Embry Calls #1 fan

The idea comes to him as most of his best ones do, half-formed and a little reckless, while he’s lying on his back with his head in your lap, lazily tracing the frayed hem of your shorts like it’s something sacred. The window’s cracked open, letting in the thick July air and the distant hum of town already starting to buzz for the Fourth, and Eddie tilts his head just enough to look up at you, eyes bright in that way that usually means trouble in the best sense.

“You busy tonight, sweetheart?” he asks, already smiling like he knows the answer, thumb catching one of the chipped rings on your finger and spinning it slowly. “Or are you gonna let me take you on a highly questionable date to the most American thing this town’s got to offer?”

You raise a brow, dragging your fingers through his hair just to feel the way he melts a little under it, and he exhales like he’s been waiting for that exact touch all day.

“Carnival,” he adds, softer now, like he’s letting you in on something instead of pitching it. “Ferris wheel, shitty prizes, probably illegal amounts of fried food. Real romantic, I know. I’m pulling out all the stops.”

You pretend to think about it, tilting your head like you’re weighing the options, even though you’re already smiling, already leaning down just enough that your hair brushes his cheek.

“Only if you win me something,” you say, voice light but challenging, and his grin goes sharp, delighted, like you just handed him a mission.

“Oh,” Eddie murmurs, pushing himself up onto his elbows so he’s closer, so he can look at you like you’re the only thing that matters in the room, “You bet your ass I’ll win you everything.”

The carnival lights up Hawkins like it’s trying to be bigger than it is, strings of red, white, and blue tangled with blinking bulbs that make everything feel softer, almost unreal, and Eddie keeps close to you from the second you step in, fingers hooked through yours like he’s not planning on letting go for anything.

There’s music somewhere, something loud and a little offbeat, kids running past with sticky hands and too much sugar in their systems, and Eddie leans in toward you, shoulder bumping yours as he scans the booths like he’s already strategizing.

“Alright,” he says, low enough that it feels like it’s just for you, “we assess the competition first. No point in me wasting my obvious natural talent on a rigged game.”

You laugh, squeezing his hand, and he glances at you as he did back in the trailer, like the sound alone is worth everything, like he’s memorizing it.

“You’re so full of it,” you say, but there’s no bite to it, just warmth, just that easy rhythm you fall into with him without trying.

“Yeah,” he agrees immediately, nudging your shoulder with his. “But you like it.” You don’t even bother denying it.

He drags you from booth to booth, narrating like he’s some kind of expert, pointing out which ones are scams and which ones he could “absolutely dominate if he felt like it,” until you finally stop in front of a ring toss that looks simple enough to tempt him.

“This one,” you say, crossing your arms like you’re issuing a challenge. “Win me something, Munson.”

He rolls his neck like he’s about to enter a real competition, shaking out his hands, and you swear he gets more serious than he ever does about anything else, tongue pressed to the corner of his mouth as he lines up the first toss.

It misses. Badly. You snort, covering your mouth, and he shoots you a look over his shoulder that’s half offended, half amused.

“Okay, first of all,” he says, grabbing another ring, “that was a warm-up. We don’t count warm-ups.”

“Of course we don’t,” you echo, leaning against the side of the booth, watching him with that same soft look he gives you.

The next one misses. Then another. And when he finally knocks one clean onto the bottle, he turns to you like he just conquered something huge, eyes wide and triumphant.

“Pick your prize,” he says, breathless and a little smug, like he didn’t just miss the first three.

You scan the options, but your gaze drifts back to him instead, the way he’s standing there waiting, hair a mess, grin softening the edges of everything sharp about him. “That one,” you say finally, pointing to a ridiculously oversized stuffed bear.

He laughs under his breath. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Alright,” he nods, like he’s accepted a challenge from the universe itself. “Big guy, it is.”

It takes more tries than he’d ever admit, more muttered curses and exaggerated frustration, but when he finally wins it, he hands it to you like it’s something far more meaningful than cheap carnival fluff, like it matters because you wanted it. 

“There you go,” he says, softer now. “Told you I’d get you everything.”

You take it, but your fingers catch his wrist before he can pull away, tugging him just a little closer.

“Thank you,” you say, quieter, meeting his eyes. “I mean it.”

Something in his expression shifts, just for a second, something softer than all the teasing and bravado, and he leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your temple like he can’t quite help it.

“Careful,” he murmurs. “You keep saying stuff like that, I’m gonna start thinking you like me or something.” You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling, and he looks entirely too pleased about it.

The Ferris wheel is his idea, of course, because he claims it’s “mandatory for the full romantic experience,” and he doesn’t let go of your hand even when you’re climbing into the seat, even when the ride jerks into motion and the ground starts to fall away.

By the time you reach the top, the whole town is spread out beneath you, lights flickering, fireworks just starting to bloom in the distance, and Eddie shifts closer, arm slung behind you like it belongs there.

“Not bad, right?” he says, quieter now, like the height demands it, like the moment does.

You lean into him without thinking, head resting against his shoulder, the stuffed bear squished awkwardly between you both, and he lets out a soft laugh, adjusting so you’re more comfortable, like it’s instinct.

“Not bad at all,” you murmur.

The first firework goes off overhead, bright and loud, and for a second, it feels like everything pauses, like the world narrows down to just this small space and the way his fingers trace absent patterns against your arm.

“You know,” Eddie says after a moment, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it, “I had this whole speech planned about how I’m a great date, and you’re lucky to be here with me.”

You tilt your head, looking up at him, amused. “Had?”

“Yeah,” he huffs, glancing down at you with a crooked smile. “Kind of ruined it by actually liking you this much.”

It’s said like a joke, like everything he says, but there’s something real underneath it, something you feel settle in your chest.

“Good,” you say simply, reaching up to hook your fingers into the collar of his shirt, tugging him just close enough that your foreheads almost touch. “I’d hate to think I was wasting my time.”

He exhales, soft and shaky in a way that doesn’t match his usual confidence, and then he’s smiling again, but it’s different now, less teasing, more certain. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Definitely not a waste.”

The next firework lights up the sky, colors reflecting in his eyes, and before he can say anything else, you close the distance, kissing him like it’s the easiest thing in the world, like it’s always been leading here.

He kisses you back immediately, like he’s been waiting for it, hand coming up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek in a way that’s almost careful, almost reverent.

When you pull back, just enough to breathe, he rests his forehead against yours, smiling in that soft, lopsided way that feels like it belongs only to you.

“Best questionable date I’ve ever planned,” he says.

You laugh, still close, still wrapped up in him and the noise and the light and everything in between. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Me too.”

The idea finds you both without much effort, much like everything else does when you’re together.

You take a wandering turn past the louder parts of the carnival where the noise fades into something softer, something quieter, until the glow of the rides gives way to rows and rows of sunflowers stretching taller than either of you.

There’s a hand-painted sign at the entrance, slightly crooked, warning in uneven red letters: SUNFLOWER MAZE. STAY ON PATH. DO NOT PICK THE FLOWERS.

Eddie slows just enough to read it, then glances at you, brows lifting like he’s already filing it under suggestions, not rules.

“Oh, we’re absolutely going in there,” he says, squeezing your hand once before tugging you toward the entrance, voice low and conspiratorial. “I feel like I was specifically told not to do something, and now I have to.”

You laugh, letting him pull you along, brushing past the first row where the sunflowers tower overhead, their faces turned toward the last fading light of the evening.

It smells faintly sweet, warm, like summer itself decided to settle here, and the further you walk, the more the outside world disappears until it’s just the narrow dirt path, the rustle of leaves, and him.

“You’re such a problem,” you murmur, nudging his shoulder as he leads you deeper in, turning corners like he has any idea where he’s going.

“Correction,” Eddie replies easily, glancing back at you with a grin that’s all mischief and something softer underneath, “I’m your problem.”

You hum like you’re considering it, even though you’re already stepping closer to him, your arm brushing his. “Debatable.”

“Wow,” he breathes, mock wounded, pressing a hand to his chest. “After I just won you a bear and everything.”

“You missed, like, five times.”

“Details,” he dismisses, waving a hand before catching yours again, lacing your fingers together like it’s second nature. “You still got the bear, didn’t you?”

You don’t answer, just squeeze his hand, and he notices, of course, he does, because he always does. His thumb brushes over your knuckles in that absent, grounding way.

The maze twists more than either of you expects, paths splitting and curving back into each other, and at some point, Eddie just gives up pretending he’s navigating and starts wandering instead, pulling you down whatever direction feels right in the moment.

“Alright,” he says after a moment, slowing until you nearly bump into his back, “important question.”

You tilt your head. “Should I be concerned?”

“Always,” he shoots back, glancing over his shoulder with a crooked smile. “But that’s part of my charm.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling, and he softens just a little at the sight of it.

“If we get lost in here,” he continues, turning to face you fully now, stepping backward as he walks so he can keep looking at you, “do you think they send a search party, or do we just become part of the attraction?”

You cross your arms, pretending to consider it. “I think they would leave you in here as a warning to others.”

He gasps, offended, and it’s so exaggerated you can’t help but laugh, the sound catching in the warm air between you. “That’s cold,” he says, but he’s smiling, eyes bright. “After everything I’ve done for you tonight.”

“Oh, please,” you tease, stepping closer, your hand sliding up to catch the front of his shirt just lightly. “What exactly have you done, Eddie Munson?”

He stills for a second, just a second, like the question actually caught him off guard, and then his expression shifts, softening into something quieter, something that feels less like a joke.

“Spent time with you,” he says simply, like it’s obvious, like it’s enough.

And it is. It really, really is.

You don’t say it out loud, but your grip tightens just a little on his shirt, and he notices that too. His hand comes up to cover yours for a second before he exhales, like he needs to shake off how soft that moment just got. 

“Alright,” he mutters, glancing around suddenly, like he’s remembered something important. “Hold on.”

Before you can ask, he steps off the path just slightly, reaching toward one of the sunflowers, fingers brushing the stem.

“Eddie,” you warn, even though there’s already a smile pulling at your lips. “The sign—”

“The sign,” he echoes under his breath, already carefully bending the stem, “is very clearly a suggestion.”

“It literally said do not pick the flowers.”

“And yet,” he says, glancing back at you as the stem gives way with a soft snap, “here I am.”

You shake your head, laughing quietly, watching as he turns back to you, sunflower in hand, suddenly a little less teasing, a little more deliberate.

“For you,” he says, softer now, holding it out like it’s something worth more than it probably is, like it matters because it’s from him.

You take it carefully, fingers brushing his, and for a second, you just look at it, at the bright yellow petals, the way it stands out against the darkening sky, and then back at him.

“You’re gonna get us kicked out,” you say, but there’s no real warning in it, just fondness.

“Worth it,” he replies immediately, not even hesitating, like the answer was already decided the second he saw you.

You shake your head again, but this time you step closer, closing the space between you until the sunflower is pressed lightly between your bodies, your free hand finding its way to the side of his neck.

“You’re ridiculous,” you murmur.

“Yeah,” he says softly, leaning in just enough that his forehead brushes yours, voice dropping like it’s just for you. “But you like me anyway.”

You smile, slow and sure, matching his energy in a way that feels effortless, like you were built to meet him right here.

“Yeah,” you whisper back. “I do.”

He exhales, something in him settling, and then he’s grinning again, but softer this time, less sharp around the edges, his hand coming up to tuck a stray piece of your hair behind your ear before letting his fingers linger just a second longer than necessary.

“C’mon,” he says after a moment, nudging your nose lightly with his. “Let’s get lost a little longer.”

And you let him, hand in hand, sunflower and cheap bear tucked safely in your grip, the maze closing in around you like it’s keeping the rest of the world out, like for once, there’s nowhere else you’re supposed to be.

By the time you finally spot the end of the maze, it feels less like finding an exit and more like breaking out of something, the rows of sunflowers thinning just enough to let the outside world peek through again.

Eddie sees it a second before you do, his grip on your hand tightening as he speeds up, dragging you along behind him like he’s racing toward freedom.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, half-laughing already, “tell me you see that. Tell me that’s the end and not some sick joke.”

“I see it,” you laugh, stumbling a little as he pulls you faster, your shoulder bumping into his back. “Oh my god, slow down—” He doesn't. Because why would he?

The second you both step out into the open, out from under the canopy of sunflowers and into the wide stretch of grass beyond, Eddie abruptly lets go of your hand just to throw his arms up like he’s been delivered from battle.

“We made it!” he shouts to absolutely no one, voice echoing out into the open field. “Against all odds! Against the oppressive forces of agricultural navigation!” 

And then, without warning, he drops straight to his knees in the grass. You stop short, staring at him, the sunflower still clutched loosely in your hand as you try (and fail) to hold back your laughter.

“Oh my god,” you manage between breaths. “You’re so dramatic.”

He looks up at you like he’s been personally wounded by the accusation, one hand pressed over his heart.

“I just led us through a treacherous labyrinth,” he says, breathless and grinning, hair falling into his face. “The least you could do is acknowledge my heroic efforts.”

You take a few steps closer, shaking your head, the smile on your face softening into something a little warmer as you look down at him like this, sprawled in the grass, entirely unbothered by anything but you.

“Heroic, huh?” you tease, nudging his shoulder lightly with your foot. “Pretty sure we got lost at least three times.”

“Strategic detours,” he corrects immediately, reaching out to catch your ankle, fingers curling just enough to tug you forward a step. “Big difference.”

You let him pull you closer, because you always do, and he tips his head back to look up at you, eyes bright, something playful flickering behind them.

And then his expression shifts, just slightly, like he’s about to do something you should probably be concerned about. “Trust me?” he asks suddenly, already starting to stand, still holding onto you.

You narrow your eyes, suspicious but smiling. “That depends.”

“Wrong answer,” he says, and before you can react, he’s tugging you sideways, pulling you with him as he deliberately lets himself fall.

You barely get out a surprised laugh before you’re both hitting the grass, the world tilting as you land tangled together, his arm instinctively wrapping around you to keep you close.

“Eddie—” you start, breathless, but he’s already laughing, that loud, unrestrained sound that always pulls one out of you too.

“Too late now,” he grins, shifting just enough to hook an arm around your waist. “Commit to the bit, sweetheart.”

And then you realize what he’s doing just as he pushes off slightly with his heel, sending you both rolling.

The hill isn’t steep enough to be dangerous, but it’s enough that gravity takes over quickly, the two of you tumbling together in a mess of limbs and laughter, the sky spinning overhead in flashes of dark blue and distant neon lights.

You clutch at him instinctively, fingers fisting in his shirt as he keeps you tucked close, his laughter pressed against your shoulder, your own breaking free in between gasps for air.

“Eddie, oh my god—” you try, but it dissolves into another laugh as you roll again, grass brushing against your skin, the world blurring into motion and noise and him.

It feels endless for a second, like you’ve both completely surrendered to it, to the chaos of it, to each other, until finally the hill evens out and you slow, momentum fading until you come to a stop in a quieter, more hidden stretch of land at the bottom.

For a moment, neither of you moves. You’re half on top of him, half tangled in his arms, both of you breathing hard, laughter still lingering in the air between you like something alive.

“Well,” he pants after a second, staring up at the sky before turning his head to look at you, a crooked smile spreading across his face. “That was incredibly stupid.”

You huff out a laugh, pushing yourself up just enough to look down at him, brushing a piece of grass from his hair without even thinking about it.

“Your ideas usually are,” you reply, but your voice is softer now, fond in a way that doesn’t even try to hide itself.

“Yeah,” he admits easily, one hand coming up to rest at your side, thumb absentmindedly brushing against you. “But you keep going along with them, so…”

You shake your head, but you don’t move away, your hand lingering in his hair for just a second longer before trailing down to his cheek.

“Because they’re fun,” you say quietly. “Because you’re fun.”

Something in his expression shifts again, that same softness from earlier creeping back in, less guarded this time, more open.

“Careful,” he murmurs, echoing himself from before, but there’s no teasing edge to it now. “You keep saying stuff like that…”

You lean down before he can finish, closing the space between you, kissing him slow and easy like there’s nowhere else you need to be, like the rest of the carnival and the noise and the world above the hill doesn’t exist anymore.

He responds immediately, one hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck, holding you there just a little longer, just a little closer. When you pull back, the world feels quieter somehow, tucked away in this little hidden space at the bottom of the hill, the distant carnival lights barely reaching you now.

Eddie exhales softly, his forehead resting against yours, his smile small but certain. “Yeah,” he whispers, like he’s answering something unspoken. “This is better.”

And for once, you don’t have anything to tease him about. You just stay there, tangled together in the grass, the sunflower somehow still intact beside you, like proof that even in the middle of all his chaos, he still manages to give you something soft to hold onto.

The grass is cool beneath you now, the kind of soft, slightly damp earth that smells like summer nights and crushed green things. The carnival noise has faded to a distant hum: occasional pops of fireworks, tinny music, laughter that feels a million miles away.

Here, at the bottom of the little hill, it’s just the two of you, the faint glow of distant lights catching in Eddie’s dark eyes as he looks up at you.

You’re still half-draped over him, one of your legs slotted between his, the oversized stuffed bear and the stolen sunflower lying forgotten a foot away in the grass. His hands rest lightly at your waist, warm through the thin fabric of your shirt, thumbs tracing slow, absent circles like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

You lean down again and kiss him.

It starts the same way it did before: slow, easy, smiling against each other’s mouths. But the second his tongue brushes your bottom lip, something shifts. The air thickens.

His fingers flex against your sides, pulling you closer, and you let him, melting into the kiss until it turns deeper, hungrier. A soft sound escapes you when he tilts his head, licking into your mouth like he’s been starving for it all night.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he breathes when you finally break for air, voice rougher than usual, a little wrecked. His eyes are darker now, pupils blown wide. “You keep kissing me like that, and I’m gonna forget we’re technically in public.”

You laugh quietly, but it comes out shaky. Your heart is hammering. You want him, God, you want him, but the thought of doing this right here, out in the open like this, makes your stomach flip with nervous heat.

“We shouldn’t…” You murmur, even as you’re already dipping back down to kiss him again, softer this time, almost apologetic. Your fingers curl into the front of his Hellfire shirt, holding on like an anchor.

Eddie hums against your lips, one hand sliding up your back, gentle but sure. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want,” he says quietly, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes.

There’s no pressure in his voice, just that raw honesty he only ever lets you see. “We can just stay right here and make out like teenagers until the fireworks are over. I’m good with that. More than good.”

But you’re already shaking your head, cheeks burning. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” you whisper. Your voice is small, reluctant, the words catching a little. “I do. I really do. It’s just… out here? What if someone—”

“No one’s coming down here,” he promises, voice low and soothing. He brushes his thumb along your jaw, tender, almost reverent. “We’re hidden. Just us. And if you change your mind at any point, we stop. No questions. Okay?”

You nod, biting your lip, the reluctance still fluttering in your chest even as heat pools low in your belly.

Eddie watches you for a second longer, like he’s giving you one last chance to pull away, then he leans up and kisses you again; slower this time, deeper, like he’s pouring every soft thing he feels for you into it.

His hands stay gentle. One stays at the small of your back, the other sliding up under the hem of your shirt to rest warm against your bare skin, not pushing, just touching. You shiver at the contact, and he feels it, smiling softly into the kiss.

You shift, straddling his hips properly now, and the moment you settle against him, you can feel how hard he already is beneath you. A quiet groan rumbles in his chest.

“Shit—sorry,” he mutters, a little embarrassed, hips twitching once before he forces himself still. “You just… you feel really good.”

You kiss him to shut him up, rolling your hips experimentally. The friction pulls a broken sound from both of you.

Eddie’s hands tighten on your waist, but he doesn’t guide you; he lets you set the pace, lets you rock against him in slow, tentative movements while you keep kissing him like you’re afraid to stop.

Eventually, his fingers find the button of your shorts. He pauses, looking up at you with dark, earnest eyes. “Can I?” he asks, voice husky but careful.

You hesitate for half a second, that nervous reluctance still there, but you nod, whispering, “Yeah… just, go slow?”

“Always,” he promises.

He works your shorts and underwear down your legs with patient hands, helping you kick them off along with your shoes. The night air feels cool against your bare skin, but his palms are warm as they smooth up your thighs, spreading you gently over him.

He doesn’t rush. He watches your face the whole time, checking in without words, thumb stroking soothing circles against your hip.

When you reach for his belt, he helps you, lifting his hips so you can push his jeans and boxers down just enough.

His cock springs free, hot and heavy against his stomach, and you swallow hard at the sight. Eddie catches your hand, bringing it to his lips to press a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“We don’t have to go all the way,” he reminds you again, even though his voice is strained with want. “Whatever you want, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

But you do want it. You want him. So you nod, leaning down to kiss him as you reach between you, wrapping your fingers around him. He hisses softly at the contact, his hips jerking up into your touch before he catches himself.

You stroke him a few times, slow and exploratory, until he’s breathing hard against your mouth. Then you line him up, the blunt head of his cock nudging against your entrance. You pause there, breath shaky, that last flicker of reluctance making you tremble.

Eddie cups your face with both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks. “Hey,” he murmurs, voice soft and a little raw. “It’s me. You’re safe. We can stop right now if it’s too much.”

The gentleness in his tone cracks something open in your chest. You shake your head, whispering, “I want you. Just stay with me.”

“Always,” he breathes.

You sink down onto him slowly, inch by inch, both of you gasping at the stretch. He’s thick, and the angle makes it feel even more intense.

Eddie’s hands stay on your hips, steadying you, but he doesn’t push; he lets you take him at your own pace, jaw clenched tight like he’s holding himself back with everything he has.

When you’re fully seated, you both stay still for a long moment, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other in. You can feel his heart hammering against your chest.

“Fuck,” he whispers, voice cracking just a little. “You feel… Jesus, sweetheart. So perfect.”

There’s a quiet anguish in his tone, like he can’t quite believe this is real, like he’s afraid it might slip away.

You kiss him to chase it away, slow and deep, and start to move—careful rolls of your hips at first, then a little deeper, a little faster as the discomfort fades into pure, liquid heat. 

Eddie groans low in his throat, one hand sliding up your back under your shirt, the other staying at your hip to help guide you when you need it. He meets your movements with gentle thrusts from below, never too hard, never rushing.

Every stroke feels deliberate, like he’s worshiping you, like he’s trying to show you with his body what he’s still too scared to say out loud.

You bury your face in his neck, panting against his skin as pleasure builds in steady waves. He smells like cigarette smoke, cheap cologne, and grass. He feels like home. “Eddie…” you whimper, the sound muffled against his throat.

“I know,” he murmurs, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, your neck, anywhere he can reach. “I’ve got you. Just let go, baby. I’m right here.”

His free hand slips between you, fingers finding your clit with surprising gentleness, circling in time with your movements. The added stimulation makes your thighs shake.

You moan softly, hips stuttering, and he keeps the same steady rhythm, coaxing you higher without ever overwhelming you.

When you come, it’s quiet and overwhelming—your whole body tightening around him as pleasure crashes through you in slow, rolling waves.

You cry out against his neck, fingers digging into his shoulders, and Eddie holds you through it, whispering soft, broken praises against your ear.

“So good… fuck, you’re so good for me… that’s it, sweetheart, just like that…”

Only when you start to come down does he let himself go. A few more shallow thrusts and he’s following you over the edge with a choked groan, burying himself deep as he spills inside you, arms wrapped tight around your back like he never wants to let go.

Afterward, neither of you moves for a long time. You stay collapsed on his chest, his softening cock still inside you, both of you breathing hard in the quiet night air. His hand strokes slowly, soothing lines up and down your spine.

“You okay?” he asks eventually, voice hoarse and tender.

You nod against his neck, pressing a lazy kiss there. “Yeah. More than okay.”

He lets out a shaky laugh, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Good. Because… shit. I think I’m in trouble.”

You lift your head just enough to look at him, brow furrowed. “Trouble?”

Eddie smiles, small and a little vulnerable, eyes shining in the dark. “Yeah. Big trouble. I’m pretty sure I just fell stupidly in love with you, and I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to go back to pretending I’m cool after that.” 

Your heart squeezes. You lean down and kiss him softly, lingering. “Good,” you whisper against his lips. “Because I think I fell for you somewhere between the ring toss and the sunflower heist.”

He laughs again, softer this time, and pulls you back down against his chest, arms wrapping around you like a promise. The distant fireworks continue overhead, but down here in the grass, the world feels small and safe and entirely yours.

And Eddie, for once, doesn’t have anything clever left to say. He just holds you, heart still racing under your cheek, and lets the quiet settle around you both like it belongs there. 

The quiet doesn’t last forever. It never really does with Eddie, anyway. 

It starts subtly, just the distant pop of fireworks growing louder again, the faint swell of music drifting back over the hill like the world is calling you both out of your little hidden pocket.

You’re still tucked against him, warm and loose-limbed, his fingers lazily tracing up and down your spine like he’s got nowhere else to be, when your stomach gives a very real, very inconvenient reminder that you have not, in fact, eaten anything besides maybe a questionable amount of soda.

You shift slightly, pressing your face into his shoulder with a small huff.

Eddie notices immediately. “You good?” he murmurs, thumb stilling for a second against your back.

“Yeah,” you mumble, but it comes out a little too quick, a little too unconvincing.

He tilts his head, trying to catch your expression, eyes narrowing just slightly. “That didn’t sound like a ‘yeah,’ that sounded like a ‘something’s about to go horribly wrong’ kind of yeah.”

You laugh softly, finally pushing yourself up enough to look at him. “I’m just hungry.”

There’s a pause, and then his entire face lights up like you just handed him the best idea he’s had all night.

“Oh, perfect,” he says, already sitting up, dragging a hand through his hair as his grin turns borderline dangerous. “I know exactly what we’re doing.”

You squint at him, immediately suspicious. “Why do I feel like I’m not going to like this?”

“Because,” he says, pushing himself to his feet before offering you a hand, “you don’t trust my genius.”

“Correct,” you reply flatly, but you take his hand anyway, letting him pull you up, your fingers instinctively lacing together again like they never stopped.

He brushes a stray piece of grass from your shoulder, quick and absentminded, then leans in just enough to press a soft kiss to your temple before tugging you back toward the hill. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “I’m about to make your night even better.”

“That is deeply concerning.”

The carnival feels louder now when you return, like you’ve stepped back into something alive and buzzing, lights flashing, people crowding the paths, the smell of fried food thick in the air. And then you see where he’s leading you.

“Oh no,” you say immediately, stopping short as he tries to pull you toward the stand. “Absolutely not.”

Eddie turns back to you, already laughing, eyes bright. “Oh, absolutely yes.”

“Eddie.”

“Funnel cakes,” he says, like that explains everything, gesturing dramatically toward the stand. “Freshly fried, covered in enough powdered sugar to ruin your life. It’s practically a Fourth of July requirement.”

You cross your arms, trying to hold your ground even as you smile. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“Oh?” he asks, stepping closer, lowering his voice like he’s about to let you in on something important. “Then what are you worried about, sweetheart?”

You lean in slightly, narrowing your eyes. “You look way too excited about this.”

He grins. And that’s when you know. “Oh my god,” you breathe, already shaking your head. “No. No, absolutely not. I know that look.”

“What look?” he asks innocently, already reaching for his wallet.

“The one where you’re about to suggest something stupid.”

“Rude,” he mutters, handing over the cash before grabbing the plate they give him, piled high with fried dough and powdered sugar.

He turns back to you, holding it between you like an offering. “Alright,” he says, completely serious now. “Hear me out.”

“No.”

“You didn’t even—”

“No.”

“Okay, but—”

“No, Eddie.”

He huffs a laugh, stepping closer until he’s right in your space, the smell of sugar and grease mixing with his cologne, his grin softening just slightly. “One bite each,” he tries again. “Back and forth. We see who taps out first.”

You stare at him. “…Taps out?”

“Yeah,” he nods, like this is perfectly reasonable. “You know. Can’t handle it anymore. Too much sugar. Too much greatness. First one to give up loses.”

“And what exactly do they lose?” you ask, already knowing you’re going to regret engaging.

His grin turns wicked. “Winner gets bragging rights,” he says. “And… loser has to admit, out loud, that the other one is hotter.”

You scoff, immediately reaching for a piece. “That’s not even a punishment. That’s just factual.”

“Oh, is it?” he teases, watching you take the first bite, powdered sugar immediately dusting your fingers.

You chew, then pause, eyes widening slightly.

“…Okay, that’s really good.”

“Yeah,” he smirks, taking a bite himself, way too big just to prove a point. “I don’t mess around when it comes to fried food.”

You go back and forth like that, passing the plate between you, laughing in between bites, teasing each other when one of you slows down or hesitates. By the time you’re halfway through, your stomach is starting to feel… questionable.

You glance at him, narrowing your eyes. “You’re slowing down.”

“I am not,” he shoots back, immediately taking another bite to prove it.

“Eddie—”

“Don’t you ‘Eddie’ me,” he says, though his voice is a little less confident now, chewing slower than before. “I’ve got this.”

You watch him for a second longer, then grin. “Oh my god,” you laugh. “You’re gonna puke.”

His eyes widen slightly, then he scoffs, shaking his head. “No way. Absolutely not. I am a professional.”

“You are not a professional.”

“I have years of experience in poor decision-making,” he argues, jabbing the fork into the last piece. “My body is built for this.”

“Your body is about to betray you.”

“Your body is about to betray you,” he shoots back immediately, but there’s a laugh caught in it now, like he knows exactly how ridiculous this is.

You both stare at the last piece. Then at each other. “…Together?” you offer, barely holding in your smile.

He considers it for half a second. “…Together,” he agrees.

You split it, taking the final bites at the same time, both of you chewing slowly, dramatically, like it’s some kind of grand finale. And then you both pause. Dead still.

“…Okay,” you say carefully. “I don’t feel great.”

“Yeah,” Eddie exhales, pressing a hand to his stomach, blinking like he’s trying to convince himself he’s fine. “No, yeah, I’m— I’m totally—”

He cuts himself off, suddenly turning away. You burst out laughing immediately. “Oh my god, you’re done—”

“Don’t—” he warns, already grabbing your wrist. “Don’t you dare leave me alone in this.”

“I’m not leaving you!” you protest, laughing as he drags you quickly away from the crowd, both of you half-running now, trying to escape the noise and the people and the very real consequences of your choices.

You barely make it to the side of the field before you both collapse into the grass again, breathless and laughing, the nausea passing just enough to make it funny instead of disastrous.

Eddie flops onto his back, groaning dramatically. “I regret everything.”

“You love everything,” you correct, dropping down beside him, still laughing. “This was your idea.”

“Yeah,” he mutters, turning his head to look at you, a slow smile breaking through anyway. “And I’d do it again.”

You shake your head, smiling as you shift closer, your hand finding his without thinking, fingers intertwining. “Of course you would.”

He squeezes your hand once, lifting it just enough to press a quick kiss to your knuckles, softer now, quieter after all the chaos. “Worth it,” he says again, like he did with the sunflower, like he means it every time.

And somehow, even now, a little sick, a little messy, covered in powdered sugar and grass stains, you know he’s right. 

The nausea fades into something dull and manageable, replaced by that easy, loose feeling that always seems to settle in after chaos, like your body finally catching up to the fact that you’re okay, that you’re more than okay.

The carnival noise hums back into focus around you, distant but inviting again, and Eddie turns his head just enough to look at you, a slow grin creeping back in like it never really left.

“Alright,” he says, pushing himself up onto his elbows, hair even more of a mess now, bits of grass still caught in it. “Round two.”

You snort, turning onto your side to face him. “If round two involves more food, I’m actually going home.”

He gasps, offended in a way that’s entirely theatrical. “Wow. After everything we’ve been through together tonight.”

“Eddie,” you laugh, nudging his shoulder. “You almost died over a funnel cake.”

“Worth it,” he says immediately, like it’s instinct, like it always is with you.

You shake your head, smiling, and let him pull you up again, your fingers slotting into his without hesitation as he tugs you back toward the lights.

The crowd feels softer this time, easier to move through, like you’ve already carved out your own space inside it, and Eddie doesn’t let go of you once, not even when he’s weaving you between groups of people, not even when he pauses to glance around like he’s looking for something specific.

And then he spots it. “Oh—oh, this is it,” he says, squeezing your hand before dragging you toward a small booth tucked between two louder attractions, half-hidden, a little crooked.

You follow, curious, until you see it. A photo booth. Old, slightly dented, the curtain hanging a little unevenly, a sign taped to the side advertising 4 PHOTOS – $1, as if it hasn’t been updated in years.

You glance at him, already smiling. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he nods, already digging into his pocket for change. “This is important. This is documentation.”

“Of what, exactly?”

He pauses, coins in hand, looking at you like the answer is obvious. “Of the best date I’ve ever been on,” he says simply. And there’s no joke in it this time.

Something in your chest tightens, soft and warm, but you don’t call attention to it. You just roll your eyes lightly, even as your smile gives you away.

“Wow,” you tease. “You say that to all your girls?”

“Don’t have ‘all my girls,’ sweetheart,” he shoots back, holding the curtain open for you with a small, crooked grin. “Just you.”

You duck inside before you can overthink that, before you can let it settle too deep, and he follows right after, the space immediately smaller, closer, the two of you pressed knee to knee on the narrow bench.

The machine whirs to life. “Alright,” Eddie mutters, leaning back slightly to look at you. “No pressure, but we have to absolutely nail this.”

You laugh under your breath. “You’re taking this way too seriously.”

“Wrong,” he says, pointing at you. “I am taking this exactly the right amount of seriously.”

The first flash goes off while you’re both still half-laughing, caught mid-movement, your shoulder bumping his. The second, he turns suddenly, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek, catching you off guard just enough that your smile goes soft instead of teasing.

The third, you grab the front of his shirt and pull him in, kissing him properly this time, slow and easy despite the ticking countdown. The fourth…You don’t rush.

You stay close, foreheads resting together, both of you smiling in that quiet, unguarded way that doesn’t need a joke to cover it. The flash captures it. And then it’s over. The machine hums again, printing, and you both sit there for a second longer than necessary, like neither of you is in a hurry to move.

Eddie clears his throat softly, glancing away just for a second before reaching over to grab the strip when it finally drops. He looks at it first, and then he smiles. Not his usual grin, not teasing or sharp, just soft.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, shifting closer, holding it between you so you can see.

You lean in, shoulder brushing his, eyes scanning over the photos, each one somehow capturing exactly how the night has felt, chaotic and warm and something a little more than either of you has said out loud.

“They’re actually… really good,” you admit quietly.

“Yeah,” he says, voice softer than before. “They are.”

You reach up, tearing the strip cleanly in half, handing one side back to him without even thinking about it. He takes it, fingers brushing yours, and for a second, he just looks at it again, like he’s deciding something.

Then, without making a big deal out of it, he folds it carefully and tucks it into his wallet.

Not loose or careless, but deliberate. Like it belongs there.

The air feels cooler when you step away from the lights, the night finally settling in properly, and you shiver just slightly without meaning to. Eddie notices immediately.

“Hey,” he murmurs, slowing, his hand slipping from yours just long enough to shrug off his jacket.

Before you can protest, he’s draping it over your shoulders, the fabric still warm from him, smelling faintly like smoke and something that’s just simply, Eddie. “You’re cold.”

“I’m fine,” you start, but it comes out weaker than you intend, your fingers already pulling the jacket closer around you.

He huffs a quiet laugh, stepping back into your space, adjusting it so it sits right, his hands lingering just a second longer than necessary. “I run hot,” he says casually.

You raise a brow. “You absolutely do not.”

“Wow,” he mutters, mock offended, but there’s a smile tugging at his mouth. “You wound me.”

You laugh softly, looking up at him, and something about the way he’s standing there, a little messy, a little flushed, eyes softer than usual, makes your chest ache in a way you don’t want to examine too closely.

“Thank you,” you say instead, quieter now.

He shrugs, like it’s nothing, like it’s easy. “Yeah,” he says. “Course.”

Then his hand finds yours again, not rushed, not grabbing, just there, fingers brushing until they slot together naturally. And you start walking. Slower this time.

No rushing, no pulling, just staying close, your shoulders bumping every now and then, your hands swinging lightly between you like you’ve done this a hundred times before.

“Same time next year?” he asks after a moment, voice light but not entirely joking.

You glance at him, smiling, squeezing his hand once. “Maybe,” you tease. “If you don’t almost kill me with fried food again.”

“No promises,” he grins.

You shake your head, laughing softly, leaning just slightly into him as you walk, his shoulder warm against yours, his jacket wrapped around you, the night stretching out ahead in that quiet, easy way.

And for once, neither of you feels the need to fill the silence. You just stay like that, hand in hand, leaving the lights behind together.

requested by: @mmunson86

It was meant to be a drunken, one time thing. A stupid mistake fuelled by alcohol where the lines between hatred and lust had blurred. You had run into each other at a party and, after a stupid argument that had begun over who would be doing the opening shift at Family Video the next morning, Steve had asked you to dance. Told you to loosen up. You had bristled but said yes.

What came next was a blur. You remember an innocent dance between coworkers had turned into you grinding on him. How Steve’s hands—large and firm against your skin—had pulled you closer. How you had felt his hardened cock through his jeans against your ass. You remember the feeling you got—starting as a fluttering feeling in your stomach before it had swooped down, straight to your cunt which throbbed in sudden excitement. How your heart had started to beat a little quicker. How you had felt the heat build in your gut, your panties dampening as you moved with him.

You don’t remember who kissed who first. All you knew was that it didn’t stop at a kiss.

You both had stumbled into a nearby bathroom, unable to pull away from each other. Lips locked in a kiss that was all tongue, teeth and a burning in your veins that couldn’t be put out. The world around you blurring as Steve’s tongue slid against yours, kissing you like he meant it. You kissed him back like he didn’t think you were the most annoying person in the world. His long fingers dipping beneath your skirt and slipping your panties to the side before sliding through your wetness. He had been so smug about how wet you were and you didn’t even have time to tell him to fuck off before he was plunging two fingers inside of you.

Steve Harrington had made you come in under five minutes with just his fingers alone and then—he had fucked you mericlessly against the bahtroom countertop. And it was safe to say that you had been borderline addicted to him ever since. You met up after work a lot to fuck. It was mostly you coming over to his house while his parents were away (which happened a lot). Sometimes it happened in his car in the parking lot. Once or two it happened in your house, his hand covering your mouth as he fucked you at a tortuously slow pace, reminding you in hushed whispers of how your parents were just downstairs while he angled your hips so his cock would kiss your cervix in a way that had your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

But despite the fact you and Steve were fucking on a regular basis, he still annoyed you. In fact, you would consider him your least favourite person in the world. The fact he had made you come more times than you could count made no difference.

At least that was what you had told yourself.

Steve was looking at you as you continued to rewind tapes. He wasn’t subtle about it—he never was. In fact, it was a downright miracle that Robin had not worked out what you and Steve had been doing for the past few weeks. His hazel eyes tracked your every moment while Robin ranted to him about Keith putting her on Saturday shifts for the next four weeks.

“—I mean, I have a life, you know? Like Vickie actually wanted to hang out with me this weekend! Do you know how much of a big deal that is? Sure I wasn’t going to make a move on her or anything, it was just shopping but now I’m going to have to tell her I’m working and—”

The bell above the door sounded and you briefly glanced up and when you did, your heart sunk. Just a little bit.

Penny Baker had just walked in. A regular customer and former captain of the cheer squad at Hawkins High. The one Steve always flirted with just to piss you off. At least, that was what you suspected he was doing when his eyes flickered over to yours with amusement in them. 

Today was no different. Penny twirled her dark hair around her finger and laughed brightly as Steve gave nonsensical film suggestions.

You felt something dark twist in your gut the way it always did when Steve flirted with someone else. 

You had convinced yourself it wasn’t jealousy. That the feeling in your gut was something else entirely. And so, you ignored it. You acted as though it didn’t bother you. Though, it clearly did and Steve could tell. Hence why his eyes kept flickering over to you every time he made Penny laugh.

“You know,” Steve mused after Penny had left with a Valley Girl tape tucked under her arm. “It’s cute when you’re jealous.”

You let out something close to a laugh, slamming the most recently rewound tape onto the counter. “It’s cute that you think I’m jealous.”

“Oh sweet girl,” Steve murmurs, stepping a little closer to you to whisper in your ear, revelling in the way your breath hitches. That damned nickname he always used. The one that made your cunt clench around nothing. “You were jealous. Don’t bother denying it. Could see it all over your face.”

You say nothing, turning your head to glare at him before grabbing the box of returns on top of the counter. You make sure that your arm collides with his and he laughs openly as you walk towards the stock room.

You know he’ll follow and he does.

Robin was too busy distracted with a customer to notice.

You feel his presence behind you in the stock room as the door closes softly shut behind the two of you.

“You gonna start harassing me at work now?” You ask him as you place the box of tapes onto a nearby shelf, mindlessly organising them as Steve stands directly behind you. You try to ignore the way your heart hammers in your chest.

“Harassing you?” Steve asks, amused as he lifts a hand to brush your hair away from your neck. The action was so tender and intimate it made you drop the tape that was in your hand. “You gonna pick that up?”

You swallow, eyes flicker down to the tape on the floor. “Maybe. You gonna stop accusing me of being jealous?”

“Depends,” Steve murmurs, fingers tracing over the skin on your neck—over the mark he had left a few days prior that hadn’t yet faded—and smiling when you shudder. “You gonna stop being jealous, sweet girl?”

You huff, face warming at the pet name. “Go to hell, Harrington.” You tell him, turning around to glare at him some more but your breath catches when you realise just how close he was.

“You don’t mean that baby,” Steve says, his hand trailing from your neck, over your heaving breasts before his fingers splay across your stomach. “You want me right here, ain’t that right?”

You don’t say anything which was enough of an answer. Steve smiles at you as he begins to kneel down in front of you.

“Steve—what are you—we’re at work—”

“I’m just getting the tape,” Steve tells you innocently, despite the fact his hands were roaming over your jean-clad thighs. Despite the way his pupils were dilated as he looked up at you. Had that look on his face as though he wanted to devour you. “That okay, sweet girl?”

He asks the question casually but the way his nose nudges your cunt over your jeans tells you that Steve Harrington was not just on his knees to help you retrieve a tape.

“If we get caught—”

“We won’t,” Steve tells you before he leans in—unzipping your jeans with his damn teeth in a move that makes heat pool between your legs while simultaneously making you want to strangle him for being so effortlessly smooth.

Steve helped you shimmy out of your jeans, his breath hot against your skin as he left wet kisses along your inner thigh.

“Can smell how much you want me,” Steve tells you, his nose pressing against the damp patch that had collected in your panties. “So fucking sweet as always, baby.”

“Shut up,” you gasp out, your fingers curling in his hair as you lean back against the shelving unit behind you.

Steve smiles, inhaling the sweet scent of your arousal through the cotton of your panties before his lips press against where he knew your clit to be. It was over the material but it still made a small whimper leave your lips. Still had your back arching as he moaned against you.

“Steve—”

“Patience, baby,” he tells you, pulling away enough to look up at you as his hands begin to gently pull your panties down your legs—his cock twitching beneath his jeans when he sees how your pussy glistened in the low lights of the stock room. “Let me take care of her for a minute. She’s crying for me.”

And then, his mouth is on you. His tongue hot and eager as it glides between your folds, coating the tip with your arousal and groaning as he tastes you properly.

“So fucking sweet,” his murmurs against you, his hand wrapping around one of your thighs and helping you lift it over his shoulder. “Sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted. You think I want someone else's when I have yours, sweet girl?”

You bite back a moan, knowing that if you didn’t it would be loud and wanton, knowing Robin would hear it. Steve liked to say things like this during sex—liked to tell you that you were the only one he needed. You were sure it was just pillow talk. You didn’t really know if he truly meant it. But it made your heart race all the same.

“You don’t mean that,” you manage to say as his tongue continues to glide through your folds, a slow torture that had your fingers tightening in his hair.

“I do,” he murmurs against you—dark eyes flickering up to meet yours. “No one else.”

There’s a moment where you just look at each other—a quiet understanding there before his lips wrap around your clit and then? You were gone.

Steve Harrington took no mercy on you, sucking on your sensitive bud enough to make you whimper before he dips down to fuck you with his tongue. It was nothing short of torture, his tounge licking in and out of you and his nose—that fucking beautiful nose of his—nudging against your swollen clit. You felt your hips moving without permission. The wet sounds of his mouth on you filling the quiet store room. His muffled moans against your soaked cunt as your hips chased his mouth, his fingers digging into the plush flesh of your thighs.

You could have come from his tongue alone. But Steve wanted you to see stars.

When two of his long, thick fingers slid into you—you were so close to crying out that you had to stuff your fist into your mouth to prevent yourself from doing so. You could feel Steve smile against you, his fingers curling and finding that spot inside of you with ease. A whimper manages to escape and Steve groans, curling his fingers again and again until your thighs were trembling.

“Stevie,” you gasp out—the nickname that you only ever used in these moments, when you were right on the edge and Steve was the only one you trusted to catch you. “I’m so close—I’m going to—”

“I got you, baby,” he tells you, still moving his fingers inside of you. “Don’t you worry. I got you.”

If you weren’t so close, you may have thought more about the look in his eyes. Would have thought more about the way he was gripping onto you like he never wanted to let you go. But the feeling building in your gut was too intense, too all consuming to think of anything else but his fingers and his tongue and—

“Stevie, oh god—Stevie—”

Your orgasm hits you hard. Had Steve not been holding you so tightly, you may have collapsed entirely. But he held you—steady and firm as your walls fluttered around his fingers, your release coating his tongue and Steve lapping up every damn drop as though it was liquid gold.

Your fingers curl into his hair for a brief moment before you let go. Your breathing erratic as you come back down to earth from the intensity of your orgasm, your eyes wide when they meet his hazel ones.

His lips were wet, soaked from your release and god—he looked so beautiful that it took your breath away for a few moments. You blink, softer now in the aftermath of your bliss. You didn’t argue as Steve helped you step into your panties, as he pulled them up your legs. You didn’t make a comment as he also helped you into your jeans.

“You know I mean it, right?” Steve asks you quietly as he gently pulls up your jeans, his eyes meeting yours as he stands up straight.

“Mean what?” You ask him quietly, your eyes flickering between his as you try to understand what he meant. Though, deep down, you think you already know.

“That I don’t need anyone else,” he says. “Not when I have you.”

You swallow, the admission hanging between the two of you. You’re not quite sure what to say and you’re certainly not sure how to feel about what he had just said. But your traitorous heart hammers against your chest and your cheeks burn.

“Careful Harrington,” you murmur back quietly. “Keep talking like that and I’ll think you actually like me.”

Steve smiles—he actually smiles at that—and looks away from you, down at the forgotten tape still on the floor between you.

“Something like that,” he says quietly before he bends down to actually retrieve the tape.

You want to say something more, want to tell him how seeing him with Penny and the other giggling customers made you feel. But you didn’t.

You just watch as he returns the tape to the box of returns. You watch as he adjusts himself in his jeans, shooting you a wink.

“You can help me out later,” Steve tells you and you fight back a smile.

“If you’re lucky,” you say, knowing that you would inevitably have his cock in your mouth a few hours later.

Steve smiles, leaning in to press a kiss that was almost sweet to your forehead.

“Lucky doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

dividers by @cursed-carmine

mdni / support banners by @saradika-graphics

.✦ ݁˖ rec account: @moonstone-recommends .✦ ݁˖

It was fine. You had spent the past few agonizing months learning how to deal with it.

Until recently. Up until you realized he wasn’t that terrible, that you could care for him and find interest in the things that he liked.

When you learned just how devastating it is to fall for someone so broken.

Someone you shouldn’t have.

Content Warnings: Stepcest/pseudocest, lots of smut, lots of angst, allusions and descriptions of sexual assault, drug and alcohol use, allusions and descriptions of child abuse. Will be updated more in each chapter!!

Reader has no physical descriptions but does have a backstory.

Chapters:

- misery loves company

- hate me

- unfunny words 18+

- helpless feeling 18+

-the pact 18+

-devils 18+

- whispered secrets

- open up

- do you wrong

- cheek to cheek

Early blooming flowers and fresh mowed grass tickle at your nose, the breeze from your open car window doing little to break through the thick Midwest humidity. It coats your body in a sheen layer of sweat, the mid day sun hanging higher than you’ve ever seen in a deep blue sky that stretches out so far you can’t imagine an end. Lush green trees whiz past you on either side of the road that you’re definitely driving too quickly on, sending your mattress flopping in the wind on top of the car.

It thumps heavily against your roof clinging on for dear life because of the haphazard way its strapped in. Taking a tight curve, a loud shift of everything you could fit into your car smacks against the other side. Too distracted by the flashing red E next to your gas gauge, you almost miss the brown metal sign tilted at a lean that greets you in dirty white bold letters saying — Welcome to Hawkins. 

”Fuck.” You mutter under your breath, knowing there’s no way you’re going to make it the last seven miles to the ‘freshly renovated’ Forest Hills Trailer Park. No matter how much you don’t want to stop.

One stressful mile brings you to a small gas station attached to an autobody shop, with only one pump that looks like it’s been there since the sixties. You hope to god that it's functional. Turning your car off, you fiddle with your appearance in the rearview mirror blowing out a tired breath through your nose. Flipping the visor up, you get a better view of the large open garage door and the tall lanky man leaning against the side of it you didn’t notice pulling in.

Long unruly curls hit his shoulders, framing his strong jawline that's peppered with a hint of a five o’clock shadow. Dark eyes watch you from down the slope of his round nose, full pink lips wrapped around the cork brown butt of a cigarette. His cheeks hollow out taking another drag, tilting his head up slightly to blow the smoke into the breeze. The sleeves of his navy coveralls are tied low around his small waist, leaving him in a grease stained faded white tank that reveals a litter of black ink etched randomly along his creamy skin. A slew of small black bats flying up his bicep catches your attention first, then the gleam of the chunky silver rings adoring most of his fingers.

He looks like the kind of guy you know you should stay away from, but never do.

The corner of his mouth ticks up making you realize that you’re staring, embarrassment flooding your cheeks, and for a brief moment you think about seeing just how far your car can really go running on fumes. You murmur a mess of cuss words trying to work up the courage to get out and walk a few feet to the old man inside the small convenience store. He unknowingly holds the key to your escape from the handsome stranger with a staring problem before you lack the self control you came here for. You only give yourself a count to three before flinging your door open, the hinges creaking mortifyingly loud.

ZZ Top’s ‘Legs’ echoes through the big space of the garage, bouncing off the metal of cars like a megaphone. Holding your gaze to the ground, you make a B-line to the gas station, feeling his unrelenting stare the entire way, and you aren’t sure what’s worse, the mechanic’s dark brown eyes or the sticky heat of the sun. The glass door sticks to the hinges when you try to pull it open, heat spreading across your chest and crawling up your neck when you have to do it again with more strength. It gives with a loud pop, the shrill ring of the bell above making you jump at the same time. It's not loud enough to drown out the snort that comes from the man you’re pretending doesn’t exist, though . 

“Hi Miss, what can I do ya for?” The old man behind the counter greets you with a shaky voice with a warmth in his smile that has you unclenching your teeth you didn’t even realize were clenched to begin with. Stepping into the brightly lit store, your hands uncurl at your sides.

“I just need some gas.” You say finally finding your voice, lips twisting as you try and match his friendly demeanor reading the name ‘Leon’ off the bright red tag on his vest.

It would be more convincing if you couldn’t still feel the asshole from outside staring at you through the dirty conjoining glass that connects the two buildings. 

“How much?” Leon hums, pushing up his thick frames to get a better look at the buttons on his printing calculator.

”Ten, please.” Your response comes out in a whisper, like somehow the mechanic can hear you. It’s not even useful information.

You pull the crumbled bill from your pocket, doing your best to smooth it out before handing it over to him with a shy grin. 

“Need a receipt?” He mumbles, not out of rudeness but because his full concentration is on punching the numbers in.

”I’m alright, thank you so much, have a good day!”  The words are a rushed mess leaving your mouth, voice cracking around the word ‘day’ when you accidentally meet the dark brown eyes of the man who refuses to keep them off of you when you turn around.

”You too hon!” Leon sends you off just as warmly, oblivious to your struggle as the bell rings after your determined feet.

Tugging hard at your bottom lip, your converse pad loudly against the uneven asphalt as you hurry back towards your car. You get about half way to the pump, when the heat, the long drive after packing, and this man start festering under your sticky skin. It’s at this moment you decide ignoring him isn’t enough, turning your head, you shoot him a harsh glare not surprised to see him already looking in your direction. Tossing his finished cigarette to the ground, he stomps it out with a big work boot, dimples poking into his cheeks, raising grease covered hands up in surrender. 

He’s infuriatingly cute, and it only makes you more mad. 

“Easy tiger.” He huffs with a gravely chuckle, the sound flipping something in your stomach. “Just trying to figure out how that mattress hasn’t fallen off your roof yet.”

Your eye roll has his smile widen, white teeth baring themselves at you.

“Thank you so much for your concern.” You squint, twisting your lips into something bitchy. Annoyance rolling off your shoulders in waves but he eats it up like his favorite meal. “Your staring has been a huge help.”

He barks out a loud laugh that gets cut short by a cough, tobacco still fresh in his lungs. The edges of your lips curve in karmic revenge.

”Can you blame me sweetheart?” He crosses his arms across his chest, tugging down the cotton of his tank top revealing another tattoo on his right pec. 

Purposely groaning loud enough for him to hear, you turn towards the car and start doing what you came here to do. Pump your gas and now, also get away from this flirty test of your will. The universe dangling the kind of boy you’d make a thousand mistakes with back home in front of your face like some kind mouse trap. 

“I’m Eddie by the way.” He introduces himself after a few minutes of silence filled with the kind of tension that flutters against your rib cage and against your will. You can still hear the smile in his voice, like it never left his face.

Keeping your back to him, you flash a sarcastic thumbs up shaking the handle of the pump taking every last drop before hanging it up with a metallic click.

”Safe travels, gorgeous.” He calls out when you buckle yourself back in. Turning your key, your engine hums to life, the tight anxiety in your chest relaxing watching the gauge get close enough to full to last you at least a week. 

“Bye, Eddie.” You finally respond, daring to meet his eyes one more time, letting the dark chestnut of them take in your features with the kind of smirk that warms the tips of your ears. 

You almost regret it. Almost.

——

Forest Hills surprises you by looking just like the grainy picture you saw in the ad. The trailers are wrapped in new colorful shiny paneling, making them look more like houses with the kind of a personality only a park like this could have. Freshly soldered grass sprouts around them and the big gazebo in the middle of it all housing a group of teenagers gossiping after school. Your tires crunch over the dirt road with ease because even the dirt looks new, if that’s actually a thing, the dark brown looking more like wet clay. The familiar address from your lease sits nestled in the far back curve of the park right by the edge of the woods in bright sea foam green. The muted grey and white of the trailers on either side only make the color of yours stick out more.

Your car rolls to a stop in the narrow drive way, the loose things shoved in boxes clinking lightly against cardboard. Cutting your engine with a deep breath, you take a minute to finally let yourself decompartmentalize the dirty messy emotions that brought you here. The ones you had to bury down to make it through the six hour drive. For a while you were convinced that you wouldn’t actually do it — run away. So sitting here with everything you have in your name in front of this trailer in a tiny town you hadn’t ever heard of before swells pride tight in your chest. The courage you’ve been looking for has you opening the car door, your sneakers hitting the gravel with a crunch taking that first step out. 

It feels like a fresh start.

A newfound excitement buzzes at your fingertips walking up the stairs to your front door, eyes wandering to the trailers of your new neighbors. You can’t help but notice the stark difference between the front yards. The grey one on your left is a little messy, grass slightly overgrown with a pick up truck sitting in the driveway. It doesn’t look like it runs either with its rusted orange paint around the tires, and a tool box sitting under the propped up hood. Your gaze lands on the worn-in tan couch that takes up half the front porch, and the metal side table with a full ashtray sitting next to it.

The lawn on the other side of you though, is freshly mowed with military grade precision, and instead of a couch there’s two white plastic chairs and a fold out table with a big citronella candle on the porch. A silver bucket sits next to the front door and it looks like it’s full of baseballs, the tan catching mitt laying over them tells you that you’re right. From the top of your stairs you can see the fire pit in the backyard and a bright red grill. Everything about it looks new, almost as if whoever lives there just moved in too.

There’s no car parked in the drive way, and no sign of either of your neighbors being home. The realization relaxes the anxious knots in your shoulders, preferring it this way. Letting go of the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, it doesn’t take you long to find the key taped under your mailbox. Shaky fingers sticking it into the brass lock, teeth gnawing into your bottom lip hearing the click of the dead bolt. Pushing open the door, you take your first step over the threshold and into your new life.

—-

“God dammit.” You groan, tripping over a rock balancing one too many boxes in your arms.

Your stubborn impatience to get the rest of your stuff unloaded in the least amount of trips possible took the front seat after the first hour. Except balance and general grace are not your strong suit, in fact you’re pretty sure the box you dropped earlier shattered all of your coffee mugs. You move from side to side, watching with weary eyes the sway of the top two boxes that had shifted around after the first few steps. 

Don Henley’s ‘Boys of the Summer’ catches faintly in your ears, threatening to break your concentration of counting the steps to your porch. It just gets louder, just like the crunch of the tires from the car getting closer. The box at the top of the pile shifts again so now half of it dangles off the edge, dangerously close to suffering the same fate as your coffee mugs. 

“Shit, shit, shit.” 

Your feet shuffle desperately trying to get it to slide back to where it was, so focused you hardly hear the music cut off or the slam of a car door.

”Hey! Hold on! Let me help!” A man’s voice has you freezing in place, slicing through your concentration and flipping in your stomach. The knots inside of it tighten at the sound of his jogging steps against the gravel.

”I- I got it.” You stutter, brows furrowing desperately trying to slide the box again to stop whatever was about to happen with a gentle flick of your wrists. 

Except, it fails spectacularly.

It does shift — just in the wrong direction and with wide eyes you watch it start its tumble towards the ground. Your eyes squeeze shut bracing for the sound of shattering glass, but it never comes. The man’s big hands shoot out, catching the box with ease, like it weighs nothing. It gives way to your surroundings, lashes fluttering like it’s your first time using your eyes. Heat licks at your cheeks realizing you’re nowhere near the steps. Your gaze lands the maroon BMW parked in his driveway first, then you see him.

The man in front of you is the kind of handsome that’s so classic you’d never approach him on a regular day, not even in a bar. His sculpted jaw matches the sharpness of his narrow nose, perfectly sunkissed skin dotting with an endearing amount of freckles and moles. Half of his dark chestnut hair is covered by a blue and white baseball cap, the dirty blond tips of it curling around his ears and flipping out at the ends. Broad shoulders stretch the satin of his blue jacket that matches his hat, this particular shade seems to make his tan pop even more, like he’s spent the entire day in the sun. ‘Coach Steve’ adorns the right side of it sprawled out in cursive writing the same color as his white polo underneath it, dark chest hair peeking out over the two undone buttons.

What the fuck is in the water here?

“Hey, I’m Steve.” He smiles, readjusting the box in his hands, full pink lips stretching over perfect white teeth as his hazel eyes take you in. “I think we might be neighbors.”

Of course.

“Yeah, it looks like we are — hi.” You huff with a grin poorly attempting to shake his hand but deciding against it when the boxes wobble, cheeks warming for a different reason. “T-thanks for catching that by the way. I’m pretty sure I already broke most of my cups.”

His eyes widen for a second showing you the gold shimmering in the dark green of them before a laugh rumbles from his chest.

”Is anyone helping you?” He asks, coming closer to steal another box from your arms, taking it with the same kind of ease. “Roommate? … boyfriend?”

This is the part where you’re supposed to lie and say yes.

”No, just me.” The answer comes out quiet, like you’re embarrassed when you shouldn’t be.

Something unreadable flashes across Steve’s face before his eyes wearily take in your mattress that's slid forward off your roof and onto your windshield. Thank god Eddie wasn’t here to see it.

”Well, I don’t have any plans. I just gotta change and I’ll help you get the rest in.” He says simply with a shrug, like it wasn’t an inconvenience helping a complete stranger move.

”Seriosly, you don’t have to. It’s just whatever’s left in my car. I got the mattress up there, I can get it down.” It’s always been hard for you to accept help, but especially when it's offered by the kind of guy that looks like Steve. 

Insecurities try to crawl out from the dark corners of your mind as he scans your face long enough to make you shift your weight from one leg to the other. It feels like he's got the ability to read your mind, like he knows you want the help but you just won’t admit it. You hate the idea of owing someone.

“Nah, I can’t in good conscience. Looks like the mattress was a struggle on the way here, anyway.” He grins, teasing lightly, relaxing the tense muscles in your shoulders, as an easy smile twists up the edges of your lips before you can stop it.

”It made it here without falling off, didn't it?” You bite back with narrowed eyes. The new playfulness has him taking his bottom lip between his teeth, the small movement making your brain buzz.

”I didn’t say you failed. Just that it may have been a little harder than you’re leading on.” The smirk on Steve’s face distracts you so much that you don’t notice him taking the third box until your hands are empty. “Now show me where to put these so I can go home and change to help with the rest because I want to.”

The roll of your eyes is sarcastic because who actually wants to do that? It has the corners of his eyes crinkle before nodding his head to your front door in a silent push.

“Ugh, fine.” You relent with a sigh, waving him to follow you up the stairs. “But you can’t judge the mess.”.

”What? You’re not settled in after getting here a few hours ago? I’ll try my best.” Steve snorts sarcastically, giving you a look that earns him the kind of genuine smile that hasn’t pushed up your cheeks in what feels like months. You shove down how good it feels.

Fresh start.

It's been fifteen minutes since Steve left to go change next door, and despite it just being a joke, you use that time to distract from the creeping anxiety making a home in your chest by trying to organize a little bit. Seeing everything spread out like this makes it hard to swallow the bitter embarrassment about your lack of furniture, or anything of what seems like real substance. You feel more like a twenty year old boy in his first dorm room than a grown woman in her first home. You don’t even have a bedframe. Regret starts to seep into your bones pushing the boxes around, the nagging worry that he’s helping out of pity snagging at whatever's left of your confidence. Inhaling a sharp breath, anger simmers like a boiling pot just under the surface of your already heated skin because you shouldn’t care what someone like him thinks of you. 

Guys like Steve have certain types, and that type has never been you. It's always guys like Eddie falling at your feet, sweeping you away in their fun chaos and then disappearing once the party’s over leaving you to clean the mess up. Until one day you finally run instead of picking the pieces up. Someone clears their throat in the front doorway bringing you back down to earth with a jump. Your breath hitches in your throat looking up, tongue drying in your mouth.

Steve stands there, arms crossed leaning against the door frame, light wash jeans sitting low on his narrow hips. A simple plain white tee stretches over his broad chest, crossed biceps catching some of the cotton making his shirt ride up. Your eyes flick down to the beginnings of a dark happy trail and the peek of white Calvin Klein boxers, doing your best not to wonder if they’re briefs. The sun sits half mast in the sky creating a halo around his hair no longer confined by a baseball cap. The thick chestnut of it looks pushed back by his fingers rather than a brush, a rouge swoop falling softly across his forehead.

“I hope I didn’t scare you.” He smiles like he’s nervous, but that just wouldn’t make sense.

”Not at all, ‘was just trying to organize the unorganizable.” You stand up with a huff, wiping your palms on the dark denim of your shorts. Steve's eyes glance down for a brief moment tracking the movement, but just as quickly as they drop he pulls them back up to your face. Pink dusting the tips of his ears.

”Let’s tackle that mattress first,” He suggests, something teasing dancing in his gaze, “Then you can organize and I’ll bring the rest in.” 

“Y-you don’t have to do that, this is really kind of you —” 

“I want to.” He cuts you off without hesitation before clearing his throat. “My boys lost the game today anyway, it’ll give me something to do besides sulk around a TV dinner.”

“Your boys?” You question, a curious smile flitting the edges of your lips following him outside after he pushes himself off the doorway. When the sun hits his skin, you swear he glows.

”I coach the boys little league team at the middle school.” He calls over his shoulder, skipping the middle step of your porch, landing on the ground with a bounce.

”Ahh, that would explain the uniform then.” You reply, unable to stop your eyes from tracing the muscles in his back flexing with every stride. A confidence in it that’s not quite whole as he makes his way to the other side of your car. It piques the kind of interest you have no business having. “Didn’t realize that would be a full time gig.”

”It’s uh - it’s not.” Crimson spreads across his cheeks like wildfire while long fingers get to work on loosening the knots that barely hang onto the back end of your mattress. He uses more concentration than necessary, actively avoiding your gaze before he finishes. “I uh, I teach sex ed too.”

You don’t mean to laugh, but it’s impossible to hold in the one that bubbles out from the back of your throat. He glares at you from over the top of the bed, and your teeth dig into your bottom lip to try and stop it from happening again. 

”I’m sorry, it’s not funny.” It is. “I just wasn’t expecting that to be your answer is all.”

”Don’t worry,” he grumbles bitterly, despite his small grin, “that's everyone’s reaction when I tell them.” 

Nimble fingers pull the white tweed off with a tug, biceps flexing when he catches the mattress that gives its final slip down your hood. It’s distracting, but you snap out of it lurching forward to grab the other side. 

“See, the rope did do something.” You tease, looking up at him from under your lashes, regripping your bed at the seam.

Steve stares down the slope of his nose at you, his head blocking the sun from your eyes making him your direct focal point. His face softens, just like the smile that spreads across it, warming your skin just the same.

”I never doubted your skills.” 

Your breath hitches, lungs forgetting their main function, because Steve stole all the air from them.

“Maybe you can come teach a knot tying class at the school.” He winks, giving you a subtle nod to lift the mattress with him. 

Now it’s your turn to shoot daggers and he barks out a loud laugh as you both work together to turn the bed long ways.  

“Bet you thought that was so funny.” You grumble, shuffling backwards, silently indicating for him to lead which he has no problem doing with a careful pace you can keep up with.

”I got it.” He reassures reaching the stairs, brows furrowed in concentration on his sneakers taking the first step, before adding an out of breath. “And yes, I did.”

His white teeth flash at the sarcastic smack of your lips as his Nike’s reach the porch landing.

”Shit - “

“Wha-“ Your question is cut off by the abrupt stop that slams your head into the corner of the mattress. Thank god it’s soft.

”Are you okay?” Steve panics, poking his head out from the side, lips turned down in worry, and something about this entire situation has this insane kind of giggle erupt from you.

The concern on his face turns to confusion, before the creases in his forehead smooth out to amusement. 

”I’m good, maybe just a little warning next time.” You smile probably harder than you should, blaming it on the knock to your crown. 

“Bad spatial judgement on my half, I am so sorry.” He chuckles sheepishly, with rosy cheeks that shouldn’t be so endearing. “Ready to try again?”

“Born ready.” You smirk, managing a thumbs up, before regripping your end of the mattress. 

Steve counts to three, and both of you lift at the same time.

”Turn, turn, turn, turn.” He chants, feet scuffling loudly against the wooden landing, and you’re not entirely sure where he expects you to ‘turn’ with your hips pressed to the banister. 

Whatever you’re both trying to do doesn’t work and the front end of the mattress gets stuck at an angle in your entrance way. Sending your half smacking into the railing, caging you against it.

”Oh my god - Steve!” You screech, falling into a fit of shocked laughter as your back bends around the wood, the bed slipping from your grip and hitting the steps. 

”Jesus Christ, are you okay?!” He asks for the second time in a matter of minutes, sounding muffled on the other side which somehow makes it even funnier. Tears water in your eyes, just not the ones you’re used to. 

”I’m fine! Trapped but otherwise healthy.” You manage to say, pressing your lips together in a hard line to control the giggles that don’t seem to stop coming out.

”I swear I’m here to help.” There’s an obvious smile in his voice this time, “I’m gonna slide the bed out juuust a little bit and then we can angle it. It’ll be easy, promise.”

“You got it, coach.” You bite back a grin he can’t see, but you hear the huff of a laugh from the other side. 

“No mental mistakes, head in the game.” He says firmly, sending goosebumps pebbling up the back of your neck.

His plan works because in what seems like one swift motion — you, your bed and Steve are in the shade of your living room. 

“We did it!” You practically squeal, beaming up at your new found friend. A very handsome friend, but you tuck that realization away in the ‘never going to happen’ folder in your head.

”Team work, it makes the dream work.” He winks with the kind of smile that shows all of his teeth. Plump pink lips stretching wide as he holds up one big hand searching for a high five. 

“I bet your chock-full of those idioms aren’t you?” You tease, meeting his open palm with a loud smack, using all of your will power not to think too hard about how small yours looks in comparison. His fingers curl around your hand for a fleeting moment before dropping back down to his side, the pads of them dragging along your skin on their way.

”You better believe it.” The amber flecks in his eyes twinkle, smirking at the eyeroll he gets from you. “Which way is the bedroom?”

The tops of his ears dust bright red the moment the question leaves his mouth, turning you shy too. 

“Down the hall and to the right.” You clear your throat, gesturing towards the hallway connected to your open kitchen, nerves singing from your finger tips. 

He nods, taking the lead all on his own this time, the two of you sliding the bed to your room in silence, the air thick with something more than the humidity.

“We can just set it down here in the middle.” You point to the space adjacent from your window, “right against the wall.”

“Sounds good,” Steve grunts, using his strength to pull it from your grasp, turning the bed long ways before letting it fall onto the cream carpet with a loud woosh. 

The two of you stand there for a moment, hands on your hips, proudly admiring your accomplishment, eyes finally meeting from across the room. 

“No bed frame?” He gestures to your mattress that doesn’t look like something to be proud of anymore. Instead, it's a sad and sheetless mess on the floor with a big red stain in the corner from the night you spilled red wine. 

Embarrassment floods your veins, curling in your gut. 

“I- I don’t have a lot of things with me, didn’t bring them.” you shrug, not wanting to divulge in too many details about the bad decisions that brought you here. 

He studies your face for a second like he’s trying to figure it out on his own. 

“Hey, I didn’t have anything either when I moved in like six months ago. I know some good thrifting spots. I don’t mind showing you.” Steve responds lightly with a shrug, surprising you for the second time today. 

“I’d like that a lot.” The smile you give him is small, but it’s warm and you get the same in return. 

“I didn’t think I’d have a boy in my room on the first day.” You try to crack a joke to ease the tension, but it only makes it worse. An embarrassed grimace twists up your face the moment it slips off the tip of your tongue.

“Well, I’m uh, I’m honored.” He stutters trying to salvage it for you just to squeeze his eyes shut with a sigh, running an exasperated hand down his face before pinching the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know — I didn’t —me either.” Stammering apologetically, you desperately want the ground to open up and swallow you whole. 

“I’m gonna go finish unloading,” Steve decides to save you both from further humiliation with a quick escape, but neither one of you considers how he’ll have to brush past you to get to the door until he’s doing it without much thought. Realization dawns on both of you when his chest brushes against your back, hands tentatively — appropriately grabbing your hips to keep you steady. The strangest mixture of freshly mowed grass and pine fill your nose and you don’t realize how much you like it until it's gone. He runs nervous fingers through his hair before turning around, stopping at the doorway, both his hands gripping the wooden edges of the trim.

“You, um, do what you need to do.” He finishes, with an unreadable expression that makes it impossible to figure out if he’s just as uncomfortable as the air feels, thick and buzzing around you.

“S-sounds good!” Giving him a weak thumbs up, you mentally kick yourself for not coming up with a better response. Especially when he gives the wood two good smacks, eyes taking you in one more time before heading down the hallway. 

You didn’t realize how badly you needed to lay down until you flop onto your bed after making it. It didn’t matter that it was on the ground, not right now as the day and the weight of your decisions slam into every muscle and bone in your body like a freight train. As much as you appreciate Steve’s help, the nagging feeling of needing to be alone tightens in your chest with claustrophobia. It's as if he knows, because when a tired sting creeps into the corners of your eyes, the sound of him dropping what he had said would be his last box echoes down the hall. Followed by the heavy thud of his Nike covered feet against the hollowed out floors.

”Okay, I think I got it al — oh.” He stops at your doorway, an amused gaze taking in the way you’re starfished across your bed. “I see we found the sheets.”

The teasing edge in his voice loosens the anxious knot that's formed in your stomach, tilting your chin down you meet his eyes and the air between you feels settled, like forty minutes ago doesn’t exist. 

“That would be a correct observation.” You grin, stretching like a cat avoiding what feels like a warm stare raking over the length of your body. 

You rock back before pushing yourself up to sit, reaching out your hands in a silent plea to help you the rest of the way. He doesn’t hesitate, coming to your rescue for the second time today in the form of calloused fingers and smooth palms pulling you to your feet with a gentle tug. Static buzzing in his touch. The baseball field in the forest fills your nose again, holding you captive in the little space between you.

”I tried to stack everything as organized as I can,” he starts, eyes meeting yours. They flick down to your lips where you swear they linger for a fleeting second before landing on your still clasped hands. He drops them like they burn, taking a pointed step back, clearing his throat as he finishes. “A lot of it wasn’t labeled, though.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t my best job.” You huff out with a light laugh, trying to hide the twinge of embarrassment hidden inside of it if you looked too closely.

Steve looks closely.

“Can I help with anything else?” He asks softly, like you’re something that might break. From anyone else, you’d hate it, but it feels different coming from him.

“No, you’ve - you’ve done enough Steve, I really don’t know how to repay you.” 

He waves you off like he didn’t just do something that would be an inconvenience for anyone else, despite practically being a stranger.

“It’s not a problem, you don’t have to repay me.” He scoffs with a grin pulling up one side of his mouth, running a big hand through his hair again. You notice he does that a lot. 

“I owe you something.” You argue, crossing your arms not with attitude but with the attempt to hide how small you’re starting to feel.

“You don’t owe me anything.” He says it like he can’t believe the words ever left your mouth, refusing to let your gaze go so you know he means it. 

It deflates that gnawing feeling of being indebted to someone that keeps growing in your chest. Planting seeds for something else entirely to grow.

“I think you should relax,” Steve steals back the space he left between you, tentative hands finding the side of your arms, giving them a gentle squeeze. “And deal with the mess in the morning.”

”I need to go job hunting in the morning,” you mumble, a little stubborn, looking up at him with a small curve at the edges of your mouth. 

“What’s so crazy is that all this stuff will still be here when you get back.” His teasing eyes shimmer at the soft laugh he gets from that.

”I’m going to make you cookies or something, I don’t care what you say.” You scoff finding yourself again, tethering your hope inside the sureness of his gaze.

”I mean, I won't say no to that. I’m not a lunatic.” He winks, squeezing your arms one more time before taking that same step back, big hands falling at his sides. “I’m gonna get out of your hair, but if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to come over.”

Tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, you give him a nod that he doesn’t believe.

”Listen, I’m serious. Don’t make me be a creep and check up on you. Cause, I will. My best friend will too, trust me. She’s crazier than me.” His warning has you laughing like you did outside, blooming something inside of you that just needed sunshine.

”I will!” You smile, throwing your hands up in surrender, “I promise.”

He points at you one more time half way out your bedroom door, smiling with all of his teeth when you roll your eyes at him giving one last exasperated,“Steve! I will!”

You listen to your new friend's advice, staring up at your ceiling in bed by 9pm, replaying the day and all the events that lead to here. A hurricane of mixed emotion swirls, picking up speed inside of you but your grip on that tether of hope tightens fighting the strength of the wind. The chirping of the crickets outside have your eyelids growing heavy, the low hum of the breeze rustling the trees relaxing your muscles. You’re so close to what feels like might be the best sleep of your life, that the growing sounds of AC/DC’s ‘You Shook Me All Night Long’ can’t stop it from coming. Not even when the car it spills from pulls into the driveway next door.

It feels too early to be alive or to be digging through your box of clothes searching for your favorite summer dress you always wear to interviews. The sun is somehow even brighter today shining through the cracks in your blinds, inviting you to get a glimpse of what the heat of today is going to feel like. Your fingers wrap around the dark green tie up straps of what you’ve been looking for, an excited squeal slipping out from between your lips. The first win of the day feels good.

You’re a tornado getting yourself ready as quickly as you can, determined to be at Benny’s Diner right when they open after seeing the Help Wanted sign yesterday. Quick hands grab your cross body off the kitchen island before slipping on your sandals with a few hops refusing to pause on your way to the front door. You fling it open, eyes down digging through your purse to make sure you have your keys as you step out into the kind of heat that coats your skin instantly. 

“Ah - ha!” You cheer quietly, finding the cool metal at the bottom of your bag. Too lost in your own world, you don’t notice the heat of something other than the sun coming from next door. Not until a familiar voice cuts through your concentration like a knife, freezing you in place.

”Well, well, well. That isn’t who I think it is, is it?”  

The smile in his gravely voice lets you know the question is rhetorical.

“Hello, Eddie.” You sigh his name like you did at the gas station, doing your best to seem unphased by focusing your attention on locking the door instead of his waiting stare. 

The universe must hate you, that's the only conclusion you can come up with while working up the nerve to face your new neighbor at nine in the morning, and god do you regret it when you finally do. Because, instead of the blue coveralls, the only thing he has on are a pair of low hanging grey sweats pants. They wrap so low on his hips, the soft V in between them antagonizes you along with the dark smattering of a happy trail that disappears under the cotton waist band. Your eyes land at the skull tattoo, tracing the smooth planes of his chest you had only gotten a peek of yesterday and it makes your face burn. Not only because you realize you’ve been staring, but that you’ve now been caught for the second time.

“Happy to hear I made an impression, sweetheart.” He smirks around a freshly lit cigarette. Leaning forward on his elbows against the railing of his porch closest to you, his dark curls frizzy from sleep fall over his shoulders. Freshly shaved cheeks hollow out taking a drag long enough for his gaze to travel the length of your body before meeting your scowl with dimples. 

“Don’t tell me you live here too.” You groan, feigning indifference despite the magnetic pull of him buzzing in your veins.

”Well, that's not very Mr. Rogers of you.” He tsks, taking another drag, eyes flashing with amusement seeing right through your charade letting the smoke seep out of his nose like a bull. 

Much to your dismay, you can’t fight the twitch of your lips and he takes it like a dog with a bone.

“Where are you scurrying off to so early looking all cute like this?” He gestures to your dress, his gaze lingering just long enough on your curves to be appropriate but there was still no mistaking the interest to see what's underneath. 

“Do you hit on all your neighbors so openly like this, Eddie?” You sigh, taking this as your cue to start down the stairs to your car. 

“Just the pretty ones.” He winks with a boyish grin, flicking the ash from his cigarette watching you try to hide another smile opening your driver's side door right below him.

“I’m going to see about a job, and you’re making me late.” You quip with a raise of your eyebrows leaning over your open car door. 

“You can come work at the garage with me.” The mechanic antagonizes one last time, barking out a laugh at the roll of your eyes.