#zo writes

It was far too late for him to be leaving RAD and all Asmodeus wants is to go back home and just soak in a glorious bath. He already knows that his new bath salts from Majolish had been delivered, having received an email earlier in the day. It was ironic, he muses, that the driving force behind his impatience to go home was the very thing that kept him from doing just that. It was his eagerness during class that landed him in detention. Scratch that — actually, it was all Mammon’s fault. After receiving the email, Asmodeus had excitedly texted you, slipping in a cheeky offer to join him in ‘trying out’ his new products if you were interested, when his scumbag of a brother snuck a look at Asmodeus’ texts from the corner of his eye and then proceeded to blow a gasket. 

Instantaneously the both of them had been sentenced to a long gruelling detention, which would have lasted only two hours had Asmodeus’ moronic waste-of-space brother not tried to argue with the professor and blame it all on him. And just for that, they earned another four hours. It felt like an eternity before they were finally free and Asmodeus practically bolted the very second he could, leaving Mammon to grumble by himself.

Asmodeus pouts to himself as he reads your texts on his D.D.D. Lately you have been overwhelmed with a lot of work and had spent the past couple of weeks staying behind after classes to work in the library, coming home late at night. This was also the reason you had to ‘regretfully decline’ his gracious offer. He frowns as he recalls how tired you have been looking for these past few days. You had dark eye bags and frankly seemed like you were half asleep most of the time. He has been worried for a while, and every time he tried to get you back early enough to have a proper night’s rest, you insisted that you were fine. It made him feel useless. Just what kind of a demon would he be if he couldn't care for his precious master? 

Regardless of your insistence, he was adamant. You needed to pace yourself before you burnt yourself out. Glancing at the time on his D.D.D., he decides on paying you a visit to see if you were up to take up his offer now that you were probably done with your work for the day. As much as he wanted to monopolise your time, he would rather pamper you and make sure you got the rest you needed. 

Fuelled by the prospect of sharing a soothing luxurious bath, possibly in your company, Asmodeus rushes to leave. So great is his impatience that he decides to use a shortcut to get to the house, a convenient little pathway that cuts through the courtyard. In his haste, he almost misses the two figures perched upon one of the courtyard benches. Almost.

He notices movement from the corner of his eye and, when he turns, blanches at the sight before him. There you were, the one person that was plaguing his thoughts, draped across the source of some of his deep-rooted insecurities. Simeon was sitting upon the bench, ethereal as ever as the moonlight illuminated his radiant presence. He was gazing softly at your sleeping face, cradling your head in his lap delicately as his free hand was stroking your hair. He had yet to notice the presence of the demon, far too enamoured with the human sleeping on his lap. Asmodeus clears his throat, a fake smile plastered across his face, “Now, what do we have here?”

“Ah, hello Asmodeus,” Simeon smiles at the demon, his hand only pausing momentarily whilst gently stroking your head. Asmodeus’ eyes narrow at the tender gesture, his pristine smile faltering as the angel continues speaking, oblivious to the demon’s inner turmoil, “We were chatting before planning to leave, but ___ was so tired, she ended up falling asleep on my lap. We’ve been here for a couple of hours.” 

Asmodeus’ false smile falls at the angel’s words and he looks at you with narrowed brows, eyes brimming with concern. “She’s overworked herself,” he mutters, a distraught frown marring his beautiful face.

“Well, then,” Simeon looks back down at the serene expression on your face, “It looks like I’ll be here a while longer.” Asmodeus grimaces at the fondness in the angel’s voice.  

“I can take her,” the words slip from the demon’s mouth through gritted teeth quicker than he can register them. Asmodeus quickly composes himself and smiles thinly at the beautiful angel, jaw clenching at the sight of Simeon gazing at you affectionately.

“It’s quite alright”, Simeon brushes off the demon’s offer easily. The hand stroking your hair instead moves to cup the curve of your cheek and Asmodeus feels his blood run cold, eyes flashing with rage. 

“I already informed Luke that I would not be back for dinner. Besides,” Simeon raises his gaze from your sleeping face to meet the stony expression of the bristling demon, an elusive smile dancing on his lips, “I wouldn’t want to disturb your ‘plans’.”  

There was no doubt that the angel was referring to the episode that occurred in class earlier in the day and the ever-so-slight taunt underlying his words, whether they stemmed from good humour or not, only served to infuriate the peeved demon further. At this point, Asmodeus can feel his cheery facade crack, his manicured hands fisting in fury. 

“I said I could take her,” Asmodeus hisses, failing to smother the unbridled jealousy that festers in his stomach. He certainly cannot stop the possessiveness from bleeding into his voice when he seethes, “She is my master, after all.”  

Simeon has the gall to look amused and the demon’s hands twitch at his sides from the overwhelming desire to just rip you away from the celestial being. Openly glowering at the angel, Asmodeus is just about to drop his act and give the angel a piece of his mind before Simeon cuts him off with an infuriatingly coy smile, “You may do as you please.”

Asmodeus does not hesitate, taking two quick strides towards the bench before kneeling down to scoop you up into his arms. A low groan sounds from your throat as you were jostled from your comfortable position on the angel’s lap and Asmodeus’ scowl melts immediately. He gently shushes you as he cradles your tired form to his chest, delicately tucking your head under his chin. You let out an incoherent mumble, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck. Asmodeus pauses, looking down at you fondly, unable to fight the endeared smile from appearing on his face as he holds you close in his arms.

An airy chuckle rips him from his reverie and Asmodeus casts a dubious glance at the entertained angel. Under the demon’s wary gaze, Simeon only shakes his head to himself, almost as though he knew something the demon didn’t. He rises from the bench to take his leave, “I’ll trust her with you,” he gives the demon a nod, “Please ask her to text me once you both arrive back home.”

“Believe me, I’ll make sure,” Asmodeus growls under his breath as he clutches you to his chest possessively. He offers the retreating form of the celestial being one more glare, before spinning on his heel. He looks down at you exhausted form anxiously. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead before whisking you away from the courtyard. 

“HEY! WHAT’RE YOU DOING WITH ___?!” Mammon’s obnoxious voice echoes throughout the mansion and Asmodeus swears under his breath, cursing himself for thinking the Avatar of Greed wouldn’t pounce on the both of you the very  second he walked through the main entrance with you in his arms. 

“Shut up, you absolute moron!” Asmodeus hisses angrily, turning you away from the loud demon in an attempt to shield you from the ruckus, “She’s asleep!” At his words, Mammon freezes, eyes wide with alarm. You let out a soft groan and both the demons stiffen at the sound. Three seconds seems to be the extent of the greedy demon’s patience threshold, for when there is no indication of you rousing from your sleep, Mammon is back to his interrogation. 

“But, why are you—” Mammon tries to protest indignantly, but Asmodeus cuts him off with a loud shush. Before the Avatar of Greed can get another word in, Asmodeus stalks off with you, leaving the older demon to belt out a litany of abuses after the both of you which are thankfully then drowned out by the angered voice of Lucifer’s booming, “MAMMON !!”

Finally, within the comfort of his room, Asmodeus releases a relieved sigh. Hopefully, Lucifer kept that fool occupied long enough that he wouldn’t seek either of you out.

“Asmo?” you mumble his name dazedly, recognising the demon’s cologne. Asmodeus shudders when he feels your breath against his clavicle. He brings a hand up to pat your head gently, cooing softly at you, “It’s okay, petal, I got you.”

He takes you to his bed, setting you down gently as you gather your surroundings. You look at him questioningly, “How did I get here? Where’s Simeon?” The demon does his best to not bristle at the mention of the angel, but fails to keep the hostility out of his voice, “He’s back at the Purgatory Hall,” he grumbles, “I brought you back.”

Asmodeus is too absorbed in his sulking to notice how your face drops at his words. You look up at the Avatar of Lust guiltily, “I’m so sorry, Asmodeus,” your voice heavy with shame, “I caused Simeon and you both so much trouble.” You pull away from his hold to get to your feet, “I know you had plans and I completely ruined them, haven’t I?”

Asmodeus’ head whips to face you so quick, you would expect his neck to snap. Eyes wide with alarm, he immediately wraps his arms around you and pulls you to his chest, babbling in a panic-stricken voice, “No, no, petal, no, it’s nothing like that! I’m sorry!”

You look up at him, completely perplexed, “Why are you sorry? I should be sorry. I’ve ruined your entire evening—” A long slender finger presses up against your lips, effectively cutting you off, “No more apologising” Asmodeus chides you, a frustrated frown set on his lips. 

You look at him sullenly and his entire demeanour softens. Settling you on his lap, he inwardly curses at himself for being so taken with you, “Please stay, petal, please.” His warm hands find your cold ones and he entwines your fingers together, “You haven’t ruined anything. I had detention and on my way back, I saw you with him.” His thumb brushes over yours tenderly, “I got...I got jealous and insisted on taking you back.”

He perks up as though he reminded himself of something before he pins you with another frustrated look, pouting severely, “You need to take better care of yourself! You’re aren’t getting enough sleep! It’s bad for your skin. And health!” He berates you furiously, “And it’s unsafe! You can’t just overwork yourself to the point you fall asleep like that in public! What if you were alone?”, Asmodeus’ voice hardens, wrought with worry “You were vulnerable. Who knows what could have happened to you?”

“Asmo,” you murmur softly at the distressed demon, “I’m so sorry for worrying you.” You squeeze his hands before releasing one to cup one of his cheeks in an attempt to comfort him, “I got a little homesick a couple of weeks ago and fell behind on some course work.” Your voice softens, “I promise to be more careful from now on, okay?” Asmodeus’ frown smooths out into a sulky pout. 

You offer him a small smile, thumb brushing over his cheek to soothe his frown, “And I promise you, there’s no need to be jealous. Not when you’re my favourite person.” Finally, Asmodeus lets out a small laugh, leaning into your hand, “Ah, you’re so sly, petal”, he hums quietly, melting into your tender caress, “You’ll really be the end of me.” 

“Now that can’t happen, can it? Just what would I do without you?” you reply in an equally hushed voice. He smiles into the palm of your hand and your feel the butterflies fluttering in the pit of your stomach, “How can I make it up to you?” 

“Let me draw you a bath,” he beams sweetly at you, “I’ve been eager to put those bath salts to use.” You hand stops stroking his cheek when you tilt your head at him inquisitively, “But you bought them for yourself.” 

He whines at your lack of attention, raising his free hand up to cover yours, “And I want you to use them.” You resume your ministrations, letting out a soft laugh when he nuzzles into your hand, “Asmo, that’s so sweet, but honestly I couldn’t do that. I know how expensive they are and how long you’ve been waiting to use them.”

He looks at you with a pout, “And I will be using them. On you.” His expression immediately morphs into a coy one, teasing you in a playful voice, “Or would you like me to join in as well?” You offer him a deadpan expression, and he lets out a hearty laugh before moving your hand from his cheek to bring it to his lips, “I want to do this for you,” he breathes against your fingers.

“Why?” you ask him, voice almost a whisper. “Because,” he replies easily, brushing a chaste kiss to the back of your hand, “You matter to me.” His hand moves lower to clasp your wrist, “So, please, let me do something for you.” He presses his lips against your inner wrist, a soft kiss directly upon your pulse, “Please let me take care of you.”

“Asmodeus,” you breathe out, eyes watering as you feel your heart race wildly in your chest, “You matter to me, too.” Your voice shakes, heavy with emotion and the three words you’ve been wanting to say for the past week press against your tongue. Instead of liberating them, you swallow them down along with the other words you wished you could say and press a kiss to his jaw. 

Asmodeus beams at you as he cups your chin and presses a kiss against your cheek, “Ah, my little petal is such a naughty girl.” Your face flushes, becoming even more and more flustered as he kisses your other cheek, followed by a kiss to your forehead. Completely flustered, you nearly forget what you needed to do. 

“Oh, wait!” you pull away, ignoring the needy demon’s cry of protest, “I need to call Simeon. I need to explain everything and apologise to him,” you worried your lower lip with your teeth. The Avatar of Lust only chuckles, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you back on his lap, “Don’t worry about that, petal. I took care of it.”

Before you can question him, the demon stands to his feet, hoisting you up in his arms. You let out a yelp and he presses a cheeky kiss against the corner of your mouth, giggling when you gasp, “Let’s get your bath started, hm?”

Back in Purgatory Hall, Simeon lets out a loud chuckle as he checks the new notification on his D.D.D.,  causing Luke to look at him curiously. “What’s so funny?” the younger angel inquires, looking at the elder demon peculiarly. 

“Ah, it’s nothing important,” Simeon shakes his head to himself, offering the boy a private smile, “Say, don’t you think those demon brothers are funny?” Luke scoffs, proceeding to go off on a tangent about how nasty “those demon brothers” were. Simeon muffles another chuckle as he glances back at the screen of his device. 

There on Simeon’s D.D.D. is a picture of you and Asmodeus. You were splayed across his lap, face entirely flushed as Asmodeus pressed a kiss to your cheek, lips drawn into a coy grin with one of his eyes closed to deliver a perfectly cheeky wink at the camera. Right beneath the picture was a message that read ‘Here you go! She’s back home, where she belongs ❤︎❤︎❤︎’’

“Simeon, don’t ignore me!” Luke protests and the elder angel laughs, pocketing his D.D.D. as he offers the younger angel an apology. Smiling along to whatever Luke was saying, Simeon cannot help but hope that the two of you would come clean about your emotions. Although from what he witnessed today, he smiles secretly to himself, he thinks you both were well on your way. 

He filled the days however he could. His music wasn’t fulfilling any more. It was bland and repetitive and he hadn’t been inspired for a while now. He was writing, sure. He was writing more than anything. He’d filled two notebooks in the last week alone. Then he flipped through them and ripped out every single page. 

“It’s all drivel!” he complained to Gareth one day. “I’ve lost my touch! My edge! It’s gone forever!”

He’d met Gareth in high school. They were the best of friends, really. They’d formed a band together and they stayed together until Gareth went off to college to study music production. He emerged a new man and Eddie –

Eddie had still been playing for the same five drunks in the same dingy bars.

So Gareth had taken him under his wing. Gareth had a good knowledge of music production now and he became Eddie’s manager. He was signed to a label within six months.

It had all moved rather fast from there. Eddie had lost track of the time. It melted away, sped past him like the stars in the window of the Millenium Falcon as it shifted into hyperspeed. He’d been on every continent, played most major cities, sold out arenas that held more people than lived in his hometown.

And he was so fucking bored.

That’s how he found himself with – Jace? Kyle? Marc? 

He didn’t know. He wasn’t going to see him again, so it didn’t matter. For now he would call him sweetheart and hope for the best. He couldn’t complain much from his position, with Eddie’s cock sliding further down his throat.

“Just like that, baby,” Eddie crooned. “You take it so well.”

There was a muffled cry beneath him that sent vibrations up his shaft to pool in his gut. 

Eddie fucked into him harder, trusting his partner for the night to tap out if he needed. Eddie was a rockstar, he could take, take, take what he wanted. He gripped onto the blonde locks in front of him as his knees started to wobble. He wished he could give the other guy some credit, but Eddie was doing all of the fucking work. 

Eddie drew himself out of his partner’s mouth. He was even bored doing this, and god, wasn’t that just the most depressing thing?

“Lie down on the bed for me, sweetheart,” Eddie tried with all his might to inject some interest in his voice. “Let me fuck you.”

The blonde nodded at him dumbly, looking fucked out and lovestruck despite Eddie’s apathy. 

Eddie watched him for a moment, before retrieving a condom and some lube from his nightstand and finishing what he’d started.

*

If Eddie sat and thought about it, he realised that he spent too much of his time thinking about love. It was always something that had been so out of reach. 

When he was young – really young – he spent a lot of his time vying for the love of his parents. He acted out, mostly. Got scrapes and bumps and bruises on purpose, because he’d seen how his friends’ mothers fawned over them when they were hurt. His parents were too lost to fawn over him. Eddie being hurt was nothing more than a nuisance. He stopped showing them the scrapes.

When he first moved in with Wayne, the uncle who had always seemed so distant before, whom he barely knew, he turned away from the love. Wayne was determined to cook him a decent meal every night, so Eddie complained that he wanted take-out. Wayne bought him clothes to replace the ones that were becoming threadbare, so Eddie screamed when he realised his favourite t-shirt was gone. He pushed Wayne’s love away until Wayne came home with a gift. He pressed the fabric into Eddie’s hands wordlessly and Eddie scoffed in the way he was wont to in those days. 

And then he saw it.

Wayne had located an exact copy of the old Judas Priest shirt that he’d thrown out because it had a hole in the armpit. It looked brand new. It knocked the wind out of Eddie, he was totally in awe of Wayne from that moment. It was the most unambiguous sign of familial love he’d ever been shown. He stopped pushing his uncle away after that. He accepted the love.

The thing about love was that, as soon as Eddie had a taste, he wanted more.

He watched as his friends got girlfriend after girlfriend in middle and high school. He wanted what they had; he wanted soft hugs and gentle kisses on blushing cheeks. He craved affection more than he’d ever craved anything. 

He didn’t get it.

One day in high school, some of the guys on the football team had gotten hold of the information that Carter Anderson was gay. He’d been spotted holding hands with his secret boyfriend under the bleachers, totally innocent shit, but he was immediately ostracised. He was either sneered at or avoided completely. Eddie didn’t know which was worse. 

He’d wanted to comfort Carter, but he couldn’t have anyone know that he was the same. He was already a freak, Eddie didn’t think he could handle being the gay freak. 

He’d come out eventually, once high school was over and he was no longer bound by a hierarchy that was controlled by meaningless things like who had the most money, or who was able to catch a ball accurately. He’d even had a couple of relationships that went nowhere. 

He still craved something real, something permanent. 

It seemed impossible to find, especially as a famous musician. People wanted fame and people wanted money. It didn’t matter much to them how they got it.

The thought crossed his mind again when he was in a meeting about his upcoming tour. He’d chewed on a pencil until the yellow paint had chipped off and he’d most likely swallowed some of it, while the tour manager droned on about their schedule and the record label representative chimed in with the demand that Eddie keep working on his new album while he’s on the road. They kept talking until it was all static and Eddie’s mind drifted to love. Or his lack of love, to be more accurate.

It made him laugh to think of how he’d changed since the start of his career. A meeting like this used to hold his attention. It was new and exciting; he was getting to share his love with the world. But he hadn’t felt the love in his music for the past two albums now. He was surprised that his fans hadn’t noticed, yet he seemed to be as popular as ever. More popular, even. He was selling more than ever.

And he hated it. None of it felt authentic. None of it felt like love.

Eddie let out a sharp gasp of pain as Gareth elbowed him in the ribs, bringing him back into the room.

“Oh, uh –” Eddie scanned the room quickly in an attempt to figure out what had been asked of him. “Sorry, run that by me again?”

The executive in front of him rolled his eyes, obviously growing tired of the meeting and Eddie’s habit of daydreaming, “The tour schedule was confirmed by your manager, Mr Emerson, we just need a signature.”

“Right,” Eddie nodded, dragging the paper over to him. “Sure.”

Eddie wished he’d listened to at least some of the plan for his tour, but he couldn’t help it. The whole thing made him feel listless. Miserable. Apathetic. He’d ask Gareth for the details later, but honestly?

Eddie Munson wanted a fucking break.

He wanted to find the love in his music again, and he couldn’t do that while playing the same songs that had made him lose it. 

Eddie signed his life away and left the meeting without another word.

*

It was a dumb idea. It was reckless and stupid. Eddie knew that, but it wasn’t like he had any better ideas. Eddie sat at his desk and stared at the laptop screen in front of him. It was probably the only time he’d actually used the piece of furniture for more than just storage space for a thick layer of dust. He’d had to wipe it down thoroughly before he even thought about putting his laptop on it. The desk had sat in the corner of his music room unused; both Wayne and Gareth had insisted that he should have a desk to work at, but Eddie had written most of his songs either on the couch on the opposite side of the room or sprawled across the floor. A desk wasn’t exactly in tune with his creative vision. 

He wasn’t writing now, though, he was researching, and that was a task suited to the rigid conformity of a desk. Eddie opened up a browser window with a swift click and began to type.

How to stop hating mys–

No. He erased the words before he’d even finished writing them. They sounded too pathetic, but so did every other combination of words that ran through his head.

But how could he make them sound less pathetic? There was no admirable way to admit that you felt as though you were drowning in everything that had once been your dream.

How to feel less lost

That search was a dud. Eddie was willing to accept a lot of advice, but “accept that it’s okay to feel lost” was probably the most useless advice he’d been given in a while. He was past acceptance. He wanted change. Needed it with every fibre of his being.

He strayed away from the searches that would give him identical results touting mindfulness and going out for a walk as the cure to all mental health issues. He’d done it all. He’d even been to therapy. He needed something different, something fresh. He racked his brain until he settled on his next search –

Find writing inspiration easy

Eddie waded through pages of awful advice, telling him to look at writing prompts or to exercise (how was a jog supposed to help him come up with a hit song, exactly?).

Then came a beacon of hope. His answer.

A writers’ retreat.

The idea sparked a wave of hope that hadn’t washed over Eddie in a long time. He didn’t want to go on a specifically planned writers’ retreat, to be surrounded by twelve other writers who were constantly asking him what he was writing and what brought him to their little commune – he shuddered at the thought. Definitely not.

But to be able to escape? To book a flight to Bumfuck, Nowhere and exist among people who had no idea who he was? To hole up where no one would be able to track him and demand photos and autographs? He’d been asked to sign someone’s tits when he was out for dinner, for god’s sake, and he just wanted some quiet. The idea of quiet was thrilling.

A new Google search: Rural towns in the Midwest.

The Midwest was probably the most boring place that Eddie could think of. He lived in L.A., and the West coast was somewhere he wanted to get away from. If he went too far East, he’d end up with New York, and he wanted to avoid that just as much. In fact, he was probably supposed to go there on the tour he’d blindly agreed to. 

Eddie didn’t want busy. He wanted boring. So: the Midwest.

He clicked through a number of websites, waiting for a name to stick. A small town that sounded like it had some charm to it, something that would leave Eddie feeling in love again. 

He found what he was looking for in Fairland, Indiana. The whimsical name was already enough to send soft flutters through his chest; he felt the inspiration already, felt the love that radiated from the small town. He trawled through the pictures that he could find. There weren’t many – even the Trip Advisor page for the town only had two entries – but Fairland seemed quaint.

Eddie was sold.

He was opening up a new tab to browse AirBnB almost immediately. In the back of his mind, he was aware of the reaction his plan would solicit from Gareth and everyone else who worked for him. He knew that this was impulsive, that there were a litany of fans who had paid for tickets to the tour already. The idea of disappointing his fans caused an ache that settled in next to his heart, but he couldn’t keep showing them this watered-down version of Eddie Munson. They deserved his love. He owed it to them.

The only issue with choosing such a small town was that the AirBnB options were few and far between. There was only the one option, actually. A home that Eddie could only really describe as cosy, as close to a cottage as he’d ever seen. Eddie thought that cottages only existed in fairytales, or, like, England. But it was there, right in front of him in a high-definition image. An honest-to-god cottage with ivy growing up the grey stone walls. Eddie hadn’t seen a brick house outside of Chicago; it added to the charm of the building. It felt like a hidden gem, a treasure that he needed to snatch up immediately.

He scrolled further. The room for offer had a double bed, the house itself boasted a large wood-burning fireplace and a private garden. The pictures looked ethereal. He quickly found the contact button, barely taking notice of the reviews (there weren’t too many anyway – Fairland apparently wasn’t particularly popular). His eye did catch one note under the owner’s profile, though: The owner lives in the main house. 

It almost stopped Eddie from messaging, but surely he could put up with nodding politely at the man when he saw him in the shared spaces of the house? It was still rural and beautiful and everything he needed.

Eddie swallowed any hesitation and typed out his message.

Eddie: How soon would this room be available?

He immediately and deeply regretted forgoing a greeting, realising how rude and demanding he must sound.

Eddie: Sorry! Hi! Just very excited about your lovely home!

Eddie banged his head on the desk. Twice, for good measure. He was about to delete his entire profile when the reply came through.

Steve: Hi there Eddie! It’s available now and there aren’t any upcoming bookings. So I can accommodate you whenever.

He didn’t think before he replied, didn’t give himself time to.

Eddie: Would you think me insane if I suggested tomorrow?

Steve: I can get the room set up by then, no problemo!

Eddie: And if I don’t exactly have an end date to my stay?

Steve: As long as I’m getting paid, stay for as long as you want.

If he hadn’t been convinced before, he definitely was now.

Eddie didn’t have to think too much about money these days; he was impulsive and spent as much as he wanted to. He’d bought Wayne a house – an actual house with more than one storey and everything – without a second thought. He gave him an unlimited budget to furnish it and went to Ikea with him in disguise (it was a cap and sunglasses, very original and not the least bit effective). 

Still, this was the fastest Eddie had typed in his card information in a long time. He paid for a month up front to sweeten the deal for his host and immediately switched tabs to look for flights.

*

Eddie was buckling himself into a plane seat before he let anyone in on his plan. He’d been putting it off, knowing exactly how much he was going to screw them all over. Gareth didn’t deserve it, the fans didn’t deserve it, but Eddie struggled to feel an inch of sympathy for any of the other executives. 

Besides, this was going to be for the best. For both Eddie and his fans. 

With a steadying breath, he opened up his messages to Gareth.

Munson: I’m not doing the tour.

Munson: Don’t look for me. I’ll be back, but not any time soon.

And then he turned off his phone before the barrage of texts started to flood in.

He’d been clever about it; he’d covered his tracks. Eddie’s laptop stayed in his penthouse apartment, but the history had been completely wiped. He had logged into his banking app and changed his password, just in case Gareth knew the old one. He’d even phoned the bank to make sure they wouldn’t give out any of his information. He told them, and the police, in no uncertain terms, that he was not missing and none of his information was to be shared. He wanted to cover all of his bases, because the men in suits were vultures and they wouldn’t stop until they found Eddie. So he had to make sure that he wouldn’t be found.

He was pretty sure that he’d done a good job.

***

The opening scenes from 'The Unloved Ones' by tinkerbclla on ao3.