lovey

People talked about love like it happened all at once. Like it was lightning. Like one look across a crowded room, and suddenly the rest of your life made sense.

Eddie Munson thought that was complete and utter bullshit.

Love wasn't lightning; it was erosion. The kind that wore you down one unnoticed glance at a time until one day you looked up and realized you'd built an entire religion around someone who didn't even know your favorite color.

Everyone knew you.

Not in the way they knew Jason Carver, Jason demanded attention. You never asked for it…it simply just followed you.

Teachers smiled a little wider when you answered questions. Freshmen gravitated toward you on the first day of school like frightened birds, somehow knowing you were safe.

It was infuriating. Not because Eddie disliked you. God, that would've made things so much easier, no. You were kind.

Genuinely, painfully, kind.

The kind of person who remembered birthdays without writing them down. The kind of beauty that had nothing to do with your face. Though...that certainly wasn't hurting anything.

You smiled with your whole body. Your shoulders, your eyes, even your laugh looked warm. Sometimes Eddie wondered if the sun waited for your permission before coming up. Which—

Jesus Christ.

See? This was exactly the problem. He couldn't even think about you without sounding like he'd swallowed a Hallmark card. He'd never even spoken to you. Well, not really.

Sure, there'd been little moments. A borrowed pencil sophomore year. A quiet "thank you" when he'd held a door open. Passing each other in the hallway enough times that nodding became an unspoken ritual.

But conversations? Actual conversations? Those belonged to people who lived on the same planet. You lived somewhere else entirely.

Some place made of honor roll certificates, volunteer hours, and Sunday mornings that probably smelled of pancakes instead of cigarette smoke.

Eddie had long since accepted that there were invisible lines running through Hawkins High. Athletes. Nerds. Burnouts. Band kids. Freaks. You somehow belonged to all of them, while he belonged to exactly one.

Hellfire. The trailer park. The people adults warned their children about. 

Wayne always said Eddie had expensive taste. Not in clothes or cars, but people.

"You always go lookin' at things that ain't yours to carry," Wayne had muttered once while Eddie admired an old cherry-red Gibson through a pawn shop window.

At the time, Eddie thought he meant guitars. Now he wasn't so sure. Because every morning, without meaning to, he'd find himself searching the parking lot before first bell. Just to see if your car was there.

And every afternoon, he'd linger exactly thirty seconds too long outside English because he knew your classroom was across the hall. Not enough to be obvious, just enough to catch one glimpse.

Then he'd spend the rest of the day pretending that was somehow enough, though it never was.

The thing about memories was that they lied. Or maybe they just... polished themselves over time.

Eddie couldn't remember what he'd eaten yesterday. Couldn't remember what movie he'd watched with Wayne the week before. But he remembered that afternoon, every stupid, humiliating second of it.

It had been almost exactly a year ago.

The last bell had rung, sending Hawkins High spilling into the hallways in a tidal wave of backpacks and locker doors slamming shut. Eddie had lingered by his locker, stuffing loose campaign notes into a folder while Gareth argued with Jeff about whether dragons were technically reptiles.

He never heard Jason coming. The locker door slammed shut before Eddie could grab it, the metal rattling loud enough to make nearby students jump.

"Well, if it isn't the freak."

Eddie sighed. "Christ, Carver. Don't you ever get tired?"

Jason leaned against the neighboring locker with that smug grin Eddie had grown to hate. Andy and Chance flanked him like loyal guard dogs, each wearing the same self-satisfied expression.

"Nah."

Jason reached out, flicking Eddie's shoulder with unnecessary force.

"I actually look forward to these little chats."

"I don't."

"Funny."

Another shove. Not enough to knock him down, but just enough to remind him who had thirty pounds and varsity sports behind him.

"You know," Jason continued loudly, making sure the people walking by could hear, "I heard you recruited another freshman into your little Satan club."

Eddie rolled his eyes. "You guys are really obsessed with us."

"Just looking out for the town."

Same script, different day. Eddie had learned years ago that fighting back only made it worse.

So he leaned against the lockers and waited for them to get bored. He almost missed the footsteps approaching.

"What are you doing?" Your voice wasn't loud.

Jason turned first. "So, this doesn't concern—"

"It concerns me now."

You stepped between passing students without the slightest hesitation, your backpack still hanging off one shoulder.

"Move."

Jason laughed. "Excuse me?"

"I said move."

Andy scoffed. "You serious?"

Without another word, you planted a hand square against Andy's chest and shoved him back just enough to force him away from Eddie. Not hard, but just enough to make it clear whose space he'd invaded.

Jason stared at you, his jaw tightening. "What the hell is your problem?"

"My problem?" you echoed. "Three against one seems pretty pathetic to me."

"We're talking."

"No." You folded your arms. "You were cornering him."

Jason took one step closer. "I'd be careful if I were you."

Eddie's stomach dropped.

But you didn't move. Hell, you didn't even blink.

Instead, one eyebrow lifted. "What?"

Your voice stayed infuriatingly calm. "You gonna hit a girl?"

Jason's expression hardened. "I didn't say—"

"No?" You tilted your head. "I mean... you've already got one thing in common with your father."

You paused, eyeing him up and down.

"It'd be a shame if you decided to copy the rest of his behavior too."

Jason's face went red. Not from embarrassment, but pure fury. The kind of fury that made his nostrils flare.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"No?" You shrugged. "Then prove me wrong."

For a moment...Eddie genuinely thought Jason might do it. Might shove you. Might yell. Might finally snap.

Instead, Jason looked around. He couldn't touch you, not here. Not with everyone looking.

Jason just clicked his tongue. "Whatever."

He shot Eddie one last glare. "You're not worth it."

Then to you, "Careful who you stick up for."

You smiled. "I'll keep that in mind."

Jason scoffed before turning on his heel. "C'mon."

Andy and Chance followed without another word.

Eddie realized he'd been holding his breath. "...Thanks."

You turned toward him. For a second, he thought you might say something profound. Something unforgettable.

Instead, you smiled; that warm, easy smile he'd only ever seen from across classrooms.

"Don't mention it." You adjusted your backpack. "See you around, Eddie."

Eddie? Not ‘Munson’? He thought. 

Then you just…walked away. Like standing up to Jason Carver was no bigger a deal than holding the door open for someone. Eddie watched until you disappeared around the corner.

He didn't realize Gareth had come back until someone elbowed his ribs. "Dude."

"Hm?"

"You okay?"

Eddie kept staring at the empty hallway. "...yeah."

A year later...Eddie could still tell you exactly where you'd been standing. Exactly what you were wearing. Exactly how your hand had looked when you shoved Andy away from him.

He'd spent three hundred and sixty-five days trying to convince himself it hadn't meant anything. That you would've done it for anybody. It was probably true. But God knows that didn’t help slow his crush on you down in the slightest. 

There was a reason Eddie loved the Hawkins Fall Flea Market. Sure, half the vendors were selling ceramic geese in tiny bonnets or dusty kitchenware that should've been thrown out sometime during the Nixon administration.

But every now and then...Someone's grandfather died, and suddenly there'd be a box full of first-edition fantasy novels.

Or vintage dice. Or a stack of Dragon magazines someone didn't realize were worth something. Treasure hunting. That's what Wayne always called it.

"You never know what you're gonna find."

Eddie had been elbow-deep in a cardboard box labeled COMIC BOOKS - 25¢ for nearly twenty minutes before giving up his search for anything remotely Dungeons & Dragons related.

No dice…literally.

With a dramatic sigh, he wandered farther down the rows of tents, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket as he smiled to himself. It wasn't exactly exciting, but it was comfortable.

He almost walked right past the record stand.

It was tucked between a vendor selling antique fishing lures and another covered in old comic strips and movie posters. Milk crates overflowed with vinyl records while wire racks displayed cassettes in crooked little rows.

Naturally...Eddie wandered over. His fingers skimmed over faded album covers. Thin Lizzy. Rush. Van Halen. Not bad. Then—

"...No way."

He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but there you were. Standing on the opposite side of the rack, your brows pinched together in concentration as you thumbed through a crate marked HEAVY METAL.

You wore an oversized forest-green sweater with the sleeves pushed over your hands, faded jeans, and beat-up Converse he'd never seen you wear to school. Your hair was tucked behind one ear as you carefully flipped through albums like you actually knew what you were looking at.

There was no universe in which this made sense. You belonged in the classical section. Or maybe folk, something acoustic. Not Iron Maiden. Motörhead. Judas Priest.

He blinked hard, almost thinking he was staring at a mirage. Nope, still there.

You looked up and caught him staring again. A smile spread across your face almost instantly.

"Oh." You laughed softly. "Hi, Eddie."

His mouth opened, but nothing happened.

"You... um..." Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. "You like... music?"

God, just bury him now.

Your smile only widened. "I dabble."

"I just..." He gestured helplessly toward the crate. "I wasn't expecting..."

"Me?"

He nodded.

"I wasn't expecting me either." You grinned to yourself before looking back down at the albums. "My dad's the reason."

"You've got a metalhead dad?"

"The biggest."

You laughed. "He swears everything made after 1984 is garbage."

"Smart man."

"I told him you'd probably say that."

Eddie's head snapped up. "...You've talked about me?"

The words escaped before he could stop them.

You looked equally surprised. "I..."

A tiny laugh escaped you. "I mean..."

You ducked your head for a second. "You know... around school."

Right, of course. Don't be stupid, Munson. The thought that your family even knew his name made something warm bloom in his chest.

You continued sorting through the cassette, then suddenly stopped.

"Oh."

Your fingers landed on one. Without hesitating, you slid it free from the rack and held it toward him. "I think you'd like this."

He looked down. Mercyful Fate.

Eddie stared at the cassette, then back at you. "You know Mercyful Fate?"

"I know enough." You shrugged. "My dad played this one so much I practically know it by heart."

Eddie took it carefully, almost afraid it'd disappear if he moved too fast. "You've heard this?"

"'Come to the Sabbath' used to scare me when I was little."

He barked out a laugh. "You've gotta be kidding."

"Nope."

"You don't exactly scream..." He motioned vaguely toward you. "...Mercyful Fate."

"And you don't exactly scream honor roll."

He blinked. "...Fair."

You smiled victoriously before turning back to the rack. After another moment of searching, your face brightened. "There it is."

You pulled out your own cassette. The Cure: Disintegration.

"See?" You held it up proudly. "I have range."

Eddie laughed. "I'll allow it."

"I appreciate your approval."

The older vendor wandered over. "You kids find everything?"

You nodded. "I think so."

As the man rang up your cassette, Eddie was still standing there holding the Mercyful Fate tape in both hands like you'd just gifted him the Holy Grail.

You paid, tucked the cassette into your canvas tote bag, and looked back at him. "I'll see you Monday?"

He swallowed. "...Yeah."

"Don't wait too long to listen to that." You pointed toward the cassette still in his hands. "I'd like to know what you think."

Before he could ask exactly how you planned to do that...you were already walking away.

You lifted a hand over your shoulder. "Bye, Eddie."

He watched until the crowd swallowed you whole. Only then did he glance back down at the cassette.

"You gonna buy it?"

The vendor's voice startled him. "Huh?"

"You've been holding it for five minutes."

"Oh."

Eddie looked down at the cracked plastic case, then toward the direction you'd disappeared. "...Yeah."

He smiled to himself. "I think I have to."

The cassette wasn't rare. He'd seen three copies of the same album over the last month. It wasn't even his favorite Mercyful Fate record. But this one? This one had your fingerprints on it.

By Wednesday, Eddie had listened to the Mercyful Fate cassette four times. Not because it had suddenly become his favorite album, it hadn't.

But every time King Diamond's voice crackled through the speakers of the van's cassette player, Eddie could picture your smile across that flea market record stand.

"I think you'd like this."

Wayne noticed by Tuesday night. "Ain't this the same tape you played yesterday?"

"...Maybe."

"You finally wear out your Sabbath tapes?"

"...No."

Wayne glanced over the rim of his newspaper. "...Girl?"

Eddie nearly combusted on the spot from how red his face was.

The cafeteria buzzed louder than usual as homecoming week had officially taken hold at Hawkins High. Construction paper streamers hung lopsided from the ceiling.

The student council had somehow convinced the administration to decorate every available surface in orange and green, making the cafeteria look like it had exploded.

Eddie hated it. He hated pep rallies, football, and he especially hated homecoming. And he especially especially hated listening to Jason Carver talk about the "spirit of Hawkins."

"So," Gareth said through a mouthful of fries, "we skipping the pep rally?"

"We're legally obligated to."

Jeff nodded solemnly. "It's in the Hellfire constitution."

Mike frowned. "We have a constitution?"

"We do now."

Laughter bounced around the table. Then Dustin elbowed Eddie. "Dude."

"What?"

"Twelve o'clock."

Eddie looked up. You moved from table to table carrying a thick envelope and a clipboard tucked against your chest. Homecoming tickets, of course.

You stopped at the basketball table first. Jason smiled, and you smiled back politely. Professional and nothing more. Then the band kids. Then the theater kids. Then—

Hellfire...and Eddie's heart immediately forgot how to function.

"Hi, guys."

You smiled at the whole table before your eyes landed on him.

"Hi, Eddie."

God. You always said his name like it belonged in your mouth.

"Uh... hey."

"So," you said, setting the envelope on the table. "I'm making my rounds."

You held up two small orange tickets. "Homecoming tickets. Five dollars."

Jeff snorted, Mike looked horrified, while Gareth dramatically searched his empty pockets.

"We're allergic."

"I figured."

Then you looked back at Eddie. "Oh."

Your smile softened. "Did you ever listen to the cassette?"

His brain completely abandoned him. "...Yeah."

"And?"

"It was..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "...Really good."

"'Really good?'" You looked mock offended. "I thought it'd at least earn a 'life-changing.'"

"I was trying not to sound insane."

"So you liked it?"

"I—" He smiled before he could stop himself. "...Yeah. A lot, actually."

"I knew you would."

Something warm settled in his chest. You knew. Not hoped, not guessed, knew.

Which is why, when he said, without thinking, "I'll take two."

Silence, which even made Eddie freeze. What?

Your eyebrows lifted slightly. "...Two?"

He stared at the tickets. Abort mission. Abort mission. FUCK! Too late.

"Uh..." His hand was already digging into his pocket. "Yeah."

He slapped a crumpled ten-dollar bill onto the table before his brain had the chance to intervene. "I'll take two."

You looked at him for a second longer than necessary, then the smallest smile tugged at your lips. Then, you handed him the two orange tickets. 

"Our music committee isn't nearly as good as Mercyful Fate."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"I'll see you around?"

"...Yeah."

You gave the table one last smile. "Have a good lunch, guys."

Then, you disappeared toward the next group of students, and the second you were out of earshot...

Five heads slowly turned toward Eddie.

"...What the hell was that?" Dustin snaps.

"What?"

"You hate homecoming."

"I don't hate—"

"You called it," Gareth interrupted, "'capitalist propaganda with crepe paper.'"

"I stand by that."

Jeff leaned across the table. "So why," he asked carefully, "did you just buy..."

He held up two fingers. "...two tickets?"

Eddie blinked. "...Did I?"

"You were there." Mike snorted. "I'm pretty sure you even paid for them."

Eddie looked down at the tickets in his hand as though they'd magically appeared there.

"...Huh."

Gareth burst into laughter. "'Huh?'"

"'Huh?!'"

"You bought two!"

"I know!"

"Do you?!"

Dustin reached across the table and plucked one from Eddie's fingers.

"'Homecoming Admission.'"

He looked around dramatically. "Guys. I think Eddie the Banished has suffered a traumatic brain injury."

Jeff nodded. "Only explanation."

"You've spent three years talking about how dances are government mind control."

"They are."

"So, who are you taking?"

Eddie opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Because...he hadn't thought that far. He hadn't thought at all. He'd just wanted another excuse or another thirty seconds of hearing your voice.

"...Nobody."

Five skeptical expressions. "Nnnoooobody?" Gareth echoed.

"Nope."

"So you just bought two tickets..."

"Yep."

"...For fun?"

"...Sure."

Mike deadpanned, "That's the stupidest thing you've ever said."

Dustin slowly smiled. "Oh."

"Oh no," Eddie muttered.

"Oh, no."

Dustin pointed across the cafeteria, where you were still making your rounds. "You bought two tickets because you're gonna ask her."

Eddie nearly choked on his Coke. "I am absolutely not."

"You absolutely are."

"I absolutely am not."

Jeff grinned. "Dude."

"You've been listening to that cassette all week."

"You don't know that."

"Wayne told my mom."

Eddie's head whipped toward him. "...Wayne, what?"

"My mom was at the trailer dropping off your uncle's casserole dish."

Jeff shrugged innocently. "He said—and I quote—'Boy's been playing the same damn tape for three days. Must be love.'"

The entire table erupted while Dustin pointed triumphantly. "Called it."

Eddie dropped his forehead onto the cafeteria table with a groan.

By the time Hellfire finished packing up their campaign books in the theater room, basketball practice had just let out. Which meant letterman jackets, inflated egos, and Jason Carver. Perfect.

Eddie spotted them before they spotted him, or so he thought.

"You boys have another séance today?"

Gareth groaned.

"Just keep walking."

That had been the plan. Until Tommy H stuck his foot out, and Gareth caught it too late.

His books were scattered across the pavement, dice bouncing in every direction. One tiny d20 rolled nearly twenty feet before coming to rest beneath a parked truck.

"Oh, my bad," Tommy said without sounding sorry in the slightest.

Gareth muttered a curse beneath his breath as he knelt to gather his things.

Eddie was already moving. "The hell's your problem?"

Jason shrugged. "Gravity."

"You tripped him," Eddie says, pointing between Jason and Tommy. 

"I don't know, Munson." Tommy grinned. "Looked pretty clumsy to me."

Jeff and Dustin immediately stepped toward Gareth, helping gather his books. Eddie stood between them and Jason.

"C’mon, man. At least pick on someone with a fighting chance."

Jason smiled as he chimed in. "I am."

The shove came so fast that Eddie barely had time to react, his shoulder slamming into the side of a parked car. The metal echoed.

"Jesus, fuck—" Eddie shoved him back, causing Jason's smile to disappear.

"Oh. There he is."

The first punch caught Eddie across the jaw, causing white to explode across his vision. He stumbled back, so Andy grabbed his jacket from behind. Then, Tommy landed one on his ribs. Someone else kicked the back of his knee.

Three against one, again. He heard Dustin yelling, Jeff trying to pull somebody off, and Gareth shouting Eddie's name.

"...Enough!"

Everything stopped as a familiar voice cut through the chaos like a knife.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Eddie blinked through blurry vision and saw you.

You were marching across the parking lot faster than he'd ever seen anyone move as your backpack swung wildly against your side.

Jason scoffed. "Stay out of it."

"No."

You shoved Andy away from Eddie so hard that he stumbled backward. "I said that’s enough."

Tommy laughed. "Oh, here comes Wonder Woman."

You ignored him completely. Instead, you crouched beside Eddie. "Are you okay?"

He tried to answer, but instead, blood dripped onto his shirt. Your face tightened as you looked back up to analyze the scene: three basketball players, one bleeding boy, and his friend's reactions somewhere between horror and panic. 

"You should be proud of yourselves."

Jason rolled his eyes. "He was acting insane. He pushed me for Christ's sake."

"That's bullshit."

Jason took a step closer. "What do you care?"

"I care because you three are acting like a bunch of fucking neanderthals. And for what? What the hell did he ever do to you?"

He laughed. "You really gonna defend this freak?"

You stood slowly until you were eye level with him. "I'm defending someone who can't fight three people at once."

Jason clicked his tongue. "You're wasting your time."

"No." You shook your head.

"You know..." You looked Jason up and down. "For someone who talks so much about honor..."

Your eyes drifted toward the gym. "...you sure need a lot of teammates when you throw a punch."

Jason's jaw clenched. "You should go."

"You first."

You kept your gaze fixed on Jason, putting on the best ‘don’t fuck with me today’ face you could muster.

His eyes dart between you and Eddie, a small and almost sinister grin forming. Then, he scoffed.

"C'mon. This freak show isn’t worth our spots in Friday's game.”

The last of the basketball team disappeared across the parking lot. Jason threw one final glare over his shoulder before climbing into Tommy's truck.

"...Jesus Christ." Your voice was barely above a whisper. Eddie looked up just in time to see you drop to your knees again beside him.

Your eyes darted over his face: the split lip, the scrape across his cheek, the beginnings of a bruise blooming beneath his eye.

"Dustin!" you called over your shoulder. "Go to the nurse's office!"

Dustin looked between you and Eddie before immediately taking off toward the school. "I'll get an ice pack!"

You nodded once before turning your attention back to Eddie. "Can you sit up?"

He managed a small nod even though every rib protested. You slipped an arm beneath his shoulder, helping him lean back against the brick wall of the school.

"So much for keeping your pretty face."

Eddie let out a weak laugh. "...Didn't know I had one."

You rolled your eyes. "Shut up."

Your backpack slid into your lap, frowning as you rifled through its contents. "No..." You dug deeper. "No..."

"Ah! There."

You pulled out an old black T-shirt, faded nearly gray with age. Eddie recognized the logo immediately: Iron Maiden, The Number of the Beast tour.

He blinked. "You just carry band shirts around for fun?"

"My dad leaves them in my car." You shrugged, "Guess they make good makeshift paper towels."

You hesitated. "Can I?"

He nodded before he even knew what you were asking. You folded the shirt into a small square before gently dabbing at the blood on the corner of his mouth; your touch was impossibly careful.

With your face inches from his, he’s embarrassed about how many times he imagined being this close more times than he cares to admit.

"You know..." You sighed, "...That was really stupid."

"Hm?"

"What were you thinking?" You wiped another streak of blood from his cheek. "There were three of them."

"They were picking on Gareth."

"I know."

"So..."

"So you decided to get yourself killed?"

"I wasn't gonna let them jump him."

"I know." You say with an exaggerated sigh.

You make another careful swipe of the shirt across his lip, "You don't always have to be the one who saves everybody."

He watched you instead of answering. Your brows were pulled together, bottom lip tucked between your teeth in concentration.

"Eddie?"

He hadn't realized he'd been staring. "What?"

"You okay? You keep looking at me and, like, zoning out. Do you feel dizzy?"

"Oh." His voice came out embarrassingly quiet, "Uh, no. Sorry."

"Oh." You reply, a tiny smile tugging at your lips.

“Huh?” He swallowed.

His brain screamed at him to say literally anything else. Comment on the weather. Ask about homework.

"I think I really like you."

You froze mid-wipe of his cheek, eyes quickly meeting his. 

Eddie groaned and closed his eyes. "Fuck—Forget I said that."

"Oh."

Fantastic. She sounds uncomfortable. Wonderful.

"I didn't mean—"

"No." Your hand gently caught his wrist before he could keep spiraling, "I just..."

He opened his eyes, and to his delight, you were smiling.

"I've been wondering how long that was going to take."

His eyebrows knit together. "...What?"

"I was starting to think you were never going to say it."

"...Say what?"

"That."

You laughed quietly. "I've liked you for over a year, Eddie."

His brain stopped. "No, you don't."

"I do."

"You can't."

"I can."

"You..." He searched your face for the joke, "You've liked me?"

"Since you helped that freshman find the theater room on the first day of school last year."

"...That's why?"

"You spent fifteen minutes walking him around the building."

"He looked lost."

"I know." You smiled, "That's kind of my point."

He stared, then laughed, a disbelieving and breathless laugh.

"I've spent an entire year convincing myself you were completely out of my league."

"I've spent an entire year waiting for you to realize I wasn't.”

His heart nearly flew out of his chest just then.

"But then..." You shrugged, looking almost sheepish. "You bought the second homecoming ticket, so I just assumed you found someone else to ask."

"...WHAT?"

The word exploded out of him so loudly that a flock of birds scattered from the nearby trees.

You blinked. "What?"

"No!" He sat up a little too fast before immediately grabbing his ribs. "Ow—Jesus Christ."

"Eddie! Jesus, would you calm d—"

"No, no, listen." He pointed emphatically toward the school. "I bought the second ticket because you were standing there."

"...I know."

"No, I mean—" He groaned. "I wasn't thinking."

"I've noticed."

"I just wanted an excuse to keep talking to you."

You stared.

"So my brain went..." He mimed throwing something across the parking lot. "'Buy two tickets.' But uh, I didn't have a plan after that."

A laugh bubbled out of you. "So..."

He continued, growing increasingly animated. "...then Gareth asks, 'Who're you taking?'"

"And?"

"And I realized..." He buried his face in his hands. "...I had absolutely no idea what I was doing."

Your shoulders started shaking. "Oh my God..."

"I panicked."

"I can tell."

"I said I bought them for fun."

"You told them..." you managed between laughs, "'for fun?'"

"I know!"

"That's the worst lie I've ever heard."

"I KNOW."

"They believed you?"

"They absolutely did not."

You laughed even harder, and he found himself laughing, too.

"I have spent," he said through a grin, "the last four days wondering who the hell I was supposed to ask because apparently I'd already committed."

Your laughter slowly faded into something softer.

"So..." You looked at him carefully. "...Who were you planning on asking?"

He gave you the most incredulous look. "You."

"Really?"

"You literally just admitted you thought I found somebody else."

"I know, but..." You smiled. "I wanted to hear you say it."

Eddie shook his head in disbelief. "You're evil."

"A little."

"You've been letting me suffer this whole time?"

"I thought it was kind of cute."

"Oh, that's cruel."

"It was a little cruel." You say, shrugging.

He smiles the biggest smile he can muster, considering the pain shooting through what feels like every inch of his body, and releases a deep sigh. 

"So..."

"So?"

He reached into the pocket of his denim vest, wincing as his bruised ribs protested.

After a second of fumbling, he pulled out the slightly crumpled orange homecoming ticket, holding it out between two fingers.

"I know this isn't exactly the most romantic timing."

You looked down at the ticket, then back up at him.

"But..." His smile turned nervous, "...would you maybe wanna go to homecoming with me?"

You could’ve just verbally said yes, but fuck that.

You broke the final inches of distance between you, your lips meeting his. He kissed you back instinctively, one hand finding your waist, smiling into the kiss. You smiled too.

"Hss—" Eddie jerked back with a sharp wince, immediately bringing a hand to his mouth.

"Oh, my God!" Your eyes went wide. "Shit! I'm so sorry!"

"No, no—" He laughed despite himself, carefully pressing two fingers against his split lip. "I just forgot I got punched."

"You idiot."

"Yeah..." A grin spread across his face, "...Worth it."

You rolled your eyes, but he caught the smile tugging at your lips.

"This time," you murmured, leaning closer again, "try not to throw yourself into it like you're storming a castle."

"I make no promises."

"I know." You cupped his cheek, much gentler now. "So let me."

This kiss was much slower; you barely brushed your lips against his at first. He practically pulled you into his airspace, completely ignoring any stinging sensation because, hell, he’d thought about this at least a thousand times. 

Afterward, he rested his forehead against yours, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.

"I've wanted to do that," he admitted softly, "for... probably an embarrassing amount of time."

You laughed. "Me too."

He looked at you like he was trying to memorize your face. "So..."

"So?"

"Does this mean you'll go to homecoming with me?"

You pretended to think about it. "Hmm..."

"Don't do this to me."

"I suppose."

He let out the most dramatic sigh of relief. "Thank God."

Before you could tease him for it, he was kissing you again. His hand found your cheek, thumb brushing gently along your jaw as he smiled into it, and you smiled back.

Then you felt the subtle tension in his hand. The way his fingers tightened ever so slightly against your skin. The sharp inhale he tried, and failed, to hide.

You pulled back just enough to look at him. "You're hurting."

"I'm surviving."

"Eddie."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

He grinned, lopsided because of his split lip. "I've imagined kissing you about a thousand times."

You laughed softly.

"And not once did Jason Carver punch me beforehand."

You rolled your eyes, your thumb carefully brushing beneath the bruise blooming under his eye.

"You are unbelievable."

"I've been called worse."

"I'm sure you have."

His forehead rested against yours, his smile refusing to leave. "I don't think anything could ruin today."

"...Ahem."

The two of you froze and slowly turned your heads.

Dustin stood a few yards away, an ice pack dangling from one hand. He looked from Eddie to you, then to the fact that you were still sitting impossibly close together, practically entangled. 

A slow, knowing grin spread across his face. 

"...I guess you don't need that ice pack then?"

missed u guys sm:,) more coming soon, pinky promise <3

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You sit back against the cushions, taking a long drag, feeling the smoke curling down your throat, around your lungs. Don’t gotta be high to appreciate how pretty your boy is, all long arms and knees akimbo as he sits cross-legged to load the VCR.

“Gonna turn me to stone,” he says, feeling your eyes boring into the back of his skull. 

You stare at him harder, memorizing the slope of his nose, backlit by the TV static, the dark shape of his brow. “Hissss.”

The smoke pours from your nose with the noise. The TV pops to life, and Eddie turns away to walk on his knees towards you as you gasp- “Hey. How’d you do that?”

On the screen, a recorded version of the Times Square ball drop plays, just minutes before the event you’d all watched at Hank’s.

“I have my devious little ways,” Eddie says, slotting his knelt form between your legs, taking the joint while you’re distracted to place it on the coffee table ashtray. “Wanted to show you what I wish I coulda done, at midnight.”

He brings your hand up to kiss the back of it, your other going to his neck, thumb poking into the divots of his dimples as he grins. 

“You’re sweet.”

“Can be.” Eddie shrugs but looks very pleased with himself, and your praise, leaning his cheek into your hand.

The countdown on the tape hasn’t started yet but you can’t wait to kiss him, leaning forward as Eddie raises up a bit to meet you halfway. 

Your lips touch, soft and gentle, Eddie’s plush bottom one fitting perfectly between the crease of yours- you can feel your heartbeat quicken, and his, too, just under his jaw where your fingers rest. 

It hasn’t gotten old, yet, and you hope it never will. 

Kissing Eddie always feels just as exciting as the first time; you’ve spent enough of your life denying the simple act, and never knew how much you craved it until the access tap got turned on full blast.

“Gotta tell you something.” You’re lip to lip but pull back just enough to let your breath coast over his mouth, can feel his smile as his hands drop to your waist.

“Tell me anything. Two minutes to midnight, better get it off your chest.”

There are muted, euphoric screams from the crowd in New York as you swallow, feeling lightheaded but sure of your next words- so sure, in fact, that you look Eddie right in the face as you say it.

“I love you.”

Eddie blinks. A slow sweep of those stupidly long lashes, dark chocolate eyes that are crinkling at the edges, his hands tightening at the words, he’s shaking with emotion-

no, not emotion. Laughter.

Eddie is laughing at you, after you just said you love him. 

You know he isn’t intending to be cruel, and seeing Eddie laugh is making you crack a smile, because, okay, whatever, maybe the situation is a bit ridiculous, and he wasn’t expecting it, and you can share in the humor.

“You don’t have to say it back,” you start, but Eddie shakes his head, unable to wipe the grin from his face but clearly trying to bring himself back down.

“Okay.” He nods, playing at serious. “Sure. Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

Then he’s leaning in again, tilting his chin up for another kiss, and you start to feel the situation’s a bit off, moving back with a frown.

“I’m not- I thought you’d be, y’know, a bit more enthused about this.” Your hands drop to the inside of Eddie’s arms, tracing over his puppetmaster tattoo, feeling like your own strings are being yanked around. “I mean. What with my whole… lack of commitment. Thing.”

“Oh, I am enthused,” Eddie counters, still with that same, dopey smile that’s starting to get under your skin because it means he knows something you don’t. “I guess it’s just a little funny, hearing it for a second time.”

“What?” You gape at the boy halfway in your lap, brows shoving together, heated confusion churning through your body. “I- what the fuck. That’s the first time I’ve said anything like that to you.”

“Nah,” Eddie says, a bit gentler this time, his thumbs working underneath the hem of your shirt to seek out bare skin. “Christmas night. Wayne’s place. The old man was out with his drinking buddies, you and me broke into his whiskey, and you said it right before goin’ to sleep.”

There’s a hazy, booze-blanketed memory that resurfaces for you now, rippling like the surface of a pond. A soft quilt being tucked around your form, a kiss to the top of your head, some drunken, murmured words to Eddie before he left your room for the night. 

It hurts, that the memory isn’t even fully there for you. 

As embarrassing as it is, not being the one to remember, you don’t retreat into yourself or try to edge around the topic like you would’ve in the past. It only serves to make this moment more real.

“Eddie.” You lift both your hands to the side of Eddie’s face, holding him there and still between your hands, looking earnestly no matter how much it scares you to feel, this much- “Even though I meant it then, I was drunk. But I’m not now- had a single hit, I’m pretty much sober. And I mean it.”

You can see the waves of emotion cascade over Eddie as he processes this, like someone tossed a rock past the surface that dislodged some long-buried something.

“Say it again,” he pleads, voice just above a whisper, eyes still locked with yours. 

“I love you.”

“Holy shit.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to be open-mouthed, to gasp, clutching at your sides like if he let go you might float up into nothingness, eyes shimmering over with fresh tears. “You really mean it?”

“Yes,” you breathe a laugh into the word, stroking your thumbs over the apples of each of his flushed cheeks. “I really mean it. Have for awhile, just haven’t had the guts to saymmph-”

His mouth is on yours, noses bumping in his eagerness, hand cupping the back of your head to pull you in deeper- you think if he could swallow you whole, right now, he would. 

Not like you’re far behind on that sentiment; you’re pulling Eddie in just as much, an audible wet noise as your tongues slip in and out of each other’s mouths, your ankles fitting to cross at the small of Eddie’s back as he practically consumes you with this kiss that feels endless.

Your brain is catching up to your body, arms over Eddie’s shoulders now, but still pulling back a fraction to rest the tip of your nose on his, pulling in a shaky breath- “And you don’t- like I said, earlier, you don’t have to say it b-”

“Oh, shut up.” With exasperation, Eddie dips forward to lap into your mouth again, letting his teeth sink into the plush of your bottom lip before kissing it better- “Been wanting to say it back for months. Strongest thing I felt in years, you make me so…”

Eddie’s chest stutters against yours, and when he pulls back to look at you again, there’s a tear that escapes his left eye, splashes onto your knuckle just below as he finishes, “...happy. And insane. And in love. I love you.”

There’s a sudden, lurching feeling that happens so often, that can spiral quick into self-loathing if you’re not quick to course correct- guilt starts to simmer at the fact that you’ve made Eddie wait so long.

It’s taken you years just to say these three little words, and if you were different, changed, somehow, you’d be a better fit, that Eddie deserves better-

“Hey.” His voice cuts through to the core of your swirling thoughts, eyes flitting over your changing expressions like he’s reading an open book. “It’s okay. Whatever you’re thinking- it’s probably the opposite. Gotta think happy thoughts when I tell you I love you- it’s conditioning, or some shit.”

This gets you to crack a smile, but it’s not enough to completely quell your worry. “I’m sorry. I really am. I know you don’t like when I apologize for being myself, or whatever, but-”

Eddie moves with impressive speed and precision, a hand at your back to cushion the blow as he flips you flat against the couch. A startled uumphf is knocked from your mouth again, until Eddie kisses the noise away, form stretched over yours with delicious weight.

“Sounds like you already know the answer,” he says, low and slow at your ear, bringing his hand up to palm over your breast. 

Your chest pushes up into the touch automatically, and Eddie tsks, half devil and half angel hovering an inch from your face, unspooled black curls taking up most of the frame. “Say it again.”

With your ankles still snugly wrapped, you pull Eddie’s pelvis low enough to rock against yours, feeling the stiff shape of his cock brushing through the layers at your heated core, watching as the pleasure twists his features and settles into a simmer. 

“I love you. I love you, I love you, I love-”

“Fuck. Fuck.” 

He’s mindlessly rutting now, cock kicking at the words, arms caged around your head as you squeeze at his shoulders, urging him quicker, closer-

It’s not an apology, but you want the feeling of amends to be imbued into every movement. A tender stroke to the back of Eddie’s head, a kiss pressed into the hollow of his throat, invitations laid bare- all to say, I’m yours. No one else can have me like this. Just you. 

It’s not absolution, but you feel the intensity of Eddie’s emotions as you murmur the words on repeat. I love you I love you I love you becomes the gospel you both revere; there are cheers tinny and far away on the screen as Eddie slips your underwear to the side, seeking your warm, wet muscle with two fingers.

He fits like he always has- perfect. Not just like he was made for you, but like you’d both put in the work to make it so. 

Eddie licks the sweat from your clavicle and works you up on his fingers before shoving his briefs down, lining himself up, and sliding home.

Your back arches again, fully off the back of the couch, into Eddie’s strong, waiting arms- “I’ve got you,” he rasps, pushing in until you feel the head of his cock nudging deep. “I love you. Love you.”

Two hours ago in Times Square, the midnight of a new year dawns. 

You and your boy christen it with the sacredness of two people, in admittance of love, for the first time.

___

Another month of being in love quietly passes.

You’re sat on the couch with a dogeared paperback in your lap, while Eddie is on the floor in front of you, guitar strings humming. 

His back- pressed against the flat of your legs- is vibrating with musical tone as he runs through an acoustic version of Corroded’s set list for a gig this weekend.

You read the same line for a seventh time then give up, voicing aloud to the back of Eddie’s head- “I was thinking we should get a bigger bed.”

His fingers stay plucking on the strings but he interrupts his own mumbled flow of lyrics to hum, thoughtful. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Your mattress is too small, and mine is hardly better at fitting us both.” 

Eddie’s hand climbs the frets. “Can’t see why I’d want to shell out for that expense when I actually like how it feels to be inside your skin.”

You laugh, sock feet wiggling under the seat of his jeans. “Shut up, you know I like it too. But- I’m actually serious. I’ll pay for my half, and you-”

Eddie turns over his shoulder to look at you quick enough to breach whiplash territory. “Your- your half?”

“...yes?” You weren’t expecting this topic to be met with such surprise. In your own mind, this is simply the next step, the thing that just makes good sense to do. 

The book flutters as you toss it to the coffee table, freeing up your hands to lay out the logistics as you speak. “We’re already spending the majority of our nights in each other’s beds, right? Our closets are basically meshed. So are our dressers. Mind as well make the switch, and a comfier one, at that. Your room, my room, doesn’t matter to me- we should combine and conquer. Fix up whatever’s left into a spare.”

Eddie’s eyes are flicking between yours like he’s trying to read your mind again. He attempts to swallow his shock when it’s clear that’s making you cagey. “Ohh-kay. Wow. Yeah, that’s- that makes sense. Uh. What if someone comes over and- y’know- uses their eyes to see?”

This is the part of the scenario you’ve given less thought to. Bizarre, for someone with no less than four separate planners. 

Maybe you just don’t care who sees. Not anymore. 

But that’s a statement that feels like a landslide so instead you shrug, playing it very cool and very safe- “We can explain away just about anything on the basis of you being a Freak, capital F.”

Eddie’s grin is a slow, crawling thing that’s all teeth by the end. “How very economical of you.”

He doesn’t see the throw pillow coming; it whaps against the back of his head and you speak over his indignant squawk. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up- all the way to the mattress store. Should make yourself useful and take us tomorrow.”

Eddie rests the neck of his guitar against the coffee table and pushes up from the floor to settle into the cushion at your side, still grinning. “I ain’t laughing.”

“No,” you agree, reaching out for his face, settling your grip around his chin and feeling the divots of his dimples at either side as you squeeze, playfully. “Somehow this is worse.”

It’s nearly time for your Thursday night ritual- getting stoned, watching Perry Mason reruns on mute, and making up the voices for the onscreen characters. Eddie is the best at it, but he’ll pout if you don’t contribute, too. 

You clamber into his lap and his arms encircle you, his chin fitting to the top of your head. Affection comes easier these days and you’re reveling in it, this new space that affords you some bravery and a lot of touch. 

“Could go for ice cream, after the boring store.” Eddie’s voice buzzes comfort through your skull. “We’re gonna be dog tired after jumping on all those mattresses.”

Your cheek is pressed to Eddie’s chest, and the warmth of him leaks through. As it often does. Into everything. 

The brassy orchestral swell of Perry Mason’s theme song lifts from the speakers. Your eyes shutter closed, and for a moment, you let yourself imagine it. 

The day you’ll have tomorrow, the jokes and teasing and the happiness shared; the long drive and the open road and Eddie at your side. Sunshine and a brand new mattress and the sweetness of cold sugar melting into your tongue. 

___

Nothing changes. Everything changes. 

Somehow, you find yourself existing in a grey area, when previously all that you’ve known and held dear has been black and white. 

Eddie is still the same Eddie. Loving and attentive, goofy and sweet. 

He still hides his physical affection when you’re with friends but sneaks in touches beneath tables and between times when no one’s looking. 

The fucking is different. 

It’s the same rhythm, the same knowledge of each other’s bodies, but with new intention. New purpose. 

Now, there’s a ragged and intense loop of I love yous saturating your mind and mouth during every act of intimacy. It used to feel easy; leaving the feelings at the door, going to work without ruminating on what might be waiting for you at home.

Now, you’re lucky to get three consecutive minutes of not thinking about Eddie during your shifts at the bookshop. Memories of the previous night’s activities will surface at the most inconvenient times, making you physically hot under the collar, the ghost of his touch like a lingering brand.

Eddie occupies your mind. He fills all the empty spaces, and for the first time, there’s no fear mixed in with the thoughts. Keeping him close in memory feels less like a warning sign and more like a security blanket. 

It feels so good to feel it all- the wanting, the longing, the arousal- without the sharp edges of Rules to hold you back. 

You’ve been having one of those days, today- all shift long you’ve been burning and buzzing with the need. 

You beat Eddie home by a few minutes and the moment you’re inside the apartment everything on you begs to be parted. Your work bag hits the floor with a thud, followed by your tennis shoes, your jacket that gets tossed without care towards the couch. 

It’s practically a mess. You allow yourself the luxury. 

By the time Eddie walks in you’ve just managed to pull off your jeans, where you stand in the middle of the carpet amongst the wreck of undressing. 

Eddie barely has time to raise his eyebrows and set his guitar case next to your work bag before he’s being walked backwards, pushed against the wood of the front door by your hands. 

He’s fresh from rehearsals, smelling like sweet sweat and hormonal electricity as your hands roam the ribbed contours between his leather jacket and t-shirt. There’s black pencil liner smudged around his eyes and it’s all driving you fucking crazy. 

“Jesus, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs, but does nothing to stop you from burying your nose behind his ear and inhaling deeply. “Been wound up without me?”

“Something like that.” You want to bite him, hard, but settle for kissing your way towards his adam’s apple and grazing your teeth against the shape of it. 

Eddie shudders, clinging to your low back, pulling you in closer. You wish he’d unzip his skin and let you in- really, it’s the least he could do to satiate your craving. 

The fuck me right here in this hallway line is about to be crossed so you detach yourself from Eddie even though the space instantly hurts, and turn for the first room on the left.

The new king bed sits comfortably under the window, with just enough floor space for a dresser and bookshelf. You slip your undies free as Eddie rounds the corner, scrambling to catch up, watching you with a slightly dazed expression. 

“Ovulation.” You shrug off his unvoiced question as to the nature of your desire, because deniability comes easy, and so do excuses. 

And then you remember you’re trying to be better about this, about letting him in. So as Eddie shrugs his coat off and pulls his shirt over his head you take a few steps backwards, letting your thighs hit the back of the mattress, adding-

“And you. It's mostly you. I’m really into you.”

Eddie temporarily gets his head stuck in the hole of his shirt but rips it free with a full-bodied shake, hair frizzing in every direction as he grins (leers) at you.

“Well, shit, baby, what a coincidence.” He doffs an invisible cap and bows deeply, with faux grandiosity. “Seems we’ve got the same idea.”

Jesus, what a fucking dork. You’re about to explode without his touch. 

“Yeah, yeah.” The sarcasm can’t mask the adoration in your tone. Your knees part, and Eddie’s eyes drop to the space between your legs. Got him. “I’m in love with you and you can laugh it up later- fuck me like you mean it, now.”

There’s a flush already settling across the apples of his cheeks as Eddie sinks to his knees, reaching for yours. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

He eats you out with fervor, with the hunger of a starving man- like maybe he, too, has been aching for this all day. Using the memories of you like sucking candy until he can come home to taste the real thing, straight from the source. 

Eddie fucks you with his tongue and fingers and doesn’t stop until you’re heaving with a second orgasm; he crawls up the length of your body and flattens you to the quilttop with kisses.

You draw him into yourself, words that mean nothing and everything on a shuddering loop- I need you, need you, so much- until the tides turn into a chorus of nothing but I love you I love you love you…!

Eddie answers. Sinks inside of you and kisses the words into your mouth. You have me, baby. All of me. Promise. I love you. I’ll give you anything. 

He fucks into you from behind, front molded to the curve of your back as you’re tipped on your side. There’s a tickle of his lashes at your jaw, his chin resting on your shoulder where it’s hooked- he wants to watch his cock disappear and reappear, coated in your slick. 

Eddie’s left arm spans your chest, holding you steady as his hips smack forwards in a hypnotic thrusting pattern. His right wrist presses firmly against that soft spot just below your tummy, while the middle fingers of his hand are working fast, wet circles over your clit. 

You’re making noises you’ve never heard yourself make before- weepy, fucked-out moans that crawl unbidden from your throat, punctuated by a sharp gasp every time Eddie’s hips snap forwards. 

He kisses behind your ear, murmuring something about how pretty you sound and drawing back just enough to watch your expressions. His half-lidded eyes are drinking in every minute twitch and feeling that passes over your face.

You can’t help but react authentically. There’s a small part of you that wants a shoulder to burrow into, or a pillow to cover your face- make this a step removed, less intimate, some breathing space-

but if seeing the look he’s fucking onto your face is some sort of reward for Eddie, you figure he’s more than earned it by now. The shape of your face is etched plain with the pleasure and euphoria that’s being built up in your body. 

From him. For him. 

It’s a practice in vulnerability. An opportunity to stretch your comfort zone, to move that goal post just a bit further. 

Your brows pinch together, eyes slamming shut when Eddie angles the head of his cock to stroke perfectly against the spot that makes everything tighten and swell. His hips falter as he watches the pleasure course through you, and then he’s talking you through your fifth orgasm of the night with desperate, throaty encouragement-

That’s it sweetheart- fuck, yes. Fuck. Feels so good, you’re doin’ so good- fuck me. Tha’s it. I’ve got you, I’ve got you- ‘m right here. I love you. Love you. 

And in the aftermath, more tenderness awaits. 

Instead of making a guilt-ridden retreat to your own room and cleaning up amidst crashing hormones, you get to share the small bathroom space with Eddie. You pee while he brushes his teeth at the sink, spluttering on a mouthful of toothpaste when your foot pokes into his side teasingly. 

You grab the water glasses, he grabs the snacks. The routine is a familiar pattern that soothes- Eddie likes you tucked under his left arm and against the headboard so he can eat out of your hand, and feed you with the other.

You stopped worrying about bed crumbs a long time ago. Nothing a quick wash won’t fix, and you’re loath to break the post-sex tradition of eating in comfort. 

There’s no need for complications before sleeping, anymore. Not when Eddie is such a warm and solid comfort beneath the shared sheets. 

In the morning, sunrise filters softly through the east-facing window. It’s a rare joint day off for the both of you, and Eddie is taking his time waking up.

He holds you in his arms, petting up and down your sides in long, sweeping strokes, absently running his lips across your forehead. His husky voice vibrates through the top of your skull as he lists out options for the day. 

“Could go bother Stevie Boy at work. Or to the theaters- there’s nothing good on, I already checked, but we like the bad ones sometimes. Nice big screen to throw popcorn at.”

You’re not sure why this moment, of all the moments, prompts a realization so sudden and true it makes you sit up. It’s just the way of things, sometimes. 

Maybe it’s the way Eddie is touching you- unguarded and for no purpose other than to feel the slide of your skin against his. Maybe it’s the casualness with which he suggests plans- something that used to be so difficult for your system to adjust to. 

“Oh my god.”

Eddie was already curious when you sat up out of his arms and now his brows raise, looking up at you from where his dark hair is splayed across the pillow. “What?”

“You’re, like, my-” the word gets snagged. You clear your throat. “-boyfriend.”

The dawning starts to touch every part of your mind. It’s like the sun is rising on every memory, every source of affection with stunning clarity. 

All your planning and compulsive carefulness that has been falling to the wayside recently has brought you here, to an epiphany about two years late. 

Eddie sits up, too. Hand slipping to steady over your hip. “I mean. Not really. I’m just some guy you sleep with who lives in your apartment.”

He’s teasing, but there’s a cautious tone to his words. A tone that makes you think he’s trying to be careful for your benefit. 

“No, Eddie- like, actually. Think about it.” You blink at the wall behind Eddie’s shoulder where an Iron Maiden poster hangs next to an ecology identification sheet. “We split the rent. We eat together, we live together, we share the same bed every night- oh my god.”

Boyfriend swims into your consciousness and floats about. 

How could you not have seen it before?

Eddie had gone still with the flow of your words but now he squeezes at your hip, still using that low tone as if you’ll spook with anything else- “Hey. It’s okay, sweetheart. We can call it whatever you want. Okay? I don’t care, seriously.”

You’re still staring at the posters on the wall. Trying to make it all make sense. 

Eddie must be itching under the silence because he asks, after a few moments- “What are you thinking?”

“I… I’m thinking I need a second.”

You get up and Eddie’s hand slides from your side and you can’t look at his face or it’ll break you into a million pieces so you beeline to the bathroom without looking back.

The door shuts behind you. The tiles are gleaming, freshly mopped, so you ease yourself to sit against the wall opposite the sink and stare vacantly.

A memory surfaces. 

June in Vegas, years ago, air thick with humidity even at midnight.

A diner, the sugar-sweet taste of syrup and waffles. The ink drying on the fake marriage license between you and Eddie on the formica. 

Wedding Waffle Special! 

It was only funny because you were such good friends, two people who’d never really get married- only for the night. Only for the gag of getting free food. 

Eddie has asked you, then, after forking a whole waffle and taking a drunken bite- What’s so bad about being real-married?

The question added a sharp edge to your liquored soft-stupor. You’d given him a real answer- Because then everyone would know. 

Eddie had looked crestfallen. Like a piece of his heart got chipped off. 

You’d tried to add some lightness, with all the clumsiness that drink afforded. You’d tried to assure, It’s not ‘cuz of you, it’s me, I can’t-

But Eddie had recovered quickly. Shoved a giant piece of chocolate chip waffle towards your face and declared a Waffle War, and the moment was churned over and forgotten.

Until now. Until you’re back in your body, tiles cold beneath you, twisting the bracelet you’ve worn every day since Christmas around and around your left wrist.

The silver charm with the letter E hasn’t tarnished at all. Even after all the times you’ve fitted your thumb over the letter to press the grooves into your skin.

Maybe, some part of you has always known. And this is just the breaking-open part of a bigger story.

It’s been about ten minutes or so since your thoughts have been tumbling in the bathroom and you wonder if Eddie is silently panicking on the other side of the wall.

Then again- he’s used to your rhythms. Your moods. While Eddie is very much a verbal processor, you often need some space and quiet to sort through your own interiority. 

Eddie has been more than patient with this. With you. 

The thought of him is motivating enough to send you into action, using the sink’s edge to pull yourself to standing and walking back into the room.

Eddie’s lying back again, lush forest of curls still fanned against his pillow; the bedside drawer is half-open and there’s a cigarette being fidgeted between his fingers.

He doesn’t smoke indoors anymore, and has evidently been waiting for you to return- you’ve always enjoyed the ritual of hanging out under the apartment building’s awning with him. Bundling yourself up in his winter coat and watching as he exhales hazy clouds that lift into the air and disperse, somewhere unseen.

The two of you have formed into each other’s lives so gradually but so completely that it would now be agony to separate. 

You sit on the mattress to the right of Eddie’s hip. He smiles, close-lipped but still with the wink of dimples on either side. 

“I do my best thinking in the bathroom, too. Most of my campaigns were built on that porcelain throne.”

“I wish you wouldn’t be disgusting when I’m trying to say something.” Your irritation isn’t real and Eddie knows it, grinning with all his teeth when you reach out to spin a lock of his hair through your fingers.

Your voice is quiet but firm. “You’ve been my boyfriend this whole time, and you haven’t cared that I didn’t let you tell anyone?”

Eddie fiddles more with the cigarette, considering this. Watching you with those bittersweet cocoa eyes. Melting when your finger brushes against his neck.

“I mean- I’ve cared. But I care about you more. The mostest, if you will.”

He shrugs, but you’re not ready to brush past this. Words feel so heavy- how do you sum up a culmination of years of wanting? Of years dedicated to senseless Rules?

So you don’t say anything. Instead, you lean down to press your lips to his.

The feeling of his cupid’s bow, the plush pout beneath- the novelty still hasn’t worn off.

You can’t believe you’ve denied this and other simple pleasures for so long. Maybe it was always meant to be this easy, this peaceful.

When you pull back there are tears beginning to shimmer in your eyes, and Eddie has the beginnings of a concerned frown so you laugh through the sadness- 

“God. You must be seriously obsessed with me to put up with all this shit. Rules and everything.”

Eddie laughs, too, relieved you aren’t overly upset, tossing the cigarette back to the drawer so he can pull you into himself again. “That’s putting it lightly, sweetheart. I’d lick the bottom of your shoe for breakfast every day if you’d let me.”

“Gross.” You sniffle against the soft cotton of his sleep shirt. Cheek squished to the flat of his breastbone, the steady thwump-thwump of his heart in your ear. “Thanks for staying with me even after I acted insane.”

Eddie grows quiet at your words, even as his hands continue in their wandering path against your back. He doesn’t take the easy set-up of a joke like you thought he might.

Instead, he kisses your forehead. “Y’know, you got this idea somewhere along the way that you’re this, like, totally unlovable person.”

Your turn to grow still and quiet. Eddie kisses at your brow this time, and speaks again- meaningfully soft-

“You may be neurotic, and- uh. Unique in your way of thinking. But you were never hard to love.”

___

As the end of spring approaches, so does the annual Munson Farms Harvest and Hoopla (titled, once again, by Robin). It started with just you and Eddie, traveling the few hours east and staying the weekend to help Wayne with the excess of his farm-grown goods.

In its fifth year, Harvest and Hoopla involves just about everyone you and Eddie know. It’s a tradition that now spreads over a three-day weekend and ends Sunday evening with a big outdoor BBQ.

Your cousin Max and her best friend Jane will take the train to the Byers’ place, while the Sinclairs and Hendersons are caravaning together. Which means Nancy, Robin, and Steve will hitch a ride with you and Eddie.

Everything hinges on this coming Friday. 

At the beginning of the week, you’re sick with excitement. Eddie lugs storage containers from the basement under your instruction, and helps where he can to organize for everyone’s arrival. 

There’s cleaning that needs to be done, and novelty t-shirts to spray paint with the homemade MFHH logo, and packing and sorting and endless over-the-phone coordination. 

On Wednesday evening, Eddie calls it. He plies you into relaxation mode with a freshly-rolled joint and Breakfast Club on VHS, under strict orders to Chill the fuck out. 

He’s good at knowing what you need. When to use a soft touch, or a firm hand. 

You’re good at knowing his needs, too. 

Bender’s mouthing off to Claire onscreen and your mouth is wandering- up the side of Eddie’s neck, under his jaw, the squirm of his thigh pinned beneath your hand. 

It always feels good to touch Eddie but even better when you’re both high. His droopy, red-rimmed eyes watching your every move; his fingers slipping beneath your shirt, seeking skin; the soft, whining pants from his lips to yours. 

You sink your teeth into the stretch of his shoulder, clamping hard and long enough for a deep bruise. Eddie’s sweat is sweet against your tongue as he groans. 

“Wanna mark you up.” You’re licking over the indents of your own teeth, following the line of his muscle down, down, until you’re slipping from his lap to kneel at the carpet. 

Eddie’s gripping your elbows, watching as if in a trance- a flush has settled at his cheeks. Temples dewed with sweat. When you mouth over the hard line of his clothed cock he hisses sharply, air through his teeth and a curse to follow- “Fuck. Oh, fuck.”

You continue like he hasn’t spoken at all, fitting a hand over the trembling plane of his stomach to hold the edge of his shirt up; there’s a perfect dark trail of hair disappearing behind the line of his sweats. 

Saliva begins to pool before you swallow to speak. “Gonna make you mine. Make everyone know it.”

Eddie makes a noise that’s half whimper, half shout, strangled with pleasure as your teeth find a home again in the plush fat of his abdomen. You make your way across the lower band of his stomach with meticulous pressure, just the right amount to leave behind marks meant for lasting.

“I want to start telling people.” You rest the apple of your cheek at the inner thigh of Eddie’s jeans, eyes flicking up briefly to gauge his reaction to this declaration- he was already a wreck. 

Chest stuttering, nails digging into the skin of your elbows. Jaw dropped loose enough to part his lips. Cock leaking pre into the fabric under your right palm. 

Eddie exhales, disrupting the curls that have stuck to his neck with the perspiration. Sucks in air, then asks with desperate hope- “Really?”

You work the bridge of your hand along the length of his dick, which throbs in response. “Really. Should wear your shorts to the river this weekend. Let everyone see the way you let me mark you up like a whore-”

“Holy fucking shit-” Eddie’s stomach jolts under your hand, and so does his cock. 

It’s your words alone that have him coming, nearly untouched, hunching forward and pulling you into himself as the orgasm curls his spine and races through his limbs.

He chants a mixture of your name and more fucks, and when the last of his cum is thoroughly wrung out into the wet fabric of his jeans you move-tilt upwards to kiss him. 

Your tongue slots against the grooves and contours of his mouth, all that leftover pleasure still simmering in every pore and atom, hand held at the back of his neck to keep him in place. His hair is silky from the oatmeal and coconut shampoo you’ve been buying special for him.

Mine. It’s another word that brands, on a cosmic level. 

___

It’s one thing to talk about a new way of living. It’s another entirely to actually live it. 

By Thursday morning, your excitement for the trip and the truth being loosed has been completely taken over by anxiety. 

It feels like a sickness. Like your happiness and fear are two pieces of duct tape slapped together, sticky and messy and impossible to separate. 

To combat the chaotic interior of your mind, the anxiety often manifests in habitual cleaning. You can’t explain why- it just feels good to distract yourself with. 

When you’re working up a sweat against the fridge shelves or kneeling to bleach the baseboards, it’s hard to remember what had been plaguing you in the first place. The physical exertion is a craving while the ensuing pain is penance. 

It’s Thursday and you’ve pulled out all the stops- scrubbing the countertops until they gleam, using a toothbrush against the grout in the bathroom, spending an hour on your hands and knees at one last attempt to lift the mysterious discolored stain in the corner of the living area carpet. 

It’s not working. None of it’s working. 

You’re elbow deep in a sink full of hot water, hands bare and gloveless, sloughing off the light layer of grime from each of the removable oven burners in turn as the others soak. 

The kitchen smells like bleach and lemon antiseptic. There’s a frantic energy that buzzes below the surface of your skin, zipping and snapping about with no relief.

Your hands are rough and cracked and the tiny cuts are the only things that make you feel, that tether you to reality- those flecked-sharp bits of pain that cut through the fog of anxiousness are more than welcome. 

Becca, in her spare time between work and higher education, has been inviting you over for weekly tea chats. Becca- with all her kindness and half of a psych degree- opens heavy textbooks and manuals across the surface of her coffee table and stresses every time that her opinion is not meant to be taken as an actual medical diagnosis, nor is it meant to ‘fix’ something that isn’t broken.

She’s very easy to talk to, and she’s going to make a great therapist someday. Becca’s been a treasure trove of information, especially in the ways of understanding yourself; she’s talked about coping mechanisms, intrusive thoughts, obsessions and compulsions- all these things you’ve been experiencing but have had no equivalent words to match until now. 

Becca and her deep river of empathy. Her quick but knowing smiles whenever you bring up Eddie, which leads you to suspect she probably knows more about it than you’d care to give thought to.

You wish desperately that she could join in the group trip- it would be so nice to have someone who understands your eccentricities like her- but Becca's already left for her own spring break vacation with her family. 

Having the clinical explanation for your symptoms is helpful, sure, but no amount of intellect applied can take away the roiling nausea from the anxious-dial currently turned up to ten. 

As much as you can say the words I am having an obsessive-compulsive episode due to the stress of change and truly believe them, there’s nothing to be done but try and ride the wave the best you know how. 

There’s a lump of hard ginger candy in the pocket of your cheek, all the square edges worn smooth and small in the last thirty minutes. One of the few things that has historically helped the chronic nausea that comes with constant intensive worry. 

The last of it gets crunched between your molars and you swallow down the crystals, indulging in a bit of fantasy by imagining they’re going to heal you completely. The silent-freeze style of panic attack is being kept at bay but just barely as you drain the sink and begin rinsing the metal spirals under a stream of fresh tap water. 

The front door creaks open then shuts with a bang. There’s a scuffle of Eddie’s sneakers against the mat, and he’s whistling as he rounds the corner. “Okey doke, big cooler from scary basement acquired. We’re gonna have the snack space to sustain an army on this road trip. What time is Rob s’posed to show?”

“Twenty minutes. Will you check the milk?”

Robin doesn’t even drink milk. 

Robin is coming in less than half an hour to spend the night and help with the pre-dawn packing checklist tomorrow before pretty much everyone in the world you hold dear will be all in one place and Robin doesn’t even drink milk and still, you’re thinking about it, the lone carton in the fridge that may or may not have spoiled since breakfast an hour ago. 

“Sure,” Eddie says, and it doesn’t even sound like he’s humoring you. Which somehow feels worse. 

The sound of the plastic fridge seal peels and breaks, then there’s the twist of a cap, two quick inhales, and Eddie says mildly- “Smells like milk to me.”

The fridge closes again. If you were You from six months ago, you’d be shouldering past Eddie to throw the milk away yourself. Tip it right down the drain with mania disguised as a joke about how Eddie’s nose must be off. 

Trust is a great thing to have. It’s been fought for and hard-won on both sides and it means you don’t turn tail and run when Eddie comes behind you at the sink to drop his chin to your shoulder. 

“How come you’re not wearin’ any gloves? I got you those sexy pink ones from the five and dime for a reason.”

You wish you could laugh. The tap is cool over your fingers as you work the grime out from beneath your individual nail beds, head tilting to lean against Eddie’s in silent apology. “Dunno. I forgot.”

Eddie’s sigh coasts warm over the right side of your neck. “Trouble. How ‘bout you wash up.”

The warmth of his body fit to yours leaves along with him as you wash your hands, wincing slightly at the sting of soap on fresh wounds. There’s a nail brush nearby and you use it brusquely against the underside of your nails; your movements are harsh with autopiloted instinct as you stare through the east-facing window towards the blacktop parking lot. 

Robin’s car will be pulling into that empty spot, soon. 

Eddie is back with hands soft against your hips as he turns you away from the sink, towards himself, holding out a dishtowel for your wet hands.

You dry them. Eddie takes the towel and places his palms up between your bodies, waiting patiently. You oblige, slipping your palms against the calloused flats of his own and letting your fingertips trail on the insides of his wrists. 

Eddie lets go of your right hand to reach into his back jeans pocket and surfaces with a tube of lotion (must’ve snagged it from the bathroom, sneaky), of which he uncaps to set a cool stripe across the arch of your left knuckles. 

He starts working in the moisturizer with the warmth and pressure of his own hands, thumbs running parallel down the fine bones in the back of your hand, then sliding to the meat of your palm muscle. Then along the lines of each finger, individually, pulling with just the right amount of careful strength.

The lotion heats to the same temperature of your skin and so do Eddie’s rings. He’s using the good stuff on you- unscented, the special brand he saves for tattoo aftercare, which is probably why it doesn’t hurt your nicks. 

It’s not until he’s moved on to your other hand that Eddie speaks. “We don’t have to do this today. You don’t have to do this today, I mean.”

His thumb coasts up the side ridge of your pinky, then back down. Kneading and filling the silence with touch. 

You’re thinking. You’re thinking about the conversation you and Eddie had earlier this week about who will be the first to know- which person, out of everyone in your friend group, can be trusted with this bombshell of news and information. 

And you both agreed. It has to be Robin. 

Not only does she have a passion for gossip, she’s also the safest bet when it comes to passing along the message through the group in a meaningful way. Robin is where you and Eddie began- it’s her you have to thank for the introduction in the first place. 

Robin who was so thrilled when the roommate situation ended up working out. Robin who cheered you on from the sidelines, who hasn’t held back any part of herself since you met her on the first day of freshman campus classes a lifetime ago. 

Robin who has been your best friend. Robin who has surely felt the growing distance every time you’ve declined plans to hang in the last few months, too sick with secret to face her.

She’s got the most to lose. The one who stands the most to be hurt by this lie you’ve started and maintained, tended to like a fucked up garden all these years. 

Eddie pulls you from the spiral of thoughts again, brow furrowing as he finds another section of your skin split across the knuckle. “We’ve already been doing a sick job on the whole ‘clandestine dalliance’ thing. What’s a few more months? Who cares if-”

“I care.”

Your interruption comes out more wobbly than intended but the truth of it solidifies as soon as you speak the words aloud. A ragged breath is sucked through your lungs and the rest of it leaves in a rush, a flood of shaky insistence as you stare at the constant movement of Eddie’s fingers instead of his face. 

“I care. I want- I really want to start telling people. Our people.”

Your gaze climbs, braver now, taking in the ripped sides of Eddie’s cropped tanktop, the stretched-out collar hanging loosely around the base of his neck. He looks so handsome, in a way that almost hurts to behold. Sweat has dampened the baby hairs at his forehead and temples and sticks to his skin in whorls, entire constellations in miniature. 

And the bruises. The scraped-up skin nipped into the column of his throat, the faint line of your teeth still visible from last night’s activities, brutal and delicate- he’s wearing them proudly today. 

This boy is yours. Not in the way of ownership or control, but rather belonging. Him to you, you to him. 

You want to make your claims and intentions clear. You want to be able to kiss your boy, your lovely boy, in public. In front of friends and family and god and anyone else who cares to look. 

You want to hold Eddie’s hand at a party and not have to separate yourself from him for the whole night because this way of living has been so lonely, and so sad.

And you know, too, that this weighs on Eddie just as heavy. And that he’s been carrying the emotional weight of this for much longer than you, even if he’s never once made you feel badly for it.

Eddie’s eyes flick to yours when the pause in your speech stretches. 

Being looked at by him, especially this close and intensely, has always felt like stepping into a sunbeam. 

As if you’ve been traversing a cool, dark forest, and suddenly- light. Warmth beyond measure. Golden-brown pools of color so rich they beg you to stay awhile. 

“It’s important to me.” You’re whispering, as if the moment might be disturbed and scatter to the wind with any other volume. “It’s important to you, I know, but it’s important to me, too. We belong together and I want- I need- people to know.”

“Whatever you need,” Eddie answers, adopting your same tone. Still massaging against the muscles of your hand like he’s trying to move the stuck feelings from your body. A smile curling at the corner of his mouth, the outline of a dimple betraying the relaxed demeanor he’s trying to keep up for you. “Whatever you wanna do, baby. I’ll back you a thousand percent. A million.”

You know it’s true. You feel the honesty in a place that rings deep. 

Eddie lifts both your hands and meets them halfway to press a kiss to the tender skin of your wrists, one each. Lips soft and pillowed against the thudding of your heart pulse. 

There’s a childish part of you that kicks out in tantrum, that wants to whine Quit being so nice to me! and maybe shove Eddie, just a little, like you’re in middle school stunted with a puppy crush.

But you don’t. You let the feeling of Eddie’s lips on your skin sink in and then you’re pulling Eddie towards you, burying your face in the spot of his neck that smells the most like home, humming a pleased note as his arms wrap and squeeze just how you like. 

“A million percent is a lot,” you murmur. 

Eddie snorts a laugh. The curve of his smile presses against the crown of your head as he replies- “Yeah, well. As previously established. Obsession of one said Freak will get you into the millions, every time.”

___

Robin arrives, and for a few hours, it’s just like old times.

She’s been busy at the record store an hour from here, with her and Steve’s new managerial statuses meaning less time to hang out or attend apartment parties. The last time you saw each other was over a month ago, and just in passing- your joy for the unfiltered togetherness cannot be understated.

Robin sits at the breakfast bar to help pack the cooler for tomorrow’s road trip, taking it upon herself to make Steve’s lunch (“He’s so picky and so spoiled,” she’d complained, even while lovingly cutting the crusts off a dry turkey sandwich). 

Between the three of you there’s months worth of local gossip and you spend hours catching up, laughing at each other, feeling the rising pitch of stories and voices like a happy storm. 

And even though you’re so glad Robin is here, real and in front of you instead of just a voice down the phone line, the secret starts permeating into everything. 

As it has before. As it will continue to do. 

It feels like a balloon is slowly swelling behind your breastbone, threatening to suffocate the air from your lungs until you’re choking on the surface words. Until you take the needle of truth to the looming, rounded edge of hiding and it all pops in one go. 

You’ve been putting it off and putting it off. Unable to find the exact right time, the perfect pause in conversation; a few times, you’ve widened your eyes at Eddie over the back of Robin’s turned head, a panicked indicator- Help! What the fuck am I doing?!

Each time, Eddie has given you a wink. A quick, subtle response. For the heat of your mind, a cool balm- It’s okay, honey. On your terms.

You’re not even sure what the fucking terms are, anymore. 

You’re used to rules and structure and building solid walls around the tenderest parts of yourself and while it’s been easier, recently, to shift that thinking under Eddie’s care- it feels so much more daunting to do it again. Regardless of how much you love Robin, or how truly safe you feel with her.

Eddie senses your discomfort and offers up a freshly-rolled joint to the group, and soon you’re all lazing about in the living room as it gets hazier with each puff and pass. 

Robin brought the new Sinead O’Connor album as a surprise and the record spins as the talking gets louder, slipping quickly into the bright hilarity that only a good sativa blend can bring.

The A-side clicks off and no one notices, especially not you, leaning into Robin with a giggle fit so intense you’re practically in her lap. Neither of you can even remember what was so funny in the first place but it all just feels so good, so good to be able to find silliness and hear Robin’s laughter again. 

Eventually Eddie stands from his corner chair with a loud clap of his hands and declares with a grin, “I’m sick of you two giggle monsters- how ‘bout you scurry down the corner to pick up some snacks? Make yourselves useful.”

After much more giggling, and a lazy middle finger thrown Eddie’s way (courtesy of Robin), the two of you move with jellied limbs to shove feet into sneakers and arms into coats.

Eddie follows you both to the entryway, procuring a crumpled ten dollar bill from his jeans pocket to tuck it with a flourish into the pocket of your denim jacket. He winks again- “Don’t spend it on drugs, kids-” then reaches for your collar to smooth it out.

Robin laughs again, her hand already on the front doorknob. You nearly lean in for a kiss out of habit but stop yourself halfway, an aborted movement that’s clumsy with weed, covering the strangeness by reaching for Eddie’s own stretched collar to repeat the movement. 

As you follow in Robin’s path out the door, you take one last glance at Eddie, who smiles big and gives you a dorky two thumbs up. 

You hope with a deep ardency that this will be the last time you ever have to deny him a thing.

___

The walk to PJ’s Corner Store is only a few blocks but the two of you make a meal of it all the same. 

In the soft light of the low sun, the neighborhood is alight with pre-suppertime ritual. 

Kids on spring break holler to one another from across the street, zipping from sidewalks to empty curbs on bikes and rollerskates. There are neighbors that nod to you from their porches, smoking cigarettes or watering their flower pots. 

The air is sweet and cool as Robin loops her arm through yours, bumping against your shoulder happily as you fall into step. She’s recounting her latest disaster in the dating world- a story that is sprawling and somehow involves two NDAs- and your laughter is shaking her frame, too. 

A shuddering of souls that reminds you of your college years, sneaking off campus to get drunk as skunks and coming back to dance under the moonlight on the quad grass.

Robin’s hair is longer than when you last saw her, done in messy, looped braids that swing and shift from each of her shoulders in animated speech. The familiar rasp-squeak of her excited voice, the way her hands lift to outline the shape of her words- it all feels like home. 

One block from the corner there’s a copse of trees that create a miniature forest, too overgrown for a proper park but lovely to look at all the same. Robin drags you both to a halt and faces the greenery, still talking, bright eyes the color of a clear morning sky dancing around the treeline. 

You rest your head against her shoulder, still connected by the elbows. The sound of her voice vibrates through your mind, and somewhere near the end of her story you find the courage to ask- 

“So are you seeing anyone now?”

She giggles. Squeezes at your hand in solidarity. 

“No. I’ve been getting myself into too much trouble recently- Steve says it’s ‘cuz I haven’t found ‘The One’ yet and I’ll feel differently when I do but oh, my god, what the hell does a permanent burnout bachelor like him know about true love?”

Robin breathes a deep sigh that you feel, too, then says in a voice that betrays her utter fondness- 

“We have got to find him a nice person to settle down with. I’m tired of his long white jock socks and one night stands being everywhere when I get home. Steve’s the type of guy who needs someone to love. Not that I find that so terribly unrelatable- but, y’know what I mean about his needs. He’s a guy destined for sweet, sweet monogamy.”

Something in her words makes your stomach twist in recognition. A familiarity, a longing long-buried that begins to unwind itself in hopeful tendrils.

Before you can speak Robin starts laughing again, a memory that has her bending forwards with the force of it even as you tug on her arm, begging to be let in on the joke- “What? What is it?”

“Oh my god-” Robin straightens again as she struggles to breathe around her fit of giggling. “Speaking of. Someone really went to town on Munson. Did you see his neck? Looks like he got strangled by a goddamn creature of the deep!”

Robin must interpret your sudden silence as revulsion because she drops your arm in favor of taking both your shoulders, eyes wide- “Oh, jesus, please tell me you didn’t have to listen to the deeds being done. Eugh! I can’t believe you’ve lived with such thin walls this whole time. It must be-”

You can’t hear the rest of that sentence because the noise in your own ears is like a tidal wave, a rush and roar of drowning until you break the surface, still frozen in place but with a sharp gasp for air, voice barely above a whisper but saying it anyways-

“It was me. I did it.”

The humor in Robin’s countenance falters, sputters out as she lets her hands fall. She blinks, confused- “Huh? What do you mean?”

In this moment, you find you were wrong about the shape of your secret. It doesn’t pop in one swift, clean motion; instead, the pierce of your words leave the rest to hiss and leak out.

The truth is messy. It jolts from you like a car with a shitty transmission. 

It makes you cry, tears beginning to stream as your voice warbles with the last bit of bravery you can summon.

“It was me. I did that, to Eddie, because he- me and him, we’re- I’m in love with him. Have been, for a long time, and we’ve been- I’m so, so sorry, for keeping this from you- for lying about it- this whole time-”

And then Robin is hugging you. Pulling you in tight, squeezing around your ribs like she’s trying to excise the sadness and fear. 

Her voice in your ear, so bright with happiness that it takes some of the panic away- “Hey, hey, please don’t cry! I’m not mad, like, at all! It’s okay. It’s totally cool. I kinda knew already, so it’s not such a shock-”

“You knew?” is all you think to say, tears wetting the sleeve of her t-shirt.

“Well, yeah-” Robin pulls back, face alight with grinning as she points to your bracelet. “You weren’t exactly subtle about it, babe.”

“Oh my god.” You manage a small laugh through your tears. The relief washes over you in waves. You did it! You told her!

“And I didn’t know the whole time,” Robin clarifies, still holding you kindly by the shoulders like she’s worried you’ll tip over without the support. “I just… had my suspicions. And maybe placed a running bet with Steve like… two years ago.”

“Oh my god.” Your hands slip over Robin’s elbows as she makes a yikes expression, cringing when you ask- “Does Steve know, too?”

“Of course not. He’s none too observant, bless his little hairsprayed heart.” Robin’s rubbing circles against your shoulders with her thumbs, trying to soothe the ache of release. “And it’s not like I was trying to convince him of anything- he totally doesn’t believe the two of you are hooking up, like, at all, and I figured it was easy money.”

“You’re sick.”

“So are you. I’m willing to split the profits.” Robin grins when you do the same back at her, and then she’s giving you a little shake, teeth practically gritted in excitement- “Holy shit. This is better than I could’ve imagined- I didn’t know you were in boyfriend territory!”

Somehow, this word doesn’t sound so scary when Robin says it. Boyfriend feels comfortable, and almost too simplistic for the feelings you’ve got for Eddie.

“What’s he like?” Robin asks, looping her arm in yours once again, starting to trail up the sidewalk with renewed energy. “Y’know, when he’s not, like, performing for a group of us.”

This is what you’ve missed out on, the thing that you’ve been wishing for. The sharing, the friendship outside of your relationship- it feels so good to tell Robin all about what sort of person Eddie is. What he means to you, how he’s cared for you in the past few years.

The blacktop of PJ’s parking lot is in sight as you’re bookending the conversation. “-and he’s just really, really kind. Much more patient than I deserve, most days. And I’m super, sickeningly in love with him and I’m so glad you’re the first person I’ve told.”

Robin is fighting her own tears by the time her sneakers crunch against the lot. She pauses to hold you at arm’s length again, and tells you in a serious tone- “I’m honored. Truly. And I want you to know your secret is safe with me, and that I’m pretty sure not even Soviet torture methods could break through. I won’t even tell Steve, if you don’t want.”

“Thanks, Robin.” You mean it. “But- I actually want to start telling people. You were just first on my list.”

Her face crumples, the corners of her lips downturned like she’s pushing away the urge to cry. Instead, she hugs you again, with a force that means safety.

“Oh, shit.” Robin swears as she pulls away, eyebrows shooting up- “You’re gonna have to tell Mr. Munson before you show up to the farm and start sharing the same bedroom.”

A mild horror washes over you at the thought, but then is easily brushed away with a dismissive wave of your hand. "That's Eddie’s problem now. What else are boyfriends for?”

Robin squeals her delight, hands gripping yours as she pulls you towards the front doors of the corner store. There’s a twinkle in her eye that suggests a whole new world of mischief has just been opened for her. 

“Exactly right!”

Epilogue

The sun is setting on the third night of the Munson Farms Harvest and Hoopla, and fireflies are beginning to blink to life against the dusky landscape. 

Wayne’s property is only six hours east of the city but the air itself feels otherworldly. Lush, cleaner, with no smog or traffic-fueled smells having touched the greenery of this place. 

The rocking porch bench creaks steadily under your weight as you tip back and forth, wood-slatted porch solid beneath the soles of your sneakers. 

Ceremony calls for a barbeque on the final night at the farm, an enjoyment of all the hard work and another successful harvest. Steve and Nancy are muttering over the grill’s propane tank a few yards away while Robin and the kids are spread around the front lawn, entertaining themselves in various groupings before supper starts up.

The screen door to the house creak-bangs. A moment later Eddie settles into the seat beside you with two cold beers in hand. 

You take his offering, clinking the neck of yours to the neck of his, and when Eddie lays his arm across the back of the bench you scoot in closer to his side. Humming a pleased note when his hand cups the breadth of your shoulder and begins to rub circles into the muscles there. 

He’s wearing another of his black cutoff tanktops tonight- the last piece of clean clothing thanks to his lawless packing. Whenever he shifts you can see the beginnings of a farmer’s tan, the clear delineation of colors between marble-white and toasted Wonder bread. 

Eddie should count himself very lucky he’s had you to fuss over his sunscreen usage every morning, otherwise his skin would be closer to that of an Indiana Cherry. 

Eddie is watching the cluster of boys at the treeline with faint amusement; there are shouts and cheers, a tourney in miniature as Mike and Lucas bat at each other with walnut sticks that have been stripped of their leaves to make for better swords. 

There’s a whole new spray of freckles against the underside of Eddie’s jaw. A spot that begs for kissing.

You clear your throat of the need to feel his skin under your lips and settle on a question, instead. “How’s Wayne?” 

The days here have been so full, so deliriously busy and happy and brimming with people and work that you and Eddie have been hitting the same sheets sated but exhausted at the end of each night, no time for pillow talk. 

And while you’ve missed the usual quiet intimacies, you’ve been finding him in your dreams. Waking up early just to cuddle against his sleepy form while he holds you, soaking in the precious few minutes before suiting up for the orchards again. 

Eddie takes a long pull of his beer. He finds a tense spot in your neck with his thumb and presses into it, firm but careful. “Wayne’s good. Happy to have company. He doesn’t get out much, ‘sides seeing his fishing or drinking buddies. Nothin’ like a little chaos to shake it up.”

“And… what was it like? To tell him about us, I mean.” Your thumbnail fits to the edge of the beer label, peeling as your heart patters in wait. 

Eddie snorts, shifts with the memory, pulling you in closer to his side with the movement. “Wayne said he knew the whole time, which is a goddamn lie. No way that old man was wise to it. Prob’ly said it just to tick me off.”

You give Eddie a sideways glance and realize he’s nearly blushing. The fondness buried just below the surface of his words unveiling the younger boy he becomes when stepping foot onto his uncle’s farm; a return to his roots. 

There’s an ease to his nature here that isn’t always apparent in your shared city-living. A looser, more lithe energy that beckons his tongue to slip back into countryside accents and adages. 

“Jesus,” you say, unable to help the trembling laugh that escapes, even as Eddie turns to raise his brow in question. “Wow. I thought it was surely only me that was gonna spin out over telling everyone. Turns out it’s you, too.”

Eddie splutters, indignant, rolling his eyes before snapping at you playfully with his teeth like an oversized puppy- “Hey! I’m not spinning out. I’m totally cool as a cucumber knowing my old man knows I’m warming your bed. Totally, totally cool-”

“Gross,” you chide, poking an elbow into his ribs that he can’t dodge. 

Eddie sneaks a kiss behind your ear while your face is turned towards his and withdraws, casual again- “And I’m pretty sure Red claimed the same, so you’re not one to talk.”

Your turn for an eye roll, a scoff, remembering Max’s triumphant grin among the clamor of enthusiastic teenagers at the news of their DM’s newest partnership. She’d slipped to your side once the noise had died down and gave you a fierce, unexpected hug, then whispered- “I called it.”

“She didn’t call shit.” You’re just as indignant, slipping both your legs over the seat of Eddie’s closest knee. “And neither did Wayne, or Robin- we’ve been so great at hiding it.”

It’s sarcasm, and Eddie reads your tone like a favorite book. His thumb rests at the hidden nape of your neck as he nods- “Right. ‘S what I said.”

Your arm slips around his middle, fingertips steady at the mouth of your beer while the crown of your head budges up to the side of his jaw. A long, dreamy sigh leaves your lungs, then a concession- “Maybe we were more transparent than we knew. Maybe we were never supposed to hide this.” 

Eddie responds by kissing the top of your head, and swiping goosebumps across the back of your neck. “Yeah. And y’know, having it out in the open might be more trouble than it’s worth. Wayne’s gonna be a pain in the ass about us getting hitched. Havin’ his grandbabies. We’ll have to fend him off with a sword.”

“Yeah right.” You lift your head from the comfort of Eddie’s to take another long sip of your beer, squinting sideways at your boy. “You know you’re not allowed to have swords after what happened to my wall last year. And besides. I can handle it.”

Eddie smiles at you, gives you a look like you’re the only reason he’s upright and breathing. 

There’s no need for Rules anymore. No more walls around the softest parts of your mind- walls that were structured to hold you together but were actually breaking you apart.

You’re sitting on the porch of the house where you first told Eddie you loved him, and though you don’t remember it, you’re sure you’ve made up for it a thousand times over. A pattern you want to repeat and repeat until the meter swings so far in the other direction that Eddie will never again have to guess at what’s in your head. 

The feeling is enormous. You don’t shy from it.

“I love you,” you murmur. Simple and honest. 

Eddie’s smile is sideways, heavy with the weight of it. He demures, looks down and then up at you through those long, deerlike lashes- “Love? Little ol’ me?”

You lean in and press your lips to his. It’s a soft, quiet kiss, one that you hope is worth a couple thousand words. 

There’s a far-off shout of Get a room! from your cousin, a tittering giggle from Jane, some of the boys catching on and whooping in teasing bursts, a brief reprieve from their all-consuming play.

You throw a middle finger in the vague direction of Max and Eddie is grinning so wide you can feel the neat row of his teeth between your lips before you pull back just to see the pink tinge at the apples of his cheeks. 

He meets you halfway for another kiss. 

For a blissful moment, it’s just the sound of the cicadas, you, and Eddie- and everything feels just right. 

Eddie, who you’d known since your time at Hawkins middle and have been friends with ever since.

Eddie, who’d become your best friend long before either of you had figured out who you wanted to be.

Eddie, who you were immensely in love with, and who made leaving Hawkins feel less exciting than it was supposed to be.

Well, that was a conversation for another time. Currently, you are clocking into another shift at Family Video, trying not to lose your mind at how the fluorescent lights hummed overhead with the same commitment they'd had every shift you'd worked there. Somewhere near the back of the store, the television mounted in the corner played a movie trailer on a loop. You'd stopped registering which one sometime last week. 

You slid another cassette into its place on the shelf, straightening the row more out of habit than necessity. 

Three copies of The Goonies.

Two copies of Ghostbusters.

One copy of A Nightmare on Elm Street  that somebody had somehow managed to return with what looked suspiciously like barbecue sauce on the case.

You frowned at it.

“...I’m not paid enough for this.”

Steve looked up from behind the counter, where he was pretending to alphabetize returned tapes. “You’ve been holding the same movie for like, five minutes.”

You purse your lips. “I was thinking.”

“You looked confused.”

“I can do both.”

“Hm.”

He reaches behind the counter for the bottle of cleaner and hands it to you. “For the barbecue sauce.”

You sigh dramatically, already unscrewing the cap. “I swear, people treat these things like dinner trays.”

“Maybe they got hungry during movie night?”

“They could’ve at least picked a better movie.”

“It was A Nightmare on Elm Street.” 

“Exactly.” You huff.

He laughs under his breath, shaking his head as he wanders back toward the shelves. Mornings were usually slow enough that the two of you ended up inventing conversations just to pass the time. Robin would've happily contributed another dozen opinions to the discussion, most of them louder than necessary, but she wasn't due in until later that afternoon. 

Not that Steve seemed particularly bothered. He was remarkably good company once you’d gotten past the hair.

A year ago, if someone had told you that Steve Harrington would become one of your favourite coworkers, you probably would've laughed in their face. Back then, he'd just been Hawkins High's former golden boy, the kind of person who seemed to exist in an entirely different orbit from people like you.

Funny how life worked.

Now the biggest argument the two of you had on any given shift was whether the comedy section should be organized alphabetically or by how likely a movie was to make someone actually laugh. 

“You moved Caddyshack again.” You comment.

“It belongs over there.” Steve responded.

“It belongs where it’s always been.”

“It belongs where people can find it.” He crosses his arms, and continues, “They know the alphabet.”

“You, my friend, have a lot of faith in the general public.”

He laughs at that. “That’s fair.”

By now, the shift had settled into its usual rhythm. The lunch rush had come and gone with little excitement beyond a customer insisting she'd returned a tape that very much hadn't been returned, and the store had slipped back into the comfortable sort of quiet that made the hours blur together. There wasn't much left to do besides straighten shelves, reshelve returns, and find increasingly creative ways to complain about both. 

Steve nudged another tape into place before glancing over at you. “You seeing Munson later?”

You looked up from the stack of returns in your arms. “Probably.”

“Probably?”

“He mentioned wanting to stop by after Hellfire.” You tap your fingers on the counter, trying to remember if he had said anything else.

“So that’s a yes?”

“It depends.”

Steve tilts his head to the side. “On?”

“Whether he remembers to actually tell me when Hellfire ends.”

He snorted. “You really think he’d forget?”

You gave him a look as you slid another cassette onto the shelf before adding, “Last week he got halfway across town before remembering we’d made plans.”

“What happened then?”

“He showed up at my house twenty minutes later with gas station candy as an apology.”

Steve laughed. “Did it work?”

“I accepted the candy.” You shrug.

“And?”

“I told him he was still an idiot.”

He hums. “I’m guessing he agreed.”

“He said I couldn’t call him an idiot while eating the gummy bears he bought me.”

“That was actually a decent argument.” He comments, rearranging even more cassettes next to you.

“I know. It was annoying.”

He shook his head with a smile, reaching for another tape. “You guys are weird.”

You smile. “So I’ve been told.”

“You’ve known each other for too long.”

“Nine years will do that.” 

There wasn’t much else to say after that.

Some friendships reached a point where making plans wasn't really making plans anymore. You saw each other because you always had. 

Sometimes Eddie would show up on your porch with a new cassette tucked under his arm, insisting that you absolutely had to hear the latest song he'd discovered. Other times you'd wander over to the trailer after work with takeout balanced in one hand, knowing Wayne would insist you stay for dinner anyway. 

It had never required much thought. It was simply what the two of you did.

Steve reached beneath the counter for another stack of returned tapes before pausing, his attention drifting toward the front windows, hearing murmurs of people talking about Eddie himself.

“Huh.” 

You didn’t bother looking up.

“What?”

He squinted out into the parking lot. “Speak of the devil…”

Your head lifted almost immediately. “What?”

For the briefest moment, your brain supplied the obvious answer. Eddie.

Maybe he'd gotten out of Hellfire early. Maybe he'd decided to surprise you. Maybe he'd wandered over because he'd been bored and wanted someone to listen to him complain about freshmen who couldn't remember the rules of Dungeons & Dragons. 

You turned toward the entrance.

Instead, two police cruisers sped past the storefront, lights flashing silently through the glass before the sirens caught up a heartbeat later. 

They weren’t slowing down. If anything, they seemed to be accelerating.

Steve frowned. “...Well, that’s never a good sign.”

You watched them disappear down the road, another patrol car following close behind. For a moment, the store fell strangely quiet. Even the customer flipping through the new releases glanced toward the windows. 

“What the hell happened?” Steve murmured.

You shrugged, though something about the sight left an uncomfortable weight settling in your stomach. Hawkins wasn't exactly immune to strange things anymore. Still… that was a lot of police cars.

Then, the bell above the door jingled so hard it nearly bounced off its hinges. A woman hurried inside, breathing a little too quickly, clutching her purse against her side. 

She barely looked at either of you.

“Can you believe it?” she asked, though she wasn’t really asking anyone in particular. “They’re saying someone killed that Cunninghan girl.”

Steve straightened. “...What?”

The woman lowered her voice, though there was no one else in the aisle to overhear. “That Munson boy.” She shook her head, already making her way toward the horror section. “I always knew there was something wrong with him. All that devil worshipping nonsense, and now this? Doesn't surprise me one bit.”

“No.”

The word left your mouth before you’d even realized you were speaking.

The woman looked over. “What?”

You slowly slid the cassette back to the return bin instead. “He didn’t.”

There wasn’t any hesitation, just quiet certainty. 

The woman blinked. “Excuse me?’

“He didn’t kill anyone. There’s no way.” 

She gave you an odd look, the kind people reserved for someone they thought was too naïve for their own good. “Well, that’s not what they’re saying.”

“I don’t care what they’re saying.” Your voice remained even. “He didn’t do it.”

Steve looked over at you, considering redirecting the woman away to one of the aisles before this escalated. You sounded completely sure, like someone insisting that the sky wasn’t green. Like it wasn’t even up for discussion.

The woman scoffed softly. “You know him?”

“More than anyone.” You say quietly, softly, almost to yourself.

She simply shrugged, muttering something about people never really knowing anyone, before disappearing farther down the aisle in search of whatever movie she'd come in for.

After she was out of earshot, you dragged Steve towards the staff backroom and closed the door.

“I need to go.” 

Steve blinked. “What?”

“I need to find him, Steve.”

“You—you mean, right now?”

You were already gathering your things up, reaching for your jacket. “If he didn’t do this, then he’s scared.”

“And if he did—”

“He didn’t.” The certainty in your voice hadn’t changed. It hadn’t even cracked.

Steve watched as you shrugged into your jacket, already digging through your bag for your car keys.

“I just… I need you to cover for me.”

He frowned. “For how long?”

“An hour.” You hesitated. “Maybe two?”

“You seriously think you’re gonna find him that fast?” He crosses his arms, doubtful.

“I don’t know.” You looked toward the front windows. “But I have to try.”

Steve studied you for a long moment before letting out a quiet sigh. “Go. I’ve got the store.”

“You sure?”

He says your name, “nothing I can say is going to convince you to stay, anyway.”

You give him a grateful smile. “I owe you.”

You were already halfway out the door before he could respond.

Naturally, the first place you checked was his trailer.

Naturally, it was empty. Wayne wasn't home either, his truck absent from the driveway, leaving only an uncomfortable stillness behind that settled in your chest the moment you climbed back into your car.

From there, the afternoon blurred into a string of familiar roads and increasingly familiar disappointment. Gareth hadn't seen him. Jeff hadn't answered. Every place Eddie had ever wandered off to when he needed space—the old picnic table overlooking the quarry, the stretch of woods you'd claimed as your own in middle school, the abandoned clearing where he'd once insisted would make an excellent Dungeons & Dragons battlefield, stood exactly as you'd left them, untouched and painfully empty. 

By the time the sun began sinking behind the trees, you were running on little more than stubbornness. You'd driven the same roads twice, doubled back to places you'd already checked because maybe you'd somehow missed him the first time, and slowed your car every time you spotted someone with long, dark hair walking in the distance. 

Every dead end tightened the knot in your stomach a little more. Eddie had always been surprisingly easy to find. Nine years of friendship had taught you how he thought, where he went when life became too loud, which hiding places he preferred when he wanted the world to leave him alone. 

For the first time since you'd met him, none of that knowledge seemed to matter. 

By the time you pulled into the empty parking lot of a gas station to collect yourself, the sky had darkened completely.

The streetlights flickered on one by one, buzzing softly in the growing dark. The store itself was closed, windows reflecting nothing but your own tired expression back at you. For a moment, you just sat there with the engine still running, hands resting loosely on the steering wheel, like if you stayed still long enough, the day might eventually make sense again. 

You exhaled slowly, reaching over to kill the engine. 

For a second, you didn’t move. Then you pushed open the car door and stepped into the cold air, the pavement crunching faintly beneath your shoes as you made your way toward the payphone mounted against the side of the building. 

You dug your change into the payphone and dialed the only number you could think of. 

Steve answered on the second ring.

“Hello?”

For a moment, you didn’t answer.

The line crackled faintly in your ear, Steve’s voice distant in a way that made everything feel slightly unreal, like you were talking to someone on the other side of something much bigger than a phone call. 

“Hello? Is anybody there?” He tries again.

You swallowed. “Yeah,” you said finally. “I’m here.”

A pause. Then immediately, “Did you find him?”

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. It was just Steve, cutting straight through whatever hesitation you were trying to build around yourself. 

You close your eyes for a second. “No.”

Silence on the other end. It stretched longer than it should have.

“Okay,” Steve said slowly. “Okay, where are you?

“I—” You glanced back towards your car, as if the answer might be written there. “I’m at a gas station. I just… I needed to call you.”

“Alright”, he said. “Talk to me. What happened?”

You let out a quiet breath through your nose, shifting your weight slightly as you leaned against the payphone booth. 

“I checked everywhere,” you said. “His trailer. Wayne’s not even home. Jeff hasn’t seen him. Gareth hasn’t seen him either.”

Steve didn’t interrupt.

“I went to all the places he usually goes when he wants to disappear for a bit. The quarry, the woods, the old picnic table, everywhere. He’s not there, Steve.” 

“Okay,” he said again. “Okay. But listen to me, did you check anywhere else?”

You frowned slightly. “What do you mean, anywhere else?”

“I don’t know. You said he plays in a band? Where does he usually play?”

“Um… the hideout? It’s the only place I could think of. He’s not there. I tried his bandmates too, no luck.” You sigh.

“Okay,” Steve said, quieter now. “So not the band.”

“No.”

Then, a little more uncertain this time, “You said he deals, right…?”

“I really don’t know how that is relevant to any of this, Steve—wait!” 

It was something you’d heard before, a half-listened-to conversation, Eddie brushing things off with jokes and vague comments about people he knew, places he went when Wayne was working late or when he needed to get… 

Steve panics. “Huh? What’s up? Are you okay?

“No, no, it’s just… I know where he is. I know where he gets his drugs. He told me once in passing.” You take a slow breath, then continue, “No else knows about that place. It’s perfect, Steve.”

“Where?”

You hesitated. “Steve, I—”

“No,” he cuts in, quicker now. “Where are you going?”

You sigh. “Reefer Rick’s,” you said finally. The name landed heavier than you expected.

“...You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

A longer silence this time. Then, “I’m coming.”

You blink. “What? No—Steve, it’s fine, I’ve got it.”

“You’re going to a random guy’s house in the middle of nowhere at night after the entire town just decided Eddie Munson is a murderer.”

“That’s not—”

“I don’t care what you think it is,” he said, voice firm now in a way you didn’t hear often from him. “I’m coming with you.” 

You tightened your grip on the receiver. “Steve—”

“Do not argue with me on this,” he added, a little sharper. Then, softer, like he realized it. “Just… don’t. Okay?” 

“Fine,” you said quietly.

“Good. Where are you now?”

The sound of an engine cut through the quiet before you saw him. 

Steve’s car pulled into the lot a little faster than necessary, tires crunching against gravel as he swung into the space beside you. The headlights washed over the side of the building before dipping down.

He was out of the car almost immediately. 

“Get in,” he said.

You blinked at him. “What about my car—”

“We’ll deal with that later. Please, just get in the car.”

You hesitated for half a second longer before slipping into the passenger seat. 

Steve didn’t waste time getting back in either. The engine was running again almost immediately, the car shifting into reverse as he pulled out of the lot with more focus than his usual driving allowed. 

For a few seconds, neither of you spoke. 

The road ahead stretched out in long, empty lines under the streetlights. “You okay?” Steve asked.

You let out a quiet breath. “I don’t know.”

He nodded once, like that was enough of an answer for now. “Where exactly are we going?”

“North,” you said. “Off the main road. I’ll tell you when we’re closer.”

“You’re really sure about this?” he asked after a while.

“No,” you said honestly.

A pause. Then, Steve gave a short nod. “Cool,” he said. “Me neither.”

The further you drove, the quieter the world seemed to get.

Streetlights grew sparse, then inconsistent, leaving the road to stretch out in uneven patches of darkness broken only by Steve’s headlights. The trees on either side thickened as you left the main road behind, branches leaning in closer like they were listening. 

Steve slowed instinctively.

“...This is definitely the ‘middle of nowhere’ part of town,” he muttered.

“Yeah,” you said.

He sighs. “Last chance. You’re sure about this place, yeah?” he asked.

You didn’t answer immediately. Not because you weren’t sure where you were going. You were. Just not about what you were going to find when you got inside.

“It’s where he goes,” you said finally.

The road dipped, narrowing as it turned off the main stretch entirely. The headlights caught on a leaning mailbox, half swallowed by overgrown grass, then on a faded driveway that looked more like a suggestion than an actual path. 

You sat up a little straighter. “Here.”

Steve stopped the car. “...This is it?”

You nodded.

He parked a little further back than necessary. Smartly.

Then, he cuts the engine.

The silence outside the car felt heavier than it had in the main roads. Out here, even the night seemed louder. Crickets, distant wind through trees, the faint creak of something you couldn’t see. 

Steve looked at the house. “This is where your criminally accused friend hangs out?”

“He’s not—” you started automatically, then stopped yourself. “Just… come on.” You opened the door, and Steve followed a second later.

“Hey,” he said quietly as he rounded the front of the car. “Stay close, okay?” 

You gave him a look. “I’m not gonna wander off.”

“I didn’t say you would,” he said. Then, after a pause, “I just meant… don’t do anything heroic.” 

You both stood there for a second longer, staring at the house like it might decide to explain itself. 

“Wait!” Steve said, and you startle at the sudden noise.

“Don’t do that.” You scold him. You watched as he grabs something from the back trunk, and closes it.

You sigh as you see what he’s pulling out. “What, you just keep that in your trunk all the time?”

He closes the trunk and brings his oar toward you. “Yeah.” He shrugs.

The house sat further back than you expected, half-hidden by tangled trees and the kind of darkness that felt thicker the nearer you got to it. Even Steve’s usual confidence seemed to falter a little as he eased off the gas, the headlights cutting a narrow path through the yard before the car finally rolled to a cautious stop. 

You didn’t get far before Steve stopped again. “Hold on.”

You turned back toward him. “What?”

He was already scanning the yard, eyes narrowing as he took in the shape of the porch, the sagging boards, the uneven line of the steps. “This place is… weirdly quiet.”

“It’s abandoned,” you said.

“Yeah, but like—too abandoned.” 

You brush him off, continuing to walk towards the house. “What does that even mean?” You mutter under your breath.

You followed more out of instinct than anything else, shoes crunching softly against dry grass and scattered debris. 

“Hello?” Steve called out, voice awkward but firm. “Anyone here?”

You knock on the doors, the windows—everything. “Eds? It’s me. Are you inside?”

You sigh, trying again. “Eddie? We just want to talk, I promise! We’re worried sick. If you’re there, come out!” You call out.

Then, “Please?” You say, voice so soft and desperate that even Steve was startled at the tone.

After a few more attempts of calling his name out and not hearing anything back, Steve starts to give up. He calls out your name, “He’s not here.”

You sigh. “Are you sure? I mean, what if he’s just scared?” You whisper.

“He trusts you. There’s no way he’d be scared if it was you.” He tells you, already heading back to his car.

The second you thought to follow him, you both heard something rustling inside of the house.

The way Steve’s head snapped back toward the house was almost comical. You were convinced you could hear something snap. He calls out your name, again, sounding frantic. “Okay, okay, that was a sound. A sound that we both didn’t make.”

You rushed inside, forcing the door open and began your search around the house. Steve crouched slightly near the side, lifting a few planks out of the way. When he doesn’t find anything, he pokes his oar toward literally everything else inside.

You looked at him, brows furrowing. “Don’t do that.”

He gives you a look that says ‘I’ll do what I want.’

You sigh. He nudged at a pile of old tarps and scrap wood, and still nothing.

Then, a movement. So fast you almost didn’t register it as real.

The tarp bursts upward—you’re pretty sure that tarps don’t do that on their own. Steve barely had time to turn before someone slammed into him from the front, knocking him towards the wall with a shout. 

“HEY!” A flash of metal appeared—okay, that’s a gun.

Steve made a strangled, very undignified noise and immediately threw his hands higher, like that alone might somehow make him less likely to be shot. 

“Okay—okay, nope, nope, nope—hey, hey, I am not—this is not—” Steve started, voice cracking.

“Don’t move!” A voice snapped.

Your brain caught up a half second later, recognition threading through the shock in slow, disjointed pieces. The voice first, then the shape of him under the dim spill of moonlight, the mess of curls falling into his face. Familiar in a way that hit harder than fear, like your body had already decided it knew him before your mind was willing to accept it. 

“Eddie,” you said, his name breaking out of you in something halfway between relief and disbelief, like you weren’t sure whether to laugh or fall apart.

His head snapped toward you, the gun still pointed at Steve. For a second, everything in him looked ready to bolt.

But then, he saw your face properly, and something in him broke. Just slightly, just enough to show through the cracks. 

The gun didn’t lower, not yet, but his grip faltered like his body had forgotten how to hold it steady. His eyes locked onto you with a kind of stunned disbelief that quickly unraveled into something rawer, sharper. Relief so sudden it looked almost painful. 

For a second, he just stared, like he couldn’t quite convince himself you were real. 

“What are you doing here?” He demanded, but it didn’t sound like anger.

It sounded like he was trying not to fall apart on the spot. Like your presence alone was the only thing keeping him upright, and he was grateful to the universe for letting it be you standing there instead of anyone else. 

Steve was still frozen. “Hi,” he said carefully. “Steve. Friend of—uh, her. You’ve heard of me, right?” He awkwardly chuckles. “She must’ve mentioned me.” 

Steve gives you a look, like saying ‘right? You did, right?’

Eddie didn’t lower the gun immediately. His eyes flicked between you and Steve, like he was trying to decide which part of this was real. 

You took a slow step forward. “Eds,” you said again, softer this time. “It’s me.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said. 

“We came for you,” you replied.

His expression flickered, just for a second. Like the idea hadn’t been one he’d allowed himself to consider.

Almost like you read his mind, you said, “Of course I’ll come for you.”

Steve cleared his throat lightly. “Also,” he added, still very carefully not moving, “if you could maybe not point that at me, that would be great.” 

The gun didn’t lower immediately, but Eddie’s attention shifted. You were still standing there, still real, and saying his name like it meant something other than trouble.

Steve tries again. “We’re… not here to hurt you, man.”

Eddie didn’t look at him. His eyes were still on you. Like if he looked away, you might disappear.

“No,” he said automatically. “No, you shouldn’t—this is bad. This is really bad.”

“Eddie,” you said again, and this time you stepped forward. 

“Don’t,” he warned, lifting the gun slightly again, but it wavered. 

You closed the distance slowly, like you were approaching something skittish and half-broken. Steve shifted behind you. “Hey,” he murmured, mostly to Eddie. “She’s not gonna—” 

“I said don’t,” Eddie snapped, but it didn’t land right. His voice cracked halfway through, and that was the moment it stopped being convincing.

You reached him, close enough now that you can see him properly. The dirt on his clothes, the tremor in his hand… The way he was holding himself too rigidly, like if he relaxed even a little, he’d fall apart completely.

“Hey,” you said, softer, and then your hand was on his wrist.

Eddie flinched instantly. “Don’t—”

“It’s me, Eds. C’mon.” you said again. “You’re okay.”

That did it.

The gun dipped, and his knees shifted like they didn’t remember how to stay locked. Steve took the gun from his grip, and his weight dropped fully, like his body had been waiting for permission to stop holding itself together.

Fortunately, you caught him before he hit the ground properly. Steve was there a second later, startled but moving fast now. “Okay—okay, I’ve got him,” Steve said, reaching in as Eddie sagged between you both. 

He tried to pull back, but it failed immediately. ‘I’m fine,” he insisted weakly. “I’m fine, I just—”

“You are very much not fine,” you said.

His head tilted slightly toward you. “...You came,” he said, quieter now, like he still couldn’t believe it.

You took a deep breath, and exhaled. Your eyes scanned his face, just feeling pure relief at the fact that you found him. “Yeah,” you said.

“It wasn’t me,” he said suddenly. The words came out too fast, like they’d been stuck behind his teeth for hours. “It wasn’t—okay? I didn’t—she was just—she was there and then she was floating and I didn’t do anything, I swear I didn’t—” 

“I believe you,” you said immediately. 

He stopped, like his brain hadn’t processed that response as something that could actually happen. “What?” he asked, breath uneven. 

“I believe you, Eds.” You repeated.

“No, you don’t,” he said quickly. “You don’t even know what happened. Nobody does. They all just—” 

“Eddie.” You tightened your grip slightly on his arm. “I believe you. We can talk about it later, and you’ll tell me everything, and you’ll be alright, okay? Because you didn’t do it.”

“Later?” he repeated, and God, his voice sounds wrecked.

“Yes.”

His jaw tightened. “You won’t believe me,” he said, quieter this time. Not accusing. Just tired. Like it was already decided. 

For a second, your chest tightened. “I do believe you,” you said again, softer. “And we are going to talk about it. I promise.” 

You sigh, looking around. “But not here.”

He looks confused at that. “Where else?”

“You’re going back to my house, okay? You know that secret basement? I’ll hide you in plain sight—they won’t know, Eds.”

He looks unconvinced at that, so you continue. “My parents are out of town. They won’t be back in another two, maybe three weeks. No one will know.”

Steve looks between the two of you, then adds softly, “I think your best friend would feel better if she knows where you are, don’t you think?”

Eddie looks at him, then back at you. “...Okay,” he said finally.

“Okay,” he repeated, like he was trying to convince himself more than you. 

You didn’t think about it, you just moved. Your arms slid around him before he could tip too far, pulling him close against you, head resting on his shoulder. 

Eddie melted into the hug. 

His grip tightened in the back of your shirt, fingers curling like he was trying to make sure you were real, like letting go might make everything snap back into something worse. 

“Good. Even if you said no, I’d still drag your ass,” you said, and his lips quirk up a bit at that. 

For the first time since you’d found him, he stopped shaking quite so hard.

Eddie successfully got into the back seat.

You weren’t entirely sure how it had happened in sequence. One moment he was half-standing between you and Steve, swaying like the idea of balance was optional, and the next Steve was practically hauling him into the car while you guided him carefully down into the seat beside you. 

Now, the world outside was moving again. 

His head rested against the glass, fogging it faintly with each uneven breath. His body kept sliding a little with every turn, like he hadn’t quite remembered how to stay upright even while sitting down. 

You watched him without meaning to. Every few seconds, your eyes flicked back to check he was still breathing, still conscious, still there in a way that felt real enough to hold onto. Every time you did, Eddie was still there. Slumped sideways, head tipped against the door like gravity had finally decided it was done negotiating with him. 

Steve glanced at the rearview mirror, checking on you both.

“He’s breathing,” he comments.

“I know.”

“You checked like… six seconds ago. He’s alright.”

You sigh. “I know,” you repeat.

“Hey Eddie, you alright back there?” Steve calls out with a slightly louder voice this time.

Eddie made a vague noise that might’ve been a yes if it had been translated more carefully. 

You twisted a little more in your seat. “Eddie?”

His eyes cracked open at the sound of your voice. “...Yeah,” he murmured.

Then, a shift. One you felt before you saw.

Eddie’s shoulder moved first, pulling away from the door. His head lifted slightly, like the glass had stopped being enough to hold him up. For a second, he just hovered there—uncertain, unsteady. 

He made eye contact with you, and you knew that look. He wanted something. You weren’t really sure what, but you nodded anyway.

Then, he leaned the other way. Toward you. His head came to rest against your shoulder, and you froze.

A moment later, he shifted again, his weight adjusting slightly. He was still leaning into you, but less tentative now. More settled and certain, like his body had decided without asking him that this was where it was supposed to be. 

“I’m not comfortable,” he mumbles.

“Um…” You start. Then, you turned to face him, leaning your back against the car door next to you. You hold out your arms open like an invitation, and he crawls toward your chest, head on your shoulder and arms wrapped around your stomach.

You swallowed, tense. You could feel your heart beating uncontrollably, and you pray that he doesn’t notice. His breath was soft on your shoulder, and his arms started to loosen, signaling that he was beginning to fall asleep.

You lifted your arm and let it settle around his shoulders, anchoring him closer.

“It’s warm,” he mumbled.

“Yeah,” you said softly.

And that was it, that was all he had left. He fell asleep right after.

The car had fallen into a different kind of quiet now. Steve noticed everything. He didn’t say anything at first. Just kept driving, eyes fixed on the road like he was giving you the space without having to announce it. 

You didn’t even realize you’d started speaking until you heard your own voice. “...He doesn’t know.”

Steve’s grip on the wheel tightened slightly. “...Doesn’t know what?”

You swallowed. “That I love him.”

The words came out quieter than you meant them to, like they didn’t want to fully exist. Steve didn’t react immediately, just lets the silence sit there for a second.

“You mean like… you haven’t told him?”

You let out a short breath that almost sounded like a laugh, except it wasn’t funny. “No.”

A pause. And then softer, “I mean, I can’t.”

Steve glanced at the mirror briefly, then back at the road. “Why not?”

That should’ve been an easy question. You looked down to Eddie, and his face was turned slightly toward your shoulder, mouth parted just enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath. There was something almost unfair about how peaceful he looked now, like he hadn’t just spent the entire night falling apart. 

“Because he doesn’t feel the same.” you said.

Steve didn’t answer right away, and you kept on going. “I know how he is. And I know what I mean to him.”

Steve’s voice was careful when it came back. “And what’s that?”

You hesitated. “Safe.”

He frowned slightly, “I don’t think that’s—”

“It is,” you cut in, then softened immediately, like you didn’t mean to interrupt him. “I’m the person he comes to when he needs somewhere quiet. Or when he needs to crash. Or when he’s had a bad day and doesn’t want to deal with anyone else.” 

You let out a breath. “I’m not… I’m not the person he looks at like that.”

You kept going, because once it was out, it didn’t really stop. “I’ve known him since middle school,” you said. “Do you know how long that is? How many versions of someone do you get to see in that amount of time?” 

Your voice wavered slightly.

“I’ve watched him grow up. I’ve watched him fail classes and pretend he didn’t care and get way too excited about things no one else understands and I’ve just—” 

You swallowed hard.

“I’ve just loved him through all of it.”

Steve’s expression in the mirror softened, but he still didn’t interrupt. You exhaled slowly, like your body was finally catching up to what you were saying. 

“And he doesn’t see it,” you add. “Or he does, and he just… doesn’t want it from me. I don’t know which one is worse.”

Steve’s voice came in gently this time. “Hey.”

You didn’t look up. 

“I’m serious,” you said. “I don’t think I am… whatever he would want. I think I’m just the person he only remembers when everything else goes wrong. Like I’m the place he ends up, not the person he chooses.” 

Silence again.

Eddie shifted slightly against your shoulder, letting out a soft, sleepy sound, something halfway between a sigh and a word you couldn’t quite make out. 

You froze for half a second, but he didn’t wake up. He just… settled again. Steve glanced at him in the mirror, then back at you. 

“…You’re kind of an idiot, you know that?” he said softly. 

That made you huff a quiet, broken breath. “Yeah,” you said. “I know.”

Steve kept his eyes on the road for a long moment, jaw working slightly like he was choosing his words carefully.

“…I think you might be wrong about that,” he said finally. 

“About what?”

“Him not seeing you.”

That made you go still, because it was easier than deciding what to do with that sentence.

“No,” you said quietly. “He does. He just… he sees me as something else.”

“Like what?”

You looked down at Eddie again. He had shifted slightly in his sleep, cheek now more firmly pressed against your shoulder. 

“Like home.”

Steve glanced at you in the mirror. “That doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“It’s not enough,” you replied immediately. 

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Not enough for what?”

You hesitated, and the words feel heavier now. Like they’d been sitting too long in your chest and didn’t want to come out cleanly anymore.

“For him to feel the same way I do,” you said. 

Then you added, quieter, ““I don’t even need it to be… the same. I just—” 

You exhaled slowly, staring out the window instead of at anything inside the car. “It would mean everything if he felt even an ounce of what I feel for him.” 

“…You don’t really see it, do you?” he said finally. 

You glanced at him from the rearview mirror. “See what?”

“Him.”

You let out a quiet breath through your nose. “Oh, I see him alright.”

“No,” he said gently. “You think he doesn’t notice you,” he continued. “I think you’re missing the part where he always ends up with you. He looks for you first, even when he’s trying not to. He lets you touch him when he won’t let anyone else. He falls asleep on you like it’s the only place he trusts.” 

“I’ve known him for a long time, Steve—since we were pre-teens. It’s natural for us to gravitate towards each other when we grew up with one another,” you explain.

“In a few years time, I’ll be in college, and he’ll find someone else who makes him happier than no one else could, and I’ll be okay with that.” 

You breathe out a sigh.

“Will you, though?” Steve asks.

You chuckle humorlessly. “God, no. But I’ll tell him that, and you, and everyone else.”

“…Okay,” he said, like he was accepting that he wasn’t going to win that argument tonight. “But at least you’ll know what I think. Hold on to it for your sanity.”

You give him a smile. “Yeah, I guess I will. Thanks.”

A pause settled between you again. The only sound was Eddie’s breathing on top of you and the steady rhythm of the tires against the road. 

Then, Steve spoke again. “Have you told him that you’re leaving soon? I mean, you told me that you pretty much saved up enough money for college.”

That made your stomach drop slightly.

“...No,” you said eventually.

Steve nodded once. “You were gonna, right?”

“Yeah. I was going to tell him that I might be leaving this summer…” You trailed off.

“And you didn’t.”

Your jaw tightened. “It’s not like it’s set in stone yet.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You stared out at the dark road ahead. “I was gonna tell him soon, but this happened, and… I just didn’t want to make it real yet,” you said finally.

Steve nodded slowly. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

He kept his eyes on the road for a moment longer, drumming his fingers onto the steering wheel. “You’re not the only one who’s bad at saying things.”

You frowned slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He nudged towards Eddie from the front seat, and you let that sit with you for a moment,

Then, like he was debating whether or not to say it out loud, “I think he’d be a wreck.”

You shifted slightly in your seat.

“I’m serious. You need to tell him now, soften the blow just a bit, give him some time to process it.”

You looked down at Eddie again. He’s still asleep, still warm against your shoulder, still completely unaware of what you were talking about.

“He’d move on,” you said, but it didn’t sound as sure as you wanted it to. 

Steve shook his head slightly. “No,” he said again. “He wouldn’t.” 

You let out a breath. “He’d continue being the great person he is, and musician, and he’ll make it big with his band and experience everything he dreams of becoming because I know he’s capable.” 

You smile fondly at the thought, remembering how he’d tell you about his wishes and dreams for the future.

Then,

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you when you’re not paying attention.” 

You didn’t respond to Steve, because you didn’t trust your voice not to betray you. He didn’t push further. He just repeated,

“He’d be a wreck.”

The rest of the drive passed in a quiet blur. 

Streetlights became familiar again, roads widened, and the dark thinned out just enough to feel like you were slowly returning to somewhere that made sense. 

Steve slowed as he turned onto your street. “Home sweet home.” He said softly.

The car rolled to a stop in front of your house. 

Eddie’s breathing was slow and even, his weight still warm and steady against you. You reached up carefully, brushing a hand against Eddie’s shoulder. “Eddie.”

No response. 

A little firmer this time. “Hey, Eds.”

He shifted slightly, but didn’t wake. Steve glanced back over the seat. “I’ll get the door,” he said.

He got out first, moving around to the back door and opening it carefully. Cold air slipped into the car, and Eddie stirred at the change, brow furrowing slightly. 

“C’mon,” Steve said quietly, one hand on the door frame. “Wake up a little. We’re here.” 

Eddie made a low sound of protest. “Five more minutes,” he muttered, barely coherent.

A faint, tired laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it. “No,” you said softly. “Not five more minutes.” 

That got his attention. Sort of. His eyes cracked open slightly, unfocused. “...Where am I?” he mumbled.

“My house. You’re safe here.”

additional notes: i definitely enjoyed writing this one, so much that i'm thinking of making a part two where they get their shit together. i'm not too sure, though. but if anyone would like to share their thoughts/ideas of what part two could be like, feel free to comment or something!

i actually just started to watch stranger things around a month ago with my roommate, and we're just in the beginning of season 4, so i'm super excited to see more of eddie :)

anyway, i'll probably be back with more fics, so stay tuned! x

The warmth of the trailer immediately enveloped you, thawing the chill that had settled into your fingertips during the walk over. You quietly kicked off your shoes, wiggling your toes to coax some feeling back into them, before abandoning your jacket over one of the kitchen chairs.

The trailer was strangely quiet. No guitar screeching from Eddie’s room. No loud, rambling monologues directed at absolutely nobody in particular. The television hummed softly from the living room instead, filling the space with distant cheering and the animated voice of a sports commentator.

A loud flush echoed from down the hall, followed by the familiar groans of the bathroom door and the heavy footsteps of Wayne making his way back towards the living room.

He didn’t even glance in your direction as he stepped into the kitchen, already far too accustomed to your presence to think anything of it. Instead, a quiet greeting slipped from him as he opened the fridge and pulled out a couple of beers.

“Why are you still home?” you asked, eyebrows knitting together as you accepted one from his outstretched hand.

“Got the night off,” he replied with a shrug.

“Did your boss hit his head?”

“Must’ve,” Wayne chuckled out against the rim of his beer can. “But I’m not complaining.”

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, quietly sipping your beers while the game droned in on the background.

Wayne had settled into the chair beside you, one elbow propped on the kitchen table as he dragged the ashtray closer. Without taking his eyes off the television, he held his battered pack of cigarettes out in your direction.

“So,” you started slowly, taking a drag before continuing, “my mom kinda wants us all to have dinner tomorrow night.”

Your cheeks warmed as the words left your mouth, and you took another slow drag before finally glancing over at him.

“And I know we’re not… y’know, getting married or anything,” you continued quietly. “So I don’t really know how you’d feel about meeting my family.”

Wayne remained silent for a moment longer, taking another sip of his beer while his eyes stayed fixed on the baseball game.

“Eddie talks about you all the time,” you added, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Guess she got curious.”

The corner of Wayne’s mouth twitched. “Curious, huh?”

“Yeah,” you replied softly, and took a sip of your beer. “That’s one word for it.”

Wayne clicked his tongue and took another drag of his cigarette.

“Should I bring anything?”

You blinked at him. Not because you’d thought he’d say no, but because he’d agreed so easily. Wayne had always seemed like the kind of man who preferred to stay in his own lane whenever possible.

“Nah,” you murmured after a moment. “Just come as you are.”

“Good.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “’Cause I’ve no idea where my only nice shirt is.”

Saturday morning had been… a lot.

Your dad had vacuumed the living room twice – despite the fact you’d done it earlier that week and there was absolutely no reason for him to do it again – and your mom…

Well… Let’s just say she’d spent the entire day running around like a chicken without its head.

There had been three trips to the grocery store, another to the little liquor store on 2nd street for a special bottle of wine – even though you’d repeatedly told her Wayne was perfectly content with cheap beer and wasn’t the type of man who needed impressing – and what felt like hours spent in the kitchen as though it were Thanksgiving Eve instead of dinner with Eddie’s uncle.

And you–

“This is the sixth time you’ve looked through the curtain.” Your dad’s amused voice drifted out from the kitchen and into the living room. He was wearing your mom’s hot pink apron while he flipped the ridiculously large pig’s leg your mother had shoved in the oven hours earlier. “Relax.”

“No, I haven’t,” you muttered, immediately abandoning the curtain and turning to glare at him. “And I am relaxed.”

“Honey.” Your dad shot you the knowing look you’d grown to hate more and more with each passing second. “I’ve know you for eighteen years. This is not you relaxed.”

“Yeah, well. If you two hadn’t been stressing all day,” you replied, rolling your eyes, “maybe I wouldn’t be stressed either.”

“This is a big deal, honey,” your mom said before your dad could respond. Her lips were pursed together while her eyebrows settled into a worried furrow. “It’s important that he knows we care about Eddie.”

“Believe me, mom,” you chuckled softly as you pushed yourself off the couch, a smile tugging at your lips. “He knows. Eddie talks about you guys all the time. It’s honestly kinda annoying.”

By the time the doorbell finally rang, your mother had made your dad check the oven two more times, rearranged the dining table three separate times – switching the everyday silverware for the fancy set and then back again – and you were beginning to regret ever extending the invitation.

You beat your parents to the door, letting out a quiet breath as your fingers curled around the doorknob. Wayne stood on the porch when you pulled it open, Eddie already grinning beside him.

“Hey, Sweetheart.”

Your eyes immediately landed on Wayne, your eyebrows shooting upwards. “You found the shirt.”

“Made me stress-search the entire trailer with him,” Eddie chuckled, ignoring the look Wayne shot him.

“Don’t make me kill you before dinner,” he muttered under his breath as he stepped inside.

You stepped aside to let hem in, catching the faint scent of a cologne you’d never smelled before.

It wasn’t Eddie’s, or your dad’s. And for some reason, the realization that Wayne had stress-searched for his good shirt and put on cologne for tonight made something tug warmly at your chest.

“You must be Eddie’s dad.” Your mom suddenly appeared beside you, a bright smile already spread across her face as she extended a hand.

“Uncle,” Wayne corrected gently, as though he was worried about sounding rude. Then he introduced himself.

“Dad,” Eddie corrected immediately, shooting the older man a warm smile.

He hadn’t even properly greeted you before disappearing into the kitchen towards your father, already talking about some book he’d loaned Eddie a few weeks ago.

You shot the back of his head an incredulous look before pushing the front door shut and following everyone in the kitchen.

Wayne just blinked at the boy. Eddie had – much to his horror – already opened the fridge and helped himself to two beers. He passed one to his uncle before cracking open his own.

He immediately shot Eddie a reprimanding look, followed by a low behave.

“Oh!” your mom interrupted with a dismissive wave when she noticed the exchange. “Don’t worry about him, Wayne. He’s at home.”

The special wine your mother had bought remained mostly untouched as Wayne and your father had worked their way through one of the six-packs instead.

Somewhere between the roast, the soft music spilling from the kitchen radio, and Eddie getting relentlessly bullied by every person at the table, the nervous tension had quietly disappeared.

Your dad had been right – you hadn’t been relaxed earlier that evening, not like you were now. No tense shoulders, no fidgeting fingers. Just laughter and something warm spreading through your chest.

The dinner plates had long since given way to dessert plates, followed by matching porcelain coffee cups.

You paused at the kitchen island, your hand still wrapped around the handle of the coffee pot as you took a moment to yourself.

Wayne was shaking his head at something your father had said, though the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth gave away his amusement.

Your mother was busing filling glass containers while shooting Eddie a pointed look, muttering something under her breath when he insisted the leftovers weren’t necessary – especially not the amount of food she was packing away, enough to feed half the trailer park. Eddie only shook his head back in response, the rim of his beer can brushing against his smiling lips.

For once, nobody was paying attention to you. And maybe that was why the moment caught you off guard. Because somewhere along the way, the people you loved had stopped being separate parts of your life and become one.

Eddie caught you staring from across the room and tilted his head in question. When you responded with a small smile, his immediately widened.

Then, with all the subtlety of a brick through a window, he pressed a hand dramatically against his chest and leaned back into his chair after catching the kiss you’d blown in his direction.

“You guys are coming for Thanksgiving, right?” your mom asked, pulling Eddie’s attention away from you.

“I, uh…” he blinked a few times, looking momentarily caught off guard. Despite how comfortable he’d become around your parents, he still hadn’t quite gotten used to the idea of being expected at important holidays. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

“Good.” Your mom smiled warmly as she snapped the lids onto the containers. “Because I’ve already got the whole things planned.”

Eddie continued blinking heavily. “It’s still October.”

“She’s been planning since September,” your father replied from across the table. “Believe me, she takes it very seriously.”

“I can see that,” Eddie replied with a small smile, catching your eyes across the room. The look he gave you was fond enough to make heat creep into your cheeks.

Warm sunlight spilled across the football field, soft and golden – the kind that made every colour seem a little brighter.

The mid-June air carried the faint sweetness of flowers from somewhere beyond the bleachers, while the green of newly full trees framed the field like a living auditorium.

Only fitting for a graduation ceremony.

Rows of white folding chairs creaked and shifted beneath restless parents. The chair between Wayne groaned every time he adjusted his position, and somewhere three rows behind him a baby had been crying for the better part of twenty minutes.

Other than his graduation, he’d never sat through one before.

At least not from the family section.

Beside him, your mother fanned herself with the ceremony program while your father – who had, for reasons nobody understood, decided to wear a full suit – complained about the heat as he fiddled with the new camera hanging around his neck.

At the front of the field, a speaker droned through an introduction that none of the three adults cared enough to listen to.

“How much longer?” Wayne muttered, leaning towards your mother.

“You’ve asked that four times already.”

“And?”

“And the answer hasn’t changed,” she lowered the program and shot him a look. “Pretty sure we got the same ceremony program.”

While they bickered like decades-long friends, the first applause rippled through the crowd like a pebble dropped into a pond.

Green-and-gold caps glinted beneath the June sun, tassels catching the light as parents leaned forwards in their seats, necks craned and cameras raised while they laughed and muffled quiet sniffles.

Diplomas were handed out, footsteps across the stage mixing with the creak of folding chairs, and each name opened into a small, bright moment – handshakes exchanged, smiles wide and raw.

It wasn’t until your father suddenly started waving his arm like a man trying to flag down an airplane that your mother and Wayne finally stopped their bickering and redirected their attention towards the ridiculously decorated stage.

“There!” your father pointed excitedly.

“I know where my own kid is,” Wayne murmured, quietly reaching for the prescription glasses tucked int the pocket of his shirt.

His gaze immediately found the familiar mess of curls peeking from beneath a graduation cap.

Beside him, your mother let out a soft gasp. “There’s my girl!” Pride softened her voice in a way that made your father smile behind the camera.

At the front of the field, the graduates slowly shuffled forwards row by row. One step closer, then another. Until it suddenly wasn’t some distant ceremony anymore.

Principal Higgins adjusted the microphone, a practiced smile settling on his face as he leaned towards it. A name was called, a student crossed the stage; then another, and another.

And then–

“Edward Wayne Munson.”

Somewhere behind them, Dustin practically bled out everyone’s eardrum as he screamed and clapped like a circus seal. Despite visibly wincing, Wayne never took his eyes off the stage.

He watched Eddie cross it – watched him nearly trip over the hem of his gown. Watched him shake Principal Higgin’s hand, snatch the diploma and flash a middle finger towards the man like he’d threatened to do a hundred times before.

Higgins sighed, Eddie grinned, and Wayne continued smiling.

And for a moment, everything else faded into the background – no crowd, no heat, no speeches, nothing. Because after three attempts, countless detentions, and more arguments than Wayne could count, the kid had actually done it.

“Attaboy,” Wayne murmured as he crossed his arms over his chest. “About damn time.”

Wayne’s smile had barely faded when Principal Higgins looked back down at his list, calling another name and drawing another round of applause from the crowd.

Eddie found your gaze right before your turn. Grinning, he blew you a kiss and followed it with an exaggerated wink – which immediately rolled your eyes.

Then, before your mother could mentally prepare herself, your name echoed across the football field. The applause swelled around the bleachers as you made your way towards the stage. Halfway there, you nearly tripped over the hem of your own gown – not because you were nervous, but because your father had somehow managed to stand up in the middle of the ceremony and was now filming the entire thing with the enthusiasm of a man documenting the moon landing.

“Oh gosh, look at her!”

“I am looking!”

As afternoon leaned towards evening, the sun lowered and painted faces with a honeyed glow.

Eddie had thrown his diploma somewhere in the back of his van before he joined you for the graduation photoshoot your mom was adamant on having.

Nathalie had her arms thrown around you, basically holding you in a headlock, as she smiled wide to the disposable camera your mom held.

“You too, Eddie!” she exclaimed, not lifting the camera from her face.

Eddie let out a dramatic sigh – which the glimmer in his eyes told everyone he didn’t mean one bit – but made his way over anyway. Nathalie immediately released you and latched onto him instead, recreating the exact position she’d put you in just seconds earlier. A quiet laugh escaped him as he tried to pry her arms from around his neck, but to no avail.

The camera continued clicking, and with every flash another person was added to the photographs – Dustin, Wayne, your Father.

You quickly lost track of how many photographs your mother took, and you were fairly certain she’d somehow managed to make a second disposable camera appear out of thin air.

As the afternoon slowly leaned towards evening, the crowd began to thin. Families drifted towards the parking lot, teachers packed away folding chairs, and the football field suddenly seemed far too large compared to how it had felt only an hour earlier.

Your parents and Wayne had already left, and Nathalie had disappeared to get ready for the afterparty at some senior’s lake house.

The two of you had dropped Dustin off at home and were now making your way back towards the trailer.

You’d noticed earlier that Eddie’s fingers kept fidgeting against the steering wheel while the three of you drove towards Dustin’s house, but you’d pushed the observation to the back of your mind. But now, with Dustin gone, and the van occupied by only the two of you, the silence felt impossible to ignore – no radio, no laughing, no conversation. Just the rumble of the engine and the occasional creak of the old van as the familiar streets of Hawkins blurred past the windows. Brink buildings slowly gave way to stretches of green until the sign for Forest Hills Trailer Park finally appeared in the distance.

Eddie didn’t make any move to get out once he’d parked beside your car and killed the engine. He simply sat there while his fingers continued tapping restlessly against the steering wheel while his eyes remained fixed on nothing in particular.

“I, uh…” His voice sounded rough before he swallowed and finally looked at you. “I gotta do this… thing before I go to the afterparty.”

“Where are you going?” you asked softly, your eyebrows drawing together.

“Gonna see my mom,” he admitted after a moment, nodding to himself. “Tell her the big news and all that.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Your eyes traced the lines of his face, searching for the unspoken thoughts lingering behind his words.

“Do you want me to come?”

Eddie looked at you for a few seconds before his gaze drifted towards the trailer sitting quietly in front of you.

“Nah, it’s alright,” he replied softly. “Nathalie’s gonna kill you if you’re late.”

“She’ll probably be too distracted by Gareth to notice,” you joked.

Undoing your seatbelt, you turned towards him and reached for his hand.

“I wanna come, if that’s alright.”

“Yeah?” His voice was low. Something that looked suspiciously like uncertainty flickered through his eyes. “I know you don’t like hospitals.”

“I’ll survive,” you replied softly. Your hand found his cheek, gently pulling him closer for a quick kiss.

Something eased in his expression – not completely, but enough.

The sun had already begun to set by the time the two of you got back on the road. Streaks of pink and violet stretched across the sky, painting the horizon in soft watercolours. And by the time you finally arrived, the colours had faded into deep blue darkness.

A few curious glanced followed the two of you as you stepped out of the van, still dressed in your graduation gowns and caps. Neither of you paid them much attention as you walked hand in hand, and made your way towards the hospital entrance.

The green-and-gold gowns made the two of you stand out like sore thumbs against the stark white walls and fluorescent lights waiting inside.

The corridors stretched long and bright, fluorescent lights reflecting off polished floors while the persistent scent of antiseptic lingered in the air.

Hand in hand, the two of you made your way through the maze of hallways until Eddie finally slowed to a stop. For the first time all evening, his grip on your hand tightened.

“You ready?” you asked softly, returning the squeeze.

“No,” he chuckled humourlessly.

But he pushed the door open anyway.

The steady beeping of a heart monitor filled the otherwise quiet room.

Your gaze drifted around for a moment, taking in how the clinical order of the space had slowly been transformed into something more personal over the years. Old childhood drawings were taped to the walls, a bouquet of flowers sat on the bedside table, and photographs had been tucked into the corners of mirrors and pinned beside medical charts.

Eddie gave your hand one last squeeze before reluctantly letting go. He pulled one of the chairs closer to the bed but didn’t sit down right away; instead, his eyebrows pinched together.

“I gotta do something real quick,” he murmured, and then disappeared back into the hallway.

Something tugged at your chest as you finally let your eyes settle on the woman lying in the bed. Even with the tubes and machines surrounding her, she looked strangely peaceful. Soft brown curls framed her face, and faint smile lines lingered around her eyes and mouth.

You quietly dragged the chair closer and sat down. Carefully avoiding the IV lines, you reached for her hand and gently wrapped your fingers around hers.

“Y’know,” you whispered, a small smile tugging at your lips as your gaze caught the badly faded tattoo of an E inside a heart on her forearm. “He’s a great man.”

Your thumb brushed softly across the back of her hand.

“Wayne did a good job.”

Your voice drifted quietly through the gap in the open doorway, stilling Eddie’s movements before he pushed it open again.

The more words that left your mouth, the tighter his grip became on the folded sheet of paper in his hand.

When he finally found the courage to step back inside, he found you with your bag balanced on your lap, carefully holding his mother’s hand while filing her nails with the other.

You trailed off when his footsteps echoed through the room. Looking up, your eyes immediately found the paper in his hands.

“Hey,” you murmured. “Whatcha got there?”

Eddie blinked a few times before looking down at it himself.

“My, uh… diploma.” A nervous laugh escaped him. “Gonna hang it with the rest.”

“I think she’d love that,” you replied softly before returning to her nails.

Eddie remained where he stood for a moment, his eyes lingering on the sight in front of him as warmth spread through his chest.

“I was telling her about the pictures my mom took today,” you continued quietly. “Figured I’d bring her some once they’re developed.”

Your file moved gently over another nail, another small smile tugging at your lips.

“Maybe a plant, too.”

Eddie snorted softly and finally stepped forwards, pulling the other chair closer to the bed.

“A plant?”

“They last longer than flowers.”

Eddie simply shook his head, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards as he sat down beside you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, and you continued gently filing her nails while Eddie looked at the xeroxed diploma in his hands.

“Hey, mom.” His voice came out softer than he’d intended, while a nervous smile pulled at his lips. “Guess what?”

He held up the black-and-white piece of paper.

“I finally graduated.”

You’d taken full advantage of the fact that Eddie and Wayne had gone on a long-overdue boys’ trip to their favourite record store in Indianapolis.

Which meant the trailer was empty, with nobody to stop you.

Dustin and Mike stood precariously on top of the kitchen chairs while they attempted to hang colourful birthday banners across the ceiling. Gareth was stocking the fridge with beer and enough soft drinks to keep the younger members of Hellfire alive for at least a week. Meanwhile, Jeff and your dad were trying – and failing – not to cough up a lung while blowing up balloons. The occasional curse drifted out of the living room every time one of them accidentally let go of a balloon before tying it off.

You were tucked away in the kitchen alongside Nathalie and your mom, busy putting the finishing touches on the ridiculously elaborate menu that had somehow materialized over the week.

A few weeks ago, Eddie had absentmindedly mentioned that Wayne’s birthday was coming up. He’d also mentioned wanting to get him a present, despite the fact they weren’t planning on celebrating.

It had seemed like an innocent enough comment at the time.

A massive mistake on Eddie’s part, really.

Because now you had your own key to the trailer, and there was absolutely nothing stopping you from turning it into a colourful, glitter-covered disaster worthy of a fifty-fifth birthday party.

You’d been adamant that everyone park further down the trailer park, making sure that when the Munson boys got home, they wouldn’t immediately grow suspicious at the number of cars surrounding the trailer.

Which turned out to be a good call.

The familiar rumble of Eddie’s van echoed through the evening air, followed by slamming doors and the distant murmur of conversation. Inside the trailer, everyone immediately fell silent – the kind that felt impossibly loud. You could hear their voices growing closer as they made their way up the steps, completely unaware of what was waiting for them on the other side of the door.

Wayne’s words died on his tongue the moment he pushed it open.

“Happy birthday, Wayne!”

His grip on the doorknob faltered, and for a second he just stood there, too stunned to step inside.

Eddie couldn’t remember the last time the trailer had looked like that. Hell, he wasn’t entirely sure it ever had.

He’d been six years old when he moved in with Wayne, and over the years his own birthdays had been celebrated with store-bought cakes, dollar-store presents, and whatever Wayne could scrape together after paying the bills.

But Wayne’s birthdays had always been different. Usually they passed with a muttered birthday wish, and maybe a small present Eddie had spent months saving for.

Nothing like this.

Wayne was pulled from his thoughts when you launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you mumbled birthday wishes into his ear. His hand came up hesitantly, patting your back once before settling there with more certainty.

Then he looked over his shoulder and immediately found Eddie – and the look he shot him was equal parts accusation and disbelief.

“I had absolutely no idea,” Eddie said quickly, raising both hands in surrender.

“He really had no idea,” you admitted bashfully as you pulled away from Wayne. “This is all on me.”

Wayne blinked at you for a few seconds, dragging a hand over the back of his head and scratching absentmindedly at the bald spot.

“Jesus H. Christ.”

“C’mon,” you laughed. “Fifty-five is a big deal!”

Wayne let his gaze wander around the trailer, taking in the colourful banners, the balloons crowding the ceiling, and the gigantic cake sitting on the kitchen counter.

“That’s a very large cake.”

Something in his expression softened. In all the time you’d known him, you weren’t sure you’d ever seen him look quite like that.

For a second,  you could’ve sworn his eyes had gone glassy. But then he blinked, and the moment was gone.

“I hope chocolate is okay,” your mother said.

He stepped closer to the kitchen counter, his gaze trailing over the slightly lopsided decorations perched on top of the cake – courtesy of Nathalie’s non-existent baking experience – before accepting the beer your father offered him.

“Would’ve eaten it either way,” he murmured against the rim of the can, trying to sound far more nonchalant than he felt. “Just don’t sing Happy Birthday.”

That suggestion was immediately ignored.

Still lingering near the front door, Eddie let his eyes wander across the cramped living room and kitchen – the conversations, the laughter, the balloons, the small mountain of wrapped presents stacked on the coffee table.

Then his eyes found you.

You were standing beside Wayne, carefully cutting the cake while laughing at something your mom had said.

And just like that, everything else faded into the background. The realisation hit him so suddenly it nearly knocked the wind out of him. You loved Wayne – not because he was attached to Eddie; not because you felt obligated to. Just because he was Wayne.

“Jesus,” Eddie muttered under his breath, dragging a hand through his curls. “Get a grip, Munson.”

“Why do you look like an electrocuted cat?”

Eddie nearly jumped out of his skin as Dustin’s voice suddenly pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Jesus Christ, Henderson.”

“Just Dustin Henderson is fine, dude,” he replied with a deadpan expression. “And that wasn’t an answer.”

“Shut up, man.”

“Seriously,” Dustin squinted at him. “You look weird.”

“This is just my face,” Eddie muttered, shaking his head as he finally pushed the door shut.

“No, it’s not,” Dustin immediately shot back as he pointed across the room. “You look like you’re about to propose.”

“I don’t have ring yet.”

Eddie immediately froze. The words had left his mouth before his brain had a chance to stop them.

“Shut up.”

Dustin’s eyes widened, a grin spreading across his face almost instantly.

“There it is.” He pointed at Eddie triumphantly. “I knew it.”

“Shut up, Henderson.”

“Oh my God, you’ve actually thought about it.”

Eddie immediately ignored the heat creeping across his cheeks and down his neck. He swallowed nervously before shaking his head and stepping further into the living room, pretending Dustin no longer existed.

“Where are you going?” he whined as he hurried after Eddie. “We’re not done talking about this!”

Somewhere between watching Wayne get force-fed yet another slice of cake, opening more presents than he knew what to do with, and working his way through a few more beers, the overwhelming feeling in Eddie’s chest had finally settled.

You sat comfortably on his lap, absentmindedly scratching at his scalp while he swirled the last of his beer around the can and watched Wayne laugh at something your dad had said.

Without taking his eyes off his uncle, he pulled you a little closer against his chest. “Thank you,” he murmured, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze.

“Hm?”

“For loving him,” he said quietly, finally looking at you with a soft glimmer swimming in his eyes. “For treating him like family.”

“That’s because he is,” you whispered back and pressed a soft kiss to his temple.

And just like that, the overwhelming warmth returned.

“Careful, Sweetheart,” he murmured, sounding considerably more confident than he had with Dustin an hour earlier. “Keep being sweet like that and I might marry you.”

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it, though it did little to quiet the buzz spreading beneath your skin.

“Please don’t steal the attention away from him.”

“Don’t worry,” Eddie chuckled, shaking his head. “Won’t propose until I get a ring.”

“Let’s keep it that way,” you shot back. “Pretty sure getting married after five months of dating isn’t a smart idea.”

Eddie clicked his tongue and shot you a thoroughly offended look.

“You have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, Sweetheart.”

A few hours later, after you’d finally managed to throw your parents out of the trailer, the Munson home had settled back into its natural, quiet state. Your mom had somehow found the energy to clean half the living room before leaving – even though you’d repeatedly told her that you and Eddie would take care of it in the morning.

Wayne had been sprawled across the couch for a while now, soft snores escaping him after he’d finally surrendered to a cake-and-beer-induced coma.

You and Eddie sat at the kitchen table, sharing a cigarette back and forth in comfortable silence.

“Think he had a good birthday?” you asked quietly, glancing towards the couch.

“Yeah,” Eddie murmured. A soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips as his eyes settled on Wayne. “He did.”

Eddie blew the last of the smoke from his lungs before crushing the cigarette into the ashtray between you.

For a moment, neither of you said anything, and the trailer had gone quiet again.

Balloons still bobbed lazily in the living room, half-opened presents sat forgotten on the coffee table, and Wayne’s soft snores drifted through the room.

Then Eddie pushed his chair back and got to his feet, holding out a hand towards you.

“C’mon, Sweetheart,” he said when you slipped your hand into his. “Let’s go to bed, hm?”

You glanced towards Wayne one last time.

At some point, he’d rolled onto his back, one hand resting on his chest while the other hung off the side of the couch.

Letting go of Eddie’s hand for  moment, you reached for the folded blanket tucked inside the wooden crate beside the couch and carefully draped it over the sleeping man.

Something in Eddie’s chest tightened at the gesture.

Without a word, he took your hand again and gently tugged you down the hallway after switching off the lights.

He didn’t bother with the overhead light once you stepped into his room. Instead, he reached for the bedside lamp, casting the familiar space in a warm amber glow that settled over the cluttered shelves, cassette tapes, and the countless little trinkets that made the room unmistakably his.

Meanwhile, you wandered towards the dresser in search of one of his oversized shirts to sleep in.

“Y’know,” Eddie started softly as he kicked off his shoes, “I was serious about what I said earlier.”

“Hm?” You pulled the shirt over your head, your voice muffled by the fabric.

Before you could fully untangle yourself, you felt his hands settle on your hips, gently pulling you back against his chest.

“About marrying you,” he whispered before pressing a soft kiss against the back of your neck.

Neither of you spoke for a while. You let your gaze linger on the floor for a moment longer before eventually turning around in his arms and finding him already looking at you. There was no teasing grin, no punchline waiting behind his expression.

“Not now, obviously,” he chuckled when he saw the look on your face. “We just graduated high school and all that.”

His thumb brushed absentmindedly against your side as he guided the two of you towards his bed, pulling you onto his lap.

“But when I think about my future…” he let out a quiet laugh. “You’re the only constant there.”

His words settled warmly in your chest as your eyes continued tracing the familiar lines of his face.

“You’re there too, you know,” you whispered after a few seconds.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, gently drawing him closer while your fingers combed through the curls at the back of his head.

“Tell me more,” you whispered and gave him a quick kiss. “About our future.”

A soft, dreamy smile tugged at his lips as he thought about it.

“You’ll probably go to college next summer, and I’ll work as a mechanic,” he started slowly, eyes glimmering under the warm amber lights. “But we’ll make it work somehow, safe every dime we can spare and one day buy our own house.”

“Yeah?” You smiled, warm and bright, painting the picture in your mind.

“Oh, yeah,” he nodded and pulled you a little closer against his chest. “Two stories, picket fence, big backyard. Big enough for a couple of kids. Everything we deserve.”

A mischievous glimmer immediately settled into your eyes.

“A couple of kids, huh?” you teased. “You’re hellbent on getting me pregnant, aren’t you?”

Eddie nearly choked. The pink that instantly flooded his cheeks spread all the way down his neck.

“Jesus.” He dropped his head into his hand and dragged it through his curls. “I’m trying to be romantic here.”

“You’re doing a pretty good job,” you murmured before licking your lips and letting go of his neck. Your hand trailed down his chest and under his shirt, feeling the warmth radiating off his skin. “You were saying?”

Eddie blinked softly at you, trailing his eyes across your face and noticing the mischievous glimmer in your eyes had given way to something else.

“Uh…” he trailed off slowly, still blinking as he felt your hand trail lower again. “Uhm–”

“Go on,” you smiled, trailing your fingertips down until you reached his buckle. “Don’t mind me, baby.”

Easier said than done. You hadn’t really done anything just yet, and you’d somehow already turned his brain into a mushy mess. Eddie’s mouth fell open, only for it to close again, repeating it a few more times as the words escaped him.

You expertly undid his belt, and pulled slowly at his zipper before slipping your hand into his boxers. A knowing smile spread across your lips as you gave him a tentative tug.

“I think we were talking about how you’re desperate to get me pregnant?” you said teasingly when you noticed his lost expression.

“I-I’m not des–” Eddie cut himself off and dragged a hand through his hair once again, tugging at his roots.

“No?” You raised your eyebrows. “Then why are you hard just thinking about it?”

Eddie gulped down the dry lump in his throat, unable to come up with anything to shoot back. His chest moved frantically up and down when you removed your hand to spit on it.

“Explain it to me,” you whispered as you slipped your hand back into his boxers, fingers easily finding his hard cock, twitching with every sultry word that slipped from your lips. “Why does it turn you on so much?”

He took another moment, trying to get his heartbeat to calm down, only to fail miserably at it when you started slowly moving your hand up and down along his shaft. He swallowed again, blinking heavily, and licked his lips before he finally found the words.

“It’s the, uh…” he swallowed down a moan, eyebrows furrowing with his tortuously slow tug you gave him. “Idea of owning you like that.”

“Owning me?”

“Showing everyone that you belong to me, that I’m the only one to gets to have you like that,” he added quickly, licking his lips before a soft groan spilled from his mouth. His chest heaved as he trailed his gaze away from your for a split second, like whatever he wanted to say next wasn’t something that came easily to him. “And having the chance to do it right. To not fuck everything up like my old man.”

The words hung heavily between the two of you – heavier than Eddie wanted them to – and made you halt your movements altogether.

You licked your lips as you blinked down at him, heartbeat pounding in your ears. The raw honesty made something tug at your heart, especially knowing that Eddie never really talked about his life before moving in with his uncle.

He dragged his hand through his dark locks, tugging harshly at his roots as he exhaled. “Fuck, I’m sor–”

“I’d love to give you that chance one day, Eds,” you cut him off, voice merely above a whisper.

Then, before he could react or even let the words sink in properly, you pulled him in for a kiss. His lips were soft and warm against yours, following the slow rhythm you’d set. He gave your waist a gentle squeeze while his warm breath fanned over your face.

When you pulled away again and opened your eyes, you found his already staring at you. He had his eyebrows set in a faint, raised furrow and his mouth hung open as he tried to catch his breath.

“Really?” he whispered back after a moment, not trusting his voice.

“Really,” you said with a small smile tugging at your lips.

The two of you stayed silent for a moment longer, just staring back at one another with glimmering eyes and soft expressions. You brought a hand to his cheek, cradling him and pulling him in for a quick peck.

“You…” you trailed off softly, and let out a breathless sigh before continuing. “You wanna practice in the meantime?”

Eddie chuckled under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief as a grin took over his lips. He looked away for just a split second before finding your gaze again.

“You’re unbelievable,” he replied with a grin.

A low chuckle escaped you while you pulled of his lap to stand between his legs. Your fingers found the hem of shirt, pulling it up and off his body. Once the shirt had been thrown carelessly somewhere on the ground, you immediately reached for his jeans, impatiently tugging at it. Eddie helped you by pushing his hips off the bed, and hastily helped you by pulling the thick denim off his calves when they’d gotten stuck – one downside of always wearing tight skinny jeans – followed by the pair of boxers.

Eddie’s chest moved frantically up and down as he dragged a hand through his hair, eyes glued on you as you reached under the oversized shirt that hung over your frame. His gaze followed your fingers as you pulled the black lacey underwear down your legs, and let it pool around your feet.

“Wait,” he said breathlessly when you reached for the hem of your shirt, pulling your hands away from the fabric. “Keep it on.”

“The whole owning me thing?” you chuckled under your breath.

“Yeah,” he replied bashfully, swallowing the dry lump that had briefly settled in his throat.

You just shook your head and licked your lips as you took a step closer, wrapping your arms around his neck. Letting your eyes wander across his face for a few more seconds, you slipped one of your hands into his curls, nails gently scratching against his scalp.

“I wanna try to be on top tonight,” you whispered, looking away for a quick moment. “Would that be okay?”

“Jesus,” he breathed out, cock twitching at your words. “Fuck. Yes, of course.”

You nodded slowly – more to yourself than to him – chest heaving as you swallowed. Then, without thinking twice about it, you leaned in and brushed your lips against his, lingering there for just a moment before pressing in and closing the distance all the way.

Eddie’s hands reached for your hips, slipping under your shirt, fingers pressing into your skin as you licked his bottom lip, coaxing his mouth to open just enough to deepen the kiss.

A soft groan escaped him when you tilted your head and kissed him harder – still unhurried, but deeper. You moved your lips against his with more intent, picking up just slightly when another groan slipped from his mouth. Eddie’s rings pressed harder into your hips when you pulled away just slightly, enough to suck on his tongue when he followed your movement.

He pulled you closer, a little rougher than before, forceful enough to pull you into his lap. You continued sucking on his tongue, filling the otherwise silent room with low slurping sounds that nearly drove him insane.

Sometimes he regretted having taught you everything you know – the way you brushed your tongue against his in that special way that made his cock twitch a little too hard, or the way you’d mastered the art of rolling your hips until he was nothing but a pool of spit.

“I’m still on the pill,” you whispered against his lips when you finally pulled away. “I wanna– I wanna feel you, Eds. All of you.”

His grip on your hips tightened slightly, nails gently digging into your skin. His breath hitched, eyebrows slowly furrowing as he turned your words in his head.

“And I know you don’t really trust it,” you added quickly, cutting him off before he could even mumble a single word. “But where’s the fun in practicing if we use a condom?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Eddie murmured after a few seconds. “Are you trying to kill me?”

You chuckled under your breath, teeth digging softly into your bottom lip as you rolled your hips against him. His breath caught and his cock twitched when you slid your slick folds up and down his length.

“Are you…” he trailed off, swallowing the lump that had settled in his throat as he dragged one hand through his hair. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“Never been more sure,” you whispered, stealing a quick kiss as you continued rolling your hips.

“Fuck.”

Eddie’s swollen lips hung low while soft, strained breaths slipped from him. His eyebrows had been pulled into a deep furrow when you angled your hips, bumping his leaking tip against your clit.

“Are you gonna help me?” you mumbled, voice low and breathless. “Or am I gonna have to figure out how to do this on my own?”

He tilted his head back, low groans escaping his lips with every other roll of your hips against his. Then, like your words had finally sunk in, he started nodding frantically and gave your hip another squeeze.

“H-hips up, Sweetheart,” he managed to breath out, and moved his hands from your hips to your thighs, helping you up. “L-line me up. Take all the time you need, yeah?”

A soft sigh left you as you wrapped your fingers around his cock, and followed his instructions. Your breath hitched when your wet slit caught his swollen, pre-cum leaking tip. For a moment, you stayed like that: hovering over his cock, chest moving up and down in failed attempts of catching your breath. Then, like Eddie had told you to, you took your time sinking down on his length.  

“Fuck,” you breathed out, stopping halfway as you tried getting used to the stretch. Dragging a hand through his hair, you pulled tightly at his roots. “You feel– Jesus. You feel so good, Eds.”

Eddie groaned against your lips, half lidded eyes staring back at you. He let go of your thigh, trailing a hand up your back until he reached your neck, pulling you in for another kiss to distract him from how tight you felt. His tongue slid against you in messy, slick strokes, while groans spilled from his mouth into yours.

Then, without warning, you pushed your hips down in one, fluid movement. Both of your breaths hitched almost simultaneously as Eddie’s tip hit places he’d never reached before.

“F-fuck. Are y-you okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathed out, mouth hanging open, and tightened your hold on his hair even more. Slowly opening your eyes, you found Eddie already staring back. “You fill me up so well.”

The two of you sat like that for a few more second, his cock twitching inside your fluttering pussy, sharing breaths like you needed each other to live.

Eddie’s hand trailed softly down your back, finding the underside of your thigh again, and gave you a soft squeeze that translated into whenever you’re ready. Giving him a faint nod, you pushed your hips up until only his tip rested inside of you before you sank back down. His fingers sank into the soft flesh of your thighs, helping you bounce on his lap.

“Talk to me, Eds,” you whimpered against his lips. “I need to hear your voice.”

The protruding veins around his length dragged deliciously every time you moved up and down, pulling barely contained high-pitched whimpers every time he hit that special, hidden spot. Your nails dug crescents into his scalp, while you pushed him impossibly closer with the arm around his neck.

“W-what?” he groaned out, followed by broken moans of your name.

“Tell me,” you breathed out, resting your forehead against his. “About your… fuck. F-fantasies?”

The room was filled with wet slaps, mixed with barely contained groans and whimpers. He continued helping you, fingertips gripping tightly at your thighs, giving you the occasional thrust when he couldn’t help himself.

“P-please, Eds,” you whispered as you let your head fall against the crook of his neck. You clenched helplessly around him, grinding down on him as you slowed your pace.

“Shit.”

Your breath was hot against his neck, spreading a whole different wave of warmth down his skin. You hadn’t stopped your movements entirely, just enough to let him know you wouldn’t pick the pace up until you got what you wanted.

Eddie’s cock twitched as his cheeks flushed warm and pink, while he turned your request in his mind and tried pushing away the shame that had slowly started to settle underneath his skin.

“You’re gonna kill me one day,” he whispered, barely above a breath, and trusted into you when he’d started to get desperate for more. “Y-you really wanna know?”

You nodded against his neck, softly whimpering his name in his ear before a barely contained yelp spilled from your lips.

Eddie had slipped his arms around your frame and rolled the both of you until your back was flush against the bed. His loose curls draped around your face, and his necklace hit the tip of your nose as you bounced on the mattress.

Then he trailed his hands back to your thighs, pulling one up high on his waist as he sank deeper into your slick heat, and pushed the other open wider.

“Like I said, I wanna own you,” he groaned lowly, leaning down to place wet, open-mouthed kissed against your neck. “Pump you full of my cum until it fucking takes.”

Like Eddie needed to make it clear, he accentuated the last word that had slipped from his mouth with a sharp thrust, cock kissing your cervix. He let out a humourless laugh against your skin, gritting his teeth as he continued rolling his hips against yours.

With a broken moan, he slipped out of your leaking pussy, and desperately reached for the hem of your shirt, fingers curling tightly around the fabric as he all but tore it off of your frame.

“Wanna see these perfect tits round with milk,” Eddie panted out lowly, grabbing one of your nipples and giving it a harsh tug. He smoothed the sting down with his tongue, giving the hardened nub frantic flicks. “Wanna walk you around town, show everyone you’re carrying my baby.”

He groaned against your chest, replying to your broken moans as he sucked harshly at your nipple, while his other hand trailed between your bodies. He gave himself a lazy tug as he lined himself with your greedy pussy, and snapped his cock back into you with a harsh, desperate thrust. Air was knocked out of your lungs as he kept pounding into you. He’s panting in your ear, doing his damnedest to keep the slapping of skin against skin low, afraid of waking up the man sleeping down the hall.

“Fuck. You like that, don’t you?” he chuckled darkly as he pushed himself up, eyes set on memorising every little twist of your fucked out face. “Can feel it by the way you’re clenching around me.”

You’re so fucking wet around him, gushing uncontrollably with every hard thrust he gave you, every word that he spoke in your ear. You clung to his cock, pulsing, greedily wanting him to stay buried deep inside your pussy.

“P-please, Eds,” you cried out, tugging at his hair. “G-give me it.”

“Yeah? You want my cum?” he breathed out, giving your nipple a hard pull, your ass a hard slap of his balls. “You want me to fill you up? Put a baby in you?”

“Y-yes! Fuckfuckfuck.” Your breathing is raucous. You snake your free hand down his back, reaching for the supple flesh of his ass, pushing him harder into you. “Lemme make you a daddy, Eddie.”

“J-Jesus,” he moaned out, hips faltering for a split second before he picked up the pace. He let go of your nipple, trailing his calloused hand down your bodies until he reached your slick clit. “C’mon, princess. Need you to cum first.”

Eddie drew tight circles on your soaked and swollen clit, doing his absolute best not to let his thumb slip away. You trembled under his touch. The combination of his filthy words, the harsh thrusts of his cock sliding in and out of your greedy pussy, and the extra stimulation of his fingers got your toes curling, body stiffening as the tight knot in your belly finally snapped.

Your vision was blurry when you stared up at him, mouth hanging low as desperate pleas slipped from your mouth.

“G-gimme it, E-Eddie,” you sobbed out, digging your fingers deeper into the milky flesh of his ass as you kept moaning out encouragements. “Fill me up, p-please.”

Like a man possessed, he snapped his hips faster, filling the room with the hard, wet sounds of his balls hitting you. His cock twitched, threatening to give you exactly what you wanted.

“I’m cumming. Fuck, I-I’m–” he groaned out against your lips. “G-gonna fill you up so good, Sweetheart.”

Eddie jerked forwards as he gave your throbbing pussy a particularly hard thrust, cock twitching as he shot his load deep inside of you. You turned into a boneless, trembling mess when you felt the first warm spurt of his cum tainting your pussy.

He slowly came to a stop, but he kept his hip flushed against yours, making sure that not even a single drop of his cum had the chance to leak out.

“Fuck.”

“T-that was… fucking amazing,” you trailed off slowly, gulping for air. A low, breathless chuckle managed to escape your lips as you gave Eddie’s ass a joking slap.

Eddie’s cock twitched at the fleeting thought of doing that again – fucking without a condom, filling you up while he moaned filthy words in your ears.

He gulped down a dry lump, brushing the tip of his nose against your neck to breathe in the sweet, sweaty scent of your skin.

“Y-yeah?” he asked after a while, and pushed himself up to get a proper look at you. “It wasn’t… weird, or anything?”

“Strangely hot, actually,” you corrected with a tired grin, and let go of his ass to cradle his cheek instead. “We can do it again sometime, if you wanna.”

He blinked dumbly at you, letting his eyes trail across your features as he tried getting his heartrate back to normal.

“What?”

“As long as I’m on the pill, we should be fine,” you added quietly, brushing your thumb against his cheek. “Because I’m serious, I do not wanna have a baby at eighteen.”

That pulled a warm, belly-aching laugh out of Eddie, followed by sharp hissing when his sensitive cock, still buried deep in your pussy, twitched uncontrollably.

“Believe me, Sweetheart,” he whispered after a second. “I’m not ready to be a dad just yet, either.”

The warm glimmer in his eyes made you think he wasn’t being all that sincere, but the squint you gave him was quickly replaced with a tired chuckle.

 “You’re so full of shit, Edward,” you said while shaking your head. “Please don’t cry when you pull out, hm?”

“You’re so mean,” he mumbled under his breath.

“You love it when I’m mean,” you winked at him.

Eddie hissed as he pulled out, eyes glued to the creamy ring around his cock, your words drowning out for a moment as his eyes trailed down to his milky cum slowly leaking out of your pussy.

“Fuck, yeah, I do,” he mumbled absentmindedly. Eddie blinked heavily, breath hitching as his fingers twitched against your thigh. Licking his lips, he weighed down the fleeting thought for a second before giving in.

Before it had any chance of rolling down your ass and hitting his bed, Eddie scooped the thick drop of cum and pushed it back inside.

“But what I really love,” he whispered and flickered his gaze to yours as he slowly pumped his finger in and out of you, “is filling you up. Don’t think I can go back to using condoms, Sweetheart.”

The heavy, silver ring on his finger bumped against the rim of your slit every time he thrusted his finger into you, coaxing slow, desperate groans out of you. He pulled out his finger for a quick moment, just long enough for him to kneel on the floor and pull you closer to the edge of the bed.

“Gotta make sure it takes, baby,” he breathed out, holding back a moan of his own as he flickered his gaze back to your pussy, pushing his finger back in and watching his cum-tainted digit disappear. Then, almost inaudibly: “Lemme have this fantasy, hm?”

Nodding dumbly at his words, your eyes fell shut and your head tilted back as broken whimpers escaped your lips. You gave him an accidental roll of your hips, desperate for more.

“Please, Eds.” You swallowed the dry lump that had suddenly settled in your throat.

“Yeah?” He grinned as he added a second finger and leaned down to catch your clit with his lips. He made out with the swollen nub, alternating between soft flicks and harsh sucks. “You wanna know what I think, hm?”

Your chest heaved up and down as you nodded absentmindedly, too fucked out to really pay attention at whatever he was saying.

“I think that you love this as much as I do,” he chuckled darkly, picking up the pace of his fingers. “This pretty pussy doesn’t lie, Sweetheart. You’re desperate for it to take too, hm?”

Eddie gave you another hard thrust, fingertips pushing against that hidden spot that made you see stars. Your legs trembled around his frame, pussy fluttering around his digits as he quickly brought you to the edge of a second orgasm.

“Answer me, Sweetheart.”

“Y-yes! Yes, I am,” you cried out, pushing your hips against his fingers.

“Yeah?” he chuckled out, and brought his lips back to your clit.

Eddie gave you a few more thrusts of his fingers, followed by harsh sucks at your clit, and didn’t stop until you were clenching hard around him. You bucked your hips into his mouth, hoping to prolong the mind-numbing waves of ecstasy.

“J-Jesus, fuck!”

Eddie’s eyes stayed glued to your face, while your legs closed tightly around his head, keeping him there for a moment longer while your vision whitened and breath hitched.

“You’re so pretty when you cum for me,” he whispered against your clit, before chuckling when he felt your limp hand trying to push him away. “Can’t go anywhere with those legs around my head, Sweetheart.”

He laughed under his breath as he tapped your thigh a few times before wrapping his hands around you and loosening your grip around his head. Eddie then climbed back onto the bed and pulled you against his chest, dragging his clean hand through your messy hair while he pressed a few lingering kisses against your temple.

You snuggled deeper into his embrace, your breath fanning softly across his skin as you mumbled something incomprehensible against his chest.

“What?” he asked between quiet chuckles, pulling back just enough to see your face.

“I said,” you repeated a little louder, blinking lazily up at him, “I think you just killed me.”

“You don’t seem that dead to me,” he snorted.

“I feel pretty dead,” you mumbled.

A smile tugged at Eddie’s lips as he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Can we order some pizza?” you asked after a moment.

“Pregnancy cravings already starting?” Eddie couldn’t help but snort under his breath, ignoring the muffled ugh that slipped from your mouth. “We can order all the pizza you want, Sweetheart.”

Eddie’s new workplace was a cathedral of metal and motion.

Concrete floors sloped gently towards grated drains, stained with oil and darkened where tires rested. Pegboards lined the walls, holding wrenches, sockets, and pliers in neat rows, while cords and air hoses hung from ceiling reels overhead.

During the first few days at the garage, Eddie had done his best to keep his toolbox organised. After a week of finding his tools scattered across the shop floor – or missing entirely until they mysteriously reappeared – he’d decided sharing the garage’s communal toolboxes with his coworkers wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Despite having worked there for only a little over three weeks, he’d already found his footing in the efficient, slightly impatient rhythm of the garage. It hadn’t taken him long to get used to the quick gestures, half-finished sentences, and unspoken understanding that seemed to pass between the mechanics. Jokes and terse advice were exchanged in between repairs, usually without anyone pausing long enough to look up from what they were doing.

Eddie was halfway underneath a car, the sharp scent of gasoline mixing with solvents and brake cleaner, when you pulled into the compound and parked in one of the employee spaces.

“Munson! Your girl is here,” the owner, Jared, called as he stepped out of the tiny break room with a clipboard tucked under one arm. “Again.”

“Cheer up, Jare,” you replied as you stepped further into the garage. “Brought treats for y’all.”

While Eddie rolled the creeper out from beneath the car and made his way towards you, Jared’s expression transformed the second he noticed the large brown paper bags in your hands.

“You’re amazing, sweetheart,” he declared, already reaching for one.

“Watch it,” Eddie muttered, doing his best to scrub the grease from his hands with the handkerchief that usually stuck out of his back pocket. “Only I get to call her that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jared replied dismissively as he took the bag and headed towards the break room. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, boy.”

“Don’t get my panties in a twist,” he muttered under his breath, a slight scowl settling on his face. “I’m gonna show him some panties in a twist, asshole.”

“That’s your boss, Eds.” You tilted your head, a smile tugging at your lips.

Setting the remaining bag on the hood of the car, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer.

“Don’t care. Only I get to call you that.”

A chuckle escaped you as you shook your head.

Eddie smelled strongly of sweat and transmission fluid, with an underlying hint of coffee – a scent that had become more and more familiar with each passing day.

“No need for jealousy,” you teased before stealing a quick kiss.

“Not jealous,” he mumbled, his hands settling on your hips. He gave them a gentle squeeze. “Just–”

“Marking your territory?”

Eddie blinked at the raised eyebrows you shot him, and then immediately darted his gaze elsewhere.

“No comment,” he muttered eventually.

Another laugh bubbled out of you.

He pulled you in for one more quick kiss before finally releasing you and reaching for the brown paper bag.

Then he froze.

Slowly, his eyes drifted from the bag to you – and then down, and back up again.

“Did I forget something important?”

“What?”

His gaze lingered on the dress you’d thrown on that morning, taking in the way the fabric hugged your frame and how the colour seemed almost unfairly suited to you.

“You look a little too good for a simple visit,” he murmured.

His eyes travel upwards again before coming to another halt.

Your cleavage.

Of course.

“Oh, I’m so killing Jared today.”

“For looking at me?” you deadpanned, raising an eyebrow.

“Have you seen yourself in the mirror today?” he asked incredulously. “Sweetheart, you’re killing me here.”

“You’ll survive,” you laughed, shaking your head.

“Doubtful.”

Despite his own rules, Eddie leaned back against the hood of the car he’d been working on moments earlier, stretching his legs out in front of him as he set the brown paper bag beside him.

His eyes lingered on you for a moment too long. He then licked his lips before finally shaking his head and dragging himself out of whatever thoughts had taken hold.

“You’re giving me that look,” you murmured, a smile tugging at your lips.

“What look?”

“The one you always get when you’re thinking about getting me pregnant?”

The words were barely out of your mouth before a laugh escaped you.

Embarrassing him with that joke would never get old.

Eddie’s cheeks immediately flushed a bright shade of pink, and he flicked his eyes away for a moment.

“No comment,” he muttered.

“Yeah, right.”

The battery chargers continued their steady beeping while the heavy stomp of work boots against concrete filled the brief silence between you.

Eddie finally looked inside the bag you’d brought him, and his eyes immediately widened.

Two sandwiches wrapped in plastic foil – egg, ham, tomato, cheese, and a generous spread of mayo; just the way he liked it – two muffins with extra chocolate chips, and a carton of his favourite juice.

“You forgot to make yourself breakfast and lunch this morning,” you murmured, your eyes lingering on his face.

Eddie looked back down at the bag before a soft smile tugged at his lips.

“You spoil me,” he said quietly, holding out a hand towards you.

“Not spoiling.” You slipped your fingers between his. “Just loving you.”

For a moment, Eddie didn’t say anything as he simply looked at you, then down at the food for a brief second before bringing his eyes back towards you.

“Yeah,” he murmured, pulling you closer for a lingering kiss. “You’re pretty good at that.”

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You tried to shuffle over to your dressing table, but you couldn't move your heavy legs and aching thighs. As the cramps intensified, you hunched over further, gripping at your stomach and lowly groaning, screwing your eyes shut. Your pad also sat uncomfortably in your underwear, slightly twisted at the back, and the adhesive was coming loose. 

Fuck. Why is this happening now? I should've rescheduled.

Why didn't I tell him I was coming on and for him to stay home? He'll be pissed when he realises...

"What is it?" Eddie asked, "What do you need?"

Eddie noticed the dullness in your eyes and the slight knitting of your eyebrows to know that something was wrong. You were always bubbly with a little hop and skip in your step, so to see you struggling to stay on your feet was ringing the alarm bells in his head.

"It's fine, I can get it." He said sofly, gently placing a hand on your waist, leading you closer to the bed. 

You knew you couldn't get to balm now. If you tried, you'd either fall to the floor or risk your pad falling down the leg of your pyjamas, risking a thick trickle of blood to follow after. 

"What do you need?" Eddie repeated, not taking your refusals for an answer. 

You sighed, already feeling useless, "Please can you pass me the balm in the green tin?" You pointed towards your dressing table, tucked in the corner of your bedroom.

Eddie stood up, walked over and grabbed the green tin, which looked tiny in his hands. He focused on the floral and herb illustration over the front of the tin, and traced the weed leaf with the pad of his thumb.

"What's goin' on?" Eddie asked, his wide doe eyes full with worry, giving you the balm, "Since when did you use this sort of balm?"   

"It's nothing," you were quick with your response.

Periods were normal and nothing to be ashamed of but your ex-boyfriend's change in behaviour every time you came on was enough to make you feel embarrassed and dirty; the sight of a pad repulsed him, and if any blood managed to seep through your clothing or onto the chair you were sitting on, he'd lose his mind. 

"You're disgusting!" he whined, throwing a towel at you fast and hard, almost whipping you with it. 

You could feel the shame burning the tips of your ears and weighing heavily in the bottom of your stomach, "I can't help it! Do you honestly think that any of us enjoys going through this? Do you think that we enjoy the bleeding, the cramps, and the monthly cost of tampons and pads?!"

You wouldn't defend yourself when he'd start mouthing off, you'd stay quiet and bully yourself, scolding yourself for bleeding, but you were starting to grow tired of becoming a punching bag for something you couldn't control. 

"Oh, stop complaining!" He raised his voice over you, "It's all you lot do, whinge and whine. I knew periods made you moody, but I didn't realise they turned you into a total bitch!" 

It wasn't just his vile outlook on this natural function that took a toll on you, but it was his lack of sympathy and zero ability to provide the simplest of care when you were in bed, struggling, writhing in pain. 

"I'm sorry to ask," you started, "but the pain is getting really bad again, please can you grab my heat pad? I don't think I can make it out of bed."

Rather than returning with what you asked with a hand on your shoulder or a kiss on your head, you were denied care, you were every single time, you didn't even know why you asked, you knew he wouldn't help anyway. 

"Can't you see I'm in the middle of something? If I die in this game, I'll have to start all over again. Get it yourself, you're blowing this way out of proportion."

"doesn't look like nothing," Eddie crawled onto your bed, watching you slowly drag your feet over before lying back against the pillows.

Carefully, you tugged your loose-fitting pyjama pants down and pulled off the lid of the tin. Using your index and middle finger, you scooped up the creamy balm, evenly and gently spreading it across your abdomen 

"Thank you for getting it for me, I won't ever ask again." You panicked, but trying to keep your voice steady . 

Eddie's eyebrows knitted together more, bunching up and he hesitated for a moment, almost keeping quiet, but he couldn't. This wasn't like you.

"You're never like this." He tilted his head, "Just tell me what's up, I'm getting worried, babe."

"It's uhh..." you swallowed hard, "I'm on my period... I know I should've told you not to come over and I know I need to suck it up, I usually do but I'm in agony, and don't worry about any blood getting on your jeans, I put a towel down on the mattress before you came over."

He's going to leave. He's going to be so pissed.

Eddie wanted to laugh at first until he realised how ashamed you were. The sight of you struggling to massage the balm into yourself made his heart ache. 

"Sweetheart," he cooed, "pass me the balm."

"It's okay, I've got this-" 

"Pass me the balm."

Looking into Eddie's dark eyes, you were greeted with warmth, softness, and sympathy. His palm was out, hovering over your stomach. 

Dampening your lips with your tongue, you gave him the balm and watched as he scooped it out onto his fingers before gently spreading it on your stomach. His touch was firm but not aggressive, and he massaged the balm into you in circular motions, careful not to press too hard.

Your heart went fluttery at his touch, and how happy he looked to be massaging you; he was focused and relaxed.

"First of all, there's nothing wrong with a little blood spilling when it's your time of the month. Second, why the hell didn't you tell me? I would've got you a heat pad or something."

The whiplash caught you off guard, and rather than focusing on Eddie's hands, you were staring at him, unable to believe what he said. So casually, with no passive aggression.

He noticed you staring at him and pulled back a little, still massaging you, "What?" he asked, a small smirk tugging at his lips, "Did you think this would bother me?" 

Go on, tell him.

"I'm not used to that response," you spoke up, your voice hollow, "my ex... he... didn't get it."

Eddie raised an eyebrow, "What's not to get?"

If only you knew.. 

"Did he have an extreme phobia of blood or something?" Eddie continued.

You sat up just enough for your boyfriend to stop massaging before lifting the towel from under you and passing it to Eddie so he could wipe the excess oils from his hands. 

A long sigh escaped your lips, "He didn't have a phobia, he just blamed me, every time I came on, he'd force me to keep away from him." You took a breath, "I couldn't sit near him, if I was in pain, I had to be quiet about it and get on with it on my own, he'd make me feel disgusting for..."

"For menstruating? Seriously? What a loser." Eddie scoffed.

He finished wiping his hands and folded the towel up before, wrapping an arm around you.

"You should've told me, I would've... I don't know, got you some pills, brought you some weed you could smoke, some chocolate or whatever you're needing."

You felt a little pathetic at the tears welling up in your eyes. This was the bare minimum, but you'd never had it before. You were denied it and refused to believe that you'd ever get it.

"The heat pad you mentioned earlier did sound nice," you admitted, blinking away your tears. 

Eddie pressed a kiss to your temple, nuzzling his nose into you as the balm slowly absorbed into your skin. With his arm still around you, he pulled you into his arms with enough room for you to rest your head on his shoulder. 

"How about I go and get you that heat pad from the store, maybe stop by Family Video and rent out whatever movie you want to watch, and we can order a pizza. Sound good?" 

You couldn't tell if it was a placebo effect from the new balm you were trying or if Eddie's compassion was truly easing the pain.

"That sounds perfect, Eds." You murmured, nuzzling into him, "Thank you."

"Nope, no, don't want to hear a thank you," he smirked, "it's the bare minimum, princess."

Eddie kept his word. 

Each month, when you were due, he'd have the heat pad ready, or a hot bath, with extra fluffy and absorbent towels he could wrap around you when you managed to climb out of the tub. 

When blood trickled down your inner thighs and dropped to the floor, Eddie would wipe it up without complaint, reassuring you that it was just blood - nothing gross, nothing to apologise over or be embarrassed about; he didn't think twice, he didn't even blink.

If you were painfully bloated and not in the mood to eat, Eddie saved the pizza for another day and offered you something settling to drink instead. You'd fall asleep to him massaging your scalp and stroking your hair, or helping to ease the crushing pain in your pelvis and lower back.

Bizarrely, this time of the month (aside from the pain) became your favourite. You and Eddie, dead to the rest of the world, curled up in bed together, peacefully getting by without embarrassment or shame.

reblogging is a writers bestfriend :)

Metaphor or not it was a rough day. Bad day. Tiring day at work. You probably shouldn’t complain considering both Steve and Eddie have their fair share of responsibilities too. Their own deadlines. 

But they take care of you so well. When you almost bawled your eyes out to Eddie about your shitty day he hugged you first, told you to get in the shower and that he’d join you in a minute. 

Only to secretly call Harrington and tell him not to skimp out on the ice cream tonight. They both made you feel like a princess. 

Steve is brushing your hair because he likes doing it. If Eddie did it he would brush through maybe once or twice before throwing it up in a messy braid. But Steve takes his time, combing through again and again and again until its completely knot free because he knows you like the sensations. 

 So Steve brushes your hair (for a long time) while Eddie will swoop in later to braid it. Then dinner will be eaten with ice cream after and maybe if you’re lucky the night will end with a bang. 

A very moan worthy, breath hitching. Copious amounts of touching bang. 

It sounds silly. To want sex after coming home from doing such draining work. But it makes sense in your head, having done all the rough stuff you just want a little bit more— so that when the days over you feel completed. 

The brush abruptly snags on a small knot at the bottom and it makes an unattractive sound. 

“Oh— sorry honey, that had to hurt.” Steve apologizes quickly; you hum. 

“No, not really.” 

“What you like it or something?” Eddie teases over his guitar playing. Just wanting to be included. 

“What? No! I just— Steve is really gentle and—“ 

“He’s teasing baby.” 

Steve’s thumb rubs your upper arm while his other hand, even more gentle tries to get the tiny knot out. 

You like it. You really do. But that gentleness can’t stay forever. Eddie’s teasing words ring in your head. You like it? Maybe. 

“If I did like it….?”

Voice barely above a whisper Eddie has to stop playing and Steve leans in to hear you. 

“What, the hair pulling or the teasing?” 

You shift just a little bit on the carpet. Now both their eyes are on you and you’re admitting something you’ve never voiced before. 

Eddie doesn’t like his hair getting pulled. He makes that abundantly clear with how he never lets Steve brush his hair. 

Steve only likes his hair getting tugged in the heat of the moment— but lives for head scratches. 

None of them particularly like the rough stuff with there scalp. No twisting hair around their hands or using it as a guide. No pulling or tugging. How would they react to you saying this? Their sweet girl. 

Heart pounding in your ears it already to late to go back on your words now. If you’d tried Eddie would beg and Steve would say stop, but it would only make you feel guilty because you know he wants to know too. 

“The….the hair stuff.” 

“You like your hair being pulled?” Eddie’s aghast voice makes you look down in embarrassment. Like he could never imagine someone as weird as liking that. 

“Ed’s stop.” Steve chastises and the brush in his hand stills for a moment. “Do you like it baby?” 

You shrug; this doesn’t have to be made into a big deal. 

“It’s okay if you do.” 

Eddie reluctantly agrees with a hum. 

“I… I mean I guess. I like the idea of it. No one’s ever really tried before.” 

Steve tuts as if to silently say that’s our fault. “Do you want to? Try it?” 

Chewing on your bottom lip you think it over. Scalp already itching with anticipation. “We don’t have to try tonight…” although you really want to. 

“Well there’s no time like the present is there?” Eddie’s already taking off his guitar and setting it by the tv, grabbing your hand to let you up while Steve puts away the hair supplies. 

“Let’s try light okay? roleplay style. I’ll put your hair in two braids then pretend to be the bully in class that likes you. Pulling them to gain your attention.” 

“Eddie.” Steve warns again. Too much teasing but you giggle anyway.   

“Okay okay. Let’s start with tugging you off while sucking my dick first, geez, he takes the fun outta everything.” 

And despite there stupid results you think maybe your bad day will end with a bang. 

You were always the one who gave people way more credit than they ever deserved. Not because you’re naive, but because you truly saw the good in absolutely everyone. 

Time and time again, you’d meet someone new, overlook every warning sign, excuse every bad decision, and convince yourself there was something underneath it all worth sticking around for.

That maybe they were just having a hard time. Maybe nobody had ever been patient with them before. Maybe all they needed was one person to believe in them.

And every single time, they proved you wrong.

Friends forgot about you the second something better came along. Partners made promises they had no intention of keeping. Family members disappointed you in ways that eventually stopped surprising you. It became a quiet sort of routine, collecting little heartbreaks until they stacked so high you almost expected them.

Still, you never seemed to learn. You'd swear this time was different. This person was different. They wouldn't leave. They wouldn't lie. They wouldn't make you regret trusting them.

Then they always did.

Your mother used to tell you that one day you'd have to stop looking for the best in people and start believing them when they showed you who they were.

You hated hearing it growing up; it sounded cynical and bitter. 

Now, years later, you wondered if she'd simply been trying to spare you. The funny thing was, you convinced yourself that you were used to it. 

You told yourself the disappointment didn't sting as much anymore. That you'd learned to expect it. That every broken promise and every person who drifted away had built up some invisible armor around your heart. It was easier that way.

If you expected people to leave, then they couldn't really surprise you when they did. If you kept your expectations low enough, maybe it wouldn't hurt so much when someone forgot your birthday, stopped returning your calls, or looked right through you like you'd never mattered all that much to begin with.

You got very good at pretending those things didn't bother you. You'd laugh them off, shrug your shoulders, and tell anyone who asked that it wasn't a big deal, that everyone has their own lives, and nobody owes you anything.

But every now and then, usually late at night when there wasn't anything left to distract you, you'd wonder why it always seemed to happen to you.

What was so fundamentally wrong with you that everyone else found it so easy to walk away?

By morning, though, you'd bury the thought somewhere deep enough that even you couldn't find it anymore. Then you'd wake up and give someone else the benefit of the doubt.

God, you wanted it to be Eddie Munson so bad.

Wanted him to be the exception. Wanted him to be the one person who proved every disappointment before him wrong.

It wasn't supposed to happen, honestly. If someone had told you a year ago that you'd end up falling in love with Eddie Munson, you probably would've laughed in their face. Not because there was anything wrong with him, but because Eddie had a way of keeping people at arm's length.

He made a joke out of everything, turned every serious conversation into a bit, and acted like nothing in the world could ever really touch him.

Most people stopped there, but you didn't.

You noticed how he always made sure everyone got home safely after a Hellfire campaign. The way he'd hand over his last cigarette without hesitation. The way he'd remember tiny, insignificant details about people and bring them up weeks later like they mattered.

Like they mattered. Like they mattered to him. And maybe that was what did it. Not some grand gesture or some dramatic declaration.

Just a hundred small moments that slowly convinced you that beneath all the noise, beneath the sarcasm and the theatrics and the reputation everyone loved to throw in his face, there was someone unbelievably good. Someone worth believing in.

So you did, and you believed in him with your whole heart.

Even when your friends warned you not to get too attached. Even when every instinct told you that caring this much about another person was dangerous. Even when a small voice in the back of your mind reminded you how every story like this had ended before.

Because this was Eddie. And God, you wanted it to be Eddie so goddamn bad.

It started small, one day while you were waiting outside of the drama room for Hellfire to end so you could bring Dustin home.

Eddie and Dustin came out last; Eddie's arm slung lazily around Dustin's shoulders while the younger boy looked up at him with the biggest grin you'd ever seen, talking so fast his words practically tripped over each other.

Eddie was listening. Not the distracted kind of listening where someone nods along until it's their turn to speak, but genuinely listening. Laughing in all the right places, asking questions, giving Dustin his full attention like there wasn't anywhere else in the world he'd rather be.

You remembered how upset Dustin had been when he and Steve started to drift apart. Something about Steve caring "more about women" and "breaking bro code," delivered with all the dramatics only a fourteen-year-old could manage.

You'd smiled and comforted him at the time, told him people got busy and that it probably wasn't as personal as he thought.

But watching Eddie now, ruffling Dustin's curls just to annoy him before immediately apologizing with a crooked grin when Dustin swatted his hand away, you realized Steve had left behind something Eddie had picked up without anyone asking him to.

You fully expected him to peel away from Dustin with a quick goodbye and disappear into the crowded hallway with the rest of the students.

Instead, he nudged Dustin forward with a light shove and wandered over to where you were leaning against the wall like he'd been planning to the entire time.

"You ever finish that book?"

You blinked. "What?"

"The one you wouldn't shut up about in English." He pointed at you accusingly. "The one with the... existential crisis or whatever."

You stared at him for a second before laughing. "You mean The Stranger?"

"That's the one."

"I finished it weeks ago."

"And?"

"And it was good."

He scrunched his nose. "That's it? You spent ten minutes arguing with Mrs. O'Donnell about symbolism and your review is 'it was good?'"

You couldn't help smiling. "I'm trying to avoid spoiling it."

"For me?"

"You were listening?"

He looked almost offended. "'Course I was listening." The words shouldn't have lodged themselves in your chest the way they did.

It had been weeks. One offhand discussion in a class Eddie barely seemed awake for half the time, and somehow he'd remembered not only the conversation but the specific book you'd been talking about.

It was such a stupid little thing. But nobody ever remembered the little things about you. And somehow, Eddie Munson did.

As the weeks went on, you suddenly became much more interested in waiting in the hallway for Dustin instead of the parking lot like you normally would. You told yourself it was because it was warmer inside.

Because sometimes he took forever to pack up. Because it saved him from having to look around for you.

It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Eddie Munson inevitably came walking out of the drama room a few minutes later. Absolutely nothing.

Somehow, the conversations became expected.

He'd see you leaning against the lockers and make a beeline over with that same lazy smile, asking about your classes or complaining about a teacher or launching into some dramatic retelling of Gareth doing something stupid during Hellfire.

And every single time he talked to you, it was like the rest of the hallway ceased to exist. He looked at you. Not over your shoulder. Not around the room. Not scanning for someone more interesting to interrupt the conversation.

When you made a joke, he'd laugh without hesitation, his whole face lighting up like he'd genuinely found it funny instead of politely humoring you.

Sometimes he'd laugh so hard he'd have to look down and shake his head before looking back up at you with that stupid grin that was becoming increasingly difficult to stop thinking about.

The first time he held eye contact for so long that you had to glance away first, he just smiled wider. It made your stomach do something embarrassing.

By the time Dustin finally wandered over with his backpack half-open and a handful of dice threatening to spill onto the floor, Eddie would always clap him on the shoulder, throw you a casual, "See you tomorrow," and head off toward the parking lot, like he already knew there'd be a tomorrow.

One afternoon, after Eddie disappeared through the front doors, Dustin buckled himself into the passenger seat with a look on his face that immediately made you suspicious. "What?"

He didn't answer; he just looked at you.

"What?" you repeated.

A grin slowly spread across his face. "Oh, my God."

"What?"

"He likes you."

You nearly missed the key trying to start the car. "Dustin."

"He does."

"He absolutely does not."

"He asked me if you had a boyfriend."

You turned so fast you almost gave yourself whiplash. "He what?"

Dustin shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"We were at lunch yesterday. Just me and Mike. He sat down and was acting all weird, and then he goes, 'So... your sister seeing anybody?'"

Your face immediately warmed.

"And what," you asked carefully, "did you say?"

"I told him no."

"Dustin."

"What? It's true."

"Dustin."

He looked over with the most smug expression you'd ever seen on a fourteen-year-old.

"Then he goes, 'Huh.'"

"Huh?"

"Just 'huh.'" Dustin mimicked him with a terrible impression. "'Just curious.'"

You stared straight ahead at the windshield, trying very hard to pretend your heart wasn't threatening to beat its way out of your chest. Beside you, Dustin snorted.

"I can literally hear you smiling."

"I'm not smiling."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"You totally have a crush on Eddie."

You finally looked over at him. “Shut up.”

His grin was so wide you could’ve worn his eyes would pop out of their sockets. “Never.”

The first time Eddie approached you when Dustin wasn't anywhere in sight, you were halfway convinced he had the wrong person.

You were standing at your locker, trying to force an algebra textbook that absolutely did not fit into a space that absolutely wasn't big enough, when a familiar voice sounded beside you.

"So."

You looked over to find Eddie leaning against the neighboring locker with his arms folded across his chest, rocking back on his heels with an almost suspicious amount of casualness.

"So?" you echoed.

"So..." He scratched the back of his neck. "You busy tonight?"

You blinked. "Tonight?"

He nodded once. Your brain, completely abandoning you, decided to stop functioning. 

"No?" It came out sounding far more like a question than an answer.

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "No?"

"No," you repeated quickly. "No, I'm not."

He nodded to himself like he'd just confirmed a theory. "Cool."

You waited for him to elaborate; he didn't. Instead, he looked down at the floor, nudged the toe of his sneaker against the tile once, then looked back up at you.

"Meet me at the Hideout."

Your heart skipped so hard it was almost painful. "The Hideout?"

"Mhm."

"When?"

"Eight."

You stared at him for another second. "Why?"

His smile widened into something almost boyish. "If I tell you, it'll ruin the surprise."

"Eddie."

"C'mon."

"What if it's something weird?"

"It is something weird."

"That is not reassuring."

He laughed, a quiet one that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. "I promise it's a good weird."

You narrowed your eyes. "I don't know..."

He placed a hand dramatically over his heart. "You wound me."

"I don't even know if this is a date."

His eyebrows shot up for the briefest moment before he covered it with another crooked grin. "I didn't say it was."

"You also didn't say it wasn't."

He took a tiny step backward, already beginning to walk away. "Eight o'clock."

"Eddie."

"No excuses."

"What am I even supposed to wear?"

He glanced back over his shoulder. "You'll look pretty no matter what."

And then, before your brain could catch up enough to formulate any kind of response, he turned and disappeared into the sea of students.

You stood frozen in front of your locker for another thirty seconds. When you finally managed to move, you shut it without grabbing a single one of the books you'd opened it for.

By seven-thirty, you had somehow managed to convince yourself not to go. By seven-thirty-five, you had changed your outfit again. By seven-forty-five, you were sitting in your car with both hands gripping the steering wheel, wondering if there was still enough time to fake a flat tire. By seven-fifty, you were pulling into the Hideout parking lot.

The building looked exactly the same as it always did, all faded neon and cigarette smoke drifting out every time someone opened the front door, yet somehow it felt entirely different. Your palms were sweating.

You caught your reflection in the rearview mirror for what had to be the twentieth time before taking a deep breath and climbing out. The second you stepped inside, Eddie looked up.

He'd been halfway through saying something to Gareth at the bar, but the moment he saw you, he stopped in the middle of his sentence and broke into a smile so genuine it almost made you forget how to walk.

"There she is."

He excused himself without another word and crossed the room toward you. "You came."

"You told me to."

"I was hoping you would."

There was something about the way he looked at you that made it impossible to hold eye contact for more than a few seconds.

Every time your eyes drifted away, you'd find him already looking back, smiling like he knew exactly what he was doing.

"You look..." He paused for a second, looking you over just enough to make your heart start racing. "Really pretty."

You laughed nervously, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "I almost didn't come."

"I'm really glad you did." The words came so naturally that you almost didn't know what to do with them.

He led you over to a quieter booth tucked against the wall, waving off a couple of people who called his name along the way.

Every conversation seemed to circle back to you somehow: your classes, your favorite music, what you wanted to do after graduation, stories from when you and Dustin were kids.

And every answer you gave was met with complete attention. No scanning the room. No waiting for his turn to talk. Just Eddie, chin resting against his hand, looking at you like every sentence was worth hearing.

At one point, you made some stupid self-deprecating joke under your breath.

He frowned. "Don't do that."

"What?"

"Talk about yourself like that."

You blinked. "I was kidding."

"I know." His expression softened. "I just don't think it's true."

The conversation moved on, but you couldn't. You were still thinking about it ten minutes later.

By the time the waitress came by with another round of drinks, Eddie had somehow managed to compliment your laugh, tell you your taste in music was "criminally underrated," insist you had "the prettiest eyes in Hawkins," and inform you that your opinions on horror movies were objectively correct.

"You know," you finally said with a suspicious smile, "you're awfully complimentary tonight."

He looked entirely unapologetic. "Should I stop?"

"...No."

"No?"

"No."

"Good." He grinned. "Because I wasn't planning on it."

You laughed again, shaking your head. He watched you for a second before reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulling out a pen.

"So."

"So?"

"You got a phone?"

You looked at him like he'd grown another head. "...Yes?"

"Good." He held the pen out toward you. "Need your number."

"My number?"

"Mhm."

"What for?"

He gave you the most incredulous look imaginable. "So I can call you."

"You could just ask Dustin where I live."

"I could."

He leaned a little closer across the table, his voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flip. "But I'd rather have an excuse to hear your voice."

You could actually feel your pulse in your fingertips. Without another word, you reached over, took the pen from his hand, and scribbled your number across the back of a paper napkin.

He looked down at it, smiled to himself, and folded it with surprising care before tucking it safely into his wallet, like it was something worth keeping.

The drive home felt shorter than it ever had before.

You caught yourself smiling at a red light for absolutely no reason, quickly looking around to make sure no one in the car next to you had noticed before realizing there wasn't even another car there.

Every few miles, you'd replay another little piece of the night. The way he'd looked at you the second you walked in. The way he'd leaned across the table to hear you better, even though the music wasn't all that loud.

The ridiculous amount of compliments he'd managed to slip into completely normal conversations without making them sound rehearsed.

The napkin folded neatly into his wallet. God.

You actually had to grip the steering wheel a little tighter just to stop yourself from smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

By the time you pulled into your driveway, your face genuinely ached. You sat there for another minute with the engine still running, staring at nothing in particular and laughing quietly to yourself like a complete idiot.

It felt embarrassing. It felt juvenile. It felt like every cheesy romance novel you'd ever secretly read under the covers with a flashlight. And for the first time in a long time, it felt nice.

You'd barely made it through the front door before your mother called from the kitchen to ask how your night had been.

"It was good," you answered, hoping she couldn't hear the grin in your voice.

"Just good?"

You kicked your shoes off by the door, trying very hard to sound casual. "Yeah. Good."

She peeked around the corner, took one look at your face, and smiled to herself. You immediately looked away.

After a quick shower and far too much time standing in front of the bathroom mirror replaying every second of the night, you finally crawled into bed, still fully convinced you were making the whole thing up in your head.

Maybe Eddie was just naturally nice. Maybe he complimented everybody. Maybe asking for your number hadn't actually meant anything at all.

You'd just reached over to switch off your bedside lamp when the phone rang. The sound startled you enough that you nearly knocked the thing onto the floor trying to answer it.

"Hello?"

A familiar laugh came through the receiver. "Hey."

Your stomach immediately betrayed you. "...Hi."

"I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"No."

"Good."

Then Eddie cleared his throat. "I just wanted to make sure you got home okay."

You smiled before you could stop yourself. "I did."

"Good."

He could have ended the conversation right there. Instead, he asked what you were doing tomorrow. You asked what he and the guys had planned for Hellfire next week.

He somehow ended up telling you a fifteen-minute story about Gareth locking his keys in the van, which spiraled into another story about Wayne accidentally setting off the smoke detector while trying to make grilled cheese, which somehow became a debate over whether pineapple belonged on pizza. You found out your birthdays were only days apart. 

You couldn't remember the last time a conversation had felt so easy. There were no awkward silences to force your way through. No pressure to say the perfect thing. No moments where you felt like you had to perform some better version of yourself. You could just exist.

And somehow, Eddie seemed to like that version best. At one point you laughed so hard you had to pull the phone away from your ear, and through your own laughter you could hear him laughing too.

When the conversation finally lulled again, you glanced over at the digital clock on your nightstand.

1:43 a.m.

"Oh my God."

"What?"

"We've been talking for..." You looked again. "Almost four hours."

There was a brief silence, then Eddie chuckled quietly. "Huh."

"Huh?"

"I didn't even notice." Neither had you.

"I should probably let you sleep."

"...Probably."

"But I don't really want to."

You tucked your knees up against your chest beneath the blankets. "I don't really want you to, either."

The line went quiet again. You could hear him breathing. Then, softly enough that you almost thought you'd imagined it, "I'm really glad you came tonight."

You closed your eyes. "I'm really glad you asked."

When you finally hung up twenty minutes later, you set the receiver back into its cradle with more care than necessary and just sat there for a moment in the dark. Your cheeks hurt from smiling.

As you rolled over and pulled the blankets up to your chin, one thought drifted lazily through your mind before sleep claimed you. Maybe your mother had been wrong, maybe there really was someone worth believing in after all.

After that, it was almost impossible to remember a time when Eddie wasn't somehow part of your day. Sometimes he'd call before school just because he'd been up since six and was "bored out of his fucking mind."

Sometimes the phone would ring at eleven-thirty at night, and before you could even say hello, he'd say, "Hypothetically speaking, if a raccoon learned how to drive, do you think it'd obey traffic laws?" and the conversation would somehow last until nearly three in the morning.

He'd call just to tell you he heard a song that reminded him of you. He'd call because Wayne had made chili and insisted on putting cinnamon in it. He'd call because he wanted to know what you thought happened after people died. He'd call because he missed your voice.

He never actually said that last one. But sometimes he'd let the silence linger for so long that you knew.

The dates weren't really dates. At least, neither of you called them that. He'd show up outside your house with no plan whatsoever, and somehow the two of you would end up spending five hours together anyway.

He'd take you to the record store and spend twice as long watching you flip through albums as he did looking for anything himself.

You'd sit on the hood of his van in abandoned parking lots, sharing gas station snacks while he pointed out made-up constellations with complete confidence until you laughed so hard he couldn't keep the lie going anymore.

Once he drove for 30 minutes because you mentioned wanting to try a milkshake from some tiny roadside diner you'd seen in passing weeks earlier.

Another afternoon, you wandered around a thrift store with exactly four dollars between you, leaving with a hideous ceramic frog and an ugly orange sweater because Eddie insisted they had "character."

He made you try the sweater on. Then proceeded to spend the next ten minutes telling you that orange might actually be his favorite color now. You rolled your eyes so hard they almost got stuck while he just grinned.

Sometimes he'd come over just to sit on your porch steps. No music. No television. No plans.

The two of you would just sit there talking until the sun disappeared and the mosquitoes forced you inside. Every now and then, the conversation would run dry, and you'd apologize.

Eddie always looked confused. "For what?"

"I don't know... not saying anything."

He'd just shrug. "I like hanging out with you."

"...Even when we're not doing anything?"

He'd look at you like you'd asked the dumbest question in the world. "Especially then."

And slowly, so slowly you almost didn't notice it happening, Eddie became your first thought in the morning and your last thought before bed.

You'd catch yourself reaching for the phone to tell him something insignificant before realizing you hadn't even finished thinking it yourself.

You started noticing songs because he'd like them. Funny stories because you couldn't wait to hear him laugh. You started looking for him in every hallway without meaning to. The terrifying part wasn't that you were falling in love with Eddie Munson; the terrifying part was that it felt so natural.

When Eddie asked if you wanted to get dinner Friday night, you didn't even try to hide your smile. "Like... dinner dinner?"

He laughed through the phone. "Last I checked, yeah."

"What if I wanted breakfast?"

"Then you're about nine hours too late." You could practically hear him grinning, "I'll pick you up at seven?"

You tucked the phone closer against your ear. "Seven sounds perfect."

You spent half the next day thinking about it. The other half was spent trying very hard not to think about it.

By lunchtime, Robin had already asked you why you looked so distracted, and Dustin had spent an embarrassingly long amount of time making kissy faces every time your name and Eddie's ended up in the same sentence.

By five-thirty, you'd already changed twice. At six-fifteen, the phone rang.

You answered on the second ring. "Hello?"

"...Hey." His voice sounded different. Not bad, but just quieter. "So... listen."

You sat down on the edge of your bed without realizing it.

"I was thinking."

"Dangerous."

Usually he'd laugh; this time he just let out a small breath. "Can you come over instead?"

You frowned. "What about dinner?"

"I know." Another pause. "I just... I think we should talk first."

Your stomach sank so suddenly that you almost felt it physically. "...Okay."

"I don't want you freaking out."

"I'm not freaking out." You were absolutely freaking out.

"I just wanna talk."

"Okay."

"I'll see you in a bit?"

"...Yeah."

When you pulled into the trailer park twenty minutes later, Eddie was already sitting outside on the steps. He stood when he saw you, smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

For a long minute, neither of you spoke. He rubbed his hands together, then looked down at them.

"So..."

You tried to smile. "So."

He exhaled through his nose. "I've been thinking a lot lately."

Your heart was beating so loudly you wondered if he could hear it.

"And I..." He stopped himself, trying again. "You're leaving next year."

It took you a second to understand what he meant. "For college."

"Yeah."

"I'm only going an hour away."

"I know."

"I can come back whenever."

"I know."

He stared out toward the road. "I just don't think I'm looking for anything serious right now."

You felt something inside your chest quietly crack.

You nodded before he could see your face. "Okay."

"I really like spending time with you."

"I know."

"And I don't want to lose this."

"I don't either."

He looked over then, studying you carefully. "I just don't think it's fair to start something when you're leaving."

"I'm going an hour away, Eddie."

"I know."

"You act like I'm moving across the country."

"I know."

The repetition almost hurt more than anything else. He knew, and it didn't change anything.

He swallowed. "So..." His voice dropped almost to a whisper. "Would you be okay with just... this?"

You looked at him. "This?"

"What we've been doing."

"What are we doing?"

His expression faltered. "You know what I mean."

Long phone calls. Random drives. Accidental hand brushes. Stolen looks. Every conversation that felt suspiciously like a date despite nobody ever calling it one. Everything except the part where he'd actually choose you.

You wanted to say no. You wanted to tell him that it wasn't enough. That somewhere along the way you'd fallen hopelessly, stupidly in love with him, and pretending otherwise was becoming impossible.

Instead...You smiled. The same smile that had gotten your heart broken your entire life.

"I think I'd like that."

The relief that washed over his face was immediate. He looked like he'd been carrying something impossibly heavy and had finally been allowed to set it down. "Really?"

You nodded. "Really."

He stared at you for another second before quietly scooting closer. "So we're okay?"

You looked at him and lied without hesitation. "We're okay."

His hand found yours so naturally it almost made you forget what had just happened. His thumb brushed across your knuckles once, twice. Then he leaned forward so slowly that he gave you every opportunity in the world to pull away, but you didn't.

His lips met yours softly, cautiously, like he'd been wanting to do it for weeks but wasn't entirely sure he was allowed. It wasn't rushed, and it wasn't desperate, but it was gentle enough to make your chest ache.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours and laughed quietly. "I've wanted to do that for a while."

You smiled because he couldn't see your eyes. "I know."

He kissed you again. And because you loved him...you let yourself believe that maybe this was enough.

Maybe labels didn't matter. Maybe loving someone without asking them to love you the same way wasn't the worst thing in the world.

You'd spent your whole life convincing yourself to accept less than you wanted; it came as naturally as breathing.

The saddest part was that Eddie never asked you to settle. He simply offered you what he could, and you loved him enough to convince yourself it was everything.

A couple of days later, you found yourself curled up on the couch in Eddie's trailer with your legs tucked underneath you and absolutely no memory of how you'd ended up there.

One minute you'd been talking to Wayne in the kitchen while he made coffee. The next, Eddie had wandered in, stolen your spot without asking, and somehow convinced you to sit beside him instead.

Wayne took one look at the two of you, hid a smile behind his mug, and muttered something about needing to run to the store.

You were halfway through telling him about something Robin had said at lunch when you felt his fingers absentmindedly reach for a strand of your hair.

You stopped talking. "What?"

He didn't even look embarrassed. "Hm?"

"You're playing with my hair."

"Oh."

He glanced down like he'd only just noticed. "Sorry."

He made absolutely no effort to stop. Instead, he carefully tucked the strand behind your ear before lazily winding another piece around his finger.

You couldn't help smiling. "You know that's weird, right?"

"I've been informed."

"And yet..."

"And yet."

A few minutes later, after the conversation had drifted somewhere else entirely, you shifted to get comfortable.

Without saying a word, Eddie's hand found the center of your back. His thumb traced tiny circles through the fabric of your shirt, and you melted before you could stop yourself.

A smug grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You like that."

You looked away. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Liar."

His hand moved again, gently rubbing across your shoulders. You sighed.

"There it is."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"No..." You smiled despite yourself, "I really don't."

He laughed quietly and kept tracing slow circles across your back while the conversation faded into nothing.

At some point, he started absentmindedly braiding tiny sections of your hair despite having absolutely no idea what he was doing.

You reached up to feel it. "Eddie."

"What?"

"This isn't a braid."

"It is spiritually."

"It is spiritually a knot."

"I prefer the term artistic interpretation."

You laughed so hard you nearly knocked into him. He just looked at you, and kept looking. Long enough that your smile slowly faltered into something softer.

"What?"

He didn't answer.

"Do I have something on my face?"

"No."

"What?"

Still nothing, just that impossibly gentle expression.

Then, almost quietly, "I think you're the prettiest girl I've ever seen."

Your face immediately warmed. "Eddie."

"I'm serious."

"You say that to everybody."

"I absolutely do not."

"You definitely do."

He shook his head. "I don't."

"You have to stop saying things like that."

"Why?"

"Because..."

You couldn't even finish the sentence because he leaned a little closer. "Because what?"

"It makes me nervous."

His smile somehow softened even more. "I know."

"Then stop."

"I'm not gonna lie to you." You looked down at your hands. "I don't think I'm anything special."

He was quiet for a second, then he reached over and gently tilted your chin back toward him.

"I do." With complete certainty,  "I think you're beautiful."

You could barely hold his gaze.

"I think you're funny." His thumb brushed softly across your cheek. "I think you're smarter than you realize."

Another pause. "I think you're kinder than anybody deserves."

Your chest hurt. Not because of what he was saying, because you believed he meant it.

He looked at you for another long second before smiling to himself.

"I also think your left eyebrow does this weird little thing when you're embarrassed."

"My what?"

He pointed. "There."

"It does not."

"It absolutely does."

You covered your face with both hands, and he laughed.

"Oh my God, there it is again."

From behind your fingers, all you could manage was a muffled, mortified, "Shut up."

Instead of teasing you more, he gently took your wrists and pulled your hands away from your face. "Hi, pretty girl."

Then, like it was the easiest thing in the world, he leaned over and pressed a kiss to your forehead. Not your lips, just your forehead.

The trailer was quiet except for the low hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the old couch springs as Eddie shifted beneath you.

His fingers had long since stopped pretending to braid your hair; they just stroked through it now, slow and absent, like he couldn’t help touching you. 

The forehead kiss from earlier still lingered on your skin like a brand.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice rough around the edges. His lips brushed your temple. “You okay?”

You nodded against his skin, not trusting your voice. Instead, you tilted your head and kissed the underside of his jaw. He exhaled sharply, fingers tightening in your hair.

“Yeah?” he asked softly, checking in like he always did. Like he could read every unspoken thing you tried to hide.

“Yeah,” you whispered, and kissed him properly this time; slow, a little desperate. He met you gently at first, then deeper, tongue sliding against yours with that careful patience that made your whole body warm. 

His free hand slipped under the hem of your shirt, palm warm against your lower back, holding you there like he was afraid you might vanish.

You shifted until you were straddling his lap, knees sinking into the worn cushions on either side of his hips. Eddie groaned quietly into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he breathed, breaking the kiss just enough to look at you. His eyes were dark, but still so soft. “C’mere, sweetheart. Let me see you.”

He tugged your shirt up slowly, giving you every chance to stop him, but you didn’t. The fabric whispered over your head and landed somewhere on the floor. His gaze dragged over you, reverent and almost stunned.

“Goddamn,” he said under his breath, hands sliding up your ribs to cup your breasts through your bra. “Look at you. So fucking pretty for me.” 

His thumbs brushed over your nipples until they peaked, and you arched into the touch with a shaky breath. “That’s it… just like that. Let me hear you.”

He sat up a little, mouth finding your collarbone, then lower, kissing and nipping softly while his fingers worked the clasp of your bra. 

When it fell away, he pulled back to watch your face as he took one nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling, gentle suction that made your hips roll against him instinctively.

“Eddie—” His name came out broken.

“Right here, baby. I’ve got you.” He switched sides, lavishing the same attention on the other while one hand stroked down your spine, soothing the tremble in your muscles. “You’re shaking. You want this?”

You nodded fast, grinding down against the growing hardness in his jeans. “Please.”

He hummed against your skin. “Good girl. Arms around my neck—yeah, just like that.” He stood suddenly, hands under your thighs to hold you up, and carried you the short distance to his bedroom. 

The door clicked shut behind you. The fairy lights he’d strung up weeks ago (because you’d mentioned liking them once) cast everything in a soft, golden glow.

He laid you on the bed carefully, like you were something breakable, then stripped off his own shirt and jeans, never taking his eyes off you. When he crawled over you, the weight of him felt like safety and ruin all at once. His hand slid between your legs, cupping you through your panties.

“Already so wet,” he murmured, voice low and awed. He rubbed slow circles over the fabric until you were rocking against his palm. “All this for me? Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”

He hooked his fingers in the waistband and tugged them down your legs, kissing every inch of skin he uncovered: your stomach, your hips, the inside of your thigh. When he settled between your legs, he looked up at you, chin resting lightly on your mound.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart. Want you to watch.” His breath ghosted over you, making you clench around nothing. Then his tongue was there—hot, slow, licking a broad stripe up your center before circling your clit with devastating patience. He talked the whole time, voice muffled but steady. 

“Taste so fucking good… That’s it, baby, just relax for me. Let me take care of you. You feel that? Right there?” He sucked gently, two fingers sliding into you with almost no resistance, curling just right.

You moaned, hand flying to his hair. He groaned in response, the vibration pulling you higher. He kept talking you through it, praise and instructions and soft curses, until your thighs were shaking and you came hard around his fingers, back arching off the bed.

He worked you through it, gentling his touch but not stopping until you were whimpering. Only then did he crawl back up, kissing your stomach, your ribs, the swell of your breast, your throat, your mouth. You tasted yourself on his tongue, and it made something inside you ache even sweeter.

“Eddie… please,” you whispered against his lips, hands tugging at his boxers.

He helped you push them down, kicking them away. He wrapped a hand around himself, stroking slowly while he looked at you. “You sure? We can stop—”

“I want you.” You reached for him, pulling him closer. “Please.”

He nodded, forehead dropping to yours. “Okay. Okay, baby. Breathe for me.” He lined himself up and pushed in; slow, so slow, inch by inch, whispering the whole time. “Fuck, you’re tight… so warm. Taking me so well. That’s my girl. Just a little more—there you go. You feel that? Feel how deep I am?”

You gasped at the stretch, nails digging into his shoulders. He stilled when he bottomed out, hips flush against yours, letting you adjust while he kissed your face; your eyelids, your cheeks, the corner of your mouth. 

“Breathe, sweetheart. I’ve got you. Not gonna move until you’re ready.”

You rocked your hips experimentally, and he cursed, burying his face in your neck. “Jesus Christ. You’re perfect. So fucking perfect.” 

Then he started moving, deep, rolling thrusts that dragged against every sensitive spot inside you. One hand slid under your ass, tilting your hips to take him even deeper. The other braced beside your head, thumb stroking your cheek.

“Look at me,” he breathed. You did. His eyes were glassy, hair wild, face flushed with effort and something deeper. 

“Best fucking thing I’ve ever felt. Best sex I’ve ever had, baby. No one else—no one—makes me feel like this. Just you.”

The words hit like a spark to dry tinder. You moaned his name, legs wrapping tighter around his waist as the pleasure built again, sharper this time, edged with the ache of everything unsaid. 

He kept talking you through it, right there, just like that, come on, let go for me, until you shattered around him a second time, clenching so hard he groaned like it hurt.

He followed right after, hips stuttering, spilling deep inside you with a broken sound of your name. He collapsed over you, careful not to crush you, face tucked into your neck as you both caught your breath.

For a long minute, the only sounds were your heartbeats and the soft rustle of sheets. He pressed lazy kisses to your shoulder, your jaw, your lips, sweet and lingering. His hand stroked up and down your side like he couldn’t stop touching you.

“You okay?” he whispered eventually, brushing damp hair from your forehead.

You nodded, even as the familiar crack in your chest widened. It was painfully sweet, and almost perfect. And still not enough.

But you smiled anyway, because that’s what you did. “Yeah, Eddie. I’m okay.”

A week later, you had become embarrassingly good at pretending not to notice the things Eddie said. Not because they didn't mean anything, but because they meant entirely too much.

You'd be halfway through some rambling explanation about a fantasy novel you'd just finished, going on about world-building and obscure folklore and symbolism, and he'd just stare at you with the most hopelessly fond expression.

Then he'd grin. "God, you check every box."

You'd laugh it off. "What boxes?"

He'd shrug. "The boxes."

"Very descriptive."

"You know what I mean." You, in fact, did not, and he never elaborated after that. 

Another day, you were flipping through records in a shop when you found some obscure metal band neither of you thought anyone else in Hawkins had ever heard of.

You held it up triumphantly, and his face lit up.

"No fucking way."

"What?"

He looked at you like you'd just personally hung the moon. "You know them?"

"I literally told you about them."

"I know."

"So why are you acting surprised?"

"'Cause normal people don't actually listen when I talk."

You frowned. "I listen."

"I know." There was that goddamn smile again. "Trust me. I know."

It happened constantly. You'd steal one of his rings just because, and he'd spend the next ten minutes trying to figure out which finger fit yours best.

He'd absentmindedly tuck your hair behind your ear while talking to somebody else. If you got cold, he'd hand you his jacket before you even had the chance to say anything.

If someone interrupted you, he'd immediately turn back and go, "Wait, she was talking."

Little things, tiny things. The kind of things that didn't mean anything on paper, except they did.

One afternoon, the two of you were sprawled across the couch in his trailer, sharing a bag of pretzels while a movie neither of you was paying attention to played quietly in the background. You started explaining some random mythology fact you'd learned in class.

Halfway through your sentence, Eddie just looked over at you and laughed.

"What?"

He shook his head. "I can't believe you're real."

You smiled. "What does that even mean?"

"It means you're pretty."

"Eddie..."

"It means you're funny."

He nudged your knee with his. "It means you're a giant nerd."

"I'm aware."

"It means somehow every time I think I've figured you out, you say something that makes me like you even more."

You looked down at your lap before he could see your face.

He reached over and laced his fingers through yours without a second thought. "So..."

"So?"

This is it, you thought.

"If I had made a list when I was twelve of everything I'd think was cool in a girl..."

He squeezed your hand. "...you would've checked every damn box."

Your heart practically stopped; you didn't know what to say, so you didn't say anything at all.

You just sat there, letting him hold your hand while your mind raced a hundred miles an hour. Because people who didn't want anything serious didn't say things like that.

People who didn't want anything serious didn't look at you the way Eddie looked at you when he thought you weren't paying attention.

They didn't call just because they couldn't sleep. They didn't remember every insignificant detail you'd ever mentioned. They didn't introduce you to Wayne with this quiet sort of pride in their voice. They didn't reach for your hand automatically. They didn't smile every time you walked into a room.

So maybe...maybe he was just scared. Maybe he'd been hurt before, and maybe he just needed time.

Maybe one day he'd wake up and realize that what the two of you already had was everything people spent years trying to find.

And maybe then he'd ask. Maybe then he'd call you his girlfriend. Maybe then he'd look at you and say he'd changed his mind. 

The hope settled so naturally into your chest that you barely noticed it happening. You watered it with every lingering glance. Every compliment. Every soft touch. Every almost-confession.

You built an entire future in your head out of maybes.

So that’s why, when the shift came, you’d convinced yourself you were being dramatic.

At first, it was so subtle you could explain it away. He took an hour to call instead of ten minutes. He canceled one night because Gareth needed help with something. He seemed distracted once or twice, his mind somewhere else while you were talking.

Normal things, completely normal things. People got busy. People had bad days; you of all people knew that.

So when a conversation ended a little earlier than usual, you told yourself he was tired. When he forgot to call one night, you figured he'd fallen asleep. When he promised he'd ring you after Hellfire and didn't, you reminded yourself that he wasn't obligated to account for every second of his day.

You refused to let yourself become the kind of person who overanalyzed everything. Still...

You started noticing little things. He stopped absentmindedly reaching for your hand quite as often. The compliments didn't disappear, but they became less frequent, almost like he was catching himself halfway through saying them.

The pauses on the phone became quieter and longer. Sometimes they'd end not because either of you wanted to hang up, but because it felt like neither of you quite knew what to say anymore.

And every single time, you blamed yourself. Maybe you'd been talking too much. Maybe you were becoming annoying. Maybe you'd imagined half the chemistry in the first place. Maybe he'd realized you weren't nearly as interesting as he'd initially thought.

You never blamed him, not once. You blamed yourself so instinctively it didn't even occur to you there might be another explanation.

Every now and then, though, he'd do something that unraveled all your worries in an instant.

He'd look at you with that same impossibly soft expression. He'd brush your hair away from your face without thinking. He'd tell you you looked pretty. He'd laugh at one of your stupid jokes so hard he'd have to wipe tears from his eyes.

And you'd think: See? You're overreacting. He's still here. He's still calling. He's still kissing you. He's still choosing to spend his time with you.

Everything's fine, everything has to be fine.

Looking back, you'd eventually realize that the saddest part wasn't the shift itself. It was how desperately you wanted it not to be real.

Sometimes, usually on the nights when you couldn't sleep, you'd let yourself imagine another version of the story, one where Eddie really had loved you.

One where every compliment was genuine, every late-night phone call meant exactly what you'd hoped it meant, every lingering touch and forehead kiss and the whispered, you check every box had been as real to him as they were to you.

Maybe he got scared, or maybe one day it all stopped feeling hypothetical and started feeling dangerously real.

Maybe he'd looked at you and realized that if he let himself fall any further, there was no pretending it was casual anymore.

Maybe he'd remembered you were leaving in less than a year and decided it would hurt less to loosen his grip now than have you ripped away later. Maybe he'd convinced himself he was protecting both of you.

You thought about that possibility more often than you'd ever admit because it was kinder than the alternative.

Kinder than believing he simply woke up one morning and decided you weren't worth choosing.

But the truth was you didn't know, and you probably never would. Because one missed phone call became two. Two became a week. A week somehow became a month.

And somewhere in all that silence, neither of you reached across it. There was no screaming match. No cruel words. No dramatic goodbye. No slammed doors. 

Just the slow, almost imperceptible fading of someone who had once occupied every corner of your life. The kind that leaves you wondering if you imagined the whole thing.

Every now and then, Dustin would mention him in passing. Robin would ask if you'd seen him lately. Steve would look between the two of you from across a room with the unmistakable expression of someone who knew there was a story there but had enough sense not to ask.

You'd just smile, "Nah. Haven't talked in a while." 

Like it didn't still hurt to say.

Maybe Eddie Munson was just another person who left. Or maybe he was the first person who wanted to stay and got too afraid to try.

In another life, maybe one conversation would've changed everything.

Maybe if he'd been a little braver. Maybe if you'd been a little less willing to accept almosts instead of certainties. Maybe if one of you had simply looked the other in the eye and said what you were actually feeling.

But there was no other life; there was only this one. And in this one, the last thing Eddie Munson ever gave you wasn't a kiss.

It wasn't a promise; it wasn't even an explanation. It was a question you'd probably spend the rest of your life trying to answer:

Was it ever casual?

thank a very evil man for the inspiration for this fic.

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You watched as Eddie stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, double-checking the time on his watch, trying to avoid any conversation about Steve. 

Eddie was the reason Steve went away, and he had no guilt; you were his, and that baby was his, DNA or not.

"Eds?" you asked calmly, staring at his face. 

He looked up at you, his eyes lighting up, "Sorry, doll. I'm just waiting for something to arrive. Stop getting yourself so upset about him. He isn't cut out to be a dad. You know he's all talk." 

You furrowed your eyebrows, "I don't know, it's not like him to act like this. Did he... did he say anything to you?"

Eddie shook his head, "Nah, I've not heard from him. Maybe he just wants us to do this on our own. We're the parents expecting a child, right? Not him."

Before you could argue back, a loud knock sounded at the door. Eddie jumped up from the couch and hurried towards the door with his hand hovering over the doorknob. 

"You're going to love this!" Eddie beamed, opening your front door.

Outside, a deliveryman stood beside a large box, with a clipboard in his hand, "I've got an order for..." The deliveryman checks the name, "Mr Edward Munson?"

 You walked behind Eddie, peering at the box, "What's this?" you asked.

"Just you wait," Eddie whispers, a huge smile spreading across his face. He then turns to the deliveryman, "That's me," he smiles, "how much again?"

"Fifteen hundred dollars."

Your eyes widened, but you focused on Eddie, casually pulling out the cash without breaking a sweat, counting it once before handing it over.

 "Thanks, man."

Eddie carried the box into the middle of the living room as you slowly closed the door, he got onto his knees and removed the plain cardboard packaging, revealing another box decorated with illustrations of cribs and happy, smiley babies. 

"Surprise!" Eddie smiled up at you, "Here's another thing ticked off the list." 

He stood up and walked behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder before placing his large, ring-covered hands over your stomach. "Happy twelve weeks, princess. I'm gonna build it before work, thinking in the corner of your room or next to your side of the bed?"

"How did you afford this? You said the gig at the Hideout won't pay until next month." You said quietly, your eyes still scanning the box.

Eddie’s grip tightened as he shushed you, "Don't worry about it. I did some extra jobs... sold all the coke, I'll be done with dealing by the time the baby comes, thought I'd get on with it."

He placed a tender kiss against your cheek before he went back over to the box, pulling off the tape and opening it. You wanted to believe him, you knew things would be easier if you did, but something in you couldn't be convinced. 

Eddie stopped dealing the moment he decided he could make it work with you, he knew how you felt about the risk of him being caught with drugs and getting locked up again. So you knew straight away he was lying about the coke; there was no way he'd risk missing out on the baby's birth and upbringing.

"So, corner of the room or next to your bed?" he asked again, reading the instruction manual.

"Uh.. next to my side of the bed."

The round wooden crib sat next to your bed, beautifully built, surrounded by the baby clothes Eddie bought weeks prior. You tried your best to distract yourself whilst Eddie went to work: reading a baby name book, flicking through a pregnancy magazine, then trying to nap, and finally going through all of the clothes again, but you couldn't settle. You couldn't rest. 

You needed your best friend. You needed Steve.

Standing by the phone in the kitchen, you picked up the phone and dialled Steve's number, your heart throbbing. 

"Harrington Residence, who is it?" Steve's mother answered. 

"Hi, please can you put Steve on the phone? It's... I'm a close friend of his."

Steve's mother called him over to the phone, and his tone became suspicious when she couldn't tell him who it was. He took the phone from her and waited until she had walked away before pressing it up to his ear.

"Hello?" His voice came through the other line; he sounded tired and down, but you were relieved to hear him, regardless of his tone.

He recognised your breathing and instantly his heart ached.

"Steve? It’s me," you said quickly, "I know you've been avoiding me and the not knowing why is killing me. Eddie said he hasn't heard from you either, and I, I need to know what's happened... I'm so worried, this isn't like you at all."

Steve didn't answer. He wanted to, desperately, but he couldn't. Not with the arrangement he forced himself to agree to with Eddie.

Your chest felt heavy, and your throat swelled, forming a lump, hot tears pricking at your eyes. You sighed and swallowed hard, wiping your wet eyes. 

"Steve, please talk to me." You cried, "I don't understand what I've done wrong. Was it because I threw up the pills? A-are you angry with me for something else? P-Please talk to me, Steve. You promised me you would be here."

"I can't," Steve snapped down the phone, tears prickling at his eyes, too. "I can't talk to you. Please don't call here again."

"Steve, wait—"

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Steve hung up the phone, and a suffocating wave of nausea washed over him. He ran up the stairs and into the bathroom, the guilt eating him alive. 

Your eyes were wide, and all you could hear was the dial tone buzzing. Steve had completely shut you out, and Eddie was buying your happiness with secrets. Here you were twelve weeks pregnant, and the two men you trusted most were spinning a web of lies right beneath your feet. Hanging up the phone, you dragged yourself back upstairs and climbed into bed. You cried yourself to sleep until you were woken up by Eddie tumbling into your bedroom after work. 

"Sorry I'm late, sweetheart," he murmured lowly as he climbed into bed,  I didn't mean to wake you."

Eddie's calloused fingers gently stroked your cheek, he could feel the dampness of your skin and see the puffiness around your eyes through the low glow of the bedside lamp. 

"Hey... what’s wrong? Are you hurting? Is it the baby? Why didn't you call-"

You sat up slowly, pulling away from his touch, "I called Steve today, Eddie," you whispered.

Eddie's eyes didn't blink, he stared at you and clenched his jaw., "You did what?" he asked.

"I know it was wrong but I called him," you repeated "he sounded so broken, Eddie. He refused to talk to me, and I don't know why. It's killing me."

Eddie glared and got out of bed, frantically pacing around your room, "Are you fucking kidding me? Jesus Christ!" He raised his voice.

"Eddie, my parents are sleeping, please be quiet!" You hissed at him, your eyes filling with tears again.

"I told you I was handling it!" Eddie lowered his voice, "I told you I was taking care of you! Why the hell are you calling Harrington behind my back?!"

You felt the guilt eating you up again, crawling up your throat and ready to spill out, "Because I need him!" you confessed, getting out of bed, "He's my best friend, he promised me he'd be here for me."

"You have me, yet you want him?!" Eddie stormed over to you, his eyes dark and possessive, "Harrington has everything. He was born into wealth; he's got a nice house and car. What do I have, huh?" He glanced at the crib, "I have a band that's going nowhere, a job that doesn't pay enough, and a girlfriend carrying another guy's baby!"

"How many times do I have to repeat myself? I didn't mean for any of this to happen, Eds!" You covered your bump with your hand.

"Then quit begging for him! Do you know what it feels like? Knowing that the guy who got you pregnant can buy you a better life at the snap of his fingers? I let him pay for the crib because I wanted you to have the best. But I’ll be damned if I let him walk in here and take my place. Playing daddy to the child I'm prepared to raise!"

Your eyes widened as you connected the dots. 

Steve paid for the crib. 

Eddie suddenly had more money when Steve went away.

Eddie was taking Steve's money, Eddie forced him away.

"Oh my god..." you cried, "you've been taking his money, haven't you? You're the reason he won't talk to me!"

Eddie stared at you, his chest rising and falling heavily, "I told him to stay away, to protect us, to protect our family. The fact that you're crying over him hanging up on you tells me I was completely right to do it."

"I chose you, Eddie! I chose you!"

"Yet you can't keep away from him! You're not satisfied with just me, are you?!" 

"You’ve been taking money from him, Eds, you can't do that!"

"It's child support!" Eddie’s voice snapped, running a hand through his wild curls, "He’s paying his dues without being involved!"

"You don't get to make that decision!" 

"The hell I don't!" Eddie stepped in close, his hands hovered near your bump, desperate to touch you but too afraid to upset you further, "I am the one sleeping in this bed with you every night. I'm raising this kid with you. Not him."

"Steve is the father, Eddie," you whispered, the betrayal stinging your eyes with more hot tears. "He has a right to be here, even if you don't like it."

"He's a threat!" Eddie finally reached out, pulling you into him, "You think I don't see the way he's looked at you? You fucked him, and now you're connected to him for life..." Eddie croaked, "I lost you once, and I don't want to lose you and the baby if he comes back."  

"Steve isn't like that," you sighed, "he isn't trying to take me away... he wants to help, and all you've done is force him to abandon me and become your cash cow so you can feel like a big man."

"I did it for us," he muttered, "I can't lose you to him."

"I know what I did to you... Hiding something as big as that hurts, and kills you every day, but lying to me and forcing Steve away isn't going to make things any better. You can't hide things from me, not like that." You pulled out of Eddie's arms, your eyes falling on the crib, "I think you should go home tonight, Eds. I need some room to breathe." 

Without another word, you turned your back on him and climbed back into bed, squeezing your eyes shut.

-------------------

You woke up later than expected, and the sound of another knock at the door forced you out of your slumber. Rubbing your eyes, you sat up and stared at the wooden crib, thinking about how long Eddie spent building it but also thinking about how Steve was the one who paid for it. 

Unable to stay in the room any longer, you forced yourself to get out of bed, still able to smell Eddie's shampoo on your pillows and sheets, and as you went down the stairs, you couldn't stop thinking about the argument; you broke your own promise to never sleep on it. 

I should've resolved it. I was the one who chose not to.

He means well, he just makes fucking stupid decisions when he's scared and threatened.

The dial tone from your call with Steve still echoed in your head. You wanted to go back into the kitchen and call again but you knew it would be no good. Steve was under Eddie's control, but you needed to intervene somehow, and fast.

 Walking over to the front door, you unlocked it to find the porch empty, but when you looked down, your heart dropped; sitting right on the top step was a small and soft plush duckling with a fluffy cream body, a yellow nose, and feet. Tied around its neck with a piece of green ribbon was a folded square of paper.

You crouched down and stroked the duckling's face before picking it up, untying the ribbon and unfolding the note, recognising Steve's handwriting, your breath hitched in your throat. 

I'm so sorry for not being here, for ignoring you. Hearing your voice yesterday made me panic. The guilt is eating me alive. Munson made me promise to keep my distance; he said the only way this would work was if I kept away. He mentioned the money, and he was right about it. I can't refuse to pay for a baby I helped make... and he said you guys needed a crib. I don't want to keep away but I have no choice. 

I bought this for you and the little baby. I love you both so much. 

— Steve  

You clutched the little yellow duckling tightly against your chest and squeezed your eyes shut, your tears seeping through the corners of your eyes and running down your cheeks. Nuzzling into the duckling, you couldn't help but feel relief knowing that Steve hadn't abandoned you, and that your suspicions were correct. 

All you could do now was figure out what you needed to do to get him back.

You didn't go inside Family Video; you didn't need to; Steve's car in the lot gave him away. Stubbornly, you waited until he finished his shift and locked up and approached him once he was about to climb into his car. 

"Steve." You cleared your throat, making him jump, "We can talk here, you don't have to hide, okay?"

Steve slowly turned to face you, his body stiffening as his eyes darted to your small bump and then to your face.

"Is everything okay?" He breathed, "Is the baby-"

"The baby is fine, Steve." You smiled at him, fighting the urge to pull him into a hug, "I got the duckling and your note, thank you."

Steve's face dropped, and his eyes began to go glassy, "I'm so sorry for what I've done, for disappearing. I wanted to be there, I swear to God, I wanted to be there for you both, but Eddie came over and..."

"He gave you no choice, did he?"

Steve swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing, "He loves you and I'm a threat to him. I'd never ever do anything to ruin what you both have but... I want to be there for the baby too, I'm just as much as the father as him."

"I thought you hated me," you murmured, "that you didn't want to be part of this anymore... you should've told me, Steve"

Steve nodded, his eyes dull. "I know, but you should've seen how terrified he was; he's trying to build a life for you and the baby, and every time I show up, it'll just be another blow to him, and every time I'll have to look at you both with our child, it'll make me feel like I'm the mistake in all this."

"Steve," you whispered, your anger melting into overwhelming sadness, "You're aren't the mistake in all this, there is no mistake. I want this baby more than anything. I want you to be part of this with Eddie and me. I don't know how it's going to work, but it has to. For all of us." 

Steve reaches out and takes your hand. He squeezes it when you don't pull back.

"I want to be here for all of you," Steve croaks, crying, "more than anything."

You squeeze his hand back and offer a small smile, "Well, come to Eddie's tomorrow night? The three of us need to get this sorted, talk it out."

Steve hesitated for a moment, "Are you sure?" 

"Yes," your other hand rubbed his shoulder, "It'll be okay, Eds won't bite."

Eddie lit up another cigarette, his knee bouncing up and down whilst he tried to get comfortable on the couch but couldn't. 

"I don't like this at all." He huffed.

"It'll be awkward for all of us, Eds." You walked over to him, leaning over and kissing him on the forehead, " But we need to do this, okay?"

Steve knocked on the trailer door, and Eddie got up and walked over to open it. You stopped Eddie for a moment, your hand resting on his shoulder, "Please be nice to him, he's sensitive about this."

"I think we all are." Eddie sighed, opening the door. 

Eddie and Steve didn't speak, but Eddie stepped aside, allowing him to walk into his trailer. 

You were careful with how you approached Steve in front of Eddie, not wanting to hurt him or cause him to panic. "Thank you for coming, Steve." You smiled at him, "Do you want to sit down, or-"

"I'll stand," Steve replied, the air in the trailer becoming stuffy.

Eddie walked over to your left and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his jaw already clenching, and to your right stood Steve, pacing near the front door with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Both of them refused to look at one another, their eyes only focusing on you. 

"Alright," you started, looking between the two men who meant the most to you in the world. "I don't want this to blow up, okay? No shouting, I don't want things to get heated but I'm done with secrets, no more of it. I'm tired of it, and I think we all need to be open about what we want and expect from one another because in a few months, this baby will be here. They deserve to grow in a peaceful environment, with both of you." 

Silence hung heavily for a moment. Finally, Eddie looked up at you.

"I'm terrified I'm just a placeholder," Eddie admitted, then looking directly at Steve, "I’m terrified that the second this kid is born, you’re gonna step up and take them with your big house, and all your money... I'm fucking freaking out in case there's a chance that she’s gonna realise she made a mistake picking me," Eddie takes a drag from his cigarette, "I want to be a father to this kid, Harrington. The baby might be yours, but I want to raise them, pack their lunches for school, and teach them how to play guitar. I don't want or need you hanging around our house twenty-four-seven, reminding me of what I can’t give them when you show up with a huge dollhouse, or bike."

Steve listened carefully and nodded, not shrugging off Eddie's concerns or wants.

"I don't want to replace you," Steve spoke up, "It's never been about that. I just want what's best for her and the baby, but do you want to know what I'm terrified of?" He took a breath, "I'm terrified that I'm going to be pushed out, that I'll be denied the chance to get to know this baby... I know you're stepping up as the father, and I'd never get in the way of that but... I deserve to be in that child's, my child's, life too, maybe not as a father but a close uncle at least."

Tears pricked at your eyes, watching and listening to both of them talk it all out, with more respect and understanding for each other than they'd ever had in their lives.

"I want to support your girl too, pay for the medical bills, and make up for anything you're struggling to pay."

"Steve, no-"

"He has a point," Eddie cut you off, "If he wants to help, we can't stop him."

"And I want to be able to hold the baby, I don't want to feel like I'm overstepping with my own child." Steve sniffled, "That's all I want."

Reaching out, you placed one hand over Eddie's tightly clenched fist, and the other over Steve’s trembling fingers. Running your thumbs over their knuckles, circling the pad of your thumbs into them. 

"Eddie" you sighed, looking into his eyes, "I chose you, and I love you more than anything. You need to believe that I'm not going anywhere. I want you to be my partner through this, to raise this baby with me, but you need to understand that Steve isn't a threat to any of that." 

Your eyes then trailed over to Steve, and you squeezed his hand, "Steve. No one is going to take away your opportunity to have a relationship with the baby. I want you to be here to watch them grow... to take part in that growth. But I need you, Steve, I need you as my best friend and not his rival when the two of you are arguing over what's best for me." 

You let go of their hands, "You both care so much, and you have a lot more in common than you realise." You looked between the two of them, "Can we do this? All of us?"

Eddie and Steve stared at one another in silence, your heart thumping. They both reached a mutual understanding, finally settling on the same page. 

They were both two guys who loved you, who were terrified of screwing up.

"We figure out a schedule. You get your time with the kid, Harrington. But she's my girl."

A small smile broke across Steve's face, and he wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes. 

"She's your girl, but she's still my best friend."

"Understood." Eddie nodded, pursing his lips, "Do you want a beer or a smoke?" He asked Steve, "This whole thing has stressed the fuck out of me." 

End of Part 5

Comment to be tagged in Part 6

Reblogging is a writers best friend :)

he had been your support since you met when you saved the world of vecna.

but you didn't want to stay in hawkins. you didn't want to be just another small, unnoticed detail in the town's history.

so you weren't going to say goodbye to anyone. you were just going to disappear like dust in the wind.

you packed a small backpack with clothes and food and put some blankets in your car. you didn't know where you were going, but you didn't have to know, just feel it.

you spent the night at eddie's house, as a last memory of him before leaving.

eddie had noticed you were acting strange throughout dinner, but he didn't say anything; he knew that sometimes you wanted your space.

but while they were both lying in his bed, his head on his bare chest, skin to skin, he couldn't help but ask

"i can hear the gears in your head turning, what's wrong?"

you looked at the guitar hanging on his wall and exhaled.

"do you regret it?". you asked.

"you'll have to be more specific, love".

"i mean, you wanted to be a guitarist in a band... do you regret not following your dream?"

the silence lingered in the air, until his chest rose and you heard:

"sometimes i dwell on 'what if...' but i prefer to stay in the present and not in the future, that's how life passes us by".

his words were etched in your mind.

you repeated them as you got out of his bed in the morning, trying to make as little noise as possible to not wake him up.

you thought about them as you got into your car, and even more so when you saw the "come back soon" sign as you left hawkins.

no farewell letters, no phone calls, no visit to any of your friends.

eddie didn't take long to wake up after you left. maybe because of the cold emanating from your side of the bed, the feeling of your absence.

he looked for you, first in the bathroom, thinking you were there, then all over the trailer park, not caring that it was 7 a.m. and the cold was chilling him to the bone.

he called at your house but there was no answer.

the hours passed. the others joined the search: robin, steve, jonathan, nancy, and the children.

there was no trace of you.

they went to your home, everything tidy as always, your scent still present but not your essence. eddie noticed that some things were missing like your favorite blanket that your grandmother had knitted, food from the kitchen, and shower products.

and then he understood.

you had planned that.

it had been your decision.

he connected the dots and understood your behavior yesterday, the question you had asked him.

if only he had done things differently. paid more attention.

you were listening to the radio, the volume low like a faint sound amidst the noise of your mind. until you heard something that made you gasp. you turned up the volume on the radio.

"hey guys, this is rockin' robin"

the voice of a very good friend of yours brought a smile to your face.

"today we have a very special guest who would like to say a few words."

"hello everyone"

that voice froze you.

because you weren't ready to hear it yet.

"today is not a very good day for me, but my friend robin is doing me a favor by letting me participate in this."

you pressed your lips together when you realized you were the cause of the noticeable pain in his voice.

"i know you're listening to this because you spend all day with the radio on, so i don't see any other way to tell you what i think."

you were so afraid of the words that might come out of his mouth. you were afraid he would blame you.

"i do regret not being a guitarist. sometimes i imagine myself singing and playing those same songs we sang together, on a stage, with people shouting and clapping. but i know that if i had that life, i wouldn't have met you, and that's why i wouldn't change it for anything. but i need you not to come back. i need you to never regret anything, to try and not be afraid to try. because if you made the decision to leave, it was because you followed your heart, and there's nothing purer than that."

you didn't make a sound while he was talking. you didn't know what to do.

"don't blame yourself for your dreams"

he knew you so well that you wanted to cry.

"take care and follow the path that makes you feel best"

and so, without a formal goodbye, without hugs, but with feeling, he told you that he loved you without saying it.

they never heard from you again. you never called or gave any sign that you wanted to. when the group was together, they'd come up with theories about where you could be, laugh at dustin's ideas, and enjoy will's drawings of your adventures.

you disappeared one day and for months after. but all the goodbyes can become a see you later.

"this can't be happening, guys, look at this!" robin shouted in the livingroom.

as they had always met at steve's house, a tradition since the group was formed.

in robin's hands was a letter with many postcards on it and your strange way of writing your name on the front.

eddie hurried to robin's side and soon everyone surrounded her.

she opened the letter with trembling hands, read the letter inside, and everyone fell silent, listening through robin's voice to your life since you left.

you recounted the good days and the bad ones when you longed to return to them. but you explained that you couldn't go back to that city, and they understood.

one phrase that had stuck in everyone's mind was "i felt too young to make this decision, but too old to continue living something that didn't completed me."

the letter didn't have a specific address. you didn't want them to find you or send a reply.

they were relieved, some with tears in their eyes.

and eddie? he was happy as long as you were.

────୨ৎ────

i writed this while i listened to cico buff from cocteau twins again and again.

hoped you liked it

xoxo

────────

“Holy shiiiit, you’re unreal! Fuck! Oh fuck!”

Your boyfriend pants in your ear as he nears his high, thrusting into you as deep as he could go.

“You feel so- god, oh my god! Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! Just like that! Hoooooly mother of god!”

“You okay?” You moan underneath him, out of breath and wrecked as you watched him fall apart above you.

“M’good! So good, baby….So fucking good. This feels so nice.” He whimpers “Being inside you like this…”

“Yeah?” You squeak as he hits a spot deep inside of you that had your toes curling.

“Fuck yes….so wet…and tight and perfect. God, baby, you’re perfect. So fucking perfect….all for me. Mine. My girl…”

“Yours.” You whisper, kissing his neck as he lets out a gasp.

“Hah! Fuck! Y-you…oh god! You’re…squeezing’ me…so good. So fucking good! Are you close, sweetheart? Tell me you’re close. Please tell me you’re close!” He pleads.

“M’almost there, Eds.” You moan, gripping tightly onto his biceps as he keeps fucking into you “Just keep going, baby. Don’t stop.”

“No, no, no. Not gonna stop…I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’ve fucking got you. Shit….just give it to me, yeah? Please? God, please, angel. I need you to cum. Need you to give it to me.”

“Eddie…” You whine.

“Fuck, baby! You’re squeezing me so good….you gonna cum? Yeah? You gonna cum for me? Please fucking cum for me, angel.”

He slams into you relentlessly, reaching down between the two of you to rub hurried circles on your clit.

“Eddie!”

“Fuck, baby, you’re so close. I can feel it. Come on, sweetheart, fucking cum for me. Need to feel you cum on my cock.”

It hit you faster than you expected, your orgasm peaking with a high pitched gasp that had Eddie tumbling right after you.

“Oh my god, sweetheart! Atta girl!” He groans “I’m so close, baby. Gonna fucking cum. Gonna- oh shit!”

Eddie grasps your hand, squeezing it as he released inside of you- filling you up as he panted and whimpering above you. His arms give out, sending him collapsing on top of you as he tries to catch his breath.

“Fuck…” He laughs, gasping for air “That was…god, you’re amazing.”

He presses featherlight kisses to your forehead, your temples, your cheeks.

“I love you.” He whispers “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” You say, looking up at him as he looms over you- the ends of his curly tresses brushing against your face. You reach up, grabbing his necklace as you absentmindedly turn it over between your fingers.

Eddie just stares down at you. Admiring. Watching.

Fuck, you were so beautiful.

“You okay?” You ask, noticing that he hadn’t yet pulled out and rolled over onto the mattress beside you like he normally did.

“Yeah.” He says, clearing his throat “I just…can I just stay here like this? Just for a little longer?”

You watch as he looks down at your tangled up bodies, his eyes staring at where you met.

“What do you mean? Like-“

“Inside you.” He admits “Just like this. I just want to stay here with me inside you. Is that okay?”

“Sure.” You nod, reaching up to brush a strand of hair out of his eyes “Okay.”

“I just….I love being inside of you. Even after we have sex. I love how warm you feel….and wet. I…okay, you’re going to think I’m a total weirdo creep when I say this.”

“Yeah? What else is new?” You joke, causing Eddie to playfully tap you on the arm.

“Stop it.” He says “I’m being serious here. I…I love being inside of you. It’s my favorite place. I know that sounds crazy but I feel safe. Right here like this…with you. You make me feel safe.”

The words that left his lips had made you feel tingly inside. Good. Loved.

“You feel safe with me?” You ask, looking into his brown doe eyes.

“Yeah, I do.” He sighs “But especially like this. I could stay like this forever. Knowing that this is the closest that I’ll ever be to you.”

“Okay, that’s actually really sweet.” You murmur.

“Can I ask you for something else? Without you judging me?” Eddie asks, his voice coming out small.

“Of course.” You say, threading your fingers through his hair.

“Can you…can you hold me, please? Would that be weird? If that’s too weird-“

“Come here.” You whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him down to you- allowing him to lay on top of you fully as he buries his face in your neck. He inhales your scent, smiling into your hair as he closes his eyes.

You smelled like home.

You felt like warmth.

You were safety.

“This good?” You ask.

Eddie nods his head against your neck, wrapping his arms around you so that you were pressed tightly against him.

“This is perfect.” He mutters.

Home.

Warmth.

Safety.

You.

“I can feel your heart beating.” He whispers as you run your fingers down his back soothingly, sending a shiver down his body.

Your touch. Your body. Your heartbeat.

You were so close. He wanted nothing more than this. To be completely wrapped up in you.

“I don’t want to be anywhere else but here.” He says, mumbling against your neck “With you.”

He pulls away for a second, taking you aback as he reaches for one of your hands- gently placing it over his heart.

“Do you feel how crazy you make me?” He asks, looking down at you as you felt his heart race beneath your touch “That’s what you do to me, sweetheart. No one else. You. I love you. I love you until my heart stops beating, you understand?”

“I love you too, Eddie.” You proclaim “More than anything.”

“Good.” He smiles, nuzzling his nose against your cheek “Because you’re stuck with me. Forever. Just like this.”

And you couldn’t imagine wanting to be with anyone else but Eddie. Forever.

Just…like…this.

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People always say the same things about you.

Sweet, polite, and pretty in that soft sort of way that makes old women at the grocery store smile at you fondly and teachers immediately trust you with passing out papers.

The kind of girl who remembers everyone’s favorite candy, who waves when people let her cross the street, who still says bless you when someone sneezes, even if she doesn’t know them. Hawkins is small enough that kindness stands out, and yours seems endless.

It’s almost strange, really.

Not because you’re naive exactly, but because the world has not managed to harden you yet. You still help Dustin with his homework even after he acts like a little asshole all through dinner. You still leave little notes in his lunchbox and compliment strangers’ outfits and smile at people like you genuinely hope they’re having a good day.

And maybe that’s why nobody’s ever dated you.

Not for lack of trying, because boys definitely do. They trip over themselves around you constantly, all awkward grins and sweaty palms and invitations to the movies that you somehow never realize are dates until weeks later when Robin physically grabs your shoulders and says, “Honey, he was flirting with you.”

Your response had only been a confused blink. “He was?”

Robin had stared at you for a very long moment before muttering something about you being “a baby deer in the middle of hunting season.”

The thing is, romance has always felt like something happening around you instead of to you. Girls in your grade pass notes about kissing boys behind the bleachers while you sit beside them, doodling little stars in the margins of your notebook.

Nancy comes over ranting about Steve, and you listen carefully, chin in your palm, like she’s telling you a story from another planet entirely. Then there’s Eddie. And honestly, maybe the universe should’ve warned him first.

Because Eddie is used to people looking at him and immediately deciding what he is before he even opens his mouth. Freak. Burnout. Drug dealer. Satanist. Every adult in Hawkins looks at him like he’s one wrong move away from corrupting their children, and every girl who flirts with him does it with this expectation that he’ll play into the role they’ve already created in their heads.

But you don’t, you look at him the same way you look at everyone else: warmly.

The first time he really notices it is after Hellfire one night, when everyone else has already cleared out of the drama room except you, sitting cross-legged in one of the chairs, waiting for Dustin to finish arguing with Mike about some campaign detail. Eddie’s shoving books back into his bag when you quietly slide a can of Coke across the table toward him.

“I remembered this was your favorite,” you say simply.

And Eddie just stares at you. Because you remembered that. Not in a flirty way. Not trying to get anything from him. You’d just noticed him mentioning it once weeks ago and tucked the information away in that sweet little head of yours like it mattered.

“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.

You blink at him softly. “What?”

“Nothin’, sweetheart.”

The nickname slips out before he can stop it. And the worst part is the way your entire face warms at it, ducking your head shyly like nobody’s ever called you something like that before. Which, horrifyingly enough for Eddie, might actually be true.

Steve’s living room is already loud by the time Eddie gets there.

Robin is halfway through aggressively arguing with Nancy about what movie they’re watching, Steve looks one inconvenience away from death on the couch, and somewhere in the kitchen, Dustin is complaining about the lack of “real snacks” like he personally funds the grocery shopping. 

It’s warm inside the Harrington house, all yellow lighting and cluttered blankets draped over the couch cushions, the kind of easy domesticity Eddie always feels a little strange stepping into. Then he sees you.

Curled up in the corner of the couch with sock-covered feet tucked beneath you, smiling the second the front door opens.

“Eddie!” you say brightly, like you hadn’t just seen him yesterday at Hellfire. “There’s still space next to me.”

That immediately becomes the worst moment of Eddie’s entire life.

Because there is space next to you, a very obvious space. One you apparently saved for him without thinking twice. Robin notices the way Eddie visibly hesitates in the doorway and has to fake a coughing fit into her sleeve to keep from laughing.

Eddie drops onto the couch beside you with what he hopes resembles casualness. “Well, sweetheart, how thoughtful of you. Saved me from sitting on the crusty Harrington carpet.”

Steve flips him off from the recliner. “You’re lucky you were invited at all.”

You giggle softly at that, and Eddie immediately has to look away from you.

The movie starts eventually, though Eddie barely absorbs any of it. Not when you’re sitting tucked against his side close enough that your knees keep brushing every few minutes. Every time it happens, you murmur a tiny “sorry” under your breath before doing it all over again thirty seconds later, entirely unaware of the psychological warfare you’re inflicting on him.

At some point during the movie, you start reaching into the popcorn bowl in his lap instead of the one on the coffee table. Again, absentmindedly. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world to lean across him every few minutes with your soft perfume surrounding him and your sleeve brushing against his rings.

Eddie thinks he may actually be dying.

“Oh my god, this part is so sad,” you whisper at one point, turning toward him with wide eyes.

Eddie blinks. “Sweetheart, this guy has been on screen for maybe four minutes.”

“I know,” you whisper back earnestly. “But look at him.”

And Christ.

That’s another thing about you, you care about everything. Movie characters with three lines. Stray cats behind Melvald’s. Random kids crying in the grocery store. You move through the world with this unbearable softness that makes Eddie feel simultaneously protective and completely ruined by you.

About halfway through the movie, the room cools enough that you quietly reach for the blanket bunched beside Eddie’s leg. He lifts it automatically to help you pull it over yourself, only for you to immediately lift one side toward him too.

“You’ll get cold,” you murmur.

Eddie stares at you for a beat too long before slowly ducking beneath the blanket beside you. Across the room, Robin physically presses her lips together to stop herself from making a noise. Then, somehow, things get worse. Because sometime during the second movie, you get sleepy.

Eddie notices it in little ways first. The slower blinking, the way your words trail off halfway through comments. Eventually, your head tips sideways against his shoulder so naturally that it almost seems unconscious.

The entire room goes quiet for exactly two seconds. Not because of you, but because Eddie completely freezes.

You don’t even realize what you’ve done at first, already half-asleep against him beneath the blanket. Then your eyes blink open slightly, face warming the tiniest bit when you realize where you’re leaning.

“Oh,” you mumble softly. “Is this okay?”

Eddie thinks his heart physically hurts.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, sweetheart. ‘Course it is.”

You smile at that. Small and sleepy and trusting. Then your eyes drift shut again against his shoulder like there was never a possibility he’d say no. Robin watches Eddie very carefully after that. Specifically, the way he doesn’t move for the next hour, not even once.

By the time the movie ends, you’ve wandered into the kitchen with Nancy to help clean up empty soda cans while Dustin argues with Steve over something stupid in the dining room. Eddie is still sitting on the couch like he’s recovering from a near-death experience when Robin drops into the seat beside him.

“You are so unbelievably into her,” she says immediately.

Eddie scoffs without looking at her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit. You looked at her like a Victorian man seeing an ankle.”

That finally gets a reluctant snort out of him. Robin grins, leaning back into the couch cushions. “She likes you too, y’know.”

Eddie’s expression changes instantly. “No, she doesn’t.” The response comes too fast. 

Robin’s face softens slightly beneath the teasing. “Eddie—”

“She’s nice to everybody,” he cuts in quietly, eyes flicking toward the hallway where you disappeared moments ago. “That’s just who she is.”

And maybe that’s the problem, because Eddie knows what people like him do to things that are soft.

Friday afternoon sunlight spills warm through the hallway windows, catching against Eddie’s face as he leans against the lockers outside your classroom like he’s been there a while, pretending not to wait for you.

Which is exactly what he’s been doing.

You almost miss him at first while stuffing books into your bag, too focused on making sure Dustin remembered his science worksheet this morning. It’s only when someone whistles obnoxiously down the hall, and Eddie flips them off without even turning around, that your eyes finally land on him.

And immediately, your stomach does something strange. Not bad, strange, just strange. Because Eddie’s looking at you already.

Not casually either. His dark eyes lock onto yours the second you notice him, and for a moment, he looks almost nervous, which feels impossible considering this is Eddie. Eddie, who performs lunch table monologues and flirts with teachers for extra credit, acts like the entire world is his stage.

You smile anyway.

“There she is,” he says, pushing off the lockers.

“Hi,” you answer softly, adjusting the strap of your bag higher on your shoulder. “Were you waiting for someone?”

Eddie actually laughs at that.

“Sweetheart,” he says, stepping closer, “you are genuinely killin’ me.”

Your brows pull together a little. “What?”

“Nothin’.” He shakes his head, grinning to himself before dragging his rings along the back of his neck. Suddenly, he looks oddly uncertain again. “Uh… actually, I was waitin’ for you.”

“Oh.” The word comes out quieter than you mean for it to.

The hallway around you buzzes with noise, lockers slamming and people shoving past each other on their way outside, but it suddenly feels very far away. Eddie shifts his weight once, eyes flicking over your face like he’s trying to gauge something.

Then he says, “You wanna go out with me tonight?”

“You mean…” You blink once. “Like a date?”

Eddie’s mouth twitches slightly. “Yeah, sweetheart. Like a date.”

And maybe it’s embarrassing how fast your face warms.

Not because you don’t want to go. God, you do. You think maybe you’ve wanted to for longer than you realized. It’s just that nobody’s ever looked at you quite like Eddie is right now, all careful confidence hiding something softer underneath. 

“Okay,” you say before you can overthink it.

Eddie stills. “Okay?”

You smile a little shyly. “Yeah. I’d really like that.”

For a second, Eddie genuinely looks stunned.

Then the slowest grin spreads across his face, crooked and warm and so unfairly pretty that you have to glance down at your shoes for a second just to collect yourself.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, mostly to himself.

You laugh softly. “What?”

“There’s that thing again where you say yes to me like I just asked if you wanted a pencil instead of—” He cuts himself off with another disbelieving shake of his head. “Tonight. I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeats, like he still can’t believe it.

He walks backward down the hallway afterward, still grinning at you in this helpless sort of way, before finally turning toward the exit. You stand there for a moment after he disappears, your heartbeat feeling strangely uneven beneath your ribs.

Then, naturally, you go find Robin.

She’s already behind the Family Video counter when you walk in later that afternoon, lazily rewinding tapes with Steve half-asleep beside her. The second she sees your face, her eyes narrow suspiciously.

“What happened?”

You blink. “Nothing happened.”

“That is not a nothing face.”

Steve lifts his head slightly from the counter. “What’s a nothing face?”

Robin points at you dramatically. “That face. That’s the face girls make before they tell you life-altering information.”

Your cheeks warm immediately. “It’s not life-altering.”

“Oh my god,” Robin gasps. “You kissed someone.”

“What? No!”

Steve snorts tiredly into the counter. Robin leans forward. “Then what?”

You hesitate for half a second before saying quietly, “Eddie asked me on a date.”

Then Robin slams both palms onto the counter so hard Steve nearly falls out of his chair. “I KNEW IT.”

Your face warms instantly beneath her stare. Steve looks significantly more awake now, too, blinking between the two of you while Robin points at you like you’ve personally validated her entire worldview.

“I told you he liked her,” she says to Steve.

Steve shrugs. “I mean, yeah. The guy looks at her like she personally invented music.”

“Oh my god,” you mumble, covering your face briefly with your sleeve.

Robin immediately softens at that, grinning as she leans her elbows onto the counter. “Aw, honey, don’t look embarrassed. This is cute.”

Cute. The word alone makes your stomach flutter strangely.

You glance down shyly, tracing your thumb along the strap of your bag. “It’s just a date.”

“Mhm,” Robin hums knowingly. “And what exactly are we wearing to this very casual, definitely-not-important date?”

You blink. “I don’t know yet.”

Steve finally sits up straighter. “Wait, hold on. Tonight tonight?”

You nod once. Robin gasps dramatically. “Oh, this is serious.”

“It is not serious,” you protest immediately. 

Robin’s expression turns fond in that way it sometimes does around you, all teasing melting into something softer. “Sweetie, he stood outside your classroom looking nervous and was a statue when you fell asleep on him. You’ve altered his brain chemistry.”

You hide your face again with a quiet groan while Steve laughs under his breath.

“I’m serious,” Robin continues. “I have literally never seen him act normal around anybody he’s interested in.”

Before you can answer, Robin suddenly narrows her eyes. “Wait. Have you even been on a date before?”

You hesitate just long enough for her to gasp. “Oh, my god.”

“It’s not a big deal,” you say quickly.

Steve blinks at you. “Like… ever?”

You shrug awkwardly. “I don’t know. Nobody’s really asked.”

Robin and Steve share a look over your head that feels deeply loaded.

“What?” you ask suspiciously.

Robin shakes her head slowly. “Nothing. I just think half the male population of Hawkins is profoundly stupid.”

You laugh quietly at that, cheeks still warm. “You guys are making this sound way more dramatic than it is.”

Robin reaches over the counter to squeeze your hand once. “No, honey. We’re making it sound exactly as dramatic as it is.”

By seven o’clock, your bedroom looks like a small tornado passed through it.

Not because you’re trying overly hard, exactly. More because every outfit suddenly feels wrong the second you put it on. Robin’s teasing voice still echoes faintly in your head every time you glance in the mirror.

"Eddie Munson stood outside your classroom, nervous."

Which is ridiculous, Eddie doesn’t get nervous. However, your stomach has been fluttering stupidly for the last hour anyway.

Eventually, you settle on something simple. Something that still feels like you. Soft sweater, jeans that fit nicely, a little lip gloss Nancy once insisted you’d “thank her for later.” By the time you finally step out of your bedroom, the house is quiet except for the television murmuring faintly from the living room.

Dustin is sprawled across the couch with a bowl of cereal balanced on his stomach despite the fact it’s fully evening. He glances up absentmindedly at first.

His entire face lights up. “Whoa.”

You immediately laugh nervously. “What?”

“You look pretty.”

The sincerity in his voice catches you slightly off guard. Dustin sits up straighter on the couch, grinning at you in a way that suddenly reminds you painfully that he’s still your little brother underneath all the dramatics and endless talking.

“You really think so?”

“Duh.” He gestures vaguely with his spoon. “Eddie’s gonna freak out.”

Your cheeks warm instantly. “Dustin.”

“What? He likes you like… aggressively.”

You laugh softly despite yourself, smoothing your hands nervously over your sleeves. “Robin said the same thing.”

“Because it’s true,” Dustin says, like it’s obvious. “He talks about you all the time.”

That makes you blink. “He does?”

“Oh my god,” Dustin groans, dropping back dramatically against the couch cushions. “You seriously have no idea, do you?”

Before you can answer, headlights sweep briefly across the front window.

Dustin sits bolt upright immediately. “He’s here.”

Dustin notices your expression and grins even wider. “You’re nervous.”

“I am not.”

“You are,” he says delightedly. “This is amazing.”

Then there’s a knock at the door, and your heartbeat feels too loud. Dustin looks between you and the front door with poorly concealed excitement before jumping up from the couch first.

“Oh, I’m answering it.”

“Dustin—”

Too late. He yanks the front door open with the energy of a child on Christmas morning.

Eddie’s standing on the porch in dark jeans and his leather jacket, curls slightly messy like he’s been dragging nervous hands through them. 

He’s holding a small bouquet of flowers that look suspiciously like they came from the little stand outside Melvald’s, and for once in his life, Eddie Munson actually seems unsure of himself.

Then his eyes land on you behind Dustin, and he completely forgets how to speak. Dustin looks back and forth between the two of you with visible delight.

“Oh my god,” he whispers dramatically. “He is freaking out.”

Eddie blinks once like he’s rebooting. “Henderson, I will kill you.”

“You brought flowers,” Dustin says smugly.

Eddie ignores him entirely, still staring at you in a way that makes your chest feel warm all over again. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hi.” The word comes out softer than you intended.

Eddie swallows once. Then, very carefully, he holds the flowers out toward you. “These are for you.”

“Be home by ten!” Dustin calls dramatically as Eddie leads you back toward the van.

You pause halfway down the walkway. “Since when do you give me a curfew?”

“Since now,” he says importantly, leaning against the front doorframe. “And no funny business.”

Eddie scoffs loudly without looking back. “You are literally fifteen.”

“And wiser than both of you combined.”

You laugh softly under your breath as Eddie opens the passenger door for you with an exaggerated bow. 

“Goodbye, Dustin.”

“GOODBYE. BE SAFE. DON’T GET PREGNANT.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, face burning as Eddie bursts into helpless laughter beside you.

The front door slams shut before you can retaliate further.

“Your brother is insane.”

“You encourage him.”

“Because he’s funny.”

“He’s awful.”

Eddie laughs again as the van rumbles to life beneath you. The sound settles warmly through the small space alongside the radio's quiet static, and for a little while, things feel easy. 

Eddie drums his fingers against the steering wheel while he drives one-handed, occasionally glancing over at you with this small private smile that makes your stomach flutter every single time.

It isn’t until he pulls into the overlook outside town later that night that things start to shift.

The place is mostly empty this late, only a couple of scattered cars parked beneath the dark stretch of sky overlooking Hawkins. “This okay?” he asks.

You nod immediately. “Yeah. It’s pretty up here.”

Eddie’s eyes linger on your face for a second too long before he looks away again with a quiet hum. “Yeah,” he says softly. “It is.”

Then, after a moment, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a crumpled pack of cigarettes.

You watch absentmindedly as he taps one loose and settles it between his lips, the flame from his lighter briefly illuminating the sharp lines of his face in warm orange. Smoke curls slowly into the night air once he exhales. 

You don’t know why you ask. Maybe curiosity, maybe because everything about Eddie feels a little intoxicating lately.

“Can I try one?”

Eddie freezes mid-exhale. Slowly, he turns toward you. “What?”

You shrug a little, suddenly oddly shy beneath the intensity of his stare. “Just once.”

For a second, he just looks at you. “You’ve never smoked before.”

It isn’t a question. You shake your head once. “No.”

Eddie lets out the faintest breath through his nose, eyes dragging away toward the windshield for a moment. His rings tap softly against the cigarette resting between his fingers.

And maybe this is exactly the kind of thing everyone in Hawkins expects from him. Corrupting nice girls in parked vans late at night. The thought should probably make him feel guilty. Instead, all he can think about is the way you’re looking at him right now, all soft curiosity and trust.

“Sweetheart,” he says slowly, “you really shouldn’t ask me things like that.”

Your brows pull together slightly. “Why?”

Eddie glances back at you then, dark eyes unreadable in the low lighting.

“Because,” he says quietly, “I’m probably gonna say yes.”

Before you can overthink it, Eddie sighs softly and shifts closer across the seat, cigarette still balanced between his fingers. “C’mere.”

You lean closer instinctively, knees brushing his in the cramped space between the seats. Eddie watches you the entire time, gaze flicking once toward your mouth before he catches himself.

“This’ll probably taste awful, by the way.”

You smile a little. “You’re really selling it.”

“Just bein’ honest.”

Carefully, he lifts the cigarette toward your lips. And Christ. The sight alone nearly does him in.

You hesitate only briefly before taking a tentative inhale exactly the way he showed you. Almost immediately, your face scrunches up as you start coughing lightly into your sleeve.

Eddie laughs instantly, reaching over to rub a warm hand against your back. “Easy, easy— there she is.”

“That is horrible,” you rasp between coughs, eyes watering slightly.

“I did warn you.”

You’re still laughing softly at yourself when you finally glance back up at him, only to realize how close he is now. For a moment, neither of you moves.

The cigarette burns slowly between Eddie’s fingers, forgotten entirely now as his eyes stay fixed on yours. You can still feel the warmth of his hand through your sweater, where it rests against your back. Though the look on his face is becoming significantly less careful by the second.

“You okay?” he asks quietly.

You nod once.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

Your voice comes out softer than usual, and Eddie notices immediately. 

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, almost to himself, dragging his eyes away from your mouth with visible effort.

His hand slips from your back only so he can lean farther into the seat, head tipping briefly against it like he’s trying to regain control of his own thoughts.

You watch him for a second before smiling slightly. “What?”

Eddie laughs once, but there’s no real humor in it. “You have genuinely no idea what you do to me, huh?”

Your stomach flips hard enough to make you glance away. Not because you don’t understand what he means, you do.

Maybe not fully, or with the same confidence other girls seem to have, but you understand enough to feel the tension thickening between you now. The difference is you’re not afraid of it, not with him.

“You make me nervous, too,” you admit quietly.

That gets Eddie’s attention instantly. His head turns toward you again, curls falling slightly into his eyes. “I do?”

You nod, fingers fidgeting lightly in your lap. “You always look at me like you’re thinking something.”

Eddie goes very still. Because he is, constantly.

And suddenly, he’s picturing every single filthy thought he’s had about you over the last few weeks while you sat beside him smiling sweetly like you trusted him with your whole heart.