeā¦ thing the two of you had going on.
Eddie was brought back to the present when his shoulder accidentally slammed into another student.
āWatch it, freak,ā someone muttered while brushing past him.
āYeah,ā Gareth snorted. āLover boyās not mentally present right now.ā
Somewhere near the end of the hall, Nathalie sucked thoughtfully on her bottom lip while one of her brows slowly arched upward as she stood in front of a corkboard, pretending to read one of the random flyers pinned to it.
Gareth froze for a second before quickly clearing his throat.
Then he muttered something about a blonde babe looking lost under his breath and immediately veered off in her direction.
Eddie barely seemed to notice ā but if he did, he wasnāt particularly interested in it.
Beside him, Jeff pursed his lips thoughtfully like he was turning something over in his head before nudging Eddie with his elbow and jerking his head back towards the entrance doors.
āWanna smoke one more time before we get tortured?ā he asked, already patting his pockets for his cigarettes.
He pretended to think about it for a second before finally nodding and turning back towards the entrance, Jeff falling into step beside him.
The hallway had emptied out considerably in the few minutes theyād spent standing there, most students finally dragging themselves to class as the first warning bell echoed faintly through the building.
By the time they stepped back outside, the morning air felt even warmer than before.
The two of them made their way towards the picnic table ā far enough from the entrance to avoid attracting the attention of any faculty member wandering around in search of students skipping class.
Jeff tossed his battered pack of Marlboros towards Eddie before hopping up onto the tabletop beside him. He flicked his lighter open and lit the cigarette hanging between his lips, squinting his eyes when he felt the flame a little too close from his face for his liking.
The two of them sat there quietly for a moment, smoke curling lazily into the warm morning air while chirping birds overhead filled the silence between them.
āSo, whatāre you gonna do about it?ā
Eddie furrowed his brows slightly as he pulled a cigarette from the pack. āThe hell you talkinā about?ā
Jeff snorted softly around his cigarette before taking another drag.
āCāmon man,ā he muttered, smoke still trapped in his lungs. āIām not stupid.ā
That made Eddie still for half a second before he leaned back on his free hand.
The morning air sat warm and still around them while late students trickled through the parking lot in the distance, the faint rumble of car engines drifting across the school grounds.
āThe fuckās that supposed to mean?ā he muttered after a while, finally lighting the cigarette between his lips.
Jeff only shrugged one shoulder. āIt means, youāve been weird as Hell lately.ā
Eddie just snorted softly around his cigarette, muttering something about Jeff needing to stop analysing his bullshit all the time.
āNah, man, Iām serious.ā His best friend pointed at him with the two fingers holding his cigarette. āYou disappeared last night, and this morning you come back looking like youāve received divine revelation.ā
āThatās just my face.ā
āYou can bullshit me all you want,ā Jeff replied, bringing the cigarette back to his lips for a quick drag, ābut you canāt bullshit yourself.ā
Eddie rolled his eyes automatically, though it lacked most of its usual bite, and tapped ash onto the dry soil beside his sneakers as his jaw tightened slightly.
āSheās justā¦ā he started before trailing off. āYāknow?ā
Jeff glanced sideways at him immediately, catching the hesitation and the way Eddie pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek.
āYou sound like a fucking thirteen-year-old trying to describe his first crush,ā Jeff chuckled.
Eddie lamely flipped him off before busying himself with his cigarette again.
The thing was, he knew his best friend wasnāt wrong ā and that was exactly the problem.
Because heād done this before ā the hooking up, the lingering stares during sets, messy almost-somethings that burned out long before they ever even got the chance to matter.
But this?
This felt dangerously close to mattering ā and he wasnāt used to that.
His fingers tightened slightly around the cigarette while his eyes drifted out towards the empty football field beyond the parking lot fence.
āShe liked you too, yāknow,ā Jeff muttered before taking one last drag. āCould see it on her face when we played.ā
āYeah,ā he muttered back, almost absentmindedly letting the words slips out before he could stop them. āThatās kinda what scares me.ā
Eddie still carried the conversation around his head long after he and Jeff had parted ways towards their own classes.
Chairs had already stopped scraping against the tiled floor by the time he stepped into Mr. Sullivanās classroom, though class hadnāt started just yet.
He let out a quiet sigh as his fingers dragged through his hair while he made his way towards the back of the room where he usually sat.
The bell rang just as Nathalie jokingly shoved you through the doorway, the two of you laughing about something incomprehensible with a grumpy Mr. Sullivan trailing closely behind.
The loud teenage noise filling the classroom didnāt dull immediately when the teacher walked in, but something inside Eddieās mind did the second he laid his eyes on you.
Whatever words youād been about to say to Nathalie died on the tip of your tongue when your eyes flicked towards him. Instead, you swallowed softly before offering him a small, shy smile as you slipped into your usual seat.
Your hair shifted over your shoulders when you turned back for one quick glance at him before facing forward again as the scratching sound of chalk against the blackboard filled the room.
You hadnāt brush it, or applied whatever the Hell Eddie thought girls usually used to make it look all neat and perfect. Instead, youād left it messy ā like it had been when you woke up beside him this morning.
And just like that, Jeffās words came back to haunt him again.
Unfortunately for Eddie, lunchtime only made things worse.
Jeff didnāt even have to look up from his disgusting sandwich to make Eddie feel painfully called out ā and neither did Gareth, who seemed far more enthralled with a certain blonde sitting a few feet away than with whatever was sitting on his lunch tray.
Honestly, Dustin and his annoyingly observant eyes were more than enough.
āSo, like, are you guys a thing now, or what?ā Dustin muttered casually before shoving a handful of cold fries into his mouth.
Jeff finally looked up at that, chewing slowly while his hips twitched around an amused grin.
āWhat? No,ā Eddie coughed out immediately ā a little too quickly. āJesus, Henderson.ā
The boys exchanged smug looks instantly, completely ignoring the daggers Eddie shot at them across the table.
He opened his mouth to throw an insult back at them when the sound of loud laughter cut through the cafeteria noise.
His head turned before he could stop himself.
You sat across from Nathalie, absentmindedly picking at your food with the plastic fork in your hand while the blonde dramatically waved her hands around like it was absolutely necessary to do so while she rambled on about whatever story had currently taken over her brain.
The sunlight spilling through the cafeteria windows caught in your hair as you glanced around the room over your shoulder ā eyes lazily scanning the neighbouring tables until they landed on him.
And just like that, your entire face softened.
Fuck.
And apparently so did his, judging by the way Jeffās eyes suddenly glimmered a little more than usual; the insufferable grin spreading across his face certainly didnāt help either.
āDonāt even,ā Eddie muttered quickly before swallowing hard.
Jeff only snorted under his breath. āYouāre both disgustingly obvious.ā
Eddie ignored him completely, though the warmth creeping up the back of his neck betrayed him instantly.
āYou too, Loverboy,ā Jeff added while nudging Gareth with his elbow after noticing he was still openly staring at the blonde without an ounce of shame.
Meanwhile, two tables down diagonally, Nathalie continued waving her hands around while complaining about the fact that you and Eddie had forced her to take the remaining two thirds of Corroded Coffin.
Well, complaining wasnāt exactly what she was doing ā although she clearly liked to think she was. In reality, there was a new glimmer in her eyes youād never really seen before, accompanied by a small smile she kept unsuccessfully trying to brush away.
Your hand curled around your water bottle while her voice faded in and out in the background, your attention too busy stealing quick glances over your shoulder instead.
āAre you even listening to me?ā she sighed dramatically before tossing a cold fry at you.
It hit right beneath your clavicle before dropping soundlessly onto your lap ā but it was enough to pull you back into the conversation.
āOf course I am,ā you mumbled with a soft furrow between your brows.
āNo, you arenāt.ā
āYou were pretending not to like Garethās cologne,ā you replied matter-of-factly with an arched brow.
Nathalie froze for half a second, her eyes widening slightly.
āNo, I wasnāt,ā she answered a little too quickly.
āYes, you were,ā you laughed softly.
Her pale eyes flickered briefly towards your neck before returning to your face again.
āYeah, well,ā she muttered grumpily, clearly displeased that youād called her out, āI didnāt let a vampire abuse my neck like some people.ā
Now it was your turn to freeze in your seat before quickly averting your eyes.
You blinked a few times too many while your brain scattered desperately for some kind of snarky remark to throw back at her.
āNo comment,ā you mumbled back.
Her eyes flickered back towards the bruises before drifting over to the other table and then back again, her brows pulling into a deep furrow.
She looked back down at her cold fries like they held all the answered to the questions she wasnāt sure she actually wanted to ask you.
āWould it be weird,ā she started softly, almost hesitantly, āfor, yāknowā¦ā
She pushed her tray away with obvious disgust written across her face before her expression softened again.
āFor me to be a little worried about you?ā
That pulled your eyes back to her face immediately.
āWhy would you be worried about me?ā you asked nervously. āIām fine.ā
āYeah, I can clearly see that,ā she absentmindedly pointed towards your neck before rolling her eyes jokingly, like that might somehow soften the weight of her next words.
She leaned back in her chair, rolling her shoulders as she carefully considered what to say next.
āIām just scared people are gonna treat you differently,ā she mumbled quickly under her breath, almost like she was ripping off a bandage in one quick pull. She noticed the way your shoulders tensed immediately ā not anxiously, but defensively.
āDonāt be ridiculous, Nat.ā
āIām not. Justā¦ listen,ā she muttered softly while reaching across the table to intertwine her fingers with yours, her thumb brushing gentle circles against the back of your hand. āHawkins is cruel to girls.ā
Her gaze lingered on you for a moment longer.
āPeople donāt care what boys do,ā she sighed before letting her eyes drift towards the Hellfire table. āBut a girl like you? Iām scared theyāll turn you into a story.ā
Her thumb continued its slow movements against your skin while she let the weight of her words settle between you for a moment longer.
āBut, I can also tell youāre serious about this, about him,ā she added quietly, the look in her eyes softening once again. āAnd I saw the way he looked at you yesterday, too.ā
The fluorescent lights overhead were too harsh on her features, but somehow, they still couldnāt harden the gentleness she only seemed to reserve for you. For a moment, neither of you spoke, and the silence between you filled itself with the loud teenage noise surrounding your table.
Nathalieās teeth found her bottom lip when she noticed the quiet, gradual way your expression fell.
And she wasnāt the only one who noticed. Eddie did too ā even from where he sat.
He could feel the start of something uncomfortable settling somewhere behind his ribs the second he noticed the quick glance Nathalie sent towards his table.
But then your eyes slowly found him instead, and the soft smile you gave him when your gazes locked again was more than enough to quiet the uneasy buzzing beneath his skin.
Nathalieās words continued echoing somewhere deep in your mind even after the four classes that followed lunch period ā even with the hallways buzzing with teenage chatter, squeaking sneakers against tiled floors, and entirely too much hairspray for a Wednesday afternoon.
You knew her words came not only from concern, but love too, and because of that, they didnāt settle quite as wrong in the pit of your stomach as youād expected them to. That didnāt make you safe from your nasty habit of overthinking everything, though.
You flinched when you accidentally yanked a little too hard on your locker door, sending a book and far too many loose papers spilling onto the floor. Like the imaginary eyes youād felt following you around all day werenāt enough, now you had actual fucking people staring while you let out an exasperated sigh and dropped to your knees.
The first thing that came into view were the harsh reflections of the fluorescent lights overhead ā honestly, they hurt your eyes ā before you tilted your head back and found yourself staring at a familiar mess of dark curls.
āB plus on an algebra test?ā Eddie scoffed while reaching down to grab one of the papers that had escaped your locker. āWhy isnāt this hanging on your familyās refrigerator?ā
You huffed out a quiet laugh while taking the thin stack of papers from his hands.
āBecause itās not a big deal,ā you mumbled back while shoving everything carelessly inside your locker again.
āSweetheart, if I was getting anything above a C,ā Eddie started, another soft scoff slipping from his lips, āIād be buying drinks for everyone at the Hide Out.ā
You rolled your eyes at him while putting away the books you didnāt need to bring home, replacing them with the ones you did. Eddie shifted his weight awkwardly as his eyes flickered around the hallway.
āSoā¦ā
āSo,ā you echoed, a soft smile slowly creeping onto your lips.
āSpeaking of drinksā¦ā He forced a cough into his fist when he felt his voice slipping somewhere it definitely wasnāt supposed to. āDo you, likeā¦ā
You adjusted the strap of your bag on your shoulder before closing your locker and turning back towards him again.
His hand stayed tucked deep inside the front pockets of his jeans while he awkwardly nodded to himself, like the absentminded movement might somehow help him force the words out.
āDo you wanna get something to drink?ā he asked quietly under his breath. āLikeā¦ I dunno, a milkshake or something?ā
Eddieās eyes flickered nervously from you to the ground and back up again while he bit awkwardly at the inside of his cheek, suddenly realising heād just asked you out ā in quite possibly the lamest way imaginable, too.
āThat sounded pathetic, didnāt it?ā He visibly cringed at himself, his nose scrunching as he looked somewhere over your shoulder instead of directly at you.
You, on the other hand, nervously bit down on your lower lip while his words continued echoing through your head.
āNo, it didnāt,ā you answered softly, your gaze dropping away from him when the warmth creeping across the tips of your ears started spreading down your neck. āIād love to.ā
Someone near the end of the hallway suddenly shouted something just as Eddie opened his mouth to answer you, pulling both of your attention away for a brief moment.
Lockers continued slamming in the background, along with the obnoxious squeak of brand-new sneakers against tile, while Eddie let the words die on his tongue instead. He dragged a ringed hand through his hair ā a nervous habit he never quite managed to shake, even after all the times his curls had gotten caught around his rings and yanked painfully. Your eyes drifted back towards him just in time to catch the funny face he pulled after accidentally tugging a few strands too hard.
āAh, fuck,ā hissed quietly while scowling at absolutely nothing in particular.
The sight in front of you pulled a small, disbelieving laugh out of you ā one that only worsened when you noticed the soft pout forming on his lips while he untangled the strands of hair caught around his rings.
āSo,ā you murmured once youād finally gotten your laughter under control, āwhat time were you thinking?ā
Eddieās eyes widened slightly as his eyebrows shot upwards.
āI, uhā¦ā he trailed off before scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck. āI was kinda thinkingā¦ now?
āNow?ā you laughed, already gesturing down at your clothes. āYou donāt even want me to change into something a little nicer?ā
āI couldnāt care less about your outfit, Sweetheart,ā he murmured back, a soft grin tugging at his lips.
You hummed softly before raising a brow at him.
āThatās not what you said yesterday.ā
He slowly looked away, his teeth catching his bottom lip as warmth into his cheeks at the memory of the previous night. After a second, he let go of it and pursed his lips instead.
āYāknow what?ā Eddie scoffed softly while finally looking back at you again. āI got nothing to say to that.ā
That pulled another quiet laugh out of you while you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Your fingers tightened slightly around the strap of your bag.
āFollow me back home?ā you murmured softly, already starting to walk towards the main exit leading out to the parking lot. āOr am I supposed to drive myself home tonight?ā
The deep rumble of Eddieās van died the moment he turned the key before glancing over at you.
āYou ready to terrorise the diner?ā
Your eyes had already been on him, too busy taking in the way the neon lights bled through the windshield and across his face, painting his pale skin in shades of pink, orange, and bright red. It made you wonder how heād look on a real stage ā one big enough for him to thrive even more than he already did at the Hide Out.
āNever been more ready,ā you replied while forcing yourself back into the moment.
The harsh slam of the vanās creaking doors echoed loudly into the open air, starting a few birds from their comfortable spots atop the electrical wires as the two of you made your way towards the diner entrance. The small bell above the door chimed softly when Eddie pulled it open for you, holding it there with a dramatic flourish of his free arm and a low milady slipping from his lips.
The old Wurlitzer tucked against the back wall hummed softly in the background, filling the diner with some cheesy love song from the fifties while the occasional burst of laughter and clatter of plates blended into the warm noise around you.
āYou got a favourite seat?ā you asked while stepping further inside, immediately getting hit with the thick scent of French fries and the faint underlying smell of industrial cleaning supplies.
āAt the back there,ā Eddie replied, pointing a ringed finger towards the vinyl booths tucked near the jukebox.
The two of you slid into the booth furthest from the windows, the old leather squeaking softly underneath you movements while a waitress somewhere behind the counter shouted another order into the kitchen. The song currently humming through the diner crackled softly as it came to an end, only for another to slowly drift through the staticky speakers a second later.
Your brows lifted slightly when Eddieās ringed fingers immediately started tapping against the tabletop in perfect rhythm with the beat ā not absentmindedly, either. Knowingly.
āWhat?ā he asked after catching you staring.
āJust didnāt expect you to know this song,ā you replied with a quiet laugh.
Eddie scoffed dramatically, pretending youād just personally offended him. āOf course I know it. Itās the Hollies.ā
Your lips parted slightly in surprise before small smile slowly spread across your face.
āThat one band I played yesterday?ā you laughed softly under your breath. āYou actually listen to them?ā
āCāmon, Sweetheart,ā Eddie tsked while shaking his head jokingly. āShow some respect.ā
His fingers kept drumming lazily against the tabletop while he leaned further back into the booth.
āBesides, good musicās good music,ā he shrugged simply. āI contain multitudes.ā
That pulled another laugh out from you.
āA random ā what is it, sixties ā love song?ā One of your brows lifted playfully. āYouāre kinda ruining your whole spooky metalhead reputation right know, yāknow.ā
āSweetheart,ā Eddie started dramatically while placing a hand over his chest, āmetalheads are allowed emotional depth too.ā
āIs that what this is?ā you teased. āEmotional depth?ā
āNo,ā he deadpanned immediately. āThis is me being devastatingly cultured, something we unfortunately cannot say about you.ā
Your laughter mixed softly with the music drifting through the diner, and for a moment, Eddie found himself growing quiet again. Not awkwardly ā just enough to watch the way the warm amber lights overhead reflected in your eyes while you smiled at him from across the table. And somewhere underneath the diner lights, with What Kind of Girl Are You still humming softly through the speakers, Eddie realised this felt dangerously close to the kind of night he wouldnāt forget anytime soon.
The waitress finally wandered over with a tired ā yet somehow still welcoming ā smile and a notepad tucked against her apron.
āWhat can I getcha?ā
Eddie barely glanced at the menu before looking up at her. āChocolate milkshake.ā
āPictured you as a strawberry guy.ā Your brows lifted slightly.
He gasped dramatically. āPinkās definitely not metal, Sweetheart. Cāmon, now.ā
āNeither are the Hollies.ā
The waitress snorted softly under her breath before scribbling the order down. āOne milkshake or two?ā
Eddie visibly short-circuited ā you could practically see the exact moment his brain stopped functioning behind his eyes.
āCan I get a vanilla shake, please?ā you answered softly before he could completely spiral.
āYou betcha,ā the waitress replied absentmindedly while finishing the order. āBe right back.ā
The Hollies had taken it upon themselves to fill the soft silence that settled between the two of you for a little while longer, the playful, teasing melody lingering gently over the table.
Eddie absentmindedly played with his rings ā turning one around his finger before pulling it off completely, only to slide it back on again a second later. There wasnāt any pressure lingering between the two of you anymore ā no pressure to act a certain way or force conversation into every quiet moment just to fill the space. Justā¦ comfortable silence ā the kind where two people simply existed beside each other without needing anything more.
āSo, vanilla, huh?ā Eddie said after a few seconds, something dangerously close to mischief settling in your eyes.
āIf youāre about to call me boring,ā you deadpanned while narrowing your eyes at him, āI will kick you.ā
āYouāre everything but,ā he murmured under his breath ā just quietly enough that the waitress couldnāt hear it when she returned balancing two tall glasses in her hands.
Eddie nodded faintly in appreciation when the waitress placed both milkshakes down onto the table before disappearing again almost immediately. His dark eyes stayed glued to the perfect milky swirls sitting in front of you.
āWhat?ā
āOh, yāknow,ā he started while softly pursing his lips to stop himself from smiling, ājust wondering if it tastes as boring as it sounds.ā
āDonāt knock it until youāve tried it.ā
Before you could kick him, or he could stop myself, Eddieās fingers curled around the short stem of your milkshake glass and pulled it closer before taking a quick sip from your straw.
He let the taste settle on his tongue for a second before swallowing. And then he froze; not because of the brain freeze, either.
āā¦I donāt know why I just did that.ā
One of your brows lifted slightly while your lips curled into an amused little smirk.
āWell?ā you murmured teasingly. āIs it boring?ā
āNot in the slightest,ā he answered after a moment, his eyes still fixed on yours.
Eddieās fingers drummed lazily against the steering wheel while the radio played quietly in the background. The neon diner lights had long since been replaced by the soft amber glow of the sunset streaks stretching across the windshield while he drove with an unusual kind of calmness settling over him.
Heād noticed the way youād lazily kicked off your shoes and stretched your legs across the dashboard, your head softly bobbing along to whatever song was currently playing ā one he could barely hear properly anymore after the years of playing music without bothering to protect his ears. His gaze kept flickering between the road and you, stealing quick glances while the glowing fifties sign slowly disappeared into the distance behind you.
āDo you, uhā¦ wanna go home yet?ā he asked carefully, almost like he wasnāt entirely sure he was allowed to interrupt the comfortable silence the two of you had fallen into.
You slouched a little further into the vinyl seat before finally dragging your gaze away from the passing window outside.
āNot really, no,ā you admitted without even taking a second to think about it.
That pulled a small smile from Eddie while he nodded faintly to a beat only he could hear, his fingers tapping softly against the steering wheel along with it. The windows had been rolled down, letting the early-summer evening air drift through the van. It felt noticeably softer now than it had that morning while Eddie drove the two of you in the opposite direction of your house. His curls blew carelessly in the wind while his free hand briefly stopped tapping against the steering wheel to pull down the visor.
Storefronts and average buildings blurred into grey smudges that slowly gave way to stretches of green the further Eddie drove from downtown, until the loamy scent of wet earth and mineral-laced air drifted in through the open windows before Lovers Lake finally revealed itself ahead.
Gravel crunched softly underneath the tires when Eddie finally pulled the van to a stop near the edge of the lake. He killed the engine and, for a moment, the sudden quiet rang loudly in your ears before the slow croaking of frogs gradually drifted into the foreground instead.
āCāmon,ā he murmured after a while, already pushing open his door.
The back doors of the van creaked loudly when he pulled them apart, revealing a wooden crate stuffed with old blankets, a concerning amount of empty soda cans shoved into a grocery bag, and the lingering smell of cigarette smoke and worn leather. He reached for one of the blankets along with his trusted metal lunchbox before tilting his head back slightly, silently coaxing you to follow him while he nudged van doors shut again and started towards the docks.
āSo, I was thinking,ā he started slowly, turning his head just enough to glance at you over his shoulder, āhow about I teach you how to roll, hm?ā
Eddie stopped a few feet from the edge of the pier before setting his lunchbox down with a soft metallic clank. He unfolded the blanket and spread it across the wooden planks as neatly as he could, despite the occasional breeze trying to fold the corners back over themselves.
The green, damp tang of early-summer lake water felt stronger now, faint hints of fish and algae lingering in the air around you while the vivid trills of crickets rose and fell in soft waves through the trees. Warm streaks of sunset still glimmered from behind the thick trees, though somehow they still managed to find their way across Eddieās face when he sat down and patted the free space in front of him before reaching for his lunchbox. You sat cross-legged in front of him, your eyes lingering on his face while you took in the way the golden streaks of sundown made him look even softer than the diner lights had.
When Eddie finally flicked his gaze up from the lunchbox beside him, his brows furrowed slightly.
āCāmere, turn around,ā he mumbled lazily motioning his ringed finger in a small circle.
āHm?ā
āItāll be easier to teach you like that.ā
So you did just that ā clumsily turning around on the blanket until your back faced him instead. One of Eddieās ringed hands settled carefully against your waist while he shuffled closer behind you until the warmth of his chest pressed softly against your back, each of his legs splayed comfortably on either side of you. You all but melted when the soft warmth of him spread across your back and his chin found its place on your shoulder.
āAāight, first step,ā he mumbled softly while passing you the flimsy rolling paper, āyouāre gonna hold it between your thumb, pointer, and middle finger. Like this, see?ā
And for the next twenty minutes, his chin barely left your shoulder while his uncontrollable laughter rang in your ear every time your fingers clumsily failed to follow his instructions.
āOh, God,ā he breathed out, his curls brushing against your cheek even after heād finally managed to get his laughter under control. āItās like watching Bambi try to roll a joint, but worse.ā
Somewhere between shared laughter and exhausted, belly-aching sighs, Eddie had eventually pulled the crinkled rolling paper from your hands with the clear intention of salvaging whatever damage youād managed to inflict on it. Expert fingers quickly rescued it before he rolled the joint shut and held the sticky edge up towards your lips.
āSee?ā he murmured softly after sealing it closed. āThatās how you do it.ā
He handed the finished joint over to you while patting himself down in search of hi lighter.
āAh, fuck,ā he mumbled quietly to himself. āThink I left the lighter in the van.ā
āItās in the inside pocket of your jacket.ā
Eddie stilled for half a second before pulling open the front of his jacket and reaching into the inside pocket with two fingers.
āHuh,ā he mumbled quietly once the lighter landed in his palm.
Then his hand found your waist again, gently tugging your back a little closer to his chest before he pressed a quick kiss against your cheek. The joint had been lit in the gentle silence surrounding the two of you, with only the crickets and early-summer cicadas filling the open air.
You took another small, tentative drag before passing it back to Eddie, blowing the smoke upwards as you watched the breeze curl it softly through the air until it disappeared altogether. His arm had long since snaked around your frame to keep you tucked closer against him while neither one of you had bothered moving from your original positions.
Somewhere between the lazy haze settling behind your eyes and the fading reflections trembling across the water, your fingers had found his hand resting against your waist and quietly intertwined with his.
As the sun dipped lower and the world seemed to exhale alongside the two of you, the sky softened into streaks of molten gold and bruised violet. The last remaining rays of sunlight slipping through the thick trees stretched across the still lake water in shimmering ribbons. The shadows along the shoreline deepened while the water slowly darkened into shades of indigo and shifting silver, like the lake itself was holding onto the sunset without any hurry to let it go. The slow, unhurried transformation of the glowing horizon into softened amber spread a gentle calmness through your chest as you instinctively snuggled a little closer into him.
āWhat are you thinking about?ā you asked softly, your eyes already closed while your head lulled heavily against his chest.
āHow pretty it looks,ā Eddie murmured quietly before taking another drag from the joint.
Your eyes slowly opened again, heavy with warmth and smoke, taking in the view stretched out in front of you without realising Eddie hadnāt been talking about the sunset at all.
Soft streaks of morning sunlight stretched across your room until they landed on the leather jacket tossed carelessly over your bed ā like it didnāt hold as much meaning as it actually did ā while you actively tried to pretend you werenāt searching your closet for something that looked good with it.
Eddie had draped it over your shoulder the previous night when the glittering stars overhead had given way to a colder breeze rolling off the lake, and he hadnāt asked for it back before you made the short walk from the driveway to your front door.
It was far too early in the morning to be wearing a leather jacket ā and far too early for Nathalieās words to already find their way back into your overthinking mind. So you shoved both thoughts aside and pulled the sleeves over your arms before heading out to school.
The excruciating heat trapped beneath the dark leather wasnāt the only thing making you feel claustrophobic ā gossiping eyes and turning heads followed your every move the second you stepped out of the car, only worsening the closer you got to the school entrance. And it wasnāt even about being seen in Eddieās jacket as much as it was about the judgment already dripping from every lingering stare thrown your way ā the confused expressions, the overly critical furrow of brows while people leaned forward their friends to whisper about how youād been wearing a completely different jacket just two weeks ago.
By the time you reached your locker, your fingers had already curled around the hem of the sleeve twice with the intention of pulling it off ā but you stopped yourself both times. The scent of cigarette smoke, worn leather, and cheap cologne still clung faintly to the inside lining, grounding you just enough to keep your hands still.
āJesus Christ,ā Nathalie muttered the second she rounded the corner and spotted you leaning against your locker. āTheyāre acting like you showed up pregnant.ā
Your eyes flickered uncomfortably towards the groups of students lingering further down the hallway before settling back on her again. āIs it that obvious?ā
āWellā¦ā she grimaced slightly while adjusting the strap of her bag higher onto her shoulder. āYou are wearing Eddie Munsonās jacket like itās the most natural thing in the world.ā
āJesus,ā you mumbled under your breath while heat immediately crawled up the back of your neck.
Nathalieās eyes flickered briefly towards the jacket again before she nudged your shoulder lightly with her own. āFor what itās worth, you look cute.ā
Before you could answer, your head instinctively turned towards the loud burst of laughter that suddenly echoed through the hallway.
And so did Eddieās.
Heād been halfway through saying something to Gareth when his eyes landed on you standing by your locker ā or, more specifically, on the oversized black leather jacket hanging from your shoulders.
Jeff immediately noticed the way Eddieās entire body stilled.
āHoly shit, dude,ā he whispered dramatically while grabbing Eddieās shoulders hard enough to jolt him slightly. āShe wore the jacket.ā
āShut the fuck up,ā he muttered automatically, though the words came out far weaker than intended.
Because you had worn the jacket. Not just publicly ā but at school. Like it had never even been a question.
And suddenly, Eddie felt something uncomfortable settle beneath his ribs when he became painfully aware of every set of eyes flickering between the two of you in the hallway, followed by whispers, blatant stares, and the heavy judgment already threatening to settle over your shoulders right alongside his jacket. But when your nervous eyes finally found his across the crowded hallway, you still reached up and pulled the leather tighter around yourself instead of taking it off ā like not even the awful crawling anxiety underneath your skin could convince you to let go of it.
And then you gave him a small smile from where you stood ā one that quietly told him you were going to be okay. Eddieās breathed caught softly in his throat before he slowly smiled back.
The second bell still rang loudly in your ears even minutes after it had stopped echoing through the hallway. You adjusted the strap of your bag higher onto your shoulder while hurrying towards the biology classroom through the empty hall. Besides the sound of your footsteps, the silence around you was only broken by the crinkling hallway slip clutched tightly in your other hand after Mr. Flanagan had kept you behind to talk about an essay youād written.
A soft creak suddenly echoed through the hallway before an arm shot out from the janitorās closet and yanked you inside. āWhat theāā
āShhh,ā Eddie whispered quickly while peeking back out into the hallway to make sure no one had seen the two of you disappear inside. āIāve been waiting for ages. What took you so long?ā
āMr. Flanagan wanted to talk about an essay I wrote,ā you answered breathlessly before confusion pulled at your brows. āWhy are we hiding in the janitorās closet?ā
His curls bounced softly when he turned back towards you, his hand immediately finding your hips before gently pulling you flush against his chest.
āBecause,ā he started while tilting his head slightly backwards, a mischievous grin slowly spreading across his lips, āyou kinda short-circuited my brain when you walked into school wearing my jacket.ā
Warmth instantly crawled into your cheeks when he leaned down just enough to press a soft, lingering kiss against your cheekbone before his expression softened again afterwards.
āI justā¦ā he hesitated briefly, thumbs brushing absentmindedly against your hips. āI hope people havenāt been assholes to you because of it.ā
Eddieās grip on your hips tightened ever so slightly before his thumbs started tracing soft circles against the denim of your jeans. You blinked at him a few times before a shy, knowing smile slowly tugged at the corners of your lips. Your hand lifted to his cheek, and you couldnāt help the quiet hum that escaped you when he immediately melted further into your touch, his dramatic persona slipping away just as easily as it always seemed to around you.
āItās okayāā
āNo, itās not,ā Eddie cut you off softly, his head still tilted into his palm while his eyes stayed closed. āYou donāt deserve any of it.ā
āItās okay, Eddie,ā you said a little more firmly while your thumb started brushing softly against his cheek. āTheyāll get bored eventually.ā
The two of you fell quiet again for a moment, but neither of you made any move to pull away. Your eyes drifted briefly towards the sleeve hanging loosely from your shoulder before a small smile tugged softly at your lips.
āThe jacket,ā you shrugged one shoulder lightly. āIt smells like you.ā
That alone was enough to make his fingers tighten ever so slightly against your hips again.
āThe cigarettes?ā he snorted softly.
āThe cigarettes,ā you hummed jokingly before your expression softened again. āThe leather. Your cologne.ā
Your eyes flickered back towards him again.
āIt made it easier.ā
He went completely still ā not dramatically, just enough for you to notice the way his eyes searched your face for a second longer than usual, like he didnāt quite know what to do with the confession youād just handed him. Something vulnerable flickered underneath his usual teasing expression before he looked down briefly and softly exhaled through his nose.
āYou canāt just say stuff like that to me,ā he muttered quietly, almost more to himself than to you. A snort escaped you. āWhy?ā āBecause,ā Eddie mumbled while his thumbs absentmindedly brushed over your hips again, āyou keep making me feel things, Sweetheart. Itās very inconsiderate of you.ā
That pulled another snort out of you.
And maybe it was the quietness of the closet, or the lingering warmth of the previous night still stubbornly clinging between the two of you, but your hand instinctively slid from his cheek towards the back of his neck instead. Eddieās eyes flickered briefly down to your lips before slowly lifting back up again. Your breaths tangled together in the cramped little space while he leaned down carefully, giving you more than enough time to pull away if you wanted to ā but you didnāt. Your lips met his softly ā careful at first, almost hesitant ā before the kiss deepened ever so slightly when your fingers curled gently against the nape of his neck.
But then, the sharp sound of footsteps suddenly echoed right outside the closet door, making the two of you jolt apart immediately.
āYou still in there, Munson?ā āShit,ā Eddie muttered while nearly knocking over a mop bucket beside him. āGimme ten more minutes, Jared, and Iāll give you a discount.ā āFuck, kid. Donāt gotta tell me twice,ā the older voice replied from the other side of the door before the footsteps slowly faded down the hallway again. You bit down hard on your lip to stop your laughter while Eddie frantically dragged a hand through his curls. āDid you justāā A chuckle escaped you before you could finish. āDid you just bribe the janitor?ā āFirst of all,ā he whispered dramatically, pointing an accusing finger at you, āthat was not a bribe.ā You raised a brow. āYou literally offered him a discount.ā āThat,ā Eddie corrected while grabbing the mop bucket before it fully tipped over, āwas a mutually beneficial business arrangement.ā Your laughter echoed softly through the cramped closet before his grin slowly softened again when he looked back at you. āNow, cāmon,ā he murmured while reluctantly stepping closer again just to steal one more quick kiss. āBefore he makes me give him a whole ounce for free.ā
As the day dragged on and classes came and went, youād slowly started growing used to the lingering stares and the occasional whispers by the time you stepped into the cafeteria with Nathalie glued firmly to your side.
The dramatically loud overlapping noise of teenagers immediately swallowed the both of you whole ā trays clattering against tables, bursts of laughter echoing through the room, chairs screeching loudly against the tiled floor.
And somehow, despite all of it, your eyes still immediately found Eddieās.
He sat slouched lazily at the Hellfire table with Jeff beside him and Gareth halfway through dramatically retelling something with his hands flying around like his life depended on it. But the second Eddie noticed you standing near the cafeteria entrance, the distracted grin on his face softened almost instantly.
Jeff noticed it too, unfortunately.
āCāmon, bro,ā he groaned jokingly and loudly enough for the entire table to hear while leaning back in his chair. āYou two are becoming unbearable.ā
Dustin immediately twisted around in his seat to follow Jeffās line of sight.
āNo way,ā he breathed out while pointing an accusatory greasy finger towards Eddie. āSheās still wearing it.ā
āThank you, Henderson,ā Eddie deadpanned while flipping him off without even looking away from you. āNone of us wouldāve noticed otherwise.ā
He rolled his eyes automatically, but the smile tugging stubbornly at the corners of his mouth ruined any attempt to annoyance. Then his gaze flickered briefly back towards the jacket still hanging from your shoulders.
And the rest of the day went on exactly like that ā Eddieās gaze flickering towards you whenever he got the chance, his jacket still hanging from your shoulders while small smiles tugged at his lips even when you werenāt actively looking at him.
His leg had bounced relentlessly through the entirety of last period, anxiously shaking beneath his desk while every word leaving Ms. Sullivanās mouth completely flew over his head as she explained whatever equation currently covered the blackboard.
He wasnāt even supposed to be sitting through Algebra. And yet heād still shown up anyway just so his eyes could linger on you a little longer.
The final bell rang, and Eddie all but shot out of his chair with his lunchbox clutched tightly in one hand as he made his way over towards your desk.
Before you could even reach for your bag yourself, his free hand had already curled around the strap and tossed it over his shoulder instead.
āYou know I can carry my own bag, right?ā you joked while quickly shoving your notebook and pen inside as he held it open for you.
āIām asserting dominance and all that,ā Eddie replied lazily, a crooked grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.
You snorted softly while shaking your head before gently tugging him along towards the hallway. As usual, the halls buzzed incessantly with exhausted teenage energy ā lockers door slamming, squeaking sneakers echoing against tile, and the occasional dramatic just one more day of hell shouted somewhere in the distance.
āSoā¦ā Eddie trailed off while angling his body sideways to avoid accidentally shoulder-checking a freshman.
He briefly licked his lips before turning his face towards yours.
āYou got any plans tonight?ā he asked softly. āOr dāyou maybe wanna hang out?ā
Besides his words earlier, there was nothing particularly soft about Eddie now when he pushed you back against the trailer door the second the two of you finally stumbled inside.
His ringed hands found your cheeks almost instantly, and a moment later his lips crashed back onto yours to continue what the two of you had started earlier in the janitorās closet.
A muffled mmpff! escaped your lips when Eddie deepened the kiss, his body pressing you more firmly against the trailer door.
It took you only a split second to recover from the sudden intensity before your arms wrapped tightly around his neck, one of your hands immediately threading through his curls and tugging softly at the roots just to pull him closer still. Your breath hitched, eyes suddenly shimmering beneath the warm amber light when Eddie finally pulled away just enough to look at you. Heat flooded your face so quickly it almost felt like the sun itself had melted into your skin when his hands pressed just slightly harder against your cheeks.
āBedroom?ā he breathed out shakily.
The small nod you gave him was all the answer he needed.
Eddieās grip on your face softened almost immediately before one of his hands slid down to intertwine with yours instead, gently tugging you towards the bedroom with a patience that hadnāt existed even seconds earlier when heād kissed you against the trailer door. The electric warmth of Eddieās hand wrapped around yours sent a shiver racing up your spin while he pushed open the bedroom door.
Your eyes immediately flickered towards the unmade bed sitting in the corner, heat quickly flooding your cheeks again at the fleeting memory of two nights ago when you realised he still hadnāt changed the sheets.
He still held your hand when he sat down on the edge of the mattress, gently pulling you between his legs before softly guiding you down into his lap.
āThis okay?ā he asked quietly, like he hadnāt just pushed you against the trailer door and kissed you hard enough to leave both of you breathless seconds earlier.
āYeah,ā you nodded softly while your arms curled around his neck once again.
Eddie felt his heart hammering violently against his ribs as he took in the warm slants of sunlight filtering through the blinds, stretching across your face like threads of gold.
āYouāre beautiful, yāknow that?ā he whispered almost absentmindedly, like he hadnāt meant for the words to slip out loud in the first place.
Your breath hitched once again as you sank deeper into his touch, warmth spreading across your face so intensely it almost felt like it had seeped into your bones. You tried focusing instead on the way your fingers curled tightly into the fabric of his shirt, your eyes locked briefly onto the faint bruise peeking out from beneath the collar.
His bedroom suddenly felt too small and far too vast all at once, every shift in your breathing echoing loudly in your ears like thunder.
But you didnāt pull away ā instead, you buried your face into the crook of his shoulder.
āHey,ā he whispered softly, splaying one of his hands on your back. āWhere did you go just now?ā
āIāmā¦ just not used to that.ā You took a second before continuing. āBeing called that.ā
Eddieās arms tightened around you almost instinctively at that, like he could physically shield you from the vulnerability creeping into your voice. His nose brushed softly against your temple before he leaned back just enough to look at you properly again, one of his hands still spread carefully against your back while the other stayed warm against your waist.
āBeautiful?ā he asked quietly.
You nodded once against his shoulder, eyes still avoiding his.
A soft breath escaped him through his nose ā not quite a laugh, not quite disbelief either. More like he couldnāt fully wrap his head around the fact you genuinely didnāt know.
āSweetheart,ā Eddie murmured gently, thumb brushing slow against your side, āI donāt think Iāve thought about anything else since the moment you walked into the Hide Out.ā
Heat immediately rushed back into your face, while your fingers tightened slightly against the fabric of his shirt as a nervous breath, somewhere between a laugh and something far more overwhelmed.
āHey,ā he whispered again, softer this time. āCāmere.ā
His arms wrapped more securely around you before he carefully pulled you closer against his chest again, one of his hands sliding up your spine in slow, grounding movements.
āThereās no rush here, okay?ā he murmured into your hair. āWe can just sit here if you want. I kinda like holding you anyway.ā
That finally pulled a tiny smile from you against his shoulder. āYeah?ā
āYeah,ā Eddie breathed out without hesitation. āYouāve very holdable.ā
A soft, disbelieving chuckle escaped you before you finally pulled away from his shoulder just enough to look at him properly again.
Eddieās warm eyes melted into yours, and every nerve in your body seemed to light up from the simple act of being this close to him. You pressed your forehead gently against his, breathing in the scent of sun-warmed skin, faint traces of cologne, and something deeper underneath it all that felt uniquely him. Your fingers twitched lightly against the fabric of his shirt before you slowly tilted your head downwards again until your lips brushed softly against his.
The kiss stayed soft and warm, but every movement of Eddieās lips still sent electric jolts racing down your spine until your fingers suddenly tightened around his shirt like you needed something solid to anchor yourself to.
Eddie pulled away just slightly afterward, taking a quiet moment to study your face like he was trying to commit every detail to memory ā the arch of your eyebrows, the softness of your lips, the shy warmth still lingering in your eyes. Then he leaned in again, closing the small distance between you once more. His lips brushed gently against yours at first, feather-light and careful, before the kiss depend when his hand rose to cup your cheek, his thumb slowly tracing along your jaw.
For a moment, everything else faded away ā the crunch of gravel beneath passing cars outside, the distant chirping birds, the faint rattling of the trailer walls whenever the wind shifted. There was only him ā only the warmth of his mouth against yours and the quiet way he poured every ounce of longing he had into the kiss, like somehow youād understand all the things he still didnāt quite know how to say out loud.
He pulled away again afterwards, resting his forehead gently against yours while his chest rose and fell unevenly between shallow breaths.
āYou have no idea what you do to me,ā he whispered before stealing another quick kiss. āEspecially wearing my jacket.ā
The hand resting against your back slowly slid lower until it settled against your waist instead, holding you gently while his thumb traced absentminded circles beneath the hem of your shirt.
āCan Iā¦ā Eddie trailed off quietly, swallowing hard when his fingers accidentally tightened around your waist for a brief second before loosening again. His eyes flickered carefully between yours. āCan I show you? What you do to me?ā
He leaned back just enough to properly look at your face again, like he was trying to read every reaction before he moved any further.
Your breath hitched when you felt him twitch under you.
āYeah,ā you whispered back, your chest rising faster than it had just a few seconds before.
Eddie pushed his mouth gently back onto yours, lips moving softly as he almost hesitantly pushed your lips open to deepen the kiss. His tongue brushed against your bottom lip in that way that made your stomach tighten, while your hands found his hair.
āCan I take this off?ā he whispered against your lips as his hands brushed softly against the rough material of your jeans.
You nodded softly, eyebrows furrowing as your heart hammered into your ribs.
āI need to hear you say it, Sweetheart,ā he whispered before he gave you another quick kiss.
āYeah, t-thatās okay,ā you whispered back.
Leaning in, he captured your lips with his, while his hands roam over your jeans-clad thighs.
He tilted his head and kissed softly along your jaw, relishing the soft gasps that escaped you as he nuzzled your neck, and breathed in your scent as his hands tighten their grip on you just slightly.
Eddieās ringed fingers found themselves undoing the button of your jeans, slowly lowering zipper while his other hand grabbed at your hip, anchoring himself as he gazed up at you. His hand slid inside your jeans until his palm pressed against your clothed heat. He then leaned in again, capturing your lips in a slow kiss, and poured everything he couldnāt say out loud into the slide of his tongue against yours, the nip of his teeth at your bottom lip.
His hands move underneath your ass before he scooped you up, gently lying you down on his bed to carefully slide your jeans over your hips and down your legs. Then, he grabbed at your thighs again, spreading them gently as he settled between them before his fingers moved to carefully remove his jacket off your frame, followed by your shirt.
He drank in the sight of your clothed breasts, desire coiling tight in the pit of his stomach before he forced himself to snap out of it.
āI wanna see you in just my jacket, would that be okay?ā
With a shaky breath and a nod, you gulped down before your fingers reached behind you to loosen your bra. Eddie slowly slid it off your shoulders before he reached for the jacket, and helped you put it back on. The heavy jacket against your bare skin fuelled his need as he settled between your legs once more, pressing reverent kisses along your inner thighs while working his way up higher. Meeting your gaze again, he sought affirmation before he took his time pulling your panties down slowly.
āJust tell me if you wanna stop, okay?ā He murmured as his thumbs brushed softly against your knees. āAny time.ā
āO-okay,ā you breathed out.
Eddieās curls brushed softly against your inner thighs as he leaned in, and pressed a tender kiss right above your pussy before taking you into his mouth. His eyes fell closed the second his tongue delved to taste your essence, a shaky, muffled groan escaping him when his pink lips latched onto your clit.
Moans spilled freely from his lips, muffled against your glistening pussy, when his eyes travelled up your body until they found the sight of your furrowed eyebrows and mouth lulling open. Eddie then doubled his efforts as soon as a broken gasp escaped your lips, swirling his tongue around your swollen clit, and alternating between firm flicks and gentle suckling.
āI- fuck, Eddie.ā
Gently, he slipped one of his fingers into you, pumping softly in and out of your dripping core while his lips continued latching onto your clit.
āThis is all I could think about today,ā he whispered softly against your swollen nub, his own eyebrows furrowed as his eyes travelled down your body until his gaze fell on the way his finger disappeared inside of you. āEating you out in my bed, wearing only my jacket.ā
Another groan escaped his lips when your hand found his curls, tugging harshly at the strands when you felt him gently add another finger into your dripping core.
āFuck, look at you, Sweetheart,ā he chuckled breathily, licking his lips as his gaze travelled up, taking in the way your hard nipples peeked from under your bra, and the way the oversized jacket fell to your sides. āSo fucking beautiful, all for me.ā
āE-Eddieāā
He could tell you were already getting close by the way your pussy fluttered around his invading digits and the desperate arch of your hips seeking more of his lips. Eddie was desperate to push you over the edge, and sealed his lips around your clit once again and sucked hard, thrusting his fingers in and out of you faster while your slick gushed onto his tongue. He alternated between lock licks and fast flicks, savouring the tangy-sweet taste or your slick coating his tongue, while he curled his two fingers until they rubbed against that special spot.
It didnāt take long for you to clench around his fingers, followed by broken whimpers as you gushed over his chin. Eddie lapped tenderly at your sensitive clit until your thighs twitched around his face, an utterly spent and satisfied hum leaving your lips.
āJesus,ā you mumbled breathlessly. āYouā¦ Fuck.ā
Something new flickered underneath the adoration in his eyes when he finally pulled himself back from between your legs and shifted over you again, close enough that your noses almost brushed.
āIām obsessed with you,ā he admitted breathlessly, like the words had slipped out before he could stop them. A helpless little smile tugged at the corners of his slick mouth while his hand rose to gently cup your face again.
Your chest rose and fell unevenly while you tried to catch your breath, Eddieās words still sinking slowly into your bones.
His thumb brushed softly against your cheeks while his gaze lingered on your face, taking in the warmth flooding your skin, the breathless little puffs leaving your lips, and the way you looked back at him like heād hung the moon himself.
āIām obsessed with you too,ā you whispered quietly before your hand slowly drifted down towards the button of his jeans.
Eddieās other hand immediately wrapped gently around your wrist, stopping you before your fingers could move any further.
āItās okay,ā he whispered softly while licking his lips nervously. āYou donāt have to.ā
His chest started rising a little faster above you anyway, your fingers still rested lightly against the button of his jeans.
āBut I want to,ā you whispered back. āWill you show me?ā
Eddieās cheeks somehow flushed even warmer as his brows pulled together, like your words had physically pained him.
āIā¦ā he trailed off, forcing a dry lump down his throat as he suddenly felt far too aware of himself. āAre you sure?ā
Your breath caught softly at the uncertainty suddenly flickering across his face ā the same boy who had kissed you breathless against the trailer door, and eaten you out, now looked almost nervous above you, like he was terrified of crossing a line he couldnāt uncross. So you lifted your hand from where he still held your wrist and gently pressed your palm against his cheek instead.
āIām sure,ā you whispered softly.
Eddieās eyes searched yours for another long moment, like he needed to be absolutely certain before the two of you went anywhere further. Then he slowly nodded once, distracted by the shy little smile that had found its place on your lips.
āOkay,ā he breathed out shakily.
His hand loosened around your wrist before his fingers intertwined carefully with yours instead, guiding your hand back down with a patience that made warmth bloom all through your chest.
āCāmere,ā he murmured quietly, the tips of his ears still flushed red while a nervous little smile tugged at his lips. He pulled you upright and let himself indulge in another kiss. āIāllā¦ fuck, I'll show you.ā
He slowly unbuttons himself before pulling down the zipper, and pulls at his jeans until they pooled around his ankles. He looks painfully hard when he palms himself over his boxers, pulling the material slowly down his thighs until his cock springs out ā flushed and leaking at the tip. Eddieās wrapped a fist around the base, stroking languidly as he gives you another kiss.
āFirst thing,ā he breathed out shakily as his eyes open to look deeply into yours, ācome sit between my legs.ā
You gulped nervously as your socked feet touched the floor before you did what he just told you. Kneeling on the carpet felt somewhat grounding, even with the muffled scrape and gentle drag on your skin. Your hands grab at his thighs, brushing your thumbs against his skin as you wait patiently for his next instructions.
Eddieās eyes glistened when he looked down at you ā sitting prettily between his legs, your fingers twitching nervously against his thighs while the leather of his jacket shifted softly with every rapid breath you took. Something overwhelmed flickered across his face for a brief second, like he still couldnāt fully process that you were here with him like this. His free hand came up almost instinctively to brush a loose strand of hair away from your face before his thumb lingered gently against your bottom lip.
āJesus. Youāre gonna kill me one day,ā he breathed out softly, more to himself than to you. He then gulped down and licked his lips while he continued lazily stroking his cock. āCan youā can you open you lips for me, Sweetheart?ā
He moved his thumb away from your bottom lip, and slowly replaced it with his swollen tip.
āThā this is gonna sound stupid,ā he chuckled breathlessly, slightly shaking his head at himself, ābut itās kinda likeā¦ sucking on a lollypop?ā
Eddieās cock twitched when you looked up at him ā eyes glimmering, slick lips after you gave him an experimental lick ā and hesitantly wrapped your lips around him. His hips jerked ever so slightly as you tentatively moved your tongue. Your mouth felt velvety smooth and slick around his cock as you slowly took more of him.
āT-thatās it, Sweetheart,ā he groaned softly, furrowing his brows as he tried to burn the image in front of him into his brain: your soft, pink lips wrapped unsurely around his cock with your hard nipples peeking from under his jacket. āT-takeā fuck. Take all the time you need.ā
His brown eyes fluttered shut when you gave him a tentative suck before you tried getting more of him into your mouth. His free hand brushed softly against your cheek, then slid to the back of your head before curling his fingers into your hair ā he didnāt push himself deeper into you, instead, he just held you softly.
āJesus, just like that, baby,ā he groaned out with furrowed eyebrows as he looked back down at you.
His head fell back when he saw the way your eyes glistened and your eyebrows furrowed as your throat strained around his cock.
āIāmā fuck, Sweetheart,ā he whimpered out, soft yet desperate as you continued bobbing your head tentatively. āIām close.ā
You looked up at him, desperate to see his face as you brought him closer to the edge, and quickened up your pace just slightly. Eddieās cock twitched as he released into your mouth with one last whimper. He groaned when your tongue continued lapping at his slit, despite the sudden and unusual taste of his tangy cum filling you before you swallowed it down.
Your eyebrows furrowed as he gently pulled at your hair when he started to feel overstimulated, and pulled his cock from between your lips. A string of spit and cum hung between your pink lips and his swollen tip. Eddie blinked tiredly at the view before he wiped his thumb against your bottom lip, his chest rising rapidly as he watched it break and drop down your chest.
āJesus, fuck,ā he gulped nervously.
āW-was thatā¦ was that okay?ā you asked nervously blinking up at him while you slowly brought your twitching hands back into your lap.
Eddieās brows shot upwards immediately, clearly not expecting that question to leave your mouth ā not after the breathless mess youād just turned him into. He swallowed hard, his chest still struggling to steady itself.
āO-okay?ā His eyes widened before a broken, disbelieving laugh escaped him. āSweetheart, that was fucking amazing.ā
Warmth flooded your face instantly.
His hands immediately found your cheeks again, gently pulling you up and closer towards him like he physically couldnāt help himself.
āYouāre fucking amazing,ā he whispered breathlessly before crashing his lips back onto yours.
Eddie pulled you back into his lap before wrapping both arms tightly around your frame, pressing your chest flush against his again. The heavy leather of his jacket stayed trapped between the two of you while he pulled you into another soft kiss, softer this time and far less desperate than before.
His hair had become a complete mess from the amount of times heād dragged his hand through it when you had him in your mouth, loose curls brushing and tickling against your face while you melted further into his touch.
āYouāll be the death of me,ā he whispered quietly against your lips.
āI really like you too,ā you giggled before closing your lips against his once again.
That pulled a soft, breathless laugh out of Eddie before he kissed you again, smiling so hard against your lips it almost made you laugh. He murmured a teasing yeah? between kisses, though the flushes cheeks and warmth in his eyes completely ruined any attempt at sounding smug.
Your fingers curled gently into the back of his shirt while you nodded against him. āYeah.ā
Something unbearably fond flickered across his face then ā something so open and unguarded it almost stole the breath from your lungs all over again.
āFuck,ā he whispered quietly while pulling you impossibly closer against his chest, like he still couldnāt fully believe you were real. Ā āGood. āCause I think Iām in pretty deep here, Sweetheart.ā
His hands found their way to your naked hips, tightening his grip on you. āEspecially when you look like this.ā
You giggled shyly as you hid your face in the crook of his neck, feeling somewhat embarrassed at the way you probably looked ā breathless, messy hair, his jacket basically swallowing your naked frame.
āStop it,ā you said flustered, brushing your nose against his neck.
āNo way, Sweetheart,ā he chuckled before placing a quick kiss against your temple. The warmth in Eddieās laugh rumbled softly underneath your cheek when you buried yourself further into his neck, clearly far too pleased with how flustered heād made you. āYouāre adorable when you do that,ā he murmured teasingly while his fingers continued tracing lazy patterns against your hips underneath the oversized leather swallowing you whole.
A groan immediately escaped you.
āNo, seriously,ā Eddie snorted softly before tilting his head just enough to brush another kiss against your hairline. āYouāre sitting in my lap, wearing my jacket and looking all fucked-out and shy. What exactly do you expect me to do with that?ā
Your entire body heated up instantly. āEddie,ā you whined into his neck, horrified laughter muffled against his skin.
That only made him laugh harder, breathing dramatically while tightening his arms around you again. āIām a weak man.ā
He gently pulled you away from the crook of his neck, thumbs brushing softly against your hipbones while his eyes searched lazily for yours again.
āYou, uhā¦ā Eddie licked his lips, visibly getting distracted for a second by your flushed face and thoroughly kissed-swollen lips before he managed to gather his thoughts again. āYou hungry?ā
A soft giggle escaped you before you nodded.
āAlrighty,ā he mumbled warmly before suddenly scooping you up into his arms just enough to place you carefully back down onto the mattress.
The springs creaked softly underneath you while Eddie leaned over you again, his ringed fingers gently tugging at the sleeves of his jacket still hanging loosely from your frame.
āThere they are,ā he murmured teasingly under his breath once he finally pulled it free, clearly far too pleased with himself when he caught sight of your naked breasts and still-hard nipples.
āEddie,ā you groaned softly while hiding your face behind your hands.
His laugh came out low and warm while he leaned down to scatter a trail of soft kisses across your cheek and jaw.
āIām kidding,ā he whispered against your skin before pressing one final kiss beneath your ear. āMostly.ā
Your heard drawers opening somewhere behind you before Eddie reappeared beside the bed again, wearing a clean pair of boxers and holding one of his shirts.
āCāmere,ā he murmured gently while helping you out of the jacket and pulling the shirt over your head.
The shirt practically swallowed you whole, sleeves falling far beyond your hands while Eddie stared at you for a second longer than necessary afterwards.
āā¦Okay, maybe Iām not surviving this actually,ā he breathed out dramatically.
A few minutes later, your legs dangled from where you sat on the kitchen counter while you watched Eddie frantically move around the kitchen, trying not to somehow burn the pasta he was cooking for the two of you. Your laughter mixed softly with the record playing in the background while Eddie cursed under his breath somewhere near the stove.
The oversized Motƶrhead long sleeve hung from your frame shifted when you swung your legs lightly against the cabinet beneath you, watching Eddie with warm amusement while golden evening sunlight stretched through the tiny trailer kitchen.
āWhat?ā he asked suspiciously when he caught you staring.
āJustā¦ā A soft smile tugged at your lips while heat immediately rushed into your cheeks. āHow easy this feels.ā
Your stomach flipped embarrassingly hard the second the words left your mouth. And apparently Eddie noticed too, because his eyes widened slightly in realisation before a smug grin slowly spread across his face. His soft chuckle filled the tiny trailer kitchen, low and warm and completely unrestrained. Then, without warning, he abandoned the stove entirely and crossed the kitchen towards you instead.
āHi,ā he murmured softly once he settled himself between your legs.
Your hands slowly lowered from your face again. āHi.ā
One of his hands settled against your thigh while the other gently brushed your hair behind your ear.
āYou look really pretty in my clothes,ā he admitted quietly, like the confession had slipped out before he could stop it.
The softness in his voice immediately stole whatever teasing remark youād been about to throw back at him.
Somewhere behind him, the pot suddenly boiled over with an aggressive hiss.
āShit,ā Eddie yelped before whipping back towards the stove.
Your laughter immediately echoed through the kitchen and into the living room while Eddie pointed accusingly over his shoulder at you.
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Something in the Way She Moves Chapter 16 - No Context Memes
As I finish up Chapter 16, I figured I'd drop a little no context hinting... mostly because I sent this to @peterhollandkait and thought everyone else may get a kick out of it. Anyways, link to Chapter 15 from last Friday, and hoping to have Chapter 16 up on this Friday.
Just interviewed the trio behind #Tidbit for the first of a series on the project. These guys rock. Can also confirm, #JosephQuinn has seen #TexasChainsawMassacre. Keep your eyes peeled for more!
Summary: All you want is to practice, but Eddie--a fellow musician and a pain in your ass--has other plans in mind.
Word Count: 1.8k
Warnings/Themes: Slow Burn, Enemies to Friends to Lovers (if I continue this at all), Community College AU, Slight Angst, Slight Fluff, Bickering, that thing when I haven't played in years and I'm making shit up as we go to the best of my ability
Note: Alright so, lore time: back in 2022 at the introduction of Eddie into our lives, I had an idea for an OC that was a violinist and would butt heads then slowly become friends with Eddie in a very "we share our mixtapes and learn things about each others worlds" kind of way. Little by little over the past few months, as @drac-harrington listened to me rant about Rossini, CMR (Classical Musician Reader) came back to life.
I myself haven't played the violin or been on a stage performing in years (there is of course a long story) so if you are a musician and feel this is inaccurate, be kind and keep it to yourself. Not sure if there's gonna be more of this, but I think this at least satisfies a little bit of the itch I've had to write this.
Please do not interact if you are not 18+.
Enjoy!
---
You remember the first day that you held a violin in your hands.
Summer before 3rd grade, there was a "fair" at the middle school. It was a big day with an even bigger choice to make. You didn't even want to play violin at first, to be honest; you wanted to play the saxophone. It was big and shiny and sounded so fun when the band instructor did his demonstration for the kids who'd crowded around.
Unfortunately, your mom was too worried about your asthma to let you play a wind instrument. So violin it was.
There was a little fuss, a tape measure pulled along your forearm, and then your mom (somewhat painfully) wrote a check for the rental. A case was slid across a table to you, and you gasped when you opened it. Clumsy little fingers ran over the polished ochre wood reverently, ignorant of the destiny that this moment would set in motion.
Ok, so destiny was a little dramatic. But in hindsight, that's exactly what it was. Now, almost a decade later, you were still playing, and that little quiet moment of veneration was how you started every practice, every performance. In an even more distant future, you might look back at this moment as the one which led you towards another, more monumental destiny.
There was an eeriness to the auditorium as you pulled your violin--a different one now, sure; one that was yours entirely and not rented--from its case and you tuned it. The sound of your bow being drawn back and forth echoed over empty seats. You could imagine, in that destined future, that they would be filled.
You finished when you were satisfied with the sound and were about to start practicing when applause suddenly erupted from the back of the auditorium. One set of hands clapping and a grating voice hooting and hollering obnoxiously. You squinted to see past the stage lights, only to scowl as you saw a familiar, irritating silhouette.
"What a great performance," your admirer shouted and whistled up to you. "Encore, encore."
"I haven't started playing yet!" You shouted; you used every bit of self-control not to stomp your foot.
The silhouette scooted forward in its seat. You could hear the sarcastic grin as it responded, "well it sounded pretty good to me."
"Figures that you wouldn't know what tuning sounds like, Munson," you bit out. Finally you used your hand to shield your eyes from the stage lights and you saw the cocky smile that stretched across his face. "What are you doing here?"
"I take naps here between classes. You actually woke me up."
"Tough. This is a closed practice. Get out!"
Eddie jumped to his feet, and started strolling towards the stage. His body language was loose, casual, and felt almost mocking in comparison to your rigid, performance-ready stance.
"Come on now." Eddie's voice dropped to a more normal tone as he got closer. "Why the hostility, Strings?" You rolled your eyes at the nickname. "I could be the audience that you so-clearly think you deserve. You should be a little grateful.ā
Bitterness burned the back of your throat.
"Have you ever played for a crowd before?" He continued condescendingly. "Outside of Pachelbel's Canon at your little weddings?"
"Have you?" You shot back. "I think I overheard your buddy Jeff mentioning something about someone falling asleep at your last gig?"
"Ouch." He held a hand over his heart and winced. "Those cheap shots do hurt, you know."
"Here I was hoping that they would kill."
He reached the stage and rested his elbows at the edge of it, then set his face in his hands and stared up at you in a way that, in another reality, could be considered a bit romantic.
You did everything you could not to walk over and kick him in the teeth. He was lucky that youād worn a skirt today.
"You should stick to music, sweetheart," Eddie sighed. "Comedy does not suit you."
You shot him a sarcastic smile, and were about to throw another insult back at him, when he continued.
"So what are you doing here." His eyebrows disappeared into his bangs. "Usually I'm the only one haunting these halls waiting for Jeff to finish up. Barely anyone else take classes on Friday afternoons."
The question made you falter, because surely, it was a trap and he would just use it to lob another insult your way, as was your routine. Somehow, it seemed a lot more innocent than usual. It seemed genuine.
You thought about the risks and benefits of telling him; truly there was nothing to be afraid of but you always believed that if you spoke the truth about something you wanted out loud that you would jinx it. There was a reason that you were here so late on a Friday, that you'd booked the auditorium at the Tri-County Community College when you knew no one else would: you hadn't told anyone about what you were doing. Not your violin instructor, not your friends, no one.
But, standing here, with Eddie of all people, you figured that you had nothing to lose. In fact, he might be one of the few people who actually understood. You had heard him blather on about destiny, after all. Many times, to your extreme annoyance.
So, you took a deep breath and let the truth out in one go, words bunching together unintelligibly as they left your mouth.
His brows knit together now.
"Whats that, Strings?" He huffed a bit of a laugh. "Sorry, I only talk at a hundred miles-per-hour, not listen."
You pursed your lips, and then tried again, slower this time.
"I'mauditioningfortheIndianapolisPhilharmonic."
He blinked up at you once.
Then again.
And then he spoke.
"Does it pay well?"
You laughed at the unexpected response and it echoed throughout the auditorium. Suddenly, there was a weight off your chest that you hadn't realized was there.
"It actually doesn't pay at all," you eventually responded and sighed. "But experience is experience."
"Fuck yeah it is," Eddie smiled up at you. "Shit, what I wouldn't give for...I don't know, a state-wide metal band. Absolutely shredding with a bunch of other guitarists. Bouncing ideas off each other. I have the guys but..."
"...but it isn't the same," you agreed. It was what you sometimes felt about your own group: a ragtag string quartet that you'd strong-armed into existence in the year that you'd been at TCCC. They were good, you all were good. It was hard to get them to have an artistic vision sometimes.
"Good for you," he said sincerely. "What are you gonna play? Hey, no, wait. Let me get a good seat; I'll be your guinea pig."
"You don't know anything about classical music," you scoffed at him, watching incredulously as he backed away from the stage and dropped into a seat a few rows back. "In fact, you've said that you hate classical music."
"Yeah, so?" He shrugged. "I also have a good ear for music in general, plus I can always tell when you get embarrassed. Ergo, even if I hate what I'm hearing, I'm just as likely to be entertained if you fuck it up."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," you deadpanned.
"Anytime!" He grinned. "Now lets get going. What's on deck?"
You went through the pieces that you'd planned for your audition. Mozart's Concerto No. 3 and Dvorak's Songs My Mother Taught Me. Amongst others. But they were favorites. Sentimental things that you'd practiced a thousand times and knew you wouldn't mess up.
Until you did. Until you winced here and there and you saw Eddie's mouth quirk in amusement. Which would throw you off your game, and make you mess up more.
Slowly but surely, you were able to build up a tolerance, were able to look past him and focus on your performance more than him. You'd of course had real performances before, sure; you'd stood on stage many times, from middle school onwards, but you knew that the instructors and conductors that you'd had previously weren't as nearly critical as the Concertmaster at the Philharmonic would be. Not as critical as Eddie was. You felt a sense of gratitude, more than once, that he'd been there to help you find a bit of a flow state to ignore that watchful gaze.
Before you knew it, a half hour went by, and one of custodial staff opened the door to the auditorium to let you know they'd be locking up for the afternoon.
"I guess that means the concert is over," Eddie said, turning back as the custodian left.
"Guess so," you agreed. You quickly packed up your things and Eddie waited until you were ready so you could walk out together. He even held the door for you. Even if he was an ass, he was a bit of a gentlemanly ass.
The two of you walked in silence, through the halls. Eventually, there was a fork where he would turn towards the lit building, where Jeff was finishing up his class, and you would head towards the parking lot. You stared at each other awkwardly, unsure if you should say bye or thanks. Eventually, you swallowed your nerves and asked, "what'd you think?"
"I think you were nervous," he stated after a beat.
"I was," you agreed. "But what did you think?"
"I mean," he shoved his hands into his jean pockets. "We've already established that it's not my cup of tea, but it wasn't bad. Your crescendo's and adagio's and all the o's. Once you stopped looking to see if I noticed where you screwed up..." You groaned and he smirked. "I might even say you were kind of good."
It was a record-scratch moment.
"What?" Your jaw dropped. "What did you say? Did you just say I was good?"
"Don't let it get to your head." He held a hand out to stop your excitement. "You're no Bruce Dickinson, alright?"
"Who's that?"
"God! This!" He threw his arms over his head and screeched. "See, we were having a truce and you went and ruined it. This is why it's better for us not to get along. It's like water and oil, we do not mix. No metal for you, no orchestral compositions for me."
He continued ranting and raving, but you hesitantly put a hand on his shoulder and got him to stop gesticulating into the air wildly.
"Thanks Eddie," you muttered. "For staying. For being my audience."
"Sure. Yeah. It's cool." He reached up, patted your hand with his, and then left it there for a moment or two too long. Then he cleared his throat and backed away; he thumbed over his shoulder. "I gotta go find Jeff."
"Yeah, of course," you nodded.
"Uh..." He sniffed again. "Smell you later, then, I guess."
"Not if I...smell you first," you replied awkwardly.
The two of you turned and went your separate ways.
Until you heard him call out.
"Hey, Strings!"
You glanced back at him.
"Yeah?"
He stared at you for a second, and then continued.
"You're gonna knock 'em dead."
And it might not have been the first time that you'd smiled at Eddie, but it certainly was the biggest.
---
Like I said, not sure if this is gonna go anywhere. Maybe a schwee little bit at a time if the mood strikes. Thank you for reading.
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summary: Not the Mrs. is a bit sad from a very final diagnosis and Samās gonna do his best to remedy that.
warnings: infertility
notes: Iāve known these two werenāt having kids since I started writing them, now you do too. Feel free to let me know if there are any mistakes!
Whiskey's stretched across the dining room rug with the dishwasher humming in the background. You're standing at the sink, drying the same plate again and again as you listen to the wind chimes clink faintly through the open window in front of you.Ā
Sam notices because you haven't said a word in five minutes. He's at the table with his laptop open in front of him. "You planning on polishing that into a mirror?" He asks, leaning his head on his hand, elbow on the table.Ā
You glance down at the plate in your hands, sighing as you place it in the cabinet. "Shut up."Ā
He watches you quietly before turning to his laptop again, looking at the screen. You've been like this all week. He closes the laptop without another comment and then stretches out his legs slightly. "You wanna talk about it? Or you wanna keep standing there staring out the window like youāre haunting the kitchen?"Ā
You glance over at him, raising your brows so high itās comical. "I am not haunting the kitchen."
"Yeah, you are." He chuckles. "All you need is a white dress and a little tuberculosis and I think you'd have it handled."
āFuck off.ā You almost smile. You turn your head back down towards the sink full of dishes. "I was just thinking."Ā
"Uh oh." He teases softly.
You roll your eyes and sigh, not one for it tonight. "Sam."
He pushes back from the table and stands, moving closer to you. He leans his hip against the counter and crosses his arms across his chest as he looks at you. "About what?" He asks softly.
You hesitate, but he knows. You know he knows. "I don't know." You sigh again, shrugging. "I just thought things would look different by now."Ā
He nods, inhaling slowly himself as he tries to find a response. All he comes up with is, "different how?"Ā
You shrug again, not looking at him. "I don't knowā¦ Like the house should be messier. We should be tripping over toys in the hallway or something."Ā
He lets out that breath even slower now, "Whiskey leaves her toys in the hallway all the time." He offers gently. "I've almost eaten shit twice this week."
"That's not the same. You know it's not." You say sadly.
"I know." He agrees and shrugs. Silence embracing you both again as the dishwasher clicks off.Ā
You tap your fingers against a glass sitting on the dish mat. "I just keep thinking that youā weā deserved that. And I can't really give it to you." Your voice catches in your throat, annoyingly.Ā
He frowns, straightening his back as he looks at you. "Heyā¦ No. Donāt do that."Ā
You shake your head almost immediately, "it's not self-pity, I justā"
"It is though." He cuts you off. "And I don't like it."Ā
You raise your head to meet his eyes. Dark brown and pooling with worry. He lets them scour your face, looking for any sign that you're even more upset at his words. When he doesn't find that, he continues.
"I donāt stay with you for your uterus." He says it flatly.
"Wow. How romantic." You huff.
"You know what I mean." He rolls his eyes, shifting his weight slightly. He uncrosses his arms, running a hand up over his head. "Ive pictured it too. I've pictured you yelling at me about car seats. Iāve pictured stepping on toys at 2am because our hellspawn couldnāt be bothered to put things away. Iāve pictured diapers and onesies and talking to your belly. All of it. Iāve pictured it, babe." He sighs, "I've also pictured losing everything else once too." He adds, a bit quieter. Then he shrugs. "And that one felt a hell of a lot more real. So if I have to pick which fantasy I'm giving up on? Easy."Ā
You stare at him sadly.Ā
He just shrugs. Like all of that is nothing. "I want you. I've already got the best thing. I don't need kids."Ā
Your eyes start to well up before you can stop them. He can't just say shit like that.
He sees it and groans softly, head tipping back as his eyes close. "Ah shit, don't cry. I'm bad at crying. I start saying stupid shit."Ā
"You're already saying pretty stupid shit." You whisper, wiping a tear from your eyes but a smile is tugging at your lips.Ā
He smiles a bit as he steps closer to you, guiding you around until you're facing him. Then his hands slide around your waist and slip into the back pockets of your jeans. "You think I'm sitting around here disappointed?" He asks softly. "You think I look at you and go, damn, shame about the statistical probability of that one?"Ā
You snort, though it sounds more like a cough. "You are such an asshole."Ā
"Yeah, maybe." He shrugs. "But you've yet to kick me to the curb, so I guess I'm doing something right here." You press your face against his chest as he holds you, breathing in deeply. He lets you, running his hand up and down your back. After another minute or two, he exhales a breath against your hair and smiles a bit. "You know," he starts. "I used to think there was this checklist to living a happy life. My parents had one and they were the happiest people I knew."Ā
You pull back slightly to look at his face, confused. "A checklist?"
"Yeah. A checklist." He nods, adjusting his arms so they're tucked up closer against you. "Figured weād graduate. Iād enlist. We get married and buy a house. Have some kids a few years after. Get a dog. That was our key to happiness."Ā
You almost smile at him again.
"I kept thinking if we didn't follow it exactly, it meant we screwed something up. And I know, I know, i fucked the marriage thing up all to hell and then everything just started happening, the dog, the house, the carsā¦ and they just kept happening until I shipped out." He says softly. Then his mouth twitches up into a smile. āBut if this is what we get? I'm okay with that. Our life is perfect just how it is."Ā
Your throat tightens, and the inside of your cheek feels raw from biting at it. "I just don't want you to resent me."
"For what?!" He scoffs, "Not producing progeny that would inherit my temper and your stubbornness? Think you saved us all. That kid would've been a menace to society."Ā
"Sam." You repeat.
"I'm serious." He moves one hand and tips your chin up. "I don't resent you. I look at you and I see my girlfriend. The woman who wrote me letters every week when I needed them the most. The woman who dragged me home and refused to let me rot in bed." His thumb brushes the wetness under your eye away. "That's not lacking, okay? And yeah, I'll probably always wonder what a kid of ours would've looked like or acted like. You will too. But wondering isn't the same as resenting. And besides, we've got Whiskey and she's like 2 toddlers combined."Ā
Whiskey suddenly jolts awake at the sound of her name. She looks around the room, spots you and Sam. She stretches when she stands, grabs her tennis ball, and trots over with her tail wagging hard enough it thumps against the cabinets with a thwack.Ā
Sam looks down at where she's sat at your feet and chuckles. "Speak of the idiot."
You let out a laugh at that, bending down to pick up the tennis ball before she shoves it into his leg. "She thinks we're being too serious."Ā
"She's right. Can we stop it?" He chuckles softly. You toss the ball down the hallway. Whiskey tears after it, skidding across the hardwood as she does. Sam leans back against the counter, watching you play with Whiskey. "We're allowed to be sad about it.ā He says softly. "I'm not pretending it's nothing, babe. I promise."
"I know you're not."Ā
"And if that means we get to sleep in on Saturdays," He shrugs, "and take spontaneous road trips, and maybeā I don't knowā adopt another eighty-pound creature at some pointā¦"Ā
You raise your eyebrows as you look at him, "Another one?"Ā
He nods, "go big or go home, baby. Two of those dumbasses. Double the fur. Double the expenses. We'll complain about vet bills but secretly love every bit of it."
"You'd lose your mind." You laugh softly, tucking back tear-stained hair behind your ear.
"I've already lost my mind, I live with you." Whiskey comes barrelling back down the hall then, nearly wiping out as she turns the corner. You lean into him again and he kisses the top of your head. "You're it for me." He says softly, his hand settling on your lower back as Whiskey stops in front of you.
Only now, you don't feel the burden you've been carrying around for weeks. All you feel is the love he has to share.Ā
Summary: You tried to stop Vecna but you failed. Hawkins has split open and the only thing you managed to successfully do was save Eddie from near death. Now, you have to figure out what happens next.
TW: Blood, injury, mention of open wounds, alcohol use, drug use, MDNI, 18+
Word count: 1.5k
Authors note: This is part one of a three-part series. I will link the other parts as they are released.
The world felt as if it were falling apart. In fact, it was falling apart. Hawkins had cracked. A gaping hole tore through the town. Ash fell from the sky, snow-like but with a darkness to it. The town shook with earthquakes as buildings fell. Everything in that moment felt hopeless. Vecna had succeeded in opening the four gates.
You. You had failed.
ā
You stood just outside of the trailer you had crawled back through, seeing the town start to tear apart. Your eyes shifted up to the person beside you. Eddie. He was badly injured by some demobats, almost didnāt make it out, but you managed to stop the bleeding long enough to get him out of there.
āWeā¦we didnāt make it. We didnāt stop him.ā You said in a whisper, your voice shaking as Eddie held an arm across his stomach. There was something about the intensity of the situation that almost made you forget this man, this man who had been your best friend since you were preschool-aged; this man almost died.
ā
Eddie finally looked down at you with the smallest bit of tears building up in his eyes. He had tried. He had tried so damn hard to protect this town. For some stupid reason, he was trying to save the town who ultimately hated him.
ā
āWhat now?ā Eddie asked in a whisper so soft you almost didnāt hear it. You glanced back at the crack. The upside down was now connected to the real world. You had no idea what would happen now. Whatever it was, it felt devastating. Horrendous. And final. Everything suddenly felt bleak and hopeless.
ā
āWe find everyone else,ā Dustin replied as he stood off to the side. He had returned to the trailer with you after Eddie had been injured. The three of you stood together, watching as the town you had grown up in was becoming something foreign and strange and terrifying.
ā
Dustin went to his house first to make sure his mom was okay, while you took Eddie into the trailer to fix him up. He was able to take exactly four steps into the home before he fell onto the couch with heavy breaths.
ā
āWe need to get these clothes off.ā You said as you helped him sit up a bit, pulling the jacket off before carefully pulling off his shirt. He lay back, wincing as you glanced over the cuts he had. Deep ones too. There were so many. You had made some makeshift bandages on a few with his bandana and the bottom half of your shirt. But they were both soaked now with blood.
ā
āIs it bad? Lie to me.ā Eddie said, that stupid sense of humor he had still seemed to work just fine. You felt the tiniest curl on the corner of your lip as you started to peel back the blood-soaked pieces of cloth.
ā
āBarely even a scratch. I think youāll be fully healed by tomorrow.ā You lied, trying to hide the obvious worry that was in your voice. You reached over for the nearest bottle of liquor that sat on the table, something his uncle had always left out. āThis is going to sting.ā
ā
You poured the bottle over the cuts, and Eddie screamed out in pain, along with a few curse words. You hated seeing him like this. You hated seeing the pain you had caused him. He threw his arm up across his forehead as he closed his eyes for a moment.
ā
āSorryā¦ā You whispered as you went to pour a little more. Eddie groaned some more, and his body writhed from the pain. You closed your eyes this time, squinting them as if that would make all of this go away. But it didnāt. Nothing would.
ā
You heard sirens in the distance as you dug through the medicine cabinet. Bottles and bottles and bottles of pills. You finally found painkillers along with some needle and thread. It was at least something that could hold offā¦for now.
ā
āHere. Take these.ā You said, handing Eddie the pills. He didnāt even hesitate before popping them in his mouth and dry swallowing them. He let out a sigh as his body rested more into the couch.
ā
āYou didnāt have to do all this. You couldāve just left me there to die, you know?ā Eddie mumbled out as you started to carefully stitch him back together. He spoke through winces, though they seemed to be getting smaller as the medicine kicked in.
ā
āWhy on Earth would I leave you there to die?ā You asked with a concentrated tone. You pulled the thread back, watching as the skin slowly started to pull back together just a bit. Eddie let out the smallest little sigh, his head turning to the side so he could watch you.
ā
āBecause maybe thatās what I was meant to do.ā He finally said, and the words alone made you stop what you were doing. You hated those words. Why would he ever be meant to die in the upside down? To you, it made no sense. To Eddie, it was the sacrifice he thought he had to make to protect this town.
ā
āYouāre delirious with pain. Stop talking.ā You finally said after a moment as you went back to cleaning him up. After getting all of the wounds cleaned and stitched, you placed some large bandages and wraps over them.
ā
āAm I clean and saved now?ā Eddie asked as you grabbed a blanket and tossed it over him. You sat on the floor beside the couch, tilting your head at him as you pulled your knees up to your chest.
ā
You and Eddie met as kids and immediately clicked. The two of you would ride tricycles together through the trailer park. You were nearly inseparable. Even when your mother remarried to an insurance salesman, and you moved to the suburbs, you still hung out every single day after school. Your friendship was unmatched.
ā
āHere to stay for another 30 years. Minimum.ā You teased softly as Eddie turned his head to let his dark eyes meet yours. The smallest smile crawled across his face as his color slowly started to return.
ā
āWoohoo.ā He said in the most sarcastic and quiet tone. You let out the tiniest laugh as you let your head tilt back just a bit. For a world that was falling apart, this moment felt like nothing but calm.
ā
The door opened, and Eddieās uncle stumbled in. His eyes were wide as he seemed to be wanting to catch his breath. Eddie sat up a bit, a groan coming out from moving too quickly.
ā
āThank God youāre okay,ā Wayne said as he walked towards the two of you. He glanced down at Eddieās injuries before looking at you. His eyes went between the two as he tried to take everything in.
ā
āAre you alright? What happened?ā He asked, and you quickly stumbled to your feet.
ā
Fuck. Think of something. Quick.
ā
āHeās fine. Or, well, he will be. We were outside near the playground. It collapsed during the earthquake, and Eddie got hurt, but I helped him.ā You managed to say as Wayneās eyes shot back to Eddie, who just nodded his head.
ā
āYeah. Exactly that.ā He said in agreement. Wayne nodded, letting out a breath he seemed to have been holding. He glanced around as the sirens started to get louder in the distance.
ā
āIām going to go check on the neighbors. Stay here.ā He said, pointing to the two of us. Thankfully, Wayne was never really one for questioning us. He walked out of the trailer and left us alone inside.
ā
You stared for a moment longer before sitting back down beside Eddie. Your eyes went to his once more as he settled into the couch. He let his head roll to the side as his curls followed him. One thing you always liked: those damned curls.
ā
āYou donāt have to stay here all night, you know?ā Eddie said in that soft voice he only ever seemed to use when he was around you. You let out a small laugh, pulling your knees to your chest once more.
ā
āWhere else would I go? I mean, Hotel Munson is pretty hard to give up.ā You teased as Eddie let out the smallest laugh under his breath. You could tell his eyes were getting heavy, the adrenaline of everything starting to crash as his body relaxed from the pain medicine.
ā
āThen stay. At least until I fall asleep.ā He whispered as his eyes started to close. If you stayed until he fell asleep, youād be gone in five minutes. You smiled just a bit as you reached up and pushed back one of his curls.
ā
āGoodnight, big hair.ā You whispered, teasing that nickname you had called him since he was just a small kid with a mop of curls on his head.
ā
You watched him for the rest of the night, or at least for most of it. You watched as he slept peacefully. Even if all of Hawkins was crumbling apart, piece by piece, your worldā¦your moment in here was safe. It was whole. Because you had Eddie and, really, that was all you needed in this life. The road ahead was going to be longā¦complicated, but it was doable with Eddie by your side.
This is still one of my main problems with S5. Everyone was like "Why is Dustin acting so weird and annoying? š", Hello?! His mentor and one of his best friends died in his arms?!
And Steve being so annoying about it?! Everyone else was allowed to grieve different people or things, except Dustin. Him grieving Eddie was just ridiculous and not worth it, ugh.
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With a very stressful return back to the real world, you, Steve, Nancy, and Eddie return to the boathouse.
"We don't have any idea where Robin and Dustin are." Nancy says.
"What about the walkie we grabbed off the boat?" Steve asked.
"Still nothing." Nancy says.
You huff to yourself, then look at Eddie who's sleeping and covering himself with the tarp like a blanket.
You take mental note of how at peace he looks.
You begin to wonder how anyone could possibly believe such evil of him.
You've seen true evil all your life, and Eddie's nothing of it.
You turn to Steve and Nancy.
"I can find where they are. I just need focus and some static."
"You've got it." Steve says.
You close your eyes and tune in to the frequency.
"I see them. They're at the station."
"What? What station?" Steve asks.
"Police."
"We were just trying to help!" Robin lies.
"You can't interfere with ongoing investigations without notifying law enforcement first. You and your friend here will be let off for now, but that's with a strict warning. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes sir!" Robin and Dustin say in sync.
"Now. Who do I notify to take you home?"
"We can walk home, we don't live far from here. She's my sister." Dustin lies.
The cop gives a skeptical glint before sighing.
"Alright, but go straight home. There's too much shit going on as is."
"Yes, sir!" Dustin and Robin say in unison, and scramble.
"Damn kids." The cop mutters.
"What's happening?" Steve asks.
"Just a moment." You say.
Come to boathouse.
"They're at the boathouse." Robin states.
Dustin looks perplexed. "How do you know that?"
"Let's just say I think I got a message from our beautiful friend with powers."
A couple of days later, everyone meets together at the boathouse as planned the night that Dustin and Robin came back.
"We have Eddie's guitar for music as distraction. We would just need weapons." Nancy concludes.
"Again. You're all making this sound...super easy." Eddie says.
"... But there's one part I'm leaving out."
"I wish you had told me the bad news first."
"...If we want to defeat Vecna, we have to go back into the Upside Down."
"Nope, nope-" Eddie says, already making up his mind.
"I think she's right. He could never be anywhere in this world. My brother likes the advantage of being unfound." You agree.
Steve and Nancy give you a fond smile.
"So you're up for the challenge?" Steve asks.
"I can't continue letting this happen. We have to do this, even if it's dangerous. Too many lives have been lost."
Eddie's whole demeanor switches.
"I think we should go."
"What?! You just said-" Dustin starts.
"I know what I said... But that was a minute ago!"
"Well...okay, Eddie. We need you for music. Plus, I've been waiting to see you play that cool thing." You smile.
Eddie's breathing pathetically shudders.
"Well. Looks like you're in for a surprise. The Dungeon Master will perform a wicked shred to your satisfaction." He grins.
Your cheeks flush, then everything around you disappears in an instant.
You don't know where you are, but you're cold.
Everything is lifeless; grey.
You look around for any mercy, but there's none.
"Hello, anybody?" You call out.
In the real world, everyone's flipping out.
"Shit, shit, shit." Steve and Dustin scramble around for a Walkman.
"Shit, I don't know what to do!" Eddie panics.
"We just need music!" Dustin also panics.
"We don't know what she likes!"
You run around wherever you are, trying to find a way out but there's dead ends no matter where you go.
You hear the sound of wet footsteps ascending behind you, so you turn around.
Your brother, the monster looks at you.
"Hen...henry?"
"I am no longer Henry. I am the Superior One. And you... seem to have forgotten where you came from. Would you like to remember?"
You try to back up, but you hit a wall.
"No Henry, don't-"
Your images shift back to Hawkins Lab.
"Do you remember when they took us? Said they could make us heroes?"
"I- I remember."
"But you got away. Found yourself a nice little family. Friends. A boyfriend."
You're distorted away from the lab, back to your first miserable location.
You let out a sob and cover your mouth when you see what Vecna has shown you.
Eddie's eyes hollow and blood splattered, his limbs facing the same fate as Chrissy's.
"Do you think he'll save you? Make you whole? In fact, he's making you quite weak. Loving is weak."
"No! It's the strongest I've ever felt." You defy.
"Nothing about you is strong. You're simply a softened lab rat that will fall into the tunnel of normalcy. You and I could do beautiful things together."
Suddenly, that's when you hear it.
Music.
A tear in the illusion Vecna made for you.
"No."
"... What did you say?"
"I said, no!"
With a pushing motion of your hand, Vecna is swept back harshly against boarded windows with a thud, causing him to grunt in pain.
You take the chance to run.
He attempts to hurl whatever he can at you when he recovers, but you keep running until the illusion finally snaps.
You harshly hyperventilate as you're brought back into the real world and your true conscious. You grab on to whoever is holding you.
"Oh, thank God!" Dustin says.
You look down and see two ringed hands holding you close from behind. Shuddering breaths fan your ear, then a sigh of relief.
Something in the Way She Moves || Sam (Warfare) || 15
In progress!
Pairing: Sam* (Warfare) x OFC Jolene Johnson *Walsh is the last name I gave him for purposes of this story
Series Warnings: mentions of life in the military/active duty; PTSD and vivid flashbacks; hyper-vigilance; Survivorās guilt; mentions of death and KIA (Killed in Action); detailed grieving and funeral imagery; chronic physical pain and combat-related injuries; traumatic brain injury (TBI) symptoms; mentions of cancer and parental loss; mentions of childbirth; family dynamics and loneliness; Mature Content: Explicit smut including dominant/submissive dynamics, recording sex/sex tapes, mentions of breeding but not actually doing so (the fantasy of it is hot), remote control vibrator, oral sex, and other sexual encounters.
Word Count: 17k+
Author's Note: Sorry for disappearing for a bit. Life's been busy lately, and I've had a few personal things requiring my attention. One of the bigger ones is kind of adjacent to this story in a weird way. Life imitates art? Sort of? Either way... My partner and I got a German Shepherd puppy. His name is Zeppelin, and he has fully committed himself to being an adorable menace. Most of my time lately has been spent chasing after him, making sure he's not eating something he shouldn't, and generally trying to keep up with the little guy. That said, this chapter is a heavy one. Just a small warning (and apology) in advance. I like to think that perhaps Jolene hasn't inherently been the most reliable 'narrator' in a way... As always, thanks to everyone who's stuck with this story and keeps coming back for more. I appreciate every single one of you. Peace and Love ~ Mae
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Jolene
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It was crazy how quickly time managed to fly during the early months of the year. One moment they were celebrating the small victory of on-site housing, and in a blink of an eye, Sam had managed to successfully prove he could move himself from a bed to his wheelchair with confidence. Just enough proven independence that his doctors at Walter Reed released him for months of ongoing outpatient physical therapy back in Virginia. Randy and Loretta had driven up with their SUV, knowing Joleneās truck couldnāt successfully provide a comfortable way for Sam to keep his leg elevated during the five-hour drive home. In some ways, it was nice having them trailing behind in hers while she drove Sam in theirs. Theyād helped out as much as possible without seeming overbearing by pulling off at gas stops, running in to grab her and Sam food while she gently nudged him awake for meds.Ā
When they got home, Randy had walked them through all the modifications to the house with an anxious pride. The ramps out front and back were sturdy, and carefully thought over in the way only a man who loved Jolene like a daughter could manage. The door frames had been widened, the fresh trim not yet painted, smelling of sawdust and love. Loretta had spent the days prior shifting the entirety of essential items in the kitchen to the lower cabinets for easy access to accommodate Samās needs.
The downstairs bedroom, however, was the hardest hurdle. It was homier than Jolene gave it credit for. Filled with the familiar scent of cedar and the soft glow of the lamps theyād brought down from the second floor. But no amount of decorative pillows or a brand new king sized bed could mask the fact that she was sleeping in the room where her father had taken his final breaths. It was unnerving to be there alone. Luckily between Chewie and Sam that was rare.
The first week back was a blur of exhausting firsts. There was the reunion between Sam and Chewbacca. A moment Jolene had braced for with a mixture of hope and terror. The eighty pound German Shepherd had been vibrating with months worth of suppressed energy when they finally pulled into the gravel drive. Jolene had to practically tackle the dog to keep him from launching himself at Samās leg. Eventually, their dog settled into a state of watchful vigil once he calmed. A heavy head resting on Samās good knee, his tail thumping against the hardwood every time Sam so much as shifted a blanket. It was almost as if, in that big Shepherd head of his, he was acknowledging that his dad came back, thus it was his responsibility alone to watch over Sam until he was upright to do it on his own.
The rhythm of their days became dictated by the kitchen timer. The ding signaled the rotation of ice packs, the swallowing of pills, or the beginning of the home exercises that left Sam drenched in sweat and shaking with a silent rage. Jolene watched him from the doorway, her heart aching as she saw the Chief Petty Officer tremble as he tried to lift his leg six inches off the mat a few seconds faster than the previous attempt.Ā
He was improving, though. To Jolene, it was like watching a glacier move. To Sam, it may as well have been the fastest heād ever felt life move. Jolene assumed it was because he was finally doing something. The messy-headed teenager look sheād teased him about at Walter Reed had stayed. He hadnāt asked for the clippers, and she hadn't offered. Instead, she spent the quiet evenings sitting on the edge of the king-sized bed, her fingers working through the darkening curls, gently working through the knots from laying back most of the day. When sheād first met Sam, theyād hovered between honey brown and medium. Now, likely due to the stress, it was beginning to darken and taken on a more ashen color. Not that she minded at all.
They were finally home, and Jolene found herself breathing deeper. Her ribs started to find their curve again as she actually ate the meals Loretta dropped off. It was a conversation that hadnāt gone over well at all the moment Loretta finally laid eyes on her in February. Sheād walked out of the room, away from Samās ears only to get met with sternness and a frightening level of love only her Godmother could muster. Sheād tossed out promises to start being better about eating. Agreeing that Sam wouldnāt benefit if she was unwell because she stopped taking care of herself along the way. Mostly concessions just to get Loretta to stop yelling in the hallway of a military facility. But being back home finally, Jolene allowed herself to believe for the first time since the phone call in November, that things were finally looking up.
Sam was talking about the future again. Not ājust the getting through todayā kind of future, but their Little Creek future. Heād spend his PT sessions grilling the therapists about functional movement, his eyes bright with the prospect of the Lead Instructor role once he was back to normal. He was convinced that by the time the Winter was over, heād be out of the chair for good, and by the end of the year heād be trading the titanium pins for a pair of combat boots and a whistle. Jolene didn't have the heart to tell him that sheād seen the latest emails from the Personnel Office, or that the "purgatory" they thought theyād left behind in D.C. had followed them home in the form of a thick, manila envelope marked Medical Evaluation Board. She just kept her hand in his hair and watched him sleep, waiting for the inevitable day the Navy would come knocking on their front door to reclaim what was left of their hopeful bubble.
As for her shop, being the boss had its perks, mainly the ability to treat her schedule like a rough draft. Sheād pop in during the mid-morning to check the progress on a frame alignment or help her lead mechanic. Sometimes sheād help source a hard-to-find part for a classic restoration with Ruth in the front office. She wasnāt pulling full days yet, but those four-hour stretches were her own version of physical therapy. Sheād work until noon, her hands getting grease-stained and calloused again, before wiping down and racing back to the house to check on Sam.
Tuesdays and Thursdays were the real anchors of their week, given those were PT days.
Getting him into her truck was still a choreographed dance of grunts and careful bracing. Sheād help him leverage his weight from the chair to the passenger seat, tucking his leg into the specific, cushioned configuration he needed to avoid the jarring of the Virginia backroads. Sam usually spent the drive in a focused silence, his jaw set as he prepared for the hour of torture disguised as rehab that awaited him. By the time they pulled back into the driveway around lunch, he was usually a shell of himself. Pale, trembling with muscle fatigue, and smelling of the gymās stale sweat.
"Come on, Grumpy," sheād murmur, her arm around his waist as she guided him toward the modified bathroom. The shower had become their most sacred ritual. In the hospital, it had been about simple hygiene, but here, it was about trying to get him to relax. Sheād get him settled on the newly installed shower bench. The water hot enough to steam up the room and loosen the tight, angry knots in his back. Jolene would step in behind him, her own clothes usually getting damp in the process, and reach for the bottle of expensive, sandalwood-scented shampoo sheād bought specifically because it didn't smell like a pharmacy and the fact the earth fragrance really fit the man she knew who loved to run in the pines back in New England.
Sheād work up a thick lather, her fingers disappearing into the dark, unruly curls that had now fully claimed his head. This was the only time Sam truly let the armor go. Heād lean his head back into her touch, shaky exhales escaping him as Jolene used her nails to scrub his scalp. Sheād take her time, her fingertips moving in slow, deliberate circles, massaging away the tension of the PT session until she felt his shoulders finally drop.
"Better?" sheād ask, her voice barely audible against the hiss of the spray.
Heād usually just offer a muffled grunt of affirmation, his eyes closed, letting her hands be the only thing keeping him tethered to the world. Once he was dry and settled on the bed, the caregiver in her would resurface, shifting from the soft intimacy of the shower to the clinical nature his recovery demanded. Sheād lay out a clean towel beneath his leg, exposed metal catching the light in a way that still made her stomach lurch if she looked at it too long. Cleaning the pin sites was a silent ritual. Jolene would sit on the corner of the mattress, a bowl of saline and a stack of sterile swabs at her side. Sheād work with the steady hand, clearing away the crust and discharge from the places where the titanium met the skin. Sam usually looked away during this part, staring at the ceiling or tracing the pattern on the quilt, his body tensing with every cold swipe of the cotton.
"No redness, Sam. The skin looks tight," sheād provide him with updates. She was always checking for the tell-tale heat of infection, knowing the slight swelling would send them racing back to Walter Reed. It was a weight she carried every time she touched him. The knowledge that his recovery was a house of cards, and she was the one tasked with keeping the wind at bay. The worst of it was his heel. It had been a constant battle since those first two weeks in the ICU when heād been too broken to move. The sore there was stubborn, and still refused to fully close. Jolene would carefully lift his foot, cradling his ankle in her palm to check the dressing before sheād take the time to apply the medicated cream, her touch light as she tried to keep it from turning into a full-blown bedsore.
"Still tender?" sheād ask, though she already knew the answer by the way his toes would curl inward.
"It's fine, Jo. Just do what you gotta do," heād rasp, the exhaustion of the day finally bleeding into his voice.
Sheād finish the wound care with a fresh wrap, before moving on to the rest of the checklist. Sheād check the backs of his thighs, making sure no other pressure points were developing, and then move to the nightstand to organize the afternoon cocktail of meds. She was a hawk about the timing, knowing exactly when the nerve blocks would start to wear off and the "lightning strikes" in his leg would begin.
"Three pills, Sam. Then youāre eating this entire sandwich," sheād command, sliding the plate toward him. Jolene learned early on that if she didn't watch him swallow the last bite, heād neglect it once the lethargy hit. Sheād sit there until the plate was empty, watching the color slowly return to his face as the food and the quiet of the house did their work.
Finally, once the dressings were clean, the meds were down, and the sandwich was gone, sheād help him maneuver his pillows into a fortress of support. Sheād tuck a final bolster under his knee, making sure the elevation was exactly as the therapists demanded. "You good?" sheād ask, leaning over to press a kiss to his forehead.
"Yeah," heād breathe, his eyes already heavy, the fog of the painkillers finally winning. "I'm good, Baby."
Sheād offer a small, genuine smile, snagging her keys from the dresser. Sheād wait until his breathing shifted into that deep, heavy sound of a man who had finally found safety, before sheād quietly click the bedroom door shut. It was only then, she would feel confident enough to walk across the gravel driveway and head toward the shop for the afternoon. And for a few hours, she could be Jolene Johnson, the owner of the best damn mechanic shop in Virginia Beach, while the woman who was holding Sam Walsh together took a much-needed breath.
She tried her best to carve out space for herself. Small, quiet pockets of air where she wasn't just an extension of a medical chart. Truly. But it was a losing battle when everyone around her seemed to exist in a constant state of hunger for updates. She understood, of course. Sam had nearly died. He was currently a miracle with a metal leg, and people cared. But being the sole curator of his trauma meant that every interaction was a reminder of what theyād lost. She found herself unhealthily invested in the most mundane of places. One afternoon, while a teenager at the Piggly Wiggly helped her load groceries into the truck, sheād felt a surge of genuine adrenaline just hearing him mention he went to Princess Anne High.
"I was the kicker there," sheād blurted out, her voice a little too loud, a little too eager. Sheād probably weirded the poor kid out, but she couldn't help it. For three minutes, she wasn't the woman with the "injured SEAL boyfriend." She was just a former athlete talking shop with a fellow Cavalier. It was a rare, precious oxygen bubble. No updates on pin-site infections. No debating mobility milestones with a therapist. No logistics talk with Randy or insurance paperwork with the Casualty Liaison. Even at the shop, where she went for sanctuary, she had to dodge Ruthās well-meaning but heavy-handed inquiries and offers of dropping by groceries. Not to mention, the proximity community was one thing, Samās mother was somehow more overbearing despite the hundreds of miles.
Mary had been a persistent, static-heavy presence in Jolene's ear ever since theyād crossed the state line. If the doctors were in charge of Samās physical recovery, Mary Walsh considered herself the spiritual foreman. She called twice a day, her voice vibrating with that Northeast Upper-middle class pace barely masked her judgment of the southern grit Jolene was using to keep the house running.
Jolene would grit her teeth, her knuckles turning white against the steering wheel or the kitchen counter, and offer the same patient, hollow reassurances. She was a buffer for him. A human shield between Samās fragile ego and his motherās suffocating concern. Sam didn't have the patience for his mother's fussing, and Mary didn't have the stomach for the raw, ugly reality of Samās temper, so the burden fell to Jolene. She was the one who translated his "Iām fine" into something Mary could digest, and Maryās "He should be treated tenderly" into something Sam wouldn't throw a remote at.
By the time sheād hang up, the weight of the balancing act felt heavier than the truck she was driving. Sheād pull into the gravel drive, the gutters overflowing with leaves from months of neglect, heart panging because she knew under normal circumstances heād already have taken care of it. She loved him. She would walk through fire to keep him breathing. But as she watched Chewbacca jumping on the other side of the door with his tail a happy blur, Jolene felt a pang of envy for the dog. He didn't need to know about complications of Sam's recovery and career. He just wanted a head scratch.
Inside, Sam was likely waking up from his nap, his mind already churning through the day's frustrations. And tucked in the glove box, hidden beneath a pile of napkins and a spare wrench, was the manila envelope from the Navy. She hadn't told him yet that the home visit from the Naval Officer had been scheduled for Friday, mostly because she wanted him to have one more night of believing that he was a man returning to his career, and not a liability being measured for his exit.
"Just a little more time," she whispered to the empty truck, smoothing her hair. She climbed out and headed toward the ramp, the weight of the world settling back onto her shoulders with every step. The house was cool, the air smelling of the lavender-scented floor wax Loretta had used to scrub the place within an inch of its life before they arrived. Usually, the sound of the door was enough to send a ripple through the house, but today, there was only the low, steady hum of the refrigerator.
The door was cracked, letting a sliver of the afternoon sun slice across the hardwood floor. Sam was out. Not just resting, but truly, deeply submerged in a narcotic-induced heavy sleep. He was sprawled on his back, the mountain of pillows sheād meticulously arranged still holding his leg in its elevated position. The sheets were kicked down to his waist, revealing the stark contrast of his body. The slightly softened but still corded muscles of his chest and arms, leading way to the thinning shape of his legs and the brutal reality of the fixator below.
"Sam," she whispered, leaning over him. She reached out, her hand hovering over his shoulder before she gently shook him. "Hey, Baby. Time to join the living." He didn't move. She tried again, her voice a little louder, her hand sliding up to the side of his neck where his pulse beat slow and steady. "Sam. Wake up, honey."
He let out a long, shuddering sigh, his head rolling toward her touch. His eyes didn't snap open with the alertness sheād seen for years. There was no bracing for a threat, no immediate tensing of his jaw. Instead, he surfaced slowly, like someone rising through deep, clear water. When his eyelids finally fluttered open, they were unfocused and soft. He looked at her, and for a fleeting, devastating second, the hardened bastard sheād come to know well the last few months was nowhere to be found. The defensive lines around his mouth were gone, smoothed over by the remnants of sleep. He looked younger. Almost boyish in a way.Ā
"Jo?" he murmured, his voice a thick, sleep-warmed rasp. He didn't ask about his meds. He didn't complain about the ache that always followed a nap. Instead, he reached for her, his hand trailing up her arm until his fingers found the back of her neck, pulling her down toward him with a desperate tenderness. "You're back," he whispered against her skin as she let herself be pulled into his space. He tucked his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply. He sounded vulnerable. Like a man who hadn't yet remembered that he was supposed to be angry at the world.
Jolene felt a sharp ache in her chest. A pressure so intense it made her eyes sting. She hadn't realized until this exact moment just how much of him sheād been missing. Sheād been so focused on the patient who required frequent medical intervention, the soldier who needed her logistics on paper, and the survivor he was lucky to be that sheād forgotten about the man who used to look at her like she was the only thing that made sense. The version of Sam sheād been living with lately was a fortress she so often felt outside of, but here, in the dim light of her fatherās old room, the gates were wide open.
"I'm back," she managed to say, her voice trembling just enough for him to notice. She ran her fingers through his hair, her nails lightly scratching the scalp sheād scrubbed earlier, and he let out a soft, contented hum that vibrated through her own body.
He pulled back just an inch, his thumb tracing the line of her lower lip. His gaze was clear, for once, and filled with a raw, unburdened affection that made her want to sob. "I missed you," he said simply.
It wasn't a joke. It wasn't a sarcastic remark meant to deflect. It was a Glimpse. Seeing him like this, so open and tender, nearly broke her. It was a reminder of the man who existed beneath the titanium and the trauma. The one she was fighting so hard to preserve even as the Navy prepared to write him off as a loss. The one who may never walk properly again, and was doing his best to not be angry or worried about that fact. The man who promised her the world and now demanded too much of it to give her that. She leaned down and pressed her forehead against his, closing her eyes to hide the moisture. She wanted to stay in this moment forever, in the quiet space where the hardware didn't matter and the manila envelope didn't exist. She wanted to hold onto this boyish and sweet version of him before the world rushed back in and he remembered he was broken.
"I missed you too, Walsh," she whispered, her voice fracturing on his name.
She pressed her face into his shoulder, the tears finally winning as they soaked into his t-shirt. To anyone else, it would have sounded like the standard greeting of a girlfriend whoād been gone for a few hours at the shop. But internally, Jolene was grieving a much longer absence. She wasn't talking about the three hours sheād spent at the garage; she was talking about the months sheād spent looking for him in the wreckage of hospital rooms and bureaucracy. She missed the man who didnāt need her this intensely, and instead chose to allow himself to want her.
She stayed there, feeling the tightening of his arm, and let her mind drift back to the version of Sam Walsh she had first fallen for.
It felt like a different lifetime, that first night in the bar. She could still see him sitting at the counter at Randy and Lorettaās. Just a handsome stranger with a half-drank Michelob and a quiet, observant air that had instantly stilled the noise of the room. Sheād walked in, fresh off a long two weeks in Baltimore for Elijahās delivery and welcome home, and had fallen into those honeyed eyes before she could even think to put up a guard. There had been a warmth there that melted into a heat that wasn't aggressive, but steady and sure.
In those early months, sheād grown addicted to the quiet, casual way he claimed her space. It wasn't about the grand gestures, but the small, mindless touches that defined their rhythm. She thought of the way heād come through the front door after a long day at the base. His uniform smelt of sea salt and jet fuel, and heād immediately find her at the stove. He wouldn't say a word, just slide a large, warm hand onto the curve of her waist, wrapping himself around her while she stirred a pot of pasta or flipped a grilled cheese. It was a silent check-in, a way of saying Iām back, youāre here, and thatās enough.
At night, when theyād settle onto the couch to catch up on a show, his hands were never still. His fingers would find the bare skin of her shoulder, tracing the lines of her old shop related injuries or the faint freckles there with a distractingly gentle ease. Heād do it while his eyes were fixed on the screen, a subconscious movement that made her feel more seen than any conversation ever could.
Even in sleep, Sam had been a man who craved proximity. She remembered the dozens of times sheād woken up in the middle of the night to find he had shifted toward her, his heavy forearm tossed over her side. He had a habit of abandoning his own pillow, gradually migrating until he was leaning into hers, his face tucked against the back of her neck or his forehead resting against her temple.
Now, as she felt his hand stroking her hair in the quiet of her fatherās bedroom, she realized she was holding a ghost of that man. He was still there. She could see him in the boyish curve of his mouth and the way he still sought out her scent, but he was buried under layers of pain and a desperate, clawing need to be useful again. Sam let out a soft, questioning noise, sensing the shift in her mood. "Jo? You're shaking, baby. What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she lied, pulling back just enough to wipe her eyes with the heel of her hand. She forced a small, watery smile, desperate to keep the front from crumbling completely in front of him, only daring to look up at his eyes for a brief moment before looking away. "Just glad to be home. Iām just... tired."
Samās eyes narrowed slightly, that observant streak sheād so usually associated with him flickering back to life. He didn't entirely believe her.Ā He was too good at reading her for that, and the narcotic fog wasn't quite thick enough to hide the hitch in her breathing. In the half-light of the room, he didn't let it go. He may not have had the energy for a confrontation, but he had a surplus of that quiet, marrow-deep intuition that had always made him her perfect match.
"Jolene," he murmured, his voice a low, vibrating hum against her ear. He shifted, a small hiss of pain escaping as his leg protested the movement, as he hooked his thumb under her chin, gently forcing her to look up, though she tried to bury her face back into the cotton of his shirt. "Don't do that. Don't hide from me."
"I'm not," she whispered, the lie tasting like salt.
"You are." His touch was impossibly tender, his fingers tracing the wet path of a tear down her cheek with a reverence that made her chest feel like it was being squeezed in a vise. He sounded so much like the man who used to hold her in the dark before the world broke. "Tell me. Is it the shop? Is it Ma? Did someone say something to you?" The gentleness was her undoing. If he had been grumpy, she could have been firm. If he had been distant, she could have been busy. But this raw, soft version of him stripped away every defense she had left.
"Itās just exhaustion, Sam," she whispered, the first silent sob breaking through the dam. She collapsed against him, her forehead pressed into the center of his sternum, her hands fist-clenching the fabric of his shirt as if he were the only thing keeping her from drifting out to sea. "I just wish you weren't going through this. I miss the you who isn't hurting every second of the day."
She cried unlike how she had in the last months. Not the silent, polite tears she shed in the shower or the margins of the day, but the deep, racking sobs of a woman who had been carrying a mountain on her back for months. She cried for the bar in Virginia Beach, for the lightheartedness they once shared, for the future that was on hold and for the terrifying, looming reality of the Friday appointment she hadn't told him about yet. And the worst part of it all, was the excuse she muttered out as to why she was loosing it... was nothing more than a half truth to keep it all at bay.
"I'm okay, baby. Just breathe. Iāve got you," he murmured, his voice lacked even a trace of the detachment that had defined their interactions lately. He pressed a kiss to her temple, his lips lingering there as if he could draw the sorrow out of her skin. But his softness only acted as a catalyst. Every tender word was a reminder of the gentleness they had sacrificed at the altar of his survival, and it made her sob harder, her shoulders shaking with the sheer force of a release that had been months in the making. She felt like a frayed wire finally snapping under the current.
Halfway through the storm, a bolt of guilt pierced through her grief. She felt a sudden need to pull away, her mind racing with the realization that she was supposed to be the strong one. She was the one who cleaned the pins; she was the one who fought the Navy; she was the one who held the line. She shouldn't be letting a random Tuesday be the thing that finally leveled her. Not after sheād survived the ICU. Not after sheād stood up to Mary Walsh. Or after sheād swallowed the bitter pill of knowing the kind and soft man sheād known was nowhere on the horizon in the wake of what happened to him.
"I'm sorry," she choked out, her voice wet and thick. She tried to push back, her palms flat against his pectorals as she attempted to sit up and wipe the tears from her face with her sleeves. "I donāt know why Iām doing this. Iām just tired, Sam. I didnāt mean to... to put this on you."
But as she tried to retreat into her fortress, Samās grip tightened. He didn't let her move an inch. The grogginess was gone now, replaced by a sudden alertness that cut through the haze of his meds. He hooked his arm more firmly around her waist and used his other hand to press her head back down against his heart, refusing to let the distance grow between them.
"Don't," he whispered, "Don't you dare apologize, Jolene."
She tried to protest again, a small, muffled sound against his shirt, but he shifted just enough to tuck his chin over the top of her head, holding her there.
"Just stay," he breathed, his hand moving in slow, heavy strokes down the length of her spine. "Please. Just... let me be the one holding the pain for a minute. Let me feel like a man for once."
The honesty in his plea struck her harder than any of his previous outbursts ever had. Because of all the ways he'd needed her these past few weeks, this was different. Before, his needs had been practical. Humiliating, vulnerable, painfully human. There had been those awkward first sponge baths, his pitiful brown eyes fixed on the ceiling while she carefully pulled back his foreskin and cleaned the most intimate parts of him under a nurse's supervision. There were the countless transfers from bed to chair and back again, the constant adjustments, the medications she tracked because he simply didn't have the mental capacity to manage them himself. Those were real needs. Necessary needs. The kind that stripped away every trace of romance or sex appeal between them and left her in the singular role of caretaker. She had become the person who kept him functioning, who carried the weight when he no longer could.
But this was different.
This wasn't him asking her to care for him. It was him asking for the chance to care for her. To shoulder some of the emotional burden she'd been carrying alone. To offer strength instead of borrowing it. As though he'd been starving for an opportunity to give back even a fraction of what she'd given him every day since November. And somehow, that need touched her more deeply than all the others combined.
Jolene stopped fighting his kindness. She let her hands go limp against his chest, her fingers curling into the soft cotton of his shirt as she surrendered to the weight of his embrace. She stayed there, listening to the steady, powerful thrum of his heart. In the quiet of the room, with the late afternoon sun fading against the hardwood, the roles finally blurred. For the first time in a long time, the house didn't feel like a recovery ward. It just felt like home.
She lingered there for a long moment, the steady cadence of his heartbeat against her cheek. But as the silence deepened, the secret she was keeping began to feel less like a hidden burden and more like a betrayal. The warmth of his skin felt unearned while she was holding back a truth that would inevitably shatter this fragile peace. The guilt grew teeth, gnawing at her until she couldn't breathe under the weight of his kindness. Reluctantly, she pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes red-rimmed and her voice still caught in the back of her throat.
"Sam," she started, her fingers nervously picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. "Thereās something... I haven't told you yet. About Friday. The Navy, they're sending someone. A field representative from the PERS office and a medical liaison. Theyāre coming here, to the house, for a formal evaluation."
She braced herself for the impact. She expected the jaw to lock, the eyes to turn to flint, or for him to pull away in a fit of territorial rage at the thought of a suit sitting in their living room. Instead, Sam just exhaled a long, slow breath, his expression remaining maddeningly neutral.
"I know, Jo," he said casually, his thumb resuming its slow stroke against her temple. "Friday at ten, right? I figured theyād be here by then."
Jolene froze, her heart skipping a beat. She blinked at him, the tears drying on her cheeks as a wave of confusion washed over her. "You know? How? I haven't even brought the paperwork in from the truck yet."
Sam shifted slightly, the bed creaking under his weight, his gaze drifting toward the window where the Virginia sun was beginning to dip behind the pines. "Got a call on Monday," he admitted, his voice leveled out into a low, steady hum. "One of the Chiefās from the Command called my cell while you were at the shop. He gave me the heads-up that the paperwork for the training billet had hit a snag and that the medical board was fast-tracking the home visit."
"Youāve known since Monday?" Jolene sat up fully now, her hands dropping to her lap. She felt a strange, dizzying sensation, like the ground had shifted beneath her. "And you didn't say anything? You just let me sit here and agonize over how to break it to you? Sam, Iāve been losing sleep for three days trying to figure out how to tell you without... without you spiraling."
She searched his face, looking for the anger, the fear, or the stubborn denial that had been his constant companion at Walter Reed. But he just looked tired. Not the medicated tired, but a deep, soulful exhaustion. His calmness was eerie.
"I didn't want to ruin the week," he said simply, reaching out to snag her hand again.
"But Sam, theyāre coming to evaluate if you're retainable," she whispered, her voice trembling with the weight of the word. "Don't you get it? This isn't just a check-in. This is the start of the exit. How are you so... okay with this?"
"I'm not okay with it," he countered, and for a split second, the old light of the Chief Petty Officer flickered in his honeyed eyes. "But Iāve spent enough time to know you don't jump the gun on a brief. I'm just waiting for the enemy to show up at the door so I can see what kind of fight weāre actually in. Until then, there's no point in us both drowning in the 'what-ifs'."
Jolene stared at him, her mind racing. She had spent weeks acting as his shield, his translator, and his primary defender, only to realize he had been standing in the rain right beside her, watching the same horizon. The shock of his composure was almost as painful as his previous outbursts. It was a reminder that even when he was broken, even when he was boyish and sweet in the margins of a nap, he was still a man who had been trained to endure.
"You're terrifying sometimes, you know that?" she breathed, her hand tightening around his.
"I'm just a man whoās trying to figure out how to function in those small gaps between meds, Jo," he murmured, pulling her back down into the crook of his arm. "The rest of it? We'll handle it on Friday. For now, just stay here."
The weight of the afternoon finally overtook her. Jolene didnāt mean to sleep. She just meant to close her eyes for a second, relaxed by the rise and fall of Samās chest and his fingers in her hair. Yet, when she finally jolted awake, the room was bathed in the bruised purple of twilight.Ā
"Sam?" she croaked, sitting up and finding the other side of the bed empty, and the man sheād fallen asleep on long gone.
She scrambled to her feet, her joints stiff, and hurried toward the kitchen. She expected to find him struggling, perhaps stuck in a narrow turn or frustrated by a high shelf. Instead, she stopped dead in the doorway. The kitchen was warm. The low, golden light of the stove's hood lamp illuminated Sam, who was positioned in his wheelchair by the island. Heād already cleared a space on the counter. Beside him sat an empty glass dish, and the scent of bubbling cheese and roasted chicken was already beginning to fill the air. Heād simply taken the pre-made casserole Loretta had left and managed to slide it into the oven himself.
He looked up as she entered, a rare, genuine smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You were dead to the world. Figured I could handle a thirty-minute bake without calling in reinforcements."
"Sam, you shouldn't have been leaning over the oven doorā"
"Iām fine," he interrupted, but for once, it didn't sound like a defense. He looked settled, his posture relaxed as he patted the arm of his chair. "Go sit down."
Jolene watched him, a lump forming in her throat. Seeing him navigate the kitchen with that spark of stubborn competence felt like a promise. Not a grand one, but a small, precious assurance that the man she loved was still in there. Still fighting his way back to her.
As they ate later by the light of the candles on the table, Sam laughed while recounting a story about Chewbacca's antics that day. The sound caught her off guard. It wasn't the strained, obligatory chuckle she'd grown used to hearing over the past few months. It was his real laugh. Warm and unguarded. One that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made his shoulders shake. The one she'd fallen in love with. The shadows of the Navy and the pins in his leg seemed to retreat into the corners of the room. For the first time in months, she wasn't studying him for signs of pain or mentally calculating his next medication dose, wondering if he'd overexerted himself. She was simply looking at him.
The candlelight caught the copper tones hidden in his brown hair. A faint scar near his chin she'd somehow never noticed before despite years together. The way his hands moved when he told a story, animated even while seated. The tiny crease that appeared beside his mouth whenever he was trying not to laugh at his own jokes. She found herself collecting those details without meaning to, storing them away somewhere deep inside her. Like a bear preparing for winter. Like part of her already knew there would be another bad day waiting around the corner. Another morning where pain and frustration hollowed him out and left him snapping at her over something insignificant. Another argument started by a misplaced remote or a forgotten refill or a question asked at the wrong moment. Another day where she'd have to remind herself that the man lashing out wasn't the man sitting across from her now.
So she memorized this version instead.
The easy smile. The softness in his eyes. The way he leaned back in his chair with his arms folded behind his head, looking comfortable in his own skin for the first time in what felt like forever.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Each second stretching longer than it should have, as though the universe itself recognized how rare this was and was reluctant to let it pass. Jolene couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so present. Not trapped in the future, worrying about what came next. Not buried in the past, mourning everything they'd lost.
Just here.
Watching Sam tell a ridiculous story about a dog.
Watching candlelight flicker across his face.
Watching him become himself again.
And for a few fragile hours, she allowed herself to believe that maybe they were finally turning a corner. That maybe the worst was behind them. That maybe this version of him, the one laughing across the table, making her stomach hurt from smiling so much, was the man she'd get to keep from now on.
And somehow despite not having the chance to shower, still covered in grease from the shop, and eating reheated chicken and rice casserole, it was the best night they'd had since the world ended.
Ā·Ā· ć° āļø ć° Ā·Ā·
The meeting hadn't been the explosive confrontation Jolene had braced for. Instead, it was something far more corrosive. A bureaucratic drowning. The Medical Liaison had clearly delivered this speech a thousand times. He sat in her fatherās living room and spoke about Samās life as if it were a ledger that wouldn't quite balance. He hadn't officially stamped the retirement papers yet. Not because there was hope, but because there was procedure.
"Look," the Liaison had said, clicking his pen. "Technically, you're in limbo. We can't finalize medical retirement until you've hit your Maximum Medical Improvement. You have to finish this course of physical therapy before the board can do the final tally. That's regulation."
Sam had leaned forward, his knuckles white as he gripped the armrests of his chair. "Iām at eighty percent mobility on the charts, for my current marker. Well ahead of what they expected, Sir. By the time I finish the last block of PT, Iāll be ready for the Little Creek billet. I just need a recommendation for the waiver until I can finish."
The officer had looked at Sam, not with malice, but with a weary pity that made Joleneās stomach turn.
"In my experience, Sam, conditions like yours always hit that disability percentage. Even after the harshest PT, even with the best surgeons, or the most hard working soldiers.Ā The math just doesn't work for a Lead Instructor role. You canāt be responsible for a range or a team if you canāt carry the weight or thereās concern about small shifts causing serious damages. Itās a liability even in a training setting. You shouldn't get your hopes up."
Heād leaned back, spreading his hands as if offering a consolation prize.
"For now, look at the silver lining. You're in active recovery. That means Uncle Sam is still picking up the tab for every hour of therapy, every pill, and every specialist. Use the insurance. Milk the recovery for everything it's worth. But you need to understand that at the end of this road, the result is likely going to be the same. In my experience, Iād assume youāll be retiring regardless. Use this time to figure out what a civilian Sam Walsh looks like while you are getting paid to focus on getting healthy. Lord knows there are worse places to be in this economy."
Since the door had closed, Sam hadn't moved. He hadnāt spoken. He had wheeled himself to the window that looked out toward the gravel drive and the distant, blurred line of the trees, and he had simply stopped.
Jolene watched him from the kitchen as she handwashed a full load of dishes, because she couldn't bring herself to break the quiet. Sam was catatonic. His hands, usually so restless, were dead weights in his lap.Ā
Deep down she knew that to Sam, the āsilver lining" of free insurance was just a longer leash on a dog that was already being put out to pasture. Jolene wanted to go to him, to press her face into his shoulder and tell him theyād find another way, but for the first time, she felt like she didn't have the right. She was the one who could still walk out to the shop. She wasnāt the one whose career would be dictated by medical percentages.
She watched the sun track across the floorboards, inching toward his motionless chair, and realized that the boyish, sweet man from Tuesday had been buried under his hope clashing with the unfortunate reality of his situation. The fight wasn't over, but as she looked at the hollowed-out expression on Samās face, she feared the warrior had finally decided there was nothing left worth fighting for. She decided to give him space, though it felt more like leaving a man to drown in shallow water. Jolene poured her nervous energy into the house, tackling tasks that didn't require her to look at the hollowed-out expression on his face. She lugged baskets of laundry to the machine. She scrubbed the bathrooms until the scent of bleach burned her throat, and she swept the hardwood floors. And when the common housecleaning was finished she undertook those hardly tackled tasks: scrubbing baseboards, going through every kitchen cabinet to purge old spices or cans, and polishing wood furniture.
Every time she passed the living room, sheād steal a glance. He hadnāt moved. The light had shifted from a pale morning yellow to a sharp, midday glare, and Sam remained a statue in the window.
After three hours, she finally tried to break the seal. She approached him with a glass of water. "Sam? It's time for your afternoon meds."
He didn't blink. He didn't even acknowledge she was in the room. When she reached out to touch his shoulder, he didn't pull away, but he didn't lean in, either. His eyes remained fixed on a spot in the gravel drive, and he refused to maintain eye contact. It was as if heād pulled a shutter down over his soul, and Jolene was on the outside looking at a blank wall.
She felt helpless panic as she retreated to the kitchen, her hands shaking as she pulled her phone from her pocket. She couldn't do this alone. Not this part. She dialed Randy.
"JJ? Everything okay?" her godfatherās voice was warm, but he caught the tension in her silence immediately.
"Randy... the Navy was here. The liaison," she whispered, leaning her forehead against the cool surface of the refrigerator. "He's... he's gone dark, Randy. He won't look at me. He won't move. Heās just sitting there. I canāt get him to take meds or even notice life moving in front of his face."
There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. Randy understood the weight of that sentence better than anyone. Decades ago, a fall had shattered several of Randyās vertebrae and mangled his knee, ending his career in the SEALs in one brutal afternoon. He came back and Jolene had watched her father set him straight when he realized that there would be a life outside the Navy.
"He feels discarded, Jo," Randy said, his voice gravelly and knowing. "He thinks heās a burden now, and heās mad at the world for proving him right."
"Can you come over?" she asked, her voice cracking. "He won't talk to me. I think... I think he needs someone whoās been in a similar situation."
"I'm already grabbin' my keys Baby," Randy replied. "Don't push him, Jolene. Just let the house stay quiet till I get there. He's grievin' a man who hasn't died yet. That's a lonely kind of funeral." She hung up and looked back toward the living room. The sun was hitting the titanium pins in Sam's leg, making them glint. She went back to finding ways to productively keep her hands moving far away from Samās vicinity.
Randyās old truck rumbled into the drive, and Jolene was out the door before heād even cut the engine. She met him at the bottom of the ramp, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as if she were trying to hold her own ribs together.
Randy climbed out slowly and pulled her into a one-armed squeeze. He didn't ask if she was okay. He could see the shadows under her eyes and the way her hands were trembling. "He's in the same spot," she whispered into his flannel shirt. "He hasn't blinked in an hour, Randy. He won't even look at me. I feel like if I touch him, heāll just... shatter."
Randy stepped back, adjusting his cap. He looked toward the house, his expression grim and knowing. "Heās in the why me phase, Jo. And the why me phase is real ugly when you've spent your whole life being the one people rely on. You go on and get out of here for a bit. Go to the shop, or go tinker in the barn. Iāll sit with him. Weāll just talk man-to-man."
"I'll give you guys space," she nodded, wiping a stray tear with the back of her hand. "Iāll be in the barn if you need me. I just... I can't watch him look through me anymore."
She watched Randy disappear inside, the screen door clicking shut. She crossed the yard to the barn that housed her personal projects. She pulled the heavy sliding door open, the scent of dust, gasoline, and old leather rising up to greet her. In the center of the floor, under a layer of fine Virginia dust, sat her ā69 Camaro. It was her sanctuary. She walked over to it, her hand tracing the long, aggressive line of the fender. For two hours, she didn't think about medical liaisons or titanium pins. She grabbed a rag and a can of polish and began to work on the chrome, the repetitive motion of her arm numbing the static in her brain. She checked the oil, adjusted a belt, and simply sat in the driverās seat for a while, gripping the steering wheel and imagining a road that didn't end in a hospital parking lot.
The sun was starting to cast long shadows across the barn floor when the heavy door groaned open again. Jolene looked up, her heart leaping into her throat. Randy was walking toward her, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He looked tired but the set of his jaw was less tense.
She climbed out of the car, wiping her hands on her jeans. "Is he okay? Did he say anything?"
Randy stopped a few feet away, looking at the Camaro and then back at the house. He blew out a long breath that puffed in the cooling air.
"Heās talkin'," Randy said softly. "Not a lot, and most of itās cussing at the ceiling, but the ice is cracked. I told him about the day I fell. Told him about how I spent three months wishing Iād just hit my head instead of my back so I wouldn't have to deal with the bullshit that came after. Especially with how much of a bastard it made me towards Loretta. It took a long time to stop thinking death wouldāve been a better solution than being angry all the time."
Jolene winced, the honesty of it stinging. "What did he say?"
"He asked me how I stopped being angry," Randy replied, a small, sad smile touching his lips. "And I told him the truth. You don't ever really stop being angry at the way it happened. You just eventually get too tired to hold onto it."
He stepped closer, clapping a hand on Joleneās shoulder. "Heās exhausted, honey. Heās gonna probably keep seeing everything in front of his eyes with malice because it hurts and he feels useless. But he asked if you were still out here 'poking at that damn Chevy'." The relief that washed over her was so physical she felt her knees weaken. "Go on back in there," Randy nudged her toward the house. "Iām gonna head home and tell Loretta to double the batch of whatever sheās making for Sunday. Weāre gonna get through this, Jo. Itās not easy, but heās still alive and thatās what matters. I know that boy in there thinks the world of you, and thatās not something I take lightly."
Jolene let out a breath. "Thank you, Randy. I didn't know who else to call."
Randyās expression softened, the hard lines of his weathered face crinkling into something warm and steady. He had that distinct, silver-bearded Kenny Rogers energy under normal circumstances. A kindness and gentleness. Today that look had largely been absent given the depth. He pulled her into a final, rib-crushing hug, "You don't ever have to thank me, JJ," he murmured into her hair. "Iām gonna start poppinā in more often. Not to hover. Mostly just to be a nuisance. Keep his brain off the leg and maybe be a bit less snappy towards you. I didnāt give him an earful today about it, but heās gotta reel it back in at some point. He said it himself but thatās my job to make sure itās winding down as the meds ease up more and more."
He stepped back, his hands resting on his belt loops, and looked toward the house with a thoughtful squint. "And listen. If he starts really struggling, I mean really hittin' the bottom of the well, Iāve got something tucked away at my place I can drop off for him."
Jolene wiped a stray smudge of grease from her cheek, her brow furrowing. "What?"
Randy offered a slow, cryptic wink. "Top secret. Only for SEAL eyes, I'm afraid."
Jolene let out a dry, incredulous scoff, a small spark of her usual fire returning to her eyes. "Oh, for God's sake, Randy. Tell me you aren't planning on dropping off some ancient porn stash for my currently narcotic-brained boyfriend. The last thing Sam needs right now is a vintage collection of Playboy to distract him from his PT."
Randy let out a wheezing chuckle, shaking his head as he turned toward his truck. "Nothin' like that, baby. Give me some credit. It's just... a bit of advice Iāve held onto, if one of us falls off the wagon." He climbed into the cab of his truck, "Go check on him."
Jolene watched the taillights of his truck fade down the drive, leaving her in the deepening blue of the evening. She felt the weight of the cryptic promise Randy held for men who had been broken by the service they loved. She didn't know what that entailed, but as she turned back toward the house, she felt a sliver of hope with that in her backpocket.
She walked up the ramp, the wood solid beneath her boots, and stepped back into the quiet. The house felt different now. She moved toward the living room, ready to find whatever version of Sam Walsh was waiting for her. The screen door clicked shut, but Jolene didn't immediately call out. She silently stalked through the entryway, her boots making barely a sound on the braided rug as she navigated the dimming hallway. She was preparing herself for the worst. Bracing to find him still frozen by the window, or a statue of grief in her fatherās old chair.
But when she turned the corner into the living room, the space by the window was empty.
A faint scraping sound drew her eye toward the kitchen. There, bathed in the low amber glow of the under-cabinet lighting, was Sam. He had wheeled himself right up to the counter, his large frame awkwardly angled in the chair as he stretched his arms upward. He was reaching the absolute best he could toward the back of the counter, his fingers straining to hook around the handle of the ceramic coffee canister. Right beside the left wheel of his chair was Chewbacca. The big German Shepherd was sitting completely still, ears alert and dark eyes tracking Samās every micro-movement. The dog was keeping a respectful distance, ensuring Sam wouldn't unbalance himself and hurt his leg.
Sam was breathing heavily, his entire focus consumed by the six inches between his fingertips and the counter, so he barely heard the soft scuff of her boots. Jolene didn't say a word. She just closed the distance between them, walking up right behind him. She extended her hand and gently placed her palm against the rigid line of his shoulder.
At the touch, the tension left his frame all at once. Sam let out an exhale and settled back into the cushion of the wheelchair, his arms dropping heavily into his lap. He paused for a beat, letting the dog lean its heavy head against his good knee, before he slowly turned his head to look up at her.
In the dim kitchen light, his brown eyes were wide open. Jolene looked down and saw it all. The fiery anger at a body that wouldn't obey, the profound confusion of a man whose roadmap had been torn up, the stark fear of the unknown, and a deep, heavy sadness that broke her heart. She kept her hand on his shoulder, her thumb lightly rubbing the base of his neck. "What are you doing?" she asked.
Sam looked away for a split second, his jaw working as he swallowed hard, before his eyes locked back onto hers. "I was gonna bring you coffee," he muttered. "You were out in the barn. It's getting cold out. Figured youād want some."
He got quiet then, the hum of the refrigerator filling the space between them. Chewbacca let out a soft whine, his tail giving one hollow thump against the floorboards. Sam reached up, his large, rough hand covering hers where it rested on his shoulder, squeezing tight enough to let her feel the tremble in his fingers. "I didn't mean to scare you like that, Jo," he whispered, looking up at her with a vulnerability that stripped away every last boundary between them. "Earlier. I just... I didn't mean to scare you."
Jolene reached out with her other hand, her fingers gently cupping the side of his face. His skin was warm, the facial hair along his jaw rough against her palm.
"Itās okay," she murmured, "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."
She looked past his shoulder to the top shelf where the ceramic canister sat, just out of his reach. Instead of doing what sheād done for weeks and managing the task for him, Jolene simply stretched her arm over his head. Her fingers hooked around the handle, pulling the heavy jar down from the ledge.
But she didn't set it on the counter to start scooping the grounds herself. She lowered it into his lap, placing the weight of the ceramic directly into his calloused hands. "Here," she whispered, keeping her hands over his for a beat. "You make it. I like yours better anyway."
Sam didn't immediately move to open the lid. He just sat there, his fingers curling around the cold ceramic, holding it against his stomach. He stared down at his hands, his breathing slowing until the kitchen was completely silent save for Chewbaccaās heavy sigh as the dog settled flat against the floor. She realized then that in the wake of the Navy liaisonās visit, Sam had completely blown past his afternoon medication window. Heād missed his doses. For weeks, even as the doctors at Walter Reed had started the slow process of weaning him off the heavy-duty narcotics, he had still lived in a perpetual, sluggish fog. That heavy narcotic brain that made his reactions slow and his temper unpredictable.
But right now, the fog was entirely gone. The pain was likely creeping back into his shattered shin, but it had brought his mind back with it. He was fully present, looking at the kitchen, looking at her terrifying sharpness. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple moving in the low light, his grip tightening on the canister until his knuckles turned white.
"The room stopped spinning about an hour after Randy got here," Sam said, his voice dropping into a quiet, raspy register that was entirely devoid of the chemical slur. He didn't look up from the jar in his lap. "The meds... they make everything feel like it's happening under twenty feet of water, Jo. When that guy was sitting on your dad's couch telling me I'm done... I couldn't even think straight enough to argue the way I wanted to."
He finally lifted his head, his gaze locking onto hers.
"I'm sorry I went dark on you," he whispered, his thumb tracing the rim of the canister. "Iām not... Iām not going to be a ghost in this house, Jolene. Iām a bastard right now, and my leg feels like it's on fire, but I'm here."
Jolene leaned her hip against the counter, her posture softening as she kept her eyes leveled with his. The clarity in his gaze was a relief, but it also meant the raw truth of their situation was sitting right there on the wood floor between them.
"Okay," she said calmly, "So, what does being here look like, Sam? What do you want from me right now?" She paused, watching the way his jaw tightened, before she gave him the options sheād been mentally cycling through for days. "Do you want me to just not bring it up? Do you want us to put our heads together and plan a strategy for this evaluation? Do you need help thinking about shifting careers? Or do you just want me to distract you, so we can just focus on the day-in, day-out grind of getting you moving?"
Sam looked down at the coffee canister in his lap, his shoulders dropping. The fierce intensity in his eyes faded into unvarnished honesty.
"I don't know, Jo," he admitted, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. "Honestly, I don't know." He let out a breath, finally looking back up at her, his expression thick with a vulnerability that made her throat tight. "I see everything youāre doing. Every single day. I wanted to rush back to that Little Creek job so I could be the one taking care of you once Iām back on my feet. I wanted to pull my weight again. I figured... hell, I figured you deserved an extended vacation for everything youāve put up with since November."
A small, breathless laugh caught in Joleneās throat, and she shook her head, a genuine smile breaking through her exhaustion. "Sam, I don't need an extended vacation. Iād go absolutely stir-crazy sitting around the house all day."
The moment the words left her mouth, the air in the kitchen shifted.
Sam went quiet. His gaze dropped back to his lap, his posture stiffening as the weight of her phrasing settled over the situation he found himself in. Joleneās smile vanished instantly. A spike of regret hit her stomach as she realized exactly how those words sounded to a man who had no choice but to sit around the house all day.
"Sam... I'm sorry," she whispered quickly, her hand sliding down his arm to squeeze his wrist. "That was a terrible choice of words. I didn't mean it like that."
Sam didnāt look up immediately, his thumb continuing its slow circuit around the lid of the ceramic jar. But the tension in his broad shoulders didn't harden into the stone sheād grown to dread. Instead, a slow exhalation escaped his nose, and when he finally lifted his chin, he tried to crack a smile for her. It was a faint, lopsided thing that didn't quite reach the dark circles under his eyes, but it was there.
"Hey. Itās okay," he said softly, his voice rough but steady. "Iām going a bit nuts myself staring at the same four walls and the same pine trees out that window. If I have to watch another infomercial or hear the bedroom clock ticking as the hours pass between the ice packs, Iām gonna lose my mind."
Jolene let out a breath she felt like sheād been holding since Tuesday, her fingers loosening their defensive grip on his forearm, though she didn't move away. Chewbacca, sensing the shift in temperature between them, shifted his weight with a soft grunt, resting his chin heavily on the footrest of Sam's chair.
"Your godfather," Sam started, his gaze drifting toward the darkened hallway where Randy had exited, "heās a smart old bastard, you know that? He gave me some advice before he left. Some things I probably needed to hear a month ago." Sam paused, his brow furrowing as a brief shadow of frustration crossed his face. He rubbed his temple with his free hand, the clarity in his brown eyes flickering just for a second against the residual weight of the medication still working its way out of his system.Ā
"Look, Iām being straight with you right now because the fog is lighter than normal," he murmured, looking up at her. "Iām not entirely sure how mentally present Iām always going to be when I have to take the harder stuff on the bad days. When the pin sites start throbbing and the nerve pain acts up, the meds... they take the steering wheel, Jo. I know Iām a bastard to deal with when I'm under. But right now, while Iām actually sitting in the driver's seat? I need to tell you what he said."
Jolene shifted, leaning her weight against the edge of the counter so she was closer to his level, her eyes searching his face. "What did Randy say to you, Sam?"
Sam set the coffee canister down on his lap. "He told me that during moments like this, when the rug gets pulled out from under a man, itās important that we both start doing things as a team. Real things. Not just the medical routine of it all." He reached out, his fingers winding through hers, his grip tight. "He said my physical health, the leg, the therapy... thatās obviously a joint effort. We don't have a choice on that. Youāre the one holding the bandages and Iām the one doing the reps. But he told me we need to stop walking on eggshells for the rest of the stuff."
Jolene swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat, her heart ticking faster. "The rest of it?"
"My career," Sam said firmly, the reality of the situation finally hanging in the air without causing him to flinch. "If Little Creek is off the table, and Uncle Sam is going to push me out into the civilian world at the end of this road, then we don't just sit here and wait for the hammer to fall. We both need to make a plan on what comes next. Together. I need your brain on it, Jo. I need you to help me figure out what the next ridge line looks like, instead of me just brooding in the corner while you handle the grocery lists and praying I donāt cuss too loudly when I shift my leg."
He squeezed her hand, pulling her just an inch closer. "And he told me one more thing," Sam whispered, his thumb rubbing over the back of her knuckles. "He said youāre a Saint till you aināt." His eyes locked onto hers, dark and demanding and entirely full of love. "I need you to stop harboring the pain of all this alone, Jolene. If Iām going to be useless on a range, fine. If Iām not walking by the end of the year, oh well. But Iām still your man. If you're scared, or youāre angry, or youāre just plain exhausted... you bring it to me. Let me carry my half of the weight. Even if I'm sitting in this damn chair."
Jolene stared at him, her hand swallowed up by the heat of his, the texture of his thumb still working a steady pattern over her knuckles. The absolute clarity in his eyes was blinding. It was the version of Sam Walsh she had been starved for honestly since he left in late June. The commanding man who looked at a problem and wanted to divide the load. She swallowed down the dry ache in her throat, nodding slowly. "Okay," she whispered, her voice cracking slightly before she caught it. "Okay, Sam. I hear you. And I want that. I want to stop hiding it from you."
She took a breath, her chest rising and falling unsteadily. She looked down at their joined hands, then back up into those stark brown eyes, testing the waters of this newfound lucidity. "But if we're doing this... if the fog is really gone right now, and you're in the driver's seat... are you open to hearing me out? Completely? Because if I open that can of worms, I need to know you're actually mentally here to take it in."
Samās grip tightened on her hand. His jaw set, but his expression stayed remarkably soft. "I'm here, Jo. Say your piece."
The permission was all it took for the dam to structurally fail. The tears spilled over hot and fast, blurring her vision as a trembling breath escaped her lips. She didn't pull away this time. She let him see her shoulders shake. She let him see the unmitigated exhaustion that had been eating her alive since November 16th turned their lives upside down. "I need you to try," she choked out, her voice fracturing on the words as she leaned a bit heavier against the kitchen counter. "I need you to try the absolute best you can, Sam, to stop being so snappy with me."
Sam flinched, a subtle tightening around his eyes, but he didn't interrupt. He just held onto her.
"I know itās not your fault," she pleaded, the words tumbling out in an emotional rush, raw and bleeding. "God knows I know youāre in agony, and I know your whole world just got blown to hell. I don't blame you for being angry. But it is so damn hard to work my ass off every single day, running back and forth to the shop, managing the bills, scrubbing the grease off my skin just to come home and then scrub the bathrooms, constantly worrying myself sick about making sure you have exactly what you need, only for every single thing I do to be met with mild hostility. Or for you to just fly off the handle over the smallest, stupidest things."
She wiped at her face with her free hand, but the tears kept coming. The accumulated pain of the last fourteen weeks was pouring out into the space between them.
"Your words hurt, Sam," she whispered, her chest heaving as she forced herself to look straight into his eyes, wanting him to feel the weight of it. "Even when the narcotics are talking, even when you don't mean them, or you don't remember them the next morning... I remember them. Because I'm still hearing your voice say them to me. Then Iām the one who has to sleep next to you with the echo of it ringing in my ear."
She let the silence hang for a moment, lingering in the ache of the kitchen, before the specific memories rushed to the surface.
"Like last Tuesday," she said, her voice trembling. "I spent forty-five minutes rearranging the living room furniture just so your footrest wouldn't catch on the rug when you turned around. You wheeled in, looked at the couch, and just snapped at me to 'stop treating the house like a hospital wardā and āleave my dadās shit alone.' You didn't even look at me for the rest of the night. You just sat in the dark till you were too tired to fight me when I helped you to bed."
Samās throat swallowed hard, his eyes dropping for a fraction of a second as the memory slowly made it through the cleared fog of his mind.
"And two days ago," Jolene continued, a fresh sob catching in her throat, "when I brought you the ice packs for your shin. They weren't cold enough because the freezer door had been left unlatched, and instead of just letting me run down the road to the gas station for ice, you slammed your hand down on the armrest and barked that if I was 'too busy at the garage to mind the simple things at home, you'd just do it your goddamn self.' You know you couldn't get up, Sam. You knew it. But you made me feel like I was failing you because a block of ice melted."
She pulled her hand from his, not out of anger, but because she needed to press both her palms to her face, hiding the ugly sob that tore out of her throat. Chewbacca whined louder, shifting his heavy front paws onto her boot, trying to bridge the gap.
"I am trying so hard," she wept into her hands, her voice muffled and small. "I am stretching myself as thin as I can go, and most days, I feel like I'm walking into a minefield just trying to bring you breakfast. I can handle the Navy and all its red tape, Sam. I can handle us figuring out a new life. But I cannot handle you treating me like I'm the enemy when I am the only one standing in your corner."
"Jo, look at me. Jo, pleaseā" Samās voice cracked, the command completely replaced by a panicked edge. He reached for her, his hands awkwardly tracking up her forearms to pull her palms away from her face, but Jolene wouldn't let him. She couldn't. If she looked at him now, if she saw the devastating regret she knew was burning in his eyes, the anger that was keeping her upright would dissolve, leaving her with nothing but the exhaustion.
"No, Sam, just let me finish," she sobbed, her words coming out in a suffocating rush against her wet hands. "Let me just say it, because tomorrow the nerve pain is going to spike again, or the doctors are going to change the dosage, and youāre going to go back under enough meds to sedate a horse and Iāll have to lock this all back up."
"Jolene, please," he pleaded, his fingers tightening around her wrists, trying gently but firmly to pry her hands from her eyes. He was pulling himself up as far as the wheelchair allowed, his good leg straining against the footrest, the sheer panic of seeing her break entirely overriding his own boundaries. "I didn't realizeāGod, Jo, I'm sorry. I'm so damn sorryā"
"You told me to take my ring off last night," she cut him off, the memory ripping out of her. She finally let her hands drop, her face blotchy and soaked, her eyes flashing with agonizing hurt that made Sam physically recoil. "The pins in your leg were throbbing, and I was just trying to gently rub the tension out of your thigh because the muscle was spasming so bad. My hand brushed against your skin, and you grabbed my wrist so hard it left a mark. You looked me right in the eye and told me to take it off because the feeling was driving you crazy, and that you didn't need a reminder of what a mistake it was to tie me to a cripple."
Sam froze, his face draining of color. His mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. The memory was clearly a blank spot in his narcotic-brained haze, but seeing the trauma of it written in the lines of her face made it undeniably real. "I went into the bathroom and I took it off," she whispered, her voice suddenly dropping from the high peak of hysteria into a dead, flat hollow that was infinitely worse. "I sat on the edge of the tub and stared at my bare finger for an hour, wondering if you actually meant it. Wondering if every time you look at me, you just see a prison sentence. You don't even remember saying it. You woke up three hours later and asked me to grab you some water like nothing happened. But I remember."
She took a step back, her boots dragging on the floorboards, pulling out of his reach. The space between them felt miles wide now, populated by the ghosts of a dozen different arguments she had quietly swallowed for the sake of his recovery.
"You're right. Randy is right. I am a saint until I ain't," she choked out, a bitter, self-deprecating laugh escaping her lips as a fresh wave of tears tracked down her chin. "But I'm at the end of it. I am completely empty, Sam. I don't have any more grace to give you when you're being a jackass. I don't have any more strength to pretend that it doesn't kill me a little bit every time you look through me like I'm just the nurse who handles the bedpans."
Samās gaze dropped instantly, his eyes frantic as they tracked the movement of her retreating hand. His calloused fingers blindly reached through the dim light until his palm caught her wrist. He didn't squeeze this time, likely terrified by her recounting of what happened previously to test his own strength, but his fingertips brushed over the back of her hand, tracing the base of her ring finger.
The skin was smooth. Bare.
The gold promise ring that heād bought with his deployment bonus, was gone.
A devastating shockwave seemed to pass through Sam's entire frame. His hand began to shake violently against her wrist, his fingers curling inward as if he had just touched an open circuit. The unvarnished clarity that the missed medication had brought wasnāt just a window into his own mind anymore. It was a mirror reflecting a monster he didn't remember becoming.
"Jolene." The word was barely a breath. He stared at her bare hand, his chest heaving as the absolute horror of what he had done finally penetrated the neurons trying to fire in his brain. He hadn't just snapped at her, or been a bastard about a melted ice pack or a rearranged couch. He had fundamentally weaponized the one thing that was keeping them anchored in the storm. He had made her strip off his promise because heād made it feel like a shackle.
The tough, unyielding Chief Petty Officer who had survived a blast in the dirt completely disintegrated in the wheelchair as Sam turned into an absolute wreck right before her eyes.
A sob ripped out of him, the sound so raw and guttural it made Chewbacca instantly stand up, the dog's ears pinning back in deep, anxious confusion. Samās head dropped into his hands, his broad shoulders shaking so violently that the ceramic coffee canister fell and crashed to the floor, shattering into pieces.Ā
"Oh God, Jo... no," he wept, his voice thick and ruined as he pressed his face into his hands. "No, no, no... God, please, Jolene..."
He reached out blindly again, his arms trembling as he tried to bridge the distance she had put between them, his fingers grasping at the fabric of her shirt, at her wrists, wanting to pull her back but terrifyingly aware that he might not have the right to touch her at all. The tears spilled over his thick fingers, tracking through the rough stubble of his jaw.
"I didn't mean it," he choked out, his head shaking back and forth in a desperate denial of his own subconscious words. "I swear to you, Jolene, I don't remember... I don't remember saying it, but I know you wouldn't lie to me. I know I said it. God, what did I do to you? What am I doing to you?"
He lifted his face, and the sheer, unmitigated terror in his eyes was almost too much for her to look at. The clarity was a curse now. It was forcing him to feel every ounce of the burning pain in his leg alongside the crushing weight of his own failure as a man. He looked down at her bare finger again, his breath hitching in a panicked, suffocating cycle.
"I look at you and I see everything I ever wanted," he whispered, his voice cracking wide open, completely ruined by the tears. "I see the only good thing Iāve got left. Iām just so scared... I'm so goddamn scared that I'm dragging you down with me, and instead of telling you that, I... I took it out on you."
He slumped back into the chair, looking smaller than he ever had, his hands dropping to his lap where they hovered over the cold ceramic jar before it fell to the floor.
"And it's not just the house, Sam. It's everything outside of it, too," Jolene continued, the momentum of her heartbreak carrying her forward, refusing to let the dam close back up now that it had finally broken. She swiped a furious hand across her wet cheek, her voice trembling but relentless. "I'm the one who sits on the phone with your mother every single Sunday. I'm the one who had to hold her hand in that sterile, white waiting room at Walter Reed while you were back in surgery for the third time, listening to her cry because she thought her boy was going to die on an operating table."
Sam didn't look up, but his shoulders hitched, another breath catching in his throat as he listened to the reality of the weight she had been carrying entirely on her own.
"And do you know what she tells me, Sam? Every single time I call her with an update on your physical therapy, or your meds, or what the doctors said about the nerve damage?" Joleneās voice cracked. "She sighs into the receiver and says she just wishes we would get married already. She tells me that this whole situation ā the lifting, the driving, the middle-of-the-night panic attacks, the bureaucratic nightmare of the Navy ā is just a hell of a lot of weight for just a girlfriend to carry."
She let out a harsh, breathless laugh that sounded incredibly lonely in the shallow light of the kitchen.
"And god help me, Sam... I agree with her. I sit there on the phone, nodding in the dark, because sheās right. It is a lot. Title aside, the whole goddamn situation is so much. The sheer size of it is crushing me. It doesn't matter if I'm your girlfriend, or your wife, or a saint. There is too much pain in this house for one person to manage without any help, especially when the person Iām doing it for is treating me like Iām the one who put that fucking shrapnel in your leg." She looked down at her bare ring finger, before looking back at him. "I am drowning, Sam. And I can't keep pretending I'm swimming just so you don't have to look at the water."
Samās head remained bowed, his large forehead pressing against his steepled fingers as he listened to the brutal, unvarnished truth of what he had become. The silence that followed her words was suffocating, broken only by the ticking of the kitchen clock.
Slowly, reluctantly, he lowered his hands. His face was a map of devastating grief, the skin around his brown eyes raw and swollen from the tears he usually refused to shed. When he finally spoke, his voice was thin, fragile, and terrified. "Do you..." He swallowed hard, his throat clicking in the quiet. He couldn't even look her in the eye as the question ripped out of him. "Do you not want me anymore, Jo? Is that what this is? Do you want an out?"
Jolene didn't even hesitate. The exhaustion, the anger, the bitter memories. All of it instantly took a back seat to the sheer instinct of loving him. She crossed the small gap between them, mindful of the large chunks of shattered ceramic and spilled coffee grounds. Her boots scuffing the wood, and dropped heavily to her knees directly in front of his wheelchair. Chewbacca shifted back a few inches, giving them space as Jolene braced her hands on the cold metal armrests of his chair, forcing him to look down at her.
"Absolutely not," she said fiercely, her voice thick with fresh tears but utterly unyielding. "Don't you dare think that, Samuel Walsh. I am not looking for an exit sign. I am right here. Iāve been right here the whole damn time."
She reached up, her fingers digging into the fabric of his gym shorts just above his good knee, her forehead against his thigh for a brief, desperate second before she pulled back to look into his shattered eyes. "But I don't know what you want anymore, Sam," she whispered, her voice fracturing on the admission. "Thatās whatās killing me. I don't know where I fit in your life right now. Every time I walk into a room, I feel like you don't see me anymore. I feel like you only see a nurse. Someone who brings the ice packs, someone who times the narcotics, someone who monitors the physical therapy charts. I feel like the man who used to look at me like I was the center of his universe now just looks at me and sees a chore he's forced to rely on."
A single tear tracked down her nose, dripping onto his hand from where it had caught her cheek.
"I don't want out, Sam," she choked out, her gaze locking onto his with a desperate plea for reassurance. "I just want my boyfriend back. I want the man who talks to me, even when the news is bad. I can't keep living with a drill instructor who only speaks to me to bark orders or snap because he's hurting."
"I don't deserve you," Sam whispered, the words falling flat and hollow into the space between them. He didn't pull away from her touch, but he went entirely rigid, his eyes fixing on the cabinet hardware behind her head because he couldn't bear the reflection of his own failure in her eyes anymore. "Maybe... maybe it is better if you just leave me, Jolene."
The cold detachment in his tone was worse than the shouting. It was the sound of a man executing a retreat because he thought the position was already lost.
"I can call my folks," he started rambling, his speech gathering momentum as his brain raced to build an exit strategy out of their heartbreak. "Iāll call my mom tonight. They can drive down from Connecticut this weekend, pack up my stuff, and we can transfer my physical therapy to the naval clinic up there. Or hell, I can just move back into the transient lodging on base at Little Creek. The Navy has rooms equipped for this. I can find a buddy to help me out, get a medical liaison to assign a real corpsman to handle the charts, and you can get your life back. You can go back to the garage full-time without having toā"
"Sam, stop. Just stop!"
Jolene grabbed his wrists, squeezing hard enough to physically interrupt the cadence of his voice. A sickening wave of regret washed through her mind as she stared up at him. God, I shouldn't have said anything, she thought, the panic rising hot in her throat. I shouldn't have opened my mouth.
She had wanted him to see her pain so they could carry it together, but his soldierās brain had done exactly what it was trained to do: Identify the liability and eliminate it. He wasn't hearing a partner asking for a course correction. He was hearing a casualty report, and his immediate instinct was to remove himself from the field so heād stop bleeding all over her. She had been so desperate to break through the narcotic fog and the anger that she hadn't realized how fragile the foundation beneath him actually was.
"I promised you," Sam choked out, as a fresh, heavy sob, pinning his shoulders back against the wheelchair. He didn't look down at her, but his fingers twitched against her wrists, his grip weak and trembling. "The last time we had a real fight, back before the deployment, when I got stupid and tore off when you were asking questions. I swore to God and I swore to you that Iād never shove you again. I promised you that if things got hard, if the shit hit the fan, I wouldn't do this. I wouldn't push you away."
He finally dropped his chin, his face completely ruined by the tears as he forced himself to look down into her eyes, his breathing coming in shallow catches.
"But Iām drowning in it, Jo," he wept, the admission ripping out of him. The truth made Chewbacca nudge his wet nose against Sam's hand. "Every single morning I wake up and I hear your boots hitting the floor before the sunās even up. I lie there in that bed, entirely useless, listening to you brew the coffee, listening to you feed the dog, hearing the front door click shut because youāre running out to the shop to log hours before you have to come back and drag me to therapy or scrub my skin. I sit by that window all day long and I just... I suffocate under the guilt of how hard you are working to keep a roof over a man who canāt even stand up to kiss you properly."
His fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt at her shoulders, holding onto her like a drowning sailor clenching a piece of driftwood.
"The guilt is turning into something ugly, Jolene," he whispered. "It's making me resent you. Not because of anything youāre doing wrong, but because youāre doing everything right. Youāre being perfect. Youāre being the saint Randy said you were, and every time you smile through the exhaustion or tell me itās no trouble to change the ice packs, it just reminds me of what a pathetic, broken shadow of a man I am right now. I snap at you because if I can make you angry, if I can make you fight back, then at least you aren't just a nurse pitying a casualty. At least then I feel like I'm still something you have to reckon with, instead of just a chore on your checklist."
Hearing him speak those words ā unearthing the toxic, twisted logic that his pride had built out of his own helplessness ā shattered whatever distance she had tried to maintain. She didnāt pull away from his grip on her shoulders. Instead, she leaned into it, burying her face into his knee for a fraction of a second before pulling back up, her hands moving to cup the sides of his face, her fingers sinking into the thick, rough stubble of his jawline to force his eyes to lock onto hers.
"You fucking listen to me," she sobbed, the profanity ripping out of her, āI am so sorry. I am so, so sorry that this whole goddamn situation sucks. I hate seeing you in this wheelchair. I hate the Navy liaison. I hate every single piece of metal they screwed into your bone. But don't you ever tell me you're a shadow of a man, and don't you dare think I look at you and see pity."
She squeezed his face, her fingers catching the hot tears tracking down his cheeks.
"You think I lie awake in that bed counting the chores? You think Iām resentful because I have to do the heavy lifting right now?" Jolene shook her head violently, a fresh wave of tears blurring her vision until the amber light of the kitchen turned into a fractured smear of gold. "Sam, I am so fucking grateful that you are in that bed. Every single morning when my alarm goes off and the room is still dark, the very first thing I do is hold my breath until I hear you snore. I listen for the heavy chest-rattle of you breathing next to me, because every time I hear it, it means you are not in the ground. It means you survived that horrible fucking day in Iraq. You survived the surgeries that would make it so I couldnāt eat for days. And you came back to this house. Having you here, broken, angry, narcotic-brained, whatever version of you comes through that door, is enough for me. It is always going to be enough."
The mention of the finality of death, brought the real edge of her grief screaming to the surface. The shadow that had been hanging over the house since November wasn't just the specter of Sam's involuntary retirement. It was the heavy, hollow ache of neither of them willing to admit how close heād come from losing his life.
Her voice dropped, fracturing entirely into a small, ruined weep that sounded like a child lost in the woods.
"I couldn't have managed if you left me too, Sam," she choked out, as her shoulders hitched in violent sobs. The confession bled out of her, carrying the weight of the grief. "My dad... my dad is already gone. His boots aren't by the door anymore, his coats are still hanging in the hall, and I walk into the garage every single morning and I have to look at his empty workbench. I am still drowning in the middle of losing him. If you had died over there, or if you call your folks and pack up your gear and leave me in this empty house now... I won't survive it. I can't do it. So don't you run away to Connecticut, and don't you dare go back to base housing," she whispered into the dark fabric of his shorts, her voice trembling against the steady heat of his leg. "You stay right here in this shitty situation with me. We'll figure out your career, and we'll scream at each other every day if we have to. But you have to let me keep you."
Samās arms came down around her like a collapsing scaffold, his large, heavy frame bending forward out of the chair until his chest was pressed completely against her back and shoulders, burying his face into the crook of her neck. He held her with a terrifying, desperate strength, his hands fist-fucking the fabric of her flannel shirt as if he were trying to pull her straight into his skin, to anchor both of them to the floorboards so the house would stop spinning.
The distance he had tried to build to protect his pride was entirely gone. He was weeping openly now, the heavy, silent sobs of a soldier who had finally run out of trenches to hide in. The heat of his breath and the wetness of his face soaked into the collar of her shirt, his rough beard scratching against her skin as he shook.
"Iām sorry," his voice vibrating directly against her collarbone. "Iām not going anywhere, Jo. Iām right here. Iām so sorry. God, Iām so sorry."
He pulled back just enough to look at her, his hands coming up to clutch the sides of her face. His palms were trembling violently, his thumbs sweeping across her cheekbones to smear the tears that wouldn't stop falling from her eyes. The stark, unvarnished clarity in his brown gaze was absolute now, stripped of every ounce of the narcotic fog, leaving nothing but a fierce, burning focus that she hadn't seen since the day he deployed.
"Listen to me," he commanded softly, his forehead dropping down to press hard against hers, closing the universe down to just the space between their lips. "I am going to do better. Iām going to stop being so fucking grumpy. Do you hear me, Jolene? I am going to do the reps, I am going to do the therapy, and if I have to crawl across the floor of that clinic on my hands and knees every single day, I am going to get back on my feet for you."
He let out a shallow breath, his fingers sliding into her hair, gripping her tight enough to make her feel the solid, unyielding reality of him.
"And I am going to marry you," he whispered, the promise hanging in the kitchen like an iron vow, heavy and undeniable. "As soon as I can stand up on my own two feet to look you in the eye in front of a preacher, I am making you my wife. We aren't doing this 'just a girlfriend' shit anymore. My mom is right. You are my future, Jo. You're the only future I want."
He kissed her forehead, then her eyelids, his lips rough and salty with their shared tears, before he pulled back just an inch to look down into her blotchy, exhausted face.
"I am going to be better to you," he vowed, his voice cracking wide open with the weight of his regret. "No more snapping. No more barking. When the pain gets bad and the meds take the wheel, I will bite my own tongue until it bleeds before I let another cruel word slip out to hurt you. Iām going to let you see the dark stuff, and weāre going to face this together, but I am done treating you like garbage. I promise you, Jolene. I swear it on Mike and your dad's memory. Iām staying right here with you."
The air in the kitchen remained thick, heavy with the dust of the foundation they had just violently cleared away. Neither of them knew how to end the conversation. There was no clean transition out of a collapse of that magnitude. The silence stretched, turning clumsy and fragile, the kind of quiet where the slightest sudden movement might shatter the truce. Jolene stayed on her knees, her hands still resting on the dark fabric of his shorts, her breathing slowly leveling out into shallow, trembling hitches. Sam kept his palms flattened against her cheeks, his thumbs tracing the dry, salt-crusted tracks on her skin, his brown eyes searching her face with an intensity that felt almost intrusive in its nakedness. They were stuck in the wreckage of the truth, entirely exposed, waiting for the ambient heat of the argument to cool into something they could actually live in.
Then Samās gaze flickered downward, his eyes tracking the movement of her shoulder as she shifted her weight against his good knee. His focus landed once more on her bare left hand. He swallowed hard, the rough line of his jaw tightening as he forced his hands down from her face, his fingers searching blindly for hers.
"Jo," he whispered, the quiet register of his voice cracking on the single syllable. "Where is it?"
Jolene blinked through the residual sting in her eyes, her head dropping slightly. "Sam, don't worry about it tonight. Let's justā"
"Where's the ring, Jolene?" he repeated, louder this time, though the command was entirely stripped of the old irritation. It was just a plea now, a desperate necessity from a man who needed a tether to the promises heād just made in the dark.
She let out a small breath and pointed a trembling finger toward the bedroom. She stood without thinking, leaving him and the weight of the argument behind as her feet autopilot to collect it. When she made it into the lamp lit room, she saw it was sitting in a small glass dish on the top of the dresser. When she turned around, he was in the entry way to the bedroom.
Sam didn't look away from her face, his fingers awkward and heavy as they fumbled with hers until they finally hooked around the gold band. He brought it down into the space between them, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. The metal was cold from the draft by the window. He looked down at it, his lip trembling against the rough grain of his mustache, before he lifted his eyes back to hers. The absolute, unvarnished terror of losing her was still swimming in his pupils once more.
"Let me put it back on," he whispered, a plea that broke her heart all over again. He didn't wait for her to answer, his hand shaking violently as he took her left wrist and turned her palm toward the ceiling. "Please, Jo. Let me put it back."
Jolene looked at the band, then at the desperate, sweating line of his forehead. The weight of what they were doing with the sheer, terrifying scale of the recovery still waiting for them over the coming months, the board evaluations, the doses of the heavy medicine that would soon demand to be taken, all settled back into her bones. She knew this clarity was temporary. She knew that by midnight, the nerve pain would likely have him screaming or the narcotics would drag him back under to the point he wouldn't remember the color of her eyes. But right now she didn't move away. She opened her fingers, and let his trembling hands guide the gold back home.
This right here is the definition of angst. Of perfect angst. This how you write angst, ok? Omg.
Jo finally did it. She finally said everything and I'm glad but, wow, I wasn't expecting all that. The ring part?
This totally ripped my heart out omg. My girl has been going through so much and we didn't even knew that! šš
I know Sam was on the meds and bla bla bla, but what a fucking idiot he was! That Sam really didn't deserve everything that Jo is doing! I kinda wanted to punch him in the face omg! š
Gaahhh this story gives me so much life, Istg! I have no idea what's next for them, especially after that talk, but aahhh I'm excited!!! Thank you so much for this update!
Ps. This how I felt my face after reading this chapter sjdkdjf lol
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