#chapter fic

John Price

-I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I think John is hands down the scariest member of the task force. Like Simon has the whole mask and anonymous vibe but John has that edge of darkness.

-That said? He's killing dude. Like not just bc he chased you but because he's taking out the trash so to speak. Like it's on principle.

-It's quick, efficient. He isn't making a mess.

-Def wrapping you up and laying you down curled up to his chest on the couch after everything settles. He's making you whatever hot drink you prefer and letting you watch the comfort movie you watch so much that he can recite it by heart.

-Teaching you self-defense in the following weeks if he hasn't already. Not being pushy about it and certainly waiting for you to be ready and calm but he wants you safe.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

-Has dude pinned so fucking fast. Like you don't even realize he's there and then the guy is down.

-Watches you while he holds onto the guy. Like eyes tracking you, making sure he can see you, checking to make sure you're okay.

-Gives you clear instructions, tells you to go wait in your shared bedroom while he deals with it. Doesn't want you to see it. Deals with it as quietly as possible.

-Holds you so tight after. Like he's shaking, arms crushing you to his chest.

-Gets you a gun and teaches you how to use it. Makes sure you're always carrying it. Lots of dates to the gun range after that.

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick

-Is immediately swinging. Like I've said it before but I headcanon him as having a bit of a temper and he's not tolerating it.

-Maybe goes a little too hard.

-Struggles to let you out of his sight after. Like keeps an eye on you for a while and stays home.

-Honestly is a little paranoid at first but also lots of cuddles, fingers running up and down your spine, and talks about what to do and safety measures.

-Makes sure you're calling him on your way home and either teaches you self-defense or gets you signed up with a class, whichever you prefer.

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish

-Idk why but I feel like he would be yelling. Throaty growl and all that.

-Much like the LT, pins dude so fast, probably a mix between Simon and Gaz here. Like Soap is swinging, less finesse than Simon but same result.

-After it's been handled, and the guy is gone, he's pulling you into his lap on the couch. Cradling the back of your head while you straddle him and pulling your face into the crook of his neck.

-Either makes you a comfort meal or picks you up your favorite or takes you out. Whatever your preference is at the time.

"Isn't he cute?" You asked with a beaming smile that made his stomach churn.

No, no. It was just that burnt squirrel he ate this morning making his stomach upset. Yeah? Yeah.

"Yeah, he is," Ghost sighs, gloved hand ruffling Riley's ears. "Weird for a dog to be out here alone," he mutters, almost thoughtlessly.

Your voice comes out sharp and worried, "you think there's someone else here?"

He hesitates, thinking over the possibility, "It's not impossible."

A frown creases your brow, "but you said the river and the highway keep people out."

"Must you question everything I say?" He asks as he turns to look at you, eyes narrowing in mild frustration

"Yes actually I do," you tease, a grin curling your lips.

He tilts his head back and sighs, "Ridiculous."

"Hey, you question everything I say. It's only fair," you throw your hands up in surrender.

Why you couldn't go five seconds without doing everything in your power to annoy him, he will never know. He always let it slide, though. Part of him found you... entertaining. He hadn't had anyone interesting around since Johnny.

He's snapped out of his thoughts as Riley turns, finding a pile of paper to chew on.

"Hey, Boy. What you got there, huh?" Your voice carries softly, moving towards Riley and his paper snack.

He watches you kneel down, taking the paper gently. "Hey, look at this." Your voice is urgent as you wave him over.

"What is it?" He’s immediately on alert, the tension in your voice putting him on edge.

Holding out the map to him, your fingers brush and Ghost stares at the paper, avoiding your eyes. "What's so important about this? it's just-" the words die in his throat when he sees it

SAFE ZONE.

SAFE ZONE.

"Safe zone?" His voice comes out as a whisper, like leaves rustled by a light breeze. The words tease him as they lay on the page.

You nod, finger tapping the dot on the map, "Mooreland, Oklahoma. Safe zone.”

---

R

You didn't speak of it for days. Safe zones aren't real, you knew that. Ghost did too. No one cares enough to make them real. This world was every man for himself, trying to change that would be a waste of time.

You tried to distract yourself with Riley and what you snagged from the town. You should have listened to Ghost about that soda. It had you out of commission for a solid 24 hours which he relished in reminding you of his warning.

Laying on the floor... again unfortunately gave you plenty of time to think even with Riley licking your face every five minutes.

Mooreland, Oklahoma

Nothing good could come from dwelling on it, but you couldn't help yourself. Not when Ghost kept the map out on the table, the words "Safe Zone" mocking the both of you. Mooreland was a thousand miles away. Running towards a dream of safety, no matter how far was stupid. You had tried with Vivienne, only to be met with the teeth of a hundred infected and a painful loss. You knew better than to try again, tempting as it was. 

Ghost seemed to feel the same, despite his reluctance to toss the stupid map away. He was the kind of man who’s seen too much loss. It oozes from his body like water creeping into a sinking ship. 

“Ghost. Toss that thing already,” you say, voice cutting through the brittle silence.

His voice is distracted, eyes glued to the map except for you for once, “no. Could be useful.” 

You scoff, voice hardening as you brush hair from your eyes, “useful? We both know it’s useless junk.”

“I don’t know.” His fingers trace the ink lines almost longingly.

“You don’t know? Ghost, there are no safe zones. It’s a fantasy drawn up by someone desperate enough to believe it.”

He turned to you, brown eyes narrowed, “there you go.”

You frown, “what?”

“Doubting me again.”

Anger flares in your chest and you take a step towards him, socks brushing against the wooden floor, “we aren’t going to Oklahoma.”

“Stay then.” His words were icy, dismissive. 

Your breath catches in your throat, “stay? You want me to stay? You’re the one who insisted on me being your “ally”, now you’re more than ready to ditch me for some town in Oklahoma?”

His eyes stare into yours with a burning intensity, “if this is real, it’s worth it.”

“It’s not real!” You shout, anger boiling over like water left too long on the stove. You’re almost pleading with him to see reason.

“How do you know that?” He snapped, “maybe it’s bullshit, maybe it’s not. If it is real, we can actually have lives again. No more scavenging, no more hunting, no more fighting those… things.” His voice cracks on the last word, almost imperceptible, but you hear it nonetheless. 

You pause. He’s not wrong. If it is real. A life that’s more than running from infected is all you’ve wanted since the world fell apart. Not a second has gone by where the yearning ceases. You run your tongue over your lips and let out a sigh. Dying trying is better than dying stuck in Ghost’s old cabin alone. 

“Okay. I’ll go. On one condition.”

“Which would be?” His hands tighten on the map ever so slightly.

You cross your arms, grounding yourself, “what’s your name? Your actual name.”

His shoulders tense and he lets the silence stretch a moment too long, “that’s none of your-”

“Just tell me. You’ve nothing to lose at this point.”

Another few moments pass in a painful silence. His eyes shift slightly before he meets your gaze again.

“Simon.”

It was a silly question, even to you. But, you had to know. Calling this grown man “Ghost” felt ridiculous, whether it fit him or not. Now Simon, well that rolled off your tongue much better. Simon. Simon. Simon. 

You just stared at him for a moment, only looking away when Riley lets out a shrill bark, nipping at your ankles. You clear your throat as you both break eye contact. “Riley’s uhhh hungry.”

He huffs and runs a hand over his masked face, “Yeah… yeah.”

You try to ignore Ghos- no, Simon’s stare as you feed Riley. Simon was always staring, usually at you, but it was always laced with distrust and apprehension. This… feels different. Putting your finger on why was like driving blindfolded. Reading a person just by their eyes was a tricky thing. If only you could see his face. Would his feelings and secrets finally be barred to you? 

"We should leave soon. Maybe two days."

"I don't like this." Your voice is soft, almost scared.

He shrugs, "you agreed to it."

"Doesn't mean I like it." There it goes again. Your voice betraying your fear.

He stands, striding toward you with heavy steps. He stops before you, close. Very close. His hand wraps around your forearm, but he's gentle. There's no malice or danger in his hold. "We'll be fine."

"You don't know-"

He cuts you off quickly, "no, I don't. But, we're going to be fine. Trust me"

The words catch in your throat, coming out shakey "well... I don't."

"Then don't. It's okay." His voice is gentle, his thumb brushing your wrist as his hand drops away. Your stomach flips, making you feel sick. His touch is warm and soft, everything he's not, but you would be lying if you said you wanted him to stop.

---

The furnace-like heat was dissolving into a bitter, biting cold. Your feet drag against the dirt and stones of the path under you. You, Simon, and Riley had left for Oklahoma two days ago, and autumn was on its way and coming fast. The coat you had gotten from Vivienne wasn't doing much to keep you warm, especially when night crept up on you and the cold tried to sink into your bones.

Simon, stoic as always trudged along with determination. How he was able to pack up his life, leave where you had assumed he'd been for the past five years and toss himself into danger and uncertainty remained a mystery. Though he seemed like the kind of man to have experience with that. Cozying up and living a happy farm life wasn't the norm for a man who called himself Ghost.

"Simon?" you called out, tentatively, watching his back.

He didn't slow his stride. "Don't call me that."

You frown, "It's your name."

He glanced at you over his shoulder, gaze locked onto yours, "Doesn't mean you can call me that. I told you because you asked, not so you could use it."

You quickened your pace to match his, breath puffing in the cool air. "You're awfully dramatic, you know that?"

He scoffs dryly, "And that's coming from you?"

"You're so mean, Simon." you tease him, smirking proudly.

He stopped abruptly, turning toward you with a glare sharp enough to cut. "Call me Simon again and I'll knock you out and go to Mooreville on my own."

You crossed your arms. "Fine with me."

A beat of silence. "...And I'll take the dog."

You tilt your chin up in defiance, "Now you've gone too far."

He laughs. Genuinely laughs. A sound you've never heard from him. It’s soft and unguarded. It echoed through the empty woods like a sound that didn’t belong.

"You were going to ask me something?" He prompts you with a nudge to your arm.

The question feels like it's suffocating you, curling up and making home in your throat. You two had your fair share of playful banter, something not quite friendship but certainly not acquaintances, but never had you asked him about himself, nothing about his past or who he was.

“How did you end up… here? Not really common for a guy like you to be in the middle of nowhere Georgia.” 

“Was stationed down here before everything. Found the cabin a year after Atlanta was overrun.” He spoke like it was nothing. For a man who refused the use of his own name, his honesty surprised you. You expected a shut up or mind your business, not an honest answer. 

Tension lays over the both of you like a thick, heavy blanket. How far could you go before you asked something too personal and he shut down? 

“And what about you, North Carolina? How did you get down here, hmm?” He asks, a slight edge to his tone.

You keep your eyes facing forward so as not to meet his steady gaze. “Don’t know exactly. Started walking and didn’t stop, I guess.”

He scoffs, “it doesn’t take five years to walk from North Carolina to Georgia.”

You shrug, the motion small. “Yeah well… Stopped off a few times.”

He tilts his head slightly, sharp now. “With Vivienne?”

Your head snaps up, eyes locking onto his, “I already told you, she’s none of your business.” The words come out colder than you intended.

“You also said you were friends.” His tone is flat, testing. He’s fishing, but for what—you can’t tell.

You exhale through your nose, jaw tightening. “Fine. I met her six months after the start and we were allies until…” You trail off, the weight of the memory pressing down like fingers on a bruise. 

“Hmm. Right. Infected.” His tone carries no sympathy, but no coldness either. He states it like a fact. You suppose that’s exactly what it is. Vivienne was infected. No way around it.

Opting to break the tension as best you can, you give a small teasing grin, “she was a lot more fun than you.”

He leans in slightly, something unreadable flickering in his eyes, but you don't miss the way the fabric of his mask shifts over his lips and how his eyes crinkle… he’s smirking. “I can be even less fun if you want.”

You glance at him, one brow arched, “I don’t think that’s physically possible.”

The sun had set just a few minutes ago. Its waning peach and purple light stretched into the living room through the open window, accompanied by a breeze where warmth and chill danced together. You were on the couch, a book in one hand, Vi’s hair tangled in the other. Often you laid like this, Vi curled between your legs, her back against your belly, while you both read. It was a mindless habit that your free hand played in her hair.

You two had found yourselves in this position maybe an hour ago. Or maybe two. You couldn’t remember. But nonetheless you stayed, serene and content in each other's silence, the only sounds being the occasional page turn or the muffled noise from the street below.

You had just taken your free hand out of Vi’s hair to turn the page when you heard what sounded to you like a sniffle. Originally thinking it came in through the window from a passing car, you were about to brush it off, but then you heard it again. And this time it was accompanied by your girlfriend bringing a hand up to her face.

On instinct you froze, all focus going to hearing that sound again. And hearing it one more time confirmed it; Violet was crying, or at least on the verge of it. You eased your bookmark into your book and set it down. Only within the past year of your three year relationship had Vi started to show more vulnerability in front of you. This was still new, and comforting her about it was even newer. You didn’t want to fuck this up.

Ever so lightly you placed your hand on her arm. When she didn’t pull away, your touch became more present, rubbing and squeezing gently. You quietly cleared your throat, attempting to shake the disuse and clear the small worry forming there.

“Hey, are you alright?” Your voice was between a whisper and a normal volume. As you spoke you saw her bring her hand up to her face again, brushing off tears as soon as they spilled. She nodded and turned into the hand on her arm, giving you her side profile.

“”Ya, I’m alright it’s just…” She quickly shoved her bookmark between the pages and put it down, her now free hand accompanying her other on the front lines of battling the tears. “Just this book is getting to me.” She attempted a chuckle but it came out too tight. Her hands switched to fanning her face.

“Do you want to talk about it, maybe?” You brought your hand up to the side of her neck, caressing her cheek with the back of your fingers. “Vent about how the characters are going about their life wrong?” you lightly joked. It wasn’t received, in fact Vi dropped her head into her hands and started actually crying. Your stomach dropped. You had fucked it up, butchered your attempt at comfort. Scrambling for a way to fix this, you sat more upright and leaned closer to Vi, placing both your hands on her upper arms and gently pulling her back towards your chest.

“Hey that was a joke I didn’t mean to up-”

“No, It wasn’t what you said, it…” She sniffled and wiped her face, leaning more upright and turning back towards you. “The book just hit a nerve I thought wasn’t sensitive anymore, is all.” You thought she was going to stop there with the explanation, but she surprised you when after a moment she kept speaking. “This main character is doing all these adventurous, youthful things and I’m just…I never got to do that stuff, ya know?” Because she had been in prison, and unjustly, which always made you livid when you thought about it. “I just feel like I missed out on all these milestones. Like the 19 year old in me is mourning all these moments that I’m never going to get.” As she said this she leaned back into your embrace. You let your arms wrap around her chest and hold her, an act that comforted her as much as it did you.

After a pause of silence long enough to know she didn’t have anymore to say, you spoke.

“I know this doesn’t really mean much or take any of the pain away, but… I’m so sorry that happened to you, Violet. You were just a kid, you didn’t deserve that.” As you spoke, tears began pooling in your eyes. Thinking about young Vi, scared and alone in a prison with no one to look out for her, made your heart shatter every time. But this moment was about her, so you suppressed your sniffles and blinked your eyes clear.

Vi took in your words, nodding slightly, and then turned fully around to face you. Her eyes were quite red, and there was some snot dripping slowly from one of her nostrils. She gave you a small, sad, appreciative smile, and launched herself at you, wrapping you up in a classic Vi hug where one hand caressed your head and the other held you tight by the waist. You didn’t wait a second, you wrapped your arms around her, one caressing the nape of her neck, the other holding her strong back close.

“Stupid books, always making us cry,” you said, sniffing around a huffed out laugh you both shared. You squeezed her tight, then released her to caress her cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and wiping away the last of her tears. “Do you want to keep reading or watch a movie?”

“Watch a movie,” she replied.

“Okay, you pick one you want to watch, I'll go make us some hot chocolate and popcorn.” You patted her leg then popped up and ran to the kitchen, popping a bag of popcorn in the microwave and putting the kettle on for the hot chocolate. As you worked, you thought about what Vi said, about how she felt like she missed out on certain things. How could you help her get those experiences?

You came back with the food and drinks, set them down on the coffee table, and curled yourself up around Vi.

“I picked Spirited Away,” she said, curling up against you and moving the blanket on her lap to cover yours, too.

“An excellent choice,” came your reply. The movie began to play, but what Vi said still ate at you.

“You know, you could make a list.” she gave you a confused look, a line forming between her eyebrows. “Of all the things you want to do, all the things you missed out on. Take some inspo from your book, maybe. I can come up with a couple ideas, but you should make a list. And then we can do them together, if you want.” You caressed her face. “You deserve to have those experiences, Violet. Even if you think you’re past it.”

She gave you a hug so tight you thought you might pass out from lack of oxygen. “That's such a great idea.” She popped up from the couch and ran off quickly, you heard a rustling of things being moved around, and when she returned she had a small notebook and pen in hand. That made you smile.

“Make sure skinny dipping is on that list,” you said. She grinned at you, writing it down as the first on the list.

You watched the rest of the movie in near silence, save the rustling of popcorn or the slurping of hot chocolate, and occasionally Vi would quickly jot down an idea in her notebook. But the soundtrack of the movie eventually lulled you both to sleep, curled around each other on the couch, the small notebook dangling loosely from Vi’s hand, a page already full of things she wanted to do.

“Bee, you are the most cautious person I know. You text me when you’re going grocery shopping! Last night, no one knew where you were. Steve hadn’t heard from you, Chris is fuckin’ useless. No one could even get in touch with Eddie.” You say a silent thank you to the universe for that one. “I was worried fuckin’ sick!”

You have to say something quickly. “It wasn’t a blind date.” Not a lie. 

“You mean… It’s someone we, like, know?”

You nod. You have to be very, very careful here. 

“I’m sure you can figure out my next question.”

“And I’m sure you can understand that I will not be answering it.” Robin opens her mouth to argue when Missy returns with two plates stacked full with the works: sausage links, two eggs over easy, chocolate chip silver dollar pancakes, wheat toast slices with a pad of butter. 

“Anything else for you ladies?” She asks sweetly. 

You’re about to ask her how she’s been, how the grandkids are, when Robin snaps. “No! We’re great, thanks Missy!” When the woman retreats back into the kitchen, Robin returns her attention to you. 

“Who is it?”

“Robin.”

“I have a guess.”

“I’m sure you do. I am not confirming nor denying any of your theories.”

“This must be someone you’re embarrassed about. Someone… so not your type.”

You want to tell her that’s not it, but you fight the instinct. You’re not embarrassed by Eddie, not in the slightest. You’re just not sure you can handle the told-you-so’s from everyone just yet. 

“Oh my god, Bee. I totally know who it is!” You gulp. “It’s Carver! Oh, that’s so awesome.” Her words drip with sarcasm. Robin throws her head back, cackling maniacally. 

You think about correcting her. You could end this horrible speculation right now, but you don’t. You can’t risk it, Robin’s a fantastic interrogator. 

She stops laughing suddenly. “What about Eddie?”

Shit. “What about him?”

“This is gonna, like, break his heart.” 

You give your best look of disbelief. “He’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, when pigs fuckin’ fly, Bee.”

“Okay, so… don’t tell him? He doesn’t need to know.” You’re digging a very deep hole now, but you can’t seem to shut your mouth. “It’s not, like, a serious thing. Just something to do I guess.”

Robin scrunches her face in disgust. “Been that dry lately, huh?”

“Ew, don’t say it like that.”

She bursts into giggles, and you can’t help but laugh with her. 

“Seriously,” You say between huffs, “Don’t tell him. If it comes to it, I will.”

“So you admit that boy’s in love with you? Finally?”

You shrug. “He’s always had good taste. Enough about that, though. What have you been up to lately?”

Robin shrugs, stuffing another bite of pancake into her mouth. “Honestly? Not much. Well, I’m up for a promotion at the shop.”

“Oh? That’s not nothing!”

“Eh, I dunno if I want more responsibility. They want me to be a shift manager, give me keys and shit.”

“You want more money though, no?”

“That is a very, very good point.”

“I make a lot of those.”

—

You try not to think anything of it when Eddie doesn’t text you for the entire day. It’s been less than twenty-four hours since you’ve seen him, he’s giving you space. 

But you don’t want space, not from Eddie. You have the night off, but both of your friends are at work until at least ten-thirty, and you feel weird about texting Eddie first.

Is it my turn to ask him out? Your nerves start to chew at your brain. He took me to lunch, it’s my turn to ask him out. I think that’s how it works, right?

You text Steve.

> if he took me on a first date, would it be my turn to plan something?

stevie: Not necessarily. You went on a date?

> rob didn’t already blurt that out?

stevie: … She totally did.

stevie: Sorry.

> it’s fine. anyway, what do u mean not necessarily? stevie: Well, it depends. The date was what, last night? > well, i left last night… the actual date was the day before. stevie: You slept with him already?! stevie: Who are you and what have you done to my best friend? > NO!! we didn’t… well. stevie: ?!?!?!?! > we didnt go like all the way stevie: Did you… yknow > did I what stevie: Go… Downtown? > *i* did not stevie: DID HE?!?! > … stevie: Oh, Bee stevie: The ball is entirely in your court stevie: Actually, scratch that. Ball’s in the end zone. Touchdown, field goal, whatever.  > steve. in layman’s terms, please stevie: Short answer, yes. It is your turn.  > whats the long answer? stevie: He’s probably already planning your honeymoon with a first date like that.  > because…?

stevie: I say this as a lover boy myself, no way I’d let a girl sleep over on a first date if it were just a fling. After a couple times sure, but a stranger? Sleeping in my house? > what if he’s not a stranger stevie: Excuse me? > rob didn’t tell u? stevie: I thought she was joking!! You’re fucking dating Carver?! > oh my god IT’S NOT CARVER!!! stevie: But it IS someone we know?? > yes. stevie: And you’re not gonna tell us? > not right now. stevie:  WHY NOT!!!

You groan, locking your phone before tossing it onto your bed. Instead of texting Eddie, you do anything but that. Chris is out, so you have the house to yourself. You take advantage of the alone time, first thoroughly vacuuming the entire apartment. You bring your laundry down to the shared machines in the basement, and run the full dishwasher before scrubbing your pan from breakfast in the sink.

Once your living area is sparkling, you move to your bedroom. Even now, after living in this apartment for a year, there are still boxes to be unpacked. You get to work, connecting your phone to your bluetooth speaker, and sitting cross legged on your carpeted floor with your brother’s old pocket knife. 

The first box is labeled Bee’s Bedroom, written in your mother’s elegant handwriting. It’s a box reused from when you packed for college, the cardboard ripped in places from being opened the first time. You slice through the packing tape, pulling back the flaps to reveal the contents of your life, packed neatly within the cardboard walls. You pull out your books, a couple photo albums, and the old leather bound journal you’d kept throughout college. It’s practically split in half, pages worn with age, and you decide against opening it. College was a difficult time for you, and you’re pretty sure those pages have the only documentation of the horrible times you’d had in those four years. Instead, you open your phone again, clicking on your message thread with Eddie, staring at the last exchange you’d had while the cursor blinks at you, tauntingly. At the bottom of the box is an old photo, one you’d taken with your mother’s polaroid camera, a picture of you and Eddie at Lover’s Lake in high school. You smile, picking the photo out from the box, and decide to place it in your vanity mirror before picking your phone back up to text him.

> hey.

But he doesn’t respond. You sigh, locking your phone and tossing it aside.

“Why the long face?” Chris leans against the kitchen counter across from you. “You’ve been mopey all day.”

“It’s nothing.” 

“Eddie go quiet?”

You look up at him. “So what if he did? I really don’t need you giving me shit about that right now.”

“I wasn’t gonna! I just know how he is. Want me to text him?”

“Wouldn’t that reveal that you, y'know, know about us?”

“Not if I don’t tell him. You forget, Bee, I’m a fantastic liar.” It’s true, you’ve never seen someone lie as convincingly as your brother, but something in the back of your brain is warning you not to take him up on the offer.

“No, it’s alright. It’s only been a day. No big.”

“Okay, whatever. You wanna watch a movie?”

You nod, following him to the couch.

— eddie: fuckin’ carver? eddie: of all people?

The messages come in the middle of the night, two days after you’d told Robin that lie. This is the first time you’re hearing from him. 

> i had to tell her something! how did you even find out? eddie: steve has a big mouth. eddie: but i get it, i guess eddie: i just thought eddie: never mind. night, bee [eddie has Notifications turned off]

You frown, staring at the messages. It’s not that big of a deal, is it? Lying about seeing Jason to save you the drama that will come with telling your friends you’d been seeing Eddie, if you can even call it that? 

> you thought what?

But Eddie doesn’t answer, so you plug your phone into its charger, and try to go back to sleep. 

–

It’s been about a week, and you feel the stone in your stomach. Everything feels heavier, slower, desaturated. You have to work tonight. It’s Tuesday, and it will be the first time you see Eddie in person since your night together.

“Chris!” You call out to your brother, but he doesn’t respond. You throw your blanket from your body, rolling over to get up and make yourself presentable. You decide on your favorite pair of jeans, a light wash with a high waist, hemmed perfectly to land at your ankles. They make your butt look fantastic, and you bloom with confidence when you slide them on. You pair the pants with a black, form fitting t-shirt with HIDEOUT printed across the front, and HEAD BARTENDER on the back, both written in a font reminiscent of American traditional tattoos. Originally, your mom had forced the staff to wear branded shirts “to identify employees” but had given up on that rule over the years. The shirt is cute, though, and you’ve kept it in your work clothing rotation. 

Eddie still hasn’t texted you back, and the stone gets bigger. You can feel it in your throat, your chest, your toes. A desperate, silent plea for him to talk to you. Truthfully, you don’t understand why he’s so upset. He knows you aren’t ready to tell your friends about him, so why does the lie even matter? He knows the truth, shouldn’t that be enough?

> see you tonight?

You stare at the thread of messages and try to figure out what went wrong. He seemed a little extra upset about Carver, and you don’t blame him. Jason had been Eddie’s arch nemesis in high school. Even when he’d been behind two grades, he’d been the textbook definition of a high school jock: Decked out in green and gold every day, letterman jacket draped over his girlfriend’s shoulders, clean cut, blonde hair, perfect teeth. You’d never been even slightly attracted to him then, and you have no idea what he’s like now. You know he hasn’t left town, he still frequents the bar on weekends, but you don’t make a point to say hello. He was awful to Eddie, but he’d never bothered you, or even noticed your existence. 

Your phone buzzes in your hand.

eddie: yeah. it’s tuesday. 

It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing at all. 

–

The band is already setting up when you arrive at work.

“Bee! You’re late!”

“I know, I’m sorry!” You call to Kev, who’s dripping sweat as he shakes another cocktail for a customer. “Had some stuff I had to take care of!” You don’t explain, weaving your way through the small groups of drunk patrons to find your mother in the back office.

“Hi, baby!” She calls as you swipe your punch card. “You alright? You’re never this late.”

You sigh, dropping your bag on the desk beside your mom before falling into the chair. 

“I feel like shit.”

She pouts, turning away from the computer to better look at you. “Tell Mama what’s goin’ on.”

You shake your head, the feeling of defeat still eating at you. “I think I fucked up. You can’t tell anyone though, not even Chris.”

Your mom nods. “I won’t.”

“I went on a date last week. He hasn’t talked to me since, and it’s been agonizing. I’ve never felt like this about a fuckin’ boy before.”

“Was it Eddie?”

“Mom!”

“What?”

“Why does everyone think it’s Eddie?”

She gives you this look, one asking if you really want her to answer that. You just nod. 

“Bee, honey, you’ve been smitten with that boy since middle school, whether you wanna admit it or not. You two used to be attached at the hip, together every second of almost every day until Chris stole him out from under you. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that you two have reconnected. And I see the way he looks at you. He wears his heart on his sleeve and anyone with a brain can see it beats for you.” You feel the prickle of tears behind your eyes as she speaks, and you quickly blink them away. “So, how’d you fuck it up? Did you forget to tell him you feel the same way?”

“Who says I do?”

“You’re good at a lot of things, but lying has never been one of them.” She chides, resting a hand on your shoulder. “Am I on the right track?”

You shrug, exhaling a shaky breath. “I don’t even know what happened. I guess it could be because I haven’t told Steve and Robin yet. I told them I had a date with Carver.” Your mom scrunches her nose in disgust. “As a joke! But I don’t think they figured that part out. The information got back to Eddie. I think he’s upset I didn’t just tell them it was him I had a date with.”

“Or he thinks you really are dating Jason?”

You look at your mom, eyes widen. “You think he thinks that little of me? That I’d date the guy that tormented him in high school?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know, babe. He did get held back twice, I don’t think he’s the sharpest tool in the shed.” 

“Mom!”

She snickers, and you can’t help giggling with her. “I know, I’m sorry! But seriously, just talk to him. I’m sure you’ll find it’s all just a big misunderstanding.”

You nod, swiping a stray tear from your cheek. “Thanks, Mama.”

She gets up, planting a kiss on your forehead. “Of course, my love. Now, let’s get out there and make some money.”

–

“Thank you everyone for comin’ out tonight. Just like every Tuesday, we have a special treat. Please give a warm Hideout welcome to Corroded Coffin!” You step away from the mic, gesturing to the stage behind you before sneaking behind the curtain and down the stairs. The band makes their entrance without flair, walking to their spots as the stage lights dim and the small crowd cheers. 

When Eddie approaches the mic in the front, you can’t help but stare. He’s dressed in a white muscle tank, with the arm holes ripped open wide, exposing each side of his torso. His eyes are lined with black, smudged despite the fact that he hasn’t broken a sweat yet. His pants are shredded black jeans, hugging his legs a little too tightly. His hair is extra unruly, like he purposefully messed it up before taking the stage. You don’t realize you’re staring until Steve nudges your shoulder with his. 

“Oh you two are so hooking up.”

“What?!” You whip around to look at your friend. “No, we’re not.”

“Right, and Robin’s not a lesbian.”

You cock an eyebrow. “Huh?” “Oh, I thought we were saying things that are very obviously not true.” He smiles at you and you backhand his arm, turning back to the stage. “I won’t tell anyone. You might wanna talk to him, though.”

“Okay, let’s humor this line of thinking for a second. Why do I wanna talk to him?”

“Well, I did. He’s not… doing well.”

You look up at Steve to read his face. Even in the low light, you can see the worry in his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I may have told him you’re with Carver.”

“Why in the fuck would you do that?!” You remember the texts he’d sent you. You’d thought he’d been upset you didn’t tell them the truth, but he’d believed the lie too. “Because I thought he deserved to know! Truthfully, I figured he’d lie and say he knew, or he’d pretend to be okay. Bee, he broke down. I told him I was joking but he wouldn’t listen to me. I’m so sorry, I know I shouldn’t have said anything. I was hoping he’d just laugh and tell me the truth, but he… he definitely thought I was serious.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, squeezing your eyes shut as you process this information. That’s why he’s not texting you. He genuinely, truly thinks that little of you. You feel the stone in your throat again as you look at him onstage. He’s focused on his instrument, shredding it with his tongue poking out the side of his mouth, brow furrowed in concentration. 

“You are dating him, then?” Steve eventually asks, voice cautious in case you’re still too pissed at him to answer.

“Well, I don’t think I am anymore. But yeah. It was him.” You feel your heart crack when you use the past tense. “And I fucked it up.”

“Hey,” Steve turns your body to face him. “You didn’t fuck anything up. I probably did, but that’s something I can, and will, fix. Don’t worry about it, I got you.” He looks so apologetic, so sincere. 

“Okay. You better, or I’m revoking your free drink privileges.”

Steve nods frantically. “Aye, aye.”

–

You ring the last call bell, earning a collective groan from your customers. 

“Yeah, yeah. You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here.” You move back to the bar to take the last line of drink orders before you close for the night.

Imagine your surprise when the next person up is none other than Jason Carver. 

“Bee!” He greets you cheerfully, clearly already very drunk. “Wow, haven’t seen ya in ages, you look good!”

You laugh nervously, hoping Eddie is nowhere close enough to see you two interacting. “Hi, Jason. How’s it goin’?”

“Pretty good! Just got engaged, actually!”

Oh, good Christ. “That’s so nice to hear! What can I get ya to drink?”

“I’ll get a vodka soda for me, and a dirty martini for the lady over there.” He points back to the booth he’d been in, where a pretty blonde girl sits waiting for him. You nod, punching his order into the computer before running his card and closing out his tab. “Be right up.” Your smile is purely customer service, and it fades as soon as he walks to the other end of the bar. 

The next person to approach you makes your chest tighten.

“Hey.”

His eyeliner is practically gone, the remainder smudged beneath his eyes. His hair sticks to his skin that shines with sweat. He’s wearing a frown that makes your heart ache, but you try to play the whole thing off casually.

“Hi.”

“Can I get a Coors?”

No nicknames, no teasing, no flirty smile. Eddie is completely stoic, like he’s encased in marble. You nod, comping his order like you always do before turning to grab a glass from the dish rack. You hear your heart thumping wildly in your ears as you pour his drink, desperate for him to say anything. When he doesn’t, you have to fill the silence.

“Great show tonight.”

“Thanks.” He gives you what you think is supposed to be a smile, but his lips are pressed too tightly together. When you hand him his drink, he adds, “I talked to Steve.”

Your heartbeat gets louder. “Oh?”

“Turns out I’m a moron.”

You let a loud laugh slip from your throat. “Sorry, what?”

“You’re not dating Jason.”

“I am not dating Jason.”

“I thought you were.” He hangs his head, looking at you with puppy dog eyes through his wild bangs.

“I figured that part out.” You smirk at him. “I can’t believe you think so little of me.”

“Of course I don’t! It just… made sense to me. He’s handsome, athletic, with a fancy job.” He lists these things like they’re of any importance to you.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“You really are a moron.” You say it without malice, and you watch the way his face shifts, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “But I should have just told them the truth in the first place. I’m sorry.”

Eddie shakes his head, moving to the side so the next patron can place their order. “You have nothing to be sorry about, I get it. You’d told me you didn’t want them to know. The lie just felt too real, I think.”

You finish punching the customer’s order into the computer before turning to the counter to make it. “Well, it’s not. Jason’s actually here with his fiancee tonight.” You gesture to the far booth, where Carver still sits with the blonde lady, holding her hand across the table. “And he’s balding. At twenty-three.” You snicker before looking back at Eddie, who’s taken a seat at the bar stool across from you. 

“So you only want me for my luscious locks, huh?”

You giggle, reaching across the counter to twirl a lock of his hair around your finger. “Obviously.”

“You doin’ anything after work?” He asks into his glass, taking another swig.

“Nope, just gotta shower the smell of vodka off my skin. You got something in mind?”

“Meet me outside when you’re out.” He leans across the table, beckoning you closer. When you lean in, he places a soft, quick kiss on your cheek, and you feel your cheeks burn. He gulps down the last of his drink before placing it on the counter between you. You can only wave as he gets up to leave. 

–

It feels like years have passed, but you’re finally released from the bar at 2AM. The cold air of night hits you hard as you step out of the Hideout’s double doors, followed quickly by the smell of Camels. Against the brick, Eddie leans as he takes another drag, blowing smoke into the darkness.

“Those’ll kill ya, y’know.” You quip, making your way to where he stands.

Eddie shrugs. “So I’ve heard.” He offers the pack out to you, and you pluck one from the cardboard, bringing it to your lips. Instead of pulling out his lighter, Eddie brings the end of his own lit cigarette to yours as you inhale. He doesn’t say anything for a bit, but the silence isn’t awkward, not something that needs to be filled. You feel at ease, after a week of wondering if you’d ever get to speak to him again.

Finally, as he stubs out his cigarette against the concrete, he turns to you. “What are we doing?”

It’s not the question you’re expecting. “What do you mean?”

“Like, this,” He gestures between your bodies. “What is this?”

You don’t actually know the answer to that. “What do you want this to be?”

Eddie shakes his head, sighing. “It’s not up to me.”

“It is, though, at least fifty percent. It takes two to tango, or whatever.” You’re trying to lighten the conversation, but to no avail.

“I don’t want to freak you out.”

“There’s nothing you could say that would freak me out at this point, Ed.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Try me?”

He pauses, as if trying to gather the courage to give you an answer. “I wanna be yours.” The words feel thick in your ears, and you roll them around in your head as he keeps talking. “I mean, I am. Entirely. But I need you to know that. Whenever you’re ready, if you ever are. If you ever want me, I’m here. I’ll drop everything. Whatever I have to do to prove it, I will.” You know he’s still a little drunk, but he sounds determined, like you won’t believe him. “You don’t need to decide right now, but I need you to know how I feel. It has always been you, Bee. You’ll always be my girl.”

Instead of responding, you flick the rest of your cigarette onto the ground, quickly putting it out with your foot before you move closer. You lean against the brick wall, your shoulder brushing against his own. He turns to look down at you, and you give him the brightest smile you can muster. 

“I already have my answer, though.”

His own smile widens, eyes crinkling. “Yeah?”

You nod, and Eddie moves to press you further into the wall, standing in front of you with an arm on either side of your head. His face is so close to yours, you’re sure he can hear your shallow breathing. “I’m all yours, Eds.”

He closes the gap, lips finding yours easily. The smoke on his breath fills your senses as you kiss him, slow and deliberate, as if trying to prove your promise to him. You wrap your arms around his neck, and his move to latch onto your waist. You don’t even care that you’re in public, that bar patrons are still lingering on the sidewalk, probably staring at the couple macking on each other by the door. In your head, though, it’s just you and Eddie. Nothing outside of your bubble matters. Your hands travel into his hair, desperately pulling him further into you, as if you’re not already connected. 

“Come home with me?” He asks, breathless when he finally breaks the kiss. “You can shower there, if you want.”

“Okay, yeah. You okay to drive?”

“I actually, uh, got dropped off here. I was already pretty drunk.”