M. Munson

Once Wayne’s treasures and mementos were long gone, the space felt more unfamiliar than ever. Eddie’s bedroom, in comparison, remained unchanged. He’d never truly lived with a woman, much less a long-term girlfriend.

With your arms folded tightly across your chest, you took in the disheveled bedroom. You didn’t want to overstep any boundaries, but it was your room too now. “Could we maybe take some of these posters down?”

Feigning annoyance at your request, Eddie released a husky groan. Did he love his band posters? Abso-fucking-lutely. But tearing them down was a small price to pay for getting to be with you every day. “Fine,” he sighed dramatically, “But the Corroded Coffin banner stays up.”

His expression turned on a dime, and his lips twisted into a devilish smile. Before you could anticipate Eddie’s next move, you were pulled into his embrace. The unnecessarily secure hug caused your giggle to strain. “Eddieee! Too tight!” You squealed. 

The sounds you made filled his chest with a golden warmth. It spread through the rest of his body like sweet, gooey honey. Eddie chuckled deeply with amusement and loosened his arms a bit.

When his gaze met yours, he hummed with contentment. “This is your castle now, princess,” Eddie said while looking back and forth between your eyes. “I know it’s not much. Someday, I’m gonna get you a house. With a yard and all that fancy shit.”

You smiled and stroked the rosy apple of his cheek with your thumb. “You’re my home. But if we’re talking houses, just know that I’m perfectly happy growing old together in this tin can.”

“Is that so? You don’t think you’ll get sick of me anytime soon?”

“While it’s not entirely unlikely, it’s probably in your best interest to stay on my good side,” You squinted at him. Traces of your previous smile lingered in the upturned corners of your lips, but you tried to come across as serious.

Eddie’s tongue peeked out to wet his lower lip. “How much trouble would I be in if I said I’m not taking down a single poster unless you make me?”

“A lot of trouble.”

He beamed at you, “Yeah?” Eddie’s deft fingers found your sides, and instantly, you were lying on your back on the bed. He tickled you mercilessly, to the extent that you were so laughed out that you could no longer beg him to stop.

A year has passed since then. Living with Eddie has been just about as unpredictable as he is as a person. The air, once saccharine, now leaves a sour aftertaste. You hoped it would fade over time, but it’s only gotten more prominent as the weeks have passed.

As it turns out, adulthood is fucking difficult. Doing his damnedest to manage his responsibilities, he’s been in over his head for longer than he’s willing to admit.

For starters, he’s been playing twice a week at Wraith, a venue located 41 minutes outside of Hawkins. On top of that, Corroded Coffin’s permanent gig requires consistent late practice sessions.

The greatest challenge is his job at the Brassline Industries factory. Gone are the days when he sold weed to irresponsible teens to have a extra fun-money. Eddie is a grown-ass man now, with a grown-ass job. Due to his demanding schedule, you don’t see much of him during the day anymore.

Frankly, you don’t see him much at all. There’s always something that he has to tend to. I promised Jeff I’d help him move out of his ex’s place. The band’s van is on the fritz, I have to go to Gareth’s to work on it. Terry called in sick at the factory, so I have to pull a double.

You’ve tried to tell yourself that his ever-growing absence isn’t personal. But unknowingly, you’ve been making excuses for your boyfriend’s inability to make time for you. 

Eddie begins each day with the sunrise. Once in a blue moon, he’ll kiss your forehead while you’re curled under the worn blankets. Unaware and asleep, you don’t get to savor the gesture of waning affection. More often than not, when he finally comes home, you’re exactly where he left you—unconscious and beyond taxed from your job. Hell, you work hard too.

Your relationship has been suffering in all aspects of the intimacy department. Most importantly, the two of you haven’t had sex in over two months. Stuck with pent-up sexual frustration, Eddie has been feeling nothing short of unsatisfied. It’s gotten to the point that rubbing one out is a chore more than anything.

It’s not like he hasn’t tried connecting with you that way. On a few occasions, he climbed into bed beside you as he normally would. But instead of succumbing to exhaustion like you had, his hands slipped beneath your pajamas and traced your body.

Was it low to be copping a feel? Yes. But Eddie’s self-restraint had fizzled out. He knew it wouldn’t happen if he didn’t try. Regardless, you rolled over or pushed him away, mumbling in semi-cognizant disinterest. Having been rejected on several occasions, Eddie’s hurt feelings have brought on a distant shift in his demeanor when your days happen to overlap. Worse yet, his internal thunder matches the rumble of your own.

At this rate, you’re roommates at best. Hardly so, given that he’s rarely home. What a way to be treated after you’ve been nothing but patient and supportive of his life choices. Truly, you’re happy that Eddie has things in his life that bring him fulfillment, but you can’t help wishing you were one of them.

There’s a strong possibility that talking through it could resolve the tension, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything about it. How pathetic it would be for you to beg for his undivided attention. You’re not sure you’re worth his while. Thinking you could tough it out, you’ve broken your heart by waiting for him to realize how lonesome you’ve been.

Instead of counting sheep, you lay and wonder if it's fate that the two of you have grown apart. It’s killing you to continue pretending that this isn’t torturous. You’ve abandoned parts of yourself to keep this love afloat, and there were no lifeboats in sight from the start.

What you and Eddie have is defined by more than its worst moments, but you’ve long since abandoned all faith that this is just a rough patch. A day where anything changes for the better remains a pipe dream. Every once in a while, you find yourself wishing he’d do something unspeakably horrible to you, just so that all of the pain would be justified.

You’ve bid farewell to the moments that once meant so much. Because it really is the little things that make you nauseous to reminisce about. Light years ago, Eddie couldn’t bear to have you out of reach for more than a few minutes. He'd wrap his arms around your waist and whisper sweet nothings in your ear while you washed dishes in the kitchen sink. Frequently, he’d pull you closer by the belt loops of your jeans to kiss you with fervor after spending a few hours apart. Back then, hours felt like an eternity. They still do, just differently.

You’re not missed and it stings. Or at the very least, you’re not missed enough for him to make an effort. Up until today, you were searching for reasons to stay. He hasn’t provided any, yet you decide to give him one final chance.

Eddie will be home for dinner; he swore on it. Hence, why you’ve been in a frenzy since you got off work. For once, you’re cooking, something you haven’t done in what feels like ages. It’s no surprise that eating lost all significance when you’ve been surviving off of takeout leftovers and cold pizza. Maybe all it’ll take is a shared meal for things to change.

In actuality, you don’t truly believe that. The desire to impress him is undeniable, and it’s going to take more than a home-cooked meal to salvage what’s left. How the evening goes will determine where you belong, whether it be in his life or elsewhere.

Your outfit isn’t remarkable, although it is a step up from your typical at-home wear. After fixing your hair and applying a bit of makeup, you feel presentable. The uneasy feeling stirring in your belly is all too familiar. It reminds you of your first date with Eddie. You shouldn’t feel this nervous when you’ve been together for as long as you have.

The crushing truth is that, if you look pretty enough, he’ll remember that you exist. Perhaps he’ll look at you the way he used to. You hope that gussying up and a hot dinner will be how you win him back for good.

Eddie swore he’d be home by six fifteen at the latest. Nevertheless, the steam rising off of the food dissipates as it grows cold. For the umpteenth time, you check the wall clock. The same clock that you’ve been checking nonstop for 20 minutes.

Counting down the second hand, you concede defeat at the forty-five-minute mark of his tardiness. Time has always had a way of throwing it all in your face. You should’ve known better than to trust that he’d show.

None of this made a difference because Eddie didn’t even give it a chance to. The final nail in the coffin: was it his choices, or his refusal to choose you, that led to this? It could’ve been the lack of effort or the intentional cold shoulder. It could be that you’re not what he wants anymore. Not like it makes a difference.

Seated at the table for two near the front door, the chair squeaks as you stand. For a moment, you consider blowing out the candles you’d lit to set the mood. But would it be such a tragedy if the trailer caught fire, taking you with it?

In the kitchen, you step over to the sink and fill your glass with water. You gulp it down, the milk-tinted liquid a poor substitute for the meal you slaved over and didn’t take a bite of. The swirling in your abdomen intensifies, becoming all the more vicious.

Without a second thought, you chuck the fragile crystal onto the worn linoleum, scattering jagged shards across the floor toward the dining table. Not dissimilar to the cup you’ve just destroyed, you crumble. Your spine slams into the cupboard with a thud as you slide down in front of the sink. The rage in your head drowns everything else, so much so that you don't recognize the pain of your tailbone meeting the floor with such force.

At 9:45, the trailer door creaks open and slams shut, the sound cutting through the quiet like a knife. The dim living space is lit only by the flicker of candles and the distant light pouring out from the end of the hallway.

Eddie toes off his grimy steel-toed work boots. His lips part as he drapes his jacket over the back of the dining chair nearest to him. He surveys the living room and kitchen, noticing how unusually tidy everything is.

Eddie examines the set table, where the plated food has been sitting for hours. The sinking feeling that was weighing on his chest during the drive over is gone while he’s distracted by the effort you put in. It looks great in here, and Eddie can’t help but wonder how nice you must look, too.

He’s lost in the notion that maybe he’s escaped the worst of it, that he won’t be in deep shit for showing up late. That is until his eyes land on the broken cup and glass scattered on the floor.

The soft, sidetracked smile on his lips fades. Confusion flashes across his face. Carefully, Eddie sidesteps the mess and makes his way toward the bedroom, the only place you could be. With your back to him, you seem to be angrily putting laundry away into the dresser.

Eddie lingers in the doorway, his fingers twisting and untwisting as he wrings his hands. “Hey, sorry I’m late,” He says cautiously.

It’s no surprise that not calling to inform you he’d be late would piss you off. But still, that poor laundry didn’t do anything to deserve the way you’re handling it. Only then do his eyes narrow at the realization that you’re not putting away clothes; you’re shoving them into a duffel bag.

Eddie’s voice lowers in pitch, “What are you doing?”

You don’t turn to face him, nor do you respond. Choosing silence, you yank open the top drawer of the dresser, grabbing fistfuls of socks and underwear. You cram them into the bag alongside the shirts and pants already packed.

Eddie used to be the one finishing your sentences, but now it’s you who’ll be finishing his. You can already anticipate the same tired excuses, the ones you’ve heard over and over again. With the duffle bag unzipped and its strap slung over your shoulder, you pivot, intent on slipping past Eddie and out of the room without a word.

As you move to brush by, his arm shoots out to block the doorway and stop you in your tracks. Eddie keeps his arm extended as he grips the opposite side of the doorframe. “I’m talking to you. Where the hell are you going?”

Forced to meet his gaze, you lock eyes. Your expression is just as hardened, but unlike Eddie’s, your eyes are marbled with dilated blood vessels. “Honestly, I don’t know. But I’m getting the fuck out of here.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” he scoffs, “You can’t be serious.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Your icy, unblinking stare falters as you release the shallow breath trapped in your lungs. “I'm done. I’m not gonna wait around for you anymore.”

“Gimme a goddamn break.” Eddie shakes his head and rolls his eyes. The palpable tension worsens as you fight for the strength to stand your ground. He's doubling down by the sheer audacity of playing dumb.

His defensive expression is a tangled mess. His brows furrow, casting sharp shadows over his eyes, which are darting between yours. “Two people called in. I couldn’t have been here if I wanted to.”

"That right there- that’s exactly what I'm talking about. There’s never a gap between you and a good excuse. I’ll give it to ya, you’re nothing if not consistent.” Your lips remain slightly parted, and a subtle tilt of your head dares him to come up with yet another excuse.

Eddie trips over his words, scrambling for a response. You set out to leave him dumbstruck, and that’s exactly what you’ve done. Seizing the moment, you duck beneath his arm and walk into the bathroom.

This makes his patience burn through its fuse at an alarming rate. Eddie intentionally bites down on his tongue, as if he’s trying to resist the urge to cuss you out. With his jaw clenched, Eddie spins on his heels to face you. “Oh, I see how it is. Just because I’m a little late, you think I’m bullshitting you. Is that it?”

The widening rift between you makes it clear that honesty has no place here. He'd rather die than admit that. So, Eddie keeps prodding, throwing verbal jabs at you in a desperate attempt to regain your attention.

Meanwhile, you rummage through the bathroom drawers, gathering necessities, determined not to let him distract you. Despite grasping at straws to keep you here, his words hang in the air, unanswered.

The beat of your heart thumps wildly in your ears as feverish heat radiates in your bones. The fire in your chest spreads, searing your throat as the flames climb higher. The blistering smoke stings your eyes, bringing fresh tears and making your nose run.

“Well played, babe.” Eddie chuckles, the sound bouncing off the thin walls as he trails you into the living room. "I gotta give it to ya, you’re really nailing the act. But you can quit the theatrics, alright? I get your point.”

“No, you clearly don’t.” You put your shoes on, swallowing a whimper so thick that it’s suffocating. Your resolve feels like it's coming undone, each stitch of your composure pulling loose, one by one.

With his arms folded across his chest, there’s a challenge to his stance. “You’re acting like the world’s fucking ending over one missed dinner!”

After tying your shoes, you rise to your feet. "Just one dinner, Eddie? That’s why you think I’m leaving?” Stepping toward him, you drive your pointer finger into Eddie’s chest with deliberate force.

This catches him off-guard, causing his eyes to widen. The accusing pressure of your finger digging into his chest, paired with the expression on your face—neither of which he ever imagined would be aimed at him.

“You couldn’t be more wrong.” You pull your hand back, the sting of your touch lingering on his skin thereafter. Grabbing the duffel bag, you make your way to the front door. A squeal rings out from the hinges when you push it open, and the cool air hits your cheeks as you walk out.

For so long, all you wanted was him. Now, just being in the same room is unbearable.

You try to close the door behind you, but Eddie stops it before it clicks shut. His presence persists as he follows you outside, his socks catching on the rough concrete as he steps down the three stairs. “I don’t like this. Come on, let's just go back in and talk it out."

Under the cloak of night, with only the light spilling from the wide-open front door of the trailer to find your way, you head for your car. Your fingers grip the keys so tightly that they dig into your palm. The door lock pops up, and you toss your bag onto the passenger seat, and slide into the car, pulling the door shut.

Through the windshield, you see him begin walking toward the car. His hand hangs in the air, suspended, like he’s about to call out to you.

You start the car, shifting into reverse just before he’s close enough to be in the way. The engine hums as you back out, the trailer park fading from view in the side mirror as you drive away.

As your tail lights disappear around the bend, Eddie’s legs nearly give way beneath him. His breathing slows from its hastened pace, his eyes locked on where your car was parked, as if he's waiting for something, anything, to make sense.

The night feels endless, and the drive equally so. The hallway of Robin’s apartment building is narrow and dimly lit, with the faint scent of old carpet lingering in the air. 

After knocking, Robin calls out through the closed door, “If it’s not a pizza you’re peddling, I’m not interested.”

You sigh, worried about disturbing her neighbors at this hour. Stepping closer to the door, you press your words against the wood. "Buckley, it’s me."

Seconds later, the door swings open, revealing Robin in mismatched pajamas. She gives you a once-over as if trying to piece together what’s brought you to her doorstep unannounced. “You look like shit.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Your shoulders sag under the weight of it all, feeling worse than you appear.

Robin's face flickers with a twinge of guilt at the tone of your response. “Sorry,” She almost sounds apologetic as she steps aside to let you in. “I’m not gonna lie, I was kind of hoping you showed up with a pizza.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” You quip dryly, the lack of laughter speaking volumes to the weight you’ve brought with you.

The two of you plop down on the futon in her living room, and not long after, the floodgates open. Robin listens as best she can, though her concentration occasionally wanders as she struggles to make sense of your garbled blubbering.

Half a box of tissues later, you've managed to calm down some, but the hiccups continue to catch you off guard. "I’m such a fucking idiot. I can’t even remember the last time we did something like take a shower together. Honestly, to Eddie, I’m an afterthought at best and an inconvenience at worst.”

You crumple the used tissue in your fist, your sore eyes barely able to focus. They land on the pilled fleece of Robin’s pajama bottoms, too strained to linger anywhere else. “No wonder he isn’t in love with me anymore."

Robin frowns. "That can’t be true. He probably does still love you, maybe he’s just got a weird way of showing it?” She suggests, unsure if she’s said the right thing. To smooth over her uncertain response, Robin tries something else. Instead of gently stroking your back or wrapping an arm around you to squeeze reassuringly, she awkwardly taps the top of your nearest shoulder twice.

A sad smile tugs at your lips, recognizing her attempt to comfort you. The two of you sit in the long pause, letting the room breathe.

This was the worst fight you and Eddie had ever had, by a long shot. Sure, there have been trivial arguments, the kind that fizzled out without much back and forth. But this? This was different. It hadn’t reached the point where one of you stormed off.

If there had been more arguments prior, Eddie could’ve seen it coming; the big blowout, the one that shatters everything. But no. This came out of nowhere, blindsiding him completely. 

Shortly after you left Forest Hills, Eddie followed suit. He told himself a drive would help get his mind off things. Now, he drives aimlessly through the streets. Unable to shake the thought that you were waiting for him to fuck up and paint him as the bad guy. With Accept’s “Fast as a Shark” blaring from the stereo, the engine revs, his foot pressing harder on the gas.

As much as you appreciate Robin’s hospitality, you’ve overstayed your welcome. You don’t have to guess whether you have or not; her body language says it all, especially since she’s got work in the morning.

Taking mercy on her, you make your way toward the door. Before you go, you pull her into a firm hug. "Thanks for putting up with me."

“It’s not like I had much of a choice. You showed up on my doorstep like a sad stray puppy,” Robin jests and walks you to your car. She leans her arm on the top of the open door as you buckle your seatbelt behind the wheel. “Call me as soon as you get to the motel so I know that you didn’t get hit by a deer or something.”

You cock your head at her, visibly questioning the odd phrasing she chose.

“They could be plotting their revenge for that close call with that buck last month,” Robin says with a shrug, her tone teetering between casual and conspiratorial.

You’re immediately defensive, which causes your voice to climb. “Oh my god, I didn’t even hit it!”

“That’s neither here nor there. You nearly ran it over, which is more than enough reason for them to put a hit out on you.”

You turn the keys in the ignition, starting the engine. "I’ll tell you what, if you bring it up again, I’ll be the one plotting vengeance.” 

Robin smiles with a glint of mischief in her eyes. “You’ll let me know when you get there then?”

“Will do,” You agree, flicking the headlights on. The bright beams illuminate the front of her building. Truthfully, you’d much rather stay at Robin’s than at some dingy motel, but you can’t bring yourself to burden her further.

With a sympathetic expression, Robin pushes the car door closed, her palm raised in a half-wave as she turns to walk back inside. She doesn’t watch you pull away, trusting you to make it out of the parking lot without another deer encounter.

The drive across town drags on, each minute bleeding into the next as you twist the radio dial, hunting for a station that won’t cut out. The static buzzes in the background, interrupted only by faint, wavering melodies, as you keep your focus on finding the sweet spot.

It’s only when you glance up, that you realize you’re driving through a four-way intersection.

Glass shatters like hail as the driver’s side door takes the impact. The screech of tires finally ceases as your car lurches to a stop, the passenger side crushed inward by the trunk of a red oak tree. The other driver staggers out of their car, disoriented from the impact. They shout for help, frantically waving down a passing vehicle.

One by one, house lights flick on as residents abandon their windows and begin congregating on the sidewalk. They linger at a distance, uncertain how to act as flames start to crawl their way out from beneath the crumpled hood of your car.

Chatter and anxious glances ripple through the sparse crowd as the fire crackles against the wreckage. Dismal gray columns of smoke lift into the air as the inferno heats the mangled steel frame that cages your scathed body.

Meanwhile, Eddie is driving as though the act itself will leave his troubles behind. He’s seeking refuge in the spot he hasn’t visited in ages. Back then, Eddie would hide away at Lover’s Lake to decompress. That all changed when you came into his life, and he never had the need to return.

He takes a shortcut through the nearest neighborhood where the occasional streetlamp pushes back the shadows of the late hour. As he turns the corner of Highland and Chestnut, his eyes narrow at the commotion ahead. Growing nearer to the scene, twirling red and blue lights slice through the darkness.

The world is fading at the edges, the seatbelt restraining you like an unyielding captor. It’s keeping you from fully slumping forward, your chin resting against your clavicle. The roaring blaze reaches out to you, its fiery touch trailing cruel, burning kisses across your skin.

Gradually, you begin to sink into the earth. Death curls its finger at you, urging you to lie at rest in the ground for eternity. Simultaneously, the firemen work skillfully to free you from the burning structure. Sparks fly from the jaws of life that sever the driver’s side door from the frame.

Eddie lets up, his speed dropping as he nears the intersection. The blinding flashes of color blur in his peripheral while he cranes his neck, trying to see through the blockade of emergency vehicles. It’s a fleeting glance, far too obstructed to make out what happened. By the time Eddie is past the scene, he’s sure he’ll be reading about someone’s tragic death in the newspaper. There’s a twisted comfort in knowing he’s not the only one suffering. For a brief, sickening moment, he wonders if his misery compares.

A while later, lakeside with the doors wide open, Eddie lies in the back of his van, dragging a long hit from his cigarette. The wispy cig smoke swirls as he tries to cloud away the soreness of his broken promise. More specifically, the trust in your eyes when he swore he’d be home on time. Eddie hasn’t seen you that excited in god knows how long. The image of your genuine smile gnaws at him.

The argument replays in his mind, but it's the frailty of your delivery that cuts through, embedding itself deep under his skin. It was just a bad fight, because that’s what couples do, they fight. Surely, you’ll come back. You’ll hug, make up, and everything will go back to normal. Except that’s what got him into this mess in the first place. Things can’t go back to how they were.

The ambulance rattles over the cracked pavement resulting from the latest blackberry winter. Strapped to the gurney, you wade in and out of consciousness, tethered between worlds.

Although your eyelids are drooping, you can still see. It’s like peering through a frosted window, a pearlescent haze distorting your vision, reddened by the blood trickling from the gash in your forehead.

The hospital corridors reverberate the gurney’s clinking, its wheels wobbling as you’re rushed forward. The bag valve mask does little to ease your labored breathing. Once you’re in the operating room, the surgeons move swiftly, working to stop the internal bleeding.

After chain-smoking, Eddie checks his watch: half past midnight. His body protests the excess. If his head were to roll off his shoulders, he wouldn’t notice. During the drive home, his eyes track the endless white dashes that get swallowed up by the front of his van.

He’s worn down, and when he’s like this, he can’t predict what he’s capable of. Eddie decides to sleep on it, hoping to avoid whatever reckless choices he’d come to regret. Clothes discarded in a jumbled heap on the floor, Eddie strips down before crawling into bed. The nicotine buzz dissipates quickly, leaving behind an agitated nagging that refuses to let him be.

The vacant space beside him is a persistent reminder of what's missing, the unease keeping him awake. No matter how much he tosses and turns, the other half of the bed remains untouched. It would be wrong to take advantage of the extra room, he feels the need to respect that it belongs to you.

Eddie listens to the sounds he hasn’t picked up on in a while. The crickets chirping outside the window, the buzz of the old refrigerator, and distant dogs barking. Together, they form a disjointed cradlesong, gradually dulling his awareness of everything around him. But it’s the sound of your faint snoring that he craves, the lullaby that always grounded him.

The whirring of the machine anchors you in the sterile stillness of the hospital room. Its steady, mechanical pumping guides your unnatural breaths. With broken ribs, each breath is an involuntary struggle, shallow and ragged because your chest is unwilling to expand.

A cocktail of sedatives and anesthetics has drawn you deep into unconsciousness. The doctors call it a miracle that you’re alive, but you being placed in a medically induced coma is less of a victory and more like purgatory.

The constant wriggling and rolling over continued; it was a fitful night. Only at the first light of dawn did Eddie finally slip into a deep, uninterrupted sleep. The sun has long risen. Its rays spill over the trailer as Eddie stays beneath the comforter, the weight of slumber still holding him down. When he finally stirs, it’s well past noon.

Last night, he was supposed to enjoy an intimate dinner, make love, and wake up with you safely tucked in his arms. Instead, he searches for the comfort of your warmth, only to find the cold, barren stretch of the bed where you should be.

Recalling the unsteadiness in your eyes hits him hard. Faced with the raw, exposed nerve, you were worn down to the point of giving up on him entirely. Eddie should have recognized the risk he was running; the possibility of losing you was ever-present. Nonetheless, he still won’t admit to himself that you meant what you said.

Eddie forces himself out of bed, showers, and pulls on a fresh outfit. Afterward, he sweeps the glass off the floor, carefully collecting the shards and tossing them into the trash.

The kitchen isn’t a shitshow by any means, but he chooses to clean up the food left out from last night and wipes down the counters. The least he can do is try to make the kitchen more presentable. When he’s finished, it’s not as neat as you tend to keep it, but he wants to do something to atone for his part in the mess.

Keys in hand, Eddie leaves the trailer, stepping into the morning with the conviction that the worst is actually behind him this time. The weight of last night’s events still lingers, but he’s determined that all that’s left is to smooth things over. Familiar with your habits enough to suspect where you might have gone, he starts the short drive.

When he arrives at Robin’s address, the parking lot is mostly empty. It strikes him as odd. He expected to see at least your car, if not hers as well. A creeping unease settles over him, as persistent as the dense gray clouds overhead, waiting for the right moment to unleash their downpour.

Without hesitation, he heads straight for Family Video. If Robin isn’t at home, that’s the next most likely place she’d be. Yet, even as he pursues the route, Eddie can’t get past the fact that your car is unaccounted for.

Caught in a whirlwind, he stumbles as he hops out of his van. After finding his footing, each step is heavy against the asphalt. Eddie swings open the glass door of Family Video.

The cool air inside greets him like a welcome escape, cutting through the stifling humidity left behind outside. Eddie leans his tattooed forearms against the counter while searching for Robin. A few customers wander between aisles, but there’s no sign of the familiar, unflattering green vests of the employees.

The door chime rings, but she doesn’t immediately emerge from the back room. When Robin does make her delayed appearance, she pauses at the sight of Eddie. Her expression warps slightly as she blinks hard as if trying to clear her eyes and make sure he’s really there.

“What’s with the face?” Eddie raises an eyebrow at her reaction. "You’re looking at me like I’m the last person you wanted to see."

“I wouldn’t put it like that.” She resumes sorting through the returned tapes since focusing on the task is the easiest way to avoid meeting his gaze. “I just didn’t expect you to be here.”

“Really? I mean, I stopped by your place, but it didn’t look like anyone was home so-” Eddie’s posture straightens and he wrings the back of his neck. "Anyway, uh, I'm guessing you’re up to speed with what went down. She stayed with you last night, right?"

“No, she didn’t,” Robin responds curtly, a frown tugging at her eyes.

”What do you mean, no? Where the hell did she go then?”

Robin freezes, switching her attention entirely to Eddie. She studies the bewildered worry etched across Eddie's face, interpreting his expression as truthful. “She’s in the ICU.”

Blood surges to his head, a high-pitched ringing overtaking his ears like the aftermath of an explosion in the video store. Eddie jabs an accusatory point with his pinky finger in her direction. “Don’t bullshit me, man. I’ve just about had it with the overacting of this whole thing.”

“Dude, I swear to God. I’m not lying. I got the call this morning.”

“And you didn’t think to open with that?!” Eddie’s voice erupts, drawing startled stares from nearby shoppers as heads swivel in his direction.

Robin flashes her palms in a gesture of surrender. “I thought you knew!”

“Son of a bitch!” Already having spun around, Eddie barrels through the glass door, the bell jangling violently in his wake. He leaps into his van, tires screeching as he peels out of the lot, pushing twenty miles per hour over the speed limit down the weatherworn streets.

When he arrives in the hospital parking lot, his van comes to a halt at a crooked angle. He doesn’t bother locking his car, his focus already fixed on the entrance, his heart pounding like a war drum in his chest.

Eddie skims the wall directory for the intensive care unit. Then, he powers up the stairwell, taking two steps at a time. His eyes flit over the endless stretch of identical, harshly lit hallways, of which make it easy to get turned around. Borderline jogging, the panic in Eddie’s stride carries him as he dodges staff along the way.

He defiantly ignores the "medical personnel only" sign, his desperation outweighing any sense of caution. A woman’s voice calls out, urgent and commanding, "Get security!" Then, directed at Eddie, someone shouts, "Young man, you can’t go in there!"

His shoes squeak as he comes to a halt. Frantically inspecting the area, his chest heaves. The digging pang in his side from his body objecting to the exertion barely registers.

Then, he spots your name listed on a whiteboard. It’s like a jolt to his system. Eddie crosses the threshold into your room and his heart is gouged from his chest, ripped clean from the cavity at the sight before him.

Wrapped in fresh gauze, you're a painful patchwork of bruises—raisin and rust-colored burns marring your skin. The sickening blend of hues makes you look like a beloved doll, battered and scribbled on with a permanent marker.

Eddie stands frozen, words failing him. “Shit… Sweetheart,” He approaches your bedside and reaches for you, his fingers just about to brush yours. But, before he can make contact, a security guard yanks him back. The man's grip is firm on Eddie’s arm, stopping him cold.

“No!” Eddie bellows, his voice hoarse, “Get your fucking hands off me!” His composure crumbles as he fights against the guard’s firm hold. For a few brief seconds, he resists, but his strength gives way. Eddie is hauled away.

Eddie’s furious, but astonishingly, he respects the stern warning he receives. If he resists, it’ll only make things worse for you. Enough damage has been done as is. The last thing he can afford is being thrown out of the hospital. Or worse, arrested.

In the third-floor waiting room, two people sit together. Their eyes follow Eddie as he enters and chooses a chair on the opposite side of the room. Sitting by the window would give him the benefit of vitamin D, a small chance to feel lighter, but he deliberately avoids it. He won’t allow himself to bask in the sun’s warmth while you’re hanging on by a thread.

The room is no bigger than fifteen by eleven feet, and it’s isolating. As the adrenaline drains from his body, his limbs turn to lead. Eddie’s eyelids grow heavy, his body sinking into the firm armchair. Visitors filter in and out, their stares constantly on him as he dozes upright.

Throughout the afternoon, respiratory specialists run tests, but you’ll be incapable of breathing on your own for some time. The machine remains lodged in your throat until further notice.

A tall, older male doctor enters the otherwise empty waiting room. “Mr. Munson?” He asks, his tone flat and impersonal.

Eddie stirs, his frizzy curls flying as he shakes off the drowsiness. “Yeah, yes. That’s, uh, that’s me,” he mutters and rubs his face. “How is she doing? Can I see her?””

“No, not yet. But she’s stable. The acute agonal respiration has…”

Eddie blinks, his mind sluggish at trying to comprehend the medical jargon. It’s like a foreign language, and he has no fucking clue what the doctor is saying. He clings to the fragments, trying to make sense of the complicated terminology. Eddie searches for any hints on the doctor’s face that offer him an understanding of what’s being explained.

“...A coma has been induced to allow her a better chance at healing. With that, we’re hoping to see a reduction in brain swelling. Although, I do regret to inform you that the likelihood of her waking is a matter of if, not when.”

It feels as if the roof is caving in on Eddie, shoving him down through the layers of the earth until he’s swallowed by the molten core. Grief consumes him, leaving him numb, as though the blood in his veins has slowed to a crawl.

“If she does rouse, there’s a likelihood that she’ll experience anterograde amnesia. It’s not uncommon under these particular circumstances.”

“And what circumstances are we talking about exactly? Eddie shifts to the edge of his seat, dragging his palm roughly over his mouth. 

“Oh, my apologies. I was under the impression that someone already told you. She was involved in a motor vehicle collision.”

“Wait.” Eddie closes his eyes, trying to keep up as the terms begin to register. “Amnesia meaning like, she won’t recognize me?” 

The doctor opens and closes his fist, catching Eddie’s concern before he can spiral. “No, no. She shouldn’t have trouble retrieving memories. It’s consolidation that could be affected. Only temporarily, we hope.”

The realization that you were in the burning car he’d driven past causes his stomach to churn. “Alright, thanks.” Eddie sends the doctor off and watches him exit the room. Once alone, he crumples into the chair and sobs. In a futile attempt to quiet himself, he sinks his top teeth into his knuckles, trying to suppress the whimpers that escape.

What is he supposed to do, is he going to start praying to a god he doesn’t believe in? With his optimism beyond pulverized, Eddie is overcome with the fear of losing you. Amidst the chaos of the present, he’s lost sight of everything that truly mattered.

Minutes turn into hours of droplets pattering against the thick panes of glass, gathering into winding streams that race down the window. Eddie tries to talk some sense into himself, but every sliver of hope is dashed. Berating himself, he repeatedly runs through the list of things he should’ve done differently.

Though it’s unbearable, Eddie shoulders the responsibility of notifying your friends and family. The room is filled with the relentless sound of water rapping against the window, its clatter drowning out Eddie’s bawling. He drifts in and out of crying fits, his body trembling with each painful cough. 

A twister of bleak thoughts rips through Eddie, reducing him to rubble. It’s impossible to process each emotion when they all scream and claw at him in unison, demanding accountability. Despite his failure to express it when it mattered most, he’s still deeply in love with you. Not that anything can be done about it now.

Right now, it’s the quiet moments he craves. Those small, tender things he may never get to experience again. One, though, rises above the rest, a memory he longs to lose himself in.

In the moments after Eddie made love to you for the first time, you were in his bed on your stomach. A drowsy, content hum emanated from your lips as you basked in the afterglow of your climax. The satisfied grin on your face made you look ethereal, a sight that left him breathless.

Eddie gently traced the curve of your spine with the tips of his fingers as you slept, his touch a whisper against your naked skin. He wasn’t questioning whether your peaceful state meant he was good in the sack. No, at that moment, he was certain of one thing: you were the very heartbeat of his existence, the one thing that made everything else pale in comparison.

Left by his lonesome in the same damn armchair, Eddie watches the storm outside. His feet are propped up on another chair he dragged in front of him, his arms crossed over his chest. By eight o'clock, the staff still won’t allow him to visit you. He confined himself to the waiting room, pacing back and forth, his nerves stretched thin.

Every hour or so, he’s been a recurring face at the nurses' station, pestering anyone who will acknowledge him. The answers he gets are the same. She’s stable. We’ll update you as soon as anything changes. Eddie doesn’t argue, but each time he hears the repetitive reassurances, it feels like a blade twisting in his gut.

Just when he’s about to get up to head for the counter again, a nurse enters the waiting room, her face kind but firm. "Hun, you need to go home. Get some rest, eat something. The last thing we need is you in here for starvation."

He’s been so distraught that it’s now just dawning on him how hungry he is. In all honesty, he could use a cigarette as well. "I’m fine. Really." Eddie dismisses her concern. Returning his attention to the window, he catches his reflection in the glass; the fatigue is apparent on his face.

The nurse understands his reluctance, so she tries again. "We’ll call you as soon as we have an update to share. But at this time, there hasn’t been any regression in her condition. She’s-"

“Stable, I know," Eddie mutters, but it’s barely more than a breath.

She nods, her grin small and tinged with sympathy. She leaves knowing he indirectly agreed. His joints pop when he rises to his feet, moving on autopilot. Once he's left the room, he casts a final glance at the entrance to the ICU, the very one he had burst through.

Eddie does go home, but it feels like a fruitless decision. He sulks, taking a shower so long that his skin prunes, the water running over him as if it could wash away the shame. He commits himself to the couch, too tired to think but unable to doze off.

The six-pack comes next. If there’s anything Eddie can do successfully, it’s drink himself blurry. One beer after another, it manages to take the edge off. Drunkenly napping, he’s overtired and underfed. The alcohol does little to weaken the ache inside him, and his subconscious takes full advantage.

Half-lucid memories of you slip through the cracks: fragments of conversations, your laughter and liveliness. But somewhere in the depths, the past begins to twist, charring everything he cherishes.

The odor of smoke curls thick around him, its stench choking his every breath. An unfamiliar house is before him engulfed in flames. A monstrous wall of orange and red licking the sky. He hears your scream, but you’re nowhere to be seen.

Eddie rushes forward, the heat pressing down on him, his skin starting to blister. He reaches the front door only to find it locked. Pounding on it with his fists does nothing but cause smoke to pour out from the seams. The ear-splitting snap of the second-story floorboards buckling shakes the very foundation of the house.

Then he sees you, standing in the window, your face twisted in panic. The flames are rising around you, the glass fracturing as the heat pushes harder against it. Eddie shouts your name and tries to tell you to get away from the window, but his voice has vanished. The pane blows and the fire consumes everything, including you.

A blinding flash of electricity splits the darkness, followed by an earth-shattering crack that’s felt throughout Forest Hills. The mobile home rattles in its wake, startling Eddie awake. He’s disoriented, but the low hiss of the TV across the room anchors him. It reminds him of where he is: stuck in a living nightmare.

In the following days, Eddie’s shifts at the factory are significantly shorter. His coworkers pitch in to cover for him and help with the impending medical bills. He’s skipped playing with his band, avoiding the familiar faces and the music that used to occupy his time. His world has shrunk to the four walls of the trailer.

Eddie’s doing just enough to keep the bills paid and himself fed, but the rest of his time is spent in waiting. Waiting for the phone to ring, for any updates, for confirmation that you’re going to be okay.

He’s filled page after page of his sketchbook with nothing but mindless scribbles, aimless shapes that lack any recognizable form. The crosswords in the newspapers were attempted, only to be crumpled up in frustration. Eddie tossed them haphazardly across the room, each throw a futile attempt to land them in the wastebasket. Every ball of paper on the floor is a reminder of how little control he has over anything.

After what feels like a lifetime, the phone rings. Fucking finally. Eddie’s pulse hammers, his mind racing with all the worst-case scenarios. After being so patient, he’s not sure if he’s ready to hear what’s on the other end. What if they’re calling to tell him it’s too late? What if he’s lost you before he ever had a chance to make things right?

The voice is calm, but the words hit him like a train: she's breathing on her own and out of critical condition. Eddie exhales shakily, his clammy grip on the phone tightening.

By the time he parks and walks into the hospital, it feels like every step is pulling him closer to what he’s both desperate for and terrified of. Having been moved to a room outside of the ICU, Eddie finds his way down the hall to your door.

He halts just outside and squeezes his eyes shut for a fleeting second, inhaling so deeply it feels like his lungs could burst. And then, he crosses the threshold. The tightness in his chest relents at how pretty you look. 

As though he’s trying to avoid waking you, he moves gingerly, dragging a chair over to your bedside to sit. Slightly reclined, you lay there with your head on the plush pillow. The heart rate monitor is a minor consolation, a reminder that you’re still alive.

“My sweet angel.” Taking your unmoving hand in his, Eddie’s touch is gentle like you're made of glass. Your hand is caressed as unexplored territory to him, contrary to him having held this hand a thousand times before. It feels like a first introduction, the way his fingers interlock with yours.

Remaining silent, he’s lost in thought, unsure if you could even hear him if he spoke. Surely, you're still in there somewhere. With his burnt caramel irises downcast, he can’t bring himself to look at you for more than a few seconds at a time. His other senses grow sharper, heightening to detect the slightest sign that you’re aware of him. A twitch or anything that might suggest that you can feel him.

Your motionlessness is killing him, but there’s a tranquility in it. Beneath the bruises and stitches, you’re still the love of his life. Eddie softly presses his lips to the back of your hand. The tears that run astray trickle down his cheeks, each salty droplet holding a memory.

Eddie isn’t ready for you to become a real angel. If you were to draw your final breath, he'd spend the rest of his days searching for white feathers or shapes in the fluffy clouds. He would go to great lengths to find evidence suggesting that you're still with him.

“Baby, I owe you an apology. More like a million of ‘em.” Eddie pauses. “I am so fucking sorry. And I know that doesn’t mean shit, believe me. I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

Instead of using his free hand to wipe away the tears, Eddie places it on top of yours, your hand now sandwiched between his. “If I'm being totally straight with you,” he begins, his voice breaking, “I’m scared shitless that you aren’t gonna wake up.”

The pressure is building behind his eyes, the tears threatening to fall faster. Unable to bear the thought of you seeing him like this, Eddie momentarily turns his head away. He clenches his jaw and he squeezes his eyes shut, willing the tears back. He forces himself to focus on your hand in his, because it’s the only thing keeping him from completely falling apart.

“I can’t imagine how tired you are of me. If you wanna let go… I understand,” Eddie sniffles loudly, trying to regain some semblance of control over his emotions. “But I want you to stay, baby. I’m not done being selfish yet. I just, I need you to come back to me. I promise I won’t take you for granted this time.”

It feels like he’s on a bullet train, the outside world soaring by at lightning speed while the hospital room has frozen in time. “I swear to Christ, I’ll never make you feel alone like that again. No more broken promises.” Eddie hooks his pinky finger with yours.

From hereon, Eddie refuses to leave your side. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he wasn’t there if you needed him. There’s no chance that he’s going to be separated from you for longer than absolutely necessary. 

The staff, seeing Eddie’s determination to stay by your side, take pity on him and bring him ham and cheese sandwiches, tomato soup with crackers, anything to keep him nourished. The thought of you being unable to eat awakens the residing guilt inside him. Instead of dwelling on it, he prioritizes the simple task of keeping himself going. That way, he can be here for you if you finally wake up.

Eddie’s sanity begins to fray from being confined to the small room, but the stream of visitors coming to see you keeps him relatively grounded. Over the rest of the week, the atmosphere transforms vibrantly, shifting from sterile to something almost cheerful.

Gifts from Wayne, his bandmates, and your family add bursts of life to the space. Themed balloons, heartfelt greeting cards, and colorful floral arrangements line the windowsill, reminiscent of a blooming spring meadow.

He wishes more than anything that you could see how incredibly loved you are by everyone who walks through that door. At the same time, part of him is almost relieved that you don’t have to experience the toll this ordeal has taken on your body.

Every other day, Robin stops by. She brings Eddie clean clothes from home, along with distractions like old issues from his Heavy Metal magazine collection. Each visit feels like a lifeline; Robin’s wit and genuine concern for you reminds him that he’s not facing this alone.

At his insistence, Robin ‘keeps you company’ while he takes brisk showers in the private bathroom, always returning in record time, afraid he might miss something. Per his request, she even brings nail polish in your favorite color so that he can paint your fingernails.

Regardless of having the privilege of being with you at all, it’s a hollow solace. Eddie’s mind remains a battlefield, overrun by relentless self-reproach. He ruined the best thing that ever happened to him. If he hadn’t messed everything up, there wouldn’t have been a fight, and you wouldn’t have walked out that night.

The weeks bleed together, the hospital room becoming a second home as Eddie clings to the vulnerable thread of hope.

Currently, he’s slouched in the same uncomfortable chair. If it weren’t made of wood, it would have an impression of his rear end by now. He’s been reading aloud to you from a novel, his voice mildly animated while his fingertips trace imaginary shapes on your arm.

The heart rate monitor, nothing more than a forgotten backdrop of rhythmic beeps, shows a distinct change. The words falter on Eddie’s tongue mid-sentence as he jolts upright. The book slips from his lap and hits the floor with a thud, utterly forgotten. Eddie’s eyes lock onto the monitor, scanning its display.

He's certain his mind is playing tricks on him. That is, until the pattern repeats. "Holy shit." Eddie takes your hand, his eyes darting between your face and the monitor. "I’m here, baby."

Your eyelids twitch and then begin to retract, although not fully. It’s like the clouds are dispersing, and the sky is slowly stitching itself back together as you emerge from the depths within yourself.

Brimming with unshed tears, Eddie’s eyes glisten like jewels. “Hi, sweetheart,” he coos with a tender squeeze of your hand. “I missed you.”

Reblogs are greatly appreciated! ♡

Thank you for reading xo

★My Masterlist

There are people in this world who have the luxury of not knowing what it’s like to experience mental illness. From the outside looking in, depression is nothing more than being exceptionally sad. Unsolicited advice comes with such naivety. A myriad of superficial solutions to a hardship that isn’t quite so easily soaked away by a candle-lit bubble bath or intensive exercise.

You’ve been dubbed as moody, complicated, and sensitive. These surface-level generalizations only go to show that your friends can’t possibly understand what you’re going through. At this rate, it’s not worth trying to explain the corrosion eating away at your cheeks from the tears.

Because of this, you continue the everlasting game of bloody knuckles. You have yet to say mercy, but god knows, you’ve come close. With one foot in the grave, you daydream about what your funeral will be like. Does anyone even care enough to know what your favorite flower is for the floral arrangements? Not likely.

In order to make it trickier for your demons to find you, it’s essential to drape a sheet over your bedroom window. Instead of them getting to rip you apart limb by limb, you dissolve into your blankets in the dark. The quietude instills a false sense of security that you hold near and dear. Sometimes it feels like that’s all that you have.

Is it lonesome? Sure. But you don’t ache for another person’s presence. When it comes down to it, apathy is what you want. Christ, what you wouldn’t give for it to swallow you whole already.

It’s common knowledge that in art mediums, blue is considered to be the color of sadness. Although, for you, it isn’t. With a flesh piercing blade as your brush, bright crimson is drawn to the surface—your canvas.

Looking in the mirror is the only way to see such a gallery of inconsistent markings. The reflection looking back at you is nothing short of a mocking image of everything you’ve failed to be.

Perhaps you’re a sucker for devastation because frankly, smiling feels unnatural. Any flicker of happiness feels repulsive and out of place. You’ve accepted that it’s just not an emotion you’re meant to experience.

At one point you’d felt envious of those who live vibrantly and carefree. You quickly learned that’s not the life you’re meant to live. As if assembled with faulty parts, you’ve always felt defective.

It’s a lot to deal with, and it has been for some time. That being said, you haven’t been going through this unaccompanied. Dustin and Eddie have always had your back. You couldn’t ask for more reasonable best friends.

Considering that you don’t open up to just anyone, you do find a little comfort in knowing that you have the option to confide in these two dorks.

The panic attacks have been occurring for a while. Somehow, the boys figured out how to help you through them. Dustin has gotten especially adept at detecting the symptoms before you’ve noticed them yourself.

However, their awareness doesn’t go beyond your experience with anxiety. You’d think that they could piece together the rest. But at the end of the day, they’re simple creatures.

Even though it’s right under their noses, they don’t realize the gravity of what you’re dealing with. You refuse to drag them into the darkness with you. They don’t deserve exposure to turmoil of this degree.

You didn’t think it was humanly possible to feel any more exhausted than you already did when you woke up this morning. Yet, another demanding day at work has proven otherwise. Not only has your brain turned to mush, but your body has followed suit. More than anything you want to lay in bed to sink into yourself. Luckily, you’re only moments away from doing so.

Colliding keychains and metal jingle while you try to insert your key into the front door’s lock. The metal slips from your shaky fingers and clatter as they hit the ground. You sigh exasperatedly and bend over to scoop up your keys. After doing so, you’re successful in your second attempt at letting yourself inside.

“Surprise!” 

The beaming expressions of Nancy, Jonathan, Steve, and Robin are convincingly mirrored on your face. You don’t even feel the disingenuous curl of your lips imitating a smile. It’s all instinct at this point.

Your eyes take in the room that’s been decorated with bundles of balloons and a handmade banner. “Oh, wow. You guys, this is-”

The sound of a party horn unfurling with a crinkle and honk causes you to jump in your skin. Dustin, having just bounced into view out of seemingly nowhere, insisted on hiding.

“You little shit.” You sigh amusedly, wrapping your arm around his shoulders to hug him with a squeeze. “I take it that you’re the mastermind behind this?”

Dustin tries, but fails to dodge your opposite hand that’s extended to tousle his coffee-colored curls. “I couldn’t let my party planning skills go to waste. It turned out awesome, if I do say so myself.” His eyes twinkle with a sense of achievement while they actively search yours for approval.

“Everything looks great, Dusty Bun. Thank you.” Your arm is still draped around his shoulder, so you give him a squeeze. He cringes at the use of his pet name as you make your way across the room to greet the remainder of your guests.

Nancy is perched on Jonathan’s lap while Robin is on the opposite end of the couch, which leaves the middle cushion available for you. As much as you don’t want to be this close in proximity to anyone right now, your body is far too sore to stand for much longer. Steve pours everyone’s beverages of choice and has Dustin deliver them from the kitchen. It takes a minute for you to find the ideal spot between your friends where your thighs aren’t touching theirs.

You drown out the lively chit-chat and music by descending into yourself. Birthdays don’t mean shit anymore. They’re simply a reminder that you just spent another 364 days pretending that you’re fine. Your preoccupation with death is always breathing hotly down your neck.

Just as your throat tightens and your eyes are on the verge of watering, the front door swings open. While balancing a carton of candles and a stack of paper plates on top of a pink bakery box, Eddie attempts to shake frizzy curls out of his face. He’s slightly winded from hustling in the hopes of making it back before you did. When his eyes meet yours, the expression of tizzy deflates. “Son of a bitch. I missed it?”

Dustin snorts mockingly while motioning to you. “Obviously, dude. She beat you by a couple of minutes.”

“God dammit!” Eddie throws his head back with a groan. “I was really looking forward to yelling ‘surprise.’ I’ve always wanted to do that.”

Eddie’s pout curls into a grin when he catches the eye roll you give in response to his belatedness. He quickly dresses the cake with candles and lights them with his trusty Zippo. Even with the pep in his step, he manages to approach you slowly enough that all of the candles remain lit.

Steve kills the lights and your friends begin to sing “Happy Birthday.” Not only is Dustin intentionally off-key but he’s ad-libbing through the whole song as well.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve been uncomfortable during the duration of the tune. Rather unsure of what to do with yourself while being serenaded. Are you supposed to be singing along? Where should you be looking? Luckily your counterfeit smile is realistic enough that it’s not obvious how uncomfortable you are right now.

Eddie crouches at your feet while balancing the cake over your knees. He grins sweetly, his honey-colored irises reflecting the swaying flames atop the multicolored candles. “Okay, baby doll. Time to make your wish and make it a good one.” He winks with a nod.

The room is hushed save for the record player continuing to spin a faint melody. You can feel everyone’s eyes boring into you and it makes you want to peel your skin off. All of your friends are buzzing with merriment but you can only think about the unorthodox method of relief you’re desperately craving. What’s your birthday wish? It’s for this to be over already.

You blow out the candles with a shallow breath and the tightness in your throat exacerbates as the dark room swells with clapping and whooping before Steve turns the lights back on. Those few seconds allow you to rid your cheeks of the tears that escaped before anyone can notice.

The last thing on your mind right now is eating cake but you force yourself to do so in order to play the part of being the birthday girl. Everyone is having a blast celebrating your existence while clueless as to how badly you want to die. Even though you’re surrounded by people who love you, it doesn’t quell the provocation from within. You can’t picture anything past this birthday and you’d be content with it being the last one.

To be honest, you’ve never been very good at coping. It’s become impossible to ignore the need to etch into the plush of your thigh. You’re not going to be able to get through the remainder of this party if you don’t get it out of your system. After politely excusing yourself, the pounding in your head thunders and you slip away to your bedroom.

Once you’ve closed the door, you hastily shimmy your pants off and plop yourself at the foot of the bed. A blade is drawn from the top drawer of your nightstand and with a fierce inhale you sink the straight edge into the existing lines to deeply reopen them. Your teeth chew the inside of your lip and a dull ache shoots through your body. This is it, this is how you’re supposed to feel. You’re not meant to feel content, you’re destined to self-destruct. The countdown ticks on, though you don’t know precisely how much time you have left before you finally beg for mercy.

You’re brought out of your thoughts by Eddie’s zestful voice before the door opens. “Are you ready to tear into your presents? We’re-” With his mouth slightly agape, Eddie’s eyes lock onto the blood dripping down the curvature of your calf.

Well, the cat’s out of the bag. You intended to lock the door but failed to do so in your rash state of mind. You try to think of an excuse as if there’s a rational way to dismiss the damaging act. Your thinned forcefield evaporates and tears flood your vision once more. It’s awfully convenient because you can no longer see Eddie’s crestfallen mug.

Without further hesitation, Eddie closes the door behind him. He’s shaking from head to toe, eyes lingering on the bloodied razor blade still pinched between your fingers. He approaches cautiously, removes it from your hold, and places it in his jacket pocket. Out of sight out of mind. Eddie slides onto the bed behind you with his legs stretched alongside yours. After snaking his arms around your shoulders, he gently guides you backward against his chest.

He’s rigid for the first few seconds, but the sound of your wailing reminds him that his intention is to be a haven right now. You cling to him, fingernails digging into his forearms that are folded across your sternum. Eddie squeezes his eyes closed so tightly that the insides of his eyelids are splashed with tingling colors.

Every fighting gasp for air that you take between the silent screams causes panging in his chest as if atomic bombs are going off. He can’t afford to be distracted by his profuse concern because his priority is bringing you down from your heightened state. His mind is racing and yet it feels so blank at the same time. The blood transfers from your bare leg onto his jeans.

Of your friends in the living room, Dustin is the only one who hears the muffled commotion. He strolls down the hall to investigate. “Hey, guyyyys. The super awesome party I threw is out here.”

Eddie is quick to respond before the doorknob turns. “Don’t come in!” He knows Dustin will let himself in just as he had done moments ago. Eddie doesn’t want you to feel even more mortified by Dustin seeing you like this. “She’s not feeling well. Just uh- have everybody go home.”

“Did she hurl or something?” Dustin presses his ear against the door to try and determine what’s happening on the other side. You seemed fine a couple of minutes ago, how sick could you possibly be?

“Dude, please. Tell them she’s too tired for all the socializing tonight.” Eddie shushes you calmingly while you swallow your whimpers to avoid giving yourself away. “And you’ll need to catch a ride from Steve.”

Dustin doesn’t understand why he doesn’t get to stay and comfort you, he’s your best friend too. He cares about you just as much as Eddie, he would even argue that he loves you more than Eddie does. Regardless, he doesn’t bother arguing because judging by the tone of Eddie’s instruction, it’s not up for debate. He rallies your other pals to gather the accumulated trash on their way out. Dustin feels that his effort in making your birthday special was overlooked. He spent weeks planning out your party with the objective of impressing you.

Once the front door slams shut, your mental breakdown resumes in full force. Eddie scoops you up into his lap and rocks you gently. With your head bowed, your hair catches the tears plummeting from Eddie’s eyes. By the time you’ve stopped hyperventilating, your voice is coarse like sandpaper from screaming through the tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so s-sorry.” You whine exasperatedly. Your nasal passage is blocked, forcing you to breathe out of your mouth. It feels like your head is full of helium and the pressure is pushing against your eyes. It’s making it unbearable to keep them open.

Eddie rests his cheek on the crown of your head and exhales steadily to release the pent-up tension. He assumes that you’re apologizing for injuring yourself but that’s far from the truth. You’re not sorry for doing it, you’re just sorry he saw it. Eddie refuses to let go regardless of the pins and needles swarming his legs.

The two of you sit in silence, the only noises being your sniffles and labored breathing. Once the pattern has returned to normal and he feels confident that you can drink safely, Eddie gets to his feet to leave the room. He stops in his tracks when you tug at his hand in protest. You’re visibly troubled by being unattended.

“Sit tight, sweetheart. I’ll be back in two shakes.” Eddie pets your hair and you reluctantly release his hand from your own.

Upon his return, he’s gathered a glass of water, a wet cloth, and your first aid kit. Your arms are far too feeble to support the weight of the glass, so Eddie tips it attentively as you drink. “Thank you,” You say breathily between sips.

Eddie wipes dribbled water from your chin with a subtle hum. After placing the cup aside, he kneels at the edge of the bed. He looks up at you for permission and you nod weakly, wincing when he uses the warm cloth to rid your leg of the dried blood. The site is visibly inflamed so he’s being as gentle as he can. Once the wound is clean, Eddie applies antibiotic ointment and a bandage. Lastly, he presses a barely-there kiss to the site in order to help make it feel better.

He spares you much back and forth, so as to not overwhelm you. “Arms up.”

Ever so compliant, you raise your arms. Eddie pulls your shirt off and tosses it in the hamper. Prior to this evening, being half-naked in front of him would’ve been awkward. Although, having been pant-less up until now, you could give a shit. Being caught doing what you were was more undignified than wearing one less article of clothing would be.

“That’s goin’ too.” He motions to your bra, turning away from you to dig through your dresser.

While you’re tugging off the garment, Eddie runs his palm over the folded pajamas to see which ones are the softest and will in turn be the most pacifying. He pulls out a band tee that he hadn’t realized you’d swiped from him and the corner of his mouth quirks up but he can’t form a full grin.

You take the shirt from his extended reach and pull it over your head. “Okay.” You utter as the cue that you’re decent and he can turn around.

Eddie hands you a tissue because he can hear that you’re only breathing through your mouth. You blow your nose harshly, far too spent to care about how gross it sounds. After clearing your airway with a few tissues, Eddie discards them and then uses the clean side of the wet cloth to wipe the remaining mess from under your nose. “There we go. That’s much better, isn’t it?”

With a sheepish nod, you scoot backward on the bed and lay down gradually, your muscles like stiffening cement. Eddie tucks you under the covers and as soon as your head makes contact with the pillow, your eyes fall closed and don’t reopen.

Minutes after you succumb to exhaustion, Eddie cries quietly to himself. For hours, he lays here watching you sleep and strokes your tear-stained cheek with the pad of his thumb. His eyes remain open, unwilling to rest because he’s fearful that something bad will happen if he dozes off. Eddie needs to guard you, even if that means he has to protect you from yourself. Losing you would be the worst thing that could happen to him.

Despite trying, he can’t get the image out of his head. The scattered scars that surrounded your fresh wound are burned into his memory. This wasn’t a one-time thing. Whatever is going on with you is unmistakably severe enough that you’re hiding it from him and have been for a while.

How is he going to tell Dustin? Maybe he'll leave it at the fact that you’re having a difficult time and omit the part about you hurting yourself. It would positively crush him if he found out. Besides, Eddie doesn’t want to jeopardize everything by violating your trust.

You made Eddie promise not to tell a soul what happened that day, including Dustin. He agreed on the terms that you’d inform him when you need help from thereon out. You wish you could keep your word but that’s easier said than done. How are you supposed to vocalize the wretched things your brain tells you? It’s a language only you can comprehend, it’s meant to torment you specifically. 

You’re not stupid, you know how much that evening shook him up. To put Eddie’s heart at ease you’ve gotten better at feigning that everything is peachy keen. Not dissimilarly, Eddie is playing pretend too. He acts as though he doesn’t see you differently knowing what he does now. Obviously, you don’t want to discuss it so he continues to act like it never happened.

Eddie thinks about it every day and he’s had an abundance of nightmares that replay like an echo. He can’t move past it because not only is he concerned that you’re still hurting yourself, but you’re also refusing to let him in. You’re effectively shutting out the person you’ve told everything. Certainly, if he tried to talk to you about it, you’d remove yourself from his life entirely.

To his credit, he’s right on the money. Not only that, but your state of well-being has worsened. The daydreaming is more vivid and you ponder what the least painful way to go would be. Existing already hurts so much, you want to feel at peace when you rest.

It has surpassed psychological pain nowadays. The entirety of your body is overrun with fatigue. You just want to be free from it all. It’s like a home invasion where anxiety and depression ransack your mind in search of valuables. Anxiety leaves no stone unturned while depression covers your mouth and presses a gun to your temple.

Dustin and Eddie are still your best friends, but you’ve met someone new. Their name is Ativan and god, they’re a treat. Although prescribed as needed for your panic attacks, they offer you access to a realm of serenity that you can’t reach without them.

At the end of every grueling day, the first thing you do when you get home is swig down a tablet. By the time you’ve changed out of your work clothes and crawled into bed, you’re seeping into the dimension that connects this world to another. It feels dense but it isn’t warm or cold and it doesn’t hug nor choke you. It simply carries you away from worthlessness and inadequacy.

At the thirty-minute mark, your brain has melted to slush. Your surroundings smudge together, erasing any previously discernable objects. It’s best to be in bed because with how uncoordinated and sluggish it makes you, you become one with whatever surface you end up on.

The day Eddie caught you, you learned that he truly thinks the world of you. But when it comes down to it, you need to be more secretive in order to shield not only him but Dustin too. You hate that Eddie checks in on you from time to time. You don’t hate that he cares enough to ask, it’s that it pains you to lie every time he does.

Ideally, if you withdraw from your friends subtly enough, no one will feel majorly impacted when you decide to call it quits. People say that suicide is selfish but that’s not entirely true. If anything it’s inherently selfless because you believe that you’re freeing your loved ones of the burden that you perceive yourself as.

Today is another one of those days where you can’t be bothered to get out of bed. You missed your shift at work in its entirety by having slept for 14 hours straight. It doesn’t matter. You’d much rather lie here to rot, so you did. Asleep or awake, all you can think about is that feeling of pure ease. A state beyond numbness and unconsciousness. Rather, it’s nothingness. That’s where you want to be.

You’re hanging on by a thread worn too thin. The apathy bites at your toes and gnaws its way up your body. Tears well in your eyes and drip onto your pillowcase. You feel nauseated and woozy. Living day after day has slashed you to the point of being able to see through yourself. Your headstone is half engraved, only missing today’s date.

While choking on the reasons why you should give up, there’s no flavor of justification for continuing to live. You subconsciously rip open tallied scabs on your wrist from last night’s bloodletting. The bedsheets run red, blood smearing across your skin. You can’t feel it, it’s not enough. The ringing demand is painfully loud. You have to make it stop.

The brittleness of your lungs causes you to claw for a rickety breath. Spit drips down your chin as your burnt-out throat fails to produce a scream. You clutch the sheets with bloodied fingers. Gotta make it stop. After rolling off of the mattress, your palms hit the floor before you can get to your feet.

You use the wall to brace yourself as you stagger to the bathroom. The medicine cabinet is torn open and rattling fills the small room as bottles fall into the basin below. The thunder in your brain overrides your senses, impairing your ability to see and hear. Your hips press against the sink to keep yourself vertical while you search the cabinet. 

With the desired bottles in hand, you pop the caps and they bounce when they hit the floor. You dump the contents into your palm, balling your fist to ensure that you don’t drop any. You don’t care how many are left, it just needs to be enough. With a few gulps of booze from the bottle tucked beside the bathtub, you throw back the handful of tablets and swallow thickly. The sensation of the bitter liquid searing your throat is tranquilizing in itself, ensuring that solace is soon to come.

Due to your stomach being empty, the shift hits like a whirlwind. You sit on the cold floor with your back against the side of the tub. The tears stop, your heart rate slows, and an unfamiliar warmth washes over you. Finally, the urge is satiated. As the full-body trembling ceases and the earth stops turning, your eyelids seal as you melt in the stillness.

Your phone rings twice only moments after you’ve taken the pills. Ten minutes later your front door opens and slams shut.

Dustin toes off his sneakers, eyeing Eddie while he does the same. “If she’s working late shouldn’t we just wait for her to get home? I don’t think she'll appreciate us being here unsupervised.”

Eddie shakes the spare house key he snagged from its hiding place. “She won’t even know we were here. We’re just gonna dig around real quick. My lighter has got to be here ‘cause I’ve looked everywhere.” He ties his hair back with a rubber band and shucks off his denim jacket.

“There’s no way you looked everywhere,” Dustin remarks, earning an annoyed look from Eddie.

“Yeah, no shit. That’s why we’re here, genius.” Eddie commences the hunt by lifting couch cushions and tossing around the decorative pillows.

Dustin fake scours for a beat before heading toward the hall.

“Where are you going?” Eddie dramatically shakes out a throw blanket as if it’ll make his Zippo appear like a magic trick. 

“Bathroom.”

“Seriously? I told you not to drink a whole can of pop.”

“Well, I did.” Dustin crosses his arms defensively. “And if I hold it any longer I'll spontaneously combust. Do you wanna have to clean that up?”

“Gross, no thanks.” Eddie tosses the blanket back on the couch, neglecting to refold it. “Just hurry up and don’t touch anything.”

“Why would I?” Dustin squints.

Eddie mirrors the teen’s prickly body language. “Uh, ‘cause you’re nosey as hell."

“Am not,” Dustin calls out as he pivots down the hall. He stops in the doorway to the bathroom, met with the sight of you slumped on your side. “Eddie…”

“What? Found it?” Eddie cocks his head at Dustin’s statue-like stance. He approaches and peeks into the bathroom, then abruptly brushes past Dustin to get to you. Eddie’s knees bruise from the sheer force at which they smack the porcelain tile. He guides you to sit upright but your unsupported head rolls forward. “Nononono shit shit shit!”

When he scoops you up into his arms, he feels the subtle warmth of your skin against his own. Still alive. Thrust into panic mode, Eddie repeatedly taps your cheek to elicit a reaction but to no avail. Tears pour from his eyes as he secures your head to his heaving chest. “Go call for help!”

Dustin doesn’t flinch, his mouth hanging open and eyes unblinking. Utterly frozen in carbonite as he witnesses his best friend dying on the bathroom floor.

“NOW!” Eddie booms pressingly.

Dustin dashes away to dial 911. In the meantime, Eddie cradles you and sobs. “We’re here, sweetheart. We’re here now.”

After all this time, the way you’ve been feeling has finally broken the surface. Your emotions are now presented in their rawest form, revealing how broken you’ve been feeling.

“Hurry, Dustin!” Eddie beseeches through a wet cough. The tears cascade from his cheeks onto your limp body, soaking into the fabric of your shirt. “Just hold on for me, okay?” His voice cracks, “Please don’t go.” The knot in his stomach is taut while he focuses on the jagged passing of air through your nostrils.

He kisses your temple and nuzzles his blotchy cheek in its wake. “Please, god. Please please please… don’t take her from us.” Eddie is doing his damndest to keep you from slipping away by stimulating you with his voice and touch. A faint rattle spills from your throat, your brain is convinced that you’re floating but you’re sinking fast. “Dustin!”

On cue, he reappears in the doorway with puffy bloodshot eyes and a wet sheen trailing from his nose, pooling in his Cupid’s bow. “They’re on the way.”

“We gotta keep her warm.” Eddie sniffles with glossily desperate eyes. Dustin gets on his knees and complies. The two of them cocoon you in their body heat until the paramedics arrive.

The boys are forced out of the bathroom and they stand in the living room to stay out of the way. Dustin is enveloped in Eddie’s trembling arms. He buries his face into the crook of Eddie’s neck to dampen the sound of his unbridled blubbering.

Eddie shields him from looking as you’re wheeled out of the bathroom on the gurney. He has to be strong for Dustin because you couldn’t say the same for yourself.

Dustin grabs fistfuls of Eddie's shirt and tugs so hard that the seams snap. “She’s gonna be okay, right?” He rasps with a saturated cry.

“Yeah-” Eddie refuses to think for even a second that it’ll just be the two of them from now on. You’re a part of the unit, it’s meant to stay that way. He tightens his embrace, holding Dustin impossibly closer. ”She’s stronger than both of us combined. She’s gonna pull through this, I know it.” 

Author's Note Cont.: Eddie and Dustin are so proud of you for trying your best every day, even when it doesn’t feel like you have much to show for it.

Reblogs are greatly appreciated! ♡

★My Masterlist

The plastic shell of the phone clacks as you hang up, and you watch Eddie hop out of his van, and round the front of it with an unusual pep in his step—more than you’d see his best days.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Eddie’s voice carries across the room, accompanied by a genuine smile that lights up his face. He strides to the register counter you’re currently manning, wearing a vermillion polo shirt embellished with the neatly embroidered String and Strum shop logo on the breast. His hair is pushed back from his face with a black bandana, resembling a biker-like edge, tied firmly to ensure no stray curls disrupt his work as he repairs guitars and sells instruments for commission.

In seconds flat, he’s already scrunching his nose like a bunny, sensing a sneeze on the horizon. Being in a room packed with fresh plants is nothing short of hell, but he’s willing to endure it for the sake of seeing you. While he can handle flowers in small quantities, the confined space never fails to tickle his system like nobody’s business.

Vision blurring with mild irritation, Eddie blinks hard to disperse it. “Hey, how’s today going?”

You shrug, suppressing a giggle at the wiggle of his nose. “As good as it can, I guess. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

Eddie sets a grease-stained paper bag on the counter that separates you, along with a cup of soda. “Figured you could use a midday pick-me-up.”

“Must be my lucky day because I overslept and didn’t have time to pack a lunch. Well, that and I found a penny on the sidewalk.”

Eddie crosses his arms and tilts his head. “Don’t give luck all the credit. I have instinctual powers, y’know. My Munson senses were tingling and I knew you were in need.”

“My hero,” You exclaim, clasping your hands and swinging them to the side like a swooning princess. 

Eddie chuckles with you, watching as you wipe your palms on your apron and eagerly dig into the bag, pulling out a foam to-go box. As you promptly open it and take a bite of your lunch, you can’t help but groan and throw your head back in satisfaction. Your eyes meet his thereafter, causing him to twist his mouth to the side and momentarily look away.

“How much do I owe you?” You ask, your words slightly muffled as you continue to chew.

Minnie, Joan’s cat, gracefully leaps onto the counter to greet Eddie. She perches herself beside the cash register, allowing him to scratch under her chin. “Nothin, consider it a favor,” He says with a wet sniffle, the tingling in his nose unrelenting.

The silence that falls is comfortable for you, but he’s seemingly lost in his thoughts as he continues to pet Minnie. Then, he looks at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Speaking of which, I just so happen to know a way that you can return the favor.”

Having taken a sip from your drink and another bite of your food, the inflection of Eddie’s voice causes you to slow your chewing. “And what might that be?”

“Come over later to find out.”

Your shoulders slump, eyes widened with mock defeat. “No! I can’t stand here and wonder all day. I'll die. The suspense will kill me.”

Eddie pouts mockingly, his sweet honey eyes betraying his faux-frown. “Then I'll be sure to have the prettiest floral arrangement for your funeral. Only the best for you.”

Your brows knit together in an authentic pouting. The irony of needing to meet an untimely demise to receive flowers from a guy isn’t lost on you.

He motions toward the untrimmed bundle of carnations on the workbench behind you. “Actually, if you’re not too busy, could you string those up for me quick so they’re ready to go for your wake?”

“Ha-ha.” You leer at him, taking the next bite of your food rather aggressively. “You’re cruel, you know that?”

“I beg to differ since I surprised you with your favorite from Val’s and all,” Eddie retorts, biting the inside of his cheek.

You grumble, “Yeah, and it’s fucking delicious.”

Eddie checks his watch and huffs. “Alright, I’ve gotta get goin’." He raps his knuckles on the countertop and beginning to walk backward. “See you later tonight.” He points at you before spinning on his heel and exiting the shop.

The bulky keyring on Eddie’s jeans jingles loudly as he steps onto the sidewalk. Abruptly, he stops in his tracks. For a moment he’s frozen, and then he braces himself against the nearby lamppost. It hits him like a brick wall and he sneezes mightily. 

Heads of nearby passersby turn in his direction, startled by the noise. As he straightens his posture, Eddie remains still, trying to find his center of gravity and regain his composure.

“You good?” You call out, your voice just barely reaching him through the propped-open doors. Taking a casual sip of your drink, you watch as Eddie steadies himself. Still clutching the street lamp with one hand, he manages to stick his other arm out and give a thumbs-up.

True to your word, you arrive at Eddie’s place straight after work. The sun is setting, casting a warm glow through the patio door onto the walls of the living room. The apartment is in its usual state of disarray, expectedly so, since it’s home to three guys who aren’t particularly concerned with tidiness.

Toeing off your shoes, you’re unphased by the subtle smell of dust in the air. What strikes you as odd is how quiet it is. Typically, at least one roommate is home, blasting the TV in the living room or music from their respective bedrooms. But the only sound permeating the silence is the erratic thumping and screech of the water pipes behind the paper-thin walls of the bathroom.  

As you snoop around the kitchen, hoping to find a box of saltine crackers or really anything to stop the gurgling in your belly. Having come up empty-handed, you turn your attention to the resilient plant that you challenged Eddie to care for—Keanu Leaves, as he so proudly named it. 

Finished with your fruitless search of the kitchen, you make your way into Eddie’s bedroom to settle comfortably into the chair that only you sit in; it’s your spot. While you get cozy, the beans rattle as they perfectly mold to your figure. You knock on the wall beside you, signaling your arrival to Eddie.

You resume the magazine left sitting open on the page you stopped on. You occupy yourself in the article about predicted spring fashion trends as you wait. After a minute or two, the pipes go quiet from the shower being turned off.

Eddie strolls into the room wearing nothing more than a clean pair of boxers. Droplets of water trickle down his toned and tatted chest. Harshly ruffling his curls with a bath towel, he smirks at you. “If it isn’t Little Miss Zombie, back from the dead.”

“Less than alive and in the flesh,” you reply, your annoyance at being made to wait all day still evident. You hold grudges better than anyone he knows, and Eddie is well aware that he’s not immune to being subject to it.

Your tummy rumbles loudly, the discomfort only emphasizing the sharpness of your tone. “When was the last time you got groceries? I didn’t see any preserved brains I could help myself to.”

“I’m definitely due for a restock,” Eddie says as he drapes his wet towel over the back of his desk chair. Then, he grabs the bottle of mousse from his dresser and dispenses a foamy dollop into his palm. “Funny you should ask, though. That’s sorta why you’re here.”

You flip the page of your magazine, not pulling your eyes from the glossy print. “You told me to come over to go grocery shopping?”

Eddie rubs his palms together to spread the product and then runs his fingers through his curls. “Not quite,” he starts, his tone cryptic. “I’ve been tasked with providing a meal, of sorts.” 

Finally, you look up at him. Watching him scrunch his damp hair with the remainder of the product that’s making his palms go tacky, you wait for him to elaborate.

Eddie’s eyes flit to the other side of the room, rather than meeting your awaiting gaze. “I have a date.”

You stare blankly at the back of his head, as still as a statue while your blinking intensifies. Dumbfounded, you struggle to survive the bombshell he just dropped on you. It’s as if a nuclear explosion has shattered your eardrums, leaving his continued words to sound muffled through the high-pitched ringing.

A million and one questions swirl in your mind, only adding to the disorienting whirlwind of emotions. Since when is he dating? Why all of a sudden? As you try to piece everything together, you note that he hasn’t had any recent romantic interactions, at least none that you’re aware of.

You always thought he’d confide in you if he was seeing someone, but now you’re not so sure; especially since you’re only finding out about this now. Without a doubt, Eddie has never had trouble attracting attention. But he’s always seemed so content with the ways things are. So why now?

Eddie turns to face you, a splash of desperation in his eyes. “I feel like doing this is the best way to know if she likes me back.”

Your mouth has gone dry, and you try to sound more curious than interrogative, but it doesn’t quite come off that way. “Who is this mystery woman, anyway?” A couple of names come to mind, some of the most beautiful girls in town—none of whom you hold a candle to.

His side of the room falls quiet when he’s hit with your question. Eddie’s eyes drop to the carpet. While it might seem like he’s lost in thought, it’s actually a glaring sign of evasion. You can’t help but feel a little hurt by his reluctance to tell you who it is.

A small smile forms as he leans back against his dresser, as though he can’t keep himself upright during his current daydream. Folding his arms across his pecs and rubbing his jaw, eyes still downcast, Eddie begins to gush about her. “She’s just- god, she’s something else. The way she laughs, it’s like... the sun coming out after a storm.”

“Sounds like quite the catch,” you mutter, trying to keep your tone neutral. You watch closely as blush tints Eddie’s cheeks and his smile threatens to grow. Without saying another word, Eddie walks out and returns to the bathroom.

You’re quick to follow, hopping up from your chair. “Do I know her?”

“Technically, yeah." Standing in front of the foggy mirror, he wipes it with the back of his forearm. Then, he starts rummaging through the counter drawer for his pair of shears.

You stand just outside the open door, the lingering humidity from his scorching hot shower kissing your skin as it disperses into the hallway. Leaning back against the wall, you cross your arms like he did moments ago, albeit far more tensely. Technically? It must be one of your ex-friends, then. That would explain why he’s been keeping you in the dark.

It’s your duty to be supportive, but right now, you could hurl. The thick nausea swirling deep in your gut is a storm raging within, overpowering your ability to stay present.

While trimming his bangs over the basin, the shears glint in the hushed light of the wall sconce. Eddie steals a glance in your direction, but his eyes dart back to his reflection too quickly to catch the discomfort etched on your face. “So you’ll help me, right?”

As you watch yourself anxiously wiggling your toes inside your sock, you mumble, “I can't if you won’t tell me who it is.“

“Sure you can, you’re a girl. You know how this stuff works.”

You scoff, your brows shooting up as your head jerks back. You open your mouth to object, but he promptly cuts you off.

“Ah, ah! Slow your roll." Eddie points the shears in your direction. “I’m not saying you’re all the same, but there’s gotta be some common ground of expectations, right?”

You don’t have the strength to argue, so you reluctantly allow for his generalization. “I guess so.”

“Like yeah, I could just study one of those lady magazines you’re always reading. But then I wouldn’t have a way of knowing what is and isn’t bullshit,” Eddie explains, his tone half-joking. “That’s why I’m going straight to the source, oh, wise one.”

Far too consumed with trying to narrow down who the chick could possibly be, you can’t be bothered to give him a huff of amusement through your nose. “Can I at least have a hint?”

“Nope.” The shears hit the countertop, their metallic resonance echoing against the porcelain. He pivots to face you, hands resting on his hips. “Alright, Sherlock. How about you quit trying to crack the case and help me pick out a tie.”

“A what now?” You squawk, eyes widening in disbelief.

Eddie chuckles softly and rinses the hair trimmings down the drain, then flicks off the bathroom light. “I have to dress for the occasion. This is a big deal for me,” he elaborates as he strides back into his room. “For her and me.”

Once again, you find yourself on his tail, trailing close behind back into his bedroom. You unfold your arms and instead, start to rub the inside of your wrist with your opposite thumb. “Yeah, I get that. Just seems a bit out of character for you.”

Rifling through his closet, Eddie pulls out a hanger with a navy button-up shirt and nonchalantly tosses it onto the end of his bed. “Maybe, but at least she’ll know I’m taking this seriously." Eddie reaches for the high shelf to retrieve a tattered shoebox. Lifting the lid, he presents it to you. “Here’s what we’re working with.”

You step closer, your fingers deftly plucking out the rolled ties one by one, laying them flat beside the slightly wrinkled shirt. Side by side, your shoulders nearly brush. Meticulously comparing the patterns and colors, neither of you seems drawn to any particular one.

“Here, maybe it’s better to do it this way,” Eddie suggests, picking up and beginning to slip into the shirt. His thick fingers falter as he attempts to maneuver each small white button through its corresponding hole. Once halfway dressed—having tastefully paired his plaid boxers with a dress shirt—he smooths out the material from his chest to his belly.

Eddie grabs the nearest tie and lays it against his shoulder. He faces you expectantly, anticipation evident in his gaze, awaiting your feedback.

Your eyes flit between the tie he’s holding, the array laid out on the bed, and the hopefulness in his round eyes. “These are easily the three ugliest ties I've ever seen. No offense.”

He blows a playful raspberry at your harsh criticism and shakes his head. “None taken, they’re not mine. But Wayne might be a little hurt when I call him next and tell him you said that.”

Shooting him a pointed look, your brows furrow in skepticism. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I just might,” Eddie teases with a smile before turning his attention back to the bed. He tosses the first tie aside and reaches for the mustard paisley one. “What about this one, does it compliment my eyes?” He bats his dark brown lashes.

You clutch your chin in contemplation, carefully assessing the combination of hues. However, the richness of his chocolate irises captures you. You wade in their depths. The hot flash that envelops your body is enough to break the trance he inadvertently put you under. With a disapproving shake of your head, you dismiss this tie as well. “Nope, next.”

Eddie looks at you for a moment longer, even though you’re not doing the same. A faint frown creases his features as he tosses the vetoed tie aside, forming a rejection pile.

You pick up the remaining tie and drape it over his shoulder, admiring the harmonious pairing of the navy in the tie with the shirt, accentuated by its white and black diagonal stripes. While you ponder, Eddie watches your face intently, holding his breath.

You nod, a trace of delighted approval in your expression. “We have a winner.”

“Hell yeah, blue on blue it is." He wraps the tie around the back of his neck but struggles to recall the proper technique for tying it. Attempting a few different nonsensical loopings, he groans, his determination waning. “Stupid son of a bitch, wouldya just-”

“Don’t hurt yourself. Let me do it," you offer. Not receiving protest, you step closer to him.

Eddie uses one hand to gather his product-enhanced curls into a makeshift ball, allowing you to access the collar of his shirt. He juts out his freshly shaved chin, granting you ample room to work. Standing this closely, you catch the clean scent of shaving cream lingering on his skin.

You begin to effortlessly tie the knot. Without pausing to consider what you’re about to say, the words spill from your lips. “Why’re you asking for my opinion on stuff like this, anyway? You should be doing what you think she’ll like, not me.”

“You always know best.” Eddie’s expression softens to something more vulnerable. “When you’re taking the next step in a relationship, you want everything to be as perfect as it can be, y’know?”

It’s common sense to him. No one understands him like you do, making you the perfect person for navigating this nerve-wracking experience. But for you, it’s perplexing. You’ve never been on a proper, formal date. The idea of one remains an unfulfilled pipe dream. Yet, here you are, agreeing to help Eddie plan his.

Your only frame of reference comes from romance movies and horror stories of dates gone wrong recounted by your girlfriends. Of all the things you could be in the world, you find yourself an unassuming tree. Sturdy and dependable, sure. You serve your purpose. But you don’t captivate onlookers with blooming petals like flowers do. Instead, you take pride in your intricately branched personality, valuing it as your true strength that often goes overlooked.

Even so, it feels as though your traits fail to enchant others regardless; nobody seems willing. You go unnoticed, and you’ve come to terms with that.

Beautiful wildflowers get plucked from the ground and carried away to be cherished. Meanwhile, you simply exist, rooted in no man’s land, devoid of admirers. You may stand tall, but you’re easily overshadowed by what other women have to offer.

Perhaps this is why you like working at the flower shop. It’s somewhat cathartic to witness the delicate petals fall from time to time. It brings you a strange sense of satisfaction to hack away at their stems. The best part, though? While it’s a little twisted, you know that those flowers that dazzle in their pristine state are destined to wilt. They’ll shrivel and brown.

Whilst among your shared group of friends in public, you’ve witnessed Eddie getting nudged by one of the guys to direct his attention to a smoke show walking by. You watched as they bit their knuckles and exaggeratedly gawked. You don’t compare, it’s not even apples to oranges. It’s like… apples to rocks. A delicious, shiny fruit compared to you, mere clunky chunks of earth.

If life were an album, you’re the track that everyone skips within seconds of hearing the intro. Except for those rare moments when someone half-listens by accident and they resonate with you—that’s how you and Eddie became friends. He’d stumbled upon his new favorite song, one worth revisiting. What he sees in you is what everyone else overlooks.

Eddie is the only man on the face of the earth who treats you like you’re worth being around. Only an oddball would prefer to spend time lounging beneath the shade of a crooked tree instead of homing a rose in a crystal vase. That’s one thing you love about your best friend; he doesn’t make you feel like you fade into the background.

All fairytale cliché bullshit included, you want to be sought out in a crowd. You want to light up the room for someone. Much to your dismay, that can happen platonically too, and it has in this case.

If Eddie only knew how much the little moments matter to you—the ones where he makes you feel prioritized and valued. You know you’re not anything close to special or remarkable, but he always made you second guess that thought.

Obviously, you hadn’t meant to fall for him. It was kind of like catching a cold; one day, there was a tickle in the back of your throat that you didn’t usually feel. Unsuspecting, the days went on, and that sensation only worsened. You started to panic a little but ultimately continued to deny your worst thoughts.

Before you knew it, you were bedridden, bitten by the love bug. You didn’t go down without a fight. You thought that you could be strong and deny it access to your heart, but it had already invaded. So, all you could do was wait it out.

You tried to distance yourself, hoping to recover and act like nothing ever changed inside of you. But Eddie didn’t let you get too far away.

It wasn’t love at first sight, rather, a creeping plague. There was no swooning and giggling, no struggling to keep your hands to yourself. The change was undetectable. You were a frog in boiling water, unaware of the gradually rising temperature until it was far too late.

It wasn’t until your chest started to ache every time you said goodbye at the end of spending time together that you realized you were in too deep. You genuinely debated going to the doctor to get the pang checked out, but luckily you didn’t. Otherwise, you’d have wasted a good chunk of money to find out that you’re a lovesick idiot.

Unfortunately, this is an illness you’ve been stuck with since, and you’ve at least learned how to distract yourself from it. But when you fail to do so, your imagination wanders. Naturally, you’ve wondered if pressing a mere kiss to his cheek would burn everything to the ground.

The forbidden territory beckons, tempting you to envision breaking those unspoken agreed-upon rules that forbid things like hand-holding and cuddling. The two of you uphold mutual respect, adhering to the expectations of friendship. Both of you reserve that level of touch for expressions of romantic affection. Actions such as those have no place in a true friendship.

That’s the most confusing part of this for you. How did you manage to catch such strong feelings for him when you’ve not crossed any lines? Sure, he’s a tactile person; maybe that has something to do with it. Eddie makes physical contact with those he trusts, but it’s not like he’s hanging off of you at any given moment. You receive the same treatment as the others in his inner circle: a hand on the shoulder, a pat on the back, and a brief gripping of the forearm to get your attention.

You’re not supposed to want the touches to be more frequent, much less of a different nature. The line has to be drawn somewhere, and it’s been plainly drawn in the sand. You understand and accept that. But why, of all lines in the world, does it have to be this one that you want to cross so badly?

Most of your days aren’t all that miserable. But there are those days that are more difficult than the rest, though it’s not his fault. Last weekend, the two of you were at a mall, and some chick waved at him flirtily. He returned it immediately, though playfully enough that it was almost mocking. He was fucking around and had no intention of entertaining the idea of approaching her. Regardless, it was humbling for you, to say the least.

In that moment, the world reminded you that there’s a reason you walk at his side at a respectable distance, not tucked under his arm. If anything, it’s for the best. There’s a sense of liberation in admiring him without the burden of articulating your feelings. There’s no pressure to meet a girlfriend quota or live up to a higher standard. What Eddie expects of you now is what you’re capable of, and clearly, all that you’re good for. You’re good for filling the void, but apparently not so much anymore.

You’re not lustrous and aching to jump his bones, and you’re certainly not desperate enough to kiss him on a whim by not allowing yourself to overthink it. But perhaps you are just desperate enough that a man simply paying your emotions, interests, and existence of any mind can shackle you to him. That has to be what’s done you in; Eddie gives a shit about you.

In reality, there’s more to it than that. Eddie is selective about who and what he lets in. He doesn’t care for conformity and lack of individuality. The idea of blending in with the majority of society repulses him. You find the flawed aspects of the Munson doctrine fascinating and raw. He’s not perfect and Eddie doesn’t care what others think of him, to a degree.

Not unlike you, he’s complex. Eddie is anti-establishment but still prefers a bit of structure over chaos in his day-to-day life. He’s independent and cynical as hell, but he’s also appreciative of his support systems and isn’t ashamed to rely on them. He’s not much of a rule breaker nor is he rebellious, but he’ll happily stir up a little trouble in good fun if given the opportunity.

Eddie is a hypocrite in some ways and a walking contradiction in others. You love that he’s unapologetic about being that way. He owns it for the most part, and you admire that.

His presence overstays its welcome in your thoughts. You’ve often yearned for him to call you in the dead of night, admitting that he can’t sleep without the sound of your voice. Many times, you’ve fought the urge to do that. He owes you sleep, countless nights of it. It’s a debt that will never be repaid, an outstanding balance.

Despite the attempts at trying to talk yourself out of it, you still can’t bring yourself to stop loving him. Even as he’s actively pursuing someone else, you’re unable to shake this. You could be paralyzed from head to toe, and you’d still feel the love you have for him in your bones.

Once Eddie is officially with someone, he won’t have much time or energy left for you. The anticipation of being thrown aside for something new and far prettier has shattered your heart before any changes have occurred. Yet, any fragment of his presence surpasses total absence. The greed isn’t worth it, and you know you should be grateful for getting any piece of him at all.

The phrase fizzles on the tip of your tongue like a smoldering ember, threatening to sear through the muscle… I’m happy for you.

You should say it, but you can’t. Because if you did, that would be a blatant lie. It’s not even possessiveness that has you so bitter, it’s envy. You wish you were in her place.

“There.” You adjust the knot with a delicate tug, ensuring its tightness before letting the material slip through your fingers. Unable to meet his appreciative gaze, you offer a sad smile and take a half-step backward.

Your sigh, cleverly concealed as a deep breath, escapes as you settle back into your chair with a plop. “So, um,” you begin, picking at your cuticles absentmindedly. “Where are you taking her? Somewhere fancy?”

“Nah.” Eddie meticulously revamps his curls one final time in the mirror, wanting them to fall just right. Then, with great care, he tames his bangs to lay perfectly in place. “She’s gonna come over here. I thought it’d be more intimate. Besides, I can’t exactly swing a reservation right now. I’ve been tight on cash this week.”

Your fingers come to a halt, the stinging sensation apparent. Looking over at him, your eyes meet his in the reflection. “Ya big dummy, you shouldn’t have bought me lunch when that money could’ve gone toward buying her a nice dinner.”

“Don’t start with that shit,” Eddie warns as he digs through his dresser in search of pants to wear. “I’m happy to do that for you,” He pulls a pair of dark jeans from the bottom drawer.

“It really did make my day, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Having donned his pants, he nears his desk where his black grommet belt lies on the floor. Eddie threads his belt through the loops of his jeans, the buckle jingling before he secures it in place. “I felt better knowing you were taken care of.”

It’s only now occurring to you what he’s implied, and you think how absurd it is for him to host a dinner when he’s culinarily challenged. “Wait, since when do you cook?”

“Oh, I don’t. But you do.”

“Hardly.” You scoff, downplaying your abilities. Placing your magazine back in your lap, you flip the page despite not having read it. Unexpectedly, you feel the urge to quell his enthusiasm, to set him up for failure by trying to poke holes in his plan. “I mean, food is one thing, but atmosphere is another. Aren’t the guys going to be here?”

Eddie moves the clutter on his desk around in a quest to find something. “I kicked them out for the night.”

Like a spear plunged into your chest, you swallow hard. Not only is he having a girl over for dinner, but he’s gone out of his way to guarantee privacy because he’s hoping to get lucky too. More than likely right there, on that very bed, feet away from you. The cramped twin-sized mattress, where they’ll inevitably be body to body.

He turns to you after locating what he was searching for, fastening the slightly fancier watch around his wrist; it only supersedes his Casio due to it being analog, as opposed to digital. “I’ve been wanting to try that dish you keep raving about. You can teach me how to make it. Two birds, one stone.”

“It’s not difficult, you could handle the recipe.” You shrug away the opportunity to cook with him because the domesticity of it would more than likely kill you.

“I wanna do it together.” His voice softens, genuinely asking as nicely as possible. “Please.”

“Sure, yeah.” You maintain your downcast gaze and slump back in the chair, wishing for a black hole to open and swallow you up. “What if she doesn’t like it, or what if you don’t?”

“If you like it then it has to be good.”

Eddie’s seemingly endless compliments cause no sense of flattery. Instead, you’re consumed with persisting nausea as you envision a stunning girl seated across from him while they share laughter and partake in unspeakable activities in this very room.

Abruptly, a wave of heat washes over you, causing the soles of your feet and your palms to grow clammy. The scent of newly sprayed Old Spice floods the room and you’re overwhelmed by it, struggling to draw a breath. “I’ll be right back.” You all but choke on your words, swiftly rising to your feet and hastily leaving. Eddie watches curiously as you do.

In the living room, you push the heavy sliding door aside, stepping out onto the balcony to catch your breath. You inhale as deep as physically possible, and the stirring evening breeze cools the hot tears gathered along your lash line. Cars pass by, and you distract yourself by watching a person leisurely walking their dog. You do everything in your power to divert your thoughts away from him and the impending date.

A few minutes later, Eddie emerges from his room and slides open the door to the balcony, poking his head out to check on you. “Y’ready to go?” The shift in your energy is immediately evident to him, though he can’t quite pinpoint what’s amiss. He figures you’ve had a long day and you’re tired from your shift. Maybe you’re a little hangry, too.

With your arms folded on the balcony rail, you continue to look out into the neighborhood. “Go where?” 

“The store, duh. We’ve gotta get ingredients, do we not?” He says to the back of your head.

You nod meekly before turning to face him. “Right. Yeah, I’m ready.”

Eddie flashes a warm smile before sliding the door open wide enough for you to pass through. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand then, hot stuff. We’re losing daylight."

Arguably, you’re not losing daylight fast enough. You wish the sun would fall from the sky. That way, it would always be dark and you could hide in the shadows forever. You follow him inside and slide the closed with a subdued thud.

His car keys drag and jingle while he swipes them off of the counter. Once he reaches the entryway, Eddie drops the keys on the floor beside him as he kneels to put on his sneakers. A few seconds later, you’ve joined him to do the same. Eddie glances at you as he feels the evening breeze that slipped in finally reaching this side of the room. “It’s a little chilly out, wanna borrow a hoodie or something?”

Quickly tying your shoes to avoid prolonged eye contact, you get to your feet, hugging yourself as you do. “No, I’ll be fine.”

Eddie snorts and stands, his shoes now tied as well. “I’m getting you one." He heads to his room, gesturing for you to follow.

“I said I’ll be fine without one,” You opt not to follow, instead calling out to him to compensate for the distance and his half-open door.

“Shut up, I’m getting you one and you’re gonna wear it ‘cause I said so.” His tone drips with feigned amusement at your stubbornness. “Come in here.”

As you step into the room, Eddie offers you the hoodie, watching as you just stare at it. “Sweetheart, put it on. You’re gonna freeze to death if you don’t. Then, I’ll have no choice but to cancel my super hot date because I’ll be too busy defrosting my ice sculpture of a best friend with a blow drier. You want me to blow you all night? I know you-”

“Okay, okay! I’ll put the damn thing on,” you agree begrudgingly, take it from him. “Happy?”

“Try elated.” Eddie smiles from ear to ear and winks at you, content that you’re allowing him to do what he deems best for you, knowing you’re too stubborn to do so for yourself. He’s got your back, always. Even if it means enduring a bit of attitude in the process. Eddie likes that about you, he always has. With a final glance, he leaves the room, flicking off the light switch.

Left standing in the dark bedroom, you blindly navigate the article of clothing to locate the opening. However, as soon as you go to put it on, it occurs to you that this hoodie is not fresh out of the wash.

The distant floral scent left behind by dryer sheets mingles with his natural aroma, enveloping you as you pull the sweatshirt over your head. He grabbed whatever was at hand, inadvertently submerging you back into the very sensory experience you fled from. The spicy notes from his cologne turn you into a human lava lamp, effectively melting you on the inside.

The mingling of Old Spice, tobacco smoke, his unique essence, and a hint of spring meadow flood your mind. You consider the idea of keeping the hoodie. You could tell him that you forgot to return it, and he’ll forget about it. Eddie can afford to lose one hoodie, he’d survive.

“Let’s go!” He barks, impatience peaking as nerves gnaw at him with each passing minute bringing him closer to the dinner.

Exiting his bedroom, you find Eddie stationed at the front door, propping it open with his foot. Once within his view, you extend your arms and twist your expression to emphasize your annoyed compliance.

“One last thing.” Eddie withdraws his foot, causing the door to slam shut, its latch clanging twice against the wood from the force. He reaches out and pulls the hood up, adjusting it to cover most of your head. “There.”

You stick your tongue out at him, your grin eliciting one from him in return. “Alright, let’s-” He begins, but instead of turning, he fakes you out and grabs both drawstrings. Eddie tugs them, causing the hood to cinch tightly around your face.

“You’re an ass.”

“Yeah, well.” Eddie turns around to leave this time and holds the front door open for you. “You’re stuck with me.”

With a narrowed glare, you fix the hood and your hair on your way out of the apartment. Eddie is close behind, closing the door and locking it. You take the opportunity to collect yourself and adopt a supportive, cheerful demeanor.

These are gonna be the longest two hours of your life.

You can’t fucking believe it. You’re preparing a meal for another woman, and doing so willingly. You tried to guide him through the prep process, but he grew frustrated. Now, he’s on dish duty, conquering the mountain of dirty dishes piled up on the counter. 

She may be getting a delicious and intimate dinner, but at least you get moments like these. But soon enough, she’ll have them too. If everything goes to plan, the memories of these moments will be all you have left of Eddie. As you lose yourself in the sound of his voice, the ramblings about a sale he made at work eventually circle back to the topic of his evening.

As he excitedly goes on, his voice carries a boyish enthusiasm. Unseen by you, Eddie bounces on the balls of his feet while standing at the sink. Ten minutes seem to fly by unnoticed as you both focus on your tasks.

After taking the food out of the oven, his demeanor flips like a switch. “Oh, it’s time for me to leave apparently.” You barely have the chance to take off the oven mitt all the way before he’s practically pushing you out of the apartment. “Be sure to heat it up at 375 degrees,” you suggest, struggling to put on your shoes fast enough.

“Sure thing. I’ll let you know how it goes!”

“Looking forward to it,” You lie. Eddie waves you off before closing the front door. Left standing alone in the hallway, you feel foolish.

Finally arriving home, you crawl onto your bed. The weight of reality crashes down upon you, and you physically collapse under the weight of your emotions. The pain in your chest burns up the back of your throat as you sob. This was a harsh wake-up call, but it’s what you needed to finally confront yourself.

It’s better this way. Not having to reject you outright or politely turn you down, Eddie doesn’t have to hurt simply because you are. This is best because Eddie doesn’t have to feel guilty or pity you. Just as you’ve loved him in silence, you can grieve the loss of him in it too.

Ten minutes pass and just as you’re starting to drift asleep from exhaustion, your telephone rings. The ringing in the kitchen pulls you from your room. You drag your feet on the way there, clearing your throat and taking a deep breath before answering the phone.

“Hey, uh,” Eddie sounds panicked. “Can you come back over? I forgot the most important fucking thing and-”

You cut him off. “Relax, I’ll be there in twelve." Abruptly ending the call without another word, you rub your sore eyes, blow your stuffy nose, and splash your face with warm water. The last thing he needs is for his night to be ruined because he notices how hard you’ve been crying. If your feelings get in the way of him having a good time with the girl he’s head over heels for, then you don’t deserve his friendship.

Entering the building and letting yourself back into his apartment, you’re caught off guard by how different the space looks. He worked his butt off to tidy the living room and make certain that everything is presentable. Besides being notably neater, you also notice the faint smell of air freshener.

The apartment is blanketed in darkness, illuminated only by the flickering flames of candles and the light from the table lamp in the living room. Hushed music emanates from the record player in his room. It’s a genre you wouldn’t have expected him to own, because of how slow and romantic it sounds. You wonder whether he bought it specifically for this occasion.

Upon hearing the front door creak open, Eddie halts his pacing in the living room. “Thank god, you’re here.”

You teeter on the heels of your feet, feeling out of place in the carefully arranged setting that isn’t meant for you. “I really shouldn’t be. It’s quarter to seven, she’ll show up any minute now.”

Eddie makes his way over to you, rounding the dinner table and draping his arm along the back of the dining chair farthest from where you stand. “No, no. Don’t worry about that, she’s already here.”

Your eyes flit towards the bathroom, expecting to see a sliver of light escaping from beneath the door, yet the hallway is pitch black. There’s no dolled-up gal standing in his room either. You look back at him with a furrowed brow, confusion etched on your face. “Where, exactly?”

He can’t think of a time he’s ever had to remind himself how to breathe correctly. Eddie holds his hand out to you, his anxiety mounting. With hesitation, you extend your hand and place it in his. He wraps his trembling fingers around yours.

Rarely have you been in this position, and in those instances, it was never an act with deeper meaning. It’s only ever happened in urgent moments, like darting across a bustling street to avoid being separated—a mere safety measure.

Eddie’s attention fixates on your hands, willing them to respond to his touch. Then he notices your puffy, reddened eyes. “What’s the matter?” He instinctively squeezing your joined hands.

“It’s stupid.” You pull away from him, retracting your hand to wipe away the smeared mascara beneath your eyes.

Rather than forcibly turning you to face him, Eddie gracefully moves around to stand in front of you once more. “I bet it’s not,” he says softly, his compassionate expression tinged with concern. He reaches for both of your hands this time, praying you can’t feel his pounding pulse through the contact.

Eddie delicately lifts your hands and peppers velvety kisses across the tops of your knuckles. The warmth of your skin against his lips sends a shiver shooting through his core, goosebumps rising across his body.

You emit a wet giggle from the shock, uncertainty, and embarrassment bubbling within you. “What the hell are you doing?”

He chuckles a little too, his eyes sparkling as they reflect the dancing flames behind you. “What’s it look like? This is all for you.” Eddie presses one more featherlight kiss to your hands before lowering them, but he doesn’t let go, keeping them securely in his own. “It’s our first date.”

You’re the prettiest little package of unusual. From the moment he first heard your song, he couldn’t shake you. Eddie couldn’t get your tune out of his system, but it’s not like he wanted to. Never before had anyone shown him such unconditional care; no one had ever gone out of their way to get to know him like you did. You’re the safest thing he’s ever known, but you’re also the scariest, in the best ways possible.

The thought of confessing how you make him complete, unlike anything he’s ever experienced, is nothing short of terrifying. Yet, the fear of not seizing the opportunity to love you outweighs the fear of rejection. There’s no turning back now.

Your eyes wander to the table, taking in the details: the thoughtfully arranged mismatched plates and silverware, the glasses filled with expensive wine. At the end of the kitchen island sits a teddy bear beside a bouquet. In addition to the flower petals, there are red, white, and pink balloons scattered across the floor.

You turn away before he can see your face contort, biting your lip harshly to suppress the sob rising in your throat. It’s all useless, though. A broken cry escapes your lips.

Eddie’s stomach lurches and pressure builds behind his own eyes. The change he just caused is palpable, the damage has been done. He releases both of your hands and plants his on the sides of his head, stepping away. “Shit, shit, shit. I’m such a fucking idiot. I read this all wrong.”

“You’re not and you didn’t. They’re happy tears now.”

His frantic expression mellows out, his arms drop to his sides, and the tension in his body gradually dissipates. “Happy tears?”

You respond with a soft hum and nod, a grin forming as you admire the table setting and gifts once more before looking back at Eddie.

“Oh,” he chirps, wearing a cheek-splitting smile as he brings his palms to your face. He wipes away your fallen tears with his thumbs. Eddie studies your expression intently. “I didn’t mean to make you cry sad ones.”

“It’s not your fault.” You close your eyes, relishing the sensation of his fingers calmingly swiping along the apples of your cheeks.

“It is and I’m sorry.” Eddie inches closer, his toes now touching yours. “I wanted it to be a surprise ‘cause I thought spontaneity would make it more memorable.”

You look at him questioningly. “It’s not exactly spontaneous when you had me cook my own dinner.”

“Fair enough. You’ve got me there.” Eddie thought it was a foolproof plan. If you made the food, there was no chance that you’d hate it. “I went about this all wrong, huh? I should scrap the whole thing and start from scratch.” He becomes distracted, his train of thought shifting to how he’s going to clean this up and figure out a different approach.

“Don’t do that. Just ask me.” You grasp his forearm to regain his attention. “Ask me out and maybe I'll say yes.”

“Maybe?” Eddie scoffs airily, unsure if you’re teasing or genuinely undecided. He clears his throat and theatrically composes himself, gesturing with a downward motion of his hand in front of his face. “Okay, uh, would you like to have dinner with me?”

“No.”

Eddie’s mouth falls open.

“I’m fucking with you.” You smile devilishly and wrap your arms around his middle.

Finally, he can hug you the way he’s always wanted. Eddie brings you in close and tight, his arms encircling your head. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” He murmurs into your hair, inhaling deeply to indulge in every aspect of you he can.

“A little.” You laugh. You remain in each other’s embrace for a moment longer before easing apart, though still connected by your pairs of lassoed arms.

Eddie’s laughter melds with yours, the relief in his tone evident. “Now that the cat's outta the bag, I can finally tell you that I absolutely love when you’re a crybaby.”

You pull a comical expression, raising your eyebrows and widening your eyes. “What, why?” You take in the scattering of freckles across his T-zone while he responds.

“Honest to god, it’s mesmerizing to watch you experience things so intensely. It’s fucking beautiful.” With nothing but adoration in his eyes, Eddie strokes your hair, relishing the way it feels against his skin. “Can I call you my crybaby?”

“No, you cannot!” You swat at his chest and attempt to push him away, but he laughs smugly and brings you back in close. Your hands find purchase on his biceps, surrendering to him entirely. Locked in each other’s gaze, time seems to crawl.

Eddie’s hands, having made their way down to caress your hips, settle on the small of your back. “How about just baby?” He nudges the tip of his nose against yours, his voice taking on an almost sultry tone. “You like the way that sounds?”

All you can do is nod dumbly, watching his eyes fall to your lips.

Eddie mumbles, “Me too.” His hands flex where they lay, tugging you slightly so that your bodies are flush and you have no choice but to lean against him. “Would it be okay if I kissed you?” Eddie licks his lips, his eyes finding yours again, the chocolate pools of his irises swirling.

You nod, slide your hands up his shoulders, and wrap them around his neck. The air was stolen from your lungs, rendering your voice a ghost. Eddie leans in and his lips hover over yours, your eyes fluttering closed in time with his. Then, you feel the gentle pressure of his lips against your own.

For a few moments, you’re out of sync, a mere beat behind due to nerves. But after taking a brief breath, you find each other without trouble. When you slot your lip between his, it’s as though there’s a sunrise in his veins; a new dawn spreads through his body. You tug a fistful of curls at the nape of his neck, your lips clicking wetly with one another, chests heaving in unison.

When the two of you finally have to part to breathe, Eddie whispers, “Jesus Christ.”

“You can say that again.” You exhale, releasing the grip you have on his hair and soothingly scratching the area with your nails.

“I mean I could.” Eddie borderline purrs, tightening his arms around your waist. “But I’d much rather keep kissing you.”

“Hard to argue with that." You smile against his lips and give him a quick peck, which he happily returns. Then, your mind begins to wander. “You got me flowers?”

He can’t discern if there’s a trace of disdain or disbelief in your tone. Eddie knows that you consider flowers cliché and overrated; after all, you deal with them all day. But just because you see them that way doesn’t mean he does.

Eddie pulls away slightly to get a good look at you. “Yeah, of course I got flowers for my flower. How could I not?”

Truthfully, he’s bummed about not being able to find a bouquet as exceptional as you. You’re unlike anything from this world, resembling something from his cherished sci-fi novels. You’re resilient, showing up any old rose or daisy. You unfurled your petals solely for Eddie and allowed him to see you bloom. Nothing on earth compares to you. So, a regular bouquet would have to do.

You comment with a slightly teasing tone, “I had no idea you’re a hopeless romantic.”

“Too much?” Eddie bites his lower lip, afraid that you’re offended.

“No, not too much." You remove your one hand from his hair and rest it on his chest, drawing mindless shapes while you avoid eye contact. “Far more than I deserve though." You’re slightly taken aback when Eddie cups your face without hesitation, forcing you to look at him. Despite his assertiveness, his touch is tender.

“Sweetheart." Eddie’s eyes carry an intensity you’ve never seen, brimming with affection and sincerity. “You deserve everything good that this world has to offer. I can’t give you that, but I can give you all of me. That much I can promise.”

Reblogs are greatly encouraged and appreciated! ♡

★My Masterlist

His senses are attuned to every note strummed and the subtleties of his bandmates’ musicianship. From beneath his damp bangs, Eddie steals glances at his friends with a dancing smile. Their expressions mirror his, reflecting the visceral connection that was forged in the crucible of tiresome rehearsals.

His senses are attuned to every note strummed and the subtleties of his bandmates’ musicianship. From beneath his damp bangs, Eddie steals glances at his friends with a dancing smile. Their expressions mirror his, reflecting the visceral connection that was forged in the crucible of tiresome rehearsals.

The room is relatively empty apart from the bar stools inhabited by regular patrons who are three sheets to the wind. Only one solitary figure occupies a corner table. His face features a thick, meticulously groomed mustache; a throwback to an era where a well-defined stache symbolized nerve and authority. His balding crown and the strap of sparse hair framing the sides of his head pair fittingly with the bags beneath his deep-set, beady eyes. The dark circles act as badges of dedication, a reminder that success comes at a cost.

He stands out like a sore thumb among the hard-up regulars who are clad in their button-up plaids and tattered trucker hats. The man’s style of dress consists of a woven suit jacket, a black polo shirt, and dark slacks. An expensive designer belt completes the ensemble, marking the presence of professionalism.

He’s exuding an aura of casual arrogance as he watches the boys play their hearts out. He possesses an eye for discovering the next big thing, and his gold mine is diamonds in the rough. Eddie has a type of potential that, if adequately nurtured and harnessed, can rake in a lot of dough. Calculating the possibilities that lay ahead, he not only sees an amateur artist on this stage but a malleable asset that he can shape to fit the demands of the industry. It’s no walk in the park to whip a small-town boy into showbiz shape, but he’s capable.

Guys like Eddie are hungry for recognition and starving to make something of themselves. That’s all he requires to work his magic. At this moment, watching Eddie play like it’s the sole purpose of his existence, he can practically smell the crisp wads of cash Eddie will bring in.

As the final chords of Corroded Coffin's instruments dissipate into the dusty air, a lingering hum resonates. The room remains void of applause and the gentleman patiently bides his time in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to make a move.

Gareth is focused on disassembling his drum kit while his bandmates move their equipment into the back alleyway. He’s taken aback when a hairy hand extends toward him and he looks up at the man with a furrowed brow.

“Rodney Bellissimo, Bell Records .Folks call me Mo.”

Gareth’s eyes widen as the words register. “Hi.” He shakes the man’s hand, forgetting to wipe his clammy palms on his jeans first.

Mo conceals his disgust from the soupy contact. "I've been on this scene for a while and I think what you guys have going on here is promising.”

“Holy shit, you think so?"

Mo rests his hands on his hips. "Absolutely. Do you got a way for me to reach you? I'd like to talk over some potential opportunities."

“Yeah, um-” Gareth scrambles, patting himself down. “One sec.” He hurries over to the bar, snags a napkin and ballpoint pen, and scribbles while striding back over to the stage. “Here’s all of our phone numbers.”

Mo accepts the napkin and tucks it in his inner breast pocket. “Thanks, I'll be in touch.”

Just as Mo turns to leave, Gareth shouts, “Wait!” he digs through his army green messenger bag. “We don’t have a demo or anything official like that, but this was a recent rehearsal,” he hands over a cassette tape.

Mo takes the tape and shakes it in the air, the reels rattling noisily. “I’ll be sure to give it a listen.”

As the man turns his back and leaves the bar, Gareth’s pulse spikes. He leaps off of the stage and bolts past the restrooms. His sneakers skid on the smooth floor, causing him to trip, but he recovers and carries onward. He bursts through the heavy metal door with a thud and the stiff hinges scream into the alleyway.

Jeff and Donny’s heads turn in unison. In the back of his van, Eddie is equally as startled and smacks his head on the roof. “Ow, Christ!” He exclaims, stepping onto the pebbled pavement and rubbing the tender spot on his skull. “Dude, what the hell?”

“Guys.” Gareth wheezes, his breath escaping in short bursts. "You’re not gonna believe what just happened.”

Eddie folds his arms across his chest. “Whatever it is, it better be worth the goddamn concussion you just gave me.”

“It is.” Gareth hops off of the steps. “Some record dude in a suit just said he liked our set.”

Among the group, Eddie alone received a call. Now his disbelief bleeding into reality as the plane rolls down the runway. He clutches your hand for dear life, anxious as hell due to the unfamiliar rumbling and vibrations. With your presence reassuring him, Eddie can manage until the turbulence subsides. Gradually, he relaxes.

Unable to resist the allure of the window seat, he pleads with you to switch places. “Holy shit.” He chuckles in amazement, watching the fluffy sky marshmallows pass by. “This is insane.”

The landing goes somewhat smoother for him, though it’s not without nervous moments. The plane becomes stationary and is fairly quiet, but his composure shatters when he startles at your fellow passengers bursting into spontaneous applause. Eddie scowls, embarrassed for being so jumpy over something ridiculous like clapping. In his defense, nobody told him that was a thing.

After being taxied to your destination, the two of you arrive at a sun-soaked building. The receptionist directs you down the hall to the left. Walking hand in hand, you marvel at the framed gold and platinum records that adorn the walls.

Finally reaching the door, Eddie turns to you. “I don’t know if I can do this. I’m seriously about to meet the Poison Blade.” Eddie blinks rapidly. “Okay, yep! I can’t do this, I absolutely cannot do this.”

You reel him back by the hand when he turns to leave. “You can and you’re about to. If anybody can handle this it’s you.”

He has yet to grasp that he’s here, auditioning to fill in for Nick Karr, who recently left the band. Eddie read about it in various magazines, some speculating about what the lead guitarist’s substance of choice was. After the initial rumors spread, an inside source revealed that Nick was in rehab for using narcotics; happens to the best of ‘em.

Eddie sucks in a deep breath and blows with puffed cheeks and pursed lips. After summoning the courage to open the door, he steps into the dimly lit, windowless room. The knots in his stomach get impossibly tighter when the door slams closed.

A cigarette is pinched between the black-painted fingernails of the lead singer. He’s seated at the mixing desk while he chats with the shaggy-haired bassist who’s sitting a few feet away on a loveseat. The heavily tattooed drummer occupies the swivel chair beside the front man, patting out a rhythm on his thighs. Mo stands nearby, attentively listening to the nicotine-fueled rant.

The bassist’s distant stare is the first to flit in your direction. Eddie squeezes your hand so tensely that your fingertips go numb. As dominoes of awareness fall one after another, a collective acknowledgment of your presence falls upon the room.

The singer spins around and takes a drag from his cigarette. “Which one is this?” he asks, looking you over and then doing the same to Eddie.

“This here is Ed Munson, Indiana’s best.” Mo offers a polite smile and strides across the room. He extends his hand to Eddie exactly as he did to Gareth just weeks ago.

Eddie stares at Mo’s sausage fingers and expensive wristwatch while returning the greeting. “Yeah, yes. I uh- go by Eddie actually,” he babbles. “But you can call me Ed if you want, that’s cool too. Whatever’s clever.”

The bassist shakes his head and snickers. Mo disregards the man’s reaction entirely, not batting an eye. “I’m glad you could make it.” His focus shifts to you. “I see you’ve brought a guest.”

“This is my girl.” Eddie nudges you, sending a small smile along with it. “Had to bring my muse along for the ride.”

“Right. I'm sure you’re well aware, these are the guys.” He strides away and clamps his meaty hand on the drummer’s shoulder. “This here is Tommy.” Mo motions toward the other two members. “And that’s Bobby and Crash.”

With a forgotten breath, Eddie’s words pour out. "W-Wow, I mean I've been following your music for like ever and it's fucking unreal to be here right now. Listen, I don’t wanna be that guy, but can I just say that I’m such a huge fan. ‘Where Dreams Go to Die’ is the song that honestly changed my life. It’s the whole reason why I started playing in the first place. I’ve listened to it like a bajillion times. Seriously, Born 2B Wreckless is one of my top five favorite albums ever. I even have your tour posters on my-”

You turn your head toward him and whisper, “Baby, be cool.”

Eddie snaps his mouth shut, withholding any further details that could embarrass the shit out of him. “It’s an honor to be here.”

Crash smirks. “You’ve got good taste, my friend. Wrote most of that album myself.”

The flaking leather sofa creaks as Bobby leans forward. In a carelessly hushed tone, he sighs. “It feels like this is never gonna end. How many more are there?”

“Suck it up, Bobby Boy.” Todd snorts and glances at the list of crossed-out names resting on the mixing board. “Two more after this.”

The bassist groans and sinks back, propping his head up on his fist. Crash’s hands forcefully meet, sending a sharp clap through the room. “Alright, let's get this show on the road then. Do you know the chorus to ‘Too Far Gone’ or do you need sheet music?”

Eddie shakes his head enthusiastically. “No way, I could even play it backwards if you wanted me to.”

“Grand." Crash gestures to the booth’s door. “Hop in and give it a go.” “Totally. Okay, yeah. Shit.” Eddie presses a swift kiss to your interlocked fingers, releases your hand, and steps into the recording booth.

Feeling a bit awkward as you remain standing by the door alone, you’re uncertain of where to park yourself. Ideally, you’d like to be as inconspicuous as possible. The last thing you need is to ruin everything by tripping over a cord or something.

Bobby senses that you’re uneasy judging by the look on your face. He brings his extended leg closer to the other, making room on the couch as a silent invitation for you to sit. You scurry over and take a seat, unable to squeak out a thanks or a mere hello. Your posture is rigid and demure, despite there being ample space for you to sit comfortably.

Under the weight of the headphones, Eddie’s plush curls are flattened. He beams at you through the large pane of glass and flashes a thumbs up. Crash instructs him to use the provided guitar. As the track’s beat floods Eddie’s ears, his anxiety overpowers his dexterity, causing him to fall behind the tempo.

Crash abruptly cuts the music, and Eddie’s eyes bulge as he looks out, terrified that he’s just screwed his only chance at making it big. However, with a whirl of Crash’s tattooed index finger, Eddie’s worry dissipates when the track is rewound and begins once more.

On the edge of your seat, literally and figuratively, you watch Eddie collect himself and keep up this time. The tension wracking your entire being is exacerbated by Mo loudly chewing his gum, but it seems that you’re the only one bothered by it. A smug smile splits his patchy stubble as he boasts to the men that this nobody he discovered is the real deal.

The guys are less than obvious about how impressed they are. Compared to the other chumps who have auditioned ahead of him, Eddie stands out. Sure, he’ll need to clean up his playing a bit and could more than likely use some vocal lessons, but these are doable things. After all, he’s already got the look and an undeniable eagerness to prove himself.

After they’ve heard all they need from him, he steps out of the booth. Mo pats him on the back. “You handled yourself well in there.”

“Oh, thanks.” Eddie grins bashfully, fiddling with his cross-shaped ring.

Todd says, “You’ve got some chops, man. You’re definitely someone I’d be down to jam with.”

A snort comes from the far end of the couch. Bobby crosses his arms, eyeballing Eddie’s flushed face. “Yeah, good job, kid. You’d make a fine addition. If only we wouldn’t have to schedule our rehearsals around your bedtime." He chuckles to himself. “Seriously, how old are you, anyway? 17 or something?”

“Bobby, shut your yap,” Mo barks. “Ed, we’ve got some things to consider, but be sure to keep an ear on your telephone.”

You scramble to your feet as your boyfriend is ushered to the door. The polite side of you considers turning around to bid everyone farewell, but you decide against it, considering they never even bothered to say hello.

Mo did get in touch with Eddie and since then, he put pen to paper and sold his soul to the music industry. He’s been in LA for about a week now, familiarizing himself with the lay of the land and learning how to work a real crowd. His first show with the band is tonight and the pressure is on. Currently, he’s seated at the brightly lit vanity in his dressing room. Eddie fluffs his mane, admiring the bounce after having gotten a fancy schmancy conditioning treatment. “Baby,” he calls out.

“Hmm?” You finish folding the clothes that he just changed out of.

Eddie stretches a strand and watches it spring back into a coil. “Can you do my eyeliner for me?”

“What, worried you’ll look like a raccoon if you do it?” You approach the vanity, but Eddie slips out of his seat and moves to the armchair instead. Quirking your brow at him brings a devilish look to his face. “Is this necessary?”

Eddie pats his thigh, to which you sit on his lap with your legs off to one side. “Very much so." He wraps his arms around your waist and smacks a wet kiss on your cheek. “You’ll get optimal lighting right here.”

“I’d confidently argue that it’s worse,” you counter, watching the chocolate puddles in his eyes swirl. Heat blooms across your skin as he rubs your hip with the comforting swipe of his thumb.

“Perhaps, but this view is way better for me so.” He hands over the jet-black pencil.

“Uh huh.” You run the liner across the back of your hand to warm the product. His lashes flutter closed in response to you tipping his chin up.

“Don’t go poking my eye out with that thing,” Eddie teases, peeking one eye open and smiling at your faux scowl.

“I don’t think I could ever forgive myself for committing such an atrocity.” You rest your wrist on his cheekbone and gently swipe the pencil across his lash line. “Not when you’ve got such pretty eyes.”

He forces air out of his nose. “Careful with the flattery, sweetheart. It’ll go straight to my head.”

“Believe me, I know." You lick your thumb and smudge the product.

“Are you tryna get me all riled up before I have to go on stage?”

“It’s only fair.”

Eddie’s chest rumbles with curiosity. “How so?”

“Because.” You switch to his other eye, your wrist now resting across the bridge of his nose. “This look is really doing it for me.” Your tone is playful, but the interlaced confession is clear as day. You finish by using the same thumb to smudge the liner.

Sensing the loss of your touch, Eddie looks into your eyes. “Oh, yeah?” He squeezes the dough of your hip and licks his lips. “Tell me what it’s doin’ for you, baby.” His right arm stays in place while the other finds its way to the top of your thigh. “Is it makin’ you feel needy?”

“Yeah.” The breath has been stolen from your lungs as you lean into his chest. You can’t help but squirm in his lap when his fingers grope your thigh. “Maybe a little.”

The friction causes a groan to rattle from his throat. “Fuck.” He sighs, sounding just as winded as you do. “You gotta be a good girl and wait.” Eddie presses his nose against yours. “Can you do that for me?”

“I’ll try.” You whine, your nails grazing the sensitive skin on the nape of his neck. “It’s not like I have much of a choice.”

A smile crawls onto his lips as Eddie slides his hand under your shirt and grasps at your waist.

“No! Your hands are freezing!” You instinctively try to fight the shock. With a pained giggle, you pout at him. “You’re so mean.”

“Who, me?” He purrs, tugging you back against him.

“Yeah, you.” You smile shyly. His embrace is overwhelmingly gentle, yet secure all the same. Your lips hover over his, breaths dancing, and he seals the kiss; a promise for the passionate evening he’s going to treat you to as soon as he has the chance.

The way that you return the kiss just as hungrily tells him that you would let him take you right here, right now if he could. Your intensity only spurs him on, the exhale from his nose fanning hotter against your cheek. “Such a needy baby.” He steals one more kiss, this one no less fervent than the last.

You nod in agreement and just then, the dressing room door is wrapped on and he’s being called to the stage. “Knock 'em dead.” You say while sliding off of his lap.

Eddie gets to his feet and caresses your cheeks with both of his hands. “Thank you for being here.” He brings you to his chest and kisses the top of your head. “It means the world to me.”

“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss it.” You snuggle up to him, but when you realize that he’s not budging, you have to pry him off of you. “Go! You’re gonna be late.”

“Okay, okay.” Eddie walks to the door and turns around, pointing his ringed finger in your direction with a smirk. “Behave yourself, little missy. I mean it.”

The show goes well. Really well, in fact. Eddie commands the audience all while playing exceptionally. His energy encourages his bandmates to kick it up a notch, making for an electrifying performance. After they play their final song and step off of the stage, Eddie is immediately searching for you. When you lock eyes, he sprints over, scoops you up by your middle, and spins you around. The kiss is sticky, salty, and downright unforgettable. He’s so sweaty and sorry about it, but he’s never felt so much exhilaration in his life.

For the celebratory dinner to commemorate the evening, the guys opt for the area’s most expensive seafood restaurant. Eddie tries everything for the first time while wearing a paper bib with a large cartoon lobster on it.

When he sucks back an oyster, his face displays flat-out repulsion and offense. To wash the taste and its consistency from his mind, Eddie indulges in a few too many drinks. By the end of it, you’re more or less carrying him back to the hotel room.

Eddie is in a state of total bliss with his belly full and mind fuzzy. He flops down on the cushy bed and smiles goofily at you. “I could get used to this,” he snorts drunkenly.

The next morning, a chauffeur takes both of you to the airport. You wish you could have more time together, but Eddie is leaving for the next city in a few hours. He’s officially a part of the band now, and they’re embarking on a cross-country tour. You want to be excited for him, you’re trying your best to be. But it’s a bummer that you can’t tag along.

Standing on the cracked pavement, you watch as Eddie lugs your suitcase from the trunk of the shiny black car. The bustle of intercom announcements, car doors slamming, and engines roaring overhead, all sound distant. Your heartbeat is pounding in your ears as you dread the impending separation, readying yourself to convince him that you’ll be okay for as long as he’s gone.

“Here.” Eddie unclasps the ball chain from his neck and steps forward to latch it around yours. “So you’ll have a little piece of me.” It’s a reminder that you’re on this journey together, even if you’re in different places for it.

“I’ll never take it off,” you promise, flipping the tortoiseshell pick between your fingers. “I wish I had something to give you.”

Eddie shakes his head, sending his frizzy hair flying in the breeze. “You’ve given me so much just by believing in me. Without you, I probably never would’ve flown on an airplane, much less joined my favorite fucking band.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, his appreciation effectively drawing you closer to him. “Have fun and be safe.” Your last word turns into a squeal when he pulls your body against his. It feels good to have his face buried in your shoulder, so good that it’s riding the line of painful.

“God, I’m gonna miss that laugh,” he mumbles, the material of your shirt effectively dampening his voice. Eddie smothers himself and groans dramatically. “Gonna miss you so much.”

Without being able to understand what he’s saying, you can feel the heat of his breath hitting your skin. “You’ll stay out of trouble?”

Eddie clings to you a bit longer, filling his lungs with your scent. “You know I will. I wanna make you proud.” He kisses the tip of your nose and flashes a smile, the deep lines around his mouth emphasizing his sincerity.

“I already am, I’ve always been proud of you.”

“Then I’m gonna make you even more proud.” Eddie doubles down. “I’m gonna send you flowers and chocolates and all that shit, ‘kay? That way you’ll never have the chance to forget how much I love you.”

“You don’t have to do that.” You roll your eyes, though you adore that he’s a hopeless romantic beneath his leather and chain exterior. “Just call me whenever you can.”

Eddie chuckles with you, but he’s dead serious about the gifts. “If a chirping telephone is thy heart’s desire, then thou shalt have it, my dearest.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, and I’ll make them the best damn phone calls you’ve ever had.” Eddie strokes the side of your neck with his thumb.

“I’m holding you to that.” You slowly pull away.

“You better,” Eddie says with reluctance, releasing you and picking up your suitcase. “Because otherwise, I’ll have to write the sappiest ballad you’ve ever heard just to make up for it.”

Looking down, you take your suitcase and fixate on the zipper, unable to acknowledge his playful remark.

Eddie lifts your chin to bring your gaze back to his. “You know I’m gonna miss you like hell, right?”

You nod sheepishly, fighting with all your might for the tears to remain unshed. “I’m gonna miss you too.”

“Give Shadow lots of treats for me.”

“Not a chance! She’s going on a diet as soon as I get home. You know she’s only fat because you give her a treat any time she even looks at you, right?”

“Can you blame me? She’s the cutest fucking cat in the world.” Eddie’s eyes glisten, accompanied by a bittersweet smile. He takes a deep breath, the exhale sounding sadder than he means for it to. “You better get going.”

“I suppose so. Well, goodbye.” Your throat tightens as you hold your breath.

Eddie sucks his teeth. “Not ‘bye,’ sweetheart. See you soon.”

Not soon enough. You try to keep it together as Eddie kisses your knuckles, and your heart sinks when his hand lets go of yours. A gnawing need for one last glance overcomes you while you walk away. Looking back, you find Eddie where you left him. A veil of tears drapes over your vision as you raise your hand, offering a partial wave.

He mirrors your final farewell and waits for you to disappear inside the building. Only when he can no longer see you does he release a heavy-hearted sigh and get back into the car.

Meanwhile, you’re standing in the TSA line with guilt clawing at you. How could you even entertain the thought of wanting him to miss out on a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity just to stay home? It wasn’t fair for you to even imagine it. As you inch forward, the tears sting your eyes. You understand what your job is, that you must be patient and await his return while he introduces himself to the world. You’re just going to have to learn to share.

This is going to be the best summer of his life thus far, excluding the one where he fell for you. Nothing will ever top that.

He kept his word for a while, calling nightly as often as he could. The gifts arrived on your doorstep just like he said. There were two dozen roses last week, and Swiss chocolates this week. You’d never tasted anything that sweet but it was unbelievably bitter too, because every gift marked another seven days gone by without him.

Whenever Eddie called, you refrained from burdening him with your feelings. The elation was always present in his voice when he told you about what he’d been up to. Regardless if there was thumping music, blaring car horns, or his speech was slurred, it was always evident how great of a time Eddie was having. You were unwilling to take that away from him by giving him a reason to worry. Independence surely hasn’t treated you as kindly as him.

The cicadas' songs are sung on high and the days stretch on too much for your liking. You lie around and wilt alongside the shriveled petals falling from the vase on the dining table. The unraveling doesn’t stop until you’re nothing but a raw, exposed stem.

As Eddie sails the U.S.S. Poison Blade, riding an all-consuming sea of fans and fame, you feel like a woman whose husband may never return home. Sleeping has never felt so lonely. The clean bed, soft against your skin, offers no relief. The cotton sheets no longer bear his scent, having undergone numerous wash cycles without the return of his presence to refresh it.

You’ve been stress cleaning, channeling your woes into tidying up the apartment more than ever before. From floor to ceiling, your place is spick and span. But, you can only rearrange the Tupperware cupboard so many times. You’ve crossed off item after item on your to-do lists. The point has been reached where you’ve run out of tasks to keep yourself occupied.

In the evenings, Shadow perches herself expectantly on the arm of the couch, awaiting Eddie’s return from work. It’s a daily occurrence for him to come home, kick off his boots, and she curls up in his lap. Eddie has been her favorite since the day you brought her home. You can’t blame her, he’s your favorite too.

During one of the calls that have become few and far between, you ask Eddie about a tabloid headline that you saw. He brushes it off, claiming that they come up with absurd shit to make a quick buck. Eddie assures you that he’s behaving himself, despite the paparazzi photo suggesting otherwise.

You’ve been meaning to talk about what’s next, but you’re too afraid to ask. Is he expecting you to move to LA once the tour ends? Will you have to leave your friends and family behind to be there with him?

Eddie’s concerns align with yours. He didn’t take the time to think this through. Joining one of the most successful metal bands in the country isn’t a temporary gig where he does one tour for fun and then returns to his ordinary life. That’s not how it works.

Day after day, Eddie lives without the promise of having you in his arms anytime soon. His responsibilities yank him every which way, and the only thing keeping him from packing up and running home to you is the damn contract he signed.

Eddie knows you’d never leave him, but there’s that cynical little voice in his head that tries to convince him otherwise. There’s a chance that you could find another guy to keep you company while he’s gone, someone who knows how to steal you away from him. Just the thought of it makes him feel sick to his stomach.

Great things keep happening and he finds himself with the urge to tell you, but he can’t get to a phone. When he does, he’s going to have to break the news that the tour has been extended. Worse yet, the Indianapolis date was moved another three months out. But Eddie doesn’t care how complicated this gets; he tells you that he’s going to do whatever it takes. “I know it sucks, baby. But if you can just wait a little longer, I swear I’ll make it up to you.”

The moving tour bus sways Eddie with a bumpy rocking motion, an unrelenting reminder that he’s not with you. It’s not even the shaking walls that are keeping him awake, it’s his running mind. He’s lying in his cramped bunk in the pitch darkness. He longs to see you and all he has to look at are his memories. With his eyes wide open, the space is as black as the backs of his eyelids. He tries to envision your sweet face but it’s fading.

Eddie thinks about the time that he swatted your butt with a wet dish towel. You chased him into the bedroom, pinned him down, and threatened to tickle him to death. It was an adequate threat, considering how ticklish he is. Eddie hates the way that it feels, but the sheer delight it brings you makes it worthwhile.

He allowed you to do it just so he could see that sparkle in your eyes. Eddie thought he’d have to flip you on your back to get you to stop, but that wasn’t the case. You showed him mercy by running your nails along his tender sides to soothe his nerves. One kiss led to another.

Eddie chuckles sadly to himself, desperate for the showers you take together after rolling around in the sheets. You bathe each other with wholehearted tenderness, the raw arousal burned away through exertion, leaving behind the silk-soft adoration. Mute with delicate smiles, you put each other back together after a night of clawing and nipping.

Time and time again, exhaustion and bliss weigh heavily on your eyes while his palms cover you with foamy suds. The scent of the body wash is so clean and pure compared to the unholy things you do to each other. The fresh and sweet aroma invades Eddie’s oxytocin-flooded brain, putting him in seventh heaven.

It’s the way you lean into him like you can’t possibly stand on your own while he pampers you, that’s what’s getting him right now. He doesn’t mind when you do that, he never will. Eddie finds every second of that routine intoxicating and he’ll never get sick of it. He’s willing to hold you upright forever if that means he gets to hold you at all.

The throbbing in his chest swells as tears roll, imagining how you rake conditioner through his curls and kiss his newly cleansed back. You handle him with such care, something that he’d never felt until he met you. Eddie could go for a shower like that right now. Actually, scratch that. What he really needs is sleep, but he can’t. He’s struggled with insomnia since his early teen years, and it wasn’t until much later that he finally found a way to fall asleep without fail.

Before you came along, Eddie often stared at his bedroom walls for what felt like hours. He’d swear that they would start to drip the longer he went without blinking. The first night that you spent together was an innocent sleepover, born out of infatuation that had taken hold. Neither of you wanted to part for longer than necessary.

As you prepared for bed with your usual process, he observed every action. You placed a glass of milky tap water on the nightstand and washed your face. It was captivating and Eddie wondered if adopting such habits would help him. But he wasn’t sure if a little bit of self-care would put an end to the tossing and turning.

You looked tired but beautiful with your refreshed complexion. Crawling into bed beside him, you whispered goodnight, and that was all it took. The amount of envy and privilege he felt was overwhelming—jealous that you could fall asleep so easily in a bed that you’ve never slept in and privileged that you trusted him enough to do so.

For what felt like an eternity, his thoughts ran amok. His mind refused to power down.

Around one in the morning, you stirred and found Eddie lying on his side facing you, zoned out. “Baby?” You called to him in your partially conscious state.

His eyes met yours, but the frustration in them was well hidden in the dark. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” Eddie whispered and gently stroked the side of your head.

“You need to rest too.” You yawned, being lulled by his soothing touch.

Eddie pressed a kiss to your forehead and murmured, “I’ll try.”

“Just can’t?” You perked up with concern brought about by his crystal-clear tone.

“Nope. Nothing helps, either.” He rolled his lips in. “I’ve tried everything. Warm milk, exercise, getting so high that I can’t sit up straight,” Eddie shrugged. “I guess I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

You chuckled softly. “Have you tried reading?”

“Yup, it didn't work. I’m convinced that I broke my sleep bone or something.”

“Want me to try? I’ll read to you.”

“No, no. You close those gorgeous eyes of yours and go back to sleep.” He kissed your joined hands, praying that you wouldn’t deprive yourself just because he was defective.

You sat up and fisted the sleepiness from your vision. “What page did you leave off on?”

Eddie wanted to rip the book from your grasp and chuck it across the room. But, the selfish part of him wanted to see if it would do the trick. “It’s bookmarked.” He sighed and watched as you propped yourself up and got situated. You held your arm out and Eddie crawled closer, wrapped his arm around your waist, and snuggled up to your tummy.

Your right hand held the book open and your left found the side of his head, gently scratching along his temple. He was instantly under your spell, his bones dense with comfort. Whenever your hand left his hair to turn the page, he involuntarily whined. When his breaths slowed, you knew that he was no longer awake. You smiled to yourself and closed your eyes, returning to your slumber with ease.

After that, Eddie no longer dreaded bedtime because you slept over regularly. That was the missing piece and there are no remedies that compare to the effect you have on him. This was something that Eddie overlooked while packing his bags for the tour. Now he’s sleep-deprived and half delirious while the nights flicker and bleed into each other. There’s not much that differentiates them but they’re all lawless.

You know what they say, distance makes the heart grow fonder. It’s true in this case, but it’s a tortuous fondness that he can’t alleviate. Maybe you’ll hear him if he sings loud enough during the show tomorrow.

Eddie is having the time of his life, don’t get it twisted. But he’s in dire need of the love that illuminates him in a way that no spotlight ever will.

It’s still strange to hear his name hollered without being followed by a paint-filled water balloon. In Hawkins, he was the chewing gum on the bottom of the town’s shoe. Eddie’s reputation didn’t align with his character. If people had bothered to get to know him, they’d have realized that he was never as much of a troublemaker as he was made out to be. While there were a few instances of shoplifting, it was merely a manifestation of youthful impulse.

The things that he’s doing now—frequenting strip clubs, drinking bars dry,  kicking his feet up in VIP sections, attending mansion parties—are a stark departure from the tame acts of rebellion he’s committed in the past.

At a rowdy bar where the band was causing quite a bit of commotion, an officer was dispatched to address the situation and he gave them a hard time. In a wild turn of events, they managed to convince the cop to take shots with them. It wasn’t long until Crash and Todd yanked the baton from the man’s utility belt and were beating each other with it.

Too far gone to intervene with their antics, the cop could hardly speak. To make matters worse, the two knuckleheads wound up stealing his patrol car and drove it into a light post just yards down the street. That one wound up in the newspapers and magazines, though Eddie wasn’t named as being directly involved.

The people he’s around are the epitome of wild. They break bottles over each other’s heads, heave TV sets out of windows, and they’ve set their fair share of toilet bowls aflame.

Eddie isn’t even given the option to decline the time spent in titty bars. His bandmates usher him into the limo, leaving him no choice in the matter. That being said, resisting would jeopardize how they view him as a newcomer. Now that Eddie is rolling with the big hitters, he can’t take the bench just because his gut instinct is advising against the activities. Thanks to Todd’s signature potion called Diet T—tequila, grenadine, and lemonade with no sugar—Eddie’s inhibitions are fleeting.

Going to strip clubs didn’t sit right with him at first, especially when it came to getting private dances. But Crash offered a different angle that he hadn’t considered. They’re not strippers, they’re dancers whose instruments are their bodies. They’re just performers getting paid for putting on a show, much like the band. After it was painted in that light, Eddie started to feel less guilty about tucking bills into lycra g-strings and getting lap dances. It isn’t personal; it’s strictly business.

The best part of it all? He doesn’t have to be peer pressured anymore, he does it willingly. Todd told Eddie that he has nothing to feel bad about because he’s a rockstar now. He said that the normal relationship rules don’t apply here and there’s no way you’d even find out about any of it.

Eddie’s morals are taking consecutive sick days while he partakes in things he never imagined himself doing. Things he promised you he wouldn’t do and continues to deny having involvement in.

Abruptly awoken from his lifeless state, Eddie is startled by sloppy slaps delivered to his cheeks. He struggles to peel his eyes open, deterred by the pounding in his head. A brittle groan slips past his lips.

Bobby, frustrated by his unresponsive bandmate, vigorously shakes him by the shoulders. “Ed, we’ve gotta hit the road. Get your ass outta bed and put some clothes on.”

“No.” Eddie grunts in protest, yanking the spare pillow over his face. “Go away."

Intervening swiftly, Bobby removes it. “I swear to god,” he implores, the irritation evident due to his hangover. “Quit fuckin’ around. I’m sick of gettin’ chewed out just ‘cause you get too messed up every night.”

“I don’t wanna,” Eddie croaks, clinging to the stale sheets. His movements are sluggish and his vision is bleary.

With the pillow still clutched in his fist, Bobby wails at Eddie’s gut with pitiful force. “ Get- the- fuck- up -” He accentuates each word with a resounding smack.

Eddie reacts instinctively by jerking into the fetal position. “Alright, alright!” He flashes Bobby his palm, surrendering. “Lay off, Jesus Christ.”

The bashing ceases, and Bobby tosses the pillow onto the bed. “Mo is gonna lose his shit if we don’t land in Milwaukee on time.“ He scoops up a lone pair of pants and chucks them at Eddie.

“I could give two fucks about Milwaukee,” Eddie grumbles as he sits up at a snail’s pace. On the end table beside him sits a leftover glass of booze, a classic 'hair of the dog' remedy. “And I could give a shit about being on schedule.” His words echo in the cup.

“You should give a shit. If we’re not actively flyin’ outta Indiana in 12 minutes, we’ll never hear the fuckin’ end of it.” Bobby gathers the scattered clothes from the floor and haphazardly throws them into the open suitcase.

Eddie’s brows furrow. “Hold up, we’re in Indiana?”

“Get up to speed, numb nuts.” Bobby huffs, slams the suitcase shut, and turns it right side up. “Put those fuckin’ pants on or so help me God.”

Eddie leans down and retrieves the jeans. He holds them out, struggling to orient them correctly. “Okay, Dad . Take a chill pill, will ya?”

“Hah! Not after seein’ what they do to you.” Bobby turns to leave, satisfied that Eddie is getting a move on.

“Wait.” Eddie forces his leg into his jeans, the material flapping noisily. “What do you remember from last night?”

Bobby snorts. “Dude, you took anythin’ that was offered to you. I lost track after two tabs and a coupla lines.” He mimics the act of snorting by pressing his finger to his nostril. “Your lady must notta been too happy ‘bout it ‘cause she looked like she was gonna lose her shit. And not in the ‘I wanna punch you but I still love you way.’ I mean, she was really cryin’.”

Eddie looks down in thought. He manages to grasp a fleeting image of his hazy recollection, and it’s akin to looking at you through a thick pane of fragmented glass. The jagged shards refract the overhead light, obscuring the heartbroken expression on your features.

Suddenly he feels nauseous. It’s hard to tell whether his queasiness stems from the emotional tidal wave or the combination of substances he consumed a few hours ago. Whichever, he’s doing his damnedest to suppress it because he doesn’t want to blow chunks first thing in the morning.

“Ten minutes, fuck face. I’m serious.” Bobby flips the bird on his way out of the room.

Eddie spots a silver chain hanging out of the front pocket of his jeans. His twitching fingers take hold of the brownish-red pick. “Oh no.” His eyes widen and his heart plunges into his stomach. “Oh shit. Fuck!” Eddie scrambles to his feet, his joints creaking from the awkward position in which he slept. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

The room is in shambles. A lamp lays on its side and the busted bulb is ground into the salmon-colored carpet. Bed sheets are strewn across the floor, the comforter is missing, and the pillow he rested on bears a large bloodstain from his nosebleed. Where the landline used to be attached to the wall is now a gaping hole and the phone itself is nowhere to be seen.

His breathing is labored as he scans his surroundings, desperately searching for his wallet. He’s uncertain if there’s even any change in it, but he’s dead-set on finding out. Eddie drops to his knees, reaching shoulder-deep under the bed. Instead of his wallet, he finds one of his shoes. Potentially helpful, but not right this second. He then proceeds to tear the remaining sheets off of the bed and shakes them out, but nothing thuds against the floor.

Frustrated and still feeling the effects of the previous blackout, Eddie tries to think strategically about where his wallet might have ended up. In his disheveled state, he stumbles into the bathroom and slaps the light switch. The cloudy yellow light flickers to life like the blinking of a neon sign.

Quickly scanning the space, Eddie’s eyes dart over the sink and the toilet. He steps over to the stained clawfoot tub and jerks the patterned curtain aside. The rings scrape against the pole and his wallet is revealed, lying at the bottom of the tub.

With trembling fingers, Eddie digs into the coin pocket. The metal discs feel frigid against his searing skin. He shakes them out into his palm, tapping the coins with his finger to keep track. “Nickel, penny, dime, gum wrapper.” Eddie flicks the ball to the floor. “Dime, quarter, nickel-”

He pivots and rushes out into the hall, taking the long flight of stairs two steps at a time. Emerging in the lobby, Eddie’s bare feet tap as he crosses the polished floor. It’s one thing to be shirtless, but his jeans are unzipped too.

The receiver clatters when he yanks it off of the hook. Coins tumble and clank as he slots them, his breath coming in heavy gasps. Eddie rapidly punches in your phone number with practiced precision. He doesn’t even have to think about the digits, the pattern flows from muscle memory alone.

The line purrs and purrs. Eddie brings his thumbnail to his teeth and winces, having already bitten it bloody. He shakes his hand out and opts to gnaw on his pinky. The relentless ringing ripples through his eardrums and worsens the pounding in his head. A pool of tears gatherers at his lower lash line, making his eyes sting more.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Eddie mutters urgently. “Answer the phone, sweetheart. Please pick up.” The last ring reverberates and he promptly kills the line. Eddie hurriedly slots more coins and punches in your number again.

He calls you twice more, but the ringing remains unanswered. Out of change and out of time, he slams the receiver back on the hook with a growl. “Son of a bitch!”

“Kid,” Mo thunders from the center of the lobby, marching over to him with anger etched into his aged features. “Why aren’t you dressed?” He asks through gritted teeth, on edge after signing a hefty check to cover the cost of Eddie’s previous hotel room demolition. Of which was more than a shattered lightbulb and a stained pillowcase. “You were supposed to be ready 15 minutes ago.” He grabs Eddie and shoves him in the direction of the elevator, nearly causing him to collide with a woman. “And tell the guys that if they don’t get down here, I’m gonna shove my foot so far up their asses they’ll be able to taste the shoe polish.”

It took the entire day for him to sober up enough to realize that it wasn’t merely a bad trip or his imagination running wild. Eddie dwelled on his inability to recall as the hours ticked by. There are drinks and powders that make him forget things, but why can’t there be something for him to pop that’ll magically help him remember what happened? Somebody ought to get on that.

After landing in Milwaukee, the night wears on and his performance is less than stellar. Eddie is emotionally drained yet determined to try once more, but his call remains ignored. Eddie continues to be unable to recollect what happened because you took it home with you, every single second of it.

The long-awaited midwestern tour dates had finally arrived. You were mailed a VIP pass, presumably by Mo because it didn’t come with a poetic note like the heartfelt gifts usually did. You went to the venue and watched from a reserved balcony suite, away from the hoards of sweaty denim-clad men and braless women who’d thrown their undergarments on the stage.

You knew it was Eddie up there, but he was performing like you’d never seen. The cockiness in his stage presence was unrecognizable. He’d improved immensely over the months spent on the road, and you were genuinely impressed.

After the show, you waited for the crowd to thin out, which gave you time to gather yourself. You hoped to god that he wouldn’t notice you’d put on ten pounds since you saw each other last. But he’s around models all the time, surely he’d notice.

You wandered around trying to find the entrance to the backstage area and finally stumbled upon a sturdy security guard. You explained that you had a pass but you didn’t know where to go. Luckily, he did. He escorted you behind the barricade and down a series of dark corridors.

A fast-paced beat accompanied by laughing and crashing poured from the open door down the hall. It only made you more nervous, realizing that there were quite a few people there. You imagined this moment of reuniting being private, so you tried to prepare yourself on such short notice.

Before you was the sight of a lively party. Red plastic cups and glass bottles littered the various surfaces and groupies lingered around in their tiny black leather skirts and skin-tight tops.

Todd appeared in front of you, seemingly out of nowhere. He was unbelievably inebriated and it took him a second to recognize you. Once he did, his expression shifted from disorientation to elation. “Well, well, well. Look what we have here,” he said to you and then called out into the room. “Ed, come check this shit out!”

Todd disappeared after Eddie stumbled up behind him. You were taken aback by his ratty, knotted hair and the sleepy purple at the inner corners of his eyes. Straight away, the odors of alcohol, tobacco, and weed made their presence known. Just by the looks of him, there was no telling how long it had been since he slept last. It wasn’t recently, that was plain to see.

In a piss-poor posh accent, Eddie slurred, “Sweetheart! What a positively splendid surprise.” He harshly rubbed the underside of his nose with the back of his hand. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Surprise?” You assessed his wobbly stance. “Are you trashed right now?”

Eddie giggled like a mischievous child. “Who’s trashed? Not me.” He looked back into the party and watched as Todd jumped on the coffee table, banged his chest like a gorilla, and chugged a bottle of beer. Eddie cheered him on and then turned back to you. His laughter tapered off as he redirected his attention. “What’re we talkin’ about?”

“You forgot.” Your voice cracked from the pressure that built in your throat. “You fucking forgot that I was coming.”

“I didn’t forget,” he defensively insisted. “It just slipped my mind.” Eddie blinked slowly and momentarily lost his balance, though he caught himself on the door frame. “Whoopsie daisy.” He snorted.

“What’s gotten into you?” You crossed your arms and gave yourself the hug that he failed to. “It’s like you’re a completely different person.”

“You’re damn right I am. I said sayonara to the old, lame-ass Eddie and I’m living the life I’ve always wanted. I’ve got all these people who actually get me, y’know? I’ve never had that before.” Eddie’s eyes closed entirely while he paused. “It’s awesome.”

“I don’t understand.” Tears trickled down your cheeks. “You’re making it sound like I’ve been holding you back,” It was the way that he was looking right through you and couldn’t see the comatose love in your eyes, that's what hurt the most.

“Eddd.” A woman sang out and appeared beside him. She hung off of his arm and nearly yanked him to the floor.

He steadied himself, his only priority was staying upright. “Ah, speaking of people. Babe, this is my friend…” Eddie looked over at her lazily.

“Cherry.” She grinned, equally as uncoordinated and woozy as he was. “I’m Cherry.”

“Right, yeah.” He sucked in a breath and looked back at you. “She’s cool. You should come in and talk makeup with her or something.” Eddie beamed as if that was the most brilliant idea he’d had all week.

It was then that you noticed the crimson wax smeared across the column of his throat. Identical in color to the one that was all over her lips, chin, and teeth. “It looks like you already have.” Your stomach churned and the tears fell faster. “Try to listen closely, okay? Do not call me and don’t bother writing either.” With nimble fingers, you tore Eddie’s chain from around your neck, snapping the clasp, and threw it at his feet. “Fuck you.”

As you turned and made your way back down the dark tunnel, you could hear him calling your name as it echoed off of the walls. Once you rounded the corner, you couldn’t take it anymore. You coughed wetly and had to brace against the wall from your legs giving out. The weight of cinder blocks being stacked on your chest intensified while you sat on the cold concrete ground. It was as though he stomped your heart out like a singed cigarette thrown to pavement.

“What’s her problem?” Cherry squeaked, taking notice of how she was only wearing one heel and her skirt had ridden up to her waist somehow.

“Beats me.” Eddie shrugged.

If he was in his right mind, the sharp pieces of his shattered heart would have punctured his lungs; he wouldn’t have had a fighting chance at taking another breath. But Eddie was far from sober, and his organs were floating around like he was a human lava lamp. As you disappeared into the shadows, his mind was nothing short of blank and he went on with his evening like you’d never even shown.

The mention of Eddie’s name or the band no longer brings a smile to your face. It fills you with the sorrow that has replaced the pride you once felt for him. You long for the sound of pouring rain, hoping that it’ll drown out the repetitive radio hits that loop in your head. Even if your wishes are granted, you know it can’t rain forever and the clouds will disperse.

Just as you suspected, rainfall never sufficed. Thankfully, the much-awaited chill has finally arrived. Winter quietly falls, bringing icy roads and frozen windows with it. This season feels more appropriate, autumn was too vibrant with its spiced aromas and scenic landscapes. It was too full of life and you craved a desolate, bitter, unbearable distraction.

You’ve nearly mastered denying him access to your train of thought, but whether it be a song or otherwise, it all comes rushing back. Tonight is sleepless, and you find yourself wondering where it all went wrong.

The photo in your hands, of the two of you flashing your pair of plane tickets, makes you cry. Your emotion in the snapshot is genuine, but Eddie’s expression imitates enthusiasm. He used to be so camera-shy and he would resist your pleas until you successfully wore him down. These days, he’s doing half-naked photo shoots, sporting leather pants that leave little to the imagination.

Shadow appears to sense that you’re hurting and in contrast to her usual aloofness, she joins you on the bed. You watch her knead the blankets and curl up beside you. It only makes you cry harder and you’re afraid of driving her away with your pathetic wailing.

You had a rather eventful day, to say the least. Gareth came to collect your ex’s belongings. Gareth is the only person that he’s stayed in contact with since ditching Hawkins.

Not having his stuff around has significantly lightened the atmosphere, but the space feels emptier. Regardless, this is a fresh start. You don’t need Eddie, you have people who care about you. Gareth included because while he’s primarily Eddie’s friend, you’ve gotten to know each other over time. He offered a sympathetic hug before leaving with the backseat of his car packed with boxes.

Having some company, even briefly, was a welcome change from your day-to-day. Your social interactions have been limited. At most, it’s occasional small talk about the weather with coworkers and chatting with your elderly neighbor. Honestly, you prefer talking to Shadow because her meows are free of pity.

When you knocked on Mrs. Folley’s door to ask for a spare roll of paper towels, she took notice of your underfed and fatigued appearance. Without prying, she began preparing dinners for you. Every night at 6:10 PM there’s a faint knock on your front door. “375 degrees for 25 minutes,” she reminds you.

The casserole dishes are piling up in your kitchen sink, but you’re too apathetic to do as much as soak them. They’d soak forever. While you appreciate her selflessness, she’s making it awfully difficult for you to cut yourself off from the outside world. Leaving the house has become quite a daunting task because you have to go to great lengths to avoid places that remind you of him. You’ve even started shopping at a different grocery store. He has tainted just about everything, everywhere.

Eddie was only able to gather bits and pieces from his bandmates. None of their accounts were particularly reliable. Some recollections conflict, and some overlap. He’ll never know exactly what happened, but what he does know is that he fucked up severely.

Initially, he put on a mask of stoicism and attempted to channel his grief into the music-making process. The words just wouldn’t come to him. It was like Eddie had been zapped dry of any inspiration, understandably so, since he lost his muse. Plus, it proved to be far more agonizing than he anticipated. Eddie was tearing open a wound that hadn’t had the chance to heal. It was too late, the infection already spread and his sense of pride had long since eroded.

In defiance of how he truly feels, Eddie has been pretending that he’s on top of the world, in complete denial of how it’s engulfed in a blaze. He tries to convince himself that you were nothing but dead weight that would hold him back. But if that’s the case, why is he so willing to let you?

Just like an anchor, he’d beg you to pull him down, down, down . He’s willing to fill his lungs to the brim with salt water as you take him to the deepest depths. Eddie would much rather be in that darkness with you than be alone in this one. He’d rather drown than be freed of such a burden.

He’s been a walking Molotov with his vodka-soaked brain and a cigarette burning between his cracked lips. Salty teardrops saturate each puff of smoke, the haze carrying his remorse a brief distance before dissipating into the air. It’ll never travel far enough to reach you.

One might assume that he considers himself one lucky son of a bitch for the life that he’s leading. But, Eddie would vehemently dismiss such an assumption. The only thing he considers himself lucky for is having had the opportunity to experience what it felt like to be loved by you.

Your bodies moved in harmony, an irreproducible duet that was sung as you stroked one another’s chords. Together, you basked in the amorous afterglow. That glimmer in your eyes is a melody that replays in his mind, undeterred by the other tunes he attempts to distract himself with.

On occasion, there’s a nameless woman at the foot of his bed seductively undressing herself. They put on a show for a brick wall, a shell of a man. The distant wail of police sirens outside acts as a soundtrack for their performances. He remains eerily still, looking past the sun-tanned demons that dance in hopes of earning his affection.

All it takes is hearing “I want you” and he grants them access to his room. He never even looks at them and his thousand-yard stare is continuous. You were the closest thing to heaven that he’ll ever experience and the nearest he’ll get to those so-called golden gates. Eddie has been deemed unfit and here he lies, condemned to his personalized hell; a bottomless pit of sinful indulgence and temptation.

Haunted. You’re a bedroom ghost no matter where he rests his head. The sheets are icy regardless of how many femme figures are woven beneath them. He kisses strangers when he can’t feel his face, uncertain if his lips are even in motion.

Eddie will continue to feel utterly alone until he hears the familiar jingling of your keys as you get home from work. It’ll take the creak of the door hinges and Shadow leaping from his lap to greet you for Eddie to regain a scrap of sanity.

He used to bleed, but now all that his heart pumps is whatever earthy intoxicant he can find. Most of the time, he’s merely a pile of bones splayed out on a sunken mattress in his hotel room. The low-hanging night sky on the inside of his eyelids is moonless. The rise and fall of his chest are shallow like a lost tide.

Tonight he finds himself in room 918 and this one is just as stale as the last. The window is sealed tight, keeping the humid misery contained within the well-furnished jail cell. The blinds are closed and the damn clock won’t stop taunting him, it’s maddening. Eddie snatches it up, swings the door to his room open, chucks it down the hall, and slams the door shut.

He swallowed his pride four shots ago, toasting both his international success and being a colossal fuck up. Your absence always kills his buzz and it’s as though he can’t get drunk enough. On top of that, the memories burn worse than any liquor money can buy.

Your tender embrace used to keep him snug. Now, he’s chilled to the bone, shivering relentlessly. His only source of warmth stems from the alcohol streaming through his veins. Lying on his back, he stares at the stained ceiling. The faces in the plaster mock him mercilessly with insults and ill wishes. The pooling tears do nothing to quell his smoke-stung eyes.

Some might assume that given the quantity, Eddie is chasing numbness. That’s far from the truth. Numbness doesn’t cut it, because even though he can no longer feel the hollowness, the clouded guilt still looms over him. It’s not about defying gravity, it’s about strengthening it. Eddie wants the draw to be so strong that it sucks him beneath the Earth’s surface where he can rot like he deserves.

Down for the count and despite his best efforts, the memories remain vivid. Eddie remembers the manner in which you said his name early in the morning, well past bedtime, while you lament, and uttering between bouts of laughter. It was always the sweetest sound.

You saw each other as delectable and at times, you were insatiable. One night in particular, the two of you didn’t even make it past the kitchen. Eddie, behaving like a man starved, laid you out on the dining table. He devoured you with his face buried between your legs and you reminded him that it’s impolite to talk with his mouth full.

Eddie wishes he could roll over, nuzzle his face between your shoulder blades, and fall asleep forever. It’s quite the dream, even for a notorious dreamer. He doesn’t want to wake up tomorrow morning. What does it matter anyway?

Amid the ever-shifting cityscapes, it’s not like he can keep up. Eddie can’t tell dusk from dawn, even with the glare of the neon lights permeating his vision. The evenings are restless, and he wakes with a bloodied nose and hellish bruises.

He’s throwing back a glass at five to nine in the morning and resorting to the simultaneous ingestion of uppers and downers. A little bit of this, a lot of that. Eddie has become something of a mixologist with his experimental cocktails. You see, he’s on a quest to find a middle ground. One where he appears alive while remaining detached enough to elude the grasp of agony.

On the days when the sun shines just right and hope makes a rare appearance, Eddie attempts to go cold turkey. Shakes and sweats take hold and he can’t endure it for long. Detoxing leaves him high on misery, an unbearable feeling. Hours later, he finds himself at the bar, wetting his desert-dry tongue with the most expensive bottle he can get his greedy hands on.

Under the blazing stage lights, with blistering pyrotechnics threatening to engulf him, he stumbles through the setlist. Two weeks ago, they stopped having him play live. In lieu, a pre-recorded track is pumped through the speakers, creating the illusion of his pick striking the strings.

Throughout every performance, he scans the crowd for your radiant face. It proves fruitless in every city, but he continues to search. Eddie doesn't even have your last words to hold on to, only endless possibilities of what he can imagine you said to him.

During the sound check for the Portland show, Bobby warily approaches Eddie, who is already drunk and it isn’t even three o’clock yet. He means well, but his approach is less than nurturing. “You don’t have to go down this road, Ed. I’ve seen where it leads and it’s not pretty.”

Eddie sways slightly as he turns to face him. “Don't lecture me like you're some kind of saint,” he retorts with the scent of booze fiery on his breath. “I'll drink when I want, where I want, and however much I want. Got it?”

With his hand extended in concern, Bobby tries to remain level-headed. “I can get you in touch with somebody if need be, there’s no shame in gettin’ your shit together.”

Eddie throws his head back with a dismissive scoff. “Get my shit together? I lost my girl, okay? She left me. So if you could just mind your own fucking business that’d be great.” He turns away and takes a seat on an equipment case. “Besides, badasses don’t need shrinks.”

Bobby leans in and lowers his voice. "You're messin’ with the same demons that dragged Nick down. Don't think they'll treat you any differently."

“Don’t compare me to him. That dude was messing with heroin and shit. This is entirely different and I can hold my own, thank you very much.”

“You gotta get that ego of yours in check, man. That’s what fucked you over in the first place. I know you think that you can handle it, but let me tell you somethin'."” Bobby stares at Eddie intensely. “Nick said the same thing and look where that got him. Alls I’m tryna say is that you need to watch your step. You’re pissin’ away your potential and it’s startin’ to piss me off.”

“Last I checked, it’s not exactly difficult to push your buttons. Honest to god, you're blowing this way out of proportion. If I need advice, I'll ask for it. Until then, back the fuck off.” Eddie returns Bobby’s stare with a taut posture.

Nick Karr’s destructive coping mechanism landed him in the hospital and eventually in rehab. Eddie knows that some artists resort to heroin because it’s accessible and incredibly potent, which sounds magical to him. But, when it’s offered, he declines. Hearing Nikki Sixx recount his own experience from last year when he was pronounced dead for two minutes was enough to deter Eddie. It sent a shiver down his spine. The firsthand account effectively kept him from venturing that path.

He didn’t have to choose that road to get there, though. Nowadays, he’s so frail that the slightest gust of wind could pick him up and carry him away. His cheeks are sunken, his eyes puffy. Eddie has been taking it on the chin, earning himself a split lip, and the works. He’s been arrested three times and overdosed twice. The only thing he hasn’t done yet is die.

Eddie knows that he’ll never have the chance to see you again in this lifetime, he lost that privilege. However, he entertains the thought that if the drugs were to claim him, perhaps he might find you in another realm. In an alternate place, he’ll vow to wait patiently until he can finally give you his long-awaited apology. It’s always the legends who die young, right? There’s gotta be a sliver of honor in this for him.

Eddie’s flesh is devoid of its usual pinkness, as though he’s just crawled off of an embalming table. His skin is covered with chicken scratch tattoos that he has no recollection of getting and his brittle vertebrae can no longer support the weight of his heavy heart. He finds himself on a cliff and the edge is razor-thin, extending into oblivion in either direction. His legs are dangling over the abyss and there’s no breeze, only profound stillness.

Presently slumped against the wall of this room, his clothes are soaked with sweat. The shaggy carpet feels coarse and chillingly damp, like freshly unearthed sand between his toes. The room’s shadows are disjointed and they dance menacingly as he struggles to make sense of his surroundings. Each heartbeat feels like a sledgehammer striking his ribs, demolishing them one by one. In this moment, Eddie is confronting the harsh reality of the detrimental choices he’s made, the resulting consequences, and the impending end he now faces.

Thrash, shudder, collapse. His internal record player skips and cries out before coming to a halt. His somber soundtrack ceases and the cavern of his chest no longer has a tune to echo.

Prior to his admittance into Pacific Hills Recovery Center, Eddie’s contract was set in stone. Even so, Mo was able to pull some strings which allowed him to be excused from his legal obligations.

His initial impression of the place was far from favorable. Eddie felt like he was stepping into a looney bin, surrounded by people who were nothing like him. His self-esteem took a severe hit, but he still believed that he was above seeking professional help. Eddie was incredibly stubborn at first and fought himself tooth and nail.

It was a struggle to take accountability for his situation. He didn’t want to admit that he was the one responsible. But, Eddie could no longer claim that there was some curse that got him, nor could he blame the industry or the lifestyle. He couldn’t point his finger at Todd for showing him the ropes of the fast life or at Gareth for giving his contact information to Mo.

The first few weeks were unforgiving and the pale blue walls of the facility made him feel uneasy. All of it was off-putting, especially the sunlight pouring through the tall, squeegeed windows. Eddie’s bed was relatively comfortable, and his sheets were always clean. He started to put on weight thanks to a balanced diet, and he was eating the healthiest he ever had in his life.

With time, the dense fog in his head has significantly thinned. However, it’s difficult to resist the itch to stroll down the street and undo all of his progress. He hasn’t caved and he intends on keeping it that way, partly because he doesn’t want to stay here longer than absolutely necessary.

It’s as boring as white bread in a place like this, but he tries to convince himself that it’s good for him, that’s what he’s been sold. The monotony gives him a sense of stability and routine, things he lost the capability to form on his own. If this place were a food, it would be plain oatmeal. Speaking of which, Eddie is tired of eating old-fashioned oats for breakfast. Once he’s finished with treatment, he swears to never going to eat another spoonful again.

In addition to feeling incredibly out of place and out of sorts, he’s very strategic in keeping his guard up. He can’t risk having his vulnerability tampered with before he can suture himself. Whenever someone tries to talk to him, he doesn’t give them much to work with. Eddie has sworn off eye contact and he tries to escape conversations with whatever convincing excuse he can conjure.

The other patients are okay, all things considered. The worst ones are wealthy snobs who have god complexes and act like entitled pricks. Eddie steers clear of them and he hasn’t made any friends in the three months that he’s been here. Bobby calls sometimes, and Eddie occasionally reaches out to Gareth, but it’s never more than small talk.

Except for that one call where Gareth mentioned having boxes of his belongings, waiting to be claimed by their rightful owner. That was a conversation that brought Eddie to tears. It doesn’t take a genius to know that there’s a good reason why you’ve shut him out. But hearing that you packed up his things and removed those crumbs from your life just about killed him. Eddie skipped dinner that night, curled up in a chair beside the large stone fireplace, and wept silently.

Along with processing how much that hurt him, he realized that it meant he no longer had a home. In-patient care certainly isn’t permanent housing. He stressed himself out at the thought because even though Gareth was likely going to allow him to crash on his couch, Eddie was afraid to live near you again. What would he do if you ran into each other? Would you cuss him out and slap him? He’d take it if you did, he owed you that much.

Eddie surely doesn’t want to stay on the coast. As cool as LA can be, it’s not where his heart is. Sure, he figured out how to run the scene pretty easily, but he doesn’t belong here. Before all of this, Eddie could only dream of how tall the palm trees were, he tried to imagine what the ocean would smell like. Now he’s sick of it, he wants to go back to the forests of evergreen and sugar maple. Eddie misses the murky water of Lover’s Lake where the mosquitoes ate him alive.

Having been bled dry of the things that kept him sedated for so long, his state of mind is feeble. His counselor emphasized that he isn’t confined to a predetermined path and that he’s only destined to be what he makes of himself. Eddie was provided some coping mechanisms and he says that they aren’t helping, but that’s because he isn’t really trying.

As part of getting in touch with his feelings, Eddie is tasked with writing letters to his past, present, and future self. This exercise hasn’t been trouble-free  because he finds himself wanting to write to you. One night, he gets so strung out after scribbling a particularly tense letter to himself that he can no longer resist the urge.

His wrist aches from scrapping draft after draft, his bedroom floor littered with crumpled balls of stationary paper. His sober mind cruelly insists that his actions are irreparable and that no words will bring you back. It tells him that he sounds desperate and you’d either burn the letters or return them entirely unopened. Perhaps you’d even find some hilarity in his sorry excuses.

I’ve grown for you, and for me too

I lost all sight of myself when it came to ambition, but I’m striving for realistic things now. I'm trying to right my wrongs

Are you still   How have you been?  I wish I could see you

I understand if you’re disappointed in me, I am too

Has Shadow caught any spiders lately?

I hope you’re doing well

Eddie misses you senselessly, but he knows that he’s unworthy. He’s homesick for arms that will never hold him again. It would’ve been wise to be careful what he wished for because he got every last bit and then some. He used to believe his name was meant to be in lights, but now he sees how naive that was. Life had to take a bite out of Eddie for him to realize that his true aspiration was to be an honorable man, one that put you above all else.

His sense of purpose is long gone. Eddie hopes that the universe might present him with the opportunity to see your beautiful face once more. It’s wishful thinking, but these days, it’s all he has. It’s okay to be unsure of what’s next, what matters is that he’s taking it one day at a time. He’s finally setting goals for himself and Eddie is committed to not wasting another day. The words he never got the chance to say have soured his tongue and he wants so badly to spit them out.

As It turns out, it’s just as easy to get hooked on making progress. The Westminster chimes play from the wooden clock in the sunroom, signaling the start of a new day. Eddie fills a plain mug with piping renewal, stirring in a dash of sugar.

Your days start similarly, relying on a cup of coffee to get you through. Lately, it feels like the bed was only ever yours and it never knew the weight of someone else. You stopped wondering what he was doing or where he was. It’s a beautiful thing, to be on your own. You chide yourself for being so childish in thinking that things would’ve worked out somehow.

The day he signed that contract, he was no longer yours.

The runaway leaves are toasting in the suspended autumn sunlight, readying to decompose at Mother Nature’s mercy. The trees stand bare, the sidewalks covered with a brittle quilt of orange, red, and brown. The pumpkin festival is a cherished annual event in town, serving as a fundraiser for the local food shelter.

The fair is known for its crop competition where impressive pumpkins are awarded ribbons for being monstrous in size. Hand-built shacks are selling hot cider and freshly fried cinnamon sugar donuts. With a few hundred attendees, the grinding amusement rides struggle to overpower the chatter.

The cozy outfit you’ve chosen is your favorite cotton crew neck sweater paired with jeans and sneakers that provide optimal comfort. Tonight is about savoring the weather and unwinding. You’re looking forward to seeing Gareth and the band play, even though they’ll be missing their former front man.

Steve is equally as eager to get out and about, especially because he’s babysitting his spirited four-year-old nephew, Daniel, for the weekend. He’s always cranked up to a ten and this was something that Steve was not emotionally prepared to handle. He’s hoping that the lively atmosphere will tire the little one out and give him a chance to breathe.

The knit blanket is unrolled; its chestnut, fern, and sunflower-hued threads contrast the lush grass it’s draped upon. As you settle, the buried leaves crunch beneath your weight.

Steve looks over at you. “I swear I need a leash for this kid. I look away for two seconds and he disappears into thin air. Listen, I like a good magic trick as much as the next guy but this routine is getting real old, real fast.” He exhales exasperatedly.

“Leave him here with me, you go take a walk and cool off.” You chuckle at how frazzled he is over “losing” his nephew for a whole two and a half minutes.

Steve runs his hand through his bangs and sighs. “Okay, yeah, a walk.” He isn’t a rookie when it comes to babysitting, but Daniel isn’t exactly in the age demographic that Steve is used to looking after.

Daniel’s pudgy hand is released and he dramatically plops on the blanket beside you, immediately engrossed with his toy truck. He bumbles his lips, mimicking the sound of an engine.

“Go.” You shoo Steve. “I’ve got it handled.”

Steve nods and turns to leave.

“And get me some cocoa on your way back!”

Steve acknowledges your request with a quick thumbs-up and weaves out of the clusters of people both seated and standing. To keep the rug rat engaged enough to prevent him from wandering off, you ask him about his toy.

Meanwhile, Eddie is taking deep breaths, trying to ignore his fierce nerves. It’s been a long time since he last performed but he shouldn’t be this nervous. He’s played for hundreds of thousands of people, yet this is just as intimidating. Fireworks are sparking off in his fingertips and a surge of nausea rocks him. Eddie finds himself swatting away insecurity and self-doubt, the bothersome buzzing distracting him from having confidence in his abilities.

Corroded Coffin gathers in a circle behind the white tarp-roofed stage. They exchange words of support and appreciation for finally performing together again. They break from their huddle, scale the steps one by one, and take their positions. Eddie’s eyes are glued to the mic stand, unable to look out into the audience. He fidgets with it, making unnecessary adjustments to keep his hands busy. It doesn’t help that he’s out of his element with the setlist being pop hits that people of all ages can enjoy.

As Gareth begins to loosen up his wrists and Donny does some last-minute tuning, Eddie is transported back to The Hideout. Back when he was humble and small-town, playing his heart out with his closest friends. Recalling how fun those times were eases his nerves a bit, remembering that he’s been forgiven.

His playing and singing are hesitant as he finds his footing but as the song progresses, Eddie rides the rhythm and it vitalizes him. A shared smile with Jeff fills him with gratitude, his voice flowing as smooth as caramel. He still feels vulnerable, because even if the people here don’t give a shit about his reputation, there’s still plenty of room to make an ass of himself.

It takes him three songs to muster the courage to look out. Instead of appreciating the sight of the flowing river, he surrenders to an old habit that’s dying hard. He scours the crowd for that once-familiar face.

It’s as though he’s just landed on concrete, the wind knocked clean out of him. Eddie isn’t entirely sure that his eyes aren’t broken. He could be hallucinating, except even on his most intoxicated nights, he never so much as believed he’d seen you, much less had to convince himself that you weren’t there.

A kind expression graces your face, one that sends him to cloud nine. He can’t be certain from this distance, but it doesn’t appear to be a scowl or a frown. You’re somewhat concealed behind a large family which is making it challenging for him to get a clear view of you. Still, he strains his eyes in an attempt to do so.

His focus is diverted when an elderly couple gracefully strolls up to the gap in front of the stage and begins to dance together. Just a few verses later, a father and his young daughter join in and they jump to the beat.

It’s like he’s on top of the world again and this time it’s not on fire. His sense of purpose is back and stronger than ever. His passion is bringing people together, including the two of you. He can feel the music in his bones. Eddie avoids lingering for too long, not wanting to appear as if he’s staring. Rest assured, wherever his sight falls, you’re the only thing on his mind.

As soon as the set concludes, Eddie hugs each of his friends, though he keeps it brief. His sneakers crush the dry patches of grass as he navigates through the crowd. Most are getting up to stretch or leaving to get refreshments before the next act goes on. Eddie finds you exactly where he saw you, but to his surprise, you’re holding the hand of a small child.

Promptly, a pang immobilizes him, the center of his chest acting as the bullseye of an axe-throwing target. He tries to grapple with his conflicting emotions. Eddie wants so badly to reconnect with you but he’s paralyzed by the fact that you’ve moved on and started a family. Of course you have, you deserve someone who checks in on you and gives you the world. He can’t be mad at you when he failed to provide what little you asked of him back then.

Eddie carefully approaches as you rise to your feet, the child tugging you up from your spot on the ground. In his head, he practices a gentle voice all while morphing his expression into one that’s good-natured and approachable. Beneath his facade, his heart is lodged in his throat. “Hey,” he greets you softly, “Who’s this little guy?”

Steve appears and lifts Daniel into his arms, balancing the toddler on his hip. “I’m glad to see he didn’t rip your beautiful hair out while I was gone.” He smirks at you, but it falters when he feels his nephew driving the toy car along his shoulder and uncomfortably close to his jugular.

“Me too.” You laugh tensely. Clasping your hands together, you rock on your heels to soothe yourself. “He was good the whole time, thankfully. Anyway, Steve, this is-”

“Ed Munson, right?” He adjusts his wiggling nephew. “From Poison Knife or whatever?” Steve isn’t familiar with their music, but he’s heard about Eddie’s escapades through the media.

“Poison Blade, yeah. That’s me.” He offers a handshake and Steve is quick to return it, a bit too firmly for Eddie’s liking. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Steve assesses Eddie and doesn’t bother to hide his scrutiny.

The air has cooled significantly now that the sun has dipped past the horizon. You stretch your sleeves over your fists and the sudden chattering of your teeth reminds you that you’re missing something. “You didn’t get me cocoa?”

When you pout at Steve, Eddie subconsciously flexes his fingers in frustration. He forgot how unfairly cute you are. He has an impulse to take matters into his own hands by wrapping his arms around you to provide the warmth you so preciously seek.

“Shit. That's my bad, I totally forgot.” Steve’s eyes briefly close but they shoot back open when Daniel grabs a fistful of his roots. “Ouch, man. Ease up on the death grip, will ya?” Steve withdraws the sticky fingers from his hair.

Eddie seizes the opportunity and blurts out a touch too eager, “I’ll get you some, if- if you want."

Steve squints at Eddie, his dark brows furrowed at the strange vibe he’s getting; oblivious to your history. He doesn’t get the chance to question it further because Daniel begins to kick and squirm. “I’m gonna take him back over to the animals before he blows a fuse.” Steve leans in and asks under his breath, “You’ll be okay?”

You give him a reassuring look and squeeze his bicep in confirmation. Steve returns your nod, shoots Eddie a protective glance, and walks away with the now-hollering toddler.

With his eyes full of hope, Eddie grins invitingly and extends his offer, “How ‘bout it, hot cocoa on me?” He’s giving it his all to appear trustworthy and pleasant in the hopes of winning you over.

You look down at your shoes and release a visible breath. “Yes, please.”

Together, you walk toward the concession stands. Once you’ve got the foam cup of chocolatey goodness delightfully thawing your palms, the two of you find a bench along the river. It’s quieter here, away from the bustling noise. For a while, neither of you says a word. You just sip your beverage while the splashing current fills the silence.

Eddie looks over at you. “So, uh. You just got the one?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you just have the one kid?”

You make an effort not to spill your drink as you giggle.

“What’s so funny?” A thrum passes through him in the presence of your laughter, the sound he’s missed for so long.

You smile as you calm down to clarify, “Daniel isn’t mine. Thank God for that, ‘cause he's a royal pain in the ass.”

“I see.” Eddie chuckles airily, not out of humor but relief. “He does look like a handful.”

“Yeah, more like two.” You blow across the top of your cup, cautious not to burn your tongue while you take a swig.

Eddie looks down as he picks at his hangnails. “That being said, things are uh- good then, I hope?”

You focus on the darkening waters just feet away, contemplating whether you’d describe your life as ‘good.’ “I’d say so, nothing too eventful but it’s been comfortable. You?”

“Same here.” Eddie steals a glance at your fingers tapping against the styrofoam cup. “And I’m very much sober,” he adds pridefully. “11 months next week, actually.”

“Good for you! I’m so glad to hear that.” You beam and nudge his knee with your own. 

Eddie hides his face behind his curls, concealing the blush and wide smile that are overtaking his features. He can’t blame the rosiness of his cheeks on the biting wind. He returns the knee nudge. “Thanks. It means a lot to hear that from you.”

“What exactly are you doing here? Don’t you have seats to fill?”

Eddie straightens his posture against the back of the bench. “Not anymore.” He weakly clears his throat, his voice faltering even though he’s talked this out in therapy numerous times. “I felt like it was time to come home, I needed to find myself. It was really tough, y’know? I lost sight of what kept me sane. You were always this like, unshakeable foundation for me and I let you down.”

“Yeah, you did.” You exhale, “I was disappointed that you turned into everything that you said you wouldn’t. I can’t speak for you, but to me, what we had was real. I was willing to be with you forever, and you weren’t on the same page.”

That sour apology is burning a hole through Eddie’s tongue right now. He wants so badly to tell you that you’re wrong. But he chokes it down like he always has and listens to you express the things he’s dreaded yet dreamed of hearing.

“I tried so hard. Way harder than I should’ve, and now you’re here after I tried to forget everything. I wanted to forget you,” you confess and place your empty cup in the dirt at your feet. The loose gravel under your shoes shifts as you sit back.

Hearing those words nearly breaks Eddie’s dam, and he stifles a sob. He faces away, appearing as though he’s watching the final moments of the sunset and not holding back tears. He twists his fingers, his knuckles cracking from the force.

You reach over to Eddie’s lap and take his hand into yours. He watches curiously through glassy vision while his ability to breathe normally has been disrupted. When you interlace your fingers, Eddie releases a shuddering breath that he’s held in for well over a year.

 You use your free hand to trace the curves of his. “It wasn’t worth it. It was a waste of time trying to forget you.” 

Somehow, Eddie finds himself looking into your stunning eyes and he feels like he’s melting for too many reasons to count. You’re softening him like butter to be used in making freshly baked pumpkin bread. When you reach up and wipe a stray tear from his cheek, he simply breaks. You welcome him into your embrace, wrapping your arms around him as he curls up into your shoulder.

The cry that escapes Eddie is rickety and long overdue. “I’m so s-sorry,” he stammers and inhales wetly. “I never meant to hurt you, but I did. I fucked everything up and-”

“Eddie.” You interrupt him, stroking his head and pushing the curtain of curls out of his face. He whimpers in response. “I’ll always be your number one fan, no matter what.” You guide him to meet your gaze.

When you cradle the side of his puffy face with your hand, Eddie leans into your touch. “Always?” He sniffles and his damp eyelashes tickle your thumb as you stroke his freckled cheeks.

Your promise is as rich as the devotion resurfacing in his hazelnut eyes. “Always.”

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Once Wayne’s treasures and mementos were long gone, the space felt more unfamiliar than ever. Eddie’s bedroom, in comparison, remained unchanged. He’d never truly lived with a woman, much less a long-term girlfriend.

With your arms folded tightly across your chest, you took in the disheveled bedroom. You didn’t want to overstep any boundaries, but it was your room too now. “Could we maybe take some of these posters down?”

Feigning annoyance at your request, Eddie released a husky groan. Did he love his band posters? Abso-fucking-lutely. But tearing them down was a small price to pay for getting to be with you every day. “Fine,” he sighed dramatically, “But the Corroded Coffin banner stays up.”

His expression turned on a dime, and his lips twisted into a devilish smile. Before you could anticipate Eddie’s next move, you were pulled into his embrace. The unnecessarily secure hug caused your giggle to strain. “Eddieee! Too tight!” You squealed. 

The sounds you made filled his chest with a golden warmth. It spread through the rest of his body like sweet, gooey honey. Eddie chuckled deeply with amusement and loosened his arms a bit.

When his gaze met yours, he hummed with contentment. “This is your castle now, princess,” Eddie said while looking back and forth between your eyes. “I know it’s not much. Someday, I’m gonna get you a house. With a yard and all that fancy shit.”

You smiled and stroked the rosy apple of his cheek with your thumb. “You’re my home. But if we’re talking houses, just know that I’m perfectly happy growing old together in this tin can.”

“Is that so? You don’t think you’ll get sick of me anytime soon?”

“While it’s not entirely unlikely, it’s probably in your best interest to stay on my good side,” You squinted at him. Traces of your previous smile lingered in the upturned corners of your lips, but you tried to come across as serious.

Eddie’s tongue peeked out to wet his lower lip. “How much trouble would I be in if I said I’m not taking down a single poster unless you make me?”

“A lot of trouble.”

He beamed at you, “Yeah?” Eddie’s deft fingers found your sides, and instantly, you were lying on your back on the bed. He tickled you mercilessly, to the extent that you were so laughed out that you could no longer beg him to stop.

A year has passed since then. Living with Eddie has been just about as unpredictable as he is as a person. The air, once saccharine, now leaves a sour aftertaste. You hoped it would fade over time, but it’s only gotten more prominent as the weeks have passed.

As it turns out, adulthood is fucking difficult. Doing his damnedest to manage his responsibilities, he’s been in over his head for longer than he’s willing to admit.

For starters, he’s been playing twice a week at Wraith, a venue located 41 minutes outside of Hawkins. On top of that, Corroded Coffin’s permanent gig requires consistent late practice sessions.

The greatest challenge is his job at the Brassline Industries factory. Gone are the days when he sold weed to irresponsible teens to have a extra fun-money. Eddie is a grown-ass man now, with a grown-ass job. Due to his demanding schedule, you don’t see much of him during the day anymore.

Frankly, you don’t see him much at all. There’s always something that he has to tend to. I promised Jeff I’d help him move out of his ex’s place. The band’s van is on the fritz, I have to go to Gareth’s to work on it. Terry called in sick at the factory, so I have to pull a double.

You’ve tried to tell yourself that his ever-growing absence isn’t personal. But unknowingly, you’ve been making excuses for your boyfriend’s inability to make time for you. 

Eddie begins each day with the sunrise. Once in a blue moon, he’ll kiss your forehead while you’re curled under the worn blankets. Unaware and asleep, you don’t get to savor the gesture of waning affection. More often than not, when he finally comes home, you’re exactly where he left you—unconscious and beyond taxed from your job. Hell, you work hard too.

Your relationship has been suffering in all aspects of the intimacy department. Most importantly, the two of you haven’t had sex in over two months. Stuck with pent-up sexual frustration, Eddie has been feeling nothing short of unsatisfied. It’s gotten to the point that rubbing one out is a chore more than anything.

It’s not like he hasn’t tried connecting with you that way. On a few occasions, he climbed into bed beside you as he normally would. But instead of succumbing to exhaustion like you had, his hands slipped beneath your pajamas and traced your body.

Was it low to be copping a feel? Yes. But Eddie’s self-restraint had fizzled out. He knew it wouldn’t happen if he didn’t try. Regardless, you rolled over or pushed him away, mumbling in semi-cognizant disinterest. Having been rejected on several occasions, Eddie’s hurt feelings have brought on a distant shift in his demeanor when your days happen to overlap. Worse yet, his internal thunder matches the rumble of your own.

At this rate, you’re roommates at best. Hardly so, given that he’s rarely home. What a way to be treated after you’ve been nothing but patient and supportive of his life choices. Truly, you’re happy that Eddie has things in his life that bring him fulfillment, but you can’t help wishing you were one of them.

There’s a strong possibility that talking through it could resolve the tension, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything about it. How pathetic it would be for you to beg for his undivided attention. You’re not sure you’re worth his while. Thinking you could tough it out, you’ve broken your heart by waiting for him to realize how lonesome you’ve been.

Instead of counting sheep, you lay and wonder if it's fate that the two of you have grown apart. It’s killing you to continue pretending that this isn’t torturous. You’ve abandoned parts of yourself to keep this love afloat, and there were no lifeboats in sight from the start.

What you and Eddie have is defined by more than its worst moments, but you’ve long since abandoned all faith that this is just a rough patch. A day where anything changes for the better remains a pipe dream. Every once in a while, you find yourself wishing he’d do something unspeakably horrible to you, just so that all of the pain would be justified.

You’ve bid farewell to the moments that once meant so much. Because it really is the little things that make you nauseous to reminisce about. Light years ago, Eddie couldn’t bear to have you out of reach for more than a few minutes. He'd wrap his arms around your waist and whisper sweet nothings in your ear while you washed dishes in the kitchen sink. Frequently, he’d pull you closer by the belt loops of your jeans to kiss you with fervor after spending a few hours apart. Back then, hours felt like an eternity. They still do, just differently.

You’re not missed and it stings. Or at the very least, you’re not missed enough for him to make an effort. Up until today, you were searching for reasons to stay. He hasn’t provided any, yet you decide to give him one final chance.

Eddie will be home for dinner; he swore on it. Hence, why you’ve been in a frenzy since you got off work. For once, you’re cooking, something you haven’t done in what feels like ages. It’s no surprise that eating lost all significance when you’ve been surviving off of takeout leftovers and cold pizza. Maybe all it’ll take is a shared meal for things to change.

In actuality, you don’t truly believe that. The desire to impress him is undeniable, and it’s going to take more than a home-cooked meal to salvage what’s left. How the evening goes will determine where you belong, whether it be in his life or elsewhere.

Your outfit isn’t remarkable, although it is a step up from your typical at-home wear. After fixing your hair and applying a bit of makeup, you feel presentable. The uneasy feeling stirring in your belly is all too familiar. It reminds you of your first date with Eddie. You shouldn’t feel this nervous when you’ve been together for as long as you have.

The crushing truth is that, if you look pretty enough, he’ll remember that you exist. Perhaps he’ll look at you the way he used to. You hope that gussying up and a hot dinner will be how you win him back for good.

Eddie swore he’d be home by six fifteen at the latest. Nevertheless, the steam rising off of the food dissipates as it grows cold. For the umpteenth time, you check the wall clock. The same clock that you’ve been checking nonstop for 20 minutes.

Counting down the second hand, you concede defeat at the forty-five-minute mark of his tardiness. Time has always had a way of throwing it all in your face. You should’ve known better than to trust that he’d show.

None of this made a difference because Eddie didn’t even give it a chance to. The final nail in the coffin: was it his choices, or his refusal to choose you, that led to this? It could’ve been the lack of effort or the intentional cold shoulder. It could be that you’re not what he wants anymore. Not like it makes a difference.

Seated at the table for two near the front door, the chair squeaks as you stand. For a moment, you consider blowing out the candles you’d lit to set the mood. But would it be such a tragedy if the trailer caught fire, taking you with it?

In the kitchen, you step over to the sink and fill your glass with water. You gulp it down, the milk-tinted liquid a poor substitute for the meal you slaved over and didn’t take a bite of. The swirling in your abdomen intensifies, becoming all the more vicious.

Without a second thought, you chuck the fragile crystal onto the worn linoleum, scattering jagged shards across the floor toward the dining table. Not dissimilar to the cup you’ve just destroyed, you crumble. Your spine slams into the cupboard with a thud as you slide down in front of the sink. The rage in your head drowns everything else, so much so that you don't recognize the pain of your tailbone meeting the floor with such force.

At 9:45, the trailer door creaks open and slams shut, the sound cutting through the quiet like a knife. The dim living space is lit only by the flicker of candles and the distant light pouring out from the end of the hallway.

Eddie toes off his grimy steel-toed work boots. His lips part as he drapes his jacket over the back of the dining chair nearest to him. He surveys the living room and kitchen, noticing how unusually tidy everything is.

Eddie examines the set table, where the plated food has been sitting for hours. The sinking feeling that was weighing on his chest during the drive over is gone while he’s distracted by the effort you put in. It looks great in here, and Eddie can’t help but wonder how nice you must look, too.

He’s lost in the notion that maybe he’s escaped the worst of it, that he won’t be in deep shit for showing up late. That is until his eyes land on the broken cup and glass scattered on the floor.

The soft, sidetracked smile on his lips fades. Confusion flashes across his face. Carefully, Eddie sidesteps the mess and makes his way toward the bedroom, the only place you could be. With your back to him, you seem to be angrily putting laundry away into the dresser.

Eddie lingers in the doorway, his fingers twisting and untwisting as he wrings his hands. “Hey, sorry I’m late,” He says cautiously.

It’s no surprise that not calling to inform you he’d be late would piss you off. But still, that poor laundry didn’t do anything to deserve the way you’re handling it. Only then do his eyes narrow at the realization that you’re not putting away clothes; you’re shoving them into a duffel bag.

Eddie’s voice lowers in pitch, “What are you doing?”

You don’t turn to face him, nor do you respond. Choosing silence, you yank open the top drawer of the dresser, grabbing fistfuls of socks and underwear. You cram them into the bag alongside the shirts and pants already packed.

Eddie used to be the one finishing your sentences, but now it’s you who’ll be finishing his. You can already anticipate the same tired excuses, the ones you’ve heard over and over again. With the duffle bag unzipped and its strap slung over your shoulder, you pivot, intent on slipping past Eddie and out of the room without a word.

As you move to brush by, his arm shoots out to block the doorway and stop you in your tracks. Eddie keeps his arm extended as he grips the opposite side of the doorframe. “I’m talking to you. Where the hell are you going?”

Forced to meet his gaze, you lock eyes. Your expression is just as hardened, but unlike Eddie’s, your eyes are marbled with dilated blood vessels. “Honestly, I don’t know. But I’m getting the fuck out of here.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” he scoffs, “You can’t be serious.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Your icy, unblinking stare falters as you release the shallow breath trapped in your lungs. “I'm done. I’m not gonna wait around for you anymore.”

“Gimme a goddamn break.” Eddie shakes his head and rolls his eyes. The palpable tension worsens as you fight for the strength to stand your ground. He's doubling down by the sheer audacity of playing dumb.

His defensive expression is a tangled mess. His brows furrow, casting sharp shadows over his eyes, which are darting between yours. “Two people called in. I couldn’t have been here if I wanted to.”

"That right there- that’s exactly what I'm talking about. There’s never a gap between you and a good excuse. I’ll give it to ya, you’re nothing if not consistent.” Your lips remain slightly parted, and a subtle tilt of your head dares him to come up with yet another excuse.

Eddie trips over his words, scrambling for a response. You set out to leave him dumbstruck, and that’s exactly what you’ve done. Seizing the moment, you duck beneath his arm and walk into the bathroom.

This makes his patience burn through its fuse at an alarming rate. Eddie intentionally bites down on his tongue, as if he’s trying to resist the urge to cuss you out. With his jaw clenched, Eddie spins on his heels to face you. “Oh, I see how it is. Just because I’m a little late, you think I’m bullshitting you. Is that it?”

The widening rift between you makes it clear that honesty has no place here. He'd rather die than admit that. So, Eddie keeps prodding, throwing verbal jabs at you in a desperate attempt to regain your attention.

Meanwhile, you rummage through the bathroom drawers, gathering necessities, determined not to let him distract you. Despite grasping at straws to keep you here, his words hang in the air, unanswered.

The beat of your heart thumps wildly in your ears as feverish heat radiates in your bones. The fire in your chest spreads, searing your throat as the flames climb higher. The blistering smoke stings your eyes, bringing fresh tears and making your nose run.

“Well played, babe.” Eddie chuckles, the sound bouncing off the thin walls as he trails you into the living room. "I gotta give it to ya, you’re really nailing the act. But you can quit the theatrics, alright? I get your point.”

“No, you clearly don’t.” You put your shoes on, swallowing a whimper so thick that it’s suffocating. Your resolve feels like it's coming undone, each stitch of your composure pulling loose, one by one.

With his arms folded across his chest, there’s a challenge to his stance. “You’re acting like the world’s fucking ending over one missed dinner!”

After tying your shoes, you rise to your feet. "Just one dinner, Eddie? That’s why you think I’m leaving?” Stepping toward him, you drive your pointer finger into Eddie’s chest with deliberate force.

This catches him off-guard, causing his eyes to widen. The accusing pressure of your finger digging into his chest, paired with the expression on your face—neither of which he ever imagined would be aimed at him.

“You couldn’t be more wrong.” You pull your hand back, the sting of your touch lingering on his skin thereafter. Grabbing the duffel bag, you make your way to the front door. A squeal rings out from the hinges when you push it open, and the cool air hits your cheeks as you walk out.

For so long, all you wanted was him. Now, just being in the same room is unbearable.

You try to close the door behind you, but Eddie stops it before it clicks shut. His presence persists as he follows you outside, his socks catching on the rough concrete as he steps down the three stairs. “I don’t like this. Come on, let's just go back in and talk it out."

Under the cloak of night, with only the light spilling from the wide-open front door of the trailer to find your way, you head for your car. Your fingers grip the keys so tightly that they dig into your palm. The door lock pops up, and you toss your bag onto the passenger seat, and slide into the car, pulling the door shut.

Through the windshield, you see him begin walking toward the car. His hand hangs in the air, suspended, like he’s about to call out to you.

You start the car, shifting into reverse just before he’s close enough to be in the way. The engine hums as you back out, the trailer park fading from view in the side mirror as you drive away.

As your tail lights disappear around the bend, Eddie’s legs nearly give way beneath him. His breathing slows from its hastened pace, his eyes locked on where your car was parked, as if he's waiting for something, anything, to make sense.

The night feels endless, and the drive equally so. The hallway of Robin’s apartment building is narrow and dimly lit, with the faint scent of old carpet lingering in the air. 

After knocking, Robin calls out through the closed door, “If it’s not a pizza you’re peddling, I’m not interested.”

You sigh, worried about disturbing her neighbors at this hour. Stepping closer to the door, you press your words against the wood. "Buckley, it’s me."

Seconds later, the door swings open, revealing Robin in mismatched pajamas. She gives you a once-over as if trying to piece together what’s brought you to her doorstep unannounced. “You look like shit.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Your shoulders sag under the weight of it all, feeling worse than you appear.

Robin's face flickers with a twinge of guilt at the tone of your response. “Sorry,” She almost sounds apologetic as she steps aside to let you in. “I’m not gonna lie, I was kind of hoping you showed up with a pizza.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” You quip dryly, the lack of laughter speaking volumes to the weight you’ve brought with you.

The two of you plop down on the futon in her living room, and not long after, the floodgates open. Robin listens as best she can, though her concentration occasionally wanders as she struggles to make sense of your garbled blubbering.

Half a box of tissues later, you've managed to calm down some, but the hiccups continue to catch you off guard. "I’m such a fucking idiot. I can’t even remember the last time we did something like take a shower together. Honestly, to Eddie, I’m an afterthought at best and an inconvenience at worst.”

You crumple the used tissue in your fist, your sore eyes barely able to focus. They land on the pilled fleece of Robin’s pajama bottoms, too strained to linger anywhere else. “No wonder he isn’t in love with me anymore."

Robin frowns. "That can’t be true. He probably does still love you, maybe he’s just got a weird way of showing it?” She suggests, unsure if she’s said the right thing. To smooth over her uncertain response, Robin tries something else. Instead of gently stroking your back or wrapping an arm around you to squeeze reassuringly, she awkwardly taps the top of your nearest shoulder twice.

A sad smile tugs at your lips, recognizing her attempt to comfort you. The two of you sit in the long pause, letting the room breathe.

This was the worst fight you and Eddie had ever had, by a long shot. Sure, there have been trivial arguments, the kind that fizzled out without much back and forth. But this? This was different. It hadn’t reached the point where one of you stormed off.

If there had been more arguments prior, Eddie could’ve seen it coming; the big blowout, the one that shatters everything. But no. This came out of nowhere, blindsiding him completely. 

Shortly after you left Forest Hills, Eddie followed suit. He told himself a drive would help get his mind off things. Now, he drives aimlessly through the streets. Unable to shake the thought that you were waiting for him to fuck up and paint him as the bad guy. With Accept’s “Fast as a Shark” blaring from the stereo, the engine revs, his foot pressing harder on the gas.

As much as you appreciate Robin’s hospitality, you’ve overstayed your welcome. You don’t have to guess whether you have or not; her body language says it all, especially since she’s got work in the morning.

Taking mercy on her, you make your way toward the door. Before you go, you pull her into a firm hug. "Thanks for putting up with me."

“It’s not like I had much of a choice. You showed up on my doorstep like a sad stray puppy,” Robin jests and walks you to your car. She leans her arm on the top of the open door as you buckle your seatbelt behind the wheel. “Call me as soon as you get to the motel so I know that you didn’t get hit by a deer or something.”

You cock your head at her, visibly questioning the odd phrasing she chose.

“They could be plotting their revenge for that close call with that buck last month,” Robin says with a shrug, her tone teetering between casual and conspiratorial.

You’re immediately defensive, which causes your voice to climb. “Oh my god, I didn’t even hit it!”

“That’s neither here nor there. You nearly ran it over, which is more than enough reason for them to put a hit out on you.”

You turn the keys in the ignition, starting the engine. "I’ll tell you what, if you bring it up again, I’ll be the one plotting vengeance.” 

Robin smiles with a glint of mischief in her eyes. “You’ll let me know when you get there then?”

“Will do,” You agree, flicking the headlights on. The bright beams illuminate the front of her building. Truthfully, you’d much rather stay at Robin’s than at some dingy motel, but you can’t bring yourself to burden her further.

With a sympathetic expression, Robin pushes the car door closed, her palm raised in a half-wave as she turns to walk back inside. She doesn’t watch you pull away, trusting you to make it out of the parking lot without another deer encounter.

The drive across town drags on, each minute bleeding into the next as you twist the radio dial, hunting for a station that won’t cut out. The static buzzes in the background, interrupted only by faint, wavering melodies, as you keep your focus on finding the sweet spot.

It’s only when you glance up, that you realize you’re driving through a four-way intersection.

Glass shatters like hail as the driver’s side door takes the impact. The screech of tires finally ceases as your car lurches to a stop, the passenger side crushed inward by the trunk of a red oak tree. The other driver staggers out of their car, disoriented from the impact. They shout for help, frantically waving down a passing vehicle.

One by one, house lights flick on as residents abandon their windows and begin congregating on the sidewalk. They linger at a distance, uncertain how to act as flames start to crawl their way out from beneath the crumpled hood of your car.

Chatter and anxious glances ripple through the sparse crowd as the fire crackles against the wreckage. Dismal gray columns of smoke lift into the air as the inferno heats the mangled steel frame that cages your scathed body.

Meanwhile, Eddie is driving as though the act itself will leave his troubles behind. He’s seeking refuge in the spot he hasn’t visited in ages. Back then, Eddie would hide away at Lover’s Lake to decompress. That all changed when you came into his life, and he never had the need to return.

He takes a shortcut through the nearest neighborhood where the occasional streetlamp pushes back the shadows of the late hour. As he turns the corner of Highland and Chestnut, his eyes narrow at the commotion ahead. Growing nearer to the scene, twirling red and blue lights slice through the darkness.

The world is fading at the edges, the seatbelt restraining you like an unyielding captor. It’s keeping you from fully slumping forward, your chin resting against your clavicle. The roaring blaze reaches out to you, its fiery touch trailing cruel, burning kisses across your skin.

Gradually, you begin to sink into the earth. Death curls its finger at you, urging you to lie at rest in the ground for eternity. Simultaneously, the firemen work skillfully to free you from the burning structure. Sparks fly from the jaws of life that sever the driver’s side door from the frame.

Eddie lets up, his speed dropping as he nears the intersection. The blinding flashes of color blur in his peripheral while he cranes his neck, trying to see through the blockade of emergency vehicles. It’s a fleeting glance, far too obstructed to make out what happened. By the time Eddie is past the scene, he’s sure he’ll be reading about someone’s tragic death in the newspaper. There’s a twisted comfort in knowing he’s not the only one suffering. For a brief, sickening moment, he wonders if his misery compares.

A while later, lakeside with the doors wide open, Eddie lies in the back of his van, dragging a long hit from his cigarette. The wispy cig smoke swirls as he tries to cloud away the soreness of his broken promise. More specifically, the trust in your eyes when he swore he’d be home on time. Eddie hasn’t seen you that excited in god knows how long. The image of your genuine smile gnaws at him.

The argument replays in his mind, but it's the frailty of your delivery that cuts through, embedding itself deep under his skin. It was just a bad fight, because that’s what couples do, they fight. Surely, you’ll come back. You’ll hug, make up, and everything will go back to normal. Except that’s what got him into this mess in the first place. Things can’t go back to how they were.

The ambulance rattles over the cracked pavement resulting from the latest blackberry winter. Strapped to the gurney, you wade in and out of consciousness, tethered between worlds.

Although your eyelids are drooping, you can still see. It’s like peering through a frosted window, a pearlescent haze distorting your vision, reddened by the blood trickling from the gash in your forehead.

The hospital corridors reverberate the gurney’s clinking, its wheels wobbling as you’re rushed forward. The bag valve mask does little to ease your labored breathing. Once you’re in the operating room, the surgeons move swiftly, working to stop the internal bleeding.

After chain-smoking, Eddie checks his watch: half past midnight. His body protests the excess. If his head were to roll off his shoulders, he wouldn’t notice. During the drive home, his eyes track the endless white dashes that get swallowed up by the front of his van.

He’s worn down, and when he’s like this, he can’t predict what he’s capable of. Eddie decides to sleep on it, hoping to avoid whatever reckless choices he’d come to regret. Clothes discarded in a jumbled heap on the floor, Eddie strips down before crawling into bed. The nicotine buzz dissipates quickly, leaving behind an agitated nagging that refuses to let him be.

The vacant space beside him is a persistent reminder of what's missing, the unease keeping him awake. No matter how much he tosses and turns, the other half of the bed remains untouched. It would be wrong to take advantage of the extra room, he feels the need to respect that it belongs to you.

Eddie listens to the sounds he hasn’t picked up on in a while. The crickets chirping outside the window, the buzz of the old refrigerator, and distant dogs barking. Together, they form a disjointed cradlesong, gradually dulling his awareness of everything around him. But it’s the sound of your faint snoring that he craves, the lullaby that always grounded him.

The whirring of the machine anchors you in the sterile stillness of the hospital room. Its steady, mechanical pumping guides your unnatural breaths. With broken ribs, each breath is an involuntary struggle, shallow and ragged because your chest is unwilling to expand.

A cocktail of sedatives and anesthetics has drawn you deep into unconsciousness. The doctors call it a miracle that you’re alive, but you being placed in a medically induced coma is less of a victory and more like purgatory.

The constant wriggling and rolling over continued; it was a fitful night. Only at the first light of dawn did Eddie finally slip into a deep, uninterrupted sleep. The sun has long risen. Its rays spill over the trailer as Eddie stays beneath the comforter, the weight of slumber still holding him down. When he finally stirs, it’s well past noon.

Last night, he was supposed to enjoy an intimate dinner, make love, and wake up with you safely tucked in his arms. Instead, he searches for the comfort of your warmth, only to find the cold, barren stretch of the bed where you should be.

Recalling the unsteadiness in your eyes hits him hard. Faced with the raw, exposed nerve, you were worn down to the point of giving up on him entirely. Eddie should have recognized the risk he was running; the possibility of losing you was ever-present. Nonetheless, he still won’t admit to himself that you meant what you said.

Eddie forces himself out of bed, showers, and pulls on a fresh outfit. Afterward, he sweeps the glass off the floor, carefully collecting the shards and tossing them into the trash.

The kitchen isn’t a shitshow by any means, but he chooses to clean up the food left out from last night and wipes down the counters. The least he can do is try to make the kitchen more presentable. When he’s finished, it’s not as neat as you tend to keep it, but he wants to do something to atone for his part in the mess.

Keys in hand, Eddie leaves the trailer, stepping into the morning with the conviction that the worst is actually behind him this time. The weight of last night’s events still lingers, but he’s determined that all that’s left is to smooth things over. Familiar with your habits enough to suspect where you might have gone, he starts the short drive.

When he arrives at Robin’s address, the parking lot is mostly empty. It strikes him as odd. He expected to see at least your car, if not hers as well. A creeping unease settles over him, as persistent as the dense gray clouds overhead, waiting for the right moment to unleash their downpour.

Without hesitation, he heads straight for Family Video. If Robin isn’t at home, that’s the next most likely place she’d be. Yet, even as he pursues the route, Eddie can’t get past the fact that your car is unaccounted for.

Caught in a whirlwind, he stumbles as he hops out of his van. After finding his footing, each step is heavy against the asphalt. Eddie swings open the glass door of Family Video.

The cool air inside greets him like a welcome escape, cutting through the stifling humidity left behind outside. Eddie leans his tattooed forearms against the counter while searching for Robin. A few customers wander between aisles, but there’s no sign of the familiar, unflattering green vests of the employees.

The door chime rings, but she doesn’t immediately emerge from the back room. When Robin does make her delayed appearance, she pauses at the sight of Eddie. Her expression warps slightly as she blinks hard as if trying to clear her eyes and make sure he’s really there.

“What’s with the face?” Eddie raises an eyebrow at her reaction. "You’re looking at me like I’m the last person you wanted to see."

“I wouldn’t put it like that.” She resumes sorting through the returned tapes since focusing on the task is the easiest way to avoid meeting his gaze. “I just didn’t expect you to be here.”

“Really? I mean, I stopped by your place, but it didn’t look like anyone was home so-” Eddie’s posture straightens and he wrings the back of his neck. "Anyway, uh, I'm guessing you’re up to speed with what went down. She stayed with you last night, right?"

“No, she didn’t,” Robin responds curtly, a frown tugging at her eyes.

”What do you mean, no? Where the hell did she go then?”

Robin freezes, switching her attention entirely to Eddie. She studies the bewildered worry etched across Eddie's face, interpreting his expression as truthful. “She’s in the ICU.”

Blood surges to his head, a high-pitched ringing overtaking his ears like the aftermath of an explosion in the video store. Eddie jabs an accusatory point with his pinky finger in her direction. “Don’t bullshit me, man. I’ve just about had it with the overacting of this whole thing.”

“Dude, I swear to God. I’m not lying. I got the call this morning.”

“And you didn’t think to open with that?!” Eddie’s voice erupts, drawing startled stares from nearby shoppers as heads swivel in his direction.

Robin flashes her palms in a gesture of surrender. “I thought you knew!”

“Son of a bitch!” Already having spun around, Eddie barrels through the glass door, the bell jangling violently in his wake. He leaps into his van, tires screeching as he peels out of the lot, pushing twenty miles per hour over the speed limit down the weatherworn streets.

When he arrives in the hospital parking lot, his van comes to a halt at a crooked angle. He doesn’t bother locking his car, his focus already fixed on the entrance, his heart pounding like a war drum in his chest.

Eddie skims the wall directory for the intensive care unit. Then, he powers up the stairwell, taking two steps at a time. His eyes flit over the endless stretch of identical, harshly lit hallways, of which make it easy to get turned around. Borderline jogging, the panic in Eddie’s stride carries him as he dodges staff along the way.

He defiantly ignores the "medical personnel only" sign, his desperation outweighing any sense of caution. A woman’s voice calls out, urgent and commanding, "Get security!" Then, directed at Eddie, someone shouts, "Young man, you can’t go in there!"

His shoes squeak as he comes to a halt. Frantically inspecting the area, his chest heaves. The digging pang in his side from his body objecting to the exertion barely registers.

Then, he spots your name listed on a whiteboard. It’s like a jolt to his system. Eddie crosses the threshold into your room and his heart is gouged from his chest, ripped clean from the cavity at the sight before him.

Wrapped in fresh gauze, you're a painful patchwork of bruises—raisin and rust-colored burns marring your skin. The sickening blend of hues makes you look like a beloved doll, battered and scribbled on with a permanent marker.

Eddie stands frozen, words failing him. “Shit… Sweetheart,” He approaches your bedside and reaches for you, his fingers just about to brush yours. But, before he can make contact, a security guard yanks him back. The man's grip is firm on Eddie’s arm, stopping him cold.

“No!” Eddie bellows, his voice hoarse, “Get your fucking hands off me!” His composure crumbles as he fights against the guard’s firm hold. For a few brief seconds, he resists, but his strength gives way. Eddie is hauled away.

Eddie’s furious, but astonishingly, he respects the stern warning he receives. If he resists, it’ll only make things worse for you. Enough damage has been done as is. The last thing he can afford is being thrown out of the hospital. Or worse, arrested.

In the third-floor waiting room, two people sit together. Their eyes follow Eddie as he enters and chooses a chair on the opposite side of the room. Sitting by the window would give him the benefit of vitamin D, a small chance to feel lighter, but he deliberately avoids it. He won’t allow himself to bask in the sun’s warmth while you’re hanging on by a thread.

The room is no bigger than fifteen by eleven feet, and it’s isolating. As the adrenaline drains from his body, his limbs turn to lead. Eddie’s eyelids grow heavy, his body sinking into the firm armchair. Visitors filter in and out, their stares constantly on him as he dozes upright.

Throughout the afternoon, respiratory specialists run tests, but you’ll be incapable of breathing on your own for some time. The machine remains lodged in your throat until further notice.

A tall, older male doctor enters the otherwise empty waiting room. “Mr. Munson?” He asks, his tone flat and impersonal.

Eddie stirs, his frizzy curls flying as he shakes off the drowsiness. “Yeah, yes. That’s, uh, that’s me,” he mutters and rubs his face. “How is she doing? Can I see her?””

“No, not yet. But she’s stable. The acute agonal respiration has…”

Eddie blinks, his mind sluggish at trying to comprehend the medical jargon. It’s like a foreign language, and he has no fucking clue what the doctor is saying. He clings to the fragments, trying to make sense of the complicated terminology. Eddie searches for any hints on the doctor’s face that offer him an understanding of what’s being explained.

“...A coma has been induced to allow her a better chance at healing. With that, we’re hoping to see a reduction in brain swelling. Although, I do regret to inform you that the likelihood of her waking is a matter of if, not when.”

It feels as if the roof is caving in on Eddie, shoving him down through the layers of the earth until he’s swallowed by the molten core. Grief consumes him, leaving him numb, as though the blood in his veins has slowed to a crawl.

“If she does rouse, there’s a likelihood that she’ll experience anterograde amnesia. It’s not uncommon under these particular circumstances.”

“And what circumstances are we talking about exactly? Eddie shifts to the edge of his seat, dragging his palm roughly over his mouth. 

“Oh, my apologies. I was under the impression that someone already told you. She was involved in a motor vehicle collision.”

“Wait.” Eddie closes his eyes, trying to keep up as the terms begin to register. “Amnesia meaning like, she won’t recognize me?” 

The doctor opens and closes his fist, catching Eddie’s concern before he can spiral. “No, no. She shouldn’t have trouble retrieving memories. It’s consolidation that could be affected. Only temporarily, we hope.”

The realization that you were in the burning car he’d driven past causes his stomach to churn. “Alright, thanks.” Eddie sends the doctor off and watches him exit the room. Once alone, he crumples into the chair and sobs. In a futile attempt to quiet himself, he sinks his top teeth into his knuckles, trying to suppress the whimpers that escape.

What is he supposed to do, is he going to start praying to a god he doesn’t believe in? With his optimism beyond pulverized, Eddie is overcome with the fear of losing you. Amidst the chaos of the present, he’s lost sight of everything that truly mattered.

Minutes turn into hours of droplets pattering against the thick panes of glass, gathering into winding streams that race down the window. Eddie tries to talk some sense into himself, but every sliver of hope is dashed. Berating himself, he repeatedly runs through the list of things he should’ve done differently.

Though it’s unbearable, Eddie shoulders the responsibility of notifying your friends and family. The room is filled with the relentless sound of water rapping against the window, its clatter drowning out Eddie’s bawling. He drifts in and out of crying fits, his body trembling with each painful cough. 

A twister of bleak thoughts rips through Eddie, reducing him to rubble. It’s impossible to process each emotion when they all scream and claw at him in unison, demanding accountability. Despite his failure to express it when it mattered most, he’s still deeply in love with you. Not that anything can be done about it now.

Right now, it’s the quiet moments he craves. Those small, tender things he may never get to experience again. One, though, rises above the rest, a memory he longs to lose himself in.

In the moments after Eddie made love to you for the first time, you were in his bed on your stomach. A drowsy, content hum emanated from your lips as you basked in the afterglow of your climax. The satisfied grin on your face made you look ethereal, a sight that left him breathless.

Eddie gently traced the curve of your spine with the tips of his fingers as you slept, his touch a whisper against your naked skin. He wasn’t questioning whether your peaceful state meant he was good in the sack. No, at that moment, he was certain of one thing: you were the very heartbeat of his existence, the one thing that made everything else pale in comparison.

Left by his lonesome in the same damn armchair, Eddie watches the storm outside. His feet are propped up on another chair he dragged in front of him, his arms crossed over his chest. By eight o'clock, the staff still won’t allow him to visit you. He confined himself to the waiting room, pacing back and forth, his nerves stretched thin.

Every hour or so, he’s been a recurring face at the nurses' station, pestering anyone who will acknowledge him. The answers he gets are the same. She’s stable. We’ll update you as soon as anything changes. Eddie doesn’t argue, but each time he hears the repetitive reassurances, it feels like a blade twisting in his gut.

Just when he’s about to get up to head for the counter again, a nurse enters the waiting room, her face kind but firm. "Hun, you need to go home. Get some rest, eat something. The last thing we need is you in here for starvation."

He’s been so distraught that it’s now just dawning on him how hungry he is. In all honesty, he could use a cigarette as well. "I’m fine. Really." Eddie dismisses her concern. Returning his attention to the window, he catches his reflection in the glass; the fatigue is apparent on his face.

The nurse understands his reluctance, so she tries again. "We’ll call you as soon as we have an update to share. But at this time, there hasn’t been any regression in her condition. She’s-"

“Stable, I know," Eddie mutters, but it’s barely more than a breath.

She nods, her grin small and tinged with sympathy. She leaves knowing he indirectly agreed. His joints pop when he rises to his feet, moving on autopilot. Once he's left the room, he casts a final glance at the entrance to the ICU, the very one he had burst through.

Eddie does go home, but it feels like a fruitless decision. He sulks, taking a shower so long that his skin prunes, the water running over him as if it could wash away the shame. He commits himself to the couch, too tired to think but unable to doze off.

The six-pack comes next. If there’s anything Eddie can do successfully, it’s drink himself blurry. One beer after another, it manages to take the edge off. Drunkenly napping, he’s overtired and underfed. The alcohol does little to weaken the ache inside him, and his subconscious takes full advantage.

Half-lucid memories of you slip through the cracks: fragments of conversations, your laughter and liveliness. But somewhere in the depths, the past begins to twist, charring everything he cherishes.

The odor of smoke curls thick around him, its stench choking his every breath. An unfamiliar house is before him engulfed in flames. A monstrous wall of orange and red licking the sky. He hears your scream, but you’re nowhere to be seen.

Eddie rushes forward, the heat pressing down on him, his skin starting to blister. He reaches the front door only to find it locked. Pounding on it with his fists does nothing but cause smoke to pour out from the seams. The ear-splitting snap of the second-story floorboards buckling shakes the very foundation of the house.

Then he sees you, standing in the window, your face twisted in panic. The flames are rising around you, the glass fracturing as the heat pushes harder against it. Eddie shouts your name and tries to tell you to get away from the window, but his voice has vanished. The pane blows and the fire consumes everything, including you.

A blinding flash of electricity splits the darkness, followed by an earth-shattering crack that’s felt throughout Forest Hills. The mobile home rattles in its wake, startling Eddie awake. He’s disoriented, but the low hiss of the TV across the room anchors him. It reminds him of where he is: stuck in a living nightmare.

In the following days, Eddie’s shifts at the factory are significantly shorter. His coworkers pitch in to cover for him and help with the impending medical bills. He’s skipped playing with his band, avoiding the familiar faces and the music that used to occupy his time. His world has shrunk to the four walls of the trailer.

Eddie’s doing just enough to keep the bills paid and himself fed, but the rest of his time is spent in waiting. Waiting for the phone to ring, for any updates, for confirmation that you’re going to be okay.

He’s filled page after page of his sketchbook with nothing but mindless scribbles, aimless shapes that lack any recognizable form. The crosswords in the newspapers were attempted, only to be crumpled up in frustration. Eddie tossed them haphazardly across the room, each throw a futile attempt to land them in the wastebasket. Every ball of paper on the floor is a reminder of how little control he has over anything.

After what feels like a lifetime, the phone rings. Fucking finally. Eddie’s pulse hammers, his mind racing with all the worst-case scenarios. After being so patient, he’s not sure if he’s ready to hear what’s on the other end. What if they’re calling to tell him it’s too late? What if he’s lost you before he ever had a chance to make things right?

The voice is calm, but the words hit him like a train: she's breathing on her own and out of critical condition. Eddie exhales shakily, his clammy grip on the phone tightening.

By the time he parks and walks into the hospital, it feels like every step is pulling him closer to what he’s both desperate for and terrified of. Having been moved to a room outside of the ICU, Eddie finds his way down the hall to your door.

He halts just outside and squeezes his eyes shut for a fleeting second, inhaling so deeply it feels like his lungs could burst. And then, he crosses the threshold. The tightness in his chest relents at how pretty you look. 

As though he’s trying to avoid waking you, he moves gingerly, dragging a chair over to your bedside to sit. Slightly reclined, you lay there with your head on the plush pillow. The heart rate monitor is a minor consolation, a reminder that you’re still alive.

“My sweet angel.” Taking your unmoving hand in his, Eddie’s touch is gentle like you're made of glass. Your hand is caressed as unexplored territory to him, contrary to him having held this hand a thousand times before. It feels like a first introduction, the way his fingers interlock with yours.

Remaining silent, he’s lost in thought, unsure if you could even hear him if he spoke. Surely, you're still in there somewhere. With his burnt caramel irises downcast, he can’t bring himself to look at you for more than a few seconds at a time. His other senses grow sharper, heightening to detect the slightest sign that you’re aware of him. A twitch or anything that might suggest that you can feel him.

Your motionlessness is killing him, but there’s a tranquility in it. Beneath the bruises and stitches, you’re still the love of his life. Eddie softly presses his lips to the back of your hand. The tears that run astray trickle down his cheeks, each salty droplet holding a memory.

Eddie isn’t ready for you to become a real angel. If you were to draw your final breath, he'd spend the rest of his days searching for white feathers or shapes in the fluffy clouds. He would go to great lengths to find evidence suggesting that you're still with him.

“Baby, I owe you an apology. More like a million of ‘em.” Eddie pauses. “I am so fucking sorry. And I know that doesn’t mean shit, believe me. I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

Instead of using his free hand to wipe away the tears, Eddie places it on top of yours, your hand now sandwiched between his. “If I'm being totally straight with you,” he begins, his voice breaking, “I’m scared shitless that you aren’t gonna wake up.”

The pressure is building behind his eyes, the tears threatening to fall faster. Unable to bear the thought of you seeing him like this, Eddie momentarily turns his head away. He clenches his jaw and he squeezes his eyes shut, willing the tears back. He forces himself to focus on your hand in his, because it’s the only thing keeping him from completely falling apart.

“I can’t imagine how tired you are of me. If you wanna let go… I understand,” Eddie sniffles loudly, trying to regain some semblance of control over his emotions. “But I want you to stay, baby. I’m not done being selfish yet. I just, I need you to come back to me. I promise I won’t take you for granted this time.”

It feels like he’s on a bullet train, the outside world soaring by at lightning speed while the hospital room has frozen in time. “I swear to Christ, I’ll never make you feel alone like that again. No more broken promises.” Eddie hooks his pinky finger with yours.

From hereon, Eddie refuses to leave your side. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he wasn’t there if you needed him. There’s no chance that he’s going to be separated from you for longer than absolutely necessary. 

The staff, seeing Eddie’s determination to stay by your side, take pity on him and bring him ham and cheese sandwiches, tomato soup with crackers, anything to keep him nourished. The thought of you being unable to eat awakens the residing guilt inside him. Instead of dwelling on it, he prioritizes the simple task of keeping himself going. That way, he can be here for you if you finally wake up.

Eddie’s sanity begins to fray from being confined to the small room, but the stream of visitors coming to see you keeps him relatively grounded. Over the rest of the week, the atmosphere transforms vibrantly, shifting from sterile to something almost cheerful.

Gifts from Wayne, his bandmates, and your family add bursts of life to the space. Themed balloons, heartfelt greeting cards, and colorful floral arrangements line the windowsill, reminiscent of a blooming spring meadow.

He wishes more than anything that you could see how incredibly loved you are by everyone who walks through that door. At the same time, part of him is almost relieved that you don’t have to experience the toll this ordeal has taken on your body.

Every other day, Robin stops by. She brings Eddie clean clothes from home, along with distractions like old issues from his Heavy Metal magazine collection. Each visit feels like a lifeline; Robin’s wit and genuine concern for you reminds him that he’s not facing this alone.

At his insistence, Robin ‘keeps you company’ while he takes brisk showers in the private bathroom, always returning in record time, afraid he might miss something. Per his request, she even brings nail polish in your favorite color so that he can paint your fingernails.

Regardless of having the privilege of being with you at all, it’s a hollow solace. Eddie’s mind remains a battlefield, overrun by relentless self-reproach. He ruined the best thing that ever happened to him. If he hadn’t messed everything up, there wouldn’t have been a fight, and you wouldn’t have walked out that night.

The weeks bleed together, the hospital room becoming a second home as Eddie clings to the vulnerable thread of hope.

Currently, he’s slouched in the same uncomfortable chair. If it weren’t made of wood, it would have an impression of his rear end by now. He’s been reading aloud to you from a novel, his voice mildly animated while his fingertips trace imaginary shapes on your arm.

The heart rate monitor, nothing more than a forgotten backdrop of rhythmic beeps, shows a distinct change. The words falter on Eddie’s tongue mid-sentence as he jolts upright. The book slips from his lap and hits the floor with a thud, utterly forgotten. Eddie’s eyes lock onto the monitor, scanning its display.

He's certain his mind is playing tricks on him. That is, until the pattern repeats. "Holy shit." Eddie takes your hand, his eyes darting between your face and the monitor. "I’m here, baby."

Your eyelids twitch and then begin to retract, although not fully. It’s like the clouds are dispersing, and the sky is slowly stitching itself back together as you emerge from the depths within yourself.

Brimming with unshed tears, Eddie’s eyes glisten like jewels. “Hi, sweetheart,” he coos with a tender squeeze of your hand. “I missed you.”

Reblogs are greatly appreciated! ♡

Thank you for reading xo

★My Masterlist

Once Wayne’s treasures and mementos were long gone, the space felt more unfamiliar than ever. Eddie’s bedroom, in comparison, remained unchanged. He’d never truly lived with a woman, much less a long-term girlfriend.

With your arms folded tightly across your chest, you took in the disheveled bedroom. You didn’t want to overstep any boundaries, but it was your room too now. “Could we maybe take some of these posters down?”

Feigning annoyance at your request, Eddie released a husky groan. Did he love his band posters? Abso-fucking-lutely. But tearing them down was a small price to pay for getting to be with you every day. “Fine,” he sighed dramatically, “But the Corroded Coffin banner stays up.”

His expression turned on a dime, and his lips twisted into a devilish smile. Before you could anticipate Eddie’s next move, you were pulled into his embrace. The unnecessarily secure hug caused your giggle to strain. “Eddieee! Too tight!” You squealed. 

The sounds you made filled his chest with a golden warmth. It spread through the rest of his body like sweet, gooey honey. Eddie chuckled deeply with amusement and loosened his arms a bit.

When his gaze met yours, he hummed with contentment. “This is your castle now, princess,” Eddie said while looking back and forth between your eyes. “I know it’s not much. Someday, I’m gonna get you a house. With a yard and all that fancy shit.”

You smiled and stroked the rosy apple of his cheek with your thumb. “You’re my home. But if we’re talking houses, just know that I’m perfectly happy growing old together in this tin can.”

“Is that so? You don’t think you’ll get sick of me anytime soon?”

“While it’s not entirely unlikely, it’s probably in your best interest to stay on my good side,” You squinted at him. Traces of your previous smile lingered in the upturned corners of your lips, but you tried to come across as serious.

Eddie’s tongue peeked out to wet his lower lip. “How much trouble would I be in if I said I’m not taking down a single poster unless you make me?”

“A lot of trouble.”

He beamed at you, “Yeah?” Eddie’s deft fingers found your sides, and instantly, you were lying on your back on the bed. He tickled you mercilessly, to the extent that you were so laughed out that you could no longer beg him to stop.

A year has passed since then. Living with Eddie has been just about as unpredictable as he is as a person. The air, once saccharine, now leaves a sour aftertaste. You hoped it would fade over time, but it’s only gotten more prominent as the weeks have passed.

As it turns out, adulthood is fucking difficult. Doing his damnedest to manage his responsibilities, he’s been in over his head for longer than he’s willing to admit.

For starters, he’s been playing twice a week at Wraith, a venue located 41 minutes outside of Hawkins. On top of that, Corroded Coffin’s permanent gig requires consistent late practice sessions.

The greatest challenge is his job at the Brassline Industries factory. Gone are the days when he sold weed to irresponsible teens to have a extra fun-money. Eddie is a grown-ass man now, with a grown-ass job. Due to his demanding schedule, you don’t see much of him during the day anymore.

Frankly, you don’t see him much at all. There’s always something that he has to tend to. I promised Jeff I’d help him move out of his ex’s place. The band’s van is on the fritz, I have to go to Gareth’s to work on it. Terry called in sick at the factory, so I have to pull a double.

You’ve tried to tell yourself that his ever-growing absence isn’t personal. But unknowingly, you’ve been making excuses for your boyfriend’s inability to make time for you. 

Eddie begins each day with the sunrise. Once in a blue moon, he’ll kiss your forehead while you’re curled under the worn blankets. Unaware and asleep, you don’t get to savor the gesture of waning affection. More often than not, when he finally comes home, you’re exactly where he left you—unconscious and beyond taxed from your job. Hell, you work hard too.

Your relationship has been suffering in all aspects of the intimacy department. Most importantly, the two of you haven’t had sex in over two months. Stuck with pent-up sexual frustration, Eddie has been feeling nothing short of unsatisfied. It’s gotten to the point that rubbing one out is a chore more than anything.

It’s not like he hasn’t tried connecting with you that way. On a few occasions, he climbed into bed beside you as he normally would. But instead of succumbing to exhaustion like you had, his hands slipped beneath your pajamas and traced your body.

Was it low to be copping a feel? Yes. But Eddie’s self-restraint had fizzled out. He knew it wouldn’t happen if he didn’t try. Regardless, you rolled over or pushed him away, mumbling in semi-cognizant disinterest. Having been rejected on several occasions, Eddie’s hurt feelings have brought on a distant shift in his demeanor when your days happen to overlap. Worse yet, his internal thunder matches the rumble of your own.

At this rate, you’re roommates at best. Hardly so, given that he’s rarely home. What a way to be treated after you’ve been nothing but patient and supportive of his life choices. Truly, you’re happy that Eddie has things in his life that bring him fulfillment, but you can’t help wishing you were one of them.

There’s a strong possibility that talking through it could resolve the tension, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything about it. How pathetic it would be for you to beg for his undivided attention. You’re not sure you’re worth his while. Thinking you could tough it out, you’ve broken your heart by waiting for him to realize how lonesome you’ve been.

Instead of counting sheep, you lay and wonder if it's fate that the two of you have grown apart. It’s killing you to continue pretending that this isn’t torturous. You’ve abandoned parts of yourself to keep this love afloat, and there were no lifeboats in sight from the start.

What you and Eddie have is defined by more than its worst moments, but you’ve long since abandoned all faith that this is just a rough patch. A day where anything changes for the better remains a pipe dream. Every once in a while, you find yourself wishing he’d do something unspeakably horrible to you, just so that all of the pain would be justified.

You’ve bid farewell to the moments that once meant so much. Because it really is the little things that make you nauseous to reminisce about. Light years ago, Eddie couldn’t bear to have you out of reach for more than a few minutes. He'd wrap his arms around your waist and whisper sweet nothings in your ear while you washed dishes in the kitchen sink. Frequently, he’d pull you closer by the belt loops of your jeans to kiss you with fervor after spending a few hours apart. Back then, hours felt like an eternity. They still do, just differently.

You’re not missed and it stings. Or at the very least, you’re not missed enough for him to make an effort. Up until today, you were searching for reasons to stay. He hasn’t provided any, yet you decide to give him one final chance.

Eddie will be home for dinner; he swore on it. Hence, why you’ve been in a frenzy since you got off work. For once, you’re cooking, something you haven’t done in what feels like ages. It’s no surprise that eating lost all significance when you’ve been surviving off of takeout leftovers and cold pizza. Maybe all it’ll take is a shared meal for things to change.

In actuality, you don’t truly believe that. The desire to impress him is undeniable, and it’s going to take more than a home-cooked meal to salvage what’s left. How the evening goes will determine where you belong, whether it be in his life or elsewhere.

Your outfit isn’t remarkable, although it is a step up from your typical at-home wear. After fixing your hair and applying a bit of makeup, you feel presentable. The uneasy feeling stirring in your belly is all too familiar. It reminds you of your first date with Eddie. You shouldn’t feel this nervous when you’ve been together for as long as you have.

The crushing truth is that, if you look pretty enough, he’ll remember that you exist. Perhaps he’ll look at you the way he used to. You hope that gussying up and a hot dinner will be how you win him back for good.

Eddie swore he’d be home by six fifteen at the latest. Nevertheless, the steam rising off of the food dissipates as it grows cold. For the umpteenth time, you check the wall clock. The same clock that you’ve been checking nonstop for 20 minutes.

Counting down the second hand, you concede defeat at the forty-five-minute mark of his tardiness. Time has always had a way of throwing it all in your face. You should’ve known better than to trust that he’d show.

None of this made a difference because Eddie didn’t even give it a chance to. The final nail in the coffin: was it his choices, or his refusal to choose you, that led to this? It could’ve been the lack of effort or the intentional cold shoulder. It could be that you’re not what he wants anymore. Not like it makes a difference.

Seated at the table for two near the front door, the chair squeaks as you stand. For a moment, you consider blowing out the candles you’d lit to set the mood. But would it be such a tragedy if the trailer caught fire, taking you with it?

In the kitchen, you step over to the sink and fill your glass with water. You gulp it down, the milk-tinted liquid a poor substitute for the meal you slaved over and didn’t take a bite of. The swirling in your abdomen intensifies, becoming all the more vicious.

Without a second thought, you chuck the fragile crystal onto the worn linoleum, scattering jagged shards across the floor toward the dining table. Not dissimilar to the cup you’ve just destroyed, you crumble. Your spine slams into the cupboard with a thud as you slide down in front of the sink. The rage in your head drowns everything else, so much so that you don't recognize the pain of your tailbone meeting the floor with such force.

At 9:45, the trailer door creaks open and slams shut, the sound cutting through the quiet like a knife. The dim living space is lit only by the flicker of candles and the distant light pouring out from the end of the hallway.

Eddie toes off his grimy steel-toed work boots. His lips part as he drapes his jacket over the back of the dining chair nearest to him. He surveys the living room and kitchen, noticing how unusually tidy everything is.

Eddie examines the set table, where the plated food has been sitting for hours. The sinking feeling that was weighing on his chest during the drive over is gone while he’s distracted by the effort you put in. It looks great in here, and Eddie can’t help but wonder how nice you must look, too.

He’s lost in the notion that maybe he’s escaped the worst of it, that he won’t be in deep shit for showing up late. That is until his eyes land on the broken cup and glass scattered on the floor.

The soft, sidetracked smile on his lips fades. Confusion flashes across his face. Carefully, Eddie sidesteps the mess and makes his way toward the bedroom, the only place you could be. With your back to him, you seem to be angrily putting laundry away into the dresser.

Eddie lingers in the doorway, his fingers twisting and untwisting as he wrings his hands. “Hey, sorry I’m late,” He says cautiously.

It’s no surprise that not calling to inform you he’d be late would piss you off. But still, that poor laundry didn’t do anything to deserve the way you’re handling it. Only then do his eyes narrow at the realization that you’re not putting away clothes; you’re shoving them into a duffel bag.

Eddie’s voice lowers in pitch, “What are you doing?”

You don’t turn to face him, nor do you respond. Choosing silence, you yank open the top drawer of the dresser, grabbing fistfuls of socks and underwear. You cram them into the bag alongside the shirts and pants already packed.

Eddie used to be the one finishing your sentences, but now it’s you who’ll be finishing his. You can already anticipate the same tired excuses, the ones you’ve heard over and over again. With the duffle bag unzipped and its strap slung over your shoulder, you pivot, intent on slipping past Eddie and out of the room without a word.

As you move to brush by, his arm shoots out to block the doorway and stop you in your tracks. Eddie keeps his arm extended as he grips the opposite side of the doorframe. “I’m talking to you. Where the hell are you going?”

Forced to meet his gaze, you lock eyes. Your expression is just as hardened, but unlike Eddie’s, your eyes are marbled with dilated blood vessels. “Honestly, I don’t know. But I’m getting the fuck out of here.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” he scoffs, “You can’t be serious.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Your icy, unblinking stare falters as you release the shallow breath trapped in your lungs. “I'm done. I’m not gonna wait around for you anymore.”

“Gimme a goddamn break.” Eddie shakes his head and rolls his eyes. The palpable tension worsens as you fight for the strength to stand your ground. He's doubling down by the sheer audacity of playing dumb.

His defensive expression is a tangled mess. His brows furrow, casting sharp shadows over his eyes, which are darting between yours. “Two people called in. I couldn’t have been here if I wanted to.”

"That right there- that’s exactly what I'm talking about. There’s never a gap between you and a good excuse. I’ll give it to ya, you’re nothing if not consistent.” Your lips remain slightly parted, and a subtle tilt of your head dares him to come up with yet another excuse.

Eddie trips over his words, scrambling for a response. You set out to leave him dumbstruck, and that’s exactly what you’ve done. Seizing the moment, you duck beneath his arm and walk into the bathroom.

This makes his patience burn through its fuse at an alarming rate. Eddie intentionally bites down on his tongue, as if he’s trying to resist the urge to cuss you out. With his jaw clenched, Eddie spins on his heels to face you. “Oh, I see how it is. Just because I’m a little late, you think I’m bullshitting you. Is that it?”

The widening rift between you makes it clear that honesty has no place here. He'd rather die than admit that. So, Eddie keeps prodding, throwing verbal jabs at you in a desperate attempt to regain your attention.

Meanwhile, you rummage through the bathroom drawers, gathering necessities, determined not to let him distract you. Despite grasping at straws to keep you here, his words hang in the air, unanswered.

The beat of your heart thumps wildly in your ears as feverish heat radiates in your bones. The fire in your chest spreads, searing your throat as the flames climb higher. The blistering smoke stings your eyes, bringing fresh tears and making your nose run.

“Well played, babe.” Eddie chuckles, the sound bouncing off the thin walls as he trails you into the living room. "I gotta give it to ya, you’re really nailing the act. But you can quit the theatrics, alright? I get your point.”

“No, you clearly don’t.” You put your shoes on, swallowing a whimper so thick that it’s suffocating. Your resolve feels like it's coming undone, each stitch of your composure pulling loose, one by one.

With his arms folded across his chest, there’s a challenge to his stance. “You’re acting like the world’s fucking ending over one missed dinner!”

After tying your shoes, you rise to your feet. "Just one dinner, Eddie? That’s why you think I’m leaving?” Stepping toward him, you drive your pointer finger into Eddie’s chest with deliberate force.

This catches him off-guard, causing his eyes to widen. The accusing pressure of your finger digging into his chest, paired with the expression on your face—neither of which he ever imagined would be aimed at him.

“You couldn’t be more wrong.” You pull your hand back, the sting of your touch lingering on his skin thereafter. Grabbing the duffel bag, you make your way to the front door. A squeal rings out from the hinges when you push it open, and the cool air hits your cheeks as you walk out.

For so long, all you wanted was him. Now, just being in the same room is unbearable.

You try to close the door behind you, but Eddie stops it before it clicks shut. His presence persists as he follows you outside, his socks catching on the rough concrete as he steps down the three stairs. “I don’t like this. Come on, let's just go back in and talk it out."

Under the cloak of night, with only the light spilling from the wide-open front door of the trailer to find your way, you head for your car. Your fingers grip the keys so tightly that they dig into your palm. The door lock pops up, and you toss your bag onto the passenger seat, and slide into the car, pulling the door shut.

Through the windshield, you see him begin walking toward the car. His hand hangs in the air, suspended, like he’s about to call out to you.

You start the car, shifting into reverse just before he’s close enough to be in the way. The engine hums as you back out, the trailer park fading from view in the side mirror as you drive away.

As your tail lights disappear around the bend, Eddie’s legs nearly give way beneath him. His breathing slows from its hastened pace, his eyes locked on where your car was parked, as if he's waiting for something, anything, to make sense.

The night feels endless, and the drive equally so. The hallway of Robin’s apartment building is narrow and dimly lit, with the faint scent of old carpet lingering in the air. 

After knocking, Robin calls out through the closed door, “If it’s not a pizza you’re peddling, I’m not interested.”

You sigh, worried about disturbing her neighbors at this hour. Stepping closer to the door, you press your words against the wood. "Buckley, it’s me."

Seconds later, the door swings open, revealing Robin in mismatched pajamas. She gives you a once-over as if trying to piece together what’s brought you to her doorstep unannounced. “You look like shit.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Your shoulders sag under the weight of it all, feeling worse than you appear.

Robin's face flickers with a twinge of guilt at the tone of your response. “Sorry,” She almost sounds apologetic as she steps aside to let you in. “I’m not gonna lie, I was kind of hoping you showed up with a pizza.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” You quip dryly, the lack of laughter speaking volumes to the weight you’ve brought with you.

The two of you plop down on the futon in her living room, and not long after, the floodgates open. Robin listens as best she can, though her concentration occasionally wanders as she struggles to make sense of your garbled blubbering.

Half a box of tissues later, you've managed to calm down some, but the hiccups continue to catch you off guard. "I’m such a fucking idiot. I can’t even remember the last time we did something like take a shower together. Honestly, to Eddie, I’m an afterthought at best and an inconvenience at worst.”

You crumple the used tissue in your fist, your sore eyes barely able to focus. They land on the pilled fleece of Robin’s pajama bottoms, too strained to linger anywhere else. “No wonder he isn’t in love with me anymore."

Robin frowns. "That can’t be true. He probably does still love you, maybe he’s just got a weird way of showing it?” She suggests, unsure if she’s said the right thing. To smooth over her uncertain response, Robin tries something else. Instead of gently stroking your back or wrapping an arm around you to squeeze reassuringly, she awkwardly taps the top of your nearest shoulder twice.

A sad smile tugs at your lips, recognizing her attempt to comfort you. The two of you sit in the long pause, letting the room breathe.

This was the worst fight you and Eddie had ever had, by a long shot. Sure, there have been trivial arguments, the kind that fizzled out without much back and forth. But this? This was different. It hadn’t reached the point where one of you stormed off.

If there had been more arguments prior, Eddie could’ve seen it coming; the big blowout, the one that shatters everything. But no. This came out of nowhere, blindsiding him completely. 

Shortly after you left Forest Hills, Eddie followed suit. He told himself a drive would help get his mind off things. Now, he drives aimlessly through the streets. Unable to shake the thought that you were waiting for him to fuck up and paint him as the bad guy. With Accept’s “Fast as a Shark” blaring from the stereo, the engine revs, his foot pressing harder on the gas.

As much as you appreciate Robin’s hospitality, you’ve overstayed your welcome. You don’t have to guess whether you have or not; her body language says it all, especially since she’s got work in the morning.

Taking mercy on her, you make your way toward the door. Before you go, you pull her into a firm hug. "Thanks for putting up with me."

“It’s not like I had much of a choice. You showed up on my doorstep like a sad stray puppy,” Robin jests and walks you to your car. She leans her arm on the top of the open door as you buckle your seatbelt behind the wheel. “Call me as soon as you get to the motel so I know that you didn’t get hit by a deer or something.”

You cock your head at her, visibly questioning the odd phrasing she chose.

“They could be plotting their revenge for that close call with that buck last month,” Robin says with a shrug, her tone teetering between casual and conspiratorial.

You’re immediately defensive, which causes your voice to climb. “Oh my god, I didn’t even hit it!”

“That’s neither here nor there. You nearly ran it over, which is more than enough reason for them to put a hit out on you.”

You turn the keys in the ignition, starting the engine. "I’ll tell you what, if you bring it up again, I’ll be the one plotting vengeance.” 

Robin smiles with a glint of mischief in her eyes. “You’ll let me know when you get there then?”

“Will do,” You agree, flicking the headlights on. The bright beams illuminate the front of her building. Truthfully, you’d much rather stay at Robin’s than at some dingy motel, but you can’t bring yourself to burden her further.

With a sympathetic expression, Robin pushes the car door closed, her palm raised in a half-wave as she turns to walk back inside. She doesn’t watch you pull away, trusting you to make it out of the parking lot without another deer encounter.

The drive across town drags on, each minute bleeding into the next as you twist the radio dial, hunting for a station that won’t cut out. The static buzzes in the background, interrupted only by faint, wavering melodies, as you keep your focus on finding the sweet spot.

It’s only when you glance up, that you realize you’re driving through a four-way intersection.

Glass shatters like hail as the driver’s side door takes the impact. The screech of tires finally ceases as your car lurches to a stop, the passenger side crushed inward by the trunk of a red oak tree. The other driver staggers out of their car, disoriented from the impact. They shout for help, frantically waving down a passing vehicle.

One by one, house lights flick on as residents abandon their windows and begin congregating on the sidewalk. They linger at a distance, uncertain how to act as flames start to crawl their way out from beneath the crumpled hood of your car.

Chatter and anxious glances ripple through the sparse crowd as the fire crackles against the wreckage. Dismal gray columns of smoke lift into the air as the inferno heats the mangled steel frame that cages your scathed body.

Meanwhile, Eddie is driving as though the act itself will leave his troubles behind. He’s seeking refuge in the spot he hasn’t visited in ages. Back then, Eddie would hide away at Lover’s Lake to decompress. That all changed when you came into his life, and he never had the need to return.

He takes a shortcut through the nearest neighborhood where the occasional streetlamp pushes back the shadows of the late hour. As he turns the corner of Highland and Chestnut, his eyes narrow at the commotion ahead. Growing nearer to the scene, twirling red and blue lights slice through the darkness.

The world is fading at the edges, the seatbelt restraining you like an unyielding captor. It’s keeping you from fully slumping forward, your chin resting against your clavicle. The roaring blaze reaches out to you, its fiery touch trailing cruel, burning kisses across your skin.

Gradually, you begin to sink into the earth. Death curls its finger at you, urging you to lie at rest in the ground for eternity. Simultaneously, the firemen work skillfully to free you from the burning structure. Sparks fly from the jaws of life that sever the driver’s side door from the frame.

Eddie lets up, his speed dropping as he nears the intersection. The blinding flashes of color blur in his peripheral while he cranes his neck, trying to see through the blockade of emergency vehicles. It’s a fleeting glance, far too obstructed to make out what happened. By the time Eddie is past the scene, he’s sure he’ll be reading about someone’s tragic death in the newspaper. There’s a twisted comfort in knowing he’s not the only one suffering. For a brief, sickening moment, he wonders if his misery compares.

A while later, lakeside with the doors wide open, Eddie lies in the back of his van, dragging a long hit from his cigarette. The wispy cig smoke swirls as he tries to cloud away the soreness of his broken promise. More specifically, the trust in your eyes when he swore he’d be home on time. Eddie hasn’t seen you that excited in god knows how long. The image of your genuine smile gnaws at him.

The argument replays in his mind, but it's the frailty of your delivery that cuts through, embedding itself deep under his skin. It was just a bad fight, because that’s what couples do, they fight. Surely, you’ll come back. You’ll hug, make up, and everything will go back to normal. Except that’s what got him into this mess in the first place. Things can’t go back to how they were.

The ambulance rattles over the cracked pavement resulting from the latest blackberry winter. Strapped to the gurney, you wade in and out of consciousness, tethered between worlds.

Although your eyelids are drooping, you can still see. It’s like peering through a frosted window, a pearlescent haze distorting your vision, reddened by the blood trickling from the gash in your forehead.

The hospital corridors reverberate the gurney’s clinking, its wheels wobbling as you’re rushed forward. The bag valve mask does little to ease your labored breathing. Once you’re in the operating room, the surgeons move swiftly, working to stop the internal bleeding.

After chain-smoking, Eddie checks his watch: half past midnight. His body protests the excess. If his head were to roll off his shoulders, he wouldn’t notice. During the drive home, his eyes track the endless white dashes that get swallowed up by the front of his van.

He’s worn down, and when he’s like this, he can’t predict what he’s capable of. Eddie decides to sleep on it, hoping to avoid whatever reckless choices he’d come to regret. Clothes discarded in a jumbled heap on the floor, Eddie strips down before crawling into bed. The nicotine buzz dissipates quickly, leaving behind an agitated nagging that refuses to let him be.

The vacant space beside him is a persistent reminder of what's missing, the unease keeping him awake. No matter how much he tosses and turns, the other half of the bed remains untouched. It would be wrong to take advantage of the extra room, he feels the need to respect that it belongs to you.

Eddie listens to the sounds he hasn’t picked up on in a while. The crickets chirping outside the window, the buzz of the old refrigerator, and distant dogs barking. Together, they form a disjointed cradlesong, gradually dulling his awareness of everything around him. But it’s the sound of your faint snoring that he craves, the lullaby that always grounded him.

The whirring of the machine anchors you in the sterile stillness of the hospital room. Its steady, mechanical pumping guides your unnatural breaths. With broken ribs, each breath is an involuntary struggle, shallow and ragged because your chest is unwilling to expand.

A cocktail of sedatives and anesthetics has drawn you deep into unconsciousness. The doctors call it a miracle that you’re alive, but you being placed in a medically induced coma is less of a victory and more like purgatory.

The constant wriggling and rolling over continued; it was a fitful night. Only at the first light of dawn did Eddie finally slip into a deep, uninterrupted sleep. The sun has long risen. Its rays spill over the trailer as Eddie stays beneath the comforter, the weight of slumber still holding him down. When he finally stirs, it’s well past noon.

Last night, he was supposed to enjoy an intimate dinner, make love, and wake up with you safely tucked in his arms. Instead, he searches for the comfort of your warmth, only to find the cold, barren stretch of the bed where you should be.

Recalling the unsteadiness in your eyes hits him hard. Faced with the raw, exposed nerve, you were worn down to the point of giving up on him entirely. Eddie should have recognized the risk he was running; the possibility of losing you was ever-present. Nonetheless, he still won’t admit to himself that you meant what you said.

Eddie forces himself out of bed, showers, and pulls on a fresh outfit. Afterward, he sweeps the glass off the floor, carefully collecting the shards and tossing them into the trash.

The kitchen isn’t a shitshow by any means, but he chooses to clean up the food left out from last night and wipes down the counters. The least he can do is try to make the kitchen more presentable. When he’s finished, it’s not as neat as you tend to keep it, but he wants to do something to atone for his part in the mess.

Keys in hand, Eddie leaves the trailer, stepping into the morning with the conviction that the worst is actually behind him this time. The weight of last night’s events still lingers, but he’s determined that all that’s left is to smooth things over. Familiar with your habits enough to suspect where you might have gone, he starts the short drive.

When he arrives at Robin’s address, the parking lot is mostly empty. It strikes him as odd. He expected to see at least your car, if not hers as well. A creeping unease settles over him, as persistent as the dense gray clouds overhead, waiting for the right moment to unleash their downpour.

Without hesitation, he heads straight for Family Video. If Robin isn’t at home, that’s the next most likely place she’d be. Yet, even as he pursues the route, Eddie can’t get past the fact that your car is unaccounted for.

Caught in a whirlwind, he stumbles as he hops out of his van. After finding his footing, each step is heavy against the asphalt. Eddie swings open the glass door of Family Video.

The cool air inside greets him like a welcome escape, cutting through the stifling humidity left behind outside. Eddie leans his tattooed forearms against the counter while searching for Robin. A few customers wander between aisles, but there’s no sign of the familiar, unflattering green vests of the employees.

The door chime rings, but she doesn’t immediately emerge from the back room. When Robin does make her delayed appearance, she pauses at the sight of Eddie. Her expression warps slightly as she blinks hard as if trying to clear her eyes and make sure he’s really there.

“What’s with the face?” Eddie raises an eyebrow at her reaction. "You’re looking at me like I’m the last person you wanted to see."

“I wouldn’t put it like that.” She resumes sorting through the returned tapes since focusing on the task is the easiest way to avoid meeting his gaze. “I just didn’t expect you to be here.”

“Really? I mean, I stopped by your place, but it didn’t look like anyone was home so-” Eddie’s posture straightens and he wrings the back of his neck. "Anyway, uh, I'm guessing you’re up to speed with what went down. She stayed with you last night, right?"

“No, she didn’t,” Robin responds curtly, a frown tugging at her eyes.

”What do you mean, no? Where the hell did she go then?”

Robin freezes, switching her attention entirely to Eddie. She studies the bewildered worry etched across Eddie's face, interpreting his expression as truthful. “She’s in the ICU.”

Blood surges to his head, a high-pitched ringing overtaking his ears like the aftermath of an explosion in the video store. Eddie jabs an accusatory point with his pinky finger in her direction. “Don’t bullshit me, man. I’ve just about had it with the overacting of this whole thing.”

“Dude, I swear to God. I’m not lying. I got the call this morning.”

“And you didn’t think to open with that?!” Eddie’s voice erupts, drawing startled stares from nearby shoppers as heads swivel in his direction.

Robin flashes her palms in a gesture of surrender. “I thought you knew!”

“Son of a bitch!” Already having spun around, Eddie barrels through the glass door, the bell jangling violently in his wake. He leaps into his van, tires screeching as he peels out of the lot, pushing twenty miles per hour over the speed limit down the weatherworn streets.

When he arrives in the hospital parking lot, his van comes to a halt at a crooked angle. He doesn’t bother locking his car, his focus already fixed on the entrance, his heart pounding like a war drum in his chest.

Eddie skims the wall directory for the intensive care unit. Then, he powers up the stairwell, taking two steps at a time. His eyes flit over the endless stretch of identical, harshly lit hallways, of which make it easy to get turned around. Borderline jogging, the panic in Eddie’s stride carries him as he dodges staff along the way.

He defiantly ignores the "medical personnel only" sign, his desperation outweighing any sense of caution. A woman’s voice calls out, urgent and commanding, "Get security!" Then, directed at Eddie, someone shouts, "Young man, you can’t go in there!"

His shoes squeak as he comes to a halt. Frantically inspecting the area, his chest heaves. The digging pang in his side from his body objecting to the exertion barely registers.

Then, he spots your name listed on a whiteboard. It’s like a jolt to his system. Eddie crosses the threshold into your room and his heart is gouged from his chest, ripped clean from the cavity at the sight before him.

Wrapped in fresh gauze, you're a painful patchwork of bruises—raisin and rust-colored burns marring your skin. The sickening blend of hues makes you look like a beloved doll, battered and scribbled on with a permanent marker.

Eddie stands frozen, words failing him. “Shit… Sweetheart,” He approaches your bedside and reaches for you, his fingers just about to brush yours. But, before he can make contact, a security guard yanks him back. The man's grip is firm on Eddie’s arm, stopping him cold.

“No!” Eddie bellows, his voice hoarse, “Get your fucking hands off me!” His composure crumbles as he fights against the guard’s firm hold. For a few brief seconds, he resists, but his strength gives way. Eddie is hauled away.

Eddie’s furious, but astonishingly, he respects the stern warning he receives. If he resists, it’ll only make things worse for you. Enough damage has been done as is. The last thing he can afford is being thrown out of the hospital. Or worse, arrested.

In the third-floor waiting room, two people sit together. Their eyes follow Eddie as he enters and chooses a chair on the opposite side of the room. Sitting by the window would give him the benefit of vitamin D, a small chance to feel lighter, but he deliberately avoids it. He won’t allow himself to bask in the sun’s warmth while you’re hanging on by a thread.

The room is no bigger than fifteen by eleven feet, and it’s isolating. As the adrenaline drains from his body, his limbs turn to lead. Eddie’s eyelids grow heavy, his body sinking into the firm armchair. Visitors filter in and out, their stares constantly on him as he dozes upright.

Throughout the afternoon, respiratory specialists run tests, but you’ll be incapable of breathing on your own for some time. The machine remains lodged in your throat until further notice.

A tall, older male doctor enters the otherwise empty waiting room. “Mr. Munson?” He asks, his tone flat and impersonal.

Eddie stirs, his frizzy curls flying as he shakes off the drowsiness. “Yeah, yes. That’s, uh, that’s me,” he mutters and rubs his face. “How is she doing? Can I see her?””

“No, not yet. But she’s stable. The acute agonal respiration has…”

Eddie blinks, his mind sluggish at trying to comprehend the medical jargon. It’s like a foreign language, and he has no fucking clue what the doctor is saying. He clings to the fragments, trying to make sense of the complicated terminology. Eddie searches for any hints on the doctor’s face that offer him an understanding of what’s being explained.

“...A coma has been induced to allow her a better chance at healing. With that, we’re hoping to see a reduction in brain swelling. Although, I do regret to inform you that the likelihood of her waking is a matter of if, not when.”

It feels as if the roof is caving in on Eddie, shoving him down through the layers of the earth until he’s swallowed by the molten core. Grief consumes him, leaving him numb, as though the blood in his veins has slowed to a crawl.

“If she does rouse, there’s a likelihood that she’ll experience anterograde amnesia. It’s not uncommon under these particular circumstances.”

“And what circumstances are we talking about exactly? Eddie shifts to the edge of his seat, dragging his palm roughly over his mouth. 

“Oh, my apologies. I was under the impression that someone already told you. She was involved in a motor vehicle collision.”

“Wait.” Eddie closes his eyes, trying to keep up as the terms begin to register. “Amnesia meaning like, she won’t recognize me?” 

The doctor opens and closes his fist, catching Eddie’s concern before he can spiral. “No, no. She shouldn’t have trouble retrieving memories. It’s consolidation that could be affected. Only temporarily, we hope.”

The realization that you were in the burning car he’d driven past causes his stomach to churn. “Alright, thanks.” Eddie sends the doctor off and watches him exit the room. Once alone, he crumples into the chair and sobs. In a futile attempt to quiet himself, he sinks his top teeth into his knuckles, trying to suppress the whimpers that escape.

What is he supposed to do, is he going to start praying to a god he doesn’t believe in? With his optimism beyond pulverized, Eddie is overcome with the fear of losing you. Amidst the chaos of the present, he’s lost sight of everything that truly mattered.

Minutes turn into hours of droplets pattering against the thick panes of glass, gathering into winding streams that race down the window. Eddie tries to talk some sense into himself, but every sliver of hope is dashed. Berating himself, he repeatedly runs through the list of things he should’ve done differently.

Though it’s unbearable, Eddie shoulders the responsibility of notifying your friends and family. The room is filled with the relentless sound of water rapping against the window, its clatter drowning out Eddie’s bawling. He drifts in and out of crying fits, his body trembling with each painful cough. 

A twister of bleak thoughts rips through Eddie, reducing him to rubble. It’s impossible to process each emotion when they all scream and claw at him in unison, demanding accountability. Despite his failure to express it when it mattered most, he’s still deeply in love with you. Not that anything can be done about it now.

Right now, it’s the quiet moments he craves. Those small, tender things he may never get to experience again. One, though, rises above the rest, a memory he longs to lose himself in.

In the moments after Eddie made love to you for the first time, you were in his bed on your stomach. A drowsy, content hum emanated from your lips as you basked in the afterglow of your climax. The satisfied grin on your face made you look ethereal, a sight that left him breathless.

Eddie gently traced the curve of your spine with the tips of his fingers as you slept, his touch a whisper against your naked skin. He wasn’t questioning whether your peaceful state meant he was good in the sack. No, at that moment, he was certain of one thing: you were the very heartbeat of his existence, the one thing that made everything else pale in comparison.

Left by his lonesome in the same damn armchair, Eddie watches the storm outside. His feet are propped up on another chair he dragged in front of him, his arms crossed over his chest. By eight o'clock, the staff still won’t allow him to visit you. He confined himself to the waiting room, pacing back and forth, his nerves stretched thin.

Every hour or so, he’s been a recurring face at the nurses' station, pestering anyone who will acknowledge him. The answers he gets are the same. She’s stable. We’ll update you as soon as anything changes. Eddie doesn’t argue, but each time he hears the repetitive reassurances, it feels like a blade twisting in his gut.

Just when he’s about to get up to head for the counter again, a nurse enters the waiting room, her face kind but firm. "Hun, you need to go home. Get some rest, eat something. The last thing we need is you in here for starvation."

He’s been so distraught that it’s now just dawning on him how hungry he is. In all honesty, he could use a cigarette as well. "I’m fine. Really." Eddie dismisses her concern. Returning his attention to the window, he catches his reflection in the glass; the fatigue is apparent on his face.

The nurse understands his reluctance, so she tries again. "We’ll call you as soon as we have an update to share. But at this time, there hasn’t been any regression in her condition. She’s-"

“Stable, I know," Eddie mutters, but it’s barely more than a breath.

She nods, her grin small and tinged with sympathy. She leaves knowing he indirectly agreed. His joints pop when he rises to his feet, moving on autopilot. Once he's left the room, he casts a final glance at the entrance to the ICU, the very one he had burst through.

Eddie does go home, but it feels like a fruitless decision. He sulks, taking a shower so long that his skin prunes, the water running over him as if it could wash away the shame. He commits himself to the couch, too tired to think but unable to doze off.

The six-pack comes next. If there’s anything Eddie can do successfully, it’s drink himself blurry. One beer after another, it manages to take the edge off. Drunkenly napping, he’s overtired and underfed. The alcohol does little to weaken the ache inside him, and his subconscious takes full advantage.

Half-lucid memories of you slip through the cracks: fragments of conversations, your laughter and liveliness. But somewhere in the depths, the past begins to twist, charring everything he cherishes.

The odor of smoke curls thick around him, its stench choking his every breath. An unfamiliar house is before him engulfed in flames. A monstrous wall of orange and red licking the sky. He hears your scream, but you’re nowhere to be seen.

Eddie rushes forward, the heat pressing down on him, his skin starting to blister. He reaches the front door only to find it locked. Pounding on it with his fists does nothing but cause smoke to pour out from the seams. The ear-splitting snap of the second-story floorboards buckling shakes the very foundation of the house.

Then he sees you, standing in the window, your face twisted in panic. The flames are rising around you, the glass fracturing as the heat pushes harder against it. Eddie shouts your name and tries to tell you to get away from the window, but his voice has vanished. The pane blows and the fire consumes everything, including you.

A blinding flash of electricity splits the darkness, followed by an earth-shattering crack that’s felt throughout Forest Hills. The mobile home rattles in its wake, startling Eddie awake. He’s disoriented, but the low hiss of the TV across the room anchors him. It reminds him of where he is: stuck in a living nightmare.

In the following days, Eddie’s shifts at the factory are significantly shorter. His coworkers pitch in to cover for him and help with the impending medical bills. He’s skipped playing with his band, avoiding the familiar faces and the music that used to occupy his time. His world has shrunk to the four walls of the trailer.

Eddie’s doing just enough to keep the bills paid and himself fed, but the rest of his time is spent in waiting. Waiting for the phone to ring, for any updates, for confirmation that you’re going to be okay.

He’s filled page after page of his sketchbook with nothing but mindless scribbles, aimless shapes that lack any recognizable form. The crosswords in the newspapers were attempted, only to be crumpled up in frustration. Eddie tossed them haphazardly across the room, each throw a futile attempt to land them in the wastebasket. Every ball of paper on the floor is a reminder of how little control he has over anything.

After what feels like a lifetime, the phone rings. Fucking finally. Eddie’s pulse hammers, his mind racing with all the worst-case scenarios. After being so patient, he’s not sure if he’s ready to hear what’s on the other end. What if they’re calling to tell him it’s too late? What if he’s lost you before he ever had a chance to make things right?

The voice is calm, but the words hit him like a train: she's breathing on her own and out of critical condition. Eddie exhales shakily, his clammy grip on the phone tightening.

By the time he parks and walks into the hospital, it feels like every step is pulling him closer to what he’s both desperate for and terrified of. Having been moved to a room outside of the ICU, Eddie finds his way down the hall to your door.

He halts just outside and squeezes his eyes shut for a fleeting second, inhaling so deeply it feels like his lungs could burst. And then, he crosses the threshold. The tightness in his chest relents at how pretty you look. 

As though he’s trying to avoid waking you, he moves gingerly, dragging a chair over to your bedside to sit. Slightly reclined, you lay there with your head on the plush pillow. The heart rate monitor is a minor consolation, a reminder that you’re still alive.

“My sweet angel.” Taking your unmoving hand in his, Eddie’s touch is gentle like you're made of glass. Your hand is caressed as unexplored territory to him, contrary to him having held this hand a thousand times before. It feels like a first introduction, the way his fingers interlock with yours.

Remaining silent, he’s lost in thought, unsure if you could even hear him if he spoke. Surely, you're still in there somewhere. With his burnt caramel irises downcast, he can’t bring himself to look at you for more than a few seconds at a time. His other senses grow sharper, heightening to detect the slightest sign that you’re aware of him. A twitch or anything that might suggest that you can feel him.

Your motionlessness is killing him, but there’s a tranquility in it. Beneath the bruises and stitches, you’re still the love of his life. Eddie softly presses his lips to the back of your hand. The tears that run astray trickle down his cheeks, each salty droplet holding a memory.

Eddie isn’t ready for you to become a real angel. If you were to draw your final breath, he'd spend the rest of his days searching for white feathers or shapes in the fluffy clouds. He would go to great lengths to find evidence suggesting that you're still with him.

“Baby, I owe you an apology. More like a million of ‘em.” Eddie pauses. “I am so fucking sorry. And I know that doesn’t mean shit, believe me. I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

Instead of using his free hand to wipe away the tears, Eddie places it on top of yours, your hand now sandwiched between his. “If I'm being totally straight with you,” he begins, his voice breaking, “I’m scared shitless that you aren’t gonna wake up.”

The pressure is building behind his eyes, the tears threatening to fall faster. Unable to bear the thought of you seeing him like this, Eddie momentarily turns his head away. He clenches his jaw and he squeezes his eyes shut, willing the tears back. He forces himself to focus on your hand in his, because it’s the only thing keeping him from completely falling apart.

“I can’t imagine how tired you are of me. If you wanna let go… I understand,” Eddie sniffles loudly, trying to regain some semblance of control over his emotions. “But I want you to stay, baby. I’m not done being selfish yet. I just, I need you to come back to me. I promise I won’t take you for granted this time.”

It feels like he’s on a bullet train, the outside world soaring by at lightning speed while the hospital room has frozen in time. “I swear to Christ, I’ll never make you feel alone like that again. No more broken promises.” Eddie hooks his pinky finger with yours.

From hereon, Eddie refuses to leave your side. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he wasn’t there if you needed him. There’s no chance that he’s going to be separated from you for longer than absolutely necessary. 

The staff, seeing Eddie’s determination to stay by your side, take pity on him and bring him ham and cheese sandwiches, tomato soup with crackers, anything to keep him nourished. The thought of you being unable to eat awakens the residing guilt inside him. Instead of dwelling on it, he prioritizes the simple task of keeping himself going. That way, he can be here for you if you finally wake up.

Eddie’s sanity begins to fray from being confined to the small room, but the stream of visitors coming to see you keeps him relatively grounded. Over the rest of the week, the atmosphere transforms vibrantly, shifting from sterile to something almost cheerful.

Gifts from Wayne, his bandmates, and your family add bursts of life to the space. Themed balloons, heartfelt greeting cards, and colorful floral arrangements line the windowsill, reminiscent of a blooming spring meadow.

He wishes more than anything that you could see how incredibly loved you are by everyone who walks through that door. At the same time, part of him is almost relieved that you don’t have to experience the toll this ordeal has taken on your body.

Every other day, Robin stops by. She brings Eddie clean clothes from home, along with distractions like old issues from his Heavy Metal magazine collection. Each visit feels like a lifeline; Robin’s wit and genuine concern for you reminds him that he’s not facing this alone.

At his insistence, Robin ‘keeps you company’ while he takes brisk showers in the private bathroom, always returning in record time, afraid he might miss something. Per his request, she even brings nail polish in your favorite color so that he can paint your fingernails.

Regardless of having the privilege of being with you at all, it’s a hollow solace. Eddie’s mind remains a battlefield, overrun by relentless self-reproach. He ruined the best thing that ever happened to him. If he hadn’t messed everything up, there wouldn’t have been a fight, and you wouldn’t have walked out that night.

The weeks bleed together, the hospital room becoming a second home as Eddie clings to the vulnerable thread of hope.

Currently, he’s slouched in the same uncomfortable chair. If it weren’t made of wood, it would have an impression of his rear end by now. He’s been reading aloud to you from a novel, his voice mildly animated while his fingertips trace imaginary shapes on your arm.

The heart rate monitor, nothing more than a forgotten backdrop of rhythmic beeps, shows a distinct change. The words falter on Eddie’s tongue mid-sentence as he jolts upright. The book slips from his lap and hits the floor with a thud, utterly forgotten. Eddie’s eyes lock onto the monitor, scanning its display.

He's certain his mind is playing tricks on him. That is, until the pattern repeats. "Holy shit." Eddie takes your hand, his eyes darting between your face and the monitor. "I’m here, baby."

Your eyelids twitch and then begin to retract, although not fully. It’s like the clouds are dispersing, and the sky is slowly stitching itself back together as you emerge from the depths within yourself.

Brimming with unshed tears, Eddie’s eyes glisten like jewels. “Hi, sweetheart,” he coos with a tender squeeze of your hand. “I missed you.”

Reblogs are greatly appreciated! ♡

Thank you for reading xo

★My Masterlist

The plastic shell of the phone clacks as you hang up, and you watch Eddie hop out of his van, and round the front of it with an unusual pep in his step—more than you’d see his best days.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Eddie’s voice carries across the room, accompanied by a genuine smile that lights up his face. He strides to the register counter you’re currently manning, wearing a vermillion polo shirt embellished with the neatly embroidered String and Strum shop logo on the breast. His hair is pushed back from his face with a black bandana, resembling a biker-like edge, tied firmly to ensure no stray curls disrupt his work as he repairs guitars and sells instruments for commission.

In seconds flat, he’s already scrunching his nose like a bunny, sensing a sneeze on the horizon. Being in a room packed with fresh plants is nothing short of hell, but he’s willing to endure it for the sake of seeing you. While he can handle flowers in small quantities, the confined space never fails to tickle his system like nobody’s business.

Vision blurring with mild irritation, Eddie blinks hard to disperse it. “Hey, how’s today going?”

You shrug, suppressing a giggle at the wiggle of his nose. “As good as it can, I guess. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

Eddie sets a grease-stained paper bag on the counter that separates you, along with a cup of soda. “Figured you could use a midday pick-me-up.”

“Must be my lucky day because I overslept and didn’t have time to pack a lunch. Well, that and I found a penny on the sidewalk.”

Eddie crosses his arms and tilts his head. “Don’t give luck all the credit. I have instinctual powers, y’know. My Munson senses were tingling and I knew you were in need.”

“My hero,” You exclaim, clasping your hands and swinging them to the side like a swooning princess. 

Eddie chuckles with you, watching as you wipe your palms on your apron and eagerly dig into the bag, pulling out a foam to-go box. As you promptly open it and take a bite of your lunch, you can’t help but groan and throw your head back in satisfaction. Your eyes meet his thereafter, causing him to twist his mouth to the side and momentarily look away.

“How much do I owe you?” You ask, your words slightly muffled as you continue to chew.

Minnie, Joan’s cat, gracefully leaps onto the counter to greet Eddie. She perches herself beside the cash register, allowing him to scratch under her chin. “Nothin, consider it a favor,” He says with a wet sniffle, the tingling in his nose unrelenting.

The silence that falls is comfortable for you, but he’s seemingly lost in his thoughts as he continues to pet Minnie. Then, he looks at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Speaking of which, I just so happen to know a way that you can return the favor.”

Having taken a sip from your drink and another bite of your food, the inflection of Eddie’s voice causes you to slow your chewing. “And what might that be?”

“Come over later to find out.”

Your shoulders slump, eyes widened with mock defeat. “No! I can’t stand here and wonder all day. I'll die. The suspense will kill me.”

Eddie pouts mockingly, his sweet honey eyes betraying his faux-frown. “Then I'll be sure to have the prettiest floral arrangement for your funeral. Only the best for you.”

Your brows knit together in an authentic pouting. The irony of needing to meet an untimely demise to receive flowers from a guy isn’t lost on you.

He motions toward the untrimmed bundle of carnations on the workbench behind you. “Actually, if you’re not too busy,” Eddie smirks. “Could you string those up for me quick so they’re ready to go for your wake?”

“Ha-ha,” you leer, taking the next bite of your food rather aggressively. “You’re cruel, you know that?”

“I beg to differ since I surprised you with your favorite from Val’s and all,” Eddie retorts, biting the inside of his cheek.

You grumble, “Yeah, and it’s fucking delicious.”

Eddie checks his watch and huffs, “Alright, I’ve gotta get goin’,” he says, rapping his knuckles on the countertop and beginning to walk backward. “See you later tonight,” He points at you before spinning on his heel and exiting the shop.

The bulky keyring on Eddie’s jeans jingles loudly as he steps onto the sidewalk. Abruptly, he stops in his tracks. For a moment he’s frozen, and then he braces himself against the nearby lamppost. It hits him like a brick wall and he sneezes mightily. 

Heads of nearby passersby turn in his direction, startled by the noise. As he straightens his posture, Eddie remains still, trying to find his center of gravity and regain his composure.

“You good?” You call out, your voice just barely reaching him through the propped-open doors. Taking a casual sip of your drink, you watch as Eddie steadies himself. Still clutching the street lamp with one hand, he manages to stick his other arm out and give a thumbs-up.

True to your word, you arrive at Eddie’s place straight after work. The sun is setting, casting a warm glow through the patio door onto the walls of the living room. The apartment is in its usual state of disarray, expectedly so, since it’s home to three guys who aren’t particularly concerned with tidiness.

Toeing off your shoes, you’re unphased by the subtle smell of dust in the air. What strikes you as odd is how quiet it is. Typically, at least one roommate is home, blasting the TV in the living room or music from their respective bedrooms. But the only sound permeating the silence is the erratic thumping and screech of the water pipes behind the paper-thin walls of the bathroom.  

As you snoop around the kitchen, hoping to find a box of saltine crackers or really anything to stop the gurgling in your belly. Having come up empty-handed, you turn your attention to the resilient plant that you challenged Eddie to care for—Keanu Leaves, as he so proudly named it. 

Finished with your fruitless search of the kitchen, you make your way into Eddie’s bedroom to settle comfortably into the chair that only you sit in; it’s your spot. While you get cozy, the beans rattle as they perfectly mold to your figure. You knock on the wall beside you, signaling your arrival to Eddie.

You resume the magazine left sitting open on the page you stopped on. You occupy yourself in the article about predicted spring fashion trends as you wait. After a minute or two, the pipes go quiet from the shower being turned off.

Eddie strolls into the room wearing nothing more than a clean pair of boxers. Droplets of water trickle down his toned and tatted chest. Harshly ruffling his curls with a bath towel, he smirks at you. “If it isn’t Little Miss Zombie, back from the dead.”

“Less than alive and in the flesh,” you reply, your annoyance at being made to wait all day still evident. You hold grudges better than anyone he knows, and Eddie is well aware that he’s not immune to being subject to it.

Your tummy rumbles loudly, the discomfort only emphasizing the sharpness of your tone. “When was the last time you got groceries? I didn’t see any preserved brains I could help myself to.”

“I’m definitely due for a restock,” Eddie says as he drapes his wet towel over the back of his desk chair. Then, he grabs the bottle of mousse from his dresser and dispenses a foamy dollop into his palm. “Funny you should ask, though. That’s sorta why you’re here.”

You flip the page of your magazine, not pulling your eyes from the glossy print. “You told me to come over to go grocery shopping?”

Eddie rubs his palms together to spread the product and then runs his fingers through his curls. “Not quite,” he starts, his tone cryptic. “I’ve been tasked with providing a meal, of sorts.” 

Finally, you look up at him. Watching him scrunch his damp hair with the remainder of the product that’s making his palms go tacky, you wait for him to elaborate.

Eddie’s eyes flit to the other side of the room, rather than meeting your awaiting gaze. “I have a date.”

You stare blankly at the back of his head, as still as a statue while your blinking intensifies. Dumbfounded, you struggle to survive the bombshell he just dropped on you. It’s as if a nuclear explosion has shattered your eardrums, leaving his continued words to sound muffled through the high-pitched ringing.

A million and one questions swirl in your mind, only adding to the disorienting whirlwind of emotions. Since when is he dating? Why all of a sudden? As you try to piece everything together, you note that he hasn’t had any recent romantic interactions, at least none that you’re aware of.

You always thought he’d confide in you if he was seeing someone, but now you’re not so sure; especially since you’re only finding out about this now. Without a doubt, Eddie has never had trouble attracting attention. But he’s always seemed so content with the ways things are. So why now?

Eddie turns to face you, a splash of desperation in his eyes. “I feel like doing this is the best way to know if she likes me back.”

Your mouth has gone dry, and you try to sound more curious than interrogative, but it doesn’t quite come off that way. “Who is this mystery woman, anyway?” A couple of names come to mind, some of the most beautiful girls in town—none of whom you hold a candle to.

His side of the room falls quiet when he’s hit with your question. Eddie’s eyes drop to the carpet. While it might seem like he’s lost in thought, it’s actually a glaring sign of evasion. You can’t help but feel a little hurt by his reluctance to tell you who it is.

A small smile forms as he leans back against his dresser, as though he can’t keep himself upright during his current daydream. Folding his arms across his pecs and rubbing his jaw, eyes still downcast, Eddie begins to gush about her. “She’s just- god, she’s something else. The way she laughs, it’s like... the sun coming out after a storm.”

“Sounds like quite the catch,” you mutter, trying to keep your tone neutral. You watch closely as blush tints Eddie’s cheeks and his smile threatens to grow. Without saying another word, Eddie walks out and returns to the bathroom.

You’re quick to follow, hopping up from your chair. “Do I know her?”

“Technically, yeah,” Eddie answers. Standing in front of the foggy mirror, he wipes it with the back of his forearm. Then, he starts rummaging through the counter drawer for his pair of shears.

You stand just outside the open door, the lingering humidity from his scorching hot shower kissing your skin as it disperses into the hallway. Leaning back against the wall, you cross your arms like he did moments ago, albeit far more tensely. Technically? It must be one of your ex-friends, then. That would explain why he’s been keeping you in the dark.

It’s your duty to be supportive, but right now, you could hurl. The thick nausea swirling deep in your gut is a storm raging within, overpowering your ability to stay present.

While trimming his bangs over the basin, the shears glint in the hushed light of the wall sconce. Eddie steals a glance in your direction, but his eyes dart back to his reflection too quickly to catch the discomfort etched on your face. “So you’ll help me, right?”

As you watch yourself anxiously wiggling your toes inside your sock, you mumble, “I can't if you won’t tell me who it is.“

“Sure you can, you’re a girl. You know how this stuff works.”

You scoff, your brows shooting up as your head jerks back. You open your mouth to object, but he promptly cuts you off.

“Ah, ah! Slow your roll,” Eddie cautions, pointing the shears in your direction. “I’m not saying you’re all the same, but there’s gotta be some common ground of expectations, right?”

You don’t have the strength to argue, so you reluctantly allow for his generalization. “I guess so.”

“Like yeah, I could just study one of those lady magazines you’re always reading. But then I wouldn’t have a way of knowing what is and isn’t bullshit,” Eddie explains, his tone half-joking. “That’s why I’m going straight to the source, oh, wise one.”

Far too consumed with trying to narrow down who the chick could possibly be, you can’t be bothered to give him a huff of amusement through your nose. “Can I at least have a hint?”

“Nope,” The shears hit the countertop, their metallic resonance echoing against the porcelain. He pivots to face you, hands resting on his hips. “Alright, Sherlock. How about you quit trying to crack the case and help me pick out a tie.”

“A what now?” You squawk, eyes widening in disbelief.

Eddie chuckles softly and rinses the hair trimmings down the drain, then flicks off the bathroom light. “I have to dress for the occasion. This is a big deal for me,” he elaborates as he strides back into his room. “For her and me.”

Once again, you find yourself on his tail, trailing close behind back into his bedroom. You unfold your arms and instead, start to rub the inside of your wrist with your opposite thumb. “Yeah, I get that. Just seems a bit out of character for you.”

Rifling through his closet, Eddie pulls out a hanger with a navy button-up shirt and nonchalantly tosses it onto the end of his bed. “Maybe, but at least she’ll know I’m taking this seriously,” Eddie says while reaching for the high shelf to retrieve a tattered shoebox. Lifting the lid, he presents it to you. “Here’s what we’re working with.”

You step closer, your fingers deftly plucking out the rolled ties one by one, laying them flat beside the slightly wrinkled shirt. Side by side, your shoulders nearly brush. Meticulously comparing the patterns and colors, neither of you seems drawn to any particular one.

“Here, maybe it’s better to do it this way,” Eddie suggests, picking up and beginning to slip into the shirt. His thick fingers falter as he attempts to maneuver each small white button through its corresponding hole. Once halfway dressed—having tastefully paired his plaid boxers with a dress shirt—he smooths out the material from his chest to his belly.

Eddie reaches for the nearest tie and lays it against his shoulder. He faces you expectantly, anticipation evident in his gaze, awaiting your feedback.

Your eyes flit between the tie he’s holding, the array laid out on the bed, and the hopefulness in his round eyes. “These are easily the three ugliest ties I've ever seen. No offense.”

He blows a playful raspberry at your harsh criticism and shakes his head. “None taken, they’re not mine. But Wayne might be a little hurt when I call him next and tell him you said that.”

Shooting him a pointed look, your brows furrow in skepticism. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I just might,” Eddie teases with a smile before turning his attention back to the bed. He tosses the first tie aside and reaches for the mustard paisley one. “What about this one, does it compliment my eyes?” He bats his dark brown lashes.

You clutch your chin in contemplation, carefully assessing the combination of hues. However, the richness of his chocolate irises captures you. You wade in their depths. The hot flash that envelops your body is enough to break the trance he inadvertently put you under. With a disapproving shake of your head, you dismiss this tie as well. “Nope, next.”

Eddie looks at you for a moment longer, even though you’re not doing the same. A faint frown creases his features as he tosses the vetoed tie aside, forming a rejection pile.

You pick up the remaining tie and drape it over his shoulder, admiring the harmonious pairing of the navy in the tie with the shirt, accentuated by its white and black diagonal stripes. While you ponder, Eddie watches your face intently, holding his breath.

You nod, a trace of delighted approval in your expression. “We have a winner.”

“Hell yeah, blue on blue it is,” Eddie exclaims. He wraps the tie around the back of his neck but struggles to recall the proper technique for tying it. Attempting a few different nonsensical loopings, he groans, his determination waning. “Stupid son of a bitch, wouldya just-”

“Don’t hurt yourself. Let me do it," You offer. Not receiving protest, you step closer to him.

Eddie uses one hand to gather his product-enhanced curls into a makeshift ball, allowing you to access the collar of his shirt. He juts out his freshly shaved chin, granting you ample room to work. Standing this closely, you catch the clean scent of shaving cream lingering on his skin.

You begin to effortlessly tie the knot. Without pausing to consider what you’re about to say, the words spill from your lips, “Why’re you asking for my opinion on stuff like this, anyway? You should be doing what you think she’ll like, not me.”

“You always know best,” Eddie’s expression softens to something more vulnerable. “When you’re taking the next step in a relationship, you want everything to be as perfect as it can be, y’know?”

It’s common sense to him. No one understands him like you do, making you the perfect person for navigating this nerve-wracking experience. But for you, it’s perplexing. You’ve never been on a proper, formal date. The idea of one remains an unfulfilled pipe dream. Yet, here you are, agreeing to help Eddie plan his.

Your only frame of reference comes from romance movies and horror stories of dates gone wrong recounted by your girlfriends. Of all the things you could be in the world, you find yourself an unassuming tree. Sturdy and dependable, sure. You serve your purpose. But you don’t captivate onlookers with blooming petals like flowers do. Instead, you take pride in your intricately branched personality, valuing it as your true strength that often goes overlooked.

Even so, it feels as though your traits fail to enchant others regardless; nobody seems willing. You go unnoticed, and you’ve come to terms with that.

Beautiful wildflowers get plucked from the ground and carried away to be cherished. Meanwhile, you simply exist, rooted in no man’s land, devoid of admirers. You may stand tall, but you’re easily overshadowed by what other women have to offer.

Perhaps this is why you like working at the flower shop. It’s somewhat cathartic to witness the delicate petals fall from time to time. It brings you a strange sense of satisfaction to hack away at their stems. The best part, though? While it’s a little twisted, you know that those flowers that dazzle in their pristine state are destined to wilt. They’ll shrivel and brown.

Whilst among your shared group of friends in public, you’ve witnessed Eddie getting nudged by one of the guys to direct his attention to a smoke show walking by. You watched as they bit their knuckles and exaggeratedly gawked. You don’t compare, it’s not even apples to oranges. It’s like… apples to rocks. A delicious, shiny fruit compared to you, mere clunky chunks of earth.

If life were an album, you’re the track that everyone skips within seconds of hearing the intro. Except for those rare moments when someone half-listens by accident and they resonate with you—that’s how you and Eddie became friends. He’d stumbled upon his new favorite song, one worth revisiting. What he sees in you is what everyone else overlooks.

Eddie is the only man on the face of the earth who treats you like you’re worth being around. Only an oddball would prefer to spend time lounging beneath the shade of a crooked tree instead of homing a rose in a crystal vase. That’s one thing you love about your best friend; he doesn’t make you feel like you fade into the background.

All fairytale cliché bullshit included, you want to be sought out in a crowd. You want to light up the room for someone. Much to your dismay, that can happen platonically too, and it has in this case.

If Eddie only knew how much the little moments matter to you—the ones where he makes you feel prioritized and valued. You know you’re not anything close to special or remarkable, but he always made you second guess that thought.

Obviously, you hadn’t meant to fall for him. It was kind of like catching a cold; one day, there was a tickle in the back of your throat that you didn’t usually feel. Unsuspecting, the days went on, and that sensation only worsened. You started to panic a little but ultimately continued to deny your worst thoughts.

Before you knew it, you were bedridden, bitten by the love bug. You didn’t go down without a fight. You thought that you could be strong and deny it access to your heart, but it had already invaded. So, all you could do was wait it out.

You tried to distance yourself, hoping to recover and act like nothing ever changed inside of you. But Eddie didn’t let you get too far away.

It wasn’t love at first sight, rather, a creeping plague. There was no swooning and giggling, no struggling to keep your hands to yourself. The change was undetectable. You were a frog in boiling water, unaware of the gradually rising temperature until it was far too late.

It wasn’t until your chest started to ache every time you said goodbye at the end of spending time together that you realized you were in too deep. You genuinely debated going to the doctor to get the pang checked out, but luckily you didn’t. Otherwise, you’d have wasted a good chunk of money to find out that you’re a lovesick idiot.

Unfortunately, this is an illness you’ve been stuck with since, and you’ve at least learned how to distract yourself from it. But when you fail to do so, your imagination wanders. Naturally, you’ve wondered if pressing a mere kiss to his cheek would burn everything to the ground.

The forbidden territory beckons, tempting you to envision breaking those unspoken agreed-upon rules that forbid things like hand-holding and cuddling. The two of you uphold mutual respect, adhering to the expectations of friendship. Both of you reserve that level of touch for expressions of romantic affection. Actions such as those have no place in a true friendship.

That’s the most confusing part of this for you. How did you manage to catch such strong feelings for him when you’ve not crossed any lines? Sure, he’s a tactile person; maybe that has something to do with it. Eddie makes physical contact with those he trusts, but it’s not like he’s hanging off of you at any given moment. You receive the same treatment as the others in his inner circle: a hand on the shoulder, a pat on the back, and a brief gripping of the forearm to get your attention.

You’re not supposed to want the touches to be more frequent, much less of a different nature. The line has to be drawn somewhere, and it’s been plainly drawn in the sand. You understand and accept that. But why, of all lines in the world, does it have to be this one that you want to cross so badly?

Most of your days aren’t all that miserable. But there are those days that are more difficult than the rest, though it’s not his fault. Last weekend, the two of you were at a mall, and some chick waved at him flirtily. He returned it immediately, though playfully enough that it was almost mocking. He was fucking around and had no intention of entertaining the idea of approaching her. Regardless, it was humbling for you, to say the least.

In that moment, the world reminded you that there’s a reason you walk at his side at a respectable distance, not tucked under his arm. If anything, it’s for the best. There’s a sense of liberation in admiring him without the burden of articulating your feelings. There’s no pressure to meet a girlfriend quota or live up to a higher standard. What Eddie expects of you now is what you’re capable of, and clearly, all that you’re good for. You’re good for filling the void, but apparently not so much anymore.

You’re not lustrous and aching to jump his bones, and you’re certainly not desperate enough to kiss him on a whim by not allowing yourself to overthink it. But perhaps you are just desperate enough that a man simply paying your emotions, interests, and existence of any mind can shackle you to him. That has to be what’s done you in; Eddie gives a shit about you.

In reality, there’s more to it than that. Eddie is selective about who and what he lets in. He doesn’t care for conformity and lack of individuality. The idea of blending in with the majority of society repulses him. You find the flawed aspects of the Munson doctrine fascinating and raw. He’s not perfect and Eddie doesn’t care what others think of him, to a degree.

Not unlike you, he’s complex. Eddie is anti-establishment but still prefers a bit of structure over chaos in his day-to-day life. He’s independent and cynical as hell, but he’s also appreciative of his support systems and isn’t ashamed to rely on them. He’s not much of a rule breaker nor is he rebellious, but he’ll happily stir up a little trouble in good fun if given the opportunity.

Eddie is a hypocrite in some ways and a walking contradiction in others. You love that he’s unapologetic about being that way. He owns it for the most part, and you admire that.

His presence overstays its welcome in your thoughts. You’ve often yearned for him to call you in the dead of night, admitting that he can’t sleep without the sound of your voice. Many times, you’ve fought the urge to do that. He owes you sleep, countless nights of it. It’s a debt that will never be repaid, an outstanding balance.

Despite the attempts at trying to talk yourself out of it, you still can’t bring yourself to stop loving him. Even as he’s actively pursuing someone else, you’re unable to shake this. You could be paralyzed from head to toe, and you’d still feel the love you have for him in your bones.

Once Eddie is officially with someone, he won’t have much time or energy left for you. The anticipation of being thrown aside for something new and far prettier has shattered your heart before any changes have occurred. Yet, any fragment of his presence surpasses total absence. The greed isn’t worth it, and you know you should be grateful for getting any piece of him at all.

The phrase fizzles on the tip of your tongue like a smoldering ember, threatening to sear through the muscle… I’m happy for you.

You should say it, but you can’t. Because if you did, that would be a blatant lie. It’s not even possessiveness that has you so bitter, it’s envy. You wish you were in her place.

“There,” you adjust the knot with a delicate tug, ensuring its tightness before letting the material slip through your fingers. Unable to meet his appreciative gaze, you offer a sad smile and take a half-step backward.

Your sigh, cleverly concealed as a deep breath, escapes as you settle back into your chair with a plop. “So, um,” you begin, picking at your cuticles absentmindedly. “Where are you taking her? Somewhere fancy?”

“Nah,” Eddie meticulously revamps his curls one final time in the mirror, wanting them to fall just right. Then, with great care, he tames his bangs to lay perfectly in place. “She’s gonna come over here. I thought it’d be more intimate. Besides, I can’t exactly swing a reservation right now. I’ve been tight on cash this week.”

Your fingers come to a halt, the stinging sensation apparent. Looking over at him, your eyes meet his in the reflection. “Ya big dummy, you shouldn’t have bought me lunch when that money could’ve gone toward buying her a nice dinner.”

“Don’t start with that shit,” Eddie warns as he digs through his dresser in search of pants to wear. “I’m happy to do that for you,” He adds, pulling a pair of dark jeans from the bottom drawer.

“It really did make my day, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Having donned his pants, he nears his desk where his black grommet belt lies on the floor. Eddie threads his belt through the loops of his jeans, the buckle jingling before he secures it in place. “I felt better knowing you were taken care of.”

It’s only now occurring to you what he’s implied, and you think how absurd it is for him to host a dinner when he’s culinarily challenged. “Wait, since when do you cook?”

“Oh, I don’t. But you do.”

“Hardly,” you scoff, downplaying your abilities. Placing your magazine back in your lap, you flip the page despite not having read it. Unexpectedly, you feel the urge to quell his enthusiasm, to set him up for failure by trying to poke holes in his plan. “I mean, food is one thing, but atmosphere is another. Aren’t the guys going to be here?”

Eddie moves the clutter on his desk around in a quest to find something. “I kicked them out for the night.”

Like a spear plunged into your chest, you swallow hard. Not only is he having a girl over for dinner, but he’s gone out of his way to guarantee privacy because he’s hoping to get lucky too. More than likely right there, on that very bed, feet away from you. The cramped twin-sized mattress, where they’ll inevitably be body to body.

He turns to you after locating what he was searching for, fastening the slightly fancier watch around his wrist; it only supersedes his casio due to it being analog, as opposed to digital. “I’ve been wanting to try that dish you keep raving about. You can teach me how to make it. Two birds, one stone.”

“It’s not difficult, you could handle the recipe,” You shrug away the opportunity to cook with him because the domesticity of it would more than likely kill you.

“I wanna do it together,” his voice softens, genuinely asking as nicely as he’s capable. “Please.”

“Sure, yeah,” you maintain your downcast gaze and slump back in the chair, wishing for a black hole to open and swallow you up. “What if she doesn’t like it, or what if you don’t?”

“If you like it then it has to be good.”

Eddie’s seemingly endless compliments cause no sense of flattery. Instead, you’re consumed with persisting nausea as you envision a stunning girl seated across from him while they share laughter and partake in unspeakable activities in this very room.

Abruptly, a wave of heat washes over you, causing the soles of your feet and your palms to grow clammy. The scent of newly sprayed Old Spice floods the room and you’re overwhelmed by it, struggling to draw a breath. “I’ll be right back,” You all but choke on your words, swiftly rising to your feet and hastily leaving. Eddie watches curiously as you do.

In the living room, you push the heavy sliding door aside, stepping out onto the balcony to catch your breath. You inhale as deep as physically possible, and the stirring evening breeze cools the hot tears gathered along your lash line. Cars pass by, and you distract yourself by watching a person leisurely walking their dog. You do everything in your power to divert your thoughts away from him and the impending date.

A few minutes later, Eddie emerges from his room and slides open the door to the balcony, poking his head out to check on you. “Y’ready to go?” The shift in your energy is immediately evident to him, though he can’t quite pinpoint what’s amiss. He figures you’ve had a long day and you’re tired from your shift. Maybe you’re a little hangry, too.

With your arms folded on the balcony rail, you continue to look out into the neighborhood. “Go where?” 

“The store, duh. We’ve gotta get ingredients, do we not?” He says to the back of your head.

You nod meekly before turning to face him. “Right. Yeah, I’m ready.”

Eddie flashes a warm smile before sliding the door open wide enough for you to pass through. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand then, hot stuff. We’re losing daylight,” He says, striding toward the front door.

Arguably, you’re not losing daylight fast enough. You wish the sun would fall from the sky. That way, it would always be dark and you could hide in the shadows forever. You follow him inside and slide the closed with a subdued thud.

His car keys drag and jingle while he swipes them off of the counter. Once he reaches the entryway, Eddie drops the keys on the floor beside him as he kneels to put on his sneakers. A few seconds later, you’ve joined him to do the same. Eddie glances at you as he feels the evening breeze that slipped in finally reaching this side of the room. “It’s a little chilly out, wanna borrow a hoodie or something?”

Quickly tying your shoes to avoid prolonged eye contact, you get to your feet, hugging yourself as you do. “No, I’ll be fine.”

Eddie snorts and stands, his shoes now tied as well. “I’m getting you one,” He insists and heads to his room, gesturing for you to follow.

“I said I’ll be fine without one,” You opt not to follow, instead calling out to him to compensate for the distance and his half-open door.

“Shut up, I’m getting you one and you’re gonna wear it ‘cause I said so,” his tone drips with feigned amusement at your stubbornness. “Come in here.”

As you step into the room, Eddie offers you the hoodie, watching as you just stare at it. “Sweetheart, put it on. You’re gonna freeze to death if you don’t. Then, I’ll have no choice but to cancel my super hot date because I’ll be too busy defrosting my ice sculpture of a best friend with a blow drier. You want me to blow you all night? I know you-”

“Okay, okay! I’ll put the damn thing on,” you say, begrudgingly taking it from him. “Happy?”

“Try elated,” Eddie smiles from ear to ear and winks at you, content that you’re allowing him to do what he deems best for you, knowing you’re too stubborn to do so for yourself. He’s got your back, always. Even if it means enduring a bit of attitude in the process. Eddie likes that about you, he always has. With a final glance, he leaves the room, flicking off the light switch.

Left standing in the dark bedroom, you blindly navigate the article of clothing to locate the opening. However, as soon as you go to put it on, it occurs to you that this hoodie is not fresh out of the wash.

The distant floral scent left behind by dryer sheets mingles with his natural aroma, enveloping you as you pull the sweatshirt over your head. He grabbed whatever was at hand, inadvertently submerging you back into the very sensory experience you fled from. The spicy notes from his cologne turn you into a human lava lamp, effectively melting you on the inside.

The mingling of Old Spice, tobacco smoke, his unique essence, and a hint of spring meadow flood your mind. You consider the idea of keeping the hoodie. You could tell him that you forgot to return it, and he’ll forget about it. Eddie can afford to lose one hoodie, he’d survive.

“Let’s go!” He barks, impatience peaking as nerves gnaw at him with each passing minute bringing him closer to the dinner.

Exiting his bedroom, you find Eddie stationed at the front door, propping it open with his foot. Once within his view, you extend your arms and twist your expression to emphasize your annoyed compliance.

“One last thing,” Eddie withdraws his foot, causing the door to slam shut, its latch clanging twice against the wood from the force. He reaches out and pulls the hood up, adjusting it to cover most of your head. “There.”

You stick your tongue out at him, your grin eliciting one from him in return. “Alright, let’s-” He begins, but instead of turning, he fakes you out and grabs both drawstrings. Eddie tugs them, causing the hood to cinch tightly around your face.

“You’re an ass,” You whine.

“Yeah, well,” Eddie turns around to leave this time and holds the front door open for you. “You’re stuck with me.”

With a narrowed glare, you fix the hood and your hair on your way out of the apartment. Eddie is close behind, closing the door and locking it. You take the opportunity to collect yourself and adopt a supportive, cheerful demeanor.

These are gonna be the longest two hours of your life.

You can’t fucking believe it. You’re preparing a meal for another woman, and doing so willingly. You tried to guide him through the prep process, but he grew frustrated. Now, he’s on dish duty, conquering the mountain of dirty dishes piled up on the counter. 

She may be getting a delicious and intimate dinner, but at least you get moments like these. But soon enough, she’ll have them too. If everything goes to plan, the memories of these moments will be all you have left of Eddie. As you lose yourself in the sound of his voice, the ramblings about a sale he made at work eventually circle back to the topic of his evening.

As he excitedly goes on, his voice carries a boyish enthusiasm. Unseen by you, Eddie bounces on the balls of his feet while standing at the sink. Ten minutes seem to fly by unnoticed as you both focus on your tasks.

After taking the food out of the oven, his demeanor flips like a switch. “Oh, it’s time for me to leave apparently,” you acknowledge, barely having the chance to take off the oven mitt all the way before he’s practically pushing you out of the apartment. “Be sure to heat it up at 375 degrees,” You suggest as you struggle to put on your shoes fast enough.

“Sure thing,” Eddie confirms, “I’ll let you know how it goes!”

“Looking forward to it,” You lie. Eddie waves you off before closing the front door. Left standing alone in the eerily quiet hallway, you feel foolish.

Finally arriving home, you crawl onto your bed. The weight of reality crashes down upon you, and you physically collapse under the weight of your emotions. The pain in your chest burns up the back of your throat as you sob. This was a harsh wake-up call, but it’s what you needed to finally confront yourself.

It’s better this way. Not having to reject you outright or politely turn you down, Eddie doesn’t have to hurt simply because you are. This is best because Eddie doesn’t have to feel guilty or pity you. Just as you’ve loved him in silence, you can grieve the loss of him in it too.

Ten minutes pass and just as you’re starting to drift asleep from exhaustion, your telephone rings. The ringing in the kitchen pulls you from your room. You drag your feet on the way there, clearing your throat and taking a deep breath before answering the phone.

“Hey, uh,” Eddie sounds panicked, “Can you come back over? I forgot the most important fucking thing and-”

You cut him off, “Relax, I’ll be there in twelve,” Abruptly ending the call without another word, you rub your sore eyes, blow your stuffy nose, and splash your face with warm water. The last thing he needs is for his night to be ruined because he notices how hard you’ve been crying. If your feelings get in the way of him having a good time with the girl he’s head over heels for, then you don’t deserve his friendship.

Entering the building and letting yourself back into his apartment, you’re caught off guard by how different the space looks. He worked his butt off to tidy the living room and make certain that everything is presentable. Besides being notably neater, you also notice the faint smell of air freshener.

The apartment is blanketed in darkness, illuminated only by the flickering flames of candles and the light from the table lamp in the living room. Hushed music emanates from the record player in his room. It’s a genre you wouldn’t have expected him to own, because of how slow and romantic it sounds. You wonder whether he bought it specifically for this occasion.

Upon hearing the front door creak open, Eddie halts his pacing in the living room. “Thank god, you’re here.”

You teeter on the heels of your feet, feeling out of place in the carefully arranged setting that isn’t meant for you. “I really shouldn’t be. It’s quarter to seven, she’ll show up any minute now.”

Eddie makes his way over to you, rounding the dinner table and draping his arm along the back of the dining chair farthest from where you stand. “No, no. Don’t worry about that, she’s already here.”

Your eyes flit towards the bathroom, expecting to see a sliver of light escaping from beneath the door, yet the hallway is pitch black. There’s no dolled-up gal standing in his room either. You look back at him with a furrowed brow, confusion etched on your face. “Where, exactly?”

He can’t think of a time he’s ever had to remind himself how to breathe correctly. Eddie holds his hand out to you, his anxiety mounting. With hesitation, you extend your hand and place it in his. He wraps his trembling fingers around yours.

Rarely have you been in this position, and in those instances, it was never an act with deeper meaning. It’s only ever happened in urgent moments, like darting across a bustling street to avoid being separated—a mere safety measure.

Eddie’s attention fixates on your hands, willing them to respond to his touch. Then he notices your puffy, reddened eyes. “What’s the matter?” He asks, instinctively squeezing your joined hands.

“It’s stupid,” You pull away from him, retracting your hand to wipe away the smeared mascara beneath your eyes.

Rather than forcibly turning you to face him, Eddie gracefully moves around to stand in front of you once more. “I bet it’s not,” he says softly, his compassionate expression tinged with concern. He reaches for both of your hands this time, praying you can’t feel his pounding pulse through the contact.

Eddie delicately lifts your hands and peppers velvety kisses across the tops of your knuckles. The warmth of your skin against his lips sends a shiver shooting through his core, goosebumps rising across his body.

You emit a wet giggle from the shock, uncertainty, and embarrassment bubbling within you. “What the hell are you doing?”

He chuckles a little too, his eyes sparkling as they reflect the dancing flames behind you. “What’s it look like? This is all for you,” Eddie presses one more featherlight kiss to your hands before lowering them, but he doesn’t let go, keeping them securely in his own. “It’s our first date.”

You’re the prettiest little package of unusual. From the moment he first heard your song, he couldn’t shake you. Eddie couldn’t get your tune out of his system, but it’s not like he wanted to. Never before had anyone shown him such unconditional care; no one had ever gone out of their way to get to know him like you did. You’re the safest thing he’s ever known, but you’re also the scariest, in the best ways possible.

The thought of confessing how you make him complete, unlike anything he’s ever experienced, is nothing short of terrifying. Yet, the fear of not seizing the opportunity to love you outweighs the fear of rejection. There’s no turning back now.

Your eyes wander to the table, taking in the details: the thoughtfully arranged mismatched plates and silverware, the glasses filled with expensive wine. At the end of the kitchen island sits a teddy bear beside a bouquet. In addition to the flower petals, there are red, white, and pink balloons scattered across the floor.

You turn away before he can see your face contort, biting your lip harshly to suppress the sob rising in your throat. It’s all useless, though. A broken cry escapes your lips.

Eddie’s stomach lurches and pressure builds behind his own eyes. The change he just caused is palpable, the damage has been done. He releases both of your hands and plants his on the sides of his head, stepping away. “Shit, shit, shit. I’m such a fucking idiot. I read this all wrong, I thought-”

“You’re not and you didn’t,” you choke out. “They’re happy tears now.”

His frantic expression mellows out, his arms drop to his sides, and the tension in his body gradually dissipates. “Happy tears?”

You respond with a soft hum and nod, a grin forming as you admire the table setting and gifts once more before looking back at Eddie.

“Oh,” he chirps, wearing a cheek-splitting smile as he brings his palms to your face. He wipes away your fallen tears with his thumbs. Eddie studies your expression intently. “I didn’t mean to make you cry sad ones.”

“It’s not your fault,” You close your eyes, relishing the sensation of his fingers calmingly swiping along the apples of your cheeks.

“It is and I’m sorry,” Eddie inches closer, his toes now touching yours. “I wanted it to be a surprise ‘cause I thought spontaneity would make it more memorable.”

You look at him questioningly. “It’s not exactly spontaneous when you had me cook my own dinner.”

“Fair enough. You’ve got me there,” Eddie thought it was a foolproof plan. If you made the food, there was no chance that you’d hate it. “I went about this all wrong, huh? I should scrap the whole thing and start from scratch,” He becomes distracted, his train of thought shifting to how he’s going to clean this up and figure out a different approach.

“Don’t do that. Just ask me,” you grasp his forearm to regain his attention. “Ask me out and maybe I'll say yes.”

“Maybe?” Eddie scoffs airily, unsure if you’re teasing or genuinely undecided. He clears his throat and theatrically composes himself, gesturing with a downward motion of his hand in front of his face. “Okay, uh, would you like to have dinner with me?”

“No.”

Eddie’s mouth falls open.

“I’m fucking with you,” You smile devilishly and wrap your arms around his middle.

Finally, he can hug you the way he’s always wanted. Eddie brings you in close and tight, his arms encircling your head. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” He murmurs into your hair, inhaling deeply to indulge in every aspect of you he can.

“A little,” You laugh. You remain in each other’s embrace for a moment longer before easing apart, though still connected by your pairs of lassoed arms.

Eddie’s laughter melds with yours, the relief in his tone evident. “Now that the cat's outta the bag, I can finally tell you that I absolutely love when you’re a crybaby.”

You pull a comical expression, raising your eyebrows and widening your eyes. “What, why?” You take in the scattering of freckles across his T-zone while he responds.

“Honest to god, it’s mesmerizing to watch you experience things so intensely. It’s fucking beautiful,” With nothing but adoration in his eyes, Eddie strokes your hair, relishing the way it feels against his skin. “Can I call you my crybaby?”

“No, you cannot!” You swat at his chest and attempt to push him away, but he laughs smugly and brings you back in close. Your hands find purchase on his biceps, surrendering to him entirely. Locked in each other’s gaze, time seems to crawl.

Eddie’s hands, having made their way down to caress your hips, settle on the small of your back. “How about just baby?” he nudges the tip of his nose against yours, his voice taking on an almost sultry tone. “You like the way that sounds?”

All you can do is nod dumbly, watching his eyes fall to your lips.

Eddie mumbles, “Me too,” His hands flex where they lay, tugging you slightly so that your bodies are flush and you have no choice but to lean against him. “Would it be okay if I kissed you?” Eddie licks his lips, his eyes finding yours again, the chocolate pools of his irises swirling.

You nod, slide your hands up his shoulders, and wrap them around his neck. The air was stolen from your lungs, rendering your voice a ghost. Eddie leans in and his lips hover over yours, your eyes fluttering closed in time with his. Then, you feel the gentle pressure of his lips against your own.

For a few moments, you’re out of sync, a mere beat behind due to nerves. But after taking a brief breath, you find each other without trouble. When you slot your lip between his, it’s as though there’s a sunrise in his veins; a new dawn spreads through his body. You tug a fistful of curls at the nape of his neck, your lips clicking wetly with one another, chests heaving in unison.

When the two of you finally have to part to breathe, Eddie whispers, “Holy shit.”

“You can say that again,” You exhale, releasing the grip you have on his hair and soothingly scratching the area with your nails.

“I mean I could,” Eddie borderline purrs, tightening his arms around your waist. “But I’d much rather keep kissing you.”

“Hard to argue with that,” you smile against his lips and give him a quick peck, which he happily returns. Then, your mind begins to wander. “You got me flowers?”

He can’t discern if there’s a trace of disdain or disbelief in your tone. Eddie knows that you consider flowers cliché and overrated; after all, you deal with them all day. But just because you see them that way doesn’t mean he does.

Eddie pulls away slightly to get a good look at you, “Yeah, of course I got flowers for my flower. How could I not?”

Truthfully, he’s bummed about not being able to find a bouquet as exceptional as you. You’re unlike anything from this world, resembling something from his cherished sci-fi novels. You’re resilient, showing up any old rose or daisy. You unfurled your petals solely for Eddie and allowed him to see you bloom. Nothing on earth compares to you. So, a regular bouquet would have to do.

You comment with a slightly teasing tone, “I had no idea you’re a hopeless romantic.”

“Too much?” Eddie bites his lower lip, afraid that you’re offended.

“No, not too much,” you remove your one hand from his hair and rest it on his chest, drawing mindless shapes while you avoid eye contact. “Far more than I deserve though,” You’re slightly taken aback when Eddie cups your face without hesitation, forcing you to look at him. Despite his assertiveness, his touch is tender.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie’s eyes carry an intensity you’ve never seen, brimming with affection and sincerity. “You deserve everything good that this world has to offer. I can’t give you that, but I can give you all of me. That much I can promise.”

Reblogs are greatly encouraged and appreciated! ♡

★My Masterlist

The plastic shell of the phone clacks as you hang up, and you watch Eddie hop out of his van, and round the front of it with an unusual pep in his step—more than you’d see his best days.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Eddie’s voice carries across the room, accompanied by a genuine smile that lights up his face. He strides to the register counter you’re currently manning, wearing a vermillion polo shirt embellished with the neatly embroidered String and Strum shop logo on the breast. His hair is pushed back from his face with a black bandana, resembling a biker-like edge, tied firmly to ensure no stray curls disrupt his work as he repairs guitars and sells instruments for commission.

In seconds flat, he’s already scrunching his nose like a bunny, sensing a sneeze on the horizon. Being in a room packed with fresh plants is nothing short of hell, but he’s willing to endure it for the sake of seeing you. While he can handle flowers in small quantities, the confined space never fails to tickle his system like nobody’s business.

Vision blurring with mild irritation, Eddie blinks hard to disperse it. “Hey, how’s today going?”

You shrug, suppressing a giggle at the wiggle of his nose. “As good as it can, I guess. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

Eddie sets a grease-stained paper bag on the counter that separates you, along with a cup of soda. “Figured you could use a midday pick-me-up.”

“Must be my lucky day because I overslept and didn’t have time to pack a lunch. Well, that and I found a penny on the sidewalk.”

Eddie crosses his arms and tilts his head. “Don’t give luck all the credit. I have instinctual powers, y’know. My Munson senses were tingling and I knew you were in need.”

“My hero,” You exclaim, clasping your hands and swinging them to the side like a swooning princess. 

Eddie chuckles with you, watching as you wipe your palms on your apron and eagerly dig into the bag, pulling out a foam to-go box. As you promptly open it and take a bite of your lunch, you can’t help but groan and throw your head back in satisfaction. Your eyes meet his thereafter, causing him to twist his mouth to the side and momentarily look away.

“How much do I owe you?” You ask, your words slightly muffled as you continue to chew.

Minnie, Joan’s cat, gracefully leaps onto the counter to greet Eddie. She perches herself beside the cash register, allowing him to scratch under her chin. “Nothin, consider it a favor,” He says with a wet sniffle, the tingling in his nose unrelenting.

The silence that falls is comfortable for you, but he’s seemingly lost in his thoughts as he continues to pet Minnie. Then, he looks at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Speaking of which, I just so happen to know a way that you can return the favor.”

Having taken a sip from your drink and another bite of your food, the inflection of Eddie’s voice causes you to slow your chewing. “And what might that be?”

“Come over later to find out.”

Your shoulders slump, eyes widened with mock defeat. “No! I can’t stand here and wonder all day. I'll die. The suspense will kill me.”

Eddie pouts mockingly, his sweet honey eyes betraying his faux-frown. “Then I'll be sure to have the prettiest floral arrangement for your funeral. Only the best for you.”

Your brows knit together in an authentic pouting. The irony of needing to meet an untimely demise to receive flowers from a guy isn’t lost on you.

He motions toward the untrimmed bundle of carnations on the workbench behind you. “Actually, if you’re not too busy, could you string those up for me quick so they’re ready to go for your wake?”

“Ha-ha.” You leer at him, taking the next bite of your food rather aggressively. “You’re cruel, you know that?”

“I beg to differ since I surprised you with your favorite from Val’s and all,” Eddie retorts, biting the inside of his cheek.

You grumble, “Yeah, and it’s fucking delicious.”

Eddie checks his watch and huffs. “Alright, I’ve gotta get goin’." He raps his knuckles on the countertop and beginning to walk backward. “See you later tonight.” He points at you before spinning on his heel and exiting the shop.

The bulky keyring on Eddie’s jeans jingles loudly as he steps onto the sidewalk. Abruptly, he stops in his tracks. For a moment he’s frozen, and then he braces himself against the nearby lamppost. It hits him like a brick wall and he sneezes mightily. 

Heads of nearby passersby turn in his direction, startled by the noise. As he straightens his posture, Eddie remains still, trying to find his center of gravity and regain his composure.

“You good?” You call out, your voice just barely reaching him through the propped-open doors. Taking a casual sip of your drink, you watch as Eddie steadies himself. Still clutching the street lamp with one hand, he manages to stick his other arm out and give a thumbs-up.

True to your word, you arrive at Eddie’s place straight after work. The sun is setting, casting a warm glow through the patio door onto the walls of the living room. The apartment is in its usual state of disarray, expectedly so, since it’s home to three guys who aren’t particularly concerned with tidiness.

Toeing off your shoes, you’re unphased by the subtle smell of dust in the air. What strikes you as odd is how quiet it is. Typically, at least one roommate is home, blasting the TV in the living room or music from their respective bedrooms. But the only sound permeating the silence is the erratic thumping and screech of the water pipes behind the paper-thin walls of the bathroom.  

As you snoop around the kitchen, hoping to find a box of saltine crackers or really anything to stop the gurgling in your belly. Having come up empty-handed, you turn your attention to the resilient plant that you challenged Eddie to care for—Keanu Leaves, as he so proudly named it. 

Finished with your fruitless search of the kitchen, you make your way into Eddie’s bedroom to settle comfortably into the chair that only you sit in; it’s your spot. While you get cozy, the beans rattle as they perfectly mold to your figure. You knock on the wall beside you, signaling your arrival to Eddie.

You resume the magazine left sitting open on the page you stopped on. You occupy yourself in the article about predicted spring fashion trends as you wait. After a minute or two, the pipes go quiet from the shower being turned off.

Eddie strolls into the room wearing nothing more than a clean pair of boxers. Droplets of water trickle down his toned and tatted chest. Harshly ruffling his curls with a bath towel, he smirks at you. “If it isn’t Little Miss Zombie, back from the dead.”

“Less than alive and in the flesh,” you reply, your annoyance at being made to wait all day still evident. You hold grudges better than anyone he knows, and Eddie is well aware that he’s not immune to being subject to it.

Your tummy rumbles loudly, the discomfort only emphasizing the sharpness of your tone. “When was the last time you got groceries? I didn’t see any preserved brains I could help myself to.”

“I’m definitely due for a restock,” Eddie says as he drapes his wet towel over the back of his desk chair. Then, he grabs the bottle of mousse from his dresser and dispenses a foamy dollop into his palm. “Funny you should ask, though. That’s sorta why you’re here.”

You flip the page of your magazine, not pulling your eyes from the glossy print. “You told me to come over to go grocery shopping?”

Eddie rubs his palms together to spread the product and then runs his fingers through his curls. “Not quite,” he starts, his tone cryptic. “I’ve been tasked with providing a meal, of sorts.” 

Finally, you look up at him. Watching him scrunch his damp hair with the remainder of the product that’s making his palms go tacky, you wait for him to elaborate.

Eddie’s eyes flit to the other side of the room, rather than meeting your awaiting gaze. “I have a date.”

You stare blankly at the back of his head, as still as a statue while your blinking intensifies. Dumbfounded, you struggle to survive the bombshell he just dropped on you. It’s as if a nuclear explosion has shattered your eardrums, leaving his continued words to sound muffled through the high-pitched ringing.

A million and one questions swirl in your mind, only adding to the disorienting whirlwind of emotions. Since when is he dating? Why all of a sudden? As you try to piece everything together, you note that he hasn’t had any recent romantic interactions, at least none that you’re aware of.

You always thought he’d confide in you if he was seeing someone, but now you’re not so sure; especially since you’re only finding out about this now. Without a doubt, Eddie has never had trouble attracting attention. But he’s always seemed so content with the ways things are. So why now?

Eddie turns to face you, a splash of desperation in his eyes. “I feel like doing this is the best way to know if she likes me back.”

Your mouth has gone dry, and you try to sound more curious than interrogative, but it doesn’t quite come off that way. “Who is this mystery woman, anyway?” A couple of names come to mind, some of the most beautiful girls in town—none of whom you hold a candle to.

His side of the room falls quiet when he’s hit with your question. Eddie’s eyes drop to the carpet. While it might seem like he’s lost in thought, it’s actually a glaring sign of evasion. You can’t help but feel a little hurt by his reluctance to tell you who it is.

A small smile forms as he leans back against his dresser, as though he can’t keep himself upright during his current daydream. Folding his arms across his pecs and rubbing his jaw, eyes still downcast, Eddie begins to gush about her. “She’s just- god, she’s something else. The way she laughs, it’s like... the sun coming out after a storm.”

“Sounds like quite the catch,” you mutter, trying to keep your tone neutral. You watch closely as blush tints Eddie’s cheeks and his smile threatens to grow. Without saying another word, Eddie walks out and returns to the bathroom.

You’re quick to follow, hopping up from your chair. “Do I know her?”

“Technically, yeah." Standing in front of the foggy mirror, he wipes it with the back of his forearm. Then, he starts rummaging through the counter drawer for his pair of shears.

You stand just outside the open door, the lingering humidity from his scorching hot shower kissing your skin as it disperses into the hallway. Leaning back against the wall, you cross your arms like he did moments ago, albeit far more tensely. Technically? It must be one of your ex-friends, then. That would explain why he’s been keeping you in the dark.

It’s your duty to be supportive, but right now, you could hurl. The thick nausea swirling deep in your gut is a storm raging within, overpowering your ability to stay present.

While trimming his bangs over the basin, the shears glint in the hushed light of the wall sconce. Eddie steals a glance in your direction, but his eyes dart back to his reflection too quickly to catch the discomfort etched on your face. “So you’ll help me, right?”

As you watch yourself anxiously wiggling your toes inside your sock, you mumble, “I can't if you won’t tell me who it is.“

“Sure you can, you’re a girl. You know how this stuff works.”

You scoff, your brows shooting up as your head jerks back. You open your mouth to object, but he promptly cuts you off.

“Ah, ah! Slow your roll." Eddie points the shears in your direction. “I’m not saying you’re all the same, but there’s gotta be some common ground of expectations, right?”

You don’t have the strength to argue, so you reluctantly allow for his generalization. “I guess so.”

“Like yeah, I could just study one of those lady magazines you’re always reading. But then I wouldn’t have a way of knowing what is and isn’t bullshit,” Eddie explains, his tone half-joking. “That’s why I’m going straight to the source, oh, wise one.”

Far too consumed with trying to narrow down who the chick could possibly be, you can’t be bothered to give him a huff of amusement through your nose. “Can I at least have a hint?”

“Nope.” The shears hit the countertop, their metallic resonance echoing against the porcelain. He pivots to face you, hands resting on his hips. “Alright, Sherlock. How about you quit trying to crack the case and help me pick out a tie.”

“A what now?” You squawk, eyes widening in disbelief.

Eddie chuckles softly and rinses the hair trimmings down the drain, then flicks off the bathroom light. “I have to dress for the occasion. This is a big deal for me,” he elaborates as he strides back into his room. “For her and me.”

Once again, you find yourself on his tail, trailing close behind back into his bedroom. You unfold your arms and instead, start to rub the inside of your wrist with your opposite thumb. “Yeah, I get that. Just seems a bit out of character for you.”

Rifling through his closet, Eddie pulls out a hanger with a navy button-up shirt and nonchalantly tosses it onto the end of his bed. “Maybe, but at least she’ll know I’m taking this seriously." Eddie reaches for the high shelf to retrieve a tattered shoebox. Lifting the lid, he presents it to you. “Here’s what we’re working with.”

You step closer, your fingers deftly plucking out the rolled ties one by one, laying them flat beside the slightly wrinkled shirt. Side by side, your shoulders nearly brush. Meticulously comparing the patterns and colors, neither of you seems drawn to any particular one.

“Here, maybe it’s better to do it this way,” Eddie suggests, picking up and beginning to slip into the shirt. His thick fingers falter as he attempts to maneuver each small white button through its corresponding hole. Once halfway dressed—having tastefully paired his plaid boxers with a dress shirt—he smooths out the material from his chest to his belly.

Eddie grabs the nearest tie and lays it against his shoulder. He faces you expectantly, anticipation evident in his gaze, awaiting your feedback.

Your eyes flit between the tie he’s holding, the array laid out on the bed, and the hopefulness in his round eyes. “These are easily the three ugliest ties I've ever seen. No offense.”

He blows a playful raspberry at your harsh criticism and shakes his head. “None taken, they’re not mine. But Wayne might be a little hurt when I call him next and tell him you said that.”

Shooting him a pointed look, your brows furrow in skepticism. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I just might,” Eddie teases with a smile before turning his attention back to the bed. He tosses the first tie aside and reaches for the mustard paisley one. “What about this one, does it compliment my eyes?” He bats his dark brown lashes.

You clutch your chin in contemplation, carefully assessing the combination of hues. However, the richness of his chocolate irises captures you. You wade in their depths. The hot flash that envelops your body is enough to break the trance he inadvertently put you under. With a disapproving shake of your head, you dismiss this tie as well. “Nope, next.”

Eddie looks at you for a moment longer, even though you’re not doing the same. A faint frown creases his features as he tosses the vetoed tie aside, forming a rejection pile.

You pick up the remaining tie and drape it over his shoulder, admiring the harmonious pairing of the navy in the tie with the shirt, accentuated by its white and black diagonal stripes. While you ponder, Eddie watches your face intently, holding his breath.

You nod, a trace of delighted approval in your expression. “We have a winner.”

“Hell yeah, blue on blue it is." He wraps the tie around the back of his neck but struggles to recall the proper technique for tying it. Attempting a few different nonsensical loopings, he groans, his determination waning. “Stupid son of a bitch, wouldya just-”

“Don’t hurt yourself. Let me do it," you offer. Not receiving protest, you step closer to him.

Eddie uses one hand to gather his product-enhanced curls into a makeshift ball, allowing you to access the collar of his shirt. He juts out his freshly shaved chin, granting you ample room to work. Standing this closely, you catch the clean scent of shaving cream lingering on his skin.

You begin to effortlessly tie the knot. Without pausing to consider what you’re about to say, the words spill from your lips. “Why’re you asking for my opinion on stuff like this, anyway? You should be doing what you think she’ll like, not me.”

“You always know best.” Eddie’s expression softens to something more vulnerable. “When you’re taking the next step in a relationship, you want everything to be as perfect as it can be, y’know?”

It’s common sense to him. No one understands him like you do, making you the perfect person for navigating this nerve-wracking experience. But for you, it’s perplexing. You’ve never been on a proper, formal date. The idea of one remains an unfulfilled pipe dream. Yet, here you are, agreeing to help Eddie plan his.

Your only frame of reference comes from romance movies and horror stories of dates gone wrong recounted by your girlfriends. Of all the things you could be in the world, you find yourself an unassuming tree. Sturdy and dependable, sure. You serve your purpose. But you don’t captivate onlookers with blooming petals like flowers do. Instead, you take pride in your intricately branched personality, valuing it as your true strength that often goes overlooked.

Even so, it feels as though your traits fail to enchant others regardless; nobody seems willing. You go unnoticed, and you’ve come to terms with that.

Beautiful wildflowers get plucked from the ground and carried away to be cherished. Meanwhile, you simply exist, rooted in no man’s land, devoid of admirers. You may stand tall, but you’re easily overshadowed by what other women have to offer.

Perhaps this is why you like working at the flower shop. It’s somewhat cathartic to witness the delicate petals fall from time to time. It brings you a strange sense of satisfaction to hack away at their stems. The best part, though? While it’s a little twisted, you know that those flowers that dazzle in their pristine state are destined to wilt. They’ll shrivel and brown.

Whilst among your shared group of friends in public, you’ve witnessed Eddie getting nudged by one of the guys to direct his attention to a smoke show walking by. You watched as they bit their knuckles and exaggeratedly gawked. You don’t compare, it’s not even apples to oranges. It’s like… apples to rocks. A delicious, shiny fruit compared to you, mere clunky chunks of earth.

If life were an album, you’re the track that everyone skips within seconds of hearing the intro. Except for those rare moments when someone half-listens by accident and they resonate with you—that’s how you and Eddie became friends. He’d stumbled upon his new favorite song, one worth revisiting. What he sees in you is what everyone else overlooks.

Eddie is the only man on the face of the earth who treats you like you’re worth being around. Only an oddball would prefer to spend time lounging beneath the shade of a crooked tree instead of homing a rose in a crystal vase. That’s one thing you love about your best friend; he doesn’t make you feel like you fade into the background.

All fairytale cliché bullshit included, you want to be sought out in a crowd. You want to light up the room for someone. Much to your dismay, that can happen platonically too, and it has in this case.

If Eddie only knew how much the little moments matter to you—the ones where he makes you feel prioritized and valued. You know you’re not anything close to special or remarkable, but he always made you second guess that thought.

Obviously, you hadn’t meant to fall for him. It was kind of like catching a cold; one day, there was a tickle in the back of your throat that you didn’t usually feel. Unsuspecting, the days went on, and that sensation only worsened. You started to panic a little but ultimately continued to deny your worst thoughts.

Before you knew it, you were bedridden, bitten by the love bug. You didn’t go down without a fight. You thought that you could be strong and deny it access to your heart, but it had already invaded. So, all you could do was wait it out.

You tried to distance yourself, hoping to recover and act like nothing ever changed inside of you. But Eddie didn’t let you get too far away.

It wasn’t love at first sight, rather, a creeping plague. There was no swooning and giggling, no struggling to keep your hands to yourself. The change was undetectable. You were a frog in boiling water, unaware of the gradually rising temperature until it was far too late.

It wasn’t until your chest started to ache every time you said goodbye at the end of spending time together that you realized you were in too deep. You genuinely debated going to the doctor to get the pang checked out, but luckily you didn’t. Otherwise, you’d have wasted a good chunk of money to find out that you’re a lovesick idiot.

Unfortunately, this is an illness you’ve been stuck with since, and you’ve at least learned how to distract yourself from it. But when you fail to do so, your imagination wanders. Naturally, you’ve wondered if pressing a mere kiss to his cheek would burn everything to the ground.

The forbidden territory beckons, tempting you to envision breaking those unspoken agreed-upon rules that forbid things like hand-holding and cuddling. The two of you uphold mutual respect, adhering to the expectations of friendship. Both of you reserve that level of touch for expressions of romantic affection. Actions such as those have no place in a true friendship.

That’s the most confusing part of this for you. How did you manage to catch such strong feelings for him when you’ve not crossed any lines? Sure, he’s a tactile person; maybe that has something to do with it. Eddie makes physical contact with those he trusts, but it’s not like he’s hanging off of you at any given moment. You receive the same treatment as the others in his inner circle: a hand on the shoulder, a pat on the back, and a brief gripping of the forearm to get your attention.

You’re not supposed to want the touches to be more frequent, much less of a different nature. The line has to be drawn somewhere, and it’s been plainly drawn in the sand. You understand and accept that. But why, of all lines in the world, does it have to be this one that you want to cross so badly?

Most of your days aren’t all that miserable. But there are those days that are more difficult than the rest, though it’s not his fault. Last weekend, the two of you were at a mall, and some chick waved at him flirtily. He returned it immediately, though playfully enough that it was almost mocking. He was fucking around and had no intention of entertaining the idea of approaching her. Regardless, it was humbling for you, to say the least.

In that moment, the world reminded you that there’s a reason you walk at his side at a respectable distance, not tucked under his arm. If anything, it’s for the best. There’s a sense of liberation in admiring him without the burden of articulating your feelings. There’s no pressure to meet a girlfriend quota or live up to a higher standard. What Eddie expects of you now is what you’re capable of, and clearly, all that you’re good for. You’re good for filling the void, but apparently not so much anymore.

You’re not lustrous and aching to jump his bones, and you’re certainly not desperate enough to kiss him on a whim by not allowing yourself to overthink it. But perhaps you are just desperate enough that a man simply paying your emotions, interests, and existence of any mind can shackle you to him. That has to be what’s done you in; Eddie gives a shit about you.

In reality, there’s more to it than that. Eddie is selective about who and what he lets in. He doesn’t care for conformity and lack of individuality. The idea of blending in with the majority of society repulses him. You find the flawed aspects of the Munson doctrine fascinating and raw. He’s not perfect and Eddie doesn’t care what others think of him, to a degree.

Not unlike you, he’s complex. Eddie is anti-establishment but still prefers a bit of structure over chaos in his day-to-day life. He’s independent and cynical as hell, but he’s also appreciative of his support systems and isn’t ashamed to rely on them. He’s not much of a rule breaker nor is he rebellious, but he’ll happily stir up a little trouble in good fun if given the opportunity.

Eddie is a hypocrite in some ways and a walking contradiction in others. You love that he’s unapologetic about being that way. He owns it for the most part, and you admire that.

His presence overstays its welcome in your thoughts. You’ve often yearned for him to call you in the dead of night, admitting that he can’t sleep without the sound of your voice. Many times, you’ve fought the urge to do that. He owes you sleep, countless nights of it. It’s a debt that will never be repaid, an outstanding balance.

Despite the attempts at trying to talk yourself out of it, you still can’t bring yourself to stop loving him. Even as he’s actively pursuing someone else, you’re unable to shake this. You could be paralyzed from head to toe, and you’d still feel the love you have for him in your bones.

Once Eddie is officially with someone, he won’t have much time or energy left for you. The anticipation of being thrown aside for something new and far prettier has shattered your heart before any changes have occurred. Yet, any fragment of his presence surpasses total absence. The greed isn’t worth it, and you know you should be grateful for getting any piece of him at all.

The phrase fizzles on the tip of your tongue like a smoldering ember, threatening to sear through the muscle… I’m happy for you.

You should say it, but you can’t. Because if you did, that would be a blatant lie. It’s not even possessiveness that has you so bitter, it’s envy. You wish you were in her place.

“There.” You adjust the knot with a delicate tug, ensuring its tightness before letting the material slip through your fingers. Unable to meet his appreciative gaze, you offer a sad smile and take a half-step backward.

Your sigh, cleverly concealed as a deep breath, escapes as you settle back into your chair with a plop. “So, um,” you begin, picking at your cuticles absentmindedly. “Where are you taking her? Somewhere fancy?”

“Nah.” Eddie meticulously revamps his curls one final time in the mirror, wanting them to fall just right. Then, with great care, he tames his bangs to lay perfectly in place. “She’s gonna come over here. I thought it’d be more intimate. Besides, I can’t exactly swing a reservation right now. I’ve been tight on cash this week.”

Your fingers come to a halt, the stinging sensation apparent. Looking over at him, your eyes meet his in the reflection. “Ya big dummy, you shouldn’t have bought me lunch when that money could’ve gone toward buying her a nice dinner.”

“Don’t start with that shit,” Eddie warns as he digs through his dresser in search of pants to wear. “I’m happy to do that for you,” He pulls a pair of dark jeans from the bottom drawer.

“It really did make my day, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Having donned his pants, he nears his desk where his black grommet belt lies on the floor. Eddie threads his belt through the loops of his jeans, the buckle jingling before he secures it in place. “I felt better knowing you were taken care of.”

It’s only now occurring to you what he’s implied, and you think how absurd it is for him to host a dinner when he’s culinarily challenged. “Wait, since when do you cook?”

“Oh, I don’t. But you do.”

“Hardly.” You scoff, downplaying your abilities. Placing your magazine back in your lap, you flip the page despite not having read it. Unexpectedly, you feel the urge to quell his enthusiasm, to set him up for failure by trying to poke holes in his plan. “I mean, food is one thing, but atmosphere is another. Aren’t the guys going to be here?”

Eddie moves the clutter on his desk around in a quest to find something. “I kicked them out for the night.”

Like a spear plunged into your chest, you swallow hard. Not only is he having a girl over for dinner, but he’s gone out of his way to guarantee privacy because he’s hoping to get lucky too. More than likely right there, on that very bed, feet away from you. The cramped twin-sized mattress, where they’ll inevitably be body to body.

He turns to you after locating what he was searching for, fastening the slightly fancier watch around his wrist; it only supersedes his Casio due to it being analog, as opposed to digital. “I’ve been wanting to try that dish you keep raving about. You can teach me how to make it. Two birds, one stone.”

“It’s not difficult, you could handle the recipe.” You shrug away the opportunity to cook with him because the domesticity of it would more than likely kill you.

“I wanna do it together.” His voice softens, genuinely asking as nicely as possible. “Please.”

“Sure, yeah.” You maintain your downcast gaze and slump back in the chair, wishing for a black hole to open and swallow you up. “What if she doesn’t like it, or what if you don’t?”

“If you like it then it has to be good.”

Eddie’s seemingly endless compliments cause no sense of flattery. Instead, you’re consumed with persisting nausea as you envision a stunning girl seated across from him while they share laughter and partake in unspeakable activities in this very room.

Abruptly, a wave of heat washes over you, causing the soles of your feet and your palms to grow clammy. The scent of newly sprayed Old Spice floods the room and you’re overwhelmed by it, struggling to draw a breath. “I’ll be right back.” You all but choke on your words, swiftly rising to your feet and hastily leaving. Eddie watches curiously as you do.

In the living room, you push the heavy sliding door aside, stepping out onto the balcony to catch your breath. You inhale as deep as physically possible, and the stirring evening breeze cools the hot tears gathered along your lash line. Cars pass by, and you distract yourself by watching a person leisurely walking their dog. You do everything in your power to divert your thoughts away from him and the impending date.

A few minutes later, Eddie emerges from his room and slides open the door to the balcony, poking his head out to check on you. “Y’ready to go?” The shift in your energy is immediately evident to him, though he can’t quite pinpoint what’s amiss. He figures you’ve had a long day and you’re tired from your shift. Maybe you’re a little hangry, too.

With your arms folded on the balcony rail, you continue to look out into the neighborhood. “Go where?” 

“The store, duh. We’ve gotta get ingredients, do we not?” He says to the back of your head.

You nod meekly before turning to face him. “Right. Yeah, I’m ready.”

Eddie flashes a warm smile before sliding the door open wide enough for you to pass through. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand then, hot stuff. We’re losing daylight."

Arguably, you’re not losing daylight fast enough. You wish the sun would fall from the sky. That way, it would always be dark and you could hide in the shadows forever. You follow him inside and slide the closed with a subdued thud.

His car keys drag and jingle while he swipes them off of the counter. Once he reaches the entryway, Eddie drops the keys on the floor beside him as he kneels to put on his sneakers. A few seconds later, you’ve joined him to do the same. Eddie glances at you as he feels the evening breeze that slipped in finally reaching this side of the room. “It’s a little chilly out, wanna borrow a hoodie or something?”

Quickly tying your shoes to avoid prolonged eye contact, you get to your feet, hugging yourself as you do. “No, I’ll be fine.”

Eddie snorts and stands, his shoes now tied as well. “I’m getting you one." He heads to his room, gesturing for you to follow.

“I said I’ll be fine without one,” You opt not to follow, instead calling out to him to compensate for the distance and his half-open door.

“Shut up, I’m getting you one and you’re gonna wear it ‘cause I said so.” His tone drips with feigned amusement at your stubbornness. “Come in here.”

As you step into the room, Eddie offers you the hoodie, watching as you just stare at it. “Sweetheart, put it on. You’re gonna freeze to death if you don’t. Then, I’ll have no choice but to cancel my super hot date because I’ll be too busy defrosting my ice sculpture of a best friend with a blow drier. You want me to blow you all night? I know you-”

“Okay, okay! I’ll put the damn thing on,” you agree begrudgingly, take it from him. “Happy?”

“Try elated.” Eddie smiles from ear to ear and winks at you, content that you’re allowing him to do what he deems best for you, knowing you’re too stubborn to do so for yourself. He’s got your back, always. Even if it means enduring a bit of attitude in the process. Eddie likes that about you, he always has. With a final glance, he leaves the room, flicking off the light switch.

Left standing in the dark bedroom, you blindly navigate the article of clothing to locate the opening. However, as soon as you go to put it on, it occurs to you that this hoodie is not fresh out of the wash.

The distant floral scent left behind by dryer sheets mingles with his natural aroma, enveloping you as you pull the sweatshirt over your head. He grabbed whatever was at hand, inadvertently submerging you back into the very sensory experience you fled from. The spicy notes from his cologne turn you into a human lava lamp, effectively melting you on the inside.

The mingling of Old Spice, tobacco smoke, his unique essence, and a hint of spring meadow flood your mind. You consider the idea of keeping the hoodie. You could tell him that you forgot to return it, and he’ll forget about it. Eddie can afford to lose one hoodie, he’d survive.

“Let’s go!” He barks, impatience peaking as nerves gnaw at him with each passing minute bringing him closer to the dinner.

Exiting his bedroom, you find Eddie stationed at the front door, propping it open with his foot. Once within his view, you extend your arms and twist your expression to emphasize your annoyed compliance.

“One last thing.” Eddie withdraws his foot, causing the door to slam shut, its latch clanging twice against the wood from the force. He reaches out and pulls the hood up, adjusting it to cover most of your head. “There.”

You stick your tongue out at him, your grin eliciting one from him in return. “Alright, let’s-” He begins, but instead of turning, he fakes you out and grabs both drawstrings. Eddie tugs them, causing the hood to cinch tightly around your face.

“You’re an ass.”

“Yeah, well.” Eddie turns around to leave this time and holds the front door open for you. “You’re stuck with me.”

With a narrowed glare, you fix the hood and your hair on your way out of the apartment. Eddie is close behind, closing the door and locking it. You take the opportunity to collect yourself and adopt a supportive, cheerful demeanor.

These are gonna be the longest two hours of your life.

You can’t fucking believe it. You’re preparing a meal for another woman, and doing so willingly. You tried to guide him through the prep process, but he grew frustrated. Now, he’s on dish duty, conquering the mountain of dirty dishes piled up on the counter. 

She may be getting a delicious and intimate dinner, but at least you get moments like these. But soon enough, she’ll have them too. If everything goes to plan, the memories of these moments will be all you have left of Eddie. As you lose yourself in the sound of his voice, the ramblings about a sale he made at work eventually circle back to the topic of his evening.

As he excitedly goes on, his voice carries a boyish enthusiasm. Unseen by you, Eddie bounces on the balls of his feet while standing at the sink. Ten minutes seem to fly by unnoticed as you both focus on your tasks.

After taking the food out of the oven, his demeanor flips like a switch. “Oh, it’s time for me to leave apparently.” You barely have the chance to take off the oven mitt all the way before he’s practically pushing you out of the apartment. “Be sure to heat it up at 375 degrees,” you suggest, struggling to put on your shoes fast enough.

“Sure thing. I’ll let you know how it goes!”

“Looking forward to it,” You lie. Eddie waves you off before closing the front door. Left standing alone in the hallway, you feel foolish.

Finally arriving home, you crawl onto your bed. The weight of reality crashes down upon you, and you physically collapse under the weight of your emotions. The pain in your chest burns up the back of your throat as you sob. This was a harsh wake-up call, but it’s what you needed to finally confront yourself.

It’s better this way. Not having to reject you outright or politely turn you down, Eddie doesn’t have to hurt simply because you are. This is best because Eddie doesn’t have to feel guilty or pity you. Just as you’ve loved him in silence, you can grieve the loss of him in it too.

Ten minutes pass and just as you’re starting to drift asleep from exhaustion, your telephone rings. The ringing in the kitchen pulls you from your room. You drag your feet on the way there, clearing your throat and taking a deep breath before answering the phone.

“Hey, uh,” Eddie sounds panicked. “Can you come back over? I forgot the most important fucking thing and-”

You cut him off. “Relax, I’ll be there in twelve." Abruptly ending the call without another word, you rub your sore eyes, blow your stuffy nose, and splash your face with warm water. The last thing he needs is for his night to be ruined because he notices how hard you’ve been crying. If your feelings get in the way of him having a good time with the girl he’s head over heels for, then you don’t deserve his friendship.

Entering the building and letting yourself back into his apartment, you’re caught off guard by how different the space looks. He worked his butt off to tidy the living room and make certain that everything is presentable. Besides being notably neater, you also notice the faint smell of air freshener.

The apartment is blanketed in darkness, illuminated only by the flickering flames of candles and the light from the table lamp in the living room. Hushed music emanates from the record player in his room. It’s a genre you wouldn’t have expected him to own, because of how slow and romantic it sounds. You wonder whether he bought it specifically for this occasion.

Upon hearing the front door creak open, Eddie halts his pacing in the living room. “Thank god, you’re here.”

You teeter on the heels of your feet, feeling out of place in the carefully arranged setting that isn’t meant for you. “I really shouldn’t be. It’s quarter to seven, she’ll show up any minute now.”

Eddie makes his way over to you, rounding the dinner table and draping his arm along the back of the dining chair farthest from where you stand. “No, no. Don’t worry about that, she’s already here.”

Your eyes flit towards the bathroom, expecting to see a sliver of light escaping from beneath the door, yet the hallway is pitch black. There’s no dolled-up gal standing in his room either. You look back at him with a furrowed brow, confusion etched on your face. “Where, exactly?”

He can’t think of a time he’s ever had to remind himself how to breathe correctly. Eddie holds his hand out to you, his anxiety mounting. With hesitation, you extend your hand and place it in his. He wraps his trembling fingers around yours.

Rarely have you been in this position, and in those instances, it was never an act with deeper meaning. It’s only ever happened in urgent moments, like darting across a bustling street to avoid being separated—a mere safety measure.

Eddie’s attention fixates on your hands, willing them to respond to his touch. Then he notices your puffy, reddened eyes. “What’s the matter?” He instinctively squeezing your joined hands.

“It’s stupid.” You pull away from him, retracting your hand to wipe away the smeared mascara beneath your eyes.

Rather than forcibly turning you to face him, Eddie gracefully moves around to stand in front of you once more. “I bet it’s not,” he says softly, his compassionate expression tinged with concern. He reaches for both of your hands this time, praying you can’t feel his pounding pulse through the contact.

Eddie delicately lifts your hands and peppers velvety kisses across the tops of your knuckles. The warmth of your skin against his lips sends a shiver shooting through his core, goosebumps rising across his body.

You emit a wet giggle from the shock, uncertainty, and embarrassment bubbling within you. “What the hell are you doing?”

He chuckles a little too, his eyes sparkling as they reflect the dancing flames behind you. “What’s it look like? This is all for you.” Eddie presses one more featherlight kiss to your hands before lowering them, but he doesn’t let go, keeping them securely in his own. “It’s our first date.”

You’re the prettiest little package of unusual. From the moment he first heard your song, he couldn’t shake you. Eddie couldn’t get your tune out of his system, but it’s not like he wanted to. Never before had anyone shown him such unconditional care; no one had ever gone out of their way to get to know him like you did. You’re the safest thing he’s ever known, but you’re also the scariest, in the best ways possible.

The thought of confessing how you make him complete, unlike anything he’s ever experienced, is nothing short of terrifying. Yet, the fear of not seizing the opportunity to love you outweighs the fear of rejection. There’s no turning back now.

Your eyes wander to the table, taking in the details: the thoughtfully arranged mismatched plates and silverware, the glasses filled with expensive wine. At the end of the kitchen island sits a teddy bear beside a bouquet. In addition to the flower petals, there are red, white, and pink balloons scattered across the floor.

You turn away before he can see your face contort, biting your lip harshly to suppress the sob rising in your throat. It’s all useless, though. A broken cry escapes your lips.

Eddie’s stomach lurches and pressure builds behind his own eyes. The change he just caused is palpable, the damage has been done. He releases both of your hands and plants his on the sides of his head, stepping away. “Shit, shit, shit. I’m such a fucking idiot. I read this all wrong.”

“You’re not and you didn’t. They’re happy tears now.”

His frantic expression mellows out, his arms drop to his sides, and the tension in his body gradually dissipates. “Happy tears?”

You respond with a soft hum and nod, a grin forming as you admire the table setting and gifts once more before looking back at Eddie.

“Oh,” he chirps, wearing a cheek-splitting smile as he brings his palms to your face. He wipes away your fallen tears with his thumbs. Eddie studies your expression intently. “I didn’t mean to make you cry sad ones.”

“It’s not your fault.” You close your eyes, relishing the sensation of his fingers calmingly swiping along the apples of your cheeks.

“It is and I’m sorry.” Eddie inches closer, his toes now touching yours. “I wanted it to be a surprise ‘cause I thought spontaneity would make it more memorable.”

You look at him questioningly. “It’s not exactly spontaneous when you had me cook my own dinner.”

“Fair enough. You’ve got me there.” Eddie thought it was a foolproof plan. If you made the food, there was no chance that you’d hate it. “I went about this all wrong, huh? I should scrap the whole thing and start from scratch.” He becomes distracted, his train of thought shifting to how he’s going to clean this up and figure out a different approach.

“Don’t do that. Just ask me.” You grasp his forearm to regain his attention. “Ask me out and maybe I'll say yes.”

“Maybe?” Eddie scoffs airily, unsure if you’re teasing or genuinely undecided. He clears his throat and theatrically composes himself, gesturing with a downward motion of his hand in front of his face. “Okay, uh, would you like to have dinner with me?”

“No.”

Eddie’s mouth falls open.

“I’m fucking with you.” You smile devilishly and wrap your arms around his middle.

Finally, he can hug you the way he’s always wanted. Eddie brings you in close and tight, his arms encircling your head. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” He murmurs into your hair, inhaling deeply to indulge in every aspect of you he can.

“A little.” You laugh. You remain in each other’s embrace for a moment longer before easing apart, though still connected by your pairs of lassoed arms.

Eddie’s laughter melds with yours, the relief in his tone evident. “Now that the cat's outta the bag, I can finally tell you that I absolutely love when you’re a crybaby.”

You pull a comical expression, raising your eyebrows and widening your eyes. “What, why?” You take in the scattering of freckles across his T-zone while he responds.

“Honest to god, it’s mesmerizing to watch you experience things so intensely. It’s fucking beautiful.” With nothing but adoration in his eyes, Eddie strokes your hair, relishing the way it feels against his skin. “Can I call you my crybaby?”

“No, you cannot!” You swat at his chest and attempt to push him away, but he laughs smugly and brings you back in close. Your hands find purchase on his biceps, surrendering to him entirely. Locked in each other’s gaze, time seems to crawl.

Eddie’s hands, having made their way down to caress your hips, settle on the small of your back. “How about just baby?” He nudges the tip of his nose against yours, his voice taking on an almost sultry tone. “You like the way that sounds?”

All you can do is nod dumbly, watching his eyes fall to your lips.

Eddie mumbles, “Me too.” His hands flex where they lay, tugging you slightly so that your bodies are flush and you have no choice but to lean against him. “Would it be okay if I kissed you?” Eddie licks his lips, his eyes finding yours again, the chocolate pools of his irises swirling.

You nod, slide your hands up his shoulders, and wrap them around his neck. The air was stolen from your lungs, rendering your voice a ghost. Eddie leans in and his lips hover over yours, your eyes fluttering closed in time with his. Then, you feel the gentle pressure of his lips against your own.

For a few moments, you’re out of sync, a mere beat behind due to nerves. But after taking a brief breath, you find each other without trouble. When you slot your lip between his, it’s as though there’s a sunrise in his veins; a new dawn spreads through his body. You tug a fistful of curls at the nape of his neck, your lips clicking wetly with one another, chests heaving in unison.

When the two of you finally have to part to breathe, Eddie whispers, “Jesus Christ.”

“You can say that again.” You exhale, releasing the grip you have on his hair and soothingly scratching the area with your nails.

“I mean I could.” Eddie borderline purrs, tightening his arms around your waist. “But I’d much rather keep kissing you.”

“Hard to argue with that." You smile against his lips and give him a quick peck, which he happily returns. Then, your mind begins to wander. “You got me flowers?”

He can’t discern if there’s a trace of disdain or disbelief in your tone. Eddie knows that you consider flowers cliché and overrated; after all, you deal with them all day. But just because you see them that way doesn’t mean he does.

Eddie pulls away slightly to get a good look at you. “Yeah, of course I got flowers for my flower. How could I not?”

Truthfully, he’s bummed about not being able to find a bouquet as exceptional as you. You’re unlike anything from this world, resembling something from his cherished sci-fi novels. You’re resilient, showing up any old rose or daisy. You unfurled your petals solely for Eddie and allowed him to see you bloom. Nothing on earth compares to you. So, a regular bouquet would have to do.

You comment with a slightly teasing tone, “I had no idea you’re a hopeless romantic.”

“Too much?” Eddie bites his lower lip, afraid that you’re offended.

“No, not too much." You remove your one hand from his hair and rest it on his chest, drawing mindless shapes while you avoid eye contact. “Far more than I deserve though." You’re slightly taken aback when Eddie cups your face without hesitation, forcing you to look at him. Despite his assertiveness, his touch is tender.

“Sweetheart." Eddie’s eyes carry an intensity you’ve never seen, brimming with affection and sincerity. “You deserve everything good that this world has to offer. I can’t give you that, but I can give you all of me. That much I can promise.”

Reblogs are greatly encouraged and appreciated! ♡

★My Masterlist

The plastic shell of the phone clacks as you hang up, and you watch Eddie hop out of his van, and round the front of it with an unusual pep in his step—more than you’d see his best days.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Eddie’s voice carries across the room, accompanied by a genuine smile that lights up his face. He strides to the register counter you’re currently manning, wearing a vermillion polo shirt embellished with the neatly embroidered String and Strum shop logo on the breast. His hair is pushed back from his face with a black bandana, resembling a biker-like edge, tied firmly to ensure no stray curls disrupt his work as he repairs guitars and sells instruments for commission.

In seconds flat, he’s already scrunching his nose like a bunny, sensing a sneeze on the horizon. Being in a room packed with fresh plants is nothing short of hell, but he’s willing to endure it for the sake of seeing you. While he can handle flowers in small quantities, the confined space never fails to tickle his system like nobody’s business.

Vision blurring with mild irritation, Eddie blinks hard to disperse it. “Hey, how’s today going?”

You shrug, suppressing a giggle at the wiggle of his nose. “As good as it can, I guess. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

Eddie sets a grease-stained paper bag on the counter that separates you, along with a cup of soda. “Figured you could use a midday pick-me-up.”

“Must be my lucky day because I overslept and didn’t have time to pack a lunch. Well, that and I found a penny on the sidewalk.”

Eddie crosses his arms and tilts his head. “Don’t give luck all the credit. I have instinctual powers, y’know. My Munson senses were tingling and I knew you were in need.”

“My hero,” You exclaim, clasping your hands and swinging them to the side like a swooning princess. 

Eddie chuckles with you, watching as you wipe your palms on your apron and eagerly dig into the bag, pulling out a foam to-go box. As you promptly open it and take a bite of your lunch, you can’t help but groan and throw your head back in satisfaction. Your eyes meet his thereafter, causing him to twist his mouth to the side and momentarily look away.

“How much do I owe you?” You ask, your words slightly muffled as you continue to chew.

Minnie, Joan’s cat, gracefully leaps onto the counter to greet Eddie. She perches herself beside the cash register, allowing him to scratch under her chin. “Nothin, consider it a favor,” He says with a wet sniffle, the tingling in his nose unrelenting.

The silence that falls is comfortable for you, but he’s seemingly lost in his thoughts as he continues to pet Minnie. Then, he looks at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Speaking of which, I just so happen to know a way that you can return the favor.”

Having taken a sip from your drink and another bite of your food, the inflection of Eddie’s voice causes you to slow your chewing. “And what might that be?”

“Come over later to find out.”

Your shoulders slump, eyes widened with mock defeat. “No! I can’t stand here and wonder all day. I'll die. The suspense will kill me.”

Eddie pouts mockingly, his sweet honey eyes betraying his faux-frown. “Then I'll be sure to have the prettiest floral arrangement for your funeral. Only the best for you.”

Your brows knit together in an authentic pouting. The irony of needing to meet an untimely demise to receive flowers from a guy isn’t lost on you.

He motions toward the untrimmed bundle of carnations on the workbench behind you. “Actually, if you’re not too busy, could you string those up for me quick so they’re ready to go for your wake?”

“Ha-ha.” You leer at him, taking the next bite of your food rather aggressively. “You’re cruel, you know that?”

“I beg to differ since I surprised you with your favorite from Val’s and all,” Eddie retorts, biting the inside of his cheek.

You grumble, “Yeah, and it’s fucking delicious.”

Eddie checks his watch and huffs. “Alright, I’ve gotta get goin’." He raps his knuckles on the countertop and beginning to walk backward. “See you later tonight.” He points at you before spinning on his heel and exiting the shop.

The bulky keyring on Eddie’s jeans jingles loudly as he steps onto the sidewalk. Abruptly, he stops in his tracks. For a moment he’s frozen, and then he braces himself against the nearby lamppost. It hits him like a brick wall and he sneezes mightily. 

Heads of nearby passersby turn in his direction, startled by the noise. As he straightens his posture, Eddie remains still, trying to find his center of gravity and regain his composure.

“You good?” You call out, your voice just barely reaching him through the propped-open doors. Taking a casual sip of your drink, you watch as Eddie steadies himself. Still clutching the street lamp with one hand, he manages to stick his other arm out and give a thumbs-up.

True to your word, you arrive at Eddie’s place straight after work. The sun is setting, casting a warm glow through the patio door onto the walls of the living room. The apartment is in its usual state of disarray, expectedly so, since it’s home to three guys who aren’t particularly concerned with tidiness.

Toeing off your shoes, you’re unphased by the subtle smell of dust in the air. What strikes you as odd is how quiet it is. Typically, at least one roommate is home, blasting the TV in the living room or music from their respective bedrooms. But the only sound permeating the silence is the erratic thumping and screech of the water pipes behind the paper-thin walls of the bathroom.  

As you snoop around the kitchen, hoping to find a box of saltine crackers or really anything to stop the gurgling in your belly. Having come up empty-handed, you turn your attention to the resilient plant that you challenged Eddie to care for—Keanu Leaves, as he so proudly named it. 

Finished with your fruitless search of the kitchen, you make your way into Eddie’s bedroom to settle comfortably into the chair that only you sit in; it’s your spot. While you get cozy, the beans rattle as they perfectly mold to your figure. You knock on the wall beside you, signaling your arrival to Eddie.

You resume the magazine left sitting open on the page you stopped on. You occupy yourself in the article about predicted spring fashion trends as you wait. After a minute or two, the pipes go quiet from the shower being turned off.

Eddie strolls into the room wearing nothing more than a clean pair of boxers. Droplets of water trickle down his toned and tatted chest. Harshly ruffling his curls with a bath towel, he smirks at you. “If it isn’t Little Miss Zombie, back from the dead.”

“Less than alive and in the flesh,” you reply, your annoyance at being made to wait all day still evident. You hold grudges better than anyone he knows, and Eddie is well aware that he’s not immune to being subject to it.

Your tummy rumbles loudly, the discomfort only emphasizing the sharpness of your tone. “When was the last time you got groceries? I didn’t see any preserved brains I could help myself to.”

“I’m definitely due for a restock,” Eddie says as he drapes his wet towel over the back of his desk chair. Then, he grabs the bottle of mousse from his dresser and dispenses a foamy dollop into his palm. “Funny you should ask, though. That’s sorta why you’re here.”

You flip the page of your magazine, not pulling your eyes from the glossy print. “You told me to come over to go grocery shopping?”

Eddie rubs his palms together to spread the product and then runs his fingers through his curls. “Not quite,” he starts, his tone cryptic. “I’ve been tasked with providing a meal, of sorts.” 

Finally, you look up at him. Watching him scrunch his damp hair with the remainder of the product that’s making his palms go tacky, you wait for him to elaborate.

Eddie’s eyes flit to the other side of the room, rather than meeting your awaiting gaze. “I have a date.”

You stare blankly at the back of his head, as still as a statue while your blinking intensifies. Dumbfounded, you struggle to survive the bombshell he just dropped on you. It’s as if a nuclear explosion has shattered your eardrums, leaving his continued words to sound muffled through the high-pitched ringing.

A million and one questions swirl in your mind, only adding to the disorienting whirlwind of emotions. Since when is he dating? Why all of a sudden? As you try to piece everything together, you note that he hasn’t had any recent romantic interactions, at least none that you’re aware of.

You always thought he’d confide in you if he was seeing someone, but now you’re not so sure; especially since you’re only finding out about this now. Without a doubt, Eddie has never had trouble attracting attention. But he’s always seemed so content with the ways things are. So why now?

Eddie turns to face you, a splash of desperation in his eyes. “I feel like doing this is the best way to know if she likes me back.”

Your mouth has gone dry, and you try to sound more curious than interrogative, but it doesn’t quite come off that way. “Who is this mystery woman, anyway?” A couple of names come to mind, some of the most beautiful girls in town—none of whom you hold a candle to.

His side of the room falls quiet when he’s hit with your question. Eddie’s eyes drop to the carpet. While it might seem like he’s lost in thought, it’s actually a glaring sign of evasion. You can’t help but feel a little hurt by his reluctance to tell you who it is.

A small smile forms as he leans back against his dresser, as though he can’t keep himself upright during his current daydream. Folding his arms across his pecs and rubbing his jaw, eyes still downcast, Eddie begins to gush about her. “She’s just- god, she’s something else. The way she laughs, it’s like... the sun coming out after a storm.”

“Sounds like quite the catch,” you mutter, trying to keep your tone neutral. You watch closely as blush tints Eddie’s cheeks and his smile threatens to grow. Without saying another word, Eddie walks out and returns to the bathroom.

You’re quick to follow, hopping up from your chair. “Do I know her?”

“Technically, yeah." Standing in front of the foggy mirror, he wipes it with the back of his forearm. Then, he starts rummaging through the counter drawer for his pair of shears.

You stand just outside the open door, the lingering humidity from his scorching hot shower kissing your skin as it disperses into the hallway. Leaning back against the wall, you cross your arms like he did moments ago, albeit far more tensely. Technically? It must be one of your ex-friends, then. That would explain why he’s been keeping you in the dark.

It’s your duty to be supportive, but right now, you could hurl. The thick nausea swirling deep in your gut is a storm raging within, overpowering your ability to stay present.

While trimming his bangs over the basin, the shears glint in the hushed light of the wall sconce. Eddie steals a glance in your direction, but his eyes dart back to his reflection too quickly to catch the discomfort etched on your face. “So you’ll help me, right?”

As you watch yourself anxiously wiggling your toes inside your sock, you mumble, “I can't if you won’t tell me who it is.“

“Sure you can, you’re a girl. You know how this stuff works.”

You scoff, your brows shooting up as your head jerks back. You open your mouth to object, but he promptly cuts you off.

“Ah, ah! Slow your roll." Eddie points the shears in your direction. “I’m not saying you’re all the same, but there’s gotta be some common ground of expectations, right?”

You don’t have the strength to argue, so you reluctantly allow for his generalization. “I guess so.”

“Like yeah, I could just study one of those lady magazines you’re always reading. But then I wouldn’t have a way of knowing what is and isn’t bullshit,” Eddie explains, his tone half-joking. “That’s why I’m going straight to the source, oh, wise one.”

Far too consumed with trying to narrow down who the chick could possibly be, you can’t be bothered to give him a huff of amusement through your nose. “Can I at least have a hint?”

“Nope.” The shears hit the countertop, their metallic resonance echoing against the porcelain. He pivots to face you, hands resting on his hips. “Alright, Sherlock. How about you quit trying to crack the case and help me pick out a tie.”

“A what now?” You squawk, eyes widening in disbelief.

Eddie chuckles softly and rinses the hair trimmings down the drain, then flicks off the bathroom light. “I have to dress for the occasion. This is a big deal for me,” he elaborates as he strides back into his room. “For her and me.”

Once again, you find yourself on his tail, trailing close behind back into his bedroom. You unfold your arms and instead, start to rub the inside of your wrist with your opposite thumb. “Yeah, I get that. Just seems a bit out of character for you.”

Rifling through his closet, Eddie pulls out a hanger with a navy button-up shirt and nonchalantly tosses it onto the end of his bed. “Maybe, but at least she’ll know I’m taking this seriously." Eddie reaches for the high shelf to retrieve a tattered shoebox. Lifting the lid, he presents it to you. “Here’s what we’re working with.”

You step closer, your fingers deftly plucking out the rolled ties one by one, laying them flat beside the slightly wrinkled shirt. Side by side, your shoulders nearly brush. Meticulously comparing the patterns and colors, neither of you seems drawn to any particular one.

“Here, maybe it’s better to do it this way,” Eddie suggests, picking up and beginning to slip into the shirt. His thick fingers falter as he attempts to maneuver each small white button through its corresponding hole. Once halfway dressed—having tastefully paired his plaid boxers with a dress shirt—he smooths out the material from his chest to his belly.

Eddie grabs the nearest tie and lays it against his shoulder. He faces you expectantly, anticipation evident in his gaze, awaiting your feedback.

Your eyes flit between the tie he’s holding, the array laid out on the bed, and the hopefulness in his round eyes. “These are easily the three ugliest ties I've ever seen. No offense.”

He blows a playful raspberry at your harsh criticism and shakes his head. “None taken, they’re not mine. But Wayne might be a little hurt when I call him next and tell him you said that.”

Shooting him a pointed look, your brows furrow in skepticism. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I just might,” Eddie teases with a smile before turning his attention back to the bed. He tosses the first tie aside and reaches for the mustard paisley one. “What about this one, does it compliment my eyes?” He bats his dark brown lashes.

You clutch your chin in contemplation, carefully assessing the combination of hues. However, the richness of his chocolate irises captures you. You wade in their depths. The hot flash that envelops your body is enough to break the trance he inadvertently put you under. With a disapproving shake of your head, you dismiss this tie as well. “Nope, next.”

Eddie looks at you for a moment longer, even though you’re not doing the same. A faint frown creases his features as he tosses the vetoed tie aside, forming a rejection pile.

You pick up the remaining tie and drape it over his shoulder, admiring the harmonious pairing of the navy in the tie with the shirt, accentuated by its white and black diagonal stripes. While you ponder, Eddie watches your face intently, holding his breath.

You nod, a trace of delighted approval in your expression. “We have a winner.”

“Hell yeah, blue on blue it is." He wraps the tie around the back of his neck but struggles to recall the proper technique for tying it. Attempting a few different nonsensical loopings, he groans, his determination waning. “Stupid son of a bitch, wouldya just-”

“Don’t hurt yourself. Let me do it," you offer. Not receiving protest, you step closer to him.

Eddie uses one hand to gather his product-enhanced curls into a makeshift ball, allowing you to access the collar of his shirt. He juts out his freshly shaved chin, granting you ample room to work. Standing this closely, you catch the clean scent of shaving cream lingering on his skin.

You begin to effortlessly tie the knot. Without pausing to consider what you’re about to say, the words spill from your lips. “Why’re you asking for my opinion on stuff like this, anyway? You should be doing what you think she’ll like, not me.”

“You always know best.” Eddie’s expression softens to something more vulnerable. “When you’re taking the next step in a relationship, you want everything to be as perfect as it can be, y’know?”

It’s common sense to him. No one understands him like you do, making you the perfect person for navigating this nerve-wracking experience. But for you, it’s perplexing. You’ve never been on a proper, formal date. The idea of one remains an unfulfilled pipe dream. Yet, here you are, agreeing to help Eddie plan his.

Your only frame of reference comes from romance movies and horror stories of dates gone wrong recounted by your girlfriends. Of all the things you could be in the world, you find yourself an unassuming tree. Sturdy and dependable, sure. You serve your purpose. But you don’t captivate onlookers with blooming petals like flowers do. Instead, you take pride in your intricately branched personality, valuing it as your true strength that often goes overlooked.

Even so, it feels as though your traits fail to enchant others regardless; nobody seems willing. You go unnoticed, and you’ve come to terms with that.

Beautiful wildflowers get plucked from the ground and carried away to be cherished. Meanwhile, you simply exist, rooted in no man’s land, devoid of admirers. You may stand tall, but you’re easily overshadowed by what other women have to offer.

Perhaps this is why you like working at the flower shop. It’s somewhat cathartic to witness the delicate petals fall from time to time. It brings you a strange sense of satisfaction to hack away at their stems. The best part, though? While it’s a little twisted, you know that those flowers that dazzle in their pristine state are destined to wilt. They’ll shrivel and brown.

Whilst among your shared group of friends in public, you’ve witnessed Eddie getting nudged by one of the guys to direct his attention to a smoke show walking by. You watched as they bit their knuckles and exaggeratedly gawked. You don’t compare, it’s not even apples to oranges. It’s like… apples to rocks. A delicious, shiny fruit compared to you, mere clunky chunks of earth.

If life were an album, you’re the track that everyone skips within seconds of hearing the intro. Except for those rare moments when someone half-listens by accident and they resonate with you—that’s how you and Eddie became friends. He’d stumbled upon his new favorite song, one worth revisiting. What he sees in you is what everyone else overlooks.

Eddie is the only man on the face of the earth who treats you like you’re worth being around. Only an oddball would prefer to spend time lounging beneath the shade of a crooked tree instead of homing a rose in a crystal vase. That’s one thing you love about your best friend; he doesn’t make you feel like you fade into the background.

All fairytale cliché bullshit included, you want to be sought out in a crowd. You want to light up the room for someone. Much to your dismay, that can happen platonically too, and it has in this case.

If Eddie only knew how much the little moments matter to you—the ones where he makes you feel prioritized and valued. You know you’re not anything close to special or remarkable, but he always made you second guess that thought.

Obviously, you hadn’t meant to fall for him. It was kind of like catching a cold; one day, there was a tickle in the back of your throat that you didn’t usually feel. Unsuspecting, the days went on, and that sensation only worsened. You started to panic a little but ultimately continued to deny your worst thoughts.

Before you knew it, you were bedridden, bitten by the love bug. You didn’t go down without a fight. You thought that you could be strong and deny it access to your heart, but it had already invaded. So, all you could do was wait it out.

You tried to distance yourself, hoping to recover and act like nothing ever changed inside of you. But Eddie didn’t let you get too far away.

It wasn’t love at first sight, rather, a creeping plague. There was no swooning and giggling, no struggling to keep your hands to yourself. The change was undetectable. You were a frog in boiling water, unaware of the gradually rising temperature until it was far too late.

It wasn’t until your chest started to ache every time you said goodbye at the end of spending time together that you realized you were in too deep. You genuinely debated going to the doctor to get the pang checked out, but luckily you didn’t. Otherwise, you’d have wasted a good chunk of money to find out that you’re a lovesick idiot.

Unfortunately, this is an illness you’ve been stuck with since, and you’ve at least learned how to distract yourself from it. But when you fail to do so, your imagination wanders. Naturally, you’ve wondered if pressing a mere kiss to his cheek would burn everything to the ground.

The forbidden territory beckons, tempting you to envision breaking those unspoken agreed-upon rules that forbid things like hand-holding and cuddling. The two of you uphold mutual respect, adhering to the expectations of friendship. Both of you reserve that level of touch for expressions of romantic affection. Actions such as those have no place in a true friendship.

That’s the most confusing part of this for you. How did you manage to catch such strong feelings for him when you’ve not crossed any lines? Sure, he’s a tactile person; maybe that has something to do with it. Eddie makes physical contact with those he trusts, but it’s not like he’s hanging off of you at any given moment. You receive the same treatment as the others in his inner circle: a hand on the shoulder, a pat on the back, and a brief gripping of the forearm to get your attention.

You’re not supposed to want the touches to be more frequent, much less of a different nature. The line has to be drawn somewhere, and it’s been plainly drawn in the sand. You understand and accept that. But why, of all lines in the world, does it have to be this one that you want to cross so badly?

Most of your days aren’t all that miserable. But there are those days that are more difficult than the rest, though it’s not his fault. Last weekend, the two of you were at a mall, and some chick waved at him flirtily. He returned it immediately, though playfully enough that it was almost mocking. He was fucking around and had no intention of entertaining the idea of approaching her. Regardless, it was humbling for you, to say the least.

In that moment, the world reminded you that there’s a reason you walk at his side at a respectable distance, not tucked under his arm. If anything, it’s for the best. There’s a sense of liberation in admiring him without the burden of articulating your feelings. There’s no pressure to meet a girlfriend quota or live up to a higher standard. What Eddie expects of you now is what you’re capable of, and clearly, all that you’re good for. You’re good for filling the void, but apparently not so much anymore.

You’re not lustrous and aching to jump his bones, and you’re certainly not desperate enough to kiss him on a whim by not allowing yourself to overthink it. But perhaps you are just desperate enough that a man simply paying your emotions, interests, and existence of any mind can shackle you to him. That has to be what’s done you in; Eddie gives a shit about you.

In reality, there’s more to it than that. Eddie is selective about who and what he lets in. He doesn’t care for conformity and lack of individuality. The idea of blending in with the majority of society repulses him. You find the flawed aspects of the Munson doctrine fascinating and raw. He’s not perfect and Eddie doesn’t care what others think of him, to a degree.

Not unlike you, he’s complex. Eddie is anti-establishment but still prefers a bit of structure over chaos in his day-to-day life. He’s independent and cynical as hell, but he’s also appreciative of his support systems and isn’t ashamed to rely on them. He’s not much of a rule breaker nor is he rebellious, but he’ll happily stir up a little trouble in good fun if given the opportunity.

Eddie is a hypocrite in some ways and a walking contradiction in others. You love that he’s unapologetic about being that way. He owns it for the most part, and you admire that.

His presence overstays its welcome in your thoughts. You’ve often yearned for him to call you in the dead of night, admitting that he can’t sleep without the sound of your voice. Many times, you’ve fought the urge to do that. He owes you sleep, countless nights of it. It’s a debt that will never be repaid, an outstanding balance.

Despite the attempts at trying to talk yourself out of it, you still can’t bring yourself to stop loving him. Even as he’s actively pursuing someone else, you’re unable to shake this. You could be paralyzed from head to toe, and you’d still feel the love you have for him in your bones.

Once Eddie is officially with someone, he won’t have much time or energy left for you. The anticipation of being thrown aside for something new and far prettier has shattered your heart before any changes have occurred. Yet, any fragment of his presence surpasses total absence. The greed isn’t worth it, and you know you should be grateful for getting any piece of him at all.

The phrase fizzles on the tip of your tongue like a smoldering ember, threatening to sear through the muscle… I’m happy for you.

You should say it, but you can’t. Because if you did, that would be a blatant lie. It’s not even possessiveness that has you so bitter, it’s envy. You wish you were in her place.

“There.” You adjust the knot with a delicate tug, ensuring its tightness before letting the material slip through your fingers. Unable to meet his appreciative gaze, you offer a sad smile and take a half-step backward.

Your sigh, cleverly concealed as a deep breath, escapes as you settle back into your chair with a plop. “So, um,” you begin, picking at your cuticles absentmindedly. “Where are you taking her? Somewhere fancy?”

“Nah.” Eddie meticulously revamps his curls one final time in the mirror, wanting them to fall just right. Then, with great care, he tames his bangs to lay perfectly in place. “She’s gonna come over here. I thought it’d be more intimate. Besides, I can’t exactly swing a reservation right now. I’ve been tight on cash this week.”

Your fingers come to a halt, the stinging sensation apparent. Looking over at him, your eyes meet his in the reflection. “Ya big dummy, you shouldn’t have bought me lunch when that money could’ve gone toward buying her a nice dinner.”

“Don’t start with that shit,” Eddie warns as he digs through his dresser in search of pants to wear. “I’m happy to do that for you,” He pulls a pair of dark jeans from the bottom drawer.

“It really did make my day, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Having donned his pants, he nears his desk where his black grommet belt lies on the floor. Eddie threads his belt through the loops of his jeans, the buckle jingling before he secures it in place. “I felt better knowing you were taken care of.”

It’s only now occurring to you what he’s implied, and you think how absurd it is for him to host a dinner when he’s culinarily challenged. “Wait, since when do you cook?”

“Oh, I don’t. But you do.”

“Hardly.” You scoff, downplaying your abilities. Placing your magazine back in your lap, you flip the page despite not having read it. Unexpectedly, you feel the urge to quell his enthusiasm, to set him up for failure by trying to poke holes in his plan. “I mean, food is one thing, but atmosphere is another. Aren’t the guys going to be here?”

Eddie moves the clutter on his desk around in a quest to find something. “I kicked them out for the night.”

Like a spear plunged into your chest, you swallow hard. Not only is he having a girl over for dinner, but he’s gone out of his way to guarantee privacy because he’s hoping to get lucky too. More than likely right there, on that very bed, feet away from you. The cramped twin-sized mattress, where they’ll inevitably be body to body.

He turns to you after locating what he was searching for, fastening the slightly fancier watch around his wrist; it only supersedes his Casio due to it being analog, as opposed to digital. “I’ve been wanting to try that dish you keep raving about. You can teach me how to make it. Two birds, one stone.”

“It’s not difficult, you could handle the recipe.” You shrug away the opportunity to cook with him because the domesticity of it would more than likely kill you.

“I wanna do it together.” His voice softens, genuinely asking as nicely as possible. “Please.”

“Sure, yeah.” You maintain your downcast gaze and slump back in the chair, wishing for a black hole to open and swallow you up. “What if she doesn’t like it, or what if you don’t?”

“If you like it then it has to be good.”

Eddie’s seemingly endless compliments cause no sense of flattery. Instead, you’re consumed with persisting nausea as you envision a stunning girl seated across from him while they share laughter and partake in unspeakable activities in this very room.

Abruptly, a wave of heat washes over you, causing the soles of your feet and your palms to grow clammy. The scent of newly sprayed Old Spice floods the room and you’re overwhelmed by it, struggling to draw a breath. “I’ll be right back.” You all but choke on your words, swiftly rising to your feet and hastily leaving. Eddie watches curiously as you do.

In the living room, you push the heavy sliding door aside, stepping out onto the balcony to catch your breath. You inhale as deep as physically possible, and the stirring evening breeze cools the hot tears gathered along your lash line. Cars pass by, and you distract yourself by watching a person leisurely walking their dog. You do everything in your power to divert your thoughts away from him and the impending date.

A few minutes later, Eddie emerges from his room and slides open the door to the balcony, poking his head out to check on you. “Y’ready to go?” The shift in your energy is immediately evident to him, though he can’t quite pinpoint what’s amiss. He figures you’ve had a long day and you’re tired from your shift. Maybe you’re a little hangry, too.

With your arms folded on the balcony rail, you continue to look out into the neighborhood. “Go where?” 

“The store, duh. We’ve gotta get ingredients, do we not?” He says to the back of your head.

You nod meekly before turning to face him. “Right. Yeah, I’m ready.”

Eddie flashes a warm smile before sliding the door open wide enough for you to pass through. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand then, hot stuff. We’re losing daylight."

Arguably, you’re not losing daylight fast enough. You wish the sun would fall from the sky. That way, it would always be dark and you could hide in the shadows forever. You follow him inside and slide the closed with a subdued thud.

His car keys drag and jingle while he swipes them off of the counter. Once he reaches the entryway, Eddie drops the keys on the floor beside him as he kneels to put on his sneakers. A few seconds later, you’ve joined him to do the same. Eddie glances at you as he feels the evening breeze that slipped in finally reaching this side of the room. “It’s a little chilly out, wanna borrow a hoodie or something?”

Quickly tying your shoes to avoid prolonged eye contact, you get to your feet, hugging yourself as you do. “No, I’ll be fine.”

Eddie snorts and stands, his shoes now tied as well. “I’m getting you one." He heads to his room, gesturing for you to follow.

“I said I’ll be fine without one,” You opt not to follow, instead calling out to him to compensate for the distance and his half-open door.

“Shut up, I’m getting you one and you’re gonna wear it ‘cause I said so.” His tone drips with feigned amusement at your stubbornness. “Come in here.”

As you step into the room, Eddie offers you the hoodie, watching as you just stare at it. “Sweetheart, put it on. You’re gonna freeze to death if you don’t. Then, I’ll have no choice but to cancel my super hot date because I’ll be too busy defrosting my ice sculpture of a best friend with a blow drier. You want me to blow you all night? I know you-”

“Okay, okay! I’ll put the damn thing on,” you agree begrudgingly, take it from him. “Happy?”

“Try elated.” Eddie smiles from ear to ear and winks at you, content that you’re allowing him to do what he deems best for you, knowing you’re too stubborn to do so for yourself. He’s got your back, always. Even if it means enduring a bit of attitude in the process. Eddie likes that about you, he always has. With a final glance, he leaves the room, flicking off the light switch.

Left standing in the dark bedroom, you blindly navigate the article of clothing to locate the opening. However, as soon as you go to put it on, it occurs to you that this hoodie is not fresh out of the wash.

The distant floral scent left behind by dryer sheets mingles with his natural aroma, enveloping you as you pull the sweatshirt over your head. He grabbed whatever was at hand, inadvertently submerging you back into the very sensory experience you fled from. The spicy notes from his cologne turn you into a human lava lamp, effectively melting you on the inside.

The mingling of Old Spice, tobacco smoke, his unique essence, and a hint of spring meadow flood your mind. You consider the idea of keeping the hoodie. You could tell him that you forgot to return it, and he’ll forget about it. Eddie can afford to lose one hoodie, he’d survive.

“Let’s go!” He barks, impatience peaking as nerves gnaw at him with each passing minute bringing him closer to the dinner.

Exiting his bedroom, you find Eddie stationed at the front door, propping it open with his foot. Once within his view, you extend your arms and twist your expression to emphasize your annoyed compliance.

“One last thing.” Eddie withdraws his foot, causing the door to slam shut, its latch clanging twice against the wood from the force. He reaches out and pulls the hood up, adjusting it to cover most of your head. “There.”

You stick your tongue out at him, your grin eliciting one from him in return. “Alright, let’s-” He begins, but instead of turning, he fakes you out and grabs both drawstrings. Eddie tugs them, causing the hood to cinch tightly around your face.

“You’re an ass.”

“Yeah, well.” Eddie turns around to leave this time and holds the front door open for you. “You’re stuck with me.”

With a narrowed glare, you fix the hood and your hair on your way out of the apartment. Eddie is close behind, closing the door and locking it. You take the opportunity to collect yourself and adopt a supportive, cheerful demeanor.

These are gonna be the longest two hours of your life.

You can’t fucking believe it. You’re preparing a meal for another woman, and doing so willingly. You tried to guide him through the prep process, but he grew frustrated. Now, he’s on dish duty, conquering the mountain of dirty dishes piled up on the counter. 

She may be getting a delicious and intimate dinner, but at least you get moments like these. But soon enough, she’ll have them too. If everything goes to plan, the memories of these moments will be all you have left of Eddie. As you lose yourself in the sound of his voice, the ramblings about a sale he made at work eventually circle back to the topic of his evening.

As he excitedly goes on, his voice carries a boyish enthusiasm. Unseen by you, Eddie bounces on the balls of his feet while standing at the sink. Ten minutes seem to fly by unnoticed as you both focus on your tasks.

After taking the food out of the oven, his demeanor flips like a switch. “Oh, it’s time for me to leave apparently.” You barely have the chance to take off the oven mitt all the way before he’s practically pushing you out of the apartment. “Be sure to heat it up at 375 degrees,” you suggest, struggling to put on your shoes fast enough.

“Sure thing. I’ll let you know how it goes!”

“Looking forward to it,” You lie. Eddie waves you off before closing the front door. Left standing alone in the hallway, you feel foolish.

Finally arriving home, you crawl onto your bed. The weight of reality crashes down upon you, and you physically collapse under the weight of your emotions. The pain in your chest burns up the back of your throat as you sob. This was a harsh wake-up call, but it’s what you needed to finally confront yourself.

It’s better this way. Not having to reject you outright or politely turn you down, Eddie doesn’t have to hurt simply because you are. This is best because Eddie doesn’t have to feel guilty or pity you. Just as you’ve loved him in silence, you can grieve the loss of him in it too.

Ten minutes pass and just as you’re starting to drift asleep from exhaustion, your telephone rings. The ringing in the kitchen pulls you from your room. You drag your feet on the way there, clearing your throat and taking a deep breath before answering the phone.

“Hey, uh,” Eddie sounds panicked. “Can you come back over? I forgot the most important fucking thing and-”

You cut him off. “Relax, I’ll be there in twelve." Abruptly ending the call without another word, you rub your sore eyes, blow your stuffy nose, and splash your face with warm water. The last thing he needs is for his night to be ruined because he notices how hard you’ve been crying. If your feelings get in the way of him having a good time with the girl he’s head over heels for, then you don’t deserve his friendship.

Entering the building and letting yourself back into his apartment, you’re caught off guard by how different the space looks. He worked his butt off to tidy the living room and make certain that everything is presentable. Besides being notably neater, you also notice the faint smell of air freshener.

The apartment is blanketed in darkness, illuminated only by the flickering flames of candles and the light from the table lamp in the living room. Hushed music emanates from the record player in his room. It’s a genre you wouldn’t have expected him to own, because of how slow and romantic it sounds. You wonder whether he bought it specifically for this occasion.

Upon hearing the front door creak open, Eddie halts his pacing in the living room. “Thank god, you’re here.”

You teeter on the heels of your feet, feeling out of place in the carefully arranged setting that isn’t meant for you. “I really shouldn’t be. It’s quarter to seven, she’ll show up any minute now.”

Eddie makes his way over to you, rounding the dinner table and draping his arm along the back of the dining chair farthest from where you stand. “No, no. Don’t worry about that, she’s already here.”

Your eyes flit towards the bathroom, expecting to see a sliver of light escaping from beneath the door, yet the hallway is pitch black. There’s no dolled-up gal standing in his room either. You look back at him with a furrowed brow, confusion etched on your face. “Where, exactly?”

He can’t think of a time he’s ever had to remind himself how to breathe correctly. Eddie holds his hand out to you, his anxiety mounting. With hesitation, you extend your hand and place it in his. He wraps his trembling fingers around yours.

Rarely have you been in this position, and in those instances, it was never an act with deeper meaning. It’s only ever happened in urgent moments, like darting across a bustling street to avoid being separated—a mere safety measure.

Eddie’s attention fixates on your hands, willing them to respond to his touch. Then he notices your puffy, reddened eyes. “What’s the matter?” He instinctively squeezing your joined hands.

“It’s stupid.” You pull away from him, retracting your hand to wipe away the smeared mascara beneath your eyes.

Rather than forcibly turning you to face him, Eddie gracefully moves around to stand in front of you once more. “I bet it’s not,” he says softly, his compassionate expression tinged with concern. He reaches for both of your hands this time, praying you can’t feel his pounding pulse through the contact.

Eddie delicately lifts your hands and peppers velvety kisses across the tops of your knuckles. The warmth of your skin against his lips sends a shiver shooting through his core, goosebumps rising across his body.

You emit a wet giggle from the shock, uncertainty, and embarrassment bubbling within you. “What the hell are you doing?”

He chuckles a little too, his eyes sparkling as they reflect the dancing flames behind you. “What’s it look like? This is all for you.” Eddie presses one more featherlight kiss to your hands before lowering them, but he doesn’t let go, keeping them securely in his own. “It’s our first date.”

You’re the prettiest little package of unusual. From the moment he first heard your song, he couldn’t shake you. Eddie couldn’t get your tune out of his system, but it’s not like he wanted to. Never before had anyone shown him such unconditional care; no one had ever gone out of their way to get to know him like you did. You’re the safest thing he’s ever known, but you’re also the scariest, in the best ways possible.

The thought of confessing how you make him complete, unlike anything he’s ever experienced, is nothing short of terrifying. Yet, the fear of not seizing the opportunity to love you outweighs the fear of rejection. There’s no turning back now.

Your eyes wander to the table, taking in the details: the thoughtfully arranged mismatched plates and silverware, the glasses filled with expensive wine. At the end of the kitchen island sits a teddy bear beside a bouquet. In addition to the flower petals, there are red, white, and pink balloons scattered across the floor.

You turn away before he can see your face contort, biting your lip harshly to suppress the sob rising in your throat. It’s all useless, though. A broken cry escapes your lips.

Eddie’s stomach lurches and pressure builds behind his own eyes. The change he just caused is palpable, the damage has been done. He releases both of your hands and plants his on the sides of his head, stepping away. “Shit, shit, shit. I’m such a fucking idiot. I read this all wrong.”

“You’re not and you didn’t. They’re happy tears now.”

His frantic expression mellows out, his arms drop to his sides, and the tension in his body gradually dissipates. “Happy tears?”

You respond with a soft hum and nod, a grin forming as you admire the table setting and gifts once more before looking back at Eddie.

“Oh,” he chirps, wearing a cheek-splitting smile as he brings his palms to your face. He wipes away your fallen tears with his thumbs. Eddie studies your expression intently. “I didn’t mean to make you cry sad ones.”

“It’s not your fault.” You close your eyes, relishing the sensation of his fingers calmingly swiping along the apples of your cheeks.

“It is and I’m sorry.” Eddie inches closer, his toes now touching yours. “I wanted it to be a surprise ‘cause I thought spontaneity would make it more memorable.”

You look at him questioningly. “It’s not exactly spontaneous when you had me cook my own dinner.”

“Fair enough. You’ve got me there.” Eddie thought it was a foolproof plan. If you made the food, there was no chance that you’d hate it. “I went about this all wrong, huh? I should scrap the whole thing and start from scratch.” He becomes distracted, his train of thought shifting to how he’s going to clean this up and figure out a different approach.

“Don’t do that. Just ask me.” You grasp his forearm to regain his attention. “Ask me out and maybe I'll say yes.”

“Maybe?” Eddie scoffs airily, unsure if you’re teasing or genuinely undecided. He clears his throat and theatrically composes himself, gesturing with a downward motion of his hand in front of his face. “Okay, uh, would you like to have dinner with me?”

“No.”

Eddie’s mouth falls open.

“I’m fucking with you.” You smile devilishly and wrap your arms around his middle.

Finally, he can hug you the way he’s always wanted. Eddie brings you in close and tight, his arms encircling your head. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” He murmurs into your hair, inhaling deeply to indulge in every aspect of you he can.

“A little.” You laugh. You remain in each other’s embrace for a moment longer before easing apart, though still connected by your pairs of lassoed arms.

Eddie’s laughter melds with yours, the relief in his tone evident. “Now that the cat's outta the bag, I can finally tell you that I absolutely love when you’re a crybaby.”

You pull a comical expression, raising your eyebrows and widening your eyes. “What, why?” You take in the scattering of freckles across his T-zone while he responds.

“Honest to god, it’s mesmerizing to watch you experience things so intensely. It’s fucking beautiful.” With nothing but adoration in his eyes, Eddie strokes your hair, relishing the way it feels against his skin. “Can I call you my crybaby?”

“No, you cannot!” You swat at his chest and attempt to push him away, but he laughs smugly and brings you back in close. Your hands find purchase on his biceps, surrendering to him entirely. Locked in each other’s gaze, time seems to crawl.

Eddie’s hands, having made their way down to caress your hips, settle on the small of your back. “How about just baby?” He nudges the tip of his nose against yours, his voice taking on an almost sultry tone. “You like the way that sounds?”

All you can do is nod dumbly, watching his eyes fall to your lips.

Eddie mumbles, “Me too.” His hands flex where they lay, tugging you slightly so that your bodies are flush and you have no choice but to lean against him. “Would it be okay if I kissed you?” Eddie licks his lips, his eyes finding yours again, the chocolate pools of his irises swirling.

You nod, slide your hands up his shoulders, and wrap them around his neck. The air was stolen from your lungs, rendering your voice a ghost. Eddie leans in and his lips hover over yours, your eyes fluttering closed in time with his. Then, you feel the gentle pressure of his lips against your own.

For a few moments, you’re out of sync, a mere beat behind due to nerves. But after taking a brief breath, you find each other without trouble. When you slot your lip between his, it’s as though there’s a sunrise in his veins; a new dawn spreads through his body. You tug a fistful of curls at the nape of his neck, your lips clicking wetly with one another, chests heaving in unison.

When the two of you finally have to part to breathe, Eddie whispers, “Jesus Christ.”

“You can say that again.” You exhale, releasing the grip you have on his hair and soothingly scratching the area with your nails.

“I mean I could.” Eddie borderline purrs, tightening his arms around your waist. “But I’d much rather keep kissing you.”

“Hard to argue with that." You smile against his lips and give him a quick peck, which he happily returns. Then, your mind begins to wander. “You got me flowers?”

He can’t discern if there’s a trace of disdain or disbelief in your tone. Eddie knows that you consider flowers cliché and overrated; after all, you deal with them all day. But just because you see them that way doesn’t mean he does.

Eddie pulls away slightly to get a good look at you. “Yeah, of course I got flowers for my flower. How could I not?”

Truthfully, he’s bummed about not being able to find a bouquet as exceptional as you. You’re unlike anything from this world, resembling something from his cherished sci-fi novels. You’re resilient, showing up any old rose or daisy. You unfurled your petals solely for Eddie and allowed him to see you bloom. Nothing on earth compares to you. So, a regular bouquet would have to do.

You comment with a slightly teasing tone, “I had no idea you’re a hopeless romantic.”

“Too much?” Eddie bites his lower lip, afraid that you’re offended.

“No, not too much." You remove your one hand from his hair and rest it on his chest, drawing mindless shapes while you avoid eye contact. “Far more than I deserve though." You’re slightly taken aback when Eddie cups your face without hesitation, forcing you to look at him. Despite his assertiveness, his touch is tender.

“Sweetheart." Eddie’s eyes carry an intensity you’ve never seen, brimming with affection and sincerity. “You deserve everything good that this world has to offer. I can’t give you that, but I can give you all of me. That much I can promise.”

Reblogs are greatly encouraged and appreciated! ♡

★My Masterlist

Once Wayne’s treasures and mementos were long gone, the space felt more unfamiliar than ever. Eddie’s bedroom, in comparison, remained unchanged. He’d never truly lived with a woman, much less a long-term girlfriend.

With your arms folded tightly across your chest, you took in the disheveled bedroom. You didn’t want to overstep any boundaries, but it was your room too now. “Could we maybe take some of these posters down?”

Feigning annoyance at your request, Eddie released a husky groan. Did he love his band posters? Abso-fucking-lutely. But tearing them down was a small price to pay for getting to be with you every day. “Fine,” he sighed dramatically, “But the Corroded Coffin banner stays up.”

His expression turned on a dime, and his lips twisted into a devilish smile. Before you could anticipate Eddie’s next move, you were pulled into his embrace. The unnecessarily secure hug caused your giggle to strain. “Eddieee! Too tight!” You squealed. 

The sounds you made filled his chest with a golden warmth. It spread through the rest of his body like sweet, gooey honey. Eddie chuckled deeply with amusement and loosened his arms a bit.

When his gaze met yours, he hummed with contentment. “This is your castle now, princess,” Eddie said while looking back and forth between your eyes. “I know it’s not much. Someday, I’m gonna get you a house. With a yard and all that fancy shit.”

You smiled and stroked the rosy apple of his cheek with your thumb. “You’re my home. But if we’re talking houses, just know that I’m perfectly happy growing old together in this tin can.”

“Is that so? You don’t think you’ll get sick of me anytime soon?”

“While it’s not entirely unlikely, it’s probably in your best interest to stay on my good side,” You squinted at him. Traces of your previous smile lingered in the upturned corners of your lips, but you tried to come across as serious.

Eddie’s tongue peeked out to wet his lower lip. “How much trouble would I be in if I said I’m not taking down a single poster unless you make me?”

“A lot of trouble.”

He beamed at you, “Yeah?” Eddie’s deft fingers found your sides, and instantly, you were lying on your back on the bed. He tickled you mercilessly, to the extent that you were so laughed out that you could no longer beg him to stop.

A year has passed since then. Living with Eddie has been just about as unpredictable as he is as a person. The air, once saccharine, now leaves a sour aftertaste. You hoped it would fade over time, but it’s only gotten more prominent as the weeks have passed.

As it turns out, adulthood is fucking difficult. Doing his damnedest to manage his responsibilities, he’s been in over his head for longer than he’s willing to admit.

For starters, he’s been playing twice a week at Wraith, a venue located 41 minutes outside of Hawkins. On top of that, Corroded Coffin’s permanent gig requires consistent late practice sessions.

The greatest challenge is his job at the Brassline Industries factory. Gone are the days when he sold weed to irresponsible teens to have a extra fun-money. Eddie is a grown-ass man now, with a grown-ass job. Due to his demanding schedule, you don’t see much of him during the day anymore.

Frankly, you don’t see him much at all. There’s always something that he has to tend to. I promised Jeff I’d help him move out of his ex’s place. The band’s van is on the fritz, I have to go to Gareth’s to work on it. Terry called in sick at the factory, so I have to pull a double.

You’ve tried to tell yourself that his ever-growing absence isn’t personal. But unknowingly, you’ve been making excuses for your boyfriend’s inability to make time for you. 

Eddie begins each day with the sunrise. Once in a blue moon, he’ll kiss your forehead while you’re curled under the worn blankets. Unaware and asleep, you don’t get to savor the gesture of waning affection. More often than not, when he finally comes home, you’re exactly where he left you—unconscious and beyond taxed from your job. Hell, you work hard too.

Your relationship has been suffering in all aspects of the intimacy department. Most importantly, the two of you haven’t had sex in over two months. Stuck with pent-up sexual frustration, Eddie has been feeling nothing short of unsatisfied. It’s gotten to the point that rubbing one out is a chore more than anything.

It’s not like he hasn’t tried connecting with you that way. On a few occasions, he climbed into bed beside you as he normally would. But instead of succumbing to exhaustion like you had, his hands slipped beneath your pajamas and traced your body.

Was it low to be copping a feel? Yes. But Eddie’s self-restraint had fizzled out. He knew it wouldn’t happen if he didn’t try. Regardless, you rolled over or pushed him away, mumbling in semi-cognizant disinterest. Having been rejected on several occasions, Eddie’s hurt feelings have brought on a distant shift in his demeanor when your days happen to overlap. Worse yet, his internal thunder matches the rumble of your own.

At this rate, you’re roommates at best. Hardly so, given that he’s rarely home. What a way to be treated after you’ve been nothing but patient and supportive of his life choices. Truly, you’re happy that Eddie has things in his life that bring him fulfillment, but you can’t help wishing you were one of them.

There’s a strong possibility that talking through it could resolve the tension, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything about it. How pathetic it would be for you to beg for his undivided attention. You’re not sure you’re worth his while. Thinking you could tough it out, you’ve broken your heart by waiting for him to realize how lonesome you’ve been.

Instead of counting sheep, you lay and wonder if it's fate that the two of you have grown apart. It’s killing you to continue pretending that this isn’t torturous. You’ve abandoned parts of yourself to keep this love afloat, and there were no lifeboats in sight from the start.

What you and Eddie have is defined by more than its worst moments, but you’ve long since abandoned all faith that this is just a rough patch. A day where anything changes for the better remains a pipe dream. Every once in a while, you find yourself wishing he’d do something unspeakably horrible to you, just so that all of the pain would be justified.

You’ve bid farewell to the moments that once meant so much. Because it really is the little things that make you nauseous to reminisce about. Light years ago, Eddie couldn’t bear to have you out of reach for more than a few minutes. He'd wrap his arms around your waist and whisper sweet nothings in your ear while you washed dishes in the kitchen sink. Frequently, he’d pull you closer by the belt loops of your jeans to kiss you with fervor after spending a few hours apart. Back then, hours felt like an eternity. They still do, just differently.

You’re not missed and it stings. Or at the very least, you’re not missed enough for him to make an effort. Up until today, you were searching for reasons to stay. He hasn’t provided any, yet you decide to give him one final chance.

Eddie will be home for dinner; he swore on it. Hence, why you’ve been in a frenzy since you got off work. For once, you’re cooking, something you haven’t done in what feels like ages. It’s no surprise that eating lost all significance when you’ve been surviving off of takeout leftovers and cold pizza. Maybe all it’ll take is a shared meal for things to change.

In actuality, you don’t truly believe that. The desire to impress him is undeniable, and it’s going to take more than a home-cooked meal to salvage what’s left. How the evening goes will determine where you belong, whether it be in his life or elsewhere.

Your outfit isn’t remarkable, although it is a step up from your typical at-home wear. After fixing your hair and applying a bit of makeup, you feel presentable. The uneasy feeling stirring in your belly is all too familiar. It reminds you of your first date with Eddie. You shouldn’t feel this nervous when you’ve been together for as long as you have.

The crushing truth is that, if you look pretty enough, he’ll remember that you exist. Perhaps he’ll look at you the way he used to. You hope that gussying up and a hot dinner will be how you win him back for good.

Eddie swore he’d be home by six fifteen at the latest. Nevertheless, the steam rising off of the food dissipates as it grows cold. For the umpteenth time, you check the wall clock. The same clock that you’ve been checking nonstop for 20 minutes.

Counting down the second hand, you concede defeat at the forty-five-minute mark of his tardiness. Time has always had a way of throwing it all in your face. You should’ve known better than to trust that he’d show.

None of this made a difference because Eddie didn’t even give it a chance to. The final nail in the coffin: was it his choices, or his refusal to choose you, that led to this? It could’ve been the lack of effort or the intentional cold shoulder. It could be that you’re not what he wants anymore. Not like it makes a difference.

Seated at the table for two near the front door, the chair squeaks as you stand. For a moment, you consider blowing out the candles you’d lit to set the mood. But would it be such a tragedy if the trailer caught fire, taking you with it?

In the kitchen, you step over to the sink and fill your glass with water. You gulp it down, the milk-tinted liquid a poor substitute for the meal you slaved over and didn’t take a bite of. The swirling in your abdomen intensifies, becoming all the more vicious.

Without a second thought, you chuck the fragile crystal onto the worn linoleum, scattering jagged shards across the floor toward the dining table. Not dissimilar to the cup you’ve just destroyed, you crumble. Your spine slams into the cupboard with a thud as you slide down in front of the sink. The rage in your head drowns everything else, so much so that you don't recognize the pain of your tailbone meeting the floor with such force.

At 9:45, the trailer door creaks open and slams shut, the sound cutting through the quiet like a knife. The dim living space is lit only by the flicker of candles and the distant light pouring out from the end of the hallway.

Eddie toes off his grimy steel-toed work boots. His lips part as he drapes his jacket over the back of the dining chair nearest to him. He surveys the living room and kitchen, noticing how unusually tidy everything is.

Eddie examines the set table, where the plated food has been sitting for hours. The sinking feeling that was weighing on his chest during the drive over is gone while he’s distracted by the effort you put in. It looks great in here, and Eddie can’t help but wonder how nice you must look, too.

He’s lost in the notion that maybe he’s escaped the worst of it, that he won’t be in deep shit for showing up late. That is until his eyes land on the broken cup and glass scattered on the floor.

The soft, sidetracked smile on his lips fades. Confusion flashes across his face. Carefully, Eddie sidesteps the mess and makes his way toward the bedroom, the only place you could be. With your back to him, you seem to be angrily putting laundry away into the dresser.

Eddie lingers in the doorway, his fingers twisting and untwisting as he wrings his hands. “Hey, sorry I’m late,” He says cautiously.

It’s no surprise that not calling to inform you he’d be late would piss you off. But still, that poor laundry didn’t do anything to deserve the way you’re handling it. Only then do his eyes narrow at the realization that you’re not putting away clothes; you’re shoving them into a duffel bag.

Eddie’s voice lowers in pitch, “What are you doing?”

You don’t turn to face him, nor do you respond. Choosing silence, you yank open the top drawer of the dresser, grabbing fistfuls of socks and underwear. You cram them into the bag alongside the shirts and pants already packed.

Eddie used to be the one finishing your sentences, but now it’s you who’ll be finishing his. You can already anticipate the same tired excuses, the ones you’ve heard over and over again. With the duffle bag unzipped and its strap slung over your shoulder, you pivot, intent on slipping past Eddie and out of the room without a word.

As you move to brush by, his arm shoots out to block the doorway and stop you in your tracks. Eddie keeps his arm extended as he grips the opposite side of the doorframe. “I’m talking to you. Where the hell are you going?”

Forced to meet his gaze, you lock eyes. Your expression is just as hardened, but unlike Eddie’s, your eyes are marbled with dilated blood vessels. “Honestly, I don’t know. But I’m getting the fuck out of here.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” he scoffs, “You can’t be serious.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Your icy, unblinking stare falters as you release the shallow breath trapped in your lungs. “I'm done. I’m not gonna wait around for you anymore.”

“Gimme a goddamn break.” Eddie shakes his head and rolls his eyes. The palpable tension worsens as you fight for the strength to stand your ground. He's doubling down by the sheer audacity of playing dumb.

His defensive expression is a tangled mess. His brows furrow, casting sharp shadows over his eyes, which are darting between yours. “Two people called in. I couldn’t have been here if I wanted to.”

"That right there- that’s exactly what I'm talking about. There’s never a gap between you and a good excuse. I’ll give it to ya, you’re nothing if not consistent.” Your lips remain slightly parted, and a subtle tilt of your head dares him to come up with yet another excuse.

Eddie trips over his words, scrambling for a response. You set out to leave him dumbstruck, and that’s exactly what you’ve done. Seizing the moment, you duck beneath his arm and walk into the bathroom.

This makes his patience burn through its fuse at an alarming rate. Eddie intentionally bites down on his tongue, as if he’s trying to resist the urge to cuss you out. With his jaw clenched, Eddie spins on his heels to face you. “Oh, I see how it is. Just because I’m a little late, you think I’m bullshitting you. Is that it?”

The widening rift between you makes it clear that honesty has no place here. He'd rather die than admit that. So, Eddie keeps prodding, throwing verbal jabs at you in a desperate attempt to regain your attention.

Meanwhile, you rummage through the bathroom drawers, gathering necessities, determined not to let him distract you. Despite grasping at straws to keep you here, his words hang in the air, unanswered.

The beat of your heart thumps wildly in your ears as feverish heat radiates in your bones. The fire in your chest spreads, searing your throat as the flames climb higher. The blistering smoke stings your eyes, bringing fresh tears and making your nose run.

“Well played, babe.” Eddie chuckles, the sound bouncing off the thin walls as he trails you into the living room. "I gotta give it to ya, you’re really nailing the act. But you can quit the theatrics, alright? I get your point.”

“No, you clearly don’t.” You put your shoes on, swallowing a whimper so thick that it’s suffocating. Your resolve feels like it's coming undone, each stitch of your composure pulling loose, one by one.

With his arms folded across his chest, there’s a challenge to his stance. “You’re acting like the world’s fucking ending over one missed dinner!”

After tying your shoes, you rise to your feet. "Just one dinner, Eddie? That’s why you think I’m leaving?” Stepping toward him, you drive your pointer finger into Eddie’s chest with deliberate force.

This catches him off-guard, causing his eyes to widen. The accusing pressure of your finger digging into his chest, paired with the expression on your face—neither of which he ever imagined would be aimed at him.

“You couldn’t be more wrong.” You pull your hand back, the sting of your touch lingering on his skin thereafter. Grabbing the duffel bag, you make your way to the front door. A squeal rings out from the hinges when you push it open, and the cool air hits your cheeks as you walk out.

For so long, all you wanted was him. Now, just being in the same room is unbearable.

You try to close the door behind you, but Eddie stops it before it clicks shut. His presence persists as he follows you outside, his socks catching on the rough concrete as he steps down the three stairs. “I don’t like this. Come on, let's just go back in and talk it out."

Under the cloak of night, with only the light spilling from the wide-open front door of the trailer to find your way, you head for your car. Your fingers grip the keys so tightly that they dig into your palm. The door lock pops up, and you toss your bag onto the passenger seat, and slide into the car, pulling the door shut.

Through the windshield, you see him begin walking toward the car. His hand hangs in the air, suspended, like he’s about to call out to you.

You start the car, shifting into reverse just before he’s close enough to be in the way. The engine hums as you back out, the trailer park fading from view in the side mirror as you drive away.

As your tail lights disappear around the bend, Eddie’s legs nearly give way beneath him. His breathing slows from its hastened pace, his eyes locked on where your car was parked, as if he's waiting for something, anything, to make sense.

The night feels endless, and the drive equally so. The hallway of Robin’s apartment building is narrow and dimly lit, with the faint scent of old carpet lingering in the air. 

After knocking, Robin calls out through the closed door, “If it’s not a pizza you’re peddling, I’m not interested.”

You sigh, worried about disturbing her neighbors at this hour. Stepping closer to the door, you press your words against the wood. "Buckley, it’s me."

Seconds later, the door swings open, revealing Robin in mismatched pajamas. She gives you a once-over as if trying to piece together what’s brought you to her doorstep unannounced. “You look like shit.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Your shoulders sag under the weight of it all, feeling worse than you appear.

Robin's face flickers with a twinge of guilt at the tone of your response. “Sorry,” She almost sounds apologetic as she steps aside to let you in. “I’m not gonna lie, I was kind of hoping you showed up with a pizza.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” You quip dryly, the lack of laughter speaking volumes to the weight you’ve brought with you.

The two of you plop down on the futon in her living room, and not long after, the floodgates open. Robin listens as best she can, though her concentration occasionally wanders as she struggles to make sense of your garbled blubbering.

Half a box of tissues later, you've managed to calm down some, but the hiccups continue to catch you off guard. "I’m such a fucking idiot. I can’t even remember the last time we did something like take a shower together. Honestly, to Eddie, I’m an afterthought at best and an inconvenience at worst.”

You crumple the used tissue in your fist, your sore eyes barely able to focus. They land on the pilled fleece of Robin’s pajama bottoms, too strained to linger anywhere else. “No wonder he isn’t in love with me anymore."

Robin frowns. "That can’t be true. He probably does still love you, maybe he’s just got a weird way of showing it?” She suggests, unsure if she’s said the right thing. To smooth over her uncertain response, Robin tries something else. Instead of gently stroking your back or wrapping an arm around you to squeeze reassuringly, she awkwardly taps the top of your nearest shoulder twice.

A sad smile tugs at your lips, recognizing her attempt to comfort you. The two of you sit in the long pause, letting the room breathe.

This was the worst fight you and Eddie had ever had, by a long shot. Sure, there have been trivial arguments, the kind that fizzled out without much back and forth. But this? This was different. It hadn’t reached the point where one of you stormed off.

If there had been more arguments prior, Eddie could’ve seen it coming; the big blowout, the one that shatters everything. But no. This came out of nowhere, blindsiding him completely. 

Shortly after you left Forest Hills, Eddie followed suit. He told himself a drive would help get his mind off things. Now, he drives aimlessly through the streets. Unable to shake the thought that you were waiting for him to fuck up and paint him as the bad guy. With Accept’s “Fast as a Shark” blaring from the stereo, the engine revs, his foot pressing harder on the gas.

As much as you appreciate Robin’s hospitality, you’ve overstayed your welcome. You don’t have to guess whether you have or not; her body language says it all, especially since she’s got work in the morning.

Taking mercy on her, you make your way toward the door. Before you go, you pull her into a firm hug. "Thanks for putting up with me."

“It’s not like I had much of a choice. You showed up on my doorstep like a sad stray puppy,” Robin jests and walks you to your car. She leans her arm on the top of the open door as you buckle your seatbelt behind the wheel. “Call me as soon as you get to the motel so I know that you didn’t get hit by a deer or something.”

You cock your head at her, visibly questioning the odd phrasing she chose.

“They could be plotting their revenge for that close call with that buck last month,” Robin says with a shrug, her tone teetering between casual and conspiratorial.

You’re immediately defensive, which causes your voice to climb. “Oh my god, I didn’t even hit it!”

“That’s neither here nor there. You nearly ran it over, which is more than enough reason for them to put a hit out on you.”

You turn the keys in the ignition, starting the engine. "I’ll tell you what, if you bring it up again, I’ll be the one plotting vengeance.” 

Robin smiles with a glint of mischief in her eyes. “You’ll let me know when you get there then?”

“Will do,” You agree, flicking the headlights on. The bright beams illuminate the front of her building. Truthfully, you’d much rather stay at Robin’s than at some dingy motel, but you can’t bring yourself to burden her further.

With a sympathetic expression, Robin pushes the car door closed, her palm raised in a half-wave as she turns to walk back inside. She doesn’t watch you pull away, trusting you to make it out of the parking lot without another deer encounter.

The drive across town drags on, each minute bleeding into the next as you twist the radio dial, hunting for a station that won’t cut out. The static buzzes in the background, interrupted only by faint, wavering melodies, as you keep your focus on finding the sweet spot.

It’s only when you glance up, that you realize you’re driving through a four-way intersection.

Glass shatters like hail as the driver’s side door takes the impact. The screech of tires finally ceases as your car lurches to a stop, the passenger side crushed inward by the trunk of a red oak tree. The other driver staggers out of their car, disoriented from the impact. They shout for help, frantically waving down a passing vehicle.

One by one, house lights flick on as residents abandon their windows and begin congregating on the sidewalk. They linger at a distance, uncertain how to act as flames start to crawl their way out from beneath the crumpled hood of your car.

Chatter and anxious glances ripple through the sparse crowd as the fire crackles against the wreckage. Dismal gray columns of smoke lift into the air as the inferno heats the mangled steel frame that cages your scathed body.

Meanwhile, Eddie is driving as though the act itself will leave his troubles behind. He’s seeking refuge in the spot he hasn’t visited in ages. Back then, Eddie would hide away at Lover’s Lake to decompress. That all changed when you came into his life, and he never had the need to return.

He takes a shortcut through the nearest neighborhood where the occasional streetlamp pushes back the shadows of the late hour. As he turns the corner of Highland and Chestnut, his eyes narrow at the commotion ahead. Growing nearer to the scene, twirling red and blue lights slice through the darkness.

The world is fading at the edges, the seatbelt restraining you like an unyielding captor. It’s keeping you from fully slumping forward, your chin resting against your clavicle. The roaring blaze reaches out to you, its fiery touch trailing cruel, burning kisses across your skin.

Gradually, you begin to sink into the earth. Death curls its finger at you, urging you to lie at rest in the ground for eternity. Simultaneously, the firemen work skillfully to free you from the burning structure. Sparks fly from the jaws of life that sever the driver’s side door from the frame.

Eddie lets up, his speed dropping as he nears the intersection. The blinding flashes of color blur in his peripheral while he cranes his neck, trying to see through the blockade of emergency vehicles. It’s a fleeting glance, far too obstructed to make out what happened. By the time Eddie is past the scene, he’s sure he’ll be reading about someone’s tragic death in the newspaper. There’s a twisted comfort in knowing he’s not the only one suffering. For a brief, sickening moment, he wonders if his misery compares.

A while later, lakeside with the doors wide open, Eddie lies in the back of his van, dragging a long hit from his cigarette. The wispy cig smoke swirls as he tries to cloud away the soreness of his broken promise. More specifically, the trust in your eyes when he swore he’d be home on time. Eddie hasn’t seen you that excited in god knows how long. The image of your genuine smile gnaws at him.

The argument replays in his mind, but it's the frailty of your delivery that cuts through, embedding itself deep under his skin. It was just a bad fight, because that’s what couples do, they fight. Surely, you’ll come back. You’ll hug, make up, and everything will go back to normal. Except that’s what got him into this mess in the first place. Things can’t go back to how they were.

The ambulance rattles over the cracked pavement resulting from the latest blackberry winter. Strapped to the gurney, you wade in and out of consciousness, tethered between worlds.

Although your eyelids are drooping, you can still see. It’s like peering through a frosted window, a pearlescent haze distorting your vision, reddened by the blood trickling from the gash in your forehead.

The hospital corridors reverberate the gurney’s clinking, its wheels wobbling as you’re rushed forward. The bag valve mask does little to ease your labored breathing. Once you’re in the operating room, the surgeons move swiftly, working to stop the internal bleeding.

After chain-smoking, Eddie checks his watch: half past midnight. His body protests the excess. If his head were to roll off his shoulders, he wouldn’t notice. During the drive home, his eyes track the endless white dashes that get swallowed up by the front of his van.

He’s worn down, and when he’s like this, he can’t predict what he’s capable of. Eddie decides to sleep on it, hoping to avoid whatever reckless choices he’d come to regret. Clothes discarded in a jumbled heap on the floor, Eddie strips down before crawling into bed. The nicotine buzz dissipates quickly, leaving behind an agitated nagging that refuses to let him be.

The vacant space beside him is a persistent reminder of what's missing, the unease keeping him awake. No matter how much he tosses and turns, the other half of the bed remains untouched. It would be wrong to take advantage of the extra room, he feels the need to respect that it belongs to you.

Eddie listens to the sounds he hasn’t picked up on in a while. The crickets chirping outside the window, the buzz of the old refrigerator, and distant dogs barking. Together, they form a disjointed cradlesong, gradually dulling his awareness of everything around him. But it’s the sound of your faint snoring that he craves, the lullaby that always grounded him.

The whirring of the machine anchors you in the sterile stillness of the hospital room. Its steady, mechanical pumping guides your unnatural breaths. With broken ribs, each breath is an involuntary struggle, shallow and ragged because your chest is unwilling to expand.

A cocktail of sedatives and anesthetics has drawn you deep into unconsciousness. The doctors call it a miracle that you’re alive, but you being placed in a medically induced coma is less of a victory and more like purgatory.

The constant wriggling and rolling over continued; it was a fitful night. Only at the first light of dawn did Eddie finally slip into a deep, uninterrupted sleep. The sun has long risen. Its rays spill over the trailer as Eddie stays beneath the comforter, the weight of slumber still holding him down. When he finally stirs, it’s well past noon.

Last night, he was supposed to enjoy an intimate dinner, make love, and wake up with you safely tucked in his arms. Instead, he searches for the comfort of your warmth, only to find the cold, barren stretch of the bed where you should be.

Recalling the unsteadiness in your eyes hits him hard. Faced with the raw, exposed nerve, you were worn down to the point of giving up on him entirely. Eddie should have recognized the risk he was running; the possibility of losing you was ever-present. Nonetheless, he still won’t admit to himself that you meant what you said.

Eddie forces himself out of bed, showers, and pulls on a fresh outfit. Afterward, he sweeps the glass off the floor, carefully collecting the shards and tossing them into the trash.

The kitchen isn’t a shitshow by any means, but he chooses to clean up the food left out from last night and wipes down the counters. The least he can do is try to make the kitchen more presentable. When he’s finished, it’s not as neat as you tend to keep it, but he wants to do something to atone for his part in the mess.

Keys in hand, Eddie leaves the trailer, stepping into the morning with the conviction that the worst is actually behind him this time. The weight of last night’s events still lingers, but he’s determined that all that’s left is to smooth things over. Familiar with your habits enough to suspect where you might have gone, he starts the short drive.

When he arrives at Robin’s address, the parking lot is mostly empty. It strikes him as odd. He expected to see at least your car, if not hers as well. A creeping unease settles over him, as persistent as the dense gray clouds overhead, waiting for the right moment to unleash their downpour.

Without hesitation, he heads straight for Family Video. If Robin isn’t at home, that’s the next most likely place she’d be. Yet, even as he pursues the route, Eddie can’t get past the fact that your car is unaccounted for.

Caught in a whirlwind, he stumbles as he hops out of his van. After finding his footing, each step is heavy against the asphalt. Eddie swings open the glass door of Family Video.

The cool air inside greets him like a welcome escape, cutting through the stifling humidity left behind outside. Eddie leans his tattooed forearms against the counter while searching for Robin. A few customers wander between aisles, but there’s no sign of the familiar, unflattering green vests of the employees.

The door chime rings, but she doesn’t immediately emerge from the back room. When Robin does make her delayed appearance, she pauses at the sight of Eddie. Her expression warps slightly as she blinks hard as if trying to clear her eyes and make sure he’s really there.

“What’s with the face?” Eddie raises an eyebrow at her reaction. "You’re looking at me like I’m the last person you wanted to see."

“I wouldn’t put it like that.” She resumes sorting through the returned tapes since focusing on the task is the easiest way to avoid meeting his gaze. “I just didn’t expect you to be here.”

“Really? I mean, I stopped by your place, but it didn’t look like anyone was home so-” Eddie’s posture straightens and he wrings the back of his neck. "Anyway, uh, I'm guessing you’re up to speed with what went down. She stayed with you last night, right?"

“No, she didn’t,” Robin responds curtly, a frown tugging at her eyes.

”What do you mean, no? Where the hell did she go then?”

Robin freezes, switching her attention entirely to Eddie. She studies the bewildered worry etched across Eddie's face, interpreting his expression as truthful. “She’s in the ICU.”

Blood surges to his head, a high-pitched ringing overtaking his ears like the aftermath of an explosion in the video store. Eddie jabs an accusatory point with his pinky finger in her direction. “Don’t bullshit me, man. I’ve just about had it with the overacting of this whole thing.”

“Dude, I swear to God. I’m not lying. I got the call this morning.”

“And you didn’t think to open with that?!” Eddie’s voice erupts, drawing startled stares from nearby shoppers as heads swivel in his direction.

Robin flashes her palms in a gesture of surrender. “I thought you knew!”

“Son of a bitch!” Already having spun around, Eddie barrels through the glass door, the bell jangling violently in his wake. He leaps into his van, tires screeching as he peels out of the lot, pushing twenty miles per hour over the speed limit down the weatherworn streets.

When he arrives in the hospital parking lot, his van comes to a halt at a crooked angle. He doesn’t bother locking his car, his focus already fixed on the entrance, his heart pounding like a war drum in his chest.

Eddie skims the wall directory for the intensive care unit. Then, he powers up the stairwell, taking two steps at a time. His eyes flit over the endless stretch of identical, harshly lit hallways, of which make it easy to get turned around. Borderline jogging, the panic in Eddie’s stride carries him as he dodges staff along the way.

He defiantly ignores the "medical personnel only" sign, his desperation outweighing any sense of caution. A woman’s voice calls out, urgent and commanding, "Get security!" Then, directed at Eddie, someone shouts, "Young man, you can’t go in there!"

His shoes squeak as he comes to a halt. Frantically inspecting the area, his chest heaves. The digging pang in his side from his body objecting to the exertion barely registers.

Then, he spots your name listed on a whiteboard. It’s like a jolt to his system. Eddie crosses the threshold into your room and his heart is gouged from his chest, ripped clean from the cavity at the sight before him.

Wrapped in fresh gauze, you're a painful patchwork of bruises—raisin and rust-colored burns marring your skin. The sickening blend of hues makes you look like a beloved doll, battered and scribbled on with a permanent marker.

Eddie stands frozen, words failing him. “Shit… Sweetheart,” He approaches your bedside and reaches for you, his fingers just about to brush yours. But, before he can make contact, a security guard yanks him back. The man's grip is firm on Eddie’s arm, stopping him cold.

“No!” Eddie bellows, his voice hoarse, “Get your fucking hands off me!” His composure crumbles as he fights against the guard’s firm hold. For a few brief seconds, he resists, but his strength gives way. Eddie is hauled away.

Eddie’s furious, but astonishingly, he respects the stern warning he receives. If he resists, it’ll only make things worse for you. Enough damage has been done as is. The last thing he can afford is being thrown out of the hospital. Or worse, arrested.

In the third-floor waiting room, two people sit together. Their eyes follow Eddie as he enters and chooses a chair on the opposite side of the room. Sitting by the window would give him the benefit of vitamin D, a small chance to feel lighter, but he deliberately avoids it. He won’t allow himself to bask in the sun’s warmth while you’re hanging on by a thread.

The room is no bigger than fifteen by eleven feet, and it’s isolating. As the adrenaline drains from his body, his limbs turn to lead. Eddie’s eyelids grow heavy, his body sinking into the firm armchair. Visitors filter in and out, their stares constantly on him as he dozes upright.

Throughout the afternoon, respiratory specialists run tests, but you’ll be incapable of breathing on your own for some time. The machine remains lodged in your throat until further notice.

A tall, older male doctor enters the otherwise empty waiting room. “Mr. Munson?” He asks, his tone flat and impersonal.

Eddie stirs, his frizzy curls flying as he shakes off the drowsiness. “Yeah, yes. That’s, uh, that’s me,” he mutters and rubs his face. “How is she doing? Can I see her?””

“No, not yet. But she’s stable. The acute agonal respiration has…”

Eddie blinks, his mind sluggish at trying to comprehend the medical jargon. It’s like a foreign language, and he has no fucking clue what the doctor is saying. He clings to the fragments, trying to make sense of the complicated terminology. Eddie searches for any hints on the doctor’s face that offer him an understanding of what’s being explained.

“...A coma has been induced to allow her a better chance at healing. With that, we’re hoping to see a reduction in brain swelling. Although, I do regret to inform you that the likelihood of her waking is a matter of if, not when.”

It feels as if the roof is caving in on Eddie, shoving him down through the layers of the earth until he’s swallowed by the molten core. Grief consumes him, leaving him numb, as though the blood in his veins has slowed to a crawl.

“If she does rouse, there’s a likelihood that she’ll experience anterograde amnesia. It’s not uncommon under these particular circumstances.”

“And what circumstances are we talking about exactly? Eddie shifts to the edge of his seat, dragging his palm roughly over his mouth. 

“Oh, my apologies. I was under the impression that someone already told you. She was involved in a motor vehicle collision.”

“Wait.” Eddie closes his eyes, trying to keep up as the terms begin to register. “Amnesia meaning like, she won’t recognize me?” 

The doctor opens and closes his fist, catching Eddie’s concern before he can spiral. “No, no. She shouldn’t have trouble retrieving memories. It’s consolidation that could be affected. Only temporarily, we hope.”

The realization that you were in the burning car he’d driven past causes his stomach to churn. “Alright, thanks.” Eddie sends the doctor off and watches him exit the room. Once alone, he crumples into the chair and sobs. In a futile attempt to quiet himself, he sinks his top teeth into his knuckles, trying to suppress the whimpers that escape.

What is he supposed to do, is he going to start praying to a god he doesn’t believe in? With his optimism beyond pulverized, Eddie is overcome with the fear of losing you. Amidst the chaos of the present, he’s lost sight of everything that truly mattered.

Minutes turn into hours of droplets pattering against the thick panes of glass, gathering into winding streams that race down the window. Eddie tries to talk some sense into himself, but every sliver of hope is dashed. Berating himself, he repeatedly runs through the list of things he should’ve done differently.

Though it’s unbearable, Eddie shoulders the responsibility of notifying your friends and family. The room is filled with the relentless sound of water rapping against the window, its clatter drowning out Eddie’s bawling. He drifts in and out of crying fits, his body trembling with each painful cough. 

A twister of bleak thoughts rips through Eddie, reducing him to rubble. It’s impossible to process each emotion when they all scream and claw at him in unison, demanding accountability. Despite his failure to express it when it mattered most, he’s still deeply in love with you. Not that anything can be done about it now.

Right now, it’s the quiet moments he craves. Those small, tender things he may never get to experience again. One, though, rises above the rest, a memory he longs to lose himself in.

In the moments after Eddie made love to you for the first time, you were in his bed on your stomach. A drowsy, content hum emanated from your lips as you basked in the afterglow of your climax. The satisfied grin on your face made you look ethereal, a sight that left him breathless.

Eddie gently traced the curve of your spine with the tips of his fingers as you slept, his touch a whisper against your naked skin. He wasn’t questioning whether your peaceful state meant he was good in the sack. No, at that moment, he was certain of one thing: you were the very heartbeat of his existence, the one thing that made everything else pale in comparison.

Left by his lonesome in the same damn armchair, Eddie watches the storm outside. His feet are propped up on another chair he dragged in front of him, his arms crossed over his chest. By eight o'clock, the staff still won’t allow him to visit you. He confined himself to the waiting room, pacing back and forth, his nerves stretched thin.

Every hour or so, he’s been a recurring face at the nurses' station, pestering anyone who will acknowledge him. The answers he gets are the same. She’s stable. We’ll update you as soon as anything changes. Eddie doesn’t argue, but each time he hears the repetitive reassurances, it feels like a blade twisting in his gut.

Just when he’s about to get up to head for the counter again, a nurse enters the waiting room, her face kind but firm. "Hun, you need to go home. Get some rest, eat something. The last thing we need is you in here for starvation."

He’s been so distraught that it’s now just dawning on him how hungry he is. In all honesty, he could use a cigarette as well. "I’m fine. Really." Eddie dismisses her concern. Returning his attention to the window, he catches his reflection in the glass; the fatigue is apparent on his face.

The nurse understands his reluctance, so she tries again. "We’ll call you as soon as we have an update to share. But at this time, there hasn’t been any regression in her condition. She’s-"

“Stable, I know," Eddie mutters, but it’s barely more than a breath.

She nods, her grin small and tinged with sympathy. She leaves knowing he indirectly agreed. His joints pop when he rises to his feet, moving on autopilot. Once he's left the room, he casts a final glance at the entrance to the ICU, the very one he had burst through.

Eddie does go home, but it feels like a fruitless decision. He sulks, taking a shower so long that his skin prunes, the water running over him as if it could wash away the shame. He commits himself to the couch, too tired to think but unable to doze off.

The six-pack comes next. If there’s anything Eddie can do successfully, it’s drink himself blurry. One beer after another, it manages to take the edge off. Drunkenly napping, he’s overtired and underfed. The alcohol does little to weaken the ache inside him, and his subconscious takes full advantage.

Half-lucid memories of you slip through the cracks: fragments of conversations, your laughter and liveliness. But somewhere in the depths, the past begins to twist, charring everything he cherishes.

The odor of smoke curls thick around him, its stench choking his every breath. An unfamiliar house is before him engulfed in flames. A monstrous wall of orange and red licking the sky. He hears your scream, but you’re nowhere to be seen.

Eddie rushes forward, the heat pressing down on him, his skin starting to blister. He reaches the front door only to find it locked. Pounding on it with his fists does nothing but cause smoke to pour out from the seams. The ear-splitting snap of the second-story floorboards buckling shakes the very foundation of the house.

Then he sees you, standing in the window, your face twisted in panic. The flames are rising around you, the glass fracturing as the heat pushes harder against it. Eddie shouts your name and tries to tell you to get away from the window, but his voice has vanished. The pane blows and the fire consumes everything, including you.

A blinding flash of electricity splits the darkness, followed by an earth-shattering crack that’s felt throughout Forest Hills. The mobile home rattles in its wake, startling Eddie awake. He’s disoriented, but the low hiss of the TV across the room anchors him. It reminds him of where he is: stuck in a living nightmare.

In the following days, Eddie’s shifts at the factory are significantly shorter. His coworkers pitch in to cover for him and help with the impending medical bills. He’s skipped playing with his band, avoiding the familiar faces and the music that used to occupy his time. His world has shrunk to the four walls of the trailer.

Eddie’s doing just enough to keep the bills paid and himself fed, but the rest of his time is spent in waiting. Waiting for the phone to ring, for any updates, for confirmation that you’re going to be okay.

He’s filled page after page of his sketchbook with nothing but mindless scribbles, aimless shapes that lack any recognizable form. The crosswords in the newspapers were attempted, only to be crumpled up in frustration. Eddie tossed them haphazardly across the room, each throw a futile attempt to land them in the wastebasket. Every ball of paper on the floor is a reminder of how little control he has over anything.

After what feels like a lifetime, the phone rings. Fucking finally. Eddie’s pulse hammers, his mind racing with all the worst-case scenarios. After being so patient, he’s not sure if he’s ready to hear what’s on the other end. What if they’re calling to tell him it’s too late? What if he’s lost you before he ever had a chance to make things right?

The voice is calm, but the words hit him like a train: she's breathing on her own and out of critical condition. Eddie exhales shakily, his clammy grip on the phone tightening.

By the time he parks and walks into the hospital, it feels like every step is pulling him closer to what he’s both desperate for and terrified of. Having been moved to a room outside of the ICU, Eddie finds his way down the hall to your door.

He halts just outside and squeezes his eyes shut for a fleeting second, inhaling so deeply it feels like his lungs could burst. And then, he crosses the threshold. The tightness in his chest relents at how pretty you look. 

As though he’s trying to avoid waking you, he moves gingerly, dragging a chair over to your bedside to sit. Slightly reclined, you lay there with your head on the plush pillow. The heart rate monitor is a minor consolation, a reminder that you’re still alive.

“My sweet angel.” Taking your unmoving hand in his, Eddie’s touch is gentle like you're made of glass. Your hand is caressed as unexplored territory to him, contrary to him having held this hand a thousand times before. It feels like a first introduction, the way his fingers interlock with yours.

Remaining silent, he’s lost in thought, unsure if you could even hear him if he spoke. Surely, you're still in there somewhere. With his burnt caramel irises downcast, he can’t bring himself to look at you for more than a few seconds at a time. His other senses grow sharper, heightening to detect the slightest sign that you’re aware of him. A twitch or anything that might suggest that you can feel him.

Your motionlessness is killing him, but there’s a tranquility in it. Beneath the bruises and stitches, you’re still the love of his life. Eddie softly presses his lips to the back of your hand. The tears that run astray trickle down his cheeks, each salty droplet holding a memory.

Eddie isn’t ready for you to become a real angel. If you were to draw your final breath, he'd spend the rest of his days searching for white feathers or shapes in the fluffy clouds. He would go to great lengths to find evidence suggesting that you're still with him.

“Baby, I owe you an apology. More like a million of ‘em.” Eddie pauses. “I am so fucking sorry. And I know that doesn’t mean shit, believe me. I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

Instead of using his free hand to wipe away the tears, Eddie places it on top of yours, your hand now sandwiched between his. “If I'm being totally straight with you,” he begins, his voice breaking, “I’m scared shitless that you aren’t gonna wake up.”

The pressure is building behind his eyes, the tears threatening to fall faster. Unable to bear the thought of you seeing him like this, Eddie momentarily turns his head away. He clenches his jaw and he squeezes his eyes shut, willing the tears back. He forces himself to focus on your hand in his, because it’s the only thing keeping him from completely falling apart.

“I can’t imagine how tired you are of me. If you wanna let go… I understand,” Eddie sniffles loudly, trying to regain some semblance of control over his emotions. “But I want you to stay, baby. I’m not done being selfish yet. I just, I need you to come back to me. I promise I won’t take you for granted this time.”

It feels like he’s on a bullet train, the outside world soaring by at lightning speed while the hospital room has frozen in time. “I swear to Christ, I’ll never make you feel alone like that again. No more broken promises.” Eddie hooks his pinky finger with yours.

From hereon, Eddie refuses to leave your side. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he wasn’t there if you needed him. There’s no chance that he’s going to be separated from you for longer than absolutely necessary. 

The staff, seeing Eddie’s determination to stay by your side, take pity on him and bring him ham and cheese sandwiches, tomato soup with crackers, anything to keep him nourished. The thought of you being unable to eat awakens the residing guilt inside him. Instead of dwelling on it, he prioritizes the simple task of keeping himself going. That way, he can be here for you if you finally wake up.

Eddie’s sanity begins to fray from being confined to the small room, but the stream of visitors coming to see you keeps him relatively grounded. Over the rest of the week, the atmosphere transforms vibrantly, shifting from sterile to something almost cheerful.

Gifts from Wayne, his bandmates, and your family add bursts of life to the space. Themed balloons, heartfelt greeting cards, and colorful floral arrangements line the windowsill, reminiscent of a blooming spring meadow.

He wishes more than anything that you could see how incredibly loved you are by everyone who walks through that door. At the same time, part of him is almost relieved that you don’t have to experience the toll this ordeal has taken on your body.

Every other day, Robin stops by. She brings Eddie clean clothes from home, along with distractions like old issues from his Heavy Metal magazine collection. Each visit feels like a lifeline; Robin’s wit and genuine concern for you reminds him that he’s not facing this alone.

At his insistence, Robin ‘keeps you company’ while he takes brisk showers in the private bathroom, always returning in record time, afraid he might miss something. Per his request, she even brings nail polish in your favorite color so that he can paint your fingernails.

Regardless of having the privilege of being with you at all, it’s a hollow solace. Eddie’s mind remains a battlefield, overrun by relentless self-reproach. He ruined the best thing that ever happened to him. If he hadn’t messed everything up, there wouldn’t have been a fight, and you wouldn’t have walked out that night.

The weeks bleed together, the hospital room becoming a second home as Eddie clings to the vulnerable thread of hope.

Currently, he’s slouched in the same uncomfortable chair. If it weren’t made of wood, it would have an impression of his rear end by now. He’s been reading aloud to you from a novel, his voice mildly animated while his fingertips trace imaginary shapes on your arm.

The heart rate monitor, nothing more than a forgotten backdrop of rhythmic beeps, shows a distinct change. The words falter on Eddie’s tongue mid-sentence as he jolts upright. The book slips from his lap and hits the floor with a thud, utterly forgotten. Eddie’s eyes lock onto the monitor, scanning its display.

He's certain his mind is playing tricks on him. That is, until the pattern repeats. "Holy shit." Eddie takes your hand, his eyes darting between your face and the monitor. "I’m here, baby."

Your eyelids twitch and then begin to retract, although not fully. It’s like the clouds are dispersing, and the sky is slowly stitching itself back together as you emerge from the depths within yourself.

Brimming with unshed tears, Eddie’s eyes glisten like jewels. “Hi, sweetheart,” he coos with a tender squeeze of your hand. “I missed you.”

Reblogs are greatly appreciated! ♡

Thank you for reading xo

★My Masterlist

Once Wayne’s treasures and mementos were long gone, the space felt more unfamiliar than ever. Eddie’s bedroom, in comparison, remained unchanged. He’d never truly lived with a woman, much less a long-term girlfriend.

With your arms folded tightly across your chest, you took in the disheveled bedroom. You didn’t want to overstep any boundaries, but it was your room too now. “Could we maybe take some of these posters down?”

Feigning annoyance at your request, Eddie released a husky groan. Did he love his band posters? Abso-fucking-lutely. But tearing them down was a small price to pay for getting to be with you every day. “Fine,” he sighed dramatically, “But the Corroded Coffin banner stays up.”

His expression turned on a dime, and his lips twisted into a devilish smile. Before you could anticipate Eddie’s next move, you were pulled into his embrace. The unnecessarily secure hug caused your giggle to strain. “Eddieee! Too tight!” You squealed. 

The sounds you made filled his chest with a golden warmth. It spread through the rest of his body like sweet, gooey honey. Eddie chuckled deeply with amusement and loosened his arms a bit.

When his gaze met yours, he hummed with contentment. “This is your castle now, princess,” Eddie said while looking back and forth between your eyes. “I know it’s not much. Someday, I’m gonna get you a house. With a yard and all that fancy shit.”

You smiled and stroked the rosy apple of his cheek with your thumb. “You’re my home. But if we’re talking houses, just know that I’m perfectly happy growing old together in this tin can.”

“Is that so? You don’t think you’ll get sick of me anytime soon?”

“While it’s not entirely unlikely, it’s probably in your best interest to stay on my good side,” You squinted at him. Traces of your previous smile lingered in the upturned corners of your lips, but you tried to come across as serious.

Eddie’s tongue peeked out to wet his lower lip. “How much trouble would I be in if I said I’m not taking down a single poster unless you make me?”

“A lot of trouble.”

He beamed at you, “Yeah?” Eddie’s deft fingers found your sides, and instantly, you were lying on your back on the bed. He tickled you mercilessly, to the extent that you were so laughed out that you could no longer beg him to stop.

A year has passed since then. Living with Eddie has been just about as unpredictable as he is as a person. The air, once saccharine, now leaves a sour aftertaste. You hoped it would fade over time, but it’s only gotten more prominent as the weeks have passed.

As it turns out, adulthood is fucking difficult. Doing his damnedest to manage his responsibilities, he’s been in over his head for longer than he’s willing to admit.

For starters, he’s been playing twice a week at Wraith, a venue located 41 minutes outside of Hawkins. On top of that, Corroded Coffin’s permanent gig requires consistent late practice sessions.

The greatest challenge is his job at the Brassline Industries factory. Gone are the days when he sold weed to irresponsible teens to have a extra fun-money. Eddie is a grown-ass man now, with a grown-ass job. Due to his demanding schedule, you don’t see much of him during the day anymore.

Frankly, you don’t see him much at all. There’s always something that he has to tend to. I promised Jeff I’d help him move out of his ex’s place. The band’s van is on the fritz, I have to go to Gareth’s to work on it. Terry called in sick at the factory, so I have to pull a double.

You’ve tried to tell yourself that his ever-growing absence isn’t personal. But unknowingly, you’ve been making excuses for your boyfriend’s inability to make time for you. 

Eddie begins each day with the sunrise. Once in a blue moon, he’ll kiss your forehead while you’re curled under the worn blankets. Unaware and asleep, you don’t get to savor the gesture of waning affection. More often than not, when he finally comes home, you’re exactly where he left you—unconscious and beyond taxed from your job. Hell, you work hard too.

Your relationship has been suffering in all aspects of the intimacy department. Most importantly, the two of you haven’t had sex in over two months. Stuck with pent-up sexual frustration, Eddie has been feeling nothing short of unsatisfied. It’s gotten to the point that rubbing one out is a chore more than anything.

It’s not like he hasn’t tried connecting with you that way. On a few occasions, he climbed into bed beside you as he normally would. But instead of succumbing to exhaustion like you had, his hands slipped beneath your pajamas and traced your body.

Was it low to be copping a feel? Yes. But Eddie’s self-restraint had fizzled out. He knew it wouldn’t happen if he didn’t try. Regardless, you rolled over or pushed him away, mumbling in semi-cognizant disinterest. Having been rejected on several occasions, Eddie’s hurt feelings have brought on a distant shift in his demeanor when your days happen to overlap. Worse yet, his internal thunder matches the rumble of your own.

At this rate, you’re roommates at best. Hardly so, given that he’s rarely home. What a way to be treated after you’ve been nothing but patient and supportive of his life choices. Truly, you’re happy that Eddie has things in his life that bring him fulfillment, but you can’t help wishing you were one of them.

There’s a strong possibility that talking through it could resolve the tension, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything about it. How pathetic it would be for you to beg for his undivided attention. You’re not sure you’re worth his while. Thinking you could tough it out, you’ve broken your heart by waiting for him to realize how lonesome you’ve been.

Instead of counting sheep, you lay and wonder if it's fate that the two of you have grown apart. It’s killing you to continue pretending that this isn’t torturous. You’ve abandoned parts of yourself to keep this love afloat, and there were no lifeboats in sight from the start.

What you and Eddie have is defined by more than its worst moments, but you’ve long since abandoned all faith that this is just a rough patch. A day where anything changes for the better remains a pipe dream. Every once in a while, you find yourself wishing he’d do something unspeakably horrible to you, just so that all of the pain would be justified.

You’ve bid farewell to the moments that once meant so much. Because it really is the little things that make you nauseous to reminisce about. Light years ago, Eddie couldn’t bear to have you out of reach for more than a few minutes. He'd wrap his arms around your waist and whisper sweet nothings in your ear while you washed dishes in the kitchen sink. Frequently, he’d pull you closer by the belt loops of your jeans to kiss you with fervor after spending a few hours apart. Back then, hours felt like an eternity. They still do, just differently.

You’re not missed and it stings. Or at the very least, you’re not missed enough for him to make an effort. Up until today, you were searching for reasons to stay. He hasn’t provided any, yet you decide to give him one final chance.

Eddie will be home for dinner; he swore on it. Hence, why you’ve been in a frenzy since you got off work. For once, you’re cooking, something you haven’t done in what feels like ages. It’s no surprise that eating lost all significance when you’ve been surviving off of takeout leftovers and cold pizza. Maybe all it’ll take is a shared meal for things to change.

In actuality, you don’t truly believe that. The desire to impress him is undeniable, and it’s going to take more than a home-cooked meal to salvage what’s left. How the evening goes will determine where you belong, whether it be in his life or elsewhere.

Your outfit isn’t remarkable, although it is a step up from your typical at-home wear. After fixing your hair and applying a bit of makeup, you feel presentable. The uneasy feeling stirring in your belly is all too familiar. It reminds you of your first date with Eddie. You shouldn’t feel this nervous when you’ve been together for as long as you have.

The crushing truth is that, if you look pretty enough, he’ll remember that you exist. Perhaps he’ll look at you the way he used to. You hope that gussying up and a hot dinner will be how you win him back for good.

Eddie swore he’d be home by six fifteen at the latest. Nevertheless, the steam rising off of the food dissipates as it grows cold. For the umpteenth time, you check the wall clock. The same clock that you’ve been checking nonstop for 20 minutes.

Counting down the second hand, you concede defeat at the forty-five-minute mark of his tardiness. Time has always had a way of throwing it all in your face. You should’ve known better than to trust that he’d show.

None of this made a difference because Eddie didn’t even give it a chance to. The final nail in the coffin: was it his choices, or his refusal to choose you, that led to this? It could’ve been the lack of effort or the intentional cold shoulder. It could be that you’re not what he wants anymore. Not like it makes a difference.

Seated at the table for two near the front door, the chair squeaks as you stand. For a moment, you consider blowing out the candles you’d lit to set the mood. But would it be such a tragedy if the trailer caught fire, taking you with it?

In the kitchen, you step over to the sink and fill your glass with water. You gulp it down, the milk-tinted liquid a poor substitute for the meal you slaved over and didn’t take a bite of. The swirling in your abdomen intensifies, becoming all the more vicious.

Without a second thought, you chuck the fragile crystal onto the worn linoleum, scattering jagged shards across the floor toward the dining table. Not dissimilar to the cup you’ve just destroyed, you crumble. Your spine slams into the cupboard with a thud as you slide down in front of the sink. The rage in your head drowns everything else, so much so that you don't recognize the pain of your tailbone meeting the floor with such force.

At 9:45, the trailer door creaks open and slams shut, the sound cutting through the quiet like a knife. The dim living space is lit only by the flicker of candles and the distant light pouring out from the end of the hallway.

Eddie toes off his grimy steel-toed work boots. His lips part as he drapes his jacket over the back of the dining chair nearest to him. He surveys the living room and kitchen, noticing how unusually tidy everything is.

Eddie examines the set table, where the plated food has been sitting for hours. The sinking feeling that was weighing on his chest during the drive over is gone while he’s distracted by the effort you put in. It looks great in here, and Eddie can’t help but wonder how nice you must look, too.

He’s lost in the notion that maybe he’s escaped the worst of it, that he won’t be in deep shit for showing up late. That is until his eyes land on the broken cup and glass scattered on the floor.

The soft, sidetracked smile on his lips fades. Confusion flashes across his face. Carefully, Eddie sidesteps the mess and makes his way toward the bedroom, the only place you could be. With your back to him, you seem to be angrily putting laundry away into the dresser.

Eddie lingers in the doorway, his fingers twisting and untwisting as he wrings his hands. “Hey, sorry I’m late,” He says cautiously.

It’s no surprise that not calling to inform you he’d be late would piss you off. But still, that poor laundry didn’t do anything to deserve the way you’re handling it. Only then do his eyes narrow at the realization that you’re not putting away clothes; you’re shoving them into a duffel bag.

Eddie’s voice lowers in pitch, “What are you doing?”

You don’t turn to face him, nor do you respond. Choosing silence, you yank open the top drawer of the dresser, grabbing fistfuls of socks and underwear. You cram them into the bag alongside the shirts and pants already packed.

Eddie used to be the one finishing your sentences, but now it’s you who’ll be finishing his. You can already anticipate the same tired excuses, the ones you’ve heard over and over again. With the duffle bag unzipped and its strap slung over your shoulder, you pivot, intent on slipping past Eddie and out of the room without a word.

As you move to brush by, his arm shoots out to block the doorway and stop you in your tracks. Eddie keeps his arm extended as he grips the opposite side of the doorframe. “I’m talking to you. Where the hell are you going?”

Forced to meet his gaze, you lock eyes. Your expression is just as hardened, but unlike Eddie’s, your eyes are marbled with dilated blood vessels. “Honestly, I don’t know. But I’m getting the fuck out of here.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” he scoffs, “You can’t be serious.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Your icy, unblinking stare falters as you release the shallow breath trapped in your lungs. “I'm done. I’m not gonna wait around for you anymore.”

“Gimme a goddamn break.” Eddie shakes his head and rolls his eyes. The palpable tension worsens as you fight for the strength to stand your ground. He's doubling down by the sheer audacity of playing dumb.

His defensive expression is a tangled mess. His brows furrow, casting sharp shadows over his eyes, which are darting between yours. “Two people called in. I couldn’t have been here if I wanted to.”

"That right there- that’s exactly what I'm talking about. There’s never a gap between you and a good excuse. I’ll give it to ya, you’re nothing if not consistent.” Your lips remain slightly parted, and a subtle tilt of your head dares him to come up with yet another excuse.

Eddie trips over his words, scrambling for a response. You set out to leave him dumbstruck, and that’s exactly what you’ve done. Seizing the moment, you duck beneath his arm and walk into the bathroom.

This makes his patience burn through its fuse at an alarming rate. Eddie intentionally bites down on his tongue, as if he’s trying to resist the urge to cuss you out. With his jaw clenched, Eddie spins on his heels to face you. “Oh, I see how it is. Just because I’m a little late, you think I’m bullshitting you. Is that it?”

The widening rift between you makes it clear that honesty has no place here. He'd rather die than admit that. So, Eddie keeps prodding, throwing verbal jabs at you in a desperate attempt to regain your attention.

Meanwhile, you rummage through the bathroom drawers, gathering necessities, determined not to let him distract you. Despite grasping at straws to keep you here, his words hang in the air, unanswered.

The beat of your heart thumps wildly in your ears as feverish heat radiates in your bones. The fire in your chest spreads, searing your throat as the flames climb higher. The blistering smoke stings your eyes, bringing fresh tears and making your nose run.

“Well played, babe.” Eddie chuckles, the sound bouncing off the thin walls as he trails you into the living room. "I gotta give it to ya, you’re really nailing the act. But you can quit the theatrics, alright? I get your point.”

“No, you clearly don’t.” You put your shoes on, swallowing a whimper so thick that it’s suffocating. Your resolve feels like it's coming undone, each stitch of your composure pulling loose, one by one.

With his arms folded across his chest, there’s a challenge to his stance. “You’re acting like the world’s fucking ending over one missed dinner!”

After tying your shoes, you rise to your feet. "Just one dinner, Eddie? That’s why you think I’m leaving?” Stepping toward him, you drive your pointer finger into Eddie’s chest with deliberate force.

This catches him off-guard, causing his eyes to widen. The accusing pressure of your finger digging into his chest, paired with the expression on your face—neither of which he ever imagined would be aimed at him.

“You couldn’t be more wrong.” You pull your hand back, the sting of your touch lingering on his skin thereafter. Grabbing the duffel bag, you make your way to the front door. A squeal rings out from the hinges when you push it open, and the cool air hits your cheeks as you walk out.

For so long, all you wanted was him. Now, just being in the same room is unbearable.

You try to close the door behind you, but Eddie stops it before it clicks shut. His presence persists as he follows you outside, his socks catching on the rough concrete as he steps down the three stairs. “I don’t like this. Come on, let's just go back in and talk it out."

Under the cloak of night, with only the light spilling from the wide-open front door of the trailer to find your way, you head for your car. Your fingers grip the keys so tightly that they dig into your palm. The door lock pops up, and you toss your bag onto the passenger seat, and slide into the car, pulling the door shut.

Through the windshield, you see him begin walking toward the car. His hand hangs in the air, suspended, like he’s about to call out to you.

You start the car, shifting into reverse just before he’s close enough to be in the way. The engine hums as you back out, the trailer park fading from view in the side mirror as you drive away.

As your tail lights disappear around the bend, Eddie’s legs nearly give way beneath him. His breathing slows from its hastened pace, his eyes locked on where your car was parked, as if he's waiting for something, anything, to make sense.

The night feels endless, and the drive equally so. The hallway of Robin’s apartment building is narrow and dimly lit, with the faint scent of old carpet lingering in the air. 

After knocking, Robin calls out through the closed door, “If it’s not a pizza you’re peddling, I’m not interested.”

You sigh, worried about disturbing her neighbors at this hour. Stepping closer to the door, you press your words against the wood. "Buckley, it’s me."

Seconds later, the door swings open, revealing Robin in mismatched pajamas. She gives you a once-over as if trying to piece together what’s brought you to her doorstep unannounced. “You look like shit.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Your shoulders sag under the weight of it all, feeling worse than you appear.

Robin's face flickers with a twinge of guilt at the tone of your response. “Sorry,” She almost sounds apologetic as she steps aside to let you in. “I’m not gonna lie, I was kind of hoping you showed up with a pizza.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” You quip dryly, the lack of laughter speaking volumes to the weight you’ve brought with you.

The two of you plop down on the futon in her living room, and not long after, the floodgates open. Robin listens as best she can, though her concentration occasionally wanders as she struggles to make sense of your garbled blubbering.

Half a box of tissues later, you've managed to calm down some, but the hiccups continue to catch you off guard. "I’m such a fucking idiot. I can’t even remember the last time we did something like take a shower together. Honestly, to Eddie, I’m an afterthought at best and an inconvenience at worst.”

You crumple the used tissue in your fist, your sore eyes barely able to focus. They land on the pilled fleece of Robin’s pajama bottoms, too strained to linger anywhere else. “No wonder he isn’t in love with me anymore."

Robin frowns. "That can’t be true. He probably does still love you, maybe he’s just got a weird way of showing it?” She suggests, unsure if she’s said the right thing. To smooth over her uncertain response, Robin tries something else. Instead of gently stroking your back or wrapping an arm around you to squeeze reassuringly, she awkwardly taps the top of your nearest shoulder twice.

A sad smile tugs at your lips, recognizing her attempt to comfort you. The two of you sit in the long pause, letting the room breathe.

This was the worst fight you and Eddie had ever had, by a long shot. Sure, there have been trivial arguments, the kind that fizzled out without much back and forth. But this? This was different. It hadn’t reached the point where one of you stormed off.

If there had been more arguments prior, Eddie could’ve seen it coming; the big blowout, the one that shatters everything. But no. This came out of nowhere, blindsiding him completely. 

Shortly after you left Forest Hills, Eddie followed suit. He told himself a drive would help get his mind off things. Now, he drives aimlessly through the streets. Unable to shake the thought that you were waiting for him to fuck up and paint him as the bad guy. With Accept’s “Fast as a Shark” blaring from the stereo, the engine revs, his foot pressing harder on the gas.

As much as you appreciate Robin’s hospitality, you’ve overstayed your welcome. You don’t have to guess whether you have or not; her body language says it all, especially since she’s got work in the morning.

Taking mercy on her, you make your way toward the door. Before you go, you pull her into a firm hug. "Thanks for putting up with me."

“It’s not like I had much of a choice. You showed up on my doorstep like a sad stray puppy,” Robin jests and walks you to your car. She leans her arm on the top of the open door as you buckle your seatbelt behind the wheel. “Call me as soon as you get to the motel so I know that you didn’t get hit by a deer or something.”

You cock your head at her, visibly questioning the odd phrasing she chose.

“They could be plotting their revenge for that close call with that buck last month,” Robin says with a shrug, her tone teetering between casual and conspiratorial.

You’re immediately defensive, which causes your voice to climb. “Oh my god, I didn’t even hit it!”

“That’s neither here nor there. You nearly ran it over, which is more than enough reason for them to put a hit out on you.”

You turn the keys in the ignition, starting the engine. "I’ll tell you what, if you bring it up again, I’ll be the one plotting vengeance.” 

Robin smiles with a glint of mischief in her eyes. “You’ll let me know when you get there then?”

“Will do,” You agree, flicking the headlights on. The bright beams illuminate the front of her building. Truthfully, you’d much rather stay at Robin’s than at some dingy motel, but you can’t bring yourself to burden her further.

With a sympathetic expression, Robin pushes the car door closed, her palm raised in a half-wave as she turns to walk back inside. She doesn’t watch you pull away, trusting you to make it out of the parking lot without another deer encounter.

The drive across town drags on, each minute bleeding into the next as you twist the radio dial, hunting for a station that won’t cut out. The static buzzes in the background, interrupted only by faint, wavering melodies, as you keep your focus on finding the sweet spot.

It’s only when you glance up, that you realize you’re driving through a four-way intersection.

Glass shatters like hail as the driver’s side door takes the impact. The screech of tires finally ceases as your car lurches to a stop, the passenger side crushed inward by the trunk of a red oak tree. The other driver staggers out of their car, disoriented from the impact. They shout for help, frantically waving down a passing vehicle.

One by one, house lights flick on as residents abandon their windows and begin congregating on the sidewalk. They linger at a distance, uncertain how to act as flames start to crawl their way out from beneath the crumpled hood of your car.

Chatter and anxious glances ripple through the sparse crowd as the fire crackles against the wreckage. Dismal gray columns of smoke lift into the air as the inferno heats the mangled steel frame that cages your scathed body.

Meanwhile, Eddie is driving as though the act itself will leave his troubles behind. He’s seeking refuge in the spot he hasn’t visited in ages. Back then, Eddie would hide away at Lover’s Lake to decompress. That all changed when you came into his life, and he never had the need to return.

He takes a shortcut through the nearest neighborhood where the occasional streetlamp pushes back the shadows of the late hour. As he turns the corner of Highland and Chestnut, his eyes narrow at the commotion ahead. Growing nearer to the scene, twirling red and blue lights slice through the darkness.

The world is fading at the edges, the seatbelt restraining you like an unyielding captor. It’s keeping you from fully slumping forward, your chin resting against your clavicle. The roaring blaze reaches out to you, its fiery touch trailing cruel, burning kisses across your skin.

Gradually, you begin to sink into the earth. Death curls its finger at you, urging you to lie at rest in the ground for eternity. Simultaneously, the firemen work skillfully to free you from the burning structure. Sparks fly from the jaws of life that sever the driver’s side door from the frame.

Eddie lets up, his speed dropping as he nears the intersection. The blinding flashes of color blur in his peripheral while he cranes his neck, trying to see through the blockade of emergency vehicles. It’s a fleeting glance, far too obstructed to make out what happened. By the time Eddie is past the scene, he’s sure he’ll be reading about someone’s tragic death in the newspaper. There’s a twisted comfort in knowing he’s not the only one suffering. For a brief, sickening moment, he wonders if his misery compares.

A while later, lakeside with the doors wide open, Eddie lies in the back of his van, dragging a long hit from his cigarette. The wispy cig smoke swirls as he tries to cloud away the soreness of his broken promise. More specifically, the trust in your eyes when he swore he’d be home on time. Eddie hasn’t seen you that excited in god knows how long. The image of your genuine smile gnaws at him.

The argument replays in his mind, but it's the frailty of your delivery that cuts through, embedding itself deep under his skin. It was just a bad fight, because that’s what couples do, they fight. Surely, you’ll come back. You’ll hug, make up, and everything will go back to normal. Except that’s what got him into this mess in the first place. Things can’t go back to how they were.

The ambulance rattles over the cracked pavement resulting from the latest blackberry winter. Strapped to the gurney, you wade in and out of consciousness, tethered between worlds.

Although your eyelids are drooping, you can still see. It’s like peering through a frosted window, a pearlescent haze distorting your vision, reddened by the blood trickling from the gash in your forehead.

The hospital corridors reverberate the gurney’s clinking, its wheels wobbling as you’re rushed forward. The bag valve mask does little to ease your labored breathing. Once you’re in the operating room, the surgeons move swiftly, working to stop the internal bleeding.

After chain-smoking, Eddie checks his watch: half past midnight. His body protests the excess. If his head were to roll off his shoulders, he wouldn’t notice. During the drive home, his eyes track the endless white dashes that get swallowed up by the front of his van.

He’s worn down, and when he’s like this, he can’t predict what he’s capable of. Eddie decides to sleep on it, hoping to avoid whatever reckless choices he’d come to regret. Clothes discarded in a jumbled heap on the floor, Eddie strips down before crawling into bed. The nicotine buzz dissipates quickly, leaving behind an agitated nagging that refuses to let him be.

The vacant space beside him is a persistent reminder of what's missing, the unease keeping him awake. No matter how much he tosses and turns, the other half of the bed remains untouched. It would be wrong to take advantage of the extra room, he feels the need to respect that it belongs to you.

Eddie listens to the sounds he hasn’t picked up on in a while. The crickets chirping outside the window, the buzz of the old refrigerator, and distant dogs barking. Together, they form a disjointed cradlesong, gradually dulling his awareness of everything around him. But it’s the sound of your faint snoring that he craves, the lullaby that always grounded him.

The whirring of the machine anchors you in the sterile stillness of the hospital room. Its steady, mechanical pumping guides your unnatural breaths. With broken ribs, each breath is an involuntary struggle, shallow and ragged because your chest is unwilling to expand.

A cocktail of sedatives and anesthetics has drawn you deep into unconsciousness. The doctors call it a miracle that you’re alive, but you being placed in a medically induced coma is less of a victory and more like purgatory.

The constant wriggling and rolling over continued; it was a fitful night. Only at the first light of dawn did Eddie finally slip into a deep, uninterrupted sleep. The sun has long risen. Its rays spill over the trailer as Eddie stays beneath the comforter, the weight of slumber still holding him down. When he finally stirs, it’s well past noon.

Last night, he was supposed to enjoy an intimate dinner, make love, and wake up with you safely tucked in his arms. Instead, he searches for the comfort of your warmth, only to find the cold, barren stretch of the bed where you should be.

Recalling the unsteadiness in your eyes hits him hard. Faced with the raw, exposed nerve, you were worn down to the point of giving up on him entirely. Eddie should have recognized the risk he was running; the possibility of losing you was ever-present. Nonetheless, he still won’t admit to himself that you meant what you said.

Eddie forces himself out of bed, showers, and pulls on a fresh outfit. Afterward, he sweeps the glass off the floor, carefully collecting the shards and tossing them into the trash.

The kitchen isn’t a shitshow by any means, but he chooses to clean up the food left out from last night and wipes down the counters. The least he can do is try to make the kitchen more presentable. When he’s finished, it’s not as neat as you tend to keep it, but he wants to do something to atone for his part in the mess.

Keys in hand, Eddie leaves the trailer, stepping into the morning with the conviction that the worst is actually behind him this time. The weight of last night’s events still lingers, but he’s determined that all that’s left is to smooth things over. Familiar with your habits enough to suspect where you might have gone, he starts the short drive.

When he arrives at Robin’s address, the parking lot is mostly empty. It strikes him as odd. He expected to see at least your car, if not hers as well. A creeping unease settles over him, as persistent as the dense gray clouds overhead, waiting for the right moment to unleash their downpour.

Without hesitation, he heads straight for Family Video. If Robin isn’t at home, that’s the next most likely place she’d be. Yet, even as he pursues the route, Eddie can’t get past the fact that your car is unaccounted for.

Caught in a whirlwind, he stumbles as he hops out of his van. After finding his footing, each step is heavy against the asphalt. Eddie swings open the glass door of Family Video.

The cool air inside greets him like a welcome escape, cutting through the stifling humidity left behind outside. Eddie leans his tattooed forearms against the counter while searching for Robin. A few customers wander between aisles, but there’s no sign of the familiar, unflattering green vests of the employees.

The door chime rings, but she doesn’t immediately emerge from the back room. When Robin does make her delayed appearance, she pauses at the sight of Eddie. Her expression warps slightly as she blinks hard as if trying to clear her eyes and make sure he’s really there.

“What’s with the face?” Eddie raises an eyebrow at her reaction. "You’re looking at me like I’m the last person you wanted to see."

“I wouldn’t put it like that.” She resumes sorting through the returned tapes since focusing on the task is the easiest way to avoid meeting his gaze. “I just didn’t expect you to be here.”

“Really? I mean, I stopped by your place, but it didn’t look like anyone was home so-” Eddie’s posture straightens and he wrings the back of his neck. "Anyway, uh, I'm guessing you’re up to speed with what went down. She stayed with you last night, right?"

“No, she didn’t,” Robin responds curtly, a frown tugging at her eyes.

”What do you mean, no? Where the hell did she go then?”

Robin freezes, switching her attention entirely to Eddie. She studies the bewildered worry etched across Eddie's face, interpreting his expression as truthful. “She’s in the ICU.”

Blood surges to his head, a high-pitched ringing overtaking his ears like the aftermath of an explosion in the video store. Eddie jabs an accusatory point with his pinky finger in her direction. “Don’t bullshit me, man. I’ve just about had it with the overacting of this whole thing.”

“Dude, I swear to God. I’m not lying. I got the call this morning.”

“And you didn’t think to open with that?!” Eddie’s voice erupts, drawing startled stares from nearby shoppers as heads swivel in his direction.

Robin flashes her palms in a gesture of surrender. “I thought you knew!”

“Son of a bitch!” Already having spun around, Eddie barrels through the glass door, the bell jangling violently in his wake. He leaps into his van, tires screeching as he peels out of the lot, pushing twenty miles per hour over the speed limit down the weatherworn streets.

When he arrives in the hospital parking lot, his van comes to a halt at a crooked angle. He doesn’t bother locking his car, his focus already fixed on the entrance, his heart pounding like a war drum in his chest.

Eddie skims the wall directory for the intensive care unit. Then, he powers up the stairwell, taking two steps at a time. His eyes flit over the endless stretch of identical, harshly lit hallways, of which make it easy to get turned around. Borderline jogging, the panic in Eddie’s stride carries him as he dodges staff along the way.

He defiantly ignores the "medical personnel only" sign, his desperation outweighing any sense of caution. A woman’s voice calls out, urgent and commanding, "Get security!" Then, directed at Eddie, someone shouts, "Young man, you can’t go in there!"

His shoes squeak as he comes to a halt. Frantically inspecting the area, his chest heaves. The digging pang in his side from his body objecting to the exertion barely registers.

Then, he spots your name listed on a whiteboard. It’s like a jolt to his system. Eddie crosses the threshold into your room and his heart is gouged from his chest, ripped clean from the cavity at the sight before him.

Wrapped in fresh gauze, you're a painful patchwork of bruises—raisin and rust-colored burns marring your skin. The sickening blend of hues makes you look like a beloved doll, battered and scribbled on with a permanent marker.

Eddie stands frozen, words failing him. “Shit… Sweetheart,” He approaches your bedside and reaches for you, his fingers just about to brush yours. But, before he can make contact, a security guard yanks him back. The man's grip is firm on Eddie’s arm, stopping him cold.

“No!” Eddie bellows, his voice hoarse, “Get your fucking hands off me!” His composure crumbles as he fights against the guard’s firm hold. For a few brief seconds, he resists, but his strength gives way. Eddie is hauled away.

Eddie’s furious, but astonishingly, he respects the stern warning he receives. If he resists, it’ll only make things worse for you. Enough damage has been done as is. The last thing he can afford is being thrown out of the hospital. Or worse, arrested.

In the third-floor waiting room, two people sit together. Their eyes follow Eddie as he enters and chooses a chair on the opposite side of the room. Sitting by the window would give him the benefit of vitamin D, a small chance to feel lighter, but he deliberately avoids it. He won’t allow himself to bask in the sun’s warmth while you’re hanging on by a thread.

The room is no bigger than fifteen by eleven feet, and it’s isolating. As the adrenaline drains from his body, his limbs turn to lead. Eddie’s eyelids grow heavy, his body sinking into the firm armchair. Visitors filter in and out, their stares constantly on him as he dozes upright.

Throughout the afternoon, respiratory specialists run tests, but you’ll be incapable of breathing on your own for some time. The machine remains lodged in your throat until further notice.

A tall, older male doctor enters the otherwise empty waiting room. “Mr. Munson?” He asks, his tone flat and impersonal.

Eddie stirs, his frizzy curls flying as he shakes off the drowsiness. “Yeah, yes. That’s, uh, that’s me,” he mutters and rubs his face. “How is she doing? Can I see her?””

“No, not yet. But she’s stable. The acute agonal respiration has…”

Eddie blinks, his mind sluggish at trying to comprehend the medical jargon. It’s like a foreign language, and he has no fucking clue what the doctor is saying. He clings to the fragments, trying to make sense of the complicated terminology. Eddie searches for any hints on the doctor’s face that offer him an understanding of what’s being explained.

“...A coma has been induced to allow her a better chance at healing. With that, we’re hoping to see a reduction in brain swelling. Although, I do regret to inform you that the likelihood of her waking is a matter of if, not when.”

It feels as if the roof is caving in on Eddie, shoving him down through the layers of the earth until he’s swallowed by the molten core. Grief consumes him, leaving him numb, as though the blood in his veins has slowed to a crawl.

“If she does rouse, there’s a likelihood that she’ll experience anterograde amnesia. It’s not uncommon under these particular circumstances.”

“And what circumstances are we talking about exactly? Eddie shifts to the edge of his seat, dragging his palm roughly over his mouth. 

“Oh, my apologies. I was under the impression that someone already told you. She was involved in a motor vehicle collision.”

“Wait.” Eddie closes his eyes, trying to keep up as the terms begin to register. “Amnesia meaning like, she won’t recognize me?” 

The doctor opens and closes his fist, catching Eddie’s concern before he can spiral. “No, no. She shouldn’t have trouble retrieving memories. It’s consolidation that could be affected. Only temporarily, we hope.”

The realization that you were in the burning car he’d driven past causes his stomach to churn. “Alright, thanks.” Eddie sends the doctor off and watches him exit the room. Once alone, he crumples into the chair and sobs. In a futile attempt to quiet himself, he sinks his top teeth into his knuckles, trying to suppress the whimpers that escape.

What is he supposed to do, is he going to start praying to a god he doesn’t believe in? With his optimism beyond pulverized, Eddie is overcome with the fear of losing you. Amidst the chaos of the present, he’s lost sight of everything that truly mattered.

Minutes turn into hours of droplets pattering against the thick panes of glass, gathering into winding streams that race down the window. Eddie tries to talk some sense into himself, but every sliver of hope is dashed. Berating himself, he repeatedly runs through the list of things he should’ve done differently.

Though it’s unbearable, Eddie shoulders the responsibility of notifying your friends and family. The room is filled with the relentless sound of water rapping against the window, its clatter drowning out Eddie’s bawling. He drifts in and out of crying fits, his body trembling with each painful cough. 

A twister of bleak thoughts rips through Eddie, reducing him to rubble. It’s impossible to process each emotion when they all scream and claw at him in unison, demanding accountability. Despite his failure to express it when it mattered most, he’s still deeply in love with you. Not that anything can be done about it now.

Right now, it’s the quiet moments he craves. Those small, tender things he may never get to experience again. One, though, rises above the rest, a memory he longs to lose himself in.

In the moments after Eddie made love to you for the first time, you were in his bed on your stomach. A drowsy, content hum emanated from your lips as you basked in the afterglow of your climax. The satisfied grin on your face made you look ethereal, a sight that left him breathless.

Eddie gently traced the curve of your spine with the tips of his fingers as you slept, his touch a whisper against your naked skin. He wasn’t questioning whether your peaceful state meant he was good in the sack. No, at that moment, he was certain of one thing: you were the very heartbeat of his existence, the one thing that made everything else pale in comparison.

Left by his lonesome in the same damn armchair, Eddie watches the storm outside. His feet are propped up on another chair he dragged in front of him, his arms crossed over his chest. By eight o'clock, the staff still won’t allow him to visit you. He confined himself to the waiting room, pacing back and forth, his nerves stretched thin.

Every hour or so, he’s been a recurring face at the nurses' station, pestering anyone who will acknowledge him. The answers he gets are the same. She’s stable. We’ll update you as soon as anything changes. Eddie doesn’t argue, but each time he hears the repetitive reassurances, it feels like a blade twisting in his gut.

Just when he’s about to get up to head for the counter again, a nurse enters the waiting room, her face kind but firm. "Hun, you need to go home. Get some rest, eat something. The last thing we need is you in here for starvation."

He’s been so distraught that it’s now just dawning on him how hungry he is. In all honesty, he could use a cigarette as well. "I’m fine. Really." Eddie dismisses her concern. Returning his attention to the window, he catches his reflection in the glass; the fatigue is apparent on his face.

The nurse understands his reluctance, so she tries again. "We’ll call you as soon as we have an update to share. But at this time, there hasn’t been any regression in her condition. She’s-"

“Stable, I know," Eddie mutters, but it’s barely more than a breath.

She nods, her grin small and tinged with sympathy. She leaves knowing he indirectly agreed. His joints pop when he rises to his feet, moving on autopilot. Once he's left the room, he casts a final glance at the entrance to the ICU, the very one he had burst through.

Eddie does go home, but it feels like a fruitless decision. He sulks, taking a shower so long that his skin prunes, the water running over him as if it could wash away the shame. He commits himself to the couch, too tired to think but unable to doze off.

The six-pack comes next. If there’s anything Eddie can do successfully, it’s drink himself blurry. One beer after another, it manages to take the edge off. Drunkenly napping, he’s overtired and underfed. The alcohol does little to weaken the ache inside him, and his subconscious takes full advantage.

Half-lucid memories of you slip through the cracks: fragments of conversations, your laughter and liveliness. But somewhere in the depths, the past begins to twist, charring everything he cherishes.

The odor of smoke curls thick around him, its stench choking his every breath. An unfamiliar house is before him engulfed in flames. A monstrous wall of orange and red licking the sky. He hears your scream, but you’re nowhere to be seen.

Eddie rushes forward, the heat pressing down on him, his skin starting to blister. He reaches the front door only to find it locked. Pounding on it with his fists does nothing but cause smoke to pour out from the seams. The ear-splitting snap of the second-story floorboards buckling shakes the very foundation of the house.

Then he sees you, standing in the window, your face twisted in panic. The flames are rising around you, the glass fracturing as the heat pushes harder against it. Eddie shouts your name and tries to tell you to get away from the window, but his voice has vanished. The pane blows and the fire consumes everything, including you.

A blinding flash of electricity splits the darkness, followed by an earth-shattering crack that’s felt throughout Forest Hills. The mobile home rattles in its wake, startling Eddie awake. He’s disoriented, but the low hiss of the TV across the room anchors him. It reminds him of where he is: stuck in a living nightmare.

In the following days, Eddie’s shifts at the factory are significantly shorter. His coworkers pitch in to cover for him and help with the impending medical bills. He’s skipped playing with his band, avoiding the familiar faces and the music that used to occupy his time. His world has shrunk to the four walls of the trailer.

Eddie’s doing just enough to keep the bills paid and himself fed, but the rest of his time is spent in waiting. Waiting for the phone to ring, for any updates, for confirmation that you’re going to be okay.

He’s filled page after page of his sketchbook with nothing but mindless scribbles, aimless shapes that lack any recognizable form. The crosswords in the newspapers were attempted, only to be crumpled up in frustration. Eddie tossed them haphazardly across the room, each throw a futile attempt to land them in the wastebasket. Every ball of paper on the floor is a reminder of how little control he has over anything.

After what feels like a lifetime, the phone rings. Fucking finally. Eddie’s pulse hammers, his mind racing with all the worst-case scenarios. After being so patient, he’s not sure if he’s ready to hear what’s on the other end. What if they’re calling to tell him it’s too late? What if he’s lost you before he ever had a chance to make things right?

The voice is calm, but the words hit him like a train: she's breathing on her own and out of critical condition. Eddie exhales shakily, his clammy grip on the phone tightening.

By the time he parks and walks into the hospital, it feels like every step is pulling him closer to what he’s both desperate for and terrified of. Having been moved to a room outside of the ICU, Eddie finds his way down the hall to your door.

He halts just outside and squeezes his eyes shut for a fleeting second, inhaling so deeply it feels like his lungs could burst. And then, he crosses the threshold. The tightness in his chest relents at how pretty you look. 

As though he’s trying to avoid waking you, he moves gingerly, dragging a chair over to your bedside to sit. Slightly reclined, you lay there with your head on the plush pillow. The heart rate monitor is a minor consolation, a reminder that you’re still alive.

“My sweet angel.” Taking your unmoving hand in his, Eddie’s touch is gentle like you're made of glass. Your hand is caressed as unexplored territory to him, contrary to him having held this hand a thousand times before. It feels like a first introduction, the way his fingers interlock with yours.

Remaining silent, he’s lost in thought, unsure if you could even hear him if he spoke. Surely, you're still in there somewhere. With his burnt caramel irises downcast, he can’t bring himself to look at you for more than a few seconds at a time. His other senses grow sharper, heightening to detect the slightest sign that you’re aware of him. A twitch or anything that might suggest that you can feel him.

Your motionlessness is killing him, but there’s a tranquility in it. Beneath the bruises and stitches, you’re still the love of his life. Eddie softly presses his lips to the back of your hand. The tears that run astray trickle down his cheeks, each salty droplet holding a memory.

Eddie isn’t ready for you to become a real angel. If you were to draw your final breath, he'd spend the rest of his days searching for white feathers or shapes in the fluffy clouds. He would go to great lengths to find evidence suggesting that you're still with him.

“Baby, I owe you an apology. More like a million of ‘em.” Eddie pauses. “I am so fucking sorry. And I know that doesn’t mean shit, believe me. I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

Instead of using his free hand to wipe away the tears, Eddie places it on top of yours, your hand now sandwiched between his. “If I'm being totally straight with you,” he begins, his voice breaking, “I’m scared shitless that you aren’t gonna wake up.”

The pressure is building behind his eyes, the tears threatening to fall faster. Unable to bear the thought of you seeing him like this, Eddie momentarily turns his head away. He clenches his jaw and he squeezes his eyes shut, willing the tears back. He forces himself to focus on your hand in his, because it’s the only thing keeping him from completely falling apart.

“I can’t imagine how tired you are of me. If you wanna let go… I understand,” Eddie sniffles loudly, trying to regain some semblance of control over his emotions. “But I want you to stay, baby. I’m not done being selfish yet. I just, I need you to come back to me. I promise I won’t take you for granted this time.”

It feels like he’s on a bullet train, the outside world soaring by at lightning speed while the hospital room has frozen in time. “I swear to Christ, I’ll never make you feel alone like that again. No more broken promises.” Eddie hooks his pinky finger with yours.

From hereon, Eddie refuses to leave your side. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he wasn’t there if you needed him. There’s no chance that he’s going to be separated from you for longer than absolutely necessary. 

The staff, seeing Eddie’s determination to stay by your side, take pity on him and bring him ham and cheese sandwiches, tomato soup with crackers, anything to keep him nourished. The thought of you being unable to eat awakens the residing guilt inside him. Instead of dwelling on it, he prioritizes the simple task of keeping himself going. That way, he can be here for you if you finally wake up.

Eddie’s sanity begins to fray from being confined to the small room, but the stream of visitors coming to see you keeps him relatively grounded. Over the rest of the week, the atmosphere transforms vibrantly, shifting from sterile to something almost cheerful.

Gifts from Wayne, his bandmates, and your family add bursts of life to the space. Themed balloons, heartfelt greeting cards, and colorful floral arrangements line the windowsill, reminiscent of a blooming spring meadow.

He wishes more than anything that you could see how incredibly loved you are by everyone who walks through that door. At the same time, part of him is almost relieved that you don’t have to experience the toll this ordeal has taken on your body.

Every other day, Robin stops by. She brings Eddie clean clothes from home, along with distractions like old issues from his Heavy Metal magazine collection. Each visit feels like a lifeline; Robin’s wit and genuine concern for you reminds him that he’s not facing this alone.

At his insistence, Robin ‘keeps you company’ while he takes brisk showers in the private bathroom, always returning in record time, afraid he might miss something. Per his request, she even brings nail polish in your favorite color so that he can paint your fingernails.

Regardless of having the privilege of being with you at all, it’s a hollow solace. Eddie’s mind remains a battlefield, overrun by relentless self-reproach. He ruined the best thing that ever happened to him. If he hadn’t messed everything up, there wouldn’t have been a fight, and you wouldn’t have walked out that night.

The weeks bleed together, the hospital room becoming a second home as Eddie clings to the vulnerable thread of hope.

Currently, he’s slouched in the same uncomfortable chair. If it weren’t made of wood, it would have an impression of his rear end by now. He’s been reading aloud to you from a novel, his voice mildly animated while his fingertips trace imaginary shapes on your arm.

The heart rate monitor, nothing more than a forgotten backdrop of rhythmic beeps, shows a distinct change. The words falter on Eddie’s tongue mid-sentence as he jolts upright. The book slips from his lap and hits the floor with a thud, utterly forgotten. Eddie’s eyes lock onto the monitor, scanning its display.

He's certain his mind is playing tricks on him. That is, until the pattern repeats. "Holy shit." Eddie takes your hand, his eyes darting between your face and the monitor. "I’m here, baby."

Your eyelids twitch and then begin to retract, although not fully. It’s like the clouds are dispersing, and the sky is slowly stitching itself back together as you emerge from the depths within yourself.

Brimming with unshed tears, Eddie’s eyes glisten like jewels. “Hi, sweetheart,” he coos with a tender squeeze of your hand. “I missed you.”

Reblogs are greatly appreciated! ♡

Thank you for reading xo

★My Masterlist

Once Wayne’s treasures and mementos were long gone, the space felt more unfamiliar than ever. Eddie’s bedroom, in comparison, remained unchanged. He’d never truly lived with a woman, much less a long-term girlfriend.

With your arms folded tightly across your chest, you took in the disheveled bedroom. You didn’t want to overstep any boundaries, but it was your room too now. “Could we maybe take some of these posters down?”

Feigning annoyance at your request, Eddie released a husky groan. Did he love his band posters? Abso-fucking-lutely. But tearing them down was a small price to pay for getting to be with you every day. “Fine,” he sighed dramatically, “But the Corroded Coffin banner stays up.”

His expression turned on a dime, and his lips twisted into a devilish smile. Before you could anticipate Eddie’s next move, you were pulled into his embrace. The unnecessarily secure hug caused your giggle to strain. “Eddieee! Too tight!” You squealed. 

The sounds you made filled his chest with a golden warmth. It spread through the rest of his body like sweet, gooey honey. Eddie chuckled deeply with amusement and loosened his arms a bit.

When his gaze met yours, he hummed with contentment. “This is your castle now, princess,” Eddie said while looking back and forth between your eyes. “I know it’s not much. Someday, I’m gonna get you a house. With a yard and all that fancy shit.”

You smiled and stroked the rosy apple of his cheek with your thumb. “You’re my home. But if we’re talking houses, just know that I’m perfectly happy growing old together in this tin can.”

“Is that so? You don’t think you’ll get sick of me anytime soon?”

“While it’s not entirely unlikely, it’s probably in your best interest to stay on my good side,” You squinted at him. Traces of your previous smile lingered in the upturned corners of your lips, but you tried to come across as serious.

Eddie’s tongue peeked out to wet his lower lip. “How much trouble would I be in if I said I’m not taking down a single poster unless you make me?”

“A lot of trouble.”

He beamed at you, “Yeah?” Eddie’s deft fingers found your sides, and instantly, you were lying on your back on the bed. He tickled you mercilessly, to the extent that you were so laughed out that you could no longer beg him to stop.

A year has passed since then. Living with Eddie has been just about as unpredictable as he is as a person. The air, once saccharine, now leaves a sour aftertaste. You hoped it would fade over time, but it’s only gotten more prominent as the weeks have passed.

As it turns out, adulthood is fucking difficult. Doing his damnedest to manage his responsibilities, he’s been in over his head for longer than he’s willing to admit.

For starters, he’s been playing twice a week at Wraith, a venue located 41 minutes outside of Hawkins. On top of that, Corroded Coffin’s permanent gig requires consistent late practice sessions.

The greatest challenge is his job at the Brassline Industries factory. Gone are the days when he sold weed to irresponsible teens to have a extra fun-money. Eddie is a grown-ass man now, with a grown-ass job. Due to his demanding schedule, you don’t see much of him during the day anymore.

Frankly, you don’t see him much at all. There’s always something that he has to tend to. I promised Jeff I’d help him move out of his ex’s place. The band’s van is on the fritz, I have to go to Gareth’s to work on it. Terry called in sick at the factory, so I have to pull a double.

You’ve tried to tell yourself that his ever-growing absence isn’t personal. But unknowingly, you’ve been making excuses for your boyfriend’s inability to make time for you. 

Eddie begins each day with the sunrise. Once in a blue moon, he’ll kiss your forehead while you’re curled under the worn blankets. Unaware and asleep, you don’t get to savor the gesture of waning affection. More often than not, when he finally comes home, you’re exactly where he left you—unconscious and beyond taxed from your job. Hell, you work hard too.

Your relationship has been suffering in all aspects of the intimacy department. Most importantly, the two of you haven’t had sex in over two months. Stuck with pent-up sexual frustration, Eddie has been feeling nothing short of unsatisfied. It’s gotten to the point that rubbing one out is a chore more than anything.

It’s not like he hasn’t tried connecting with you that way. On a few occasions, he climbed into bed beside you as he normally would. But instead of succumbing to exhaustion like you had, his hands slipped beneath your pajamas and traced your body.

Was it low to be copping a feel? Yes. But Eddie’s self-restraint had fizzled out. He knew it wouldn’t happen if he didn’t try. Regardless, you rolled over or pushed him away, mumbling in semi-cognizant disinterest. Having been rejected on several occasions, Eddie’s hurt feelings have brought on a distant shift in his demeanor when your days happen to overlap. Worse yet, his internal thunder matches the rumble of your own.

At this rate, you’re roommates at best. Hardly so, given that he’s rarely home. What a way to be treated after you’ve been nothing but patient and supportive of his life choices. Truly, you’re happy that Eddie has things in his life that bring him fulfillment, but you can’t help wishing you were one of them.

There’s a strong possibility that talking through it could resolve the tension, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything about it. How pathetic it would be for you to beg for his undivided attention. You’re not sure you’re worth his while. Thinking you could tough it out, you’ve broken your heart by waiting for him to realize how lonesome you’ve been.

Instead of counting sheep, you lay and wonder if it's fate that the two of you have grown apart. It’s killing you to continue pretending that this isn’t torturous. You’ve abandoned parts of yourself to keep this love afloat, and there were no lifeboats in sight from the start.

What you and Eddie have is defined by more than its worst moments, but you’ve long since abandoned all faith that this is just a rough patch. A day where anything changes for the better remains a pipe dream. Every once in a while, you find yourself wishing he’d do something unspeakably horrible to you, just so that all of the pain would be justified.

You’ve bid farewell to the moments that once meant so much. Because it really is the little things that make you nauseous to reminisce about. Light years ago, Eddie couldn’t bear to have you out of reach for more than a few minutes. He'd wrap his arms around your waist and whisper sweet nothings in your ear while you washed dishes in the kitchen sink. Frequently, he’d pull you closer by the belt loops of your jeans to kiss you with fervor after spending a few hours apart. Back then, hours felt like an eternity. They still do, just differently.

You’re not missed and it stings. Or at the very least, you’re not missed enough for him to make an effort. Up until today, you were searching for reasons to stay. He hasn’t provided any, yet you decide to give him one final chance.

Eddie will be home for dinner; he swore on it. Hence, why you’ve been in a frenzy since you got off work. For once, you’re cooking, something you haven’t done in what feels like ages. It’s no surprise that eating lost all significance when you’ve been surviving off of takeout leftovers and cold pizza. Maybe all it’ll take is a shared meal for things to change.

In actuality, you don’t truly believe that. The desire to impress him is undeniable, and it’s going to take more than a home-cooked meal to salvage what’s left. How the evening goes will determine where you belong, whether it be in his life or elsewhere.

Your outfit isn’t remarkable, although it is a step up from your typical at-home wear. After fixing your hair and applying a bit of makeup, you feel presentable. The uneasy feeling stirring in your belly is all too familiar. It reminds you of your first date with Eddie. You shouldn’t feel this nervous when you’ve been together for as long as you have.

The crushing truth is that, if you look pretty enough, he’ll remember that you exist. Perhaps he’ll look at you the way he used to. You hope that gussying up and a hot dinner will be how you win him back for good.

Eddie swore he’d be home by six fifteen at the latest. Nevertheless, the steam rising off of the food dissipates as it grows cold. For the umpteenth time, you check the wall clock. The same clock that you’ve been checking nonstop for 20 minutes.

Counting down the second hand, you concede defeat at the forty-five-minute mark of his tardiness. Time has always had a way of throwing it all in your face. You should’ve known better than to trust that he’d show.

None of this made a difference because Eddie didn’t even give it a chance to. The final nail in the coffin: was it his choices, or his refusal to choose you, that led to this? It could’ve been the lack of effort or the intentional cold shoulder. It could be that you’re not what he wants anymore. Not like it makes a difference.

Seated at the table for two near the front door, the chair squeaks as you stand. For a moment, you consider blowing out the candles you’d lit to set the mood. But would it be such a tragedy if the trailer caught fire, taking you with it?

In the kitchen, you step over to the sink and fill your glass with water. You gulp it down, the milk-tinted liquid a poor substitute for the meal you slaved over and didn’t take a bite of. The swirling in your abdomen intensifies, becoming all the more vicious.

Without a second thought, you chuck the fragile crystal onto the worn linoleum, scattering jagged shards across the floor toward the dining table. Not dissimilar to the cup you’ve just destroyed, you crumble. Your spine slams into the cupboard with a thud as you slide down in front of the sink. The rage in your head drowns everything else, so much so that you don't recognize the pain of your tailbone meeting the floor with such force.

At 9:45, the trailer door creaks open and slams shut, the sound cutting through the quiet like a knife. The dim living space is lit only by the flicker of candles and the distant light pouring out from the end of the hallway.

Eddie toes off his grimy steel-toed work boots. His lips part as he drapes his jacket over the back of the dining chair nearest to him. He surveys the living room and kitchen, noticing how unusually tidy everything is.

Eddie examines the set table, where the plated food has been sitting for hours. The sinking feeling that was weighing on his chest during the drive over is gone while he’s distracted by the effort you put in. It looks great in here, and Eddie can’t help but wonder how nice you must look, too.

He’s lost in the notion that maybe he’s escaped the worst of it, that he won’t be in deep shit for showing up late. That is until his eyes land on the broken cup and glass scattered on the floor.

The soft, sidetracked smile on his lips fades. Confusion flashes across his face. Carefully, Eddie sidesteps the mess and makes his way toward the bedroom, the only place you could be. With your back to him, you seem to be angrily putting laundry away into the dresser.

Eddie lingers in the doorway, his fingers twisting and untwisting as he wrings his hands. “Hey, sorry I’m late,” He says cautiously.

It’s no surprise that not calling to inform you he’d be late would piss you off. But still, that poor laundry didn’t do anything to deserve the way you’re handling it. Only then do his eyes narrow at the realization that you’re not putting away clothes; you’re shoving them into a duffel bag.

Eddie’s voice lowers in pitch, “What are you doing?”

You don’t turn to face him, nor do you respond. Choosing silence, you yank open the top drawer of the dresser, grabbing fistfuls of socks and underwear. You cram them into the bag alongside the shirts and pants already packed.

Eddie used to be the one finishing your sentences, but now it’s you who’ll be finishing his. You can already anticipate the same tired excuses, the ones you’ve heard over and over again. With the duffle bag unzipped and its strap slung over your shoulder, you pivot, intent on slipping past Eddie and out of the room without a word.

As you move to brush by, his arm shoots out to block the doorway and stop you in your tracks. Eddie keeps his arm extended as he grips the opposite side of the doorframe. “I’m talking to you. Where the hell are you going?”

Forced to meet his gaze, you lock eyes. Your expression is just as hardened, but unlike Eddie’s, your eyes are marbled with dilated blood vessels. “Honestly, I don’t know. But I’m getting the fuck out of here.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” he scoffs, “You can’t be serious.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Your icy, unblinking stare falters as you release the shallow breath trapped in your lungs. “I'm done. I’m not gonna wait around for you anymore.”

“Gimme a goddamn break.” Eddie shakes his head and rolls his eyes. The palpable tension worsens as you fight for the strength to stand your ground. He's doubling down by the sheer audacity of playing dumb.

His defensive expression is a tangled mess. His brows furrow, casting sharp shadows over his eyes, which are darting between yours. “Two people called in. I couldn’t have been here if I wanted to.”

"That right there- that’s exactly what I'm talking about. There’s never a gap between you and a good excuse. I’ll give it to ya, you’re nothing if not consistent.” Your lips remain slightly parted, and a subtle tilt of your head dares him to come up with yet another excuse.

Eddie trips over his words, scrambling for a response. You set out to leave him dumbstruck, and that’s exactly what you’ve done. Seizing the moment, you duck beneath his arm and walk into the bathroom.

This makes his patience burn through its fuse at an alarming rate. Eddie intentionally bites down on his tongue, as if he’s trying to resist the urge to cuss you out. With his jaw clenched, Eddie spins on his heels to face you. “Oh, I see how it is. Just because I’m a little late, you think I’m bullshitting you. Is that it?”

The widening rift between you makes it clear that honesty has no place here. He'd rather die than admit that. So, Eddie keeps prodding, throwing verbal jabs at you in a desperate attempt to regain your attention.

Meanwhile, you rummage through the bathroom drawers, gathering necessities, determined not to let him distract you. Despite grasping at straws to keep you here, his words hang in the air, unanswered.

The beat of your heart thumps wildly in your ears as feverish heat radiates in your bones. The fire in your chest spreads, searing your throat as the flames climb higher. The blistering smoke stings your eyes, bringing fresh tears and making your nose run.

“Well played, babe.” Eddie chuckles, the sound bouncing off the thin walls as he trails you into the living room. "I gotta give it to ya, you’re really nailing the act. But you can quit the theatrics, alright? I get your point.”

“No, you clearly don’t.” You put your shoes on, swallowing a whimper so thick that it’s suffocating. Your resolve feels like it's coming undone, each stitch of your composure pulling loose, one by one.

With his arms folded across his chest, there’s a challenge to his stance. “You’re acting like the world’s fucking ending over one missed dinner!”

After tying your shoes, you rise to your feet. "Just one dinner, Eddie? That’s why you think I’m leaving?” Stepping toward him, you drive your pointer finger into Eddie’s chest with deliberate force.

This catches him off-guard, causing his eyes to widen. The accusing pressure of your finger digging into his chest, paired with the expression on your face—neither of which he ever imagined would be aimed at him.

“You couldn’t be more wrong.” You pull your hand back, the sting of your touch lingering on his skin thereafter. Grabbing the duffel bag, you make your way to the front door. A squeal rings out from the hinges when you push it open, and the cool air hits your cheeks as you walk out.

For so long, all you wanted was him. Now, just being in the same room is unbearable.

You try to close the door behind you, but Eddie stops it before it clicks shut. His presence persists as he follows you outside, his socks catching on the rough concrete as he steps down the three stairs. “I don’t like this. Come on, let's just go back in and talk it out."

Under the cloak of night, with only the light spilling from the wide-open front door of the trailer to find your way, you head for your car. Your fingers grip the keys so tightly that they dig into your palm. The door lock pops up, and you toss your bag onto the passenger seat, and slide into the car, pulling the door shut.

Through the windshield, you see him begin walking toward the car. His hand hangs in the air, suspended, like he’s about to call out to you.

You start the car, shifting into reverse just before he’s close enough to be in the way. The engine hums as you back out, the trailer park fading from view in the side mirror as you drive away.

As your tail lights disappear around the bend, Eddie’s legs nearly give way beneath him. His breathing slows from its hastened pace, his eyes locked on where your car was parked, as if he's waiting for something, anything, to make sense.

The night feels endless, and the drive equally so. The hallway of Robin’s apartment building is narrow and dimly lit, with the faint scent of old carpet lingering in the air. 

After knocking, Robin calls out through the closed door, “If it’s not a pizza you’re peddling, I’m not interested.”

You sigh, worried about disturbing her neighbors at this hour. Stepping closer to the door, you press your words against the wood. "Buckley, it’s me."

Seconds later, the door swings open, revealing Robin in mismatched pajamas. She gives you a once-over as if trying to piece together what’s brought you to her doorstep unannounced. “You look like shit.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Your shoulders sag under the weight of it all, feeling worse than you appear.

Robin's face flickers with a twinge of guilt at the tone of your response. “Sorry,” She almost sounds apologetic as she steps aside to let you in. “I’m not gonna lie, I was kind of hoping you showed up with a pizza.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” You quip dryly, the lack of laughter speaking volumes to the weight you’ve brought with you.

The two of you plop down on the futon in her living room, and not long after, the floodgates open. Robin listens as best she can, though her concentration occasionally wanders as she struggles to make sense of your garbled blubbering.

Half a box of tissues later, you've managed to calm down some, but the hiccups continue to catch you off guard. "I’m such a fucking idiot. I can’t even remember the last time we did something like take a shower together. Honestly, to Eddie, I’m an afterthought at best and an inconvenience at worst.”

You crumple the used tissue in your fist, your sore eyes barely able to focus. They land on the pilled fleece of Robin’s pajama bottoms, too strained to linger anywhere else. “No wonder he isn’t in love with me anymore."

Robin frowns. "That can’t be true. He probably does still love you, maybe he’s just got a weird way of showing it?” She suggests, unsure if she’s said the right thing. To smooth over her uncertain response, Robin tries something else. Instead of gently stroking your back or wrapping an arm around you to squeeze reassuringly, she awkwardly taps the top of your nearest shoulder twice.

A sad smile tugs at your lips, recognizing her attempt to comfort you. The two of you sit in the long pause, letting the room breathe.

This was the worst fight you and Eddie had ever had, by a long shot. Sure, there have been trivial arguments, the kind that fizzled out without much back and forth. But this? This was different. It hadn’t reached the point where one of you stormed off.

If there had been more arguments prior, Eddie could’ve seen it coming; the big blowout, the one that shatters everything. But no. This came out of nowhere, blindsiding him completely. 

Shortly after you left Forest Hills, Eddie followed suit. He told himself a drive would help get his mind off things. Now, he drives aimlessly through the streets. Unable to shake the thought that you were waiting for him to fuck up and paint him as the bad guy. With Accept’s “Fast as a Shark” blaring from the stereo, the engine revs, his foot pressing harder on the gas.

As much as you appreciate Robin’s hospitality, you’ve overstayed your welcome. You don’t have to guess whether you have or not; her body language says it all, especially since she’s got work in the morning.

Taking mercy on her, you make your way toward the door. Before you go, you pull her into a firm hug. "Thanks for putting up with me."

“It’s not like I had much of a choice. You showed up on my doorstep like a sad stray puppy,” Robin jests and walks you to your car. She leans her arm on the top of the open door as you buckle your seatbelt behind the wheel. “Call me as soon as you get to the motel so I know that you didn’t get hit by a deer or something.”

You cock your head at her, visibly questioning the odd phrasing she chose.

“They could be plotting their revenge for that close call with that buck last month,” Robin says with a shrug, her tone teetering between casual and conspiratorial.

You’re immediately defensive, which causes your voice to climb. “Oh my god, I didn’t even hit it!”

“That’s neither here nor there. You nearly ran it over, which is more than enough reason for them to put a hit out on you.”

You turn the keys in the ignition, starting the engine. "I’ll tell you what, if you bring it up again, I’ll be the one plotting vengeance.” 

Robin smiles with a glint of mischief in her eyes. “You’ll let me know when you get there then?”

“Will do,” You agree, flicking the headlights on. The bright beams illuminate the front of her building. Truthfully, you’d much rather stay at Robin’s than at some dingy motel, but you can’t bring yourself to burden her further.

With a sympathetic expression, Robin pushes the car door closed, her palm raised in a half-wave as she turns to walk back inside. She doesn’t watch you pull away, trusting you to make it out of the parking lot without another deer encounter.

The drive across town drags on, each minute bleeding into the next as you twist the radio dial, hunting for a station that won’t cut out. The static buzzes in the background, interrupted only by faint, wavering melodies, as you keep your focus on finding the sweet spot.

It’s only when you glance up, that you realize you’re driving through a four-way intersection.

Glass shatters like hail as the driver’s side door takes the impact. The screech of tires finally ceases as your car lurches to a stop, the passenger side crushed inward by the trunk of a red oak tree. The other driver staggers out of their car, disoriented from the impact. They shout for help, frantically waving down a passing vehicle.

One by one, house lights flick on as residents abandon their windows and begin congregating on the sidewalk. They linger at a distance, uncertain how to act as flames start to crawl their way out from beneath the crumpled hood of your car.

Chatter and anxious glances ripple through the sparse crowd as the fire crackles against the wreckage. Dismal gray columns of smoke lift into the air as the inferno heats the mangled steel frame that cages your scathed body.

Meanwhile, Eddie is driving as though the act itself will leave his troubles behind. He’s seeking refuge in the spot he hasn’t visited in ages. Back then, Eddie would hide away at Lover’s Lake to decompress. That all changed when you came into his life, and he never had the need to return.

He takes a shortcut through the nearest neighborhood where the occasional streetlamp pushes back the shadows of the late hour. As he turns the corner of Highland and Chestnut, his eyes narrow at the commotion ahead. Growing nearer to the scene, twirling red and blue lights slice through the darkness.

The world is fading at the edges, the seatbelt restraining you like an unyielding captor. It’s keeping you from fully slumping forward, your chin resting against your clavicle. The roaring blaze reaches out to you, its fiery touch trailing cruel, burning kisses across your skin.

Gradually, you begin to sink into the earth. Death curls its finger at you, urging you to lie at rest in the ground for eternity. Simultaneously, the firemen work skillfully to free you from the burning structure. Sparks fly from the jaws of life that sever the driver’s side door from the frame.

Eddie lets up, his speed dropping as he nears the intersection. The blinding flashes of color blur in his peripheral while he cranes his neck, trying to see through the blockade of emergency vehicles. It’s a fleeting glance, far too obstructed to make out what happened. By the time Eddie is past the scene, he’s sure he’ll be reading about someone’s tragic death in the newspaper. There’s a twisted comfort in knowing he’s not the only one suffering. For a brief, sickening moment, he wonders if his misery compares.

A while later, lakeside with the doors wide open, Eddie lies in the back of his van, dragging a long hit from his cigarette. The wispy cig smoke swirls as he tries to cloud away the soreness of his broken promise. More specifically, the trust in your eyes when he swore he’d be home on time. Eddie hasn’t seen you that excited in god knows how long. The image of your genuine smile gnaws at him.

The argument replays in his mind, but it's the frailty of your delivery that cuts through, embedding itself deep under his skin. It was just a bad fight, because that’s what couples do, they fight. Surely, you’ll come back. You’ll hug, make up, and everything will go back to normal. Except that’s what got him into this mess in the first place. Things can’t go back to how they were.

The ambulance rattles over the cracked pavement resulting from the latest blackberry winter. Strapped to the gurney, you wade in and out of consciousness, tethered between worlds.

Although your eyelids are drooping, you can still see. It’s like peering through a frosted window, a pearlescent haze distorting your vision, reddened by the blood trickling from the gash in your forehead.

The hospital corridors reverberate the gurney’s clinking, its wheels wobbling as you’re rushed forward. The bag valve mask does little to ease your labored breathing. Once you’re in the operating room, the surgeons move swiftly, working to stop the internal bleeding.

After chain-smoking, Eddie checks his watch: half past midnight. His body protests the excess. If his head were to roll off his shoulders, he wouldn’t notice. During the drive home, his eyes track the endless white dashes that get swallowed up by the front of his van.

He’s worn down, and when he’s like this, he can’t predict what he’s capable of. Eddie decides to sleep on it, hoping to avoid whatever reckless choices he’d come to regret. Clothes discarded in a jumbled heap on the floor, Eddie strips down before crawling into bed. The nicotine buzz dissipates quickly, leaving behind an agitated nagging that refuses to let him be.

The vacant space beside him is a persistent reminder of what's missing, the unease keeping him awake. No matter how much he tosses and turns, the other half of the bed remains untouched. It would be wrong to take advantage of the extra room, he feels the need to respect that it belongs to you.

Eddie listens to the sounds he hasn’t picked up on in a while. The crickets chirping outside the window, the buzz of the old refrigerator, and distant dogs barking. Together, they form a disjointed cradlesong, gradually dulling his awareness of everything around him. But it’s the sound of your faint snoring that he craves, the lullaby that always grounded him.

The whirring of the machine anchors you in the sterile stillness of the hospital room. Its steady, mechanical pumping guides your unnatural breaths. With broken ribs, each breath is an involuntary struggle, shallow and ragged because your chest is unwilling to expand.

A cocktail of sedatives and anesthetics has drawn you deep into unconsciousness. The doctors call it a miracle that you’re alive, but you being placed in a medically induced coma is less of a victory and more like purgatory.

The constant wriggling and rolling over continued; it was a fitful night. Only at the first light of dawn did Eddie finally slip into a deep, uninterrupted sleep. The sun has long risen. Its rays spill over the trailer as Eddie stays beneath the comforter, the weight of slumber still holding him down. When he finally stirs, it’s well past noon.

Last night, he was supposed to enjoy an intimate dinner, make love, and wake up with you safely tucked in his arms. Instead, he searches for the comfort of your warmth, only to find the cold, barren stretch of the bed where you should be.

Recalling the unsteadiness in your eyes hits him hard. Faced with the raw, exposed nerve, you were worn down to the point of giving up on him entirely. Eddie should have recognized the risk he was running; the possibility of losing you was ever-present. Nonetheless, he still won’t admit to himself that you meant what you said.

Eddie forces himself out of bed, showers, and pulls on a fresh outfit. Afterward, he sweeps the glass off the floor, carefully collecting the shards and tossing them into the trash.

The kitchen isn’t a shitshow by any means, but he chooses to clean up the food left out from last night and wipes down the counters. The least he can do is try to make the kitchen more presentable. When he’s finished, it’s not as neat as you tend to keep it, but he wants to do something to atone for his part in the mess.

Keys in hand, Eddie leaves the trailer, stepping into the morning with the conviction that the worst is actually behind him this time. The weight of last night’s events still lingers, but he’s determined that all that’s left is to smooth things over. Familiar with your habits enough to suspect where you might have gone, he starts the short drive.

When he arrives at Robin’s address, the parking lot is mostly empty. It strikes him as odd. He expected to see at least your car, if not hers as well. A creeping unease settles over him, as persistent as the dense gray clouds overhead, waiting for the right moment to unleash their downpour.

Without hesitation, he heads straight for Family Video. If Robin isn’t at home, that’s the next most likely place she’d be. Yet, even as he pursues the route, Eddie can’t get past the fact that your car is unaccounted for.

Caught in a whirlwind, he stumbles as he hops out of his van. After finding his footing, each step is heavy against the asphalt. Eddie swings open the glass door of Family Video.

The cool air inside greets him like a welcome escape, cutting through the stifling humidity left behind outside. Eddie leans his tattooed forearms against the counter while searching for Robin. A few customers wander between aisles, but there’s no sign of the familiar, unflattering green vests of the employees.

The door chime rings, but she doesn’t immediately emerge from the back room. When Robin does make her delayed appearance, she pauses at the sight of Eddie. Her expression warps slightly as she blinks hard as if trying to clear her eyes and make sure he’s really there.

“What’s with the face?” Eddie raises an eyebrow at her reaction. "You’re looking at me like I’m the last person you wanted to see."

“I wouldn’t put it like that.” She resumes sorting through the returned tapes since focusing on the task is the easiest way to avoid meeting his gaze. “I just didn’t expect you to be here.”

“Really? I mean, I stopped by your place, but it didn’t look like anyone was home so-” Eddie’s posture straightens and he wrings the back of his neck. "Anyway, uh, I'm guessing you’re up to speed with what went down. She stayed with you last night, right?"

“No, she didn’t,” Robin responds curtly, a frown tugging at her eyes.

”What do you mean, no? Where the hell did she go then?”

Robin freezes, switching her attention entirely to Eddie. She studies the bewildered worry etched across Eddie's face, interpreting his expression as truthful. “She’s in the ICU.”

Blood surges to his head, a high-pitched ringing overtaking his ears like the aftermath of an explosion in the video store. Eddie jabs an accusatory point with his pinky finger in her direction. “Don’t bullshit me, man. I’ve just about had it with the overacting of this whole thing.”

“Dude, I swear to God. I’m not lying. I got the call this morning.”

“And you didn’t think to open with that?!” Eddie’s voice erupts, drawing startled stares from nearby shoppers as heads swivel in his direction.

Robin flashes her palms in a gesture of surrender. “I thought you knew!”

“Son of a bitch!” Already having spun around, Eddie barrels through the glass door, the bell jangling violently in his wake. He leaps into his van, tires screeching as he peels out of the lot, pushing twenty miles per hour over the speed limit down the weatherworn streets.

When he arrives in the hospital parking lot, his van comes to a halt at a crooked angle. He doesn’t bother locking his car, his focus already fixed on the entrance, his heart pounding like a war drum in his chest.

Eddie skims the wall directory for the intensive care unit. Then, he powers up the stairwell, taking two steps at a time. His eyes flit over the endless stretch of identical, harshly lit hallways, of which make it easy to get turned around. Borderline jogging, the panic in Eddie’s stride carries him as he dodges staff along the way.

He defiantly ignores the "medical personnel only" sign, his desperation outweighing any sense of caution. A woman’s voice calls out, urgent and commanding, "Get security!" Then, directed at Eddie, someone shouts, "Young man, you can’t go in there!"

His shoes squeak as he comes to a halt. Frantically inspecting the area, his chest heaves. The digging pang in his side from his body objecting to the exertion barely registers.

Then, he spots your name listed on a whiteboard. It’s like a jolt to his system. Eddie crosses the threshold into your room and his heart is gouged from his chest, ripped clean from the cavity at the sight before him.

Wrapped in fresh gauze, you're a painful patchwork of bruises—raisin and rust-colored burns marring your skin. The sickening blend of hues makes you look like a beloved doll, battered and scribbled on with a permanent marker.

Eddie stands frozen, words failing him. “Shit… Sweetheart,” He approaches your bedside and reaches for you, his fingers just about to brush yours. But, before he can make contact, a security guard yanks him back. The man's grip is firm on Eddie’s arm, stopping him cold.

“No!” Eddie bellows, his voice hoarse, “Get your fucking hands off me!” His composure crumbles as he fights against the guard’s firm hold. For a few brief seconds, he resists, but his strength gives way. Eddie is hauled away.

Eddie’s furious, but astonishingly, he respects the stern warning he receives. If he resists, it’ll only make things worse for you. Enough damage has been done as is. The last thing he can afford is being thrown out of the hospital. Or worse, arrested.

In the third-floor waiting room, two people sit together. Their eyes follow Eddie as he enters and chooses a chair on the opposite side of the room. Sitting by the window would give him the benefit of vitamin D, a small chance to feel lighter, but he deliberately avoids it. He won’t allow himself to bask in the sun’s warmth while you’re hanging on by a thread.

The room is no bigger than fifteen by eleven feet, and it’s isolating. As the adrenaline drains from his body, his limbs turn to lead. Eddie’s eyelids grow heavy, his body sinking into the firm armchair. Visitors filter in and out, their stares constantly on him as he dozes upright.

Throughout the afternoon, respiratory specialists run tests, but you’ll be incapable of breathing on your own for some time. The machine remains lodged in your throat until further notice.

A tall, older male doctor enters the otherwise empty waiting room. “Mr. Munson?” He asks, his tone flat and impersonal.

Eddie stirs, his frizzy curls flying as he shakes off the drowsiness. “Yeah, yes. That’s, uh, that’s me,” he mutters and rubs his face. “How is she doing? Can I see her?””

“No, not yet. But she’s stable. The acute agonal respiration has…”

Eddie blinks, his mind sluggish at trying to comprehend the medical jargon. It’s like a foreign language, and he has no fucking clue what the doctor is saying. He clings to the fragments, trying to make sense of the complicated terminology. Eddie searches for any hints on the doctor’s face that offer him an understanding of what’s being explained.

“...A coma has been induced to allow her a better chance at healing. With that, we’re hoping to see a reduction in brain swelling. Although, I do regret to inform you that the likelihood of her waking is a matter of if, not when.”

It feels as if the roof is caving in on Eddie, shoving him down through the layers of the earth until he’s swallowed by the molten core. Grief consumes him, leaving him numb, as though the blood in his veins has slowed to a crawl.

“If she does rouse, there’s a likelihood that she’ll experience anterograde amnesia. It’s not uncommon under these particular circumstances.”

“And what circumstances are we talking about exactly? Eddie shifts to the edge of his seat, dragging his palm roughly over his mouth. 

“Oh, my apologies. I was under the impression that someone already told you. She was involved in a motor vehicle collision.”

“Wait.” Eddie closes his eyes, trying to keep up as the terms begin to register. “Amnesia meaning like, she won’t recognize me?” 

The doctor opens and closes his fist, catching Eddie’s concern before he can spiral. “No, no. She shouldn’t have trouble retrieving memories. It’s consolidation that could be affected. Only temporarily, we hope.”

The realization that you were in the burning car he’d driven past causes his stomach to churn. “Alright, thanks.” Eddie sends the doctor off and watches him exit the room. Once alone, he crumples into the chair and sobs. In a futile attempt to quiet himself, he sinks his top teeth into his knuckles, trying to suppress the whimpers that escape.

What is he supposed to do, is he going to start praying to a god he doesn’t believe in? With his optimism beyond pulverized, Eddie is overcome with the fear of losing you. Amidst the chaos of the present, he’s lost sight of everything that truly mattered.

Minutes turn into hours of droplets pattering against the thick panes of glass, gathering into winding streams that race down the window. Eddie tries to talk some sense into himself, but every sliver of hope is dashed. Berating himself, he repeatedly runs through the list of things he should’ve done differently.

Though it’s unbearable, Eddie shoulders the responsibility of notifying your friends and family. The room is filled with the relentless sound of water rapping against the window, its clatter drowning out Eddie’s bawling. He drifts in and out of crying fits, his body trembling with each painful cough. 

A twister of bleak thoughts rips through Eddie, reducing him to rubble. It’s impossible to process each emotion when they all scream and claw at him in unison, demanding accountability. Despite his failure to express it when it mattered most, he’s still deeply in love with you. Not that anything can be done about it now.

Right now, it’s the quiet moments he craves. Those small, tender things he may never get to experience again. One, though, rises above the rest, a memory he longs to lose himself in.

In the moments after Eddie made love to you for the first time, you were in his bed on your stomach. A drowsy, content hum emanated from your lips as you basked in the afterglow of your climax. The satisfied grin on your face made you look ethereal, a sight that left him breathless.

Eddie gently traced the curve of your spine with the tips of his fingers as you slept, his touch a whisper against your naked skin. He wasn’t questioning whether your peaceful state meant he was good in the sack. No, at that moment, he was certain of one thing: you were the very heartbeat of his existence, the one thing that made everything else pale in comparison.

Left by his lonesome in the same damn armchair, Eddie watches the storm outside. His feet are propped up on another chair he dragged in front of him, his arms crossed over his chest. By eight o'clock, the staff still won’t allow him to visit you. He confined himself to the waiting room, pacing back and forth, his nerves stretched thin.

Every hour or so, he’s been a recurring face at the nurses' station, pestering anyone who will acknowledge him. The answers he gets are the same. She’s stable. We’ll update you as soon as anything changes. Eddie doesn’t argue, but each time he hears the repetitive reassurances, it feels like a blade twisting in his gut.

Just when he’s about to get up to head for the counter again, a nurse enters the waiting room, her face kind but firm. "Hun, you need to go home. Get some rest, eat something. The last thing we need is you in here for starvation."

He’s been so distraught that it’s now just dawning on him how hungry he is. In all honesty, he could use a cigarette as well. "I’m fine. Really." Eddie dismisses her concern. Returning his attention to the window, he catches his reflection in the glass; the fatigue is apparent on his face.

The nurse understands his reluctance, so she tries again. "We’ll call you as soon as we have an update to share. But at this time, there hasn’t been any regression in her condition. She’s-"

“Stable, I know," Eddie mutters, but it’s barely more than a breath.

She nods, her grin small and tinged with sympathy. She leaves knowing he indirectly agreed. His joints pop when he rises to his feet, moving on autopilot. Once he's left the room, he casts a final glance at the entrance to the ICU, the very one he had burst through.

Eddie does go home, but it feels like a fruitless decision. He sulks, taking a shower so long that his skin prunes, the water running over him as if it could wash away the shame. He commits himself to the couch, too tired to think but unable to doze off.

The six-pack comes next. If there’s anything Eddie can do successfully, it’s drink himself blurry. One beer after another, it manages to take the edge off. Drunkenly napping, he’s overtired and underfed. The alcohol does little to weaken the ache inside him, and his subconscious takes full advantage.

Half-lucid memories of you slip through the cracks: fragments of conversations, your laughter and liveliness. But somewhere in the depths, the past begins to twist, charring everything he cherishes.

The odor of smoke curls thick around him, its stench choking his every breath. An unfamiliar house is before him engulfed in flames. A monstrous wall of orange and red licking the sky. He hears your scream, but you’re nowhere to be seen.

Eddie rushes forward, the heat pressing down on him, his skin starting to blister. He reaches the front door only to find it locked. Pounding on it with his fists does nothing but cause smoke to pour out from the seams. The ear-splitting snap of the second-story floorboards buckling shakes the very foundation of the house.

Then he sees you, standing in the window, your face twisted in panic. The flames are rising around you, the glass fracturing as the heat pushes harder against it. Eddie shouts your name and tries to tell you to get away from the window, but his voice has vanished. The pane blows and the fire consumes everything, including you.

A blinding flash of electricity splits the darkness, followed by an earth-shattering crack that’s felt throughout Forest Hills. The mobile home rattles in its wake, startling Eddie awake. He’s disoriented, but the low hiss of the TV across the room anchors him. It reminds him of where he is: stuck in a living nightmare.

In the following days, Eddie’s shifts at the factory are significantly shorter. His coworkers pitch in to cover for him and help with the impending medical bills. He’s skipped playing with his band, avoiding the familiar faces and the music that used to occupy his time. His world has shrunk to the four walls of the trailer.

Eddie’s doing just enough to keep the bills paid and himself fed, but the rest of his time is spent in waiting. Waiting for the phone to ring, for any updates, for confirmation that you’re going to be okay.

He’s filled page after page of his sketchbook with nothing but mindless scribbles, aimless shapes that lack any recognizable form. The crosswords in the newspapers were attempted, only to be crumpled up in frustration. Eddie tossed them haphazardly across the room, each throw a futile attempt to land them in the wastebasket. Every ball of paper on the floor is a reminder of how little control he has over anything.

After what feels like a lifetime, the phone rings. Fucking finally. Eddie’s pulse hammers, his mind racing with all the worst-case scenarios. After being so patient, he’s not sure if he’s ready to hear what’s on the other end. What if they’re calling to tell him it’s too late? What if he’s lost you before he ever had a chance to make things right?

The voice is calm, but the words hit him like a train: she's breathing on her own and out of critical condition. Eddie exhales shakily, his clammy grip on the phone tightening.

By the time he parks and walks into the hospital, it feels like every step is pulling him closer to what he’s both desperate for and terrified of. Having been moved to a room outside of the ICU, Eddie finds his way down the hall to your door.

He halts just outside and squeezes his eyes shut for a fleeting second, inhaling so deeply it feels like his lungs could burst. And then, he crosses the threshold. The tightness in his chest relents at how pretty you look. 

As though he’s trying to avoid waking you, he moves gingerly, dragging a chair over to your bedside to sit. Slightly reclined, you lay there with your head on the plush pillow. The heart rate monitor is a minor consolation, a reminder that you’re still alive.

“My sweet angel.” Taking your unmoving hand in his, Eddie’s touch is gentle like you're made of glass. Your hand is caressed as unexplored territory to him, contrary to him having held this hand a thousand times before. It feels like a first introduction, the way his fingers interlock with yours.

Remaining silent, he’s lost in thought, unsure if you could even hear him if he spoke. Surely, you're still in there somewhere. With his burnt caramel irises downcast, he can’t bring himself to look at you for more than a few seconds at a time. His other senses grow sharper, heightening to detect the slightest sign that you’re aware of him. A twitch or anything that might suggest that you can feel him.

Your motionlessness is killing him, but there’s a tranquility in it. Beneath the bruises and stitches, you’re still the love of his life. Eddie softly presses his lips to the back of your hand. The tears that run astray trickle down his cheeks, each salty droplet holding a memory.

Eddie isn’t ready for you to become a real angel. If you were to draw your final breath, he'd spend the rest of his days searching for white feathers or shapes in the fluffy clouds. He would go to great lengths to find evidence suggesting that you're still with him.

“BI owe you an apology. More like a million of ‘em.” Eddie pauses. “I am so fucking sorry. And I know that doesn’t mean shit, believe me. I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

Instead of using his free hand to wipe away the tears, Eddie places it on top of yours, your hand now sandwiched between his. “If I'm being totally straight with you,” he begins, his voice breaking, “I’m scared shitless that you aren’t gonna wake up.”

The pressure is building behind his eyes, the tears threatening to fall faster. Unable to bear the thought of you seeing him like this, Eddie momentarily turns his head away. He clenches his jaw and he squeezes his eyes shut, willing the tears back. He forces himself to focus on your hand in his, because it’s the only thing keeping him from completely falling apart.

“I can’t imagine how tired you are of me. If you wanna let go… I understand,” Eddie sniffles loudly, trying to regain some semblance of control over his emotions. “But I want you to stay, baby. I’m not done being selfish yet. I just, I need you to come back to me. I promise I won’t take you for granted this time.”

It feels like he’s on a bullet train, the outside world soaring by at lightning speed while the hospital room has frozen in time. “I swear to Christ, I’ll never make you feel alone like that again. No more broken promises.” Eddie hooks his pinky finger with yours.

From hereon, Eddie refuses to leave your side. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he wasn’t there if you needed him. There’s no chance that he’s going to be separated from you for longer than absolutely necessary. 

The staff, seeing Eddie’s determination to stay by your side, take pity on him and bring him ham and cheese sandwiches, tomato soup with crackers, anything to keep him nourished. The thought of you being unable to eat awakens the residing guilt inside him. Instead of dwelling on it, he prioritizes the simple task of keeping himself going. That way, he can be here for you if you finally wake up.

Eddie’s sanity begins to fray from being confined to the small room, but the stream of visitors coming to see you keeps him relatively grounded. Over the rest of the week, the atmosphere transforms vibrantly, shifting from sterile to something almost cheerful.

Gifts from Wayne, his bandmates, and your family add bursts of life to the space. Themed balloons, heartfelt greeting cards, and colorful floral arrangements line the windowsill, reminiscent of a blooming spring meadow.

He wishes more than anything that you could see how incredibly loved you are by everyone who walks through that door. At the same time, part of him is almost relieved that you don’t have to experience the toll this ordeal has taken on your body.

Every other day, Robin stops by. She brings Eddie clean clothes from home, along with distractions like old issues from his Heavy Metal magazine collection. Each visit feels like a lifeline; Robin’s wit and genuine concern for you reminds him that he’s not facing this alone.

At his insistence, Robin ‘keeps you company’ while he takes brisk showers in the private bathroom, always returning in record time, afraid he might miss something. Per his request, she even brings nail polish in your favorite color so that he can paint your fingernails.

Regardless of having the privilege of being with you at all, it’s a hollow solace. Eddie’s mind remains a battlefield, overrun by relentless self-reproach. He ruined the best thing that ever happened to him. If he hadn’t messed everything up, there wouldn’t have been a fight, and you wouldn’t have walked out that night.

The weeks bleed together, the hospital room becoming a second home as Eddie clings to the vulnerable thread of hope.

Currently, he’s slouched in the same uncomfortable chair. If it weren’t made of wood, it would have an impression of his rear end by now. He’s been reading aloud to you from a novel, his voice mildly animated while his fingertips trace imaginary shapes on your arm.

The heart rate monitor, nothing more than a forgotten backdrop of rhythmic beeps, shows a distinct change. The words falter on Eddie’s tongue mid-sentence as he jolts upright. The book slips from his lap and hits the floor with a thud, utterly forgotten. Eddie’s eyes lock onto the monitor, scanning its display.

He's certain his mind is playing tricks on him. That is, until the pattern repeats. "Holy shit." Eddie takes your hand, his eyes darting between your face and the monitor. "I’m here, baby."

Your eyelids twitch and then begin to retract, although not fully. It’s like the clouds are dispersing, and the sky is slowly stitching itself back together as you emerge from the depths within yourself.

Brimming with unshed tears, Eddie’s eyes glisten like jewels. “Hi, sweetheart,” he coos with a tender squeeze of your hand. “I missed you.”

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Thank you for reading xo

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