Unexpected - Steve Harrington One-shot

unexpected - Steve Harrington one-shot

steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), smut, swearing, underage drinking, teasing, hair pulling.

summary: sometimes two opposites can make a whole

The day you walk into Family Video with your cousin is when Steve Harrington truly falls in love. He leaned against the counter, listening to Robin ramble about the newest French film they were showing in Kokomo and how Steve needed to broaden his horizons outside of teenage comedies and explosions.

She notices how Steve perks up when you walk in with your cousin. He knew your cousin, sure. Everyone knew everyone in Hawkins, but he sure as shit didn't know you.

He also knew you were her cousin because she'd been eagerly talking about you visiting for weeks.

"Ladies, ladies!" Steve says, perking up and ensuring his hair is flicked the right way. "Welcome to Family Video. The place for the finest entertainment needs in Hawkins. I am Steve Harrington, and I'll be your humble guide on this cinematic journey."

He watches, still flashing that Tom Cruise smile as you glance at your cousin before dissolving into giggles and leading her away.

"Smooth, so very smooth." Robin chuckles next to Steve who slumps back onto the counter.

But he notices how you glance over your shoulder to get another glance at him.

And yeah, a shoulder glance always meant he had a chance.

He watches you walk around the store, his eyes never leaving you as he watches you pick up a copy of Dirty Dancing. Examining it carefully before putting it back on the shelf.

"If you keep staring long enough, your eyes will fall out of your head, and you may have a restraining order," Robin says softly.

"Robin, pinch me," Steve says, groaning when she reaches out and pinches his arm roughly. "Metaphorically, Jesus!"

Rubbing the pinched skin as he glared at her.

"I think I'm in love, Robin."

And all Robin can do is roll her eyes.

"Weren't you in love with Belinda Carlisle last week?"

"This is different this time, I swear it. She's something special."

He's working a rare solo shift. He studied his neat stack on the counter but did not want to put them back. Really he only kept this job because of Robin and because his asshole dad was still threatening to cut him off if he didn't keep a job longer than a few weeks.

His chocolate eyes flicking up to the door as he hears the familiar, grating sound of the bell ringing.

His eyes widen when he sees you walking in. This time without your cousin, looking around before your eyes land on Steve, a small smile coming across your features.

"Gonna meet my entertainment needs?" You laugh softly as you approach the counter. Placing your hands on it gently as Steve stares at you with wide eyes, clearing his throat awkwardly.

"Any you may have. Any at all." He manages to get out as you smile at him.

"I'm looking for a fun movie. Something that isn't too serious, you know? The type that helps you switch off for an hour or two."

Steve nodded his head, trying to think of some of the movies that Robin had rambled about. Maybe something that would make him seem cultured and worldly.

Maybe he did need to extend his movie interests outside of boobies and explosions.

"Do you have a copy of Fast Times?" You finally ask.

Steve eagerly nodding his head, scrambling for one of the copies behind the counter and holding it out to you.

"Small problem though." You say.

Steve's brow crinkling in concern, wondering what could be wrong.

"I'm not actually a member here." You say, leaning across the counter. Steve gulps as he catches sight of your cleavage in the loose-fitting summer top. "So I was hoping we could make a deal."

"We can definitely make a deal, yeah. Of course, we can do that." And Steve is almost embarrassed at how quickly he agrees to something.

Smooth Harrington, smooth.

Robing wasn't here, so he needed to keep himself humble.

"Maybe you could maybe just rent the movie for me?" You ask in a soft voice. Steve felt his heart thunder at the big, bright smile. "And maybe kind of watch it with me?"

And were you asking him out? Before he got the chance to ask you out?

"You wanna watch it together?" Steve asks.

You laugh once more, him sucking in a breath as he watches your hair bounce around your shoulders as you giggle once more. "Sure, why else would I come in here? No offence, but it really isn't the entertainment hubbub in here. You only have one copy of The Outsiders."

Well, shit. He couldn't help but agree.

Steve is leaning on the counter with one arm, his hair flicking out of his eyes as he nods. "I can pick you up tonight, say 8? My parents have a country club event, so we'll have the place ourselves."

You smile brightly at him, holding out your hand to him and closing it. "Pen?"

Steve fumbling as he grabs one of the pens, quickly handing it to you.

Him watching, memorised as you grab his arm, carefully writing your cousin's address on his arm.

"No funny business tonight, Harrington. I'm a respectable young lady."

You were definitely something different.

And he kind of liked it.

He waits outside the house, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he watches you shut the front door carefully behind you. Steve feeling his breath get caught in his throat at the sight of you; a tiny little dress that showed off all those delectable curves but you still somehow made it look innocent.

You smile brightly as you practically skip down to his car. Happily opening the passenger door and falling in. "Sorry I kept you waiting a little." You say, sounding slightly out of breath.

"It's honestly fine."

"My cousin insisted on-" You clear your throat awkwardly and look away. "It doesn't matter." You giggle softly.

Steve sometimes hated bringing people to his house. The opulence of it all, how it was all so perfectly curated by his parents. Nothing out of place, the perfect family portrait hanging in the entryway. It alluded that they were a happy family when his mum went everywhere his dad did so he didn't end up in bed with some cocktail waitress. Steve being a typical latch-key child, once he was too old for nannies, he was simply left alone.

He hated these nights. When he was left alone without a second thought.

Just like tonight, except he had your flowery scent filling his nostrils and your body heat mingling with his as you stood awkwardly beside him, taking in the Harrington home.

"Your house is amazing." You finally breathe out, smoothing out the hem of your dress awkwardly.

"It's okay. Too big. I'd like something smaller."

He pictured raising his kids in something smaller. A lovely three-bedroom home where they were close together. Where they could have campouts in the backyard, the kitchen was big enough to cook a family meal, but it wasn't too big that it seemed cold. There'd be toys and family things scattered everywhere, things out of place.

It would look like a home, not a house.

You laugh gently beside him. "No, you don't. I grew up in a small house, and it sucks."

Steve reaching down and boldly taking your hand as he led you into the entertainment room. The newest television and basically unused couch staring back at him. The stark reminder that he had never watched a movie with his parents in this room. Even though his mother had insisted it was for family nights when she had it decorated.

Family nights, such bullshit.

"That television is huge." You laugh, shaking your head at Steve. "How rich are you folks?" You tease.

"Rich enough that they don't need to raise their son."

Your brows crinkled together slightly but said nothing, simply brushing your hand against his before bouncing to the white, leather couch and happily falling onto it. Stretching out and laughing. Your eyes glancing over to the lightly illuminated pool in the backyard.

"Even have a fancy pool." You giggle as Steve falls down next to you.

"Maybe we can swim later?" He teases and you waggle your eyebrows playfully at him.

"I don't have a swimsuit." You reply.

"Who says we need one."

Steve can't help but laugh and pretend to be wounded as you playfully swat at him.

You end up in the pool, but Steve chivalrously lends you a pair of shorts and a shirt. You giggle as you tug on the oversized shirt, noticing Steve staring intensely at you. "Don't laugh. I look ridiculous."

Steve shook his head, his brown locks bouncing upon his head. Someone had never looked so gorgeous wearing his clothes before. "You look great." He says honestly.

Steve also notices the way your eyes flick down to his bare chest. Taking in the firm, lean muscles of his stomach. How broad his chest and shoulders were, the freckles and moles littered his slightly tanned chest. You quickly blush and look away when you notice Steve still staring at you.

Smiling at him, your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you walk towards him. Steve stares at you curiously before letting out a yelp as you push his chest and watch as he topples into the water, the water splashing around him as you giggle.

You still hadn't told Steve that you had been slightly late because your cousin had been shoving condoms into your purse. "Harrington is a hound dog." She had said, rolling her eyes. "Better safe than sorry."

Your cousin wasting no time telling you about Steve's reputation in Hawkins. He had been the King before he fell due to being heartbroken, and he seemed intent on sharing a bed with every eligible female in Hawkins to make up for the aching heart. He had been a heartbreaker before and now seemed desperate for someone to pay attention to him.

"That wasn't fair," Steve gasps as he rises from the water, pushing the hair from his face. "I wasn't ready."

Standing over him as you continue to giggle, shrugging your shoulder innocently. "Always expect the unexpected, Harrington."

Such as Steve reaching up and grabbing your ankle, knocking you into the water. The chlorine and water fill your senses. Your eyes opening as you reach the bottom of the pool, staring around at the blurry masses and the chemical making your eyes sting before flicking your legs and swimming to the surface.

Steve grins at you as you reemerge. Wiping your face and shaking your head. "Unexpected?" He laughs as you grin back at him.

"Unexpected."

You didn't end up doing anything that night except share an awkward kiss when Steve drove you home. Him tapping the steering wheel nervously as you look at him. Your body soaking through your dry clothes, your hair sticking to your back as you stare intensely at him.

"I'll see you another time?" You say softly as you climb out of the car. Steve nodding at you.

He didn't expect you to run back to the car a few moments later, practically climbing through the window before roughly grabbing his face. Pressing your lips passionately against his. He could taste the chlorine and the faintest trace of strawberries as he kisses you back.

You seemingly disappearing just as quickly as you had appeared.

Definitely unexpected.

Steve spends every moment he can with you. He knows this romance has an expiry date; it's a summer fling. The type you tell your Grandchildren about, reminiscing about the youthful daze of the biggest worry is having somewhere private to make out.

Which you do, a lot.

In his car parked in a dimly lit street.

The guest bedroom of your cousin's bedroom when the rest of the family is asleep.

His pool when no one else is home.

The storage room of Family Video while a grossed-out Robin is on Keith and customer look out.

Steve doesn't pressure you, but he does push his boundaries slightly. His hand slides a little higher up your thigh, grazing your breasts as it travels down to rub your hip. He wonders if you're a virgin, it doesn't matter to him if you are.

"Have you ever had sex?" He finally dares himself to ask.

You sitting cross-legged next to him on the living room floor.

He sees your eyes widen slightly and the way you fiddle with the fraying denim of your shorts.

"Once." You finally mutter out.

"Didn't like it?"

"No, I liked it. The guy was just an asshole. I thought he liked me; he just wanted to tell everyone that he got my cherry." He can see the way your eyes are downcast at the painful memory. Giving something away to someone who didn't deserve it.

"He told everyone that I was easy." You added, shrugging your shoulders helplessly.

"That guy sounds like a grade-A asshole," Steve mutters.

Had he not once been the grade-A asshole himself? Calling girls sluts, publicly displaying it when he was hurt. Actively using girls and then tossing them away like they were nothing when they had given him so much?

Your story giving Steve the cool sting that he was probably the grade-A asshole in some girls sad story too.

You jumping slightly when Steve reaches out and squeezes your hand softly.

He wasn't that asshole anymore.

"I promise that I won't hurt you. You know that, right?"

You offer him a small smile. Though he can still see the sadness beneath it.

"I know, you're one of the good ones, Harrington."

The first time you finally have sex. Steve thinks he is more nervous than you are. HIs hands curl through yours as you stare at him with wide eyes. That captivating, intoxicating small little gasp as he pushes into you, the way your back arches off the bed and the small whimper of pleasure and pain filling his ears.

"Easy, easy." He coos out, his hand pushing the hair from your forehead and offering you a gentle smile.

And it's mind-blowing. The type that you spend the rest of your life thinking about. Steve is amazed at how your body feels made for him. Those delectable sounds he draws from your mouth as your eyes clench it, your nails digging into your shoulders as you come undone. How his name is the only thing that comes out of your mouth as you tighten around him.

Your sitting quietly next to him on the bed afterwards. Braiding your hair, your teeth nibbling on your bottom lip as Steve runs a hand through his hair.

"That was better than the first time." You finally say.

Steve glancing at you. "I mean, it usually is."

You shake your head, smiling softly at him as you wrap the hair tye around the end of your braid.

"I think it was because it was with someone I know cares about me."

And shit, Steve knew exactly what she meant.

That soul connection seemed to overpower the physical. That invisible tug between you, seemingly tethered together forever now. It may not been the first for either of you but Steve is pretty sure it's the first time in a long god damn time that he doesn't feel that bitter emptiness sinking in his belly.

"I only have two more weeks in Hawkins." You say.

Steve swallowing the lump in his throat as he nods his head.

"We always knew this had an expiry date, right?"

Your last night in Hawkins. Steve is actually thankful his parents are out of town for the night. He orders at Enzo's because it's the only place in town that does decent breadsticks and ensures he has a copy of Fast Time's ready.

You're wearing the dress from the first night you were together. It looks even better on you than before. Your skin more sun-kissed than the beginning, the way you walked with more confidence.

You don't even make it halfway through the film before Steve is on you.

Pinning you to the couch and peppering your neck with desperate kisses. He wastes no time in tugging the dress of you, happy to see you that you aren't wearing anything beneath it.

The perfect mixture of innocence and corruption.

The sex this time is something else entirely.

Steve swears he can feel it in his heart, all through his body, as he moves above you. Your strong legs wrapped tightly around his waist as you whimper and beg beneath him.

Your intoxicating eyes flicking open and staring intensely at him. A mixture of passion, longing, pleasure and sadness, Steve knows his eyes also mirror those emotions. Your delicate hand comes up and cupping his gently, still watching him intensely as you both fall apart simultaneously. Steve mumbles your name into your neck as he has the sick realisation that this will be the last time this happens.

Steve Harrington may have fought monsters from another dimension.

But the thought of not seeing you again is the scariest thing he's ever faced.

You sit next to him softly on the couch. Your legs tucked beneath you as your hand came up, playing with your lip nervously as Steve cleared his throat awkwardly.

The unspoken longing vibrated throughout the room.

Neither of you wanting to utter those words and make this harder.

"What time is your flight tomorrow?" Steve finally asks.

"Lunchtime." You answer back quietly and he nods.

"Need a ride to the airport?"

Glancing at him before shaking your head.

"My cousin is taking me. Thanks though."

Steve wished he could be the last thing you saw before boarding that plane.

"My cousin is a shitty driver, though." You say after a moment's silence.

Steve understood what you meant.

"I'll pick you up at ten?"

All you do is nod.

The ride to the airport is mostly silent. Only sharing a few light memories of the summer. What your plan was for your senior year and what Colleges you were applying to.

How you weren't sure if you wanted to go straight to college.

Steve spoke about wanting out of Family Video and maybe travel.

"Seeing the coastline would be pretty cool." You said in agreement.

Watching the way the sun reflects on your hair in the passenger seat. The way the shadows seem to create little shapes on your legs. The way you always nibbled your lip when nervous or lost in thought.

And he wonders if he actually dreamed you into his life.

Maybe all those stupid shooting stars Robin always insisted they wished on had been leading you to him.

The girl he had been searching for so long, even before Nancy.

You stand awkwardly at your gate. Steve standing beside you, hands stuffed into his jean pockets, rocking on his heels.

"Thanks for driving me to the airport." You say quietly.

Steve nods his head, you holding the boarding pass tightly in your hands.

"Okay, you can call me stupid," Steve finally says, facing you as you stare at him with wide eyes. "But I don't want this to end. What's another couple of months? We can write and talk- I'm a loser done with high school. I can visit you, and we can make this work."

"Steve.." You say quietly.

"Just let me finish, okay. We both feel it. I think you're the person I've been waiting for, and I'm yours. You're smart as hell, making me feel like I'm worth something. Shit, I think I'm in love with you, and if there is one thing my douchebag old man taught me, it's that you take the bull by the horns."

Your eyes flicked to the people boarding your plane as you stared helplessly at Steve. Shaking your head as you step away from him, clutching your boarding pass tightly in your hands as you approached the check-in gate.

Steve feels his shoulders slump and maybe this had just been him dreaming of something more again.

This was nothing more than a fun summer fling for you.

Steve had misread all the signals.

Like he did every single time.

Maybe this was his punishment for being such an asshole in the past.

He's shocked when he sees you running back towards him. Practically jumping into his arms as you kiss him passionately. Cupping his face like you had the night you shared your first kiss in his car.

You roll your eyes as you hear the final call for boarding. Smiling at Steve.

"I love you too, you doofus."

And maybe Steve Harrington had finally gotten it right.

👀👀👀... that last line...

Everlong / part seven

Warnings: 18+, angst, physical fight, blood, sexual harassment (someone touches readers thigh without permission but she stands up for herself and Steve defends her), reader uses a gun, smut, breeding kink, jealous!Eddie, daddy kink, mentions of pregnancy 

Pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader / Steve Harrington x fem!reader / implied Steddie x fem!reader (?) 

Summary: After weeks of avoiding you, Steve finally finds the courage to face you and apologize to you which may or may not end with a broken heart. 

Series masterlist 

-

The hideout was never really crowded, only a few town residents occupied the tables and the chairs at the bar, though the group of men that would always sit at the biggest table by the windows were loud enough to for you to think that half of the town were in here, no one ever minded them though, they are kind and never start any fights.

There’s five of them– the five drunks, Eddie always jokes about.

Tonight, the bar is more crowded, you don’t see many women around and it makes you a little uneasy. Usually, Robin and the rest of your friends would be here to watch Eddie play but Robin and Nancy left for college again. 

Continua a leggere

Where you and Steve swing with Eddie and Chrissy, and it gets complicated.

TO KNOW YOU'RE MINE (modern!swingers!au) (18+ only)

eddie munson x chrissy cunningham x steve harrington x you

fem!reader, chubby!reader, minimal use of y/n, body insecurity, swingers, angst, hurt/comfort. minor spoilers for the show 'The Last of Us,' episode three.

first | chapter eleven : angel (14k) | playlist | AO3 | next

🎵 in this au, deftones=corroded coffin. the playlist is a combination of R's sad girl music vibes and some foreshadowing. the songs for this chapter are #35-#36. #36, the title song, doesn't appear in the text, so you can play it whenever it feels appropriate.

@e0509 @bexreadstoomuch @mimsthebannished @tlclick73 @courtneymaisy

I've been afraid all of my life

Crippled with anxiety, shame and doubt

And sometimes, sometimes I'd like to shout

At the top of my lungs and just let it out

What has that fear ever done for me

But hold me back?

What has jealousy and hate ever done for you

But remind you of what you think you lack?

So give me love and give me compassion

Self-forgiveness and give me some passion

I love you even if you don't love me

I love you even if you can't love me

Angel— First Aid Kit

There’s a moment upon waking on Saturday that you feel the same as you did twenty-four hours before. The moon is round and full; your earth is cold and numb. Its beams are peaceful, tranquil, sterile as they glint off your frosted leaves. You have not yet recalled the warm light that awakened your growth and left it just as quickly to the dark of twilight, the whisper of smoke that flowed into your lungs and left you breathless with poignant longing. You have not yet noticed the puffiness of your eyes, the rattle of your breath in your lungs, or the deep, rending ache at the bottom of you. 

You blink, and as the late sunlight falls across your eyes, you remember.

Penny had found you howling on the floor, puddled in your charcoal despair. Your sister’s arms clasped you tight as she sputtered her distressed confusion, begging you to tell her what was wrong. You’d worked it out in bits and pieces— explanations choked through trembling lips, halted by the gasps and sobs and whines of a wounded animal. You’d felt like a child when she rocked you, shushing you softly, petting your hair like your mother had when you’d come home from elementary school scraped raw from your friends’ rejection. In the moment, you hadn’t cared how childlike you’d become, more than eager to relinquish your twenty-four-year-old self to the comfort of your sister’s surety. She wiped your face clear of the tracks of your mascara, the color dark like charcoal to stain the sleeves of her sweater. It stained Penny, but in doing so, she took it from you— took it until your tears dried up, until your muscles trembled with relief and fatigue. Penny held you on the kitchen floor as you wrested back control of your body. You scrubbed your hands over your wet, flushed face, whimpering into your palms until you finally quieted. 

You picked yourself up then, moving through the steps of recovery: retreating to the bathroom to wash your cheeks, to run your wrists under warm water, to take deep breaths until they were no longer labored, the entire time avoiding the sight of your swollen face in the mirror. When you’d emerged, Penny was thumping the knife against the cutting board, holding firm as you offered in a small voice to take over again. Obstinate, your sister refused you, directing you to the couch with a firm hand and concern shining in her eyes. She finished your stir fry, serving you a bowl you thanked her for with a brief smile but ate listlessly before turning in for an early night. 

After the tease of Eddie’s presence, no longer can you feel pleasantly numb. Instead, now that the well of your tears has dried, you just feel empty. Bereft. Like the earth has been churned, disturbed; turned over and left wanting for what has been removed. But when you heave a deep sigh, breath stirring the motes floating like fairy dust in the shaft of light spilling from Penny’s beloved window, you reach tentatively down to find that your growth is still there, standing tall. When you run a finger lightly up its stalk, it trembles within, leaves quivering a response to your tentative touch. It hurts, like the soreness of a bruise, but it does not waver. You trace the green up to where it vines around your ribcage, tendrils peeking to greet your exploration with a gentle touch. And as you pull yourself out of bed, for the first time, you fully accept your growth. Yes, there is pain where it has been cut deep by the sharpness of flinty words and languished in the cold light of the moon, further wounded by the sudden reminder of what you have lost. But there is also strength. Your growth holds your bones, cradling them securely; its fruit has not fallen or begun to molder and rot. The realization that it cannot be uprooted— that it is a part of you— is not one of grief as it was last night. Instead, it is the acceptance that what Eddie tended inside you cannot be culled. No matter what happens now, you have what you need to thrive.

This recognition carries you through your morning routine completed many hours late, and you emerge from the shower with renewed vigor and a healthy flush to your cheeks. Where you might have clothed yourself in baggy comfort intending to spend the day on the couch wrapped in the television's mind-numbing noise, you instead dress to make yourself feel good in your skin: structured skinny jeans, a clingy long-sleeve, and fun earrings. The swelling around your eyes is soothed by cool eye cream, and the flush in your cheeks is accentuated by a fresh face of light makeup. Your hair isn’t left limp to dry slowly on its own. Instead, you style it, facing yourself head-on in the bathroom mirror as you run your fingers through soft strands. You’re pleasantly surprised to see bright eyes and the dimple of a smile that doesn’t feel forced, so far from the anguished girl you’d been the night before.

Penny is equally as surprised when you wander into the kitchen, stomach growling from the late waking hour, closer to evening than to morning. “Hey,” she greets you cautiously, jangling keys halting in her palm, eyes wide and locked on you as you duck to root in the refrigerator for sustenance.

“Hey!” You return her greeting warmly, your fond smile growing when you notice the worry furrowing her brow where she’s poised near the front door, coat half-on. “You heading out?”

“I— yeah.” She confirms even as she starts to reverse the motion, shedding her coat as she explains, “I didn’t think you’d be up for a while. I was gonna get the ingredients for your cake. I can wait and keep you company, though.” She hangs the coat on the rack, tacking on, “I’ll just go later.”

Your brows jump at the reminder. Before last night’s unexpected visitor, you'd told her about the cake you were planning to make this weekend for your coworker Sherry’s birthday on Monday. A box cake didn’t feel like enough to repay the years of kindness the motherly woman had bestowed on your office, so you’d resolved to make it from scratch: a decadent chocolate cake with a cup of fresh-brewed coffee as the secret ingredient. It’s not as difficult to bake as it might sound, but you do need to buy semi-sweet cocoa and powdered sugar for the buttercream frosting.

“Don’t you have Charlie’s awards thing tonight?” 

Penny exhales a long, weary sigh. “Y/n. I’m not going anymore.”

What ensues is a brief sisterly squabble in which Penny insists on staying home to take care of you, and you insist that you need nothing of the sort. “Look at me!” You exclaim, arms thrown wide in exasperation. “Do I look like I need you to baby me?” You soften. “I’m really okay, Pen. Charlie will be so disappointed if you miss his ceremony. It’s not every day your boyfriend receives the medal of valor in firefighting.”

Your sister huffs, grumbling, “It’s not the medal of valor; it’s a medal of valor. There’s more than one.” She runs her eyes over you, assessing, hedging, trying to penetrate through any facade you may be putting on. When she sighs again, this time in resignation, your smile widens to a beam. “Fine.” She concedes. “We can go to the store together, and then I’ll go to the ceremony.”

With a sharp huff, you cross your arms. “Pen—!”

Penny doesn’t win that argument either, begrudgingly acknowledging that you’re right; she wouldn’t have enough time to get ready if she accompanied you to the grocery store. You scarf down some food and make a list of your shopping for the week, and by the time you hear her clicking back to the front door, you've finished your list. You see her clasping her earring, now bedecked in high heels and a pretty dress. “I’ll be back tonight,” she promises you from the threshold. “Text me if you need me, okay?”

The tenderness in her voice is clear, and you look up from your list to flash her a soft, grateful smile. “I will, Pen. Love you.”

“Love you.”

–

The trip to the grocery store just down the street from Penny’s house is both mundane and soothing. It’s dated, but the aisles are always clean, and you slip into the anonymous sea of people doing their Saturday afternoon shopping, a small smile of contentment blooming on your face as your cart squeaks rhythmically with your easy steps. Methodically, you mosy down each aisle, reaching soft fingers toward fruits and vegetables, grains and rice. As you go, you scratch them from the handwritten list nestled in your purse, placed conveniently in the top basket of your cart. The routine of it all— the normalcy— brings comfort.

You reach the baking aisle near the tail end of your list, with only the dairy aisle left to be visited. The speakers are playing ‘Ain’t It Fun’ as you plop the floppy bag of powdered sugar absentmindedly into your cart, eyes scanning the shelves for the semi-sweet cocoa powder. You step back with a contemplative pooch to your lips, brows perking when you finally spot it on the top shelf. It’s pushed back from the edge, likely one of the last ones, not commonly restocked. You move in until your front is nearly pressed to the shelves, biting your lip as your wiggling fingers flop for the plastic tub. Futiley, you meet nothing but air and metallic shelving. You plant your hands on your hips, reassessing with squinted eyes and a more exaggerated pooch when you register a tall presence at your side.

“What’re you trying to get?” 

The unfamiliar man is middle-aged, donning a checkered shirt and kind crow's feet that crinkle in their practiced creases when he smiles encouragingly at you. You turn shy eyes back to the shelf. “The semi-sweet cocoa,” you say, motioning to the top shelf. “It’s too far back for me.”

Wordlessly, he reaches up, hand disappearing from your sight as it wedges between other containers of chocolate. It comes back quickly with your treasure, and the man drops it into your grateful hands.

“Thank you so much,” you say, and he meets you with an easy smile and a wave of his hand. 

“‘S nothing. Have a good one.” 

He’s turning away as you smile back. “You too—”

A familiar voice from behind interjects, feminine and light. “I can't believe I ever fell for that. Your innocent little sweet girl routine.”

Light but mocking. Feminine but laced with venom.

You freeze with dumbfounded shock, hand poised on the bar of your cart as your eyes flick and catch bright blue.

Chrissy.

Her appearance is startling, and not just because you never would have expected to see her here outside the city. She looks disheveled in a way only cool girls can pull off, but as your eyes dart over her, you realize that Chrissy isn’t artfully disheveled. She’s actually disheveled: hair a tangle of waves piled into a messy bun atop her head, face creased with old foundation, body wrapped in a puffy cardigan, its bulk on her tiny frame making her shoulders appear frail where they’re bunched by her ears. Her frame is tight with tension, arms crossed, dainty fingers digging tight into the fuzzy material, scrunching it in the crooks of her elbows. And on her face is an expression you’ve never seen: eyes big and glassy but sharp like steel, bow lips contorted in a sneer. There’s something beneath the surface of her powdery-soft skin, and it’s writhing like the coils of a lithe snake, poised to strike.

Chrissy’s hard stare doesn’t waver in the face of your wide-eyed surprise. Instead, she jolts out a hand, pink nails flashing to points at the end of her thin fingers. “Show me the texts, y/n. Eddie deleted them all.”

Your mouth goes dry at the demand, and your spread fingers twitch into a loose fist where your forearm rests on the cart’s handle, your wrist curling away from your purse. Your many late-night musical exchanges with Eddie flash in your mind, largely innocent aside from the occasional ‘sweet girl’ from Eddie and the daringness of your ‘Touch Tank’ send. Though, then there’s the last conversation from four months ago, arranging for you to come to see him at his show. Heat prickles down the back of your neck, discomfort tightening in your chest as you open your mouth to reply.

Not quickly enough, apparently, because Chrissy’s pressing on, that snake writhing with the twist of her lips. “Or,” she snaps, “maybe you’re too smart for that. Maybe you’ve deleted them all, too. Or maybe you’d stuck to calling him instead. Is that it, y/n? Have you been calling my boyfriend in the middle of the night, begging for his cock?”

You flush instantly hot with embarrassment as the crude word pops from Chrissy’s bow lips, eyes darting to the anonymous bodies in the aisle around you. Their eyes flash to the pair of you instantly with her exclamation. But the absurdity of the question, the utter wrongness of it, rouses you to action. Your voice is soft and edged with pleading as you turn to her fully. “Chrissy, what? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She scoffs harshly, brows twisting up in incredulity. There’s so much venom in Chrissy’s voice that it’s hard to imagine it’s coming from her pretty mouth. “Don’t play dumb with me, y/n. I know you made up some excuse so he’d see you. ‘Oh,’” she whines mockingly, “‘my car is broken! Eddie, come save me!’” Her gaze goes flat. “And, of course, you convinced him to give you a ride home so you could fuck him in the back of his van.”

The weight of others’ silent gazes presses upon you from either side of the aisle. Deep mortification rises immediately and rushes down your spine, leaving you flushed and prickling hot with shame. It’s made worse by the knowledge that Chrissy’s accusations are on display for these anonymous others; their stares are oppressive as the viper strikes with dripping fangs. “Gonna deny it?” She spits.

There is the initial instinct to deny, to shrink away and hide. It would save face, rescue you from the judgment of those people pretending to shop, their ears honed to every word of juicy tension being exchanged in the baked goods aisle of the grocery store like a roadside spectacle. But it would be a lie. And there are firm roots at the bottom of you, anchoring you in the truth. 

So your green straightens your spine. White blooms tip up your chin. Your red fruit nourishes your tongue, unlocking your jaw as you gaze into the sharp blue eyes of your friend. “I won’t deny it,” you say, voice soft but not weak, gaze even. “Eddie did help me when my car broke down on the highway. He did give me a ride home. And we did sleep together.” 

Chrissy’s brow twitches minutely, eyes widening as you acknowledge it so plainly, making no attempt to evade the truth. She appears briefly to be at a loss for words, and it occurs to you that she must have expected you to argue, that you’d probably thrown her off by admitting the truth so readily. The remorse that leaks into your expression is sincere. “I know it was wrong. We shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have done that to you. You’re my friend.” A lump rises in your throat as her face flickers. “I know I can’t ever make up for it, but I’m sorry, Chrissy. I’m really sorry.”

Chrissy’s eyes are big and glassy, though they’re still hard, as if she’s refusing to let tears fall. Her face twitches— brow, lip, nose, jaw— and suddenly she looks so frail, like with just one small nudge, she’d shatter into dainty little pieces. 

Everyone knows butterflies are beautiful, bold and boastful in their colors and patterns. It does something to a person, that knowledge; they come to expect attention and praise. They come to think they’re entitled to it. So it’s unfathomable— impossible, really— to consider that a moth, with its thick body and more subtle colors, could possibly turn the head of one who’d long been allured by the butterfly’s charm. It defies all that the butterfly knows. 

This monarch— this queen— has suckled her whole life from milkweed flowers, storing toxins in her body. Bold, beautiful, and boastful; powdery-soft, yet unable to be anything but poisonous. Chrissy Cunningham, doomed from the moment she nibbled the leaves of the milkwood, the only sustenance the world provided.

Your sincerity is not enough, and it never could be.

A mocking scoff falls from bow lips, and Chrissy’s eyes narrow nearly to slits. “You're so full of shit, y/n. You’re actually trying to convince me you’re sorry when I know you’ve been trying to get Eddie to leave me for months. It’s sick.” She cocks a hip, and beyond her, a mother and her daughter amble by the aisle; the older woman cranes her head to keep looking as they pass.

Your eyes dart to them briefly, but you’re shaking your head before Chrissy even finishes speaking, quick and earnest with your reply. “No, Chrissy. When I broke up with Steve, I talked to Eddie a few days later, and I told him that we shouldn't see each other anymore. I haven’t seen him for four months. I hadn’t seen him,” you correct, “until he came by yesterday. To talk,” you tack on, not wanting to imply something unintentionally. Your eyes search hers, brow creasing but stable in your truth. “I am sorry for what I did to you, Chrissy. But I haven’t been talking to Eddie.”

She shakes her head before you’ve finished speaking, just like you had, but the motion is sharp and jerky as if to dislodge your words from between her ears. “What, did you two rehearse this or something?”

You’re about to point out that it’s not rehearsed, it’s just the truth, but Chrissy changes tack abruptly, dropping her arms to ball her fists at her sides. Her voice becomes shriller, more acerbic with each word. “What did you do to get him to finally do it, huh? What lies did you feed him, you homewrecker? You stupid slut!”

The words are like a verbal slap, but not in the way she intends. The unfairness of it— of calling you a homewrecker when you’d made the torturous decision to break things off with Eddie to try to do right by Chrissy— summons more heat beneath the collar of your shirt, but not from embarrassment. Your creased brow tightens to a frown. “Look, I know you’re upset, Chrissy, and you have every right to be. But I’m not a homewrecker.”

Gone are wide smiles made charming by crooked teeth. Cute giggles exchanged across restaurant tables are distant memories. Instead, Chrissy’s laughter is jagged, edged with mania— a rattle in her throat, like the tail of a venomous snake. “You’re right,” she says, blue eyes glittering as she sneers, “You’re not a homewrecker because you’re just a temporary fuck. Once Eddie gets you out of his system, he’ll come crawling right back to me.”

A smooth customer service voice interrupts the music above your heads, announcing a special on certain varieties of Halloween candy. It hits you again— the absurdity that this sensitive conversation is happening in the baking aisle of the grocery store. It’s more than absurd, really. It’s a violation. But Chrissy is still ranting, all pretense of softness stripped from her voice as it pierces over the announcement. “—asshole is lucky to be with me. Lucky I’ve put up with his dumb shit for all these years—”

More than anything, this is what makes your chest begin to buzz, indignation tightening in your limbs. You raise your voice for the first time, questioning heatedly, “How can you even say that? Eddie’s a good man, and he deserves—”

You’re cut off with a hiss. “What do you know about what he deserves?”

Your reply is firm, decisive. “He deserves respect.”

Part of you is satisfied to see how Chrissy’s porcelain face goes pink with utter rage as you imply that you respect Eddie more than she does, that you care for him more than she does. And it seems that perhaps that’s what does it— what shifts Chrissy’s motivation from wanting answers to wanting to strike you hard and deep, to sink her fangs into your flesh and inflict damage. 

Chrissy Cunningham’s beautiful face contorts into something ugly. “No self-respecting guy would ever really want to be with a girl like you, y/n.” Her eyes flick you up and down condescendingly. “That fat ass is only good for one thing—”

“That’s enough.”

You blink, almost taken aback at the sound of your own voice. There is no wobble; it is commanding, firm enough that Chrissy’s dainty jaw snaps shut as if compelled, closing her fangs away. 

The bite of her insult is the culmination of everything you’ve always feared. That you’re not pretty enough. Not good enough. Not enough to truly love. But where those words would once have sunk into the empty earth at the bottom of you, seeping through the soil to poison you slowly, you’ve since been tended, and your green is verdant and tall. 

Chrissy’s venom falls like rain onto your green. It sizzles as it slides along the soft plush of your vines and stems, but it does not reach your earth. Your leaves quiver, and they flick it away. 

You meet the eyes of your former friend directly, and you do not waver. “You can believe me or not because I know the truth, and nothing can change that. But I won’t stand here and have you insinuate that I’m less of a person because of how I look. I know what I’m worth.” You take firm hold of your cart, fists tightening around the handle, swinging it around to face her. Chrissy flinches, and you merely quirk a brow as you calmly maneuver the cart around her. As you come up even with her, close enough to reach out and touch the fuzz of her sweater or the tangle of the strawberry-blonde waves atop her head, you regard her with one last cool stare. “Eddie makes his own decisions, and something tells me he won’t regret this one.”

Chin up, head held high, you guide your squeaky cart with even steps from the aisle, ignoring the weight of the stares you gather as you pass. You haven’t hit the dairy aisle yet, but you veer toward the front of the store to pay, body on autopilot as your mind replays the last few minutes of your life.

Once you stop in front of the self-check-out kiosk, it starts to hit you— the wave of emotion that rises as your adrenaline wears off. You’d been utterly blindsided by the confrontation with Chrissy, and in the moment, all you could do was react. Now, you’re left reeling. What just happened? Your fingers tremble as you hastily swipe your items across the sensor, dropping them into paper bags as you try to conceal that rising feeling. Your cheeks puff as you exhale shakily, inserting your credit card, foot tapping against the tile until that mechanical voice reminds you not to forget your receipt. You snatch it from the machine and contain, contain, contain until you load your groceries in the trunk and slide into the driver’s seat of your old blue car. The vehicle is now a reminder of your shame, which was broadcasted by your former friend for all to hear.

In the safety of your car, the tide overtakes you. Bewilderment and humiliation crest, manifesting in a trembling bottom lip and the hot roll of silent tears down your cheeks. You sniffle but don’t wipe your cheeks; instead, you pull out your phone and call the only person who can clarify what the fuck is going on.

This time, you think he might not answer, but breathless smoke greets you at the last moment. “Hello?”

There’s a sense of deja vu as you hear Eddie’s voice on the other end, close but distorted slightly. The loud grind of something mechanical in the background disorients you further, and your breath hitches as you try to speak through the tears. “Hello?” Eddie repeats his greeting with an edge of urgency. “Y/n?”

The sound of your name on his lips forces the gasp through your lips, a shuddering exhale of desperation and relief. “Eddie,” you choke, and his urgency increases tenfold.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I—” you sniffle, fingers fisting on your thigh as you push through your trembling. You’re trying to tell him what happened, but the wave of your emotion has the thoughts swirling in your head, stuttering out through clumsy lips. “I was in the store, and— and Chrissy was— she said all this stuff, and I— I don’t know what’s going on,” you end with a helpless whine, a plea for clarity punctuated with another thick sniffle.

Eddie sounds nearly as helpless, though also confused. “Y/n, I can’t really understand you.” There’s a brief pause, and then a question asked as if he’s afraid of the answer. “Are you crying?”

“Mmm—” a choked little whimper is all you can manage, but it must be confirmation enough.

“Where are you?” Eddie’s voice is so gentle and concerned that the tears flow faster. “I’ll come, sweet girl. Just tell me where you are.”

You’re only five minutes from home; it makes no sense to have him meet you in the parking lot. You run your finger over the seam on the steering wheel, lips twisting as you ask, “C-can you just come to Penny’s? I n-need—”

You don’t even have to finish the sentence. “I’m clocking out right now,” Eddie says, and your finger halts in its path, stomach sinking.

“Oh—” Your dismay is clear in the smallness of your voice. “I forgot you work Saturdays.” You swipe beneath your eyes with your free hand, steadying yourself with a deep breath. “Nevermind, you can—”

You’re about to tell him he can just come over after work, but Eddie doesn’t let you. “I’ll be there in twenty,” he says, and then he’s gone without another word. 

As you stare at your phone screen, guilt prickles low within you, but it can’t overwhelm the sense of relief that Eddie’s insistence brings. You keep the promise of clarity at the forefront of your mind as you drive the short distance back to your sister’s house, trying to ignore the thrill of anticipation that blooms low at the thought of seeing Eddie again. Still, the implications of Chrissy’s confrontation begin to seep through your defenses. By the time you’re unlocking Penny’s front door, paper bags loaded in your arms, you’re quivering for an entirely different reason.

You unload the bags onto the kitchen island and shuffle to the bathroom, somewhat reluctant to look in the mirror and assess the damage. When you finally do, you’re relieved to see you’re not as much of a mess as you’d feared, especially compared to last night. And it’s not like you’re trying to hide that you’d been crying— Eddie already knows you were. Thankfully, your mascara hasn’t really run aside from a small smudge beneath each eye, and though your cheeks and nose are blushed and hot, and your lashes are clumped and wet, a few tissues get you back into adequate shape. 

And good thing, too. Because, though it’s nearly incomprehensible since it’s only been ten minutes, someone is knocking on your door, and you know it isn’t Penny.

Deepening light spills across the paper bags on your kitchen island like the smoldering embers of the day have flared once more before fizzling out. Golden hour, you think absently, eyes locked on the mahogany door as if you can see through to the man you know is standing on the other side. Your heart thunders as you shuffle closer, the tide of your emotions rising again, prickling at your eyes. Relief, trepidation, anticipation, hope, fear. They all rush through you, thundering with each frantic pump of your heart as your toes nudge against the welcome mat. The metal of the doorknob is slippery in your palm. 

Slowly, almost shyly, you open the door.

Eddie is rocking on the balls of his feet, one knee jiggling, fist tapping his opposite thigh in a futile attempt to release the tension, but the motions ease as he sees you. All that’s left is the rapid rise of his chest beneath a grease-stained gray tank, visible thanks to the coveralls tied around his hips. 

The first thing you register is that he’s dirty. Impossibly dirty. His pale quartz neck is glistening and smudged with it, and the pits of his tank are darkened with the evidence of his labor. His curls are tied back but loosely now, a single head shake away from coming undone; the dark pieces falling around his jaw are frizzy, and his bangs cling to his forehead. His face is darkened by grime left behind by hasty swipes of those calloused fingers, which you imagine must have pinched his chin in thought, scrubbed over his face in consternation, and scratched at his jaw when the drying sweat itched him. 

Eddie is utterly filthy. But when he raises his hands, grubby and dark like charcoal, you want nothing more than to feel him stain every inch of you. Your face softens, the relief of his presence unable to be concealed.

“Baby—” The choked endearment seems pulled from involuntarily, and your breath hitches at the tenderness of it. Eddie’s brow pinches, brown eyes melting like honey as his fingers extend, seeking you as if by instinct. His eyes flick from your face to his hands as they reach for you, widening as if he’s just noticed the grease marring his skin. 

Those calloused fingers jerk back before they make contact with you, and the abruptness has you jolting back too. You only just now notice that you’d been leaning in, swaying toward him subconsciously.

For a moment, you and Eddie just stare at each other, the relief of your reunion ticking into awkwardness as you simultaneously flinch away. Quickly, Eddie blurts, “Sorry, it’s just— I’m a fuckin’ mess—”

Your brows flash up as you rush to reassure him, bumbling over yourself as you step back to make room for him to come in. “No, it’s okay, really—” You huff a little awkward chuckle in an attempt to dispel the tension, biting your lip as Eddie clomps inside and pauses on the welcome mat. As he makes a brusque attempt to wipe off his hands on his coveralls, which are surprisingly less dirty than his skin, you offer, “You can wash in the kitchen sink.”

Wide brown eyes blink at you, and you flush without knowing why. “There’s more room there than in the bathroom,” you explain before realizing that maybe Eddie thinks you’re telling him he needs to wash up to come in the house. You hasten to add, “I mean, i-if you want to.”

He answers after a beat. “Yeah, no, that’d be good.” He’s playing with his upper lip with the tip of his tongue, a nervous gesture that you need to look away from immediately. You can already feel your moths stirring, and you haven’t even gotten any answers yet. You can't afford to be distracted.

You lead Eddie to the kitchen and he trails after you, lanky limbs tucked close to his body like he’s afraid to brush against anything. The farmhouse sink is deep, concealing Eddie’s ink up to the elbows as he wets them and pumps dish soap into his hands, scrubbing over the length of his arms, almost up to his shoulders. Dirt swirls into white porcelain as he runs calloused fingers carefully, though somewhat sheepishly, over his cheeks, mouth, and chin, then down onto his neck and over his collarbone, dripping water to darken the gray of his tank. 

Brown flashes toward you, and it's then you realize you’re hovering.

You whirl away, snatching up the paper towels on the island and plopping them down beside him. You nudge them a little closer, eyes trailing over the hair that curls delicately at the edge of his ear. “Here,” you say, nodding your chin toward the paper towels when he glances over. 

“Thanks.” You nod, backing off and busying yourself by unpacking the groceries from your paper bags. A loud rip draws your eyes from a container of bright red strawberries back to the sink. You suppress a smile when you see the ridiculous amount of paper towels Eddie’s torn from the roll, though you can’t help the exasperated shake of your head as you pile the powdered sugar and cocoa together, fidgeting with them to occupy your fingers.

“Where’s— oh.” You hear Eddie cut himself off behind you, ears honed to the heaviness of his bootsteps and the creak of the garbage can as he lifts the lid to drop the paper in. You swallow, nerves rising as all goes silent. You glance over your shoulder to find him damp but notably cleaner than when he came in.

Hesitantly, you offer, “Do you wanna sit?” You motion toward one of the stools at the island. He accepts your invitation soundlessly, jerking over, awkward like a newborn colt as he folds himself onto the wood. Gingerly, Eddie places his elbows on the counter, moving slowly in your space as if overly aware he’s invading it. And, sure, you’d invited him here, but you can feel it too— that foreignness, same as you’d felt with his dark presence on the couch that first time in your and Steve’s apartment. After four months, it's conspicuous and unfamiliar in a way the shock of his presence yesterday hadn't allowed you to truly notice..

You’re unsure whether to sit down or stay standing, unsure what to do with your hands, unsure what to say. But when Eddie glances at you and away, back and forth again with little hesitant flits of his wide brown eyes, you call upon the green that grows sturdy through your center. It was you who asked him to come; it should be up to you to begin this conversation.

“Sorry I wasn’t making sense on the phone,” you start. “But thanks for coming.” You glance at Eddie, and he nods, expression open and waiting. “I guess I’ll just… start at the beginning. I was at the grocery store, grocery shopping—” your cheeks pink at the inanity of the statement, and you throw a little sheepish glance at Eddie. “As one does,” you poke fun at yourself, and a corner of his mouth quirks in amusement, though it doesn’t assuage the concern in his eyes. Your fingers begin to itch, so you grab one of the paper bags, folding it as you talk. You speak over the crinkles, musing, “I was getting ingredients for this cake I’m making for my coworker. I turned around, and Chrissy was just… there.” The folded bag gets placed on the counter, and you smooth it with your fingers, wondering how Chrissy found you, not even at your sister’s apartment, but out at the store. Your nose wrinkles in confusion. “How did she even know where I was? I haven’t talked to her in months. I don’t even know—”

It dawns on you suddenly.

“She must have used ‘find my friends,’” you say, eyes darting to Eddie in realization. “I forgot I had that on.” You suddenly register your fidgeting fingers and force them to still; shyness blooms, but you push through. “...Is that how you found me?”

Eddie licks along his bottom lip. “No,” he answers, holding your gaze. “I asked Steve.”

You aren’t sure which is more of a shock: Chrissy showing up out of the blue or Eddie asking your ex-boyfriend, who knows you broke up with him because of your feelings for the other man, to help him find you. You blink, dumbstruck, voice a little weak. Reeling from the implication of it. “And he actually—?”

Eddie’s brown eyes are soft with the knowledge you share, and he doesn’t speak. He just nods.

A welling of emotions rises in you then: a potent mixture of gratefulness and wistfulness, of poignant, bittersweet appreciation as you consider how, even though you’d hurt each other, it hasn’t changed who Steve is at his core. 

Despite his mistakes, Steve Harrington is a good man.

You manage a little smile, and Eddie does the same. You find yourself hoping that maybe the threads that tie Eddie and Steve together may not snap after all. 

“So what happened?”

Eddie’s smoke voice prompts you out of your reverie, and your smile turns wry. "She cornered me in the baking aisle, demanding to see the texts she thought you deleted."

Eddie huffs an incredulous chuckle, but there's no humor in it. "I'm so fucking sorry." He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face and mussing his bangs in a move that makes your yearning bloom, though you know he didn’t intend it to. "I was gonna talk to you later this weekend. I spent all last night collecting my shit off the lawn and moving into Gareth's place—"

You interrupt, incredulous. “She threw your stuff outside?”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie chuckles, and there is some humor in it this time. It’s dry but present as he tips his head, adding, “She was... not happy.”

“I gathered that,” you say, not unkindly.

Eddie sobers, leaning back on the stool as he gazes at you. His voice is quieter when he speaks again. “What did she say to you?”

Chrissy’s shrill voice echoes in your mind, a haze of diluted venom that mists your green.

—you homewrecker, you stupid slut—

—asshole’s lucky I put up with his shit for years—

—he’ll come crawling back—

—a girl like you—

Leaves sizzle, and white flowers shake; you avert your eyes, voice a bit small. “A-a bunch of stuff, Eddie. You don't wanna hear it all.” He accepts your reticence with a reassuring nod, and gratefulness dilutes the poison. Your eyes catch on the powdered sugar and cocoa, a welcome distraction you latch to. “I need to start baking this cake,” you say. You’re surprised when Eddie perks.

“I can help you.”

You’re reminded of the other time Eddie helped you in the kitchen. How nervous you’d been watching him talk with Steve and Chrissy over on your couch. How his body nearly brushed yours when he reached up to take down the crackers; how you’d feared he was trying to make a move when you weren’t yet ready. 

Now you know he wasn’t. 

Now you know he never would have.

Before you can suppress it, a mischievous smile tugs at your lips. Eddie spots it, matching it with a bemused smile of his own. “What?” He snaps playfully.

Your amusement is clear. “Remember when you dumped the crackers on the tray the first time you came to the apartment?”

Eddie husks a chuckle, scrubbing a hand again over his face. When it drops, you’re surprised to see a tinge of pink. “I was nervous,” he admits. 

Shock and delight. “Nervous around little old me?” You tease, eyes sparkling. 

“Yes!” The word bursts out of him as he leans over the counter toward you, the tips of his ears still pink when he flops back again. “I dunno,” he says, a little bashful. “I just didn't wanna mess things up.” 

To know that beneath the bravado and his dark ink exterior, Eddie had felt just as you had... Warmth blooms as your moth wings flutter. You’re instantly more endeared to him. “You didn’t mess things up,” you say quietly, and you know he sees it, hears it— the evidence of your feeling. You take a quick breath, continuing on. “Okay. You can help me with the cake.”

Eddie scrambles up eagerly as you pull up the recipe on your phone, setting it between you on the counter. Together you prepare to bake, moving around each other carefully, feeling out the unpracticed rhythm of sharing a space. Eddie surveys the ingredients and retrieves the wet from the fridge as you gather the rest of the dry. You brew the cup of coffee and direct him towards the utensils— spatula to the right of the sink, electric beater in the deep drawer beneath it. As you grease and flour the pan, he asks you how to set the oven. And all throughout, you find the clarity you’d wanted, punctuating your discussion with little directions and adjustments as you bake together.

“So, yeah,” you say. “Chrissy wasn't quiet about it when she confronted me. She knew about the van, and she accused me of trying to, like, convince you to—” you stumble on the word, heart leaping, though you try to conceal it— “b-break up with her.”

Blessedly, it’s easier to talk about this as Eddie cracks eggs into the metal bowl, tongue tip sneaking between his lips. But at the waver in your voice, his brown eyes find yours.

“Shit,” he mutters, dropping his wrists to lean against the counter. “Fuck, y/n, I'm so sorry. If I had any idea she'd do that to you…” Eddie sighs, eyes heavy with regret. You find yourself wishing you could take it from him. “I didn't say anything like that, that you wanted me to break up with her or something. Probably shouldn't have told her anything at all, but she just—" 

Eddie breaks off, glancing away, jaw tight. The pain in his expression is clear, and you think of claws in his back, blood staining hotel sheets. Though it had been a shock that Chrissy knew about the van, and part of you wants to be indignant that you’d been blindsided, you can’t really be mad at Eddie. You’d seen it for too long— the hold she has over him.

Had, your mind whispers, and wings flutter.

"It's not your fault." Eddie shakes his head, curls coming loose, but you don’t let him dismiss your reassurance. You pause with the electric beater in the bowl, poised but off, ducking your head to catch his gaze. Once he looks at you, you continue earnestly, "You told her the truth, Eddie. I'm not mad at you for telling her the truth. You did nothing wrong."

Eddie quirks a half-hearted smile at you, though he does look relieved. Satisfied, you start the beater, and he talks a little louder over the whir. "She made all that up about you in her head because, well." He looks away, and you keep your gaze on the chocolate mixture in the bowl, hoping it’ll be easier for him to talk without your eyes on him. It seems to be, because he continues, "I did try at first. To pretend nothing had changed. But Chris, she could always tell when something was off with me. The more I tried to tell her everything was fine, the more she'd push. The more she'd need me to do to try to convince her." He rubs at his knuckles, and you know he's missing his rings. 

"She started, like..." When he pauses, you look up to see Eddie watching you. "Well, I dunno if you wanna hear this." 

You take a slow breath through your nose to resist the rise of your anxiety. You want Eddie to feel free to share, just as he makes you feel. And part of you also just wants to know. "You can tell me," you assure him. "If you want to."

Eddie runs his tongue against the inside of his cheek, eyes dipping to his hands as he holds the bowl steady for you. "Couple months ago she started dropping all these hints, like, that she wanted me to buy her a ring. Came to a point that I started working overtime just to have more time away from home. Kind of delaying the inevitable, in a way, but... I dunno. I knew what I wanted to do long before I did it." 

You glance up again to see him looking at you, face so soft, and it makes your throat go thick. "I just knew it was gonna be rough," he continues. "That she wasn't gonna make it easy. But then yesterday, when I heard you—" 

He breaks off, and you turn off the beaters, resting them on the counter. Chocolate batter drips slowly back into the silver bowl, and you keep your eyes on it, trying not to let your lip wobble. Eddie's voice seems louder in the sudden silence. Hoarse, more labored when he continues. "When I heard you cry like that— God, y/n, I just... It just all clicked into place for me. Honestly, I didn't care anymore how ugly it was going to be." He looks at you mournfully, eyes glassy, and your green squeezes you until your sternum cracks.

You don’t hesitate to cup his cheek, wanting to convey the depth of your feeling. 

Compassion for his situation; heartache for the way he needed to rend his flesh to get free.

Understanding for why it took so long; forgiveness for what he did to you yesterday.

And a tinge of guilt. Guilt that you’d been the one to ask him to stay.

"Eddie—" His name falls from your lips in a tender whisper, and when he lists into your touch, you hitch a tiny whimper. 

"I'm sorry, sweet girl," he whispers. "I never want you to cry like that again." 

Your growth reaches and strives for him, chest aching as your chin quivers. “I’m sorry, too,” you whisper. 

Eddie’s brow wrinkles in confusion but crumples when you clarify in a tiny, trembling voice, “I’m sorry I told you to stay.”

The understanding dawns between his eyes, and it’s the blooming ache of a bruise between you. You both sit in the moment until the emotional whiplash of the last two days begins to overwhelm you, stinging at the corners of your eyes. 

And Eddie can see it written on your face. He takes your wrist in his calloused fingers, pulling your hand gently from his face to press a brief, chaste kiss to your palm. The press of his lips soothes the mottling of your hurt, and as he holds your hand against his mouth, your thumb draws tenderly along his cheek. 

The understanding you and Eddie share is the blooming ache of a bruise, but now, it can start to heal. 

He released you gently, and when he speaks again, Eddie’s voice is hoarse and quiet, but the question he asks isn't what you expect. He motions to the batter between you, asking, "You want this in the pan?"

You chuckle, and it comes out a little watery. "I think I'll pour it," you say, smiling at the wry twist to his plush lips. "No offense."

“Wow.” Eddie throws up his calloused hands and huffs disbelievingly through his nose, but you know he’s not really offended. You pour as he scrapes down the leftover batter with the spatula per your instruction, and he opens the door to the oven for you so you can push the pan in carefully. As it snaps shut, the sound seems uncannily like the final punctuation at the end of something. Your clarity has been gained; all questions have been answered. The task has been completed. As you stare through the glass window to the baking pan beyond, the silence lingers between you, beckoning the question. What now?

You break it a bit lamely. "Thanks for helping with the cake," you say.

"Yeah, sure," Eddie replies, scratching the back of his loosely-tied curls. You wonder if this is it— if he'll leave now. You're chewing on your lip, eyes darting to him and away again as he does the same. 

And then his stomach growls loudly. 

"Shit," Eddie deadpans, and when you giggle, he husky a goofy chuckle back. As your humor subsides, it segues into a very clear choice. Eddie can leave and go on with his night, have dinner on his own. 

Or… 

As the offer occurs to you, you suddenly feel shy; self-consciousness squirms within at the thought of being rejected. Still, you glance at Eddie hopefully. "You wanna order some food?" 

"Yeah." The word escapes in an immediate woosh, and Eddie’s crooked grin is unreasonably charming. "Honestly, I could eat that whole goddamn cake right now. Just, like, raw." 

You hazard a guess. "You like Chinese?" 

Eddie’s grin transforms to a slow, spreading smile, fond as it dimples his cheek. You flush under his gaze, but it's not uncomfortable. It's nice. "I love Chinese," he says quietly, and you wonder what has made this moment what it seems to be for him. Before you can wonder too long, Eddie breaks it. "Just none of that healthy shit.” He eyes you shrewdly as if suspicious. “I want all the MSG." 

You snort, glancing up from your phone where you’ve started to Google the restaurants nearby. "You can have whatever you want, Ed," you throw over your shoulder. Your wings flutter pleasantly as he beams that goofy smile you’re so fond of, crinkling the corners of his eyes. What a dork, you think, and there’s nothing but affection in the roll of your eyes.

–

Eddie is, apparently, pickier about his Chinese food preferences than he initially let on. He adamantly insists on Chinese donuts, and the first three restaurants you find don’t have them. The timer for the cake ends up beeping before you’ve even placed your order, but you can’t be too exasperated. How could you resist that pout of his? Full lips pink and pooched, brown eyes so wide and warm and shiny as he tips his head and leans in, coming eye-level with you as his loose curls brush your shoulder. It’s downright criminal, is the thing.

Eddie beats you to the oven, pulling on Penny’s frilly oven mitts as you concede and call in your order. You’re only half-listening to the tinny voice on the other end of the phone, watching Eddie carry the hot pan over to the stove. He sets it down with caution before spinning to you with an air of triumph. You complete the order and head over, standing beside him to peer down at your cake. It smells wonderfully of rich chocolate that’s still succulently moist, wafting damp steam that kisses your cheeks. And as you both hover over it, heads close together, it hits you suddenly how domestic this feels— just you and Eddie, alone in the kitchen, admiring the fruits of your labor.

Your green quivers, yearning. Your wings flutter almost wildly, almost overwhelmingly so. You speak to distract yourself from the feeling welling up from the bottom of you. 

"So, um... you wanna watch something? I have Netflix."

Eddie quirks a mischievous brow, and you flush, smacking his stomach with your arm. It makes him beam instantly. "D'you have HBO?" he asks, and your brow crinkles. 

"No," you say, and you swear he lights up brighter than the sun. 

"Oh," he chuckles out the word, eyes nearly crinkled shut with joy. "You're in for a treat."

You get him set up with the remote so he can log in to his account on Penny’s television and ask if he wants a drink. You fill glasses, placing them on the coffee table as the screen prompts Eddie to choose a profile: a big E for Eddie, a big C for Chrissy. You brace for the blow, for the sting, but it doesn’t come. 

Eddie clicks into his profile, leaving Chrissy’s behind, and you don’t feel a thing.

Still, when you sit next to him on the couch, you leave a healthy gap between you, a few inches to avoid presumption. Eddie doesn’t close the gap, but he doesn’t seem bothered, either. His legs are spread comfortably as he navigates the menu, and his eyes don’t leave the screen as you ask, “So, what’s this treat called?”

“The Last of Us.” His broad hands dance with that familiar frenetic energy as he motions while he explains. “It’s based on a video game from 2013, but you don’t need to play the game to get it. Basically, the premise is that a fungus infects people and turns them into zombies. Well, not really zombies because they're not actually dead, just mind-controlled. But it’s close enough. It’s a post-apocalyptic setting; lots of nature overtaking the land, so the landscape shots are beautiful. And the reason for the outbreak isn’t as bogus as zombie shows usually are. It feels like it could actually happen, which I really like.”

You chuckle, tickled by his keenness, and Eddie flushes at the amusement in your expression, smiling bashfully. 

Subtly, you nudge in closer, shrinking the inches minutely. You don’t need to feign enthusiasm. “It sounds good. Let's do it.” 

Eddie seems pleased. “Cool.” He leans back before popping up straight again almost immediately. “Uh, just, fair warning, ‘cause I know you don’t like scary stuff. There are no real jumpscares in this, but some of it is kind of creepy.”

Despite the unease you would typically feel about that, you find yourself genuinely saying, “I think I’ll be okay. If it gets too creepy, I’ll let you know.”

Eddie’s free hand twitches in his lap like he wants to touch you, but he settles for a smile instead before pressing play.

Your food arrives a third of the way through the first episode. You'd been riveted and are now dismayed by the knock on the door despite the hunger gnawing at your stomach. You tap Eddie’s arm urgently, drawing his gaze. “Pause it!” You exclaim, clambering off the couch, intent on making the exchange as quickly as possible to return to the action. When the noise of chaos suddenly cuts as Eddie obliges you, it brings a sigh of relief.

Despite how engaging the show is, you find yourself looking at Eddie as he slurps his lo mein noodles, brown eyes wide. “Look, see how it throws itself around?” He talks through a mouthful, indicating the infected chasing Joel and his daughter. “That’s ‘cause when the fungus takes over a person’s brain, it isn’t trying to be careful with the body anymore.” He shakes his head in awe. “Fuckin’ metal.” 

You suppose it’s kind of gross, the way he’s talking with his mouth full, but the expression on his face is so boyishly charming that you can’t bring yourself to care. Between Eddie’s eagerness and your shock and dismay at the episode’s ending, you're hooked instantly. "Can we watch the next one?” You ask eagerly, not missing the brief smug twitch of his mouth, the one that means, ‘knew you’d like it.’ 

"Sure," Eddie replies, sounding casual. But when he brushes your hair back from your shoulder, lips twisting as if he's trying to contain the depth of his happiness, you can see it leaking through his bright eyes. 

As episode two eases into episode three and you begin to edge into binge-watching territory without complaint, you find yourself drifting closer to Eddie with tiny shifts of your body. First, your knees turn inward, then your shoulders tilt. Then you’re sinking back into the cushions on an angle, all the while seeking Eddie's light, half-subconscious and half-aware, though the aware part of you does nothing to stop it. And he's doing the same thing: spreading his legs, leaning back against the cushions, taking up space as he edges toward the center of the couch. Eddie inches ever closer until you finally feel his coveralls brush your hip and the heat of his armpit against your shoulder when he throws his arm around the back. 

When Frank climbs out of the hole in the ground and is greeted with Bill’s shotgun, your knee bumps against Eddie's thigh, and you keep it there. When Bill takes over for Frank at the piano, Eddie shifts until his side is pressing lightly to yours. And as Bill and Frank fall into bed together, you look at Eddie and feel your moth wings flutter, that rushing giddiness, that nervous anticipation like this is a first date. Because, for you, there's just something about eating in and watching television cuddled up on the couch, just you and a special person. 

There always has been. 

As episode three progresses through the years of the characters' lives, you press even closer to Eddie, relaxing as you feel him lean into you in kind. You relish the novelty of what you feel: the peace of being alone, the shared experience of doing something mundane with him, the emotional journey this television show is taking you on together. You focus on the physical sensations, too: the rise and fall of his warm chest, the tickle of his curls against your temple when he tugs you in with an arm wrapped around your shoulder, and your head falls to the crook of his neck. You even relish his scent, spicy and smoky but acridly tangy like motor oil and body odor, reminding you of the sweat and labor of his day. But you don't care. In fact, you tuck your nose against the gray of his tank, inhaling slow and steady as you let your eyes slip closed for just a moment, breathing in as much smoke as you can bear. You feel relaxed— not quite at the edge of sleepiness, but so utterly, wonderfully content.

When Eddie pulls your legs onto his lap, the arm wrapped around you tightening around your shoulders, you lift your head and smile up at him. But the hesitant concern on his face is unexpected. Your sleepy contentment fades at his expression. "What is it, Ed?" 

You reach tender fingertips to smooth the crease between his brow, and his face softens when you do. "This episode... it gets sad," he murmurs, brown eyes darting between yours to read your reaction. "Are you sure you wanna finish it right now? We can stop."

You glance at the men on your sister's television screen, how the sun shines behind them as they feast on red, succulent strawberries— the spoils of the months Frank spent tending the plants in secret. You look back at the man who has you wrapped up in his tender embrace, cradling you securely. "It's okay," you say, lips curving in a sweet smile. "I wanna finish it."

Eddie wasn't kidding.

Your breath stutters in your chest, chin trembling as you try to hold back your tears. You're tired of crying— you're cried out, really, from these last two days— but watching this might leave you no choice. Eddie's thumb rubs a soothing pattern along your arm, plush lips shushing against your temple as you crowd close to his side for comfort. You curl your knees up, almost in his lap as you clutch at his free hand. Sadness weighs in your chest, but you can't look away. The pain is just too bittersweet, and Eddie's closeness is just too precious. 

The third episode is nearly over when the door creaks open, drawing your heavy eyes. Penny freezes in the doorway, and you see yourself suddenly through her eyes: the room dark save for the glow of the television, empty Chinese food containers scattered messily on her coffee table, and her baby sister tangled up with an unfamiliar man on the couch, eyes big and glossy.

You tense slightly, pinned by her wide-eyed stare, but you don’t move away from Eddie. "Hey," you greet her cautiously. 

"Hey." Penny matches your inflection before her eyes flick over Eddie, a brow quirking as her eyes scan him— heavily inked arm thrown over your shoulders, your legs in his lap, his earrings glinting, his hair long and dishevelled. You’re at the edge of offense when she says, not quite critically, “Dirty coveralls on my couch?” 

Immediately, Eddie jerks, jostling you as he moves your legs off him and makes to get up, stuttering an apology. “Shit, sorry—” 

But Penny seems to be amused by his earnestness. “Nah, it's fine,” she says, and Eddie’s eyes dart between you and your sister as if he’s assessing whether to take her at her word. You roll your eyes toward her, not missing the smirk she tosses you before pulling off her coat and hanging it on the rack. You just know she’d taken pleasure from making Eddie jump. 

You gently guide Eddie back to sitting, and almost reluctantly, he resettles. When you put your legs back in his lap, he holds them there with a warm palm, touch tentative now with an audience. You blush with pleasure as his thumb traces lightly, so lightly, over your calf. You distract yourself by calling to Penny, "How was the award ceremony?" 

"It was good," she replies, closer than you thought she’d be as she passes by the back of the couch, heading toward her bedroom. Her tone is casual but edged with a sense of knowing implication that makes you want to squirm. You whip back around to face the television, noting that the episode has since finished. Eddie pauses it before the next one can start. 

Penny’s arrival hasn’t quite put you on edge, but it has changed the atmosphere in the condo. You and Eddie are no longer alone, no longer quite as peaceful as before. And it seems Penny's arrival has shaken Eddie out of that place, too, because he says, “It's getting late.” 

You glance at him to see his expression is largely neutral. You, on the other hand, can’t fully conceal your disappointment at the significance of his observation— that it’s time for him to go. You nod, hoping it doesn’t appear as reluctant as you feel.

Eddie is hesitant, quiet as he watches you, and you think maybe that neutral expression isn’t neutral at all. Maybe it’s just carefully guarding against his own disappointment. It could be just your hope talking, and you’re starting to think so, but then Eddie is leaning a little closer, and his lips are brushing your temple, and he’s murmuring, “Do you want me to go?” 

A low flutter. A rush of green. Your throat is dry, and you swallow to wet it. “No,” you whisper back. “Do you want to go?” 

You peek up at him, and light glows in honey brown. “No,” Eddie murmurs. 

You take a slow breath. “Okay,” you say, somewhat louder, but voice still tiny. You bite your lip. “My bed is small,” you tell him. Negotiating. Mitigating expectations. 

Eddie’s lips curl with a slight, fond smile. “That's okay.” 

You feel your own smile spreading. You keep the exchange going. “You'll need to shower first.” 

“So will you,” he counters, eyes alight with his tease. “I’m filthy, and you've been cuddling me all night.”

You feel heat rise, glowing in your cheeks. But it isn’t with embarrassment, and it isn’t with arousal either. “Yes, you are,” you say, sweet and tender. “And yes, I have.” 

Eddie’s calloused fingers squeeze warm around your leg.

–

The bathroom is right across the hall from Penny’s office, which is now your bedroom. The heat of the water is steaming up the mirror, but you can’t see it because you’re already concealed behind the curtain, standing under the warm stream that beats against your back, wetting the ends of your hair. You’re listening to the drops hit the basin and bounce off your shower curtain, and you’re not doing anything else. Though you stepped under the spray several minutes ago, you haven’t touched your soap yet.

There are two doors that separate you from Eddie. He’s sitting on the floor in your bedroom, which you know because he’d clambered down cross-legged before you left the room. He’d chosen a spot on the hardwood, away from the area rug and the rumpled comforter of your twin bed. He’d told you he didn’t want to get any of your things dirty.

There are two doors that separate you from Eddie, but your green knows how close he is.

Now that you’ve had a taste of closeness, you feel his absence keenly. Your wings are fluttering, frantic to find him. The heated spray is prickling the backs of your arms, running down your legs, reminding you of your nakedness. Reminding you that you’re currently bare and the man you yearn for is just a dozen steps away.

You and Penny never lock the bathroom door at home; if it’s closed, you both know not to enter. Tonight is no different, making what you’re considering an actual possibility. But Penny is home now, and fearing what she might think is the source of your indecision. Still, your green is reaching, trembling, striving for Eddie, and your sister already saw you cuddling with him on the couch. 

You just want to be close.

You decide that if Eddie can hear you through two doors and over the stream of the shower, great, and if not, so be it. You call his name.

“Eddie?” 

A pause yields nothing but the steady thrum of water on the curtain, and then you try one final time, projecting your voice a little louder. “Eddie?”

After a long moment, you hear a creak on the carpet just outside the bathroom and then his hoarse smoke voice, a little tentative and muffled through wood. “Yeah?” 

Nervousness surges, but you pluck up your courage, pushing through the pause. Your teeth scrape your bottom lip before you release it, but your voice still comes out softer and higher than you’d like. “...Do you wanna come in?” 

Your heart is thumping in your chest, eyes darting as you concentrate on listening. There’s no reply, but you hear the door creak open and close again. Your heart thumps harder at the sound of rustling fabric, and you know it’s Eddie’s clothing dropping to the floor; the curtain shifts, and you step aside, making room in preparation for him. Wings flutter and flap, and green tendrils reach until you see that face— white framed with black, tinged now with pink— peek tentatively beyond the curtain. 

Eddie’s eyes wander over your naked form only briefly before returning to your face. “Hi.” 

Your mouth curls. “Hi,” you echo him, pinching the curtain back so he can step in. He does so quickly so as not to let the water out, and the curtain pulls from between your fingers when he tugs it back into place, but you don’t notice because you’re just looking at him. 

The pale quartz of Eddie’s body is inches from yours where he stands under the spray, blocking it from reaching you. The water is already washing the grime away and soaking his hair, smoothing curls nearly straight. You follow the path of the water down the ink of his chest and arms to where it drips over ruddy knuckles and from calloused fingertips; you follow other trails down his soft stomach, over the plane of his hip, down the sparse hair on his legs and to his pink toes.

Eddie’s toes are a revelation. You’ve never noticed his toes before. 

You look up again into honey brown and sway closer to touch the wet hair now flattened to his collarbone. Eddie reaches for you when you reach for him, and his calloused fingers brush your waist. And slowly, by degrees, you close the gap until Eddie’s warm front is pressed to yours. 

Everything is pliant and slick, even the heat of his soft length where it presses between your bodies. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, and his wrap around your waist; you embrace each other in the water, in the haze of steam and humidity. You sigh against him when he tangles his fingers in your wet hair, and you turn your head to press the side of your face to his chest. Eddie’s heartbeat is steady under your ear, and his arms are firm around you; he’s so solid within your grasp, so wonderfully and unbelievably here. 

You only pull back when water splashes you in the face; he smiles warmly when you blink and releases you to wipe it away. 

"C'mere," you say then. "I'll wash you." 

You take his arms, and he lets you switch your positions, so he's out of the spray. "Am I gonna smell like you?" He murmurs, not looking all that upset about it. 

"Yup." You grin, reaching around him to indicate the shampoo bottle on the shelf. "Shampoo is here." 

Eddie dispenses a pump while you squirt body wash into your hands; he lathers up his hair, giving you a chance to run your hands over his pecs and under his arms, washing out the hair there. You take more body wash and clean him gently, soft palms trailing over warm wet skin, washing away the grime and sweat as the dirt follows suds down the drain. You clean all of him— the ink on his arms, his pale sides, his hips, his groin, his legs. Even the backs of his knees, which you bend to reach. 

This isn’t the first time you’ve touched Eddie. You’ve touched probably ninety percent of his body in the five months you’ve spent together in your arrangement. But this time, it isn't sexual; it's just intimate. You know it, and he knows it. In fact, when you draw closer to reach around and start on his back, and between you, you feel him semi-hard and hot against your belly, he even looks sheepish. "Sorry," he mutters, but you reassure him quickly. 

"It's okay," you murmur, gazing up into his face. "Let me get your back." 

You swap places so that he's under the stream facing away from you, and you gather the length of his hair, draping it over his shoulder. You wash the rest of him, running your hands reverently over the muscles of his shoulders, down the slope of his back to the dimples at the base of his spine, and then over his butt. His hips twitch at the tickle of your touch, and you both chuckle. “Okay,” you say, and he turns around to face you again, cupping your neck with a thankful hand.

“Your turn,” he says, and you pass him the body wash. He washes you carefully, calloused hands smoothing over your wet skin. Never lingering for too long; still not sexual, but not clinical, either. Sensual and tender, like he wants to take care of you. You sigh as you wash your hair, enjoying every touch as Eddie’s hands smooth over your shoulders and arms, your breasts and your soft stomach, the wideness of your hips, and the pliant fat of your thighs. He washes your legs, and you lean against him with a hand on his shoulder to lift your feet at his insistence. He nudges your arm so you’ll turn, and you oblige him, letting him wash your back with just as much care as you wash your face. 

Finally, the water begins to run lukewarm, and you both rinse off and finish up quickly. You grab Eddie a towel from the nearby rack, passing it over before gathering one to wrap around your body. The shower curtain rings clatter against the bar as you open it and step out, eyes catching on the rumple of Eddie’s soiled clothing on the floor and the plaid red of his boxers peeking from the pile. You purse your lips as you realize he has nothing to change into.

You turn to see him toweling off his inked arms haphazardly. “So, uh—” Eddie glances at you from beneath the damp tangle of his long bangs, and the sight of those warm amber eyes makes you flutter. “I just realized you don’t have any clean clothes,” you say.

Eddie’s brows shoot up, and he nods slowly. “Right,” he says, mouth tightening to a wryly amused line. “Well, shit.”

You giggle at his baldness, and his grin spreads almost involuntarily as he sees your mirth. “I’ll see if Pen has any of Charlie’s you can borrow,” you offer, slipping out the door and closing it behind you, hiking your towel a little more securely around your body as you knock softly on your sister’s bedroom door.

It cracks enough for her to poke her head out, expression expectant. “Pen,” you say, coaxing like only siblings can be, “do you happen to have any of Charlie's clothes that Eddie can borrow? Like some shorts and a t-shirt, or some sweatpants?” After a second, you resist a blush and tack on, “...or some boxers?”

She quirks a brow. “Isn't this the guy you were hysterically crying over yesterday?” 

You huff. “It's different now,” you grumble, and she just shakes her head fondly. 

"Lemme look." She comes back with a white t-shirt breasted with the firehouse emblem and a pair of comfy sweatpants. “No boxers, sorry,” she tells you. You nod and hold up her offerings, noting that both will be far too big for Eddie’s lanky frame. He’s not a small guy; it’s just that Charlie is a big guy. Still, beggars can’t be choosers. 

“Thanks,” you say, turning from the door. 

Penny stops you before you can get too far, and you whip around at the salaciousness in her voice. “Wrap it before you tap it,” she says with a smirk. 

You blush furiously. “Pen!” you hiss, “It's not— We’re just—” You huff, stumbling in your embarrassment. “We're just gonna sleep,” you finally get out. 

“Uh-huh,” she says as if she doesn’t believe you, but her eyes are soft when she sing-songs, “Goodnight, y/n.” 

“Night.” You grumble, bidding a hasty retreat back to the bathroom. You slip back through the door with your procurements to find Eddie with the towel now slung around his waist. You hold out your offering, and as he takes it from you, you realize you have another problem. Regretfully, you tell him, “I don't have a spare toothbrush.” 

“It's okay,” Eddie assures you, dropping the bundle of clothing onto the counter. “I can use my finger.” 

You squirm a little with self-consciousness, unsure whether he’ll find what you’re about to offer strange. “...You can borrow mine,” you finally say.

He looks at you, surprised. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you say. “It’s fine. I don't care.”

And where you thought maybe Eddie wouldn’t want to use your toothbrush, you find instead that as you pass it to him, he looks at it for a moment, smiling softly. Subtle, as if he’s smiling to himself. 

There's intimacy in this, too: watching Eddie use your toothbrush and rinse it off carefully before passing it back to you. You've had his dick in your mouth, and you've swallowed his cum, but somehow this— standing at the sink, brushing your teeth with the same brush he just used while Eddie drops the towel and pulls on Charlie's too-big clothes, toweling off his hair by ruffling it like one would dry off a dog— feels more intimate than anything you’ve done before. 

You dart across the hallway in your towel, retrieving a pair of plain cotton underwear and a loose t-shirt from the folded pile of clothes in your closet. You hear Eddie enter behind you, but you don’t hesitate to remove your towel and hang it from the closet doorknob, pulling on your panties and shirt unhurriedly. You tie up your damp hair with a silk scrunchie, watching Eddie pile his soiled clothing into a bare corner of your room to be dealt with later. Together, wordlessly, you straighten your sheets and comforter, tidying your tiny bed in the warm, subtle lamplight of your bedroom. It casts shadows over Eddie’s face, deepening the sharpness of his jaw and the definition of his brow. When he glances up, noticing you watching him from the other side of the mattress, the amber of his eyes stirs your green and feels like home.

Finally, it’s time for bed.

You click out the lamp, and in the darkness, lit by cool moonbeams illuminating your headboard's contours, you and your light maneuver onto the tiny bed. There’s nothing quite like the slide of your fresh, clean limbs against the smooth sheets, the way it contrasts with the warmth of Eddie’s body, the way your damp hair kisses each others’ necks as you nuzzle together, shifting until you’re both comfortable. It takes a little while to find a position that satisfies you both, and with some humor, you say, “Told you it was cramped.”

You can’t really see him in the darkness, but you can hear when Eddie chuckles, and you can taste his minty breath when it puffs spicy against your lips. His voice is a rumble you feel more than hear. "You weren't kidding," he murmurs. "But I don't mind." 

Eddie can’t see the way your face softens, but it does. "Me neither," you whisper. 

You feel his arm shift, and your eyes flutter closed as you feel the tiniest brush against your forehead— a seeking fingertip. His touch is featherlight as he moves hair off your forehead and then drags that same hand back to lightly pinch the shell of your ear, dragging those calloused fingers down to the lobe. "Goodnight, sweet girl." 

You seek him blindly too, searching with your face until your lips are skimming his cheek. Now oriented, you move your head down to press a soft, tender kiss to the corner of Eddie’s mouth. And when you feel him melt into the bed, muscles relaxing against you, your growth— that yearning, quivering green— finally settles into contentment. "Goodnight, Eddie."

–

When the morning light chases away the chill of twilight, you wake first. The first thing you notice, before you’ve even opened your eyes, is the uncomfortable dampness of your body. You're sweating with the heat trapped under the covers, your front overly warm where it's pressed along Eddie's, belly to collarbone. But you can't be bothered to move. You don't want to disturb him. 

When you open your eyes, it’s to a wholly charming sight: Eddie’s nose is whistling slightly as he breathes, his mouth is half-open, and he's drooling on your pillow. Your soft expression transforms when you notice, lips twisting into a delighted grin. He's gonna be so embarrassed that he drooled all over my bed. After a moment of amusement, you move your arm carefully, dipping your hand beneath the hem of his shirt to draw your fingers slowly, so slowly up his back. You feel him sigh and nuzzle closer to you, a tiny sleepy grunt escaping from his lips as he closes them. Your affection for him rushes so strongly through you that you're left almost dizzy. 

The room is lit with the pale light of early morning, and you stare at the freckle underneath Eddie’s eye, the long eyelashes dusting his cheek. He looks so peaceful, the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes softened by sleep. You nestle your face closer until you can feel each exhale from his nose tickle your upper lip, and you close your eyes, basking in his nearness.

You don’t know how long you lay that way, tangled with Eddie, unable to tell where he ends, and you begin. Your lips are so close they almost touch when he shifts his face just slightly, and then they do— a tiny whisper of plush lips on yours, the slightest brush that has your moths fluttering to life. It almost seems incidental until you feel the arm slung around your waist tighten, bringing you closer. And Eddie might almost think you're still asleep if it wasn't for the fingers trailing absent patterns along his back.

Now that you know he’s awake, you return his kiss, pressing your lips to his with your eyes still closed. And in the light of morning that shines pink against your eyelids, before the world has fully awakened, the only sound that exists is the tiny smack of the kiss you give Eddie and the woosh of his contented sigh, a sigh you breathe in like gentle smoke.

When you move your head back, blinking your eyes open again to look into Eddie's face, the sight that greets you is new but so wholly, wonderfully welcome. 

Eddie's dark curls are splayed across your pillow, plush lips deep pink and puffy, eyes heavy with sleep but the color so deep and rich it nearly steals your breath.

Nine months ago, Eddie Munson was a stranger, sticking out like a dark mark in the pastel of the apartment you shared with your boyfriend Steve. He was foreign, unfamiliar; you didn't know him. 

Now, he smiles, and you know his gentleness; you know the light in his brown eyes. He who teased out the growth, who caressed the leaves between his calloused fingers, who shone tenderly upon it until it blossomed from the center of you. You're bearing fruit, the words of your soul, and you use them to nourish you both. 

When you break the silence, you don't exchange platitudes of good morning or question how he'd slept. Instead, you say, "I've never felt this way about anyone before." 

Eddie’s eyes search yours quietly until he husks a quiet question. "Not even Steve?" 

You don’t need to think about your answer. "No," you whisper. "Steve is a good man, but you see all of me in a way he never did." 

You watch Eddie’s throat bob in a thick swallow. "I think..." he whispers, wide-eyed and tentative. Like it’s a revelation; like it’s never happened before. "I think you see all of me, too." 

"I do." You brush the curls from his face, fingers like reverence incarnate. "I'm in love with you, Eddie."

And to see it— this man, who guards himself with ink and leather and chains— to see how you feed him with your words, how he swallows them up. To see how his expression becomes so vulnerable, pink on black and white; how he drops his armor and the gentleness of his eyes blooms over his whole face. You watch it, and you know it's something rare to behold. And then he speaks, plush lips spilling words that water your growth like rain.

"I love you, sweet girl. I love you." 

You’re blooming. You’re thriving. You’re rushing with the force of your joy until it stings the corners of your eyes. Eddie touches your face, wiping away the happy rain that has fallen and kissed your cheek. "Does this mean you're mine?" He asks, hushed and quiet, as if he’s afraid to hope for the answer. 

"Yes," you reply, fluttering toward the light that shines in beautiful brown eyes. "I'm yours, Eddie." 

A deep breath, a pinch of your brow. More than you ever thought you could ask for, but you do. You do. "And are you mine?" 

Eddie’s answer is immediate, husked like rich and heady smoke as he strokes your hair. "As long as you want me, sweetheart."

You want to say, Forever, Eddie. 

So you do.

"Forever, Eddie. I'll want you forever."

Eddie kisses your lips, and the taste of his mouth is sweet, sweet like ripe red strawberries, sweet with the promise of a thousand more kisses just like it.

"Then you'll have me, y/n. You'll have me forever." 

chapter twelve : epilogue (TBA)

ko-fi. ♡

Jesus, I never thought Eddie Lips gifs so popular already… 🫠

If you vote then please reblog it! 🤟🏼

Disjointed: Twenty-Seven

Summary: Eddie faces his demons

Word count: 8.4k

What to expect: Violence, PTSD, Mentions of child abuse

A/N: this took like 800 tries and 2 hours to post because the drafts is being an asshole! Let me know what you think! Didn’t wanna keep y’all hanging for too long.

In order to stand to his feet, Eddie yanked himself out of you, muttering a quick “Sorry!” when you hissed at the sudden loss of him.

There was undoubtedly a person riffling around the kitchen, no more than four feet outside the bedroom door. Eddie quickly threw on some clothes, and you copied him, not bothering with a bra or underwear.

You missed the hole of your pant leg a few times, too scared and trembling to focus on the task at hand. Though you knew the answer, you still had to ask. “Do you think it’s Wayne?” you whispered quietly.

Eddie shook his head as he buttoned his jeans. “No,” he breathed. “Wayne would never just come in without knocking.”

With your clothes finally on, you stood behind Eddie and clutched his forearm harshly. As if he just realized you were out of bed, he frowned at you. “What are you doing? You’re not going out there with me. You stay in here.”

“What if it’s a burglar? What if they have a gun?” you muttered sharply. “Do we have a gun?”

Eddie shook his head no. “Wayne took the shotties when he left.”

The sound of glass clinking together was a tell-tale sign that the intruder was scavenging through the fridge. The thought occurred to you that maybe it was one of the freshmen, but the idea flew out of your mind when the sound of the intruder slamming the door shut made you jump a mile high.

“Maybe we should just let them take what they want,” you suggested frantically. “They’ll go away when they’re done and we don’t have to know who it is.”

“We don’t have anything worth stealing,” he replied. “Our TV isn’t even in color.” Eddie tried to pry your hands off of him and take them into his own, but you refused to let him go.

“Y/N,” he hissed. “You have to let go. I’m going to see who it is. If I start yelling, you jump out of the window and run to Max’s house, okay?”

You shook your head vigorously. “No. I’m going with you.”

“No! We don’t know who’s out there. Or how many. Please, just listen—“

“No!” you snapped. “I’m going with you!” You scanned the room for something you could use as a weapon. There wasn’t much unless Eddie was willing to sacrifice one his guitars in order to crack a skull or two. Your eyes fell to the auxiliary cord for his amp and you quickly scrambled to grab it and held it like a tripwire in your hand.

“The hell are you gonna do with that?” he questioned with nothing but confusion written on his face. “Whip them with it?”

You glanced at the cord in your hand and then back at Eddie. “Garrote. You don’t need much to strangle someone.”

Eddie’s furrowed brows suddenly shot up so high on his forehead that they disappeared behind his bangs. “Jesus Christ, I suppose you don’t.” Eddie pulled the pocket knife he carried around with him from the back of his jeans and flicked it open. It hardly qualified as a knife—a three inch blade too dull to pierce the tape on a cardboard box. When you first saw him playing with it, you asked Eddie why he had that rinky-dink piece of crap to begin with, he said it was a gift from Wayne on his twelfth birthday that once displayed a snow dog on the handle that had now since chipped away.

Eyes as large as dinner plates, Eddie gazed at you. “Ready?” he asked uneasily.

You weren’t. Not at all. Who or whatever was on the other side of that door was a trespasser. They broke in, disregarded the clear physical boundary that prevented their entry and had the gall to peek into your fridge. Violating law and privacy was of no consequence to them, and that made you wonder what else they were capable of.

But you nodded anyway, wanting to chase away whoever the hell was in your house. Unless, you hoped, it was one of Eddie’s friends that was just desperate for a place to stay. Then they’d get a very harsh scolding and some roast that was surely still warm on the stove.

Eddie turned the handle of the brass knob slowly, pulling the door open ever so slightly to peek through the crack undetected.

His face contorted into a confused grimace. “What the fuck?” Eddie breathed, suddenly swinging the door open all the way and lowering his pocket knife.

You grabbed his wrist and held onto it tightly while you interrogated him. “Who is it? What is it? Can you see them?” You whispered frantically.

If he heard you, Eddie made no acknowledgement of it. He walked out of the bedroom and took a few steps down the short hall with you sticking to him like a feasting leech until he came face to face with the invader. You peered around his shoulder to see who was sitting at the tiny two person table attached to the wall of the kitchen.

The man was wearing a faded brown fishing hat that covered his face as he bowed his head over the plate before him, hosting what looked like the roast you made Eddie for dinner. He had the wedding album opened on the other side of his plate, pointing to the picture of you and Eddie showing off your rings at the courthouse.

“Isn’t that nice?” the man cooed. When he looked up to give Eddie a grin, your stomach dropped to the floor.

He might have been a handsome man once, with the dimple denting his scruffy left cheek. The other side was maimed with a deep, angry scar tracing from the corner of his lip to his cheekbone, making it seem like he had a permanent smirk that looked all too familiar. The color of his dark eyes matched Eddie’s, but the shape was all wrong. He had Eddie’s chin and head shape, but his thin lips and upturned nose wasn’t right, and there certainly wasn’t any softness present across the man’s face.

Even so, there was no doubt in your mind that this was Wyatt Munson.

A burning fury started to bubble in your chest. The man who used his son as an accomplice for his crimes, who left him to bleed in the dirt alone and take the fall for him, the bastard who consistently rang the house for weeks until Wayne left, was sitting at your kitchen table like he was at Sunday brunch.

“What are you doing here?” Eddie blurted.

Wyatt clutched his hand over his heart with an exaggerated pout. It was unnerving to see the mannerisms you loved about Eddie show up on a man you wished the earth would swallow whole.

“Is that how you treat your ol’ man, Skip?” He stood to his feet and walked over to Eddie to pull him into a tight embrace. The twin lightning bolts and number 88 tattooed on the back of his hands made you nauseous. He patted Eddie’s back heartily and whispered about how much he missed his son, commented on how he wasn’t sure which one was the bride in the wedding photos since Eddie’s hair made him look like a woman, and how he was so happy to be back.

Eddie, on the other hand, looked petrified. His muscles beneath your arms were trembling, and though Wyatt wasn’t as tall as Eddie, you could see your husband fold in on himself as he pulled away from his dad.

Face blanched, eyes still wide in shock, and his once puffy lips pressed into a firm line, Eddie never appeared smaller as he lowered his head to avoid Wyatt’s piercing gaze.

You could see it clear as day Eddie was slipping back into a place that you couldn’t pull him out of as long as his father was near. All of his accomplishments, pride, love, mirth, and everything that made Eddie who he was started to fizzle out as his shoulders slumped and chest deflated.

Hearing horror stories about him should have clued you in on how enraged you would be if you ever laid eyes on him, but seeing Wyatt Munson in the flesh and watch him revert Eddie back into a terrified ten year old pushed you to a whole new level of livid.

With a vicious glare, you snapped at the outsider. “You broke into my fucking house!”

Whatever Wyatt Munson thought you were gonna say, clearly that was not it. He veered back a bit and scoffed. “Well I’ll be! Nice way to treat your new father-in-law!”

“Wayne is my father-in-law,” you spat venomously. “You are an intruder that needs to leave!” You looked at Eddie for backup, hoping he would jump in and make it clear to his unfortunate relation that he was not welcome. However, Eddie only flickered his eyes back and forth between the two opponents and remained silent.

“Okay, okay. Let’s take a step back.” Wyatt held his hands up in mock surrender and put on his best mask of sincerity. “I apologize,” he said sadly. “It was rude of me to come in uninvited, that I’ll admit. But you sounded a little busy when I was out there knocking.” His mouth twisted into a sick grin, showing numerous gaps where teeth should be, and the ones you could see hadn’t had a date with a toothbrush in decades. “It’s a little chilly out there. Didn’t think my boy would take too kindly to finding his ol’ man froze over on the steps cause he took too long to get off. ”

Your blood was boiling. This conniving son of a bitch was really trying to pull a fast one. Not only did he break in, help himself to food that didn’t belong to him, put his nazi-loving hands on your prized possessions, now he was trying to gain sympathy by blaming both you and the weather for his intrusion.

“You’re lying,” you replied hotly. “We would have heard you if you knocked.”

Wyatt’s pout twitched into a sneer before he caught himself. “Well, if that’s what you’d like to believe, I can’t stop you.” He turned his attention back to Eddie. “Mind if I finish my meal—“

“Our meal the you stole,” you seethed.

Wyatt ignored you. “—got some things I’d like to talk to you about.”

“Get the hell out of my house!” you screamed, moving out from behind Eddie and stepping towards the fork-tongued devil.

Finally showing signs of life, Eddie grabbed your elbow and pulled you back behind him. You huffed at him, ready to tell him to make Wyatt leave, but Eddie stared you down with a gaze laced in so much fear it killed the reply on your tongue. With two quick ticks of his head, he was silently telling you to stop.

You didn't want to let it go. You didn’t want to allow this asshole to sit at your table—the table you shared with Eddie and Wayne. He didn’t belong here, and neither did whatever trouble came along with him. You hoped Eddie could interpret all of this from the murderous look your eyes surely displayed, but it wasn’t easy to tell if he understood you.

Wyatt grinned devilishly at the mute conversation happening before him. “The spicy ones are always a lot of fun once you train them right. Looks like you got your work cut out for you, Skip.”

Anger flashed across Eddie’s face at his father’s words, but it was replaced by anxiousness when he realized who was speaking. You, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to turn the auxiliary cord in your hand into a necktie.

“What are you doing here?” Eddie asked feebly.

Wyatt extended his hand towards the empty chair s an invitation for Eddie to sit, as if it were his chair to offer up in the first place. He settled back in front of his plate and pointed his index finger at you. “Get your man something to eat. And I’ll have another beer, too.”

You scoffed at his nerve, making no effort to hide your disgust at being talked to in such a way. On a normal evening, yes, you would have made Eddie a plate and gave him something to drink—though probably not beer—without being asked. While some women like Nancy may have found the practice humiliating and prehistoric, you really didn’t mind. You did it because you enjoyed taking care of him, not because it was your ‘job as a wife’. Besides, Eddie usually made your pate too and you traded at the table. It was just something you did for each other.

But to be commanded to do so by a man who likely couldn’t even spell beer was insulting enough, and for him to do it under your own roof? You wanted nothing more than to take the heavy ceramic lid of your pot and beat his face with it.

The only thing that saved Wyatt Munson’s skull from being bashed in was the pleading look in Eddie’s glassy eyes. Seeing him so pitiful was only adding to your anger, and you didn’t understand why he wouldn’t let you get this guy out of here, but you complied with his silent request anyway.

Muttering a slew of curses under your breath, you made your displeasure known by making as much noise as possible. Bagning the cabinets closed, slamming the wet hunks of beef onto the patterned plate not at all caring that the juice was splattering everywhere, flinging the door of the fridge open hard enough to crack against the counter behind it, and kicking it closed again.

With a nauseating sticky sweet smile that probably looked more like an expression of pain directed at the vessel of evil across from you, you placed the cans of beer in front of each of them and put Eddie’s plate before him as if it were some delicate treasure.

“See? Just need a little training s’all,” Wyatt said smugly.

It took every bit of strength in you to keep your mouth shut, having to physically bite your lip. You stood behind Eddie’s chair in order to be close to the phone. Wyatt seemed proud of himself for soliciting such a reaction from you judging by the glint in his eyes, but he quickly adjusted his mask to put on the next scene of his performance.

Brow furrowed, Wyatt cleared his throat and began. “Times have been real hard since I came back to town. Had a little run in with the pigs in county.” He paused to shove tender slivers of roast into his mouth using only his hands like an animal. “I tried calling for some help—see if Wayne could spring me or put some money on my books, but I think someone was intercepting my phone calls.”

“What?” Eddie questioned. “Why would you think that?”

Wyatt’s hardened stare bore into you with nothing but contempt. Though the sudden glimpse into his true nature made the hair on your arms stand up, you hoped your glare was equally frightful.

Wyatt slipped back into character, looking like a wounded puppy left in the rain. “No one answered the phone for weeks. I called every morning hoping I could talk to you, but I only got an answer once.” Pretending to be unsure, Wyatt sighed heavily. “I think it may have been you, darlin’. You told me I’d have my phone privileges taken away if I called again.”

Eddie turned around in his chair, his brow furrowed and mouth agape. “Y/N?”

You knew exactly what Wyatt was trying to do. “You’re forgetting the part where I asked you what your name was and you refused to answer. And you never asked for Eddie. By the way, you owe me a dollar for that phone call.”

Eddie looked back at his dad, giving you the opportunity to slide a few steps back to get closer to the phone.

“What’d they slap you with?” Eddie asked.

Wyatt shrugged. “They thought I was stripping copper off the side of some buildings. Tried to connect me to some armed robberies too. I told them I only came back to see you for my birthday. I hadn’t been in town on the days they were trying to peg me for. But you know how it is. They see ‘Munson’ and blame everything under the sun on us.”

You rolled your eyes at his evasion of the truth. “Really? Decided to come visit out of the blue after being gone for over ten years?”

Wyatt’s patience was wavering. You could see it in the way his eye twitched. “You a lawyer or somethin?”

“No,” you spat.

“Hmm,” Wyatt nodded, pretending to stroke his stubbled chin in thought. “Feels like I’m on trial for something, darlin’, and to be honest, I don’t know what’s got your panties in a twist—“

“Dad!” Eddie said loudly. His sudden outburst earned him a menacing glare from his father, reminding Eddie of his place. In a much quieter voice, eddie once again asked, “What are you doing here?”

Wyatt rubbed his nose with the back of his tattooed hand and sat up straighter in his seat. “I need to stay here.” He answered simply. “I need to stay here for a while to recuperate some funds. Lay low from the laws. Then I’ll be on my way.”

Unable to believe what you were hearing, you fumed. “Excuse me?” You shrieked. “Do you actually believe we would let you stay here? Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I’m his father and he owes me!” Wyatt shouted back, the pretense of innocence evaporated with the last of his patience.

Eddie jumped a mile high at the sudden boom of his dad’s voice, and you saw him recoil in his seat when Wyatt stood up and leaned over the table to tower over his son.

“You owe me,” he growled. “I kept you with me instead of sending you to that boys’ home when your momma died. I coulda left you on the steps of St. Mary’s and lived my life. Folk in there woulda tore your lily white ass up. But I saved you from that.”

A jolt of panic shot down your arms at the familiarity of his statement. Your mother often used the same line to intimidate you into being quiet about her husband’s slap happy tendencies towards you. She’d leave very little to the imagination when recalling her own horror stories about being a ward of the state, rolling through foster families and girls’ homes like a tumbleweed. Her reasoning was that Martin’s temper didn’t hold a candle to what would happen to you in those places if you let slip what was going on at home.

By the way Eddie sunk further and further down into his chair to cower away from his father, it seemed Wyatt used a similar technique while Eddie was in his care. “I know,” he croaked. “I know you did.”

Wyatt seemed soothed by Eddie’s submission. He sat back down and wiped his greasy fingers on his pants. “Made you my Skipper, didn’t I? My little buddy. Took you everywhere with me. Taught you how to drive, how to fix cars, how to survive. Even gave you some of your own money.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, staring at his untouched food. “I remember.”

Triumphantly, the eldest Munson in the room smiled and slapped his hand against the tabletop, making both of you jump. Somehow his genuine smile was much more frightening than his sneer. “Knew you’d pull through your ol’ man. Always was a good kid, Skip.”

Eddie did nothing. Said nothing. He didn’t correct his father or tell him to go to hell. Instead, he hung his head and tore at the skin around his fingernails, not at all caring that blood started to leak from the newly forged wounds.

Clearly Eddie was too deep in his own head to wake up from this nightmare and set things straight. With a final inhale to keep your nerves in check, you waited for your moment.

Relishing his victory, the middle aged man began to launch into stories about the old days in order to keep his talons in Eddie. “Remember that time I took you to Holiday World? Rode that damn seahorse thing till the kid working it kicked you off. Then I took you to get some Denny’s and you swore you were hungry enough to eat a full meal. Begged and begged to not make you eat the kid’s meal cause you wanted to impress my girl. Tried to make her think you was some big man.” Wyatt stuffed more food into his mouth and didn’t bother to pause long enough to finish chewing before speaking again. “Got you what you wanted and sho’nuff, halfway through the meal you started whining and cryin’. ‘I’m full, Dad. Can’t eat no more.’” He barked out a sinister laugh, sending chills of disgust through your body. “Told you you better eat all of it or I’d leave your ass there just like I did at the store. You almost made it. Had only the eggs left ‘fore you puked all over the floor.” He laughed harder at the memory, showing the few stained teeth he had left in all their rotted glory.

Your heart fell to pieces for Eddie. He was obviously ten or younger when that occurred. Probably with short hair, lanky limbs, shiny brown eyes taking up half of his face. How anyone could humiliate a child, much less their own, was impossible to grasp. Threatening to leave him behind if he didn’t comply? Something that seemed to be a repeating theme with Wyatt. Forcing him to eat to the point of sickness? It wasn’t the lighthearted tea-time story Wyatt considered it to be. It was cruel and disgusting. Eddie didn’t deserve any of it, and he sure as hell didn’t deserve to be held hostage to his father’s malice in his own home.

When Wyatt drummed his dirty fingers happily against the top of his beer can, you moved slowly to avoid drawing attention to yourself. Heart in your throat and fingers trembling, you reached for the phone. Hand poised tightly on the receiver, you waited until he tipped his head back for a sip to make your move.

Unfortunately, the loud beep of the buttons alerted the other two Munson’s that you were dialing out.

Wyatt slammed down his beer sending a splash through the air as it crashed against the table. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

You held the receiver to your ear for the operator. “9-1-1, please state the nature of your emergency,” the feminine voice recited.

With a trembling voice, you answered breathlessly. “2121 Holland road unit eleven—“

Wyatt jumped to his feet with such a force that he knocked the chair backwards.

“—A break in! There’s a man in my home that won’t leave! He’s threatened us—“

It only took him four steps before you were in arm’s reach. You let out a blood curdling scream into the phone in hopes that the police or neighbors would make it over faster. Wyatt slammed his fingers onto the hook, making the line go dead.

Eddie being nicknamed the ‘Son of Satan’ suddenly wasn't far from the truth.

With brown eyes bulging and scarred mouth twisted in an almost animalistic snarl, Wyatt drew his hand back to strike, but suddenly stumbled when Eddie wrapped the crook of his elbow round Wyatt’s neck and flung him into the table.

It was then that things started to blur from the adrenaline slowing your comprehension. One second you were preparing for a crack across the cheek, and the next Eddie was forcefully shoving you into the tiny bathroom and slamming the door.

Realizing you were no longer able to see him, you quickly wrenched it back open to go back out there, but Eddie grabbed the knob from the other side, only allowing a silver of his face visible.

Only then did you see Eddie lose his composure completely. Wild eyes, face burning as hot as the sun, and the vein in his forehead pounding like a hammer, He screamed in your face in a voice so harsh that it made your whole body freeze.

“DON’T FUCKING MOVE!”

With that, he pulled the door closed hard enough to crack the cheap sheetrock adjacent to the frame.

Blood pulsed in icy shockwaves through your body as you heard Wyatt’s bone chilling cackle boom through the trailer, pulling you from your stupor.

Despite Eddie’s instruction, you opened it anyway just enough to peek your head out to see what was going on. You wouldn’t dare interfere unless things looked bad enough for Eddie to try and at least save him from being choked out. While Eddie was taller than his father, Wyatt was certainly stockier and far more dangerous—seemingly unbothered to hurt his own son.

—-

Until he started school, Eddie thought his life was relatively normal. It wasn’t until he heard about other kids’ home lives did he realize he was deficient.

They had whole rooms to themselves, while Eddie was either couch or floor bound in the living room of wherever they were staying, thinking only adults were allowed to sleep on beds. Zach Baker didn’t hide food in his underwear for later because his mom would made him food whenever he wanted, and he thought Eddie was disgusting for sticking half of his cheese Sandwich into his crotch after lunch. Eddie asked him what he did to hide his food so his dad wouldn’t eat it all, but he only called Eddie names. Mary Meyers had a tantrum when Eddie took her glitter pen. It was baby blue with silver sparkles inside the gel, and he liked it. Dad always said to take what he wanted and make sure no one could take it back. When Mary reached for it, he bit her hand as hard as he could. He didn’t understand why he was sent home for three days, or why his dad whacked him with the buckle side of his belt until dad told him it was because he didn’t want to keep after him. He took Eddie to the steps of St. Mary’s Home for Boys and posed his hand to knock. Eddie screamed, cried, begged, pleaded—he didn’t want to be left there, especially not after dad told him what they do to little boys like him.

When he didn’t listen, dad would kick his ass and drop him off somewhere for a few hours. Once it was a whole day. Sometimes at a store, sometimes at a gas station he just held up so he’d be scared the laws would get him, sometimes close enough to St. Mary’s just to get the point across.

It wasn’t all bad Eddie did what he was told. If dad said he wasn’t going to school that day because he wanted Eddie to be a lookout instead, that’s what was done. He didn’t blink when his dad tossed him over fences of backyards that didn’t belong to him, or hoist him into windows of the unsuspecting homeowners. It was fun, and a lot of times Eddie got to keep at least one thing he liked from each house. He learned how to take things apart and put them back together again. What other eight year old could say they knew how to drive? He thought being told he was grown for his age was a good thing, and all these things dad let him do made him special.

Then he came to live with Wayne, and he thought it was the worst thing to ever happen to him in his whole life. Wayne tried to tell him what to do, when to eat, what time to go to sleep, what he could or couldn’t watch on TV. He made Eddie eat with a fork, throw away his stash of food, and he got madder than hell when Eddie took a sip out of his beer bottle. Eddie had to brush his teeth twice a day even though it hurt and made his mouth bleed, and he was forced to bathe with soap every night. He hated it. All of it. And what he hated most was when Wayne told him to ‘just be a kid.’

It got better, though. Eddie started to realize he was getting food every day, that he had a bed to sleep on, and Wayne made sure he had clothes for every day of the week instead of leaving him in the same outfit for three days at a time. He was behind in school since he didn’t go a lot of the time when he was with his dad, and he was beyond embarrassed when it was discovered everyone else could do pretty much everything he couldn’t. But Wayne helped there, too, along with his teacher Mrs. Knight. He’d get rewarded with candy, trips to the dollar store so he could buy things he liked if he got a good grade on a test, and one very special day at Holiday World when he passed fifth grade and officially made it to middle school.

Seeing Wyatt Munson’s face again erased everything he had ever experienced since after 1976. All sounds were muffled as if he were underwater, growing more and more distant as his father uprooted memories that Eddie had long since buried. Suddenly the night he got his leg stitched up was only yesterday, and the bite to Mary Meyer’s hand was just the day before that.

Until he heard your shrill scream ring through the trailer. Then he realized where he was, when he was, and that his father was no longer sitting across from him.

When it came to fight or flight, Eddie was almost always in favor of flight—both in his tabletop game and in life. He’d been smacked around before and did not take kindly to the opportunity ever presenting itself again, whether it made him look like a coward or not. Already being called loser, freak, ugly, and demonic, adding pussy or chicken shit really didn’t make much difference on the long list of unfavorable names.

But when he turned to see his dad’s open palm pulled back, flight wasn’t even considered to be an option.

He should have known you would have tried to follow him back out, but he needed you to understand that he’d rather have his bones rearranged than to lose another woman to the hands of his father. One blow in the wrong place…

As soon as he turned from the door, Wyatt swung but missed when Eddie ducked. Unfortunately that seemed to have been the plan since as soon as Eddie pulled back to dodge, he was struck hard in the stomach, knocking the wind right out of him.

Wyatt cackled wildly at the sight of his son doubled over. “Look like a bitch, fight like a bitch, fall like a bitch! You forget all I taught you, Skip?” He struck Eddie across the face with the back of his hand. “Put your hands up! C’mon now, block!”

Gasping for air and trying to center himself from the blow to both his stomach and face, Eddie straightened up enough to block the right hook headed his way, but failed to protect himself from the left.

“Pathetic,” Wyatt spat as he watched Eddie blink his way back to reality. “Shoulda known Wayne’s pussy ass wouldn’t’ve taught you a goddamn—“

Eddie wished he had his rings on for this. The jab that landed against Wyatt’s mouth would have likely knocked loose some of the last few teeth if he did.

Wyat stumbled back against the stove and pressed his fingertips to his busted lip. Upon seeing blood, he wiped and nodded slowly. “I’m impressed,” he mocked. “But now I’m not gonna take it easy on you.”

One of the life lessons instilled into Eddie at an early age by his fathers was to fight dirty. Not everyone abided by the unwritten rules of a fair fight, and it wasn’t ever clear on who did. With that in mind, be the one to win by any means necessary. So Eddie felt no guilt in reading for the plate on the table and shattering it against the side of Wyatt’s head.

He didn’t stumble or throw his hands up to cradle the pain. Instead, the oldest Munson grabbed the younger by the hair and pulled it back enough to land a few hits in before Eddie let the grip on his hair hold him up just enough to kick his dad in the leg that never really healed right after he was stabbed there.

He yelped in agony and released his son, who then took the opportunity to land a couple of his own punches to wherever he could reach—stomach, chest, nose, forehead, ear, center of the throat—until Wyatt staggered and tumbled to the ground.

Eddie had seen it before—the possum trick—and he wasn’t going to fall for it. He kicked Wyatt in the gut until he rolled onto his back. Hurting and gasping for air, Wyatt put up very little struggle when Eddie sat on the man’s chest with his knees pinning down his dad’s arms. Grabbing his father’s jaw with one hand, he reached into the back of his pants to retrieve his pocket knife.

Eddie’s heart was hammering so loud within his chest he could hear very little else—not Wyatt’s pathetic whines of protest, the gurgling of him choking on the blood pooling in the back of this throat, or the sound of Eddie’s own ragged breathing. He had him. He had him right here to do what he wanted with him. The man who took away his mother, who took his childhood, who beat him, starved him, scarred both his body and mind, who broke into the only place he felt was his true home and tried to lay hands on his wife…

“Wayne told you what would happen if you came back here,” Eddie seethed through gritted teeth. He flipped the dull knife open and slipped it past Wyatt’s lips, the blade digging into the flesh at the corner of his mouth.”But he’s not here to finish it. So I’ll have to.”

Wyatt narrowed his hateful eyes, silently challenging him to do it. Eddie pressed the blade down harder until he felt it start to separate the tissue of the man’s cheek. With the knife being so dull, he would have to resort to sawing motions instead. But before he could execute the technique, a voice broke his focus.

“Eddie,” you said softly.

He didn’t want to hear you. This was his chance to get back at his old man for all he’d done. Eddie tried to ignore you and readjusted his grip as Wyatt tried to thrash loose.

“Eddie,” you repeated louder. “Look at me.”

He didn’t want to do that either. So instead he glared down at the man trapped beneath his knees.

Wyatt Munson had aged quite rapidly, likely due to a lifetime of meth, crime, and hard time. The skin around his blackening eyes was saggy and wrinkled. His eyebrows were flecked with more gray than brown, just like the thinning hair on his head. More teeth had been lost since the last time Eddie saw him, and the flesh of his face was gaunt.

He was an old man. An old man that could still pack a punch, but aged nonetheless. Soon enough he wouldn’t even be able to chew his own food.

Eddie’s grasp tightened around the man’s face. “You have two choices,” he warned dangerously. “I finish this Glasgow smile and hand you over to the cops, adding breaking, entering, assault, and battery to the time you’d get for probation violation. Or you crawl out that window over there and I never see you again. YOU HEAR ME, OLD MAN?!” Eddie shouted, shaking Wyatt’s face roughly. “NEVER AGAIN.”

Eddie wasn’t sure what the outcome would be the longer the man took to answer. But after Eddie dug the knife deeper, a choice was made. Through his crushed lips, Wyatt repeated, “Never,” as best he could.

Eddie quickly pulled the knife out of his dad’s mouth, noticing that a bleeding knick was left behind. He could live with that more than he could a three inch slice.

Blue and red lights danced across the walls of the trailer as the sound of wailing sirens grew louder.

“They’re coming,” you announced from the hall.

Begrudgingly, Eddie stumbled to his feet and let Wyatt get up.

With faulty coordination, Wyatt sprinted to the other side of the home. He opened the window in the living room, likely the same one he jimmied open to break in to begin with, and pushed his leg out of the sill.

He paused halfway out and gave Eddie a lopsided smile. “Proud of you, Edward,” he said, before dropping out of the window completely.

Disgust—That’s all that Eddie could feel deep within his bones at his father’s final words. But at least they were that: final.

——

When you tried to stop Eddie from slicing Wyatt’s face open, you hadn’t exactly meant for him to let the asshole go completely. As soon as Eddie proposed the options, you wanted to ask him what the fuck, but getting him to get the knife out of Wyatt’s mouth was more important at that moment.

It still wasn’t the time to bring it up as you threaded the needle through the gash above his eyebrow while he held a frozen sirloin against his other one.

His face started to swell immediately, so much so that his left eye was completely closed and a terrible shape of purple. At first you thought his nose was broken, but after further palpating you determined it wasn’t—only bleeding rather profusely. The pouty lips you loved so much had seen better days, where they weren’t busted open. His knuckles were just as marred—inflamed with split skin and bruising.

The two policemen didn’t seem to care much about what was going on, remarking that they’d like hot coffee since the thermos they brought with them had chilled since they’d been there. When you pointed out that you were busy patching up your husband that had been assaulted by the intruder, the older one scoffed.

The biggest mistake you made was telling them Wyatt’s identity. Though you didn’t start with his name, by the description you gave the idiots had enough to put the pieces together.

“So a family dispute? Not a break in,” the younger cop droned.

You scowled at him. “A man who doesn’t live in this house—“

“—Trailer,” the older one corrected.

You were ready to pull Eddie’s knife on them yourself at the comment. Nevertheless, you continued. “—crawled through the window, then threatened and attacked us! It doesn’t matter if he’s family—in the loosest sense possible, might I add—he had no permission or right to be here! And definitely not to beat the shit out of anyone!”

The older cop sighed as he scribbled on his notepad, clearly bored and agitated. “Okay. We’ll put out a BOLO on him. If he’s found he’ll be put away for a while since he’s out on bond anyway.”

His tone only further infuriated you. “Why do I get the feeling you aren’t gonna do a damn thing about this?” you sneered, accidentally jabbing Eddie a little too hard with the needle.

The older cop clicked his pen closed and cleared his throat. “Ma’am, we’ll do everything we can to find him and bring him to Justice,” he recited flatly. He headed towards the front door with his junior filling close behind. He turned and pointed at the shattered plate and the food that once set atop it scattered across the floor. “Shouldn’t let that sit there. Don’t want ants,” and with that he left.

You stared incredulously at the closed door for a moment before going off into a tizzy about why the hell they’d think you’d just leave food on the floor like that for an extended period of time as if you weren’t sewing Eddie’s face back together, their disinterest for what had to be the scariest moments of your life, and a long list of profanities.

When he was mostly doctored up, you kneeled down and got started on cleaning the floor. The big chunks were easy enough to discard, but the floor would need to be wiped down to clean up the specks of blood and remnants of the beef roast that neither of you got to taste.

With the pathetic excuse for policemen gone, the house was eerily quiet as you wiped the floor down with cleaner. Eddie hadn’t said a word since Wyatt departed, once again retreating into himself. The occasional creak of the roof caused by the wind startled you every time it happened. You instantly thought that bastard was lurking around somewhere, waiting to come back for a rematch or worse.

The once comfy, isolated bubble exclusively for you and Eddie had now been violated. Where you rested your head at the end of the day, relaxed, bathed, slept, and relished in the love that radiated through the very walls was no longer impregnable. Fear, hate, and violence tarnished this place now, and the loss of sacred comfort and ease within your own home brought you to tears.

Eddie called your name softly with an unspoken question.

Throwing the soapy rag onto the faux hardwood with a squelching plop, you gripped the counter in order to pull yourself to stand. “I don’t wanna stay here tonight,” you wept. “I can’t.”

Lowering the makeshift ice pack of frozen meet, Eddie muttered an agreement and went into the room to pack. You wanted to tell him to forget it—forget everything and just get away from here, but the words couldn’t make it past your lips as you tried to calm yourself down.

Eddie didn’t protest when you took the keys to your car, nor did he attempt to make an excuse for him to drive like he normally did.

You didn’t take a second to glance back at what was once your safe haven before backing out and exiting the trailer park.

You weren’t sure where you were going in the dark of night. Wayne didn’t have enough room for the three of you and you didn’t want to lay all of this on him the second he finished a long graveyard shift. The two motels in town were too dirty (if the accounts of bedbug infestations were to be believed) or no longer open for the night. You and Eddie needed somewhere safe, familiar, and free of anything that could further fuel the anxiety coursing through you. Only one place came to mind, and just like the rest of the trip, Eddie made no acknowledgement of the world around him when the destination came into view.

You could see movement through the glass pane on the center of the door and the blue glow of the TV, the norm for a Saturday night in the Harrington home. You knocked louder than you intended to but couldn’t find the room to care as the icy wind burned your skin.

Steve poked his head from around the corner of the foyer and came to the entrance. Clearly confused, Steve started to ramble. “What are you guys—Jesus CHRIST!” he exclaimed once he took in Eddie’s appearance. He stepped closer to Eddie and tried to assess the damage by what little light the porch provided. “What the hell happened to you?!”

Not wanting to go through the story again and not entirely sure Eddie wanted it known who exactly was the perpetrator, you kept it brief. “Home invasion. Can we stay here tonight?”

Steve looked like he wanted to ask a million more questions as his mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, but he seemed to realize you asked him a question and turned to you instead. “Y-yeah, of course. My parents are back, though. So you guys will need to stay in the guest room this time.”

He moved out of the way and ushered you both in. Once Eddie’s condition was fully visible, Steve started to look nauseous.

“Are you okay? I mean—obviously you’re not okay but Jesus!” he exclaimed.

Eddie stood silently, staring blankly at nothing while Steve ogled him like a marble statue.

Even though you were certain dinner was the farthest thing from Eddie’s mind, it didn’t stop his belly from announcing its desire for food with a loud rumble.

“I just made a smoothie,” Steve announced. “Strawberry banana. Do you guys want some? I mean, you can have whatever you want but I don’t think you’ll be up for chewing any time soon.” He didn’t wait for you to answer before heading toward the kitchen.

The thought of consuming a thing left the bitter taste of ash in your mouth. You looked at Eddie for a second opinion, but he didn’t do anything but blink the only eye able to do so.

You took his hand in yours, careful to not brush against any wounds, and led him toward the kitchen. “Should probably eat something,” you mumbled more to yourself than him, not at all expecting a reply back.

Steve whipped together two more smoothies complete with bendy straws and set them on the glass table, taking his own seat across from you.

Drinking an icy smoothie while it was below freezing outside didn’t sound appealing, but your stomach gnawed in desperation for nourishment as you drank the pink liquid anyway. Surprisingly, Eddie didn’t silently refuse like you thought he would. Instead, he slurped it fast enough to give himself a brain freeze more than once.

Steve clearly was eager for an explanation as he sucked down his own semi frozen treat, but did not vocalize his curiosity. Instead, he waited until after you and Eddie slowly made your way through the smoothies before speaking again.

“You guys can shower, eat, come watch Bad News Bears with me, whatever you want, okay?” he offered kindly.

You thanked him for everything when he took the empty glasses away and once again led Eddie by the hand up the familiar staircase.

The guest room was comfortably warm with a neatly made bed and an oak dresser. You put the overnight bag on top of the dresser and removed your winter gear before claiming a side of the bed.

Eddie slowly did the same. Stripped down to his boxers as fast as Yurtle the Turtle probably would. It gave you time to look over his chest to make sure there wasn’t any sign of his ribs being reinjured. He looked mostly fine, save for his face and hands, and mimicked your position—on his back with his shoulder pressing against yours.

You couldn’t pinpoint what you were feeling right now. Terrified now that you could take a step back and analyze that your home was so easily invaded, shocked that you had the balls to mouth off to a known lunatic without even thinking of what could have happened to you, frightened over how Eddie could have gotten hurt more than he already was, furious that he let Wyatt slither away to go destroy someone else’s life, and guilty for making the call that set everything off in the first place.

Eddie’s sudden speech made you jump as he pulled you from your thoughts. “Are you scared of me?” he croaked.

You sighed and shook your head before realizing he probably couldn’t see you in the dark. “Never.”

He cleared his throat and gulped loudly. “Then can you—I don’t know—can you—“

You didn’t let him finish before rolling on to your side to wrap yourself around him—Legs tangled between his, arms clutching his toro with all the strength you had. “I’d kiss you but I don’t know where I can without hurting you.”

“It’s fine,” he said, quickly followed by “Ow! Wait—okay—no it’s not,” when you gently pressed your lips against the lesser bruised part of his cheek.

“That’s what I thought,” you replied before nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck.

It wasn’t very late at night, maybe half past nine or so, but it felt as if you lived three days in the span of a few hours. Your body was screaming for sleep, but your mind was a hornet’s nest full of worry and anger.

When you felt a cold splat of water oh the side of your nose, your first thought was maybe the roof was leaking. Until you realized it wasn’t raining, and your nose was tucked away carefully into Eddie’s warm neck. You waited for a few minutes for it to happen again, and when it hit the exact same spot, you figured out what it was.

You didn’t think it possible for your heart to crumble anymore than it already had until you realized the sudden droplets were tears leaking from the corner of Eddie’s eye and felt a new pang of despair within your chest.

Clinging to him tighter and lightly kissing the skin of his neck to avoid hurting him again, you loudly reminded him that you loved him.

“I love you, too,” you whispered.

If either of you got any sleep that night, it was impossible to tell.

————————————————————

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roommates [chapter 2]

modern!eddie munson x fem!reader

series summary: Eddie Munson broke your heart once. Now, you have no choice but to move in with him. chapter summary: Moving in, you realize Eddie has changed in more ways than one. You reminisce about that night. warnings: 18+ cussing, angst, sort of enemies to lovers lol; lmk if i missed anything word count: 3,4k a/n: part 2 loves!! let me know what you think i'm nervous about this chapter! LOVE YOU ALL tysm for the positive feedback *mwah* inspo for eddie's tat from here ps! i'll only be taking 50 tags this time, and it's pretty full already.. 31/50 oops

chapter one ↡ masterlist ↡ askbox

chapter two ♫♪♩·.¸¸

It was almost 3am when you made it to Eddie's place. You took an Uber since Eddie claimed his precious baby, aka the shitbox van he still had, was at the shop until tomorrow, or today in this case. Eddie flipped on the lights and waltzed in, his arms open wide as he twirled around the living area.

''Tada!''

You were pleasantly surprised at how nice his place was. It was a bit messy, like he said, but you immediately felt drawn into it, intrigued to dive into the place. It was Eddie's and this was an unfiltered look into who he was today.

The living room was airy, a beige loveseat with an array of random throwpillows that didn't match each other at all in front of the TV, a a slightly dusty glass coffee table sat in front of it, topped with an unwashed mug and half empty glass of water, with a colorful Aztec rug underneath. The kitchen was white and modern with all the necessary appliances, sat against a natural red brick wall that made the space look cozy and warm. The only bathroom you were to share with Eddie was smaller than the one you had before, but big enough to fit a single sink vanity, a round mirror on the wall, a shower with a glass door and a small, but comfortable clawfoot tub. You noticed a couple shampoo bottles on the floor in the shower, along with a loofa hanging from the shower faucet. Ending in the bedroom that would be yours, it was accentuated with a king size bed, two nightstands on either side, with a big closet and a smaller dresser. It was probably the only room in the apartment that felt lifeless at the moment, you couldn't wait to transform it into your own space. Before you went to turn around, you noticed the door to the adjacent room was cracked open. It must have been Eddie's, you could only make out a few posters on the wall and a candle sitting on a nightstand, next to a bottle of lotion and a box of tissues. Gross.

Overall, you gave it a solid 7 out of 10. It was definitely an upgrade from the tiny trailer he used to live in.

''It's nice,'' you said.

''It's home.''

You nodded, hiding the yawn that tried to escape.

Eddie nodded his head towards the bedrooms and started walking in the same direction, you following suit. ''So, fresh sheets are in the dresser, towels are in the bathroom. I have a spare key lying around somewhere that I can give you tomorrow. For everything else, we can figure it out along the way.''

You nodded, holding your hands behind your back so he wouldn't see your nervous fingers rubbing against each other. ''Thank you, for this. It's only temporary, until I can get my own deposit together. Then I'll be out of your hair.''

''You don't have to thank me. It's the least I can do.''

You stopped, standing in front of the adjacent doors like the neighbors you now were. It's the closest you've been to him in a long time, both literally and figuratively. He was taller than you, in the best way, with the top of your head fitting under his chin perfectly. You braved to look up at him, finding him already looking down at you. He averted his eyes as soon as they met yours though.

''Okay.''

''Okay,'' he repeated, taking a step back. You gripped the strap of your bag and pushed your door open.

''Good night, Eddie.''

''Night.''

In the safety of your new room, all alone, you took a deep breath. You dropped your overnight bag onto the mattress and fetched out your favorite pajama set, changing into them. You placed your bag next to the bed and opened the dresser, finding your bedding. The pillowcases and duvet cover were easy, but the fitted sheet seemed to fight back every chance it got, slipping off one corner when you went to the opposite one. Groaning out loud for the millionth time, you went to try again when there was a knock on your door.

''What the hell are you doing? It sounds like a porno in there,'' Eddie's muffled voice came from the other side of the door.

''You wish. I'm just messing with the sheets,'' you shouted back, now on top of the mattress on all fours, pulling the sheet over the upper left corner. Gently, you held your hands in the air when it didn't budge and started to shimmy your way to the other side, when the sheet snapped back again and hit you straight in the face.

''Ow!''

''Are you okay?''

The door burst open, Eddie barging in, naked. Okay, he wasn't completely naked, he was wearing tight black boxers that left little to the imagination. You and Eddie never slept together in high school, but you did other things and you remember very well how his body felt against yours, or how warm he always was. You were crouched on your side, holding one side of your face, your mouth drier than the Sahara desert seeing Eddie like this. You'd never seen him naked either, only with his shirt off and you were right about him working out. His chest was more toned than before, his stomach rippled with the smallest dusting of abs, a sharp V line that you never noticed before, ending in the light thatch of hair on his abdomen that disappeared into his boxers. He had more tattoos too, he'd once shown you all of them. He had more smaller tattoos littered on his arms, just various simple doodles really. His right thigh was covered in colorful ink, starting from under his boxers and stopping above his knee. The one piece of ink that caused you to have a near aneurysm was the one below his belly button, three phrases all lined up under each other, like a tiny poem above his pelvis. Stark black ink, all capital letters.

TRUST ME LOVE ME FUCK ME

''Y/N!''

''Huh? What?''

Eddie was looking at you, brows furrowed, but his eyes held their typical mischief. He'd caught you staring, that was obvious. Even a blind person would notice that ogling.

''I asked if you were okay?''

''Y-yeah, sorry. Got hit in the face with the sheet, stupid thing won't hold down.''

Eddie snorted and held his hand up for you to grab. You took it hesitantly and he helped you stand up. ''Here, you get that side, I'll grab this one.''

Working together, you got the sheet on the bed in twenty seconds tops. You elected to ignore the way his back muscles rolled or how his thick thighs moved so smoothly, no thigh gap in sight.

''Are you working tomorrow?'' he asked.

''No, thank fuck.''

''Need me to tuck you in?''

''Goodbye, Edward.''

''Cute pajamas, by the way!''

Pushing Eddie out and slamming the door in his snickering face, you fell on the fresh sheets, barely being able to pull the covers up when you were already sleeping.

♡

Ten hours later, you were up and hauling in six boxes full of your personal belongings that you had retrieved from your old apartment. Eddie was still asleep when you left and you didn't want to wake him either. Last night was a set back for you, a mere hour after you swore to yourself you wouldn't fall for him again, you were wishing you had x-ray vision to see through those tight boxers. You blamed it all on being exhausted, you let your guard slip. Then again, that lower belly tattoo he had stayed with you all morning. He had always been a pretty guy in your eyes, but this... upgraded version of him was something much more obscene. He was his same self, personality wise, but that fact added with how good he looked in his almost mid twenties, how he carried himself with more confidence than ever before, was enough to kill a woman.

You were pushing a box of clothes across the hardwood floors, when the door to Eddie's bedroom opened, the sun from his room shining into the hallway. He was wearing pants this time, a pair of grey sweats so low on his hips, you could easily spot that tattoo again. No shirt, of course, but his messy hair was up in a bun, which you thought was cute. He'd never worn it like that. Eddie crossed his arms, leaning on the doorframe.

''Excuse me miss, are you looking for a big, strong man to help you with these boxes?''

''Yeah, you know where I can find one?''

Keening in victory, you grinned at his unamused glare towards you. Pointing your head toward the entrance, you told him about the last box.

''Thank you,'' you said, wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand. Eddie placed the last box next to your bed, grunting.

''Jesus, what do you have in here, a body?''

''Books,'' you deadpanned.

''Oh, what kind?'' he asked, looking around the room.

''Eh.. fantasy, romance, one Kamasutra book.''

Eddie's head whipped around so fast, his bun wobbled on top of his head. His already big eyes were ready to pop out any second. You giggled, which burst into a full belly laugh when he realized you were joking. He rolled his eyes and mumbled something under his breath, marching out of the room.

You busied yourself with unboxing everything. You hanged your clothes in the closet, lining your shoes up at the floor of the wardrobe, storing your bras and panties in the drawers of the dresser, leaving a couple bottom drawers empty. You stacked your new unread books on your nightstand, patiently waiting to be read. The room started to come together nicely - the dresser was topped with picture frames, one with your mom and the other with your friends at a night out, all looking at the camera with your glasses raised. The final box contained the last of your things, tiny items mostly. Your shampoo and conditioner, a make up bag, other skin care amenities, your bright pink vibrator, a gift from one of your friends, that you quickly stashed away into the top drawer of your nightstand.

Hours later, your things were put away, Eddie had gone to work, you had taken a 30 minute power nap and were now standing in the middle of the kitchen, hands on your hips, lips pursed. Now what? It sounded silly, but until now, it hadn't even occurred to you that you now have to live with Eddie. He said you wouldn't see each other much, but you lived in the same apartment, thinking you would never see each other was just wishful thinking. You thought about just chilling in your room or watching TV in the living room, maybe read one of those books you bought. But looking around the place, it was clear that it needed a good clean. A deeper investigation into Eddie's fridge, cabinets and drawers indicated that you were headed for a long night.

Lucky for you, Eddie wasn't completely helpless, or perhaps they were Steve's input into the apartment, but you found a pair of rubber gloves, a sponge and a couple of cleaning products. You cleaned the fridge, throwing out an expired carton of milk and a moldy lemon, rearranging the items so they made more sense. The cabinets weren't that bad, so you only took everything out to dust the insides. You perfected the silverware drawer, swiped down the kitchen counter and every other flat surface you could find, loaded up the dishwasher and turned it on, fluffed up the throwpillows on the couch and with a strong finish, found a vacuum and swept the whole apartment, excluding Eddie's room. You stayed out of his room, feeling like you were violating his privacy, no matter how nosy you were. Or maybe that's what you told yourself, maybe you didn't want to take a peek because the last time you saw Eddie was in his old room, in his trailer he shared with his uncle. The day that he broke your heart.

It was a hot summer night, the brisk walk to Steve's house still managing to coat the back of your neck in a sheen of sweat. Late night on the 4th of July weekend, the streets were empty, most people still in town celebrating the long weekend. The closer you got to Steve's house, the louder the thumping music got, dulling out the chirping coming from the bushes lining the street.

Pushing Steve's front door open, you were instantly hit with a thick haze, cigarette smoke lingering in the air as nobody had bothered to open a window. Teens and barely legal adults were lining the hallways, dancing in the living room to your left and playing beer pong in the kitchen to your right while Michael Jackson's Bad boomed through the entire house. You were looking around for your friends, but didn't see any of them, neither did you see the wild haired metal head who had asked you to be his date for tonight.

You shot Eddie a quick text, asking where he was. Feeling silly still standing in the hallway, you pushed through the crowd, dodging a couple making out near the bathroom, ignoring the wolf whistle when you passed two guys sharing a cigarette. Clutching your phone in one hand, you used the other one to try and pull your skirt down, suddenly feeling alone and too exposed. You'd hoped to impress Eddie tonight, putting together an outfit you didn't usually wear - a Nirvana crop top with a dark green pleated skirt, black fishnets underneath, finished with a brand new pair of Dr. Martens.

In your - then naïve - heart, you hoped tonight would be the night he'd finally ask you to be his. You'd been going out for weeks now, hanging out in his trailer, studying together, driving around in his van. Eddie always sought you out in school, smiling when he found you at your locker. He'd kiss you every time he dropped you off at home, hold your hand when you navigated the endless rows at the library, buy you cotton candy at the annual fair, call you every night to wish you sweet dreams. Isn't that what boyfriends did? Even your group of friends had started asking questions, Robin specifically. What were you - friends, lovers, strangers?

You knew Eddie and his upbringing, which is why you never pushed him for answers. The timeless classic of 'what are we' always scared every guy off anyway. You figured he had a harder time coming to terms with his feelings. However, the more you spent time together, the harder you were falling for him. Hell, you'd already fallen off that ledge a while ago and you were only sinking deeper and deeper. He was Eddie, your Eddie. Sweet and thoughtful, the way he always hummed a song when you cuddled together in front of the small TV in his trailer. You always found it hard to fall asleep when he wasn't there, lulling you to sleep.

Nearing the back of the house, you could hear splashes and cheering coming from the backyard. Breathing a sigh of relief, you picked up your steps when the double doors came in sight. Before you could make it though, someone called your name and grabbed you by the shoulder, spinning you around.

''Woah, look at you!'' Steve cheered. ''You look amazing.''

Steve pulled you in a quick hug, swaying a little bit when he pulled back. You wanted to laugh, he looked like a drunk child, bobbing his head to the music, his hair even more fluffy than usual. His eyes were rimmed red, popping open a can of beer.

''Thanks, Steve-O.'' You pushed his chest, giggling when he grabbed your hand to steady himself. ''Where's Eddie?''

Steve looked over your shoulder, scratching the two freckles on his left cheek. ''Uh, he's here somewhere. Think I saw him going to the upstairs bathroom.''

Your stomach dropped, Steve only did that when he was nervous. Why was he nervous?

''You sure? I think I heard him by the pool,'' you challenged.

Quickly grabbing your arm, Steve started pulling you towards the kitchen. ''No, no, I think that's Carver and his boys. Let's make you a drink! You look great by the way, did I mention that?''

''Steve, stop. What's going on?''

''Nothing! Just want to make you a drink, come on. What'cha want? Bloody Mary maybe?''

Steve's grip on your wrist was firm, you wouldn't be able to just pull free. Falling to dirtier tactics, you mumbled a sorry before kicking him in the back of his knee, your arm being freed when Steve tumbled to the ground, grunting.

''Y/N, wait! Don't go outside!''

Shooting a quick look back, you quickened your pace when you saw Steve getting up from the floor, rushing after you. You rushed to the back doors, the squeals and laughter getting louder. Pushing through the doors, you stopped in your tracks by the edge of the pool. Eddie was in the water with his back to you, his shirt off, but you could see his black jeans through the wavy water, his arms around Chrissy Cunningham's bare waist, her bikini clad breasts squished against his bare chest. Her arms around his neck, legs crossed on his back, she hung on to him like a koala, head thrown back in laughter.

Your arrival had gotten their attention, Eddie's head turning towards you, the toothy smile on his face dropping instantly.

''Oh, Y/N, you look amazing!'' Chrissy gasped.

Eddie said nothing, did nothing, as the two of you just stared at each other, his brown eyes shameful while yours were filling with tears, blurring your vision. Your struggled to take a breath, feeling like your lungs had just been ripped from your chest, never mind your stupid, optimistic heart.

Steve sighed behind you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, pulling you away. He cleared the party, lead you to one of the guest bedrooms, helped you under the covers and stayed with you the entire night, sitting on the floor next to the bed, while you wept until the early hours of the morning. The next Monday, you saw Eddie near his locker, his head bowed when you passed him in silence. His left eye was blue and purple, top lip busted. Too hurt and tired, you chose to ignore Steve's bruised knuckles when you grabbed lunch with him that day.

It was always a weird game, thinking about the time you spent with Eddie. Your heart treasured the good times, but then your head caught up, slicing those thoughts in half and showing you the pain underneath. You remembered that night so vividly, having gone through the events in your mind more times than you could count.

Then you remembered seeing him at graduation. Flinging his diploma around, his graduation cap long gone somewhere with his busted white sneakers peeking out underneath the blue skirt. He was happily chatting with Wayne, who patted him on the shoulder and looked so proud of his nephew, his son really, that for that one moment you forgot about everything and let yourself be happy for him. That was until Chrissy came along, her ponytail swinging in the air and kissed Eddie on the cheek, their fingers touching. You would have gone over there and slapped that goofy look off of his face if it weren't for Robin and Nancy calling your name, causing Eddie's eyes to look up, his smile dropping instantly.

You were so mad at him, still are if you think about it longer than five minutes. Ever since then there has been a sick battle going on between your head and your heart, like you said. In your heart, you believed he felt something for you as well. Then your head comes knocking, telling you to look at the facts.

It's all true, your head said, he didn't like you, never really wanted you. You were a game to him.

You missed him at times, the boy that you once loved, who he used to be. Your first love and your first heartbreak. But what was once said and done cannot be undone. Maybe it was time to forget about the past and focus on the present. Maybe you'd forgive him enough to become friends again. They say time heals all wounds, but so far, you were still stuck in that day, unhealed and betrayed and you had no idea how to move on from that.

♡

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