dyke archives

“Even barely conscious, you’re awfully demanding.” Instead of relieving you, Eddie only slows his movement, his fingers barely reaching beyond your mound. You move again, undeterred, letting your top leg bend and hook around his, spreading your legs and forcing Eddie’s hand to rest on your inner thigh, all while keeping yourself from waking up fully. He laughs again, a warm sound that makes your chest vibrate. Eddie buries his head in the crook of your neck and kisses you slowly, hand finally closing in on your cunt. You keel when his finger finds your clit, hips twitching towards his touch as he nudges your legs open further with his knee. Your stomach lurches when you hear him mumbling into your neck, clearly more to himself than for your benefit. 

“Fuck, I’m so in love with you. This is it for me. All ‘m ever gonna need.” His hand retreats from your clit and you fight to resist whining at the loss.  Before you have the chance to make another physical suggestion, you feel the head of Eddie’s cock slip into your entrance, followed by a stifled grunt from Eddie as he rests his head against your shoulder blade. You clench around him as he slides in deeper, his grip on your hip bruising. Eddie moves slowly, sinking all the way into your pussy before pulling almost entirely out, repeating the cycle as you flex and twist your hips enough to cause the friction you need. His hand dives between your legs, circling the bud as his cock continues splitting you open. 

“So, so warm. And soft. And you smell so fuckin’ good.” Each compliment punctuated with a slow thrust, a rasp in his voice so harsh you think he must have something in his throat. You clench your walls around him, still not fully registering the world yet. All you can feel, all you can hear, are him and his pretty moans and whines as he slides his cock in and out of your weeping hole, relishing in the wet sounds coming from between your legs. 

Finally, his rhythm stutters and you notice. You begin to rotate your hips more obviously, chasing your release before he can finish. 

“Good morning, baby, fuck.” Eddie picks up his thrusting again, reading your body now that it’s starting to join the land of the living. You moan at the feeling of his dick hitting that sweet spot inside of you, again and again until your cunt spasms around him, legs shaking with your orgasm. He’s close behind, faltering again as he gives one final, brutal thrust into you and lets himself go, head dropping onto your shoulder as you feel him spill his release inside you, hips rocking haphazardly as he softens,  heat heaving. 

You’re swimming in the afterglow when his phone rings. It’s barely nine, and you groan at the repetitive vibrating, shoving your head into your pillow. “Who’s rude enough to call you this early?” You mumble into the fabric. 

Eddie chuckles, reaching for his phone on the nightstand. “Your brother, apparently.” With his brow furrowed, he slides the button and puts his phone to his ear. “Hello?”

You start to crawl down the bed, motivated by the lack of attention. Eddie’s focused on your brother’s voice on the other line, and you can hear him saying something animatedly. Eddie looks at you, pressing the phone to his shoulder. “What do you think you’re- fuck.” You wrap your lips around the head of his cock, already hardening again at your touch, still coated in his spend and your juices. “N-no, not you, I wasn’t—” He interrupts himself with a hiss as you slide your tongue against his slit. “Jesus, just tell me what you were gonna tell me!” He’s trying to be lowkey, not to give away to Chris that his little sister is being absolutely sinful on her knees below him. “Wait, seriously?” Eddie sits up at the same time you take his cock fully down your throat. Eddie throws his head back and groans, shoving his phone against his chest now to muffle the sinful noises. He looks down at you, incredulous as wet giggles slip from your stuffed mouth.

“You’re a fuckin’ terror, y’know.” He whispers through still gritted teeth. 

You take him out of your mouth, a string of saliva still stuck from your chin to his length.

“I don’t like my time with you being compromised.” You pout. “What does he want?”

Eddie puts his phone back to his ear without taking his eyes off of you. “I will meet you at the bar when it opens, alright? I gotta go.” Before Chris can argue, Eddie hangs up and tosses his phone back on the bed before taking your hair in his hand and yanking you closer. “You gonna finish what you started?” His eyes are glossy with an almost carnal need. 

Giddy, you readjust your position as Eddie scooches back against the headboard so he’s sitting up, legs spread with you between them.

“What was that about?”

Eddie looks at you and you flush, heat stirring between your legs again. His hair is messy with sleep, eyes big and wet, skin shiny with sweat, chest heaving. Your favorite version of him.

“Uh uh, no changing the subject.” Eddie sits up, cupping his massive hand behind your neck to bring you closer. Your lips crash into his and you let him take you forward until you’re fully lying on top of him, arms bracing yourself on either side of his head. “Please, baby,” His voice is low, velvet smooth. “Need to feel your mouth on me.”

“You promise to tell me what that was about?” You quirk an eyebrow, trying to keep yourself from melting under his gaze, his touch on your lower back.

“I do, I promise.” Eddie nods frantically, and you surrender, planting kisses on each of his cheeks before moving down the bed. 

You stop to kiss his chest, giving each of his nipples attention as he squirms and whines above you. Emboldened, you suck on his skin, dragging a hiss from his teeth when you suck and lick over the marks you’ve made on his pecs, his stomach. You make a point to drag your nose down the trail of hair below his navel, keeping your eyes on him as you creep further down his body. He chances a look down at you, only to throw his head back again when he catches you letting a string of spit from your lips to land on his cockhead. 

“So sensitive this morning.” You tease, loving the dynamic switch and the way Eddie seems to melt at your touch. “You’re so fuckin’ cute like this, Eds. All whiny and desperate.” Before he can catch his breath to answer, you take his cock back into your mouth, earning a guttural groan from him. You bob your head, taking him deeper, and his hand finds your hair and takes hold. He’s not pulling or pushing you, more so anchoring himself as you continue sucking, hollowing your cheeks, tongue swirling around his shaft as his hips weakly buck forward, trying to meet your rhythm and failing miserably.

“You’re so fucking good at that, Jesus Christ. Yeah, just like that, fuck,” He’s breathless, neck craned towards the ceiling and you can tell he’s close. You feel his tip prod at the back of your throat and you can’t help but gag around his length. “Shit, ‘m gonna cum, baby, f-fuck. Fuck!”

You pull him completely out of your mouth and the noise he makes almost breaks your heart. Almost. 

“What are you–?” Eddie snaps his head up to look at you, already glaring up at him from between his thighs. His cock is weeping, slick with your spit and pre cum as it rests against his taut stomach.

“Tell me what he wanted, or you don’t get to finish.” You take him in your hand again, this time only barely kissing up his length as he whines, fisting the sheets with one hand and stretching for you with the other. You oblige, sliding your free hand up his stomach before entwining your fingers with his. “You want to finish, don’t you?” 

“Yeah, I do, I really really do. Shit, sweetheart, what’s gotten into you?”

You shrug, stroking his cock slowly enough not to trigger an orgasm, but enough for him to writhe into your fist. “Just feeling extra… bold.” You hope he doesn’t clock your shaky voice, or the way you’re blushing deep reds under his soft gaze. You aren’t exactly lying, you do feel bolder around him. Or maybe just safer, more seen.

Loved.

Whatever. 

“Fuck, okay. Chris got a message last night, from some metal producer out in New York. He’s in town for his brother’s birthday or some shit and wants to see our show. I guess Gareth’s been uploading videos of our sets to YouTube and we’ve been getting some attention. I didn’t know he was doing it, I thought he was just filming for our future documentary or something.” There’s a light behind his eyes you’ve never seen before. “But Chris knew, and he sent the stuff to this guy, and he said he might wanna record our EP because he liked our shit so much. He just wants to ‘talk’ to us first.” Eddie gesticulates wildly, hands flapping beside his head as he looks toward the ceiling.

“Holy shit,” you sit up a little straighter. “Eddie, that’s fucking incredible! Oh my god!”

“I know, right?! Fuck. So now Chris wants to make a game plan.”

You’re awestruck, but the more you think it over the more a damp, gray cloud of worry creeps over your shoulder. You shove it down, not wanting to let your panic ruin Eddie’s excitement, something he deserves more than anyone. Instead, you return to the task at hand, this time without your cruel and teasing demeanor, though you still can’t help the part of you worrying that Eddie’s getting ahead of himself by trusting Chris’s word.

His hips stutter the moment you reach for them and you claw desperately at the flesh there, taking him fully down your throat again, as if to suffocate the words from coming out. 

“Shit, holy shit, baby, fuck. I’m gonna cum. Fuck I love your mouth, oh my god.” You taste the salt on your tongue as he comes into your mouth, making borderline obscene sounds with his spend and your saliva. You swallow it, letting him slowly pull away and tap his heavy head once, twice against the tip of your tongue. “You are… something else, huh? C’mere, lemme hold you.” Eddie lets your hand go to reach for you, pulling you up his form by your elbows. You kiss him slowly, sloppily letting him taste himself on your tongue, earning another low growl from Eddie’s throat.

When you let him go to breathe finally, you look at him; his cheeks are rosy, there’s a sheen of sweat across his forehead. He blinks at you, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“Let me come with you.” You don’t mean for it to come out as a command. “To talk to Chris, I mean.”

He raises a brow at you. “What? Why? It’s probably just gonna be, like, business talk. Travel logistics, a bunch of budgeting bullshit that will bore us both to tears.”

“I wanna hear what he has to say, though.” You deadpan, trying not to sound jealous or insane. “Wanna make sure it’s of sound mind, y’know?” 

“Oh, okay. I get it.” Eddie tenses underneath you. “You wanna come to make sure your scary big brother doesn’t trick poor, stupid Eddie into a ponzi scheme.” Eddie rolls his eyes at you and you frown. 

The bitterness in his voice makes your skin jump. “Eddie, that’s not what I meant and you know it.” 

“I don’t know shit, clearly!” The uptick in his volume makes you flinch. “You seriously think Chris of all people is gonna fuck me when it comes to the band? He cares just as much about Coffin as I do. God dammit, do you know how shitty that feels?” His face hardens, jaw set.

“Ed–” You gulp the word. 

“Look, I know what you see, okay? I was a loser burnout in high school, a three time senior with nothing to fuckin’ show for it besides a diploma and six years worth of trauma. I fix cars and live in a shitty apartment in a terrible neighborhood. You went to college. You learned how to function outside this fuckin’ place.” He gestures around him. “But I know music. I know what it takes, and I know what the fuck I’m talking about. This isn’t a fuckin’ joyride to me, believe it or not.” 

You recoil, rolling off of him, suddenly desperate to cover yourself. Cold. 

“All I meant was that Chris cuts corners. He deals with shady people. He’s usually only out for himself. I’m not saying this time is like that. I just wanted to see for myself–” 

His eyes widen when your voice trembles. “Bee–”

You don’t let him interrupt, scared of what will happen if you don’t get the rest of it out, even as your voice starts to shake. “And sure, of course part of it is because of Chris’s and your history, but it's not what you think–”

Eddie shifts on the bed, like he wants to reach for you. “Baby–”

“– because if it is legit, obviously I want to see you succeed. Both of you. Maybe I just wanna be a part of it! As your fucking girlfriend or whatever!”

Eddie opens his mouth, closes it again. You snatch a discarded black t-shirt– yours or his, you’re not sure– from the floor next to the bed and toss it over your head, standing up. Your stomach twists as you snatch your shorts off the floor, still facing away from him.  Your voice finally shatters and you cringe. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.” Your vision blurs around the edges as you stare at Eddie’s t-shirt on your floor. What a waste of a perfect morning. 

“Bee, can you look at me? Please?” The cracking in his voice breaks your heart. 

You turn finally, sucking hard on the inside of your bottom lip to keep it from quivering, but you can tell he notices. 

“Baby…” His eyes bore into yours, searching, questioning. You can’t look at him without it hurting. Maybe you’re overreacting, but you can’t help the gnawing voice in your brain telling you you’re not needed. Not wanted. 

“You can go now.”

He bats his eyes at you, dumbfounded. “Wait, what?”

“Go do your thing. I’ll see you later. You told Chris you’d be there as soon as we open.”

“Bee,  c’mon. Please don’t shut me out.”

You snatch Eddie’s shirt from the floor and toss it to him. “It’s okay. This is yours and Chris’s thing.” Without really meaning to, you stretch your lips into a fake smile. “Let me know how it goes, yeah?”   

“O- okay?” Speechless, Eddie throws his shirt over his head before diving for his jeans. “I- um,” He scratches at his scalp, barely looking at you and it burns in your chest. “You’ll come to the show though, right?” 

You give him another pain laced grin. “‘Course I will. Someone’s gotta sling cocktails.” 

“Ha, right. Yeah…” He leans in and you know he’s trying to kiss you, to take his words back, but you dodge him and instead wrap one arm around him in a clumsy hug. You feel his posture tense when he realizes. “See you, um, tonight then.”

You nod once, opening the door for him like some kind of bellhop. He shuffles out, eyes on the floor, and you close the door behind him. You count to ten, listening to Eddie’s footsteps retreat down the hall at least twenty feet before you drop your head against the wood. 

—

Eddie

You stupid, stupid fucking asshole. Boyfriend of the fucking year award winner, Eddie Munson, everyone Round of fucking applause. He only lets his pity party last for the time it takes to reach the parking lot before remembering he has no car. 

“Fuck me.” He pulls his phone out of his back pocket, grumbling as he searches his text threads for someone to burden at nine forty five in the morning with picking him up from his girlfriend’s house with his tail between his legs. His options include:

Robin, who will surely lecture him on all the things he said wrong and tell him what a fucking moron or dingus he is, like he doesn’t already know.

Or Steve, who will tell him all the ways in which he would have recommended how to fix it, well meaning but so, so unhelpful.

Or Chris, and god knows he can’t do that.

Or…

He picks up on the second ring. “What did you do?”

“What? Nothing! Well, not nothing, but nothing, like, illegal!” 

“Just immoral?” Hopper chuckles at his own jab.

“Yeah, you could say that, I guess.”

“Need a ride?”

“Yeah. Please.”

“You hungry? Joyce went to breakfast with some high school friends. I could use some pancakes and perhaps… an explanation?”

Eddie sighs, regretting even calling him. “Alright, fine, sure. Let me just embarrass myself a little more before today even fuckin’ starts.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen.”

Eddie waits a beat. “Don’t you need the address?”

“You’re at Bee’s place, right?”

“How did you–?”

“I’ll see you in fifteen.”

“Okay?”

Hopper hangs up, leaving Eddie still outside your apartment, shoes in his hand, hair still tangled with sleep. He doesn’t even have his goddamn cigarettes, they must have fallen out of his pocket in the shuffle. 

“Fuck.” He debates on turning around, but he figures that’s probably the worst idea he’s had today, and he’s already had plenty.

–

Hopper pulls up exactly twelve minutes later. 

“Less traffic than usual” He states simply as Eddie slides into the passenger seat. “Why aren’t you wearing shoes?”

“Kinda had to leave in a hurry.” Eddie huffs, dropping his shoes on the floor in front of him.  

Hopper holds out his pack of cigarettes. “Looks like you could use one.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes, but still plucks a cig from the paper carton and sticks it between his teeth. Hopper hands him an old, silver lighter covered in fingerprints. 

The drive is silent. The awkward kind, that causes Eddie’s palms to sweat. He tries to distract himself with the cig, fiddling with it as he exhales, but he nearly drops it on the floor of Hopper’s truck. When they finally pull into Benny’s parking lot, Eddie practically rolls out of the passenger seat. 

“Table for two?” Doris grabs the menus and leads the men into the back corner, and Eddie slides into the booth with a grunt. 

“So,” Hopper unfolds his menu. “What’d you do?”

Eddie groans, flattening his own menu on the counter. “Can I plead the fifth?”

Hopper snorts. “You’ve never been one to keep your mouth shut.” 

Eddie scowls at the man, but doesn’t argue. “I guess you could say that.”

“You cheat on her?”

“What?! God, no.”

“Lie to her?”

“No…”

Hopper furrows his brow. “You in legal trouble?”

“No, sir. Believe it or not, I’ve been pretty well behaved since we got back here.” 

“Then I’m sure this is something you could probably fix.”

“I was mean to her. I got news from Chris, about some producer being in town. She asked to come with me to meet him, to plan. I snapped at her, because it felt like she didn’t trust me, but–”

“Kid,” Hopper interrupts him as Doris places two plates down on the table. 

“Can I get you gentlemen anything else?”

“No thanks, darlin’.” Hopper thanks her before she walks away. “Anyway. I have a feeling she’s not really that upset with you.”

“She has every right to be, though. I was shitty.”

“Yeah, but you know you were shitty. That’s a sign that you’re emotionally intelligent enough to rectify the situation.” Hopper shoves a bite of his waffle into his mouth. 

Eddie digs into his own breakfast, mostly because he’s afraid of his voice breaking if he speaks again. 

“You have to stop getting in your own way. You can’t just run away when you fuck up.”

“I didn’t. She kicked me out. I wanted to apologize to her, I knew I fucked up the second I said it.”

“Alright. In that case, maybe let her approach you. Give her some space today.”

Eddie nods. “I just need her to know I didn’t mean it. I want her there. I never don’t want her there.” He taps his fingers against his chin, thinking. 

“I think I have an idea.”

–

Bee

You seem to jab each letter harder than the last as you type a message to your brother, hours after Eddie’s left and you finally pull yourself together enough to get ready for work. 

> how long does it take to record an EP? The bubble appears a few minutes later crispy: probs depends on many things. y? > generally speaking?  crispy: i’d say an avg of like 1-2 months for a band like cc > ok. thx. crispy: ur welcome i guess? y r u asking me this

> you called eddie this morning crispy: he told u? > i was there. crispy: … crispy: y were u with eddie at 9am

> ive been meaning to tell u… crispy: bar. ten minutes. im texting eddie.

Shit.

–

It’s downpouring when you pull into the parking lot. You pull your hood onto your head, tightening the strings to shield as much of your hair and face as possible. The sun is setting, making the sky a bright, toxic orange color contrasting with the black asphalt and concrete of the streets below. 

As you round the corner, Eddie steps out of Hopper’s truck, not bothering to protect his curls from the weather. You reach the front door at the same time, and he holds it open for you. The door’s unlocked, as The Hideout technically opens at noon, though no one besides Chris and a couple regulars are inside.

“Ah, just what I ordered. Two wet fuckin’ rats.” Chris seems to spit the words, though he wears a stupid smile on his face. You roll your eyes as Eddie pulls out a barstool for you before sitting down in the one to your left. He doesn’t meet your eyes. 

“Why are you both acting like looking at each other would cause the world to crack open?” Chris is pouring another beer for Suzette. “You can’t fool me anymore.” 

“What are you talking about?” Your voice is flat, barely willing to humor his prodding. 

“You were together this morning, right? You don’t have to act like you hate each other, I’m not stupid.”

“It’s none of your business, dude.” Eddie mumbles, ringed fingers tapping anxiously on the perpetually sticky counter top.

Chris places the chilled glass in front of Suzette before turning back to the pair of you. “I can’t for the life of me seem to keep up with you children.”

“We’re not fucking kids, Chris.” Your skin warms as you speak. “We aren’t required to share every minute detail of our relationship with you. It’s almost like I lived a whole life without you here. Maybe I just got used to it.” 

Chris ignores you, turning to Eddie. “Bro, what did you do?”

You groan, shoving yourself from the counter before stomping off, into the back office.

—

Eddie

“What the hell is wrong with you, man?” Eddie reaches across the bar to whack Chris on the arm. “I’m already on fuckin’ thin ice, you’re not helping.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is there something I should be worried about messing up? A relationship of some kind, between you two?”

“Fuck off. Even if the answer was yes, and I’m not saying it is, why do you give a shit?”

“She’s my little sister, Eddie!”

“Okay?”

“I’m supposed to be, I dunno, fucking protecting her.”

“What, from me?!” 

Chris rubs his hand down his face, sighing. “From everything!”

“You didn’t care this much about protecting her when–”

Chris puts a hand up to stop him. “Yeah, I know. I see the irony, asshole. Why is she pissed now, though?”

“Your call. I told her.”

“Shouldn’t she be, like, happy for you?”

Eddie shakes his head, and Chris drops a bottle of Coors on the table for him. “It’s not that. I fucked up. I was mean. I haven’t had a chance to apologize yet.” 

“Apologize for what? Being excited? I love my sister, but sometimes she’s a little self centered.”

Eddie bristles at that. “She’s the furthest thing from self centered, asshole. She’s afraid of being left alone. Rightfully, too.”

Chris sighs. “Okay… So…. Apologize to her then? Kiss and make up or whatever.”

“Great. Glad you called us here to share that.” 

“When I called you I didn’t have the whole story!”

“You still don’t because you won’t shut the fuck up!” Eddie slams his bottle a little too hard on the bartop. “And now you’ve stressed your sister out.” He raises his arm, gesturing to the back office. 

–

Bee

You don’t mean to eavesdrop, but there’s not an ounce of soundproofing in this office. The room rattles whenever someone walks across the bar floor, you can hear everything Chris and Eddie are saying. It’s at this point, though, that you stop listening. Instead, you take the back exit, into the alley behind the bar for some privacy. You light a cigarette, inhaling the smoke as you open your phone. The first picture to load on your Instagram feed makes your chest tighten. A flier, with a black and white picture from a previous show, Eddie’s head thrown back as he shreds on his guitar, and a second picture of the band playing in their garage.

@ thehideoutIN: TONIGHT! Corroded Coffin with special guests: Statuesque Dolls, Mark My Words, Cerebral Octopus. Doors at six! Be there or miss out on the show of a lifetime!

“Oh, what the fuck!” Macy. The better, cooler, prettier girl and her cool fucking band. You swipe out of the app and lock your phone, trying to focus on the burn in your lungs. You don’t hear the back door creak open, whining on its hinges.

“Hey.” Chris flicks his lighter, lighting his own cigarette as he leans against the brick next to you. You don’t answer, and he takes that as a cue to keep talking. “I’m sorry about what happened in there. I know you don’t owe me anything, especially not about this. I just worry about you.”

You can’t help but snort. “Right, now you care.”

“Bee, c’mon. Of course I care! I have a hard time showing it, I guess.”

You turn to your brother, pleading. “I want to tell you these things, Chris. I want to have a normal sibling relationship with you, but it’s complicated! My– Eddie is your best friend. But he was mine first. I’m not trying to take him away from you, but you gotta understand you can’t control who he…” You trail off and Chris is nodding frantically.

“I know, I know. I gotta do a better job.”

You nod. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I love him, y’know?”

Chris’s lips twitch. “Can’t believe you’re finally admitting it.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

–

The line is already wrapped around the block by the time you open the doors for the crowd. Kevin’s on bouncer duty, checking IDs and taking payments as kids and oldheads alike cram onto the sticky floor. Behind the bar, you and your mom are plenty busy taking orders, opening tabs, and trying your hardest not to spill too much precious alcohol on the counter. On the stage, the first openers, Cerebral Octopus (crazy name) are setting up. The band is made up of a bunch of what look to you to be twelve year olds, though they’re probably at least in high school. No way they even got in here without a fight. There’s a banjo resting on a stand off to the side, and you find yourself wondering how well the crowd is going to take to them. You hope for their sake that it’s well enough not to get bottles thrown. 

“Hey!” The familiar voice comes from further down the bar. You turn to greet Steve and Robin, dressed in what Robin would call their most “punk rock” attire. Steve’s wearing one of Eddie’s Metallica shirts, and Robin’s unburied her old Paramore tour t-shirt from about ten years ago. 

“Hey.” You set up two glasses on bar napkins in front of them as the band kicks into their first song. The melodies remind you of something Brian Sella would have written, with a little less of a twang. Somehow, you don’t hate it. Luckily, the crowd seems to be okay with it, too. 

“You seen Eddie? Wanted to wish him luck. Guess there’s like, a really important producer here.”

“Uh,” You stall, glancing off to the side of the stage. Eddie isn’t there like he usually is, watching the openers and bobbing his head. You search the floor for him, but it’s too dark to make anyone’s faces out. “No, not for a few hours. Probably smoking outside or something.” You shrug, sliding Steve his beer and Robin her Shirley. “Keepin’ it open?” 

They both nod.

“Hey, did you uh, know Macy’s band was playing tonight?” You try to keep your voice even despite needing to shout over the music. “Eddie didn’t mention that.”

Steve and Robin look at each other, then at you, then shake their heads.

“Not ‘til I saw the poster outside. Do you think Eddie knew?”

Steve shakes his head. “I definitely feel like he would’ve told you if he’d known.”

You furrow your brows. “What about Chris?”

Robin bites her lip, hesitating. “That seems more likely to me.”

You nod. “Cool. That’s cool, that’s sooooo fuckin’ cool.” You slam your hand down on the counter. “So cool!”

–

Mark My Words were pretty good. You’d probably have enjoyed their set more, though, if your mind wasn’t preoccupied with enough worst-case scenarios to give yourself an aneurysm.

Maybe Eddie did know about Macy being an opener, but he didn’t want to upset me. Or maybe it’s because he still has feelings for her. Maybe she still has feelings for him! Maybe he didn’t tell me so he’d send me into a fucking spiral! 

“Bee!” A call snaps you out of your inner turmoil. “Can you come backstage please?” You think it’s Gareth, and he sounds exasperated. You glance at your mom, who nods her permission now that the line’s settled down for the time being. You have until the second band finished their set to do whatever it was Gareth needed.

“What’s up?” 

Gareth nods towards the closed green room door. “He was askin’ for you.”

You roll your eyes. “Do you know what he wants?” 

Gareth shrugs. “Just told me to get you.” You follow him to the door and he knocks. “Eddie, man? You in there?”

“Is she with you?” His voice shakes. 

“Yeah, Bee’s right here.” Gareth nudges you.

“Eddie, what’s up? I gotta get back to work.”

“I know, I know. Just. Can you come in here for a sec?”

You twist the doorknob, leaning on the old wood until it gives in, opening into the only dressing room the bar has. Inside, Eddie sits in a metal folding chair, head in his hands, body heaving as he breathes. He’s not dressed for the show yet, and several cigarette butts fill the provided ashtray sitting on the wooden table. 

“What are you doing?”

“I’m freaking out.”

You try not to soften immediately. You’re still upset with him, what he said earlier, and now the whole Macy thing. 

“About the producer?” You ask gently, sitting on the floor in front of him. Outside, the vocalist announces they only have two more songs to play. “Eds. You can perform in your sleep.”

You have to strain to hear his whispered response.

“What if this is my only chance?”

“You and I both know it’s not. This is only the first one, so it feels bigger.” You place a feather light hand on his back, rubbing reassuring circles between his shoulderblades. “But I know you can do this, Eddie. And you have a room full of people that would vouch for me. Okay?”

Finally, Eddie peels his head from his hands and looks at you. His eyes are puffy, a little wet. 

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Was this my only chance? With you?”

You frown at him. “What on earth are you talking about?”

He crumbles instantly. “I’m sorry about this morning. I shouldn’t have said that, I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t want you there. Of course I do! I want you involved with every fucking single thing I do! I just–”

“Hey. Ed. We can talk about this later. I’m sure there’s a lot we both have to say. Right now, though, you have to focus on rocking the shit out of this bar. Okay?” You rest your hand on his cheek and he leans into your touch, keeping his eyes on yours.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you Macy’s band was playing.” He doesn’t shy away from you as he says it. “I should’ve mentioned that. I found out today, but that’s not an excuse.”

You only shake your head, leaning in to place a quick kiss on his pouty lips. The panic you’d been harboring seems to subside with his words, at least for now. More than anything, you just want to watch him succeed tonight. 

–

Statuesque Dolls are a really fucking good band. You can’t even be mad about it. Macy was never mean to you, and it’s not her fault she’s fucking gorgeous. She sings into the mic like her life depends on it, running and dancing around the stage without so much as losing her breath. The lights make her black hair look blue, her red lacy set look purple. You find yourself bobbing your head as you continue serving drinks, and even searching them up on your phone when Macy mentions a title. 

“We wanna thank The Hideout and Corroded Coffin for having us tonight!” Macy calls the attention of the crowd back to her. “They’ve been one of my favorite bands for years, and opening for them,” she puts her free hand over her heart “means the world to us! Thanks for coming early to hang out, we’ll see you next time. Goodnight!”

The house lights go up again, and you plaster your customer service smile back on to take the flood of orders from fans wetting their palettes one last time before the headliner. Someone has the heart to buy you a shot to take with them, and you swig it before you can think better of it. On stage, the hired crew takes apart the bands’ instruments, unplugging wires with finesse and grace you could only ever dream of having. In about ten minutes, they’re replaced with every member of Corroded Coffin– excluding Eddie– to set up their own equipment. You watch Chris into place with Gareth’s help, his brow furrowed in concentration. Jeff tunes the multiple guitars while Kevin positions the microphone stands. You and your mom take cards and fistfuls of damp cash, liquids of all kinds splashing across the bartop, full drinks replaced with empty plastic cups you toss as you encounter them, your ever present rag damp on your shoulder. 

Mercifully, after thirty excruciating minutes making vodka crans and pina coladas for a group of freshly 21’s, the house lights go down, slow at first until the whole room is pitch black. What’s left of your line retreats back onto the floor, and you take your millionth deep breath of the night. 

You feel a nudge at your side.

“You gonna go watch?” Your mom wears her thoughts on her face. “I can hold down the fort.” 

You roll your eyes, but don’t argue with her as you pull off your apron, dropping it on the back counter before blowing her a kiss. 

“I’ll be back before the encore!” You weave your way through sweaty bodies, feeling how your sneakers stick to the floor with each step. Mostly people let you pass, the regulars assuming you’re still working while the newbies don’t dare argue with you. You make it pretty close, with only a pair of teenagers resting on the barricade in front of you. 

“Hey!” You tap the kid closer to you on the shoulder. “Can you guys scoot over a bit?”

“Bee?!” The kids turn to look at you and their faces come into focus.

“Dustin?!”

You awkwardly embrace the best you can in the tight space, joined immediately by who you come to recognize as Lucas Sinclair. “How’ve you guys been?”

Dustin shrugs, and Lucas gives you a sincere thumbs up, eyes ninety percent closed. He’s high as shit, you’d recognize that look anywhere. “You got a ride home?”

Dustin clumsily rests a hand on your shoulder, looks at you with a jarring sincerity. “We’re good, Bee! I promise!”

You’re about to argue, but the house lights go out. Not slowly, like they’re supposed to, but like the power was cut. The crowd goes quiet, stunned by the sudden shift. If you didn’t know any better, you’d be concerned about the venue’s old breaker box.

But you know better.

The stage lights come in unison with the feedback of a cheap amplifier, a ridiculous bit Eddie had started by accident and refuses to stop doing. “It sounds like shit on purpose,” You can hear his voice in your head. And it works, when the first chord is struck so poignantly, a resonating hum that builds as the band walks onto the stage.

It’s now that the shot of tequila you’d sunken earlier decides to kick in. Chris leads the band, arms up as he walks to his kit that’s been positioned slightly to the right back of the stage. He’s followed by Jeff swinging his bass back and forth, then Grant already in first position, left arm above his head. Of course Eddie’s the last one out, he can’t help but make a scene. The sound of the crowd is cranked tenfold when he walks out, the voices piercing in your ears along with the growing noise from the overhead speakers. Despite the painful ringing, you join in with whoops and cheers of your own, clapping your hands together as the dramatics unfold on stage. Eddie shakes his head around, curls flailing wildly around his face. He’s wearing a denim vest over nothing and you have to fight not to immediately roll your eyes at yourself when you squeeze your thighs together. Bodies squish together around you, but you welcome the sensation, gripping the metal railing like a vice to keep yourself from falling. 

Eddie commands a room in ways worthy of something greater. The Hideout has a max capacity of maybe two hundred. The performance unfolding in front of you is worthy of arenas, you think. Eddie has baffling stamina for someone that smokes like fucking chimney. When he’s not singing, he’s dancing or swinging his head, or running up to his bandmates to provoke them into dancing with him. He makes a point to interact with the crowd between songs, laughing when someone jokingly suggests they cover a Fall Out Boy song. 

“I can’t do Stump’s vocals justice, guys.” Eddie giggles, adjusting his in-ear monitor. He catches your eye then, and points at you, lips forming an O as the creases around his eyes deepen.

“Guy’s my girlfriend’s here.” The words catch you off guard, as does the excitable tone as he says them. “I wasn’t sure if she’d come over to watch us, but she’s right up front. Now, I don’t usually like to talk much about my personal life at shows. I always hated it when the bands I was watching told, like, stupid stories on stage about some bullshit that inspired a song. ‘Shut up and play, loser!’ and shit, right?” There are staggered cheers and laughs across the room. “But as I grew to appreciate the art of bearing my own soul, I started to get why they would do it. We as humans have a longing to be understood. Even someone like me, someone that’s always thrived on his uniqueness, let’s say. I still yearn for that connection to someone else. Someone that gets me in a way I would never ask them to.

“And then she found me, y’know? And our story, whew, it’s a long one and we only have an hour ‘til curfew. Anyway, this song is dedicated to my love. Sorry it took me this long to figure it out.” 

By now, your face is wet and you can’t tell if it’s sweat or tears. The lights reflect in Eddie’s eyes as he looks at you, actually you and not the oh-my-god-he-looked-at-me way that half the people here tonight will later claim on socials. 

Eddie trades Gareth his Warlock for an acoustic Gibson, one you’ve seen Eddie play many times throughout the past decade. The lights dim to a pretty purple color as the rest of the band take up their positions. 

“Returning to earth sworn to be scorched. I wish I hadn’t lit the torch,” Eddie’s eyes close, fingers picking at the strings expertly. His body seems to be drawn to yours, two magnets constantly pulling at each other. “But you opened up your arms to me, let me weep and let me bleed.” You feel Dustin wrap his arm around you, leaning his head on your shoulder. You lean yours on top of his, swaying in time to the music. 

–

By the end of the show, you’re drenched in beer and sweat. You wave goodbye to Lucas and Dustin before making your way back to the bar to help your mom close out the remaining tabs. Eventually, you’re left in the bar with the lights on, the floor littered with beer cans and plastic cups, along with other miscellaneous trash you’ll have to wear gloves to pick up. The band begins to pack up their gear as you gather the industrial strength floor cleaner and mop from the custodial closet. 

It’s 1:30AM by the time you’re gathering your things to leave. Usually, the bar closes at 1, but to have a hometown show like that calls for extra clean up time, so you’d kicked everyone out by eleven. 

Outside, there’s still a small crowd of teenagers waiting to talk to the guys. Eddie talks animatedly to a short girl with black, long hair and stars in her eyes. When Eddie hears the metal door of the bar close, though, his eyes are on you.

“‘Scuse me, sorry.” He cuts himself off and rushes over to you, already pulling his jacket off to drape over your shoulders. You pluck a cigarette from your pack in your pocket and he brings the lighter to the end before you can even ask for it. 

“Thanks.” You exhale, barely a laugh at his anticipation of your wants and needs. “Go sign some shit, okay? I’ll meet you at home.”

“Yours or mine?” He grabs your hand to keep you from walking away. “I’ll be so quick, I swear.”

You shake your head, resting a hand on his cheek. “Take all the time you want. This is a huge night, Eddie. You’re allowed to be excited. I’ll go to yours. Hang out with Ethel ‘til you’re home, okay?”

The smile he gives you is softer than anything you’ve seen, cheeks flushed bright red and eyes so deep and warm you could fall asleep. “Okay. Hour, two tops.”

“Even barely conscious, you’re awfully demanding.” Instead of relieving you, Eddie only slows his movement, his fingers barely reaching beyond your mound. You move again, undeterred, letting your top leg bend and hook around his, spreading your legs and forcing Eddie’s hand to rest on your inner thigh, all while keeping yourself from waking up fully. He laughs again, a warm sound that makes your chest vibrate. Eddie buries his head in the crook of your neck and kisses you slowly, hand finally closing in on your cunt. You keel when his finger finds your clit, hips twitching towards his touch as he nudges your legs open further with his knee. Your stomach lurches when you hear him mumbling into your neck, clearly more to himself than for your benefit. 

“Fuck, I’m so in love with you. This is it for me. All ‘m ever gonna need.” His hand retreats from your clit and you fight to resist whining at the loss.  Before you have the chance to make another physical suggestion, you feel the head of Eddie’s cock slip into your entrance, followed by a stifled grunt from Eddie as he rests his head against your shoulder blade. You clench around him as he slides in deeper, his grip on your hip bruising. Eddie moves slowly, sinking all the way into your pussy before pulling almost entirely out, repeating the cycle as you flex and twist your hips enough to cause the friction you need. His hand dives between your legs, circling the bud as his cock continues splitting you open. 

“So, so warm. And soft. And you smell so fuckin’ good.” Each compliment punctuated with a slow thrust, a rasp in his voice so harsh you think he must have something in his throat. You clench your walls around him, still not fully registering the world yet. All you can feel, all you can hear, are him and his pretty moans and whines as he slides his cock in and out of your weeping hole, relishing in the wet sounds coming from between your legs. 

Finally, his rhythm stutters and you notice. You begin to rotate your hips more obviously, chasing your release before he can finish. 

“Good morning, baby, fuck.” Eddie picks up his thrusting again, reading your body now that it’s starting to join the land of the living. You moan at the feeling of his dick hitting that sweet spot inside of you, again and again until your cunt spasms around him, legs shaking with your orgasm. He’s close behind, faltering again as he gives one final, brutal thrust into you and lets himself go, head dropping onto your shoulder as you feel him spill his release inside you, hips rocking haphazardly as he softens,  heat heaving. 

You’re swimming in the afterglow when his phone rings. It’s barely nine, and you groan at the repetitive vibrating, shoving your head into your pillow. “Who’s rude enough to call you this early?” You mumble into the fabric. 

Eddie chuckles, reaching for his phone on the nightstand. “Your brother, apparently.” With his brow furrowed, he slides the button and puts his phone to his ear. “Hello?”

You start to crawl down the bed, motivated by the lack of attention. Eddie’s focused on your brother’s voice on the other line, and you can hear him saying something animatedly. Eddie looks at you, pressing the phone to his shoulder. “What do you think you’re- fuck.” You wrap your lips around the head of his cock, already hardening again at your touch, still coated in his spend and your juices. “N-no, not you, I wasn’t—” He interrupts himself with a hiss as you slide your tongue against his slit. “Jesus, just tell me what you were gonna tell me!” He’s trying to be lowkey, not to give away to Chris that his little sister is being absolutely sinful on her knees below him. “Wait, seriously?” Eddie sits up at the same time you take his cock fully down your throat. Eddie throws his head back and groans, shoving his phone against his chest now to muffle the sinful noises. He looks down at you, incredulous as wet giggles slip from your stuffed mouth.

“You’re a fuckin’ terror, y’know.” He whispers through still gritted teeth. 

You take him out of your mouth, a string of saliva still stuck from your chin to his length.

“I don’t like my time with you being compromised.” You pout. “What does he want?”

Eddie puts his phone back to his ear without taking his eyes off of you. “I will meet you at the bar when it opens, alright? I gotta go.” Before Chris can argue, Eddie hangs up and tosses his phone back on the bed before taking your hair in his hand and yanking you closer. “You gonna finish what you started?” His eyes are glossy with an almost carnal need. 

Giddy, you readjust your position as Eddie scooches back against the headboard so he’s sitting up, legs spread with you between them.

“What was that about?”

Eddie looks at you and you flush, heat stirring between your legs again. His hair is messy with sleep, eyes big and wet, skin shiny with sweat, chest heaving. Your favorite version of him.

“Uh uh, no changing the subject.” Eddie sits up, cupping his massive hand behind your neck to bring you closer. Your lips crash into his and you let him take you forward until you’re fully lying on top of him, arms bracing yourself on either side of his head. “Please, baby,” His voice is low, velvet smooth. “Need to feel your mouth on me.”

“You promise to tell me what that was about?” You quirk an eyebrow, trying to keep yourself from melting under his gaze, his touch on your lower back.

“I do, I promise.” Eddie nods frantically, and you surrender, planting kisses on each of his cheeks before moving down the bed. 

You stop to kiss his chest, giving each of his nipples attention as he squirms and whines above you. Emboldened, you suck on his skin, dragging a hiss from his teeth when you suck and lick over the marks you’ve made on his pecs, his stomach. You make a point to drag your nose down the trail of hair below his navel, keeping your eyes on him as you creep further down his body. He chances a look down at you, only to throw his head back again when he catches you letting a string of spit from your lips to land on his cockhead. 

“So sensitive this morning.” You tease, loving the dynamic switch and the way Eddie seems to melt at your touch. “You’re so fuckin’ cute like this, Eds. All whiny and desperate.” Before he can catch his breath to answer, you take his cock back into your mouth, earning a guttural groan from him. You bob your head, taking him deeper, and his hand finds your hair and takes hold. He’s not pulling or pushing you, more so anchoring himself as you continue sucking, hollowing your cheeks, tongue swirling around his shaft as his hips weakly buck forward, trying to meet your rhythm and failing miserably.

“You’re so fucking good at that, Jesus Christ. Yeah, just like that, fuck,” He’s breathless, neck craned towards the ceiling and you can tell he’s close. You feel his tip prod at the back of your throat and you can’t help but gag around his length. “Shit, ‘m gonna cum, baby, f-fuck. Fuck!”

You pull him completely out of your mouth and the noise he makes almost breaks your heart. Almost. 

“What are you–?” Eddie snaps his head up to look at you, already glaring up at him from between his thighs. His cock is weeping, slick with your spit and pre cum as it rests against his taut stomach.

“Tell me what he wanted, or you don’t get to finish.” You take him in your hand again, this time only barely kissing up his length as he whines, fisting the sheets with one hand and stretching for you with the other. You oblige, sliding your free hand up his stomach before entwining your fingers with his. “You want to finish, don’t you?” 

“Yeah, I do, I really really do. Shit, sweetheart, what’s gotten into you?”

You shrug, stroking his cock slowly enough not to trigger an orgasm, but enough for him to writhe into your fist. “Just feeling extra… bold.” You hope he doesn’t clock your shaky voice, or the way you’re blushing deep reds under his soft gaze. You aren’t exactly lying, you do feel bolder around him. Or maybe just safer, more seen.

Loved.

Whatever. 

“Fuck, okay. Chris got a message last night, from some metal producer out in New York. He’s in town for his brother’s birthday or some shit and wants to see our show. I guess Gareth’s been uploading videos of our sets to YouTube and we’ve been getting some attention. I didn’t know he was doing it, I thought he was just filming for our future documentary or something.” There’s a light behind his eyes you’ve never seen before. “But Chris knew, and he sent the stuff to this guy, and he said he might wanna record our EP because he liked our shit so much. He just wants to ‘talk’ to us first.” Eddie gesticulates wildly, hands flapping beside his head as he looks toward the ceiling.

“Holy shit,” you sit up a little straighter. “Eddie, that’s fucking incredible! Oh my god!”

“I know, right?! Fuck. So now Chris wants to make a game plan.”

You’re awestruck, but the more you think it over the more a damp, gray cloud of worry creeps over your shoulder. You shove it down, not wanting to let your panic ruin Eddie’s excitement, something he deserves more than anyone. Instead, you return to the task at hand, this time without your cruel and teasing demeanor, though you still can’t help the part of you worrying that Eddie’s getting ahead of himself by trusting Chris’s word.

His hips stutter the moment you reach for them and you claw desperately at the flesh there, taking him fully down your throat again, as if to suffocate the words from coming out. 

“Shit, holy shit, baby, fuck. I’m gonna cum. Fuck I love your mouth, oh my god.” You taste the salt on your tongue as he comes into your mouth, making borderline obscene sounds with his spend and your saliva. You swallow it, letting him slowly pull away and tap his heavy head once, twice against the tip of your tongue. “You are… something else, huh? C’mere, lemme hold you.” Eddie lets your hand go to reach for you, pulling you up his form by your elbows. You kiss him slowly, sloppily letting him taste himself on your tongue, earning another low growl from Eddie’s throat.

When you let him go to breathe finally, you look at him; his cheeks are rosy, there’s a sheen of sweat across his forehead. He blinks at you, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“Let me come with you.” You don’t mean for it to come out as a command. “To talk to Chris, I mean.”

He raises a brow at you. “What? Why? It’s probably just gonna be, like, business talk. Travel logistics, a bunch of budgeting bullshit that will bore us both to tears.”

“I wanna hear what he has to say, though.” You deadpan, trying not to sound jealous or insane. “Wanna make sure it’s of sound mind, y’know?” 

“Oh, okay. I get it.” Eddie tenses underneath you. “You wanna come to make sure your scary big brother doesn’t trick poor, stupid Eddie into a ponzi scheme.” Eddie rolls his eyes at you and you frown. 

The bitterness in his voice makes your skin jump. “Eddie, that’s not what I meant and you know it.” 

“I don’t know shit, clearly!” The uptick in his volume makes you flinch. “You seriously think Chris of all people is gonna fuck me when it comes to the band? He cares just as much about Coffin as I do. God dammit, do you know how shitty that feels?” His face hardens, jaw set.

“Ed–” You gulp the word. 

“Look, I know what you see, okay? I was a loser burnout in high school, a three time senior with nothing to fuckin’ show for it besides a diploma and six years worth of trauma. I fix cars and live in a shitty apartment in a terrible neighborhood. You went to college. You learned how to function outside this fuckin’ place.” He gestures around him. “But I know music. I know what it takes, and I know what the fuck I’m talking about. This isn’t a fuckin’ joyride to me, believe it or not.” 

You recoil, rolling off of him, suddenly desperate to cover yourself. Cold. 

“All I meant was that Chris cuts corners. He deals with shady people. He’s usually only out for himself. I’m not saying this time is like that. I just wanted to see for myself–” 

His eyes widen when your voice trembles. “Bee–”

You don’t let him interrupt, scared of what will happen if you don’t get the rest of it out, even as your voice starts to shake. “And sure, of course part of it is because of Chris’s and your history, but it's not what you think–”

Eddie shifts on the bed, like he wants to reach for you. “Baby–”

“– because if it is legit, obviously I want to see you succeed. Both of you. Maybe I just wanna be a part of it! As your fucking girlfriend or whatever!”

Eddie opens his mouth, closes it again. You snatch a discarded black t-shirt– yours or his, you’re not sure– from the floor next to the bed and toss it over your head, standing up. Your stomach twists as you snatch your shorts off the floor, still facing away from him.  Your voice finally shatters and you cringe. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.” Your vision blurs around the edges as you stare at Eddie’s t-shirt on your floor. What a waste of a perfect morning. 

“Bee, can you look at me? Please?” The cracking in his voice breaks your heart. 

You turn finally, sucking hard on the inside of your bottom lip to keep it from quivering, but you can tell he notices. 

“Baby…” His eyes bore into yours, searching, questioning. You can’t look at him without it hurting. Maybe you’re overreacting, but you can’t help the gnawing voice in your brain telling you you’re not needed. Not wanted. 

“You can go now.”

He bats his eyes at you, dumbfounded. “Wait, what?”

“Go do your thing. I’ll see you later. You told Chris you’d be there as soon as we open.”

“Bee,  c’mon. Please don’t shut me out.”

You snatch Eddie’s shirt from the floor and toss it to him. “It’s okay. This is yours and Chris’s thing.” Without really meaning to, you stretch your lips into a fake smile. “Let me know how it goes, yeah?”   

“O- okay?” Speechless, Eddie throws his shirt over his head before diving for his jeans. “I- um,” He scratches at his scalp, barely looking at you and it burns in your chest. “You’ll come to the show though, right?” 

You give him another pain laced grin. “‘Course I will. Someone’s gotta sling cocktails.” 

“Ha, right. Yeah…” He leans in and you know he’s trying to kiss you, to take his words back, but you dodge him and instead wrap one arm around him in a clumsy hug. You feel his posture tense when he realizes. “See you, um, tonight then.”

You nod once, opening the door for him like some kind of bellhop. He shuffles out, eyes on the floor, and you close the door behind him. You count to ten, listening to Eddie’s footsteps retreat down the hall at least twenty feet before you drop your head against the wood. 

—

Eddie

You stupid, stupid fucking asshole. Boyfriend of the fucking year award winner, Eddie Munson, everyone Round of fucking applause. He only lets his pity party last for the time it takes to reach the parking lot before remembering he has no car. 

“Fuck me.” He pulls his phone out of his back pocket, grumbling as he searches his text threads for someone to burden at nine forty five in the morning with picking him up from his girlfriend’s house with his tail between his legs. His options include:

Robin, who will surely lecture him on all the things he said wrong and tell him what a fucking moron or dingus he is, like he doesn’t already know.

Or Steve, who will tell him all the ways in which he would have recommended how to fix it, well meaning but so, so unhelpful.

Or Chris, and god knows he can’t do that.

Or…

He picks up on the second ring. “What did you do?”

“What? Nothing! Well, not nothing, but nothing, like, illegal!” 

“Just immoral?” Hopper chuckles at his own jab.

“Yeah, you could say that, I guess.”

“Need a ride?”

“Yeah. Please.”

“You hungry? Joyce went to breakfast with some high school friends. I could use some pancakes and perhaps… an explanation?”

Eddie sighs, regretting even calling him. “Alright, fine, sure. Let me just embarrass myself a little more before today even fuckin’ starts.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen.”

Eddie waits a beat. “Don’t you need the address?”

“You’re at Bee’s place, right?”

“How did you–?”

“I’ll see you in fifteen.”

“Okay?”

Hopper hangs up, leaving Eddie still outside your apartment, shoes in his hand, hair still tangled with sleep. He doesn’t even have his goddamn cigarettes, they must have fallen out of his pocket in the shuffle. 

“Fuck.” He debates on turning around, but he figures that’s probably the worst idea he’s had today, and he’s already had plenty.

–

Hopper pulls up exactly twelve minutes later. 

“Less traffic than usual” He states simply as Eddie slides into the passenger seat. “Why aren’t you wearing shoes?”

“Kinda had to leave in a hurry.” Eddie huffs, dropping his shoes on the floor in front of him.  

Hopper holds out his pack of cigarettes. “Looks like you could use one.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes, but still plucks a cig from the paper carton and sticks it between his teeth. Hopper hands him an old, silver lighter covered in fingerprints. 

The drive is silent. The awkward kind, that causes Eddie’s palms to sweat. He tries to distract himself with the cig, fiddling with it as he exhales, but he nearly drops it on the floor of Hopper’s truck. When they finally pull into Benny’s parking lot, Eddie practically rolls out of the passenger seat. 

“Table for two?” Doris grabs the menus and leads the men into the back corner, and Eddie slides into the booth with a grunt. 

“So,” Hopper unfolds his menu. “What’d you do?”

Eddie groans, flattening his own menu on the counter. “Can I plead the fifth?”

Hopper snorts. “You’ve never been one to keep your mouth shut.” 

Eddie scowls at the man, but doesn’t argue. “I guess you could say that.”

“You cheat on her?”

“What?! God, no.”

“Lie to her?”

“No…”

Hopper furrows his brow. “You in legal trouble?”

“No, sir. Believe it or not, I’ve been pretty well behaved since we got back here.” 

“Then I’m sure this is something you could probably fix.”

“I was mean to her. I got news from Chris, about some producer being in town. She asked to come with me to meet him, to plan. I snapped at her, because it felt like she didn’t trust me, but–”

“Kid,” Hopper interrupts him as Doris places two plates down on the table. 

“Can I get you gentlemen anything else?”

“No thanks, darlin’.” Hopper thanks her before she walks away. “Anyway. I have a feeling she’s not really that upset with you.”

“She has every right to be, though. I was shitty.”

“Yeah, but you know you were shitty. That’s a sign that you’re emotionally intelligent enough to rectify the situation.” Hopper shoves a bite of his waffle into his mouth. 

Eddie digs into his own breakfast, mostly because he’s afraid of his voice breaking if he speaks again. 

“You have to stop getting in your own way. You can’t just run away when you fuck up.”

“I didn’t. She kicked me out. I wanted to apologize to her, I knew I fucked up the second I said it.”

“Alright. In that case, maybe let her approach you. Give her some space today.”

Eddie nods. “I just need her to know I didn’t mean it. I want her there. I never don’t want her there.” He taps his fingers against his chin, thinking. 

“I think I have an idea.”

–

Bee

You seem to jab each letter harder than the last as you type a message to your brother, hours after Eddie’s left and you finally pull yourself together enough to get ready for work. 

> how long does it take to record an EP? The bubble appears a few minutes later crispy: probs depends on many things. y? > generally speaking?  crispy: i’d say an avg of like 1-2 months for a band like cc > ok. thx. crispy: ur welcome i guess? y r u asking me this

> you called eddie this morning crispy: he told u? > i was there. crispy: … crispy: y were u with eddie at 9am

> ive been meaning to tell u… crispy: bar. ten minutes. im texting eddie.

Shit.

–

It’s downpouring when you pull into the parking lot. You pull your hood onto your head, tightening the strings to shield as much of your hair and face as possible. The sun is setting, making the sky a bright, toxic orange color contrasting with the black asphalt and concrete of the streets below. 

As you round the corner, Eddie steps out of Hopper’s truck, not bothering to protect his curls from the weather. You reach the front door at the same time, and he holds it open for you. The door’s unlocked, as The Hideout technically opens at noon, though no one besides Chris and a couple regulars are inside.

“Ah, just what I ordered. Two wet fuckin’ rats.” Chris seems to spit the words, though he wears a stupid smile on his face. You roll your eyes as Eddie pulls out a barstool for you before sitting down in the one to your left. He doesn’t meet your eyes. 

“Why are you both acting like looking at each other would cause the world to crack open?” Chris is pouring another beer for Suzette. “You can’t fool me anymore.” 

“What are you talking about?” Your voice is flat, barely willing to humor his prodding. 

“You were together this morning, right? You don’t have to act like you hate each other, I’m not stupid.”

“It’s none of your business, dude.” Eddie mumbles, ringed fingers tapping anxiously on the perpetually sticky counter top.

Chris places the chilled glass in front of Suzette before turning back to the pair of you. “I can’t for the life of me seem to keep up with you children.”

“We’re not fucking kids, Chris.” Your skin warms as you speak. “We aren’t required to share every minute detail of our relationship with you. It’s almost like I lived a whole life without you here. Maybe I just got used to it.” 

Chris ignores you, turning to Eddie. “Bro, what did you do?”

You groan, shoving yourself from the counter before stomping off, into the back office.

—

Eddie

“What the hell is wrong with you, man?” Eddie reaches across the bar to whack Chris on the arm. “I’m already on fuckin’ thin ice, you’re not helping.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is there something I should be worried about messing up? A relationship of some kind, between you two?”

“Fuck off. Even if the answer was yes, and I’m not saying it is, why do you give a shit?”

“She’s my little sister, Eddie!”

“Okay?”

“I’m supposed to be, I dunno, fucking protecting her.”

“What, from me?!” 

Chris rubs his hand down his face, sighing. “From everything!”

“You didn’t care this much about protecting her when–”

Chris puts a hand up to stop him. “Yeah, I know. I see the irony, asshole. Why is she pissed now, though?”

“Your call. I told her.”

“Shouldn’t she be, like, happy for you?”

Eddie shakes his head, and Chris drops a bottle of Coors on the table for him. “It’s not that. I fucked up. I was mean. I haven’t had a chance to apologize yet.” 

“Apologize for what? Being excited? I love my sister, but sometimes she’s a little self centered.”

Eddie bristles at that. “She’s the furthest thing from self centered, asshole. She’s afraid of being left alone. Rightfully, too.”

Chris sighs. “Okay… So…. Apologize to her then? Kiss and make up or whatever.”

“Great. Glad you called us here to share that.” 

“When I called you I didn’t have the whole story!”

“You still don’t because you won’t shut the fuck up!” Eddie slams his bottle a little too hard on the bartop. “And now you’ve stressed your sister out.” He raises his arm, gesturing to the back office. 

–

Bee

You don’t mean to eavesdrop, but there’s not an ounce of soundproofing in this office. The room rattles whenever someone walks across the bar floor, you can hear everything Chris and Eddie are saying. It’s at this point, though, that you stop listening. Instead, you take the back exit, into the alley behind the bar for some privacy. You light a cigarette, inhaling the smoke as you open your phone. The first picture to load on your Instagram feed makes your chest tighten. A flier, with a black and white picture from a previous show, Eddie’s head thrown back as he shreds on his guitar, and a second picture of the band playing in their garage.

@ thehideoutIN: TONIGHT! Corroded Coffin with special guests: Statuesque Dolls, Mark My Words, Cerebral Octopus. Doors at six! Be there or miss out on the show of a lifetime!

“Oh, what the fuck!” Macy. The better, cooler, prettier girl and her cool fucking band. You swipe out of the app and lock your phone, trying to focus on the burn in your lungs. You don’t hear the back door creak open, whining on its hinges.

“Hey.” Chris flicks his lighter, lighting his own cigarette as he leans against the brick next to you. You don’t answer, and he takes that as a cue to keep talking. “I’m sorry about what happened in there. I know you don’t owe me anything, especially not about this. I just worry about you.”

You can’t help but snort. “Right, now you care.”

“Bee, c’mon. Of course I care! I have a hard time showing it, I guess.”

You turn to your brother, pleading. “I want to tell you these things, Chris. I want to have a normal sibling relationship with you, but it’s complicated! My– Eddie is your best friend. But he was mine first. I’m not trying to take him away from you, but you gotta understand you can’t control who he…” You trail off and Chris is nodding frantically.

“I know, I know. I gotta do a better job.”

You nod. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I love him, y’know?”

Chris’s lips twitch. “Can’t believe you’re finally admitting it.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

–

The line is already wrapped around the block by the time you open the doors for the crowd. Kevin’s on bouncer duty, checking IDs and taking payments as kids and oldheads alike cram onto the sticky floor. Behind the bar, you and your mom are plenty busy taking orders, opening tabs, and trying your hardest not to spill too much precious alcohol on the counter. On the stage, the first openers, Cerebral Octopus (crazy name) are setting up. The band is made up of a bunch of what look to you to be twelve year olds, though they’re probably at least in high school. No way they even got in here without a fight. There’s a banjo resting on a stand off to the side, and you find yourself wondering how well the crowd is going to take to them. You hope for their sake that it’s well enough not to get bottles thrown. 

“Hey!” The familiar voice comes from further down the bar. You turn to greet Steve and Robin, dressed in what Robin would call their most “punk rock” attire. Steve’s wearing one of Eddie’s Metallica shirts, and Robin’s unburied her old Paramore tour t-shirt from about ten years ago. 

“Hey.” You set up two glasses on bar napkins in front of them as the band kicks into their first song. The melodies remind you of something Brian Sella would have written, with a little less of a twang. Somehow, you don’t hate it. Luckily, the crowd seems to be okay with it, too. 

“You seen Eddie? Wanted to wish him luck. Guess there’s like, a really important producer here.”

“Uh,” You stall, glancing off to the side of the stage. Eddie isn’t there like he usually is, watching the openers and bobbing his head. You search the floor for him, but it’s too dark to make anyone’s faces out. “No, not for a few hours. Probably smoking outside or something.” You shrug, sliding Steve his beer and Robin her Shirley. “Keepin’ it open?” 

They both nod.

“Hey, did you uh, know Macy’s band was playing tonight?” You try to keep your voice even despite needing to shout over the music. “Eddie didn’t mention that.”

Steve and Robin look at each other, then at you, then shake their heads.

“Not ‘til I saw the poster outside. Do you think Eddie knew?”

Steve shakes his head. “I definitely feel like he would’ve told you if he’d known.”

You furrow your brows. “What about Chris?”

Robin bites her lip, hesitating. “That seems more likely to me.”

You nod. “Cool. That’s cool, that’s sooooo fuckin’ cool.” You slam your hand down on the counter. “So cool!”

–

Mark My Words were pretty good. You’d probably have enjoyed their set more, though, if your mind wasn’t preoccupied with enough worst-case scenarios to give yourself an aneurysm.

Maybe Eddie did know about Macy being an opener, but he didn’t want to upset me. Or maybe it’s because he still has feelings for her. Maybe she still has feelings for him! Maybe he didn’t tell me so he’d send me into a fucking spiral! 

“Bee!” A call snaps you out of your inner turmoil. “Can you come backstage please?” You think it’s Gareth, and he sounds exasperated. You glance at your mom, who nods her permission now that the line’s settled down for the time being. You have until the second band finished their set to do whatever it was Gareth needed.

“What’s up?” 

Gareth nods towards the closed green room door. “He was askin’ for you.”

You roll your eyes. “Do you know what he wants?” 

Gareth shrugs. “Just told me to get you.” You follow him to the door and he knocks. “Eddie, man? You in there?”

“Is she with you?” His voice shakes. 

“Yeah, Bee’s right here.” Gareth nudges you.

“Eddie, what’s up? I gotta get back to work.”

“I know, I know. Just. Can you come in here for a sec?”

You twist the doorknob, leaning on the old wood until it gives in, opening into the only dressing room the bar has. Inside, Eddie sits in a metal folding chair, head in his hands, body heaving as he breathes. He’s not dressed for the show yet, and several cigarette butts fill the provided ashtray sitting on the wooden table. 

“What are you doing?”

“I’m freaking out.”

You try not to soften immediately. You’re still upset with him, what he said earlier, and now the whole Macy thing. 

“About the producer?” You ask gently, sitting on the floor in front of him. Outside, the vocalist announces they only have two more songs to play. “Eds. You can perform in your sleep.”

You have to strain to hear his whispered response.

“What if this is my only chance?”

“You and I both know it’s not. This is only the first one, so it feels bigger.” You place a feather light hand on his back, rubbing reassuring circles between his shoulderblades. “But I know you can do this, Eddie. And you have a room full of people that would vouch for me. Okay?”

Finally, Eddie peels his head from his hands and looks at you. His eyes are puffy, a little wet. 

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Was this my only chance? With you?”

You frown at him. “What on earth are you talking about?”

He crumbles instantly. “I’m sorry about this morning. I shouldn’t have said that, I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t want you there. Of course I do! I want you involved with every fucking single thing I do! I just–”

“Hey. Ed. We can talk about this later. I’m sure there’s a lot we both have to say. Right now, though, you have to focus on rocking the shit out of this bar. Okay?” You rest your hand on his cheek and he leans into your touch, keeping his eyes on yours.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you Macy’s band was playing.” He doesn’t shy away from you as he says it. “I should’ve mentioned that. I found out today, but that’s not an excuse.”

You only shake your head, leaning in to place a quick kiss on his pouty lips. The panic you’d been harboring seems to subside with his words, at least for now. More than anything, you just want to watch him succeed tonight. 

–

Statuesque Dolls are a really fucking good band. You can’t even be mad about it. Macy was never mean to you, and it’s not her fault she’s fucking gorgeous. She sings into the mic like her life depends on it, running and dancing around the stage without so much as losing her breath. The lights make her black hair look blue, her red lacy set look purple. You find yourself bobbing your head as you continue serving drinks, and even searching them up on your phone when Macy mentions a title. 

“We wanna thank The Hideout and Corroded Coffin for having us tonight!” Macy calls the attention of the crowd back to her. “They’ve been one of my favorite bands for years, and opening for them,” she puts her free hand over her heart “means the world to us! Thanks for coming early to hang out, we’ll see you next time. Goodnight!”

The house lights go up again, and you plaster your customer service smile back on to take the flood of orders from fans wetting their palettes one last time before the headliner. Someone has the heart to buy you a shot to take with them, and you swig it before you can think better of it. On stage, the hired crew takes apart the bands’ instruments, unplugging wires with finesse and grace you could only ever dream of having. In about ten minutes, they’re replaced with every member of Corroded Coffin– excluding Eddie– to set up their own equipment. You watch Chris into place with Gareth’s help, his brow furrowed in concentration. Jeff tunes the multiple guitars while Kevin positions the microphone stands. You and your mom take cards and fistfuls of damp cash, liquids of all kinds splashing across the bartop, full drinks replaced with empty plastic cups you toss as you encounter them, your ever present rag damp on your shoulder. 

Mercifully, after thirty excruciating minutes making vodka crans and pina coladas for a group of freshly 21’s, the house lights go down, slow at first until the whole room is pitch black. What’s left of your line retreats back onto the floor, and you take your millionth deep breath of the night. 

You feel a nudge at your side.

“You gonna go watch?” Your mom wears her thoughts on her face. “I can hold down the fort.” 

You roll your eyes, but don’t argue with her as you pull off your apron, dropping it on the back counter before blowing her a kiss. 

“I’ll be back before the encore!” You weave your way through sweaty bodies, feeling how your sneakers stick to the floor with each step. Mostly people let you pass, the regulars assuming you’re still working while the newbies don’t dare argue with you. You make it pretty close, with only a pair of teenagers resting on the barricade in front of you. 

“Hey!” You tap the kid closer to you on the shoulder. “Can you guys scoot over a bit?”

“Bee?!” The kids turn to look at you and their faces come into focus.

“Dustin?!”

You awkwardly embrace the best you can in the tight space, joined immediately by who you come to recognize as Lucas Sinclair. “How’ve you guys been?”

Dustin shrugs, and Lucas gives you a sincere thumbs up, eyes ninety percent closed. He’s high as shit, you’d recognize that look anywhere. “You got a ride home?”

Dustin clumsily rests a hand on your shoulder, looks at you with a jarring sincerity. “We’re good, Bee! I promise!”

You’re about to argue, but the house lights go out. Not slowly, like they’re supposed to, but like the power was cut. The crowd goes quiet, stunned by the sudden shift. If you didn’t know any better, you’d be concerned about the venue’s old breaker box.

But you know better.

The stage lights come in unison with the feedback of a cheap amplifier, a ridiculous bit Eddie had started by accident and refuses to stop doing. “It sounds like shit on purpose,” You can hear his voice in your head. And it works, when the first chord is struck so poignantly, a resonating hum that builds as the band walks onto the stage.

It’s now that the shot of tequila you’d sunken earlier decides to kick in. Chris leads the band, arms up as he walks to his kit that’s been positioned slightly to the right back of the stage. He’s followed by Jeff swinging his bass back and forth, then Grant already in first position, left arm above his head. Of course Eddie’s the last one out, he can’t help but make a scene. The sound of the crowd is cranked tenfold when he walks out, the voices piercing in your ears along with the growing noise from the overhead speakers. Despite the painful ringing, you join in with whoops and cheers of your own, clapping your hands together as the dramatics unfold on stage. Eddie shakes his head around, curls flailing wildly around his face. He’s wearing a denim vest over nothing and you have to fight not to immediately roll your eyes at yourself when you squeeze your thighs together. Bodies squish together around you, but you welcome the sensation, gripping the metal railing like a vice to keep yourself from falling. 

Eddie commands a room in ways worthy of something greater. The Hideout has a max capacity of maybe two hundred. The performance unfolding in front of you is worthy of arenas, you think. Eddie has baffling stamina for someone that smokes like fucking chimney. When he’s not singing, he’s dancing or swinging his head, or running up to his bandmates to provoke them into dancing with him. He makes a point to interact with the crowd between songs, laughing when someone jokingly suggests they cover a Fall Out Boy song. 

“I can’t do Stump’s vocals justice, guys.” Eddie giggles, adjusting his in-ear monitor. He catches your eye then, and points at you, lips forming an O as the creases around his eyes deepen.

“Guy’s my girlfriend’s here.” The words catch you off guard, as does the excitable tone as he says them. “I wasn’t sure if she’d come over to watch us, but she’s right up front. Now, I don’t usually like to talk much about my personal life at shows. I always hated it when the bands I was watching told, like, stupid stories on stage about some bullshit that inspired a song. ‘Shut up and play, loser!’ and shit, right?” There are staggered cheers and laughs across the room. “But as I grew to appreciate the art of bearing my own soul, I started to get why they would do it. We as humans have a longing to be understood. Even someone like me, someone that’s always thrived on his uniqueness, let’s say. I still yearn for that connection to someone else. Someone that gets me in a way I would never ask them to.

“And then she found me, y’know? And our story, whew, it’s a long one and we only have an hour ‘til curfew. Anyway, this song is dedicated to my love. Sorry it took me this long to figure it out.” 

By now, your face is wet and you can’t tell if it’s sweat or tears. The lights reflect in Eddie’s eyes as he looks at you, actually you and not the oh-my-god-he-looked-at-me way that half the people here tonight will later claim on socials. 

Eddie trades Gareth his Warlock for an acoustic Gibson, one you’ve seen Eddie play many times throughout the past decade. The lights dim to a pretty purple color as the rest of the band take up their positions. 

“Returning to earth sworn to be scorched. I wish I hadn’t lit the torch,” Eddie’s eyes close, fingers picking at the strings expertly. His body seems to be drawn to yours, two magnets constantly pulling at each other. “But you opened up your arms to me, let me weep and let me bleed.” You feel Dustin wrap his arm around you, leaning his head on your shoulder. You lean yours on top of his, swaying in time to the music. 

–

By the end of the show, you’re drenched in beer and sweat. You wave goodbye to Lucas and Dustin before making your way back to the bar to help your mom close out the remaining tabs. Eventually, you’re left in the bar with the lights on, the floor littered with beer cans and plastic cups, along with other miscellaneous trash you’ll have to wear gloves to pick up. The band begins to pack up their gear as you gather the industrial strength floor cleaner and mop from the custodial closet. 

It’s 1:30AM by the time you’re gathering your things to leave. Usually, the bar closes at 1, but to have a hometown show like that calls for extra clean up time, so you’d kicked everyone out by eleven. 

Outside, there’s still a small crowd of teenagers waiting to talk to the guys. Eddie talks animatedly to a short girl with black, long hair and stars in her eyes. When Eddie hears the metal door of the bar close, though, his eyes are on you.

“‘Scuse me, sorry.” He cuts himself off and rushes over to you, already pulling his jacket off to drape over your shoulders. You pluck a cigarette from your pack in your pocket and he brings the lighter to the end before you can even ask for it. 

“Thanks.” You exhale, barely a laugh at his anticipation of your wants and needs. “Go sign some shit, okay? I’ll meet you at home.”

“Yours or mine?” He grabs your hand to keep you from walking away. “I’ll be so quick, I swear.”

You shake your head, resting a hand on his cheek. “Take all the time you want. This is a huge night, Eddie. You’re allowed to be excited. I’ll go to yours. Hang out with Ethel ‘til you’re home, okay?”

The smile he gives you is softer than anything you’ve seen, cheeks flushed bright red and eyes so deep and warm you could fall asleep. “Okay. Hour, two tops.”