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Is there a bone in my body that's not weak for you?
Well if you find one let me know
If you asked anyone, you were definitely the sensible one in the relationship.
Eddie is the epitome of chaos and antiestablishment wrapped into a perfectly gorgeous package, and he knows it. His days consist of taking the lyrics of the various bands that he listens to to heart, fighting for the underdog, and loudly proclaiming his stance against injustices. It made for a fun and spontaneous experience, being within his orbit.
However, sometimes Eddie had a knack for rebelling a bit too close to the sun.
This was when you, his better half, would step in. Most of the time, a gentle call of his name or a tug on his hands easily brought him back down to a level state. It became so noticeable that people would jeer at you, calling you Eddie’s “ball-and-chain” for ruining their entertainment. Which really didn’t bother you any. They’d find something to talk about regardless. Besides, you didn’t mind being the one in his life to gently reel him back from a ledge every now and again. The one with a straight face who knows when you had to choose your battles so you could live to fight another day.
But. Eddie also knew how to get you to crack.
He knew just the right soft spots to hit in order to get you on board with his shenanigans, along with whatever consequences may follow. Usually, it was rather tame, mostly involving a snarky remark or a matched stride as you ran to escape whoever deemed Eddie their next target.
This particular instance, though, was unique.
Because Eddie had pissed you off.
It was hard for Eddie to make you truly upset, with you being the more level-headed of the two (which didn’t take much effort). Usually, it started with a pout and frown on your end and ended with a sweet kiss and an even sweeter apology on his. But it was different when he put himself in danger.
Which is exactly what he’d done tonight.
You storm into his trailer, a trail of fire following your every footstep. Wayne had already left for his shift at the plant, so you felt emboldened to make every bit of ruckus possible to match your foul mood. Venturing into the bathroom, you pulled the first aid kit from on top of the medicine cabinet, marching back into the living room.
You see Eddie standing by the sink, head tilted towards the faucet. He’d already taken off his rings, setting them to the side. At the sight of his bloodied, dirty hands attempting to splash water on his face, you rushed towards him.
“Stop. Stop it, let me—” Grabbing his arm, you drag him to a stool by the countertop and make him sit down. He plops onto the cushion, water dripping from his bangs and into his eyes as he finally looks at you. Setting the first aid kit down on the counter, you unlatch it and peruse through its contents.
“Can you at least—”
Gently grabbing his face, he stops talking as you take stock of his visible injuries. The bridge of his nose is swelling and split open, blood running down the crevices and catching on his nostrils. A small cut on his temple has started to clot, with any runoff blood unfortunately staining his favorite leather jacket. You already know that he’ll have a black eye by the morning. His knuckles have minor scrapes on them but were mostly protected by his rings. Small blessings.
Grabbing a bag of frozen peas from the freezer, you toss it at Eddie. He swiftly catches it, pressing it onto his shoulder. That wasn’t even what you’d handed it to him for, but whatever.
He tries to speak to you again, but you ignore him. Turning to walk down the hallway, you grab a clean washcloth.
“Baby,” Eddie’s voice echoes down the hallway. By the time he speaks again, you’ve bypassed him to land at the kitchen sink, “Can we talk about it, please?”
The faucet roars in your ears as you take your time wetting the cloth. You stay silent. Wringing it out until it’s damp, you journey back over to face Eddie. It’s when he tries to speak again that you talk for the first time since you’ve entered the trailer.
“Just,” You exhale harshly through your nose. “Don’t, Eddie. I need a minute.” If you tried to talk right now, you were positive you’d say something that you would regret. You didn’t need that.
With that, you get to work.
Once you’ve cleaned a majority of the blood off of his face, you start to cool down. Rinsing the cloth in the sink, it’s thrown into the hamper for tomorrow’s laundry. Facing the kit again, you grab various ointments and creams. Eddie hasn’t taken his eyes off of you once the entire time. Just letting you stew in angry silence.
Taking a cotton swab, you squeeze a bit of antibacterial onto the end. Focusing on the cut on his temple first, you start to dab at it.
“You scared me.” Not taking your eyes off of your current task made speaking up easier. In a morbid sort of way, patching up your boyfriend was sort of soothing.
“I had it handled.”
Pressing a little harder, your frown deepens. “Clearly.”
“Five on one isn’t exactly fair, you know.”
“Oh, I know it’s not,” You survey your work, moving to grab a couple of butterfly strips. “Which is why I’m wondering why the hell you decided to do that in the first place.”
Eddie initiated eye contact that you’d been avoiding until now, “You know why.”
You did know, yes. Because Eddie couldn’t help but be the knight in shining armor when given the opportunity.
It was so stupid. Completely avoidable. But he just couldn’t resist.
You had decided to accompany Eddie to a house party on Loch Nora. He had money to make, and you wanted to let loose and have a good time. Business as usual.
Somehow, a freshman boy had stumbled his way into the party, which was immediately obvious by the look of awe on the kid’s face at every turn. But his presence was like blood in the water, and the sharks quickly came to kill.
You were a bit fuzzy on the details, but eventually the poor freshman had drunk his weight in beer. He was glassy-eyed, stumbling around, belching at every given opportunity. At some point in the night, one of the basketball players pantsed the poor boy in the middle of a crowd. When he ran outside to get away from the laughter, they followed him and tried to throw him into the pool. That’s when Eddie stepped in, all dramatic gestures and creative insults directed towards the bullies of the hour. It all went downhill from there.
And now you’re here. Cleaning cuts and bruises on his face.
“I do,” You nodded, standing closer to line up the bandages you were placing on his temple. “I just don’t get why we couldn’t take the kid and leave.”
“You saw them. They weren’t gonna stop. Not until they found something else to entertain them.” He reached out to cup your waist, but you pushed his arm away.
“So, you offer up yourself as, what, a sacrifice?” With a sniffle, you turn to throw some of your trash away. “How is that possibly any better?”
“I didn’t say it was. But” He stands and comes to linger behind you. “He needed someone to step in before it got any worse. No one else was going to.”
His arms wrap around your waist, enclosing you in a hug. The lukewarm bag of peas deflates sadly as it hits the floor, but you ignore it. You slowly feel the tension start to melt from your limbs as you lean back into him.
“I just wish you wouldn’t put yourself in danger like that. You could’ve gotten seriously hurt.”
A kiss is left on your neck, “That’s why I have my night nurse here, to take care of me.” You turn around in his arms, expression serious.
“I’m not joking, Eddie.” Cupping his face, your eyes lock. “You can be the hero that I know you are. Just be smarter about it, please.” Silence meets your request.
A tear runs down your cheek, “It kills me every time something like this happens to you.”
It did. Every cut, every bruise, every wince of pain that Eddie got from standing his ground against the dragons and monsters that roamed Hawkins High, preying on the weak, left a little scar on your heart. It hurt so much to see someone you love in pain.
Eddie sweeps you up into a fierce hug, his warm embrace conveying everything he couldn’t say.
“You’re not expendable. You don’t have to keep putting yourself in danger to do good.” Wrapping your arms around him tighter, you speak into his chest. “Okay?”
He nods into the crown of your head, speaking softly, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” You affirm, “I love you.”
“I love you most.”
Leaning in, Eddie breathes the softest of kisses onto your lips. He winces as he tries to deepen it, aggravating a cut on his top lip in the process.
“Careful there.” Chuckling, you press a kiss onto his uninjured cheek. Taking his hand in yours, you lead him out of the living room. He turns off the lights as you go.
“Come on, Rocky. Let’s go to bed.”
But if you didn't ever touch me that way just know
I'll know I wouldn't be the same
The early days of your relationship with Eddie were a metaphorical minefield.
Not that there were any big issues, of course. He was always sweet, kind, and still made your heart skip a beat with a bat of his eyes. The problem lied with your perceived method of affection. Or lack thereof.
Your previous relationship partners rarely took the opportunity to show physical signs of affection unless it led directly to sex. Your most recent ex didn’t even do anything other than hold your hand— and even then, it was more for the purpose of dragging you to wherever they decided you needed to be. Any attempts on your end at initiating a shared touch were met with vitriol and being labeled clingy or a slut. Relationships were supposed to be about making your partner happy, right? So, staying quiet and agreeable and letting your partner dictate the ebb and flow of your relationship was the best thing to do. Whatever made them happy.
All in all, your impression was that physical touch between partners was solely a path to salacious activities. Which really didn’t set the greatest precedent for getting together with probably the touchiest, most affectionate man in Hawkins.
Scary, intimidating, metal-loving, D&D dungeon master Eddie Munson is a giant teddy bear when it comes to the people he loves. His touch always lingers on his closest friends and family members, like he’s a perpetually floating object and his loved ones tether him to the Earth.
So that, combined with your past experiences, made for an awkward first few weeks as Eddie’s girlfriend.
It started off subtle, with the occasional squirm from you or a shift of his hand from your shoulder. You brushed the first few times Eddie tried to hug your waist off and he would just give a nervous laugh before moving on. Of course, when you’re in private, you allow Eddie all the kisses and hugs and snuggles that he desires. It fills the ache in your chest that you never knew needed filling. But in public, touching was scarce. This continued with no comment from either of you.
But it all came to a head one week at during your lunch period.
The Hellfire Club were all sat around their shared lunch table, theorizing about the events of Eddie’s next campaign. Conflicting statements and rebuttals flew across the table in every direction as they talked strategy. You sat next to Eddie, whose arm rested precariously on the back of your chair. He was spread out, slouched in his chair like a king overseeing his subjects while he munched on some pretzels. One of the freshmen at the table, a little wisp of a thing, spoke up in Eddie’s direction.
He practically vibrates in his seat as he prattles, “Was Acererak not taken down with the decimation of the Tomb of Horrors? So, there’s no way he could—” Eddie’s raised hand interrupts the question. The cluttered air of conversation comes to a halt; glances passed between the two. The poor freshman gulps, pushing his massive coke bottle glasses back up his nose.
“You know the rules, sheepy.” Eddie reminded, “No spoiler talk or I take five points off your abilities across the board.” You see the boy blanch at the threat, shrinking into his seat. Eddie gives the boy a placating smile and shrugs.
“Hey, it’s no sweat. You’re new here, so you get a pass.” At that moment, Eddie slides his hand from behind your chair down to rest on your inner thigh. The placement makes you jump in your seat, knees making a loud clang against the underside of the table. You receive a few dirty looks from nearby tables, which makes you frown and duck your head in embarrassment.
Eddie’s eyes pierce into your side, brows furrowed in confusion. A look of contemplation passes over his face and disappears in a blink, smoothing back into his usual façade. Looking around the table, he packs up his lunchbox before standing up. With a quick nod of his head, you’re preparing to follow.
“Alright, fellas, we’re gonna head out.” No explanation needed from him. The whole table waves the two of you off as you head outside.
Crisp, fall air surrounds the pair of you as you walk across the field out back, past the fence, and to the picnic table only familiar to the local burnouts or anyone looking to score. Eddie sets his lunchbox down on the rotting wood top, taking a second to pace back and forth. With his back to you, you sit yourself on the bench, stewing in the embarrassment of what had just occurred.
It only takes another second of silence before Eddie finally breaks it.
“I don’t get it.”
Cocking your head, you ask, “Get what?”
His pacing has slowed significantly. Now, he just has his arms crossed, nibbling nervously at the end of his thumb. It screams being a self-soothing mechanism, which is somewhat alarming for you.
“I just,” He steps back into a slow pace, “Do you not like me anymore?”
Your head rears back in shock, “What? Of course, I still like you.”
“Are you ashamed of me?”
“Wh--? No! Eddie—”
“Do you think I’m disgusting? Am I pressuring you too much or too clingy?”
“No, Eddie, of course not! Why would you say that?”
“I DON’T KN—” Eddie double takes, shocked by his own volume, before continuing at a level tone. The tentative nature of his voice up to that point had been very unlike anything you’d seen from him before. “I just… You act like I’m a leper when we’re in public.” He presents this as if it were a fact. “You literally flinched to get away from me in there, so I don’t know what to think.”
The barrage of questions gets to you a little, “Listen, just because I’m not an exhibitionist doesn’t mean that—" Eddie lurches back at your words, holding his hands up in confusion.
“Exhibition… What? What are you talking about?” He then leans forward, as if curious to the answer that could possibly come out of your mouth.
“I know we’ve only had sex a couple of times, but I just wasn’t in the mood for it today.” At his confused blink, you clarify. “In the cafeteria.”
It’s almost cartoonish, how appalled Eddie looks, his hair flying everywhere with how hard he shakes his head. He travels around the table separating the two of you, sitting on the opposite edge of the bench you were sat on.
You name leaves his mouth, approaching you in the way you would a frightened animal.
“Sweetheart,” He scoots an inch in your direction. “Why do you think I wanted sex?”
You roll your eyes, “Because you touched me in public? I thought it was obvious.” A flash of realization crosses Eddie’s face, making him close his eyes and take a deep breath.
“Okay, question for you.” You give a tentative nod, so he continues. “Do you like being touched by other people?”
You shrug, “I mean, yeah. By friends and family is cool. But romantically, it really only leads to sex, and I don’t wanna be a hassle in public, so why bother?”
Silence rings out between the two of you.
“You know,” He settles in next to you, turning to look out into the woods. “When Wayne first took me in, I was scared shitless.”
Turning to face him, you saw the look on his face. Nostalgic, melancholic, a bit sad.
“I was skinny as a twig, head shaved, scared of my own shadow, and angry as hell. Wayne knew I’d had issues with my parents, but he wasn’t given the dirty details until I decided I wanted him to know.”
This time, you scoot an inch further.
A small smile inches onto his face, “Wayne’s great that way. Never pushes, never pries. Just waits for you to come to him.” Sensing the intrigue emanating from you, he continues.
“For a while, every time Wayne and I brushed hands or limbs or passed each other in the hallway, I would freeze up. Go white as a sheet. Even start… trembling, sometimes.
It wasn’t his fault, really. It would just… take me back there. To before. See, the general rule was, unless my mom was kissing me goodnight, I wasn’t supposed to touch shit. Any time I tried or was caught got me a fist to the stomach or a black eye or a shove to ‘get the fuck out!’ from my old man.” He gave a heavy swallow, eyes boring into the distance. The air around you grows heavy.
“There was this one time, I was sent home in middle school for socking Kevin Partridge in the face over a shoulder bump. I’d been with Wayne about a year by that point, so I was still getting used to everything. Y’know, not getting smacked upside the head every day for being in the way and shit.” By now, you were pressed against his side, offering comfort in your listening.
“He took me to Benny’s, got me the tallest, greasiest burger on the menu. I probably ate my weight in beef and onions that day.” You share a chuckle, picturing a tiny Eddie scarfing down a triple decker. “When we got home, Wayne sat me down and asked me why I did it. He didn’t blame me, didn’t curse at me or call me a fuckup. He just wanted to know why.”
Seeing the throughline of his story, you breathe in deeply, invested in the outcome.
“Once I told him why I expected what I did, he told me that my dad had it all wrong. That when you love someone, you shouldn’t expect to get hurt. That people can hug each other without it ending in a fist fight.
It was a weird conversation to be having at 11, but it made sense. Somehow.”
A squirrel scurries up a nearby tree, breaking the silence around you. He goes on.
“I’ll never forget how he made it click for me. He said, ‘Some people can’t show their love through their words. Some people show it by opening doors or just by sitting next to you.’” He takes a deep breath, finally turning to face you.
“‘Some people funnel all of their love into a hug or a kiss, or even by offering a shoulder to lean on.’ After that, I basically suctioned myself to Wayne until I was…eh, fourteen?”
A small laugh escaped you, “Wait, fourteen?”
“Yeah,” He gave a cheeky grin, tossing his hair over one shoulder. “He didn’t realize that he’d invited an octopus to live with him.”
“Oh, poor Wayne.” You teased. Eddie shrugged it off, showing no real shame behind his confession. It was hard to get any semblance of shame from him on any regular day, so that wasn’t surprising. Once you had gotten your giggles out, the talk shifted.
“For me, I don’t touch people transactionally.” He turned fully to face you, straddling the bench.
Eddie inches closer, leaving some breathing room between you.
“I realize that we’ve actually never had a conversation about affection and stuff.” Which was a brand-new concept to you. You thought that it was just something that you felt and didn’t have to be talked through.
Confusion bleeds into your voice, “Conversation?”
“Yeah.” He leans onto the table, cool as a cucumber. “Talking about what makes us comfortable, what doesn’t. What limits we have or don’t for certain things.” He shrugs, “We’re not mind readers, so talking’s the best way for us to understand where we’re at.”
Thinking it over, you give a nod. “Yeah. Okay. So…” While it sounded great, you didn’t really know how to start a conversation like this. Luckily, Eddie was more than happy to take the reins.
“Are you okay with me touching you? It seems to make you feel uncomfortable, so I don’t wanna overstep or anything.”
You reassure him, “No, no, I’m okay with it.” It was almost hard to let the words out, but you speak anyway. “I just… I’ve never had anyone like it when I try to hold their hand or hug them in public. Unless it was for sex…” You cringe, noting the befuddled look on your boyfriend’s face.
“Well, that’s fucking stupid.” At your answering frown, Eddie quickly clarifies. “Not you! Just… You should be able to openly show affection in a relationship without expecting anything in return.” He huffs in frustration, seemingly on your behalf.
“And I’m sorry that people have made you feel like that’s all there is.”
Feeling more comfortable, you speak up again. “I just don’t wanna be that clingy girlfriend. I wanna do whatever makes you happy.”
“First of all,” Eddie holds up a singular, ringed finger. “Clingy is not a bad thing. Not to me.” When you tried to protest, he stopped you again. “You could literally cut my body open, crawl into my chest, and live there forever and I would love it.”
You pause, “Okay, that’s slightly morbid of you.”
Another cheeky grin, “But very effective.”
“Which is very you.” You roll your eyes affectionately, point being taken. He continues his tirade.
“Second, a relationship is between two people. Well, not always, but…” Now that would have to be revisited later, “But usually two! Two equals.” You give a slow nod, waiting for his point to land.
“So that means we both put in an equal amount of effort, and compromise in the areas where we can’t. That includes conversations like this.” He gestures back and forth between you. “If I’m 100% happy, and you’re only 10% happy because you gave your 90% to put me at 100, there’s a serious problem. Cause you shouldn’t be sacrificing your happiness to make me happy.”
The pieces start to shift into place, “Oh.”
“Seriously, don’t ever feel like you have to be dishonest or change yourself or give pieces of yourself away for me.”
This is probably the most serious you’ve ever seen Eddie. His soft gestures and tone conflicted with the severe look covering his features as he leans closer to you.
You respond in kind, “Same goes for you.” He gives a firm nod, expression giving way to something much softer.
“I like you for you.” Sincerity emanated from his mouth. “All your preferences and quirks, I wanna know them. Wanna learn them.” You were practically swooning on the bench at his words. Eddie was an absolute pro at making you feel special.
You give him a shy smile, “I wanna learn you, too.” The air between the two of you is electric.
“Listen, I know we just started dating and this is all new and I definitely don’t wanna scare you off…” He hesitates, in an uncharacteristic manner, before continuing. “I’ve liked you for a really, really long time. You’ve always been this amazing, smart, beautiful person that I thought I was destined to admire from afar. In secret.” He swallows thickly, “Sometimes, I don’t even understand just how much I like you, it drives me crazy.” His gaze trails off for a moment, before snapping back to focus on you.
“And that fact that you even choose to give me the time of day still blows my mind. You’re way out of my league.” Protests start to escape your mouth, but he quietly shushes you as he continues. “But being with you makes me want to do more. Be more.”
For the first time today, you speak with conviction, “I don’t need you to be anything other than yourself. That’s all I want.”
“I just… I don’t wanna make promises that I can’t keep, but…” He takes a deep breath.
“I think you’re it for me.”
Your breath hitches. His eyes overflow with adoration, devotion, and a secret third thing that you can’t quite define yet. That’s a big statement to make, especially so early on in your relationship. You didn’t quite know what to say.
So, in the moment, you express yourself the only way you know how.
You lean in and press a passionate kiss against his lips. His arms gently encircle your waist, giving a gentle squeeze before separating from you.
“You don’t have to say anything, and I’m not expecting you to feel the same. I just wanted you to know that.” Tilting your head, you cupped the sides of his face gently, running your thumbs back and forth over his cheekbones. He keeps his hands on the bench in front of him, all of his attention solely on you.
“I won’t demand anything from you, ever. Not for holding my hand. Not for a hug or a kiss. Much less anything sexual. You hold all the cards.” Nodding, you pull him into a tight hug. The two of you sit for a moment, wrapped in each other’s arms. The weight of his promises are successful in bringing you closer than ever.
“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I will never—and I mean never—turn down sex with you. If you’re offering,” You snort, shoving his shoulder playfully. “What? I’m not an idiot. Have you seen my girl?” The saucy up-down look he gives you makes your heart race, utterly smitten with this goofball.
He snickers, planting a sweet kiss on your cheek. “I hit the jackpot.” You let out a hearty laugh in return, leaning into the warmth of Eddie’s body.
Heat rises to your cheeks, but the moment is interrupted by the sound of the bell ringing in the distance. Grabbing your bag, you ease off the bench and start to make your way back. Once Eddie’s at your side again, you slowly reach over and intertwine your fingers with his.
Peeking up through your lashes, you find Eddie’s mouth in the widest smile you’d seen all week. Adjusting your joined hands so you’re pressed against his side while you walk together, he smacks a kiss onto your hairline.
Your heart overflows with each step you take.
Everywhere I go I'm reminded of you like
The bed, the bathroom floor, the bar downstairs at 2 a.m.
Your body awakens at a slow gradient, rather than all at once.
Sunlight glows through the curtains draped by the window, a soft breeze billowing through the folds. You feel a line of soft, sweet kisses peppered down your shoulder, a squeeze of an arm around your waist. With a slight shift onto your back, Eddie leans over you with a drowsy smile.
“Good morning, baby.”
The timbre in his morning voice echoes in your ear and runs straight to your heart. You give a smitten smile in return, hand extending to caress the base of his neck.
“Hi.” You scratch at the base of his skull. Eddie’s eyes close and he gives a sigh of content, leaning in to brush his nose lightly against yours. The scent of eucalyptus soap fills your senses, likely from last night’s shower. You close the miniscule distance, lips and breath moving in slow tandem with one another. A few minutes could have passed or an eternity, you wouldn’t know.
Eventually, the pair of you come up for air. Eddie’s eyes are still closed above you, a blissful expression covering his face. He drapes his long body over yours, hiding his face within the crook of your neck. A deep inhale comes from the body covering yours, followed by a relieved exhale. The pressure of his movement feels nice. You continue to gently run your nails along the base of Eddie’s skull. A thought crosses your mind, temporarily pausing your actions.
“Hey, what time is it?” All you get in return is a muffled sound of confusion against your neck and a slight shrug.
You pat his shoulder. “Seriously, Eds. We should get up.”
Eddie unlatches himself from his position long enough to whisper, “Don’t care. Let’s stay here forever.” Before immediately readhering to your body and, more importantly, his warm spot in the crook of your neck. A smile breaks across your face at your overly dramatic, koala of a boyfriend. Typical of him. You hum in contemplation, feigning pondering over his demand.
“That sounds great, but how are we gonna eat?” Eddie’s eyes pop open at the question.
“We can have Wayne deliver our meals.”
You scoff, “We are not making Wayne do anything.”
Eddie huffs, flopping himself back over your torso in a theatric fashion, “Fine. I’ll train a crow to collect scraps for us.”
An eyebrow raise from you, “Scraps?”
Suddenly, the metalhead pops up, brown curls curtaining his face as he crawls over you on all fours. You feel the slightest draft, warm blanket bracketing the both of you in a tent-like fashion. “Yeah! The best of the best, y’know.” He leans close to you, voice acquiring a sultry tone. “Half-eaten bagels, yogurt cups, moldy broccoli…”
Your nose scrunched at Eddie’s alleged menu options to wine and dine you via carrier crow.
“Dude, that’s disgusting.” Eddie leans up, resting on his haunches, fully committed to the bit.
“Just wait ‘till I train up our crow empire. We’ll be unstoppable.”
You slowly sit up to match his gaze. “Oh, so there’s multiple crows involved in this scheme now?”
“Absolutely.” Then Eddie shifts his body forward, forcing you both to end up in a similar position to what you were in previously. He stills once he’s comfortable, clearly done with the conversation for now.
The bed shakes with your laughs jostling your and Eddie’s bodies, amused by the turn that the conversation had taken in such short time. You reach out to the nightstand, quickly snatching up Eddie’s watch. It’s not as late as you thought, but you couldn’t laze around anymore or you’d be cutting it close.
You start to shift yourself out from under your boyfriend and the warm sheets. Eddie immediately senses your intentions and starts to protest. He would deny it if you told anyone, but the most un-metal whines and harumphs leave his mouth as his hands paw at your limbs.
“Noooo, baby, stay. Feels nice. Don’t go.”
By sheer willpower, you manage to get out of the bed completely. Once you’re on your feet, you raise your arms and give a massive stretch to the ceiling. Eddie’s fingertips brush the back of your bare thighs, attempting to coax you back into bed. You turn around, taking his hand in yours. Without fully getting back in, you lean in for a quick kiss.
You walk over to the dresser, pulling open drawers and grabbing various articles of clothing, “I have to go to work soon. And didn’t you tell Gareth you’d be over by 10 today?” You hear Eddie quietly curse at the reminder, scrubbing at his face.
Pulling up the zipper on your jeans, you padded back over to the bed. At this point Eddie is sitting up, blanket covering the lower half of his body. You sit behind him, lazily looping your arms around his stomach. Resting your head between his shoulder, you felt a long sigh release from the man before you.
“Come on. I’ll make eggs and ham.” Eddie’s hands caress your arms as he leans back into you ever so slightly. You both sit for another beat.
Eddie finally speaks up, “Extra crispy?”
Your eyes roll on principle, “Yes, I’ll burn your ham a little, you absolute psychopath.” Pressing an affectionate kiss between his shoulder blades, you make your way to the door.
Eddie giggles at your response, “I love you.”
Turning at the doorway, you look back at your messy, perfectly mused partner. The sunlight from the window highlights the artful tattoos dispersed over the planes of his bare torso. His lips look perfectly kiss swollen, hair feathering around his broad shoulders, big brown eyes locked on yours. He’s beautiful. He’s yours.
Which is why it’s not at all difficult to immediately respond in kind.
“I love you most, baby.”
Quietly pacing down the hall, shag carpet scratching your toes, you turn into the bathroom to complete your morning routine. Until…
“Ouch!”
You’ve stepped on something sharp. Something that’s definitely not supposed to be there. Lifting your foot, you spot shiny silver metal and a pair of horns. It’s a ring. One of Eddie’s.
You close your eyes and take a deep breath, leaning over to pick it up. This is the third time this week that this has happened. Don’t be mistaken— you love that Eddie expresses himself through his aesthetics, through his tattoos and clothes and chains and the like. Bless that boy, but he cannot keep track of his jewelry to save his life. Just last week, you had face planted in the living room after tripping over one of his longer belt chains. The bruise on your hip that you got from that fall is still in the process of healing. Any more of this and you’ll have permanent holes in the bottoms of your feet. Or other places.
Your voice, entirely annoyed, echoes through the trailer, “Edward Munson!”
Frantic stomps follow your voice down the hall, skidding to a stop at the sight of you. Eddie, seeing that you’re in one piece, takes a relieved breath. Leaning against the door hinge, he raises an eyebrow in question before looking down at the object in your hand. Realization comes across his face, followed by a quick wince of sympathy.
Reaching out, he brings your hand that’s holding his ring up to his face and smatters a dozen kisses across your knuckles and palm. Your annoyance slowly melts, feeling the sincerity with each press of his lips.
“I’m so sorry, baby. Are you okay?”
You nod and shrug, “Yeah, I’m good. Didn’t feel great, but…” Reaching for your toothbrush, Eddie stays attached to your other hand and follows you into the bathroom. It’s a small space, so he has no choice but to press himself onto your back. Since one of your hands is… ahem… indisposed, Eddie wordlessly squeezes a bit of toothpaste onto your brush. As you start to clean your teeth, you lean back onto him. A few seconds later, you lock eyes in the mirror with Eddie.
“What if I trained a crow to organize my stuff?”
I'm trying to forget the things you used to do like
Kiss me harder in the bar downstairs at 2 a.m.
Normally, The Hideout is as dead as can be when you’re there.
Tuesday evenings didn’t draw in any more than about five drunks. But somehow, someway, Eddie had convinced Tom to give Corroded Coffin this week’s Friday night live slot. That in itself was impressive to you. Tom was the owner of the Hideout and was a pretty tough nut to crack. His tall, broad frame, stark white hair that came with age and scar running down his cheek made his aura the type to scare the shit out of the boys. You disagreed with their judgement, but that was neither here nor there. You’re also not entirely convinced that the conversation that led to this agreement was in any way ethical, but that’s none of your business.
You’d never seen Eddie so high strung leading up to a gig before. Usually, if he has any jitters or nerves, he channels it into his performance— shaky knees turn into a swagger across the stage, tremors morph into a gesture encouraging the audience to rock along.
But this time, when Eddie wasn’t at school or selling, he was in Gareth’s garage. Practicing.
All of the band members saw this as an opportunity to get a good gage on how a bigger audience responds to their music. It’s not the Garden, but it’s the next step.
Now, standing in the middle of a decent crowd, you can tell that their hard work is paying off. Not everyone is familiar with the material, a few of their covers are along the lines of Metallica and Black Sabbath’s B-side tracks, but people seem to vibe with it, nonetheless.
When the final chord blared through the speakers, you whooped and cheered louder than the audience. Eddie gave a final croon into the mic, dismissing the band from the stage. Heading outside from the back of the bar, you open the tail end of Eddie’s van that was parked nearby. The stage door swings open, hitting the outer wall with a bang. As if on instinct, a voice mimicking the colorful words of tabloids like the Globe or National Enquirer left your mouth.
“Local celebrities, Grammy-award winning Corroded Coffin, spotted after absolutely crushing their latest gig at The Hideout.” Gareth and Grant roll their eyes, fond smiles creeping on their faces as they lug an amp out into the lot. You continue with the rant, blabbering on about the mass amounts of fame and fortune they’ve gained and their latest “scandal.” When Eddie finally steps outside, bright smile on his face, you continue with the theatricality.
“Oh my god, it’s Eddie Munson!” You throw your arms over his shoulders, Eddie’s beloved Sweetheart pinned between your bodies. You feel the residual heat from the sweat coming off Eddie’s frame, “Lead guitarist extraordinaire. Isn’t he soooo sexy?” Your throat dips into a vocal fry as you imitate a crazed fan, screaming without actually screaming.
Eddie ropes his arm around your waist, walking the two of you to the van. Loading his guitar into the back, he surprises you by immediately turning and snatching you up. A giggle bursts from your chest as he proceeds to spin the two of you around, giving your side a light pinch. You squeal at the tickling sensation, shoving his sweaty chest as he finally sets you down. His warm hands reach out to cup the sides of your face, bringing you both nose to nose.
You’re positively engulfed in the warmth that exudes from his deep, brown eyes. The pair of chocolate pools draw you in, hypnotizing you for what seems like a century. The multitude of rings on his callused fingers acted as a cooling balm to the heat pulsing from his palms. Your fingers trace up his sinewy forearms, finding a home around the wrists that hold you so close. Your lips form a miniscule pucker, which was apparently the signal for the hair trigger that Eddie was on. He’s quick to close the distance between you, greedily sucking at your bottom lip.
Your mouths caress each other in an eager kiss, fueled by post-show adrenaline. You slink one hand down to his shoulder, the other creeping upward to lightly tug on the hair at the nape of his neck. His hands are confident in their placement on your body, which makes you feel safe and secure. While one stays on your jaw, the other explores down, down, down until he grabs a generous handful of your ass. A gentle swipe of his tongue on yours, combined with the hand on your behind pressing your pelvis to his, is all it takes to turn your knees liquid. You gasp into the kiss, Eddie easily supporting you as your legs started to shake.
A series of gags echo from behind you. Your lips disconnect from Eddie’s with a loud smack, looking over to see the boys acting like they’ve contracted some sort of disease.
“God, you guys are disgusting.” Gareth pipes up, clutching his stomach as if he’d eaten something rancid. Eddie pays his bandmates no mind, eyes boring into your profile as you roll your eyes.
“My lady is manifesting our success. Speaking it into existence,” Eddie sasses, throwing his arm around your shoulder. “Had to thank her somehow.”
“Yeah. Well,” Grant stands up straight, suddenly cured from his ailment. “Thank her at your place. Or when we’re not within a hundred-mile radius.” He lobs a crate of cables into the back, shoving it further with a small grunt.
You hug your boyfriend’s waist as you all gather in a circle, “Seriously though, you guys did great. I think you gained a couple of fans tonight.”
Jeff hums in agreement, “Here’s hoping that Tom gives us a few more weekend slots.” The other bandmates murmur in consensus.
It was then decided that Gareth would be heading home, since he had a shift early in the morning. Jeff and Grant would be going with him because they were beat and ready for a shower. That left you and Eddie to stay behind and celebrate. Waving to the boys as they left, you turned to Eddie coyly.
“Buy me a drink, rockstar?”
A smirk, followed by a chaste kiss, was Eddie’s version of an answer. You intertwined your fingers with his, leading him back into the smokey haze of the bar.
Hopping up to the bar, Eddie leans forward and calls out, “Tom, my good sir! Two of your finest beers, please.”
A grunt comes from the gruff, white-haired man down at the end of the bar. He wipes down another glass, hands it to his bar back, before grabbing two clean glasses. Eddie looks at you in surprise, hopeful for a real drink being served. Until Tom steps over.
He slams two full glasses on the bar top, “Two cokes.”
“And can I get—” Before you can even finish your thought, Tom has a jar open, spooning three maraschino cherries into one of the cokes before sliding it your way. You beam at this, taking a large sip.
“You’re too sweet to me, Tom.”
Meanwhile, Eddie whines at the lack of alcohol.
“Come on, Tom. Not even tonight? We crushed it!”
A bushy, white eyebrow is raised at the tone coming from the man next to you. “It’s bad enough that I allow you in here before you’re 21.” Eddie’s attempt to protest is shut down with a hand raise, “I don’t need Hopper up my ass about this, too.”
Your very manly, very metal boyfriend slumps when he realizes that Tom’s not budging. Happily sipping at your cherry coke, you speak up again.
“Thank you, Tom!” Another beat of silence from your pouting boyfriend. With a nudge from your elbow, Eddie drones out a reluctant “thank you” to the owner and takes the drink. Exchanging amused looks with Tom, you grab Eddie by the arm and pull him to a quiet corner.
The pair of you spend the next few hours talking, kissing, singing along to whatever’s playing on the jukebox. The space between your sat bodies is practically nonexistent, with Eddie’s legs bracketing your crossed ones. His hand rests just below the hem of your leather skirt, gently caressing the soft skin of your thigh. At one point, the lights go up and people start to clear out, but you aren’t exactly paying attention due to being… labially preoccupied.
A bang on a nearby table startles the two of you apart. Eddie gives a dazed grunt, glossy eyes heavily lidded. His mind still seemed to be stuck in the heat of the moment you two just had. One look around finds Tom at the door, keys and jacket in hand.
“It’s 2 o’clock. So, you ain’t gotta go home, but you can’t stay here.”
You give a sheepish grin, “Oops. Sorry, Tom.” Hopping off Eddie’s lap (when had you moved there?), you drag the two of you out into the cool night air. Walking towards Eddie’s van, you hear Tom locking up behind you.
As you reach the van, Eddie stealthily presses you into its side. He burrows into your neck, sneaking a couple of kisses along your jaw. The sensation makes you giggle. A whispered, “Where were we?” from him as he starts to nip at your pulse point. But he’s ripped away again by a yell.
“I definitely don’t mean in my parking lot either!”
You turn to see Tom climbing into his pickup. Mortified, you shove your horny boyfriend away. Trying to save grace, you call out in return. “Good night, Tom! Give Gina my love, will you?”
A sweet smile cracks the old man’s face at the mention of his wife. He gives you a nod, which makes you smile. Slamming the door of his truck close, he’s quick to pull out of the lot. You wave as he leaves, punching your boyfriend in the shoulder as soon as Tom’s taillights turn the corner. Eddie gives a surprised laugh, “What?” He shoves his body onto yours in a hug, pinning you against the van.
“You absolute horn dog!” He cackles as you continue to scold him. “We keep toeing a line with Tom, and he’s gonna—”
Eddie rocks the pair of you back and forth, “And nothing, babe. He adores you, and rightfully so.” That remark brings a smirk to your face.
Then, of course, Eddie has to ruin it.
“That’s why I keep you around, y’know.”
Your face drops, scoffing in disbelief. “Oh really?” You peel yourself away from the metalhead, who immediately scrambles to touch you. “Guess you can drop me off at home by myself, then, since I’ve done my job here.” You weren’t really upset, but it was so much fun to see him sweat.
Eddie, who had already realized his mistake, becomes frenzied at your words. “No, no, baby! I was joking! I swear, I was joking!”
“Are you sure? Or is that just him,” You nod down to the prominent bulge poking at you, “talking? I can’t tell.”
The rings on Eddie’s hands clink together as he puts them together in a pleading gesture, reaching out for you in penance of his perceived slight. “Baby, darling, sweetheart, love of my life, wind beneath my wings, future mother of my children, angel face…” and on and on he goes, sliding back to your side. “Shnookums?”
A snort escapes you, “Really?”
“That not doing it for you?” Eddie questions, having caught on to your little prank. Your nose scrunches as you shake your head. He pulls you into another hug, the silence of the lot only disturbed by the occasional call from a cricket.
From your position burrowed into his chest, you press a kiss directly over his heart. Squeezing your arms around him a little tighter. “I love you.”
A happy sigh, “I love you most.”
Silence.
Suddenly, you remember where you are.
“Take me home, rockstar.” Shifting back, you begin to walk around to the passenger door, but you’re quickly pulled back into his arms once more. Eddie starts to protest at your plan to leave, but you’re fast to reach up on your tiptoes and silence him with sultry, whispered promises in his ear. A promise that, along with a cheeky nip of his earlobe, sends Eddie into a fit. His eyes roll back into his head, he bites his fist, and a deep groan ripples from his diaphragm.
“Fuck. Okay, get in.” It’s like you can’t move fast enough with how much he rushes you. Once you’re seated, Eddie closes your door after a few messy attempts (one ending with his jacket caught in the door) and scrambles over to the driver’s seat. He fumbles with his keys, mumbling along the lines of “wish I didn’t have all this shit in the back of the van.”
He catches your look of amusement as he finally slots the key into the ignition and turns the engine over, “What? Can’t help that I’m dating the hottest woman on the planet.”
The van tears out of the lot.
You got a hold of me and I don't know how or why
The After is… hard.
The sheer chaos of the situation— alternate dimensions, monsters, the fall of Hawkins—is utterly worthless to you. Nothing seems worth it anymore. Not without him.
Even so, “hard” seems too digestible a word to describe what you’re feeling. It takes an unfathomable amount of effort to leave your bed. Every heavy blink of your tear-swollen eyelids just reminds you of the pain that you’re experiencing. Cramps and spasms litter your bedridden body like a plague, but you ignore them. What are a few cramps when Eddie had gone through…
No.
No.
The dissociation makes your body feel practically weightless, but your grieving heart is like gravity— insurmountably hurtling you back to Earth. Every memory your brain brings rips a new hole in the massive chasm stuck inside your chest.
That’s why, for a while, it’s easier to go silent. To not think.
Knocks on your door go unanswered for weeks. Pleas from your friends and family are ignored in favor of staying numb and disconnected. Asking anything more is too painful.
It takes about a month or so of radio silence from you for someone to finally kick your door down.
Well, saying they kicked down your door is a bit of an embellishment. But hearing other human voices, actual human voices— rather than the singular, familiar voice that haunts your thoughts day and night— is a bit of an adjustment.
You hear clattering in your living room, whispered voices. Eventually, footsteps pad down your hallway, door creaking open. You don’t bother turning to see who it is. Tentative steps travel around your bed, eventually lowering themselves to a kneel.
Robin.
In an unexpected turn of events, and truly out of character, she stays silent. No words leave her mouth. She just sits on her haunches, content to sit by your side until you’re ready. For a moment, it’s still.
Blink.
Blink.
Blink. A heavy, raggedy breath leaves your lungs. Robin takes this as her cue.
“Hi.”
Your throat tries it’s absolute hardest to scrounge up any semblance of a sound in response, but you’re unsuccessful. Weeks of crying and screaming and wailing have rendered your vocal cords useless. Robin immediately leans forward, gently shushing you. Her hand reaches out, fingers delicately moving strands of your hair out of your face.
Robin’s touch, the first real bit of human touch that you’ve felt in what seems like forever, eases the tension out of your shoulders.
“I’ve got a hot shower with your name on it,” You feel the covers slowly being eased off of you. Robin gently moves to sit you up, turning away to grab some clothes from your dresser. Getting up and to your bathroom is a challenge, your muscles and bones protest every step of the way. It helps that Robin seemingly has the patience of a saint and assists you. But you do get there, eventually.
Once you step in, the warm water and steam overtake your senses. It seems like, for the first time in a while, that you become aware of your being. The water wakes your mind up, which wakes up portions of yourself you’ve been shoving down for weeks. You faintly register Robin, on the other side of the curtain, sat quietly on the toilet. Suddenly, you feel awful for making her come here, making her drag you out of bed. You don’t deserve her kindness. Not when you’ve basically fallen off of the face of the Earth without a word.
You feel pressure build up behind your eyes, more familiar to you than ever. Suddenly, the dam bursts and you’re sobbing again. You sit in the tub, face in your palms, letting the water rush over you. You hear the curtain peel back slightly, then the metallic squeak of the shower being switched off.
Within a few minutes, you’re suddenly sat in a full bathtub, Robin carefully washing your body parts that weren’t occupied with your latest meltdown. As your sobs turn to sniffles, Robin gently leans your head back and starts washing your hair. You’ve never been handled more delicately. With each pass of shampoo throughout your scalp, Robin slowly detangles and cleans the buildup from your period of neglect. After a quick rinse with a cup of water, she applies conditioner and combs through your hair in sections. You hear her lightly humming a tune that’s unfamiliar to you, taking her time in her task.
Once you’ve been thoroughly rinsed off, the tub is drained and you shakily step out of the tub and into a towel. Clothes are put on your body, just a simple tank top and sweats. You note that, while you’re still sore, the aches in your lower body have somewhat lessened. Turning to Robin, who is wiping the floor and putting away supplies, you give her a gentle hug.
You don’t say a word, but she gets it.
“I’m here. We’re all here.”
The pair of you walk out to your living room, where you spot Steve standing in your tiny kitchen. He’s washing dishes, hand towel slung over his shoulder while he scrubs. Music seems to be his entertainment of choice, as you hear him softly singing a Bob Seger song. He seems to have gotten into a rhythm, and you’re content watching him for a minute or two. Steve looks over his shoulder for a moment, double takes at the sight of you, and gives a soft smile.
You sit down on your couch, and a blanket is draped over your shoulders. Robin rubs your shoulders before going into the kitchen to speak with Steve. The two of them exchange frantic whispers, trying their best not to make it overly obvious that they were talking about you. That’s fine. You don’t care.
It’s at this point that you finally take a good look at the pair of them. Like, really look.
Half of Steve’s face, neck, and shoulder are a collage of sickly shades of green, yellow, and brown. He’s favoring his left side as he’s standing, which also leads you to see the wrist brace that sits on the counter next to the sink. Robin’s arms display a hodgepodge of bruises, cuts, and scrapes. Her right foot is encased in a thick, gray medical boot, ending at just below her knee. They look as beat up as you feel on the inside, yet they’re still here.
After a moment of discussion, Robin turns to journey back to the couch, Steve following after drying his hands. They sit on either side of you, waiting.
Then, you speak, “How… How is everyone?” Your voice is still scratchy and hoarse, but they understand you well enough.
“We’re adjusting,” Steve pipes up as he leans into the cushion. “Still catching our breath, with the clean-up and all, but we’re alright.”
You don’t know what to make of that response. Luckily, Robin interjects so that you don’t need to respond at all.
“Everyone’s been asking about you. Especially Dustin.”
Oh god. Dustin.
Oh shit. He’s probably taking this as hard as you are, and you just left him. More guilt. More remorse. More regrets. You repeat his name out loud, and another tear falls down your face. Sensing your train of thought, Steve is quick to console you.
“Hey, it’s all good,” Steve brings you in for a hug, leaning your head to rest on his shoulder. “He knows you needed some time. It’s okay.”
Robin joins in on the hug, enveloping you with both of your friends’ warmth and love. The three of you sit while you struggle to keep it together. They don’t whine, they don’t complain or tell you to stop or that you’re fine. They’re just present.
And from there, you try to live.
Robin and Steve quickly become regular faces in your lives, doing everything in their power to support you through your grieving. They cook you food (well, Steve cooks you food. Robin sets the non-sharp objects on the table and tells you about some of her food related fears), do laundry, help you sort through your mail, and clean your apartment. Their constant presence helps you establish some sort of routine.
After a couple of weeks, you feel good enough to take a walk around the block. A month, you finally visit your friends. Dustin practically crushes your spine with the hug he gives you. Two months, you offer to run around town with Robin and Nancy on some errands.
Which is why it’s so strange that you’ve been so… out of it, lately.
The brain fog that you’ve been experiencing has been different from your depressed dissociation. The lower body cramps haven’t really gone away, and you’ve had quite a few headaches in the last week or two. Your doctor said that the amount of grief and stress that you’d been through can cause these symptoms, so you wrote it off and went on with your day.
It’s not until Robin jokingly curses at herself, rolling her eyes because she forgot to pick up some pads, that it clicks. It can’t be. Your heart stops momentarily at the realization.
You’re late.
There’s no way. You want so badly to deny it, to pretend that it isn’t happening. But two positive at-home tests and blood work with your doctor confirms it.
The news is devastating to you, at first. You sob in the parking lot of your doctor’s office, a mess of emotions rushing through you. Of course, this is wonderful news, you know that. You and Eddie had always talked about having kids. Not this soon, of course, but kids were always a topic you had both been on the same page about. He shared his fears of becoming like his own dad, fiercely swearing to you that he would be better in every way, shape, and form. The initial exciting spark of this realization also stings because the first person you want to tell isn’t here. Eddie’s going to be a father, and he won’t get to experience a single second of it. Then, you feel nothing but anger start to bubble up in your core.
Horrid, raw anger.
Because it just isn’t fair, goddamnit. Eddie would have been the most incredible dad. He would have been extremely patient, playful, but also so protective over his kids. Because that’s how he was with you. Eddie deserved to be here. He deserved to live a life where you both get to start and grow your own family full of love and joy. He deserved a happy life, with you.
But he won’t get to.
So, it’s just you.
And I'm weighed down by your beautiful
Collapsing underneath your perfect
Drowning in your wonderful
And I'm letting you sink in
There are moments where you ponder if the universe is marvelous or extremely cruel for giving you your daughter.
Your pregnancy wasn’t easy, not by a long shot. Months of neglecting your body due to grief and stress took a toll on you both. You had lost an alarming amount of weight, and your limbs couldn’t entirely keep up with the demand of carrying a child. Miraculously, you’d gone through your first trimester with no extreme complications. But your doctor stressed the importance of getting the nutrients that you and your baby need, the next five months depended on it.
In the early hours of a cold October morning, your sweet baby girl came into the world kicking and screaming. Her daddy would’ve been proud of her, causing so much ruckus so early on. The dense mop of curls on top of her head seems, in hindsight, well worth the heartburn you suffered during your final trimester. She was absolutely perfect.
The first few months were rough. Sleepless nights, constant feedings and diaper changes, arms full at all times. Any attempts at sleep were really just closing your eyes and immediately snapping them open at the slightest sound— lest it be your infant calling for you. You felt like you were out of your mind. All your clothes had some sort of baby bodily fluid on them. You barely had any time to clean or do anything other than take care of her. It was driving you a little nuts.
Any visits from your friends made you feel like a caveman on display. You appreciated them, truly. They dropped off meals, baby supplies, diapers. But Hawkins was almost fully recovered from the events of March. Businesses were back to normal operations, people felt safe to go out and do things again, so everybody returned to work. School was back in session. The seasons changed and changed again. Life had started to move on.
Dustin must have said something to his mother, because one morning she popped in like an angel. You attempted to do some chores while Claudia held your baby, which she quickly shut down. In her very firm, but gentle tone, told you to take a nap.
Claudia became a regular sitter in your house, which was a relief of sorts. You appreciated her help and expressed your gratitude to her regularly. You thank Dustin, too.
It’s no sweat, he says. He’s just looking out for his goddaughter.
Her first birthday party was a small blowout, with cake and presents and all of your friends—your family— there to celebrate your little girl. Max boops a smear of icing on your daughter’s nose, which makes her shriek with laughter. Mike, of course, recommends smashing her whole face into the cake. Your glare says enough about your opinion on that idea.
Wayne steps into the party a little late, but to your daughter, it’s like Madonna had arrived. Your baby squirms and shrieks and laughs until he picks her up, smattering kisses onto her chubby cheeks. Her absolute favorite person in the world is her Grandpa Wayne. It was instantaneous, the connection between the two of them. It’s as if all of Eddie’s love for his uncle was transferred into her soul and she just knew he was supposed to mean a lot to her.
The next few years seem like a breeze compared to that first one.
Which leads you to now, as you yell your daughter’s full name.
Small footsteps pitter patter down the hallway, skidding to a stop when she spots you in the bathroom. You raise your foot a bit off the ground, child sized ring in one hand. A sheepish expression crosses her face as she approaches you.
“I’m so sorry, mommy. Are you okay?”
She takes your hand that’s holding the ring and smacks a kiss onto your knuckles. You get the briefest sense of déjà vu, pressure slowly building behind your eyes. With a quick sniff, you shake it off and pay attention to the child in front of you.
“I’m okay, baby. Remember what I said about picking up after yourself?”
You crouched down to level yourself with your 5-year-old. Taking her face in your hands, you encourage her to tilt her eyes up to meet yours. Warm, brown, familiar.
Sure, your daughter had a couple of your features. She had your nose, which she loved to scrunch in the same way that you did when you weren’t particularly pleased with something. The curve of her chin, underneath her baby fat, was starting to shape itself into a pattern much like yours. Her skin tone was closer to your own than her father’s. But that’s pretty much where the resemblance ended.
Everything else was Eddie.
“I thought I lost it. I was gonna have the hobbits help me find it.”
While her looks were enough to confirm that she’s Eddie’s child, the biggest and most obvious sign of her shared genes is her imagination. Her spirit. She’s already extremely clever for a child her age. The intricate stories that your daughter spins together seem to come straight from the fantasy-loving man that helped make her. Your sweet girl’s endless creativity and passion for the odd, the weird, the different is the spitting image of her father. It’s like she’s a living embodiment of his soul, come back to earth to comfort and love you. She’s perfect, and you couldn’t be more grateful.
A smile grows on your face, “Ah, getting your own Fellowship together?” her nod of excitement causes a burst of warmth in your chest. “Ooh, can I be your Gandalf, then?”
“No, mommy, that’s silly.” She rolls her eyes as if you’re being ridiculous.
With a playful scoff, you cross your arms in protest, “And why is that silly?”
Her tiny arms wave around as if to drive home her point, “Because you’re a shield lady, like Éowyn! Beautiful and strong.”
You smirk, “Okay. I’ll accept that.” With a nod, your daughter seems satisfied with the outcome of that conversation and quickly moves on.
“Are we still going to the park with Uncle Dustin and Uncle Steve?”
You look at your watch, “We sure are. We actually need to leave soon if we don’t wanna be late!” A gasp escapes her mouth, rushing off to her room to get ready.
A few hours later, the two of you are at the park. Dustin spins your daughter on the roundabout, pushing more every time she yells for him to go faster. You and Steve are sat on a nearby bench, updating each other about your week.
There’s a short pause from Steve, enough for you to look over at him.
“You’ve done really well with her.”
Steve tells you this about three times a week, as do Robin and Claudia and Dustin and Joyce, but it’s still nice to hear. Validation from your friends is always helpful. However, this time, you speak on something you don’t discuss often.
“Sometimes it scares me just how much she resembles him.”
You’re both quiet for a moment.
You resume, “I mean, she’s practically a carbon copy of him, sure. The way she looks at the world... She even eats her apples like Eddie did, those weirdos. It’s all him.”
“Which is kinda rude, if you think about it,” Steve interjects sarcastically, “Like, you physically cooked her up inside of you and your genes just decided to give up just like that? Didn’t put in any bit of a fight?” This pulls a genuine laugh from your core.
A smug look crosses your face, “In that case, my genes probably have the same track record as you, then.” Steve boos in reply as you giggle. “From what I hear, at least…”
He shakes his head good-naturedly, “Dustin, that little shit.” Then, he double takes, “Wait, how did Eddie eat apples?”
Holding up your hand, you demonstrate as you talk. “Like an orange. He’d cut them up, eat the flesh and leave the peel by itself.”
Steve cringes, “What? That’s—”
“I know. I know,” Your conversation is interrupted by a gleeful call from your daughter. She runs over as fast as her little legs can carry her, Dustin hot on her trail.
“Mommy! Uncle Dustin and I have played everywhere in the Shire. We require su…sub…suts…” Her brow furrows in confusion, looking up at her uncle to give her a leg up with her pronunciation.
Dustin is quick to follow her cue, “Sustenance. We require sustenance!” Your 5-year-old gives a frantic nod, practically flinging one of the bobbles out of her head.
You check your watch again, “Well, it is almost lunch time, isn’t it? How does pizza sound?”
The loud cheers from everyone surrounding you give you your answer.
Gathering your things, you watch as your daughter taps Steve on the leg. One glance and a gesture of lifted arms make it clear what your baby wants. While she has had a recent growth spurt, and you’ve tried not to make a habit of carrying her around too much these days— Steve is a big pile of mush and has absolutely no spine when it comes to your daughter. A small grunt leaves his mouth as he lifts and soon your daughter is resting her head on his shoulder, content.
For everyone important in her life, your baby is a stage five clinger. Always needing to hold someone’s hand, get a hug, or even lay across their face while they take a nap (cough, cough). You find that you really don’t mind all that much. You love living with your little octopus.
A muffled sound reaches your ear, coming from Steve’s shoulder, but you recognize the tone enough as a call for you.
“Yeah, baby?”
A small yawn leaves her mouth before questioning, “Are we gonna go to Grandpa Wayne’s after pizza?”
You’ve made it to your car by this point. Steve is gently depositing her into her car seat, fussing with her seatbelt. Shoving your bag and various toys into the passenger seat, you give her inquiry a moment to settle.
“We’ll see. I think we can stop by. But I’m sure we’ll have to leave once Grandpa Wayne needs to go to work. Is that okay?” Your daughter gives a hum in answer. You look back to see her tapping her chin, using her five-year-old brainpower to decide if this was acceptable or not. A final click signals Steve having figured out the mechanisms on her car seat, to which he gives a self-congratulatory cheer.
“That’s a victory for good ol’ Steve Harrington!”
This snaps your daughter out of her thought processing. She gives the top of Steve’s head a firm couple of pats and turns back to you with an “Okay, mommy.”
Continuing her series of pats— which at this point are almost pets— she gives Steve a smacking kiss on the cheek and coos, “Thank you, big boy! See you at pizza!”
Dustin guffaws from the other side of the car, clearly having heard his goddaughter release her hold on Steve’s metaphorical leash. Steve gives you an incredulous look, shakes his head, and mutters something about “haunting me through his kid” while easing out of the backseat. You wave at the two, watching Steve shove a still cackling Dustin as they race to his Beamer. Smiling, you reverse and pull onto the road.
Turning on the stereo, the tape you had popped in before you left home blares through the speakers. Just like her dad, your kid loves Dio. She’s obsessed with Sacred Heart, the crunchy guitar riffs and shouted lyrics on the album giving her tiny body a burst of energy. Peeking at the rearview mirror, you see her little head swinging back and forth, singing along as best she can to “Just Another Day”. The bobbles in her hair have gone rogue, curls flying every which way as she pumps her little arms to the beat.
While she has a grand old time in the backseat, you take a second to think.
Sometimes, when it’s quiet, you contemplate everything you’ve gone through in order to get to where you are. Occasionally, a person who fancies themselves the Grief Police or Single Mom Sheriff musters up enough bravery to ask you if you’d “change anything”. If you could give up everything you have now to get him back.
There are moments, very early on, where you think you would’ve said yes. Of course, you want the love of your life back in your arms. Of course you want your daughter to know her father. Of course you want the big, happy family you and Eddie had intimately whispered about while tangled up in his sheets.
Thing is, you have that. Well, most of it.
Your daughter knows her father. She knows his face. From the pictures you’ve exposed her to since she was an infant. She knows him by various tales from her mom, her grandpa, her army of aunts and uncles. Your daughter will grow up with countless stories of Eddie the Exceptional and his adventures. She’ll know what a hero her dad was.
And while it’s not exactly traditional, you have your big, happy family. Your community that you’ve built here in Hawkins is exactly the kind of support system that you had always dreamed you would have as a kid. You have countless friends, mentors, people who are looking out for you and your daughter. People who do their very best to help you give your daughter the life she deserves. Even though the sting of Eddie’s absence hasn’t quite dulled after all these years, you feel safe. Secure. Loved.
So, would you change anything?
No. You don’t think you would.