#eddissy ff

“ Baby ,” he tries, tugging at the hem of her– his – shirt. “We don’t have to go. We can stay right here and I can bend you over the couch and–”

 “No,” she laughs. “We’re going. You promised. And you were the one begging me to come out of the bathroom so we could go.” 

 He did. He told her that she could officially meet his friends, that he would officially introduce her as his girlfriend despite the response he knew he would get from those immature turds– if she came to the pool with him. 

 Honestly, he didn’t think she’d agree. Now he has to officially introduce her to Mike “The Cockblock” Wheeler. As if getting walked in on by him almost every time he tries to get it on with her wasn’t bad enough, he has to look him in the eye and admit that it was Chrissy’s ass he saw that one time, one time too many. 

 Mike’s still a cockblock when they arrive at the pool. His exclamations of disgust, thinly veiled as shock, along with everyone else’s, seriously got in the way of his thought process as he watched her timidly take his shirt off and slip herself gracefully into the warm water. But, at the end of the day, Chrissy Cunningham is his girlfriend whether his friends want to believe it or not, and it really didn’t take all that much to convince her to hang out with them, all things considered.

 ~~~~

 She doesn’t want to get her hair wet, so she keeps it tied in a high ponytail, her bangs still too short to be secured in with the rest of it. In fact, all she really wants to do is relax, so she lies on a pool float with her sunglasses on and lets her eyes drift shut, completely unbothered by the commotion around her. And she doesn’t want to get a sunburn, so she made sure to put lotion all over her body and to ask him for help reaching her back. And if the rest of his friends weren’t here, he would bring her into the small tiki bar the Wheelers installed and bend her over one of the stools.

 They were all stunned when he even mentioned bringing someone along to the small party Mike and the kids were throwing. At first, when he said he was going to bring his girlfriend, they were silent for a moment before bursting into a chorus of laughter that made him roll his eyes. It was too cliche, really, and just more proof that they all think that they’re living in a movie or something. So he just shrugged, rather than getting offended, and chose to simply prove them wrong. 

 And prove them wrong, he did, each of their mouths dropping to the ground as he walked in with Chrissy Cunningham on his arm. 

 Well, really, he was on her arm. She’s got him wrapped around her perfect, slender fingers. 

 Robin was the first to speak up, snapping her mouth shut once before opening it again and practically shouting, “What the hell?”

 “Robin,” he warned. 

 “What are you doing with him? ” 

 “ Robin!”   Nancy argued that time.

 Chrissy just laughed–she’s a good sport like that. She laughed and tightened her arm in his and leaned closer to him, resting her head on his bicep and gazing up at him dreamily. “I like him,” she said simply. 

 Now, he’s supposed to be playing volleyball or something, but he can’t seem to focus. Firstly, because he isn’t sure how they can call it volleyball when they’re using a beachball, and secondly, because Chrissy Cunningham is practically naked and very wet and all lotioned up and he finds it difficult to keep his shorts on. 

 He takes the ball to the side of his head when she slides off her pool float, her breasts bouncing with the momentum and his mouth watering with want. 

 “Jesus Christ, Eddie,” he hears, and he rolls his eyes because the sound isn’t coming from her and it’s not because she’s panting with a need for more. “Keep it in your pants, seriously.” 

 “It’s in my pants, Henderson,” he snaps back, picking up the ball and spiking it at Dustin.

 “How long has this been going on?” he asks, and Steve and Lucas both look up casually as if trying to pretend like they’re not burning with the same question. 

 “A while,” he shrugs. 

 “Like, at least three months,” Mike Wheeler mumbles under his breath, and Eddie forces his hand just beneath the surface of water to splash him as hard as he can. “Hey!” 

 “You knew?!” Dustin asks in horror.

 “I mentioned it already!”

 “We thought you were messing with us,” Lucas argued.

 “Yeah, and you all berated me for days after; why would I mention it again? Plus, it’s not like they’ve been hiding it! It’s like they’re humping each other every chance they get! I’ve seen way too much of… Eddie… the last few months!”

 “Ew, Mike!”

 “Why ew, me?! Eddie’s the horny one!”  

 “Don’t say horny,” Steve begs.

 “What a weird couple,” Dustin exclaims, shaking his head, and Eddie splashes him too. 

 Weird, indeed, he thinks. And that’s just the way he likes it. 

 ~~~~

 Chrissy’s been really working on herself for the last couple of months. She didn’t want to come today because she’s never felt comfortable in a bathing suit, but then she reminded herself that she’s never been comfortable naked in front of anyone, either. Eddie makes her feel comfortable at every turn, to the point where she surprises herself almost daily, and today was no exception. 

 Because she decided to come to the pool party that Nancy Wheeler’s little brother was throwing, and she decided to wear her pink bikini, and she decided that if she’s going to work on herself, part of that has to include challenging herself, too. At least, that’s what her therapist has told her. 

 Eddie hasn't stopped telling her how proud of her he is, and she’s even starting to believe him. Getting away from her mother was bold enough, her decision to leave right after graduation solidified by the reaction she got from her mom upon finding out that she’s dating the freak. She was shocked when his uncle let her stay with them for the summer– mostly because she knows Wayne knows what they get up to when he’s at work– but Eddie wouldn’t stop telling him what a big deal it was for her to leave. And Wayne seems to believe in her too, almost as much as Eddie does, and she can see where he gets his spirit from.

 Then, when she started seeing her therapist, he was so excited for her that he picked her up and started spinning her around, praising her and telling her how happy he is to see her working on herself. And sure, getting praised by him is sexy and it helps her get off, but it also warms her heart and helps her sleep at night. So she finds herself working harder each day, and then she finds that she likes this healing version of herself, so she keeps working and the cycle continues.

 Plus, he promised she could put his hair in a bun.

 So she put on the bikini, and she fought against those thoughts that made her want to hunch over the toilet, and Eddie kissed every inch of her before they left to come to the pool. And then he grazed his hands over her back as he rubbed her suntan lotion in and she shivered, wanting to beg him to bring her inside but shaking it off to do the socially acceptable thing.

 “So,” Robin says, dragging her from her thoughts and making her open her eyes, doing a casual backstroke through the deep end of the pool and staring at Chrissy with her eyes wide and curious. “Eddie Munson. And Chrissy Cunningham.” 

 Chrissy can’t stop the smile, her cheeks going pink. She nods, “Mhmm.” 

 “It’s a very… interesting pairing,” Robin continues. 

 “Robin,” Nancy warns. 

 “I’m just sayin! When Eddie said he pulled you out of Vecna’s curse, we all kind of thought you’d be going back to Jason eventually…”

 “Well,” Chrissy shrugs. She slips into the water, her feet not reaching the bottom of the pool, so she leans her upper body on the float and kicks her feet lightly. “I don’t know. After everything, I just kind of realized that Jason and I were… wrong together.”

 “And you and Eddie are… right… together?” Max asks, swimming up behind her and surprising her, leaning against the other side of the pool float with her.

 “Yeah,” she answers with a shy, soft smile. “We are.” 

 And they are. In fact, she never thought she would ever feel so right with someone. But when Eddie pulled her from Vecna’s curse and made sure that she was okay, made sure that she felt safe that night, made sure that she felt loved , she knew. She knew it was Eddie’s voice along with that Fleetwood Mac song playing over his stereo that pulled her from that nightmare, and she knew from that moment that she never wanted to go a day without hearing him say her name. 

 That was the first time she really put herself first, when she went to Jason soon after and told him they were through. And even with the horror and trauma of being under Vecna’s thumb, of fighting him and winning, she knows she’s never been happier than she has been every moment since that night in Eddie’s trailer. 

 ~~~~

 “Hi, baby.”

 The sun is setting behind them, the sky pink like cotton candy and her bathing suit. They’re the only ones left in the pool aside from Mike and Lucas, still in the deep end and diving for weights. Everyone else is behind the tiki bar with Steve using the blender, making virgin daiquiris for the kids and spiked ones for everyone else. It’s been a perfect day.

 He kisses the skin behind her ear, sending a shiver down her spine despite the warmth from the waning sun. His voice is low, practically a growl. “Having fun?” 

 Aright, it’s been an almost perfect day.

 “Yeah,” she says breathily, pulling down her sunglasses and peering over them at him. When she sees his big, bright eyes like melted chocolate on a s’mores, she grins at him and shifts to face him, not even caring that her hair gets wet. “You?”

 “Lots,” he growls. He moves around her slightly so that he’s at her waist, his elbow leaning on the float and his other arm draped across her hips, squeezing where his hand lies. “Although, I think I’m in danger.”

 She sits up too quickly, sloshing water over herself even though her belly had been dry for a while. “What?” she asks in concern, and his smile grows impossibly wider. 

 He takes her hands, pulling her close to him and then softly encouraging her to lie back down on the float. “Can we both fit on here?” 

 “I don’t think so,” she laughs. 

 “Lemme try it. Spread your legs.” 

 “Eddie!” She shouts as he pushes her knees apart and jumps between them, the float failing and practically dunking the two of them. She almost goes under, but his hands land on her ass and catch her, pulling her close and wrapping her legs around his waist, his smile impish and mischievous as his hands slide up her back beneath the water. “Eddie,” she scolds. 

 “Chrissy,” he mimics, scrunching his nose at her and bumping it against her own. “I’m sorry, you just look so fucking sexy. I had to–” He cuts himself off, squeezing her ass playfully and bumping his hips against hers as he slaps her beneath the water, the action not having quite the desired effect, but it’s the thought that counts. 

 “You said you’re in danger?” she asks expectantly, her fingers pulling the hair at the back of his head that’s fallen from the loose bun he still wears. She likes how his bangs don’t stay in well, and she realizes that they kind of match in that regard, and she thinks it’s cute. 

 “Ah, yes,” he says seriously, nodding like he’s just remembered. “I’m in danger of drowning, I think. I’m bottom-heavy.” 

 “What?” she laughs.

 He leans forward, pulling her close to himself, one hand at the base of her neck and the other at the small of her back. His lips hover over the shell of her ear and he whispers, “My cock is so hard for you, it’s weighing–”

 “ Eddie! ” 

 “It’s true!” he laughs, and she laughs with him, but she gasps when he thrusts up against her again. “See?” 

 “I do,” she breathes. Her mouth is so close to his that she can feel the heat of his breath against her lips. “But we probably shouldn’t… here.” 

 He hums, his tongue light against her neck as she lets out a soft moan, her eyes rolling back and her hips rolling against his. If she wasn’t in the pool already, she’d probably have soaked through her bikini by now, but she lets that thought pass her by. 

 “Where, then?” he asks in her ear before he bites it. “Where can I take you, baby? Or are you gonna let me put my fingers in you right here so I can see how perfect you look when you’re wet and hot and about to come?” 

 “Fuck,” she breathes. “No, not here, we’re at a party; everyone’s–”

 He slips his fingers over the material of her bikini, brushing her sensitive clit, kissing her when she bites out a moan. “Let’s leave, then,” he suggests.

 “Hey!” 

 He always complains about Mike Wheeler, and she’s always yelling at him for it, trying to get him to be nice to the poor kid. He doesn’t deserve to be yelled at, she tells him. But then she finds herself in this position, and she realizes that the last thing she wants to hear right now is Mike Wheeler’s voice, and she kind of gets it. 

 “No funny business in the new pool!” 

 And, well, that pretty much convinces her. 

 “Sorry!” She calls, giggling softly and giving Eddie a quick kiss. “I’m gonna go change, probably in the upstairs bathroom,” she whispers in his ear. “Maybe you can come find me in a couple minutes.” 

 “What are you changing into?” 

 “I think you’re more interested in knowing what I’m changing out of.”

 If the flush to his cheeks and the wideness in his eyes and the tent in his swim trunks are any indication, she’s completely right. 

 ~~~~

 All he can say is: thank god Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler are out of town, and thank god they brought their kid with them. 

 Otherwise, they would be in big trouble, what with them making out in the upstairs hallway and slamming into the bathroom door way too hard. 

 The door wasn’t latched, though. Chrissy falls into the room and he catches her, holding her against him before turning them around and pressing her back against the door once he closes it. “Fuck, baby,” he says against her, and she whimpers. “I couldn’t keep my eyes off you all damn day.” 

 “How come?” she asks, and it almost kills him, how much she loves when he talks to her like this. 

 “Because you’re so fucking hot,” he tells her, gripping her thigh so that her knee cradles his hip and pushing her more firmly into the door. “And god damn beautiful and perfect. This little pink thing you're wearing barely covers your perfect tits, baby.” 

 She giggles and moans somehow, her breath catching as he squeezes her breast. She turns her head, cheek against the door behind her, and he bites her neck and he earns a shocked gasp that he wasn’t expecting. But then she’s slapping her hand against his shoulder and he backs away quickly, eyes flying open in concern for her until he sees what she’s seeing. 

 A fucking Pamela Anderson poster. 

 They’re not in the bathroom. 

 “What,” he says. “Ew, fu- what the fuck!”

 “Eddie! You said the bathroom!”

 “I thought this was the bathroom!”

 “I think it’s Mike’s room.”

 “I can see that! God dammit, Wheeler! Leave it to that twerp to kill my boner for the second time this week.”

 “Eddie,” she scolds softly. 

 “I don’t wanna know why that is on the back of his door, across from his bed .”

 She laughs. “I think you already know.”

 “ Chrissyyy, ” he whines pathetically, and she brushes his unruly hair away from his eyes.

 “Come on,” she laughs, taking his hand and opening the door, peaking out into the hallway and smirking back at him as she squeezes his hand. The string that should hold her bikini top together is loose, about to fall open, and he wants to tug at the end of it so that she spills right out, but he holds back, still traumatized by Mike Wheeler. 

 But she pokes around the hall, a little more purposely this time now that she’s not dealing with the distraction of his hands all over her, and she finds the bathroom door, smirking back at him again as she opens it and pulls him inside. Then she presses his back to the door just like he had done to her, and she slides down onto her knees, and he’s done for. 

 “Do you taste like chlorine?” she asks, the question random enough to make him laugh and almost forget about the sight that made him want to bleach his eyes. 

 “I might,” he agrees. “Is that a massive turn off for you?” 

 She shrugs, too casually for the way she unties the small bow that holds his swim trunks up on his hips. “I guess we’ll find out.” 

 She isn’t shy as she drags her tongue flat along the underside of his cock, from the base all the way to the tip which she sucks between her lips and then releases. Even if he had softened slightly at the sight of Pamela Anderson on the back of Mike Wheeler’s door, she’s made up for it tenfold as she lightly grasps the base of him and wraps her lips around him once more. 

 He makes a sound that’s somewhere between a groan and a sigh, his head falling backwards against the posterless door behind him, and he can feel her soft giggle in the back of her throat. “Shit, baby,” he breathes, unable to stop himself from talking. In fact, he can never seem to shut up when he’s with her. “You’re so fucking good at that.” 

 She likes it when he says things like that to her. She likes it when he reaches down and cups her wide-open jaw, his thumb gently caressing her cheek while she fills her mouth with him. She likes it when he tells her what a good job she’s doing, what a good girl she’s being. And he’s fucking obsessed with doing those things for her. 

 They're a perfect match, honestly. 

 She moans as she pulls him deep into her throat, her eyes watering as she stares up at him, her fingernails sharp against his ass as she holds him close to her. “That’s it,” he praises, as if she isn’t the one who has him basically in a chokehold. “Such a good girl, aren’t you? You take me so well in your throat, don’t you baby?” 

 Her whine vibrates against his tip and he has to throw his head back again, although he wants nothing more than to keep watching her. But then he remembers they have to be quick, that they’re in the Wheeler’s upstairs bathroom and she’s supposed to be changing and he’s supposed to be having a smoke break, so he looks back down at her and holds her jaw still, giving her a smirk when she pouts up at him. 

 “Later,” he promises. “I need to fuck you.” 

 She releases him with a pop, grinning up at him like a vixen as she licks her lips, and he takes her hands and pulls her into a standing position, turning her so she’s back against the door again. “Quick and dirty?” she asks knowingly, and he pinches her hip. 

 “Maybe, if that’s what you deserve for making my mouth water all day long. I think you knew exactly what you were doing, sweetheart.” 

 “Of course I did,” she confirms as he pulls her swimsuit down, exposing her ass and her dripping core. 

 “Did that make you wet?” he asks, falling to his knees before her as if they have any time for this. “Did sucking my dick make you wet, too?” 

 “Always,” she breathes, whimpering when he licks a strip through her arousal and slamming her hand against the door when he sucks her clit between his lips. “Fuck, we dont–” 

 “I know,” he says against her, swirling his tongue over her once, twice, three more times before he’s on his feet again and lifting her knees to wrap her around his hips. He kisses her solidly, the taste of each of them mixing together perfectly on their tongues, and then he feels her small, deft hand reaching between them and lining him up perfectly to her entrance. “So perfect,” he breathes into her mouth, and she sighs softly. 

 “I know,” she repeats back to him with a nod, her forehead against his. He knows just what she means; while he was referring to every aspect of her, she’s referring to the fact that the connection they have to one another is perfect . 

 He almost tells her, with his forehead pressed to hers, the perfect pointed tip of her nose running along the bridge of his, that he loves her. It’s been on the tip of his tongue for so long, probably too long, because he fell for her practically the moment he saw her shaken and terrified in the woods that afternoon. Immediately he found himself wanting to scoop her into his arms and hold her until she felt better, and then, that’s exactly what he did that night when she fell from the ceiling with no broken bones and her eyes still intact in her skull. 

 He held back in the woods because of Jason. But later that night, nothing could have stopped him from holding her and crying with her and kissing her head, her nose, her cheeks, her lips. He’s loved her since then, but he can’t tell her. Not yet, anyway. She’s been through too much. The last thing he wants to do is overwhelm her, so he stays quiet.

 Instead, he plunges into her when she urges him to, practically begging him to take her, to thrust into her, to drive her against the door. She likes it like this, rough and soft all at once, his words harsh but loving, his thrusts forceful but tender. It’s when she clings to him the hardest and moans into his ears the loudest. 

 No loud moaning tonight, though, he reminds himself. He latches his lips to hers to keep her quiet, hips pistoning quickly to bring her to ecstasy before their absence is noticed. She cries out into his mouth when his fingers trace along her clit, his name falling from her lips in no time as she starts to squeeze around him and plummet off the edge of the cliff they’ve been on together all day long. 

 Hell, they’re always there together. They can’t get enough of one another. 

 They come together, both of them struggling to stay quiet as the pleasure takes over. She curses against him, and he loves the fact that she’s been cursing more and more these last few months, although still only when she’s turned on. She pulls his hair almost too much, but he doesn’t mind. Her strong thighs crush his hips between them and the pressure brings him along with her. 

 Her moans turn to sighs, soft pants against his sweat-slicked neck. She releases her nails from the back of his shoulders and he misses the sharp reminder of her, reveling in the indents she’ll leave behind. He almost says it. 

 “ God ,” she breathes, and he smirks, because Chrissy Cunningham would never have used the Lord’s name in vain three months ago. She’d say he’s corrupting her, and she’d say it with a grin on her face. “We have to get back.” 

 “Nooo,” he pleads, holding her tight, silently begging her not to drop her feet to the floor but letting her go anyway. “What if I get horny again?” 

 “There’s another bathroom in the basement,” she smirks as she bends for her small bag and pulls out her denim shorts.

 He punches up into the air and she laughs. “Chrissy Cunningham, you’re a freak.” 

 She giggles once his Metallica t-shirt covers her again and leans up to press a soft kiss to his lips, one that he’d be a fool not to return, and it strikes him that he still can’t even move to pull his trunks back up. 

 “I’m a freak for you, Eddie Munson.” 

 The glares they get when they return, Chrissy getting downstairs just a minute after he pretends to return from his van, are well earned. Even if their friends don’t know that they almost accidentally fucked in Mike’s room, and even if they don’t know that they did fuck in the Wheeler’s upstairs bathroom, they know they were up to something. Two people don’t just leave a party for 15 minutes at the same time and return with a post-sex glow. 

 Dustin glares the hardest. Mike gags. Steve and Robin exchange looks, and he passes her a five dollar bill. 

 But then they start a fire in the pit behind the pool deck and Nancy hands out blankets, and Chrissy curls up into his side because she wants to be close to him. She wants to feel his arm solid and warm around her as he holds her. She wants to nuzzle her cheek into his collarbone and grin against his sunburnt skin. She wants to laugh with his friends and roast marshmallows and actually eat one, and she wants to joke with Dustin about how Eddie talks in his sleep. 

 She wants to spend time with him, and what's more, she wants to spend time with his friends. And he loves her. Soon, he knows he’ll get to a point where he can’t hold it in anymore, but for now, he’ll keep holding her close and making her smile, making sure she can feel it. For now, he’ll ensure that she knows it as fact so that she believes him without a doubt when he finally says it.

~~~~

~~~~

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“I’m so glad you're awake,” she murmurs against his mouth before kissing him once more. “It’s been torture .”

 “To have me so close and still not be able to make out with me?” 

 She pulls away, looking down at him with a watery smile, and he doesn’t think before brushing away a rogue tear with his thumb. She looks rough, if he has to be honest about it. She looks like she hasn’t slept in a week, and like she’s been cursed twice by the same murderous demon. She looks like she’s been camped out in a hospital chair for who knows how long, waiting for some freak she goes to school with to wake up from the bullet wound her ex-boyfriend gave him. 

 “Hey,” he muses softly once he can finally get a good look at her. She lets her head fall heavily against his palm and he loves the weight of it. “You okay?” 

 Her bottom lip sticks out in an adorable pout, her eyes getting sadder and waterier, and she shakes her head. “I was worried,” she says softly as her voice breaks. 

 “What, about this?” he asks, playfully gesturing towards the spot that would probably be hurting more if he didn’t get the real good drugs. “I’ve made it out of worse than this. I’m scrappy.” 

 “You could’ve died,” she croaks, sniffling and desperately holding in a forceful sob. Then she shifts slightly, backing away from him so she can push against his right shoulder. “And why didn’t you tell me you’ve had a concussion all this time?” 

 “Have I?” he asks thoughtfully, nodding slowly. “That actually makes a lot of sense.” 

 Hopefully he never has to think about Little Angel Eddie or Little Devil Eddie ever again, then. 

 “You certainly do, Mr. Munson,” he hears from the door, an authoritative looking man with a pot belly and graying hair interrupting his fantasies about nurse-Chrissy. 

 “This is Dr. Owens, Eddie,” she tells him. “He works for the government. They’ve cleared your name for all the murders and stuff.” 

 “Well, the lucky return of Vecna’s victims helped with that,” Dr. Owens explains casually, like it’s some quirky, funny fact he just dropped. 

 “They’re alive?” Eddie asks, wondering how someone who got snapped into pieces in another dimension possibly could have survived. 

 “After Nancy and everyone defeated Vecna in the Upside Down, they found Fred and Patrick trying to find a way home,” Chrissy explains. 

 All in one piece, he assumes. How unfair that Chrissy should have to suffer with a very broken arm for the next few months. 

 “We’ve begun working on your image,” the doctor explains, and Eddie rolls his eyes. “It hasn’t been especially easy– it seems easier to believe that two kids got murdered and then walked back into town a few weeks later– but the town has been given all the facts they can handle, and my people are trying to really drive home the fact that you’re more of a hero than anything. Chrissy too, of course. All of you kids really stepped up, here.” 

 Eddie knows this, and he doesn’t like how this guy is standing here telling him something he thinks he doesn’t already know. But it doesn’t matter all that much, because the next words out of his mouth make the ass-kissing worth it. 

 “We’ve funded a project for you and your uncle, too,” he starts. “New housing, without a hole in the ceiling.” 

 “New trailer?” he asks, and he doesn’t miss the way that Chrissy smiles, leaning forward to rest her head against his shoulder, her hair tickling his nose. All he can do is smile to himself and nuzzle his cheek against the top of her head. 

 “New house . Modest accommodations; it’s not much bigger than what you're used to, but everything works and there aren’t any portals to another world.” 

  Well fuck, he thinks to himself. All he’s ever really wanted was to give back to Wayne after everything he’s done for him, after everything he’s given up to raise Eddie as best he can. He always dreamed of making it big and getting Wayne a real house, but he never thought it would actually happen. Turns out, all he had to do was get involved in a conspiracy theory, be accused of murder and kidnapping, and get shot and almost die. 

 The doctor keeps talking for a while, but he doesn’t want to listen. All he wants to do is lie here with Chrissy’s head on his shoulder, her hair tickling his nose and smelling fruity, her free fingers playing with the collar of his hospital gown. He has no idea how long he’s been unconscious for, even though Owens has probably told him. He doesn’t know how much time they’ve missed together, and he doesn’t know what’s going to happen now that he’s awake. Honestly, he doesn’t even know where they are, other than the weird explanation of them being in some government run hospital. 

 He sighs happily when Owens leaves, having finally gotten the hint that he was seriously harshing Eddie’s vibe, and carefully lifts a hand to brush some rogue hair out of Chrissy’s eyes. “Hey,” he whispers with a smile that she mirrors when she leans up to look at him. 

 “Hi,” she whispers back. It’s so adorable that he can’t stop grinning like an idiot even though he’s starting to notice his gunshot wound. What a weird thing to think. “How are you feeling?” 

 He shrugs. “Like I got shot.”

 She kisses his cheek and says, “Well, you’re gonna have a real sexy scar, at least.”

  “Chrissy,” he chastises playfully. “I can’t believe you would utter a word as scandalized as sexy .” 

 “I’ve been corrupted,” she reasons. She sighs, letting her head fall softly onto his shoulder on his uninjured side once more, her cast clumsy between them but nothing they can’t manage. When she does, he shifts a bit, readjusting them so that he can wrap his arm around her shoulders and hold her as well as he can. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” 

 “You, too,” he says, thinking back to the image of her floating and refusing to come down before she dropped to the floor like dead weight. Not dead, though. “You scared me.” 

  “You scared me,” she argues. “That was really dumb, rushing Jason like that.” 

 “I didn’t want him to shoot you by accident.” At that, she lets her grip on his stupid ugly gown tighten and she nuzzles her nose against his collarbone. “He’s not dead, right?” 

 “No,” she giggles, then sighs. “He’s fine, he’s just… He’s being kind of an ass.”

  “Christine!”  

 “Stop,” she laughs. “He has! Did you know he tried to get people to hunt you down? He’s crazy!”

 Playfully, he pinches her side and says, “You dated crazy, you know.”

 “Well,” she shrugs, somehow pushing herself closer to him and pressing her lips against his skin in a way that lights a fire in his belly even though he should probably be more focused on recovery. “Now I'm dating the Freak.” 

 His heart stops, he thinks. It couldn’t possibly be beating because he couldn’t possibly survive this interaction with Chrissy goddamn Cunningham. But still, he tries to play it cool. “Dating, huh?” 

 She just hums, totally cool and casual, and says, “Yeah. That okay?” 

 Barely breathing, he kisses the top of her head and nods against it. “Yeah, Sweetheart. I think that’d be perfect.” 

 ~~~~

 “Seventeen.”

  “Eddie, be serious.” 

 “I am! That’s the answer I came up with!” 

 “But I asked you for the chemical formula of glucose! Come on, this is your last exam ever, and I know you know the answer.”

 Well, that’s a good point he supposes, but it doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t really care all that much about the chemical formula of glucose. “Fine,” he groans, moving onto his back slowly to rest his head in her lap and gazing up at her with a twinkle in his eyes. He blinks a few times and smiles up at her flirtatiously before saying, “C₆H₁₂O₆.”

 “Very good,” she grins, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose, making him blush even though he’s the one who started this whole game. “See? You’re a genius.” 

 “Yeah, yeah. Flattery can only get you so far, Cunningham.” 

 “Right,” she snorts. 

 He can’t help but to play with her fingers, gazing at her perfectly manicured pink nails and smiling at the one she let him paint black, and she smiles more genuinely. “Are you excited?” he asks. “No more clunky plaster that you can use as a weapon in your sleep?”

 “Very excited,” she agrees with a soft giggle, the sound of which makes his heart flutter and his stomach flip. “Although, it’ll be sad not to be able to walk around with Eddie Munson original artwork on my arm.” 

 “I’ll design a tattoo for you,” he suggests casually, making her sigh. 

 “I have to wait until I move far, far away from my mom before I even think about getting any tattoos.” 

 He hums, moving carefully off of her and then shifting them so that she’s lying with her back on the couch cushions and he’s on top of her, the grayish hunk of plaster between them no match for how badly he wants to kiss her. She kisses him back, and honestly, he isn’t sure there’s anything better in the entire world. “One day,” he promises against her mouth. “Soon, right? I mean, you’re gonna be able to move into the your apartment in August.” 

 “The end of August,” she corrects with a pout. “And don’t act like that’s some perfect solution to all my problems.” 

 He kisses her nose, brushing her hair away from her eyes with his left hand while using his right arm to keep himself up. He’s still sore even after almost two months of recovery, and it’s been kind of annoying to not bounce right back from his injury. Chrissy has had to remind him pretty frequently that he got shot, for goodness sake , and that he’s got to take it easy if he expects to make a full recovery. He finally got the stitches removed a few weeks after they released him from that weird hospital, and he’s slowly but surely getting back to normal. 

 “Is your mother not the source of most, if not all of your problems?” he asks, his tone light but serious all at once as he ponders her concerns. 

 “Well, when I move…” she starts slowly, biting her lip anxiously rather than in the cute and sexy way he loves so much. 

 “Yeah?” 

 “Then… I mean… you’ll still be here.” 

  Ah, he thinks. There it is. The very topic they’ve been tiptoeing around for the last two months. 

 Things between them moved quickly, especially in the beginning. They were together so much for that first week, hiding out at Reefer Rick’s after her near death experience, and then they had a realization that maybe all of the trauma they experienced together could have had an impact on the way they felt. Maybe they moved too fast, especially in deciding that they wanted more with one another. For a brief period, just a few hours, they almost thought that they needed to separate if only to prove to themselves that this is what they really wanted. 

 But nothing changed. They survived the unsurvivable, they defeated the undefeatable, they healed from things they shouldn’t have been able to, and then their lives went back to normal. But nothing changed the way they felt about one another. Nothing made him stop thinking about her, and nothing could have stopped her from sneaking out and stealing her brother’s bike and going to his trailer in the middle of the night a few hours after they decided that they should cool things off. 

 These experiences changed them both, and being there for each other did, too. Even though their time together was short lived, and even though their feelings for one another were fueled by the horrors that they went through, it doesn’t make the bond that they have any less meaningful. 

 But still… She's moving to California for school, and they’ve gotten used to seeing each other every day even though her mother is painfully against their relationship. (Chrissy’s made it perfectly clear that she can’t tell her what to do now that she’s eighteen, much to her mother’s dismay.) Going from that to her moving 2000 miles away isn’t going to be easy. 

 “I know,” he murmurs, giving her an uneasy smile that she knows she can read through. “But we’ll be alright. And I’ll be able to visit you once I save up enough to drive there.” 

 “I know, I just–” 

 “Munson, come on, man! We’re late enough as it is!” 

 Jeff’s interruption has him reeling, because it seems like Chrissy really wanted to say something, but he’s right. They’re already late enough as it is, and he supposes he can’t exactly spend all night making out on the couch in the back of the Hideout when he’s supposed to be performing. 

 Being accused of murder and kidnapping and then getting shot and somehow surviving, while also solving a government conspiracy, has been shit for his image at school, but it’s actually done wonders for the band. They actually draw somewhat of a crowd now. 

 But Chrissy’s always right up front, grinning up at him and cheering for him and believing in him, just like she always has. 

 “I promise,” he starts, pressing a soft kiss to her lips as he slowly stands up. “We’ll talk afterwards, okay?”

 “Okay,” she says with a weak smile, and he kisses her again. 

 “Promise.”

 “I know. Go have fun, Eddie.”

 She kind of avoids him after that. Not, like, actually avoiding his presence or anything, but he can tell there’s something on her mind and she never really brings it up. She watches him play with a wide grin on her face, sipping her beer and laughing with Nancy and Robin in a way that makes his heart all warm and fuzzy. 

 And then after the concert, once he and the guys have loaded up their equipment and he goes to the table to meet her and their friends, she cuddles up to him like she usually does, but it feels different somehow. It’s like she’s closer to him, her grip on his bicep a bit tighter, her head a bit heavier on his shoulder. She still smiles and it still reaches her eyes, but it seems to be mixed with a touch of sadness that pulls at his heartstrings. 

 He’ll get to the bottom of it, though. He normally does, is normally pretty good at getting her to open up to him even though it’s not something she’s used to doing. Over the last few short months, she’s made a lot of changes to her life, and she’s grown a lot. He beams with pride each time she does something for herself, something that makes her happy. Hell, every time he’s with her, his stomach flips with excitement for her because her presence means she’s rebelled against her hard-ass mother to see him. Still, though, even though she’s changed for the better, he’ll respect her when her walls go up, and he knows she’ll tell him what’s bothering her eventually. 

 ~~~~

 Having her cast off is life changing. She’d grown so used to having the bulky, heavy material adhered to her for so long that she feels completely weightless without it. Once the doctor removes it, it’s like she can finally take a breath of fresh air. 

 Her mother brought a disposable razor, because heaven forbid she wait until she gets home to shave her underarm. It is kind of gross, she has to admit, but seriously, does it really matter that much? 

 “There we are,” Laura says softly, giving Chrissy a nauseating smile. “Much lighter now, aren’t you? Maybe we can finally get an accurate number on the scale.”

 Of course, she’s referring to the dramatic increase in her weight since her injury. She’s assuming that the cast is the sole reason for the extra poundage. She hasn’t realized that there’s also a correlation between that and what she’s been eating, Eddie having turned her on to Spaghettios and the joys of eating an entire meal three times per day. 

 Her body hasn’t even changed that much, honestly. She’s still petite and thin, she’s just less bony, and she kind of likes it. Screw what Laura Cunningham has to say. 

 “Maybe, maybe not,” she shrugs noncommittally as the doctor returns to the room to check her mobility. He seems pleased with her progress and how she’s healed, and that alone puts a smile on Chrissy’s face and helps her to not worry too much about her mother’s opinions. 

 When they get to the car, all bets are off, of course. It’s easier for her mother to berate her, or at least pick her apart, when they’re in the comfort of their own car or home. 

 “Honestly, Christine,” she starts, disappointed at Chrissy’s plan to study with Eddie after school. She probably didn’t even need to tell her mom that, probably could have just said that she was going to Nancy’s or something, but she’s kind of over the whole lying thing. Why should she be embarrassed about who she’s dating, when he’s one of the only people she’s ever met who makes her feel as good as she’s been feeling? “Do you really need to waste your last few days of school with that… boy? Why wouldn’t you go to the pep rally to support your team?”

 “Because I quit the team,” she deadpans. “And I have an exam tomorrow; my last ever.” 

 “Well, it’s important to surround yourself with your peers, the ones who have a positive influence on you–” 

 “I am doing that.” 

 Her mother sighs as she merges onto the highway, and Chrissy extends her arm in front of her happily to stretch. “I mean, your peers who will be in your life long term. Like Janet; isn’t she going to UCLA just like you are? Why would you waste your time with some trailer trash you’ll never see again once you move?” 

 She’s silent for a moment, anger coursing through her blood like hot lava. She’s angry for a few reasons, mostly because of her mother calling Eddie trailer trash and her stubborn refusal to see him as anything else, even though he doesn’t even live in the trailer anymore. Without going into too much detail, Dr. Owens was very clear about the fact that Eddie had saved Chrissy’s life on more than one occasion. Hell, he took a bullet for her! He almost bled out for her because he was too busy trying to save her to even realize he was hurt. How could her mother just brush that off? 

 But at the same time, a very small part of her wonders if she’s right. She isn’t really sure where she and Eddie stand, especially after she moves. Once she moves on from Hawkins and makes a life in Pasadena, will she ever see him again? Will they fizzle out after a few months when they realize that long distance doesn’t work for them? Of course, that’s the opposite of what she wants. Honestly, she kind of doesn't want to go at all– she’d be happy enough living out the rest of her days in his tiny new house with him. She’d live out the rest of her days in his dilapidated trailer with him, the one with the hole in the ceiling and the gate to another dimension. But she already committed to UCLA months ago, before she fell in love with Eddie Munson. 

 And that’s when she realizes… shoot. She’s in love with Eddie Munson. 

 He’s everything to her. They’ve been through so much together in such a short amount of time and it’s never been anything short of magical between them. She’s in love with him. How can she just leave him? 

 With that knowledge, and with a determination to be argumentative with her mom, she says, “I'd rather spend all of my time with him than with you. At least he treats me like a human being, like someone he cares about. And whether we see each other after I move doesn’t… it doesn’t change how I feel about him now…”

 Sadness seeps into her voice, cutting through the anger with her mother as she considers the distinct possibility that, after she moves away, she might not see Eddie again. She can’t just ask him to move to California, as much as she’d love to. It wouldn’t be fair to him to put him out like that when she knows that money has been tight for him, although the small stipend from Owens’ team for living expenses has helped him and his uncle a lot. Still, though, it’s not like she has a car and can travel back to Hawkins, and it’s not like he can afford to make the drive to see her all that often. 

 They’ll be fine, though. 

 ~~~~

 Graduation was about as painful as he’d expected, horribly boring and far too hot in that stupid cap and gown. But when all was said and done, Chrissy leapt into his arms and kissed him so hard that it was worth it. 

 ~~~~

 Their summer passes too quickly, the heat and the long sunny days by the pool and the perfect nights by the fire coming to an end as August rounds to a close. He feels himself getting more and more anxious as the days turn into weeks and the pressure continues to surmount. Chrissy isn’t herself, noticeably sadder as the summer flies by, and he knows it has to be because she’s leaving soon. It just kills him that he can’t say anything to her that would make her feel any better. He doesn’t know anything at this point, about whether he’d be able to visit her frequently, or about the next time they’ll see one another once she moves to the coast. 

 And he keeps thinking, wishfully, that she’ll be alright, that she’ll see that the two of them will be fine, but things seem to come to a head the second to last night she spends in Hawkins. They were spending the evening with their friends, around the firepit in the Sinclair’s back yard, and she was cheerful and bright, although still sad as ever, as the night went on. But then, when they get into his van with Max to bring her home, she goes silent. Her arms wrap tightly around her middle and her knees lift up so that her heels are on the seat and she just stares out the front window as she holds herself. 

 She gets out of the van when they pull up to Max’s trailer, hugging her more tightly than he’s ever seen, and he catches both of them wiping their eyes as they whisper their goodbyes. Everyone has promised to keep in touch with her, and she’s promised to return for visits, but still, leaving is hard. 

 And when she gets back into the van, she wipes at her cheeks again, sniffles in a way that makes him blush because of how adorable she is and then kick himself because of how weird of a thought that is, and she sighs. And she drops her head to the window and hugs herself around her waist again and she sniffles once more. 

 “Sweetheart,” he starts, the nickname feeling weird leaving his mouth so he clears his throat. “Chrissy?”

 “Hmm?”

 “Uh… you okay?”

 She doesn’t answer. He sees her shrug out of the corner of his eye as he pulls out of the park and drives not too far down the street to his and Wayne's new place. Instead of pushing her, he just parks the van and shuts off the engine, stepping out into the clear summer air and rounding the front of the van to open her door carefully. 

 She offers him her left hand with a tiny smile, still pleased with the fact that she can actually use it, and he pulls it up to his lips to press them to her knuckles. She stares up at him with those big, sad eyes, glassy and wet with unshed tears, and his heart shatters. Her bottom lip wobbles and she bows her head before dropping it against his chest, right below the golden 86 that rests around his neck. 

 He sighs as he wraps his arms around her, pulling her as close to him as he possibly can and pressing his lips to the top of her head. “Baby,” he whispers into the night, and he’s met with her soft whimper. “Come inside.” 

 She does, and she lets him sit her down on the new-to-him love seat, but her expression remains the same, refusing to shift into anything remotely positive as she stares at her fingers and picks at her cuticles. 

 The moment he sits down beside her and offers her a glass of water, he tells her, “It’ll be alright, Sweetheart,” and she bursts into tears. 

 She shakes her head, face in her palms as she sobs, although she doesn’t turn to lean into him like she normally would. “I don’t wanna go,” she cries into her hands. “I can’t do it. I’m just–” 

 “Of course you can,” he offers tenderly, placing his hand on her back in hopes that it’ll draw her towards him so that he can scoop her into his lap, although she seems hesitant to even get close to him. “Chrissy, you’re the most amazing, brave person I've ever met. You’re gonna kick Pasadena’s ass.”  

 “But I don't want to!” she wails stubbornly, lifting her reddened face from her hands and holding them in front of her in a gesture that says she thinks this should be perfectly obvious to him. “It’s not fair!”

 “What isn’t, baby?” 

 “That– that I–” Her lip wobbles again and she lets out another sob, and for a brief moment, he wonders if Wayne is home. He should have checked. “That I fell in love with you and now I have to just leave.”

 And, well… fuck.  

 Eddie’s known that he’s been in love with Chrissy Cunningham since he was 14. But to hear her say that? To hear her admit, possibly by accident, that she loves him, too? 

 He can’t just sit here and let her suffer, let her think that they’ll hardly ever see one another once she leaves in a day and a half. 

 “Chrissy,” he starts, still shaken by her admission, trying to hide the smile that threatens the corners of his mouth. “Sweetheart… I love you.” 

 And wouldn’t you know, it just makes her cry harder. 

 “What if we never see each other again?” she cries, finally falling towards him and letting her head heavily land on his chest, her mascara likely staining his shirt, not that he cares. “I’m gonna leave and then we’re just gonna fizzle out. Everyone says it’s stupid to stay in a long distance relationship, what if they’re right–” 

 “Chrissy–” 

 “I can’t stand the thought of never seeing you again–”

  “Chrissy,” he interrupts, perhaps a little too harshly as he takes hold of her shoulders and pulls her from his chest so that he can brush her tears from her cheeks and look seriously into her eyes. “I didn't want to tell you this until I was sure, but…” 

 She shakes her head, starting to cry again and staring down with the most tragic look on her face. “I can’t ask you to visit me; it’s too expensive.” 

 “I’m not gonna visit, Sweetheart–” She sobs again. “I’m trying to work it out so that I can move out there.” 

 She cuts herself off, sniffling hard and choking over a sob and looking up into his eyes. “You're… huh?” 

 He gives her a small, tender smile, cradling her cheek in one of his hands and brushing her hair away from her eyes with the other, unable to stop himself from leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her damp nose. “I really didn’t want to say anything unless I was completely sure, but… Corroded Coffin might be moving up in the world.” 

 “What do you mean?” she asks weakly, finally leaning against his palm. 

 “I mean, after everything that happened, we caught a lot of traction from a more… metal-type crowd, especially out west. I mean, lead guitarist gets accused of demonic possession, murder, and kidnapping, then gets shot… it’s pretty metal.” She laughs, very lightly, and it warms him from the inside out. “And now… We’re working on a deal that would possibly take us to LA. Which is, like, a mile or two outside of Pasadena.” 

 He watches her with curious eyes, taking in her face as she takes in his words, and just when he thinks all might be well, her lip wobbles again and he cringes internally. It’s probably too much, he tells himself. But she throws herself at him, lifting herself into his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck as she lets out another sob. “Eddie,” she cries into his skin. But she can’t get any more words out around her crying. 

 “Sweetheart, please don’t cry. It’ll be alright, I promise. Even if this doesn’t work out, if this deal falls through, we’ll still–” 

 “It won’t,” she insists through her tears, stubborn as ever. “It won’t fall through. Eddie, you just made my entire life.” 

 Part of him, a very small part, is worried and almost wishes he hadn’t told her. What if it does fall through, and he’s put this glimmer of hope into her heart only to rip it out? But then, she lies on top of him for so long, crying through her range of emotions and thanking him for even considering moving to California, that he knows this is the right thing to do. And he’ll do anything in his power to make sure it happens. 

 ~~~~

 A week after she’s moved away, she still hasn’t heard from him about his deal. She thought for sure that this would work out, that it was written in the stars and that everything would work out between them because they’re meant to be, but now… 

 Don’t they deserve to be happy, after everything they’ve been through? 

 She hates to doubt them or the strength of their relationship and how much they love one another. After she had calmed down the night before she had to pack up and go, they reiterated to one another how they felt, admitting that they love each other, and he told her that he’s known it since he was 14. And then she cried again. 

 She didn’t mean to tell him like that, but she couldn’t help it. The thought of never seeing him again was far too all-consuming, and it made her so crazy and anxious that she couldn’t hold it in anymore. 

 She’s just put the finishing touches on her small apartment, the one that she shares with another girl her age who’s also starting at UCLA come Monday. It feels odd being here, trying to call this place her home when in reality she just had to leave it. It isn’t the home that she grew up in that she misses, either- it’s Eddie. 

 Eddie’s her home, and he has been for a few months now. Ever since he rescued her from that curse and dragged her back to reality, she knew she could never regard another person as highly as she does him. Even with the way their town treated him while everything was going on around them, even with the stares and whispers he received once it was all over, she knows that there’s no one in the world as good a person as Eddie Munson. 

 And even though she loves him more than anything or anyone, and even though she doesn’t want to feel this way, she can’t help the feelings of dread that flood through her whenever she thinks of him. Her fear that this won’t work simply won’t go away. 

 She’s just wiping away another tear, finding herself doing this far too often, when she hears a knock on the door. Lindsay must have forgotten her key, she thinks. She’s done it a few times since they moved in, and she’s trying not to let it get to her. Can’t she just remember?  

 The door swings open and she gives Lindsay a look that she hopes conveys how irritated she is by having to do this once again, but then she stills immediately. 

 Lindsay did forget her key, or else she could have let herself in. But behind her, with his leather jacket and his denim vest with the Dio patch and his perfect, springy curls, stands the one person who could wipe the look of disgust right off her face. 

 “Hi,” he greets happily from behind her new roommate, and she knows she’s being rude, but she pushes right past Lindsay to throw herself into his arms. 

 She cries again, like she has been for a week now, only this time it’s for another reason. The fact that he’s here with a beaming smile across his face must mean what she hopes it means, that he got the deal he was hoping for and that he’s moving to LA with his band. That he’s going to make it big, that he’ll be a successful musician just like he’s always wanted, that his dreams are coming true. 

 And that he’s here. His arms are around her waist, holding her off the ground and against his chest as he spins her happily, laughing with her as she hugs tightly around his neck. “You’re here,” she whimpers into his collarbone. 

 “I’m here, Sweetheart,” he promises. At some point, Lindsay makes her way inside and they just stay in the hall of her apartment building, not caring that they’re locked out or that any of her neighbors could walk into the hall at any moment and catch them like this. “We signed a two year contract with a recording studio. With the condition that I get to remix Somebody To Love .”

 “I love you,” she promises, not even able to respond to his joke, kissing his cheek and then finding his lips with hers, locking him in a kiss that makes her heart stop. “I love you so much.” 

 “I told you,” he whispers against her mouth, his forehead on hers. “I’m not leaving you again. You’re gonna have a hard time getting rid of me.”

 She never held it against him, the way that he had to flee that night all those months ago. She never felt animosity towards him for the fact that he had to protect himself when the alternative would have been far, far worse for him. But still, he’s always held it against himself, the guilt of not staying with her when she’d asked him to in a traumatized, painful haze eating away at him little by little. His devotion to her will always make her heart soar, and the fact that he’s made this promise to her and has never once broken it since that night sets her soul on fire. 

 She loves him. What happened with Vecna will leave a scar on her heart and in her thoughts for the rest of her life, haunting her dreams and leaving a dull ache in her left arm from the trauma of what she shouldn’t have survived. And even though their relationship started on rocky, horrifying grounds, even though their closeness was forged from trauma and terror, she wouldn’t trade her experiences for anything as long as she’s by his side. Because if there’s one thing he’s taught her, it’s that she doesn’t want somebody to love. She just wants him. 

~~~~

Either way, though, he sits on the couch and does nothing. Somebody to Love still plays, the record spinning round and round in an endless loop, only they’ve also put on The Goonies. He hasn’t seen it, and when he admitted that, she almost dropped to the floor and insisted that he put the tape into Rick’s VCR. 

 Her head is on his shoulder. That must be the side the angel lives on. Or maybe it’s because it’s his left side, and that leaves her shattered left arm with plenty of space. 

 “Eddie,” she whispers. It’s been almost an hour, and honestly, he could have convinced himself that she was sleeping based on how still and quiet she’s been. 

 “Yeah, Sweetheart?” he asks, Little Devil Eddie kicking him when he uses the tender nickname, but she doesn’t seem to mind, so Little Angel Eddie gives him a pat on the back. 

 “You’re gonna get in trouble for this.” 

 He almost makes a joke, asks if she’s threatening him, but her voice is small and worried and shaky, like whatever she’s scared of has been on her mind long enough to start eating away at her, and he brushes the stupid nonexistent angels off his shoulders and sits up slowly, turning so he can face her. 

 “For what?” he asks when he meets her big, round eyes. 

 “For… harboring me,” she insists vehemently, like he should be as worried as she is. “I know I chose to come here, but you know no one is gonna see it like that. And when my mom finds out… I just realized, everyone is gonna assume you kidnapped me.” 

 Ah, he thinks to himself. She’s worried about him. 

 “That’s okay,” he starts with a small smile before he thinks better of it and asks, “that is, you are okay with being here, right? If you’re not, I’ll–”

 “Yes, of course I am, but you–” 

 He’s so unbelievably stupid that he stops her voice, her eyes widening when he puts his stupid finger on her lips. She blinks a few times, and just as he forces himself to look away from them, he swears he sees them turn up slightly. 

 “Don’t you dare start worrying about me, Chrissy Cunningham,” he insists firmly. And because he’s unbelievably stupid, he continues to spill his guts to her. “You’re my priority. I don’t care about anything as long as I know you’re safe.” 

 He watches her shoulders relax as much as they can around the cast and the splint, and he drops his hand, right on top of hers. And she grabs it, and she holds it in her lap, and his heart stops. “I'm allowed to worry about you if you’re worrying about me.” 

 He smiles softly. “That’s fine,” he agrees with a nod. “But it doesn’t change anything, okay? I’m not leaving you alone again, not after I promised you I wouldn’t. And if your mom has a problem with that, then she can kiss my shiny white–”

“Eddie!” 

 He clears his throat. “Car. I was gonna say car.” 

 “Your car is a van, and it’s really more of a cream color. And it’s not totally–”

 He shouldn’t do this. He really, really shouldn’t do this. 

 He does it. 

 He leans forward, closes the few inches between them, and he presses his lips to hers. 

 He kisses her. 

 The devil is laughing at his stupidity, until she sighs and starts to kiss him back. Then he remembers that there’s no devil and no angel, and that the curse doesn’t matter, and that Vecna will have to wait. Because Chrissy Cunningham, Queen of Hawkins High and Empress of Eddie Munson’s Dreams, is kissing him. 

 Her hand cups his cheek, her fingers tickling behind his ear as they play with his hair. Her lips part with his and she lets him slowly and gently draw a line along her bottom lip with his tongue before she becomes impatient and surges forward, deepening the kiss herself and consuming him and taking him for everything he’s worth. 

 She sighs again, audibly this time, the sound like a tiny whimper that makes him grip her hip and pull her as close to himself as he can without actually moving her. He doesn’t want to move her around for fear of jostling her arm and hurting her, but when he squeezes her hip it’s like she gets the message he’s inadvertently sending, and she lifts onto her knees and doesn’t break away from him as she climbs onto his lap, one knee on either side of his hips. He groans quietly, his hands everywhere as they dance along her back and up into her hair before moving to cup her face. 

 “Chrissy,” he breathes, and she gasps into his mouth, her hand tightening into a fist in his hair like she likes the way her name sounds against her mouth. He chases the sound of her gasp with his tongue, wanting nothing more than to feel it vibrating against him again, and he swears he isn’t making up the way her hips put just a little bit of pressure on his.

 But as much as he loves this, as much as he wants to be in this very position every moment of every day for the rest of his life, he did kiss her very unexpectedly, and he wants to make sure that this is what she wants, too.

 “Sweetheart, are you–”

She pulls away. Her eyes are big and wide again, frightened, and she’s panting before she bites her bottom lip between her teeth. “I’m sorry,” she breathes.

 “You… you’re sorry?” 

 Still panting, she says, “If you… I shouldn't have… I know you probably don’t want to…”

 He smiles as he cups her cheek and places his thumb over her lips, desperate to try and stop whatever thoughts of painful self-doubt are boiling through her veins right now. He knows those all too well, and he’s not about to let Chrissy Cunningham experience them. He leans forward, moves his thumb over her soft pink lips and covers them with another kiss, softer this time. 

 “Were you about to say I don’t want to kiss you?” 

 She’s breathless, her lips almost touching his as she nods. 

 “Christine Georgina Cunningham,” he scolds playfully, and she laughs aloud and shakes her head. 

 “Elizabeth.” 

 “Christine Elizabeth Cunningham,” he says more tenderly, kissing her softly once more. “I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life kissing you.” 

 Still panting, she finally meets his eyes, and hers are filled with hopeful disbelief. “I mean… Me?” 

 “You. Always you.” 

 “Always?” she whispers. 

 “Since I saw you do that sick cheer routine in middle school.”

 She laughs. His heart soars. 

 “Even with this big clunky thing in the way?” she asks, gesturing to her heavy cast. 

 “Eh,” he shrugs. “It just gives us something to look forward to for when you get it off.” 

 With the way his brows waggle and he juts out his jaw, she laughs again, harder this time, and then leans forward to rest her forehead on his. “Eddie,” she sighs happily, not really intending to say anything as she simply leans against him. 

 “How could you believe that I wouldn’t want you?” he asks, brushing her hair tenderly from her face and pecking the tip of her nose. 

 “I mean… I don’t know, it’s kind of hard to know what people want when you’re… I guess what I mean is, a lot of people want the head cheerleader, right? I just… you’re kind of the first person who actually wants… me. It’s just hard to believe, I guess.” 

 “Well,” he says slowly. He kisses her softly once more, then a few more times chastely which earns him more of her adorably melodic giggles. “You better start believing it, baby. Everyone may think you’re a perfect jock cheerleader, but I know the truth.” 

 “What's the truth?” she asks with a grin. 

 “You, Chrissy Cunningham, are a certified freak.” 

 ~~~~

 Sleep has never come easily to her. She’s always been the kid who wakes up with nightmares in a cold sweat. Once, she went to wake her mom, scared out of her wits, and she told her to go back to bed and to make sure she washed the sweat out of her sheets the next morning. Since then, she’s used to waking up alone, scared, shivering and sweaty and silent. She suffers alone; she always has, and she used to think she always would. 

 Vecna was after her again, claws in her eyes as her mother watched without feeling, and this time, Eddie wasn’t there to save her. No one saved her, and she felt his too-long fingers digging into her skin until it broke.  

 She wakes up from her nightmare, shaking and sweating and panting, almost screaming but stopping herself, knowing that if she makes a sound her mother will make things worse. But then she starts to feel odd. She’s confused as she glances around the dark room, the moonlight streaming in through the window isn’t where it’s supposed to be. It’s supposed to be to the right of her bed but it’s over her left shoulder, and when she turns, she notes the strange, definitely not pink curtains. 

 It floods back to her easily, the memory of where she is, who she’s with, what bed she’s sleeping in, and she tries to steady her breathing as she reminds herself that she’s safe. She’s at Eddie’s friend’s house, tucked away in the far side of the lake, hidden from the world and Hawkins and her mother and, maybe, Vecna. She drops her forehead down to her knees and wraps her usable arm around her shins and she tries to just breathe. 

 But then the door creaks, opening slowly, and she looks up so fast that it hurts her head, her heart racing again as she assumes the worst, but then she sees the long, springy curls piled up on top of Eddie’s head and she feels safe again. 

 “Hey,” he murmurs into the small bedroom, pushing the door open slightly when he sees that she’s awake but staying just outside the room. “You okay?”

 Guilt floods her, churning her stomach as she asks, “Did I wake you?” 

 “Nah,” he brushes her off, shaking his head and giving her a soft smile. “I don’t really sleep that much these days.” 

 She lets her knees fall a bit, her feet sliding back beneath the blankets that he gave her, and she smiles softly at him. “Me either,” she whispers. “Sorry.”

 “Chrissy,” he says, and something in his voice is different, like it hurts. He looks pensive before stepping into the room, leaving the door open and padding bare feet across the floor until he can sit on the very edge of her bed. “You had a nightmare. Don’t say you're sorry; if anyone should be having nightmares, it's you.” 

 “I just,” she shrugs, meeting his sad eyes with hers. “I hate to think that I disturbed you or something.” 

 “You didn’t,” he says tenderly. “I promise. You could never disturb me, unless you tell me you like disco music.” 

 She laughs and shakes her head, in disbelief that she’s laughing after such a horrible dream but somehow not surprised at all that he should be the one making her smile. She moves her leg and kicks him softly from beneath the blankets, and he’s quick and playful as he grabs her foot. 

 “Maybe I do,” she taunts, sticking her tongue out and then shrieking when he peels back the blankets and starts to tickle the sensitive skin on the sole of her foot. “Stop!”

 “Fine,” he laughs, smile beaming down at her as he releases her. “If you want to like disco music, I guess I can live with that, but only on one condition.”

 “What?” she chuckles. 

 “Try to get some sleep.”

 She rolls her eyes at him, deadpanning in his direction, and he gives her a look like he’s trying to scold her but failing miserably. “I can’t just fall asleep, Eddie. Every time I do–” 

 He leans towards her, his hand pressing into the small mattress and supporting his weight as he tilts forward. She’s never really thought about the way that Eddie Munson would sleep. Part of her probably would have assumed that he’d pass out easily, maybe still in his jeans and his leather coat, but the reality, at least tonight, is that he carefully ties his long hair into a high ponytail and wears just a t-shirt and a pair of flannel pants. And something about having that information feels… strange. Good, even. 

 “Do you see him again?” he asks gently. He’s close to her, kind of, close enough to whisper to her and his voice still be audible over the low drone of the Queen song, but he’s still seated on the foot of the bed and she suddenly wants to drag him closer to her. Maybe it’s the mention of Vecna, but she finds herself longing to grab the collar of his shirt and tug until he’s beside her. 

 “Yeah,” she whispers back, mouth dry at the memory, hand shaking at the need to be held. As she thinks of Vecna, she thinks of Eddie and the way he held her together and kept her from breaking. 

 “What do you need, Sweetheart?” he asks her. It’s a question she isn’t used to hearing, and one that often makes her uncomfortable, so frequently asked of her with an undertone of agitation at the thought of her needing anything. But he asks her and she just knows that he really wants to know, and that whatever her answer is, he’ll give her. “What will… what will help you?”

 “Can you–” She stops herself, her heart hammering out of her chest and her stomach queasy as she fleetingly considers taking some control and purging those damn Spaghettios. But he scoots closer, and he takes her hand and squeezes it, and it’s like an anchor that keeps her grounded long enough for her to collect herself. “Can you just hold me?” she whispers, her voice broken and her tears burning in her eyes, and she wants so badly to let out the sob she’s holding in her chest as she considers how pathetic and broken she must look to him.

 But he just shifts his weight and stands, hurrying towards her and crawling beneath the covers with her, much to her surprise. His hands gently encourage her to lie back, careful and gentle around her cast as he rolls both of them onto their sides. He lies on her right side and she faces him as he pulls her into his arms, face in his chest and breath starting to even out the moment the familiar scent of him hits her nose.

 “You’re okay,” he whispers to her again, holding her close to him and running his hands up and down along her spine, fingers tender along the dips between her vertebrae. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you, Chrissy, I promise.”

 Her panic subsides from the moment she feels the weight of his arms around her, and it keeps settling as the minutes tick on. She believes him more than she’s ever believed anything or anyone. She knows it because he’s already saved her once. She knows that whenever she’s with him, she’s safer than she’s ever been. And even though his friends are trying to destroy the monster that lives beneath Hawkins, even though that terrifies her, she knows they’ll all be alright.

 ~~~~

 He lies beside her all night long, finally getting some sleep herself. She wakes up one other time during the night, whimpering and shaking before she falls against his chest, and he can feel the way her breathing evens out as it washes over his shirt. And he whispers things to her that he probably shouldn’t, reminders that she’s safe and that he won’t let anything happen to her, as if he has the power to promise such a thing. 

 But it soothes her either way, and the next night, after dinner and after they put on another movie to make out during, she squeezes his hand and looks down at it while she asks him to come to bed with her again. Never before did he think he would be sharing a bed with Chrissy Cunningham, and he definitely didn’t think it would be like this. But holding her as she sleeps, feeling the way she relaxes against him, knowing that it’s because she trusts him, it makes this all worth it. 

 It doesn’t matter to him that he’s on the run, that he’s hiding her here, that he’s going to probably be accused of kidnapping her even though she’s 18 and can go where she wants. It doesn't matter that there’s a demon living in a fucked up version of Hawkins right below their feet trying to kill people. With her in his arms, he can still breathe at the thought of his friends trying to come up with a plan for defeating this monster and clearing his name, even with how psychotic that sounds. He lies here with her, and he knows that they’ll make it through whatever screwed up shit the world wants to throw at them.

~~~~

He listens, hands shaking in the air, mind racing at the fact that he can no longer see Chrissy, can no longer ensure that she’s alright and alive and not floating to the ceiling. He breathes too quickly as the panic settles, the thought of her bones snapping flooding his memories again. He drops the flashlight and empties his pockets, just as Jason commands.

 “Who else is in the house?” Jason asks too calmly, but Eddie can hear the hardware of the gun rattling in his shaky hands. 

 “No one,” he mutters. 

 “Alright. I’m gonna back away while you wake her up, and then she and I are gonna leave, and you’re gonna spend the rest of your miserable life in prison for whatever the hell you’re doing to her.” 

 Even if he could wake her up, he shouldn’t. Even with how badly he wants to wake her up, he can’t. Chrissy, his strong, perfect, brave Chrissy, has insisted that she serve as the distraction, as the bait for Vecna so that the others can defeat him. She promised him that she could do this, and made him promise that he would help her. And as much as he hates it, he would never break a promise to her. So he shakes her head. “I can’t do that, man,” he says as he starts to turn around. “If I wake her too soon, we’re all gonna die.” 

 “Well,” he says with a crazed smile, his thumb cocking the gun shakily. “If you don’t wake her up right now, you die, freak. Just you.” 

 He tries, really. He tries to explain to Jason what’s going on, tries to tell him the truth about the demon who lives just below them and murdered his friend. He tells him that’s how Patrick McKinney died, how Fred Benson died, how Chrissy almost died. He tells him that the music is what saved her, even though she insists that that isn’t totally true. He tells him that she’s there now, being brave and strong and trying to hold the monster off while their friends try to defeat him. But as much as Jason can believe part of the story, after he saw Patrick dragged into the sky to have his bones snapped, he can’t get past one tiny detail. 

 “Then why the hell was she at your trailer? You corrupted her! You possessed her!” 

 “She wanted to buy drugs, dude,” he tries desperately, feeling his throat close in fear as Jason keeps the gun shakily pointed at him. 

 “Liar!” He can shoot Eddie, for all he cares, but Jason’s aim is shit, and all he can picture is his shaky grip loosening and the bullet flying right for Chrissy as she sits between the two of them. 

 “She was seeing horrible things,” he tries to explain. “Vecna forced her to see these terrible things and she was scared. She just needed help.”

 He laughs again, the sound making Eddie shiver. “That’s how I know you’re lying. If Chrissy was really scared, if she really wanted help, she would’ve come to me! Not you, freak!”

 “You’re wrong about her,” he says more softly. He’s not upset about Jason calling him a freak. And he’s not upset about his total disbelief that he could be remotely good for Chrissy. He’s angry. He’s angry that Jason knows so little about the girl he’s been seeing for all this time. He’s angry that he stands here with a loaded gun and chooses to put her in danger because of his own screwed up problems. “She’s not like you; she’s not what you think she is.”

 “You have five seconds to wake her up.” 

 He starts counting from five, the gun still aimed and loaded. And Eddie considers his options as time seems to slow to a halt. He can run, listen to Jason and wake Chrissy up with the understanding that the others probably won’t be able to kill Vecna if he does. Maybe he can even get the two of them away from Jason, or maybe he can go back for her after Jason’s taken her with him and they can run far away and never look back. 

 But then, he doesn’t do that running and hiding thing anymore. 

 So he doesn’t think. When Jason says four, Eddie shuts his eyes and adjusts his center of gravity and rushes the shit out of him, trying his hardest to go at him from as far from Chrissy as he can. He tackles him even after he hears the gun going off, so full of adrenaline and anger and just generally so fucking done with this guy that he uses everything he has as he crashes into him. Jason knees him in the stomach and he doubles over, the two of them struggling against one another, and Jason elbows him right in the jaw. 

 They scurry across the floor, forcing one another this way and that, and he thinks of Chrissy. He thinks of how unfair her life has been, how poorly she’s been treated by everyone she should be able to count on, how she needed to come to the freak for help in the first place because she couldn’t trust anyone else, and he fights harder. 

 He never thought he would be able to overpower him, not even when he saw those bruises on Chrissy’s wrists, but as he thinks of the yellowing, purplish marks in her perfect skin, he grabs Jason again, forcing him to the ground, and he pins his wrists over his head, squeezing hard and praying that he leaves a matching bruise on each of his arms. And then he takes the gun out of his grip somehow, not even thinking about the fact that it’s loaded and pretty much pointed directly at himself, and he hits him in the head with the butt of it and watches the lights go out in his eyes as he passes out. 

 He’s probably not breathing. He stares down as the unconscious Jason Carver for a second too long, eyes wide and startled as he tries to take in what the hell he just did. Did he really just rush a guy who was pointing a gun at him? 

 Then he remembers hearing the shot and he turns quickly, grabbing the gun and tossing it so it slides across the floor, well out of Jason’s reach. He takes a quick scan of the room, rushing to Chrissy and thanking whatever the hell is out there because at least she isn’t bleeding. But she’s rocking more quickly, her cloudy eyes darting from left to right with wild abandon and her breathing even faster before he feels a pull against his hands, gravity fighting against his hold on her until she’s lifting from the floor. 

 But then he looks down to find the Walkman, to grab the headphones and start the tape and bring her back down to him, and he freezes, panics again. Because the fucking thing is in pieces. It’s shattered, broken in the scuffle that he started, and he realizes he’s no better than anyone else. He can’t even keep her Walkman alive long enough to save her. 

 “Fuck!” he screams, loud and unhindered and pissed. “Fuck, Chrissy, come on!” he begs. He stands up and crouches so he can put his hands on her cheeks and pulls her forehead to his, but it doesn’t stop her from lifting higher and higher. His hands are shaking, his brain resembling the Spaghettios they shared just a few short nights ago, and he curses again. 

 “Chrissy, wake up,” he sobs. “Please, Sweetheart, please wake up. Please come back to me.” 

 But she goes higher and higher until she’s almost as tall as he is, her arm straight and her legs falling weak beneath her, and nothing holds her up but Vecna. 

 He doesn't think before he just starts singing like a maniac, crying through the lyrics that don’t seem to get through to her. Why would they? He sounds like a freak, sobbing out pleas and lyrics that barely make sense. He shakes her shoulders, knowing his desperate and pathetic attempts at even coming close to mimicking her favorite song are foolish. She climbs higher into the air until he can barely reach her, and all he can do is try to force her back down to the ground. He pushes on her shoulders, and then, without thinking, he kisses her frozen lips and hopes for some romantic fairytale miracle, but it’s no use. 

 Just as she gets high enough to leave his grip, though, she falls again. 

 She collapses to the floor in a heap, bones in one piece, and so does he. 

 ~~~~

 It’s so easy to fall into his arms. At first, it takes her a moment to even comprehend where she is, and then when she realizes that she escaped again, that she ran again and that he helped her to set herself free, she’s sprinting towards him until she can feel his lips on hers. 

 As she was running, something changed. The world was crashing around her and the gap in the Upside Down that was like a window to Eddie got bigger and bigger until she leapt through it, but something made her believe that she would’ve made it here anyway. And when she wakes up, she knows it’s because they won. 

 “Eddie,” she says, feeling a lot calmer this time than she was the last. None of her bones are broken, at least based on her quick scan of herself. And at least this time, she knew what she was walking into when she got cursed. She opens her eyes and is pleased to find that she can see, that they haven’t popped inside of her skull. “Eddie?” 

 He doesn’t answer. He lies beside her, eyes shut and face tense, body rigid. “Eddie!” she calls, moving quickly to get as close to him as she can and shaking his shoulders. She hears a groan, but it comes from behind her so she shakes Eddie’s shoulders again, not concerned with whoever is behind them. 

 Eddie groans this time, his breath sharp as he inhales and opens his eyes wide. He’s gasping for air as he looks around frantically, and he only settles a little bit when their gazes meet. “Chris–” he starts, cutting himself off with another gasp. And then he smiles and her heart stops. “Fuck. Hey.”

 His hand is on his waist, on the left side of his stomach, clutching firmly as his eyes droop in pain. “What happened?” she begs frantically, and when she moves his hand, she sees his damp, red palm and she wants to turn around and be sick right on the floor. 

 “Jason,” he breathes weakly, tilting his chin to gesture to the groaning body behind her and making her turn around. Her blood runs cold. Too much is happening all at once, with her curse by Vecna breaking and her waking in this old, chilly attic, with Eddie on the floor bleeding, and then to find Jason in a similar state. She can’t see any blood, though, and he appears to be unconscious, so he’s the least of her worries. 

 But then when she moves to be close to him, to check on him and to comfort him, she sees the gun and freezes. “Did he…” she starts, but she can’t finish her thought. “Eddie?” 

 “‘M okay,” he chokes out. He’s still panting, though, and he’s got a tiny bit of blood in his mouth. 

 “He shot you?” she whispers. He doesn’t really answer, his eyes fluttering open and shut, but when he opens them once more, he smiles up at her. 

 “I’m fine,” he says more clearly. “Can’t keep this old freak down.” 

 “You need to go to the hospital,” she reasons, but he’s gazing at her, his eyes far away but his smile soft and happy. She knows he’s in shock, but she can’t keep herself from panicking. 

 “You did it.” 

 His hand moves away from his wound while the other stays put, and he lets it gently graze along the skin of her cheek, his smile still in place but his teeth turning red. “Eddie,” she whispers, “we should try to get you downstairs.” 

 “Knew you could,” he murmurs. “You’re perfect. Knew you could do it.” 

 “Erica!” she screams, turning her head towards the stairs and trying not to think about how the way he’s talking makes it seem like he’s stopped fighting. “Erica, help!” 

 She turns back to him, figuring the best way to keep him with her is to talk to him. “Steve, Nancy, and Robin killed him, Eddie,” she tells him with pride in her voice and tears on her cheeks. “It’s all over. You just need to stay with me, okay?”

 “So brave,” he muses. “You’re my hero, Chr–” He cuts himself off with another gasping breath.

 “Eddie,” she whispers desperately, leaning down and letting a tear fall onto his cheek. “It’s okay. I know it hurts, but you have to stay with me, okay? Just stay with me. Don’t… don’t go, okay?”

 “Doesn’t hurt,” he says, and she cries harder. 

 He’s moaning and groaning, obviously in pain as he gasps for air, and help can’t come quickly enough. She doesn’t care that Jason’s still lying still behind her, and she doesn’t care if he wakes up, either. She doesn’t care that Eddie’s bleeding onto her jeans and that she should probably never wear them again. All she cares about is screaming out Erica’s name, crying out Eddie’s, holding him as he goes limp in her arms. 

~~~~

He wishes more than anything that he could be the one to climb to her window once the light goes on, but it makes sense for Max to do it. Along with her Kate Bush tape, she lithely climbs to the roof beneath Chrissy’s bedroom window and knocks, somehow convincing her to come to the car with a bag of clothes in far less time than he expected. 

 He can’t really see much of her, the blanket obscuring his vision, but still, he can see the giant, heavy plaster covering her arm from her knuckles up to her underarm. It’s held close to her with a black sling which he assumes assists in keeping her shattered arm immobile and safe. 

 She lets out a tiny giggle, one that he wouldn’t expect from her after everything she’s been through, and he can feel her leaning forward towards him, the dainty fingers of her right hand lifting the blanket from over his head and exposing his eyes. Her smile beams down at him, and although it’s smaller and sadder than it has been, it’s genuine. 

 “Hi,” she whispers, her fingers playing with the hem of the blanket just by his chin. “Max said you were gonna be down there.” 

“Hey,” he laughs breathlessly. “I, uh, yeah. Hiding.”

 “Smooth,” he hears from the front seat, and if he could reach Robin with his elbow, he’d send it into her ribs. 

 “Thanks for coming to get me,” she says softly, voice sweet and tender in a way that makes him want to pull her into his arms and hold her there for as long as he can. 

 “Of course,” he whispers back, and in a moment of boldness, he moves his hidden hand and brushes her fingers with his. He wants to tell her, I'll always be here for you, or maybe, I'll never leave you again, but they both feel too… intimate, he supposes. At least for the full car. So he settles again for, “Of course.” 

 Reefer Rick’s been in jail for a couple months, and he’s expected to stay there for a few months more, so his place is empty. At first, he was too nervous to break into the house, settling for the boathouse, but then he spent the night throwing up in there, and Steve shoved an oar into his ribs a couple of times, after he witnessed the almost-death of his… friend… and he decided that he could use a little comfort. He deserves to sleep on a couch instead of a damp, smelly dock. 

 So when they get to the main house, he lets himself take a deep breath, lets himself settle just a bit as he searches through the kitchen for something to eat. “You like Spaghettios?” he calls into the living room where Chrissy stands stiffly, staring at Rick’s bookshelf with her right hand extended towards the spines. 

 “I don’t know,” she calls back, and he gasps dramatically.

 “Chrissy Cunningham!” he shouts. “I’m about to rock your world.” 

 Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. But she giggles again. 

 ~~~~

 Her mother doesn’t think she should be listening to loud music that can rot her brain. She hated the Walkman when she saw it, cringing and asking what she could possibly want with something that would play the horrid music directly into her ear drums, wondering where she even got it, but Chrissy only supplied a soft smile accompanied by a shrug as she pulled the headphones onto her ears. 

 The tape he made her has been playing constantly for a week now. She never thought she would get sick of this song, but it is getting a bit old by this point. Still, though, as she pokes through Reefer Rick’s house while Eddie makes some kind of canned catastrophe, she comes across his small collection of things lying on the checkered couch. And she noticed his own Walkman. And she opens it up and–

 QUEEN – Somebody to Love. 

 “Dinner!” he calls theatrically, making her jump and anxiously force the top shut again. “You okay?”

 He looks her up and down as he holds two white bowls with spoons sticking out, his hen-covered apron making her smile, and it’s reminiscent of that time a few weeks ago in the woods, the first time she saw those spiders crawling out of the clock face. She kind of likes the way he approaches her so playfully and immediately shifts into this serious, concerned demeanor when he sees her startling. 

 “Sorry,” she says quietly, offering him a small, disingenuous smile. “I didn’t–” 

 “Hey, you’re okay,” he tells her, and it feels different somehow. He didn’t just tell her that it’s okay, that it’s okay that she was touching his private stuff, that it’s okay that she’s so jumpy and annoying. He tells her that she’s okay. She’s here, she’s welcome, she’s alive and in one piece, technically, she’s safe. 

 She’s safe. She’s safe with him. 

 And because she knows she’s safe, she figures it’s also safe to lighten up and seek a little clarification as she gestures down to the Walkman. “Is this a backup? In case mine gets wrecked or something?” 

 His wide smile falters for a second before he plasters it back on, more forced this time, and walks to the couch adjacent to the one she stands by. “Sure,” he says, his voice enthusiastic but hesitant, somehow. “Come sit? I know Spaghettios probably isn’t the gourmet you’re used to at the Cunningham estate, but it’s gotta be better than the green Jell-o the hospital was giving you.” 

 That’s probably true, she thinks, so she obliges and sits beside him, not too close, but close enough so that it’s safe for her to take the hot bowl with her unbroken arm and rest it on her lap. “Thanks,” she murmurs softly. 

 “Hang on a second,” he encourages quietly, suddenly deep in thought as he stands, removing the apron and then walking towards the bookshelf she was just near. He takes a large hardcover book off the shelf, reads the cover– “Animal Farm,” he cringes– and walks it back over to her, lifting her bowl and placing the book down on her lap. “There ya go. Your own little TV Dinner table.” 

 With a soft giggle, she thanks him again, reaching for the spoon with a tiny smile as she watches him do the same. The spaghetti and tiny meatballs are surprisingly good, and she finds herself scarfing the dinner down without even thinking about the calories that have to be involved with something that doesn’t taste like paper.

 She jumps again when the tape runs out, moving to reset it, but Eddie’s hand stops her so she meets his eyes. They’re deep and dark, wide and curious and caring as they gaze into her own, and she can’t help but to let her lips turn up slightly, her head tilting to the side in curiosity. “Do I finally get a break?”

 “I thought you liked that song?” he asks with a soft laugh as he takes the headphones from around her neck. 

 “It’s my favorite. But I've heard it, like, two thousand times this week alone.” 

 “Right,” he chuckles as he stands up. “That’s why I figured we could try something else. We don’t know if you’re allowed to listen to other songs so we won't risk that,” he explains, walking back towards the shelf and fiddling with the old looking record player that sits one shelf up from the floor. “And I’m not gonna be one of those asshole douchebags who insists that you need to listen to the music the way it was meant to be heard,” he continues, his voice changing to a cloying, annoying mimicking tone that makes her laugh. “But I feel like it’ll sound different coming from the record through the speakers.” 

 With a giggle, she says, “Okay, let’s try it.” 

 It does sound a bit different, more crisp, or something, and she smiles as she sits down and notes the way that he closes his eyes passionately and dramatically, making a fist as he silently sings along into a fake microphone. “You’re crazy,” she laughs, and he looks at her with false incredulity, pretending his feelings are hurt by her claim. 

 “How dare you?” he asks during an instrumental break, careful not to interrupt his lip syncing. 

 “You’re not even singing!” 

 “I can hit these notes, Cunningham. I just didn’t want to make you jealous.”

 With a hearty laugh, she assures him, “I wouldn’t get jealous; I'd give you a round of applause.” 

 As if just on time, he joins in with his own vocals, almost expertly meeting Freddie Mercury note for note with just as much charisma. He takes her bowl as he continues on with the second verse, placing it on the coffee table before them and taking her hand as he carefully lifts her into a standing position. 

 With laughter in her lungs and her throat and her heart, spilling from her mouth and from her eyes as happy tears poke against them, genuine joy hitting her for the first time since she can remember, she isn’t even embarrassed as she joins in with the backup vocals, accompanying his dramatic performance with ease and earning an excited grin from him. 

 He dances with her carefully yet playfully, still loudly singing along but missing a few notes as his laughter interrupts. He spins her, he holds her unbroken hand as he jumps up onto the couch, dropping it to mime the guitar solo. He starts jumping on the couch as the melody builds up, and she almost cries with laughter, her stomach hurting from the use of a group of muscles she hasn’t worked in such a long time. His voice squeaks out, almost hitting the highest note but missing as he cuts himself off and doubles over laughing, jumping down from the couch and taking her hand again as the melodic flow of the song settles her heart. His other hand wipes away a tear and then, before either of them know what’s happening, she’s leaning against his chest with her cast between them and her other arm around his waist, both of his arms holding her closely, his chin resting on the top of her head as they sway together.

 And it's the most romantic thing she’s ever experienced. 

 He’s humming still, as the song starts to come to a close, his throat vibrating against her nose, and she wants to press her lips against his chest. She knows he was only kidding, making a scene to make her laugh, and even though he couldn’t hit all the notes, his voice was stunning. Her heart is calm for the first time in a long time, her fingers have stopped shaking, her eyes are closed as the song plays through. 

 “You’re a regular groupie, Christina Cunningham.” 

 She smiles wholeheartedly, letting out a soft, contented sigh. “You’re a regular rockstar, Edward Munson.”

 “I’m a metalhead,” he defends, and she shrugs. With a chuckle, he says, “And my name isn’t Edward.”

 “What is it?” she asks softly. Although the song has started again, she still doesn’t want to interrupt this. 

 “Edmund,” he tells her, almost shy.

 “Edmund,” she repeats gently. “Well, Edmund, my name isn’t Christina.” 

 “Agh,” he curses, moving his hand from her back to snap in disappointment before placing it right back where it was, much to her satisfaction. “What is it?” 

 “Christine.” 

 “I had a 50/50 shot.” 

 “Maybe you shouldn’t be gambling,” she jokes, and he tickles her ribs softly and she swears she feels his lips doing something when she giggles and squirms before settling against him again. 

 He holds her, swaying with her as the song runs through again, and then once more. He sings quietly about wanting to get out of this prison cell and she’s never felt more understood in her life. He sings that he takes a look in the mirror and cries and she almost cries, too. And his voice is so soft and gentle and it rumbles in her ear as he sings over and over and over about finding somebody to love. And that’s all she’s ever wanted, really. Somebody who wants to love her. 

 Overcome with emotions that she can’t quite identify, she finds herself squeezing his waist as she whispers, “Thank you.” 

 His lips do that thing again– whatever it is she isn’t sure, maybe a smile or maybe even a kiss, but she doesn’t want to let herself believe that too firmly– and he whispers back, “For gracing you with my flawlessly stunning musical talent?” 

 She laughs again and finds herself nuzzling her nose against his collarbone. “For everything. You saved my life.” 

 She feels him stiffen and worries that that must’ve been the wrong thing to say. Eddie hasn’t been in her life for very long at all, at least not significantly, and she was unconscious for half the time anyway. They haven’t seen each other for two weeks. This is only the third time they’ve hung out– fourth, if she counts the talent show in sixth grade. But still, something has shifted with her. Maybe having a near death, monster fueled experience with someone is a good way to form a connection with them. But every thought she has of Eddie is accompanied by a longing deep in the chambers of her heart and a fluttering deep in the pit of her stomach that has nothing to do with her need to purge her dinner. In fact, she doesn't need to purge her dinner, and she hasn’t felt like that in years. 

 The differences in her life can be pinpointed to Eddie Munson. His presence in the woods had to have been the thing that stopped the visions of those spiders in her head. He pulled her out of the curse she was under just by being there for her. Vecna was going to attack her anyway, whether she was at his trailer or a game or Jason’s house; Eddie’s the reason she’s still alive. She’d be gone if he wasn’t there when it happened. He’s the thing that gave her the strength to end things with Jason. He’s the reason she chose to run from her parents’ house, to flee the oppressive way that her mother would have monitored each bite she took of her dinner. And it was his idea to get her out of the house anyway, to avoid another Vecna attack. 

 He’s changed everything for her. And she wants him to know that she knows that, that she appreciates it. She wants him to know that, although she probably shouldn’t, she’s having feelings she’s never had before, ones that are undeniable and strong and don’t scare her even though they should. 

 But he stiffens, and maybe that’s not something he wants to hear from her. 

 “I left you,” he croaks out, his voice breaking and almost inaudible over the shredding guitar solo still blaring behind them. “I didn’t save you, Chrissy. I told you I would stay with you and I ran the second I got a chance. I’m a coward.” 

 “No,” she insists, shaking her head as she lifts it to look up at him. She moves her good hand from his back, using it without thinking to brush a long strand of hair back into place. “No, Eddie, if you weren’t there, I’d be–” 

 “Don’t,” he begs. His eyes are sadder than she’s ever seen, big and round and tearful. “Please. Don’t say it.” She doesn’t. She just stares at him, just as sadly, and nods. “I can’t– every time I think about–”

 His breathing is faster, his hold on her tighter although she doesn’t mind. Tears are in his eyes and she notices the way his jaw starts trembling, panic setting in as he must recall the sight of her bones breaking and her body suspended. She can’t let him feel this way, especially not when he’s been so adamant about making her feel better, so even though she isn’t sure how he feels about her or what’s passing between them, she cups the back of his neck beneath his hair and pulls him close enough to touch her forehead to his. He hunches over to reach her, and something about it makes her smile. 

 “I’m here,” she tells him, recalling the way he’d done the exact thing for her. The way his words made her feel just a tiny bit better after the worst experience of her life. “I’m right here, and I'm here because of you. After you turned on Freddie,” she starts, earning a watery laugh against her lips which she mirrors, “it was like it broke through the spell, you know? And then all I saw was you. And I heard you calling out for me and I just… I just ran. I ran to you because I knew that if I could make it to your arms, I'd be safe. And I was. I still am.” 

 She feels him taking a deep breath, in through his mouth and out through his nose. He nods, his nose bumping against hers in a motion so intimate that her heart nearly stops. The song starts again, and even though she could be driven crazy at any moment hearing the same notes over and over, he keeps her sane. “I wish I stayed with you. I’m so sorry.”

 “You couldn’t. You were right; you probably would’ve been arrested. Hawkins already started a manhunt; it’s not safe for you out there.” 

 “The Satanic Freak,” he muses, and she’s unable to decide if he’s being humorous or not.

 “No,” she whispers. “The really nice guy who saved my life.” 

 That brings a small laugh from his lips, and it makes her smile. “Are you sure you don’t mean your true love saved you?” he asks, and she gives him a questioning look. “Freddie?” 

 Her smirk grows across her lips as his sense of humor returns. “No,” she says casually. “I’m more partial to Roger.” 

 “Roger?!” he balks, pulling away from her slightly but keeping his strong hands on the small of her back.

 “Don’t act so surprised!”

 “The drummer, Chrissy? You wound me.” 

 In a moment of boldness, she grins and shrugs. “I like his curls,” she says, flicking her fingers through his bangs.

 For someone so cool and confident, the speed at which his eyes grow wide and his face turns beet red is surprising.

~~~~

Maybe he shouldn’t know what her other bruises look like. Maybe he shouldn’t imply that he knows. But the other ones that she got from Vecna are yellow, fading back into her skin, all but healed. A week older, maybe. 

 “It is,” she mutters. “It’s– it’s the same.”

 It’s not the same. She didn’t get it at the same time and she didn’t get it from the same monster. The bruises encircling her wrist are not from some other-worldly demon with long clawed fingers, they’re from a high school jock Eddie’s always hated, and now he has a real reason to hate him. 

 “You know you can tell me anything,” he murmurs to her, although he isn’t sure she does know that. He reminds himself that they still barely know each other even though it feels like they’ve been best friends for years. While he may feel that way, what makes him think she does? “I mean… whatever you’re comfortable with. You don’t have to tell me anything,” he says, trying to hide his anger with the man who put three finger shaped bruises on Chrissy’s dainty undeserving wrist. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.” 

 He loves looking into her eyes. The deep blue reminds him of the ocean, kind of near the shore where the water isn’t too dark yet. Her irises have darker lines of navy running through them that remind him of the rippling waves of a sea he’s never seen in person. As he stares at her, he knows that he’ll never need to see the ocean himself as long as he can keep gazing into her glassy eyes. 

 “I’m okay now,” she whispers up to him. He finally releases her arm, silently apologizing for holding it for so long, and when he does, she steps closer to him and places it behind his back as she falls against him. “You’re half the reason I left, you know.” 

 “Left…?”

 “Left Jason. I mean, I know you know he did that,” she tells him, lifting her hand from his back and placing it back down in a gesture of explanation. “He was angry that I was with you.” 

 “I’m sorry,” he says immediately, because fuck, he’s the reason this happened to her. If he hadn’t been so nervous about her trying the ketamine by herself, he wouldn't have invited her back to his trailer and she wouldn't have been found there. And he wouldn’t have grabbed her so forcefully that it bruised her skin. 

 “Don’t be,” she insists. Without thinking, he wraps his arms around her and holds her in what’s becoming the most natural position for the two of them. She nuzzles her nose against his neck and he almost dies. “Just be happy for me.”

 He runs his hand up her back and then down again, taking a deep and grounding breath. “I can’t be happy that your boyfriend did that, Chrissy.” 

 “He’s not my boyfriend,” she corrects. “When I was unconscious, all I saw was Vecna and my mom and dad as monsters and… and you. You were always there, pulling me out and saving me. You’re what brought me back, Eddie. When I woke up, I knew that if I was with Jason when it happened, I wouldn’t– he wouldn’t have been able to pull me out of that. I don’t think anyone else could have.” 

 He can’t speak. He’s been forcing himself to be reasonable, to be logical these last few days, to push past his own desires and his desperate longing for Chrissy Cunningham to love him the way he loves her. And sure, there it is, he loves her. He has since eight grade when he saw her passionately do what she loved up on that stage and he noticed for the first time the way she really, truly smiled. And he loves her now, even more since he’s gotten to spend time with her. What started as a crush has developed into something so much more, and it hasn’t taken long at all for him to get here. But he’s still been trying to keep himself in check, because he’s the Satanic Freak and she’s the Queen of Hawkins High. 

 But she’s telling him that, holding onto him, sleeping beside him, dancing with him, singing with him, kissing him. And he isn’t sure he can keep himself in check anymore. 

 “What are you saying?” he asks, as if he can handle the heartbreak of her telling him anything other than what he’s so desperate to hear. 

 “I’m saying… dammit,” she curses into his neck, and he laughs because it’s the first time he’s ever heard her swear, and he wouldn’t be surprised if it’s the last. And then she pulls away from him, one hand nestled safely between them and the other cupping the side of his neck, and he hopes she can’t feel how quickly his pulse is hammering against her palm. “I’m saying– I just think there has to be a reason, right? I mean, some connection between us that… There’s something about you and me that’s strong and innate and… intimate, I guess? I just– it wasn’t just Queen, Eddie. It was you.” 

 “Me,” he repeats. 

 “I always looked at you from afar and thought you were so cool. I used to wish I could be just like you. Or that I could be your friend, because you’re always so confident and you just do whatever makes you happy, you know?” He nods, although his mind is swimming and he isn’t really all that sure if he does know. “And now that we’re friends– I mean, we are friends, right?” 

 “Of course,” he smiles. 

 She smiles back, grinning, her teeth shimmering in the dim light behind him. “Now that we’re friends,” she continues, “I’ve realized… it’s not quite… right.” 

 There it is, he tells himself. The bucket of ice water, metaphorically dumped over his head, soaking him through so that in his mind he looks like a pathetic, ugly, wet poodle. It’s not quite right. He knew this moment would come, that she would pull away and realize that she’s crazy for being nice to the freak. He drops his arms from the small of her back and takes a step back, and watches her face fall in surprise as her free arm hits her thigh. 

 “I’m sorry, Chrissy, I didn’t mean to overstep–”

 “Eddie, no–”

 “You just went through so much, and here I am, making you feel–”

 She stops him. It’s kind of like that time a few days ago when he stopped her, only this time he’s a lot more stunned than she was when her lips crash into his. He stands there like an idiot, eyes wide open for a second, hands still by his side, until her hand cups his cheek and his eyes flutter shut and his hands are on her waist. And then she sighs happily, and she deepens the kiss as she tilts her head, the two of them fitting together like the last two missing puzzle pieces. 

 Chrissy Cunningham is kissing Eddie Munson. Willingly. With tongue. 

 Eat that, Carver. 

 His desire to gloat is immediately squashed when she walks him backwards, his calves hitting the couch. He sits down when her hand presses on his shoulder, keeping his hands on her waist as respectfully as he can, although he wants to slide them down as she perches herself upon his thighs. Her fingers slide from his cheek and up to behind his ear, playing with his hair and scraping lightly against his scalp in a way that makes him sigh and groan into her mouth, and he feels her smile against him. And then he smiles, too, and then they're both laughing. And maybe his immediate thought should be that the mood has been killed, but in reality, he feels even closer to her. 

 “I didn’t mean it isn’t right,” she breathes. “I meant just being your friend isn’t enough anymore. I meant… I want more.” 

 He can’t open his eyes because if he does, there’s a possibility that he’s been dreaming. Maybe he’s back in that boathouse and Chrissy really hates him for what he did to her. Maybe he’s back in his own bed that fateful Friday morning and Chrissy never came to him at all. But her hand is still on his cheek and her forehead is against his and her breath washes over his lips and he can’t be dreaming, right? 

 So he opens his eyes and she’s right there, eyes filled with hope and fear and he thinks she’s blinking tears away. “More?” he asks, unable to stop himself from running his thumb gently along her cheekbone.

 “Yeah,” she whispers back. Her eyes stare into his desperately, her lids all fluttery as her long lashes practically flit over his, and man oh man, did he never think he would be here. 

 “I can do more,” he whispers the most unromantic and unmoving words that have ever passed his lips. “I mean– I’m–” 

 “Perfect,” she says, kissing him again, and it strikes him that he’s never been this flustered before. Sure, he’s been with girls before, after his shows, but it’s never been like this. Whenever he’s with those other girls, he’s suave and smooth, cool and collected, badass metalhead Eddie Munson. Chrissy Cunningham has him blushing and stumbling over his words and still she says he’s perfect. 

 So he kisses her again, unable to think of a single other thing to do here. He just holds her hips and sighs when she does, groaning when she lifts slightly off of him and lets his hands slip down lower towards her thighs. 

 Chrissy always wears skirts to school. He’s noticed plenty of times, the way her soft skin looks beneath the pleated fabric. Sometimes she’ll wear jeans, and that’s adorable, too, but there’s something about her right now, in her lounge shorts and a bulky sweatshirt that she can fit over her cast. There’s something about the way the shorts look so tiny on her ass and the sweatshirt nearly swallows her whole. Something about it makes him forget to think before he digs his fingers into the skin of her thighs, and something about that makes her moan into his mouth. 

 “Fuck,” he says agaisnt her, pulling back slightly and catching his breath as she rests her forehead on his. “I can definitely do more.” 

 “Sure you’ll survive?” she asks, and it strikes him that she’s flirting with him. Chrissy Cunningham is flirting with Eddie Munson. 

 “No,” he laughs, shaking his head. “Definitely not.” 

 ~~~~

 She’s reported missing, just like she thought she’d be. The news of it startles her awake, her head lifting from Eddie’s lap as the afternoon sun streams through the dusty windows. It was breaking news, loudly interrupting the quiet movie he must’ve put on once she’d finally fallen asleep. 

 The report claims him to be the number one suspect. The assumption is that he stole her from her bed the evening of her return from the hospital, intent on finishing what he started. He’s now been accused of two murders and one attempt, plus kidnapping. If anyone sees him, she knows in the pit of her stomach that they wouldn’t hesitate to take justice into their own hands. 

 His hand soothes up her back when she startles awake, comforting her with the warm, vast expanse of it as she tries to catch her breath without panicking. “I knew this would happen,” she muses sadly, and he just shrugs. 

 “It’s okay. Being accused of murder and kidnapping was on my Bingo card for serior year.” 

 “Stop,” she rolls her eyes, trying to laugh at his joke but finding it hard to do so when it seems so painfully unlikely that he’ll ever make it back to finish out his senior year for good this time. How could he possibly show his face when all is said and done, even when he is found innocent? 

 How can he be found innocent if no one in town knows that this is all Vecna’s doing? 

 He’ll have to run. She’ll probably have to go with him, to avoid her mother’s wrath.

 “Hey,” he starts, encouraging her to rest against the couch once more and relax her tense muscles. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine, right? If anyone’s gonna get this sorted out, it’s Dus–” 

 He’s cut off by the sound of the motor approaching the house, one he seems to recognize as he tells her to lie down. The back of the couch faces the door and hides her well from whoever wants to come inside, but he stands up and she feels fear rushing through her veins as he peers out the window. 

 “Eddie,” she whispers, desperate for him to hide, too. 

 “It’s okay,” he whispers. He walks to the door and opens it, much to her terror. “It’s the Party, we’re okay, Sweetheart.” 

 Her first thought was that it could be Jason. And then she shudders at the thought of what he would do if he found them here. 

 ~~~~

 A very small part of him wants to freak out, lose his shit, scream at the top of his lungs, and run and hide until either all of this ends or they all die. 

 Obviously, he can’t do any of that. He doesn’t do that running and hiding thing anymore. 

 It’s not very metal. 

 Max offered to sacrifice herself, shut off Kate Bush and sit in Vecna’s attic until he takes over her mind so that he’s distracted while they try to kill him. It’s a smart idea, to get him into a trance so that Steve, Nancy, and Robin can sneak up behind him and take him out, but leaving it up to a kid is stupid and reckless and irresponsible, and Eddie’s never been that irresponsible. 

 But then, the only other option is Chrissy. And that… 

 He doesn’t like that one bit. 

 But Max is a kid. And Chrissy is a good person– the best. She would never let something happen to any of the Sheep if she could help it, and, she reminds him, neither would he. 

 So a week after their first night together at Reefer Rick’s place, a week after Chrissy went missing, the town ablaze searching for the poor injured, kidnapped, head cheerleader, less than a week after Chrissy told him that he wants more from him than friendship, he finds himself in the attic of the old Creel house, goosebumps never settling. 

 “It’ll be okay,” she tells him with a soft smile, the one he loves and never really saw much of before a week ago. “Promise. I’ll be fine.”

 He has to believe her, because he finds himself believing everything that comes out of her mouth, but part of him doesn’t want to. He wants to be negative, tell her she doesn’t know that, drag her out of here and flee, but he can’t. He doesn’t do that shit anymore. So he just nods and tosses her the most pathetic, least encouraging smile he’s ever felt cross his own face. 

 Chrissy, his friend-turned-something-more, smiles softly back at him, cringing as she sits daintily on the old rickety floor and brushes the cobwebs away. He looks at her in awe, at the way she sits there with a gentle smile even though she’s broken and bruised and being held together with metal pins and a plaster cast. “How can you be so sure?” he asks, not wondering how she knows, but more… how she can believe it. 

 “I just… know,” she shrugs. “I know you’ll keep me safe. I know if you’re here, I can fight him.”

 Well, that’s a lot of pressure to put on one guy. 

 But Chrissy's strong. He knows she doesn’t need him, because she’ll fight off this son of a bitch just like she did last time. 

 “You could fight him without me,” he assures her. He knows it’s true because he saw the strength in her face and heard it in her voice when she called out for Vecna to come and get her the second she pulled her headphones off her ears. 

 “I’ll still need you to put Queen back on when I start to levitate, though,” she jokes, taking his hand once he’s seated across from her and leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I’ll be okay,” she whispers. 

 He just nods, holding himself close to her, hoping to never have to pull away and letting his brows furrow painfully when he feels her stiffen beneath his hands. He presses his palms to her cheeks, his forehead on hers, and he begs her to be careful. He whispers that he’s here, that she’s okay, that she’s amazing and strong and perfect, and he’s telling himself as much as he’s telling her. 

 There’s no way of knowing how long this is supposed to take, so he backs up slightly, hands still cradling her face and heart skipping a beat as he watches her eyes race back and forth. They’re cloudy like they were that night, glazed over in the height of the curse Vecna puts over her, and it’s terrifying to see her the way she looked just a few weeks ago before she was pulled up to his ceiling. 

 Clumsily, he rushes to the window and gives Erica the signal they agreed on, then returns to Chrissy, sitting as close to her as he can without being on top of her or pulling her onto his lap like he so desperately wants to.

 “It’s okay,” he says again, a bit louder this time. His legs are crossed between them but he can’t stop anxiously bouncing his knees up and down. “You’re okay, Sweetheart. You’re doing amazing.” 

 Whether he’s whispering truths, he isn’t sure, but he can’t just sit here and do nothing while she’s haunted by something that terrifies her so much. He knows what she must be seeing, if Vecna’s chosen to play out the same scenarios in her head. She must see her mother and her father, captured in that house she grew up in that must not be as perfect as it appears from the outside. He can tell that she’s scared by whatever he’s showing her because her breathing is quick, pants heavy and shallow all at once. 

 Something creaks behind her and his eyes dart to the rickety stairs, fearful that maybe Vecna got through somehow. He hopes it’s just Erica, although he isn’t sure why she would be up here when he already signaled to her that Chrissy’s been taken. And of course, why would it be Erica? Why wouldn’t it be Jason Carver? And why wouldn’t he be armed?

~~~~