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⋆˚꩜｡summary: A high that burns out, a lie that doesn't land, and something that refuses to stay casual.
⋆˚꩜｡tags: no y/n, she/her reader, slow burn, dual pov (more eddie leaning), dustin being dustin, mike being confused as always, j&g duo sharing one braincell, guided intimacy, shifting power dynamics, inexperienced!reader (not in a childish/dumb way), experienced!eddie, blurred lines, quiet yearning, wayne being wayne
⋆˚꩜｡tw: suggestive content (PG-13/soft mature) (minors you are not welcome go away or i'll hunt you down), underage drinking, weed smoking, cigarette smoking, sexual tension, anxiety, soft grinding
⋆˚꩜｡word count: 9.4k+
Eddie woke up… loaded this morning – for lack of a better word.
It had been ages since he’d woken up this early without the hard slap of Wayne coming home from work. And not to mention the excitement of going to school – who would’ve thought? – and heading to the Hide Out later that night.
Ah, Corroded Tuesday – how he’d missed it.
Sleepy crusts still clung to the corners of his eyes as he dragged himself up to brush his teeth, already tasting the stale mix of beer and whatever had once been a decent glass of whiskey on the rocks.
He rummaged through the pile of shirts on the chair, not bothering to look too closely as he grabbed one and pulled it over his head.
Something black – obviously – and with something vaguely demon-y on it.
Eddie paused for half a second, his reflection staring back at him as he took in the way the fabric hugged his arms just right – and how, for once, it didn’t seem to have any visual holes.
His brows pulled together.
Huh.
He decided not to question it. Just dragged a hand through his hair and moved on.
The sun was already beating down through the thin trailer windows, warmer than it had any right to be this early in the morning.
Normally, he would’ve complained – but today?
Today he just… rolled his shoulders back and stepped outside anyway, like it didn’t matter how the warmth would seep into the dark fabric of his shirt.
It felt like a good day – even if he didn’t really know why.
The Hellfire boys all squinted at him in concerned disbelief when Eddie pushed open the cafeteria doors with a noticeable pep in his step, tossing an apple into the air and catching it clean every time.
Since when did he bring fruit to school?
If jeff tried to think back to the last time he’d seen Eddie like this, it would’ve been years ago – when he’d somehow scored tickets to that underground metal show, or when Loretta had finally let them shake her walls and clink her glasses with their covers.
Huh.
Jeff pushed the thought aside for now.
Eddie had a big, loud fucking mouth anyway – whatever this was, he’d spill eventually.
Eddie dropped into his usual seat at the head of the table, propping his feet up as he took a loud bite of his apple.
And just like that – nothing.
No explanation, no mention of whatever it was.
He just kept talking to Dustin and Mike, hands moving animatedly as he went on about how he couldn’t wait for tonight.
If Eddie wasn’t worried, Jeff wasn’t about to stress himself out either.
He glanced back down at his notebook, deciding – just this once – to let it slide.
The boys were earlier than usual.
Eddie would usually make the drive to pick up Gareth and Jeff – precisely in that order – a little more than an hour before they played. Just enough time to set up Gareth’s drum kit, for Jeff to fiddle with the position of his instrument cable into the amp – which he still hadn’t replaced, and probably never would – and for Eddie to fix whatever was wrong behind the bar.
But Eddie had barely made it through the last bell before he was already halfway out the door, keys in hand, not even bothering to go home first. His beloved guitar already sat safely in her hardshell case in the back of the van.
One minute he was stubbing his cigarette out in the parking lot, the next he was hurriedly loading Jeff and Gareth’s bikes next to his priceless instrument.
The boys didn’t even get to go home – not properly, anyway. Not when Eddie barely gave them time to grab their instruments before his familiar honking echoed through their streets.
No time to change their clothes, take a nap, or whatever they usually did before a show.
Like it was something urgent.
The other two exchanged a look, each sporting a single raised brow as they took in Eddie’s drumming fingers against the wheel – but neither commented on it.
Eddie just killed the engine and leaned back in his seat with a grin that didn’t quite match anything in particular.
The place was still waking up when they stepped inside – low music humming through the speakers, only two out of the five regular drunks hunched over the bar, the smell of cigarette smoke clinging to everything like it always did.
But it didn’t stay like that for long.
More familiar faces started filtering in, the low hum of conversations growing louder, the music sharpening, the air thickening with more smoke.
Eddie didn’t stay put for long, either.
One minute he was inside, leaning back in his chair – the next he was back out in the parking lot, white Reeboks kicking up dust as he moved between familiar faces and quick exchanges.
The early Tuesday evening was even better than the morning had been – three easy deals out in the Hide Out’s sandy parking lot, and free drinks Loretta had slipped their way, even though she knew they’d be way too strong for the boys.
Eddie didn’t question it. He just wrapped his ringed hand around the glass and shot Loretta an appreciative wink on his way back to their usual table.
The clock hadn’t even struck seven yet, and Gareth had already cut himself off after his second glass of – what was it, scotch? maybe whiskey? – as he was convinced he’d end up drumming with his face if he had any more. Jeff, on the other hand, had switched to beer.
Eddie, though, was too busy ogling the pretty thing in cowboy boots that had just slipped through the door to bother taking another swing of whatever was in his glass.
She looked effortlessly beautiful – even with the faint road-trip shadows forming under her eyes – and it was obvious she wasn’t from around here. Not just because she was dressed like it was still 1972, but because Eddie had been coming to the Hide Out long before Wayne had taken him in – it was the place he’d spent most time with his dad during his childhood.
She didn’t hesitate when she stepped inside, either – just took a look around like she was deciding whether the place was worth her time before making her way to the bar top, leaning her elbows against it as she ordered her drink.
Eddie leaned back slightly in his chair, lips twitching.
Yeah, he could work with that.
He tipped his glass back, swallowing the rest of his drink in one, burning go. He then cleared his throat and asked Jeff and Gareth if they wanted anything else – a stupid excuse that didn’t fool anybody – before making his way.
The easy grin was already settling into place like muscle memory by the time he reached her, setting his glass on the counter as he called Loretta over for a refill.
“You look a little lost,” he said, turning his head towards her, his voice just loud enough to carry over the music.
She glanced at him, one brow lifting. “Do I, now?”
“Either that,” Eddie shrugged, angling his body towards her, “or you’ve got incredibly questionable taste in bars.”
“Passing through,” she said after a second, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Headed somewhere a lot more interesting than this.”
“Ouch,” Eddie pressed a hand to his chest, mock wounded. “Careful, sweetheart, you’re gonna hurt Loretta’s feelings.”
She didn’t bother replying, just glanced around the place again, unimpressed, until her eyes caught the ready-to-go instruments at the makeshift stage.
Her gaze returned to take Eddie in, dragging slowly from head to toe. “You play here?”
Eddie’s lopsided grin returned as he huffed out a quiet laugh.
“Every Tuesday,” he said, leaning back slightly. “You bet Loretta wouldn’t let us if we weren’t any good.”
He tilted his head, studying her for just a second longer than necessary.
“Bother to stick around long enough to call me on my bluff?”
She took another sip of her drink – straight vodka, he noticed – before answering him.
“Depends,” she said, her tone flat, almost bored – but there was something in her eyes, a faint glimmer of curiosity that hadn’t been there before.
Her gaze flickered briefly towards the stage, then back at him.
“You worth it?”
From across the bar, Jeff and Gareth watched what was unfolding between their lead singer and the babe in cowboy boots.
They exchanged a look – they already knew they’d have to give more than their usual ninety-eight percent tonight.
Gareth reached over and snatched the half-full beer bottle straight out of Jeff’s hand, tipping it back for a long, needed sip.
By the time they were halfway through their set, Eddie was already running on something sharper than anything he’d felt in a while – something electric, restless, and buzzing just under the cheap liquor burning in his veins.
And it showed – he wasn’t playing like he usually did.
His fingers moved like they knew exactly where to go without thinking – practiced and lethal, rings catching the dim light every time they slid along the strings. Every note landed exactly where it was supposed to – no hesitation, no second-guessing and no mistakes.
His knuckles, thickened from years of chording, flexed with every shift, every press, muscle memory carrying him through it like it was more than second nature.
By the end of the set, his voice had gone rough around the edges – hoarse in a way that only made it sound better, like he’d dragged every last bit of it out of himself and left nothing behind.
It was a little after eleven when Eddie pushed her back against the outside wall of the bar. His damp bangs brushed against her temple, his calloused hands gripping her waist as he closed the distance, pressing his lips to hers.
Her fingers tangled in his frizzy curls, tugging just hard enough to pull him closer, her other hand finding the hem of his shirt and slipping underneath it, chest still warm from the set.
Eddie’s grip tightened slightly, his mouth moving against hers like she was the last girl on earth – messy, intense, and familiar in a way that should’ve made it easy.
But then, for the first time that day, something shifted – not enough to stop him, but just enough to throw him off.
He couldn’t really place what it was – and that bothered him more than anything else.
The new day bled into the last, and Wednesday rolled around.
Whatever Eddie had been temporarily blessed with the previous day had already started to slip away – not enough to be drastic, but enough for him to notice the difference.
The birds chirped too loud when Wayne slammed the door closed behind him, and Eddie could’ve sworn the raccoons had been at it again last night.
Yeah, the tipped-over trashcans outside were proof enough.
The sun shone too bright into his eyes on the drive to school, and his van had started making that weird noise again.
And by the time he parked and stubbed out his cigarette against the brick wall by the entrance–
He spotted you, leaning against the soft yellow metal of the lockers like you’d been waiting for Nathalie for a while.
It wasn’t the first time he’d noticed the way you contrasted your best friend.
Nathalie was all loud colours and dramatic silhouettes – impossible to miss – while you kept it simple.
A pair of high-waisted, light-wash jeans that hugged you a little too well for his liking, and a shirt tucked in like you hadn’t thought twice about it.
He caught the way your fingers were busy, like they always were – this time absentmindedly picking at the corner of a notebook page, folding it in and out like you weren’t even aware of it as you talked to Nathalie when she finally appeared.
You hadn’t noticed him yet – or if you had, you didn’t show it.
Eddie slowed his steps anyways, his metal lunchbox slamming against his leg as his eyes lingered a second longer than they probably should’ve.
He felt it immediately – the way his chest tightened just slightly, the way his focus pulled in without you even trying.
A sharp smack to his shoulder snapped him back to the noise – loud conversations, slamming lockers.
“Dude,” Gareth said, dragging the word out longer than necessary. “You gotta tell us what happened yesterday, when you ditched us for that hour.”
Eddie huffed out a quiet breath through his nose, dragging his eyes away from you before his friends could catch on.
“Nothing, man,” he muttered, shifting his grip on the lunchbox. “You’re not missing out on anything.”
Jeff let out a disbelieving scoff, already leaning into his personal space. “Oh, yeah? Because you ditched us for a fucking hour and come back looking like you just–”
“Drop it,” Eddie cut in, sharper than he meant to.
It earned him a look. Gareth raised both brows, glancing briefly past him – towards you – before something clicked into place behind his eyes. Jeff didn’t follow his line of sight, too busy scolding Eddie with his hands planted on his hips like a disappointed father.
“Oh,” he dragged out slowly. “Oh, shit–”
Eddie rolled his eyes and nudged him forward, forcing them to keep walking.
Their voices carried just enough as they passed – low, but not quiet. It wasn’t enough to make sense of, but it was just enough to catch your attention.
“Fuck, man, I said drop it,” Eddie muttered, a little less sharp this time, dragging a hand through his hair as they kept walking.
He didn’t bother looking back over his shoulder.
The cafeteria was almost empty when Eddie pushed the door open – just a handful of students scattered around the big, echoing room.
(And if that had anything to do with the fact that he’d ditched the period before lunch to strike a deal with a junior at the picnic table tucked between the trees behind the school, he wasn’t about to admit it.)
The contents of his lunchbox – a pack of yellow Camels, a few too many lighters because you just never know, and other… things he really shouldn’t be carrying with him to school – clanked softly as he made his way to his usual table.
He’d been running late when he left home, so no apples today – no lunch at all, for that matter.
It didn’t take long for the cafeteria to fill – loud chatter swelling, the sharp tang of hairspray mixing with whatever questionable meal the kitchen staff had put together that day.
More familiar faces – and some unfamiliar ones, too – filtered in, and the noise he’d just started getting used to doubled, then tripled, until it pressed in from all sides.
Eddie was sure the noise would’ve given him a headache, if it hadn’t been for the joint he’d smoked after the pimpled junior ran back inside – taking just enough off the edge.
He dropped into his usual seat, the metal legs scraping softly against the tiled floor as he leaned back, stretching his legs out over the table. His eyes closed just for a moment – taking in the quiet before the rest of the boys piled in and started pestering the living hell out of him for whatever reason they’d come up with that day.
But all good things must come to an end.
And before he knew it, Dustin and Mike appeared, trays in hand – each carrying something suspiciously puke-green that sloshed with every step, courtesy of the kitchen lady who never seemed to question what she served to those poor, poor students.
“I don’t trust this,” Mike muttered, eyeing his tray as they approached.
“It’s probably fine,” Dustin shot back, ignoring the way his voice cracked with the lie. He dropped into his seat and cleared his throat. “It’s just… aggressively green.”
Eddie, still half-slouched with his eyes closed and arms crossed, snorted quietly under his breath before dragging a hand through his hair and sitting upright.
Dustin looked up with the sound, and narrowed his eyes.
“Wait,” he said, pointing his plastic fork in Eddie’s direction. “Are you– dude, are you stoned? Do you know how early it is?”
Eddie didn’t react – not right away, which didn’t exactly help his case.
Bad move, Munson.
“Why are you stoned?” Dustin pressed, leaning forward now, waiting impatiently for an answer.
Eddie just grabbed his drink, taking a slow sip like that might end the conversation before it even started.
It didn’t.
Jeff and Gareth approached the table with their own trays – thankfully free of whatever radioactive sludge the other two boys had – and dropped into their seats.
Gareth took a bite of his sandwich, clearly having caught none of the conversation, before speaking. “Is this about what we talked about in the hallway?”
Dustin’s head snapped towards him.
“Hallway?” His eyes lit up instantly. “What about the hallway?”
“About the babe in cowboy boots,” Jeff muttered absentmindedly, flipping over his orange juice carton to read the nutritional label.
Silence hit the table – and it wasn’t subtle, either.
It was the kind that made everything else feel like it had dropped out of focus.
“…What?” Mike said, frowning. “What ‘babe in cowboy boots’?”
“Wait–” Dustin leaned forward, eyes lighting up again. “Is that why you disappeared on them? For like, an entire hour?”
“I didn’t disappear.”
“You vanished, dude,” Gareth mumbled mid-bite. Jeff shot him a look when he realized he hadn’t even swallowed yet. “Left us to deal with everything while you went outside with her.”
“With who?” Mike was still lost.
“Nobody,” Eddie said flatly.
“Babe in cowboy boots, pay attention, Wheeler.”
Mike blinked, the confusion not lifting, his voice cracking slightly. “What does that even mean?”
His voice faded into the background as Dustin let out a disbelieving snort.
“You, Eddie Munson, met a girl.”
Eddie dragged a hand down his face. “She was just passing through,” he muttered.
“Oh, that’s even worse,” Dustin said immediately, setting his fork down beside the green mess on his tray.
“How is that worse?” Mike asked, brows still furrowed.
“Because,” Dustin shot back, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “that means it was interesting.”
Gareth snickered behind his sandwich, the sound only getting louder when Eddie shot him a look that didn’t land nearly as hard as it usually did, dulled by the lazy weight of his eyelids.
“I’m killing all of you.”
“Worth it,” Gareth and Jeff muttered in unison, neither of them even a little apologetic as they exchanged a quick high-five.
“Details, Eddie, details,” Dustin demanded, leaning even closer now, completely abandoning his tray.
“Nope.”
“Oh, c’mon!”
“Drop it.”
Eddie paused between the words, but there was no bite to them this time either.
He just… sounded tired.
And that was new – even to the two boys who’d known him the longest.
The corner of Jeff’s lips dipped slightly as the realization finally settled in – that Eddie had smoked during school hours.
That wasn’t usual.
Yeah, he’d deal before school – if he was on time – or in between classes, or after the last bell had rung. But Jeff had never seen him stoned during the day, not at school at least.
Especially not from his selling stash.
Jeff swallowed his bite and shifted the conversation, cutting through the table’s noise – just as you walked into the cafeteria, later than usual.
Eddie was thankful for him.
Even if he didn’t catch a single word that came out of his mouth.
You slipped through the doors before the incessant ringing could damage your ears, but a huff still escaped your lips – louder than you meant it to be – when the suffocating Indiana heat hit you the second you stepped outside.
You should’ve gone with the jorts Nathalie despised so much – you made a mental note to retire your jeans for the time being.
“Oh, don’t even start,” Nathalie said immediately, hot on your trail. “It’s not even that hot.”
You shot her a look, taking in the hot pink blazer she’d decided to wear.
“It is when you’ve been sitting in a classroom with broken ventilation for six hours.”
“So have I, and I’m not complaining,” she waved you off, adjusting the strap of her bag. “You’re just in a mood.”
You didn’t have an answer for that – because, yeah. Maybe you were.
The gravel crunched softly under your shoes as you stepped off the pavement, your fingers tugging absentmindedly at the keychain hooked into your front pocket.
Nathalie noticed – she always did.
“So,” she started, dragging the word out way too casually.
You didn’t even look at her this time. “Nope.”
“I didn’t even say anything!”
“Yet.”
Nathalie snorted. “Okay, fine. Let me start again.” She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing just enough to be suspicious. “What are your plans tonight?”
You shrugged, a little too quickly.
“Don’t have any.”
Nathalie hummed when she noticed you tugging at your shirt – and that was usually worse than her talking.
She let the sound of crunching gravel and screaming teenagers fill the silence between you for a moment.
“Right,” she said slowly, in the same tone a mother uses when she knows her child is lying. “Because you definitely look like someone who’s not thinking about it at all.”
You frowned, slowing your steps until you stopped altogether, finally glancing at her. “Thinking about what?”
She just smiled – that knowing one she only ever wore when she had fresh gossip to spill.
“What I mean is,” she said, dragging the words out, “you’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
Nathalie rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips. “The one where you pretend you don’t have any plans, but you’re obviously running through them in that little head of yours.”
You scoffed, looking away as you started walking again.
“You’re absolutely insane, Nat.”
“Am I?” She bumped her shoulder slightly against yours. “Because I’m pretty sure I saw you check the clock, like, what? Five times in the last period?”
Your steps faltered – just enough for her to catch it instantly.
“Oh my God,” she breathed, delighted. “You are debating something.”
“I’m not–”
“You are,” she cut in, turning fully towards you now, eyes lighting up. “You’re doing the pros and cons in your head right now, I can literally see the gears turning.”
You huffed again, dragging a hand through your hair.
Her brow lifted at that, and the brief hesitation you gave was more than enough.
Her head tilted, and her eyes glimmered.
“Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?”
Silence stretched between you – and somehow, the heat felt even worse than it had two seconds ago.
“No,” you said finally.
You shot her a look when she just hummed.
“Mmhmm,” she said lightly, kicking a pebble forward as she licked at her lips, “what time are you seeing Eddie?”
Nathalie, her stupid mouth and those stupid, observant eyes of hers, be damned.
You took in the girl staring back at you in the mirror – looking her up and down, scrutinizing and picking apart every little detail of her outfit.
You’d run up the stairs the second you got home, heading straight for the bathroom, peeling off your clothes and stepping into the shower without a second thought. And while you stood under the scalding stream, you told yourself it was just to wash away the sticky, nauseating sweat of the day.
You told yourself it was time for your weekly everything-shower as you scrubbed at your skin harder than necessary – short of drawing blood – even though you knew you had one just two days ago.
Definitely not because you were considering going to Eddie’s like Nathalie had guessed.
Nathalie and her stupid fucking observant eyes be damned.
You smoothed down the soft, delicate fabric you’d thrown over your body once your skin had dried and soaked in a thick layer of lotion. Your hands lingered a second longer than they needed to, like you were still deciding.
Truth was – you and Eddie hadn’t exactly made plans for tonight.
Not really.
He’d just said “that’s enough for tonight”, last week.
And if that wasn’t some kind of invitation, then you didn’t know what it was.
You exhaled softly through your nose, gaze dropping for a moment when another thought crossed your mind.
You pushed away the possibility of him having other plans, not being home, or having someone–
Yeah, no.
We’re not doing that tonight.
Your hand dragged over the fabric again, smoothing it down for what had to be the tenth time. At this rate, you were going to wear a hole through it.
You still couldn’t put a name to it – to whatever this whole… thing with Eddie was.
Not to the way your chest tightened whenever you thought about him, or how everything else had started to feel… a little dull in comparison.
But whatever it was, the pull was strong enough to get you out the door.
You snatched your bag from your bed and went down the stairs before you could stop yourself.
But then you noticed how quiet the house was – almost too quiet. The kind that made everything sound louder – the faint ticking of the clock down the hall, the soft shift of the floor beneath your weight.
Your own breathing, just a little uneven.
You could still turn around, go back upstairs. Lock yourself in your room, change into your pyjamas, and pretend this whole thing never even crossed your mind.
It wasn’t like he was expecting you.
He hadn’t asked you to come over.
Your grip tightened around the handle of your bag as you bit down on your bottom lip a little harder than you probably should’ve.
But he hadn’t told you not to, either.
This was stupid. In fact – you were being stupid.
Showing up unannounced – like all the other times you’ve done so far?
What the Hell is that about?
When Eddie got home from school, it felt like he was opening his eyes for the first time in a long while – like he’d been moving through the week half-asleep without even noticing.
His room was a goddamn mess.
He knew Uncle Wayne didn’t give a rat’s ass whether he kept it clean or not – but still. His old man slept on a pull-out couch so Eddie could have his privacy; the least he could do was show a little respect and some fucking gratitude.
So, like he had nothing better to do – completely ignoring the homework Mr. Flynn had given him – Eddie pulled his thick curls into a low ponytail, changed into a tank top and a pair of worn-out shorts he wouldn’t want be caught dead in outside the trailer, and turned on Wayne’s priceless record player.
He crouched down by the heavy box of vinyl they’d collected over the years – records they picked up whenever Wayne managed to snag a few days off to spend with him.
Eddie had his own collection, stacked neatly under his desk.
But, contrary to popular belief, he didn’t always crave screeching riffs, thunderous drums, and brooding melodies bleeding through the artist’s throat.
Today he was craving something a little different – something more experimental, more progressive. A little softer than the stuff he usually blasted through his speakers.
Or, you know, something that matched the joint he was about to roll before he even touched the mess that was his room.
His fingers skimmed over a few familiar sleeves, moving past the heavier stuff without blinking, landing instead on something he didn’t play as often.
Golden Earring – the self-titled one, with that weird doll cover.
He pulled it out without thinking too much of it.
He slid the record from its sleeve carefully, thumb pressed to the edge as he turned it in his hands, carefully checking the label before setting it down – side A facing up first, always.
Eddie nudged the player on, the low hum of it kicking to life as it began to spin beneath his fingers.
For a second, he just watched it – black gloss catching the dim light as it turned.
A faint crackle broke through when he lowered the needle – thin, staticky, like the trailer itself was waking up with it.
And then, almost hesitantly, the opening flute of Yellow and Blue slipped into the space – warm and slightly hazy, like the first rays of spring sun filtering through fresh leaves. The kind of sound that didn’t rush, just unfolded slowly. Filling the quiet corners of the trailer one layer at a time – until it didn’t feel quite as empty anymore.
Eddie let it sit for a second, head tilting slightly as the melody stretched out – soft and unhurried.
Yeah, that’d do.
Soft steps across the linoleum floor brought him back to his room.
He pulled out his chair and sat at his desk, reaching for the small tin and flipping it open with practiced ease.
The faint scent hit him immediately – earthy, familiar, almost welcoming – cutting through the dusty air that still clung to the room. His ringed fingers moved without thinking, breaking it apart with slow precision.
The flute carried on behind him, weaving through the quiet as he tapped the paper gently, evening it out between his fingers.
The record crackled softly between notes, but the trailer stayed still around him.
He ran his tongue along the edge, sealing it with a quick press before leaning back slightly in his chair, turning it between his fingers like he was checking his own magnificent work.
The music swelled just a little – still soft, but fuller now, filling the space in a way that it didn’t demand anything from him.
Eddie placed the joint between his lips as he stood, reaching for his lighter – and for a second, he paused, and just listened.
By the time the second side of the record had settled into its rhythm, Eddie had already made a dent in the mess. Not enough to call it clean, but enough that the floor was visible again, clothes shoved into the laundry basket instead of scattered wherever they’d landed.
The air felt different, too – lighter, almost.
Or maybe that was just the joint.
He leaned back slightly, the chair creaking under his weight as he brought it to his lips again, inhaling slow, unhurried.
The smoke curled lazily into the air, catching in the low light as the warm electric guitar line doubled the vocal melody. The rhythm held a steady, mid-tempo pulse – a clean, roomy sound that mirrored his room almost perfectly.
Eddie exhaled through his nose, eyes half-lidded as he looked over the space.
At least there were no empty cans of beer or soda, no overflowing ashtrays scattered around anymore.
Good enough for now.
The joint burned steadily between his fingers, ash threatening to fall if he didn’t tap it soon. He didn’t; he just let it sit there as he listened, head moving faintly with the drums, the music stretching around him, filling the quiet in a way it didn’t ask for anything in return.
It was easy.
The needle had just slipped into the last track – gentle, chiming guitar easing into the room before giving way to wistful, almost melancholic vocals.
Until a knock cut through the space.
It felt somewhat ironic, considering the lyrics.
And who he found on the other side of the door when he pulled it open.
Because there you stood in all your glory: fidgeting fingers, nervous eyes, a yellow sundress he’d never seen you wear at school.
And there it was again – that same pull he hadn’t been able to explain, settling low in his stomach the second his eyes landed on you.
For a moment – just a split second – he let himself believe you’d dressed up for him.
But then, the lyrics in the background hit him just a little too hard, too loud.
The lead singer pushed into the next lines – third, fourth, fifth – each one landing a little too close, like a personal jab aimed straight at him.
Then he blinked – once, then again – and his gaze snapped back to your dress.
And before he could stop it, heat crept up his cheeks when he realized how he probably looked – messy, frizzy hair pulled into a low ponytail. Definitely not metal.
And that stupid pair of worn-out shorts he should’ve thrown out a long, long time ago.
“You, uh–” he huffed a quiet breath, scratching the back of his neck as he tried to ignore the heat settling on his cheeks. “You get lost on your way to a date, or something?”
Eddie didn’t think things could get any worse – with the way you were staring at him, lips slightly parted as you took him in.
Like you’d just been hit with the reality of it all.
But then you licked your lips and straightened your shoulders slightly, grounding yourself back into the moment.
“No,” you said, a small hint of a smile tugging at your lips. “Should I have?”
Eddie blinked, caught off guard for half a second longer than he’d like to admit.
“…Right,” he muttered, shifting his weight slightly, like he suddenly didn’t know what to do with his own body.
The music carried on behind him – soft, and almost out of place with the way the moment stretched between you, until it started fading towards the record’s end.
“You, uh…” he started, a crooked smile tugging at his lips as he scratched the back of his neck. “You here for another lesson, or…?”
The words sat between you for a second – like he’d already decided what this was.
You huffed out a quiet breath, something close to a laugh but not quite.
“Uh–”
“’Cause, I mean,” he cut you off, eyes flicking away for a second, “you did kinda make a whole thing out of it last time.”
Eddie shrugged, too quick to pass as casual.
“Didn’t exactly scream casual visit.”
He didn’t outright say it – but it hung there anyway.
The money.
Still tucked somewhere in his room, and still something he hadn’t figured out what to do with.
“Right,” you echoed, a little too carefully.
Eddie glanced past you again, like he was checking for something that wasn’t there, then back again – letting the pause stretch just a little longer, a little thicker, than it should have.
His grip tightened on the doorknob when he made his decision.
“So, uh–” he started, then stopped, clearing his throat.
“You gonna come in, or…?”
You arched an eyebrow. “Are you gonna let go of the door and let me in, or…?”
“Right,” Eddie repeated, lips pressing together like it hadn’t even crossed his mind to move.
He let go of the cold aluminium handle and stepped back, making just enough space for you to pass.
Blue-grey smoke from his still-burning joint curled through his room, slowly spilling into the living area.
Its earthy scent had become somewhat familiar by now – lingering from the last few times you’d been there.
The record player crackled softly, the needle now resting in place as the vinyl spun lazily, like it had nowhere else to go.
Your eyes drifted to the sleeve lying beside it – yellow, slightly off-putting. Four white men stared back at you from the cover, unfamiliar in a way that made you look a second longer than you meant to.
“Doesn’t really look metal to me,” you said, a soft smile tugging at your lips.
You turned slightly, taking in Eddie where he lingered at the door, still half-turned like he hadn’t fully decided whether to follow you in or stay right where he was.
His posture was slightly off – not quite the usual slouch, but not quite relaxed either, like he was trying to look casual and missing it by just enough for you to notice.
“I’m full of surprises, Sweetheart,” he mumbled, pushing the door closed behind him.
He glanced at you through half-squinted eyes before brushing past you, heading back into his room where his joint was still slowly burning.
The silence stretched through the cramped trailer as you followed him down the short hall.
Eddie grabbed his lighter and ashtray, joint already between his lips, carrying them with him as he sat down on his bed.
He’d just made it – fresh, second-hand linens covering his otherwise tattered mattress – either forgetting about it or simply not caring if ash fell on them anyway.
His room looked familiar – but not quite the same as the first time you’d been there.
The only time you’d really taken a look around.
You noticed how the floor was cleared now – clothes no longer scattered in careless piles, the amp no longer blocking the bedroom door like last time.
And then there was the desk; not clean exactly, just… organised.
Your gaze settled on the small tray filled with picks. He’d lined them up, ordered by sizes instead of tossing them together.
It didn’t seem like much – but it was enough for you to notice.
You glanced at him briefly before stepping a little closer, your fingers hovering near the ashtray he’d set down beside him.
“You’ve been busy,” you murmured, almost more to yourself than to him.
Looking around his room, you noticed how it felt different, standing there like this – no expectations, no awkward edge to hide behind.
Not like last time, when everything had felt so… forced.
Eddie followed your line of sight, then shrugged, like it wasn’t really worth commenting on.
“Got bored,” he said, bringing the joint back to his mouth.
You licked your lips, hesitating for a second before tilting your head slightly.
“Can I…?”
Eddie stilled, the joint halfway to his mouth as the question hung there a second too long.
It caught him off guard – how easily you’d said it, like this was just… normal for the two of you. Like you’d been doing this with him all along.
His brows pulled together slightly, trying to place where the shift had come from, when it had started feeling so easy – too easy, almost – for you to ask him something like that.
His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, a quiet huff leaving him.
Yeah, no. He wasn’t about to dig into that.
His eyes flicked to you – slower this time, more deliberate.
If this was how you wanted to play it, fine.
He could throw an extra lesson, free of charge.
The corner of his mouth lifted, his eyes glimmering with something that hadn’t been there before.
“Careful, Sweetheart,” he said, voice low, almost amused. “That’s a lot of firsts you’re giving me.”
His lips closed around the tip as he took a slow drag, not breaking eye contact – that made something in your stomach shift.
“C’mere,” he mumbled, coaxing you a little closer to him. “Don’t take a deep drag, go slow.”
His fingers lifted the joint towards you, not letting go of it – just guiding the tip to your parted lips.
Eddie’s eyes stayed locked on yours as your lips parted just a little more before closing around the rolled paper, taking a soft drag – just like he’d told you to.
And then – no cough, like he’d expected.
His eyes narrowed slightly in surprise.
“This not your first time?”
His fingers still lingered close to your lips as you tilted your head back just enough, blowing the smoke aside so it wouldn’t hit him.
“Smoking? No,” you said, a shy smile forming at the corner of your mouth.
“Smoking weed?” you huffed softly. “That’s another story.”
Eddie’s eyes flicked briefly to the joint before returning to yours – silently offering another hit.
You licked your lips softly, careful not to overdo it, before stepping closer – closing the space between you as you moved in between his legs.
You leaned in again, lips parting as you curled them around the rolled paper once more.
Eddie dropped the ashtray down beside his foot without looking, the soft clink barely cutting through the quiet.
His free hand came up almost absentmindedly, resting lightly at your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer.
Your breath hitched – not from the closeness itself, but from how easily it settled something restless in you.
Like this was exactly where you were supposed to be.
Even if you still didn’t really understand why.
It hit him, all at once: the way you fit there, the way your breath brushed warm against his skin.
The way he hadn’t looked away once.
Eddie took in the sight in front of him – pretty thing in a pretty dress, smoking his joint.
The thought made his tongue drag absently over his lips.
You noticed the way his thumb rested at your waist, moving in slow, lazy circles – enough to make your breath catch.
And for a second, you just stood there – close enough to feel the warmth of him, the faint scent of sweat lingering from cleaning his room earlier, the way his fingers still hadn’t pulled away.
Without giving it much thought, you leaned in – and hesitated for just a second.
Not because you wanted to stop, but because you still didn’t quite understand what you were stepping into.
And then you leaned in anyway, your lips brushing his lightly before pressing in properly, closing the distance all the way.
The joint slipped from his fingers, landing with a dull thud on the carpet.
Eddie’s grip shifted to your hips, his fingers pressing into the fabric as you licked his bottom lip, coaxing his mouth open just enough to deepen the kiss.
And then he tilted his head and kissed you harder this time – still unhurried, but deeper now.
His lips moved against yours with more intent, more certainty, picking up just slightly when a soft gasp slipped from your mouth.
Eddie’s rings pressed harder into your hips as he pulled you into his lap, a little rougher than before, forceful enough to pull a hard, accidental roll of your hips against his.
And then he felt it – the shudder that ran sharp down his spine and settled low in his stomach.
The thought hit him just as quick: this wasn’t how things between you were supposed to go. Not with your breath catching like that, not with his grip tightening like he’d forget himself if he didn’t hold on.
His jaw ticked faintly as the realisation settled in.
He’d lost that line somewhere along the way.
Eddie pulled back slightly, but not without leaving a few soft, lingering pecks against your lips, like he couldn’t quite stop himself from doing so.
The sound of his uneven breathing filled the space between you – louder than he’d meant it to be.
He didn’t lean back too far, just enough to look at you.
His hand were still there, resting at your hips, fingers curled slightly into the fabric like he hadn’t decided to let go of you just yet.
His coffee brown eyes flicked over your face, slower now, taking every subtle change – the glistening remnants of his spit on your lips, the way your eyes sparkled a little too much when you stared back at him.
His breath was still uneven when he huffed out something that almost sounded like a quiet laugh, more to himself than to you.
“That–” he started, then paused as his jaw decided that was the best time to tighten. “That wasn’t part of the lesson.”
Lesson.
Even as the word left his mouth, it didn’t sit right – too heavy between you.
Not with the way his hands were still holding onto you, not with how little he actually wanted to let you go.
“I’m not here for the lessons, Eddie.”
Your words landed harder than they should have.
Eddie’s eyes flickered for just a moment – like something in him had been caught off guard. But not enough for his grip to loosen; if anything, it tightened more.
“Yeah?” he said, quieter now.
His gaze dropped for a moment – to your lips, still a little swollen, still too close – before dragging back up to meet your eyes again.
His jaw shifted.
“Then what are you here for?” The question came out low, his voice rougher than he meant it to be, like he wasn’t sure he actually wanted to hear the answer.
His question made you huff out a quiet breath, something close to a grin tugging at your lips as an incredulous look settled in your eyes.
“You really don’t get it?”
Your fingers brushed gently against his bare shoulders, almost absentmindedly tracing the warmth of his soft skin beneath your touch.
“C’mon, Eddie,” you whispered, your voice softer now, something knowing flickering in your eyes. “You’re not stupid.”
Eddie’s jaw tightened at that, a harsh scoff slipping past his lips.
His grip shifted at your hips – not letting go, just adjusting.
“Yeah?” he muttered, quieter now, eyes searching yours like he was trying to find something that would make this easier.
His gaze flicked down again – to your lips, the pretty dress you hadn’t been wearing at school earlier, the way you were still seated on his lap – before something in it hardened just a fraction.
“C’mon now, Sweetheart,” he said, the words sharper than he meant them to be.
His tongue dragged over his bottom lip, like he was debating whether to say it, then doing it anyway.
“What is this? You get bored, swing by here for a bit, then go back to him like nothing happened?”
His words landed heavier than he probably meant them to.
“Or what? Didn’t work out, so you came back here?” he licked his lips and looked away for a split second before returning his gaze to you, eyebrows raised. “Figured you could just… do the same thing again.”
Your expression didn’t quite drop, but something in it shifted, just enough for him to notice.
A small pause stretched in the air before you found the words.
“I broke things off with him,” you whispered after a moment, no edge or defensiveness in your tone.
Your hand came up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing lightly along his skin. “I couldn’t lie to myself. Not anymore.”
Your words rang in his ears as he let them sink in – and that was more than enough to shut him up, like the words didn’t quite land the first time around.
His eyes searched yours again, slower this time – like he was trying to find the part where you were joking, or backtracking, or anything that would make it easier to dismiss.
But your hand was still on his cheek – still warm, and impossibly real, like you weren’t going anywhere.
Eddie swallowed, his jaw loosening just slightly as something in his expression shifted – subtle enough to miss it, but definitely there.
“What?” he muttered, like hearing it again might somehow make more sense of it. His brows pulled together, his gaze flicking over your face once more.
“Last Saturday,” you added quietly – just enough to make it clear you hadn’t come running to him the second things ended with Zack.
Eddie stilled. “…you didn’t come here for him.”
It wasn’t a question, not really.
His thumb shifted against your hip – slower now, less restless.
“I tried telling you how I felt that one time,” you whispered, delicately stroking his cheek like he was something fragile. “But you wouldn’t listen.”
Your other hand found its way to his low ponytail, tugging gently at the elastic until curls fell loose against his back.
“And I tried it again with Zack, but...”
Eddie didn’t look away while you spoke. His eyes stayed on yours – steadier now, more focused – as he let you say whatever you needed to say.
Your words sat there, heavy and a little too real, settling somewhere deeper than he was comfortable with.
His jaw tightened slightly, like he was about to say something to push back, make it easier to shrug off.
He dropped his eyes briefly, not pulling away from you – just needing to break the intensity for a second before he could come back.
His hands shifted at your hip, thumbs brushing slow, absent circles against the fabric of your dress.
He tried to find the right words – something that wouldn’t sound dismissive, just… careful.
His jaw ticked slightly before he let our a breath through his nose.
“Or maybe you just needed to experiment a little before committing.”
His gaze flicked back up to yours, searching again – trying to make it make more sense than anything else.
Eddie expected the usual cold, disappointing look he always got whenever he’d said something he shouldn’t have.
Instead, he found a faint, almost disbelieving smile tugging at your lips – like you couldn’t believe how stubborn he was being, like he didn’t actually want to understand what you’ve been trying to tell him.
“Well,” you paused, eyes flicking over his face. “I’ve never bought a dress for an experiment before.”
And just like that, whatever had kept Eddie in check slipped.
For the first time that night, he really looked at you – at the way the yellow sundress hugged your frame, how it moved with you, how the neckline fell just a little more, inviting his eyes to linger just a second longer – like you’d chosen it with intention.
And suddenly, it wasn’t as easy to pretend this meant nothing.
Eddie’s thumbs slowed against your hips until they stilled altogether, his grip tightening as he pulled you closer to his chest, a little harder against his lap – like his body had already caught on before his head could catch up.
The little space that remained between you felt thicker, almost dizzying, as you noticed his gaze hadn’t moved – still fixed on the neckline of your dress, shifted just slightly lower where your arms had curled around his neck.
It lingered there – on the sliver of lace peeking from beneath the yellow fabric – even when he realised he’d been staring a little too long.
When he finally looked back up at you, something in his expression had shifted – a flicker of awareness peeking from beneath his blown-out pupils.
You’d caught the way his gaze had lingered, the way it shifted when he finally looked back at you – and you didn’t call him out for it. Like you didn’t mind what he’d seen.
Almost like you wanted him to keep looking.
Instead, your fingers curled lightly at the back of his neck, softly playing with a loose strand of his hair before tugging him just a little closer.
Eddie’s breath caught when you closed the space completely.
Your fingers tightened slightly in his hair as you tilted his head – just like he had yours the last time.
Like the student becoming the master, you brushed your tongue over his lower lip before catching it lightly between your teeth, tugging just enough to make him follow before your lips found his again, harder this time.
Until your spit mixed with his, blurring the line between you entirely.
The slick glide and texture of your tongue against his – just like he’d taught you – was enough to make his grip falter, a soft groan slipping from the back of his throat.
His hands tightened at your hips, grip firm enough to leave a mark beneath the fabric as he dragged you closer – like it still wasn’t enough, like he’d forgotten every reason to hold back.
It didn’t make sense – the way he unravelled under your touch, the way it settled something deep in your chest at the same time.
None of it did, to be honest, but for once, you didn’t feel the need to figure it out.
Not when a soft breath caught in your throat at the pressure, your fingers tugging harder at his hair without thinking.
Warmth spread through your chest when he reacted – another soft moan slipping from his lips – making your hips roll against his once again before you could really stop yourself.
But then Eddie pulled back just enough for your lips to part, still brushing faintly against each other as his hand shifted at your hips, gently urging them to still again. His chest rose and fell heavier than it had moments before, slightly out of breath.
His forehead hovered against yours, eyes half-lidded, cheeks flushed a little too warm as he searched your face – like he was trying to find something that would explain what this all meant.
“You–” he started, his voice low, rougher. “Fuck.”
His grip on your hips tightened.
He should’ve stopped it, reeled it back in, put some fucking distance between you before it went any further.
That’s what he was supposed to do, right?
“You gotta stop doing that…” he tried again, quieter now, like he was saying it more to himself than to you, breath still uneven. “Before we start making bad decisions.”
There was something about the way he looked beneath you – his chest rising harder than he probably realized, his cheeks flushed a little too warm, brows drawn together like you’d clouded his head worse than anything he’d smoked ever could.
And suddenly, you felt a little silly for letting your nerves get the best of you in the first place.
It felt almost ridiculous now – with the way you had him looking, all nervous babbling and tight grips.
You hadn’t stepped inside feeling like this, not even close.
If you’d known it would look like this – him unravelling beneath you, losing his footing while you held yours – you wouldn’t have wasted so much time second-guessing yourself in your room or on the drive over.
A soft breath slipped past your lips, something close to a smile tugging at them as you angled your head just slightly, your gaze fixed on him.
“You’re the one pulling me closer,” you said, your tongue brushing lightly over your bottom lip.
Something in your voice made his hips twitch under you – subtle, but not enough to miss.
“You don’t actually want me to stop, do you, Eddie?”
He knew it wasn’t a question, not really – but it still hit him harder than it should have.
Eddie’s breath caught again, sharper this time, as his grip at your hips tightened further. His jaw flexed, eyes flicking between yours and your lips like he was searching for an out that wasn’t there.
“You–” he started, then stopped again, dragging his right hand down to grip your thigh instead, like he needed something steadier to hold onto.
A quiet scoff left him, but there was no bite to it this time.
“You’re–” he tried again, shaking his head slightly, more to himself than to you, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek like it might help him find the words.
“You’re making this real hard to answer, Sweetheart,” he muttered, like he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to.
Your eyes held a new glimmer as you took in the sight of him stumbling over his words.
“You don’t have to answer,” you murmured, your voice soft, more certain than ever.
Your fingers curled around a loose strand at the nape of his neck as you leaned in, your movement shifting the neckline of your dress just enough to reveal a little more of the soft, white lace underneath.
You brushed your lips against his.
“You can just show me.”
And just like that, whatever flimsy excuse he’d been holding onto slipped right through his fingers.
⋆˚꩜｡a/n: this was supposed to come out sunday but i got anxious so here it is lollliii also how many point do i lose if i tell yall i laughed so fucking hard when writing mike in this BYE anywayyy we're finally getting somewhere with these twooo (or are we?) hehe pls lemme know watcha think!
why am i sitting here waiting for my oil change for my car to get done and the couple across from me had to kiss before he went to the bathroom. like okay yes me as a #lover if someone gave me a chance but at the same time damn he was gone for like two minutes.
⋆˚꩜｡summary: A quiet shift away from what was easy, a distraction that doesn’t quite work, and a glance that stays
⋆˚꩜｡tags: no y/n, she/her reader, reader has hair long enough for rollers, coming of age?, teenage angst, slow burn, dual pov, internal conflict, nathalie being nathalie (queen), yearning glancing
⋆˚꩜｡tw: PG-13 (minors do not interact, i'll hunt you), anxiety, overthinking, underage drinking, emotional vulnerability, mild language
⋆˚꩜｡word count: 6.4k+
The somewhat muddy water of Lovers Lake glittered under the sun’s reflection – sparkles scattered across the surface, catching on the bottled Cokes Nathalie had brought, on the hood of your old car parked closer to the road.
There was no denying it was a beautiful Saturday morning – and a warm one at that. A perfect day to come down to the lake, catch up on fresh school gossip, talk about boys, and show off a little too much skin in bikinis that were definitely too small and too tight to be worn around family.
You had called her late last night, asking if today would be a good day for a swim. She’d been on the verge of killing you through the phone – her father already reprimanding her for being up so late, even though it was a Friday night – but she still answered in typical Nathalie fashion.
“Uh, yeah. Duh. Pick me up at nine?”
When you pulled up this morning, she was already waiting outside, a cooler far too big for the two of you at her feet, along with a bag stuffed with towels, an extra set of clothes, and – hidden somewhere in between – a bottle of vodka she had definitely stolen from her parent’s special cabinet.
Nathalie popped the cap off one of the Cokes with ease, the sharp fizz cutting through the quiet of the lake.
“You look like you need this,” she muttered, brows raised as she took in your pensive face, already unscrewing the vodka before you could answer.
Like she always did, she didn’t bother to measure – just poured, titled the bottle back, and handed it to you like it was second nature.
Your fingers wrapped around the glass, but your eyes didn’t stay there for long.
You took off your own sunglasses – squared, oversized and loud just like Nathalie’s – and took a good look at her hand instead, catching the bright green polish already chipping at the edges. The metallic flecks of the nail polish caught the sunlight every time she moved, a mix of yellow, lime, and emerald dancing in the rays.
The very shade she used to complain about.
A smile pulled at your lips, but you didn’t dare say anything – you just slid your glasses back on.
Nathalie took a sip from her own drink, squinting at the water before adding more vodka. She held the bottle out to you, arching a brow when you shook your head, mumbling something about taking it easy.
“So,” she started – too casual for someone like her. “How’s lover boy?”
You huffed out a breath that almost passed for a laugh. You might’ve accepted the bottle it you’d known she was going to break the silence with that.
“He’s… good.”
Nathalie’s gaze drifted back to the water as she hummed, clearly not buying it.
“Good?” she repeated, dragging the word out. She shook her head, taking another sip. “That’s it? That’s all I get?”
You didn’t answer, just leaned back on your elbows, stretching your legs further into the sun.
Your eyes followed hers to the lake.
The sunlight hit too hard, even through your sunglasses, bouncing off the surface in a way that made it difficult to focus on it.
“I’m thinking of breaking it off,” you said finally.
She just set her bottle of coke down next to yours and mirrored your position, legs glittering with a thin, sticky layer of sunscreen. She tilted her head slightly, taking in the view – like she was reminding herself Hawkins could be beautiful sometimes, even if it didn’t have much else to offer.
“Yeah?” Nathalie didn’t react right away, which somehow made it worse. She picked up her bottle again and took a long sip out of it.
You just nodded, not bothering to look at her, eyes still glued to the glistering water.
“I just–” you stopped, shaking your head. You decided another sip or two felt easier.
Your thumb traced the condensation on the glass absentmindedly.
“I don’t know how to do it, you know? He’s a good guy. He didn’t do anything.”
Nathalie reached for the vodka again and held it out towards you.
You didn’t hesitate this time, and you snatched it off her hand without a second thought.
She didn’t say anything right away – just watched you for a second. Really watched you this time, like she was trying to figure out where this had come from.
Then she exhaled softly, reaching over to nudge your knee with hers.
“If you’re not feeling it, you’re not feeling it,” she said with a shrug, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Who cares if he’s nice? There are thousands of nice guys out there, probably waiting for you.”
Nathalie took another sip of her drink, eyes still on the lake over the rim of her bottle.
“He’ll survive,” she added, a little lighter now. “They always do.”
Her head tilted back slightly, but her gaze sharpened the moment it returned to you. She snorted under her breath, shaking her head as something clicked into place.
“And let me guess,” she said, leaning back on one hand. She tipped her face towards the sun for a second, eyes closing briefly before flicking back to you. “This has everything to do with long curls, rings, and an extremely questionable reputation – and taste in fashion.”
She blinked once, slow and deliberate, watching for any reaction you might give away.
Then she snorted – dramatically loud and ugly, the kind of sound she’d only ever make around you – and reached for the vodka again.
“Oh my God,” she muttered, shaking her head as he poured herself another drink. “I’ve created a monster.”
You still hadn’t given an answer – too busy thinking about deflecting the conversation, and too busy pretending to drink your vodka-coke. The fleeting thought of entering the lake crossed your mind, but it disappeared as soon as you saw a group of young boys approaching the water.
“You haven’t created anything,” you shot back after a while – it sounded too weak, even to your own ears.
Your fingers tightened slightly around the bottle, condensation slipping against your skin.
You almost wished Nathalie had picked you up instead – just so you could drown yourself in vodka without having to face her and that knowing look.
An exhale left your mouth instead.
“I don’t know what it is about him,” you admitted.
You brought the cold rim up to your lips and thought hard, really hard about it; what was it about Eddie that made you suddenly lose all interest in Zack?
You’d never really spoken to him before all of this… whatever this was. But you’ve known of him. It was hard not to – when the loud, judgmental whispers followed him through the school hallways and all the way into town.
And that wasn’t all he was known for either; the deals behind the school, the loud music spilling out of his van, the satanic rumours about Hellfire, the haunting ghosts of his family.
There were too many things people had already decided about him.
And somehow – somehow you didn’t care about any of it, not anymore.
You tried to pin it down – what it exactly was that kept pulling you back to him – but your thoughts slipped every time you got close, scattering before they could settle into anything solid.
All you knew was that it felt different – from anything you’d had with Zack, from anything you could just explain away or brush off like it didn’t actually matter.
It didn’t make sense yet, not fully, but it was there; constant, and quiet.
And getting impossible to ignore.
But then there also was the creeping guilt haunting you.
The way you had treated Eddie last time you saw him, shoving a wad of money into his hand like that. Like he was something you could pay to keep around.
It had been the only thing that made sense in the moments leading up to it, after he’d all but told you not to come back.
But still.
The mix in your bottle burned slightly as it went down, sharp and uneven.
Nathalie cocked her head towards you once again. “I just… I guess I can’t see him the way you do,” she said, not unkind – she just sounded confused, trying to be supportive even if she didn’t really understand.
“That’s okay,” you said quietly. “I can’t force you to.”
“Yeah,” she dragged out, lifting the bottle to her lips before pausing halfway, like she was reconsidering something.
Her eyes flicked back to you, softer now.
“But, hey… if that’s what you want?” she added with a small shrug. “Then you should go for it.”
The corner of Nathalie’s mouth lifted again, that familiar teasing edge slipping back in.
“I’ve got a feeling you wouldn’t want me to anyway,” she huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “See him the way you do.”
Your fingers stilled around the bottle for just a second – not long enough for her to call you out on it, but long enough for her to notice it.
Nathalie just laughed and took another sip.
“Relax,” she added, lighter now. “I wouldn’t try to steal your scary metalhead. Like, ever.”
You let your gaze drift back to the lake instead of answering.
There was something serene about it – the constant, soft sound of chirping birds, the gentle breeze that was easy to miss, the warmth of the sun against the skin your swimsuit didn’t cover.
“He’s not scary,” you muttered, still looking at the sparkling lake.
Like some kind of miracle, the evening temperature had somewhat dipped after you’d returned home from the lake. It was unusual for Indiana this time of year, but you weren’t complaining – if anything, you were welcoming it with open arms.
But somewhere around ten, it dropped a few degrees more, and you had decided it was the perfect excuse for your trembling shoulders – definitely not the nervousness coursing through your body.
You… you were doing this – like, really doing it.
Despite the cold breeze outside, you rolled down the windows when you felt a warm drop of sweat trailing down your spine as you made your way to the leafy, suburban part of Hawkins on the other side of town.
The conversation you had with Nathalie earlier that day replayed over and over again in your mind. You didn’t regret telling her – nor did you regret the decision you had made – but that didn’t mean it was easy.
It was best to just rip of the band-aid off in one harsh pull.
Your right hand gripped the steering wheel tightly, your other arm braced against the door as you brought your fingers to your temple, like it might ease the dull ache settling there.
The late evening breeze kept slipping into the car, hitting your hand and the side of your face with a sharp cold – but it did nothing to stop the thin layer of sweat clinging to your skin.
You’d been too nervous the moment you got in the car, and the soft, romantic songs drifting from the radio only made it worse. So, you turned the dial down until there was nothing left but the wind – and the occasional orange glow of passing streetlamps.
Your heart stuttered in your chest, almost like it was somersaulting, and the further you got from home, the more words you picked apart in your mind.
None of them felt right.
The closer you got there, the cleaner and quieter everything became.
Lights glowed warmly behind wide windows, freshly trimmed hedges lining driveways that curved just enough to feel intentional – like they reflected the status of the people who lived there.
It wasn’t the place where the thick, coarse sound of your engine belonged.
The Whitaker family home came into view sooner than you expected – sooner than you wanted.
You slowed the car without thinking, pulling up to the curb. Your hands didn’t leave the steering wheel, not right away, and you let the engine run just a little longer.
The house looked exactly like it always did – something straight out of a magazine, fitting for a neighbourhood like this. Pearly gates, neatly trimmed hedges and bushes, the faint dancing glow of a pool somewhere behind the house.
When your eyes drifted to the front door, you noticed the porch light glowing softly against the dark, catching the faint movement behind the glass panels – shadows shifting, familiar and easy in a way that should’ve made this simpler.
It didn’t.
You turned the key and rolled the windows back up but didn’t move right away. Your fingers tightened slightly around the wheel before loosening again.
An exhale left your mouth – this was it.
No more overthinking it, no more trying to find the right words.
You pushed the door open before you could give yourself the chance to change your mind and turn back home with your tail between your legs.
The gravel crunched softly under your shoes as you made your way up the driveway, each step slower than the last, echoing through the evening air more than it should have.
The porch light felt brighter up close – almost too bright – casting a warm glow that didn’t quite reach the tight feeling in your chest.
You paused in front of the door for just a s second, taking a deep breath as the fleeting thought of turning around replayed in your mind.
But you didn’t go through with it. Instead, your red, irritated hands fell to your sides as you inhaled again, your chest rising more than it should before slowly falling.
Then your hand lifted, knocking on the door before you could hesitate anymore.
The sound echoed in your ears, though it didn’t take as long for the door to open as it felt.
And there he was – messy hair, a tank top that only emphasized his build – easy and familiar, the way it was supposed to be.
“Hey,” Zack said, a small smile pulling at his lips, like he wasn’t expecting anything out of the ordinary.
“Hey,” you echoed, quieter, your throat tighter than you expected.
You shifted your weight slightly, your eyes flicking past him for just a second before settling back.
“Can we–” you started, then stopped, pressing your lips together briefly. “Can we talk?”
Zack’s smile faltered, just slightly – more like he was worried about you than whatever you had to say.
“Yeah, of course,” he said, already stepping back and holding the door open just a little wider. “Wanna come in?”
You hesitated for a second, long enough to feel it, before shaking your head.
He stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind him.
Zack stood there for a second, the quiet stretching just a little too long before he shifted his weight. He took a few steps forward and set down on the step leading up to the front door.
He glanced over his shoulder, tilting his head towards you – a silent invitation.
“What’s up?” he asked, softer now.
You inhaled – the sound louder than it should’ve been – and looked away.
Your eyes caught on another loose piece of skin beside your left thumbnail.
“I… I don’t really know how to say this without it sounding worse than it is,” you whispered, exhaling quietly after.
His brows pulled together just slightly, worry settling in, but he didn’t interrupt. He could see you were struggling – and chose to let you get there on your own.
The piece of skin you’d been picking at disappeared, but you found another just as easily.
“I think we should stop seeing each other,”
The words came out quieter than they should have and landed softer than you expected.
Zack blinked once, like he needed a second to catch up. The silence stretched again – until it broke with the sound of him swallowing.
The warm glow of the streetlights lining his driveway suddenly felt like a better place to look.
“I, uh–”
His voice trailed of. He licked his lips, almost nervously, like it might help the words come easier.
“Did I do something?”
The small sound of his voice hit you like a ton of bricks. It made you close your eyes, shaking your head quickly.
“No, you didn’t do anything,” you said, opening your eyes again, letting them drift across his front yard instead. “That’s… kinda the thing.”
Zack frowned slightly, confusion settling in.
“You’ve been really good to me,” you added, quieter now. “You’re easy to be around, and you didn’t make anything complicated.”
A streetlamp flickered suddenly, stealing your attention for a second as you hesitated.
“But it doesn’t feel the way it’s supposed to.”
Zack’s eyes drifted downward, looking at his hand while letting the words settle. He exhaled through his nose, rubbing he back of his neck briefly – anything to avoid looking at you right away.
“Is this…” he started, voice quieter now. “Is this about someone else?”
The words echoed in your ears.
“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” you settled on, softer.
He nodded, then turned his head back towards you. His gaze pulled yours away from the flickering streetlamp, forcing you to meet his eyes.
“It’s okay,” he let out a quiet breath. He held your gaze and offered you a small smile – soft, and a little sad. “It happens.”
He wasn’t angry, like you expected.
And somehow, that made it worse.
The doorbell pierced through the otherwise silent street, followed by harsh mumbling and the quick, forceful, pull of the front door.
“Sorry, Mr. Hayes. I know it’s late,” you said, your voice sounding more defeated than you wanted.
The man took in the sight of you – frowned brows, trembling lips, glassy eyes threatening to spill over any second now.
He just sighed, shaking his head as he pulled the door open wider.
“She just went upstairs,” he muttered. “Just call your parents if you stay. I do not need to be dragged into a search party tomorrow morning.”
You just nodded, head hanging low, and stepped into the home.
The short walk up the stairs felt longer than it ever had. The weight in your legs didn’t help – nor did the smiling faces in the photo frames lining the walls, following your every move as you passed.
It had become second nature after all those years: up the stairs, around the banister, down the hall to the white door at the end.
You didn’t bother knocking – you never did – and pushed it open, stepping into the recently painted powdery-blue bedroom with a sigh that instantly caught Nathalie’s attention.
She turned, ready to snap at her father with piercing, teenage venom for coming in without knocking – but stopped short when she saw your face instead.
“Hey – hey, hey,” she said quickly, standing up without a second thought. She dropped the green-tinted brush in a rush, not bothering with the half of her face still uncovered.
She crossed the room in seconds, one arm wrapping around your shaking frame as she shut the door behind you with the other.
“What happened?”
The sight of her – half her face covered in a thick green mask, the other half bare – would’ve usually pulled a laugh out of you, it was too ridiculous not to.
But this time it didn’t – it just made the heaviness settle deeper.
Not only had you just had that conversation with Zack, but you’d also interrupted Nathalie’s whole nighttime routine – what the hell was your problem?
You didn’t answer her right away. Instead, your fingers curled into the fabric of her nightgown, burning heat lingering around your nails.
“I told him,” you said finally, your voice small and rough.
Nathalie didn’t pull away. She just shifted her weight slightly, grounding you, before gently guiding you towards her bed.
“Okay,” she said softly. “What… what happened?”
You let out a shaky breath and tilted your head back like a child complaining about something they couldn’t quite explain. Your words came out uneven, similar to the exhale that left your mouth.
“He didn’t – he didn’t even get mad. Or anything,” you started, shaking your head like it still didn’t make sense. “He just… sat there and listened.”
Your grip around her nightgown tightened more when the first salty beads rolled down your cheeks.
“And I told him we should stop seeing each other and he just–” you let out a quiet, frustrated huff. “He asked if he did something wrong.”
Nathalie’s arm tightened around you slightly – just enough to remind you she was there.
“And he didn’t,” you added quickly, like you needed to make that clear, and swallowed. “He didn’t do anything, Nat. Fuck– that’s the thing. He didn’t do anything.”
Your voice wavered more, the words tasting weird as they left your mouth. You pulled back slightly, dragging a hand over your face and wiping away the few tears that had managed to fall.
“I feel like I’ve been stringing him along this whole time,” you admitted, quieter now. “Like I knew something was off and I just– I just kept going.”
Nathalie shook her head immediately, not caring if the big rollers in her hair loosened up with the sudden, harsh movements.
“Hey,” she said, her voice firm but gentle, reaching out to catch your wrist before you could spiral any further. “That is not what happened.”
You frowned and looked away, not fully convinced.
Your eyes caught on the framed Rolling Stone poster of Michael J. Fox on her wall – easier than meeting Nathalie’s gaze.
“You tried,” she continued, softer now. “That is not the same thing.”
A moment of silence settled between you, filled only by the soft ticking of her alarm clock and your uneven breathing.
“You really liked him, when you started seeing each other,” she added. She licked her lips, momentarily forgetting the Vaseline she’d put on earlier. “And you tried. And then you realised that it didn’t feel right.”
She paused briefly, her eyes searching yours.
“It was the best thing you could do – for both of you.”
Your shoulders dropped just slightly at that.
“He said it was okay,” you whispered, almost like you hadn’t really processed it yet. “That it wasn’t my fault.”
Nathalie huffed softly, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
“Yeah,” she said, her voice still gentle. “Because he’s a good guy.”
Her eyes stayed glued on your face, almost like she was studying you and trying to decide something.
Then, in typical Nathalie fashion, she stood up from the bed with a dramatic movement of her nightgown and shook her head. “We are so not doing this tonight.”
You frowned slightly. “Doing what?”
“The staring into the void thing,” she said, already moving towards her desk. “It’s depressing, and neither of us deserves that.”
She picked up the jar of face mask and the green-tinted brush with one hand, and grabbed another pack of rollers from her drawer with the other, before making her way back to the bed.
“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” she started, setting everything down on the mattress. “You’re gonna let me play with you like you’re my favourite doll. I’ll put this disgusting mask on your face, and these rollers in your hair.”
She glanced at the alarm clock on her nightstand – almost eleven.
“Then, we’re raiding every sugary thing my mom bought this week, and we’re ordering pizza before they close.”
She pointed the brush at you; a set look in her eyes.
“And I’m so not accepting a ‘no’.”
You didn’t argue.
Her fingers lifted the brush, dipping it into the thick mask before spreading it across your skin in slow, careful strokes. The texture felt cool, smoothing over the lingering heat in your face.
And somewhere between the second layer and Nathalie complaining about the uneven coverage on her own face, the heaviness in your chest loosened just a little.
Then she disappeared downstairs – only after turning on her cassette player and putting on her latest favourite, Hunting High and Low – and came back with armfuls of whatever sugary monstrosities she could find in the kitchen, her little brother and his sugar addiction be damned.
You huffed out something that almost resembled a laugh when she dropped the pile onto her bed, along with an old pizzeria menu.
Somewhere along the night, the masks dried, the rollers stayed in place, and the sugar rush softened into something slower – something easier.
A-ha eventually gave way to Cyndi Lauper’s debut album as you lay side by side on her bed, staring up at the ceiling while she filled the space with the latest school gossip – remember Mr. Flynn’s pimple-covered son? Yeah, he was caught under the bleachers by Stacey M., with none other than Carol Fucking Perkins.
The laughter got louder at some point.
Loud enough that Mr. Hayes glanced up the stairs, pausing for just a second before shaking his head with a small, tired smile and retreating back into his room, the door closing softly behind him.
He’d let the late-night noise slide – just this once.
Sunday passed in a blur – only the soft curls at the end of your hair and the faintest trace of green near your hairline left as reminders of the day.
And with it came Monday – the first day you’d walk those halls without an emerald-clad arm slung around your shoulders.
The school hallways felt brighter than usual – too bright – almost like they were trying to expose something you hadn’t figured out how to hide yet.
The typical hallway noise settled into something familiar the moment you stepped inside – lockers slamming, voice overlapping, shoes dragging across tiled floors that had seen better days.
You kept your head down, weaving through the crowd until you reached your locker. The metal door screeched slightly when you pulled it open – just another sound fading into the background noise.
“You will not believe what I just heard.”
Nathalie’s voice came in fast and bright, shoulder almost slamming into the lockers besides yours, like nothing had happened the past weekend.
You didn’t even look at her first, just reached inside your locker, fingers brushing past loose papers, notebooks and doomed romance novels.
“It’s not even eight in the morning, Nat,” you muttered.
“That’s exactly why it’s good,” she shot back immediately, looking around just to make sure no one from the school paper department was around. “Prime gossip hours, babe.”
You huffed quietly, pulling out the books you needed for first period.
She launched into it without hesitation – names, whispers, something about someone getting caught somewhere they shouldn’t have been, with someone they definitely shouldn’t have been seen with.
You nodded along where it was expected, shutting your locker with a dull clang before falling into your usual routine of walking to class together.
The hallway stretched out ahead of you, too bright, too loud. But somehow it felt... different, instead of familiar.
The classroom door was already open when you got there.
Nathalie kept whispering about the newest addition to the cheer team when your steps slowed, just barely, and her voice blurred into the low hum of the ventilator in the corner of the room and the incessant teenage chatter around you.
You stepped inside, bracing yourself – for the coldness, the distance, the inevitable comments about how stupid you were for letting someone like Zack go.
But all he gave you was a small smile – one that wasn’t forced, just… there.
Your chest tightened anyway, the remaining guilt still moving in slow, nauseous waves through your stomach.
You returned it – quick and uncertain – before looking away and making your way to your seat.
From the back of the room, without meaning to, Eddie noticed.
His gaze drifted lazily, almost unfocused – somewhere between boredom and habit – until it caught on the way you paused, the tension in your shoulders beside a gleeful Nathalie, the way Zack looked at you.
Not cold, but not like he normally did either – it made Eddie’s jaw shift slightly as he leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping once against the desk before stilling again.
Something had changed – he just couldn’t figure out what.
Or how it made him feel.
Lunch was loud in the way it always was – too many voices layered over each other, trays clattering against tables, chairs scraping across the floor, Dustin’s annoying voice somehow managing to cut through all of it.
Eddie didn’t pay much attention to it – never really did.
The Hellfire table had always carried its own noise anyway – Gareth tapping out a rhythm against the surface, Jeff half-listening while scribbling something down, Mike and Dustin arguing about something that didn’t matter nearly as much as they thought it did.
It was easy to tune the rest of the room out.
Until the doors opened.
Eddie’s gaze lifted without thinking – habit more than anything else.
And then it stopped on the loud, clashing colours of Nathalie’s blazer – before shifting to you beside her, talking about something he couldn’t hear from across the room.
Your movements were easy, familiar – the kind that wouldn’t have caught his attention if it weren’t for Nathalie’s dramatic silhouette.
His eyes kept following you anyway – expecting the turn, the shift towards the overcrowded table of testosterone-dripping jocks and sharp-tongued cheerleaders – the same place you’d been sitting the last few times he’d seen you.
But it didn’t happen.
You didn’t even glance that way.
Instead, you turned in the opposite direction – towards a random table by the windows, like it had always been yours.
“Huh,” he muttered, fingers going still against the table.
Something about it felt… off – and it wasn’t subtle, either.
He leaned back, tilting his chair onto two legs, eyes narrowing slightly as they flicked towards the emerald sea.
Zack was there – of course he was – laughing at something Jason said, posture loose, like nothing had ever changed.
“What, ‘huh’?” Gareth mumbled, fingers still tapping restlessly against the table.
Eddie just ignored him as he moved his gaze back to you, then to Zack, and then back to you again.
His jaw shifted slightly as he took it all in – the absence of what had been there just a few days ago.
His eyes stayed on you for a moment longer, before he pulled them away, just as he caught Gareth starting to follow his line of sight.
“Nothing,” he muttered. “Just the princess ditching the table of forced conformity.”
“Since when do you care?” Mike asked confused.
Eddie scoffed lightly, shifting his weight as the front legs of his chair hit the floor again.
He reached for his drink, taking a slow sip before answering.
“Just an observation, Wheeler. Try it sometime.”
Dustin snorted, Gareth and Jeff following with uncontrolled snickering, while Mike just rolled his eyes.
Eddie didn’t bother reacting.
But his gaze drifted back across the room anyway.
“So…” she started, way too casually as she kicked a pebble down the sidewalk.
You didn’t bother looking away from the storefront window. It was cluttered with sale signs and sun-faded mannequins dressed in outfits that only looked good in theory.
“Nope.”
“Oh, c’mon! I didn’t say anything yet.”
“You were about to.”
Nathalie just huffed. “Okay, so you didn’t notice that your scary metalhead couldn’t stop staring at you during lunch?”
Your eyes left the sign, brows pulling together as you turned back to her.
“He wasn’t staring,” you started. “And he is not my anything.”
“Oh, please,” she shot back immediately, crossing her arms.
You scoffed, turning your gaze back to the window.
The yellow sundress behind the sign was cute – dangerously so – and for a second, you wondered how much damage it would actually do to your wallet.
Retail therapy – or whatever it was that Nathalie had suggested you try after school – was a dangerous thing.
Especially after a weekend like the one you just had.
“That’s cute,” Nathalie said after a moment of silence, following your line of sight. “We should go inside, take a quick look.”
“That’s what you said the last four stores.”
She just snorted, bumping her padded shoulder slightly against yours.
“And every time, I’ve been right,” she said. “You did find something you liked.”
You didn’t answer, still eyeing the dress like it might solve more problems than it actually could.
“Plus,” she added, tilting her head slightly, “you clearly need the distraction.”
She was already moving before you could say anything else, pushing the door open with an ease that didn’t invite argument.
The bell above the door chimed softly as you stepped inside.
The store hit you immediately – sharp hairspray hanging in the air, cut through with something faintly synthetic.
Metal racks lined the space, catching the flat, bright overhead lights that hummed softly, bleaching the colours just enough to turn everything a shade cooler, the shadows pooled in the sleeves and seams where the light couldn’t quite reach.
The metal hanger slid softly against the rack as Nathalie pulled the dress free, holding it up in front of you with a small, satisfied hum.
“You’re trying this on,” she said, already turning you towards the fitting room before you could argue, her eyes scanning the store for matching accessories.
The thick black curtain didn’t quite close all the way behind you, leaving a thin strip of light cutting across the mirror.
You hesitated for a second, fingers brushing over the fabric before pulling your shirt over your head.
The dress slipped on easier than you expected, settling against your skin like it belonged there – light, soft, and fitting in a way that didn’t ask for permission.
“Well?” Nathalie’s voice came from the other side of the curtain, her hand slipping beside it to hand you a light summer jacket and an oversized necklace.
You decided not to try either of them – it drew too much attention away from the dress.
“It’s… nice,” you said finally, smoothing down the fabric.
“That doesn’t sound convincing,” she replied, already pulling the curtain open just enough to slip inside.
Her eyes flicked over you – quick at first, then slower.
“Okay, yeah,” she said after a moment. “That’s… wow.”
You shifted your weight slightly, still smoothing your hands over the fabric like you needed something to do with them.
Your gaze lifted to the mirror again, and this time, it lingered.
For a split second, something flickered – not quite a thought, more like a feeling that settled low in your stomach. It made you shift slightly, almost without meaning to, suddenly aware of how the fabric sat against your skin, of how…
But the small, nagging voice at the back of your head only grew louder the longer you stared at your reflection.
“I don’t know,” you huffed softly, your gaze dropping to the hem of the dress. “I don’t know anything right now.”
“Yeah,” she said, quieter this time. “About that–”
“Nat–”
“No, just– just listen,” she cut in, softer than before, but still firm enough that you didn’t interrupt again.
She tilted her head slightly, eyes flicking over you in the mirror like she was trying – and quite frankly, failing – to piece it together.
“I really don’t get it,” she said plainly. “I don’t get him, like, at all.”
Nathalie paused just long enough to make sure you heard her.
“But that doesn’t mean anything,” she added with a small shrug. “If you like him, you like him.”
Her eyes met yours in the mirror, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“And if that’s what you want? Then you should go for it.”
You frowned slightly, a quiet, sad chuckle leaving your lips. “I don’t even know what that is.”
Nathalie let out a small breath, something almost like a laugh slipping through.
“Yeah,” she settled on. “That’s kind of the problem, isn’t it?”
You took another look in the mirror – at the dress hugging you in all the right places, at the colour pulling something brighter out of your skin.
It stared back at you, like it had made the decision for you.
Nathalie held your gaze in the mirror for a second longer, like she was making sure you were still with her, before her expression shifted again.
“Okay,” she began, clapping her hands softly once. “We’re so not spiralling in a fitting room.”
You let out a small breath that almost passed for a laugh.
“That feels like a, uh– reasonable boundary,” you muttered, one brow arching as a sarcastic smirk threatened to take over your lips.
“Right?” she said quickly, already reaching for the hanger you had tossed aside. “At least until we get snacks. Or, like, a better mirror.”
You shook your head, the tightness in your chest easing just a little.
She glanced at you again, softer this time.
“Also,” she added, lamely shoving your shoulder without any force. “You are buying this, even if I have to pay for half of it.”
You looked back at the mirror, taking in the dress one last time.
“You’re so dramatic,” you muttered.
“It’s what you love most about me,” she shot back immediately.
The bell above the store door chimed softly as you stepped back outside, the late afternoon sun warmer than before, casting a soft, peach-coloured glow over everything.
Nathalie was already talking again – something about snacks, about running to Family Video – but you barely caught any of it.
You adjusted your grip on the new bag, still not quite used to the added weight in your hands.
And then, for some reason, you turned your head before you could stop yourself.
And there he was – across the street.
The door of the music shop swung shut behind him, the sound soft, almost lost to the noise of the street.
Eddie’s steps faltered when he saw you – and then stopped completely. He just stood there, watching.
Nathalie kept talking beside you, listing off movies she wanted to see, but her voice faded into the background the moment your eyes met his.
He didn’t look away this time, and neither did you.
⋆˚꩜｡a/n: this is more of a boring filler chapter but i promise it was necessary to the plot lol. also i kinda feel bad for creating zack just to discard him like this heh. anywayyy thank you for reading :)
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⋆˚꩜｡summary: A glimpse in the life of a metalhead: a week that won’t settle, a lesson that blurs the line, and something that doesn’t stay as simple as it should.
⋆˚꩜｡tags: no y/n, she/her pronouns for reader, eddie pov, slow burn, slight angst, internal conflict, guarded eddie, self deprecating eddie, emotionally repressed eddie, confusion/emotional turmoil, guided intimacy, complicated feelings, blurred lines, "this was supposed to be simple", coming of age?, smoking, wayne being wayne (lemme know if i missed anything!)
⋆˚꩜｡tw: very mild suggestive content (pg-13, but minors are still not welcome!), kissing, lip biting, inexperienced!reader (not in a dumb/childish way), experienced!eddie, slight power imbalance, mentions of smoking cigarettes, mentions of smoking weed, internalized stigma/social judgment, anxiety, vague descriptions of hospitals/institutions, sucky writing
⋆˚꩜｡word count: 5.4k+
There were only two things Eddie truly lived for: Hellfire Fridays, and Corroded Tuesdays.
The Hide Out wasn’t exactly a notorious spot in the metal scene – or any scene at all, for that matter – but it was the best the boys could get in a town like Hawkins.
The dive bar was located at the edge of town, just far enough from downtown for it to truly matter. It was stingy, with its spilled-beer-sticky wooden floors and Loretta – the only bartender in town who had long since run out of fucks to give, handing out drinks to anyone who didn’t look twelve.
She let them play every Tuesday night, from nine to ten, in exchange of having Eddie’s talented fingers fixing whatever decided to break down behind the counter that week.
Still, Eddie dreamt every Tuesday gig would pay off one day – like it had for Metallica when they started at Radio City, or Mötley Crüe at the Starwood.
It was paradise on Earth for the Corroded Coffin boys.
Late spring in Indiana didn’t bring the kind of refreshing nights people might expect – the humidity from the day hung around even after dark, and sometimes it even got worse, with the air going still and refusing to let any breeze cut through it.
Tonight was no different, with the air being too thick and slightly sticky – the heat lingered, heavy and inescapable.
Even out at the Hide Out, tucked at the edge of town, it followed.
The heat clung to the cigarette-smoke-tainted walls, to the low ceiling, to the few bodies that packed too close to the counter for Loretta’s liking. The disgusting sticky floors only made it worse by trapping the warmth, holding onto it like it nowhere else to go.
But even on nights like this, with the air pressing in from all sides and a crowd – five drunks at most – clung together like second skin, it still felt like the closes thing to breathing he’d had in the last week.
The makeshift excuse of a stage creaked under their weight as they climbed up, dragging amps and hardware, warped wood complaining with their every step.
Gareth was already tapping his sticks together, quick and restless, testing the feel of it as he dropped onto his stool and adjusted the height like it mattered more than it actually did. Jeff crouched near his beaten-up amp – the one he’d been meaning to replace but couldn’t quite bring himself to – twisting knobs with a practiced hand, leaning in close like the buzzing static was telling him secrets no one else could hear.
Eddie’s guitar slung over his shoulder, fingers brushing over the strings in a quiet, absent strum – more muscle memory than anything else – as he reached down to check the cable, giving it a small tug to make sure it wouldn’t betray him mid-set.
He rolled his shoulders once, his neck twice, to loosen up. His fingers moved before he could really think about it – fast, precise, and practiced into his bones. The sound punched through the stale air, sharp enough to break it apart and shove everything else back.
Gareth glanced at Jeff – just a flick of his eyes, enough to check if the bassist was with him, as ready as he was.
And then he grinned – lifting a stick with practiced precision, letting the first hit crack through the room. Loud, clean and immediate.
Jeff followed without hesitation, his bass cutting in somewhere heavier – low and familiar in the way it dug and didn’t let go, the kind of sound that echoed the grit of Anthrax without trying to recreate it perfectly.
Eddie leaned into it, his head dipping slightly as his hand moved over the strings, the rhythm locking in tight with Gareth’s beat.
It was one of the few moments that allowed Eddie to disappear; to melt into something that wasn’t white trailer trash, something easily dismissible. He lived for the adrenaline that coursed through his veins with every pluck of the strings.
But what he loved even more was when the setlist shifted; when the hard, piercing riffs gave way to something moodier, heavier. The kind of pressure that built beneath the surface – quiet at first, then deepening into something haunting and hypnotic, like in Welcome Home (Sanitarium) and the like.
The shift was subtle at first – the slower tempo and the heavier pull pulsing through the speakers and into the thick, cigarette-smoke air.
Eddie’s shoulders dropped, the sharp edge of his movements softening as his fingers eased into something more deliberate, more controlled. It wasn’t about the piercing speed anymore – it was about weight, how each note lingered a second longer than the others so far had.
The Hide Out didn’t change – the same five drunks, the same sticky floors – but the sound did. It stretched and it pressed in, wrapping itself around everything until it felt thicker than the air already was.
If there was one thing Eddie Munson hated, it was the godforsaken shift from late spring into early summer.
It was always a pain in his ass.
For as long as he could remember, it never eased in – it just hit all at once, without any warning, spreading itself like wildfire. One day tolerable, the next thick, humid air settling over everything like it had no intention of ever leaving.
The frequent Indiana thunderstorms didn’t help either; short, intense, and completely useless when it came to clearing the air.
The air-conditioning had broken down – again, like it always did this time of the year – and the windows were never of much help. The humidity always found him, clinging to his skin, to the fabric of his pitch-black clothes like it had nothing better to do.
The heat seeped into the trailer, making his hair frizzier than usual, with baby hairs sticking to the nape of his neck, and his recently cut bangs clinging to his forehead. His shirt stuck to his back, damp in all the wrong places, while the heavy denim of his jeans refused to breathe no matter how much he shifted in them.
He’d already lost his battle jacket – retired for the foreseeable future – but the rest? No chance.
Eddie refused to change the way he dressed just because Indiana had personally decided to bully him every goddamn summer with its unbearable, suffocating weather.
It always stuck – like the kind of heat that didn’t leave just because the sun had gone down, no matter how much time had passed.
It felts the same back then, too – thick and heavy. The kind of heat that pressed in from all sides, settling into the walls, into the linoleum floor, into the harsh slam of the screen door. Too loud for how quiet everything else had been up until then.
And then – silence. The kind that didn’t ask questions but lingered in the air just as much as the heat. The kind that weaved itself into the walls, into the air, into the way people looked at him before they even knew his name – into the name itself.
The kind that followed him out the door, into places that smelled too clean, sat with him under buzzing lights and uncomfortable chairs, stretched into hours that didn’t seem to move at all.
Eddie had learned to live with things like that, learned not to expect it to – even after Uncle Wayne took him in.
Wayne made things easier and quieter, sure. But easier didn’t mean gone.
It just meant Eddie got better at folding it down, keeping it small and contained. Carrying it in ways no one else would notice.
The drive there always felt longer than it actually was.
The air inside Wayne’s old, yet trust-worthy LDT sat thick and unmoving, like it had settled in for the same ride as them. The heat didn’t break, not even when the two men cracked the windows – it just pressed closer, sticking to their skin, to the vinyl seats, to the silence stretching out between every mile marker.
Wayne didn’t talk much – he never really did. He just held out his worn, tattered pack of cigarettes between them, offering one to his nephew like it was the most natural thing in the world for a father figure to offer his son.
Eddie never turned down a free cigarette; he pulled out two, stuck both between his lips, lit them, and took a long drag of double smoke before passing one over to Wayne.
The two men smoked as the world outside kept moving – cars passing, skyscrapers blurring, people going wherever they were supposed to go. And when they finally got there, cigarettes long stubbed out, the world stopped moving – caught in the bland food and fluorescent lights of a place that took more than it ever gave back.
Eddie had learned to stop expecting it to be any different a long, long time ago.
The note hadn’t been anything special; it never was.
And it hadn’t been an emergency, not the way Wayne had made it sound like. Not really; not the kind that ended, at least.
Eddie had used it enough times that the words barely meant anything anymore. Just something empty that didn’t invite questions, something small and easy to hand over.
Something that let him slip into the classroom minutes after the bell had already rung.
Most teachers didn’t look twice at the paper – or at him, for that matter.
But she had; never pushing, never forcing anything out of him. just a soft, knowing look, like she understood there was something more there and had decided to spare him from having to say it out loud.
Eddie had taken the out anyway – like he always did.
Some things didn’t change; if anything, he just got better at it.
The table buzzed with talk of the following day – when they’d finally reclaim the drama room and litter it with half-empty soda cans, scattered dice, and arguments over meaningless technicalities like they were politicians in some high-stakes debate.
Gareth drummed against the table, trying to lock in the rhythm to the newest song he’d written for Corroded Coffin – determined to keep getting better, if only to avoid ending up like Lars Ulrich if they ever made it out of Hawkins – while Jeff scribbled down every lyric that came to mind, still managing to chime in just enough to make sure Dustin knew he didn’t agree with a word he was saying.
And somehow, none of it reached Eddie.
He had been like that all week, except for Tuesday – distant, eyes fixed on the rings of his fingers, quiet in a way that didn’t quite belong at the Hellfire table.
Mike had long since tried to convince himself he’d given up on pulling Eddie back to the real world, on getting him to open up.
But every time his big brown eyes landed on the metalhead, the corner of his mouth dipped, and he tried it again – same as the past few lunches the oldest boy had been present for.
“You even listening, man?” Mike nudged him with his elbow.
Eddie shrugs. “Listening enough.”
“Bullshit,” Mike uttered, not buying it, his thick, dark eyebrows pulled together in disbelief.
He lingered for a second longer than he needed to, watching Eddie like he was trying to catch something slipping through the cracks.
“Just tired, Wheeler. Relax.”
Mike frowned, like he wanted to say something else and push just a little harder.
“Dude, he said he’s fine,” Dustin cut in from across the table, not even looking up as he gestured vaguely with a half-crushed soda can. “You interrogating him now, or can we get back to the actual important stuff?”
Jeff snorted, still scribbling. “Yeah, Henderson’s about to lose this argument, and I wanna witness it.”
“Oh, fuck off! I’m not losing–”
And, just like that, the moment slipped.
The conversation flooded back in – louder, faster, overlapping until it filled every inch of space again.
Eddie’s lunch stayed untouched on the table, too busy turning his ring over and over – like if he just kept it moving, nothing else would have to.
“You gonna eat that, or just kill it slowly?” Jeff asked, eyeing the tray.
Eddie huffed out something that almost passed for a laugh. “Workin’ on it.”
“Dude, you’ve been working on it for twenty minutes,” Dustin pointed out.
“Man’s pacing himself,” Gareth added with a chuckle, still drumming. “Respect.”
Mike didn’t say anything – he just watched.
Eddie felt it anyway, the weight of the boy’s eyes on him.
“Seriously,” Mike tried again, quieter now, leaning in just a little. “What’s going on with you?”
Eddie exhaled through his nose, sharp, spinning the ring faster around his finger. “Jesus, drop it already.”
The words came out harsher than he meant, and the table dipped – just slightly. Not quite in silence, but enough.
Gareth was still tapping out a rhythm against the table. Dustin was arguing – loud, insistent, like he always did – and Jeff kept cutting in between scribbling down whatever half-formed lyric had just crossed his mind.
It should’ve been easy to fall back into it, like it usually was.
But instead, their voices overlapped, bounced off each other, and mixed in with the noise of the clattering trays and laughter breaking through in sharp bursts that echoed through the cafeteria – until it all blurred together into something constant.
The sound of the cafeteria doors being pushed open was loud enough to still Eddie’s hands for a second.
His gaze drifted – lazy and unfocused – skimming past tables, faces he didn’t recognize or simple didn’t bother to remember.
And then it caught – too bright, too clean, too put together.
Eddie’s jaw shifted, and he looked away before he could actually really see anything.
“I’mma smoke,” he muttered out of nowhere, not bothering to push his chair back.
He didn’t look back as he walked out, nor did he look towards the emerald green table.
But he could feel it anyway – eyes following him all the way to the door.
An unexpected knock cut through the air.
Eddie blinked, the trailer snapping back into place around him – the hum of the old fridge, the faint buzz of a dying lightbulb overhead, the same thick air clinging to his skin.
“Yeah, yeah, hold on,” he muttered, already dragging a hand over his face as he pushed himself up from the couch.
He pulled the door open just enough to see her. Just another girl – familiar in the way they all were, wrapped in something rehearsed, eyes not quite meeting his.
Eddie leaned his shoulder against the frame, already settling into something he could take – something easy, something he’d rehearsed a long time ago.
“You here for a lesson?”
He didn’t wait for an answer and stepped aside, letting her in without another word. The door shut behind her, and for a second, she just stood there – like they all did – waiting for him to tell her what came next.
Eddie didn’t look at her right away. He caught the over-sprayed fragrance she carried with her – thick, syrupy, and impossible to ignore, especially with the heat amplifying it. He just jerked his head towards the back of the trailer, already moving.
And she followed – of course she did. They always did.
His room felt warmer than it had before, like the heat had shrunk the walls, turning his safe haven into something tight and unbearable.
Eddie stopped near the edge of his unmade bed and turned to face her – the same spot, the same distance, the same routine settling into place before he even had to think about it.
“You done this before?” he asked, forcing his voice not to fall as flat as it wanted to – like her answer actually mattered.
She shook her head.
“Alright,” he nodded once, like that confirmed something he already expected.
He shifted his weight slightly, one hand coming between them like he was mapping something out.
“It’s not complicated,” his voice stayed even, careful, like he had practiced: explain it, don’t feel it. “Don’t overthink it, yeah?”
His hands lifted again, slower this time, and settled on her hips – controlled, deliberate, like every movement had already been decided before it happened.
“If something doesn’t feel right, you stop,” he said, tone still even. “And we don’t rush it.”
Eddie didn’t look her in the eyes – not even once.
His grips tightened, just slightly, before easing again, like nothing had changed.
Same script. Same steps. Same distance.
That’s all it was supposed to be.
But then it slipped, just for a second, before he could stop it. A flash of something off – something too close, and too real. The way you’d looked at him like it wasn’t just something to get through, not something practiced or rehearsed – like it meant something.
It didn’t matter – he wouldn’t let it.
Eddie leaned in just enough, movements automatic and controlled as he closed the space between them. Simple and clean, the way he always worked.
“First thing?” he murmured, voice low. His hands moved from her hips to her face, holding it with a kind of care that didn’t belong there. “I’ll just lean in slow, give you a quick kiss.”
She closed her eyes before he even finished speaking – and there it was, the usual, cold treatment he was used to.
Eddie’s lips pushed against hers as soon as he leaned in, and it didn’t take more than a second or two before he pushed off again.
“See? Easy, peasy.”
“Second step,” he said after a moment, the words still quiet, measured. “Same idea, just a little longer, yeah?”
The script came out the way it always did.
And just like it always was, the second step wasn’t fleeting.
He tilted his head slightly, just enough to deepen the contact, his lips pressing more firmly against hers.
He tried to tell himself he couldn’t actually feel the difference between her lips and yours.
Eddie felt something hesitating – not in her, in himself. It was barely there, almost unnoticeable, but it was strong enough for him to pull away from her lips.
His eyebrows pulled tight for a second, the thought slipping in before he could stop it.
This isn’t right.
Not like before; not like it was supposed to be.
He tried pushing it down, leaning in just a fraction more, like he could correct it. Like he could force it back into something familiar and easy.
Something that didn’t mean anything.
His hand shifted back to her hips, grip tightening just enough to ground himself. He took in the overpowering scent of sweet musk and overripe peach, the way he could feel the heat bouncing off her rosy cheeks.
Same steps, same rules.
Don’t think, don’t feel.
Just get through it.
Eddie pulled away, breaking the kiss. He didn’t give her soft, little pecks like he had given you.
Instead, he just cleared his throat.
“Third step,” he said after a moment, voice still low and controlled. “Tongue. I’ll just… begin with touching your lower lip.”
The script came easy – like it always did.
He leaned in again, slower this time, letting it linger the way he was supposed to.
His hand lifted, hesitating for half a beat before settling again. He felt too aware while he did it and tried to mask it by brushing his thumb against her lip like he’d done a dozen times before.
And then Eddie’s curls were on her face again, the soft ends of his hair kissing her cheeks in the same gentle way his tongue slipped out of his mouth and touched her lower lip.
He could taste the inexperience in her soft but uncertain lips. She wasn’t quite following his lead but wasn’t really resisting either.
But he stayed there anyway, like he could force it into place if he just held it long enough.
He looked at the money you’d pushed into his hand, and decided to take the out you’d given him.
Eddie walked back to his room with nothing more than a slight jerk of his head towards the back of the trailer. He didn’t bother looking over his shoulder to see if you were following, neither did he bother to say anything to fill the tight air that lingered between you.
He stopped near the edge of his desk. His arms crossed briefly before they dropped again, like he couldn’t really decide to do with them, but never letting go of the wad of money.
He turned his back to you, leaning over the old desk to pull open the second drawer in one smooth motion. He took out a small box – similar to the lunchbox he carried to school, just smaller and without a handle – and set it on the worn wooden surface.
Still in silence, Eddie opened it and dropped the money you’d pressed into his hand inside without looking at it, without counting.
His back still faced you. His shoulders tensed briefly before he forced them down again, settling into something that almost looked relaxed.
He closed the box, shoved it back into the drawer, and let it slide shut before turning to face you again.
“Okay.”
His eyes found yours just as the first word slipped from his mouth – his dark brown gaze closed off, unreadable.
You didn’t smile, didn’t mutter a single word. You just stood there – watching and waiting, not even picking at any loose skin around your nails.
Eddie stepped closer, slower this time.
His hand came up to your jaw, black lacquered thumb brushing lightly along your skin – as if he was testing something, checking if you’d pull away.
But you didn’t.
Of course you didn’t – you’d paid for this.
The thought sat wrong in his chest – tight, and creeping under his skin, like the first drag of something he never should’ve touched in the first time.
Eddie hesitated for a second, like he was deciding how much of it to say out loud.
“It’s just building on the first one,” he muttered, eyes flickering past you instead of settling on your face. Easier that way. “Same idea, just closer.”
His fingers tapped once against his black-jean-clad thigh, like he was organizing the words in his head before continuing.
“You don’t rush it,” he added, voice flattening slightly. “You let it happen and just follow the rhythm.”
Eddie’s gaze flicked to yours, assessing – like it was as simple as he had just explained.
You just stayed there, standing in front of him like none of it was strange – like you hadn’t just placed more money in his hand than you actually owed.
Eddie gave you enough space to pull back if you wanted to – like he expected you to.
“Alright,” he muttered again before finally leaning in.
His hand shifted, hesitating for half a second before settling against your jaw, thumb brushing just beneath your lip like he was marking the soft skin. It drifted lower along the underside of your chin, tilting it slightly – adjusting the angle like it was nothing more than part of the lesson.
“Lesson two?”
His lips brushed softly against yours, but he didn’t close the sliver of distance just yet.
Your eyes closed for a second before opening again, catching the deep furrow in his brows, his gaze fixed on your parted lips.
He swallowed when he realised he’d been caught but didn’t look away.
“Pretty much the same,” he murmured, quieter now. “Just… deeper. Followed by some biting.”
If your face warmed under his touch and his gaze, you didn’t acknowledge it. You just nodded, barely taking in the rest of what he said.
It had never occurred to you that there was this much to it – that something so simple could stretch into something else entirely.
Eddie’s Adam’s apple moved when he swallowed, his eyes still fixed on your lips. His thumb remained under your chin, holding you there like he hadn’t quite decided to let go.
His movements turned absentminded – like he was trying not to give too much away.
He didn’t say anything else, nor did he need to.
His grip on your chin tightened slightly as he pulled your body closer, closing the last of the distance between you.
And then he tilted his head, lips pressing against yours, firmer this time, deeper; not rushed, but not as controlled either. His mouth moved against yours with quiet insistence, coaxing your lips to part further.
The tip of his nose nudged yours, and the ends of his curls brushed your cheeks just like they had the first time.
It felt familiar – but it wasn’t the same.
His tongue brushed lightly against your lower lip, testing, before slipping past when you gave way.
But as soon as the slick texture of his tongue touched yours – something shifted inside him.
Eddie’s hand left your chin, finding your hair instead. He hadn’t meant to – but before he could stop himself, his fingers tightened, nails grazing the nape of your neck.
You left out a soft sound, and he swallowed it without thinking – like he had done before.
And that was it.
Whatever control he’d been holding onto – it slipped.
His grip tightened in your hair, pulling just enough to tilt your head to deepen the kiss – more than he’d planned, more than the lesson called for.
Eddie had never been someone who cared enough to tidy up his room – Wayne never made a big deal out of it either – but now, the nagging voice in the back of his head wouldn’t shut up about it.
Dirty clothes scattered across the floor, his amp shoved too close to the door, empty beer and soda cans collecting dust on his desk, his nightstand – even his beloved bookshelf.
He prided himself on not caring what people thought – about him, about his room.
But now?
It wasn’t embarrassing; it was just all in his fucking way.
Like everything else lately.
And somehow, he still managed to push you back against the bare wall beside his bedroom door – the only stretch of smoke-tainted surface not covered in knickknacks, shelves, or whatever else he’d collected over the years.
The wall met your back with a soft, hollow thud, that made your breath hitch for just a second.
Eddie’s hand was still in your hair, his mouth still close enough to yours that your breaths mixed.
He moved against you with a quiet precision, like he knew exactly what he was doing – like he always did.
His tongue still moved expertly against yours in slick, precise wave-like movements. The grip he had on your hair tightened just enough to pull your head against the wall, and for a second his lips left yours – but not for long.
Eddie’s breath brushed warm across your face as he leaned in again, slower this time. Not the same – more deliberate. His mouth lingered at your lower lip, pulling the soft skin between his lips before catching it gently between his teeth.
And fuck, it pulled the smallest sound from you before you could stop it.
But the soft whimper was enough to shake him out of it.
Eddie’s chest rose heavier than he expected. He pulled back from your lips, trying to make it feel natural, like it had always been part of the lesson. His hand loosened in your hair, sliding down to rest against your shoulder instead.
Dark, coffee-brown eyes found yours, and lingered; taking in the mess he’d made of you.
Your hair slightly out of place, your brows faintly drawn together, your lips–
He swallowed.
“That’s, uh–” Eddie cleared his throat, like that might steady something in him. “That’s how you do it.”
Your gaze flicked over him in return – his uneven breathing, his own flushed lips, still slightly parted and glistening with what remained of your spit.
“Can I try?”
A moment passed, and not a word left his lips. Eddie just stared – the words not really sinking in.
He wasn’t used to this: someone asking to try things out on him.
They usually just let him do it to them, and when they’d catch the faintest idea of how to do it, they just left.
You could almost see the gears turning in his head, the way his own brows pulled together like you’d just said something in a language he didn’t speak.
You didn’t wait for an answer – your hand came up, slower than his had been, but steadier, and brushed your fingers slightly against his jaw before settling there.
You didn’t ask, but he didn’t move to guide you away either.
For the first time since he’d started this whole thing – he just let it happen.
You stepped closer, soft against the carpet, closing the space he’d tried to put back between you. Your thumb shifted under his chin the same way he had done to you, the rough stubble there softer than you expected it to feel beneath your touch.
You tilted his face down just slightly and brushed your lips against his – softer than before, testing.
And then you deepened it – picking up the rhythm he’d broken.
Eddie’s hand twitched at your side but didn’t settle.
This isn’t how it usually went, not even fucking close.
They followed. They waited. They looked at him like he already knew everything.
And you–
You watched, adjusted, and somehow… somehow you got it right away. Without really needing him for guidance.
Eddie’s jaw tightened under the warmth of your fingers, because this...
This wasn’t supposed to feel any different, but somehow it did.
You followed what he’d said – what you’d felt – letting the rhythm settle for just a second longer before shifting it to something slower, more deliberate. Your mouth lingered at his, just long enough to hesitate – like you were deciding if you’d gotten it right so far.
And then you tried it: your lips caught his, softer than expected, before your teeth followed in a careful, testing way, just enough to hold him there for a second longer than before.
Eddie’s breath hitched – and it wasn’t subtle, either.
His hand, still hovering uselessly at your side, finally moved – his fingers pressed into the fabric at your hips, like he needed something solid to ground himself.
Like he hadn’t expected that.
Not from you – who’d shown up at his door only a week ago, shy eyes and fidgeting fingers – and not like this.
You’d listened, and you’d understood.
His jaw tightened under your hand when the fleeting thought of Zack crossed his mind.
He shifted his grip again, but didn’t pull you away.
Just held on, pushing the uncomfortable thought away, because letting go would mean thinking about it.
But then Eddie pulled back anyway; he didn’t do it abruptly, just enough to put space where it was supposed to be in the first place.
His hand slipped from your hips like it had never been there for anything other than the lesson, and cleared his throat, dragging a hand over the back of his neck.
“That’s enough for tonight,” he muttered, voice rougher than he wanted it to be.
You just nodded – no hesitation, no second thought.
His eyes lingered on you for a second longer than he probably should have. There was something about the way you stood there – not rushing out, not looking away, or treating it like something to get over with.
And for some reason, that realization sat wrong and heavy in his chest.
Other girls took what they needed, figured out how to use it on someone else – they didn’t stay.
Because that is how this entire thing worked.
Eddie’s jaw tightened slightly; because sooner or later, you would too.
Because Eddie Munson wasn’t the kind of person someone like you chose – not when there were better options, easier ones.
Ones that didn’t come with edges, or warnings.
Eddie was the first one to look away.
He didn’t move until he heard the front door slam behind you.
Then he reached for the joint he’d rolled earlier – like the night hadn’t changed at all.
It didn’t take long for his bedroom to fill with earthy, blue smoke.
It didn’t take long for his eyes to wander, either – the soft indentations in the carpet of where you had stood, the wall he had pushed you against.
Eddie grabbed the first ashtray he could find and carried it over to his bed. He sat down at first, then let himself fall back against the worn mattress with a sigh that felt like it had been building for too long, eyes fixed to the ceiling.
Yeah, he was screwed.
Royally so.
⋆˚꩜｡a/n: i'm sorry that this is also more of a filler chapter? ig? but yeah at least we're finally getting somewhere with these two (yippie!)
maddie babes im swaying my legs and giggling every time i see you reblog another chapter of xchc 🤭🤭 glad to know you’re enjoying it hehehe -lua/moontannedmunson
ahh!! hi!!! 💗
i was binge reading it last night i had to stop cause it was getting so late! it’s so good!!
⋆˚꩜｡summary: A week of distance, a second date that almost works, and bathroom whispers that won’t stop echoing.
⋆˚꩜｡tags: no y/n, she/her reader, slow burn, coming of age?, internal conflict, slight angst, emotionally disconnect, wrong timing, emotional avoidance, overthinking, quiet yearning, second date, more zack (soz), yn kinda whoring eddie out (whats new)
⋆˚꩜｡tw: very mild suggestive content (pg-13, but minors are still not welcome!), inexperienced!reader (not in a dumb/childish way), experienced!eddie, slight power imbalance, internalized stigma/social judgment, anxiety, tom cruise
⋆˚꩜｡word count: 3.7k+
Monday passed in a blink of an eye.
So did Tuesday, and Wednesday, for that matter.
Nearly an entire week had passed since you last saw Eddie.
Teachers you shared didn’t even blink at his name when their eyes scanned down the call list, too used to his absence to worry about their student anymore. It didn’t really matter anyway – principal Higgins was practically ready to hand him his godforsaken diploma, just so he could finally get rid of the troubled boy once and for all. No one in your shared class had seemed to notice either.
Your eyes travelled to the back of every class you shared, lingering on his usual desks – always in the far back, close to the window. They all sat empty, only soft rays of sunshine occupying them when it travelled through the windows just right.
Zack had slung his arm around your shoulders when you walked through the heavy school doors this morning, only taking it off when he walked you to your first class, dropping onto your shoulders. The thick green material of his letterman didn’t feel as nice as you’d imagined weeks ago – it felt too heavy, too trapping. Too energy consuming.
But you let him anyway – wasn’t that the right thing to do? To let yourself drown in Zack’s green eyes, go on a few more dates with him, until you forgot all about a certain metalhead – just like he expected, like he’d told you to?
The guilt wouldn’t let you. Even if you wanted to.
Still, you tried.
You tried to go back to the lingering stares shared across the hallway and the cafeteria, the quick, soft brushing of your hands. You tried to wear Zack’s letterman with the same confidence Chrissy Cunningham carried when she wore Jason’s. But it all just felt so… empty. Meaningless.
The door to your English classroom was pulled open with a sudden creak. A black mess of dark eye-bags and frizzy hair slipped through the frame.
Eddie’s hand slipped a note to the teacher, who gave him a soft, knowing smile as she finished reading it. She was the only one who hadn’t given up on him – not yet, anyway. She told him to find his seat and which page to open up his tattered copy of the Scarlet Letter.
He walked passed without looking at you.
The clatter of trays and overlapping voices buzzed louder than usual, the noise of the cafeteria pressing in on you from all sides, making it harder to focus on anything in particular.
Nathalie was unusually quiet as she sat across from you, picking at her food more than actually eating it – the ugly shade of green she hated so much still on her nails, pulling at all the things her stomach couldn’t keep down. Every now and then her eyes flicked up to your face – quick, quiet glances she didn’t bother hiding.
You forced yourself to take a bite of the Granny Smith apple you brought from home, not really tasting anything.
Overlapping voices, laughter spilling over itself, someone talking too fast and too loud about something you couldn’t quite hear – nor did you really care to – carried across to your usual table. It came from a few tables down – the already full table of emerald green. You didn’t know what drew your attention there, away from the faint, sour taste of your apple, but it did.
Your gaze landed on Zack, who was already smiling your way. He pushed himself up slightly, palms pressing against the table as he leaned forward, coaxing you over with a small tilt of his head.
You glanced at the table – it was already too full, no empty seats left.
But of course he would make room – because that’s just who he was.
He tapped someone to his left and pointed towards two seats at the table behind them, murmuring something you couldn’t hear.
Nathalie had seen the interaction – of course she had, nothing passed behind her. Her blonde hair stayed stiff with hairspray as her head turned slightly, her eyes moving between you and Zack.
She stood before you did, shooting you a look as she picked up the half-eaten sandwich from her tray. Nathalie didn’t even like most of the people at his table, but she knew you needed something – anything, really – other than your own thoughts. She would sit through the overpowering mix of post-practice deodorant and overly sweet perfume, the shallow conversations from the girls in green – she would do anything to pull you out of it, even if it meant sitting through her worst nightmare. Assholes in green, as she’d call them.
The letterman still on your shoulders weighted even more than they had all day. You nodded and followed.
Zack pulled a chair out for you, right next to his, his hand brushing lightly against your back as you stepped in. The noise didn’t stop when you sat down – it didn’t even dip, like your presence had always been part of their routine. Even Nathalie, faking smiles and gasps as she easily joined the conversation felt natural to it.
Someone called your name, asking what you’d thought of the movie you went to with Zack – if you had enjoyed it or if you were too preoccupied sucking face with the boy you went out with. Zack gave his friend a shove and a scowl that could only mean shut the hell up, man.
But their voices blurred into the background noise.
Your gaze flickered across the room instead – towards the door Eddie had just gone through, leaving his table of black sheep behind.
Zack’s hand clasping around yours pulled your attention back to the table.
And there it was again: that weird, conflicting feeling settling deep in your stomach, melting into the heavy letterman on your shoulders, the warmth of Zack’s hand on yours, the slight sting at your free thumb.
You had been picking at the loose skin with your index finger without even realizing it.
Nathalie didn’t say anything, her eyes flickering briefly to the irritated skin before they flickered back to Chrissy.
The bathroom door creaked shut when you let go of it, the noise of the busy hallway dulling instantly.
You walked pass the mirrors, not daring to catch the faintest glimpse of the sad expression you surely wore. You didn’t slow down until the stall door clicked shut, the finnicky lock sliding into place with a soft snap. Only then did you let yourself breathe.
And then the door opened again, its creak echoing through the otherwise empty bathroom, followed by hasty footsteps. A second passed before the sink turned on with a sharp rush, water hitting the cold porcelain loud enough to drown it all out.
“You still thinking about it?” one of them asked, her voice dropping just slightly, like the running water wasn’t enough to cover their conversation.
“I mean– yeah,” the other said, a soft nervous laugh slipping through before a forced tone of indifference took over. “It’s just… weird, I guess.”
“Then just go to Eddie,” she said, like it was the most obvious answer in the world. “He won’t care. It’s literally what he does.”
The water kept running, the sound filling the room.
“Besides,” she added, like an afterthought, “people go to him all the time. You wouldn’t be the first.”
You almost missed the small, disbelieving tsked that followed, too busy with replaying her words in your mind.
Tom Cruise’s face was one you were very familiar with – it was a face you and Nathalie had talked about countless times in the safe confines of your rooms – ever since you’d gone to the movie theatre last year to watch The Outsiders with linked arms, two sodas and a large popcorn passed back and forth between you.
His bold, dark eyebrows contrasted sharply – deliciously, as Nathalie would say – against his bright blue eyes, more than enough to catch anyone’s attention. Even his slightly crooked tooth was somehow worked in his favour. Add the cocky, rough, loyal character he played, and it was safe to say his role had stolen your focus completely, the actual plot of the movie fading behind excited, looping words of teenage obsession that spilled from your mouths afterward.
And now there you were again – on a Friday night, sunk into the cushioned red seats of the theatre. Cruise’s face filled the screen, upside down in a jet, the bright light reflecting faintly across your own.
And yet – you couldn’t focus on any of it.
The whole singing at the bar scene, the high-speed aerial combat – Zack’s fingers intertwined with yours, his other hand too busy hiding the boyish grin tugging at his lips.
Well, at least he was enjoying the movie.
To be fair – it wasn’t like you weren’t enjoying the movie. You just weren’t paying enough attention to tell – even with your eyes fixed on the scream, nothing really stuck.
His letterman still warmed your shoulders when you drove home after school yesterday as you spent the entire ride convincing yourself to try harder with Zack.
In the social hierarchy of Hawkins High, a jock giving his emerald green jacket to a girl could only mean one thing: he liked you. Actually liked you, and that you were something – even if neither of you had put a name to it.
And there was more than enough proof of it, too. His thumb brushing softly over your hand, the lingering stares he gave you when you weren’t looking, the way his teammates teased him – all rosy-cheeked, grinning like an idiot whenever your name came up.
So you went to bed yesterday, determined to make it work.
That morning, you pulled your arms through the soft green sleeves of his jacket, your reflection staring back at you – one eye done, the other waiting. Pastel green eyeshadow, purposefully matched to the fabric over your shoulders.
You pulled into the parking lot, sunlight catching the deep green fabric and making it stand out even more. Eyes followed you as you made your way toward the metal table and benches where the basketball team gathered before the first bell.
Cocky, teenage boys turned all their attention to you when you approached Zack with slow, confident steps. The closer you got, the more they whispered among themselves, nudging him from left and right with their elbows.
A quiet fuck off, guys fell from his lips as you reached him. Zack pushed his body off the bench and met you halfway, a soft smile already pulling at his lips.
And before that nagging voice could stop you – you leaned in, and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. Quick and easy, without missing a beat.
“Wanna go see a movie tonight?”
The rest of the day blurred past, Zack never too far from your side. And right before you got into your car, he told you he’d pick you up at eight.
Tom Cruise still couldn’t hold your attention, no matter how hard you tried to get out of your head.
His fingers squeezed yours softly, pulling your gaze towards him. His eyes searched your face for a second longer than usual, his brows pulling together just slightly.
“You okay?” he asked, voice low enough not to disturb the people around you.
“Yeah,” you murmured, your voice just as quiet. “I’m fine, really.”
Zack held your gaze for a moment longer, like your words hadn’t fully convinced him, but he didn’t push. Just nodded back before lifting your hand to his mouth, a soft peck landing on your skin.
The movie kept playing. Tom Cruise’s character reunites with the blonde bombshell at the bar and their story comes to full circle to where they first met. And then the lights came back on.
The room shifted around you – people standing, stretching and yawning, voices returning all at once and louder than during the movie.
Zack stood first, gently pulling you up from your seat and guiding you out of the theatre. The cool night air and the warm yellow glow of the marquee lights blurred together as they hit your face.
His thumb brushed softly against your hand, but he stayed quiet as you approached his car. Zack pulled his car keys and unlocked the vehicle with a quiet turn of the key, pulling the passenger door open for you before walking around to his side and getting in.
The leather seat felt colder than you expected as you slid in, the faint smell of polished leather settling around you.
Neither of you said anything as Zack brought the engine to life, the soft buzz of the radio following right after. He turned the volume down as he pulled out of the parking spot, his hand returning to the wheel as he turned his face towards you.
“So,” he started, glancing at you before looking back at the road, “what’d you think?”
You leaned your head against the seat, your eyes drifting over him. The warm yellow glow of the streetlights slipped in and out of the car, lighting his face every few seconds. That soft, almost orange hue suited him – like he could’ve been the lead in something like this himself.
“I kept waiting for it to get boring,” you said, a quiet laugh slipping out as you turned your gaze to the window. “Kept waiting for a chance to kiss you.”
It took Zack a second or two to let the words sink in. A quiet laugh, sound softer than you expected, left his lips as he pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek and shook his head, not having expected those words to leave your mouth.
“Yeah?” he said, a small smile pulling at his lips as he glanced at you again. His fingers tightened just slightly around the steering wheel before relaxing.
“Guess I should’ve picked something worse, then.”
You huffed out something that almost sounded like a laugh, your gaze still fixed on the dark window beside you.
The warm, orange hue kept passing – lighting up his face, then taking it away again.
“It was good,” you added, only for the sake of it. You had no idea if it was or not.
He nodded, like that was enough, letting the radio play softly in the background. Something slow and familiar filled the space that neither of you did.
The car slowed as he turned onto your street, tires crunching lightly against the gravel as your house came into view quicker than you expected. He pulled up to the curb, the engine humming quietly before he shifted it into park.
The radio kept playing while the engine ticked softly, just beneath the surface.
“I had a good time,” he said after a moment of silence, his voice just a little more careful now.
“Yeah, me too,” the words came out too easy. He smiled at that, something softer settling into his expression.
“Walk you to the door?”
“I’d like that.”
The night settled around you, a little colder than before, the fading warmth of the engine no longer enough to keep it out.
Zack fell into step beside you without saying anything, his shoulder brushing yours every now and then as you walked up the lit driveway.
He was already looking at you, green eyes drowning in affection.
Then he lifted his hand, slow and careful. His fingers brushed lightly against your temple as he tucked a loose strand hair behind your ear, the touch lingering just a moment longer than it needed to.
His other hand found your waist, gentle, like he wasn’t sure how much space he was allowed to take.
Zack’s warmth felt more familiar then it had been last week.
You kissed him back just as softly as he kissed you.
His hand lingered at your waist for a second longer before slipping away as he pulled back, fingers brushing lightly against your side as they fell.
“Goodnight,” he whispered.
You watched him walk down the driveway, hands tucked into the pockets of the jacket you’d returned after school.
You stood there a few seconds longer, just watching.
He didn’t look back as he made his way to his car. He opened the door, slipped inside, and before you knew it, the low rumble of his V8 filled the quiet residential street.
Only when he hit the gas – deepening the sound into a throaty roar as he pulled away – did you turn back towards the front door.
Your fingers curled around the doorknob as you stepped inside.
The dark hallway was drenched with the soft glow coming from the living room TV, and the brief silence that surrounded you was broken by the soft, quiet laughter of your parents, wrapped up in a date of their own.
They were together, like they were supposed to be.
Like it didn’t take any effort at all.
Your parents had gone to bed a few hours ago, the house breathing in deafening silence that was only broken every once in a while when the late-night breeze slammed a branch against your window.
Sleep didn’t come as you lay on your back, staring at the ceiling, your body too tense to move – nor did the rest your mind so desperately needed. Neither tried to slip under the door, flowing in the air until it reached your tired state.
Your eyes caught on a faint tear in the wallpaper near the ceiling, and it felt horribly similar to how you’d felt all day at school. There and visible, but too easy to miss for those who didn’t really care to take a good look. It mirrored the raw skin of your thumb from where you’d picked at all day long.
Your stomach tightened at the echo of those words in the back of your mind. Turning onto your side and pulling the sheets tighter around yourself didn’t help to keep them out – didn’t help still your mind. It was stupid to think it might’ve, but still.
Seriously – there had to be a way to take your brain out after a long day and just shove it into the strongest, thickest bleach you could find. Something that would burn it all blank, wipe everything clean, let you forget the bathroom whispers and just–
Let you get some fucking sleep, for once.
But sleep was a luxury the circling words of the two girls wouldn’t give you – a luxury you didn’t feel worthy of. They just kept rattling – sometimes quieter, then sharper, louder again.
You wouldn’t be the first time.
Your jaw tightened as a sharp exhale left your nose, your fingers curling into the sheets until they hurt.
This was stupid. All of it was – the thinking, the circling words, the lack of sleep.
You sat up, the mattress creaking under you, the sound too loud in the otherwise quiet room. The headboard was felt cold and too hard against your back, but you stayed like that anyway – feet tucked beneath you, head resting against the wood, eyes still glued on the tearing wallpaper.
You moved before you could think it through – because if you did, you knew you wouldn’t. You pushed yourself away from the headboard, socked feet against the floor making as much noise as your moving body had made against the mattress.
The hallway felt colder than it had earlier that night, when you’d left your parents glowing in the sharp light of the living room TV.
You grabbed your keys near the front door, the living room now as dark and empty as your bedroom upstairs.
And you didn’t turn around when the heavy door clicked softly shut behind you – not even when the night air hit your face in sharp, freezing touches.
Life in Forest Hills wasn’t always pretty – a lot of the time, it was downright ugly. Stray dogs chased off until they found shelter between trailers, neighbours who didn’t talk much but still showed up when it mattered.
But it was peaceful. Cozy, even.
And contrary to what people liked to believe, it wasn’t all empty beer cans and hollering white trash.
Just quiet – almost like a lullaby.
Tonight’s stillness was broken by the echoing crunch of your tires on gravel.
You cut the engine with a sharp turn of your hand, freeing the trailer park from its loud, rough shuddering.
The car door shut behind you with a dull thud, the sound amplified by the trees and the vast nothing beyond them – louder than it should’ve been.
Your fist met the cold, hard aluminium. Three knocks – steadier, louder than the last two times.
The silence that lingered in the air was broken by the heavy, creaking pull of the door from the inside, opening just enough for him to look at you.
And for a few brief seconds, that’s exactly what he did. His eyes never left your face – they didn’t drift to the oversized shirt that had once belonged to your father, or the mismatched socks peeking from your shoes.
Then they closed, just for a second or two. His brows pulled together, his forehead resting briefly against the doorframe they still hadn’t fixed. A quiet breath left him before his eyes opened again. He pushed himself upright, something bored settling over his expression – too deliberate to be real.
“Let’s not make this a habit, Sweetheart,” he said. His voice didn’t sound as disinterested or annoyed like he wanted – more bordering on defeat. “You gotta stop coming here. Showing up like this–”
You cut him off.
You took a step forward, your hand caught the edge of the door just as he started to push it closed – firm enough to stop him.
Your other hand moved just as quickly, pressing a small wad of crumpled bills into his palm. More than what he asked for half an hour. More than thirty you still owed him.
Giving him something easier to accept.
Whatever he was about to do stopped with the forceful push into his palm. Eddie’s eyes dropped to the money, lingering there longer than he wanted. His eyes lifted back to yours, something unreadable in them.
You held his gaze, your own expression carefully blank. Only the slight shift of your brow gave anything away – frustration maybe.
“You’re the teacher, right?” you said, voice steady, sharper than he’d ever heard it. “Then teach me.”
Eddie just stood there, the money still in his hands, while he let your words settle – heavier than they should’ve.
He didn’t outright invite you, but he stepped aside anyway. The door shut behind you with a quick, harsh pull when you walked passed him without another word.
⋆˚꩜｡a/n: sooo i wasn’t planning on posting again so soon (wanna keep yall on ya toes) and i triedddd meshing chapters 3 and 4 but it just wasn’t working :/ and since its even shorter than usual, and a filler one at that, i decided why not heh ;) i promise to make it up in the next one (hopefully) (don’t know when I’ll update again) but as always, thank you for reading and please please lemme know your thoughts :)
edit: i just fucking noticed all the spelling mistakes im so sorry!!! tried my best to correct it all, but one or two may have slipped :( hope it didn’t ruin the reading experience
⋆˚꩜｡summary: A good date with Zack, restless feelings that won’t settle, and a door that doesn’t stay open.
⋆˚꩜｡tags:no y/n, date night, teenage angst, coming of age?, slow burn (kinda), internal conflict, guided intimacy, multiple povs, nathalie being mean about eddie but she's a sweetheart to us, car make out, kinda ooc\oc eddie, guarded/self deprecating eddie, different/jumping povs, jumpy timelines (lemme know if i missed anything!)
⋆˚꩜｡tw: very mild suggestive content (pg-13, but minors are still not welcome!), inexperienced!reader (not in a dumb/childish way), experienced!eddie, slight power imbalance, internalized stigma/social judgment, anxiety, mentions of smoking cigarettes, mentions of smoking weed, sucky writing
⋆˚꩜｡word count: 7.9k+
The Indiana air felt warmer than it had any right to be.
Late spring had settled in overnight, soft rays of sunshine spilling through the lace detailing of your curtains, warm, golden streaks that stretched softly across your bedroom floor. Somewhere outside, someone started the engine of their car, the low hum blending with the chirping birds.
You watched the leaves shift with the slightest breeze from your bed, unmoving, lost in thought. You lay there for a moment longer, hoping the shifting leaves outside would give you the courage you needed to get up and get ready for school.
They didn’t – they just continued their soft dance, the gentle, warm breeze helping them maintain their steady rhythm.
Your eyes shifted to the small digital clock above of your desk. You had less than fifteen minutes to leave the house, if you wanted to be on time for your first class.
Eddie was in that class.
So was Zack.
With a quiet exhale, you threw the sheets off your body and pushed yourself up. Your inner turmoil felt eerily similar to the disgusting, morning crust that had settled in the corners of your eyes.
Everything felt disconnected as you pulled shirt after shirt out of your closet. You changed, then changed again. Nothing felt right.
Your eyes shifted to the baby pink skirt you had thrown on the ground. With a quiet huff, you pushed it further out of your line of sight with the tip of your socked foot.
You got dressed quickly after that, something safe, something that didn’t remind you of–
The thought didn’t fully form. You didn’t dare – instead cutting it with the same clean precision only a gardener uses to trim back a rose before it had a chance to bloom.
Your bag hung heavier on your shoulder than usual as you made your way to school.
The front steps of the school were already crowded, clusters of students gathered in their usual spots, overlapped voices mixing in with the sounds of parking cars and screeching bicycles that desperately needed an oiling.
Nathalie stood near the entrance, one hand resting on her hip while the other hand gestured animatedly as she spoke, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she bobbed her head.
“There you are!” she cut herself off mid-sentence when she saw you, waving a quick goodbye to whoever she’d been talking to. Her attention shifted entirely towards you, as it always did. Her eyes sparkled with something you couldn’t decipher. “You look… different.”
“You mean I look like shit,” you mumbled. It’s how you felt, at least.
“Well,” she smiled, a small giggle escaping her lips. “You said it, not me.”
“Geez, Nath, thanks for making me feel better,” you rolled your eyes, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Nathalie’s smile faltered, the sides of her mouth tilting downwards. You could see the worry forming in her eyes as she realised you weren’t actually kidding. A sigh escaped her lips.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”
Her hand brushed lightly against your arm, moving up until it rested on your shoulder. She gave you a supportive squeeze. You noticed her gaze lingering on your face, searching, but not pushing you to open up. Nathalie knew you better than that – she knew you would only shut down.
“Do you wanna hear what I found out about Stacey M.?” she asked, changing the subject, her eyes glimmering with a mixture hope of mischief. “It’s juicyyy.”
“Ugh, please,” you begged, your head rolling backwards. Your neck ached from the weird position you’d slept in. “Tell me everything.”
Nathalie’s entire posture straightened, like you had handed her a microphone. She didn’t need to be told twice.
Her blonde hair moved around as she looked around, making sure no one was listening, before leaning in slightly. Lowering her voice despite the loud noise around you, she said: “You know how there has been talk about her acting all weird lately?”
You nodded, even though you didn’t really. You got all your gossip from Nathalie, and you couldn’t really remember if she had mentioned Stacey’s weird behaviour before.
“Well, apparently, and get this–” she paused dramatically, eyebrows arching as one side of her mouth tilting upwards in a smirk, “she’s been sneaking someone into her house. Late at night.”
Your brows pulled together, an incredulous yet bored expression settling on your face. “That’s it? That’s the big, juicy gossip you had to tell me?”
The first ring echoed through the campus, the chatter around you turning into collective groaning. Nathalie linked your arms together, the dark brown of her blazer contrasting against the teal colour of your dress.
Nathalie gasped theatrically, scandalised. “Excuse me, I’m not done.”
You huffed out a quiet laugh.
“She’s not sneaking just anyone in,” she went on, voice dropping even lower as you walked into the creamy hallways. “Guess who?”
You shrugged, brows furrowing.
“Mr. Flynn’s son.”
You blinked, halting mid-step. “No,” you said flatly.
“Yes,” Nathalie nodded, eyes wide. “And get this–”
She kept talking, her free hand moving, voice animated, the story unfolding in dramatic pieces that somehow got more ridiculous with every sentence.
You tried to follow along – you really did. But your attention kept slipping away, catching on things that had absolutely nothing to do with Stacey M., or Mr. Flynn’s awkward, pimple-covered son.
Someone shouted across the hallway, lockers slammed shut, a steady stream of chattering student passing you and then–
You saw him, leaning against the lockers.
Zack stood just a few feet ahead, one shoulder casually leaning against the metal. A small group had gathered around him, hooked on every word that slipped from his mouth. He laughed at something his friend said, easy and effortless, like he always did.
Your fingers tightened around your bag strap. You let your eyes linger for a moment, Nathalie’s voice drowning in the loud environment.
He looked good. He always did.
The emerald green material of his letterman hugged his biceps perfectly. A simple white tee sat neatly underneath, a pair of light-wash jeans and white sneakers completing the look.
His eyes scanned the hallway absentmindedly until they finally found yours. They twinkled softly under the harsh fluorescent lights directly above him, and he smiled. His right hand slipped out of the small front pocket of his jeans to wave at you. A soft, shy smile tugged at your lips as you waved back.
It was like the hallway had stilled – no shouting teenagers, or lockers slamming shut, no squeaking sounds of sneakers moving against tiled floor. Everything around you stopped existing for a moment, your attention fixed solely on him, and only him.
Up until something black moved in the corner of your eye, pulling your attention away from Zack – making your lips part, and your chest tighten in a way you hadn’t expected it to do this early in the day.
Eddie leaned against the wall, a little removed from the crowd, like he existed just outside of everyone else’s world.
His head titled slightly downward, headphones connected to his Walkman, ringed fingers tapping absentmindedly against his thigh.
He looked up, scanning the loud hallways for his friends – landing on you instead. Something flickered in his eyes right before he looked away again.
As quickly as the noise had disappeared, it appeared again. Nathalie’s voice rang in your ears as she animatedly moved her hand around – still going on about Stacey M. and Mr. Flynn’s son. You could make out some of the words if you tried hard enough, but you were too busy taking in what just happened.
The Biology classroom felt warmer than the hallway. Stuffier, like the air hadn’t quite settled yet.
The closed windows didn’t help.
Chairs scraped against the tiled floor as students settled into their seats, the loud murmur of conversation filling the space while everyone waited for Mr. Sullivan to enter.
You slipped into your seat quietly, your bag dropping a little heavier than usual beside your desk. A sigh escaped your lips while your fingers moved slowly to retrieve your notebook and pen.
Your hand stilled instantly as a flash of olive-green caught your attention instead.
The triangular piece of plastic at the bottom of your backpack made your breath hitch.
Your fingers stilled for a second too long when you took it out of your bag. Your fingers trembled, and the pick slipped, hitting the floor with a soft, barely audible sound.
Somewhere close to you, a chair scraped against the floor. “Here.”
The loud sound that filled the classroom dulled, your heart now pounding erratically in your ears. You almost missed Zack’s smooth voice as he bent down, fingers closing around the small, green piece of plastic.
He straightened again, holding it out between his fingers, a small, easy smile pulling at his lips. “Didn’t know you played,” he added casually.
Your mouth opened and closed, not a single word coming out of you. You gulped, managing to murmur a low thank you. Something tightened in your chest, the view of Zack holding–
Like a magnet, your gaze was pulled across the room in one swift motion.
He sat a few rows back, his form slightly slouched in his chair. One arm rested on the empty desk behind him, the other drummed softly against his notebook.
His eyes were already on you. They didn’t give anything away – no surprise, no confusion. Eddie just… watched, taking in the way Zack held the pick, the way your lips parted when your gaze locked onto his.
Something about the look in your eyes felt familiar. Maybe it was the hesitating gaze, something he had gotten used to a long time ago. It should’ve been easy to ignore, like it usually was.
The green flash between Zack’s fingers caught his attention again.
Eddie’s fingers slowed against his notebook. His jaw shifted awkwardly, and his tongue pressed against his teeth. He then leaned back in his chair, the movement slow, deliberate.
He looked away just as Mr. Sullivan entered the classroom, five minutes too late.
The warmth that had felt almost comforting that morning now clung to everything in an uncomfortable way – heavy, unmoving, settling deep in your bones and the air alike.
Your eyes were glued to the blue sky, watching how the cloud passed through, faster than they had in your childhood. They weren’t shaped into anything interesting, no matter how hard you tried to make something out of them. The grass was still warm from the sun when you lay down, the fabric of your dress bunching slightly beneath you still hips.
Nathalie’s hand played gently with your hair, taking in the distant look in your eyes. “I have half a chocolate bar, if you want,” she whispered softly, careful not to startle you.
Your head shifted in her lap, your gaze flickering up to her face. You watched the way her unstyled hair cascaded down, tickling your cheeks. Your eyes blinked once, twice – and then you looked away again, shrugging softly against her legs.
She sighed, the sound so soft you almost missed it. Her fingers kept moving through your hair. “Do you want to talk about it?”
You paused, not in a haste to answer. Instead, you watched the trees in the distance. Calm, dancing leaves moving with the gentle rhythm of the evening breeze. You wished you felt as peaceful as the view in front of you. You stayed silent for a moment longer, lips parting ever so slightly before closing again.
“I don’t know if I can,” you whispered back after a moment of silence.
Nathalie’s eyebrows furrowed, worry settling quietly across her delicate features.
She had noticed it – the unusual, heavy sadness that had followed you around all day. When she learned that your last class of the day had been cancelled, the decision to skip her own came easily.
She hadn’t planned the picnic. You never planned them – they just happened, the way they always did, trailing back to simpler days, where skinned knees and bad days could be softened with sun-warmed grass and shared giggles.
“That’s okay,” she whispered. “But I’m here if you wanna.”
“I know.” You closed your eyes and snuggled further into her lap, letting the soft movements of her fingers ease away the worries.
A quiet moment passed. Nathalie’s fingers never stopped moving through your hair, slow and gentle, like she was offering something easy to focus on instead of your thoughts. The soft feeling of her fingers mixed in with the warm sunrays hitting your face – it was almost enough to melt away all the worry you carried. Almost.
“You know,” she started lightly, her tone shifting just enough to catch your attention. You opened your eyes, your gaze taking in the smile on her lips. “Your reaction this morning was quite disappointing. I’m never telling you any gossip again.”
“My reaction, disappointing?” You mimicked her smile. “If anything, it was your gossip that was disappointing.”
Nathalie gasped quietly above you, her hand stilled in your hair. “Wow, okay. Noted.” Her fingers resumed, her face pulled into a dramatic frown. “I risk my reputation as the most reliable source of information at our school, and this is the thanks I get?”
You chuckled softly, but the sound died as quickly as it came, replaced by a sigh. Your gaze moved away again.
“You don’t have to tell me everything,” she said softly, following your gaze towards the grey bark of an old American beech. “Just… something. Anything, really.”
You hesitated, your fingers curling slightly around the fabric of your dress.
“I went to see him,” you admitted quietly.
She knew that already, it was the only thing you had told her yesterday. Still, she pushed down the nagging voice in the back of her head, the one that wanted to beg for details, choosing instead not to interrupt. She knew that if she did, you would just shut down again, and that was the last thing she wanted.
You swallowed, your gaze still fixed on the American beech. The silence stretched again, but it didn’t feel as heavy this time.
“He isn’t like everyone says he is,” you finished quietly.
Nathalie didn’t react right away. Her fingers kept moving through your hair, slow and steady.
“No?” she asked quietly.
You shook your head slightly against her lap.
“No,” you repeated, voice barely a whisper. You didn’t raise your voice as you continued: “He was… careful, patient.”
Nathalie’s hand stilled for just a fraction of a second before continuing again. Her eyebrows pulling together slightly at your confession.
“He kept checking in, asking me if I was okay,” you added, voice still small and soft, like saying it out loud made it more real.
Nathalie hummed softly above you. She remembered how he was with her, the memories of her own experience coming back up with your words.
“It was sweeter than I thought it would be,” you murmured. “And it wasn’t something I just wanted to get over with.”
Nathalie had gone through it too; she had stood in the very same room, where awkwardness, cigarette smoke, and teenage sweat lingered in the air. But she hadn’t seen him in the way you were describing him. She still couldn’t. The words lingered between you, the silence stretching in the atmosphere.
“I…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper. Your gaze lifted back to Eddie’s, his dark brown eyes already fixed on yours – soft and attentive, still waiting.
The words died softly on your tongue. You didn’t know how to explain it, or if you even should.
His thumbs were still on your hips, not digging anymore but moving is small, soft circles. The warmth of his fingers seeped into the fabric of your skirt, leaving a quiet heat against your skin – grounding, not demanding.
“Hey,” he said quietly, tilting his head just slightly, trying to catch your gaze when it faltered. “You don’t have to force it. We can just stop right here.”
Your brows pulled together, the thought sat heavier than it should have. Your fingers tightened slightly around the pick still caught between them.
The words slipped out before you could overthink them. “I don’t want to stop.”
Eddie stilled. His gaze drifted to the glowing red digital clock on the desk behind you. Five past ten. He chose to ignore it.
His gaze flickered back over your face. “Okay,” he said after a heartbeat, voice lower now.
Friday night had rolled around in a blink of an eye, bringing a soft drop in the temperature with it. The night breeze was colder than it had been all week, making the branches and bright green leaves shake against your bedroom window.
The clock above your desk let you know it was time to start getting ready – it was already too late to ring the Whitaker’s family phone and call it off. Even if there had been time enough to do it , you weren’t sure it would’ve been a good decision, one you wouldn’t regret later. You had been so excited Wednesday, when Zack asked you to stay behind for a few seconds after History, flashing that dreamy smile of his while he asked you out.
You had dreamt about this for weeks, even before the words ever left his mouth.
So why did you have this weird knot in the pit of your stomach?
The clocked continued ticking silently. Fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine – eight o’clock.
You pushed yourself off the bed, your movements slower than usual, forced. Getting ready felt different now – less exciting, less…
Your fingers hesitated over the dress you had chosen before going to Eddie’s that night – something baby blue, pretty. The fabric now felt unfamiliar against your touch, like this night wasn’t deserving of it.
You threw it on anyway – smoothed it down more times than necessary, trying to force your mind not to think too much about it, to focus instead on doing your make-up.
The radio that sat on your desk was unusually silent, the ticking noise of the clock filling the space instead.
The sound of a car engine broke your train of thought just as you had put down your mascara – it felt almost rehearsed. It slowed as it approached your house, its tires crunching softly against the gravel as its headlights shone the front lawn.
He was early – just a few minutes.
You put down the tube of mascara, taking one last look in the mirror. Nervous, unsure eyes stared back at you – it didn’t ease the knot in your stomach, it only tightened further.
A sigh left your painted lips as you lingered for a second longer than necessary. The sound of the engine outside idled steadily, a quiet reminder that waiting any longer would only drag the entire night out.
The yellow, decorative rug didn’t do much to dampen the sound of your steps against the wooden floor of your bedroom – a sound that repeated and echoed through the hallway and down the stairs. Or maybe it was all in your head – like you were.
You paused in front of the heavy, stained-glass door – just for a second, to inhale, to let it sink.
You were going on a date. With Zack. It was going to be nice, easy and fun. And you were going to swoon, and impress, and wrap him around your finger with your kiss.
The way Eddie had taught you.
You swallowed – a dry, uncomfortable feeling sliding down your throat – and opened the door.
Zack stood on the other side, one hand tucked into the pocket of his jean jacket, the other holding a bouquet of flowers. He had done his research – he brought your favourites.
His smile came easy when his gaze landed on you, taking in the soft colour of your dress and the matching eye shadow you’d applied.
“Hey,” he whispered absentmindedly, still taking in the sight in front of him.
“Hey,” you echoed, voice quiet, but not for the same reason as his.
“You look…” he inhaled deeply, a soft pink shade taking over his cheeks and spreading to his ears. “You look amazing.”
His words shifted something in your chest, just slightly.
You blinked a few times too many, gaze flickering to the side as your own cheeks warmed up with the compliment. “Thanks,” you murmured, fingers tightening around the knob before you stepped outside, pulling it closed behind you.
He extended his arm towards you in a quick and nervous way, almost like he’d completely forgotten completely about the bouquet he was holding. It was such a sudden movement, something you hadn’t expected – it surprisingly made you chuckle, nerves slowly melting away. You took it from his hands and lifted it up your nose, taking in the soft, flowery scent.
The night air felt cooler than you expected, brushing against your skin as you linked your arm in his offering one, following down the short path to his car.
Like a true gentlemen, he reached for the passenger door and pulled it open before you had the chance to do it yourself.
“After you,” he said as he stepped aside, head dipping in a dramatic bow.
The small bell above the door chimed softly as you stepped inside the preserved 1950s diner, a wave of warmth and the smell of French fries and chocolate milkshakes washing over you.
The place was half-full, filled with low conversations blending with the clatter of plates and the hum of an old jukebox somewhere in the back.
Zack held the door open for you just long enough before letting it swing shut behind him. The same hand found its way to the small of your back, guiding you toward a booth near the window.
“So,” he said as he slid into the seat across from you. He reached for the menu but didn’t look at it, green eyes glueing on you instead. “On a scale from one to traumatized – how are we feeling?”
You let out a small laugh, shaking your head as you reached for the menu in his hands. There was another one, but you ignored it. “I wouldn’t say traumatized, as much as unsettled, maybe? I mean, that old preacher guy?”
“Yeah, yeah. Kane, was his name, I think.” Zack leaned forward slightly, elbow resting on the tabletop, a clearly pleased smile plastered on his face. “The, uh– way he kept showing up on the screen, smiling like that? I thought you were gonna bail.”
“I almost did,” you admitted, scrunching your nose. “Luckily, I had something to hide my face.”
“Yeah, luckily,” he trailed off, voice lowering softly, eyes glimmering in the neon lights shining in from outside.
You rolled your eyes at him, but the laugh that followed came easier – lighter, less forced.
A waitress passed by, an order pad that had seen better days in one hand, a pen in the other. Her hair was pulled in a loose, low ponytail, and the skin around her eyes crinkled as she smiled and took your order.
Zack’s voice, placing your order, faded into the background as you took in how the pink and fiery tones of the neon lights illuminated his hair, spilling down his cheek and shoulder before disappearing somewhere across the table. He looked good like this – his hair slightly messy, freed from the stress Jason Carver put on him and the rest of the basketball team, a polite smile resting easily on his face as he spoke with the waitress.
It was easy to drown in him – in his looks, in the fresh, amber tones of his cologne, in the soft green pools of his eyes as he gave you all of his attention.
You liked it – you liked the way he made you feel throughout the entire date so far. It felt soft, sweet… easy. And you could picture it – your fingers linked as you walked through the school hallways, the weight of his letterman jacket on your shoulder, the lingering stare and sweet, stolen kisses in between classes.
You were so lost in your thoughts – in him – that you hadn’t even noticed how quickly the waitress returned, this time a plate of French fries and a single milkshake balanced on her tray. She smiled with a mischievous, knowing glimmer in her eyes, as she put it down on the table. “Enjoy.”
The sound of Zack’s voice politely thanking her pulled you back.
Your gaze dropped to the table – one milkshake, two straws. He followed your line of sight, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips.
“Guess we’re sharing, huh,” he said lightly, reaching for one of the straws, his gaze never leaving your face.
“Guess so,” you echoed, your fingers brushing briefly against his as you took the other, maintaining the eye contact.
The contact was quick, barely there, and yet powerful enough to make your stomach flip in a way that felt different – exciting.
Your eyes fell to the table as you leaned in without much thought, your soft lips closing around the straw. Green eyes dropped to your lips the moment you did, seeing the classic vanilla flavour flooding up the straw and into your mouth, giving him the sudden thought of you–
The engine of his Pontiac Firebird had been off for a while, but still held onto its warmth. The inside felt somewhat similar – warm, thick, and quiet, as the streetlights stretched thin lines of amber gold through the windshield, just enough to highlight your face and his fingers, still curled around the steering wheel. He had parked a few houses down, your home hidden behind trees, easy to miss if you glanced in the angled mirrors.
Another car passed at the far end of the street, its headlights briefly flooding the inside of the car, spilling across the back of his neck and stretching along his cheeks before it flickered away.
Zack had a soft, almost hesitant look in his eyes while he watched you – almost like he was searching for the right words to say. Then, after a soft lick over his chapped lips, he whispered, “I had a great time.”
You leaned further into the leather seat, your face turning towards his. Your gaze moved slowly up towards his. “Yeah, me too,” you whispered back.
The soft breeze whistled outside, stirring the leaves as it came and went. It was the only sound you could hear besides Zack’s quiet breathing and the steady beat of your heart, pounding in your throat. The space between you felt like the complete opposite of outside – charged, heavy.
With a swift move of your hand, you unbuckled your seatbelt, letting it whir softly back to the retractor. You looked outside the window for a brief moment, your tongue brushing softly over your lips.
When you turned back towards Zack, your gaze locked onto his. Like the soft pull of a magnet, you leaned into him – just slightly, enough to test the distance.
His hand moved up your face, cool against your warm skin, his thumb brushing your cheek in soft, tentative movements. “Are you–”
His breath caught – so soft and sudden, it would have easily gone unnoticed had you not leaned in further. Your eyes flicked down to his lips before they returned to his.
The subtle movement of your face leaning in gave Zack enough courage to close the distance – no hesitation this time. His hand stayed on your cheek, his thumb still brushed lightly against your skin as his lips finally found yours.
His hand moved away from your cheek and settled at the back of your neck instead, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss. Zack’s lips were soft and warm – exactly how you had imagined they would feel. His movements grew less careful with every second that passed, his tongue brushing against your lower lip before finally finding its way inside your mouth.
It wasn’t difficult to follow the movements of his tongue – his movements were slow, yet deep and steady, guiding yours in soft, wave-like patterns.
It felt nice – but it didn’t feel fulfilling.
There were no sparks, no knots deep in your belly.
It wasn’t–
It wasn’t like how it was with Eddie. And that made your stomach drop.
The deep rumble of Zack’s car had faded slowly down the streets a while ago, only the faint sound of rustling leaves remaining. You still stood in the hallway, long after he’d left, hand still curled around the cold, golden doorknob while your other held the bouquet he had given you.
Your faint reflection stared back at you from the stained glass delicately worked into the heavy oak wood. You took the sight in – slightly swollen lips, smudged lipstick, your hair sitting differently from how you’d styled it earlier that night.
You looked exactly like someone would after coming home from a good date – and that’s what it was, a good date. You had, surprisingly, enjoyed the unsettling movie starring Julian Beck and the whispers you’d exchanged during it, the shared milkshake and French fries.
You had enjoyed Zack.
So why did you have this weird feeling in your chest, tightening more and more with every passing second?
Why did it feel… wrong, almost?
A sharp exhale left your mouth, and your feet moved before you could properly think your actions through. You grabbed your coat from its hanger on the wall and slipped it on, no hesitation in your movements as you grabbed your hand-me-down car keys and left through the front door for the second time that night.
Your headlights cast a warm glow over the front of his trailer, catching on the worn material and the rusty hinges, making them shine in a way they weren’t used to – or meant to, for that matter. The black, starry night peeking behind his trailer reminded you it was already too fucking late for your car to disturb the neighbourhood with its thick, coarse engine sound.
It had been a great sixteenth birthday gift from your parents two years back, but now you wished you owned a car that wasn’t this loud.
Your hands, still wrapped around the steering wheel, tightened their hold before relaxing again. It was a vicious cycle – tightening, relaxing, tightening again.
You swallowed the dry, thick lump down your throat before your fingers wrapped around the silver key, the weight of your keychain collection weighing your hand down into your lap. You stayed seated like that for a second or two, your thoughts overflowing with doubt and unease.
With a sharp movement, you turned off the headlights and pushed open your door before your mind could bully you into driving back home.
The bouquet stayed on the passenger seat.
The walk up to his front door echoed the sound of your footsteps into the silent night air, amplified by the thick forest around the trailer park, and wasn’t as long as you’d liked. The wooden front steps and deck creaked and groaned under your feet as you approached the door, your hand raised yet unmoving in the chilly, late-night air.
You knocked before you could stop yourself – three soft knocks echoing against the old aluminium door.
Soft footsteps approached the door from the other side. The sound stilled, replaced by the creak of the door being pulled open – just slightly, just enough for the sneaky, chilly night air to slip inside.
Your lifted your head, eyes glimmering in the soft yellow lighting above you, locking onto his brown ones. Your lips pressed together before a soft sigh left from between them. “Hi.”
“Hey,” his voice sounded coarse, almost like he had been screaming for the last few hours. The surprise was evident in his face: his eyebrows were furrowed as he took in the sight in front of him, like he hadn’t been expecting any company.
You opened your mouth to say something, but when nothing came out of them, you closed it again. The silence between you grew with every uneven breath you exhaled.
Eddie’s eyes held something you couldn’t place your finger on, but never once left your face.
Eventually, he titled his head backwards ever so slightly, and pushed his lean body away from the flimsy frame. “Come in,” he said.
This time, you didn’t flinch when he pulled the door closed behind you.
The thick, blue smoke of something mixed in with the faint smell of tobacco filled the living room and kitchen area, making the air inside his trailer feel heavier than it actually was. Your eyes didn’t need to drift to the coffee table in front of the glowing TV to know what it was – the unmistakable earthy and herbal smell that overpowered the tobacco, and his bloodshed eyes were enough.
Eddie didn’t move from the door right away – he stayed there, leaning against the old aluminium, his eyes drifting up and down as he took you in slowly.
The soft, baby blue dress that stopped right above you knees, the matching eyeshadow you had applied.
The messy hair and the slightly smudged lipstick you hadn’t cared to fix.
His jaw shifted before he could stop it from happening.
“Enjoy your date?” his voice was low, almost casual.
Your manicured fingers curled at your sides.
Seconds had passed before you answered, your fingers now playing with the smooth, breathable fabric of your dress, your voice quieter than you had meant it to be. “Yeah.”
The silence that followed was deafening – heavy and uncomfortable all at once. Your throat dried up once again.
“Yeah,” he echoed, softer now. But his eyes didn’t leave you – nor did the weight they carried. He hesitated, just for a moment, before he opened his mouth again.
“You here for another lesson, or…?”
He pushed himself off the door, socked feet carrying him back towards the coffee table. His long, slender fingers picked up the joint from the brown glass ashtray. Placing it between his lips, he fished a lighter out from his pocket, not caring to ask if you minded – you were in his home, after all – as he lit up the hand-rolled bundle of weed.
You shook your head, not quite finding the right words yet.
Eddie inhaled the smoke with practiced ease, his chest rising with the action – the same way he took in your silence. He exhaled it, took another long drag, then tapped the joint against the ashtray. The crumbly grey ash fell onto the glass without a sound.
“Why are you here, Sweetheart?”
The question echoed in your ears as your lips parted, only for nothing to come out.
Why were you there?
Your gaze dropped to your shoes instead – the stain from before had been cleaned off the leather. You took in the old carpet that had been white once upon a time, like it might give you something to say.
“I…” you started, your voice quieter now, thinner than you intended. “It didn’t feel right, not really.”
You looked up at him, taking in the soft, casual clothes he kept for late, lazy nights much like this.
Eddie’s hair was its usual mess, and he still had the heavy silver rings curling around his fingers. His eyes had just the slightest tint of red in them, like it hadn’t been that long since he first lit up the joint between his fingers.
“The date?” the question sounded short, almost bored.
“Him.”
That took Eddie’s eyes away from the glowing TV. His eyes looked into yours, searching for any sign of discomfort.
“He do anything you didn’t want?”
“No,” you answered. “I just… realised I didn’t want to do it with him.”
Eddie let the silence follow your words, lingering and mixing with the blue smoke in the air. He took another drag, slower this time, shifting his jaw when he exhaled again. His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, like he was thinking it through, turning it over.
His gaze dropped for a second – taking in the soft pink smudge again – before lifting back up to your eyes.
“You leave a date, hallway wrecked” he began, tilting his head just slightly, brows furrowed but eyes not leaving yours, “drive all the way out here, and you don’t know why?”
A lump got stuck in your throat. Your brows pulled together, frustration slowly creeping in up your spine before settling in your chest – heavy, unmoving.
“It wasn’t the same”, you ended up saying, the words weighed heavy with the kind of shame a little girl feels when she realizes that boys aren’t that disgusting anymore. “It didn’t… make me feel like then.”
Eddie didn’t let himself have the benefit of the doubt – he had long since stopped expecting to be anyone’s first choice, right around the time his father left him on his uncle’s porch, a life of leaving and crawling back to jail somehow more appealing than caring for his own blood, the product of his first and only love.
It was a thought he didn’t let himself have – not late at night, not when he was high, not ever. Instead, he let himself bask in flushed cheeks and fluttering lashes at his door, the closest thing he would get to being someone’s first choice – only because there hadn’t been anyone else to take over his business. Not yet, anyway. But that, too, was only a matter of time.
His eyes drifted back to you once again – to the messy hair and smudged lipstick, the carefully chosen dress, the matching eyeshadow applied so delicately across your lids.
It sickened him – the thought that he would never truly have what had been so easily given to Zack on Wednesday: a simple yes, offered without a second thought.
It pulled a dry, forced chuckle from his throat. It all felt like one big, fucking joke – your state, showing up here late at night after your nice date with someone else, telling him you’d rather have… what? Kissed him?
“C’mon now, Sweetheart,” he forces out. “That’s not it.”
Dark brown eyes lifted back to yours, steadier now – sharper. They only broke contact to tap against the side of the ashtray once again, the sound quiet but deliberate, like the chuckle he’d let out seconds ago.
Eddie’s gaze flicked over you again – the effort that hadn’t been meant for him.
“I think you should go,” he added, a sharp edge to his voice masked something heavier than anger. “Before you figure out you don’t actually mean it.”
The same dull light from the sunny morning pressed faintly against the soft fabric of your curtains, only small, unmoving dots of sunshine seeping through the lacy ends, like time had decided to settle instead of pass. The warmth never really made it inside the bedroom. The closed curtains wouldn’t let it – not since you closed them when you got home late Friday night.
When you got home from Eddie’s.
A soft, easy-to-ignore knock echoed through the upstairs hall. Another followed – louder, more certain.
“Please open the door,” Nathalie’s voice carried faintly through the wood. The doorknob rattled softly, turning left and right, but the door stayed firmly shut. “I brought the latest editions of Seventeen and Rolling Stone, and that ugly green polish you’ve been ogling the last few months.”
A moment of silence passed, deafening and heavy. But that didn’t stop Nathalie from trying again. “Michael J. Fox is on the cover of Rolling Stone. He looks kinda goofy, but in a hot, Michael J. Fox way.”
That pulled a soft, unexpected snort from you.
Your eyes opened, taking in the old wallpaper you didn’t really connect with anymore. The ticking clock above your desk told you it was half past ten – the time you and Nathalie had set on to go down to the lake, before you called her yesterday, forcing a cough and cancelling your plans.
You rolled onto your back, the soft, thin sheets moving with you. You stared at the ceiling for a moment longer, like it might make her magically leave you alone.
“That Rolling Stone magazine better have a gigantic poster of Michael J. Fox,” you murmured, just loud enough for Nathalie to hear from the other side of the locked door.
You swung your legs over the side of the bed, socked feet hitting the old wooden floor with a quiet thud. Your hand dragged over your face before you made your way to the door, each step heavier than it should’ve been.
The door swung open. Nathalie stood there, one hand leaning against the doorframe, the other holding a brown paper bag filled with a lot more than just two magazines and a tiny bottle of nail polish.
“You never cancel when we have plans to go down to Lovers Lake,” she whispered, with a soft, knowing look in her eyes as she took you in. “Especially when it’s warm enough to wear a bikini.”
“Yeah, well… never too late to try new things,” you muttered as you made your way back to the bed, sitting on the edge while you waited for her to step inside and close the door behind her. Nathalie was enough company – you didn’t need a worried mom trying to connect with you while silently judging your taste in nail polish colours.
“Do you want me to beat around to bush, or can I just rip the band-aid off and ask what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”
She walked up to your desk, setting the brown paper bag on top of it. Her free hand disappeared inside before reappearing with a lot more than just one bottle of nail polish. She brought three ugly shades of green, just in case, alongside every snack you liked to munch on whenever you were too busy drowning in sadness.
Nathalie didn’t say anything as she threw everything on top of your bed. She handed you a childhood classic – a chocolate bar, a matching one in her other hand as she sat down beside you, the mattress dipping under her weight.
“I got those disgusting sour patches you like, if you’re not in the mood for chocolate,” she said lightly, a soft smile tugging at her lips.
Your fingers wrapped around the gold chocolate wrapper, your hand brushing briefly against hers before pulling it back into your lap. You didn’t open it, instead taking in the sight, like it required more attention than it actually did.
“Did he fuck it up?”
Your head jerked up, a dry lump forming in your throat before you even had the chance to come up with something to say.
Nathalie looked as natural as she possibly could – teeth sinking into her own chocolate bar, like she wasn’t making a big deal of it, like she hadn’t just made your heart somersault with five little words.
“Did Zack mess up the date?” she clarified. “He didn’t force you to do anything you didn’t want, right? Because I will cut off his feet and end his basketball career before he even gets the chance to pursue it professionally.”
Her question hung in the air, her searching eyes waiting patiently for an answering.
Except you didn’t have one – not because you didn’t want to say anything, but because your mind had gone completely blank.
Zack.
The movie, followed by the shared fries and milkshake at the dinner. The way he’d looked at you when he’d parked a few houses down.
You hadn’t even thought about it. Not yesterday, not this morning when you woke up.
Your fingers tightened slightly around the chocolate bar in your hands, still wrapped. A malformed reflection of a sad girl staring back at you through the crinkled golden wrapper.
“No,” you said finally, your voice quieter now – more honest than it had sounded yesterday when you cancelled your plans. “He didn’t.”
“What’s the problem, then? I’ve never seen you so…” Nathalie trailed off, unable to find the right words.
Your brows pulled together as you let out a quiet, shaky breath, your gaze dropping back to the chocolate in your hands. You tossed it aside and reached for the sour patches instead.
“I don’t know,” you muttered, though it didn’t sound as convincing as you’d hoped – not even to your own ears. “It was fine. The movie, the food, he… he was fine.”
The words felt empty as soon as they left your mouth.
Your shook your head softly, eyes drifting away from Nathalie’s face and landing instead on Michael J. Fox and his crystal ball.
“I just–” you sighed, throwing a sour patch in your mouth. You let the tangy taste sizzle on your tongue before you continued. “It didn’t feel like it was supposed to.”
Nathalie didn’t reply right away. Her head tilted slightly to the side, her eyes narrowing just a fraction as she watched you, taking in your words and turning them over.
“Does this… have anything to do with what we talked about during our picnic last Thursday?”
Her eyes stayed on your face, and yours stayed on Michael J. Fox. You didn’t reply – but your silence was all the answer she needed.
A deep sigh left her mouth as she blinked once, than twice more, her eyes never leaving your face. She let the silence sit for a moment, taking in all the tiny micro expressions that crossed your face.
Her fingers tapped lightly against her chocolate bar – you noticed she had removed the pink nail polish she’d applied earlier this week.
“Is this–” she started softly, not wanting to push too much. “Is this about Eddie?”
The way your breath hitched – barely there, but still loud enough – was all she needed. Her shoulders dropped just slightly, something between realization and of course settling into her expression.
“Jesus,” she muttered under her breath, but not unkindly. Without thinking it through, she too tossed a sour patch into her mouth, the tangy burn on her tongue a welcome feeling for once. “Do you, uhm– wanna talk about it?”
His words echoed through the warm, blue-tinted air of the trailer.
He hadn’t moved from where he stood, fingers still curled loosely around the joint, its amber tip burning the paper quietly, steadily. He let out a dry breath, shaking his head like he could just shake the whole thing off.
You stood still, glued to your spot, while he finished his joint in silence, pressing the filter against the brown glass of the ashtray until it stopped smoking.
“It’s late. Go home,” he said, standing up from his spot.
The words that left his mouth settled in the thick, heavy air between you. Final.
Your mouth opened and closed, the motion repeating as you tried to find right the words. Your fingers curled around the fabric of your dress, like your body hadn’t quite processed his words.
“Right,” you said after a while, your voice softer than you intended.
Your eyes flickered to him – taking in how his frizzy hair framed his face, how his overgrown bangs fell into his eyes, how his chest rose and fell. The tattoos that peeked from under his tank top, similarly to how they did last time you were there.
The silence stretched, an uncomfortable feeling settling deep in your chest.
Then you nodded faintly, more to yourself than to him, and turned toward the door. Your hand hesitated on the handle, just for a second, before you pulled it hard enough to open the door.
⋆˚꩜｡a/n: and here she is, chapter two babyyy ; i wanna thank everyone for the kind comments, all the likes and the reblogs they mean a lot to me <3 i was expecting it to flop so hard i truly didnt expect all the love isndfidjbdfiwjeb
⋆˚꩜｡summary: Eddie’s Wednesday night gets interrupted when you knock on his door, encouraged by your best friend to seek his help before a date.
⋆˚꩜｡tags: no y/n, first kiss, teenage angst, coming of age?, slow burn (kinda), internal conflict, guided intimacy, multiple povs
⋆˚꩜｡tw: very mild suggestive content (pg-13, but minors are still not welcome!), inexperienced!reader (not in a dumb/childish way), experienced!eddie, slight power imbalance, internalized stigma/social judgment, anxiety
⋆˚꩜｡word count: 7.1k+
Sometimes Eddie wished he was a cigarette, destined to die on the lips of someone who deliberately chose him despite knowing how bad he was.
Sometimes Eddie wished he was a cigarette, destined to die on the lips of someone who deliberately chose him despite knowing how bad – how deadly he was.
But no one in the sleepy town of Hawkins, Indiana, wanted to choose him. Not deliberately. Not for who he truly was: Hawkins’ social outcast, the product of a doomed trailer park romance that was never destined to work out anyway.
It was a recurrent, depressing thought that liked to creep into his mind late at night; one he didn’t like to dwell on too much. After all, the girls of Hawkins High could dismiss him with all the disgust in the world, but at the end of the day? There they were; hands knocking tentatively at his front door while heavy embarrassment dripped from their pretty faces like gold, thick honey.
They needed him. Not the other way around.
It was just another lonely Wednesday night when soft, tentative knocks at his front door stole his attention away from the TV. His eyes moved away from the door to the ticking clock above it – a few minutes past nine. It couldn’t be his uncle; he had clocked in at work not even two hours ago, and wasn’t expected to return until dawn. Standing up from the tattered couch, his nose and eyebrows scrunched while he tried his best to remember if he had something planned for the night.
His heavy, calloused hand curled around the knob, turning it to the side and pushing the flimsy door open just a crack. The first annual cicadas made themselves known, a soft sound that was barely there at all. “Yeah?”
“Oh, uhm, h-hi!” you choked out, cheeks warm with embarrassment. He watched the way you looked over your shoulder, eyes drifting around the pitch-black trailer park, afraid to be caught with him. A perfectly lacquered finger played nervously with a loose strand of hair. “I, uh– Nathalie said you could help with my, uhm, extra credit?”
Eddie’s hand twitched at the sound of your flustered voice, his hand tightening its grip on the doorknob. “Nathalie, huh?” he said without much thought. He licked his lips, lost in thought, and pushed the doors further open. “Well, come on in, then.”
The creamy hallways of Hawkins High were a harsh contrast to the fleeting, coloured clothes of its students. Loud chatter and echoing footsteps mixed in with the overpowering scent of sweaty teenage boys and delectable perfumed sweethearts. Just your typical Wednesday afternoon.
Your shoulder bumped into Nathalie’s ever so slightly as you walked toward your lockers. The grip you had on the strap of your backpack tightened more and more with every word that left your mouth.
“I just– I mean–” your brain scattered to find the words. “Did you see that? The way he smiled at me? Out of all the girls in our class, me.”
Nathalie rolled her eyes as she rotated the dial of her locker from side to side. Fourteen to the left, six to the right, twenty to the left. A deep sigh left her mouth.
“Yeah, I saw,” she muttered under her breath with a jabbing tone of frustration. She had spent the last few weeks listening to your rose-tinted rambles about Zack Fucking Whitaker, the newest addition to the basketball team, and her ears just couldn’t take it anymore.
Ever since the Whitakers moved back to Hawkins after a year abroad, it seemed like that was all anyone could talk about lately. It had been three, very long weeks of hearing about how his sandy blond hair fell over his thick eyebrows, how his arms flexed with every controlled move he made during PE, how he put the Jason Carver to shame in every single way possible – with his strong nose and angular chin.
Sigh. It wasn’t like Nathalie didn’t agree with it all; she did find him cute, and she did like the view of his flexing arms. Hell, she even liked how Jason Carver had been in a bad mood the past three weeks, not being Hawkins High’s golden boy anymore. Serves him well, cocky prick. She just couldn’t listen to your rambles anymore; whether it be at school or on the phone late at night, it was all you could talk about.
It was driving her absolutely insane.
Another sigh left her lips as she tried occupying herself by retrieving her AP calculus book. She’d never tell it to your face, but right now she’d rather have two consecutive hours of Mr. Flynn talking about the rules for finding derivatives than another fucking word on Zack Whitaker. She loved you, she really did, but a girl could only handle this much boy talk.
“–me out.” Your airy voice pulled her back to the real world.
“What?” Nathalie shook her head, thick eyebrows furrowed over her baby blue eyeshadow as confusion took over her. “Sorry, zoned out for a sec. What were you saying?”
“Sorry, I’m rambling again, aren’t I?” The chuckle that left your lips didn’t contain any amusement. You knew you had been doing that a lot lately, but honestly, you just couldn’t help it. He was all you could think about. You sighed. “Don’t worry about it, it’s nothing, really.”
“No, no. It’s okay, please. I wanna know.”
“I… He asked me out.” You repeated, voice small and eyes glued to your shoes. Your lips pursed at the sight of a brown stain – that hadn’t been there this morning. Nathalie didn’t notice it, and took your expression as nerves instead.
“That’s what you wanted, right?” Nathalie’s perfectly manicured hand wrapped around the heavy book. She closed her locker and turned her body to yours. “When did he ask?”
A shy chuckle left your lips, cheeks warming up. “This morning, after History. Said he want to take me to the movies.” Your eyes averted towards your restless fingers. You were picking the loose skin around your nails again. Nathalie’s disapproving stare forced you to stop. “And, I mean, yeah. I have been dreaming about this for weeks. I just–”
The words died in your throat when the memories of this morning slipped to the front of your mind. You replayed how Zack’s glimmering green eyes clung to yours, giving you all of his attention, how his fingers brushed his hair upwards when a few strands fell in front of his eyes, the sound of his quiet laughter echoing in your mind.
You glanced around the hallway as if the creamy walls and tiled floors held all the answers you needed, and pushed off the locker you were leaning on with a defeated sigh. Your feet moved without you really noticing, drifting down the hallway with Nathalie glued to your sight. Turning the corner, the loud background noise only amplified when you pushed the cafeteria’s doors open.
The unforgiving sound of clattering trays and high-pitched conversations echoed through the space. Your grip tightened around your bag strap. Your stomach has been in a knot ever since Zach had asked you out; you doubted you could stomach any kind of food right now.
A fleeting, insecure thought took over. “Hypothetically speaking,” you began.
“Go on,” Nathalie murmured without much thought. She was too preoccupied choosing between soggy pizza and the sandwich with a suspicious looking yellow sauce to give you her full attention.
“Let’s say the date goes well, right–” now that the blonde wasn’t actively looking, your fingers were at it again, the skin around your nails already too red, too irritated. “What would I even do?”
Nathalie’s eyebrows furrowed; she chose the suspicious looking sandwich. “What do you mean?”
“What if the date goes well and, I don’t know, we’re in an empty parking lot or something–” you lowered your voice. The busy lunch line wasn’t the best place to have this conversation, but still. You snatched a carton of orange juice, substituting the food your stomach couldn’t handle anyway. “I wouldn’t know what to do, not really. I have no… real experience.”
That pulled her attention back on you. Nathalie snorted, lips pursed into a barely contained toothy smile. The sight of a tiny, hot pink stain on her teeth caught your attention. “I’m not making fun of you, promise! You’re just so cute.”
“Oh, c’mon, Nathalie!” you groaned. Cute was the last thing you wanted to be. You looked away, scanning the cafeteria for two empty seats. You walked without another word.
Hiding your face from the blonde, you diverted your gaze to your lap. Suddenly, you regretted choosing to wear a baby pink skirt today; the soft colour wasn’t doing you any favours, not after Nathalie’s comment.
“What if he thinks it’s a dealbreaker?” your voice sounded small even to your own ears. Your eyes drifted across the room, searching for the boy that had been plaguing your mind all day long. You found him easily, even in the sea of green letterman jackets – his sandy blond hair shining under the harsh fluorescent lights.
“Then he’s not the one.” Nathalie shrugged in indifference.
You averted your gaze as he stood up. That wasn’t necessarily what you wanted to hear; you’d expected something else, something reassuring.
You let the sound of chairs scraping across the floors and incessant chatter fill the silence between you.
You were too busy replaying her words in your mind to say something. Nathalie’s eyes softened when she noticed your lost, disappointed expression.
“Listen,” she sighed. Her eyes scanned the cafeteria as she leaned closer to you, blonde strands falling into her face as she angled her head just slightly. She lowered her voice when Caleb Antonoff walked by, just in case – you never knew with those who are part of the school newspaper. “If you’re really insecure about it, I know something that can help.”
Your eyebrows furrowed, curiosity getting the best of you. You leaned forward, meeting her halfway across the cold tabletop, elbows supporting the weight of your upper body.
“Eddie Munson’s kissing booth,” she whispered. Her nose scrunched in disgust as she picked at the sliced pickle hidden between the lettuce, throwing it on the side of her lunch tray. “Girls go to him to practice before dates.”
“Practice?”
“No one admits to it, but half the girls in our year have. I swear to god. Hell, me included.” She took a bite of the sandwich. Her eyebrows furrowed in a deep scowl before her eyes widened. Whatever that suspicious looking sauce was, it was fucking delicious. “He’s really good at it too; got Sean wrapped around my little finger with the things he taught me.”
“You got to be joking.” She shook her head, mouth too preoccupied to give you a proper reply. You didn’t trust the sandwich she was eating; there was no way in Hell that the weird looking sauce wasn’t messing with her brain. You pulled a weird face. “And he just… doesn’t tell anyone about it?”
“Nobody would believe him, anyway. Think, babe. It’s the Freak we’re talking about here,” Nathalie replies with a sarcastic glimmer in her eyes. She placed the sandwich down on her tray and reached for your orange juice. You swatted her hand away – you were not giving her a chance to contaminate you with the brain-eating amoebas she had just consumed. “I’m telling you, he’s great. No complaints. Besides it being him, I mean.”
Almost instinctively, your eyes darted around the loud cafeteria and only stopped when they caught sight of a certain metalhead.
“–increase the concentration, what happens to the reaction rate? Can anyone tell me?” Mrs. O’Donnell’s voice echoed through the otherwise silent classroom. The high pitched screech of her chalk moving across the blackboard, and the lingering dust in the air added another layer to the headache you’d been sporting since lunch.
You looked away, the blank page of your notebook staring back at you. There was no use writing down all the words, numbers and draw pointed arrows, none of it made any fucking sense.
Neither did Eddie’s side business that every girl made use of. Apparently.
There was no way in Hell you were going up to him and ask–
You wouldn’t even know how to finish that sentence. Your headache deepened. This was getting ridiculous.
But the idea kept circling back, and Nathalie’s voice echoed in your head like a broken vinyl.
Eddie Munson. Girls go to him to practice before dates.
You looked at Chrissy Cunningham, sitting two rows to your left. With her perfect ponytail, cheer uniform tailored to her lean body, baby blue eyeshadow applied with flawless precision. You tried to imagine her knocking on Eddie’s door, all rosy cheeks and fluttering eyelashes, asking for his help to bag the Jason Carver. The mental images made as much sense as O’Donnell’s blabbering.
The shrieking ring! of the bell pierced right through O'Donnell's voice. Classmates behind you started to rise, hastily shoving their notebooks into their backpacks, limbs moving in desperate need to leave the classroom.
“Don’t forget next week’s homework!”
You shoved your notebook and chemistry book back into your bag in one, lazy movement. Thoughts still tangled into the whole Eddie Thing, there was no forecast that the headache would leave any time soon.
But even when you followed the fluid current of classmates heading for the door and entering into the crowded hallway, you could still feel it there. The thought of what if looping in the back of your mind.
Nathalie and that stupid mouth of hers be damned.
The hallway was louder than usual, drowning out your thoughts effortlessly. Overlapping voices, slamming lockers, loud laughter somewhere behind you – you welcomed it all, desperate to stop thinking about what you had learnt during lunch today.
You adjusted the grip on your bag as you walked.
It didn’t matter anyway, you weren’t doing it. You weren’t having your first kiss with Eddie Munson. It was embarrassing enough to just be thinking about it.
Zack probably wouldn’t even mind your inexperience anyway.
Hopefully.
You turned the corner, paying no attention to the world around you, eyes scanning ahead for your locker.
Your steps faltered just slightly before you corrected them again. And then you stopped walking altogether.
He was there. Leaning against the wall, just a few feet away from your locker. Almost like he’d been summoned by your lingering thoughts.
He wasn’t doing anything, not really. Just… standing there, leaning against the wall while he talked to a junior you didn’t personally know. They were half way out of the main flow of people, almost like they had placed themselves there on purpose. People passed them without looking. One or two glanced, but quickly looked away again.
“Freaks,” one of them muttered loud enough when they walked past them.
You looked away quickly, afraid that the slightest glance would draw his attention to you. You forced your feet to start moving again. This was exactly what you were going to do: walk over to your locker, open it, grab whatever you needed, leave whatever you didn’t, and go home without another glance in his direction. Like every other student.
The grip on your bag strap tightened even more, knuckles turned white. You lowered your head and rushed to the locker. Three to the left, nine to the right, twelve to the left.
The locker clicked open, and you exhaled a breath you didn’t even know you’d been holding in. The hallway noise carried on like nothing happened, but failed to drown out the loud, pulsating sound that pounded in your ears.
You reached for a book you didn’t need. Shakespear, maybe, and told yourself you weren’t going to turn around.
You did it anyway, taking in the way his curly hair framed his face, the way the leathery material of his war jacket hugged his slender frame, how his white Reeboks contrasted against the rest of his pitch-black outfit. You noticed his ringed fingers tighten around the metal lunchbox he held, and suddenly it wasn’t as hard to imagine those same fingers holding someone’s face before he leaned in and–
Nathalie and her stupid, stupid suggestions be damned. Your mind too, for conjuring up those stupid images.
There was no way in Hell–
Your fingers busied themselves with their favourite activity as you hesitated for a second or two. There would be no way back, not really – even if you left, the fact that you had sought out his help would follow you for the rest of your life. You nodded only once, a little too quickly, and slipped inside.
Eddie closed the door behind you with a hard pull, the sound making you flinch. “Sorry. We keep meaning to fix it.”
The trailer looked smaller from the inside. The kitchen lamp cast a warm, uneven glow towards the living room, over the mismatched furniture and the decorated walls. The TV still murmured quietly in the background. His home smelled like stale beer, microwaved dinner and, if you focused a little harder, citrussy cleaning supplies – something your mom would use to clean the kitchen sink.
“Relax”, he said when he noticed the way you hadn’t moved away from the door. He crossed the room to turn the TV off. “It’s not as bad as you think.”
You stayed near the door. “I didn’t say it was,” you replied, the words coming out tighter than you had meant. Your eyes kept wandering around the room, doing everything in your power to not look at him.
“So,” you trailed off. Your throat dried up, and you picked at the loose skin around your thumbnail a little too hard. You forced a cough to clear your throat. “How, uh– how does this work?”
He glanced at you over his shoulder, an eyebrow arched under his bangs. He moved around the coffee table, putting the remote back on its spot on top of the TV. “Well, depends. What’s your level?”
“Level?”
“Yeah, level of experience,” he replied. His hands moved to the back of his neck, nails scraping at the skin. He leaned against the couch, body relaxed, waiting patiently for your answer.
“I, uh–“ you stammered. Another hard pull at another loose piece of skin. You looked away, the mug collecting gathering dust on the shelves a view less intimidating.
To say you were nervous was an understatement – not only was this the first time you stood in his living room, this also was the first time you were having a conversation with him. You didn’t have any friends in common, you had never been paired for anything at school, and you don’t smoke weed. There never had been any reason to approach him before.
It was a lot of firsts to take in all at once.
Eddie softened. He had done this often enough to know when to step in, when to pull someone out of their head, away from their own thoughts. “It’s ten for half an hour. We keep it PG-13.”
“Okay, yeah,” you gulped. “That sounds, uh, reasonable. I think.”
“I usually do this in my bedroom, just in case my uncle gets home earlier than planned,” he scratched his chin, eyes locked onto your nervous frame. There was a slight warmth to your cheeks that spread down your neck. “But we can stay here, if that’s more comfortable.”
You appreciated the gesture, but you could already see his uncle getting off work early – just your luck.
“Your room is fine, I guess,” you shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. Your voice didn’t sound as casual as the words did in your head.
Eddie backed away from the couch, planting his feet firmly on the ground. He offered you his hand, slender fingers adorned with heavy, silver rings. You hesitated for just a second before placing your raw fingers in his palm. “This way, Sweetheart.”
Eddie sat on top of his bed, naturally relaxed, like this was something totally normal to him. And maybe it was – he had done it times and times before.
You looked around his room with a sudden curiosity. He apologised for the mess as he scanned his bedroom, noticing the empty cans of beer and scattered sheets of paper he hadn’t yet tidied up.
You hummed at his apology, not trusting your own voice. The walls had a faint tint of yellow to them, stained over the time by his smoking habit. It wasn’t strong, and you didn’t really mind. Your eyes wandered over to the wall behind Eddie’s lean figure, ignoring the tattoos that peeked from under his tight tank top, settling instead on the dark, uneasy poster of Wes Craven’s A Nightmare on Elm Street.
Eddie’s eyes followed all the little movements you made, noticing how you took in every little detail of his personal life. He wasn’t used to people actually paying attention to what he considered to be his safe haven; they usually jumped right into it, eager to leave again. He noticed the way your eyes didn’t just scan the room – they lingered, absorbing the titles in his book collection, the scattered pictures of him and his friends, the fantasy world maps he had drawn for previous campaigns, the extensive assortment of the cheapest 1.5mm picks he could find at the local music shop. He noticed how you hesitated for half a second before you picked one up from his desk, its olive-green colour calling to you.
He tilted his head slightly. “Ye’kno, most girls don’t look around this much when they come here.”
Your fingers stilled. You felt like a baby deer caught in headlights, your heart pounding in your chest, afraid you were overstepping. “Sorry–”
“Not complaining.” His lips twitched. “You don’t have to overthink it.”
Your fingers moved the plastic triangle around, shoulders tensed. You looked away, just for a moment. Your cheeks were too warm for your liking, and you hoped Eddie didn’t notice it.
“You always do that?” Eddie tilted his head to the side, gaze dropping to your fingers. You shot him a questioning look. “Fidget.”
Eddie pushed himself off the bed, the imprint of his body visible on the sheets. A quiet exhale left his lips, his socked feet thudding softly against the old carpet as he closed the distance between you. He wasn’t hesitant, but he didn’t rush either. The faint remaining scent of his cologne hit your nostrils – something moody and slightly earthy, not what you had expected from him. Not smooth and familiar like Zack’s – something darker, something that forced your attention to him.
You gulped as his calloused hand reached out, warm fingers moving slow and giving you an out – you didn’t take it. His fingertips brushed against yours, gentle, guiding your fingers to loosen the grip on the worthless piece of plastic.
“See?” he murmured. His eyes drifted upwards, settling on your face. “You’re holding it like your life depends on it. Don’t worry, I don’t bite.”
It was embarrassing how easily he could read you. You blinked, once, then twice more, breath hitched when you noticed he was still holding your hand. You felt the weight of something settling between you – quiet and impossible to ignore.
Eddie didn’t comment on it, just observed you for a second, his gaze flickering, almost as if he were trying to figure something out. The warmth on your hand was instantly lost when he loosened his grip and took a step back.
“Alright,” he said after a moment. “Ground rules, yeah?”
You nodded, not trusting your own voice.
“Like I said – PG-13. We can stop whenever, no questions asked.” His brown eyes flickered to meet yours, a sharp glimmer in them. “But you gotta be honest with me, Sweetheart. Can’t help you if you’re in your head like this the whole time.”
The nickname didn’t go unnoticed. It was the second time he’d used the endearing nickname on you, and you didn’t know how to feel about it. You licked your lips, momentarily smoothing the chapped skin. He was right – if you were asking for his help, you needed to be honest with him.
“I know what I’m supposed to do. I just–” your voice edged toward insecure embarrassment. “I don’t know how to do it, where to start.”
Eddie rubbed the back of his neck, lips forming in a soft smile and eyes sparkling with something that looked almost like adoration. He took a few steps back, returning to his original spot. The old bed frame creaked with the extra weight on top of it.
“First thing?” he said, hand resting on the empty spot next to him. “Stop standing like you’re about to bolt.”
Your grip tightened around the pick, your shoulders tensing instinctively. You looked away, just for a moment. Your cheeks grew warm, again, and you hoped he didn’t notice the way you hesitated. Your mind raced, going eighty miles an hour. And then you exhaled, stepping forward in slow, cautious steps.
He noticed – of course he did. Your chest heaved a little heavier than it did just moments ago, and you looked at everything that wasn’t him or his bed.
“Look at me,” his voice dropped. The silver material of his rings caught the low, warm light of his bedroom as he moved his hand towards you. Warm fingers curled around your fidgeting ones, while his other hand lifted your chin. The sudden heaviness returned, taking root between your bodies while your stomach nervously twisted.
Your eyes followed the lazy movements of the ceiling fan, its quiet humming filling the otherwise silent room, your mind a chaotic mess of thoughts that would have never crossed your mind if it wasn’t for everything that had happened this week. The five badly hand-painted, plastic blades did nothing against the late spring weather, nor did they do anything to cool down your mind.
You heard the soft noise of ice cubes clinking against glass before you heard footsteps approaching the room. Nathalie pushed her bedroom door open with a weird movement of her foot, repeating it to close it again. She stepped closer to the bed, stretching one of her arms in a silent offering. You pulled your body upright, taking a sitting position before you took the glass from her hand.
She raised an intrigued eyebrow when you downed the fresh lemonade in one go without much thought. A spark of mischief crossed her eyes.
“If I wasn’t curious before, I certainly am now. Spill.”
You averted your gaze, unable to look her in the eyes. Your grip on the cool glass tightened, condensation rolling down the material and disappearing down your fingers.
“I went,” you exhaled, shoulders tense. You were still avoiding her curious gaze, instead taking in the various blue shades of wall paint swatches. You decided you liked the second swatch the best.
“Duh,” Nathalie’s eyebrows moved in opposite directions, her face pulled into a sarcastic glare. “I meant what happened.”
You hesitated – this was Nathalie, your best friend since you were maybe five or six years old; it shouldn’t be this hard to open up to her. And yet, you stalled, gulping nervously.
The events of the previous night plagued your mind ever since you left his trailer. You didn’t know what to tell her – that Eddie wasn’t the freak like everyone made him out to be? That he was actually really sweet, and that you felt mortifyingly guilty for using him just so you could impress another boy?
Said boy, who would be picking you up in less than twenty-four hours.
Nathalie always prided herself in knowing you better than you knew yourself, so it wasn’t hard for her to notice how your muscles tensed under her gaze. She usually knew when not to push you for answers, but she needed to know. With a sigh, she put away her own glass, still full, and lay next to you. “You know you can tell me everything, right? I’d never judge you.”
Easier said than done. You loved her with all your being, but the nagging voice in the back of your mind told you she wouldn’t keep her promise. Not when it involved Eddie.
You gulped and offered her a breadcrumb instead: “He… isn’t weird.”
Nathalie blinked and pulled a face. She ran her hand through her hair, loose from the usual dramatically high updo.
“Not weird,” she repeated, voice dripping with scepticism.
“Not like people say.” You shrugged, maybe a little too quickly. You looked away again when her gaze started burning holes into your face. You decided to change the subject. “I like the second shade of blue – it suits your skin better than the other ones.”
She followed your finger towards the swatches of wall paint. It was more than obvious you were deflecting her questions. “Would you feel less embarrassed if I told you about my experience?” Nathalie asked softly.
You didn’t know what answer to give her. A few seconds passed, and your eyes still hadn’t moved away from the swatches. Biting your inner cheek, you nodded.
“I will absolutely kill you if this leaves this room,” she threatened, her pale, milky skin turning as pink as the lipstick she’d applied earlier that afternoon. She held your gaze, pinky finger raised in the air. Your finger curled around hers in a silent promise. “I really liked how, uh, attentive he was.”
Nathalie’s gaze dropped, her pinky slipping from yours. Her cheeks were still hot, almost bordering on red now. You hadn’t seen her this embarrassed since that one time in the fifth grade, when Ethan Russell ran up to her to ask, in front of the entire playground, if she wanted to be Mason Walker’s girlfriend, only to learn it was a joke all along.
“I wanted to dig a hole in the ground, that’s how embarrassed I was to be there, in his room,” she continued in a low voice. “He pulled some vinyl from his collection, something slow, to calm me down. I didn’t even know he listened to anything other than those screaming, satanic bands. I just – I wish it hadn’t been him.”
Your stomach dropped at the evident disgust in Nathalie’s voice. It didn’t sit right with you, especially given her soft confession about how much she liked his attentiveness – a stark contrast to the hard tone in her voice now, as if he’d personally offended her.
You could easily picture it – the way his body probably moved around, how he took the time to choose something soothing to play. You imagined him slowing everything down, like there was nowhere else he needed to be, like Nathalie wasn’t something to rush through.
Your grip tightened around your glass. You wished you hadn’t drunk it all in one gulp, your throat suddenly dry again. “Why does it matter that it was him?” was what you wanted to ask. You didn’t, taking a deep inhale instead.
Putting away your empty glass, you lay next to her. Your gaze returned to the lazy movements of the ceiling fan. It kept spinning and spinning, almost as if it were mimicking your mind.
“I, uh–” your voice sounded smaller than you’d hoped for. A deep sigh left your lips. “Let’s just say it wasn’t what I expected.”
You hesitated – the horror movie and band posters behind him were less intimidating. A soft, nervous sigh left your lips. With a hesitant shift of your eyes, your gaze met his, something flickering in his coffee-brown eyes.
“There ya go,” he murmured, his lips pulling into a soft smile. “I knew you could do it.”
The palms of your hands started to sweat, and your grip on the plastic pick faltered.
His room suddenly felt smaller – like the air between you had pulled the walls closer and closer, trapping the both of you into each other. Your breathing was uneven and loud in your ears, your heart stammering in your chest in ways it had never done before.
Eddie didn’t move, just watched you with curious eyes, almost like he was waiting for something.
“First step,” his voice sounded thicker than it did before. He licked his lips, slightly distracted, his thumb brushing softly against your knuckles. “You gotta stop thinking so much.”
Your lips parted slightly. The feeling of his warm thumb felt distracting, almost too intimate for a situation you’d expected to feel more… clinical.
“Just look at me,” he continued in a soft tone. “Like I said, I don’t bite.”
That pulled a choked chuckle out of you. His gaze felt too intense, but you didn’t look away. You took in the sight – his hair was slightly frizzy after a long, humid spring day, but somehow still looked good. The tiny brown constellations spread on his cheeks were something you hadn’t noticed before, a nice, gentle surprise from someone that carried themselves in such an intimidating way.
Your heart kept beating harshly against your ribs, but your breathing had steadied itself, just slightly. Not exactly calm, but… quieter.
“Second step,” he said after a moment, voice still low. His hand let go of yours, giving you the space to take a step back if you wanted to. You didn’t. “You don’t rush it – that’s where people mess it up.”
His gaze flickered briefly to your lips, taking in the faint glimmer your tongue had left behind, before his eyes trailed back to yours again. A faint smile tugged at his lips. “You get used to being close first.”
You nodded softly, barely paying attention to what he was saying, too focused on how his eyes glimmered under the soft lighting of his room.
His Adam’s apple moved when he gulped, eyes still glued on yours. His thumb stilled against your knuckles before he moved his hand, fingers brushing lightly against your cheek as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Eddie’s movements were quiet, careful – almost absentminded, like he didn’t want to startle you.
“Step three,” he murmured. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, almost like he was having an inner battle with himself. His eyes moved down to your lips and stayed there. The tip of his tongue slithered across his lips. “I lean in and I–”
He cut himself off, head leaning in and closing the distance between you, his eyes fluttered closed. His breath fanned across the lower part of your face, a soft, warm exhale that only added to the warmth that had already spread throughout your body.
Your hand trembled in his, your skin too warm and slightly damp. Too nervous to keep your gaze on him, you closed your eyes almost as if you were bracing for impact.
And then– the soft touch of Eddie’s lips on yours.
Just as quickly as he pulled in, he pulled back again – just enough. His eyes opened, studying your face, waiting for your reaction.
Eddie had done this before. Enough times that it had stopped meaning anything.
The same hesitant girls, the same careful instructions, the same steps – like one of those well-rehearsed songs he’d play at the Hide Out with his band. Nothing ever really changed, besides the occasional need to put on a vinyl to break the awkward air in his room.
It was easy. Detached. Something that didn’t take too much thought.
But this–
Eddie’s eyes lingered on your face a second longer than they should have, longer than he liked. He noticed it immediately – the way his body had tensed slightly under your touch before he forced his muscles to relax again.
But that wasn’t the only thing he’d noticed – you hadn’t pulled away, or looked at him like you needed him to hurry up with the lesson as quickly as possible.
He noticed how you just… stayed. How you didn’t try to fill the silence between you.
It made an uncomfortable feeling settle in his chest – something unfamiliar he wasn’t planning on getting used to.
Eddie cleared his throat, the quiet sound cutting through the thick air that had filled the space between you. His hands twitched, his mind carefully calculating his next move. He moved them to your sides, thumbs resting lightly against the soft material of your baby pink skirt, like he was steadying you.
Your breath caught in your throat at the change in contact, not having expected him to touch you the way he did now.
“Next step,” his voice slipped into a controlled, calm, almost matter-of-fact tone. “Same idea as before, just… a little longer.”
His gaze flickered between your eyes, brown irises checking, grounding – giving you an out if you needed one. You gulped nervously, but didn’t move a muscle.
“Relax your mouth, don’t keep it too tense, yeah?” he added, carefully choosing his words. “Just follow me, okay? We’ll take it slow.”
Eddie’s grip on your hips stayed light, thumbs still brushing faintly against the fabric beneath them as he watched you for a second, taking in your expression, just to be sure.
You didn’t move, nor did you break eye contact with him.
The ends of his curls tickled your cheeks when he leaned in again, slower this time. The way he’d closed the space felt different – less abrupt, more expected. Your lips trembled right before they met his, instantly stilling with the soft weight of his mouth on yours. It wasn’t fleeting, like the previous kiss was; he lingered, like he said he would.
A sigh left your lips when you instinctively parted them. You hadn’t meant to do it, nor had you even realised you had.
Eddie’s thumbs stilled on your hips.
Almost as if you were made of porcelain, he carefully moved his lips, deepening the kiss in such a delicate way, like he was testing the water before stepping further in it.
His hands stayed where they held you, steady, not pulling you any closer – just there, grounding you.
Grounding himself.
He tilted his head slightly, the angle shifting just enough to make everything feel different – closer, warmer, more real.
The change caught you off guard, spinning your head slightly just as he deepened the kiss a little more. His plush lips pushed against yours – soft, yet insistent – coaxing them to part ever so slightly, just enough to explore the contours of your mouth.
Your breath hitched – the feeling unfamiliar, but not unwelcome.
Before you could get used to it, he parted away again, leaving small pecks on your lips before he pulled off completely. His eyes opened up, a new, undecipherable glimmer in them.
“Next step? Tongue,” he said with a soft smirk.
The three little words were enough to make your chest heave, a small change that didn’t go unnoticed by Eddie.
“It’s the same as before: I lean in and I kiss you.” His eyes looked down, taking in the new, soft hue that had taking over your lips. He cleared his throat before continuing, his gaze now lifting up back in search for yours. “I’ll just… touch your lower lip.”
His fingers dug ever so slightly into your hips, pulling you into him in a slow, careful movement. He moved his head – slowly, just like before. The tip of his nose nudged yours, and the curly ends of his hair found their place against your cheeks once more. His warm lips found yours again in one gentle motion.
The tip of his tongue slipped out, softly licking your lower lip. It was even warmer than his mouth, the feeling pulling a low gasp from of your throat. Eddie swallowed the sound with practiced precision, his tongue now gently entering your mouth – just a little further, slow and deliberate.
The slick texture of his tongue against yours felt like nothing you had ever experienced before, and it scared you how much you actually liked it, how easy it was to fall into it.
He’s really good at it. Nathalie’s voice echoed in your mind. She said it so nonchalantly, you hadn’t actually expected…
It wasn’t rushed or clumsy, like you had imagined. It didn’t feel like something to just get over with.
You had expected something quick – some awkward hands, nerves – an evening you could just… forget about as soon as it was over.
You hadn’t expected it to be slow and intentional, like he was paying attention to every little reaction he was getting out of you.
Eddie pulled away, giving your lips small, gentle pecks before he completely took his mouth away from yours. His dark brown eyes opened and took in the view in front of him – red, swollen lips glistening with his spit, blown out pupils staring back at him. “See? You’re a natural.”
Your cheeks warmed even more at the compliment.
He’s really good at it.
And then, seemingly out of nowhere, your thoughts shifted. You wondered, briefly, how it would feel if you were kissing Zack. If it would feel like this.
But as soon as the thought entered your mind, you pushed it away, your chest tightening at the idea.
Your breathing changed, just slightly. And it didn’t go unnoticed by Eddie.
His thumbs resumed their light movements on your hips as he widened the distance between you just a little bit. His eyes searched your face, looking for whatever had pulled your attention away from him.
“Hey,” he whispered, voice softer than before. “You okay?”
You swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat, your gaze dropping for just a second before lifting back to his.
His expression shifted ever so slightly, his thumbs still smoothing the fabric beneath his fingers while he waited for your answer.
You nodded, not trusting your voice.
He didn’t trust the nod you gave him. His thumbs stilled again as he decided to give you an out. “We can stop, if you want.”
His words echoed in your ears, heavier than they had actually sounded leaving his mouth. You parted your lips, only to close them again. Your fingers tightened around the pick you were still holding before loosening again, like you didn’t know what to decide on.
Your gaze shifted again, this time to the ground.
You reminded yourself that it was just practice – just something to get over with before your date with Zack. It wasn’t supposed to make you feel like… whatever you were feeling.
Your lips parted slightly, a trembling breath slipping past them as you tried to organise your thought, to find the words.
“I…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper. Your gaze lifted back to Eddie’s, his dark brown eyes already fixed on yours – soft and attentive, still waiting.
⋆˚꩜｡a/n: eeeeeeppp here it is<3<3 my mind is racing as i write this, can't believe i'm posting this after having this idea swimming in my head for yearssss, can't wait to write more of this hehe as always pls lemme know watcha think 💋
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on the topic of a dead dash, it really is on us to keep fandom alive. not just creators but participators in fandom too. keep writing, keep creating art — but also keep engaging with the things people create, the stuff they post!! like those random head canons. reblog that art. comment on those fics. talk to people in your fandom!! engagement in any capacity is the driving force in keeping fandom alive.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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