#eddie needs to be at his lowest before he can pick himself back up

[deadnatura11]

What if Eddie’s 'refresh' and 'restart' comes about because Chris moves in with Buck, forcing Eddie to define himself outside of being a father and he has to come to terms with what he wants vs. what he thinks is good for Chris in s8.

Meanwhile it's also isolating himself because he feels like he doesn't deserve to see Chris after hurting him like that, because Chris is still angry at him and HURT, and because Chris is at Buck's and Chris is watching Buck Eddie distances himself from Buck, too, because he feels unwelcome?

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Summary: With no friends and the looming threat of losing custody of his son, Eddie's the lowest he's ever been. But you know what they say: “Rock bottom just means there’s nowhere to go except up."

Warnings: angst, visits from CPS, Reader's grandma has Alzheimer's

WC: 6k

Chapter 5/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple Divider credit to @saradika

The phone rings as Eddie wrestles Harris into his jacket. He still hasn’t figured out how to break the news about his classroom change; at this rate, he’ll be dropping him off at school before he works up the nerve. Is there any good way to tell your kid that he no longer gets to spend his days with his favorite teacher?

“Keep that on,” Eddie instructs Harris, pointing to the navy blue sweatshirt. “I’ll zip it for you in a sec.” He jogs over to the phone, answering with an irritated, “Hello?”

“Ed?” Wayne’s voice drifts from the receiver. “It’s Wayne.”

Eddie nods before remembering that Wayne can’t see him. “Y-Yeah, hey,” he says, tone softening at his uncle’s familiarity. There’s a dull ache in his chest when he thinks of how he willingly shut him out over the last month. “How’ve you been?”

“Good. Can’t complain.” Wayne clears his throat. “I’d love to see you and Harris. Whenever you get the chance.” Eddie can hear his concern, the unasked questions that dissolve on his tongue: Are you okay? Is Harris? Do I need to file that custody agreement?

He glances over at his son, who, despite Eddie’s promise, is unsuccessfully trying to thread the zipper with its teeth. He motions him over, cradling the phone to his ear and stretching the cord while he kneels to fasten the jacket. “We were actually about to head to the park if you wanted to meet us there,” he says. “This kid’s got way too much energy to keep him cooped up in the apartment. We’ll both lose our minds.”

Wayne lets out a kind chuckle. “Sounds like a Munson.” Eddie can hear the tinny jangle of his keys. “The park over on Porter Drive?”

“Yup.”

“Dad, let’s go!” Harris whines, twisting the doorknob back and forth to emphasize his impatience.

“We’ll be there in ten,” Eddie tells Wayne, catching a glimpse of the neon orange cast peeking out from under Harris’s jacket. It’s now adorned with his classmates’ names. Your signature seems to beckon Eddie, taunt him, even, and he tries to convince himself that it’s because it’s the only one that doesn’t resemble chicken scratch. “Oh, Harris broke his wrist, but he’s fine. I’ll explain everything when I see you.”

“Hoo boy,” Wayne breathes. “Definitely a Munson.”

Harris spends the short drive to the park bouncing in his carseat. “Is Grampa Wayne gonna play with me?” he asks, rocking back and forth excitedly.

“Mhm,” Eddie nods, keeping his eyes trained on the road. He nervously thrums his fingers along his jean-clad thighs. What if Wayne still didn’t think he was a responsible parent? What if he took one look at Harris’s injury and raced home to call his lawyer? “But I gotta talk with him first, okay? You can play by yourself for a little while.”

Harris hums his agreement, eagerly unbuckling as soon as Eddie parks the car. He starts to run towards the field, and all Eddie can picture is him tripping and hurting himself again.

“Harris, don’t–” he starts, but he then remembers those magic words: “Walking feet, bud. Don’t want you breaking that other wrist.” He grabs the soccer ball from the trunk and kicks it in Harris’s direction.

Wayne pulls up in his truck a few moments later, almost as exuberant as his grandson. “Har-Bear!” he calls out, opening his arms wide for a hug. Harris picks up his pace, slowing down when he remembers his dad’s instructions.

“I’m using my walking feet!” he chirps proudly, and though they’re fast walking feet, Eddie beams at him.

Wayne squeezes Harris so tightly that Eddie worries he’ll inadvertently cut off his oxygen supply. When the boy starts squirming, Wayne laughs and puts him down.

“Go ahead and play,” Eddie tells his son. “Grampa Wayne and I are gonna catch up real quick.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence as the two men sit on the bench, waiting for the other to say something first. Finally, Wayne breaks through the tension.

“Missed you two,” he murmurs, not looking at Eddie. “‘S too quiet around my place without that little rugrat.”

“We missed you, too,” Eddie admits, chewing on his thumbnail. “Harris won’t stop asking for Grampa Wayne.”

Wayne preens slightly at this, shifting in his seat. “This is the longest we’ve gone without talking since…”

“I know,” Eddie cuts him off, not wanting to revisit the part of his past that Wayne’s referencing. “I, uh, started working at Rock Records,” he tells him, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It sucks, but it’s a job.”

He feels Wayne clap him on the shoulder, pulling him closer to him for a brief side hug. “I’m proud of you, Ed.” He purses his lips before asking, “and no more of the…”

Eddie shakes his head. “Nope, I’m done with that. Returned the rest of what I had to Rick; told him I was out.” His gaze drops back to the ground, and he stares intently at the blades of grass as though they might disappear if he blinks. “But that might not matter anymore anyway, so…”

“The hell you talking about?” Wayne pinches his eyebrows together, adjusting his position to face his nephew.

Sighing, Eddie tells him about what happened at the hospital last week. Wayne’s eyes widen when he hears that they filed a report with CPS. “That’s some bullshit,” he mumbles, scratching at his gray beard. “Kids get hurt all the time. Can’t keep ‘em in a bubble.” He shakes his head incredulously. “They’re not gonna take him from you, okay? They’re gonna see how you provide for him, how great you are with him, and they’re gonna be sorry they wasted their time.”

“I’m not great with him,” Eddie mutters, standing up in a feeble attempt to exert some of his nervous energy. “I’m ruining his life.” He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “He had this teacher, and he adored her. Calls her ‘Ms. Sweetheart.’ And I was just…just a total asshole to her. I accused her of telling people about the CPS thing and said some really fucked up shit about her sick grandma and…fuck, Wayne. She had Harris transferred to another class just so she doesn’t have to deal with me. And now I have to say, ‘Hey, you know that teacher you fuckin’ loved? Well, she’s not your teacher any more, and it’s all my fault.’”

Wayne absorbs the information, contemplating what he says next. “So fix it,” he shrugs.

“It’s not that simple,” Eddie argues, plopping back down onto the bench in defeat. The wood digs into his lower back uncomfortably, so he stands up again.

“It’s not?” Wayne questions, digging a pack of Newports out of his jacket pocket and offering one to him. “Because it sounds to me like you owe this ‘Ms. Sweetheart’ an apology.”

Eddie takes a cigarette, toying with it before tucking it between his lips. It takes a few flicks of his old Bic lighter to get a spark, and he lets the nicotine calm his nerves before speaking again. “I don’t think she’ll forgive me.”

“Never said she would,” Wayne counters, plucking the Bic from Eddie’s hands and bringing the flame to light his own cigarette. “Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t apologize.”

Inhaling sharply, Eddie watches his son kick the ball around before letting out a slow, controlled exhale. “My boss asked if I could teach guitar lessons once or twice a week,” he says, using his empty hand to toy with the frayed holes in his jeans. “If…if you wanna, could you watch Harris? I can pay you.”

“Don’t insult me, boy,” Wayne scoffs, but a playful smile dances on his lips. “You’re not gonna pay me to watch my own grandson. Just let me know the day and time, and I’ll have a pot of mac and cheese ready to go.”

The pent-up tension dissipates from his body at Wayne’s easy agreement. An unspoken I love you floats between them, and he could cry from the sudden surge of relief.

“Daddy! Grampa!” Harris calls out from across the park. “Let’s play!”

Wayne stands up with a grunt, rolling his shoulders back to loosen them up. “You heard the man,” he jokes. “Up and at ‘em.”

It’s your first day off of work since the start of the school year, yet all you can think about are your students. Well, one particular student and his god-awful father. Eddie’s comment replays in your mind, cutting through you like the chilly mid-October air. The sting still hasn’t faded, despite it being three days since he’d said it. 

You say goodbye to your grandma and Elise, her home health aid, grabbing your car keys and closing the door behind you. This morning was already overwhelming; Grandma had woken up at 5 AM, ready to start her day. The sound of her TV blasting at the highest possible volume jolted you from your sleep, and you’d spent the following twenty minutes trying to persuade her to go back to bed. Unsuccessfully, you might add. 

You wince when you see your reflection in the rearview mirror. Your eyes are puffy and bloodshot, with pouches developing beneath them that only emphasize your exhaustion. You practice smiling a few times before starting the car, peeling out of the parking lot to meet Jess, Viv, and Jeff for lunch.

The pleasant aroma of burgers cooking on a grill wafts past your nose as you push open the doors to the restaurant. It isn’t too crowded when you arrive; you assume that the usual lunchtime rush is quelled by the Columbus Day holiday. Your new friends are already waiting at the table, waving you over excitedly.

“Hey,” you call out, forcing pleasantries into your otherwise flat tone. You slide into the seat next to Jess and across from Jeff. “How’s everyone been?”

“Better, now that I’m out of the first trimester,” Viv says with a small laugh. “Now that I have my appetite back, I’m definitely getting the grilled cheese.” She glances at the menu again, adding, “and a side of fries.”

Jess nods. “I think I’ll do the same.” She turns to you and her cheerful expression shifts to one of concern. “You okay?”

“Y-Yeah, just tired.” Your lackluster reply is unconvincing, but she doesn’t challenge it in front of Jeff and her sister. “Chasing after kids all day is wearing me out.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Viv exclaims, taking a sip of her water. “You’re a preschool teacher. The one with Eddie’s kid in your class!”

“Mhm,” you manage; the mere mention of Eddie’s name turns your throat into sandpaper. “Well, not any more, I guess.” Your throwaway comment is met with inquisitive stares, so you give the group a rundown of last week’s events, watching their eyes grow wide.

“He’s such a fucking douche,” Jess grumbles, resting her hand over yours. It feels like forever since you’ve experienced the simplicity of a kind gesture, and you have to swallow the emotion that comes with it. 

“Seriously,” Viv agrees, looking over at Jeff. “Why were you even friends with him?”

Jeff lets out a terse chuckle and shakes his head. “Believe it or not, he actually used to be a good guy. The best, in my opinion.” Disappointment flashes across his face as he continues. “Something changed when he went to Chicago. He was always on-guard, had his walls up, but it used to be more of an ‘if you mess with me, I’ll mess with you’ attitude. But when he came back home, he was…different.”

“Different how?” Curiosity gets the best of you, and the question slips off of your tongue before you can stop it.

“It was like he was determined to hurt people before they could hurt him. No matter what I did, he never fully believed that I was on his side. I was constantly trying to prove that I wasn’t out to fuck him over.”

Viv drapes an arm over her fiancé’s shoulder. “How long did he live in Chicago, again?”

“Long enough to knock someone up,” Jeff muses, mind wandering for a moment before he brings himself back to the conversation. “About four years, I think? He left to chase his dreams of being a rockstar. Then one day, he shows back up in Hawkins with an infant, trying to act like nothing had changed.” He snorts at the very idea of it. “But it obviously did–I mean, besides the fact that he had a whole child, the rest of us had grown up, too. College, work, all that stuff.

“When he suggested getting Corroded Coffin back together, we figured, why not? It seemed like a decent way to chill out, blow off some steam at the end of the day.”

“Let me guess,” you chime in, cocking your head knowingly. “Eddie had other ideas.”

Jeff nods. “He still wanted to do the rockstar thing. And he’d always get angry at us because we didn’t. Not professionally, anyway. Kept mocking us for having 9-to-5 jobs, like it was the worst thing in the world.” He pauses, screwing up his face in contemplation. “Which, come to think of it, was weird. Because back in high school, he told me that it really messed with him, not having that stability growing up. Y’know, before Wayne took him in.”

There’s so much more you want to know, but the waiter striding over to the table to take orders brings the conversation to a natural conclusion. What you’ve gathered so far is that Eddie Munson is a many-layered man, each one more puzzling than the last. Despite your festering hurt and anger, you can’t help but hope that he untethers himself from his complicated past. If not for his sake, then for Harris’s.

“Daddy, what’s a new cents?”

Eddie’s taking the left turn onto the main road when he hears his son speaking from the back seat. “What’s new since when?” he asks, craning his head to check for oncoming traffic. 

“Noooo,” Harris whines, letting out an exasperated sigh. Eddie has no clue where his new attitude came from, and he can’t say that he’s a fan. “A new cents.”

“That’s not a thing, buddy,” Eddie answers, starting to twist the radio knob. 

“Yes, it is!” Harris insists, clearly growing frustrated. “Ms. Marion told Ms. Paula that I’m a ‘new cents.’”

It suddenly clicks for Eddie, and he grips the steering wheel tighter and hopes Harris doesn’t notice the edge in his voice. “You mean a nuisance?”

“That’s what I said!” Harris groans. “What does it mean?”

Eddie pushes past the question to ask one of his own. “What exactly did Ms. Marion say?” Maybe there was a misunderstanding, he reasons with himself. 

But Harris’s answer only confirms his initial suspicion. “She looked at Ms. Paula and said, ‘this one’s a ‘new cents.’ An’ then she pointed to me.”

“Why the hell would she say that?” Eddie’s speaking to himself, but his son replies, still too young to grasp the concept of rhetorical questions. 

“‘Cause of my shoes being untied. An’ she doesn’t like when I ask her to tie them.”

Eddie cringes. He’d meant to teach Harris how to tie his sneakers, but the lessons had to be put on hold when the kid had broken his wrist. Pausing before posing his next question, Eddie carefully selects his words. “Did…Did Ms. Sweetheart ever do that? Get mad about your shoes or call you a nuisance?”

“Nope,” Harris shakes his head. “An’ Mr. Will didn’t either.” And considering that his laces had always been tied in neat bows when Eddie arrived to pick him up, he can only assume that the two of you did this without a second thought. Jesus, why even bother to be a preschool teacher if you’re gonna bitch about tying shoes?

“So, what is it?” Harris snaps him from his thoughts. 

“Huh?” Eddie’s right foot presses on the brake as he approaches a stop sign. “Oh. Um, I don’t know. Sorry, Har.” It’s the second time in as many days that he’s lied to him in order to spare his feelings. Yesterday, he’d waited until they were already in the school to tell Harris that he was picked for a super special project where he’d act as a secret agent in another class. He didn’t know whether to be proud or ashamed that he’d spent all night thinking of that excuse. 

“‘S’okay,” Harris shrugs, raising and dropping his legs so they bounce off the bottom of his carseat. His ankles are exposed, and Eddie realizes that he must’ve grown. Again. Which means that he needs to scrape together some money and buy him new clothes. Again. “How much more days until I get to go back to Ms. Sweetheart’s class?”

“Not sure.” Lie number three. He flicks on the radio, the sounds of Ozzy effectively distracting Harris for the remainder of the car ride. 

If only it was that easy to fool himself. 

A harsh knock on your classroom door and the formality of your first and last name draws your attention from the mountain of paperwork on your desk. Will left thirty minutes ago with the rest of the TAs, so you’ve been sitting alone, humming a song you’d listened to on the car ride to work.

“Yes, that’s me,” you tell the tall man standing in the doorway. His intimidating stature and sullen disposition juxtapose the orange and yellow hues of autumn-themed artwork lining the walls. “Can I help you?”

He flashes a name tag as he steps into the classroom. “My name is Andrew Smith. I’m here on behalf of Child Protective Services to speak to you regarding one of your students…” he checks his notes, “Harris Munson.”

“Oh, um,” you stumble over your words, “he’s–he’s not my student any more. Not since Tuesday of this week.”

“Right,” the social worker nods slowly, patience already running thin, “but I briefly spoke with his new teacher, and she said that she didn’t have enough information to answer the questions, and directed me to your classroom.” When you don’t respond, he gives the legal rundown about the process and your obligations as a mandated reporter. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s proceed with this, shall we?” He clicks his pen, eyes boring a hole into you as he speaks. “How well would you say you know Harris’s father, Edward Munson?”

More intimately than you know, you bitterly think. “Fairly well. He dropped Harris off and picked him up every day.”

Mr. Smith scribbles that down. “Was Edward Munson punctual? Did he drop off and pick up Harris on time?”

“Yes,” you confirm, and your mind flickers back to the very first day of school. “There was only one time he was late for pick-up, but it’s common for that to happen once in a while with any parent.”

“Right, okay. And how would you describe Harris’s disposition around his father?”

“He adores him. He’s a generally happy kid, but he lights up around his dad. Or even when he’s just talking about him.” One lunchtime conversation in particular centered around how his dad could play anything on the guitar, even “Old MacDonald.” Harris had been bursting with excitement to report that Eddie made the funniest animal sounds, and you’d be lying if you’d said your interest wasn’t piqued. “I’ve never seen Harris act nervous or scared around him.”

Pen flies across the paper, and you swear he’s writing more than you’d even said. “Besides the broken wrist, did you ever notice any injuries or abnormal bruising anywhere on Harris’s body?” 

You shake your head before realizing he’s waiting for a verbal response. “Nope, never. Just the usual bruises that come with being a kid.”

Mr. Smith cocks his eyebrow, pressing his lips together. “And where were those bruises located?”

Shit. Did you say too much? Why can’t you just shut up when you’re nervous? “Knees and calves?” You point to the spots on your own body, as though the social worker needs visual aides, while silently berating your own stupidity.

“And based on your interactions with him, how would you describe Edward Munson as a father?” It’s a loaded question, and its magnitude is a weight on your chest. 

“Caring, attentive, very loving,” you answer honestly. “Responsible. Harris always showed up with lunch and a snack, bathed, clean clothes, whatever supplies he needed. I never worried that Harris was unsafe or in an unhealthy environment.” You force yourself to meet Mr. Smith’s gaze when you say the next part. “We, um, actually were at the hospital at the same time. My grandma got hurt, and we bumped into them when being discharged.”

This grabs his attention. “And did Mr. Munson appear to be impaired or otherwise behaving out of sorts?” The way he looks at you could easily be mistaken for a glare. “Under the influence of any substances, perhaps?”

“Not at all.” You keep your tone firm and even.

He shoves the paperwork at you, pointing to where your signature is required. “Thank you for your time,” he says flatly, leaving the room before you have time to reply. It seems nearly impossible to go back to the task you were working on before the interruption, but you try to push away the intrusive thoughts about everything that could possibly go wrong.

An hour later, the heavy-handed knock raps on the door to the Munson’s apartment. Eddie knows the drill; unfortunately, this isn’t his first run-in with Child Protective Services. He’s double, triple, quadruple-checked that every electrical outlet is covered, the matches and lighters are far from Harris’s reach, and there’s no remaining product from his recently-abandoned dealing days. The visit is technically unannounced, but since he’s not getting many visitors these days, there are limited options of who could be at his door.

“Edward Munson?” The social worker asks, giving him the same opening spiel he gave you. “I’ll just need to take a look around your home and make sure it’s a suitable living environment for your son.”

“Of course.” Eddie hopes he sounds more confident than he feels, but he can sense the waver in his voice. “Yeah, come on in.” He opens the door a bit wider and lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, drawing unwanted attention from the social worker.

“Something the matter, Mr. Munson?”

“N-No,” Eddie insists, shaking his head. If he confesses to being nervous, this Smith guy could mistake it as an admission of guilt, and that’s the last thing he wants. “Just, um, long day?”

Smith recognizes the response with nothing more than a disbelieving glance as he makes his way through the apartment. Eddie watches silently, pushing down his anxiety with a thick swallow. His mind races when the social worker rummages through the refrigerator. Are there fruits and vegetables in there? Did I throw out that container of leftover spaghetti that overstayed its welcome? His stomach sinks when Smith marks something down in his notes but doesn’t have time to ruminate over it before Harris pokes his head out from the bedroom.

“Daddy? You gonna come back an’ play Hot Wheels with me?” His big brown eyes instantly melt Eddie’s heart, and all he wants to do is scream at the man, See? See how much my kid loves me? See how happy he is? Now, why don’t you go deal with the parents who actually deserve to lose custody and leave me to play with him.

Before Eddie can stop him, Harris traipses out and sees Smith rifling through the pantry. “Who’re you?” he asks.

“Har-Bear, this is Mr. Smith. He’s, uh, one of my friends.” Eddie scrunches his face and shakes his head defeatedly at the blatant lie, but Harris doesn’t notice.

Mr. Smith gives a short wave, neither kind nor impolite. Just one slight movement to acknowledge the boy’s presence. He’s determined to get back to his job, but Harris has other plans.

“I like your glasses.” He points to the wire-rimmed frames on the man’s face. “My Grampa Wayne is s’posed to wear glasses, but he doesn’t. Daddy says it’s ‘cause he’s a mule.”

“Stubborn as a mule, Har,” Eddie gently corrects him, a blush creeping into his cheeks. “I’ll be in in a minute, okay?”

But Harris ignores his request, forging towards his dad’s friend. He lifts his arm and flashes an innocent smile. “Look at my cast! It’s from when I jumped on my bed and breaked my arm.”

“Harris!” Eddie hisses, trying to keep his cool. “Can you go play? In the room?” Pleading with him is like negotiating with a terrorist, and he knows his efforts are futile.

“Actually, I do need to take a look at Harris’s bedroom,” the social worker muses, tapping his pen against his lower lip. Eddie has to stifle a scoff at the charade that this just occurred to Smith. Like he didn’t have this mapped out, another bullet point on the list of uninformed judgments he needed to make.

“We, um, we share a room,” Eddie mumbles, as though there would be another possible reason as to why there’s a twin bed nestled into the same space as Harris’s race car bed. “I used to sleep on the couch, it’s just easier to be close to him when he has nightmares an’ stuff.” His heart races when Smith jots this down. “N-Not that he has nightmares a lot. I don’t let him watch scary movies or anything. Just normal kid stuff.”

The man nods, visibly irritated by his rambling. He clamps his mouth shut to inhibit the flow of unnecessary explanations that freely pass through his lips without a second thought.

Harris motions Smith over, using his uninjured hand to grab the stranger’s and leading him into the room. “That’s my bed,” he announces. It sounds like he’s giving a tour, and Eddie almost laughs at the absurdity of the situation. “And that’s where I falled,” Harris points to the unassuming patch of carpet alongside it. 

“Ouch,” Smith mutters, and Eddie swears he can see a semblance of a smile. Leave it to Harris to thaw the most hardened of hearts. “I bet that hurt.”

“Yeah, but there was no blood,” Harris says nonchalantly. “An’ I didn’t need a shot. Just this cast. All my friends signed it. Even Ms. Sweetheart!”

“Ms. Sweetheart?” Smith repeats.

“She’s my teacher. Well, she was my teacher. Now I’m a super secret spy in Ms. Marion’s class, but don’t tell anyone!”

Eddie scoops up a couple of toy cars off of the floor and hands them to Harris, determined to end the conversation before anything else can be revealed. Can you get your kid taken away for being an asshole to his teacher? He doesn’t want to find out. “Here ya go, bud. Why don’t you get the racetrack set up, and I’ll play with you as soon as Mr. Smith leaves.”

“Actually,” Smith says, “I’m about finished. Mr. Munson,” he says, his natural stoicness settling back in as he turns back to Eddie, “after completing this investigation and conducting our interviews, I’ve determined that Harris may remain in your custody. I’ll just need you to sign a few forms and I’ll be on my way.”

Eddie’s relief is palpable. He sweeps Harris into a hug, clutching him to his chest and wordlessly swears to never put him back down. “Th-thank you,” he mumbles, acutely aware of the tears leaking from his eyes. “Wait–what interviews? No one interviewed me.”

Smith nods. “Yes, we spoke with Harris’s teacher. She only had great things to say about how well you take care of him.”

She did? He barely knows the woman; Harris has only been in her class for two full days, and she never indicated any partiality towards him. He makes a mental note to thank her tomorrow at drop-off. For now, all he wants to do is treasure every moment with his boy.

Eddie doesn’t want to let Harris out of his sight, but he begrudgingly takes him to school, not wanting to add a truancy charge to his growing list of misgivings. 

Ms. Marion greets both Munsons with a muted stare, harsh enough to drain Harris of the excited energy that typically buzzes through his little body. “Are we going to listen today?” she quips.

“Yes,” Harris says.

“Yes, what?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Harris’s affect is robotic and monotone, and the uncharacteristic spiritlessness nearly distracts Eddie from thanking the older woman for her interview.

“The guy–um, the social worker–he told me that you said some nice things about me. About how I am with Harris,” he stammers. “So, uh, thank you.”

Ms. Marion crosses her arms over her faded pink sweater, pursing her overlined lips. Her forehead is marred with frown lines. “That wasn’t me, Mr. Munson. I directed him to speak to Harris’s previous teacher, since she spent more time with him.”

Ms. Sweetheart.

After everything he’d said and done, you’d still vouched for him. Spoken so highly of his parenting abilities that CPS allowed him to keep custody of his son. You could’ve easily ruined his life, but you didn’t. 

What Eddie doesn’t understand is why.

Perhaps he doesn’t need to; at least, not immediately. Right now, he just needs to fix this. And he knows exactly where to start.

Friday marks one week since your blowout fight with Eddie. One week since he’d caught you pathetically crying in your car because of the venom he’d spewed. One week since you’d informed him that you’d had Harris transferred to another class.

Which is why you’re confused when the boy bounds up to your classroom door, shouting, “Ms. Sweetheart! Ms. Sweetheart!”

“Hey, Harris,” you greet him, unable to mask your confusion. “What are you doing here? You’re in Ms. Marion’s class now, remember?”

Harris nods, his curls bouncing with each movement. He drops his backpack to the floor with a thud and unfastens the zipper, tongue poking from between his lips as he digs through it to brandish a cassette. “This is for you.”

You take it from him, eyes widening as you take in Toni Braxton’s face staring back at you. “Harris…where did you get this?”

“My daddy put it there and said to give it to you. So I did,” he answers with a shrug. He looks up at you, innocuous and angelic as he adds, “I miss you. I wish you could be my teacher again.”

“Me, too,” you reply before thinking. Clearing your throat, you kneel down to meet him at his height. “Thank you for my gift. It was very sweet. Go ahead and head to class now, okay? I don’t want you to be late.”

“Mmkay!” he chirps, slinging his still-opened bag over his shoulder. “Bye, Ms. Sweetheart.”

Why would Eddie buy you a tape? Why this tape, the one you’d come in for when he’d said such malicious things to you? You can’t make sense of it, regardless of how many times you try to piece together the puzzle.

At dismissal, you find yourself waiting by the door, hoping to catch Eddie before he can dash out of the school. There’s no logic to his actions: he despised you enough to weaponize your grandma’s cognitive decline, and then he gives you a gift with no further explanation. 

You distractedly hand parents the sign-out sheet, barely registering when Joshua Harrington’s dad asks you about any upcoming plans for a class Halloween party. 

“Is there gonna be a list of things you need? Candy or cupcakes or something?”

“Oh, uh, I’m gonna send home information about that next week,” you stumble over your words as you try not to make it obvious that your mind is elsewhere. 

“Great,” he says, stretching out the word as he tracks your gaze to the spot behind him. “Everything okay?”

“Yup.” You slap a smile on your face just as you spot the mane of frizzy curls you’d been searching for. “Um, excuse me for a second.” You call out to Will, letting him know you’ll be right back, before sprinting down the hallway. 

“Ms. Sweetheart!” Harris’s eager face twists into a frown. “You gotta use your walking feet in school. Or you could get hurt.”

Eddie moves to correct him, but you just smile sweetly. “You’re right, Harris. Thanks for reminding me.”

You allow your gaze to travel upwards, eyes locking onto Eddie’s. You can’t quite read his expression; his brows are furrowed in confusion but the flush in his face indicates that he knows why you’re here. 

“Harris gave me the tape. The Toni Braxton one.” Like he’d gifted you myriad cassettes that required this distinction. “You really didn’t have to do that.”

“Don’t mention it.” The right corner of his lips turns up into a half-smile. “Besides, I  should probably be the one thanking you.”

“Me?” What is he talking about? As far as you know, you’re the bane of his existence. 

“Yeah. For, uh, what you said to that social worker guy. Even after I treated you like a piece of…” he presses his palms to Harris’s ears and lowers his voice, “shit.”

That makes sense; he was relieved that you’d sang his praises when it had mattered most. This was an expression of gratitude; nothing more and nothing less.

“You’re a good parent, even if you’re mean to me,” you say nonchalantly. “I wasn’t going to make up lies and ruin your lives out of spite.”

The statement hangs in the air, gathering an awkward silence that has you and Eddie both grappling for ways to end the conversation. 

He’s the one to interject. “Well, anyway, I hope you like the tape.”

“Mhm.” It’s all you allow yourself to utter in front of Harris. A thousand questions swarm your head, threatening to spill off your tongue, the first of which is simply: why? “I’ve gotta get back. But, um, enjoy your weekend.” You pivot on your heel before Eddie can wish you the same. With the necessary chaos of your life, you can’t invest any more time trying to unravel him. 

“Daddy, when is Ms. Sweetheart gonna be my teacher again?”

Eddie knew it was inevitable that Harris would ask about going back to your class, but he thought he’d bought himself more time with the spy game he’d concocted. He can’t delay the truth any longer. 

“I’m sorry, buddy. I don’t think you can switch back.” There’s a pang in his heart when his son drops his hand, digging his heels into the parking lot asphalt. 

“Is it because you were mean to her?”

His question catches Eddie off-guard. “Wh-What?”

“In there,” Harris points towards the school, “she said you’re mean to her.” He squints when he looks up at his father, the midday sun shining in his eyes. “Why were you mean?”

Eddie exhales, puffing out his cheeks and rubbing the back of his neck. “Sometimes grownups accidentally hurt each others’ feelings.” Or purposely, in his case, but he omits the complexities from his explanation. He reaches out to once again take Harris’s hand, but the boy pulls back. 

“Ms. Sweetheart says that when we hurt someone’s feelings, we gotta say sorry. Even if it’s on accident.”

“I did,” Eddie counters, raising his brows. “I gave her the tape.”

But Harris remains unconvinced. “That’s not saying sorry. You gotta actually say it. Or else it doesn’t count.”

“It doesn’t count, huh?” Eddie clicks his tongue and puts his hands on his hips. “All right, I’ll say it the next time I see her.”

“And then you can be friends?” The question is posed innocently, but it rattles Eddie. Friends? Did he even know how to be a decent friend any more? He’d fucked it all up with Gareth, Jeff, and Danny, and he’s known them for forever. “Daddy?” “Uh, maybe,” Eddie replies meekly; this time, Harris grabs his hand when he offers it. “We’ll just have to see.”

--

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[writers-hes]

What is this? (e. munson x reader)

SYNOPSIS: You were back home for the holidays, spending the day with Eddie Munson when he gets ahold of something curious. (MINORS DNI)

REQUESTED: no just something i wrote after seeing a video…. WARNINGS: smut, porn without plot PAIRING/S: Eddie Munson x Reader REQUESTS ARE OPEN - Please see “a gift from me to you” under my navigation page.

helpful links: navigation | master lists | rules and guidelines | tag list | fic recs

gif not mine  “Eddie,” you groaned. “Stop looking into my stuff! It’s not like this isn’t the first time you’ve been in my room anyway,” 

“Yeah, but it’s the first time I’m going through your shit since you started college,” he replied. “Can’t believe you’re in a sorority too. Tell me, what kind of initiation shit did they have to put you through?” 

“You’re such a menace,” you said, standing up from your bed. “I’m going downstairs to get some snacks. Do you want anything?” 

“Chips,” he replied and you nodded, leaving Eddie inside your room. Eddie grunted and went through your things. He was really curious. Things in New York were different from the things in Hawkins. He has been saving up money to come visit you there and he’s close, he just needs a few hundred—oh.

What the hell was that? Eddie fished in deeper until he got a hold of a smooth, almost velvety round head. He pulled it out and saw a microphone shaped thing attached to a wire. It seemed to need electrical plugging so Eddie did just that, messing with the controls until the whole thing vibrated. Eddie was so intrigued but in a good way. The fast vibrations sent a sharp feeling down to his cock, and he suddenly found his hand subtly palming himself through his dark jeans. 

“Eddie, we had no chips. I got you coke instead—Jesus Christ!” you exclaimed, almost losing your grip on the bottle of coke. Eddie was kneeling by your bed vibrator in one hand and his clothed crotch on the other. 

Eddie screamed and jumped away from the bed. 

“Wh-what are you doing?” you asked, approaching him slowly. 

“I was going through your things and I,” he swallowed. “I saw this and I got curious and it started doing that,” 

You were both feeling shy and embarrassed—who wouldn’t be? You caught him palming himself and he caught you with a fucking vibrator. It’s not like you were supposed to bring it home either. It was gifted to you by one of your sisters for the Holidays. You were interested in it, sure, but you didn’t have the heart to bring it to your mother’s house. You only brought it with you because she wouldn’t stop whining about how you didn’t appreciate the gift she got you.

“I didn’t,” he swallowed. “I didn’t know. I promise. I’m sorry I was looking through your th-things. I didn’t know what it was, I just got curious,” Eddie apologised. He was almost on the verge of tears and you sighed. 

“It’s okay, Eddie, I,” you replied. “Do you want to know what it is?” you asked. God damn. You didn’t know what came over you to ask him that. It was a vibrator for Christ’s sake. How are you going to explain it to him? 

You took a deep breath and approached him. You were nervous, but you had to comfort Eddie somehow. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” you reassured. “It’s just a dumb thing,” 

Eddie crawled nearer until the two of you were beside the bed, and in front of that thing. You turned it off first before explaining it to your friend. 

“This is a vibrator,” you told him. “It’s uh, like, it v-vibrates and makes you feel good,” You picked up the item in question and turned it on at the lowest setting. “It can be used for massages and uh, other things. Give me your hand,”

Eddie gives his ring-clad hands towards you. You take it gingerly and press the head on the back of his palm. He hisses at the feeling.

“Do you—do you feel it?” you asked him and he nodded. “There are other speeds too,” you nodded, turning the dial to another speed level. Eddie shifts uncomfortably in his seat and you do too, clenching your thighs together to somehow relieve yourself. 

“H-how do you use it?” Eddie asks.  

You cleared your throat to muster up the courage to answer. “Oh, you know just,” you inhaled. “on my back when its sore sometimes…”

“And…?”

“Like when I’m stressed. I use it someplace else,” you said. “I heard that you can use it too,” 

“How?” he asked, slightly opening his legs now. 

“I’ll show you but um, can you sit on the bed? Only if you want to,” He nodded and sat in front of you. You adjusted yourself to make it easier and swallowed thickly. 

“Um, well…I’ll go, okay?” you asked and he nodded. Fuck. This is so hot.  You steadied your hands until you pointed the head of the vibrator on his clothed crotch. 

“Ah, fuck,” Eddie moans, raising his hips to add more friction. 

“Do you want me to stop?” you asked and he shook his head. 

“No, no, I just—more,” 

“Take off your pants, Eddie,” you told him. “Go,” 

Eddie nodded, scrambling to get his pants until it reached the floor. You tossed it to the side and looked at Eddie. God. Right in front of your face was his cock, fully erect, his head pink and leaking with precum. You licked your lips absentmindedly and nodded. 

Eddie watched as you kneeled in front of him, your vibrator in one hand. He was so stiff until you connected the head of your wand to the tip of his cock. Jesus Christ. He’s going to pass out. The vibrator felt so good against his stiff dick and he was rutting against it. 

“Ah,” he moaned, thrusting his hips closer to the vibrator when you increased the speed one more. “Feels so good, princess,”

His praise only seemed to encourage you even more. With your free hand, you took Eddie’s cock and started to jerk him off. 

“So, so good,” he squeaked, his fingers reaching your hair. Who wouldn’t feel good? Here you were, the girl of his dreams, giving him a handjob and teasing his dick with the vibrator. “How do you use this, princess? Come on, tell me,”

“I use it when nobody’s home,” you said, pressing the vibrator harder against him, trailing it up and down this time and making him jerk. 

“Wh—shit,“ he seethes when you cup his balls, vibrator still trailing up and down his shaft. “What are you thinking of?”

“You,” you swallowed. “Missed you so much in college, Eddie. You were all I thought about,”

“Not those—ah—fraternity dudes? Not jocks?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Only you, Eddie,”

“My good girl,” he said, nodding. You smiled up at him, and held his cock closer to his tip, making him writhe from above you. “Shit,”

You watched grip the end of your bed with both hands, rutting his cock inside your hands and against the vibrator. His thrusts were getting sloppier and you smiled. 

“I’m c-cum—ah!” he exclaimed, his warm cum covering your hands and your vibrator. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” 

“It’s  okay, Eddie. Go on,” you coaxed, putting the vibrator to the side and milking his cock even more. “Feels so good, right?”

“Y-yes,” he nodded. “So good, princess,” 

Eddie watched in disbelief as you ducked your head closer to his cock. 

“Y/N,” he called.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” you said, catching any cum that his cock released. He sighed as you lapped up all his juices, even licking his cock from the base to the tip. You chuckled as he thrusted deeper in your mouth. 

“I’m so sensitive, please,” he said and you nodded, sucking his tip for one last time before detaching your lips from it. 

“Thank you, darling,” he said. “Didn’t know college had turned you into such a fucking minx. Lay back,” he ordered, and you followed him. “Show me what you do to yourself when you think of me.” - A/N: There we go. Hope you guys liked it! Don’t forget to like, reblog, comment, follow, and whatever. Don’t forget to check out my navigation page for some updates too!

TAGLIST: 

@rayodesol97 @moistmocca @munsonology​ @sadbitchfangirl​ @bebe0701​ @tayhar811​ @aol19​ @eddiesprincess86​ @undeadgirlsworld​ @rosemarythl @rosemary_thl @eddiethesexy​ @sister-cirice​ @weaslyslut01 @himynameisjeff​ @captainweirdo42​ @alyisdead​

[lillian-gallows]

Kinktober Day 24: Sex toys with Eddie Munson

Pairing: Modern!Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader Word Count: 1448 Warnings: Video call sex, Masturbation, Sex toy use by Reader (Vibrator), Dirty talk. Kinktober Master(sub)list.

Minors DNI

You turned the silicon toy over in your hands as you looked at it, relatively small, only a half inch in diameter but long enough to easily reach everything inside you wanted it to.

“That’s a nice one. It’s the same color as the bullet you have too.” He noted with a teasing grin through the phone screen. “Pretty matching set.”

You rolled your eyes and smiled back at him. “Yes, because the color makes such a difference to how it feels.” You joked.

“Have you tried it yet?” He asked, sounding excited and some shifting on the screen shows he’s moving, probably laying back on his hotel bed.

“Not yet. Just got it yesterday, so I needed to wash and charge it…And I may have wanted to wait till my favorite audience of one could watch.” You answered, tilting your head coyly.

“Yeah? That where you hoped this call was going, Baby?” He asked, voice lowering to a seductive purr.

You and Eddie have been apart for going on three months while Corroded Coffin has been on tour, and it’s driving you both insane. You and their manager are currently in the process of planning to have you join them for a portion of the trip, but there’s logistics that have to be worked out first, like plane tickets and lodging.

“Are you saying you don’t want to watch me play with my new toy?” You asked, a showy faux pout on your lips.

“I never said that.” He countered quickly, as if to banish that thought from your mind posthaste.

His response pulled a chuckle from you. “That’s what I thought.”

He rolled his eyes at you but there was no heat to the action, or at least not the annoyed kind, there’s plenty of lust in those dark eyes staring back at you through the phone. “You gonna stop teasing me then? Been damn near giving that thing a handy since you picked it up…” He says, eyeing the vibrator still in your grasp, and to be fair, you had been more or less fondling it this whole time.

You grin and nod before reaching out and repositioning the phone to lean on a spare pillow on the bed so he could see better. From your end you see he does the same. You could already see he was shirtless when you answered the call, but after the change of position you could see he was only wearing a pair of black sweats.

You slipped your shirt over your head and tossed it aside, not in the mood to deal with the fabric getting in the way.

“God, I wish I was there to worship that perfect body…” Came Eddie’s heady voice, thick with lust just from seeing more of you.

“Wish you were here so I could suck that cock.” You answered before performing the awkward shuffle that is removing your pants while sitting on a bed, but once you had, they joined the pile on the floor.

Eddie was already palming himself through his pants as he looked at you, watching as you reached for the vibrator to pull it closer, before laying back against the pillows, knees bent and legs parted, giving him an unobstructed view of your cunt.

“Go on, Baby…Show me what your new toy can do…” He purred, eyes half-lidded and hotter than hell.

You clicked it on the lowest setting before lightly resting it over your clit, body jolting at the sudden sharp pleasure it sent zapping through you, a quiet gasp falling from your lips.

There was a shuffling sound on the phone and when you looked you found he had shoved his sweats down to his thighs, allowing you to see his hand wrapped around that thick cock. He wasn’t fully jacking himself off yet, but rather he was just grazing his hand up and down, a lighter stimulation like the way you were so lightly holding the vibrator to your clit.

“The camera deceiving me or are you already soaked…?” He asked, eyes locked on where pretty pink met magenta.

You let out a soft chuckle. “I started getting wet the moment I saw your caller ID…Think I’ve Pavlov-ed myself to get turned on every time you call…” You said jokingly but you were half serious.

“That’s fucking hot.” He breathed a chuckle of his own. “Give yourself a little more…” He pointed with his chin at your hand, and you nodded.

Keeping the vibrations at the same level you pressed a little harder on your clit, another sharp gasp falling from your lips but you didn’t pull it away, instead you made tight little circles, making sure every nerve-ending got to feel it.

“S-Shit…I think…Think this might be my new f-favorite toy…” You whimpered, eyed screwing shut.

Maybe it was how pent up you’d been, or maybe it was just that ‘new toy feel’, but the pleasure felt heightened somehow, sharper and clearer, yet simultaneously not enough.

Recognizing your body’s ques even through a phone Eddie spoke up. “Turn it up a notch.” He ordered, and you didn’t have to open your eyes to be able to picture the look on his face, that commanding heat he sometimes got when he was really hot for you.

You did as told and this time the sound that punched out of you was a moan, high and needy. “Fuck! Eds…” You whimpered, wishing so much it was him making you feel this good.

“Christ, Sweetheart…Look at you, all flushed pink, and your poor pussy so wet and desperate…” He said with a teasing kind of pity, then there was the sound of him spitting into his hand, and a low moan.

You forced your eyes open and were gifted with the sight of his long neck as his head was thrown back and he was fisting his cock slowly, the tip was bright pink and glistening.

When his gaze returned to you, he looked damn near feral with the way his bang hung just a bit over his hazy eyes, but even through that haziness there was a sharpness, a predatory glint that made your cunt clench around nothing.

Your reaction must have been visible because a grin that matched the rest of that look spread over his face. “Maybe you should stop neglecting that sweet pussy, Sweetheart…She looks awful lonely.” He sounds both clear as a bell and ragged at the same time and it made your belly flipflop.

As if moving on its own your other hand drifted down to your entrance, where you teased yourself with two fingers for only a second before pressing in all the way, then you curled them at just the right angle, recalling how Eddie had showed you to find that elusive sweet spot on your own.

The whole time those brown eyes watched you, looking nearly pitch black on the screen. His hand never stopped, even as his breath grew quicker.

Yours was doing the same as you moved your fingers and the vibrator in tandem with his hand, that tight knot forming in your belly faster and faster telling you that this would be one hell of an orgasm.

Whimpers and gasps quickly turned into moans and cries that melded with the filthy sounds your pussy was making, the sound of his breathing and the wet sounds of his hand would almost be too quiet if you hadn’t turned the volume up on your phone before answering the call.

“God…Eds, close…So close…” You pleaded, earning a low groan in response.

“Let me see you cum, Baby…Let me watch you fall apart…” He growled, clearly close to his own end.

Your back arched as your pussy clamped down on your fingers, legs shaking and half-finished moans of his name on your tongue.

You heard his responding gasp less than a second later and forced your eyes open just in time to watch white spurts of cum shoot from his cock, making a mess on his belly, the head now bright red and swollen as he kept moving his hand to ride it out, the vibrator held to your clit doing the same for you.

Once it started to feel like too much you pulled away and turned it off, making the only sounds in the room you and Eddie’s heavy breathing.

“Christ, Sweetheart…That was…Fuck…I can’t wait to get home so I can fuck you into the mattress…” He panted, a wide grin on his spent face.

“We’ll be together again before you know it…” You promised, little did he know it would much sooner than the end of the tour.

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Messy break up part two

Eddie Munson x gn!reader 

There will probably be another part to this soon

Read part one first! 

Eddie woke up with swollen eyes and the driest throat. While walking to the kitchen for water he sees that the trailer is empty but he can hear muffled voices from outside. He went to the sink when he overheard Wayne’s voice through the open window. 

“I know the boys strong, this town has never given him a chance to be weak. Its why I appreciate you so much, Eddie he doesn’t even let himself be weak in front of me but with you he let’s all his walls come down. He really needs you in his life.” Wayne pulls you into a side hug and rubs your shoulder. “I think it’s best if you stay over tonight. I have to go back soon and I don’t want him alone another night.” Nodding along to what he said you reassured Wayne that you didn’t plan on leaving Eddie alone after what happened. 

Eddie never realized how much he did need you. Wayne’s words really struck something in him, you really are the only person to ever see every side of him. No matter what he felt, anger, sadness, pure joy, he went to you to talk about what was going on. You never made him uncomfortable for having emotions, you were never scared of him when he was angry and you never pitied him when he was at his lowest. “I really do need them.” Eddie mumbles to himself and he wanted to prove that to you. 

You walk back into the trailer and see Eddie in the kitchen area. “Hey Ed’s how are you feeling?” You scrunch up your nose at hearing the question leave your mouth. “Sorry stupid question” Eddie shook his head, “No it’s okay, I feel a bit better I think I really needed some sleep.” You nod along to what he said, “Well are you up for going out to eat or do you want me to order a pizza or I can pick something up” he thinks about it for a few seconds before deciding. “Let’s just order a pizza I thought we could watch some movies.” This shocked you knowing how touchy he has been when it comes to movies but neither less you agree. 

The pizza finally arrives and while you pay for it Eddie picks out the movies he wants to watch. You walk back over to the couch with the pizza and sit it down on the coffee table before sitting next to Eddie. While the movie plays you guys eat and talk, it feels like how things were before Eddie even got with Chrissy and neither one of you realized how much you missed this. As the movies play Eddie is inching closer to you slowly to not be as noticeable. Even though you do notice you just let it happen. By the end of the night Eddie and you are cuddling together as the movie ends. 

It’s been a few weeks since the mishap with the box and it seems like some switch flipped inside of Eddie. He is completely different then he was before, but not in a bad way, no he is finally becoming like his old self and everyone couldn’t be more relieved. You and Eddie have been hanging out more then you were before, which you didn’t even think was possible, but now it’s like you live with the Munson’s thankfully neither of them mind. Wayne thinks its nice to have another person with them, someone who he knows cares for both of the Munson men and actually wants to help take care of them. Eddie loves having you over all the time, waking up to see you already up having coffee with his uncle, coming home and seeing you make dinner, going to bed after wishing you a goodnight. It all means so much to him and it’s really helping him realize his feelings for you, however he isn’t ready to tell you. He’s at a constant battle within himself, What if I mess up our friendship? What if I misread all of this? What if I lose them? What if Wayne was wrong? What if....

He has no clue on what to do. 

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If you enjoyed please consider liking, reblogging, and commenting. It means the world to me! 

I just hit 200 followers!!! If you enjoy my work please consider following me <3 

[schrijverr]

I Found Myself a Cheerleader 17

Chapter 17 out of 28

Bumped to the lowest step on the social ladder after his fight with Billy, Steve gets roped in with the cheer team. What starts as a favor to help them out when one member breaks her leg in turn for protection from the brunt of the bullying, sets the universe on a different path.

In this chapter, a second body is found and Nancy also joins their little crew as they try to prove Eddie’s innocence. Later, they also run into Lucas. More and more of what is going on unraveling in front of them as Max is also marked as a target.

On AO3.

Ships: steddie & buckingham

Warnings: general season 4 shenanigans, child abuse mention, homophobia mention, period typical homophobia

~~~~~~~

Chapter 17: The Second Death

Chrissy is naturally terrified. None of them understand what is happening yet, but Chrissy is definitely a target and she is also new to all of this. She has taken to sticking to Robin’s side and once this is over Steve will mercilessly tease Robin about her continuous redness, though he has to admit, she hasn’t been rambling too much.

Max has also taken a shine to Chrissy, sticking close to her side in that quiet way that has snuck up on her while she was pulling away. Steve is glad to see Max again, he has been worried for her. She is probably still dealing with Billy and now with the Upside Down being back, which isn’t good, but she is at least in his line of sight. Safe.

It’s getting too late to still drive up to Weathertop especially with a teen just dead that has all parents on edge.

So, Steve drops off Dustin and Max at the Henderson house, telling them he’s going to come pick them up tomorrow. The trailer park is still a crime scene and Steve will be more at ease, knowing Max isn’t alone.

When it’s just the older teens in the car, he says: “Robs, do you think your parents will let you stay at Chrissy’s house tonight?”

“What?” Robin asks, looking back at Steve from where she’d been watching Chrissy in the backseat through the rear view mirror.

“I mean, Chrissy’s mom probably won’t let her stay at someone else’s house, but she shouldn’t be alone tonight and I am definitely not getting in,” Steve explains, knowing that Robin just wasn’t paying attention, but not calling her out on it.

Chrissy pipes up: “I’d love for you to stay over, tonight.”

Robin catches up and flushes slightly, before thinking: “Well, I can always ask if we swing by. I can be very convincing.”

“Sure,” Steve grins with a tone that earns him a pout from Robin that he ignored. “And otherwise I’ll just kidnap you, Chris. I’m sure you’ll look lovely on a milk carton.”

“Shut up, Stevie,” Chrissy giggles.

“Yeah, not funny, dingus,” Robin laughs.

Robin manages to convince her parents that she should stay at Chrissy’s house, before the two call Mrs. Cunningham and lie that otherwise Robin – sorry, Stevie – would be home alone tonight with a killer on the loose. When Mrs. Cunningham says okay, they drive to Family Video where the two get picked up, pretending Chrissy has been at work with Robin all day.

With the two safely on their way to the Cunningham house, Steve drives alone to the cabin. He feels both like he is going to burst out of his skin and collapse onto his bed and sleep for years.

When he gets home, his hand hovers over the phone and he considers calling the Sinclairs to ask about Lucas, but he doesn’t. It’s late and he doesn’t want to worry his parents and if Lucas manages to stay safe and away from all this, Steve doesn’t want to drag him back. There are already enough people in danger right now.

So, he doesn’t pick up the phone and instead paces around the house. He is exhausted, but his bed seems unappealing.

At multiple points he considers getting into his car and driving to Lover’s Lake to see if Eddie is alright. One time he is already opening the door when he stops himself. Eddie has only just offered a tentative peace, no need to force more. He’s going through a horrible thing right now, the last thing he wants is for Steve to force his company on him.

He should sleep instead. It’s the best move to rest up now that he can. None of them know what the coming days will bring. This might be the last time, he gets a good night’s rest. Not that it is likely with how he tosses and turns all throughout the night.

On the morning of the 23rd he is at the Henderson house at the crack of dawn to drive the two to Weathertop. At the Cerebro, Dustin immediately disappears into setting it all up properly so that he can listen in on the police. Max looks a little less excited to be up.

“You doing okay, Mayfield?” Steve asks, worried.

“Yeah. Fine,” Max answers curtly. “Just early.”

“Well, try to get some rest while you keep an eye on that guy, okay?” Steve smiles at her, nodding to Dustin, who is ignoring both of them.

Max smiles back and nods. “Sure, I’ll keep him safe.”

“I resent that,” Dustin finally speaks up, before turning a dial with an aha-exclamation, which makes both of them laugh.

After that, Steve drives to the grocery store that has only just opened its door, getting all Eddie’s favorites so he’ll have at least something. Then he goes to get Chrissy and Robin, who are waiting at the end of the road.

Robin scrambles into the passenger seat as she loudly says: “Thank god, I was going to smash something, I swear to god. I don’t know how you do it, Chris.”

“You get used to it,” Chrissy replies with a smile and a sad undertone.

“Oh, sorry,” Robin says, feeling awkward.

“It’s okay,” Chrissy tells her with a kind smile.

“Lets go pick up the kids and see Eddie,” Steve says to get the attention away from the fumble for which both are grateful.

However, that gratitude doesn’t last for long. With just them in the car, Robin asks: “Are you okay, you know, seeing Eddie again?”

“I’m fine,” Steve grits.

“Dingus,” Robin frowns. He hates it when she frowns.

“We’re just worried,” Chrissy backs Robin up, leaning between them from the back.

“No need,” Steve says. “I’m fine. Eddie seems to not hate me, so that’s good. He’s shaken right now. It’s not the time to talk about it.”

“Are you sure?” Robin questions, looking unsure. “I know it was like a whole thing and you feel guilty about it, but if he is only a little bit of a dick, I’m punching him. He can be an asshole too, you know.”

“Will you ever let the not saying thing go?” Steve groans.

“No, it was fucked up and you know it,” Robin pouts.

“It was my idea, Robs,” Steve says, glad he can throw the car in park to yell at Dustin and Max to come down, which they do, bearing the bad news that Eddie is indeed a wanted man.

Steve can already imagine how Eddie’s eyes will look when he hears the news and he is not looking forward to that, even if he is anxious to see Eddie alive and well. After the whole night of horror visions, he just needs to see Eddie breathe.

Eddie indeed doesn’t look so hot when they come in and takes the food gratefully, quickly stuffing his mouth so he’ll have something to do. Steve knows it is a little gross, but he can’t help but think it’s cute how Eddie munches on the cereal.

“So,” Dustin decides to break it to him, Steve is glad it’s not his task. “We got, uhm, some good news and some bad news. How do you prefer it?”

“Bad news first, always,” Eddie says, radiating nervous energy.

“All right. Bad news, we tapped into the Hawkins PD dispatch with our Cerebro and they’re definitely looking for you,” Dustin tells him. “Also, they’re- they’re pretty convinced you killed Patrick. Like a 100% kind of convinced.”

“And the good news?” Eddie asks with a desperate voice that has Steve’s heart breaking as he looks away, unable to meet those wide brown eyes.

Robin has the answer to that: “Your name hasn’t gone public yet.” Then she immediately ruins that with her motormouth. “But if we found out about you, it's a matter of time before others do and once that gets out, everyone and their shallow-minded mother is gonna be gunning for you.”

Eddie is quiet for a second as he thinks over her words. A thousand emotions flash over across his eyes, before he looks at Robin, then Steve and bitterly says: “Hunt the freak, right?”

And Steve knows exactly what Eddie means when he says that. The meaning behind the words that only he and Robin will pick up.

The Freak.

It’s a conversation they’ve had in the quiet nights, a conversation they’ve had without words, but with actions. The big difference between them. How Steve could hide his queerness, how he could go back and play King Steve and hold up the smoke and mirrors, while Eddie has always been too outspoken, too expressive, too queer. Too much of a target.

All of those emotions swirl inside Steve. The anger at everyone that judged, the hurt that he has also felt when being targeted, the indigence for this boy who was never given leeway, the guilt for turning away from Eddie, for succumbing and hiding when Eddie could not.

“Exactly,” he says, knowing all those emotions can’t be put into words. Not by Steve. Not right now.

“Shit,” Eddie replies and it sounds like he understands.

“So, before that happens, we find Vecna, kill him and prove your innocence,” Dustin jumps in to cheer up Eddie, missing the extra layers that are added for him. For them.

“That’s all, Dustin? That’s all?” Eddie snaps with the voice of someone who hasn’t been dragged into this insanity by Dustin and his never ending optimism before.

“Yeah, no that is pretty much it,” Dustin tells him, oblivious to that.

“Listen, Eddie,” Robin starts what is clearly another disastrous attempt at cheering Eddie up that Steve knows he should stop, but he doesn’t know what to say to make it better either. “I know everything Dustin is saying sounds totally delusional, but we’ve actually been through this before. I mean, they have a- a few times and- and I have once.”

Chrissy next to her nods vigorously: “She told me about it. They fought other stuff before.”

“Yeah, I mean, mine was more human-flesh based and theirs was more smoke-related,” Robin says, only knowing the bit Steve told her, while Eddie is slowly loosing more and more faith. “But bottom line is, collectively, I really feel like we got this.”

While, Robin’s speech is not inspiring, Steve thinks that she is on the right track, so he adds: “We usually rely on this girl who has superpowers,” before realizing that he might have made a mistake as he trails off. “But, uh, those went bye-bye, so…”

“So, we’re technically in more of the-” Robin jumps in to help, however, one drawback to sharing a brain is that both draw a blank.

“Kinda…” Steve tries.

“Brainstorming phase,” Max saves them.

“Brainstorming,” Steve repeats, sounding unsure, but trying to come across like he knows what he’s talking about.

“There- There’s nothing to worry about,” Dustin adds, but the slight hesitation after all his naive optimism, only makes it worse. Eddie’s scoff speaks to that.

However, before the hopelessness of their situation can be revealed further, they’re snapped to attention by police sirens. Eddie curses and all of them panic, but Chrissy jumps into action and yells: “Tarp, the tarp,” as she ushers Eddie under it.

As Eddie hides, Dustin and Max fly to the window, followed by Steve, who is already thinking of excuses for the police if they do come knocking, though he comes up blank. Luckily, the police flies by the little house, urgently on their way to elsewhere.

They all let out a sigh of relief, before Chrissy wonders out loud: “Where do you think they’re going?”

“Maybe there’s another body,” Dustin proposes, his analytical mind working quicker than his social people mind, not realizing what he’s just said.

But the others do and all look at each other with wide eyes of horror. Max says: “We have to go check it out.”

“Yeah, here, Eddie,” Dustin hands Eddie a radio, so he can contact them, before marching out to the car. There is a sudden urgency about them and Steve only waves at Eddie, who is still sitting in the boat, before he’s rushing after them.

The police aren’t difficult to find, since the road is blocked where it curves closely to a beach. There are all sorts of people there, firefighters, an ambulance and Nancy- wait Nancy?

They all get out of the car and look at the scene in front of them, trying to comprehend what has just happened here. Steve catches Nancy’s eyes from where she is talking to Chief Powell and she seemingly almost bursts into tears when she sees them.

Steve watches her for a few moments, as she says something in the way he knows she is repeating something she said before. Then she gestures at Steve and the others, before pleading to Powell and only then is she let go, making her way to them.

When she gets there, she says relieved: “Thank god, you never guess what happened. Fred just got killed. It’s horrible, I think something is going on again.”

Then her eye falls on Chrissy and she frowns, obviously confused why they would take her along in their ragtag group. Luckily, Dustin, oblivious as he may be from time to time, says: “Good, we’ve been following it already. Lets talk about this somewhere else for a bit.”

With Nancy in the car too, it is more of a tight fit, but Steve makes Chrissy sit on Robin’s lap, which causes her to flush and glare at him, but Chrissy seems perfectly happy to be there, albeit a little embarrassed.

Nancy directs them to the trailer park where she left her car. At one of the picnic tables they compare notes, Nancy horrified by their discoveries and the return of the Upside Down and the others saddened by Fred’s death. Another victim, even if they didn’t know him well. Or Patrick for that matter.

However, despite her grief, Nancy realizes that the victims don’t make sense and Max and Chrissy have both seen the others at Ms. Kelley’s office – both also look equally uncomfortable to mention that they have been seeing Ms. Kelley, however Dustin immediate distracts by saying that’s where they have to investigate.

As they get up, Nancy doesn’t follow. Immediately Steve’s eyes are filled with hearing about her death, having to tell Mike when he returns from his trip to California. Before he knows it, he is exclaiming: “Whoa, whoa, Nance. Nance! Where are you going?”

“Oh,” Nancy says, playing innocent with her big eyes. “There is just something I wanna check on first.”

“Something you wanna share with us?” Steve immediately questions.

“I don’t want to waste your time. It’s a real shot in the dark,” Nancy tells him apologetically if Nancy’s ‘checking on something’ isn’t always incredibly dangerous and a little illegal.

“Yeah, okay,” Steve scoffs. “Are you out of your mind, flying solo wit Vecna on the loose? No, it’s too dangerous. You need- You need someone to-”

Steve doesn’t know what he’s offering exactly, he wants to make sure Nancy is safe, but he also wants to keep the other safe. He guesses Nancy’s excursion will be more dangerous, so he turns to the others and throws the car keys to Robin – the person he trusts most with his kids and Chrissy’s safety – and says: “Here, I’ll stick with Nancy. Take the car, check out the shrink.”

“I don’t think you want me driving your car,” Robin says and Steve can’t imagine why he wouldn’t want Robin in charge of these kind, loving, reckless, genius dumbasses.

“Why?”

“I don’t have a license,” Robin answers with an awkward look.

For a second, Steve is absolutely gobsmacked. They’ve been friends forever already and he never knew that. He thought she was just lazy and stubborn in making him drive, since it is his car they always take and he is a little protective about it. However, he would have taught her if she had told him, so he asks: “Why?”

“I’m poor,” Robin shoots back.

Next to her, Max lights up, jumping on it: “I can drive.”

“No, never again, please,” Steve shrieks, having flashbacks to her driving while he was heavily concussed. “Anybody but you. No.”

Dustin points to himself as he pulls a face and an even more horrible movie plays across Steve’s eyes as he imagines Dustin driving. He shudders and says: “No chance.”

“Oh come on.” Dustin pleads.

“No,” Steve says, instead looking to Chrissy, who might be the only one there that can actually drive safely and normally.

She grimaces apologetically and says: “My mom thinks driving isn’t lady like.”

Steve feels himself deflate at that, unsure of what to do now. Robin, fortunately steps in. “Alright, okay, this is stupid. Us ladies will stick together. Me and Chris will go, safety in numbers,” she says, taking a radio so she can contact Steve. Then she pulls a shit eating grin at him and says: “Unless you think we need you to protect us.”

He glares at her, knowing that they both know he doesn’t think that. Chrissy and her friends protected him for half his senior year and Robin was just as badass as him in that Russian bunker, so he just says: “Be careful,” and hopes they will. He can’t loose Robin or Chrissy. He can't.It’ll break him.

Robin looks back and gives him a small nod, to show she knows. Chrissy looks between them, perhaps for the first time fully grasping their closeness, before promising: “We will,” then they both disappear with Nancy.

Steve watches them go and feels a heaviness in his chest that always comes when they’re sucked back into this nonsense again. A dark part of him, can’t help but wonder if he’ll ever see the girls again, if Eddie will make it out of this, if any of them will.

He is snapped out of it by Dustin who smirks: “Just going to stand there and gawk?”

“Shut up,” Steve tells him, knowing what Dustin is going to imply and he is not here for it. He knows he has spend moths building up his straightness in front of Dustin, but he is so not in the mood to defend himself right now, so he won’t be shoved with any of the girls. It can get exhaustive.

The three of them drive to Ms. Kelley’s house and Steve can feel Dustin brimming with something that he ignores in favor of watching Max, saying: “She’s in.”

“I’m missing collarbones not eyes,” Dustin says and Steve suppresses an eye roll as he keeps an eye on where Max disappeared instead.

It’s quiet for a second, before Dustin breaks it. “So, we going to talk about it?”

“Huh, sorry, talk about what?” Steve plays dumb, something he’s good at.

“Your temporary insanity earlier today when you basically threw yourself at Nance?” Dustin points out, showing how he can be so smart and so dense too.

“That’s no what happened,” Steve tells him, hoping the squirt will drop it.

“Pretty sure that’s what happened,” Dustin counters, in that annoying condescending tone. “It was public. There were a lot of witnesses.”

“You implying I still have a thing for Nance?” Steve asks with pure disbelief, not sure how this is where his day is going.

“No,” Dustin says and Steve has a moment of relief, before he continues his sentence, “I’m not implying. I’m stating. And, as it relates to your steadfast refusal to date Robin or Chrissy, it is pretty much the only logical explanation.”

“That’s not the only one,” Steve mutters darkly, not wanting to out himself, but wanting Dustin to not jump to conclusions either. “And as for Nance,” he adds, because it is important. “I was just trying to protect a friend. A friend, Henderson.”

“Okay,” Dustin smirks, like he thinks Steve’s lying, which is flustering him and making him frustrated. It’s like he’s being interrogated by his peers again. Holy shit.

“I don want to find her with her eyes sucked out of her skull by this Vecna creep,” he exclaims, not understanding why Dustin doesn’t get it. Is this another straight boy thing?

“You’re bright red in the face right now,” Dustin points out with a chuckle.

It’s that fucking chuckle that makes Steve’s heckles raise. It reminds him of all the chuckles of less friendly people that followed him for months, how hard it was to shake their whispers, how they are still going on according to Lucas. It’s not meant like that, but it feels like scrutiny and Steve feels cornered.

And because Steve is still learning, he goes back to what he knows, he relapses and snaps: “I’m not and I don’t wanna talk about it. I’ll punch you so hard, you teeth will fall back out.”

One look at Dustin is enough to tell him how wrong that is and guilt floods through him as he immediately backtracks: “Whoa, too far. Not cool. Sorry.”

Luckily, Dustin is as kind as he is probing, so he just nods: “Not cool. It’s okay.”

After which the two sit in the silence of the car as they wait for Max to come back out and relieve them of their awkward silence.

They are saved when Max comes out of the house, seemingly rushing. Steve spots her first and starts the car as he says: “Here she comes. Here she comes.”

“What’d she say?” Dustin asks immediately.

“Nothing, just drive,” Max says and her tone makes Steve stop, but she’s not having it, forcefully repeating: “Steve, drive.”

“Okay, okay,” Steve says as he drives off.

As they drive, Max only tells them to go to the school. That they have to look at more files and with the state she’s in, Steve doesn’t ask too many questions and does as he’s told.

The tense silence that hangs in the car is broken by the radio going off. Steve’s first instinct is fear that something has happened to the girls, but then Lucas’s voice says: “Dustin. It’s Lucas. Do you copy? Dustin?”

However, it doesn’t take long for the fear to set in again. Steve thought he could keep Lucas out of it this time, to keep him safe, but apparently not. Apparently whatever is haunting Hawkins always manages to drag all of them back in.

Dustin pick up the radio and replies: “Lucas? Where the hell have you been?”

“Just listen,” Lucas says. “Are you looking for Eddie?” and Steve’s heart sinks more. Lucas is already in too deep again to turn him away.

“We found him, no thanks to you,” Dustin frowns, in that undeserved indignant way only he can pull of.

“You found him?” Lucas asks and Steve can’t tell if he’s glad or horrified.

“He’s at a boathouse on Coal Mill Road,” Dustin says. “Don’t worry. He’s safe.”

“You guys know he killed Patrick, right?” Lucas asks in a hurt voice.

Steve remembers how Lucas found a friend in Patrick, how scared he must be right now. Fuck, he should have called to check in on him the moment he heard the news. Feeling a little guilty that he’s glad that he isn’t the one that has to face Lucas as Dustin replies: “That’s bullshit, Eddie tried to save Patrick.”

“Then why do all the cops say he did it?” Lucas says.

Max leans over the back of the seat and takes the radio. In her usually blunt manner, she rolls her eyes and says: “Lucas, you are so behind, it’s ridiculous, okay? Just meet us at school. We’ll explain later.”

“I- I can’t,” Lucas says and Steve feels his heart sink, something that is not helped with Lucas goes on. “I think some real bad shit’s about to go down.”

“What are you talking about? What bad shit?” Max asks the question that Steve has been wanting to ask too, worry tinting her voice. This worry does not fade when they get static over the radio instead of an answer. Max pushes the button again and asks: “Lucas? Lucas?”

All three of them exchange glances and Steve speaks up first: “We should go look for Lucas. He could be in trouble.”

Max nods, but Dustin shakes his head: “We’ll never find him. He knows where we’re headed, if he doesn’t meet up with us there, we can go look for him and one of us can stay behind in case he shows up. It’s no use if we’re looking for him in one place, while he’s coming to meet us.”

Steve hates that Dustin is right, so he just drives to the school. The closed school. That they are breaking into, because Max said it was important. Since this is Steve’s life again. God, does he not miss the Upside Down when it is gone.

It’s already getting dark and Steve doesn’t know how he’ll explain this to their parents when they finally come home. However, the darkness does cloak their actions from prying eyes as they make it into the school and to Ms. Kelley’s office, where Max starts rustling through the files.

While they’re searching through the office, the girls contact them and Steve has never been more happy to hear Robin’s rambling, even if her voice is tinny through the radio. And he’s so glad, they’re coming too. All of them together is much safer, and he thinks of Eddie, all alone in that boathouse. His heart aches.

However, before he can be glad the three are okay – that’s at least three out of four okay, Lucas is still out there, his brain reminds him – he is distracted by Dustin, who has an anxious voice as he shakes Max and pleads: “Max, come on.”

She doesn’t respond, eyes far away and Eddie’s words flash through his mind as Steve joins Dustin and asks: “Max?”

Max just stands there.

Unresponsive.

Steve feels ice flood his veins. Not Max. Not like this. Not after all she survived. He can’t loose one of his kids. He can’t watch that.

Then Max takes a deep breath of air, coming back to them, relief evident in the room. But Max isn’t saying anything, just walking out of the room as Steve and Dustin follow her immediately as she makes her way through the hallways.

She comes to a stop in front of a normal wall, frowning. Right at that moment Chrissy, Nancy and Robin come in. The three of them looking curiously at the group in front of the wall, trying to see if there is anything about it.

Nancy looks a little bit on edge, side-eying Robin. Steve is just glad to see the three of them alive and well, especially Chrissy, looking completely unharmed.

He’s been worrying about her in the back of her head. Though all other worries have been playing in front of it, it was there the whole time and with what just happened to Max, his worry has been tenfold. But she looks okay, smiling at Robin and him.

“What’s going on?” Nancy asks, always the reporter.

Max tells them a story that has all their blood running cold. Tells them about a vision, a clock in the hallway that wasn’t there, but felt so real.

“That’s not even the bad part,” she says, turning back to them, looking like the small, scared child she is. And Steve can’t fix it. “Patrick and Fred, they both came to Ms. Kelley for help. Uh, they both were having headaches. Bad headaches. That wouldn’t go away. And then- then the nightmares. Trouble sleeping. They’d wake up in a cold sweat. Then they started seeing things. From their past. Bad things.”

Steve knows exactly what Max must have been seeing and his heart breaks for this young girl, who has already seen too much. He can’t help but notice, however, that Chrissy has been slowly becoming paler as Max talks.

“These visions, they just- they kept on getting worse and worse, until eventually,” she trails of for a second, then finishes, “everything ended.”

“Patrick’s headache started a week ago, Fred’s six days ago,” Max tells them. “I’ve been having them for five days. I don’t know how long I have. All I know is that for Fred and Patrick, they both died less than 24 hours after their first vision and I just saw that goddamn clock, so…” she lets out an uneven breath, looking terrified. She gives them a wobbly smile that will likely haunt Steve’s dreams for years to come as she says: “Looks like I’m gonna die tomorrow.”

“No, we can-” Steve starts, but he actually doesn’t know what to do. Max has been branded by death. She is going to die. And they have no clue how to stop it. Nothing. A weight crushes his chest, helplessness at this new enemy, who he can’t stand in front of, whose attacks he can’t take instead of these kids. These fucking kids that means so much to him.

“Chrissy,” Robin’s uncharacteristically sharp voice cuts through his panic as they all look at Robin, then at Chrissy, who has been trying to fade to the background. “How long have you been getting headaches?”

“Uhm, four days,” Chrissy says softly. And Steve’s panic only increases. It’s not just Max, his baby sister Max, who is in danger, but also Chrissy. Chrissy his best friend next to Robin. Chrissy with whom he does cheer, who gets that exercise helps him get out of his head.

The other person he cares about that he can’t protect from Vecna.

Before they can process it all, they are interrupted by a clang somewhere in the building. They are not alone anymore. This Steve can do something about, so he grabs the lamp, missing his nail bat, as he tells the others: “Stay here.”

None of them listen of course, but they at least stay behind him. All of them creeping through the hallway, until someone enters their line of visions. Everyone is yelling and Steve is about to swing when he recognizes the voice saying: “It’s me!”

“Lucas?” Nancy exclaims behind him.

“It’s me,” Lucas confirms.

“Jesus, what’s wrong with you, Sinclair?” Steve yells, trying to slow his rabbiting heartbeat.

“I’m sorry.”

“I could have taken you out with this lamp!” He shakes the lamp for emphasis, so Lucas realizes how stupid that was.

Lucas waves him away, still panting as he says: “Sorry, guys, sorry. I was- I was biking for eight miles. Gimme a second. Shit. We’ve got a code red.”

Steve can appreciate the dedication to that, eight miles is nothing to sniff at, but he doesn’t get why Lucas can have a code red, while they’re already in the middle of a pretty big code red. He is obviously fine, so nothing happened to him since their last talk on the radio. Confused he asks: “What?

“Dustin,” Lucas says, walking up to the boy in question. “I’ve been with Jason, Andy and Chance, and they’ve gone totally off the rails. They’re trying to capture Eddie. And they think you know where he is. You’re in terrible danger.”

Holy fuck. No. Just no. Steve can’t deal with someone else being in danger right now. It’s too much for one day.

Chrissy and Max are cursed and on the cusp of death. And not only is someone hunting Eddie, who is already wanted by the police, but those people are also targeting Dustin to do it. Just no, Steve, will die at 19 of a stress induced heart attack.

“Alright,” Dustin nods, sounding a little underwhelmed about the implications. “Yeah, that definitely sucks, but we’ve got bigger problems than Jason right now.”

Lucas looks confused at those words, eyes flitting between the others, before landing on Max, who doesn’t look him in the eyes. And Steve will never forget how Lucas’ face falls as he gets filled on what has been happening with them.

“What are we going to do now?” he asks, voice scared and terribly small.

And Steve isn’t trying to answer that again, even though Chrissy is looking at him with those scared eyes. She hasn’t been with them for long enough to know that Steve isn’t the plan guy, that Steve is only there to hit what needs to be hit.

When he doesn’t meet her eyes, she looks at Robin, who gives her a smile that says she doesn’t feel like smiling, but has no clue what else to do with her face.

Nancy, fortunately, takes the lead. She says: “We can’t do anything right now, but we three found a lead in Victor Creel. If we can talk to him, we can figure out why he was targeted by Vecna with his family and how he survived.”

“Vecna has killed before?” Dustin asks.

“Yes, in the fifties,” Nancy answers.

“We made copies of the information that you guys can read,” Robin tells them. “The library lady thought we were insane, but that is kind of usual for me. I mean, my library history is wild, so this won’t be too out of place and- and I’ll shut up now.”

“Thanks,” says Nancy in that tight lipped way that Steve doesn’t like. “I suggest we all go home, sleep and reconvene at my house in the mornings. It’ll be best for us to stay together, no one goes alone, okay.”

“You can stay at my place,” Robin offers to Chrissy, who looks relieved at takes it with a grateful smile, before the duo turns to Steve, obviously expecting him to join them as well.

Normally, Steve would take it immediately. However, his mind jumps to Eddie, who is being hunted by jocks as well as the police. Fred died of the same causes as Patrick, but at the lake, they’ll most certainly be looking for Eddie there. And Eddie is actually there.

He shakes his head and says: “I’m going to get Eddie and shelter him at the cabin. It’s the last place people will expect and with everyone after him, it’s the safest place for him to be. What about the rest of you guys?”

“If I go home, my mom won’t let me leave,” Dustin says.

“Same,” Lucas adds, displeased.

“I- I’d rather not go home right now,” Max says.

“You three can come with me,” Nancy tells them. “My parents won’t notice at this hour.”

“Then that’s settled,” Steve claps his hands to signal this conversation is over. “Robs, Chris, I’ll drive you two. As for you three, behave and be safe,” he looks all the kids in their eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the Wheeler’s, okay.”

The three all say something along the lines of ‘Yes, Steve’ and ‘Goodbye, Steve’ which is good enough for him. He is anxious to check in with Eddie, but also nervous. If he doesn’t do it right now, he’s sure he’ll back out.

In the car, he asks Chrissy if she’s okay and she gives a crooked smile that breaks his heart as she says: “At least I have two days, am I right?”

“God, I hate this, I hate how it always comes back,” Steve groans.

“Hey, it’ll be okay, dingus,” Robin says, but she doesn’t look like she believes it, but Chrissy besides her nods, still hopeful, so Steve doesn’t counter it.

Instead he tells them both to be safe and Chrissy says: “You too, Stevie. Don’t do anything stupid tonight.”

“I won’t,” he promises.

“You sure, you’re going to be okay with Eddie?” Robin asks. “I still haven’t forgotten some of his dick moves and I’ll come with you, if you want.”

Steve is touched by her concern, but he doesn’t want to put her or Chrissy in danger and he actually wants to talk to Eddie. Alone. Make sure they’re cool if they’re going to be stuck in a life or death situation. So he just nods: “I’ll be fine. It’s the best way to keep everyone safe.”

“Alright, but radio if it goes bad,” Robin says, before the two get out of the car.

He waits until they’re both safely inside, greeted with relief by Daisy and Thomas, before he speeds off to Lover’s Lake to get Eddie.

~~

A/N:

Figuring out the timeline and how to fit all the new shit into this is going to be the thing that breaks me, I swear to god (especially what happens on the 22nd and what on the 23rd). If you notice a mistake, no you don’t <3

Also, yeah, I think what Steve said to Dustin was too harsh, but holy shit does Dustin get on my nerves with his pushing, like I would be so uncomfortable, even if I could be attracted to the person, you know. My mans needs to learn boundaries istg

[freewayshark]

Aaand the second one. The first one can be found here thank you @sunflowerwemadeit

Eddie’s not quite asleep, not quite awake when his phone buzzes and tips the scale into wakefulness. He picks it up and squints so much at the sudden brightness that his Face ID doesn’t even recognize him and forces him to punch in his passcode. There’s a text from Buck waiting for him.

Do you have my sad hoodie? I need my sad hoodie

One a scale of one to totally ridiculous Eddie tries to rate the following three things: the first, the fact that Buck has a sad hoodie. The second, that Eddie knows which hoodie is Buck’s sad hoodie. The third, that Eddie does in fact, have the sad hoodie, and is, in fact, currently wearing it.

He clicks Buck’s contact and calls him.

“Hey,” Buck answers, sounding mopey.

“Why do you need your sad hoodie at two in the morning?”

“I think that one’s pretty self-explanatory, Eddie,” Buck answers petulantly.

“Ok,” Eddie replies coolly, not giving in to the nonsense. “Why are you sad?”

Buck sighs and goes silent, but Eddie doesn’t push. He knows sometimes it’s best to just let Buck gather his thoughts for a moment, and besides, he’s seen Buck during his lowest of lows. This, whatever it may be, is not that. So he just quietly waits, a reassuring presence on the other end of the line.

“I don’t know,” Buck finally answers, the words coming out on a frustrated breath. “I just—I went to bed, earlier, and instead of going to sleep I just laid there. And it was like…Like my heart felt heavy in my chest for no reason. So I got up and I made some tea, but that didn’t help, and then I tried to fall asleep to some tv and that didn’t help either. Tried to tire myself out doing push ups. Didn’t work.”

Eddie pictures Buck all alone in that sterile loft, doing all those things to try to make himself feel better. He hates it. “So you figured your sad hoodie would help?”

Buck huffs a little laugh. “I guess it sounds a little ridiculous, but yeah. It’s cozy, you know?”

Eddie nestles a little deeper into the depths of the hoodie. “It doesn’t sound ridiculous. Your hoodie’s here.”

“Well, at least that means I haven’t lost it somewhere, even if it doesn’t do me a lot of good now.”

“Come over,” Eddie says without having to give it even a second of thought. Buck is sad, and thinks his hoodie will fix it. His hoodie’s here. It’s easy math.

“It’s two in the morning,” Buck reminds him.

“And? Pretty sure cars still work in the middle of the night. And you’re obviously wide awake. Come over. You can take the other side of the bed, maybe being near someone else will help you sleep.”

“I—You sure?”

“Mhm,” he hums, sitting up and clicking on his bedside lamp. “Just let yourself in. I’ll have your hoodie waiting.”

“Ok,” Buck breathes, the word tinged with wonder. “I’ll see you soon.”

Eddie hangs up and tugs the hoodie off over his head. He gets why it’s Buck’s sad hoodie, it’s old, worn, stretched out in the best ways. Buck doesn’t just wear it when he’s sad, of course, which is how it had ended up left here a couple of weeks ago. Eddie had snatched it up like some kind of gremlin when he’d seen it, wearing it until Buck’s scent had worn out of it.

He lays it out for Buck on his side of the bed for him to find before redressing in a loose t-shirt and sliding under the covers. He must drift off, because the next thing he knows he’s being woken by hushed sounds, and he cracks his eyes open in time to see Buck slide his hoodie over his head. His head pops free but he’s immediately ducking back into the neck and inhaling deeply.

Buck notices him watching, but he doesn’t even pretend to be ashamed at being caught. “You’ve been wearing it,” he says instead.

Eddie shrugs one shoulder. “It’s a good hoodie.” He throws the covers back and pats the mattress. “C’mon. Still time to get a few good hours.”

Buck obediently climbs into the bed and settles on his side facing away from Eddie. Eddie doesn’t even think about it before scooting in behind him and wrapping an arm loosely around his waist. “This ok?” He mumbles, already half asleep.

“Yeah,” Buck replies, sounding sleepy himself, and just a few minutes later their breathing has evened out, and both of them are sound asleep.

Send me “married” couple that are just friends prompts

[forever-rogue]

Afterglow - Part 8

A/N: Is it time for some much need talking? Hmm....perhaps. As always, feedback and comments are welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged, let me know. xx 💕

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: drug and alcohol mentions; slight language 

AFTERGLOW MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

You drifted in and out of sleep that night, waiting up several times due to the jolt of a startling nightmare. At first you almost forgot where you were or what was going on - why were you asleep on the couch? But it hit you like a ton of bricks; Frankie Morales was currently asleep in your bed. 

A few times throughout the night you’d gotten up and stretched your stiff bones and wandered to the bedroom door, opening it just a crack to peek inside. Each time, Frankie was fast asleep with Daisy next to him. It caused you to relax a little, knowing that he was okay, and you needn’t worry about an overdose or anything like that. But it didn’t ease the pain of seeing him again or knowing that he was struggling with an addiction...or something.

The universe had put an odd situation on your plate. 

Once you couldn’t sleep any longer, and had gotten tired of lying on the couch, which it had turned out was not an ideal sleeping situation, you made your way into the kitchen to start breakfast. You weren’t even sure what to do really, but it was a bit of normalcy to offset your otherwise shaken up routine. 

As soon as you started the coffee, something that was an absolute necessity, you’d left messages for your clients apologizing for the early call and canceling their appointments due to a last minute emergency. Hopefully they wouldn’t mind. As the coffee percolated filling the kitchen with warmth and the delicious smell, you reached into the fridge and started pulling eggs, bacon, and other items to make breakfast with. Grabbing a bowl and a pan, you quickly settled on pancakes, wondering if they were still his favorite. He’d always loved them when you were younger and on more than one occasion had your little date nights ended in a small 24-hour diner, where’d he chow down on them. 

The memory made you smile,  as you recalled one particular time when he eagerly topped off his pancakes with fresh fruit and whipped cream, which had gotten on the corners of his mouth. You’d reached over and wiped the whipped cream away, licking it clean from your own finger. It seemed like yesterday, even though it was so long ago. 

Sighing, you pushed the memory away and carried on preparing the batter and throwing some bacon into the oven. As soon as your coffee pot signaled that it was done, you grabbed your favorite mug, followed by another and poured the black coffee in. You finished yours off as you liked, topping the other off with a sprinkle of cinnamon. It amazed for a mere fraction of a second just how well you still remembered the things he liked. But your amazement was quickly cut short when you heard a quiet throat clear from the opposite side of the counter. 

“H-hi,” he said quietly, almost tentatively as he seemed to look anywhere but your eyes. You took the cup you had prepared for him and set it down in front of him, motioned for him to take a seat at the bar. 

“You look like hell,” you commented as he sat and clutched the steaming cup between his hands. He made a small sound of agreement as you turned back to your pan and poured some batter in, “I made it how you used to like it....I presume it’s still the same?”

“Yeah,” he said as he put the mug to his mouth and took a long sip, “thank you.”

“Mhmm,” it was a small, noncommittal sound as you focused your attention on the pancakes and eggs. Daisy came over and you offered her a treat before getting her into the backyard and preparing her breakfast. The tension in the air was palpable and you could see that Frankie was eager to say something. But he didn’t dare to be the one that broke the silence. Gods knew you were just as eager to say something, a lot of things honestly, but all of that could wait for now.

Once everything was finished, you grabbed two plates and piled them high with a spread of items, topping them off with some fresh berries on the side. Daisy had been a good girl, clambering between the two of you, so you offered her a piece of bacon and a few berries, which she eagerly took and ran off with and  into her bed to eat. 

Handing a plate to Frankie, you set down your own, as far away from him as possible at the small bar. It didn't create a huge divide between you, but the point came across loud and clear.

The two of you ate in silence for some time, the only sound in the kitchen was the scraping of utensils and a few small huffs from Daisy. She gave you an almost pathetic look a few times, and you just rolled your eyes at her. You knew she wanted to be out and in the company of others; once she'd overcome her initial fear of people, she thrived in attention.

"Oh hush," you told her before passing her another strip of bacon, "we'll go for a walk later, good girl. Or maybe you can go play  with Eddie."

Frankie remained silent as he watched you, doing his best to keep a smile from stretching across his features. But you were too quick and caught him staring.

"I've been bringing her into the office with me every day," you explained, "she likes being around the people and they often find just as much comfort in her. It's a win-win really."

"Hmm," he commented as he shoved another bite in his mouth, "office? W-what kind of office?”

"Yeah," you said softly, "I, ugh...I'm a therapist.” 

He caught your eye and offered you a slightly confused look. Never once had you ever mentioned wanting to be a therapist. In fact, you had wanted to avoid anything you had once deemed similar to your parents as a big no. Coming from a surgeon and a doctor wasn’t a far stretch from a therapist. When the barista at the coffee shop had referred to you as ‘doctor’, he had envisioned...many other things. This was very similar to things you had proclaimed you'd never wanted to be, "oh. I thought you wanted to be a zoologist. That’s what you always wanted to...study animals. UCLA-"

"Yeah," you cut him off sharply, "I did once. In another lifetime. I had to make decisions back then.. Ones I didn't think I'd make or have to make. I thought things were going to play out in a very different way but the joke was on me, right? So, here we are. I'm good at my job and it just...worked out."

"But do you like it?" he asked tentatively as you narrowed your eyes at him. No one ever really asked you that...it was just sort of assumed that you did, or if you didn't, that didn't matter one way or another..

"What does it matter, Francisco? A job is a job," you almost snapped at him, "but yes. For the most part I enjoy my job. I'm glad to be helping people that need it.”

"It just didn't seem like something you wanted to do..." he trailed off softly.

"Well, I also didn't think I'd go to college alone and have to make an entirely different series of choices. I didn’t think you’d just leave me and go into the military - and you were going to leave me in the dark about as long as you could. Remember that?" you knew it was a dig, the lowest of blows, but in that moment you didn't care. Things had ended a long time ago and at the end of the day, it didn't matter anymore, "because I do. So yeah, my life plans changed. But you know about that just as well. How did that work out for you?!"

You hated yourself in that moment, and as soon as the words left your mouth you wished you could take them back. You hated how much venom was lacing your words, how angry you still were with him. It was twenty years worth of pain and hurt bubbling to the surface all at once. And yet - the look on Frankie’s face was enough to make your heart break. Sighing lightly, you tossed the fork onto your plate and slid out of the bar stool. Tears were prickling at the back of your eyes as you held up your hands in surrender, lips trembling slightly. You tried to slick past him, but he reached for your arm to try and hold you back, "honey-"

"I gotta go," you said, pulling out of his grasp as motioned for Daisy to follow you. Nervously looking between the two of you, she trotted over and perked up slightly when you grabbed her leash, "I-I'll be back. I’m sorry.”

You dashed out the door as swiftly as possible, letting it shut softly behind you as Frankie stared at it, a heavily, weary sigh escaped his own lips. Setting down his own fork, he pushed his plate away, no longer feeling hungry. He wasn’t mad at your words, or the spite you still held for him. If anything it made him hurt just as much. He’d always been confused on why and when you finally decided to cut your ties with him, but he never blamed you. If the roles were reversed he might have done the same. But he’d never hated you for it. He could understand why you did what you did. He was just Frankie after all, he wasn’t worth waiting around for you. Just because he’d never let you go, didn’t mean he expected the same of you.

Standing up, he picked up his own plate, followed by yours and brought them to the sink. Turning on the tap, he set everything under the warm water to soak before quickly deciding to just clean up the kitchen then and there. It was the least he could do. Frankie carefully put everything away, making sure everything was going into what he was sure were the proper spots before loading the dishes into the empty dishwasher. He stopped himself when he reached for your empty coffee mug, holding it delicately in his large hands as he examined. It was a soft yellow, covered in little flowers and beehives and bees. A forlorn little smile crossed his features as he decided to hand wash the mug, drying it with the utmost care before putting it away in the cabinet.

The whole process to getting everything clean again took him some time, but by the time he was satisfied with his handiwork you still weren’t back from your walk with Daisy. It gave him pause to wonder if he should just head home or if he should wait for your return. Eventually he decided to opt for the latter, figuring it would be rude to just run out on you. If nothing else, he’d thank you for the help from the previous evening and then leave, but a smaller part of him hoped that you’d ask him to stay. To talk. There was a lot to talk about after so many years. 

And yet - there was nothing. The relationship was done. Ended. Nothing. 

He went back down the hall to straighten your bedroom up and gather his shoes, but he trekked slowly, taking a moment to study all the pictures on your walls. Some of it was more or less generic artwork, some were photos of you with friends and family over the years. He had admired each of them, how you had changed from the beautiful girl he had fallen in love with to the still beautiful woman he was infatuated with. It was amazing to him that you still looked the same after all this time - the same soft eyes, the same sweet smile, the aura of kindness that seemed to follow you everywhere. He was nothing like he once was, not in his mind anyway, instead of ragged and worn out. A sight for sore eyes.

Shaking his head to himself, he finished the walk back to your room and began to tidy up, making it a point to keep away from anything that looked personal. But in his keen attempt to make your bed, he accidentally knocked over what liked a journal from your nightstand. Groaning at his carelessness, he picked it up and attempted to set it back, but instead,  a couple of photographs fell out of it. He swooped them up and curiosity got the better of him as he studied the pictures intently.

They were of you - you and him. 

One of them was from one of the winters you shared together, the two of you were bundled up in thick jackets and scarves, Frankie’s old beanie on your head, with the skating rink visible in the background. You both looked so young, so carefree, so happy. You were smiling for the camera but his eyes were slowly focused on you, the grin on his face speaking volumes. 

The other one was from Halloween, and the two of you were dressed up as Morticia and Gomez from the Adams Family. Your feeble attempts at costumes had been laughable, but the joy in your faces was undeniable. This time he was smiling for the camera, an arm wrapped tightly around, but you were looking at him as though he was your whole world. 

You had kept the photos after all these years. He let out a long breath before tucking them back into the journal and setting it back on your nightstand. As he finished making up the bed and slipping his shoes back on, he heard the front door open, followed by the sound of Daisy’s footsteps. She eagerly nudged open the door and wagged her tail at him, trying to get his attention for pets. 

"Frankie?" your soft voice reached his ears as he gave Daisy a nervous look before slipping out of your bedroom. He stood in the hallway, nervously twist his hat in his hands as you stood at the other, an unreadable expression on your face.

"Hey," he softly as you just nodded. The two of you stood there for a moment, silently staring at each other. When you didn't say anything he started walking down the small way, "I should go..."

But before he could slip past you, you reached out and grabbed his wrist in a surprisingly firm, but gentle, manner. He turned and gave you a confused expression, "stay. W-w should talk...instead of just running every time we see each other."

"Okay," he agreed as you gave him a momentary smile before leading him outside, to the small little backyard sanctuary you had created. It was crisp and cool, the promise of fall and new hope with the changing season lingering in the air. Daisy was close at hand, bringing out a toy to play with as sat down at the patio table, Frankie taking a seat at the other end of the table. It was silent for some time before you finally mustered up the courage to talk to say anything.

"I'm sorry for earlier," your voice was quiet but Frankie heard you loud and clear, "I shouldn't have exploded like that at you. It wasn't fair."

"'S okay," he insisted. In his mind he deserved a lot more than just a few angry words. A new silence loomed over you as you watched your dog run around play, easily keeping herself amused.

"I was supposed to get married," you blurted out suddenly and Frankie's attention was hyperfocused on you, his deep brown eyes trying to decipher every expression, "in a few weeks actually."

"Oh," he said casually as he if hadn't noticed that you weren't sporting the huge engagement ring you had been wearing when he first ran into you again, "I-I figured...the ring and all."

"Yeah," you said with a scoff, looking over at him and rolling your eyes dramatically, "was going to. Completely dodged a bullet with that one."

"W-what happened?" he wouldn't deny that the fact that your engagement ended instilled a small sense of hope in him, "if you don't mind me asking..."

"A lot of things, honestly,” you shrugged lightly. It wasn’t a complete lie...there were a lot of factors that ultimately led to your decision. The fact that Frankie had appeared out of the blue, out of nowhere, was just another incidental happenstance that seemed to jog you into making the decision. But you weren’t about to admit that to him...not yet anyway, “I basically realized I was unhappy...that he was everything I never wanted and the life I was leading was the one I had wanted to avoid for so long.”

“Oh,” he completed quietly as you threw up your hands in exasperation, more at yourself than anything else. It was just…a hard situation. It wasn’t easy for anyone and with Frankie right there next to you it was hard not to picture a life with him. What would it all have been like if he had been the one?

“I was becoming...became everything I hated,” you laughed dryly at yourself, casting a quick glance over at him as he was watching you intently, “all those things I said I never would be. I ended up being them. I ended up as this quiet, pathetic excuse of a woman that just did what everyone told her to do, what everyone expected of her. I became the model daughter my parents always wanted - working in what they deemed a proper job, never speaking out of turn, marrying the successful lawyer, never straying from the line. And then...I just realized...this isn’t me. This was never me. It’s not who I’m meant to be. I knew that if I went through with that wedding and everything that came afterwards I would never be happy again. Despite the years of self loathing, I couldn’t do that to myself.”

Frankie was listening intently as you seemed to work this out within yourself as the words poured out of your mouth. He knew exactly what you meant, and at the end of the day, he was proud of you for being able to make the decisions you needed to for yourself, “so you just called it all off?”

“Yeah,” you dabbed at the tears that pearled up and slipped down your cheeks, before laughing lightly. In the moment, it had been a bold, dramatic move, one that you considered almost worthy of a cinematic masterpiece, but looking back on it, you had probably seemed like a mad woman, “basically. It was the day of my last dress fitting and it just...hit me. I was with the dress maker and her niece and they were asking me all about my fiance and asking me if I was excited and how in love we were and everything. And it hit me then and there - I couldn’t do this. So...I bailed and left. Called it off an hour later. You should have seen the poor things! Oh Frankie, they looked so surprised, but they understood. I paid for the dress and I told them to donate it to someone that deserved it.”

“Holy shit,” he breathed out as he pictured the scene. You caught his eye and the two of you started laughing together. Gods, in that moment, it was easy, so easy to just laugh and not think about anything else. It still felt so effortless with him, even despite everything that happened between the two of you, “you just did that!”

“You know what they say about mad women, Frankie,” you teased, taking a moment to collect yourself. Looking back on it now it was funny, but in reality...it had been a harsh end to your previous life and a bumpy start to your new one, “but...at the end of the day it was the right thing to do. I couldn’t marry Chad and just be Mrs. Wadsworth forever.”

“Chad? Wadsworth?” Frankie couldn’t help but snicker at the names as you nodded before hanging your head, giving him just a glimpse of that smile that always made him weak in the knees, “oh honey, you should have known from the name alone.”

“I was a fool,” you admitted with a dramatic sigh, “a self righteous fool. At the time it had seemed...right.”

“Did you love him?”

“I-I suppose I did,” you said softly, “at one point or another. I don’t know where along the line it just ended up as routine and just me going through the motions but obviously it did…”

“I’m sorry you had to do through all of that,” he said quietly as you shrugged. It wasn’t his fault...that was all of your own doing, “how did your family take it?”

“About as well as you'd think,” you bit the inside of your cheek to keep more tears from flowing worth, “you know them, Frankie, they’re the same as they’ve always been. At first it seemed like my mom understood, and she seemed to care, but by the next day it was like a flip had been switched. They had seemed to side with Chad and somehow none of feelings were relevant. And all of the friends we’d had basically decided that I was the bad guy. So it kind of...left me to figure things out on my own. Luckily, I do have a few really good friends left. They helped me out a lot...even to find this house actually. Things could have been a lot worse...they were rough but they’re getting better.”

“Still,” he almost whispered at you, “I’m sorry you had to go through all of that. You don’t deserve it.”

“Such is life,” you looked at him and offered an almost teary smile, “but about you? Did you ever get married or anything?”

“No,” he answered quickly as you tried to ignore the small skip of your heart. He tapped his fingers against the glass top of the table for a few moments, “there was never really...anyone else.”

“Really!?”

“Nope,” he was almost nervous as he swallowed the lump in his throat, “I was in the military for a long while...overseas, special ops...never really had much chance to worry about that kind of stuff back then.”

“What about when you got out?”

“There were a few here and there,” he admitted quietly, “nothing serious, nothing that lasted more than a few months.”

“Oh,” it was your turn to be surprised. For some reason he had struck you as the type that would have settled down...the type of man that would almost yearn for domestic bliss. Little did you know he did exactly that, just not with anyone that he encountered so far. 

“Yeah,” he exhaled sharply through his nose, “it hasn’t been much of an exciting life.”

“Surely it must have been,” you insisted, “special ops? That sounds like it be one adventure after another...but it was the military…”

“I was glad to get out when I got out,” he insisted and you could tell there was a lot more he wanted to say. But he tensed up lightly and you weren’t going to push him to tell you anything. If he wanted to, he would, but as far as you were concerned he owed you nothing. And yet...a small part of you hoped he did still want to open up and confide in you.

“What...what do you do now?”

“I’m a mechanic,” he stated simply and pointedly looked away from your eyes. He didn’t know if he wanted to see the expression in them, to know if you suddenly thought him to be much lower, “it’s nothing much but I-”

“It’s brilliant, Frankie,” you insisted, quickly cutting him off and causing his head to whip in your direction, a small smile tugging on the corners of his mouth, “you had always had a knack for stuff like that - it never made any sense to me, but you? You always had a sharp mind.”

“I was a pilot too!” he eagerly told you, and you could have died at the excited expression on his face, “in the military and…”

“And what, Frankie?” you asked, noticing the rapid change in his mood, almost as if he hadn’t meant to tell you quite that much. He stilled for a moment before looking away, “Frankie?”

“And for a while after that for private individuals,” he almost murmured, “but umm...n-not at the moment.”

“Okay,” you replied, telling him in that one word that he never needed to go past what was comfortable for him, “Frankie, I’m glad that things worked out for you...really.”

He just nodded, and gave you a weary look before silence fell over the two of you again. You pulled your knees up to your chest and hugged them, watching as Daisy sniffed everything before bringing her ball over to Frankie. He gently took it from her and tossed it across the yard, repeating the action several times over before she grew bored of it and went to follow around a squirrel. 

After some time, you cleared your throat, deciding that now was as good of a time as any to lay everything out on table. What was the worst that just happen? He would get mad, you would get mad and then he left? It wouldn't put you in a worse position than before. There was literally nothing left to loose, and you'd hate yourself if you didn't at least tell him. If nothing else, you would get it all off of your chest.

"T-there was another reason I called off my wedding..." you admitted and slowly shifted his gaze back to you, "umm, everything kind of...I realized how unhappy I was and that things weren't right after...after running into you. That day at the coffee shop when I spilled coffee all over myself."

Frankie tried his best to keep his expression neutral but it felt like a swarm of butterflies had just been released into his stomach. He was trying not to read too much into your words but he was loathe to deny his excitement. That meant you had felt it too; he wasn't wrong in thinking it was just him. He looked at you to go on, making a small sound in his throat, "I-I remember..."

"It set off...something," you said softly, "and that's what caused me to realize everything else."

"If nothing else, I'm glad the spilled coffee led you to realizing that you deserve better...that you deserve the world..."

"I...I never stopped loving you," the words shot out of your mouth before you could do anything to stop them and Frankie's jaw dropped and practically hit the floor, "seeing you made me realize that...there was never anyone else that I could ever love because they weren't you. Even after everything that happened, all this time, it always came back to you."

"Honey bee," the nickname flowed easily and you didn’t bother to correct him. You liked the way it sounded, you had missed it even. It was so much better than sugar plum, which still made you cringe to even think about, “you…”

“I know,” you said quietly, bringing your hands up to your face as you tried to hide and  make yourself feel smaller. You hadn’t, not in a million years thought you would see him again, let alone admit this to him or yourself, “I just...the more I thought about it, especially with Chad, I kept comparing everything to you. Even if I didn’t admit it out loud to myself, that’s one of the main things that it was. It was always you.”

“I-I don’t understand…” he said quietly, “you never...I called you and you never called me back. I thought...I thought...why?”

“I know,” you admitted, “I just...I couldn’t, Frankie. You left me and I hung around waiting for you all the time. My life revolved around waiting for to call, or email, any little hint from you. It wasn’t healthy - I was missing out on so much, because I was always waiting around for you. I couldn’t do that anymore, to wait to hear from you from an hour once every two months whenever you got the chance? It wasn’t fair to me or you. So I just...decided not to anymore.”

“But I-I came back,” he said meekly as you shrugged lightly.

“When? How many hours was your life devoted to the military? How many years were you gone for the majority of the year? It wouldn’t have been fair to me to have to wait for you, and it wouldn’t have been fair to you either, to only get to see me once in a while. Wasn't it easier to just not have to worry about it?” you tried to rationalize it to yourself and him at the same time. But as the words left your mouth you wondered if it had been easier that way. Maybe it would have been easier, maybe you would have been happier if you’d tried to make it work...but now you would never know. 

“I don’t know,” he sighed heavily as he leaned his elbows on the table and rubbed his tired eyes, “I don’t know...but I do know it was hard for you.”

“You left me Frankie,” you said softly, trying not to cry again as you thought back to the day you had discovered that he was leaving for the military. It had been the worst day of your life back then. It still was to this day, “we made all these plans, our future, and you left me.”

“I did what I had to do back then,” he said softly, and while you never believed, even back then, you knew he had his reasons. You knew that the choices he made for all calculated and thought out - he was never one for rash decisions, “the choices I made helped become the man I am now. And look where you needed up - a therapist. A successful therapist. That counts for something, right?”

“I know....I know you did. I understand that now. A small part of me still thinks I would have rather have been with you, Frankie,” you said softly, turning to face him and resting your head on your knees, “even looking back on everything now. I wish you would have let me come with you -”

“So what?” he almost snapped and you jumped slightly at the sudden change in his voice, “you could have been some military wife that’s never happy?”

“I would have been happy with you!” you retorted with just as much edge as he had given you, “I would have been happy if I got to be anywhere with you. You were my everything, Frankie, and that never changed.”

“You would have been alone half the time,” he sighed heavily, “and I never...I never wanted you to have to worry if I was dead or alive or if I was coming back at all.”

You remained silent as you mused over his words. He had a point...if you had been with him, when he was overseas, you would have been wondering every minute of every hour if he was alright or not. That was a fate almost as cruel if not more so than what you were put through. 

“I wanted you to have a chance at happiness,” his tone softened as he looked at you with big brown eyes. They were full of emotion, holding so many things inside of them, “without me you had a shot.”

“I thought I did too,” you agreed, your lips trembling effort to keep from crying. Gods, you felt like you had been crying more recently than you had in many years, “turns out we were both wrong.”

“Yeah?”

“In some ways I wished I’d just gone with you anyway,” you shrugged and he made a small sound. You were both stubborn fools in your own ways, “in some other ways I wish I never met you.”

It felt like his whole world stood still as he cautiously met your eyes. Now those were words he never thought he’d hear you saying. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before stumbling over his words, “w-what? I thought…”

“If I had never met you, I never would have missed you,” you explained, “I never would have gone through the heartbreak of you leaving, of loving you and looking for you in everything and everyone else, never finding you. I would have been…”

“Maybe you’re right…”

“Yeah...but I’m not,” you concluded, “because if I had never met you, I would have never been loved by you, or gotten to love you. I never would have...discovered how to be myself. You showed me that it was okay to be different from my family, to be my own person. It worked...even if I got lost along the way and things changed. At the end of the day, it was you. And just when I was about to make the biggest mistake of my life, you came back. Out of all the times. That-that has to mean something right?”

Just like that every piece of his heart that had felt like it had hardened and decayed over the years seemed to come back to life. His heart started racing in his chest as he stared at you, long and hard, and you stared back with just as much ferocity and intensity. You were thinking the same thing he was - the timing, you both coming back together, it couldn’t be for naught. It just couldn’t. The universe was a strange and wondrous thing, but maybe...maybe this time it was getting it right…

“M..maybe…” Frankie stood up as you tried to collect your thoughts and slowly strode over to you. Extending his hand slowly, he held it out to you and you stared at it for just a moment, contemplating taking it. Taking his hand was a lot more than just the simple action of taking his hand, you were both well aware of that fact. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you let him help you to your feet, and you stood directly in front of him, “Francisco.”

His large hands found your face, his touch gentle and saccharine as you relished in the feel of his soft, yet calloused skin on yours. Your lips parted slightly as he traced over the highs and lows of your features, making it a point to commit this version of you deep into his mind, just like he had twenty years ago when you were younger. His thumb swiped along your lower lip and your body was practicing screaming for him to touch you, to kiss you, anything.

“You are still as beautiful as the day I first laid eyes on you,” he whispered, inching incrementally closer and yet not close enough, “honey bee, I loved you then and I never stopped. I will never stop.”

“Francisco,” it was a soft plea as your hands found his wrists, gripping onto them tightly and vowing to never let go, “please.”

Please kiss me. Please don’t ever leave me again. Please just love me. 

It was so many things all in one simple word.

“May I kiss you?” he leaned in and his lips were practically ghosting over yours, his breath warm and sweet. You nodded quietly before closing the almost nonexistent gap between your bodies, weaving your arms around his neck as his hands found purchase on your hips.

It was slow, sweeter almost than honey as he kissed you, and you allowed yourself to get lost in him. If you thought kissing him back then had been amazing, this was that and then some. Every part of him melded perfectly against you, an ease to your movement like neither of you had to think or even try. It was like it had always been meant to be. In some ways, you supposed it was. It was always supposed to be you and your Frankie. 

“I love you, Frankie,” you murmured against his lips when you parted for a breath of air, “it was always you.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[rallamajoop]

...and the unironic joys of better living through chemistry

How do I love Venom: The Hunger, let me count the ways…

It’s by far the shippiest Venom/Eddie story to come out of the character’s heyday. It’s the only story of the era to treat Venom’s violent wild-animal instincts not as an immutable fact, but as something that can be managed. It pulls off an aesthetic like nothing else that was being done at the time.

And then there’s the way it says, Does the world around you seem sinister and foreboding? Do you lie awake at night contemplating metaphorical oceans of despair? Well shit, son – have you considered you may be suffering from a mundane neurochemical imbalance, and a round of the right meds could clear that right up for you?

It does all this without breaking the atmosphere, without a whiff that our story has been interrupted for a Very Special Message about mental health.

In the near-decade since I was first prescribed anti-depressants, I don’t think I’ve read another story that lands the message “Sometimes, it’s not you, it’s just your brain chemistry,” so well.

Fair warning: if you have not read The Hunger, I am about to spoil every major plot point. If you have, well, maybe I can still give you a new appreciation for a few details you might have missed.

It’s a strange book, whatever else you take from it. It’s almost the only thing either author or artist contributed to the Venom canon, and it’s so different stylistically and tonally from the 90′s Venom norm that it feels like a tale from some noir-elseworlds setting instead of 616 canon. When you take risks that big with a property, you leave yourself precious little landing space between 'unmitigated triumph’ and ‘abject failure’: if this book hadn’t absolutely nailed it, I’d be dismissing it as edgy, OOC dreck. Fortunately, if The Hunger is nothing else, it is a story that $&#@ing commits – to basically everything it does.

Now, I'm not going to tell you Venom: The Hunger is a story about overcoming depression, because I don't know whether author Len Kaminski even thought about it that way while working on it. There's always space for other readings, and this one take is not gospel. That said: holy shit is this thing unsubtle with its metaphors. And with that in mind, let’s start by talking a little about Kaminski’s take on Eddie himself.

As I may have mentioned before, I like to divide 90′s Eddie into two broad personas: the Meathead, and the Hobo.

Kaminski’s Eddie nominally belongs in the angsty, long-haired Hobo incarnation, but that’s a bit of a simplification: this version certainly has plenty of angst and plenty of hair to his name – but nowhere, not even at his lowest ebb, does he doubt that he and his Other are meant for each other, which is usually Hobo!Eddie’s primary existential quandary.

He’s also taken up narrating his own life like a hardboiled PI.

So that’s... novel.

The only other time Eddie’s sounded like this is, er, in that one other Venom one-shot Kaminski penned (Seed of Darkness, a prequel that sadly isn’t in The Hunger’s league), so I think we can safely file it under authorial ticks.

Then again, Hobo!Eddie’s always been one melodramatic SOB, so maybe this is just how he’d sound after learning to channel his angst into his poetry. You can’t argue it fits the aesthetic, anyway.

We’d also be remiss not to mention Ed Halsted’s art, which I can only describe as gothic-meets-noir-meets-H.R.-Giger. Never before or since has the alien symbiote looked this alien: twisted with Xenompoph-like ridges and veins.

But Halsted doesn’t treat Venom to all that extra detail in every panel. Instead, the distortion tends to appear when the symbiote is separated from Eddie or out of control – and I doubt you need me to walk you through the symbolic importance of that creative decision. More importantly, Halsted’s art provides exactly the class of visuals that Kaminski’s story needs.

Did I mention this is a horror story? You might be surprised how few Venom stories really fit that genre, but if all those adjectives about Halsted’s style above didn’t clue you in, this is one of them.

Anyway, with that much context covered, let’s get into the main narrative of this thing.

As our first issue opens, Eddie’s world has become a dark and foreboding place. He’s not sleeping, though he mostly brushes this off. (Fun fact: trouble sleeping is one of those under-appreciated symptoms of depression. Additional fun fact: the first doctor ever to suggest I might be suffering from depression was actually a sleep specialist. You can guess how that appointment was going.)

Just to set our scene, here’s all of page 1.

Eddie’s narration has plenty of (ha) venom for his surroundings, but the visuals are here to back him up: panels from Eddie’s POV are edged in twisted, fleshy borders and drained of colour, the people rendered as creepy, goblin-like creatures. A couple of later scenes go even further to contrast Eddie-vision with what everyone else is seeing:

As depictions of depression go this is a little on the nose, but then, you don’t read a comic about a brain-eating alien parasite looking for subtlety, do you?

Eddie  doesn’t see himself as depressed, of course. As far as he’s concerned, he’s seeing the world’s true face: it’s everyone else who’s deluding themselves. He’s still got his symbiote, so he’s happy. He’s yet to hit that all-important breaking point where something he can’t brush off goes irrevocably wrong.

But he’s also starting to experience these weird... cravings.

He just can’t put a name to exactly what he’s craving until a routine bar fight with a couple of thugs takes a turn for the horrific.

(I include this panel partly to point out even in The Hunger, the goriest of all 90′s Venom titles, you’re still not going to see brains getting eaten in any graphic detail. We don’t need to to get the horror of the moment across. The 90′s were a more innocent time.)

Eddie himself is horrified when he comes back to himself and realises what he’s done.

Or rather, what his symbiote’s just made him do.

Kaminski doesn’t keep us in suspense about why, though. Eddie may have just done something horrific, but there’s a reason, and it’s as mundane as a vitamin deficiency. He’s bonded to an alien creature, after all, and his symbiote is craving a nutrient which just happens to be found in human brains. And if Eddie can’t or won’t help it meet that need, it’ll do so alone. 

Now, giving us that explanation so quickly is an interesting creative decision: this is a horror story, and horror lives in what we don’t know. Wouldn’t it be all the more horrifying had the symbiote been unable to explain what’s going on, leaving Eddie without the first real clue as to where this monstrous new hunger had come from?

The Hunger doesn’t take that route though, and I love it. Eddie isn’t a monster, this isn’t his fault: he has a fucking condition, and wallowing in his own moral failings is going to get him nowhere. You might as well try to cure scurvy or rickets with positive thinking. Just like depression can make you feel like an utter failure at the most basic parts of being human, and all the affirmations in the world won’t fix it when it’s fundamentally your brain chemistry that’s the problem. Or like addicts aren’t weak-willed for struggling not to relapse, they’re dealing with genuine chemical dependency – or even like how someone who’s trans isn’t at fault for being unable to reconcile themselves to the bodies and the hormones they were born with by pure force of trying. Free will is more than an illusion, but we’re all messy, biological organisms underneath, and your own brain and biochemistry can and will fuck you over in a hundred wildly different ways for as many wildly different reasons and it’s not your fault.

We aren’t monsters. But if we do, sometimes, find ourselves identifying with the monster, there might be a reason for that.

(Ahem)

I’m just saying, that’s fucking powerful, and we need more stories that say it.

Anyway, in case you missed it during that tangent, issue #1 closes with the symbiote having torn Eddie’s heart in two itself free to go hunting brains without him.

I’m trying not to get too sidetracked at this point talking about Kaminski’s take on the symbiote itself. Suffice to say there are broadly two schools of thought on how it ought to function while separated from its host: the traditional ambulatory-slime-puddle version, and the more recently popular alternative where anything-you-can-do-with-a-host-you-can-also-do-without-one. I’m not much of a fan of the latter, personally: if your symbiote doesn’t actually need a host, I feel you’ve sort of missed the point. (The movie takes the route of saying symbiotes can’t even process Earth’s atmosphere without a host, which is a great new idea that appears nowhere in the comics, and I love it. Hosts or GTFO, baby!)

Kaminski has his own take, and I can only wish it had caught on. Without Eddie, the symbiote becomes an ever-shifting insectoid-tentacle-snake-monstrosity, driven by an animalistic hunger. It’s many things, but it’s never humanoid.

If you absolutely must have your symbiote operating minus a host, I feel this is the way to do it: semi-feral, shapeless and completely alien (uncontrollable violence and cravings for brains to be added to taste).

Issue #2 comes to us primarily through the perspective of the mild-mannered Dr. Thaddeus Paine of the Innsmouth Hills Sanitarium (yes, really).

Yeah, he’s not fooling anyone. Meet our official villain! He joins our story after Eddie is picked up by the police and handed off to the nearest available institution, on account of how completely sane and rational he’s been acting.

Naturally, Dr. Paine soon has copious notes on Eddie’s ‘crazy’ story about his psychic link to a brain-eating alien monster. Fortunately for Eddie, Paine also runs some tests and makes an interesting discovery. 

Congratulations, Venom: the ‘vitamin’ you were missing officially has a name!

Finding the right meds isn’t always this easy. I got lucky – the first ones my psych put me on worked pretty well – but I have plenty of friends who weren't so lucky. In fact, the treatment for Eddie's problems is so straightforward it arguably has more in common with, say, endocrine disorders like thyroid conditions or Addison’s disease, which differ from clinical depression but present many similar symptoms (but can sadly be just as much of a bitch to get correctly diagnosed – please do read author Maggie Stiefvater’s account of the latter when you get the chance, because forget Venom, that is a horror story).

‘True’ depression remains much less well understood by medicine, either in its causes or how to effectively treat it. But simply having a name for what was wrong with me made so much difference, and that’s an experience I imagine anyone who’s dealt with any long undiagnosed medical condition could relate to. It put my life in context in a way nothing else had in years.

(I can’t speak to the accuracy of the way phenethylamine is portrayed in this comic – a quick google suggests there may be some real debate that phenethylamine deficiencies have been overlooked as a contributor to clinical depression, but having no medical background, that one’s well beyond me. Either way, scientific accuracy really doesn’t matter in this context – it’s how it works in-universe for story purposes that we should pay attention to.)

Since this issue is mostly from Paine’s POV, we don’t get Eddie’s reaction to having a healthy amount of phenethylamine sloshing around in his brain again, just the assurance that treatment appears to be ‘completely successful’.

He’s still a paranoid, hostile bastard though. Meds can turn your life around, but they won’t make you not you.

But even if Eddie’s feeling better, he’s still psychically linked to someone who isn’t. Symbiote-vision still comes through drained of colour and edged in viscera.

That’s the thing about meds: they won’t solve all your problems overnight. If you’ve been depressed for a while, there are good odds you have problems stacking up. But working meds can be a godsend when it comes to getting you into a space where you can deal with your problems again, whether said problems are doing-your-laundry or all the way into not-giving-up-completely-and-just-accepting-you’ll-die-alone-on-the-street.

For Eddie, ‘dealing with his problems’ begins with stealing a keycard and busting out of the asylum.

Of course, that’s the easy part. How do you solve a problem like a feral symbiote? Like any good 90′s comic book protagonist, Eddie tackles it by putting on his big-boy camouflage pants and kitting himself out with weapons and pouches while quoting “If you live something, set it free. If it doesn’t come back, hunt it down.”

We can add this to the list of things I love about this comic. Even if The Hunger is a weirdly-stylistic tract about depression at heart, it’s also still a goddamn 90′s Venom comic, and not ashamed to be.

We’re into issue #3 now, and back to hearing the story from Eddie’s POV.

Eddie is very much aware that his symbiote has murdered innocent people while they’ve been separated. Even if this is the result of extreme circumstances, there’s a good case to be made that the symbiote is too dangerous to be allowed to live. Plenty of heroes would treat it like a rabid dog at this point.

But Eddie isn’t a hero, he’s a mess of a character and an anti-hero at best, so we don’t have to hold him to the same standard. He’s well aware his symbiote may be too far gone to save, that he may have to put it down – but that’s only his backup plan. He wants to help it. He wants it back. He’s down in that sewer with screamers and a flamethrower because he knows all his symbiote’s weaknesses, but he’s also carrying a large jar of black-market synthesised phenethylamine, because if he can just get close enough...

Depression can’t make you a literal monster, but it can make you an asshole. Miserable to be around, lacking even the energy to care who else you’re hurting. The depression doesn’t excuse that, but it makes everything harder, and it’s that much easier to sink back into your spiral when everyone around you has given up. It can make you think everyone around has given up even if that isn’t true.

So to have Eddie here say, in effect, I don’t care how many people you’ve eaten, I know it wasn’t your fault. I still love you. You’re still worth fighting for – god, does that get me right in the id.

There’s still a whole issue left at this point – we’ve still got to deal with our real villain, Dr. Paine, who we’ve just learned is into eating brains himself and torturing his patients recreationally, and who wants to capture the symbiote for his own purposes. There’s the scene where Eddie and his symbiote finally bond again, and Venom beats up all Paine’s goons while singing David Bowie because like I said, this is still a 90′s superhero comic and this is what Venom does.

But for our purposes, I'm going to skip to the penultimate page of the story, because the way it mirrors our opening page is really lovely.

Remember that shot of Eddie dealing with a beggar back at the beginning of the story, thinking about how these people would 'get their despair all over you'? Here he is again, cheerfully forking over the last dollar in his pocket to the next man to ask him for change. For all the gothic atmosphere and gore, it’s moments like this that make The Hunger easily one of the most positive, uplifting Venom stories ever written. Funny, that. (I could probably write a whole other essay on sympathy for the homeless as a recurring motif in Venom stories, but that... well, whole other essay and all that.)

What’s Eddie learned from this experience? Don’t take your symbiote for granted. Is ‘symbiote’ a metaphor for mental health here, is paying attention to its needs an allegory for paying attention to your own? I still don’t know how literally Kaminski meant us to take this, but it’s a lovely note to end on no matter how you parse it.

At the end of the day, The Hunger isn’t flawless. The conflict with Paine ends on a thematic but slightly unsatisfying note. Eddie makes much of his symbiote's loneliness and desire for union, but when the two of them are finally reunited, the only reaction comes from Eddie's side. In fact, the symbiote seems to have no response to being able to return to Eddie at all, and that’s an omission that bugs me.

But Kaminski is more interested than any other writer of the era in the truly alien nature of the symbiote, in its relationship with Eddie from Eddie’s side, and though plenty of others talk about the symbiote's love/hate relationship with Spider-man, no-one else had the guts to portray their relationship this much like a romance.

And Venom: The Hunger is no less interesting in the context of Len Kaminski’s other work. You don't have to look far into his Marvel and DC credits to pick up that the guy has a real thing for monsters. (“All of my favourite characters are outlaws, misfits, anti-heroes,” he says, in one of the very few interviews I could find with him, “I wouldn't know what to do with Superman.”) He's written for vampires, werewolves, victims of mad science, and all of three at once, littering his work with biochemistry-themed technobabble, melodramatic monologues, gratuitous pop-culture references, and protagonists who must learn to embrace their inner demons. So The Hunger represents more than a few of his favourite running themes.

For our context, his more notable other work includes Children of the Beast, in which a werewolf must make peace between his human and animalistic sides, and The Creeper, in which a journalist must make peace with the crazy super-powered alter-ego sharing his body. In fact, The Creeper and The Hunger share so much DNA (including an evil doctor posing as a respected psychiatrist who uses hypnosis on our hero while he's trapped in a mental institution) that it’s quite the achievement that they still feel like such very distinct entities beyond that point.

The human alter-egos of both werewolf and Creeper even use prescription meds while wrestling with their respective dark sides. The difference, in both cases, is that these are stories where meds play their traditional fictional role – and that's a role that could be as easily filled by illegal drugs or alcohol without making any substantive difference. You see, if a protagonist is using them, it's a sign of unwillingness to tackle their 'real' problems. Even among work by the same author in the same genre, The Hunger represents an outlier. And that's just a little disappointing – at least to me.

In real life, of course, prescription meds are no magical cure-all elixir. Depression meds that work for one person may not work for another, or may not keep working in the longer term. Everyone has heard stories about quack doctors who prescribe them to the wrong patients for the wrong reasons, about lives ruined by addictions to prescription painkillers, or the supposedly-damning statistics about how poorly SSRI's perform in rigorous clinical trials. The proper way to treat depression is obviously with lifestyle and therapy. People will still airily dismiss medications that we all know previous generations got along just fine without, or suggest that figures like Van Gogh would never have created great art if they hadn't been mad enough to slice off an ear. I mean, the fact you think you need those bogus mediations is probably the best possible sign of just how broken you are, right? Who do you think you’re kidding?

Our popular fiction loves stories about manly men who bury their trauma under a gruff, anti-social exterior and come back swinging at the world that broke them, bravely refusing even painkillers that might dull their manly reflexes. Other genres make space for broken people confronting their demons in grand moments of catharsis, finally breaking down into tears when someone gets through to make them face their problems. "I could barely make it out of bed in the mornings until I found a doctor who started me on this new prescription" is not only wildly counter to the accepted social narrative, it's a hard thing to know how to dramatise.

 Even other Venom comics have been guilty of this.

Believe me, I recognise all of this, and just how much progress we've made in the last few decades. But I haven't the slightest doubt that for so many vulnerable people, the stigma against prescription medications does infinitely more harm than those same meds could ever do. And just having the right to externalise my problems into it's not you, it's your brain chemistry, may have helped me more than the meds themselves.

(And again, no, being prescribed SSRI's didn't fix me overnight, but I honestly don't know if all the talk therapy and tearful conversations with family members in the world could've got me as far as I've come without them.)

I love Venom: The Hunger. It's no-one's idea of high art, but it doesn’t need to be. There is a whole other post’s worth of things I love about it that I’ve already cut out this one as pointless tangents, and that may actually be it’s biggest drawback as a go-to example: I fully recognise that I would not be making this post if The Hunger hadn't also also grabbed me as a great bit of Venom canon, being the massive fan and shipper that I am. Other people who are just as desperate as me for more stories with the same core theme, but not into weird 90's comics about needy goo aliens, probably won't get nearly as much out of it as I have.

But if it sounds anything like your jam, maybe you'll enjoy it as much as I did.

If nothing else, it proves that you can make a viscerally satisfying story out of a message that shockingly unconventional. And you may even have people still discovering it and falling in love with it 25 years after the fact.

[boykisserbuckley]

BUCK + TRAPPED UNDER RUBBLE PLS 💕

love that you’re the first to send a prompt :) this is 100% designed to hurt you specifically. have fun!!

(we’re playing fanfic bingo if anybody wants to join in)

Buck really needs to stop jinxing things. It happens every time; the moment he lets himself think that things are going to work out for him, for the team, it all goes to shit immediately. It’s like the universe is listening, waiting to show him just how much bad luck a person can have in their life. He’s getting pretty tired of it. But, endlessly optimistic as he always tries to be, he lets himself hope things will work out anyway. Yeah, maybe it’s a little bit out of spite. Suck it, universe.

Of course, that just makes the universe hit him harder, because it doesn’t like being insulted, apparently. He’s out on a call with the team this time. They’d had a minor earthquake, much smaller than the one they’d had when Eddie was still a rookie, but it was enough to cause some structural damage and put a couple of people in need of rescuing. No big deal, right? That’s Buck’s specialty.

The house they pull up to is a nice one. Three stories, old and elegant; it’s one of the few Victorian-style mansions still left in this area of the city—which was designated as a historic preservation zone in 1983, Buck announces, even if Chim laughs and teases that they didn’t ask—but it doesn’t look like it’ll be standing much longer. The roof has caved in over the wrap-around porch, making it a bit of a challenge to reach the door, and Buck can tell the upper levels are beginning to strain. Dispatch had informed them that there were two people on the second floor, where a doorway had collapsed and trapped them in their bedroom.

Buck and Eddie head in, picking their way over the wreckage of the porch. Buck eyes the ceiling warily when they make it past the door, noting one of the larger cracks that’s opened up in a corner. The house might be mostly in one piece, but it’s definitely not stable. They’ll have to be quick.

“Looks like the stairs are still viable,” Eddie says, testing his weight on the lowest few steps. They hold.

“Convenient,” Buck says. He follows Eddie up, and they find the issue, clear as day. Just like dispatch had said, the doorway of the bedroom had collapsed, and parts of the third floor had come down on top of it, making the whole front section of the room impassable. Unless, of course, you’re a firefighter with heavy equipment designed specifically for this purpose.

Buck gets himself set up to start shifting debris while Eddie calls out to the couple, trying to gauge how far they are from the wreckage, or if there are any injuries. Thankfully, it seems like they’d managed to get themselves out of the way; they’re unhurt, and huddled in the corner of the room that still has a ceiling.

They get the couple out in record time, and Buck feels lucky for the first time in a while. Eddie leads the way back down the stairs while Buck follows, keeping the couple between them. It’s easy. No one’s hurt this time. They’ve had simple calls all day, and they’re nearing the end of their shift with nothing major having gone down at all. It’s probably the first time in months that they’ve had a relatively relaxed shift, and it’s almost nice.

Just then, the ground rumbles. Buck steadies himself on a wall as the aftershock ripples underneath them, setting the house trembling all over again. He can hear the old wood creaking ominously.

They’re so close to the door. Eddie is nearly there already, kicking out debris to make room to get the couple safely outside. Buck rights himself and moves, herding his charges towards the opening Eddie has just created. He can feel the aftershock fading, but they don’t want to waste any time, because that crack he’d spotted earlier is larger than before and no one wants to get caught when this building comes down.

It’s just as he helps the man they’d rescued through the doorway and gets ready to climb out himself that Buck realizes he’s done it again; the universe hates him, and he’d had the audacity to think this was going to be easy. The walls groan loudly, and he makes the mistake of looking up, just in time to see the fissure in the ceiling widening further. Oh, shit, he thinks.

Buck scrambles desperately for the doorway, but he only makes it far enough to catch Eddie’s wide eyed expression for a split second before the ground shifts, tilts, and the walls come tumbling inwards.

~~~

Buck comes back to himself in a haze of pain. It’s everywhere, a whole body ache that won’t let up. So this is what a house feels like, he muses, and then frowns when he realizes that doesn’t make any sense. His mind feels sluggish, like it hasn’t quite caught up to what’s happening, and he can’t bring himself to focus on anything past the fact that everything hurts.

He tries to shift, and the pain flares harshly, slamming him the rest of the way into consciousness as he tries to breathe through it. He blinks his eyes open to darkness, the faint shapes of wooden beams above him, and plaster dust coating everything in a fine layer of white. There’s noise coming from somewhere by his ear, and it takes him a moment too long to realize that it’s his radio, still clipped to his uniform. It clicks again and Buck’s head lolls to the right, trying to listen.

“Buckley!” Bobby’s voice crackles through, sounding like this isn’t the first time he’s tried to call for him. How long had Buck been out? His head aches too much to try to think, so he lets it go. It doesn’t matter anyway.

He feels like he should answer. His captain is calling for him, so he should respond, right? He can’t ignore Bobby. He doesn’t want to get fired again.

Buck tries to reach for his radio, only to pull up short when his left arm won’t move. Why won’t it move? He rolls his head over to his other side, blinking slowly, and—oh. It’s stuck. It’s stretched out past the little pocket of space he’s found himself in, meaning it wasn’t protected by the larger beams that are holding the rest of the debris up from crushing him completely.

Without thinking, Buck tugs on it, trying to get it free. His mind doesn’t register how bad that idea was until his vision nearly whites out, agony lancing up the limb all the way to his shoulder. He’s panting by the time it fades back to a slightly-less-debilitating ache, and he decides that he’s definitely not going to try that again. Instead, he reaches for his radio with his right arm, which seems mostly fine. His team is still calling for him, and he wants to respond, but the best he can manage when he fumbles for the button is a low whine. The clamoring voices all stop, briefly, and then—

“Buck?” Bobby again, more tentative than Buck has ever heard him.

“Bobby,” he groans, finally getting his voice to work.

“Oh, thank god,” Bobby says. “Just hold on, son, we’ll get you out of there.”

Buck feels himself drift for a second. Everything feels a little fuzzy, but he can’t find it in himself to worry, not when he knows his team is coming for him. They’ll get him out.

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie’s voice from the radio brings him back, just barely. “You still with us, buddy?”

Buck hums affirmatively.

“Gotta give me more than that, man,” Eddie chastises. “You know the drill. Stay awake, keep talking. How about you tell me how you’re feeling, so we know what we’re lookin’ at when we get you out of there?”

“Mmm, yeah,” Buck murmurs. He blinks languidly. “Head hurts.”

“I’m sure it does,” Eddie says. “You were out for a bit.”

“Think I fucked up my ribs,” Buck continues, “an’ my arm. It’s stuck.”

Eddie lets out a low whistle, and he sounds sympathetic when he prompts, “Anything else?”

“Don’t think so,” Buck says. He blinks again, eyelids feeling heavier than before. Why is he so tired? “Gettin’ sleepy down here, Eds.”

“None of that, bud,” Eddie responds, “How about I tell you what Christopher is doing for his history project? He’s learning about dinosaurs.”

Buck knows Eddie is just trying to keep him awake, but he actually does want to know what Christopher is learning, so he agrees. Eddie launches into the dinosaur spiel easily. Buck just listens as he talks, letting his arm fall across his midsection now that he doesn’t need it to press the button on his radio.

Belatedly, he recognizes that his side is wetter than it should be. He hadn’t even registered it amidst all the pain from his arm, but now that he’s got his hand pressed up against it, he can feel the warmth seeping out against his fingers.

Huh, he thinks, bringing his hand up to look at it. He can’t make out much in the dark, but it’s definitely dripping with something.

“Eddie,” he calls into the radio, trying not to let it slip out of his slick fingers. Eddie stops in the middle of his sentence, but before he can ask, Buck mutters, “Think ‘m bleeding.”

“Fuck,” Eddie hisses, mostly to himself, it seems. Buck can hear him call out to Bobby, before he’s back again. “We’re almost there, Buck, don’t worry. We got you.”

“I jinxed it,” Buck says quietly. He thinks he should put pressure on the wound, or something, but his body feels heavy and he can’t bring himself to move his good hand. He wants to keep talking to Eddie.

“What?” Eddie asks.

“I jinxed it,” Buck repeats, his words coming out a little slurred. “Thought we were gonna make it. But th’ universe hates me. Made me fall.”

He thinks Eddie responds, but he can’t really be sure. He feels like he’s underwater. The sounds of shifting rubble are distorted and distant, and he’s losing his precarious grip on consciousness again.

“Buck luck,” he snorts, half out of it. His hand slips off the radio. He dimly registers someone calling to him, from somewhere close, but his energy is spent. He lets himself fade out, and hopes his team gets through to him in time.

~~~

Buck really needs to stop jinxing things. This is, what, the fifth time he’s ended up in the hospital? Sixth? That’s too many. He’s so tired of hospitals. At least this time, they’ve got him on the good painkillers, so he doesn’t feel quite as shitty as he did when he was stuck under two floors worth of rubble.

He blinks the sleep out of his eyes and gives himself a moment to focus, letting his eyes adjust to the dimmed lights of the room. He takes stock: left arm in a heavy cast from wrist to elbow. Side and chest wrapped up, head still aching like a bitch but better now that there’s a pillow under it rather than a pile of stone foundation. Right hand being held by someone else. What?

Buck frowns and looks down at his hand, where it’s grasped between both of Eddie’s, who is fast asleep and spread out across two hospital chairs. Buck stares at him for a moment, debating whether or not to wake him. Ultimately he decides not to, because he doesn’t really want him to wake up and decide to take his hand back. Near-death experiences call for a little hand-holding, right? So Buck is just going to let himself enjoy this for a minute. He sighs and settles back, still tired enough that he wants to fall straight back into sleep. After another moment of studying the way Eddie’s hands are clutching his, even in sleep, Buck closes his eyes again. His last thought as he drifts off is, maybe my luck isn't so bad, after all.

(posting the card again here so ppl know which prompts have been claimed!!)

[tripleaxeldiaz]

all was golden when the day met the night

chapter 5/5

read on ao3

start from the beginning

As the weekend wears on, Eddie feels more and more like himself. He chalks it up mostly to staying inside with Chris, Disney+, and takeout for two days straight, basking in the unbridled happiness that always seems to surround his son. He knows, though, that a big part of his feeling better is also because of Buck — he’s never had a catharsis like that with anyone, and he thanked Buck by essentially slamming the door in his face as soon as he tried to dig a little deeper. He wanted to help, Eddie wanted him to help, but it was too much and he was too raw, so he just shut down. Defaulted to being closed off as he usually was because it was safe and easy. But Buck is his best friend, one of the people he loves most, and he deserves someone who could be open and honest with him.

Eddie really wants to be that person.

He really needs to apologize.

He tries multiple times, writing and deleting texts, planning scripts in his head but never hitting the call button. The words keep getting jumbled and they don’t feel like enough, don’t feel like they’re fully expressing how much Eddie wants to tell Buck everything, wants to fully let him in, if Buck is still interested. If he’s not, Eddie’s really not sure what he’s going to do. 

He braces himself on Monday, but Buck doesn’t come in. He sees him through the window as he parks and all but falls out of his car, hurrying toward Armageddon. He stops at the front door of the shop, knocks, smiles, and waves, before hurrying off again.

It’s fine. It’s fine. He’s just running late.

He doesn’t see him at all Tuesday, but gets a selfie of a sad looking Buck wrapped in a blanket with a mug of tea and a message reading sinus infections suck ))):. He smiles as he tells him to feel better, and things almost feel normal. Maybe this is just how Buck wants to play it — pretend that Eddie didn’t have a complete breakdown and go back to how things used to be, to how they used to be, whatever that was. If that’s what’s going to make Buck happiest and keep him in Eddie’s life, that’s what Eddie will do. He’ll smash all his feelings back into a box and set it on fire if he has to. Whatever it takes to make sure Buck never leaves.

The door above the shop rings on Wednesday morning, but Eddie’s too absorbed in trying to balance the numbers of a recent wedding to notice. A shadow falls over his laptop, and when he looks up, he’s face to face with Buck, backlit in the golden glow of the early morning sunlight, looking like an angel even in his usual all black. Eddie feels his mouth go dry and his heartbeat pick up.

“You know,” Buck says, his smile easy as always, even if his shoulders look a little tense, “you’re pretty cute when you’re trying to do math.”

It’s a knee jerk reaction to roll his eyes and shake his head, and he smiles too as he sees Buck relax. “At least I know how to do math,” he fires back, laughing at Buck’s mock outrage. Just like that, they’re back in their old routine. 

“That’s what I have Maddie for. She’s the brains of the whole operation, and I’m the beauty.”

“What’s Chimney then?”

“He’s dead meat after he let my flowers die while I was gone for a day.”

Eddie snorts as he gets the craft paper. “Well, math might be hard, but replacing flowers is easy. Any requests?”

Buck just shrugs, smiling softly at Eddie now. “Whatever you’re feeling.”

Eddie’s been trying to figure that out for the past four days, but it’s so much easier when Buck asks him to do it with flowers. He wraps the bouquet and turns back to Buck, holding the flowers between them like a shield. 

Buck cocks his head, confused. Eddie clears his throat and takes a deep breath. “I’m really sorry about last week. You were just trying to help, and I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’ve got...a lot of stuff to sort through, and I didn’t want to put that burden on you.”

Buck’s smile gets softer still as he reaches out to hold Eddie’s wrist. “It’s okay, I get it. But I meant what I said — I’m here for you no matter what. However and whenever you need me.” He takes the bouquet from Eddie, holding it in the crook of his arm. “Are these apology flowers to match your apology speech?”

Eddie laughs, trying to ignore the embarrassed blush he feels growing on his cheeks. “I guess so. Yellow roses literally mean apology, purple hyacinth means asking for forgiveness, and red carnations—” mean something that you absolutely can’t tell him, he finishes in his head. He freezes for a second, scrambling for any other reason for including them, before lamely landing on— “They just looked nice.”

Luckily, Buck takes it, no questions asked. 

As he leaves, Eddie feels a weight go with him, feels more like himself than he has in days. Buck is still here. He saw Eddie at his lowest and it didn’t scare him off. And while that’s all well and good, it feels fragile and new, like something that could break the minute Eddie tries to make it more than friendship like he still so desperately wants. 

Instead, he resolves to ball his feelings back up in his chest, hiding them away like he’s done for months and months now. He promised himself he’d do whatever it takes to make sure Buck sticks around, and he meant it. 

~~~~~~~~~~

The sun is setting as he enters Armageddon, in a surprisingly good mood given everything that’s happened the past two weeks. He makes his way to the back, distracted by trying to figure out what to do with his weekend. Maybe they can go to the art museum Chris has been raving about, look at all the works that don’t make any sense to Eddie but can keep Chris enraptured for hours. Maybe Buck will come along to explain everything.

He’s distracted enough that he doesn’t register Buck and Chris’s conversation until he’s halfway to the table they’re sitting at in the back room. When he does finally tune in, he stops, just out of sight, and feels his whole body start to go numb.

“It says they mean ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘Please forgive me’. Is that what Dad said they meant? Was he sorry about something?” Chris is reading from a school library book, the bouquet from earlier this week on the table between him and Buck. 

Buck looks at the flowers, smiling almost sadly, before turning back to Chris. “Yeah, that’s what he said too. We just got into an argument, but gave me these flowers, so it’s okay now.” He turns back to the flowers, fingers playing with a stray stem that had fallen off as they wilted. “What does it say about red carnations?”

Chris flips through the book, eventually landing on the page he was looking for. Eddie braces himself as quietly as he can, because he knows exactly what Chris is going to read. “There’s a lot of meanings for different colors, but it says that if you give someone red carnations, it means you love them and feel something special for them. What did Dad say?”

His sharp intake of breath is completely involuntary, fueled purely by panic. Both heads snap toward him immediately, Chris’s face lighting up, Buck’s looking stunned. He tries to keep his own face as normal as possible, but his eyes feel wild and he’s hot all over and he just needs to get Chris and get out.

“Dad! I got a book about flowers from the library so I can know what they mean just like you!”

He really hopes his smile is genuine, because as happy as he is that his son wants to be anything like him, he also feels about 15 seconds away from passing out. “That’s great, buddy. Can you grab your stuff so we can go?”

Chris hops off the chair to pack up, filling the would-be uncomfortable silence with his usual chatter about school, what he’s reading, and what he did with Buck all afternoon. Eddie very pointedly keeps his eyes on his son the whole time, nodding and commentating more than normal so he’s not tempted to look at Buck and completely fall apart. Chris hugs Buck tight around the middle before heading for the door, forcing Eddie to acknowledge Buck without any kind of buffer.

“Thanks for watching him, we’ll see you later, okay?” he says, looking at a spot just over Buck’s shoulder. He doesn’t wait for a response, just rushes out, following after Chris even as he hears Buck call his name.

Surely, Buck will just brush this off. He won’t think twice about why Eddie actually included the carnations and just move on. They’ll be fine, Eddie won’t lose him because of his loud, dumb feelings, and the whole thing will blow over by Monday. He repeats it in his head over and over, willing it to be true.

They’re through the front door and halfway down the sidewalk before Buck catches up with them.

“Eddie, wait!”

Apparently, his force of will is not as strong as he thought.

Eddie skids to a stop, letting Chris run ahead to the store. He closes his eyes and prepares himself, because this is it. The moment he had been trying to prevent for months. He’s off the edge of the cliff, and there’s nothing he can do about it. He takes a deep breath before he turns around.

Buck is watching him. He looks confused and a little worried, and Eddie’s palms itch to reach out and somehow make it better. He jams his hands into the pockets of his jeans instead.

“The carnations weren’t just for show, were they?” Buck asks, slowly, quietly, like he’s trying not to spook a caged animal. 

He could lie. He could tell him they didn’t mean anything, that they really just looked nice. He could deny it over and over, and he knows eventually Buck would give in and let it go. They’d go back to square one where they’ve been for so long that Eddie can see ruts forming in their routine.

He’s so tired, though. Tired of lying, tired of wrestling with his feelings and trying to keep them from cracking his ribs and breaking free. And Buck had already seen him lower than rock bottom, and he stayed. Maybe he would stay after this, too.

“No”, Eddie says, shaking his head. “They weren’t just for show. Neither were the gardenias or pink camellias or red tulips, none of them were. You can look them up if you don’t believe me.”

Buck freezes, eyes wide, still as Eddie has ever seen him. And for as much as Eddie is usually a coward, he decides this is the moment to be brave.

“I love you,” he says in a rush. “I’ve loved you for a while, and I didn’t know how to say it out loud, so I just gave you love in flowers instead. You’re everything, Buck, to me and to Chris, and I just didn’t want to lose you or scare you away because I don’t know what I’d do with myself if you left. We need you, in whatever way we can have you.”

He can feel himself shaking as he stops talking, face hot with a furious blush of embarrassment, he’s sure. He never stops looking at Buck though, waiting for him to say something, anything, even telling him to fuck off and never speak to him again would be better than silence. 

He waits, and Buck just looks at him with an expression he can’t decipher. He looks and looks, and with every passing second, Eddie feels the world crumbling down around him.

The numbness is back, this time laced with the sting of rejection. He takes a few steps backwards as he feels tears start to prick at the back of his eyes, turning toward the store before they’re too noticeable.

He stops when he feels Buck’s hand wrap around his wrist, holding him in place. “Eddie, please,” he says, sounding close to tears himself. “I— I don’t know what to say, I—”

Eddie pulls his wrist back, Buck letting go without a fight. “It’s fine, Buck. Just forget about it.”

He walks away, tears falling without shame. 

He half hopes Buck follows him. 

He doesn’t.

~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie is not hiding. He is strategically avoiding.

He tries to process everything over the weekend, but come Monday, he still can’t bring himself to face Buck, to have the talk where he tells Eddie that he just wants to be friends and nothing more. Because he’ll say that, but things won’t go back to normal. They’ll be awkward and stilted and they’ll drift farther and farther apart until they’re no longer in each other’s orbit, practically strangers. He wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t know what he’d do with himself without Buck, and he really doesn’t want to try figuring that out now.

So Buck comes in every day like normal, and every day Eddie finds an excuse to busy himself in the back room and let Hen handle him. It only takes her two visits to catch on and pry every detail out of him.

“Eddie, I love you, but you’re the biggest idiot I’ve ever met,” she tells him when he finishes his story.

“Thank you for kicking me when I’m down,” he says, voice muffled from where his head is pressed to the table. She grabs a hold of his wrist, tugging it until he sits up and gives her his attention.

“Look,” she says. “I don’t know exactly what’s going on in Buck’s head, but he looks about as heartbroken as you do, if not worse. You have to talk to him. If you love him like you say you do, you owe him that much, at the very least.”

She’s right, of course, but that doesn’t mean Eddie is happy about it. Nor does it mean he’s going to jump headfirst into talking about his feelings like he did the last time. He tried being brave, and look where that got him.

He’s still biding his time (and licking his wounds) when he comes back from a delivery a few days later to an eerily quiet store. It’s late afternoon, when they’re normally busy with people picking up bouquets for date nights on their way home from work, but he doesn’t hear any voices when he comes in the back door or see Hen running around with fistfuls of flowers. He walks to the front and stops dead before he can call out for anyone. 

Buck is there, once again lit up by the sunlight streaming through the windows, standing next to a vase holding the biggest bouquet Eddie thinks he’s ever seen. He looks nervous, biting his lip as he watches Eddie walk closer, no doubt waiting for a reaction. Eddie’s honestly dumbstruck, because not only is it huge, but he immediately registers the meaning behind each flower he sees.

Blue violets for devotion, forget-me-nots for true love, yarrow for everlasting love. Aster, red chrysanthemums, honeysuckle. Rainflowers asking for returned affection and jasmine for love without conditions. They’re all surrounded by moonflowers for dreaming of and hoping for love. The whole thing is an explosion of color and scents and emotions and it’s beautiful. Almost as beautiful as the man standing next to it.

“I didn’t know what to say last week,” Buck says quietly, gaze moving from the flowers to Eddie. There’s a blush crawling up his cheeks that rivals any rose or carnation. His smile unfurls like a lily in the summertime. “I figured I’d try speaking your language instead.”

Eddie turns to Buck fully, tries to say something, but the words get stuck in his throat as his mind tries to process the sheer amount of things he’s feeling. He has half a mind to pinch himself, make sure he’s not dreaming, but he knows he isn’t. This is better than anything in his wildest fantasies because it’s real.

He’s snapped back to the present moment when he feels Buck’s hands on his, slotting their fingers together. Eddie squeezes instinctually, holding on for dear life, because he feels like he’s about to crack again — not from despair this time, but from sheer, unfiltered joy. It only gets bigger when he looks at Buck and sees it reflected in his eyes, too.

“Eddie,” he says, a laugh bubbling out of him like the happiness is overwhelming. “I love you. I love you so much. I think I’ve loved you from the minute I ran into the store for the first time, and it’s been snowballing ever since.” He brings a hand up to Eddie’s cheek, wiping away tears he didn’t even know were falling. He leans into the touch, smile only growing because it’s warm and perfect, like he always knew it would be. “You said I was everything to you and Chris, but you two are more than everything to me. I want to be here, with you, for you, for as long as you’ll let me.”

And because he is who he is, because he’s been living with his parasitic self doubt for longer than anyone should, Eddie pauses. His mind flashes through all his shadows and darkness lingering under this momentary happiness, and while it’s overwhelming and good and true, he still doubts. 

“I’m a mess,” he says, feeling Buck tighten his hold like he’s afraid he’ll try to run. “You saw it up close. I can’t guarantee it won’t always be that bad. Are you sure you want to deal with all this?”

“I want everything with you, Eddie. Good, bad, and ugly. You can’t scare me away that easily. I won’t let you.”

For once, there’s no rebuttal. He knows Buck is telling the truth, feels it in every part of him. If he focuses enough, he swears he feels a little less darkness around him. But there’s so much going on in his head that he doesn’t know what to say anymore, can’t figure out how to express to Buck exactly what all of this means to him. 

He’s still not great at words, but he’s as good at actions as he is at flowers.

There’s no fireworks or angels singing when they kiss, and it takes a few tries for them to stop smiling enough for their teeth to get out of the way. But once they fall into a rhythm, Buck hands on Eddie’s hips, Eddie’s hands running through Bucks curls, the whole world falls away until it’s just them. It’s a slow, gentle thing, but Eddie pours everything he’s hiding into it, hoping that Buck picks up on how much and how deeply he loves him. If the smile he feels on Buck’s lips is any indication, he thinks the message is loud and clear.

They pull away eventually but only to rest their foreheads together, soaking up each other. Eddie’s still smiling as he leans in, placing kisses on whatever parts of Buck’s face he can reach, just because he can. He feels the rumble of Buck’s laugh in his own chest, and almost wants to cry again at the realization that he’s going to be able to feel that laugh whenever he wants, have it memorized and tucked away in his mind for when the darkness is too loud.

He always knew Buck had enough light in him for both of them. Now he gets to prove himself right.

He pulls back a little more, taking in every feature of Buck’s happiness, fingers coming up to gently trace over his birthmark.

“Does this mean I get free tattoos for life?” he asks. Buck’s laugh is sharp and surprised, and they dissolve into giggles and kisses and touches like they’re teenagers again.

Eddie knows that it won’t always be this perfect — things will be hard, they’ll be tested again and again, and sometimes things will feel too dark for either of them to bear. But the light will always come back, they’ll grow stronger, blossoming in ways they never could on their own.

Eddie has been hiding in the shadows for too long. Buck is finally bringing him into the sunshine.

[cbwalive]

SUPER ESTRELLA Ep. 2

Super Estrella, Christmas Eve Bash

Thursday, December 24, 2020

Live on Univision 

 We start the show of the recap from last week when @TheEyeOfGibson and AuZZtin won the tag titles and Head of Creative John Schneider saying this is far from over.

Here comes @TheEyeOfGibson strutting down to the ring.

Gibson has his own fan section. About a dozen women in their mid- 50’s. One woman has a sign that reads, “Gibson Rats 4 Life”.

Roberto acknowledges them and blows them kisses off his butt before taking the mic.

The Eye starts off by saying “you know last week felt pretty damn good. For the last 5 weeks I didn’t know what I was going to do -- yeah sure living in my van in Pensacola was great but I’m full of steam - I’m a fighter and also a lover ain’t that right Ladies?” 

Gibson’s Rats start screaming “I knew I had to get back in The CBWA and when Schneider called me out of the blue to help him in his War Games match.

I knew something was up so I made him sign a stipulation which says if I showed up to Time to  Pay PPV and help Schneider’s team, then I will get my shot, my rightful shot at the CBWA World Heavyweight Title” 

 @gator_AuZZtin music hits to a huge pop. 

AuZZtin grabs the mic “Listen Bobby we all know the damn story so quit boring these people to death.Even the Gibson’s Rats dried up during your story.

One of the Gibsons Rats yells, “I’m never dry baby”, AuZZtin looks rather disturbed.

The fact of the matter is I helped you win these damn tag titles.

Roberto stops him and says “you helped me? Correct me if I’m wrong but who kicked The Fiend out cold?” 

AuZZtin says, “it doesn’t matter you followed my lead and look here we are the tag champs, something you and buddy Ricky couldn’t do”.

Roberto snags the mic “you leave Morton out of this, he’s still in the hospital and no one knows who took him out, maybe I’m looking at the SOB right now”

AuZZtin grabs the mic “like I said last week if I wanted to take out little Ricky Morton, I would do it in front of his pretty face so he can see who’s whooping his ass, how do I know I’m not looking at the sob that took him out?” 

Roberto looks disgusted by that remark “are you kidding me? Now you’ve gone too far thinking I would take my friend of 40 years out”

It looks like they are about to go to blows when John Schneider’s music hits. 

 John comes down to ringside and  interrupts both men “excuse me gentlemen I don’t mean to break up this love fest but I have important business to attend to both of you, starting with you AuZZtin.

Now I imagine you wanna whoop somebody’s ass, so tonight you will go one on one with BS Service member @BrayWya29193609.

Now as far as you go Gibson, you can take your so called disgusting ring rats over there and take them back to your van because you have the night off as a matter of fact you are banned from the arena.

These nice fine Bogota Security guards will see fit that you exit the arena with no problems” 

 The guards start to make their way to the ring and ask Roberto to come on down. The guards enter the ring, AuZZtin turns one of the guards around, flips him off a stunner, the other guard tries to get AuZZtin but is met by a super kick by Roberto.

Schneider angered tells more guards to get them, bam one stunner another super kick, more guards this time it’s around 6 or so of Bogotá’s finest, tasers are out and Roberto puts his hands up and is getting cuffed -- The same with AuZZtin.

They’re both exiting the ring when all of the sudden, The Miz comes out and nails a handcuffed AuZZtin.

We need to take a break - we’ll be right back folks. 

 We are back.

Backstage we see Roberto being put in a police car and AuZZtin into another.

John Schneider comes to the cars and says “big tough guys huh? Big tough guys.” He goes to the window where Roberto is and says “I hate your stinking guts and you have no idea how much joy this is to me right now seeing you where you deserve to be, you and your partner over there better start following orders around here or I swear I will make both of your lives miserable” 

He then tells the Bogota cop to take this bum out of here, the car drives off as Gibson laughs hysterically in the back. .

Schneider then goes to the car AuZZtin is in, “now as for you, I’ll get you out of the car but you lay one finger on me and you will join your bum partner.” 

He tells the cop to get him out, AuZZtin tells Schneider as he is being handcuffed “tell your boy Miz one way or another I’m going to get his ass tonight.”

Schneider says “You need to worry about @BrayWya29193609 because it is now a no disqualification match and Foot Von Erich is going to be the special ring announcer.” 

We’ll be right back. 

Welcome back to CBWA  Super Estrella, let’s go down to the ring. 

UNDERFAKER vs BOGOTA BRAWLER

We go to the ring lights go out and it’s @UnderfakerBL.

His opponent, The Bogota Brawler looks terrified. 

The bell rings and Underfaker starts to walk slowly to his opponent, uppercut thrust to the throat, whips his opponent into the ropes, flying closeline, picks his opponent up and scoops him up for the tombstone piledriver, this one is over 1, 2, 3.

The Underfaker gets on one knee and holds his arm up towards the entrance.

There’s smoke -- and here comes a long black hearse. 

The hearse pulls right up to the ring and out comes Bogota Blake from Ox Rent-A-Car.

@BogotaBlake holds up and urn and summons the Underfaker.

The Underfaker leaves the ring and crawls into the back of the Hearse. Bogota Blake backs up and almost takes out a section of the crowd but is able to regain control of the wheel. 

We’ll be right back. 

  We’re back and we see a sit down interview set up with Kenny Resnick and he’s joined by @FrankConverseMO and his alleged son @BoltsyAmsterdam.

Welcome back to Super Estrella, I would like to wish everyone a very Merry Christmas.

“I’m here with the former CBWA World Heavyweight Champion @FrankConverseMO and a former champion and Hall of Famer himself @BoltsyAmsterdam.

Frank you asked me to get this together because you have something to say and wanted to be sure your alleged son @BoltsyAmsterdam was here, now that he is the floor is yours.

Frank says “thank you Kenny and a Merry Christmas to you and your herpies.

I wanted this gathering here today because I have something to say, you know the last 6 months of my life have been up and down, a lot of ups, I got in the best shape of my life, I won the CBWA World Heavyweight title from a Hall of Famer. I was featured in Action Hollywood movies, but there were also a lot of downs.

My bestfriend Claude Akins Gibson has been busy campaigning to become the next Mayor of Bogota and that meant that I was constantly alone. 

I spent all my money -- I blew it on booze and drugs. I pawned a brand new CBWA World Heavyweight title belt Mr. Schneider made for me, but the lowest I was is when my son, my flesh and bone @BoltsyAmsterdam refuses to talk to me because of the shame he has for me.”

Boltsy cuts him off, “what are you talking about son? Boltsy gets up to leave, “for the last time you idiot, I’am not your damn son!!!!! I hate your guts because of the human being you are. You’re a bum, but one thing you are not is my father.”

Kenny steps in and says, “Boltsy, now Frank is admitting a lot of stuff here tonight but why would you say he is not your father?” 

Boltsy screams, “because he’s not!!! I know who my father is. 

Frank says, “it’s ok Kenny, the one thing I want everybody to know out there and especially my son” -- Boltsy yells again, “I’m not your....” 

Kenny cuts him off, “let him talk.” 

Frank says, “I just want everybody to know that you are looking at a new Frank Converse. I will no longer rely on drugs and alcohol but only rely on love from my son.” Boltsy whispers “you gotta be F’n kidding me.” 

Frank continues “2020 was a great year for me but also a terrible year for me but 2021 will be the best year yet.” 

Kenny jumps in and says, “Wow Frank, I’m very impressed with you and coming out with all your issues and recognizing it and having your alledgedson here to hear this is the topping on the cake.

Frank and I wish you nothing but the best, Boltsy do you have anything to say?” 

Boltsy obviously irritated at this point says, “are you guys high right now?” 

Frank says, “no son that’s the old me.” 

Kenny says, “Boltsy I don’t understand --  I thought you would be thrilled to hear that your alleged dad is getting his life together and back on track for you.” 

Boltsy says, “I don’t even know what to say at this point, this man is not my father, I grew up in Pittsburgh - he was in LA and we don’t look alike.” 

Kenny cuts in, “I’ll have to disagree with that one.” 

Boltsy gives Kenny a stare of death, “shut your face, look Frank if you’re going to change your life around and go down the straight and narrow then good for you, I hope you really do it, because you have burned a lot of bridges and I hope you can mend them.” 

Frank says “Thank you son that means a lot, would you like to go play catch?” 

Boltsy gets up and leaves….

Kenny then says, “well there you go a father and son’s relationship, I believe has been mended. Good luck Frank and we’ll be right back after these messages.”

We are back.

We’re inside Mr. Schneider’s office where it looks like The BS Service is having a Christmas party.

The Miz comes in and starts gloating that he whooped the so called, toughest S.O.G (son of a gator) AuZZtin’s ass and he’s about to do the same thing later tonight when he faces Greg Gagne. 

Bolin interrupts and says, “Gentlemen let’s raise our champagne glass and toast the man that brought all of this to us and in the future the leader that will lead us all into dominance, Mr. John Schneider.” 

They all toast.

Back in the ring -- 

The Masked Assassin vs The CBWA Intercontinental Champion Hot Stuff Eddie Gilbert 

The bell rings and he locks up with the Masked Assassin and whips him into the ropes. Gilbert  delivers a beautiful drop kick followed by the Hot Stuff piledriver, 1, 2, 3. Easy work for the IC champion. 

 WINNER: @HotstuffINT007

Gilbert is at the interview table with Kenny Resnick. Please welcome the man with the longest winning streak in CBWA history, Hall of Famer and the new CBWA The Intercontinental Champion -- Eddie Gilbert. 

Eddie says, “Thank you very much Kenny. It’s great to be back in Bogota. It’s great to be a champion again. I fought hard to win this belt again, I went through some of the very best that The CBWA can offer and I can promise you I will be a fighting champion, as I’ve always been.”

At that moment, Hollywood Foot Von Erich walks out, “you know baby you say you went through the best but never faced the best because you are looking at the best baby” and points at the belt and walks off. Eddie laughs and Kenny throws it to break.

We are back and we are outside of the Bogota Mayor’s mansion.

Kenny Resnick is at the front door and @BigBubbaBogo answers. 

Bubba tells Kenny to beat it. “The Mayor does not want to talk to anybody.” 

Kenny said “well he asked me to be here for an exclusive.” 

Bubba says, “well maybe you should check your emails because his assistant has rescheduled it for next week, now beat it before I have the hounds released on you.” 

Kenny tells the camera man we better leave. 

THE SOUTH AMERICAN CHAMPION MIZ vs GREG GAGNE

We are back in the ring and here comes Greg Gagne. All the little boys and girls are super excited to see Greg.

Gagne is feeling the Christmas spirit as he is gives each kid an exclusive Greg Ganja action figure which you can also pick up on the CBWA online shop! 

Next, here come the CBWA South American Champion The Miz.

Miz takes one of the action figures that Ganja gave to one of the kids and breaks. 

The Miz starts mocking the kid, and throws the pieces into the crowd. 

This match is NOT for The CBWA South American Championship, which you can also purchase your replica South American Title belt at http://CBWAshop.com.

The bell rings and Miz starts mocking Ganja with the crybaby face but wait -- wait -- it’s AuZZtin.

He is behind The Miz and Miz has no idea, Ganja sees AuZZtin and tells The Miz to look behind.

The Miz all of sudden knows what’s coming, he turns around and AuZZtin flips him the bird and starts whooping on The Miz. He goes for the stunner but Miz escapes and runs away.

Ganja extends his hand at AuZZtin and receives a stunner.

All of a sudden, Bray Wyatt’s music comes on and here comes @BrayWya29193609 with @FootVonErich.

The fans are letting them have it. 

It’s Bray vs AuZZtin right after these messages.

We are back and it’s main event time.

BRAY vs AUZZTIN

Foot grabs the microphone and starts announcing Bray Wyatt but is cut off by a vicious closeline by AuZZtin and here we go. AuZZtin stares down Bray but Bray is trying to play peek a boo with AuZZtin.

AuZZtin says ok and plays peek a boo back with a middle finger and starts whooping Bray in the corner, stomping a mud hole and walking it dry.

He grabs Bray by his dreadlocks and is about to set him up for a stunner but The Miz comes out and delivers a low blow.

Referee Nick Patrick calls for the bell and Foot Von Erich comes in its 3 on 1.

Mr. Schneider then comes out with the rest of the BS Services. 

The Prototype, Bob Lashley, Rico and Renee Dupree. 

John grabs the mic and says, “You see what happens when you don’t fall in line? Let this be a lesson to anyone in the back to not cross the boss.”

All of a sudden, Santa Clause music hits and it’s jolly old Saint Nick himself.

He’s giving all the boys and girls toys and candy, and he stops off at the Gibson Rat’s section and hands out sexy lingerie.

Mr. Schneider addresses Santa, “Hey Fat man, this is my arena who the hell do you think you are? Boys get him.” 

The BS Service starts making there way to Santa Clause and all of a sudden  -- 

Goldberg’s music hits --  It’s the CBWA World  Champion

Goldberg hits the ring and he spears The Miz!

He spears Foot Von Erich and he spears Bray.

Schneider is looking scared the rest of the BS Service tries to stop Goldberg but is met with a spear.

Goldberg grabs Bob Lashley and picks him up for a jackhammer and down goes Lashley.

My god what strength.

Schneider cant believe what he is seeing. 

He is now face to face with Santa Clause.

Santa takes his beard off and it’s @TheEyeOfGibson

He tries to swing at Santa Gibson but Santa ducks and nails him with a super kick. 

OMG Schneider is out cold.

As the camera pulls back from the ring, we see Santa Gibson, AuZZtin and Goldberg celebrating with some cold ones.

WAIT -- The Miz is back in the ring and --  AuZZtin STUNS HIM!  

From all of us at the CBWA -- We wish all of you all a Merry Christmas!

Next week it will be the CBWA Super Estrella New Years Revolution

Plus find out more about The Great Bogota Bash coming in January 2021.

We’ll see you next week folks, Merry Christmas from Bogota. 

[hysterialevi]

When the Devil Cries pt. 35

Fanfic summary: (NO SPOILERS IN THIS STORY) After arriving in Saint Denis, Arthur ends up falling in love with a seemingly innocent pianist, only to find himself in a battle with one of the most notorious outlaws to ever emerge from America. Now, between working for Dutch and robbing money for the gang, Arthur has to also protect the man he loves as the two of them try to find their freedom.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/Male OC

Author’s note: Sorry about the longer wait for this one guys! I had a hard time putting my thoughts into words on this one for some reason, but I’m finally happy with the end result. There’s only going to be one more chapter after this one, and I’m extremely excited to share the final parts of this story with you. Enjoy!

Previous chapter

This story is also on AO3

From Eddie’s POV

A FEW YEARS AGO

BISHOP RESIDENCE, LONDON

“Nathaniel!” I exclaimed, trying to calm the man down as he paced around. “What are you doing? We need to go! Your father’s men will be here soon!”

“I know!” He replied in a frantic tone, trying to barricade the door. “Which is why you need to get the hell out of here!”

I pulled back at the reply, shaking my head in confusion. “What? But w-what about you?”

Nathaniel took out his gun and staunchly faced the doorway, loading a series of bullets into the chamber as Atticus’ men approached the house.

“I’ll hold the gang back. Try to make ‘em see reason. It really ain’t worth it, all this death. You and your family...none of you deserve to die. This whole thing’s a goddamn massacre. My father’s just gone mad. I can only pray that I’ll be able to change his mind.”

I paused for a moment, instantly thinking about the worst outcome.

“...And if you cant?

Nathaniel fell silent at that and gazed sorrowfully at me, letting out a morose sigh as his head hung low.

There was a certain temperament to him at the moment that really I didn’t like, and the longer he stayed in place, refusing to leave -- the more I got a terrible feeling that I knew exactly what he was thinking.

I just hoped I wasn’t right.

“...Listen, Theo,” Nathaniel said softly, freezing mid-action. “I...I need you to make it outta this alive, you hear me? I need you to survive.”

“And I will,” I insisted, “but not if we stay here! We need to move! Come on!”

“We’re surrounded, Theo.” Nathaniel replied hopelessly. “If we run off together, they’ll gun us down before we can even escape the city. The only way you’re gonna get out of this is if I cause a distraction and force them to come up here. In the meantime, you’ll be haulin’ ass to safety and hopping on the first ship to America. You understand?”

I still rejected the idea.

“Nathaniel, you’re out of your mind if you think I’m leaving you here. There’s no way--”

“--I can’t come with you, Theo!” He fired back, causing me to go quiet. He immediately picked up on my surprise and switched to a gentler tone, lowering his voice.

“Trust me, if there was another option, I’d take it, but...this is where we’re at. This is all we can do. I’m...I’m sorry, Theodore. I truly am. But I can’t go with you.”

I bit my bottom lip and held back the tears that were welling up in my eyes, only to have them spill out freely once everything started to sink in. It was just one of those things I couldn’t control, and despite the reality of our situation, I absolutely refused to believe that this was the last time I’d ever see Nathaniel.

I mean, I had already lost both of my parents, and God only knew what was happening to Alice. I couldn’t lose Nathaniel too. I just couldn’t. He was the only person I had left. What...what the hell was I going to do without him? I had never been to America before, and I didn’t even know if I’d be able to make it there on my own.

All of this was just...too much at once, and it felt like the weight of the world itself was crushing my shoulders.

Striding over to me, Nathaniel affectionately wiped away some of the tears on my face and lightly gripped my chin so that I was looking at him, causing the both of us to nearly break down right then and there as we silently said goodbye to each other.

There was a look of finality in his eyes -- the kind that said he knew he was going to die -- and with every shaky breath that he took, I could almost see the life draining from his expression.

“Listen to me, Theo,” Nathaniel reassured. “You’re gonna be okay. Just...go to America. Change your name. Start a new life. Don’t tell anyone who you are, and you’ll be safe. You ain’t gonna be alone.”

I turned away from him out of distress and held onto his hand, desperately trying to think of any excuse that would permit me to stay.

“...It’s not that easy, Nathaniel.”

He caressed my cheek, offering whatever encouragement he could.

“I know, but if anyone can do this -- it’s you. You’re much stronger than you believe, Theo. Someday, you’ll see that. But for now, just do whatever it takes to survive...and don’t look back. No matter what happens. You hear me?”

I offered only silence in return, causing the other man to grip me by the shoulders and look me in the eye.

“Do you hear me?” He repeated, his tone growing more desperate.

I took a deep breath and nodded in response, albeit reluctantly.

Nathaniel suddenly planted a brief but deep kiss on my lips and brought me into a tight embrace, clearly reluctant to let go so soon.

“Goodbye, Theo,” he whispered mournfully. “And thank you for everything. ...I’ll never forget you. Promise you won’t forget me.”

~~~~~~~~~~

PRESENT DAY

EASTERN NEW HANOVER

...Nathaniel Rose.

I couldn’t stop repeating his name in my head.

As Arthur and I scaled this enormous rock formation where Atticus awaited our arrival at the top, I felt like I was finally confronting the past that had haunted me for so long.

Years of grief, fear, and hatred all overwhelmed me at once, and despite having spent the majority of my life writing stories, I couldn’t think of a single word that was sufficient enough to describe my emotions at the moment.

There were just so many memories, so many questions, so many regrets -- that it was impossible to express them all.

From the time I spent falling in love with Nathaniel, to Atticus’ betrayal, to the murder of my family, and now, to the end of it all...I didn’t know what to think.

Was this truly the only way it could’ve ended? Was there ever a possibility of my family living in peace? Had I always been destined to live this kind of life from the start?

...Were Arthur and I even meant to cross paths in the first place?

Well, whatever the case was, I couldn’t deny that I was somewhat remorseful of how I had grown.

Not too many years ago, I would’ve never even considered the option of shooting someone to death -- and yet, here I was, after all this time, ready to kill the man who had single-handedly destroyed my life in the name of greed.

I had to admit, it was rather frightening to see the sort of man I had become. I never anticipated that I would go out of my way to end another human being’s life like this, but it was something I felt like I had to do. Not just for my family, or for Nathaniel...but also for Arthur.

I loved that man more than anything. He may not have thought much of himself, but he was a hero in my eyes.

Arthur found me whilst I was at one of the lowest points in my life, and not only did he help me survive, he also gave me the courage to become the man I was today.

He showed me the beauties of this world and turned everything I feared into something I could conquer. He always faced his problems head-first, no matter how frightening they could’ve been, even if it meant confronting the man in the mirror.

There wasn’t a single thing I felt like I couldn’t achieve with Arthur at my side, and now that the two of us were finally preparing to take Atticus down for good, part of me wondered if this could truly be the end.

I only hoped I’d survive long enough to find out.

Bringing myself back to the task at hand, I pulled the trigger on my gun and fired it once more, putting down the last of the Pinkerton agents blocking our path.

The silence following the gunshot seemed to fill the air more than the sounds of any battlefield could, and as I watched the smoke slowly dance away from the barrel of my pistol, I could sense Atticus’ gaze following me from afar.

He was keeping an eye on us. I could feel it. I just had to find him first.

“...Look at all these bodies,” I remarked, examining the Pinkertons that we didn’t kill. “They’re still incredibly fresh.”

Arthur glanced at the surrounding area, reloading his weapons. “That can only mean one thing. Atticus is still here. And he’s waitin’ for us.”

I bit my lip in nervousness, trying to find any clues that could’ve led us to Rose. “Well, let’s just hope we can find him before he finds us. Atticus may be outnumbered, but make no mistake -- he’s not at a disadvantage. If anything, he has the element of surprise on his side. We need to be extra careful.”

Falling silent at that suggestion, Arthur thought to himself for a moment and simply stayed in place whilst I wandered off ahead, only to abruptly stop in my tracks once I realized he wasn’t following me.

I peered over my shoulder, curious to see if he was okay.

“Arthur?” I called out. “Is...something wrong?”

The other man furrowed his brow in concern and gave me a firm stare, squinting slightly in the sun radiating behind me.

His eyes were fixated in a manner that told me he was evidently preoccupied with something else, and judging by his current demeanor, I could tell he wasn’t entirely on board with the plan.

Just what was going on?

“...Are you sure you wanna do this?” He asked plainly, keeping his voice steady. An uncertain sigh escaped me.

“I know it’s...probably foolish,” I conceded, admittedly tempted to turn back, “but even if it gets me killed, this is something I have to do. I can’t keep running away from Atticus like this. Look at all the people who have been hurt because of what we’ve done. Nathaniel, Hosea, Lenny...even you. This war between us has to come to an end sooner or later. Otherwise, it’ll never stop following us.”

Following my words with a heavy heart, Arthur let out an uneasy breath and brought his gaze to my gun, reminiscing about the first few days of our relationship.

It was pretty clear that he never expected that I would someday use his gift to take down my worst enemy, and on top of all that, it was probably safe to assume that he blamed himself for indirectly pushing me onto this path.

I knew how much Arthur beat himself up, after all. He may have never expressed it aloud, but it was rather obvious that he felt guilty for bringing me into such a chaotic lifestyle.

What he didn’t realize, however, was that he actually taught me how to find peace within myself.

As much as I wanted to put a bullet through Atticus’ brain and avenge my family, I still hadn’t forgotten Arthur’s words to me back at the Bastille.

He experienced the same kind of grief I did after his own family was murdered. He shared the same anger. There was no question that Arthur knew what he was talking about when it came to vengeance, and regardless of how crippling my rage could’ve been at times, I didn’t want to lose myself either.

I didn’t want to become a killer.

I didn’t want to become Atticus.

But even then, I doubted I’d ever fully forgive myself if I didn’t at least try to settle things. There was just far too much history between me and Atticus for us to simply part ways, and I refused to pretend as if I could just move on...but that was where Arthur and I disagreed.

Or, at least, I thought it was.

“Okay,” Arthur said at last. “I understand.”

“...Really?” I asked, tilting my head up in surprise.

Arthur nodded, casually resting his hands on his hips. “Yeah. I still don’t think this is the best idea, but all I know is I’d want the same kinda closure with Dutch. That man betrayed me same as Atticus betrayed you, and I ain’t so righteous that I’d pretend I wouldn’t try to get some answers if given the chance. But...just try not to lose your head, alright? I don’t plan on goin’ to England alone.”

I gave him a reassuring glance. “And you won’t. Thank you for understanding, Arthur.”

The outlaw grinned, lightening the mood slightly. “Hey, if we won’t understand each other, who will?” He patted me on the shoulder. “Now, c’mon. We got ourselves a score to settle.”

Climbing further up this magnificent rock formation, Arthur and I kept our eyes peeled as we scanned the surrounding area for any signs of Atticus’ presence, ready to shoot at a moment’s notice.

Ideally, I was hoping I’d at least be able to pull some answers out of the outlaw before anyone got shot, but if there was one thing I knew about Atticus, it was that he had lost any traits of forbearance ever since losing Nathaniel. Most-likely, he wouldn’t even bother to hear me out.

...It was sad, really, to think about how far our friendship had fallen. When I first met Atticus, he became somewhat of a paternal figure in my eyes. He never once fell short of the legends that spoke about him, and with every threat that presented itself to him or his son, Atticus only proved himself to be the man that the Wild West truly feared.

Who knew? Perhaps this fight would be over within a minute. Or perhaps, it would drag on for another couple of years. Or maybe, the Pinkertons would surprise us all, and none of us would walk out of here alive.

Really, there was no way to predict how the future was going to play out. But, God willing, perhaps this would finally be the day where Atticus and I put this battle to rest. Far too much blood had already been shed over these past few years because of our feud, and if my time with Dutch’s gang taught me one thing, it was that wounds should never be left to fester.

I didn’t know who was going to die today, but it had to be one of us.

Breaking the silence with an intrusive bang, a single bullet suddenly implanted itself into the ground beneath my feet as a flock of birds spread into the sky, causing me to come to a halt.

I didn’t see anyone in the area who could’ve pulled the trigger just yet, but as the gunshot started to echo throughout the mass emptiness surrounding us, a gentle series of footsteps crept towards me from the side, leading my attention to a rather big boulder up ahead.

It was only a short few meters away and cast a rather tall shadow in its wake, but what came sauntering out from behind it only seemed to blot out the sun even more.

Atticus Rose.

“...My, my,” the solemn man flatly remarked, holding his revolver in my direction. “I suppose the rumors are true, then. The Theodore I know would’ve fled at the first sign of danger. That’s usually his typical response. And yet, here you are -- purposely seeking me out after years of avoiding me like the plague. One could say you’ve grown, Mister Bishop. Perhaps...one could even prove it.”

I clenched my jaw in an effort to remain unwavering, not even daring to take my eyes off Atticus lest he shoot me in the back.

“...You know why I’m here, Atticus.” I replied, barely able to speak above a whisper with how hard my heart was pounding.

The older man’s stare didn’t even shift. “Yes. I do. But before we get to that, I must ask...” his eyes flicked around in curiosity, “where is Rodrick? Hm? What has happened to my friend?”

Arthur jumped in, not even bothering to sugarcoat the truth. “That maniac is dead. I killed him.”

Contrary to what I expected, Atticus didn’t seem shocked by the news. Only disappointed.

“Is that so?” He questioned, afterwards sighing out of dolor. “...I knew it would happen someday, but I suppose you can never truly brace yourself for someone’s death, can you?”

Atticus took a few careful steps towards us, his boots softly scraping on the rock.

“So, you’ve dealt with Mister Kingsley -- as well as the rest of my gang -- and now you’ve come to put out the last fire. Is that it? ...One final fight to be marked in the pages of history? The extravagant end of a journey that will be preserved through storytelling? A glorious conclusion for the benevolent heroes?”

Rose scoffed.

“Well, I for one, have been eagerly waiting for this day to arrive -- I cannot deny that. But I hope you understand, Mister Bishop, that none of this truly means anything.”

I gave him a puzzled look. “What are you talking about?”

Atticus gestured to the world around us. “We’re nothing but a group of outcasts, Theodore. Whether you kill me, or I kill you, none of this will matter. In the end, civilization will only express relief at our demise, and they will happily forget that we ever existed. They’ll say, ‘Good. Let the savages kill each other.”

He let out a deep breath, staring at the ground. “...This is why revenge is pointless. This is why our little war will be no more than a raindrop in the storm to come. Because we mean nothing.”

I furrowed my brow out of frustration. “Then why bother chasing me like this? Why rip the country to shreds in an attempt to track me down? Why kill those who simply wish to protect me if we are ‘nothing?”

Atticus’ expression softened in a forlorn manner, and I could’ve sworn I saw a glimmer of the man he once was buried deep within his eyes.

“...Because I have nothing else to live for.” He answered truthfully. “It may be a mission doomed to end in futility, but this is the only thing I can do, now that Nathaniel’s dead. Just as killing me is the only thing you can do. ...Isn’t that right, Mister Bishop?”

Trying not to lose my resolve, I forced myself to keep my eyes on Atticus and clenched my hand into a fist, admittedly terrified of what was to come.

I wanted to shoot the man. I wanted to shoot him more than anything in the world. But...despite my natural impulses, something just...held me back.

What was wrong with me? Was I afraid of killing a man? I had done it before. What made it so hard to pull the trigger this time?

I supposed it was because I had witnessed Atticus’ past for myself. Sure, I had done my fair share of killing -- unfortunately -- but it was far easier to end a person’s life when you didn’t know their life.

With other enemies, the only thing I knew about them was that they were trying to hurt me. I had no other knowledge or interest concerning their previous experiences, and there had never been a reason for me to find out.

With Atticus, on the other hand...I watched him grow, just as he watched me. He guided me through the world alongside my father ever since I was just a young man, and treated me as if I was a second son.

We bonded over the years. We learned to trust each other. We became a family.

But...ever since Nathaniel’s death, everything just fell apart. Any redeeming qualities that Atticus once had were quickly replaced by a desire for vengeance, and the more he suffered due to his own sins, the more he desperately searched for something else to blame.

And, with time, the blame eventually fell on me.

But now, I realized. Simply pointing fingers at each other was no longer enough to help anything. Regardless of who was truly at fault, or who could’ve prevented this from happening, things had to be settled one way or another.

Atticus would have to kill me, or I’d have to kill him.

This was my reality, and it was time for me to wake up.

“...You murdered my family,” I recalled mournfully, thinking back to those horrible times. “You drove me away from my own home, and you took away the person I loved the most.”

Rose said nothing in response, so I continued.

“You ruined my life, Atticus. But I won’t let you take it.”

Using this opportunity to attack, I moved before Atticus could even have a chance to blink and aimed straight for his head, risking everything in a Hail-Mary attempt to finally finish him off.

As I brandished my revolver, time itself seemed to slow down. There were no second guesses or thoughts of hesitation holding me back, and for the first time in forever, I felt free of myself.

I had no fears, or worries, or doubts...I just did what I had to do, and the world seemed to hold its breath until I accomplished it.

I was finally where I had fought so long to be, and I would be damned if I didn’t take this opportunity.

Slamming the hammer on my gun down, I unleashed an array of bullets into Atticus’ torso as the man’s body jolted violently from the impact, causing him to collapse to his knees.

By now, there were clouds of blood evaporating into the air behind him, and with every second he spent staring at me in shock, the more I could see hints of Nathaniel’s presence lingering in his gaze.

It was the same look Nathaniel had when he knew his death had finally come knocking. It was a horrible sort of realization that carried a genuine sense of dread with it, but to be honest...I didn’t even know if that was an accurate description for it.

I had never been that close to death, after all. Yes, I had experienced a few close calls in my past, but I couldn’t even begin to comprehend how terminating its embrace truly felt. How...powerless it must’ve rendered someone. Especially someone like Atticus.

I mean, this was the same man who changed my entire world. This was the same man who grew up with the outlaws that murdered his parents, and eventually turned their gang into his own. He became a walking legend by the time he was my age, and later sacrificed all that glory in order to raise a family once he grew older.

He lived a life twice as adventurous as those who surpassed his own generation by decades, and yet...here he was. Mere moments away from meeting his maker, all because one person managed to slip through his fingers. All because he made one mistake.

...That was when it dawned on me.

Despite being the center of many legends, Atticus was no legend himself. He wasn’t the devil that civilization made him out to be, nor the invincible gunslinger his men saw him as.

In the end, he was only human. Nothing more than a father mourning the loss of his son, and a reflection of what I could’ve been if Arthur hadn’t been there to guide me.

He was the embodiment of everything I didn’t want to be, and so -- with a single bullet left in the chamber, I steadily approached the dying man as he knelt on the ground and held my gun up to his head, bidding him an incredibly delayed farewell before pulling the trigger one last time.

And just like that...Atticus was gone.

He fell backwards, plunging off the edge of this rock formation and disappearing into the vast nothingness below, vanishing as if he never existed.

Meanwhile, I stood there in disbelief, unable to comprehend what just happened.

Was...was that it?

Was that really the “glorious” moment I had spent all these years fighting tooth and nail for?

Was that all the end had in store for me?

I mean...I just took another person’s life, for God’s sake. I just killed the man who was responsible for all the suffering I’d endured, and yet...everything felt so mundane. So...empty.

The world didn’t realign itself like I expected. Instead, there was a definitive silence looming over us, and with the time I had to reflect on Atticus’ crimes, I simply used it to look at my own.

Goddammit...Arthur was right, wasn’t he?

I couldn’t deny that I felt a new sense of relief now that Atticus was dead, but there was nothing fulfilling about this sort of vengeance. In the end, I only found absence where peace once stood, and rather than falling into a state of serenity, my mind tore itself apart with an eternal list of questions.

It may have been the end of my war with Atticus and his gang, but it was not the end of this journey.

Calmly walking up to me from behind, Arthur placed a comforting hand on my shoulder and gently turned me around, giving me a look that said he knew exactly what I was feeling.

There was a sorrowful glint of familiarity in his deep blue eyes, and without even saying a word, I could tell that he was somewhat disappointed in me for not taking his advice.

But in spite of all that, there was still a faint smile hiding underneath his well-meaning glower.

Arthur understood that even though I made a mistake, the fact of the matter was: Atticus Rose was dead. Rodrick Kingsley was dead. Their entire gang was dead. And as for Dutch, well...we hadn’t seen any sign of him for weeks.

All these men who had pursued us for so long were finally out of our lives, and we were free of them, at last.

For the first time in years...our future was in our own hands.

It may not have been the triumphant victory that I envisioned, but it was a moment worth celebrating nonetheless.

I cupped Arthur’s face with my hands and gazed longingly at him, smiling ecstatically once Atticus’ death sunk in.

“Arthur...” I whispered softly, caressing his cheek, “...we’re free.” A cheerful giggle escaped me. “...We’re finally free!”

Arthur returned the laugh and pulled me into a embrace, holding tightly onto me.

“I’ll be damned,” he said, clearly in disbelief. “We actually did it. We goddamned did it. We’re...we’re gonna free men. We made it.”

I lightly stroked my fingers down Arthur’s bearded jaw and tilted my head in admiration, unable to take my eyes off his adorably crooked smile.

“Thanks to you. I may have killed Atticus, but I never would’ve reached him without your help. I...I owe you so much, Arthur.”

The outlaw beamed at that and affectionately gripped my wrist, offering his own praise.

“Aw, you helped me with a lotta things too, Eddie. Just in ways you don’t know.”

I chuckled, taking a step back from Arthur. “Well, I suppose we can talk about it later. For now though...” I glanced at the southern horizon, “I think you and I have a ship to catch. Shall we be off?”

The other man picked up Atticus’ revolver from the ground and wiped it clean, smirking at me as we took our leave.

“We shall.”

~~~~~~~~~~

From Arthur’s POV

A FEW MINUTES LATER

Gallopin’ freely through New Hanover’s open meadows, Eddie and I savored the natural beauty surrounding us as we steadily made our way to Saint Denis, eager to say goodbye to this hurricane of a country.

At the moment, Eddie’s head was calmly restin’ on my shoulder and his arms were tied loosely around my waist, allowing the poor pianist to finally find some solace in the midst of this mayhem.

I was still attached to the spontaneous nature of America in a number of different ways -- that was true -- but after witnessing the whole showdown between Eddie and Atticus...I couldn’t help but wonder if, perhaps, it was time to leave all this chaos behind.

I mean, I'd be lyin’ if I said I weren’t gonna miss the excitement of livin’ as a gunslinger, but all the violence and death that came along with it -- that weren’t the kinda lifestyle I wanted for Eddie.

He was a good man. He deserved a good future. One that didn’t involve crime, or bounty-hunting, or livin’ in the ass-end of the wilderness. It was my job, as his friend and as his partner, to get serious about settling down and start caring about other people.

Maybe we’d live somewhere in the countryside. Work away from the pandemonium of the cities. Earn our money like honest folk. I didn’t know how the hell England worked, but I was ready to learn if it meant livin’ a free life with Eddie.

He was all that mattered to me now, and Lord knew I had wavin’ this gun around for far too long.

I may have started out my life as a criminal, but it was time for me to move on from Dutch’s society, and pursue a normal career.

I doubted I’d ever truly be a civilized man at heart -- I couldn’t deny that -- but I was always gonna be a free one. And if findin’ my freedom meant giving up my ties to the Wild West, then so be it.

Right now, his was our only path to a stable, secure future...and I’d be damned if we turned back.

[reddieforlove-archive-blog]

Different

The apartment was unusually quiet when Richie walked through the door, even though it was fairly late at night. He couldn’t even hear the usual soft music that played back in their bedroom when Eddie was reading or relaxing in there. If it wasn’t for Eddie’s shoes neatly set by the door and his jacket hung on the coat rack, Richie would have wondered if he was there at all.

He made his way slowly back to the bedroom, feeling just worried enough to forget about taking off his own shoes and jacket. As soon as he peeked into the bedroom, Richie’s shoulders dropped and he let out a small sigh at the sight of his boyfriend curled up beneath a blanket on the bed, his eyes closed and his face relaxed in sleep.

Eddie looked beautiful like this, illuminated only by a lamp on the nightstand. Not that he didn’t always, but there was something particularly exquisite about him when he was asleep. Richie set the small shopping bag in his hands on the end of the bed, finally stripping off his jacket and kicking away his shoes before kneeling next to the bed. He hesitated to reach out, not wanting to disturb him just yet.

The last thing Richie wanted to do was wake Eddie up, especially since he had such a hard time sleeping some nights, but he knew that the other man wouldn’t be happy if Richie let him sleep on. Not today. It was too special. So he finally stroked his thumb over Eddie’s cheek and ran his fingers gently through his hair. Eddie stirred slowly and titled his head towards Richie’s touch without opening his eyes.

“Hey gorgeous,” Richie said quietly.

“M’sleepy,” Eddie mumbled.

“I know,” he said, brushing a kiss over his lips.

Richie knew that Eddie wasn’t too upset when he pulled away and Eddie chased his lips with a noise of protest.

“I got something for you,” he said, brushing his thumb over Eddie’s jaw. “For us.”

Eddie perked up a little, finally opening his eyes to blink at him sleepily.

“There he is,” Richie murmured, smiling at him.

“What do you have?” he asked, his voice a little rough with sleep.

Richie held up a finger, leaning in to kiss him deeper. Eddie responded more this time, opening his mouth easily when Richie’s tongue traced over his bottom lip. The longer they kissed, the more he woke up until he was trying to roll onto his back and pull Richie onto the bed.

“Not yet.”

Richie pulled away, brushing one last soft kiss over his lips. Then he tilted his head towards the end of the bed and Eddie followed the gesture, his cheeks filling with color at the sight of the familiar logo on the otherwise plain black shopping bag.

“You went there?” he asked.

“Couldn’t resist,” Richie said, lazily stroking over the back of Eddie’s neck. “Wanna see what I got?”

Eddie sank his teeth into his lower lip and nodded, watching as Richie grinned and stood up. He sat on the bed and wasted no time in picking up the bag as Eddie scooted in closer, undeniably curious. Richie pulled out the small, thin box inside, letting him see the label on it.

“Oh,” Eddie breathed out, his eyes widening a little.

“Happy Anniversary weekend, baby,” Richie said, his eyes twinkling as he opened the box. “You wanna try it out?”

“Yes.”

There was zero hesitation in his response and Richie felt his body grow warmer at that one simple word.

“I’m gonna wash it and clean myself up a little,” Richie said, pulling out the sleek silver vibrator. “You wanna start getting yourself ready?”

Eddie nodded again, reaching for the nightstand where they kept the lube. Richie pecked his lips with a small kiss before walking into the en suite bathroom. He stripped down to his boxers and splashed water onto his face, cooling himself off a little before running the vibrator under warm water and washing it thoroughly, knowing that Eddie wouldn’t accept any less even if it was brand new.

It was only when he shut off the water that Richie heard Eddie’s hitching breaths from the other room. He moved quickly, pausing in the doorway to admire the sight that awaited him. Eddie was on his knees, ass in the air with two slicked up fingers pushing in and out slowly. His face was pressed into a pillow as he fingered himself, his strangled breaths muffled.

“Damn, Spaghetti Man,” Richie said, letting out a low whistle as he shook his head, squeezing his hand around his dick where it throbbed in his boxers.

Eddie huffed out an almost laugh, turning his flushed face towards Richie.

“I hate you so much.”

“Liar,” Richie brushed off easily, crossing over to the bed again.

He laid the vibrator right next to Eddie, catching onto the way his dark eyes settled on the toy with want. Richie took advantage of his distraction, pulling his hand away from his hole before slicking up his own fingers. When he pressed two fingers in, Eddie moaned and pushed his hips back. Richie stroked his fingers in and out slowly, taking his time to prep him, not wanting any part of this to be uncomfortable.

“I love you,” he said softly, pressing a kiss over Eddie’s spine as he kneeled on the bed behind him.

“Love you,” Eddie said, his voice slightly strained.

Richie curled his fingers a little, searching out that sweet spot. It didn’t take him long to find and Eddie’s cry of pleasure filled the room as he rubbed at it in slow circles. Then he pulled his fingers out and Eddie whimpered at the loss, his hands clenching at the blankets beneath him.

“C’mon,” Richie said, wiping his fingers on his boxers. “Lay on your back for me.”

Eddie turned over quickly, lying back with his head on the same pillow. His thighs parted easily as Richie nudged them open.

“You ready?” Richie asked.

Eddie nodded, looking eagerly at the vibrator once more. Richie picked it up along with the lube, making sure to coat it with a generous layer. Eddie watched with rapt attention, excitement lighting up his eyes.

“I’m gonna make this last, baby boy,” Richie said, rubbing a soothing hand over Eddie’s thigh. “You ready for that?”

“Yes ,” Eddie breathed.

“You’re so good for me,” Richie praised.

He reached up, grabbing a pillow to raise Eddie’s hips a little. Then he began teasing his hole with the tip of the vibrator, earning a small whimper as Eddie tried to push down, wanting to take it all in. But Richie used his free hand to hold Eddie’s hip, squeezing it gently.

“I got you,” he assured Eddie.

Richie pressed the toy in slowly, just getting an inch or so in before pulling it back out again. He continued that small torture, slipping it in and out just enough to tease Eddie. He was rewarded with gasps and whines from the beautiful boy underneath him, watching as sweat gathered at Eddie’s hairline and the flush from his cheeks made its way down to his throat and chest. Leaning down, he licked a stripe up Eddie’s cock and relished in the slow moan Eddie let out.

“Please, Rich,” Eddie pleaded, trembling a little beneath him. “I need…I need…”

Richie closed his mouth over his tip, teasing at the slit with his tongue as he slid the vibrator in just a little more, finally using his thumb to turn it on the lowest setting. Eddie gasped and jerked as a quiet hum filled the air. Richie pulled away, unable to resist looking down at him. It was the first time they’d ever done something quite like this and he was curious.

“How does it feel?”

Eddie’s chest was heaving and his eyes were squeezed shut but he opened his mouth to answer after a moment of hesitation.

“Different,” he said, sounding a little desperate.

“Good?” Richie asked.

Eddie nodded, dragging his eyes open.

“I want more.”

Richie wanted nothing more than to forget the vibrator and fuck him at the sound of the need in his voice but he wasn’t ready to do that yet. His thumb turned up the intensity of the vibrations and he finally pushed it all the way in. Eddie arched his back, letting out a low keening noise that Richie had never heard him make before. It didn’t take long for Richie to start fucking him with the vibrator, sliding it in and out slowly as Eddie’s hips rolled and pressed down.

“I’m-I’m gonna…Richie…I’m gonna come…”

Richie turned up the vibrator another notch and Eddie cried out his name, his hand twitching towards his cock. That was when Richie pulled it out and switched off, leaving him panting and still hard, his face screwed up in displeasure at being left on the edge with no satisfaction. Richie kissed over his thighs softly, letting him come down from the near orgasm.

When he was certain that Eddie was cooled off a little, he began kissing his way up his stomach to his chest, flicking one nipple with his thumb as he stroked his tongue around the other. Richie dropped the vibrator to the bed, gently wrapping his fingers around Eddie’s cock to stroke him slowly and purposefully, twisting his wrist and teasing at the tip while Eddie writhed and moaned underneath him.

“Please…fuck…please let me…I need to come…Ri-Richie…please!”

Just as Eddie began thrusting into his hand, Richie pulled away again and sat back, earning a blistering curse of frustration. Eddie’s chest was rising and falling quickly and his breathing was heavy enough that Richie watched him for a few moments, hoping that his asthma wouldn’t act up. But he nodded once he caught his breath, silently letting Richie know that he was okay.

“Can you get on your knees again for me?” Richie asked, stroking a hand through Eddie’s hair.

“Uh huh,” Eddie said, pushing himself up slowly.

The time it took for him to turn over brought him down from the edge again and pretty soon he was braced on his elbows. Richie picked up the vibrator again, pressing it into him again before switching it on. Eddie let out a small cry, pressing back into it desperately. Richie set a relentless pace this time, not giving him much time to get used to it.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Eddie whimpered, his entire body shaking with the effort of keeping himself up. “I can’t…I can’t…too much…”

Richie pulled it out again, running a gentle hand over Eddie’s back.

“You need a break?”

Eddie shook his head quickly, pushing himself up to sit.

“I want you to fuck me, Rich.”

That was all that Richie needed to hear. He staggered off of the bed, trying to shuck off his boxers and grab a condom from the nightstand at the same time, winding up nearly crashing into the wall as Eddie let out a soft snicker from where he sat.

“Smooth,” he said.

“Only for you, baby,” Richie said, recovering quickly with a wink as he ripped open the condom.

Eddie was still smiling slightly in spite of the frustrated tears shining on his cheeks. Richie cupped his face gently once he rolled the condom on, kissing him deeply and languidly as he pressed him back to the bed before grabbing the bottle of lube for the last time. Once his cock was slick, he nudged at Eddie’s hole and pressed in slowly.

Richie groaned when Eddie gripped at his ass, pleading for him to go harder and faster even as Richie fucked into him with with deep, purposeful strokes that did very little to satisfy his aching need to come.

“You’re so good,” he praised, watching pleasure and desperation cross Eddie’s face in equal measure. “I want you to come, Eds.”

Richie fucked into him faster even as he spoke, reaching between them to stroke his cock. It took only a few moments for Eddie to sob out Richie’s name and spill over his stomach, his hips thrusting upwards as Richie continued his quick pace. A tear rolled down Eddie’s cheek at the intensity of his orgasm, the sheer overstimulation making him feel wrung out and tired.

It didn’t take too long for Richie to follow, the sight of Eddie looking so thoroughly fucked underneath him wringing every last bit of pleasure from his body as he continued thrusting through his orgasm. Richie pressed his face into Eddie’s shoulder, kissing along the heated skin there as he pulled out. Eddie winced a little at the soreness he already felt in his limbs but didn’t hesitate to kiss Richie when he lifted his head.

“That was fucking amazing,” Richie said, tying the condom once he pulled it off.

He tugged his boxers back on before going into the bathroom to throw it away. Eddie waited for him to come back, clearly wanting to cuddle, but Richie left the room instead with an assurance that he would be right back. Though he certainly wouldn’t own up to it later, Eddie couldn’t quite deny that he was pouting at being left alone. Then Richie came back with a glass of water and some peanut butter crackers.

“I think you should eat something,”

Eddie pushed himself up to sit, feeling a surge of gratitude. Richie slipped in to sit behind him, tugging Eddie to rest back against his chest before handing him a cracker to eat slowly. They weren’t in a hurry, both munching on the crackers and sipping at the water. Richie pressed a kiss to Eddie’s temple as he leaned his head into his shoulder, his body relaxing more and more as he grew sleepy.

“Thank you, Rich,” Eddie breathed out.

“I just wanted to make it special for you,” Richie said, stroking his thumb over Eddie’s knuckles.

“I noticed,” Eddie remarked, smiling a little. “You haven’t even made any jokes about my mom all day. I don’t know how you’ve survived.”

“Well now that you mention it…”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he said, sounding like he sincerely regretted bringing it up.

Richie let out a laugh, nuzzling at his hair.

“Happy Anniversary weekend,” he said again.

“Happy Anniversary weekend,” Eddie echoed, bringing Richie’s hand up to kiss the back of it softly. “Can’t wait for tomorrow if that’s just the first night.”

“Me neither,” Richie said.

They wordlessly agreed to slip down beneath the blankets after a while, falling asleep entwined in each other’s arms. They kissed there for a long time, pouring every bit of their love into the embrace until they drifted off into sleep.

[anxiousbich]

Young, Dumb, & Broke Ch. 3

Originally posted on AO3

This isn’t the first time Eddie has wondered how this has become his life. He’s standing in the small refrigerated food aisle of the CVS he frequents. He’s been here a thousand times with a list in his mother’s chicken scratch bulleting her prescriptions and a few groceries. This time is no different. Except that it is. He’s made it this far with the intention of grabbing some eggs and a small carton of milk, but he’s frozen, his lungs are tight, his fingers are shaky, and his eyes are rapidly pooling with tears he can’t control.

           Eddie has felt off for the 2 and half weeks since he saw Richie for the last time, drifting between horrible self-loathing regret and certainty that he made the right choice, masochistically looking at all the selfies and little videos Richie had taken on Eddie’s phone. More than once in that time he’s had to physically keep the phone out of his hands, afraid he’d give in and message Richie when he was at his lowest. Eddie is in love with him. He can’t pretend anymore and that’s why he can never see him again.

           A sob bubbles up in his throat, he clenches the list in his hand and bites his lip tight, successfully keeping it down. There’s almost no one around but he feels like there are eyes all around him and the lights are so bright-

           “Bev,” a stranger’s voice suddenly hisses off to his right. His head jerks around, his eyes wide, tears spilling freely down his face. A young red headed woman is standing only a foot away from him, concern etched into her face, and her hand reaching while a handsome man with a stocky build stands a few feet behind her looking split between nervous and sympathetic. Eddie didn’t even know they were there.

           “Are you okay?” the woman asks in a gentle voice devoid of judgement. He shrinks in on himself, looking away with shame and wiping futilely at his cheeks with trembling hands.

           “I’m… I’m fine,” Eddie replies, his voice smaller and more broken than he would have hoped for, “S-sorry, I’m okay, th-thanks.” He expects the duo to leave, maybe the man urging the woman along, they’ve done their good deed and they can feel good knowing they’ve tried. But they don’t. The man has taken a step closer and his expression has settled on concern. The red head looks over her shoulder, making eye contact with the man in a brief wordless conversation, before reaching over and grabbing Eddie’s wrist.

           Eddie’s eyes widen in shock but his brain feels like it’s dragging through molasses and before he really registers what’s happening, the woman is pulling him towards the bathrooms in the back of the store, confidence evident in her stride.

           “Beverly!” the man calls in a harsh whisper, nervously looking around while she pushes the door to the men’s bathroom open without concern. Luckily, it’s empty, not that Eddie thinks that would stop this stranger – Beverly. Beverly leads him to the sinks and lets him go in favor of grabbing a number of paper towels. She wets them with warm water and begins gently dabbing his face. The man nervously stands near the door, acting as a look out in case someone tries to come in.

           Eddie knows this is weird, he should be scared, terrified, that these people he doesn’t even know have manhandled him where they want him while he’s vulnerable, but instead he wants to give into the care. A small whimper slips from his throat against his will. Beverly’s careful cleaning stills in response, but continues when Eddie’s leans into the paper towel. It takes a moment but Eddie finally gets himself under control. Beverly does one more swipe of her damp towel and tosses it then grabs a fresh dry one. She lifts it to Eddie’s face but he grabs it before she can continue her efforts despite how much he’s enjoying her doting.

           “I’m so sorry,” he says, voice scratchy as he dabs at his face. Beverly frowns and eyes Eddie’s greasy hair and wrinkled clothes.

           “What’s your name?” she asks instead of acknowledging the apology.

           He mulls over all the things his mother has spewed about stranger danger for only a second before he says, “Eddie.” Beverly smiles softly, making her already pretty face even more beautiful.

           “I’m Beverly,” she introduces, “And this is Ben,” she gestures at the man who gives him a small smile and a little wave when Eddie looks at him. Beverly’s face softens back into concern. “Now, who do I need to beat up?” she asks, her lips tugging up at the corners to show she’s joking. Eddie can’t help but smile a little at her, before it falls again.

           “It’s… dumb… I’m being dumb,” Eddie mumbles more to himself, shaking his head. He unclenches the fist that had a death grip on his list and frowns at the mangled note. Beverly frowns. She looks at Ben again, another silent conversation passing between them. It’s clear they’ve known each other a long time.

           “We’re… on our way to meet up with our friends,” Beverly says slowly as she drags her eyes from Ben and back to Eddie, leaning her hip against the sink counter.

           “How about you come with us?” Ben finishes for her. Eddie stares between them with wide eyes. Ben gives him a disarming smile. “They can be jerks sometimes but they’re great, I’m sure they won’t mind.” Beverly’s smile is blinding as she looks at Ben with pride shining in her eyes. Beverly reaches over with only a small amount of hesitance before weaving her fingers with Eddie’s, gripping his hand tight. Her palm is soft but her fingers have callouses and there’s a Band-Aid on her index finger. He feels grounded by the hold.

           Eddie can still hear his mother’s shrill voice yelling at him when her crocodile tears didn’t work to pull him from his funk. He remembers the terrified numbness he’d felt when he grabbed the list and his wallet and bolted for the door. He squeezes Beverly’s hand back and nods. Ben comes over and pats his shoulder with a smile. Beverly takes a moment to fix Eddie’s neglected hair and straightens out his clothes a little before leading him out into the store. They grab the cigarettes Beverly had come in to get and walk the few blocks it takes to get to the cozy bar that Ben and Bev’s friends are at. The entire walk Ben and Beverly talk to each other in a companionable way, including Eddie where they can without putting all of the attention on him, and Beverly doesn’t let go of his hand once. It’s nice and he suddenly wishes more than ever that he’d showered.

           The moment they enter the bar, Eddie reflectively squeezes Beverly’s hand tightly, taking in the small crowd of people filling the space. He forces his hand to relax, afraid to hurt her, but Beverly squeezes his hand back fiercely while the two friends scan the crowd. Ben seems to spot who they’re looking for and grabs Beverly’s other hand, leading her and Eddie towards the bar counter where a smartly dressed man with carefully coiled spring curls is chuckling at something a man with short ginger, almost identical in shade to Beverly’s, has said. The ginger haired man is the first to notice them.

           He looks up and smiles, lighting his face up in a lovely way. His eyes drift to Eddie and Eddie can almost hear the confused noise he must be making based on the way the red haired man’s face pinches. Eddie’s eyes hit the floor before the curly haired man has the chance to meet his eyes. When they reach the bar, Beverly lightly knocks her shoulder against his. He lifts his head with some hesitation.

           “This pretty boy is Stan,” Beverly introduces, gesturing to the sharp eyed man in front of them, “And that one over there is Bill.” Stan’s eyes are trained on Eddie, flicking over his greasy hair, bloodshot eyes, messy clothes, and the tight grip he has on Beverly’s hand. Bill is giving him an open easy smile and rolling his eyes as Beverly.

           “Oh, ‘th-that one o-oh-over th-there’, thanks,” Bill teases. Beverly grins at him.

           “And this is Eddie, he’ll be joining us,” Beverly says with an air of finality. She pats the bar stool next to Eddie in offering. Eddie’s eyes flick up to Stan nervously, but he decides to just do as she says and slips in beside Stan, careful not to let their legs brush.

           “Beverly,” Stan says without taking his sharp eyes off of Eddie, “Where did you pick this one up from?” Eddie anxiously rolls a bar napkin between his fingers, his eyes trained on the countertop. Beverly’s expression sours.

           “Don’t be a dick, Stan,” she says, her tone leaving no room for argument. Stan’s eyes finally flick away from Eddie to land on her and the only shift in his expression is an uptick in his brows. Bill and Ben watch the two nervously. Beverly slips into the small space between Eddie and Stan so she acts as a physical barrier. Eddie shifts to the very edge of the seat and wonders if this was all a massive mistake. “He’s having a hard time, be nice,” she demands in a harsh whisper. Her face softens a little, “Just trust me.” Stan stares at her for a long moment but whatever passes between them seems to be enough because she moves from between them and settles on the seat on Eddie’s other side while Ben sits beside her and they start chatting.

           Eddie doesn’t lift his head but he can feel Stan’s eyes on him. Stan lifts his finger, eyes on the bartender who comes to him immediately. “What would you like?” Stan’s voice unexpectedly turns the question on Eddie whose head jerks up in surprise. Stan stares at him expectantly.

           “Uh,” Eddie mumbles, glancing at Stan’s fancy margarita and the simple beer Bill is sipping from, “Um, just a ginger ale please, um, thank you.”

           “I’d like a ginger ale, a strawberry daiquiri, and a vodka and coke,” Stan tells the bartender who nods along, “Thank you.” The bartender moves on to make their drinks and take more orders. Eddie continues to roll the napkin between his fingers over and over again. Stan props his elbow on the counter and rests his chin on his fist, watching his fiddling. “What do you do?” Stan asks him.

           Eddie swallows thickly and shakes his head, “I live with my mom,” he admits quietly, voice laced with shame, “I spend a lot of time taking care of her.” It’s a futile attempt to make it sound less pathetic than it is and he knows it. Stan’s expression doesn’t change.

           “Where did you meet Beverly?” Stan asks next. Eddie chews on his bottom lip.

           “The CVS down the street,” he says quietly, self-consciously wiping under his eye as if he might find evidence of his breakdown, “She helped me out.” Eddie risks a look at Stan and he’s surprised to find Stan’s face has softened considerably. A moment of silence passes between them before Stan straightens in his seat.

           “Well, you must be hungry,” he says, accepting the drinks when they’re set down before him and passes Ben and Beverly their drinks before sliding Eddie his ginger ale, “This place isn’t known for its food but even this place can’t fuck up a basket of fries.” Eddie smiles softly, his image of Stan as rigid and frightening beginning to melt away. He requires that Eddie use his hand sanitizer first, but Stan shares a basket between him, Eddie, and Bill, and Eddie is surprised to find himself loosening up, chatting with the group with an ease he’s only ever felt with one person.

           About half a basket of fries later and a refill of ginger ale later, Bill checks his phone, not for the first time, and leans towards Stan. Eddie catches, “Th-they’re almost h-heh-here.”

           Stan’s expression turns momentarily grave and he mutters, “Took them long enough,” which earns him a glare and a nudge from Bill. Eddie wants to ask what’s going on but he doesn’t want to intrude. It turns out he doesn’t need to wait long.

           A few moments later a man moves quickly through the crowd and wraps an arm around Bill and Stan’s shoulders, shocking Eddie a little by pressing a quick kiss to Bill’s lips and then Stan’s. That shock is nothing compared to the way his stomach drops when he realizes he recognizesthe attractive black man who’s hurriedly telling Bill and Stan, “He’s right behind me, go easy on him.” Things are starting to click in his head.

           “You’re Stan,” Eddie breathes without realizing the words have left his lips. Stan looks at Eddie in confusion then with concern when he sees the way Eddie’s face has paled. The man, Mike, his name is Mike, looks up curiously, before his mouth drops open in recognition. Eddie jerks to his feet, drawing the attention of Bill, Beverly, and Ben. Eddie and Mike both open their mouths as if to speak. Eddie has no idea what he plans to say, but it doesn’t matter because a new voice interrupts them both.

           “The king of comedy has arrived, please keep your tits in your shirts and your dick your pants.” Eddie’s heart stops in his chest and his throat constricts. Mike closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, bracing himself. Richie squeezes through the two tables nearby and Eddie can’t fucking breath.

           Richie isn’t looking much better than Eddie. Oh, he looks more put together than Eddie, but Eddie can see the greasy messy quality of his hair, the creasing of an unwashed shirt, and the way his sharp cheekbones look even sharper than Eddie remember, like he hasn’t been eating enough. But god, he’s still beautiful and it hurts. Richie sees Eddie and his eyes widen, huge, behind his glasses. His glasses. Eddie has never seen him with his glasses and somehow that adds another layer to his torment. They’re as dorky as Richie always lamented, thick and not particularly stylish, but so fucking cute. Fuck.

           “Eds?” Richie sounds as breathless as Eddie feels. This was such a mistake. Stan is staring at them with dawning understanding.

           “Is this… is this the guy?” Stan asks, his voice trembling with shock or maybe rage, Eddie doesn’t care, because his vision is starting to go a little spotty and the dim light of the bar is suddenly way too much.

           “I can’t-,” Eddie takes a wheezy breath in, “I can’t breathe.” Eddie moves away, pushing through the space, desperately heading for the door of the bar.

           “Hey! Wait!” Stan calls. Eddie vaguely acknowledges a small scuffle behind him and loud overlapping voices, but the walls are starting to feel too close so he can’t care right now. He pushes through the door, the small bell above the door jingling, and he takes a large gulping breath of the crisp night air. He wraps his arms around his abdomen, folding over his arms, and a sob pushes up his chest. He hears a jingle of the bell from behind him and he quietly prays it’s just someone heading home that will give him a weird look and move on, but Eddie doesn’t have that kind of luck.

           “Eds,” Richie voice says quietly from behind him, it sounds off, but Eddie doesn’t understand why, “You gotta breathe.” Eddie hates himself because even now his entire being is screaming at him to go to Richie, embrace him, and breathe in what Eddie realistically knows probably smells a bit like stale clothes, BO, and excessive amounts of cologne to cover it all up.

           “I’m-,” Eddie gasps in a wheezy breath, “I’m trying.” There’s silence that’s only filled by the crunch of passing cars and Eddie’s wheezing and he thinks maybe Richie left him alone. Then there are footsteps and big familiar hands on his shoulders, guiding him to the bench just outside the bar, and pushes him to sit. Eddie goes willingly and curls up, folding in half and taking slow deep breaths. Richie stands beside him before settling down next to him, careful to keep them from touching. Richie sighs, leaning back against the bar wall, his head thunking against the brick lightly.

           Eddie’s breathing slowly evens out. Richie huffs a poor excuse for a laugh, “You really know how to surprise a guy, Eds,” Richie says. Eddie unfurls himself, leaning back against the wall, mirroring Richie. He turns his head, the need to look at Richie outweighing his own self-preservation. He drinks his profile in. Richie must feel his stare because he turns his head. Richie drinks him in right back.

           “How are you?” Eddie asks quietly, unsure of what else to say.

           Richie’s face contorts in pain. “Fuck, Eds,” he groans, turning away and covering his face with his hand. He takes his glasses off and massages the bridge of his nose. Eddie turns his face away and down, gnawing at his bottom lip.

           “What?”

           Richie puts his glasses back on and looks at him again. He opens his mouth, thinks better of it, before taking a noisy breath and asking, “Why did you runaway?” Eddie weaves his fingers together in his lap anxiously. “I thought… Did I do something you didn’t like?” Richie asks, his voice betraying his pain, “Did I hurt you?” Eddie’s head whips around to stare at Richie and finds his face pinches, and Eddie realizes Richie has been stewing, over Eddie. Richie thinks he hurt Eddie.

           At his best, Eddie thought Richie didn’t even think of him, at worst he hated him or thought he was a freak, but Richie thinks he did something wrong. Eddie is such an asshole. Eddie grabs Richie’s forearm tightly, “No, no Richie, you didn’t do anything bad,” Eddie tells him, desperate to make Richie believe him. Richie glances briefly down at Eddie’s grip before settling on Eddie’s face, his eyes wide and not entirely believing. “Richie… it was…,” Eddie says softly, looking for the right word, before breathing out, “Amazing.”

           Richie appears to physically relax, if only a little. Eddie stares down at his grip on Richie’s arm, fixated on the warmth and the soft dark hairs under his palms. His thumb strokes over a freckle and Richie breathes in sharply, but doesn’t pull away. “Why did you run, Eds?” Richie asks again, his voice soft but tight.

           Eddie doesn’t look at him, he can’t, when he says, “It hurt to know you didn’t love me.” Richie’s forearm flexes as he clenches his fists and Eddie slowly pulls his hands away, resting them in his lap again. He feels strangely calm. “Because I do,” he says it like it’s a fact, nodding along to his words before looking Richie in the eyes. He clenches his jaw and steels himself, “I love you, Richie.”

           Eddie really doesn’t know what he’s expecting. Maybe it makes him a jackass for always thinking the worst of Richie, but the truth is there’s a part of Eddie that still thinks he’s too good to be true and it’ll turn out everything Eddie knows about him was just a character he put on while they were together. When he looks, Richie’s mouth is hanging open and his magnified eyes are huge and vulnerable.

           “Eds,” Richie says, voice cracking, “Eds, Eds, Eds.” He reaches over, his hand hangs in the air for a moment before settling it on Eddie’s cheek. Eddie leans into it immediately and Richie’s next breath shudders out of him. Eddie’s throat clenches and his eyes sting as he reaches up to cover the back of Richie’s hand with his own, curling his small fingers around it.

           “I’m so sorry, Richie,” he says softly. Richie barks out a laugh of surprise.

           “Why?” Richie asks, cupping Eddie’s other cheek, cradling his face, “Why the fuck are you apologizing?”

           “I put you through all this bullshit,” Eddie spits the word out, “And now I’m putting this on you.”

           Richie stares at Eddie in disbelief, “How can you be such a fucking idiot?” he asks incredulously, shaking Eddie’s head back and forth quickly until Eddie’s eyeballs are practically vibrating in his head.

           “H-hey!” Eddie yells, offended and dizzy, smacking at Richie’s shoulder until Richie stops shaking him. “What the hell, Rich!?”

           Richie huffs and pulls Eddie forward and plants a firm passionate kiss to Eddie’s lips. Eddie gasps softly. Richie pulls away. “Such an idiot,” Richie mumbles, expression dazed. Eddies pushes Richie’s hands aside and wraps his arms around Richie’s neck.

           “Shut up,” Eddie whispers, pulling Richie back in for another kiss, taking his time to savor Richie’s lips. Richie locks his arms around Eddie’s hips. The angle is awkward and Eddie makes a frustrated noise in his throat before boldly crawling into Richie’s lap, straddling his hips. Richie sighs contentedly, running his hands up Eddie’s back, working their tongues together. Someone in a passing car wolf whistles and honks their horn. The two jerk apart in surprise. Eddie flushes in embarrassment but doesn’t move out of Richie’s space.

           Richie chuckles, running a hand up into Eddie’s hair. Eddie looks down at Richie, noting the bags under his eyes. He strokes his thumb under Richie’s eye gently while Richie stares up at him with a soft smile. “I’ve been going crazy, Eds.”

           “Me too,” Eddie admits. He presses himself closer, shoving his face into Richie’s neck, hugging him tight. Richie hugs him back, fisting the back of Eddie’s shirt. Richie’s heavy cologne stings his nose, but he presses his face closer. Distantly Eddie hears the bell above the bar’s door jingle, he figures it’s another customer leaving, but then he hears Bill’s voice.

           “Y-Yuh-You Okay?” Bill asks, eyeing their position curiously. Eddie reluctantly lifts his head, looking nervously between them. Bill seems surprised to find Richie with a big smile on his face.

           “Yeah, Big Bill, I’m good,” Richie tells him, sounding nothing but genuine. Eddie can’t help but lean in and plant a kiss on his cheek, making Richie laugh quietly and squeeze Eddie’s hips affectionately.

           “You s-sh-should tell St-St-Stan that,” Bill advises him, “Mike had to f-fuh-physically hold him b-back.” Richie sighs, knocking his head against the wall with a groan while Eddie crawls off Richie’s lap. Eddie shoots Bill another nervous glance, he can’t imagine he has a very good standing with Richie’s friends anymore. Bill doesn’t seem particularly hostile but he’s eyeing Eddie with a new found curiosity.

           Richie plants his hands on his knees with a “Hup,” as he stands and heads towards the door that Bill is still holding open. He pauses in the doorway when Eddie just continues to stand on the sidewalk. “You comin’?” Richie asks, holding a hand out.

           “Uh,” Eddie mumbles, rolling the hem of his shirt between his fingers anxiously, “You should talk to them, I’d be a distraction.”

           “If you think after all that I’m letting you out of my sight, you’re a bigger idiot than a thought,” Richie says with a wicked grin, wigging his fingers invitingly. Eddie shoots Richie a sharp look but reaches out, takes his hand, loving the way Richie’s big palm engulfs his hand, and goes to his side.

           “If you call me an idiot one more time, I’m going to drop kick you,” Eddie warns. Richie tosses his head back and laughs, it’s a beautiful sight, leading Eddie inside.

           “I’d like to see you try with those cute little legs,” Richie teases, pinching Eddie’s cheek with his free hand. Eddie slaps Richie’s hand away and jerks his knee up, aiming for Richie’s hip. Richie yelps, jerking away, and laughs. He releases Eddie’s hand and instead wraps his arm around Eddie’s shoulders, pulling Eddie close to his side. Eddie huffs in annoyance but feels happier than he has in weeks and he can’t help the smile that stretches over his face. He wraps his arm around Richie’s waist and presses his cheek to Richie’s pec. Richie definitely needs a new shirt. Unbeknownst to them, Bill watches the whole interaction with a thoughtful expression as he trails behind them.

           When they get closer, Stan is still sitting in his seat, but Mike is sitting beside him with a firm hand on his shoulder, and Beverly and Ben are standing in front of them while they appear to all be in a heated discussion. Eddie grips the fabric of Richie’s shirt near Richie’s hip, his heart rate rocketing back up. Despite having Richie at his side again, he can’t help but feel sad. He thought he was really starting to make friends with them, his first real friends, and now they probably thought he was a crazy asshole who’s been making their friend miserable. Mike catches sight of them and his eyes widen in surprise.

           His hand must’ve gone lax because Stan suddenly shoots up, glaring at Mike and straightening his shirt before he realizes all of his friends aren’t paying attention to him anymore. His sharp eyes turn on Richie and Eddie. Bill moves around them, grabbing his half full beer, and slides into the seat Eddie vacated beside Stan. He seems wholly unconcerned compared to his tense friends as he runs his index finger over the mouth of his beer.

           “What the hell is going on, Richie?” Stan asks, glancing at Eddie briefly before fixing his eyes on Richie.

           “A whole whole lot, Stanny-boy,” Richie says with a grin. Stan frowns in confusion. He clenches his eyes closed and takes a harsh breath through his nose.

           “I need you to stop fucking around for 30 god damn seconds,” Stan says, voice tight with frustration, “Because I have had to watch you mope around and be miserable for 3 fucking weeks and you wouldn’t tell me anything and now this guy shows up and- and what the fuck, Richie?” Even Eddie can see that Stan has been worried out of his mind. He’s sure they all have based on the nods of agreement he sees from the others, but Stan has had a front row seat to whatever funk Richie has been in and Eddie feels insanely guilty. He’s too much of a coward to speak right now but he hopes it’s clear on his face. He glances over at Richie and is relieved to find that his face has morphed into one of guilt and remorse.

           Richie turns his head and meets Eddie’s eyes, “Can I tell them?” he asks. Eddie’s eyes widen. Richie wants… his permission? The way they met, the things they did, it all revealed something personal, things Eddie finds shameful, about himself, and Richie is asking him if it’s okay. Richie never gave out his friends’ names intentionally, he said he did it out of respect for them, not giving personal information about them, but he did tell him other things and Eddie knows they’re close and Richie hasn’t told them about him, not even after they believed they’d never see each other again.

           Eddie just feels so… grateful and maybe a little terrified. He loves Richie so much. He wants to kiss Richie so badly, but he figures that’s not a good idea, so instead he tightens the arm on Richie’s waist and presses his face more firmly to Richie’s chest in a hug. Richie a huffs a small laugh and strokes his fingers over Eddie’s hair affectionately, pressing a quick kiss to the top of Eddie’s head that makes his stomach flip pleasantly. “Yeah,” he says quietly into Richie’s shirt, “Tell ‘em whatever you want, it’s okay.”

           “Okay,” Richie agrees just as quietly and then he does. They move to a table and settle in so Richie can tell them everything. Eddie doesn’t say much throughout, correcting small things or filling in details Richie didn’t know, letting Richie explain to his friends while he demolishes an entire basket of chicken fingers and fries that he follows up with another basket of fries. Stan makes a face when Richie talks with his mouth full but based on his silence on the matter, Eddie wonders how much Richie has been eating since they last saw each other.

           Eddie learns a lot about what Richie had been feeling and it’s an eye opener. Every moment he’d felt insecure, certain that Richie didn’t feel the same way or didn’t care, were completely wiped away. He gets why Richie called him an idiot. He goes bright red when Richie reaches their last meeting and appreciates when he skims over the details, something he’s sure isn’t common for Richie, but shame settles in his gut as Richie describes how devastated he was when Eddie ran out. Eddie squeezes Richie’s hand fiercely where their hands are resting on Richie’s leg.

           “God, seeing him here with you guys…,” Richie shakes his head with a strained laugh, “I thought I was dreaming…, what are the fucking chances?” Richie looks at Eddie now, “What were you doing here with them anyway?”

           Eddie glances over at Beverly and Ben who give him soft encouraging smiles, he takes a deep steadying breath, and explains his mother yelling and the subsequent anxiety attack in the CVS and Beverly and Ben coming to the rescue.

           Richie looks at Ben and Beverly with pride and love in his eyes, “Fuck, I owe you guys like a thousand orgasms,” Richie says, voice tight with emotion. Ben goes pink while Beverly throws her head back and laughs. Eddie rolls his eyes and smacks Richie’s shoulder with amusement in his eyes.

            “How do we know you won’t run away again?” Stan’s sharp tone cuts through the lightened mood. Bill and Mike frown at their boyfriend, but he ignores them. “How do we know you won’t leave us to pick up the pieces, again?”

           “Stan,” Richie snaps, but Eddie squeezes his hand and looks at Stan without shying away from his accusatory gaze. He’s not sure he’d be so bold if he hadn’t had the chance to get to know him a little first. He knows Stan is just scared for his friend.

           “I have no idea what I’m doing or what to expect and I’m sure there will be a lot that we’ll have to deal with that’s going to absolutely suck,” Eddie says, “But I am never running away again… I’ll prove myself to you, all of you.” He meets Richie’s eyes pointedly. Richie leans in and knocks their foreheads together.

           Richie pulls away and faces Stan, “I want to bring him home with me,” he tells Stan, who stares back, expression unreadable. They’re doing that silent communication thing which is apparently just a common ability in this friend group. Stan sighs, crosses his arms over his chest, leans back in his chair, and crosses his legs.

           “Fine,” Stan agrees, “I expect to find it immaculate when I return tomorrow.” Richie grins brightly.

           “I’ll even leave a chocolate on your pillow, Stan the Man,” Richie replies.

           “If you go near my room I will end you,” Stan threatens flatly.

           “Aawww, but I could give that little friend in your bedside table a real nice shine,” he says, circling his hand around his glass of water and pumping his hand up and down in a lewd gesture. Stan’s expression doesn’t change but Eddie’s heart jumps and heat rises to his cheeks, his eyes snap away from Richie’s hand and focus on his lap. Beverly snorts while the other boys snicker.

           “I don’t know why you two are laughing,” Stan says without taking his eyes off Richie, “He’s talking about your competition and right now Benedick is winning.” Bill nearly chokes on his beer. Ben has his arms crossed on his legs with his face buried in them, failing to stifle his wheezing laughter while Beverly thumps him on the back with her fist and laughs into his shoulder. Mike just looks amused. Eddie slaps a hand over his mouth to keep down the giggles, but they burst through his fingers. Richie grins and stands, putting a few bills on the table.

           “Enjoy your dog house,” Richie says, winking at Bill and Mike mischievously. Bill flicks him off. Eddie digs through his wallet but Richie stops his hands, “Don’t worry about it.” Eddie frowns and opens his mouth to argue, “I’m going to prove it was all real even if that means getting you back every cent you gave me.” Eddie wants to argue that logic but his heart is stuck in his throat. Richie smiles at him gently and gives his hand a tug until Eddie stands. Richie goes around the table, hugging each of his friends as he goes, even Bill who pinches Richie’s side and Stan who stands and hugs him tight.

           “Please go take a fucking shower and change your shirt,” Stan mumbles into Richie’s ear before releasing him.

           “Love you too,” Richie mumbles back before returning to Eddie’s side. Eddie gives an awkward wave at the table but before they can leave, Beverly walks up to him and hugs him tightly. Eddie freezes up in a moment of surprise but hugs her back fiercely.

           “Thank you,” Eddie tells her quietly. She squeezes him a little tighter before releasing him. Richie takes his hand and leads him back outside.

           The two walk in companionable silence. Eddie keeps finding himself glancing down at their clasped fingers, pleasant warmth filling him and shooing away some of the chill. But Richie must notice the way Eddie shivers when a gust of wind blows through because he suddenly lets go of Eddie’s hand and wraps a secure arm around Eddie’s shoulders, holding him close, rubbing warmth into his upper arm. Eddie grins, wrapping his arm around Richie’s waist, taking a moment to appreciate how well they fit together.

           “You really do need a shower,” Eddie says with a teasing grin.

           “Ditto,” Richie replies with a shrug. Eddie can only grimace and nod without argument. Richie goes silent for a moment but Eddie is sure he’s thinking about something. “We should… talk, right?”

           “Is it… bad that I don’t want to?” Eddie asks, pulling at his lower lip nervously, “Not never, just… not right now.” Richie nods in agreement.

           “Nah, I understand.” They enjoy their short walk, leaning into one another with only some difficulty, before arriving at a small apartment building that… frankly doesn’t look great. It’s a bit run down and there’s vines crawling up the side, but just the idea of independence sends his heart racing with the possibilities.

           “Oh shit!” Eddie cries suddenly while Richie has his key half way to the lock. He looks at Eddie wide eyed, finding Eddie scrambling for his cell phone and nearly hyperventilating.

           “Eds, what’s the matter?” Richie asks, turning to him, worry in his eyes.

           “My mom-,” Eddie takes a wheezy breath, “I haven’t- I- I turned my phone off, she’s- she must be freaking out!” He holds the home button down on his phone until the phone’s logo pops up. Immediately, notification after notification labeled ‘Mama’ appears on the screen, and Eddie lets out a pathetic whimper. Richie reaches over and carefully covers the screen. Eddie’s head jerks up, his eyes beginning to get blurry and watery.

           “Relax,” Richie tells him softly, “She’s already going to be upset, there’s no point in freaking out now.” Eddie doesn’t appear very soothed by his words. Richie sighs and turns back to the door, quickly unlocking the creaky door, and pushing it open. He leads Eddie inside and manhandles him onto the couch where Eddie continues to stare, transfixed, at his phone, looking over the text messages that range from guilt tripping and apologetic to enraged and back to sad with some worry before doubling down on rage.

           Eddie has never done… anything like this. Even when he’d go to see Richie, he’d wait until his mother had her weekly Book Club, a poor disguise for a gossip circle, but Eddie just disappeared this time. He imagines talking to her, imagines what he would say, but he knows it wouldn’t mean anything because she’d just yell over him. He takes a deep wheezing breath.

           Richie returns to him and sits on the edge of a clean wooden coffee table, carefully pulling the phone from his hands and replacing it with a glass of ice water. “Eddie, I want you to listen to me, okay?” he asks carefully, pushing the glass insistently towards Eddie’s face until he starts taking small sips. Eddie hesitantly nods, tearing his eyes away from the phone. “Here’s what I’m gonna do,” Richie starts, sliding his finger over one of the messages and typing in Eddie’s passcode without needing to ask for it, “I’m going to tell her you’re staying with a friend and you’re safe and that you’re turning your phone off and you’ll talk tomorrow.” Eddie jolts, nearly dropping his glass.

           “I- I can’t, Sh- she’ll fucking kill me,” Eddie gets out through quivering lips, “She’ll call the cops or something!”

           “She’s going to be pissed anyways,” Richie tells him again in a careful even tone while he types the message, never breaking eye contact with Eddie, “There’s no point in thinking about it now, and somehow I don’t think the cops are going to come looking for her 22 year old adult son after less than 24 hours.” He hands the phone back, placing the water aside, revealing the message he’s written out without sending. Eddie chews on his lip, rereading the message over and over, his thumb hovering over the send button. Richie’s hand suddenly covers the back of his, letting the tip of Richie’s thumb rest over his smaller one. Eddie looks up, staring at Richie with wide eyes while Richie stares back, brows folded and eyes searching. Eddie takes a shallow breath and nods quickly and a little manic. Richie nods back and presses down on Eddie’s thumb, sending the message for him.

           The response is almost immediate, the phone ringing in Eddie’s hand with an image of his mother’s smiling face popping up. Eddie jerks and Richie takes the phone from him, ignoring the call and turning the phone off. He sets it aside while Eddie shakes, folding his fingers over and over and over each other anxiously. Richie reaches over and takes his hands, pulling them apart and presses a soft kiss on the back of each hand.

           “Eddie-baby, you’re okay,” Richie tells him. Eddie stares back at him, taking slow deliberate, in-and-out breaths. Once Eddie has steadied himself, he slides his hands free and settles them on Richie’s wrists, gliding his thumbs over the thin skin of Richie’s wrists. Richie watches all of this with soft eyes. “Drink up, okay?” Richie asks, watching Eddie closely. Eddie doesn’t take his eyes off his own movements and nods without complaint. “Then you can shower and I’ll lend you some clothes.” Eddie’s fingers still and he meets Richie’s eyes.

           “Can… can we shower together?” he asks hesitantly. Richie blinks at him, his glasses magnifying his disbelief. Eddie huffs a laugh at the image, reaching over and touching the edge of the frames. “I really like these.” He watches with interest as the red rise to Richie’s cheeks. Richie coughs into his fist before scrubbing his fingers through his hair. “We don’t have to,” Eddie reassures, taking his hand away. He picks up the glass, sipping at it again.

           “N-no I want to,” Richie assures quickly, pushing at the center of his glasses so that they’re perched higher on his nose, Eddie finds it insanely endearing. “It’s just… I haven’t…,” Richie mumbles, clearly searching for the right words, “I haven’t been with anyone since and I might… y’know… pop a chub.” Eddie nearly chokes on his water. He snickers even while his cheeks flame red.

           “Eloquent,” Eddie teases, wiping at the water droplets on his chin with the back of his hand. Richie grins.

           “You know me, Richie ‘Eloquent as fuck’ Tozier,” Richie replies. Eddie laughs setting the half-drunk glass aside while his eyes finally have the chance to wander. Despite the exterior of the building, the inside is incredibly well maintained and clean with furniture that doesn’t quite match but is still pleasing to the eye. The placement of the furniture is purposeful and thought out and there are photos of Richie’s friends in various combos ranging from a young age to now. The frames match the furniture in that they don’t appear to match each other but have been placed in a way that makes it feel purposeful. It’s nothing like what Eddie imagined. The only things that truly stand out as RICHIE are the game system and the framed comedy special posters hanging near the TV.

           “Stan,” Richie says as way of explanation, “He got really into thrifting and making shit look brand new and he and Mike got pretty into interior decorating and shit, but don’t you worry, my room is all Richie.”

           “I’m shaking in my boots,” Eddie replies while still taking in the sights. Richie laughs and stands, picking up the glass to bring to the kitchen. Eddie stands and follows him, noting the different joke mugs in obnoxious colors neatly organized on a little stand on the counter. Richie smiles, takes his hand, and leads him to a door that is undeniably Richie’s. It’s covered in multiple stickers, pictures, and weird little cut outs. Richie starts to open the door but abruptly slams it.

           “Uh…, give me one minute,” he says, holding his index finger in front of Eddie’s face. He frowns in confusion. Richie slips through a crack he makes in the door before shutting it in Eddie’s face. He wants to focus on the details of Richie’s door, but he only really catches sight of a Polaroid of Richie and Bill before the sounds in the room catch his attention. He cracks the door open quietly and peeks in. Richie is scrambling around, throwing dirty clothes that are on his floor in the hamper while simultaneously trying to make his bed with the linens that are sitting folded on the edge of his bare mattress. Eddie silently closes the door with a small laugh and waits patiently.

           Only a moment later, Richie is wrenching the door open looking sweaty, disheveled, and slightly out of breath. There’s something sort of amazing about seeing Richie being the nervous one. Richie grins and steps aside, “Welcome to Casa De Tozier,” he welcomes. Eddie steps in and immediately starts to look around.

           The room is a stark contrast to the living room, he can see peeks of the bland gray paint that matches the rest of the apartment but it’s mostly hidden by posters and pictures haphazardly taped to the walls. There are a few shelves covered in figurines and interesting little knickknacks. The main source of lighting is fairy lights that have been carefully hung around the room and gave it a pretty soft glow. It’s a strange combination but it gives the room a comfortable feel. The main focal point is the queen sized bed that takes up most of the small space. It’s been shoved into the corner of the room, a soft looking green throw blanket with a big marijuana leaf in the center of it carefully draped over it, and Eddie really wants to throw himself on it. Opposite the bed is a small desk holding a large older looking computer screen along with a microphone and a keyboard. There’s not much floor space, but rather than being claustrophobic, it’s cozy, except for the thick fresh overlay of Febreze.

           Eddie finally drags his eyes away from the scenery to look at Richie who has been unusually quiet and finds him standing by the door with his arms crossed over his chest while he pretends not to be nervous. Eddie smiles and walks up to him, gently pushing at Richie’s arms until he uncrosses them so that Eddie can wrap his arms around Richie and press his cheek to Richie’s shoulder.

           “I like it a lot,” Eddie tells him honestly, rubbing Richie’s back in slow circles. Richie’s arms come up around him while Eddie hums contentedly and sways them side to side gently. Richie chuckles and kisses the top of Eddie’s head.

           “Come on,” Richie says, pulling away and guiding Eddie to a door beside the desk that leads to a small bathroom holding a cramped sink covered in carefully organized hair products, 2 toothbrushes, and a retainer case, alongside a sparkling clean white toilet, across from an average looking bathtub with a shower head attached to the wall. Across from the door they came through there’s another open door that reveals a glimpse of the bottom of a meticulously made bed with fluffy white sheets that Eddie can only assume belongs to Stan. Richie closes the door behind them then walks across to close the other door. He digs out a fluffy white towel from under the sink and what appears to be a thin beach towel with Steve Urkel’s face on it. Eddie coughs to cover his laugh, but Richie simply waggles his brows at Eddie.

           “Don’t pretend Urkel doesn’t get you going,” Richie teases, placing the towels on the counter, “I know you’re all about the brainy types.”

           “Then what the hell am I doing here?” Eddie shoots back with a cheeky grin while Richie goes to the tub to turn the shower on.

           “Yowza! Eds gets off a good one!” Richie crows with a laugh over the white noise of the shower hitting the plastic bottom of the tub. Eddie tosses his head back and laughs. Richie grins and straightens up, peeling off his t-shirt, nearly knocking his glasses off his face in the process. Eddie flushes at the sight but focuses on taking his own shirt off. Eddie is becoming increasingly aware of the oil and grime that’s sticking to his skin and it’s starting to make the embarrassment of Richie seeing him naked seem like nothing. Richie goes for his own belt and pauses. “You sure you’re okay with this?” he suddenly asks.

           “We’ve… seen each other naked before,” Eddie points out.

           “Yeah, once,” Richie shoots back, “And that doesn’t mean you’re comfortable now.” Eddie stares at Richie while he kicks off his shoes and pushes his own pants down his legs, picking them up and folding them over his arm.

           “I want to,” Eddie replies, watching Richie’s eyes drag over the newly exposed skin. When Richie doesn’t continue, he moves into Richie’s space and pushes his hands aside, unbuckling his belt, before undoing his pants. He just watches Eddie through lenses that are slowly fogging up as the water heats. Eddie laughs and reaches for Richie’s glasses, pulling them off. Richie blinks and squints.

           “Oh, wow, you are actually super blind, aren’t you?” Eddie asks with a laugh, setting the frames beside the towels, “How do you shower?”

           “Very carefully,” Richie replies, pushing his own pants off, slipping out of his shoes as he does, nearly stumbling. Eddie grabs him and straightens him.

           “Oh yeah, real careful,” he teases with a laugh, pushing up on his toes to press a soft kiss to Richie’s lips. Richie grins and leans down, chasing Eddie’s lips but catches the bridge of his nose instead. Eddie laughs and moves out of his space, pushing his boxers off, feeling much more confident with Richie’s vision compromised. Richie does the same without that benefit, but Eddie tries to keep his eyes above the waist. Richie suddenly grins.

           “You taking advantage of my vulnerable state, Eddie-boy?” Richie asks with a lecherous grin, his gaze missing Eddie’s just enough to be noticeable. Eddie rolls his eyes and scoffs for good measure, he takes Richie’s hand, guiding him towards the tub, and helping him get in without tripping. The fit is a bit tight but the water pressure is nice and having Richie close settles something in him that’s been fluttering about wildly in his chest for too long. Richie stands under the water and confidently reaches for a bottle of Irish Spring 3-in-1.

           On the shower head hangs a rack containing various hair products specific for curls, a body scrub, a body wash, and some bubble bath. Eddie laughs while Richie lathers up his body and hair with the soap. “You two are total opposites,” Eddie mumbles, “How the hell do you live with each other?” Richie chuckles, tilting his head back under the spray to let the water wash the soap out, distracting Eddie with the long line of his exposed throat.

           “It helps that we’ve known each other forever and I let him have run of the place,” Richie explains, scrubbing his fingers through his hair, and Eddie has the very real urge to reach out and run his fingers over the expanse of wet skin available to him, “But I’m sure there’s a folder somewhere with extensive plans to murder me in my sleep.” Eddie chuckles and gives into the urge, reaching into the spray to let his fingers rest on Richie’s ribs. Richie jerks a bit in surprise but doesn’t push him away. Eddie presses his palm there, splaying his fingers out over Richie’s chest before moving in close, pressing himself to Richie’s front, the water finally dampening his greasy hair. Richie’s breath catches and he slowly lowers his hands from his now clean hair to wrap his arms around Eddie’s shoulders, resting his cheek against the side of Eddie’s head. Eddie smiles and grows pliant in Richie’s hold. Richie reaches up and strokes Eddie’s wet hair. Eddie thinks he might feel something stiff pressing into his hip, but he ignores it.

           “When was the last time you showered?” Richie asks, reaching for the bottle of Irish spring without needing to look.

           “I could ask you the same thing,” Eddie mumbles, rubbing his nose against Richie’s now fresh smelling collar bone.

           “Well I asked first,” Richie shoots back, pouring some soap in his hand before setting the bottle aside and lathering it into Eddie’s hair. Eddie sighs happily, his stomach doing that nice swooping thing Richie always seems to make it do.

           “A few days,” Eddie admits, “It’s… been rough.” Richie nods in agreement, working his fingers through Eddie’s soft locks, occasionally poking Eddie’s ear by mistake.

           “If Stan wasn’t constantly up my ass, I’m not sure I would’ve even changed clothes,” Richie says, “Woulda taken a bone saw to get that shit off me.” Eddie tightens his arms around Richie’s middle, heart aching.

           “I’m so sorry,” he apologizes again for his stupidity.

           “Really, Eds, you don’t need to apologize,” Richie reassures him, ducking Eddie’s head carefully under the spray to wash the soap out, “I get it… you weren’t the only one being a dumbass, you were just the only one with any self-preservation skills.” Eddie huffs.

           “The one real trait I have.” Richie scoffs and tilts Eddie’s head back up, hair now clean and soap free.

           “Oh, bullshit,” Richie replies, cupping Eddie’s face, “You’re smart-,” Richie plants a kiss on Eddie’s cheek, nearly poking Eddie in the eye with his nose, “Funny-,” a kiss between Eddie’s thick brows, “Cute-,” a kiss to the same spot, “And a sexy little fuck.” He finishes it off with a kiss to Eddie’s top lip. Eddie is gripping Richie’s hips tightly, feeling a little shaken. “Plus, you can put up with me,” Richie adds with a soft smile, “And that’s a trait very very few people in the world have.”

           “I wouldn’t say ‘put up with’,” Eddie says loosening his grip a little, “I’d say ‘enjoy being with’.” Richie doesn’t seem to be expecting this, probably anticipating a mean quip.

           “Well,” Richie coughs, sounding a little choked, “Then that definitely makes you one of a kind, Eddie Spaghetti.” Eddie once again plasters himself to Richie’s front.

           “I’ve met your friends, Rich, I definitely know that’s not true,” Eddie tell him.

           “Alright, alright,” Richie urges him, sounding more affected than he’s letting on, swapping their positions and pushing the bottle into Eddie’s hands, “I’m getting all pruney, get a move on, cutie.” Richie pushes the curtain open and very carefully steps out, keeping a hand on the wall as he does. Eddie watches him closely as he pours soap into his hand, only relaxing once Richie is out with his face dry and his glasses back on. Eddie moves quickly finishing up his shower, turning off the water, and stepping out of the shower to find Richie, already wrapped in his Urkel towel, with the white towel open and ready for him. Richie sighs dreamily, “You really do make for quite a sight,” he says, obviously running his eyes over Eddie’s form.

           Eddie flushes with a smile and flicks Richie off but steps into his arms. Richie circles his arms around Eddie, wrapping the soft towel around his waist. Eddie can’t seem to get sick of it, being surrounded by Richie’s warmth, but he holds the towel up and moves out of Richie’s space, heading for the door to his room, releasing the thick steam as he does.

           Richie follows after him, quickly grabbing his hair brush off his desk and dragging it through his water heavy curls before taking one of the hair hooks off the handle and tying his thick hair in a short messy pony tail. It’s a good look for him. He heads to the closet that takes up the space on the opposite side of the desk and opens it to reveal, rather than hanging clothes, a dresser that just fits inside. He opens the drawers and starts pulling clothes out for them. He tosses Eddie a pair of pajama pants that misses Eddie by about a foot and a soft t-shirt that strikes Eddie right in the face.

           “unf!” Eddie grunts, shooting a glare at Richie’s back. He grumbles when Richie doesn’t even turn around and focuses on wiping himself down and pulling the pants on passed his navel to compensate for the length and tightens the strings as tight as he can. Richie turns just in time to see Eddie’s new look and snorts.

           “Aw babe, pfft, you match my towel,” he says, trying and failing to keep down his snickers.

           “Literally, go fuck yourself,” Eddie replies with a huff, pulling on the soft oversized graphic t-shirt. Richie laughs harder and openly, pulling on his own pajama pants. Eddie nearly trips on the long hems spilling over his feet. He plops on the edge of the plush mattress and crosses one leg over his knee, reaching for the hem to fix it. Richie walks up to him and kneels in front of him, knocking his hands away, and folds the fabric up Eddie’s calf with gentle hands. Eddie watches him closely and swallows thickly. Richie does the other leg but his fingers linger on Eddie’s ankle, stroking the soft fuzzy skin there. Eddie reaches for Richie’s hand.

           “HOLY FUCK!” Richie yells suddenly, jumping to his feet. Eddie jerks his hand back and stares up at Richie with wide frightened eyes, heart hammering in his chest. Richie covers his face with a groan “Fuck, fuck fuck!”

           “Richie, what’s wrong?!”

           “I’m such a fucking idiot!”

           “Richie!” Eddie yells, standing and grabbing Richie’s wrists, pulling his hands from his face.

           “I never said it back, Eds!” Eddie frowns, tilting his head in confusion.

           “Huh?”

           “I never said it back!” Richie cries again.

           “That doesn’t help me!” Eddie cries back with the same level of intensity. Richie groans in frustration, grabbing Eddie’s face and pulling him into a firm kiss. Eddie makes a noise of surprise, not quite melting into it, still deeply concerned. Richie pulls away and stares Eddie right in the eyes.

           “I love you, Eds,” he tells him, voice horribly heartfelt, stroking his thumbs over Eddie’s cheeks. “I didn’t say it back, but I love you too.” Eddie forgets how to breathe. He grips Richie’s shoulders and stares up at him, mouth hanging open.

           “Oh.”

           “Is that cool?” Richie asks just as quiet, not breaking whatever bubble has formed around them.

           “Yeah,” Eddie says. Richie grins and knocks their foreheads together.

           “Good.” Eddie grins back, brushing their lips together, cupping his hands over the sides of Richie’s neck.

           “I really love you,” Eddie tells him, sounding surprised by it. Richie chuckles.

           “Me too.” Richie strokes Eddie’s hair from his face, “Let’s go to sleep, Eds.”

           “But then we can’t talk or kiss,” Eddie grumbles.

           “Fuck, you’re so cute,” Richie sighs, pinching Eddie’s cheek until Eddie slaps his hand. Eddie rolls his eyes and moves away, pulling the blanket back so he can crawls over to the side of the bed closest to the wall, pulling the soft green material over his chilly legs, and turns expectant eyes on Richie.

           Richie doesn’t move, just stares at Eddie with painfully soft eyes.

           “What?” Eddie asks with a nervous laugh, touching his face in search of a spot or an eyelash.

           “You just… look better than I imagined,” Richie replies slowly, appearing lost, eyes taking every detail in. Eddie flushes and sits crisscross, leaning his back against the wall and the soft pillows behind him. Richie shakes himself from his reverie and turns, heading for his computer and shaking the mouse until the computer wakes up, revealing an already open window to Netflix. “Any audience requests?” he asks.

           “Um, Can we put on a Disney movie?” Eddie asks. Richie pauses, grinning down at his keyboard.

           “Aladdin?”

           “Yeah!” Eddie says excitedly. God that sounds so nice. He bites back his excitement, embarrassed by it. Richie fires it up, putting it on full screen and adjusting the volume, before walking over and hopping on the bed with a bounce. Eddie smiles softly at him. Richie smiles, stroking Eddie’s hair back, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Eddie grins bigger.

           “Do you need anything?” Richie asks him, “I have a water bottle.” Eddie laughs softly.

           “You’re a surprisingly good host,” he replies, stroking his hand over Richie’s prickly cheek lovingly, “I’m okay.”

           “Hey, I have always been a fantastic host,” Richie replies with a soft chuckle.

           “And I was paying you at the time,” Eddie points out with a cheeky grin.

           “Are we really at the point of joking about that?” Richie asks, sounding mostly curiously.

           “I’ve never been in this situation, so I wouldn’t know,” Eddie replies with a shrug. Richie snorts and presses a kiss to Eddie’s lips. He slides down the bed, flipping onto his side as the movie begins to play. Eddie matches his pose, lying a little further up the bed so he can rest his chin on Richie’s head, giving him a clear view of the screen. He tucks his arm under Richie’s armpit, the long hairs tickling him a little, wrapping it around Richie’s upper chest and tucks the other arm under his head, then throws his leg over Richie’s waist. Richie pulls the blanket further over them and covers Eddie’s hand where it’s resting on his chest, curling their fingers together with a contented sigh, melting into the bed.

           Eddie resists the urge to sing along to Arabian Night. Robin Williams’ voice fills the room, but it’s not all he hears. He isn’t sure if he’s imagining it but then Richie undeniable blows a quiet raspberry along with Robin Williams.

           “Ah, still good,” Richie easily follows along, clearly having memorized it, even matching the accent to a T. Eddie’s chest feels abruptly too full and actual tears spring to his eyes. He presses his face to the top of Richie’s head and squeezes his arms and legs even tighter.

           “Fuck, Richie,” Eddie mumbles, “You’re so fucking adorable.” Richie huffs an embarrassed laugh, squeezing Eddie’s fingers tightly.

           “You’ll get sick of it real quick,” Richie assures him, pulling Eddie’s fingers to his mouth for a kiss before settling it back on his chest. Eddie grins knowingly. He waits for the first song to play, quietly mumbling the words to himself, getting progressively louder when he hears Richie starting to sing along until they’re both loudly singing, “Gotta eat to live, gotta steal to eat! Otherwise we’d get along!” They laugh when they stumble over the faster lyrics. Richie looks over his shoulder for the next part.

           “Let’s not get too hasty,” Eddie sings quietly along with Aladdin.

           “Still I think he’s rather tasty,” Richie sings back in a hilarious imitation, waggling his brows, and gyrating his shoulder in an alluring way. Eddie laughs and swoops in, kissing Richie as best he can through their laughter. Eddie knows for a fact that he’s never been happier.

           They continue singing along, until about half way through the movie he hears Richie struggling through ‘A Whole New World’ before going silent. Eddie carefully peeks over to find Richie fast asleep. Eddie reaches for Richie’s glasses, slips them from his face, and tucks them between the wall and the pillow for safe keeping. Eddie presses a kiss to the top of Richie’s head, settling against him.

           “I love you, Richie,” he tells the quiet, scratching Richie’s chest gently, turning his attention back to the movie. Richie suddenly turns with a grunt, curling into Eddie’s chest, his arms snaking around Eddie’s waist. Eddie’s arms instinctively adjust, wrapping around Richie’s shoulders, settling his chin back to its place on Richie’s head. Eddie easily moves his scratching to Richie’s back.

           He smiles and quietly mouths along to the songs until he drifts off.

[aboysbestfriendishismum]

Chapter 50 - Xanadu, Donna Summer and Dave Gahan in leather pants (Part One)

The chapter is finally here and it wouldn’t if it wasn’t for my lovely friend and fellow writer and probably future wife in Rome @stars-open-among-the-lilies

THANK YOU BABY, I OWE YOU FROM HERE TO ETERNITY <3

***

In the previous chapter: as Meg suggested, Angie calls Susan and explains her problem, asking about the San Diego gig. Angie finds out Mookie Blaylock are now called Pearl Jam. Susan assures her she’s gonna call someone from Alice in Chains to come and pick her up and of all of them she calls Jerry Cantrell. Jerry goes where Angie is and doesn’t recognize her immediately since she has a new hairstyle, which by the way he doesn’t like. He takes her to the hotel where all the guys are staying, the whole gang is happy and surprised, the winners of the infamous bet are particularly happy. Angie asks about Eddie because he’s not with the others, Jerry walks her to the nearby beach where he’s surfing with his friend Craig. Angie and Eddie finally meet and from their behaviour towards each other Jerry has a sort of epiphany and figures out they’re more than friends. He leaves, hurt, while Ed and Angie can’t take their eyes off each other. Craig finally meets Angie and makes fun of Eddie in front of her, suggesting his friend should have the girl crash at his place since the whole mistake was his fault. Eddie accepts, of course, and the two of them leave for Eddie’s house, while Craig goes home by himself giving them some alone time.

***

“Don’t stare, don’t stare, don’t stare…” the good half of my conscience repeats as I sit in the car and Eddie works on fixing the board to the baggage rack.

“Nipples, nipples, nipples…” retorts the sick part as I bring  myself to take another quick look through the car window to enjoy the view of the surfer, who’s rolled down his wetsuit down to his waist, thus wearing only the bottom part of it.

Needless to say which of the two parts of me is taking over right now. If I don’t chill right now, I’ll end up answering his next question by yelling Nipples! at his face. It’s not like those were the only things to look at, I mean, there’s absolutely no lack of interesting details here, from his abs to the other muscles that… well, you know, look very well distributed, with small droplets of water trickling down from his wet hair, from the small moles on his chest to that narrow almost invisible path of hair that starts from the belly button and goes down down… Maybe I should have taken a refreshening dip in the ocean too.

“We’ll leave in a minute, ok? I’m almost done. Sorry again for all the troubles I caused” Eddie draws my attention and as I turn around I instantly thank god for my shades that are strategically hiding my most likely googly eyes, as I watch him leaning back against the car hood to take his wetsuit off completely. What did I do so wrong, or so right, to deserve this?

“Nip… No problem, I mean, where the fuck is the problem? Two extra days in San Diego, room and board and concert included, I’m the unluckiest person in the world!” I half shout across the window.

“No doubts about room and concert, don’t know about the board, it’ll probably disappoint you, I’ve got basically nothing at home” he chuckles embarrassed for his empty fridge, whereas he doesn’t show any trace of shyness as he pulls down the wetsuit, partially dragging down the shorts he’s wearing underneath within too, then slowly pulling them back up.

“Well, at least you’ve got a phone to order a pizza for delivery, right?” and to call for the ambulance I’ll soon need if he goes on like that.

Eddie nods as he takes off one leg of the wetsuit and awkwardly jumps on one foot, just like any other person would do, like I’d do, totally unconcerned or unaware, or both, of his overwhelming beauty and the effects it’s having on me.

“After we make things right with tickets and everything I’m gonna take you on a turistic tour, how would you like that?” he suggests, finally free from the wetsuit that is now in his hands and is promptly thrown in the trunk. From here I can see him grabbing a towel and dabbing his body and his hair with it and in a second I find myself with conclusive evidence to refute all theories about karma, reincarnation and past lives, bullshit I never believed in anyway. Because if it’s true that the soul migrates from one body do another to ascend on a higher plane of consciousness, how can it be that the lowest level is occupied by rocks and other so called inanimate objects? There are people out there living lives that are much more insignificant than Eddie’s towel’s right now. Eddie’s towel looks like the perfect end point once we’re free from our karmic debt, the best way to transcend existence. My spiritual thoughts, that are actually very earthly, stop when Eddie joins me in the car taking the driver’s seat, unlaced Chuck Taylors at his feet and towel temporarily resting on his knees as he’s putting on a grey Dead Kennedys t-shirt. “You don’t want to?”

“Huh? No, yes! Yeah, sure, I want to. I just, I don’t want you to change your plans anyway…”

“No plans to change really, I didn’t make plans for today” he reassures me as he towels off his hair some more.

“Are you sure?”

“Sure. But thank god you’re here and now I’ve got one: you are my plan” he half pinches my cheek and throws the towel on the backseat, right before starting the car and leaving.

“Whose car is this?”

“It’s my friend Jamie’s car, he’s lent it to me as long as I’m here, since I left my truck in Seattle”

“You left your surfboard in Seattle too, didn’t you? This doesn’t look like yours” I ask and he turns around and looks at me surprised, as if it sounded strange to him that I could remember such a thing.

“Yep, that’s Jamie’s too” he answers as he flicks down the visor to shield himself from the sun, that’s not in his eyes anymore, but is now shining on his curls revealing the lighter and slightly drier tips. I’ve never seen him so beautiful and that’s got nothing to do with the fact he was almost naked five minutes ago. He’s beautiful, of a glowing and delicate beauty, but lively, warm and somewhat wild and fiery. Maybe it’s because I’ve never seen him under California sun before.

“If you borrowed the wetsuit from him as well you got the whole Jamie set haha” the fuck am I laughing for?

“No, that’s mine, I had left it here. Also because Jamie’s 6'2’’, I’d lose his wetsuit at the first wave” he explains giggling but I honestly think there’s nothing to laugh about that image, I mean… C'MON, ANGIE, PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER!

“I ni… ehm, I see hehe” what have I just said?! You’re acting like you never saw a good looking guy before. Like you never saw Eddie. I mean, you’ve been friends for a while now, you even slept together, you’ve known for a while he’s hot for fuck’s sake!

“Didn’t you notice anything?” he inquires minutes later and I look at him like some husbands look at their wives who’ve just come back from the hairdresser’s and can’t see any difference. But I’m the one who changed hairstyle and I can’t see anything different in him now, except for being even hotter than usual but I seriously doubt this is what Eddie’s trying to tell me.

“Uhm… no. What?” Eddie takes his hands off the wheel and flails them around as if he was pointing at something really evident, but I still can’t understand. I try to guess: “Is it something in the car?”

Eddie shakes his head and turns up the stereo volume.

As long as I gaze on Waterloo sunset, I am in paradise…

“AH! The song! Is it my tape?”

“Did you think they were casually playing Kinks on the radio?”

“It could be… You like it then!”

“Sure I do, I think I already told you”

“Yes, I mean you really like it”

“And what would the difference be?”

“That you like it so much you keep it in the car. And you didn’t even know we’d meet”

“Hehe no, it wasn’t a planned out move to impress you” he admits as we stop at traffic lights, keeping his eyes on the coast on his right. Impress me? For what?

Eddie parks his car along the coastal avenue, takes his surf board first then his wetsuit from the trunk and leads the way towards the beach. We follow a trail that dissolves in the sand and as I look down to observe once again how unsuitable my shoes are and considering taking them off, I’m almost run over by a couple of girls jogging on the beach, who immediately apologize, still running on without missing a beat. The trail starts again right behind a line of benches placed around to form an L shape under a short sycomore tree with a very wide crown. Eddie’s house is very close along the way, hidden behind other trees, some variety of pines I don’t know, a few steps from the ocean and from the coast, which I picture crawling with surfers and beachgoers during the summer, but at the same time is partially isolated, almost disguised, hidden behind this tipical sea vegetation. His house is really just like I expected it to be, maybe a little smaller, a one storey sea green house, surrounded by an unvarnished wooden fence, a not very tall hedge on the front, five steps leading to the porch and the entrance.

“Please, after you, my princess” Eddie invites me in and I focus back and see his hands are busy with wetsuit, board and keys and he’s keeping the gate open for me with his foot and I realize I should have helped him maybe? It’s too late now though… I quickly get in and walk up the stairs, while Eddie places his board down on the ground in the yard and hangs the wetsuit on the porch. His house may be hidden out but you can see the beach and the ocean very clearly from here.

“Nice view!” I exclaim as I place my hands on the porch railing and take a deep breath of the salty air of the Pacific, which is dry and light though.

“Yeah. And it’s even nicer now.” I turn around and see Eddie leaning against the door frame, hands in the pockets of his shorts, staring at the ground with a half smile on his face. He looks up soon after “Come on, get in”

“Hello…” I say as if there was someone else beside the two of us and I immediately feel stupid for that.

“We’re alone, Angie, no one else’s here.” Eddie smiles and tosses his keys on a round metal table beside the couch. As he does, he notices two pairs of boxers towering over a pile of apparently dirty laundry stacked right on the sofa and grabs them, leaving to another room. He comes back with an empty basket, quickly filling it up as he awkwardly apologizes “Fuck. Sorry for the mess, I wasn’t expecting any guests”

I don’t care that much, I’m more focused on examining the inside of the house. Blue is the dominant color, on the two sofas, the pillows, the living room forniture, the fridge, a couple of abstract paintings hanging on the walls, even the kettle on the small stove and the cover of the sports magazine on the other square small table between the couch and the tv set. Ok, Eddie having a tv seems quite strange, but sure he needs something to watch baseball and basketball, right? Not to mention infomercials. Maybe he should move the tv into his bedroom.

“No problem, really. And I can’t see any mess. It’s a really nice house”

“Thank you. It’ll be mine until the end of the month, since I’m here I thought I could make use of it a little longer, after all I already paid for it” he remarks, walking out of the room once again with the laundry basket in his hands.

“Good idea” I walk into the kitchenette and notice the chairs around the big table are not all the same, two are made of wood painted in black, the other two are folding chairs, still black, like camping chairs.

“Wanna take a shower?” he innocently asks turning back up in the living room, once again shirtless and with another towel around his neck.

“Mmh?”

“I should take one too”

“Huh” it looks like I lost my ability to speak and started expressing myself through guttural and vowel-like sounds only.

“You can go first if you want, I’ll take one after you” he points out fiving me a perplexed look.

Sure, after.

“Oh no, don’t worry, you can go first, I don’t need a shower”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, go and take your shower, I’ll just freshen up a little after you’re done”

“Look, I can wait”

“I can wait too! And well, actually I have another favor to ask you”

“Sure, what is it?”

“I should make a phone call, actually two. First call to Meg to tell her I’m fine and second call to my friend Dina”

“The girl who studies in L.A.?”

“Yep! I told her I’d have come here to California to see some friends play one of these days and we agreed to arrange a meeting on the phone”

“Ok, no problem. The phone must be somewhere behind the couch pillows”

“I’ll be quick, I promise”

“Take your time, Angie. Oh give it to me, I’m gonna go put it in my bedroom,” he’s about to go but then walks back to me and gestures for me to give him my backpack “and of course just make yourself at home: watch tv, drink something, read a book, rest a little… You can do whatever you want, ok?”

“Ok, thank you. But I’m gonna sleep on the couch tonight, it’s quite big and looks comfortable” I suggest as I point at the corner sofa against the wall.

“Yeah, yeah, sure. I’m going now” Eddie leans down right over that sofa, slips his hand between the pillows and takes out the phone, placing it on the coffee table before leaving the room.

By the way, I’m doing better and better, I didn’t even risked to say nipples this time.

****************************************************************************************************************************

As I thought, finding a parking spot at the airport has proven to be an impossible mission. After I’ve let Angie get out of the car, I tried to stop in front of the terminal’s entrance, but soon after I’ve been invited to move from there. I’ve found a parking space on a side road near the Coast Guard – it takes twenty minutes on foot from there to the airport, and I’ve been walking for the past ten minutes. Or, better to say, I’ve been running. What’s twenty fuckin’ minutes when I still have two days ahead of me to spend with her? Two fuckin’ days. I laugh by myself like the perfect moron I am. On the one hand I knew that she would have come here, well, let’s just say that I hoped so, but on the other hand I didn’t want to have such high expectations in case she wouldn’t have. And yet she did and, thanks to me telling her the wrong dates, we have one more day to spend together. Well played, Eddie! Had I done it on purpose, it wouldn’t have come out in such a brilliant way. While I’m walking down North Harbor I look right and left to see if by any chance Angie’s among the people that are heading on the opposite direction, even though I have told her to wait for me at the entrance, if once she had finished she wouldn’t have seen me outside. And probably she’s following my instructions, because I don’t see her, and with her new hair color it couldn’t be that difficult to recognize her even in the middle of a crowd. I like her hair – it’s like she has finally let something out that, until now, she had kept hidden… her most intimate and truest colors. And then it’s known that changing hairstyle more or less drastically often mirrors also a general change, the will to pull the plug on a past situation and start anew and, considering the unpleasant events of recent times, I think it’s an excellent sign. And, besides all that, this hairstyle really suits her. She’s gorgeous, free, on holiday, far from the duties and constrictions of everyday. The whole concept of seeing her outside the usual surroundings really intrigues me. I wait my turn to cross the street while thinking that this seems like too good an opportunity to pass up – I must do something about it, I’ve already lost too much time. I have to tell her how I really feel about her once and for all, no matter what happens after. If she rejected me I’d feel bad, but then she would go back to Seattle and after twenty days or so I’d come back too, and once back to our everyday lives maybe it would be easier to go on as if nothing has happened. Maybe.

I get to the airport and I see her sort of right where I left her but sitting on the sidewalk, her shades pulled up on her head, her chin resting on the backpack she's holding and an irresistible pouty face. She must be mad because I kept her waiting. I know how to make up for that...

“Hey, I'm here! Sorry, parking is so fucking expensive here and I'm broke, I parked like at the fuckin' end of the world.” I jog towards her and she just stares at me without talking, still that sweet little pout on her face. God, this is a big one, I'll have to use all my weapons “Have you been waiting for long?”

“No, I was inside with the girl at the desk until five minutes ago, trying to find a solution but... nothing doing” she sighs and I understand she's not mad at me.

“What do you mean?” I ask as I sit next to her.

“I can't change the return ticket”

“What does it mean you can't? Why not? I did so many times from Chicago, when my boss kept changing my shift at the last minute”

“Chicago?” she asks, her face still sad but also puzzled after my statement.

“That's where I was born, most of my family on my mom's side and friends live there. I lived there for years too”

“I thought you came from San Diego”

“I moved here when I was a baby with my parents... well, yeah, you know, with my mom and that guy, together with my little brothers. I lived here until my senior year in high school, then went back to Chicago. And then came back here once again, something like sid... seven years ago, more or less”

“So who do you root for more, Cubs or Padres?” a quick smile and worries go away from her face for a moment.

“What do you think?”

“Well you're a loser in both cases but I think it's the Cubs. You look like you've got a flair for tragedy” she twists the knife but I gladly let her.

“At least we won something”

“Not in the last 82 years” she retorts with some nerve and I want to punish her so badly. With an unexpected kiss maybe.

“We'll go back to win one day... we just have to wait for 2015, don't we? Against Miami, right?” my movie reference melts her sneering grin into sweet laughter.

“Hahaha yeah, when Miami will actually have a team”

“Anyway I can't see why you can't change the date of your flight”

“'Cause I bought the flight with a special ultra-cheap offer and I didn't pay attention to all the conditions and terms. Basically I could have changed date and destination until seven days before, only the date three days before. And it's not even refundable”

“Aw come on, fuck, just for one day! Couldn't the employee at the desk just turn a blind eye this time?” I angrily reply .

“Actually I had to change the destination too...” she explains taking off her shades from her head.

“Why?”

“Well because... you know, since I was leaving I thought I could take a few more days off and... well, I thought I could go and visit my mother... and my father” Angie fumbles with her sunglasses, opening and closing the temples repeatedly.

“Destination Boise then?”

“Yes, exactly!” she answers before I finish talking.

“And you bought another ticket from Boise to Seattle I guess”

“Non refundable as well” she adds dejected, bringing one end of her glasses to her mouth and chewing on it. And this is the umpteenth image of her I'd love to take a picture of, so I can freeze it in time and carry it with me always and not forget it. Anyway forgetting about anything about her would appear quite unlikely.

“Quite a mess”

“Basically I wanted to spare some money but I actually ended up spending a fucking lot”

“So you had to book another flight”

“No”

“Huh so you did find a solution in the end?” I ask confused.

“No, I didn't, but I didn't buy another ticket either, I can't afford it” she shakes her head, the end of her sunglasses still between her lips.

“I can lend you something”

“You?” she gives me a skeptical look and I insinctively look down at myself without a reason.

“Yes, why?”

“The same person who parked two miles away from here not to pay for a parking place?”

“Oh well, 'cause that'd have been an unnecessary expense. But you have to go back to Seattle” but do you really have to go back? You could as well stay.

“Yes, I have to”

“So? What will you do?” you can stay here with me and then follow us for what's left of the tour until we'll go back home to Seattle together. Together in all senses maybe, as a couple, why not.

“There's only one way to go back to Seattle”

**

“You're crazy”

“What else could I do?” although she's wearing sunglasses, I know she's rolling her eyes now as we leave the bus station.

“It's a one day long drive, even more. I know because I did. Well, by car and not by bus but it's basically the same. Except I was kinda angry and pushed a lot on the gas so it probably took me a few hours less”

“In return, you got lost afterwards in Seattle”

“Hehe yeah... anyway, don't try and change the subject, San Diego-Seattle by bus is like a hammer blow. You even have to change”

“Well, only in L.A., from there on it's all straight through”

“All straight through, on a bus, an uncomfortable and confined space. And you're even claustrophobic!” I go on as I walk beside her along sunny North Harbor Drive.

“Thank you, Ed, you really know how to be comforting. An airplane is a confined space too but the bus costs one third of the flight so...”

“But the flight lasts one third than the bus drive”

“I'm used to long journeys, it's not a problem” she shrugs and starts pulling her still long hair back into a ponytail with a scrunchie.

“I can't forget it's all my fault. To make up for that I'm gonna take you out for lunch, then we can tour San Diego”

“Didn't we tour already? You basically had to drive all through the town because of me”

“But that was a necessity, you didn't see anything nice”

“That's not true! I saw... well, first of all I saw your house”

“Ha!”

“Well, I saw the coast, the beach, the ocean, I took a lot of pictures. Oh and the Simon&Simon bridge!”

“The what of who?!”

“The bridge! As we went back to the car from the airport...” she points at the place where the bridge is supposed to be from here as the crow flies, behind the buildings “I took pictures of that too”

“Coronado Bridge”

“Yes! The one you see during the opening credits of Simon&Simon, the tv series”

“Hehe yeah. But I didn't take you to Coronado. Actually there's not that much to see there apart from luxury hotels and naval stations” I think out loud as I open the car door for her and let her in.

“Where are you taking me then?” she asks as I get in the car too and her enthusiasm is so genuine I'd take her to the moon and back. We go get something to eat instead.

**

“Subway?” she asks with an amused smirk as we park in front of it “A true symbol of San Diego”

“Jack in the box is kinda far from here, I'm gonna take you there tomorrow” I reply as she snaps a picture of the restaurant's facade.

“Admit it, you actually wanted to show me the Padres stadium” she jokes pointing at the entrance of Petco Park at the end of the road.

“No, I really wanted to take you to a luxury fish restaurant in Little Italy but, you know, I'm a broke slacker musician who can't afford a parking place, so...” I joke as we get in.

“I didn't offend you, did I? I was just kid-”

“No no, I was kidding too” I slip my arm around her shoulders as we walk up towards the counter to order our food.

As we devour our burgers, a veggie one for me and fish for her, she tells me about college, about the new Soundgarden songs Chris played to her and that seem to be great, about Hannigan who drives everyone crazy at work changing his mind about the mini mart  set up once every ten minutes, about the croissants she bought at the French bakery in Pike Place where she went back and ate on the observation deck, without me. I'm in San Diego, at home, but I can't help having a fit of nostalgia for what has by now become my new home and for Angie herself. She's right here, sitting in front of me, closer than she's ever been, but I miss her, still, terribly.

“So... Pearl Jam, huh?”

“Yeah”

“Where does that come from? How did you come out with that name?” she inquires as she steals from my tray one of the French fries she swore she didn't want to when we ordered.

“Well, there's not only one reason and it was a gradual thing, I mean, we slowly got there”

“How?”

“We liked Pearl, Stone really liked it and sounded good to me too, also for some coincidences, but not just for that”

“What coincidences?”

“It's my great-grandmother's name”

“Really?”

“Yep”

“And she made jam?” she adds laughing and taking a sip of her coke.

“Hehehe no, at least, I don't think so”

“It's also a very cool album by Janis Joplin”

“True. And in surfing slang it's when you bury the nose of your board in the wave and either fall down or get sucked up by the motion of the wave, over and back down, spinning like you're in a washing machine””

“Hahahaha really? I was thinking it was because Earl The Pearl Monroe”

“Also”

“From a Nets player to a Knicks player, such imagination”

“And then there's the literal meaning, that I find quite interesting. Do you know where pearls come from?”

“A foreign substance like sand enters enters the oyster and to protect itself from irritation the oyster produces mineral layers to isolate it. More or less”

“Exactly. It's basically turning pain into something beautiful, an emotional/creative conflict turning a grain of sand into a precious gem”

“That's a really powerful image. And delicate at the same time”

“Something precious and delicate, born from grief”

“That's a good metaphor for art”

“Yes, that's so true” I love talking to her, I love the fact she totally gets me and what I mean every time and being able to talk about anything with her, from stupid falls when surfing to art, from the manic arrangement of gum packets at the mini mart to Cubs' bad luck, and none of these conversations sounds more corny and banal than the others. Every single subject is particular and interesting with her, every word sounds more charming and true if she says it. Food tastes better when I share it with Angie and Subway too looks nicer, the chairs are more comfy, the lamps are brighter and the peppers drawn on the counter look greener. Even Mr Big on the radio sound less boring than usual.

“Eric Martin, what a voice” she remarks as if she could read my mind.

“Yeah, uhm, not bad, not really my thing, but he's good”

“And what about Jam?”

“What?”

“I know the reasons behind Pearl now but where does Jam come from?”

“From a show by Neil Young with Crazy Horse”

“When? Where?!”

“At Los Angeles Sports Arena, last week, we all went”

“And why didn't you tell me before?? That's cool but why Jam?”

“'Cause every fuckin' single song ended up in an endless jam. And we didn't mind, I mean, it was great. As we were driving back from the concert, while we were discussing it, Jeff came out with 'what do you think about Pearl Jam' and everybody liked the idea.

“You mean Stone liked it and he gave you the permission to like it too”

“That's right, I see you know how it goes”

**

After lunch we get back in the car, even though this time the trip is short. “Are you takin’ me to a park so I can jog and digest Subway’s sandwich?” she asks me when she reads the sign that indicates Balboa Park. 

“No, I’m takin’ ya to a park because it’s one of the most beautiful places of the city and you’ll have somethin’ decent to take pictures of” 

Basically, we visit all the museums, from the anthropological one to the Timken Museum of Art: I love seeing her eyes literally shine both when she admires a painting by Guercino and while we’re visiting the exhibition about mythological creatures. I also take her to the botanical garden, where she gives me further evidence of her deep knowledge of plants, and we both agree about avoiding the zoo, because animals in captivity make both of us feel sad. After the exhausting tour I finally convince her to buy some ice cream that we end up eating sitting on a bench in front of the California Bell Tower. Angie asks me to keep her cone while she takes a picture of the building. 

“Thanks” she quickly puts away her camera and takes back her ice cream. 

“No problem. So, what do you think of everything you’ve seen?” I ask her in the exact moment the park’s streetlamps light up one after the other. 

“It was so cool! And full of really unique buildings, each one of a different style: Baroque, Romanesque, Gothic… there’s basically everything. And the vegetation is incredible” 

“… Buildings that, by the way, you already knew” I mention in a casual way, already looking forward to her reaction when she’ll finally understand where I’m going with this. 

“No, I told ya that’s the first time I come here” she goes on, biting a piece of waffle. 

“I know, but you knew them all the same, trust me” 

“What do you mean?” 

“That you already saw them, although not in person” 

“And where?” 

“Probably in the same place you’ve seen the Coronado Bridge” 

“Huh?” 

“Upon a screen” I explain, drawing a square with my fingers in mid-air. 

“Wait a minute… are you really sayin’ that this park has been the set for something?” 

“More or less” 

“What do you mean ‘more or less’?? It’s simple, yes or no!” Angie becomes more and more curious and I love to keep her on pins and needles. 

“Yes – well, let’s just say that they shot here some scenes for a movie. A really important movie” 

“A movie” 

“… that you’ve watched, I know it for sure” 

“Oh, fuck! Which movie?” 

“Guess it” 

“C’mon, just spit it out!” she begs me, shifting closer and closer to me on the bench. 

“To tell the truth, I’m quite surprised that you haven’t already guessed it yourself”

 “Black-and-white or Technicolor?” 

“Black and white” 

“Hmm… It’s difficult to guess, right away… gimme a hint” Angie finally realizes she has ignored her ice cream for too long and tries to save the little drops of cream that are running down her hand. Obviously with her tongue. So now it’s her who’s having me on pins and needles. 

“Xanadu” I give up and give her her precious hint. 

“Like Olivia Newton John’s song?” she asks, not understanding the connection- 

“Eheh no, like someone’s estate” 

“FUCK, NO” she jumps on her feet and stares again at the California Tower. 

“Sure it is” 

“KANE’S ESTATE!” 

“Well done, the answer’s correct” I finish to eat my ice cream and give her a warm applause. 

“CITIZEN KANE! They shot it here?” she finally calms herself and sits down again. 

“Not all of it, just the newscast scene, you remember it? There are some exterior shootings of Xanadu. Well, they did ‘em here” 

“News on the march…” 

“The tower, the equestrian statue of El Cid, the art museum and the anthropological one, the Prado theater and the botanical garden with the pond too” I list all the places, counting them on my fingers. 

“You took me here on purpose” 

“I was thinking about doing it ever since you mentioned Citizen Kane the evening of our RKCNDY’s gig. In San Diego everybody knows that they shot here some of its scenes. I remember that, when you talked to me about it, I immediately thought that, well, if someday you had come in San Diego, I absolutely would have taken you t-” I try to explain her how the idea came to me without coming out as a psycho that gets fixated on stupid details, when suddenly I get swept away by a hug, unexpected yet pleasant. Angie’s not someone who gives many hugs, she’s not physical with her displays of affection – let’s just say that I saw her displaying her affection with something that wasn’t a pat or a slap for only a couple of times, and that has never happened with me. 

“You gave me a fantastic present” she mumbles in the crook of my neck, while her camera’s zoom is drilling my sternum, but I absolutely don’t intend to push her away. 

“Eheh, no problem, it’s just a silly little thing” 

“It’s not a silly little thing” 

“San Diego’s no Hollywood, but we defend ourselves. If you had stayed here a couple of days more, I would have taken you to the Universal Studios” 

“Do you wanna see me dead?” she slightly moves away from me to look me in the eyes, but still keeping me in her arms, and this moment would be perfect for a kiss. If only I weren’t a wanker. 

“Nope – at least, not before tomorrow’s gig. But especially not before tonight” 

“Well, am I allowed to know what’s going to happen tonight?” Angie finally lets me go and studies my face, trying to elicit some information. 

“Hmmm, I can give you some hints” I answer, standing up – the bench has made my ass like a waffle. 

“Ok, I’m listening” 

“We’re goin’ to a club” 

“A club, ok. Which one?” 

“A really ugly club, I must say”   

“Ok, so the bet consists in going to a shitty place?” 

“Exactly, but it’s a shitty place that requires appropriate clothing. That’s why we should swing by Value Village before dinner” I extend a hand to her, as an invitation to stand up. 

“Value Village? We have to wear something vintage? Oh my God, is it a themed club??” 

“In a way…”

*************************************************************************************************************************

“What’s going on, Stone? Already tired?” says our Dancing Queen, no longer seventeen, when I signal her that I’m about to leave her alone on the dancefloor, preferring the bar to her.

“Nope, you should know that for me Saturday Night Fever’s soundtrack is the lowest point in the entire career of the Bee Gees guys!” I retort, referring to the song that the DJ has just put on after basically butchering Boogie Wonderland.

Eddie wasn’t kidding at all when he proposed us to come here: the Yates club is seriously the worst San Diego disco, or better still, it’s probably the ugliest club in the U.S. and I’m saying this just because I haven’t visited the rest of the world yet; starting with the entrance in a dark and chilling alley, where you’re forced to stay in line on a creaky spiral staircase for what seems like an eternity and where your expectations grow like crazy because outside there are lots of people waiting to get in, but then the inside sucks even more than the outside: it’s a hole where only one strobe light out of three actually works and the most lit area is the one surrounding the bar. The disco ball in the middle of the so-called dancefloor lacks a few mirrors, the ceiling is so low that if you jump on a table to dance and you’re not as short as Angie you risk to head-butt every spotlight in sight, the go-go dancers dance way worse than me (and I could easily be their son), the DJ puts the music on using CDs that constantly skip and, when they don’t it’s his mission in life to create infinite pauses in between tracks. Buuut I must admit that there’s also a positive thing: the bar is supercheap – as it should be, Jesus. On the other hand Angie’s having a lot of fun, with her giant earrings, the glasses with their red, heart-shaped lenses and an optical shirt with the most flared sleeves I’ve ever seen. And, after all, I’m having fun too, but I truly believe that I’m gonna enjoy myself even more when all the Macho Men who have lost the bet finally show up. The first of them – G.I. Dave – has come with me and Angie, and now I find him again at the bar, in the company of Jerry the Cowboy.

“Hey Stone, what are you dressed as? No, wait, you’re just like any other day” Jerry jokes, tipping his hat in the exact moment he sees me.

“Shut up, I know you’ve been having your eyes on this leopard-print vest for years, just forget it!”

It all ends up with us buying each other drinks and I can’t ignore the furtive glances that Cantrell throws in Angie’s direction, now that she’s dancing with a guy dressed in leather with a motorcycle helmet on his head. I know he’s one of the gang, but only when he spins for the second time I realize it’s McCready. Anyway, I find it unbelievable that Angie could be embarrassed for a fake slow-dance she had with Cornell in front of a couple of friends during her birthday party, but at the same time not showing the tiniest hint of shyness when she has to dance in a disco full of people. I have to admit she dances really well, but I think the vodka shots she had with us in Krusen’s room have largely contributed to this dissolution of her inhibitions. Dave and I go to have a seat on the puke-colored booths at the edge of the dancefloor, leaving Jerry intent on moping about Angie, and we meet Layne – dressed like any other day, who has decided not to yield himself to the rules of this ‘70s evening offered by this awful place – and Sean, who’s basically dressed in his usual way, with jeans and a checkered shirt opened on his chest, that however has a helmet on his head that signals his will to be the construction worker. But we didn’t know that the best had yet to come, and it has been gently provided after a couple of minutes by the trio that has appeared at the entrance of the club: on the left Eddie flaunts a light-blue suit consisting of a vest and flared trousers, with a flowered shirt underneath it and light ankle boots that unfortunately lack platforms, seeing as he seems at his usual height; on the right we have Mike Starr, with suede trousers, boots, a naked chest slightly covered by an imprecise quantity of necklaces, black eyeliner around his eyes and a colorful hairband – I can’t grasp its color because these fuckin’ disco lights make it seem like it’s rainbow-patterned; but the real treat is him, my soulmate, my Jeffrey that, besides having picked up a pair of leather trousers – maybe from the same questionable store where Starr did his shopping – has also dusted off a precious relic… his historic pink tank-top with San Francisco written in purple letters that almost got us killed that time we opened for Sahmain, when we were still playing in Green River. Is it possible to show up at a punk rock gig dressed like that? Yes, if your name’s Jeff Ament and you have massive balls.

He was also wearing dance shoes and, if my sight doesn’t trick me, I think he’s wearing them even now.

“Oh my God, Jeff! I didn’t think this tank-top still existed! I believed Danzig’s fans shredded it” I welcome him doubled over laughing when the magical trio finally approaches me and the others.

“You thought I had lost it for good, but no, it has come out untouched… unlike my face. But you wouldn’t know it, you and Bruce cut and ran!” the bass player retorts, still with a chip on his shoulder for that old story.

“Jeff, I know you love me, but take a look at me. What else could I have done? Protect you with my sarcasm?”

“What are you two talkin’ about?” asks Eddie, looking around himself in a less disgusted way than all of us, because he already knows this place but, most of all, because he’s looking for someone.

“We’re talkin’ about a nice, little story of our Green River times – there are a lot of ‘em that deserve to be passed down through the generations” I explain him while making room for Jeff on the most uncomfortable booth of the entire California.

“Neither Mark Arm is a body builder, but he took my defense anyway”

“… and he got beat up as much as you, I was just provident”

“But why did you dress up? Didn’t you bet she would have come actually?” Dave asks a fair question to Starr, who answers with a raised eyebrow.

“Dressed up? What do you mean?” he adds in a confused way and we all burst out laughing in his face “Well? Anybody cares to explain?”

“He thought – well, we all thought – you were the Native American of the Village People” Jeff shreds some light on the little mystery.

“The Native guy? Don’t think so! And it would be cultural appropriation, I’d never do it” Mike adds, making all of us immediately stop laughing because, from a guy like him that is 95% half-drunk or stoned, you don’t expect a criticism about oppression and pillaging by members of the dominant culture.

“You’re right, Mike, I didn’t think you-” Layne’s about to start a conversation, but he gets interrupted by the Pimp-err!, by the impatient Prince Charming.

“But talkin’ about the bet… where’s Angie?”

“She’s over there, near the bar, where there’s all those green and blue lights that seem floating seaweed”

“Wait… you mean over there, where there’s that girl who’s dancing on the table?” he asks me, and I’m already looking forward to the thud his jaw’s about to do on this cheap floor.

“No, Angie is the girl who’s dancing on the table”