Someone Please Give Me A Request Or Idea Or Prompt Or Something-

Someone please give me a request or idea or prompt or something-

I want to write but I have no idea what about 😭

Poetry On Perspective

Eddie x EnglishMajor!reader

This is just something I wrote after consuming too much poetry (I tried okay?)

I think Eddie would like Bukowski.

Warnings and notes: she/her pronouns, some swearing, not proofread, not much of an ending, kind of open ended (might do another part, idk)

I hope y’all like it :)

<3•<3•<3•<3•<3•

“I’ve read bukowski,” she starts, up on the stage with her hair swept up behind her head, her bangs tickling her eyelashes as her eyes look downward to focus on the words she had previously written on the page, “and I’ve seen what Dickinson had to say. Two thoroughly different viewpoints, differing outlooks on love. With no more in agreement than that it exists. A man who talks of lovers and sparrows, and the whores and the pigeons. And a girl who speaks of death and men, and her garden and love.”

Jeff’s face was screwed up and gareth was shaking his head.

Eddie had read bukowski.

Eddie had referenced bukowski.

Hidden in the folds of a guitar riff and rock ballad were the stanzas to The Twins.

“Bukowski is an empty bar and a calloused hand and Dickinson is a robin at a bird bath and a carriage ride with an old friend. Perspective is a mistress who never appears the same for more than a month. She changes as the wind does, ebbs and flows depending on her mood.”

Eddie didn’t understand the entire point of the girl’s rambling.

Then again he wasn’t meant to be here. He was supposed to be an hour away in a hotel with a cigarette. Maybe a joint.

A flat tire had landed him on the side of the road, band members and equipment in tow. A bus of college students drove them into town, grant found a phone and called someone to help get the van but until they got it into town the guys were here.

They had watched the students go up one by one and read off nonsensical passages in their journals.

Eddie hadn’t been paying attention until the pretty girl came up on stage. Her sweaters hem a few inches above that of her skirt and her black nail polish chipped as she avoided the gaze of the crowd and flipped through her notebooks pages.

Her notebook was covered in doodles of different flowers and fish and post-it notes bloomed from the top of the thing until about halfway through where the pages were pristine and likely unused.

What had mainly caught his attention were the tattoos on her legs. Different patches of sharks and flowers adorned her skin. One in particular went from just above her knee and crept around the back of her thigh and up into her skirt.

He wanted to see what the rest of it looked like, what images the upper expanse of her thighs might be hiding and did her arms match?

“Perspective changes when she pleases. One day she can be the same as ever, grass is grass and flowers bloom and babies laugh, and the next maybe the grass weeds and flowers wilt and babies wail and fuss. A year is a week, a day is a decade. Your grandparents got married yesterday and you broke up with your ex a lifetime ago. Grass is grass, it’s meant to hold the dirt together, grass is weeds meant to invade your fathers yard so you never stop hearing about them. Babies laugh and babies cry but you don’t have to worry about that because you’re single and might die alone so you might never have babies. Your boyfriend was your everything and now your ex is the reason you smoke. Etc.”

She ends her rambling and closes her journal, looking to the rest of the small bar for critiques and hopefully some encouragement.

“It could use some clarity.” A boisterous voice pipes up and Eddie scans the crowd for the perpetrator.

A guy with thick rimmed glasses and patchy stubble stares up at her, his face the picture of audacity.

“I thought her point was perfectly clear.” Eddie shrugs and the guy looks over at Eddie before sighing.

“Her transitions weren’t clear, her sentences could be more concise. Her rambling could be poetry if it were only a bit more clear.” The guy offers.

“Or you could argue that adopting the style of bukowski and melding it with the imagery Dickinson was prone to using.” Eddie argues and the guy pauses thoughtfully, his lips pressing into a thin line as he pulls together his thoughts.

Gareth and Jeff exchange a look of confusion at Eddie's knowledge of poetry and literature while Grant seems to be enthralled with the argument between the two boys.

“That’s a good take. I just mean that the initial examples of Dickinson and Bukowski could be better transitioned into her next points about perspective.”

Eddie nods, “I could see why you would make that argument but I kinda like the rambling. She’s writing how she thinks. Thoughts don’t always transition seamlessly, I think it’s pretty cool to just hear someone’s thoughts on a subject and I like that she gets you to think about it yourself.”

“I guess that’s just perspective for you.” The guy shrugs and Eddie grins, silently agreeing with him.

Eddie turns his attention to the girl in front of the class, “the personal touches were nice. Your writing was relatable. My uncle is probably outside our house fighting with the weeds right now.”

The girl smiles, “thank you, Eddie.”

Eddies eyebrows raise at his name. He didn’t know how she knew it but fuck did it sound nice when she said it. She smiled and stared at him through her bangs, pulling her notebook to her chest to discreetly reveal the doodle of corroded coffins' first album cover.

She stands up and goes back to her seat. The next person comes up but Eddie isn’t paying any attention to whatever they have to say.

He’s too stuck on her. Too obsessed with never letting his eyes leave her to even consider whatever the fuck the asshole on stage has to say.

He wants to try and talk tk her after all of the readings are through but as the students file onto the bus grant blocks his view of her, letting him and the guys know that the van is in the shop at the moment getting the tire changed and they should able to get back on the road in an hour or two.

By the time Eddie looks up from grant the bus doors are closing the girl is gone.

---

𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐝 [𝐀 𝐆𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐔𝐬]

Summary: Years after Hawkins was saved, Nancy and Steve’s wedding draws everyone back together and with it, you are reminded of the love you lost at the price of fame. [Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader; WC: 17.4k] Warnings: language, exes to lovers, mutual pining/yearning, frightened lil beans in love, heavy angst.

A/N: I worked on this for weeks. I am very nervous to post it, and I hope you enjoy it (excuse any errors, it's time consuming loves).

What is it like to be loved?

There was something in that room that made you question it. The palpable, sudden feeling that permeated around it like a fog; a special dance that so many would be able to feel, yet it seemingly evaded you.

Her dress was beautiful. An ivory lace with sleeves that covered her soft skin. The brown of her hair so vibrant against the spring flowers she held as the chapel’s old stones warmed with the feeling reverberated with the words of the priest.

He was tall and stoic; filled with a slight fear that his true colors would show in his dark suit and dotted tie. He was joyous; he was a radiant boy filling his father’s suit and marrying the girl of his dreams.

Nancy and Steve.

For a moment, while the priest held everyone’s attention in a moment of prayer, it was quiet enough to imagine love physically filled the space before you. Head lightly dipped, the bouquet in your hand distracting you from the eyes of every person in the chapel.

A silence was asked for and responded to with grace. The silence of baseless words washing over the room in a wave of down-turned heads and folded hands. However quiet, however peaceful the room had become, that floating feeling hung from the rafters. You felt your heart sink. That heaviness of sorrow that plagued beautiful moments from a pain buried in your bones that you weren’t even sure really existed. Love. A tragic thing.

All you could ask was:

What is it liked to be loved?

Maybe it was the wedding that made you teary-eyed and soft hearted. You weren’t a hopeless romantic. You weren’t searching constantly for Mr. Right because he didn’t exist. They had shown you that, he had shown you that. Not some Marilyn Monroe waiting for the next man to sweep you off your feet and carry you into a raging bloody sunset in Los Angeles. No. The cards were dealt with precision and meaning; each turned over when the time allowed and burned when the bells tolled.

Love brewed and bubbled; love ached and pained; love existed and diminished; love stood in front of you screaming to break free but the cries fell silent—dead on the cold, stone floor.

Steve’s eyes called to Nancy like a ship lost at sea. The tears that brimmed at the corners whispered to fall after years of trauma and resolution. But they were relieved and elated and somehow, Nancy returned the sentiments with eyes elated. And it hurt to see your closest friends happy when you couldn’t be.

‘And from this day forward they would walk hand and hand into everything that You have destined them to be.’

The words echoed and echoed. The priest as happy to say them as Ted and Karen Wheeler nodded as if it were true from the pews. Steve’s parents had actually shown up too, along with hundreds of other people. Friends, coworkers, and the guests each of them brought.

‘We give our hearts and beings to You now in adoration.’

People like you didn’t give their hearts willingly. Not like Robin, not like Nancy. You weren’t sure about Max or Eleven, but perhaps they gave theirs willingly enough too as they stood beside you up on the alter. And you wanted that. You wanted to give it willingly. As their heads hung and their eyes diverted from above, there was a calling. Probably not from some higher God you weren’t sure even existed, but something—a gut feeling. One that simmered and bristled against negativity and anxiety; the same one that painfully squeezed that arduous organ in your chest. That feeling told you not to bow your head. It told you not to close your eyes and whatever it did, it made you shift your head in the slightest.

The groomsmen were just across the way beside Steve. Dustin helmed them, walking you down the aisle and reminding you that as they embraced adulthood, you were also getting older. Over one age milestone of established adulthood and half of the kids you babysat as a teenager were closer to marriage than you.

Angled perfectly with your shoulder—bare from the design of your green gown. The shape of your nose and chin and the style of your hair falling sleekly into a perfectly haloed outline as though a magician had cast their greatest spell. And when it turned just enough, where the platform was illuminated by the rays of the sun, one other head remained as perfectly crafted as yours, looking back as though the universe said: here it is.

This is what it feels like. 

Those butterflies? Love. The heart bursting panic that set off inside you? Love. The painful realization that you could have it and you could nurture it with passion? Love.

It existed. 

And it did so in the cruelest of forms. 

Because the sheen of your eyes from the beautiful wedding and the widely spoken words of the priest meant more when staring back at the one thing you had always wanted. It was one feeling, one person, and that’s what you swore you couldn’t have.

He had chosen that for you. Six years ago in a tiny apartment on the west side of Chicago, he decided his career was more important.

He was him. He was a brilliant, foul-mouthed metal rock star with impeccable hair and sense of style that made your heart leap for quiet bursts of love. He was complicated and corny and filled with a truth you hadn’t been able to recognize because everyone else clouded life. What life could be and what it could hold.

Eddie Munson was a rock star. Eddie Munson was one of the most famous musicians in the world. Eddie Munson was a friend, a hero, and Eddie Munson was the man who broke your heart and it could never heal itself.

And yet love remained deep down.

It’s regretful nature resurfacing because love was tangible in the chapel in Nantucket.

It was love. It existed. It was real. It was palpable in that room, in his eyes, against the prayer, across the aisle and in all of the pews.

‘And we welcome Your Holy Spirit amongst us. Amen.’

And the chorus filled the room. The pews creaked and heads returned upright. You lost the sight as Steve and the others lifted their heads, but the feeling remained. It sunk to the pit of your stomach where the realization remained.

“Hey,” a hushed whisper sounded near your right ear as your body jolted minutely from the call. Robin’s head tried to follow your direction but couldn’t find the destination. There were hundreds of people in that room. But she should have known. She should have known. 

“Everything alright?”

Her concern was evident. Had you been that rigid the entire time? Was the look of love one of fear? Were the tears in your eyes truly that clear?

“I’m fine, Rob. Really.”

It hadn’t convinced her but you returned your attention to the ceremony instead. Robin waited, glancing over your shoulder again and again to try to find her answer. The sentiment of conflict appearing much faster in times of clear disruption than she remembered. The feeling of the world tilting on its axis for something you couldn’t control.

Her eyes looked for the answer. Searching the crowd with an unfathomable hardened gaze until it landed back to the groomsmen and she felt everything click back into place. You had reassured Nancy and Robin that everything was fine; that you were friends. That there was no animosity nor tension remaining over the years but it had. They just wanted to believe the best, yet all the signs were there. 

The way you stood so still; scared of yourself as emotions took their hold.

Six years of separation meant nothing. Its degrees scorching the earth every moment not together, bound by the universe yet torn apart by wants, not needs.

They had all believed you. They believed Eddie’s lies that he had moved on—the woman looking straight out of a Vanity Fair magazine in the fifth row the one he brought to prove such a tale.

No.

They had all been wrong.

The two of you had imploded the meaning of love because if it couldn’t exist between the two of you, it couldn’t exist at all.

Steve and Nancy wed on a Saturday in March. 

The morning had greeted everyone with golden rays. Sunlight streaming in from the curtains of the Wauwinet’s rooms waking its patron’s with a sprinkle of joy. Early morning glow; warm and intoxicating on a day such as that. 

You couldn’t see the beach from where you laid; the white comforter covering your shoulders high, eyes peeking out from the space between the blankets and your pillow. High above on the second floor, the sky reflected its yellow and pink hues until they faded to blue. Not a cloud in the sky. 

The two days you had spent on the tiny island thus far had been a reflection of that sunrise. An excitable shimmer of beauty and grace only to fade into a familiar blue–a melancholy gloom that you hadn’t expected to feel. You stepped off the plane only to be greeted with every feeling that ran in its opposite direction; Robin and Nancy clung to you with joy, Steve and the boys, who you should probably call young men now, hugged you tightly. 

And then a cloud formed. 

The cloud was ugly, gray, and filled with matter you had buried deep. Years of pretending everything in your life was going smoothly–that you were exactly where you wanted to be–lingering above you like a joke. Laughing, jesting you with the past as happiness was rubbed into a wound like salt. 

He had a smile plastered onto his face the first time you saw him that weekend–the night before the ‘I do’s.’ He was sitting in the wine cellar with Steve, reminiscing about the past as the future was gently placed on Nancy’s finger; sparkling against the shine of the hotel’s lighting as night had long fallen on a Friday evening. 

As the thoughts lingered in your mind as the sun began to rise, it hadn’t been seeing Eddie for the first time in years that had thrown your world off its axis. The woman, clad in the most casual New England fashions, who sat beside him with her arm resting on his, did. 

A petty, jealous feeling at the sight rose within you rapidly. 

You felt there was no right for you to feel that way. 

Six years. Six years had left an open season for both he and you to find new people to love, hate, and screw, but the idea that there was a reality that existed where Eddie no longer loved you was jarring. 

The fear of it became engrained in your bones. Tattooed onto skin that was untouched and permanently stained with words that hurt and stung and ultimately resulted in the reason you had come to that wedding alone.  

Eddie had scarred you–in a beautifully tragic way that you’d never be the person you were at seventeen when he asked you to go see Temple of Doom at a theater two towns over. It was a shame you’d always tie him to that film… because you really fucking liked the movie but all you could think about was how Indy left Marion in the dust and hell, you felt like Marion sometimes. 

He just sat there. A gorgeous woman on his arm and smiling at Steve as though not a day had gone by. He looked older, more sure of himself, and dare you think it, had a bit more style than he did before. Nice, in a ‘formal but not too formal’ kind of way. 

They were all sipping on some hundred-dollar wine. He could afford it now. Red-soled shoes, a jacket with no fringe, and a bottle of wine that cost as much as your monthly rent. 

Nancy had been perched on a stool at the high-top beside Steve. The two had been going over the rehearsal that Eddie conveniently missed as well as the dinner from hours before. From what Robin had divulged, he had a show in Boston and would make his way out to Nantucket after it was over. 

You didn’t think Nancy ringing your suite for drinks would mean he’d be there too. 

The thunder from the cloud above you rumbled when Nancy caught your eye in the entryway. 

Everything, from the clothes you wore to the company of the room, felt out of place. Like you were looking from the outside and into a world that was completely yours but never one you recalled. The people in it–sparingly familiar but strangers all the same. 

Nancy had taken a sip of her wine, swallowing quickly as she perked up and waved at you. The attention drawing each eye away from Steve and to you, unwelcome and afraid of familiarity. Two looked happy, one looked curious, and the other looked like the whole world had stopped. 

A moment in time paused. No calm waiters tending to guests, no heads turning toward him because he was identifiable; it was blank. Two worlds gone completely still because for the first time in six years, you and Eddie had finally converged to one place. 

Some expensive hotel on Nantucket Island for a wedding between two people you both held near and dear to your hearts. It took nothing to imagine that if things had gone right, perhaps it would not be Steve and Nancy meeting at the alter tomorrow afternoon. 

In the stillness, a reunion is not bound by the trivial “it’s good to see you” or “its been too long.” A mind playing funny tricks and sending you back to years before–the way his entire person disappeared beyond the bedroom door only to be followed by the slamming of the front one. An apology sputtered at the end of a fight that had been brewing for weeks. 

The last time you saw Eddie Munson he had come home from a tour with no direction but up. Up to a new place, to a new life, and one that kept the past behind. Questions of love, home, and loyalty tested two people who were holding onto a fine thread before it snapped. 

Now, its lingering shreds brushed together with an easterly wind. 

You don’t know what he was thinking when the words stopped fumbling from his lips. 

“Hey!” Steve cheered happily from his spot as Eddie went quiet. “Come on, join us!” 

You felt like a fool standing there idle. Feet glued to the floor, eyes trained on Eddie a moment too long because as soon as the fifth second passed, the woman by his side asked: 

“Who’s that?” 

Steve said your name, waving at you the same way Nancy had, “She’s Ed–“ 

“My Maid of Honor!” Nancy cut in, giving the woman a smile in reassurance that it was the description most accurate to who you were. Nancy didn’t know why she cut Steve off like that; the side-eyed glance she received from him as Eddie stared back at you should have told her everything. 

Not friend, not best friend, not former classmate, but Eddie’s ex-girlfriend. What a label to have. 

Your planted feet begged you to move. The awkwardness of standing still for lingering seconds in time drawing eye after eye, raising questions as to whether or not you were having a medical emergency or just plain stupid. Your feet took those commands and walked, before your mind could even process that the night had continued to move forward without being truly ready to interact. 

“I told you she’d join us,” Nancy hit Steve’s shoulder lightly with the back of her hand, “Can’t spend the last few hours of us together as an unmarried couple without those who brought us back together.” 

Steve gave her a smile, hand squeezing her kneecap under the table because in reality, there wasn’t an ounce of a lie there. Not that any regular person would understand, but Steve had always dreamed of this moment: the night before he went to sleep one last time as an unmarried man, sipping chilled wine in an expensive hotel with his bride-to-be, his closest friends, and the reason he and Nance were at this stage. 

One piece of that puzzle had gone mute, silent as though they never heard him talk. As you approached the high top that was tucked into a corner by the windows that looked out to the Atlantic Ocean, Eddie couldn’t form words. He had prepared himself for this moment for years and yet his mind had gone blank. Emotions barren from his chest like he was an empty, cavernous being and not a person. He felt nothing–like the world had been obliterated and there was only him in space; alone and helpless to save his sanity. 

And if it hadn’t been so long since he last laid eyes on you, perhaps he could have recognized the same emotions bleeding out of you. That the wound had never truly closed and there was much unsaid floating around the two of you that the air was hard to breathe. 

But against it all, it was you who offered the closed smile and a small: 

“Hi.”

Eddie’s relief that the first words weren’t “fuck you,” or “I still hate you.” Just a simple “hi” that replayed in his mind as the seconds transpired and the ball had fallen into his court. 

But those words were hard for you to even muster. 

“It’s good to see you,” he settled on, not leaving his chair to wrap his arms around you or whisk you away to hear how your life has been since he left. He sat there, as still as you had in the entryway, and let you take the spot beside Nancy because it was the furthest away from his own that you could take. 

Eddie had completely forgotten about the woman to his right. 

No one had thought anything of the interaction. In two minds, it played out differently because the truth existed somewhere between two people unwilling to face it. For people like Nancy and Steve, there had been one story that had been told yet no one questioned the absence of the other on specific holidays, birthdays, or more. 

“We broke up,” that was what you had told Nancy and he had told Steve. Word for word, the same story. “Distance was getting too hard and we thought we’d take a break. It’s better this way and we’re still friends–we we’re friends before everything so…” 

For every truth, there were two lies. 

Nancy flagged down the waiter, tapping on her glass and holding up two fingers. You shifted in your seat as one leg crossed over the other and glanced at the woman to Eddie’s right. 

She wasn’t familiar at all. Still hanging on Eddie’s arm and fiddling with the cuff of his jacket. In all of your years together, you had never seen Eddie wear a dinner jacket. 

And against your feelings, you extended your hand over the table toward her. Eddie didn’t know what to think of that. You introduced yourself. 

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he knew the voice. It was the kind someone would use on the telephone if they were talking to a co-worker or boss, not a friend. 

“Veronica,” she lifted her hand from Eddie’s arm and graciously shook yours over the wine glasses; a tiny set of flickering candles beside a small relish tray beneath it. “I hear you’re the Maid of Honor?” 

“As much as one can be,” you told her, eyes looking over her face and form. Eddie could see it now that you were comparing yourself to her, an unfortunate circumstance of choice. “The other bridesmaids have helped a bit with planning and what not… it’s not easy work,” you scoffed, tipping your head at Nancy and the bride shook her head with a grin. 

“I promise I’m not one of those crazy brides,” Nancy jokingly defended herself to Veronica who admired the friendship before her. She knew you all of two seconds and could see how comfortable the two of you were. 

“Yeah, sure…” you trailed off as the waiter returned with two new glasses of wine. You thanked him and took a long, needed sip as the white wine’s bubbles barely had time to settle. 

Steve cleared his throat as you drank, glancing at Eddie before turning to you. “We were just catching him up on what went down at the rehearsal. Told ‘em that Robin tripped down the aisle so he’s gotta hold onto her tightly.” 

You snickered at the memory. Robin Buckley couldn’t walk in heels even if she tried to. Nodding your head, you didn’t make eye contact with Eddie to reiterate the sentiment. 

“She’ll topple over if you don’t.” 

“Will do,” Eddie replied quietly, differently than he normally would have and Veronica put her hand on his arm again, rubbing it up and down as if she knew. For once, he just wished she would stop. 

“We’re going to–“ Steve’s voice drowned itself out as he rattled on about the plans of tomorrows festivities. 

Every now and again when you’d catch a word of Steve’s, you couldn’t help but look at Eddie. Those eyes still telling of his emotions rather than the words he spoke; wide and pupils blown from both the environment and alcohol. 

You weren’t shameless about it when he caught you looking. He couldn’t help it either; it was as though he was drawn to a magnet that kept pulling him in. Just as you had observed him, everything was familiar yet strangely different. The way you held yourself, the clothes you wore, makeup and hair just enough having changed to make him notice that he didn’t know you now as he had then. 

However, he still felt that hand on his jacket. 

Yet he was looking at you. And he felt like a coward for thinking he’d rather have you cling to him like that then her. She, Veronica, didn’t deserve to have a man think that of her. 

“Are you still in Chicago?” He blurted out over Steve’s talking. Like walking in a path of quicksand, Eddie did not want to drown before his life truly began. Steve stopped and glanced at Eddie as though his friend had a stroke. 

“Mhm,” you murmured over the lip of the glass Nancy had secured for you. “Still in California?” 

“Yeah, near Bell Canyon.” 

“Is that…” Of course you wouldn’t have known exactly where that was. It wasn’t like you had a map inside of your brain or tracked his every movement. Based on the question on whether or not he still lived in California, he wondered if you read anything about him at all. 

“It’s near Los Angeles… like suburbs of it.” 

“Ah, alright,” you met his eyes briefly before taking another long sip of your wine. He could see the way you practically folded in on yourself; anxiety and fears bubbling within you the same way they used to. 

“And you still live…” he trailed off in a veiled hope that the implication went unspoken. ‘At the apartment, our apartment.’

“No,” you shook your head, “I moved a few years ago… have a nice view of the lake,” the thought of it brought a small smile to your face. It was nice. It was nearly perfect. 

“No more of the ‘L’ ruining your sleep?” 

He saw the hint of smile play on your lips. 

“It’s pretty quiet now,” for a multitude of reasons he could think of. 

“That’s good,” Eddie nodded, glancing at Steve and Nancy who provided no support to make the situation any less awkward. 

“So,” Veronica began with a perky voice for eleven-thirty at night, “Eddie said you all went to high school together?” 

The model wore these big, curious eyes. She was kind, in a doxy kind of way but her sentiment’s with her words transcended through each of you. This woman, a date, hadn’t been a steady, familiar thing to Eddie. Anyone who knew him as close as a formal, long-term partner did, would have known about the crew from Hawkins. 

“Yeah,” Steve answered as a savior, “But we weren’t all friends then… that took some time. We were all pretty different.” 

Nancy hit his arm playfully, giving a scowl as Steve quirked his eyes at Eddie. The latter had simply taken the labels he was given and ran with them–a transformative play for the man with a lengthy petty crimes list and could out smoke Pablo Escobar. 

“It doesn’t matter what we were like! We’re all friends now and those three–“ Nancy gestured her hand over Steve, Eddie, and yourself, “were in the same class.” 

“Oh!” She beamed. “How cool! I don’t really talk to anyone from my class so it’s nice to see it works for some people.” 

Everyone just gave her tight smiles. Having friends from childhood didn’t make you less of a person. It meant stronger connections and the fact that no one could say why you were all bonded so closely made things more difficult. 

“And the rest of your friends?” Veronica turned her face toward Eddie who shrugged. 

“In their rooms, I’m guessing. I think we got here a little late,” he chuckled. 

“They know you had a commitment,” Nancy reassured him. “Besides, Dustin and the others will be just as thrilled to see you in the morning.” 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “After the bachelor party, I didn’t think half of us would even make it here so it’ll be a nice surprise.” 

Thank God for Steve and his stupid jokes. It broke some tension, a smile actually cracking Eddie’s face again and one that reached his eyes. The brown, doe-eyed ones that Robin once said made her sad were recalling that party like it was the funniest thing he had ever experienced. 

‘It probably was’, you thought, ‘Steve Harrington always knew how to party.’ 

“So,” Veronica interjected, pointing a finger between you and Nancy, “the bachelorette party wasn’t anything to write home about?” Quick judgement.

“We went wine tasting in the Valley,” Nancy’s eyes lit up at the memory, “and then we went hiking… which in retrospect wasn’t something any of us liked.” 

It was the end of summer when everyone could get together and the heat ate at each of you as the sun rose higher, the drinks flowed more, and the guides took in their amusement of each woman. 

“Went to some museums, ate too much food…” you said additionally. 

“El learned she was allergic to pears and Max got stung by a bee,” Nancy interjected, “and our heroes Lucas and Mike came to save the day when we got stranded in the middle of lake because the engine died on the boat we rented.” 

“I think we’ll stick to spa days and cooking classes next time,” you picked up your glass, a side-eye to Nancy as she quickly agreed. Veronica perked up, still clutching Eddie’s arm. 

“Who’s getting married next? You?” 

She meant nothing by it. Her eyes were friendly and voice high pitched, interested in the conversation to just be a part of something more than a two-person bubble. You choked on the wine, the question startled you because it hadn’t been something you thought of in a long time. 

You put the glass down as your hand went to your mouth, wiping it dry and you, unintentionally, looked from her to Eddie. Steve noticed, Nancy didn’t. 

“No!” You replied a bit too loudly. “Sorry,” shaking the embarrassment from you, “I just–no. Not me. I would put money on Dustin and Suzie once they’re done at MIT… He’s loved her since he was in middle school.” 

She smiled at the idea of everlasting young love. “That’s cute! Sometimes, if you know, you know, right?” And she squeezed Eddie’s arm the same way her hand squeezed your heart at the sight. 

Eddie dropped his arm into his lap after her grip loosened. Her hand fell onto the table and whether she realized it or not, the rejection she felt showed on her face. 

“How did you two meet?” Nancy picked an olive with a toothpick from the small dish on the table. Veronica peered at Eddie to answer but he wasn’t going to. 

“At an event for our agency a couple…three? months back.” 

Three months.

“Cool,” Steve mumbled as he followed Nancy’s lead and took one of the pickles from the tray. “So what are you? An agent? Model...?” 

“I model for magazines, yeah,” she nodded and focused her hands at the base of her wine glass. You watched Veronica tap her white nails on the table cloth before bringing them back to the foot. “Sometimes do commercials or videos and stuff.”

Steve sat back in his chair; a thought pondered in his mind as he watched your eyes divert from the table and out the window to your left. It was dark, you couldn’t see anything beyond ten feet. The arm that had been taken off the table now sat at Eddie’s side with his hand in his lap. He had taken his thumb and twisted at the ring that rested on his ring finger–the one with a dark stone he had worn since forever. 

The groom reflected back to his bachelor party, three weeks ago, and how Eddie made no mention of Veronica but very drunkenly admitted something he didn’t want to see the light of day. 

Buried; six feet deep with the memories he had locked away in Pandora’s box. There was key to unlock them, let them fly away and spread like stars in the sky but it was booze and a little bit of weed that truly let them sing. 

Steve wasn’t sure if Eddie realized what he had told him that night. 

The way he was twisting his rings made him think that if he didn’t, Eddie was at least thinking the same thing now. 

“You know,” Steve crossed his arms as he leaned back, glancing at Veronica first before allowing his eyes to wander to you, then Eddie. “If you asked me a few years ago if I thought that Eddie, Eddie Munson, would be dating a supermodel… I would have laughed.” 

Veronica chuckled, a light blush forming on the balls of her cheeks as Eddie shook his head. It was Steve’s tone that made you turn to him. 

“Not really your type, dude,” Steve said and the woman’s face went flat. The chuckle cease and Nancy forgot how to breathe for a second. Maybe Steve had too much to drink, maybe he was done for the night, and if she whisked him away now, he wouldn’t be hung over for the wedding. 

“Come on, man…” Eddie shifted his head to the side, glaring at Steve to knock-it-off before things crossed a line he wasn’t prepared for. Eddie thought himself a jackass sometimes but he never wanted others to feel uncomfortable. 

“No offense, Veronica,” Steve held out his hand as if saying ‘I don’t mean anything by it.’ “It’s just…” He clicked his tongue, “you want the best for your friends, right? And for the last decade or more I’ve never seen you fawn over the looks of a model.” 

“Steve,” you interjected, providing the same look Eddie had given him because he was trying to open that box. “Stop being an asshole.” 

You turned to Veronica, “he’s just a little drunk, that’s all.” Nancy supported it with a smile and put her hand on Steve’s shoulder. 

Steve laughed at your words like it was the funniest thing he had ever heard. “That’s kind of rich coming from you.” 

“I think we should–“ Nancy began but Steve leaned forward on his elbows. 

“You like Lord of the Rings, Veronica? Or ever go to a thrift store and absolutely wreck the clothes you bought? Play D and D?” She looked confused so Steve stopped, “Dungeons and Dragons? Like the game? No? How about drugs? Do you do those?” 

“Steve! Fuck man…” Eddie hit Steve’s shoulder, “I think we’re a little past a buzz, huh?” 

“Tell me, Eddie,” Steve took the whack to his shoulder in stride, “You’re not thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” 

“I don’t know what you’re thinkin’ about.” 

“Okay,” Steve drug the ‘a’ out of the word, “fine!” He looked to you, “are you thinking what I’m thinking then? And when I said it’s funny, I meant in you defending her when–“ 

“Jesus Christ, Steve!” Eddie said loudly, “would you just shut the fuck up for once! I was so worried about us getting into it,” he threw a hand up and motioned between the two of you, “but you took that and ran right the fuck away with it!” 

As Eddie argued with Steve, you turned to Nancy. 

“I think you better take him to his room,” you saw how mortified she was, “or I can call up Lucas and Dustin to come get him too?” 

“I’ve got him,” she took your hand and held it tightly. “He’s just up-“ 

“—OH!” Steve’s voice cut through hers, “like you’re not giving ‘fuck me eyes’ to each other! Goddammit! It’s like living with divorced parents! No wonder you switch off holidays!” Steve pointed at you, “was that your idea? I bet it was.”

“Wait,” Veronica cut in after Steve’s ‘divorced parents’ comment, “did you two date?” her eyes flicking between Eddie and yourself. Her question went unanswered as Steve continued his tirade. 

“And Dustin reassured me there wouldn’t be an issue!” 

“There wasn’t an issue until you brought it up!” Eddie said pointedly. You downed the rest of your wine in one gulp and Nancy hopped off her chair as people started to go quiet at the surrounding tables. 

“Please!” Steve lamented, “you got fuckin’ plastered in Miami and told me and the boys that you wished it was you gettin’ married not me!” 

“When the hell did I say that?” Eddie furrowed his brows, voice still loud and defensive. Nancy shrugged on her cardigan that was on the back of her chair, Veronica looked befuddled, and you felt like you blanched. Even if they couldn’t see it, you felt it. 

“At the shitty strip club!” Not something he should have shouted in a place like this. “You got all weird and drank yourself to pieces because, and I quote,” Steve said crazed, “the wedding makes you fucking sad and you didn’t know how to handle it.” 

“Oh fuck you, man,” Eddie soured, rolling his eyes at Steve as Nancy grabbed his arm gently.

“Steve, come on,” she coaxed him, “we better get going.” 

“If you want to convince people you don’t still love each other,” Steve chided, “then maybe stop acting like the world will fall apart the moment you walk into a room.” 

“Wait,” Veronica added again, shaking her head in misunderstanding, “still love each other? When did this happen?” 

“We don’t love each other,” Eddie answered for both of you without a second to spare. “And it won’t fall apart! Look! We’re here now!” He motioned his hand between the two of you across the table again but didn’t look at the way you listened to every word like you had when you fought in the kitchen that horrible evening.

“Yeah,” Steve nodded as if he didn’t believe Eddie in the slightest, “Swear on Dustin? On your… shit… I don’t know, guitar!? Say that to her face and tell her like you didn’t just tell me you make a fucking mistake years ago.” 

Mistake. 

There were two paths of a mistake. 

One, where his choice to follow his career without you was a mistake because it wasn’t as it seemed or it wasn’t complete without you; or two, that being with you entirely was a mistake because it clouded his wants for his future. 

Eddie sighed, head bowing as he ran a hand over his face and through his hair before coming up again. 

“Do you really want this to be how you remember the night before you get married?” Eddie asked Steve as the groom sat there with his bride clutching his arm in a pleading motion to exit the wine cellar. 

“Do you want this to be how you remember the day you chickened out on being a man for once?” 

Steve knew it cut deep. The wound open and bleeding for all to see as Eddie’s face scoured into the in-between of pissed off and irate. 

“Go, Steve,” Eddie said flatly, “Big day tomorrow. Don’t want to be late.” 

Nancy gave you a supportive, closed lip smile as Steve finally got off his chair and walked to the door. She let him leave first. 

“I’m sorry about him…” She laughed with embarrassment, “He’s just overwhelmed with everything.” And Nancy wasn’t telling you or Eddie that, but Veronica. 

“It’s alright,” she told her kindly in reply, “wedding’s aren’t wedding’s without a little drama, right?” 

For that, Nancy was grateful. She looked between you and Eddie–still separated by the table yet the string still bristled. 

“Be in the bridal suite by nine, okay?” She told you, “and I think the guys are getting ready at like ten so, don’t sleep in.” 

“Got it,” from Eddie and a “yeah, okay,” from you. 

“Sorry again,” Nancy apologized, leaving to go scold Steve as the table now sat quiet and awkward. 


The flames flickered as the noises from other tables now filled the void of conversation at your own. Veronica tapped her glass, yours sat empty, and Eddie was still facing the empty seat where Steve had been. 

“So,” Veronica pursed her lips, “you two dated then?” 

You bit the inside of your cheek. It provided her the answers of why Eddie had been acting the way he had and the conciseness of dialogue that existed amongst you. The way he gazed, the way you diverted it; his own curiosity and knowledge of the sound of the elevated train that impacted your sleeping and the way the admittance that Eddie now lived in a suburb sent you the wrong way. 

Even then, you glanced at Eddie to see if he’d answer. She was his guest, after all. He turned back around in his seat–back flush against the chair, shoulders slouched. 

“Yes,” he treaded carefully, “we did.” 

“For how long?” It may have been worse that she said none of it with malice. 

Eddie flicked his eyes from where they were trained on the table top to you. And fuck, they sucked you right back in and spit you right back out. 

“About eight years…” You told her, ready to flee. 

“That’s a long time,” she nodded to reaffirm her words. “And you lived together?” 

“Mhm,” Eddie hummed as if he didn’t want her to know every detail of his life. He looked down at the table. “For four years of it.” 

“More like three,” you mumbled passively, pushing your wine glass forward on the table. 

“Four,” Eddie said firmly and his eyes shot back up to you. Sensitive subject, you suppose. He remembered every word you had said to him that evening and the comments about his time spent at home stuck. “Four,” he reiterated. 

“Tell me, when was the last time you were excited to come home?” 

You didn’t forget your words either. 

Your expression pinched; eyebrows shooting up for a brief second before your head cocked to the side with silent words. You weren’t going to embarrass yourself or this table any further by getting into a spat with Eddie over something as trivial as years spent in a shabby apartment in Chicago. 

The wine glass was already pushed; two chairs empty as bed appeared to be the best option to end the night. A soft, hotel pillow to help you replay every image your mind could remember from what you had, what you lost, and what had just happened. 

You hated that. But it was better than arguing with someone you didn’t want to argue with. 

Breathing in a deep, sharp breath, you retracted your gaze from Eddie and gave Veronica the softest one you could muster. 

“It was good to meet you,” you told her. It wasn’t her fault Eddie took your heart and ran away with it. “I hope Steve’s little scene didn’t scare you off. He can be a drama queen when he drinks.” 

“All good,” she gave a tight smile that didn’t meet her eyes. “Happens to the best of us.” 

“So it does,” you replied, giving her a nod before sliding off your chair and letting the space return to two. Eddie’s sigh was loud; the way he closed his eyes in frustration hadn’t gone unnoticed. 

As you passed on her side exiting the corner table, you put a hand on the table when your feet came to a stop. Veronica looked at you curiously and waited for another ball to drop on her toes but it didn’t. 

“Don’t let him smoke a whole pack, alright? Won’t do any of us good if he does.” 

And then you walked away. 

Veronica had only been romantically linked to Eddie for three months. She hadn’t seen any side of him that resembled the man sat beside her before and from what she knew, Eddie was not a smoker. The only comment that had surprised her more than the outburst from the groom was when Steve admitted Eddie had become hammered from the booze and weed at his bachelor party. 

But before you could escape the wine cellar fully, Eddie turned around in his seat and shouted your name across the restaurant. 

In a full, obnoxious manner that reminded you of the boy you had fallen in love with in high school. 

“I quit. Six years ago.” 

When the sun rose to its blue hue and the reminder of the night before replayed in your mind like a fresh, unadulterated film, there was a conflict brewing within you. 

The idea of love. 

Love was precious; an almost a forgettable thing when the daily grind became too much for simplistic thought yet it was what people craved the most. To love, to be loved. On a day like that–where there was not a raincloud in sight and when two people were joining each other in matrimony bound by the tethers of love–it was hard not to think about how the feeling evaded you. 

It touched you once. 

It gripped its claws into your flesh and left fatal wounds in its wake, yet you desired it so. Love, the splendid little thing that meant mountains but fell to cavernous trenches. 

You don’t know which part of Eddie you had fallen in love with first. Juvenile, childish love was innocent at seventeen. As you grew older and the complications of adulthood and circumstance of living in Hawkins transformed life, the reasons for loving him changed too. 

It wasn’t always about how he could make you laugh or the way his eyes were so expressive; the comfort he brought or the way he helped you love yourself through him loving you in return. 

It was doing the dishes together at the end of a long night. Falling asleep on the couch because making it to the bed after one of his gigs was too exhausting, but he’d wake up in the early hours of the morning and make sure you’d both end up there anyway. How Eddie made time for everyone and everything until life stopped allowing him to do so. 

It was moments where you and Eddie would be waiting for the train at Clinton station and he’d link his finger with yours because winter gloves constricted full hand movements. 

Those times made you hate what love often resolved itself with: pain and bitter resentment that life was cruel. 

And the clock ticked away as you thought of it. 

When Nancy put her veil on, Robin was the first to cry. Then Max, then Eleven, and Karen was close behind them all. You stayed for a few minutes before excusing yourself to the hallway because the sight painted you blue. 

You felt horrid for feeling bitter when Nancy’s fairytale was not an hour away. 

In the hallway, there was a series of doors that led to varying rooms. Ones that held the groomsmen and Steve, one for the flower girl and ring bearer’s families. It was decorated with seaside decor of light yellows, blues, and whites. A table down ten feet and across the way had a mirror hung above it cased in gold. 

The woman in the reflection was one you neglected to see for a long while. The apparent dissatisfaction of your own circumstance on a day filled with joy riddled on every feature. A necklace clutched in your palm feeling the brunt of sweat and aggravation as Eddie filled your thoughts again. 

You wanted to love him, to be loved by him. You tried to hook the clasp. Missed. 

Why couldn’t you just move on and be happy with someone else? Again, the clasp dug into your finger. Missed. 

Could you even remember what it truly felt like to be loved? 

The clasp evaded you. It was mocking, laughing as you struggled in the hallway mirror and began to sweat the idea that you’d never be able to secure it. Heaving a deep sigh in the mirror, you clutched the necklace in your hand and leaned against the table with two fists. 

“Get it fucking together,” you told yourself quietly. 

Regaining your posture, you tried again, ignoring the sounds of a hall door opening and closing down the way. Your fingers trembled as the clasp caught air once more. 

“You need help with that?” 

You stared at your reflection and pretended not to see where he had stopped. Jaw tense, you shook your head and attempted the connection for the tenth time. 

When you missed again, he scoffed. 

“Give it to me,” he held out his hand palm up, ready to take it from your timid fingers and do it for you. “Come on,” Eddie egged on.

“I don’t need help,” you told him.

“Yes, you do,” he said pointedly. He could see the indentations of the small lever on your index finger. “Just let me help you.”

He wasn’t going to leave. Your eyes met in the mirror and he rose his brows expectantly. More hesitantly than he wished, you held out the necklace and let it ring into his palm. A nod from your head gave him the assent he needed.

In the silence of the hallway, you felt squeezed—both your mind and heart. Eddie moved to stand behind you and you could barely breathe; the simple gesture of helping you put on a necklace far more harrowing than previously realized. He was so close. So close. His fingers trailed to the back of your neck, brushing away the hair with his fingertips and letting it fall where it would not infringe the task.

You couldn’t bear to look at him. Focused on the sconces beside the mirror, you tried not to enjoy the feeling of his hands on you for the first time in half a decade. You tried not to remember the way his touch intoxicated you; every stroke and graze intentional as his eyes watched you struggle.

Eddie lifted his arms above your head and let the jewelry fall onto your collarbone. You wondered if his heart was beating as fast as yours.

“How does she look?” Nancy. His voice was low, quiet in the hall to not disturb the others getting ready. You hadn’t even taken him in yet.

The suits Steve chose were all black, form-fitting with ties instead of bow ties. The pocket squares were filled with a white handkerchief, and the shoes were a clean, shiny black. On his lapel, a single rose was pinned.

“She looks beautiful,” you replied but still wouldn’t look at him. You heard the clasp make it. The necklace sat firm but his hands did not move. They lingered, tracing the line of the back of your neck to the tops of your shoulders.

“You look beautiful.”

You didn’t want him to say that.

“Don’t say that,” you replied morosely. 

“Why?” Eddie’s fingers brushed the necklace’s golden chain. “It’s true.”

The bottom of your lip trembled dangerously.

“Because you can’t say that.” 

“But I did,” he sounded hopeful which dug into that wound a bit further. 

“You brought a date.”

“Why won’t you look at me?” He whispered, fingers still gliding. He said your name softly, “look at me, please. Talk to me.”

You felt your heart constrict, sending a shuttered breath through you and your eyes blinked rapidly. There was no way in Hell you would let Eddie see you cry. He had moved on. He brought a date. A goddamn runway model that, in your opinion, ran circles around you in every way from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

“I need to go,” you stepped away from him, shaking your head and jetting off down the hall. “I’m sorry.”

He called your name once, twice, but you ignored him. You grasped the golden handle with a heavy hand, breathing unsteady as he stood in the distance in your peripheral. As though the world stood still again, Eddie felt that he had broken through. You would turn, talk to him, and let him relish in the company of you. 

Yet, you grasped that handle tighter. 

But, you did turn. 

And when you opened the door back to the dressing room, it wasn’t only you whose memories transported you back to the night in Chicago that plagued your mind, but Eddie too. Straight back as he made his way to the men’s dressing room in the opposite direction. 

“Stop being such an asshole!” You stood in the kitchen, hands clutching the sink as the anger seethed out of you. Eddie paced in the living space just beyond the island to your right. 

“What do you want me to say, huh?” He threw his arms up in defeat. “For once in my life things are finally looking up and people just don’t get signed to a label and expected not to do—” he fumbled his words, “everything that comes with it!”

“I’m not asking you to give up music, Eddie!“ 

“Then what are you asking me?” He craned his head to the side, hands on his hips and breathing hard. “I can’t work from here. I have to go there and the least you could do is come with me.” 

The least you could do. The least you could do. 

You tossed the dish rag that had been strangled in your grip into the sink, focusing on the window positioned across from it and scoffed. A view of the goddamn ‘L’ train tracks you despised.

“Well I can’t just get up and move,” you said as calmly as you could. “Why is it so easy for you to ask that of me but when I bring up what I want, it becomes a problem for you?” 

Eddie shook his head, hair mused as he ran a hand over it. “I don’t make it a problem, baby.” 

“Yes, you do!” You laughed exasperatedly. “You just fucking said—“ a frustrated groan left your lips and you bounded off the sink and faced him from behind the counter. “It’s not like this is Hawkins; it’s goddamn Chicago and I’ll be dammed if there isn’t a music producer in one of those skyscrapers.” 

“They’re not like they are out there. If we want any chance to make music–actually make music of our own that sells platinum records and wins awards–those producers are out there,” he pointed to the door as if it signified a world beyond this one. 

“What? So, it’s all about money?” 

“No! But hell, if that isn’t a major part of it I’d be lying!” 

“And what about our home here?” You put your hands on the counters ledge and the nails on your fingertips motioned against it with rhythmic clicks. “Everything we’ve built here goes to shit because of one possible record deal?” 

“It’s not just one deal,” Eddie groaned your name in frustration, “It’s the only deal and this… this here,” he motioned around the apartment, “was only ever temporary.” 

News to you. 

“Like Hawkins was. This isn’t really home.” 

“Not home?” You furrowed your brows at him. “Then where the hell do you think it is? You bolted from Hawkins the second you got the chance and as far as I am concerned, this is my home. You see those pictures on the wall?” 

You tipped your head in the direction of the wall that the couch sat up against. Above it was a collage of frames that held so many memories. From Nancy to Max, from Steve to Mike, everyone was on that wall. 

“Those people helped us find this one.” 

“Well,” he shook his head, “they can help us find another in California. There are people out there, baby. Real goddamn people that know just what we need.” 

Not you, Corroded Coffin. What they needed. 

“It’s not going to find us all the way out here.” 

“Tell me, when was the last time you were excited to come home?” 

He had been traveling the world with Corroded Coffin for a year and a half. In all of that time, he had come home for approximately two months. Eight weeks out of seventy-eight. This wasn’t the first fight about it; he had changed. The stronghold fame was suffocating him and was the very thing drawing you apart. 

“Hm?” You hummed as he diverted his eyes to the apartment door. 

“I’m here now.” 

“That wasn’t my question, Eddie,” the ground rumbled beneath you. The way his eyes darted to the door as if it were calling him to leave. Foundation cracked and crumbled, fragmenting as the words threatened to tumble out. “Do you even want to be here?” 

“If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be here, yeah?” He looked annoyed, lips nearly flattened. That’s how you knew he was angry. Angry at life, at you, at the world. 

“Eddie,” you pleaded softly in one last attempt to salvage the broken platform, “stop lying to me.” 

“I’m not lying.” 

“Yes, you are!” You breathed in deeply, thinking of the unthinkable questions that pondered in your mind. “I’m not asking you to stay because I don’t want you to follow your dreams—you twisted my words—but why can’t I be the selfish one and want to stay here? You’ll have more money, you can visit and we— “ 

Can work it out. It was already over when he said he had been signed that godforsaken deal. 

He said your name dejectedly. It hung there in the air as if saying ‘stop trying.’ You felt a lump form in your throat as you looked him, already decided in what he wanted because he was going after his dream. Halfway there, this was his out. 

The tears gathered at the sides of your eyes, “you don’t even try.” 

Eddie always had something to say but he couldn’t form words in that moment. 

“What?” You steeled your wet eyes on him, “can’t even say that you had? Or that you were? Eddie, I’ve been doing this alone for so long that I don’t even remember the last time you told me you loved me and you meant it.” 

That set him off. He pointed a bitter finger at you. “I always mean it when I say it. Don’t play that card.” 

“Card!?” You cried, “I’m not trying to guilt trip you into staying but you don’t mean it! Eight weeks! Eight weeks in a fucking year and a half and you expect me to get up and throw my life away for you?” 

“I was on tour! Halfway across the goddamn world!” 

“Exactly!” You exclaimed, turning away from him and trying to escape to the bedroom but you could hear his heavy feet following. 

“Stop it,” he said your name over and over as you gripped the door and tried to close it. He pressed his palm against it with a hard slap and pushed it against the wall with a deafening thud. “Would you just stop!” 

“For Fuck’s Sake!” You yelled, “I can’t move! I don’t want to move! I have a lease, a good job, and I want to stay here and build my future!” 

“You can have that in California!” He yelled back. 

His eyes were wide, trying to pretend the antithesis of the fracture was anything less than his career. 

“No, I can’t!” 

“Why not!?” 

“Because of you! You don’t want what I do!” You screamed at him, voice breaking as you cried and realized that this was the end. Eddie would move out to California and you’d be left in a tiny apartment in Chicago alone. 

“I want a family, Eddie. I want to raise kids here or in the stupid suburbs, and grow old here. You want to be a—” you swallowed hard, cheeks wet and eyes getting puffy, “—rock star and those lives don’t mix. They just don’t.” 

He was only twenty-five. He didn’t really know what he wanted from life. 

“You don’t want to be here. That’s why you haven’t come home and I get it, I do. The band is growing, you’re popular, you have a million women to choose from, but I can’t keep pretending that my wants have to be ignored for you to succeed.” 

“Are you saying I’ve ignored you?” 

“You tell me, Eddie,” you shrugged, “how would you feel if the person you loved most was gone for months only to be reassured that everything was fine by a phone call every few days?” 

He let his head tip to the floor, eyes closed because although many of the cracks stemmed from his choices, this wasn’t what he wanted. Eddie wanted to be happy, to be in love and be loved. But he was at the precipice of being what he always wanted and decisions had to be made. 

Callous and resentful decisions. 

“Do you hate me?” Eddie’s eyes spurred something in him. A hatred for himself, a despised feeling growing that a part of him that had always been missing—family—was being ripped away for a dream. 

“I don’t hate— “ 

“Yes, you do,” he looked up, giving you a knowing look as his bottom lip trembled. 

“No, I don’t. But I’m hurt and I don’t think you see that.” 

“So,” he cleared his throat, breath hitching in his chest, “this is it then? We’re just going to give up?” 

“I didn’t give up, Eddie,” you needn’t say the rest to indicate that he had. “We just want different things.” 

“No, we don’t.”

“Yes, we do,” you shook your head, sitting down on the edge of the bed with your face turned away from him. “Right now we do and it’s not doing anything for either of us.” 

It was quiet for a few minutes. Minutes. A thick fog fell over the room; marinating in every picture, the clothes folded away in the dresser, the shampoo in the shower, the two dinner plates half-cleaned in the sink. Domesticity wasn’t enough. Love wasn’t enough.

You weren’t sure how long it had been, but Eddie’s socked feet moved from the spot he stood in and approached the bed—carefully and freely. He knelt down, hands on the outsides of both your thighs and his thumbs rubbed the tops of them gently, the pressure soothing when it shouldn’t have been through your jeans. 

“I want you to be happy…” he swallowed thickly as he chose his words gently. There was no point in trying to stop you from crying when he couldn’t do so himself. “I want you to have what you want, sweetheart… and if I can do that… someday… we’ll find each other again.” 

“Eddie…” Your heart ached as you shook your head. Hope was the killer of it all. 

Hope that perhaps one day you’ll find each other again; that you’d both be free to choose the paths that crossed while maintaining your own personalities and careers without giving one up. Hope that a future existed when the flame was extinguished on a cold evening in Chicago. 

“I’m sorry,” he rubbed your thighs tenderly. 

“Me too.” 

“I love you,” he said softly as if were one last confession. The tears were quietly flowing when you leaned forward, cupping the back of his head with your hands and resting your forehead on his own. 

Just to hold him one last time. 

“I love you too.” He left the apartment an hour later and it was the last time you had seen him. No contact, no cards, and no one, in the group of friends you shared, brought up the other on purpose.

The reception was noisy. 

Like a zoo full of animals that were awakened by a whistle only they could hear; sounds of song’s you hadn’t heard since high school played from the small band the Wheeler’s had insisted on just beyond the designated space for dancing. Dustin, Lucas, Mike, and Will were losing it on the floor since the second a Michael Jackson song emitted its first few strings. 

Steve and Nancy were hand in hand greeting guests at their tables as others made their way to the bar, dessert table, or chatted with drinks in their hands. 

At the head table, El and Max were positioned at the end talking in whispers about the people in the room and you sat like a lone duck near the center of it. An abundance of flowers in white and yellow flanked the table before you, empty dishes and scattered bags and goods littered its table top. Mike left a pack of cigarettes in his spot while Dustin’s best man speech was crumbled in a quarter-fold beside his sweating glass of coke. 

Time had left you behind; sitting solemn at your best friend’s wedding while everyone else put on their best smiles and grinned their way through the evening. And maybe that’s what observation had led you to believe, that you looked as though you were wallowing in self-pity for an absence of love in your life. Loveless at an event so full of it. 

You fiddled with the necklace absent mindedly. 

The room of excitable tunes slowed. 

Couples–married and not, grabbed their partners for a dance. Robin and Eddie were standing near the center of the room beside the table that all the parents were at when Veronica slid next to Eddie, her hand slinking down his arm and into his palm as she nodded to the growing group on the dance floor. 

Hours ago, you had looked back at him when he pleaded with you to stay. Now, as his hand was gripped by a woman he wasn’t sure why he had even invited, Eddie looked back from the center of the room and to the head table where you sat. 

Veronica pulled him away before he could make a choice. 

Robin leaned against one of the chairs, watching as Eddie trailed behind the woman in orange. She did not realize Joyce and Hopper were still sitting at the table she rested against. 

“What the hell was that?” Hopper voiced, hand pointing in Eddie’s direction like a finger gun. He had a mustache that was perfectly trimmed and highlighted his frown well. Joyce crossed her arms with scrutiny.  

Robin shrugged, sighing as she turned around and pulled out a chair to sit at the table. “Two idiots in love, I think.” 

“Jesus,” Hopper scratched his forehead, “I knew it was a bad idea…” he mumbled as he watched Eddie pretend to be interest in what the woman was telling him as they danced. 

“What?” Robin shook her head, “What was a bad idea?” 

“Them breaking up!” He said as if it were obvious. “I got a call from one of the bartenders at The Hideout that there was a scuffle goin’ on one Friday night a few years ago and when I got there, Eddie was there just fuckin’ bombed on the sidewalk.” 

Joyce nodded along to his words because she had heard the story before. Robin listened intently as Hopper continued. 

“I couldn’t understand a word he was sayin’ so I put him in the truck and offered to drive him to her parents’ house because that’s where they always stayed when they came to town and he just… cried. Drunk and sobbing his goddamn eyes out in the front of my truck.” 

“Was this recent or…?” Robin pondered. 

“No,” Hopper shook his head, “years back but he was goin’ on about how he was a bad boyfriend and they broke up and he was moving to California in a few days… I just thought to myself ‘shit, man, I have never seen someone so bent out of shape from a breakup.’ Those two… If it weren’t Steve and Nancy gettin’ hitched, I would have bet money on it that it was them instead.” 

“Every Tuesday he’d pick her up from Melvald’s and take her out. He had flowers for her every time,” Joyce recalled. “I asked her about it once,” she nodded and looked at how you watched Eddie with the other woman, “she said that he never had a good example of what it meant to be a good boyfriend. I guess his dad was a piece of shit,” Hopper hummed a knowledgeable assurance that she was right. “And he wanted to be the only example he could think of–be that good guy that she deserved.” 

“I didn’t know that,” Robin said quietly. 

“I told him he needed to fly back to Chicago and fix things,” Hopper added, “but I guess he was too beaten up about it; probably thought she’d slam the door in his face.” 

“Doubt it,” Robin snorted, “I don’t think they’re idiots,” she corrected herself, “I think they know exactly what the other one is thinking but are too scared to get hurt again if it doesn’t work out.” 

Hopper scooted his chair back, adjusting his pants and jacket as he stood from the table. “Well, then we’ll just have to make it happen–or,” he clarified, “get them in the same spot.” 

Robin swiveled in her chair as Hopper rubbed Joyce’s shoulder as he passed behind her, heading straight for the head table and directly to you. 

Jim Hopper wasn’t a man that could be missed in a crowd of hundreds. His bulky frame that towered over guests and moved about the room like a boulder in grass drew your eyes to the movement immediately. He passed by Max and Eleven at the end of the table, never missing the opportunity to pat the girl he raised into a wonderful young lady on the head. 

It was a nice distraction from Eddie and Veronica swaying to a melodic tune. 

“Hey kid,” Hopper pulled out the chair beside you labeled with a table marker for ‘Robin Buckley.’ 

You gave him a closed smile. “Hi Chief.” 

“I guess I can’t really call you ‘kid’ anymore,” he groaned, chuckling as he sat down with an ache all older men his age did. “I blink and you all grow up… makes me feel like a real old man,” and then he gave you that sly, side grin that made you wish Hopper was your dad instead of the one you had. 

“You’re not old, Hopper,” he managed to pull a small laugh from your lips. The dejected film washing away for a brief second in time. 

“Well,” he cleared his throat as he put an elbow on the table and adjusted himself in the seat to face you, “that makes me feel a little better about my age. So,” Hopper gave a pointed look that answered the hundreds of questions as to what Robin was chatting to him and Joyce about, “what are you sitting all the way over here for? Don’t want to chat or dance?” 

“Just tired,” you told him, “Nance didn’t pick the most sensible shoes.” 

“Robin took hers off; I’m sure you can do the same.” 

“And walk barefoot on this floor?” You snorted. “Never.” 

He shared the amusement before turning his gaze to the groups of people beyond the tables as they danced. A goddamn direct view. ‘Cruel,’ he thought. And surpassing the stone of the church from hours before, the beach where it trickled rain as photos were snapped for scrapbooks forever, and the smells of delicious food filled his belly before reaching his mouth, Jim Hopper felt the love that filled the room. 

It touched him, as it had you and everyone else on the wedding weekend of Steve and Nancy Harrington. 

Joyce was attempting to occupy Robin in conversation but every time Jim’s eyes met hers, he knew they were both far too curious and nosey to not be gossiping about longstanding drama that befuddled even the most romantically inclined. 

The woman that restored his faith in the prospect of love and devotion had witnessed the earliest of your own. Tuesday’s at the local mart, the way Eddie would hold the door for you and attempt to steal magazine’s off the rack just to get your attention. How Eddie drove you around when your car was in the shop and eventually, would take the little rascals of Hellfire with for soda and snacks before their campaigns began–but also because he wanted to see you if even for a minute. 

Although people often judged the idea of love at a young age, Jim and Joyce both recognized its honesty between Eddie and yourself. It was pure, unadulterated, and basked in a light that only belonged to the longevity of companionship. 

“You know, the moment I knew I loved Joyce, I thought I’d never get her.” 

Hopper could see Eddie and his date having their own conversation, whatever it may have been, because a blank face melted from one of an increasing lack of emotion, to one of strife. 

“And when I did, I thought she’d see a different man than the one I believed I was.”

“She would have been blind not to see the real you, Hopper,” Joyce smiled at you as you caught her eyes. “You always tried to help us be the best versions of ourselves and she did too. If that’s not a perfect match, I don’t know what is.” 

“Are you the best version of yourself now?” He questioned, tapping his finger onto the white tablecloth of the table. “Weddings can be… sobering… but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a person look as distant as you.” 

“Flattery never was your strong suit, Hopper,” you grimaced, “and I’m fine,” you weren’t fine. “You didn’t have to come save me from myself.” 

“So, there aren’t a million thoughts swimming around in that mind of yours? I know I’m not the most intuitive dad there is but believe me when I say I’ve been trained to know when somethin’ just quite ain’t right.” 

“I have hundreds of thoughts racing through my brain. ‘Why is the cake so far away?’ ‘Rob and Joyce can stop staring at me any second now,’ and perhaps my favorite thought, ‘why does Jim Hopper care about my state of mind?” Combative. He knew the signs. 

“Maybe Jim Hopper knowns that the girl deep down inside of you just needs to heal,” he said honestly. “But there is only one way to heal what’s been lost and let me tell you, it’s not going to come waltzing on down here as you sit and mope.” 

“It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?” You scoffed at yourself, “that this wedding has only made me jealous about what I don’t have.” 

“I don’t think you’re jealous, kid,” Hopper deflated, “I think you’re realizing a mistake was made somewhere along the lines of your own life.” 

Mistake. It was that goddamn word again. 

“There’s been no mistake,” you shook your head at him, “everything has played out the way it was meant to.” 

“And you really believe that?” 

“There had been nothing in my life to prove me otherwise.” 

“And lying was never your strong suit, kid,” he put on his ‘dad’ face. “You don’t have to talk to me, fine, but if I asked to be the first person to ask for a dance tonight, would you say no?”

How could you deny Jim Hopper, Police Chief and hero of Hawkins, Indiana? You couldn’t. Even if you were flailing for support in an ocean of heartache, sparing one dance for the man was cinch. He rose from the chair, holding out his arm in hopes that you would link yours through his and entertain him one dance as Steve and Nancy added themselves to the pairs on the dance floor and swayed gently to a new song. 

His stature would block a view you’d rather not see. 

“You may be the only person to ask me to dance,” you joined him on your feet. “I can’t say no to you, Chief.” 

“That’s the spirit, kid.”

“Why did you bring me here?” 

Veronica’s voice cut through the music as couples and pairs settled onto the dance floor with the melodic hum of a song playing through sets of speakers. Instead of dancing like an adult, she had flung both her arms over Eddie’s shoulders and linked her hands behind his head. He had no choice other than to put his hand at her waist; the fabric of her orange dress was coarse under his fingertips. 

“I asked you to come,” Eddie replied. “I thought I told you that last night.” 

Ah, yes. Last night; where Steve made a scene about Eddie’s lingering feelings of letting another woman go while she sat beside him with the best intentions.

Veronica did not know Eddie Munson–the guy who grew up on the wrong side of the tracks by fate, the one who had a strange group of friends that shared varying interests and ran in different social circles, or someone who threw everything he had into a career he realized wasn’t as glamorous as the cameras and magazines made it out to be. 

He cursed those Rolling Stone magazines he scoured when he was a bit too early for closing time of Melvald’s. 

“Yeah,” Veronica said as if that hadn’t mattered in the slightest, “and here you are, barely even touching me or sparring me a second look. You know I had to sit by some stoner guy for dinner and they didn’t believe you could bring someone like me.” 

Eddie narrowed his eyes, taken aback by her comment. “What’s that supposed to mean? Those are good people. And I was a huge fuckin’ stoner once too.” 

“That’s not what I meant,” she shook her head, “I mean, they didn’t see me with you. Not because of who I am or who you are, but because it wasn’t right.” 

“You know,” Eddie lowered his voice when he caught the eye of Dustin dancing with Suzie not two feet away from him, “you’re sounding an awful lot like someone who’s about to dump someone else.” 

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Her eyebrows quirked as she tipped her head to the side. “Why waste more time on me?” 

Even if his heart raced in another direction, the sound of someone saying that to Eddie was bothersome. 

“Please don’t say that,” he said, “you’re not a waste of time.” 

“But for someone else’s love, I am,” Veronica’s lips extended into a thin line. “That’s not a bad thing, Eddie… It just means I’m not the one for you.” 

The chords of the music sobered him. 

Across the room, sitting desolate at the dinner table, his heart called. 

“Afford me this dance,” Veronica continued, “and when the time comes, do what makes you happy, however difficult that may be. She may not run into your arms as she once did,” as the motions swayed the pair, she faced the table as Jim Hopper approached. “That doesn’t mean love doesn’t exist.” 

She felt Eddie’s shoulder’s deflate from the tension he had been holding in the entire day–nay, two days–since the prospect of you had become a reality. 

“I abandoned her,” Eddie admitted quietly to her, “like a fucking ragdoll for some dream that really isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be.” 

Veronica did not know every detail. She did not know the exact history, nor did she fully grasp the levity of a near decade of love being tossed to the side for a pipedream. But she did know what it was like to leave an abundance of life behind to chase a want. 

Yet the model had never seen a group so peculiar as the one he belonged to. The tightknit communal that leaned on each other like family even though many were from different corners. She had seen the binds of friendship like never before. She had seen a broken love bonded by pain from across a candlelight tabletop and wondered why she had ever been invited if that would always have been the outcome. It was as though two ships hadn’t sailed passed one another but docked; lengths of a life finally running out of individual ink before relying on two for competition. 

“You both hurt each other,” she settled, “that is what separation does. But…” she chuckled, “I have been in love before and I’ve never witnessed such a feeling when being in the presence of the two of you–and I don’t even know her…” 

“She won’t talk to me,” Eddie confided. “I tried, earlier today because she was on the verge of a breakdown over a necklace and she could barely look at me.” 

“Don’t you think it may be because if she did, she’d fall all over again?” 

The song was coming to a close. 

“There is nothing wrong with pain, Eddie. Feeling pain, wanting to be healed, and being scared of that healing… and maybe she’ll need time. She loves you. I know she does because when women know, they know.” 

Jim Hopper stood from the chair. 

There was a comradery he felt in Veronica. Romance beside itself, the woman was a chakra. She had looked into a future he could barely imagine himself and pulled the heroic card before it was dealt. These cards overturned like quicksand settling between his toes. 

“You know,” Eddie gave her a sly, friendly grin, “you sound an awful lot like those odd fortune tellers that sell their services on the strip.” 

Veronica laughed; whole-heartedly, warmly. “Maybe in a previous life I was,” she played, “but in yours, there has always been one path and I guarantee you, from one romantic to another, loneliness was never an option for you. It’s what kids dream about–that ‘fairytale…’ Even if it is a little bit messy.” 

You linked your arm with Jim’s. 

“I’ve always been a little too messy,” Eddie said sheepishly. 

“I can tell,” Veronica groaned, “You don’t have to be perfect for her. Imperfection seizes our hearts faster than perfection… it’s enough to haunt us when perfection tears that apart.” 

“El isn’t dancing with anyone.” 

Jim Hopper held one hand in his and the other on the upper half of your back. It was as though he was dancing at an elementary father-daughter dance than anything else, stiff in his hulking frame. The music did nothing to silence your rapidly forming thoughts that Eddie and Veronica were feet away; Eddie’s eyes caught yours as Jim helped you to the floor, an anguish in them acted as a puzzle waiting to be pulled apart. 

In the eyes that watched Veronica rip the persona he had gathered for himself in the years past, Eddie could only imagine you. He waited for them to turn into your own, for her laugh to morph into yours, for her hands to run through his hair as yours once did, and the comfort of her presence to become you. Looking for that glimpse, Eddie found it inside of his imagination; searching every corner of it to find a home for his torment–self-inflicted and its mortal consequences bleeding life from him like a sieve. 

“It’s those sensible shoes…” Hopper joked. “Her feet are killing her. A couple blisters later, she’s sworn them off forever.” 

“I don’t blame her,” Lucas and Max joined the pairs beside you. The red-headed girl rested her head on his shoulder, eyes closed in the utmost content state she could be in. True love. 

“How many dances do you have in your feet?” 

“Why?” You questioned. “Am I a better partner than Joyce? She was always rather clumsy.” 

“No,” he laughed but could not disagree, “I just think those boys won’t end the evening without asking you. I think Dustin’s always had a little crush on his former babysitter.” 

“I don’t think,” you tipped your head at him, “I know he’s always had a crush on me.” 

Dustin Henderson had always been a cute boy. His pure child-like imagination and motivation had inspired you to explore your own interests without fear. You had watched him from five until his mother decided he didn’t need you anymore, but you were lucky to call him a friend now. 

“But he’s got Suzie,” you could see the two giggling as everyone danced around them. “And I can’t think of a more natural person for him. I think they’re next,” your eyes moved themselves around the room, “to get married.” 

“Too many childhood sweethearts in my opinion,” Hopper’s gruff voice was certain in that. “Not everyone is meant to be with their first loves.” 

“I think they are… just like Steve and Nancy, just like Max and Lucas.” 

“And you and Eddie.” Not a question, a statement. 

It was the scoff that left your lips that made his hopes for you feel weak. “That chapter ended, Chief. He’s moved on, so have I.” 

“No,” he clarified, “you haven’t. You wouldn’t have been moping around your best friend’s wedding if you were.” 

“I wasn’t moping,” you defended, “Jonathan was moping. I’m pretty sure he cried and had decent reason to but I was just… people watching.” 

“Person watching. You were watching Eddie and there’s nothing wrong with it,” he asserted. “You love him. There is no shame in it.” 

“Why is everyone so interested in how I feel?” Your face put on the mask of a scorned lover. Eyes drawn narrow and brows forming a crease in its center. “This is Nance and Steve’s wedding, their only wedding if they’re lucky, and I’ve had person after person question how I feel about something I no longer have.” 

“Maybe it’s because for once we all see the truth of it all…” He had seen the truth as a washed-up Eddie cried in his truck. “That the pain of the past isn’t worth the loneliness of the future.” 

“A true poet,” you mumbled, “but I’m fine. I promise you, I’m fine.” 

“I’ve said it before,” Hopper chuckled, “and I will always say it to you, but you’re a terrible liar.” 

“Lies be lies, Chief. But there’s no point in trying to make me feel better about feelings I can’t control.” 

“No one is asking you to control them,” you turned your head away from Jim’s and clocked Lucas eavesdropping. He gave a strained, tight smile before resting his cheek onto Max’s head. “That isn’t what we’re trying to do… I want the kids I watched grow up to be happy and you’re not happy, he’s not happy. I don’t know if the answer to that equation is the two of you finding each other again but I’ve never been a man capable of understanding the love you had. And that sound ridiculous coming from someone as old as your old man.” 

“I can’t even be in the same room as him without feeling like breaking down,” your voice was quiet, a mere whisper of what it was because the prospect of Eddie still having feelings for you was frightening. You didn’t want to end up becoming a ghost again. 

“It’s like I’m a nobody in a room full of somebody’s and they can’t see me.” 

“Someone will always see you,” his eyes were gentle. “He saw you when he couldn’t see himself.” 

“Then why did he leave?” 

And the way Hopper’s body stood taller, his gaze no longer meeting yours, and turning you cold told you the world was ending. This love, imploded if it couldn’t exist between the two of you, was bubbling to the surface like a volcano. Here, on the island of Nantucket, a tsunami couldn’t save you from emotional ruin. 

“I think that’s a question you’ll have to ask him.” 

Veronica’s hand extended into your peripheral vision. She held it out to Jim like a lifeline. 

“Do you mind if I steal him?” Her body came into view and you needn’t know the conversation the two had to know she had led Eddie back to you. “I need to hear all about this ‘hero of Hawkins!’”

“I’m not the hero,” Jim said rather sheepishly. “That’s all him.” 

You could feel Eddie’s presence in a room of hundreds of a room of one. It enveloped you into a cocoon against your fighting mind. 

“Those are strong words coming from you, Chief.” His voice rung out against the music. Eddie had been on the poor graces of Chief Jim Hopper for many a year before the man had seen Eddie for what he was: a good, kind man with a fierce complex.

Jim looked to you. “You got this, kid. I’ve got another partner now, so do you.” 

He took Veronica’s arm and linked it through his arm like an elderly man who needed help walking. He wasn’t that old. She took him away without a glance back at the one who had asked her to come. 

“Now,” Eddie cleared his throat from behind you, “I could ask you to dance or,” he had put on that voice like there were more options than he had, “we can go outside, sit down, and maybe you’ll talk to me.” 

‘Look at me. Why won’t you look at me,’ his words echoed in your mind. 

When you turned around to face him, he got his wish. 

Eddie looked hopeful, as if it were the permanent face he wore. His eyes were the smallest bit glassy, hands stuffed into his pockets, and the shine of his shoes to the wear of his tie was different than he had ever worn before. He was still him, yet so different all the same. 

“If we talk,” you felt like you swallowed a frog, “no lies. I don’t want to hear any lies.” 

“Wouldn’t think of it.” 

The night was cold. 

Springtime enfolded the shores of Nantucket; cattails and tall grasses billowing, soft sounds of ocean waves lapping muted the music from inside. Adirondack chairs lay vacant, pillows dewed and their wood smooth. 

You couldn’t bear to sit down. 

Allowing the night air to take you, Eddie shut the door behind him and felt the scene before him play at the edge of a cliff; every piece of you blowing away against a yearning to stay. He began shrugging his jacket off and you held out a hand in front of you. 

“I’m fine,” the frost bit at your voice. “Keep it.” 

“You’re freezing,” Eddie continued to remove his piece. “I’m not going to be an asshole and let you freeze to death because you’re stubborn.” 

You scoffed. “I am not stubborn. I don’t need it, end of story.” 

He tugged it off, folding it in his hands before tossing it on one of the chairs that separated the distance between you. His tie was long undone, the two buttons at the top of his shirt undone but the cufflinks remained. You wanted to take the jacket. You wanted to recall his scent and warmth but your stubbornness in protection vexed you. 

“Fine,” he huffed. 

“Fine,” You replied in kind. 

Only the note of waves filled the stillness. You both looked at one another as though a million years had gone by in the blink of an eye. Not unlike the seconds passed in the wine cellar the night before, the world seemed to dissipate to a single existence of two former lovers. Two people, in spite of themselves, who haven’t felt whole since a single moment six years before. 

Goosebumps raised on your skin, the jacket appeared delectable yet an item of fear as it sat, calling to say ‘put it on,’ only to be followed by a whisper of ‘forgive me.’ 

“I can’t imagine that small talk is what you wanted to discuss,” you started. 

“I don’t believe it’s what you would want either,” he countered, “and we both know that would get us nowhere.” 

“So, what?” You lightly shook your head. “You want me to ask how your life has been and catch up on all I’ve missed? There’s a reason I don’t read gossip magazines anymore… I don’t need to see beautiful women rubbed in my face or success showing me that my pain was worth something more.” 

“A lot of those things are lies,” Eddie walked his icy path with steady feet. “You don’t need to read them, no. But I would hope you still cared enough to ask about me when you visit Rob and Nance, not to mention Steve never brings you up to me.” 

“Oh, you mean the literal effort they all put in to never mention you around me?” You gazed at him as though the reason you never asked about him, or they never spoke about him, was obvious. It hurt too much. “It’s not exactly a cake walk, Eddie, to hear about your fantastic life when I could barely hold my own together.” 

“It’s not fantastic and if you asked, you would have known that.” 

“And it’s my responsibility to learn that? Did you want me to reach out, ask how you’ve been, and get lunch like you didn’t fucking break my heart?” You gawked. Eddie took his hands from his pockets and put them on his hips–a Steve move he had taken upon after establishing their friendship. “If I couldn’t talk about you, I don’t know how the hell I would have talked to you.”  

“Then maybe I should have called,” like an easy solution, “and maybe instead of… what was it Steve said? Trading holidays liked a divorced couple, we could have been civil and spent time with our friends together.” 

“Was that when you were traveling the world or recording records?” You pursed. “Or when you moved out to California and visited once a year? Tell me, Eddie, is a hypothetically cordial relationship something you really want with me? I can barely feel the world turn as it is when I’m in your presence, I doubt I would be able to have a good time with our friends.” 

Eddie laughed savagely. “I didn’t know all the fun had been sucked out of you.” 

You took a step back, careening your head out toward the ocean as you bit your cheek. He had gall. He was bold and unflinching, but his eyes told the truth. His own pain and suffering at the consequences of his actions had let the light leave him for so long. When pain overtook a person’s being, anger and callous language followed. 

“If you’re going to be an ass,” you looked back to him, “I don’t want to talk to you.” 

“It isn’t the truth, though? I’ve at least tried to have a halfway, goddamn decent time at this wedding and every time I looked at you, you’ve been nothing but bitter.” 

“No one asked you to look at me, Eddie. You brought a date. You should focus on her.” 

“How could I!?” A dam had broken inside of him. He couldn’t not look at you. “Every time I think I’ll give someone else a chance, it’s like seeing a fucking ghost in my mirror! I have to look at you. I need to look for you.” 

“No, you don’t!” You exclaimed with as much passion. “You lost that when you walked out! I am sorry that I am so shitty for being sad at a beautiful wedding. I am sorry for wishing that this time, maybe it was me walking down that goddamn aisle. And for fuck’s sake, I am so sorry that I am fearful that you’ll finally move on and want to marry someone else! Jesus fuck! It’s been six goddamn years and I still think that you’ll come walking through the door and say you made a mistake but I don’t want to hear that tumbling out of Steve’s mouth. I don’t want it to be based in lies because you feel bad I am sad at my best friend’s wedding.” 

“I love you,” he blurted out without reason. 

“Don’t say that!”

“Why!?”

“Because it isn’t true! IF I was, you never would have left! You wouldn’t have asked me to throw my life away and follow you to the ends of the fucking earth! If I wasn’t just some body, maybe somebody would love me enough to stay,” You argued loudly. 

“I do love you,” He argued back with the same ferocity. 

“You did. You don’t anymore.” 

“I do love you. I do. I haven’t fucking stopped loving you since I was seventeen and I don’t think I ever will stop. I will always love you, I have always loved you, and I know that when I am dying, I will die loving you,” he was breathless. Angered and pent up with emotions he had buried deep where his eyes were fiery and his tone was firm. 

“You can’t say things like that…” Fuck the tears that loved to threaten to fall.

“Why!? Tell me why I can’t tell the truth. You asked me not to lie and I wouldn’t do that to you!”

“Becau–” you stammered the word as your mind racked itself for answers, “because it’s not fair to me! I can’t live another day knowing that someone else out there loves you in a way that I do. I can’t keep waiting around in my shitty, fucking life for someone who walked out of it for something bigger than me.”

“And it was a mistake! I will never forgive myself for it but please, even if it’s the last thing you do, please believe that it was. I never should have asked that of you, I was selfish. I knew what I wanted in life then because it hasn’t changed. It existed deep down but was scared to come to the surface and I needed to be pulled under to see that. I love you. I love you so goddamn much that every day without you has been the most unbearable few years of my life. I want you, and only you.”

“Don’t lie to me,” your lip trembled, face hot. 

“I’m not lying,” his own eyes watery. “Please, I am not lying to you.”

“I don’t think you know how much you hurt me, Eddie,” you shook your head at him. “There are times when I don’t feel like myself because you took that away from me. I don’t depend on anyone; I’d never say that I lost everything when you left but you cracked me open, slaughtered me in the place we shared because of a dream. And believe me, really, that I am so happy you found that life but how can I know that my suffering was worth it? 

“You don’t think I suffered too?” He exclaimed loudly at the sky. “I went to Hawkins, you know, after everything because I didn’t have anywhere to go.” You didn’t know.

“I got so fucking drunk at a bar that Hopper had to come scrape me off the sidewalk and from what I remember, I exploded in the truck when he tried to take me to your parent’s place. Do you know what he did? Let me sleep on the couch and when Eleven got up the next day, she held my hand and told me that I’d be okay and I haven’t been okay. I’ve never been okay without you and I’m not scared to admit that. You are my lifeline, sweetheart. I have tried to replace that feeling but I can’t.”

“Do you know how long I wished for you to walk through that door?” You pointed to the door you walked through as if it could transform itself into the one of the apartment you shared. “I sat there, waiting for you because I barely remembered a life where you weren’t part of it and that was hard enough to imagine when it slammed in my goddamn ears,” you huffed, eyes nearly ablaze as his committed declarations of love echoed through every vacant place inside of you and right back to the moment he left. 

“There is not a day that goes by where I don’t question why you let it go so easily.” 

“It wasn’t easy,” Eddie stressed your name exasperatedly, “nothing about that choice was easy.” 

“You made it seem like it was.” 

Eddie felt the grounding he had built in his mind with his vow of love was strong. He felt the ghosts of the past begin to grip his feet; haunting and pulling him to the depths of his former despair to face a choice chastened by ambition. On the cold, concrete sidewalk and the airy Nantucket patio, it ruptured in spouts. 

Pain, longing, abjection tied to every word; you had tried in obstinate strength to keep the fortress from becoming invaded. That somewhere in your heart there was a knowledge it was stronger than the force of the man that had left you to bleed but it wasn’t. It felt his bullets like bandages. They neither wounded nor massacred its path forward, binding the holes left behind with attestation.

“When I said we wanted different things, why didn’t you tell me what you wanted?” You asked in a voice wavering. “I thought you wanted this life,” a hand painted his figure against the night, “he one with the glitz and glamor and women like Veronica. If you wanted what I did, why toss it to the side?

Eddie shook his head, backing away from you and throwing his hands on top of his head in a connected grasp. He looked out to the water so dark he couldn’t see yet heard. “You remember what I told you about my parents?”

After a second, he returned his gaze to you and in return, you nodded. 

Eddie’s perception of self was deeply rooted in the disjointed childhood he had been forced to experience. Every feeling, every action questioned by himself as to whether the receiving party had viewed it as strange, difficult, or simply heartless. He kept his heart on his sleeve, however, he kept it tethered there. When someone tried to hold it in their own palms, Eddie pulled away. 

It had taken years for him to be comfortable enough with himself to be willing to be someone he liked. 

“It doesn’t just go away with time,” he sighed. “I will always doubt myself. I always fear that I’m one step away from becoming him even if I know I’m nothing like him.” 

For a child of a loveless marriage, a brutal life, the most fearful thing they could imagine was not whether or not they could be loved later in life, it was turning into the people they hated most. 

“It’s not every day that someone comes to your concert and wants to sign you without so much as a demo session… and that overtook me. I know that now, and I knew that the second I walked out the goddamn door. I will apologize for the rest of my life if it means you know how I feel.”

Eddie let that sit. 

“You can hate me forever, I don’t mind. But don’t convince yourself I never cared enough about you.”

“I don’t hate you. I never hated you. And I’m sorry if I made it seem that way.”

Perhaps he would have to convince himself that you never hated him just as you would that he loved you.

“Even when I left?”

“There was not a piece of my body strong enough to feel anything more than empty when that happened.”

“I felt it too, you know,” his eyes shimmered in the lamplight. No joy, no hilarity–just hope that you knew the truth. 

“I do now,” you told him. 

“I’m not asking you to give me a second chance,” Eddie shrugged his shoulders lowly. In a nearly defeated sigh, he took the words he replayed in his mind for two thousand, one hundred and ninety days, “but fuck… I told you I’d find you again if the time was right and the minute I saw you in the archway I knew that was my shot… you’re the same but different… I loved you then and I love the you that you are now. And I’m sorry that it took me that long to realize it.” 

“What did you feel in that church today?” 

A cosmic connection, a fleeting moment he wished to hold onto forever. 

“Eddie,” you took a step forward, closing the distance, “tell me what you felt.” 

“I felt…” He paused. Breathing in deeply, it was not his admissions of love that proved to be most difficult. It was the regret of letting it go that scarred the deepest. “I felt… bitter.” 

“Bitter?”

“Because I don’t have what they do,” he threw a lazy arm toward the door. “Or I did have that and I let it go because of a silly dream.” 

“I don’t think your dream was silly,” you admitted, “it worked out of you in the end.” 

“But at what cost?” Eddie took a step closer to you; the chair with this tuxedo jacket the space that separated you. “Why do those dreams take everything away to make them happen? I didn’t want to do that, this, alone. Not without you.” 

“I felt helpless,” you disclosed. “In that church with the sun streaming in… like a fucking… higher power was saying to me that the way I loved you still existed inside of me. It hasn’t ever truly gone–as much as some moments I wish it was–yet it stays.” 

“Helpless because you love me?” 

“Helpless because I can’t have you.” 

“And why can’t you have me?” Another step closer. “Why do you, the only woman I have ever truly loved, feel you cannot have me?” 

“Because someone else does,” your eyes flashed toward the doors as if Eddie’s proximity and both of your vulnerabilities were forbidden. “Because someone else loves you.” 

“She doesn’t love me,” Eddie’s fingers eclipsed your own. Fanning in a light flutter, it was discovering touch again. “She isn’t mine and I am not hers.” 

He stepped closer again and every one of your senses went spiraling. Eddie leaned his head forward and rested his forehead on your own. Two sets of eyes closed at the sensation. 

“You have all of me. Every part of me since the moment I saw you.” 

“And what do you want?” 

‘I want you to have what you want, sweetheart,’ his words were distant from the past.

“What do you want now?” you asked him, breaking away as your eyes shone to his. His free hand cradled the back of your neck gently, he rubbed his thumb over your cheek. “I know what I want, but I need to hear it from you. No lies.”

“No lies,” he repeated, a quick glanced down at your lips had him soaring. “I want you, baby. I’ll only ever want you.” 

“Good,” you whispered, lips barely tracing his for the first time in six years. “Because we’re not letting this go this time.”

“Never.”

And he pulled your lips to his.

To answer the question the chapel had asked you, ‘what is it like to be loved?’, there is only one answer: 

This is what it feels like. Pain, beauty, and joy. There is no bind without strife, nor is there passion without sacrifice. 

And in the years in between said sacrifice, the tethers of a string brushed together until they found one another again on a little island off a blustery coast for the wedding of Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler.

A/N: As always, comments, reblogs are kindly encouraged :) thank you for reading!

---

I’m about to vomit

Oh my god I love this series

Babysitting Mun | Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie Munson is the rockstar you have to work for, but most of the time, you feel like you are babysitting a teenager. He's messy, wild, and disobedient, and he never calls you by your name. He's sweet, though, but you are not allowed to think about that. Or in his smart mouth. Or in his hands playing that stupid guitar, shit.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 |

The party was… way different from the ones you were used to with Eddie Munson hosting. Yeah, some people were already a bit tipsy and dancing, a couple of guys were passed out in a corner while a girl was giving them makeovers without them even feeling the tiniest tickle. You hadn't seen Eddie anywhere, but the party had started about an hour and a half ago, so they had probably already sung happy birthday to Steve, whom you hadn't met yet.

For a moment, you had tried to chicken out of this little commitment. Eddie had been really insistent that you come, and honestly, it had been a long time since you’d gone to a party with normal people. People who wouldn’t send you a list of allergies two months before the party or show up with two huge bodyguards. Nope, these were folks like you, though… dressed as Ghostbusters and Mario, you thought as you saw a group of guys in well-coordinated costumes carrying their Ecto-4s on their backs. You watched them walk past you with punch cups in their hands and tried to figure out where the punch bowl was.

When you found the bar at the edge of the grand staircase in Eddie’s foyer, you went over to ask for a huge glass of cold beer. You glanced to your side and saw a guy who seemed both familiar and strange, He was in a leather jacket, black shades hanging from his neck. He had metallic paint around his right eye, and that’s when you realized you were looking at the Terminator.

You smiled politely but didn’t say anything. They handed you your beer, and out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Henry, one of the security guards who always worked with Eddie. You walked over to him.

“Everything cool, Henry?” you asked, worried about any unwelcome guests crashing Eddie’s party.

The big blond guy looked at you and sighed, almost tiredly.

“Sorry, I’m not authorized to give you any information tonight.”

Your brows knitted in confusion. “What do you mean? I just want to make sure…”

Henry looked uncomfortable, like he was a bit scared to have this conversation with you.

“Orders from the boss: he told me that you’re off duty tonight and I’m not to take any orders or give you any info that might worry you,” he said slowly, like he wanted to make sure you got the message and would drop the subject.

You huffed, almost offended but didn’t say anything. You just took a swig of your beer and walked away, feeling a bit defeated. As you took a long drink, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You swallowed hard and looked to your side. Terminator was looking at you with a smile.

“Bet you’re Fey!” the stranger greeted you, quickly letting go of your shoulder. “Eddie’s talked about you… and Robin.”

You looked at his well-kept hair and the moles on his face cautiously, then you recognized him from the brief description Eddie had given you.

“Steve,” you murmured, somewhat doubtful, very different from the confidence he’d had calling you by your nickname. “What exactly did Eddie say about me?” you asked, raising an eyebrow curiously.

To hell with it, after the incident with Will Walsh, you definitely wanted to know what kind of gossip Eddie Munson was spreading about you.

“Uh…” he hesitated, like he was picking his words carefully. “He said you’re prolifically organized and very determined.”

You narrowed your eyes, looking at him suspiciously. “That sounds like he said I’m controlling and a stubborn demon,” you muttered, drinking your beer and then congratulating him on the party, trying to change the subject a bit.

He smiled, a bright and charming smile. A quality Robin had told you about before.

“Terminator,” he introduced himself, extending his hand in an attempt to change the subject while he watched you curiously.

You took his hand and shook it. “Titania… or something like that.”

He raised an eyebrow, a bit confused. “Something like that?…”

“From A Midsummer Night's Dream,” you clarified. “In my first year of college, we did the play and I was fascinated by Wilhelm's costume design,” you explained, letting go and looking at your tulle dress, its floating layers of white, purple, and small dots of green falling to your feet. “I tried to replicate it,” you murmured, a bit doubtful and slightly embarrassed. What was the point of dressing up as something no one else would recognize?

Steve seemed to understand and while he complimented your costume, he seemed to remember something.

“Robin said you graduated from NYU.”

You nodded, grateful for the topic change. “Yeah, I graduated in Marketing and Music,” you answered, taking another sip of your beer.

“Music? And you decided to work for Eddie?”

That was a common question. You shrugged. “I had financial issues and it was the best-paying job I could dream of,” you admitted honestly. “Plus, I specialized in public relations, so that’s been a hell of a help.”

Steve agreed with you. “You know?” he asked, savoring his rum and coke. “Maybe you, Robin, and I have crossed paths and didn’t even know it.”

You smiled, amused.

Here's the translated version with a touch of 90s slang and American English authenticity:

“That’s something Robin told me when we first met,” you muttered. “I know I’m technically not working tonight, but I need to make sure Eddie’s not planning any pranks tonight,” you added, chugging your last drink so fast that Steve looked a bit surprised.

The guy grinned and shrugged. “You’ll find him easily. But I don’t think he’s up to anything major tonight. See, he can be a big idiot sometimes, but we’re his friends, and if there’s one thing Eddie does for his friends, it’s making sacrifices.”

You frowned, a bit confused by his comment. You knew Eddie wasn’t selfish, no matter how much he tried to seem that way and maintain that image. But sacrifices? What kind of sacrifices could someone like him make for others? This party wasn’t a luxury compared to the opulence of other parties he’d had in the past; though you had to admit, with all the smiling people dancing and talking despite the loud music, the party was well-organized, and he’d invested heavily in security both inside and outside the house, unlike all his other wild parties.

You said goodbye to Steve, sure you’d see him again, and he gave you a playful wink while reciting a “Hasta la vista, baby” as a farewell. Then you weaved through the crowd, trying to make your way past a Ghostbuster and a girl dressed as Jean Grey, over the blaring music of The Kinks busting through the speakers. Robin greeted you from the dance floor Mariah had set up in the covered gallery Eddie had right before the backyard. The girl was dressed as Daria, or so you thought; you’d barely had time to catch the first episode, and the show was pretty recent. She was dancing with a girl dressed as Anne of Green Gables and looked like she was having a blast. Another Ghostbuster seemed half-forced to dance to the song with a girl dressed as Leia. You didn’t pay much more attention to the rest as you headed towards the dining area, where the table had been replaced by a minibar, and right across from it was Eddie Munson.

Eddie Munson, with his wild hair and rebellious spirit. Eddie, laughing and serving drinks like he was born to do it. Eddie, with his head covered by some kind of black veil.

Eddie freaking Munson.

Dressed as a nun.

He was wearing a long black robe that reached the floor, wrapping his slim but solid body in a simple, unadorned fabric. The contrast with his usual chaotic style was stark. The dark fabric moved slightly with his movements, giving the impression that he was floating rather than walking. The wide sleeves covered his arms up to his wrists, hiding the tattoos he usually showed off with pride.

The black veil, which would traditionally fall gracefully, was slightly disheveled, letting a few of his dark curls peek through. These rebellious strands framed his face, adding a touch of carefree elegance to the ensemble. The silver cross hanging from his neck reflected the party lights, sparkling intermittently and drawing curious glances.

His combat boots, visibly worn, peeked out from under the robe, a subtle reminder of his true style. Despite the unusual outfit, Eddie hadn’t given up his essence. His smirk and bright eyes were the same, ready to challenge you, to go against you, to be your damn downfall.

The makeup he wore was another masterstroke in his transformation. He had darkened his eyes with black shadow, giving them a mysterious, almost hypnotic depth. A touch of pale blush on his cheeks contrasted with the black veil, highlighting his high cheekbones. However, his lips remained bare, showing his natural look.

All in all, Eddie Munson dressed as a nun was a bizarre blend of sacred and profane, ridiculous and fascinating, pure and dark.

His eyes met yours in the middle of his masterful drink-mixing. For a moment, his gaze seemed to get lost in itself and quickly scanned you, as if performing a fleeting assessment, before he recovered.

“Fey!” was his greeting. “Didn’t I tell you I could get nuns to serve drinks, huh?”

You looked at him, dumbfounded, as he lifted a drink with some unknown liquid toward you, and then you laughed.

Eddie had heard your laugh before; most of it was either ironic or mocking, but he knew you weren’t a total ice queen. Yet he had never heard the infectious laugh coming out of your mouth now. You, Feywild, dressed as a fairy and letting that tinkling laughter out of your lungs. Your cheeks were flushed, and you seemed on the verge of tears.

He made you laugh.

He, Edward Munson, had brought out genuine laughter in you, and he wanted to capture it on a record; to protect and store it until he could add it to one of his songs. He wanted to hide you from the world. Suddenly, he felt a fierce, surprising urge to wrap you in a silk blanket, shelter you in a music box that only he had access to.

He tried to calm that almost primal need with a long swig of his tequila and then let out a grunt.

“What’s up, Fey, you scared I’ll make a scene dressed like this?” he asked challengingly, trying not to be too transparent about his recent train of thought.

You slowly stopped laughing and shook your head with a half-smile. You didn’t seem to be bothered by his new defensive stance. You were still impressed by his creativity and bravery for wearing that outfit.

“Oh, don’t worry, Mun,” you finally spoke. “I know you won’t do anything; it’s Steve’s party, and if there’s one thing you’d do for him, it’s making sacrifices,” you added after understanding what Steve had meant with that phrase.

Eddie loved his friends. And he’d put aside his selfish desires for them and their well-being. He wouldn’t do anything to ruin Steve’s party. You gave him a half-smile. You took one of the tequila glasses from the table, leaving the empty beer glass behind, and with a casual gesture, moved away from him under Eddie’s curious gaze.

He needed to find Steve and figure out what you both had discussed. What you now knew about him.

Eddie was drunk. Really drunk. Robin had caught up with you while you were munching on a huge burger in the backyard to tell you.

“And why did he drink so much?” you asked, frowning.

You knew it couldn’t be as simple as a night of partying at his place. Tomorrow, he had to give an interview, the last one in North America before heading to Europe.

“I don’t know, we were talking about you with Steve. He told me you two met and you talked about NYU,” she mentioned while walking with you into the house. “He didn’t know you studied music,” she added.

“Nope. He never saw my resume,” you confirmed. “I didn’t think it was necessary and didn’t think to mention it unless he asked.” You frowned. “I don’t see why that would make him drink so much.”

Robin shook her head. “No. I mean, he seemed upset. Then he found out you were the one who tracked down all those sick new bands to open for this tour, and then he started drinking like a madman,” she announced.

Now you were more confused. What did it matter that you did that? Why would Eddie drink his weight in alcohol just because of that?

“Was he angry?” you asked.

After you asked, you realized you were worried he may be mad at you.

Robin shook her head. Navigating through the crowd with you to the foyer where some strategically placed chairs allowed partygoers to rest between dances. “No, actually, he seems sad,” she murmured, and then you saw the scene.

Eddie was being held up by Steve and a younger guy. He was one of the Ghostbusters and looked concerned.

“Eddie’s had too much to drink, huh, buddy?” Steve explained to you and then addressed Eddie, but he seemed too comfortable in that position, almost hugging his friend, to respond. “Fey, this is Dustin.”

“Don’t call her Fey!” you heard the slurred threat coming from Eddie, though his face was still somewhat hidden by his hair.

“Hi Dustin, I’ve heard about you,” you gave the guy a half-smile, and for the first time, you were aware of the people around, who quickly introduced themselves one by one.

It was a small group, consisting of the rest of the Ghostbusters, Leia, Jean Grey, Shelly Webster, Anne, Daria, Atreyu, and Buffy Summers, whom you later learned were El, Max, Nancy, Vickie, of course Robin, Suzie, and Erica. The Ghostbusters were Dustin, Will, Mike, and Lucas respectively, the crow was Jonathan, and of course, Terminator Steve.

You wondered where the rest of the band was, but you assumed they were off on their own adventures, and for now, you’d deal with one problem at a time, with the whiny baby of the party being the top priority.

You walked over to him, kneeling to get a better angle. His veil was askew, as was his makeup, and for some reason, it didn’t seem funny to you.

“Mun?” you whispered, placing your hand on his shoulder and trying to get him to sit up. “Hey, don’t you want some water? Wash your face? Or take a little nap?” you offered, not really knowing what he needed.

Steve was the one who responded. “I think he could use a rest.”

“I don’t need to rest,” Eddie mumbled like a lament.

That reply earned several impatient and tired sighs.

The Vampire Slayer was the first to place her hands on her hips. Erica had her long hair braided, and the stake (you hoped it was fake) was still being tightly gripped in her fingers as she looked at Eddie with a frown.

“Enough already,” she spoke with determination. “We’re all too old for this, including you, so you’re gonna get your pale behind up, go freshen up, and take a nap because it’s not your party, and you can’t just cry if you want,” she demanded with enough leadership to make Eddie pull away from Steve just enough to look at her, his eyes then traveling to you, and of course, he was drunk; otherwise, he’d be too embarrassed for you to see him like this.

It didn’t amuse you, though you had just discovered that even though sometimes you got mad and secretly wished he’d crap his pants in the middle of a show, it wasn’t fun to see him sad, even if the reason for his sadness was probably stupid and the result of too much booze. Hell, tomorrow he’d be really irritable.

You patted his knee, giving him encouragement. “It’s okay, Mun. Let’s go,” you cheered him on.

Steve and Dustin tried to lead him, but it was a party, and they shouldn’t have to spend it babysitting Eddie.

“Tonight you’re not working for me, Fey,” he slurred as you opened the door to his room and helped him sit on the settee at the foot of his bed.

You knelt in front of him to help him take off his combat boots.

“What happened, Mun?”

He squeezed his eyes shut and cradled his head in his hands.

“I’m dizzy, Fey,” he answered, not really responding to your question.

You removed his boots and had him sit on the plush carpet. You feared if you laid him down, he might puke and choke.

He slowly opened his eyes to meet yours, your hair falling in front; you’d braided it and had loose, wavy strands adorned with purple paper flowers. He looked at you and then gave a smile. You watched him back, still on your knees and in silence. Your tongue was a bit dry, and your jaw felt tight, making it hard to speak.

“You’re a fairy,” he murmured, and unlike his other slurred words, this was clear. He rubbed his eyes and then looked at you again, smiling with his whole face. “Why didn’t you tell me you studied music?”

You stood up to straighten his bed; Eddie had stretched the sheets and covers but hadn’t really put much effort into it.

“I didn’t think it was important.”

He made a clicking sound, still seeming dizzy, and his smudged makeup had started to form a sort of crust.

“It is important, Fey,” he murmured.

You finished straightening his bed and went to him with some moisturizer and a towel you got from his bathroom. You sat in front of him and held his chin to start wiping the makeup off his face. He docilely allowed you to gently drag the towel across his skin.

“Chill out, Mun,” you said softly. “I was in financial trouble, drowning in debt, and sent my resume to Robert’s company. There was nothing for me except being your assistant, and it pays well; I needed it. That’s it.”

He seemed a bit pissed at your response. “Ro… Robert’s an idiot,” he huffed, trying to manage his drunk state. “You’ve been doing his job—helping with the tour and scouting new bands. And he’s not paying you for it; he’s taking all the credit.”

You pulled away from him, now with a much cleaner face, and stepped back, surprised. What annoyed him wasn’t that you were doing the job; it was that Robert was taking advantage of you.

“Listen, it doesn’t matter. If I have to do this to prove I’m capable, if it helps Robert see my potential, I’ll keep doing it.”

He shook his head. “He’s a bully and will use you until you realize it. Then, when you refuse to work for free, he’ll discard you,” he lamented. “I don’t want you to leave, Fey.”

You frowned. “I’m not leaving, Mun. Who told you that?”

“I want you to do what you love, not to take care of me forever,” he admitted, and maybe it was the warm way he said it, almost weakened, but you could feel your heart pausing and then clenching inside you.

“Hey, working for you has helped me a lot. Seriously,” you stood up, trying to shake off that strange feeling in your heart as you carried the dirty towel to the bathroom and tossed it into Eddie’s laundry basket. “Thanks to Corroded Coffin, I’ve been able to learn more about bands up close, about what goes on behind the scenes when no one’s watching. It’s fascinating.” You turned back and tried to smile at Eddie, but he had gotten up and was right in front of you.

“I know I’m a pain in the ass.”

“I think it’s better if you lie down,” you suggested when you saw Eddie’s regret and the warning in his eyes that he was about to say things he’d regret later.

“No, Fey, stop,” he murmured. “I’m fine, I mean this. I want to say it,” he added, swaying. “I’m big, and fame isn’t the worst thing that’s happened to me. I’ve lost my parents, my freedom, even my reputation. I almost lost my life,” he said so firmly that it surprised you how convincing he sounded.

If you hadn’t seen the scars, you wouldn’t have believed him.

“You know everything about me; well, almost everything,” he said awkwardly. “And I don’t know anything about you… didn’t know you liked music or that you were having financial problems. Didn’t know that while cleaning up my mess, you were also doing Robert’s job…” he paused and looked at you. “I don’t want you to leave, Fey,” he repeated.

You frowned.

“I’m not leaving, Mun,” you assured him. “Listen; you need to lie down and rest; then you’ll be able to make sense of things.”

“I do now; I’ve been awful to you. I’ve been a bad boss and, damn, a bad friend.”

Friends? You and Eddie were friends?

“What… what do you mean?” you asked, confused.

“Do you know why I told Walsh you were a bad assistant?” he asked suddenly, now full of new energy, not looking as drunk or melancholic, moving around you with the skirt of his costume floating around him. “Because I knew the second I told him you were the best assistant in the world, the only person who’s put up with my bad decisions for so long without leaving, he’d offer you something you couldn’t refuse,” he clarified. “And you’d leave. AND. I. DON’T. WANT. YOU. TO. LEAVE. FEY,” he said slowly.

You looked at him, somewhat surprised. Your plan to ignore that strange flutter in your heart wasn’t working.

“I wouldn’t go with the Walsh brothers; Freddie Walsh is misogynistic, vengeful, confrontational, and a public disgrace,” you listed. “You didn’t have to say I was a bad assistant.”

“I get nervous and say stupid things I shouldn’t, you know me, Fey, I’m a mess with you, and I won’t be better without you,” he clarified. “Because I know this, Fey; I know that one day you’re going to leave, and you’ll find someone way better than me. But if you go, I’ll never find anyone better than you.”

He was talking about your job as his assistant. You tried to remind yourself of that for a few seconds, though deep down, a little sabotaging voice told you Eddie might be referring to something deeper.

Nope; he was talking about you as his assistant.

“Eddie, you need to calm down, seriously,” you took him by the shoulders to make him look at you. “You’ve already apologized for the Walsh brothers, and I know I complain about you all the time, but you’re not the pain in the ass you think you are. Sometimes the things you do annoy me, but it’s because, honestly, you hurt yourself and only mess up your life and the way people see you,” you admitted. “The guy who looked after little Tobias, whose stripper-named mother left him to fend for himself at a stranger’s house? I’d like the world to see that guy, not the one who throws a orgy at one of the biggest hotels in the country.”

“It wasn’t a rager; we drank, I got hot, and ended up in my underwear; the media made it seem worse than it was,” he stopped to clarify.

“My point is that’s all it was; you apologized, and I forgave you. I was upset, but it was just hurt pride, it’s not a big deal, Munson,” you smiled and started to let go of his shoulders, moving away.

Eddie wouldn’t let that happen; he placed his hands on your shoulders and gently squeezed under your palms enough to keep you from moving away from his hold. He looked at you calmly, as if he had all the time in the world to keep doing it.

“Don’t leave, Fey.”

Frozen in place, with your whole body trembling and a cold running down your back, you frowned. “I’m not going anywhere, Mun.”

You felt the warmth of his breath, the smell of tequila and tobacco hitting the tip of your nose. It wasn’t unpleasant, and that scared you. Especially when his nose brushed against yours and his forehead rested just above your brows.

“Promise me?” he asked softly, eyes closed, but you couldn’t answer, too stunned. You just nodded. He opened his eyes, smiling, to look at you again. “You’re a fairy, Fey,” he said suddenly. “I always knew, from the first day I saw you, you were an undercover fairy,” he said, leaning in to kiss you.

He closed his eyes, and his lips didn’t move on yours; he seemed to be enjoying just placing his mouth on yours. You were half mortified, surprised, and half numb. Eddie Munson was kissing you, half-drunk, with no one else watching, and voluntarily; it was surreal, to say the least. That idea had never crossed your mind; you were so different, and it was so unethical, even though there was no written rule about kissing your boss, it made you feel strange. Plus, he was a good kisser, and you refused to admit that you had actually wondered how he’d kiss. He kept kissing you, and his fingers caressed your neck in a loving massage that was becoming too pleasant. You were about to let him open your mouth and deepen the kiss, but Eddie suddenly pulled away.

He stepped back and vomited into the toilet.

Oh, you were so, so screwed.

---

They’re so cute 🥰

“Nancy should be with Steve. No, Nancy should be with Jonathan” WRONG!

Nancy should be with Robin 🥰🩷

---

Great Big Stars: I Love it when it Rains

Modern!rockstar!Eddie X Fem!Singer!Reader

Pt 1 … pt 3

This is the second chapter in a series but can be read as a stand alone

Please be kind and enjoy!

<3•<3•<3•<3•

You didn’t expect any kind of response. You didn’t even know he kept up with you still

You knew about everything going on with him, not always by choice. His face was plastered on every magazine in every grocery store, his music played from the speakers in the mall, there was a big billboard just a few miles before you entered Hawkins that had his face plastered on it: Hometown of the rock and roll sensation Corroded Coffin! Written across the front.

You had to look for anything about your life though.

Or at least you used to.

One of your songs had gotten somewhat popular on the internet. The buzz was nice, it was short lived of course but your following had still grown from it.

You did what you did, you wrote songs and directed your own music videos and spent sleepless nights editing and writing some more.

You were lying on your couch flipping through tv channels and chewing on your thumb nail when you stopped on a channel.

It was a late night talk show of sorts and Eddie and the guys were squished together on a couch that was far too small for all four of them.

The host was talking to the guys and asking questions and then an album cover was being held up in front of the camera, “so this is your new single, and it’s uh, it’s called I love it when it rains. What is this song about, if you don’t mind telling me and the viewers at home?”

The album cover is familiar, two teens standing in front of a beat up van, their faces scratched out of view.

You recognized it because it was a picture you had, tucked somewhere in a box in the back of your closet. He probably got the other copy from Wayne.

The guys all look at Eddie expectantly and Eddie grins, his hands folded and held still between his knees, “um, this is a song from a really long time ago,” fuck, he looks good, as good as ever, “it was written with the help of a friend of ours who was a brilliant fucking song writer and still is from what I can tell.”

The crowd hums as the focus centers on him, “and um, it’s a really good song and I’d been meaning to put it out for a while but I wanted to wait until she had more of a name for herself just because I wouldn’t want her success to be credited to me or anything, but she’s doing pretty well so I thought now was as good a time as any. It’s basically just a song about loving someone enough to stick around even when they’re going through it.”

“And is she credited on the album, do we get to know her name or…?” The host asks and Eddie shrugs.

“I mean, in a way she is but I didn’t use her actual name because I couldn’t get in touch with her to ask if she wanted her actual name.” Eddie shrugs.

You know he means you.

You’re unreachable really, in the same town you’ve lived in since middle school, your social media handled by Robin who has largely taken up a role as your manager.

“So what can we call her?”

“Uh, she’s the writer.”

“Well we know that but what is she called in the credits of the song?” The host laughs and eddies grin grows slightly nervous.

“The credits say The Writer and Eddie the banished.”

You scoff lightly at the writing credit.

You didn’t care if he put the song out or not.

What’s in his book is his and what’s in yours belongs to you.

You turn the tv off after that, not too interested in whatever he had to say next.

---