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vintagehellfire · 1 year ago

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All For Show | E.M

Musician!Eddie x Showgirl!reader

summary: 1955 New York City, where dreams come true. You get to dance and perform for crowds every night, bringing in good money for yourself and for daddy’s jazz club. The regulars love you, the women envy you, and the musicians are strictly banned from flirting with you (and the other dancers of course). This wasn’t a problem until your father up and coming musician Eddie Munson to perform at his jazz club. Eddie was the first man to catch your eye, and you the first performer to be worth his time, and your fathers wrath.

warnings: implied female reader, mysoginy, eventual smut, swearing, no use of y/n, nudity, drugs, smoking, slow-burn, alcohol, anger issues, controlling father, derogatory names against reader, talks of abusive childhood, 18+ only. mdni

Chapter IV: I’m Kind of Nervous but it Sure Is Fun | 12.2k words

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The question lingered in the open air temporarily, not so much an inquiry of whether you actually knew of Reuben’s but much more a warm invitation to the establishment in itself. There was a teasing smirk that adorned Eddie’s features, a mischief, and a certain glint in his eyes that spelled out trouble. Trouble that you actually wanted to get in, trouble that you wanted to dive headfirst into without thinking of the consequences. His intonation gave him away and yet you couldn’t help but allow your heart to flutter at his suggestion.

That’s how you and Eddie make your way over to Reuben’s — it was a brisk eleven minute walk from Latin Quarter to Reuben’s. The diner sat on 6 E 58th and seemed to be bustling with life at this strange hour. Most people were stumbling over their own feet trying to find the front door, unsteady hands trying to grab at the door handle and stabilize themselves enough to let themselves in for a post party snack. It was tradition for beatniks and dollies* to frequent the diner in the wee hours of the morning. The neon sign in front adorning the large lettering flirted with you, inviting you in for a bite, and if that wasn’t enough, the doorman beckoned you and Eddie forward with a wave of his gloved hand and a polite smile. Once you stepped in, the hustle and bustle faded out and was replaced by a black and gold world of a sort of art nouveau style from the tail end of the mid thirties. It was charming and warm, nothing to scoff at, and best of all was that if you weren’t coming from a night of jive they still had what it took to meet your needs.

Both you and Eddie settled into a booth, paying attention to each other, tending to who was to go forth and choosing their seat first. If Eddie had been any braver he would have wrapped his arm around your waist and led you to his favourite seat in the house but as reality proved it, the curly haired musician was too chickenshit to initiate such an intimate gesture - it would overstep an imaginary line that you’ve both already crossed. And so with grace, you slid into the seat opposite of the man, back towards the front door, and consequently the general public. You cared not for the idle chatter of the other patrons, nor for the rowdiness of those who had overindulged, no, you had eyes and ears for nobody but Eddie.

Soon after having sat down, a waitress came by with the menus and a jug of water, filling up your glasses before telling you that she’d be back in a moment to take your orders. You and Eddie clearly needed a moment to make your decisions - with a menu so extensive it wasn't easy but the longer your eyes trailed over the yellowed paper, the more appeal the simpler things had. Especially after a night of drinking. As you finished looking over the menu, your eyes flicked over the musician’s features; his hair frizzy from the sweat and his cheeks flushed from the brisk night air. You were sure your cheeks were just as frozen over and yet you didn’t seem to mind, not when you had just been dancing with the most handsome man you had the pleasure of meeting in… in god knows how long.

“Well, I’ll grab us a pot of Reuben’s special blend. Should sober us up and keep us warm.” You suggest, opting to divert your gaze back to the menu before you. This elicits a small hum of approval from the man, a fraction of a nod being earned in addition to the small sound, in case you hadn’t heard it over the clattering of plates and various cutlery. The timbre of his voice was enough to warm your heart.

“What are you thinking about eating, sweetheart?” Eddie then glances your way, smiling crookedly, eyes sparkling under the fluorescent lighting. “I was thinking of grabbing the beech-nut bacon and scrambled eggs.” He voices coolly, as if it was his usual. It came second hand to him, he knew what he wanted immediately, and it made you wonder if he was so certain of his decision making in other aspects of life, in other contexts…

“I was thinking about those french pancakes. They look pretty good, I have to say.” You giggled out. Normally you’d opt for something savoury after a night of drinking but tonight you were in the mood to break some rules. After all, rules were meant to be broken, right? The desire for the pancakes just about dies after the words flow out of your mouth because no sooner than you have finished your sentence, your eyes land on the cherry cheesecake. “On second thought, what do you say to splitting a slice of cheesecake?” You ask, eyes daring to meet his. He snorts out a little laugh before shaking his head. You weren’t impossible, but you were close, and you’d be the death of him without even attempting homicide.

“Cheesecake for breakfast?” He chuckles out, a teasing lilt to his tone of voice. It was playful if anything, and you knew it.

“You’re not the only one who likes to break the rules, Munson.” You tease right back, earning a little shake of the head. What you hadn’t realised is that you’d set him right up for his next line.

“Mmm but any more sugar and I might overdose.” He shoots you a wink, his dashing smile stretching across his features causing his right eye to crinkle just a touch more than his left,and dear god now that you’ve noticed this little detail, you need to uncover more. You wanted to be able to read Eddie like a book, to know what constellations his moles map out on his pale skin. At his wink, there’s a heat that finds itself creeping up your neck only to find home on the apples of your cheeks.

“Okay, okay, french pancakes, and scrambled eggs.” You decide just as the waitress comes to ask for your orders. As you both give her the small list of items you’d like, you steal glances at one another, as if for confirmation that those were the correct choices. She tutts happily, announcing she’ll be back with a pot of coffee but that the wait would be a short while for the food, which frankly neither you nor Eddie minded. If anything, a little wait could stall you both, give you enough time to open up and to explore each other as people, get to know each other even if it were on the surface level and nothing more. As ridiculous as you’d always believed such trivial things to be, you found yourself caring about Eddie Munson’s favourite colour or even the way he took his coffee, you found yourself caring to find out whether he put his left or his right sock on first and if he had a particular brand he bought over others.

The kind waitress comes back a few minutes later, interrupting your discussion about the evening you’d both shared, a big coffee pot in one hand,and two white mugs in another. She carefully placed them on the table, a certain grace to her movements,though you suppose that comes with the profession, before she informed you it would be just a bit longer for the food. With a dazzling smile she was on her way to the next table over. You thanked heras she left before reaching for the hotpot of Reuben’s Special coffee. As your hand made contact with the handle you felt a warmth envelop your fingers.

“Sorry, I- I wanted to get that for you.” A heat crept up Eddie’s neck as he slowly pulled his hand away,ghosting it over your fingers just a little longer, letting the warmth linger a fraction of a second longer than would be seen as appropriate.

“No, no, don’t be sorry, Eds.” You coo out, a shyness taking over your person all of a sudden. “Really, it’s fine.” He allows you to pour his coffee first before you decide to serve yourself some. As you put the pot down, you reach for your mug, wrapping both hands around it in order to warm you up just a pinch quicker. The wind that had whipped your hair around managed to seep into your bones just enough to leave a lingering chill but it wasn’t anything that a cup of joe couldn’t solve. “I actually, I wanted to thank you.” You started before drifting your eyes away from him.

“What ever for, sweetheart?” He mused, mirroring the way you held your mug, propping his elbows on the table and leaning in closer to you. It wouldn’t do anything in way of him hearing you, as much as you both told yourselves that that was it, no, Eddie just wanted to get closer and if you were being completely honest, as did you.

“For earlier. It’s-it wasn’t easy growing up.” You sigh out, hesitating to continue your train of thoughts, yet it was too late to go back now. You had started something that you wouldn’t be able to backtrack on and so within the small window of time that your sentence took up you began fiddling with your hands.

“S’okay, s’not your fault, you know?” Eddie softly responds, his worn musician’s hand instinctively reaching for yours only to stop himself and allow it to drop onto the hard plastified surface of the diner table. You had to admit that you found your heart sinking at how soon he dropped his hand, stopping it short of yours. You so desperately hoped he would change his mind and reach over to wrap his hand securely around yours, hell, you’d even abandon the heat radiating from your mug if it would guarantee being replaced by the much more comforting heat of Eddie’s hands. Yet his even in the absence of his touch, his words still had a profound effect on you. Your heart sped and hammered into your chest as your breath hitched. His understanding would be the death of you, and if death meant finding yourself in front of Eddie, would it be so bad?

“No, no, it’s not, and I know that deep down, but I can’t help but feel like I could have a better control over everything. I feel like I could have had a better handle on the situation.” You suspire, not quite berating yourself over your panic attack but something akin to it. Eddie doesn’t say anything, instead he listens, honey brown eyes trying to meet yours and for a split second you allow it. The sincerity in the emotion written behind his eyes is unmatched, it urged you to keep going, eager to listen to every last word you had to say. There was a twinkle of something there that conveyed an understanding, one that Eddie maybe wasn’t ready to share just yet.

“My mum, she, god, she was a force to be reckoned with when I was young. She was this strong woman who I looked up to and whom I loved dearly. She would take me to the theater and sometimes even the opera house when we had the money — usually that was around Christmas. The opera for us was a whole family affair, father, cousins, aunts, uncles, and all the likes. Father would treat everyone to it and well, it’s what started my love for dancing. Mother encouraged me for a while and she even started me in these children’s ballet classes.” You smiled fondly at the memory, peering into your coffee cup after finally managing to tear your eyes from Eddie’s own. His eyes were pools you could drown in, sinking deep, deep, deep, never hitting the bottom. “You know, she was quite proud of that when I was young. Said it gave me something to do and that it was quite dignified if I were to ask anybody around.

“Somewhere after my sixteenth birthday she became quite wicked,” You recalled the venom she spat at you through gritted teeth and boozy breath, “especially since I didn’t seem to want to give up my practice. It- It gave me freedom, and I think at some point I couldn’t separate it from my person. Dancing became a core part of who I am and how I express myself, a part of how I manage my emotions.” Suddenly Eddie recalled the shocking burlesque performance you put on for your first performance together, different than what you had both practiced yet more passionate, filled with a certain fire that he had only seen again this past evening— yet this evening the fire didn’t flicker and burn him, no, this night it danced in tandem with his newly lit flame. It suddenly made sense to him and he saw you in a clearer light. “My mum eventually thought that I should settle down. I was eighteen when she tried to convince me to take a lover and settle down, play happy little housewife,” you said the last word with air quotes, “but I didn’t want to take any happy pills to be able to stand my life… I’ve seen her, she wasn’t ever happy.” Your grip on your coffee mug tightens slightly, your shoulders becoming stiff.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs gently, a comforting tone laced into his voice and a hesitation present - a hesitation given away by the subtle twitch of his fingers begging to reach out and touch you. “You shouldn’t be forced into marrying anyone. That should be your choice.”

“Yeah, well it’s not like I was really going steady with anyone, or really planning on finding someone to go steady with. I was a little too preoccupied with distracting myself from how nasty she was… I was,” your words caught in your throat, forming a lump that was becoming far too hard to swallow, “I was told I was spreading my legs for strangers.” You admit unfeelingly, voice devoid of all emotion. You had to distance yourself from it altogether in fear of letting any tears or ugly emotions loose. It was this moment that you chose to take a sip of coffee, allowing the bitter liquid to tether you to this very moment instead of to the past. You didn’t want to remember the past and waste your time in front of Eddie, not when time with him was so limited and such a rare commodity.

The waitress came back carrying your late night indulgences and placed them in front of the two of you, cheerily telling you both to enjoy before sending Eddie a little wink that caused an ugly emotion to boil in your blood. It coursed through your veins and lit your body on fire - a white heat that was so hot that it became unbearable and you just prayed that Eddie couldn’t see it. You thanked her bitterly, though hoping that your true emotions wouldn’t seep through. She seemed not to notice, and if she did, she paid no mind. Little did you know that the frizzy haired man hadn’t even noticed the wink, his eyes never having left your figure since you began telling your tale. He felt for you, your backstory incredibly similar to his own, and he’d be damned if you weren’t one of the first people he opened up to about it.

“I hope you don’t feel like that when you dance at the club.” Eddie noted gently, picking up his fork and cutting into his eggs. “I- I- may I permit myself, and pardon me if it’s inappropriate, but may I permit myself to say that you are absolutely breathtaking when you take to the stage.” A red tint blossomed across the apples of the musicians cheeks, as if shy, embarrassed even, of his admission.

“Eds, you don’t ever need to apologize for such kind words.” Your face heated gently, forcing you to engage in a staring contest with one of the many coffee rings on the table. “I- anyway, father was actually really supportive. I’m his only child and he’s- while he’s really protective, he wanted to see me happy, you know?” You shrugged, a small smile dancing across your lips, soft, remembering. “Eventually he suggested I dance at the club because I was so dedicated to it and well, it would be safer than others. I get it, I do. I wish sometimes that he would let up a little but I know it’s coming from a place of love.” A small shrug finds itself in your body language. “I don’t know too much about father, but from what I’ve overheard, I think- I think he’s protective because I’m the only child he can have, and even then I was a miracle.” Eddie’s features softened and in that moment he understood a wider scope of what was actually going on behind the scenes, why your father was such a hardass, and why he was so protective of you — his only child, and likely the only one he’d ver have.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He breathed out, his doe eyes softening as he looks over your features, the frown lines settling into his soft features, eyebrows furrowing gently.

“No, no,” you wave off, lifting your mug to your lips once again, taking a long sip before opting to cut into your crêpe, “I’m over it, mostly anyway.” You wave off before taking in a mouthful of the sugary and glutinous dessert. “What about you?” You opt to pry into Eddie’s life, desperate to change the subject, shift the focus from you and to maybe learn a little something about the musician before you… for professional reasons only.

“There isn’t much to tell, darling.” He sighed as if trying to gear himself up to confess his deepest sins. You were the church confessional and he was the poor transgressor ready to divulge his deepest wrongdoings and beg for forgiveness still, you encouraged him with a small nod and a ghost of a smile that painted itself onto your features. The sweet look that adorned your features only pushed his bravery to the very edge, begging him to take a sip of the bitter liquid before him before he jumped into it, his thoughts running so quickly they might as well have been a film reel playing out a scene in front of him. “Look, I did not have an easy childhood. I was seen as a neerdowell by classmates and their parents alike - I was a leper, nobody would come near me and that’s when I picked up playing the guitar. I’d learn to play radio hits by ear and eventually that evolved into teaching myself more complex pieces. Eventually my parents caught wind that I was playing what they called the devil’s music.” He lets out a sordid chuckle, a little dark in nature. It told you that it wasn’t something Eddie had managed to fully get over.

“Well, I’ll tell you there’s definitely a devilish charm to it.” There’s a devilish charm to you. You try to ease the tension, a smile threatening to tug at your lips but instead it ghosts over them shyly, hesitant to make itself known in case it wasn’t a welcome reaction. Your small tease taunted Eddie in ways you couldn’t have known — the man looked down into his coffee mug, hair falling into his face, a curtain to hide the dusty rose colour that coated his cheeks while he took your little quip as flirting. Little did he know that that was exactly how you had meant it. He shook his head at you, acknowledging that he appreciated the little joke you had made before clearing his throat and continuing on.

“I don’t think my parents found it as charming as you do, darling.” He dared meet your eyes, his whiskey gaze piercing yours. At his unabashed boldness your breath caught in your throat, the light flirtation dying out only to be replaced by the blossoms of desire. “They had initially forbidden me from playing it but when I didn’t let up, spirit of teenage rebellion and all that, they kicked me out. I went to live with my Uncle Wayne after that.” He took a beat to let you process what he was saying, your eyes scanning his face for any ounce of malice or discomfort but. You found none. “Wayne might have danced with the devil a little himself.” Eddie broke out in a wolfish grin and god did it send a shiver down your spine. His smile was stunning, a real megawatt smile that you thought would be perfect for Hollywood, and yet he was right here with you.

“I’m willing to bet he didn’t discourage you.” You hummed out before tearing your eyes away from the musician and back to your plate, carefully cutting another piece of your breakfast. While you spoke Eddie did the same, and through a quick mouthful chased down with some bitter coffee he answered earnestly.

“No, god no, he indulged in jazz as much as I did and he encouraged me to play music of whatever sort I wanted. He even encouraged me to pick up multiple instruments. I know you haven’t really seen it quite yet but I primarily play guitar. You think I’m good with my hands on the keys, just wait ‘til you see my fingers moving across those strings.” He sent you a wink which had your face heating. “Anyway, as soon asI was old enough to play clubs, I would. I applied to s’fuckin many of em and would sing, play piano or guitar, anything that was thrown my way, I’d try.” He shrugged, cutting into his meal. Little did you know that his singing voice was beautiful and melded perfectly with his guitar playing. His voice was gruff - it was something you’d discover someday soon, and it had women swooning over the young beatnik. It wasn’t something he expected and yet it didn’t affect him as much as one would have thought.

“Okay mister big shot,” you teased, “if you learned so much on your own, where did you learn to dance like you did tonight?” You propped your elbows up on the table and leaned in, a mischievous smile adorning your features, a glint in your eyes. In all truth, you wanted to know Eddie inside and out. Your heart ached for him as he told his story, similar to yours in ways that you wouldn’t have imagined. You wanted to reach across the way and hug him, you wanted to hold him tight and tell him you were proud of him and how far he has come, that you were grateful for him already. You wished desperately to be able to show him a small ounce of affection but you sat frozen.

“I- uh- s’no big deal, really.” He mumbled, a little embarrassed to admit the following. “I learned at these clubs. If I wasn’t playing music I had some dancers and other folks teach me.” Your heart skipped a beat before falling into your guts, your stomach growing queasy with the turbulence. “I just wanted to hone my craft,” the man rushed out after sensing your discomfort. Why he felt the need to clarify it was unclear, why he wanted to spare your feelings also wasn’t exactly clear but here he was trying to make sure you knew he wasn’t looking at other people in the same manner he looked at you, “it wasn’t about indulgence or being close to these people, I swear. It was about being able to move up in the industry and make it to 52nd.” He assured you. The tornado of emotions flooding your body settled and your heart slowly crawled its way back into your chest. “Honestly, it was also about affording my uncle his new place.” He opted to hide behind his hair, dropping his utensils and bringing his mug up to his face in order to obscure his features even more. At this your heart warmed.

“Oh, Eddie.” You cooed out, his name on your tongue sending a wave of warmth through the man. There was something about it that he adored. Maybe it was how soft the ‘e’s’ were, maybe it was just your honey voice dripping with amber sweetness, but something tugged at his heart. While a forbidden desire was always present when it came to you, this was something else. There was nothing exciting about the way you said his name, nothing forbidden, and yet it elicited a certain reaction in him that he wasn’t used to.

“‘S the least I can do for Wayne, you know? He gave me everything, and he deserves a good and comfortable life.” He took a long sip of his coffee before putting the mug down. “Besides, I have him to thank for meeting you.” He beamed, flirtation creeping into his voice, his lopsided smile allowing his dimples to become pronounced. God did you love his dimples.

“You seem really fond of your uncle.” You softly let out, mirroring his gentle smile, stars hung in your eyes for the way he spoke of his true family. “Do you still get to see him often?” You dare pry a little further.

“Yeah, yeah I do. I visit him every second weekend of the month actually. He lives in Brooklyn now. He wanted something a little quieter and didn’t want me to break the bank buying him a place.” He shrugs. “He actually put in a good word for me for uh… the club.” He admits to you. “Phoned your dad up and practically begged him to give me a shot, and for that I’m grateful.The old man didn’t want to tell me about it but I pried it out of him. I really owe everything to him.” Your heart ached for Eddie and yet it soared all the same. His admiration for his father figure had you yearning for that same admiration from him or rather the passion and love he spoke with. It was enough to prick tears into your eyes that you quickly blinked away.

“Oh bullshit there isn’t much to tell.” You chuckle from behind your coffee mug, a smile cracking across your features as delicately as the cracks in a porcelain doll and Eddie swears that your laugh is his favourite sound, and your smile is his favourite thing. Likewise, the little smile that tugs at Eddie’s plush lips ignites a fire in your heart that you didn’t even realise you- no, he’d been kindling. That smile that he offered you ripped open the floodgates to new emotions that he was slowly chipping his way to, and suddenly it dawned on you that maybe, just maybe the turbulent changes in emotions, all ranging from adoration to misplaced jealousy could be the lead up into something more than carnal desire for the man.

“You got me there, sweetheart.” There it is, that pet name that he had for you. You swore that little night blooming flowers grew around your heart, the stems encircling it and squeezing as they grew. “I guess there is a lot to tell, I just never thought of it as important enough to share.” He shrugged before reaching for his coffee. It was warm enough to go down smoothly but not hot enough to burn — enough to cover the growing warmth in his cheeks that you caused him. There was a pause before he took his next sip, eyes flicking to you, “Not until now anyway.” And with that he swallowed down another mouthful of coffee, letting it overwhelm his taste buds, drowning out the overwhelming thoughts that threatened to swirl at his admission.

A you’re full of shit is on the tip of your tongue but with the sincerity that spilled from his voice, and the gentle look he had given you, the words died in your mouth. “You mean that?” You asked, a small tremble in your voice. Being privy to this man’s inner most thoughts had you reeling with a certain anxiety that you couldn’t completely pinpoint. It dawned on you then that it mattered what he thought of you, what a man thought of you was hardly ever of your concern and often you dismissed it, it didn’t matter, not until now. If you were being honest, that scared you. If it were true that Eddie was cultivating a garden around your heart, threatening to take care of it through gentle words, ernest secrets, and stolen evenings, you were done for. There is not much one can do when a person so choses to invest time and love into another.

“Every word, sweetheart.” He let himself breathe, a pit settling into his heart, gentle, subtle, but ever present. He couldn’t tell exactly what the sensation was, but he knew that it was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. It was something sacred between the two of you, a secret kept between two people, teetering on forbidden sin.

“You know, I never cared for a man’s opinion of me,” you looked down to your plate as you gently placed the mug on the table, clasping it with both hands as if for support, and god knows you needed it, “and yet I find myself caring for yours. It scares me.” You admit, hands starting to tremble from nerves. No amount of white hot heat of spotlights elicited such a reaction from you, no amount of eyes made your breath catch and your body tremble, and yet one look from the curly haired man could have your knees buckling. It was with great surprise that you weren’t overcome with anxiety after your confession and yet you still refused to meet his gaze.

“You have nothing to be scared about.” His voice flows smooth, words soft and tender, a certain truth spilling over into them without hesitation. Internally, Eddie fought with himself, willing himself to sit still, and yet he wanted so desperately to be able to see your eyes in this moment. In a soft whisper, a ghost of a breath you heard a “forgive me darling.” Before his mug clattered gently against the surface of the table, a few drops of the cacao coloured liquid splashing onto the linoleum surface of the table in his haste and his calloused fingers made their way to your chin delicately - the complete opposite of how he had handled his coffee cup. Your eyes flick up to meet his, the honey warm tones sparkling under the warm lights of the diner. “You’re allowed to care about my opinion of you as I care about your opinion of me. It’s… sweetheart, no matter how hard I try to act cold in favour of your father, I couldn’t do that to you. I care too deeply about what you think of me, god only knows why, but I need you to know that the feeling is mutual.” He breathes, allowing his hand to finally drop to the table, leaving it palm up as a sort of offering if you’re so willing to take it.

“What’s so special about me?” You egg him on, a certain amusement sprinkling itself into your voice as you try to diffuse the tension. To say you hadn’t recited a silent prayer that the gap between the two of you would close would be a blatant lie. It was a desire that flicked across your mind before you opted to push it down.

“I could ask you the same thing.” He counters, mirroring the intonation in your voice.

“Touché.” Your eyes flick to his hand before you opt to bring your coffee to your red lips, allowing the liquid to spill down your throat with a bite. You were still afraid to give Eddie too much of yourself and especially so soon but to say his touch wasn’t welcome and that it didn’t fill you with a foreign feeling would be a blatant lie so as you replaced the mug onto the flat surface and pulled your hand from the warm porcelain, you caved in and peeled your fingers one by one away from the handle and slowly crawled them over to Eddie’s fingers, daring to allow yourself the luxury of his touch. His breath caught in his throat, heart speeding faster than greasers who burn rubber for fun on Saturday nights, not having expected you to take him up on such an offer, much less an unspoken one.

“Hey, what say you to getting out of here and watching the sun rise over Queensboro bridge?” He pushes his luck this time, hoping for you to go along with his like-criminal plan. The answer is on the tip of your tongue and yet it fizzles out almost as soon as the excitement had you caught up with the offer.

“I can’t.” You let out, dejected, hoping he wouldn't take it badly but the gentle tug of his hand pulling back tells you otherwise. In a split second you give his fingers a squeeze, a plea to stay as you were for just a second longer, to pretend you two weren’t what you were or who you were for just a fleeting moment and he complies, surprised by your sudden move. “It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s that I don’t want to push my luck with my father. I’ve probably already disappeared for too long.” With that, his rejection melts from his face, replaced with a look of slight concern, and yet he can’t bring himself to wallow in self pity for long because your warm hand is still in his, boldly squeezing it in fear that he’d pull back, and if he were being frank, it’s the last thing he wants to do right now. He wants to keep this moment alive for much longer than he is realistically able to and so it’s with great reluctance that he calls for the bills, making sure that the cost of the coffee pot would be split down the both of them. He made sure that he took on a penny more than you did, taking on thirteen cents while you covered twelve. All in all, both bills were very reasonable and did not leave a hole in your pockets.

Once all was paid, Eddie tugged his coat on only after he held yours out for you, and he promised to walk you back to your father’s club, not willing to leave you alone for a second. The morning air is chilly, nipping at your cheeks as you walk towards the aforementioned establishment. It was still dark and the streetlights and neon signs illuminated your way, creating a certain slice of peace that was hard to come by for folks such as yourselves. You both people watched as you spoke to each other in hushed voices, and to any onlooker, you both appeared as a couple that was so painfully in love with each other that it made those around you sick, and yet you were neither in love, nor a couple, or at least that’s what you would tell yourselves for the time being. The world, however, had other plans in the works.

Too soon was your arrival at the club, and being the gentleman he is, the beatnik with dreamy eyes walks you all the way back to your dressing room door, wishing you a goodnight and letting his eyes flick to your lips momentarily. You barely have time to register the movement as you too are busy wondering whether he might offer you a small parting gift but it never comes.Instead it’s all pining and longing stares while his fingers ghost across the backs of yours. Part of your heart sinks, but what would it even be? What did you even want? A hug? A kiss? No, no, you never looked at your father’s club musicians that way. Besides, what good would it do hoping for something of the sort when you’d only known him a short while, right? No matter how magical the night was, it was just that, the magic of a scandalous evening with daddy’s best musician.

“Thank you, Eds, it was a really lovely evening.” You chose to admit to him, tilting your head down and tugging your bottom lip between your teeth. Your eyes flick up at Eddie through your thick lashes, unbeknownst to what exactly it was doing to him but if it was anything like what his next move would do to you, so lord help him. In a smooth move the suave musician leans in, allowing his plush lips to brush your ear before allowing himself the luxury to whisper a small sugary sweet parting.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” The murmur of the two simple words against your ear send an electric shock down your spine, your body yearning for him to invade your space like that once again but almost as soon as he had overstepped the line that wasn’t to be crossed, he retreated back to his own territory, a sort of no man’s land of space being left between you. A warm drunken smile dances across his lips before he pulls away, turning around ready to head down the hallway.

“Goodnight, Eds.” You call sweetly behind him, mirroring his movement before pushing your dressing room door open. As you close the door behind you, you rest your back against it, completely in disbelief over the evening itself and just how perfect it was, how seamlessly it blended into the morning. Truthfully, you couldn’t wait to go to bed, and surely you’d be in late tomorrow, but that was tradition after all. You quietly padded over to your wardrobe, stripping away your clothing and changing into your day dress, spraying two puffs of perfume and gathering your things before moving to take off your makeup. Just as you’re doing so, your dressing room door opens in a panic, your father in front of you, face riddled with anxiety until his eyes land on you - relief flooding his features.

“Where were you all night?” There’s a roar threatening to come out behind his words but he makes a gallant attempt to even his tone of voice, a quiver finding itself threaded through every word. He was worried about you, especially after the happenings earlier in the evening. All he cared about was your protection, your well being, and when he couldn’t find you, he practically tore the club apart hoping to locate you.

“I was just on the roof smoking. I needed a breather.” The irony of your statement wasn’t lost on either of you but the lie was. It slipped out almost effortlessly and your father was none the wiser. You wanted to pay attention, to console him, but part of you couldn’t bring yourself to give half an ounce of care, not when he was so overbearing that he needed to know your every move, and so you continued taking your makeup off.

“And you just decided to pull the ole Irish goodbye on your own father and worry him half to death?” He pressed further, malice starting to seep in through the cracks. His brow furrowed at how little you seemed to be affected, pleading for a reaction from you, a plea you did not comply with.

“Father, please,” You beg, voice devoid of emotion, flat, unfeeling, “I just needed to get away, to clear my head. I needed a moment to think. I know you want to protect me but you can’t keep me under lock and key.” You allow the cotton balls you were using to fall to fall to the surface of your vanity, a knot in your stomach over the protectiveness your father exerted over you. You understood his intentions but while he viewed his protectiveness as a freedom, it started to wear on you more and more. A bigger enclosure was an enclosure nonetheless. You felt like a bird that got moved into a bigger cage — one big enough to accommodate for its wingspan but not enough to allow it to fly. It was suffocating.

“While you’re working at my club I can damn well try to keep you safe.” He roared out, immediate regret flooding him almost as quickly as the regulars flooded their stomachs full of alcohol, though their regret came the morning after.

“Father, that’s enough.” You suddenly snapped, you never spoke harshly to him, always the grateful one for everything he has done for you, but as soon as he introduced a certain neerdowell to the club your eyes were opened to the constraints you were put under. “I do not live with you anymore and I certainly don’t live under a roof you’ve given me. I’m an adult, and as much as I love you, and I do, I don’t need you over my shoulder or breathing down my neck. I needed room to breathe,” and he left the cage door open for a split second, “so I went and got air on the roof. Please just… Give me a little freedom of my own.” Frustrated, that was the only way to describe how you were feeling about this conversation. After the wild night of dancing and temptation that you’ve had, you didn’t want it ruined.

“But,” your father starts, but you cut him off quicker than he could say lickitysplit.

“Father, please. It’s enough that you see the worst in Mr. Munson, who has been nothing but a gentleman by the way, but I am capable of holding my own and you know I’ve gone out by myself many a time, so please just trust me a little.” Part of you hopes that this might sway him to let up on this whole ban on dating the musicians,or rather the club musicians dating you, but the next thing from his mouth has your heart sinking into the deepest pit in your stomach.

“Fine, but if any of them musicians make any moves just know they’ll be paying with their hands.” Your father threatened before sighing and rubbing over his face. “I just want to protect you.” A tick of irritation shot through your body, who was he to tell you who could and could not be in your presence, much less to threaten bodily harm to them. To you, violence was rarely the solution, and frankly you couldn’t believe that your father would stoop so low or even go so far as to dare attempt such a thing.

“Father.” You warn. “I know you want what’s best but… what if one day,” you try, you do, but he cuts you off almost immediately.

“There will not be one day with a musician, you hear? I know what indulgences they play with. I won’t set you up like your mother desperately wants to, but for your best interest, musicians are forbidden, you hear?” You don’t answer him, in fact you turn and swallow hard, desperately willing tears not to slip down your face. You never got into arguments with your father and never over men. You had but an inkling of an idea over why this would upset you but part of you couldn’t bring yourself to understand, it had never been a problem, not until a certain curly haired man entered your life. And that was the root of the problem, wasn’t it, that one musician. You were certain that even if it weren’t a title he held, the effect would nonetheless be the same. After all, it was your very first meeting with him, the moment your eyes fell upon him, that you were completely and utterly done in. You swallowed hard before opting to wet another cotton ball, this time with a toner that might take off the remainder of the grime before you could wash your face propper, only using this move to hide the tears that welled over. Your fathers words shouldn’t have made a difference, Eddie had only entered your professional life a day or so ago, so why was this affecting you so much? “I love you, I just want what’s best for you.” Your father chokes out through your deliberate ignorance.

“I’m going to head home.” The cold reply shocks your father, the frosty reply seeping into his bones and freezing him to his core. There was hardly ever a moment you spoke to him in such a detached and unfeeling manner, and when you did it was often for good reason, so what could it have been this time? The ugly emptiness wormed its way into your soul, a darkness nestling cobwebs into the deepest crevices of your heart. With haste you found yourself storming through your dressing room, collecting your belongings, and shoving past your father.

“You know I,” he attempts to patch up the rift he had created but without any avail, not realising that with every word he tore a fabric into the bond that you both shared.

“Goodnight, father.” You respond curtly before walking out and shutting the door behind you, heels clicking down the hall as you make your way out the club door. Luckily you had nothing to practice that you haven’t already and so your tradition of coming in later wouldn’t be impeded, and besides if he was going to pester you about the events that transpired then you’d rather not be around him. You are an adult, you should be able to manage your own relationships without the interference of your family or an overprotective father.

Early mornings were strange for performers and musicians alike,the hustle and bustle of the city waking up while the entertainers were just tripping back into their apartments to get some shut eye, and you were no exception. You burst through your door around five in the morning, prepared to make yourself another coffee and wash your face while you waited for it to brew. Your checklist was simple: get ready for bed, slip on a nightgown, wash your face, and have your coffee before brushing your teeth and tucking yourself into bed for the night… Technically morning. And so while your coffee brewed, you shut your curtains and placed the book you were reading in bed last night back onto your nightstand, pulling the beaded metal string to turn on your table lamp. A warm glow was cast across the room as you paced around searching for your little black number. It was satin with lace adorning the decolletage, and it made you feel absolutely stunning even when in between the waking world and Mr.. Sandman’s realm.

You did manage to pour yourself a small amount of coffee, sipping it before allowing yourself to abandon it on your kitchen counter, saving it for a few hours from now. Worst case you’d just reheat it. You then brushed your teeth before padding your way across your hardwood floors and crawling into bed, turning off your little Victorian style lamp. You allowed your thoughts to lull you into a calm and pleasant sleep, thinking of the “not date”, allowing a smile to grace your features. Your slumber is pleasant, undisturbed, and for once you sleep solidly through the morning and through to about two in the afternoon, at which point you roused with a small yawn and a hunger burning a hole through your stomach.

The rest of the week is filled with learning a new number, a jaunty little tune that drove Eddie mad. He had to sit and watch you dance with someone else, some relatively known fellow whose name escaped him and frankly it escaped you as well. You weren’t performing a little burlesque strip tease this week, no, it was a swing number that had you fuming. Whether this was your father’s idea of punishment or whether it was for the good of the club to bring in someone relatively famous you didn’t know but your heart wasn’t in it like it should have been. Dancing with this newcomer was wildly different than dancing with Eddie. While Eddie was a breath of fresh air, this man was a suffocating smog, making it hard to breathe. It seemed that every move needed to be perfectly calculated with him, he was stiff, something a good swing dancer shouldn’t have been. He was essentially incapable of improvisation and would chastise you for any trip ups that came from how meticulous he wanted to assure you both were. There wasn’t room for error which was starting to get on your nerves incredibly so. You wanted nothing more than to dance with Eddie at this moment, permitting yourself to steal glances his way every time your current dance partner spun you around.

On the other side of the room, however, the musician behind the swing piece was steaming from his ears, the little green monster having crawled into his heart, squeezing unbearably tight while it fed poisonous thoughts into his ear. With each word, each interaction, each fleeting touch, the musician became more and more possessive. over something, or rather someone, that wasn’t even his. He wasn’t even sure why he was overcome with such an ugly emotion but still it burned through him like a cold fire. Thankfully the practice reached its apex before coming to a rather swift conclusion, one that both you and Eddie welcomed. You curtly wished your partner a better practice next time, and told him that you’d see him tomorrow for the show before you sauntered over to the man you actually wanted to see. As you reached him, you planted your elbows firmly on the hornbeam surface of the piano.

“Hey, sweetheart.” His smile immediately melted any fears you held in your heart, and your anxieties were smoothed over, even just temporarily. “You looked like you were having a ball.” He notes, a sliver of sadness tinged his tone of voice, immediately giving his true emotions away, not that you minded. You understood in fact, but instead of jealousy leading your actions, it was a desire.

“Oh yeah, a real dreamboat that one.” You chuckled out with a delicate roll of your eyes, extending one arm out and over to his side, silently hoping he might be so daring as to take your hand even if only for a second. “Honestly, he bashed my ears* a little much, a real wet rag* for the amount he had to say and improvise.” You openly admit through a small snort, one that causes Eddie’s lips to tug up in a quick motion, tension breaking away completely, easing any worries he might have had about your new dance partner. “Say daddy-o,” you tease, eyes flicking up at him through your lashes, “you wouldn’t happen to be free tonight, would ya?” You purred out, squishing your elbows against your chest in a tantalizing manner.

“Mmm, depends on who’s asking.” A grin splits across his handsome face, dimples appearing on his cheeks, gracing his features gently, his toothy smile making your heart swell. The flirtation had you on your toes, it was thrilling knowing that this little bit of banter that you allowed yourselves was forbidden, and that’s the thing about all things forbidden, they were much much more thrilling.

“Oh, just a little bird.” You wink his way, flashing him a gentle smile in return. You couldn’t help but act in a more daring way around the beatnik, there was something about being around the bad boy that gave you a burst of newfound confidence, one that wasn’t solely reserved for the stage. That was the thing, the stage was yours and you commanded it, and the music moved you, but when it came to speaking to people it was different. You had so little experience being suave around others that it wasn’t second nature, if you weren’t actively trying to seduce, you didn’t know how to act, subtlety wasn’t your forte, nor was it particularly desired in your field. You always held sway over crowds, over men, forwardness was rewarded, and some even begged for it.

“Oh well in that case I’m convinced, sweetheart. What do you have in mind?” He entertains, his eyes trailing down your figure before coming back up to meet your own. It was a risky move but it was a risk he was willing to take. Your soft smile split into a wicked grin, unable to contain yourself any longer.

“I was thinking maybe we can have a quiet evening, a little rehearsal, my place? After all, you’re the best dance partner.” You admit with a flush of heat to your cheeks. “If you need to make an excuse, I trust you to come up with one.” Eddie couldn’t pinpoint why, but something about voicing that you trusted him after only a week had his heart soaring like a bird free to fly south for the cold winter. It cracked the wall that he had attempted to build up even further than you had cracked it the first few days. He just couldn’t help himself around you, everything sang to him as if you were a song written for only his ears. You take a minute to bite your lip before you turn around, hair tossing over your shoulder with the speed at which you spun on your heel, and sauntering off to your dressing room to pick up your things when you run into your father.

“What are you doing?” He hissed out at you, not meaning to sound so harsh as his hand came out to grab your arm but he stopped himself in his tracks, knowing it was too harsh of a gesture. “What were you talking to Mr. Munson about?” He pries, his tone gentler this time around.

“The next number. This one is too jaunty - it’s good for an old barrelhouse but not for this club. Besides, that man you have me dancing with is a wet rag. Famous or not, he’s only good at one thing and that’s moving his feet.” You scoff out, pushing past your father to gather your belongings. What you don’t see in doing so is the sad expression that adorns his features. He messed up, that much he knows,, yet your father was much too stubborn to admit it, almost like an ox in that sense, yet all he wanted was to keep you safe. Why wasn’t that something that you wanted to see? With a disheartened sigh he brings his hands across his face, rubbing it in frustration and hoping that it might wake him up a little bit after his nearly sleepless night. He glances between you and his newest musician before shaking his head and walking away.

On your way out of the club you managed to catch Eddie, catching his arm and begging him to wait before he heads out too. You pull out your fountain pen and a scrap paper from your bag and scribble loopy numbers out for him, your penmanship not being the most immaculate at this moment, and how could it be when you were using your hand as a notepad. You jot down your address for him, telling him to show up at eight on the dot to which he tells you that he wouldn’t miss this for the world.

Your evening is filled with running menial errands to ensure your soirée is as near perfect as it can be. Buying a new vintage, a few candles, and the last few ingredients you needed for your stuffed mushrooms and cucumber canapés. Once you get home, you don’t hesitate to put on one of your favourite records, Quando Ella Sai/Meia Luz by Joao Gilberto. It softly flowed through the air and guided your hips in slow and steady movements, swaying from side to side as you pulled out your wine glasses and lit candles, bringing out an older vintage that you had laying in your wine rack. A special wine for a special occasion. You take the chance to lay your coffee table books out more neatly, stacking them perfectly one on top of the other, the largest finding itself at the bottom. You dust off your bookshelves and rearrange your plants into a more pleasing manner before moving back to your fragrant kitchen, turning the oven off and leaving your stuffed mushrooms to keep warm until your guests arrival.

A sharp knock knocks you from your anxious concentration and rapidly guides you to the front door, causing you to rip it open in record speed. You’re met with Eddie’s war features and you can’t help but drink him in, his attire much different from his white button up and black slack. His toned chest is covered in a tight black t-shirt, over it a well fitted leather jacket, and a nice pair of cuffed black jeans hugged his hips just right. Your mouth salivated at the sight of him, never having seen him dressed so casually, and you couldn’t help but admit that you adored this look on him. If you’d run into him on the street, you’d never have been able to tell that he played jazz for a living.

“O-oh.” You let out inadvertently. “H-hello, handsome.” Your voice comes out much more hoarse than you’d meant it to, all other greetings dying on your tongue as soon as you’d laid your eyes on him.

“Well hello there, bunny.” He winked, a small chuckle escaping past his lips and tumbling into the open air, whiskey eyes sparkling in the candlelight. Everything about him screamed sex appeal and you could barely contain yourself, but you had to. The chances of him even sharing the same inkling of a feeling for you that you held for him were slim to none, at least in your eyes, but little did you know that he could barely contain himself just looking at you. The outfit you were wearing hugged your waist just right, exposing enough skin to be tantalizing but not enough to give away too much, it left him curious, and yet it burned a hole through his heart as heat creeped lower. That wasn’t the only problem though, his honey eyes darkened with a desire to pull you into him, to tell you how you take his breath away and yet make it so hard to breathe without you. His eyes then focus on what’s going on behind you. “This all for me?” He asks as you allow him to step in,

“For us, yeah. I figure it would be a quieter, more private place to talk.” You close the door behind him as he takes his shoes off in consideration. You didn’t care if your neighbours thought you to be fast*, you just wanted to enjoy the company of the man before you behind closed doors, away from interruptions and prying eyes. Your counterpart hums in approval before padding over to your couch, sitting down and uncorking the wine, pouring you a glass.

“You’re bad,” He chuckles out, “but you’re right. I- I’m glad you invited me over.” He mentions as he hands you your glass, ears straining to hear the record that you were playing. His heart rate picked up as you sat next to him, fingers brushing as he handed you your glass. If it were up to him, you would never serve yourself a glass of wine ever again, he’d be the one to do it for you.

“It’s João Gilberto.” You tell him as he pours your wine. “It’s a record that came out three years ago and I’m in love with it.” You admit bashfully. “My father went on a vacation to Brazil and discovered this record, their jazz is much different from ours but I can’t complain, sometimes it can be a breath of fresh air.” You bashfully admit, looking away from Eddie. He doesn’t judge you though, he couldn’t, he loved the passion you spoke with and he found that it mirrored his own. It was rare to find someone so driven for the music itself as opposed to the dancing and fame. To some even the promiscuity was alluring, and yet you were driven by nothing but a fiery passion for your craft and that which drove it.

“It’s beautiful.” The man breathes, like you, he thinks but the words die on his tongue. Instead, he shrugs his jacket off, folding it over the back of your couch. His tattooed arms were exposed to you in full for the first time, and you found yourself pining over something you hadn’t even realised you found attractive. The dark ink that littered his skin beckoned you to discover anecdotes that tied his life together with a little red string, and yet you wouldn’t dare ask him about these until much later. The amount of tattoos he had was certainly near felonious and if you weren’t sitting, you were sure you’d be on your knees for the man, and while you might have thought that you’d be praying to a false idol before, falling to temptation, it rang even more true now.

As Eddie takes a sip of his wine, he glances over your apartment, eyes landing on your neat bookshelves, littered with books of all sorts, fiction, non fiction, fantasy, biographies, you even had a section dedicated to textbooks and frankly, your guest couldn’t believe the assortment you had. He stayed seated, however.

“Thank you, Eds. I was hoping you’d like it.” With a smooth move, you set your glass upon your wooden coffee table. “Would you like to dance?” You inquire “Not to pressure you, but it might make this special album hold an even fonder place in my heart.” You bashfully whisper the last part, as if your neighbours had an ear to the wall.

“There is nothing that would bring me more pleasure.” With a bite of his lip and his eyes welling to the brim with an unnamed emotion, he too placed his wine glass back onto your coffee table, replacing his grip on the stem with a gentle grip to your fingers, loose and inviting. He stands up, tugging you with him, guiding you over to an open space in your living room, pulling your hand to his chest, placing it directly over his rapidly beating heart. “So…” He trails off, teasing, “best dance partner?”

“Oh fuck off.” You giggle out. “Yeah, you are. I think you’re probably the best dance partner I’ve had in years.” You admit as he begins to sway gently, one of his hands trailing to your waist while the other gently envelops the hand placed over his right side. You follow his lead as he begins gently moving his feet to the music, slow quarter turn after slow quarter turn, holding your waist tight to hit body, cherishing it and this moment as if it might be the last time he gets to experience this. Slowly his head drops down next to yours, his lips next to your ear, his caramel hair tickling your face softly. There is nothing in this moment you’d rather be doing than dancing with him, breathing in the same air, breathing in his intoxicating perfume. The sweetness of it filled your lungs and the lemon notes left a fresh tang, balancing out with a woody scent that complimented him so well that it made your head spin. This is exactly where you wanted to be, to stay curled up in his arms and hidden from the rest of the world.

While your internal monologue spun, Eddie couldn’t help but feel like the devil had sunken his claws into him and pulled him from the high heavens, a fallen angel in a world of scandalous temptation, and it was working. His lips against your ear were but a slippery slope into the plushness pressing just below and trailing down your neck as he told you how right this forbidden fruit felt. Your body to his and your head to his shoulder felt right, and if his fall from grace meant having you by his side, why wouldn’t he take that chance? All warnings against this sinful slice of heaven were moot when it came to you, especially now that he had started to get to know you for who you actually are. As the song drew to an end, the mop headed man knew he had to keep this proximity, or at least he would damn well try.

“Thank you.” He murmured against your ear, squeezing you a pinch tighter than he had been mere moments earlier, a movement that allowed him to feel the shiver that ran from the top of your spine all the way down to the tip of your tailbone. The sudden sensation forced you to snuggle into him, lips falling open, a jagged breath leaving you.

“For what?” It was muffled against his t-shirt, almost inaudible, as you fisted the black fabric on his lower back for stability. It had him swallowing hard, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, as he thought of how he was going to respond to you. The words were lodged behind a sort of barrier, refusing to make their way to the tip of his tongue and yet he managed a choked breath against the shell of your ear.

“For giving me the time of day.” At this, the proximity had become a bit much and he pulled away but his hands stayed cemented on you, unable to pull them away as much as he tried. There was a certain pull to you that he couldn’t shake.

“Oh, uh,” you softly stammered, missing the warmth of his body against yours, “well technically I’m giving you the time of night, but I don’t see why I wouldn’t.” You recovered jokingly, hoping to smooth over any tension that had been created. A soft laugh emitted from the musician, hair shaking in time with his little chuckles. “Afterall, sin is the only note of vivid colour that persists in the modern world.” You tease. His head shoots up, eyes boring into yours before you catch the gentle tug at his lips.

“Did you just quote Oscar Wilde to me?” A mischievous twinkle finds home in his eyes. As if you couldn’t be more perfect for him, you had just given away a tangible part of your person, something that wouldn’t signify much to most but it had his heart swelling. He knew you had bookshelves filled to the brim with all sorts of books, but maybe he should have paid more attention to what they actually contained. You clearly weren’t just a dancer at daddy’s club, no, you were much more rounded out as a person, a depth to you that most wouldn’t even have the chance to see. Nobody would have the chance to see this intelligent and inquisitive side of you that quoted authors as a means of flirting, as a means of communicating. Not many got to see the deeply devoted bookworm in you, and the care that you put into your collection of novels and textbooks. You surrounded yourself with knowledge during your spare time and it was a rare sight, even for your family.

“I might have.” Your smile mirrored his, albeit shy, as if a trickle of embarrassment found itself in it. The fact was that you had read The Picture of Dorian Grey maybe one too many times for it to be healthy, it was one of your favourite novels. It allowed you to escape from your own reality and indulge in different lives all while living your own. While you were often trapped in a birdcage, books gave you a temporary reprieve and allowed you to spread your wings farther than you were ever allowed to.

“The Picture of Dorian Grey.” The man whispered out, breath barely reaching your face. “What other secrets do you hold?” He pried, a glimmer flashing across this expression, of what you didn’t know. That’s when you decided to tug him towards your hardwood bookshelves, covered in books from floor to ceiling, a gesture that spoke ‘be my guest’. He didn’t think he’d be so lucky as for you to show him your little private world, and yet here you were, opening up to him more than you had ever opened up to anyone since you began your career. His eyes flicked over a few of the titles you had, authors he knew and others he didn’t. A healthy dose of French literature as well such as Bonjour Tristesse, Mme Bovary, Les Misérables. It was sprinkled in amongst some Fitzgerald and Salinger, but one particular book caught his eye. This is the one moment he pulls away from you, reaching out to take a closer look at the thick novel nestled gently into your shelf but he stops himself short, fingertips ghosting against the spine of the book the same way his fingertips had been ghosting across your waist just moments prior. “May I?” And with an affirmative nod his nimble fingers grasp the book and tug gently, allowing it to dislodge from its spot. He tenderly places the book in his hands, holding it as gently as he wanted to hold you.

As he flips through the pages, he picks up on little nuances like how you don’t annotate directly inside the book, instead you have little scrap papers that you’ve scribbled over in semi attached cursive writing. Sometimes your writing was neat and legible, print writing, others it was scrawled out, unable to be read by anyone other than that person who had penned it in the first place. His heart swells at this little piece of information, noting that the book was in near perfect condition and that it was in fact a first edition. How you managed to get a first edition of The Lord of the Rings was far beyond him, it was not possible, was it?

“Is something wrong, Eds?” When he turns to you, beckoned by your angelic voice, his pupils are blown and his eyes are searching you over for something that neither of you are sure of. He closes the book delicately, wanting nothing more than to languidly kiss you in this very moment, instead he takes a step closer and bites his lip, opting to place his forehead to yours in a tender moment. “Take it,” you say, his eyes widening in shock, “the book. I can always get myself a new one but this- this looks like it means a lot to you. I- I know what my dad pays his musicians, and I know it’s not enough for luxury, so please take it, it’s yours.” It’s yours rang through his head. It’s yours like your heart was his for the taking too. He holds it tighter to his chest, closing his eyes to savour this moment with you, with his favourite fantasy book, his two favourite escapes. He asks in the intimacy of the situation, repeating the mantra that this is in fact what friends do.

“Darling,” he starts, breath ghosting your lips, tantalizing, inviting even, filling you with a desire of a person possessed. You want to close the gap, desperately so, but it’s not the moment to do so, you don’t know when it would be, if ever. Instead, the two of you opt to dance this line between friends and lovers, staying coworkers was long thrown out the window.

“Eddie,” your breath mixes with his, mingling together to create an intoxicating cloud between you both. His face pushed a hair closer to yours, noses brushing together causing your eyes to flutter shut.

“I-I don’t know if I can accept this.” The illusion shatters and at his words you jerk back, eyes opening wide, slightly glassy from the heightened emotions. “I mean, it’s just so personal, giving a book to someone I mean. That’s like giving a part of yourself over to someone and I,” his breath catches in his throat, I don’t want to take a part of you with me, I want to take all of you with me. His brain screamed at him.

“Eddie, it’s yours if you want it.” I’m yours if you want it, you promise him. “I want you to have it. Look, I’ve read this book over and over, it’s an escape into a new world, and if it helps you escape half as much as it helps me, which it looks like it does, then I want you to have it.” You admit to him openly.

“Darling, I can’t take this from you,” He boldly takes a step into your space once again, “but if you really want me to have it, I will do nothing more than borrow it from you, because what good would I be if I took something so precious from you, keeping it all to myself?” You couldn’t believe his words, offering you a considerate alternative, refusing to take without giving back. You offer him a nod, taking your bottom lip between your teeth. The move isn’t lost on Eddie and so while holding the book tenderly in one hand, he reaches his other to entangle his fingers with your own. “Come on, what say you to another dance?” He asks you.

“I’d love nothing more.”

Glossary:

Having a ball: to enjoy oneself greatly

Bash ears: Talk too much

Wet rag: Someone boring

Fast: someone who is sexually active/someone who quickly allowed dating relationships to become physical

Dolly: a really cute girl

a/n: thank you for bearing with me on this update, she’s long, leaves you yearning, and definitely not proofread because I have ANOTHER sinus infection. But either way, here you are.

Tag list: @ali-r3n @cryingglightningg @honey-eyed-munson @munson-blurbs

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #reader insert #heartbreak #music #1950s #1960s #all for show #afs #musician!eddie x reader #eddiexshowgirl!reader #gn reader

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