coq ‘n baul

What started as a late night run through the McDonalds Drive Thru to get burgers after a show at the hideout, turned into a weeks-long campaign to collect them all.

"McNugget buddies," Eddie had scoffed as he pulled the van into the line of cars. The promotional image was dingy in the low light of the parking lot, cartoonish and silly. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever seen."

10 different characters all with different jobs; how was a chicken nugget supposed to have a career?

"They should've made them look like they were all dressed with the different dipping sauces," Jeff pointed out.

"Yeah that would've made sense," Dave agreed.

But Gareth? Gareth stared at the display with a childish desire that he was almost too embarrassed to voice when it was finally time to place their order.

An assortment of burgers and fries and sodas. One filet-o-fish for Eddie to bring home to Wayne. And finally...

"onehamburgerhappymeal," Gareth grumbled when Eddie looked at him expectantly.

There was a pause.

"Sorry, say that again?" Eddie cupped his ear and leaned backwards.

Gareth took a breath and repeated himself, much clearer this time.

"One Hamburger Happy Meal. With an orange soda. And if they have the Drummer McNugget for the toy, I want that one."

He expected his friends to laugh at him, call him a baby, anything.

Imagine his surprise when Dave finally whined, "ok I wanna change my order, I want a happy meal too. With Sarge McNugget."

And Jeff and Eddie both followed suit shortly after.

It was silly, four practically-grown-men eating from tiny little boxes with portions meant for kids. But they were silly. They played games of make-believe for fun, why wouldn't this be something they'd do.

It was silly and a novelty as they made their McNugget buddies fight and act out stories.

Then the next week rolled around. They all sat in the same drive thru, hesitantly glancing at one another. Once again, all too afraid to voice their desire for another happy meal.

"Fuck it," Eddie finally broke the silence. "I'm getting two this time. And a large fry. I was still so hungry, I ate all of Wayne Sour Cream and Onion ruffles when I got home last week. You know I hate ruffles."

"You just want two toys!" Jeff accused him.

"I want two toys. Sue me."

Once again, all of them were in agreement.

Week after week, they found themselves in that drive thru line, collecting their toys, one character at a time.

Of course, the inevitably began to happen: they got duplicates of their buddies.

"What if..." Eddie munched on his french fries thoughtfully. "We do a campaign set in McDonaldland. And all of the kobolds are actually just McNuggets."

They certainly had enough.

But there was one figurine that eluded them all.

Boomerang McNugget.

They even drove down the highway to the McDonalds out by the truckstop in Marion. No luck.

"We just need one!" Jeff whined. "We can share it."

"It can live in the van," Eddie grinned.

"Or in the Garage," Dave suggested. "Like it's a part of the band."

Gareth had an idea, though, after watching late night rat pack movies with his dad.

"What if..." he started, "we stage a heist."

Unlike the cardboard display out by the drivethru, there was a real display inside the restaurant that proudly showcased every toy there was to offer.

"We get in, cause a scene. And get out with Boomerang before anyone notices."

The plan was simple: one person clogs a toilet in the bathroom-- "No problem" Jeff grinned --while someone else pretended to choke on an actual McNugget. And while that was all going on, the other two would break Boomerang from his plastic prison.

Fate was just...never on their side.

Because, they literally ran face first into one Sheriff Hopper.

It was chaos. French fries and ketchup spilled all over the floor. Along with the tools they brought for the heist. Hop sighed tiredly as he stared down at the mess, and then looked up at the boys with an unimpressed expression.

"I take it you boys haven't suddenly become amateur handymen since the last shenanigan you pulled," he hummed judgmentally.

"You never know!" Dave held his hands out innocently. "We could've."

"You can't take our weed and firecrackers this time, Hop," Eddie said smugly. "We don't have any...probably."

"Either way, we're not here to cause trouble."

"Really? Then please tell me why there seems to be a free hammer with my Big Mac Meal," Hop crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the boys expectantly.

It didn't take long for them to fidget under his intense gaze.

"It's not our fault, it was Gareth."

"We just wanted Boomerang McNugget."

"Please don't call our parents, Hop!"

Hopper sighed, looked at all of their pathetic faces, then turned on his heel to head back to the counter, muttering something about avoiding paperwork as he did.

"Can I get another Big Mac meal?" He asked the cashier, then gestured over his shoulder. "And a mop for these boys to clean up this mess. And..." He pointed to the Happy Meal display. "The...booming mcnugget, if it's no trouble."

All four boys stared in disbelief.

Now all he had to do was build up the courage to call you.

Invite you on a date, or that aforementioned study session that you'd offered. Something, anything. Mainly, all he wanted to do was talk to you some more; how many times had he stared at the television, wishing just for that? Now he had the opportunity and he was afraid of picking up the phone.

“Just do it, don’t be a chicken.” He shook out his limbs and muttered to himself. “Just pick up the phone and call. She’s not gonna answer. Just leave a message. How bad could it be?”

He grabbed the receiver and dialed.

His heart rattled in his chest with every ring.

Leave a message after the beep.

He took a breath just as it sounded and he started talking.

“Hey, sweetheart, thanks for your number. I, uh, figured maybe if you were free on Thursday night you could come over and we could hang out. I’ll grab some soda’s, and maybe we order pizza? I'll even take up that offer for you to help with my history homework? We can listen to some music too? I dunno. Or…or whatever you wanna do. It’s fine by me. Anyways, just lemme know. I’ll see you around.”

He slammed the receiver on the cradle and then winced. It sounded terrible. It was one long breath, he was barely able to talk by the end of it. And, shit, had he even said his name? Or left a number?

“Fuck,” he groaned.

No, it was gonna be ok. Who else would call? Obviously you would know it was him.

...But what if you didn’t?

He grabbed the receiver and dialed again.

Leave a message after the beep.

He took it easier this time, slower. “Hey, sorry, I realized I didn’t even tell you who I was. Or leave my number, in case you wanted to call back. Guess I was nervous.” He laughed lightly. “Is that embarrassing to admit? That you make me nervous? God, I’m fumbling this again, aren’t I? I guess…I dunno, you’re the most interesting person who’s rolled into town in a while. Wanna make a good impression. Anyway, uh, talk to you later.”

He hung up again, a satisfied smile on his lips.

And then he realized he’d done it again.

“DAMN IT, MUNSON!”

Third time’s a charm.

“Pick up the phone, dial, leave your name and number, hang up,” he said through gritted teeth.

Leave a message after the beep.

“It’s Eddie Munson!” He shouted into the receiver, then recited his number. And hung up.

Simple.

Until he realized he sounded like an absolute nut..

“Fuck!”

Leave a message after the beep.

"Sorry that must make me sound insane. It's Eddie Munson, and if you wanna call me back, that's cool. Or you don't have to, that's cool too. If you want nothing to do with me. Maybe...maybe you should just stay away from me. You know, you'd probably be better off."

He slammed his hand against the hook switch and dialed again.

"What are you even doing anymore?!"

Leave a message after the beep.

“Hey it’s Eddie again, Eddie Munson. Sorry. I realize I’m really fucking this all up, and if you don’t wanna talk to me ever again you don’t have to. Shit, except I don't really mean that and could you possibly find it in your heart to not think I’m insane.”

There was a knock on the front door of the trailer and he groaned. He put the receiver between his shoulder and his head and yanked the cord so it would stretch as he went to see who it was.

“I’m just trying to leave a nice message and I keep messing it up and now I’m getting interrupted. Fuck! Can’t a guy just have a telephone call in peace?!”

He shouted the last bit and threw the door open, only to go slack jawed when he saw you standing there. Your lips were pressed together, as you clearly tried to hold back your laughter.

Eddie took the receiver and threw it back towards the transmitter, wincing as he heard a crash.

“Uh, hey, sweetheart,” he greeted with as much nonchalance as he could muster. “What’s...uh...up?” He shot double finger guns your way, and then winced and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You wanna hang out on Thursday?” You asked, biting your lip to keep your smile controlled.

“Sure,” he nodded.

“Great!” You leaned forward and said the next bit sotto voce. "See how easy that is?"

He sighed and leaned against the doorjamb. “So you heard all of that.”

“Absolutely.”

“Sat there and just let me keep calling?”

“Well, I would’ve just picked up but…” You shrugged. “I don’t have a TV yet. A girl needs to find entertainment where she can.”

It was up to the two of them to do this. Eddie had been the mastermind behind the Hellfire Club shirts but took a backseat so he “wouldn’t be the one to do every little thing for the band.” And it wasn’t that bad. Jeff had some skill at art, and Gareth…well, Gareth’s parents were paying for the order up front.

“They’re only happy to do it, they want to see us succeed.”

“Probably because you aren’t good at anything else but the drums,” Jeff laughed.

Jeff was pretty proud of the design. A robotic grim reaper opening a coffin. It would be printed on a bleach-stained black shirt. Super metal. All of the boys agreed.

It would take several weeks for everything to arrive, just in time for Corroded Coffin to play a pretty decent gig, opening for a band called the Crypt Keepers out in Muncie.

“They have fans which means one day we’ll have fans,” Eddie assured them all. “But we gotta make them remember us.”

They practiced round the clock leading up to the night of the gig. Their friends from school all stopped by the Emerson’s garage to be a makeshift audience and offer their critiques. This could be better. No, that could be better.

Dustin and Mike had even offered to man the merch table while they were performing.

“No, not Wheeler,” Dave said, good-naturedly bullying the younger boys. “He’ll nerd up the place with his jeans from Old Navy.”

“Where else am I supposed to get jeans?!” Mike whined.

Finally, the day had come and the box of shirts arrived. They were all in such a rush to pack up the van and get on the road that they hadn’t even looked inside.

When they arrived at the little club, there was a whirlwind of activity, from setting up their equipment, to a little bit of a soundcheck. While Eddie took a minute to thank the lead singer for giving them a shot--and maybe an extra few seconds to flirt with the cute bartender--the rest of them got their little table set up. A cashbox with a lock and key, flyers that boasted their weekly gigs over at the Hideout, and finally, the shirts.

"We'll all get shirts to wear for the performance," Jeff told Dustin and Mike--who had cut holes in his pristine jeans to fit in more-- then nodded at his bandmates. "Otherwise how will anyone know how cool they are?"

"Man, I really liked what I chose to wear..." Dave pouted as he pulled the tape from the cardboard, then paused as he looked inside the box. "...and I'm glad I did, because there's no way I'm wearing that. What the hell guys?"

Instead of mottled black and orange bleach-staining, there was neon. Pinks, blues, greens. All bright, happy colors that seemed incredibly out of place with the grim reaper design on the front of it.

"No, no, no," Jeff muttered, panic setting in. "What the hell is this? I thought I told your dad we wanted the premium color." He shot Gareth an accusatory glance.

"Hey! Don't blame my dad for this!"

"Well what are we gonna do with neon shirts?!" He grabbed one out of the box and threw it at the drummer's head. His eyes widened when he noticed that the spot he'd grabbed changed from neon pink...to purple.

The shirts were not just brights. They were hypercolor, the dye changing color whenever it warmed up from touch.

"Oh my god," Jeff breathed heavily. "Eddie's gonna kill us for this."

"Eddie's gonna kill you for what?"

Everyone jumped at his voice and scrambled to hide the evidence.

"Nothing! Everything's fine!" Dustin smiled nervously, elbowing Mike to do the same.

"Well, Henderson's voice always goes up four octaves when he's lying," Eddie pointed out. "So, tell me what happened. Shit always stinks worse when it gets on your hand; better wash it off."

All of the boys frowned and then gestured to the box of shirts. Eddie sighed and flicked the cardboard flaps open.

His lips mashed together, and his head tilted, and then he grabbed a shirt from the top. "Huh." He tilted his head the other way. "You know, these aren't what you guys said they were gonna look like..."

"I'm sorry, we should've checked when the order came in!" Jeff stared.

Gareth was quick to follow, "There were just so many colors to choose from! And we wanted them to look cool, Eddie, I swear!"

"Look, the green one looks like slime!" Dave grabbed one and shoved it at Mike. "Matches Wheeler's queazy complexion."

"Hey!"

"Sorry, man!"

Eddie took a breath and everyone went silent.

A tense few moments passed, moments that felt like a lifetime.

And then he nodded, and said "I see your vision, Jeffrey. Well played."

"You...do?" Jeff asked.

"Obviously," Eddie scoffed, then looked at the younger boys. "This is why we brought you along with us. You have something to learn about subverting pop culture. Neon is so prevalent right now, but a huge fucking robot version of death itself makes it contradictory! It makes a statement! Death to the establishment! Fuck fashion trends!"

Everyone stared at him with their mouths wide open as he pulled his Black Sabbath t-shirt off and the new, ultra-bright orange and green Corroded Coffin shirt on.

"These are gonna sell like hotcakes." Eddie clapped a hand onto Jeff and Gareth's shoulders. "Great job, boys. Now let's go melt some faces off!"

He turned and strode confidently up to the stage.

Jeff and Gareth shared a look of utter disbelief, then glared at the others.

You find a good stopping place to dog-ear the page of the book you’re determined to finish tonight before rolling off your bed. Bare feet hit the freezing wood of your apartment, silently cursing yourself for being too lazy to put socks on after your shower. Hopping across your bedroom using your area rugs like the floor is lava, the paneling creaks under every tip toed jump. Stopping near the side of your window, your curious eyes peek from behind the curtain, secretly hoping to see him. And when you find exactly what you’re looking for, your heart beats a little bit quicker in your chest.

His name is Steve, at least that’s what it says on his shop window that you’ve been too shy to step into since he moved in. Some days though, that you won’t admit are your favorites, the two of you share a small smile and a wave as you walk past that never fails to send butterflies tickling through the spaces of your ribcage. Making it nearly impossible to actually work up enough courage to go in and introduce yourself.

A dark brown smock is tied over the thick heather grey sweater covering his broad chest. A pair of scissors pokes out of the front pocket, the red handle facing up, probably shoved in there after hours of trimming. His dark amber, almost brown hair seems messier than usual, like he had been running his hands in it all day. And as the sunset hits your block just right, kissing everything in a pink tangerine, it makes the silver that weaves through his thick locks shine too.

Chestnut loafers cover his feet, the leather worn in from years of use with black socks that peek out from under the rolled up bottoms of his dark washed jeans. Long thick fingers hold his cigarette, a gold band around his middle gleams in the last bit of sun, making his tanned skin glow.

Thin silver rimmed glasses hang down the slope of his sharp nose, and a dusting of a five o’clock shadow peppers his strong jaw that he usually keeps clean shaven. You decide you like him best like this, something about him being a little disheveled endearing you.

The screen of his phone lights up catching his attention, and he quickly texts whoever it is back, his cigarette dangling dangerously from his plush bottom lip. His cheeks hollow as he takes another drag, shoving his phone deep in his pocket. And then it all happens so quickly, you don’t have any time to duck and hide when he looks up unexpectedly to exhale.

Heat spreads like wildfire across your skin when your gazes meet temporarily clouded from the smoke dissipating into the sky. It only gets worse when his full pink lips stretch wide revealing a perfect set of teeth.

It's so big that it pushes up the two moles that dot his cheek, and deepens his crows feet under his midnight hazel eyes. There’s a sweetness inside of it like his flowers and you can’t stop the shy one that pulls up your own in return. His kind greeting only lasts for a moment, smile dropping once he realizes he’s been smoking a cigarette right outside your apartment window.

”Oh wow, this is — this is so rude of me. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize your window was open.” He apologizes quickly, stomping out his nicotine fix on the sidewalk.

It’s the first time you’ve really heard his voice, and it drips like warm honey, helping you work up the courage to find your own.

”It’s okay, really. I should honestly be thanking you.” You manage, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, and you swear he watches the movement.

”Oh? And why’s that?” He finally grins again, crossing his arms over his chest as he takes a step back to the edge of the sidewalk to get a better look.

Craning his neck to meet your gaze, the unruly strand across his forehead that he always seems to be pushing back flops out of his face all on its own, giving you a good look at just how handsome he really is. The realization has you shamelessly check his hand for any sign of a wedding band, your pulse quickening when you find none.

”Ever since you opened, my apartment has never smelt better. You’re actually saving me a lot of money on candles.”

This earns you a laugh that floats up the space between you, his eyes glittering with something that makes your cheeks glow.

“Yankee might be mad at you though.”

”I think I can handle their legal team if need be.” He plays along, broad shoulders relaxing a little more before finally introducing himself. “I’m Steve, by the way.”

”I had this weird feeling that might be it.” You grin, still a little nervous and thankful that he can’t see the way your hips sway with giddiness.

“Really? What gave it away?”

His lips twitch at the sound of your giggle, a pink tongue darting out to wet them.

”It’s very nice to meet you, Steve.” You say sweetly, leaning forward just a little more, sucking at your bottom lip to stop the stupid smile that tries to split your face in two.

”It’s nice to meet you too, honey.” He agrees with the slightest hint of pink dusting his stubble covered cheeks.

There’s a brief moment of silence filled with the low hum of cars returning home from work and the last songs of the birds before retiring to their nests in the trees that line your block. Steve looks like he’s contemplating what he wants to say next, and there’s a part of you that becomes unsure if you should just say goodnight.

“You’ve never come into my shop, have you?” He finally says, breaking the tension with a card of his rebellious hair.

”No.” You smile sheepishly, before adding, “I’ve been meaning to but it always looks so busy, or I’m on my way to something.”

They sound like excuses, because they are.

”Well how about you come down now, and I can give you something that’ll get that nasty cigarette smoke out of there. I mean, I just trimmed some lavender and lilac for a wedding. No crowd cause we’re all closed up for the night.”

He’s full of reasons not to say no, and the playful wiggle of his thick eyebrows stops your conscious effort not to let your smile split your face in two. So with cheeks pushed up so high they almost hurt, you don’t.

”Let me put on my shoes.”

You’re not expecting to feel this shy when you meet him at the bottom of your staircase. But having him standing right in front of you and not waving from behind the shop window makes him feel a lot more real.

Steve is somehow even more handsome up close like this, the kind of handsome you only see in old Hollywood movies. Smoke with a hint of amber cling to the fabrics of his clothes, mixing with the sweet scents of the flowers he mentioned, and it’s intoxicating despite the way they clash.

”Hi, again.” He smiles, white teeth gleaming in the golden glow of dusk.

”Hi.” You smile back, stomach swooping at the sight.

He sticks out a large hand for you to shake, warmth unfurling over every inch of your skin when you slide your palm into his, watching his fingers envelope your hand completely.

“Maybe now you won’t be such a stranger.” He winks, shaking your hand a few times before letting you go too quickly for your liking.

”And now, maybe you won’t smoke under my window.” You add with an arch of your brow, trying desperately to regain your composure.

”Look, I don’t know how else to apologize for this besides forcing you to take some of the flowers I just spent the last three hours trimming.” He laughs softly, something playful in his stare. “I hope my physical labor is enough to show you just how truly sorry I am.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” You tease him with your own wink, relishing in the almost bashful way he shakes his head, before side stepping to open his shop door.

”After you.”

Stepping in, the entrance bell still rings, echoing in the dimly lit shop as a heady earthy smell surrounds you. The misters quietly hum, keeping the soil damp for the lush green ferns and pothos that spill out of their pots lining the walls. Flowers hang from the ceiling, their petals still vibrant in the low light making you realize why the smell was always so strong in your home. It's impossible not to take a deep breath to try and soak it all in.

”Wow Steve, it's really beautiful in here.” You gape, taking in every inch of it with wonder in your eyes.

”Thanks honey,” He says shyly as he closes the door behind you. The lightest press of his palm finds your lower back almost making you jump before your body begs you to lean into it. “Let me wrap those up for you and I’ll be right back.”

Walking away, Steve’s fingertips feel like a whisper dragging across where his palm just was, leaving goosebumps pebbling in their absence. You use this moment alone to let out the deep breath you’d been holding, as you watch this casual crush barrel down the path towards a real one. Tugging nervously at the bottom hem of your loose fitting sweater, your eyes trail over his front desk area nosely.

A half-drunk ‘Hawkins Tigers’ coffee mug sits on a stack of paper work leaving a dark brown ring on something you hope isn’t important. Next to it are a few half sharpened pencils scattered over what looks like wedding schedules, with a pile of pink eraser shavings next to it, like he had just had to change something. From the looks of it, something big. That’s when a small Polaroid tapped to his laptop right next to the mouse pad catches your gaze.

Glancing towards the back area where he’d disappeared through thick foggy plastic, you lean forward to get a closer look. It’s a younger version of him beaming with tears in his eyes next to a curly haired boy on what looks like graduation day.

The boy clings to him like you would with someone who is important in your life, and by the way it looks iron clad, you’d say the person who means the most in it. Sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, the sweetness of it all tugs at your heart and the edges of your mouth.

”Okay, I hope this is enough.” Steve says distractedly, coming out of the back still mid paper wrap, making you jump, because the bouquet he’s holding is so big that it nearly covers his entire head.

“Enough?” You gasp incredulously, “is there any left for the wedding?!”

This makes him snort, moving the flowers to the side so you can see his handsome face again.

“They’re in full bloom, it looks like way more than what it is. I promise there is plenty left for the wedding.” He grins, waving you off setting the bouquet down on his desk.

Steve holds the end of it with one big hand while pulling a roll of beige twine from his smock with the other. His knuckles move underneath his tan skin gripping the stems tighter as starts to twirl the string around pulling the flowers together. His sleeves are shoved up to his elbows, forearms flexing with each movement, and once he can let go, he replaces the twine for his scissors.

He cuts it so quick that if you blinked you’d miss it leaving himself a little slack before shoving it back in the front pocket he grabbed it from. His thick fingers move expertly, using them to tie a simple knot that's just tight enough to keep them in place. Lifting his handy work to his face, he adjusts the twine with the pads of them so it wraps perfectly stacked, finally handing it over to you once he’s satisfied.

”These are — wow, these are so pretty Steve. Thank you.” You whisper in awe of them up close.

Your fingers brush together during the pass off, the contact sending an electric jolt thrumming through your veins. A deep blush kisses the tips of his ears like he felt it too.

“It’s no problem at all sweetheart. I’m sorry again.” He smiles softly, hands hovering instinctively for a second to make sure you have a good grip.

“All is forgiven.” You whisper with your own smile, taking a big whiff, looking up at him from between the petals.

His eyes linger on you for a moment, taking in the lines and dips of your face like he’s trying to memorize this before clearing his throat.

“Now, you better start coming in to say hi. Or I’ll be forced to leave flowers at your doorstep till the guilt eats away at you.”

His joke takes you by surprise, earning a deep bellied laugh that lights up his whole face.

“I promise I’ll start saying hi.” You grin, adjusting the bouquet so you can see all of him while he’s still in front of you.

The two of you stand there, somehow so close the tips of your shoes touch. A charged silence falling between you as something new sparks and catches fire.

“I- I should get going.” You stutter out, tearing your eyes from his full mouth that you swear begs to be kissed.

“Yeah - yeah, of course. I’ll walk you out.” He coughs dryly, catching himself doing the same.

You try not to overthink how his palm finds the small of your back again. Or the way he lightly scratches at your spine when he says his final goodbye on your way out. The two of you stand at your respective doors, bumbling out one more flustered goodnight before you finally disappear behind yours.