twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)
â tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn
â warnings: strong language, smut (oral, f receiving), overload of cheesiness, upside down does not exist, minors dni
â wc: 11.8k+
â a/n: this might be the cheesiest, fluffiest thing i've ever written, and i can't even be bothered to care. it might be unrealistic. it might be too much. i do not care. this has been a long time coming and i think we all deserve all the cheese after this story.
i don't even know what to say besides thank you. thank you to everyone who followed along from the beginning, to those of you joined the journey along the way, to those of you who are reading as we finish it up. thank you for all the support and love you guys have shown this fic. i will always, always, appreciate it more than i know how to say. i love these idiots, and i love you all.
if you would like to see this story continued through small blurbs, my ask box is officially open to requests from this universe. i will also probably be posting some "beyond the hours" content over the next few weeks.
thank you. i love you.
without further ado...
masterlist.
spotify playlist.
EPILOGUE: A BET
TWO MONTHS LATER
âWhy are there so many fuckinâ options?âÂ
Eddie stares at the line up of smartphones before him, all different models and different physical sizes, different colors and different memory amounts.Â
âThereâs not that many,â you murmur, wrapping your arms around him from behind as you rest your chin on his shoulder. Itâs a bit of a stretch, making you lean up onto your tippy toes, âBesides, isnât having options a good thing?âÂ
He scoffs as he brings a hand up subconsciously to where your arms overlap on his torso, grip gentle as he runs a thumb over your skin and gives a squeeze, âSure, options are great. But thereâs at least twenty different iPhones on display here, sweetheart.âÂ
The last few months had been interesting, to say the least. A new and exciting journey initially, but also a fairly stressful ordeal given all the hoops you two had been jumping through. Youâre both busy people, having to suddenly figure out how to carve out a specific space for each other amongst bustling lives. It wasnât the same as making time for friends or a weekly night out; it was figuring out times for dates, times for lazy afternoons, times for just you and just Eddie.
And, occasionally, time to take Eddie shopping for a new phone. Finally.
âWell, better pick one fast,â your fingers dig into his side playful, and he blows out an annoyed breath as he side-eyes you. You only retaliate in a fast peck to his cheek before whispering in his ear, âWeâre gonna be late if you keep taking all day.âÂ
It was Argyleâs birthday party tonight. His actual birthday wasnât for another week, but heâd be venturing back home to California for that. And so the group elected to throw him a preemptive party at one of the groupâs favorite bars.Â
Which â fine. Awesome. You were excited, you really were: you loved Argyle, you loved your friends, you even found yourself warming back up to parties.
But your friends didnât know.Â
Two whole months, and neither you nor Eddie had told a single soul of what had become between you two. Not even Steve. Not even Nancy.Â
At first the excuse was to give this time to grow, to find your footing before you brought your lovable yet rambunctious group of friends into the equation. But then you two had found your footing, and youâd worried what they would say. Eddie had nearly made himself sick with anxiety over Nancy finding out heâd kept this relationship from her. Theyâd support you two â that wasnât a worry. Theyâd proven that since the first time the entire group had hung out after the bet.
âSo,â Robin started, narrowing her eyes at you and Eddie sitting on opposite ends of her and Steveâs couch. Neither of you had said a word to each other yet (Plenty had already been said that morning as youâd snuck him out of your dorm), âYou two really arenât together?âÂ
âWhy is everyone so adamant that the bet has to end with us getting together?â you jeered.
Eddie didnât help the cause when he was quick to take your side, âExactly! The betâs over. We lasted twenty four hours. Weâre friends now â isnât that what you guys wanted?âÂ
âI actually wanted to help you dudes plan a winter wedding,â Argyle chimed from the kitchen where he was retrieving a coke, âSo Iâm gonna side with Birdie on this one.âÂ
âOf course you are,â you muttered beneath your breath.Â
Everything in you ached to be sitting next to Eddie rather than so far. You ached for his arm around you, his lips pressed to your temple. Just to share body heat, even â innocent thighs brushing with layers of denim between would have been enough. Â
âItâll happen eventually,â Nancy mused from her seat on the kitchen counter, Jonathan beside her and matching her confident energy with a sly grin, âJust give them time.âÂ
What they hadnât realized is that it already did happen. The moment Eddie showed up to your dorm and the two of you said to Hell with space, it was inevitable.Â
Now, it was just the challenge of letting your friends in on the secret.
âWhat about the red one?â Eddie asks you as you finally unravel from him.
âOf course youâre choosing the red one.âÂ
âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â he scowls, no malice behind it as you step up to occupy the space next to him, brushing shoulders for only a moment before his hand is grabbing yours, intertwining fingers like second nature.Â
You recall that moment on his balcony, where he had once been so nervous and hesitant to hold your hand.Â
âNothing,â you shake your head, smiling to yourself as you look at the specific model he was talking about, âYouâre just getting a little bit predictable, Munson.âÂ
He opens his mouth to argue, to nip back at what you always offer him, when one of the salesmen approach you two.
âHi folks! Can I help you with anything today?â
Eddie squeezes your hand, no doubt in an effort to withhold his laughter at the manâs overly chirpy tone. You squeeze back, if for nothing more than to let him know you felt him.
Despite Eddieâs previous claim to a decision, he still chooses to entertain the man. Asking questions about different models, inquiring for recommendations as if theyâd change his mind. They go back and forth, both polite enough, but the conversation easily bores you. In five seconds flat, your mind has officially wandered off.
You two hadnât really discussed the specific details of the night to come. Whether youâd ride with Eddie there, how youâd navigate Eddieâs natural born clinginess once he got a few drinks in him, if tonight might be the night to finally tell your friends.Â
The last one felt a bit obvious. It was Argyleâs night â you didnât want to snatch the attention from him for even a second.Â
But there were layers to your anxiety. Because it was more than just how to navigate how you two would display yourselves to your friends on nights out.Â
It had been two months, and you still hadnât said those three little words back to Eddie.
He didnât pressure you. He never once brought it back up, never once pressured you. But just because he wasnât constantly reminding you vocally that he loved you didnât mean you didnât feel it. Youâd felt it, impossible to miss, when all those lazy morning fantasies became reality. You felt it during movie marathons and you felt it every time heâd worship your body. It was there â in the late nights, in the early mornings, in the dull afternoons. A wild thing unleashed in your gardens, all those vines youâd worked so hard to see flourish threatened to be torn up by impatient claws at the feeling growing rapidly in your chest every time you looked at him.
And slowly, surely, you knew that there was only so much longer that like could suffice in describing your feelings for Eddie.Â
You were falling, whether he was aware or not. You just needed to figure out the right moment for those three little words to unstick, to go from hot honey on your tongue to easy breaths between you two. Heâs given you time, heâd filled the months youâd awarded him with making up for every previously bitter exchange, and yet you still couldnât give him this. And youâre starting to believe maybe thatâs why you couldnât imagine telling your friends yet.Â
You sort of hated yourself for it.
Youâre pulled back to reality once the salesman departs, no doubt into the back to grab Eddieâs choice of phone. You donât even have to ask; you know he got the red one.
âHey,â Eddie fully turns to you, bringing your knuckles to his lips in chaste kisses. Your stomach still kicks with flutters, your heart still warms at the gesture. Eddieâs affection has yet to lose novelty, âWhereâd you go?â
âWhat do you mean?â you twist your face, âI was here the entire tim-â
âNot whereâd you physically go,â he clarifies, letting your conjoined hands drop back to the sliver of space between your bodies, âMentally. Whereâd your mind just go?â
 You hadnât thought heâd notice your drifting.
âNowhere,â you shrug off.
âNowhere? So youâre really just that interested in the newest iPhone model?âÂ
He pointedly looks up at the widescreen display you donât doubt youâd been blankly staring at the entirety of his conversation with the man who had yet to return.
âOh, absolutely. You know me so well.âÂ
All bark, no bite. These days, all the previous venom that had infected exchanges with Eddie prior to the bet had finally been sucked clean from the wound, long gone to make room for all the genuine affection to seep into its place. You still argued â or perhaps bantered was a better word for it â but you didnât fight. You both still grated on one anotherâs nerves and managed to slither beneath the otherâs skin, but not in an unwelcome way.Â
It was a nice change.
It made you hate yourself even more for not saying those three little words.Â
Eddie seemingly reads your mind, âAre you nervous for tonight?â
âI-â you consider lying to him and saying it hadnât even crossed your mind, but the look he gives you warns against it, âWe just havenât⌠discussed it.âÂ
âWhatâs there to discuss?âÂ
You hold up your interlocked hands for emphasis, raising your eyebrows at Eddie.
His mouth falls open softly, eyes widening, âOh. Are you- Are you wanting to tell them tonight?âÂ
No, your gut screams, absolutely not tonight.
âIs Argyleâs birthday party really the best time to explode their minds?âÂ
You try to keep your tone teasing as you sense Eddieâs own nerves creeping up. Sometimes it was fun, standing in a room with everyone and pretending to be more akin to strangers than lovers. But sometimes, it was just plain painful. Sometimes, the entire group would be laughing at something, and you craved nothing more than to be pressed into Eddieâs side and feel the vibrations of his shared joy rather than just having to listen to it from across the room.Â
Itâs not that you wanted to tell your friends and cause a scene â you just didnât want to have to hide anymore. And maybe you wouldnât have to, if youâd just tell him how you felt.
âProbably not,â Eddie murmurs, âI mean, itâs his night. We can always tell them the next time we all get together.â
The issue is thatâs what the two of you always say. You always brush it off for the next time.Â
You can only sigh in defeat as you see the salesman finally bounding back out from the back room, a small box holding Eddieâs purchase in his grip, âYeah. Next time.âÂ
You canât even be mad at next time. Itâs the same thing you tell yourself every time you felt those words on the tip of your tongue, so close yet so far from revealing the most terrifying truth youâd discovered yet to Eddie.
You let go of his hand long enough for him to check out, hardly overhearing when he questions how they can transfer all the data from his current flip phone. When he seems particularly worried about pictures transferring, you donât think anything of it.
â
STEVE-O: do i need to pick you up tonight?Â
You donât see the text. Youâre a bit busy with something when it comes through.
Something is currently still between your legs, curls threaded between your fingers as your back arches off his mattress and his name starts to come out as a desperate whimper rather than a chant.Â
STEVE-O: ???
The initial buzz of your phone on his nightstand doesnât phase either of you. Eddieâs tongue still works you eagerly, circling your clit as you tug particularly harshly at his roots. Each flick sends white hot pleasure through your bones, nearly making you see stars.
âFuck,â you gasp out when he brings his fingers into the mix. You can feel his smile against you as he curls his fingers inside of you, mimicking a come hither motion and relishing in your little pants as your thighs tighten around his shoulders, âOh, fuck. Right there, Eddie. I- Eddie.âÂ
The way youâre moaning his name only encourages him as he slips in a second finger, stretching you further. You feel cool metal bumping your entrance, sending shocks up your spine as his lips suction against you and he sucks hard.
He hadnât even taken the time to remove his rings when the two of you had gotten home. He had been too eager, dragging you to his bedroom with his lips attached to your neck from the moment heâd shut the front door behind the two of you until heâd thrown you down on his bed.
âThatâs right, baby,â his voice vibrates against your clit, âSay my name. Tell everyone whoâs making you feel this goo-â
STEVE-O: helllooooo????
âOkay, who the fuck keeps texting you?â Eddie finally pulls back when he realizes youâre slipping out of that bubble heâd created, your head having turned towards the nightstand in curiosity, âLet me guess, itâs your other boyfriend?âÂ
Your head is still spinning and your chest continues to heave from that lingering pleasure heâd been offering so generously to you. He sounds annoyed, but you can guarantee youâre even more irked.Â
âI donât have another boyfriend,â you blandly reply, not taking his bait.
It only makes him wrap his hands around your thighs on his shoulder, giving a playful squeeze as you reach out for your phone.Â
âYou sure?âÂ
You squint at the notifications, but donât properly read them, only rolling your eyes at both the fact that Steveâs the one interrupting this precious moment and at Eddieâs valiant teasing.
You slam the phone back down, eyes trailing down to his, âI am, but I can certainly find another boyfriend if you donât get your mouth back on me in the next three seconds-âÂ
He doesnât need a second warning. In an instant, the warmth of his tongue is back on you, lapping at all the spots heâs come to memorize as of recently. That pleasure comes back into reach, edging your vision with feathery black as your eyes flutter shut and the coil in your stomach tightens.
You throw your head back into one of his pillows, one that has started to smell like your shampoo now rather than his, and let a drawn out whine escape your lips.
âYou were saying?â he teases, grinning wickedly. He takes that brief moment to come up for air, turning and sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of your thigh beside his cheek. Not hard enough to draw blood, and probably not hard enough to leave indents. But it is enough to have you preening once more as your heels dig into his bare back and you try to lift your hips, desperate for his mouth again.
He was edging you. Without even meaning to, he was repeatedly bringing you to the edge only to leave you teetering.Â
With your focus back on him, you can admire how pretty he looks. Mouth slick with you, pupils blown out, hair an absolute mess. You like him best this way, you think, when he looks so absolutely devoted to you. When heâs looking at you with a hunger you almost canât place. It makes you want to scream from the rooftops about how youâve fallen for him. How you feel so much more than like for your boy.Â
STEVE-O: seriously. if you donât respond, you can just walk. you have five minutes.
At the buzz of the phone, your hands leave Eddieâs hair to form fists, pounding them into the mattress at your side in a brief tantrum. He ceases all actions, pulling his lips away from you again, and it only makes you pout more.Â
âBaby,â he coos, fingers trailing up the sides of your thighs before he reaches out to hold your fists down, âMaybe you should answer him. Tell him to fuck off-â
Eddieâs interrupted as your phone fully bursts to life with your ringtone.
You were going to kill Steve Harrington.Â
âOn second thought, let me answer it,â Eddie groans as you reach out and grab it once more, âGive the fucker a piece of my mind.â
âShut up,â you hiss as you realize itâs Robin calling. You turn the screen so he can see, and his eyebrows lift in surprise.
He makes no move to remove himself from between your legs, though. He stays face to face with your aching core.
âHello?â you snap after swiping to answer.
âFinally! My God, Steveâs been texting you-â
âI didnât see the texts.â
âDo you need a ride?â
âNope.âÂ
Youâve never been so short with your friends.Â
But that pleasure is slipping from you, the flames of your impending orgasm dying down to nothing more than embers. Itâs enough to piss anyone off.Â
âAre you sure?â Robin asks, sounding genuinely concerned, âItâs kind of a far walk-â
âIâm running late,â you sigh, realizing that you were going to have to come up with a lie to get off the hook. Another thing you hated about the hiding â it led to your friendships being littered with dishonesty. Always a new excuse as to why you werenât available, always feigning reasons as to why you didnât reply to texts as timely as you used to. âWith getting ready. I could- I donât know, do you think Eddie might pick me up? Isnât my dorm along the way to the bar from his place?âÂ
At the mention of his name, he perks up. His cheek settles against the exact spot he had bit just moments before, nearly nuzzling into you as your free hand comes down to gently push back his bangs. On instinct, you find yourself soothingly pressing your fingertips in slow circles against his scalp. Youâre nearly melting beneath his soft gaze, those big and wide eyes locked on you with bated breath.
âYou want Eddie to pick you up?â you suddenly hear Steve exclaim in the background.
Your face scrunches up, a wrinkle forming across the bridge of your nose and between your brows. Itâs so damn cute to Eddie that he canât help but press a quick kiss to the skin he continues to lay into, beginning to smile as your absent-minded head massage continues.Â
So much more than like.
âOh, Iâm sorry, I didnât know I was on speaker.âÂ
âWhy do you want Munson to pick you up?â Steve ignores your sarcasm, voice sounding closer to the phone now, âHe drives a motorcycle, you know. Thatâs dangerous.âÂ
Eddie must be able to catch some of Steveâs shrill exclamation, his eyebrows raising ever so slightly. You feel his curious hum against your skin and you donât hesitate putting your own pesky friends on speaker.Â
âMotorcycles are not that dangerous,â you retort, and it makes Eddie have to hide a slight scoff into your thigh in an effort to stay silent. It was ironic that they cared about how safe it would be for you to ride with Eddie on his bike now, after that allegedly dangerous vehicle had been your main source of transportation for nearly two months now, âHe has a helmet, right?âÂ
âIsnât your dorm the opposite direction of the bar from his place?â Robin questions, âI mean, Iâm all for you asking lover boy if heâll give you a ride but-â
Steve interrupts her flatly, âItâs making him go out of his way. Besides, he might have already left for the bar by now.âÂ
You donât know what to silently laugh at first. The assumption they were making that couldnât be further from the truth, or Robinâs new nickname for Eddie.Â
Lover boy is fitting for him in this current position. Heâs still latching onto your leg, cuddling you in every way he could from where he laid, staring at you and hanging onto your every last word. The poster boy for pathetically in love, he gives your leg another kiss, starting a fiery trail with his lips until he reaches your knee. It pangs in your chest, wondering if he can see your feelings also painted so obviously across your face.Â
âSteve,â you murmur, breath catching in your throat as Eddieâs lips linger in the ditch of your knee. It takes a second to remember youâre on the phone, âNo offense, but Eddie hasnât been on time to a single get together the entire time Iâve known him.âÂ
Eddie reacts in real time to your insult, forcing an over-exaggerated offended look before he bites you again. This time, his teeth do leave an imprint from his nip, and it makes you slap a hand over your mouth to avoid yelping.Â
Donât bite me, you mouth at him.Â
Donât be mean, he answers right back, silent as ever.Â
âTechnically weâre all already late,â Steve points out. It makes you sit up quickly, startling Eddie in the process. You squint at the clock across the room and- fuck. Steve was right, âNancy just texted me that she and Jon are there, Argyleâs on his way. She said she tried texting Eddie but didnât get any response,â thereâs a long pause as you motion wildly for Eddie to get up with you, the boy watching as you fling yourself off his mattress and carry the phone with you to his dresser, âHave⌠you heard from him recently?âÂ
âWhy are you saying it like that?â you jab, throwing open one of the drawers Eddie had cleared out for you to keep some clothes here in his apartment. At this point, a good chunk of the tuition you paid was going to waste considering the fact you rarely spent the night at your dorm. You were already half moved into Eddieâs space.Â
You try not to think too hard about it, because just last week, youâd had a panic attack at the revelation.Â
You were afraid of smothering him, even if he was the one always insisting you could leave more of your things here. He was always the one conning you into spending another night, promising soft murmurs of giving you a ride to class the next morning if you did. You rarely ever had much of the choice in the matter; once heâd wrap his arms around your waist, curl his body flush against yours, it was always game over.
Practically living together, and you still hadnât said those words back to him.Â
âIâm not saying it like anything!â Steve defends himself, âIâm just asking an innocent question!â Eddieâs snort this time is audible, and you freeze as Steve clearly mistakes it for your laughter, âShut up. Itâs a reasonable question. You guys are friends now, remember?âÂ
Friends. Of course, because all your friends jumped at the chance to bury their mouths against your cunt and make you cum repeatedly until you had tears streaming down your cheeks. Because you let all your friends sleep in the same bed as you, and wake you up by burying deep within you as they bite your shoulder with a moan. You and Eddie were friends.Â
âTrust me,â you glance over your shoulder in your haste, looking at Eddie as he stretches out on his side and props himself up on his elbow, âI remember.âÂ
He gives you a knowing smile, squinting his eyes at you in entertainment.Â
âBabe, it really would just be easier for you to ride with us,â Robinâs voice sounds again as you tug a shirt out of the drawer, something casual and comfortable that you could style for the night, âUnless youâre just hellbent on having alone time with Eddie for some reason-â
âIâm not hellbent on being alone with him, Robs.âÂ
Another lie. I definitely am. But not in the context you think.Â
âYou just sound like you are.â
âWell, Iâm not,â you yank a pair of black jeans free from the drawer and slam it shut, standing and turning to Eddie.Â
He hardly has time to react before youâre tossing your phone down on the mattress in front of him, the small device bouncing and hitting his chest. He winces and throws himself back dramatically, letting out a small oof that you pray neither Robin or Steve pick up on.Â
As you dress, throwing on the random t-shirt and shimmying on your jeans, Robins laughs, âDenial isnât a good look on you.âÂ
Eddie watches you, never moving to get ready himself. All he does is stare as you button up the pants.Â
When you give him an expectant look, he merely mouths, bra?Â
You shake your head. You donât know where Eddie had flung your undergarment, and youâre not in the mood to frantically search for it. Youâve gone without a bra before â you can survive one night out without one.Â
Eddieâs entire face and chest immediately flushes pink. Cute. Â
âNow you guys are just being assholes,â you scowl despite the fact that only Eddie can see it, waving your hands to motion for him to get up and also get dressed, âIâm texting Eddie. If he has already left, Iâll just walk. Fuck you guys.âÂ
âTell lover boy I said hi,â Robin teases.Â
âEven if heâs already parked at the fucking bar at this point, we both know heâd jump right back on his bike and come pick you up,â Steveâs voice grumbles over the line.Â
It almost makes you smile. âSomeone sounds jealous.âÂ
âNot jealous, just annoyed,â Steve corrects as Eddie finally stands from the bed, âWhen are you two going to get your shit together?â
âWhat do you mean?â you play dumb.
Youâve had this conversation with your friends multiple times. They were truly going to have your head once they realized what youâd been keeping from them for months now.Â
âDonât you have a 4.0 GPA?â Robin inserts herself back into the conversation, âYou canât possibly be this stupid.âÂ
Eddie pauses in his fumbling with pulling his jeans from the pile heâd left his clothes in at the end of the beg, face scrunching in silent laughter. You almost walk over and smack his bare back angled towards you.Â
âFirst of all, no. I donât have a 4.0 GPA. Thanks for the reminder,â you grab your phone back off of the bed and decide to leave Eddie behind in the room, heading into the bathroom to finish getting ready. You hate to admit it, but if you have to keep watching him giggle so cutely to himself, youâll also probably break. And you arenât in the mood for any further interrogation from Robin and Steve, âSecond of all, Iâm hanging up now. Iâm going to call Eddie. At least he wonât be such a dick to me.âÂ
âOh, you must see the irony there-âÂ
You cut Steve off, âBye! See you in⌠like, ten minutes.âÂ
Once youâve hung up, you put your phone down on the bathroom counter and look up into the mirror. Your hair is a mess, wild and tangled from all the writhing you had been doing before being so rudely interrupted. You give it your best effort, trying to tame it a little bit to look more presentable, but itâs a lost cause at this point. Fuck it.Â
Eddie appears in the doorway behind you, fully dressed and his hair pulled back into a bun, leaning into the door frame with his arms crossed and an impish grin on display, âOh, youâre going to call me now, sweetheart?âÂ
You glare at him in a jocosely manner through the reflection, âDonât look so proud of yourself.âÂ
He pushes off the frame and comes up behind you, still locking his eyes only through the reflection as he leans his chin over your shoulder, âAnd what if I donât want to give you a ride? You have been awfully mean â insulting my punctuality, throwing your phone at me, teasing me by going without a bra. The list goes on and on.âÂ
Something deep within you stirs, those embers that still ache to burst into a forest fire. You hate that you could easily spend the entire night here with him, letting him take you every which way between his sheets. And even without sinful actions involved, you would be plenty content with just his presence tonight. As a matter of fact, you might be more content with that outcome rather than heading out to see your friends.
Sorry Argyle, you think guiltily.Â
âIâm teasing you?â you question just as his hands land on your hips, moving so that he was pressed firmly against the curve of your ass. Making sure you could feel how hard he was against the seam of his jeansâ zipper, âYou didnât even make me cum.âÂ
âSeems like weâll both be spending the night frustrated, then,â he smiles, almost gleefully, almost devilishly, âBesides, that was technically Harringtonâs fault, not mine. We both know I usually have no problems making you cum on my tongue â without interruptions, of course.â
He rolls his hips ever so slightly into you, and your mouth falls open, eyes going glossy as you continue to stare him down through the mirror. The stirring in your abdomen is persistent now as your heart hammers against your ribs, mind melting and completely forgetting the obligation at hand.Â
And Eddie knows this. Heâs well aware of the effect heâs having on you, and itâs deliberate.Â
Suddenly, his body completely pulls away from yours, âIâll meet you downstairs. Donât want to keep them waiting any longer, do we, sweetheart?âÂ
Damn him. Damn him, and damn his dimples, and damn how good his legs look in those jeans as heâs walking away from me right now.
You linger in the apartment, alone, for a few extra minutes to compose yourself. Trying to quelch the heat between your hips that had slowly spread across your entire body, threatening to consume you. You even go as far as to splash cool water across your cheeks, giving yourself a few smacks for good measure as you try to prepare yourself to go into public and put on the usual act. And beneath it all, you also hush the animal in your chest, the one that claws at you to tell him. The one that wails everytime you simply tell him you like him, the one that roars when you let another moment slip you by. It has to quiet, just as your flames need to settle, all for the sake of the act.
You deserve a goddamn Oscar at this point.Â
After deciding that touching up your makeup would take up far too many precious seconds, youâre darting out of Eddieâs apartment, locking up behind yourself before you head down to where heâs waiting. Heâs already straddling his parked bike, the engine roaring to life like the animal inside you as you exit the main doors of the building and his hands extend his only helmet. You donât fight him on whoâs going to wear it â thatâs a battle, youâve learned, you will always lose.Â
We really need to just buy a second helmet.Â
The thought makes you smile as you hold the clunky thing. Buying a second helmet. Something Eddie had never done before, because he had never had a regular passenger before. He had never had someone glued to his side as you had become, not even Nancy. It sounds terribly domestic; perusing aisles with him, debating which helmet fits your style best. Heâd probably make a joke about your head being big. Heâd probably tease you for looking at the ridiculously expensive ones and tell you to opt for a cheaper one. Youâd probably end up with a pricier one in the cart regardless, and Eddie would probably refuse to let you pay for it.Â
Domesticity. The image of it doesnât ache like it had that night all those months ago. This isnât something you yearn for hopelessly, smoke and mirrors that dissipate when you dare to reach out for it. Itâs something finally in your grasp. Something tangible and something bound to happen, all youâd have to do is say the word and Eddie would comply eagerly.Â
Anything to keep my girl safe, as he would tell you any time you pointed out how dangerous it was for him to go without a helmet. Heâd gotten creative in saying his own version of those three little words.Â
âMâlady,â he hums, nodding for you to put the helmet on before sweeping a hand over the empty space in the seat behind him, âYour chariot awaits.âÂ
You donât have a snarky quip to throw back at him, only grinning at the ground as you flip the helmet around a few times to prepare to put it on. All those embers arenât just desire for him â thereâs a warmth there that always exists. A candle on the windowsill of the home you had finally found.Â
You raise the clunky thing and tilt your head when Eddie suddenly says, âOh, and babe?âÂ
Immediately, you lower it, eyes wide in curiosity, âWhat?âÂ
âThatâs my shirt.âÂ
âWhat?âÂ
He motions to the t-shirt tucked carefully into your jeans, âThat fine shirt you are currently wearing is mine.âÂ
You look down, and heâs right. Itâs too late to go back inside to change, and you know heâs aware of this when you catch his amused smirk. He probably noticed the moment you had put it on, and had deliberately waited until it was too late for you to do anything about it to inform you.Â
Bastard.Â
âI-â you pinch the fabric between your fingers, looking between it and Eddie wildly for a second before your shoulders slumped in defeat, âItâs fine. I doubt theyâll even notice.âÂ
â
You were wrong. They do notice.Â
Everyone is already waiting inside for the two of you, nestled around a table in the bar in a similar arrangement to the very first night youâd been introduced to the group. Thereâs only two empty seats left conveniently, right next to each other. You donât miss that mischievous look of success on Robinâs face as she looks overly proud of herself.
Theyâd set it up so weâd sit next to each other.Â
Youâre grateful for your friendsâ antics until you go to take the empty seat next to Steve.
âIs that Eddieâs shirt?âÂ
Robin is leaning around Steve eagerly as she says it, ridiculing the shirt intensely.Â
âWhat?â you laugh nervously, looking down and tugging at the fabric.Â
Lie. Make up a lie. Make it good.Â
âThat is Eddieâs shirt,â Nancy looks surprised across the table, looking up at the two of you questioningly.Â
âWhat?â you repeat yourself. Eddie has already taken his seat, and is avoiding the stares of everyone, âNo, itâs not.âÂ
âHe has one just like it,â Jonathan adds fuel to the fire, âHe literally wore it - what? Two days ago?âÂ
In a pathetic attempt of an excuse, you plop down in your seat and force an offended look, âPeople can own the same shirt. Heâs not the gatekeeper of-â you look down, and nearly erupt in embarrassment when you see what the shirt is. âDeftones.âÂ
Ah, fuck.Â
Itâs not just the embarrassment of being on the verge of getting caught in your lie â itâs the memories that flood back. You, on Eddieâs lap. Your mouth and his becoming one. Steve calling, and you sucking so innocently on Eddieâs neck.Â
Fuck.Â
You really wish Steve and Robin hadnât interrupted earlier.Â
âItâs not like I got it at a show,â Eddie shrugs, and you wonder for a moment if heâs lying, âTheyâve gotten more popular lately. Iâve seen their shit in Target.âÂ
âExactly!â you exclaim a little too loudly, a little too quick to defend yourself, âExactly. I just thought it looked cool at Target. Besides, tonight is about Argyle.â
You smile at the birthday boy, and he returns the joy as he waves a little at you. The reminder is all it takes for everyoneâs attention to return to the focus of the night â everyoneâs attention but Nancyâs.Â
You can feel her eyes on you as conversation sparks up and debates of ordering shots begin. Everyone is busy asking Argyle what his plans for next weekend are â which are mostly composed of normal family gatherings, probably a homemade cake, etc. â but Nancy is watching you and Eddie like a hawk. In the peripheral of your eye, you watch the way she leans back so casually into Jonathan's around her shoulder, looking like she knows. Youâre probably just being paranoid. Youâre definitely just being paranoid.Â
You try to ignore it, and instead let yourself just enjoy the moment. All your friends gathered, a group in which you finally feel like you belong to, jokes being made and laughter being exchanged that has you feeling a bit giddy. Itâs nice. Even between the smoke of the room and the flickering lights overhead, murmuring chatter of nearby patrons mingling right in with your groupâs noise, itâs homely. The smell of drunken cigars and fruity cocktails should be overwhelming, but you just let it wrap you up instead.Â
And when you turn your head, inhaling deeply the smell of cinnamon and musk rather than all those other foreign anomalies, you find Eddie already looking at you. Soft eyes, bitten grin, a few loose curls framing his cheeks as his bangs curl up into his forehead. Even in the shoddy lighting, he takes your breath away.Â
Heâs looking at you. Just like that first night. Dozens of other people in this room at this moment, and he only has eyes for one â he only has eyes for you.
âSo!â Argyle announces, âI think, my dudes, instead of doing what Birdie had so⌠excitedly suggested,â and oh, he was being generous and calling Robin suggesting he took twenty three shots for his twenty third birthday just her being excited rather than foolish, âWe should just take the twenty three shots and split them up amongst the group.âÂ
Steve and Jonathan immediately groan, protesting how theyâre driving, and Eddie only shakes his head with a chuckle. So far, heâd only ordered and been nursing on a plain coke, no whiskey.Â
Somehow, sitting beside him with the group is worse than keeping distance.Â
When heâd taken off his jacket, youâd silently begged for him to rest an arm across the back of your chair just as Jonathan was doing to Nancy. And he had, almost too naturally before heâd caught himself. It would have been easier to play off cooly, probably would have gone unnoticed, but your boy had practically jumped out of his bones as heâd flinched and tucked his arm back into himself suddenly. Heâd even bumped his elbow against his own seat in his haste.
And Nancy had noticed.Â
âThatâs only three shots per person!â Argyle defends, âFour for me, since you know â birthday boy.âÂ
While Eddie may be avoiding alcohol tonight, you arenât. Not unusual, but it had been odd when Eddie had told the waitress your order of an amaretto sour rather than you telling her yourself.Â
Another strike. Another thing Nancy had noticed with her watchful eye.
âIâm down,â you shrug, âHell, Iâll even take an extra shot if those two dumbasses wonât.âÂ
âIs that a good idea?âÂ
You wish Eddie had been drinking to excuse his idiocracy. Because all it takes is him saying that, not with malice but with concern, and the look on Nancyâs face told you she was officially catching on.
He hadnât said it with the concern of a friend prepared to warn against drinking yourself sick. Heâd said it with the concern of someone who would be taking care of you by the end of the night, of someone who would be dealing with the aftermath of that many shots.Â
You two were bombing this whole secrecy, to put it lightly.Â
You try to save the moment but laughing it off, turning to him slightly and teasing, âWhat, are you my keeper now?âÂ
Despite your best efforts, the statement doesnât come across as friendly banter. Itâs not quite fighting either. Itâs a dare, you dangling something in Eddieâs face that no one else at this table quite sees. A stupid, idiotic continuation of your flirtatious game of cat and mouse from earlier in the apartment, when heâd deliberately gotten you hot and bothered. When heâd deliberately let you leave in his shirt. His palm is warm when he shifts ever so slightly, placing it on your thigh beneath the table. Out of sight from everyone else. Fueling and fanning all your growing flames.Â
You two were toeing a very dangerous line tonight.Â
His eyes darken a bit, and you pray no one else notices in the dim bar lighting, âI donât know, am I?âÂ
Everyone is distracted enough with your idea. Steve and Jonathan were agreeing, saying they could take one shot and then others in the group could shoulder the extras. Robin was quick to also say sheâll take an extra one. But Nancy is silent, watching your quiet exchange with Eddie.Â
âI donât think you are, Munson.â
Except he is. Without a single doubt in your bones, you know that he is.Â
Your playful smile betrays you. It tugs up the corners of your mouth and itâs clear to any outsider this wasnât a brewing argument. The game was obvious if anyone was watching close enough. And Nancy, ever the smart one, was watching close enough.Â
Sheâs playing her cards right, you realize, when she waits until the group has ordered the round of shots to say anything.Â
âSo, Eddie,â she begins, drawing the entire groupâs attention to her best friend, âDo anything fun today?âÂ
He nearly chokes on his coke subtly. âI- Um-âÂ
âYou just didnât answer any of my texts today,â she continues on, âMust have been busy, yeah?âÂ
Eddie retracts his hand from your thigh, far more elusive in this action than he had been about removing his arm from your chair, before he fiddles with his hands in his lap. âYeah â no, yeah. Sorry about that, Nance.âÂ
He pulls his phone from his pocket for no apparent reason. The shiny new smartphone, having not even bought a case or screen protector yet. Youâd already yelled at him for that, claiming out of everyone, you trust him the least to not break the phone on the first day. Heâd only laughed and shut you up with a kiss.Â
His new phone is placed face down on the table, cherry red glinting, âI just had to go to the mall and-â
âIs that a new phone?â Argyle interrupts him, catching sight of the movement and the glinting, âOh, holy shit, my dude! Thatâs a new phone! That is an iPhone if Iâve ever seen one!âÂ
Everyone â Robin, Steve, Jonathan â are rapidly leaning to catch sight of it as if they canât believe it. Eddie continues to shrink at being the center of attention suddenly.Â
âIt is,â Steve laughs in disbelief, âNever thought Iâd see the day, Munson.âÂ
Robin scrunches her face, âDoes this mean we have to add him to the group chat?âÂ
You let out a giggle at that, lips pressed to try and contain some of that smile breaking through as you look at him and wiggle your brows. He immediately rolls his eyes, but picks up the phone regardless to give everyone a better look.Â
âYes, yes. Iâve finally joined the dark side,â he teases everyone just as the waitress returns with the tray of shots. Jonathan is the only one with enough sense to look away from Eddieâs spectacle, thanking her kindly, âFeast your eyes, my friends, for this is where my five hundred dollars went-âÂ
âHoly shit.âÂ
Nancyâs sudden whisper of an exclamation has everyone freezing. Eddie stops spinning and flipping the phone to show it off, staring at her with nothing but concerned, âWhat? What happen-âÂ
Nancy shares a look with Robin as they both grin.
Oh no.Â
âEddie,â Nancy says slowly, turning her head back his way slowly.Â
âWhat?â Eddie frowns, eyes flitting back and forth between Nancy and Robin.
Robin is the one to ask the question rather than Nancy, âWhat exactly is your lockscreen?âÂ
Eddie goes pale. Youâre confused, looking at the phone heâs currently cradling with the screen against his palm.Â
Did he even change it? Wouldnât it just be one of the default ones?Â
âGuys,â you decide to come to his rescue, still impossibly confused, âItâs probably just some default screen, donât tease him.âÂ
âThat was not a default screen,â Nancy laughs out.Â
Argyle looks around at everyone. Nancy and Robin, both with mischievous glints in their eyes. Eddie, still ghostly white as if heâs been caught red-handed. Steve and Jonathan, both just shrugging at each other. âUhâŚ. Why do I feel like Iâm missing something here?â
âShow the class your lock screen, Eds.â
âFuck off, Nancy.âÂ
âOh my God,â Robin coos, leaning across Steve and pressing you back gently to catch sight of Eddie, whoâs dipping his face down, âHeâs blushing!âÂ
âGuys, leave him alone,â Steve insists, sharing a look with you now. But you have no clue whatâs going on.
You have no clue what his lockscreen is.Â
âEdward Munson, show us that lockscreen right now, or Iâm Venmo-requesting five hundred dollars from you,â Robin continues to threaten.Â
You look away from Steve and at Eddie immediately, leaning in closer to his space. He looks at you, clearly focusing on your presence more than everyone elseâs, and smiles like a child trying to get out of trouble.Â
âEddie,â you say quietly, almost impossible for your friends to hear, âWhat the fuck is your lockscreen?âÂ
He slowly and carefully turns the screen towards you, making sure only your eyes can see it, and- oh.
Itâs a low quality photo. Clearly taken on his flip phone. Details just a little fuzzy, and the darkness of the photo wasnât helping. But you can see it clearly. You can make out exactly what it was that had Nancy and Robin losing their minds.Â
Itâs a picture of you and Eddie, with your head on Eddieâs chest.
For a moment, everyone else at the table doesnât exist. You hadnât been insane that night â he had taken a photo. A snapshot of the moment where everything had changed. The moment in which you had given up the fight and completely succumbed to just how much Eddie meant to you, how badly you pined for him and how deeply you liked him.Â
âI was going to make it the one of you at Bettyâs,â he whispers, âBut, I just- I really liked this photo.âÂ
Heâs still tense, as if he expects you to be upset with him.Â
Youâre the farthest thing from upset at him.Â
âYou made me your lockscreen?â you breathe out, a slow-growing smile beginning to stretch your lips.Â
Youâre not upset at him. As a matter of fact, youâre in love with him. You want to scream it from every rooftop, shout it to every stranger on the street â you are in love with Eddie Munson.
And you have been for a while. You just hadnât found a way to tell him yet.
âYeah,â he loosens up a little when he realizes youâre happy, enamored with the fact, âYeah, of course I did. Who else am I going to make it besides my favoriteâŚ. Enemy?âÂ
He says it loud enough for everyone to hear clearly. All of Nancyâs teasing has come to a halt, Robin has settled back into her chair, and Steve is finally looking too curious for his own good.Â
âAs birthday boy,â Argyle breaks the moment, shatters away the bubble you and Eddie always seemed to end up in, âI am demanding I get to see this lockscreen.âÂ
Eddie doesnât make any move to show the screen to any other person, only watching you for approval.Â
Well, so much for next time.Â
You give him a little nod.Â
Eddie makes a dramatic show of it, sighing heavily before he very slowly turns his lockscreen to face everyone else. But even in his dramatics, you can see that weight lifting off his chest.
This, as a matter of fact, changes everything.Â
No more hiding, no more lying. One simple flash of his phone screen, of a photo he had taken on a night that no one has even been gifted the details of yet, and all your friends suddenly know.
The reactions all vary.Â
Argyle leans forward and squints before his face breaks out into pure joy for the two of you, âOh, fuck yes! Best birthday gift ever. Pay up, my dudes!âÂ
Jonathan leans backward, digging out his wallet as he murmurs, âSon of a bitch.âÂ
Steve only smiles and shakes his head, also digging for his wallet as he seemingly chastizes himself, âI should have fucking known.âÂ
âHold on,â you look between everyone as Jonathan digs out a couple twenties, âWait, did you guys fucking bet on this?âÂ
âWe did,â Robin answers you, holding up a hand to make Jonathan and Steve pause their retrieval of cash, âWhat do you take us for? Idiots? Now, gentlemen, before either of you payout, weâve gotta ask the most important question,â she shoves a palm against Steveâs chest so that heâs out of line of sight, gaze set on you and Eddie, âWhen did this happen?âÂ
You donât have any time to be mad at your friends. Because when Robin asks you this, suddenly youâre back to two months ago. Youâre outside your dorm with Eddie, kissing him as if tomorrow would never be promised, and youâre home.Â
You pulled back from Eddie finally, both of you gasping for breath as he held you steady. Your exchange from moments before still hung heavy in the air.Â
You liked him, you liked him, you liked him.Â
And the feeling was mutual.Â
Youâd already known, but it was nice to hear. It was nice to be reminded that this, what had happened between you two, was so very real.Â
âI donât wanna start over,â the words tumbled from your tongue before you could consider them, upheaving from your chest, desperate for Eddie to heard them, âI- I donât need to start over. I like our story, okay? You had been right â it wasnât all bad, and⌠and I donât want to start over. I never want you to be a stranger again, and I know that sounds stupid-âÂ
âItâs not stupid,â he interrupted you, forehead meeting yours, âSo very not stupid.âÂ
âI donât care if you were a dick,â you continued on, carefully, âI was, too. We were both⌠shitty. I forgive you. Iâll forgive you a thousand times over, as long as you keep trying to make it up to me.âÂ
âMake it up to you?â he grinned playfully, âAnd just how do you suggest I start making it up to you?âÂ
âAsk me out,â his eyebrows raised in surprise, and you knew you must have looked like a wild idiot to everyone else, but you didnât care, âTo dinner, to a movie, to just hang around your apartment with you for another twenty four hours â I donât care. Just⌠Just please, Munson, ask me out.âÂ
And so he had. A first date, a second date, a third. You two had gone through the entire ordeal of every cliche relationship despite the unconventional beginning. Youâd gone to dinner, youâd gone to a movie, and you had done plenty of hanging out around his apartment and more.Â
âThe night of the bet,â Eddie answers as he finally brings an arm up around your shoulders, just as he had wanted to earlier.Â
Immediately, both Robin and Argyle let out their own curses, pulling out their wallets just as Steve and Jonathan had.Â
You look between them, all the annoyance you should feel just being run over with adoration for these idiots. Your eyes land on Nancy, and when you realize sheâs the only one at the table not coughing up any cash, you ask her, âIâm assuming you guessed correctly?âÂ
âI did,â she nods, looking proud of herself.Â
âHowâd you know?âÂ
Nancy raises a threatening finger, before suddenly pointing it right in Eddieâs direction, âThat idiot has always been down bad for you-â
âOkay, okay,â Eddie stops her, âIâve already told her the nitty gritty details. No need to embarrass me.âÂ
âNo need to embarrass you?â Nancy asks in disbelief, âGood God, just how many times did I have to sit and listen to you pine for her? No, no â I have earned this, Munson.âÂ
You look at Eddie, a glint in your eye, âYou only told me about the first time.â
âI only remembered the first time,â he counters, blushing under yellow and faded lights, âI was usually dru-â
âDonât lie,â Nancy stops him, âThere were plenty of rants where you were dead sober.âÂ
Everyone only smiles at Eddie, a few teasing comments made his way, but none of them matter as you lean into his side, your shoulder bumping his to the best of your ability with his arm still around you.
âAw, babe,â you coo, warm all over for the man beside you, âYou had a crush on me? Thatâs cute.âÂ
His chin lowers, eyes boring into yours with unlimited affection. For a moment, itâs just you and Eddie. The guise of you two having your own bubble of a moment.Â
His head tilts further, his ears brushing your ear as he whispers for just you to hear, âSo did you, if Iâm not mistaken.âÂ
âNot mistaken,â you whisper back. Money is now being exchanged, tossed across the table with grumbles that hold no heat.Â
Yeah, you did have a crush on Eddie. You still do. You donât think youâll ever stop having a crush on him, even as heâs surrendered himself as yours. Especially not when his thumb is stroking your shoulder as it is now.Â
Just like that very first night. The smoky bar fades to nothingness, your tunnel vision focused on Eddie. You know jokes are being made about the two of you by your friends, but itâs all white noise when heâs looking at you like this. Like youâre everything to him, like heâs just returned home after a long week.Â
Youâd really like to be his home to return to after every long week, for the rest of your lives, but thereâll be time to ponder on that later. For now, you two have time.Â
The voice inside your head suddenly comes to life as it recognizes that this is your moment. You can tell him. Now that youâve told everyone else, you can tell him those three words. Finally get them off your chest. Make it real.Â
âHey, Munson,â you say, still quiet enough for the words to only reach his ears. He perks up, eager to drink your next words. You have all his attention. You always have all his attention, âI-â and then you choke. He stares curiously for a few seconds, and the words just wonât come out. You want to scream â you wonder if it would work if you screeched the three words at the top of your lungs. Probably not, âIâm just really glad you didnât really hate me,â a pathetic excuse at a coverup, âAnd⌠Iâm really glad they made that first bet.âÂ
He smiles so softly, it strikes you right in the center of your chest. Right amongst your garden that not only had you tended for him, but that he had also had a hand in watering these last few months.Â
You should have told him. You love him, and you should have told him.Â
âIâm really glad I didnât hate you, too,â he remarks, squeezing your shoulder a little tighter, âActually, Iâm glad you donât hate me. Not anymore, at least.âÂ
âI never really did.â
âYou definitely sort of did. You tried to take me out with a glass, remember?âÂ
You burst into secluded laughter, hearing your friends beginning to pass around the shots but paying them no mind.Â
Eddie canât help it. He pulls you in close, placing an impulsive kiss to your temple and letting his lips linger there. Just pressed against you, breathing in the scent of you.Â
That kiss sends shivers down your spine, warmth through the center of your bones. You love him.Â
You love him, you love him, you love him.Â
So why canât you just tell him that?
âAw!â Robin pulls the two out of your bubble, âArenât they just adorable?â
âYes, yes,â Steve passes two shot glasses down to your end of the table, âAbsolutely adorable. Itâs nauseating. Also, Iâd like to go on record â I totally knew the entire time. I was just giving them the benefit of the doubt.âÂ
âPlaying the Devilâs advocate?â Argyle asks, lining up his multiple shots, âI dig it. Even though youâre totally lying right now.âÂ
âYouâre so lucky itâs your birthday, dude,â Steve rolls his eyes, clearly holding back an insult.Â
Eddieâs arm stays heavy on you, a welcome weight as you sit up straighter to take your own several shots.Â
These were your friends. Somewhere you belonged, filled with people you loved and a boy you could come home to after all your long weeks. A certain happiness that is rare, and impossible to place, and can nearly bring you to tears overwhelms you as you grab that first shot.Â
âAlso-â Steve turns to you and Eddie, âI knew that was Munsonâs shirt. The day he got it, all he did was brag about what a rare find it was. Fuck off with your Target bullshit.âÂ
Eddieâs hand leaves your shoulder long enough to reach out and thump Steve, laughter booming and vibrating against you, âSure you did, Stevie.âÂ
âTarget has some nice things,â Nancy offers with a shrug, now holding her own shot glass.Â
The seven of you all hold up the first of what will probably be too many shots tonight, the beginning of a night that will probably be remembered through killer hangovers tomorrow and possibly even captured on camera by the likes of Jonathan, Steve, and Eddie.Â
âTo Argyle,â you take the lead on the cheers, jittery and anxious as all the love you continue to withhold buzzes in your chest, lifting your small glass in his direction, âThe most lovable twenty three year old I know.âÂ
Everyone moves to drink, but Argyle immediately shakes his head, âNah, fuck that. Itâs not even my birthday yet â I demand a new toast.âÂ
He lifts his brows, staring you down and silently adding, you know what to do.Â
And yeah, you did know what to do.Â
âFine,â you sigh dramatically, leaning further forward, Eddieâs arm following. You relish in the tense silence as everyone waits for what youâre about to say instead. Even Eddie is waiting with bated breath, watching your every move, a contrasting yet easy smile on his face, âTo bets.âÂ
A booming applause from your group. Glasses tapping against the wooden table before shots are downed. Groans of disgust as the tequila hits everyonesâ tongues.Â
Eddie hardly waits before youâve both swallowed to remove his arm and grab your face, turning your cheek so that his lips can capture yours. Everyone only cheers louder, Steve letting out an obnoxious whistle as Argyle claps. Youâre surely going to get kicked out of the bar at this rate. But you really donât care as you kiss your boy back.Â
Next time. You have to tell him next time.Â
â
The night ends in more of a whisper than a bang, surprisingly.Â
Everyone has suddenly become a happy drunk, probably from all the love and good news passed around throughout the night. Itâs all warm feelings and warm hugs, tequila on the breath and love on the mind.Â
You donât even get kicked out of the bar. Your waitress only smiles at your rowdy table from time to time, and you figure that all the good vibes must be rubbing off on her.Â
Steve is the first to call it quits. Robin has drank enough to give herself the hiccups, and he says that after that, she almost always gets viciously nauseous. He wants to get in the car and home before she gets to the point, for the sake of his carâs interior not getting covered in puke.
Itâs a domino effect from there.
Argyle quickly agrees, Jonathan offers a guiding arm to Nancy, and Eddieâs arm only tightens around you. The group closes out the tab, putting off worries of everyone paying Jonathan back until tomorrow. Quick, simple, painless.Â
Until you all get outside. And goodbyes are exchanged â thatâs not the part that gets to you â with promises of seeing each other throughout the week. Everyone congratulates you and Eddie one more time for good measure, Nancy and Steve looking the most proud of you two as Argyle and Robin giggle like children about it. And itâs fine â you laugh along and itâs all good. You let them get in all their I told you soâs and know itâs all in good fun.Â
Itâs all fine. Until you two branch off from the group, Eddieâs bike across the lot from everyone elseâs cars.Â
The moment you two are alone, you canât tell if itâs the alcohol or if itâs the levity of suddenly having a moment that only belongs to you. Your mind wastes no time of reminding you of your pathetic cop out: Iâm just really glad you didnât really hate me. None of those words even sound akin to the real ones you should have said.
I love you.Â
Itâs not because your friends have found out. You know itâs not that, because just last week, right after your breakdown about whether you were smothering Eddie by half-living in his apartment, youâd had a breakdown because you realized you wanted to fully live in his apartment. Youâd had a breakdown because you hadnât grown tired of him yet, hadnât satisfied the need to see his face every morning when you first wake up yet. You hadnât gotten bored with all his lingering affectionate touches. You hadnât gotten used to the way heâd kiss you in the middle of sentences. He was still taking your breath away, two months later, and you had a breakdown because you realized it wasnât novelty or a pathetic crush making you feel this way.
You had a breakdown because you love Eddie.Â
You love him, ardently so, and you still canât find the right moment to say those words to him. He deserves to know â the entire foundation of this relationship was honesty.
Itâs all you can think about as his hand finds yours and heâs walking up to his bike, practically dragging you up to his bike as your legs forget how to work amongst nerves.Â
âSo, I was thinking,â he carries on conversation so casually, âYou want to spend the night at my place? I know you said you donât have any class-âÂ
Now. Not later, not next time. Now.Â
âHey, Eddie?â you interrupt him, stopping the two of you a few paces away from his bike.Â
His face is impossibly concerned as he looks down at you, clearly reading the worry on your face, âWhatâs up, babe?âÂ
Here goes nothing â be brave.
âI-âÂ
Why is this so hard?Â
It shouldnât be this hard, because loving Eddie is easy.Â
Itâs easy when heâs looking at you like this, like he always does. Itâs easy when he wakes up after you, and he comes into the kitchen to just wrap himself around you as you make him coffee, no matter what time of day it might be. Itâs easy when he catches your eye from across the room during outings, sometimes winking once he knows youâve found his gaze, just to see you laugh. Itâs easy when he tries to distract you from homework when youâve been spending far too many hours hunched over your laptop on his couch, coming and bugging you, laying his head on your lap and insisting his girl needs a break. Itâs easy when he kisses you and everything just feels right.Â
Itâs easy. He loves you â you love him. It isnât hard. Youâre making this hard, when it never was.Â
âI love you,â you admit quietly, voice shaking as the words leave you easily.Â
Loving Eddie is easy.Â
âI love you,â you say more surely, voice raising in volume as you find the willpower to look into his eyes, âI love you so fucking much, Eddie.âÂ
Each time you say it, you gain confidence in it. Itâs true â you love him. You love him so much, it encompasses every inch of your being. It entirely consumes you. You love him.Â
His face falls slowly, mouth agape and eyes boring into yours.
You donât wait for his response. You already have it â in the way heâs still holding your hand, in the way he holds you at the end of each night, in the way he knows both your orders at bars and coffee shops. In the way he will always put himself between you and the street when walking down the sidewalk, in the way when he roughly stops his bike at stop lights that his hand always flies back to hold onto you. In every soft touch and every expression of devotion he has offered you for not just two months, but for over a year.Â
âYou love me?â he softly asks, finally beginning to come back to life.Â
You nod without hesitation, âI love you, Eddie.âÂ
Now that youâve started saying it, you canât stop it. And each time, itâs still heavy and sweet like honey, even as the confession comes as easy as breathing. Itâs pouring from every crevice, filling up the night air around you.Â
He takes you off guard with a harsh kiss. His teeth colliding with yours, his breath stealing yours, his entire being molded with yours.Â
âSay it again,â he begs in a murmur as he pulls you in even closer, desperate as you break into a smile, âGod, please say it again, sweetheart.âÂ
âI love you,â your cheeks begin to ache, the kiss no longer even to be a considered a kiss as you two are just mindlessly pressing your smiles together, âI love you, I love you, I love you,â with each repeat of the sentiment, Eddie drinks it in, âIâm so fucking in love with you, Eddie Munson. You and your stupid lockscreen and-â
âYou do not think my lockscreen is stupid,â he pulls away, raising his eyebrows as his palms squish your cheeks, âI saw the way you looked at me. You were eating that shit up.âÂ
You bite your lip, trying to pull further away from him, but he wonât let you, âI was not-â
âYou were,â he cheekily teases, eyes bright as he looks at you, âYou were, and it was the best thing ever. Totally worth stealing Argyleâs spotlight.âÂ
âWe didnât steal Argyleâs spotlight,â you try to defend yourself.Â
âWe so did.â
You shake your head to the best of your abilities, face still between his hands, âWe⌠Okay, we sort of did.â
He grins like a young boy, all his youth and all his love on show for you as he leans down, pausing right before pressing another kiss to your lips, âWe definitely did. And itâs fair, because they fucking bet on us.âÂ
âThey did,â you agree, not even feeling guilty anymore, too consumed by the love for the man right in front of you, âThey tend to do that a lot, donât they?âÂ
âThey do.âÂ
He finally surges forward, lips sealing against yours one last time. Itâs less messy this time, more meaningful. A bit more patient as he takes the time to fit his lips into yours, just as they should be.Â
You have an audience. Youâre completely oblivious until you hear the cheering from across the parking lot, snapping apart to both glance at where Argyle and Robin are jumping up and down, screaming their heads off.Â
âHell yeah, my dudes!â Argyleâs voice booms as Robin only produces incoherent coos to echo.Â
Nancy, Steve, and Jonathan are all just watching silently, shaking their heads, but you can also see their grins. Almost as radiant as you felt.
Steve finally cups his hands around his mouth, sending his voice to you over Argyleâs continuing whooping, âGet a room!âÂ
Perfectly in sync, you and Eddie both throw up a hand with your middle fingers raised in their direction, still half tangled in each other.Â
Your eyes find Nancy. Sheâs looking at you two with overwhelming pride, a certain satisfaction that breathes out the relief of finally. This may be a weight off not only your chest but Eddieâs as well, yet you canât help but imagine just how she feels. How many nights she had stomached Eddieâs rambles about you leading up to this very moment. The pay off must be unimaginable.Â
Finally.Â
âCongrats on finally getting the girl, Munson!â she calls out, but her eyes are on you, winking.Â
You see it now. Why theyâre best friends. How all her best parts and Eddieâs best parts overlap and compliment one another perfectly.Â
Jonathan is the final one to yell across the parking lot at you two, one arm slung around Nancy as the other moves to unlock his car, even his usually grumpy face showing signs of elation in that timid smile, âNow take your girl, home, dude. Spare the rest of us the gory details.âÂ
Eddieâs laugh reverberates against you physically from how he holds you, also making its way to burrow deep within your chest where all that liquid bliss belongs, as he throws his entire head back and makes you finally focus on just him again. Home. Not just his apartment, but him. You realize now that itâs simply wherever he goes. Where he leads, youâll follow. It could be a shitty dorm room with a mattress that leaves your back aching, it could be a comforting apartment that holds you âhostageâ for twenty four hours straight â it doesnât really matter. Wherever he is, home is. Heâs your home; you love him, he knows you love him, and heâs your home.Â
When his laughter finally fades, and heâs looking at you again, his dimples are prominent as ever through his whisper, âJust in case youâve forgotten â Iâm very much in love with you, too, sweetheart.âÂ
His lips meet yours for good measure.Â
Itâs been the longest week of your life, the longest year, but youâre finally home.
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twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)
HOUR TWENTY FOUR
in which you and eddie win the bet.
â tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn
â warnings: strong language, upside down does not exist, minors dni
â wc: 7k+
â a/n: oh, holy fuck. holy fucking shit. i have no words, because i know it's not really over yet (we still have an epilogue, friends! don't forget that!) but... i did it. i finished another fic. that's just... insane?
thank you to everyone who has been so very kind and supportive of this fic. i owe you all the world. i'm sure i'll either make a sappy post between now and thursday, or i'll get extra sappy in the a/n on the epilogue, but for now - please know you have all my love. <3
masterlist.
spotify playlist.
â previous part, next partâˇ
24:00 âââââââââââââââ ă
24:00
DINGUS: hey, i facetimed them for last hourâs proof. had to work out when they wanted me to head over and pick her up.Â
BIRDIE: both still alive? both still well?Â
DINGUS: so it seemed.Â
ARGYLEÂ đ: what a relief! I knew they had it in them
JOHNNY BOY: They still have to last one more hour.Â
NANCE: Theyâll last the hour. Have a little faith, babe.Â
JOHNNY BOY: Still donât like the fact weâve just started calling them instead of requesting the photo proof. I mean, how do we not know theyâre lying? Did you talk to both of them when YOU called, Nance?Â
NANCE: Yes, I told you guys that.
NANCE: Besides, you guys already know that Eddie hates having his picture taken. Weâre lucky we ever got picture proof to begin with.
DINGUS: also i JUST facetimed them??? physically saw them?? your lack of trust in me and nance kind of hurts jon
BIRDIE: @NANCE hey can you call ME babe next?Â
HOUR TWENTY FOUR â 4:00 PM
âHey there, love birds. Glad to see you didnât kill each other.â
Steve.Â
You wait for Eddieâs arm to leave you, for him to put space between the two of you, but he doesnât. He keeps you pressed flush to his side as if the sudden arrival of a friend doesnât make the slightest bit of difference.Â
âHey, Harrington,â he even casually greets first.Â
Heâs making no move to get up off the floor.Â
Just a little bit longer. Let me sit here and live in this moment a little bit longer.
âMunson,â Steve nods to Eddie before setting his sights on you, âDoll. Nice to see you, kind of glad Iâm not having to fish you out of the canals.âÂ
You feel it â Eddieâs arm tenses behind you ever so slightly at Steveâs nickname. Clearly, itâs still a sore spot for him to work through.Â
âI was feeling generous,â Eddie shrugs as if he hadnât just revealed a flash of jealousy to you. Youâre not even sure if he knows that you felt it. But it was there, in the slightest tightening of his grip and the flexing of his bicep behind your shoulder.
âGenerous? I think you were feeling friendly,â Steve waves his hand between the two of you, as if he thought he was pointing out the obvious.Â
If he thought this was close, heâd faint at the imagery of you on the kitchen counter, Eddieâs face between your legs as he begged for you to let him touch you.Â
Just as you had noticed Eddieâs jealousy, he notices the way you suddenly heat up, shifting in your seat ever so slightly. That pull on the corner of his lips tells you all you need to know. You kind of hate how easily the two of you can finally read each other. You kind of love the way heâs looking at you as if heâs thinking the exact same thing.Â
âDo I get my free punch now?â you finally speak up, tone flat as you muster a glare in Steveâs direction. Youâre forgoing all polite and pretend oblivion.Â
Every single one of you here knows what happened. The bare bones of it, at least.
Eddie looks at you curiously, âExcuse me?âÂ
Steve only grins, holding out his arms as if welcoming you, âTake your best shot.âÂ
You stand quickly, and Steve even flinches. He clearly had thought it was all a bit, but you were deathly serious. After the night youâd had, you wanted to punch something, anything.Â
âHold on,â Eddie fumbles to follow you as you stand in front of Steve, your eyebrow cocked as you pause, âHold on, why are you punching Harrington?âÂ
âOh, I donât know. âSheâd never go for me, why would she go for you?ââ you remind him, and fully expect for hurt to flash across his face. Instead, merriment continues to tug on his lips, âThat ring a bell?â
âIt might,â Eddie drawls, slowing down his movement to stand more casually, no longer in a rush to break up the fight. His eyes flash with something, with some sort of affection as your hand curls into a fist threateningly and you continue to glare daggers at Steve, ââS cute to see you defending my honor, sweetheart.âÂ
Your knees almost physically wobble. The nickname that once struck such anger and irritation in you has become your favorite thing, something that can so easily elicit such a physical reaction. Any taunting has dissipated from his tone when he falls from his tongue now. Adoration takes its place.
Steve looks between you two for a second before his face twists up, âGod, I think I liked it better when you two hated each other.âÂ
âNever really hated each other,â Eddie corrects Steve, but his eyes never leave yours.Â
âRight, must have slipped my mind.â
One of the questions that had been torturing you has now been answered â Eddie would, in fact, be acting differently around your friends. Itâs almost enough that you feel no need to punch Steve.
Almost.
âWhere do you want it?â you tear your gaze from Eddie, looking back to Steve now expectantly, âCheek? Nose? Chin? Jaw?â
Steveâs eyes widen. âMy God, have you just been dreaming of this moment for the last hour?â
âI have.âÂ
Eddie leans back against the wall, still watching and still smirking as he crosses his arms.Â
âI know Eddieâs your boyfriend now but-â
âHeâs not my boyfriend,â you correct him quickly, but something inside of you twists at saying that.
He wasnât your boyfriend. You two had just agreed youâd need time apart before even thinking of exploring what this new chapter will bring you two. So why does it feel so wrong? Why do you suddenly feel like a pathetic teenager, desperate to bestow some cheesy title upon her crush?Â
Eddie nods when you suddenly look at him, as if he can read your mind, âIâm not her boyfriend. Just⌠her scary dog.â
Scary dog privilege. And God, does that moment feel light years in the past now. Years ago rather than hours ago. His promise to protect you suddenly rings truer now. If you ever did find yourself in trouble, you knew heâd answer your call. You knew now why his protection only extended to you. You finally, finally understood.
âScary dog?â Steve squints at Eddie, and his judgmental demeanor has fully returned, âWhat the fuck does that even mea-â
He doesnât get to finish the sardonic sentiment. The slap of your palm interrupts him.
âOw!â he yelps out, head snapping from the force of the hit and hands already coming up defensively.Â
Eddie pushes off the wall the moment Steveâs hands are up in the air, âLay a hand on her in retaliation, Harrington, and Iâm breaking your arm.âÂ
All the joking, cocky demeanor has faded. Like he had said â scary dog privilege. It applies to more than just pricks at the bar.
âIâm not,â Steve grumbles, rubbing at the red imprint now singing his cheek, âJesus Christ, I said a punch.âÂ
You fight a smile, âI donât know how to throw a punch.â
âI can teach you,â Eddie pipes up, now standing beside you, hovering in your orbit.Â
âDonât-â Steve puts out a warning finger, â-encourage her. I only said you could punch me because I knew you couldnât throw a punch!â he continues to cradle his face, now pouting at you, âDo you feel better now?âÂ
You only answer with a triumphant smile. Because your palm is stinging, and you know violence isnât the answer, but yeah. You do feel a little bit better.Â
âI donât,â Eddie hums. He only has to take one step forward for Steve to back up, throwing out defensive eyes as he narrows his eyes, âThink I deserve to get a slap in, too, Stevie.âÂ
âFuck that,â Steve spits, eyes wide with genuine fear that makes you want to giggle, âYou do know how to throw a punch. If Iâm letting you get a free one in, I deserve twenty four hours notice.âÂ
âThen consider this your notice.âÂ
Is this what I had always been missing out on?Â
You always knew Eddie was playful with everyone, had witnessed how he joked with friends, but youâd never been included. The thought that this was the new normal makes your heart nearly burst. To be on Eddieâs side finally, to be in his good graces properly, makes you feel as if you belong more than any private movie night with Steve or impromptu dinner date with Robin. More than any night out with Nancy. More than any smoke session with Argyle, and more than any literature debate with Jonathan.
Itâs as if Eddie was the missing link. You never felt you belonged, because youâd always ached for your rightful spot at his side, not just amongst the group.
The three of you stand in a makeshift circle and every single one of you smiles. Even Steve, through his slipping pout and swollen cheek, is grinning.Â
Suddenly, itâs not quite as heavy as it once felt.
Everything has changed. Leaving now is not leaving forever.Â
âIâd pay to see that,â you comment, taking a daring step to bump shoulders with Eddie. His eyes meet yours, his dimples come to life, and suddenly â youâre home, âThink I can get a front row seat to you beating Steveâs ass?âÂ
Steve starts to protest but Eddie only nods eagerly, âI think that can be arranged.âÂ
âI am once again reminding you two that I liked your screaming matches more than whatever this,â his hand flails, motioning to the way you two are standing closer to one another than you are him, âwhole teaming-up-against-me bit is.â
âWeâre not dating,â youâre reiterating as Eddie laughs out, âStop being a crybaby.âÂ
You look at one another again. Another foot in the door of your newfound home, another look into your new place to rest your head. Itâs as if youâre just now realizing youâve spent the entire year missing Eddie, even as he was right there in front of you.Â
âWell, God save us all when you two are finally dating,â Steve mumbles with a shake of his head.
âIf-â Eddie starts to correct, but you stop him.
Itâs not an if when it comes to you two dating, you decide. Itâs a when.
âIâll send a gift basket when the day comes,â you snark. The look that Eddie sends you could heal every wound ever left behind, right then and there.Â
Youâre home. When Eddie throws his arm around your shoulders and Steve rolls his eyes at you two (affectionately, even if heâd deny it), you know youâre home.
â
But then, you actually do have to go home.Â
You try to put it off. The three of you occupy Eddieâs living room for a while, Steve complaining about the way Robin woke him up endlessly throughout the night and how he never did finish that assignment due in his English Literature class. It reminds you that life will continue on; you have to go back to work and school, deal with daily annoyances that should seem bigger than all thatâs happened with Eddie tonight, but they donât. They all seem minuscule now, really.Â
âDo we still have to send photo proof?â Eddie asks once Steveâs tirade has waned. Youâre sat between the two boys, Steveâs body turned almost completely to face the two of you while you and Eddie slowly sink back into the cushions.Â
Youâre sure if Steve knew the activities that had taken place on this couch, he would not be sitting so comfortably. If at all.
Steve sighs at the mention of the bet, âYou probably should. Jonathanâs been antsy about it the entire time. Me and Nance tried to cover for you guys, lying about calling and stuff but-â
âWhy would you lie?â you inquire, uncurling a bit from your overly comfortable position to stop from falling asleep and actually participate in the conversation.Â
âBecause, unlike the other idiots,â Steve gives a pointed look at you and then Eddie, âWe had a hunch about what was going on here. And itâs about time, by the way.âÂ
You think over his words for a second before you look at Eddie with sudden embarrassment, âHave you- Oh my God, have you been telling Nancy what weâve been doing?âÂ
âWhat?â Eddie sits up straighter, looking just as panicked, âNo. No, absolutely not, I-â
âWhat have you guys been doing?â
Both of you ignore Steve as Eddie continues on.
â-just spoke to her on the phone once or twice. But I didnât give her any details. Have you been telling Steve what we did?âÂ
Steve, still being ignored, repeats himself, âWhat have you guys been doing?âÂ
âAbsolutely not,â you scrunch your nose at the thought of being that honest with Steve. You loved him, truly, but not enough to tell him about those kinds of things, âIâd rather sleep in the canals than tell him.âÂ
âWhat have you guys been doing?âÂ
Eddieâs eyebrows shoot up, and he mockingly stabs himself, âOuch, sweetheart.â
âNot like that,â you backtrack, but more casually as the worry of Steve and Nancy knowing the truth, âI just meant-â
Eddie interrupts with a hand on your knee and a smile on his face, âI know what you meant. Iâm just fucking with you. I feel the same way with Nance.âÂ
âGuys?â Steve grows further impatient, âI- What the fuck did you guys do? Oh my God, is it even safe to sit on this fucking couch right now?âÂ
âYou donât wanna know,â you say.
âNo, it isnât,â Eddie says.Â
It earns him a slap on his stomach as he leans over in laughter at the way Steve launches out of his seat.
âYou guys- No. No fucking way,â Steve brushes at the back of his jeans, as if theyâre contaminated, âNope. No way. Youâre just fucking with me, Munson.âÂ
âAm I?âÂ
Another slap lands on Eddieâs shoulder as he laughs harder.Â
âSteve,â you turn to your friend, trying to smile sweetly, âSit back down.âÂ
âNo.â
âYou just said you donât believe-âÂ
âWe should get going,â Steve insists through his blush, âYou two should take your final picture and we should get going.âÂ
Eddie finally stops chuckling, leaning back up and against the armrest, his ankle cross in front of your shins as he stretches his legs out and sighs, âGod, you should see your face right now, Harrington.âÂ
Steveâs scowl deepens, âItâs not funny. Take the fucking photo so we can go.âÂ
You make no move to dig out your phone, because you know. You know once you take this photo, youâll be leaving, and this will all be over. Once you step foot back into that hallway, time apart begins. Learning how to navigate this new unknown with Eddie begins. It terrifies you, it saddens you, it exhausts you. You hadnât been prepared for this part of the night.
Even before the confessions, you hadnât given much thought to the ending of the twenty four hours. Youâd assumed it would end in bloodshed and a larger than life fight, probably before the clock even ran out. Youâd never assumed it could end in laughing, inside jokes between you and Eddie, in something not only bitter but also sweet.Â
âPhone, sweetheart,â Eddie whispers as he leans forward and holds out his hand with the palm up, âBefore we traumatize the poor guy any further.âÂ
âI will wait in the car, I swear to God-â Steve starts to protest as you finally dig your phone out of your pocket.Â
Youâre looking down, unable to meet Eddieâs gaze in fear of him picking up on your faint sadness, as you mumble, âGet your panties out of their twist, Steve. Jesus.âÂ
Eddie snorts at that, right as you pass your phone over.Â
Steve doesnât comment when you willingly tell Eddie the code to unlock your phone, or the way you let him hold it rather than you. He doesnât comment on the arm that Eddie seems to constantly keep around you now.Â
Heâs doing it while he can. Cherishing being able to hold you at any capacity before you leave and the distance begins. The time apart you two agreed upon wonât be for forever, but it still kills a buried part of him that had just begun to sprout roots again. A thing made of hope that he planned to tend to this time around.Â
âSo, how do we wanna do this?â he asks in a strained tone, as if asking that question and throttling you two closer to the finish line physically pains him.
You hope it pains him, selfishly, because it pains you. âNo idea.â
âWeâve gotta make it a good one.â
âWe do.âÂ
Eddie suddenly lights up with an idea as his thumb sweeps across your screen, opening your photosâ app and scrolling up to the first picture you two had taken at the beginning of this night.Â
âUp for a trip down nostalgia road?â he teases, wiggling his brows as he holds the phone up for you to get a clearer view of the picture.
Eddie, flipping off the camera and scowling. You, hardly smiling with a pathetic thumbs up.Â
âYeah,â you breathe out, nodding slowly.Â
Itâs unspoken, what happens next. The camera app is opened and Eddie returns your phone to your grasp. The two of you resituate to mimic the photo as closely as possible while Steve fiddles with some of the items on Eddieâs entertainment center.Â
You stretch out your arm, put your thumb up into view, blink away any tears burning the back of your eyes. Eddieâs hand has taken position as well.Â
You snap the photo before you can think too hard on it.Â
âThink thatâll be the winner?â Eddie curiously asks as you immediately bring the phone close to your face, swiping to view the snapshot just taken. And when you do, with the refreshed memory of that first photo, your heart physically aches.Â
Almost an identical image. At a quick glance, itâs the same Eddie and the same you from the first one. But the similarities fade the moment you look closer. Eddie isnât scowling, not genuinely â those damn dimples are even making an appearance as his eyes were squinted up in a valiant effort to fight off the smile he wears now. And your smile, your smile, is no longer half-assed. Itâs something real, something full, something even a bit sad. The same face you wear when saying goodbye to an old friend and trying to hold back any tears until their train has long since left the station. You can almost physically see your vines in this photo wrapping around the two of you, clinging so desperately to avoid any separation. Time apart. Youâre regretting suggesting that now.Â
Itâs a cute photo. A photo of two friends, if you could call yourself and Eddie that now.Â
âAll done?â Steve interrupts the moment, both of you and Eddie only staring at the photo. You take a peak at him out of your peripherals, and you can see it written plainly on his face â heâs feeling all the same emotions as you. Something sad, something nostalgic, something reluctant. âNot to rush the process but⌠I may or may not have a hot date tonight to get ready for.âÂ
Eddie tears his gaze from the photo, âA hot date?â
âA hot date,â Steve nods, a boyish grin gracing his lips, âAnd Iâm picking her up in⌠t-minusâŚâ he pauses, checking his watch, âThree hours.âÂ
âSmart move. Charm her before I rearrange your face and all.âÂ
Steve throws his head back in a groan, âYou two wonât be letting that go any time soon, will you?âÂ
âNope,â you chime in as you swipe to open up the groupchat, not offering Steve a single glance until youâve sent off the final addition of photo proof to the rest of your friends. You consider adding some sort of sarcastic comment, some well earned bragging and a boisterous told you so, but you donât.Â
It doesnât feel like youâve won. Leaving this apartment, this battleground, with all the new bruises and healed wounds youâve acquired over the span of the twenty four hours doesnât taste like victory. Really, it tastes like⌠nothing.Â
Thereâs no victory, no solid ending for you to cling to. Itâs simply ending and thereâs still thousands of words you have to say to Eddie. You need more time, another twenty four hours, to fill with every single thing you never told him. More casual confessions of honesty, more hours wasted in his bed, more insignificant bickering to partake in. Itâs all on your tongue and desperate for attention, and yet, you know you canât succumb to it.Â
You have to go. Itâs the last thing you want to do, but you have to.Â
Steve checks his phone when it buzzes with the notification of your message you sent and opens his mouth, no doubt about to comment on your lack of words with the message, but youâre already standing. Itâs like ripping off a bandaid. You need to get it over with, get out of this apartment before you decide youâd rather sink right into these couch cushions and decay just to ensure you never have to really leave.Â
Eddieâs quick to follow.Â
âLetâs go,â you say to Steve, grabbing up your bag, not looking at Eddie at the risk of losing all composure.Â
Neither boy fights you, following you right up to the front door. Steve leads, opening it back up as reality slams you in the chest. As if thereâs an invisible barrier here, and you know that in crossing it, youâll be leaving a piece of yourself behind in apartment 2C.Â
Leaving now is not leaving forever.Â
But it sure does feel like it.Â
Steve awkwardly looks over your shoulder at Eddie, some silent communication you only see his half of as he shrugs and does a timid wave, turning to leave.Â
One foot hangs midair, your toes beginning to push through that barrier, when Eddie grabs you.Â
âHey,â he breathes as he wraps his fingers around your bicep, forcing you to turn to face him. You let him, your body moving to his accord but your eyes still not meeting his, âYou good?âÂ
You take a deep breath in through your nose, âMe? Yeah. Yeah, Iâm great. Iâm⌠Iâm good.âÂ
âAre you sure?â
âPositive?â
âWill you look at me, then?âÂ
Reluctantly, so very reluctantly, your eyes meet his. Big, brown doe eyes. This close to them, you can see the way they shine to match yours. You both probably look insane to Steve right now, but you donât care. Between the sleep deprivation and all the emotions youâve had to experience over the last day, the tears are well earned.
You almost reach out and kiss him. You almost press up onto your toes and put your lips on his, almost pour every emotion youâre feeling in the moment into a far from innocent peck.Â
But you donât.
âWe did it,â you croak blandly, âWe won the bet.âÂ
As if the Universe is screaming in agreement, you can hear a chime in the distance signifying the hour. Probably the church you recall passing in the middle of the night when the two of you had ventured off to the parking garage. It almost feels as if itâs mocking you.Â
âWe did it,â he echoes as his grip on your bicep loosens. You expect him to let it fall back to his side, nearly begging out loud for him to retract his touch from you so you donât do something stupid like stay.
You swallow down thick emotions, just like molasses, âI guess Iâll see you around, yeah?âÂ
Time. You two needed time apart.Â
âYeah,â he sighs, as he does the one thing you had somehow hoped he wouldnât yet yearned for ardently â the hand that had wrapped around your arm now cups your cheek, thumb stroking your skin so softly, you nearly melt in his doorway, âIâll see you around, sweetheart.âÂ
It doesnât taste like victory, yet it doesnât taste quite like loss. Itâs bittersweet.Â
You still donât kiss him. And he doesnât kiss you, even as his touch against your cheek lingers so heavily before he pulls away.Â
You cross the barrier and find you were right. You feel that piece of you tear off and flutter to the ground, and you begin to wonder when youâll have the chance to come back and reclaim not just it, but Eddie.
â
Steve didnât speak much on the drive back to your dorm, and youâre sort of grateful.Â
If you were a good friend, youâd ask more about his date. Youâd get him giddy as he spills the details about this girl and his plans for the night, chastise and tease him all in good fun. Youâd be smiling and making plans for coffee tomorrow morning so he could tell you all about how the date went.Â
But youâre not a good friend.
You sit in your silence the entire drive, and you pick at your nails, and you selfishly stay focused on Eddie. On all of your own qualms and all your own issues, worrying about what comes next and already feeling your chest tighten the moment you start to think about when see you around will come.
The two of you never discussed that, did you? There was no discussion of just how much time was needed apart.Â
Steve shifts the car into park in the west lot, right outside your building, âAlright, stop making your cuticles bleed for two seconds and tell me whatâs wrong.âÂ
Your hands pause exactly as he requests, caught red-handed. âNothingâs wrong.âÂ
âSomethingâs obviously wrong. I told you to go get him â and yet, heâs still not your boyfriend.âÂ
âItâs complicated,â your voice finally breaks. Thereâs no tears this time, just confusion and desperation clawing at your throat.Â
Because, was it complicated? Was it really?
The last year was what had been complicated. All the pretending and the fights and the tension. All the false beliefs and all the lies overlapping with one another. That was complicated. But this? The feelings you harbored and finally acknowledged for the boy you just left behind?Â
That wasnât really complicated.Â
And Steve knows this, you can hear it in his sigh, âI think thatâs the issue.âÂ
âWhat?â you turn your head towards him, scrunch your brows, even your breathing and try to shoo away the image of Eddieâs wet eyes.Â
You wish you would have kissed him.Â
âLook, i just think you two keep making things complicated when they should be simple-âÂ
You didnât want to hear it. Childish as it might be, you do not want to have to hear this speech. Because you know Steveâs right.
âIâll see you later, Steve.â
âWait-â
You donât wait. You slam the door in his face once youâve got your footing outside of his car, truly earning your title of bad friend.
Awful. You werenât just a bad friend, you were an awful friend.Â
And yet you canât think on it, leaving it be until you had the time to properly dwell on how youâd apologize later. All you care about now is getting inside your dorm, moping and being miserable on your own. Your strides are longer and faster than they were even when youâd backtracked to Eddieâs apartment, determined to get behind closed doors and to properly mourn all that had been gained and all that had been lost in the last twenty four hours.Â
Twenty four hours ago, you were reluctant to even step foot in Eddieâs apartment. And now, itâs the only place you really want to be.Â
Luck refuses to be on your side as you slam into your dorm room, sweaty and tired and just fucking emotional, only to find your roommate there. There will be no dramatic crying, no cinematic scene with your back pressed to the door as you fight back sobs, it seems.Â
âYou look rough,â is all she notes, sparing you a second glance before she returns to whatever she was tasking on at her desk. Her makeup, you think.
Good. Maybe sheâll be heading out, leaving you to suffer alone like you wanted.Â
âYeah,â is all you can answer her as the door clicks shut behind you.Â
Roughâs a good way to put it.Â
âThink youâll be here tonight?â she asks, still distracted, âTroy and I are hanging out today â he spent the night here last night, by the way â and if youâre gone again, I was thinking about inviting him back over. Only if youâre cool with it, or already have plans, though. Our RA has this final and I didnât even have to sneak him in last night-â
She continues on her rambles, never looking your way as you drop your bag onto your bed, and quickly lift yourself to lay right next to it.Â
Normal. You were having to go back to fucking normal. Your worries were no longer revolving around Eddie or making it through the next hour, no longer preoccupied with keeping your friends up to date in order to ensure a payout of five hundred dollars â now, you just had to worry about boys named Troy and possible room checks by your RA. Finals to be taken, essays to be finished, shifts to be covered at the diner so youâd have enough cash to go out with your friends next weekend.Â
You should be relieved. But it all just feels impossibly heavy.Â
Your roommate catches on quickly, and when you only reply to let her know youâll be here tonight, she stops talking. She focuses on finishing her makeup and gathering her things, hardly even offering you a goodbye as you shift to curl up more comfortably in the center of your mattress.Â
You should also know better than what you decide to do next. You canât help it, though, as you tug your phone out of your pocket and unlock it. You donât listen to the voice inside your head that screams stop as you click on your photosâ app. Ignore the animal inside that whines as you scroll, and you click on the very first photo of you and Eddie.Â
Itâs painful, but you have nothing better to do in your solitude. You donât linger on the first photo too long, still being fresh in your mind, before quickly swiping along.Â
The set of matching photos you and Eddie took of one another, black and white socks covering touching toes visible in each one. You nearly laugh at the Darth Vader figurine both of you took turns holding. You nearly cry when you realize you were, in fact, smiling in your photo. A small one, a forced one, but there nonetheless.Â
The selfie from the bar, your amaretto sour and Eddieâs whiskey & coke lifted towards the camera. The way both of you had tried to look annoyed, over exaggerated and furrowed brows paired with pouting lips. Your thumb swipes subconsciously over the photo for a second too long, and youâre startled when you realized it was a live photo. The moment after the photo was taken, Eddieâs eyes had moved to look at you. And in that live photo, you watched every ounce of annoyance evaporate. Leaving behind something you recognized now. Leaving behind eyes sparkling with a brief glimpse of adoration.Â
Thereâs something else you better recognize now in the next photo. The picture youâd taken when Eddie had locked himself into his room, only opening up long enough to insist you took the photo, the one that guaranteed you your money. You had been right â there was a flood of regret on his face. You hadnât imagined it. But you had also been wrong; he was never looking at your own rotted vines and mourning them; he was looking at his own, tethered and shredded, regretting that he had ever taken an axe to them. You donât press down to see this live photo. You donât want to witness that door slamming in your face again.Â
The two photos taken in his bed. The one in which both your faces are scrunched from the flash, in which you can see the physical wall between you two. And the one in the dark, where you both wear tired smiles, unaware of the night to come.
The photo on the bike, a helmet mostly covering your blushing cheeks, but not Eddieâs.Â
The photo from the parking garage, meant just for you two.Â
The photos from Bettyâs. You donât linger on the one of you; you do linger on the one of him.Â
Each swipe only makes your heart ache more viciously, painful and sharp reminders of the night you had had. You donât have to press down on another single photo to witness the live outplay of it â each memory is running through your mind in real time as you retrace your steps of the night. Twenty four hours, twenty four steps. With each photo, you watch yourself grow more relaxed, watch smiles come easier without your awareness and finally pinpoint all the care Eddie had been looking at you with the entire time.Â
You notice the lack of photos from the last few hours. You nearly scorn yourself for it, but there had been no time. There was no time for memories frozen in time amongst all that hard honesty and those sacrilegious revelations.
Except there was one more moment in time frozen for you. Youâre quick to exit the photo app finally, leaving behind that picture of Eddie with full cheeks only to open up your text messages.
Your text thread with him. Filled to the brim with bad pastry jokes and underlying need. You remember that urgent want to comfort him, to remind him he was enough. To erase all the hurt and all the old scars caused by a life from before your time with him you still hadnât become fully privy to.Â
Youâre still rereading the last message, bet you wouldnât say that to my face, when suddenly a new message appears.Â
EDDIE: Make it home okay?Â
Space and time. They are the last things you want, that you need from him right now.Â
YOU: yep. my roommate just left.Â
EDDIE: Is your dorm bed as comfortable as you remember?Â
YOU: like sleeping on a cloud.Â
You wish you were still in his bed. You wish you were back at the beginning, with him rather than all alone.Â
EDDIE: Oh shit, youâre trying to sleep? Sorry
EDDIE: Iâll stop bothering you and leave you to it. Sweet dreams.Â
No, you nearly scream at your phone screen, come back and bother me. Bother me for the rest of my days for all I care.Â
Youâd never sleep another wink if it meant having him. You remember what you told him about starting over, starting fresh. And maybe taking a much needed nap would offer that. Maybe sleeping for more than thirty minutes at a time would be the smart choice, letting you awake with a clearer mind and better intentions.
But you donât want that. The animal inside still clings to all that has happened.Â
Something about that makes you brave.
YOU: i never said that, and youâre not bothering me.
EDDIE: Didnât you say you wanted a nap earlier?
YOU: that was earlier. iâm wide awake now.Â
An internal battle continues to take place. Your mind whispers liar, knowing damn well that if you put down the phone and turned your cheek to bury into your pillow, youâd be out like a light within seconds.Â
EDDIE: Ah. I see.Â
You fiddle with your thumbs for a second, stomach churning as you try to come up with a response to keep the conversation going. Technically, when you had said the two of you needed time apart after all that had happened, it should have meant interactions like this as well. Texting each other was not offering each other space.
But heâd started it. That was on him.
YOU: do you remember what i said about space? and starting over?Â
EDDIE: I do. Iâm not very good with giving you space, it seems.Â
YOU: well, considering youâre on the other side of town, iâd say weâve got the physical sense of space down.Â
Thereâs a pause in his replies that causes you to sit up. A falter. You curse him for not having a smartphone as well, for not having the privilege of being notified whether he was just taking his time typing or if he had put the phone down. You really hoped it was the former, practically wished upon every star that that was what was happening. You hoped he was glued to his phone as you were yours.Â
Maybe he still had that photo heâd taken a few hours ago, the one you swore youâd heard him take as you dozed off. Maybe he was still staring at it like you had done with all of your photos.Â
EDDIE: About thatâŚ
You stare at the message, the hidden meaning behind it completely lost on you.Â
YOU: About what?Â
EDDIE: Iâm not home right now.Â
Your heart clenches.Â
YOU: Youâre not?
EDDIE: Iâm not.Â
YOU: Eddie, where the hell are you right now?
Your mind reels with all the possible choices. He could be at the bar, at the parking garage, at Nancyâs place. He could be anywhere.Â
But then he only sends a picture in response, and you know where he is.Â
You nearly topple into three other students from how you sprint down the hallway. You donât even grab your key to your dorm room, skipping the elevators and nearly throwing yourself down the few flights of stairs in haste. You donât care how your lungs cry out, you donât care how your thighs burn, you donât care how your shoulder aches from how roughly you slam open that front door of the building. You donât care about the strange looks you get on your way out. You donât care about the odd angle you twisted your ankle in on that last step.Â
The only thing you care about is the boy standing there, helmet off and balanced on the seat of his parked motorcycle that he leans on, arms crossed as his eyes light up at the erratic sight of you.Â
You donât even check for any traffic in the parking lot as you make your way to him.Â
âIâm sorry,â he calls out once youâre close enough to hear him, âI know we said give it time and shit, but you left, and I just-âÂ
He doesnât get the chance to finish his sentence.Â
When you make it to Eddie, youâre in no business to carry anymore regret with you. This time, you donât just yearn to kiss him, to wrap your arms around him, to pour out all those emotions you were feeling across tongues.Â
You do it. You kiss him, uncaring for all the stares of fellow students. He nearly falls backwards into his bike from the force of you colliding against him, but heâs quick to catch himself as his hands find your waist.Â
âYou-â you pull back, gasping a bit to start to scold him before his lips follow and interrupt you, âFucking-â Push and pull. You retreat, and he follows, âIdiot.âÂ
His hands squeeze around you, tugging you a stumbling step closer so that your chests are flushed against one another.
âI am,â he mumbles against your lip, the tip of his nose grazing over your cheek as he refuses to let anymore distance be put between the two of you, âI am a fucking idiot. Iâm sorry.âÂ
âStop apologizing.âÂ
His hands cradle your face and he kisses you this time, reaffirming that he felt everything you had. All those words you hadnât said, all his own admissions heâd withheld, spill between clashing teeth and eager lips. He takes your breath away, shamelessly, greedily. And you let him. You offer all the air thatâs left in your lungs up to him on a silver platter.Â
When the two of you finally pull apart, eyes opening wide and foreheads pressing tightly to one another, heâs grinning like a fool.Â
âSo, I had a better idea than time apart,â he murmurs, âWhat if we just⌠start over?âÂ
âStart over?â you question wearily.Â
He nods, âYeah. Just⌠Just pretend this last year and all our bullshit didnât happen. Start fresh. Let me not be a massive dick this time.âÂ
His hands drop from your face as he takes a step back, taking you in fully. You want to shy under his gaze, but instead you can only melt. His fondness is a warmth like no other, capturing you by the crown of your head and pouring down over you in waves.Â
âOkay,â you finally agree, feeling your own cheeks spread and ache in a lovesick smile. Coming home, thatâs what this felt like. âOkay, we can start over.âÂ
âGreat,â the homecoming warmth only spreads as he straightens up his posture. A very serious look overcomes his face, laced with determination for a brief second until he relaxes it into a friendly smile, doleful eyes meeting yours as every single flower he had ever planted in your chest blooms like a spring morning. He sticks his hand out, nearly making you snort, âHi, Iâm Eddie.âÂ
You canât help it. His front door is open, a warm glow within welcoming you.Â
You ignore his hand entirely as you impulsively reach up and interlock your fingers at the nape of his neck, tugging him into you for another kiss.Â
He pulls back far too soon for your liking, but his hands have also found their spot against the small of your back, âDo you greet all the new strangers you meet like this?âÂ
You roll your eyes, âShut up.âÂ
He pulls you back in for a chaste peck, and it tastes like home.Â
âI like you,â you whisper into the limited space between the two of you, âI mean it. I like you so fucking much, Edward Munson.âÂ
He grins, cracking your chest wide open with hope, âThe feelingâs mutual.â
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twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)
HOUR TWENTY THREE
in which you never make it past the stairs.
â tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn
â warnings: strong language, single use of 'Y/N', upside down does not exist, minors dni
â wc: 5.4k+
masterlist.
spotify playlist.
â previous part, next partâˇ
23:00 ââââââââââââââă
â 24:00
âBe honest with me, Eddie. Do you like her?âÂ
Eddie feels pathetic when all he can do is hum in response to Nancyâs voice over the line, mind moving in slow motion as looks down at you. Youâre here, in his apartment and curled up on his couch. Youâre here, and youâre his for twenty four hours, if he can just stop fucking it all up.Â
He should have known the hum wouldnât satisfy his best friend.
âNo. I want a real answer,â she scolds, and he can imagine her frustrated scowl she wears as he gives her nothing. But he just feels defeated â heâs at a loss for words right now, âDonât over think it â do you really like her?â
No. No, I do not just like her. I fucking love her. And I really shouldnât, but I do, and I canât change that.Â
âI⌠I think I do.âÂ
âI just said to not think about it. Itâs a yes or no question, Munson. Donât⌠Fine, donât be honest with me. Be honest with yourself. So Iâm going to ask you one last time, and I recommend you donât think about it, because every time you do, it seems like all you do is push her further away. Do you, Edward Munson, like Y/N?âÂ
âI do. I really fuckinâ do.â
More than Nancy could understand. More than even he understands. He likes you, more than just in the sense of what Nancy was referring to. He likes you as a person. He likes the way you challenge him, that you wonât take his shit. He likes the way you keep up with him even if you are motivated by a fire of hatred heâd built with his own two hands. He likes the way you clearly care about people, evident with how you treat everyone else. He likes the way you never cease to surprise him. He just⌠likes everything about you. Every single part of you he has been gifted with witnessing even when heâs undeserving, he fucking adores.
He never stood a chance. From the moment he first met you in that bar, it was always going to end this way for Eddie. All you had to do was lay your eyes on him, and his fate was sealed.
So, yeah. Eddie Munson likes you. Eddie Munson loves you.Â
â
HOUR TWENTY THREE - 3:00 PM
You donât even make it outside the apartment building.
You make it down the hallway, sniffling the entire way and ignoring the curious glances from the neighbor that walks past you. Clearly, the entire building must have heard your fight with Eddie. They probably even heard the debauchery you two had taken part in on his balcony beforehand.Â
They probably think youâre insane. You donât really care.Â
Once you enter the stairwell, it all becomes a bit too much. Your head is spinning as you take a few of the steps before you give up, dropping down to sit on one and succumbing to the dizzying feeling with your head between your knees. Itâs a lot â Eddie has given you a plethora of information, too much to be able to stomach all in one go but necessary to offer you all at once.Â
He always loved you. Heâd felt it too, that first night. All your blooms and all your vines hadnât been what gave you away, but instead his own garden that had begun. And instead of tending to it as you had been prepared to with your own, heâd gone and drowned it. Heâd taken away any glimpse of sunshine and cut off all nutrients, tried to starve the thing inside of him away and burn it with unnecessary hatred.Â
It was all so unnecessary. So, so unnecessary.Â
The girl you once were isnât something of the past. You were foolish to believe there was any separation â between who you were the first night and now, between who Eddie was that night and who he was as you left him behind. Youâre both still the same people, still in the same position.Â
You never stopped looking for Eddie in every room you entered. You never stopped biting your tongue at the thought of starting a conversation with him, never stopped aching to reach out for him even as he filled the ocean between you two. Every single date youâd gone on after meeting him had been a flurry of excuses.Â
No, not excuses. Comparisons.
Every single person that had shown you interest in the last year had been subjected to a side by side comparison to the man you couldnât have. To the man you thought youâd held in the palms of your hands for a night, only to have it all taken away so suddenly. None of them drank whiskey and coke. None of them wore rings on their knuckles that they would fidget with when nervous. None of them reacted when youâd stumble beside them, none of them ever offered to foot the bills of the dates they took you on. And every time you noticed these insignificant details, youâd only think of moments with a certain long-haired metalhead.Â
Youâd spent a year convincing yourself that there was only bad. Spent a year ignoring that nagging in the back of your head, when Eddie had been the worst fucking actor youâd ever met. He was right â his affection had seeped out time and time again, had reached out and wrapped around you like a warm blanket. Most of the time, it was your irritation that led to any arguments turning into true fights.Â
You werenât innocent in this. The blame is shared. Youâd both been victims, time and time again, of absolute self-destruction.Â
When your phone rings, you indulge yourself in the hope that itâs Eddie.Â
Itâs Steve.
âHello-â
âWhat the fuck happened?â Steve cuts right to the chase, ignoring your greeting, âWhat the fuck does Eddie mean the bet is off?â
Heâd called Steve. Obviously.
âIt means the bet is off,â you feel a fresh wave of tears choke you up, âWe didnât last the full twenty four hours. We lost.â
Steveâs scoff echoes over the line, âYouâre telling me that with not even two hours to spare, the two of you now find it to be a bit much? Itâs been twenty two hours, nearly twenty three, what harm is there in a few mo-â
âA lot of harm, actually,â you cut him off this time, in no mood to be scolded like a child. None of them knew what had happened. None of them knew how everything had changed so drastically between you and Eddie, âI- I called it off. It was me. Iâll come up with the money for you guys, just give me a few weeks.âÂ
Do they know about Eddieâs feelings? Had you been the only one so oblivious to being caught up in a lie?
âHold on, hold on,â Steve tries to soothe you, but it does nothing. When a sob escapes you, the dam finally breaking through, he grows even more panicked, âWhat the actual fuck happened?â
You donât answer the question. âCan you come pick me up?âÂ
âI- Excuse me?â
âI need a ride,â you gasp out, swiping rapidly at your face to hide the evidence of your breakdown as you can hear someone walking up the stairs, âCan you- Christ, Harrington, can you just come pick me up?âÂ
More neighbors. More nosey glances. Fuck them.Â
âNo.âÂ
You almost think you heard Steve wrong. âWhat?â
âNo, I will not be coming to pick you up.âÂ
âWhy?âÂ
Your chest is aching with every sob you withhold. Trying to cling to composure, trying to cling to the fact that the worst was over. The wound could heal. The wound had to heal.Â
âTell me what happened,â Steve demands, âTell me what the fuck has happened over the last twenty something hours, and Iâll come pick you up. But if you donât tell me, Iâm tossing my fucking keys in the canal and you can be stuck with him for the rest of your life for all I care.âÂ
And therein lies the issue. You donât want to tell him. Suddenly, youâre something animalistic, the memories of the last twenty three hours becoming something of such substance to you that you wouldnât dare to part with them. You want to hold each moment, each stepping stone along this rocky path, close to your chest and swipe out at anyone who gets too close. You need to cradle them with care and dissect each one for your own sanity, picking apart all the times you were too blind to see the truth.Â
You make your decision. The animal inside of you, hiding amongst vines of affection and blooms of hope, decides. âI canât.âÂ
âYou canât, or you wonât?âÂ
You both know the clear distinction, and you canât be bothered to care as your breathing finally evens, the sobs settling themselves down.
âI wonât.âÂ
Itâs quiet for a while until you hear Steve finally laugh in disbelief. A sharp breath out at first, that grows more into a chuckle that you know pairs with him shaking his head.
âJesus,â he whispers, âI⌠okay. I get it. I donât know what the Hell went down, and I wonât force you to give me a play by play,â he pauses, and you can hear the but before he even says it. It stretches over that pregnant pause, silence only broken up by static from the phone line until he speaks again, âBut youâve got to give me something to work with here. Eddie randomly texts me that the bet is off and to tell the others, and then I call you just for you to start sobbing-â
âHe only texted you?â you interrupt the plea, brows furrowing, âHe just⌠He texted you and no one else? Did he call Nancy?âÂ
âWhat? No. Iâm the only one whoâs heard anything from him.âÂ
You stare at the wall across from you, gaze digging right into one of the cracks filled with dust.
Fuck it.
âHe told me he loves me, Steve,â you begin to open up, prying that memory from the claws of the animal. It doesnât go down without a fight, screeching as you say the words, protesting offering even the smallest of breadcrumbs to your friend. You donât have to tell Steve everything â but you can tell him this. âHe said he never really hated me, and that he loves me.âÂ
Thereâs nothing for Steve to say. You donât know if itâs because they all really did know, saw what you couldnât, or maybe if Eddie had already admitted this to the others. But in his honesty, heâd only mentioned Nancy knowing. And youâd seen the twist of his lips, the pinch of his eyes during that recount; you doubt anyone else knows.Â
Heâd been prepared to take this secret to the grave. To keep it, even from you.
âI liked him,â you admit in that quiet stairwell, almost forgetting Steve was on the other end of the line, âGod, I- I just liked him so much that first night. I wanted to waste all my time getting to know him. I know you all saw it after he went cold.âÂ
How I searched for him in every room. How Iâd always ask if he would be at functions. How Iâd gravitate straight to him on the rare occasions he was there.Â
You continue on, your animal within finally stopping its petulant protests. It seems to understand; thereâs a balance to be found. Admitting this doesnât mean losing Eddie. It could mean more, âEven when he started being a fucking asshole, I wanted him. I always thought Iâd just get him out of my system one of these days, but I didnât. Not even after tonight. I⌠I like him.âÂ
Itâs not love. Not quite what Eddie had felt, because his plan had worked to some extent. Youâd been held at an arm's length for so long, the like never had the chance to grow into love.Â
âSo go get him.âÂ
Itâs the last thing you expected from Steve. âWhat?âÂ
âYou like him. Present tense,â he parrots your words back to you with emphasis, âSo go get him. You said he loves you, kid. And sure, thereâs a lot to work through there, but the bet isnât off yet. Texts can be deleted. I can take a few hours to come get you. JustâŚâ you listen to his deep breath over the phone, letting his words settle within you, âWhatâs the worst that can happen? You guys hate each other? I think weâre a little past that now.âÂ
âYeah,â you find yourself laughing, only half amused, âWe are kind of past that.âÂ
What is the worst that can happen?Â
âAt the very least, tell him how you feel,â Steve continues on in such a calming tone, your chest clenches, âBecause Iâm sensing that you havenât. Or else you wouldnât be sitting on the phone crying to me, and Munson wouldnât be impulsively texting me.âÂ
âIt wasnât that impulsive,â you hum, leaning your cheek against the cool railing beside you, still mulling over your options. Really, option. Singular. âI made it very clear that it was over.âÂ
Steve lets out a groan, and you smile despite yourself, âYou sound like you just broke up with the poor dude without ever even dating.âÂ
âI kind of did.âÂ
âThen go fix it!â Steveâs exclamation makes you lift your head again, âHeâs an asshole, okay? We can agree on that. Heâs fucking dumb, and heâs an asshole, and he definitely isnât some dreamboat in my opinion-â
âYou know, I have a bone to pick with you there,â youâre already standing up, heading inclined towards the door you had just burst through, feet heavy as you try to dig within yourself for just a little bit of bravery, âWhy the fuck would you say what you did that night? When I met him. You told him Iâd never go for him.âÂ
âI didnât think you would. I mean, you didnât jump my bones when you met me, and I am a goddamn dream boat.âÂ
âSteve Harrington,â you take the first step, suddenly determined, âYouâre a fucking idiot. I kind of hate you right now.âÂ
âMore than you hate Eddie?âÂ
âSo much more.âÂ
âThen go tell him that,â Steve instructs as you take a few more steps, back up on the platform for Eddieâs floor already, âMake me the bad guy, I donât care. Tell him he even gets a free punch.â
âI get a free punch first,â your free hand reaches out to grab the door, gripping but not pulling. Not yet, âWeâll see if youâre still such a dreamboat with a broken nose.âÂ
Itâs all teasing, but Steve can tell your anger beneath it all is very real. It isnât something all consuming or dangerous, but it is well deserved for what heâd put you and Eddie through. All with one little throwaway comment.Â
âI deserve that,â he affirms, âI really, really deserve that. Scoutâs honor that youâll get your punch when I pick you up in⌠say, an hour?âÂ
You nod, and start to pull on the door, âSee you in an hour, Harrington.âÂ
You hang up before he can say another word. Thereâll be time for more scolding later, for more genuine conversation at the hand everyone had in all that went wrong. But for now, you only have one boy on your mind.Â
And apparently, heâs in love with you. Has been for a long time.
You race down that hallway faster than you had when youâd left, determination throwing you forward with each step as you grow closer to apartment 2C. You raise your fist when you come face to face with Eddieâs front door, still terribly insistent and strangely brave, when suddenly â it opens up.
âI-â you squeak out, fist still frozen and poised in the air.Â
Eddie has never looked more frazzled. Heâd been clearly running his hands through his curls, frizzing them up nearly comically. His eyes are red from tears, and if you look close enough, you can see an indent in his bottom lip from his teeth digging in.
Your eyes meet his, and all he can do is sigh your name.Â
You take a few steps back, and he follows. You tell yourself you need the distance, because without it, you might throw caution to the wind and just kiss him again. Thatâs not what you came here to do â before you can ever kiss him again, before you can put not only yourself but him through that, you need to tell him.Â
Your heart is ready to burst out of your chest, and you repeat Steveâs words over and over in your mind.
So go get him.
Whatâs the worst that can happen?
âI thought you were leaving.âÂ
His voice is a broken whisper, gravely from the tears heâs no doubt been succumbing to since your exit. You search his face for any sign that he might still be far away from you, still in his head, but all you can see is that heâs here.Â
Heâs here, with you, in this moment.Â
âI never made it down the stairs,â your voice cracks terribly, croaky and shaking until you clear your throat, âI- Steve called me.âÂ
âI texted him. To let him know the bet is off.âÂ
âI know.âÂ
Itâs awkward, but without ice. Itâd be impossible not to be, even when every glance into his eyes just fills you with warmth.
There will be time to be angry later. With Steve, and with Eddie. One day, youâll spare the time to mull over the way he continued to treat you even after his own personal revelation of how he loved you. You should pay more attention to it now, but every time your mind tries to go there, it just becomes overcast with whatâs happened on this night.Â
You canât erase the past. Good or bad. Both exist, and both fuel you as you take one more step back and support yourself against the wall across from his door, just as you had when youâd first arrived twenty three hours before.Â
Eddie takes several deep breaths before he follows you. You donât have to say a word out loud; heâs completely in tune with you as he leaves his front door wide open and walks to stand beside you. Only then, when youâre both on the same side of the hallway, do you both slide down to sit on the floor.Â
âWe need to talk,â you sigh, watching the way your knee knocks into his. Gentle brushes, soft touches. Thereâs no room for any thorns here. Your vines have wrapped their way around not just you, but him as well, and thereâs far too many flowers thriving along them to even think of such dangerous pricks to linger, âI know what I said. I know that I left. ButâŚâ But I canât stay gone. I canât let it end like this. I canât do it, not like this. âI never made it past the stairs.âÂ
His shoulder bumps yours, forces you to look at him as he offers a sad smile. He can tell you're nervous, can tell that youâre the one whoâs slipping away into their mind now.Â
âHey,â he says softly, âItâs just you and me. Just two people who hate each otherâs guts, remember?âÂ
âExcept we never did,â you remind him, finally looking down to pick at the frays of your jeans, âWe never hated each otherâs guts. And thatâs⌠the issue? Maybe not issue. Itâs not a problem to be solved. But, you were honest with me, and I think I need to be honest back.âÂ
I need to say more than just no.
âI like you, Eddie,â you finally spit out, craving relief from the admission. But it wonât come, not quite yet. Not until he hears your full truth, âI liked you from that very first night. I just- when I was in this room full of people I didnât know, not well enough at least, you took one look at me and decided that youâd sit by my side. Youâd be my friend. I donât care how the night ended and I donât care that you went back on your gut reaction,â you take a sharp breath, and finally relief finds you as you whisper, âYou chose me. That very first night, you chose me. And I want to figure out how to get back to that, not pretending to hate each other.âÂ
You hold no expectations for how Eddie will react, especially given that your confession was seemingly less monumental than his, but his hand coming down on your knee surprises you all the same.Â
âIâm sorry,â he apologizes, and you believe it. Thereâs no hesitation in your belief this time. It goes without saying that you know heâll probably spend the rest of his life sorry, trying to make up for the last year.Â
You decide to put your hand over his, let your palm press into those knuckles before you move to slip your fingers between his, âI donât want things to go back to normal. I just want us to be able to start over.âÂ
You catch his smile out the corner of your eye, âYeah? Thatâd be pretty nice. Maybe this time I wonât be such a dick.âÂ
âAnd maybe this time I wonât throw a glass at your head,â you add, leaning into him a little, feeling his grip on your knee tighten with affection.
He shakes his head briefly before throwing it back against the wall, âI deserved that. When I deserve it, you are always welcome to throw a glass at my head.âÂ
âThatâs an expensive way to deal with things.âÂ
âWeâll get the glasses from Goodwill.âÂ
Both of you are softly laughing when your head meets his shoulder. You should probably be talking more properly, but you donât. You decide to just enjoy this time with him. You have an hour left.
When the door to the right of Eddieâs opens up, you both straighten up a bit, and you watch in real time as the embarrassed blush lights up across Eddieâs cheeks at the sight of his neighbor â Mr. Jenkins.
He pauses, and God you wish he hadnât, because now your insides are turning with your own self-consciousness. He takes in the sight of you two, sitting out in the apartment building hallway, hands entertained and heads leaning on one another, and then he chuckles.
âGood. Glad you two kids figured it out. Now please, for the love of God, keep those activities private. Indoors. No more balconies.âÂ
Eddie has burned past pink, now a brilliant red. Youâre surprised when a soft giggle escapes you, the ridiculousness of everything that has happened finally hitting you. Eddie turns his head to look at you with wild eyes, a silent scream of traitor before he faces the elderly man again.
He clears his throat, âRight. Uh, of course. Sorry, Mr. Jenkins.â
He grumbles a bit as he turns away from you two, still smiling as you can hear the faint âYeah, yeah,â of his words.
The moment you two are alone again, you canât help it â you burst into laughter.
Genuine and much needed laughter fills your lungs, expanding them beyond capacity as you finally let yourself just let go of the night. All the fights, all the stress, all the misunderstandings, and all the honesty seem to melt like butter from you, the tension leaving your soldiers for the first time in what feels like hours. You like him, you like him, you like him. No matter what happens after this, you like him. Just as you had that first night. Nothing can really take that from you; all the miniscule details can be worked out later. Any arguments and any fights that need to be had can be handled tomorrow. For today, you like Eddie Munson, and thatâs enough.
âItâs not funny!âÂ
âOh, itâs fucking hilarious,â you gasp out as Eddie gently slaps your shoulder, âThat poor old man fully saw your dick.âÂ
âIâll never be able to face him again,â Eddie deadpans. You donât catch his adoring smile as you only laugh harder, âIâll never be able to know peace in these halls again.â
You quiet down your giggles, taking your hand from his to swipe at the tears of joy that had gathered. Your stomach aches in the best way, finally, âShouldâve kept it in your pants, Munson.âÂ
âSays the minx.âÂ
Itâs nice. Just as you had thought â there would be a time to laugh about it. And now, as your temple falls back against Eddieâs t-shirt and he snakes an arm around your back, is the best moment you can think of.Â
The two of you let silence settle again. All you can hear is the otherâs breathing, deep and calm and assured breaths that donât whisper of any secrets or any panic. Itâs peaceful; itâs absolute bliss.Â
âGod, I need a nap,â Eddie mumbles as he trails a finger in an insistent circle over your shoulder. Gentle and feathery light, repetitive enough to almost lull you to sleep, âHow do other people do this shit?â
âI donât know, but a nap sounds heavenly,â you nearly moan. You can picture it now, wrapping up in your usually mediocre comforter back in your dorm room, and your uncomfortable mattress has never been more romanticized.
Eddie stares at his open door for a second, thinking, âIs, uh, Harrington coming to get you?âÂ
You only nod against his shoulder.
âDid he tell the others that the bet is- or was- or-â
âNo,â you laugh as he fumbles over the specifics, âHe never told the others. As far as they know⌠We made it.âÂ
Eddie sighs in relief, âOh, thank God. I did not want to have to pay any of those fuckers.âÂ
âThey never would have let us live that down.âÂ
âNever.â
Another lapse of silence. Thereâs times where you think Eddie might get up, might hold out his hand for you to take and drag you into his apartment again. Maybe try and let you two squeeze one last nap in, considering the way youâre already half unconscious on his shoulder. But he never does. The two of you sit in the comforting silence of that hallway, backs pressed to the wall and bodies leaning into each otherâs gravitational pull.Â
Getting him was never really about having another hard conversation. Just making sure he knew that his feelings were returned, to remind him of the change that had happened within you over these last twenty three hours, was plenty enough for you.Â
âHey,â Eddie whispers. Neither of you have a clock, but you can both feel the time running out, âI, uh, want to say one last thing before this is all⌠over.âÂ
âWhatâs up?â you mumble into the material of his t-shirt. The one that your nose nearly turns and buries into, trying to enjoy that last bit of boy that has lingered after him since the beginning of the night.Â
âI need you to know I didnât tell you everything just for this to happen,â he begins to explain, âLike, I never loved you with the intent of being loved. I actually love you without ever expecting you to reciprocate, whether itâs embarrassingly admitting you have a crush on me-â one of your hands limply comes up to hit at his chest in a pathetic lack of strength, which makes him pause to chuckle, â-or if you came back here and said that you were⌠like, wildly in love with me. Or you could have even said you never really want to see me again. That was never the point.â
âWhat if I came back just to say I forgot something? Like, âoh, hey, I just forgot my chapstickâ?â youâre nearly slurring your words in fatigue, but still smile at the thought of doing that just to fuck with him.Â
âIâd probably lie and say that thereâs not a single tube of chapstick in that apartment,â he admits, his palm now just cupping your shoulder, drinking in the privilege of touching and holding you this way as he gives it a squeeze, âAnd then I would have shut the door, and started searching like a mad man for that fucking chapstick, and never would have told you once I found it.âÂ
You snort, âKeeping my chapstick? Pervert.âÂ
You shift your head to just barely peer up at him, and you see those fucking dimples. You canât believe there was a time where you didnât notice those.Â
âIâm serious, though,â he lets his smile falter just a bit, but those innocent indents donât, âYou could still say the word, tell me you donât mean it and you donât even like me in the slightest, and itâd be fine. No hard feelings, truly.âÂ
Heâd just succumb to the terrible fight heâd been running from this entire time. From the moment he had met you. Heâd succumb to his worst fear and let himself burn for you, even if you didnât burn with him.Â
âEddie.â
âHm?â
âStop being such a fucking idiot,â you chastize as you lift your head from his should. His arm remains around you, not even slipping, âStop trying to talk me out of liking you. Itâs done â I like you. End of story.âÂ
His smile turns into something sad for a second, something almost sour, before it really does fall completely. Only the ghosts of those dimples remain for a moment in your memory. Suddenly, you get what he means. He isnât trying to deter you, only remind you of what you need to consider.
Itâs not just another moment of insecurity.Â
You probably should be putting up more of a fight. All the damage done, both tonight and in the last year, canât really be erased in the matter of an hour. Itâs a whisper of itâs okay to take time to heal, a true white flag of surrender being waved from across his ocean.Â
Vines, oceans, fires, glass walls â all of the metaphors have finally turned trivial.Â
âI might need time,â you give in just a little bit, knowing itâs for the best, âI⌠I mean, everything canât really change so quickly. Maybe we give it a few days. A few weeks, if we have to. WeâŚâÂ
âJust spent twenty four hours together, and could use the time apart?â he ends your sentence for you in a joking tone, but you both know itâs true.Â
The time apart would not only do you well, but answer the burning question on both your minds â does this last past tonight?Â
Right now, youâre sure it does. But itâs possible youâll return to your dorm room, that Eddie will spend some time in his apartment without you hovering around every corner, and that it could change. That is entirely possible.Â
Itâs something you almost need to mentally prepare yourself for.Â
âYeah,â you rasp out, almost choked back up at the reality of it all. You blame it on the lack of sleep, âYeah, we could probably use some time apart.âÂ
Saying it out loud goes against every gut instinct you have.Â
âYep,â Eddie almost seems to also be gritting those words out, tongue almost more stubborn than yours, âTime apart. Just to think. Not⌠uh, not forever. Not unless we decide it needs to be.âÂ
You sound like you just broke up with the poor dude without ever even dating.
How many couples have had this exact conversation? How many have promised temporary time apart, only to never see each other again?Â
It strikes a little bit of childish fear in you, but Eddieâs arm is still warm and heavy around your back, his palm rubbing up and down along your bicep as if he can sense all that doubt that you battle with.Â
Itâs okay. Leaving for now is not leaving forever. Besides, you once lived a life without Eddie Munson in it. You can live that once more, if needed.
You like him. You liked him that first night, and you like him now. You like to enter rooms and know his eyes seek you out, you like to know that every time he crosses your mind that thereâs a possibility that youâre also plaguing his thoughts. Time, distance, and hatred have never been able to change that.
âI-â you start to say, more vulnerability metallic on your tongue and more honesty poised for his taking, when youâre both cut off by a familiar figure coming down the hallway.Â
Itâs not a neighbor, not another set of judgmental eyes.Â
âHey there, love birds. Glad to see you didnât kill each other.â
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twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)
HOUR TWENTY TWO
in which eddie is honest. for real, this time.
â tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn
â warnings: strong language, discussion of/allusions to smut from last chapter, angst, not edited (what's new though), upside down does not exist, minors dni
â wc: 11.1k+
â a/n: welp. this... yeah, this is a lot. i truly hope it's worth it. in the waiting, anticipation, and length. if it isn't... my bad. i'm sorry in advance. also, please note, pov change only applies to the memory.
masterlist.
spotify playlist.
â previous part, next partâˇ
22:00 ââââââââââââââă
â 24:00
His regret turns to pain as you whisper, âWhat did you just say?â
â
HOUR TWENTY TWO â 1:00 PM
You canât speak. Itâs as if youâre frozen; every muscle, including your tongue, has gone rigid. Every racing thought escapes just beyond your reach. Every single one of the last twenty two hours pound behind your rib cage, and you think you might just faint. Right here, right now. The blood rushes your ears as your body goes ice cold, and even the railing cutting into your palm seems to drift away from you.Â
âIâm sorry.âÂ
He doesnât even try to deny it. He knows you heard what he said â he canât take it back. Itâs written plainly on his face that if he could, he would swallow back down those disastrous words. Heâd grab that destruction four letter word right out of the air, no doubt, and set it aflame. Heâd blow away the ash if he could guarantee you would have never heard it.
But he canât. You heard him.Â
Iâve loved you for so long.Â
Everything is heavy. The air, your limbs, your godforsaken tongue.Â
âSay something,â he suddenly begs. Youâve never seen Eddie look so desperate, eyes wet and voice cracking, âAnything.âÂ
You want to answer him. Your bones ache with the need â the need to reply, the need to question, the need to do anything but stare at him with what he must surely mistake for horror.
Were you horrified? Were you?
You donât know.Â
Itâs why you canât answer him.Â
âI-â he starts up again, breaking down even further right before your eyes. You want to reach out, to coddle him, to tell him itâs fine. But itâs not fine.Â
You donât even get the chance to ruminate on just how not fine it is, or that heat beginning to come to a boil in the pit of your stomach, because the sound of one of the neighbors exiting out onto their own balcony interrupts the infinitely delicate moment.Â
âHey there, Eds-â You donât know what actually interrupts the gruff man that steps out, who exudes familiarity with Eddie until he takes in the scene before him.Â
Eddie, completely fucking naked. You, with only a shirt on. If it werenât for the moment at hand and the trembling emotions coming to fruition inside of you, youâd probably find it comical. Youâd probably find a way to join in the old manâs single guffaw before the two of you meet each otherâs gaze and become aware of what exactly is happening.
But itâs not funny. Youâre both fucking naked â physically and emotionally â and itâs not funny.
Youâre mortified as both of you are scrambling across the balcony, a whirlwind of discarded clothes fisted and nearly tripping over each other to shove back into Eddieâs living room. That embarrassment now trickles down into the start of a boil, everything in you becoming red-hot from how flustered youâve become and the way you canât have a second to just process it all.Â
When you turn to face Eddie once the sliding door has slammed shut, his cheeks are the brightest pink imaginable.Â
âWhat the fuck,â you whisper out, trying to steady your breathing, trying to take it all in.Â
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Your adrenaline is almost making you sick.Â
âIâm so fucking sorry,â he catches your whisper amongst your stoic silence and seems to forget the moment that his neighbor had just shattered, voice clear as day as he pulls his curtains shut. You swear you catch the old man still staring, still laughing, and youâre just grateful that youâre not the one completely nude, âI had no idea Mr. Jenkins would come outside, usually none of those fuckers see the light of day before sundow-â
âYour neighbor just saw us naked,â you almost scream. You want to shout, want to throw everything in sight. You crave to flip that coffee table in the center of the room and throw a fit that outdoes even the most petulant of toddlers.
âI know, I-â
âIf you say sorry again, Iâm walking back out there,â you take a deep breath, but it does nothing to calm youâre shaking body, âAnd Iâm throwing myself off the fucking balcony.â
Maybe youâll be able to laugh about it in five years. A year, even. Hell, a month or as soon as next week. But you canât right now; all you want to do is cry.
Some random man just saw you naked. Eddie apparently fucking loves you.Â
It might be the sleep deprivation and it might be the fact that it feels like the Universe is laughing in your face at every turn right now. Whatever higher power exists seems to be waiting around every corner for the chance to kick you repeatedly as you stumble to this finish line. And you canât fucking take it.
So you give in. You give in to that childish need to stomp your feet and scream until youâre blue in your lips.
âI just- Fuck!â Eddie jumps a bit at your exclamation, heâs still naked, âI canât catch a break! I canât catch a fucking break. First, Iâm showing up here, and Iâm stuck with you for twenty four hours. Iâm stuck with the man I hate for a whole fucking day,â youâre full on pacing, not caring how ridiculous this scene would appear to anyone. Your hands wave erratically in the space around you, and all Eddie can do is stare, tense with wide eyes, âAnd I cry in front of you, have full breakdowns in front of you. I listen to you remind me over and over how much you truly despise only to now suddenly find out that, hey! I actually love you! And do I get to process that? No. Because now, some fucking old man that lives next door to you has seen my goddamn vag-âÂ
Eddieâs entire demeanor collapses. âOh, so now Iâm back to being the man you hate?âÂ
You pause your ranting, realizing what youâve said.Â
Youâre just angry. You should have thought before you spoke, before you opened your mouth and began to spew your venom, because you can see the way the words have struck Eddie. Not your intention.
âI didnât mean that.â
âBut you said that,â he flatly argues back.Â
Your stomach twists.
âIâm just-â your tongue is back to being heavy as the two of you face one another. Feet apart, worlds apart. âIâm fucking embarrassed, Eddie.âÂ
âYou think Iâm not?â he scowls, and you try to tell your racing heart itâs a good sign. But itâs not. You almost preferred his walls dividing the two of you, âShit fucking happens. We got caught â we fucking dirty talked about getting caught! Big fucking deal! Karmic justice or whatever bullshit people spew. It doesnât mean Iâm going to- It doesnât change-â heâs stuttering now, matching that exasperation that had you pacing just moments before. He huffs, a hand reaching up and dragging his bangs upward, harsh at the root as he finally drops his hands in his own defeat, palms slapping his sides, âEverything changes. You said that, not me. You said everything changes, and all it takes is a little bit of fucking embarrassment to go back on your word?âÂ
Heâs still fucking naked. You still canât think.
âIâm not having this conversation with you naked,â you whisper, almost in disbelief as you shake your head, âIâm- Put your fucking clothes on. Please.âÂ
âPut my clothes on?â he scoffs, taking a step closer to you, âPut my clothes on? Do you mean the same clothes you just insisted I take off not even ten minutes ago?âÂ
âWe were having sex!â you yell. Youâre sure if the old man is no longer on his balcony, he can hear you through the walls. Hell, even if he is still outside, itâs likely he hears the screaming match beginning, âWhy- Why are you turning this on me right now? You just said you fucking love me! The least of our issues right now is me telling you to get fucking dressed!âÂ
âWhy are you lashing out at me right now?â Eddieâs voice is louder than yours, something more broken inside of it, âI-â
âClothes,â you grit out, avoiding his eyes as you start to yank your panties on violently, âNow.âÂ
You can still feel him. His essence is dripping between your thighs. And you donât find any sense of enjoyment in it, you donât savor that quick-fading warmth nor the reminder of the pleasure heâd just brought you. It just reminds you of the words he had said all while not even looking you in the eyes. He couldnât even face you as he had admitted it.Â
One thing at a time, you try to remind yourself. One fucking thing at a time.Â
Eddieâs own redressing is another sight that maybe, hopefully, one day youâll look back on and laugh at. But right now, it canât spark any amusement in you. Not as all your emotions slam back into you at full force.
Youâre embarrassed. Youâre confused. Youâre angry.
âHappy?â he spits out once his boxers are on, shirt tugged back on so hard over his head that his curls frizz up.
âNo,â your eyes are burning, and you feel it again. All those desperate emotions. Like a wild animal inside of you has begun to claw at your insides, making you bleed from the inside out.Â
Eddie loves you â and he has, for a long time, apparently. Â
Eddieâs neighbor has seen you naked. Saw your full bottom half exposed.
Youâve managed to hurt Eddieâs feelings, again.
Eddie fucking loves you and never thought to mention it. He has for a long time.
All your tempered strings snap, that wild and stricken thing inside of you finally cutting loose.
You donât know what youâre angry at. Youâre angry at him, and yet youâre not. Youâre angry at the situation, and yet youâre not. You are bitter from words withheld and you are sour from every moment that paves the road that brought you two to this very moment.
Youâre just angry.
âWhat did you mean?â the question comes out sharply enough to make his own defiant anger fade ever so slightly as he physically flinches, âI- I need to know what the Hell you meant, Eddie.âÂ
Anger is metallic on your tongue. It seeps from your skin, floods the air, only further dampens everything already so heavy.Â
The longer he doesnât answer you, the more smothering the entirety of the apartment becomes.
âJust tell me. Make it make sense, because right now?â you pause for a deep and shaky breath. Your eyesight is blurry now. Eyes red rimmed with tears that will surely sear your cheeks if they find the nerve to be shed, âRight now, I donât get it. Over and over and over again, you have reminded me that you hate me. Prior to tonight, it was safe to assume that scorning my existence was one of your favorite pastimes. And I know, I get it â everything has changed. But- But-âÂ
How can anything change if you werenât honest to begin with?Â
Did anything change for him? While you were discovering and tending to sore feelings that had been festering for a while but had never seen the light of day, was he only nursing an old wound?Â
âBut what?â his voice drops low. His entire demeanor has dropped, cowering down before you. His head dips down, his shoulders droop with prepared rejection, you watch the man before you, the man you had just let defile you and the man you had just worshiped on your goddamn knees, turn to dust.
A shaky gasp. Wobbly knees. The blood rushes through your ears again, flushing out any noise except the two of you breathing out of sync. His deep breaths, accepting and welcoming a rejection he was so sure he was receiving. Your shallow breaths, panting and rapid and trying to just get everything to slow the fuck down.
You were right. Once the tears shed, they burn a trail of Hellish fury right down the center of each cheek. âWhen I say everything has changed between us, what does that mean to you?âÂ
Heâs undressing an old wound, an open slash that seems to be unable to form a scab. Youâre pressing on bruises, aching parts of you that had purpled from his neglect long ago. Itâs clear as day now â the difference.
You no longer care about the embarrassment of being caught.
âWhat do you want it to mean?âÂ
âDonât do that,â the tears fall faster now. You canât even begin to dig into this chasm of emotions. Are you angry at him? Are you disappointed by the circumstances? Do you love him? âI want an answer â I need your answer. You promised me your honesty, so give me it. Now.âÂ
His eyes meet yours, and your entire world seems to fold into itself, âIt⌠doesnât mean much. It doesnât change much.âÂ
Everything has only changed for you.Â
âSo it means nothing, then? You have me at your disposal, you have me on my fucking knees for you, you tell me you fucking love me, and it all means nothing?âÂ
Youâre twisting his words and you know it. But you canât help it, canât stop it.Â
âI never said that!â his voice is no longer low and quiet. Sudden worry creases beside his eyes as his mouth goes slack in shock, âI never said it meant nothing.âÂ
âBut it doesnât mean much, right?â You hate your wet cheeks. You hate the way everything in you is somehow slow-breaking, yet suddenly shattering. An unnerving juxtaposition that is drowning you and sending you reeling over and over again, âIt doesnât change much, right? Because when I said that, Eddie, I meant it â everything fucking changed for me. It wasnât- Itâs not- This isnât just some throwaway thing to me. Not even a day ago, I thought I had to hate you with everything I had. I thought I had to hate you.â
And I donât. Not even a little bit. Even right now, when I should.Â
âIs that what you think Iâm saying?â his voice is low where your voice has risen, his face calm where yours has gone stormy.Â
Where youâre on fire, heâs treading still waters. The opposite dilemma that has always existed, and the one you had the nerve to see as poetic. But water meeting flames is never poetic. It never ends well. You should have seen that coming from a mile away.
âWhat am I supposed to think?â you also quiet your tone to match his. You wonder if the neighbors really had heard a thing. You almost hope they had, that this argument is affecting someone elseâs day the way itâs affecting you, âYouâre standing here, and youâre telling me it doesnât mean much, and-â
âIt doesnât change much,â he corrects, and youâre now the one flinching at the crack in his voice. âNot for me. Not when I-â
Not when Iâve loved you for so long.
He canât even finish his own sentence.
âSo what does it change?â you throw your hands out in exasperation, âIf it doesnât change much, what has it changed?âÂ
There it is again â his silence, your anger.Â
âIs it not enough to just know it changes something?âÂ
If you were stupid, youâd take his tone as pleading. Youâd mistake it for begging. But you canât. For all your fury, you canât believe that heâs actually stooped so low as to beg for you, especially after what heâs just said. Time and time again, you had repeatedly cracked yourself wide open for him, and heâd managed to rip your heart right out of your chest with such a simply yet damning statement. The most casually cruel bit of honesty he had offered you yet tonight: that nothing changes.
âWeâre back to square one,â you choke out in realization, âI- Fuck. This entire time, you werenât honest with me.âÂ
He opens his mouth quickly, and for a second you believe heâll offer an explanation that can soothe over the ache. Heâll come up with an excuse that you can buy, heâll explain himself in a way that proves you wrong, and the sweet oblivious bliss can return.Â
âNo,â he says instead after careful consideration, âI wasnât honest with you.âÂ
Your tears are running rampant as you only nod slowly, pressing your lips together in defeat, âAwesome. Great,â you reach up, sniffling as you swipe at your nose, still silently quiet but no longer awarding him with any display of your rage, of your hurt, of anything but your acceptance, âNo, really, thatâs- Cool. Nothing changes. I get it.âÂ
Iâve loved you for so long.Â
It didnât make sense, but you donât have it in you to dissect it any further. He had loved you the entire time, and still set out to make you bleed. His grand admission doesnât change a single fucking thing.Â
You donât say another word as you grab your pair of jeans up into your fist, being sure to move slowly and not in the haste every nerve in your body calls for. You need to leave â you need out of this apartment, and you need to never see Eddie Munson again. It wouldnât be a far leap from what your friends already deal with. If the friendships take blows of damage from it, so be it-
âWhere are you going?â he asks, standing stiller than a statue as he watches you.
You grab your bag, âIâm leaving. The dealâs off. Or- I donât know. Tell them the betâs off-â
âThe bet is not off-â
âIt is,â you turn to him, absolutely frozen in your resolution, âIt really, really is. You can even fucking lie to them if you want, I donât care. Figure out a way to get the money but I donât want it. Iâm done.âÂ
âSo thatâs it?â he scoffs in disbelief. When you pull on your jeans, when you sling your bag back over your shoulder and begin to walk to the counter where your phone was left, he realizes that itâs really happening. He realizes youâre truly done, âNo questions? I just told you I wasnât fucking honest, and youâre just going to walk away, not even demand I tell the tru-â
âIâm tired of pulling the truth from you,â you finally move with some of the aggression you felt, hand smacking the counter beside your phone, âIf you care so much, if you love me, I shouldnât have to beg until my knees bleed for you to actually be honest with me,â you take your phone, shoving it into your back pocket before you look at him, âI canât keep doing this. You were always right. Theyâre your friends. Congratulations, you got what you always said you wanted. You wonât have to deal with me anymore â consider this a farewell from your life. Iâll make sure no one invites you to my fucking funeral.âÂ
You assume he grabs you due to your cruel reference to his insult from the very beginning of the night, that heâs going to fight you for that bit of your oddly calm speech. But when his hands wrap around your bicep, and you face him with those silent tears still racing, what comes out of his mouth stuns you.Â
âIâll be honest,â he is pleading, he is begging, âStay, and Iâll tell you everything. I donât even fucking care about the bet â we can call off, everyone else can go to Hell. I donât care about the money, I donât care about the bet, I just-â he pauses, and you watch the desperation building taller and taller within him, âStay and let me explain.â
You should tell him no. You should tell him to go to Hell. If you stay and hear him out, it will only end in pain for you. You should leave.
Instead, your bag begins to slip off your shoulder.Â
âYou have ten minutes,â you whisper as his hand finally releases its grip, âExplain.â
â
SIX MONTHS EARLIER - EDDIEâS POV
If he were smart, Eddie wouldâve kept his word.
Heâd told them he wasnât showing up. Heâd told them he had work (not a complete lie), and that he wouldnât make it tonight. He just hadnât felt like drinking anymore â not since two weeks prior, when heâd gotten black out drunk while hanging out with Nancy, throwing his own personal pity party.Â
Pathetic.
It wasnât just that killer headache that had been haunting Eddie since that night. It was much more than that; it was solid and palpable regret. Heâd thrown back too many beers, mixed it with some sort of wine coolers that Nancy offered him once he started to feel the buzz. All it took was just a bit too much alcohol in his system, and suddenly, his rant that Nancy had agreed to indulge him in became so much more. One moment, he was just complaining about you. And the next, he was rambling, letting less harsh words slip between the complaints, more compliments than things he wanted you to change. One wine cooler in, and he was no longer complaining about the way everyone had been fawning over you after a full six months of friendship, but instead the way that your sad eyes and pouting lips following him around a room was cosmically unfair.Â
He didnât remember much of the rest of the night, and he was glad when Nancy had given him a pitiful look over the cups of coffee she offered.Â
Heâd told her. He knew heâd admitted his stupid, annoying, despicable crush on you to her. Probably whined about the way you and Harrington had clearly had something going on. Definitely spoke too much about how badly he wanted to experience your gentle hand in his calloused one, or to feel your arms wrap around his neck in greeting rather than daggers from your glare every time he entered a room. Hell, heâs sure there was a good thirty minute period amongst the fuzzy memories where heâd sat on the edge of tears as he continued to mumble about how he wasnât good enough for you.
Nancy Wheeler, his best friend, finally knew. Six fucking months of keeping it under wraps, and Eddie Munson had finally slipped up.
And she clearly hasnât forgotten as Eddie had prayed she would every single night as sheâs the one to answer his knocks on Steveâs door, grinning with the hidden knowledge.
Sheâd texted him with one last plea for him to show up. Insisted everyone was here. Went so far as to make him a list, and made sure to add your name at the end. It had been phrased like an afterthought on the screen, but he knew her too well. He knew Nancy purposefully mentioned you.
âMunson! Finally! It took you long enough,â she squeals, clearly already halfway to drunk before she quiets down, âAnd you said you werenât coming. Wonder what, or who, changed your mind.âÂ
âFuck off.âÂ
It had been a bad day. Work, classes, a phone call with Wayne that had just left Eddie disheartened and terribly homesick. It was selfish, but the thought of seeing you in passing tonight, even if you did seem to dislike him just as he had intended, made it all a bit more bearable.Â
Coming home. Seeing you felt like coming home, even if youâd slammed the front door on his face.
He follows Nancy down the hall, a pit growing in the bottom of his stomach, heavy as ever. He shouldnât have even wanted to see you. The last time he had seen you, youâd been out for blood, blatantly ruining a date heâd managed to bag with Chrissy Cunningham. Chrissy, who never gave him the time of day in high school. Chrissy, who was clearly set on using him as a rebound during yet another break from Jason. Chrissy, whoâs only flaw wasn't just the fact that she wasnât you.
âEddie, my man!â Argyle greets Eddie the moment he enters the living room. Heâs lounging on the couch, Jonathan to his right and a space where Nancy clearly had occupied now empty.Â
Eddie nods, still feeling the week weighing him down. No sight of you yet, âHey, man.âÂ
He just wanted to see you. One glimpse, preferably before youâve caught sight of him, and heâd be fine. Heâd learned to live with those fleeting moments the last six months, he could keep it up for just a bit longer.
Heâd get over you eventually. Even if it killed him.
He had to give his plan time to work. So far, heâd done well, easily offering you a cold shoulder and nothing more after that first night. It wasnât easy â he doesnât think anyone would find the task of being cool towards someone as radiant as you easy â but heâd done it. Brick by brick, his wall of invincibility was standing tall and strong between you two. It was safer this way, he had to remind himself. It was better to run off of brief glances of your smiles and laughter never directed at him than to risk anything more. Heâd only disappoint you, or youâd magically disappoint him, and it would end in bloodshed. Someone like you, someone so good and kind and easy to gravitate towards, would leave Eddie broken beyond damage.Â
You didnât go for guys like Eddie. Steve had made that clear since day one.
Eddie takes the loveseat as Nancy returns to Jonathanâs side. He tries to make it subtle, the way he twists his head to glance around the room as he removes his jacket, eyes roaming until he finds you. In the kitchen, with Steve and Robin, tense back telling him youâd already noticed his arrival.
So much for seeing you smile.
He tries to keep up with the conversation going on. Argyle and Jonathan are having some sort of debate about aliens, nothing short of heated and passionate, and heâd normally be jumping in without hesitation. But his eyes canât stop flickering to the kitchen and each time, he can see you downing even more alcohol. He knows you donât like him, but did you hate him that much?
âYouâre awfully quiet,â Nancy leans over to whisper as Jonathan grows in volume about another branch of a conspiracy theory.
âJust tired,â he flatly replies. Heâs suddenly itching to get his hands onto some alcohol of his own. Fuck the lessons he shouldâve learned a few weeks ago. Fuck his regret in confiding in Nancy.
âWas work rough?â
He hums pathetically in response, eyes glued to the kitchen still. To you.
Nancyâs eyes finally follow his focus, âHave you⌠I donât know, ever tried just talking to her?â
He snaps from his daze at that, head turning quickly to Nancy, âI talk to her all the time.âÂ
âYou do not.â
âI do too.â
âNever nicely,â she points out, narrowing her eyes, âYouâre like a little boy on the playground, tugging on her pigtails until she figures it ou-âÂ
âI donât want her to figure it out,â he cuts off the assumption, eyes widening in horror at the thought, âChrist, Nance. I thought I made that clear when I ended up shitfaced on your couch.âÂ
Nancy softens. She can see whatâs happening here, see every dampening thought that weighs Eddie down. He might not remember his drunken rambles, but she does.Â
âThe only thing you made clear is what a spectacular ass youâre making out of yourself,â her words hold no bite, only truth, âWho cares what Steve said that night? He was drunk.âÂ
âSo was I,â Eddieâs eyes are back on you, palms running up his outer thighs until he curls them to fists by his hips, âI was drunk when I talked to you about her. Forget about it.âÂ
Surprisingly, his stubborn best friend leaves it be. Puts the pointless argument to rest.
Eddieâs feelings canât rest, though.Â
Every night, he tells himself itâll all go away. The distance will make his heart grow harder, and heâll eventually be able to wash himself of you one of these days. And every night, all the feelings youâve sprouted inside of him only teem their way higher, up into his throat and choking him with every last breath before he falls asleep. He canât forget those first few weeks, the way you seemed to think his coldness was a phase. Youâd tried so desperately to seek him out at every function, sparked so many failed conversations with him that left him to burn. Every smile youâd offered him during that time, heâd taken for granted.
Even last week, when youâd interrupted his date, heâd let himself relish in the memory of your attention. Pathetic.Â
Had you been jealous? Had you just been spiteful, finally giving him a taste of his own medicine? He couldnât decide, wouldnât let himself linger on the reasoning. But heâd remembered your touch, could still feel it scarring his skin wherever your palm of fingertips had rested as youâd scared off Chrissy. Heâd even hesitated in the shower that night, pausing for a moment before washing over the shoulder youâd gripped when youâd first approached their table and embarrassed him without care.Â
He deserved your spite.Â
And he deserves to have to overhear the conversation youâre currently having in the kitchen. Youâre going on and on about all the men youâve had dates with, detailing out every one night stand for Steve and Robin who listen with eager ears.
It makes his stomach churn and twist sharply. Each new man you bring to your roster makes his throat burn with jealousy, plain and simple. And he knows it written all over his face when Nancy leans over and puts a hand on his knee, giving him a concerned look.Â
Even the change of topic between Argyle and Jonathan on goddamn Bigfoot canât overtake the sharp cut of your bragging.Â
âIâve never seen your eyes so green, Eddie.âÂ
Heâs about to snipe back that his eyes are brown, and be unnecessarily cruel from his sour mood, when he realizes what she means.
âIâm not jealous,â he lies through his teeth.
âYou very much are.âÂ
He doesnât have it in him to bicker back and forth about this again. Not about you, and not with Nancy, âWhat does it matter? Like I said, me and her? Never gonna happen.â
He had said that. He remembers that, at least, from his drunken confession. Heâs sure he reiterated that point several times once heâd made it past the point of coherency.Â
âSheâs lying,â Nancy casually whispers, pulling her hand back, âShe- Us girls talk, you know? Just⌠sheâs lying.âÂ
âI went on a date with Chrissy. It doesnât matter.âÂ
And she has no clue how fucking hung up on her I am. Sheâll never know if I have anything to do with it.
âYou can keep saying that,â Nancy glances, making sure their other two friends on the couch are still too deep in conversation to listen in, âBut we both know thatâs not true.âÂ
Unsurprising. Even if Nancy hadnât listened to him cry that night about all his miserable yearning, all his unrequited feelings born out of a mess he got himself into, she would have known. Eddie has tried to guard himself when it comes to you, but thereâs some times his leashed affection canât help but seep out.Â
Whenever you stumble on sidewalks beside him, his arms and hands are the first to fly out. Whenever the group has gone out to bars altogether, he watches you like a hawk, almost daring the men surrounding you to disrespect you. Whenever your birthday came around, heâd bought that damn gift card to his favorite coffee shop, all because he saw you frequent it twice. Although, to be fair, heâd made Harrington be the messenger there. He wouldnât have been able to look you in your eye, wouldnât have been able to put up the bitter persona on a day that should be special to you. He didnât want to ruin your birthday, so heâd simply sat on the sidelines. Let everyone else go out and celebrate with you. Let everyone else pour enough affection into your cup, even when he wishes his own could have been the final drops to cause it to overfill.Â
He had to tread carefully. Itâd be too easy â to let himself pour out all these silly feelings and meaningless attraction. One wrong move, and heâd cause his own undoing. His own destruction. It doesnât matter if it would be by your hand; heâd only have himself to blame at the end of the day.
Heâs lost in thought, still itching for a drink, when Nancy is suddenly standing over him. âWeâre going out for a smoke, you in?âÂ
He shakes his head numbly. His mind is far away now, getting lost in all that heâs done wrong, all that he canât have.Â
Heâs homesick. Heâs watched the way youâve interacted with Robin and Steve the entire night, and heâs goddamn homesick for a home that heâll never hold the keys to.Â
âYou sure, man?â Argyle asks him, wiggling his brows, âI brought the good shit.âÂ
Numbing his mind with drugs. Itâs tempting.
âIâm good,â he reaffirms, still speaking in monotone. He doesnât have the energy to put up a brave face, too focused on his heavy chest and that miserable pit in his gut still.Â
And everyone leaves. Heâs sure thereâs something poetic for his stormy mind to pick up on there, as he watches his friends gather without him and exit to the outside, but heâs more focused on a miniscule detail.
Youâre not with them.
Meaning you��re still in the kitchen.
And God, he really should know better. He should stay planted in his seat and he should sit in his misery until they all return. Only trouble can come from not doing so. But then his body moves to its own accord, fueled by something wickedly cruel and terribly homesick as he grabs one of the bottles of beer off the coffee table. Itâs Nancyâs, heâs sure of it. Her lipstick stains the opposite side of the rim he takes a swig from. The beer has long since gone lukewarm, but beggars canât be choosers. He clears his throat as the bitter lingers on his tongue.
He should know better.
But he doesnât. He really, really doesnât as he enters the kitchen. Youâre on your phone as he stands in the doorway, and thereâs no time to hide what youâd been glancing over.
A dating app.
You spin to face him, and he imagines a world where your eyes land on him and light up. Something akin to that first night, to those first few weeks. Where you look at him with purpose, and he sees relief flood your irises rather than irritation or fear.Â
No such luck. He only has himself to blame.
He canât think of anything else to say, so like an idiot, he gestures vaguely with the bottle of beer towards your phone, âThose apps fucking suck.âÂ
That jealousy is still gnawing at him. Hateful, painful, reckless.Â
You look down at your phone for a second, and click to exit whatever messages youâd been on. And then you look back up at him.
âYouâve used them in the past?â you question him, but heâs still stuck on all the recounts of your escapades heâd overheard tonight. Whether or not they were true didnât matter. All he sees when he closes his eyes is you, with other men. You, looking at someone else with purpose, relieved eyes awarded to someone more worthy.
Heâs lucky he can choke out a short, âNope,â and make it not sound strangled.Â
âOkay,â your attention returns to your phone screen, and Eddieâs returns to his internal battle.
Heâs jealous. So goddamn jealous itâs insufferable. Itâs not your fault â he chose to push you away, he chose to lash out like a child for his own sanity and his own safety. Youâd ruin him; youâve already ruined him without even trying. If he gave up on the act, on this carefully thought out plan, heâd be beyond leftover rubble of a man. Heâd be gone beyond recognition, reduced to ash and smoke. A nameless, forgotten whisper of dust that people would only point to and say, see? Look at that. Thatâs what becomes of you when you never learn.Â
Heâs pined enough in his lifetime after girls like you. Girls who were too good for him. Heâd done it with Chrissy, and it was still causing him nothing but trouble.Â
That burden didnât hang over Chrissy, or over you. It was all Eddieâs own fault. Neither of you could help that he wasnât good enough; it wasnât either of your jobs to fix him or lower your standards for him. Youâd even been kind, youâd even nearly fallen into that trap.Â
It was for the better. All of it was for the better this way.Â
And yet the jealousy remains. The anger still thrives between his ribs, and begs for release.Â
âWhy are you even still on them?â he should think over his words more carefully as they begin to roll off his tongues. He knows heâs in the wrong before he even continues, âI heard youâve been having a shit time with the guys on there â quite the opposite of what youâve been telling Harrington tonight, might I point out.âÂ
Each word is sharpened so intentionally, glinting from raking against that anger inside of him. You donât deserve their prick. Really, he should just be comforting you the way the others do â how Robin surely was, how Steve must be.Â
But itâs part of the plan. So he tampers down the jealousy and he feeds into the anger, lets it consume him. Because making you hate him is easier than letting you like him. Itâs easier to watch the one you canât have sneer at you like the enemy than let them smile at you like youâre just a friend.Â
âI-â you falter in your words, and he decides to straighten his back, takes a deep breath as he slips the mask on effortlessly. He hates how easy itâs become. He hates how quickly he turns everything with you into a fight, âYou win some, you lose some. Itâs the nature of the app.âÂ
Sometimes, itâs like a game. And he can pretend that your hatred, your distaste, is also all a facade. Like the both of you are two sides of the same coin. A playful banter rather than an actual argument between two people who canât even call themselves friends. When he looks at it like that, blinded by his delusion, it makes the ache dull. Sends it away for a few fleeting seconds, convinces himself he really can carry on this way.Â
âYou havenât made it sound like youâre losing at all, tonight. I nearly started a drinking game with Nance where we took a swig every time you said you managed to pull another âfuck âem and leave âemâ. Quite the boy count youâve got there, player,â he forces a grin as he leans on the counter, watching his words get under your skin exactly as he had intended.Â
Youâre cute like this. Clearly drunk, getting flustered. He revels in the way your face physically scrunches in annoyance, the way he can watch you gear up to fight fire with fire. A sick, twisted game of cat and mouse that always can entertain him in the moment and haunt him at night.Â
âYouâre bluffing. You couldnât hear me from all the way over there.â
He wonders, for a second, if youâd caught him staring at any point. He wonders if youâd even care.
âWe could.â
âNo, you couldnât.â
âYes, we could.â
âYouâre lying.âÂ
You cross your arms, and he canât help but watch the way they push your chest up. He canât help but ponder on how much better it would all feel if this were really playful banter.Â
He has to refrain from physically shaking the thought from his mind.Â
Itâs for the better.Â
He narrows his eyes, he grips onto the anger again, that hidden jealousy. He should know better. He should stop it. The words even feel heavy on his tongue, terribly forced. Because his anger isnât at you.Â
âIâm lying? Youâre the one whoâs been telling Stevie nothing but lies tonight,â and oh, how ironic, for the liar to be calling out someoneâs little white lies, âWhy do you need to even lie about all that, anyways? Itâs not like the truth would be any more pathetic than the act youâre putting up,â the words come out a bit easier when imagines the barrel of the gun pointed at himself, as if he were speaking so casually cruelly into a mirror rather than at you, âEveryone strikes ou-â
Heâs clearly struck a nerve. And it aches, but he reminds himself that thatâs the point. Thatâs his goal.
 âIâm pathetic? Just last week, you lied to the group. You were trying to avoid being where Iâd be and told them you had to walk your neighborâs dog.âÂ
He wasnât trying to avoid you. He was trying to avoid Nancy after his entire drunken confession fiasco.Â
âI did!â he continues to lie. Even with no one to show for, he piles up his lies high. Buries himself beneath them, beneath his pathetic act and worthless reasons. Itâs probably for the best that you had assumed that he was avoiding you.Â
âYour apartment has a strict no pet policy, Eddie.âÂ
The act cracks for a moment as he freezes. Why did you know about his apartmentâs pet policy?Â
âHow do you know that?â
It canât be because you care, or even get curious about him. Heâs done everything in his power to cause the exact opposite, to make you be repulsed by him and to run the other way if you can help it.Â
âI didnât, but Nancy did,â He doesnât even react to the roll of your eyes, unable to get riled up as he usually would at that. It clicks for him; it makes sense, because Nancy had stormed down his door not even a day later, âItâs all I had to hear about the entire night. How she wishes we could get along, how she hates when you lie to her. Thanks for that, by the way.âÂ
Eddie does feel guilty about that. He doesnât mean for his own self-destructive behavior to leach out to his friends, or even you. His goal has always been to make it so that when heâs not around, heâs not even an afterthought to you. But selfishly, part of him preens at the idea of you being reminded of him, of you thinking of him when heâs not in the room with you. Itâs a conundrum. Itâs almost deadlier than his other option.Â
âItâs not my fuckinâ fault you go out with my friends,â he grumbles like a damn child, almost pouting in his guilt. Thereâs another selfish sliver of him thatâs also upset at that â upset at the fact everyone else gets to bloom with your friendship and positive attention, but not him. Once again, itâs his own doing. He really shouldnât be angry at you about it.Â
âAnd itâs not my fault that you donât.âÂ
Times like these make him want to give it all up. He has to physically tense his body, tick his jaw and bite his tongue to avoid throwing the entire act to the side. He wants nothing more than to grab you by your shoulders and shake you, scream that sometimes it is your fault. But you donât know it â you canât read his mind, see past his intentions.Â
You donât know what Steve had so generously reminded him of that very first night.Â
âWhatever. Why are you lying to Steve?â his voice is devoid of all emotion despite the storm brewing inside of him. He canât even blame it on alcohol â he wishes he could, but his tolerance to beer can handle the single sip heâs taken. He crosses his arms, wrapping them around his body, trying to protect that terrible vulnerability only heâs aware of. When your position mirrors his, he wonders for a moment if youâre also feeling it.Â
But youâve been drinking. This entire conversation, every emotion, can be blamed on that. Youâre luckier than Eddie.Â
âIâm not lying.â
âYou are. With Steve, and with me at this very moment.âÂ
He lets a reaction at his own irony slip through for a brief second, eyebrows furrowing as the voice inside him screams hypocrite! Hypocrite! Hypocrite!
He wishes he could pretend to be oblivious to why he canât stop bringing Steve up, but he knows better. He can bury the jealousy alive, but it still bites all the same.Â
âHow the fuck do you even know how my dating life is going? We arenât exactly friends. Did Robin tell you? Did Steve tell you?âÂ
We arenât exactly friends.Â
He should relish that confirmation that his plan is working, that you truly donât see him as a friend, but it just fucking stings. He swallows hard physically, as if it can help him swallow down the truth any better, but it does nothing for him. The truth only continues to choke him up. His tongue has momentarily frozen over in his mouth as he tries to push past the painful reminder and wrap up this conversation. He feels it, that sharp burn of an unattended wound, and he realizes at the wrong moment that whether or not he keeps you at an arm's length, bloodshed will always occur.Â
At least this way, he tells himself itâs protecting himself. This way, the knife isnât pointed at his own heart.Â
âYouâre right. We arenât friends,â the words are poison on his tongue. They taste of dirt and rust, like a grave that screams to be dug up but he has no shovel. Heâd tossed it once heâd sealed the tomb, like a fool, âBut Rob and Nance are, and Nance and me are. See where Iâm going with that one?âÂ
At least he wasnât lying to you for a brief moment. Nance had told him. Heâd throw you that bone, at least.Â
âWell-â and with your own pause, you seemingly return the favor. Youâre handing him yet another opportunity on a silver platter; exposing an insecurity that he should let live and let die, but he wonât for the sake of the wall he has bled to put up between you two, âYou say that as if Nancy and I arenât friends.âÂ
âAre you?âÂ
Heâll regret that taunt for the rest of his days. Two simple words, and heâs damned himself. The conversation that follows, about Instagram and followers and social standards of friendship, doesnât even matter to him. Itâs just a routine. Constant knives, clashing swords of words, lie after lie piling up with the bile in his throat as he shoots for kills. He hands over reason after reason for you to resent him, and makes sure that each punch lands. Ignores the ache, the one billowing in his knuckles as if each subtle insult he tosses your way doesnât bruise his innards all the same way. By the end of the back and forth, it should be enough, for both of you. Heâs accomplished the same thing he always sets out to do with every conversation: he pisses you off, putting another inch in that stretch between you two.Â
But then you turn your back on him. And he deserves it. God, he deserves it. But heâs still full of bad ideas tonight, the awfulness of the last few days still suffocating him, and so he makes another decision to regret. He walks up behind you.
You open your phone, and he sees it. Youâre on the dating app again, and the screen flashes with the face of your latest contender.Â
He knows that face. He schools his face to remain even, but he fucking knows that face.Â
The bartender at his local haunt. The only other person besides Nancy who had ever seen Eddie so miserable over you. He had been drinking alone that night, and the whiskey had him pouring out his guts to the poor guy. Slurred words of the girl who had slipped between his fingers, of the one who got away, of you.Â
And that same bartender had been the one to sympathize with Eddie, claiming he understood. That he knew that feeling â dating around and doing anything in your power to get the girl you truly want off your mind. He said he had one of his own. Heâd told Eddie that his pain-riddled speeches helped him make up his mind, that he was going to go after the girl he really wanted, that Eddie should do the same.Â
Was this bartender your ex-boyfriend? Had the two of them been discussing the exact same girl?
Bad decisions. Over, and over, and over. It all comes to a rise within Eddie â not just the anger, but the jealousy and the hurt and the goddamn envy of the man on the screen. He hates the bartender, he hates himself, he hates the world at this point.
He tells himself he should add you to that list. But he doesnât. He canât.Â
And it all spirals out of control before he can prove that to himself. Words grow sharper, small kindles of tension between the two of you finally explode to full blown flames, and heâs suddenly saying things he doesnât mean. Things heâll linger on for the days and weeks, the months to come.Â
âYouâre so dense, you never realize that youâre not wanted, Not by those assholes, not here-âÂ
Heâs mid-lie, one finger on the trigger of the gun he assumed was aimed at his own chest, when it finally happens. A snap within both of you. Timed perfectly with the glass that shatters against the wall beside his head.Â
Eddie learns two things that night.Â
One, half of his plan worked. Heâs succeeded. You hated Eddie Munsonâs guts, and instead of him being content in his success, heâs sick to his stomach. It doesnât bandage the wound inside of him, doesnât pack away cotton nor cauterize the bleeding. It only worsens it. Widens it, impossibly so. He swears shards of that broken glass fly right into his unsuspecting chest, even if Nancy doesnât find a trace on him when she comes back inside to see the aftermath. You hate him, heâs proven his point. He has proven himself to be the worst possible version of himself, the most unlovable man he had always seen in the mirror now residing in him staunchly enough that every single one of his friends sees it.Â
Heâd done it. Heâd diminished any chance he had ever held of being friends with you. And he thought that, without a doubt, that meant heâd diminished any disastrous chance of letting you close enough to risk the chance of any more of his feelings getting involved. He thought it would have meant that heâd done it â heâd protected himself, and in some sick twisted way you, from inevitable bloodshed.Â
But blood had still been shed. Even if his friends were only cleaning up broken glass in the kitchen, he could still see the stain of red across the floor and walls from you and him. He was bleeding out for you, but he had just driven the knife in deep enough that you would never return the feeling. There was no world where you would be bleeding out for him, only because of him.Â
The second revelation comes a bit later in the night.
Closer to midnight, hours after the fight, when Eddie finds himself alone as per usual. He stumbles to his usual bar, thankful for the late hours, fully prepared to get so fucking wasted he canât remember his own name. Heâd wish to not remember your face, especially when he had spewed such hateful intent your way, but he knows thereâs not a single brand or amount of whiskey out there that can cleanse him of that. Your name is just another ghost to add to the lineup. Youâll haunt him until his dying day. And he deserves that.Â
But then, when he walks into the bar, he sees the bartender.Â
The same man who had stood you up just the night before. The same man Eddie simply couldnât understand. He was clearly on a date, a nice girl sat at the table across from him, laughing at every word he said. Eddie remembers their conversation, although a bit hazy.Â
âI think youâre onto something, man. Some girls are just⌠irreplaceable. Iâve got a girl like that of my own â prettiest eyes youâll ever see, a smile that could cure cancer â and⌠you know what? I think we should both go for it. Give up on the girls who could never compare.âÂ
He wants to vomit. The bastard had even poured a round of shots on the house, had fucking cheered with Eddie before throwing back the alcohol with him in the promise of moving onto the girls who matter.Â
He had said cheers to discarding you. Brushing off you. To you being one of the girls who could never compare.Â
Eddieâs vision goes red, and he knows half of the blame falls on himself. Heâd been the reason this asshole stood you up. He had already been the reason for your pain tonight before heâd even said a word to you. His self hatred has never burned so deeply, so viciously.
But you canât punch yourself. And so instead, Eddie doesnât hold back when he approaches the table and lands his right knuckles right on the bastardâs cheek bone. Even goes in for a second punch. He would have gotten in a third punch, but the bartender hits back. Not as hard as Eddie, fists fueled by self-defense rather than ravaging guilt and crippling self-hatred, but enough to get deter him until security could gather both men up.
Itâs in the alleyway that he has his second revelation. At the hands of the man who had just hurt you. It was like looking in a mirror. Eddie nearly does finally vomit as he leans against the brickwall, security a few paces away, ready to file a police report. But then, the bastard still manages to somehow be better than Eddie, throwing up a hand to stop them from dialing for the cops.Â
âDonât,â is all he says, leveling a stare when Eddieâs eyes fill with tears.
âReally?â Eddie cocks an eyebrow, pushing his luck. He needs someone to punish him. He needs to be thrown in a cell for the night, to be treated as the degenerate he truly was, âI just rearranged your fucking face and-â
âWhyâd you punch me?â the bartender spits out some blood, nose crooked, âYou- Youâre a fucking regular, dude. Howâd I piss in your cheerios?âÂ
Eddieâs feeling vulnerable. All his actual feelings boiling and burning in the back of his throat, begging to be released. He doesnât need a drop of whiskey this time to be honest.Â
âThe girl,â Eddie rasps, tears threatening to spill as he pictures your face again, âI told you about the girl. The one no one else compared to.âÂ
The bartenderâs eyes widen, âJesus, fuc- are you telling me that we were talking about the same fucking girl? I- Vanessa told me she wasnât seeing anyone else, I canât believe she fucking lie-â
âNot her,â Fuck Vanessa, Eddie thinks bitterly, almost laughing. He has no right to say his next words, but he does, and they cause a pain worse than even the most nightmarish hangovers heâs ever experienced, âMy girl is the one you stood up for her.â
You werenât his girl. You never would be his girl.Â
The bartender only looks more confused, and Eddieâs anger flares a bit more at the thought of him talking to more girls beyond you. The man before him had had everything Eddie wanted: he had had you. And just like Eddie, he had fucked it all up. It was easy to misdirect his anger in the moment.Â
He says your name out loud, a searing iron in his throat that makes it come out garbled and strangled. Some recognition falls upon the manâs face.Â
âOh⌠her.âÂ
Eddie doesnât hold back, âHer? Thatâs all you have to fucking say? You stood her up, you fucking- Jesus Christ, go burn in Hell,â Heâs being irrational. He doesnât care, âCall the cops on me. Tell them to let me rot in a fucking cell. I deserve it â but so do you. That girl⌠that⌠her. Sheâs one in a fucking million, sheâs a thousand times better than whatever girl you have waiting on you inside, and you couldnât see that. Youâre a goddamn dick.âÂ
No one makes the move for the call. The bartender just shakes his head again, being far too patient. Eddie opens his mouth, ready to scream now as he demands they punish him. Make him pay for his crimes. Not just the punches, but everything he had broken tonight.
He broke you tonight. He deserves to burn in Hell far more than the man before him.Â
âI knew you were in love with her, but-â
Eddie cuts him off, âIâm not in love with her.â
He hates the look he receives. Itâs the same pity that Nancy now looks at him with. That same hidden judgment, like everyone else knows something that he doesnât.Â
âYou may hate to hear it,â the bartender is choosing his words very carefully as he swipes in a contrasting carelessness at the blood pouring out of one of his nostrils, âBut you donât throw punches like that for a girl youâre not in love with. So I suggest you mind your business, and if she is as valuable as you keep going on about, you tell her rather than punching the dude he just serves you fucking alcohol.âÂ
He doesnât even have to close his eyes to see you anymore. The image of you is clear as day, even with his eyes open. You, broken and vulnerable and full of hatred for him. Just as he had intended.Â
Success tastes metallic and bitter. Eddie finally empties what little he had in his stomach onto that concrete alleyway.
He doesnât leave the wall. Not when the bartender goes back inside with one of the barâs bouncers, not when the remaining bouncer eyes him and nervously steps forward, not when they return with a paper declaring him banned from the bar.Â
He canât move. All he sees is you. He hasnât drank more than that one pitiful swig of beer at Steveâs, but he feels like his world has gone incoherent all the same.Â
He fucked up.Â
He crinkles that piece of paper harshly once heâs properly left alone in the alleyway, angry enough that it tears a bit from his force. It doesnât phase him; he didnât intend on returning anyways. He carries it with him the entire way home, regardless, rolls it between his palms until itâs gone soft with the sweat of his hands.Â
Itâs for the better. He fucked up, but itâs for the better.Â
He tosses the wadded ball into the trash when he gets home. Goes through the numb motions of taking off his shoes, tossing his jacket on the counter rather than the hook heâd put up for it, and leaves his bikeâs keys beside it. Eventually, he makes his way to the bathroom, brushing his teeth but never once glancing up in the mirror. As a matter of fact, he avoided every single reflective surface in his apartment that night.Â
He still sees your face, broken and teary, as he turns off his bedroom light and lays on his mattress that night. It doesnât matter how many times he repeats it to himself, reminds himself over and over, the mantra of it being for the better doesnât work. It canât break through. All because of a pathetic revelation.
Eddie learns that night that he is, in fact, in love with you. And it doesnât matter, because you hate his fucking guts, just as he had intended.Â
â
You donât make a single move once Eddie breathlessly finishes his explanation. Not even to breathe.Â
Heâs been in love with you since that night at Steveâs.Â
Youâd known that he had punched the bartender that night. Youâd known that he had been banned from his usual bar that night. But you hadnât known the entire truth. You couldnât have ever imagined it, ever pieced it together, until now.Â
And you donât know if that speaks more on you and how dense youâve been this entire time, or on Eddie and how dishonest heâs been this entire time.Â
âGod, Iâve loved you for so long, and Iâll never be fucking worthy.â
It suddenly makes sense. At a sickening and sudden pace, it clicks into place.Â
âEddie, I-âÂ
âDonât,â he stops you, looking you directly in your eyes. You nearly shrink under his attention. Your fury is gone; you just feel empty, âYou⌠You donât need to say it back. You donât need to say anything â the betâs off. Iâm not being honest to stop you from leaving,â he admits, every single wall crumbling at both of your feet, âIâm just being honest because you deserve it. I should have told you that night. I should- I actually should have never done any of this. Any of it.âÂ
You remember the girl you once were. In a bar, surrounded by strangers and new friends, with tunnel vision for the boy in front of you. You remember that feeling of coming home, the way you ached for him to let you in and had been fooled for one night that it was possible.Â
A year later, and he was letting you in, too late.Â
âWhy?â your voice cracks. You should just pick up your bag and go, but you canât. Not until you stick the final stitches into the wound, seal up this hurt once and for all. For you and for Eddie. âWhy would you⌠Why would you do that? Why would you set out to make me hate you?âÂ
âBecause I didnât deserve you,â he says it like a simple fact, like it doesnât shatter you apart, âBecause I knew if I didnât create the rift and kept letting you in, Iâd fall in love with you. At first, I thought I needed you to hate me to prevent it. Figured youâd be stronger than me about it. If I made you hate me, I was⌠Honestly, I was saving myself. Iâd tell myself it was about saving you, but it wasnât. I was being fucking selfish.â
You nod silently, swallowing down tears. Tears for what could have been, tears for what you still want so badly that it aches.Â
âAll because of Steve makingâŚâ you trail off, head trying to wrap around all the honesty he had just presented you with, âMaking some off-handed, drunk comment.âÂ
It was Eddieâs turn to silently nod. To swallow hard and flutter his eyes shut so you couldnât see the hurt lit within them.Â
âYou said you hated me,â youâre thinking out loud more than youâre properly speaking to him at this point, voice broken and soft, hands fighting the urge to reach out for him. Even after it all. Every reminder of what he had done for you, and now having the pitiful reason behind it all, still couldnât break what had formed here tonight. Everything has still changed for you, âWhen I said everything changes, I meant the hate â I didnât want to hate you anymore.âÂ
âI know,â he bites his lip, as if heâs trying to hold back any careless words. Words that might hurt you, but not for the same reasons as they used to, âThatâs why⌠not much has changed. I never hated you. God knows I wanted to. I told myself I had to hate you, because if I didnât hate you, Iâd love you. And I couldnât do that again â I couldnât handle falling in love with someone I couldnât have. I knew I wouldnât survive loving you when youâd never love me back. It wouldnât be fair⌠to either of us.âÂ
âBut you did it anyway,â you almost laugh at the awfulness of it all, terribly irony stacking up between you, âYou fell in love with me, you said it yourself. You⌠you loved me.â
âLove,â he corrects, eyes now wide open, âI love you. Itâs not- Itâs not some feeling in the past tense. You should still hate me, because I still love you.âÂ
Heâs right, you finally realize. You should hate him for all of this.Â
âAnd all of this counted on the first part of your plan working,â he has to take a step closer, whether it be subconscious or due to how low your voice has dropped. The physical distance erased aches. Splinters each of your bones and all of your emotions, âWhich you never even asked me if it worked, even now. You just assumed.âÂ
He takes a deep, brave breath before he quietly asks you, âDid it work?â
You both already know the answer now, âNo.â
But it changes nothing. You know that, he knows that. Itâs just as he said â the point of saying it out loud no longer has anything to do with repairing whatâs been damaged just tonight. Youâre both being honest only because you both deserve it. You both deserve to finally close this tomb.Â
You donât know if youâll ever be able to close it, though. Not truly. Not properly.Â
âI canât stay,â you whisper, âI still⌠I still need to leave.âÂ
Especially now.Â
âI know you do,â he responds. Heâs gentle, understanding.Â
It doesnât stop the tear you see break from his lower lashes. He doesnât draw any attention to it, doesnât so much as move to clear it from his cheek. As if heâs scared if he does, youâll notice it if you hadnât already.
âThe betâs still off,â you continue, unable to meet his gaze as you pick up your bag once more.Â
âI know it is.âÂ
He doesnât try to stop you this time. And part of you, this time, wishes he would have as you slip back out the front door of apartment 2C and let the door shut with a quiet click behind you.
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THIS COMMENT ON INSTAGRAM IS FUCKING SENDING ME WTF đđđđđđđ
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I'm adding 'guy who makes youtube videos roasting padlocks for being easy to pick/bust open' to my list of acceptable jobs for Eddie.
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u///u
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itâs nice to have a friend
eddie munson x fem!reader
summary: every morning eddie sits on the porch with a stray black cat who he has quickly grown to love. when his morning routine gets disturbed by her not showing up for three days, he goes to find her, only to see she and multiple other cats are in very capable hands.
word count: 1.7k
warnings: fluff!, meet cute, multiple mentions of cats, flirting, all around a really sweet fic
authors note: thereâs no explanation for this except that ive begun to feed two stray cats who hang around on my street everyday. i thought eddie of all people would find that really charming? so i wrote it and i hope you all enjoy it. thank you to everyone who showed me their cat and let me use them for this fic (notably @abibliophobiaa for showing me her sweet baby) thank you to @mysticmunson for proof reading!
Eddieâs morning routine was the same everyday. He woke up at 7:30am, rolling out of bed to put on a clean black t-shirt and the same old dirty pair of blue coveralls. Heâd brush his teeth and use the bathroom, spraying on cologne that would evaporate off his body by the time he arrived at the shop.Â
He had the same breakfast everyday, two pieces of toast, both smeared with a thin layer of butter and a much thicker layer of strawberry jam. Most weeks it was whatever he could find at the grocery store. Other weeks, when he had time, he got the fresh stuff from the farmers market that took place every weekend.Â
If he remembered, he would pack himself a small lunch that consisted of mostly snacks and whatever else he had laying around. He took advantage of the coffee that was available at the shop, there always being a warm pot of it ready and waiting for him.Â
After that he would go outside and have a smoke. There was a little black cat that would sleep under his van most nights, running out from under it when he came outside. He would sit with her for a while, petting her and talking to her like she was an old friend.Â
It was the highlight of his mornings, the one thing he looked forward to before having to go and deal with loud machines and people complaining all day.Â
To his surprise on Monday at 8:00am when he went outside, there was no sign of his little friend anywhere. He was a little confused, but assumed that she had gone to find shelter given the fact that it had stormed all night.Â
When Tuesday came around, it was the same thing, she was nowhere in sight. If he was honest he was a little worried something had happened to the feline, rubbing his chin as he looked around a bit for her.Â
By Wednesday, Eddieâs feelings were hurt. He didnât fully realise how much the company of the little black cat meant until he didnât have it anymore. He really hoped nothing had happened to her, the thought upsetting him greatly.Â
He decided to walk a little down the part of the road he didnât take often, wondering if she had wandered that way and forgotten where Eddie lived. The gravel road crunches beneath his work boots with each step he takes.Â
Forest Hills trailer park had looked the same since the day Eddie had moved here when he was around the age of ten.
Rows of trees surrounding the trailers that were there, the same trailers that had been there for years. Eddie knew most of the people living there, if not from talking to them, from the friendly thin lipped smiles he gave them as they crossed paths.Â
It wasnât common that anyone from out of town moved into the park. Even more uncommon for people his age to move in.Â
But, it was beyond rare, never happened rare, that a pretty girl like you moved into a trailer three down from him.Â
There were seven cats around you, rubbing up on your legs as you crouched down. You had several cans of cat food stacked up beside you, a bowl of dry food, and a bowl of water in front of you.Â
âEasy everyone.â You tried to calm the crying cats. âIâve gotta get them open before you can have them!âÂ
You ran your free hand along the fur of a brown and black striped cat before going back to open a can. You poured the contents into two small containers, pushing them a bit away from you as three of the cats went to go and eat it.Â
You were the most beautiful thing Eddie had seen here in a long time. The blue dress you wore fit you well, running past your knees and stopping above your ankle. Your white sandals looked out of place on the hard chalky gravel of the driveway, much too clean, and much too pretty.Â
You had a bright smile, one that made him smile just by seeing it. The laugh that left you as you fed another two cats was intoxicating, full of so much love that it made Eddieâs hands feel clammy.Â
He felt something rubbing against his foot, a low purring noise filling his ear faintly.Â
âHey sweet girl.â He knelt down to pet her, letting her rub her face into his palm over and over like she tended to. âWhere have you been, huh?âÂ
âIs she yours?â Your soft voice was like music to his ears. You were walking closer to him, the final small container of food in front of you for the little black cat.Â
He squinted as he looked up at you, the sun glaring in his eyes. He could still see you and you looked even better up close.
âSheâs not mine.â He began, standing up tall again. âBut she usually hangs out with me every morningâŚand she hasnât been around the past few days and I got a little worried.âÂ
âSheâs good company.â You smiled again, your face radiating warmth and joy. âI can see why you were worried.âÂ
Eddie would have been nervous if it werenât for how friendly you were. Normally people were scared off by his appearance, rushing to finish the conversation before it started. Yet, here you were, staring at him sweetly with no intention of running off.Â
âThought she mightâve got hit by a car or something.â He shrugged. âTurns out she just found someone prettier to hang out with. Isnât that right, girl?âÂ
He reached to pet her, nearly missing the way you were smiling widely at his words. Your hands were in front of you, fiddling together in a way that told him you were nervous in what he hoped to be a good way.Â
âI think they only like me because I feed them.â You laughed. âThere was only her and Henry two days ago and now Iâve collected a clowder.âÂ
âIs one of them yours?â He asked in response to the use of a name.Â
âOh no.â You shook your hand in front of you. âIâve justâŚgiven them names. They deserve names.âÂ
Oh he was screwed. You were pretty and had a heart of gold and if that wasnât enough, you fed stray cats and felt that they deserved names.Â
âThatâs nice of you, I like that.â He smiled. âDoes she have a name?âÂ
âOf course she has a name.â You said it like his question was silly. âItâs a work in progress, but Iâve settled on Elvira for now.âÂ
âElvira!â He laughed, arms crossing over his chest as he did. âI love it, I think thatâs a great name for her.âÂ
His acceptance of your name choice made your heart beat faster for some reason. He was really handsome, his smile making you warm, his apparent charm making you forget how to talk. Throw in the fact that he seemingly liked you, and you were done for.Â
âThank you!â You giggled happily. âIâm Y/n, by the way.â You held your hand out, hoping that no cat food had gotten on it.Â
âEddie.â He replied, shaking your hand gently. âItâs sweet of you to look out for themâŚfeed them you know.âÂ
âItâs no big deal.â You shook your head. âThey deserve to be cared about just as much as any other animal.âÂ
Eddie was going to be late for work, but he really couldnât be bothered to care, not when you were being so damn nice to him.Â
âDo you wanna introduce me to the others?â He asked, to which you happily obliged, letting him meet your furry friends.Â
Eddie learned that Henry was a bigger grey one with faint white stripes through him. He cried the loudest of all the cats, sitting outside your door waking you each morning. Nebula looked a bit like him with her soft grey and white fur and her wide green eyes.Â
Winnie was a ragdoll cat with white fluffy fur and a small pink nose. She really liked Eddie, following him around the second he bent down to pet her. The smallest of them all had grey fur and a white chin, you named her Sivy.Â
The two other boys were nearly identical, with thick brown fur and black stripes running through it. You named them Benjamin and Leo, claiming you thought they sounded nice together.Â
He thought about your exchange all day at work, about the sheer joy you had introducing him to all the cats. Eddie needed an excuse to talk to you again, a way to make you smile at him again.Â
Sure, he could say he was coming to see the cats but he didnât want you to think that was the only reason. All day he pondered on reasons to come and see you, until it hit him at the grocery store.Â
Thatâs how Eddie ended up on your driveway again the next morning. He had three of the biggest boxes of wet cat food he could find in his arms, two bags of dry food barely hanging from his fingertips.Â
You gasped when you saw him, rushing up from where you were feeding them.Â
âEddie!â You laughed, taking the two bags from him. âWhatâs all this?âÂ
âItâs cat food.â He smiled, making you laugh at his bluntness. âYou shouldnât have to deal with buying all this on your own, thought Iâd help out.âÂ
âYou didnât have to do all that.â You hummed, placing a hand on his bicep so gently he swore he was seeing stars.Â
âI wanted to.â He assured you, placing the boxes down. âYou deserve some help.âÂ
He turned your words about the cats against you, making it virtually impossible for you to dismiss him. Not that you wanted to.Â
Eddie quickly developed a new morning routine. One where instead of sitting on his porch with his little friend, he made his way over to your trailer.Â
He didnât drink the coffee at work anymore, he had it with you after you both fed the cats.Â
He thought that he liked his routine the way it was, but you quickly changed his mind.
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This fandom is too tense. Can we please just live, laugh, and write porn�
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I headcanon that little old ladies actually love Eddie. The charm he turns on doesn't work on any woman under 67. He's helping them across streets, and carrying in their groceries. He's fixing their cars for no charge, and complimenting their flower beds.
Like maybe Eddie was taken from his dad much earlier and only came to live with Wayne after Wayne's mother, Eddie's grandmother, died. Maybe she had been taking care of him up until that point, and Eddie has a soft spot for little old ladies.
Eddie just casually strolling down a sidewalk like, "your rose bushes are looking very metal, Mrs. Lepinski"
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Go further with your imagination.
@eddiemunsons-missingnipple
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Stranger Things set designers really had every opportunity to give The Munsons⢠the most boring, bland, stock standard trailer. But someone on that set walked into the empty space, shook their head and said "No. People live here and they have a story. Get the hats and mugs."
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miss you more.
eddie munson x readerÂ
facetime sex with your rockstar boyfriend. 18+
Youâre fresh out of the shower when your phone buzzes to life, the screen lighting up with an incoming FaceTime call. You squint at the phone from a few feet away, heart fluttering when you notice Eddieâs name and the bat emoji youâd tacked on beside it; you carefully unwind the towel from the top of your head and give your hair one last pat-down before picking up the phone and swiping to answer the call.Â
Eddieâs voice is gravelly on the other line. âHey, hot stuff. Howâs it going?â
You take in the image of him on a hotel balcony somewhere in Paris, a cigarette between his lips, the cherry glowing and illuminating his face in the dark. Your chest aches with the need to run your fingers through his hair, to smell the spiced aroma of cologne on his neck. To press your lips to his pulse and hear him sigh, his body relaxing under your careful touch.
âGood,â you say, folding one bare leg over the other. Youâre in nothing but a comfy pair of panties and an oversized Corroded Coffin tour shirt, your still-wet hair dampening the cotton. And while the cold, wet patch may have been enough to irritate you any other time, at the moment, all you can think about is the curve of Eddieâs lips around his cigarette. The slight give of his cheeks when he sucks on the filter and inhales.Â
It takes an extraordinary effort to pull yourself out of the haze of your daydreaming - flashes of Eddieâs hands on your neck, his breath in your ear, his hips flush against yours. You take a deep breath to steady yourself. âHow was the show? What time is it there?âÂ
âTwo? Three? Not sure,â Eddie responds, a vaguely pixelated puff of smoke dissolving into the air beside him. âThe show was great, baby. Crowd was insane - you shouldâve seen the pit. Fuckinâ intense.âÂ
âSounds like a good time,â you say with an upward quirk of your lips. âSo, I take it youâre liking Paris?â
Eddie hums, taking another drag before responding on the exhale. âYeah, itâs nice. Foodâs good and the people are chainsmokers, so I fit right in. But, I mean, itâs not that special without you here.âÂ
âCheesy,â you accuse, though the smile on your lips calls your bluff.Â
Youâre met with the sight of Eddieâs middle finger on the screen, a silver skull ring snug between his first and second knuckles. âWell, excuse me for wanting to fuck my girlfriend in the city of love.âÂ
Your traitorous body nearly seizes up at his words, cheeks warming as you scramble to play it cool.Â
âAw,â you coo, licking your lips. âIs that what you want, pretty boy? You wanna fuck me?â
Truth is, you had spent the day with your hand between your legs, fingers slick while youâd scrolled through the hidden photo album on your phone. But even with the help of the countless lewd photos and videos youâd taken with Eddie before heâd left for tour, you hadnât felt satisfied. Arousal still lingers at your core, burning brighter when you see Eddieâs eyes darken on the screen in real-time.Â
âWhat kinda stupid question⌠Yeah, I wanna fuck you, angel,â Eddie says. He shuffles around, puts out his cigarette. âBeen thinkinâ about it all night. Popped a boner on stage when we played Ache.âÂ
The song in question, from Corroded Coffinâs most recent album, features a few snippets of your whiny, saccharine moans. Eddie thought itâd be funny to credit you as a vocalist on the track.
âDid you get to take care of that yet?â You ask, one hand curled around your phone as the other toys with the hem of your shirt. Your skin is warm beneath your fingertips, like your body truly is burning with arousal.Â
Eddie recognizes the lower register of your voice and you can see his brain begin to short-circuit. âNo,â he says, hushed. âNot yet.âÂ
You hum to express your pity, lower lip bulging in an exaggerated pout. âPoor baby.âÂ
The dull throbbing between your legs becomes too much to bear, so you slip your hand beneath the soft fabric of your panties, fingertips tracing over the seam of your cunt. If only you had it in you to be surprised by the arousal pooled at your core.Â
Eddieâs in his hotel room now, having stepped back inside while you were distracted with maintaining a straight face. As your fingers work to spread your own slickness through your folds, you watch your boyfriend lower himself into bed, one arm folded to support the back of his head against the pillow. In the yellowish glow of the room, you can see him much more clearly; his cheeks are flushed a pretty shade of pink, and his teeth worry at his bottom lip like heâs thinking hard about something. And then he says, âYou gonna show me how wet you are?â
He always fucking knows, you think, breath hitching when your fingers graze the soft bud of your clit on the way up. With one arousal-coated hand, you push your underwear far enough down your legs to allow you to kick them off. Youâve hardly had time to angle the camera right when you hear Eddie curse on the other line. You let out a shaky little laugh, stomach flipping from his attention despite the fact that youâve been with him for years.Â
âI couldnât get off all day,â you admit, letting your hand return to your aching cunt. You hope the microphone picks up the lewd, wet sounds of your fingers moving over your folds. âJust kept wishing you were here to help.â
Eddie lets out a sound halfway between a hum and a growl, brown eyes clouded with lust as he watches you touch yourself. âGod, youâre just fucking ruined, huh?âÂ
âMm, maybe I am.â But you know heâs right.
âYeah? Canât touch yourself the way I do?â His nostrils flare when you release a breathy moan, middle finger circling your clit. You imagine that itâs his hand stroking at your drooling pussy, his fingers teasing at your entrance, his palm propped against the swollen mound of your clit.Â
âGod, youâre fucking perfect,â Eddie rasps. âGo ahead, baby, fuck yourself. Think you can fit two fingers already?â
âYeah,â you sigh, dizzy with lust as you curl your middle and index finger inward, pressing them into your already-clenching hole. Itâs not much of a stretch - just enough to make you whine. âYeah, Ed, fuck - Iâm so wet.âÂ
âI know, pretty girl,â Eddie says, and you hear the rustle of fabric on his end. The camera shakes as he repositions his phone, and when you see his newly exposed skin, you nearly drool. His shirt is hiked up to his ribcage, revealing whorls of black-and-gray ink over smooth, pale skin; the defined edges of his v-lines look just as good as you remember, as does the trail of dark hair leading from his bellybutton to his pubic bone. Youâd just die to have him here, now, palming at his cock with ringed fingers and white knuckles. But you can work with this - seeing him on the screen of your smartphone, all hot and bothered, his abdomen tensing as he spits into his palm and uses the saliva to stroke his already-leaking cock.Â
Eddieâs voice breaks through the haze of your arousal when he says, âAdd another finger for me, yeah?â And you obey without hesitation, your ring finger joining the others in the tight heat of your cunt.Â
âThatâs my girl.â Eddieâs praise makes you dizzy with another wave of lust, and youâre almost embarrassingly wet for him, fucking down against your own fingers while you watch him tug at his cock.Â
âEddie,â you gasp, the heel of your hand rubbing torturously over your clit as your fingers tease at your g-spot. You hear your boyfriend say something like I know, baby, but youâre too far gone to listen, head lolling to the side, cunt clenching hard around your fingers. Through half-lidded eyes, you see another spurt of precum leak from his swollen, reddened tip, and his thumb swipes through the wetness, spreading it further into the taut skin of his cock. Your cunt gives another desperate clench around your fingers, aching to be filled with Eddie, but all you can do is rut against your hand, let your fingers fill the space he canât.Â
âGonna fuck you stupid when I get back home,â Eddie pants, his cheeks reddening further as his hand works at his cock, âCanât wait to stretch out that pretty hole, baby. Use you like the toy that you are.âÂ
A ragged moan falls from your lips before you can think to stifle it, and youâre nodding like a madwoman, drool pooling in your mouth from the mental image Eddieâs painting for you. âYes, god, yes,â you babble, every inch of your body on fire.Â
Eddieâs breathing is heavy enough for you to hear every inhale, every exhale. The slick sounds of his hand against his cock barely come through the speakers, but every minute noise has you reeling, almost your entire hand coated in the thick, sticky arousal leaking from your pussy.Â
âMy poor little slut,â Eddie croons. You look at him and find him already staring at the screen, at the image of you with your legs spread, one hand struggling to keep your phone still while the other works at your cunt. âCanât even come without my help, huh? You need daddy to help you get there?â
âYeah, fuck,â you hiss, âI need it, need you.âÂ
âGod, you sound so fucking pathetic,â Eddie says, and you can hear the smile in his voice, even as your eyes roll back into your head for a beat or two. âYou close, baby? Gonna come for me?â
A string of incoherent whines and moans leaves your lips, and thereâs a wet trail of drool leaking from the corner of your mouth as you chase your orgasm, fingers working rhythmically against the spot inside of you that makes you see stars. When you finally do come, itâs with a shuddering gasp, thighs trembling as you writhe against your mattress. Everything is warm and fuzzy and blurred at the edges, even when the overwhelming pleasure subsides. Your fingers are coated in milky-white cum when you finally slide them from your cunt, and as soon as the idea sprouts in your mind, youâre lifting your fingers to your mouth to suck them clean.Â
âOh fuck,â Eddie blurts on the other line. You smile as you lick up the excess cum between each finger, eyeing the camera, legs still spread, and thatâs all it takes for Eddie to reach his own orgasm. His hips rock upwards into his touch as he fucks his fist, the wet slapping of his hand against his dick growing quicker, louder. You see the moment he comes undone: his brows pinch together and his jaw clenches, spurts of cum soaking his own stomach and the bunched-up shirt at the top of his chest. He curses and grunts through every wave of pleasure until his hand finally stalls on his cock, a breath away from overstimulation. Youâd do anything to put your mouth on him now. To watch him squirm and beg you to stop, only for the pain to melt back into pleasure.Â
For now, though, the sight of him on his back, spent, cheeks cherry-red, is enough.
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i think it's awesome that there's weed for cats and we just give it to them
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