#lunaloveseddie

——

It starts when you’re fifteen.

Silly teenagers with nothing but dreams and fantasies.

No thoughts or cares in the world, other than what clothes to wear, what part time job you want to work, who you’re interested in and who likes you back.

Silliness.

Triviality that, if you look back on it now, wish you could get back.

Steve Harrington is perfect. He’s your best friend. The first person you met when you moved to Hawkins at nine years of age. He’s charming and on the school baseball and basketball teams.

He’s liked by most, but to him you are special.

Best friends, in the way that always brings a smile to your face because you know it’s the forever kind.

Permanent in the way the scar on your knee is, from the day you and Steve raced across the pool yard after hours, outrunning Hopper, and you’d cut it when hopping the fence in your efforts to get away.

You’re fifteen and Steve’s body is changing a bit. He’s fuller than you remember, honed by hours of working out, of skin tanned from endless hours in the summer sun. He’s always been handsome, but that summer he just seemed different.

You’re fifteen and you’re reading a book, left propped open between the circle of your thighs as he calls your name and you lift yourself up to sit, taking in the boy treading water in the pool.

His hair is a wet mess. Little droplets clinging to the ends of his hair, his long lashes. He’s grinning at you — a pearly white smile that has your heart twirling in your chest.

You shove it away, because it has been doing that for months now. It’s a new side effect with him. A sickness you’ve never felt before. Some might call it love, and you groan, shoving your finger in your mouth when your friends tease you about it because ‘he’s my best friend’ and ‘that’ll never happen.’

But you don’t know what else to call that annoying fluttery feeling in your belly when he draws near. Nor can you stop the pitter patter of your heart when he looks your way.

It’s inconvenient, troubling, and it’s a crush.

A silly crush that’ll go away. These things always do.

Don’t they?

And maybe that’s a foolish thought. You certainly think so when he teases you to come on in. Warns that the water is warm.

You hesitate on the hem of your tee shirt. You don’t know why, because he’s seen you in bathing suits before, but lately even this feels different. You want him to look at you the way he looks at the girls at school, and yet you also don’t want him to look at all, because if he looks he might see all your imperfections. Might see something he doesn’t like, and for some reason you hate that even more.

Because you want him to like you, to like all of you, to want you in the way you know you want him.

You’re fifteen and you’re swimming in a pool with your best friend. Your boy who also happens to be your friend. Never a boyfriend.

Never that.

You’re fifteen and you splutter out how you turned down a date with Brendan Abbott because, “I’ve never been kissed.”

“Really?” Steve asks, and he sounds genuinely surprised. And before you can even question the curiosity in his voice, he adds, “I just mean…you’re pretty. I bet loads of guys want to kiss you.”

Not the one that matters, though, you think to yourself.

Steve’s kissed dozens of girls, you know. You know because he’s told you, his cheeks staining a pretty pink. He always goes pink like that, and you always smile back, despite that odd pain that wedges its way between your ribs.

Heartache you think, but again, you’ll never put a name to it.

“I could kiss you, you know?” he suggests. And he’s red again in the face, quickly spluttering, “I mean, your first kiss should be with someone special, right?”

Steve’s the most special.

So you’re fifteen and he’s wading over to you in the pool. He cups your cheek and looks you in the eye. There’s a heartbeat and he’s kissing you. Soft, sweet, simple. It doesn’t linger long. Doesn’t give you enough time to feel like fireworks are exploding in the sky. But it’s enough to set something into motion.

Something terrible, really.

Because you’re fifteen and you’re in love — and maybe you’ll always be.

——

You’re nineteen when you meet Eddie.

A glass bottle to the man you love’s throat. He’s there in an instant, terror in his eyes, and you shriek at the suddenness of it. His eyes flash and you recognize him.

You had…a class before with him.

Can’t recall which.

You know him, of course.

Everyone knows Eddie Munson. Maybe not for all good reasons — and at this moment, it’s the worst reason. Because you’ve been looking for him for hours, trying to figure out what in the hell happened to Chrissy.

He looks like a deer in headlights. A terrified human searching for comfort when the world has grown cold.

He recalls what he saw.

Her body, broken. The way she hovered up on the ceiling. The way her eyes were ripped from her body. It’s gruesome and horrible and you curl a hand around his forearm when you notice he’s trembling. A shiver that only someone who has seen death head on knows. You’d seen it before, when Billy died the summer before that.

So you offer him that. A hand for comfort, as he recounts the worst day of his life, and you realize the newest worst day of yours.

It ends up being a long few days. You spend them hoping you’ll all get out alive, and in the process you find a friend in him. He’s charismatic and frenetic, he’s funny and he’s dramatic and he’s handsome in a rugged way that Steve isn’t.

And he notices the way you stare at Steve. Offers you a hand of comfort as you all trek into the Upside Down. You take it, and it feels like a new friendship.

Neither of you speaks, but it feels like an understanding.

——

At twenty, Steve’s halfway in love with Nancy all over again. You’re used to this. Steve has fallen in love with what feels like all of Hawkins — all except you. Neither of you speaks about that. You’ll never bring it up to him, can’t fathom the idea of shattering years of friendship.

But there’s something different about this time. The way he talks about her and how things are going. He’s dreaming of his future. Talking about kids. His Winnebago. About a future that suddenly seems like it’s hurtling towards you, while you’re seemingly stuck in place in the past.

It chokes you. The idea of him and her. Her and him and their six children he tells you about. Traveling all around the world, making memories, starting a new life.

He never talks like this and it terrifies you.

“I’m sure he’s just being his usual self,” Robin says, “diving in and hoping he doesn’t sink. You know how things were with him and Nancy before.”

“This feels different, Rob.” You huff and you whine and she offers you another beer and a look of sympathy you know means she’s really just doing her best.

There are few people in this world who know how deep your feelings run for your best friend. Those quite literally being her and Eddie Munson. And you plan on keeping it that way until the day you die.

Even so, it still hurts the next weekend when you’re all over Eddie’s new government funded apartment for a game night. Nancy gets up to leave and Steve offers to drive her home. And though you offer to clean the dishes for Eddie in the kitchen, it’s not an innocent offer by any means, because you watch them through the curtains.

Don’t know why you do. It stings. Burns in your eyes fiercely as you watch him lean down to kiss her. Watch how his hand slides down her back and into the pocket of her jeans, the way their bodies fit together like they’re made to, how he holds her close like she’s everything to him. Just like he’s everything to you.

“You’re only screwing over yourself by doing that,” Eddie murmurs from behind you, a dish towel hanging over his shoulder. He holds out a hand as you swipe at the tears gathering on your cheeks, and you hand him a plate to dry down.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you huff, sponge running over the glass. “Plus you’re one to talk.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” He shakes his head with a scoff, moving around you to put a plate away.

“I don’t?” you ask, eyes narrowing.

“No.”

There’s a day you remember vividly. All of you at Lover’s Lake. You, freshly out of the water after Steve tackled you off the dock at the end of your family’s lake home and the two of you ended up splashing at one another for an hour.

He sat by Nancy around the fire after and you opened the screen door to find Eddie leaning over the back porch railing with a beer in his hand. He watched her like one would watch a movie. Her every move, each smile that curled her lips, holding onto her every word like he might memorize them all. The lilt, the cadence, the tone.

In a moment, you recalled all the times you’d seen them together prior. His best friend, he proclaimed. And maybe it was in the way Steve was your best friend. The other half of your soul. Your person. But you also saw the hurt reflected there in Eddie’s gaze whenever she stared at Steve.

Because while Eddie always stared at Nancy, Nancy always stared at Steve.

“It sucks when you’re always looking at them, but they never look at you back,” you laugh miserably, handing him a glass cup, back in his kitchen, “right?”

He looks away.

He doesn’t speak after that.

Good, you think.

Conversation over.

——

It carries on like that.

Pining.

Wanting.

Waiting.

Loving him while you watch him love another.

But you suppose it’s not all bad — that there is some solace in this world you’re destined to walk.

There’s comfort in the kids. In watching them flourish. In your friendships. There are milestones. When you graduate from your community college program and move into your first apartment. Steve, with a ball cap on his head, arms toned as they hug your boxes. Eddie behind him, his hair pulled back into a ponytail.

They’ve grown closer over time, best of friends who scare similar scars. Kindred, in a sick sort of way they never should have been, simply because sometimes the world is cruel.

Eddie looks at you and you look at him and there’s a smolder of something between you, a promise for when everyone else heads home for the night.

That’s a newer development, too.

This…pseudo relationship with Eddie. A space between being together and not. In knowing each other’s bodies in a way that most friends don’t.

And maybe it’s wrong. The way you twine together some nights like vines. Him stumbling through the door after the sun goes down over Hawkins — because no one knows about this secret dalliance — and rushing across your living room to grasp your face in his hands. To kiss you soundly and drag you down onto the floor, ridding you of your clothes, your underwear, his mouth seeking your center like he’s starving for air.

You’re not really sure when it starts.

Sure, there’s always been an attraction there, but it’s always been something you don’t really dwell on, because Steve is the true paramour of your affection.

And you see the way Eddie watches Nancy.

Right?

But Eddie is kind and loving and he adores you in a way that feels sort of like running toward a cliff and jumping without a parachute.

You always know he’ll catch you. Don’t really know when he became that person for you. The one who you trust wholly and completely.

Yet if you think really hard about it, you’d say it started on your twenty-first birthday. After a strong drink and plenty of dancing at the bar. Steve grabbed your hand and twirled you around. Swayed and bobbed to the music and you grabbed his hand and tugged him outside. And maybe it was the little bit of alcohol you consumed and liquid courage granted by it, but you pushed him up against the side of a lamppost and kissed him.

When you think about it now, you want to cry, but in the moment it felt right.

He spluttered and gasped and you knew you’d made a mistake. Watched the way sadness creeped into his eyes, the awareness dawning on him.

Someone barked out a laugh, yourself maybe. Him. You weren’t sure. But it sounded disbelieving. Years and years of unspoken words spilled out like ink onto a blank sheet of paper. Left there to rot. And he stared — stared at you with a hurt in his eyes that ripped you down the middle. Because you knew he couldn’t return it, knew in an instant that he didn’t love you in the way that you wanted him to.

Not in the way that he loved Nancy.

Nancy. Perfect Nancy with the perfect hair and the perfect mind and the perfect life. Nancy, who was beautiful and stunning and wonderful and inspiring — and why wouldn’t someone love her? She was your friend, a good one at that, and a girl that any guy would want to be with.

Nancy, who you knew was the one meant for Steve, even if admitting that to yourself felt like a knife wedging its way into your gut.

“Honey…” he trailed and his voice broke. An aching, shattering thing that mimicked what was going on inside your chest.

Tiny, little shards. Little ruby glitter in the cavity that once housed a beating organ.

“It’s silly, right?” You laughed again. A hollow sound. A grieved cry that had Steve reaching for your forearm, trying to hold you together. “I've loved you since I was fifteen.”

“You’re drunk…”

“I’m not,” you argued. If anything, you felt stone cold sober now.

It didn’t change anything. Didn’t make it any less true. Maybe it was how Steve coped with it. Blaming it on too many drinks, emotions running high, your lives changing at a rate neither of you saw coming.

“Is everything okay out here?” Eddie stood on the sidewalk, watching from a distance, ready to step in if he needed to.

He did that often. Sought you out. Made sure you were okay. Watched your back as you watched his. There was always an awareness there that both of you held toward one another. An unspoken thing. Special still.

“Just…a moment?” Steve asked, and Eddie looked your way. Waited until you nodded it was, in fact, okay before he slipped back inside the bar and left you alone with your heartbreak. “You’re my best friend. I love you, but I —”

“Don’t love me, love me,” you finished for him.

Felt your lip wobbling, felt Steve’s arms as they wrapped around you, tugged you into a solid chest. You heaved out a loud sob, the kind that had him clutching you tighter, one hand at the back of your head to keep your forehead pressed into the hollow of his throat. Kept you hidden as you weeped, just like he knew you preferred it.

Neither of you spoke for the rest of the night. Kind of left it like there, open in the air, the understanding that you loved him and he didn’t love you, and it hurt every time you thought about it — every time you reminded yourself that you’d worn your heart on your sleeve and watched it fall to the ground.

Everyone left in separate cars. Robin with her girlfriend, Steve with Nancy, Jonathan with Argyle, leaving you to clamber on into Eddie’s car. Both of you had sobered up enough, dawning clarity breaking like the sunrise.

Eddie turned to you when you pulled up to your parent’s house. Looked at you with a sympathy that made you draw the hoodie you pulled on over your dress closer to your body, wanting to shrink away from him. Make yourself smaller, if only to hide from the emotions warring in your mind.

“Did something happen tonight?” He asked, his voice soft.

You tugged at a stray lint on your thigh, rolled it between your fingers, shrugged a bit. “I kissed Steve.”

“Shit,” he breathed out, unbuckling his seatbelt. Leaned back into his seat, finger running through his hair.

“And then I told him I loved him,” you added, head shaking as you laughed pitifully.

His head shifted on the headrest, eyes taking in your downturned lips. “I take it that didn’t go well?”

Another huff of a laugh. “He said ‘I love you, but…’”

“Fuck,” he said, hand reaching over the center console to rest on your thigh. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

He always called you sweetheart. You noticed he called things he held dear to his heart that. His guitar, Max, El, Erica. Nancy. Robin. And most recently, you. So it shouldn’t have warmed your heart, but it did. Twisted something low in your belly, a warm, unfurling sort of thing.

The next words spilled out of you in a rush. Set into motion the course of the next several years. “Do you want to come upstairs? You’ll have to be quiet. I just…don’t want to be alone.”

“I—I…yeah?”

The offer was to talk. To find comfort in another human. Because you hadn’t even thought about sex. Hadn’t had sex in your twenty-one years. Not because you were holding onto your virginity or anything, but because you just hadn’t felt comfortable enough yet to do so. And it wasn’t like you invited him up there for that. It started out innocently enough. Him following closely behind you through your home, slipping up your stairs, fingers laced together. An anticipation hummed in your blood, a tremble of uncertainty in the way he stood there in your bedroom, not moving from the door once you closed it behind the two of you. He seemed so large in your childhood bedroom. Hair a mess on his head, in the way it always was, charmingly so. His hands slipped into his tight jeans, the gesture making his black tee stretch taut over his chest.

A dress still clung to your body after you removed your jacket. Something flowing and pretty that you picked out with Robin the week before. It suddenly felt sticky and tight on your body, and with a nervous glance, Eddie caught your hint and turned around to face the door. Tapped his fingers against his thigh as you undressed and slipped on something more comfortable. A simple pair of sweatpants and an oversized tee shirt.

“You can sit on my bed, you know?” You had sat back down against the headboard, the wood littered with endless pillows and a stuffed penguin that Steve had gotten you at a fair one summer.

In a fearful effort to rid yourself of the evidence of your stuffed friend, you lifted it in your hand and raised an arm to toss it into your closet when Eddie launched himself down onto your mattress with a thump and snatched it out of your grip.

“I don’t sleep with that, or anything…” Heat flooded your cheeks, because why did you care if he knew you actually did sleep with the silly thing, if only to keep the nightmares from the Upside Down away?

“It’s cute,” he murmured to himself, ringed fingers tight around the black and white toy. Sounded genuine and you didn’t doubt him; never did, truly. “Got a name for it?”

“Pip the Penguin,” you said quietly, so quietly.

“I like it…” Suddenly, he changed his voice, warping it into something an octave higher than his usual tone. Bopped the fluffy creature against your forehead, making you laugh. Pretended to talk with the thing and said, “Mr. Pip the Penguin wants you to turn that frown upside down. Because you’re so fucking beautiful when you smile.”

“Pip the Penguin doesn’t curse,” you admonished, plucking him from Eddie’s hands and placing him onto your bedside table. And then, softer still, “You think I’m beautiful?”

“Always,” he promised, and you rolled over onto your side to look at him, to really take in your best friend’s features. “I’m sorry your birthday is shot to hell.”

“It’s not,” you admitted, reaching over to run your fingers along the rings flush against his knuckles, “I’m spending it with you.”

“For what it’s worth,” he said, holding your hand in his and pausing your movements, thumb running across your skin, “you’re great and deserve the world. Anyone who can’t see that is kind of an idiot. Sorry, Harrington.”

You level him with a ‘you’re kidding me’ look.

“I’m serious,” he added, smiling a bit. “I mean, you play guitar like a beast. I don't know many girls who do that. Definitely metal. You’re fun to be around, really cool, definitely would smoke with.”

You had. Numerous times. “Eddie.”

“Maybe a little bit of a shit driver —”

“Eddie!” You shrieked a giggle, clutching his hand tighter.

“I said 'a little bit’” he teased, pushing back a hair that fell into your eyes. “Did you forget that time I had to try and shove your car out of the mud?”

“Yeah, but it was you who told me to turn onto that side road in that rain storm.”

“It was still a fun day, though.”

You sat in your car for hours, rain splattering against the window, waiting for a tow truck. The boy beside you, hair wet from the rain, his shirt clinging to his body. His chest rising and falling with the effort, the cloudy sky and the way he reminded you of sunshine even still. Remembered the way he looked at you, all soft around the edges, that little dimple in his cheek. So handsome it had made your chest ache with it — kind of like how it was then.

“It was,” you agreed softly.

Neither of you slept that night in your bedroom. Instead you talked until the sun started to rise over Hawkins, a quiet something glimmering in the spaces between the two of you. It didn’t have a name yet, no wings to give it flight, but there was something new there nonetheless. You talked about everything and nothing. Dreams, wants, fears. Silly thoughts that sprang to life in your mind, and he was a perfect listener — nodded and laughed and was wholly engaged in you, and you in him.

And you don’t think about Steve once, the ache of rejection dulling to a sweet nothingness.

“Wanna watch a movie?” It was asked after some time, when the nervousness of where you wanted the rest of your morning to go creeped in after your parents called upstairs that they were headed off to work, leaving you alone with the boy they didn’t know was in your bed.

He held you like that. On your bed, arms around your waist from behind as colors flashed across the television screen. Both of you were quiet for a long time. No words said, nothing to say really, until you rolled back over and looked up into his umber eyes. Wondered what it would be like to kiss him. You didn’t have to wonder for long, though; he leaned in, nudged his nose against yours, cupped your cheek. Asked you if ‘this was okay.’ A nod, and you sank into the mattress at that first brush of his mouth over yours, at the way your heart fluttered, something sparkly and beautiful flashing behind your eyes. He held you like that, kissing your lips, your jaw, your neck. Fingers tentatively explored as you sighed and hummed against him, over the slope of your neck, the curve of your shoulder, the line of your collarbone. And then, with a gentle touch, he brushed a thumb along your ribcage, beneath a breast.

Testing, asking for permission.

“I didn’t come up here to hook up,” he said, but it was muffled by your lips against his, an eagerness drowning out his words.

“I know.”

“I…do really think you’re beautiful.” You tugged at the hem of his shirt, helped him pull it up and over his head. Ran your fingers along the scars there. “Fuck, I — you’re my best friend and I —”

“I want this,” you whispered, leaning up to kiss a line across his pecs. “Do you want this?”

Could feel that he did. Could feel it against your thigh, the thick heat of him through denim, straining against his belt and zipper. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” A kiss. “Yes, Eddie.” Another kiss.

He tugged off your top. You slipped off your sweats. He ran calloused fingers along your abdomen, over the slope of your breasts, teased at sensitive flesh. Watched as your head rolled to the side and a sigh spilled from you, feelings you’d never felt settling low in your belly. You liked it, liked the intensity in how he looked at you when he lowered himself down your abdomen, kissing your skin. Liked the desire aimed wholly at you in his eyes as he eased your thong down your thighs and tossed them toward your closet. Felt a thrill at the stare locked on the place only your fingers had ever ventured before this night, like he’d discovered hidden treasure.

“Eddie?” A nervous whispered breath.

He climbed back up your body hastily, thumbed at the worry line creasing your forehead. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

“I’ve never…you’re my…” You swallowed as something like understanding passed over his features.

His forehead dropped against yours, deep breaths spilling from his nose, hand holding the curve of your cheek. “Are you sure? I want you to be one thousand percent sure. Your first time…it should —”

Your hand slid up over his stomach, over the rapid thrum of his heart. “Yes, Eddie. One hundred thousand percent sure.”

He leaned over you with a laugh to turn Pip the Penguin around, facing the lamp. “Can’t have him seeing this. Feels like someone is watching.”

And you laughed, just like you always did with him. Just as you did when he slipped out of his boxers and nearly tripped getting out of them, tumbling forward onto your bed, just as you did when he crawled back up your body and blew a raspberry into your neck to ease the worried lines between your brow when you finally saw him bare for the first time. Something so foreign and yet exhilarating to you. Watching his nervous hands, the way he hovered over your body, the gravity of the moment finally hitting you. He readied you with gentle fingers, with a sort of pleasure that you’d only previously known by your own hand, and yet felt so differently when it was someone else’s inside of you.

Later, as you gasped and shook within his arms in the aftershocks of your orgasm, you watched him roll on a condom with blissful, hazy eyes. Clasped your hand in his as he pressed it down into your pillow, not without kissing the back of it first.

“Tell me to stop if it’s too much, okay?” he asked, and you felt him there, pushing in just the slightest bit, face pinched in concentration.

Eyes widened at the feeling, so foreign and yet not wholly unpleasant.

Just…different.

“Is this okay?” He pulled out a little, pushed in. Pulled out, pushed in a little further each time.

And then, when he reached the point where it seemed your body wouldn’t allow him to go any further, you gasped and Eddie’s hips stilled immediately.

“Shit,” he breathed, dropping onto his elbows, searching your face worriedly, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shook your head. “No, no…you can keep going. Just go s-slow.”

His fingers rubbed along your cheek. “Gotta relax, sweetheart.” You tried to do exactly that. Smiled to yourself as he distracted you with kisses along your jaw, fingers gripping into your hips, little circles along your thigh curled around his hip.

“Can you just, like…” You chewed on your bottom lip, the burning growing sharper with each slow movement of him within you. “Push all the way in.”

“It’ll hurt,” he said, wincing at the thought of hurting you.

“Only for a second. Please,” you leaned up to kiss him soundly, nuzzling his nose as you added, “I want to feel all of you, Eddie.”

As he warned…it hurt, a fullness you’d never felt before. Stole your breath. He wiped your tears away, whispering ‘sorry’ after sorry into your kiss-bitten lips. There was a brief moment where you jokingly teased that you worried if he’d actually fit, even voiced it to him as he shook with laughter into your neck at what he took as a compliment. Because laughter seemed to be a theme between the two of you. You giggled with him, breath hitching when your muscles loosened and he sank in all the way, your body connected with his in an unfamiliar and yet wonderful all at the same time.

That first time was awkward, giggly, and yet perfect all the same. Your bodies coming together in an unhurried rhythm that maybe ended too soon because he spluttered out that you felt too good — a pretty praise that had you preening, and then pleading when he rolled his hips in a way that had you seeing stars, cresting a wave, the crash of your second orgasm stealing your breath away.

Now, it’s a little different.

In your apartment, your back against your new kitchen cabinets, your boy expertly licking at you like he might die if he doesn’t watch you crumble for the third time that afternoon.

First, when Steve and Robin finally left for the afternoon and he had you up against the door, your cheek against the frame, his name a mantra on your lips, his forehead at the back of your head as he filled you deliciously from behind. The second time, you barely made it onto your new bed — frame still on backorder — before he had you on your back, with you scoring marks down his shoulders. Knowing how to draw out your pleasure, to ramp it up – knowing your body in a way no one else ever has.

So different from the people you were a year ago, and yet still trying to pretend that the ties between you don’t grow more confusing with each and every passing day.

——

You’re twenty two and Steve has some news for you. And it’s never the kind of news one wants to hear from the man they’ve been in love with for nearly ten years.

“I’m going to ask Nance to marry me.”

“That’s great!” You blurt it out. You don’t even know why, because it’s a lie, just like the countless other things you have said to save face in front of him. “Really — Steve, that’s incredible! I’m so happy for you. How do you think you’ll go about asking her?”

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Turns out, it’s happening at Enzo’s the next week. Surrounded by all your best friends. Eddie sits at your right, watching as Steve gets down on one knee. As Nancy cries softly and accepts — as Steve slides a ring up onto her knuckle, thumb brushing against the back of her sparkling solitaire diamond.

Surprisingly, it doesn’t hurt quite like you thought it might. There’s an ache, sure. A feeling of loss that you always feel when it comes to Steve. Though when you turn your head and look at Eddie, and he squeezes your hand in his, there’s peace there.

That’s a newer development. Just as him staying over for days on end is, leaving things of his in your drawers, using your shower. You’re best friends who sleep together and spend all their extra time together, and yet there’s this limbo of where you are and if this is ever going anywhere that neither of you seems keen on opening up to talk about.

Steve finds you later that night, standing outside overlooking the restaurant’s garden. A freshly filled champagne flute rests in your hand. Eddie is inside with Robin, Nancy and the rest of your friends, laughing at the bar where you left them. But out here the world seems quieter. The stars twinkle brighter. Hawkins seems to rest, even though there’s a disquiet in your mind.

“That was a beautiful proposal,” you tell him, turning to rest your back against the railing. He joins you there, elbow leaning onto the metal, his own glass filled with an amber liquid shifting as he moves to get comfortable. “Really. I’m so proud of you guys. You deserve all the happiness in the world after all the hell we’ve been through as a group.”

“You’re in the wedding party, you know?” he chuckles, and you never doubted it. “You and Robin kind of both have to share the title of ‘best man.’”

“As long as we have matching outfits, I’m in,” you giggle airily, head tilting back to look up at the sky.

“You’re in your head a bit,” Steve says, like he knows, because he does.

He knows everything about you.

Except for one thing.

“I’m okay,” you lie, taking a sip of your drink, “just been a long night. We’re getting older, you know? I can’t party like we used to.”

He narrows his eyes, because you’re twenty two and full of shit.

“So it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact you and Eddie are seeing each other?”

“We’re not.”

Not a lie. ‘Seeing’ would imply that your relationship is going somewhere. What you and Eddie have been doing…what you are doing…it has no beginning and no end, but there’s an awareness that at any point either of you might meet someone else and move on.

Lately that thought hurts. Not sure what to do with that.

“Okay…having sex then.”

“Why do you have to say it like that?” You grimace. “It’s weird coming from you.”

“Oh, like we haven't discussed my sex life in thorough detail –”

“Yeah, and I can tell you, as someone who has lived through it, that wasn’t fun either.”

He continues, ignoring you, “Gotta say, kind of feels shitty that you didn’t tell me about it.”

“There’s nothing to ‘tell,’” you say, shifting to look at him. “We hooked up…and then kept hooking up. We hook up, it’s what we do. It’s all we do, actually. I mean, not all we do. We have to breathe and eat sometimes, and we are also friends –”

“Friends who f –”

“Steve Harrington, enough out of you, you child.” There’s a bite to your tone, but no bark. He smirks at you, a cheeky, proud-looking thing that would have made you mourn years ago, but makes you feel a little smug now. Maybe time truly does heal wounds. “How do you even know?”

“When Nancy and I were over at your place last weekend, we realized I forgot my jacket and I, uh, heard you guys.”

Horror seeps into your blood. You wish the ground would open up right now. Swallow you whole. Wish a black hole would suck you up, never to be seen again. “I could have been doing a workout video.”

He grins, and you contemplate shoving him over the railing, but Hopper’s inside and you don’t really feel like facing jail time for murdering your best friend on what should be the happiest day of his life. “Do you always moan Eddie’s name during your workouts?”

Cheeks burning, you splutter, “Maybe I do.”

“So how long has this been going on?” Steve asks, choosing to once again ignore your attempts at redirecting the conversation.

“My twenty-first birthday. We went back to my place,” you tell him, quickly amending, “technically it was the next day. We…talked the whole night. It felt right.”

It was the perfect first time, you decided long ago now. And then that second time, after you’d both passed out, and you climbed on top of him, asking him to show you what he liked, before you ended up skipping your college classes in favor of spending the whole day exploring each other’s bodies.

“That was a…shit day,” he says, and it sounds sad. You never talk about that day. After you told him you loved him, it was almost like both of you had an unspoken agreement in place to just never breathe life into it again. Hearing him acknowledge it now…you don’t really know how you feel about it. “I’m sorry for that, again. I just –”

“It’s in the past,” you reassure him, offering a smile. “We can’t help who we fall in love with.” You know that now.

“So he met Pip the Penguin?”

You shove him. “Yes, he did. And we’ve sort of been – doing this ever since.”

“You love him,” Steve says, like it’s not even a question. At your arched brows, he repeats, “You love him.”

It’s a silly notion, you want to tell him earnestly. Though the more you think on it, the more you can see his words have some merit. For years Steve’s been the object of your affection, and suddenly his relationship with Nancy hurts less, you can be around him without feeling like there’s a raw, bleeding wound in your chest. You always accredited it to getting used to knowing this isn’t something that’s going to change. Yet as you picture Eddie's face in your mind, a coy smile tugs at your lips.

Steve grins. “See?”

“How do you know?” Disbelief imbues your words. It can’t be this simple, can it? To simplify the feelings with the word ‘love.’ An emotion that seems so big and so scary.

“I know what you look like when you’re in love,” he says, mouth tugging southward a bit over how he knows. He makes his way over to the door leading inside, needing to get back to his party. His eyes are soft. “It doesn’t take a scientist to define the way you look at him.”

He leaves you with your thoughts.

You nearly crumble with the weight of them.

——

Eddie’s not himself. You spend the day with Steve and Nancy, working on wedding planning. At one point, the guys end up stumbling into the bridal boutique where Nancy’s standing on a pedestal in a beautiful gown, her veil a billowing sprawl of lace behind her. She’s gorgeous, not that you ever doubted she would make a beautiful bride.

Later that night, Eddie fucks you like he’s trying to forget. Fingers curled tight around your wrists, no words of affection pouring from him, not like they usually do. He’s quiet and when he spills into you, you roll over onto your side and cry.

He tries to console you. A hand splays over your bicep, his mouth at your shoulder. He hadn’t even bothered to undress you tenderly like he usually does. It had been frantic and hurried and it feels like you’re an exposed nerve now, the pain throbbing in your chest.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” It’s another new thing. A nickname for when you’re alone. A term of endearment you wish he would just take back now.

“I feel like you weren’t even here just now. Toward the end,” you whimper, rolling over, lip wobbling.

“No no no,” he coos, kissing along your brow, trying to soak up the blood seeping from your invisible wounds, “hey — hey, baby, I —”

“You were trying to forget.” You tug your blankets up around your shoulders, covering yourself.

“It was a hard day —”

“But I’m right here!” you cry out, launching yourself out of the bed, eyes burning as you whirl on him. “I’m right here. I’ve been here. We’re…this isn’t right, Eddie. It hasn’t been for a long time. Can’t you see that? You just fucked me because you saw Nancy in a wedding dress.”

“That’s not —”

“I think we need to stop this.” His mouth settles into a firm line, eyes rounding as the words slam down on him like a ton of bricks. “Put a pin in it. Call it. Give it a time of death. I just can’t do this anymore. It’s changed for me. It’s not ‘just sex’ anymore.”

“It’s never been ‘just sex’ with us,” he argues.

Eddie climbs out of bed. Tugs on his boxers, tries to console you with soothing hands on your arms. Resolute in your decision, you take a step back, head shaking a bit.

“I’m…” A pause.

After your conversation with Steve some months ago now, you really took the time to think about his words. The realization you’ve fallen in love with Eddie slowly over time. The man who weaved his way into your life so seamlessly on a day you needed him the most.

Eddie, who snores beside you in bed most nights and wakes you with endless kisses along your cheeks, because he wants you to smile first thing every morning. Eddie, who always forgets to separate his lights from his darks every time he does his laundry, so you started doing yours together. Eddie, who you spend every Friday night on your couch with, a pizza and a joint between you, punctuated by soft kisses and endless cuddling as you watch your favorite movies together. He’s become a staple in everyday life; a constant, a rock, an anchor.

You can’t quite pinpoint when it happened. When friendship changed into something more, but it had, and you couldn’t stop the free fall once you were on the edge of the cliff.

This love is also painful too. It’s knowing for a long time the two of you used sex as a way to run from your problems. Had relied on one another to find solace. It’s realizing that, though you want nothing more than to curl your arms around his waist and hold him for the rest of the night, that’s actually the last thing either of you need right now.

“I think you should stay at your apartment tonight,” you tell him, your voice a little hollow. Cold. Eyes downcast. “I think we need some time to cool off, and I think we need to do it separately.”

Eddie swallows thickly. His voice breaks as he chokes out, “Yeah…okay.”

“I love you,” you tell him, stare him straight in the eye as you do so. His breath shudders out of him. “And I think you love me too, but I don’t want you to say it back. I want you to say it when you can fully mean it. But I can’t do this…half version of love I’m getting now. I want the full thing, we both deserve the full thing.”

He tips your chin up. Kisses you. The first tears spill from your eyes, and when you open your eyes, there are tears in his eyes too.

“Fuck,” he rasps, folding his arms around your waist, holding you close as you both break.

Never really together, and yet it’s the worst break up. It cleaves you right down the middle. Leaves you in two pieces, where one belongs to Eddie and you don’t know that you’ll ever get it back. The man wound so deeply in your veins now he’ll likely remain there forever.

You want him to be — just not now.

Not in this capacity, not like this.

You want that earth shattering, ground shaking, immeasurable kind of love. The kind that extends beyond stars and space. Love that transcends time and follows you even in death at the end of it all.

You’d rather have all of Eddie instead of this, even if it means losing him for now.

There’s that saying, albeit cliche, that if something is meant for you, you need to let it go. If it comes back, it was always yours.

In actuality it’s scary — letting him go.

But you trust it’s the right thing. Trust that it’s the best thing for the health of what’s already here, even when every atom and cell in your body wants to fight against what it innately knows is best for it.

Eddie opens his mouth to speak. Thinks better of the words he’s going to say. Instead kisses you on the forehead three times.

I. Love. You.

“I’ll —” He stumbles over the words. Know that he means to say ‘I’ll see you soon,’ but neither of you knows if that’s true.

Sometimes there are no words. Sometimes you simply need to lean up on your toes and kiss him for what might very well be the last time. Tears spill down your cheeks and his. Little fractures. Glittering reminders of beautiful memories made in the time spent together.

He packs a bag and hikes his things over his shoulder. Exits the door you’ve watched him walk in so many times that the thought of never seeing him pass through again makes you want to shatter all over again.

And when he blows you a final kiss on the way out, you do.

——

“So you…ended things?”

Steve tries to understand, your head in his lap, heart in your throat as you bleed love all over your living room floor. It hasn’t stopped since Eddie left. Since you picked up the phone and dialed a number you’d never forget and sobbed out a broken, “Steve.”

There are no words needed to be said. In the background you hear the rustle of keys, and then he’s at your doorstep fifteen minutes later, ready with his arms open for you to fall into. And now you’re here.

He lets you cry. He lets you sob against the pillow on his lap until your eyes are puffy and you’re reduced to hiccuped breaths. Doesn’t judge you for it, offers comfort, understands. He lost Nancy for a while, too. Gets it.

“Staying together in the way we are now isn’t healthy,” you tell him, woodenly, “it’d kill us. I love him, and I know he loves me, but this is what we need right now. Time and space and — and I already miss him so much and it hurts, Steve.”

“Kind of like a limb torn off, right?”

“Maybe not that dramatic?”

“Heart ripped out then?” he amends, huffing a laugh.

“Yeah,” you sob, “that.”

“Hey?” He whispers, and you lift yourself up to look at him. Crumple all over again as he coos, “Honey,” pulling you into his arms. “I know it doesn’t look like it right now, but it’s going to get better, okay?”

“Promise?”

He drops a kiss to the crown of your head. “I promise.”

Everything feels like it’s ending. But one day turns into two, and then two into three. Suddenly it’s a week, and then a month, and without him, the earth turns. The leaves change. The sun rises and falls every day. The ground withers as winter comes and passes, and the flowers bloom in spring. Without him, children still giggle in the park as you rush along on a run. You meet up with friends, deflect advances from men and women at bars — tell them you’re taken, don’t know why — try to live. Try to heal because it’s what you promised Eddie you would do.

Life continues, you miss Eddie because you’ll always miss him, but you don’t see him.

For seven months.

Nancy and Steve make it happen. Coordinate your schedules in a way that allows you both the time you need.

The night before the wedding, after the wedding rehearsal dinner, you invite everyone back to your family’s lake house. You took it for the weekend, just to have some time away after what you’re sure is to be a busy weekend. Wanted to catch up on some reading, wake up to the familiar sounds of birds chirping and the water gurgling.

Eddie stares at you from across the living room, beer in his hand. Watches you like one would watch a show and it has your heart twirling, stomach churning, fingers twitching around the stem of your wine glass.

It’s fleeting. A brief moment before Nancy asks Eddie to help her with something in the other room, and he rushes after her. Robin leans back against the pillows she’s piled up against the couch, her girlfriend, Vickie, beside her, both eying you curiously, “What’s that all about?”

“Nothing,” you mutter absently, sipping at your champagne.

“They used to hook up,” Steve explains, shrugging. “But then they fooled around and fell in love. Just like the song. You know how it goes, ‘fooled around and fell in loveeee.’”

“Steve!”

“What? You were going to tell her in a second. I could see it on your face.”

You blanch. “I mean, yes. But you didn’t have to just spill it out there for the whole world to hear.” You swallow. “Yes, we…were together for a bit but then I ended things. It's been over seven months now.”

“Wow,” Robin breathes out, throwing back the rest of her drink, “so, uh, the smoldering looks Eddie is throwing your way?”

“They’re not smoldering looks,” you argue, cheeks burning, “and if there are, it’s probably just because this is the first time we’ve seen each other in months.”

“Can’t believe none of you assholes told me about this,” Robin huffs out, head shaking. “Does Nancy know?”

“Eddie is her best friend,” Steve says flatly.

“So yes,” Robin concedes. “You’re going to give me grays.”

“You’re only twenty three,” you remind her, and Vickie pins you with a ‘just let her be dramatic’ sort of look.

“I’m just — my best friend was in love with my other best friend. And now the same best friend is sleeping with my other best friend. And those best friends are now acting like a bunch of idiots because they can’t get their shit together and just fall in love and I’m supposed to act like this is all normal?! Just casual, typical Friday night conversation before my other best friend’s wedding to my other best friend —”

“That was…not at all confusing. Nope,” Steve mumbles. Vickie smacks his arm, because there’s a shuffle by the door and Nancy and Eddie appear once more, another log for the crackling fire perched in Eddie’s elbow.

The chatter in the room dissolves after that, as Steve and Nancy make their way upstairs to the room they’re taking for the night. Robin and Vickie have the guest room, leaving you with a decision to make, stopping back into the living room after everyone says goodnight to find Eddie sitting there, watching the fire.

“So…we have one bed free,” you begin.

“It’s yours.”

“You’re a guest,” you remind him, stepping further into the room.

He doesn’t look your way, but you can see orange flames dancing in the reflection of his beautifully dark eyes.

“I want you to have it,” he says, finally turning to face you. Breath hitches in the back of your throat, your body’s normal response when he’s near, clearly not dulled with the passing of time.

“Okay.” You give a curt nod. “Here, let me grab you a blanket.”

He’s quiet. So unlike the man you spent over a year with. Regards you carefully as you move about the room, ducking down to grab a blanket from a basket near the fireplace. Your hand outstretches to pass the blanket to him, his fingers touching yours. It’s a lingering sort of thing. His fingers warm against yours, the barest of brushes of his knuckles across your skin. Electricity dances in your veins.

Then it’s over as quickly as it comes, the blanket thrown over his thighs, his eyes on your face.

“Sorry I missed your birthday," he says.

It was the worst birthday you had in years.

A laugh. “Sorry I missed yours.”

You heard all about it from Steve, but couldn’t bring yourself to go at the time.

He swallows, throat bobs with effort. “You didn’t bring a date for the wedding?”

No, and you hadn’t dated anyone since him either. Tried and failed here and there, blind dates friends set up, but they never went anywhere.

“Neither did you,” you state, as a matter of factly.

Unless she’s hiding somewhere else, and you feel your heart kick anxiously up at the notion.

“Just me,” he says, exhaling deeply.

You thank the heavens, or whoever will listen, for this tiny blessing.

He smiles, and it’s that favorite smile of his. The one where his dimples pop and his face brightens. The one reserved for those many nights you spent inside with him, laughing until the early hours of the morning, both needing to go to work the next day, yet neither finding it in yourselves to care.

“Look at us.”

“Yeah.” Your hand rubs up and down your arm, feet shifting awkwardly beneath you.

“You look…” His eyes trail over your features with a familiar fondness within those dark depths. “You look really good. Happy.”

“I am good…and happy,” you tell him, nodding. “You…you look good, too. I should, uh, head up for bed.”

His head dips, and then dips again rapidly. “Right.” Clears his throat. “Yeah – ah, early morning tomorrow.”

“Yup,” you pop the ‘p.’

There’s a pause in the conversation. A moment where neither of you moves. You know you don’t want to. Want to remain right here. You also know better. There were words said months ago, words with intention behind them. The need for both of you to get better, to get to a place where you’re ready for whatever this thing is between the two of you.

You’re ready, have been for a while now, but Eddie…

As you finally start to trek backwards, maintaining eye contact with the man who still holds your heart, he whispers, “I’m glad you didn’t bring a date.”

“Me too, Eddie,” you admit quietly, biting at your bottom lip. “Maybe it’s selfish, but…me too.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” He’s beautiful like this. Dark eyes on yours, hair a wavy mess around his shoulders, strands loose from his ponytail. Soft, in a way that makes you want to climb onto the sofa beside him and let him hold you, erasing all the memories lost. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Breathless, you feel completely and utterly breathless under this spell. “Goodnight, Ed. See you in the morning.”

And you’re gone. Slipping up the stairs to your bedroom, closing the door behind you, and placing a hand over the organ clanging away behind your ribcage. With an exhale, you rush into the bathroom and flick the light on. Your features illuminate in the mirror. Eyes wide, chest heaving, looking a little out of sorts. Your cheeks burn with the whisper of his touch, mind whirling at the meaning behind his glances, the timbre of his words.

Steve might be the first person you loved.

Your first kiss.

But Eddie is the first person you can say without a doubt in your mind you are in love with.

Even now, with seven months of time between you – and you don’t think anything will change that.

——

The wedding ceremony is a beautiful thing. Flowing, floral archway. A church that looks like something out of a postcard. Little mosaic windows, a gorgeous sprawling ceiling with high beams. Everyone they love is here. Family and friends made along the way. The kids, with their beaming smiles and not so childlike faces any longer.

Steve and Nancy recite their vows to one another, the words sounding muffled in your ears, because for the first time in your life the boy you’ve been looking at is finally looking right back at you.

Eddie, in a black suit, smiling over at you. Hands folded in front of himself as Steve and Nancy declare their everlasting love in a room filled with their loved ones. The feeling of his hand on your arm as he walked you down the aisle like a brand that lingers on your skin. Can feel it even now, the way his fingers would feel should they grace your cheek. Had leaned into that caress so many times, seeking the comfort of him.

You don’t even know why, but you smile back, thinking of one of your favorite days with him before everything had gone to hell.

You wanted, very badly actually, to hook up that night. He’d brought a backpack with him, intended to stay for the weekend. But when he walked into your apartment, a spare key on his keyring, he found you holed up on the couch, grumbling about how your weekend plans were ruined.

“They’re not ruined,” Eddie chuckled, dropping down onto the couch beside you. “You act like I’m this insatiable man.”

“You can be –”

“Hi pot, meet kettle.” You glared half heartedly. “Plus you’re a very active participant, and you benefit from it in the form of plentiful orgasms, so quit your yapping,” he teased, catching a little wince, the furrow between your brows. “No dice? What’s going on, sweetheart?”

“Period cramps,” you grumbled out, pulling your blanket up higher on your form. “You don’t have to stay. I’m not going to be much company like this.”

“One, I always like hanging out with you. You’re my best friend, you dork.” He flicked your nose, grinning when you wrinkled it in response. “Two, let me run to the supermarket real quick, okay?”

“Why?” Your head tilted to the side.

“Going to grab us some food so I can cook dinner,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, “and some things for my girl. Gotta take care of her, right?”

His girl. His girl. He’d never said that before, and something about it felt perfectly wonderful and also a little bit like a lie. You wanted it to be true, though. Realized you hadn’t wanted something so fiercely like that in a long, long time. Didn’t know what to do with those emotions, so you dropped back down onto your mountain of pillows and watched as Eddie quickly slipped out of your apartment in a flurry of black leather and curly hair, and slammed the door behind him.

He returned a half hour later with a bag of treats. Your favorite chips, candy, some popcorn. He got started on spaghetti and requested you pick out a movie. Oddly domestic for two people who usually spent most nights tangled in bedsheets.

Later, after your belly was full and the movie was playing on the television screen, Eddie tugged you against his chest and dragged a hand along your lower back, thumb pushing with perfect pressure at the base of your spine to alleviate some of the ache there.

“Is this good?” he asked, voice quiet.

“Perfect, honestly,” you hummed, head nuzzling further into his chest.

You don’t know when you fell asleep, don’t know who fell asleep first, but when you woke up it was to Eddie’s body curled around yours, his arms slung around your abdomen.

Wanting to do something special for him, you quietly extricated yourself out from within the tangle of his arms. Flicked on your kitchen light and started throwing some things together for pancakes. Your oversized tee shirt fluttered against your thighs as you worked, bare legs covered only up to the knee by your crew socks. At some point as you hummed along to the softly playing radio, Eddie appeared behind you, arms around your waist, his chest at your spine.

“Morning,” he muttered, pressing a loud kiss to your cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay now,” you said, leaning your head over your shoulder to look at him. He trailed the backs of his fingers across the highest point of your cheek. Kissed you slowly, softly, sweetly. “Hmm. What was that for?”

“Didn’t get one yesterday.”

And it shouldn’t have made your heart stutter. It shouldn’t have made a liquid heat pool in your belly. Because the arrangement had always been the two of you being best friends who sought shelter in each other.

You kissed him again. “Better?”

He grinned, twirling you in his arms, hand catching yours. “Nope,” he chuckled, drawing you in closer as ‘My Girl’ spilled out of the radio speaker, “but if you dance with me I might be able to forgive you.”

In the morning light you did just that. He whirled you around and brought you back into the circle of his arms. Looped an arm around your waist to hold you close, your face against the curve of his chest, his chin resting on the crown of your head as he gently hummed along. ‘Well I guess you’d say, what can make me feel this way? My girl, my girl, my girl. Talkin’ about my girl, my girl.’

Eventually the pancakes burned, the room filled with smoke, and the fire alarm went off. You laughed about it, fell to the ground in a fit of giggles, your thighs over his lap as you both foregone breakfast in favor of eating ice cream out of a carton.

It felt normal. A little too normal.

Now you only look over to him fondly as Steve and Nancy’s vows draw to a close. Wish, as they walk back out the double doors at the end of the aisle once they’re officially husband and wife, for more stolen moments like that.

——

“Hey,” Steve’s voice calls from the end of the hallway, just as you slip out of the powder room. “I’ve been looking for you. They're doing the couple’s dance next.”

You let out an incredulous laugh. “I think you forget I’m single these days.” You pause, rushing over to grab at his tie, askew around his neck. Nimble fingers reach up to grasp at it, working the fabric back into proper place. “You go on ahead. It’s your special day.”

“I promised a friend I’d get you onto the dance floor for one dance,” he says, curling a hand around the back of your wrist. With a frown, he adds, “Just one dance, please? He gets all dramatic and pouty when he doesn’t get his way.”

“Go figure, so do you!” He narrows his eyes as you add, “no wonder you’re best friends.”

“I’m choosing to ignore you,” he says, suddenly — albeit dramatically — glum.

“Today is your wedding day,” you remind him, sliding your palm down to wrap around his hand, “you shouldn’t be worried about me.”

“Yeah, but remember when I decided you were my best friend at ten years old? I said I’d protect and love you forever —”

“We were kids,” you laugh, shaking your head, “we said a lot of things we knew nothing about.”

“Hey.” His hand frees itself from yours, only for both to rest on either side of your cheeks. Tears, unbidden, start to burn on your lower lash line, threatening to spill out. “You are my best friend. And I want you to be happy. It’s been seven months. Hear him out, see what he has to say, and don’t let this day pass by without at least giving things a chance.”

“Why, Steve?”

“Because I married my person today,” he says, brushing away a tear as it glides down your cheek, “and I think he could be yours. Look at me, okay? Look at you — too pretty to be crying right now. I love you.”

“I love you too, Steve.”

Would love him forever. That kind of friendship never fades, never dwindles, never dies.

A different type of love than the one you once loved him with, because that spot was always meant for Eddie, even if you hadn’t always known it.

“One dance?”

“One dance,” you agree, curling your arm through the loop of his elbow he leaves open for you to take.

The reception hall is glowing in a pale blue. All around couples start to litter the dance floor. Bodies close together, heads bent low, hushes of whispers between partners shared only for their ears. Steve halts you as you step out into the crowd, and it’s then that the world seems to stop. There, at the edge of the floor, stands Eddie with his hands in his pockets. His tie is a little loose around his throat, the top button of his shirt open, revealing a hint of the tattoos he got to help cover some of the scarring there. And then you catch the tilt of his lips, the dimple in his cheek, the way he looks at you like you’re the only woman in the room.

“Go…” Steve gives you a little nudge and joins his new wife.

On shaky legs, you start to walk. One foot after another, after another. One two, one two. You count each footfall, and can feel the thump-thump of your heart, as every step brings you closer to him. Finally, the tips of your heeled shoes meet his leather ones.

Your head lifts, eyes catching him in the dim lighting. “Hi,” you whisper.

“Hey,” he says back, unsure of where to put his hands, one raising to touch your shoulder before he thinks better of it.

“I’ve been told I owe you a dance,” you say, fighting back the silly smile that threatens to grow on your lips.

“Got worried,” he confesses, a tentative hand curling around your back, pressing against the middle to pull you in close.

Your body brushes him, and it feels like coming home after a long day. It feels like your whole soul exhales. Feels right. “Why?”

“Thought you might stand me up,” he chuckles, your head resting against his shoulder, “and then I’d look like the only idiot alone on the dance floor.”

“Look, Eddie, I —” you say, just as he says, “I missed you so damn much, sweetheart.”

There it is. The wonder, the questions you’ve yet to ask, uncovered in one sentence. The confirmation that everything you’ve been feeling, every longing moment, has been mutual.

“That day in your kitchen,” he says, quiet enough only you can hear, “when we danced like this was that first moment for me.”

“What moment?” You blink up at him nervously.

“When I realized how completely and utterly fucked I was because I lo — liked you more than I ever realized,” he admits, a little sheepishly, “although pretty sure it was before that. Look — when we broke up —”

“Eddie,” you interrupt, heart hammering away wildly like little hummingbird wings, “I don’t think a wedding is the best place to discuss this. And I want to discuss it, don’t get me wrong, I just think we should…keep things normal for our friends. It’s their day.”

“It’s been seven months,” he reminds you.

As if you could ever forget, as if there isn’t an ‘Eddie’ shaped indent forever etched into your comforter that you’ve stared at for every day since he walked out your door.

“And I’ve thought about you every single day for each of them,” he says, and it nearly breaks you all over again when you catch the longing in his voice.

“I know,” you say, a little hoarsely, “I have too.”

His lip twitches at that, hopefulness replacing the forlorn look on his beautiful face. Everything in you screams to lean up and kiss him, to put to rest the disquiet in your soul, but you refrain. Focus solely instead on the emcee as he announces the bouquet toss.

“Guess that’s my cue,” you tell him, shrugging softly. “You’ll call me? Tonight?”

Eddie grimaces. Nods. “Sure. Yeah.”

Walking backwards, you flash him a wave, trying to not inwardly wince at your last words to the man. ‘You’ll call me?’ There’s little time to linger, as girls gather around on the dance floor and Nancy turns away from the crowd, her back to your group. Steve looks on at Eddie’s side, the two laughing jovially as Nancy launches the bouquet over her head and into the sea of women.

It happens in slow motion. You think it does, at least. An elbow digs into your ribs here, a knee bumps yours there, a shoulder bashes yours, and, without even realizing it, the flowers thump into your chest. Robin’s shaking your shoulder, laughing in your ear as Nancy rushes over to wrap you in a hug. Steve’s grinning and elbowing Eddie, who is turning a shade of red you’re pretty sure a tomato would envy.

It’s just a silly tradition, you think.

Doesn’t mean anything. So you grab onto Nancy and Robin, pull them back onto the dance floor, and pretend you don’t wish deep down it did.

——

Your keys drop into a bowl near the coat rack. Your jacket is pushed up onto a hook, still wet from the rain that’s starting to fall over Hawkins. Feet aching, you kick those off at the doorway, breathing a deep breath at the instantaneous relief. With a sigh, you slip into the kitchen and hit the light switch, as well as the back light, and suddenly the wide open windows to the sliding door leading to the lake are illuminated. Your eyes trail over the water rippling in the distance. The moon is a perfect circle in the sky, the twinkly lights your parents had wrapped around an umbrella outside like little fireflies in the night, even on a dreary evening.

Another sigh and you slip over to the counter, grabbing a bottle opener. An unopened red wine bottle sits idly on the counter, and you snatch a glass from a cabinet above, pouring a generous cup.

You’ve barely enough time to take in that first decadent sip when the doorbell rings, filling the home. Eyes flick to the clock against the wall, read that it’s nearly eleven now. Maybe the neighbor’s dog got free again? Wouldn’t be the first time.

Another ring.

“One second!” you shout into the open air, placing your glass down on the counter to rush down the hall.

Through the peephole you see him. Hair stuck to his forehead and slicked to his leather jacket. His shirt is nearly seethrough. Droplets of water cascade down the tense lines of his face, his forehead.

“Eddie?” you ask as you tug the door open, head cocked to the side. “What are y —”

“I’ll call?” He sounds pitiful. A hoarse sound tugged from deep within his chest, like his words have been raked over glass.

You…there are no words. “Yeah, Eddie. It’s when a person picks up the phone, dials a number, and the other person answers. Generally they carry on a conversation after, if we are getting technical here.”

He shakes his head and water flicks from the ends of his wet strands of hair with the movement. “Since when are we the kind of people who do that? We’re the kind of people who just barge right into places. I show up at your place, you show up at mine. We eat each other’s food, share everything. Hell, I had a key to your apartment. I’d stop on my way back from the shop to shower because you always lived closer to there than my apartment. Gotta say, I miss that. And fuck — I miss you, sweetheart.”

He’s shivering now as you ask, “What are you doing, Eddie?”

He lets out an incredulous laugh, looking to the sky, exasperated. “Standing here in the pouring rain trying to tell the girl that I love…that I’m in love with her and that I want to be with her. For real this time.” He pauses, arms curling around himself. “And I’m, like, really cold right now and I wanted to have this conversation inside but here I am, trying to make a grand gesture.”

“I thought you weren’t a grand gesture guy.” You’re joking, but there are tears burning in your eyes at his words.

“I’m a grand gesture kind of guy for you. Only you.” His teeth chatter, “Fuck, sweetheart —”

“Oh,” you jolt, tugging the door open wider, “come in. I’m so sorry.”

It’s instant. As soon as the door shuts behind him, and he’s standing there sopping wet on your rug, his hands find your face and draw your mouth to his, claiming your lips in a searing kiss.

A kiss that starts off tentatively. Light. Teasing. Gentle brushes of skin passing over yours. Relearning each other, as if you’d ever forget him. As if you’d ever forget the mintiness on his tongue, the smokiness in his kiss. As if you’d forget the way he always loops an arm around your lower back to tug you in closer, bringing you flush against him, wanting to always be near.

But it’s not enough, you decide, as you work at the buttons on his shirt. Each one pops out slowly, fingers tripping over themselves, a puddle already forming on the ground beneath you. Once he’s free, you tug his undershirt out from his dark pants, fingers roaming over the soft of his stomach, the line of hair disappearing beneath his pants that has him circling your wrists with his fingers to pause you in your ministrations.

“Slow down, sweetheart,” he whispers against your ear, brushing featherlight kiss after featherlight kiss to your throat. “I want to take my time with you.”

“You love me?” you ask him, humming into his mouth as he walks you backward into the living room, barely making it to the couch before you’re clambering up onto his lap, dress riding up on your thighs.

“I love you,” he says, kissing your cheek. “I love you.” He kisses your other cheek. “I love you.” He kisses your forehead. “I love you,” and finally, your lips.

Your face crumples with his words, tears stinging your eyes. His thumbs come up to brush at the ones that slip down your cheeks, voice a coo when he says, “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“I’m happy,” you whimper out, “I missed you. Every day, I missed you.”

“You’re stuck with me now,” he chuckles, and you laugh along with him, liking the way that sounds, “I’m moving my things back into your dresser as we speak.”

“Promise?”

He sobers then. Lips turning downward, the wrinkle on his forehead more pronounced, his hands curling around yours and giving a squeeze. “I’m sorry. For that last day. I…my head was all over the place at the time. I was trying to figure out how I felt about you and clearly had some feelings still that I needed to work through with Nancy. But you — you didn’t deserve that.”

When you shake your head, he continues, “It hadn’t been ‘just sex’ for me for a long time. I mean, I made up excuses to see you whenever I could. Maybe I didn’t realize what was going on, but I just wanted to be around you all the time. And when I wasn’t able to see you and just…be with you…it wasn’t easy. But I know it’s what we needed and I’m ready now. I just want us, for real this time. I want to hang out at your apartment, do all that stupid couple shit that I can only see myself doing with you. I want you to yell at me when I leave the damn toilet seat up. I want to brush my teeth with you before bed and hold you every night. I want to do this with you, be with you in the way we should have been all along, if you’ll let me.”

“Yes,” you kiss him, long and lingering, breathing him in as he does the same. “I want it all with you, Eddie. I love you…I love you so much.”

“Don’t think I’ll ever get used to you saying that,” he says, staring up at you wondrously.

“I’ll remind you everyday, don’t worry,” you tell him with a giggle, sliding your hands up and over his shoulders, along the curve of his jaw. “Let’s go upstairs.”

Eddie makes love to you for the first time that night.

A slow, gentle thing.

His body crowds over yours, hands map out every line of your body, memorizing every detail he’s gone without for months. Kisses along every inch of you he can, whispering praises into your skin. When he pushes inside for that first time, your breath rushes out of you in a strained gasp as your body readjusts to seven months without him, mouth dropping open with a whine when he bottoms out.

It’s slow. His hips rolling against yours, body cradling you close, thumb finding your clit to bring you up and over the edge, trembling beneath him with a cry of his name.

That first time feels like a sorry.

The second, he pulls you into the shower, washing every inch of your body. The remnants of the wedding and him still on your skin. He’s sweet, all soft, fluttery kisses against your lips and shoulders, your spine, your thighs when he gets down onto his knees to glide the washcloth along them.

His mouth finds you in the shower, your head rolling back against tile, fingers tangling in his hair as he props a thigh over his shoulder to keep you open for him.

When you finish, you pull him back up to your lips, smothering his own moan with a kiss as you cup him in hand and help to guide him into you.

That time feels like a promise. The steady rhythm of his hips, the fierceness of his love, the strength of his arms as he holds you, his eyes locked on yours as you both bask in the euphoria of closeness.

The third happens somewhere around the time the sun begins to rise again over Hawkins, the rainstorm from the night before a wispy memory. Thighs slot over Eddie’s hips, his hands sliding up and over your breasts, teasing as you roll over him, the drag of him and the soft moans spilling from the man beneath you spurring you on.

That third time, as he flips you over onto your back and moves inside you so slowly, hands and eyes locked with yours — that one feels like a new beginning, a turning page.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes at the dawning realization. Tears he brushes away with sweet kisses, whispering, “I know, I know,” into your shoulder as he comes apart at the edges, your own release shattering through you like a bolt of lightning. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

You sleep intermittently. Both of you. The house is yours for the weekend, so you make the most of it. Lips coming together, bodies joining after soft sighs turn into eager movements of hands beneath covers. Over and over, like you can’t get enough — and you won’t get enough.

Somewhere around dinner time the next evening, you traipse out of bed with Eddie still sprawled out on his stomach, long tee shirt dancing along your thighs. Sock clad feet excitedly slide across wooden floors, fingers curling around the refrigerator door to pull out a bottle of champagne. As the cork pops, Eddie appears in the doorway, a white tank top covering his body, sweats hanging low on his hips. A tattooed arm comes up to rest there, the muscle of his bicep straining with the movement.

“Hi,” he whispers. Pauses, making a little camera with his hands, pretending to snap a photo.

“What was that?” you giggle airily, pouring two glasses, offering one to him.

“Just looked so damn beautiful, sweetheart,” he leans down to kiss your forehead, “sunset behind you, your smile.”

“Thank you.” Your fingers tangle with those on his free hand. “How about I order us a pizza? I’m starving.”

You eat in comfortable silence, the bottle of champagne slipping away as the hours do. Everything feels saccharine and wonderful, perfectly warm, as he later tugs your hand on the way downstairs, deciding on a game of pool before heading back up to watch a movie together.

Eddie makes his way over to the record player in the corner. As the music fills the room, the lyrics to “The Way You Do the Things You Do,” meet your ears, a silly smile sliding across your lips.

“Are you a secret romantic?” you tease, snatching a pool cue from a rack.

“Only for you,” he muses, catching the one you throw his way as he starts to rack the balls. “I like this record, though. Reminds me of you.”

You lean over the table to break, not missing the way his eyes trail your backside as you do so. Balls scatter, a solid sinking into a pocket. “So…you’ll move in?”

“Is that your way of asking?” he chuckles, moving around the table to make a shot, knocking another ball of yours in.

“Well…” You bite at your lip, focusing on your next shot. Sink one of his. “My place is closer to your job. It’s bigger. You’ve basically lived there before…”

“You don't think it’s too soon?”

Your mouth pops open, wincing as he sinks another one of your balls. “I mean, I didn’t think. I just feel like —”

“I’m kidding, baby,” he swoops down to kiss your temple, “Told you last night you’re not getting rid of me. I want to do things right this time.”

You sip your glass a bit, relishing the bubbles that spring to life in your belly, sure many of which are thanks to the man staring at you the way he is.

“Your turn,” he says, gesturing toward your cue.

The next song plays on the record, and you once again lean forward, watching Eddie’s gaze in the mirror hanging across the way as he slips up from behind you, curling an arm low around your belly, kissing your neck.

Heat coils low, then lower still. “You’re —” A quiet sigh spills out of you, his lips toying with the space beneath your ear. “…distracting me.”

As he moves out from behind you, lining up his next shot, you snatch his pack of cigarettes free from his pocket. His eyes lock on yours as you pluck one free, holding it between two fingers, drawing it up to pursed lips. Dark eyes lock with yours as the tip glows red, watching you draw in slowly. As you exhale he snatches it from you, bringing it to his mouth.

And maybe you lean over again, backside poking out a little bit too far than it needs to, but the effect is him curling his arms around your hips, dragging your back flush against his chest as you reach up to take the cigarette back from him. Like that, you feel every inch of his body. Each dip and curve of a broad torso, the corded muscles in his arms from working with his hands for hours all day. Hands you know to be skilled, not only with your body, but with cars and his music. And he’s warm — like a damn near furnace, breath tantalizingly sweet against your ear as he kisses you softly there.

“Fuuuck me,” you sigh out as his fingers start to draw lazy circles around the tops of your thighs, dragging higher until they disappear beneath your shirt and toy at the hem of your panties, teasing, slowly swaying to “My Girl” once it starts.

“Always so wet for me, baby,” he purrs, nipping and sucking a line at your neck. He’s hard where he rests at your ass, and the urge to touch him has you reaching behind your back, cupping him through his sweats.

Eddie groans and you’re suddenly spun around, the cigarette stamped out on an ash tray behind you, your glass of champagne nearly knocked over. His hand grasps one of yours, his other loops low around your back, bodies swaying to and fro to the music, lyrics interrupted by the sounds of your lips meeting his. And it’s perfect: moonlight spilling in through a darkened window, your shirt dancing around your thighs, his heart beating in tandem with yours. You’re not sure when, or how, it happens. One moment you’re swaying with him, arms around his neck, keeping him in close. The next, you’re on your back, balls scattering around you on the table, his mouth clashing fiercely with yours.

You shove his sweatpants down, and he tugs at your panties. He’s bare beneath, and as soon as your underwear is tossed somewhere else in the room, he’s crawling up your body, the hot underside of his cock sliding through already slick folds, coating himself in your wetness.

“Eddie,” you let out a breathy whimper, the friction of him against you perfect and yet not enough all the same, “Eddie, please. I want you inside me.”

His eyes are on yours as he grips himself in hand, gliding his glistening pink tip along your center, asking, "You want me like this baby? Tell me.”

“Please. Please, I want it all, Eddie.”

“Look at us,” he whispers, and you watch that moment, that forever splendid moment where he buries himself inside you, closer to you than anyone has ever been or will be. “Jesus…” He grinds out through clenched teeth, pulling out slowly before pushing all the way back in, “You always feel so good. You feel like mine.”

“I love you.” You pant into his neck, clawing at his back as he picks up his pace, “Always loved you.”

You’ve said it a thousand times now. Watched every time as pure and unadulterated peace fell across his features. But now Eddie only holds you, whispering the sentiment back into your skin as his body drives yours further up the pool table, imbuing every roll of his hips, every thrust, with the emotions overflowing in his chest. You can feel it, the depth of it. The way he loves you, the trust between you, the promise he’ll always keep you safe and close.

You can only bask in it.

——

“Are you okay?”

He asks you again, as you stand outside that next morning, a blanket wrapped around your form.

The answer isn’t simple.

Then again, none of this has ever been. Not with Eddie. But you suppose that’s what makes it your favorite love story.

Because it’s yours. Because it’s messy and it’s different and it’s yours. Because you started off as two friends, maybe in the wrong place, in love with the wrong people at the wrong time when you first met years ago.

Or — perhaps, the right time, because in the end you’re here. With him. With thoughts of the future, plans for what happens when you head out later for your apartment.

To the place where you’ll start the newest chapter with him once and for all.

“I’m perfect,” you tell him, lowering down onto the swinging chair against the side of the home. Your fingers tangle with his, your body slumping over his chest as he gets comfortable against the cushions. He holds you like that as you trace patterns into his skin, trace over scars, over tattoos. “I’m going to miss the lake house, but I can’t wait to go home.”

“I know.” He drops a kiss to the top of your head, his fingers brushing against your spine. “Me too.”

A comfortable silence drapes over you as you watch the sun creep higher along the sky. As you listen to the birds chirping, the chatter of children. Later, it’s the ruckus of people launching themselves into the water, people fishing and boasting of their catches. And at night, as you and Eddie make one last fire and share a glass of wine, fireflies drifting around your head, you allow yourself to imagine a life where forever looks like this.

A life with your first real, honest, true love.

Someone who stares right back at you as you grin at him over the lip of your glass, who leans over and kisses you just to whisper he loves you into your lips one more time.

In a year from now you’ll be back, you in a flurry of pretty tulle and him in a tux, newly Mr. and Mrs. Munson, but for now you smile to yourself, ready to watch the next chapter unfold.

——

He’s perfectly sun-kissed after a day spent walking in the park together after running errands, your hand in his, both of you simply basking in the springy Saturday sun. Dark hair spills out of a messy ponytail, curly strands tickling his shoulders and cheeks, though it seems he’s too invested in whatever he’s scribbling in his small notebook to care.

Its contents? You’re uncertain, but he’s been working for the past hour as you finished cleaning up an early dinner. Take out pizza, since neither of you were keen on cooking tonight, instead wanting to curl up together with a movie on the couch for a loved up night in. Said movie is calling your name as you drape your dish towel around the refrigerator handle, making sure to pluck two bottles of beer from within.

“Popcorn?” You call out, smiling to yourself when Eddie jumps a little on the couch, head lifting as those umber eyes meet yours.

“Sure, babe,” he says, smiling softly, “I’m almost done.”

“No rush,” you tell him, moving over to a cabinet to pull out a bowl, and a bag of M&Ms. “Candy?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?”

A laugh bubbles up from your lips as you shake your head, opening the microwave to grab the popped treat. “Today was perfect, huh?”

You smile to yourself as he hums in agreement, pouring the popcorn into the plastic bowl. Both are placed down onto your coffee table as you slip into the living area, your knee taking up residence to the left of one of Eddie’s hips, before the other joins on the other side, straddling the man.

“Whatcha writing?” you ask, trying to peer down at the notebook, just as he slams it shut.

Eddie tosses it behind him on the windowsill, head shaking, eyes a little wide and a little breathless at the suddenness of your arrival on his lap. “That’s private.”

You pout. “Private? From the woman you live with? Love with all your heart, soul, and might?”

“Hey,” he chuckles, thumb pressing beneath your bottom lip, wiggling it playfully, “none of that. You know I love you, but some things are personal.”

“Is that what you called shitting while I was in the shower the other da —”

“That was an emergency,” he clarifies, and you snort. Sobering, he adds, “It’s just — not ready yet.”

Fingers thumb at your thighs, shifting upward the sundress draped over his thighs now. Those dark eyes linger on your face, his free hand coming up to brush along your cheek, dragging your face down to meet his, your foreheads brushing. Every breath from his lungs puffs against your bottom lip, that tantalizing feeling of need you don’t think you’ll ever get used to with him making your insides liquify. Then again, it’s always been this way with him. A sense of peace and quiet in your soul. Of home, with his arms as your walls and his heart as a safe place to land.

“It’s a song…if you must know,” he says slowly against your lips, a dimple popping in his cheek, “about a major pain in my ass.”

“You should get that checked out,” you muse, heart pitter-pattering away at the notion he’s written a song about you, “might be serious.”

“It’s a permanent condition,” he sighs dramatically, though it’s tinged with a joyous laugh, “the only cure is constant exposure.”

“Your doctor needs to get their license revoked,” you tease, breaking off with a sigh in the back of your throat as he leans forward and kisses you deeply. Grapples at your hips and rolls you over him, swallowing the moan that bubbles in your throat at the feeling of him already hardening beneath you. “If you don’t stop, we’re going to have a problem.”

He grins up at you, finger pushing at the strap of your dress until it falls down one shoulder. Eddie leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to the bare skin there.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. Distracting me!” You shove at him playfully, wiggling on his lap as deft fingers tickle at your sides, drawing you closer to his frame. A contented exhale spills from you, body leaning into his chest, letting his arms fold you in against a broad chest.

“You really wanna hear it?” he asks at the crown of your head, fingers tangling with yours in your lap.

“Please?”

“It’s rough,” he warns, reaching behind him to grasp the small notebook. “It’s also…not our normal style, so you better not tell the guys.”

You gasp, clapping a hand over your mouth. “Did Eddie Munson write me a love song?”

“Quit it or I won’t play it for you,” he snarks, but there’s no bite there, only love. Always love. So much so, you’re always overflowing with it. “Sit over there — yeah — okay.”

You drop down against the pillows piled high in the corner of your couch, the knitted blanket drawn up and over your thighs. And as the sun continues to set over Hawkins, you watch as the man who holds your heart pulls over his acoustic guitar, flipping the pages of his notebook to where he left off.

Sings in his smoky voice of a girl with sunshine in her hair and the stars in her eyes, of a girl who he calls home, the one his soul longs for, the person he finds rest in. His love.

With your heart in your throat and tears swimming in your eyes, you blurt out a broken, “I love you.”

He tugs you close, his heartbeat under your ear as he whispers back, “I love you most.”

Soon, it’s gentle brushes of flesh in science class. It’s an accidental touch after almost dropping a pipette, a borrowed pencil, a shared eraser. Awkward encounters become heated glances. They become chemical interactions like the science projects you share with Eddie Munson.

Bright, vibrant, and potent.

You think it’s a joke when you’re paired in English class. Some sort of cosmic arrangement in the stars, a joke from the gods, what have you. Because of all the people you could act out Romeo and Juliet with, Eddie Munson is the last one on your list.

He’s brash and unruly. He’s disorganized and frenetic. He’s…well, he’s charismatic and alluring. Infuriating and compelling. Intriguing and impossible. Handsome and absolutely grotesque. Charming and…

Well. That’s the problem, really. The more the stars align, the more you find you like him. The more you find yourself enraptured by the boy with curly hair and a dimpled smile.

So it’s almost no surprise when you find yourself seated on a bench in the middle of spring, surrounded by dappled light and looming trees, books stretched out in front of you, practicing your lines. Only Eddie’s distracted. Has been for a bit. Since you arrived, really.

“Is there something on my face?” Your words are short. Staccato. Clipped. Brusque, without a real reason for them being so.

“Er—no.”

And that’s that. These weeks, these opportune moments—they mean nothing. Fleeting gazes, jovial banter, and brief looks? Those don’t make up a relationship. You know this. Yet it stings all the same. Sinks deep in your gut.

Or so you think.

The next time you meet in the woods, Eddie’s a live wire. Fingers tapping a pen on his notebook, brushing your cheek, curling around your jaw. He’s staring at you fondly. Like you’re the only girl in the world; like you’re his. And you would be—if he’d only asked you.

It’s on that day, as the sun sets and the sky glows orange, he leans down and kisses you the first time.

A gentle brush of his lips over yours as you sit on top of that wooden table. His knees press to the bench, your backside on the tabletop, his ringed fingers around your hips.

He kisses you like you’re precious—a jewel to be cherished, bright and twinkly, rare and his. And you find you like that; languish in it.

You get a B+ in O’Donnell’s class and the woods become your haven that next week. A place where you can run to him, your fingers in his hair, his arms around your waist. Whispers of hate and love, of frustration and adoration, of ‘will they’ and ‘won’t they.’

There’s a shlick of a zipper lowering. A hiss from the boy before you as you tug him forward by his belt loops, nosing along his throat, sucking purple hickeys into supple flesh.

He’s plush lips over your breast, whispers of, “My god, you’re fun to kiss.”

And you’re pliant. Heart a flutter as he slides your skirt up your thighs, parting you for him, brushing at your slit. He teases at your flesh. One finger, swirling in your slick, mouth swallowing your pitiful moans. And then another, sliding into you. Making you whimper and moan, gasps muffled against the column of his throat.

“Gonna be a good girl for me?” He asks, brushing his mouth over your ear.

Smirks into your skin when you tremble, thighs spreading wider, welcoming the boy as he prods at your center, groans when you whimper into his chest at the brush of his fullness against your hole.

“Y-yeah, Eds.”

“What do you want, baby? Need your words.”

Another brush. A nudge. A slight pressure where you want him most, but it has your toes curling, fingers tightening around his leather jacket, gripping fast to curls, teeth clenching around his earlobe.

“Need you to fuck me,” you manage.

“Yeah, baby?” He’s smirking. Dimples and cockiness, fingers curling around his base, pressing his head against your center. Collecting your slick and pushing in slightly. Enough to have you quivering, enough to have you begging for more. “Like this?”

And he’s sliding in. Inch by blessed inch, slowly and painstakingly so, until you’re a gasping, writhing, pleading mess. Tears prick your eyes, fingers in his hair, mouth against his.

“You like me,” he rasps.

Not a question.

Not at all.

A statement. Simple, just like breathing. Just like the way he slides in and out of you—like he’s always done so, like it’s what he’s always been made to, like he’s been doing so all along. 

“I do,” you gasp out, shuddering around him, curling your thighs around him, dragging him closer. You need him closer. “I like you, Eddie Munson.”

“Go out with me.” A brush of his lips over your heart, hips rolling against yours, drawing out your pleasure.

You hate him, you like him, you might even love him.

“I will,” you whimper, pulling him tighter, burning brighter. “I will.”

And it’s one week later you walk down the halls hand in hand with Eddie Munson. Your health partner, lab partner, english partner. Stranger, acquaintance, friend.

Boyfriend.

Yours.

-

“I think the way he dotes on you is sweet,” she said, reaching her hands out to grab Melody. Hoisted the baby up onto her hip. “You know he talked about you a bunch after Halloween. You must have made a good impression on him.” She sing-songed the latter half, a mischievous little glint in her eye that looked out of place on her sent your way. 

Flashes of that night danced across your vision. Those brief introductions at the table. The way you’d spent hours talking and laughing with one another. The moment beneath the awning where you’d almost kissed. Food shopping with him. His fingers on your form as he undressed you, inside you as they drew out your pleasure, mouth hot and fervent against your own. The way he mapped your body later with his lips, how he’d lavished you with his words as he rolled you beneath him that second time, your hands tangled together in bed sheets near your head, eyes locked on yours as his hips rolled into yours.  

The night was seared into your brain. Imprinted on your mind. Intimate in a way you’d reeled from, a spark different than anything you’d had with Paul — or anyone for that matter. A complete stranger, and yet something had felt so different that night. So ‘impression’ deemed too insignificant of a word to express what that night signified. 

For one, it marked the beginning of something new, now nestled within, just beneath your breast. 

“I just think it’s less complicated this way,” you added, glancing down at your midsection. “She’s most important. She needs both of us.”

“And what about what you want?”

“I’ve had enough run-ins with love to know it’s likely not in the cards for me,” you told her sourly. 

“What if it’s just a matter of you not having met the right person?” Chrissy asked, placing Melody in her high chair. “You know, before I met Steve, I’d been dating someone else. My parents loved him. On the basketball team, town golden boy, involved in his church and charity. Perfect, by their standards. But what they didn’t know was that we fought — almost every day. He didn’t make me happy; or I thought he did, until I met Steve.”

“You never told me how you met Steve.”

“At a roller rink,” she giggled, glancing over your shoulder to where her husband and the father of your own child were drinking beers together in the living room. “He’d bumped into me. Literally crashed into me. We spent the day with me icing my head and him icing his cheek. But we talked for hours. And he was funny and sweet and charming and I just knew it was him. Right away.”

“That’s — that’s really sweet, Chrissy…”

“How does Eddie make you feel?” 

And there it was. The question you’d been avoiding, because it meant admitting to the fact you simply weren’t sure. You knew you liked him, but liking him meant putting yourself in a vulnerable situation.

“We’ve only known each other a couple of weeks —”

“Time doesn’t define the importance of something, silly,” Chrissy said, dropping down onto the chair beside you. “Right now, at this very moment, how does he make you feel?”

You glanced his way. And, like he always seemed to, he had this uncanny way of knowing when you needed him. Ever present, with that seemingly constant glowing smile on his face from over Steve’s shoulder where he sat. A question burned behind his gaze, but you shook your head, and he relaxed back against the couch no longer on alert. 

“Good. Heard. Seen. Cared for,” you rattled off, wanting to cover your face with your hands. Wanting to hide from the gnawing fear burning in the back of your mind over the reality of it all. “But it doesn’t matter, because what if we try and it doesn’t work and now Elena has two parents who don’t even like one another, or can’t even stand to be in the same room together?”

Chrissy curled a hand around your shoulder, those bright eyes of hers meeting yours sympathetically. “What if we imagined the reverse? What if none of that happens? You won’t know if you don’t try.” 

Another time, another place, another day — those had been the words spiraling in your mind the day you left him back in his hotel room. Another person — someone who would offer him the rose-colored glasses, the giddiness of relationship, the joy of love. He was deserving of so much; the world, really. 

“I’m not just saying this because he’s my husband’s best friend,” she started, voice lowering into a quieter whisper, “but he’s a good man. The best of the best. What if you opened up to the idea of…simple like? Not even love.”

What if you opened up to the idea…to simple like? Could it really even be simple? It seemed like such a juxtaposition to your current reality. Yet, the words knocked around in your head all the same, wonder already forming in the catacombs of your mind at the mere possibility. 

However, before you could give it any life, the thought was disrupted by the doorbell, to be shelved away for later. 

  ——

  The arrival of the fondly named “kids” came with an air of chaos. Friends who traveled from near and far to come visit, all wrapped together in one room. Max and Lucas, on holiday here in Hawkins, now residing in California together. 

Will and Mike arrived a little later, holding hands and a package of Oreos that you immediately opened and snacked on, much to their shared amusement. 

El, who you had previously met, was visiting her step-brother Jonathan and Nancy in the city — the same woman you’d already contacted, thanks to Eddie’s suggestions, and were now waiting to hear back from. 

Their initial reactions to finding out about Eddie being Elena’s father were met with amusing degrees of excitement and many questions — but overall, they were all over the moon for him. It made your chest ache to see him so happy, the way he proudly talked about his daughter before them all, the fondness behind his eyes as he spoke. 

You remained at his side through it all, overjoyed to simply be there with them, laughing when they’d dove into a story about a time Steve, Robin and Eddie had taken the kids camping, and Eddie and Steve had the not so brilliant idea of trying to spook them before bed. 

“To be fair, we were only fifteen at the time,” Mike explained from beside Will. “Which should really show you what these assholes are capable of —”

“Hey, watch what you’re about to say,” Eddie began, waving a finger in Mike’s face. “That is your mother and father you’re talking about.”

“Who’s mother?” you asked, laughing when Steve pinched at the bridge of his nose. 

“Steve’s mom,” Robin explained, appearing in the doorway with Vickie. “And your guy over there is dad.” 

Neither of you bothered to correct Robin on that comment. 

“So maybe we’d told them a little campfire story about bears in the woods before bed,” Steve started, curling his arm tighter around Chrissy’s shoulders. “What’s the problem with that?” 

“Well,” Dustin interjected, leaning out of his seat from where he sat next to his soon to be bride. “Here’s the thing — we were on high alert. Started stocking up in case we needed to fight off a bear.” 

“Wasn’t our fault Eddie is an idiot and started growling outside of our tent and maybe got sprayed in the eyes with hairspray,” Max said, bursting into loud giggling when Eddie cringed beside you, as if recalling the memory like it had happened moments ago instead of years ago. 

“That shit hurts, okay?” Eddie grumbled, and you patted his kneecap teasingly. 

“The scream he let out,” Lucas added, and the rest of the group laughed in agreement. 

“I do not scream.” 

“You do, man,” Steve said solemnly, earning a glare from his best friend. “It was so loud. Thought the police were gonna be called.”

“Sorry,” Eddie began, rolling his eyes, “who was it that used Farrah Fawcett spray in the first place? Because that’s where these little asshole gremlins got it.”

“Hey — it works!” Steve shouted. “Don’t knock it until you try it.”

“Steve, my friend, I walk out of the shower and my hair looks like this. I don’t need products to enhance what I was naturally blessed with.”

“Bet you’re doubting your decisions to procreate with him now, aren’t you?” Mike joked, flicking his gaze between the two fighting men. 

But you only laughed, because you weren’t doubting it at all, but instead thoroughly enjoying yourself.  Especially now as Eddie interrupted their stories meant to embarrass him and suggested they maybe start their game before it got too late and they’d have to call it a night. 

Eddie on a normal day was…breathtaking, beguiling, intriguing. Different from most you’d ever encountered in all the best ways imaginable. Appreciated for all he was simply because he marched to the beat of his own drum. He loved life and enjoyed it to its fullest. He never once put on airs, tried to be anyone but his fullest self. Had accepted Eddie Munson as Eddie Munson years ago. 

You’d known as much from conversations with Steve, Chrissy and Robin over dinner. Eddie’s face bright red in a blush whenever they recounted stories from their younger years. And over the span of several weeks, you’d gotten to know it for yourself as well. 

Eddie was Eddie. 

Perfectly, wonderfully atypical. 

But seeing him like this — in his element, surrounded by his loved ones, weaving a tale that left you enraptured. Left you leaning out of your seat, as if lured by some unseen vision, his words wrapping around your heart. Your mind. 

Chrissy grinned to herself at the sight. A little flash of it you’d seen, twisting those pretty pink lips. But you’d chalked it up to the fact Eddie Munson was a natural born storyteller. Inspired by the many books his mother had read to him as a young boy, even now. Even so, what a lovely thing? To be graced with it so intimately like this, to see his inward love so outwardly on display. 

Later, after the campaign had wrapped up and everyone left for the evening, you sat beside Eddie in the passenger seat of his car. Regarded his face illuminated by streetlights as you passed them by. Glimmers of dark eyes, full lips, those freckles cheekbones. 

Long, torturous moments passed in silence, fueled by Chrissy’s comments and insinuations. Fueled by the questioning of what would happen if only you played the tape deck forward. Would you crash and burn or take to the wind and soar? Would you risk it all for the sake of your own want, or play things safe for the needs of the third party in this increasingly complicated situation? 

“Are you —”

“Can we go somewhere, Eddie?” 

You’d both spoken at the same time, laughing awkwardly as you’d done so. Rushed utterances of the first things that stumbled into your minds. Eddie’s ringed fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter, shifting onto the side of the road with his right blinker. 

Once settling the car into park, he shifted in the seat your way, worried lines marking his forehead. “Is everything okay?” 

“I just…” What did you want, though, really? “I’ve been having a hard time sleeping.” Not quite a lie, and yet not also the full truth as to your whirring thoughts. 

“Do you want to go for a walk around our neighborhood?” he suggested, turning the car back on when you’d nodded. “I know you mentioned you were having a hard time a little while back, but I didn’t realize how bad. How long has this been going on?”

“Couple of weeks,” you grumbled out, leaning your head against the window. “Doctor said insomnia is another thrilling side effect of all of this.”

“I’m sorry,” he huffed out, though it was hardly his fault at all and you both knew that, drumming his thumb along the steering wheel. “You could have told me, though. I’d have tried to help you.”

You shrugged, shifting on the seat a bit so you were facing him. Noted the determined line of his lips, his bare arms moving as he steered. “Where are you going? This isn’t the way home.”

“I’m thinking we need dessert for our walk,” he said, the turn signal clicking as you waited to make a left turn into the parking lot. “Chocolate?”

“Mmm Oreo sounds really good right about now.” 

“So I have something to ask you and I know it’s kind of out of the blue and last minute and I meant to ask you beforehand but we had Steve’s today and it kind of got pushed to the side.”

“Is this why you’re buttering me up with a milkshake?” 

“Maybe.” He said, a little teasing glint in his eyes, the red stop light bathing his skin in the bright glow. “Okay, so, Wayne’s place is getting work done. Something with a burst pipe and he can’t stay there for a couple of days.”

“So you want me to stay with Robin or something —”

“No, no,” he urged with a hand on your forearm. “I just need the guest room for a couple days.”

“Oh, okay.” You nodded, considering. “I can sleep on the couch for a few days.” 

“What? Sweetheart, no. I’m not — I’m not making my pregnant —” He paused, catching himself, swallowing thickly. “I’m not making you sleep on the couch.” 

“Yeah, but I’m not taking your bed,” you argued, “so I guess we’ll have to share.”

The words spilled out in a rushed breath. You’d not even really thought about what you said until the words were already there, out in the open, exposed for the taking. 

“I mean, we’re adults,” you continued, shrugging. “We can sleep in the same bed without it being weird.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding evenly, mulling over your words, “that was easy then. You’ll sleep in my bed. With me.”

And that — that had your stomach turning. Twisting in that giddy, roller coaster, butterfly type of way. The way that had your fingers curling around the edges of your seat as Eddie parked the car and rushed into the opened diner to grab the two of you your sugary treats. 

He returned as your heart settled back into normal rhythm. Opened your door and thrusted your drink into the air, muttering, ‘For the lady’ with a bow that had your cheeks heating up.

It only took another few minutes to pull up in front of Eddie’s home, your door opening so you could hop out as soon as he’d shifted it into park. Tugging your hoodie tighter to your body, you walked along the sidewalk and waited as he hooked his keys onto his belt loop, locked the car, and joined you beneath the street lamp. 

“After you,” he said, practically bouncing on his heels as you began your loop around the neighborhood. 

“You know, there are so many stars here than back in the city,” you muttered after a while, pausing with your drink outstretched in hand, head tipped back to take in the sky. “It’s just another thing I don’t really miss about back home. I feel so much more…I don’t know, connected? To myself and those around me. Without all the hustle and bustle.”

“Never thought about that,” he breathed out, hand guiding you closer to him on the sidewalk so you wouldn’t stray too far into the road. “I guess it’s easy to take for granted when I see it all the time.” 

“Did you know there are two to four hundred billion stars in just our galaxy alone?” You tilted your head over your shoulder, catching the way the moonlight illuminated Eddie’s features. “And there are something like hundreds of billions of galaxies. Fun things you pick up when you work at a high school library.”

“I did not,” he admitted, lowering his head to take you in. His eyes lingered on your face, on the lines of your lips, and you swallowed the thick knot forming in the back of your throat. “Anything else you learned while at my old high school?”

“The worst lunch days are definitely Wednesday,” you sounded off, sipping your drink, “O’Donnell always has mustard on everything while we have lunch and Elena hates it. Which means I hate it. Uhm, they definitely need a wider selection of novels, and their cataloging system could use some major work. Oh — and the vending machine near the nurse’s office has the best snacks.”

He laughed, a bright, happy sound that had you nearly bouncing on the balls of your feet. “Sounds about right.”

“You know, tonight was actually really fun.” You tipped your drink lid into his chest, smirking slightly. “I saw a different side of you tonight.”

He followed as you trailed onward again, the sound of his shoes pounding against concrete to keep up in your ears. “A good side? Come on now, sweetheart. Can’t leave a guy hanging like that.”

Nose wrinkling, you snorted. “I liked it. You had a very…commanding presence. The kids enjoyed it, too.”

“So she likes commanding —”

“Hey —”

“Kidding, kidding.” Eddie held up a hand in surrender, waving his cup in the air with a big flourish as you halted on the sidewalk in front of him to allow him to catch up. “Honestly, I’ve been doing that for so long, it’s become something I look forward to. Back in high school I’d run the club, and that’s when I ended up meeting the guys. Mike, Lucas, Dustin and Will. Took them under my wing a little bit — you know how it is, teenagers are shitty.”

“Teenagers are shitty,” you agreed, sounding a little morose. “I was lucky to have Micah at that point. So it never felt like I was alone. But those years can be isolating. I can’t imagine. I’m sure they were so happy to have you there for them.”

“Yeah, well…they’re now attached to Steve and I. Like our own little band of shithead gremlins. But we love them.” 

“I can tell you do,” you said, thinking back to when Max had hugged him goodbye and he’d patted her head. Looked up at him like she’d admired him. “They love you too. The way they talk about you is really sweet.”

“Now they’re all grown up,” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Which reminds me…Dustin is getting married in a week and he suggested today that I might ask you to come with me.”

He looked at you out of the corner of his eye. A nervous little bounce in his step. Noticed that he’d dragged a hair along his lip, trying to hide himself from you. 

A knowing smile creeped along your lips. “Like…as your date for the afternoon?”

A date — you could do a single, solitary date with a friend. 

 He glanced down at his feet, exhaling deeply. “Yeah, exactly like that.”

“I’ll have to buy a dress,” you said quickly, putting the poor man out of his misery, “but I’d love to.”

“Okay.” He nodded, grinning softly to himself. “Ah, awesome. Perfect. Can’t wait.”

You continued like that for a while. Simply walking beside one another, talking about anything and everything beneath the stars. Simply basking in the presence of another person as the moon glowed brightly above. 

Eventually, when you’d finished your shakes, you both decided to head back to the house, but neither of you seemed keen to separate for the night. 

Eddie spoke with you on your bed, your feet in his lap, his hands rubbing at your sore calves, until you started to doze off against your pillow. 

Stayed with you until you finally fell asleep. 

  ——

  Wayne was on his way out of the house for the afternoon when you whirled around, Eddie’s apron tied around your waist, your sous chef beside you with his hair pulled back. You’d been working together for an hour now, making penne alla vodka that you couldn’t help but lean over and smell the sauce that was currently simmering in a pot. It should be illegal to smell so good, you thought, hip brushing Eddie’s as you moved around him to grab the shredded cheese. 

Tonight was the first night of your arrangement. Sleeping beside Eddie in his bed. Platonically. No funny business to be had by any means. Sure — Wayne would be working the night shift and gone for most of the time you’d be sleeping beside Eddie, but you’d cleaned out the guest room to allow for him to sleep in there, making sure the man knew this was his home as well as yours. 

Not that you’d had any say; nor could you quite pinpoint the moment when Eddie’s home had become yours too. Found yourself saying things to him in conversation when out and about from time to time, simple remarks of “let’s go home” and “oh, it’s at our place” and even the night you’d walked under the stars with Eddie, back in the car, when you’d said “this isn’t the way home.” 

And even so, here you were, hosting at the place you called home with Eddie. 

Weird to think how a few weeks had changed everything. Nearly twenty-three weeks along, and living with Eddie for a little over a month now.  

“You two went out of your way to do all of this for me?” Wayne mused, chomping at a piece of garlic bread (that didn’t make you run for the toilet this time, luckily enough), seated across from the two of you when you all finally settled down for dinner. “Didn’t have to do that.”

“You’re going into work,” you said, offering him a grin, “we wanted to make sure you were fed.” 

“Thanks little lady. Ed.” He took another bite and picked up his fork, nodding his head your way. “How is my grand baby treatin’ you?”

“Pretty much moving all the time now,” you sighed, Eddie pouring you another glass of water when yours emptied. “Eddie will have to show you her room. He did an amazing job with it.” 

“I’d love to,” he agreed, clapping his nephew on the shoulder. “And thanks for letting me stay with you two. Sorry to steal your bed.”

“It’s fine, seriously!” you huffed out with an amused snort, pushing your chair back as you finished up your plate, reaching over to grab Eddie’s as well. “Do you want me to put a pot of coffee on?”

“Nah, this here is fine,” Wayne said, polishing off the rest of his plate and adding it to the plates you began running water over. “I’ll grab some when I get to work. You two have a good night now.”

As Wayne slipped out for the night, you raised the dial on the radio Eddie kept in the kitchen. An older Frank Sinatra song was playing, hands buried deep within the sink, when he’d sidled up to you and began drying the dishes you laid into the drying rack. 

You hadn’t even asked him to, but it had become a routine of sorts as of late. These little things he’d do, if only to spend a little extra time with you. That foot rub last night as you watched a movie; the lingering hug in the doorway last night before bed; helping you fold laundry on laundry days; the delighted way he’d rubbed the knots out of your shoulder after work simply because he said you deserved it. 

You worked in comfortable silence. Each time you finished a dish, you handed it over to Eddie, and he placed them in their proper storage places. It wasn’t long before you’d finished, and the music still played between the two of you, a soft and gentle tune that had you humming to yourself.

Neither spoke as you shut the light after leaving the kitchen. Nor as he offered you the bathroom to change, and you slipped inside the small, dimly lit room with a shaky exhale. Hands rested against your lower back, feet carrying you back and forth along the carpet, eyes catching on your reflection in the mirror. 

This was stupid — wasn’t it? He’d seen you fully bare before him before, and he’d enjoyed what he’d seen. And yet, the prospect of slipping into a pair of sleep shorts and a tee shirt had your heart racing. With shaky fingers, you reached down and plucked your sweater up and off your body, pausing at the sight of your form reflected back at you. 

He’d liked you before. But you wondered what he thought when he saw you now, every day feeling a little less like yourself, body a home to someone else as of late. Then again, it didn’t matter, you reminded yourself. Just because you’d developed feelings for the metalhead didn’t mean he’d felt the same. 

With a deep sigh, you snatched the Corroded Coffin tee you’d plucked from your dresser and pulled it over your head, and then reached down to tug on some pale sleep shorts. Once satisfied, you finished up your normal bedtime routine and slipped back down the hall, knocking on Eddie’s bedroom door for entry. 

“Come in,” he called out, and your eyes immediately zeroed in on the bare chest that greeted you near his bedside table. 

He was tucking away a pair of his socks into the drawer, head turning over his shoulder, eyes widening at your appearance. You mentally cursed, feeling self conscious. 

“What are you wearing?” 

“A shirt,” you groaned, rushing over to your designated side of the bed, wanting to get the night over and done with. 

“Why do you sound upset?” he asked, dropping down onto the bed behind you, palm coming up to curl around your shoulder, rubbing it soothingly. “What did I say, sweetheart? I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me.” 

He grimaced as you shoved a pillow over your head. “You just looked at me funny. I know I don’t look the way I did the night we hooked up —”

“Hey hey hey, breathe.”  You groaned into your pillow, the sound muffled by Eddie’s laughter. “I looked at you ‘funny’ because there’s a ridiculously pretty woman wearing a shirt with my band’s name on it, who happens to also now be laying in my bed, okay? And remember what I said that night? You’re out of my league — that’s still true now.” He paused, feeling your shoulders relax a bit at his light hearted, if a little self deprecating, joke. “Come on, Buttercup, look at me for a second, okay?”

You rolled over in the bed, pillow falling with it, and he lowered himself down onto an elbow, running a constant and comforting line across your bicep. “Looking.”

“Just — you’re wearing that,” he repeated, toying with the hem of the shirt to stretch the logo across your chest. “The matter of my attraction to you has never changed, if anything it’s…grown because I don’t think you realize what it does to a man when he looks at the woman carrying his child, and now that same woman is laying in his bed.”

“Oh,” you squeaked out, cheeks heating rapidly. “Okay.”

“Yeah — oh, sweetheart. Wanted to make that clear, so there’s no confusion here.” 

He rubbed at the back of his neck, tops of his cheeks flaming red, moving over to his bathroom. Pleasure swooped low in your belly — curled, tumbled and spread it as you caught him adjusting himself in his pants on the way. 

  ——

  “Nancy sent in one of my children’s books,” you said, crawling into bed on the second night, tugging the blankets up and over your shoulders. Eddie slid in beside you, head resting on the pillow, hair spilling in a halo around him. “She said it was really good. She thinks I should hear back soon hopefully.”

“It is really good,” he reassured, rubbing your arm comfortingly. “I wish you could see that. I’m so damn proud of you.” 

“I don’t know.” You shrugged, shuffling closer to him. “My ex, Paul, kind of — well, he didn’t think writing was something one could turn into a career. Kind of discouraged it, which is why I’d put it on the back burner for a while. It’s hard to think that it could ever turn into anything. Or it was…until I found out I was pregnant. And suddenly everything changed. I want to do the best for her, be the best for her.”

He thumbed along your bicep, offering you a soft smile as you continued, “One of the things I admire about you is how you’re just…unabashedly you. There’s only one Eddie Munson and he’s just who he is and you’re literally watching your dreams come true. It’s made me realize it can happen for me too.”

“First of all, your ex is an idiot for not encouraging your dreams. I hate how society says if it’s art you’re interested in it’s not practical and not valid. Sometimes I wish I could give a giant fuck you to all the teachers who said I wouldn’t amount to anything because I preferred music over school,” Eddie started, those umber eyes catching yours in the lamplight. “But I’m glad you’re trying because I don’t doubt for one second that you have a gift. I believe in you.”

“Can I hug you?” 

“Always, Buttercup.” He shuffled even closer, his stomach pressing into yours, dark eyes glinting with vibrancy. “Looks like there’s some di —”

“Do not finish that sentence!” You laughed, shifting until you were comfortable enough, forehead pressing into the curve of his chest, arms looped tight around his waist.  

His eyes softened then, lips settling into a firm line. “Look, I know — I know we didn’t plan for this to happen the way it has, but our little girl really has the best mom.”

“You really think so?” He hated the sound of your voice. The lack of confidence behind the tone. Felt his heart cleave down the middle. 

“Absolutely. Why…do you doubt that?” Eddie frowned as you tugged him closer, fingers twined in the back of his shirt. 

“I…my parents weren’t around much. Always too busy, too worried about other things than quality time spent with me,” you admitted, chewing on your bottom lip. “I’m afraid when she gets here I just won’t know what to do. Won’t know what she needs when she’s crying, or how to change her diaper, or how to tell what she’s thinking. I didn’t have an example of all of that, so what if I’m terrible at it?” 

“Can I be honest?” Eddie asked, tipping your chin up with a finger. 

“Shoot.”

“I’ve never changed a diaper. Or been around a newborn other than Melody. Even then, I’d kind of waited until she was less fragile to hold her. I’m scared as shit, too,” he said, locking eyes with you. “So we’ll figure it out together, okay?” 

“Okay.” You weren’t alone. Despite everything, you weren’t alone. Eddie and you would figure everything out as a team — two people navigating the unknown. 

“Also, we can’t change how we grew up. But we can make sure we try harder for Elena to give her the best.” 

“I don’t know how you do it,” you said, pressing your fingertips against his sternum, feeling his pulse race beneath. “Always knowing what to say.” 

He chuckled, a low, raspy tired sound. “I'm flattered you think that, but I’m just figuring it out too, you know? All I know is I’ll never be the way my dad was to our daughter, and the rest I’m sure will come along with her just being here.”

He paused, glancing down to where the two of you were connected, saying, “You have me.”

“You have me too, Eddie.” 

  ——

  Tossing and turning. Eddie felt you tossing and turning all night, annoyed huffs of breath falling from your lips every time you flipped over onto the opposite side to try and get comfortable. He’d realized quickly you never did, though. 

“Hey,” he whispered, testing to see if you were presently awake. A displeased groan fell from your parted lips, body flopping back over so your face was mere inches from his on your separate pillow. “Can’t sleep?” 

“I’m uncomfortable,” you admitted, mouth turning downward in a sour frown. “It’s not even like I’m not tired. I know I’m tired, but my mind feels all restless. And so is she.” 

At that, Eddie pulled back the comforter and lowered his head to your middle, palm spreading over the hill of it. “Hey, behave in there, okay? Your mom is trying to get some sleep.” At your laughter, he shifted back onto his pillow. “Turn over.”

“What?” 

“Turn over. I’ll rub your back and we can talk until you fall back asleep,” he said, immediately noticing the curve of your brow in confusion. “My mom used to do that all the time when I’d have nightmares. Figure it’ll work the same.”

“But you need sleep,” you argued, knowing he had taken an extra weekend shift tomorrow at the shop that he needed to be up early for. 

“I’ll make an extra cup of coffee in the morning. Right now though, we both need sleep,” he stated plainly, “but I won’t be able to if I know you’re unable to.”

With an exasperated sigh, you rolled back over, hips wiggling very innocently as you got comfortable, and yet in a way that had Eddie swallowing the thick knot in the back of his throat. 

The past few days, being so close, sharing a bed — he’d said it would be easy, a simply platonic situation, but he’d felt anything but. Wanted so badly so many times to lean over and kiss you, to see if he nudged that part of your neck he’d discovered on Halloween night you’d make those pretty sounds he’d strum from you over and over again. 

But he knew better. Respected your wishes and boundaries. Knew he wouldn’t press the matter unless you decided you wanted to take a leap again. He’d decided it from that moment weeks ago now, where you had suggested the two of you remain friends for the sake of Elena. The ball would remain in your court; forever, if you’d decided that was what you wanted. 

With a thick swallow, Eddie raised his fingers up to your trapezius muscles, fingers curling around the breadth of them, thumbs digging into the space below. At the first deep exhale from your lips, he rubbed in circles, watching as your body slowly melted into the blankets further, breathing becoming deeper. 

“Eddie?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“What’s your favorite color?” you asked, and his cheek twitched. 

It became a game of sorts these few weeks. Various questions intended for getting to know one another. Either him or you would pick a question or a topic and talk. Sometimes for hours a night, simply listening to the other. Eddie could listen to you prattle on for ages — had known as much some weeks ago now. 

“Red,” he said, palms sliding down the planes of your back, grin curling upward at the breathy moan that left you. “What about you?”

“I’m not really sure,” you admitted, curling your palm beneath your head. “It kind of changes every day. Lately it’s yellow, but tomorrow it might be cornflower blue.” 

“Cornflower blue, huh?” he chuckled, fingers digging into your lower back. 

He mentally berated himself when your hips arched backward a bit, nearly falling into the cradle of his lap. Now wasn’t quite the time to get a hard on. It had been bad enough having to slip out of bed before you woke each morning before you realized the effect you had on him — an effect that went far beyond normal morning wood. 

“What is one thing you wish you spent more time doing as a child?” 

Eddie paused for a moment, chewing at his bottom lip. “I…maybe I’d have taken more pictures with my mom. I’d always been an asshole when she tried, especially when I got older. They always came out so blurry. The few pictures left of her I have are like that.” 

Your fingers reached backward to circle his wrist, pausing him in his movements. “I’d like to see them sometime.”

“Definitely,” he promised, resuming his massage. “What about you?”

“Mmm, reading more books, probably. Funny, seeing as I’ve worked in a library setting for a few years now.” Your head turned over your shoulder. Eddie’s breath hitched at the softness behind your eyes. “If you could become a superhero, how would you like it to happen? Like…what’s your origin story. I feel like I’d want to have, I don’t know, realized I was impervious to fire or something. Would be pretty cool.”

“Easy,” Eddie said, mouth tipping into a smirk, “I plug into my amp, get a little electrocuted, get electric powers.”

“A true rock god.” You giggled, and it sounded like wind through the chimes you'd installed on the front porch. A swift punch to his gut, a hand wrapped tight around his heart. 

You continued like that for another half hour. His fingers dragging long lines over your back, your eyes closed as you tossed question after question into the open air. Eventually, you began to drift. Body pulled further and further into an oncoming rest, yawns spilling from your gently parted lips. 

For a while, you remained silent, and Eddie wondered if you’d fallen asleep. But you flipped over to face him, closer now than you had been before, and curled your palm beside your face. Close enough he could reach over and brush his lips along your every knuckle. Wanted to, he realized. 

“If you could change that night. Halloween. Would you?” 

He watched the worry as it crossed along your features, the fear over his answer to your question plaguing your mind. The question you’d been building up to with all the lighter ones. Exhaling deeply, he reached over and brushed his fingers along the back of your hand, head shaking slowly. 

“No, because I’d have never met you. And with Elena, it’s not what we planned, sure. But…in getting to know you, I care about you so damn much, Buttercup. I like waking up to you humming in front of the coffee pot, waiting for it to finish brewing. Or when you yell at me for tossing something colored into the whites. I like cooking with you in the kitchen and I even like our couch talks when I rub your damn feet.” Your eyes, glittering with unshed tears, flickered up to his face, and he brushed the moisture collecting there from your bottom lash line. “You’re one of the most important people in my life now, I hope you realize.” 

“You’re one of the most important people in mine,” you whispered back, lacing your fingers with his. “I think the massage worked, by the way.”

He smiled, watching your eyes start to droop a bit. “Tired?” 

“Mhmm,” you hummed, fingers tightening in his. 

A long sigh spilled from you, eyes shutting, and he immediately missed the sight of them. The glow of your irises in the dark, uniquely yours, and strikingly beautiful. Gentle fingers lifted to run along your cheek, your breathing starting to even out a bit, becoming deeper with every passing second. 

“Can I ask you one more question?” It was spoken quietly, so softly Eddie had almost nodded off himself when you’d finally asked. 

“Anytime.”

“Can you hold me?” 

Hesitant, you sounded so hesitant, fear of rejection evident in your voice. Another reason why he hated Paul. Because you’d deserved the world and he’d gone and taken advantage of your heart. 

“Always,” he reassured, heart racing as you rolled over and shifted backward a bit, his own body coming to rest along your spine. Like this, your backside rested in the cradle of his hips, your head rested along his bicep tucked beneath a pillow, and his arm swooped low around your belly. “Is this good?”

He ached with the warmth of it. With the way you leaned down and nuzzled your head further into his arm, the way your body fitted perfectly against his, how you felt so relaxed and comforted by simply being near him. Beautiful. You were so damn beautiful, like a fucking angel in his arms, and he realized how lucky he was.

“Goodnight, Eddie,” you whispered.  

With you in his arms, his hand splayed over where his daughter grew, he realized what he really held in that bed. 

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he whispered back, dropping the softest of kisses to your temple. 

His family — not the one he’d been born with, and maybe not the perfected image of one, but family all the same. 

He’d never take that for granted. 

  ——

It was a muffled moan at your neck, his face turning into it as he hugged you tighter, limbs stretching out beneath him. Vaguely, you wondered if he’d even realized what he was doing — holding you tighter, wrapping himself further around you, locking you into an embrace. But you eased into it, a low hum spilling from you as your fingers reached down and trailed along the backs of his knuckles, his laughter making your heart soar when your fingertips tickled along his flesh. 

For a moment, you allowed yourself to block out everything else around you. Allowed the simple haven you created here in his room with him over the span of several days. A safe space for you to share and for him to listen, for him to express his heart and for you to open up yours. Smiled to yourself as he relaxed further against your back, and you sank into him, your head nuzzling further into his bicep. 

In the distance, his wall clock alerted you he’d have to head out to the shop in an hour, but in here time didn’t exist. At least not right now. Not as he shifted his arm from beneath his head and propped himself up on an elbow, palm pressed to his temple as he looked down over at you. 

As you rolled over, you were shadowed and sheltered in the safety of his gaze, those umber eyes locked on yours and he simply stared. Beheld you, like he thought you might run away. Part of you wanted to. And the other — the other part, beaten and battered by love, still held onto hope that there were good people in this world. 

Good people like the man beside you, with love in his heart, full to the brim, a best friend to you now. 

“Good morning,” you murmured back, gripping his chin in hand and wiggling it lightly, earning a soft smile out of the man. He groaned and flopped back down onto his pillow, forehead smashed into the fabric, hair splayed out every which way, the man dramatic as ever. Endearingly so. “We should probably get up. You have to leave in a few. I can make coffee. I owe you after that back rub.” 

He followed you begrudgingly. Like a boy much younger than his nearly thirty years, with his feet dragging behind you down the hall, fingers reached up to tie his hair back into a messy ponytail at the back of his head. Little pieces spilled out around his face, and you fought back the urge to reach up and push them behind his ears. To see if he’d lean into your embrace like he had so many months ago, and lay a kiss into the center of your palm, stealing your breath all over again. 

But instead you turned around to face the coffee pot, prepping the contents of the machine as Eddie rummaged about in the fridge and took out some things needed to throw together some breakfast for the two of you. With pancakes cooking on the stovetop, you shifted and pressed your hip into the countertop. 

He tipped his head your way, beaming as he reached out and tugged you closer, your front nearly bumping into his side. “What are your plans for the day?”

“Really riveting things,” you told him, mouth curling into a smirk. “As in, shopping with Chrissy for the wedding tomorrow, and grabbing lunch with Robin, her and Melody. Elena is our honorary fifth wheel.”

“Dress shopping,” he mused, flipping a pancake over, head dipped lower as he tossed some blueberries into another pancake. 

“Yeah,” you began, a teasing lilt imbuing your tone, “Got asked on a date or something. Figured I should try and look nice.” 

“You always look nice.” Your cheeks burned at his words. “Who is this guy? Should I be worried?”

“Mmm, he seems nice enough. Hope he doesn’t mind that I’m almost six months pregnant.” At his narrowed gaze, you laughed, shoving at him lightly. “What time do you think you’ll be back?”

“Around dinner time,” he said, sliding over the finished pancakes onto a plate. 

You rushed around him before he could say a word and brought them over to the kitchen table, placing them alongside the bottle of syrup and glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. With a click, he turned the stove off and tossed the pan into the sink to let it cool down, grabbing you both cups of coffee the way he knew you liked and brought yours over to you, your hands cupped gratefully around it with a soft smile tossed his way. 

“You’re wearing a green tie, right?” you asked, cutting a piece of your pancake and placing it in your mouth, humming around the blueberries that burst to life on your tongue. Eddie was practically glowing with it, dimpled cheeks and all, and your heart stuttered at the look in his eye. 

“Yeah, sage green is what Chrissy and Suzie called it,” he replied, sipping some of his coffee, rubbing at his stubbed jawline. 

“I’ll try and somewhat match you then,” you said. “I don’t want to step on the bride's toes.” 

“I’d like that…” 

He leaned back against his chair, and you leaned over the table closer to him, fingers hovering over the little bit of syrup he’d gotten on his cheek. Dark eyes watched your face as you brushed your thumb over the plushest part of it, wiping away the traces of his sugary treat. 

“I think I’m going to try and make dinner tonight,” you said, feeling your cheeks warm as Eddie relished in your touch, his dark eyes softening, that mouth of his twitching into a smirk at your words. “I think I’ve learned a thing or two these weeks, Munson. I think it’s about time the student becomes the teacher.”

“Is that so?” 

“Mhmm. So don't worry about anything. You just have a good day at work, and I’ll take care of things around here.” 

Proud of yourself, you leaned back against your chair, satisfied and full from his delicious breakfast, a hand curled absentmindedly over your middle. Eddie rose, his chair squeaking in protest, a kiss pressed to the crown of your head in thanks as he collected your plates and tossed them into the sink. 

With a harrumph, you joined him, nearly shoving him out of the way with a teasingly hissed, “Shoo — go get ready!” and a jab aimed perfectly in the middle of his stomach, making the poor guy hunch over in a laugh, his bright and joyful face twisting the vice around your heart even tighter. 

  ——

  “So…any new events since we last spoke — no, sweetie, that’s not a toy.” Chrissy plucked the remote Melody had stolen from beside Steve’s thigh from where she crawled around on the couch, alternating between crawling in her father’s lap and smacking his face with an eager palm, seeking out his affection. 

“Chris, stop tormenting the girl,” Steve laughed, watching as the players on the screen glided around on the ice, one player managing to score a goal that had Steve breaking off into an excited shout. “She’s going to run out the door if you keep it up.” 

“We’re good,” you admitted, toying with the frayed edge of a pillow you dragged onto your lap, thighs curled beneath you on the couch. “I mean, we’re going to the wedding tomorrow as dates so…I don’t know.” 

You shrugged, and Chrissy looked like the cat who ate the canary. Nearly bounced up and down on the couch, rocking you with the flurry of her movements, her arms coming up to loop right around your shoulders just as Melody broke out into shrieking wails from where she rested in Steve’s lap. 

“Oh, baby!” Chrissy cooed, scrambling back over to her little one, kissing at her chubby cheeks and brushing away those water droplets falling from pretty hazel eyes. “I’m so sorry. Momma is just really excited.”  

Steve grunted as Chrissy and Melody swapped, his wife now draped over his lap, hands coming to curl around her despite it though. You thought it sweet, the way he tucked them both in close, brushing his lips over her temple as she settled her head over his sternum, rocking their baby in her lap. 

It was hard to not wonder. To not dream that this might be your own reality. That there could be a world where you loved and received love in return — the kind you’d long given up on. 

Steve glanced your way as you absently traced a palm over the hill of your belly, Elena a comfort despite the unease steadily growing in your chest. “I don’t like speaking for him when he’s not here, but he really cares about you. Both of you.”

“So much for stopping tormenting her,” Chrissy teased, though it was warm with affection, her hand stroking along his chest beside her head. 

“I’m not the one constantly trying to play matchmaker with our best friends,” Steve retorted, snickering when Chrissy pouted up at him adorably. 

Your heart raced over best friends. Truly, you didn’t know what you’d have done without the Harringtons. They’d been there when you had been alone. Had been there on nights when Robin was gone for the night and your grief got the better of you. And now — now they meant the world to you. 

To you and Eddie. 

In a few months, to Elena as well. 

“I’m giving her encouragement. So much has changed in a short amount of time, so I can only imagine what you’re feeling.”

“Thanks, Steve,” you said, then looked at Chrissy. “Both of you, really. I don’t know what I’d have done without the both of you and Robin. Elena is definitely not short on love by any means. But I really should get back to the house. I told Eddie I’d make him dinner — okay, now both of you are looking at me like you’re meddling. We’re just…we’re…”

“Feeling things out,” Steve suggested, and you nodded. 

“I’ll see you both at the wedding tomorrow,” you said, grabbing your things and walking over to hug Chrissy as best as possible from where she lay on her husband’s lap. Then leaned down and placed a loud kiss on Melody's cheek. “And you too!”

  ——

  The first thing Eddie noticed when he kicked off his shoes and walked into the home was the sound of music playing. Something slow and sweet, a soft, lilting thing. The second thing he noticed was the unmistakable smell of what he assumed to be dinner burning. Followed up only then by the sound of your fretting in the kitchen. Whimpered little cries that had him stepping further into the home hastily, whipping around the corner to find you at the kitchen table with your head in your hands and a burnt to a crisp looking lasagna on a potholder at the stovetop. 

“Sweetheart…” he called out, knowing you’d been a little easily startled as of late. And emotional. And it didn’t take a rocket scientist to see your dejected state, the way your shoulders were hunched over in defeat, tears dropping into the placemat beneath your head, sides shaking with your tears. “Hey, hey, what happened here?”

When you lifted your head, Eddie’s heart sank. The red tint to your eyes, the puffy lids, the downturn of your lips, tear tracks across your cheeks. With a whispered coo of your name, he tugged you up and off the chair and onto his knees, arms curled right around your form as you pressed your head into his shoulder, sniffling noisily. 

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep. But I did, and by the time I woke up, it had burned and now dinner is ruined,” you whined, his mouth shifting downward as you clung tighter to his shirt, clutching the fabric tight in your hand. “I wanted to do something nice for you. You’ve been so good all these weeks and I appreciate everything so much and I honestly don’t feel like I deserve it all the time and I —”

“Breathe, Buttercup. Hey, let me see that pretty face, okay?” You leaned back a bit and stared up at him, his palms coming up to rest on either side of your face. “It’s fine.”

“But it doesn’t feel fine.” 

The sleeves of your thin sweater wiped across your eyes, smudging the mascara on your bottom lashes just the slightest. He brushed at it with his thumb, and you let out a ragged breath, still choked up from your tears. 

“I ruined dinner,” you whimpered, a little broken sound that had him tutting and pulling you back into his neck, where you tucked your head away into, his chin resting on the crown of your head. 

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he promised, feeling his chest ache in your shared sadness. He hated seeing you cry, knew a large factor of it was the countless emotions you felt on any given day as of late, but hated it all the same. “You went out of your way to make dinner for me. And so what if it didn’t turn out as planned? I’ll just order us a pizza, we’ll hang out and just relax. That would make my day.”

“Really?” 

“I’m serious. As long as I get to spend time with you, I’m happy,” he admitted softly, hand running soothingly up and down your back. Listened as your breathing evened out, your voice a little less watery now. “Here, stand up for a minute, okay?”

With little reluctance, you allowed him to help you up and off of his lap. As soon as you were up, he joined you in the middle of the kitchen, hand looped right around yours as he reached over to grab the wall phone and called in an order for pizza. Confusion arched your brows, eyes locked on him as he prattled off the usual pizza order and thanked them, hanging up with a loud slam against the receiver. 

“They said fifteen minutes,” he told you, waving you over with a hand. Your brows arched higher, so he continued, adding, “I wanna hold you. I hate when you’re sad. Kills me. Come here.”

He thought it was funny. Ironic, the way you’d both worn matching costumes that night. The partner to each respective costume. And funny now, standing here in his kitchen, with you in his arms, swaying back and forth to the music filtering in from the speaker. 

He’d touched every inch of you, had mapped every delicate curve and traced them with his lips, had pushed inside you and learned what his name sounded like when rounded with the peak of your pleasure. Even knowing all of that, this felt more intimate. Simply holding you and rocking you back and forth in his home, his arms around your shoulders, his daughter protected between the two of you. A slow dance, completely unhurried. Neither of you had anywhere to go, anyone to see. Simply basking in the closeness of one another, swaying as one song changed into another, and then another.

And when you looked up at him, your face inches from his, your mouth softly parted in a way that had him leaning in a bit, he relished in it. Succumbed to the allure of you, the way you pushed up a bit onto your toes, inching in closer. Just millimeters apart now, aching for the distance to be closed once and for all, only waiting for the other to take the leap.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, watching your eyes sparkle in the yellowy light up above. 

A hand drifted up to cup your cheek, and his heart skipped because you leaned into it, tipping your face up to his in a silent offering. The air fizzled with intention. His stomach tumbled in anticipation, falling to the floor as your fingers slid up along his sternum, over his shoulder, toyed with the hairs at the back of his neck, lost within the frizzy curls there. 

“Eddie…” 

His name was breathy on your lips. He thumbed along your bottom lip and parted it gently, your breath stuttering. Watched the way your eyes zeroed in on that point of contact. He wondered briefly if you could hear his heart slamming away behind his ribcage — the drumbeat of want pounding in his system, present for weeks now. 

So he drifted closer. Leaned closer. Felt the frantic whoosh of your breath on his bottom lip, felt the tremble in your form as you stepped in closer, as close as your bodies would allow, hand curling tighter around the back of his neck. Time seemed to pause, the gentle hum of the radio long forgotten, replaced by your shared breathing and the sound of his blood pumping in his veins. 

The two of you. Exactly how he’d dreamed of it time and time again, simply waiting for you to dare to take a leap — and then, the wretched doorbell. A loud chime that sounded throughout the home, dissolving the moment instantly. You stepped back, a hand over your chest, and Eddie swiped a hand down his face as he marched down the hall. 

Couldn’t help his disgruntled annoyance when the worker read the total for the pizza out loud, the way he swiftly grabbed the pizza in hand and made his way back to you, as though the moment would right itself one more, but as fast as it came it was gone. Replaced by the sight of you pulling out paper plates and plastic cups, your water already settled where you usually sat at the dinner table. 

You both ate in silence, neither choosing to broach the topic of what almost occurred in the kitchen. If anything, you proceeded like normal. Joked over pizzas, laughter filling the room, his sides aching when you told him a story about Chrissy and your adventures to the department stores to find a dress suitable for a wedding. 

Eventually, you both cleaned up together and headed to the bathroom, changed for bed, both brushing your teeth in the glowing lights of the bathroom mirror. Eddie sighed at the joyful upturn of your lips, found himself drifting closer to your side, if only to be close. Dropped a hand to run over your middle before spitting out his toothpaste and leaning down toward the bump when you said she was being a little extra mobile than usual — likely because she’d heard his voice, whispering ‘goodnight’ to Elena.

Your fingers trailed to the back of his head as he righted himself once more, dark eyes clashing with yours as you muttered, “We should probably get ready for bed. Long day tomorrow.”

“Uh…right.” 

Wayne’s home had been fixed. He’d left earlier in the day to head back over, and Eddie watched you pause in the middle of the two rooms, unsure of which way you wanted to go now that you didn’t need to share with him. He wouldn’t force you to stay in his room, but he wouldn’t lie that he hadn’t slept better the past few days knowing you were beside him. Part of him wanted to ask if you felt the same, though judging by the way you slept beside him, he had an idea of what your answer might be. 

“Can I…”

“Yes,” he breathed out, trying to fight the smile that crawled across his lips as you hurried on into his bedroom and made yourself comfortable on your side of the bed. 

With a sigh, you rolled over onto your side and Eddie slipped in beside you. Your back hit his chest, he flicked off the lamp, and wrapped right around your form. Tried not to think about the almost kiss that happened in his kitchen, the plush of your parted lips, the hitch in your breath. Tried to not imagine what would have happened were it not for the delivery man arriving when they had. 

And as you whispered goodnight, your hand running along the back of his, he closed his eyes and dreamed of a beautiful woman in a Princess Buttercup costume. Of margaritas and salty kisses. Of stumbling around in the supermarket, giddy on excitement, a shopping basket between the both of you. 

Dreamed of rocking you in the kitchen, holding you close — craving to be closer still. 

  ——

  Dustin and Suzie were wedded on a breezy Sunday in March, surrounded by their best friends. The two had been together as teenagers, separated by college for a while, before finding one another again just a little under two years ago now, when they decided they wanted to be together forever. 

Steve, recently ordained for the wedding, married them, while Eddie acted as best man for the evening. All in all, the ceremony was beautiful. Lush green covered every inch of the room, the floral arrangements accented with pops of pale pinks. 

You sat across from where Eddie stood at the front of the room, seated on Chrissy’s right, with Robin and Vickie to your left, trying to hide the giggly smile that kept creeping onto your lips when he looked your way. He’d been doing so all evening, trying so hard to make you crack — to get you to laugh. And it worked, your sides shaking, mouth hidden behind your hand. 

“You two are actually so cute I’m going to scream,” Chrissy whisper-hissed, leaning in close to your ear. 

“Good thing you can’t get pregnant twice,” Robin added, snickering to Vickie when your mouth gaped open. “What with the way he’s looking at you.”

“Shh, both of you,” you muttered back, but there was no heat behind it, only giddiness, “Pay attention.”

Dustin and Suzie decided to share their own vows, wherein they may have gone into reciting some lyrics of “The Neverending Story,” though you’d ask Eddie about the importance of that to them later. As they pushed their rings onto the other’s finger, you found your eyes watering, tears clouding over your vision, air choking off in your lungs. 

They were so young when they first fell in love. Had lost that love, and then found it again. To have something so lasting — so resilient…it seemed unheard of. And yet, hopeful all the same. 

It was then your eyes trailed away from the happy couple, their eyes locked on one another, fingers clasped between them, and shifted to Eddie. He looked your way, curls less endearingly frizzy than you’d ever seen them before, hands laced together in front of himself, a questioning look in his eye. Timid fingers raised just above your lap to wave at him, and as he noticed the gesture, you watched his own fingers unfurl. Watched him wiggle them close to his hips. Hidden from most, and yet everything to you. 

Heart soaring, the room melted into cheers as Steve announced the new Mr. and Mrs. Henderson, just as the couple kissed one last time at the altar and began walking down from where they came, the room clapping the whole time. 

Eddie was next in line to leave, his arm gripped tight by his partner for the evening, a beautiful curly headed brunette with eyes that reminded you of the ocean. One of Suzie’s family friends. 

But even as she practically tugged Eddie down the aisle, he called your name over the crowd. Caught your attention long enough to tell you, “I’ll find you during cocktail hour,” and disappeared from your sight. 

“Okay, Melody,” Chrissy exhaled airily, “time to go find Daddy so Mommy can get herself a glass of champagne, and a mocktail for your Auntie.”

Cocktail hour proved to be…frustrating to say the least. Chrissy, Robin, Vickie, and Steve remained at your side throughout, Melody hiked high onto Steve’s hip, as you clutched your virgin drink in hand, watching as Eddie’s curly headed friend gripped his forearm and dragged him over to the bar, intent on keeping him locked in conversation. 

“He wants you to go over and say hi, you know?” Steve laughed, trying to pry your fingers free from their vice grip around the glass he must have thought you were seconds from breaking into dozens of pieces. “He’s looking your way. The guy is begging for rescue. Go over there.”

“He’s got the horrified baby doe eyes,” Robin added, giving you a little playful shove. 

“Yeah, but I look like this —” You gesticulated around your form, around the emerald green dress that couldn’t really hide the fact you popped the past couple of weeks. “And…and…”

“You are beautiful,” Chrissy reassured you, both hands of hers curling around your shoulders, giving you a little wiggle. “Now go, my cute jealous green monster.” 

With a heavy sigh, you gripped your pocketbook tighter to your form and slipped through the crowd, bumping against bodies and apologizing every time you did, intent on finding the curly headed metalhead. As you approached, his eyes lit up, the woman beside him turning around a bit to take you in as his arm opened to allow you into his side, immediately tugging you in close. 

The woman’s brow arched a bit, and as if to make things even clearer — much to your happy amusement — Eddie cupped a hand over your middle, introducing you to the woman you found to be named Hilary. 

“Wow, congratulations you two. A baby,” she said, her plans for the evening quickly deflating at the realization dawning that she wouldn’t be going home with him tonight. “That’s — that’s really wonderful. I wish you both all the luck.”

And then she was gone to find another eligible bachelor, something you most definitely didn’t fault her for. The night you’d met Eddie, you’d been fresh off the end of a two year relationship that left you reluctant to get close to another person for a long time. 

The universe just had its own plans, placing Eddie Munson in your pathway. Eddie Munson, who turned you in his arms in a little circle and beamed down at you, eyes roaming over your form. Heat crawled up your spine at the gesture, settling low in your belly. 

“You look…” He breathed out, pushing up one of the green straps that had fallen down a bit higher on your shoulder. “You look really beautiful. Did you get a drink yet? Water? Need me to get you anything?”

“I could have water,” you said, allowing him to pull you further away from the crowd, settling near a corner of the room. “Hilary seemed nice.”

“Someone seems jealous,” he teased, hip bumping yours playfully. 

The heel of your shoe dug at the ground awkwardly. “Well, I don’t know…she was really pretty and you’re…well, you’re technically single, so if you wanted to…” 

“Would you want me to?” he asked, frown settling into place. 

“No,” you admitted, a little too quickly. But it was the truth. You hated to think what it would be like if Eddie brought someone home. Didn’t want to dig up what those feelings were all about. 

He lifted a hand to cup your cheek, voice a little sad when he asked, “You really don’t get it, do you?” 

The question bubbled on your lips. The need for him to clarify what he’d meant, but just as your mouth opened to voice it, people began making their way into the reception hall, once again interrupting a needed moment between you and Eddie. Resigned to the fact a wedding for a friend may not be the best of places to delve further into the intricacies of your changing friendship, you allowed Eddie to lead you into the hall, his fingers immediately plucking both of your name plates from where they were positioned on a large table. 

The two of you were fortunately seated with familiar faces. Steve and Chrissy, Robin and Vickie, Max and Lucas, Will and Mike, and El, Nancy and Jonathan were all placed around you. Nancy, who you’d spoken to briefly over the phone, had rushed over and hugged you as if she’d known you for years. 

Eddie remained by your side as usual. Grabbed your water when a staff member walked by. And you kept close to him, allowing yourself this night with this man. It wasn’t long before Dustin and Suzie shared their first dance, asking the couples around the room to join them in their sweet moment. 

Steve and Chrissy were off to dance together first, their daughter between them, and the sight alone had your chest aching, head looking over to Eddie. Eddie, who watched on with rounded eyes, his chest heaving with his breaths. You imagined he was thinking of Elena, of the moments he’d share with her in only a few months now. Reached over to grip his hand in yours, eyes burning as he laced your fingers with his. 

“Do your feet hurt or do you —”

“I don’t dance, but I’ll dance with you, Eddie.”

Together, you settled into a steady flow on the dance floor. Your arms wrapped around his neck, his looped around the smallest point of your waist, one ringed hand pressing into your skin there. Warming you through the fabric of your dress. And you swayed, a slow back and forth, your head tucked against his chest. Over his heart, where you could hear the steady thump within. In a crowded room, you felt at peace here — alone, wrapped up in a stolen moment, with Eddie. Found that you liked it. 

“I think…we slip out a little early…make ice cream sundaes and curl up on the couch,” Eddie said against the top of your head, tugging you closer when you giggled at the suggestion. “We can blame it on your feet.”

“Using me as an excuse, Munson?” you teased, his echoing laugh vibrating against your form. “I’d love that. These heels are killing me. What did you mean before? What did you start saying before we got interrupted?”

His fingers trailed a path along your spine. A slow, methodical path that had you sinking further into him. “Not the place for it right now. I’ll tell you later, I promise.” 

“Okay,” you said, knowing Eddie always stuck true to his word. “How does it feel seeing one of your kids married?”

“Well, Max and Lucas were first. Was weird, because they’re adults but I’ve known them since they were freshman in high school,” he said, nodding his head to the couple dancing not too far off from where you two were. “I think it’s just like — they’re all growing up and doing things. And for a long time I was just working, going through the motions, trying to make the music thing work.”

“And now the music thing is working,” you told him, knowing he would be leaving for tour when Elena was around six months old. 

“Yeah, the music thing did end up working out for me.” He spun you out in a circle, then brought you back in against his chest, smiling against your forehead at your breathy little giggle. “And now I’m going to be a dad, and I don’t want to fuck that up, so my full focus is on that. So it’s…hard to see Dustin getting married, because he’s still that kid that I met so many years ago, but we’re all moving on. It’s different now.”

“I understand that. It’s weird seeing everyone around you moving on,” you said, recalling memories of when Micah approached you a while back about moving in with Jeremiah. 

It had hurt at the time, especially after years of being roommates, but they were in a good place and were anticipating marriage further down the line. You should have assumed it was the natural progression of things. Happened to also be right around the time you’d moved in with Paul, realizing soon enough that would be a mistake. But hindsight was twenty-twenty, after all. 

“It’s funny how life turns out,” you said, lifting your head to look up at him. “I mean look at the two of us now.”

He huffed out a laugh, nodding. “But I think we’re doing a good job.”

“I think so too,” you told him, leaning your head back against his sternum. “We make a good team and I wouldn’t change any of it.”

Later, after hours of dancing between portions of dinner served and endless chatter with his best friends, Eddie stood beside Robin and Steve and watched as you, Vickie and the rest of the ladies present at the wedding gathered around to try their hand at catching Suzie’s bouquet. 

“I hope you know,” Robin laughed, bumping Eddie’s shoulder. “Your girl over there isn’t going down without a fight.”

“Her and Chrissy scare me,” Steve added, clapping Eddie on the shoulder. “Elbows will be thrown for that bouquet.”

And maybe it was all superstition. Maybe it didn’t really mean anything, but Eddie’s chest warmed as Suzie tossed the bouquet over her back. There, in a sea of bright color, you came out victorious, beautiful in a flash of emerald green. 

  ——

  The drive home was quiet. Eddie with his hand on your thigh, warming your chilled skin when you complained about it being a little cold. Your feet hurt, but in a way that you cherished, because you spent the night dancing with him. Spent it within the circle of his arms, bonded to him now in a way you couldn’t have imagined months ago. 

It was funny to think of your conversations that night. The shopping trip. The time shared together. You’d felt so close then, like two people who just happened to get one another, though it paled in comparison to how you felt now. Eddie, who’s head bobbed beside yours to the Metallica song playing through the radio, uncaring of how you perceived him — because he knew you already appreciated every part of him. Even his oddities and intricacies. Had long ago accepted Eddie Munson as Eddie Munson. 

And he did the same. Had seen every part of you — from the lowest of lows, to the highest of highs, and loved them all. The range of your emotions, the thoughts swirling in your mind, your hopes, desires, and interests. He never once judged, only tended to the parts of you that you once thought you had to hide from the light. 

Maybe that was how these things were intended to be? This burgeoning interest that had been bubbling for weeks now, lingering in the back of your mind, making you wonder if it would be so bad to take a leap. To wholly entrust Eddie with the part of you you’d kept locked away. 

The questioning died with your train of thought as the car pulled up in his driveway and he rushed around to open your door for you. With a flourish, he’d helped you down, your heels dangling in his fingertips as the two of you made your way inside, toeing off his own shoes at the door. 

Slipping on your slippers you left in the doorway, you meandered down the hall, making your way into the kitchen where you immediately climbed up onto the counter and grinned as Eddie pulled out chocolate syrup, some sprinkles, and the half eaten tub of ice cream you’d both been snacking on throughout the week.

“You shouldn’t be doing that,” Eddie warned, thumb rubbing over your kneecap, where your dress had ridden up just in the slightest. He looked so handsome, button up shirt a little messy now from all the dancing, his tie hanging limply around his neck, suit discarded. “I’d prefer if you use a chair if you’re going to do that.”

“Fine,” you grumbled as he handed you a spoon, pouring the chocolate syrup into the opened tub, along with the rainbow sprinkles. Your spoon clanged with his, ready to simply eat out of the carton until it was finished. “I am so glad we both took off of work tomorrow.”

Granted, it was because of the wedding, but your feet were screaming and the thought of waking up early to head to work after getting home so late had your head reeling. 

“Hey, remember when we went food shopping on Halloween?” you asked, brain freezing a bit from your sugary treat, making you wince. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” He winced this time. 

“Always.” His words he was always saying to you, his form of ‘as you wish’ when you thought about it, and they brought a smile to his face. 

“I was so nervous that night, I really just needed to stall. So…food shopping it was.” His cheeks burned bright, your sides shaking with laughter as he swiped a hand down his face in embarrassment. “You’d be surprised to know, but I’m a bit of a nerd. People have never really been lined up to spend time with the town proclaimed ‘Freak.’”

“You’re perfect,” you told him, reaching over to tug on the sleeve of his shirt, dragging him into the space between your thighs. “In case you couldn’t tell, I was very much attracted to you that night. And every night, really. Don’t sell yourself short, Munson. Although, I thought it was really sweet. But you’ve…well, you’ve been that way since that night. And then when we saw each other again at the supermarket...letting me live here, accepting this baby, taking care of me all these weeks…you’ve done so much. Too much, probably.”

“You really don’t get it do you?” 

There it was again. That statement. “What do you mean?” 

“I wish I could…I don’t know, kick the shit out of Paul and anyone else who made you think that you’re, I don’t know, unlovable or something. Because I like you, Buttercup — I really, really like you.” 

“Oh.” 

And there it was. The truth. The answer to the questions that had been whirling around in your head for a bit now, validated in his rushed speech, in the way his eyes bore into yours with a need and laced with want that had head swimming low in your belly. 

“I care about you.” He glanced down at your belly. “And you. All the things you say that I’m doing that are ‘too much?’ Those are quite literally the bare minimum. Fuck everyone who ever gave less than that.” 

“Eddie…”

“But you said you wanted friendship. For Elena. So I’ve respected that,” he said, the redness in his cheeks dissipating, breath slowing from its heated rise and fall. Your fingers pressed along his sternum, felt the warmth of his skin there, the heavy thump of his heart against your skin. “But you deserve good things. It just…you break my heart when you say that shit. Like when you get all surprised if I make dinner or hold the door open for you or something. Because if you could only see from where I’m standing what I think of you — what anyone would think of you, if they’d gotten to know you like I have these past six weeks —”

“Eddie.” He lifted his head, dark eyes staring up into yours, your ice cream starting to melt, his palms on your thighs. “I like you too. But I’m scared. I’m really scared.”

His palms gripped your thighs tighter, rubbed up and down along flesh, warming your skin. “Do you trust me?”

There was no doubt about that. This man, who had taken you shopping before heading back to the hotel to make you both comfortable. This man, the one who had accepted his child as his own within moments of finding out they existed. This man, who had opened his home and heart to you these months. 

“Always,” you told him, swallowing the thick knot forming in the back of your throat. 

“I want to respect your boundaries. We can pretend this conversation never happened, or…we can figure out what this is. Whatever we want it to be.” He leaned in closer, the curls along his forehead brushing your own forehead. “I want whatever you want. So you can tell me right now to stop, and I’ll stop.”

“And if I don’t want you to stop?” 

Your nose ran along his, breathing staccato against his bottom lip, his mouth parted as dark eyes trailed along your face. 

His palm came up to cup one side of your face, angling you for him, mouth millimeters from yours. Inside, your stomach was swirling. Twisting and twining around as your heart kicked up behind your ribcage, loud enough you were surprised Eddie couldn’t hear. Your fingers moved to the front of his shirt, tugging him closer to you, your chest brushing along his, his other hand curled around your thigh gripping it tighter.  

“Can I kiss you?” he asked. 

And in a rushed breath. “Please.”

It was funny, you thought, comparing this kiss to the last ones you shared. Hurried, back in the hotel room — on a planned mission. You had moments, him leaving for a few days, and you with no intention of ever seeing him again. So it had been a frantic thing. Sliding lips, and bodies, clashing teeth, rapid flurry of hands to try and remove clothing. 

This time — this time Eddie moved slowly. Pressed the barest of brushes against your lips, just over the seam of your mouth. Thumbed at your cheek when you sighed into him, parting your lips with the smallest of teasing flicks at your bottom lip. And you opened, a hum rounding your mouth as you felt him there, tasting sweet like the bubbly champagne he’d consumed during the toast, the cake he’d had with dessert. 

“Eddie…” 

You sighed into him, tugged closer to the edge of the countertop, his hand sliding up your thigh and looping around your back to tether you to him. His lips met yours again and your eyes fluttered shut, the slowest of exhales spilling out between the two of you as you melted for him. Pretty in emerald green, and making those sounds he remembered for so long because they’d plagued him in his dreams for months now. 

At your moan, he shifted closer. Dragged his lips from your mouth and trailed them gently along the curve of your jaw. The delicate slope of your neck. Memorized every little whimper and cry from your lips all over again as his fingers brushed along the curve beneath your collarbone, followed them with the path of his lips. 

“More, Eddie,” you whimpered, feeling your pulse jump where his tongue laved over it, his nose ghosting along the shell of your ear. “Please.” 

“What do you want?” The voice was no more than a whisper against your skin. Fingers reached out to clutch at his shirt, trying to tether yourself to reality. “Need you to tell me what you want, Buttercup. Need your words.” 

The ball was in your court. He’d told you so for months now in his own way. Waited for you when he could have walked away like so many others had or would. On one side, remain in the comfortability of friendship. In the dark as to what this could be. On the other hand, take a leap. A risk, a dare. An attempt at shedding light on something buried deep between the two of you, hidden from light, given the chance to flourish and grow into something more. 

The answer, you found, was simple. 

“You, Eddie. I want you.”

  ——

Micah glanced about the room once again, her makeshift halo wobbling on her head. Somewhere in the distance her boyfriend, Jeremiah, was invested in a deeply riveting conversation about football with some of his friends from college. All of which had dressed in their old football jerseys, dark lines drawn haphazardly under eyes, helmets covering heads. She lingered on him for a moment, and then glanced further over your shoulder, lips tugging upward into a devilish grin. Oddly fitting for the girl dressed as an angel.

“Actually, he’s right there.”

Gravity sent your heart tumbling into your gut. Silly, when you’d thought about it. Just because he’d worn a costume from one of your comfort movies didn’t mean he’d be anything special. Multiple pirates, doctors, and the occasional Michael Myers and Freddy Krueger had already attempted to rouse a conversation, only for it to fall flat. This could very well end up the same, and this night was lost to the turmoil of the inner workings of your mind, still reeling from the sting rumbling in your chest over the past few months.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

But it wasn't a joke when you swiveled around on your stool and faced him. Not at all. In a dimly lit bar, packed too tight with too many bodies bumping you to and fro even as you presently sat, you spotted him. Found the guy people had been mentioning all night as the other half of your ‘couple’s costume,’ saying you both looked amazing together, despite the fact none of them knew he was quite literally a stranger to you.

He sat at a lonesome table. Leaned on an elbow with a cheshire grin spread across the prettiest set of pink lips. His dark curly hair was tied behind his head, tucked into the mask that covered the upper half of his face. Even partially obscured like that, he was handsome, freezing you in place with those piercing brown eyes that were locked unwaveringly on your silhouette.

So he’d noticed you too. Inwardly, you were beaming. After two months of couch surfing and feeling sorry for yourself after a failed relationship wherein you’d walked on your partner of two years with someone who most definitely wasn’t you, you’d decided tonight was the night you’d get back out there. A night of fun, a night to meet someone new, to let loose a bit.

“What are you waiting for,” your friend Micah asked, shoving you forward with a hasty push. “He’s your Westley. If this isn’t some weird ass fate, I don’t know what is.”

Your Westley’s smile grew wider as you approached. Corners dragged upward to form that broad grin, bracketed by the sweetest set of dimples you’d ever seen on a man. Heart pounding a bit, you leaned up against the table, letting out a noncommittal huff. Puffed out a deep breath that caught his attention and had those chocolate brown eyes solely on you.

“Is this space taken?” you asked, and he dipped his head in greeting. “So you’re the guy everyone has been talking about all night.”

“Ah, yes,” he laughed, and you couldn’t help but to smile at the very sound. It’s a lovely, hearty sound. The kind of laugh that seemed dangerous, because you might like it too much. “And you’re the girlfriend I didn’t know I had.”

“You too, huh?”

“Yeah,” he echoed, taking a step closer. “Though it’s all very flattering. Prettiest Princess Buttercup here.” He dropped the lowest part into a whisper, “Definitely a compliment because, if I’m being honest, you’re way out of my league.”

Your cheeks burned with the compliment, feet fidgeting beneath you where you stood. He reached over and slid a chair beside his hip, patting the surface so you could hop on up and join him, a hand of his reaching out to steady you when you wobbled a bit. Another round of drinks were ordered and you learned quickly his name was Eddie and he’d been in town only for a couple weeks now. Had a few gigs in the city for the band he played in and would be off in another two days. Blew in and out like the storm that presently raged outside, wind howling, rain splashing against sidewalks, lightning painting the night sky in a shock of white before leaving it dark once more. He’d grown up in a small town, but realized he’d only ever had dreams that were too small for the walls he’d been raised in.

So he’d ended up on a short tour and would head off to California to start laying down tracks for the band’s first ever album. He sounded so hopeful and eager, so rejuvenated and excited about life, and it had you endeared to him. Drifting closer as the night went on and he asked you about your own life. Learned you grew up here in the city but craved something quieter, very much unlike him. You’d studied creative writing and English in college and wanted to write the stories people would one day know and love and shelve in their homes, but in the meantime you worked at a library. It wasn’t the most thrilling job, but it kept you abreast, and he regaled you with the endless fantasy titles he’d known and loved through the years.

It wasn’t long before the hours trickled on by and Micah approached the two of you with a sulking Jeremiah in tow. The latter of the two a little too inebriated based on the slight sway in his form and the hand Micah kept firmly planted around his forearm.

Her blue eyes flickered up at Eddie’s face, then drifted back to yours. “I’m taking this idiot home. He’s in time out —”

“Noooo,” he moaned, forehead pressing into the crook of his girlfriend’s neck.

“Are you coming back with me or…?” Micah’s eyes trailed back upward to Eddie once more, brows arched curiously.

Eddie looked at you and shrugged. “Up to you, Buttercup.”

“I’m gonna stay…actually.”

Micah nodded, giving you both one last glance over before tugging her boyfriend along behind her in the direction of the door. As she passed, she leaned up against the hollow of your ear and said loud enough over the music, “Be careful. Have fun. You’re beautiful and I love you and you deserve to enjoy yourself tonight, okay?”

Once they were gone your attention returned to the man swathed in black standing before you, shoulder bumping his. “It's too loud in here,” you shouted for emphasis, insides nearly rattling from the music booming from the speakers positioned about the room. “Is there somewhere we can go that’s a little more…”

“Private?” he asked, leaning down toward your ear. Chills skittered along your arms as his lips nearly brushed your skin there, gooseflesh pimpling in its wake. “I have a hotel room two blocks over. How do you feel about running?”

“Let’s go.” You grinned.

“As you wish.” He beamed, holding out a gloved hand for you to take.

Outside, the two of you huddled up beneath the small awning growing smaller by the second with the other patrons who had similar ideas of waiting for their rides and cabs or braving the fall storm head on and taking off into the soaked streets in their full Halloween costumes.

Laughter bubbled up from your lips as a particularly hard jolt against your back sent you tumbling into his form, a quick hand of his reaching out and curling low around your back. He tensed, eyes locked on yours, awaiting your response and you leaned further into him, relishing in the heat of his form.

Moments skittered by under the awning. His eyes roamed your form, dark and beautiful, ringed with those little crinkles that appeared in the corners whenever he smiled. He’d been smiling all night — at you, a thought that has little butterfly wings quivering low in your belly, and lower still at the suddenness of the desire ramping up in your bloodstream.

The glowing lights from the bar filter out onto the street. Flashed orange and red across Eddie’s features, painted him in vibrant color, highlighting the plushness of his lips, the curve of his jaw, the bump of his chin. Hesitant fingers reached up to brush at the curls tied behind his head, curled one of the ringlet strands around and around a fingertip, your forearm spreading over the space between his shoulders, around his neck until he pressed in closer to you. Those chocolate brown eyes flickered southward. Lingered on your lips briefly before traveling back up, asking that question without words. Your only answer was the upward tip of your mouth, leaning into the space, waiting to feel him warm against you.

Electricity danced in the moments shared between you. In the fingertips that pressed into his shoulder and gripped tight as his nose nudged at the space beside yours, your mouth tipping up closer to his. From here, you could smell the mint he’d tossed in his mouth on the way out, could feel the tremble of his breath against your sternum, feel the heat of it fanning over your lips.

But the kiss never came. Behind you, a group of friends pushed and shoved toward the front door, nearly sending you and Eddie into the sidewalk and out of the shelter provided by your awning. It dawned on you then, however begrudgingly, that maybe you should move, give others a space to wait for their vehicles, and start to head in the direction of his hotel room.

He seemed to agree, sliding his palm down your forearm to twine his fingers between yours. “Guess that’s our cue, huh?”

“Bet you’re glad you wore the equivalent of tights for pants today, huh?”

“Suppose it makes it easier for me to whisk you away in the night, now doesn’t it?” He barked out a laugh, and clutched your hand tighter, dragging you out onto the street and into the rain.

——

You were presently in the midst of what was officially the weirdest, most endearing hook up you’d ever had. Moments after rushing out into the busy city streets and getting absolutely drenched from head to toe, Eddie tugged you toward a grocery store, suggesting he had nothing back at the hotel. Had looked a little bashful about it, even when you reassured him it was fine and you’d manage without, though he wouldn’t hear any of it.

As a result, you trailed behind him, dress sopping wet and clinging to every inch of your body, helping gather some things you might need in between what you hoped would be an eventful afternoon. Water, snacks, and the like. He seemed so giddy with it, and you hated the way his dimple in his cheek had your heart and thighs clenching. You preferred only the latter of the two, and couldn’t afford yourself the emotional aspect that came along with the former.

Eventually you had both found yourselves in the frozen food aisle, his shoulder bumping yours, your fingers dancing in the spaces between the two of you, the anticipation of after burning brighter with every minute that passed.

“How do you think they know what…oh, I don’t know…Moose Tracks taste like?” Eddie asked, turning his head over his shoulder.

Fortunately for you, he’d removed his mask, revealing more of his features. Those curls that dangled along his brow line, the smattering of freckles along high cheekbones, the crinkled corners of his eyes whenever he smiled at you.

“What?” you asked, once more reminding yourself of just how differently this night was going than you’d originally anticipated.

“Like what makes a Moose Track a Moose Track?”

“I think it’s just a…mix of things that remind them of…you know what?” His eyes twinkled, and you shifted a little closer. It really sucked that he was cute — obnoxiously so. “I actually don’t know. But, I do think we have more than enough stuff here to feed an army. And I think the rain finally let up.”

“You want to head out?”

“I think we should,” you agreed, tugging him along behind you down the aisle, in search of the nearest check out line.

The walk to the hotel room reminded you both of what you’d intended for that evening. The curious glances you would catch him shooting your way, the way you’d do the same when he focused his attention ahead. It increased with every step closer to the looming building, the desire for closeness, to feel, to touch, to taste.

Burned brighter when he swiped his key card and you started shoving the things he’d brought inside of the mini fridge, before snatching two water bottles and placing them down on the bedside table. He whistled as you walked around the room, fingers snapping, one of his curls tucked against the fullness of his mouth.

“You know, we don’t have to do anything,” you reassured him, sensing the nervousness radiating from his form.

Those dark eyes settled on yours as you approached, palm coming up slowly to rest against his sternum, right where you could feel his heartbeat clanging against his ribs.

“It’s been a while,” he settled on, voice softer than it had been all evening, a tremorous quality catching your attention.

“We’ll go slow,” you promised, leaning up to finally, and happily, close the space between the two of you.

It felt like a long, shared exhale. The way he immediately knew which way to turn his head, how you liked for his calloused fingers to rest against your cheekbone, that you wanted to be as close as possible, pressed flush against his form. Your head swam as he turned you around and walked you backward until your backside thumped against the edge of the dresser positioned against the wall opposite the bed. Grunted as he reached a hand up the back of your neck and sought out that pesky zipper you wanted so badly pulled down.

As if he’d read your mind, the man in question gave the zipper a nice, hard tug and the fabric shifted and dropped around your shoulders, baring the similarly colored bra beneath. So maybe you’d gone shopping for your first foray back after your break up? Based on the darkened eyes honing in on the lacy fabric, you’d picked correctly.

“Such a shame,” he groaned against the curve of your collar bone, fingers pushing the dress down and onto the floor, “really liked that dress.”

“My turn,” you mused, fingers reaching forward to tug the tunic free from his obscenely tight pants.

He helped you with ease, arms lifting just enough to help pull it over his head, giggling as his endless mane of curls sprang free. Tattoos jumped to life before your eyes. The multiple on his arms and torso, some looking faded and older, likely done in someone’s house, and others freshly inked, leaving a tapestry of stories he’d likely tell you if you’d only had the time.

“Fuck it.” He reached down and cupped your jaw, bruising kiss after bruising kiss laid upon your mouth, your toes digging into the carpet below as pale fingers trailed down the center of your chest, and then lower still, pausing at the hem of your panties. “Can I touch you?”

You might burst into flames if he didn’t. “Please.”

“Never have to say please with me, Buttercup,” he said, fingers pushing past that lacy barrier until they met your flesh, knowing exactly what he’d find there. “Sweetheart…this all for me?”

“Don’t tease.”

A broken sigh spilled from your lips, fingers clutched tight around his forearm as those expert fingers dragged a slow circle around your clit before sliding back to your center, pushing in. Your head rolled back against the wall, heat blooming anew as he stepped closer into the circle of your thighs, watching the rapid rise and fall of your chest, enjoying the sounds made only for him, the slickness of your center practically pulling his fingers back in with every perfect thrust curled in that spot right where you needed him the most.

“Fuck, just like that, sweetheart,” he panted, mouth pressed tight to yours, grinning against your skin as you keened high and tight, creeping closer and closer to your edge.

And just when you’d thought you were about to explode into dozens of tiny stars like in the night sky above, Eddie stopped. You nearly cried out his name in your frustration, only to find him dropping down onto his knees in front of the dresser, capable hands tugging you closer to the edge, before he pushed the dainty fabric back to the side and swapped his fingers for his tongue.

One long stripe from center to clit was all you'd needed for the rubber band to snap. For the shaking to start, the chanting of his name like a mantra or a prayer to rouse the neighbors likely next door and alert everyone in the building to what magic Eddie had worked between your thighs.

“Not,” you gasped, leaning your head forward to rest against his heaving chest, “fair.”

“What’s not fair, sweetheart?”

“Too good at that.” Another rasped breath pooled from your lips, quieted by the sound of your lips pressing to his chest. Hazy eyes lifted to his face, a satisfied exhale slowing the rise and fall of your chest. “Get on the bed.”

“What do you —”

“On the bed,” you repeated, grinning wickedly as he backed up just enough so his kneecaps hit the mattress. “I want to look at you.”

And god, what a sight he was. Once you’d finally managed to tug his pants down, revealing the boxers beneath, you were rewarded with the fullness of Eddie Munson in the flesh. The narrow waist, the smattering of hair you kissed along his abdomen, the curve of his chest, the freckles along his chest and shoulders. Traced along the tattoos on his chest, the sides of his ribs, the one on his upper thigh, before dragging upward to slide over the increasingly — and massively impressive — hardened cock peeking out from the waistband of his boxers.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” he blew the words out on a shaky exhale as you squeezed a little tighter, gauging what he liked.

Your grin grew as you wiggled the remnants of his clothing off his hip and cupped the weight of him in your palm. Perfect. He was absolutely perfect, and you wanted so badly to show him just how much you thought so, sliding down further onto the edge of the bed, tongue dragging a long line up the underside, along that prominent vein that had him bucking upward off the bed.

“Can I, Eddie?”

He watched through hooded lashes as your eyes zeroed in on his leaking tip, thumb sliding over the pre-cum there, before gliding your palm in a slow downward motion around him. He nodded, breath nearly cutting off completely as you finally, and blessedly, welcomed him into your mouth, immediately knowing nothing would compare to this moment and this girl.

Ruined. You’d ruined him for others, your pretty smile around his cock driving him too swiftly to a precipice he didn’t want to see the end of. Not yet. “Wait, wait, wait. Fuck. Your mouth is perfect, sweetheart. But — mmm — I need you.”

He pulled you upward with a gentle hand on the back of your neck, rolling you over beneath him, tongue marking a path along your chest, the peaks of your nipples, the delicate skin of your abdomen. With each pass of his lips over your flesh, you sank deeper into the mattress, knee bent, foot digging into the space above his hip, drawing him close enough that you could feel his glistening, wet hardness brushing your abdomen.

“Someone’s impatient,” you teased, moaning as his finger circled your wet entrance. “Want you inside me.”

“Patience, Buttercup,” he practically purred, reaching over into the bedside table to find…nothing. “No. Oh shit. We didn’t get condoms. I’m such an idiot, I —”

“Shit,” you whimpered, jolting upright and nearly smashing your skull into his as he double checked the inside of the drawer. “What about your suitcase? Wallet?”

“I told you I don’t exactly do this often.”

Those dark brows knitted together on his forehead, fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose. You remembered then the fortunate and recent development of starting birth control after Micah suggested she could never live without it, and suddenly you wanted nothing more than to clasp your hands together and thank the heavens for the little pills you had back home in your friend’s bathroom.

“I’m on the pill,” you told him, swallowing the nervousness that grew with every beat of your heart. “And I’ve been tested recently. I’m clean.”

Maybe it was stupid. Maybe you should have known better.

“I’ve been tested since my last time too. I’m good,” he said, unmistakable desperation filling his voice.

“I don’t want to stop,” you whispered as he rolled onto his back.

“Me neither,” he agreed as you clambered over his lap and bracketed his hips with a thigh on either side.

Lured with the wonderful bliss that was Eddie Munson’s lips warm and plus against yours, you gripped him in hand and slowly lowered yourself down onto him, completely bare. There was something so raw about the moment. About the shuddered breath you both released, the way his hands cupped your hips as he pushed in deeper than you ever thought possible, his voice a broken mix of ‘that’s a good girl,’ ‘taking me so well,’ ‘look so good full of my cock,’ as you move over him.

You wanted to hate that you end up doing something between fucking and making love. For something so casual, it feels almost too intimate, the way you collided together like two pieces fitted together of a puzzle that had only been missing those parts.

And it wasn’t gentle, his fingers clutched in your flesh, feet planted on the bed as he eventually pounded up into you — but it was also somehow tender. A complicated mess, just like the shattered pieces of your heart as he groaned one last time and urged you to come with him, pulling you closer in his arms. His fingers circled your clit until you cried his name and clenched down around him, whimpering at the warmth of him spilling inside.

As you both drifted back to reality, he maneuvered around the bed and washed himself from between your thighs. Cooed when you winced at the cold contact, dropping a kiss against your forehead and telling you that it had started storming again. He could either call you a cab or you could stay the night, he’d suggested. You hadn’t anticipated spending the night with him, but after he dug around for the ice cream and M&Ms you got from the supermarket, you found you couldn’t say no to him.

Especially when he turned on the television and, funnily enough, The Princess Bride was on. Fate, or something more, seemed to laugh in your face. Gleeful as you sprawled out beneath the covers naked as the day you were born beside the man who you quickly learned enjoyed handfuls of popcorn mixed with his sweet chocolate treats.

It didn’t take long before he’d grown hard again, the lights dimmed and the food forgotten, your soft sighs and pleasured peals filling the room as he pushed in and watched as your eyes rolled back and back arched prettily for him.

And later, after you were both satiated and satisfied, you fell asleep to the sounds of Inigo Montoya’s famous speech, and the gentle inhales and exhales of the man sprawled out beneath you.

——

Daylight streamed in through the olive curtains positioned against the wall across from you. You hadn’t noticed them last night. Hadn’t noted the wooden walls, the pale ceiling above, nor the cream bedspread across your hips. Hadn’t noticed a lot of things, it seemed, other than the man who dozed behind you, tattooed arm slung low around your waist, keeping you in close.

Fallen asleep — you’d both fallen asleep watching The Princess Bride, much to your grunted amusement as you shifted up and into a sitting position. Eddie’s arm thumped onto the bed, leaving a wrinkled mess around his sinewy forearm. Sparing a glance over your shoulder, you took in the curve of his jaw. The way he looked more boyish than his nearly thirty years, lips parted in a sleepy breathing pattern, curls strewn all about his face. A smile graced your lips, fingers of yours rolling over the curve of his back, the heft of his shoulder, the breadth of his bicep.

Part of you craved curling back up beside him. Wanted to feel his mouth roving over yours, across your skin, between your thighs once more. Would probably dream about the way his face had scrunched up in pleasure before he came apart beneath you last night for weeks to come. But your eyes noticed the time ticking on the far wall, alerting you that work started in two hours. Some weekend reading activity for the children in your town you’d volunteered to work weekend hours for; hindsight, as they say, was twenty-twenty.

“She’s running away in the night,” he grumbled beside you, mouth rolling over to press into the pillow you had slept soundly on for a shocking eight hours, letting out a loud yawn. You couldn’t recall the last time you’d done so. That curly head of hair lifted, too-long strands falling into his gaze as he pinched one eye shut and glanced toward the giant bedroom window. “Or…morning, I guess?”

“I have work,” you said, reaching over to snatch your underwear from off the floor.

He watched with rapt attention as you whirled around and clasped your bra into place, cheeks burning despite the fact he’d seen every inch of you merely hours ago. The man propped himself up onto one elbow, your eyes catching the bat tattoos on his arm as his fingers reached over to curl around your hip, dragging you back down into bed.

Soon enough it was loud giggles, his fingers dancing along your sides, noisy kisses against your own. But it didn’t take long before you were reduced to breathy sighs. His fingers against the span of your hips, his chest pressing yours into the mattress. Lips over yours, against your cheek, the curve of your throat, the hollow between your breasts, the valley of your abdomen. He stopped with a nip along your hip bone, tongue laving over the sensitive skin there.

“Do you have to go?” he groaned against your stomach, placing a final kiss there before crawling back up your body and cradling the back of your head with one hand, his body weight perched on the other elbow, face hovering over your own. Pretty, he was so damn pretty and you wished you could hate him for it.

“I guess I have a few minutes,” you suggested coyly.

And it was all Eddie needed before he had you beneath him once more singing a tune he knew he’d never forget.

You dressed in silence after. He pulled on a fresh pair of jeans and a thin sweater while you glanced at the wrinkled heap of your dress from the night before. It hadn’t dawned on you the complications of getting your feet wet on Halloween — at least, not until now.

“I can’t walk back to Micah’s in that,” you groaned, pointing to the messy ball of fabric on the floor.

“Wait — I have an idea!”

Eddie rummaged around a box in the far corner of the room and tossed a tee shirt your way. Across the front was ‘Corroded Coffin’ in a messy font that reminded you of how your brain often felt after one too many cups of coffee in the morning.

“Your band?” you asked, turning the shirt around to show him.

“Yeah.” He nodded, white teeth flashing with his smile. “You know, you could see us some time.”

You quickly slipped the dress over your head and let the skirt ruffle messily along the floor, then moved to roll up the billowy sleeves to your shoulders.

“I can’t say that I’ll be in California any time soon,” you told him, pulling the tee over your head next and draping it over the belt. Like this, it looked more like an oddly fitted skirt and a top. You already decided that was much better than a Halloween costume, so it would do until you got home and could change.

He nodded rapidly, like he knew that, but hadn’t realized that you’d be coasts apart in only a couple of days.

“Well…” he trailed off, searching around the bedside table for a moment.

Once he procured a pencil and a piece of paper, he scribbled down a string of numbers you immediately knew were the hope for something more from a boy with kind eyes, a beautiful smile, and a heart of gold. Your chest ached. If only you’d met him two years ago, at a better time, in a place where you were more open to whatever this could not be.

“My number — for the place I’ll be staying at for the next couple months,” he explained, tucking it into the exposed circle of your palm, closing your fist within his fingers. “Maybe, I don’t know…we can talk?”

“I can do talking,” you conceded, already hating the fact you knew you wouldn’t be utilizing the number.

It was better this way; he was better off this way.

You both parted with a kiss in the doorway. With his arms looped low around your waist in a way that felt too familiar. A way that suffocated, heart twisting at the soft smile that graced his pretty mouth when he wished you a good shift and you wished him a safe flight.

The walk home was all inward grins that flowed on your face until it hurt. Waves to random strangers passing on the street, curious gazes from onlookers at the billowing sleeves you kept shoving up into your tee shirt as you passed. Memories of the night before flashed in your mind. Of his fingers tugging the zipper on the dress, tossing your underwear alongside his on the floor, mouth on yours, hands learning the contours of your body, the way he fitted perfectly inside you.

Another time, another place, another day maybe.

And that day was not today.

Micah was sprawled across the kitchen island when you entered. You shut the door as quietly as possible behind you, only to find she’d already been awake anyway. A cup of likely long gone cold coffee rested beside her along with a bottle of painkillers, her forehead pressed against the cool tile, nursing what you imagined had to be the headache from hell.

“You’re home late,” she grumbled, pushing her head up into her hands. Blonde hair spilled around her forearms, face covered behind her palms. “I’m assuming you had a good time. Which will at least make one of us. Jere passed out as soon as we got home and snored all night.”

“Sorry, sweetie,” you apologized, stepping further into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator immediately for some water. “I…we had fun.”

“I’m going to need you to spill, because he was cute even with the mask. Don’t think I didn’t notice,” she mused, suddenly healed of her headache, what with the way she looked at you like she’d received the best news of her life.

“I accomplished exactly what I wanted to. I got my toes wet.” You shrugged, lathering some butter onto a freshly toasted bagel.

“You like him,” she screeched, making her own self wince at the sheer volume of it.

You did. You do. But those feelings would fade. Your resolve had already hardened because he wanted romance and flowers and you needed no strings. He deserved that much — he deserved so much.

“We had sex, that’s all. And he’s leaving for California in a few days. I’m never going to see him again. So it doesn’t really matter, now does it?”

——

It hadn’t felt real. For days, you’d doubted every symptom. Every inkling that might have alluded to your present condition.

First, it had been the realization that your period was late. Not even the one or two days you would have pushed aside as a result of stress, the extra hours you’d taken up at work to try and save a little money here and there for a new apartment, or your severe lack of sleep. Then, the nauseousness started. In waves, most days, and definitely not only in the mornings like you’d been led to believe your whole life. Your chest ached next; a fullness that felt unlike your normal, monthly symptoms. Chalked it up to your oncoming period. The same period by that point was nearly two weeks delayed. There was also the fact that no matter how much you slept, you’d still felt like it wasn’t enough. Found yourself dozing off at work, yawning standing in the line for groceries, losing focus while out with friends.

There was also the fact statistics were on your side. You’d done all the right things and were on birth control at the time. So it couldn’t be…that, right? Statistically improbable, unlikely, unwarranted. At least, that was what you had chosen to reassure yourself with, quieting the shouting in your skull that suggested otherwise.

It wasn’t until you were sprawled out against that obnoxiously crinkly white paper in the doctor’s office a little over a month after Halloween that you’d even allowed the thought to enter your mind. It also happened to be the first moment you wondered if you were about to have the entirety of your life changed by a night with a boy in too tight pants you’d definitely not thought about even once since you’d spent the night with him. And you most definitely didn’t picture his dark pupils expanding in the night as you rolled over him, his palms gripping your hips, your hands on his chest, heads thrown back in shared ecstasy.

No.

Not at all.

Six weeks, they told you, with sympathetic looks and uncertain smiles as you exhaled shakily and stared up at the ceiling to stop the room from spinning out of control around you. Six weeks pregnant and undoubtedly so, based on the rapid thrum of the baby’s heartbeat on the screen before you. Strong, they’d said. Perfectly healthy for someone at this point in your pregnancy. They printed pictures up for you of the tiny gummy bear with arms and you held it in trembling hands as they began to speak. Words strung together to form sentences you’d barely understood. Options for next steps, vitamins to take, habits to stop, foods to eat and foods to avoid, how much caffeine to drink, how much weight you could lift and what activities you should start to limit—your head spun with it and continued the whole quiet walk home back to Micah’s place she shared with her boyfriend, Jeremiah.

She welcomed you with open arms as you entered their apartment with a pamphlet on pregnancy in one hand and your pocketbook in the other, whimpered cries of not knowing what to do soaking through her knitted sweater. She’d accepted it without hesitation, just as she always did and would. Held you close to her chest — and hissed at Jeremiah to leave when he’d eventually poked his head in — as you processed the emotions swirling like an endless kaleidoscope in your mind.

And later, when your tears had dried and she’d plopped a freshly opened box of ice cream in your lap and demanded you eat, she asked, “Please just…tell me it’s absolutely Westley’s and not Paul’s.”

“Six weeks,” you sighed, watching her shoulders relax. There was no mistaking who the baby’s father was, and at least that brought you some comfort, “Definitely Westley’s.”

Though you weren’t sure if that made it any better.

“I just want you to know it’s going to be okay,” Micah reassured you, reaching over to rub at your forearm. But did she really know that? How could she? Because to you, it felt like the earth had fallen out of orbit, spinning dizzily now with no signs of stopping any time soon. “I know we don’t have the most space right now, but the couch turns into a futon. It’s yours until you find something otherwise, you know that.”

Telling Eddie his world was (potentially) about to change happened two weeks later. You needed some time to process, is what you’d told yourself was the reason why you’d delayed. After hours of debating, you decided to keep it, and knew that there was always the chance Eddie didn’t want kids — always the chance he’d want to pretend it never happened and that he didn’t want to be a part of its life. Regardless of what he chose, you’d set your mind on being a mother, and you’d do it alone if you had to. But he at least deserved to know; deserved the option of choosing them, even if all you’d had was a night fueled by lust, because you weren’t interested in anything more than that.

Fear had clamped your mouth shut, preventing you from forming those two words for fourteen days. Just two simple words that would have opened the dam to let in the floodgates for the conversation that needed to happen.

Eddie, I’m pregnant.

Eddie, I’m pregnant.

I’m pregnant.

You’d rehearsed it all afternoon, pacing a certifiable hole in the ground from how rapidly you’d moved. Had even stood in front of your friends and had them listen to it until you felt confident enough to do it for real. Gripped Micah’s hand tight as you swiped the man’s number from your pocketbook and dialed. It rang once, then twice, and you worried he wouldn’t answer or you’d caught him at a bad time when the line exploded with sound. Voices. Dozens of voices spilled through the other line, and music along with it.

You winced. “Uhm, Eddie? Is this the right number?”

A long pause extended, drowned out by guitar strings and drum beats. “Uh — uh, yeah. This is him.”

He sounded gruffer than you remembered — voice tinged with a smokier quality that seemed almost unfamiliar to you now. Not that you’d spoken much that night. Maybe he’d caught something, maybe he was sick. Maybe it was merely the weeks that had grown on since you’d seen him, and he'd become another person in the crowd already — someone you knew if only for a night. Heart pounding, you gripped Micah’s hand tighter and wound the phone wire around a pointed fingertip.

“Hi…I’m sorry I’m only calling now. Busy, you know?” A lie, because you’d never intended to call. It had been one night; that was all it was ever meant to be. “It’s the…girl from the party. The Buttercup to your Westley costume on Halloween.”

He chuckled in reply, and you wondered if maybe he was shy. He’d been looser the night you met — louder. Boisterous and passionate. Carefree and fun. But you wondered briefly if that was the glass of whiskey he’d drunk before you slipped away to his hotel room hearing him now. But you remembered that next morning, too; his splendid affection, the kissing, the exuberance of his persona, the way he’d made you fall apart around him again.

It seemed…strange now. Cut off, cold even.

“I’m…pregnant. I just —” You swallowed the knot of fear forming in the back of your throat and continued, “I just thought you should know…because it’s yours.”

There was another prolonged pause.

Nervousness welled up in your throat the longer it continued. Joined that roiling nausea that had become your friend and foe these weeks. Swallowing thickly, your fingers pressed over the span of your abdomen, over the knitted sweater and skin protecting your tiny secret — still not visible to others yet, but wholly your own all the same. You’d already decided you would love them fiercely enough for the both of you if he didn’t want anything to do with it, just so they’d never feel like they were missing out.

Then, after what felt like decades, he asked, “Who is this again?”

You repeated your name, nervousness rattling your bones, fingers trembling in Micah’s. Micah mouthed out ‘Breathe,’ even though you were doing anything but.

The line went dead, and your heart along with it.

——