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sneezelee33 · 27 days ago

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Omfg it’s summer and I’m literally crying over how cute this is 😭💕😪

𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀

(eddie munson x secret admirer!reader)

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 • eddie edit © @fefemunson! • ao3

Summary: After four long years of pining, it’s high time you tell your crush you like him and quite possibly your last chance to, luckily there’s no better time for love confessions than Valentine’s Day. If only you hadn’t chosen to do so anonymously, because you’re pretty sure Eddie Munson is hoping his secret admirer is someone else.

Warnings: pining, angst, misunderstandings, very brief (blink and you miss it) descriptions of oncoming panic attack (doesn't happen), Heather Holloway being a sweetie, and a whole lot of fluff

authors note: no, you're not imagining things. i'm reposting a story i already have up. unfortunately, i seem to have an anti who has been flagging anything of mine that gains traction as content that it is not so it's hidden to those who don't have the settings on (most people) and goes to die away, never to be interacted with again. they're attempting to do the same to Magical Mysteria, as they had the original flagged and, therefore, hidden. because everyone seemed to really relate to reader and enjoyed reading this particular fic, i've decided to give that anti the finger, so here's a repost.

word count: 10k

You stood posted by a row of lockers, peaking around the corner of the hall to watch as the longtime object of your affections laughed at something one of his friends said.

“Are you stalking him again?”

You jumped, clutching your biology book to your chest as you swiveled around to face Heather, your best friend.

“Geez!” You hissed out, voice low as you checked to make sure you hadn’t attracted his attention.

But it’s you, so of course you hadn’t. Eddie was still leaning up against his locker and chatting away, face framed by the mane he called his hair. His curls were defined much more than usual—clearly he’d washed his hair before school which meant he must have been up early. Why did you know that????

“I’m not stalking him,” you grumbled and Heather giggled. “I’m just observing him.”

“Well, stop observing him and go talk to him.” She nudged your shoulder, giving you a reassuring smile.

“I’m gonna—,” You answered with false bravado that soon wavered, “. . . eventually. Look, I have a plan. Okay, today is a new day, Valentine’s Day and the perfect day for romance. No more watching from the sidelines─”

Heather coughed out a stalking, followed by another cough, all of which you ignored.

“No more quietly pining, I’m telling him how I feel.”

Heather raised her eyebrows, tongue clicking.

“Let me get this straight, you’re not only going to actually exchange words with him, you’re actually going to tell Eddie Munson about your feelings?”

Your heart fluttered just at the mention of him.

Edward Wayne Munson. Eddie.

You’d had a crush on him since your freshman year of high school, and contrary to your best friend’s earlier statement, you had exchanged words with him already. Sorta. Basically.

Freshman year you’d ate shit in the hallway, tripping over literally nothing and all your belongings had scattered, he’d stopped walking to help you pick your things up before he was off again. It wasn’t much conversation, but he did say something about those invisible rocks people left lying around.

Then your sophomore year, he’d sat behind you with his club at the school’s mandatory pep rally. One of his friends had accidentally jostled you and Heather a little too roughly when he was finding his seat and Eddie had apologized on his behalf.

Then last year he’d held the cafeteria door open for you and your friends when you slipped in. That time, you’d been the one to thank him and he had said you’re welcome. Almost unprompted!

So, yeah. Maybe you were a little delusional, it didn’t matter though. What mattered was you were running out of time.

Somehow, Eddie had managed to fail the past two years, allowing you to catch up to him but that meant you were now a senior as well. You’d let the other chances to approach him pass you by because you were too scared of rejection, this was your last chance.

The college acceptance letter you’d received at the start of the week also spurred your bravery, if he rejected you, you only had a few months left until you were on your way to California, there’d be all those states between the two of you.

You had nothing to lose, so today was gonna be the day.

“Yes,” you took a deep breath, slowly exhaling as the determination sank deep into your bones. “I’m gonna tell him.”

“How are you gonna do that?” She cocked her head, the curls of her side ponytail bouncing.

“I’m glad you asked, my friend.” You grabbed her hand, dragging her down the hall to your partially opened locker. You pulled the door open fully to reveal a bouquet of roses, set on top of your books.

Her face wrinkled up in confusion, “You bought yourself flowers again?”

“No.” You glared at her, a hand scratching your head as you hissed out through gritted teeth, “And we promised not to bring that up anymore—these are for Eddie.”

Heather perked up at that, a hand resting over her chest as she fawned, “Dude, that is so cute! When are you gonna give them to him?”

“That’s the thing, I’m not actually going to give them to him directly. I need your help. You’ve got history with him, yeah?”

You already knew she did so it didn’t surprise you when she nodded. You slipped one rose from the bouquet and handed it to her.

“Can you leave this on his desk?”

“Sure! Wow, I can’t believe I get to be part of your love story,” she marveled, twirling the stem between her fingertips.

God, you hoped it’d be a love story and not a tragedy.

“And these are for you.” You pulled out a smaller bouquet of pink roses, and Heather just about burst into tears.

The two of you had been best friends since middle school, and often spent your free time watching corny teen movies, usually living through the main characters of the romance ones. You’d had a couple of almost-boyfriends, in the end you hadn’t been interested in them enough to accept when they’d try to make it official. And Heather simply hadn’t caught the eye of anyone, which was ridiculous to you considering how pretty and nice she was, so you were usually her valentine on Valentine’s Day. This was the first time you actually got her flowers instead of a bunch of chocolates to eat the night away, you’d figured she deserved them.

She’d had a crush on Steve Harrington, but he hadn’t noticed her and ended up dating and getting dumped by Nancy Wheeler. Then he’d dated every other girl except her. You feared your non-existent relationship with Eddie might go the same way.

“Dude,” Heather yanked you in for a hug, squeezing you to the point you thought your ribs might be bruised.

“Uhm. Heather. Ow.”

“Oh, sorry.” She released you, holding you by your shoulders, “Okay, so I just give it to him?”

“No, no, no, no, no. There will be no interactions. Just leave it on his desk.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

You were about to reply when the first bell cut you off and threw you into a panic, nudging Heather in the direction of the classroom so she could beat Eddie there. Heather took off running once she realized the reason for your worry, only you both failed to remember Eddie was late to everything.

You reluctantly made your way to your first period, plagued by thoughts of Eddie’s reaction to the first rose.

Would he like it? Oh, you hoped he liked it.

What if he thought it was some prank? What if he threw it away? Would he do the same to the rest?

Oh, well. There was no backing out now.

Your carefully thought out plan was put into action. You’d made sure to play sick the last 15 minutes of every class to get an excuse note to the nurse, only you didn’t go to the nurse. Instead, you ran around leaving a rose in Eddie’s various hang outs. One at the creepy old bench you knew he did business at. Two roses with the stems placed through the slits of his locker, three on his windshield wipers, one of the younger students in your art class was in Hellfire with him and after swearing him to secrecy, Will had promised to deliver three to Eddie personally, without revealing your identity.

During lunch, you found yourself behind the stage of the cafeteria, in part of the drama department. It’s where Hellfire took place.

You’d been there a handful of times, only when your curiosity for the metalhead got a little too overwhelming for you and you wanted to feel closer to him without having to face him. It was only ever set up on Fridays, the day Eddie got to school early enough to do so.

You made your way over to sit in the chair closest to his throne, casting it a couple of nervous glances.

This would be where you left the last rose, so of course, everything about the set up, the throne had to look daunting to you now; a representation of how you were seeing Eddie as your confession grew nearer. If things didn’t go as planned, it’d be the last time you could come here.

The thought made your stomach hurt, a large void beginning to form there.

The last rose was much too personal to leave just anywhere, where someone without a key to the room would find it. No one but the Hellfire club would occupy this area today. Attached to the rose with a ribbon was a note with a simple message that meant more to you than you cared to admit. You’d written it when you first came up with your plan at the start of the week and had been debating on whether or not to sign your name since then.

The answer should’ve been obvious, right? This whole thing was to let Eddie know how you felt about him, and your romantic intentions were clear with the red roses. This note would finish implying the rest. And if you wanted Eddie to know it was you who admired him, you just had to write your name.

Yeah, simple as that.

You clicked the pen in your grasp, placing it just over the paper.

You wavered, licking your lips as you tried to convince yourself to just own your goddamn name. That’s all you had to do. Write on the paper.

Just write on the paper.

Your hand was beginning to shake, and with a heavy heart, you realized your name wouldn’t be going on this note.

You weren’t brave enough for that. You set your purple pen down, staring down at the words written in pink ink before you rolled the paper up, making sure the ribbon was secured (you’d used a hole puncher to slip the ribbon through) and left it on the seat of the throne before scurrying out of the room as fast as you could.

—

Eddie was at a loss, completely stupefied.

When he’d arrived at his history class, after having mentally prepared himself for the onslaught of boredom he’d face, he was surprised to find a single rose on his desk. By surprised, he meant incredibly suspicious. A glance around the room confirmed he wasn’t being watched, everyone was gossiping about Emmy Switcher’s upcoming party, so he’d settled into his seat and marveled at it.

Eddie wasn’t one to ever really get things on Valentine’s Day, not counting the mandatory valentine’s cards in elementary and middle school. The last time he’d gotten a card was his first senior year, and it had been a prank by a couple of girls on the softball team and their boyfriends. Embarrassed the shit out of him. The following Valentine’s Day he’d faked being sick to avoid falling victim again—god, he craved affection so much it made him pathetic enough to still hope for something gross and cheesy to happen to him.

A rose was harmless though, right? Unless it was poisoned or something. Eddie lifted it to his nose, but all he could pick up was the seductive floral scent and when he didn’t immediately pass out from chloroform, he figured it was just a rose.

He glanced around again in vain, hoping someone would somehow stick out and when no one did, he held it in his grasp, rough fingertips stroking over the soft petals for the duration of the class.

He’d been stunned when he arrived at his locker to find two roses hanging out of it. A few people were staring at him as he carefully pulled them from their place, but they looked more curious rather than shy or mischievous. He had a feeling whoever was leaving the roses for him wasn’t around.

He refused to leave them in his locker, the stems clutched in his hand as he went about his day and found more. Eddie was more than proud to display them, somewhat smug at the attention they were garnishing him.

Yeah, fuckers. Someone finally liked him. Eat shit.

He’d spent his English class convincing himself he’d never find out exactly who this someone was. He was pretty fucking stressed after that. He tried to come up with a roster of sorts, girls he thought might be interested in him enough to maybe leave him pretty flowers and woo him right out of his Reeboks.

He’d only been able to come up with four—impressive—but his first pick he was quick to scribble out. He hadn’t had a decent interaction with her and he figured it was creepy of him to put her at the top of the list all because of his wishful thinking.

The second girl listed was possible, maybe. Chrissy Cunningham. He’d had a crush on her for as long as he could remember since she was always nice to him. She’d dumped Jason a couple of months ago and he’d been dealing to her for a short amount of time, but she seemed pretty flirty to him. Although, flattery did work on him.

The third name made him nervous, and not in a good way. Tina Sawyer. They’d both got pretty drunk at her Halloween party and hooked up in her bathroom but she avoided him like the plague afterwards, obviously embarrassed about interacting with him, which was typical for the lot of Hawkins.

He’d been sure it was a drunken mistake but sometimes, he’d catch her staring at him, and she didn’t look all that disgusted with him.

The last name on the short list was that of Tammy Thompson. She had made her interest in Eddie pretty clear his junior year, always trying to sit behind him in classes so she could play with his hair. Unfortunately Tammy was very, for the lack of better words, aggressive with her affections. He’d made out with her once and it had been sloppy and messy in the most unattractive of ways. It was like tonguing a dog.. Then he remembered she’d actually been able to graduate, unlike him, so he was spared.

By lunch, Eddie was ready to try to figure out who his secret admirer was. Out of the two remaining girls on his list, he was leaning more towards Chrissy, who he felt wouldn’t be ashamed to hold his hand in public.

He and his lunchbox full of drugs—and some snacks—made their way to the Hellfire lunch table where he spent a significant amount of time studying the two girls.

“Uh, are you okay, Eddie?”

Eddie glanced up at the concerned face of Will Byers, who’d arrived much later than the rest of the guys and Stephanie, one of the two girls in Hellfire. The question drew the attention of the rest of the table and Eddie internally sighed.

“Yeah, I’m fine—what are those?” Eddie asked, eyes honed in on the roses resting on Will’s tray.

The younger teen handed them over, “A girl told me to give you these.”

Eddie felt his heart skip a beat, “You know who she is?”

Will nodded and before Eddie could demand a name, he rushed, “I’ve been sworn to secrecy!”

Eddie scowled, carefully setting aside his roses so they wouldn’t be involved in his annoyance.

“Byers, I’m gonna level with you. I’ve been in this miserable prison for six long years. While I’ve had my fair share of hookups, I have not ever had a girl like me enough to leave me roses and do cute shit before. And I fear I never will again. That’s why I’m actually gonna need you to tell me who it is so I can have a girlfriend by the end of what is supposed to be the most god awful romantic day of the year. ‘Kay?”

Eddie’s eyebrows dart up, face set in an intimidating glower but Will remembers how scared you looked when you trusted him with this task. He also knows, very well, how it feels to love someone without them ever knowing because you fear what their response will be. He’d also seen Eddie eyeing both Chrissy and Tina.

Will knew what it was like to have that special person interested in someone else, too. So, he’d protect your secret.

“I swore.”

Eddie groaned, head dipping forward in a brief moment of defeat before he slammed his fist on the table, making the other occupants jump.

“Whatever, I’ll find her myself.” Just as Eddie stands, an idea occurs to him. Will said he wouldn’t tell him who it was, but the youngest Byers hadn’t said he wouldn’t tell him who it wasn’t, “Is it Tina?”

Will shakes his head, nose wrinkling. Nothing against her, she just wasn’t the nicest to him or his friends. Not the meanest, still.

Eddie breathes out a sigh, mumbling an oh, thank god as he makes his way to the cafeteria doors. That only left one possibility, and he was due to meet up with her in just five minutes. He couldn’t fight the grin off his face.

──

Your heart was racing a mile a minute, having witnessed everything transpire at the Hellfire table.

You’d selected your lunch table four years ago because of the perfect view of Eddie it provided you, but right then it was killing you. You’d ruined your manicure, picking aggressively at the polish as you watched Will and Eddie, breathing out a sigh of relief when it looked like Will hadn’t revealed your identity.

Eddie hadn’t seemed too happy about that.

Then he stormed out and you fought very hard with yourself to not follow after him because then Heather would be right and you’d be a stalker.

“Regret it yet?” Heather asked after she’d swallowed a bite of her sandwich.

“No.” You sorta lied. Yeah, you kind of regretted it but at the same time, knowing Eddie wouldn’t have to let you down gently made you less anxious. Besides, it wasn’t like you could just climb up the stage and duck past the curtain leading to the hellfire room without one of it’s members spotting you from their table. They’d tell Eddie in a heartbeat, especially if they found out the last rose and that damn note was there.

“Sure,” Heather drawled, glancing over her shoulder as you picked at your food, appetite suddenly gone.

Maybe you really should have written your name on that love note.

“Well, I hope you mean it, because Dream Girl is on her way to meet Ice Cream.” Your head snapped up at the mention of Chrissy Cunningham and Eddie’s code names you’d given them so both you and Heather were free to talk without either of them suspecting anything. You referred to Chrissy as Dream Girl because you’d known all about Eddie’s crush on her (while Heather had been depressed about Steve and Nancy, you’d eaten your weight in ice cream over Eddie and Chrissy’s more than friendly interactions with each other, which had nothing to do with Eddie’s code name—he was ‘ice cream’ because you wanted to lick him all over).

Sure enough, you looked over Heather’s shoulder, following her gaze to see Chrissy bidding her friends goodbye before she walked right out of the doors Eddie had pushed past minutes ago and as you watched her exit through the double doors, something inside you withers and dies a bit.

You knew Eddie sold to her (gave her a discount because she was pretty and because of their flirting, hearing him say that made you want to drive a knife right through your chest), you and Heather had followed them out a couple of times which is how you were both aware of the flirtationship.

After the first time you’d spied on them, the two of you had gone back to your home where Heather held a mock funeral for you. Now, you wished it had been a real one because you were sure Eddie had not only loved your roses, he also assumed they were from Chrissy. They would send him right into her arms at that shitty ass bench. And when he’d get a hold of the love note, well, you’d be the reason behind why Eddie and Chrissy would be hand in hand come Monday, canoodling by their lockers and kissing like no one else was watching. All the things Eddie should have been doing with you.

You should have signed your name on the fucking note.

─

Eddie had paced a pathway, disturbing the mounds of fallen leaves surrounding the picnic table.

His stuff, another rose he’d found waiting for him included, was on the table and he’d taken off his jacket, despite the chill of the February air. He was working himself up in his head, overheating in the process.

“Eddie?”

His head shot around, grinning as Chrissy—who apparently left him roses—approached him, face broken out in a smile.

“Hey, Chris.” Eddie’s heart was racing a mile a minute, palms sweaty as he rested them over his hips, then quickly realized he looked stupid so he crossed them instead.

She laughed at his nerves with absolutely no malice and they sat down at the bench, getting down to business. She’d been about to hand him a twenty dollar bill after he slid her the ziploc bag of nugs, but he held up his hand.

“On the house.”

“Eddie, it’s always on the house. I feel bad.”

“Then stop.” He emphasized the demand with bulging eyes, smirking when she giggled. She had to like him, right?

Eddie tried to be discreet about it, plucking one of the roses from his growing pile. He played with the stem, even sniffed the petals again in hopes she’d comment about it, maybe look a little excited about it or just give him any sort of reaction to indicate it had been her.

Chrissy was too busy moving things aside in her backpack to make room for the baggy. When she finally did look back up, she smiled, but gave no hint she was even familiar with them.

“Ooh, pretty flowers. Where’d you get those?”

Was she playing coy?

“Uh, someone’s been leaving them for me all around school.” Was it you?

Chrissy’s face lit up and Eddie thought it was finally the moment of truth.

“That’s so sweet! Do you know who it is? Or is it like a secret admirer sort of deal?”

Evidently, not the moment of truth. She had to be toying with him, trying to prolong the reveal. Because if it wasn’t her, he was out of ideas. And he really, really didn’t want to be out of ideas. Not when there was someone out there, maybe thinking about him.

“I actually have no idea who it is,” he sighed out, hoping, if it was her, she’d just put him out of his damn misery already.

Chrissy glanced down at the table and Eddie perked up. Nerves? Was she finally gonna come out with it?

“It wasn’t me, Eddie…but, I wish it had been.”

Eddie didn’t know what to say, mouth dropped open a little as his eyebrows quirked up in surprise.

Okay. Hadn’t been expecting that. He was expecting a yes it was me or a no it wasn’t me but not Chrissy confirming it hadn’t been her while also telling him she liked him.

“So, you haven’t been leaving them for me?”

Chrissy shook her head and reached across the table to place her smaller hand over his, palm warm against his skin. Eddie’s eyes squeezed shut as he groaned, head falling forward to rest against the table.

“Eddie?” Chrissy asked, concern lacing her voice.

He let out a very long sigh, a little miffed at how messy this whole thing had gotten. Now, there was his, Chrissy’s and someone else’s feelings in the mix. Christ.

“‘M’sorry, Chrissy.” Eddie sat up straight, face grim as he slowly pulled his hand out from underneath hers. “You’re great, fantastic, actually. You’re really nice and really pretty, but… I’ve been going crazy all day, trying to figure out who’s behind these.”

He gestures to the roses at his side, the sight of them filling him with an intense wave of longing.

“It’s been like years since I’ve gotten anything with real meaning behind it for any occasion—” he wasn’t counting the hellfire club or Wayne, referring to romantic intentions—“let alone Valentine’s Day, and someone in this school seems to be thinking about me.”

Eddie thought about what it must have taken to do something like this, it may have seemed like a trivial thought, something simple to others. He knew it wasn’t. He had no idea who it was, but he put himself in their position. They had to know enough about him to know his schedule, where he spent time, and then make the time to leave them in those spots just before he got there.

He’d spent the time waiting for Chrissy considering the anonymity of it. On the chance it wasn’t her, there was someone else in the school who was too afraid to approach him directly. He’d thought it might be out of fear of being seen with him, seen doing anything remotely romantic with him. Then, why even bother? They had to be afraid of his reaction, it’s what he would be nervous about if the positions were flipped.

And god, he’d never felt more alive before, more seen and all it took was a couple of roses. He felt like those fawning girls in John Hughes movies.

“Before today, I never would have approached you about this, you know? I know we flirt, but I never would have been brave enough to cross that line.” He admitted, looking into her shiny blue eyes. Aw, man. Eddie hated making girls cry but it was true, he would have been waiting for her to make a move, or for Tina to make a move. Any of his past hookups, really. He’d have been with any of them—having craved affection and everything that came with it so bad—if they had just been the ones to initiate things on a more permanent basis.

He would have. Past tense. They could all form a conga line and confess their undying love for him but, unless they were the one who left him the roses—the one who made him brave enough to actually go around confronting people in an attempt to seek her out—he’d let them down.

“She made me brave, makes me feel really wanted and I don't even know who she is. It’s not you, it’s just─”

“I’m not her.” Chrissy finished for him, wiping under one of her eyes. “It’s alright, Eddie. I mean, I’m obviously a little sad, but it’s not your fault or hers. I do hope you find her, though. She’d be lucky to have you.”

She gave Eddie a sad smile, making him feel even guiltier but it’d be pretty shitty of him to try to be with her when he’d be thinking of someone else.

“Thanks, Chrissy.” Eddie stood up and gathered his things. It was clear she was upset and would probably need some time to gather herself, he didn’t want to force her to leave first or linger around and make it awkward.

He left her with a small, parting smile, relieved that he hadn’t charged her. Would have felt like a douchebag to make her pay for weed and turn her down in the span of five minutes when she’d been nothing but pleasant to him.

Eddie shook it off, determination setting in once more. Sure, he was back to the drawing board, but if all else failed, he could corner young Byers again until he finally gave him a name.

He’d come up with a pretty good list of ways he could force Will to give up the name by the time school let out and he got to the Hellfire room.

It wasn’t until he set his little bouquet and the lunchbox down (he didn’t bother with backpacks, just shoved whatever he needed in his pants pockets or the box), walking around the throne in a circle like some fucking animal because he was so restless, that he saw the rose.

The flash of white had caught his eyes and he dove down to grab it, trying to be as careful with pulling the piece of paper away from the stem of the rose, only he realized whoever left it had hole punched the thing together so he ripped the ribbon with his teeth rather than rip the note.

The ribbon was stuffed into his back pocket as he eagerly sat himself down, rose clutched in one hand and the note in his other.

Eddie,

Please excuse my lack of eloquence in this note and also in our real life encounters.

Eddie felt a shiver of excitement wash over his skin, cheeks a bright shade of pink at the confirmation he’d indeed interacted with his secret admirer before. Fuck, she’d talked to him! It made her feel even more real.

She was a real person, someone he could probably hold hands with and kiss. Unless, this was done in a purely platonic way which would be a little fucked up. Red roses to be friends? C’mon. He read on.

I hoped you liked the flowers. I was actually debating on getting you different ones, something a little more personalized to you, but I ended up going with roses because, well, they convey romance better.

Eddie leaned over the arm of the throne, sagging back as he allowed himself to completely collapse with relief. Just for a few seconds, then his eyes were glued to the pink penmanship.

I’m trying really hard not to sound creepy because I’m totally not creepy and I know what you're thinking, ‘that’s what a creep would say’ but I swear I’m not, I just. I admire you. A lot. I have for so, so long. I admire the way you keep going, even when things are absolute shit for you, I like how you watch out for the underclassmen that come in and don’t really have anywhere to go. I like the way you dress, how pretty your hair is (even when it’s frizzy which is so unfair), how passionate you get with your rants (even though sometimes you’re an asshole about it).

And I like your laugh I LOVE your laugh. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had what feels like the worst fucking day of my life and I’m ready to breakdown and cry and scream, but I don’t. Because I can hear you laugh your ass off at something one of your friends said in the cafeteria, by your locker or even when you’re just walking past me. And I wish I was there, laughing alongside you or making you laugh. I don’t know how your laughter makes me feel better, it just does. I get all smiley and I feel warm inside and I want to give you a hug for it, for making me feel better without even trying.

But I can’t. You kind of scare me. Not in the mean, scary way, I’m just not sure you’ll like me. Or that it’ll go anywhere, or even if it should.

You’re so confident, Eddie. And you’re stupid attractive (you are, and I’m sure you’re aware but I’ll go ahead and tell you I’m also physically attracted to you) and it’s so overwhelming that I can’t contain it anymore and I don’t really want to. We only have a couple of months before we’re out of here (I have a feeling this is gonna be your year, you’ll be free of this sentence, too), and I don’t want to have any regrets. The only way I’d ever regret you is by not telling you how I feel.

So, here I am, Eddie Munson. Never thought I’d ever be confessing like this, but for the first time in my life, I feel brave. And it’s all because of you. Thank you, Eddie. I’ll be running around— dodging teachers and detention write ups— like Rocky in his training montages to get these roses to you because you deserve your flowers and I’d be delighted to give them to you today, and every single Valentine’s Day after. Actually, I want to give you even more than that. If you’ll have me.

Love,

What the fuck?

Eddie hastily searched the bottom portion of the back side of the paper, where the note ended for a signature, a name, initials, something but that’s where it ended.

There was no name.

“NO! FUCK! NO! No, no, no, no, NO! I’ll have you, take me, just tell me who you are!” Eddie groaned out, note dropped into his lap so he could clench the roots of his hair with both fists as he doubled over.

This had to be a nightmare. It was the only reasonable explanation for someone to say all those wonderfuckingful things, just for them to disappear.

His heart hurt and he blinked frantically to ward off the onslaught of water and sniffed to deter the tingle in his nose.

The unmistakable sound of his own little rat pack making their way towards the room wasn’t enough to get him to pull himself together.

“Eddie, dude, are you okay?”

Eddie recalled his final option, head shooting to glance around at their faces in search of one in particular.

“Byers. Where’s Byers?”

“His mom picked him up after lunch, wasn’t feeling good,” Mike informed him, completely unaware his grand Valentine’s gesture for Jane had been the cause of his sudden illness.

It was the final straw for Eddie, he snatched the lunchbox and flowers and grumbled out, “Sessions canceled.”

He must have looked pissed as none of them protested, probably having something to do with most of them having dates afterwards.

He almost made it out of the room when Gareth called him back, holding up a purple pen he’d found on the table and figured Eddie was about to forget.

“Is this yours?”

Eddie scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“No.” Then he walked out.

Before promptly storming back in, swiping the pen out of Gareth’s meaty hands. Eddie clicked the pen and scribbled furiously over the side of his fist until the ink finally ran. It wasn’t purple. The ink filler was pink.

His secret admirer’s pen.

“What a cruel parting gift,” he sighed, shoving the pen in his pocket before making his exit. Again.

The really sad thing was Eddie couldn’t even sink into depression in the peace of his room. Emmy Switcher had approached Rick about wanting some herbal refreshments at her party and since he was still under house arrest (how Rick managed to deal and supply in his circumstances baffled him) the job fell upon Eddie. He’d driven to Rick’s restocked, then hit the party.

It was a horn fest, couples everywhere he looked. All heart-eyed and attached at the tongue. It was disgusting.

Eddie was pouting, quietly fuming that it wasn’t him and his secret admirer making out or cuddling or doing something equally romantic but noooooo. Just had to take the ‘secret’ aspect to its extreme.

He banished himself to a dark corner, only interacting with people when approached for drugs or weed. He’d caught sight of Chrissy and it had looked like she wanted to come over but he’d purposely shifted his gaze. Despite the gaping hole left where his heart was, it wasn’t Chrissy or Tina, or the girl in the upstairs restroom, who’d thrown herself at him when he’d been searching for a free bathroom to piss in, that he wanted. Eddie wasn’t in the mood to rebound.

Which was kind of crazy considering he hadn’t even been in a relationship, hadn’t been dumped. He wanted everything in that note, especially the promise of more and only with its author.

Now, Eddie hadn’t been in love before. Some serious lust and want, yeah, however, reading that note made him feel like he was falling a little bit in love and he wanted, very badly, to dive headfirst the rest of the way. Clearly, that wasn’t going to happen.

Once he’d sold out the rest of Rick’s inventory, he stole a beer and headed for the front door.

Once outside, Eddie took a minute to breathe. He hadn’t realized how stuffy it had been in there until he was no longer engulfed by the claustrophobic displays of affection.

He trudged down the pathway and paused when he saw the figure of a girl sitting on the lawn. Her head was directed down towards the ground and she was most definitely not wearing the right clothes for the outside weather.

Eddie cursed under his breath, plans to immediately drive home and get crossed put on hold as he walked over, noting the dew already coating the grass.

“Hey, you okay?”

─

Drinking your sorrows away probably wasn’t the best idea, considering how much of a lightweight you were.

Originally, you’d wanted to lock yourself away in your room for the night—and probably the rest of the weekend as well as maybe the next school week; nothing wrong with playing sick to avoid facing reality and your problems─to cry and pass out. Heather, on the other hand, had plans for you. She’d dolled you up, having to force you to wash your face and re-do your makeup once when you had started crying—put you in a cute outfit and dragged you to Emmy Switcher’s party.

You knew her intentions were pure—as pure as underage drinking could be—but she knew her mistake when the party started to couple up. You’d been approached multiple times and she’d try to encourage you to go for the decent acting ones, you just hadn’t wanted to. When Chrissy Cunningham showed up, you’d gone for shots of the hard liquor (over the sink of course in case you gagged it up, which you did a decent amount of), sure that Eddie would soon follow and you’d be forced to witness their affection.

Obviously, you ended up shitfaced and somehow lost track of Heather. Or maybe she lost track of you. You’d very briefly attempted to find her, accidentally spotted Chrissy, now making eyes at Eddie who’d shown up, and you’d promptly headed outside, eager for some fresh air and an escape from the madhouse. The high alcohol level in your blood kept you from feeling how chilly it really was and you settled into the grass, twirling strands of it around your fingers.

You weren’t sure how long you were out there when someone approached you.

“Hey, you okay?”

You looked up, ready to ask them to just leave you when you locked eyes with Eddie Munson. Most of the liquid courage coursing through your veins evaporated, you couldn’t look at him for long, gaze moving back to the grass. What a way to start sobering up.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure? ‘Cause,” Eddie sat down next to you, one leg crossed and his other, knee up with his arm resting over it. His unopened beer was at his side, “You’re outside, alone, in the cold and you look pretty fucking sad.”

You scoffed, fingers still playing with the strands of grass as you tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t make you seem pathetic. In that time, Eddie took you in.

He knew you, he’d seen you around school and you were nice enough to greet him. Pleasantries in passing. Pretty Hallway Girl, as you’d been dubbed—though never referred to as—until he knew your name. It had been the first one he had jotted down on his list for his secret admirer’s identity, of course he realized with your lack of interactions, it wasn’t likely. He entertained the idea of dating you often, you’d just never shown any real interest in him. Eddie thought about it a lot. Anytime he caught sight of you, really. Your pretty face didn’t make it easy for him to stop. He was a really, really big sucker for your eyes and that smile you’d give him during those brief interactions; like the two of you had some sort of secret between each other. Warmed him up inside.

And here you were, all sad at a party. He didn’t really mind not getting crossed if it meant he got to comfort you, keep you company.

“I’m just drunk,” you finally blurted out, unable to come up with anything else, “And bummed.”

Try devastated.

“You look it,” he joked, nudging his shoulder against yours.

“You don’t look that much better.” You shot back.

“That’s fair,” he sighed, breath visible in the night air as he tilted his head back. “I’m pretty bummed, myself.”

You really didn’t want to ask, figuring he’d already had some sort of lover’s quarrel with Chrissy and you didn’t want to get in the middle of it.

But you were an idiot, so you asked, “Why are you bummed?”

You watched him dig around the pockets of his leather jacket, pulling out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. He pulled one out of the pack, clenching it in between his teeth as he shoved the pack back into the pocket before he shrugged off the jacket entirely—denim vest included—putting it around your shoulders.

It caught you off guard but you were grateful, your body having decided to become once more susceptible to the chill of the air and dewy grass. Eddie must have been a freaking space heater because the lining inside was blissfully warm.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, shimmying around in it until you could slip your arms into the long sleeves of it, your fingers barely poking past the hem.

“You’re welcome,” he shrugged, flicking the lighter to life as he lit the cigarette. After he’d taken a drag, he answered you.

“Love,” Eddie blew out along with a wispy plume of smoke, “Didn’t expect it to be so complicated.”

You wanted to mime the action of staking yourself in the heart. Of course he was in love with her. She was wonderful! And on top of that, he thought she’d been the one leaving him roses! Had he read the note? Assumed it was her, too? DUH! You were definitely playing sick next week.

“Yeah, well. Join the club,” you grumbled, hugging his jacket around you. It was as close as you were ever gonna get to actually hugging him.

Eddie raised an eyebrow, hoping to school his disappointment. While he wasn’t looking for anyone else tonight, it was still displeasing to hear you were taken but of course you were. He couldn’t imagine you dating sporadically, you seemed much too wonderful for someone to even consider giving you up. No, he was gonna hurt himself with ideas involving you and a high school sweetheart stemming back to your freshman days, probably.

“Ah, I see. Is he here?”

You froze for a moment, “Uhm, yeah. He is.”

“Then why come? Or did it happen in there?” He jabbed a thumb behind him, gesturing to the party inside.

“No, it didn’t happen tonight, it was earlier. In the day. I didn’t really want to come but my best friend dragged me out here. I thought I was doing good, apparently not ‘cause here I am. I’m mostly bummed because of myself, though. I didn’t follow through on something I sort of promised myself and I messed everything up. For me. Not for him. I think he’s pretty happy, so I don’t want to ruin that. He deserves to be happy.”

Eddie could tell you meant it, you were vague as hell but whatever you’d done, however it ended, you genuinely seemed to want your boyfriend (ex-boyfriend?) to be happy. He hoped it wasn’t something you had to cave into for one of those meatheads. You deserved better than those jerks.

“That’s pretty selfless of you if you ask me,” Eddie raised the cigarette to his lips, admiring you.

“Eh, I guess. I fully plan on punishing myself for it, though. Really make sure to rub the salt in there, you know?” You finally turned to grin at him, despite the sinking feeling in your stomach.

Eddie thought about how he couldn’t just stop going to school so he could avoid having to look at all the faces in the crowds and wonder if his admirer is one of them.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m right there with you.”

Sweetheart. He really was trying to kill you.

“Eddie, get your ass in there and make up with her.” You lightly slapped his arm and jabbed your finger in the direction of the house. You were not about to let your sacrifice be in vain and he’d better stop unknowingly torturing you like this.

“I can’t!” He laughed, amused with your sudden bossy attitude.

“Why not?” You whined, eager to just get him away from you. It wasn’t fair, he wasn’t being fair.

“Because I have no idea who she is.”

Once again you froze, eyes widening. Luckily for you, Eddie didn’t look too much into your reaction. He figured most people would be surprised over him nursing a heartbreak from someone he didn’t quite actually know, or was aware that he knew.

“What?” You asked, trying to seem as uninterested as possible as you played with the ends of his jacket sleeves.

“Fuck it. Someone left me roses all around the school and this really amazing love note.” For a moment, Eddie entertained the idea of trying to convey exactly what it meant to him, then he thought better of it. He’d either seem crazy, desperate or like some pathetic guy in love (which, he kind of was on the cusp of), “Pretty sure it was a girl.”

Not a single dude in the high school was romantic enough to pull it off, maybe leave him an entire bouquet, but not expand upon it like she had.

Eddie licked his lips, raising the cigarette to them once more and ready to admit that he had no fucking clue who she was, but he figured he might as well make one last rally.

“Wouldn’t happen to be you, would it?”

“Not me,” you lied flawlessly, with a gentle shake of your head. “Sorry, Eddie.”

Sorry I’m a big liar because HOLY FUCKING SHIT, wasn’t expecting that.

“I figured. Still had to try, your boyfriend probably would have kicked my ass, though.” Yeah, Eddie hated Valentine’s Day.

He stubbed the cigarette out into the wet grass, and laid the rest of the way down, hands covering his eyes as the back of his head met the ground.

You frowned down at him.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Hello.

Eddie peaked at you through his fingers, “No?”

You shook your head and as Eddie moved to push himself back up, he yelped.

He shifted onto his side, digging around his pocket for whatever it was that stabbed him.

“Ouch,” He hissed, yanking the purple pen out. “Damn, that hurt like a bitch.”

Your eyes squinted at it in suspicion.

“Is that my pen?”

“Huh?”

“My favorite—and pricey—pen. I lost it at school today.” In fact, you were sure you had and you were sure that was your pen. You’d broken off the clip of it by accident and you recognized the large crack in the body of it, having once given into an intrusive thought regarding whether or not you had the strength to break it while you were bored in class. You did have the strength and luckily for you, it still worked.

When Eddie made no move to give your pen back, you figured he didn’t believe you so you added, “The ink is pink, right?”

Eddie continued to stare at you, mouth slightly parted in awe, and you suddenly felt very nervous, glancing behind you to see if there was something that caught his attention but all you could see were the empty lawns.

“What?”

He finally blinked, licking his lips again.

“You’re a really good liar.”

“What?” You repeated, this time your question was laced more so with confusion than panic. He was right, but why was he saying that?

His lips slowly parted up at the corners until he was grinning at you so wide, his dimples were showing and you could feel your heart beating wildly against your rib cage, as if it was trying to break free to fly right over to him.

“This is your pen?”

“Yes!” Is that what his happiness was about? That he was holding your prized pen hostage?

“This is your pen?” You could tell he was having fun at your expense now, getting more giddy by the minute.

“Yes!” You laughed out, his joy contagious even if he was teasing you with your own belongings. “That is my pen. Give me my pen!”

He clicked it closed with his thumb, “I found it where we hold Hellfire sessions, same pen that was used to write my love note.”

And just like that, your heartbeat seemed to stop all together, smile dropping instantly as you wished a giant hole could form in the ground below you and swallow you up.

“That’s not my pen,” you denied, shrugging off his jacket as you quickly rose to your feet. “I gotta go, bye, Eddie.”

When you saw him starting to hastily rise, you bolted, literally running back into the house to try to find Heather and get the hell out of there.

You heard Eddie frantically calling your name but you didn’t stop, forcing your way through the bodies as you desperately searched for your best friend.

Luck was finally on your side because you were soon smashed into her back by a passing group.

“Whoa,” she laughed, turning to steady you, “There you are, I’ve been searching for you everywh—hey, what’s wrong?”

You were sure she must have noticed the panic on your face, eyes shiny with tears you refused to let fall in public.

“I wanna go home, we have to leave.” You grabbed her hand, pulling her into a secluded corner as your head darted in the direction of the front door. You wanted to make a run for it but you feared running into Eddie on the way.

“What happened?” Heather asked, voice initially soft before hardening as her protective nature came out, “Did someone do something?”

You shook your head, chest heaving with your breaths. You were so close to having a panic attack.

“Eddie. He knows. He knows, Heather.” And because she was your best friend, she understood, mouth and eyes going wide.

“Holy crap. Wait—isn’t this what you wanted?”

“No—yes—I don’t know! I can’t face him!” There was a reason you hadn’t written your name down on the note, regardless of how badly you wanted to. You were just scared.

“Why not?” She bent down, leaned in closer to hear you. This girl and her twenty questions.

“It doesn’t matter, he didn’t want it to be me, anyways. He would’ve asked earlier, and he only did it now because of that stupid pen!” You should have kept your mouth shut and just gone to buy another over the weekend, “Can we just please get out of here? We can try the side gate in the backyard.”

“Is Eddie looking for you?”

“Yes, that’s why we have to leave!” Whatever Eddie had to say, you didn’t want to hear it. Yeah, maybe he could want you but if he didn’t, was searching for you to let you down gently you’d be heartbroken.

“He knows and you don’t think he wanted it to be you?”

“Yes!”

“Then why would he be looking for you?”

You refused to answer her, pushing her towards the back door instead. She went willingly for a few steps, then Heather stopped and you bumped into her back again as she craned her neck to look over her shoulder.

“I think it's too late for that.” She pointed at something behind you and you followed her finger.

Eddie was standing on top of the kitchen table a bunch of guys had carried into the living room to play beer pong on, eyes searching the room with his lips set in a frown.

He was attracting attention, a multitude of heads turning to peer up at him in curiosity.

Oh, god. He was looking for you, you were probably going to get rejected at a fucking Valentine’s Day party in some stranger’s living room.

Eddie must have caught the attention of someone near the sound system because the volume of the music was lowered and you could hear everyone muttering amongst themselves, asking what had happened to the music before they noticed Eddie.

He glanced around, not even a little nervous at the amount of people staring at him. He hadn’t planned on making a huge show of it, figured they were all too drunk to pay him any attention, luckily he was used to being a spectacle.

Eddie used it to his advantage, calling out your full name.

The crowd muttered, everyone looking at each other in confusion or maybe trying to catch sight of you.

It wasn’t long before someone recognized you, head turning in your direction, followed by many more—a domino effect—until just about everyone was staring at you, including Eddie.

He hopped off the table and made his way towards you, crowd parting to allow him. Heather slipped her hand into yours at your side, giving you a reassuring squeeze before she too stepped away, leaving you to finally face Eddie.

Eddie didn’t look at anyone else, gaze trained solely on you.

“Hi, again.”

You blinked, unable to keep yourself from glancing at the crowd around you, curious—nosey—to see what would happen next.

Guess you were going to have to finally face reality, no more running. You didn’t think you could break through the crowd, anyways.

“Hi,” you whispered but you knew Eddie had heard you, his lips pursed into a smile, eyes lighting up when you didn’t shut down.

“You ran away before I could tell you how I feel.” Eddie took another step, pretty much invading your personal space but he was desperate to be close to you and maybe body block you in case you tried to flee. He didn’t want you to run away again, to disappear like he feared you had when you hadn’t left your name on the note.

“It’s only fair, right? Since I know?”

You nodded again, the drum of your heartbeat loud in your ears. You were surprised you could hear Eddie over it.

Eddie stared down at you, lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t look upset or frustrated. It looked like he was thinking about something.

Little did you know he was reciting the note in his head to give him some courage, he’d memorized it.

He didn’t leave you waiting for long.

“I admire you. A lot.” Your breath hitched as the words you’d jotted down were repeated to you, “So much that I want to stand on expensive looking, antique tables and crash parties for you. I like the way you get animated when you talk, the way you give into your intrusive thoughts at the most random of times—yeah, I saw you trying to see if your finger fit in the pencil sharpener in the library once—I like how kind you are, even when people don’t deserve it.

“I like how you’ve never made me feel ostracized, never made anybody feel like that and I like how dramatic you are—storming off, making an exit, falling flat on your face in hallways then staying there like a dead body before you decide to reanimate again once you’re done being embarrassed. I like how you beat up your locker when it won’t open and then you give it a couple of pats to apologize once it finally does.”

Eddie chuckled at those particular memories, having been thoroughly amused when watching you and you feel your face get hot at being the cause of his cute laugh.

“And I really like your face, your pretty eyes, all of this,” Eddie gestured to you, to all of you from head to toe, “… you’re beautiful. Although, I gotta say, you drove me really fucking crazy today. Made me feel emotions I didn’t know I was capable of feeling and you scared the shit out of me when I thought I’d never get to know who the person I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with is.”

Okay, maybe you didn’t want the ground to swallow you whole.

“I know we only have a couple of months left of school and you’re probably going off to continue being amazing at some college in some big city a million miles away—‘cause that’s my luck—but I’m willing to work with that. I want to drive those million miles to give you flowers and hold your hand, kiss you, listen to you complain about your bad days, hear you brag about your good ones, kill all the bugs you’re afraid of—even though some of them freak me out, you make me feel brave, too—and just be all around disgustingly domestic with you.

“And yes, that includes all the not so fun domestic stuff like fights—which we’ll get over, I’ll do just about anything, even cave first, if you give me those big, coy eyes of yours—and taxes. I want to do it all with you. If you’ll have me.” Eddie ended, eyes wide and just a little out of breath.

There it was. He’d thrown it all out there, everything he wanted to offer (because he wanted to give you everything, even though it kind of terrified him).

And you—you were just staring at him, left to gape at him since you’d expected… well, you hadn’t really known what to expect since you usually ran from the consequences—be they good or bad—of your actions.

He wanted to be with you. Holy crap, Eddie Munson wanted to be your boyfriend. Wanted to do boyfriend things like visit you at college and hold your hand. You’d thought, the whole time, it had just been you observing him. You never thought he’d be observing you, too. It all sounded too good to be true, you couldn’t really think, couldn’t really form words.

You didn’t have to, Eddie grew anxious, maybe even a little impatient despite having decided the moment you’d run away from him in the front yard that he’d chase after you for as long as it took him to get you to give him a chance.

He found himself blurting out his strongest desire, “Can I kiss you?”

This was it, you were faced with another opportunity, and this one was the actual last opportunity you had to tell him how you feel, without any anonymity. No more hiding, no more running.

“Yeah,” you breathed out and he was on you before you’d even finished saying that singular word, his surprisingly soft lips pressing desperately against yours as his hands moved to frame your face, one of his thumbs stroking along your cheek.

Your eyelids fluttered shut as you returned the kiss and just like that, what he intended to be a simple but firm kiss, turned into your lips moving against each other, a little wet and enough to have Eddie want to pop his leg up like in the fucking movies.

The only reason he kept himself from introducing his tongue to yours like he so badly wanted to was the sounds of encouragement around him; cheering and hollering. You broke away, having also heard your peers whooping and wolf whistling, to hide your face in his chest, bashfulness returning full force.

Eddie laughed and kissed the top of your head, unable to contain his grin and joy. He definitely wasn’t used to this, more accustomed to jeering, not cheering. A couple of people even clapped him on the shoulder.

“You know what, I think they’re rooting for us, sweetheart.”

You pulled away just enough to look up at him, offering a small, pleased smile of your own.

“They’re not the only ones.”

Well, he had to give you some tongue for that one. The cheering and sounds of excitement got louder as he did.

— You hadn’t walked into school hand in hand with Eddie when Monday came around—though you’d spent pretty much the entire weekend with him, driving around town, lounging around your room (he’d come in through your window) and making out—he hadn’t mentioned anything about meeting up in the parking lot and you weren’t offended in the slightest. While you wanted to see him, you appreciated the extra time to calm your excited nerves before you did.

Heather ran up to you the second you made it to your locker, grin stretching from ear to ear.

“I still can’t believe it. It didn’t even happen to me and I’m pinching myself because of how romantic it was!”

“Imagine how I feel,” You were all smiles as you turned the combination for your locker. But of course, since it was openly known as one of, if not, the shittiest of lockers in the school—having belonged to several wrestlers and football players before you, who’d evidently cared for it on the rough side—it didn't budge when you tugged at it.

You wouldn’t miss it when you graduated.

With a sigh, you pulled the straps of your backpack off of your shoulders and handed it to Heather. Then, you yanked aggressively at the small locker handle. It was your routine though, so you knew it wouldn’t open then, either. It was only when you slammed your fist against it, after all the yanking, that it opened.

Roses immediately flooded out of it, piling onto the ground at your feet. You and Heather watched with open mouths, glancing at passersby, who also looked on in surprise, until your stuffed locker finally finished its floral avalanche.

“Like ‘em?”

You jumped up, and then internally scolded yourself for almost trampling a couple of your flowers. You carefully twisted around to face Eddie, who was leaning back against the row of lockers behind you, smug smirk on his handsome face.

“Yeah, what are all of these for?” You asked, still marveling at them as he pushed himself off the lockers to wrap his arms around your middle and press a kiss to the side of your head.

“I realized I never got to ask you to be my Valentine or give you flowers. So, I bought some Saturday morning,” They were on sale so he’d gone purposely overboard, “used my uncle’s collection of mugs as vases to keep them alive, then woke up at the asscrack of dawn this morning to get here before you did. I probably broke your locker even more, by the way. So, be my Valentine?”

“I’m pretty sure it was part of the terms and agreements of our relationship, but yes. I’ll be your Valentine.”

Eddie closed your locker for you, pressing his weight against it to make sure it was secure and no more roses would escape before he scooped up the ones that had fallen out, arranging them into a large bouquet which he handed to you, leaning in to give you a kiss.

You hummed happily against his lips, nose wrinkling in glee when you felt him smile.

Eddie let out a content sigh when you parted before glancing to his side at your gawking best friend.

“Hey, Heather.” Eddie wasn’t at all bothered by the audience. “Nice shoes.”

“Thanks! They’re new. You done sucking face?”

“For now,” he promised, then turned his attention back to you. “I’ll see you later, beautiful. I’ve got a test to barely pass. Gotta make sure I walk that stage with you.”

Eddie pinched your cheek, pressed another kiss to your forehead and rushed off down the hall. You’d barely locked eyes with Heather when Eddie came running back, taking your face in his hands as he muttered something about one more and gave you a kiss that had you a little shaky on your feet.

‘One more’ actually turned out to mean a couple more pecks before he really forced himself away, blowing you a kiss just as he disappeared around the corner.

“He’s whipped,” Heather stated.

“Pretty sure I’m falling in love with him.”

“That’s appropriate.” You both nodded before you turned to face your closed locker, arms full of sweet smelling roses.

“. . . You still need to get your books, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

Heather slid her arms through the straps of your backpack, over her front, so she could hold your flowers for you as you prepared to battle your locker again. It was totally worth it.

─

Eddie never ended up giving you your pen back, it’s the one he used to write love letters to you while you were away at college.

2K notes · View notes

sneezelee33 · 27 days ago

Text

freeze me, baby ━ johnny storm

gif credits: @yellenabelova requested by: anon word count: 5,721 words pairing: johnny storm x fem!reader synopsis: you’re hired to babysit franklin, but johnny’s the real handful. he’s all fire, you’re all ice, and somehow that just makes things worse. or better. depends who you ask. content warnings: slow burn, mutual pining, elemental metaphors, emotional repression, accidental parenting, johnny being an idiot (affectionate), you being cold (literally), tension, soft kid moments, mild jealousy, powers mentioned (fire, ice), eventual feelings author's note: i haven’t watched the fantastic four: first steps or whatever version johnny belongs to this time, so i just went off what i could find on the marvel site and hoped for the best lmao. massive thank you to the anon who requested this, i had way too much fun. enjoy!! kofi︱request︱masterlist

“Johnny, what are the rules again?”

He groans, tilting his head back like he’s begging for help, tired of being treated like he can’t handle anything alone. Sure, last time Franklin floated the kitchen table and the toaster caught fire but that was because Johnny tried making grilled cheese with his hands again. Still, he’s fine now, grown-up, and Sue needs to stop acting like he’s still setting towels on fire for fun.

He starts reciting the list anyway, because if he doesn’t, she’ll recite it for him and that’s worse, so he says it with the kind of bored drawl that makes her scowl, like he’s been through this enough times to memorise it but still refuses to take it seriously, which is kind of true.

“No fire near the baby, don’t let him fly, don’t call him a baby because he’s sensitive about that now, no horror movies, no junk food before dinner, don’t let him time travel again, make sure he naps at three even though he never does, and absolutely no floating stuff on purpose just because it looks cool, which it does, and honestly, if I had powers at two, I’d be showing off all the time—”

“Johnny.”

“I know,” he says, holding up his hands, which is kind of ironic because they’re literally the most flammable part of him, “I got it, I swear, he’s two, he’s practically made of giggles and yoghurt, how hard can it be?”

Sue just stares at him, that kind of bone-deep tired look she gets whenever he opens his mouth too confidently, the one that says she loves him but also kind of wants to throw a cushion at his face, and he’s pretty sure she would if she didn’t already have her hands full with Franklin, who’s currently holding a plush dinosaur by the leg and quietly making it hover in circles behind her head.

He grins. Franklin’s a legend.

“Seriously, though,” he says, lowering his voice a bit, “why even get a babysitter if I’m gonna be here the whole time? Like, c’mon, I’ve got this, I’ve got a whole plan, it’s quality bonding time, me and the kid, uncle-nephew vibes, he already knows I’m the fun one–”

“She’s not for him, Johnny.”

And that’s not Sue’s voice anymore, that’s Reed, who’s just now walked in like he’s been lurking around the corner this whole time waiting to drop one sentence and ruin Johnny’s entire afternoon, and he says it in that flat, painfully logical tone like it’s just a neutral statement of fact, but Johnny blinks, jaw open just a fraction, because it takes him a solid three seconds to even register what the hell that means.

“...What?”

Reed looks at him as though he’s explaining a maths problem to someone who doesn’t know how to count.

“The babysitter is for you.”

And Johnny genuinely short-circuits, like, full mental blue screen. He blinks again, steps forward, then scoffs like he’s trying to laugh it off, but his voice cracks halfway through because what the actual fuck does that even mean.

“You got me a–? I’m sorry, is this–? Did you seriously–” he cuts himself off, flings a hand at Franklin like that somehow proves his point, “he’s two! I’m twenty-eight! I’ve fought aliens! I’ve saved people! You think I can’t handle my own nephew without needing backup?”

Reed just lifts an eyebrow, calm as ever, as Franklin makes the plush dinosaur nose-dive into Johnny’s hair like a soft toy assassination. Sue mutters something about good luck and three days of peace, then walks out with her bag over one shoulder.

Johnny stands in the living room, offended on every level, mouthing “babysitter?” to no one, like the insult has actually hurt him.

He doesn’t even know who you are yet, but he already hates you.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ ･｡ﾟ───

Johnny Storm does not hate you.

He just hates how the door slid open and you walked out like it was nothing, like the lights didn’t shift brighter when you stepped in, like the security panel hadn’t just announced you like a top-secret government file, and okay, he wasn’t expecting fireworks or anything, wasn’t expecting the babysitter to be hot, but seriously, no one warned him, no one said Sue and Reed had hired the most frozen, unreadable, unfairly beautiful woman alive and then let her casually exist in their living room like that wouldn’t destroy his mental stability on the spot.

You didn’t even look at him, and that’s what got him most, just walked past with your long sleeves, gloves, and perfect face like he wasn’t there. Maybe he’s used to people noticing him, liking the attention, but you didn’t care, moved like this high-tech fortress was nothing, picked up Franklin like it was routine, sat down like you belonged, and Johnny was left standing by the fancy coffee machine, wondering when he lost control of the whole day.

And you didn’t even look at him, didn’t say hi or smile or give him one of those fake polite nods people use to be civil, you just moved past him like he wasn’t there, not rude, just… neutral, like he didn’t matter, and he should be annoyed about that, really, but instead he’s just watching you sit there like a statue made of calm while Franklin plays like the world’s not ending, like you’re the only thing holding the entire room steady.

You’ve still got the gloves on, which is weird, right, because the building’s climate-controlled and you’re not outside and there’s nothing dangerous or disgusting around. Let’s just say that he’s confused as hell as of the moment.

He should probably say something, really, because standing here like he’s waiting for divine intervention is pathetic, and you still haven’t looked at him, not once, like he’s invisible or irrelevant or just not worth noticing, which is actually insane because he’s Johnny Storm, he glows, literally, and sure, he’s not glowing right now but he’s still not exactly background furniture.

You’re just sitting on the floor with Franklin tucked against you, quiet and still, watching him line up his toys like it’s the most important thing in the world, and you haven’t even looked at Johnny, haven’t said a single word, and it’s so stupid that that’s what’s getting to him, that you’re not even trying and somehow he feels fifteen again, fluttery and awkward and weirdly desperate to say something just so you’ll look at him.

But then he blinks, like actually pauses for a second, and it hits him all at once, that he’s Johnny Storm, he’s Johnny Storm, and why the hell is he nervous about talking to a woman, why is he hesitating, why is he standing here doubting himself like he’s not literally the Human Torch, like he doesn’t know how to flirt, like he hasn’t made a career out of charming people who are way more intimidating than you, no offence, but come on, this is actually ridiculous.

So, obviously, he walks over. He leans on the back of the sofa, casual, confident, or at least pretending to be, grinning a little, even though his heartbeat is doing something annoying, like he’s expecting you to throw a knife at him or roll your eyes or just ignore him completely again, which honestly might be worse.

“So, hey,” he says, trying to sound relaxed, even though his voice comes out a little too bright, “you, uh, always wear gloves indoors, or is that just a fashion thing?”

You don’t answer, which he could’ve predicted, but still, it’s a bit jarring, the way you keep your eyes on Franklin like Johnny’s voice didn’t even reach you, like the sound waves just died halfway through the air and fell flat between you, and he almost laughs, not because it’s funny but because he’s never been blanked this hard in his life and he’s not sure if he respects it or wants to set something on fire just to make a point.

He pushes off the sofa, moves around to the arm of it so you’re at least facing him now, sort of, even if you’re not looking up, and he keeps going, because at this point he’s committed.

“You know, you don’t have to be nervous,” he says, biting back a smirk, “I know I’m incredibly handsome and famous and whatever, but I promise I’m not scary, unless you hate fun, which, honestly, you kind of seem like you might.”

And that’s when you look at him. Finally! It was long enough to register that he exists, long enough to let him feel like maybe he got through to you even a little, but your face doesn’t change, your expression doesn’t even twitch, and you say, voice cool and even like you’re just stating a fact and not absolutely destroying him in the process,

“Confidence and delusion look really similar when you talk too much.”

And Johnny blinks. Actually, visibly blinked as though his brain shorted out for a second and had to restart the whole system from scratch.

He laughs, too loud and way too quick, because that definitely hit him somewhere it wasn’t supposed to, but he’s not about to let you know that, so he just laughs like it’s funny, like he’s used to people saying mean shit with their pretty little mouths and their cold little voices, except he’s absolutely not used to it, not like that, not from someone who still hasn’t even smiled at him.

“Okay,” he says, hand over his chest like ouch, trying to grin through it even though something sharp got wedged in his ribs just now, “so you do speak, I was starting to think maybe you’d taken a vow of silence or just didn’t believe in interacting with people hotter than you, which, honestly, fair, it must be overwhelming.”

You don’t even pause, and you say, voice flat as anything, “I’ve had migraines that were less persistent than you.”

And that one he feels, like physically feels it, like something tightens behind his eye and he’s pretty sure his left eyebrow actually twitches, and he doesn’t know whether to be impressed or offended or aroused or all three, because no one’s ever talked to him like that before, not seriously, not without some teasing edge, and you weren’t teasing, you were done, like the conversation was already over before it even began.

And then, Franklin giggles. A soft, chaotic toddler laugh breaks the tension, and you turn to him like that’s all that matters, easing as you help unstick his dinosaur. Johnny stands ignored, watching you slip into toddler-mode while he tries to gather his dignity from the expensive floor.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ ･｡ﾟ───

To be fair, Johnny is absolutely having a crisis. A small one, sure, but still very real, and entirely your fault, which feels wildly unfair because you haven’t even done anything this time you’re just being good at this, weirdly good, absurdly competent in a way that makes him feel useless in his own family, standing off to the side like some decorative uncle while you handle Franklin like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

You didn’t flinch when Franklin dumped the blocks, just calmly sorted them by colour and got him building. You remembered his snack rules, let him bounce on the sofa but stopped him with a soft, steady tone that made him say “okay” like it was law. You didn’t look smug, just like you cared and were doing your job.

Franklin’s settled in your lap, calm and content as you read some terrible book about a bear who can’t sleep, and Johnny’s across the room, forgotten and jealous, unsure what to do.

He should be the fun uncle, the one Franklin calls for dinosaur noises, but the kid keeps pointing at you, saying “her”, like you belong here. You don’t even seem pleased, just calm.

Then Johnny understands why Franklin prefers you, it’s not just snacks or stuffed animal facts, it’s how you never make him feel small. You’re calm, steady, almost cold but safe, like steel beneath all that quiet. You don’t flinch or panic at his meltdowns, you just wait, and somehow that’s exactly what Franklin trusts. Johnny never thought cold could feel comforting, but maybe it does.

Sure, Johnny was hot, literally and metaphorically. He was fun, he was awesome, he could light up a room and make people laugh and entertain a crowd without even trying, and he was used to being the centre of attention everywhere he went, never really minded the chaos or the fact that he was probably a bit too much sometimes, but maybe that was exactly why Franklin always looked at him like he didn’t quite know what to make of him, like he liked the idea of Johnny but wasn’t sure how to keep up.

And you… you never asked the kid to keep up. You just sat with him, and Franklin trusted that more than anything Johnny had ever done, and Johnny doesn’t know why that makes something twist in his chest, but it does, it really does.

And now it’s day two, and you’re late, or maybe just later than you were yesterday, and Johnny’s not exactly freaking out, not technically, but also what the hell, where are you, because Franklin has been crying his eyes out for the last fifteen minutes and it’s only getting worse with time, not better, not even a little, and Johnny’s already tried everything.

Dancing, jokes, a fireball shaped like a duck (which somehow made him cry harder), even breaking into Sue’s emergency stash of kid-approved biscuits that he is absolutely not supposed to touch and none of it is working.

The kid just keeps wailing and kicking and saying “her” like you’re some kind of living, breathing security blanket, and Johnny is really trying, he is, but now Franklin’s starting to get warm, visibly warm, warm in a way that makes the air around him shimmer like it’s warping at the edges.

And Johnny’s definitely sweating now, not from the heat but from the panic crawling up the back of his neck, because what if this is it, what if the kid’s powers are about to do something, what if he freaks out so hard he floats, or explodes, or bends the walls into spaghetti?

“Okay, okay, bud, it’s alright, she’s coming, she’ll be here soon, I swear,” Johnny says, crouched in front of Franklin like he knows what he’s doing, hands held out like he’s trying to calm a wild animal instead of a two-year-old with probably god-level reality-warping powers, and honestly, it might be the same thing.

And all Johnny can think is where the fuck are you?

Then, finally, you walk in. No knock, no rush, just the door sliding open like you were meant to arrive right then, and Johnny feels his knees nearly give out, his whole body forgetting how to stand because thank god, you’re here, finally here.

Maybe he should be angry you’re late, maybe say something dramatic like “do you know what I’ve been through,” but all he can manage is a half-breath that slips out like a prayer, because Franklin’s still crying, but the moment he sees you, something changes.

You’re still in all those ridiculous layers, the jacket, the gloves, the long sleeves like the Baxter Building is buried in a snowstorm and not, in fact, a perfectly climate-controlled lab fortress, and Johnny still doesn’t get it, still thinks you’re hiding something, still spirals every time he remembers you probably sleep in gloves, but right now none of that matters, because Franklin is reaching for you with those tiny, red, tear-streaked hands like you’re the only person left on the planet who knows how to hold him properly, and you just let out this tired sigh like you were expecting it, already pulling off your jacket.

And it’s strange, because Johnny’s never seen you without it, not even yesterday when Franklin spilled juice all over you and you stayed in it like it was nothing, but now it’s gone, folded neatly over your arm, and he catches a glimpse of skin between your gloves and sleeves your forearms, pale and smooth and not literally sharp but somehow still cold-looking, like even your skin doesn’t remember what warmth feels like.

You step forward and Johnny, still holding the screaming toddler, shifts to pass him to you, and it’s quick, just a moment, just a brush of your arm against his, but fuck it burns. Not like fire. Not like anything he’s used to. It’s the kind of cold that stings, that bites deep, that makes every cell in his body pull back without knowing why, and he flinches without meaning to, lets out a quiet hiss that’s halfway between pain and surprise, and you blink at him but say nothing, like you were expecting that too.

He stares at you, stares at the spot on his arm where your skin touched his, like he’s trying to convince himself he imagined it, like maybe that weird sharp tingle wasn’t real, but it’s still there, faint but insistent, a strange sort of burn that doesn’t feel hot at all, just cold and electric and deeply wrong in a way he can’t quite explain, and he’s about to ask something, about to blurt out what the hell was that, but then Franklin shifts in your arms and wraps himself around your neck, face pressed into your shoulder, and the crying starts to ease.

Not all at once, not completely, but it softens enough that the air feels lighter, like whatever had been wound so tightly inside the kid just let go, and Johnny watches it happen in real time, watches his nephew melt against you like you’ve been holding him since the day he was born.

And then you look up at him. You tilt your head a little and ask, “Why is he crying?”

Johnny blinks, caught off guard by how unbothered you sound. “I— I don’t know,” he says, and it comes out more defensive than he wants it to, like he’s being accused of something, like this is an interrogation instead of just a really shit afternoon. “I did everything right, I think, I fed him, he ate all of it, even the weird yoghurt stuff Reed makes, I gave him water, I changed him, I played the dancing fruits video like six times, and I swear he was laughing earlier, and then he just started crying out of nowhere, and I didn’t— I mean, I tried, alright?”

You’re not looking at him anymore.

You’re looking at Franklin now, properly focused, like you’re scanning for damage he didn’t catch, and Johnny knows it’s not personal, but god, it’s irritating, the way you cut him off with your silence, like whatever he’s saying doesn’t matter.

You lean closer, glance at Franklin’s mouth, and let out a quiet sigh, not dramatic, not loud, just tired and real and a little resigned.

“He’s teething,” you say, like that explains everything.

And Johnny immediately panics, because that doesn’t explain everything to him, and what does that even mean, is that bad, is that something that’s meant to happen or something that needs to be fixed, and he leans forward like this has suddenly turned into a medical emergency.

“He’s what? That’s bad, right? Should I call Sue? Do we need ice or something or, like, a baby dentist—”

But you’re already moving, not storming off or rushing out, just drifting past him like he’s not even there, easing down onto the sofa with Franklin still curled into you, still clinging like you’re the only person who knows how to hold him right.

Johnny stays frozen, watching you settle like this is something you’ve done a hundred times, the way your arms fold around Franklin, the way your hand moves over his back so carefully, so calmly, like you’re trying to ease something out of him.

And then you pause and start taking off your gloves. Johnny freezes immediately.

It’s not even dramatic, it just happens all at once, the way his lungs stop pulling air for a second, like his body registered something important before his brain caught up, because he hasn’t seen your hands before, not even for a second, and he knows that shouldn’t matter, he knows it’s weird to care, but somehow it does, and all he can do is stare while you peel them off, slow and methodical, one finger at a time like you’ve done it a thousand times before.

And your hands were kind of pale, more than he expected, and your fingers are long and sharp-looking, not in a dangerous way but in a precise kind of way, and even without the gloves they still look cold, like you’ve been out in the snow and haven’t fully thawed, like your skin doesn’t quite know what warmth is supposed to feel like.

You lean forward, steady and quiet, your arms moving with the kind of calm that shouldn’t belong in a moment like this, and Johnny can’t even process how weird that is before it gets worse, because the second your bare hands touch Franklin’s cheeks, the crying just stops, no slow breathing or hiccuping or gradual calm-down, it just vanishes, like it was never even there to begin with, and Johnny stands there with his heart in his throat because what the fuck.

He’s still watching, still frozen, mouth slightly open and hands half-lifted in useless confusion, and Franklin just melts into your chest, eyes fluttering, fingers curling into your top, his tiny shoulders relaxing in this way that makes Johnny’s whole body tense, because how the hell did you do that, how are you doing that, what are you even doing??

And you don’t say anything at first, which somehow makes it worse, because you’re still looking down at the toddler like this is normal, like this is your job, like this is just another day and not a full-blown psychic sedative moment, and Johnny is still standing uselessly in the middle of the room like he doesn’t know how to function, because honestly he doesn’t.

He tries to speak, forces the words out even though they feel stuck in the back of his throat, like his brain’s trying to catch up with everything all at once and failing. “What—what did you just do?”

You don’t look up. You’re still holding Franklin’s face gently, carefully, watching him breathe through the end of his meltdown like it’s just any other day.

You’re calm again, even colder now that the crying’s stopped, even quieter, and Johnny’s pretty sure he’s hallucinating the way the temperature in the room shifted the second you walked in, like there’s an invisible force field around you that makes everything settle, including his very not-settled brain.

“I can manipulate temperature,” you say, flat, like you’re reciting it from some handbook, like it’s just your job description and not the most insane thing he’s heard all month. “Or, well—more accurately, kinetic energy. I can slow particles down, freeze motion. You get the idea.”

“No,” Johnny says, fully lost, hands waving a little like that’ll help the words make sense, “no, I don’t get the idea. That sounded like science and I am historically very bad at science so you do what? Freeze stuff?”

You finally glance at him. Your eyes flick toward him like they’re annoyed to acknowledge him again, like you’re doing it under protest.

“Cryokinesis,” you say, a little sharper, a little louder, like you’re repeating yourself because he’s slow. “It means I can lower the heat. Pull it out of a space, a person. I can freeze surfaces. Cool people down when they’re overheating. Which is what Franklin needed. He’s in pain, he’s teething, and you’re holding him with a body temperature of a goddamn microwave.”

Johnny blinks, takes that in, immediately a little offended. “Okay, rude.”

You ignore him. You brush your thumb against Franklin’s cheek and adjust the toddler’s weight against your chest like you’ve done it a hundred times, like this is normal, like you didn’t just casually say you can control temperature like it’s not the most insane thing anyone’s ever dropped mid-conversation.

He stares, still confused, and still not computing. “So you’re like a cold person? In the powers way not just in the... general vibe.”

You sigh, slow and tired. Then you finally look at him properly, that same blank, bored expression on your face, and you flick your hand toward him, fast and casual like it’s second nature, and he doesn’t even register what you’re doing until it’s already happening.

A sharp crack of cold air rushes past his face, sudden and freezing, and he panics, heat pulsing from his palm immediately, just instinct, just muscle memory from every combat simulation and real-world fight he’s ever been in, and flames flash up from his hand, catching the air just in time to block the icy whatever that just shot out of yours.

It melts instantly. Water drips down his wrist. He stares.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, grinning now because this just stopped being scary and started being cool, and his brain short-circuits trying to compute it all. “You have powers. You have the opposite of my powers. That’s crazy. That’s—wait, that’s actually so cool. Are we soulmates? No, genuinely, that feels like a soulmate thing. Fire and ice, opposites attract, forbidden tension—”

You flick your fingers again.

A small, perfectly-aimed puff of cold air smacks right into his mouth. He coughs, splutters, glares at you like you just committed treason. You’re already turning back to Franklin. Already done with him.

He wipes his mouth. “Okay,” he mumbles, a little quieter this time, “noted.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ ･｡ﾟ───

After the whole day of making sure Franklin didn’t scream again, you had finally managed to put him to sleep, wrapped him gently in the softest blanket Sue had left, left a tiny night light on by the corner of the room, made sure his pillows were cold enough so he wouldn’t wake up sobbing in pain when the pressure in his jaw built again, and once you were sure he was calm, breathing slow and light and warm against the chill of the room, you pulled the door shut behind you and exhaled properly for the first time since this morning.

It was quiet again, finally, just your breathing and the soft hum of the vents, and for a second you let yourself lean against the door, eyes closed, trying to remember how to breathe properly. You hated this part, the aftershock, when the room still felt thick with leftover panic and your body hadn’t caught up yet.

And today wasn’t just a long day, it was the day you told someone, someone outside the circle, someone loud and nosy and far too curious, and now everything felt off. Not because you said it, but because of who you said it to.

You pulled your gloves back on.

You always did, after. Like a reset, like if you could cover it up then it hadn’t really happened, like maybe he hadn’t felt it, that spark of contrast when your skin met his, when heat met cold and neither of you really knew what to do about it.

You hadn’t meant to show him anything, hadn’t meant to admit anything, and even though it was small and mostly harmless and technically safe, it still happened, and now he knew.

And you were scared. You hated that part. You were scared of your own hands sometimes, scared of forgetting how far you could push, scared of doing too much without meaning to, because it didn’t always listen to you, not fully, not when your heart was loud and your thoughts were messy and everything inside you got a little too still.

You weren’t supposed to show anyone. You weren’t supposed to lose control, even for a second.

You were halfway to the kitchen, still chewing on the inside of your cheek, when your brain finally caught up to your surroundings and realised there was someone standing there, which would’ve been fine if it wasn’t for the very obvious, very attention-grabbing sight of Johnny Storm leaning casually against the counter wearing his full Fantastic Four suit, the boots and the insignia and all.

You blinked once.

“What,” you said flatly, “are you wearing.”

He straightened up immediately, like he’d been rehearsing this, arms crossing, eyebrows up, and the expression on his face hovering somewhere between smug and serious, which didn’t make any sense, because the suit made him look ridiculous and also slightly intimidating, and you had absolutely no patience left in your body.

He nodded at you, tone a bit more even than usual. “It’s called a uniform.”

“It’s called unnecessary, dumbass.”

He ignored that.

“You’re afraid of your powers,” he said, not a question, not even a challenge, just a statement, and your mouth opened, just slightly, just enough to protest before closing again, because what would be the point.

“I get it,” he continued, softer now, almost calm, which was somehow worse, “you think if you touch the wrong thing it’ll freeze over, or fracture, or worse. You’re always waiting for the moment it slips, right? For the second your control isn’t enough. Trust me, I’ve been there.”

You didn’t say anything. You just stared at him. He didn’t move.

“I was like that too,” he went on, and this time it sounded real, the way he said it, not like a joke or a brag or something for attention, just honest, and maybe a little tired, “in the beginning, I couldn’t even light a candle without setting the entire table on fire. I was scared of it, even though I never admitted it out loud. Reed was always trying to explain it in equations, Sue wanted me to focus on control, but none of it helped. Not until I realised it wasn’t about shutting it down. It was about learning how to live with it.”

You didn’t respond, but you weren’t looking away either, and that was something.

He tilted his head, like he was waiting, like he’d say more if you needed him to, but he didn’t push. Just held your gaze, quiet now, oddly serious for someone whose whole personality revolved around attention and flames.

Then, without saying a word, he turned slightly, took one half-step back into the middle of the room, and with one steady breath, ignited.

It was slower than you expected. Not the fast, explosive burst he used to block your ice earlier, but something steadier, softer somehow.

A warm pulse rising from his palms first, then curling up his arms, his shoulders, his chest, until the whole surface of him glowed with that molten-orange flame you’d seen a dozen times on the news, but never this close.

You didn’t flinch, but you didn’t breathe either.

He was still talking. “I had to get burned before I learned where the limits were. I had to feel it. You can’t control something you’re scared of.”

He looked down at his own hands, fire flickering quietly against his skin, no panic behind it, no wild surge, just... control.

He let it rise, just a bit more, let it roll across his shoulders and neck, until you could see the light catch in the curve of his jaw and the tips of his hair, and you hated how much of your brain registered that he looked good like this, confident and balanced and not at all like the cocky idiot who flirted with you in the middle of the living room while you ignored him on purpose.

You watched him for a second longer, eyes trailing from the fire still curling softly along his arms to the way he wasn’t even trying to show off anymore, wasn’t performing it like some circus trick or throwing it around like a party trick, just holding it like it was part of him, like it had always been, and maybe it was. You didn’t know what it was like to burn. You only knew how it felt to freeze.

“I don’t like using it,” you said quietly, and it came out before you even realised you were going to say it, too fast and too honest, “it’s not something I... practise. It hurts people when I do it wrong. It’s easier not to.”

Johnny blinked, head tilting a little, fire still flickering low across his shoulders, warming the space between you, not close enough to touch, but enough to make the cold in your bones crack just slightly.

“And you think that’s gonna be sustainable?” he asked, brows raising like he genuinely wanted to know, not judging, just... asking. “Just never using it? Just keeping it all bottled up under those gloves forever?”

You didn’t answer, but you didn’t look away either, and he huffed, something between a sigh and a half-laugh, and suddenly it was like a switch flipped inside him, because the fire vanished in an instant, blinked out without drama, and he ran a hand through his now-flame-tousled hair like he was resetting back to default Johnny again.

“Damn,” he muttered, eyeing you now with a crooked grin slowly dragging at his mouth, “you’re kind of intense, huh?”

You gave him a look, not even bothering to respond to that.

“No, I mean it,” he went on, leaning a little against the counter again, arms folding across his chest, voice dropping back into that casual lazy rhythm he used when he was trying too hard to act like he wasn’t affected, “you walk around here all quiet and serious and freezing people with your eyes—don’t lie, you do, I’ve seen you—and you’ve got these deadly hands you refuse to use, and the most impressive toddler-calming skills I’ve ever seen, and now I find out you’ve got actual ice powers, and you still don’t think you’re cool.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That was awful.”

He grinned wider. “I know. I was really proud of it.”

You sighed, more exhausted than annoyed, already regretting speaking to him at all.

But then, softer, not quite joking, not quite serious either, he added, “You know you can’t scare me, right?”

You looked at him, but he was already watching you.

“I mean, I’m literally the fire. I’m not exactly easy to freeze out.”

And for once, you didn’t have anything sharp to throw back. You just stared at him while something quiet passed between you, something warm and slow and mildly infuriating, and Johnny smiled like he could feel it too.

Then, because of course he couldn’t leave it there, he added, “Plus, if we ever got into a fight, you’d probably win. Cold always wins. It’s not fair, but I respect it.”

You blinked. “Is that your way of saying you’re scared of me?”

He shrugged. “Only a little. In a hot way.”

You groaned. “Go to sleep, Johnny.”

He winked. “Only if you promise not to kill me in mine.”

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