Moonlight Part 5

Moonlight – part 5

Word count: 1.4k

Part 4 part 3 part 2 part 1

Angst angst angst angst

(Next chapter will be a Steve chapter!!!!)

Nothing happened of course. He just let Steve hang out at his place until he cooled down and Eddie sent him off back to Nancy. Back to Nancy. He can't help but feel a bitter hatred towards the girl despite her doing absolutely nothing to him. He knows it's just jealousy though, jealousy about a boy he'll never in a million years get.

Why does he keep doing this to himself? Wanting what he can't have. Fame, money, boys, a life in general.

Because he's Eddie Munson. The world has it out for him.

He stabs his pencil through the paper of his sketchbook, his blood going cold as he realizes he shouldn't have done that. The dragon on the page now has a gaping hole in it's chest, and while he could try to fix it, he doesn't want to fix things right now. Fixing needs effort, and he doesn't have that in him at the moment, not while he's sitting on his bed crying over a boy.

"Eddie Munson, crying over a jock. What a twist, huh?" He comments bitterly to the ratty Garfield plush in front of him, slumped over from the lack of stuffing in one side, droopy eyes scratched to practically nothing. He still keeps it though, because he loves it.

Some things don't need to be fixed. They're lovable the way they are.

And yet nobody seems to love Eddie. Sure, his mom loved him, but that was when he was a kid, and he can't help but wonder if she would still love him if she was around today. Wayne too, but that's different, hard to see. He wants a different love, he wants Steve's love. He'll get rid of it soon. This stupid, horrible crush on a boy. A boy who's both a jock and a werewolf. God, what has his life become?

It's been a week since he stopped Steve from spraypainting all over town, and he can't help but realize.. he missed the full moon. Steve would've already turned back by now, all alone. It's fine. It's not like Steve needs him, and Eddie was wanting to distance himself from Steve. This is good for them both.

Yet guilt eats away at him, squeezing and twisting at his insides, making his lungs close up and his throat catch. He can hardly breathe, and it hurts. He feels like he should apologize, but he can't, it's not even necessary. Steve never needed Eddie there, not when he's been transforming all by himself for years and years already by the time Eddie found him.

He can't go to school. He can't even risk the chance of seeing Steve, can't even risk the chance of seeing this damn boy. It hurts. It's horrible, it's.. Eddie gets up, going out to the small kitchen as if his body is on autopilot. He opens the fridge and closes it a couple times, his brain empty from the lack of accomplishment of grabbing something from the barren shelves. He doesn't know what to do with himself. It's a feeling not unknown to him, but it's never been at the hands of a boy who looks both like a God and Just Some Dude. What is wrong with him? He's Eddie Munson, of all people he should be immune to Harrington's charms.

But he just isn't.

Nothing is working, either. Not food, not drawing, not his music, not D&D– hell, he even tried going on a walk. Nothing. Is. Working. He tried to lose himself in his interests, tried to let them consume him completely like they do when he doesn't want them to, but not even those want him now. His guitar isn't calling to him, neither are his books or the figurines that still need to be painted.

Eddie needs to talk to this boy. Even once. He doesn't care if he'll be rejected, he truly doesn't, he just.. needs to get this feeling out. Shoes on his feet, keys in his hand, he stills. He didn't even open the door yet.

He can't do this. He should be confident, but no, he's shaking like a leaf, his stomach churning. He doesn't even take his shoes off as he walks back to his room, slowly slipping into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. He doesnt like this feeling. He doesn't like when the only things beckoning him closer are the things that will hurt him most. How when he thought Steve was in danger he was so ready to leave, yet now he can't even open the front door?

There's something wrong with him. Always has been, always will be. If he's not killed or doesn't do it himself before he graduates he'll be driven out of this hellhole of a town, either going to jail and reuniting with his no-good dad or being completely alone for the rest of his life. People would talk and wonder. They'd discuss and gossip about Mr. Munson, the shut-in neighbor with a cat who nobody sees outside unless he's working or on his porch, the man who doesn't speak, the man who stays inside when he doesn't have errands, the man who drinks himself to bed every day. They'd wonder what happened to get him like that– if he had a wife who passed away or something.

He closes his eyes and runs a hand over his face, attempting to swallow down the lump in his throat at the thought. He doesn't want that but it seems like the only future for him. The Garfield plush on his pillow that he found comfort in since he was a child now seems like it's mocking him, it's lazy eyed stare and wide sleepy smile staring him down.

That's when he hears the tapping on his window. There was knocking at his door earlier but he didn't bother to answer, knowing that if it was his uncle he wouldn't be knocking and would just come inside, not really caring about visitors.

He doesn't get out of bed, but he hears the window slide open, harsh sunlight burning his eyes as someone tumbles into his room, shoe covered feet landing on Eddie's carpeted floors.

And his voice.

"Eddie? What's going on? You weren't there.." Steve says quietly, hesitantly walking over to Eddie's bedside as if he was sick or something. He must look pathetic, buried under a thin blanket, clutching a stuffed animal, with his hair a mess and his eyes all puffy and red.

"You weren't there." Steve repeats. "I waited for you. All night. I don't even know what happened– I just know I woke up and I... I was covered in blood. I don't know what or who's blood it was– I'm freaking the fuck out!" He says, pacing Eddie's room. The boy jolts up, rubbing his eyes and throwing the blanket off. That's when he finally gets a good look at Steve. The tired eyes, his uncharacteristically sunken and pale skin, dried blood on his hands as if all he could do was try and wipe it off his skin with what he could find and shove some clothes on before going straight to Eddie.

"Shit shit shit, shit, shit! Okay.. okay, blood. You didn't kill someone, you couldn't have. You're not that kinda... person.. werewolf.. thing." Eddie says breathlessly, getting up out of bed and realizing that half of this blood is Steve's. The way it seeps through his blue sweater, creating a dark stain that just keeps spreading.

"I don't know what happened." Steve admits upon realizing what Eddie is looking at, lifting up his sweater to show a gaping hole in his abdomen, next to that patch of hair Eddie has dreamed about again and again.

"Holy shit.. Steve, you got shot*" He says in shock, but Steve doesn't even look surprised. He simply shoves his fingers into the wound and pulls out a bullet, wiping his hand on his sweater. "I'll be fine. It's not even close to the first time, I know how to handle it. You got a first aid kit or anything?"

Eddie blinks a few times.. sure, Steve is a werewolf, he's strong, he doesn't feel as much pain as a normal person. But he just pulled a bullet out of his flesh and asked Eddie if he had gauze with the normalcy of asking if it's cold out today, not to mention he didn't even notice the blood was his own.

Now all he has to do is keep it together when Steve pulls off his shirt to patch himself up.

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