#play fighting

"Did you bring your backpack with you?"

You lifted a brow, skeptical, and drew the cigarette from your mouth between two fingers. Smoke unfurled in a thin ribbon as you exhaled. "No... why?"

Eddie Munson was already several paces ahead, moving with that swagger of someone who had never once concerned himself with the concept of walking normally. His stride was long, almost serpentine. The breeze bullied at his dark curls, tugging them loose from his bandana until they fell into his face, brushing his broad pink lips and jaw. He puffed them away with an exaggerated breath, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse aimed at the Indiana weather.

"Because," he said, without looking back, "you should... be studying."

That alone was enough to make you snort.

His face, when he finally glanced back over his shoulder, was restless as ever, multiple expressions flitting across it like nervous birds. Eddie was terrible at pretending not to care. He tried, sure, but the effort always showed in the seams.

"What?" You laughed sharply. "Where the hell did that come from?" You tapped the cigarette, watching ash crumble and scatter into the grass before returning it to your lips. Eddie jammed his hands into his back pockets and pivoted toward you.

This hangout was supposed to be an escape hatch. Severing from Hawkins High, from fluorescent lights and Scantron sheets and the low-grade panic that lived between your ribs. The plan had been simple: drive the van past the town's edge, park where the road gave up, blast music loud enough to rattle loose screws, eat snacks that barely qualified as food, and let the hours dissolve. Eddie was supposed to be complicit in that. Not--whatever this was.

"I saw your report card in the trash the other day."

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt, turning your head away from him. "Oh my god."

You knew exactly what he meant. That crumpled, shame-stained paper. A horticulture of F's and D's you'd folded and buried beneath coffee grounds and soda cans like it might decompose faster if you refused to acknowledge it. Out of sight, out of mind. Or at least, that was the hope.

Eddie lifted a hand, fingers flexing like he was trying to grab the right words out of thin air. "I just--" He sighed, dragging the hand down his face. "You were a solid B student, okay? Like, consistently. And then after you met--"

"It's not because of you, Eddie," you cut in, harsher than you meant to be, turning back to face him with a tight frown. "Can we not do this right now? I came out here with you to relax. Not to--" you gestured vaguely, frustration fizzing under your skin, "remember the test I've got coming up."

For a moment, he said nothing.

The field stretched out around you. Somewhere far off, a car passed, the sound fleeting.

Eddie turned away, scuffing the dirt with the toe of his Reebok. His shoulders lifted in a shrug that looked too casual to be convincing. "Just sayin'," he drawled, but there was a thickness to his voice, a sincerity he couldn't sand down no matter how hard he tried. "You bomb that test, you're stuck retaking the class."

Your jaw tightened. "Oh, and you know everything about that, don't you?" you shot back.

The sneer slipped out before you could contain it. You pulled the cigarette from your lips and flicked ash away with a sharp snap of your fingers, grinding it out against the ashtray sitting at the edge of the van's open back door. The smell of extinguished tobacco lingered. When you turned back to him, you leaned into the edge, arms crossed tight across your chest.

Eddie stood a few feet away now, hands braced on his hips, posture bristling. His grin faltered. "I do," he huffed. "And I know exactly how much it blows." He gestured vaguely between the two of you, like his entire academic career existed in the space there. "So do your shit. The class isn't even hard."

There it was. Eddie Munson, king of detentions and academic purgatory, delivering a sermon with all the authority of a vice principal on the last thread of patience.

He shot you a sideways look before ambling back toward the van, propping himself beside you. The metal groaned under his weight. He leaned in, shoulder brushing yours, close enough to be annoying. Reaching inside, he rummaged through the van with noisy determination before resurfacing with a chocolate bar. He tore it open with his teeth.

"I'm not saying become, like, a valedictorian or whatever," he added around a mouthful, waving around the bar. "Just--don't screw Future You over. She's already got enough problems dealing with me."

You stared straight into his annoyingly soft brown puppy-dog eyes for a beat, chest tight with things you didn't feel like unpacking.

"Okay, Dad," you sorely muttered.

You pushed off the van and wandered out into the field, boots flattening the grass as you went. The expanse stretched endlessly, vibrant and verdant, dandelions stippling the green in white and yellow.

"I can find other ways to raise my gra--"

You turned, half-expecting to find Eddie still sprawled where you'd left him; leaned back against the van, shoes crossed, face arranged into that familiar mask of apathy. Instead, there was nothing. Just trampled grass and the faint imprint of where his weight had been.

A single, puzzled beat passed. Then you looked down and were slammed straight into him.

The collision was abrupt, a sudden, solid mass striking your center of gravity. The impact forced the breath from your lungs, your stomach meeting his shoulder with a dull thud. Eddie let out a victorious grunt, as the momentum carried you both backward. Your boots skidded through the grass, heels digging furrows into the earth as your hands instinctively fisted into the back of his black shirt.

"What the hell?!" you gasped.

Eddie's laughter broke loose as you shoved at his shoulders, palms striking solid muscle. He staggered with you for a couple more seconds, pivoted, then twisted his body to throw you off.

You barely caught yourself before he straightened, standing tall with a look of profound self-satisfaction etched across his face. His grin split wide, dimples gouging into his cheeks as his tongue dragged lazily over his bottom lip, an infuriating, exaggerated gesture that felt designed to provoke. And oh, how it did.

"Oh, that's how it's gonna be?" you challenged, planting your feet more firmly into the ground.

"Someone's gotta knock some sense into you, sweetheart," he shot back.

You lunged before he could get another remark out that would inevitably piss you off.

Your shoulder met his stomach this time; he grunted, arms immediately locking around you. You struggled, one of you laughing, the other hissing in effort, feet tangling as you wrestled for leverage. Then as swift as a card trick, Eddie's hands caught the hem of your shirt and yanked it over your head.

"Fucker!" you yelped, blinded, arms flailing as you twisted away and clawed the shirt back down in a graceless scramble.

"Never said it was gonna be fair!"

You didn't even have time to fully right yourself before he barreled into you again. This time, you went down, grass cushioning the fall but not the shock of it. You both hit the ground in a tangle of limbs and laughter. Eddie recovered first.

He pushed up onto his knees between your legs, looming just enough to cast a wavering shadow across your face. His hair had fallen free now, slipping loose from the bandana and spilling forward in a disordered curtain. Strands clung to the sheen of sweat along his temples, brushed the slope of his cheekbones, caught against his mouth when he breathed.

He lifted his hands ominously, wiggling them mischievously. You caught them just in time, fingers locking around the cool metal of his rings as you shoved him backward and scrambled to your feet.

"No, no, no!" you squealed, barely upright before he seized your ankle and yanked. You landed face-first with a muffled sound, grass brushing your cheek, the scent of sun-warmed earth filling your lungs. Before you could push up, his weight settled over you, pinning you in place as he sat squarely on your butt. Your whole body tensed in immediate dread.

"Wait--wait, truce!" you pleaded into the grass, breathless.

Behind you, he made a thoughtful humming sound, "Mm. I dunno..." he said slowly. "You gonna study later?"

A long second passed.

"...Fuck no!" you shouted over your shoulder.

"Then fuck the truce!" he laughed wickedly before his fingers found your sides. You exploded into laughter, helpless and now breathless. Your legs kicked uselessly behind you. Every touch sent sharp, electric bursts through you, sensation overwhelming any hope of resistance.

"Stop it--!" you gasped, words dissolving into giggles.

"Say you'll study!" he demanded, voice wild with manic delight.

"Never!" you choked out.

Then somehow, miraculously, you twisted hard enough to throw him off balance. He tipped sideways with a startled oof, and you seized the fleeting opening, scrambling onto him before he could recover.

"Tables' turned, Munson!" you declared, straddling him in shaky victory.

For exactly three seconds.

His hands caught your wrists and jerked his hips upward in one swift motion, just enough to break your balance. Suddenly the world flipped. He pinned your wrists to the ground beside your head. The shift knocked the air from you, eyes widening as you struggled instinctively beneath him.

For a moment everything narrowed. The rustle of grass. Your shared breathing. The heat of him braced over you.

His hair had fallen forward again, dark curls spilled down around his face, some brushing your forehead, others grazing your cheek when the wind shifted. One stubborn strand caught at the corner of his mouth until he exhaled sharply to move it, breath ghosting warm across your skin. From this close you could see everything, the faint stubble, the brightness in his eyes, the way exertion had flushed his cheeks.

"Looks like the tables turned again," he said, grin crooked and boyish and unbearably pleased with himself. He shook his head violently, trying to clear the hair from his face. You groaned, letting your head fall back into the grass, settling for a glare that held more exhaustion than fury.

"Are you seriously doing this," you huffed, "because you want me to do something you yourself have never done?"

"Yep." No hesitation. None. "I, Eddie Munson--" he puffed his chest slightly, mock-heroic even while pinning you to the ground--"will not allow you to follow in my academic footsteps." He leaned a fraction closer, adding, "And I'm also not getting off you until you promise to study."

One unimpressed brow lifted. "What's the point? You'll just make me do it anyway."

He said your name in warning while it threaded with something gentler underneath the theatrics. It made the fight leak out of you in a long, resigned sigh.

"...Fine," you muttered. "I promise to study. Happy?"

"Ecstatic."

The grin that spread across his face was incandescent and pure satisfaction. He released your wrists at once and pushed himself up, hopping to his feet with renewed energy. Grass clung to his jeans; he brushed it off absently before extending a ringed hand down toward you in gallantry.

You stayed propped on your elbows for a moment, staring up at him with exasperation.

Maybe he had knocked a little sense into you.

You snatched his hand and yanked down with everything you had.

He came down with a startled yelp, collapsing back into the grass in a graceless heap. You were already scrambling to your feet, laughter echoing as you bolted away across the field.

"You little shit!" he shouted behind you, half indignant, half laughing.

The wind rushed past your ears, the sunlight flashed warm across your skin with the sound of rushed footsteps tailing along behind you. And somewhere in the middle of it, between the breathless laughter and the careless tackles, you forgot--just for a while--all about that stupid test.