SweetJedi

“Are you just like, gonna’ keep standing there or…” The words drift over Eddie’s shoulder. He spins around to find Gareth and a few club members, all grinning like they’ve caught him red-handed. Eddie wonders, with a sinking feeling, just how long these assholes have been lurking.

“Are you just like, gonna’ keep spying on me or…” Eddie fires back, matching Gareth’s playful tone. He folds his arms and throws a dramatic glare, but the goofy, lovesick grin refuses to leave his face.

"Yeah, it's not exactly spying if you're dead center in the hallway,"  Gareth replies. Eddie grows visibly flustered at this, feeling suddenly shy about his actions. 

"Let's just go, man. I'm hungry." Jeff cuts in, rescuing Eddie from further embarrassment. The group shuffles off toward the cafeteria, Eddie trailing behind with a grateful sigh.

Once there, Eddie didn't bother pretending that he had an appetite. Everything he thought he needed for his secret project had been laid out on his spot on the table. 

​

The Holy Grail (sketchbook)? Check. The pen from her? Perfect. A shit ton of luck and courage? Working on it.  

Finally, an old sketch with a very familiar face? Recently uncovered.

​

As his friends eased into their usual conversations and debates, Eddie busied himself with his own task. He flattens the worn sketchbook on the table, hunches down a smidge to hide it from the rest of the guys, and he starts tracing with the pen. His fingers tremble a little as every stroke carves open memories, each fleeting glance, every unsaid word, hopes once caged now surging painfully to the surface, drenching him in a wave of yearning and regret. He remembers.

​

He remembers everything.

He deliberately ignores every question thrown in his direction, every joke and every comment, earning a few confused glances from his peers, especially the freshmen. 

​

"I know I said I've given up on trying to understand what Eddie's doing, but what the hell is he doing?" whispers Dustin, slightly worried that the whole “weeds-by-pretzels” lunchbox arrangement has finally made their dungeon master go completely insane. 

​

"I'm pretty sure he's losing it," Mike shoots back. 

​

"Just so you shitheads know, I can hear you, " Eddie responds for the first time since they've been sitting at their table. 

"Oh, so you're just ignoring us. That's a relief," Dustin replies, with every bit of sarcasm he could muster. 

​

"I'm glad you and I are on the same page, Henderson. " Eddie snaps back.

​

"No, seriously, dude. What are you doing?" Dustin persists, not ready to let the topic go just yet. "You promised to help me with my new character sheet today."

​

"I'm sorry, Dustin, I really am,” Eddie says, unable to hide the frustration in his tone. “But right now, I've got more pressing matters to deal with."

Dustin sits up at this, clearly getting more agitated by the second. "What could be more pressing than-"

​

And then he sees it. The sketchbook he remembers being thrown at Eddie yesterday, thrown by you, and right in the middle of it, your face.

​

"Holy shit, is that-"

"None of your business? Why yes, yes it isn't. " Eddie quickly interjects, closing the sketchbook to stop Dustin from seeing more. The exchange draws the others' attention at the table.

​

"You told her you left that at home,” Gareth says upon realizing what's going on.

​

Christ, how long were they watching? He wonders.

​

Eddie knows his friends. They're not going to let this go, or more accurately, not let him go. He tries to give them cliff notes of what's actually happening, hoping that it's enough to get them off his back.

​

"Just felt bad for what happened the other day,” he replies with a sigh. “Still do, so I'm doing something for her to apologize. Are we done?

​

Eddie was. The rest of the Hellfire Club weren't.

​

“Why? Didn't you say she wouldn't stop staring at you or something?” Mike says, unable to read the room.

​

Eddie hesitates for a second too long, which was more than enough time for Dustin, always the smartest in the room, to put the pieces together.

​

Your staring stint, the sketchbook, and now Eddie is feeling bad after likely seeing what's inside. 

​

Eddie makes eye contact with Dustin just in time to see the boy realize what's really going on. Eddie tries to silently communicate, begging Dustin not to say anything.

​

If Dustin understood the signals Eddie was sending, he didn’t care. “She has a thing for you, doesn't she?”

​

Silence. Eddie’s world froze, his chest tightening. The chatter of other cliques, the distant clanging of trays, all vanished, seemingly absorbed by a vacuum.

​

Every eye at the table locks onto Eddie, faces flickering between shock, disbelief, and barely contained excitement. He offers no denial, but he doesn’t need to. His silence says it all. The table erupts in cheers and questions, and Eddie, who has never been the religious type, is on the verge of thanking God for the absolute miracle of you not being around at the moment.

​

“How is that even possible?” Eddie tried not to get offended at that.

​

“How do you guys know each other?” None of their business.

​

“Since when, dude?” Eddie’s not sure, but even if he was, it’s still none of their business.

More questions were hurled at Eddie before Mike interrupts again.

“Doesn’t make sense though,” Mike comments. Eddie is slowly starting to question why he took the freshman under his wing. 

“What doesn’t?” Lucas unhelpfully asks.

“Okay, let’s say she does have a thing for Eddie,” he says, gesturing with his hands the way he always does. “Why are you doing whatever it is that you're doing? Just say sorry.”

And there it is. Eddie's downfall. The very beginning of his end. It was at that very moment that every single mind at that table, except Mike Wheeler, came to the exact same conclusion.

There was really only one logical explanation for why he's doing this. Of course, an apology won't be enough after what happened. There's too much to say. Too much to ask. Every thought Eddie is having at the moment simply cannot be condensed into an apology because,

“Oh my God, Eddie, you have a crush?” Dustin finally says, voicing what everyone was thinking.

"Fuck is that supposed to mean?" Eddie says, trying and failing not to be offended.

Dustin stuttered for a bit, caught off guard as well with the way his statement came out, before finally saying, "To be honest, I just– I didn't think you'd ever like anyone that much. Thought you hated everyone.”

​

"Thanks, Dustin. I appreciate that," Eddie says, his tone closed off. He’s shutting them out.

"I didn't mean it like that,” Dustin retracts. The mood at the table visibly shifts. It's more serious now, more gentle. “Look, I'm happy for you, dude. I think we all are."

​

Eddie takes a moment to look around at his friends, his only friends, and, to Dustin's credit, he sees genuine happiness in their faces. The world rarely cuts him a break, and he sometimes forgets that these guys, for all their nonsense, are always in his corner. Their loyalty is messy and loud, but Eddie’s learned to read it.  He thinks it's the least he could do for putting up with his antics. 

"Thanks,” Eddie finally says after a beat. There's a quick moment of the others giving their smiles and assuring nods to Eddie before Dustin pipes up yet again.

​

"So, are you planning on telling her soon?"

​

"Well, I was working on it, but was so rudely interrupted."

​

"Oh, right. Sorry. Carry on." Dustin responds. He seems to think for a moment before finally saying, "Just don't be weird."

​

"Okay, now what the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

​

When you got home that day, your thoughts were still being invaded by a certain metalhead.

You have no idea what’s happening.

​

You know he's seen your sketchbook, flipped through the pages of his portraits from different days. You drew him smiling, with his hair tied back, when the sunlight hit him just right. You're pretty sure there's even a doodle of him chucking pretzels at one of his friends.

​

​The fact that he's not immediately creeped out by you confuses you to no end.

It doesn't make sense how he's just so…

Nice towards you. 

​

You write it off as him just being gentle with you, not wanting to hurt you, because he's absolutely the type of guy to be considerate like that. You've seen it before, him comforting his friends, and those freshmen during their first day. 

​

That's just who Eddie is.

​

But even so, there are still other questions bouncing around in your mind. Why does it seem like he's trying to get your attention on purpose? You’d understand a casual hello, or even a simple nod, but he's doing so much more than that.

Why is he acting as if none of this bothered him, when it so clearly did before?

Why on earth did he need your pen?

​

What is he up to?

You ask yourself before closing your eyes and succumbing to sleep that night.

​

The following day, you went to school with a little less pressure on your shoulders. You didn't have any subjects with Eddie today, but you wanted to see him. The first reason, of course, is the fact that he still has your sketchbook. He said he'd bring it back today, so you were hoping to see him to finally get it back. It's only been two days, but you're already missing your second favourite hobby. The second reason is a surprise to no one. You just wanted to see him for the sake of seeing him. You don't want to push your luck, so talking to him and having a valid reason for actually looking at Eddie are the best alternatives you have. 

​

As you arrive at your locker, you start to look around for any signs of Eddie and his club. 

​

He isn't there.

​

You shrug it off. After all, you’ve known Eddie for years, though “known” might be a stretch, and his random absences are nothing new.

​

As you get to class, you settle in immediately, using the little time before the teacher arrives to have a moment to yourself. A little time of peace without any interruptions, both from the people around you and from your own thoughts.

​

You were doing pretty well at it until you heard a subtle “psst” from someone sitting behind you.

​

You turn around and try to see what's going on, and you're met with a familiar face. Jeff, you think. One of Eddie's friends who graduates the same year as you two.

​

You simply raise your eyebrows, confused if he really was trying to get your attention, or if you misheard something.

​

“You're that girl, right? The one with Eddie?”

​

Woah.

​

“Wh-what uh, what do you mean?” You barely manage to say.

​

“The one with one hell of a throw?” He replies with a smirk and a knowing look in his eyes after making a reference to that day.

​

“Fuckin- shit, sorry, I didn't mean to. I– yeah, that's probably me.” You begin to say. “Why do you want to know?” 

​

Jeff fishes a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and passes it to you.

​

“Just checking if it was really you. Still kinda can't believe you'd have a thing for the guy.”

​

“I don't have a thing for-’ you start to say, only to be met with the same knowing look he gave you just a second ago. “Is it that obvious?”

​

“Honestly, no. We all just kinda’ thought you were holding a one-man prayover in your head for us devil worshippers, at first."

​

This mortifies you.

​

“Oh, no. God, I'm so sorry. I didn't even think about that. It's not like that, I promise-”

​

“Oh, yeah, we're cool. Don't worry about it,” he quickly reassures. “Just-uh. Be nice to him, please? We, unfortunately, care about that asshole very much.”

A small smile sneaks onto your face. It’s oddly heartwarming to see how fiercely they look out for each other in a town where being different is a crime. You just nod, words feeling too small for the moment.

You turn back in your seat, just in time to see the teacher walking in. As they’re preparing for today’s lesson, you take a quick look at the paper passed to you.

​

Lockers. 3 pm?​

- E

So much for keeping your mind quiet today.

After that note, you drifted through the halls like a ghost, barely present. Even as you said goodbye to Jeff and shuffled to your next class, lessons and chatter faded into static. All you could think about was Eddie.

​

As lunch time rolled in, you began to notice something. 

​

Eddie's not around.

​

He is nowhere to be found. Not in the halls, not by the lockers swapping jokes with friends, not even holding court at the head of Hellfire’s table.

​

If he's not even at school today, then what's with the note?

​

You go through the motions of another day at Hawkins High, but the confusion lingers.

​

When the final bell rings, you bolt from your seat, weaving through the crowd without a second thought. The hallways seem to stretch endlessly, every step pulling you further from where you need to be.

​

You finally turn the corner and immediately freeze at the sight.

​

It’s Eddie, leaning against your locker, your sketchbook clutched in one hand, the other buried in his jeans pocket. He bounces his foot against the floor, glancing around like he's not sure where to put his eyes.

​

Good God, he's pretty.

​

He's also dressed a little differently. No leather jacket, no denim vest, no Hellfire shirt. Just a red-and-black flannel over a faded band tee, looking casual as ever. This wouldn't have caused confusion if it weren't for the fact that Eddie never came to school without at least one of his signature pieces. This is Eddie’s errand-running look, not his armor when he needs to spend an entire day verbally battling off preps and teachers.

Motherfucker. Did he come to school just to meet me?

​

You take a step forward, and he notices the movement from the corner of his eye. He smiles widely.

​

“We need to stop meeting like this,” he says, aiming for lighthearted, but his voice cracks just a little. He flashes the kind of grin that should come with a warning label. You move closer, heart hammering. Why do you always forget how to act cool the second he's within a fifty-foot radius? The scene, of course, looks all too familiar.

​

"I, uh, have something for you," he says, his voice a little unsteady as he hands over your sketchbook and pen. His fingers fidget with the pen for a second before finally letting go. Is he actually nervous?

​

"Thanks," you mumble, feeling awkward. "Did you have fun with your project?" you ask, still trying to piece together what is happening.

​

“That, I did,” he answered back vaguely.

​

The silence grows heavy until you finally break it.

​

“Okay, look. I never got to apologize for what happened,” you begin to say. ”You just- I didn't know how to act, or what to say, and I just panicked.” 

He looks at you intently, his grin melting into something gentler.

“That's okay,” was all he said.

​

"And I’m, uh, sorry too for..." You gesture at your sketchbook, cheeks burning. "You know."

​

“I do know,” he answers softly, confirming your theory that he’s looked at the contents of your sketchbook and made the correct conclusion. ”But why are you sorry about that?” 

​

“Because it's creepy as fuck?” you blurt out, confusion winning over etiquette.

​

He laughs at this. Not at you.  

​

“Guess I'm a creep too,”

​

“What?”

​

“Open it.”

​

You do as he says, confusion etched on your forehead the entire time. As you flip through the familiar pages, your fingers find a slight bump near the end. Something is tucked between the sheets. You turn to it and see,

Well, you.

​

It was a beautifully inked drawing, lines crosshatched with care. Up close, you spot a faint layer of pencil beneath the ink, proof that the artist sketched first, then traced. Whoever made this took their time. They did not want to mess it up.

​

“Is this?” was all you could say, still looking at the paper in your hands.  For a second, you consider checking if you’re actually awake. This all felt way too good to be true.

“Yep,” he replies. You finally look back at Eddie.

“Did you?”

​

“Uh-huh,” he says, his smile growing more nervous. He scratches the back of his neck, eyes darting away from yours for a moment before returning.

​

“Why?” 

​

He lets out a shaky laugh, rubbing his palms against his jeans. Eddie, usually quick with a comeback, seems undone by that one question. He straightens, takes a deep breath, and finally says the words you never expected to hear.

​

“What, am I not allowed to admire the girl I like?” he tries, and fails, to say casually. For a split second, he almost pulls it off. Almost. Your breath hitches at this, and you're rendered speechless. Eddie continues, “Yeah, your whole thing? Kinda’ did it first. So, technically, I’m the original creep. Royalty, if you will.”

​

You look back at the drawing he made, a drawing of you, you remind yourself giddily, and notice a small, a little faded pencil writing at the top right corner. 

​

It was a date.

​

The date is from last year. He has liked you for as long as you have liked him.

​

“Why didn't you say anything?”

​

“Got scared,” he says, like it's a secret. Hushed and hesitant. ”I don't exactly have the greatest track record with people in this town.”

​

He pauses, sincerity taking over his features. He goes on.

​

“So, um, I guess I should apologize too.”

​

“For what?”

​

“For not giving you a chance?”

​

You tilt your head, puzzled. Eddie goes on.

​

 “It's um, it's like what my uncle said. Almost everybody else in this town didn't give me a chance. They took one look and decided who I am. And I guess that's just been so ingrained in my mind that I ended up doing it to you, too. Which isn't fair, like, at all.”

​

You give yourself a second to take it all in. His words, his sincerity, and the portrait in your hands.

​

“Fuck those guys,” you finally say, surprising both of you with this rare burst of confidence.

​

“What?” Eddie says.

​

“Fuck them. God, if they just bothered to get to know you, they'd realize what I see. If they knew how you take every picked-on freshman under your wing, how you constantly put yourself in the line of fire, letting yourself become the biggest target so it's you getting bad-mouthed or literally getting socked in the jaw and not your friends,”

​

“It's not that big of a deal,” Eddie interrupts, but you ignore him.

​

“If they knew what my dad told me. How you work part-time at that garage near Melvald’s because, your words, not mine, you want your uncle to work fewer shifts at the plant. You don't talk about it much, but I notice. I notice all of it."

​

“It's bad for his back,” he mutters, still not fully grasping how much you're putting him on a pedestal at the moment.

​

“And fuck, if they knew you about the time you bought cookies from me, and made sure everyone else at the trailer park had a taste so they'd buy more. You looked after me that day, a total stranger might I add, and you did it without even thinking twice."

“Shit, I did that?” Eddie genuinely forgot about that detail.

​

“I was Girl Scout of the month because of that,” you say, grinning in disbelief. You continue.

​

“So, yeah, fuck those guys. Because if they actually knew you, they'd know that you, Eddie Munson, are—”

​

“Weird as hell?” Eddie says, not uncomfortable at the compliments, but definitely in need of a break from a suddenly serious moment. You follow his lead, not wanting to drive him away.

​

“I was about to say undeniably phenomenal, but yeah, sure. Weird works,” you say breathlessly.

​

Eddie laughs, and with a hopeful look in his eyes, he asks you,

​

“Weird's okay with you?”

​

You smile, feeling the warmth of the moment settle deep in your chest.

​

“Weird is super okay with me,” you answer, your voice soft but certain. You see Eddie’s whole face light up, and it makes something flutter in your chest. He moves closer, practically in your space as he says,

​

“Where have you been my entire life?”

​

You get lost in his eyes, his freckles, and his smile. After a second, you tell him,

​

“Staring at you, dumbass.” You both laugh, the moment lingering. Eddie is quiet, too quiet, and you think you've said too much. You start to back down.

​

“Sorry, that was a lot. Maybe I should go. I'll see you around, I guess?” you say, starting to step past him. He stops you immediately.

​

‘Wait, hey. No, no, no, none of that," he says, reaching for your shoulders and maneuvering his way until he basically has you trapped between the lockers. "You can't keep dropping bombs like that, then just bolt right after.” 

​

“I don’t know. Seems to be working pretty well for me so far,” You try to sound flippant, but your heart is pounding, and you’re almost sure Eddie can hear it. There’s a nervous flutter in your stomach, the kind that’s equal parts panic and hope.

​

“Oh, please, I did all the work.” Eddie tries to play it cool, but you notice his hand tremble just slightly as it lingers on your shoulder. Slowly, his fingers trail down your arm with a gentle touch, leaving a path of tingling warmth. Then, in one fluid motion, he plants his palm against the locker just behind you, trapping you between his body and the cool metal.

​

“Which you wouldn't have done, by the way, if I didn't bolt," you whisper back.

​

“God, you're weird,” Eddie says, his voice full of fondness.

​

“Is weird okay with you?” You throw his question right back at him.

​

“Weird is super okay with me.” He echoes your answer. 

​

He suddenly realizes just how close he's standing. He decides to take this moment to finally ask.

“Okay, fuck it." Eddie's voice is steadier than you expect, eyes locked on yours. "We've already bared everything anyway, so, um, go out with me?” He doesn't look away, not even for a second, like this is the moment he's decided not to let his fears win, not this time.

​

You don't hide the blush or the smile on your face.

​

“You’re not gonna’ get another heart attack if I say yes, right?” Eddie playfully rolls his eyes at this.

​

“I told you, it was heartbreak. Two very different things,” he starts to say with mock exasperation.

“And no. In fact, saying yes could actually be just the cure I need to mend it,”

​

“Well, when you put it like that, I guess I’m gonna’ have to say yes. We can’t have you dying from a heart attack, now- shit, sorry, heartbreak, can we?”

​

Eddie subconsciously leans in a little more.

​

“Oh, yeah. There's a club, a sleep-deprived uncle, and about five drunks that would shun you if you do that,” he says, counting on his fingers for effect. “They’ll light you on fire and everything. I think I can already hear my uncle sharpening his pitchfork, actually-”

​

“Okay, okay, I get it. One condition, though,”

​

“Anything,”

​

“Maybe let’s do it somewhere without an audience?”

​

Eddie immediately looks around to see a gaggle of students, including his entire club, staring at them wide-eyed.

​ Oh, shit.

You messed up. You messed up big time.

​

You truly didn’t mean to mess up. You’d been doing so well the entire day after Eddie confronted you. Then, it was as if you couldn’t control yourself. You had to look back. 

​

To be fair, you thought that he had been doing the same. You thought Eddie had been avoiding you as well, because why wouldn’t he? You've made the already awkward situation worse by not acting like a normal, well-adjusted human being. How were you supposed to know that he’d be looking right back at you?

​

You went to sleep that night, convincing yourself that everything would be fine the next day. You just had to pretend that absolutely nothing happened, and things would go back to normal.

​

Unfortunately, you stole a couple of cookie boxes that were meant to be sold when you were a Girl Scout, and now karma has finally caught up to you.

​

Contrary to what you believed, ignoring Eddie did not come as easily as before because it suddenly seemed like he didn't want to be ignored any longer. And when Eddie doesn’t like something, you will know about it.

When you arrived at school that morning, he gave you a subtle acknowledgement in the corridors. You were on your way to your locker, your gaze thrown downward since Eddie was around, when he strolled past you and smiled as he said 'Hey'. To say that you were confused would’ve been a huge understatement. You were absolutely baffled.

​

You interpreted it all as a metaphorical olive branch, dismissing the whole thing as Eddie being nice to you or indirectly assuring you that everything is all good now.  It was merely an indication that both of you can go back to coexisting without interacting. 

​

Nothing more.

​

But then, he started doing more.

​

First period, during O’Donnell’s, he sat behind you. This wouldn’t have meant anything to anybody else, but because of your history, you had your doubts and rightfully so. Three minutes into the lesson, you heard him scoot closer to you, his desk loudly scraping the floor, earning him a stern look from the teacher in front.

​

“Sorry, I was- um, just trying to hear you better,” said Eddie, smiling as sweetly as he could. The teacher simply sighed and returned to the lesson, ignoring Eddie entirely. After two, almost three, years of teaching Eddie, O’Donnell knew that no one could make the boy do anything he didn’t want to.

​

After a few moments, you heard him speak up again, this time towards you.

​

“Can I borrow a pen?” he whispered. What the hell? 

​

With the teacher facing the board in front, you risked a glance behind you. Why did he have to move so much closer?

​

“Why would you need a pen?” you answered back in an equally hushed tone, unable to hide the accusatory edge to your voice. God knew you tried so hard to tame the warmth spreading across your cheeks, but it was proving to be impossible when you could oh so easily smell the scent of cigarettes and cheap cologne on him.

​

Eddie notices this. You’re not the only one who knows how to pay attention.

​

“Oh, how dare you?” he answers in mock offense. “Is it really that hard to believe that I’m a changed man, seeking to attain academic excellence?”

​

 “Yeah,” you reply as if it were the most obvious answer ever.

​

You couldn't help but wish you'd just given him a pen after that.

​

With no warnings whatsoever, Eddie flings himself backwards, his hands flapping violently as if he'd just been dumped from a 40-foot tower.

​

“Mr. Munson!” your teacher shrieked at the same time as your unintentionally loud, “Holy shit!”

​

The whole class was watching the spectacle now, eyes glued to Eddie and his theatrics. He started fake crying the next second. For the love of God.

​

“Principal’s office, Munson. Now,” said O’Donnell, forgoing asking Eddie what he’s doing completely. He whines for a while longer before speaking again.

​

"I believe the nurse's office would be much more appropriate, ma'am," he sniffles as he slowly sits up, his hands clutched securely to his chest. He looks you in the eyes and keeps his gaze fixed on you before speaking again. "It's a matter of a broken heart" 

​

This earns a chuckle from a few students. Normally, it’d make you laugh too, except guilt knots in your stomach. You’re essentially an accomplice in this scenario. You avert your gaze and put your head in your hands, groaning internally, frustration and embarrassment burning on your cheeks. Edward Munson has managed to worm his way into your mind, your heart, and now, onto your last nerve.

​

“You know what? Do what you want. Just not in my class,” said O’Donnell, clearly giving up on trying to understand Eddie. He didn’t need to be told twice. In a swift manner, he leaps straight back up and strolls his way to the exit. You hear him twist the knob, the hinges squeaking in protest as the door opens. You look up at him at the last minute, only to find that he’s already looking right back.

He smiles.

​

He exits the room backwards, eyes trained on you the entire time.

​

The rest of the class was a blur, with the thought of Eddie being the only thing you remember clearly.

​

You left the classroom when the bell rang, still thinking about Eddie, and went straight to your locker. Eddie isn't here right now. You don't know where he is, so you take this chance to get what you need before he eventually returns and decides to have another dramatic outburst.

​

You failed to see the figure approaching you from behind as you hurriedly took some books into your bag and put them in your locker. You turn around and experience what seems like your ninth heart attack of the day.

​

"AH!" you shouted at the curly-haired boy in front of you, the scene feeling all too familiar. 

​

"Deja vu?" he asks, a small smile playing on his lips. Huh. I've never seen him smile like that. You want to smack it off his face for the stunt he pulled, or maybe kiss him stupid. You think he noticed your silence and your not-so-subtle stare, judging by the way his smile grew wider, but he doesn't comment. Instead, he says, "You still haven't given me a pen, you know."

​

"You still haven't told me why you needed one." You counter. 

​

"Touche," He answers with a sheepish grin. That’s another new one.

​

Eddie speaks again and says, "Well, if you really must know, there's a 'project' that I'm working on, and I need a pen." He vaguely answers. 

​

"There's literally about a hundred other students you could’ve asked for a pen, Eddie,” you said in a slightly incredulous tone.

​

“Well, in case you haven’t noticed, sunshine, I’m not exactly the most beloved resident of Hawkins, Indiana,” was his retort.

​

“Okay, well. What about your friends, then?” you challenged as you crossed your arms. You were trying to go for “intimidating”, but probably appeared more awkward. You chose to ignore that. 

​

Eddie mimics your gesture before giving his well-thought-out and extremely believable answer.

​

“Can’t find them.” He flashes you the same smile he gave O’Donnell.

​

“Any of them?” you asked, despite knowing that he won’t give you a proper answer.

​

“Any of them,” he confirms. Christ on a bike, he’s determined.

​

You can tell by the glint in his eyes that nothing can deter him. He was like the Star-Spangled Man with a plan, but without the stars or the spandex. You huff a sigh and answer him.

​

“If I let you borrow a pen, can you promise that there won’t be another ‘heart attack’?” You finally relent. Eddie recognises his victory, and his grin grows even wider.

​

“Correction, it was heartbreak. Two very different things,” he proudly states. "And yes, I promise that there won’t be another. Now, pen? Please?" He asks, holding out his hands like a toddler waiting for a treat. 

​

You try to fight the smile creeping on your cheeks as you pull a bag strap off your shoulder to search for a spare pen. Eddie notices your awkward grip and grabs the loose strap to steady your bag, stepping closer in the process. You mumble a quiet "Thank you," and resume your task and do your absolute damndest to ignore his proximity. After finally finding the pen you had in case your current one stopped working, you shrug your backpack back on properly before handing it to him.

“Here. Happy?” you comment. He reaches out for the pen, but stops midway. You could almost pinpoint the exact moment an idea formed in his mind.

​

Eddie, who is apparently a sucker for dramatic flourishes, decides to kneel before you. He falls to one knee with the elegance of a newborn giraffe, receiving the pen with both hands as if he were a warrior being bestowed a sacred sword. There’s truly not a single, subtle bone in his body.

​

“You have my heartfelt gratitude, my queen,” he announces boldly with the same posh accent you’ve heard him use around his friends from time to time. “I am forever in your debt,” he finishes.

​

You’re not sure what it was exactly that got you, but you couldn't help but laugh at his antics at that moment. Maybe it was the whirlwind of a day you’ve had, or because Mr. McBambi Eyes, who you were pretty sure was still mad at you up until now, is currently kneeling in front of you in the middle of the corridor. Whatever it was, it was enough to suddenly send you into an uncontrollable fit of giggles and very queen-like snorts that overtook your body as Eddie soon followed suit. The absurdity of it all somehow managed to make you feel at ease, the weight you'd been carrying on your shoulder finally slipping off like a raindrop on a windowsill.

You can’t help but admit a truth you’re now suddenly being made aware of. As much as you love Eddie’s smile, you love putting it there even more.

​

Finally, after seeing that the number of surrounding onlookers has grown, you take that as a sign to take Eddie's hands and help him back on his feet. While still holding on to his hands, you clear your throat and start to say,

​

“Uh, you’re very welcome, Sir Eddie of House Munson,” you say with a smile, playing into his theatrics, emulating his voice as best as you can, but in less decibels.  “Best of luck to your ‘quest’.” you finally say with a friendly nod. You start to walk away, but stop in your tracks after realising something,

​

“Hang on,” you start to say as you turn back around, finding him still looking at you. “My uh- my drawing thing. Book paper stuff. You still have it.” Dear God, that was awful.

​

“Oh, sorry. Left it back home.” Eddie responds, still wearing that million-dollar smile. “I’ll give it back to you tomorrow. I promise.” 

​

“Yeah, okay,” was all you could say. You start to raise your hand to say goodbye, but you overthought it too much, backing out halfway and settling for a small nod. You walk away for real this time with a noticeable skip in your steps.

​

Eddie stays standing where you left him for a few more seconds, his hands already missing the warmth of yours.