#double timeline

“Do I know you?”

The cashier’s voice pulls you from your daydream, all too focused on the distant hum of the local radio station. The latest pop hit barely buzzes from the low-set speakers.

“Maybe,” You clear your throat, avoiding her gaze despite the dark tortoiseshell sunnies already masking you. “I used to live ‘round here.”

“Huh,” She's an older woman, sporting glossy red gel nails and a puffy perm, both impeccable - despite the poor state of her uniform. “That's funny. Coulda’ sworn I'd seen ya’ on a magazine cover, darlin’.”

“Thank you,” You chuckle at the compliment, readjusting the silk scarf hiding your hairdo. “Got quite a few celebrity doppelgangers.”

She scrutinises your face for a few seconds more before turning to the register. “It's $1.25, baby.”

“$10 on pump 2 as well, please.”

“$11.25, then.”

Slapping a 20 on the counter, you grab the coke and donut that lay there and walk out of the dingy gas station. Thank God she hadn't seen your car. She would've probably asked many more questions.

Glittery under the afternoon sun, the Convertible Cadillac DeVille stands proudly next to your chosen pump. Once, you’d been a kid living in the dodgiest trailer park in Hawkins, watching much wealthier folk occasionally drive by from your torn lawnchair. There was a kid in town with that same Caddy, painted a fiery-red color. He was on the basketball team, and your lab partner Paige spent every Chemistry lesson drooling over him. You, however, had always been more interested in his car. 

It had been a no-brainer when you’d started to amass what began as a little fortune, and decided for your first splurge to be your very own 1965 Cadillac, painted your favorite color. Many other cars came after that, every single one you’d once seen and wished to have their wheels under your grasp. But the Cadillac has always been your favorite. She had to be the one you took on such a trip down memory lane. 

Gas sloshes into the tank as you hold the pump, discreetly looking around. The fact that you’d chosen that specific gas station for your pit stop didn’t just correlate with the fact that you hadn’t had any breakfast - in fact, the reason was that it was the one isolated just at the outskirts of town, surrounded by a mass of forest. 

For the time being, you wanted to avoid being spotted in public as much as possible. You didn’t know for how long your stay in Hawkins was to be prolonged, but the last thing you needed during those days was for a flurry of paparazzi to post behind your mother’s well-kept flower beds. Life in the city got crazy, and you knew for a fact that some people did not respect the bounds of privacy at all. Even in the most grim of circumstances. 

Shayla, your manager, had advised that you take some sort of protection with you - assign some bodyguards to post by the door, a private taxi service in the driveway - but you’d been insistent on making the trip on your own. Your car had been waiting after the jet had landed in Indianapolis, and you announced that you could take it from there. After all, under the blanket of stardom, you were still a normal person, and you had to deal with normal troubles like most normal people did: by yourself. 

You don’t even have the energy to hop into the driver’s seat, a movie-esque maneuver you always liked to pull when the Cadillac was out of the garage. Instead, you just slide into the car and drive away quietly, fishing the donut from its paper-bag confines and taking a hearty bite. Both your dietitian and trainer would simultaneously faint if they saw you right now, you were sure of that. But it was your cheat day - or week. Maybe month. 

Coke fizzles out when your manicured nails pull on the tab, which you make sure to slurp up before anything spills on the leather seats. Rows of trees pass you by, breeze flowing into your impromptu headscarf, its end waving up and down like a proud flag. As your index finger finds the radio button, a familiar voice blares out of the speakers. It’s you. 

The record label had no telling how Vega had been such a hit - it was not as pop infused, and quite a slower, more romantic take in your third album. Its meaning was also quite convoluted and talked about - countless interviewers had tried prying it out of you, but Vega was your most personal song to date. You wanted to keep it as such, given that most of your life was now so shrouded in scrutiny. 

The public adored it, and radio stations kept it popular enough that the album remained a top-seller for ages, even two years after its release. You’d thought Valentine’s Day 1989 would’ve made it reach its peak on Billboard’s Hot 100, but the trend repeated even more widely in 1990, and recently so in the current year. Your love song, the one you'd kept tightly hidden in the lyric notebook you used during your teenage years, had become every lover’s classic. 

You never knew how to feel about it. Some would be relieved at the fact that they weren't alone in experiencing such complex feelings. But certain emotions would never cease to feel personal - especially, as you ride into your childhood town with the purpose of burying your mother. 

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Eddie had never been a religious man, and he didn’t believe he’d ever get a bout of sudden faith. But he did thank whoever was looking down at him for their granted small miracles, such as the fact that Ronnie had just fallen asleep against the car window. 

He loved his son to death, sure, but nobody was trained to handle the sugar rush a four-year-old’s birthday party could induce. Eddie's face had been drained of any color when he arrived at the park to find a crowd of screeching children being fed sodas, candies, and frosted cake; enough sugar to provide for a whole street full of bakeries. 

But Eddie hadn’t complained, even if his inner voice might’ve been cursing a string of colorful choice words when he’d seen Ronnie attempt a double backflip while hopping on the bouncy castle. He’d been wildly excited when Tommy had slipped him a hand-drawn invitation during recess, so much so, he’d come back home insisting for it to be hung on the fridge door alongside his own drawings. 

The reason why? Well, Eddie had heard it said somewhere that the Devil made the small town, and his whole existence had been chock-full of proving that statement right again and again. Whispers about his father’s behaviour, after his mother passed away, and when Wayne gained custody of him. Arriving in highschool like he’d been plucked out of juvie, head razored and wearing a permanent scowl that, associated to his last name, made him the one person to avoid in the halls… which then twisted into the discovery of his real self: a nerdy headbanger who spent rainy afternoons playing fantasy games with the friends he’d made in high school, and people found other ways to tease. The talk was relentless and unstoppable. 

He’d thought things would fizzle out with him. That he’d be the one to finally put an end to the Munson curse by raising his own child the right way. But he’d failed to recognise the fact that people held biases. Stupid, selfish, rotten biases. 

Full brown eyes find his son’s shut ones through the rearview mirror, eyelashes fluttering with exhaustion. Who could ever deny a thing to such a face? And yet, Ronnie had kicked and screamed as Eddie had tried to tie that same little seatbelt months ago, which turned out to be because some kid had not invited him to her birthday party. Eddie had to white-knuckle the wheel at Ronnie’s quiet sniffles, avoiding showing any anger before him. 

So, yes, he’d driven Ronnie to the park with a smile earlier in the day, despite fearing the turnout of a kid who would be too hyper to even consider sleeping that night. He felt bad, knowing it would be Wayne’s turn to deal with the fallout, given that he had to work until dawn. But if Ronnie was happy, he was happy, too. Even happier at the fact that he seemed to have burnt all the extra energy by running around in the grass, and immediately skipped to the deep-sleep phase of his high the second he was done rambling about all the fun things he’d done all day. God bless Harrington’s idea to hire a whole inflatable jungle-gym. That guy knew a thing or two about babysitting. 

The trailer park was as quiet as ever during sundown. Sometimes, Eddie came to miss the calm which you could breathe in when being surrounded by nature, now relegated to living adult life in a dingy set of apartments. Forest Hills wasn’t the beacon of luxury, but it had become his first real home. Away from eviction notices and midnight cop visits, always forced to stay very still in the cot his father called a bed whenever a pair of officers would come knocking due to some neighbor’s complaint. To him, Wayne’s trailer would always mean security. 

In his usual fashion, Uncle Wayne had heard Eddie's car pulling up and was already outside to greet his boys - he also fully expected to have to aid his nephew in taming Hurricane Ronnie, but he's greeted with the pleasant sight of the boy snoozing in the backseat. 

“How?” Is the only thing he manages to stammer out, even before a greeting, when Eddie walks around the car to get Ronnie out. “Didn't you say he had a birthday party?”

Eddie shrugs, untying Ronnie's seatbelt with a delicacy similar to someone defusing a bomb. “He ran until he dropped,” He concluded, resting the boy's head on his shoulder and walking towards the trailer. “You should've seen him when I got there. Looked like a feral Gremlin.”

At that, Wayne can’t help but let out a soft chuckle, following both father and son inside. He doesn’t need to motion for Eddie to make his way towards the bedroom - back when he’d started living with his Uncle, he’d been insistent on turning it over to him, but it was now back to being Wayne’s property. Still, the man was hell-bent on letting Ronnie take the bed whenever he had to sleep over, while he relegated to the couch or his ‘good ol’ cot’. 

Eddie exits the room with quiet feet, letting out a silent breath of relief. “Crisis averted. You’re lucky, old man.”

“Dunno how that’s even possible, but I’m thankful for it. Picked an extra mornin’ shift at the plant tomorrow,” He huffs. “For the kid’s birthday. Need to be out by dawn.”

“6 works for me,” Eddie mutters in response, mindlessly strolling over to the fridge to fish out a can of beer. “Just make sure he sleeps through the night. I can handle it from there.”

Wayne Munson scans his nephew from head to feet. His style had changed minimally when he transformed into an adult, still sporting his long curls, band t-shirts and ringed fingers. But actual, physical work, as well as having a kid of his own, had toned his build out of the lankiness of his teenage years - as well as given him some early expression lines. 

He grumbles something out of Eddie’s earshot: Saturday nights tended to be like this. Only he and some of his nephew’s close friends were wise to Eddie’s precarious financial situation - juggling two jobs during school months, if that one could even be considered as such. 

“You gotta stop with this nonsense,” He finally declares, and Eddie doesn’t need to listen to a second more of it to know what this was about. “You can’t raise a kid while one of your streams of income is sellin’ drugs. You know what they could do to Ron if you ever got caught?”

But he dismisses it in return, placing the can on the counter. “Rick knows I can’t sell hard stuff. That way, if I do get caught, Hopper won’t do more than give me a slap on the wrist,” He mimics the action, shaking his head. “I only sell pot. And I need these night shifts to actually make a profit on that.”

“It’s too dangerous, Eddie.”

“It’s what has to be done,” He cuts in immediately, eyes suddenly hard and avoidant. “I can’t feed, clothe, house and spoil a kid off the Rollin’ Records minimum wage. It’s just a pick-me-up.”

Wayne knew that the answer for his query was to cut some expenses, but Eddie was far too tough-headed to give in. He liked having the ability to give Ronnie everything he wanted, whenever it was within the bounds of possibility, and that was what the drug dealing was all about. A bump on the piggy bank. 

But as Ronnie got bigger, so did his needs and wants, yet Eddie couldn’t just keep accepting riskier jobs for heftier cuts. Wayne had offered for him to pick some shifts at the plant, given that he was able to work two jobs on the days where he took care of Ronnie, but he’d declined. Of course, drug dealing gave him a much larger margin than he’d ever get working any other side gig. 

It wasn’t as if Eddie enjoyed having to deal pot to make a decent living, which seemed to be the way Wayne sometimes phrased it, and it annoyed him. Ronnie and him should’ve been living in some mansion in LA by now, his kid being coddled and spoiled rotten, while Eddie slept with the relaxing notion that millions of dollars sat safely in his bank account from his success as a music star. But life was a bitch, and it always kept aces up its dirty sleeves. He’d learnt that lesson quite early on. 

Stirring the conversation around, Eddie glances through the familiar interior of the trailer. Nothing had changed since he left, except for the apparition of some objects relating to Ronnie’s frequent visits: scattered toys in a corner, the straw cup he’d forgotten last week, and a little scarf hanging next to Wayne’s jacket. Then something catches Eddie’s attention. 

“What’s all this?” Big leaps take him out of the kitchen and towards that same coat rack, where an ironed suit with its shirt and tie had been laid. “Is this…”

“The same one I let you back in ‘84,” Eddie remembered it clearly. He’d spent the day rummaging through a thrift store bin just to come home with his cheeks as pink as two ripe cherries, having to explain to his uncle that he wanted a suit to go to prom. Thankfully, he hadn’t asked many questions, and just pulled the piece out of the confines of his closet with a knowing smile. “Still holds up after some good ironing.”

“Who’s getting married? Haven’t gotten an invite.”

But despite Eddie’s mocking tone, Wayne’s response never comes, causing him to turn around and look at his silent uncle. Wayne stared back with a somber, almost spooked expression, one hand laid on the kitchen counter. 

“You haven’t heard?”

Heard what? 

“You’re scaring me.”

Second strike. Wayne doesn’t chuckle nor dismiss his worry, but rather breathes in, an indication that he should be scared. 

“I think you remember our neighbor,” Wayne’s uttering of the familiar last name sends a chill through Eddie’s spine. He hadn’t heard it in years - but recently, he thought of it more often than he should. “Well, at least before she got moved out to that big house on Maple Street.”

Wayne takes Eddie’s shift in expression as affirmative. “She passed away last night. Stroke. I…”

A haze of white covers Eddie’s vision, stumbling as he barely manages to sink into the couch. Wayne drones on about how he’d been thinking of attending the funeral, but he seems distant as Eddie’s mind travels far and wide, away from the current moment happening in the trailer. 

Her mother had always been good to him. She had so much love to give to just one person in that whole world - she was never able to divorce her husband, who just stayed out of the picture for most of the time. That woman only had her daughter… until her daughter met him, and she had no doubts to take Eddie under her wing. It didn’t matter how damaged he looked, how horrible of an influence he always seemed to be to every other parent he met - she liked him. Was it weird to have come to think of her as the only motherly figure he’d ever had, after his own late mom?

Yet again, life kept playing tricks. She was still young, and had recently started living life the way she deserved. It was all kept pretty under wraps, but news travelled fast in Hawkins. Good lawyers and detectives forced her husband to sign those papers, and she was free. How fast things could turn for the worse. 

“...Son?”

Fall, 1982

“That still doesn’t sound good.”

Routine had been an easy thing for you and Eddie to settle into ever since you met. Two years of the healthiest friendship you’d ever had flew past, in which not a single day had been spent separated - since the time you met Eddie crouching on the grass of your trailer park, you’d become absolutely inseparable. From the moment you left your house in the mornings, to the second you went to sleep, he was always there - even when you had nothing to do, you shared your boredom together. Just like you did that afternoon.

Sixteen had hit you both as hard as an incoming truck. School had taught you that your body would change, but you’d never expected the complete one-eighty your mind would also spin into. Your closet had morphed into something rebellious and darker, and childhood toys that had spent some years decommissioned were officially put into their final resting places of boxes under your bed. Posters of bands you and Eddie enjoyed now plastered both your rooms in messy collages, and the hobbies you’d once obsessed over were now forgotten and replaced with what you’d deemed ‘adult aspirations’. 

Physically, your mother insisted you were growing into a young woman. Seasonal closet switches were now riddled with tears as she put piles of clothes away that did not fit you anymore. She insisted it was the fact that you were growing up, but you were sure that not being able to buy the new and more expensive pieces she knew you liked at the rate you were outgrowing the old had to take some part in it. 

At least, the change had not been as sudden and fast as Eddie’s. You wouldn’t have believed it, if it weren’t for the fact that you saw him every day, but you swore he had completely morphed in the span of one season: like he’d been stretched vertically by some unnatural force, Eddie had grown taller than even his uncle, and he’d soon filled his frame with early muscles after spending the whole summer working part-time at the local garage. He’d always been scrawny, but now, he’d totally lost the childhood fullness of his cheeks and gotten a clearly defined jawline along with sharper eyes. He’d kept growing his long hair, and, just as you had, he’d gained a completely new attitude. One that was cocky, confident in his alternative looks, and sure of his abilities - a side of Eddie that was new to you, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t terribly fond of it. 

Even his twin bed had been outgrown, as Eddie’s feet almost poked out of the end while he lazily laid on top of it, keeping his beloved guitar close to his chest. You liked to watch him strum the metallic strings in search of melodies to lace together, mirroring the way his favorite rockstars contorted their fingers into notes they switched at inhuman paces. Anyone who knew Eddie well recognised how, since the day you’d gifted him that guitar, his hands had practically lived glued to the instrument’s neck. 

That day was no less, as your back met his wall while you sat with him on the mattress, legs thrown over his knees to form a perfect cross of limbs. Eddie’s ability with music was impressive, having in mind how he’d never had any education on it past his own research and his obsession with his favorite bands: melodies came to him as naturally as water flowed down a creek, and he’d already been able to compose a few well-sounding songs with Corroded Coffin. All that was left, of course, was giving them some lyrics. 

He’d tried to sit down and write some before, but, as it turns out, words did not occur to him as easily as pure music did. His lyric notebook was, perhaps, the only thing Eddie had ever tried keeping hidden from you - until you stumbled upon it, full of ripped pages and angrily crossed-out words, and the excuse that his songs ‘just sounded better without words’ crumbled into red-glowing cheeks. 

But, born from that instant, a new secret of your own had arisen. You’d taken a composition notebook that would easily pass as school-related, and, during late nights where you couldn’t sleep, you’d mumble the melodies that Eddie would drill into your head from practicing day-long and tried to put words to them. 

It was dangerously easy, to the point where, at some moment in time, half the pages had been scribbled through with lyrics that didn’t even belong to existing melodies. Just like music was for Eddie, writing had become an escape from daily life to you - a way of processing difficult feelings, of letting out what was always too hard to say aloud. 

…Which, of course, meant that your notebook had to stay as a complete secret to Eddie. 

The fact that it looked like an unassuming school supply, however, had given you an advantage that perhaps made you too sure of yourself for a long time. You had the luck of being able to tell Eddie that you were just catching up on an assignment whenever you wanted to use the notebook in his presence, which was often: the background music of him composing made you concentrate much better on what you wanted to express, which had also led you to try and write during band practices in the school fields and gymnasium. It had been like this that you’d met Robin, a curious freshman who played the trumpet and had noticed you more often than not in your lonely writing quests. She, however, had found the ability which Eddie always lacked on the first time she’d ever gotten your homework excuse: she was able to call your bluff. 

Robin was someone Eddie would like. She was weird in a quirky way, and always blunt with everything she had to say about your lyrics. The girl was a perfect subject to run all of those song skeletons through, because you knew you were always getting the most honest answer you could from her. 

But, since her relationship with your secret hobby was far too close, you did not dare to bring her up to Eddie in any way, shape, or form. For months, you’d continued secretly scribbling on that notebook as he composed, and he had never said a thing. 

Until today. 

“God-fucking-damnit,” His profanity wakes you from your daydream, grumbling as he gives up on the guitar and reaches from the bed to slot it in its stand. That particular melody was a more complex one, which had been drilling both his and your head for weeks as he struggled to find the right notes to make it whole. You have to practically bury your nose in your notebook as he stretches to reach his bedside table, catching a glimpse of how his shirt rides up his stomach a little bit too high. 

Two clicks of a lighter warn you before a cloud of cigarette smoke blurs your vision of the page, which Eddie intently blows your way to get your attention. In a silent exchange, you direct a glare and a knowing brow lift at him, which he just playfully smirks at before taking a second puff. 

“Here.”

Two ringed fingers shove themselves in your field of vision once more, which hold the cigarette over to you as a peace offering. 

You still remembered the first time your friend smoked, because it had also been your own. Just about the start of last summer, you’d both been lounging  around Hawkins’ public pool when Eddie caught sight of a newly-opened package of Marlboro reds, fallen off the purse of a middle-aged woman. He’d been unable to resist the urge of nicking them off the ground, and, as you always did, you’d tried your first cigarette together while hiding behind Eddie’s trailer. 

Both of you had almost coughed up a lung on the first puff, and you’d gone home reeking so badly of tobacco that your mother had, for the first time in those last years, uttered the famous ‘if your friend jumped off a cliff, would you?’ argument. She’d shortly realized that it was no use, after all, knowing that if Eddie were to ever do something like that, you’d mindlessly jump while holding his hand. 

Since then, Eddie had become an increasingly frequent user, a vice which you sometimes partook in on moments of calm such as those. But, in the last few months, the instances in which you’d share a cigarette were starting to become scarce, and it was all because of your refusal to share the smoke. 

You’d tried to pass it off as a health concern, but that theory had been dismissed when Eddie realized that, if you were given a cigarette of your own, you’d smoke it without issue. The reality of it was embarrassing, and Eddie loved to try and tease it out of you, but you’d never budge: watching him change that summer had done something strange to you. 

You had started to look at your friend under a different light. He wasn’t kid Eddie anymore; not the boy you’d seen bald-headed, covered in mud from slipping up the shore of Lover’s Lake, bundled up in winter clothes that were always too big for his frame. He was Eddie from Edward, with a capital E, who was morphing into a man too fast for your comprehension; who you liked seeing play his guitar a little bit too much and shared absolutely everything with; the guy who had outgrown you in a summer and now wrapped his arm tightly around your shoulders one too many times, whose physical closeness has always been a constant, but is now suddenly nerve-racking for you. Eddie, who has a way with words, and a nice smile, and perfect lips, and smoking the same cigarette which has touched them now does not seem right, because it’s the closest you’ll ever come to actually kissing them. 

“I don’t feel like it.”

Softly, you push his hand aside and resume your scribbling, which your friend does not take kindly. 

“You never feel like it anymore!” Dramatic, Eddie slots the cigarette back between his lips and acts dismayed, hand clutching his pearls. “You treat me like I’m sick with something. You know you can trust me, right? I’m not contagious.”

If anything, you were the one who felt sick whenever you were around him, but you don’t get a second to react before his fingers sneak to poke into the side of your abdomen, unable to contain writhing under his touch. 

“Stop!” Between giggles, a swat of your hand sends his own back to where it belonged, leaving him feigning injury after slapping his abdomen without much thinking. Your palm feels as hot as your face when you realize what you’ve done, but thankfully, he seems too focused on playing his dramatic part to notice. 

Eddie never had any bad intentions, but when he was frustrated with something, the boy could be a painfully annoying distraction. This was especially apparent whenever he saw you doing something productive - it was as if he figured that, if he himself could not get things done, you shouldn’t be able to either, and it seems like you’re pushing the line too far with your frantic ‘note-taking’. It’s a ticking time bomb, a neon bullseye that is dead-set on you and Eddie has clearly realized already. 

“Come on, close that notebook already,” He whines, blowing clouds of smoke to rest above your heads. “You’re always writing in it now. Are you in some secret extracurricular I know nothing about?”

“No,” You retort, trying to twist your mind in search of the last parts of your current verse. Just a few words you’d like to squeeze out before closing the book and making him forget about it, a selfish thing - you’re struggling though, especially when he seems unusually clingy and touchy, free hand resting on your thigh and clasping at the skin there. “It’s just some assignment I’m behind on. I’ll be done soon.”

But Eddie doesn’t buy it, and he curiously inspects you for a few seconds while finishing off the cigarette and tossing its butt into the half-empty Coke on his bedside. 

“I don’t think you’re actually doing homework there.”

The sureness of his words catches you off-guard, stopping your pen just to stare blankly into the paper. You’d fallen right into his trap, because as you’re processing your shock, the endearing smile he directs you soon turns to a devilish smirk, and his quick fingers slip the notebook out of your grasp. 

“Eds, no!”

Your quick instincts make you tunnel-vision, eyes on the notebook: body spread out on the bed, Eddie’s hands dangle it as far from you as he can, above his head and out of your reach. Without thinking, and in your desperation, you stumble out of your position and crawl over his body,  reaching to grab the book before he can have the bright idea of combing through the pages. 

But Eddie has decided to mess with you badly, so he folds his arm and swings it in a completely different direction when you’re almost about to get it. Mindless, you follow it, and slip to fall flat on top of him with a shared huff when he dangles the notebook out of the bed. The drop of your body on his makes him loose grip of the book, which falls open on the ground, and you realize in just what kind of position you had gotten yourself into. 

You stare at Eddie for a second too long, who also seems hazed out of his playful state for a moment while your face is just a breath away from his. The hint of tobacco still lingers on his lips, but you’d have been lying if that wasn’t the most tantalizing thing you’d ever smelled in that very moment, when he was within reach, and only a short but distant inch was what separated the comfort of friendship from the endless bounds of something larger. 

It, however, only lasts a short second, before your palms are on the mattress and you’re pulling yourself right off of him. 

“Sorry,” You mutter, looking down as you fix your shirt as an excuse to hide your blushing cheeks. 

“It’s okay,” Eddie just sounds startled, sitting up as he reaches to fix the pages that had fallen in such a strange position. His hand smoothes over the cover, brow raising as he offers it back. “I didn’t want to forcibly read it, but you act like you’re hiding something from me. I thought we didn’t have any secrets.”

The composition notebook sits between you, the culprit for the sudden awkwardness between you and the closest friend you had. Eddie was right. 

For months, you’d been twisting the narrative in your mind, and experiencing feelings that could very much ruin the realest and best thing you’ve ever known. Moments like these, hiding feelings that would never be reciprocated and bottling them up, would only ever break your relationship in a way you could never handle. You didn’t have any secrets, because you were friends. Nothing more. 

“I’ve been keeping it kind of hidden, because I thought you might laugh at me.”

He seems interested at the fact that you’re opening your heart, perking up at the words. “When have I ever laughed at you?”

“I don’t know,” You shake your head. “Never, but… It’s a new thing I’m trying. I don’t know if I’m very good at it.”

Trembling hands open the notebook on the last written page and hand it over to him, who grabs it like the pages might dissolve if handled too roughly. Eddie’s expression lights up almost in an instant when he recognises the familiar structure the words have, and the title you’ve given the page: ‘Eddie’s unfinished song: possible lyrics’.

“Is this..?”

You just nod slowly as he reads through the whole thing, nodding his head along as he clearly lets the melody play out while processing the lyrics. It’s just a couple seconds, yet it feels like you’re waiting for an eternity before he finishes the piece and breaks into a dashing smile. 

“Are you serious?”

“It’s not finished,” Your hands scramble to return the notebook, but it's firmly held in his hands, and he is now skimming back through the previous pages. “Eds, it’s just a stupid hobby I’ve picked up, since I spend my days listening to what you compose. It’s nothing, I just…”

“Stop,” His command makes you instantly fall silent, now noticing that the grin on his expression is not amusement, but a deep admiration. “I love it.”

“Do you really?”

“You have to be kidding me,” he repeats, “Yes, I do. These sound like something Bruce Dickinson would scream right into a microphone. If I had known you were so talented, we’d have been putting these on our songs a long time ago.”

It’s enough to make you melt, yet you manage to stop yourself from turning into a puddle before he digs too deep and finds songs that are way too personal for him to be snooping through. Eddie, however, seems entranced at how you write metal lyrics, and keeps commenting on the fact that he’s astounded as to how you’ve managed to keep it hidden for so long. 

“Seriously,” He’d kept looking at you with admiration, even after you’d discreetly taken the notebook out of his hands with the excuse that ‘you wanted to surprise him with the rest’. “I want you at our next band meeting, this time as an active member. We’re going to try some of these the next time Corroded Coffin gets together.”

“But you have to promise me something,” In your moment of elation, the way he grabbed your wrist took you by surprise. “You’ll never keep things secret from me again.”

He’d never imagined your reunion would be like that. 

Eddie would be lying if he said he never thought about it before, how seeing your face again would affect him. Deep inside him, he’d always hoped you’d bump into each other one day at the supermarket, that you’d still remember him but somehow had forgotten what happened between you. That he’d be able to get you back. 

But with every year that passed, his teenage dream saw itself crushed under the weight of his realization that you were truly, utterly done with him. That he’d hurt you past the point of fixing, and you had decided to build your adult life as far away from him as possible. 

Still, there was always a small glimmer of hope within him, sparked back to life whenever something reminded him of you - which wasn’t a strange occurrence. He still remembered how it had almost gotten extinguished when he found out what you were currently up to. You’d reached for the stars and managed to dance with them - a stark opposite to the turnout his life had ended up having. Surely, there was no way he even held a tiny corner of your memory with all of the successes coming your way, and it was officially impossible that you’d both mindlessly walk into the same store one unassuming afternoon. 

That was, until the current turn of events brought you back to Hawkins. 

The tinkling bell above his head alerts the florist of her new customer, who she greets with a cheery grin. Eddie had never bought flowers from an actual shop: he immediately felt out of place, alternative style clashing with the colorful spread and sweet smells surrounding him. On the very spare occasions where he’d had to make that purchase, a number of times he could count in one hand, he’d just bought some off a grocery store and ripped the price tag off without much care.

But this felt different. Heavier. He had to express the sorrow he felt in his heart appropriately, which had been multiplied by the grim situation you found yourself in. After turning back and forth in his bed that night, he'd decided that cheap flowers just would not cut it - so, making use of an early lunch shift at the record store, Eddie had pocketed what he’d scraped from the bottom of the piggy bank and taken the road to a nearby town. 

He’d heard about that shop opening not long ago, but he’d never expected it to be such a big establishment. Wooden shelves line up into aisles which fill the space with clutter, housing from gardening supplies to premade bouquets of the most colorful variety. 

“Good afternoon,” The girl behind the counter calls for Eddie's attention before he can move any further, still smiling at him while snapping irregular stems off a freshly-made bouquet. “Can I help you with anything?”

Caught by surprise, he stutters slightly, unusually awkward. “Yes, uh… I’m looking for some flowers for a funeral. Dunno if there’s a specific type, or…”

“Oh, no,” She looks unusually shocked at the news, or at least that's what it seems like to Eddie. Were funeral goers not amongst the usual clientele for a flower shop? 

“I am so sorry to hear that,” Clasping one hand over the other, she leans forwards on the counter, peeking her head out towards the shelves. “Just in the last aisle there, you can find most of our pre-made bouquets and wreaths catered towards funeral services. If none seem right, you can always come back here and have one personalized with your own choices. Our deliveries are guaranteed in less than 24 hours.”

“Thanks. I'll have it in mind,” Eddie can't help but let out a huff at the idea of how much a personalized bouquet could cost him, making his way down to the last hall.

Walking between heaps of blooming flowers feels slightly constricting, a sure nightmare for someone with pollen allergies. Overwhelmed by the smells, Eddie takes in the selection at the funeral section. It sure is a grim-looking aisle compared to the others: the sight of certain flowers is immediately associated with the tributes placed over a casket, or the wreaths positioned under a memorial photo. A single lonely shopper stands by the end of the hall, hooded up and idly staring at an overflowing bouquet. The picture doesn't help to settle Eddie's nerves.

To him, the whole selection looked beautiful, carefully arranged by colors - he’s unsure on whether he should take the biggest and most expensive array, or choose something quaint and thoughtful. Had you ever mentioned a favorite flower? Yes, but maybe, having those in a bouquet meant to be an offering for your mother’s funeral was a bit distasteful. Or was it? 

Eddie pushes his hair back and out of his face, grumbling when he realizes he forgot his hair tie on the bathroom counter. Great. Slowly scanning the flowers down the aisle, he stops by the middle, leaning into a particularly massive bouquet of overflowing lilies, carnations, and roses, all in a pristine white tone. 

A tag hangs from one of the flowers, with a cursive text Eddie has to tilt his head to read. It talks about the meaning of each type: lilies to represent the soul, carnations for innocence, roses for love - all in the color of peace and purity, which made it a perfect choice in Eddie’s eyes. Appropriate for the setting, and hopefully, helping to convey a hidden message. 

Bracing for the surely astronomic price tag, he goes to turn the small cardboard cutout around, but another hand beats him to it: Eddie’s palm almost encases the delicate fingers which hold onto the label, a showcase of carefully manicured nails.

“Oh- Sorry,” Embarrassed, Eddie signals for the stranger to have a look first, stepping back without realizing who he was talking to. “I didn’t see…”

“Eddie?”

Imagine his shock when he finally scrutinises the stranger properly, past the dark hood over her head and the fake prescription glasses sitting on the tip of her nose. Eddie also exclaims her name back like a question, nerves immediately catching up to him.

“What’re you doing here?”

The words leave his mouth before he can process them, wanting to slap himself in the face at your dead-panned look. 

“I think it’s kind of obvious,” You glance around at the funeral flowers, raising a perfectly plucked brow at him. “I think I should be the one asking that question, honestly.”

Could the Earth just swallow him whole already?

“Ah- yeah. Right,” He blinks quickly, mind rushing to figure out what he should do. Tell the truth, or lie again? “... I was just thinking about getting flowers for tomorrow, too. As a gift.”

You take in a short inhale, nodding slowly. “You’re coming to the funeral?”

It doesn’t feel malicious, but Eddie senses a weird tone - did you not want him there, or had you thought he was not going to show up?

“Yeah. I, uh, your mom…”

“I get it,” Thumb and index smooth over your temple, shaking your head in apology. “You were at the wake, too. It was a stupid question.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Eddie,” Your sad sigh worries him. It seems like you’re ready to leave his vicinity, which serves to make a dent in his heart. “I just- I’ve been thinking about everything I said the other day, and I just want to say that I’m sorry. I was a bit harsh.”

“Hey,” Concern immediately rises inside him at the sight of your upset expression, just like it used to do back then. “You… I made a mistake. You were right to be annoyed.”

“I just don’t think it was okay to blow up like that, especially in the place I did,” You sigh, instinctively pulling your hood downwards like an angsty teenager. Eddie Munson, of all people, was being more mature about this than you, so you might as well have been acting like one for longer. “It’s just that coming back to Hawkins has resurfaced a lot of the feelings I forgot I had. This town is stuck in time for me, when it’s clear that everyone else has moved on.”

For no apparent reason, the end of your sentence seems slightly cutting, but Eddie has no time to think about that. 

“Let me buy you these.”

His sudden cut makes you raise a brow in confusion, which soon raises even higher when you see him begin to grab the large arrangement of white flowers out of its shelf. 

“Eddie, you don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No,” He only freezes when your hand clasps onto his bicep, head snapping at your touch. You realize merely a second later, and retrieve it like his clothes are scalding hot. “Eddie, those are expensive. You really don’t need to.”

“Your mother was also important to me.” 

Eddie’s tone wavers into an emotional territory when he utters those words, which makes your heart break even further. “I want to make it right with you. Start over. Show you I care. It’s not about the money. It’s like, some sort of peace offering.”

You cannot help it, but Eddie’s reasoning serves to tease a hint of a genuine smile from you. It’s impossible to deny. 

“Alright, then.”

The narrow hallway’s walls are brushed past by the flowers as you both make your way towards the register, where the clerk directs a bewildered look to the two of you. It wasn’t unusual that you’d both be attending the same funeral, but clearly, that had not crossed her mind before. 

Even after buying the arrangement and declaring it your gift, Eddie insists on carrying it all the way to your car and positioning it inside as best as he could. 

“A Cadillac isn’t exactly ideal to carry anything,” He huffs, watching how the massive arrangement pokes from above the exposed seats. “You’ll have to hope no flowers go flying when you start driving.”

“Or close the top off.”

“That, too.”

Sitting against the door of the car, you let a giggle escape you, which sounds like music to Eddie’s ears. Not only did it seem like you’d made some progress together, but you were also laughing in conversation with him. It felt like he’d been dreaming about that moment for more than half a decade now. 

“I want to take you out for coffee.”

… And his excitement had clearly made him delusional, because he was sure he had just crossed a line again. 

Your smile vanishes as fast as it had arrived, looking at him in shock. “What?”

“I… Sorry. I know you might still hate me, but I would like to have some time with you so we could talk about everything. Like we used to do.”

Though he’d never been a master at deciphering emotions, there had been a time when Eddie could just look at you and know what you were feeling. It stings him now that he watches your face morph through seven of them, and he seems unable to recognise a single one of them. 

You’d stared down at your shoes for a few seconds before looking back up at him. “Okay. Like old times.”

He isn’t sure why you feel the need to remind him, but he just nods, satisfied with the response. 

“How about tomorrow morning? Early pickup, Benny’s Burgers?”

“...It definitely has been a long time since I ate something hearty for breakfast.”

“Then it’s decided,” Eddie looks exalted. “That way, you can also have some calm before the service in the afternoon. I’ll be there too.”

“Sounds good,” Though you look sad, you manage to utter a small smile his way. “Thank you, Eds.”

His heart jumpstarts into a faster rhythm when you utter that nickname for the first time in years, leaving him awestruck as you get into your car. Eddie just stands there, a dumb smile plastered on his face as he watches you drive away. He follows the vehicle out of the lot with his head, turning around while shyly rubbing his neck. He’d finally made it right.

Sleeping had been a real challenge on the night of the wake. 

Seeing Eddie had brought forth memories which you’d vowed to keep under wraps for the rest of your adult life, remembering clearly how distraught you’d felt as you cried in the passenger seat of your mom’s car. The almost 11 hour drive to New York had been an ugly reminder of just how much more distance you were adding to your friendship, on top of the abyss the summer’s events had opened between the both of you. The night before leaving, that’s when he had decided to finally admit to what he’d done. He’d broken you completely, as if you weren’t already, discarding four years of the most intense of friendships you’d ever had like it had meant nothing to him. For what? Had it all been worth it? Did it work out in the end?

You’d made yourself the promise that you’d never look back, and even when you started to pursue your music career, you tried to not think of him, even if you knew that deep down you were chasing the dream for both of you. That every single one of your achievements, every record you broke and every chart you smashed through the roof had a little piece of him attached to it. You’d never get rid of Eddie Munson, and that had become even clearer when he showed up on the day of your mother’s wake. 

You hadn’t exchanged many words, just sat in that familiar comfortable silence you were always able to keep between yourselves. Despite what he’d done and how much it made you hate him, you knew how important your mom had been to him. You knew that she’d vowed for him when it all went down, how she’d begged to make you listen to him and answer his voicemails after she’d given him your landline herself, but you just did not listen. Would things have changed if you did? Should you have heard her out? What was he thinking about? All those thoughts fluttered around in your mind as you shared the rest of the cigarette and quietly grieved, too scared to shatter the fragile peace which reigned between the two of you.

When he finally speaks again, he does so after a while of mutual sobbing, curls hiding the sadness in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” He repeats, and it’s clear he is letting out the thoughts he’d held for the past seven years, the endless ‘I should’ve told her this’ reminders  which crossed his mind almost every week. “To this day, it hurts me to think how things ended up between us, angel. I should’ve…”

“Don’t call me that,” You cut off sharply, feeling a jolt of something hidden burst through you at the mention of that nickname. “It’s been seven years of silence. You don’t get to call me that.”

“I tried calling you.”

“It clearly wasn’t enough,” you spit. “If our friendship was worth one summer of ‘bad decisions’ and two weeks of blowing up my answering machine, I don’t have anything else to say to you.”

Eddie’s mouth falls open and closes again, like a fish trying to breathe out of the water. You weren’t making things easier for him, but he’d already expected that. 

“I never stopped asking your mom about you.”

His words silence you, too shocked to even process a response before he continues speaking. “I did stop calling, but it was because, when you changed your number, I knew you were completely done with me. You didn’t come back for Christmas, Easter, or Summer breaks. You were gone. I respected the decision you took, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“She never said much, either. Your mom was an angel on earth. She knew how to keep your wishes of distancing yourself from me while still never shunning me. She told me you were good. That you were doing what made you proud, chasing your dreams. I only realized how true that was years later, after I had completely lost contact with her.”

His hard gulp makes you bite down incoming tears. Your mother had kept you both happy while she could, even if the other had no idea of it. She’d never mentioned Eddie again after you left it clear that you wanted nothing to do with him, and told her that you’d be changing the number on your landline to stop him from calling. She never uttered his name once more, but she’d still kept contact with him in secret. It did not feel like the treason an eighteen year old you would’ve proudly declared - it felt right. Something she’d do. She was just being a mother. 

Silence had reigned again after that, only cut when the funeral home staff came to inform you that it was about closing time. Despite Eddie’s helping hand, you’d picked yourself up and dusted off with dignity, finally able to look him in the eye. 

Taller, stronger, with eyes deeper than ever before: Eddie had turned into a proper adult, whose kid self seemed to have been lost in those pits of dark chocolate bearing a tired expression. You know you have to apologize to him, too, but it is not the time nor the place. The idea of meeting him outside of a strictly formal setting seems too frazzling, though. You have no idea of what words to use for goodbye, but clearly, he’d imagined that moment many more times than you ever did. 

“Life has changed so quickly without you,” He utters a deep sigh, a mix between relief and tiredness. “I never thought we’d meet again… like this.”

“I think it was Mom’s final wish,” Your voice comes out meek, small, walking with him towards the funeral home’s parking lot. “To bring us together again. Even in death, she manages to get her way.”

Your comment sparks a shared smile, very much needed in such a moment of tension. 

“It’s a nice thought.”

You just stare at him in silence, stopping before your paths have to divert once more. There are only two more cars left in the public lot: your sparkling Cadillac, and a beat down, black, ‘74 Jeep Cherokee. Both of you raise a brow at the other. 

“...I see you’re well off.”

“...And I see you’ve moved on from the van.”

He huffs. “Yeah, well. I didn’t need that much useless space anymore.”

You still remembered for how long Eddie had saved up to get his own van after earning his license, insisting that he needed the back to move all of the Corroded Coffin equipment when they went from gig to gig. You guessed that was his subtle way of saying that the band had been dissolved long ago.

“Oh. Damn it.”

“Yeah.”

More silence, and this time, it was getting awkward. You’re starkly reminded of the very real difference between the two of you, and it doesn’t feel comforting. 

“I… I guess I'll see you around. In a few days.”

“Yep.”

“Will do.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Goodnight.”

“Night, Eddie.”

You’d played it cool, but it had taken you 2 minutes of driving on the road to break down at the whole interaction, which carried all the way until you got home and deflated on the bed. Just a few exchanged sentences, seeing him after so long, had broken down the barriers you’d dutifully built for years on end. He was that magnetizing, such a vital piece of your life that you’d discarded without a second thought. 

Seeing him again would be asking for trouble, and you knew that. But if Joyce’s advice was to be followed, you knew what you had to do when you woke up the following morning. 

It had taken a while of scrolling through your mom’s phone book and a couple of rings, but now, you walked into one of your favorite diners in Hawkins like you owned the place. 

You’d chosen the spot despite its popularity, but you’d gone the extra mile to ask for a layer of privacy and had decked yourself in the chic sunglasses and silk headscarf combo to avoid any unwanted stares. The waitress had almost jumped when she realized who she was receiving, speech growing high-pitched as she led you down rows of occupied tables. 

The booth you’d chosen, the one cornered by windows, had the sheer privacy curtains drawn down and an anxious woman tapping her foot under the table at the speed of light. The clicking of your high-heeled boots alerts her of your presence, sliding out of her seat with shocked eyes rimmed in mascara. 

“Woah. You really do look like a music star.”

Robin hadn’t changed a single bit. Having in mind that she was two years younger than you, it made sense that she had not grown as much out of her young teenage aesthetic, but even her personality remained the same. You laugh at her words, taking off the sunnies to look her in the eyes. 

“It came with the contract.”

She’s almost too mesmerized by you, moving her hands up and down without much coordination. “I… You… Sorry, look, this is so weird, but you’re literally an award-winning singer and songwriter, and I don’t know what to do with myself. It’s so hard to think we were friends in highschool, and now I keep your tapes next to my Madonna ones. I feel like I’m fan-girling too much and you are totally put off by me right now. Can I hug you? Is that allowed?”

“Oh my God, Robin,” You roll your eyes and flash a smile, taking the step forward yourself. “Just come here.”

It’s almost as if you feel her stress ooze away when you wrap your arms tightly around her, which she reciprocates with the same enthusiasm.

“...You even smell expensive, damn it.”

She looks around as you sit down, humming happily. “I’ve never seen this place so empty during the mornings.”

“I had this part closed off.”

“Oh. Right. Makes sense,” She clears her voice, suddenly shy under your watchful gaze. 

“I heard the news. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Robin had met your mom just once or twice, and like every one of your friends, she’d loved her like she was her own. The story of how you had met Robin was funny. You liked to watch your high school’s band practice whenever Corroded Coffin wasn’t playing, because being surrounded by music always helped get your juices flowing for songwriting. And so, one day, a 14 year old Robin who’d always struggled to keep her mouth shut had just come up to downright ask you if you wanted to try out for band, and you’d suddenly realized how weird you must’ve looked for the past few years of watching a group of out-of-tune teenagers finding their pitch. Explaining that it helped you write music wasn’t much easier, either. 

However it may be, you and Robin had developed an unusual friendship, where she’d sit down with you after every practice to read some of the lyrics you decided to share with her. That random girl you’d met out of luck had been the first to read the words to what would go on to become smash-hits in the future, even before Eddie did, and there was a reason for that. You couldn’t have your metal-loving muse read through mushy lyrics which were surrounded with hand-drawn hearts on the borders of their pages. It was just too embarrassing, even if he was your best friend and your favorite person in the whole world. 

It also meant that she had been the first person ever to realize just how deeply your boy problems rooted. If there was anyone you’d have to ask about Eddie, it would definitely be Robin.

“I wanted to attend the wake, but I worked until late last night. I’ll definitely be at the funeral. Don’t know if that was the reason why you wanted to see me,” She rubs her neck guiltily, and you just shake your head, easing away her doubts. 

“Don’t worry about that. I wanted to ask you about something else… Which I’m sure will bring back some memories.”

“Uugh- High school memories. My least favorite,” She fakes a chill, and you just have to laugh. Robin Buckley’s sarcasm would never disappear, that was for certain. “I definitely need a coffee and a debrief before getting into that. Too much has gone down in the past few years for you to just gloss over it like it’s nothing.”

The thread of your conversation flows so naturally, it feels surreal that you have not talked to that girl in over seven years. With the way you unwrap yourself so naturally with her, anyone could’ve sworn you’d kept close contact for that whole time, but alas, you order and chug down two whole mugs of coffee before you can even start to get close to the conversation’s end. Everything, from how you’d dropped out of college to start singing in dive bars to your recent nationwide and European tour, is spilled on the table. Robin also catches you up with her own life: she’d stayed in the band and graduated in ‘86, to which she’d immediately moved into a small place with Steve Harrington and spent one or two years working with him at the Family Video. Steve had then started dating a middle-aged woman named Mariah who already had three kids, and almost immediately left her pregnant with her fourth, which meant he decided to move into her place with her. Since then, Robin was renting a small apartment and acting as a private tutor in Spanish and French while she figured out her next move - a backpacking trip around the world, she’d concluded, which would help her find herself. She also played the occasional gig at Enzo’s to get some extra cash and avoid having her trumpet skills go rusty. 

“I mean, I just can’t believe King Steve is now a step father,” You’d never met Steve outside of school gossip, but apparently, Robin had worked with him during the summer of ‘85 and it had made them impossibly close. An unlikely pair, but one which seemed to be bound by the strongest of platonic spells.

“Honestly, if you knew him, you wouldn’t be so surprised. He loves kids. I remember when we were working together at Scoops Ahoy, how a bunch of 13 and 14 year olds just spent the whole summer asking him for free samples and using the back entrance to sneak into the Starcourt cinema. It was something worth seeing. He looked like their babysitter.”

Sharing a laugh, you drink a sip of coffee while Robin keeps going on without stopping. “Also, I’m sure you already know, but the fact that Steve has children now isn’t that much of an off case. They’re not even his own… Can’t say the same about others, right?”

Your utter confusion and slight head tilt tells Robin enough: you did not know anything. 

“Oh. Shit. I think I’ve spoken too much.”

“Wait- What?” You let out a girlish giggle, even though Robin looks far too mortified to imitate you. “Who else who we went to high school with had kids already? I mean, I get the small town appeal of starting an early family, but it hasn’t even been that long since…”

You can’t even continue, because suddenly, Robin’s circumstantial expression makes something click in your mind. 

“Life has changed so quickly without you.”

A family-appropriate truck? 

“I didn’t need that much useless space anymore.”

It was impossible. 

“Robin,” Your tone has lowered down to a dangerous thing, treading carefully. “Who had kids?”

“I don’t know if you really wanna know…”

“Robin.”

“Okay!” She lets a hand push through her hair, nervously looking around. 

“It’s Eddie. Eddie Munson had a kid.”

It’s like a bucket of ice-cold water has just been dropped on you, snapping you into a state of shock you were unsure you’d ever leave.

Eddie. Your Eddie. Eddie Munson, the rebel rockstar wannabe and drug dealer, also lead singer and guitarist of Corroded Coffin, was now a father at age twenty-four. The guy who you would’ve given your life for to have him notice you as something more than just a friend had had a kid with another woman… And you thought you knew who the mother was. 

You wanted to vomit. 

“I’m sorry, Robin, I think I’m gonna…”

“Listen,” Her hand reaches for you across the table, temporarily grounding you. It felt like the diner was spinning around you, bringing to life the stark realization that you were far from over Eddie Munson. You should’ve never returned to Hawkins. Never have called Robin up or wondered any more about him, should’ve kept him locked in your memory as the one who got away and buried your mother without digging out any more unnecessary teenage drama. 

“Listen to me, I… I know you didn’t end on good terms with him, and I think I know the reason why,” She bites her lip guiltily. “Whatever you’re thinking right now is not true. That did not end well for them.”

Robin’s words calm you down for a second. “What?”

“Yeah. But I can’t be the one telling you that!” She shakes her head profusely. “I saw it third hand, not first. And even though I have no idea what he did to you for you to step so far away from him, I do know one thing, and it’s the fact that the love you held for that guy was more than just platonic. That stuff is unbreakable. You need to talk with him, now that destiny has brought you back together again.”

If what Robin had said was true, you were even more intrigued to know what Eddie’s story had been after the summer of ‘84, but it was clear that she was not going to be the teller of that tale. You still were unsure about if you wanted to know the end to it, either.

Maybe, she was right. If destiny wanted it like that, you’d let stuff flow without putting a stop to it like you had in the past.

“I’ll try to. He’s coming to the funeral tomorrow.”

“Good. Now, let me wash my palate. I can’t believe you have me saying cheesy stuff in favor of a guy so early in the morning.”

October 31st, 1980

“We look ridiculous.”

“That’s the fun of it, my dear Eddie.”

Your toothy grin stares back at the both of you from your sticker-lined bedroom mirror, reflecting the goofy pose you hit. Eddie cracks a smile at your antics. 

“Do I look like I could be in the comics?”

“Front cover.”

A cackle tumbles from the depths of your stomach, making you lose your feigned composure. Your impromptu costumes did look kind of wild - they would be no envy to those of the kids who lived in wealthier neighbourhoods, that was for sure - but the fun you and your friend had found in putting each piece together was better than any store-bought crap. 

Ever since that summer day, you and Eddie had become good friends. Your mom already classified you as inseparable, and there was no doubt that the both of you had found your favorite person in each other, but Eddie’s shell was a tough one to crack through. 

He’d gone through a lot. Wayne was glad that he’d found a friend in you, someone who’d kept him company for the whole summer despite Eddie’s reticence to let his true personality shine through. You had fun with Eddie, even if he was terribly shy and quiet at times. The first month you’d passed together had been almost fully spent exchanging silent gestures, hanging out and being there for one another even when there were no words being spoken. Anyone else would’ve found Eddie boring or difficult to deal with, but you saw a part of yourself in the troubled boy, and knew he only needed a helping hand to get through it. It was nice to just float in his orbit, sharing the knowledge that there was no judgement of your weird quirks between you. 

One afternoon, your mom had sat you down after you’d spent the day at Lover’s Lake with Eddie, trying to come up with the wildest jumps into the water without breaking a leg or an arm. Apparently, while you kids were busy, she’d had some coffee with Mr Munson, who had explained Eddie’s situation to her. She did not tell you everything at the time, as that was a story for Eddie to explain, but she did reveal that he had been living with his dad before moving to Hawkins. He had not been a good man to his son, and that was the reason why Eddie was so quiet and struggled to let himself just enjoy things. His childlike joy had been punished in the past. 

You’d only known him for a few months, but you could tell how Eddie’s true self wasn’t that timid character he usually fronted. There were moments of pure, unfiltered happiness he’d spent with you where the light would slip through the cracks, letting you see glimpses of a joyous, carefree personality you absolutely loved to bring forwards with your words or actions. Ever since the day you’d met him burning his father’s shirt, you’d taken that decision: You’d help Eddie become his true self again, and never dare to leave his side. 

The rest of the summer had been the best one you’d ever had, and judging by Eddie’s tired smiles every night when you’d both split ways and walk to each of your trailers, you were sure he reciprocated the feeling. Eddie expressed his appreciation with actions, not with words, like the late August day his uncle had rolled into Forest Hills with a bike for him to ride to school with. 

“Some guy at the plant said his kid was gonna throw his bike out to get a new one for his birthday. I told him to run it by me before taking it to the dump.”

Such a simple action had made Wayne happy for the rest of the week, seeing how excited Eddie got at the littlest of things. You’d woken up that morning to ringing bells outside your bedroom window, peeking out to see Eddie cycling in circles with his new acquisition. It had been double as exciting for you, because apart from seeing your friend so giddy, it meant he could now take you everywhere with his new means of transportation. 

“We could go to so many new places that aren’t Lover’s Lake for what’s left of the summer!”

Eddie had excitedly agreed, but then inquired why you didn’t just use the one you kept locked next to one of the fence posts surrounding your trailer. 

“Oh. That one…” Suddenly embarrassed, you’d rubbed your neck while feeling a blush creep onto your cheeks. “That’s my bike, but it broke long ago and my dad just refused to fix it. It’s been laying there ever since.”

“How do you go to school, then?”

“I take the bus.”

There was no bus stop near, and both of you knew that. Your task every school morning was to wake up extra early and accompany your mother to work, just so you’d get closer to civilization and could trek until you found the nearest stop. 

Eddie, however, did not like this idea. He had no problem in letting you piggy-back his bike, but after a quick look at the one you’d left forgotten, he raised his brows incredulously and shook his head. 

“I can fix that.”

“You can?”

“Yeah. It just looks like the chain got unhooked and mangled. Needs some grease, filing off the rust…” He reached forwards and pulled on the brakes, moving the bike to see if they worked. “...Even these are okay. My uncle has some tools and leftover car paint under the sink, I saw it the other day. We can get this done in an afternoon.”

And so, unlike your father, he’d kept true to his promise. That lanky boy fixed your bicycle up like a mechanic and then helped you touch it up so it’d look decent to ride around town. You made sure to thank him a million times since that day, and every time you did, Eddie’s face would turn a darker shade of red. 

The bike, the end of the summer, the harsh start to freshman year you’d put though together: it all brought you down to that very moment, the picture of one preteen who’d convinced her unsure friend about dressing up to go out on Halloween. It had been a no-brainer when Eddie revealed to you that he’d never done something like that as a kid, during the shy confessions he usually let out while you ate your lunch in the secluded spot you’d chosen around the school grounds. It was the only place to hide from jocks who’d laugh at Eddie’s troubled look and cheerleaders who’d make fun of your old clothes. 

“We have got to dress up now, then. And I know just the costumes for us.”

You remembered well how Eddie had almost died of embarrassment when you pulled out a G.I. Joe comic the day after, and started pointing at the characters you’d each be transformed into: Duke and Scarlett. 

It did not fly over your head that the reason for his awkwardness was the fact that kids liked to make fun of his buzz-cut hair, which he was dying to finally grow out of. To you, that made it even more important that he learned to love it in a lighthearted way. 

“It’s a bit on the nose,” Dismayed, he’d rubbed his hands up and down the layer of new growths, a way darker shade than the zero fade he’d sported for half of last summer. “Begging for people to notice it.”

“Eddie,” The seriousness in your tone had called for his attention. “Mean people like to make fun of what makes you different from the others. They can sense your insecurities, so they know it’s a weak point to attack, and they’ll always get a good hit on you. However, if you embrace what makes you yourself, that problem vanishes. Loving what makes you weird makes life much more fun.”

And then, you’d taken a bite so massive out of your PBnJ that a blob of jam fell on your shirt, which you just laughed off and cleaned up like it was nothing. Eddie looked at you completely entranced, processing how such words came from someone who always seemed so careless and free-spirited, and it finally clicked: You lived life following your own advice. You received your fair share of tormenting in school, but you never let it affect you or how you interacted with Eddie, even if a lot of it came from your association with him. It was an admirable thing, and it made a part of Eddie finally break one of the many locks he’d put up in the past to protect himself from the outside world. 

He’d agreed to the costume, just because it was you who’d do it besides him. 

The following two weeks had been an enthralling hunt for the pieces you needed to find to make your look believable: You’d written it all down on a list, and every afternoon after school, you’d hit the thrift store bins and local Five & Dime to cross items off of it. Eddie had gotten a ridiculously small toy AK for just under two dollars, and you’d managed to get both your belts and some green cargo pants for him that looked exactly like what you were looking for. Still, most of your outfits came to be from the oldest of tricks in the book of costumes: things you had laying around at home. Wayne’s old work boots were perfect for Eddie, and you had a yellow swimsuit that, if worn over a black shirt and your mom’s black winter tights, already made up half of your costume. However, what had by far been the funnest thing to figure out was Eddie’s shirt.

You’d been digging through your closets one day when you found part of your father’s old uniforms. His time in the army had been stashed away long ago, and even if he was there to see it, he’d never notice it missing for just one night. 

The shirt had looked like a dress on poor Eddie, who’d been the subject of you and your mom’s good-hearted laughs. Just to make up for it, she’d offered to add some preventive stitches which made the thing fit him much better, and could be seamlessly removed once the night was over and the khaki shirt was returned to the back of the closet. 

“I think we’re ready to hit the town, Duke,” You’d glanced over at him with a conspiratorial grin, arms akimbo. “What do you think?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Eddie’s doubts disappeared the moment you were cycling down the streets next to the forest, always deserted before arriving in the more populated neighbourhoods. You loved to take the downwards incline with a big push of your bike, rolling down the hill at neck-breaking speeds while he worried over the fact that you put your hands up like you were on a roller coaster. That day was no less, matching your increase in pedalling to catch the slope at a similar pace. 

Eddie cackles in awe of your equilibrium as you remove both feet and hands from the bike in pure excitement, yelling the ‘Yo Joe!’ catchphrase Duke used to lead the team into battle out to the sunset. It’s contagious. He can only follow as you do, feeling the freedom which fills up his senses as he lets go of the handle bars for the first time in his life. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hours later, you find yourself sitting on the curb of a random suburban neighbourhood, both munching on your favorite chocolate bars as you argued over which of the two was better. 

“It’s basically the same thing, but Snickers are just superior!” You take a hearty bite of your candy, letting the flavors melt into your tongue before speaking with your mouth full. “You get the salty peanuts in there too, it makes it taste soo good.”

“Why would you want salty peanuts in your sweet candy?” Eddie also munches on his Milky Way while talking, looking at you with a goofy grin. “Makes no sense.”

“The contrast! It makes it good!” You point at the filling with a crazed look, amused at how Eddie giggles at your occurrence. “You can’t eat two Milky Ways, they fill you up too much because they’re too sweet. You can, however, eat two Snickers bars without a problem…”

“Who says I can't?" Eddie’s already pulling another one of the little rectangles out of his cargo pant pockets. “Watch me.”

“You’ll stuff your face before dinner.”

“Shut up, mom.”

Just like every other pre-teen who was starting to get too old to trick-or-treat, you’d taken to the roads later that night, after the first round of children were done collecting their candy. Then, you’d headed down to the wealthier neighbourhoods, where the biggest candy bars were let out in bowls after a later time had struck the clock and people were too lazy to keep opening the door if it wasn’t for cute little kids in costumes. You were not greedy like those who took half of the candy for themselves, but you were sharp enough to dig into the mixes to find the good prizes left at the bottom. Once you’d made yourselves with an acceptable bounty, you’d sat down to eat and people-watch as preteens, kids, and tired parents paraded around in costumes, yelling and looking at the decorations set up throughout. 

The afternoon had left you satisfied, not only for the amount of sugar you’d consumed, but because of the fact that Eddie seemed to have finally let himself out of his shell for the longest time in weeks. It was nice to be able to goof around with him without watching his shyness overtake him, following you in acting out the part of your costumes when some little kids also dressed as the cartoon characters had approached you with toothless grins. It felt like hanging out with the real Eddie for the first time ever, and for that, you were incredibly grateful. 

“Wonder what they’re selling over there.”

Too immersed in your own thoughts about him, Eddie had polished through his second chocolate before you could even realize, crumbling the sticky wrappers between his clenched fists. Taking the last bite off your Snickers bar, you imitate him, looking in the direction where he’d been staring. A middle-aged woman had been setting up a Halloween themed yard sale on her driveway for as long as you’d sat there, and people were just starting to approach her with interested expressions. 

You shrug like it’s a no-brainer, standing up with an energetic hop. “Why don’t we figure it out?”

It takes Eddie a second to process your initiative, but he immediately agrees, trailing behind as you walk towards the driveway. 

An impressive array of attic-forgotten treasures lay on display for you to see, immediately marvelling at the towering comic collections and dusty books on topics you had never heard of in your life. You and Eddie trail slowly through the yard sale, pointing out interesting stuff to each other before your own absorption guides you both down different paths. When you realize, you’ve been separated from your Duke, who you start to look for while poking your head out between the people. 

Eddie stands by a forgotten corner of the sale, staring down at something with an intensely focused expression. Curious to see whatever he has discovered, you make your way towards him, but not before stopping dead on your tracks by some of the tables close to where he stands. There is an arrangement of spooky masks laid out for the public to see. You had no clue if they were supposed to be decorative pieces, but the idea of scaring your friend with one sparks in your mind that very second. 

Giggling devilishly, you grab the scariest one and walk towards Eddie, making sure he doesn’t see you as you tip-toe behind his back. Before laying a hand on his shoulder, you place the mask over your face. 

“Boo!”

Eddie’s scream is almost girlish, drawing looks from everyone at the yard sale. It doesn't help that you’re cackling like a hyena, laughing so hard that you have to bend over before you need to be excused to the nearest bathroom. Eddie swats your shoulder forcefully when you finally stand up to wipe the tears off your eyes, and to your delight, there is a faint smile on his lips.

“You motherf-”

“Language, Eds. There are kids nearby,” Shaking your head, you let the mask back on the table, smirking happily. “It’s what you get for running away from me.”

“I didn’t run!”

“I was lost in the crowd! Scared!”

“Shut up!”

Sharing a good laugh, you finally peek over his shoulder. “What did you find?”

“Look. I think it’s a board game, it sounds familiar but I can’t place it,” Gently, he places his hands on either side of the well-loved box, raising it for you to see. It’s thin, not too big - it cannot contain much on the inside, but the cover looks promising, a drawing of a wizard and a knight facing off against a red dragon. The beast shows off its teeth menacingly as it guards over its treasure, wings spread over the gold. 

“Dungeons and Dragons?”

It also sounded familiar to you, but you were sure it was just something you must’ve heard some kids talk about once or twice in passing. You’d never actually gotten your hands on the game, yet Eddie holds it like he is determined to take it home.

“We should figure it out. Have something to play in the winter when it’s too cold to go out.”

Despite mentioning the coming dips in temperature, your heart melts at the idea Eddie had: he’d picked it up because he wanted to play it with you. Figure it out together, as a pair of friends. 

“Looks cool, right?”

“It does. We should ask the lady for a price.”

“I…” He trails before you can walk any further, patting his pant pockets. “I don’t think I can spare much on this.”

You didn’t have a lot of money with you either, but you tap his shoulder to reassure him. “We’ll give her all we have and make her feel bad. It’s a yard sale, haggling is a must with these things.”

Encouraged by you, you lead him to find the lady conducting the sale, who had just sold off a chandelier to a passing family. She counts the bills in her hands thoroughly, alerted when you approach her.

“Excuse me, Ma’am. How much for this board game?”

She frowns slightly at the sight of the box, still held tightly in Eddie’s hands. “Oh, that thing… I’m surprised you found it, I had it put aside because I didn’t even know what price to give the damn game. I just want it out of my house.”

You and Eddie exchange a knowing look before he presses the seller onwards. “So it has no price?”

“Again, I just wanna get rid of it. I’ve heard all about that game in church, my little Bobby insisted on getting it back in ‘77, but if I’d known it’s all about devil worshipping, I never would’ve spent a cent on it,” She drones on and on. For a game she despised, she did have a lot to say about it. “Him and his friends were obsessed with it, they’d lock themselves in to play for hours on end while I could just pray for their protection… But he didn’t let me throw it out. He called me crazy. I’m trying to get rid of it before he comes back home from college this Christmas break and realizes he never took it with him in the first place.”

“We don’t have a lot of money on us, but…”

“None of that. If you want it, take it, you don’t have to pay me anything,” She just waves the both of you off with her hand. “You’re doing me more of a favor by taking it than by paying me for it.”

Excited, you both nod enthusiastically, getting out of there before she can continue with the God-fearing speech. 

Later that night, you and Eddie read through the whole rulebook and began to understand just what Dungeons and Dragons was all about while Halloween played as a background noise, having long forgotten that you’d rented the film just for the occasion. You’d stayed up until the static buzzed lowly on the TV and your mom got home from work to the two of you laid on the floor, surrounded by scattered pens, papers, game booklets, and dice.

End of the Summer, 1981 

Despite the fact that September creeped right around the corner, the temperature in Hawkins had not lowered a single degree. Evidence of it was Eddie’s overworked AC unit, which hung from the window as it leaked water all over his bedroom floor. 

Wayne’s trailer only had one room, which he’d insisted his nephew take the second he’d been dropped off at his home. For the first few months, it had remained sterile, as pristine as his uncle had left it - the boy had been much too shy to make it his own, besides the fact that he’d had no real interests to proudly display after he got taken from his father.

But that had been the moment Eddie’s life had truly started over, and with it came a flurry of good memories - all of which had your face mingled between them. 

You had marked the night you both discovered D&D as Eddie’s shifting point. The year that came after saw a more outgoing version of him day after day, stirred on by the good people who now surrounded him in his life and him finding joy in simple things such as games or music. You and Eddie had spent the whole winter boxing yourselves in your rooms, making up stories and playing a version of Dungeons and Dragons which only included the both of you. Eddie loved that game, and spent every class obsessing over writing new campaigns and briefing you on the character ideas he came up with. 

Many other activities brought you two together, but what you had discovered during a February weekend was surely the obsession to end all others. 

Some record store had recently opened in town, and you and Eddie had been meaning to check it out for the longest time. A particularly boring, snowy Saturday had been your queue to wrap yourselves in the thickest clothes you owned and cycle all the way down to central Hawkins, where the Rollin’ Records logo greeted you with the buzzing of halogen lights. 

The inside was comfortingly warm, half-heartedly greeted by a teenager who didn’t even look away from her magazine when the two of you waddled in through the door. It didn’t really matter, because both of you let out a gasp at the sheer size of that store, all full to the brim with what seemed like millions of physical music pieces. They hung up on the wall and made up piles across the display tables and racks, from cassettes to vinyls, citing every possible artist you could’ve ever imagined. 

Both you and Eddie were too broke to afford a Walkman in the middle of the year, and right about that moment, you chastised yourself for not having asked for one last Christmas. What you two had gotten, however, was some pay from each of your guardians so that you’d have extra money to spend on stuff, which you’d pocketed before leaving to the store. Besides, Eddie had been tinkering with a boombox Wayne had bought back in the early 70’s, which he insisted he could fix in a second when he got a tape to finally listen to. After what he’d done with your bike, you did not doubt the boy, and had agreed to each buying one album of your liking to take home and listen to. 

Mindlessly, you’d strolled up and down the halls for what could’ve easily been more than an hour, checking out every single one of the albums on display. Even the clerk had finally acknowledged you at some point, asking if you were going to buy anything or just go through the inventory for her. You’d have taken at least 50 cassettes of your liking, all including songs you loved, but had finally narrowed it down to one: Dynasty by KISS. I Was Made For Lovin’ You was always guaranteed to make you scream along to the lyrics, and you just loved the funky Dirty Living whenever it came on the radio. Besides, KISS’ painted faces on the cover had made you laugh when you picked the tape up. It was decided. 

Eddie, however, was not having as easy of a time to choose as you had. You approached him at the Heavy Metal section while waving the KISS tape around, siding up to him while he stared at the selection in complete absorption. 

“Heavy Metal?” You lightly poked his ribs with your elbow, giving him a teasing smirk. “I didn’t take you for a headbanger, Eds.”

“I’ve always liked the style,” He points towards a poster depicting Van Halen’s 1979 World Tour, letting out a small smile. “No one in the world can ever look cooler than a rockstar.”

He wasn’t wrong, but the idea tickles something in you. “Does that mean you’d like to grow out the metalhead hair?”

Shyly, Eddie rubs his hand over his curls. They’d grown out beautifully dark and shiny, perfect coils which fell over his forehead like chocolate snail shells. 

“And what if I do?  Are you making fun of me?”

“No!” Your strong negative reaction almost startles him a bit, to which you back down with an awkward smile. The image you’d gotten of Eddie as a rockstar in your head had been nothing to make fun of. “I… I honestly think it would suit you.”

His eyes light up momentarily, like you’ve just given him the world’s best compliment. “Do you really?”

“Yeah.”

He can only process it for a few seconds before shaking his head out of his mental haze. “Uhh, yeah. Okay, I really need to pick this tape now.”

But instead of returning to the job, your friend turns to look at you, eyes almost pleading. “Since I can’t choose, you should be the one to do it.”

“What?”

“Come on, help me out here,” Eddie gets closer to you, lowering his voice so your conversation is just out of the clerk’s earshot. “That girl has been looking weirdly at us for the past fifteen minutes. She’ll kick us out soon if we don’t buy something.”

He isn’t wrong: the Rollin’ Records employee looks completely fed up with waiting for her only customers to leave the place, so you turn towards the rows of cassettes and take a step before Eddie. 

The selection is just too wide: Iron Maiden, Mötorhead, Scorpions, Rush; their covers all stare back at you in their varying degrees of weirdness, waiting to get picked. You were starting to get sucked into the infinite loop Eddie had been trapped in, and knew that you’d never be able to just choose one while they were all presented in front of you like that. 

So, your solution? Closing your eyes. 

You shut your eyelids with decision and ghost your fingers over the cassette tapes, stopping whenever you feel like it. Ignoring Eddie’s questioning words, the winner is fished out of the bunch, opening your eyes to a simple cover.

It's a motion-blurred picture of a man, glowing pink while surrounded by the darkness of a forest. He raises a sword and a shield like he is lunging into an attack. 

“...Black Sabbath.”

You hand Eddie the Paranoid tape, content with your decision. You’d definitely heard about them before, but it was an old album - your father had mentioned that band once or twice, for sure. It somehow felt like the right choice for Eddie, who stares down at the tape curiously. 

“Trust me. My intuition never fails,” Humming contentedly, you take the lead as you walk towards the register, followed closely by your friend. 

“We’ll see how good your intuition really is when we get back to the trailer.”

Since then, the rest was history. Black Sabbath had kickstarted what became one of Eddie’s first loves, right after D&D: his obsession with heavy metal. From buying every single one of their albums to covering his room walls with posters, that first Black Sabbath tape had been the start of the metal thunderstorm which would come during the following months. Many more bands were added to his rapidly growing collection of music, and you saw first-hand how his style slowly started to morph into that of his favorite artists. 

The summer buzzcut was probably the last time Eddie seriously cut his hair: since then, he’d forced himself to learn how to take good care of it, afraid of ever having to lose it again. When the summer finally rolled back around, he could tie his curls into a small ponytail by the base of his head, and had shyly decided to ask you and your mother about what hair products he should be using to keep it nice. 

You’d insisted that he’d have to cut it to style it and keep his ends healthy, but Eddie refused going to a barbershop again in fear that they’d cut it too short and undo his progress. That only meant one thing, being that you were the person Eddie trusted most with his artistic visions: at the very start of June, you’d sat him down in the middle of his living room with wet hair and a towel placed around his shoulders, snapping locks and ends off while he dramatically cried out that you were cutting it way too short. In reality, he’d loved it: the back growth was intact, and he could finally see something through the bangs you’d cut in the front. 

“You’re gonna be my personal hairdresser for the rest of my life,” He’d teased you, “I hope you’re up for the job.”

However, the hair transformation wasn’t the only change Eddie had decided to implement in his life in his pursuit of making it more metal. There was one thing, that one vital piece of the puzzle he was desperately trying to place down: he didn’t know how to play any instruments. 

For his birthday, you’d decided to commemorate the tape which had started it all and had spent weeks running around Hawkins in search of anything Black Sabbath related. You didn’t want posters or merchandise - Eddie was determined on getting it all himself - you wanted something truly special and hard to find. From the Family Video to thrift store bins and knocking on people’s doors, you did not stop until you got what you wanted: an old british man living around the outskirts of town had sold you a VHS containing a performance of Paranoid that Black Sabbath had done in 1970, in a TV show called Top of the Pops. It had cost you a couple months’ pay, but even if you’d gotten scammed, seeing Eddie’s reaction to it had been more than worth it. 

That video went top 1 in the Munson household charts, as Eddie played it in the background during every second he spent at home. No matter what you were doing: having dinner, playing D&D, doing homework, or just hanging out; Ozzy could always be heard repeating the same lyrics, which ended up getting drilled into your skull. 

Eddie had completely memorised the video - from the switching camera angles to the way Tony Iommi and Geezer Butler handled the guitar and bass like they were magic. His next idea had been born precisely from that. 

“I have to learn electric guitar.”

Which, of course, had led to the question of where he’d even find a guitar to practice with, which he had covered: he would simply work his ass off all summer, to buy a beautiful model he’d been drooling over for ages. He’d shown it to you a million times before - with jagged and pointy edges, the guitar he wanted was a B.C. Rich Warlock NJ Series in the special edition crackled red paint, which you thought looked absolutely rad. 

From the second he’d told you his plan, you’d agreed to it. Just like with everything else happening in your life since you met him, you’d do this together: Eddie would work and save up for his guitar, and you’d be his moral support and get the job alongside him so you’d also have some extra cash to spare. 

A whole summer of scooping ice cream and cleaning cars had passed, work made surprisingly pleasant because of the fact that you were doing it alongside your favorite person in the world. It did not mean, however, that the both of you hadn’t ended those three months in absolute shambles: if anything, the picture of you laying on Eddie’s bed in a starfish position while he lined up dollar bills on the floor was more than enough evidence of it. 

The heat must’ve been bringing the last months’ memories to the surface, because your mind can’t help but wonder while you focus on the thin stream of cool air which dances over your face. Some Judas Priest played in the background while Eddie counted under his breath, both sounds you’d completely tuned out to listen to the AC whirring. Maybe, if you concentrated enough on it, you’d make the damn thing spin faster using telekinesis. 

“It’s not enough.”

That, however, had been enough to send you straight up and off the bed, leaning over the mattress to find Eddie’s big brown eyes staring back up at you. The sad twinge in them makes you want to cry. 

“I’m short of $200. Goddamn it, I knew we should’ve also spent Sundays car cleaning.”

“Come on, Eddie, that would’ve been too much. Working every single day of the week during summer break doesn’t make it much of a break at all,” You raise a brow, scanning over the crumpled cash. 

Besides, your Sundays that summer had been spent doing something else. Apart from the guitar thing, you'd both had the idea to cover the town in posters advertising your very own Dungeons and Dragons club, which Eddie had dubbed The Hellfire Club. Hoping it would attract the much needed rest of players for your ambitious campaigns, what Eddie had been hoping would be a crowd of people had only ended up being a quartet of thirteen year olds with scared faces knocking on your door. 

Every Sunday since then had been dated as Hellfire day, where the group of you would get together to play under Eddie's intricate DM narratives. Clearly, it had been a busy season.

“Have you counted it more than once? Maybe you missed some.”

“I counted it five times, it’s not there,” Eddie grumbled and covered his face with his hands, dropping hard onto the floor behind him. “Fuck’s sake. I’ll have to wait until next summer to make the rest, now.”

It was what working off the books in Hawkins and struggling to find enough neighbours willing to get their cars cleaned meant. You hated seeing your friend like that, and had spent the rest of the afternoon doing his favorite things with him while furiously machinating. 

After a few days, Eddie had stored the piggy bank and vowed to forget about it until a year had passed, but you had other plans. One afternoon, you were let into his trailer by Wayne while Eddie was in the shower applying his long hair routine, under the guise that you’d forgotten something there last night. Then, guiltily enough, you’d stolen his money. 

It was all for a good cause. You knew he’d refused to pool the money you’d each individually earned with your hard labour, but apart from contributing at home and buying yourself the occasional trinket, you did not need that much cash laying around when there was a nice way of spending it. You’d seen how excited Eddie had been that he’d finally get his very own guitar, and so his reaction to being unable to buy it after watching him slave himself away all summer had crushed you. You needed to make it work for him, one way or another.

So you’d placed the order for the special edition in your local music shop, and after weeks of waiting, you’d swindled the rest of the cash and dashed down to the store as fast as possible, worried that you were carrying that much money on you for the first time in your life. The nice clerk had even helped tie the heavy package onto the back of your bike after picking it up, and had sent you off on your merry way with a smile that was ten miles wide. 

You’d never felt more important than you did that afternoon when you cycled into Forest Hills, which was the immediate trigger to your best friend opening the door to the outside. 

“Hey!” Excited to see you, he hops off the trailer porch and approaches you with a smile, curls still bloated with water. “Wayne said you were here while I was in the shower. I don’t remember seeing your bag laying around my room. What’s that?”

“Christmas came early,” You smile cryptically, locking the bike onto its usual fence post. “Wanna help me get it off?”

He doesn’t say anything, just looks at you with such a confused expression that it almost makes you laugh. Together, you take the package into the living room of his trailer, which you’d made sure to previously strip of any stickers which could give away the surprise. 

Wayne looks over his shoulder when the both of you tumble in with the big box, chuckling at your insistence that you have to drop it carefully. “What the Hell did ya order, kid? Looks like a piece of furniture.”

“And it weighs like one, too,” Eddie complains, straightening his back like a middle aged man. “You never told me you were buying anything this big. Why are we opening it in here instead of your house? It’ll be a pain to take back to your trailer.”

“Because, silly,” You roll your eyes, swiping one of Wayne’s cooking knives off the counter. “It’s not a package for me. It’s for you.”

He truly has no idea, grabbing the knife off your hand with a confused expression. “Me?”

“Yes, you. Come on! Open it already!”

Even if the youngest Munson hasn’t caught on yet, you feel the heavy look his uncle gives you, stepping closer to watch the scene as Eddie struggles with cutting the tape.

“Finally.”

All rid of its plastic bounds, Eddie carefully opens the box and removes the wrapping paper. However, when he finally recognises the logo printed on the case, he just freezes. 

For a second, you think he truly has lost all ability to move, reaching to poke his shoulder. Did he not like it? Was he mad at you for spending the money, had he figured it out? 

“Eds..?”

The second you make contact with the cotton of his shirt, Eddie snaps out of it, grabbing your arm and forcefully pulling you onto the ground with him. You let out a loud yelp as you crash directly into his chest, enveloped in the tightest hug you’ve ever gotten while your friend rolls you both on the floor out of pure excitement.

“The- You- No! You! Did! Not!” Laughter bubbles out of you while still trapped in his embrace, nodding along to every single word he yelled at the top of his lungs.

“What- When? How?!” Finally standing the both of you back up, you watch as Eddie keeps spouting monosyllables while fumbling to open the case. It’s then when you realize that Wayne had been watching the whole exchange with a knowing grin plastered on his face, raising his brows comically when you blush redder than a tomato. 

The silent exchange is only interrupted by Eddie’s high-pitched yell, eyes watery at the sight of his new guitar. It truly was a beautiful instrument, and it fit Eddie’s personality like a glove. 

“That’s a nice lookin’ 6-string,” Wayne ruffles Eddie’s curls as the boy caresses the crackled paint, chuckling to himself. “How do you call it? Very metal.”

“Indeed…” Eddie raises the heavy instrument out of the case with care, standing on his feet and solemnly tying the strap over his shoulders. Eddie had grown substantially during the last year into his teenage shape, which meant the big guitar fit him better than ever. “How do I look?”

Your cheeks hurt from smiling so much, tilting your head endearingly. “Straight out of an album cover.”

It had been hard to rid yourself of the endless hugs Eddie gave you for the rest of the night, even if you did so very reluctantly. He’d chastised you a bit for paying for it with your own money, but you’d gotten defensive while insisting that it had been your pleasure to split the cost while returning him half of what you’d been left with - besides, he just could not get mad at you with how over the moon he was, tearing through the manuals as he figured out how to tune it.

“Now,” Ever the ambitious boy he was, Eddie bites his lip as he turns the keys on the head delicately. “We need the rest of the band.”

You threw your hands on your face and dropped yourself onto his mattress, earning a laugh from him. “How many more summers is that gonna cost?!”

But as you stare at the Dungeons and Dragons poster he’d hung on the wall, it suddenly comes to you like a lightning strike, stumbling to sit on the ground beside him. 

“Hellfire!”

“What?”

“The Hellfire Club members. Gareth mentioned once his dad kept an old set of drums in his garage, and Jeff knows how to play acoustic guitar. Can’t be that far from electric, if he manages to get one,” Excited, you grab Eddie’s arm. “You should actually make a band, Eddie.”

“Holy shit. You’re right,” You can almost hear the cogs in his head turning as he plans it all over, and you already know he is picturing himself on a stage, playing for Woodstock ‘69 levels of crowds. “You’re right. You’re always right, you’re literally an angel on earth.”

“Enough with the ass-kissing, Eds,” But even though you roll your eyes and poke your tongue out at his cheesy comment, the fact that he’d said it like he meant it made your heart skip a beat. “I just happen to have good ideas, that's all.”

“The best of them.”

“Eddie! You already have the guitar, no need to push it!”

“Okay!”

Sometime around July, 1980 

Summer didn’t have to be awful. 

All the kids in your class always droned on and on about how amazing summer was. How they’d gone to the community pool with their friends countless times, laid on the grass and rolled down Weathertop hill, ate ice cream as they watched the fireworks - you’d always wondered why your feelings towards the season were so convoluted. 

And then, as you got older, it hit you. 

You always spent it stuck in a trailer park. 

Back when your father still had the guts to stick around, he’d been the only one with a car, and always refused to drop you off in the town center on especially hot days. Then, when you and your mom ended up alone, she spent her days so busy with work that she wasn’t able to take you anywhere. 

You were too poor to afford a new bike, and were way too closed off in school to make any friends with them. Therefore, when summer came, you saw yourself spending your days on a lawn chair, burning in the sun and swatting off mosquitoes from your legs. Playing the waiting game until September came along. 

There weren’t any other kids your age in the trailer park. Fourteen was problematic - too old to hang with the children, but too young to even attempt approaching a scary teen. Graduated middle school, but still hadn’t set foot in high school. A transition summer. It hadn’t felt like it, not until he came around. 

A preteen like you, whose head of dark curls you’d seen pop out of the back of a black Sedan. It had driven into the trailer park one unassuming afternoon, as you relished in the cool come with the setting sun while sucking on a Rocket Pop. The sight had intrigued you. You never got many visitors, aside from the cars you already recognised. 

He’d met your eyes when he followed the lady driver, who was fit in attire much too formal to be a Hawkins summer dweller. He had a lanky build, arms and legs a bit too long for his torso. His bangs were too long, having to push them back the second he started walking towards Mr Munson’s trailer. 

But what really got your attention was what laid beneath his locks. His right eye was rimmed in dark purple, something he quickly averts from your gaze. 

The unknown lady stayed until the sky had turned dark, but she did not take the boy back with her. 

Of course, you told your mom what you saw when she came back from her shift. Unlike every other time you had a query, she did not provide you with a straight answer. She only made a sullen face over her reheated dinner, looking at you through misty eyes. 

“If you get the chance to talk to this boy, be gentle.”

And you did. 

You saw him a couple days later. He’d spent them all cooped up in Mr Munson’s trailer, who you assumed was now the man tasked with taking care of him. The cicadas around Forest Hills were particularly loud that day, so you’d put on your denim shorts over your swimsuit and decided it was the day to go to Lover’s Lake. 

It was the only summer-esque attraction close enough for you to walk to, but it got boring to go to the lake everyday without any friends to hang out with. Today, however, was one of those days. More than five minutes on the lawn chair would surely fry you alive. 

You’d been walking down the dirt road and towards the unmarked path when you saw a hunched figure on the grass, quite a few feet away from you. You hadn’t recognised him at first. He was missing his curls, buzz-cut head now lumpy and sweaty under the beaming Sun.  

“What’s your name?”

You had startled him. He whipped his head around and instantly stood up to retreat like a wounded animal. You were almost tempted to raise your hands in peace. 

“Why do you care?”

His lashing made you falter. You’d met mean kids in school, but none had ever gone to the extent of being so rude at such a simple question. You’d been tempted to just spin on your heel and walk away from the trouble, until your mother’s words bubbled to the surface of your mind. 

Be gentle.

“Just asking, in case you want some company. I’m not trying to annoy you, or anything,” You’d offered your own name as an olive branch, clutching the rolled-up Ronald McDonald towel under your arm. “But you’re alone, and I’m alone, too. Thought we could be friends.”

The boy still seems unsure. He looks to be analyzing every single bit of you, weighing if you were a threat to him. 

“I like being alone.”

“I like it, too. But try spending a whole summer alone in this trailer park,” You scoff, glancing around at the metal structures. “You’ll go crazy.”

He just blinks, head tilting at the object you carry. “That a towel?”

“Yup,” You nod back to the direction you’d previously been headed towards. “Lover’s Lake is that way, it’s too hot to stay here today. I could show you around.”

It’s a silent invitation for him to follow, and you take the small victory in the fact that he hadn’t immediately refused. 

“I don’t have a swimsuit.”

You purse your lips in thought, looking down at his shorts. They looked like chopped-off sweatpants, ends jagged and torn. 

“Those work,” You shrug. “If you’re worried, we’ll totally be back earlier, and you can hang them to dry before Mr Munson comes back.”

“He’s my uncle,” he interjects, even if you hadn’t asked about his relationship to the man. It was a good sign. He was opening up slightly. 

“Oh. That’s cool. I don’t have any,” Or rather, you’d never met them. Your dad had a brother that lived in the other end of the country, and your mother didn’t talk to her family. Thanksgiving dinner had always been a quiet celebration - until your father grabbed hold of a bottle. “How’s having an uncle?”

“The best thing ever,” He quickly assured, and for some reason, you sensed a twinge of seriousness in his tone. Like his relationship to his uncle wasn’t just good because he’d taken him out to the arcade once, or bought him a tape he wanted. 

You nod at his response, and offer him a small grin. “So? Wanna come with me?”

His jaw shifts, and he looks down at where he’d been hunched over. There’s a small pile of something black and textile, already torn in big pieces. 

“I’m kinda busy with something.”

“I can wait,” You offer, not missing a beat. He’s clutching something tightly in his right hand. “What’s that?”

Defeated, the boy comprehends that you’re not backing down that easily. And yet, at the same time, he’s not so interested in pushing you away anymore. When he kneels down, he beckons you to come closer, uncut grass enveloping your knees. 

The buzz-cut boy reveals what he’d been holding, brown eyes wide in pleading that you won’t snitch to any adult. The right one was still a recovering greenish hue, skin slowly returning to its natural shade. He’d brought his knuckles close to his face, clutching a cheap Bic lighter with a neon-green body. He lights the flame with a flick of his finger. 

“It’s my dad’s shirt. I came with it on.”

You did not ask why he was burning something which belonged to his dad. You, too, would do so if your mother ever allowed it. Unfortunately, you never knew when he might roll into Forest Hills, and Hell would break loose if he noticed one of his belongings vanished. 

“Go on.”

His eyes grow wide at your enthusiasm. Not every other kid would’ve comprehended his actions, but that girl from the trailer park was quite peculiar. She wouldn’t leave him alone, but at the same time, she wasn’t prodding into his private life. Unlike how every therapist, policeman, and person in a suit had been doing for the past week. 

It had taken a long while of holding the flickering flame over the cotton until it finally seemed to burn, to which the both of you watched the pile of clothing contort under the growing flames. You’d scrunched your nose at the rather woodsy smell, and when the fire had died down to leave just a pile of crinkly ash, you stood to your height and looked at the boy. 

“Ready?”

Your face was framed by the high afternoon sun, the baby hairs that poked out of your braids exposed by the backlight. He just looked at you that way for a few seconds, before standing up and following your lead. 

“You’ll like the lake. It’s better than roasting out here in the Sun,” You were focused on filling any awkward silences with conversation, even if it wasn’t reciprocated. “Someone tied a tire to a tree, God knows how many years ago. We could go there, if you want. I like to swing myself into the water from it, but once, my foot got stuck before I jumped and I fell face-first onto the ground. I’m still spitting out the mud I ate.”

It had been the first of many times you’d earn a chuckle out of him. He nods in approval to your plans for the evening, hand scratching the back of his shoulder. 

“Uh, by the way. My name is Eddie.”

You couldn’t take it anymore. 

Sure, you’d been on autopilot when you’d first arrived at the funeral home, so much so that you hadn’t even noticed the stunned looks some of the younger staff gave you as the director had gently given you your first condolences for the evening. The older woman had led you to your mom first, allowing for a few lone minutes with the open casket before close associates would follow. 

The room had felt below zero as you stared down at your mother. It was strange. Not like in the movies - you’d expected to break down against the casket, knees weak and body supported just by shaky hands, but it was none of that. Shock had overtaken you at the sight of her. 

It was like a doll version of your mother. Her eyelids lay peacefully shut, but her lashes didn’t flutter. Her chest was still, fingers cold and perfectly manicured by a mortician. Almost like you were having a vision. The realisation was struggling to set in.

You’d even planned a few words, and were left alone in the wide room for as long as you pleased, but you’d just been unable to get them out. They’d come as a shaky mumble whenever you tried to open your mouth, eyes itching when you dared alter your expression by an inch. You were unable to do it - not while looking at her face, which more so seemed like a mask of her own self, a reminder of her permanent sleep. 

The director had found you sitting on one of the nearby benches, almost 10 minutes later, eyes lost as you stared at the side of the casket from below. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at her again as the afternoon rolled by. 

It had been a show of what you’d been avoiding for the past seven years, in the cruelest possible outcome of them all: adults who’d seen you grow up poor, now lamenting your mother’s death while avoiding the obvious, gigantic elephant in the room that all of Hawkins was dying to tear into. They’d probably listened to your voice on the radio while they drove over to the establishment, yet you’d immediately turned down every attempt anyone had made at making small talk. 

Did it make you seem like a bitch? Probably. But you didn’t care. You weren’t in the right headspace to be constantly reminded of the fact that you were an A-list celebrity. That was your other life. 

Somehow, that method of coping seemed to work for the following hours, but it all reached a tipping point when you’d gotten approached by Karen Wheeler. 

She hadn’t known your mom for as long as Joyce did, but you knew she did consider her a good friend - especially after she moved to her same street. Your mom and Karen knew of each other’s existence before (as everyone did in Hawkins - it was too small of a town for the concept of unknown faces to prolifer). The only thing you knew was that her daughter was a few years younger than you - Nancy, you thought you remembered - yet your high school careers had just shortly overlapped. The hot gossip of your senior year had been how King Steve Harrington was dating a cute sophomore nerd no-one had ever heard about before. 

At least, that memory had been the one brought back to you when your mom had told you Karen’s full name over the phone, the night after taking the first spinning class you’d been encouraging her to join. She’d told you how she’d instantly chatted with Karen there, and found out how they were neighbors. Since then, both women enjoyed hopping from one of their houses to the other, going on grocery runs together and day-drinking white wine whenever Karen wanted to complain about her husband. 

Karen Wheeler had approached you that afternoon with a white handkerchief quaintly covering her nose, mascara runny after having her own moment with her cherished friend. 

“I know we’ve never been introduced, darling, and this isn’t the best setting. But I need to give you a hug.”

She’d cried into your shoulder as you held her, quiet enough that she wasn’t causing a scene. And yet, that simple gesture got to you, as had happened with Joyce’s affection earlier in the morning. Your eyes had been half-shut and pointed downwards when Karen pulled back, cradling your cheeks to whisper a few private words to do with your wellbeing. The invitation to swing by theirs if you need anything floats around you as she’s pulled away by her husband, still sobbing while she leaves the building. 

Too much. 

You felt like you’d hyperventilate if you stayed indoors, so you sneakily slipped out of the room and found a back-door exit to the funeral home’s squat garden. It didn’t have the best upkeep, but it was private enough, being that its perimeter was surrounded by hedges. Perfect for a scrutinised star to have a breakdown. 

Crying into your knees while you sat against a wall definitely brought you back to highschool. You hadn’t even checked to see if there were eyes on you, makeup running as you sobbed your grief away. Thank God the news of your arrival wasn't out yet. You couldn't have imagined having to deal with paparazzi, on top of all.

The sky was beginning to turn a pinkish hue when your breath finally steadied, eyes puffy as you rested your head against the wall. The wake must've been finalized already. You’d just been nursing on a cigarette when the sound of company came from that same back door. 

What had you been expecting? Well, probably some of the funeral home staff, to tell you they were closing up. That you needed to leave. None of that. 

A ghost from the past floats back into your life, but he looks far too real for your liking. And, what’s even worse: far too good in what he’d always considered ‘very formal wear’. 

Some things never changed in Hawkins: for once, the fact that Eddie Munson would never stop rocking that beloved metalhead look. His curly black hair was still styled into a long mullet that some other stars you’d met in that department would seriously kill for. A crumpled black shirt, which he’d only haphazardly buttoned and stuffed into his black jeans, spread all the way down to the hands you’d always liked to toy with when you spent lazy afternoons in his trailer: bodies laid one over the other, you could spend hours listening to his favorite tapes and rolling around the rings on his fingers, while he smoked pot with his other free hand. The thought of it rushes back at the sight of the silver pieces, causing a shudder to roll down your body. How had it all ever been considered platonic?

He doesn’t comment on your creepy staring, like he’d once done many times before, because he is also entranced at the sight of you. Eddie had just found you at your lowest - hiding from those mourning your mother in the back of the funeral home, sat on the floor against the wall, smoking a cigarette while looking up at him with eyes rimmed in red and smudged mascara. And yet, despite this being the first sight of you in almost seven years besides from record and magazine covers, Eddie can only see you as the teenage girl who changed his life… In the same state he’d left her in, the one sight which haunted every single one of his night terrors. 

“Your hair is longer.”

What a stupid thing to say to the long-lost friend he’d spent over half a decade missing - especially knowing that you were now a world-famous superstar. Of course your hair was longer, voluminous, and it perfectly draped over your shoulders like a privacy curtain when you sunk your chin into your knees. 

“...Your hair is still long.”

It had taken a few agonizing seconds, but at least you’d responded. 

An olive branch. 

Small, but it was something after a seven-year silence. 

You’d never expected this would happen. That you’d be back in Hawkins so early, under such conditions, and with such company. It had been the complete opposite of everything you’d ever wanted given that fateful summer, the one after graduation. 

Heaven knew you’d tried blurring those months out of your memory, but the reminder of how you lost your best friend would forever haunt your sleep for the rest of your days. The news that Eddie was to repeat senior year while you were off to college had been horrible: for years, you’d planned how you’d apply to study in the big city and how he’d follow you and find some work there, then live together as roommates to scrap as much money as possible in your joint pursuit for musical stardom. You’d warned him many times about how he never took school seriously, hiding the letters they sent home as he continued with his nightly drug-dealing sidegig instead of studying for his exams. The reality of it all had only clicked once he’d been pulled into that meeting. 

You’d only seen true regret in his eyes when he met your disappointment, the moment he scrapped to try and make everything better when you both knew there was no saving. He tried offering the possibility of him dropping out, but your negative sparked even more anger into the discussion, chastising him for wanting to take the easy route out instead of having listened to you for months before that was the outcome. You’d never forgive yourself if Eddie dropped out for you, endangering his future and throwing away the efforts his uncle had made in raising him just to chase a stupid dream with you. However, the way you had communicated that to him back then could have been much more lighthearted.

It had been your first real fight. The first crack of many to come during those following weeks, in the foundation of a seemingly indestructible friendship. 

But now, seven years of no contact later, Eddie Munson calls you by your name almost desperately, as if he is a thirsty man and the word tastes like a mouthful of water on his tongue. A name he had probably uttered for the first time in over half a decade again, just as you had done with his, while keeping it ever-present in the back of your mind. 

The sight of a tear slips as he slides down to sit against the wall with you. And then, the words you’d been waiting for since that hot august night finally poured out of the broken dam.